The Center is Missing

by little guy

Rating: mature
Tags: Big Macintosh, DJ P0N-3, Alternate Universe, Narcotics, Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Colgate, Dark, Adventure, Octavia, Sex
Length: 1444964

When Equestria is very suddenly thrown into a state of chaos and destruction, it falls to the Elements of Harmony to pick up the pieces.

Hasty decisions and poor judgment can have very serious consequences, especially where godlike powers are concerned. Now, the mane six, and a few friends, embark on a pan-Equestrian adventure to undo a fatal mistake. Unfortunately, outside the oasis of Ponyville, the world is rather less idyllic. Decisions are made, friendships are forged and broken, and commitments are tested when the Elements of Harmony leave their comfort zones and dive into forced heroism.

(This takes place a bit after the midpoint of Season 2, after Discord has made his big appearance, but before the finale)

Published 2014-02-19 00:40:10 UTC
Last updated 2021-02-26 01:03:24 UTC

Flying Without a Plan

Chapter Two

Flying Without a Plan

“What do you mean ‘nothing’?” Rarity asked, shocked.

Pinkie giggled. “I mean ‘nothing’!”

“You didn’t see anything?”

“Nope! Sorry, Rarity.” Rarity sighed and sat down on her haunches.

For a moment, it was quiet, and then Twilight spoke, her voice stern. “So, Rarity, how’d you like to explain why you cast a spell down here without warning me?”

They all jumped at her question, Rarity most of all; without even looking, she could tell Twilight was mad. How much had she seen?

“T-Twilight, darling. You’re… you’re out.”

“Yes, Rarity, I am. And you’re very lucky that Fluttershy was smart enough to come up and wait for me, or I could have broken your concentration, and maybe hurt Pinkie.”

Rarity looked up at her, chastised. “I’m sorry, Twilight.”

“You should be. Have you never cast a spell on somepony before?”

“Er, well—”

“That’s one of the first rules you learn in magic school, Rarity. You have to let everypony in the vicinity know you’re casting, so they don’t go accidentally breaking your concentration.” She let the words hang for a moment, and said, simply, “I’m surprised at you.”

Rarity hung her head. “I’m sorry, Twilight.”

“You should be apologizing to Pinkie; she’s the one you endangered.”

Rarity looked at Pinkie, who watched the exchange with a dim, uncomfortable expression. “I’m sorry, Pinkie.”

She brightened immediately. “It’s okay, Rarity! We all make mistakes sometimes!” She bounded over to Rarity and hugged her.

“Twilight, is all this really necessary?” Rainbow asked. “It’s just a little sigil.”

Twilight looked at her as though she had asked something exceedingly simple. “Yes, Dash, it is. If I had come down and broken Rarity’s concentration, Pinkie could have sustained some very serious mental injuries. Memory loss, at the very least.”

“Um, Twilight,” Fluttershy began, “I’m sorry too. I should have tried harder to convince them not to do it.”

“Fluttershy,” Twilight said, rolling her eyes, “you don’t need to apologize. Celestia knows you’re the least guilty here.”

“Hey!” Rainbow started, but was quelled by a hushed “not now, Rainbow,” from Applejack.

Twilight shook her head. “Let’s forget about it. What’s done is done, and, like I said, we don’t need to be fighting tonight. Applejack, would you check on the balloon?” Applejack trotted out to the library’s front, and Twilight’s voice grew serious again. “Now, why did you cast this spell, Rarity?”

“Well, we wanted Pinkie to see—”

“I already know it was a clairvoyance spell; I recognized the sigil. But what did you want her to see?”

“We were just curious about what’s going on in Canterlot,” Rainbow said.

Twilight nodded. “I understand. Pinkie, you say you didn’t see anything?”

“Yup! Nothing at all! Not a thing!”

“Do you suppose the spell went wrong, Twilight?” Fluttershy asked.

“I doubt it. Unless Rarity left a crucial part of the sigil out, Pinkie should have seen something, even if it was just gibberish.” She looked at Rarity. Her eyes were still annoyed, but there was a glint of pride there too. “But I know she didn’t leave something that important out, because the sigil vanished just like it’s supposed to.”

“So what does it mean?” Rarity asked.

“You could have accidentally sent her somewhere where there just wasn’t anything to see; somewhere deep underground, maybe. Or…” she thought for a moment. “I guess there could be a counter-spell around the city.” She thought. “But to black out all of Canterlot like that? That would take one powerful spell; I don’t think even I could do it.” She stopped, and Applejack walked back in.

“What’s wrong, Twilight?” Pinkie asked, bouncing closer.

“Unless Princess Celestia cast it,” Twilight said slowly. “But why would she want to blot out Canterlot?”

“Perhaps it was always there. You know, for security purposes,” Rarity said.

“Maybe.”

“Is there a way for you to check how old the spell is?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yes, but we don’t have time. At least, I don’t think we do. Applejack, how’s the balloon?”

“Spike says we got ‘bout ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes! Definitely no time for a spell that complex. Okay girls, let’s get ready.”

The night air was cool and striking against their coats, contrasting with the library’s warm, homey air, making them shiver. Spike was pacing around the balloon, clearly bored out of his mind, but he brightened when Twilight emerged.

“Twilight! Are you guys ready?”

“Yes, Spike.”

“Do you know what’s going on in Canterlot yet?”

“No. In fact, we know even less now than we did before,” Twilight said, once more looking up at the smoke-clad palace.

“It sounded like an argument in there. Is everything okay?”

“Rarity cast a seeing spell on Pinkie, but she couldn’t see anything in Canterlot.”

“So? Doesn’t Celestia have some sort of counter-spell erected so no one can spy on the city?”

“I don’t remember ever hearing about one,” Twilight said, looking back at the still-open library door. She shook her head lightly. “But I can’t check now. We’re almost ready to go, right?”

“Right! Give it about five minutes.”

“Thank you, Spike. I really appreciate this, especially so late at night.”

“Oh, it’s nothing your number one assistant can’t handle,” he said proudly.

“You’re absolutely right,” Twilight said, giving him a motherly smile. “In fact, why don’t you go inside and go back to sleep? We can take it from here.”

“And not see you off? I wouldn’t dream of it.” He glanced at Rarity.

“You’re such a gentleman, Spike,” Rarity said, giving him a smile; he blushed and looked away.

When the balloon was ready, its fabric bulb stretched with air and hanging over the dusty street like a cloud, everyone piled into the basket, except for Rainbow Dash, who elected to fly outside. With two more than the balloon’s usual crew, the basket was cramped, and Twilight had to hang off the side to give the others room to adjust.

“You’ll be okay flying behind us, Rainbow?” Rarity asked.

“Oh yeah, no prob,” she said, waving a hoof dismissively.

Twilight looked back to make sure they were all ready, and cut a couple sandbags off. The balloon shuddered for a moment, and then slowly began to rise, up into the library boughs, past the treetop, and out over the neighborhood.

“Once we get high enough, I’m going to push us as fast as I can,” Twilight said. They all nodded, and Pinkie began vibrating with excitement.

“I love balloon rides! Don’t you guys? The air going whoosh past us and the clouds going swish below us and the ground going all teeny-tiny! It’s like we’re all Rainbow Dash tonight!”

“Pinkie, that’s kind of a creepy thing to say,” Rainbow said.

“We should have a party in the balloon!” She gasped. “Ohmygosh! Why didn’t I think of it before? We can have a party on the balloon! We can have music and cake and dancing and confetti and balloons and punch and streamers and it’ll all be in the sky!” She hopped up and down, producing a flurry of confetti that landed on their heads and tickled Twilight’s nose.

“Pinkie, where do you get all these party supplies?” Applejack asked.

“Oh, you know the saying, Applejack! Always be ready for a party!”

Twilight almost told Pinkie that that was not what she meant, but decided against it. Her seemingly inexhaustible supply of situational items was one of the mysteries that made Pinkie that much more fun to have around. It was like she had magic of her own.

They were approaching a small bank of low clouds, and Twilight looked down. She watched Spike shrink into a smudge, then a dot, and then just part of the texturing of the land beneath them, itself losing its details in place of shadowy contours of hill and meadow.

“Twilight, Ah’ve got a question,” Applejack said.

“Hm?”

“Why didn’t we just take the train?” Twilight frowned. In all the nervous energy, and the haste, and the urgency of the past hour, she had never once considered the possibility.

“Wouldn’t it take too long?” Rarity asked. “From Ponyville to Canterlot is about two hours, and that’s just Lower Canterlot, not the palace. We would need to take another train up the mountain.”

“Which might not be possible, depending on what kind of emergency they’re having,” Twilight said. “In this, it’s a straight shot up the mountain.” She narrowed her eyes at their destination. “A long one, but a straight one.”

“Yeah, uh, on that topic, how are you going to steer us?” Rainbow asked.

“I was thinking a wind-making spell would be our best option.”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s quite a powerful spell,” Rarity said.

“It was actually one of the last lessons I learned before I left Canterlot; back then, I thought it was kind of a strange thing to learn, but I guess it all makes sense now.”

“Oh, do you think Celestia knew you’d be needing to move the balloon around like this?” Fluttershy asked.

“I’m not sure. I suppose that would make sense.”

“Wait, so if you learned to control the winds so long ago, how come you always have me and the weather crews change them for you when you need to fly places?” Rainbow asked, flying over to the front to look at Twilight indignantly.

“Because it’s much easier. Controlling the winds magically can be incredibly taxing, especially if it’s done for a long time. Like tonight.” She looked down at Ponyville, then out at Canterlot. The mysterious smoke still lay over the city, and fireworks still burst intermittently. She took a deep breath of the cool air. It was chilly at their altitude, and she knew it would only get worse; from where she stood, she could control the wind best, but it would also be slicing at their backs the whole time.
“I’m going to start my spell now. Nopony break my concentration. It’s a delicate spell; if I make a mistake, we could wind up on the other side of the mountain.”

“Don’t worry, Twilight,” Rarity said.

“We won’t say a word,” Fluttershy added.

“Not a thing,” Applejack assured her.

“Pinkie?” Twilight looked at her pink friend, who mimed zipping her mouth closed. “Good.”

She looked out into the empty expanse of sky before her, trying to calculate their time from the palace. The mountain was a mere forty miles away, a little less than two hours, if she could keep the wind up. Greater Canterlot was already level with the balloon, a glowing collection of thin buildings, like the shining points of a hundred candlelit needles. Nearby, a silvery path of waterfalls made its way down the mountain, flowing out to bisect the forests and fields below and then running back to encircle Ponyville, before vanishing into the Everfree Forest.

She began focusing her magic. At first, there was nothing, but soon the natural breeze had turned into a gust, and it pushed them along firmly. She could feel the basket tugging behind the balloon, the wind biting through her coat, but did not look away from her goal. To keep the balloon from drifting into any existing currents, she had to surround it with a cone of wind, all moving in the same direction, at the same speed. To look away for an instant could break her focus, potentially releasing the winds and sending the balloon spinning uselessly about.

Behind her, her friends were stirring, but quiet, and she was grateful; she knew they were tempted to complain about the chill. She tried to make out some details as to Canterlot’s situation, but could determine no more than a sense of nebulous unease. Many houses were alight, but the palace was mostly dark. Every now and then, a firework went off.

“Why are there so few fireworks?” Rainbow asked, to no response. Twilight hadn’t thought about it, but Rainbow was right; why were there so few fireworks? Every party with fireworks that she’d ever seen had had them in abundance; here, they were isolated incidents, punctuating an otherwise quiet night.

Rainbow Dash, her eyes the keenest in the group, was the first to see it after about an hour and a half of peaceful, but tense, flying. “Guys… I… I think someone’s attacking Canterlot.”

Twilight felt the jolt that went through her friends at Rainbow’s words, but her first thought was, “That’s simply not possible.” But, of course, it was possible. But by whom? Why? Celestia had told her once that the last war to be fought was more than two hundred years ago, and that the very idea of armed conflict had more or less passed out of social consciousness, at least in the northern section of Equestria. “Maybe it’s just a demonstration,” she thought desperately. But, in her heart, she felt that it was not so.

Not wanting to break her concentration, or the thin veil of untouchability she had erected, she didn’t turn from her position or otherwise indicate that she had heard. She was frantic to know more, though; what precisely did Rainbow see? She herself could make out lights and motion, but from those things alone she dared not conclude a battle.

There was a shuffling behind her, and Applejack spoke, asking what Twilight would have. “What d’ya see, Rainbow?”

A pause, while Rainbow studied the scene before them all. “I see… ponies, obviously. But there’s thousands of them, on the ground. Some look like Celestia’s royal guards, and the others look,” she paused again, “I can’t tell. They look different, though.”

“What about the fireworks?” Rarity asked.

“I don’t know. There are huge clouds of pegasi up above the city, too. I think they’re fighting. It’s the same thing: royal guards, and a bunch of others.”

“What about the city? Are the ponies that live there okay?” Fluttershy asked.

“I can’t see that well, but it looks like some of the houses are on fire.”

Fluttershy gasped a tiny “oh no.”

“That’s not a very nice party,” Pinkie said sulkily.

“How long d’ya reckon it’ll be before we settle down?” Applejack asked.

“Maybe twenty minutes ‘til we get there,” Rainbow said, “but I have no idea about landing this thing.”

Twilight stole a look down; the mountain’s slopes were beginning below them. Behind the sounds of blowing wind and groaning ropes, she could make out the roar of thousands of voices, ebbing back and forth against itself like an ocean, right above them.

She renewed her concentration, straining her already tiring mind to angle the tunnel of wind upwards. The sweat on her brow was freezing, and her eyes stung with the dry air, tears occasionally squeezing out and blurring her vision. She felt drained, and her hearing was muffled; the sounds of her friends’ worried conversation was but a meaningless babble to her.

And yet, the objective never left her mind. Canterlot was in trouble, and she had been called to its aid. Her body wanted to stop exerting itself and go back to sleep, but her mind was hard; she kept her spell going with a singularly determined thought, her mantra: “I can’t afford to fail here.” She had repeated it to herself countless times in her life, from when tiny black flowers bloomed in her eyes from the stress of battling the ursa minor, to when she was searching for a topic for her friendship report for Princess Celestia—the only time she had been late on an assignment, ever. The failure to herself still stung.

She repeated the phrase in her mind over and over, forcing herself to keep its repetition slow, steady, and deliberate; if it were to speed up, it could lose its meaning, and so provide the background noise for a panic attack.

They climbed the mountain, and Twilight made certain to keep giving the wind increases to its upward tilt, fearing they would brush against the mountainside—at their speed, a crash could very well destroy the balloon and leave them stranded in Canterlot’s shadow. The city hung above them like a raincloud, and she adjusted the wind slightly to push them up past the side of its lip, where they could float directly to the palace.

As they got closer, the sound, at first vague, became fuller and more distinctive. Screams and explosions peppered the tumult, in which Twilight could make out the sounds of hooves churning up the ground and hard bodies colliding. To her throbbing head and numb ears, it was the low sound of an unstoppable beast, and they were flying directly into its face. Her friends were moving with increased fear, shuffling to get better looks out, murmuring to one another, or letting out small moans of discomfort.

Twilight slowed the winds and released a couple more sandbags, letting the balloon float up naturally. She didn’t want to overshoot the city. It came down above them like a bad omen, its shadowy underside a huge, heavy curve of black concrete, and when they came up over its edge, her friends’ gasps told her all she had wanted to know, that her clouded eyes couldn’t give her.

The stony mountainside around the city was blackened and pockmarked, as legions of ponies in black armor swarmed from an uncertain origin toward the walls; many had fallen to perimeter defenses of archers and pegasus bombardiers, but several hundred had diffused through the barriers and into the town proper. The air above the city was a reflection of the war on the ground, with pegasi flying around one another in savage dogfights. Inside, the streets were filled with battling groups of ponies: guards and invaders broken into small pairs or trios, away from the command of the princesses and left to their own tactics. Many houses were aflame, and those that weren’t were locked up tight, the terrified ponies within praying the enemy would pass them. Behind the chaotic foreground, the palace stood proud and unmarred, but somehow different. Less welcoming.

To Twilight, all of this was meaningless color and motion, but the sounds were clear: explosions, screams, rumbles, and an occasional fizzing, sparkling wheeeeee that never ended in a bang as it sounded like it ought to. She stopped her magic entirely, and with some deep, calming breaths, her vision slowly cleared. As it did, she saw a new problem.

“Twilight, how are we supposed to get to the castle from here?” Rainbow asked.

She sighed, her heart sinking. “I don’t know. Does anypony have any ideas?”

“There’s no way we can get through this… battlefield in a balloon,” Rarity said, suppressing a swelling fear in her chest.

“Well, it looks like we’re going to have to try,” Twilight said, herself completely unconfident.

“Maybe we can land down here and slip through the fighting on hoof?” Applejack suggested.

“Yeah, if we wanna kill ourselves,” Rainbow said.

“Do you got a better idea?”

Rainbow had no response, and they hung above the scene uselessly, watching uncomprehendingly. Another firework cracked overhead. Twilight chewed her lip, weighing their options. Finally, she said, “We’ll go above it all, and descend directly onto the castle.”

“Twi, you can’t be serious,” Applejack said.

“What else is there?” she snapped, immediately regretting it. “Sorry, Applejack. It’s just… this.” She sighed, then squared her shoulders. “We’re too close to look for another way.” She looked down on the unfolding war once again; she had only seen sights like it in her books, and the image, rendered in frantic motion and nuanced shadow, made her stomach turn. “At least we’re already above it all.”

Applejack sighed. “Ah guess Ah’ve trusted you before, Twi. Lead on.”

“Thank you, Applejack. I know this is difficult for you all.” She looked down at the mountainside again. “It’s difficult for me too.” She looked back at them. Pinkie looked on with a blank expression, as if the smile had been forcefully sucked off her face; Fluttershy hid under a wing; Rarity only stared vacantly. “Rainbow, I need you to keep your eyes open and let me know immediately if someone is coming, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, all the brashness evaporated from her voice.

Twilight cut the remaining sandbags off, and they immediately began to float upwards, fast. No longer using her magic, she was thinking clearly, and the pressure of the situation was slowly seeping into her nerves; with it, an intensity of thought that drew her immediately into an unpleasant conclusion. “Girls, when we reach the palace, we’re going to need to descend really fast, so prepare yourselves now.”

“Oh, fast?” Fluttershy said.

“Yes, Fluttershy, fast,” Twilight said, leaning out the front of the balloon a little more, refocusing her magic into putting a fresh gust of wind at their backs. They were well above the raging battle, but not out of visual range. Twilight didn’t know what they would do if they were spotted; she was counting on it not happening. It was a terrible idea, she knew, to rely on luck to carry them over the nightmare, but no other options presented themselves.

Rainbow kept herself out ahead, flying in long loops before the balloon, doubling back and swooping around below them, watching. Nothing came; no one seemed to notice their ingress over the confused pell-mell of armor, wings, and weapons. The pegasi fought, a mere forty feet beneath them, so close that Twilight could hear individual battle cries and clashes of armor and blade. She felt like she was in a dream. How was it possible? Canterlot was peaceful, safe; no one had attacked it in her lifetime, her parents’ lifetimes. Her mind refused to process it.

They passed over a short, vertical ridge of uneven stone to rise into view of the palace. A small balcony lay out below, a white mote against the dark ground.

The balloon shifted slightly, and Twilight flared her horn to steady the wind. She dared not make it blow faster, lest the pegasi below be given cause to look around them.

Rarity looked tentatively over the edge. “How are they not noticing us?”

“I’m sure it’s because of the battle they’re having,” Twilight said. “It’s also nighttime, which helps.”

“They’re certainly not very observant. Er, not that I’m complaining.”

“Don’t make any assumptions yet,” Twilight said, watching Rainbow double back again. She hoped she would just pass underneath them and continue looking out, but as she came closer, Twilight observed a change in her orientation—she was heading straight towards the balloon this time, not underneath. A wave of gooseflesh shivered over her, and her heart immediately began to pound. She watched with sickening dread as Rainbow came up and stopped in front of her.

Breathless, she said, “I’m trying to distract them, but get ready for an attack.” She sped off into the swarm of pegasi, and was lost.

“Oh Celestia, oh Celestia, this is the end,” Fluttershy whispered tearfully, crouching in the bottom of the basket with her wings over her head.

“Twi, what are we gonna do?”

“Oh Celestia, oh Celestia,”

“Twilight, they’re coming!”

“What’s gonna happen?”

“Girls! Calm down!” Twilight shouted, alarm amplifying her voice more than anger ever could. She was conscious of the pressure on her: minutes maybe, probably less, to find a solution and save herself and her friends. Her throat constricted with fear and self-doubt as she spoke. “Get ready to fall.”

“What?” they all gasped.

She spoke more calmly. “Get ready to fall. I’m going to cut the basket away from the balloon.”

“Ya can’t be serious, Twi,” Applejack said, looking at her with a frown.

But Twilight had stopped paying attention, watching for approaching pegasi. Her friends stopped talking, taking the cue; they knew she needed to react instantly. Her eyes, sharpened from sudden, acute anxiety, scanned the dark, crowded air for their aggressors. They would be specks, mere dots of shadow in a swirling sea of black confetti, and she knew not from which direction they came. Above? Below? Behind? She looked everywhere she could, but only in tense, terror-struck half-moments, more flashes away from her forward position than anything else. How long did she have? What if it was too late—what if she had already missed them?

She swept her eyes across the vista of war once again, sweating and shaking, and stopped suddenly: three gleaming shapes, missiles, rocketing toward them, their armor shining greasily in the almost-light of the stars above and fires below.

There was no time to doubt her decision. With a small, frightened squeak, Twilight gave a single surge of willpower; the ropes frayed and separated. The flying ponies were swept upwards in a surge of wind and adrenaline.

Fluttershy and Rarity screamed, and Pinkie cheered. Twilight looked down at the tiny balcony, approaching fast as a comet. Her body was tight and tense, her throat and chest burning with acid and bile, her mind dead with fear. What were they doing? How was it possible? How was any of this possible?

Looking up quickly, she couldn’t see the pegasi in the mess of warfare. She shook her head, and suddenly, for just a moment, it cleared. She remembered the plan, and looked back down, readying her mind to grab the basket and arrest their landing.

“Climb out and follow me as soon as we land!” she shouted over the whistling wind. She didn’t think she needed to say it, and wasn’t even sure whether her friends had heard her—she didn’t look back to check—but the sensation of speaking was enough to bring a modicum of ease to her mind. There was a plan. There was rationality again. There was a next step.

Her eyes went down to the palace balcony, a small outreach of stone that would lead directly into the great hall—if they landed. She watched the palace approach with maddening speed, hoping that the pegasi hadn’t reacted too fast.

They fell forty, fifty, sixty feet, and the balcony rushed up at them, threatening to crush the basket into splinters; Twilight activated her telekinetic spell just ten feet from the floor, slowing their descent so suddenly as to make their knees buckle slightly. They quickly drifted down, and Twilight jumped out and immediately ran for the pair of giant double doors, trying to open them with her magic. They refused, though she tugged with all her waning magical might. When she reached them, she banged her hooves on them impotently; they gave a little, but didn’t open, and she slumped against them, hopeless almost to tears. “No! Not here!”

“Twilight!” Rarity screamed; her voice was strained and hoarse.

She turned, just in time to see the three pegasi streak from above, black ribbons of metal and feathers, turn a quick ninety degrees, and dive at them, their front hooves, adorned with blades, pointing out like flying pairs of scissors. She froze for an instant, eyes wide, brain inert.

And then they acted.

It was a moment that Twilight would never be able to remember clearly. Metal-clad wings flapped. Skewers gleamed. Magic flared. One pegasus to the side, smashing into the guardrail. One pegasus caught in the air, struggling against a pale blue haze around his cannons. One pegasus tangling with a pale yellow blur, rising. Helmets, chest plates, ice-pick spears like nightmarish teeth in the pale night. Screaming. Crying. Heads turned, eyes rolling over in fear, struggling enemies. Crash, bang, smash; metal flying. One pegasus down. Surprise, and a blast of magenta magic through the marble railing, scattering pieces of masonry like ice cubes and throwing another pegasus down onto the dark grounds beneath. Blood on the pristine floor. More flight, a pink streak, a sudden impact. Pinkie raising the aggressor’s helmet and beating his face blindly. Wailing, desperate tears, blood-stained hooves. Flecks on her muzzle. Stillness. The roar of surrounding warfare, but absolute silence on the balcony. Bodies shivering and shaking with adrenaline.

Twilight backed up unconsciously. “I… uh…” Her mind was spinning, her stomach was churning, her heart was exploding in her chest. Her jaw was locked, half-open, quivering; she bent over and vomited on the floor, and a hoof patted her back. She shook her head. “No, no, no, no, this isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.” She trembled violently and sat down, gagging and choking, and frightened tears scalded her eyes. She could say nothing, just scream, breathless and paralyzed. “Oh, Celestia, what have I done?” She closed her eyes and let herself sink to the ground, mouth and throat burning. She screamed until she was out of breath, inhaled cold air, and let out a quieter staccato of moans and short wails. The world was spinning out of control, and she let her face rest on the cool stone.

When she was quieter, Rarity spoke carefully. “Twilight, dear, um… can we please go inside?”

She let Applejack help her up, dazed, and faced the locked doors. Her eyes ran over the frame, the handles, the jamb, but her mind refused to process what she saw. She was caught, as if hypnotized by their immensity, and all that she could think—all that she knew—was the fight. Already it felt distant, numb, unknowable. Had it really just happened? Of course, she thought frantically. Inarticulate, terrified sentences bounced around her squirming consciousness, blotting out rationality. “A dream. Just a dream, Twilight.” She let more tears flow out over her face, and she was shaking. Her muscles were still tense, trembling.

“Twilight?” Pinkie prodded her gently.

“No!” she shouted suddenly, hysterical and angry. She faced the doors again, her enemies, and shook her head violently, dripping drool and tears and vomit on the balcony floor.

She turned around, grabbed the battered helmet off the prone soldier, and threw it through one of the stained glass windows beside the doors. Glass sprayed inwards, a hole in the center of the sun, admitting a less natural light from within the throne room. She cleared the rest of the window with a growl, then climbed through uncautiously.

When they were all inside, they looked around quickly, their hope draining away as they did so. No guards, no princesses, no huddled citizens. The throne room was empty.

Alone in the Palace

Chapter Three

Alone in the Palace

“Celestia? Luna? Somepony?” Pinkie called, answered by her own echo. “Where is everypony? Helooooooo?” Her voice bounced around the hall before leaking away through the many archways.

“We should probably be quiet in here,” Rarity said, looking around. “For all we know, the castle may have been invaded. We don’t want to draw any attention to ourselves.”

“Fiiiiine,” Pinkie sighed. She looked over at Twilight, who only stared at the empty hall with glassy eyes. “Okay, Twilight?” She put a hoof on her back, and Twilight only shuddered.

“We need to find the princess. Everypony stick close,” Applejack said.

“What about Rainbow Dash?” Fluttershy asked.

Rarity looked at the window fearfully. “Wait, she’s still out there?” She rushed back and jumped out onto the balcony, running over to the guardrail and looking up, scanning the sky as quickly as she could; the others, minus Twilight, sidled up behind her. Even high up in the palace, the air battle was too distant and too fast to see anything in detail. “Can anypony see her?” They craned their necks and swiveled their heads, but saw nothing.

“Damn it! Pardon my language,” Applejack said.

“What if she—” Fluttershy started.

“No! Don’t say it, Fluttershy.” She shook her head, clearing it a little. “We shouldn’t stay out here.”

“Um, I can go look for her.”

“No, Fluttershy,” Rarity said. “You’re not nearly as fast as Rainbow Dash, and if she got caught, what hope is there for you?”

Fluttershy blushed. “Oh, well, but I did take care of that pegasus just now.”

“Yeah, but that’s one measly pegasus, not a whole army!” Pinkie said.

“But what about Rainbow Dash?”

“Ah don’t know. We’ll have to figure that out when we can. Maybe Celestia can help us when we find her.” She looked back at the shattered window. “Fer now, Ah think we oughta focus on Twilight.”

They went back into the great hall, where Twilight was pacing on the stairs, looking around dimly.

“Twilight, dear?” Rarity asked, approaching her. Twilight looked at her. “Um, do you need to lie down for a moment?”

She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, with difficulty, as though trying to assert control over her emotions. “No, Rarity. I can… do that later. Right now, Canterlot needs us.”

“You sure?” Pinkie asked. Twilight nodded. As if to prove herself over the ordeal, she broke away and began looking around the room more closely. Rarity looked back at the others uncertainly, then around the reception hall. The torches were still lit, and nothing appeared damaged, but there were no signs of life. The air was still, and the sounds outside were muffled. Twilight’s hoofsteps echoed eerily on the carpet.

She went down the stairs and across the entrance hall, looking through arched doors and up at the vaulted ceiling. They followed uncertainly; after the event just moments ago, the sudden peace was somehow even worse. Where was everyone?

They followed her through a side door and down a long, narrow corridor, decorated with a brilliant, crimson carpet under austere stained glass windows, immortalizing the feats of different ponies across the ages, their own efforts in defeating Nightmare Moon among them. Tapestries hung between them, gilt edges glinting in the moonlight. It seemed unjust that such unguarded calm should fill the palace, with the storm outside.

Twilight stopped briefly at the end of the hall, a recessed spiral staircase that would take them either into a tower or down to the gardens. She studied the options for a second, then turned and began leading them up, winding to the top of one of the castle’s perilously thin towers. No one questioned her.

Rarity could feel her mind growing more sluggish as she climbed the tower, winding around its tight axis endlessly. She felt guilty, being so weak when Twilight still stood, but she had only gotten a few hours of sleep, and it was beginning to catch up with her. The cold, tense, but also boring balloon ride over had dulled her nerves, and the battle had depleted what little energy she had in reserve. The search, she thought, was taking on a dreamlike quality. Where was Celestia? How long had she been gone? How long had they been looking?

They reached the end of the stairs and went through the door, out onto a narrow bridge fifty feet over the main hall. The rest of the palace extended into the background, domed rooftops, towers, and hair-thin bridges all knotted together in a pointed, ornate display. The battle persisted out on the mountainside, but they were well enough away to feel no immediate danger—though Rarity still felt unsafe and exposed on the bridge. Twilight seemed immune to it, not pausing, leaving the relative security of the tower without a single look back.

She stopped in the middle of the bridge and got up to the rail, looking out. “Try to help me find Princess Celestia,” she said simply.

“What about Rainbow Dash?” Fluttershy asked quietly.

“If you see her, try to get her attention. But Princess Celestia is more important.”

“Ah ain’t so sure ‘bout her bein’ more important,” Applejack said.

“Applejack, the princess wanted us here for a reason!” She didn’t look at any of them; her eyes remained angrily fixed on the chaotic skies. Then she softened. “If we can’t find her, we’re just wasting our time.”

Applejack sighed and went to her side. “What if they find us again?”

Twilight thought for a minute. “I can teleport us to safety if I have to. I hope it doesn’t come to that, though. I’m already exhausted, and a spell like that could injure me.”

“Oh, Twilight, you don’t have to do that if it would hurt you,” Fluttershy said.

“I don’t want another fight.”

No one argued against her. Rarity took her other side, Pinkie next to her, Fluttershy on the end, and they studied the scene together. It reminded Rarity of stargazing. How many times had they joined Twilight on one of the little hills around Ponyville to watch a meteor shower, or look at constellations? In a way, it was peaceful. The bridge was a lofty perch above the mess outside the palace walls, from which they could observe at their leisure. Directly below, the castle was unhurt, but just outside, the town was burning, and just beyond that, the mountainside was covered in the writhing, black mass of war, occasionally cast in single, ghostly frames by a plume of fire or a pony-scattering burst of magic.

Rarity stole a look at Twilight. She felt familiar stirrings of disgust at the sight of her stained, wet chest and damp eyes, but there was pity too, and disbelief for her own situation. All night, she had been asking herself how things could have turned so completely wrong, and did so again. Why them? Why her? She closed her eyes for a second, and the scene, just minutes ago—and it had been just a few minutes—flashed before her. The speeding pegasus, the wicked tines aimed right at them, the field of magic, the bone-shattering force with which she threw him into the wall. She hadn’t known she was capable of magic that strong.

Had Twilight not reacted so strongly, or so immediately, she felt she would have lost her nerve. Only now was her body beginning to return to a normal, un-panicked state, but her mind was still awash in a tide of despair for the palace’s emptiness, and Rainbow’s absence. She buried her head in her hooves, and Pinkie leaned over and rubbed her back.

“How could this happen?” Fluttershy whimpered. “It’s just so horrible that ponies would do this to each other.”

Rarity looked up to respond, grateful for anything to pull her out of her own thoughts, and something caught her eye: a firework, distant, but right before her eyes. She squinted at it, not sure whether she had seen it properly. There had been no quickly ascending explosive that she had seen—it had simply happened in the air. Rarity studied the afterimage; it left more than just an impressive ring of color. In its wake, there was a faint ring of ethereal fire, filled with lines and crisscrosses arcing around a central, seven-pointed star. “Oh my Celestia,” she whispered, understanding.

“What is it, Rarity?” Pinkie asked, but Rarity gave no answer; her mind was racing. That ring of light was not residual magic from the firework; it was a sigil, though she knew not what kind. She turned to see whether Twilight had seen it too, but a flurry of motion drew her eyes back outwards. Streaming out of the ring’s center, like a torrent of black water, a swarm of armored pegasi filled the sky to join the dark waves of their fellows.

“Rarity?” Fluttershy asked.

“Come back to us, sugarcube,” Applejack said, leaning back to look at her.

“The fireworks aren’t fireworks,” Twilight said distantly, emotionlessly. “They’re a mechanism for delivering a summoning spell; after they explode, they leave a sigil, and that’s where the pegasi are coming from.” She paused and looked out over the grounds. “It’s probably the same arrangement on the ground, it’s just that we can’t see those.”

“Sigils again?” Pinkie said.

“That’s a huge army,” Rarity said, awestruck. “If they’ve been summoning like this since we woke up… whoever it is, they’ve been preparing for this for a while.”

“Look!” Applejack pointed out at the battlefield. At first, they didn’t see it, but then they did; bright pulses of white light flashing as fast as a drummer’s hooves, pounding the air with little thumps, and occasionally answered by the red-yellow burst of exploding fire. “Do you think it’s her?”

“Who else can make a scene like that?” Rarity asked, relief suddenly flooding over her like a salve. Celestia was alive, and fighting. The night itself seemed to throb with the raw power she was unleashing, and the whole situation suddenly felt a little safer in the extraordinary spectacle that the princess wielded.

“What’s she doin’?” Applejack asked, transfixed. Though the magic she cast was easy to see, Rarity could not spot Celestia. The chain of flashes slowly moved farther out, down the mountainside and into a crowded-looking hollow. It flashed twice more, and then a thin, white ribbon snaked up into the air and then vanished, so quickly that Rarity wasn’t sure whether she had imagined it.

She swiveled her head, and as she did so, the whole castle shook with a hoof-tingling, hair-curling, bridge-rattling impact.

“We’re under attack!” Pinkie squealed, diving to the ground and hiding behind Fluttershy, curled into a ball.

Applejack looked out over the rail cautiously. “Ah don’t think we are, Pinkie.”

“It’s Princess Celestia,” Twilight said, looking back at the tower. “At least, I hope it is. Follow me.”

They went after her, happy to leave the narrow bridge, and trotted down the stairs quickly; Twilight was moving fast enough to almost overbalance. When they reentered the great hall, the white diarch stood on the steps, waiting for them. Her elegance and radiance were dimmed somewhat, but her very presence still exuded strength and confidence; the room seemed to brighten with her in it.

They all ran to her, and Twilight was suddenly alive again, her trauma momentarily forgotten in a spray of questions. “Princess Celestia! What’s going on? Why are ponies attacking the city? Why did you send for us? Where’s Luna? Have you seen Rainbow Dash? Have—”

“Hush, my student,” Celestia said calmly, and Twilight did. They all stepped back. “Rainbow Dash is alive.” She held up a hoof to stay their excitement. “But this is not the place for explanation. For now, I must ask that you follow me. Quickly.” Behind the calm in her voice, there was urgency, and—Rarity dared not identify it in her conscious mind—fear.

She cantered quickly down the stairs and to the main entrance, where she paused to look around. They stopped awkwardly for her to do so, and, to Rarity, the gesture seemed more dire than any of the sights she had seen yet. The black army, the swarms of pegasi, the fight, the blood… all of it, strung together in a tapestry of horror, struck her less strongly than Celestia’s caution. How bad were things, really, if a princess could not leave her palace fearlessly?

When Celestia had decided that it was safe, she led them out into the entrance courtyard, past rows of abandoned guard posts and through a small side gate into a larger subset of the royal gardens, a horticultural ring around the palace for commoners and elites alike to relax and enjoy the delicate marvels of flowers, trees, and grasses that could not be found anywhere else in the city. Vines and shoots grew up along the white walls, forming a border around a soft, dewy lawn of short, shamrock green grass. An oasis in the war-field.

They passed a large statue of the princesses, standing confidently on a pedestal, set with jeweled representations of the Elements of Harmony. Their granite eyes were fixed ahead proudly, as if facing a future that they knew was theirs. As they got close, they each paused; apparently, the situation’s irony was not lost. Celestia urged them on, gesturing silently to an ivy-draped archway. She had to bend her neck to enter.

They went through into a small, circular lawn, empty save for a pair of narrow, short trees and a dark, stone bench in the corner. With a soft glow of her horn, a thin line burned to life in the grass, forming a shining, yellow square; they watched, fascinated, as it sunk into the ground with the mild grumbling of shifting soil. Its edges were perfect, like a slice cut from a cake. The hole sloped down into a gentle curve that led underground, the entire way carpeted with the same, soft grass, and its end black.

With a furtive look behind her, then up to the sky—still clear from pegasi—she went down, and they followed uncertainly. They walked until the meager starlight had entirely faded, and they followed the sound of the princess’ hoofsteps alone. Fluttershy was trembling and whimpering, and Rarity could hear someone—Pinkie, she suspected—moving her head around quickly. Her vertebrae creaked and her mane slapped against her neck, and Rarity was reminded of some sort of formless monster, an incorporeal slipping and sliding gust of wind or patter of water just behind her. She shivered at the thought, and tried to look back, though there was no light by which to see.

And then there was. A ring of torches suddenly came to life, and they were standing in a domed vault of hard-packed dirt and pebbles. Roots reached out from the walls, and fine, fan-like spreads of lichen grew in small patches near the corners. The room, however, was empty. Everyone groaned and shielded their eyes, and Celestia smiled apologetically. “My apologies. The room is enchanted to stay dark until you reach it. It lessens the possibility of someone reaching it by accident.”

Rarity didn’t know how that made any sense. Surely, if someone had found the tunnel, they would find the room. There seemed only one way to walk.

“Excuse me,” Celestia said, her horn glowing once more. There was an ethereal shimmer in the air, and everything seemed to slow down, as if they were suddenly underwater; before anypony could react, things returned to normal.

“What the hay was that?” Applejack said, looking around nervously.

“Fear not. I just cast a spell to slow down the passage of time in this room. Our time here will be too long otherwise.” She waited for them to process the information. “When we emerge from this bunker, not half an hour will have passed on the battlefield.”

“B-b-bunker?” Fluttershy asked, looking around fearfully. “Like a w-war bunker?”

“Not quite.”

“Princess,” Twilight said meekly, looking up at her with respect, but also sadness. “I thought you said to never cast spells that concerned the passage of time.”

“I did, my student, and my warnings against it still stand. But all’s fair in love and war, is it not?”

“So where are we, exactly?” Applejack asked.

“Underneath the palace,” Celestia said. She looked around, as if remembering. “I haven’t been here in over six hundred years.” She walked out to the room’s center. “This is an emergency preparation room. I have them hidden all over.”

“Why’s it empty?” Applejack asked.

“It isn’t. The entire room is under a liquid-dimensional enchantment.” Twilight gasped, and Celestia nodded to her. “That means that its shape and contents can change at my will.”

“An entire room,” Twilight whispered to herself. Celestia smiled.

“So… war,” Rarity said. She hated saying it. Celestia’s face turned serious once more.

“Yes. War has come to Canterlot.” Despite the obviousness of the statement, hearing it from the princess’ lips was different. What once had been a terrible, realistic nightmare was now confirmed—they were at war, truly, honestly, unquestionably. She gave them a moment. “It has caught me by surprise just as much as it has caught you, I am afraid. Twilight, when you received my letter, the fighting had been going on for only ten minutes.” Twilight nodded, and Rarity glanced over at her; her eyes were going distant again.

“How did it happen suddenly, though?” Fluttershy asked. “It’s not like armies just appear out of nowhere.”

“This one did,” Celestia said matter-of-factly. “It appears that the attacker has a summoning ring just around the palace, allowing the army to come in a single moment.” Her face darkened. “How something like that managed to go unnoticed, I do not know.” She paced restlessly before them. “As if that weren’t enough, he also has fireworks, which act as—”

“Tools to lay summoning circles in the air,” Twilight finished.

Celestia nodded, unfazed at the interruption. “Very good, Twilight. We were not expecting this, of course. How could we? But contingencies existed. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you any explanation, or direction for finding me; there simply wasn’t time.”

“It’s okay, princess,” Twilight said quietly. Celestia looked at her for a moment, brows knit.

“Luna and I have done our best to repel the army, but… at this point, it seems unstoppable. If something doesn’t change, they very well may crush us by sheer force of numbers.” Her voice dropped dangerously, and they watched her with wide eyes.

“Do you need us to use the Elements of Harmony?” Fluttershy asked.

“That was my original intent, yes.” She paused, chewing her lip; they all stared at her fearfully.

“On, no. Please, don’t tell us…” Applejack began.

“I tried to get the Elements of Harmony, but, when I reached the vault, they were gone.”

Everyone gasped, petrified by the news—not altogether unexpected, as far as Rarity was concerned. She was the first to recover her voice from the shock. “But that means that… because the only other one who can get to the Elements is Discord.”

Celestia nodded again, her face grave.

“Now how can that be possible?” Applejack demanded. “We imprisoned him in stone.”

Celestia sighed. “The power of chaos is not to be underestimated. He likely had contingencies in place when you imprisoned him last.” She thought for a moment. “How he did it is unimportant right now. We need to focus on defending Canterlot.”

“But how?” Pinkie asked.

“The six of you have been touched by the Elements. Even though you cannot wield them here, you still hold some of their power in you, which we need. I will teach you how to use it here, down in this bunker.”

“But, your highness, do you actually expect us to fight?” Rarity asked.

“I wish that circumstances were different.” They all exchanged eye contact, mingled looks of fear, disbelief, and, in Twilight’s case, dead resignation.

“What about Rainbow Dash?” Fluttershy asked at last.

“She’s fine, but very lucky. Princess Luna and I found her trying to outfly a group of pegasi, and helped her. Luna is bringing her back to the palace now.”

Rarity felt a small weight lift off her. “What an absolute relief. Is she at all injured?”

“Just tired,” Celestia rejoined with a tiny, motherly smile. “And it is here where we must stop talking for now. What I will tell you next must be said in the presence of all.”

“Ooh, a surprise?” Pinkie said.

“Yes, you could call it that, I suppose.”

Twilight looked up at her once more, sad-eyed. “Princess? Are you sure it’s Discord?”

“I haven’t seen him yet. But who else has the power to break into the Elements’ inner sanctum?”

“But he should still be imprisoned,” Pinkie said, her mane beginning to droop over a frown. “I mean, I saw him turn into stone.”

“We all did,” Rarity added.

“I am aware of what you saw.” Celestia sighed. “But there are no other conclusions for us to reach right now. The city is under attack and the Elements are gone.”

“So we’re gonna fight,” Applejack asked.

“I am afraid so.”

“But, your highness, if you’ll forgive me for saying so… that’s absurd,” Rarity said. “We’ve never fought anything in our lives.”

“You handled yourselves well enough on the balcony,” Celestia said, and everyone looked away. Twilight coughed awkwardly, and it turned into a stifled sound, like a small gasp of air. Celestia regarded her seriously, and then nodded. “I understand.”

Twilight only looked away with a stifled sob and a muttered apology.

“Can you do anything to help her?” Fluttershy asked quietly.

“Please, your highness,” Rarity added. She didn’t know why she said it. She knew she didn’t need to.

“Twilight, I… can put you under a trance, if you want. But I would really rather not.”

Twilight nodded confusedly, her face a haze of withheld tears and panic contained, only barely.

“I know what you had to do, my student. And you, Rarity.” She swept her gaze across the assemblage. “And you, Pinkie. It grieves me that you should be forced into such a thing.”

“Must we fight immediately?” Rarity asked.

“You have time slowed down here. Why can’t we wait a little bit?” Pinkie asked. “And, you know… recover.” They all nodded, looking at the princess pleadingly.

Celestia thought, studying them all with critical eyes. At length, she spoke, deliberately and with great seriousness. “I cannot make allotments for your recovery, especially through the use of a spell as dangerous as this. Were the situation any less desperate, I would, but there is no time.”

“But—”

“I must not think of you as friends, nor can you think of me in the same way.”

“Princess, what are you talking about?” Twilight asked.

“You will be given all the time you need to recover from the shock of what you have seen, and will see, tonight. But this is not the place for it.” She closed her eyes, and her horn glowed faintly, and she dropped her head, as if ashamed. “Please, forgive me.”

Her horn pulsed gently, and Rarity felt herself go momentarily dizzy. Her world spun for a second, and she saw her friends’ faces go slack.

“It is done.” They all looked at her, confused.

“What did you do?” Twilight asked, her voice and tone back to their normal curiosity.

“You are all temporarily enchanted. I will explain later. For now, there is no time.”

“Right. The battle,” Twilight said, sobering. “I understand.”

“What do you need us to do?” Applejack asked. Celestia looked at them all and smiled a bittersweet smile.

“I’ll explain the details when Rainbow has joined us. For now, know only that you will be on the battlefield, alongside the Royal Canterlot Army.”

“So we are fighting. Like, actual fighting,” Twilight said.

“Yes, but that is not to suggest that you will be behaving as common soldiers; you will merely share their space. No, the stations I have for you are much more important.”

“Oh,” Twilight said shortly.

“I sincerely apologize for all this,” Celestia said. “You must know that I was truly out of options when I summoned you, Twilight.”

“Yes, your highness.” She bowed, and Rarity looked at them all. Applejack appeared to hold onto a modicum of confidence, Pinkie still smiled, and Twilight looked cautiously comfortable, but Fluttershy looked to be about one word away from losing her nerve completely. Rarity felt just a couple steps behind.

“I know how this must look to you all, but I implore you, please don’t be afraid. You’re not now, but by the time we exit this bunker, you will be prepared to face the horrors that Discord has conjured.” Her words did not placate Rarity or Fluttershy, but they smiled nervously at her nonetheless. “I hate to do this, girls, but I must go up and see if Luna has returned.”

“Will she come down here?” Applejack asked.

“No. She’s leading the army in my stead.”

“But you’ll bring Rainbow Dash down to us, right?” Pinkie asked.

“Yes, I will.” She went to the bunker’s entrance, the long, narrow, dark hallway of dirt and grass. “This will feel like about ten minutes to you, but it will be maybe two for me. Please don’t worry, and please don’t come up to check on me.” She hesitated. “If it makes you feel any better, you’ll know if I’m dying above you. All of Equestria would know.”

“What does that mean?” Rarity asked.

“Just that you haven’t yet seen me exerting the fullness of my power. I rarely do. But if I am to die… you would.” She gave a charming, mischievous wink. “So don’t worry. If you don’t hear from me, I’m okay.” She calmly glided down the corridor.

In the abrupt silence, they looked at one another, none of them daring to break the quiet. At last, it was Pinkie who relieved them. “I thought we killed Discord,” she said in an uncharacteristically temperate voice.

Twilight shook her head. “No, we didn’t kill him. We just imprisoned him in stone.”

“But how did he get out?” Rarity asked.

“Maybe Princess Celestia’s not telling us everything,” Fluttershy said.

“Does she ever?” Applejack grumbled.

“Now, girls, we can’t start thinking like that,” Twilight said. “I’m sure Princess Celestia has a good reason for any secrets she keeps.”

“I suppose you were right, Pinkie. We do need to cooperate tonight,” Rarity said.

Pinkie shrugged. “Lucky guess?”

“I still can’t believe she wants us to fight for her,” Fluttershy said, sounding upset. “Does she really think that she can just turn us into machines of war like that?”

“We don’t even know what she’s going to do yet,” Twilight said. “She’ll probably just show us some spells and tell us to help her command the others.”

“She said we were on the ground with the other soldiers,” Rarity said.

“But I don’t want to fight,” Fluttershy said. “I don’t want to have any part of any kind of war.” She sniffled loudly. “I don’t even want to be here. Twilight, why is this happening?”

“I wish I knew, Fluttershy,” she said, going in to hug her. “At this point, I don’t think we have much of a choice except to go along with the princess.”

“Ah gotta agree with Twilight. It ain’t like we can just pack up an’ go home, an’ pretend we’re not there when Celestia knocks,” Applejack said.

“Yeah, that would be silly!” Pinkie chimed in.

“I still cannot believe she expects us to join her army. We’re simply not built for fighting; I thought she knew that,” Rarity said.

“She’s just desperate,” Twilight said. “We’re her last option. And I mean her last option.”

“It’s ‘cause Discord sprung this on her,” Applejack said. “Forcin’ her to use us before any of us are ready.”

“You’re making it sound like he knew what he was doing,” Rarity said.

“Maybe he did. All that’s important right now, though, is bein’ ready to do our best out there.”

“Applejack’s right,” Twilight said, looking back at the bunker’s entrance.

“What kind of enchantment do you think she used on us?” Pinkie asked.

“Oh, darling, I don’t want to know. Hopefully it’s just something small,” Rarity said.

They sat quietly for a moment, and looked around. For a war bunker, Rarity thought, the whole room was strangely barren. No seats, no weapons, no armor, not even reinforcement on the walls or ceilings—just torches. She counted twelve. She looked up and studied the roots above her, and it seemed that they were the only things holding the place together. She wondered how far underground they were.

“Do you think Princess Celestia really has that much power?” Fluttershy eventually asked.

“I’m sure she does,” Twilight said.

“Why would she not use it out there, though?” Rarity asked. “If she has enough power to let the entire country know if she’s in trouble, she should be able to end this battle easily.”

“I think she doesn’t want to hurt anyone,” Twilight said. “According to my studies, alicorns possess the greatest amount of equine magic, which, among other things, gives them immensely extended lifespans. In Understanding Alicorns: A Study of Divinity in Magic, chapter five, the author says that because of this extended life, alicorns slowly lose touch with other ponies. Because they live on while their friends and family die, they eventually, necessarily, develop an emotional barrier to protect themselves from bereavement. Now take that and add it to the fact that, because they live for so long, they stop perceiving time in the same way we do. For us, a year is a year, but for an alicorn like Celestia, who’s lived for so long, a year is more like an hour.”

“Is this goin’ somewhere?” Applejack asked.

“The combination of those two things makes the alicorn steadily disassociate from reality, until we’re left with a creature with godlike powers and no real connection to the ponies it lives with.”

“So she’s afraid to let herself go full-force because she’s not sure if she could keep her power under control?” Rarity said.

“Exactly! I’m sure, if she wanted to, she could tear the country apart. But she has to temper her power with compassion for everyone else.”

“Rainbow Dash!” Applejack yelled, sprinting past Twilight to the bunker’s entrance. They turned to see her clasping Rainbow in a crushing embrace.

“Okay, Applejack, okay,” Rainbow said awkwardly, struggling out of it. “I missed you too.”

“Rainbow, are you okay?” Fluttershy asked, flying rapidly over for a hug of her own.

“I’m fine, Fluttershy, really.”

“We were so worried about you! Where did you go?” Pinkie Pie said, bounding up to Rainbow for her turn.

“All right, all right, guys! Geez, this is getting way too mushy,” Rainbow said, flying up and over to the other side of the room. She sighed and brushed herself off. “After I warned you about the pegasi, I went back to try to divert them, but they didn’t chase me. They didn’t go after you, did they?”

“No, thankfully,” Twilight said. “We managed to get to the palace balcony without any trouble.”

“Thank Celestia. I didn’t see what happened, so when I saw the balloon floating away without its basket, I was pretty worried.”

“We just cut it off to descend more quickly,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But while you guys were having fun, I was getting chased. I was way faster, of course, but it was still pretty nerve-racking.” She took a few moments to catch her breath. “Sorry. I’m still a little tired.”

“You’re tired, Dashie?” Pinkie cried, stopping her orbiting bounce.

“You try flyin’ out there. It’s like a hurricane in a blender. You can’t stop, unless you wanna get skewered.” She exhaled again, and in that instant, her front dropped; she was still shaken. “I’m just glad I only had a couple ponies after me.”

“They must have been too focused on fighting,” Twilight said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, probably.”

“When did Celestia and Luna find you?” Applejack asked.

“I dunno. I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the passage of time, AJ.”

“She had been flying for several minutes,” Celestia said from the threshold.

“Yeah, sure. I would have tried to get back to you guys earlier, but we kind of got grounded.”

“I’m a much more important target than Rainbow Dash, I’m afraid,” Celestia said with a wry smile. “The army took notice of me quite… vigorously.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

“But we are safe for the moment—so to speak. Now, my little ponies, are you ready to begin?”

“Ah guess. Did ya fill Rainbow in on everythin’?” Applejack asked.

“I did.”

Applejack sighed. She sounded tired. “Then let’s get to it.”

“Thank you, Applejack. I know this is hard. So, tonight, we fight. You all know this.” They all nodded. “In order to get an idea of how you would be best used, I first must reach into your minds and get a sense of what kinds of magic you are all capable of. I’m going to construct my strategy based around that.” They looked at her fearfully, and she chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’s a simple spell. However, I need a moment of silence, please.”

They watched quietly as she closed her eyes and lowered her horn, pointing it directly across their heads. It glowed softly for about twenty seconds, and as it dulled, she kept her head bowed, her face moving slightly in thought. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at them, contrite.

“I was afraid of this.”

“What’s wrong, Princess?” Twilight asked.

“The distribution of magic across you all is not very even.”

“Well, only two of us are unicorns,” Rarity said. Celestia continued to look at Twilight, and her eyes flicked over to Pinkie as well.

“I… apologize for this. Twilight, my faithful student, and Pinkie Pie, this… well, there’s no way to say it gently. The fate of the battle will mostly rest on you.”

“Wait, what?” Twilight cried.

“I feel I should say this early, so you have time to mentally prepare yourselves.”

The Princess' Idea

Chapter Four

The Princess’ Idea

They stared at her speechlessly. “Why are we so important to the battle’s outcome?” Twilight asked, her expression a mixture of desperation and terror.

“My dear student, you are the most powerful unicorn here.” She spoke as if she didn’t need to explain further.

“But what about Pinkie?”

“Yes, Pinkie.” She looked at the pony with cautious interest. “In order to understand her, I need to explain something.” Rainbow groaned and rolled her eyes, and Twilight leaned forward. “All ponies contain, within their subconscious, the potential for magic. However, while a unicorn can access it with her horn, it remains locked away for a pegasus or earth pony.” She once again looked at Pinkie. “For Pinkie here, however, this is not the case.”

Twilight looked at the princess as if she had struck her. “Pinkie has magic?”

“I have magic?”

“But how is that possible?” Rarity asked, looking at the pink pony uncertainly.

“Every now and again, a pony is born without the natural, mental barrier between her subconscious and her ability to use magic. I believe the statistic is one in every half million.”

“Is it natural?” Rainbow asked.

“Oh, yes. Unusual, but natural.”

She paused, and Pinkie looked around, face blank. “But… but, I don’t. I’m just plain ol’ Pinkie Pie, no magic at all.” She raised her hooves in a shrug, as if to show her lack of magic by their emptiness. Celestia shook her head patiently.

“Ah guess it makes a lot of sense,” Applejack said slowly. “She has always been good at… whatever she does.” Pinkie withered slightly, shaking her head.

“Producing parties out of thin air,” Rarity said.

“And keeping up with me, even though I’m the fastest flyer in Equestria,” Rainbow said.

“Not to mention her Pinkie sense,” Twilight said.

“And her ability to pop up unexpectedly from nowhere,” Fluttershy added.

Pinkie frowned. “But that’s not magic,” she said meekly.

“Then what is it?” Twilight asked.

“It’s just, you know, normal stuff. I grew up with it. It’s nothing special.” “Pinkie, if it’s so normal, how come you never see us do it?” Rainbow asked. Her voice was free of judgment and impatience.

“I dunno. I always assumed you chose not to ‘cause you never needed it.”

Rarity laughed in spite of the room’s seriousness. “Goodness, no, Pinkie. Trust me, if I could do the stuff you can, I would. All the time.”

“You have a gift, child,” Celestia said.

Pinkie rolled her eyes. “Oookay, so… maybe I am magical. But why do I go with Twilight? Wouldn’t Rarity be better for it?”

Celestia smiled warmly. “No, and this is the second thing I must explain. You see, Pinkie, for a pony like you—a pony with no barrier between thought and magic—the issue of magical capacity becomes somewhat moot.”

Pinkie tilted her head to the side. “Huh?”

“A pony’s magical capacity is determined by the strength of her subconscious barrier. If the barrier is strong, she has less potential than if the barrier is weak.”

“Oooh, I get it,” Twilight said. “So since Pinkie doesn’t have a barrier at all, her capacity is basically… oh, wow.”

“Without putting too fine a point on it, Pinkie, if you can think it, you can do it.”

Pinkie only stared, and the others stared at her. As the information sunk in, her expression grew ill: at once confused and dismayed, and not completely trusting of the princess’ words.

“That is, of course, if you learn to focus. That’s the one thing stopping you from becoming truly formidable.”

“What do you mean, ‘focus’?” Applejack asked.

“I mean focus her magic, as well as her thoughts.” She looked at Pinkie. “Pinkie, if you put your mind to it, you might have enough power to rival me.” Her voice grew stern for a moment. “And I don’t say that lightly.”

“Wait wait wait,” Rainbow said. “I’m still tryin’ to get my head around that first part, and now you say that she has enough power to rival you? As in, enough power to rival the goddess that raises the sun every day.”

“That’s right, Rainbow Dash.”

“Hang on.” Pinkie held up her hooves. “You said I’d be that powerful if I could focus my magic, but I can’t. Not really, anyway.”

“Pinkie, you use magic all the time. Apparently,” Applejack said.

“Well, sure, maybe. But that’s, you know, normal. Not like Twilight does, like all serious and concentrating-y and stuff. I just do it. It’s natural.”

“It is not your focus that needs work; you have enough of that to get by,” Celestia said. “In fact, I am not so certain that more focus would be a good thing. More discipline, perhaps, but not focus.”

“Why not?”

Celestia turned grave. “Pinkie, the amount of power you wield is no laughing matter. Given your… scatterbrained tendencies, I think we would all be more comfortable if you didn’t develop it too much.”

Pinkie laughed, relieved. “Oh, okay. That won’t be a problem. I can be responsible.” She waved a hoof dismissively. “Pinkie Responsible Diane Pie! That’s me!”

“I appreciate your attitude, Pinkie, but this is no joke. You could do serious damage with your power.”

“Don’t worry, Princess! You can count on me! I bet I won’t even use my magic half the time!”

“That’s gratifying to hear.” She gave Pinkie a smile, which she returned enthusiastically.

“So… what exactly is she supposed to do?” Twilight asked.

“I think it’s just a matter of learning a couple spells for the battle.”

“Oh, right,” Pinkie said, the excitement faded from her voice. “That.” She looked up at the earth ceiling, and for a moment, everyone remembered what was going on outside. “What kind of spells?”

“We will get to that, later.” The princess addressed the others. “So, Pinkie and Twilight will go together, on the battlefield.”

“Wait! You can’t do that!” Fluttershy cried. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. Um, anyway, you can’t do that. It’s… it’s too dangerous for them out there, your highness.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Fluttershy. That’s where Rarity comes in.”

A cold weight plummeted into Rarity’s gut. “Me?”

“You, Rarity, have a brand of magic most suited for area defense. I feel you would be best following Twilight and Pinkie Pie, using your magic to shield them.”

“Out… out there?”

“Yes.”

Rarity looked at the two ponies, for whom she was suddenly responsible, and then up at her horn. “How am I supposed to protect them when I don’t even know any spells?” She looked worriedly at the princess.

“What about Rainbow Dash, and Applejack, and Fluttershy?” she asked. “Am I protecting them too?”

“No. They will not be your concern.” Rarity’s jaw dropped, and the others gasped.

“So what are we, then?” Rainbow asked indignantly.

“You don’t expect us to go runnin’ out in the middle of that without any protection, do ya?” Applejack demanded.

“Of course not, Applejack. You will be enchanted before leaving,” Celestia said.

“So why not enchant all of us, and save Rarity the danger?” Rainbow asked.

“An enchantment can only go so far, Rainbow Dash. Rarity will offer more protection than that. She must.”

Rainbow frowned bitterly. “So Rarity’s being saved for Twilight and Pinkie, ‘cause they’re more important.”

“They will be in greater danger.”

“And we won’t?”

“You will not be expected to fight as much, no.”

“Why’s that?” Applejack asked.

“You do not have as much magic.” Her tone was neutral, almost distant. Rarity supposed it was to be expected; her mind was likely on the battle.

“What do you mean, not as much magic?” Rainbow said.

“You still have some, but your talents—non-magical talents, I mean—are more suited to watching and directing. While Twilight and Pinkie fight, you two will help by telling them where to go, and by giving them warnings.”

Rainbow opened her mouth to respond, but thought for a moment, and shut it.

“You all need not worry. You are down here to learn the spells you’ll need. By the time we go back up, you will be prepared.” She looked at each of them, and went on. “Twilight, Pinkie, and Rarity: I will magically connect you so that, if necessary, you can teleport to each other quickly. That is not license to separate from one another, just an option in case you do get split. Try to stay together as much as you can.”

“Yes, your highness,” Twilight said reverently, and Rarity only nodded. She was still trying to process her new responsibility.

“Good. Fluttershy, I am sorry, but your magic is most suited for healing. You, too, will be in the thick of things.”

“Go figure,” Rainbow said.

“Oh, um… oh dear. I don’t know if that’s good,” Fluttershy said, blushing and hiding behind her mane. She mumbled something that none of them picked up.

“It’s a simple enough job. You just need to fly around and tend to the wounded. Try not to stay in any one place for too long.”

“Do I get any defense?”

“You’ll receive the same enchantment as Rainbow and Applejack.”

“Oh.”

Rainbow raised her hoof. “Question. If we’re just Twilight’s eyes, do we really need to be out there?”

“I am afraid so. I need you all there, to be ready to help Twilight at a moment’s notice. I’ll explain why shortly.” She turned directly to Rarity, who swallowed nervously. “Rarity, in the event that Twilight and Pinkie get separated, I want you to follow Pinkie in every instance, unless directed otherwise.”

“Princess!” Twilight said, shocked and hurt.

“I’m sorry, Twilight, but I cannot afford to look at you all as friends right now. It would cloud my judgment, and nothing loses a battle faster than that.”

“But I’m your best student.” Her voice went quiet and soft in a tone that Rarity recognized, but heard very rarely; Celestia had really hurt her.

“I know, Twilight, but please try to see this from my side.” She turned back to Rarity. “Pinkie has more power than Twilight, and she’s also our last resort—I’ll explain that in a bit. For now, Rarity, we’ll say if she falls, Canterlot won’t be long behind.”

Rarity looked up at her, then to Pinkie, standing a bit to the side with a tentative smile. “I… see.” She then looked to Twilight briefly, but received no acknowledgement.

“Twilight, I know you’re upset right now, but there’s something else you need to know.”

“I’m listening.” Her voice was dry and uninterested.

“If things don’t go well, I’m going to rely on you and Pinkie to work together to bring the battle to a swift and conclusive end.”

“And how would we do that?”

“If it comes to it, I need you to use a power-enhancement spell on Pinkie, the biggest spell you can possibly cast.”

“The biggest spell I can possibly cast.” Twilight thought. “Well, if you really want me to reach my limit, I’ll need to use a sigil.”

“I was going to suggest the very same.”

“It’ll be pretty big.”

“I know. That’s why I want the others able to come in and help you. If you have to use a sigil—and I hope not—but if you do, you’ll need to have as many ponies around you as you can, for protection.”

“And what exactly is Pinkie supposed to do with all that power?”

Celestia sighed. “Unfortunately… I cannot say.”

Twilight paused, not sure how to respond. She looked, once more, as if Celestia had slapped her. “H—how? How can you not know something like that?”

“You must understand, my student, that Pinkie’s power is not something that can be easily controlled. Even less so once you’ve enchanted her. The amount of power we’re dealing with cannot be practiced at her current magical level.”

Twilight sighed loudly. “Why not?”

“The spells simply don’t translate down. And we can’t enchant her here.”

“Why not?”

“Because the spell I expect you to cast is not one that can be done twice in so short a time.”

Twilight looked at her for a minute, her hoof idly scratching the ground. She gave a heavy sigh. “I understand. I guess.”

“I am truly sorry that it has to be like this.”

“Um, can I ask another question?” Rainbow asked, looking cautiously between the two of them. Celestia nodded to her. “Why don’t we just have Pinkie do her thing immediately?”

“Because it comes with very, very high risks. Even assuming we can clear enough room for Twilight to draw the sigil, and assuming she can cast the spell properly, there’s the threat of Pinkie having too much power to handle. The plan could backfire, and she could hurt us, or herself. Not to mention the possibility that Twilight overexerts herself. If that happens, she could get hurt, or even die.”

“Wait, you want the spell to be so big that I might kill myself?” Twilight cried, a new flare of indignation in her voice.

“I am sorry, my student, but yes.”

Twilight looked at her, then at the others, frantic and upset. “Are you serious? Is she serious?”

“Twilight, please,” Celestia said. “I know it is a shock, but—”

“Yeah, it’s a shock! Princess! How could you?”

“There is no other way to be certain that Pinkie has enough power,” Celestia said firmly. “Twilight, if I could help more, I would, but I need to be alongside my sister. I cannot cast your spell for you.”

“That isn’t what I asked,” Twilight said, averting her eyes and blushing darkly. She sat that way for a moment, and then breathed out huffily. “What else do I need to do?”

“That’s my plan, in basic,” Celestia said. “Do you all understand your roles so far?” The response was noncommittal from them all. “Good. Now, I must unlock the magic in the rest of you.”

“Unlock our magic?” Applejack repeated.

“Wait, won’t that make them like Pinkie?” Rarity asked.

“No. Pinkie has no block in her subconscious, and I am leaving that with you all. I am merely allowing you to express yourselves magically, through that block.” Celestia thought for a moment. “You could think of it like me giving you an invisible horn, I suppose. Just a means to use magic, not a total opening of potential.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Twilight said shortly.

“It takes a very powerful spell to unlock a pony’s magical ability, and very few are able to cast it. I doubt even you could do it, Twilight.”

“No, I don’t suppose I could,” she said quietly.

“I must warn you three, however. The process may not be entirely pleasant. Different ponies have different reactions, and there’s no way to know how you will react to my spell beforehoof.” She gave an encouraging smile. “But it’s not dangerous. Who wants to go first?”

“Ah thought RD an’ Ah didn’t have enough magic,” Applejack said.

“No, you do not have a lot of magic. You still have some—a not-insignificant amount. It may seem small, compared to Twilight and Pinkie, but even a small burst of telekinesis can be enough to save your lives.”

At first, no one did anything; they all looked at one another, waiting for someone else to step up. Rarity didn’t show it, but she felt relieved. The idea of undergoing a spell to have one’s magic unlocked frightened her.

“I’ll go,” Rainbow said at last, stepping over to the princess. They stirred momentarily, but kept quiet, and Celestia touched her horn to Rainbow’s head.

“Just relax,” she whispered, and Rainbow closed her eyes, whether willingly or by magical compulsion Rarity couldn’t tell. For thirty seconds, the scene persisted: Rainbow, head bowed and eyes closed, with Celestia’s horn resting on her crown like a thin-ended valve into her skull, glowing brilliantly. Like she was receiving a blessing.

As soon as Celestia broke the connection, Rainbow’s knees buckled, and she went to the floor, hard, gasping and grimacing.

“Rainbow! Are you okay?” Fluttershy ran over to help her, but all she could respond with was an inarticulate retching sound. “Oh no, oh no,” Fluttershy murmured as she tried to inspect the writhing pegasus. “Did something go wrong with the spell?”

“No, the spell worked perfectly. It appears Rainbow Dash just happens to have a very… touchy brand of magic to her,” Celestia said calmly.

“What can we do?”

“Wait for the pain to subside, I’m afraid. No amount of magic can change what she’s feeling.”

Everyone watched, alarmed, as Fluttershy gave Rainbow her hoof, which she held tightly between her own, squeezing and twisting like a rubber toy. Her face was screwed up in agony, her eyes leaking silent tears, her nose wrinkled, sweat dripping down her brow. She worked her back legs, pushing herself along the ground weakly, like a dying machine. Her wings flapped slowly and languidly, and she tried to roll over onto her back. Through it all, Fluttershy offered no resistance, keeping her hoof trapped in Rainbow’s pain-strengthened grip.

Suddenly, she jerked her head back and forth, the cords of her neck standing out boldly, and released a scream, dismal and guttural, more like a cry of sorrow than of pain. Fluttershy tried to lean in to say something comforting, but Rainbow’s thrashing forced her to keep back.

Her scream went into a low, dying whine, and she slowly stopped squirming. When she was done, she lay on her back, gasping and panting. She coughed and opened her eyes, and Fluttershy helped her sit up, rubbing her back. Rainbow shook her head again, this time to clear it, and slowly refocused her vision. Everyone watched her with fear and discomfort—Pinkie looked to be on the verge of tears.

“Rainbow?” Fluttershy asked timidly. Rainbow closed her eyes again, tight, and reopened them.

“What happened?” Twilight asked nervously.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“How do you feel?” Celestia asked.

“Terrible.” Celestia nodded at her to go on. “And a little… floaty, I guess. My head feels like it’s not completely connected to my body.”

“Can you see straight?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Can you describe your experience? Oh, um, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll try. It’s kinda blurry.” She rubbed her head, and Fluttershy started, as if expecting another attack of pain. “As soon as the princess took her horn off me, my heart started going crazy, like beating really fast, and then it started hurting. It was like… I could feel my heartbeat, but instead of pumping blood or whatever, it was pumping pain.” She paused. “That’s not quite right. But you get the idea. And then… let’s see here. My stomach started hurting too, like it was splitting, and so did my head. I stopped feeling much else around then.” She coughed again, and Fluttershy rubbed a sympathetic hoof up and down her back.

“That sounds horrible,” Twilight said, sending another frown at Celestia.

“Are you sure you’re okay, darling?” Rarity asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. It’s pretty much done.“ She looked up at Celestia with a slight scowl.

“I am sorry, Rainbow Dash.”

“What kind of magic do I have, then? It better be good. Uh, your highness.”

“Actually, your magic is fairly basic.”

“Basic?”

“You don’t have much, but what you do have is most suited for telekinesis.”

“Like Twilight.”

“Similar. Yours is more… raw. Even cultivated, as theirs is, your magic will not be as delicate.”

“Uh… huh.”

“Of course, you will need to do some experimentation and study, to fully understand.”

Rainbow slumped to the ground unhappily. “Well, that’s great.”

“You may come to enjoy it, Miss Dash.” Celestia looked at Applejack and Fluttershy. “Who next?”

“Now, to clarify,” Applejack said, flicking her eyes to Rainbow, “what happened to her ain’t gonna happen to us. Is that right?”

“Most likely, yes.”

“Well… all right.” Applejack stepped forward. “Ah s’pose Ah’ll go next. Fluttershy oughta stay with Rainbow fer now.” She walked up to the princess and removed her hat, placing it by her side. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I know you’re afraid, Applejack, but it’s important that you relax.”

“Ah’m tryin’, yer highness.”

Celestia gave her a minute, then leaned down and touched her horn to Applejack’s head. Applejack winced. “This shouldn’t take too long.” Her horn came to life, and Applejack was covered with lambent, white light. For two minutes, Celestia kept her horn pressed to Applejack’s forehead, her eyes closed in concentration.

When Applejack was released, she simply flopped to the ground, her eyes open but unseeing, her body motionless save for a light rise and fall of her chest.

“Applejack!” Twilight cried, rushing forward. “Is she okay, Princess?”

“Yes, Twilight, she is fine.”

“What kind of reaction is this?” Rarity asked. She was liking the unlocking process less and less.

“Total disassociation,” Celestia said calmly.

“What is she experiencing?” Fluttershy asked.

“Probably not a whole lot. She’s lost in whatever she’s looking at at the moment, and I think she will be for a couple minutes. Let’s just let her be.”

They did as they were bidden, watching Applejack wordlessly. To Rarity, it seemed strange and uncomfortable. She felt the urge to go to her and make sure she was okay, or help her up, or at least confirm again that she would be well soon, but resisted it—and she didn’t know quite why. Everything was quiet; she could hear the others breathing, all calm, and she looked once more at Celestia.

“Um, your highness, are you sure this is good for us?” Rainbow asked.

“I know it looks bad, but after the initial shock has passed, you will all be fine. I promise.”

“Hmph.”

For another, interminable minute, Applejack was motionless, and then she stirred. Fluttershy went to her and helped her up, placing her Stetson back on her head gingerly.

“She’s fine, I assure you,” Celestia said.

“I know,” Fluttershy said, her brow furrowed. When Applejack had stood, Fluttershy looked her over. “Um, how are you feeling, Applejack?”

“Weird.”

“What happened?” Rarity asked.

“Ah just sort of… lost touch with everythin’.” She looked at the ground. “An’ Ah guess Ah fell over.”

“So what kind of magic is it?” Rainbow asked.

“Dissociative reactions generally point to a more suggestive kind of magic.”

“Suggestive?”

“Like possession,” Twilight said dully. “Or mind-reading.”

“A very delicate brand of magic,” Celestia said knowingly.

Applejack only looked at her. “Ah don’t feel any different.”

“You shouldn’t. At least, not until you begin casting.”

“Er, yes, when are we going to get to that?” Rarity asked. “Soon, I should think.”

“As soon as I’ve unlocked Fluttershy’s magic, we can begin.” She looked at Fluttershy, who cringed slightly. “Fluttershy, are you ready?”

“Oh, um, I guess so.” She hesitated, and then timidly approached the princess. Like the others, Celestia touched Fluttershy with her horn, and they stood together for a minute, Fluttershy trembling and cracking her eyes open to look up at the princess’ serene expression.

When Celestia plucked her horn away, Fluttershy gasped and reeled back, eyes open and startled, and Applejack caught her. “Fluttershy? What’s goin’ on?”

Fluttershy’s mouth worked, but produced no words. She stood still for a moment, but then began to shiver, at first only slightly, in small, tight, limb-contracting vibrations. Applejack held her as the shivers overtook her, her hooves and wings shaking and stuttering uncontrollably as she released tiny gasps that put Rarity’s fur on edge. Was she in pain, or pleasure? It only lasted a minute, and when she calmed down, she accepted a hug from Applejack, and slid to the floor. Her eyes were squeezed closed, and Rarity could tell that it had not been a good experience.

Rainbow stood between her and the princess, mesmerized. “Fluttershy, are you okay? What happened?”

“Oh, it was awful,” she said quietly, her voice still tremulous from her reaction. “It felt like being dunked in really, really cold water.” She shivered once more, and Applejack rubbed her back.

“Are you okay now?” Celestia asked.

“Oh, um, I think so.”

“Good. Now please join the others. I am sorry; I would like to give you all a little more time to recover, but time is… not something we have a lot of right now. We must get to the next part of our preparations.”

“What part is that?” Rarity asked warily. She thought she knew.

“Now, you learn how to focus your magic. Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Rainbow said. Her voice was a little hoarse.

“Well, you won’t be able to focus it as well as Twilight or Rarity; that kind of focus requires years of practice, and we only have a few minutes. I’ll teach you enough to get by, though. Luckily for us, war is messy, so your magic can be too.” She smiled and winked, but nopony smiled back. “Twilight, I want you to partner up with Applejack. Rarity, you take Rainbow Dash. I’ll handle Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy. Now, we’re showing them how to focus their magic, but no specific spells yet. Just get in touch with the magic inside.” They broke up into their groups.

“How are you feeling, Rainbow?” Rarity asked quietly. She felt guilty for not being by any of their sides as they endured Celestia’s spell.

“Much better now, thanks.”

“Good. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I can’t imagine what it was like.”

“It’s all good, Rare.”

“Well, good. Now then.” Rarity cleared her throat importantly. “To begin, you don’t just jump in and start casting spells. I remember when I started using magic, it took me a very long time to get used to it. Let’s start with finding our magic.”

“What do you mean?”

“You see, Rainbow Dash, magic is a lot like singing. Before you can start singing, you need to find your breath, and before you can start casting spells, you need to find your magic.”

“I… guess that makes sense?”

“It’s all a matter of focus, Rainbow, darling. Now, I don’t believe there’s anything different from how I use magic and from how you will.”

“Okay, but how do I focus?”

“Let me finish. I don’t think your magic is any different from mine, so I’ll teach you the same way my mother taught me. Now, Rainbow, close your eyes, and relax. You’re going to get in touch with the magic inside.”

Rainbow closed her eyes a little reluctantly. Rarity waited a moment to make sure she was actually going along with her instructions, and then did the same herself. She took a second to clear her own mind, difficult with the background noise, the fatigue, and the dread that, while dulled by the safety and isolation the bunker afforded, still pressed inwards on her heart with a dark weight.

“Let’s start with breathing, Rainbow. I want you to concentrate on your breathing, and nothing else.” Her voice became soft, and she stifled a yawn. “Let no other thought occupy your mind, except breathing.”

She heard Rainbow’s breathing slow, and tried to make her own do the same. In time, she spoke again. She remembered being a filly, and her mother guiding her through the same meditative process. She spoke slowly and gently. “Feel the weight of your hooves on the floor. Feel the way it supports them. Feel the way your hooves support your legs, and feel the way your legs support your body.” She paused for Rainbow to center herself. “Feel the air in your lungs. Take a deep breath, and feel your lungs expand in your chest.” Rainbow did so, and she followed along. “Let your mind go wherever it wants. Forget your worries, and your cares. Forget everything that may stress you out, or frighten you. Forget the room you’re in, and forget the ponies you’re with. Let my voice be your guide.” She gave Rainbow a moment. “Don’t think about magic. Don’t think about fighting, or the princess. Wherever your mind wants to go, allow it.”

They sat together quietly for a few minutes. Rarity couldn’t tell how Rainbow was doing, but her own body wanted to go back to sleep. She shook her head minutely to try to wake herself up. “Now that you’re empty, you can feel the magic within you. Feel the power that your own confidence can give you. Realize that you can accomplish anything you want, as long as you know you have that power.” She gave Rainbow another moment. “When I tell you to open your eyes, I want you to remember that feeling of power and certainty. That is the key to using your magic.” She heard Rainbow’s mane swish up and down in a nod, and gave her one more moment. “Are you ready? Open your eyes.” They both did, and Rainbow looked around the room uncertainly. “Do you remember that feeling, Rainbow?”

Rainbow rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” Rarity looked over at the others. Celestia and Fluttershy were smiling and congratulating Pinkie, while Twilight was telling Applejack not to lose hope. “And how did it feel?”

“I dunno. Kind of like how you said—confidence. Like, I felt like I could do something, even though I didn’t know what. Am I making any sense?”

“Would you say you felt more competent, perhaps?”

“Yeah! Competence, that’s a good way to put it.”

“Good. That’s the feeling you want.”

“Awesome. But how do I use it?”

“Let’s worry about that later. For now, we need to keep practicing finding our magic.”

“Aw, do I have to?”

“Rainbow Dash, you don’t usually have five minutes to find your magic, and you certainly won’t tonight. You need to do it instantly.”

Rainbow sighed. “Okay, okay. Let’s go again.”

“Good. Take a moment to relax, and then close your eyes.”

Rarity talked Rainbow through another meditative session. When they were done, the others had gone quiet, watching them curiously. Rarity blushed and laughed nervously, but no one said anything. When they were ready, Celestia addressed them all once more.

“As you know, you don’t have time to get really, properly good at casting spells. Applejack, Rainbow Dash, for you two, this is no large concern. You really only need to be able to repel an attacker.” She looked at Fluttershy, who shrunk. “Not you, though, Fluttershy. You need to be able to heal with some skill.”

“Oh, um… oh no. I’m not sure if I can.”

“You can. I will work with you.”

“What about the rest of us?” Rainbow asked.

“There is a single spell that I would like all of you to learn.” She looked back at the far wall, her horn glowing briefly. With a grinding, grumbling sound, it opened outward into a long, grassy courtyard, lined with amorphous wooden structures. A phantom moonlight shone from above, though Rarity could not discern the source; they were still underground.

The Precipice of Victory or Defeat

Chapter Six

The Precipice of Victory or Defeat

“Can anypony see anything?” Twilight asked, craning her neck to examine the sky. Her head felt weird and heavy in the armor.

“Everything looks okay from here,” Rarity said. They stopped before the giant, gilded double doors to the main road into the city. No one moved to open them.

“How are we gonna do this?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight was long in answering. “Once we’re out onto the battlefield, we won’t be able to talk things over. Fluttershy, Rainbow, I think you’ll be safest above us. Not far above us, just… above us. Maybe a couple feet. Applejack, stay nearby, but don’t get in the way. Rarity, we’re counting on you to protect us, but remember to watch out for yourself too. We’ll try not to put it all on you.”

“I understand,” Rarity said quietly.

Twilight thought, searching for more to say. Anything to put off opening the gates. “Applejack, cover our backs. Let us know if something’s coming up behind us.”

“You got it, Twi.”

“Rainbow… you can see everything else, so…”

“Don’t worry, Twilight.”

“Yeah. Um… so, are we ready?” She looked at them all, and they looked back at her. Fluttershy’s eyes were blank, and Rainbow’s jumped around nervously. Pinkie smiled distantly, and Rarity merely stared at the doors behind Twilight. Applejack met her eyes and smiled.

“Let’s get out there,” Applejack said gently. “We’re just wastin’ time now.”

“Right,” Twilight said, looking up at the entryway. They could hear the fighting in the distance, filling the night like unseen wind. From within the palace’s protection, everything still seemed peaceful. Behind the courtyard walls, there were no signs of unrest; the skies were clear.

Twilight pushed the doors open and faced the road out into the city. Still clear, but she no longer felt safe. The gate was open, and they had only one way to go.

They slipped out onto the exposed cobblestone road, looking around nervously. The sounds of war swelled in the darkness, but they couldn’t tell how close or far away the fighting was. They loitered nervously outside the gate for a minute, before Pinkie trotted out into the open with a little noise of resignation.

They walked, Twilight, Rarity, and Pinkie in a tight triangle, with Applejack a few paces behind and the pegasi a few feet above. They swiveled their heads and stretched their eyes open intensely, trying at the same time to pick up any meaningful sounds through their helmets. Any moment, they would run into their first enemies; around every corner, behind every building, at the end of every dark alley, they waited.

They rounded a bend and froze. At the end of the road was the ruined, wooden skeleton of the wrecked drawbridge, heavy chains hanging tightly against sides marked with small tufts of flame and framing a dark view of the crowded mountainside. Before it all, a team of gold-armored guards was engaged with a swarming crowd of black-armored counterparts, clattering on the stone road with metal hooves, bashing against each other noisily and releasing inarticulate shouts of pain, anger, and effort. Dark, sharp shadows danced across the cobbles and dulled armor from the glow of a flanking building, embers spiraling into the sky from a flame-pulsing window.

“I’ll get ‘em!” Pinkie cried, taking off directly down the road and to the middle of the fight, a spring still in her step.

“Pinkie, get back here!” Twilight shouted. Not even onto the mountainside, and Pinkie had already separated.

They watched in stunned disbelief as Pinkie raced into the center of the fighting cluster; the ponies were too caught up in their own affairs to notice her, until she barreled through the center of the conflict.

“Pinkie!” Rainbow screamed. The ponies scattered away from Pinkie like dolls, thrown by a shock wave that spread out as she met them, burying Rainbow’s voice. Pinkie stopped at the drawbridge and called for them, smiling wide and proud, and they ran after her.

Twilight’s heart pounded, but as she approached and passed the flaming building, running only a few feet past ponies struggling to their hooves, she felt something strange. Her fear, that sickening, emptying feeling that had been boring through her chest and twisting her stomach all during the preparations, was gone; in its stead, there was only the mindless excitement of action and movement. Gone was the fatigue and the uncertainty, the bitterness at her friends and princess. Adrenaline shot through her veins like electricity, and magic pulsed in her head like blood. “I can do this.”

As soon as they met Pinkie, she turned and began to run again, shooting a small pellet of magic at the drawbridge. The entire towering, wooden obstacle ruptured outwards in flaming fragments, littering the ponies outside and faintly illuminating the chaotic scene. In the space of a few seconds, they were out onto the mountainside, and it was madness.

Where the drawbridge had been shattered, they emerged into a small pocket of empty space, surrounded on all sides by crashing armor, shouting voices, and trampling hooves. As they entered, the space was already beginning to shrink, a rough line of Canterlot Guards pushed back by a solid tide of black aggressors.

“Follow me!” Pinkie shouted as she led the charge, and Twilight and Rarity followed without hesitation, the others lagging only a moment behind. Again, as they hit the mass of ponies, Pinkie threw them all away, and Twilight was able to follow in her wake without using any magic of her own, to her relief. In the tiny space between witnessing her first bit of violence and reaching the outside, she had felt ready, but now, actually running around in it, the thought of using her magic—even the simple, non-lethal repulsion spell—made her want to turn around, run back to the palace, and hide in the gardens.

She looked to the side, where Rarity kept pace with her, her striking white coat set into tiny pieces by the golden armor, and above, where she could make out the fluttering of Rainbow’s and Fluttershy’s wings. Their presence afforded no comfort, and when she looked back, Pinkie had moved many feet ahead of them, darting between ponies and carelessly tossing aside anyone who stood in her way, friend or foe. Twilight hastened to catch up to her, angry. “Wasn’t she listening to the princess?”

“Watch out!” Rainbow screamed, but before Twilight could react, they were enveloped in a cloud of smoke and dirt, slammed with the accompanying roar of an explosion. Rarity’s shield held.

“Pinkie, dang it!” Applejack yelled.

Twilight cast a quick spell to clear the air and looked around for what had caused the explosion, jumping and dancing to the side and back to escape the enemies she imagined to be just by her side. In her frantic movement, she caught sight of Pinkie, running recklessly at a single pony, and again called out to her, to no avail. She ran after her again, and as she did so, Pinkie’s target—a unicorn—began conjuring a great, dark ball of energy, balanced and growing like a fruit on the tip of his horn.

Twilight froze, and almost fell over, and before she could marshal her thoughts back into coherency, Pinkie was on him. She bucked him in the side of the head, and as her hooves connected with his helmet, a pair of shock waves radiated out from the impact site. The unicorn flew up and over, landing somewhere among the other fighters, his energy ball dispersed uselessly. Twilight gasped and squealed, unbelieving. She squeezed her eyes closed for just a second. Multiple ponies flying aside was one thing, but the sight of the individual, launched bodily, made her stomach turn.

And then Pinkie was back, running alongside them. “Got him, Twilight!”

Rainbow flew up, paused for a moment, and then back down in a fast arc. “Great. Guys, everyone’s moving our way.”

“What?” Rarity shrieked.

“To the slopes,” Twilight said, taking the lead. She passed Pinkie without a look; if Pinkie could go running off without them, she figured, she could do the same. The self-assurance of her gesture gave her confidence. She ran the first few paces without a spell, but the ingress of soldiers was too much for her, and, as quickly as it had come, the confidence was gone; desperately, as if it were for her life, instead of her space, she conjured a cone of static repulsion magic. Ponies fell back and away from her, pushed away forcefully, but not dangerously; she had purposefully made the spell too weak for that. She heard none of Pinkie’s spells behind her, as there had been not a minute earlier.

She ran blindly, through the furrow of displaced soldiers, paying no attention to her flanks or back. In her mind, only one terrified thing repeated: “I’m doing it, I’m doing it, I’m doing it. This is war, and I’m in it.” The thought blinked on and on in her head behind the thunder of thousands of hooves and the pulse of her own blood in her ears, all softened inside her hot helmet.

There was no final line of ponies to break through, nor any special defenses to test them. Slowly, the two armies thinned, and then they were resting on a stony slope beside a small pond. Twilight was already tired; she had never run so much in her life, and she had only been outside the palace a few minutes. It felt like hours.

The battle persisted nearby in broken fringes, but none of the warriors paid them any mind. From their vantage point, they could rest and see the battle’s progress clearly. The black aggressors were deeper inward than they were earlier, pushing the smaller knots of Canterlot Guards back toward the palace, where they clumped together to form a hard, thick line of defense before the broken drawbridge. Flashes of magic and fire illuminated the intense band of fighting like opposite sides of a marble, dense and metallic. Elsewhere in the city, away from the palace, buildings were aflame, and pegasi darted all around the turreted rooftops of taller structures, silhouettes frozen against the burning cityscape. The fireworks had stopped.

“Look over there!” Rainbow said, pointing at the opposite side of the battlefield, where the mountain sloped downward and, Twilight knew, a small country road ran to connect Greater and Lower Canterlot. Twilight squinted: coming up on the mountain like inequine monsters, slowly, was a column of large, rolling machines, some tall and thin, others low and stout. Their crane necks and spindly protrusions spiked the horizon, making it impossible to tell how many there were, or how close together they moved.

“Machines,” Applejack said, looking out at them angrily.

“How did he even get them here?” Rarity moaned.

“It doesn’t matter,” Twilight said, looking at them all quickly to make sure they were all still with her. “We have to stop them.”

She broke into a gallop, surprising even herself with its suddenness, and they all followed along, Pinkie again at the back with Applejack, and the pegasi above. She knew she could not sustain her pace for much longer, but at the moment, the thought was meaningless. “We have to stop them.”

They formed a tight unit, breaking through the fighting easily. With Rarity protecting them all, Twilight was free to concentrate on her repulsion cone, giving it just enough strength to shove ponies out of their way without hurting them. She was getting used to its weight on her horn, as well as the sight of ponies scattering before her, thrown off their hooves. As she ran, she tried to look to the sides to see whether the soldiers got up again, simultaneously hoping they would and hoping they wouldn’t. She could hear explosions in the distance, but none were close enough to belong to Pinkie.

“Rarity, how are you doing?” Twilight called. A tired “fine” was all she heard in return; she didn’t look to verify it.

“Twilight!” Rainbow cried. A flash of light sped up and into Twilight’s peripheral vision, and Applejack let out a cry of alarm as it landed, a few feet to their side. The explosion rocked them off their path and sent Fluttershy flying upwards in a wild corkscrew, and though she was unhurt, Twilight felt her heart seize up in crippling fear. Pinkie cleared the smoke and dust, regaining her hooves and taking Twilight’s place at the head of the group. Rainbow came down to help Twilight up, and for an instant, their eyes met.

“You okay, Twilight?” she asked quietly, and, despite her temptations to the contrary, Twilight shook her head weakly. The thin veneer of bravery that had kept her from running aimlessly, teleporting away, and escaping the mountain was wearing down. She was tired, thirsty, and discouraged, and Rainbow’s concern only brought it into harsher light. “Please, let it stop.”

Pinkie and Rarity were a few paces ahead, waiting for Twilight to follow them. She called them back to her. “I have to stop,” she said firmly, ashamed.

“Twilight, no!” Pinkie cried. “You can’t!”

“I can’t keep running like this!” she yelled, the exertion hurting her parched throat. Fluttershy hovered nearby, and she saw her flinch at her raised voice. She didn’t care. “If you can go on, do. Leave me behind.”

“Twilight, no,” Rarity said.

“We’re not leavin’ you,” Applejack said.

“Yes you are! Go get those machines, and let me rest!”

“You’re going to get hurt,” Rarity said.

“I can shield myself,” Twilight said tersely. She took a breath of cool air that chapped her dry mouth and stung her chest. “Now stop delaying and get out there!”

They hesitated. “Are you sure, Twilight?” Pinkie asked.

“Just go, Pinkie. I’ll find you later.” She looked up at Rainbow and Fluttershy. “You too.”

“Absolutely not,” Rainbow said, landing next to her. “You three go; we’ll stay with Twilight.”

With another few seconds of hesitation, Pinkie turned and ran again, and Rarity and Applejack reluctantly followed.

Twilight watched them go, Rarity’s shield around her fading with the distance, and sat down with Rainbow and Fluttershy above her. She brought up her own shield to augment the one Celestia had given them all, and was once again safe; anyone who approached her was merely deflected. Her chest ached and her head throbbed; her eyes felt gritty, and sweat beaded under her coat, insulated by the helmet. Her body felt tight and hot, compressed, stressed, pulled and pushed, a bundle of nerves and muscles forced into a situation it was absolutely incapable of handling.

She hated herself. She didn’t know how long they had been in the battle, but it couldn’t have been more than half an hour, and she was already sitting down, away from the others, watching through an impersonal haze of fatigue and numb fear as the other soldiers fought around her. While Rarity and Pinkie ran on to stop Discord’s machines, and buy time for Celestia and Luna, she sat. While Pinkie had unhesitatingly run into the fight, throwing ponies around without a care, she was too afraid to do more than push them out of her way.

She remembered Celestia’s words: “Twilight, this is no time to be merciful, and it is no time to be indecisive. Destroy what you can of the enemy, and don’t stop until it’s over.” She looked around once more and closed her eyes for an instant, too short for reflection. A single, simple thought pierced her self-pity. “I can’t do it.” She had been called to help her princess, to go to war, to use her prodigious magic to turn the tide of battle, and instead, she sat on the destroyed grass and stone of the mountain meadow, having not even incapacitated a single enemy.

“Twilight!” Rainbow shouted. She jumped to attention, and a sharp pain flared through her horn. She recognized it with a horrible, sinking feeling: the shield was gone. She tried to get up, but something hard knocked her to the ground, her back twisting at an awkward angle and her head flailing downwards. She heard Rainbow and Fluttershy shouting and flying toward her, but before they could do anything, a blunt force hit her in the throat; her vision squirmed and she keeled backwards, her alarmed mind conjuring up the first spell she had ever learned: telekinesis.

She was aware of a cessation of action in her immediate area, and tried to ignore her strained, cracked, incomplete breathing as she examined what she had grabbed with the spell. Everything in a twenty-foot radius hung off the ground, enshrouded in a purple mist. Ponies struggled to escape, corpses floated like horrible clouds, and pieces of armor and dislodged weapons were scattered among them all like flotsam. Above her, Rainbow and Fluttershy squirmed unhappily, and, without thinking, she released them, then forced the rest away in a single, swirling charge of energy. Most flew off into the distance, while the rest ground into the earth painfully. She watched, horrified, as her mind came back to her. “Oh, Celestia, what have I done?” She hadn’t even seen her attacker.

She tried to stand, head spinning, but went to the ground again in a spasm of coughing. Her horn burned and her chest and throat pulsed with a dull pressure that sent bolts of pain through her tired body. Fluttershy flew down to her and told her to remain still, and she tried to concentrate on a new shield spell, managing to erect a weaker one. For the time, it was safe; the soldiers, scattered away, gave her a wide berth. There was a flash of light and another crack of a firework.

She allowed Fluttershy to cast a quick healing spell, keeping her eyes on Rainbow, who hovered nearby, staring into the distance with uncharacteristic focus.

Suddenly, she turned back to Twilight and Fluttershy, terrified. The expression made Twilight’s body break out in terrified tingles. “Uh, guys. Something’s happening.”

Fluttershy moved back meekly as Twilight stood, stiff, but in less pain. She looked where Rainbow indicated, and, at first, didn’t quite believe what she saw. Traced in the sky in fine, thin, burning red lines hung another sigil, much larger than those that had come before.

Rainbow came down to her, and the three of them waited under Twilight’s shield, transfixed. The sigil had appeared by the other side of the mountain, huge and ghostly, a ring of glowing wires among the stars. Slowly, a jagged point emerged from its center, thin cords of tense ropes stretching off its tip and back into the sigil. A dark prow emerged behind, and then a ship’s body, black and hard-looking, like a fragment of onyx. Sails followed, lashed to masts at least thirty feet tall, clearing the top of the ring with only a few feet to spare. Twilight saw no propulsion system, nor mechanism to keep it afloat; it merely hung in the air, suspended by nothing, sailing through the sigil like a dream.

“Twilight?” Rainbow asked fearfully, looking at her. Twilight shook her head and watched.

The sigil faded as the ship cleared it, and the nearby pegasi flew away from it, some doubling back and behind to attack, the rest fleeing. The ship sat above the mountainside, a sudden hole in the pegasi’s fight, and slowly turned in place. Twilight knew as she watched it where it was going to face, but prayed against it. Out at them, it didn’t stop; toward the river, it didn’t stop; at the palace, it stopped.

“Twilight?” Rainbow repeated urgently, and she looked at her. “That’s gonna tear the palace apart.”

As she said it, Twilight looked up again. Just under the bowsprit, she could make out a small dot of light. Quickly, but also with great deliberation and power, a titanic pillar of flame burst from the point, engulfing the night in a narrow mushroom of orange fire, its end rising up in a bulb of heat that obliterated the pegasi unfortunate enough to be caught in its path. Twilight stared, heart sinking. “How can this be happening?”

Pinkie felt bad leaving Twilight behind, but she seemed adamant, and she had a point; there was no use waiting for her when they could handle the machines on their own. She ran across the field, casting ponies aside as she went, eyes set straight ahead and mouth drawn. Her brain felt numb and cold, almost asleep, and with each spell that she cast, she felt herself farther removed from her actions. She had never deliberately hurt someone before, and it was scary at first, but, as she ran with Rarity and Applejack toward the procession of machines, she found herself less and less bothered. It was just war, after all—run and smash, and don’t look back.

They burst through a group of fighting soldiers and stopped suddenly, standing at a bend in the wide road that led down the mountain. Her surroundings were forgotten, though she could see the shield vibrating with the harmless impacts of arrows and pebbles, from behind and before them. The convoy of creaking, wooden structures inched up the road: tall, twisted siege towers; crane-like trebuchets; fat and heavy battering rams; and rickety, spindly cages, suspending over the destroyed earth large, black, dripping, dead-looking spheres.

Without thinking, she targeted one of the strange, black balls and sent an explosion spell into its middle, as easy as breathing out. It popped like a balloon, its black shell splayed out against the sky like a disembodied claw, a plume of deep orange fire and dark brown smoke engulfing the cage that had contained it. The explosion was huge, but quiet, manifesting in a muffled fwump instead of the loud bang for which Pinkie had flattened her ears. The fire was a giant, greasy, sloppy ball, dripping down onto the road and splattering into the air, catching nearby machines and sending the ponies operating them into a frenzy.

She watched, distantly interested, as the fire spread; the machines were too close together, and though they tried to separate, the initial explosion was too big. The flames radiated outwards slowly, and when the first tower fell with a squeal of overstressed axles, it did so onto another sphere, bursting it like a boil. Acrid fluid drained out in tremendous gushes, unctuous and smelly, and it was only an instant before it caught too, bringing the entire country road into a single, snakelike line of hellishly glowing tongues of fire. Toxic smoke rose and choked the air, blotted out the stars, and mixed with the smell of burning wood into an oily, nose-biting, eye-stinging haze that, even at its distance from the three watchers, made them back up a little, eyes shielded from the light.

And then another one exploded, one supporting leg weakened and releasing its payload into the inferno. Pinkie watched with anxious triumph as the convoy halted and tried to back up, to no avail; the fire moved too fast and flew too far with each new explosion. Giant, liquid drops of flame trailed through the sky like miniature fireworks, arcing sickles of light and smoke, catching on everything they touched.

“Um, Pinkie?” Rarity asked quietly. Pinkie turned; Rarity’s eyes gleamed through her helmet, and Pinkie recognized a combination of fear and disorientation in them that made her jaw clench. She followed Rarity’s indication, immediately seeing the problem. Sometime during her conflagration, a new enemy had appeared: a ship. Strange, silent, horrible; it drifted toward the palace menacingly, a cloud of destructive potential. Pinkie watched it without thought.

“We gotta stop that,” Applejack said.

“It’s all the way across the battlefield,” Rarity said, her voice exhausted and unhappy.

They both looked at Pinkie, and she paused. “Tether!” she blurted, remembering Celestia’s enchantment with a flash of excitement. She turned to Applejack and grabbed her hoof, to drag her through the spell with her, and before Applejack could object, she was squeezing and contracting into the darkness of teleportation.

As the row of flame dissipated from the ship’s front, Twilight felt a pull from behind. She turned to look, and Pinkie and Applejack flashed suddenly into view, Rarity a couple seconds behind. Applejack doubled over and vomited, and Rarity helped her up when she was done. Pinkie, meanwhile, babbled at Twilight, who largely ignored her as she stood up—she knew what they were going to try to do.

As soon as Applejack was ready, Twilight began a slow trot toward the palace, pushing ponies out of the way with her repulsion cone. Only a minute into the run, she began to feel her leg muscles groaning with the effort to keep moving, worsened with the blow she had suffered; she ignored the pain and tension, and the others followed her grimly. The ship loomed toward the palace, unhindered and undeviating, completely ignoring the flocks of pegasi that darted around it.

As she ran, slowing to exhausted lopes, Twilight knew they wouldn’t reach the ship in time.

“Twilight! Look!” Rainbow shouted, pointing.

She squinted against the ship’s dark side and, after a couple moments, spotted a pair of smoky ribbons, one white and one dark purple, slicing through the air before the ship’s side. “Celestia and Luna,” she thought immediately, her heart giving a relieved leap.

The ribbons spiraled around swiftly and met in the ship’s middle, streaking up along its side and twisting off above it before going their separate ways. Just as they were out of the way, shimmering through the sky toward the palace, a trail of huge explosions erupted in a vertical line where they had flown just moments before. Pinkie and Rainbow let out whoops of victory as the ship cracked and splintered, and Twilight could only stop and stare, excited beyond words. “Is it really that easy?”

The ship slowly tipped to the side, its interior open; pegasi flew in in droves, wrecking the insides of the massive vessel while fire ate upwards along its fringes.

“Stay with me, girls! We might still be needed!” Twilight shouted, pumping her legs with strengthened determination. She had had her moment of pity and fear, and now, with the princesses in sight, she took heart. “We’re not finished yet.”

The ship drifted lazily forward, its jib angling down at the ground like a broken bone. The fire spread slowly, and though the side was mostly engulfed, the ship seemed undeterred, flying with as much intent as before.

By the time it came abreast of the palace walls, the fire had spread to its masts. Twilight could see ropes snapping and sails disintegrating, but, on the side of its hull, the fire had gone out, leaving, to her disbelief, a largely unaffected hole. Its belly was still wide open, but the edges were whole and unburned, as if the fire had not even touched it. Its top lit the sky like a birthday cake, burning and crackling in three tall fingers, huge pieces of sail fluttering down to color the air with ember-speckled curls.

“It’s not stopping,” Rainbow said breathlessly.

Twilight looked up at her for a moment, shocked. “What?” She knew it for herself, but to hear someone else say it shot panic into her heart.

“It’s not stopping, Twilight! Look!”

She looked back at the palace, an immobile target not a quarter of a mile away from the skeleton ship, and saw the same two ribbons flitting between them, strong ripples of energy emanating out from them. She squinted, her jog slowing down once more; tiny black dots flew from the ship’s front, each one bouncing off the princesses and into the palace gardens.

“Are those cannons?” Pinkie asked.

“Oh, Celestia,” Twilight said, her legs bending reluctantly; she stumbled and landed in a half crouch, her confidence, once again, gone. The princesses were occupied in the palace’s defense, and the Canterlot army was weak. The battle was left primarily to her and Pinkie—she, who had not even killed a single pony, and Pinkie, who had stopped casting her spells as soon as Twilight took the lead.

They stopped immediately to try to help her up, but Twilight shook her head sadly. “No, Pinkie, I can’t do it. I’m too tired.” She looked down in shame. “Go ahead of me and try to help them.” She felt awful to slow them down, but she forced the thought from her mind. “Now is not the time to feel sorry for myself.”

“Go!” she shouted, and Pinkie and Rarity took off. She watched them run, much faster than when she had led them, and stole a look at the princesses; Luna remained, but Celestia had vanished. She accepted help up from Fluttershy. They were all crowded inside Celestia’s shield, isolated from the battle. “At least I have this,” she thought with a small smile.

And then her heart stopped as Luna’s voice exploded across the battlefield: “To Twilight! To Twilight!”

Her mind tensed like a vice, and her chest tightened. She felt the pull of magic, and Pinkie and Rarity were by her side.

“This is it, Twilight. We’ll protect you,” Rarity said weakly. Twilight looked at her closely for the first time during the battle. Rarity was slumped, bedraggled, and her face was absolutely soaked in sweat. Her eyes were dull, her face was slackened, and her horn had turned from its usual pristine platinum to a gritty white.

“Oh, Celestia. Here we go.” Suddenly and acutely aware of her surroundings, Twilight gathered her magical energy into a gigantic clearing spell. She looked at Rarity once, who nodded absently, and pushed outwards; ponies of both sides flew back in a clamor, leaving a huge, flat circle in the soot-stained, trampled ground.

Rarity instantly erected a nigh invisible dome around it, as she had during practice, and Twilight and Pinkie raced inside, Pinkie moving to its center obediently. Fluttershy and Rainbow, joining a large group of gold-armored pegasi, flew above her in a protective cloud. She summoned her brush and ink, and, with a sigh, began drawing.

As soon as the brush hit the ground, her mind went blank. She had her instruction: give Pinkie her power. As much as she could. Fear and self-pity dropped away as she traced the outer circle. The sigil stood out strong in her mind, impervious to the dulling effects of fighting, fatigue, and anxiety.

As she completed the initial circle, walking quickly around the outer perimeter of the shield, she looked up briefly; a crowd of Canterlot Guards had thickened outside the dome, jostling and holding their ground in defense of the shield. In defense of her. That so much energy should be expended to keep her alive did not register with her.

She moved as fast as she could, taking care not to step on her own lines, the enchanted brush gliding over the dust and pebbles smoothly. She looked up once more, and saw the line of ponies around her surging and snarling; the enemy had figured out that something was going on.

“You’re good, Twilight, just keep going!” Rainbow encouraged from above, and she looked back down, redoubling her efforts to move quickly. Rarity emitted a cry of surprise, followed closely by an explosion behind and above her. In her haste, she had already completed a third of the sigil, and her eyes had tunneled to see only the ground before her, overlaid with the model in her mind.

There was a bright flash of light, but didn’t look at it—if she had, she would have seen a battered Celestia arriving to help defend her. She drew frantically, swishing and angling her lines just as they were in her mind, making connections with some and branching out with others. For several minutes, she drew uninterrupted.

There was another explosion, but she paid it no heed; she had only half left, and the sounds of fighting outside were more intense.

“Come on, Twilight, you can do this. They’re all counting on you, and you can’t let them down.” She drew another tight cluster of lines, and began swishing over to the next spot; there was a pair of explosions, fast and small. Her head pounded.

“Come on, Twilight!” Rainbow shouted. “We can’t hold this forever! Half the army is on us now!”

Twilight’s mind tensed like a steel spring, and she clenched her teeth. She tried to draw faster still, making her lines almost haphazardly; she nearly shouted in anguish as she overextended a line, forcing herself to go back and redo it. There was very little room for error, and it took all of her will keep her pace steady. Any faster, and her mistakes would undo her speed.

She approached Pinkie and began drawing around her hooves, not looking up once at the pink pony.

“You can do it, Twilight,” Pinkie said quietly. “But you’ve gotta hurry. Rarity can’t keep going much longer, and I think Discord is coming.”

Twilight didn’t have the presence of mind to nod, her drawing had so consumed her. She finished the spot around Pinkie’s hooves. One third to go.

She continued with feverish intensity, and the sound of the war outside was fading to her. She thought of Rarity, who Pinkie said was almost finished, and of Discord, who would soon add himself to the mess.

She thought of her old phrase, uttered endlessly during the trip over. “I can’t afford to fail here. I haven’t failed my friends yet, and I’m not about to start.”

She refocused herself into drawing, almost seeing her progress before she made it. The brush glided across the ground as if it had a will of its own, separate from hers. She connected a spiraling mishmash of arcs and half circles to the edge, and started filling in the final quarter.

In the distance, she heard a loud barrage of explosions, and then a voice that turned her blood to ice. “Here I come, Twilight Sparkle.” Discord’s clear, authoritative voice rolled over the warring ponies like a fog, cutting effortlessly through their noise and directly into her ears.

Her heart beat as though she were still running, but she willed herself to remain calm. “Celestia and Luna will keep him away,” she thought, not fully believing herself. She tried again to hasten her progress, and did a little, but she knew she was at her limit.

Discord cackled in the distance, and there was a long, grisly ripping sound, followed by more explosions. She didn’t dare look anywhere but down, but hoped, prayed, that at least one of the princesses was on him.

“Almost there,” she thought, and even the words in her mind sounded strained.

“I know what you’re doing, Twilight Sparkle, but I don’t think it will work.”

Another explosion. Her concentration wavered, but remained solid. Only a few feet of space remained to cover, and she attacked it with feverish intensity.

“Twilight, you need to finish now,” Rainbow cried urgently. “He’s here, and we can’t hold this barrier.”

The words glanced off her mind as she continued drawing, each time a little closer to the edge. The line of soldiers had thinned and quickened, but no details of their condition revealed themselves to her.

There was another explosion, just outside the protective dome, and a shriek.

Twilight drew.

There was a series of loud pops, and the dome faded for a moment—just a moment.

Twilight drew.

She heard Discord laugh again, and Rainbow’s shout, twisted in feral rage.

Twilight drew.

One small slice of the circle remained, and she began the last long, elegant loop. She added the affectations—dots and lines—and did the final swoop. She didn’t know whether Rarity’s shield had held its integrity, and only stared at the ground, waiting.

At first, nothing happened, and her heart plummeted. “This is it. It’s over.”

But then something did happen; her mind went weak and hazy, and her horn burned. Her vision clouded and frayed, but she saw the sigil begin to shimmer.

“Yes.”

Her sight turned to fuzz, to fog, to blackness. Her orientation changed indistinctly. Her mind slowed down and her horn blazed like a meteor.

There were shouts, explosions, hoofsteps, and one deeper-than-ever crumbling, rumbling sound that surrounded her from all sides and angles. It grew in volume and in presence, and then she was gone.

Had she remained conscious, she would have seen Pinkie receive the magic, an enormous cloud of purple dust that faded into her skin. She would have seen Discord dive through the center of the protective dome, shattering it; she would have seen him throw a beam of energy at Pinkie, and she would have seen her deflect it effortlessly. She would have watched Pinkie stand for a moment, uncertain, and then canter once, giggling, before slamming the earth with glowing white hooves.

She would have seen the entire army erupt in a scattered panic. She would have seen Discord flash out of view, and the unbelievable floating ship turn and shoot into the distance like a comet. She would have watched, horrified, as the majority of the remaining ponies fell through the maze of cracks splitting the ground.

She would have felt the world shake as if in a prospector’s pan. She would have seen the mountainside crack open. She would have seen the landmarks in the distance drift away from one another like leaves on a pond. She would have watched the clouds swirl and separate, and the skies boil angrily. She would have watched the moon grow larger.

She would have watched the world fall apart.

Interim

Chapter Seven

Interim

Instead of this, Twilight opened her eyes to see Pinkie standing before her, smiling her ever-present, goofy smile.

“She’s awake! She’s awake!” Pinkie shouted, jumping on Twilight and crushing her in a hug. Twilight pressed uncomfortably into the grass, too disoriented to do anything but wait for Pinkie to get off her. She did, and Twilight sat up; Fluttershy went to her side.

“Oh, Twilight, I’m so glad you’re okay. We were all really worried about you.”

Twilight took a moment to look around. The sun was up; it was about eight o’ clock, she judged. The battle was gone, leaving only the scarred, blackened, trampled ground. Weapons and pieces of armor glinted in the sunlight.

She shakily stood up, but immediately sat down; her pastern screamed in protest, smoldering with red-hot pain that ran up her leg like a split down her bone. She cried out softly, and Fluttershy held a gentle hoof to her shoulder, steadying her.

Twilight’s head spun with questions. Where were they? What happened to the battle? Where were the others? Was everypony okay? All that escaped her was a weak “what’s going on?”

“Nothing right now. We’ve just been waiting for you and Rarity to wake up,” Pinkie said cheerily.

“Rarity! Oh my gosh, is she okay?” Twilight tried to stand again, but Fluttershy held her down.

“Kind of. The fight really tired her out, but I think she’ll be fine.”

“As soon as you finished the spell, Rarity almost passed out,” Fluttershy said. “She was so exhausted, and hurt, but she kept trying to protect you.”

“She still tried to protect us, after all that.” Twilight’s heart swelled with pride and gratitude toward Rarity. “What happened?”

“Discord tried to stop the sigil, like Princess Celestia said he would. He destroyed the shield, but it was too late, so he ran. Pinkie was fine—he didn’t even touch her—and Rarity tried to keep you safe, but you got hit with one of his spells.”

“Seriously?” Twilight asked, awed.

Fluttershy nodded.

“Any closer, and I wouldn’t be sitting here,” she thought, the first feelings of dread beginning to creep back into her gut. “Where is she?”

“Behind you,” Pinkie said with a light smile.

Twilight twisted to look around at Rarity, her steady, but very slow, breathing the only indication that she still lived. Her fur and mane were messes, tangled with sweat and dirt, and her horn was dull and graying. Her body looked limp.

“But you said she’ll be okay?” Twilight asked, uncertain.

“Yes. She was hardly injured at all,” Fluttershy said. “But she was really close to causing herself permanent damage, with all the magic she used.”

“Oh, Rarity,” Twilight said sadly. “What about the others? Rainbow Dash and Applejack?”

“Both fine!” Pinkie said. “They’re just out exploring right now.”

“Exploring? Exploring what?” She looked around. “What is going on, exactly?” She could see the damaged palace turrets in the distance, their tops cracked, leaning dangerously, or entirely broken off. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but the sight bothered her. The fight was over, and now came the cleanup.

Fluttershy and Pinkie exchanged worried looks. “Maybe we should wait for Applejack and Rainbow Dash to come back,” Fluttershy said, and Pinkie nodded extravagantly.

“Why?”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Um… okay.” She looked at Pinkie worriedly. “What did you do after I cast the spell on you?”

“Thaaaaaaaaat’s part of what we’ll talk about when Rainbow and Applejack get back,” Pinkie said delicately.

Twilight looked around again. They were still on the mountainside, and she looked away from the palace and out at the flatland between Canterlot and Ponyville. What she saw made her pause, not in fear or surprise, but in simple confusion. Where there once was a single, contiguous stretch of meadow and grassland, cut with the river, the fields were now layered with long, jagged, dark brown stripes, like marbling in a cake. It went on for as far as she could see. “What am I looking at?” she asked calmly.

“Oh, please, Twilight, can we wait for Rainbow and Applejack?” Fluttershy asked pleadingly.

Twilight sighed. “How long until they get back?”

“Well, they’ve been gone about an hour now.” Fluttershy went behind her to examine Rarity. “They should be back any time now.”

“I see.” Twilight looked at her pastern for the first time, trying to occupy herself. It was swollen and bruised, and very tender; a pair of long, thin cuts ran down it, discolored dark red and purple. “Fluttershy, you might want to look at this,” she said.

“Is it your pastern?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Twilight, I’m sorry. I should have explained it earlier. You got hurt in the confusion after Pinkie cast her spell. I tried to fix your wound, but, um, I couldn’t.”

Twilight raised her eyebrow, and Fluttershy cringed away.

“Sorry. You see, I think it has a magical infection, and my healing spell just won’t work on it.”

“Magical infection?” Twilight’s voice carried a hint of alarm. She had read about them, and they were nothing to dismiss. Magic, unlike a virus, was not easy to purge.

“Um, yes.”

“How long has it been there?”

“You were only unconscious for a couple hours, so, um, that long.”

“Do you know how to fix it?”

“I think I could cure it with conventional medicine. If I had any.”

“Then we need to find some. Where can we get it?”

“Right here in Canterlot, I think,” Fluttershy said.

“Then what are we waiting for? Oh, ow!” Twilight tried to stand, but immediately sat down again. “Can you at least do something for the pain?”

“Um, maybe,” Fluttershy said uncertainly, walking over to Twilight and bending down to look at her pastern. She narrowed her eyes and mumbled something, and all of Twilight’s lower leg tingled curiously.

She gingerly tried to stand up again, slowly putting more weight on her leg, waiting for the pain to shiver up into her body; it didn’t. She stood up, her leg feeling only a little sore. “It works marvelously, Fluttershy. Thank you so much.” She looked Fluttershy in the eyes as she said it, and Fluttershy looked away, embarrassed.

“Oh, um, it’s nothing, really. Now, don’t put too much strain on that leg, and let me know as soon as it hurts again.”

“What about using magic? I read that that’s dangerous with an infection like this.”

“Oh, um, yes. You shouldn’t use your horn at all until I can take care of you.”

Twilight let out a small sigh.

“At least you’re still alive!” Pinkie said.

“Yes, at least I’m still alive,” she said slowly.

“Here comes Rainbow!” Pinkie shouted happily, her hoof following the polychromatic streak as it came over the horizon, crossed the sky, and plummeted.

“Watch out!” Rainbow shouted, and they backed away. The pegasus crashed into the ground, throwing up dust and ash. She shook herself, and they walked back to her. “I see you’re finally up, Twilight. You all right?”

“I’m okay, Rainbow Dash. How are you?”

“Fine,” she said with a dismissive shrug.

“So, what did you see, Dashie?” Pinkie asked.

Rainbow sighed. “You were right, Pinkie. We’re not on the ground anymore.”

“What?” Twilight asked.

“We’re not on the ground?” Fluttershy repeated. “Wh—where are we?”

“Uh, in the air,” Rainbow said, frowning at her.

“Up in the air?” Twilight said, looking back out at the flatland. “What are they talking about?”

“AJ’s almost back; she’ll just confirm it.”

“Won’t somepony tell me what’s going on?” Twilight cried.

“When Applejack reaches us,” Pinkie said, surprising Twilight with her directness.

“What’ll happen when Ah reach you?” Applejack called, approaching the group. “Oh, Twilight!” She closed the rest of the space between them at a gallop and embraced her. “Ah’m so glad yer okay! How’re ya feelin’, sugarcube?”

“Confused, Applejack. Can somepony please tell me what’s going on?”

“Maybe we should wait for Rarity to wake up first,” Rainbow said.

“Rainbow! Come on, you have to tell me something!”

“All right, all right, geez, Twilight.” Rainbow laughed a little. “It was a joke. AJ, what did you see?”

“It looks like Pinkie was right. We’re floatin’ up here, all alone.”

Twilight looked at them both drily.

Applejack sat down, and Twilight did the same. “Okay, Twi, this is what happened. You cast yer spell, an’ it was sure lucky you finished it when you did, ‘cause we couldn’t hold ‘em back no more. Discord was stirrin’ up all sorts of trouble, an’ even the princesses couldn’t stop him. Ah saw you collapse as soon as you were finished, an’ Pinkie just sorta stood there fer a second. Then, she started glowin’, real bright, like her body was radiatin' magic. Discord destroyed Rarity’s shield an’ tried to attack Pinkie, but the spell just bounced right off her. An’ then Pinkie… did somethin’. Pinkie? Wanna fill us in here?”

“Sure, Applejack!” She began pacing around them. “Well, I knew that the spell had worked ‘cause I felt super powerful! I felt like I could do just about anything in the whole world! But then I remembered that we were fighting, and I had to save Canterlot. I saw Discord come at me, and he shot a spell at me, and I was really scared, but then I thought, ‘why should I be scared? I’m all powerful!’ and the spell bounced off me like it was nothing! And then I saw you were passed out, Twilight, and I saw that a lot of the army was hurt, and Rarity was almost finished, and Applejack and Rainbow were trying their best to keep us safe and Fluttershy was trying to reach you but she couldn’t and then I got mad! I got really really mad, like I don’t think I’ve ever been that mad, ‘cause I guess nopony’s ever threatened all my friends like that, and I tried to think of a spell, and then I did, and it was that earthquake spell Celestia taught us! At first it I didn’t know I was casting it, but then the ground started splitting open, and then everypony started running around and most of the army fell through the cracks, and the Canterlot army made short work of the rest of them! I don’t know what happened to the pegasi, but I think they all flew away. Anyway, I could see everything just kinda falling apart and then close to the end I even saw Canterlot palace start falling apart but it didn’t fall apart all the way and then everything just kind of stopped, and I stopped feeling so powerful, and then it was over.” She smiled wide at them as she concluded, and they had to wait a minute to process the barrage of information.

“So… you caused a giant earthquake?” Twilight asked.

“Kind of, but that’s not quite all of it,” Rainbow said. “See, after Pinkie was finished, we all regrouped. You and Rarity were out cold, and Pinkie was close to passing out too. Celestia and Luna were nowhere to be seen.”

“What? What happened to them?” Twilight asked, alarmed.

“We have no idea. We looked around, but they were gone. When everything calmed down, we saw the same thing you saw: the countryside down there all separated and weird. It was still dark then, so we couldn’t see much.”

“We just thought Pinkie caused a huge earthquake,” Applejack said.

“But it’s apparently a lot more than that,” Rainbow said.

“When the sun came up, and we’d made sure you and Rarity were okay, Rainbow Dash and Applejack went off to see if they could find out more about what had happened,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah. And… when we got to the edge. Um, Twilight, you’re not going to like this.”

“Just say it, Rainbow Dash. It can’t be that bad,” Twilight said, dreading her answer.

“We’re in the air.”

Twilight frowned. “What does that mean?”

“This piece of land, that we’re standing on, and all the other ones you can see, are all floating freely in the sky.”

“Above the Gaia, she means,” Fluttershy said quietly.

Twilight pursed her lips. Her thoughts were at a standstill, and her response was slow as she tried to digest the information. “So, this field, and Canterlot, and those mountains, and everything I see is floating off the planet?” “I have to be dreaming. This is simply not possible.”

“Er, it may be even worse than that,” Rainbow said.

“How?”

“Well, we don’t know how powerful Pinkie’s spell was. The earthquake could have been a lot bigger.”

Twilight only looked at her, then back out at the countryside. Seeing it again, the stripes of brown made sense. She was seeing the sides of the rifts, long and jagged and deep. “So we’re above the Gaia,” she said, not looking at her friends. “That’s…” She struggled to collect her racing thoughts and gave a single nervous, quiet laugh.

“We’re only about a mile off the ground, if that… you know, makes it any better,” Rainbow said hesitantly.

“A few questions come to mind,” Twilight said slowly, trying to calm herself with a deliberate pace. “First.” She turned her gaze to Pinkie, who looked at her with an even smile. “Pinkie, how could you do something like this?”

“Uhhhh, I dunno.”

“Pinkie!” Twilight cried. “Didn’t you listen at all to what Princess Celestia said about being careful with your spells? She wanted you to end the battle, not… not destroy the mountain!”

“I’m sorry, Twilight. I must have gotten carried away.”

“You think?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Pinkie said sadly. “It was an accident.”

Twilight looked away from her and at the broken palace. “That’s some accident, Pinkie.”

“You gave me the power.”

“Don’t try to pin this on me!” Twilight snapped.

Pinkie held her hooves up defensively. “I’m not, Twilight, I swear! I’m just saying, you know, it’s not entirely my fault.”

“Um, maybe there was something wrong with the sigil,” Fluttershy said.

“Maybe you didn’t draw it right,” Applejack said.

“Or maybe Celestia didn’t design it right,” Pinkie offered.

Twilight considered their words. At first, they sounded like excuses, but she took a few deep breaths, and allowed her confusion and fear to seep out of her thoughts. “Maybe.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her face. “I’m sorry. This is a lot to take in.”

“I understand, Twilight,” Pinkie said.

“Right.” She looked around awkwardly. “So, we’re floating.” She paused. “How?”

“Levitation enchantment?” Pinkie said, shrugging. “I don’t know. I know I did the earthquake, but other than that…” She shrugged once more, making an innocent, curious noise as she did so.

“She’s just as confused as I am—as we all are,” Twilight thought. “Why can we still breathe? The air should be thinner up here.”

“It’s only a mile, Twilight,” Rainbow said.

“But that’s a mile plus our current elevation. By my calculations, that’s…” Twilight thought for a moment. Her head was still hazy from a few hours ago, and the confusion immediately following. “Almost seven-thousand feet. We should definitely be feeling something.”

“Is it possible that Pinkie brought the atmosphere up with us?” Fluttershy asked.

Twilight looked back at Pinkie. “Is it?”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe.” Twilight was unsatisfied. “And what about Discord? And that giant ship? What about them?”

“What even was it?” Rainbow asked.

“Maybe Discord was on it,” Twilight said.

“It sure was outrageous enough, Ah s’pose,” Applejack said.

“But what happened to them?”

“Discord ran just after Pinkie cast her spell,” Fluttershy said.

“An’ the ship disappeared ‘round the same time,” Applejack said.

“I saw it,” Rainbow said. “Kind of. I’m not entirely sure what happened.”

“It moved really fast,” Pinkie said.

“Too fast,” Rainbow said.

“What do you mean?” Twilight asked.

“Like, one moment it was there, and the next moment, it was gone,” Rainbow said. “That kind of fast.”

“Which way did it go?”

“South, Ah think,” Applejack said.

“Not like it matters,” Rainbow said. “It could be halfway across Equestria by now.”

Twilight nodded. “She’s right. Right now, we need to find the princesses.” She looked back at the palace and squinted against the sun’s glare off its white walls. Her thoughts were again still. She didn’t know what to think.

“Oh! Princess! Down here!” Pinkie screeched, hopping up and waving her hooves wildly, making Twilight jump.

Twilight looked quickly to see a dark blue blur swerve their way. Princess Luna coasted down to them, relief evident on her face even at her distance.

She landed gracefully, the force of her wings pushing them all back a little. “Finally! I’ve been searching for you since sunrise.”

“Princess Luna, what’s going on?” Twilight asked.

“I was planning on asking you all the very same thing. Are you okay?”

“Rarity’s passed out and Twilight’s hurt,” Rainbow said.

“Let me look.” Luna knelt at Rarity’s side and inspected her, then examined Twilight’s wound. “She will be okay in time. Twilight, that needs medical attention.”

“I know.”

“Princess, what’s going on?” Fluttershy asked. “Is everypony okay?”

“It’s pandemonium, Fluttershy. Utter and complete devastation. Celestia has been receiving word from all corners of Equestria since last night. It looks like the whole country has been broken apart.”

“The whole country?” Rainbow cried, and Twilight clenched her jaw, heart sinking.

“Yes, the whole thing.” Her voice was heavy and dark, and she looked at Pinkie, who gave a nervous smile.

“I… guess that was one doozy of a spell.”

“Yes, I suppose it was,” Luna said darkly, frowning down on her. “We are needed at the palace.”

“Wait,” Twilight said, holding up a hoof. “Princess Luna, what happened after Pinkie cast the spell?”

Luna sighed. “Her spell took the form of an earthquake. When—”

“No, we know that part. I know we won the battle, and I know that Pinkie made a giant earthquake. Discord ran away, and that weird ship flew off to the south.”

“Yes.”

“But what happened to you and Princess Celestia? Where did Discord go? What’s going on at the palace? Will everypony be okay? What are we going to do about Equestria?”

“One question at a time, Twilight Sparkle. One question at a time.” Luna thought for a moment. “As for me and Celestia, we will be fine. I was hurt only minimally. Celestia was not so lucky. She was hit, right here,” she tapped the underside of her jaw with her hoof, “by a cannonball. That alone wasn’t so bad, but when you were casting your spell, she threw herself at Discord to distract him. She was already tired, and the attack took a heavy toll.”

“But she’ll be okay, right? Oh, sorry for interrupting,” Fluttershy said meekly.

“Yes, she’ll be fine. It’s not that easy to kill one of us.”

“So where did Discord go?” Rainbow asked. “One minute, he’s tearing up the battlefield, and the next, he’s running away. Did he chicken out?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” Luna said. “Celestia hasn’t seen anything from him since last night. My guess is that he saw that it was over, so he hurried off to regroup.”

Twilight thought for a second. “But that doesn’t make sense.”

“Please, enlighten me,” Luna said dryly.

“Well, that’s just bad strategy,” Twilight said. “Why would he retreat before seeing what the spell does? You’d think he’d want to know what he’s up against for the next time.”

“Next time?” Fluttershy repeated.

Luna nodded. “He may have thought Pinkie was going to attack him. Or he may have wanted to escape unseen.”

“Why?” Applejack asked.

“To regroup.”

They looked at her uncertainly, and she turned toward the palace. “We need to return.”

“What about Ponyville?” Twilight asked, and Fluttershy gasped.

“Oh my gosh, Ponyville! Oh, Princess, is Ponyville okay?”

“I really can’t say,” she said quietly. “I am sorry. But we must talk to my sister.” She beckoned them to crowd around her. “I would walk, but teleporting is faster. And we should be there as fast as possible.”

They huddled by her, Applejack dragging Rarity over. As soon as they were ready, Luna activated her spell, and their vision went black in the crushing, tightening feeling of teleportation.

An instant later, they stood in the main courtyard, still empty of guards, its surrounding walls cracked and sagging. Applejack bent down to vomit once more.

“Ah really don’t like that,” she said weakly, and Luna patted her back. Twilight looked up at the palace while Applejack regained her constitution. From a distance, the damage appeared to be located only in the towers, but up close, she could see floors exposed like ribs on a skeleton, and beams of scaffolding hanging out like fingers. Windows had been shattered and columns had been cracked and uprooted. Despite this, she still felt a sense of awe, standing before the main gates. The palace was hurt, but it still stood.

Luna grabbed Rarity in a cloud of magic and led them into the reception room, empty; glass glittered on the carpet, and the ceiling was punctured like a cut tarp, a chunk of masonry lying on the stairs in a spread of thin cracks. They followed Luna up the stairs and down a long corridor, to a spiral staircase and up into a tower that Twilight didn’t recognize. Shafts of sunlight slanted in on them through the tower’s broken top, catching the staircase in a brilliant series of angular shadows and bright surfaces, clashing against the smooth, cracked walls. Twilight looked around warily, not certain of the tower’s safety.

They turned abruptly into another hallway and entered the door at the end, a massive, wooden slab inlaid with a decorative sun. It opened into a tremendous bedroom, Celestia sleeping on the bed, her wings splayed out in an undignified way that made Twilight grin despite herself.

“You may enter,” Luna said, and they did.

The room was disheveled and disorganized, and absolutely beautiful. The royal red carpets were soft on their sore hooves, the walls painted a calming ecru that soothed their eyes. The bed itself was long and sumptuous, and its four elaborately-carved posts held up a canopy, the curtains from which colored Celestia’s coat to a sultry rose-pink. A large window, now only a few shards clinging to the edges of the frame, tattered the light with jagged, grayish shadows. There was a desk and chair, the latter of which had been upended and the former of which had had its contents strewn all over the floor around it. A large painting tilted on the wall, and the closet doors stood open awkwardly.

“Sister, wake up.”

Celestia stirred and pulled back the curtain, and, seeing Twilight and the others, smiled warmly. “My little ponies. It is truly wonderful to see you again.”

“They already know what happened to Equestria; they figured it out for themselves.”

Celestia lay back with a sigh. “Good. I was not at all looking forward to explaining it again.” She read the concern on Twilight’s face. “You’ll have to forgive me if I stay in bed for now. The battle last night… was tiring.”

“It’s fine, yer highness,” Applejack said reverently.

“I see Rarity is still asleep,” Celestia said, and they all nodded. She sighed again. “So you know what happened. I’m sure you have some questions.”

“Yeah, just a couple,” Rainbow said.

“How the hay did Pinkie do this?” Twilight blurted. “I know she’s powerful, but nopony is powerful enough to destroy an entire country.”

Celestia averted her eyes. “The very same question that has been occupying me. I… do not know for certain, but I fear I may have made a mistake in the sigil.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My intention was to expand Pinkie’s power, and then change it to that more befitting of an alicorn. The situation requires more study, but I believe I accidentally reversed the process.”

“But why should that matter?” Rainbow asked.

“I did not think it would. However, the effects of magic transference to a regular pony are different from those to an alicorn, something I did not consider.”

“But Pinkie’s not an alicorn,” Applejack said.

“From a magical perspective, she was.”

“You’re saying that the spell gave her too much,” Twilight said.

“I think so, yes.” She closed her eyes. “The simple truth is, I think we overshot the mark.”

Twilight only stared at her. “So that’s it? All this mess from a stupid, simple oversight?”

“But that shouldn’t have made Pinkie cast such a huge spell,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, why couldn’t she just control herself?” Twilight asked.

“Too much magic, too fast, can overwhelm a pony. My theory is that Pinkie simply could not handle what you gave her, Twilight, and released it in the first spell that came to mind. In this case, an earthquake.”

“What about the floating?” Rainbow asked.

“In a state of uncontrolled magic, the caster’s thoughts become unfiltered spells. Pinkie must have been thinking about levitation at the time.”

Again, they all looked at Pinkie, who stood at the doorway with a guilty expression and eyes on the floor.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Pinkie,” Celestia said, “your actions were not in your control.”

Pinkie didn’t respond, and Fluttershy rubbed her back.

Celestia went on, eyes still closed. “I have spent all morning looking around Equestria, talking to ponies, surveying damages. I… am afraid the damage is extensive.”

“All across the country,” Applejack said.

“Yes. All across it. The fault lines run precisely along our borders.”

“There’s a perfect, Equestria-shaped hole in the ground below,” Luna said.

“Why does it go along the borders?” Rainbow asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Luna looked at them uncomfortably. “Many centuries ago, after the original defeat of Discord but before my… incident, Celestia and I laid a powerful enchantment all along the borders, which, among other things, protected it from any harmful magic that might come from neighboring countries.”

“We did not feel secure in our place at the time,” Celestia said.

“Of course, this was when Equestria was much smaller. As it expanded, we decided to keep the new borders enchanted, as a defensive measure. Though, by the time Equestria got to be as big as it is now, the spells were maintained mostly out of tradition.”

“I suspect that when Pinkie cast her spell, it was contained by these enchantments.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Twilight said.

“You said you used the magical spells for protection and other things. What kind of other things?” Rainbow asked suspiciously.

“Monitoring the country. It’s those same enchantments that I used to ascertain the extent of the damage.”

“What about Discord?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yeah, how did he even escape?” Twilight asked.

Celestia was long in answering. “There are several possibilities. There may have been enough chaos near his statue to release him. He may have had spells in place to help him affect an escape, post imprisonment.”

“Or he may have fooled us,” Luna said. “Perhaps he was never truly imprisoned at all.”

“Either way, he’s back now,” Applejack said.

“Precisely,” Celestia said.

“Do you know what happened to him?” Twilight asked.

“Unfortunately, we do not,” Celestia said. “He has gone off somewhere else; of this, I am certain, but otherwise, I have no idea.”

“I think we should consider the possibility that he is regrouping,” Luna said. “This attack was nothing like his past actions. He was aiming to conquer, not vex. I doubt he will be put off so easily.”

“Easily?” Rainbow repeated, a little insulted.

“So what do we do?” Twilight asked.

Celestia nodded sadly. “I apologize, my student, but for this situation I can only offer speculation. Throughout all of our rule, this is something that neither of us have ever seen, or even thought about.” She paused. “The way I see it, we have two problems.”

“Equestria an’ Discord,” Applejack said.

“Yes. My only idea for solving our… fragmentation, I suppose, is to use magic to put the country back together, piece by piece. The solution for Discord would be to use the Elements of Harmony to imprison him once more.”

“I thought he stole them,” Fluttershy said.

“He did, which is precisely the problem,” Luna said. She thought. “This all seems very premeditated.”

“Surely we can find them again, though,” Twilight said.

“Yeah,” Rainbow said. “We found ‘em last time, so what’s the problem?”

“This time, he has left no clues,” Celestia said.

“None at all?” Fluttershy asked.

“None at all,” Luna said. “You will have to search for them.”

“There is a spell that can help you,” Celestia said.

“How?” Applejack asked.

“It’s a kind of homing spell. It attracts the caster to any Elements of Harmony within a certain radius. I invented it myself, actually, after Discord stole the Elements the first time. Just in case he ever did again.”

“Have you ever thought of just protecting them better in the first place?” Rainbow asked.

Celestia breathed out slowly. “The only way I could protect them more strongly would be if I used their own power.”

“Which would be basically like locking them away,” Luna said. “Rendering them useless.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Rainbow said. “We use your spell to track down the Elements of Harmony, defeat Discord, and… how do we put the country back together?” “That should actually be easy,” Twilight said. “I can just enchant Pinkie again, and she can do the reverse of whatever she did last time.”

“I wish that were the case,” Celestia said, cracking open her eyes to smile sympathetically at Twilight.

“Me too,” Luna mumbled.

“As you know, my student, it is quite a lot more difficult to repair than to destroy. I fear that even Pinkie Pie could not put Equestria back together in just one spell.”

“Then how?” Twilight asked. She thought she already knew the answer.

“In many small spells.”

“Oh, come on,” Applejack said. “Yer not sayin’ we need to travel all across Equestria… are ya?”

“I am,” Celestia said simply.

There was a long period of silence, and then Rainbow spoke. “There has to be an easier way to do this.”

“Perhaps there is, but this is the only solution I can think of.”

“You’re sure Pinkie can’t just do it in one spell?” Twilight asked. “I mean, she’s already surprised us once.”

“If she cannot control herself when she has the power that caused this, there is no way we can rely on her to bring the country back together in one shot,” Celestia said. “Even assuming she has enough power.”

“So how many spells do you think we’ll need?” Applejack asked.

“Oh, I have no way to know. Equestria’s a big place.”

“I do not think you should spend all your time on fixing the country,” Luna said hesitantly.

“My sister is right. Defeating Discord should be an equal priority.”

“How far did he move the Elements, do you think?” Twilight asked.

“I do not know, except to say that they are not nearby,” Celestia said. “I have already searched Canterlot.”

“Well, we can kill two birds with one stone, at least. We can travel ‘round Equestria, fixin’ things up, an’ search for the Elements at the same time,” Applejack said.

“That is precisely what I was going to suggest,” Celestia said.

“Well… huh,” Twilight said. She wasn’t certain what to think.

“Are we safe floating up here?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight frowned. She hadn’t thought of that, and the idea bothered her. “Yeah, what if Pinkie’s spell… runs out? Won’t we fall?”

Celestia and Luna both sighed. “Unless Pinkie can shed some light on the situation, I think it would be best if we did not think about that,” Celestia said.

They all looked at Pinkie, who backed farther into the doorway, eyes still on the ground.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do about that at this point,” Luna said. “Except hope.”

Twilight’s mouth was suddenly very dry, her brows knit. “Great.”

They were all silent, and Rainbow shifted her weight awkwardly, flaring her wings out to keep her balance. “Uh, not to change topic or anything, but what was the deal with that flying ship last night?”

“It was something of Discord’s, of course, but more than that I do not know,” Celestia said, clearly happy to be off the topic of their possible fall to the planet.

“It disappeared before either of us could learn anything about it,” Luna said.

“My advice for now would be to watch for it, but not go searching for it.”

“In time, we will know more, I am sure,” Luna said.

“Yeah, so, what about you two?” Twilight asked. “What are you going to do while we’re traveling?”

“We haven’t decided yet,” Celestia said. “Though we know we won’t be traveling with you; if Discord attacks again, we don’t want you to be caught in the middle.”

“I was planning on trying to find him myself,” Luna said. “This very well could be war. If it is, we need to know everything we can about where he came from and what he’s doing.”

They all were quiet, looking from princess to princess, out the window, at each other.

“Soooo, just so Ah’ve got this crystal clear,” Applejack said, breaking the silence. “We need to find the Elements of Harmony an’ use ‘em to defeat Discord, and go to every place in Equestria an’ cast the same spell a whole bunch of times so Pinkie can piece it all back together.”

“Right,” Celestia said.

“An’ you have a spell fer findin’ the Elements.”

“Yes.”

“What about puttin’ the world back? Shucks, Ah never thought Ah’d say that.”

“There is a spell for mending fault lines, but it’s very seldom used, and very complicated.”

“And I imagine I’ll need to enchant Pinkie with the same spell before she uses it,” Twilight said.

“Yes, but with a smaller sigil. Is it still fresh in your mind?”

Twilight called it up from memory, still as clear as if she had been the one to invent it. “It is.”

“Excellent.” Celestia heaved a tired sigh. “I know that this is a lot to put on you, so you must forgive me when I say that there is… one more thing I must do.” Her voice carried a tone of grave unhappiness, and Twilight shivered involuntarily.

“What is it?” Fluttershy asked, afraid.

“Before the battle, there was an… incident. In order for you to be functional on the battlefield, I had to wipe it from your memories. I think it would be best to lift that enchantment now.”

“Oh, no,” Twilight said. “What kind of incident?”

“A very unpleasant one,” Luna said.

“Forgive me,” Celestia said, lighting her horn. For a moment, Twilight’s mind went fuzzy, and then there were memories. She blinked. They were as real and fresh as if she had had them the whole time.

“Oh, oh no,” she said, sitting down. The others did the same, except Rainbow, who had not been present for the experience, and only looked at them with concern. Fluttershy was crying, and Applejack stared emptily.

Twilight looked down at the floor, her mind a swirling pool of fragmented images and thoughts. Gleaming metal, cries of horror, and violence. The violence of magic, of holding a pony against his will, of throwing him bodily from the balcony. Her entire body shook, and her eyes were moist.

“Is it true, your highness?” she asked, her voice strangled with unshed tears.

“Every detail,” Celestia said seriously.

“But…” She took a shuddering breath, and looked back to the window. The sun helped a little. “So I… we…”

“It was in self-defense,” Celestia said.

“Of course. Yes, of course.” She looked at the others. Rainbow, who watched them with very real worry. Applejack, who looked at the walls blankly. Fluttershy, who wiped her eyes, and Pinkie, who only smiled emptily, lips moving wordlessly. Rarity lay on the floor, forgotten.

She stood up and went to the window, and looked out into the city. Beyond the palace walls, Greater Canterlot was a mess of rubble, and though the foundation seemed whole, there were very few buildings that had gone unscathed. Somehow, the view eased her mind a little. Celestia was right; it was just self-defense. After the fact of the nightmare battle, the sigil, and the unreal situation laid out before them, the balcony didn’t seem quite as horrifying. “Why am I not so upset about everything else, though?” She turned back to the princesses, and her friends.

“When do you want us to begin?”

“We must go to the library,” Luna said softly. “There, you will find the spells you need. After that, we will address your wound, Twilight.”

She nodded, and they moved to the door, Rarity suspended once more in Luna’s telekinetic haze.

“Goodbye, Princess Celestia,” Twilight said.

“Goodbye, Twilight Sparkle.”

“Feel better, your highness,” Fluttershy said; the door closed before she could hear Celestia’s word of thanks.

“Come,” Luna said, moving down the hall back toward the stairs. “I will lead you to the library.”

Twilight's Wound

Act Two

Assembly and Reassembly

I keep finding myself in the same strange moments.

Chapter Eight

Twilight’s Wound

Twilight followed Luna in a daze. She chewed her lip and frowned to herself, grappling with the memories Celestia had given back to her—to them. How was it possible? Imagining herself in the situation, acting on pure, terrified impulse, seemed so wrong. But she knew it was so; the memories, reasserted, were too powerful and detailed to be false.

“Princess?”

Luna glanced at her. “Yes, Twilight?”

Twilight looked down. “Nothing.”

Luna was silent for a moment. “I know what you are feeling. So does Celestia. It is something that we all must bear.”

“How?”

“That is not something I can tell you. We all must find our own way.”

Rainbow trotted up to walk beside her. “What exactly are you remembering, Twilight?”

“Please, Rainbow Dash,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Your actions were taken in self-defense. You must remember that. Only the direst need brought you to it,” Luna said.

“Yeah. I know.” Twilight sighed and looked around a little. The princess’ words made her feel a little better, and she was able to move her mind to a different topic. “Your highness, I just thought of something I forgot to ask.”

“What is that?”

“Why isn’t the air thinner? We’re a mile off the ground, after all.”

“I wondered the same thing. Celestia thinks we had some atmosphere brought up with us.”

“That’s what we thought too.”

“Yes. Though I don’t know how, precisely.”

“Hey, if that’s true, shouldn’t we worry about the air leaking out across our borders?” Rainbow asked.

Luna thought. “Yes, we should. I’ll tell Celestia as soon as I’m done with you all.”

They turned down into a stairwell and went through another corridor, stopping before a pair of ornate double doors that Twilight recognized very well. When Luna opened them, Twilight trotted in, some of her unhappiness replaced with the excitement and comfort of the familiar library. She angled for the section concerning magical spells.

“I had forgotten that you are just as familiar with this library as Celestia and I,” Luna said with a smile.

“Oh, sorry. I—”

“No need to apologize. I’m not insulted.”

Twilight slowed anyway, waiting for her friends to take in the view. When she was young, the library had been spectacular; its domed roof was the second largest in the palace, after the great hall, supported by ivory beams and stone columns that melded together into a cat’s cradle of white webbing. From the doors, one could see the entire building spread out in a gentle ellipse, shelves of books basking in the subdued and segmented light from above, be it sunlight or moonlight. Here lived volumes, tomes, and encyclopedias on everything from science to magic, art to politics, literature to mathematics.

Now, however, the ceiling was cracked open, the delicate system of braces beneath it bent out of place. Bookshelves had fallen over like dominoes, throwing books all over the wooden floors. Pages lay asunder, torn and scattered, carpeting the ground along with broken glass and bits of masonry. Twilight could see a bird perched on one of the tipped shelves.

She led them to the magic wing, her head down to look at the jumble of books on the floor. Even disheveled as they were, their titles called to her—she wanted to read them all.

“What kind of book are we looking for?” she asked Luna, who scanned the piles absentmindedly.

“Advanced geomancy. I can teach you the Element-finding spell myself, but I don’t know the repairing spell off the top of my head.”

Twilight walked to a shelf of G’s, which lay in two pieces on the ground, a nest of bent books hidden underneath its larger fragment. She began searching amid the unhidden books, undaunted by their number, or by the fact that she had to look through them by hoof. Luna and Pinkie helped on the other side, and the others sat around Rarity, whom Luna had left on a clear patch of floor a few feet away.

“Ghosts, Grapes and Wine, Gemstones, Grass,” Twilight muttered to herself, placing books aside as she shuffled through them. She wanted to look through them all, if even for a minute, but didn’t. Another time, she told herself.

She dug down into a new pile, pushing past Griffons, Gold Mines, and Goddess Syndrome. “Geomancy! I found it,” she said, awkwardly picking it up between her hooves. She opened the book and tried to leaf through it, but her hooves were too clumsy.

“Why do you not use magic?” Luna asked.

“The wound on my pastern is infected, and Fluttershy told me that magic would make it worse.”

“Ah, yes. Sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s fine.”

“May I see it again? I might be able to help.”

Twilight angled her leg for Luna to look at the wound; her horn glowed, and Twilight’s pastern tingled for a moment before Luna retracted her magic.

“I do not have the magic to cure this, at least not safely. This needs a medicinal treatment.”

“That’s what Fluttershy said too. But why?”

“A medicinal treatment can bypass magic entirely, while a magical one must first overcome it. And… I am afraid I don’t have the magic to heal you.”

“Is the infection really that powerful?”

“The magic is Discord’s.”

Twilight looked at her incredulously.

Luna lowered her eyes for a second. “Together, Celestia and I can defeat him, but individually, we cannot.”

“Okay.” Twilight returned to the book, and was soon distracted. Her ungainly hooves slipped on the pages, and her focus was lost to the princess’ words. If Discord was more powerful than Luna or Celestia, what did that say about the Elements of Harmony?

Luna cleared her throat lightly. “I am sorry. If it’s any consolation, the infection is not at all far along.”

Twilight nodded without looking at her, trying to make sense of a diagram. The princess’ words had glanced off her ears without effect, so distracted was she in her thoughts.

The sound of stirring behind her, however, made her ears perk up suddenly. Disheveling the books that flanked her, Rarity was turning over, and the others went immediately to her side. Twilight watched her come awake, slowly opening her eyes and then looking around groggily.

“What? What is this?” Rarity asked in a cracked voice.

Fluttershy immediately began explaining, quietly and patiently, and Twilight turned back to her book, tuning out the conversation. Luna came to her side, beckoning Pinkie to do the same, and wordlessly took the book from Twilight to begin flipping through its chapters. She finally found what she was looking for near the back, in a section entitled “Macro-Curative Geomantic Enchantments.” The title alone was enough to put her off.

She flipped through the pages slowly, scanning diagrams and lists of potion ingredients, stopping on a page showing a list of instructions for casting the spell. Twilight and Pinkie looked at the page, unsure; the spell was very complicated, demanding astounding amounts of concentration and multiple points of focus at once.

Twilight looked at Pinkie uncertainly. “Pinkie, can you handle this spell?”

“I think so. I mean, as long as you’ve got your sigil, what’s there to worry about?” She didn’t smile, but looked at Twilight, and then Luna, earnestly.

“Your confidence is heartening, Pinkie,” Luna said. “Give me a minute, and I will make copies of these pages for you.”

“Can I come with you?” Twilight asked. She felt bad leaving her friends to deal with what was very clearly a building reaction from Rarity, but she wanted to speak to Luna alone.

“Of course, Twilight.” Luna picked up the book and walked to the back of the library, stepping carefully between masses of volumes and leaning underneath the warped door-frame. As they walked away, Twilight could hear Rarity dumbly repeating the word “floating,” over and over.

The copy room, one of several in the tremendous library, was dark and uninteresting. A table stood to one side, opposite a photocopier; Twilight was momentarily surprised to see it, having not encountered one since moving to Ponyville. Xerography was not a technology that the small town had yet invested in.

Luna set the book down and prepared the machine. “Celestia told me that you’re upset with her.”

“R—really?” Twilight looked at her quickly, afraid she might be angry. “What did she say?”

“She told me the truth. She had to choose one of you to protect over the other, and that one was Pinkie. You didn’t take too kindly to that, I understand.”

“Well, maybe not,” Twilight said hesitantly.

“You can express yourself to me, Twilight,” Luna said, closing the copier around the book. “Celestia is my sister, yes, but I won’t be angry if you and she don’t get along all the time. That would be unreasonable of me.”

Twilight breathed in once, slowly, and sighed. She was nervous to open up to Luna, having barely known her, even with her closeness to Celestia. “I… guess it’s because she said it so callously. It was like she was just brushing me aside.”

“She said this to you already, I know, but it was important that she saw you as tools, not ponies.”

“I know,” Twilight said shortly. “But I’m not a tool.”

“But I agree that she could have said it a little more delicately.”

“I suppose. But saying it nicely wouldn’t really change it.”

The photocopier glowed for a moment and spat out a pair of papers. “Understand, Twilight, that last night was easy for nopony, least of all Celestia. She was asleep when Discord attacked, and had literally no time to prepare before the fighting began. While I was defending the mountain, she had to rouse and organize the troops on her own.”

“It was really that sudden?”

“Oh, yes. And as soon as the soldiers were out, she needed to get you all here and help prepare you. A lesser pony would never have been as understanding, patient, and kind as she was last night.” Luna made another copy, and turned the page.

“You really admire her, don’t you?” Twilight asked, and immediately reprimanded herself, thinking she had insulted her.

Luna only looked at her evenly. “I do. A lot has transpired between us, Twilight Sparkle, and I have never seen her give up, or let discouragement stop her. That’s more than I can say for myself.” She smiled humorlessly.

“Everypony makes mistakes,” Twilight said tentatively.

“Oh, I know,” Luna said, her voice returning to normal. “I’m not saying that my sister is perfect; she’s far from it. I apologize if I sounded bitter.”

“It’s fine.” Twilight watched Luna work in silence for a minute, the humming copy machine giving voice to the awkwardness she felt, so close to the uncomfortable subject of Luna’s past.

“Celestia is sorry for the way she made you feel,” Luna said at last. “I know she didn’t say so when we were in her room; I believe it was because she didn’t want to bring the issue to the attention of your friends. But she is sorry.”

“She shouldn’t be afraid of saying so in front of them.”

“Not fear, Twilight. Respect. You might not want your friends to know how she hurt you.”

“I suppose.” It still sounded like an excuse to Twilight, but she didn’t want to press the issue.

“Don’t think that I’m telling you this for her sake; she didn’t ask me to relay any messages. I’m just letting you know, so you might not be as angry.”

“I’m not angry,” Twilight said, a little insulted.

“Did my words inflame you?”

She paused, considering. “A little bit, yes.”

“Then I apologize. I did not mean offense.”

“It’s okay. I’m not even really mad at her anymore.”

Luna made the last copy.

“But I guess I am a little hurt.”

Luna nodded. “I understand, Twilight. That will fade soon enough, as long as forgiveness is in your heart.”

They exited the room and walked back to the broken shelf, where Pinkie had joined the discussion with Rarity, speaking with more animation and cheer in her voice. Rarity merely sat with despondent eyes and listened; her mane and tail were still tangled and caked in dirt, her coat was filthy, and she was missing the scarf she had brought from home. It was probably on the battlefield, Twilight thought, destroyed by the movement of thousands of armored hooves. She looked away from Rarity, afraid their eyes might meet and she would be caught in a vulnerable state of mind.

“So all we gotta do is use the spell that Luna and Twilight found to put the pieces back together!” Pinkie concluded, and Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes at Pinkie’s exuberance.

“Oh, so that’s all we have to do, is it?” Rarity said, her voice rising histrionically. “Well, that should be easy. We’ll just get in our carriage and drive across Equestria, then. Surely that won’t take forever!”

“Ah’m not sayin’ you ain’t right ‘bout all this, Rarity, but try to look on the positive side,” Applejack said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Applejack. I just assumed there wasn’t one because, oh, I don’t know, there isn’t one!” Her voice echoed through the library, and Twilight looked around fearfully, expecting a librarian to come. “What about those of us with a business to run, or little sisters to keep safe?”

“Ah’ve got that too, Rarity,” Applejack said coolly.

“At least Discord didn’t destroy Canterlot,” Pinkie said.

“Yes, but we did,” Rarity countered. “Is this one of those ‘if I can’t have it, nopony will’ things? Because if so, nicely done, Pinkie.”

“Thanks, Rarity!”

“Ugh, I’m being sarcastic, dear,” she said tiredly.

“I know!”

“Then why—oh, never mind.” She lay back down, forelegs crossed angrily.

“Ah know it’s hard, Rarity,” Applejack said. “We’re all worried. Ponyville, our friends.”

“All the animals,” Fluttershy added.

“It’s not fair,” Rarity said.

“Pinkie, Fluttershy, come to me,” Luna said. Twilight took Fluttershy’s place on the carpet, thankful for the warm spot she had left.

“Oh, Twilight,” Rarity said sadly, looking at her eyes. “Is this really happening?”

Twilight paused. “I’m sorry, Rarity.”

Rarity hid her face in her hooves, and Applejack rubbed her back. Instead of looking up, hopeful, Rarity began to tremble and cry—not her usual, melodramatic, wracking sobs, but long, sighing, deflating sounds, like she had lost the energy even to make a scene.

Twilight looked nervously at Pinkie and Fluttershy, both with their eyes closed, Luna watching them intently. She had never been very comfortable with crying ponies, and with Rarity as she was, a weeping reflection of the same denial and confusion she felt, she could only watch Applejack try to console her, Rainbow to the side and looking on with equal concern. She felt acutely self-conscious, standing by their side, and was relieved to see Fluttershy and Pinkie conclude their conversation with Luna.

“That was quick,” she said.

“It was a really easy spell!” Pinkie chirped, her earlier sadness seemingly forgotten.

“So can you feel any Elements nearby?”

Pinkie and Fluttershy shook their heads together. “Sorry, but no,” Fluttershy said.

Twilight wasn’t surprised; Celestia hadn’t found any either. Still, she had hoped. “What’s the spell’s range?”

“Loooooooooong,” Pinkie said, turning her head in a lazy circle.

“Princess Luna said it can be anywhere between twenty and fifty miles,” Fluttershy said.

“The Elements of Harmony aren’t even within fifty miles?” Rainbow shouted. “This sucks,” she whined quietly.

“Come, my friends,” Luna said, heading toward the exit. “We still have two more stops before you can go home.”

“What’re those?” Applejack asked.

“We must get the medicine for Twilight’s infection, before it can get too serious. How are you feeling, Twilight?”

Twilight bent her pastern experimentally. Fluttershy’s spell was beginning to wear off, but all she said was “fine.”

They exited the library, and this time, Twilight knew the way to the great hall. It was a route she had traversed countless times in her youth, running to tell Princess Celestia of a new discovery, or ask her a question.

“Just where is this medicine?” Rainbow asked, sounding impatient.

“The medicine itself is not here; I would need to make it myself,” Luna said. “We are, however, going to search for the main ingredient, which we should find in a pharmacy at the foot of the mountain. And if not there, the apothecary just a few blocks north of it.”

They walked down the great hall stairs, out through the courtyard, down the same central road they had slowly went down just last night, and stopped at the shattered drawbridge. Luna looked back at them and crouched down, wings spread out. “Climb on, Twilight, and I will take us there.”

Twilight hesitated. “No teleportation?”

“I want to see the cracks up close.”

“What ‘bout us?” Applejack asked.

“Go ahead and go back to the courtyard for now. I want somepony nearby, should my sister need something.”

“Doesn’t she have the Royal Guard for that? Or servants?” Pinkie asked.

“Not so much at the moment,” Luna said, looking at her strangely.

“Oh. Um, right.”

“I want to go with Twilight,” Rainbow said.

Luna thought. “Fine. But only because you can keep up. Now get on, Twilight.”

Twilight climbed unsteadily onto Luna’s back and slipped her forelegs around the princess’ neck. It felt strange, being so close to the less familiar of the two princesses; Luna seemed not to mind. Her muscular shoulders switched back and forth as she walked to the edge and jumped out over the river, still flowing down the mountain, seemingly unmindful of the chasms not a mile away.

Luna’s wings flapped powerfully, and they rose up over the mountainside. Twilight gripped her neck tightly in surprise. Though she was no stranger to flying around, doing so on the back of such an immensely strong pony was entirely different from what she had ever experienced. Luna moved through the air with ease that belied the force with which her massive wings pumped, ten feet at a flap, rising and gliding across acres of trampled grass like it was nothing. Rainbow, behind, had to flap her wings as fast as she could just to keep up.

They went slowly down the mountain, away from the palace and toward the ring of unassuming stucco and concrete buildings that was Lower Canterlot. A deep rift clove the mountain’s foot, and Luna glided out over the slopes until they were right above it.

She turned to Twilight with a smile. “Are you ready to drop?”

Twilight looked down and swallowed nervously, unable to form a response.

“Here we go!” Luna said, folding her wings in and letting them plummet. Twilight hugged her neck even tighter, allowing a strangled cry of fear to escape her throat. The wind whipped her mane and tail angrily, and they tilted down until she was looking straight at the open chasm, a bottomless hole that admitted the white of clouds and dark of barren shadow from a mile below, an entirely other world. Rainbow stayed just behind, a look of determination on her face as she tried to pass them. They streaked down past ragged stones and the tan, curving hairline of the road, and down into the hole—through the claustrophobic canyon of ripped rock and cold, compressed earth, no more than twenty feet wide in some spots.

Luna’s wings shot out suddenly, and they bent under the slab of ground and began to glide. Twilight wasn’t ordinarily afraid of heights, but, looking down, the sight sent a shiver across her body and a shot of adrenaline through her heart. There was nothing beneath them except insubstantial clouds that obscured, but didn’t cover, the mottled dark brown and black crater below. She could see its contours in some places, rough mountains and trenches of bedrock and sediment that hadn’t been exposed to the light in centuries. She tried to see beyond the hole, but they were too far inland; it was everything she saw, extending out to the horizon and not even shrinking into a vanishing point. An endless expanse of dark stone, like a chewed-up and petrified hunk of bread: needle-point towers; gaping, black holes; scissor-backed ridges, their edges wicked and raw like the teeth of a snarled saw.

This, however, was nothing compared to the visual shock that the floating patches of ground presented. And they were floating; there was nothing keeping them aloft that Twilight could see, not even the distinctive haze of glittering, sparkling magic. A billion piece jigsaw puzzle, each piece a cool dark brown cloud that weighed, she could only guess, hundreds of tons. Here, too, the earth had never seen the light of day, its porous and ragged texture alien to her. Conglomerates of stone hung from the bottoms, massive, finely-veined bulbs of dark colors, some bigger than a house. Like the earth below, the shell of land under which they coasted seemed to expand outwards from all sides, and though Twilight could not see its many-faceted surface well at her distance, she could see the slight dip in the horizon where the pieces curved downwards, accommodating the Gaia’s natural sphericity.

“Fascinating, no?” Luna asked, looking back at her curiously.

Twilight couldn’t respond; it was too remarkable, too impossible, too big. “Maybe I’m still dreaming. Maybe the whole battle, the whole spell casting, the passing out, and this are all the same, long dream.” She smiled weakly. “Maybe I’ll wake up a little early tomorrow and not go back to sleep, and think about this crazy dream. I’ll tell Spike, and he’ll agree—it’s all crazy, none of this could ever happen—and I’ll tell my friends, and they’ll agree with him. Fluttershy will be afraid of what I’m saying, Rarity will assure me that nothing like that can ever happen, Pinkie will crack jokes, Rainbow will make fun of me, and Applejack will comment on how weird it is to have a dream like that.”

When Twilight looked at Luna to respond, she was looking back up at the bottom of the ground, her face serious and thoughtful.

“She probably has an actual reason to want to see this,” Twilight thought. “Not just plain old curiosity.”

Rainbow caught up to them, panting, and Luna smiled at her before continuing. They arced gently up at another crack, speeding up the side of another floating island and stopping their ascent far above the white roofs of Lower Canterlot.

“You’re not going to find anything by going under the ground, you know,” Rainbow said, speeding over to them.

“I’m quite aware, thank you,” Luna said calmly.

Rainbow gave no response as they passed over the city. From their height, Twilight could marvel at the cleanliness of the cuts; the ground’s edges seemed as smooth as shattered glass, neatly dividing the world into angular sections, like tiles in a work of art. From the mountaintop, what must the world look like?

The city below, however, was a testament to the devastating power Pinkie had unleashed. The wet streets were cracked and clogged with crashed cars and dislodged pieces of buildings, themselves collapsed mountains of stone and wood against leaning and solitary outer walls. Those that had survived were in little better condition, sagging inwards on collapsed roofs or gutted and charred from panicking ponies and electrical fires. Crowds of ponies picked through the rubble, sat on roofs, or wandered aimlessly through the streets, and as Luna flew over, they lifted their heads to her. Some cried out.

“Are you going to help them?” Twilight asked.

“The Canterlot Guard is already on its way. But yes. As soon as I’m done with you all, I’m going back down there.”

“What about Celestia?” Rainbow asked from behind.

“She is in no condition,” Luna said guardedly.

“Is she really hurt that bad?” Twilight asked.

“She seems to think so.”

Twilight frowned. What did that mean? She didn’t want to ask, and Luna volunteered no information, so she only watched the masses below, eyes turned up in supplication for the princess’ aid; Luna didn’t even slow her flight. It stirred Twilight’s heart to see them, forced to dig through the remnants of their homes and businesses, completely alone; had they even received an explanation for their suffering? Without knowing it, she had tightened her hooves around Luna’s neck, and Luna shook her head a little. Twilight eased up quickly.

“I should warn you, Twilight, that we might not be able to find what you need,” Luna said. “The substance is notoriously dangerous to contain. The earthquake could have set it off.”

“What is it?” Twilight asked.

Luna turned and descended onto what, to Twilight, looked like more of the identical areas of destruction, and everypony looked up at her, hopeful. “The substance is called phlogiston,” she said eventually, entering a glide over the rooftops. Twilight only nodded; she wasn’t particularly familiar with it, having only seen it mentioned in her studies a few times.

Luna stopped and hovered, bending down to survey the block. “Oh, ponyfeathers.”

“Is it gone?” Twilight asked.

“The pharmacy is destroyed,” Luna said, pointing to a tangled pile of girders and stone; Twilight could make out the remnants of a counter and a few shelves, both nondescript and anonymous among the dirty, flooded wreckage. On one corner of the ruined building was a peculiar, circular lack of rubble, leaving only a ring of blackened ground to be filled with water, like a shrine.

“What happened there?” Rainbow asked, coming up alongside them.

“That would probably be the phlogiston.”

“What the hay’s that?”

They began climbing again, and the ponies below cried out. Luna ignored them, and Twilight averted her eyes. She didn’t want to see their disappointment and anger.

“Phlogiston is a very dangerous, very mysterious compound,” Luna began. “To put it simply, it’s tangible fire. It’s usually liquid, but it can be condensed into solid if you know what you’re doing.”

“Is it real fire?” Twilight asked.

“Yes and no. Fire is the primary ingredient, but phlogiston does more than just burn. It can be concentrated like an acid, used as an explosive, and, of course, has a few medicinal properties.”

“This is starting to sound familiar,” Rainbow said.

“If I’m not mistaken, pegasi used to use it for rainbow production,” Luna said. “Before it was banned, of course.”

“That’s it! Yeah, rainbows. I remember the horror stories of ponies falling into the rainbow vats.” She thought for a moment. “That stuff is used in medicine?”

“Yes, in certain types. It’s used with magical compounds to burn out impurities, like what Twilight’s infected with.”

“What about it exploding?” Twilight asked.

“It only explodes when exposed to heat,” Luna said.

“Ummmm… heat? Like body heat?”

Luna chuckled. “If your body temperature is high enough to ignite phlogiston, explosions aren’t your biggest problem. Although…”

“What?”

“Sometimes it’ll explode if it’s exposed to itself.”

“Wait, what? How does that work?”

“It is basically fire, remember. Fire spreads.”

They descended once more and stopped over another block of buildings, as ruined as the first. “This is not good,” Luna said.

“Is the apothecary gone too?” Twilight asked.

“It is. And there, among the rubble, is the same blast mark.”

“That phlogiston sure goes off easy,” Rainbow said, sounding unsure.

“It does,” Luna said simply, banking and heading back toward the palace.

“Wait, so what now?” Twilight asked.

“I’m sorry, Twilight Sparkle, but you will not find your medicine here.”

“What? Why not?”

“There are only two businesses that carry phlogiston in Canterlot,” Luna said. “And you’ve seen the fate of them both.”

“So what? Twilight’s just going to have to not be cured? She’s just going to suffer?” Rainbow asked angrily.

Luna sighed audibly, and it was enough answer for them both.

“What the hay, princess? You can’t just give up that easily! Shouldn’t you have some private stores of it in the castle or something?”

Luna snorted. “Only an idiot keeps phlogiston in her house.”

“Well then use magic or something! You can’t just let that infection get worse!”

“I truly am sorry, Rainbow Dash, but there is nothing I can do here. I don’t have enough magic to help her safely.”

“Some princess you are,” Rainbow said before taking off for the castle on her own, leaving Luna to fly at her own leisurely pace.

“Princess, I’m sorry about her,” Twilight said when Rainbow was but a blue speck.

“Never mind, Twilight. She has every right to be upset with me.”

“Yeah. Uh, so is there anything you can do to help?”

“I would not feel safe casting magic on you in this state,” Luna said. “Anything I do could very easily backfire, considering the nature of the magic in your body.”

“Discord.”

“He is more dangerous than you know, Twilight. His magic is corrosive, and I would be endangering your life by trying any sort of spell on you. Even a pain-reducing spell is too risky.”

Twilight didn’t speak, and Luna took her back to the palace silently. As they landed, back in the courtyard, the others looked at her with a mixture of anger and disappointment.

“I see Rainbow Dash already told you what we found,” Luna said, and Applejack nodded, glaring. “I am sorry, but I am unable to do anything for her now. The nature of her infection makes it impossible for me to safely heal her.”

“It’s because it’s Discord’s magic, isn’t it?” Fluttershy asked quietly.

“That is correct,” Luna said.

“How long does she have?” Rarity asked. “Before the infection gets… deadly?”

“If it were any other kind of magic, I would say a matter of days,” Luna said. “But this is Discord.” Her voice dropped to half-volume. “I think she’ll be lucky to have until sunrise tomorrow.”

They stared at her, slack-jawed; Rainbow was the first to speak. “I’m sorry, but what the hell? Until sunrise? What kind of crap is that?”

“You can’t possibly be serious,” Rarity said, her quietude forgotten for concern.

“But that’s less than a day away!” Pinkie said.

“But how can she be that close? She looks fine now. Ya feel fine, right, Twi?” Applejack asked, her voice a little unsteady.

“I do feel fine,” Twilight said, and Luna nodded knowingly. Twilight looked at her, thinking. “It’s going to get bad fast, isn’t it?”

“Most likely,” Luna said.

They were silent, and Twilight looked at them all. “We need to find a solution.” “Any ideas are welcome. Your cure is not in Canterlot, though,” Luna said.

“Maybe we can suck the magic out of the wound, like snake venom,” Applejack suggested.

“No, that wouldn’t work, Applejack. And it would kill you.”

“They used to use phlogiston in rainbows,” Rainbow said. “Maybe if I got some of them, we could do something?”

“Not unless you got a hold of some very old rainbows.”

“Can we find a substitute?” Rarity asked.

“Not in this city, I’m afraid,” Luna said, shaking her head.

“So what do we do? Where’s the nearest phlogiston?” Twilight asked.

She looked at them all, one by one, and they each shook their heads, until she reached Pinkie, who only shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze. “I… miiiiiiiight be able to get some,” she said slowly.

“Where?” Rainbow demanded, grabbing Pinkie and getting in her face.

“If I could get to the rock farm where I grew up, I think I can find some,” she said.

“You think you can, or you can?” Applejack said.

“Ummmm. No, I can! I can totally find some!”

“How far away is it?” Twilight asked.

“Just a couple miles south of Cloudsdale.”

“But then we gotta bring it back here fer Princess Luna to make her medicine,” Applejack said.

“Oh, um, actually, maybe not,” Fluttershy said.

“What do you mean?” Rainbow asked quickly.

“Um, well, I can make the medicine. Um, I know how to.”

They were silent for a moment. “Can you do it at your cottage?” Rarity asked.

“I think so. If Pinkie can find the phlogiston, I have the rest already.”

“And how long would it take you to mix it up?” Rainbow asked.

“Oh, um, maybe two hours.”

“Pinkie, how long will it take you to get the phlogiston when we reach Ponyville?” Twilight asked.

“Hour and a half, maybe. I dunno. It’s a long walk.”

“That’s almost four hours,” Applejack said. “Plus the time it takes us to get there.” She calculated in her head. “With all those gaps, we might not make it.”

“Hold on a moment,” Luna said. “You’re not thinking of walking, are you?”

“Well, yeah. We kind of lost the balloon,” Rainbow said.

Luna smiled, and it relieved them a little. “I can give you a faster way to reach Ponyville. Follow me,” she said, walking down a thin path out the side of the courtyard.

“Where are we going?” Twilight asked.

“The airship tower. Or rather, the part of it that fell off last night. I don’t believe all the airships are completely destroyed, though. They weren’t last time I looked.”

They walked through a small arch in the hedges and to the outer perimeter, a sunny lawn of chartreuse grass that stretched out to the riverbanks nearby. From this angle, the world looked completely fine.

“Where did the tower land?” Rainbow asked.

“Somewhere near the inner courtyard,” Luna said. “I would take you through the palace, but there’s a hole in the walls now, so we can just slip through.”

They walked around a convexity in the hedge and passed through another archway, heads ducked and hooves quickened slightly under the cracked keystone.

“It’s beautiful,” Rarity said.

“It was beautiful,” Luna said. “Thank you, though.”

She led them through more short, green grass, past the blocky remains of crumbled statues that littered the lawn like gravestones. Fluttershy squeaked and muttered an almost inaudible “oh dear” as they passed the soft-eyed, smiling face of Celestia, carved in rain and wind-streaked marble, staring up at them from its landing place many meters away from her dignified body.

They walked the length of the lawn, passing a demolished fountain that had left the surrounding ground muddy and sloppy. Twilight looked up; the sun indicated that it was about eleven, and for the first time since she had been awoken the night before, she was aware of a bitter hunger within her, mixing with her general fatigue and disorientation into a miasma of slow thought and dulled perception. She blinked languidly, and, with some effort, pushed the feelings back. “I’m going to pay for this later.” And, on the tail of that thought, another: “If there is a later.”

She shook her head and looked back to the sky for a distraction from her condition, examining the palace from her new angle. No longer was it crowned with graceful towers and turrets, connected by hair-thin bridges or standing alone in the windy skies. Instead, it was splintered and ruined, like a tree struck by lightning; no tower remained perfectly intact, though some were only decorated with crawling cracks.

“Oh, um, those towers aren’t going to fall on us, are they?” Fluttershy asked from behind.

“I do not believe so,” Luna said, leading them underneath another partially-collapsed archway.

“Oh, okay.”

“How much longer?” Rainbow asked.

“Not long, Rainbow Dash,” Luna said, patiently as ever.

They approached another wall, much taller than the outside wall, but split down in a rough V, edged with brick halves and exposed mortar. Rubble piled at its base, and they had to climb awkwardly over the scattered blocks and stones to enter the inner courtyard, a smaller and darker quadrangle of lush grass and shaken flowers.

“The tower should be around the corner,” Luna said.

Twilight could see the glittering of broken glass on the ground near where the lawn bent toward the palace. They rounded the corner and paused at the scene, while Luna fearlessly approached the colossal tower, now an inert cylinder. It lay like a dead monster in the middle of the courtyard, its tarnished, golden, garlic clove cap reflecting the sunlight dully where it was still unbroken. Paint-flecked pieces of masonry shellacked the grass, and through an open window, they could see the dark and dusty web of destroyed machines: struts, beams, propellers, all tangled and smashed together like teeth.

“Wait here, and back up,” Luna said, squeezing through a window. They obediently backed off, nervously watching the tower.

“Twilight, darling, how are you feeling?” Rarity asked.

“Okay, I guess. I’m more worried than anything. Pinkie, you’re sure you can get the phlogiston?”

“As sure as sure can be, Twilight!”

“Fluttershy? You’re sure you know how to make the medicine?”

“Absolutely,” she said with conviction. “I’ve made medicine almost exactly like this before. Although I am a little scared to work with the phlogiston.”

“You’ve never handled it before?” Pinkie asked.

“Um, no. I haven’t.”

“Have you, Pinkie?” Applejack asked.

“Only a little bit, when I was just an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, Pinkie-winkie! It’s so much fun! You get to wear protective clothes and goggles and pour it really slowly into these little jars and—”

“Hang on,” Rainbow said. “You handled that stuff when you were just a filly?” “Yup! Not a lot, though. Just enough to get the ropes. I can help you with it, Fluttershy.”

“Oh, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m going to need as much help with this as I can.”

“What kind of foalhood did you have that required you to know how to use a compound like that?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, you know, normal rock farming stuff,” Pinkie said with a shrug.

“Not to be rude, dear, but what is rock farming, exactly?” Rarity asked.

“It’s super easy, Rarity! You just move rocks around! Push ‘em to different sides of the field so they can catch the sun just right, and then papa would do something to them.”

“Do what?” Rainbow asked. “Last I checked, you couldn’t do anything with a stupid rock.”

Suddenly, there was a loud, cracking bang; they all looked at the tower, hearts struck with fright, to see chunks of stone flying through the suddenly dusty air and coming to rest on the grass, a few feet away from where they stood. Once the dust settled, they saw a ragged hole in the tower, splitting its top away from its base.

In the clearing stood a large, long, swan-like dirigible, alabaster white. Its back was mounted with four fat propellers, and its corners stretched up in four long posts to hold the balloon, not attached. At the helm was a round wheel with smooth spokes, elevated over an elegant prow that looked like it could cut the air with remarkable ease.

Princess Luna calmly strode out, her horn alight, and levitated the airship out onto the grass. Twilight marveled at the feat: the airship, she estimated between three and four-thousand pounds, floated without even a jot of effort from the princess. At its back, Twilight looked inside the round docks to see large, metal propellers, attached to clunky, oily squares that looked to her like mere jumbles of spare pipes and rods. Luna laid down the ramp, and they slowly made their way up to the deck, a modest, chipped and debris-strewn plain of varnished wood that bowed downwards subtly in the middle.

“How does it work?” Twilight asked.

“You inflate the balloon like you would any other airship, but the propellers are motorized, so you don’t have to rely on the wind to take you where you want to go,” Luna said.

“This thing is motorized?” Applejack said, her voice a little awed. She looked around. “Ah’ve never seen somethin’ this big with a motor in it.”

“Once she’s in the air, all you need to do is steer,” Luna said, indicating the wheel.

“Um, this might be a dumb question, but where’s the balloon?” Rainbow asked.

“Below deck. That’s also where you’ll find the engines.”

“I’ll get ‘em!” Pinkie said after a pause, bouncing over to the hatch that led into the belly of the ship.

“So we just go down there, turn on the engine, inflate the balloon, and steer?” Twilight asked.

“Inflate first.”

“Got it!” Pinkie returned, dragging the deflated black balloon up in a pink fog, seemingly without even slight exertion.

“Thank you, Pinkie Pie,” Luna said, magically affixing it to the ship’s corners. “Would you mind getting the torch from below as well?”

“Sure thing, Princess!” She ran downstairs and emerged with the huge, unwieldy torch a few seconds later, a metal cylinder knocking around in the air awkwardly as Luna grabbed it and pressed it onto its central post, just below the balloon’s opening. She ignited it, and they stood around it, watching silently as the jet of flame spewed up into the hanging black envelope, a roaring gout of flame that made the one on Twilight’s hot air balloon look like a candle.

“Uhhhh, is there any way you can fill it up faster?” Rainbow asked.

Luna glanced at her and, with a twitch of magic, turned off the torch. Before Rainbow could comment, her horn lit up brightly, and the balloon swelled immediately, perilously, its fabric groaning with the sudden pressure. They only stared, impressed, and the ship began to slowly lift into the air.

Luna quickly fluttered over the rail and to the ground. “I trust you know how to operate an engine?”

“I can do it, Princess,” Pinkie said.

“And steering?”

“Ah know how to steer,” Applejack said.

“You do?” Rainbow asked.

“Ah’ve driven a tractor before. How hard can this be?”

“It’s very easy, Applejack. Just turn the wheel where you want to go,” Luna said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my duties. I apologize that I cannot accompany you further, but there is much to do here in the aftermath of last night.”

She opened her wings, and then hesitated, turning back. “Oh, and Twilight, Celestia will shortly arrange for a way for both of us to communicate with you directly, as I doubt—advise against, in fact—that you’ll be bringing Spike along with you.”

“Oh,” Twilight said simply, the mention of her assistant’s name striking a nerve in her heart. She hadn’t even thought of him in her absence.

“Are you clear on how to operate the airship?”

“Yes, your highness,” Applejack said.

“And are you clear on what it is that you need to do?”

Applejack paused, looking at them all. They nodded disjointedly, not actually clear at all. There would be travel, and the casting of spells, but neither princess had seemed to know much more about it.

“I think we understand,” Rarity said.

Luna nodded solemnly. “Then waste no more time here. Celestia and I have the utmost confidence in you all. If you need help, you can always write to us, though I cannot say how available we will be.” She sighed. “I know you will be tempted to stay in Ponyville, but you must not. Too much depends on you now.”

“We understand, Princess,” Twilight said, bowing her head. The light was hurting her eyes.

With the resounding sound of powerful wings flapping, Luna took to the sky and disappeared behind a nearby tower. The engines growled to life, and Twilight walked to the edge to watch them glide over the courtyard walls. They rose past the tower windows, and she looked through them, catching a glimpse of the palace armory. They rose past the shattered end of a tower, bits of wall and scaffolding sticking out like shards of glass.

“You okay, Twilight? You look pretty spaced out,” Rainbow said.

Twilight almost didn’t respond to her, but shook her head, clearing it. “Sorry. It’s just… Spike. I hope he’s okay.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Fluttershy said confidently, walking over to them.

Twilight only sighed.

She watched them ascend past the tower and looked back to see plumes of thick, dark gray smoke billowing out of the four cannon-shaped mounts. As she did, her vision hesitated, as if caught in a delay between what her eyes saw and what her mind interpreted. She pursed her lips and nodded. Ponyville was forty miles away.

“Here we go,” she thought grimly.

Homecoming

Chapter Nine

Homecoming

The sun was at the top of the sky just as they flew over the edge of the mountain, which had mostly survived; cracks split its base to send the surrounding countryside out in a starburst of shattered earth, while smaller, incomplete rifts crawled upwards through it. The field just outside Canterlot Palace was a green patchwork of small, fragmentary shelves and ridges, as though suspended mid-explosion on the side of the otherwise still, unhealthy, mountain.

They flew for an hour over the empty, broken wilderness, the novelty of their travel fading within the first twenty minutes. With Applejack steering and Pinkie handling the propulsion, there was nothing to do but watch the world go by, first interesting and frightening, but soon routine. Even in the face of total, sublime, surrounding destruction, life went on, and the crumbled ground was a mere aspect to their travel-bored eyes.

Applejack, stuck at the wheel, had little to do except mark time, and announce at the beginning of every new interval how much remained for them. The others stayed near the rails, looking out; when Applejack called out that they had but a half hour to go, Twilight and Rainbow looked at her and nodded, but said nothing. Twilight’s eyes still hurt, and her head was sluggish with illness and anxiety. She was worried about Spike, and Equestria, and Ponyville, all thoughts that sagged dismally under the weight of the memory of the palace balcony. She wanted to sleep.

“Do you suppose these chunks of ground drift around at all, like clouds?” Rainbow wondered aloud.

“Oh, I really hope not,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, same. It’s bad enough when clouds run into each other.”

Twilight listened dimly as she looked over the side, admiring and hating the scenery that rolled out before her eyes. It was a collage of ground, most of it rich greens and browns of countryside, dotted with dark green trees. A deep blue band snaked beneath them: Sun Surface River, so named for its point of origin atop the princess’ seat of power. Back on the mountain, it was a sequence of tall, thin waterfalls that started at the top and crashed past the palace and through the lower city, but here, it bent and twisted to Ponyville as an unbroken ribbon.

Twilight studied it, and as her eyes strayed along its narrow, reflective surface toward a split in the ground, a thought came. “Shouldn’t this river have drained out onto the mainland by now?” She squinted at the rift, where the river ended suddenly, but saw no sign of falling water there. “I probably just can’t see it properly.”

“Hey, Rainbow,” she said, calling the keen-eyed pegasus to her. “Look out at the river. Do you see where the ground is split there?”

“Yeah, I see it.”

“Can you see the river emptying out at all?”

Rainbow squinted. “No, I don’t. The river’s…” Her eyes widened. “Whoa! The river isn’t emptying out.” She looked at Twilight. “What the hay?”

Twilight only shrugged; the effort of speaking had put her head into a spin.

“Girls, check this out!” Rainbow called, and they all came over to the side of the ship, except Applejack, who merely craned her neck back at them. “Look out at the river.”

“It’s not emptying out,” Rarity noticed at once, and they all looked at Twilight as Rainbow had.

“Why, though?” Fluttershy asked.

“I suppose Pinkie’s spell isn’t letting the water spill out,” Twilight said, closing her eyes. “But as to how it’s working, I can’t even begin to guess.”

“If her spell’s keeping the water from falling out, do you think maybe it’ll keep other things from falling out as well?” Rainbow asked.

“Luna and I managed to, uh, fly down through one, though,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, plus all those soldiers that fell down,” Pinkie said.

“Pinkie,” Rainbow said, frowning at her, “you wanna be less weirdly casual about that?”

“Sorry, Dashie.”

“It’s really creepy.”

Pinkie turned away and frowned, then hopped up suddenly with a cry. “Oh, I’ve got it!”

“What have you got, darling?” Rarity asked.

“Why the rivers are all freaky!” She laughed. “It’s super-simple! I earthquaked the ground, but I lifted Equestria! And rivers are part of that.”

“Ah don’t get it,” Applejack said.

“I didn’t lift the ground, I lifted Equestria! That’s the ground and the clouds and the water and everything!”

“Oh, maybe that’s why we didn’t just break through the clouds,” Fluttershy said.

“And since it’s all under a lifting enchantment, the water can’t fall out,” Rainbow said. “Is that right?”

“Makes sense to me,” Pinkie said, sobering a little.

“So what’s going on where the water’s on the edge? Does it just hang there?” Rarity asked.

“I suppose it must,” Twilight said, trying to imagine it. She opened her eyes and sat down, feeling woozy.

“Oh, Twilight, are you okay?” Fluttershy asked, rushing to her side. “Is your leg okay? Is there any pain?”

Twilight considered lying again, but decided against it. “A little, but it’s tolerable for now.”

“Oh, no. Here, let me cast the spell again.” Fluttershy lowered her head to face Twilight’s pastern.

“It’s not necessary, Fluttershy, really. I can deal with it for now.” “Please, don’t make me keep talking.”

“Oh, if you say so, Twilight. Please let me know as soon as it gets to be too much, though.”

Twilight nodded, squeezing her eyes back shut against the sun’s glare on the deck. “Do you know of any spells that can help clear my head?”

“Oh, um, no. I’m really sorry.”

“Hm.”

“Can you describe it to me? How your head feels, I mean.”

Twilight thought for a moment, frustrated. She felt dizzy, and her voice seemed distant to her. Nevertheless, she looked at Fluttershy, blinking slowly. “There’s a delay between my eyes and my brain. I see something, but it takes a moment for it to register. Make sense?”

“Yes, it does.”

“It sounds like you’re drunk, Twilight,” Rainbow said.

“How would you know?” Rarity asked.

“How do you think? There’s a lot of bars in Cloudsdale, and I have a lot of free time.”

“I’ve never seen you drunk, Dashie!” Pinkie said.

“Well, yeah, I don’t drink so much anymore. I got a lot of that out of my system when I was younger.”

“Always the best time to start,” Rarity said dryly.

“Come on, Rarity, you’ve drank, right?”

“Maybe once or twice at social occasions, but I’ve never been drunk,” she said indignantly.

“I bet all your drinks had little umbrellas in them, didn’t they?”

“My drinks, Rainbow dear, are quite classy. Have you ever heard of a cosmopolitan?”

“Isn’t that a magazine or something?”

“Yes, it is, but it is also a very sophisticated drink. You need to be of a certain social status to enjoy it.”

“Whatever. Give me cheap, domestic beer any day of the week.”

Rarity made a face, and Rainbow laughed.

“I like to drink too, but not too much,” Pinkie said. “After all, who needs alcohol when you can have a party!” She ended on a cheer and a jump, producing a cloud of confetti with a festive whistle.

“It really does make more sense now that we know how magical she is,” Twilight thought, and she looked at Rarity, who had walked to the torch to stare up into the balloon. The action seemed singularly strange to Twilight, though she wasn’t sure why.

She walked over to Rarity unsteadily, not entirely sure what compelled her to do so. “How are you doing, Rarity? I never got the chance to talk to you much about last night.” She immediately regretted her question; her head swam, and she sat down.

“Oh, Twilight, darling, I appreciate it, but I’ll be okay. I’m… exhausted, and very hungry, but wholly uninjured.”

Twilight looked at her uncertainly. In her own mind, the memory of their encounter on the balcony smoldered feverishly; was it the same case for Rarity? She decided not to ask. “I also never got a chance to thank you for your efforts last night. You probably had the hardest job of all of us.”

“Well, I won’t pretend that it was nothing,” Rarity said with a sigh, “but for my friends, anything.”

“Fluttershy said you collapsed as soon as I finished the sigil.”

“She told me the same thing.”

“Well, you did a good job of defending us,” Twilight said quietly. Her voice sounded thin in her ears.

“Thank you, darling. I’m just glad you were able to cast your spell in time.” She smiled. “You really cut it close.”

“Yeah, I heard. That was the most complicated sigil I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I never did get to see it properly, but the pieces that I saw were incredible.”

“Yeah, that was the most complicated sigil I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Rarity looked at her, concerned. “You already said that.”

“Huh?” Twilight thought for a second, and remembered. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Rarity. I must have forgot.”

“Perhaps you should go lie down for a while,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Twilight said, suddenly quite aware of her infection. “This isn’t good. It’s really affecting my mind.” She closed her eyes and thought, noting the clarity of her internal voice. “But not too much yet.”

Rarity helped her over to the opposite edge and sat her down, leaning forward a little on her front hooves.

“Ah can see Ponyville,” Applejack said, and Twilight looked up.

“How does it look?”

“Bad.”

Twilight sighed and walked over to her; she wanted to rest, but the prospect of seeing her hometown was too much. They all congregated at Applejack’s side and looked over the prow with her. For Twilight, the town was too far off, and she could make out no details through the swaying air.

“What do you see, Rainbow?” she asked, hoping that she hadn’t already asked it.

Rainbow scanned the town for a moment. “Just like Canterlot. Everything’s split into segments, and a fair amount of the houses are destroyed.”

“What about the library? And the boutique? And Sugarcube Corner? And the farm?”

Rainbow held up a hoof to stop her. “The library is fine, so far as I can tell. Rarity, your shop looks fine from here too.”

Rarity sighed audibly and dramatically.

“Pinkie, Sugarcube Corner’s a little messed up, but it’s okay.”

“At least there’s that!” Pinkie said. “As long as the bakery’s still standing, everything’ll be just fine!”

“Applejack, Sweet Apple Acres is… bad,” Rainbow began. “It looks like the farm has been cut in half, and… I can only see part of the barn.”

“What? The barn is ruined?” Applejack shouted, leaning out over the wheel.

“It sure looks like it.”

“Looks like it got cut clean in half,” Pinkie said.

“Oh Celestia.” Applejack dragged a worried hoof over her head. “Ah hope everypony’s okay. Ah don’t suppose you can see ‘em from here, can ya, Rainbow?”

“I’m sorry Applejack.”

“Shoot!” She looked back quickly. “Twi, as soon as we get you settled, Ah’m goin’ down there. Pinkie, can you make this thing go faster?”

“Sorry, Applejack.”

She whispered a small curse as she leaned out over the wheel again and shouted. “Don’t worry, Apple Bloom! Ah’m a-comin’!” Her eyes glistened, and she wrenched the wheel to the right, making the airship stutter a bit.

“Oh, Rainbow, what about my house?” Fluttershy asked.

Rainbow squinted again. “Sorry, Fluttershy, but I can’t see it from here.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I just hope that none of the animals are hurt. I would never forgive myself if they were hurt while I was gone.”

“Rainbow, can you see Fluttershy’s cottage from here?” Twilight asked.

“Um, no, Twilight. Didn’t you hear me?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Oh yeah what?”

“What?”

“Twilight, what’s wrong with you?” Rainbow frowned at her, expression worried.

“I…” Twilight paused. What had Rainbow asked her? “Um, yeah,” she said hesitantly.

“Twilight, you seriously need to go lie down.”

Twilight nodded and turned around, meaning to walk back to the rail. Fluttershy stayed by her side, ready to catch her should she stumble. Twilight walked slowly, focusing her eyes on the floor for each hoofstep. Her vision was going fuzzy, and she tried to fight it, but could only gain clarity for small moments. She made it to the rail in what felt, to her, like several minutes, and Fluttershy helped her to the floor before lying down next to her.

“Don’t worry, Twilight. We’re almost there.”

“Oh, dear. She doesn’t look at all well,” Rarity said, approaching them.

Twilight looked at Rarity and opened her mouth to say something, but only a drawn out “huuuuuuuuuuuh?” escaped.

“Fluttershy, this isn’t looking good at all,” Rarity said. “And we’re still some twenty minutes away from Ponyville.” She looked down at Twilight once more, who looked back at her uncomprehendingly.

“Is there any way to slow the infection’s progress?” Rainbow asked, joining in.

“Like a medicine,” Rarity said.

Fluttershy thought. “I might be able to use some raw ingredients. Oh, um, if we can find them.”

“Name it,” Rainbow said.

“I need Echinacea and garlic. Those should block the magic, at least kind of.” She looked down. They were approaching a small, dense cluster of trees, which sat under a hill by a bend in the river, bordered on the opposite side by a rough crack. “You should be able to find some among those trees.”

“You got it, Fluttershy.” She placed her hooves on the banister, but stopped. “Wait. I don’t know what this echi-thing looks like.”

The answer came without conscious thought. “It’s kind of like a daisy, and it has purple petals. Oh, but the petals are pointier on the ends than on daisies. They have kind of spiny centers, which are usually dark orange or brown.” She looked out at the woods again. “Look for a spot that’s not too dry and has a lot of sunlight. An open wooded area would be ideal.”

“And garlic? I know what that looks like, but should it be in the woods as well?”

“Yes, but look in a more shady area. I don’t know if it will be there, though. Garlic isn’t as common as Echinacea.”

“I’ll look around. How much do you need?”

“Um, as much as you can carry,” Fluttershy said. “And please hurry.”

Rainbow nodded once and jumped over the edge, streaking down to the ground as fast as she could.

“It’s okay, Twilight. Rainbow Dash will be back soon, and then I’ll do something to help you,” Fluttershy said softly.

Twilight heard her words, and understood them, but could think of no response. She nodded instead; her head hardly moved.

“Are you sure we’ll have enough time?” Rarity asked.

“Oh, I hope so.”

“Twilight?” Pinkie asked, walking over to see what was going on. She stopped at the sight of the purple unicorn on the floor; her eyes stared ahead glossily, her mouth hung open, and her frame was limp. She was still alive, clearly, but she looked lost. Pinkie waved a hoof in front of Twilight’s eyes, garnering no reaction. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with her?” Pinkie was afraid. She had never seen Twilight in such a state before.

“The infection just hit her all of a sudden,” Fluttershy said. “One moment she was okay, the next she was like this.”

“What’s gonna happen?”

“Rainbow Dash is gathering some medicine right now.”

“Will it cure her?”

“No, but it will slow the infection’s progress.”

“That’s… good?”

“It’s the best we have,” Rarity said.

“We’re ‘bout ten minutes away,” Applejack said. “How’s it goin’ back there?”

“Not well, I’m afraid,” Rarity said. “Twilight’s worsening already; she isn’t even responding to us anymore.”

“Can she last ‘til we land?”

“She should,” Fluttershy said, not having the heart to remind Applejack that they were still some hours away from the medicine being ready. She looked over the gunwale to see Rainbow returning to them, wings working extra hard for her to catch up with the ship. She smiled appreciatively; only a few minutes had passed. Rainbow had truly gone as fast as she could.

She landed on the deck next to Pinkie, panting, and dropped a bundle of purple flowers. “Sorry, Fluttershy, but I couldn’t find any garlic.”

“It’s okay, Rainbow.” She began nipping off the Echinacea roots, discarding the flowers into a colorful pile. When she had a small mound of roots, she looked back at Twilight. “Help me turn her over. I want her infection facing up.” She slipped her hooves under Twilight’s underbelly, and Pinkie took her other side. At this, Twilight stirred, her back legs slowly kicking out and scraping the floor.

“It’s okay, Twilight,” Fluttershy said in her ear. They turned her over, and Fluttershy took a couple root tips and began squeezing them between her front hooves, stabilizing herself with her wings. “Hold her still,” Fluttershy said, and Pinkie grabbed her back legs as Fluttershy dripped the root’s juices into the wound. Twilight shivered in pain, but made no sound; she could feel the thin liquid burning her exposed flesh, but all she could do was shut her eyes and squeeze them tighter with each new bolt of pain. Pinkie held her down until Fluttershy had squeezed half the roots out.

“There. That should be enough,” Fluttershy said, brushing the flowers away.

“Should I keep holding her down?” Pinkie asked.

“Oh, no, but don’t let her get up. She might hurt herself.”

They all backed up, giving Twilight some space, and Fluttershy looked over the rail again. They were just crossing over the Ponyville borders, and ponies were looking up at them curiously, standing on their own segments, lost. Like Canterlot, the town had been reduced to a rubble-coated, fragmentary collection of angular pieces. Most homes had become wicker-yellow, thatched piles of bent debris, while those that survived—Sugarcube Corner, among a few other, smaller, houses—sat askance and unhealthily on upset foundations or cracked walls. The blue-and-black nothing between the pieces contrasted with the deadly stillness like veins in a destroyed eye.

With this as her view, Fluttershy began thinking of what she would need to do when they landed; the steps to making the medicine listed themselves off in her mind as easily as recalling the letters of the alphabet. “Step one: separate distilled water into two alembics. Step two: add ether and phlogiston to their respective alembics. Step three: boil both, and grind up Echinacea and garlic into a ratio of eight to three grams.” She had followed these steps only six times in her experience in animal care, but had committed them to memory just the same as the other procedures she knew. She knew that few ponies appreciated, or were even aware of, her knowledge of natural remedies, thinking her gifted only in the caretaking of animals. She didn’t mind.

She watched the Ponyville park drift past, mostly contained to its own section of ground. Here, too, ponies aimlessly roved around on it, confused, lost, afraid. How would they get back to their homes? Fluttershy felt sad for them, but knew she couldn’t afford to dwell on it. Not when Twilight’s life was on the line.

“Oh no,” Applejack said.

“What is it?” they all asked at once.

“Fluttershy, Ah think you better come over here.” Her voice was grave.

Fluttershy approached slowly and looked where Applejack indicated: her cottage—what was left of it—sat in a malformed pile in the distance. “Wha—is that… my house?”

“It’s the only one so close to the forest,” Applejack said softly.

“Oh no.” Fluttershy’s knees buckled. A thousand thoughts flew through her mind, most powerfully among them concern for her animals. Had they survived the collapse? Where had they gone? What if some had waited for her to return? She looked up at Applejack’s sympathetic face, and lay face-down on the deck. Her friend’s sorrow for her own suffering bled through her other thoughts, tinging them with self-pity. “How can it be that I have such caring friends?” She cried quietly, but before anypony could touch her, she got up and ran to a hatch in the back, disappearing below deck.

“She doesn’t want us to see her this upset,” Applejack said knowingly.

“Well, we can’t just let her hide like this,” Rainbow said.

“Well, we’ve got ‘bout five minutes ‘til we land. Somepony has to go talk to her.”

“I’ll do it,” Rarity said, walking toward the hatch.

“So what now?” Rainbow asked when Rarity had disappeared.

Applejack looked at her, then Pinkie, searching for an answer. “We’ve come too far fer this not to work,” she said simply.

“What about Zecora? She’s probably got all sorts of potions for Twilight,” Pinkie said.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Rainbow said. “Zecora’s hut is really close to Fluttershy’s, too.”

Applejack thought. “Yeah, that’ll work. Pinkie, yer a genius. Which is good. We’re almost there. Go ahead an’ let some air out of the balloon.”

“Okey-dokey-lokey!” Pinkie yanked a rope that hung from the balloon’s mouth, releasing some of the hot air; they immediately began to descend.

Applejack could make out individual ponies. Most of them milled around uncertainly or gawked at the destroyed buildings, while some looked tentatively over the edges of the ground. She could see the farm more clearly as well, and was struck by the size of the split along it; it was at least twenty feet between the two halves, parallel shelves that cut up along the orchard. The back portion of the barn sat at one of the edges, leaning slightly inward with a dark brown furrow at its base, littered with boards and shingles. Its edges were tattered and splintered, a gaping mouth into the barn’s collapsed interior. Furniture and pieces of floor and wall were scattered on the tilted ramp of the fallen second floor, itself slick with the fountaining discharge of burst pipes. Only the roof remained, an insecure umbrella of red woodwork over a vast and empty space.

Applejack tried to see the other members of her family, but could not. It didn’t bother her as much she would have expected; her concern was for Twilight. She looked back; Rarity had not returned with Fluttershy yet, Pinkie was looking over the edge, and Rainbow was examining Twilight. “Fluttershy, Rarity, we’re gettin’ ready to land!” she called, and turned back to her wheel. “Pinkie, turn off the motors, would ya?”

Pinkie made no response, but the grumbling growl of the engines and propellers ceased shortly. They dropped as Pinkie released more air, and Rarity and Fluttershy slowly emerged from below. Fluttershy was still sniffling, but her tears had stopped for the time. She went to Twilight and examined her.

“What’re we gonna do when we land, Fluttershy?” Rainbow asked.

Fluttershy stopped sniffling at once, but looked at them anxiously. “Um, well…”

“We’re thinkin’ of goin’ to Zecora’s house fer the medicine,” Applejack said.

Fluttershy nodded, a smile spreading across her lips. “In that case, we need to carry Twilight off the airship and into the woods. I’m not strong enough, so I need somepony to do it for me. Um, Applejack, you do it.”

Applejack only nodded, quietly surprised at Fluttershy’s assertiveness on the topic. She knew pointing it out would only make her clam up.

“I know the way to Zecora’s, so I’ll lead. Rarity, stay up with me; we might need your magic to clear the way, or defend us from any forest creatures. Rainbow, you and Pinkie go to the rock farm and get that phlogiston, and return as quickly as you can. I’ll have all the other components of the medicine ready by then.”

“You got it, Fluttershy,” Rainbow said, giving a salute.

“Will you need me after Ah carry Twilight?” Applejack asked.

“Um, no, I don’t think so,” Fluttershy said.

“Good. Ah don’t mean to run off on y’all, but Ah have to get back to the farm an’ make sure everypony’s okay.”

“Of course, Applejack. Oh, um, and would you mind terribly checking on Sweetie Belle too? I want Rarity with me the whole time.”

“Sure, Ah can do that. Ah wouldn’t be surprised if she’s at the farm anyway.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“What do you need me for, Fluttershy?” Rarity asked.

“If you don’t mind, I need your help with setting everything up. It’ll go so much faster if I don’t have to move everything by hoof.”

“But of course, darling. Anything.”

“Get ready to touch down,” Applejack said, twisting the wheel to point their side toward the forest.

They landed softly on the field surrounding Fluttershy’s house, a little far from the forest’s edge, and Pinkie immediately extended the gangplank. With some help, Applejack heaved Twilight’s inert body onto her back and carried her down, Rarity and Fluttershy following them.

“Do you know how to find Zecora’s?” Rarity asked, and Pinkie nodded. “Then come as quickly as you can,” she said, looking at Twilight. “I don’t think we have much time,” she thought unhappily.

Rainbow watched them retreat into the forest as she settled herself in front of the wheel. She had watched Applejack steering it, and it looked easy enough, though the thick wood under her hooves was a little intimidating. Pinkie had already started the torch, and they were slowly floating back up.

“So where is this rock farm?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s about three miles south of here,” Pinkie answered, and Rainbow noted the lack of excitement in her voice. It was only natural, she supposed; Pinkie’s youth had been mostly dreary, as she recalled.

She worked the wheel around and pointed them south as they ascended. Unlike in Canterlot, there were no hedges or walls to contain them, and though they were only twenty feet off the ground, she told Pinkie to turn on the engines again.

As they began floating forward, Rainbow looked down at the ground, more out of habit than any real desire to see it. They were not high enough for her to see the world as she had on their way over, and for that, she was thankful. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around it, and was happy for anything to obviate any further confrontation with the unbelievable truth.

“So, Pinkie, tell me about this phlogiston. I know it explodes, but what is it, exactly?”

“I don’t know much about what it is, Dashie! I only know how to use it.”

“Okay, tell me that then.”

“Well, for starters, it’s reeeeeeeally dangerous, so you gotta be careful. Always pick it up with magic if you can, but if you only have your hoovsies like me then you gotta wear gloves, ‘cause if it gets in your fur and you’re not careful, boom! You can explode too!”

Rainbow shuddered at the thought. “Why do you know so much about it?”

“My father and sister used it all the time, and sometimes I did too. We used it to dig for more rocks.”

“You used that stuff to dig? Have you ever heard of a shovel?”

Pinkie laughed. “Silly Dashie, a shovel might hurt the rocks!”

Rainbow didn’t answer at first. “A shovel might hurt the rocks. Is she messing with me?” She looked back at Pinkie, and her face said she was not. “You’re saying a shovel might hurt the rocks, so instead of that, you use explosions.”

“Well, the best way to expose rocks is to use a force that has a lot of power in a lot of surface area, like an explosion. Shovels are all impact, Dashie; if you strike a rock, that hurts it. An explosion can hurt a rock at the impact site, but it’ll just push everything else around. Much better than digging for hours!”

“I guess that kind of makes sense,” Rainbow said. She was surprised at how readily Pinkie’s explanation came.

“Of course, you gotta make sure you don’t overdo the explosion, ‘cause that’s just as bad!”

“And what? Do you just throw it and duck or something?”

Pinkie laughed again. “No, Dashie! You bury it a little bit below the ground with the fuse still sticking out and then you light it, and then you run! It’s like a game!”

“How big are these explosions?”

“The ones we used were big enough to, hmmmm…” She put her hoof to her chin in thought. “Big enough to take out the bottom floor of the library, I’d say, or at least knock all the books off the shelves.”

“And how much phlogiston is used for that?”

“A couple grams.”

“Oh… my Celestia,” Rainbow said, momentarily too stunned to mark their passing over Ponyville’s border. She regrouped her thoughts. “So, where is this phlogiston kept? How are we gonna get it?”

“When I was young, we kept it in the top of the silo outside, where I had my first party! It should still be there. I’ll just slip in and grab some.”

“Can we just ask your dad or sister for some?” Had she been looking back, she would have seen Pinkie scowl for a moment, before recomposing her face.

“Nope, no-can-do, Dashie! There’s no way they’ll just let us have some. We’re gonna have to be sneaky!”

“Ugh, that’s gonna take too long, Pinkie. We need to get this stuff as fast as we can.”

“When we land, you get out and distract them, and I’ll run into the silo and grab it.”

“Me? Why don’t you distract them? You lived there. I’m sure you could keep them occupied much easier than me.”

“Dashie…” her voice was quiet all of a sudden, and though Rainbow didn’t look back, she detected the change in Pinkie’s demeanor.

“What?”

“I don’t want to see them.”

“Why? They’re your parents. I’m sure they’d be glad to see you again.”

“It’s… I just think you’d be better at keeping them distracted is all.” Her tone grew conversational again. “Plus, I can find the phlogiston much faster than you, plus I know how to carry it safely.”

“Eh, you got me there.” Rainbow looked to the side, where she could see Cloudsdale approaching, several thousand feet above them. The cloud city looked mostly intact, though it was quite clearly disturbed. She could see no pegasi flying around outside it, nor signs of weather production: no errant puffs of cloud, no dripping tails of rainbow liquid, no discharges of electricity from the small lightning facility that floated nearby.

“What am I gonna do?” Rainbow asked. “To distract them, I mean.” No response came, and she looked back. “Pinkie?”

“Oh, sorry Dashie. I wasn’t paying attention. What was that?”

“What are your parents like? What’s a good way to distract them?”

“Well, my father is really serious and grouchy all the time, and my mother is, um, also really serious, but not as grouchy.”

“And you said you have siblings here?”

“I think one of my sisters still works there,” she mumbled.

“Let me guess. She’s serious and grouchy too.”

“No, she’s nice,” Pinkie said. “At least, she was when I still lived there.”

“So I have two, maybe three total grouches to distract. That should be fun,” Rainbow grumbled. “Is there any chance of us not getting their attention at all?”

Pinkie’s voice had lost all of its exuberance, and she spoke in a businesslike tone that bothered Rainbow. “No chance at all. They’ll all be working when we arrive. They might not be near the silo, but they’ll see the ship. If anyone doesn’t come out, it’ll be my mother. She stays inside.”

“Great.” They had passed Cloudsdale and were drifting over empty fields, a swatch of green farmland in the near distance, under the cloud city’s shadow. They had risen significantly, and Rainbow could make out a crack in the ground not far from them.

Rainbow slowly exhaled and tried to think of how she would distract Pinkie’s parents. Based on what Pinkie said, she doubted they were the types to enjoy an air show. Could she just talk to them? If they were as serious and grouchy as Pinkie said, they might just ignore her. She would need a good excuse ready.

When the engine died, and they began to descend, she still had not come up with an idea she liked. Every conversational route seemed too silly for her, but the only other thing she could do was dazzle them with her aerial tricks—which, according to Pinkie, would probably go unappreciated.

“I think I can see the silo from here,” Pinkie said with a sigh. “We’ll know who we’ll have to distract when we get closer.”

Rainbow, too, could see the silo: an unadorned, gray tower in the middle of a dismal, mottled gray field that fit on its own patch of floating land with room for little else. Two dots moved slowly around on it, one right next to the silo and the other behind the house.

“Okay,” Rainbow started. “I’ll distract them. Somehow. You just get that phlogiston as quickly as you can, okay?”

“Sure thing, Dashie,” Pinkie said. “Oh, um, can you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“I don’t want them to know I’m here, so don’t say anything about me, okay?”

“Okay.” She wanted to ask Pinkie why, but resisted; Pinkie didn’t look up to talking about it.

They got closer, and Rainbow could see the pony near the silo stop moving; they had been seen. The pony on the far side of the house was heading their way as well.

“Pinkie, can you tell who those are?”

“Um, that’s my father near the silo, and that’s probably my sister heading towards him.”

“Is your mom in the house?”

“Probably.”

“Is she likely to come out?”

“I don’t know.”

“Terrific.”

They were fifty feet off the ground, and Rainbow could just make out some details on the ponies beneath them; Pinkie’s father looked up at them, his flat-brimmed hat leaning dangerously off his head. Pinkie’s sister was approaching slowly and deliberately, her gray-purple coat and gray mane camouflaging her among the stony landscape. As they got closer, Rainbow could make out their cutie marks: his, a hammer, and hers, a small black circle with a thin white hair coming out its top—a bomb. She joined her father and watched the airship float down to them.

Rainbow turned and saw Pinkie crouching along one of the gunwales; she smiled weakly at Rainbow, who returned it uncertainly and looked back down. She could make out the details on their faces now; both father and sister wore grim expressions of disinterest, almost impatience, as the ship came to meet them.

“How can Pinkie come from such a miserable family?” she wondered. They stopped, swaying a little from the hard landing. Pinkie’s father and sister backed up to avoid the resulting dust cloud, but did not avert their eyes from Rainbow, who was already beginning to feel nervous sweat on her brow.

She extended the ramp and strolled out as casually as she could, quickly appraising the ponies before her. The father was a dirt-brown stallion of narrow, wiry proportions, a perfect set of iron-gray sideburns wreathing a hard, harsh face. A wheat stem stuck out of his mouth, set between white brick teeth in a sharp square jaw. By his side stood Pinkie’s sister, a dark, gray-purple golem of a pony with dead-looking, bronze eyes. Her mane was a steel curtain of straight hair that covered her forehead and neck. She was short and muscular, her hooves cracked and black, her legs miniature tree trunks. She looked like she could split Rainbow in half without even trying.

“Um, hi,” Rainbow started, and the two earth ponies simply stared at her. “Uh, my name is Rainbow Dash, and I’ve come here today to, um.” “Think, Rainbow, think! Why are you here?” “To sell tickets to this year’s upcoming Grand Galloping Gala!” She flourished her wings, and they still stared. “Um, so, um, are you interested?”

“Interested in your tickets,” the sister deadpanned.

“Yes,” Rainbow responded, happy that she could at least muster that answer calmly.

“We are not interested,” the father said, his voice dry and firm.

“Aw, come on, you can’t just say no so easily!” Rainbow said, moving to face them from a different side; they turned to keep their eyes on her, and as soon as they did, she saw a pink blur shoot over to the silo.

“If you truly are selling tickets, then why do I not see you holding any?” the sister asked. “Suppose we did want them; how do you give them to us?”

Rainbow froze. “Oh, well, that’s because, um, the tickets themselves aren’t actually for sale yet.”

The sister sighed impatiently.

“Because it’s so far in the future, you know, they haven’t actually printed them.”

“Then what is it that you are selling?” the father asked.

Rainbow was sweating, but she couldn’t tell whether the others had noticed; their expressions seemed carved from the stone that surrounded them. “I’m selling… er, spots! Yes, spots. See, so many ponies want to attend the Gala so far in advance, uh, that a lot of the time, tickets run out too soon. Too soon for ponies to, you know, buy them. And, uh, go to the Gala. But I’m here to offer you a spot on the list of ponies who’ve already bought tickets, so you don’t have to worry about buying one when they are printed.”

“That is a reservation.”

“Uh… yeah, heh, I guess it is.” She reached up and rubbed the back of her head. “Come on, Dash, get it together!”

“Why do you fly all the way out here to sell us this?” the sister asked.

“Because I care about you, and I want you to have the best possible chance of attending the Gala this year,” she said with a smirk. “Slick.”

“We will not attend the Gala. I heard last year’s was a disaster,” the father said.

“Last year was an unbridled success!” Rainbow cried, a little surprised. “It just got a little out-of-hoof at the end.”

“The palace was damaged.”

“No, not at all! It was, um, redecorated!” She glanced at the sister; her eyes bored into Rainbow’s with unflinching coldness, and she looked away quickly, fixing her gaze on the space between their ears. “Some of the, uh, guests decided that the palace needed redecorating, so they tried to do it during the party.” She laughed nervously. “Simple as that.”

“What kind of guest redecorates a party during the party?” the sister asked.

Seeing an opportunity, Rainbow leaned in a little, and they stepped forward, once. “Have you ever heard of Rarity? She’s a fashion designer, super high-class, and her home is in Ponyville. She was at the Gala last year, and as a matter of fact, she was the one who instigated the whole redecorating thing.” She smiled smugly, proud of herself for the lie. “I’ll admit it was a little excessive, but you know how fashion designers can be.”

“I have not heard the name,” the father said, and the sister nodded in agreement.

“You’ve never heard of Rarity? But she’s huge! Her designs are in Canterlot of all places! How can you have never heard of her?”

“We do not pay attention to fashion.” Before Rainbow could think of more to say, he continued. “You are wasting our time. No sale.”

They favored her with long, bored stares, before eventually turning away in the directions of their respective parts of the farm.

“Oh Celestia, Rainbow, don’t let them get away! Think! Think!” “W-wait!”

They turned back to her, the sister only partially.

“Uh, um, I… er.”

They turned away again.

“Can I get a job here?”

They stopped, and turned back once more, icily slow. “You come here selling tickets that you do not actually have, and now you want to work for me,” the father said darkly.

Rainbow could only nod stupidly, her thoughts entirely frozen.

He approached her, and it took all of her courage to not back away from his stern eyes. “What are you doing here, exactly?”

“Do not take us for fools, Rainbow Dash,” the sister said from behind, startling her. She hadn’t seen her come close.

“I—honest. I want a job here. Right here, on this, uh, this rock farm.”

“What are you hiding?” the father asked.

“Nothing!” Her conviction rose as she tried to defend herself.

The father looked her in the eyes for a second, then turned away again.

“Oh Celestia, oh Celestia, he’s getting away! Where’s Pinkie? Come on, Dash, you’re letting him get away! Say something! Anything!” She faltered a couple syllables, and neither of them reacted. “Pinkie’s sick!” “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, what did I just say?”

They turned, still slowly, and the father fixed her square in the eyes. “You know her.”

Rainbow felt petrified. “Uh, we’re friends.”

“Why do you tell me this now?”

“She is stalling for time,” the sister said, and Rainbow flinched, but, recognizing a chance to stall more, turned on her.

“Stalling for time?” she repeated, feigning indignation. “For what?”

“I do not know, but hoofsteps on the ramp to your ship tell me that there is another pony here.”

Rainbow withered inside, and the sister, seeing the expression on her face, gave a slight sneer.

“Did you hear them, father?”

“I did not.”

“I counted them twice.”

“Hang on,” Rainbow said desperately. “Where is Pinkie?” “If you counted them twice, why’d you wait to bring it up?”

“I was not certain I had heard correctly. It could have been the ship settling.”

The father advanced on Rainbow, stopping right in front of her face. “What are you up to, pegasus?” he growled.

Rainbow was cornered, and she could do nothing but look from side to side, terrified. The father looked closely at her, sizing her up, it seemed. He shook his head and turned away.

“Pathetic,” he said. “Investigate the hoofsteps, Limestone.”

He walked away, and Rainbow let him go; she had nothing more to say, and doubted he would listen to it anyway. Mortified, she followed after the sister, who wasted no time in entering the silo.

“Uh, wait!”

The sister—Limestone—waited for her, face sour. “What now, pegasus?”

“You’re Pinkie’s sister, right?”

“…I am.”

“I—look, you’re a reasonable pony, so—”

“I know she is here.” She stepped to the ladder, and Rainbow followed, completely speechless.

“You know that…” “She might be bluffing.” “Who is here?”

“My sister. Did you think that I was bluffing?”

Rainbow said nothing.

“I heard the hoofsteps, yes, but I also saw her very clearly. My sister has never been one for sneaking around.”

Rainbow simply stared, and Limestone sighed.

“Since you cannot respond, let me continue.” Her tone dropped menacingly. “What do you think you are doing here? Trying to distract us while she sneaks into the silo to do… something. If I did not know better, I would think it was another of her asinine parties.”

“I thought you liked her parties.”

Limestone stared, appalled. “Why would you think that?” She shook her head slightly. “Never mind. That is not important. What is important is why she is here. If father finds out…”

“What?”

“He would be displeased.”

Rainbow stuttered, fishing for a response. Her mind was a jumble. “W-why?”

“Why what?”

“I, um, I—”

“You are useless,” Limestone said, starting up the ladder. “Pinkamena, I know you are in here.”

Rainbow had no choice but to follow her, flying slowly up to the second, third, and fourth floor, feeling absolutely crushed.

“Sis?” Pinkie called; she sounded scared, meek—as defeated as Rainbow felt. They made it to the fifth floor, where Pinkie, hooves coated in ugly, rubber gloves, was gathering a bundle of thin-nosed bottles. A cloudy, yellow liquid sloshed disgustingly inside.

“What are you doing?” Limestone sounded calm as ever, but Pinkie shrank away, putting the bottles down carefully. “What cause do you have to come here and steal my phlogiston?”

“Limestone, please.”

“You remember my name.”

Pinkie looked at her, and her sister returned the expression remorselessly. All at once, thoughts of Fluttershy, Twilight, Equestria, and Discord had vanished, replaced by the infinite moment.

“Please,” Pinkie whispered. “Not now.”

“Of course. Not in front of this pegasus. Why do you come to steal my phlogiston?”

Pinkie didn’t respond, so Rainbow stepped forward. “Our friend is hurt with a magical infection. We need this phlogiston to use in a medicine.”

“A medicine that uses phlogiston? Is your aim to kill her quickly?”

“No! The phlogiston’s supposed to, um, do something! Burn off the magic or something!”

“I do not believe you.”

“Limestone, please!” Pinkie wheezed, and they looked at her. “Our friend is dying, and we need this stuff! Even if we didn’t, don’t you think I’d be pretty desperate to come back here to get it?”

Limestone considered this for a moment. “Fine. Leave this, and get off the farm immediately. Do not bother replacing what you already have. Do not let father see you.” She turned away and began climbing down the ladder, and Pinkie followed, Rainbow behind her.

They made it to the ground floor, and Limestone opened the door, looking from side to side to see whether her father was nearby. Seeing that he was not, she walked out into the fields, not looking back at either of them, even as they rumbled to life in the airship.

They rose into the air, and soon, they were slicing their way back toward Ponyville, several capped bottles of phlogiston lying on the deck. For a few moments, nopony said anything, but the tension was too much for Rainbow.

“Sooooo, what the hay just happened?”

Pinkie didn’t respond, and she looked back at her; Pinkie was staring out at the sky, her face serious.

“Pinkie?” Rainbow asked, growing more concerned with each passing moment of the earth pony’s silence.

“She was being merciful,” Pinkie finally said.

“Who? Your sister? She didn’t seem so merciful to me.”

Pinkie said no more until they had landed outside the Everfree Forest.

To Fluttershy’s immense relief, Zecora had all the supplies she needed to make Twilight’s medicine. She knew, if that were not the case, she could go back to her house and try to dig through the rubble, but the thought of it put her on the verge of tears. She already had so much to worry her; returning to her ruined cottage could very easily put her over the edge into debilitating hysteria.

Zecora helped her grind up the Echinacea and garlic and combine them into their container, and then left her to set up the alembics, both half full of distilled water, and one mixed with the ether—the medium in which the cleansing phlogiston would be mixed, to chosen to carry it into the wound without reducing its potency. Zecora remained in the kitchen, giving Fluttershy the space she needed, but looking out every so often to see whether she could be of assistance.

Twilight lay on a cot next to the wall, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged. She stirred every now and again, but Fluttershy could tell she didn’t have long. Zecora had given her some medication of her own—a few herbal remedies to slow the spread of the infection, and one to bolster Twilight’s immune system, but the best they could do was buy time until Pinkie returned.

Applejack had left for the farm twenty minutes ago, and Rarity stayed by Twilight’s side the entire time, sometimes talking to her, but mostly just watching. Fluttershy could tell that Rarity was close to panic, as was she; now that she had reached a lull in her work, she could afford some time to collect her thoughts. Few of them were good. Twilight, the Apple family, Sweetie Belle, her animals. They were all in danger, and she could do nothing for them.

“How long has it been since Pinkie and Rainbow left?” Rarity asked.

“It’s been about forty minutes now,” Fluttershy said huskily; her voice was strained from giving orders and explaining procedures, as well as suppressing terrified sobs.

“How long do we have?”

“I don’t know.” She thought for a moment. Sighing, she called Zecora in. “Zecora, um, would you mind going over near my cottage and waiting for Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie? Just in case they need help finding your house.” She truly didn’t need it; she knew they could find the hut easily enough. But she needed something to take her mind off the waiting, even momentarily.

“It would be my pleasure, Fluttershy, to be their help and be their guide,” Zecora said.

Fluttershy smiled a little; the zebra’s rhymes always cheered her.

“But be careful when you’re all alone, for dangerous things are in my home.”

Fluttershy nodded, and Zecora exited the house, leaving Fluttershy again with nothing to do except watch Rarity and Twilight. “Please hurry, Pinkie,” she whispered, and Rarity looked up at her.

“I’m sure they’re on their way,” Rarity said, trying to smile.

Fluttershy nodded once and let a tear roll down her face. Twilight couldn’t wait much longer, and there was nothing either of them could do.

For a little while, the only sounds were the ambient noise of the forest and Twilight’s slow breath, but Fluttershy soon grew aware of voices in the distance. She started up quickly and went to the door; she couldn’t see them yet, but she could hear Zecora and Rainbow approaching, speaking about the phlogiston. Pinkie’s voice was absent.

When they entered the clearing, they made straight for Fluttershy, both looking unhappy. “Help Pinkie pour the phlogiston,” Rainbow said, holding the door.

Pinkie went to Fluttershy’s side and poured a little of the bitter-smelling fluid into the alembic, moving slowly and carefully—more so than Fluttershy had ever seen. The phlogiston was light and watery, and its surface fizzed with an ominous hiss that made Fluttershy want to cringe away. She watched it collect in the alembic’s bottom slowly, swirling together with the water in miniature clouds and coils, raising a hoof wordlessly to tell Pinkie to stop. She called Rarity over, who carefully placed them on a pair of small fires.

“I thought you said the phlogiston isn’t supposed to be heated,” Rainbow said.

“That’s what the distilled water is for. The phlogiston mixes with it, which reduces is flash point enough for it to evaporate without exploding.”

Rainbow looked at her blankly.

“Um, I don’t completely understand it. All I know is this is an indirect way to heat the phlogiston—indirect enough not to set it off. The phlogiston should evaporate and drip into the jar of powders I have here.”

“What about the rest of the phlogiston? We have about a dozen bottles.”

“A dozen?” Fluttershy said, not looking away from her work.

“Yeah, about. Why? Is that too much?”

“Oh, um, well, just a little bit. I’m sorry.” She blushed. “I only needed as much as I used just now.”

“So what do we do with the rest? Can we just bring it with us?”

“Oh no, I’m afraid that would be too dangerous.”

“Well, what do we do then?”

“Can’t we just dispose of it?” Rarity asked.

“We might be able to,” Fluttershy said, “but it will be very difficult to do that safely, especially in Ponyville.” Fluttershy looked at Pinkie, who looked back dully.

“Pinkie, darling, you seem awfully quiet. What’s the matter?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing, Rarity! I’m just being quiet for Fluttershy here! She needs her concentration. Right, Fluttershy?”

“Oh, um, not really, no. I just need to make sure these heat properly at the moment.”

“How long until it’s ready, Fluttershy?” Rainbow interjected.

“About an hour.”

“Didn’t you say two hours when we were in Canterlot?” Rarity asked.

“Oh, um, yes, I think so. But I had the wrong amount of phlogiston in mind.”

“Well, that’s good.” Rarity went back to Twilight’s side. “Just hang on for another hour, Twilight,” she whispered, and Rainbow joined her.

“How’s she doing?” Rainbow asked.

“Not well, I’m afraid. Her breathing’s shallow, her pulse is weak, she fidgets whenever I touch her, and she’s been sweating nonstop. Her coat is positively ruined!”

“Let’s just hope that’s all that gets ruined.”

Pinkie came up next to them. “Come on, Twilight, you can do it. Just one more hour, and Fluttershy will have you all fixed up.”

Twilight didn’t move; she had barely heard the words. She only recognized Pinkie’s voice, associating it with all the good memories she had of attending her parties.

They waited anxiously, with Rainbow stepping outside every few minutes to see how far the sun had moved through a small hole in the trees. At the half hour mark, with the sickly yellow medicine steadily dripping with its ether into the small concoction of dried and powdered herbs, Twilight began to mutter. Her eyes opened and her mouth moved slowly, her teeth sawing back and forth as if in distress. Rarity gently sponged her forehead, but it did little to soothe her.

When the medicine was ready, Twilight had stopped her mumbling, but stared straight ahead with dilated pupils and a racing pulse. Fluttershy approached timidly, not wanting to frighten Twilight. She carried a broad, wooden tool, smeared with a thick, dark yellow paste, the smell of which made their eyes water.

At Fluttershy’s instruction, Rarity flipped Twilight onto her side and, with Rainbow at her front, held down her hind legs; Twilight didn’t resist.

Fluttershy leaned in and looked at Twilight’s pastern, ringed with ghastly thin, black lines that, she knew, under the fur, traveled up her body toward her chest. The wound exuded thick, dark pus that smelled faintly, and Fluttershy wrinkled her nose. She didn’t like having her face so close to it.

She slowly began spreading the paste on Twilight’s wound, and Twilight immediately broke into a spasm, her legs trying to kick, her body bucking back and forth like a broken toy. Still, her face didn’t change. Rarity held her back legs firmly, and Fluttershy continued spreading the potion, digging deep into the wound, scrubbing the raw flesh and even pressing under the loose flaps of skin. Twilight uttered a strangled, dying cry, and they all started.

“Keep holding her,” Fluttershy said softly, dropping the implement and moving up to stroke Twilight’s head, hoping to comfort her. Twilight gave another, weaker, cry, and her kicks eventually abated. She settled and lay peacefully again, her breathing already losing some of its choppy thinness. They watched her tentatively.

“Is it working?” Rarity asked.

“So far, yes,” Fluttershy said.

“Come on Twilight! You’ve got this! You’re not going to get beaten by some stupid infection!” Rainbow encouraged.

Twilight twitched, and they backed up suddenly; she twitched again, and rolled her head. Her eyes swiveled, and they looked clearer. She looked around, still not fully registering all she saw. To her, her friends were nothing but blotches of color against the tepid backdrop of Zecora’s hut.

“Can you hear me, Twilight?” Rarity asked, and Twilight let out a groan. Rarity looked at Fluttershy and Rainbow excitedly. “I—I think she can hear me!”

“Just stay where you are, Twilight,” Fluttershy said, placing a hoof on her head.

“A-ay.”

They looked at each other, puzzled. “What?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight rolled over and tried to stand, but Fluttershy pressed her back onto the cot. “There, there, Twilight. You’re okay now. You just get some rest, and you’ll be all better soon.”

Twilight struggled to produce a response: “Lie-ay.”

“What is she saying?” Rarity asked.

“Lie-ay? Maybe ‘fly away’?” Rainbow offered.

“That doesn’t make any sense, darling.”

“Lie-ay, lie-ay,” Fluttershy repeated to herself. It made no sense, and she felt silly doing it.

“Lie-ay, lie—library!” Rarity exclaimed. “She probably wants to go back home.” “Oh, Twilight, I’m sorry,” Fluttershy said, “but you’re in no condition to move around right now.”

Twilight lolled her head back dumbly and closed her eyes again. Fluttershy adjusted her pillow, and as soon as she had, Twilight was asleep.

“Once she wakes up, she should be better,” Fluttershy said. “I hope.”

“In the meantime, we should consider finding something to eat,” Rarity said, not taking her eyes off Twilight.

They all nodded, and Rainbow turned to Zecora, who watched from the kitchen threshold. “Zecora, do you have anything here for us to eat?”

She smiled. “The food I eat is not in storage, for all I find is in the forest.”

“Well, can you guide us to something? Or bring us something? Or something?” “I can show you where to find a meal while you wait for Twilight to heal.”

“I need to stay here and watch her,” Fluttershy said.

“We’ll bring you back something,” Rainbow said as she and the others followed Zecora outside.

“So, you get all your food from the forest?” Rarity asked, and Zecora simply nodded. Rarity felt strange walking with her; she had never gotten to know Zecora too well, and with their sudden and dire appearance, and Twilight recovering in her hut, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were, by their collective presence, asking too much of their host. Zecora’s reticence, she told herself, was likely out of respect for their situation, but it bothered her still.

They were led through a row of trees and down into a small ditch, underneath parallel rows of bushes and short, rough-barked trees and onward into a patch of short, prickly scrub. They were well into the underbrush when Rainbow looked back and saw Rarity standing at its edge; she flew back to her.

“Rarity, what’s the holdup?”

“Do we have to walk through this?”

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “I dunno. Ask Zecora.”

“I don’t want to get stickers in my coat.”

“Rarity, does it really matter? You’re already dirty and tangled from last night.”

“A little dirt is no excuse to lower my standards even further.”

Rainbow sighed. “Well, we’re going to go with Zecora to get some food. You can come with us, or stay behind.”

Rarity groaned. “Then I will be back at the hut,” she said with a quick turn. “Bring me back something nice, would you, Rainbow Dash?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Rarity began walking back, and Rainbow returned to Zecora, tersely relaying where she had gone.

“Your fashionable friend is afraid of dirt, though nopony it has ever hurt.”

“Yeah, that.” Rainbow looked at Pinkie; her expression was faraway and empty. She wondered whether Pinkie even saw her surroundings, or was just following them mindlessly. “Pinkie? Hey, Pinkie?”

Pinkie didn’t answer immediately, but slowly turned to regard Rainbow with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“What’s going on, Pinkie? You’ve been like this ever since we left the farm. Was meeting your sister really that bad?”

Pinkie took a moment before answering, and Rainbow thought she was going to keep her silence. “Sorry, Dashie.”

Rainbow wanted to brighten at Pinkie’s use of her nickname, but couldn’t. The name sounded cold and sad this time.

“I just have a lot of memories.”

“Are they… good?” Rainbow asked.

“Some of them. Those are the ones I’m trying to focus on.”

“But it’s hard sometimes, isn’t it?” Rainbow wanted to ask the question, but dared not.

Zecora stopped and swept a hoof over a small clearing. “We have arrived, my pony friends; this is where your hunger ends.”

The rest of the forest was dark, sinister, and full of frightening shadows and hostile-looking flora; here, the little field was full of wildflowers, and fresh, green grass, and bundles of mushrooms, all sun-speckled and calm. They could smell a stream nearby.

Everything they picked, they piled onto Rainbow’s back, her wings forming a table of sorts. Most everything they saw, Zecora said, was edible, and she disappeared into the woods for a few moments, returning with some clusters of cherries.

They walked back, Zecora leading again, slowly so as not to rush Rainbow and her precarious load, and returned to the hut within ten minutes. Inside, Rarity was talking with Fluttershy, and Twilight was sitting up, appearing to listen; in reality, she was watching the two pony-shaped blurs move as they conversed, taking comfort in their presence. As soon as they saw Rainbow’s haul, they dropped the conversation and helped unload it onto an empty table. Food had never looked so good to any of them.

The Tumble

Chapter Ten

The Tumble

They ate all the food that Rainbow had brought, which was not to their fill. Fluttershy helped Twilight eat, something that she had done with animals all her life, but never with another pony. As they sat around the room, their moods improved by the meal, they began discussing Ponyville, and their course of action.

“I think we should repair the town as soon as possible,” Rarity said. “Fluttershy, how soon do you think Twilight can do magic again?”

“Oh, well, maybe tomorrow. But I really don’t think she should cast a spell that powerful again, so early on.”

“Would she be hurt?”

“Oh, well, no, that is, not really. She… she might overexert herself again, but that’s about the worst she can do. I’m just worried.”

“I agree with Rarity,” Rainbow said. “The sooner the better.” She looked over at Zecora, who was busying herself in the kitchen. “I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to get involved yet. She must have tons of questions for us.”

“Well, we’ll have to see,” Fluttershy said.

“Of course, we won’t pressure her if she doesn’t feel up to it,” Rarity said, and Rainbow nodded.

“Where will we draw the ground thingy?” Pinkie asked, and Rainbow looked at her, surprised at her sudden speaking.

“Oh, that’s a good question,” Rarity said.

“Is the town square big enough?” Fluttershy asked.

“Maybe,” Rainbow said, “but I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly paying attention to that kind of thing.” She thought. “How big even is it supposed to be?”

“I have no idea,” Fluttershy said, shaking her head.

“What about all the ponies nearby?” Rarity asked. “Princess Celestia said that if anypony steps within the sigil, it will be ruined.”

“We just tell them all that we’re casting a spell, and Twilight needs her space,” Rainbow said.

“Maybe,” Rarity said. “But will that really work? Crowds don’t tend to follow orders too well.”

“They won’t interfere if they’re all distracted by a party,” Pinkie said; Rainbow could tell she wasn’t back to her normal self yet, but she was trying.

“Pinkie, you’re going to be in the center of it anyway,” Fluttershy said.

“Oh, okay.”

Rainbow looked at her, but she didn’t look up from studying the tabletop. “It was a good suggestion, Pinks.”

Pinkie favored her with a little smile.

“Um, I have a question—if you don’t mind me switching topics, that is,” Fluttershy said. “What about injured ponies, or even… dead ones?”

They all thought for a minute.

“Well, the injured ponies shouldn’t really be a problem,” Rainbow said. “You can just heal them, Fluttershy. Or we can help ‘em get to the hospital.”

“If it’s still standing,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, if it’s still standing. Thanks for that, Rarity.”

“We have to be realistic, Rainbow Dash.”

“That’s why I said we can have Fluttershy here heal ‘em. You can, right, Fluttershy?”

“Oh, of course,” she said.

“Hold on, though,” Rarity said. “Do we want these citizens to know that Fluttershy has magical powers? If they see her casting spells, who knows how they’ll react? For all we know, they could assume she’s an agent of Discord, or Discord himself, in disguise.”

Fluttershy looked at her, afraid. “I don’t want ponies to think I’m Discord,” she said quietly.

“Do they even know he’s involved?” Rainbow asked.

“I don’t see how they can’t,” Rarity said. “They’ve all seen him before, and who else in the world would do something like this?”

“Who else in the world could do something like this?”

They all flicked their eyes at Pinkie, and then Fluttershy looked back at Twilight, who was sitting up on her cot and facing them. Her face was still blank, but she no longer looked to be in pain.

“We shouldn’t complicate this any more than it is,” Rainbow said, tapping her hoof on the table. “Let’s do what we can to help, but without magic.”

“And what about the… dead?” Rarity asked, and Fluttershy winced.

“What about them? We can’t do anything for them.” She looked warily at Pinkie. “At least, I don’t think we can. Pinkie, can you resurrect a pony?”

“I doubt it,” she said, not looking up.

“That’s necromancy, Dash. We shouldn’t mess with it,” Rarity said.

“Isn’t it illegal?” Fluttershy asked.

“Highly.”

“Okay, okay. That’s fine. So we’ll just let everypony else figure out their, uh, dead situation,” Rainbow said. She didn’t like how callous it made her sound.

“How long do we plan on staying here?” Rarity asked.

“We can’t stay forever,” Rainbow said, “but we can’t really leave immediately either.”

“Dashie’s right,” Pinkie said. “We can’t just leave. It’s like going to a party and then going home before the games can start.”

“We’re just now walking through the door, as it were,” Rarity said, and they all nodded.

“The way I see it,” Rainbow said, “we can put the town back together tomorrow, maybe the day after if Twilight isn’t up to it. After that, we’ll stay a couple days and help ponies rebuild, you know, make sure everything’s under control. Then we leave.”

“That should be three or four days.”

“I think Canterlot should be our next city,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, me too,” Rainbow said.

“What about after?” Rarity asked.

“Uh… I don’t know.”

“I don’t think we should even worry about it right now,” Fluttershy said, turning in her chair to look out the window. She had been glancing at it for the entirety of the conversation, but only here did she make obvious her discomfort.

“I do hope Applejack returns soon,” Rarity said.

“I was just looking out for that,” Fluttershy said.

“See anything?” Rainbow asked.

Fluttershy shook her head.

“Do you think we should go after her?” Rarity asked.

“We can’t leave Twilight,” Fluttershy said, looking back at the dazed unicorn.

“I meant only one of us.”

Rainbow looked at Twilight. “Twilight? How are you feeling? Can you hear me?”

Twilight nodded, and Rainbow smiled.

“Can you talk?” Fluttershy asked.

“A… little,” Twilight said. “It—it’s… hard,” she said, face scrunched in concentration.

“How do you feel?” Rainbow repeated.

“Woooooooooooooozy,” Twilight said slowly, and smiled, rolling her eyes.

“Can you stand?” Pinkie asked.

Twilight shuffled to the cot’s edge, and Fluttershy went to help her up. With her assistance, Twilight managed to stand upright, though she wavered significantly. Rarity got up quickly and went to the kitchen for a glass of water, which Twilight drank gratefully.

“Better?” Fluttershy asked.

“Clears my head a little,” Twilight said slowly.

“I think we should wait a little more,” Rarity said. “Twilight is still in no condition to go out.”

“Um, I agree,” Fluttershy said.

“If you want to stay with Twilight, I can go find Applejack,” Rainbow said, standing.

“Yes, that sounds fine, Rainbow. But be careful. If anything has happened to Applejack, come get us first.”

“Sure.” Rainbow opened the door. “See you guys in a bit.”

She took off from the doorstep and sped straight up out of the forest, dodging between branches and barreling through smaller twigs, heedless of the scratches she would get. Her eyes had been drooping at the table, but outside, and away from the oppressive forest interior, she was reinvigorated. Fresh, cold air on her fur and skin had always been her preferred way to wake her up, and now, rising high over the Everfree, she took a moment to look at the forest with curious, wakeful eyes. Unlike Ponyville and Canterlot, the forest looked largely the same, save for the segmentation. She was sure a lot of the trees had fallen, but could see nothing from her position. All the destruction was hidden under the dark green canopy, which, at a distance, seemed to hide even the fragmentation.

Her flight path curved out over the quarter mile crescent of land between the forest and the nearest split, on which sat Fluttershy’s ruined cottage—the only sign of civilization nearby.

Grimly curious, she landed next to it and looked around. The walls had crumbled, and the wooden beams, having nothing to hold them upright, had fallen where they stood, making a crisscross of thick timber. The roof, shattered, had lost some of its thatching and greenery, and pieces of it covered the site like shells. Glittering triangles of glass littered the ground like stars.

She thought of all Fluttershy’s animals, and stopped her advance; she didn’t want to get closer to the cottage, lest she accidentally discover any of their small corpses. “Unless they’re still alive, and need help,” she thought guiltily. “No, there’s no way. If they’re still there, they got crushed.” She walked away reluctantly, the sun at her back, and only took to the air when she felt a sufficiently respectful distance was between her and the cottage.

She glided over the gap and looked down at the brown earth far below. Already, the sight was losing novelty for her. The implications, while devastating, were also invisible to her. It was the earthquake that truly mattered, to her mind, and with Ponyville and Canterlot and all the other cities in Equestria so utterly destroyed as they were, an extra mile between them and the Gaia seemed merely a change in scenery.

The sun was approaching five o’ clock, and the light was deepening. As she crossed over to the farm side, she angled upwards quickly, moving her eyes across the sky for her cloud house. It floated just outside the Ponyville border, beyond the farm, a small, white pellet. It looked undamaged, and she smiled lightly to herself. The enchanted clouds of a cloudhome could not be broken in the same way as the ground; the material stuck together, and could not be broken by energetic vibrating alone.

She flew lower, watching her shadow skim across the crops, first a swath of grain, then carrots, and then to the expansive grove of apple trees. She flew between them, nearly brushing their tops, appreciative for the shade they provided. These, vastly different from the dour, drooping, vine-skirted trees of the Everfree, afforded cover through their friendly, odoriferous boughs. She had flown under the trees countless times before, snatching an apple or two as she did so; she didn’t now. Doing so felt weirdly disrespectful.

Following a path between the trees that she knew would take her to the barn, she set her ears open for any sign of Applejack. She didn’t expect anything to be the matter, but Fluttershy’s concerns, as well as the general anxiety that had been stacking onto them all since last night, put her in a pessimistic mind. The trees thinned out, and she spotted Applejack standing near the edge of the ground, around whom crowded the Cutie Mark Crusaders.

Applejack turned as she came up behind them, and the three fillies after her; their faces all lit up, Scootaloo’s most of all.

“Rainbow Dash! Guys, it’s Rainbow Dash! She’s come to help us!” Scootaloo cried. They cheered, and Rainbow laughed. It was good to receive cheers simply for showing up.

“What are you doin’ here, Rainbow?” Applejack asked.

“I just came to check up on you.”

“Did Fluttershy send ya?”

“What? No. Well, kinda.”

Applejack smiled. “Ah appreciate it, but everythin’ here is fine. Well, not not exactly fine, but… it’s okay.”

Rainbow looked past her at the destroyed barn, its rear half standing awkwardly against a wave of splintered debris on the other side of the gorge.

“How did it get broken like that?” she asked. “Shouldn’t it have just all fallen off?”

“Heck if Ah know. Musta been a fault in the foundation or somethin’. Ah’m just glad everypony was able to escape before it broke.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Rainbow asked.

“That’s the problem. Big Mac an’ Granny Smith are on the other side, and Ah’ve been tryin’ to think of a way Ah can get these youngins over to ‘em.”

“Are they okay?”

“Granny’s a bit worked up, but Big Mac’s takin’ care of her.”

“Applejack says we have to be on the other side ‘cause we can’t fend fer ourselves, even though Ah’ve been working on the farm my whole life,” Apple Bloom cut in indignantly.

“Ah done told y’all it’s fer yer own safety,” Applejack said firmly. She turned back to Rainbow, and her hardness was instantly gone. “There don’t seem to be a way across this gap, though.”

“I can fly ‘em over if you want,” Rainbow said.

Applejack thought for a moment. “Yeah, okay. You girls okay with that?”

“Are you kidding? A chance to fly with Rainbow Dash? Who wouldn’t want that?” Scootaloo shouted, and they all cheered again.

Rainbow laughed good-naturedly. “All right, all right, settle down. Who gets to go first?”

“Me! Me!” Scootaloo cried, hopping expectantly. “Applejack said I can’t fly across, but I know I can! Watch!”

“Scootaloo, no!” Applejack said, but the tiny pegasus was already running recklessly at the edge, her stumps of wings flicking impotently. Rainbow followed her off the edge, ready to catch her.

Scootaloo plunged off the edge and flapped her wings with all the effort her tiny body could muster, but she only gained a few feet before dropping. Rainbow quickly flew underneath her to catch her on her back, cutting off her scream, and then let them glide a moment before taking her back up to the other side of the halved farm.

She had to wait a couple minutes for Scootaloo to calm down, and when she had, she flew the short distance back over and picked up Sweetie Belle, then Apple Bloom, both of whom went over without incident. Big Mac and Granny Smith were right there, and after a little reunion, and assurances that she and Applejack were okay, Rainbow flew back over to the other side.

“Ah told her she couldn’t make the trip across,” Applejack said. “Ah’m just glad she decided to try when you were around. Thank you fer catchin’ her, RD.”

“Don’t mention it. Is there anything else you need to do over here?”

“Ah don’t rightly know. Ah’d like to do somethin’ to help the farm, but Ah can’t even get over to my family, least not without Twilight and Pinkie here. How is she, by the way?”

“Fluttershy managed to cure her in time,” Rainbow said, and Applejack sighed with relief.

“That’s great news. Ah felt awful leavin’ her like she was.”

“You did what you had to do.”

“Ah was worried sick on my way over here.”

“Well, she’s recovering now. She might even be ready to move on when we return.”

“Good. An’ how is everypony else?” They began walking back toward the apple trees, from where Rainbow had come.

“They’re all fine. Pinkie’s a little shook up, but she’ll bounce back.”

“What happened to her?”

“Things didn’t go so great on the rock farm,” Rainbow said cagily, and Applejack looked at her expectantly. “Sorry, AJ. Pinkie’s pretty upset; I don’t know if she’d be okay with me telling you about it.”

“That ain’t like her at all.”

“I know. She’s all quiet. It’s weird.”

The apple orchard became the wheat field, and the sun was lower, spreading their lonesome shadows on a sea of gold. Not a sound could be heard but their steps, and the gentle sway of the wheat. Applejack yawned, and Rainbow soon did too. In the quiet sunset, fatigue was slowly mastering her.

“How did you cross the gap?” Rainbow asked.

“You mean the one outside the forest? There’s a spot over in the distance where it’s narrow enough fer a pony to jump.”

Rainbow looked and saw the piece of land she meant. Where the ground had split along the rim of a small rise in the ground, there was only five or so feet between sides, and one side elevated enough for a bold pony to hop across the emptiness—but only from the one direction.

“I can carry you back across.”

“Would ya mind? Ah didn’t exactly have a return route planned.”

They walked until they reached the edge, and Rainbow silently took Applejack across the gap. As she approached the forest’s edge, Applejack deviated toward Fluttershy’s cottage. Rainbow came up behind her.

“It’s all gone,” Applejack said quietly.

“Fluttershy’s going to be crushed.”

“At least none of her critters died.”

“How can you tell?”

“The smell. Er, the lack of it this time. No rottin’ flesh.”

“Oh.” Rainbow was a little unsettled that Applejack should say it so candidly. “It makes sense. She’s probably had to deal with dead animals on the farm before. Gross.”

Applejack took a minute more to examine the wreckage, turning over pieces of drywall and thatching, finding nothing. When they turned back to the forest, they did so with solemnity, entering the trees’ shadows with bowed heads.

Zecora’s hut was not too far in, and when they walked through the doors, the first thing Rainbow noticed was that Twilight was up, walking around, and talking with the others.

The reception of both parties was a flurry of exultation: for Applejack and Rainbow, the swelling happiness that Twilight was finally better; and for the others, relief that Applejack’s family, and the Cutie Mark Crusaders, though dislocated and upset by the destroyed farm, were unharmed. Zecora watched from her kitchen, smiling patiently out at them.

When everyone had calmed, Twilight sat down; she was still not at her best. “We were just discussing what we should do next. We all want to go home, but I think we need to stay together.”

“I don’t see why,” Rainbow said, and thought. Spending the night alone, with nothing but her bed and the empty darkness to comfort her fraught nerves—it sounded horrible. “Never mind.”

“You said the boutique is still okay, did you not?” Rarity asked.

“Yeah, and the library too.”

“Either of those, then,” Applejack said.

“I suggest the library,” Rarity said. “There’s nothing at the boutique that can’t wait until tomorrow, and Spike will be happy to see us safe.”

“We should go to each of our places before stopping, just to be sure,” Twilight said.

“What about food?” Rainbow asked.

“Did the apple trees survive, Applejack?” Fluttershy asked.

“Sure, they’re fine. An’ while we stock up, you can, er… well, assess the damage,” Applejack finished quietly.

They were silent for a second out of respect for Fluttershy, who, no longer occupied with Twilight’s remedy, could remember her own misfortune. She looked down at the table and shrunk into herself. Pinkie rubbed her back.

“And we can go to the boutique after that,” Twilight said hesitantly. “And then Sugarcube Corner, and then stop at the library.”

“What about Cloudsdale?” Pinkie asked.

Rainbow shrugged. “It looked fine from a distance. So did my house.”

“Do you want to visit, and make sure it’s okay?” Twilight asked.

“Maybe tomorrow.” She didn’t want to admit it, but her energy was practically gone. The prospect of flying to Cloudsdale, or even her house, seemed unimportant compared to that of sleeping.

“Well, all right.”

“Are you feeling up to going, Twilight?” Rarity asked.

“I think so.” She paced the floor experimentally, and then walked toward the door. “But let’s not go too fast.”

“Of course.”

“Hang on,” Pinkie said. She walked to the kitchen, where she remained for several minutes, thanking Zecora for her hospitality. She bade her goodbye, and they left, Rarity leading them out of the darkening forest and Fluttershy walking at Twilight’s side. The remaining bottles of phlogiston floated around Pinkie’s head in a small swarm as she trotted along. No one stopped her, and when they reached the airship, she went aboard, putting the jars in place.

They looked down the forest’s edge at the cottage.

“Sh-shall we?” Fluttershy asked.

They all began walking, Fluttershy at the back of the group, trembling. They had all seen the cottage, at least in passing, except Twilight; she wasn’t prepared for the dome of rubble. It was still clearly a house, but it had been flattened, most of its shape conserved by the roof that covered most of the ruin. Splintered beams and boards poked out of holes in the thatching, and under the roof’s edge like tassels on a skirt, jutting into messes of scattered furniture and broken wall.

Fluttershy came up from behind and approached her house, and everyone backed up. The tiny bridge over the tiny stream just outside had been spared, as well as the spindly tree at its side. A birdhouse had fallen off, and the nests were disturbed, but it was nothing compared to the destruction just before her. She stopped at the edge of the ruin and picked through the rubble, overturning sections of drywall uselessly. There was little to see, nothing that she could salvage; she wasn’t even entirely sure why she was there at all. She could tell already that none of her animal friends had been caught in the collapse. The foliage that covered her roof was now sprawled out over the wreckage, all shaken leaves and broken, twisted vines. To the side, a thick post with another birdhouse still stood, a lone survivor. It tilted only but a little, the grass at its base furrowed up slightly in a small wave on one side.

Her back to her friends, Fluttershy slowly walked onto a flat piece of wood and up onto the pile. Dazed, she stopped at a curve in the construction—what had once been the outer wall of her bedroom, she speculated—and tried to move a beam. It hardly budged. She pawed through the leaves to the base of thatching and stirred up a little dust, then, sighing, fluttered over to the other side. She examined the wreck for a few more minutes.

She had been dreading the examination since Applejack had delivered the news to her that her house had not survived, and now, standing outside it, she could only look with dry eyes and a thick, thought-starved mind. She didn’t know what to do. Her animals, though gone, had survived, at least from the collapse. There was nothing inside that couldn’t be replaced or simply forgotten, and she knew she would not need to live there for a long time anyway. She wanted to cry—knew that her friends expected it—but produced no tears, and as she turned back to the group, watching solemnly, she wondered to herself. “Is it even that big a deal?”

“Fluttershy? Are you okay, darling?” Rarity asked.

Fluttershy produced a curious, high-pitched groan. Rarity’s concern lanced into her heart to coax a response from her that her own misfortune could not, and she wiped her eyes. “I guess so. It’s just my house that’s destroyed, and no… animals.”

“All your animals survived?” Twilight asked.

“I think so. I didn’t see any… oh, I’m sorry.” She turned and hid her face behind her mane. Her head shook a little, and a couple small, wet dots landed on the ground beneath her. “They think I’m sad about the house.”

“There there, darlin’,” Applejack said, rubbing her back. “By the time we’re done here, we’ll have yer cottage all fixed up again.”

Fluttershy nodded, and when she had cleared her face, she looked at them all. “Let’s move on.”

They hesitantly turned back to the airship, and Fluttershy, searching for an excuse to avoid their sad eyes, took the lead. They boarded, and she went to the back, Twilight and Rarity following. They had only a small distance to cover, but waiting for the balloon to fill enough to carry them over the gap added ten minutes to the whole affair, which Fluttershy spent trying to assure her friends that she was okay. The house was not the problem; that was just a collection of objects, furniture and supplies that could be recovered. Her problem was the same one that she had always had: the inexpressible feeling of unworthiness and inefficacy that, contrasted to her friends’ selflessness, made her feel low and unhappy.

They landed beside the barn, where Granny Smith, Big Macintosh, and the Cutie Mark Crusaders were pulling pieces of wreckage away. They stopped their labor and approached the ship, and Applejack bolted down the gangplank to them, shortly followed by Rarity, who grabbed Sweetie Belle in an embrace. The entire crowd burst into cheers, questions, and happy tears, it was several minutes before the group had quieted down. They began to explain, and Twilight led the others down and around the ship’s side toward a small grove of apples. The majority of the farm was on the other side of the split, but a small hook of apple trees swung in on their side, and they were able to harvest enough to satisfy their hunger.

They returned to the barn in time to hear Applejack’s conclusion, stating their task. Their audience listened quietly and with wide eyes as she explained to them that they might not be back for a long time. This was unlike the other adventures they had had, she said. Those were all small affairs, taking only a few days, most of which was travel. This would not be so short.

By the time they were done, and goodbyes were said, with promises to see them more before leaving, the day was dying, throwing the airship’s shadow in a long, unnatural stain across the grassy ground, otherwise bare.

“It’s so weird to see this thing here,” Twilight thought as they boarded. “Just out in the middle of the fields like this. And to think that it’s ours.” She pulled the ramp up while Pinkie started the torch.

Fluttershy took her place near the ship’s midpoint, leaning on a rail and looking toward Ponyville. Twilight walked back to her and leaned by her side, saying nothing, but knowing her mere presence was enough to express her sympathy for the pegasus’ loss.

“I hope the rest of Ponyville isn’t like this,” Fluttershy said. “I hope my cottage is the only one that got destroyed.”

Twilight nodded silently. She hoped the same.

“I don’t mind that I lost everything. I really don’t. But thinking about everypony else…” Her eyes glistened, and she lowered her head again, blinking. “I’m sorry, Twilight. I should be more optimistic, like Pinkie says. At least all my animal friends escaped into the forest.”

They slowly floated off the ground. “Fluttershy, you have every right to be upset,” Twilight said. “But Applejack is right. When tomorrow is over, we’ll have fixed this part of the world, hopefully. Then we can help rebuild your house.”

“Oh, um, okay.” She sounded hesitant.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Come on, Fluttershy, you can tell me.”

“Oh, no, really, it’s nothing. It’s a very nice idea.”

“Come on, Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy looked down and appeared to steady herself. “It’s just, I don’t think it’s very important to rebuild my house.”

“Why not?”

“Well, we’re not going to be coming back in a really long time, so why should we even bother? Maybe, if we return, we can, but until then, we might as well not waste our time.”

“First of all, Fluttershy, it’s when we return, not if. And it’s not a waste; if we rebuild it now, then it can be ready for you again when we do get back.”

“But what about the other ponies? The ones who don’t have to leave? They’re in much worse shape than me.”

“Uh, pardon me fer eaves-droppin’,” Applejack said, turning the wheel and ship to the east, where the boutique sat like a jewel in the distance. “But why do we need to rebuild anyone’s house? Last Ah checked, none of us know anythin’ ‘bout construction.”

“Hey, I built my own house,” Rainbow interjected, flying over to them lazily.

“Yeah, out of clouds. That’s different from wood and stone, Rainbow.”

“You would know.”

“Uh, yeah, Ah would. Oh, Pinkie, you wanna cut the engine an’ torch? We’re almost there.”

“Okey-dokey-lokey!” Pinkie said happily, running over to the hatch and cutting the power.

“She seems happier,” Fluttershy said.

“It’s ‘bout time,” Applejack said quietly.

Pinkie sprang out and turned off the torch, and Twilight looked around the deck; Rainbow gave voice to the first thing she noticed.

“Pinkie, what did you do with the phlogiston?”

“I threw it over the edge.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry; I made sure it went through the cracks.”

“But we went to so much work to get it,” Rainbow whined.

“Sorry, Dashie.”

Rainbow sighed violently and muttered to herself.

They passed the tilting top of the town hall and crossed another gap, lowering slowly onto the empty outer limits of Ponyville, where Carousel Boutique stood.

“Oh my Celestia,” Rarity said, looking at it. At first, she thought her eyes were fooling her; the split had developed just under the boutique’s posterior side, dragging the building out and back to partially hang off the edge. The walls were chipped and swelled dangerously from the weight of the top tower, her attic, sagging down and back into the second floor workshop, its pennant swaying lazily in the emptiness behind. She could see the protruding tooth of concrete foundation several feet off the earthen lip, and exposed plumbing hanging from its underside. The first floor looked mostly whole underneath the mezzanine, compressed into a splintering grin and flanked by the gaily tilting pony statuettes on either side, their supporting poles bent and turned outwards like thorns.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Rarity?” Twilight asked.

“Yes. Land us, Applejack.” Her voice was determined.

They all stepped out onto the yard before the boutique, regarding it warily. From the ground, its sagging was more pronounced; the door was squashed into its frame, admitting a small wedge of light into the interior, and the eaves hung low like heavy brows. A dark crescent of dirt lay before it, where the boutique had been dragged back by the displaced earth.

Rarity stepped forward, and Applejack put a hoof on her flank. “Yer not goin’ in there, are you?”

“I don’t know,” Rarity said quietly. “My whole livelihood is in this boutique.” She studied it more. “But it could fall at any minute.”

“I don’t think you should risk it, Rarity,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, like you said, it could go over any minute,” Rainbow said.

“Unless…” Rarity thought for a moment. “Unless there’s some sort of counterweight.”

“Or we can try to pull it away from the edge,” Rainbow said, taking to the air and holding her hooves up to frame it.

“Heavens, I can’t do that!” Rarity said.

“I meant Pinkie.”

They all looked at her.

“You want me to use my magic?” she asked hesitantly.

“That’s what I just said,” Rainbow said.

“Well, okay then!” The happiness in her voice sounded forced, but Rainbow only crossed her forelegs.

Pinkie faced the building, head down, and fixed it with a stare, silly for its extravagant intensity. No magical aura appeared around it, but her face strained as the boutique shuddered and rasped in its place. A few shingles slid off, and something clattered inside, but it did not move. Pinkie sat back and breathed out heavily, looking at her friends apologetically.

“Can’t do it?” Applejack asked.

Pinkie shook her head.

“You’re probably exhausted,” Twilight said.

“Sorry, everypony.”

“It’s okay, Pinkie. You tried your best,” Rarity said, looking nervously at the building. “I just hope you didn’t loosen it at all.”

“So you are going in?” Rainbow asked.

“I have to, Rainbow. There are designs and fabrics inside that I simply cannot leave to chance.”

“You’re going to need that counterweight, Rarity,” Twilight said.

“Yes, I suppose I am.” She looked around. “I don’t see anything that I can use, though.”

“What about us?” Pinkie asked.

“Uh, how about not?” Rainbow said indignantly. “Sorry, Rarity, but I don’t want to risk my life for some dumb fabrics.”

“They are not dumb, Rainbow Dash. But you’re right; you can’t risk your lives for this.”

“We can just stand in the doorway,” Twilight said.

“No, Twilight, I simply cannot allow it.”

“Quit bein’ so stubborn,” Applejack said. “Yer willin’ to risk yer life like this, but unwillin’ to let us try to help?”

“But what if it… falls of?”

“It’s more likely to fall off if we’re not in it,” Twilight said.

“An’ if it starts tippin’, we can just run out,” Applejack said.

“Well…” Rarity thought, long and hard. “Okay. I’ll allow it, on one condition. One of you has to stay outside to watch, just in case we can’t tell it’s tipping from inside.”

“I volunteer,” Rainbow said immediately.

“That’s fine.”

“Can you see it okay?” Applejack asked.

Rainbow landed again and put her head to the ground, looking along it at the boutique’s base. “Yeah, no problem.”

“So, um, shall we proceed?” Rarity asked.

“I guess,” Twilight said. “Let us go in first, though.”

For a moment, no one moved, and then Twilight took a nervous step toward the tilting door. When they reached it, it was Applejack who managed to wrench it open, the hinges protesting loudly.

The interior was a mess; a mirror lay face-down in a spangled spread of broken glass, reflecting an upended mannequin in a shattered aspect. The floor was dusted with paint flecks and tufts of fiberglass, and a curtain lay coiled near the stairs, a thick tongue of fabric. The back of the boutique was crinkled, a heavy depression near the roof where the workshop floor was sagging into it, crushed down by the attic. The window there was a popped hole in the wall.

Twilight paused just before stepping onto the tile inside. She had carelessly walked through the doors a thousand times, but here, a cold, dead fear gripped her as she tried to push herself through. Her hoof trembled as it hovered off the ground, and her heart pounded.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to step forward, and carefully placed her hoof on the ground; it landed as it always did, and the boutique gave no response. Relieved, she stepped the rest of the way in, and the others followed her, with only Pinkie showing no fear.

“Okay, bunch up near the doorway, but leave enough room for a clean exit,” she said, and they split into two groups around the egress. Rarity came in last, walking between the groups without looking at them; her eyes narrowed in focus as she scanned the building’s interior. She sighed.

“I should have expected this,” she said quietly. She waited near them for a long time, just looking around. To them, it was all mindless wreckage, but to her, every broken pane of glass, every misplaced piece of fabric was a unique and painful representation of what she had lost, and what was at risk.

“If anypony hears Rainbow, or just thinks they hear or feel the building tipping, shout for me immediately, then run,” Rarity said. “Don’t stick around to see if you’re right or not. Just get out.” She sighed again. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

She slowly walked to the other side of the room, to the stairs. She couldn’t tell where precisely the split began, and stopped at the foot of the stairs, waiting with ears up for any sound of the boutique shifting.

“You can do it, Rarity!” Pinkie cheered, and Twilight smiled in encouragement, having nothing to say.

Rarity smiled back and grabbed some dresses off a nearby rack, levitating them into a neat bundle. She walked them out the door and up onto the airship; the shop was still.

She came back in and, again hesitatingly, went to the stairs. She took a second to regain her courage, and walked up to the second floor, putting her hooves down lightly at each step. Twilight could hear her faint hoofsteps above them, and soon, Rarity was making her way back down the stairs, a pair of sewing machines floating before her. She loaded them onto the airship, and came back.

“How’s it going, Rarity?” Twilight asked.

“So far so good,” she sighed, and crossed to the stairs; the shop groaned, and she froze. It was a long, wooden, creaking sound, like a nail being pried out of a board. It was accompanied by nothing else.

“Rainbow? How’s it looking out there?” Twilight called, not bothering to keep the dread out of her voice.

“You’re fine,” Rainbow said. “No leaning at all.”

Twilight nodded to Rarity, who nodded back before disappearing up the stairs again. She reappeared with a stack of fabrics, folded nicely.

“Ah don’t mean to nag at you, Rarity, but how much more do you have to get?” Applejack questioned.

“Not too much more, Applejack,” Rarity said. “Just some more fabrics, anything of Sweetie Belle’s that I can find, my mannequins, and, of course, Opalescence.”

“Well, would you mind goin’ a bit faster? Ah’m feelin’ worse an’ worse ‘bout this place.”

Rarity went out to the ship and returned; as her fetlocks vanished up the stairs, the boutique groaned again, longer. Twilight didn’t feel the shop shifting beneath her, and held her ground.

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” Rainbow said.

Rarity came down with two stacks of fabric and a few sundries, which Twilight assumed to be Sweetie Belle’s. Her eyes were frowning in concentration, and her jaw was set. When she came back inside, she uttered a single phrase: “not long now.” Twilight wasn’t used to such brevity in Rarity’s words, and she didn’t like it. It made her sound more grim, more businesslike and cold.

She went up the stairs with hardly a pause, and Twilight thought she heard a small snap somewhere in the building. There were no groans or creaks, and Twilight listened to Rarity pit-patting on the floor above, trying to track her movements. She circled around, then stopped by the front window. Before Twilight could wonder why, a surprised, unhappy meow sounded through the building, and Rarity quickly walked back down the stairs with a struggling Opalescence in her magical grasp.

“Now now, Opal-Wopal, don’t worry. You’ll be all cozy and snuggly in just a little bit,” she cooed at the angry cat. Opalescence flailed at her impotently, and Rarity simply chuckled. “Now you stay here and don’t go running off,” she said from outside.

She came back in and went for the stairs, not stopping at the invisible partition between ground and abyss. As she moved about over their heads, there was another groan, this time louder, and accompanied by a splintery crack.

“Rarity, get out!” Twilight shouted, turning to the door and bolting out herself, the others following frantically. She heard Rarity’s hoofsteps quicken and head for the stairs just before she was outside.

“Is it really goin’, Rainbow?” Applejack asked, panic in her eyes and voice.

“I think so,” Rainbow said, and there was a crash near the back and the sound of tinkling glass. A cloud of dust drifted up from behind.

“Rarity, it’s going! Get out of there now!” Rainbow shouted into the boutique, and Rarity ran frantically down the stairs, carrying one of her mannequins. Behind her, the back wall leaned out perilously, and as she crossed the floor, the boutique gave another shudder.

A rough hole appeared suddenly in the back wall, and there was a horrible, wooden creak of stressed beams as the hole widened, then collapsed from the top as a large piece of thick scaffolding crashed through. Rarity scrambled across the floor, and Twilight backed even farther from the door.

As she ran for the exit, two things happened in quick succession. First, the mannequin, unwieldily tumbling in her telekinetic haze, caught its oblong base on the door-frame; second, it bounced back lightly, and Rarity, who was already close, smacked head-first into its corner. She pitched back with a look of sheer surprise on her face, and for one spiraling, terrifying moment, it looked to Twilight that the shop was falling away.

“Rarity!” she shouted, running in and shoving the mannequin aside; it was heavier than it looked, and hurt her shoulder to tackle it so. Inside, she could see the beginnings of an incline. The floor tilted up a mere few degrees, but to Twilight, extending a hoof to help Rarity up, it was the maddening lean of impending destruction. A spool of thread bounced off its table to roll down and into the small lip of splintered wall, against which larger pieces had already collected. Everything around her was creaking, like the hold of a massive ship, and there was another groan, metallic, and the rough sound of displaced earth. The others were screaming at them to get out.

Twilight activated her horn to try to help Rarity up, but as she did, a flash of pain exploded through her head, blotting her vision, and she reeled back and down. She saw the ceiling tilt above her, and felt the floor tilting below her, a nightmare carnival ride. The boutique groaned again, and Pinkie let out a blood-chilling scream, behind which Twilight could hear the grumble of sliding rocks and dirt. Mannequins and sewing machines crashed and slid across the floor, and one of Rarity’s mirrors followed, cracking its face on the ground and speeding like a missile into the hole. Rarity, meanwhile, had gained her hooves, and ran blindly for the exit.

“Twilight!” Rainbow’s voice, but strained, desperate. She felt two hooves slip under her own front legs and tug her back; she watched as the boutique’s back wall flattened out before her, more stuff accumulating in its end. She was pulled unceremoniously out of the doorway, flew through the air wildly, and dropped onto the ground, dizzy from the sudden shifts in perspective.

“Are you okay?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight only nodded, enraptured by what she saw. The boutique’s front edge was only four or so feet off the ground; it had seemed so much more inside. It tilted and tilted, faster and faster, like a pony rearing up on its back legs. More crashes, more cracks, more shattering glass, and more tearing fabric all sounded within, the whole cacophony every now and again punctuated with a creaking, snapping sound as a part of the support was pulled loose. The top of the tower went first, an arrowhead tumbling in the evening light, catching momentarily on the back wall and chipping a splatter of shingles off like flecks of stone. The rest of the boutique tipped, tipped, slid, and was gone, one moment on the cliff’s edge, caught in the dying sunlight like a ballet dancer at the end of her performance, and the next simply… gone. It fell with one last, regretful growl as it tore the topsoil off with it.

They could only stand, dumbstruck, and it was only when Rarity’s ear-wrenching shriek shook them from their stupor that they looked around at each other, taking stock of the situation. Everypony was fine, save Twilight, who felt the beginnings of a headache coming on, and Rarity, who ran to the edge in a panic. For a second, Twilight thought that she would cast herself off, but she stopped a few inches short and looked down after her falling home. It had become a whirling, clunky speck, tumbling through the air until it was beyond her range of vision.

It disappeared under the scudding clouds, and Rarity listened vainly for the crash. She heard nothing, and when she backed away from the edge, she saw Twilight and Rainbow in her peripheries.

“Rarity, I… I don’t know what to say,” Twilight said.

“You don’t have to say anything, Twilight,” Rarity said as she walked past them.

Twilight heard the anger in her voice, and hoped that she would leave it at that. For a moment, she did.

“How could you say anything? How could you possibly? You didn’t just lose your house, your store, your… everything!” She closed her eyes and took a breath. “No, Twilight, you’re fine, completely fine. You have the library, and it’s quite securely attached to the ground.”

“Rarity, I—”

“I just lost everything!” Her voice was ragged with rage, and everyone backed up. “Everything I’ve ever worked for, gone! All those nights I spent working instead of sleeping, gone! All my efforts to make everything just so, gone! My life, my dresses, my designs: all gone!” She gestured wildly at the ship. “All I have left is a bunch of stupid fabric and a cat.”

“I’m really, really sorry, Rarity, but you don’t have to yell at me for it,” Twilight said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling, but sometimes it just gets hard, you know? Being this generous all the time and never getting anything in return!”

“You get plenty of stuff, though,” Rainbow cut in.

“Shut up Rainbow! You inconsiderate…” There was a moment when she searched for the right word, the word to cut Rainbow just so. “Brute!”

“Rarity, come on,” Pinkie said, uttering a nervous laugh. “Remember what my granny Pie always used to say. When you’re—”

“Don’t you dare try to cheer me up now, Pinkie! Especially you! This is all your fault anyway!”

“Hey, it is not!” Rainbow shouted.

“Yeah, it’s not my fault Twilight gave me too much power,” Pinkie said.

“Pinkie! I didn’t give you too much power, you just didn’t know how to control it! And this is nopony’s fault. This is just a… huge, unpleasant situation.”

“Like you would know anything about unpleasant situations!” Rarity barked.

“Rarity, please!”

Rarity stopped for a second, and her tone softened. “You know, Twilight, you’re right. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.”

“Thank you.”

“This whole thing is Pinkie’s doing, not yours.” She turned and walked up onto the airship, and they stayed where they were, too shocked to do anything. “Are you coming or not?” she called impatiently.

They walked up the ramp meekly, Rainbow giving Rarity a venomous glare.

“This is not Pinkie’s fault, Rarity,” Applejack said. “If there’s anypony to blame here, it’s you fer makin’ such a big deal out of it.”

“And am I not entitled?” Rarity shouted back. “I lost my house, Applejack! My house!”

“Um, so did I,” Fluttershy mumbled. She shrunk away, and Rarity stared.

“You—I—this is different!”

Fluttershy squeaked and hid her face behind her mane, and Rarity turned away.

“Let’s just get going,” Twilight said. Pinkie started the torch, and Applejack grabbed the wheel. Rarity walked to the back of the ship, looking at them sulkily.

By the time the balloon had taken them off the ground, she had calmed down somewhat, but in her eyes Twilight still saw the angry sorrow. Overreaction or not, Rarity was right; she had lost everything, and Twilight knew she couldn’t begrudge her for her outburst. In time, she knew, Rarity would come to begrudge herself.

They floated back toward the town center, heading for Sugarcube Corner. Rainbow and Fluttershy spoke quietly on the other side of the ship, and Pinkie moved around aimlessly. Twilight walked over to Rarity, who looked at her, not with anger, but with defeated eyes, and Pinkie came up behind.

“Rarity, I know you’re upset,” Twilight said. “And I know you’re angry. I know you feel like, like…” “Like what? Rarity’s right; I don’t have any experience with this kind of thing.”

“Like I was violated? Stolen from?” Rarity offered.

“Um, yeah, I guess so.”

She sighed. “I still can’t believe it. One second, I was grabbing one of my mannequins from upstairs. I knew it would probably fall, but at the same time, I didn’t actually believe it.”

Pinkie moved closer to comfort her, but she angled herself away.

“And then you shouted, and I ran. I don’t think I’ve ran that fast in my life, Twilight. My heart was pounding.” She took a shuddering breath. “I remember thinking to myself, ‘oops! Looks like it’s time to go now!’ as I ran down the stairs. Isn’t that funny? Such a frivolous thought, when my life is about to go slipping away.” She raised her hoof and waved it gently in the wind as she said it, as though evincing the very slip she described.

Twilight furrowed her brow, and Pinkie put a hoof on Rarity’s shoulder, giving it an affectionate rub.

“As I ran for the door, I still didn’t quite believe it. You were wrong, I thought, you had to be. The shop wasn’t tipping at all, it had just groaned again, but I knew I had to get out just in case. I ran at the door, but hit the mannequin; the silly thing got caught on the door-frame. And you came in after me, Twilight, and I wanted to tell you to get out, and that I didn’t need any help. I didn’t, really. I was just a little dizzy.” She rubbed her head. “But you came in and tried to help me up, and you fell, and we were definitely tipping then, and I would have gone back to help you but I was already past you and then Rainbow Dash flew in and grabbed you and then it fell and, and, and…” She let out a little gasp-sigh. “And it was gone. No more shop, no more sewing, no more fabrics, no more four-corner bed, no more any of it.”

“It’s okay, Rarity,” Twilight said. “I know it looks bad, but at least you made it out. You can find another building; they’re putting up new ones all the time.”

“Oh, Twilight, you’re so kind,” she said. “I’m sorry for yelling at you all, especially you, Pinkie. I didn’t mean any of what I said. Can you ever forgive me?”

“I already have,” Twilight said, smiling warmly at her.

Pinkie nuzzled her. “I still love you, Rarity. Everypony gets a little upset sometimes.” She smiled and gasped. “Oh! When we get back to the library, we should have to have a ‘feel better everypony’ party! Oh, it’ll be the biggest I’ve ever had! I’ll need to get more streamers and games and punch and cake and music than ever before! Oh, and maybe even—”

“Uh, Pinkie,” Twilight cut in, “I don’t think we should have a party just yet. Maybe after we’ve repaired things. And after we all get some sleep.”

“Yes, sleep,” Rarity said softly.

Applejack looked back at them. “We’re ‘bout three minutes away from the bakery.”

“Great. We get to explain the whole thing again.”

“Pinkie, you were the one that left in the middle of the night; I think you should tell them what happened,” Twilight said.

“Okey-dokey-lokey!”

“But,” Rarity started, “perhaps you should leave out the whole part about it being your… well, doing, I suppose.”

“What should I tell ‘em?”

“Just tell them it was Discord, and not you.”

Twilight nodded and yawned. “And let’s try to be quick about it. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Me too,” Rarity said.

“Me three!” Pinkie cheered.

“Pinkie, what’re you doin’? We’re almost there; take us down,” Applejack said.

“Oops! Sorry, Applejack!” Pinkie disappeared in a flash, turning off the motor and the torch an instant later.

With her gone, Rarity looked at Twilight seriously. “I am sorry, Twilight.”

“I know, Rarity. It’s okay. I know you were upset; I would be too.”

“It’s just so much to take.”

“I know. But you’ll be fine, in time. We all will. As long as we stay together, it’ll all be okay.”

“I guess you’re right.” Rarity gave her a small smile.

They drifted to the ground, landing a little long of Pinkie’s home. The bakery was still mostly intact, with only a few of the ornamentations strewn on the lawn or caught on the eaves. The windows were broken, but no glass sparkled on the ground. The sign hung a little precariously, and there was a small hole in the roof, but the building appeared to stand straight. “We’ll see how it is inside,” Twilight thought as they approached it.

As they approached the doors, they were flung open, revealing a distressed, but then relieved, Mrs. Cake. “Pinkie Pie! Oh, and your friends! Come in, come in.”

She ushered them in hurriedly and called for her husband. Mr. Cake trotted down the stairs excitedly, and, upon seeing Pinkie, rushed up and grabbed her in a hug that she excitedly reciprocated.

Twilight looked around the bakery, astounded. Whether through the luck of a strong foundation or hours of hard work, there were hardly any signs of damage. Some of the display cases were missing their glass, and the stairs’ banister was cracked and askew, but that was all.

“Come and sit with us,” Mr. Cake said, leading them into an anteroom, where Pinkie usually held her parties. There was only a pair of chairs there, and Mr. Cake offered his to Pinkie, who sat down. The others stood, hoping not to have to wait long.

“We were so worried about you, Pinkie,” Mrs. Cake said. “I know you tend to go off on your own a lot, but last night was different. And then, the earthquake! Could you believe it? I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but it was powerful enough to split the ground beneath our hooves! Split it!”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell us about it,” Twilight thought ruefully.

“Are you okay? You look exhausted,” Mr. Cake said.

“We are a little tired, but that’s okay!” Pinkie said.

“Well, of course you must tell us what happened,” Mrs. Cake said.

“A lot,” Applejack said.

“Yeah, a lot,” Rainbow echoed.

Twilight nodded, and Pinkie smiled.

There was a moment of silence while Pinkie tried to find a way to start her story, and then she began, speaking in her usual, breathless way. It was not as if she were describing the darkest day in Canterlot history, but one of her plans for a party. She raced through the meeting at the library, through the flight to Canterlot, through the session with Celestia in the vault, all without dropping her smile. At this, the Cakes were leaning in intensely, and when she began to speak of the actual battle, they called a halt—it was too much for them to take at once, and they needed a moment to process it. Their very own Pinkie Pie, at war. How could it be? She told them of the fighting, glossing over the conclusion and pinning the earthquake spell on Discord. She finished, with everyone else beginning to nod off, with their princess-given duty, and the Cakes only stared at her, long and concerned.

“But that would mean you have to travel all around Equestria,” Mr. Cake said.

“Yeah, it does,” Applejack said heavily.

“Pinkie, dear, you can’t be serious,” Mrs. Cake said. “You can’t just leave like this. It’s unsafe, especially with Discord running around. Why can’t the princesses handle this?”

“They’re going to help us,” Twilight said.

“They’re goin’ after Discord,” Applejack said. “Keepin’ him away from us, if they can.”

“Even so,” Mr. Cake said. “I’m sorry, Pinkie, but I do not approve of this at all.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cake, but I don’t have a choice. None of us do,” Pinkie said.

“How are you the only ponies in Equestria who can do this? Seems a bit presumptuous to me,” Mrs. Cake said. “It sounds to me like the princesses are just making an assumption.”

Twilight resisted the urge to defend the princesses to the Cakes; it would only complicate things, and she was ready to go to the library.

“We are the Elements of Harmony,” Pinkie said.

“Yeah, we’ve done stuff like this before,” Rainbow said.

“But this sounds different,” Mr. Cake said.

“Yes indeed. You’re not talking about a couple days in the Everfree Forest, or Canterlot,” Mrs. Cake pressed. “This is much bigger.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Pinkie said.

Mrs. Cake sighed. “I still don’t think it’s right.”

“You’re so young. Why did the princesses select you to be the Elements of Harmony in the first place?” Mr. Cake asked.

“They didn’t; nopony selected us,” Twilight said, not entirely certain whether it was true.

“Is there anything we can say to make you reconsider?” Mr. Cake asked, and Pinkie shook her head. He sighed, and put a hoof on Mrs. Cake as she opened her mouth to protest. “If it’s their duty, it’s their duty. We don’t have to like it, but we can’t interfere with the princess’ plan.”

Mrs. Cake scowled, but kept quiet.

“We’re going to cast the first spell here, in Ponyville,” Twilight said, hoping to cheer her.

“Oh, well, that’s good,” Mrs. Cake said weakly.

“When?” Mr. Cake asked.

“Tomorrow, if we can manage it,” Twilight said, and they raised their eyebrows.

“That quickly? Goodness.”

“If we can manage it,” Twilight repeated. “I’m not feeling quite myself, so I might not be able to cast the spell so soon.”

“Well, I can certainly see why,” Mrs. Cake said. “You must be just exhausted from your… war. Celestia, I still can’t believe it. A war, in Canterlot! How did it happen?”

“We don’t know exactly,” Rainbow said, “but Discord managed to summon his army right outside the city. Nopony got any warning.”

“No warning at all? But the army can’t have been that big, right?” Mr. Cake said.

“Actually, no. It was huge; bigger than Canterlot’s army,” Twilight said.

“But how can that be? You defeated Discord only six months ago. That’s not enough time to come up with an army that size.”

“We don’t know how he did it,” Twilight said. “But he did. We got our letter literally ten minutes after they first attacked.”

The Cakes only shook their heads sympathetically. “You brave ponies,” Mrs. Cake murmured.

“So what are you going to do after this?” Mr. Cake asked.

“After we fix Equestria?” Applejack asked.

“No no, after visiting us. Night is falling, and you look exhausted.”

“We’re just going to head over to the library,” Twilight said. “We’ll figure out if there’s a better place to sleep tomorrow.”

“We understand. Are you hungry at all? We have a few cupcakes still that survived the earthquake, if you want anything.”

“I’ll have some! Who couldn’t say no to cupcakes?” Pinkie said, leaping up from her chair; the others politely declined. They followed her into the front room, where the Cakes had produced a few pink cupcakes.

“The shop doesn’t seem to have been hurt too badly,” Twilight said. She didn’t want to start another conversation, but standing in the front room with Pinkie noisily eating was too awkward for her.

“We got lucky,” Mrs. Cake said. “But there’s still a lot of work to do. The upper floors are a mess.”

“Would you like any help repairing?”

Applejack shot a look at Twilight, who only looked at the Cakes curiously. She didn’t know what compelled her to offer their services, when the farm was in much worse condition.

“Oh, would you mind? It isn’t that bad, but any extra hooves would be greatly appreciated,” Mr. Cake said.

“Sure, we’d be glad to help,” Twilight said, and Rarity nodded distantly while Pinkie finished her last cupcake.

Seeing this, Rainbow cleared her throat. “Well, we should probably get going. We have to check on the library still, and Spike.”

“Oh, yes, please, don’t let us keep you,” Mrs. Cake said. She walked them to the door. Outside, the sun had set entirely, and fireflies hovered by the bakery’s windowsills.

“Well, I guess we’ll see you tomorrow,” Twilight said. “When do you want us?”

“Oh, any time, really. We’ll probably be up at eight or so, but I doubt we’ll get to work until nine.”

“Okay. We’re going to try casting our spell first, so… I don’t know, maybe noon?” “Why am I doing this?”

“No rush, dearies,” Mrs. Cake said.

“Go home and get some rest,” Mr. Cake said. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See ya tomorrow, Mr. and Mrs. Cake!” Pinkie chirped as they exited the shop.

Only when they had the ship back in the air did anypony speak. It was Rainbow. “Twilight, how are we gonna sleep in the library? There’s only a bed for one other of us, and there’s no way we’re all fitting.”

“I’m sure I can find something in the basement,” Twilight said, not wanting to admit that she hadn’t given sleeping arrangements a single whit of thought. Before she could get comfortable on the ship, they were descending again, and her library—her home—stood before them, shaken, but unharmed. Like Sugarcube Corner, its windows had been shattered, but there was no glass that she could see on the lawn, nor leaves shaken from the huge boughs.

They landed on the front lawn, where they had taken off in a different, less sophisticated airship not twenty-four hours ago. As they walked down the ramp, the door opened a crack, stayed ajar for a second, then flung itself open, a small, purple flash barreling across the grass and over to Twilight. She braced herself and received the baby dragon’s considerable force into her chest, capturing him in a tight hug that he reciprocated with a crying squeeze.

“Twilight! Twilight, oh Celestia, Twilight, I can’t believe, I was so worried,” he stammered into her fur, and she simply stroked his scales gently. For minutes, they stood like this, she holding him tightly and absorbing all the anxiety he had built up from last night, and he crying it into her fur without shame. She let him press his face into her chest, and despite the weight of emotion upon her, her fatigue was still greater. Embracing him, she could think only of her bed. The others watched respectfully, and when he finally gathered himself and broke away, he wiped his eyes and coughed, trying to affect a casual air.

“So, uh, what’s goin’ on? Back already?”

Twilight sighed and walked to the door. As soon as she was inside, she looked around. Most of the bookshelves had been untouched, as were the books; only a few had fallen, scattering their contents around the floor. The others diffused inside behind her and found spots to sit or lie down; Rarity took the couch, Rainbow perched on a bookshelf, and Fluttershy sat by the cold fireplace. Pinkie and Applejack sat in the middle of the floor.

“Sorry about the mess,” Spike said, eying them all. “I’ve been cleaning all day, but I guess I didn’t do it fast enough.”

“Spike, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” Twilight said, hugging him again. “Thank you for cleaning what you did, though. How is everything else?”

“Just fine,” he said proudly. “Your room was a real mess, but I fixed that first, and then the kitchen, and then this room. There’s a little structural damage, though.”

“I’m just glad it’s still standing.”

“Yeah, about that. Uh… so, what exactly is going on?”

Twilight sighed again. “It’s a really long story, Spike, and we’ve been telling it to other ponies all day.”

His face fell. “Oh. So, you’re all pretty tired, huh.”

“Uh, yeah,” Rainbow said, stifling a yawn. She looked over at Rarity, who was already asleep.

“Well… I guess I understand.”

“I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, Spike,” Twilight said. “I promise.”

He nodded and smiled at her. “Yeah. Yeah, tomorrow. You’re safe; that’s the important thing. I can wait a little longer for the story.” He jumped up. “Oh! I just remembered something. Hold on.”

He went up the stairs, and Twilight looked around at her friends. Fluttershy was quiet as ever, but attentive, and she gave Twilight a small smile when she looked her way. Applejack was slowly drifting off next to Pinkie, who sat still and held her eyes only half open. Rainbow snored on the top of the bookshelf.

Spike came back down, holding a scroll in his claws—still sealed, Twilight noticed with a small smile of appreciation—and he handed it to her.

“How long ago did you get this?” she asked.

“Five, six hours ago.”

She hesitated a bit with her horn, remembering the pain she had felt in Rarity’s boutique, and tried levitating the scroll. Her horn and head were sore, but she managed to pull it out of Spike’s grip and hold it before her eyes.

Dearest Twilight,

I hope this letter finds you well. You have done much for Canterlot and for Equestria, but your journey is only just beginning. At the bottom of this letter are directions for you to establish a more direct connection with us for the exchange of letters; when you have cast the spell correctly, you will receive a test scroll.

In regards to our elevation over the Gaia, Luna expressed concern that the air that we brought up with us may leak out. I have looked into the situation, and, with a slight alteration to the enchantments at our borders, am happy to say that this is no longer a threat. Discord is still unaccounted for, but it appears our elevation, at least, will not pose any immediate problems.

I know you are confused, and I apologize that I cannot give you more answers. All I can say is this: please, do not underestimate Discord. Your prior experience with him is but a suggestion of his power, and not indicative of his true nature. I urge you to read about his regime from before Luna and I came to power, as that will help you understand what we are all up against. He likes to present himself as a joker and a buffoon, but, I assure you, this is no game. I can only guess that his previous appearance was his way of probing our defenses. Though I have no proof, I fear his preparations for yesterday’s battle have been going on for a very long time. I should not have to tell you that this carries horrifying implications.

As for the flying ship, it has been spotted in the deserts to the south. What it is doing, I have no idea; it seems to be adrift. Considering everything else that’s going on, it is not very high on my list of priorities.

When you are done in Ponyville, I would request that you come back to Canterlot.

In love and friendship,
Princess Celestia
Princess Luna

P.S.: Please tell Spike that he is to remain in Ponyville and take care of the library in your stead.

P.P.S.: There is no telling what lies in store for you on this adventure; I advise that you all stay together as much as you are able. Our blessing on all of you!

She examined the short instruction on the bottom of the scroll, a relatively simple spell. She dropped the letter and concentrated on the directions, her horn warm with the effort. Immediately, she felt something different, something foreign, in the spell, originating at the base of her horn and intensifying hotly at the tip. Her horn burned at its core, and the heat built up and slowly released through the tip, like a strip of fabric being pulled roughly out of her. She closed her eyes and continued concentrating, gritting her teeth through the pain until the ribbon ended, leaving a small sense of emptiness in her, which too faded quickly.

The sound of falling paper reached her ears, and she looked down at the floor to see another scroll. She picked it up and read the single word on it: Testing. She smiled and looked around; only Fluttershy was awake.

“Come on, Fluttershy,” she said, moving for the stairs.

“Are you just going to leave them where they are?”

“I might as well. It’s not like I could put them anywhere better anyway.”

They walked up the stairs slowly, Twilight first and Spike bringing up the rear. When they entered Twilight’s room, Fluttershy went immediately for the guest bed.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay up and talk, Twilight. I’m just so tired.”

“It’s no problem, Fluttershy. I’m tired too.” She yawned. “Good night. Good night, Spike.”

“Night, Twilight.”

She slipped under the covers and was almost immediately asleep.

Initial Repairs

Chapter Eleven

Initial Repairs

Pinkie was dreaming.

They were all outside, and it was night, though there were no stars. It was cold, colder than the worst Ponyville winter she had experienced, but she felt nothing; she only knew it empirically, the same way she knew that they were not home.

She looked at her friends and tried to study their faces, but couldn’t see them clearly. Standing among them were six more, all generic pony-shapes with no identifying features, save one. This one pony’s body was different, a little shorter and with a more solid-looking aspect, which, though still anonymous and gray and blank, struck her as familiar.

“I know that pony,” she thought, and looked around.

They stood in a wide, dead, brown field of weeds and spindly grass, striated with stripes of useless, harsh earth. Bloated, black clouds rolled overhead in fat ropes, turning over each other like whales. A dusty wind blew, and Pinkie knew that this too was cold; if it rained, they might freeze.

The field was completely empty, except for a dilapidated, dark building at its far end. It stood against the frigid and treeless horizon like an abandoned crate, its perfectly square frame and wicked, rough edges forming a bold silhouette that set Pinkie’s fur on edge and her mind on alert.

A unicorn-shape stepped forward, and they followed behind it slowly, fearfully. Pinkie saw no Rainbow Dash-shape flying above them; to her immediate perception, this was not out of the ordinary, but in her secret, private mind, the source of her Pinkie Sense, the first pangs of fear resounded.

As she followed, she immediately knew that they were not welcome. The dread in her heart, small at first, grew bigger with each step, turning from hesitance to anxiety to fear to gibbering terror, each pace deeper into the field intensifying the volume of her flailing mind and pounding heart. She knew the others could feel it too, and only by the force of their collective wills did they still move forward.

Her eyes again went back to the building. For as long as she could remember, she had dismissed the constrictive concept of evil, but the building before her, so heavy, so square, so utterly ordinary, was, inextricably and directly to her mind, exactly that. There was no goodness here. She could feel it in her body like a poison, in the ground like ash, and she could taste it in the air like soot.

They stopped suddenly, and she let out an inaudible sigh of relief. The compulsion to run back shot through her dream-mind, but she resisted it. The collection of pony-shapes turned to face one of the others at the back, who was speaking: a set of instructions. They would go on, and they would return. But to what? Someone said something, and the pony-shape nodded.

They continued, and Pinkie felt a new wave of fear crash over her; she looked back at the building, with a terror so desperate that she immediately had to avert her eyes. Still, with her gaze away from the dark point, she could see it, as clear and sinister as if it occupied the entire horizon. Everywhere she looked, it was nothing but that lonesome, terrible building.

She listened again to her secret mind, hoping desperately for anything to speak to her, to clarify the fear she felt. It spoke quietly, and she could only just discern the idea, though she did not want to. Her own doubt and denial of what her mind said obscured its intensity, but could not altogether abolish the simple, singular understanding that throbbed in the center of her consciousness: “It’s coming.”

She scanned the field in front of her wildly, her eyes combing over it for any sign of the mysterious, threatening “it.”

“Being on your guard will do you no good,” she thought to herself, her internal voice dispassionate and commanding. “Your only hope is to run. You know this, and yet you stand.”

She knew the voice was right, but she couldn’t believe it; her legs were locked in place, and the rational part of her mind refused to work as she continued looking around.

“Run,” she said soundlessly, and the dream ponies looked at her. “Run,” she repeated, her voice completely even. She opened her mouth to say it once more, but, in that instant, thought differently. “Too late.” Directly from her secret mind to her friends’ ears.

As she said it, she could feel it coming, fast. Too fast to fight. It was inside the building, and in a moment, she felt it approach; it was the sickening, leaden feeling of inevitability, like sinking into endless water. She saw nothing, but felt it draw near.

She looked at a pegasus-shape, and watched with unbelieving horror as its neck split open in one sudden, violent motion, gray blood spraying them as its head plopped onto the ground like an overripe fruit. She tried to look around, to back away, but her body refused to move; through her peripheral vision, she saw a different shape collapse, seeming to deflate. She shouted out, and a unicorn-shape, standing right next to her, swelled suddenly and fell to its knees; the dream was still silent, but she knew it was screaming angrily, trying to move but only kicking impotently at the ground. Rooted to the spot, Pinkie tried to run, to no avail. She felt her own eyes go dark and her body tumble, and her mind flailed into a swirling, chaotic panic. For a mere second, she thought she was dying.

She jerked awake, seeing only the darkness of the library around her. There was no conscious thought as she shot to her hooves with a bloodcurdling scream, whipping around frantically, her mind repeating the same horrible thing like a siren. “It’s coming, it’s coming, oh dear Celestia, it’s coming, it’s coming, and we can only run.”

She ran to a window and looked out, seeing nothing but the segmented Ponyville skyline. It did nothing to ease her fear. In the darkness, she seemed to feel the impossible approach of the dream-creature, fast and deliberate.

“Pinkie, what’s goin’ on?” Applejack half-shouted, grabbing her firmly and turning her around to face them. Rarity and Rainbow were standing back, afraid, and Twilight, Fluttershy and Spike were coming quickly down the stairs.

“What’s the matter?” Twilight asked, her voice serious.

“I—I—” Pinkie floundered for something to say, and, finding nothing, gave another scream, which turned into a sob. “It’s coming,” she said, and, finding power in the words, said it again. “It’s coming, everypony, it’s coming. We have to go now!”

“What’s comin’, sugarcube?” Applejack asked, still holding Pinkie firmly.

“I… don’t know. A monster, I think. No, worse than a monster. Maybe even worse than Discord. It’s coming,” she whispered, trying to turn and look back out the window.

“What kind of monster, Pinkie?” Twilight asked, going to the window herself.

“I don’t know! It’s worse than anything else, ever, though. Worse than even the scariest things in the Everfree Forest!”

“What could possibly be worse than that?” Rarity asked, getting scared herself.

“It was just a dream, Pinkie,” Fluttershy said, approaching the panicked earth pony.

“It was more than a dream,” Pinkie rasped; her voice hurt from screaming.

“Tell me about it,” Twilight said.

Pinkie simply sobbed again. They all exchanged worried looks.

“Spike, would you mind making some tea?” Twilight asked quietly.

Spike gave no response, and merely walked to the kitchen, casting an unsettled glance at Pinkie.

Fluttershy and Applejack guided Pinkie to the couch and sat her down; she resisted at first.

“But it’s coming,” she said.

“It was just a dream, darling. A nightmare. Ponies have them every now and again,” Rarity said.

“It was more than a dream!” Pinkie repeated emphatically, and Twilight scowled in thought. She knew she could dismiss it as a particularly bad dream, but, she also knew, Pinkie was special. What if the dream was just another manifestation of her Pinkie Sense? The implications made her body break out in gooseflesh. She stared out the window, seeing nothing threatening.

Pinkie took a few shaking minutes to calm down, and the teakettle squealed; Spike emerged with a few mugs of steaming tea a minute later. He handed one to Pinkie and one to Twilight, and went back in for more.

Pinkie drank hers slowly and got more of a grip on herself. When Twilight saw that she had calmed down enough to speak, she asked Pinkie again to relay the dream.

“We were somewhere… else,” she said at last. “All six of us, and six others.”

“Who were the others?” Rainbow asked.

“I couldn’t tell. They all looked the same, except for one; one looked different, familiar in some way.”

“Familiar how?” Twilight asked.

“I don’t really know. I just got the impression that I knew her.”

“But you don’t know who any of them were.”

“No.”

“And where were we?” Rarity asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think any of us have been there before. It was really, really cold. We were in a field, but it was all dead.”

“Maybe you can describe the scenery,” Twilight said. “Any clouds, or trees, or buildings?”

“No trees, but I remember the clouds. They were…” She thought for a second. “Black. Not dark gray, but black, and they were moving faster than I’ve ever seen clouds move before. They went across the whole sky.”

Twilight frowned. “I don’t like that at all.”

“There was a building too,” Pinkie said quietly.

“Tell me about it.”

She took a breath, shuddering, and took several sips of tea before speaking. “I can’t really describe it. It was just… horrible. It was regular-looking, square, but it was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. We were all scared. We started walking towards it, but one of the ponies stopped us, and told us something. And before we could keep moving, I…” She swallowed, and continued, so quiet they had to lean in. “I felt it coming. I don’t know what it was, and I didn’t see it, but it was coming for us, fast.”

“The monster,” Applejack said.

“Yeah. The monster. It came, and it… it k—kiooooh,” she moaned, burying her face in a couch cushion.

“It killed us,” Twilight finished for her, and she nodded.

“Is that when you woke up?”

She nodded again.

Twilight thought it over for a while, eventually getting up and going to a bookshelf.

“Is it still comin’, Pinkie?” Applejack asked.

“No, it’s not. I think it was just the dream still.”

“Are you going to be okay, darling? You look terrible,” Rarity said.

“I’m fine,” Pinkie said quietly, bringing her face out of the cushion.

“What do you think, Twi?” Applejack asked.

“I don’t know what to think.” She closed a book and grabbed another one. “I know Pinkie has her Pinkie Sense, so I wouldn’t be surprised if her dream is somehow prophetic. But based on what she described, I really hope I’m wrong.”

“What kind of horrid place could Pinkie have been describing, though?” Rarity asked. “I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

“I don’t know. It’s probably somewhere in the south, though.”

“What makes you say that?” Rainbow asked.

“Well, Pinkie said it was cold. You did, right?”

Pinkie nodded, sipping her tea.

“Southern Equestria is much colder than middle or northern,” Twilight said. “It’s got a generally higher elevation, plus a higher latitude. I know there’s a glacier in the southwest, just on the border between Equestria and the griffon kingdom.”

“I didn’t know Equestria had a glacier,” Applejack said.

“It’s technically a piedmont glacier,” Twilight said. “The majority of it is formed in a valley on the griffon side of the border, but the ice spills out onto the plains of Equestria, where it flattens out. That’s the part of the glacier we have.”

“What’s this got to do with Pinkie’s dream?” Rainbow asked impatiently.

“Oh, sorry. I’m just thinking out loud.” She pulled out a map and looked at it, focusing on the southwestern region. “Hm. There’s just one town on this map, and it’s only a few miles away from the foot of the glacier.”

“How do we know that’s where it was?” Rarity asked.

“We don’t, not exactly,” Twilight said. “But that’s where it’s going to be coldest.” She looked around on the shelf, frowning. “Spike, can you help me find a book?”

“Oh, can’t it wait until morning, Twilight?”

“Yeah, I’m still tired,” Rainbow said. “I say we all go back to sleep, and you can research this in the morning.”

“Rainbow’s right,” Applejack said, and Fluttershy yawned in agreement.

“All these books will still be here tomorrow,” Rarity said. She thought for a moment, and then, jumping up, uttered a small cry of alarm.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Twilight asked, suddenly alert again.

Rarity ran for the library door. “I left Opalescence in the ship’s hold!”

Pinkie gave a single, small giggle, and they looked at her.

“Feeling better?” Twilight asked.

“I think so. I’m not scared anymore.” She stretched and yawned. “Thanks for the tea, Spike.”

“Don’t mention it, Pinkie,” he said, looking at her curiously.

They could hear Opalescence wailing outside, and Rarity brought her in a moment later, letting her go onto the floor, where she ran for the corner.

“I can’t believe I forgot her,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, great, the cat’s inside now,” Rainbow said, flying back to her bookshelf. “If we’re done here now, I’d like to get back to sleep.”

They all murmured agreement, and Twilight and Fluttershy again ascended the stairs, Spike at their fetlocks.

“Do you really think Pinkie’s dream could be about the future?” Spike asked, curling up in his basket.

“I do, Spike. And that’s what worries me,” Twilight said. With that, they drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

The morning came with no more nightmares, and although most of them had taken a bit longer to go back to sleep than Twilight and Spike, they awoke rested and refreshed. Twilight was the last to rise, coming down to the main room to them already talking, mostly about Pinkie’s dream. Spike went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, and Twilight went to the bookshelves again.

Her thoughts were full of Pinkie’s nightmare, and she was bothered that she had so little information to substantiate her research. None of the details were familiar to her; she knew no monsters that moved as quickly as Pinkie said, nor had she ever heard of the types of clouds she described. She closed her eyes for a moment. The dream, the infection, the ground, the battle, the balcony. Waking up in her own bed had helped, but her mind still felt heavy with worry, unanswerable.

“What are you doing?” Rainbow asked, jarring her out of her thoughts.

“I’m trying to find more on that town by the glacier,” Twilight said, looking up again and pushing some books aside. “I’m willing to bet that’s where Pinkie’s dream took place.”

“Based on the fact that it was cold?” Applejack asked.

“It’s the best we have.”

“Ah s’pose.”

“What’s the town called, Twilight?” Fluttershy asked.

“Snowdrift,” she said. “Any of you heard of it?”

They all shook their heads.

“I’ve only seen it mentioned in other books, usually history books, but I haven’t seen anything written specifically about it.”

“What did the history books say?” Pinkie asked.

“Not a whole lot, unfortunately. Snowdrift has been the center of a couple conflicts in the past.”

“Oh, no. Um, what kind of conflicts?” Fluttershy asked.

“It used to be a research station, back when Equestria and the griffons were at war, and then it was the center for some revolutionaries. Besides that, I’ve only ever seen the name a couple times in magical history books. Did you know that Starswirl the Bearded invented twelve different spells when he went there?”

“Wow, twelve,” Rainbow said disinterestedly.

“But that’s all I can tell you off the top of my head.” Twilight looked up and down the shelves, but nothing caught her eye, and so she joined her friends.

“So, when are we gonna try to cast our spell?” Applejack asked.

“I don’t know. After breakfast, I guess. But we have to find a spot that’s big enough, and close enough to every part of the town that we won’t have to cast it twice.”

“The town square?” Fluttershy suggested.

“That’s what I was thinking too,” Twilight said. She looked up at a small clattering from the kitchen, and got up. “I’m going to see if Spike needs any help.”

She trotted into the kitchen, and they looked at each other. “You okay, Pinkie?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly.

“There’s one thing Ah don’t understand ‘bout this dream of yers,” Applejack said. “What Twilight said ‘bout that Snowdrift town makes enough sense, on account of the cold, but what ‘bout the six extra ponies?”

“Yeah, that seems weird to me too,” Rainbow said. “It’s not like we’re gonna find any ponies that’re willing to just come along with us.”

“We might,” Pinkie said. “The more the merrier, right?”

“Sure, but what kind of pony will want to come with us on this kind of adventure? They’d have to be crazy.”

“We’re not crazy,” Pinkie said, giving a small smile.

“Breakfast is ready!” Twilight called from the kitchen, and they went out into it.

The table was set with seven bowls of oatmeal and a couple greens to the side. They took their places, and Spike fixed them with a curious, but serious, expression.

“So, what’s going on? What is all this?” he asked.

They all looked at him, at each other, and Twilight began speaking, slowly at first, telling the same story Pinkie had told the Cakes, and Applejack had told her family, the day before. Spike listened without interruption, and when breakfast was done, he had hardly eaten, so rapt he was in her words.

“So when are you leaving?” he asked.

“Soon, I’m afraid,” Twilight said quietly. The story once again told, her mood had dropped.

“After you cast your spell.”

“Yeah.”

“And did I hear you say that you were gonna try that after breakfast?”

“Yes, Spike. We’re going to go into the town center for it.”

He spooned the oatmeal around his bowl idly. “Can I come with?”

“I don’t see why not,” Rainbow said, looking at Twilight.

“Really?”

“Sure,” Twilight said.

He looked down. “But not when you leave Ponyville,” he said sulkily.

“I’m sorry, Spike, really, but you read Princess Celestia’s letter. You need to stay here and make sure the library is taken care of. Besides, it’ll be far too dangerous for you once we leave.”

“Right.” He sighed quietly. “I know that.”

There was an interval of silence, in which Spike moodily looked at the tabletop.

“When are we going to Sugarcube Corner?” Rainbow asked hesitantly.

“Right after the spell,” Twilight said.

“Uh, about that,” Applejack said. “Ah dunno if you’ve realized this, Twilight, but if ponies see us castin’ that spell, we’re gonna get mobbed with requests fer help.”

“That’s fine. We can help everypony.”

“That’s gonna take a really long time,” Rainbow said.

“She’s absolutely right,” Rarity said. “We’re supposed to go to Canterlot in the next few days. I know it sounds cruel, but we can’t stick around helping ponies with every little problem.”

“But we can’t just leave as soon as we’re done with our spell,” Twilight said.

“Well, no, not now. You’ve volunteered us to help rebuild the bakery.”

Twilight looked at her. “Um… yes, I suppose I did.”

“We’ll just have to hope no one sees where we go after the spell,” Rarity said lightly.

“They’ll see us in the airship,” Rainbow said.

“Well, we can’t leave it at the town square,” Twilight said.

“Maybe Spike could take it back to the library?” Fluttershy offered.

“Maybe. Spike? Do you think you could take the airship back here after we’re done?”

“I’ll have to look at it, but I’m sure I can,” he said, looking up at her with a smile.

“Good. Finish your breakfast, and come out with us,” Twilight said, standing.

They went out to the ship, leaving Spike alone, and boarded. It still felt strange to Twilight, standing on the wooden deck. She had seen airships, and read about them extensively, but never before had she had the opportunity to ride one. She looked around, observing everything she had not the day before: the rumpled metal of the torch, the thick-threaded seams of the black balloon, the sanded and varnished rails that curved slightly along the ship’s length like rims of a wheel. Nearby, Fluttershy was talking to Rarity, who responded shortly.

When Spike boarded, everyone turned to him, and Applejack took him to the aft hatch, into the engine room. He came back onto deck after a few minutes, and Applejack showed showed him the torch. “An’ you flip this switch when you want to turn it on, an’ flip it again when you wanna turn it off. It’s that easy.”

“No problem.”

She led him to the wheel. “You ever steer somethin’ like this?”

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“Well, we don’t wanna take any chances; this is Celestia’s airship, after all. Let me show you how it’s done.”

She gave him a quick explanation, and then she raised the gangplank. “Are we ready to go, Twi?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Spike turned on the torch, and they floated up to a height of about thirty feet before he went down to turn on the engines, running back up to turn them around.

“This should be a short flight,” Twilight said. “It’s only a couple blocks to the town center.”

“It’s such a shame we have to waste time taking this ship for such a short trip,” Rarity said, and Twilight nodded without looking at her.

“I agree, Rarity,” Spike said, turning his head quickly.

“Are you ready, Pinkie?” Twilight asked.

“Yup! Are you ready, Twilight?”

“I think so.”

“Do you still have the drawing equipment Princess Celestia gave you?” Fluttershy asked.

Twilight flared her horn quickly—it caused her no pain—to check. The brush and ink she had been given two nights ago were still there, forgotten in the magical space that kept them separated from the rest of the world. “I’ve got it.”

They took to the air and slid over the segmented town, over skewed and collapsed houses. Twilight stared down, dully unbelieving. In the panic and pressure from Pinkie’s outburst, she had forgotten the more dire problem, the one that now reasserted itself vividly.

They could see the mayor’s office behind the rough ring of buildings that surrounded the town center, an empty disc of grass and pathways around small statues and fountains. They passed over a dangerously tilting shop, its front spattered out onto the ground as though it had exploded from within, and slowly drifted to the ground, landing just next to the town hall’s north wall. The town center had its own oval of ground, its edges ending before the majority of the other buildings that surrounded, leaving the mayoral building the only structure on the island.

As they descended, a small crowd of confused ponies gathered around.

“Let the fun begin,” Rainbow muttered.

They landed and walked out, stopping before the group of onlookers; it was small, consisting of the mayor and seven others, who all stared at them blankly. Spike retracted the ramp and waited, watching.

“Um, hi,” Twilight said lamely.

“What’s going on here?” the mayor asked calmly.

“Um.” Twilight tried to think of a way to succinctly explain what they were doing. “We’re here to cast a spell that will repair all the damage done by the… earthquake.”

A murmur swept through the crowd, and Twilight picked out a few skeptical words and expressions.

“A spell, you say?” the mayor questioned, her eyebrow raised.

“Given to us by Princess Luna herself!” Pinkie said, and the crowd’s murmurs lightened.

“Come into my office,” the mayor said. “There is much that I want to know, and I think you have answers for me.” She turned and parted the crowd, leading them into the town hall.

Twilight turned and gave Spike a nod; he took the cue and turned on the torch again. “Don’t volunteer any information, but don’t hold anything back either,” she said under her breath; her friends nodded.

When they were inside, the mayor took them to her office, a small room at the back of the building with a large crescent of a desk and a gauntlet of filing cabinets under a band of windows, of which only one was broken.

“How much can you explain about our current situation?” she asked crisply.

“Oh, um,” Twilight stuttered.

“Everythin’,” Applejack finished.

“Most everything,” Twilight corrected. “There are a few things we don’t know yet.”

The mayor nodded. “I am no fool, Twilight. This was more than an earthquake.”

“Yes, it was.”

“This is Discord’s doing.”

“Yes, it was.”

“When did he cast this spell?”

“It was a parting shot after we chased him off.”

The mayor nodded. “Celestia and I have been in contact since last night, of course.”

“What did she tell you?”

“Just the basics. War, Discord, giant spell, and the Elements of Harmony are now charged with undoing what has been done. I know no specifics.”

Twilight looked at her friends; they had stepped back. “So I speak for the group now, I see,” she thought with a small frown. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t suppose you know how such a spell managed to bring this kind of ruination upon Equestria.”

“Uh, Princess Celestia said that it was just… huge.”

“Huge?”

“There isn’t any functional difference between the magic, uh, he used and a regular earthquake spell. His is just really scaled up.”

“Interesting.” The mayor tapped her chin. “What about this spell of yours?”

“It’s just something Pinkie and I learned to restore the pieces of ground.”

“Both of you?”

Twilight froze, and the mayor looked at her.

“How is Pinkie part of—oh, wait. I remember now.”

“What?”

“When Pinkie first moved here, her arrival was preceded by a letter from Celestia, detailing her… peculiarities.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes.

“Her magic,” the mayor said bluntly. “Honestly, Twilight, you’re being much less forthcoming than usual. What are you so worried about?”

“I just don’t want word to get out about what we’re doing.”

“Well I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that by tonight, it will have. Those ponies out there will put two and two together very quickly after their whole world just knits itself back together.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Do you not want to have to tell and retell the whole story, perhaps? Are you afraid that you will be met with anger, or fear? Or that word of Pinkie’s abilities will cause problems?”

Twilight was happy to have her concerns voiced so clearly. “Yes. All of that, yes.”

“I understand. I think it’s in your best interest to pretend that you are the only one casting the repair spell, Twilight.”

“But Pinkie has to be visible for the spell.”

“Why?”

“I have to draw a sigil, and—”

“And she must stay in the center, I see. If anyone asks, you can just say that she’s a point to focus your magic energy. Most of them will believe that, I imagine.”

Twilight nodded. She was impressed at the mayor’s knowledge of magic.

“So you repair Ponyville, and then what?” she asked.

“Then we have to move on. The spell’s only big enough to cover Ponyville.”

“Ah, so you’ll be traveling.” She thought for a moment. “And what of Discord?”

“We’re going to find the Elements of Harmony, and defeat him again.”

“Find the Elements. Is that to mean that they are lost?”

“It is.”

“Did he hide them?”

“Scatter, actually.”

The mayor frowned. “How far?”

“We don’t know. But far. More than fifty miles.”

“It looks like you have your work cut out for you,” she said dully.

“You could say that.”

“Tell me more about this spell. Will it endanger my citizens or my town?”

“Um.” Twilight looked at Pinkie. “Pinkie, you’re doing all the work. Is this going to be dangerous at all?”

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Have you done this before?” the mayor asked.

“Nope!”

“Hm.” The mayor frowned.

“It should just be a matter of bringing the pieces of land back together and reconnecting them,” Twilight said. “As long as Pinkie’s careful, I don’t think there’ll be a problem.”

“The only danger would be if any buildings are on an edge, in which case the motion might send them tumbling over,” the mayor said thoughtfully.

Before she could think better of it, Twilight glanced at Rarity. Her eyes looked moist.

“And if there are any ponies near the edges, or between them for some reason,” the mayor continued, “there could be trouble.” She looked at Twilight and Pinkie. “What can you do about that?”

Rainbow stepped forward. “I can fly around and warn everypony.”

The mayor nodded. “Yes, that can work. Not yet, though. Wait until everyone’s out there.” She looked back to Twilight. “I don’t suppose you can tell me how this floating works, can you? Are we going to fall?”

“I don’t really know,” Twilight said. “Princess Celestia thinks it’s just a levitation spell. And no, she doesn’t think we’ll fall.”

The mayor sighed in relief. “That’s good news. How high up are we?”

“About a mile.”

“Hm.”

“I don’t understand, mayor. Didn’t she tell you any of this?”

“I haven’t heard from her since yesterday, and I can’t exactly call anyone.” She gestured loosely at the phone on her desk—one of the few in Ponyville. “Every phone line in the country is down.” She shook her head. “Every city in Equestria is cut off from each other.”

“I’m sorry, mayor.”

“Don’t apologize, Twilight. It’s not your fault.”

“Right.”

The mayor shuffled a few papers around. “I have no more questions for you at this point, but I sense that you have some of your own.”

“Just one. Is everypony okay?”

“Unfortunately, no. I haven’t seen anything for myself, but I’ve had pegasi telling me about the state of the town. Several ponies are injured, and some are dead.” Her voice went quiet. “I don’t know how many.”

Applejack gasped, and Fluttershy let out a small moan.

“I’m so sorry,” Twilight said.

“Yes, it is a tragedy,” the mayor said.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Rarity asked.

“Casting your spell will be the best thing right now. Maybe after that, you can help.” She looked out the window. “However, I do not want to keep you here any longer than I must.”

“It’s no problem,” Twilight said.

“Uh, Twilight,” Applejack said.

“Huh?”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, mayor, but yer right. We don’t need to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary. We’re hopin’ to just cast our spell, stay a day or two, an’ leave.”

“Of course, Applejack. I understand completely.” She looked at them all. “Do you have any more questions?”

“No, mayor,” Twilight said.

“Then I will escort you out.” She stood, and they left the office, where the crowd of ponies waited on the steps. Rainbow took off, and the mayor corralled the ponies into the building, leaving a wide, empty lawn for Twilight to draw her sigil. She directed Pinkie to the middle and the others to the stairs, then, summoning her ink and brush, took a moment to think.

“Fluttershy, if Rainbow comes back, and I’m still working, could you intercept her? I need to concentrate.”

“Oh, of course, Twilight.”

Twilight nodded and cleared her thoughts, concentrating on giving Pinkie her magic. “At least this time I don’t have a war going on around me,” she thought. She dipped her brush in the ink and started the outer circle, walking a huge perimeter around Pinkie, coming a few paces from the stairs and edge of the ground.

Fluttershy, Rarity, and Applejack watched her begin to fill in the circle. “They’re going to see us as heroes,” Fluttershy said.

“If they must see us as anything, I would prefer that, I suppose,” Rarity said.

“They’re gonna ask us to do ‘em favors left an’ right,” Applejack said.

“And we’re probably going to do a lot of them,” Rarity said. “Twilight keeps volunteering us.”

“Oh, um, but they do need the help,” Fluttershy said.

Rarity sighed. “Yes, I know that. But we have to leave sometime.”

“Well, we’re going to help the Cakes with the bakery as soon as we’re done here. Maybe we can leave after that.”

“I hope to.”

“How long do ya think that’ll take us?” Applejack asked.

“If the upper floors are anything like the ground floor, not long. Especially since half of us are magical, we we shouldn’t take that long,” Fluttershy said.

“If we’re lucky, we can finish by tonight,” Rarity said.

“Assumin’ Twilight and Pinkie aren’t exhausted from this,” Applejack said.

“But of course.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. What if they’re too tired to help?” Fluttershy asked.

“Then it’ll be just us,” Rarity said.

They were quiet for a moment, and watched Twilight draw in peace.

“Fluttershy, Princess Celestia said you have a fair amount of magic, did she not?” Rarity asked.

“Oh, well, yes,” Fluttershy said quietly, blushing. “But I don’t know any spells.”

“Even so. Having as much magic as you is nothing to scoff at.”

“Yeah, Fluttershy. To be a pegasus and to have magical powers? Shoot, Ah don’t have either of that stuff.”

“Oh, Applejack, but you do have a little magic, don’t you?” Fluttershy asked.

“Not enough to count.”

“Well, at least you don’t have any illusions about it,” Rarity said.

“Don’t worry, Rarity, Ah’m not jealous or anythin’. Yer all magical, an’ Ah’m not; it ain’t nothin’ to get worked up about.”

“I’m just glad you’re not like Rainbow Dash.”

“Why’s that?”

“Can you imagine how much she would complain? Not that I’m trying to make her look bad or anything.” She coughed once and looked out at Twilight, embarrassed at her words.

Twilight had filled in a fourth of the sigil, and Rarity could feel the others looking at her.

“This’ll be a while still,” she said, trying to get their thoughts off her comment.

“Here comes Rainbow,” Applejack said, and Rarity looked up to spy the multi-chromatic pegasus speeding toward them. Fluttershy got up to fly out to her, but Rainbow was already there, gliding over the sigil and landing next to them.

“Oh, Rainbow Dash, how is everything?” Fluttershy asked.

“Great! I didn’t get a chance to fly this morning.”

“I think she meant the town,” Rarity said drily.

“Oh, right. It’s pretty bad, but there aren’t many houses on the edges. I warned everypony anyway.” She looked out at Twilight. “How long do you think we have?”

“I don’t know, fifteen minutes,” Rarity said.

“Cool.” She flapped her wings once. “So, last night.”

“I woke up expecting to see Discord hovering in the library,” Rarity said.

“It was really scary,” Fluttershy said.

“I’ve never heard Pinkie scream like that, ever,” Rainbow said. “Have any of you?”

“Never,” Applejack said, and Rarity and Fluttershy nodded their agreement.

“What do you think of it?” Rarity asked.

“It was just a nightmare,” Rainbow said. “It was scary, sure, but I don’t see why we’re so worked up about it. Ponies have nightmares every now and again; it’s not a big deal.”

“Ah kinda agree with ya, RD. Though she does have her Pinkie Sense… we might want to watch out, anyway,” Applejack said.

“But we need to have six more ponies with us before her dream can come true. That’s not gonna happen.”

“Yer probably right.”

“What about that town Twilight said she was dreaming about?” Fluttershy asked.

“Snowdrift, you mean? What about it?” Rarity said.

“Doesn’t it just, I don’t know, sound bad?”

“Sounds cold,” Applejack said.

“Sounds foreign,” Rainbow said.

“I don’t see what’s so bad about it, Fluttershy,” Rarity said.

“Neither do I. It just… it makes me feel nervous.”

“Yeah, but what doesn’t?” Rainbow quipped, and Fluttershy squeaked.

“It’s the name, I think,” Rarity said.

“It’s just a word, Rarity. You know, a snowdrift? A pile of snow? That’s all it is. What’s so threatening about that?”

“I don’t know, but it is,” Fluttershy said.

They rolled their eyes. “Rainbow, dear, you never told us about your visit to the rock farm with Pinkie,” Rarity said.

“If Ah may say somethin’ ‘bout that, actually,” Applejack said. “Am Ah the only one who noticed somethin’ a little… off ‘bout Pinkie yesterday?”

“No, I noticed it too,” Rarity said.

“I was planning on asking her myself, but I figured that if she wanted to talk about it, she would,” Fluttershy said.

“Eh, I don’t know,” Rainbow said. “I don’t know how much of this she wants to keep private.”

“Just tell us what happened. You don’t have to talk about Pinkie,” Rarity urged.

“Well, all right. We flew over there, right? It’s pretty close. And Pinkie’s telling me that I need to distract her dad and sister while she slipps into the silo to get the phlogiston. ‘Sure, no problem,’ I thought. But then she told me that they were both huge grouches. And we were practically right there when she told me, so I didn’t have time to think of something. We landed, and they were right there—her mom was in the house, I think—so I just started talking. I made up something about selling tickets to the Grand Galloping Gala.”

“But that’s over half a year away,” Applejack said.

“I know that, I know that, but that was the first thing I could think of. They asked me tons of questions, and I tried to avoid them. They were really putting the pressure on, though, and I couldn’t keep up.”

“So what happened?” Fluttershy asked.

“Well, they finally called me out for lying to them. The dad walked away, and Pinkie’s sister stayed behind. She went into the silo, where Pinkie was.”

“An’ then what?” Applejack asked, leaning forward.

“They just talked. I didn’t understand most of what they said, but it didn’t sound good. Pinkie looked like she was going to cry for a while after.”

“Ah always thought there was somethin’ fishy ‘bout her childhood,” Applejack said.

“That’s really all I’m comfortable telling you.”

“But she seems fine now,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, I think it was just the shock of seeing her family yesterday,” Rainbow said, looking out at Twilight. “I know I’d be shocked if I saw my family again.”

They followed her gaze; only one third of the sigil remained.

“I can’t imagine how borin’ it must be to draw that,” Applejack said.

“It’s kind of beautiful when it’s complete,” Fluttershy said.

“Beautiful maybe, but a pain in the flank.”

They sat on the steps and watched Twilight work, slowly tracing her progress in tight loops and spirals, growing closer to the perimeter.

“Do you suppose Discord knows what we’re up to?” Rainbow asked.

“I don’t think he does,” Fluttershy said.

“What makes you say that?”

“He probably has more important things to do than watch us. Um, especially since he scattered the Elements of Harmony.”

“Yes, but surely he knows we’ll go looking for them,” Rarity said.

“I bet he doesn’t know we have a tracking spell,” Rainbow said.

“Oh, that’s true. At least we have that.”

“As long as we don’t run into him along the way, I’m sure we’ll be okay,” Fluttershy said.

“Do you honestly think we won’t?” Rainbow asked.

Fluttershy looked down. “No, I guess not. But I hope so.”

“Ah think the princess is right,” Applejack said. “He’s probably regroupin’ whatever army he has. When he’s done with that, he’s gonna attack Canterlot, Ah just know it.”

“So we need to defeat him before he can do that,” Rainbow said.

“Not necessarily,” Rarity said. “I mean, of course it would be a good idea, but even if we don’t, the princesses will be ready for him.”

“Will it do any good?” Fluttershy asked.

“They put up a fine fight this time; imagine how well they’ll do when they have some time to prepare.”

“Yer forgettin’ that Discord is the master of deception,” Applejack said. “What’s stoppin’ him from pullin’ the same trick he did this time?”

“I guarantee the princesses will have at least doubled the security,” Rarity said confidently.

“Oh, um, sorry for interrupting, but Twilight’s about to finish,” Fluttershy said.

“Oh! Here, you stay; I’m going to get a bird’s eye view of this,” Rainbow said, taking off.

Rarity leaned back a bit from the wind of Rainbow’s takeoff and watched as Twilight’s brush moved across the grass with its thin, black lines. “How does it paint uneven surfaces like that?” she wondered.

Rarity watched eagerly as Twilight finished the final flourish; she was looking forward to seeing the sigil activate in a less hectic environment. As soon as the brush left the ground, the whole, ten-foot circle turned from static black to a shimmering ichor in one wave, and Twilight stood, wavering where she had finished. Her face was slack and her eyes were empty.

A slow glow emerged from Pinkie’s center, weak at first, but as it bloomed outwards over her skin and fur, Rarity had to look away. From the corners of her eyes, she could see the buildings beginning to shake, and she could feel the ground shift slowly; she almost lost her balance on the stairs’ top.

For a while, there was no sound except the shaking that surrounded her: stressed supports, pulling joists and groaning beams and boards, buildings dragged back to their places. She looked out at the northern row of buildings, eyes averted from Pinkie’s glow. She could see the expanse of green hills at Ponyville’s border seem to roll over itself, its houses coming back toward each other slowly and deliberately.

When the movement stopped, she jumped, hoof almost slipping on the steps. Where there was once quiet, there suddenly manifested a horrible, scraping, stony noise like giant, grinding teeth, and she clamped her hooves over her ears. “The earth coming back together,” she thought unhappily. Stones rubbing together, hard-packed earth shoved against itself, the small metal screech of an underground pipe bending or breaking.

The sound lowered into an atonal rumble, like thunder underneath her, and the ground shuddered slowly. It seemed she could feel the raveling earth and stone so far below, crushing together into singularity, vibrating through the stone steps and tingling her legs. There was a long crash in the distance, and felt a flash of pity for the pony that had just lost their house or business. “You’re not alone, my friend. Not at all,” she thought miserably.

The rumbling dimmed more, and soon was gone; Pinkie’s glow followed quickly. Rarity looked around, seeing Ponyville as it was meant to be: complete. Unsplit, unmarred, with no gaps between buildings and no crevasses between blocks. She could almost believe that they were back on the Gaia. The sigil had vanished, leaving only blank grass and two tired-looking ponies.

When they were sure the spell was complete, they rushed down to Twilight and Pinkie. Twilight was lying down, awake but exhausted; Pinkie was regaining her hooves steadily.

“We should probably go now,” Rarity said, helping Twilight up and looking around. She could hear the uproar in the distance and the mayor’s doors opening behind them.

“That was awesome, Pinkie! Everypony’s going crazy!” Rainbow called as she came towards them. “They’re all heading for the town square, and if we’re not out of here right now, we’re gonna get swamped.”

The awed voices of the emerging crowd behind them, they trotted in the direction of Sugarcube Corner, their pace suffering at Twilight’s faltering gait. Pinkie bounced ahead while Rainbow flew above them, watching for approaching crowds. The ponies they did pass were too awestruck to stop them. They crossed a dirt road, each looking down at its middle. A split had run just along it, but now, as they stepped over it, there was no indication of any damage—no seams and no cracks. The restoration was flawless.

Across the empty section of roads and lone buildings behind the town center’s rim, Sugarcube Corner’s elaborately-decorated loft stood proudly against the sky. Behind, the crowd was assembling, loud with surprise, relief, wonderment and joy; their voices were blending together into one giant, happy noise. Behind, they could hear the mayor calling for order.

They crossed the lawn and approached the bakery’s front doors, where Mrs. Cake stood, looking out at the world, worried and curious. Pinkie screeched a greeting, and she smiled hugely.

“Pinkie, thank Celestia. Are you okay?”

“Yup! Everything worked perfectly!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she said, leading them back into the bakery.

“Where’s Mr. Cake?” Twilight asked.

“He’s upstairs, working on the loft.”

“Does he need any help?” Rarity asked.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Mrs. Cake said, leading them up the stairs.

It was a narrow passage to the second floor, with only one window at its top and warm, impressing walls that gave the whole area a quiet, isolated, claustrophobic quality, much unlike the friendly rooms below. Rarity looked from side to side, leaning away from the walls; she had ascended the lonesome staircase before, during particularly late-running parties, and she never enjoyed them.

They came up into the bathroom, a spacious room with a cracked bathtub in its center and a sink to the side, pipes twisted beneath its basin. The shadow of water damage sat on the floor and wall underneath it.

“We turned off the water for now,” Mrs. Cake said.

They continued up the stairs, which spiraled gently as the walls constricted even tighter. At the top, they had to walk single-file onto the landing to the corridor to Pinkie’s room. Mr. Cake was already inside, adjusting a bare mattress, a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor to the side.

“Hey Mr. Cake!” Pinkie greeted, and he jumped.

“Oh, hello Pinkie. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“The spell worked, Carrot!” Mrs. Cake said.

“Oh, that’s wonderful news! I felt the building move, and I heard everything, but I didn’t dare look out the window. How did it go, Twilight?”

“Everything was fine,” Twilight said; a little strength had returned to her voice, but expounding on the specifics of the spell did not interest her.

“Are you tired at all?” Mr. Cake asked.

“Yes, but I can still help.”

“No no, you rest up. I just need one unicorn here, anyway.” He looked over to Rarity, who smiled benignly.

“I’ll show you what you can do to help downstairs,” Mrs. Cake said, leading them back out of the room.

When they were gone, Rarity turned to Mr. Cake. “What do you need me to do?”

“Don’t worry; there’s not much left. I’ve put everything back, so all that remains are a few cracks in the walls and one big one in the ceiling.”

Rarity looked at the cracks that he indicated; there were a few small ones on the far wall, spiderwebbing up toward the window, and one large one directly above her, letting a jagged band of sunlight in.

“Do you know how to repair something like that with magic?”

Rarity frowned. “I’m afraid not.”

“That’s okay. We can do it the conventional way.” He scooted a small putty knife over to her, and she regarded it distastefully.

“What exactly is this?”

“You use it to spread the spackle,” he said, grabbing his own knife and digging it into the crack nearest the headboard. “But first, we have to clear any debris out of the cracks.”

Rarity sighed, lifting her knife and joining him.

In the bathroom, Twilight and Fluttershy were at work with the pipes and bathtub. Applejack, Rainbow, and Pinkie were down on the first floor, and Twilight could hear them chattering with Mrs. Cake. Twilight, meanwhile, crouched by the sink, trying to magically repair its split, kinked plumbing. She had insisted to Mrs. Cake that she could handle the task, but, with sweat on her brow and her knees sore with being bent, she was regretting her decision. She had made only a little progress.

Fluttershy, on the other side of the bathroom and armed with a small razor knife, was slowly cutting away the edges of the bathtub’s hole. She fumbled it with her hooves, and Twilight watched her.

“Fluttershy, what are you doing?”

“Oh, um, Mrs. Cake said I have to smooth the edges before I can start putting the epoxy in,” she said.

“Can’t you just use your magic?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, Twilight, I already tried, but I don’t know how to levitate things.”

“I meant your healing.”

“Oh. Um, I tried that too, though. I can’t do it.”

“But you’re a natural healer.”

“Yes, a healer of creatures, not of bathtubs.”

Twilight giggled, and Fluttershy smiled a little, surveying the bathroom. “At least everything else looks okay.”

“Everything else is okay,” Twilight said. “It’s just this stupid sink.” She looked at it distastefully and grabbed a pipe in her magic, trying to unbend it. It moved a few millimeters with a high, metallic groan, and she sat back, tired.

“Oh, um, Twilight, I forgot to ask. How is your pastern feeling?”

“It’s perfect, Fluttershy. I can’t even tell that it was injured. You did a great job.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“No, thank you.” Twilight bent another pipe, snapping it into place with some effort. She heaved a breath and looked out the window. It was getting close to noon.

“I wonder how the spa is doing,” Fluttershy said. “Oh, I hope Aloe and Lotus are okay.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Twilight said absently. She was too busy figuring out her next course of action to pay much attention to Fluttershy’s worrying.

“They’re both so nice. I would hate to think of what might have happened to them.”

“They’re probably just shaken up.”

“Oh, I hope that’s all it is. Twilight, I know we’re busy, but do you think we can see them later today?”

Twilight grunted, tugging at a pipe again. It moved only slightly. “Sure, why not?” she said halfheartedly.

“Oh, thank you, Twilight.”

Twilight didn’t respond, and for the next hour, they worked without speaking, Fluttershy scraping at the bathtub’s hole and Twilight moving the sink’s pipes by inches. It was monotonous, boring work, and there was nothing to divert them.

Below, Rainbow and Pinkie worked on sanding the banister while Applejack searched for any broken glass the Cakes had missed. It wasn’t long before someone knocked on the door, and they all looked at each other unhappily, expecting a crowd of ponies to burst in. Instead, there was only one nervous-looking pegasus, asking for Rainbow. Rainbow recognized her: Cloudchaser, from her weather team. A low-level worker. Happy for a reason to abandon her work, she went with her, leaving Pinkie and Applejack alone.

They flew out and over the restored town, over the crowded center where the mayor was doing her best to explain things, over the farm, and up toward Cloudsdale. Cloudchaser spoke all the way, and what she had to say was not good. Reports of uncontrolled storms all over Equestria, rogue cloud fronts, lost shipments, and spontaneously-forming weather systems. The weather teams had no idea how to handle the sudden upset, and so the weather was largely left to govern itself.

The Cloudsdale bureaucracy had only received a basic overview from Celestia, the same one she had sent to every town, and they wanted Rainbow—the only weather pony who had seen the decisive part of the battle—to explain everything in more detail. There was to be a press conference in about an hour, something Cloudchaser only mentioned as they landed in the city.

“What? A press conference? Who’s all gonna be there?” Rainbow asked, alarmed.

“Um, everyone,” Cloudchaser said sheepishly.

“Everyone?”

“The whole Cloudsdale government’s there, Dash.”

“You didn’t think it might be nice to tell me this a bit earlier?”

“Sorry.”

Mrs. Cake came up to check on Twilight and Fluttershy an hour later. Twilight lay on her back by a mostly restored snarl of plumbing, and Fluttershy sat and watched the epoxy cure. She told them to take a break, and they went down to the ground floor to find Pinkie and Rarity sitting at a table. As soon as she was done cleaning up, Applejack had gone to go help her family at the farm, and Pinkie finished everything else alone. They ate a small lunch of dry food from the Cakes’ pantry, and Pinkie went with them up to the bathroom when they were done; she put the last few pipes in place for Twilight, who only lay down appreciatively.

Mr. Cake came down a few minutes later, covered in dust. “Oh, are you finished?”

“Sure are! The pipes are all better!” Pinkie cried.

“Well, that’s excellent news.” He wiped his brow, and Rarity came in, also filthy and spotted with spackle. “We just finished up here. Why don’t we turn on the water and see if everything’s okay?”

“Sounds good to me!” Pinkie said, bolting out the door, Mr. Cake following her.

“Something just occurred to me,” Rarity said, turning slowly to follow. “The ground being split like it was would have destroyed any sort of underground water or sewage system. Do you think Pinkie’s spell fixed that?”

“That is a good question,” Twilight said.

“What do we have underground?” Fluttershy asked.

Twilight thought as they descended the stairs. “We have a rudimentary sewer system, I know. I think it leads into Canterlot.”

Rarity made a disgusted noise. “Probably not at the moment.”

“Yes, probably not. We’re going to have to use outhouses for a while.”

“Ugh, I don’t even want to think about that.”

“And we draw water from the river nearby,” Twilight continued. “Those pipes are probably destroyed too.”

“It’s oo-oon!” Pinkie cheered, running back up the stairs.

They turned at their foot and followed her, and stood back as she went to the sink. The Cakes stood by, watching expectantly.

Pinkie gestured at the sink sweepingly. “Fillies and gentlecolts, I present to you the bathroom sink! A fine contraption if I say so myself, this will enable you to wash your hooves whenever you want, all with just a twist,” she put her hoof on the knob, “of the knob!” She turned it with a flourish, and they watched as a small stream of water poured forth, then slowed down to a trickle, then a drip, then stopped.

“What? What’s wrong?” Twilight asked.

Pinkie tapped the faucet. “Are you sure you fixed the plumbing here, Twilight?”

“Yes, Pinkie. I think the underground pipes are still ruined. Rarity and I were just talking about it.”

“Oooooooooh, that doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Mr. Cake said. “If Twilight’s right, then we’re not the only ones who can’t get water.”

“Maybe we should ask the mayor,” Mrs. Cake offered.

“If she’s not too busy,” Fluttershy said.

“We can do it,” Twilight said. “You stay here. We’ll go talk to her.”

“Sure thing,” Mr. Cake said. “We’ll just tell Rainbow Dash and Applejack where you went if they come back, okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” Twilight said, heading down the stairs once more. “Come on, girls. Let’s go.”

Warning

Chapter Twelve

Warning

They were all tired and a little dirty, and Rarity walked at the back of the group, moaning occasionally and picking at the dried spackle in her coat. They walked to the town center, which had mostly cleared. Twilight recognized a couple remaining ponies, but paid them no mind as she purposefully marched up the stairs. She strode through the double doors and toward the mayor’s office, which was closed. The rest of the town hall was weirdly silent.

“Let’s try not to take up too much of her time,” Twilight said. “She’s had a really long day, I’m sure.” She knocked softly on the office doors, and was rewarded with a tired, but not unkind, “come in.”

She entered, and the mayor’s face visibly brightened at seeing them all. “Oh, Twilight. You can only be bringing me the best or worst news I’ve heard all day. So tell me, am I a lucky mare?” She smiled, revealing neat rows of teeth, and Twilight returned the smile as well as she could.

“I actually just have a question,” she said, and the mayor sat back, perplexed.

“Okay, well, I’ll see what I can tell you, but I think you have more information than I.”

“It’s about the Ponyville water supply.”

The mayor’s expression deflated. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Every other pony’s asking.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. Just a tiring day. I’ll tell you what I told the others: all I know about the water supply is that it’s not working, at all. For now, citizens are going to have to draw their water manually from the well or the river.”

“I see.”

“You want to know when it’ll be fixed, I imagine?”

“If you know.”

“I put together a skeleton crew to work on repairing the pipes, but I have to do about a hundred other things, and repairs like this simply aren’t a priority right now, not with the river right next to us. So far, the team only has five ponies, of which two are unicorns.” She fixed Twilight with a playful look. “I don’t suppose you would like to stay here for a few months and help out, would you?”

“Oh, no, sorry, mayor, but we can’t stay that long.”

She laughed a little. “I was joking. Do you have any more questions?”

Twilight looked back at her friends, and, seeing their blank faces, shook her head.

“Very well. Oh, one thing. Would you mind letting me know before you leave for good? I’d appreciate the knowledge, just so I’m sure you’ve left, and not hurt or anything.”

“Right. Don’t worry, we’ll let you know,” Twilight said.

“Great.” She turned to a large pile of papers and began sorting through them. “Have a nice day.”

They respectfully stepped out of her office and out of the town hall. As they went down the stone stairs, Twilight chanced to look to the side, where a depressed-looking, cream-coated mare occupied one of the benches under a tree.

“Is that Bonbon?” Rarity asked.

“Yeah, that’s her,” Twilight said.

“She looks awfully sad.”

“Oh, you don’t think…” Fluttershy started. She didn’t have to finish her statement.

Before anyone could react, Pinkie went over to her, and they followed at a distance. Bonbon looked up with red-rimmed eyes.

“Hey Bonbon!” she chirped. Though the mare was clearly sad, Pinkie did not modify her voice, and Twilight glared at her from behind.

“Oh, hey Pinkie. You look well.”

“Oh, I am, I am! How are you?”

Bonbon sighed. “I’m not so great.”

“What’s wrong?” Pinkie asked in a more moderate tone. She sat down on the ground before her.

Bonbon only stared past Pinkie, her eyes glistening.

“Bonbon?”

She blinked, and a few tears slipped out the corners of her eyes.

“Is it… is it Lyra?” Pinkie asked softly, and Bonbon nodded slowly. “Oh, Bonbon.” She stood up to look at her face.

Bonbon sniffed, closed her eyes, appeared to exert a terrible amount of willpower, and opened them again, her face firmer. “Thank you, Pinkie. Yes, unfortunately, Lyra didn’t… didn’t make it.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Twilight asked quietly.

Bonbon flicked her sad eyes at her, and shook her head. “There’s nothing to be done. Just the,” she took a deep breath, “just the funeral. I suppose we’ll be having a lot of those in the next week or two.”

“Bonbon, I’m so sorry,” Pinkie said, and Bonbon shook her head again.

“No need to feel sorry, Pinkie. She lived a good life, I guess.”

“How’d she die?”

Bonbon looked at her, then away. “Uh… she, uh…”

“Never mind,” Pinkie said, approaching her. “Do you have any idea when the funeral is?”

“In a few days.”

“We’ll be there,” Twilight said solemnly.

“Thank you, girls. That would mean a lot to me.”

“It’s no problem,” Pinkie said, smiling consolingly.

Bonbon nodded and looked back down, and Pinkie drew away.

“Um, I’m really, really sorry, but we should probably get going. Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Bonbon said, not looking. “Thanks, though.”

Pinkie grabbed Bonbon in a quick hug, which she reciprocated coldly. “Let me know when the funeral is.”

She turned back and gestured with her eyes to get moving; Twilight took the lead, and a few sedate minutes later, they were reentering Sugarcube Corner.

“That was fast,” Mrs. Cake said, and Pinkie nodded. “What’s wrong? What has you all so dreary all of a sudden?”

“Bonbon,” Fluttershy said with a weak voice.

“Something happened to Bonbon? Oh, is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Pinkie said. “But Lyra isn’t.”

“Lyra Heartstrings, you mean? That green unicorn she’s always with?”

“Yeah, her.”

“Oh, no, what happened?”

“Lyra’s dead,” Pinkie said, and Mr. Cake, who was in the kitchen, dropped something.

“Oh, the poor dear. She must be absolutely broken up about it, as close friends as they were.”

“She was devastated,” Pinkie said. “And she’s holding back her emotions about it. She didn’t cry at all, and she didn’t even try to keep me from letting go when I hugged her.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Cake said, shaking her head.

“Does she know when the funeral will be?” Mr. Cake asked, walking in.

“No, not yet,” Pinkie said.

“Well, we’ll have to attend it,” Mrs. Cake said.

“Yes, yes indeed.” Mr. Cake allowed an interval of respectful silence before clearing his throat and looking at Twilight. “Now, um, Twilight. About the water?”

“Oh, right. The water system is completely destroyed, so you’ll all have to get your water from the river or the well.”

“I see.”

“She made a small team of ponies to start the repairs, but there’s only five in it so far.”

“Oh, that’s not going to do,” Mrs. Cake said.

“I’m sure she’ll find more,” Twilight said. “If it comes down to it, she can just have some come from Canterlot.” She thought for a second. “Oh, wait. No, I guess she can’t. Well, when we’re done there, she can.”

“I suppose you’d better go up there soon, then,” Mrs. Cake said.

“We intend to,” Rarity said.

The Cakes both nodded and looked around. “Well, there’s not really much left here for you. We just need to touch up a few things—we can do that on our own.”

“Go ahead and go about your own business,” Mr. Cake said.

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” Twilight said, going back to the door.

“Thank you, girls!” Mrs. Cake called after them as they walked back out into the healed world.

They crossed the dirt road that ran just before the bakery, and Rarity looked up. Following her eyes, Twilight saw Rainbow speeding toward them; as she approached, she could see a bad look on the pegasus’ face.

“There you are, Dashie!” Pinkie called.

“Yeah, hey. Where are you going?”

“We’re visiting the spa,” Rarity said.

“Oh. Cool.” She fell in with them, and Twilight looked at her.

“What’s wrong, Rainbow?” Fluttershy asked.

“Ugh. I just got back from a press conference in Cloudsdale.” She rubbed her head with a hoof. “The whole Cloudsdale government was there, and the press, and half the business owners.”

“That sounds dreadful,” Rarity said.

“The weather bureau’s completely messed up. No one wants to risk messing with the weather with our elevation, so they’re just letting materials build up.”

“That’s dumb,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, it is,” Rainbow complained. “The weather factories are still working, but no one’s shipping clouds anymore. They said they’re gonna try to stabilize the climate over Ponyville in the next month.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Rarity cried.

“You’re telling me. You’d think they’d be concerned about getting things under control, you know, maybe keep our weather from going rogue, but they’re freaking out about money instead. It’s all just bottom line this, monetization that.” She shook her head and flapped her wings angrily. “I never want to get involved with the government if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Do you have to go back?” Twilight asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“You’ll feel better when we get to the spa,” Fluttershy said.

“Except for the fact that there’s no running water,” Rarity said.

“Aw, what?” Rainbow groaned.

“Pinkie fixed the ground, not the pipes,” Twilight said.

Rainbow sighed. “Then why are we even going? Are you gonna volunteer us for more stuff, Twilight?”

“We’re just going to see if we can help out with the cleanup,” Rarity said. “Besides, I owe Aloe a favor.”

“What for?”

“You remember our little fashion show, when Hoity Toity came to town? She helped me get the DJ.”

“I didn’t know Aloe knew her. DJ Pon-Three, right?” Pinkie asked.

“I guess so,” Rarity said.

“Who?” Twilight asked.

“The white unicorn working the turntables,” Rainbow said. “She had purple glasses and an electric blue mane.”

“Oh, her.” Twilight thought. “I’ve never seen her before.”

“She lives in Canterlot,” Rarity said. “I had to get her down here that night.”

“Why even bother?” Rainbow asked. “The show was so short.”

“It was entirely to impress Hoity Toity. He’s huge in the fashion world, and she’s huge in the music world. If he saw that I could get a hold of DJ Pon-Three for my little show, well, it would quite improve my chances of gaining his approval.”

“Did it?” Twilight asked.

“Unfortunately, no. The show was too much of a disaster. I’m sure he assumed I was wealthy, but not talented, as opposed to the other way around. Still, I owe Aloe for getting her on such short notice.”

“How do they know each other?”

“Oh, darling, I couldn’t even begin to guess.”

“Well, as long as this favor doesn’t turn into any extra days in town,” Rainbow said.

“It shouldn’t,” Twilight said. “Besides, we’re going to be here for at least a few more days anyway.”

“Why?”

They all hesitated, and Rainbow dropped her sour expression.

“What’s going on?” she asked seriously.

“We have a funeral to attend,” Rarity said delicately.

“What?”

“Lyra,” Twilight said.

“Oh, no.”

“We just found out about it a little while ago.”

“Aw, geez.”

“Bonbon was pretty sad,” Pinkie said.

“I can see why. They’re roommates, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait,” Rarity said sharply. They were coming around to a small hill, and a pair of pegasi stood on the far slopes, directly in view.

“What are we waiting for?” Pinkie asked.

“If those ponies see us, they’re going to want to delay us.”

“Oh, come on, Rarity. That’s silly!”

“Pinkie, hush!” Rarity hissed, but it was too late.

The ponies looked up at Pinkie’s screech, and they immediately trotted over, wearing a pair of smiles that made Twilight anxious.

“Great. Good going, Pinkie.”

“Sorry, Rarity.”

“Aren’t you Twilight Sparkle?” the first pegasus asked. She was light teal, with a thick, aquamarine mane and a pair of sparkling blue eyes that seemed to dance joyfully when she looked at Twilight.

Gritting her teeth, she gave them a tight smile. “Yes, that’s me.”

“You’re the one who cast the spell!” the other one—a warm, pink mare with a lightning cutie mark—exclaimed.

“I—well, yes, I did, but it was nothing, really, if you could—”

“Thank you so much! I can’t tell you how much you’ve done for us!”

“You’re the savior of Ponyville! How did you do it?”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Rainbow said cagily. Twilight could tell she was trying to be polite. “We just set up a big, uh, what’s it called again?”

“A sigil,” Rarity said dully.

“Yeah, that. We just set up a big sigil in the town square and then, one two three, fixed.” She smiled, wide and insincere. “All in a day’s work for Twilight here.”

“The mayor said Discord is the one who did all this,” the blue pegasus said. “Did you get him?”

“Not yet,” Rainbow said. “But we’ve only just got back into town. Just you wait.”

“Yeah! Just you wait!” Pinkie cheered.

“Yeah,” Twilight said weakly. “Um, look. We’re glad to help out, but we kind of need to get to the spa. They need our help.”

“Wait, you’re helping rebuild the town too?” the pink pegasus asked.

“Well, kind of, but we need to—”

“Can you help us repair our friend’s home? It got totally destroyed.”

Twilight looked at her innocent expression. She could feel her friends’ eyes on her, urging her not to acquiesce. “They’re right. We can’t delay anymore.” She opened her mouth to speak. “But we do have that funeral.”

“We already have a small team together, but no good mages. It would mean so much to him if you could be there too! Please?”

“Uh…” Twilight looked into their eyes and felt herself folding inside. “Okay,” she said, feeling weak.

“Oh, thank you, thank you so much! How can we repay you?”

“Just don’t tell anypony you saw us here,” Rainbow said, her voice concealing bitterness. “We need to move on to Canterlot soon, and we can’t afford to delay any more than we already are.”

“Oh, no. Did Canterlot get destroyed too?” the pink mare asked, putting a hoof to her mouth with a small gasp.

“Yes,” Rarity said shortly.

“Oh my Celestia. I hope everypony is okay there.”

“That’s why we need to leave, to do there what we did here. But if everypony is holding us up, asking us for favors and things, we’ll never get to leave,” Rainbow said.

“Gotcha. You were never here!” the blue pegasus said, giving them a wink.

Twilight bowed her head. “Thank you. Where is your friend’s house?”

“Northern Ponyville, between the windmill and the park. It’s Doctor Whooves’; do you know him?”

“Oh, I made a suit for him last month,” Rarity said. “Quite the gentleman.”

“Yeah, I guess. We’re looking to start rebuilding as soon as we can, probably tomorrow. Just head north, and you’ll find us.”

“Do you need us to round up some more ponies to help out?” Pinkie asked.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” the pink pegasus said.

“It won’t be any trouble.”

“Well, if you really want to, go ahead. But we already have a group of nine, with an actual architect, so you don’t have to go overboard.”

Twilight leaned over a little, seeing another small group of ponies wandering their way. “That’s great, girls. Uh, we really need to get moving, though.”

“You didn’t see us here, remember?” Rainbow said, and they nodded agreeably.

“See you tomorrow!” Pinkie said as they continued on their way, leaving the pegasi to their affairs.

When they were a sufficient distance away, Twilight groaned, and they all stopped to look at her.

“What compels you to agree to every little thing ponies ask of you, Twilight?” Rarity asked.

“I’m sorry! I just hate denying ponies help.”

“We’re supposed to be going to Canterlot, but instead, we’re going to rebuild a house,” Rainbow said.

“We were doing the funeral anyway,” Twilight said.

“Darling, a funeral takes only one day. Rebuilding a house takes several. Are you aware of that?” Rarity asked coolly.

Twilight took a deep breath and looked at Rarity, who looked back with a deep-set frown. “You know what, Rarity? You’ve been a real grouch all day long, and I’m getting tired of it. What is with you? I know we’re all in unfamiliar waters here, but we can’t just leave our friends and neighbors to fend for themselves.”

“Canterlot,” Rainbow said simply.

“You keep saying that, but I’m not seeing the urgency. We’ve only been gone for a day, for Celestia’s sake! No one’s got a timer on us.”

“Discord does,” Pinkie said.

Twilight glared at her. “No, he doesn’t. He’s probably just as confused as we are.”

“So, let me see if I have this right,” Rarity said. “Because we’re not immediately at war, it’s okay to put off going to the capital of Equestria and fixing the earth there because some doctor needs his house rebuilt. Is that what you’re saying, Twilight?”

“No, Rarity. Well, okay, maybe kind of.” She shook her head, flustered. “I’m saying we can’t abandon ponies that need help all for the sake of our mission. We’re still going to go to Canterlot, but we have to help others first.”

“If we had only stopped for the Cakes, it would have been fine. But first the funeral, and now this? I’m starting to think we should just avoid the spa altogether and go back to the library.”

“Don’t be like that, Rarity.”

“Don’t be like what?”

“Selfish. It’s unlike you.”

“I’m just considering what’s best for Equestria,” Rarity said haughtily.

Twilight narrowed her eyes. “You know what I think? I think you’re jealous that we’re rebuilding someone else's house, and not yours.”

Rarity scoffed. “Me, jealous?”

“That’s it, isn’t it? You’re mad we’re not doing anything about the boutique.”

Rarity coughed and shook her head, sputtering. “Well… maybe I am, Twilight. So what?” She leaned back and put on a grotesque, accusatory face. “Am I supposed to just get over it? Well, I’m sorry. I don’t get over things as easily as you do.”

Twilight frowned at her, and saw that the others had backed away. “What do you mean by that?”

“I’m talking about the battle!” Rarity screeched. “You all are back to normal, like it didn’t even happen! Like we just woke up one day to this, this stupid, shattered, earthquake-spell thing, and when I’m in the middle of processing it all, my boutique goes and falls off the edge of the world!” She turned a tight circle and stomped her hoof. “So yes, Twilight, perhaps I am a little stressed out.”

“And a little grouchy,” Pinkie said, earning a glare from Rarity.

Twilight looked at her and sat down, her indignation gone. In its place, the memory of that night, so recent, but buried under the stresses that followed. A flash of metal, a clatter of hooves on marble, a surge of magic. She closed her eyes. “Rarity, I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t be mad at you for being upset. We’ve all been through a lot these past few days. And I’m just as freaked out, and confused, and… sickened by what happened as you are. But we can’t turn away from ponies like this. They need our help, and we need to do our part. Canterlot can wait a few days.”

Rarity looked at her with dewy eyes, and stifled a sob. “I’m sorry, Twilight,” she choked.

“Oh, Rarity.”

“It’s more than just the boutique. It’s everything. These last couple days have been one long sequence of emergencies, and I simply don’t know what to do. I don’t even know why I’m trying to get us to go to Canterlot sooner; I don’t want to go.”

“You’re just upset,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, Rarity. Ponies do silly things when they’re upset,” Pinkie said.

“You’d know,” Rainbow said, and Pinkie giggled.

“I know things are hard now, Rarity, but they’ll get better,” Twilight said. “Everypony’s still adjusting. We’ll go back to the library tonight and relax, and then all we have to do is help some ponies with the house. It won’t be that bad.” She gave Rarity an encouraging smile. “And you won’t have to get dirty filling in cracks.”

“Oh, Twilight.”

“Then we’ll go to the funeral, and then we can go.” She looked at Rarity earnestly. “It really won’t be that bad.”

Rarity let out a long sigh, and Twilight hugged her. “I suppose you’re right, dear. It’s just stress. But, like you said, it won’t last forever.” She looked at them all. “I’m terribly sorry about being so difficult.”

“We forgive you!” Pinkie cried, jumping on her. They hugged for a couple seconds, and when the moment passed, they all started walking again.

“So, wait. Now we’re okay with all these delays?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s only one,” Rarity said.

“But it’s… ugh, whatever.”

They entered the town square again, and Twilight turned them toward the day spa. Bonbon was no longer on her bench, and the few ponies that were still there seemed not to notice them as they slunk to the spa’s doors.

A cream earth pony sat at the counter with a bored expression, reorganizing papers and illuminated with a single band of sunlight, coming in through a small porthole behind the reception desk. The remaining lights, all electric bulbs, were dead on their chains.

He looked up at the door’s silvery chime. “Oh, hello. I’m afraid we can’t serve you today, or any day, until the water system has been fixed. I apologize.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not here for a treatment,” Rarity said. “We want to talk to Aloe and Lotus; are they in?”

“Oh, yes, they’re downstairs. Go on in.”

“Thank you, darling.”

They went down a wide, dimly-lit staircase with pastel purple walls and floors into a large, circular room, also dim. The spa’s primary chamber was a rough peanut, one lobe centered around the elevated hot tub and the other empty, both ends flanked with massage tables and mud baths, and ending on the far end with a trio of doors to the steam rooms. Twilight had only been inside a few times, and she was always struck with the place’s beauty—more so now, because of its cleanliness. Where other buildings were disheveled and upset, with cracked walls and shattered glass, the underground spa was largely whole. Massage tables were arranged in their familiar arcs, the floor shone, and potted plants peppered the small spaces near the walls as though nothing were amiss. The hot tub was empty of water, and a tarp sat over its mouth, but aside from that, only a single, ragged crack ran up one of the supporting columns, disappearing into the ceiling.

Lotus was at work on the other side of the room, her hoof gloved as she cleared shards of glass from the sides of a mirror frame.

“Hello, friends,” she said happily, not turning from her task. Her accent colored her words, and they smiled; it was pleasant.

“Oh, hello Lotus,” Rarity said, approaching her.

“What brings you here?”

“We were just coming by to see if there was anything we could do to help. Where’s your sister?”

“Aloe is up in the rafters on the top floor, searching for any serious structural damage.”

“What?” Rainbow asked.

Lotus turned and fixed Rainbow with a patient expression. “She is up in the rafters, seeing if she can—”

“No, I got that. Just, what? That’s a weird thing for a non-pegasus to do.”

“I understand,” Lotus said, looking back to her mirror.

“So, is there anything we can do here to help?” Rarity asked again.

“Nothing that isn’t being done already, I’m afraid. Thank you kindly for the offer, though.”

“But surely you can’t fix this place up all on your own.”

“Why should we? There is no water for us. This spa is useless.”

“So what are you doing?” Twilight asked.

“We are making the place safe for anypony who decides to come here after we leave.”

“Leave?” Rarity repeated, dumbstruck.

“Oh, but where will you go?” Fluttershy asked.

“Home,” Lotus said simply.

“But Ponyville—”

“Ponyville is not our biological home.”

“I always thought it was,” Twilight said.

“Many do. But no, our home is very far away.”

“Where is it?”

“I am sorry, Twilight, but I do not feel comfortable telling you, or anypony. Please understand.”

“Why don’t you want to tell anypony?” Pinkie asked.

“It is rather personal.”

Twilight exchanged a puzzled look with Rarity, who shrugged.

“When are you leaving?” Fluttershy asked.

“As soon as we are content with the spa’s safety, and have said goodbye to our friends.” She looked back at them and smiled kindly. “And don’t worry, that would have included you.”

“Well… okay,” Rarity said, deflated. “Do you need any help packing?”

“Not at all; we have everything packed already. Aloe, these are the ones who are responsible for undoing the damage done to Ponyville.”

They turned quickly and saw Lotus’ pink counterpart trotting into the room, smiling contentedly.

“How did you—” Rainbow began.

“Very sensitive ears,” Lotus said.

“For both of us,” Aloe said, shaking Twilight’s hoof, and then the others’. “I am honored to be in your presence, saviors.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Pinkie said, waving a hoof passively.

“We’re certainly not saviors, anyway,” Rarity said.

“Nonsense. You have saved many lives already, and many, many more to come,” Lotus said, turning away from her task. “When do you leave town?”

“Wait, how do you know we’re leaving?” Twilight asked.

“How else will you bring Equestria together?” Aloe asked, smiling.

“So you know it’s more than just Ponyville,” Rainbow said.

“We do.”

“How?” Twilight asked.

“We have our ways,” Lotus said, mirroring Aloe’s smile with a slightly more sinister one of her own. They smiled back awkwardly, and Fluttershy rubbed her leg, looking down.

“So… well, okay. Um, I guess, if you don’t need our help, we’ll just… be going, I guess,” Twilight said.

“Perhaps you can help us with something,” Rarity said suddenly.

“Perhaps we can,” Lotus said. “What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a group of ponies trying to rebuild a house tomorrow, and we’re helping. Would you two be interested in joining us?”

Lotus and Aloe looked at each other for a moment, seeming to exchange a small sequence of thoughts in the brief eye contact, and Aloe nodded. “We would love to. Who is the pony?”

“Doctor Whooves. Do you know him?” Twilight said.

“Doctor Whooves?” Lotus sounded concerned.

“Uh, yeah,” Rainbow said.

“He is an old friend of ours,” Aloe said.

“If there was any doubt that we would help you rebuild this house, it is gone now,” Lotus said.

“Well, thanks,” Twilight said. She didn’t know exactly how to reply to Lotus, who responded more seriously than she was expecting.

“It will be our pleasure,” Aloe said.

There was silence again, and Twilight started to turn to go.

“Hey, I got a question. It’s a total shot in the dark, but I don’t suppose you two know anything about a town called Snowdrift, do you?” Rainbow asked.

“Snowdrift?” Lotus echoed softly.

“We have heard a few things,” Aloe said.

“Really?” Twilight said, suddenly interested again.

“Certainly. But why do you ask?” Lotus said.

Pinkie jumped up and down eagerly, and Lotus looked at her. “It’s probably nothing, but I had a really bad dream last night and I woke up screaming and freaked everybody out and in the dream we all died and it was really scary and cold and Twilight said it was happening in Snowdrift!” She giggled. “Whatever that is!”

“That is interesting,” Aloe said, “to dream of a place you have never seen before.”

“That’s why we’re so concerned,” Twilight said. “We think that this could be more than a dream. That it’s maybe a different manifestation of her Pinkie Sense.”

“It would not be inconceivable,” Lotus said.

“Unfortunately, we do not know much about dreams,” Aloe said.

“But you can tell us about Snowdrift,” Rainbow said.

“…Yes. What would you like to know?”

“What’s it like there?” Pinkie asked.

“That, I do not know,” Lotus said. “We have never been there.”

“But we have heard things,” Aloe said.

“It is a dangerous place.”

“And very cold.”

“In the dream, we were all hunted by something,” Twilight said.

“Hunted and caught,” Rarity added.

“All of you?” Lotus asked.

“Yeah, all of us,” Rainbow said, and Lotus frowned.

“Is there anything down there that… hunts ponies, that you know of?” Rarity asked.

Lotus stared Pinkie in the eyes. “I have an idea, but I need more details. What kind of scenery was there in this dream?”

Pinkie looked down at her hooves, trying to remember. “It was an empty field, with dead grass. There were black clouds overhead, really thick ones, and a single, square building in the distance. That’s all I remember.”

Twilight, who watched Lotus’ face as Pinkie described what she had seen, was taken aback; at Pinkie’s conclusion, the brilliant blue pony’s face was paper-pale, her eyes wide and afraid, her lips quivering slightly.

“Lotus, darling, are you okay?” Rarity asked.

“Yes, I am,” she said. “I am sorry if my reaction was not what you were expecting.” She took a moment to steady herself. “I have had this same exact dream before. Something came for you, yes? You couldn’t tell what it was, but you knew it was coming, and then, suddenly… you were dying. This is what you saw?”

“Yes,” Pinkie said, a little upset at Lotus’ completion of the dream.

“I have heard that there is a something that lives there. All who have told me of it have said it is a demon of some kind, but more I cannot say—there is not a lot known.”

“How can you two have had the same dream?” Rainbow asked.

“I do not know, but there is no doubt in my mind,” Lotus said.

“Was it just you six?” Aloe asked.

“No, actually,” Pinkie said.

“How many?”

“Twelve—us and six more.”

Lotus paled again, and wavered; Aloe rushed to her side and helped her sit down.

“Lotus, are you okay?” Fluttershy asked, edging over to her.

“No, no I am not,” she said.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Rarity asked nervously, approaching her with a hoof raised tentatively.

“Twelve… that is a number of great danger.”

“Uh, sorry, but how can a number be dangerous?” Rainbow asked.

“Wait, are you referring to divination?” Twilight asked.

“Yes.” Lotus looked at the others, who looked back in confusion. “In divining the future, certain numbers can suggest different outcomes or tendencies. Of these, twelve is often regarded as the most negative.”

“Twelve is associated with manipulation, deceit, and, in some cases, cruelty,” Aloe said.

“And while a single instance of it does not necessarily mean anything, it is not completely benign either,” Lotus said.

“But that’s just superstition,” Rainbow said.

“No, it is not,” Aloe said.

“It isn’t, Rainbow. Magical divination is a legitimate practice,” Twilight said.

“And for that number to appear in what could have been a prophetic dream…” Lotus shuddered. “This does not bode well.”

“But what does it mean?” Twilight asked. “Specifically, I mean.”

“That, I cannot say,” Lotus said. “There are too many possibilities. I can only tell you that it is a bad, bad sign, if it is anything at all.” She looked over at Aloe. “My advice is this. Stay away from Snowdrift, if you can.”

“And if you must go, spend as little time there as possible,” Aloe added.

“Yes. And watch for more instances of the number twelve.”

“What do you mean, ‘watch for’?” Rainbow asked.

“Just pay attention,” Aloe said.

“If you notice it appearing a lot—inordinately—there could be trouble,” Lotus said.

“It won’t be overt.”

“But it will be prolific.”

“If it is anything.”

They waited a few moments, and the twins looked at them blankly. “It sounds like you’re just warning us against bad luck,” Rainbow said.

“You could look at it that way, I suppose,” Lotus said.

“What about other numbers? You said twelve is just one,” Rarity said.

Lotus hesitated before speaking. “I… wouldn’t worry about that. Trying to find meaningful numbers everywhere will just distract you. I’m only warning you about twelve because of your dream, Pinkie. It’s a pretty clear sign.”

“Clearer than most,” Aloe said.

“It doesn’t seem that clear,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, I’m surprised you even know about it, to be honest,” Twilight said.

Lotus and Aloe exchanged small smiles. “We’ve dabbled in the sciences before,” Aloe said.

“Reading, mostly,” Lotus said.

“Nothing is better than a curious mind.”

Twilight smiled. “You have that right. Are you sure you can’t tell us anything more?”

“Nothing concrete. And we would hate to worry you needlessly,” Lotus said.

“Okay. Well, thanks for the warning.”

“It’s no problem at all. Just remember what we said,” Aloe said.

“Of course. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“We will be fine in no time, Twilight,” Lotus said.

“Just because we have no running water, does not mean we are completely finished,” Aloe said with a peaceful smile.

“Well, okay then,” Twilight said. “I guess we’ll be on our way.”

“Take care. And come by tomorrow when you need us to help with the house. We can be ready any time.”

They walked up the stairs, back to the reception area, and out into the town square. As soon as they stepped out into the sun, Rarity let out a low wail, similar to a sob, but without the tears. “I can’t believe it! No more spa days! No more massages, or mud baths, or relaxing in the steam room, or anything! Oh, it’s over, all over!”

“Calm down, Rarity,” Twilight said.

“Calm down? You’re telling me to calm down? Of all the businesses in Ponyville to shut down, this is the worst one! No more makeovers! No more facials! No more cucumbers over my eyes!”

“Rare, chill out,” Rainbow said, flying lazy circles over them.

“How can I chill out when there’s no running water? No prospect of another day at the spa for at least a year?”

“At least the river’s still flowing,” Fluttershy said. “We can bathe in that.”

“Ugh, me, bathing in a river?”

“Whoopee! I love rivers, especially when they’re going fast, and especially especially when you’re on a raft! You don’t wanna be caught in those rapids without one, though, or you’ll be sorry!”

“Pinkie, you’ve never even been rafting,” Rainbow said.

“Neither have you,” Twilight said.

“Hey, I’ve done something like it.”

“Oh yeah? What?”

“There are reservoirs in Cloudsdale with all the rain runoff, and some of ‘em empty out into the fields just south of here. Me and my friends used to jump into the canals and ride ‘em all the way down to the end and let ourselves be carried in the waterfall, then fly out of there! It’s just about the most awesome thing in the universe!”

“That sounds incredibly dangerous,” Rarity said.

“Eh, it was no sweat for an awesome flier like me.”

“Did you ever get hurt?” Fluttershy asked.

“Only once, when my idiot friend held me down under the water too long.” She spoke with a faint fondness.

“When was this?” Twilight asked, frowning. They crested the hill they had passed earlier, now free of ponies. Sunset was coming on, and the town was quieting down.

“When I was young,” Rainbow said.

“I don’t remember that at all,” Fluttershy said.

“Well, yeah, probably because you were too chicken to join us.”

“Too sane to join you, if you ask me,” Rarity said.

“Hey, we were young. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but it was still awesome. I’d totally do it again if I was still up there.”

“Glad to see you’ve learned your lesson, Rainbow,” Twilight said sarcastically.

“Oh, says the egghead,” Rainbow said.

“I am not an egghead. I just like to do things that aren’t suicidal, like read and go stargazing, and sometimes go for a walk in the woods when I’m feeling adventurous.”

“Oh, Twilight, that sounds lovely,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, I heard the Everfree Forest is just beautiful this time of year,” Rainbow said sarcastically.

“Not that forest, Rainbow. Whitetail Woods. I go there every now and again,” Twilight said.

“Alone?” Rarity asked.

“Yeah, always. It’s a great place to think and relax.”

“Oh, I would love to join you sometime, Twilight. Um, that is, if you don’t mind,” Fluttershy said.

“No, Fluttershy, not at all.”

“I wanna take a walk in the woods!” Pinkie chirped.

“Pinkie, you’d just run around and try to turn it into a party,” Rainbow said.

“Well, duh! I mean, what good is a moment of silence without a party to liven it up?”

“Pinkie, have you ever heard the phrase ‘silence is golden’?” Rarity asked.

“Yeah, but I never understood it.”

They all laughed, and Twilight brought them into view of the library; the lights were on, and she could smell something cooking. “Looks like Spike is making dinner already. How thoughtful of him.”

They crossed the lawn and entered the old tree, and Spike shouted a greeting at them.

“Hey, what’s cooking?” Rainbow asked. “Smells good!”

“Corn, carrot and turnip stew with a little hay thrown in for texture,” Spike said, exiting the kitchen. “With some toast and blueberry jam, and raspberry honey tea.”

“Spike, I never knew you could cook!” Pinkie said.

“I found an old recipe book and decided to give it a shot.”

“What a gentleman,” Rarity said, and Spike blushed. “Unfortunately, I simply cannot stand my condition anymore. Standing around in that spa, with no water whatsoever clinched it. I must find some way to clean myself up.”

“I think I’ll go with you, actually,” Twilight said.

“Me too,” Fluttershy said, and Pinkie followed them out the door.

“Oh, fine,” Rainbow said, following them. “We won’t be long, Spike,” she called.

They went out onto the lawn and headed toward the river. “Oh, poor Spike. He looked so happy to see us, and then we just walked right back out,” Fluttershy said.

“We won’t be long,” Twilight said.

“We’ll be even shorter if we just use the well,” Rainbow said.

“Bathe at the well? Rainbow, that’s indecent,” Rarity said.

“Ah, phooey.”

They walked through the empty field between the library and river, their shadows long in the sunset. The grass was warm and soft, and in the distance, a flock of birds peppered the horizon. The only sounds were the wind through the trees and the quiet mutter of voices behind them, ponies getting ready to end what was, to them, a monumental day.

Twilight looked around uncomfortably, and broke the silence. “Okay, I was hoping somepony else would bring this up, but I guess I’ll do it. Did anyone feel like there was something really weird going on with Aloe and Lotus today?”

“They did seem a little unlike themselves,” Rarity said. “But can you blame them? They did just lose their business, after all.”

“But they didn’t seem too broken up about it. They were just… off. Like their senses were heightened. For instance, am I the only one who was surprised when Lotus greeted Aloe without turning around? She said she heard her enter, but I didn’t hear anything, and my hearing is tuned to pick up the smallest sounds. I work in a library, for goodness’ sake; plus, I’m used to listening to Fluttershy.”

“Maybe she saw her in a reflection or something?” Rainbow offered.

“What reflection? There was no glass in the mirror, and that’s where she was looking the whole time.”

“I suppose it is a little odd, but she does things like that all the time,” Rarity said as they came up to the riverbank.

“Really?” Twilight asked.

“If you went with us more often, Twilight, you’d see that Lotus and Aloe both have uncanny hearing, and vision. Why, once, Lotus spotted an ingrown eyelash on me before I had even said ‘hello’!”

“Ew,” Rainbow said.

Rarity rolled her eyes. “I went up to the counter, and the first thing she said was ‘oh, Rarity, darling, that eyelash of yours is going to get infected if we don’t do something about it,’ and I said ‘what eyelash?’ and she pointed it out, and sure enough, there it was! But, I got it all taken care of. Oh, um, anyway, yes, they both have extraordinary senses.”

“As much as I love a good ingrown eyelash story, Rarity, we’re wasting time here. Let’s just get in the river,” Rainbow said. At this, she took a tentative step toward the bank.

“Weeeeee!” Pinkie shouted, jumping right in; the resulting splash covered Rarity, and sprayed the others only lightly.

“Ugh! Pinkie, my coat is soaking now!” Rarity groused.

“You were gonna get in the water anyway, Rarity.”

“Cannonball!” Rainbow screamed, plummeting from high above; they hadn’t seen her take off. She crashed into the water, her wings slapping its surface like great planks, sending a fine spray of water everywhere; for a moment, a faint rainbow stood out in the droplets.

“Come on, Rarity!” Pinkie cheered, leaning out of the river and grabbing Rarity’s hoof, dragging her in with a shriek. Twilight giggled, and then jumped in herself.

The water was chilly and refreshing, and Twilight let out a small gasp of pleasure as she entered. She slipped on the silty bottom, sending her head under, and the cold water flooded her eyes, her ears, her nostrils; it felt wonderful. She could see the play of light on the surface and the dark, muddy bottom, a few fish glimmering over a circle of gray stones. She brought herself up and savored the feeling of suddenly cold air on her face and fur, and waded out a little deeper.

There was no current. She thought back to her first viewing of the river, from the ship as they flew over the surrounding country. Despite its segmentation, the river had retained its water, but with no contiguity, it could not flow; its fragments were reduced to long pools of standing water. Twilight tried not to think of the ecological effects as she savored the feeling.

“Come on, Fluttershy!” Pinkie called.

The timid pegasus stood at the edge, looking in at them. She dipped a hoof in it, then another.

“It’s a little cold, don’t you think?” Rarity said huffily as she tried to wring the water from her mane.

“Cold? Are you crazy? This is perfect swimming water!” Rainbow said.

“Maybe for a pegasus.”

“Totally for a pegasus!” She got onto her back and swam along the surface, legs folded behind her while her wings did all the work. Twilight watched Pinkie disappear under the water and come splashing up on the other side as she busied herself with bathing. Standing still, she realized that Rarity was right—it was too cold for a non-pegasus.

Twilight began scrubbing at herself. There was a lot of dirt and dried sweat in her coat and mane, and a small ring of salt had formed around her horn. She dunked her head again and savored the brief moment between refreshing to cold; when it ended, she came up and shook her head, draping her mane over her face in cool, clinging tendrils. She brushed it away and looked at Fluttershy, and was happy to sit up to neck and relax, eyes closed.

Twilight continued scrubbing, sometimes with her hooves and sometimes with her magic; she had always liked the feeling of being magically groomed. The magic left a trail of ephemeral, wonderful warmth on her skin, and after the continuous ordeal of the last days, she could not help but sigh in contentment as she massaged herself.

Remembering Spike’s dinner, she did not stay in long, and got out to dry when Pinkie did. Rainbow was still grooming her wings, and Rarity was going over her mane and tail for what Twilight thought had to be the third time.

“Ah, so much better,” she said, and Pinkie nodded.

“I feel like a new Pinkie! Well, I guess I am a new Pinkie, but now I’m an even newer, super-duper Pinkie!”

Fluttershy climbed out and extended her wings, letting them drip and dry in the dying sun.

“We’re going to have to get used to this as we move on,” Twilight said.

“It’s really not that bad,” Fluttershy said. “At least, it’s not that bad for Rainbow and me. Oh, but we’re pegasi, so I guess it wouldn’t be.”

“It’s fine, Fluttershy. The water wasn’t that bad. But that won’t be true all the time, especially when we go really far south.”

“You said there was a glacier down there, right?” Pinkie asked.

“Yeah, right next to Snowdrift.”

“That Snowdrift place still gives me the creeps,” Fluttershy said.

“I still say it’s just a name,” Rarity said, looking out at them.

“A cold name,” Rainbow said, climbing out. “Can you imagine the rivers there? They’re probably freezing!” She shook her whole body, sending water everywhere and flapping her mane around; wet, it looked like a thick band of burnt taffy. Twilight smiled at the thought. “Candy Dash. And Candy Sparkle, and Candyshy, and Candy Pie, and Candyjack, and Candy… Candity. Eh, that’s not great.”

“Oh my gosh, Rarity, what is taking you so long?” Rainbow asked impatiently.

“This water is shriveling me up so much that I can’t tell if I’m getting my coat properly,” Rarity said, looking intently at her side.

“Then get out and let it be. You’re holding all of us up.”

“Ugh, Rainbow, you really ought to learn to be patient,” she said, wading over to the bank.

“It’s not just me.”

“Oh, Rarity, don’t worry,” Fluttershy said. “I don’t mind waiting, really.”

“Fluttershy,” Rainbow said, not bothering to finish her thought.

Rarity got out and flipped her mane back. “Shall we?” she asked, maintaining her dignified tone.

“Yes, let’s,” Twilight said. “I’m starving, and I’m sure you all are too.”

“You have no idea,” Rainbow said.

They crossed the field again. By the position of the sun, Twilight thought it was around seven. It was almost night. When they reached the library, they had all dried out, except for Pinkie, whose fluffy mane and tail were still limp with water. Applejack waited at the door and greeted them; she had already had dinner at the farm, and, after a brief trip to the Cakes’ to find out where they were, came to the library. She had only waited a few minutes.

They entered, greeted Spike, and ate; the dinner was marvelous to their addled and weary stomachs. It was good to be home for the day.

Spike's Confession

Chapter Thirteen

Spike’s Confession

They sat at the dinner table, Spike at its head, eating gratefully from the dishes he had prepared. No one had much to say, until they were finished.

“Oh, Twilight, I searched for a book on Snowdrift, but I couldn’t find anything,” Spike said, standing.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. You don’t have any books specifically about it.”

“Hm. That’s strange.”

“You said it was mentioned in a few history books. Are you sure it still exists?”

“I’m sure, Spike.”

They helped him clean up and went out to the front room, and Pinkie left as soon as everything was settled; at Twilight’s questions, she said only that she was going to Sugarcube Corner, and wouldn’t be long.

The others dispersed through the library, leaving only Fluttershy to stand close by, curious, while Twilight settled on the couch with a pair of books: one on Equestrian prehistory, when Discord had ruled; and one on magical divination, to learn more about the spa twins’ warning.

As soon as she opened the first book to its table of contents, Twilight’s focus narrowed in, and her surroundings were lost. As she skimmed the chapters for what she wanted, Spike—fidgety, nervous, and excited—moved up the stairs.

Rarity had decided to keep all her dressmaking materials in Twilight’s room, with the exception of the mannequin, which she had relocated to the basement. She entered and closed the door behind her, looking at the meager pile of fabric she had managed to salvage from the boutique.

“Somehow, I need to make six, no, seven—one for Spike—funeral outfits out of this,” she said quietly to herself, surveying the careful folds of fabric for any ideas that might jump out at her.

She had designed funeral outfits before, though they were not in high demand. The small town was fairly safe and had a staff of competent, caring doctors and physicians; ponies simply didn’t die very often. The last time she had made a funerary dress was about a year and a half ago, not a week before Twilight moved to Ponyville. She was about to get to work with a design when someone knocked on the door.

“Just a moment,” she said, trying to say it with her usual singsong voice; it came out strained and a little impatient-sounding. She opened the door to reveal Spike, standing at the threshold with an anxious look on his face. “Oh, Spike, hello again. Do you want to come in?”

He nodded and entered after her, closing the door behind him softly. He made to speak, but hesitated and looked away, blushing; it was then that Rarity knew what was coming. She had known for months how he felt, but now, she had no time to prepare for it.

“Rarity, I have to tell you something,” he began, as he had so many times before in private.

“What is it, Spike?” She let her voice soften as she said it, as she always did in Spike’s fantasies; he seemed to palpitate before her, and pressed on.

“Uh… geez, this is hard. Um, ever since I saw you, uh, that is, met you, I’ve, uh…”

She turned and looked at him, feigning uncertainty as to what he would say.

“Well, I’ve always, um, well,” he scratched the back of his neck, and Rarity held her expression, all the while mentally urging him on. “Come on, Spikey Wikey. You can do it. Don’t back out now.”

“I mean, you’re probably wondering why I’m up here. Since you’re, you know, leaving soon, I might not have another chance to say this.”

“Whatever you have to say, Spike, I’m listening.”

He sighed gratefully. “Well, I always felt like I…” He trembled, clenched and unclenched his claws, and, for a moment, Rarity thought he wasn’t going to say it, that he would go running from the room. “I… love you,” he finally said, and as the words left him, she could almost see the burden of secrecy he had kept lift from his shoulders.

She stared. She had seen it coming, and had prepared herself for the confession many times before, knowing that her friendship with him would hinge upon her critical response. In the moment, however, faced with his unassuming, but misguided affection, all her responses dried up. Nothing huge, or profound in its simplicity, escaped her lips, nor even an acknowledgement of understanding—instead, she uttered a single syllable of confusion: “buh?”

He looked down and made to reiterate, but she stopped him.

“Y-you don’t have to say it again, Spike; I know what you said. It’s just, just so much. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess it is a lot to take in,” he said, his confidence trickling back.

“And I can’t say I’m not flattered; nopony, or dragon, has ever said that to me, at least not in the way that you mean it.” She smiled weakly, dreading what she would have to do next.

“Well, I mean it, every time I think it, every word.” He inched closer, and she stared, trying to marshal her thoughts into some sort of coherent response. Apparently taking too long, he spoke again. “So, uh, what do you think?”

“…I think… that… you are a very nice dragon, Spike, and I” (“Oh Celestia, please don’t let him get any ideas”) “love you too, but… more as a friend than a, um, something else.”

She couldn’t see it on his face, but she assumed it easily enough: his heart was breaking. “Truly, Spike, you are one of the best friends I’ve ever had the pleasure of having, and I count myself lucky every day that that is so, but I just… don’t love you in that way. I’m really sorry.” And she was.

He clutched the door-frame tightly, eyes averted. “No, it’s okay, R—it’s okay. I guess I shouldn’t have expected you to feel the same way. It’s just, I don’t feel this way a lot, or, ever, really. I mean, I love Twilight, and all of you others, but with you, it’s just… different, somehow.”

“Trust me, Spike, I know the feeling. But you must accept that not all things can work out how we want them. I truly am sorry.”

He sighed a long, melancholy sigh. “It’s okay. I… it’s fine.” He looked down. “Um, well, at least you know now.” He turned around and opened the door, speaking very softly. “I guess I’ll just get out of your hair now.” He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

She sat back on her haunches and thought. He had only been in the room for five minutes, but it felt like an hour had passed, and dressmaking didn’t sound very appealing anymore. She walked to the window and opened it, smiling emptily as the cool night air touched her face.

“Why do you have to love me, Spike?” she whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you, but... ugh, stupid dragon.” She stopped talking and moved her rant to the privacy of her thoughts, just in case somepony, or worse still, Spike, was listening.

“How can you say that you love me? You don’t even know me, not really. You just have a crush, Spike, a stupid crush that fillies and colts get for each other. And you expect me to feel the same way for you? You’re not even the same species as me! I mean, I know there are examples of cross-species relationships, but,” she stopped for a moment to reorient herself; she was on a roll, and no tangents would stop her from indulging in her bad mood.

“Stupid, ignorant dragon. How long has he been waiting to say that to me? How many months has he been secretly loving me like that?” There was a flash of understanding through her mind. “Oh, Celestia, what if he… was attracted to me? Oh, I don’t even want to imagine the fantasies he’s had, the sick, humiliating things I’ve done with him in his dreams.”

The realization was too much for her, and she shuddered, letting out a little gasp-moan as she forced her eyes shut. As disgusted as she was, her traitorous mind refused to change topics. Scene after scene played out in her mind, each one more repulsive than the last, made more so with the notion that the tiny dragon that she loved—and she did love him, just not in that way—had kept these little things secret in his mind, to be dredged up in the middle of the night when he was lonely or bored. To her mind, he was no longer the pure, naïve Spike that kowtowed to Twilight and bent over backwards to gain her attention or approval; he was a dirty, impulsive gremlin, greedily grasping any potential fantasy or implication of desire that she might unthinkingly give him.

“Stop it, stop it, stop thinking about it,” she said to herself, smacking her hoof to her forehead with each word.

Eventually, her mind slowed down, but the thoughts had done their damage; she felt filthy, violated. She wanted to take a bath, and the knowledge that she couldn’t furthered her indignation. She paced the room, her brain a storm of half-formed thoughts and emotions. Everything she saw seemed only to incense her: the fabrics on the floor, reminders of her lost boutique. The incomplete designs on the sheet of paper on Twilight’s desk: symbols of her creative impotency—thrust upon her by Spike, and his ill-timed confession.

She went back to the window and glared at the dark countryside, stewing in her unhappiness; eventually, slowly, it slid away like a slime, and she felt empty. She sighed and looked back at her raw materials. Her mind was still simmering, but more from the fact that she had been so easily upset than the subject itself. “I suppose they’re just fantasies, after all. They can’t hurt me.”

She looked at her fabrics, and slowly, then quickly, an idea bloomed in her head; as it did, her expression changed from sad to indifferent to interested to awed.

“I-deeee-aaah!” she trilled, and immediately got to work, Spike’s incursion on her privacy forgotten.

Twilight started with the book on Equestrian history, curious to uncover more about what Princess Celestia said was Discord’s true nature. She had only to read a single chapter, entitled “The Defense of His Power”; in it, she felt she had found a completely different character. The Discord that she had met was witty and jovial in his trickery, and though his actions were annoying and disruptive, they were ultimately innocuous. Nopony got hurt.

In her book, however, the Discord presented was a dismissive and destructive creature, interested in chaos only insofar as it furthered his own goals. He subverted resistance and unrest with an unremitting tendency toward stagnation and isolationist political procedure, allowing the entire country to fall to the brink of disarray on multiple occasions simply as a means of persuasion. He enforced his own rule with deception and empty promises, of which the chaos seemed almost a by-product. There was no information on how he had originally come to power, but by the time Celestia and Luna were gaining influence, he had taken the form of a despot. Twilight was surprised by the scale of the politics in their conflict. She didn’t understand what had changed.

In the second book, she went directly to the chapter on the number twelve, skipping the principles and methods of divination, as well as the other numbers. She had an introductory knowledge of the subject, though she had never practiced it herself, and she skimmed the paragraphs with minimal interest. To her, the spa twins’ warning was an overreaction.

Fluttershy watched quietly, content simply to sit in Twilight’s presence as she read. She had little on her mind, not as much as she suspected the others did, but what she did was enough to make her unhappy. She felt sorry for Rarity, and for Spike, whom she had heard come down the stairs with heavy, unhappy footfalls. These more personal sorrows were mixed with the greater, general sympathy she felt for the rest of the town, and for her animal friends; she tried to avoid imagining what they must have experienced in those disastrous moments. To her mind, they were all, now, alone in the forest, afraid, maybe even hurt.

She hid under a wing. “Why am I thinking these bad things when I’m on the edge of the biggest adventure of my life?” she wondered, guilty for her self-pity. As was often the case for her, the answer came just a moment after: “Because I haven’t actually done anything yet. It’s all Twilight and Pinkie Pie; the most I’ve done is help fix the Cakes’ bathtub.”

She looked at Twilight and smiled; she didn’t look back. “I need to stop all this self-pity,” she thought firmly. “It’s not fair to anypony else, especially Twilight and Pinkie. They’re so brave, and here I am, feeling bad for myself, and for what?”

She pushed the thought out of her mind, having traveled the dangerous path it presented many times before. She tried to think up something else to fill the void the self-defeating thoughts had left, and remembered Aloe and Lotus. “Twilight is right; they did act strangely, but she’s making too much out of Lotus’ observational abilities. Like Rarity said, both of them are like that all the time. Oh, I can’t even imagine what that must be like. It must be exhausting.”

Thinking about the twins slowly led her train of thought back to Pinkie’s dream, and Snowdrift, and Lotus’ peculiar reaction. Before she could develop any thoughts on these things, Twilight spoke.

“Interesting,” she said, closing the book.

“Oh, Twilight, what did you find?”

“Not a lot more than what Lotus already said, really. At least, nothing that helps us.”

“Oh. Um, that’s too bad.”

“It’s still interesting, though. Divination is a specific subset of numerology, apparently; that’s why numbers are so important. There are fourteen in total.”

“What do they mean?”

“It depends on where you find them. In things like dreams or precognitive visions, they can suggest outcomes. Some are good, and some aren’t.”

“And twelve isn’t?”

“At its most basic form, twelve represents deception and self-interest. It actually reminded me a lot of Discord.”

Fluttershy brought a hoof to her mouth. “Oh, no. Does that mean we’re going to meet him?”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll meet him at some point before the end,” Twilight said, stretching and yawning. “But I don’t think that’s what twelve is telling us in Pinkie’s dream.”

“What, then?”

“I have no way to know. To figure that out, we’d need to do all kinds of tests and calculations. There’s a section on them in the back of the book, but it’s way too complicated. Oneiromancy is a difficult study on its own; with divination elements involved, it’s way beyond my skills.”

“Um, oneiromancy?”

“Dream interpretation.”

“Oh.”

Twilight smiled. “I know Lotus said we should watch out, but I don’t think it’s that huge a deal. It was probably coincidence.”

“Oh, I hope so,” Fluttershy said quietly.

“I’m sure of it.” She looked around. “Where did Rarity go?”

“She’s up in your room, but I don’t know what she’s doing.”

Twilight nodded, and stopped suddenly. “Wait. Did… you see Spike going by at all?”

“Oh, yes, he went upstairs, and came back down a couple minutes later. Why?”

Twilight frowned and stood up. “I thought I saw him go up, but I never saw him come down. If Rarity’s up there…” She bit her lip.

“Twilight? What’s wrong?”

“Hopefully nothing,” she said, walking into the kitchen. She quickly came out and went down to the basement, emerging a moment later with a concerned expression. She went up to her room, and Fluttershy listened for the brief exchange between unicorns before she came back down and poked her head outside the front door, calling out for Spike; no answer came. “Fluttershy, are you sure you didn’t see where he went?”

“Oh, sorry, Twilight, but no. He’s not in the library?”

“He doesn’t seem to be.”

“Oh, no.” She shrunk away, afraid. The first thought that went through her mind was that Discord had gotten him. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I think he may have run away.”

Fluttershy felt the worry in her gut begin to uncoil a little. “Does he usually do that?”

“He only did it once,” Twilight said. “And he went far. I think he would have left Ponyville if I hadn’t caught him.”

“Oh no! But he’s just a baby. What do we do?”

Twilight sighed and thought for a second. “I don’t think we have much of a choice. We need to go find him before he gets lost or hurt. I’ll go get Rarity.” She turned back inside and trotted up the stairs, and Fluttershy waited in the darkening room, worried.

“How hard on him were you?” Twilight asked, leading Rarity down the stairs.

“Not hard at all, I thought,” Rarity said, stepping out and following Twilight to the front door.

“Well, he took it hard, whatever it was.”

“What happened?” Fluttershy asked, following.

Rarity looked to Twilight, who nodded.

“Spike came up to my room not too long ago,” Rarity said as they stepped onto the lawn. She lowered her voice. “And he decided to confess his love to me.”

Fluttershy gasped. She had known Spike’s secret for a long time, and despite his present absence and Twilight’s unhappiness, her first impulse was to congratulate Rarity. She held herself back.

“Of course, I had known his feelings for me for a while now, and suspected them even longer than that, but he didn’t know I knew, so I had to pretend to be surprised.”

Twilight, at the lead, turned them around the library to hook back toward the Everfree Forest. As they circled around the great tree, Fluttershy looked at their airship, still unused to its presence. In the dark, it was a lumpy silhouette, its balloon partially deflated like a fat raincloud.

“So he confessed himself to me, after a bit of nervous stuttering, of course.”

“What did you say?” Fluttershy asked.

“I told him that I loved him, but not in that way—as a friend. That I had never seen him as anything more than that.”

“Oh, the poor dear,” Fluttershy said sadly. She had expected it, but to hear the confirmation from Rarity’s lips struck her as poignantly as if she had been there herself. “Poor Spike. And look at how matter-of-fact Rarity is about it, too. No wonder he’s upset.”

“I could tell he was absolutely heartbroken,” Rarity continued. “I tried to make him feel better by emphasizing that I considered him a very good friend, but it didn’t work. He must have run just after leaving Twilight’s room.”

“I remember hearing him come down the stairs, but I didn’t look. That must have been just before he left,” Fluttershy said, guilt creeping into her voice. “If only I had noticed before it was too late. Fluttershy, you could have prevented this whole mess, if you’d have just been observant.” “I’m really sorry, Twilight.”

She sighed. “It’s okay, Fluttershy. You couldn’t have known to watch out for it.”

“You didn’t notice, Twilight?” Rarity asked.

“I was reading,” she said defensively.

“Then he didn’t announce his departure… the poor dear.” She looked around, and Fluttershy saw her face grow concerned. “Where exactly are we going, Twilight?”

“The Everfree Forest,” Twilight said confidently. “He’s probably trying to find somewhere to be alone, and there’s no place better than there.”

“Oh, I hope he’s not lost, or hurt,” Fluttershy said.

“He’s probably fine. He can’t have gone that far, and he is a dragon, after all.”

They trotted through the meadow toward the river where they had bathed, angling toward the bridge near where the river split, one half into the forest and the other half eastward. As they approached it, Fluttershy realized that they would be passing within sight of her ruined cottage, and turned her head slightly to avoid looking at it.

“Yo guys! What the heck?” a voice from above called; Rainbow swooped in and landed deftly on the bridge just before them. “You wanna maybe tell one of us before you just leave like that?”

“Sorry, Rainbow. Spike’s missing,” Twilight said.

“What? What happened?”

“He ran away,” Fluttershy said.

“In the middle of the night like this? Why?”

“It’s only eight o’ clock,” Rarity said. “And I’ll tell you about it later.”

Rainbow narrowed her eyes. “What did you do, Rarity?”

“I didn’t do anything. It is simply a matter of bad luck and… poor coping skills.” She said the last phrase a little bitterly.

Rainbow cocked her head, but let the matter drop, taking off again. “You’re checking the forest first?”

“Yes. I figure that he wants to be alone, and the forest is the best place for that,” Twilight said.

“How long has he been gone?”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

“Yeah, you guys are doing this the slow way. I bet finding the little guy will be no sweat from the air.”

“Go for it,” Twilight said, and Rainbow took off toward the forest, shouting Spike’s name.

“Um, how far do you think he went?” Fluttershy asked.

“I don’t know, but probably not much farther.”

“I just hope he went this way in the first place,” Rarity said.

“It would make sense. Any other way would take him through the middle of town, and he wouldn’t want that. Plus, this is the only bridge nearby, so unless he wanted to circle all the way around the north or south part of town, he headed here.”

While Twilight spoke, Fluttershy looked down, studying the ground for any of his distinctive tracks; in the fresh grass, she could barely distinguish her own hoofprints behind her. As they drew near to the forest’s edge, the grass gave way to clearer, softer ground.

“Okay girls, let’s keep our eyes peeled,” Twilight said as they stepped under the trees’ shadows. Fluttershy shivered as she passed into the darkness, looking up and around for any sign of danger.

They walked quietly for several minutes, under dark boughs and stepping gingerly over creeping vines. Only Fluttershy looked at the ground, searching again for the distinctive three-toed tracks that Spike left. She paused, nearly making Rarity bump into her, looking at a small trail of unevenness that led through a small patch of weeds and flowers, underneath a tree.

“I think I see something,” she said, going in closer.

“I don’t see anything,” Rarity said, and Fluttershy pointed at the flowers.

“These have been bent,” she said, indicating the stems. The change was subtle, she knew, and she didn’t blame her friends for not noticing.

“Fluttershy, you’re amazing,” Twilight said, looking around for further sign of Spike. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Um, Twilight, I think I should stay behind,” Rarity said. “He might just run away again if he sees me with you.”

“Good thinking, Rarity.”

“I’ll just go back to the library and wait for you there.” She turned around, clearly eager to get out of the oppressive forest.

“Keep an eye out for Rainbow, Fluttershy,” Twilight said, and she nodded. They followed Spike’s trail deeper into the forest, and Twilight lit her horn, casting eerie shadows all around them.

Watching the play of shadow in the dark underbrush, Fluttershy was filled with dread, and she drew closer to Twilight, looking around nervously. She didn’t want to let is show, but the prospect of calling out for Rainbow—something that grew in necessity with each passing minute, in her view—caused stirrings of irrational fear in her gut, on top of the fear of the dark forest. “Surely there’s no harm in calling out in here; it’s just like calling in the daytime, but dark.” She wasn’t entirely convinced.

She pressed closer still to Twilight, until they were practically brushing flanks. She hoped Twilight couldn’t feel her trembling. “I’ll call after we find Spike,” she told herself, and was momentarily relieved.

In the silence, her calmed thoughts faded, and she could hear a quiet, pulsing noise before them. She froze, thinking first that it was the breath of some unseen monster, but before she could begin panicking, her sensitive ears identified it. “It’s Spike,” she whispered.

She trotted forward, taking the lead, and Twilight gave no objection. Trees passed on each side, but she didn’t look at them, knowing her overactive mind would only transform them into more fuel for her fear.

“Spike? It’s us, Fluttershy and Twilight,” Twilight called mildly, and Fluttershy was silently jealous of her friend’s courage.

The sound immediately halted, and Fluttershy took them to a tree, where the tracks ended. “Spike?” she asked, to no response.

They went to the other side, and Twilight sighed in relief when she saw him, sitting in the tree’s crotch with his little legs pulled up to his chest, head down. Fluttershy stood back as she approached. “Spike, I’m so glad we found you,” Twilight said, her voice free of admonition. “Why are you out here?”

For a moment, it looked like he wouldn’t answer, but then he drew a slow, unsteady breath. “I-I don’t w-want to t-t-talk about it.”

Fluttershy moved over and laid a gentle hoof on his back. “There there, Spike. You don’t have to talk about it now, but let’s get you home. The forest is no place for a baby dragon, especially the forest at night.”

“B-but… she’s there,” he said quietly, voice vibrating slightly.

“Who? Rarity?” Twilight asked; Spike winced at her name, and Fluttershy looked at her with a quirked eyebrow. When he didn’t respond, she continued. “Oh,” she said simply, feigning just figuring the situation out. “You didn’t… tell her anything, did you?”

He nodded dumbly.

“Oh, Spike.”

Fluttershy noticed a hint of impatience in her voice, and frowned when Twilight hugged him. The deception was making her uncomfortable.

“Come on, Spike. Fluttershy’s right; this isn’t the place for you. For any of us. Let’s get back to the library.”

He resisted at first, and Fluttershy heard Twilight withhold a sigh.

“Rarity won’t cause you any more problems,” she said. “If you want, I can tell her to stay away from you tonight.”

He nodded again, and climbed up on Twilight’s presented back. After a moment for him to gather himself, they followed his trail back toward Ponyville. They passed through thickets and over roots, under drooping branches and between bushes. Fluttershy could hear the insects around them, feel leaves brushing her and twigs catching in her tail.

Before she could muster the courage to cry out for Rainbow, Twilight began yelling. As she did it, Fluttershy’s own fear slipped away, bolstered by Twilight’s courage. She joined her voice to Twilight’s, though it was so quiet that she doubted Rainbow would hear it. Spike joined in a little after, and the three marched through the forest, calling Rainbow’s name every few seconds, Twilight occasionally throwing in a “we found Spike.”

The light was steadily paling, and soon, Fluttershy spotted the first shaft of brilliant moonlight cutting through the canopy; she had missed it when she entered, but now her eyes were keener.

Twilight extinguished her horn, and they walked the rest of the way out and into the field by only the starlight, powerful against the unlit Ponyville skyline. As she did so, her heart dropped; they had not seen or heard any sign of Rainbow.

Rainbow didn’t see any sign of Spike during her fly through the forest, and so, before heading back the way she had come, she burst from the treetops to do a quick survey of the field outside, in case Twilight and Fluttershy made it back without telling her. In the distance, they were standing and looking around, and she could hear Twilight calling her name. She shot over to them, happy to get away from the forest. She would never admit it, but flying alone through the treetops, in the dark, was enough to unnerve her. She landed beside them with a chipper greeting, which Spike, arms clasped around Twilight’s neck, returned glumly.

“I’m glad you showed up. We were calling for you; did you hear us at all?” Twilight asked.

“Not once,” Rainbow said. “But I figured I’d come up and look around every twenty minutes or so, just in case you found Spike first.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you did,” Twilight said, walking back toward the bridge.

At first, they were quiet, save for Rainbow’s wings shuffling through the night air, but then Spike asked a question none of them were expecting. “Have you girls ever been in love?”

They all started, Twilight almost knocking him off with her sudden change of pace.

“Could you repeat that?” Rainbow asked.

“Have you ever been in love? Any of you?”

Rainbow almost dismissed the question as too personal, but Spike’s tone made her reconsider.

“Well,” Twilight began, hoof to her chin in thought. “It might be hard to believe, but no.”

“It’s not that hard,” Rainbow said, eager to keep the question from shifting to her. “You probably spent all your time studying.”

“Yes, actually. That’s why I never had time for love.” She said it without a hint of regret, and Rainbow chuckled internally. “Egghead.”

“What about you, Rainbow?” Spike asked, and she thought for a moment, again weighing the option to simply tell him to back off, or crack a joke; she had plenty of sarcastic responses, but few serious ones.

“…Yyyyyyyyyyyyeah, a few times,” she said slowly. “He better not get too personal.”

“What was it like? What happened?”

“Dang it. Okay, be cool, Dash. He’s just a kid.” “What was it like? Well, you know, it’s love. You feel kind of… jittery inside, I guess, but kind of excited and afraid too.” She smiled. “Like doing your first sonic rainboom. As for what happened, well… nothing, really.”

“Why? Did they not love you back?”

“Careful, Spike,” she thought, a little angry. She took a moment to suppress her agitated thoughts. “Kind of. It’s more that I just never really had the courage to tell anypony.”

“Do you still love them?”

“No,” Rainbow said instantly. “It’s been years since I’ve seen any of them.” She looked down at him, watching her with curious, moist eyes. “And no, I don’t miss them. Some of them weren’t even friends.”

“I see,” Spike said, and Rainbow looked away. She was prepared to tell him to stand down, and stop questioning her personal life, but he didn’t press the issue. “What about you, Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy paused, and they were over the bridge. “Oh, um, well, yes, I have been in love once.”

“Only once? When?”

“When I just a filly. I had already earned my cutie mark by then, but I didn’t have any friends besides Rainbow Dash, and she was always busy practicing her flying.”

Rainbow glanced at Fluttershy quickly, and returned her eyes back to their path to the library. She could see it in the distance.

“Did anything ever happen?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“No, nothing ever did. I was afraid to say anything because I didn’t want to be laughed at, or looked down upon.”

Twilight cleared her throat. “Why are you asking us about this, Spike? Is it about… you know?”

He sighed and looked down into her back. “Yeah. Sorry if I’m getting too personal with you all, but it’s just… I could really use some advice. You see, I’m kind of… in love with someone.”

Rainbow looked back at him, and their eyes met, his sad expression to her bored one. A burst of empathy spread through her, and she spoke a little gentler. “If you want something to come of that love, you need to confess it. Trust me, Spike; it’s worth it.”

“That’s the problem. I already did, but she doesn’t love me back. At least not in that way.”

“Maybe you just need to be persistent. Maybe she needs a reminder of your affections or something. What do you think, Twilight?”

Twilight spoke very deliberately. “I think Spike should respect her privacy and her wishes, if she’s not comfortable with the prospect of being together with him.”

“What? Have him give up, just like that? What kind of advice is that?”

“If she said she’s not interested, then he shouldn’t continue pursuing her; he’s only going to keep getting hurt if he does that.”

“But he’s already hurt! Look at him.” She gave Spike a smile. “Trying again can only be good. Spike, I say you should track her down and give it another shot! What’s the worst that can happen?”

“You’re not taking her feelings into account, Rainbow. What if she has another man?”

“Spike, does she have another man?”

“Um, no, not really,” he said quietly.

“See? She’s totally available, Twilight. Spike needs to get out there and get her.”

“What he needs is to understand her reasons for turning him down, and give her time. If he really wants to try again later, fine, but for now, it would be useless.”

They were at the library’s doorstep, and Twilight pushed it open.

“Don’t you care that he’s looking for love?” Rainbow pressed.

“He’s looking for it in the wrong place,” Twilight said, and looked at her to stop speaking; Pinkie was back, and everyone was gathered in the front room in a moderate, respectful conversation.

“Hey, Twi,” Applejack said sympathetically. “Rarity told us everythin’. Howdy, Spike.”

“Hey Applejack, Pinkie.” He sounded a little better, but wary.

“Why were you two arguing?” Pinkie asked.

“It’s nothing, Pinkie,” Twilight said.

“But it’s not nothing! Arguing is never nothing! Which means it’s something!” Her voice grew a little grave. “Why don’t you want to tell me?”

“Uh, it’s private. I’ll tell you later, okay?”

“It’s about Spike,” Rainbow said, and Twilight shot her a dirty look. “Oh, crap. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“Oh, Spike, what’s going on?” Pinkie asked, instantly putting all her attention on him.

He climbed off Twilight’s back and made for the stairs. “Um, I’m gonna go ahead and go to bed now. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

He ran upstairs before Pinkie could stop him, and Twilight put a hoof to her shoulders to keep her from pursuing him up to the room.

Pinkie looked around innocently. “What? What’s wrong with him?”

“Pinkie, he just had a… difficult moment with Rarity.”

“What? Why? Rarity’s not difficult; she’s a pony!”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. I mean that he… told her his feelings.”

“Oooooooooooooooooooh,” she said in one half-minute long syllable.

“Wait a minute,” Applejack said. “Spike told Rarity what?”

“He told her that he loves her,” Rainbow said, to another glare from Twilight.

Rarity walked down in from the kitchen, and, seeing them all, stopped. “Oh,” she said, immediately on edge. “We’re still talking about that, are we?”

“Rainbow, how could you tell Applejack that? Spike didn’t want his secret out!” Twilight cried.

“Now wait a minute,” Rarity said. “Twilight, you told Rainbow?”

“She didn’t tell me. I just figured it out,” Rainbow said, voice rising. “And you never made me promise anything.”

“Wait, Spike has feelin’s fer Rarity? Since when?” Applejack asked.

“I’m sorry, Applejack, but you’re not allowed to know that,” Pinkie said.

“Pinkie, come on, Applejack already knows the basics; we all do. Spike practically told everypony anyway,” Rainbow said.

“Not Applejack!”

“And not you either,” Twilight said.

“Hey, since when do Ah not get to hear what’s goin’ on?” Applejack asked.

“Applejack, he would have told you if Pinkie hadn’t scared him away,” Rainbow said.

“You’re the one who said the whole thing out loud,” Twilight said, voice wavering between temperance and frustration.

“Well soooor-ry.” Rainbow waved her wings dramatically.

“All right, all right, everypony settle,” Applejack said, hooves held up. “So Spike loves Rarity; that’s not too bad. Ah mean, it’s a little… weird, but Ah’m sure it can’t hurt.”

Rarity had stepped back to let the argument take its course naturally, and Pinkie glowered at Rainbow, who ignored her.

“Rarity?” Applejack asked, looking at her. “Wanna clarify this fer us?”

She sighed. “I suppose, since it’s already out in the open, I may as well.” She went to the couch, sat down, cleared her throat, and began speaking. “Yes, it’s true, Spike does love me. He confessed this to me just tonight, not an hour ago.”

“Awwwwww, that’s so cute!” Pinkie cried, her earlier disturbance already forgotten. “Are you two marefriend and, um, dragonfriend now? Oh! We should have a relationship party!”

“No, Pinkie, we’re not together.”

“Oh, why not?”

Rarity scowled, and Rainbow leaned forward. “I told him that I loved him, but just not like that. As friends, in the same way that I love you all.”

“An’ what did he say?” Applejack asked.

“Not a whole lot. He said something about not really expecting me to respond as he had wanted, and then he just left. I assumed he was going to stay in the library, and maybe talk to Twilight about it.” She nodded at the purple unicorn to carry on the story.

“But he didn’t stay here; he left, walked right through this room actually. I didn’t notice him because I was reading.”

“Typical,” Rainbow said, and Twilight rolled her eyes.

“So then what?” Applejack asked.

“Well, Fluttershy, Rarity and I went searching for him; I figured he would head for the Everfree, and, to make a long story short, I was right. We found him, and ran into Rainbow along the way, and then headed back here. You saw the rest.”

“So that's where you went,” Applejack said, looking at Rainbow.

“What about the arguing?” Pinkie asked.

“Spike started it,” Rainbow said.

“That’s not true, Rainbow,” Twilight said indignantly. “He didn’t start anything; he just asked a question. Maybe it was a bit personal, but can you blame him? This is the first time he’s ever been through something like this.”

Rainbow thought for a moment, and she remembered her earlier compassion for him. “Yeah, you’re right. Whatever. He asked us if we’d ever been in love. Totally out of the blue.”

“And I get the feeling that none of us really wanted to tell him that much,” Twilight said, “so it was a pretty awkward conversation, until he asked for advice. Apparently, Rainbow didn’t know he was talking about Rarity, and told him to keep trying. I told him to back off and give her some space.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that,” Rainbow said. “If I’d known earlier, I wouldn’t have argued with you like that.”

“It’s fine, Rainbow. But anyway, that’s what we were arguing about.”

“Well, we’re all better now, right?” Pinkie asked, and they both nodded.

“Ah still can’t believe it,” Applejack said. “How long have you known this, Twilight?”

“Um, a little while now,” Twilight said sheepishly.

Applejack nodded and gave a warm smile. “Ah’m not mad at’cha, Twi; if Spike doesn’t want us all to know his secrets, that’s his choice.”

“I hope he didn’t hear any of this from upstairs,” Fluttershy said, and they all quieted, suddenly afraid of just that.

Rainbow broke the silence with a yawn, and Rarity added her own just after.

“Ah agree,” Applejack said.

“Let’s get to bed. We’re helping rebuild that house tomorrow, remember,” Twilight said.

“Oh, right. Pinkie told me ‘bout that. Doctor Whooves?”

“That’s what they said.”

“Ah like him; he used to come down to the farm every now an’ again to say hi.”

They stood around awkwardly, and Rainbow went back to her bookshelf. “So, um, good night everypony,” she said, giving a little wave and closing her eyes.

The others dispersed, and, after a quick argument over the bed, Twilight stayed in the front room with Rarity, Fluttershy, and Rainbow. She found a spot on the floor underneath the window, where she would often fall asleep reading, and laid down there.

They slept, and the night was peaceful.

Walls

Chapter Fourteen

Walls

They rose three hours after the dawn, and Twilight wasted no time in joining Spike in the kitchen. The others gathered in the front room; Rarity had suggested they all help out with breakfast, but changed her mind when Applejack pointed out the hushed, obviously private conversation within. So they remained in the library’s circular chamber, talking sparsely and preparing their minds for the task that lay ahead. Of them all, only Applejack had experience with reconstruction, but she had never rebuilt something from a bare foundation.

Breakfast was soon ready, and they ate in relative quietude; Spike was still wary of them, and they spoke little for his sake. Rarity left early, partially to escape Spike’s defeated gaze, and partially to feed Opalescence. Once everything was cleaned up, they followed Pinkie to Sugarcube Corner to collect the Cakes, who she had persuaded to help with the reconstruction the night before. After a little small talk, they left again, following Applejack, who, inspired by Pinkie’s idea, decided to try roping Big Macintosh into the situation.

The town gave way quickly to the emptier farmland, where the sun slanted down through a cloudless sky, and the grass was warm and green. Walking through the peaceful, pastoral stretch of land, they could almost forget their situation, and in the renewed sunshine, it didn’t seem that bad, even when they remembered it. Ponyville was already repaired, and ponies were rebuilding. Houses, lives, relationships—only a few days after the disaster. Twilight felt good, walking toward the apple grove’s outer edge; she, too, had been a part of the reparative process.

“So do you two know anythin’ ‘bout construction?” Applejack asked, looking at the Cakes politely.

“Well, I can’t say that I do,” Mr. Cake said, “at least, not enough to rebuild an entire house.”

“Neither do I. The most construction either of us have done is the repairs on Sugarcube Corner, and that was difficult enough. We’re only earth ponies, though,” Mrs. Cake said.

“I hope those pegasi have some unicorn friends,” Mr. Cake said. “Otherwise, this is going to take a very long time.”

“And I suspect it’ll be very taxing on you and Rarity, Twilight.”

“They said they had somepony who has experience with this. I just hope that’s true,” Twilight said. “I didn’t get to read about it at all last night; I was just too tired.”

The conversation stopped while the grass lapsed into the beginnings of the apple orchard.

“Ooh, I’ve never seen this side of the orchard before,” Mrs. Cake said, admiration in her voice.

“There ain’t actually much to see,” Applejack said. “It’s all apples from here ‘til the barn.”

“My, but there are so many. Why, it must be easy to get lost in here.”

“Not at all, ma’am, least not fer me. Apple Bloom still gets lost every now an’ again.”

“Oh, Apple Bloom. I had just about forgot about her. How is she?” Mr. Cake asked.

“She’s fine,” Applejack said proudly. “Better now, now that everythin’s settled down an’ back to normal, but she’s still a little wary. ‘Specially with the barn the way it is.”

“What happened to the barn?”

“It kinda got destroyed,” Applejack said casually.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Cake said.

“Actually, Ah shouldn’t say that. It’s not entirely destroyed; just half of it.”

“Half of it?” Mr. Cake repeated.

“Well, near as Ah can tell, it was right on a spot where the ground split, but instead of hangin’ off the edge, it just came apart like two halves of the same apple.”

“How does that work?”

“Yeah, Applejack, how does that work?” Rainbow asked. “Barns aren’t supposed to be that easy to cut in half.”

“Ah assume it has somethin’ to do with the foundation,” Applejack said.

“It may have been weak in the middle,” Twilight said.

“That’s as likely an explanation as any.”

“Is your granny okay?” Mrs. Cake asked.

“She’s fine. Everyone was able to get out quickly enough, thank Celestia.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for them.”

“And for it to happen in the dead of night, too,” Mr. Cake added.

“Apple Bloom said she an’ her friends were out in the orchard when it happened, not in their beds like they shoulda been. Who woulda guessed it was fer the best? When everythin’ happened, Apple Bloom took charge of the situation an’ helped ‘em find shelter, an’ calm down. That’s what she told me.”

“That sounds like her,” Rarity said.

They were nearing the other side of the orchard, where the trees were thinning into the wide-open space just before the barn. “I don’t intend to sound heartless, but why are we going to help out somepony we hardly know, when Applejack here needs help just as badly?” Mr. Cake asked.

“My situation’s a bit different,” Applejack said. “When the barn got split, one half of it went fallin’ down into the crevasse. It’ll take more’n just magic to repair that.”

“Oh my goodness. It fell?” Mrs. Cake asked.

“Looks like it. We can’t find any pieces.”

“Oh, that is a bit different. Well, when you get the supplies, just let us know, and we’ll be happy to help out, Applejack.”

“Thank you kindly, ma’am, but Ah won’t be here when that time comes. As soon as we’re done with the house, or the funeral—whichever comes last—we’re leavin’. Ah won’t have nothin’ to do with the barn’s repair after that.”

“You’re leaving for Canterlot, right?” Mr. Cake asked.

“That’s right.”

“How are you going to get there? Surely the ground isn’t repaired all the way yet, between cities.”

“Probably not,” Twilight said. “That’s why we have our airship. Celestia’s airship, actually.”

“Oh, you have an airship?” Mrs. Cake queried.

“Yeah; you didn’t see it?” Rainbow asked.

“No, I guess not.”

A deep, masculine voice spoke Applejack’s name from afar; it was quiet, but it carried perfectly through the fresh, sunny morning air. Applejack broke formation and ran toward the deep red stallion standing outside the barn, hugging him tightly; he returned it gently.

They watched at a distance as she exchanged words with him, her worried expression melting in a great, relieved exhale at something he said. Applejack asked him something, and he nodded, eliciting a surprised smile from her. When they turned back toward the barn, Rarity and Rainbow joined her, leaving the others to watch outside.

With the majority of the wreckage clear, the barn seemed cleft perfectly, as if struck with a giant spade, one side repaired and one side simply absent. Twilight could see the individual floors stacked on top of each other like cards, each of them partially barred with ramshackle constructions of plywood. Granny Smith and the Cutie Mark Crusaders had created a small living alcove in the exposed kitchen, with long, wooden struts slanting from the ground to the fringed wall. A small outhouse had been erected at the edge of the clearing.

Twilight could not hear their conversation, but it was clear to her when Applejack mentioned their job; the three fillies began to whine and plead and crowd around her, all looking up at her with sad eyes.

It was to Twilight’s partial, but not entirely unexpected, surprise that Big Mac, Applejack, Rarity, and Rainbow emerged from the barn with the three extra volunteers. “Cutie Mark Crusader Construction Workers!” they were cheering.

“I see we have three extra helpers,” Fluttershy said, smiling at the Crusaders.

“We’re gonna build a house!” Scootaloo cried, flapping her tiny wings eagerly.

“Did you take care of everything you had to, Applejack?” Twilight asked.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Applejack said, walking toward the town center.

“Where are we going?” Scootaloo asked, running alongside Rainbow’s shadow as she flew lazily along.

“Spa, kiddo,” she said dismissively.

“Why are we going there?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“Applejack said we were goin’ to Doctor Whooves’ house to work,” Apple Bloom put in.

“We need to go to the spa and collect a few more ponies,” Twilight said.

“Oh! Oh! Rarity talks about them sometimes!” Sweetie Belle said. “She said they’re the sweetest, nicest, friendliest ponies in Equestria, except for you guys. I’ve always wanted to meet them!”

“Come on, Crusaders! Let’s go to the spa!” Scootaloo cried. They all took off ahead, and Rainbow kept pace with them; Twilight heard Scootaloo shout “Cutie Mark Crusader Spa-Going Ponies!” in the distance.

“They’re certainly eager to help out,” Rarity said.

“I just hope they don’t get in the way too much,” Twilight said, hating the impersonality in her words.

“Ah’m not too worried,” Applejack said. “ As long as somepony keeps an eye on ‘em. Big Mac?”

“Eeyup,” he said, nodding once.

“He’ll make sure nothin’ happens.”

“Yes, while the rest of us get to work. Oh, I hope I don’t have to do anything that will spoil my coiffure,” Rarity said.

“You shouldn’t have to worry too much, bein’ a unicorn an’ all.”

“Applejack, you said you worked on the barn some. What all goes into it?” Twilight asked.

“Well, like Ah said, it ain’t gonna be much like this, but if you must know, Big Mac an’ Ah put up a wall in the kitchen yesterday. You just have to frame the wall, put in some supportin’ lumber, put the joists in, take the lumber out, an’ there ya go. Least, that’s how we did it.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Pinkie said.

“It’s more complicated than it sounds,” Applejack said.

“Come on, slowpokes! The day won’t last forever!” Rainbow called from the edge of the orchard, and they trotted to catch up with her and the fillies. There was a small strip of grassy land between them and the encircling river, and a bridge that would take them directly into the town square. They crossed into the square quickly, the three Crusaders talking among each other and Rainbow flying around, keeping a loose orbit around the group.

They passed the town hall and swung around to the lifeless spa, its door hanging open like a tired mouth. They walked in uncertainly and looked around; the front room was empty of both the receptionist and the magazines that were usually on the table or in the racks on the wall.

“Is anypony home?” Rarity called.

“We will be just there!” a friendly voice called from somewhere at the bottom of the stairs.

“Ooh, I’m finally gonna get to meet them!” Sweetie Belle said, hopping up and down.

“I don’t see what’s so great about it. I mean, who wants to work at a spa all day?” Scootaloo said.

“Hush now, Scootaloo; they can hear you,” Rarity said.

“All the way down there? No way.”

“Nuh-uh! Rarity says they have the best ears in Equestria,” Sweetie Belle countered.

“Ah have pretty good hearin’,” Apple Bloom said.

“Hey, maybe that’s your special talent! Maybe you’ll have a, um, being able to hear things cutie mark!” Scootaloo said.

“That doesn’t sound like a very great cutie mark, to be honest.”

“Are you all ready?” Aloe asked, stepping into the waiting room. “Oh, hello young ones.”

“Hi Miss Lotus!” Sweetie Belle said, approaching the pink pony eagerly.

She laughed good-naturedly. “I am not Lotus; that is my sister.”

“Oh, sorry. Hi Miss Aloe!”

Aloe smiled at the filly, and Applejack cleared her throat. “You both ready to go?”

“Yes, we are both ready,” Lotus said as she entered.

“Then let’s get a move on.”

“Yes,” Aloe said, leading them out into the town center. “I confess, we were expecting you earlier in the morning.”

“Oh, sorry. We slept a little late,” Twilight said as they walked out.

“Oh, no, it is no problem,” Lotus said. “It gave us time to finish packing.”

“Packin’? Where are you goin?” Apple Bloom asked.

“When we are done with this project, we are leaving Ponyville,” Aloe said.

“Leavin’? But why?”

“There is nothing for us here anymore,” Lotus said. “So we are going home.”

“But I thought Ponyville was your home,” Sweetie Belle said. Aloe shook her head, but said no more.

“How is the good doctor?” Lotus asked after a time.

“Who?” Twilight asked.

“Doctor Whooves.”

“Oh, him. I don’t actually know. The pegasi told us he was living with them for now, but I don’t know anything else. You two know him; how would he take something like this?”

“He would survive,” Aloe said, “but losing a house is a difficult thing.”

“I hope he’s okay,” Fluttershy said.

“He’ll be fine!” Pinkie said. “I mean, not now, ‘cause his house is gone, but after we’re done with it it’ll be better than ever, and he’ll be so happy! We’ll have to have a ‘welcome to your new house’ party!”

“You plan to be here that long?” Lotus asked.

“Of course they do!” Sweetie Belle said.

“Aaaaactually,” Twilight said, “probably not. We’re going to leave as soon as our business with Bonbon is done. Right, Pinkie?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, Twilight!”

“That was the plan,” Rarity said.

“What business do you have with her?” Aloe asked.

Twilight leaned in a bit closer, and Aloe cocked an attentive ear. “We have to attend a funeral, for Lyra.”

“Oh, goodness,” Aloe said quietly, looking at Lotus, who signaled that she had heard it too.

“What? What is it?” Scootaloo pressed.

“Nothin’ fer you to worry yer little head ‘bout,” Applejack said.

“I am not little.”

“Do you know when it will be?” Lotus asked.

“Soon, hopefully,” Rainbow said.

“We don’t know yet, no,” Twilight said.

They walked between a row of houses and passed a small avenue of market stalls. Twilight looked at the ponies they passed, and had to smile. While the town reposed in ruin, houses destroyed and collapsing, life went on; before her eyes, adjunct to the scenes of destruction elsewhere, ponies talked, laughed, bought and sold wares. And now, not a week after the fatal spell, houses were being rebuilt. The town was healing.

She looked at the hills in the distance, the northern section of town: houses constructed into the grassy meadows and mounds, pastoral and peaceful. A windmill tilted crazily near the border, its blades skewed like rinds of a smashed fruit, casting a splattered shadow on the hill beside it, while little houses peppered the rolling, green area. It was like a completely different neighborhood, separate from the flat, dust-and-flowers area that comprised the main portion of Ponyville; only a small, empty gully separated them. She was gratified that Pinkie’s restoration spell had reached so far.

In the back of the group, the Cakes were speaking with Aloe and Lotus about their role in the funeral; they were catering the reception afterwards. Everyone else was clustered quietly together, with Big Macintosh leading the way, drawing eyes and the occasional hungry smile while the Crusaders rushed ahead to explore the newly-recovered town.

As peaceful as it all was, Twilight could not help but notice something slightly off about things. At first, she couldn’t put a name to it, but as she walked and the town thinned out into hillsides and fields, she realized what it was: quiet. The ponies, while apparently happy, had taken on an uncharacteristic air of watchful calm, something an outsider could mistake for civility. They talked, laughed, played, and socialized as normal, but their eyes were sharper, their voices more guarded, their demeanors slower to express feeling. They looked like they were waiting for something else to happen; there were fewer true smiles in the crowds.

“Hey, is that the house, you think?” Applejack pointed at a pile of debris in the distance, at the end of Windmill Road—so named for its terminating point at the windmill’s entrance—where two pegasi and a trio of earth ponies were milling around. The pegasi were the same ones who had stopped Twilight the day before, but she recognized the earth ponies: Nurse Redheart, Berry Punch, and Doctor Whooves.

“That is his house,” Lotus said, nodding.

“Come on, Crusaders!” Apple Bloom yelled, galloping to the destruction site. The others reached it more slowly.

While his companions talked, Doctor Whooves stood a bit away, watching silently as Twilight and her friends approached. She had only interacted with him once or twice, and knew little about him, though had heard that he possessed a sort of charm that belied his appearance, which was unremarkable in all aspects—a light brown coat, short mane, and a generic hourglass cutie mark that appeared on several others. His voice was low and mild, his eyes thoughtful and careful, and his demeanor suggestive of a kind of quiet desperation that made his entire bearing seem weak. Utterly forgettable.

“Doctor,” Aloe and Lotus said together, approaching and hugging him. “We were simply mortified to hear what has happened. How are you doing?”

He shrugged as his lips twitched in an unseen smile. “I’ve seen better days. But what are you doing here?”

“We are here to help fix up your home,” Aloe said, nuzzling him.

“It was Twilight and her friends that told us about it,” Lotus said.

The doctor looked at the rest of the group and smiled wider. “Ah, you’re Twilight, yes?” He shook her hoof politely, then the others’. “Doctor Whooves—Doc, if you’re of a shortening mind.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Doctor,” Fluttershy said.

“And the Cakes, of course,” he said, nodding at the bakers, who nodded back. “Big Macintosh too? Wow, you did round up a good crew.”

“So what’s going on? I don’t see anything being done,” Twilight said.

“Yes, well, we’re kind of at an impasse for now.”

“We’re stuck waiting for somepony who actually knows enough to lead us,” Nurse Redheart said. “Unless that would be any of you.”

“No, sorry, Nurse,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, sure.”

“He said he would be here by noon,” Berry Punch said.

“Yeah, and we all know how reliable he is.”

“Who are you talking about?” Rainbow asked.

“Berry said one of her friends is an actual architect pony, who can help us out with this house project; we’re waiting on him,” Doctor Whooves said.

“Who’s that?” Applejack asked.

“The name’s Icy Drop; do you know him?”

They all shook their heads, except Aloe and Lotus.

“Eh, he lives on the east side. Tends to keep to himself.”

“He is not the most friendly one, at least not to us,” Lotus said.

“Hey, Twilight! Oh, good, I was hoping you’d come.” The turquoise pegasus flew over to them eagerly, her pink counterpart just behind. “Great group; is this all of you?”

“Sure is,” Applejack said.

“Great, great. We’re still waiting for some of ours to show up.”

“That’s fine, um…” Twilight said.

“Hm?”

“Did I ever get your names?”

“Oh!” The pink pegasus laughed. “No, I guess you didn’t. How rude of me! I am Heart Throb,” she said, shaking hooves.

“I’m Medley,” said the other.

“Hey, didn’t you live in Cloudsdale for a while?” Rainbow asked Heart Throb.

“Yeah, I moved to Ponyville about five months ago. I’m surprised you remember me.”

“You just looked familiar, is all.”

“So, what’s the setup here?” Rarity asked. “I know we’re waiting for this Icy Drop fellow, and some others, but surely you must have an idea of what’s going to happen.”

“We do. First, we’re going to clear the area of all the rubble; we’re going to need more unicorns for that, though,” Medley said.

“Then we’re going to redo the foundation, and fix up the pipes as best we can,” Heart Throb said. “That’s going to be mostly my job. I used to do maintenance on the rainbow reservoirs in Cloudsdale.”

“That must have been fascinating,” Twilight said, resisting the urge to ask her for more details.

“I guess you could call it that,” she said dryly. “From there, I have no idea.”

“How many more are we expecting?” Mrs. Cake asked.

“Six more, I think,” Medley said. “Three more unicorns, Icy, of course, and two more pegasi.”

“Then the party really begins,” Whooves said.

They got acquainted with each other, and Twilight looked at the site, trying to get an idea of the task they were facing. The others had all arrived by twelve-thirty: Cloud Kicker, a blonde-maned pegasus that Twilight had seen a few times helping clear the skies; Colgate, the blue-coated unicorn that Twilight had seen working at the hospital but never spoken to before; Sea Swirl, whom Twilight recognized only vaguely; a gray-coated, cool blue-maned earth pony she assumed to be Icy Drop; Lemon Hearts, a vibrant, yellow-coated unicorn pony she remembered seeing a few times in the park; and, to her surprise, the semi-familiar gray-coated, blond-maned pegasus, Derpy Hooves. They met and mingled, but only talked for five minutes before Icy climbed onto a small pile of drywall and addressed them loudly.

“All right, all right everypony, let’s quiet down for a moment.” His low, measured voice carried well, and was heavy with authority and confidence. He stood a head shorter than Twilight, but his entire body was thick and powerful-looking, his steely eyes and firm jaw producing a hard visage that was difficult to look away from. As Twilight ran her eyes over his body, she felt vaguely attracted.

“I’m Icy Drop, for those that don’t know me. I’m a certified architect and construction manager, with five years of experience here and in Manehattan. Therefore, don’t go running around thinking I don’t know what I’m doing, or that I’m out of my element.” He looked out at them, eyes crinkled in accusation. “There’s a reason you asked me to oversee this little project. Where’s Doctor Whooves?”

Whooves stepped forward, and Icy nodded curtly to him.

“Good to meet you. Now, we’ve only got half the day, so we can’t waste any time. We want to at least get some walls up before night falls.” He turned to survey the ruins, then the crowd; his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly when they settled on the Crusaders.

For a while, he was silent, and everyone watched him respectfully. “Right, we need to clear the ground first. Unicorns, come to me; the others back up. They’re going to need a lot of room.”

Twilight, Rarity, Colgate, Sea Swirl, and Lemon Hearts formed a line before Icy Drop while the rest of the crowd fell a distance away from the not-yet-started project. He spoke slowly and clearly, and they listened attentively as he described how to keep the pieces level, how to hold them without stressing them, and the like. Twilight had never thought that so much went into moving pieces of rubble, but when he was finished five minutes later, she was nodding slowly and with mild interest while the others’ eyes had glazed over. Icy ended in separating Rarity from the group, putting her near the deposition site to sort the wall pieces from the others. When everything was set, he walked briskly away, moving around the construction site and muttering to himself.

“Friendly fellow, eh?” Sea Swirl said when he was out of earshot.

“He’s just doing his job,” Colgate said. “That’s respectable enough.” Her voice was even, and tinged with a reedy accent that made Twilight glance at her curiously.

“I guess.” Sea Swirl moved straight for the pile and picked up a few pieces with her magic; it looked fairly weak.

They cycled through, Twilight bringing up the rear and grabbing the biggest pile of rubble with a tiny, smug smile, which she wiped off when she went into view of the others. “I could move this whole thing right now if I wanted to. Though I’d be useless the rest of the day.”

They worked slowly at first, but soon settled into a rhythm, and before the hour had passed, they had moved all the loose debris away. Lemon Hearts called Icy over, and he inspected the exposed foundation, frowning severely at the large crack that went catty-corner on its gray face.

“We need to get a good look at the pipes below this. Do any of you have the ability to let us see through this foundation before we have to tear it up?” Icy asked.

“I might be able to,” Rarity said, raising her hoof and waving it from her position by the new pile of debris.

“Give it a try, then.”

She climbed onto the foundation and lowered her horn to it, almost scraping the rough concrete. Her eyes were closed in concentration, and her horn glowed; nothing happened at first, but her focus didn’t buckle, and her face didn’t flinch. The glow grew in intensity, turning into a throbbing cone of light that distorted the air around it like a fireball. Twilight had only seen her casting magic with such intensity once before, during the battle in Canterlot: an event that was fast fading from the poignancy of recent memory to the dulcet inarticulacy of distance.

The entire crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle, and several of them gasped, amazed, as the foundation slowly turned transparent, clarity rippling outward from the heavy center until the entire slab was clear as misted glass.

“Excellent! Hold it there, Rarity,” Icy said as he stepped onto the foundation and examined the pipes below. Heart Throb joined him, leaning down to press her face against the concrete, her eyes darting about.

At Icy’s word, Rarity stopped the spell with a tired groan, and he climbed off the cracked foundation. “We got off lucky.” He clapped his hooves together, and Heart Throb hovered for a moment before landing again.

“The pipes look okay, at least the ones I could see,” she said. “Of course, there’s the issue of running water, but that’s a task for later.”

“Exactly!” Icy barked, making her jump. “Now! The foundation. As you can see, we have a massive crack running from corner to corner. I need a unicorn who can pull the dust and debris out of it. Oh, and thank you, Rarity; you can get off that now.”

Rarity slowly left her spot and joined her friends.

“I have it in me,” Colgate said, climbing up onto the foundation.

“Then get to it,” Icy said dismissively, looking at the crack again and running a hoof along it. He moved behind the foundation and grabbed a bucket and a large stirring stick.

“Who is that pony? Does she think she’s better than you, Twilight? You can do that job no problem,” Rainbow whispered.

“Relax, Rainbow,” Twilight said.

“Her name is Minuette, but we all call her Colgate. That’s her surname,” Berry Punch said. “And I’d lower that voice of yours, Rainbow. It carries more than you think.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

“‘Whatever’ yourself.” Berry looked back at Colgate with a little smile of what Twilight thought was admiration. “She’s the only orthopedic surgeon in Ponyville.”

“Her mane kinda looks like toothpaste,” Rainbow said.

“How would you know what that looks like?” Berry quipped, and Rainbow blushed angrily.

“So that’s where she works,” Rarity said. “I’ve seen her around, but not a lot. She’s really talented, from what I’ve heard.”

“I brush my teeth every day,” Rainbow said quietly, and they all ignored her.

“I didn’t know we had an orthopedic department here,” Twilight said.

“What’s orthopedics?” Pinkie asked.

“It’s the medicine of bones and muscles, though that’s oversimplifying it.”

“We didn’t have a department for it ‘til Colgate showed up, actually,” Berry said. “But she showed some talent with it, so the hospital threw her a bone. Uh, pun kind of intended.”

“Yeah, but it took her half a year to get a place there,” Doctor Whooves said, entering the conversation. “Bureaucracy’s just a lovely thing, isn’t it?”

“Why’s her cutie mark an hourglass, though? Shouldn’t it be a bone or something?” Rainbow asked.

“Cutie marks are tricky things, especially when one’s talent lies in science or innovation, like hers. For instance, you’ll never see a cutie mark of something that hasn’t been invented yet, and you rarely see a cutie mark concerning a super-specific talent, again, like hers.”

“But an hourglass? Why not a cross or something, like Nurse Redheart’s?”

“Who’s to say? I’m an expert on neither magical theory nor genetics, and both of those are what determines a cutie mark.”

“Maybe it’s to symbolize how she can turn back the clock on bone injuries!” Pinkie suggested.

“Seems a little roundabout to me,” Rarity said.

“Well, it is what it is. Oh, Icy’s talking again,” Whooves said.

“That was fast,” Twilight said.

They quieted and looked over at him; Colgate was sitting against the foundation, dull-eyed and panting. “—just fine then. Right. Does anyone know a spell to accelerate chemical reactions?”

Twilight tentatively raised her hoof. “Maybe. What kind of reaction?”

“Come up here.”

She went onto the foundation with him, and he showed her the bucket that he had set up; it was full of a dark gray mush, which he told her was a concrete sealant. His instructions were, again, simple: he would apply the sealant, and she would accelerate its expansion. She immediately set to work, and before long, she was working automatically, tuning out his constant flow of repetitive instructions. Let it seep in, expand slowly, wait a minute, reapply—over and over he guided her, until she was paying him no attention at all.

When she was done, it was three o’ clock, and Icy directed Twilight back to her group to rest while he marshaled Lemon Hearts over to the pile of wall shards, where he set her to work putting them back together, sometimes with plaster and sometimes by her magic alone.

The crowd, meanwhile, simply talked among itself.

Derpy, who was the only one not bothered by the Crusaders’ antics around the construction site, was indulging their inquisitive natures near the wreckage of what had been Doctor Whooves’ porch.

“Why are your eyes all funny?” Sweetie Belle asked. She had seen Derpy several times before, but never had the chance to talk to her. “Huh? Why?”

Derpy’s smile dimmed a little. “I was just born like this, I guess.”

“Don’t you live in Cloudsdale?” Scootaloo asked. “Can you tell me about it?”

“Well, I did for a little while. What do you want to know?”

“Oh! Oh! Is it cold up there? ‘Cause I never see pegasus-es-es wearing sweaters,” Sweetie Belle said.

“Oh, it’s cold there all right,” Derpy said, cheering up. “But we pegasus-es-es are born with thicker coats, so we don’t freeze. Here, feel.” She stuck out a light gray wing, and they all rubbed it experimentally.

“Wow, that’s amazin’!” Apple Bloom exclaimed; she had never felt anything so soft and downy in her life.

Derpy beamed at this, but said nothing.

“But then don’t you get hot other places?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Oh no,” Derpy said, shaking her head. “We’re very well insulated.”

“Is Derpy your real name?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Nope. My real name is Ditzy Doo, but everypony calls me Derpy for my eyes.”

“Why would they do that?” Scootaloo asked.

“I don’t know,” she said with a tiny, innocent shrug.

“How did you get yer cutie mark?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Oh, well, um,” Derpy shifted her weight awkwardly, and they noticed her reluctance. She appeared to struggle to find an explanation, and at last said, “I don’t really remember.” Before they could press her for more information, she took off, flapping over to Doctor Whooves.

“What’s her problem? We weren’t being nosy, were we?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“Psh, no,” Scootaloo said.

“She probably has to help out the others,” Apple Bloom said.

“And what do you plan to do when you get there?” Whooves asked, his voice low. He, Aloe, and Lotus stood together and away from the main group, speaking quietly.

“Whatever must be done,” Aloe said with a shrug.

“We have not spoken with anyone there,” Lotus said, “but whatever waits for us will surely require our expertise.”

He nodded, understanding her meaning. “Derpy approaches,” he said; he had heard her wings flutter behind them, as well as the discomfort in her voice before that. Aloe and Lotus nodded, and Lotus smiled slyly at him. He looked back with a blush.

Derpy landed next to them a moment later, smiling a little smile that fooled none of them. “Hey guys.”

They inclined their heads politely. Whooves was disappointed that his privacy with the twins was ruined, but didn’t let it show, even as Colgate wandered over from her spot away from everyone else.

He turned away before she got close, and she stopped behind him. “What’s happening over here?” He closed his eyes for a second and fixed the smile back on his face.

“Nothing much,” Aloe said.

“Just talking about a few days ago,” Lotus finished, and the doctor nodded.

“Ugh, that debacle,” Colgate sighed.

“Where were you when it happened?” Derpy asked her.

“Where else? Sleeping, of course.” She shook her head. “What a night. I’m considering writing about it before everypony forgets too much.”

“I didn’t know you wrote,” Lotus said.

“I don’t talk about it much. Read some of my material, and you’ll see why.”

“What do you write?” Aloe asked.

“Amateurish poetry, inspired by things I see at the hospital.”

“That sounds pretty interesting,” Whooves said, smiling at her.

She looked back at him blankly, and said, after a minute, “It’s really not very good.”

He looked away and coughed awkwardly, and no one spoke for a moment. Derpy cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah, that night, though. I was sleeping like a rock.”

“Were you on the ground, Derpy?” Whooves asked, looking back at her intently.

“Cloudhome, I think.”

“That must have been interesting from your angle,” Colgate said.

“Um,” Derpy awkwardly kicked the dirt. “I, um, slept through most of it, if you must know.” They all laughed, except Colgate, who only smirked falsely.

“Oh, Celestia,” Aloe said, wiping away a tear. “Sorry, Ditzy; it is pretty funny, though.”

Whooves smiled and kept his comments to himself; of all the ponies to possibly sleep through such a thing, it would be Derpy.

“Well, I was certainly up for it,” Colgate said. “Instant I heard the rumbling, I was up; at first I thought ‘a thunderstorm? At this time of night?’ But thunderstorms don’t sound like that. As it got louder, I stepped outside, and saw I was not alone. You should have seen the streets, you all, they were lined with ponies, inquisitive or afraid all of them.”

“I remember,” Whooves said. “I was there too.”

“Yeah, it was nuts. Then when the rumbling turned into ripping, I thought that it was the end. The big goodbye. One of the splits went right down the middle of my street. I watched the ground open up and separate, and that’s about when I lost it. Probably when everyone lost it,” she said with a little smile.

Aloe and Lotus were nodding along; they had not lost it at any point in the night, but felt no need to tell Colgate that.

“And the rest is history; the town panicked, and if you weren’t there for that, well, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I’m glad I missed it; sounds scary,” Derpy said.

“Ditzy, what did you think when you woke up the next day?” Aloe asked.

“It didn’t bother me that much, to be honest.”

“I suppose, being a pegasus, it wouldn’t,” Colgate said.

“What about the sudden reversal?” Whooves asked them.

“I still don’t know what to think of it,” Colgate said, and Derpy shrugged.

“Glad to see we’re all concerned citizens.”

Colgate smirked again, and Derpy blushed. Aloe and Lotus smiled merrily.

Heart Throb, Medley, and Cloud Kicker—the three pegasi—were speaking with Big Macintosh and the rest of Twilight’s group. Rarity stood near the back, sneaking looks at Big Mac whenever she thought she wouldn’t be caught. The Cutie Mark Crusaders ran around nearby.

“Judgin’ by the way Icy’s runnin’ this thing, Ah don’t see why us earth ponies are even needed here,” Applejack said.

“Well, I can’t say I blame you,” Medley said. “He’ll probably have you putting in joists or support lumber, or something. Maybe moving heavy objects or something.”

“And what about the pegasi?” Rainbow asked.

“Roof work,” Heart Throb said.

“That sounds awful, though.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Cloud Kicker said. “We can make a game out of it. A little competition, or a race, even.”

“Yeah, Icy’ll totally be cool with that,” Heart Throb said.

“He will be if he doesn’t catch us.”

“Are you kiddin’? Look at the way he’s hoverin’ over Lemon out there; there’s no way he won’t be watchin’ y’all,” Applejack said.

Big Macintosh nodded sagely.

“Oh, what am I going to do?” Fluttershy asked. “I mean, I don’t know anything about repairing roofs.”

“He’ll give us instructions,” Medley said.

“Yeah, and he won’t stop,” Twilight said dully.

“I’m just glad I didn’t have to go underground,” Heart Throb said.

“Oh yeah, you were the one to fix the pipes.”

“That was my job in Cloudsdale, and I suppose that’s my job now. Or it would be.”

“Do you have any idea when they’re going to start working on the water system?” Rarity asked.

“Last I heard, work is going to start in about a month.”

“A month? Why so late?” Rainbow asked.

“The mayor says it’s because we still have the river right outside town. Our water doesn't run, but we still have it.” Heart Throb looked around. “She’s focusing on more important things, she said.”

“Like what?” Twilight asked, surprised.

“House reconstruction, helping injured ponies, things like that. I really don’t know, though. I’m just on the pipe repair crew.”

“That sounds rough,” Applejack said.

“Come next month, I’ll be literally underneath the river, doing… something.”

Fluttershy squeaked, and Applejack nodded appreciatively. “That’s gotta be hard work,” she said.

“Oh, it is,” Heart Throb said. “But you all will be gone by then, I imagine.”

“If we can help it,” Rarity said.

“Are you going with them, Big Mac?” Medley asked.

He shook his head. “Ah gotta tend to the farm.”

She smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

Mr. and Mrs. Cake were chatting with Sea Swirl and Nurse Redheart, two valuable customers. Usually, they only saw the nurse in the context of purchasing pastries, and were taken aback at her easygoing manner and carefree chemistry with Sea Swirl.

“And then I said ‘yeah, too bad it’s all mine’!” Redheart said, and the quartet erupted into peals of laughter, Sea Swirl actually kneeling to keep her balance.

“Oh, Redheart, that one never gets old,” Sea Swirl said, stifling another chuckle.

“My uncle taught it to me.” She wiped her eyes. “So tell me, Cakes, what exactly drew you to this project? Sorry if I offend, but you don’t seem to be the types to do this kind of work.”

“Oh, well, we won’t deny that we don’t look much like construction ponies,” Mr. Cake said. “It was actually Pinkie’s idea—so many things are nowadays, it seems.”

“She said that those two pegasi, Medley and Heart Throb, approached them in the town square and told them the whole story. They were going to go it alone, but they wanted some help, so here we are,” Mrs. Cake said.

“Yeah, that’s Pinkie for you,” Sea Swirl said, frowning a little.

“What’s wrong, dearie?”

“Nothing, just my stupid eyes.” Sea Swirl shook her head a little and did two long, comical blinks before squinting at something in the distance.

“I don’t understand,” Mr. Cake said.

“You never knew?” Redheart asked, and then, at Sea Swirl, “you never told them?”

“Well, it’s not like it’s important. To them, anyway. Besides, maybe it’s private.”

Redheart laughed at this, and Sea Swirl chuckled too.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not a huge thing, but my eyes are kind of, to put it delicately, screwed up. Not, like, blindness or anything; I can see fine in that department. It’s just that my sense of depth perception and dimension isn’t as good as others’.”

“You never seem to have any problems,” Mr. Cake said.

“That’s ‘cause I’m gooooooood,” Sea Swirl said with a smile. “I’ve had a lifetime of practice coping, so it’s not much more than an inconvenience.” She gave Redheart a simpering smile, and she only looked back sternly. Sea Swirl sighed and rolled her eyes. “Sometimes, however, I have more, um, serious issues. Instances of blindness, really no more than a quarter of a second, where everything just goes black. I call them ‘glitches,’ ‘cause it’s like my vision just, well, glitching out. Happens maybe once a month.”

The Cakes looked at each other, uncomfortable.

“Have you ever looked for a cure?” Mrs. Cake asked carefully.

“We’ve discussed it,” Nurse Redheart said. “It’s not a serious problem. Minor corrective surgery would solve the problem, but…” She shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

“Like I said,” Sea Swirl said, nodding at Redheart. “Besides, I kind of like it. It gives me more texture.” She swayed back and forth at the word, shuffling her back hooves a little and grinning.

“That’s it, Swirly, dance! Dance it all away!” Redheart said, imitating Sea Swirl’s little shuffle, which was turning into a jig. Mr. Cake politely laughed, not certain whether he was supposed to take any of it seriously; his confusion was enough to send the two ponies into a fresh assault of laughter, each one feeding the other until they were both on the ground, rolling and slapping at the air.

“Let’s go see how the others are doing,” Mrs. Cake said, and they walked away from the pair.

When Lemon Hearts was done, everypony assembled around the foundation, while Sea Swirl and Colgate helped Twilight move the walls into position. Her magic was weakening, and she appreciated the assistance.

Icy spoke from the collapsed porch, watching their progress with a self-assured grin. “Now, the house is made of three main sections. Section one is the biggest, the only one with a second floor, and the primary living area; that’s the section we’re doing today. We’ll start with the floors and walls, and go from there. Twilight, bring me the floor.”

She did, and he directed her in laying it down on the foundation, correcting the few errors she made with near-impatience. Once the floor was down, Sea Swirl brought a pile of large, ugly metal bolts and dropped them at his hooves, and he began indicating where he wanted them.

Twilight walked back to the crowd while Sea Swirl took her place, clamping down the bolts wherever Icy pointed. The affair took twenty minutes, and when Icy addressed them again, the floor was on, as sturdy as it was before.

“Now for the walls. Somepony bring me that one, the curved one, and somepony else gather some beams. Nice, sturdy beams, so we can keep this wall up before putting it in proper.”

Lemon Hearts was the first to grab a corner of wall in her magic and start dragging it over, and soon, everyone was moving and helping. Unicorns moved walls, earth ponies carried large wooden beams, pegasi hammered them in place. Before two hours had passed, the walls had been replaced, and a bare skeleton of a house was standing; the sun was going down.

“All right, everypony, break time,” Icy said crisply. “Go, get some food, rest up, but be back here in an hour. I’d like to get the second floor done if I can.”

There were mutters of approval and fatigue as the crowd dispersed, everypony to their respective groups. “It’s almost six o’ clock!” Rainbow complained. “Now we’re taking our break? Let’s just go home, Twilight.”

“We said we’d help, Rainbow. We have to see this through,” she said wearily.

“But it’s stupid.”

“It’s hard work, darling,” Rarity said, wiping her forehead with a hoof.

“Not for you. You just had to sort pieces.”

Rarity scoffed. “I helped Lemon Hearts drag half the back wall over to that foundation, Rainbow Dash. All you did was hammer at beams all day.”

“Girls, girls,” Twilight said. “Let’s just go get some food.”

“That sounds perfect, dear,” Rarity said, her frustration with Rainbow lost from her voice. “Where shall we go?”

“Why not the café?” Pinkie said.

“Is it even open?” Twilight asked. She didn’t know which one Pinkie meant, but was too tired to care.

“I think so.”

“You comin’ with us, Big Mac?” Applejack asked.

“Nope. Ah’m gonna take these three back to the farm,” Big Macintosh said, indicating the three fillies that ran around behind him.

“What? Big Mac, come on!” Apple Bloom complained.

He shook his head steadfastly, and she huffed. “Yer not meant to be here anyway.”

“But we’ve been really helpful! Haven’t we, Applejack?” Scootaloo asked.

“Eh, kind of,” she said hesitantly.

“We moved rubble!” Sweetie Belle said.

“Yeah, and we didn’t get our cutie marks for that either,” Scootaloo complained.

“Come on, girls,” Big Macintosh said again, as he began plodding in the direction of the farm.

“Ugh! See you later, sis,” Apple Bloom said dourly.

When they were out of range, Applejack spoke up. “Ah wouldn’t be surprised if they’re not back here later. Icy probably told Big Mac to get rid of ‘em.”

“Do you think he would do something like that?” Rarity asked.

“He seems the type. But it will be easier with those three not around, meddlin’.”

They began walking southward, following Pinkie at a trot. It was somewhere between six and seven o’ clock, and the town was slowing down; the vendors Twilight had seen earlier were waiting or packing up, and the crowds of ponies had diminished into a few stragglers, talking with friends or walking down the streets alone. The air was warm and still in the setting sun, and they were all covered in dust and sweat; Twilight knew they should go to the river first, but they only had an hour, and they hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

They approached a small, green-painted building with a large, three-leaf clover on its swinging sign: the Clover Café. A two-story box of wide windows and flowerbeds, it was shaped more like a large house than a restaurant; but, more than that, it was almost entirely unharmed. A small scab of plywood covered the upper corner, where some plaster had flaked off, but the café looked nearly identical to how Twilight knew it. Unassuming and smart, a solid center in a ring of grass and dirt road.

The tables outside were all empty, lonely discs under polka dot and floral umbrellas, and the windows were almost all blank of customers. The sound of a single conversation wafted out from a partially-open window, and Twilight couldn’t recognize the voice. In the warm dusk, everything felt empty and sullen.

They went inside, and the hostess glanced at them, counting them quickly. She led them out to the main room and pushed a pair of tables together to form a place for them all, just before a window overlooking the bare dining area outside. She returned with their menus, and left them.

Twilight already knew what she was having, and watched in contemplation as the others perused their menus. In a short time, the waiter appeared and took their drink orders.

They were quiet for a minute, and Twilight observed Fluttershy looking attentively out the window. “What’s out there, Fluttershy?”

“Nothing.”

The speed and decisiveness of her response unsettled Twilight, and she looked out the window too. She was right; there were no ponies.

“It’s evening. Everyone’s going home. Like we should be,” Rarity said.

“There’s Colgate,” Twilight said, following the blue unicorn with her eyes. She trotted quickly down the road, not looking around. “Where’s she off to in such a hurry?”

Pinkie shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, and the waiter returned with their drinks.

“So what do you think of that Icy Drop fellow?” Rarity asked. “I personally think he’s a brute.”

“He’s so rude,” Fluttershy said.

“I don’t like him either,” Rainbow said.

“He’s a grouchy McGrouchy pants!” Pinkie said. Her voice seemed extra shrill in the empty restaurant.

“I don’t think he’s that bad,” Twilight said. “He’s just doing his job, after all. Nopony’s paying him to do this.”

“They might be,” Applejack said.

Twilight put a hoof to her chin in though. “Well, I guess. I doubt it, though. This feels more like a volunteer effort.”

“He’s still unpleasant,” Rarity said.

“At least he’s the only one,” Pinkie said.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Applejack said. “The other ponies are really nice; Ah saw Mr. and Mrs. Cake talkin’ to Sea Swirl an’ Nurse Redheart earlier. They were gettin’ along great, looked to me.”

“That Sea Swirl is a character,” Pinkie said. “She comes in every Thursday for a batch of cupcakes, and she always has the funniest jokes! I don’t think she gets enough sleep sometimes, though, ‘cause she sometimes sways on her hooves and has to squint to see things right.”

“Hm. She didn’t strike me as the staying-up-late type,” Rainbow said.

“It takes all types!” Pinkie said.

“You know, it’s really too bad you have to keep your magic a secret, Pinkie,” Rarity said, picking at her silverware. “You could have the entire house rebuilt in a matter of minutes, I’m sure.”

Pinkie smiled and giggled nervously. “Yeah, I guess I could, huh?”

“Yeah. Too bad,” Twilight said.

Before they could continue, the waiter brought their food, and they wasted no time in digging in.

Dinner passed, and they soon found themselves outside the construction site again, significantly less eager to continue than in the morning.

Icy stood before the walls on a raised platform that, it appeared, he had dragged over himself. “Everypony back? Everypony here? Good, good. Oh, I see those fillies are gone. Even better.” He looked at the crowd and counted heads quickly. “Right, let’s get going. I need a pair of unicorns and all the pegasi, right here.”

Twilight and Colgate stepped forward, and while Twilight smiled at her, Colgate didn’t even look. “Unicorns, your job is to feed the floor, then the walls, to the pegasi, who will be arranging them on the second floor. Easy enough for you. Pegasi, however, your job will not be so simple.” He instructed them on the specifics: how to securely attach the floor to the tops of the walls, how to brace the walls they would be given, and so forth.

“If he just had one of them hold you up there, you could probably have this done in a few minutes,” Colgate said quietly.

Twilight blushed. “Thanks. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing, though.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. It’s not the most efficient thing, is all I’m saying.”

“I guess not. But who are we to correct him?”

“Fair enough. So, are you the one who undid this whole, er, apocalypse thing?”

Twilight’s blush intensified as she nodded.

“I figured it was you when I saw you. Element of Magic.” She stuck out a hoof. “Colgate, by the way. I know we’ve heard our names by now, but we haven’t been properly introduced.”

“Twilight Sparkle,” Twilight said. “Pleased to meet you, Colgate.”

They shook, and Colgate gave a cordial nod. Her eyes didn’t meet Twilight’s, and as Twilight looked into her face, the corner of her mouth twitched rapidly, the skin pulling upward in a fast, frantic snarl. Colgate turned away.

“Are you all right?”

“All good,” Colgate said, and they looked up at Icy, who had, when they weren’t looking, gotten onto the second floor.

“Okay, we’re ready for you now. Send up that floor,” he said.

“I’ve got this,” Colgate said, levitating the giant square of wood up for the pegasi to grab. Twilight was impressed at her magical strength, but didn’t say so. “Oh, that reminds me, thanks a lot for coming by to help out.”

“Oh, it’s no problem.”

“We’re really going to appreciate it later on, too, once we’re ready to start putting the rooms themselves back together. That’s what Icy told me.”

“Uh, about that,” Twilight said reluctantly.

“Hm?”

“We’re probably not going to be here that long.”

“Why’s that?”

“We need to travel,” Twilight said simply.

“Travel? Why?”

“Um, well…”

“Is it a secret?”

“Kind of.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to go upsetting that. Fine, fine, have your secrets.” Her voice sounded joking, but her expression was lifeless. Twilight couldn’t tell whether she was trying to be playful. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon, hopefully. The day after the funeral.”

“Funeral? Aw, whose?”

“Lyra’s.”

“Oh dear... poor Bonbon, and Lyra’s parents too. Do they know?”

“I have no idea.”

“I guess it was dumb of me to ask. Is it an open funeral? I wouldn’t mind paying my respects.”

“You weren’t invited?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” Twilight looked at her again, uncomfortable. “I’m sure you can come.”

“Good.”

“Uh, I don’t know when it is yet, though.”

“Okay.”

Twilight looked at her profile. While her voice was pleasant and friendly enough, her face was entirely blank, her eyes dull, her mouth a slackened line that showed no emotion whatsoever. “Um, so how do you know Doctor Whooves?” She wanted to get Colgate talking a little more.

“We dated for a few months, back in the old days. Well, a year ago.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. You ended the… relationship on good terms then?”

“Good enough, at least on his side.”

“Just his side?”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad.” She looked in Twilight’s eyes as she said it, and her voice was firmer.

Twilight looked away, up at the pegasi, placing bolts, hammering at boards, and all under Icy’s stern commands. “What is with this pony?”

“Hey,” Colgate said, placing a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder gently. “I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“What? No, I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You’re acting like you don’t want to be here.”

Twilight looked at her uncertainly. “We just don’t know each other yet. I’m not uncomfortable; just trying to be friendly with you.”

Colgate nodded and gave Twilight a forced smile.

“Girls, let’s get a piece of wall up here! That big one, with the slight curve in it,” Icy called from the bare second floor.

Twilight levitated the curved slab of wall up to the pegasi, and looked back at Colgate, who was watching the clouds. The construction passed thus, with Twilight and Colgate feeding the walls up to the pegasi, who first received them with eagerness and good humor, but slowly began accepting them with tired acquiescence.

The sun set, and Twilight quickly lost things to talk about with Colgate, who responded seriously and shortly to every conversational attempt. Twilight wasn’t sure how she felt about her. She was perfectly, genuinely nice, but she rarely met Twilight’s eyes, and every emotion that she conveyed seemed falsely enhanced.

As the last rays of sunlight faded and ponies began lighting torches, the space between them grew still stranger; Colgate would stare into space for minutes on end, her face occasionally twitching as though in suppression of unseen urges. Twilight was too tired to ask what was wrong, and instead watched, perplexed.

Only once did something happen to cut the ennui, about halfway through the second floor. Twilight and Colgate were staring at the outer walls—Twilight counting the pores in the wood, Colgate’s mind a thousand miles away—when there was a flutter of wings, followed by a terrible, dusty crack, followed by an alarmed cry, followed then by the project’s sickening, collapsing sway, lurid and feverish in the unsteady torchlight.

“Colgate!” Twilight called, drawing the blue unicorn back to attention; both their horns ignited, bathing the house in a haze of blue and purple. It stopped its movement, but Twilight couldn’t get it to right itself; Colgate’s magic was getting in her way.

“Get out there and push it back to where it was!” Icy shouted, and the pegasi flew out and around, positioning themselves by the tilting edge. They pushed, and Twilight and Colgate let their magic give a little; the building shifted, and as it did, pegasi darted between walls and beams, readjusting things as they went. The process was achingly slow, and Twilight was beginning to sweat from the exertion; she could see Colgate doing the same, but, despite her panting and dripping, there was a hard determination in her face that belied her earlier passivity. The house slowly tilted back into position.

“Let it go,” Icy said from above. They did, and the house stood strong. After the excitement had died down and Icy had reprimanded Derpy for her accident, they resumed their work; the pile of unused wall was nearly depleted.

When everything was set, Icy spoke from within the enclosed second floor. “All right, the sun is gone, and we’re all tired. Let’s call it a night and come back here tomorrow, say, noon. Any objections?”

“Noon? That’s way too early! We’re exhausted,” came Rainbow’s unmistakable bluster.

“No offense, ma’am, but this house isn’t going to get rebuilt any time soon if we’re allowing ourselves to sleep in that late. Anypony with a reasonable objection?”

There were none, and the pegasi left the floor, Heart Throb and Medley helping Icy down.

Twilight said goodbye to Colgate, who nodded back at her, and reconvened with her friends; after saying goodbye to the others, they set off toward the library. Aloe and Lotus stayed behind, as well as the Cakes.

“Where the hay does he get off saying sleeping in isn’t a reasonable excuse?” Rainbow said angrily, once they were far enough away from the site. “It’s common knowledge that tired ponies don’t work as well as rested ones! I guess he doesn’t know that, though!”

“Calm down, Rainbow,” Applejack said, tired herself.

“Hey, hey, I’m calm. I’m just a little ticked off is all.”

“I for one am surprised at how shamelessly he disregarded all the help offered by the earth ponies in the group,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, it’s like he didn’t even notice us!” Pinkie said.

“Maybe we shouldn’t show up tomorrow,” Applejack said.

“Oh, I’m sure he’d complain about that too,” Rainbow said. “There’s just no pleasing him.”

“And he didn’t even thank us for working so hard today,” Rarity said.

“But he didn’t seem that unhappy with the work we were doing,” Fluttershy said quietly, looking down.

“Except for when Derpy almost ruined the whole thing. Nice save, by the way, Twilight,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, what happened there?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, Derpy was trying to put a support beam in place, but she slipped and the whole thing fell, and that was enough.” Rainbow laughed mirthlessly. “Did you hear Icy letting her have it?”

“Oh yeah, I did,” Twilight said, remembering his resonant voice belting out through the imperfect walls. She could only imagine how the poor gray pegasus felt.

“She deserved it.”

“Rainbow, how could you say that?” Rarity asked. “She made a mistake, sure, but I think Icy was completely too hard on her.”

“Yeah, he was way too mean,” Pinkie said. “I mean, ‘stupid pegasus,’ ‘useless add-on’? Really? She was just trying to help.”

“She flew away in tears,” Fluttershy said.

Twilight remembered seeing it, and hearing Icy’s harsh “good riddance” as she did so. She imagined Derpy had heard that too.

Before long, they were entering the library, where Spike was shelving a book.

“There you are. Work late?” Spike asked.

“You could say that,” Twilight said, flopping onto the carpet before the fireplace. “We got a good portion of the walls up today, and I get the feeling tomorrow we’ll have the entire outside of the house finished.”

“Already? Wow.”

“Unicorn magic is nothing to scoff at, dear,” Rarity said, and Spike’s face fell.

“Right. Well, um, I saved some dinner for you. It’s in the kitchen. Oh, and Bonbon came by earlier.”

“Oh, was it about the funeral?” Applejack asked.

“Yeah, that.” He looked at them all for a moment. “You didn’t tell me Lyra was dead.”

They all froze for a moment. “Uh… I’m sorry, Spike,” Twilight said. “I must have forgotten.”

“You were busy. Do I at least get to go with you?”

“I… really don’t know yet.” She looked at him and offered a weak smile. “I don’t know if you should.”

“Hm.” He turned back to the books. “Well, Bonbon doesn’t know about the actual service yet, but the visitation is tomorrow, from one to three, in the hospital’s funeral wing.”

“Okay. Thank you, Spike.”

“Yeah.” He turned to the stairs. “I think I’m gonna go to bed now; I’m beat.”

“Good night, Spike,” Twilight said, and he headed upstairs without looking back.

They ate in the kitchen, speaking sparsely; now that they were sitting somewhere comfortable, the fatigue from the work had a chance to catch up with them. After dinner, they went into the front room and settled down.

“I think Fluttershy and I should get the beds tonight,” Rainbow said, before anyone could ask.

“Go for it,” Twilight said, lying back down on the carpet.

“Oh, are you sure, Twilight?” Fluttershy asked.

“I’m sure, Fluttershy. Good night.”

“Night, Twilight,” Rainbow said, heading upstairs, Fluttershy shadowing her.

Rarity was once again on the couch, and Applejack and Pinkie were sprawled across the floor like throw rugs. The three were talking, but Twilight paid them no attention; her thoughts were stewing with Colgate.

She wasn’t sure why, but the blue unicorn stuck out in her mind. She seemed normal—a little boring, even—but Twilight felt drawn. Most ponies she met were happy to meet someone new and make friends, or at least try, but Colgate did not. “That’s what it is,” she thought dimly, sleep beginning to overtake her. “She doesn't act like she wants to be friends; that’s why I’m so interested. You always want something more if it’s withheld.”

Before she could explore her thoughts anymore, she had fallen asleep to a night of restless dreams that she would not remember in the morning.

On Windmill Road

Chapter Fifteen

On Windmill Road

Twilight woke up first, her eyes tired and her back a little stiff. Her mind was muddy, and she blinked as she looked around the room. The sun was already up, casting a bright circle on the carpet through the window. She slowly approached the window and looked outside when her eyes had adjusted; it was about eleven. She closed her eyes for a long time, relishing the moment of almost-sleep and wishing she could keep them closed for a few more hours.

She forced herself more alert with a small groan and nudged Pinkie and Applejack, then Rarity, awake. While they collected themselves, she went upstairs and knocked on her bedroom door, waking a grouchy Rainbow and an almost inaudible Fluttershy.

When she went back down, the others were more awake, Applejack in the kitchen helping Spike with breakfast.

“Oh, Twilight, I forgot to show you all last night, but I finished our outfits for the visitation and funeral,” Rarity said sleepily.

“Oh Celestia, that’s right! The visitation! Oh, when is it again?”

“One to three, darling.”

“It’s in the hospital, in one of the wings at the back,” Fluttershy said, coming down the stairs.

“Right. Now I remember,” Twilight said.

“I don’t suppose you or Rainbow saw the outfits I put together, did you?” Rarity asked.

“I did,” Fluttershy said.

“What did you think? I’m afraid I didn’t have much fabric to work with, so they couldn’t be quite as elegant as I wanted, but…”

“Oh, Rarity, I thought they were beautiful.”

Pinkie perked her ears up at the word. “Beautiful! I love beautiful things! I wanna see! I wanna see!” She shot to her hooves and ran up the stairs, almost knocking over Rainbow in her haste.

They followed her, and Rarity went into the corner where she had hung her dresses, magically lifting them out into the center of the room for them to see. Twilight knew how few materials Rarity had at her disposal, and was all the more impressed at the row of outfits she had produced. They were all long-skirted, straight and neatly pressed dresses, sleeveless and austere. Each one was a dark and muted imitation of their own coat colors, but otherwise identical, and came with thin, silver scarves.

“Oh, Rarity, these are amazing,” Twilight said.

“Ah gotta agree with Twilight. You made these out of those measly fabrics you brought back?” Applejack asked.

“Every one,” Rarity said proudly.

Rainbow made a slight gagging noise. “They’re so… boring.”

“Rainbow, it’s not supposed to be an exciting time,” Twilight said. “These are supposed to be somber clothes, meant to signify our respect for the dead and bereaved.”

“So how are we gonna do this?” Applejack asked. “The visitation’s at one, an’ we start construction at noon. It’ll take us a good twenty minutes to get there both ways; it seems to me we might as well just show up late to the construction.”

“I’m completely okay with that,” Rainbow said.

“Oh, but what about Icy? He’s not going to be happy with us,” Fluttershy said.

“Icy can go suck, uh, eggs.”

“Why would somepony want to suck eggs?” Pinkie cried, bouncing over and looking closely at her own dress. “Especially when they can suck some lollipops instead! Eggs aren’t sweet at all! They’re kind of boring, really.”

“Aaaaaall right, Pinkie, Ah’m not gonna ask how ya know that,” Applejack said.

“What about Big Macintosh and the girls?” Twilight asked.

“Big Mac’ll be there. Ah ain’t so sure ‘bout the fillies.”

“We should have breakfast first,” Rarity said, “and then we can get ready to go.”

They went downstairs and ate a light breakfast; Spike had woken up only a little bit before Twilight, and hadn’t had much time to prepare. He asked guardedly about the visitation, and Twilight, after an uncomfortably silent minute of deliberation in which he refused to break eye contact with her, told him to stay behind to look after the library. He only looked down into his porridge and mumbled assent.

After breakfast, they still had twenty minutes before having to leave, so they took a quick trip to the river. They were filthy and uncomfortable from the construction the day before, the dust and dirt dried into their coats with sleep; plunging into the cool waters was exactly what Twilight needed to refresh her body and wake her up the rest of the way.

When they got back, they went immediately upstairs to put on their dresses. For Twilight and Rarity, it was a simple moment of magic, but for the others, it was not so easy, and they had to spend the next fifteen minutes helping push hooves through sleeves and fastening clasps.

“These are wonderful, Rarity,” Fluttershy said, admiring her own shadowy, butter-yellow dress.

“Thank you, darling. It took some doing, and I used up most of what I managed to save from the… the boutique. But I did it, and I could not be happier with the results.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to get to the hospital? It’s about twelve-thirty now,” Rainbow said, looking out the window.

“It should only take us twenty minutes to walk there,” Rarity said. “We should go now.”

They exited the library, Twilight giving Spike a shout of goodbye.

“Um, am I the only one who hasn’t ever been to a visitation?” Rainbow asked.

“Oh, I haven’t either,” Fluttershy said.

“It’s really quite simple, darlings,” Rarity said. “We just go in, greet Bonbon, and take our seats. We can talk with the others that come by, but, of course, we need to stay quiet, out of respect. Once everypony’s there, the funeral director tells us what’s going to happen, then we stay a little longer, and go.”

“It’s just that easy,” Applejack said.

“Oh, okay then,” Fluttershy said. “I hope Bonbon is okay. Do you think she’ll be okay today, Pinkie?”

Pinkie chuckled. “Yeah, duh! She’s Bonbon; I mean, her name is candy, so how can she not be okay?”

“Just remember to show some support, Pinkie,” Rarity said, and Pinkie frowned.

“I can be supportive, Rarity. ‘Supportive’ is practically my middle name.”

“I’m just saying… you know, tone down your excitement.”

She giggled. “No problem!” Then, sobering, she cleared her throat. “I mean, no problem,” she said in a darker, calmer voice.

Rarity rolled her eyes.

They crested a hill and saw the hospital in the distance. It was only a few miles from the library, and separated from them by a long expanse of empty, grassy field. Wildflowers grew and the air was full of tiny, springtime insects, and the river was a shining ribbon to the side, hemming them in against the Everfree Forest. Where it bent sharply north, the hospital sat on a long, smooth egg of land, its back end only a small distance away from the water.

The field around it was beautiful, but the sight of the hospital building itself gave them pause. From their distance, it looked like a shadow had fallen on its face, but as they got closer, the shadow deepened into a hole. The front end had fallen away partially, leaving a gaping mouth of tile and defunct electric lights. The wreckage had been cleared away, and the smooth-edged hole seemed more a deliberate variation in its architecture than the result of the earthquake; it was cordoned off with yellow tape, and a series of large signs was set up in the roundabout before it pointing to a small, glass door on the side. They could make out a carriage parked there, and the thin, black hairs of electric wiring that stretched on into the distance, to fall back to earth in gentle swoops where they had been snapped by the pulling tension of the world.

The scene, so grand and so foreign, silenced them, and so they remained until they entered. A help desk had been angled toward the smaller door, and an overworked receptionist pointed them to the back of the hospital, to the small funerary wing. The corridors were white and constricting, and Twilight felt the beginnings of unease as she traversed them; they were silent, and in the depths of the building, where no sunlight could reach them, they had to rely on the incongruous, waving light of torches to guide them.

They were sweating when they reached the funeral area, a softly lit, softly carpeted corridor with one attached room to the side and a small office at the end. A line of small, narrow-arched windows set deep in the walls let in sharp bands of light, cutting the dark and dust stringently. The walls were hung with portraits of distinguished ponies, each wearing tuxedos or fancy dresses, a small tag at the frames’ bottoms with their names: past and present funeral directors, or eminent ponies who had used their services. There was a tiny table set up on the opposite wall adorned with a modest, silver tray of small, pastel cookies and a sparkling decanter of water, paired with a stack of tiny disposable cups.

“Oooooh, cookies!” Pinkie squealed, running over to the table and shoveling the sweets into her mouth.

“Pinkie!” Rarity hissed, and the pink pony looked back at her guiltily; a funeral directress was looking through her open office door at the scene.

Pinkie swallowed and smiled guiltily before returning to the group.

“This is a place of respect, and quiet,” Rarity said, leveling Pinkie with a stern gaze.

The funeral directress, a sea-blue unicorn with a dark fuchsia and sky blue-streaked mane, stepped over to them from her office. “Are you here for Lyra?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Twilight said evenly.

The directress nodded and indicated the door to their left. They went in and looked around. They were alone inside a small chapel, ten rows of pews deep and two columns wide. Unlike the rest of the hospital, the walls were brick and inset with stained glass windows, depicting peaceful, colorful scenes of ponies in repose or staring comfortingly down on the room. A pipe organ, keys shrouded by a thick, dusty tarp, guarded the back of the room, and a thick, perfumed smell hung in the air like smoke, floral and citrusy and cloying enough to make their noses itch.

At the chapel’s front was the casket, propped on a white linen-covered table and open at the top to show Lyra’s peaceful face. On the center of the casket, there was a simple quintet of white carnations arranged on a tangled, looping nest of wild ivy. In the chapel’s subdued light, the ivy gave the carnations a very slight green cast, almost mirroring Lyra’s color. Twilight wondered whether it was planned.

They formed a line and walked past her, their faces, even Pinkie’s, grave. Rainbow brought up the rear, and looked a bit longer at Lyra; her mint-green fur had been brushed, her horn had been filed and polished, her eyes had been closed, and her face had been readjusted to reflect the serenity of death, but there was something about her that made Rainbow recoil slightly. She looked good, but at the same time, she didn’t look right; she looked deflated, lessened, like her insides had been squished out. She didn’t know what she had expected, but, standing over the casket, she knew it wasn’t this: the simple, un-pompous corpse with hooves crossed over her chest, not bedecked with flowers or garlands, but simply and heavily there. A depression in a soft blanket, a focal point in a chapel, a part of someone else’s life that had been suddenly and inextricably removed. Gone, but not from her.

Rainbow looked closer, holding her breath against the almost acidic perfume, strong and physical on Lyra’s body; she could make out a set of incongruities in the fur on her neck: scars. She inhaled in sudden surprise; they had been stitched expertly and subtly, but were still huge and horrible, lines right on her throat. Rainbow backed away quickly and joined her friends, trying not to imagine what must have caused them.

“This place is beautiful,” Twilight said, and Rarity nodded.

“It’s so peaceful,” Fluttershy said.

“Definitely… quiet,” Applejack said. “We should probably get outta here, though. Might not be in the best taste to be here before Bonbon is.”

“Right,” Rarity said, leading them back out the door.

Rainbow sneaked another look at Lyra as she passed; the scars on her neck now stood out easily to her, and Rainbow cringed, hating herself for the morbid fascination she found in them.

They went out the door into the main hall just in time to see Bonbon enter through the hospital door. She looked at them and nodded a greeting; they went to her.

“Oh, Bonbon, darling, it’s good to see you,” Rarity said kindly.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” she said. “Sorry I couldn’t reach you directly.”

“How you holdin’ up, sugarcube?” Applejack asked quietly.

Bonbon smiled humorlessly. “I’ll live.”

Pinkie walked up to her and gave her a hug, which she loosely returned, after which she moved aside for the funeral directress.

“Are you Bonbon?” she asked.

“I am.”

She indicated the chapel, and Bonbon went in, the six friends following reverently behind. They waited at the door frame while she examined Lyra, staring long and hard, and even leaning down to touch her fur with her muzzle. They all expected Bonbon to cry, but she didn’t; she looked around the chapel in the same manner that they had, her tired-looking eyes dry and disinterested. With a small hum of thought to herself, she went back out into the hall to speak with the funeral directress, leaving the chapel, again, empty.

“Let’s just sit down, I suppose,” Rainbow said, picking a spot in the front row.

“That’s a lovely flower arrangement,” Rarity said idly; she actually didn’t care for it at all, but she cared for the tense silence even less.

“Yes, it is,” Twilight said. “I wonder who made it.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Rainbow said solemnly; her tone made Twilight turn in surprise. “Attend a funeral, I mean.”

“This isn’t the funeral, Rainbow,” Twilight said. “This is just the visitation.”

“No, I know that. It’s just, I never thought I’d be somewhere like this.”

Twilight didn’t look away, and she spoke more.

“I always told myself I would avoid sad things like this, but here I am.”

“Hey girls,” a familiar voice said from the threshold. Colgate stepped in, looked over Lyra cursorily, swept the chapel with one long, impersonal gaze, and took a seat in the row next to Twilight’s. “Bonbon sure is taking it well.”

“That’s Bonbon for you,” Pinkie said, smiling, her unchecked voice echoing around the chapel with an almost sacrilegious ferocity.

Rarity scowled at her, but said nothing.

“Yeah, she’s a trooper, that’s for sure. Though I have to wonder,” her voice dropped, “she seems a little too okay. You know?”

“I noticed the same exact thing,” Rarity said.

“I think she’s hiding from her feelings,” Fluttershy said.

“An’ every time we ask her how she’s doin’, all she says is ‘Ah’ll be fine’,” Applejack said.

“She never says anything else,” Twilight said.

Colgate nodded. “She wasn’t friends with a lot of ponies here, besides Lyra. Has no one to turn to.”

“What about Cheerilee?” Fluttershy asked.

Colgate shook her head. “They’re acquaintances, but they’re not close like she and Lyra. No, I don’t think Bonbon has anyone to comfort her, not really.”

“That’s why she’s puttin’ on a tough front,” Applejack said.

“She thinks if she can convince herself that she’s okay, she really will be,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, most likely. I’ve seen ponies do that before,” Colgate said. “The good doctor, for instance.”

“Doctor Whooves? Really? But he seems so strong, and smart,” Rarity said.

“Intelligence has nothing to do with it, or so I’ve learned. But I’m talking myself into a place I really shouldn’t be. Did you go down to the construction site yet?”

“No, we haven’t,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Icy’s probably really mad,” Fluttershy said.

“Icy can bite my flank,” Colgate said sharply. She took a moment to compose herself, looking away. “Sorry. Really, sorry.”

“It’s okay, Colgate,” Twilight said gently, worriedly. “It’s not a big deal.”

Colgate took a deep breath. “You all know what he did to Derpy, right?”

“He made her cry,” Fluttershy said quietly.

“Made her fly back home, crying all the way. She’s quite sensitive, you know, and Icy said all the wrong things to her yesterday. I’d be surprised if she’s back today.”

“She really shouldn’t come back,” Pinkie said. “A big meanie like him doesn’t deserve her help.”

“I completely agree,” Rarity said.

“Howdy, Big Mac,” Applejack said; they all looked up to see the red stallion entering the room.

“Where are the girls?” Twilight asked.

“This ain’t the place for ‘em, Ah reckon,” he said, “so Ah left ‘em with Granny Smith.”

“Good thinking,” Colgate said. “We don’t want to have them around for this. Celestia knows they were enough trouble yesterday.”

“Trouble?” Rarity repeated, her eyes narrowed a little.

“I suppose you didn’t see it, but they were digging around in the rubble, running around between the walls, and generally being, well, kids. I can’t believe Icy didn’t blow a gasket about them.”

“He must be more patient with kids,” Pinkie said.

“Well, he was certainly something.”

At this, two more ponies came in, followed by Bonbon, who took her place by the head of the casket. The talking died for a moment, but came back when all was still. The ponies mingled politely, exchanging condolences and pleasantries, while Bonbon watched. As the hour wore on to one-thirty, the chapel filled up, the breathy susurrus of hushed conversation filling the air and rising to the rafters.

Eventually, the funeral directress they had seen outside came in with two others. “Hello, everypony,” she said. “I’m Orchid Dew, this is Chilly Puddle, and this is Clockwork.” She indicated the earth pony, a gray-blue coated, periwinkle-maned mare to her left and the terracotta-coated, eggshell-maned unicorn to her right. “Just a little bit about ourselves first. We’ve been funeral directors for ten years now, except Clockwork, who’s only been one for eight. In light of the recent… circumstances, I guess, we’ve been working extra hard to provide ponies with excellent care and unforgettable services. Again, we’re sorry for the short notice on this visitation, and for the service, which we just found will be held tomorrow, at two o’ clock, in Ponyville cemetery.”

“I’d just like to say,” Chilly Puddle said, “that we’ve been working to provide service to many ponies at the same time, and we scarcely have time to plan our services before somepony else comes along.”

“We have to do these funerals as quick as we can,” Clockwork said. “We would be going more slowly, but the earthquake damaged our storage areas, and we lost almost all of our embalming fluid. There’s… no pretty way to say this. We need to have services for these ponies before they start to decompose.”

“That’s why there’s so much perfume,” Chilly Puddle said.

“Yes, indeed,” Orchid Dew said, nodding reverently. “So, tomorrow, we all meet here first, at two, and go directly to the cemetery. It’s a secular service, so we won’t be going to church first, like you might have at other funerals. It should take maybe an hour, forty-five minutes, something like that.”

“We have the spot in the cemetery already picked out, and we have everypony we need to conduct the service,” Clockwork said.

“There will be a carriage for Lyra, and for Bonbon, but no one else, so be sure to secure your own transportation,” Chilly Puddle said.

“For those of you who’ve never been to a funeral before,” Orchid Dew said, “it’s really simple. A lector will be there to say a few words over Lyra’s casket, and then Bonbon will give her eulogy, then leave the podium open for anyone else who has anything to say. Then we bury her, have a moment of silence, and have a reception afterwards.”

“We reserved a reception room downstairs, here,” Clockwork said.

“Are there any questions?” Orchid Dew asked.

There were none, and so the directresses left them to their socializing; Bonbon joined them outside the chapel.

“What time is it?” Colgate asked, looking around for a clock; there was none present.

“We should probably get goin’, whatever time it is,” Applejack said.

Colgate stood up. “I suppose so.”

They each followed suit and approached Bonbon, outside, taking their turns saying goodbye and expressing their condolences. Bonbon took their words with the same isolated aloofness as ever, and they left.

When they made it out of the hospital, Rainbow looked up at the sun. “Oh, ponyfeathers. Two-thirty.”

“Am I the only one who’s considering not showing up at all?” Colgate asked.

“No,” Rarity said, “you’re not alone.”

“We can’t abandon them,” Twilight said sternly. “We made a promise to help out, and we should see it through.”

“I didn’t make any promises,” Rainbow said. “None of us did.”

“Yeah, we didn’t,” Pinkie said.

“Well, it’s still the right thing to do,” Twilight said.

“That doesn’t mean I want to do it,” Colgate said.

The walk to Doctor Whooves’ house took them thirty minutes, but even before they arrived at the site, they could see, and hear, that all was not well. The first thing they recognized was Icy’s pugilistic voice, bellowing, and a smaller, angry voice shouting in response. There were other voices mixed in, all of them angry and all of them tangled up with one another to form an uproar that made them reluctant to join.

They approached hesitantly, not at all eager to get involved; the only ponies who weren’t participating in the din were Aloe and Lotus, who held their own hushed counsel together, away from the angry group, centered around Icy. Twilight approached the twins slowly, allowing them time to notice her and finish their private conversation.

When she was close, she addressed them. “What’s going on here?”

Aloe was the first to answer. “Oh, Twilight, awful news. Doctor Whooves has left us.”

“Left?” Applejack repeated.

“There was a note on his doorstep. He has left Ponyville.”

“The coward,” Lotus said angrily.

“Wait, so you’re telling me that the guy who owns the house we’re trying to rebuild went and ran away?” Rainbow said.

Aloe nodded.

“What the hell?” Rainbow looked first at them, then at Twilight. “So, what, we’re doing this for nothing now?”

“I… guess so,” Twilight said. “Why are you looking at me?”

“How? There’s nowhere for him to go,” Rarity said.

“We have no idea,” Aloe said, shaking her head.

“We might as well just tear this whole thing down,” Lotus spat.

“Did he say why he left?” Twilight asked.

“All the note said was ‘I’m sorry, but I need to leave.’ No explanation whatsoever,” Aloe said.

They fell silent and glared at Icy, who was approaching from behind. “Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt you all,” he said in a mock-apologetic tone. “Please, don’t let me get in the way. This undertaking can wait for you all.”

“What do you want?” Rainbow asked testily.

“Oh, you’re one to be in a bad mood!” he snapped. “Where the hell were you all? I was here, and all these other ponies were here, but where were half my unicorns? The whole project barely got started today thanks to your truancy.” He eyed them all angrily.

“What does it matter? Whooves is gone,” Rainbow said frankly.

“Oh, Whooves is gone, is he? Oh, boo-hoo, guess we’re all just wasting our time then. You heard the mare, everypony, Whooves is gone, so let’s all go home and relax with a nice book.”

“She has a point, you know,” Sea Swirl said.

“Just because the homeowner is not present does not mean we can just stop building halfway through.”

“Yes it does,” Colgate said mildly.

He looked at her impatiently. “Are you serious? What do you propose, we just leave this beginning of a house unfinished? You don’t know where he’s gone; he could be back tomorrow.”

“He won’t be back,” Lotus said evenly.

“And how do you know?”

“This is not the first time he has run away. Knowing him, he won’t be returning anytime soon,” Aloe said.

“We can’t be sure of that.”

“We can,” Lotus said, and Aloe nodded behind her, fixing Icy with a venomous stare; it surprised Twilight to see such a horrible look come from the ordinarily kind pony.

Icy shifted his weight awkwardly, feeling the aggression from all sides; his expression was defiant, his eyes slivers, his mouth pressed into a contrary grimace. “Well, I am the project director, and the only pony with a lick of experience here, and I say we stay and finish the task.”

“You can’t order us around!” Rainbow shouted, and he waved her off; his eyes were locked on Lotus’, and hers his. They approached each other slowly, and the others backed up.

“I say we stay and fulfill our commitment,” he said slowly.

“It is useless. You are now wasting everypony’s time,” she returned.

“If anything, they’re wasting my time. I was not the one who showed up two hours late.”

“You cannot order us around like this, like slaves.”

“You agreed to put me in charge.”

“We agreed to work together,” Lotus said, her voice intensifying.

“That’s all well and good, but without me, all the togetherness in Equestria wouldn’t help you build this house.”

“Which is now a hopeless cause.”

“For such a good friend, you have pitiably little faith that Doctor Whooves will return.”

Lotus tensed, and her voice grew more intense still. “He does not have a place in this argument.”

“It’s his house.”

“But not him.”

“You’re just upset that he abandoned you,” Icy said, smirking; the crowd watched, its breath held collectively. “Some friend he is, right? Leaving you two here all alone to clean up his mess.”

“Leave him out of this,” Lotus growled. “Please.”

“Are you upset?”

“Very.”

“Then you know how I feel.”

“My reasons are less selfish.”

“Selfish? You want to call it quits out of disillusionment! You should be upset at him, not me.”

“I said leave him out of this.”

“Or what? I’m an eminent architect. You’re just a servant.”

He smiled wide, and in that moment, it was as though they could hear the snap inside Lotus. In a single, fast instant, her body was alive and electric with movement, and she closed the distance—five or six feet—between herself and Icy in the space of a second. Her hooves seemed to glide across the ground, one raised in a sharp and perilous angle that curved swiftly aside to strike him directly and firmly across the face with a dull, crowd-silencing thock.

He stepped back, eyes and mouth wide in shock, and held a hoof to his face. “You… you nag!”

Lotus only looked at him, her breathing heavy, and stepped back. Her face had lost its anger, and in its place, she looked embarrassed and afraid. Aloe came to her side and draped a hoof over her back, whispering in her ear.

“I apologize… I… do not know what came over me,” she said weakly, backing out of the circle of ponies that had formed around them. They gave her a wide berth, and Icy advanced, expression livid.

“You have no right to treat me this way! No right! You all saw it! Completely unwarranted!”

Lotus only backed away faster, looking down and mumbling apologies as she went. He tried to go after her, but Aloe looked back at him, and he stopped, still angry.

“You come back here and apologize this instant! I’ll have your job! I know ponies—you’ll see! You can’t treat me this way!”

They didn’t turn back, and instead ran, Aloe after Lotus, down Windmill Road and out of sight.

Icy stood, erect and incensed, until they were gone from view, and then turned on the crowd. “Fine,” he said bitterly. “Fine! If everyone’s so determined to give up, I suppose I have no choice but to let you.” He turned and walked away, hesitatingly at first, as if waiting for someone to stop him; when no one did, he moved faster, until he, too, was out of sight, muttering.

Lemon Hearts broke the silence. “So, I guess we’re done for the day?”

There were general murmurs of approval at this, and the group slowly dispersed. Twilight looked over at Colgate, who stood nearby, her face frozen in distress.

“Are you okay?” Twilight asked.

She snapped her eyes to her, quick and intense, and Twilight almost backed away at the expression that lingered—for just an instant—in them. Hard, cold, and full of anger: monster’s eyes. They dulled back. “I don’t like conflict like that.”

“But are—”

“Fine.” She closed her eyes, and her voice softened. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just concerned. But I’ll be okay.” She gave Twilight a smile, and Twilight returned it; this time, it was she who felt insincere.

The Cakes were already gone, and Big Macintosh joined them as they headed back south.

“That… was… awesome!” Rainbow exclaimed.

“I never knew Lotus could do such a thing,” Fluttershy said.

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry for him.”

“Maybe a little. But he was being really mean.”

“Can you believe how fast she moved?” Pinkie cried. “I mean, one minute she was over there, and then she was like ‘zoom!’ and then she had him! I’ve never seen any pony move that fast, not even Rainbow Dash!”

“You know, Pinks, normally I’d disagree, but that was pretty intense,” Rainbow said.

“Have you ever seen her move like that?” Twilight asked.

“Never, not once,” Rarity said. “She’s always moved at a very normal speed. And she’s never hit someone before.”

“There was some strength in that hit, too,” Applejack said. “Not what Ah’d’ve expected from her.”

“What do you think, Big Mac?” Rainbow asked.

He shrugged his large shoulders. “Ah reckon he got what he needed.”

They walked back to the library, talking over the incident; by their arrival, they had agreed that it was a very strange occurrence, but, after so much else, nothing serious.

“So now that we got the day off, what’re we gonna do?” Applejack asked.

“We should figure out what we need to bring with us to Canterlot,” Twilight said.

“Oh, right. We’re leavin’.”

“Yes. I’d like to leave by tomorrow, or the morning after at the latest. Any objections?”

They all shook their heads.

“Spike! Where are you?”

“Coming!” he called from upstairs; his voice was soon followed by the sound of his descending footfalls.

“Spike, I need you to help us pack.”

“Pack? Wh—but I thought you had more time here!”

“Don’t worry, Spike, we’re not leaving today.”

He looked at her sullenly.

“We’re leaving tomorrow.”

There was a moment while he digested her words unhappily, and she thought he might cry, or object, but he perked up. “Guess we better get busy, then!”

“That’s the spirit! Take a scroll and write down everything I say.”

He got a scroll and quill and stood, poised for Twilight’s list of materials. While she listed them off to him, the others thought similarly. What would they need? For Fluttershy and Rarity, the question was easy; they had lost everything already, and had nothing to bring. For the others, it was more of a challenge. Money, supplies, clothes, food: all things to consider, but difficult, with no concept of how long they would be gone. Would they be able to find things in the other towns? How much time would they spend in each one? Twilight appeared to consider these things as well, taking nearly an hour to finish her list, after which she went over it with Spike.

Rainbow watched them look over his scroll with bored eyes. They both appeared to be relishing the experience, and she didn’t have the heart to interrupt it. It was their last list, and, though it was excruciating for her, she could tell they were relishing the experience.

“What are you bringing, Rainbow?” Rarity asked.

“I don’t think I’ll need much of anything,” she said; as she said it, a twinge of doubt went through her mind. “Really? Nothing?” “I can always find clouds to sleep on, and I don’t have anything else that I really need.”

“Well, that’ll be helpful, I’m sure. Me, I need to figure out what to do with Opalescence, and… that’s about it, actually. Sweetie Belle will be fine on the farm, I’m sure.” She sighed. “I still can’t believe it’s gone.”

“Oh, Rarity, it’ll be okay,” Fluttershy said.

“I know, Fluttershy. It’s just weird. To think that when we return, I won’t have a boutique to go to anymore.”

“Oh, but surely they’ll rebuild it by the time we get back.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. This isn’t a simple case of reassembling all the pieces, like Doctor Whooves’ house.”

“Coward,” Rainbow murmured.

“My boutique is actually gone. Fallen off the face of Equestria.” She sighed weakly and sat down, and Fluttershy put a comforting hoof on her back. They shared a smile, and like that, the thought had passed.

“So what’re we gonna do after we’re done packin’?” Applejack asked.

“We’re going to get some lunch, that’s what,” Rainbow said.

“Oh, that sounds divine,” Rarity said. She looked over her fur and tail, disgust mounting on her face. “And we really should go down to the river again. The perfume from that chapel is stuck to my fur.”

They talked quietly, and when Twilight finished reviewing her list, they all went out to lunch; Spike joined them, to Rarity’s surprise and discomfort, but there was no trouble. Afterwards, Rarity convinced them all to take a detour to the river, to bathe again. When they returned home, the sun was on its way down, and Twilight decided to close the day with a letter to the princess.

Dear Princess Celestia,

You’ll be happy to hear that we have managed to return Ponyville mostly to normal, though there is still a lot that needs to be done. One of our friends died in the events of that night, and we’re attending her funeral tomorrow. Additionally, we’ve been helping some of the citizens rebuild their homes and businesses, but there will be much to do after we leave; I expect Ponyville won’t return entirely to normal in a very long time, unfortunately.

I am well; my friends managed to cure me before I succumbed to the infection, though it was a close call. We will be on our way to Canterlot either tomorrow or the day after. I want to discuss some things with you, things I don’t feel safe putting in this letter.

Until then,
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle

She reread her letter, and, satisfied, rolled it up and enveloped it in her newly-learned spell, sending it to Celestia. It curled and blackened, became brittle, and sloughed off into the air around it, little squares and triangles of ash dissolving amidst the magenta aura that seemed to seep into it. It was gone, and the magic faded; she felt no fatigue, and smiled. A very easy spell, and almost as elegant as Spike’s method. Spike watched with interest and, Twilight thought, a little horror. He didn’t comment.

She curled up on the couch and watched the empty room. The others had gone either to her room, the kitchen, or, in Pinkie’s case, back out the door. Applejack plodded down the stairs, and they met eyes; Applejack gave her a smile, and she returned it easily, uncertainly.

“Ah was just visitin’ with Opalescence,” she said.

“I didn’t know you liked cats.”

“Ah don’t usually. But, tonight, Ah guess Ah do.”

Twilight understood. It was the night before departure; of course everyone was going to be a little off. “Uh, I was thinking about our travel situation,” she said, looking away self-consciously at breaking the silence with such banality. “Since we have an airship, we don’t need to worry much about packing too lightly.”

“That sounds good to me. What are we bringin’, anyway?”

“Well, food and water of course, as well as sleeping bags and tools to repair the ship, in case it gets damaged.”

“What else?”

“Maps, first-aid, books and writing tools. That’s all I could think of, in general.”

“Why would we need books?”

“I’m bringing the Encyclopedia of Equestria with me,” Twilight said defensively.

Applejack raised an eyebrow.

“It’s only six volumes. Plus, I’m bringing a book of basic survival spells and one on airship maintenance.”

“Those last two Ah understand, but really, Twilight? An encyclopedia?”

“We don’t know what we’ll be facing out there, Applejack.”

She rolled her eyes at the unicorn. “What ‘bout money?”

“Oh, that too. I’m bringing some of my bits, and Rainbow’s bringing all of hers. That only gives us about a hundred and fifty, though.”

“That’s it? Twi, that’s not gonna be near enough.”

“I know,” Twilight said unhappily.

“Well, what ‘bout Rarity? She’s richer’n all of us.”

“She kept all her bits in the boutique.”

“Oh.” There was a moment of silence, and Applejack coughed. “What ‘bout Celestia? Can’t you ask her for some?”

Twilight started. “Ask the princess for money? I couldn’t!”

“Twilight, she probably has thousands of bits that she ain’t usin’. Why not ask her?”

“I can’t ask my princess and mentor for that, Applejack.”

“Fine. Ah’ll ask her.”

“No! I mean, Applejack, shouldn’t we think this through?”

“Twi, how long’re we gonna be travelin’?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think ‘bout it. Do yer calculations or whatever you do, an’ tell me how long you think we’ll be.”

Twilight thought for some time. “Half a year, maybe.”

“Yeah, that’s a long time. Unless you got an idea on how to stretch a hundred an’ fifty bits to half a year, Ah think Celestia’s our best option.”

“It just doesn’t feel right.”

“It feels fine to me,” Applejack said. “Ah ain’t afraid.”

“I know,” Twilight said ruefully.

“She’s yer teacher an’ friend, Twilight. You can ask her fer a little financial assistance every now an’ again.”

“What about you?”

“Ah don’t got any money of my own hardly. We pool it fer things like maintenance an’ supplies, water, what little electricity we have—stuff like that. An’ no, Ah can’t take money out of the farm budget.”

“Oh, no, I would never suggest that. They need it just as badly as us,” Twilight said. She frowned in thought. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but how much do you make, anyway? I’ve always wondered.”

“Yer askin’ the wrong mare, Twi. Big Mac handles all our finances. All Ah know is we’re gettin’ by.”

“Do you think you’ll survive this?”

Applejack sighed. “Oh, Celestia, you have no idea how much that question’s been worryin’ me. Ah sorely hope so.”

“I’m sure the apples will all survive.”

“Yeah, but that ain’t much of an issue. The thing that really has me worried is—”

“Rarity being so obsessive about these dresses!” Rainbow shouted, coming down the stairs in a flurry of color and noise.

Applejack and Twilight abruptly stopped speaking to look at her.

“Applejack, don’t you think Rarity’s being too uptight about our dresses? I mean, they hardly got worn at all today, and she wants to spend all night working on them again!”

“Rainbow, we were kinda in the middle of somethin’ here,” Applejack said testily.

“Yeah, yeah. Twilight, what do you think?”

“Just leave Rarity be, Rainbow,” Twilight said.

“She’s got poor Fluttershy up there helping her out.”

“Fluttershy likes to help Rarity,” Applejack said.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… so… boring!”

“Boring? That’s no good!” Pinkie shrieked as she bounced into Twilight’s line of sight. She hadn’t heard her enter, but now, chest heaving on the carpet, she was covered in flour and dough.

“Pinkie, don’t you think Rarity’s being unreasonable?” Rainbow asked, desperate for some support on her complaint.

“I dunno Dashie, is she?”

“Absolutely!”

“Then yeah, she is being unreasonable! That Rarity and her unreasoning unreasonableness! Oh, she’s just so… unreasonable! Why’s she unreasonable?”

“She’s insisting she redo all our dresses for tomorrow, and she’s keeping the whole room up there cluttered with her supplies! She said she’ll be at least three more hours, and I’m already starting to get tired.”

“You’re tired, Dashie? I’m not!”

“Yer never tired, Pinkie,” Applejack said.

“How can I be when tomorrow’s almost here?”

“What’s so great ‘bout tomorrow?”

“Oh, nothing! See you guys later!” She trotted downstairs to the basement.

“Is… is she sleepin’ down there?”

“I guess,” Twilight said, giving a bored shrug that Applejack mirrored. “Now that you mention it, I’m getting pretty tired too. I’m sure Rarity won’t mind if I take the couch tonight.”

“Didn’t you hear me? She’s gonna be up in your room until midnight working on our dresses,” Rainbow said.

“Just leave her, Rainbow,” Applejack said.

“I’d like to, but I want to have a place to sleep.”

“You’ve been fine out here,” Twilight said.

“Twilight, you have no idea how comfortable your bed is after you’ve been sleeping on top of a bookshelf for the past week. I can’t go back to that.”

“We’ve only spent three nights here.”

“And it’s been enough. My wings cramp up when I sleep like that.”

“I’m sorry, Rainbow, but I don’t know what to tell you. Ooh,” Twilight felt a twinge in her skull, at the base of her horn: a letter was coming. A moment later, her horn lit up and a scroll materialized before her. She read it quickly and let it drop onto the floor.

“What did it say?” Applejack asked.

“Not a whole lot. She said she wants to speak with us too, and that she’s happy that everything is okay here.”

“That’s it?” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“That’s not much of a reply.”

“She’s busy. You heard what she said; she has to keep track of Discord, and try to keep Equestria under control, and try to keep relations with the neighboring countries. That’s a lot of work for one princess,” Twilight said.

“What d’ya think Discord’s up to right now, anyway?” Applejack thought aloud.

“Regrouping, probably,” Rainbow said.

“Do ya think so?”

“Kind of. I dunno, I think we got him pretty good in Canterlot. He probably won’t be back for a while.”

They whiled away the rest of their waking time speaking about Discord, speculating what he might be doing, where he might have gone, and what they were going to do about him if—more likely when—they ran into him again. Sleep came late.

The Big Goodbye

Chapter Sixteen

The Big Goodbye

Aloe knocked on the library’s door at noon exactly, and Rainbow answered. “Oh, hey you two,” she said sleepily, hastily swallowing the admonition she had ready for waking her.

“We won’t take up much of your time,” Lotus said, and Rainbow nodded.

She turned back and called for the others to wake up, and in a few minutes, the entire group was assembled at the door, looking out at the spa twins curiously.

“We wish to say goodbye,” Aloe said.

“You’re leaving already?” Rarity asked.

“Yes. We have set our affairs in order here, and are ready to leave. All that remains is saying goodbye to our friends,” Lotus said, throwing off a warm smile.

“Are you leaving right now?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yes. As soon as we have left this doorway, we will be on our way out of Ponyville.”

“Where are you going?” Pinkie asked.

“We still do not wish to say,” Aloe said.

They were silent for a moment, looking at the peculiar twins, unsure of what to say. “Well, good luck to y’all,” Applejack finally said.

“Thank you, Applejack,” Lotus said.

“We would like to wish you all good luck as well,” Aloe said. They both nodded. “You travel a difficult road.”

“We know,” Twilight said, “and thank you.”

There was another awkward silence, and the twins made to turn around.

“Wait,” Rainbow said, and they gave her their attention. “I have to ask. Lotus… yesterday. What happened?”

Lotus frowned a little. “I’m afraid I do not know what you want of me.”

“At Doctor Whooves’ house, when you decked Icy! That was awesome, by the way. But how did you do it so fast? I can’t even move that fast.”

Lotus’ face turned serious and contrite. “It was not awesome, Rainbow Dash. I acted severely out of line.”

“He deserved it, though.”

“How can he deserve to be attacked so brutally for a simple comment?”

“You warned him, though,” Twilight said.

“But I did not think that I would snap so violently.”

“Aw, c’mon. It wasn’t that bad,” Rainbow said.

“I do not hurt defenseless ponies, Rainbow Dash,” Lotus said again, her voice stern. She held up a hoof to stay Rainbow’s objection.

“He had no time to prepare himself,” Aloe said.

“Still awesome,” Rainbow muttered.

“I think it was deplorable,” Lotus said.

“If you’re so bothered by it, why not apologize to him?” Rarity asked.

“I already did. He took it surprisingly well.”

“If he’s not surrounded by angry ponies, he’s quite reasonable,” Aloe said.

“That’s surprising,” Rainbow said. “So maybe hitting him wasn’t the best thing in the world. But how’d you do it so fast? You didn’t answer me.”

“I think you are mistaken as to my speed,” Lotus said. “We were close to begin with, and none of you were paying attention to me. All eyes were on Icy. You just didn’t see me approach him.”

“But I could have sworn…” Rainbow thought for a bit. “I guess it just looked faster than it was.”

“That does make the most sense, Rainbow,” Twilight said.

“Don’t worry, Rainbow, you are still the fastest pony,” Lotus said with a smile, and Rainbow brightened.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. What earth pony can go faster than a pegasus anyway?”

“Just a trick of the light, Ah suspect,” Applejack said.

“Yes, likely.” Lotus looked at them all, and smiled once more. “It’s been good talking, but we must be going. We have very little time to travel.”

“How are you going to get where you’re going?” Twilight asked.

“We have our ways,” Aloe said.

“Will you ever come back?” Fluttershy asked, her voice ragged.

“It is likely, but not for a long time.” Aloe stepped forward and shared a brief hug with her, and then Rarity.

“We will miss you all,” Lotus said. “And who knows? Equestria is a big place; maybe we will meet again before that.” They both bowed courteously and walked away from the open door, away from the library, and out of sight.

“They’ll be okay,” Pinkie said.

“Pinkie Sense?” Applejack asked.

“Yup!”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Rarity said.

“Ah don’t s’pose yer Pinkie Sense has anything to say ‘bout our journey?” Applejack asked.

Pinkie shook her head violently.

“Hmph. Rarity, did you finish our dresses last night?”

“Of course I finished them. It took me until two in the morning, but I did it.”

“Well, good,” Rainbow said.

Rarity eyed her patiently. “Oh, and Pinkie, darling, you simply must learn to treat your dresses with more respect. I had to entirely re-stitch the back half of yours.”

“Sorry, Rarity. I don’t know what happened to it!”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Rarity held a hoof to her eyes to gauge the sun’s position without blinding herself. “We should leave a half hour early, so we don’t run the risk of being late.”

“So what do we do until then?” Applejack asked, looking at Twilight.

“I don’t know.” Twilight thought for a moment. “I suppose we should check out the airship and make sure it’s still okay to fly.” She looked at her friends, who looked back at her unenthusiastically.

“Really, Twilight? Look at the airship? That’s the most boring thing ever!” Rainbow said.

“I didn’t say we all had to do it. I’d be perfectly happy to have just one of you.”

“Ah’ll help ya out, Twi,” Applejack said.

“Thank you, Applejack.”

While the others wandered back into the library, Twilight and Applejack walked up the plank to the airship’s deck and looked around. Twilight didn’t want to say how disappointed she was in the others for their lack of enthusiasm.

“I skimmed a book on airship maintenance, and according to that, we need to check the torch and engines first, because they’re the most important,” Twilight said.

“Makes sense, Ah s’pose. What’re we checkin’ fer?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Twilight admitted. “Signs of wear and tear, I guess.” She walked to the torch and inspected it, looking up and down its shiny, metal body cluelessly.

Applejack went to the wheel and placed a hoof on it, turning it stiffly back and forth. “This kinda brings me back. Ah remember when Ah was just a filly, Granny Smith had a tractor, an’ Ah remember watchin’ her work on it.”

“I didn’t know you ever had heavy machinery,” Twilight said.

“We didn’t keep it long. Too much work keepin’ it up an’ runnin’.”

“Do you remember anything about it? Maintenance, I mean.”

“Nothin’ specific. Ah remember watchin’ Granny open it up an’ check its guts out, but Ah dunno what she was doin’.”

“Hm.” Twilight flipped a switch on the torch and backed up in surprised as it spewed a column of flame up into the sagging balloon. She quickly turned it back off, blushing a little at her own skittishness. “What did I expect that to do?”

They went down the hatch at the back and into the engine room. The heat had built inside, turning the pleasant spring day into a hot, metallic miasma inside the cramped area. The room was paneled with wood, holed in the sides and covered with thin metal grates, affording views of the gears and pistons just inside. At its back was the engine block, suspended awkwardly off the floor, halfway in the wall.

“Do you know anything about this stuff?” Applejack asked.

“Not at all,” Twilight said, scratching her head.

They went back out to the deck, happy to escape the stifling atmosphere of the engine room. There was nothing for them to do, but they didn’t want to leave the ship so early. They stayed on the deck talking and idly wandering around, picking at the torch, wheel, and gunwales until it was nearly time to get dressed for Lyra’s funeral. They got off the ship having accomplished nothing.

When they got up to Twilight’s room, Rarity was fitting Fluttershy, who was crying openly. “Fluttershy, dear, I know it’s sad, but it will all be over soon, okay?” Rarity said in a motherly voice. She looked up. “Oh, good, Twilight, Applejack. I was just finishing up with Fluttershy. How much time do we have?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Twilight said.

“Oh, dear. Applejack, come here so I can help you into your dress.”

Applejack reluctantly stepped over to Rarity, and Twilight put her own dress on with a flash of magic. She went to the door and called downstairs for Pinkie and Rainbow.

There was a crash, followed by hurried hoofsteps up the stairs to the room; Pinkie exploded through the open door, and Rainbow blurred past her, crashing into the opposite wall.

“What in Celestia’s name are you two doin’?” Applejack asked.

Pinkie giggled and began hopping around the room. “Dashie wanted to know how fast she could go and I said that she would have to go outside to try it out and she said no she could just turn a really tight circle in the room and I said okey-dokey and then she did and you called us and she came up the stairs and she was going really really fast!”

Rainbow groaned, rubbing her head.

“But then she crashed.”

“I hope you didn’t mess up anything down there, Rainbow,” Twilight chided.

Rainbow landed softly next to Rarity. “Ugh, don’t worry Twilight, I didn’t mess up any of your precious books.”

Applejack stepped away, and Rarity beckoned Pinkie over. “Now Pinkie, hold still while I put this on you,” she said, lifting the dress up to her. “Rainbow, you’re next.”

“How long did they say this is gonna take?” Rainbow asked.

“Around forty-five minutes,” Twilight said. “Why?”

“Eeeeeeh, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t wanna go, Dashie?” Pinkie asked.

“Pinkie, hold still,” Rarity said firmly.

“Sorry, Rarity!”

“Don’t worry, Rainbow. It won’t be that bad,” Twilight said.

“Have you ever been to a funeral, Twi?” Applejack asked.

“My grandma, when I was really young.”

“It doesn’t count if you’re young,” Rainbow said.

Rarity released Pinkie, and Rainbow sullenly went in her place.

“What? Of course it does, Rainbow,” Rarity said.

“If you don’t remember it that well, it doesn’t really stick with you, though.”

“All I remember is the music, honestly,” Twilight said.

“Is there gonna be music at this one?” Pinkie asked.

“I’m sure there will be something,” Rarity said. “Rainbow, keep your wings down.”

Rainbow breathed out in frustration, and grunted as Rarity tugged at a sleeve. “Careful, Rarity.”

“Ticklish, Dashie?” Pinkie asked, smiling menacingly.

“Don’t you dare,” Rarity said, fixing her with a dark glare. She backed up and examined them all. “Good. We’re all looking very prim and proper, just right for our… engagement.”

“It’s basically time. Shall we?” Twilight said.

“What about Spike?” Fluttershy asked.

“He’s staying behind to watch the library.”

“Again?” Rarity asked.

“Yeah, why?”

Rarity thought. “Never mind. Let’s get going.”

They exited her room, going down the stairs in a dark line, and then the library proper, Twilight bidding Spike a quiet goodbye as they went out the door. The trip to the hospital was quick and quiet; Rainbow had stopped her fidgeting and grumbling, and Pinkie had stopped speaking. The day before, it had been easy to put thoughts of the funeral out of their minds, but now, only an hour away, it weighed heavily on them all. Death was not something that happened often in Ponyville, and when it did, it was felt throughout the entire town. The Ponyville cemetery was small and quiet, far from the rest of the town and often forgotten for months or years at a time. The sudden crop of funerals had left many ponies in a state of visible devastation that Twilight had never seen.

They passed the hospital information desk with only a nod of greeting as they made their way to the back, back into the funeral hall. Bonbon was already there, along with Chilly Puddle. Orchid Dew and Clockwork were making last-minute preparations with the casket: adjusting the flower arrangement, shining the finish, checking the hinges.

When they entered, Bonbon favored them with a curt nod and a forced smile. They stood by her uncertainly, not wanting to go into the chapel and disturb the workers, but wanting to give Bonbon her privacy. After a few more hushed words with the directress, Bonbon nodded, and Chilly moved in to hug her; she accepted it stiffly.

She looked at the group and walked into the chapel, and they followed her, taking their seats in the same spot as the day before. Clockwork and Orchid Dew finished their task and left, and after a minute, Colgate entered, nodding a greeting as she sat next to them. She was dressed in a coal-black dress that shone ethereally in the minimal sunlight, and a dark veil to go with it, bunched up at her forehead.

“You ready?” she asked.

“I guess so,” Twilight said.

“Good.” She looked at Fluttershy, who was looking down at the floor, her face screwed up in suppressed sorrow. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“Give her time,” Rarity said, and Colgate nodded.

There were hoofsteps, and Sea Swirl entered the room, Big Macintosh just behind her. Sea Swirl took a seat next to Colgate, and Big Mac behind Applejack and Rainbow.

“How you doing, Swirl?” Colgate asked.

Sea Swirl sniffed once and wiped her eyes. “Not too bad, I guess.”

Colgate put a hoof on Sea Swirl’s back calmly, and Derpy walked in.

“Hey, Derpy. How’re you?” Colgate greeted.

“Oh, okay, considering,” she said weakly.

“Don’t worry, Derpy, we’re all suffering. But we’ll get through it,” Sea Swirl said, blinking a few times in rapid succession.

“I know, I know. Still sad.”

Everyone kept mostly quiet, except Colgate, who spoke to every pony who entered, greeting them, asking whether they were okay, and offering words of encouragement where they were needed. It was fifteen minutes later when the chapel was mostly full, and the directresses were readying to speak.

“Okay, is this everyone?” Clockwork asked, looking around.

The crowd nodded and murmured assent.

“Right. So, we’re all going to the cemetery now, which, in case you don’t know, is on the northeast end of Ponyville, just outside Whitetail Wood. There’s an area set up already, so you should find it pretty easily. Those of you who are walking, you might want to leave now, just so we don’t have to wait for you when we get there.”

Twilight and her friends got up, as well as Big Macintosh, Colgate, Sea Swirl, and half the others. They could hear Clockwork continue speaking as they exited the room, and they walked back into the hospital in an air of quiet, awkward respect. It felt strange for such a huge crowd to pass through the narrow corridors all at once, pressing in to avoid brushing against the torches that hung in imperfect intervals on the white walls, stained with halos of soot wherever the flames danced.

The outside air was warm and pleasant, the ground covered with a layer of spring grass. Big Mac was smiling peacefully to himself while Colgate and Sea Swirl spoke quietly, away from the others. Rainbow took to the air, but came down immediately at Rarity’s warning; it was disrespectful for pegasi to fly in a funeral procession. Rainbow grumbled, but voiced no objections.

The walk took half an hour, and before they could get a good look at the woods, and perhaps see how far Pinkie’s restorative spell had gone, they were drawn over to the group of ponies, huddling underneath a ramshackle tent constructed of spare sticks and a big, blue tarp. A small picket fence was all there was to separate the cemetery from the rest of the fields around the north end of town, though there were no signs to indicate it. Rows and rows of small, gray, weathered headstones lay across the grassy, flowery earth, tiny imperfections in the otherwise perfect scene. Bees and butterflies moved lazily about, and the occasional tree provided nets of shade on the bright green meadow.

They took their places in the middle of the crowd. Everyone was dressed in formal, dark vests and dresses, and it was strange to Twilight, seeing the sea of colorful fur blotted out. A quartet of ponies, dressed in sharp, black tuxedos, stood to the side of the crowd: a violinist, a harpist, a trumpeter, and a drummer. They waited with pensive eyes and straight expressions, betraying no feelings. There was a fresh grave dug, and at its head, a clean, bright gray headstone, its corners sharp and new, its etching clear and perfect. Under Lyra’s name, the epitaph read: Gone, but not forgotten. The directresses, lector, and casket were still absent.

When the carriage arrived, several minutes later, the musicians started, playing a slow, dignified song with a somber, low beat, quieting the already still ponies into a single, watchful, unhappy unit. The directresses lifted the casket out and carried it over to the grave. They placed it carefully to the side, then moved astride the podium, and the music died.

Twilight could see everything from a space between ponies’ heads. The casket was closed, whole, hard; it was incredible for her to think that a pony was inside. Its flower arrangement seemed the only color to the scene. The ponies surrounding her were all faceless to her, washed out in the strange, blue light that filtered through the tarp; the wildflowers and grass in the distance were meaningless background, ignored. Everything else was depressed, leaning in on the grave as though sucked in by its gravity, except the single, bright star of flowers on the casket’s surface.

As Twilight looked at it, she felt the first stirrings of powerful sadness in her chest. Before, she had only felt distantly sorry for Bonbon and Lyra’s other friends, not truly internalizing the hurtful hole that her absence would leave; now, staring at the flowers, she had to wipe a tear away. Such elegant beauty, simplicity, destined even from the beginning to die, crushed between the suffocating earth and cold, hard casket exterior. The flowers deserve their fate. Twilight sniffed once more, and a hoof snaked around her back, squeezing her. She hated herself for the sorrow she felt: not for Lyra, or Bonbon, but for the flowers. The stupid flowers.

Before she could follow her own thoughts further, a pastel yellow-coated, brick-red maned pegasus stepped to the front. He was short, a little thin, and had a simple, five-pointed, blue star for a cutie mark. His eyes were focused, his face smooth. The music died to a quiet hum.

He cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice authoritative and dulcet. “We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of Lyra Heartstrings, and bid her a final farewell. I know, in current circumstances, many ponies have left us. We all have questions, and fears. In times like this, it is easy to feel overburdened, and give up hope for a brighter tomorrow; but it is also times like this that we must remember who we are, and come together to offer support and comfort to each other. The death of a friend or loved one is always a sad time.” He paused; Bonbon was finally crying. “And while we can not escape our own sadness, we must also not hold onto it for longer than we must. Her Majesty, Princess Celestia, once said: ‘death is but another part of life, as beautiful and mysterious as all of our experiences. Do not begrudge death, nor run from it. In accepting it, you do the deceased the greatest honor’.”

He was silent for a minute, and the small band began another song. They all reflected; Twilight had heard Celestia’s words before, and read them as well, but never paid them much mind. She closed her eyes, and tried to listen to the sounds of the world and the music around them; all she could hear, however, was Fluttershy crying softly, a few seats away.

After a time, when the song had turned again to a low ambiance, the pegasus went on. “Lyra was a caring, gentle pony with many loving friends. She always had time to lend a hoof or a kind word, even to a stranger. She was a skilled musician, and her talents were celebrated throughout Ponyville and Canterlot. She was always a conscientious performer, either in private or on the stage, and while she had no children, and no spouse, we can take comfort in the memory that will live on in the music she created.” He stepped to the side. “Bonbon, would you like to say a few words?”

Bonbon slowly walked to the front of the crowd. She turned her back on the casket and faced them, her face set and her eyes detached, tear stains beneath them. She took a breath, released it, took another, and began speaking. “Lyra was… Lyra was my closest friend. We knew each other since grade school, and we’ve always been there for each other. Lyra was… um.” She looked at them all, her eyes meeting Twilight’s for a fraction of a moment. “Lyra… always used to say ‘everything happens for a reason,’ and, though I never told her, I’ve, uh, I’ve always tried to take those words to heart. Keep them in mind when faced with a difficult situation, or a stressful time. Thinking of them always brought me comfort, as I’m sure it did for her as well. Why else would she repeat it so often? I…” she extended the word out, trying to think of something to say.

The crowd watched respectfully, and for a moment, it looked like she would not continue.

“I don’t really know what to say here. I’m not great with words, especially sentimental ones like this.”

Fluttershy was crying harder.

“So I guess this is a pretty crappy eulogy. But you know, I get the feeling, and Lyra would probably agree, that the point of the eulogy, and of the ceremony in general, isn’t to be pretty, or elegant, or anything like that, but to be honest. To be true. To remember the pony in death like how you would in life. Not to gloss over their accomplishments, but celebrate them.” She smiled a little. “I remember the first time I saw her performing on stage—she loved it so much, seeing the crowd explode in applause when she was done with a song—and I remember seeing her face, and it was so peaceful, so… so calm, that I knew that that was what she was born to be. A musician. A performer. And I’m reminded of that now, seeing her behind me like this. I know her… passing wasn’t peaceful, but I like to believe she saw it coming far enough in advance to accept it. Maybe even to get one last bit of that internal peace I saw that night.” She sighed. “If not then, she certainly has it now. So yes, I’m sad for her death, as I’m sure we all are, but I think we can feel better if we reflect on the words we’ve heard today. Death is just a different part of life, after all, and we can’t run from it. Besides, as Lyra said, everything happens for a reason. I… I suppose this is the last time I have to say this.” She turned around and laid a hoof on the casket. “Goodbye, Lyra. I’ll always love you.”

She returned to her place among the crowd and accepted, begrudgingly, hugs from the neighboring ponies. Fluttershy and Rarity were weeping loudly, but nopony looked at them.

The pegasus took his place before the casket once again. “Thank you, Bonbon. That was beautiful. If anypony has any last remarks for Lyra, now would be the time to give them.”

He stepped aside again, and the crowd formed a line to the casket. Twilight stood near the back, behind Pinkie and before Rainbow. As they slowly made their way to the casket, she tried to think of what to say. She hadn’t known Lyra very well, and wondered whether she should have even gotten up.

As they approached, she heard Fluttershy’s wails increase in volume and intensity; she felt sorry for her, but was glad she didn’t share her hypersensitivity. They got closer, and she heard Fluttershy try to say something; it came out as a strangled noise between a scream and a growl, and she hurried back to the tarp’s shelter.

Rarity said something quiet that Twilight didn’t hear, and then Applejack bid her a simple goodbye with a tip of her hat. Pinkie leaned in close to the casket, until she was almost pressing her face up against it; she spoke at full volume, and Twilight could hear her. “See you later, Lyra. Good luck, and look after Bonbon.” She walked back to the crowd, a small, satisfied smile playing on her face.

Twilight approached the casket and looked at it. “Um, well, I guess this is it, Lyra. I… goodbye, I guess.” She wanted to stay longer, until something more articulate came out, but she couldn’t. She returned to her friends and stood next to them, watching as the last few paid their respects.

When they were done, the pegasus overseeing the burial resumed his spot before the grave. “This has been our last farewell. The body will now be lowered into the grave.”

At this, Orchid Dew and Clockwork, who had appeared behind him at some point in the proceedings, began to magically let the casket sink into the grave. The musicians began the final time, a soft, tinkling song that reminded Twilight of sunshine through the trees. Low and stuttering violin in the back with a quick, high and delicate harp at the front, and the trumpet moaning behind it all.

The casket disappeared beneath the grave’s edge, and Fluttershy let out a fresh howl of sorrow. The lector approached the grave and kicked a sprinkle of dirt onto the casket; it made a light pitta-pitta sound, and Twilight felt another surge of sadness. Such a final gesture, and such a small, unimportant sound to signify it.

Orchid Dew and Clockwork ignited their horns again, and the hole was quickly filled with dirt; when it was done, only a patch of incongruous brown earth remained to mark the site of their efforts.

“The reception will be back at the hospital, and I encourage all of you to attend,” the lector said. He left the podium, and the musicians began to pack up. Everyone stayed under the tarp and moved freely among each other, talking, crying, offering comfort. Fluttershy and Rarity were entangled, crying into each other’s shoulders. Applejack was rubbing Rainbow’s back softly, and Pinkie simply stood, staring at the grave, transfixed.

Twilight, however, felt no urge to cry; she only observed the scene and wondered at her own feelings. She didn’t know Lyra, but she should have felt something for Bonbon, she knew. To put the unsettling thought out of her mind, she approached Pinkie. “Even at a time like this, I expect her to be a distraction. What does that say about me?”

She wasn’t certain how to approach her, but her presence seemed enough to break Pinkie out of her trance. “Oh, Twilight. How you doing?”

“Fine, I guess,” she said. “You?”

“It’s so sad.” Pinkie looked back at the casket, and Twilight understood; it wasn’t easy for Pinkie to voice how she felt.

“Do you want to go to the reception?”

Pinkie nodded. “I would never pass up a party, even if it’s a sad one.”

“Yeah, we should probably go,” Rainbow said, coming over and wiping away a couple tears.

The others joined them slowly, and they started walking behind a small group of others, of which Colgate and Sea Swirl were a part. Colgate looked back with a composed expression and nodded to Twilight, who looked back at her uncertainly.

The trip back to the hospital was uneventful, and by the time they arrived in the reception room—a small dining hall downstairs from the funeral home—Rarity and Fluttershy had stopped crying. They were among the last ones to arrive, and ponies were already sitting at tables and eating from small plates: pasta salad and bits of other vegetables, most of them. Everything was bathed in torchlight, softer and weaker in the large room. The ponies themselves, dressed in dark clothes, seemed to be wearing their own shadows, and Twilight had to wait at the threshold for a moment to take in the scene.

Colgate and Sea Swirl were at a table by themselves, and they waved the six over. It was difficult for Twilight to recognize them at first.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Colgate asked them all. Her face was still veiled, and Twilight could barely make it out; it seemed shrouded entirely in darkness, save for the twin pinpricks of light that reflected off her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Rainbow said sullenly, sitting and looking past them both at the far wall.

“Well, the worst is over.”

“All of it’s over,” Sea Swirl said.

“There’s still some food in the kitchen back there, if you want to eat,” Colgate said, indicating the back room.

“Oh, thank you, dear, but I’m fine,” Rarity said.

“Ah’m a mite hungry,” Applejack said, getting up.

“Where’s Big Mac? I was hoping to see him here,” Colgate said.

“He had to go back to the farm, I think,” Twilight said, wondering herself where he had gone. She hadn’t seen him leave. “Applejack will know,” she said with a shrug.

Colgate’s mouth twitched in an attempt at a smile. “Bonbon gave a great eulogy, didn’t she?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Rarity said. “It was very moving, and it didn’t sound rehearsed at all.”

“I think she thought of it on the spot,” Sea Swirl said.

“That takes a lot of courage,” Colgate said, turning her empty face toward them. “So, when are you leaving?”

“Oh, um, tonight, I think,” Twilight said; she looked at Rainbow, who was still staring resolutely at the wall beyond, a frown etched on her face.

Sea Swirl whistled and Colgate nodded. “Tonight, huh? I guess you are eager to move on. Is it still a secret why?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I thought as much.”

“Why do you care so much about where we’re going?” Rainbow asked, still not turning her head.

“Pardon?”

“Why do you care so much about where we’re going?” Rainbow repeated, enunciating each syllable with deliberate care.

“Oh, no particular reason. I’m just curious,” Colgate said.

Rainbow opened her mouth to retort, but caught Pinkie looking at her sharply; she closed it again and sighed. Applejack returned with a plate of macaroni salad, and they stayed and talked; more of the burial, Big Macintosh (on whom Colgate lingered), plans for repairing the town after Twilight’s group had left. Pinkie asked about the hospital lights, and Colgate said that they had a backup generator, which was powering the majority of the operation and recovery rooms; the funerary wing wasn’t important enough to get the same treatment.

The reception wound to a close quietly, and Twilight and her friends bade Colgate and Sea Swirl a goodbye—their last, Twilight said—and left. The trip to the library was quiet, and when they entered, the first thing they did was strip off their funeral clothes; Rarity folded them up and put them back in Twilight’s room. Twilight could hear Spike in the basement.

“What happened back at the reception, Rainbow?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, Twilight, not you too,” she said.

“Hey, I’m not trying to bother you. I’m just curious. Are you okay?”

“I’m just fine, thanks.”

“Don’t worry, Rainbow, we’re all unhappy today,” Pinkie said, hugging her.

“It’s not that. It’s… Pinkie, get off of me.” She shrugged roughly out of Pinkie’s grip, and Pinkie backed away. “I’ll be in my room,” she said, heading upstairs.

“You mean Twilight’s room,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, that.” The door slammed upstairs.

“What’s her problem?” Applejack asked.

“She’s just upset about the burial, I’m sure,” Rarity said.

“She said it was her first. She probably doesn’t know what to do with her own feelings,” Fluttershy said.

“I know how to cheer her up!” Pinkie said, gamboling up the stairs.

“I think we should leave in a few hours,” Twilight said.

“I agree,” Rarity said.

Pinkie was knocking on Twilight’s door, and Twilight heard Rainbow answer angrily. They both came quickly downstairs, Rainbow frowning.

“Come on, everypony! Let’s go to Sugarcube Corner!” Pinkie cheered.

“Wait, what?” Applejack said. “Why would we go there now?”

“Well, I can’t tell you why, ‘cause that’ll spoil the surprise.”

“Surprise? Pinkie, you didn’t…” Rarity started.

“Oh no no, Rarity, noooooo guessing!”

Pinkie bounced out the door, and Twilight sighed and followed her, not bothering to lock the door behind her.

“Pinkie, what in Equestria is this?” Rainbow demanded.

“You’ll see!” she squealed from far ahead.

“I swear, if this is what I think it is.”

“Seriously, Rainbow, why are you in such a bad mood?” Twilight asked, bracing herself for another curt, defensive answer.

“I’m not in a bad mood.”

“You certainly are actin’ like it,” Applejack said.

Rainbow didn’t respond, and they walked the rest of the way to Sugarcube Corner in awkward silence. As they approached the decorated structure, they heard the familiar banter of voices and the heavy throb of music.

“Oh, Celestia, it is,” Rainbow muttered.

Pinkie was already at the door, holding it open for them. “Hey, everypony, they’re here!”

A cheer swelled inside the shop and funneled out the door, shattering the otherwise still afternoon air, and Twilight’s somber mood. Finally, an excuse to stop worrying about the legitimacy of her feelings. The others looked doubtful.

Pinkie charged into the bakery, and as soon as they entered behind her, they were instantly transported to a world of color, noise, and motion; ponies, some familiar, many not, grabbed them, twirled them around, hugged them, danced with them. Twilight lost the sight of her friends almost immediately as she was rushed into a swirl of manes and tails and smiles. All thoughts of the burial, not two hours ago, were forgotten, replaced with food and revelry and music.

Before long, Twilight found herself smiling in spite of her efforts to remain reverent to the grim memories of the morning, and when she caught her own laughing expression mirrored on the faces of her friends, the final impulse for remembrance faded. Only Rainbow remained immune to the infectious joy, holding bitterly onto her bad mood and standing at the room’s sides. Twilight spared her no thought as she was thrown through the pulsing party.

When the crowd had calmed down and freed them from its attention, they crowded around a table off to the side, where Rainbow was already sitting.

“Whooey! Ah gotta say, Pinkie, this is one heck of a party! You sure know how to throw ‘em,” Applejack said, wiping sweat off her brow.

Pinkie nodded in an extravagant arc. “Thanks, Applejack! I knew you guys would like it, even if we had to be sad earlier!”

“I’m honestly surprised at how much this lifted my spirits,” Twilight said, looking at Rainbow for a second; the blue pegasus wore her frown even deeper than before, as if in defiance of the cloying, happy atmosphere.

“I figured since we were leaving, we should have one last party, to get going on the right hoof!”

“Well, it certainly was a terrific idea,” Rarity said.

“Yes, and I love the music,” Twilight said, craning her neck to look around the room. There was a palpable change in atmosphere that she couldn’t explain. Usually, Pinkie’s parties were loud and colorful, with low-key and pleasant music, but tonight the affair seemed bigger, more active. There were still the clusters of balloons and ribbons bowing across the wall, but the music was loud, almost pushy, and the smell of food and sweat hung heavier in the air.

“Ah gotta agree. Ah’m not usually one fer this kind of music, but it really gets yer head bobbin’,” Applejack said.

Pinkie beamed and turned around, letting the party absorb her.

“Hello again, you all,” Colgate said, coming up with an upturned corner of the mouth. “Back from your adventures so soon?”

“Oh, Colgate, no, we haven’t even left yet,” Fluttershy said, and Colgate rolled her eyes playfully.

“I didn’t want to say I’d be seeing you all again today. An hour later.” She dropped her expression, what Twilight had come to understand as a smile, for a moment. “This is some party, huh? I don’t go to these too often, but it feels like she put a lot of extra work into this one.”

“It certainly seems that way,” Twilight said.

“Why don’t you usually come?” Rarity asked conversationally.

“Work,” Colgate said simply.

“Ah, yes. You work at the hospital, do you not?”

“Surgeon, yeah. Long hours.”

“Well, it’s good that you were able to get away for this.”

“Well, I have to see my friends off, don’t I? Have you had anything to eat yet? Pinkie really outdid herself on the party favors. Er, I assume she did.”

“No, not yet. We just got done bein’ thrown ‘round by y’all,” Applejack said.

Colgate chuckled. “Ah, that’s true. I guess you don’t know, but Pinkie’s been hyping this thing since… gosh, Thursday? Whatever day things got fixed up. Thanks again, by the way.”

“It’s no problem,” Twilight said, blushing.

“I’m actually surprised you didn’t hear about this.”

“Pinkie is quite good at keeping things under wraps when she needs to,” Rarity said.

“Oh, Allie, get over here,” Colgate said, gesturing to a pale, lanky unicorn with a blue-streaked mane. “This is Allie Way; she’s the manager of the bowling alley.”

“Hey, I saw you at the mayor’s office,” she said; her voice was pleasant, but a little quiet, and they had to lean in to hear her over the party.

“You did?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yeah, I was in the crowd. I was the tall one with the blue mane.”

“Oh, I’m really sorry, but I don’t remember.”

“What do you think of the party?” Twilight asked.

“It’s pretty super,” Allie said nonchalantly.

“Allie said she’s thinking of getting some of this music to use for special occasions at the bowling alley,” Colgate said.

“I would have told them myself,” Allie said, and Colgate chuckled again. “Well, it’s a pleasure meeting you all. Well, you know.” She shrugged. “The five of you. I already saw Pinkie. Are you really leaving?”

“Yes indeed,” Rarity said.

“All ‘round Equestria,” Applejack said. She sounded a little excited.

Allie shook her head. “I can’t even imagine it. I’ve only been as far Baltimare myself.”

“Baltimare?” Applejack asked.

“Where I grew up.”

“That’s only on the northern tip of the Everfree Forest,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, not horribly far.” Allie looked back at the party, then leaned in and shook their hooves. “It was great meeting you all. Good luck out there. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She ran back into the center of the activity, her tall, angular body bopping and swiveling awkwardly to the music.

“She’s fun,” Colgate said. “Speaking of fun, I’m gonna go have some more. You take it easy, and good luck on your adventure.” Colgate followed Allie into the party, and like that, they were alone again.

“Ah s’pose we should go mingle too,” Applejack said.

“You go ahead,” Rainbow said.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Rainbow? You know it’ll help,” Twilight said.

“No, you go ahead,” Rainbow repeated, waving her hoof.

“Suit yourself.” Twilight walked into the crowd without a look back, Applejack and Rarity behind her.

“Aren’t you going, Fluttershy?” Rainbow asked.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. I’ll stay here with you.”

Rainbow hmphed and looked past her at the wall, her scowl still firmly plastered to her face. Fluttershy studied her expression, wondering what was bothering her, but knowing not to press the issue, as Twilight had. Rainbow would bring it up when she was ready.

To pass the time, and alleviate the awkwardness of being stuck at a table with Rainbow, she looked around the room. Pinkie truly had outdone herself; streamers hung from every blank space of wall; confetti filled the air, floating like snow but never collecting on the floor; and balloons were tied to any piece of furniture that would have them. The music pulsed through the room like a heartbeat, and the whole room had been cleared to form a dance floor. Tables sat to the sides, bearing bowls or plates of party favors, all things Fluttershy had seen offered at the bakery before, and many she had tasted herself. There was a large table near the back with a giant punch bowl sitting in its center, a pair of ladle handles sticking out like long, narrow ears.

She could see Twilight and Rarity dancing back-to-back near one of the tables, and a group of ponies cheering them on. Rainbow sighed, but Fluttershy was too interested in the party to pay her any mind. The unicorns’ dances gradually became more hectic, and Rarity even stood up on her hind legs for a few seconds, eliciting a tremendous cheer from the circle of onlookers. Applejack soon joined the spectacle, adding her own rustic and unfitting style of dance to the mix. Fluttershy admired their courage.

She looked back at Rainbow, whose gaze had shifted a little toward Fluttershy. Her expression had changed too, from pensive and angry to disgusted. Fluttershy felt horrible for her, but resisted the urge to ask what was wrong.

“Oh my Celestia, Fluttershy, would you stop looking at me like that?” Rainbow said, stomping her hoof.

Fluttershy leaned away. “Oh, I’m sorry, Rainbow. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

Rainbow looked at her, then down. “No, I’m sorry, Fluttershy. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“It’s okay, Rainbow.”

There was a minute of silence, in which Rainbow appeared to be wrestling with her thoughts. “Twilight’s right,” she finally said.

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I am in a bad mood. It’s just so much happened in the last two days, you know?”

“Oh, Rainbow, I’m sorry. I know what you mean.”

Rainbow sighed. “It’s all this funeral business. I’ve never been to one, never even known anypony that died. Plus that Whooves dude. Two-faced, abandoning jackass.”

Fluttershy flinched at Rainbow’s strong language.

“And then today, the burial, and…” she sighed and leaned in a little closer; Fluttershy followed her example. “I really don’t like that unicorn that’s been hanging around with us lately, Colgate. She gives me a bad feeling.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s friendly and all, but she’s too… serious. I don’t trust her. And it feels like she’s hiding something.”

“Oh, but what would she hide?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem. And where does she get off trying to figure out what we’re doing? She hardly knows us, and yet she’s trying to get us to tell her everything?”

“She doesn’t know how important it is, Rainbow. She’s just curious.”

“Too curious, if you ask me. And to top it all off, Pinkie just had to throw a party today.” Rainbow didn’t say why it upset her, but Fluttershy knew; Rainbow reveled in having a bad mood, and if somepony tried to pull her out, she would fight it the whole way.

“At least your home didn’t get destroyed,” Fluttershy said, offering a small smile.

Rainbow cringed. “Geez, Fluttershy. Way to make things sound even worse.”

“Sorry, Rainbow.”

“And another thing. I know I’m not showing it—none of us are, really—but I’m pretty scared about this whole thing. I mean, this is the fate of Equestria we’re talking about here.”

Fluttershy knew how rare it was for Rainbow to admit fear; she had caught her at a very vulnerable moment, and was careful in her response. “It’s only natural to be afraid sometimes, Rainbow Dash. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed. Well, okay, I am, but that’s not the problem. It’s just such a, a… huge thing, you know? How can we do this? I don’t even know where the Equestrian borders are, let alone what’s out there.”

“That’s why we’ve got to stick together,” Fluttershy said, nodding resolutely. “Don’t worry. We’re going to Canterlot first, and Princess Celestia will help us. We’ll all be fine, at least until then.”

“And what about after that?”

“We’ll just have to find out when we get there, I guess.”

Rainbow sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’m glad I can talk to you about this stuff, Fluttershy. I know Twilight means well, but she’s, well, too much of an egghead for this. She’d just read me something from one of her books. You know how to listen.”

Fluttershy smiled, and Rainbow smiled weakly back.

“Hey you two, why aren’t you enjoying the party?” Pinkie chirped, popping up from behind Rainbow.

“Oh, hi Pinkie. We’re having a fine time just sitting here and enjoying the music,” Fluttershy said.

“Oh, Fluttershy, you can’t have fun all alone like this! You need to get out there and shake things up!”

“Oh, no, Pinkie, I’m fine, thank you.”

“I can go for some shaking up,” Rainbow said, spreading her wings and looking around.

“That’s the spirit, Dashie! Let’s go!” She dragged Rainbow into the middle of the party, but before the pegasus disappeared from view, she met Fluttershy’s eyes and smiled; Fluttershy smiled back, happy that Rainbow was on her way back to normal.

As the party wore on, Fluttershy was the only consistency at the table; others visited her for minutes, but she always remained, content simply to watch ponies having a good time. The light from outside steadily deepened into a golden orange, and by seven o’ clock, the party was showing the unmistakable signs of reaching its conclusion. Ponies were slowing down their dancing and snacks were almost depleted, and Pinkie had long run out of punch to refill the bowl, which now lay empty with a tiny pool of purple liquid wobbling in the bottom.

The group slowly re-assimilated around the table, and Pinkie was bidding the ponies goodbye as they left. When they had all left, she surveyed the store. “Well, I’d say that was a success.”

The bakery had been reduced to a shamble of its former self. Streamers were lying on the ground in trampled tatters, confetti littered the tables and chairs and punchbowl, and the balloons had mostly migrated up into the upside-down bowl of the bakery ceiling. Tables were covered in crumbs and bowls were empty, and several chairs had been overturned. The floor was slick with sweat and sticky with punch.

Pinkie hummed a jaunty tune as she produced a broom and dustpan and began sweeping up the floor. Twilight busied herself with removing the streamers and balloons, and Rarity and Fluttershy cleared the tables and moved them back to their former spots. Before long, the bakery had been returned to normal, and they all stood in a circle, content and warm in the party’s afterglow, surveying their work with self-congratulatory smiles.

“We need to get back to the library,” Twilight said. “We have to leave.”

“Can’t we wait ‘til tomorrow morning?” Rainbow objected.

“Absolutely not. We’ve spent too much time here already, and while the party was really, very fun, Pinkie, we should have arrived in Canterlot by now.”

“Aw, Twilight, but we just had to have one last party!” Pinkie cried.

“I know, and it was a good idea, but…” She bit her lip, reluctant to finish the thought. She didn’t have to. They knew it, she could tell. Time to go.

“Well, let’s just go then,” Rarity said, opening the door.

And like that, they were out of the bakery and in the gloaming. Spike was on Twilight’s mind, suddenly and powerfully, and it was like the party hadn’t even happened. She thought of him with dread and sadness.

They entered the gnarled tree, where, as if in response to Twilight’s private worry, Spike waited for them, standing in the center of the room, his face serious and his arms crossed.

“Spike, I’m glad you’re here,” Twilight said. She didn’t completely mean it.

“I’m sure you are, Twilight.” His voice, like his face, was absent of its usual good humor.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you leaving tonight?”

“Um… yeah.”

“Then I’ll cut to the chase.” He began pacing. “Since Tuesday—Tuesday, Twilight—everything has been one big change after another. First, I wake up with a letter from the princess in the middle of the night, and you leave in the balloon an hour later. You didn’t explain, you just… left. I stayed up all night worrying about you all, and I didn’t hear anything until a few hours later, when the world just explodes. That’s what it sounded like to us all, you know. Like everything was coming undone all at once. I wanted to panic, but I didn’t, because I was too worried about you. Can you imagine that? I was so scared for you all that I didn’t think to be scared for myself, Twilight. Then you come back in a different balloon, but I only get to see you the next night, where you tell me that you were late ‘cause you almost died. But you’re better now, thank goodness, and I think that’s all there is to it.”

He took a moment to gather himself, tiny fists clenched and eyes angry. “But no, you have to leave Ponyville again, and I can’t come with you. So what do you do in the next few days? Spend time with your number one assistant, maybe? Nope. You just wander off into town and help out the ponies that hardly know you, ponies that ask for your help before asking for your name, and leave me alone for the whole day.”

His tiny jaw was trembling, and his eyes narrowed. “So I stay here and worry and wonder, and have nopony to talk to, unless I want to spill my guts in front of all of you at once.” He glared at Rarity. “Yeah, Rarity, I know they all know it.”

Rarity only looked down in shame.

“And then you tell me there’s a funeral, but I can’t go to that either because I have to watch the library. Right, Twilight? Gotta make sure nopony comes in and borrows a book without permission, right? Two more days out the window, for a stupid funeral that I can’t go to. What, am I too young?”

“Spike, I’m really sorry,” Twilight said.

“And then you pop in for a minute and leave again, and where this time? A party?” His voice rose. “I love Pinkie’s parties! I love you guys, and you’ve ignored me the whole time! Do you have any idea how many questions I have, or how freaked out I am? I don’t even know if I’ll be seeing my best friends again, and all you can think about is packing the right books.” His voice went back down, and he spoke with hard deliberation that made Twilight avert her eyes. “And now you’re about to leave.”

“Spike, I… I had no idea you felt that way,” Twilight said.

“Of course you didn’t, Twilight. You never do.”

Twilight searched for a response, but could only look at him.

“At this point, I don’t think I even want to hang out with you guys,” he said, shaking his head. “Just go. I’ll help you pack up.” He walked past them, out the door and up the gangplank to the airship. They followed him meekly.

“Spike, I want you to know that I truly am sorry for the way things worked out between us,” Rarity said. “Between us all. Can you ever forgive me?”

“That’s what friends are for, right?” he said, bored.

With his sullen help, they double-checked their bags; everything had been packed, and it was all arranged to Twilight’s taste. Satisfied, but nervous, they stood before Spike on the deck.

“This is the part where you go away,” he said, and they could only stare and nod, stunned by his outpouring of emotion. It made so much sense, but they hadn’t seen it. Until it was much too late. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later. Good luck out there.” He walked back down the plank and back into the library, closing the door softly behind him.

For several minutes, they watched the door, seeing whether he would come out again, and when he did not, they began getting ready for takeoff. They moved slowly and listlessly, as if in a trance, and no one spoke. Twilight stood at the ship’s back, letting tears silently leak out of her eyes while she mindlessly rummaged through her bags.

When the plank was raised, Pinkie turned on the torch, its roaring report polluting the reverent quiet on the deck. They rose slowly into the air, and Twilight leaned over the rail, watching, with blurry eyes, as the ground below her shrank. Just like before, they passed the library’s boughs, ascending into the darkness, toward what they had no idea.

As they lifted higher, a few ponies appeared to stand in their shadow, looking up at them and smiling; Twilight recognized Derpy and Colgate, both waving, among a couple others.

Eventually, the ponies became black splotches, and she looked out at the land before her. Staying in Ponyville had allowed her to forget the world outside, but now the startling realization of what they were facing once again hit her. Ponyville was a town on a sprawling disc of ground, floating amid smaller shreds of land that were scattered aimlessly in the empty sky.

There was a muffled roar behind and underneath her, and they surged forward. “Canterlot, here we come!” Pinkie cheered, and Twilight sighed.

Magic on the Rooftop

Chapter Seventeen

Magic on the Rooftop

The world rolled underneath them like a sheet of paper, patches of brown and green surrounded by the empty yellow and orange of the sunset sky. Twilight could make out little of the countryside below from her height, save for the occasional copse of trees or solitary cabin by a river. She could not see the airship’s shadow in the darkening fields.

When Ponyville was only a small scattering of lights behind them, coals in the bottom of a pit, she stopped crying. Her eyes hurt; she felt sleepless and drained, and as she raised her hooves to rub her them, she noticed Rarity standing next to her. She hastily tried to compose herself as she turned to her.

“I was wondering when you’d notice me,” Rarity said.

“How—”

“A few minutes now, darling.”

Twilight returned to looking over the gunwale. “He’s right, Rarity. We were all so insensitive to him, especially me. I should have taken the time to properly explain things, to spend time with him before we had to leave.”

“We all should have, Twilight. But he’s a big dragon. He’ll bounce back, I’m sure. He said it himself: he still loves you. At least there’s that.”

“I still feel awful, Rarity.”

“I know, Twilight. So do I.” She took a deep, bracing breath. “But, we’ll be back. It might be difficult, and dangerous, but we are going to come back home. When all this is over.”

“I know you’re right.” Twilight was silent for a few seconds. “Do you really think it’ll be that easy?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“This task. Do you really think it’ll be as easy as we’ve been saying it’ll be? Find the Elements, defeat Discord, put the world back together. It’s so much.”

“We’ve done the first two things before, though,” Rarity said optimistically.

“That’s true.”

“We’ll be fine, darling. All we’re doing for now is seeing the princesses, and they’ll surely help us more.”

Twilight smiled at this, and Rarity leaned next to her, observing the ground below. The dull, silver river ran in its weird, incomplete corners and slivers toward the broken plate of Canterlot, the graying suburbs arranged, ringlike, around a cracked mountain, dark and spiny in the dying light. The palace was a white fleck of snow on its side, hanging over the mutilated ring of houses and buildings, all broken-down and sagging in the sunset. Distant shadows.

For an hour, they coasted, and when the sun had vanished entirely, they swam through a sea of stars until they were over the great flickering eye of Lower Canterlot. Only the ship’s engine and propellers could be heard, rumbling and whirring through the darkness like something unreal. At Twilight’s instruction, Pinkie turned down the engines and turned up the torch, bringing them up along the mountain’s slopes and to the palace.

The mountain, though broken at the bottom, had retained its form otherwise—a solid claw bursting through the flakes of earth. Deep grooves marred its surface in some places, either by Pinkie’s spell or in the absence of the waterfall that had formerly cut its way downwards. They could see the blackened plains before the palace entryway, where they had fought. It had been cleared of debris, but the grass was all but gone, the ground an unhealthy dark gray that Twilight suspected, but didn’t like to think, was blood.

The palace, suffused in the starlight and the light of its many torches, stood as gloriously as ever, its white walls throwing dull yellow and orange into the air like solid fire; its turrets, those that remained standing, rising delicately into the sagging sky. The observatory telescope glimmered in the distance.

As they drew nearer, Pinkie cut the engine and torch, and they drifted down toward a small section of ground just outside the palace stairs, still whole and clear of debris. They passed under the huge archway and into the great hall, where Princess Celestia stood, attentive and glowing in the pale torchlight, flanked by no one and watching patiently.

She smiled, tired and patient, but still warm. They bowed, and she laughed. “After all this, you still bow to me. Rise, my little ponies.”

They did, and looked upon her flawless form; standing before the pristine white and living, flowing mane of the princess and goddess of Equestria, they felt, for the first time, that everything would be all right. All their worries, vanished. All their fears, disappeared. For a time, it was all they could do to stare at her, feeling their insides melt at her comforting, powerful presence.

“I know it has been a trying few days, friends, but looking at me will not help you on your quest,” she said, again smiling. “I know you come with questions; I hope I can provide the answers.”

Twilight spoke first, shaking her head a little to clear it. “Your highness, Ponyville is on its way to recovery. We brought the land back together with no problems, and helped some of our friends and neighbors rebuild.”

Celestia nodded. “It was good of you to stay, especially for Lyra’s funeral.”

“You know about that?”

“I do. I regret that I could not have been in attendance myself, but my sister and I have been very busy these past days, with scarcely time enough for ourselves. I’m sure you can understand.”

“Absolutely, your highness. So, what is going on in Canterlot?”

“Much, and much more now that you’re here. Luna and I have managed to reconstruct some of the town ourselves, though we, again, do not have time enough to do the job properly. The ponies have been… adjusting. Being so close to me, there was little violence or crime, though there was plenty of uproar. Most of that, I have managed to quell.”

“Where is Princess Luna, anyway?” Applejack asked.

“She is currently searching the Everfree Forest for signs of Discord. So far as I know, she has found nothing.”

“Does Canterlot know we’re coming?” Twilight asked.

“They know that the Elements of Harmony are on their way, yes. But I did not identify you specifically. As I’m sure you found in Ponyville, having an entire town knowing your business does not help with expediency.”

“Not like most ponies won’t recognize us anyway,” Rainbow said.

“How has the town been doing?” Rarity asked.

“Quite well, actually. For the time. We have enough water for a few weeks, if we’re careful; hopefully, by that time, we will have a more sustainable system in place.”

“What do you mean?” Twilight asked.

“The water has stayed in our country; that is good. However, it has also stopped flowing. The river that we have around our town has been reduced to a very strangely-shaped lake, which, if it is not replenished, will soon be empty.”

“Uh, I’ve got a solution for that,” Rainbow said. “Rain clouds. Duh.”

“It is not that simple. Yes, we could use rain for a time, but Cloudsdale gets its water from the very same rivers and reservoirs we would be refilling. We would only be draining our sources faster to refill them.”

“So what are you going to do?” Twilight asked.

“I have commissioned a convoy of cloud factories and water filtering plants from Cloudsdale to the ocean. We will get our water there.”

“You have a convoy going all the way down to the planet?” Rainbow said.

“I have nothing at all, yet. The first step in the chain is still a ways from completion. But no, it will not go all the way down. As it turns out, along with our rivers, a part of the sea came up too.”

They all looked at Pinkie, who only smiled warily.

“Oh, because the Equestrian borders extend out into the ocean a little,” Twilight said.

“Precisely.”

“But isn’t that just prolonging the problem?” Rainbow asked. “What are you gonna do when the ocean runs out?”

Celestia paused. “By my… estimates, that should not happen for several years. The country will be restored by that time.”

“Do you think so?” Twilight asked.

“I do.”

“But we’re probably looking at a drought until that convoy’s up and running,” Rainbow said.

“Unfortunately, yes. For the time being, cities will need to rely on their own resources for survival. I am working on setting up temporary water recycling plants for those that don’t already have them.”

“Wait, I just thought of something,” Twilight said. “If the rivers aren’t flowing, won’t the water collect in the lowest point of every section?”

“Yes, and it will overflow in those places. I have already alerted the necessary ponies, and ordered the erection of levees.”

“You really did think of everythin’,” Applejack said.

Celestia smiled. “That’s my job.”

“Um, you said Canterlot is okay, though, right?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yes, for now.”

“How are the ponies getting along otherwise?” Rarity asked.

“For the most part, they are doing okay. Some of the more industrious citizens have established systems of bridges across the smaller gaps, and many of our pegasi have graciously volunteered to act as temporary carriers or messengers. My own royal guard is among them.”

“What about Discord?” Twilight asked, her voice dropping a little.

“Neither Luna nor I have seen or heard anything, I’m afraid. We suspect he’s regrouping his army, though at this point we have nothing concrete. Did you read at all about him, Twilight?”

“I did.”

“Then you know that this is no joke.”

“I do.”

“What about the Elements?” Rarity asked.

“Still lost.”

“So the plan remains the same for us,” Twilight said. “We go from town to town, repairing as we go, and look for the Elements of Harmony.”

“That is correct.”

“Yeah, on that topic, where are we supposed to go after this?” Rainbow asked.

“That is up to you. You’re the adventurers, after all.”

“We have a map, Rainbow. We’ll be fine,” Twilight said.

Celestia nodded. “I see my sister gave you one of our airships. I trust it has served you well?”

Twilight was momentarily taken aback by the abrupt question. “Yes, it’s been working fine for us. It is okay that we use it, right?”

“Absolutely. How else would you travel?”

Twilight grinned sheepishly; even after all her time with the princess, she still expected Celestia to be more of a disciplinarian than a friend.

“You may use it until it no longer serves you. I will even give you fuel for it—a royal gift, if you like.”

“Th-thank you, your highness,” Twilight said, bending her knees to bow and catching herself just in time. She stood up straight with a blush.

“It is my pleasure. Don’t let me forget.”

“Sure thing, yer highness. Um, actually, Ah have a question for you,” Applejack said.

Celestia nodded to her.

“Um, you see, we don’t have a whole lot of money, an’,”

Celestia cut her off with a musical, graceful laugh. “Of course, Applejack. I understand your need. Here.” Her horn flashed for a second, and a small scroll appeared before them, tightly rolled and shut with a wax seal emblazoned with the royal crest. “This grants you full access to the Canterlot treasury. It has my signature, and Luna’s.”

They each gasped, some more loudly than others. Pinkie’s lasted a full minute. “Your highness! Um, are you sure you’re okay with us having access to all this money?” Twilight asked, when they had calmed down.

“That is why I gave you the scroll, is it not? We have far more money than we’ll ever need, and besides, what harm could you six possibly do? I don’t suspect you’ll be buying the Elements,” she said, giving another small chuckle.

“I don’t mean to complain, but couldn’t you be using this money to help rebuild things?” Rarity asked.

“Oh, I am.” She smiled wide, and for a moment, her eyes glinted playfully. “It’s quite a large treasury, you know.”

“Thank you, your highness, from the bottom of my heart,” Twilight said, this time not stopping herself from bowing; the others followed her example.

Celestia sighed. “Please,” she said, and they all righted themselves hastily. Celestia looked at Twilight for a moment. “I sense fear in you, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight hesitated. She had been looking forward to the meeting, to getting answers, but Celestia was right; she had been afraid too. Afraid of what she might learn, and afraid of the question she was about to ask. She nodded, and the others looked at her, puzzled.

“What does it concern?”

“A certain place,” Twilight said. “And dreams. They’re kind of intertwined.”

“Ah, right. This,” Rarity said.

“What is your question?” Celestia asked.

“Do you know anything about a town called Snowdrift? I think it’s in the southwest somewhere,” Twilight said.

“I do know the town, yes,” Celestia said, her voice suddenly grave.

“Pinkie dreamed of it a few nights ago. At least, I think it was Snowdrift.”

“‘Many a nightmare has come flying from Snowdrift’,” Celestia said. “That’s an old phrase they use in the south.”

Twilight only looked at her unhappily.

“It is a small town; no more than a thousand ponies live there. And yes, it is in the southwest, built at the foot of Equestria Glacier. Twilight, are you familiar with Tartarus?”

Twilight hesitated. “Yes.” She had read about it before, but never paid it much attention. Tartarus, the underworld, the other side, hell—different names, but all the same thing: the seldom-explored, but very real parallel world to the Gaia. An entire world of impossible creatures, irrational magic, and absurdities that seemed straight out of the most feverish mind in existence. Thousands of volumes had been dedicated to its study, and yet ponies knew less about Tartarus than the bottom of the ocean. The very word made Twilight’s body tense and her fur stand on end.

“And you are aware that there are passages between it and the Gaia. Holes in our own reality,” Celestia continued.

Twilight thought again. Though little was known of the actual world itself, there was much information on the gateways between the Gaia and Tartarus, naturally-occurring punctures in the barrier that kept them separate, allowing easy travel between them. She had never seen one. “Yes,” she said.

“Snowdrift is built next to one such gateway.”

“Uh… huh.” She didn’t know how to respond.

“Why?” Applejack asked.

“Yeah, that sounds crazy,” Rainbow said.

“The town is old, older than Canterlot. It developed out of a research station around the gateway.”

“Why would anyone want to live there, though? Isn’t Tartarus supposed to be, well, deadly?” Rarity asked.

“That, I cannot say, though I must confess, I am unsettled to hear that you are dreaming of it. What was your dream, Pinkie?”

Pinkie recounted her dream, and Celestia’s face grew thoughtful, then, at the end, concerned.

“I have heard… chillingly similar descriptions of that dream, from various sources, and across many years.” She sighed. “I do not wish to cause undue alarm, but you should be very concerned, and very careful when you are in Snowdrift. For you will be there, eventually. Twilight, you look upset.”

“A friend of ours said the same thing you did. That she had heard of the dream before.”

“I believe she said she had had it herself,” Rarity said.

Celestia nodded. “It is a common dream, especially to those more sensitive to the forces of magic.”

“Why are multiple ponies having it?” Twilight asked.

“A question better asked to my sister. I can only guess that the subject of the dream has the ability to somehow impose itself on the collective equine subconscious.”

“What is the subject?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m afraid I do not know off the top of my head.”

“Have you ever had it? The dream, I mean,” Rarity said.

“I have not, though Luna has, shortly after her return from imprisonment. She was very upset about it.”

“Well, it is a really, really scary dream,” Pinkie said, and Celestia nodded.

“I appreciate that you told me, and am sorry that I can offer no advice except to be careful.”

“It’s okay, your highness. We understand,” Twilight said.

“We do have the warning, after all. I’m sure we’ll be okay,” Rarity said with an uncertain, forced smile.

“I have faith in you,” Celestia said.

“It can’t be that bad, if ponies live there,” Rainbow said.

“We’ll just have to figure it out when we get there,” Twilight said. “But we can’t afford to worry about it now.”

“Exactly. Now, there is one more thing I must tell you about your job here,” Celestia said. “Based on your work in Ponyville, I believe Canterlot is too big for you to fix in one spell. You’ll have to split your efforts.”

“No problem!” Pinkie said.

“So we’ll just cast from both sides of the city, instead of the middle,” Applejack said.

“Do you have anything else you would like to address?” Celestia asked.

“What about that weird pirate ship?” Rainbow asked.

“The last I saw of it, it was floating around in the south, in the wastelands. Nowhere near any cities.”

“So what was it doing?” Rarity asked.

“Near as I can tell, nothing.”

“Do you at least know what it is?” Applejack asked.

“I have a theory. I think—though I haven’t verified it—that Discord found an old, wrecked ship and resurrected it.”

“But why?” Twilight asked.

Celestia sighed tiredly. “It really could be anything. Maybe it’s a display of power. Maybe it’s a show of style. Maybe it’s a decoy.”

“It certainly seems out-of-place,” Rarity said.

“Yes. Out-of-place, but, at this point, non-threatening. A curiosity.” Seeing their incredulous faces, she went on hastily. “I’ll still keep an eye on it, of course. When I find it again.”

“You’ll keep us informed, won’t you?” Fluttershy asked.

“Whenever I can spare the time. And when I cannot, Luna will.” She glanced at the window. “I cannot stay here and talk much longer. I delayed an important meeting to speak with you, and am needed elsewhere. Do you have any further questions?”

“I can’t think of anything,” Twilight said.

“Very well. Hold on.” Her horn flashed again, and several large, cylindrical, metal canisters appeared before them, clunking to the floor ungracefully. “This should be sufficient fuel for your ship.” She levitated them out the palace doors and onto the deck, an elegant line of dull gray lozenges tumbling out over the gunwales. “I will be back here tomorrow. If you can, come by before leaving.” She smiled, her eyes creasing up in the friendly gesture that again, and only momentarily, soothed their anxiety. “Best of luck.”

With a sharp crack and a flash of light, she was gone, a glistening skein of air left in her wake. The room was suddenly quiet, and they backed out uncomfortably, climbing back onto the ship and taking off without a word.

While they left the palace, Twilight took a moment to inspect the canisters that Celestia had summoned: smooth, unmarked cylinders of metal that smelled powerfully of some unidentifiable fuel—so powerfully that she couldn’t get close enough to get a good look at them. She walked away from the canisters and over to Fluttershy, who leaned on the rail, staring down.

“Hey, Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy jumped. “Oh, Twilight. I didn’t see you there.”

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing, really.” They swung slowly out over the dark slopes, and Twilight looked with her. Canterlot Mountain was a huge, dark horn, and as they flew away from the palace, it seemed to drop out beneath them, ending several thousand feet below at the scattered dusting of embers of Lower Canterlot. Even at their late hour, the city was awake and active, much unlike slumbering Ponyville; it was weird for her to think that, only just that morning, they had stood in the quiet, tiny Ponyville cemetery, weeping among the flowers and the graves. Two different worlds, only forty miles apart.

“I never really appreciated how big Canterlot is,” Fluttershy said.

“It’s easy for ponies to forget everything at the mountain’s foot. When anyone thinks of Canterlot, they think of the palace, and all the big, elegant buildings surrounding it—never the suburbs. Down here is where the majority of the citizens live.” Twilight leaned out a little. “I was born down there, you know. I think my parents still live in the old house.”

“Your parents, Twilight?” Rarity asked, approaching from behind. “Oh, we simply must pay them a visit.”

“I intend to, but tomorrow. We need to do our job here first.” She paused, surprised at herself. Since the beginning, her parents had been a constant pearl of worry in the back of her mind, but here, at the first mention of them, she dismissed it in favor of their assignment. “Besides, they’re probably asleep by now anyway.”

“But it’s only nine.”

“They’re early risers,” Twilight said. “Always have been.”

They slowly drifted out and down toward the city, and Twilight could begin to distinguish individual buildings. She looked for a large, flat spot for her to draw the sigil, but saw little. Everything was either too narrow, or congested with buildings or wreckage. She saw no empty lots, no large spaces between buildings, nothing.

“You know, darling, I’ve been doing some thinking, about the, um… the battle,” Rarity said.

Twilight didn’t look at her, but closed her eyes. Memories flashed through her mind: the flight to and above the palace, the drop, the training, the fighting, hazy in some places and crystal sharp in others. Entire sequences of conversation and motion rendered down to a single, unclear thought, peppered in with precise images and sensations: the gleam in Pinkie’s eyes at a spell, the wind in her mane at the beginning of the fall. Fear in the face of a falling attacker. “What about it?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I’ve just been… thinking. It seems distant. So unreal, so far away. Like it didn’t really happen.”

“I know what you mean,” Twilight said, remembering more: the confusion, the exhaustion, the horror she felt when she looked into the sky for the first time.

“Are you okay, darling?”

After a time, Twilight answered. “I think so.”

“Are you remembering… on the balcony?”

Twilight nodded.

“We did what we had to do, dear. Everypony would agree.”

“That doesn’t change the facts.”

“Well, no, but…” Rarity struggled for a response.

“We killed,” Twilight thought. She closed her eyes again. It was the first time the thought had come to her so clearly. “We killed someone. I did. Rarity did. I think Pinkie did too.” She tried to push the words past her lips, but they wouldn’t come, and she only shuddered. Rarity placed a hoof on her back, but her mind churned on, replaying images of the shocked pegasus, battered and bruised, thrown from the height of the palace balcony. The dark stain on the floor.

When she looked back up, Rarity was still there, and they were coasting silently over Lower Canterlot, the slopes behind them. Fluttershy was gone, standing at Applejack’s side, and the Rainbow was looking at them from across the deck.

Twilight walked over to Applejack, and Pinkie came up behind. “See anything for the spell?” Pinkie asked innocently.

“There’s a big, flat roof down there,” Fluttershy said, pointing to a large, square building. It stood among a small collection of lower buildings, all glass fronts and upturned deli counters facing the empty, dirt-and-drywall mounded street. The section of ground was only two hundred feet across, Twilight estimated, just enough room for a couple buildings and the tattered ends of a street intersection at its edge.

“Twilight, do you think that roof’ll be big enough fer yer spell?” Applejack asked.

Twilight scrutinized it, running some rough calculations in her head. “I think so. But only just. We can’t land the ship on it, or it’ll get in the way.”

“Then we’ll just land next to it. Ah’m sure we can get to the roof from inside.”

“Why not hover outside it?” Pinkie asked.

“We should really tell the pony inside what we’re doing,” Twilight said.

Pinkie looked at her, perplexed, and Applejack gave her a nudge. “Get us down there, Pinkie.”

Pinkie raced back and cut the torch, then the engines a few seconds later, and they began their descent. They were already close, and Applejack had to turn a tight circle to keep them from overshooting and landing outside the small island of earth. They came to rest on the street, empty in the middle but flanked on both sides, all the way along, by leaning carriages, carts, and a single automobile. As they walked toward the building, Twilight stopped to admire the car; she had seen several in her youth, but in Ponyville, they were unheard-of, and it was good to lay eyes on one again, even if it was abandoned.

They approached the building, a large, plaster box with huge, dark windows and a small crisscross of concrete stairs before a pair of stately, wooden doors. In the darkness, and overshadowed by the buildings on both sides, they could barely make out any details on the building’s interior. No sounds came from within, and when they tried the doors, both were locked.

“Well, that’s just great. What do we do now?” Rainbow complained.

“Go ‘round to the front,” Applejack said, looking at her with a bemused expression. “This thing has more’n two doors, RD.”

“Oh yeah, huh.”

They walked slowly around, passing through a narrow alley behind the building; a small trickle of water ran through its middle, and the whole area smelled faintly of sewage. Rarity mumbled and moaned, but they ignored her as they rounded a corner onto the moonlit sidewalk.

They stopped suddenly.

Where they had been expecting a continuation of the ground into a street, and then the next block, there was only emptiness. The sidewalk was a fractured band that closed the area in, its concrete surface scraped away in places to reveal the dark, flat, hard ground beneath, jagged at the edges with loose stone and exposed pipes. Twilight carefully walked out onto a square of concrete to look at the building’s front. She let out a sigh, and the others crowded around her to see.

The sidewalk ended several feet away, sheered in a dangerous curve that precluded approach to the front door, exposed to the empty air; the stone doorstep hung off perilously.

“Okay, now what?” Rainbow asked.

“Try flyin’ out there, Rainbow. See if it even opens,” Applejack said.

Rainbow hopped out over the edge and flew down, then up in a wide arc to the front door, where she stopped and hovered. She tugged at it, but it only shuddered in its frame. She banged on it and rattled it, and shouted for someone to answer, but, after five minutes, gave up and returned to them.

“Ah think this place may be abandoned,” Applejack said.

“It doesn’t look abandoned,” Twilight said.

“Well, no one’s answering the door, that’s for sure,” Rainbow said.

“Maybe they went home,” Fluttershy said.

“I’d say it’s more likely they’re asleep inside,” Twilight said.

“Are there any windows we can go through?” Pinkie asked.

“No, the windows are all unbroken,” Rainbow said. “I looked.”

“Well, how about going in from beneath?”

They all stopped and looked at her. “Pinkie, that makes no sense. Like, at all,” Applejack said.

“Nuh-uh!” Pinkie trotted down the sidewalk and out to a small parapet that hung over the chasm. It groaned under her hooves, but she seemed unfazed as she crouched on the edge and pointed down at the building’s foundation. “Look! Things!”

They cautiously went out to where she was, and she moved to give them room. From the new angle, they could see the building’s bottom trailing down like the root of a giant tooth, pipes and jagged hunks of rock and earth melded together to form a colossal, conical base. Where the ground tapered off, it gave way to a large group of black, brittle-looking wire cages, suspended from an unseen point and hanging in the air like legs. Twilight could see the glimmer of water in the bottom of one, but the rest were open to the empty sky underneath.

“What exactly am I looking at?” Twilight asked.

“I told you, Twilight. Things!” Pinkie said.

“Well, yes, but…”

“We can fly down there and climb up through ‘em!”

“That sounds terrible,” Rarity said evenly.

“We’ve got a ship,” Applejack said. “Remember? Let’s just go back an’ hover over the roof. If someone comes out, we’ll explain it to ‘em.”

“No, I don’t like that either,” Twilight said.

“Oh, come on, Twilight.”

“I actually like Pinkie’s idea,” Rainbow said. “It’ll be an adventure.”

“We don’t need more adventuring, Dash,” Rarity said.

“If we go up through the building, we’ll probably run into the pony anyway,” Pinkie said. “We can ask permission then.”

“Oh, um, she has a point,” Fluttershy said.

“Twilight, I’m gonna lay it on the line,” Rainbow said. “I really want to do this. Today’s been nothing but sad, depressing, boring stuff. Pinkie’s party was cool, but I was too mad to enjoy it.”

“You really wan to climb up through, huh?” Applejack said.

“It sounds like fun.”

“Fun!” Pinkie echoed.

Twilight put a hoof to her forehead, thinking for a moment. “Okay, okay, we can go up through. We will probably run into someone, at least. Rainbow, go down there and get a better look at those cages.”

“You got it!” she said, saluting and jumping off the edge. Twilight watched her do a couple excited loops, then flit up into the nearest cage, her blue body segmented by the wire mesh. She hovered for a moment and landed on something, then swooped down and out, and back up to them.

“There’s a walkway inside,” she said, landing back on the sidewalk. “Nice and sturdy, and a door up at the top.” She looked at them. “Right, let’s do this. Who’s getting carried first?”

“I’ll go,” Twilight said, and Rainbow approached her. She climbed onto Rainbow’s back awkwardly. She had ridden the pegasus before—they all had, at various times—but it always felt weird to her, to have her legs draped over Rainbow’s downy, muscular body. She was hot with exertion, and Twilight adjusted her position uncomfortably.

“You good?”

“Fine,” Twilight said.

They plummeted off the sidewalk, and Twilight repressed a squeal of fright as they swung low under the ground’s edge. She knew that Rainbow enjoyed the freedom of flight, but she was too tense to do the same; her eyes were fixed to the dark pit of empty sky. They soared down and curved up under the lower lip of the nearest cage, and Rainbow landed them on a narrow, wooden plank that spiraled up around the cage’s inside. She climbed off, and Rainbow adjusted her plumage.

“Thanks a lot for this, Rainbow. It really means a lot to me.”

Rainbow looked at her with a curious expression. “Uh, yeah, no problem.” She jumped off the edge and flew back upwards.

Twilight walked a bit up the path to give Rainbow room for her next delivery, simultaneously admiring and fearing the construction of the cage. It was tremendous, and totally hollow, its black bars thinner than her legs and pressed together with large, round bolts, some burst or bent away in fraying tangles of hard, black capillaries. The wooden walkway was wide enough to admit two ponies standing side by side, and held onto the sides of the cage with small clusters of nails and screws. She could feel it bending slightly under her, and wondered how much weight it could hold; she pushed the thought out of her mind.

Above, the cage was attached to a large, dark metal axle, like a bauble on a mobile, and she could see a large crack running up through the stone adjunct to the plunging metal support post. Below, the black bars twisted away, where the bottom had been rent off. They looked dangerous in the starlight, like fingertips groping empty air.

“If there were stars down there, we’d have a hard time figuring out which way the real sky was, huh, Twilight?” Pinkie said from next to her; she jumped, and the walkway shifted beneath her.

“Oh, Pinkie, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry, Twilight. I thought you saw me.”

She breathed out. “It’s okay.”

“I mean, I guess you would know which way is up because of the direction you fall, but honestly, who trusts gravity that much?” She laughed uproariously. “I remember this one party I threw and I have no idea how it happened but I ended up spending the whole party on the ceiling, Twilight! I tried to dance but ceilings aren’t as stable as floors, I guess, and I kept shaking the lights!”

“Pinkie, that can’t have actually happened,” Twilight said, grinning.

“Applejack! You remember the party where I was upside-down, right?”

“Pinkie, you know Ah remember,” Applejack said, walking up to them while Rainbow dived back down. She bounced a little where she stood, and the wood groaned. “This thing sure doesn’t feel sturdy.”

“Oh! Are we bouncing now?” Pinkie asked. She began hopping in place, and the planks protested more loudly.

“Pinkie, you wanna cut that out before we all fall outta this thing?” Applejack said, and Pinkie stopped with a meek smile.

Rainbow came up and deposited Rarity, who regarded the walkway distastefully. “Ugh, this is simply ghastly. Are you quite sure it’s safe?”

“It’s fine,” Rainbow said, panting.

“Rainbow, you look beat,” Applejack said.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“Let’s go, then,” Rarity said. “I don’t feel safe down here.”

Twilight was at the front, and began walking, making her way up the incline and around the perimeter of the cage. She stepped carefully, Rarity’s concern for the walkway’s stability adding to her own.

“What are these things?” Rainbow asked.

“I have no idea,” Twilight said.

“That one over there still has a bottom,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, so?” Applejack asked.

“I think they might be pools.”

“Why would you have a pool in a cage? That seems pointless,” Rainbow said.

“Dashie’s right! Who wants to swim in a cage?” Pinkie said.

“I think the point is to dive from the top,” Fluttershy said quietly. “See? There’s a platform up there.” She pointed upwards, where a wooden lip hung out over the emptiness.

“That’s awfully high,” Applejack said.

“Twilight, you know Canterlot the best. Is that a common thing here?” Rarity asked.

“I have no idea, Rarity. If it is, I’ve never done it.” She looked again at the platform, then down at the cage’s bottom; it was at least a thirty-foot drop. “And I don’t intend to.”

“What? Are you kidding, Twilight? It would be so much fun! Why, if there was a bottom for me to fall into, I’d jump right now!” Pinkie said.

“Yeah, um, don’t,” Applejack deadpanned.

Pinkie laughed. “I wouldn’t do it here, silly!”

“Yeah, Pinks. I don’t think I could catch you if you jumped,” Rainbow said.

At the cage’s top, there was a smooth door carved into the surrounding stone, and they passed through into a warm, concrete corridor. Twilight activated her horn in a small light spell as they moved through, heads ducked warily under dead lights. They went up a flight of stairs to a wooden door; a soft line of light fanned out from below, and its bottom scraped across the floor in protest, rough on skewed hinges, when Twilight opened it. The sudden light, mixed with the sharp smell of mold, made them lean back.

“Oh, heavens, we’re not going in there, are we?” Rarity asked, bringing a hoof to her nose.

“Sorry, Rarity. But hey, there’s light. Maybe we can find somepony to help us out,” Twilight said, stepping in.

They emerged into a vast, stone room with a large, empty grid of square holes running from wall to wall, covering the floor like hoofprints. The walls were of dully bricks and smooth mortar, and there was neither rubble nor cracks to be seen, and the floor was a uniform stone that clattered on their hooves loudly. Torches along each wall lit the room with a dancing, orange lambency, flickering the shadows inside the holes from long to short, deep to thin. Intermingled with the smell of mold and decay was the slight, bitter tang of chemicals.

“What is this place?” Pinkie asked. “Hello? Hellooooooo?”

“Wh-what? Who goes there?” a small, mousy voice called from somewhere near the center. “Hello? Who’s there?” A head poked out one of the holes and looked at them, followed by the body of a little pegasus, who flew out and landed on one of the partitions in front of them. She was pale blue, with a marbled mane of blue and white, and her eyes were suspicious. She had a rough, tomboyish look to her, and as she watched them, she tilted her head to the side; the move struck Twilight as strangely aggressive. “Who are you?” she demanded. “And for that matter, how the hay did you get in here?”

“We’re, um,” Twilight began. What were they, actually?

“We’re emissaries from Princess Celestia,” Rarity said, and the small pegasus’ expression softened somewhat.

“What are you doing here?” she asked warily.

“We’re…” Twilight started again.

“We’re here to save Canterlot!” Pinkie chimed.

The pegasus released a single, derisive laugh. “Oh, of course you are. Yes, that explains everything.”

“What she means is we’re here to put the city back together,” Rarity said.

The pegasus looked at her blankly. “What does that mean? Like, physically put it back together? Reconnect the pieces of ground?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Twilight said.

The pegasus eyed them again. “You realize of course that this sounds quite fishy to me.”

“Nope!” Pinkie chirped.

She glared at Pinkie, then took a single step forward. “Why are you here, then? Why, of all the places in the city, are you here?”

“We need a large, flat surface to cast our spell on,” Twilight said. “We saw your roof from a distance, and figured we would do it there.”

“And I suppose the notion of knocking eluded you.”

“We knocked for five minutes, and you didn’t answer!” Rainbow cried.

The pegasus regarded her dismissively. “Ah, yes. I must not have heard you.”

Rainbow only glowered speechlessly.

“We came from below,” Twilight said.

“From the waterfall cages?” the pegasus asked, frowning.

“The what cages?”

“Big cages that are supposed to hold water. For diving.” Seeing their blank expressions, she rolled her eyes. “Never mind.” She ruffled her wings once, shaking some droplets of water off, and backed up to regard them all in a more relaxed manner. “I am Peppermint—the proprietor of this establishment. The one on which you’re trespassing.”

“Um, if ya don’t mind my askin’, what is this establishment?” Applejack asked.

“It’s a spa.”

“Oh.”

“But it’s also more. It’s also a sauna, a pool, a system of baths,” she gestured around the room, “and those aforementioned diving cages for the adventurous ponies.”

“Oh, darling, that sounds simply divine,” Rarity said.

“I’m sure it does. Unfortunately, as you might be able to tell, I’m a little out of business at the moment.”

“Well, I bet you’ll be able to get back in business once we’re done!” Pinkie said.

“We’ll see about that.” She turned away and went back for the middle of the room. “Look, I have work to do here; I’m cleaning these baths before they start to rot, and I really don’t have time to help you guys out with your, um, spell. Sorry.” She shrugged and hopped back down into the bath.

“Can you at least point us towards the roof?” Rainbow asked.

“Yeah, sure. Go through the door on the other side of this room and take every staircase you find after that. That’s where the roof is. Everything should be unlocked.”

“Thanks,” Twilight said, choosing not to acknowledge Peppermint’s sarcasm.

She stepped onto the partition between baths and made her way to the opposite wall. She could see the baths clearly as she passed them—great, square holes with smoothly-rounded, stone bottoms and vents in the walls. The corners of some were stained dark gray with mold, while others were pristine; she had to wonder how long the tiny pegasus had been working. The partitions were dry, but freckled with stale water spots. She looked down at Peppermint as they passed, but she was busy, working a small trowl in a foaming, white corner; the smell of acerbity was powerful, even from the rim.

They went through a door at the far end of the room and into a wide, stone stairwell. Torches were spaced roughly and far apart, leaving large intervals of frayed shadow to slither at their hooves and wiggle on the walls. Fluttershy drew back, following reluctantly, and only when everyone else had gone.

“This place certainly is creepy,” Rarity said.

“It’s underground. What can you say?” Twilight said.

“You’d think that Peppermint could have placed a few more torches,” Rainbow said.

“One would think.” Twilight pushed open the door at the top, recessed in an alcove of shadow that seemed to swallow the front half of her body as she went to place her hoof on the handle. The door creaked open into a long room of dark stone, an oblong pool spanning its length in the center, glassy in the unaccustomed light only a few torches. The rough teeth of a circular grate hung over the pool, dark and crusted over.

“Oooh! Swimming!” Pinkie shouted, running from where she stood into the pool and splashing about frantically. The sounds of her play echoed through the entire cavern, which appeared to extend several meters out of sight.

“Pinkie, this is hardly the time,” Rarity said, backing away a little so as not to get splashed.

“Not the time for fun? But it’s never not the time for fun!”

“This is not the time for fun!” she insisted, and Pinkie only laughed and dunked her head.

“Pinkie, please,” Twilight said. “I haven’t slept since we were in Ponyville, and I’ve had a long day. Can we please just get to the roof and do our spell?” She felt bad for the tone she was taking, and hoped Pinkie would understand.

“Oh, Twilight, you just need to loosen up a little!” Pinkie cried, splashing energetically and wetting the stone floors.

“What I need is to finish my job for the day and get some sleep.”

“Oh, come on, just one lap?”

“Pinkie, I can’t even swim. Not that well, anyway.”

“I’ll do a lap with you, Pinkie,” Rainbow said, swooping up over their heads and into the water with a small splash.

“Whoo! Race ya!” Pinkie took off, flailing her legs around formlessly while Rainbow sliced through the water, using her powerful wings to give her boosts of speed. Despite her awkward style, Pinkie kept pace with her, and they reached the opposite end at about the same time.

“I won!” Rainbow exclaimed, climbing out and shaking off.

“Way to go, Dashie! But I almost gotcha there at the end!”

“Of all the times for Pinkie to get distracted,” Twilight thought unhappily, looking around the room. There was an empty space set into the nearby wall, its shadow deeper than the other crevasses and impressions in the grotto, and she went to it curiously.

“Twilight, the water is perfectomundo!” Pinkie called.

“I’m sure it is,” Twilight said, lighting her horn for a moment to reveal another door. “Come on, we need to go.”

Pinkie and Rainbow climbed out of the water with mutual complaints while Twilight opened the door; light spilled out onto the stone floor in a bright circle, thrown out of another staircase, much better lit. The walls a dark slate gray, and the torchlight reflected off the slick, stone steps wildly. They followed her up, dripping noisily on the steps.

They bent tightly upwards and walked out into a tremendous, rough stone cavern, dry with loose grit and smelling of stale minerals. There was a large, deep gouge in the floor, a dimple of stone sticking out near its middle; at one end of the gouge was a small, but deep repository, and at the other was a wide opening out into the night.

“I think this used to be a river,” Fluttershy said. “It looks like it emptied out into that pool below us.”

“Simply fascinating,” Rarity said, taking a few steps toward the open end and craning her neck. “Fluttershy, darling, we absolutely must revisit this place, when everything is done.”

“Come on, come on,” Twilight mentally urged; her patience for diversions was running out. She led them along the riverbank, worn smooth, to the next door and up another flight of stairs.

“How many of these are there going to be?” Rainbow complained.

“Not many more, I’m sure,” Twilight said dully. The stairwell was narrower than those before it, lit by lanterns that swayed from the ceiling, and Twilight had to bend awkwardly to look back at her friends. They wound upwards at a steep angle, and Twilight estimated that they had done a full circuit around the river before reaching the next floor, a wooden corridor lined with doors, all lit in the soft light of fragrant lanterns. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath; climbing up all the stairs was harder for her than she would have liked to admit.

“What is this place?” Applejack asked.

“Haven’t you been in a sauna before, darling?” Rarity quipped.

“Ah thought saunas were s’posed to be big ol’ steam rooms.”

“Why, that’s what all these doors are for, dear.” Rarity opened one for Applejack to see.

Applejack shook her head. “An’ they have how many of these rooms? Sheesh, they’re makin’ more money in a week than we make in a year.”

“That’s Canterlot for ya!” Pinkie cried.

They ascended one more stairway at the sauna corridor’s end and found themselves in a pristine, white tile room, similar to the spa in Ponyville. A single counter filled the corner, its surface colored with papers, a small table in the room’s center festooned similarly with magazines. A large bay window let in the starlight from outside, and only a single lantern lit the room. Potted plants watched from the corners, dying and dark.

“What is it with that pegasus and not lighting things properly?” Rainbow asked.

“She must like the darkness,” Fluttershy said.

“Creeper.”

Twilight had to look around a little to see their next path. The lantern was insufficient to light the room’s sides and corners, and she could only eventually see a door by the dull band of light on its cracked frame. Unlike the other doors in the spa, no light emanated from beneath. Twilight walked straight to it, and her friends hung back to let her enter at a slight distance. No torchlight danced from within, not even at a distance, and as she looked up its length, she saw nothing at all. Even with her horn alight, the stairs were so narrow, and their wood so dark, that the light afforded comfort for her only. Her head would be in the way for most of the others’ illumination.

She looked around as she walked. The walls were bare boards, the ceiling a large pale pink matte of fiberglass held by thin, metal wires. She could hear Fluttershy mewling behind her, and, even in her impatience, didn’t blame her. Without her horn, she knew, she would be just as afraid as the rest of them.

The stairs sounded hollow underneath, and their hoofsteps were heavy and loud. Twilight sent her light forward a bit to see where the stairs ended, but saw only a sharp corner, some twenty feet ahead. She looked back at her friends, who shielded their eyes from the sudden glare of her horn.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning back. She turned the corner as quickly as she could, and realized, in that moment, that she was nervous. Finally accustomed to the surreal loneliness of the spa, and its darkness, her mind could begin forming threats in the shadows. Discord, perhaps, to stop their adventure prematurely, or one of his acolytes, hiding patiently. In the deep shadows, anything was possible.

To her relief, the stairs ended only ten feet later at a short, splintery, wooden ladder, extending up into a trapdoor. Twilight magically pushed it open, taking care to ease it down onto the roof and not make a noise.

“Um, Twilight,” Applejack said, “Ah hate to say this, but Ah can’t climb ladders.”

Twilight looked back at her. “Don’t you climb around inside the barn a lot?”

“Eh, Ah always go up the hay bales.”

“Hm. Rainbow, can you help her out?”

Rainbow pressed forward to study the opening above them. “I don’t think I can fit us both through there. Not the way I’d have to carry her, anyway.”

“Well…”

“Is it really necessary fer me to go out there with ya?” Applejack asked.

“Is it?” Fluttershy repeated.

“I guess not,” Twilight said, “but where will you go?”

“Ah can go back down an’ meet up with you by the front door,” Applejack said.

“All right. Anyone else here going with her? Pinkie, I hope you know how to get up ladders.” She looked over the others, but didn’t see her. “Pinkie?”

“Up here, silly!” Pinkie called from above.

Twilight looked, and Pinkie beamed down at her through the trapdoor. “Oh, okay.” She was too tired to even comment on the surprise, mild as it was. “Rarity?”

“I think I can make it,” Rarity said confidently.

Twilight nodded absentmindedly and looked at the ladder. She couldn’t see the roof, and, with a suppressed groan of annoyance, placed her forehooves on the beginning rungs. She had only climbed ladders a few times in the past, when Spike was absent or indisposed, and she needed to organize the top shelves of the library. She cautiously raised herself up, hooking her hoof around the rung and hoping she wouldn’t have to rely on her pastern to hold her, should she slip. She could feel the cool night air on her face, and it was refreshing after so much time spent walking past torches and under lanterns.

While Twilight moved up the ladder, Applejack turned around to face the dark decline. She was in the back of the group, and there was no one to get in her way, but she still hesitated in descending. Without Twilight’s magic, she could only see the first few stairs in the dim starlight, and without the others to walk near her, she was hesitant. She started down, moving slowly so as not to misstep, and a flutter of pegasus wings behind her told her that the next pony had made it through the trapdoor.

The light from behind quickly faded, and she was forced to move by touch only. The stairs creaked and groaned, and she could feel flakes of ancient paint flecking off as she moved. Her sides brushed the walls, and her coat occasionally caught on a splinter, each time making her stop and re-center herself on the steps. Even when her eyes had adjusted, she could see only just enough to keep herself from losing all touch with her surroundings. In the darkness, and the silence, there seemed nothing behind her, and nothing before her; just steps down into something, quiet and alone.

She slowed her pace again, not wanting to bump into the turn, and looked back to see how the others were doing. The beam of meager light from outside looked solid and powerful to her atrophied vision, and when she turned back, her eyes, already useless in the darkness, felt shrouded. Even the suggestion of stair outlines was gone, and she blundered forward, raising a hoof at each step to feel for the wall. Her vision did not adjust, and she felt exposed and disarmed as she hobbled down.

“Ah’m not scared,” she thought to herself. “Just bein’ careful. No problem with that.” Her outstretched hoof bumped something flat and dry, and she drew back quickly with a sharp gasp. She laughed a little to herself and stepped forward again, turning into the first half of the stairwell. “Guess Ah am a little scared. Fluttershy would understand.” She smiled at the thought, and hastened her progress down the stairs. She could see the dim line of light under the door, illuminating nothing, but indicating an end to the creaking stairs; she breathed out, realizing that she had been clenching her jaw and holding her breath through the descent.

As she drew closer, there were soft hoofsteps on the other side, and the door clicked open. Her heart leaped, and her breath caught in her throat; the tingle of adrenaline spread over her body, and she backed up a step.

“Is somepony up there?” a voice called.

“Y-yeah, Ah am,” Applejack responded, hating how nervous she sounded.

“It’s Peppermint. You one of the ones who came in from below?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, okay. Are you with the others?”

“They’re on the roof already.”

“Why are you down here?”

“Ah can’t climb the ladder.”

“Ah. Here, let me get out of your way,” she said, holding the door open and letting Applejack through; with the light from the open door, she was able to descend fearlessly.

“Thanks,” Applejack said as she passed the impatient-looking pony.

Peppermint grunted in response and resolutely walked into the dark stairwell, closing the door behind her firmly.

“Ah bet she ain’t afraid of them stairs,” Applejack thought as she took one of the seats by the counter. She could hear Peppermint walking over her head.

Peppermint gave no thought to the orange pony she had passed as she trudged up the same, familiar stairs to the roof. Ordinarily, she would not have been worried about ponies going up to her roof, especially when she was busy with something as important as cleaning the baths, but she didn’t entirely trust the group of strangers—all of whom had managed to simply appear inside her building. The circumstances were too suspicious for her to let them go unobserved.

While she worked below, she could only think about the intruders, and it soured her mood; now, in her favorite set of stairs in the building, she was able to relax and order her thoughts. She paused a moment to savor the dull, musty atmosphere that she loved, and everyone else despised. Even before the lights had gone out, it was the darkest, quietest stairwell in her building, a perfect spot for peace. She often took her breaks in the tight corner, relishing the coolness and faint mildewy smell that surrounded her; her friends didn’t understand, and thought her strange. She rounded the bend and noted, with slight indignation, that the intruders had left the trapdoor open. She stopped at the ladder’s bottom and listened. The banter from above was soft and conversational—nothing threatening, and nothing suspicious.

She flew silently out and hovered above and behind them. The white unicorn and the two pegasi sat off to the side, watching as the purple unicorn drew something around the pink pony. The whole scene made Peppermint pause; it was so ritualistic, for a moment, she felt like she was intruding. She shook her head angrily. “Damn it, this is my roof, not theirs!”

She swooped over to the purple unicorn and shouted at her, hoping to make her jump and spoil her graffito. “Hey! What the hay do you think you’re doing?”

The unicorn blinked her eyes shut for a second, but did not break stride.

Peppermint moved closer to try to prod her into response, but the rainbow pegasus had flown over to her, and pushed her back before she could get close enough.

“Don’t mess with Twilight,” she said warningly, and Peppermint frowned.

“Vandals! She is vandalizing my roof! How dare you all do this?”

“We’re not vandalizing anything. Now step off!”

“It’s called a sigil, darling,” the white unicorn said from across the roof. “It’s a magical symbol that ponies use to cast spells they can’t cast on their own. She’s going to use it to fix the, um, problem in Canterlot.”

Peppermint was indignant at being stopped, and looked the white unicorn in the eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

“If you mess her up, she’s going to have to start all over again,” the rainbow pegasus said. “And you don’t want her to have to do that. She’s been at this for twenty minutes now.”

Peppermint looked back down at the project. As unwelcome as it was, she had to admit that it was interesting; the circle was big, but the lines inside were tiny, some of them as short as her coat furs, and packed in tight spirals that seemed almost to suck her in. “It is kind of pretty, I guess.”

“Come watch with us; you’ll see what we mean,” the white unicorn said.

Peppermint flew over to the others with an audible sigh of displeasure. “I’ve never heard of ponies using magical symbols to do spells.”

“They don’t, usually,” the unicorn said. “This is a particularly difficult spell, one Twilight can’t do on her own.”

“Twilight’s the one drawing,” the rainbow pegasus said.

“I can’t believe I’m just letting this happen,” Peppermint complained.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry,” the other pegasus said quietly. “The paint goes away once the spell is done.”

“You all should hope so. If I have to look at that eyesore every time I come up here, I’m going to the authorities.”

“Yeah, like that would do any good,” the rainbow pegasus spoke up.

“Oh?”

“Do you know who we are?”

Peppermint looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Please, tell me all about it.”

The pegasus gave her a smug look. “Uh, just the Elements of Harmony. You know, the saviors of Equestria. No biggie.”

“I thought you looked familiar.” Peppermint savored the pegasus’ momentary look of confusion at her deadpan response.

“Yeah. Well, we’re being backed by Princess Celestia herself. You know her, I’m sure. The highest authority in all of Equestria. Yeah, she’s behind us all the way.” She grinned arrogantly. “You can’t touch us.”

“Rainbow, don’t be so boastful,” the unicorn said.

“Yeah, Rainbow,” Peppermint said with a wide, false smile.

The pegasus stuck her tongue out at her pejoratively, and Peppermint ignored it.

“Dumb nag,” she thought, resuming watching Twilight work. It looked like she was making good progress; the circle was almost entirely filled in, and the ponies watching were shifting restlessly. “You said this is supposed to bring the city back together?”

“Yes, darling. You’ll see in just a few minutes,” the white unicorn said.

“I find it hard to believe that all our problems can be solved by a single spell.”

“Oh, it will hardly solve all of your problems, dear.”

“But you said it would put the town back as it was.”

“First of all, it’ll only do half of it,” Rainbow said. “Canterlot’s too big for one spell.”

“And while it will move the pieces of earth around, and repair the, um, gaps, it won’t help with any damage that’s come to the buildings themselves,” the unicorn continued.

“So the earth comes together, but we still get to deal with all the cleanup,” Peppermint said unhappily.

“I’m afraid so.”

“What about water?”

“The rivers didn’t spill out, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Peppermint hesitated. “That’s… good.” A plethora of questions came to her mind, but she didn’t voice them. She was in no mood to talk about the disaster’s logistics with the small group. Instead, she settled on more banal conversation. “Where are you all from?”

“Ponyville,” Rainbow said proudly.

“All of you?”

“Every one of us,” the unicorn said.

“Ah. Well, that explains a few things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rainbow asked, fixing her with an annoyed look.

“Oh, for Celestia’s sake, Rainbow,” the unicorn said. “Leave her alone.”

“She’s ins, um, insiniu… implying that she’s better than us!”

Peppermint rolled her eyes. “I am not. I just said that it explains a few questions I had. No accusations there.”

“Oh! Twilight’s almost done!” the other pegasus said, and they all stopped to look at her.

Only a small piece of empty rooftop remained, and Peppermint found herself leaning forward with the others as Twilight finished it. As soon as she had, the entire design began to glisten, beetle black and watery. She gasped; she had never seen anything like it. The pink pony in the center began to glow dimly, but slowly brighter and brighter until Peppermint had to look away. Her eyes averted, she was not ready for the jolt, and she stumbled.

As soon as she righted herself, the noise began. Days ago, she had woken up in her apartment a few miles away to what sounded and felt like a hurricane beneath her house, and it had terrified her so much that she had flown out of her room, not even bothering to close the door. The sound, as it did now, filled the air, and she clamped her ears down.

With the sound, she could feel the ground grinding and sliding, and there was another jolt as it banged into an adjoining piece. What, just a couple seconds ago, had been the grumble of protesting stone and swaying buildings, now became a clastic chewing that made her shiver and cringe, certain that something had gone wrong, and too terrified to get up. She could hear metal scratching at stone, gravel crushing against dirt with an intense, low-frequency pressure that she could feel running up her legs, shaking her body and her spa all in one trembling mass. She crouched and closed her eyes, trying to take deep breaths. The sound disoriented her, and her eyes hurt from the pony’s brightness.

The ordeal lasted only half a minute, the longest thirty seconds in Peppermint’s life, and when it was done, she stayed on the ground for what felt like half an hour. Someone tapped her gently, and she got up and looked around. The graffito was gone, and the ponies were crowded around Twilight and the pink pony. Peppermint looked out at the city; it looked immediately different, and she realized with a happy, unbelieving shock that it was back to normal. She had gotten used to everything looking farther away, used to the isolation, and almost used to flying over the tremendous gaps. But now, all that was gone.

From her height, she could see torches coming to life all across the town, and ponies were tentatively looking out their doors and windows. Some were in the streets, looking around as if uncertain what to do, while others took to the air in silent, mass confusion. She heard a whoop in the distance, and then another closer to her. As if taking a cue, a hundred voices all around began shouting, happy and confused at the same time.

She shook her wings, and smiled as a realization hit her. When everyone had calmed down and started talking about it, she could say that she had been there. She and she alone had seen the Elements of Harmony cast the spell, on her roof. She had talked with them, watched them, and even tried to get them to stop; how foolish she had been to resist them, and she smiled at this too.

Shocked from the enormity of things and dazed from the sensory overload, she walked to the edge of her roof and looked down dumbly. She had to stare for a moment before she believed it. The streets had been pressed back together, and the houses were now separated by only a few feet, instead of hundreds.

Peppermint could think only one thing in her excitement and wonder: “It actually worked.” She looked up, and a swarm of pegasi was above her, risen from the buildings that had suddenly congregated around her own. “It actually worked.” Laughter bubbled up in her chest, and she smiled wide, letting it go unhindered as she jumped off the roof and took flight.

It was almost midnight, and the skies had never been more alive. Pegasi crowded the air around her, and she flew into the group; she didn’t know any of them, hadn’t even seen them before, but it didn’t matter. They hugged, squealed, laughed, did loops around each other. In that moment, they were all friends. In that moment, the knowledge that her spa was still nonfunctional was forgotten. In that moment, nothing else mattered, only that Canterlot—her half of it, at least—was once again whole. And she had been there to see it all done.

Composure in All Things

Chapter Eighteen

Composure in All Things

The trip back to the airship was slow; Twilight had nearly passed out from her spell, and Rainbow had to help float her to the ground while the others took the stairs. She and Applejack carried Twilight into the ship, but the swarms of celebrating pegasi were too thick above them to take off. At first, they tried to wait it out, but when an hour had passed, and the sky was still active, lit with torches and, in some places, jostling with improvised parties, they decided to sleep where they had landed. Twilight was already snoring lightly in her sleeping bag, and the others clustered around her. None of them had seen Peppermint since the roof.

When the sun rose the next day, Applejack was the first to wake. At first, she didn’t remember where she was, but the sight of the torch, followed by the blank, stucco façades of Lower Canterlot reminded her. When everyone was awake, they took off, happy to be out of the streets. A few ponies had walked by their ship while they were eating breakfast, looking at them strangely as they went on their ways.

When they were in the air, they all crowded around the front of the ship to look at Pinkie’s work. She had done a good job; the section of Canterlot over which they hung had been re-affixed to the mountain flawlessly, its pieces brought together in a busy crescent of low, dull buildings and furrowed streets. There was still a great amount of wreckage; everywhere they looked, ponies were picking through piles of building materials, pushing carts or cars out of the way, or sweeping street corners. Some were painting their buildings, while others hauled large pieces of rubble—tables, slabs of floor and wall, toilets—down the roads like multicolored ants. As it was in Ponyville, so it was in Canterlot. The spell had passed, and work was beginning.

“Amazing,” Twilight said. “Pinkie, you did a great job.”

“Thanks, Twilight! How ya feeling?”

“Much better, thanks.”

“You ready to go on up to the palace, Twi?” Applejack asked.

“Actually, if it’s not too much trouble, I was thinking we could visit my parents. They’re probably worried sick about me.”

Applejack’s tone was immediately sympathetic. “Sure, sugarcube. We can do that. Where are they?”

“Down there, somewhere,” Twilight said, pointing at a large swath of dull gray houses, separated from the rest of the buildings only by a thin curve of street.

“Somewhere? You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“When we get closer, I can lead us. It’s been a while, but I think I remember the way.”

“Twilight, what are your parents like? I’m oh so curious about them,” Rarity said. Twilight smiled, remembering them. “They’re a little old-fashioned, but I think you’d like them, Rarity. They’re both really nice. My dad is friendly, and really smart.” She giggled a little. “I know you girls think I’m smart, but he’s always been way smarter than me. He first got me interested in studying and reading.”

“So he’s an even bigger egghead than you,” Rainbow said.

“As a matter of fact, Rainbow, yes, he is. And my mom is really fun, and very outgoing. More like Pinkie than anyone, now that I think about it.”

“They both sound delightful,” Rarity said.

“Yeah.” Twilight sobered. “I just hope they’re okay.”

“Oh, Twi, don’t worry,” Applejack said. “If yer father’s as smart as you said he is, Ah’m sure they’re both fine.”

“You’re probably right, Applejack.” She walked to the middle of the ship. “Pinkie, would you mind getting us going?”

“Okey-dokey-lokey!” She raced downstairs, and the ship rumbled to life.

They slowly floated over the top of a road toward the curve of buildings that Twilight had indicated. Ponies, mostly unicorns, worked underneath them, clearing black blocks of asphalt from a sinister ridge that ran along the street’s center. Though Pinkie’s spell had brought the ground back together, it did nothing for the pavement, now creased inexpertly like folds in a ribbon.

“Twilight, are there places fer us to park this thing?” Applejack asked. “Ah don’t think it’s a great idea to be floatin’ it everywhere.”

“Airships are actually a very common mode of transport,” Twilight said. “Most cities have places to leave them, usually by places like hotels, or tourist attractions. Not that there’s much of that in Lower Canterlot.”

“Why not walk everywhere?” Pinkie asked, doing a little jig in place. “You know, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four!”

“I’ll fly, thanks,” Rainbow said from across the ship.

Pinkie laughed. “That’s just a one-two, Dashie!” She ran over to Rainbow, and Twilight turned back, looking out over the ship’s front. She had Applejack angle them slightly to the side.

They were over a block of shops and strip malls, all of which were shaken and, in some places, collapsed, but Twilight could still see the rigid border between it and the residential area. Large collections of colorful rubble and multistory slides of destruction, interspersed with the occasional huge, proud survivor, became smaller, more tightly packed quadrangles of gray and taupe ruins, undifferentiated save by the gradation of destroyed to damaged to miraculously whole. Twilight tried to remember the area, but it was difficult, with so much wreckage. A thin, silver line threaded through it all to climb up the mountain: the train tracks that led up to Greater Canterlot. From their distance, the palace looked completely fine, and the small city around it, relatively unharmed. The aristocracy had survived.

“Canterlot must not have a very sound structure,” Rarity said. “This looks much worse than Ponyville.”

“That’s just Lower Canterlot,” Twilight said. “This is all suburb, remember.”

“What? That shouldn’t mean that Princess Celestia could skimp on stable foundations.”

“No one expects an earthquake here, Rarity. There’s never been one, that I know of.” She thought. “Although they do have better foundations in Greater Canterlot.”

“Bunch of frou-frou aristocrats, too good to live like the rest of us,” Applejack said.

“They’re not all bad,” Rarity said.

“Twi, where are we goin’?”

“Oh, um…” She looked around; with the neighborhoods in such disarray, it was difficult to tell where anything was. Almost all the houses were damaged, and while few had been completely destroyed, most were missing a wall or two, or sagging under a collapsed roof. “What if they’re not okay?” she wondered. “What if they didn’t survive the damage?” “It’s a little past the train tracks,” she said absentmindedly.

“Worried again?” Applejack asked.

“I just hope they’re okay.”

Applejack nodded, but didn’t press the topic, for which Twilight was grateful. Thinking about her parents led her to think about the damage, which led to the battle, which led—as it always did—to the balcony. “Why can’t I stop thinking about it?”

“Okay, we’re past the train tracks,” Applejack said, and Twilight looked around, scanning the ground for a familiar landmark.

“Anythin’, Twi?”

“Give me a second.” She tried to remember something distinctive about the house, and in her mind, slowly, there emerged an image of the back yard, and the view of the skyline it offered. She remembered looking at the palace from the porch sometimes, aspiring. In her memory, there was a tall, narrow tree between her and the mountain. “Pinkie, slow us down. Everypony else, look for a tall, narrow tree with… long, droopy leaves, I think. It sat between my house and the mountain.”

“Twilight, there are tons of trees here. Can’t you be more specific?” Rainbow said.

“I don’t remember anything else,” she said shortly.

“I thought you said you could guide us when you got close.”

“I thought I could,” she said through a clenched jaw; Rainbow’s complaints were getting to her, and she had to close her eyes.

“It’s not like we’re wasting daylight or anything,” Rainbow grumbled, and Twilight turned to her angrily. In her mind, she was shouting—screaming at Rainbow, telling her to be quiet, to leave her alone. It was just a simple oversight. Rainbow met her eyes, and Twilight opened her mouth to speak, but a look of worry passed over the pegasus’ face, and she looked away.

Twilight looked back down at the ground. “Celestia, what is wrong with me?”

“Is that it, Twilight?” Applejack asked, pointing at a small, green thread amid the brown and gray. A house with a sagging, splintered porch sat just before it, a red trail of bricks at its side where the chimney had collapsed. The house looked okay, though.

No pleasure surged through her heart. “That’s it. Land us.”

They descended slowly, and Twilight kept her eyes on the house. Her old house. The roof had lost some of its shingles, but still sat where it was supposed to; the windows were boarded and taped up with ugly plastic; the little fence outside leaned out like a distended jaw. They landed in the middle of a cul-de-sac, where the house sat at the top of a very small, very gentle hill.

“Here. Right here,” Twilight said to no one in particular, and they got out. They trotted quietly to the front door, but a voice stopped them.

“Hey? What do you think you’re doing?” A stocky, light blue pony stood on the front step of the neighboring house, also mostly unharmed, and looking at them suspiciously.

Twilight looked back angrily, but, recognizing her, smiled a little. “Beauty? Is that you?”

“How do you… Twilight?” She immediately dropped her suspicious expression and hurried over to greet them. “I haven’t seen you for a good long time now, little Twilight Sparkle. It’s been, what? Two years, at least. How are you?”

“Um, okay.” “Not that okay.” “We were just coming to check up on my parents. Are… they okay?”

“Absolutely fine, both of them. A little shaken up. They’re worried sick about you, Twilight.”

“Are they here now?”

“No, they left an hour ago for the train station. Probably on their way to see you. Where do you live now?”

“Ponyville.”

“Ah, yes. I have a few friends in Ponyville.”

“How long does it take to get to the train station from here, Twilight?” Applejack asked.

“I’m sure they’re there by now,” Twilight said. “We should hurry before they come back.”

“Why would they do that?” Beauty asked.

“The train’s aren’t connecting to Ponyville,” Rarity said.

“Wait. Celestia said something about that.” Beauty thought for a moment. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. Canterlot isn’t the only city that got this… whatever it is.”

“All of Equestria,” Applejack said.

“Geez. That’s insane.”

“Yes, it is,” Twilight said quickly, looking around. “Well, it’s been great seeing you again, but we really need to get moving.”

“Of course. I won’t keep you. It was good seeing you again, Twilight.”

“Yes, you too.”

They returned to the ship and took off, heading for the train station—it was only a couple miles away, and just a few minutes on the ship.

“Who was that, Twilight?” Rainbow asked. She sounded hesitant.

“That’s Beauty Brass, my parents’ neighbor. She used to have us over for dinner sometimes.”

“She seems really nice,” Fluttershy said.

“I always liked her.”

“She looked familiar,” Rainbow said.

Twilight took a deep breath. She was relieved that her parents were okay, but still bothered from before. She forced a pleasant smile. “I think she was playing at last year’s Grand Galloping Gala. The sousaphone, if I’m not mistaken.”

“How coincidental,” Rarity said.

“How’s that coincidental?” Applejack asked.

“I was just thinking about the Gala.”

“Yeah, I’d prefer to forget about it,” Rainbow said.

“It was fun at the end,” Fluttershy said.

“It was fun the whole way through!” Pinkie said.

“Pinkie, we’re gettin’ close to the train station,” Applejack said, and Pinkie ran down and turned off the engine.

“I’m just glad the princess was so forgiving of all the trouble we caused,” Twilight said.

“Forgivin’? She wanted us to stir things up a little. Ah’m glad we could help her out so much.”

“Yes indeed. I’m just ashamed that I wasted my time on that nephew of hers,” Rarity said bitterly.

“At least you didn’t do somethin’ you’d regret later on,” Rainbow said.

“I suppose so.”

Twilight looked down at the station. Tight clusters of tracks were twisted and bunched up near the train yard, and the colossal corpses of the colorful engines and cars lay to the side, abandoned. The station itself was cordoned off in several places where it had collapsed, and the glass was gone from the roof, leaving only a skeletal network of black crossbeams. There were few sounds: ponies walking inside on the tiled floors, talking, rolling or dragging bags and suitcases along. No train whistles.

They got out in an empty, brown lot next to the train yard, partially guarded by a snarled chain-link fence and strewn with debris. “What a depressing little field,” Rarity said, looking disparagingly at a cluster of dried weeds.

“Hey, what do you think this means?” Pinkie said, indicating a twisted square of sheet metal, half-buried in the ground. On its surface, Twilight made out a gray sentence, spray painted on and speckled with dirt. The colors were so close that she almost couldn’t read it.

“Thunder is in my mind. My eyes close. I shudder,” Rarity read, and shrugged.

“Doesn’t sound like anythin’,” Applejack said.

“Sounds like delinquent’s attempt at sounding mysterious.”

“Thunder in my mind? That’s gotta be loud!” Pinkie said.

“Pinkie, it’s not literal,” Rainbow said.

Pinkie only giggled, and they turned away. It was a short walk out of the field and along the side of the main terminal building, and then they were inside. There were few ponies within, and they all walked around with the same dazed, uncertain expression that made Twilight feel like she had walked in on something she was not supposed to. No one looked comfortable, and the single pony at the ticket counter watched passively, unattended.

It didn’t take long for her to spot her parents, walking the opposite direction, toward an exit. She ran after them, calling out.

They turned, momentarily perplexed, and then ran to meet her. “Twilight! Oh Celestia, you’re here!” her mother cried, wrapping her up in a tight hug. “We were so worried about you, and the trains wouldn’t take us to Ponyville to see you! Can you imagine that? They’re not working anywhere!”

“We’re so glad you’re safe,” her father said, taking his wife’s place in the hug.

“I’m just glad you two are okay,” Twilight said.

“We’re both fine, dear,” her mother said.

“How did you find us?” her father asked.

“I went to the house first. Beauty Brass was out there, and she told me,” Twilight said.

“Oh, how nice of her.”

“But what are you doing in Canterlot, Twilight?” her mother asked.

“We, er, have some business here. Here and other places,” Twilight said.

“We? Oh, are these your friends?” her father asked, noticing the five ponies walking over.

“Yes. Mother, father, this is Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Applejack, Rarity, and Fluttershy. They’re my friends from Ponyville.”

“A pleasure to meet you all. Twilight’s told us all about you in her letters, of course, but we’re absolutely charmed to meet you in person,” her father said. “I am Night Light, and this is my wife, Twilight Velvet.”

“The pleasure is all ours, I can assure you,” Rarity said, batting her lashes at them.

“So, what sort of ‘business’ brings you all to Canterlot?” Twilight Velvet asked.

“Oh! Twilight, can I tell it? Please, let me tell it!” Pinkie begged.

“Go ahead Pinkie,” Twilight said.

“Yesyesyes!” She stood up on her hind legs to flourish her hooves. “So, it all started late at night, about a week ago.”

Rarity sighed inwardly at the prospect of standing idly while Pinkie took Twilight’s parents through the entire experience. As she spoke, the two listeners gasping in all the right places, her mind began to wander. She looked away and, tuning out Pinkie’s monologue, pony-watched, noting each pony’s style of dress with either approval or distaste. For those she disliked, she would think of the best way to improve their outfits without straying too far from the style they appeared to like; for her, it was a fun game, but had little challenge to it, and she was soon bored of it with so few subjects.

Her eyes roved across the sparse crowd, looking for somepony she hadn’t already assessed. There were ponies of all shapes and sizes, but she was surprised in seeing the lack of fancy dress she always associated with Canterlot ponies. “This isn’t the mountaintop, though,” she reminded herself. “These are the suburbs. You can’t expect to find high class here.”

She looked around, uninterested, and almost jumped at the sight of one mare walking purposefully through the crowd. “Light gray coat, dark gray mane, purple eyes,” she thought excitedly. She craned her neck to get a look at her cutie mark: an elegant, purple treble clef. “Oh Celestia, it’s her,” she thought frantically. Octavia Melody, renowned cellist and one of Rarity’s favorite musicians; it was her music that Rarity listened to when she needed to unwind after a hard day, or just fall asleep a little easier.

She excused herself form the circle of friends and trotted after Octavia, fighting her own nervous thoughts and palpitating heart. “Relax, Rarity. She’s just another pony, like you. You have no reason to be afraid.” As she got closer, and her view of Octavia became clearer, her pulse only quickened, and the butterflies flurried violently in her stomach. She cleared her throat nervously and called out weakly, then with more strength. “Miss! Miss Melody!”

Octavia turned curtly and looked for who had called her name. Rarity approached and stared. She was shorter than Rarity had expected, but her countenance was precisely how she had imagined: perfect posture, uninterested eyes, straight face, set chin, mane and tail combed perfectly. “May I help you?” Her voice was liquid and feminine, higher than her dull colors and hard mien suggested, and Rarity almost fainted there.

“Oh, Celestia, I’m doing it! I’m talking to her!” “H-hello. Um, I just wanted to, uh, say what a big fan I am of your—your work.” She put on her most charming smile, internally withering at her self-conscious fear.

Octavia bowed slightly and smiled: a polite smile that did not reach her eyes. “Thank you very much. I am always happy to meet a fan.”

“Y-yes. Oh, um, I’m Rarity, by the way,” she said, extending a hoof.

Octavia shook it, and Rarity’s thoughts exploded in a flurry of inarticulate cheers. “Rarity?” She scrutinized her for a moment, her light purple eyes boring into her, freezing her where she stood. “Ah, that is it. You are the fashion designer from Ponyville.”

“I am! Um, I mean, yes, I am. You’re familiar with my work?”

“Yes. My ensemble wore your outfits last month.”

Rarity thought back, and quickly remembered. She had been excited then, and stayed up all night, making absolutely certain that their outfits, and Octavia’s in particular, were perfect. “Y-yes, I remember now. I trust they were, um, satisfactory?” “Satisfactory. Wonderful, Rarity.”

Octavia only nodded solemnly. “Yes. They were very nice. I confess that I am a bit of a fan myself.”

“Octavia Melody is a fan of my outfits!” her mind repeated. “That’s, that’s lovely,” Rarity said, shocked. She tried to think of more to say, but all her repository of small talk seemed dissolved under Octavia’s hard gaze. “Um, uh, if you don’t mind me asking, uh, what are you doing here? I thought you lived on the mountaintop. Um, with the aristocracy.”

“No. I have an apartment in Lower Canterlot, but I do not spend a lot of time there. I am only staying here for a concert that I was supposed to attend, but, well, I am sure you know. Now, I am trying to find a way home, but the trains are not running cross-country.”

“You’re stuck here?”

“Yes.”

“That’s awful.”

“It could be worse. The circumstances are quite strange, though. I am sure that you have heard this from everypony else, but… the world. Just falling apart like it has. I still have no idea what to think.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m having a conversation with Octavia!” “It is, very strange.” “Excellent contribution, darling.”

“And then, when everypony is getting used to things, the world knits itself back together.” She shook her head with frustration. “Forgive me. I should not bore you with my own petty insights into the situation.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve seen enough of it on my own.”

“Oh?”

“I came from Ponyville myself. Me and my friends, on an airship. It used to be like that there too.”

“Used to be?”

“My friends and I are the ones who cast the repair spell on Canterlot. We did the same in Ponyville.”

Octavia raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “You are the bearers of the Elements of Harmony? Princess Celestia said you would come, but she did not say when, nor did she identify you.”

“Yes, well, we’re here now,” Rarity said, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Fascinating. I never would have expected to speak to one of you.” She hesitated a moment. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.” She paused. “Er, but I don’t think we should be thanked quite yet. We still have the rest of Canterlot to repair, and all of Equestria after that.”

“You are traveling, then?”

“Yes indeed. The whole country.”

“Equestria is a big place,” Octavia said.

“That it is. But, I’m sure we’ll manage.”

Octavia nodded and looked past her, her eyes narrowed slightly. Her eyebrows twitched, and Rarity watched, fascinated. She looked to have slipped deep in thought.

“Are you okay, dear?”

“I…” She looked at Rarity. “I… feel very foolish asking this. But I think I shall. Do you need a guide?” She sounded nervous.

“A guide?”

“I have traveled all around Equestria.” The hint of emotion in her voice was gone, replaced with the distant professionalism with which she had conversed earlier. “I can direct you to wherever you want to go, and tell you about the towns and cities you visit. I can point out hotels and restaurants, or other places of interest. I am sure that you have a map, but a drawing of the land can only get you so far.”

Rarity stared at her. “Is this really happening? It can’t be!” “I must say, Miss Melody, I’m very tempted, but… surely you can’t just leave your ensemble behind.”

“I do not have an ensemble, I am afraid. Not a permanent one, anyway. I work freelance. And… I think that I can afford to abandon that life for a while.”

“But—”

“I have nothing tethering me,” Octavia said quietly. “I have no close friends, no real work obligations, no family, and I barely make enough money to support myself.”

“Oh. But I thought you were wealthy,” Rarity said, suddenly uncomfortable. Everything Octavia said, she said with a straightforward, firm tone, empty of feeling and warmth.

“I was, for a few months.”

“What happened?”

“I cannot say.”

Rarity paused. “Well, I’d have to ask the others, but I don’t really see a problem with you coming with us. I guess.”

“Take me to them.”

Rarity turned, her mind reeling. “Octavia Melody, asking to go with us on our adventure!” She was almost dizzy from excitement. The crowd around her turned into a hazy sea of colors and voices, and she looked for Twilight. She and the others, minus Pinkie, were still talking with Twilight’s parents. She approached them nervously.

“Hey, Rarity. You take care of whatever you needed to take care of?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, yes. Um, everypony, this is Octavia Melody,” she said, gesturing to the gray mare beside her.

They all greeted her politely, and Octavia responded with another small bow.

“She wanted to know if we needed a, um, guide, on our quest. She’s been all around Equestria, and can help us find places, or tell us about cities.”

Twilight looked at her for a long time. “Did Rarity tell you what exactly we’re doing?”

“She told me that you would be traveling all across Equestria, casting some spell of yours.”

“That’s the gist of it, I guess.”

“Did she tell you ‘bout the Elements? An’ Discord?” Applejack asked.

“No, though I know that Discord is involved. He is the one responsible for this in the first place, is he not?”

“Uh, yes, that’s right,” Twilight said; Applejack looked at her.

“What about the Elements of Harmony?” Octavia asked.

“We would use them to defeat him, but he scattered them. We have to collect them.”

“As well as undo what he did to Equestria,” Octavia said.

“Yes.”

“Interesting.” She thought for a minute, her face tensing in what appeared to be a great internal debate. When she spoke, her expression was neutral again. “My offer stands. If you will have me, I will go with you.”

“Are you sure? Ah mean, if you go with us, you’ll be leavin’ a lot of things behind. Friends, family, yer job,” Applejack said.

“I have neither friends nor family. As for my job… I make less money than I would like, especially now, since I have missed my performance.” She hesitated. “I was prepared to spend my last few bits on a train ticket home. I have very little to lose by going with you.”

“Your life,” Rainbow said, and Twilight gave her a dirty look.

“That is a valid concern,” Octavia said, and thought for another minute. Rarity was standing close enough to see the turmoil in her face, tight and thoughtful. “Like I said, I have very little to lose.”

“Well, um, sure. If you’re comfortable taking that risk, you can come along with us,” Twilight said, giving her a smile.

Rarity’s mind did a backflip, and Octavia gave another polite, fake smile. “Thank you.”

They were quiet for a second, and Twilight’s mother spoke up. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!”

They all laughed, except Octavia.

After saying goodbye to Twilight’s parents half an hour later, they walked back to the empty field and the airship within. “Where’s Pinkie, by the way?” Rarity asked.

“Who?” Octavia asked, her voice suddenly sharp.

“She went back to the ship fer somethin’,” Applejack said.

“Wait wait wait, who is back here?” Octavia asked as they walked up the plank.

Pinkie raced into view. “Hey girls! How’s—” She stopped and stared at the mare behind them.

“No. No, no, no, no!” Octavia shouted, backing up and bumping against the rail.

“Tavi! I can’t believe it!” Pinkie rushed over and hugged Octavia, squeezing her tightly while the others watched, shocked.

Octavia struggled. “Let me go! Let me go, you crazy pony!”

“Pinkie, what the hay are you doing?” Rainbow said.

“You don’t know?” Pinkie asked, still holding onto Octavia.

“Pinkamena, shut up!” Octavia growled, forcing her away.

“Pinkamena?” Applejack echoed.

“Tavi here is my sister!” Pinkie said happily.

Silence.

“N-no, I am not,” Octavia said. “I have no idea what you are talking about, you crazy, pink pony.”

“Don’t play this game with me, Tavi,” Pinkie said, and Octavia narrowed her eyes and lowered her stance, as though ready to fight.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down, everypony,” Applejack said, stepping between them. “Let’s just stop right here and simmer down.”

“How dare you?” Octavia growled at Pinkie, who looked at her innocently.

“They have the right to know, Tavi,” she said.

“Do not call me that. My name is Octavia, not Tavi.”

“But, it’s not! It’s—”

“No! I am aware of that, but you will not mention it here.” She looked Pinkie in the eyes, and they approached one another slowly, Octavia angry, Pinkie only confused. “It appears that we have much to discuss,” Octavia said at last, and Pinkie nodded. “In private.”

“We can go in the engine room,” Pinkie said, and they disappeared below the deck.

When they were gone, there was a moment of stunned silence, then Applejack spoke. “What the hay was that?”

“It looks like those two have a past together,” Twilight said. “Rainbow, get away from there.”

Rainbow walked away from the trapdoor with a little blush.

“We shouldn’t be eaves dropping on them,” Rarity said. “Clearly there’s something between those two, and they need to work it out in private.”

“Should we take off?” Fluttershy asked.

“No, I think we should wait. Just in case Octavia decides to leave.”

No one had anything more to say; in the wake of the sudden conflict, discussion seemed somehow disrespectful to Pinkie. Instead, they busied themselves quietly on the deck, reorganizing supplies, checking the torch, looking out at the field and train yard. Only once did they hear Octavia clearly, her furious voice carrying over the deck with a power that surprised them.

The conversation below persisted for an hour, and the tense silence above was only occasionally punctuated with Octavia’s voice, rising quickly and falling back into a fluid mumble. When they came out, everypony politely turned away and made to check the torch, the plank, and the strings holding the balloon.

“Hey, Pinkie,” Applejack said kindly. “Is everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” Pinkie said quietly. “Are we going now?”

“Yeah, if you’re ready.”

Pinkie turned on the torch, then the engine; she didn’t come back up.

Rainbow was the first to speak, walking up to Octavia and looking at her closely. “So, what was that all about?”

“It is not your concern,” Octavia said flatly.

“Pinkie’s our friend. It is our concern if you’re making her hole up under us. What did you do?”

“It is not what I did; it is what she did to herself.”

“That’s bull!” Rainbow said hotly.

“Pinkie said you were sisters. Is that true?” Twilight asked.

“Yes,” Octavia said blankly.

“So what gives then? You were at each other’s throats like you were enemies,” Rainbow said.

“That is between us,” Octavia said coldly.

“Why don’t you want to tell us?” Twilight asked.

“I do not know any of you. Why should I trust you with anything that is personal?”

Twilight was silent. The mare’s unapologetic bluntness left her with no ready responses.

“I still will go with you, if you will have me,” Octavia said. She threw an apathetic look to the hatch behind them. “I do not think that she and I will be holding you up with our problems again. I apologize for the scene we made.”

“Octavia, I’m not certain if we should have you,” Rainbow said. “I mean, the first thing you do when you get on this ship is spend an hour arguing with one of our friends, and make her shut herself up. That’s not cool.”

“You really upset her,” Twilight said.

“I am well aware of how upset she is,” Octavia said.

“I don’t know. I don’t think we should have you around if you’re going to be doing that to Pinkie.”

Octavia looked her directly in the eyes. “I understand you concerns, Twilight. You should speak to Pinkamena before making any decisions, though.”

“I guess that’s fair enough,” Twilight said, looking back at the hatch. With one last, perplexed look at Octavia, she went to the back of the ship and down into the engine room, where Pinkie lay in the corner in a pathetic bundle, face between her legs and sobbing into the floor.

Twilight approached cautiously. “Pinkie?”

“Oh, Twilight,” she said, and Twilight drew nearer. Pinkie’s mane and tail had gone totally straight, their usual luster lost.

“Pinkie, what happened?”

“She’s wrong, Twilight. She has to be.”

“I’m sure,” Twilight said, crouching down to meet her teary eyes. “What did she say?”

Pinkie only shook her head and sobbed harder.

“Come on, Pinkie. You can tell me.”

“No, I can’t. She made me Pinkie Promise not to tell anyone, including you girls.”

Twilight frowned, her impression of Octavia darkening further. “Why would she do that?”

“It’s personal, private stuff. We’re not supposed to tell anypony about it.”

“Can you tell me why she was so unhappy to see you?”

“Sorry, Twilight. I really wish I could.”

“But you promised, right?”

She nodded.

“Is there anything you didn’t promise to keep secret?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Pinkie, I don’t like this. We’ve only known Octavia for an hour, and she’s already done… this to you.” She paused. “I think we should leave her behind.”

Pinkie gasped and looked up; her face was a wreck, her fur soaked with tears and her eyes puffy and red. “No, Twilight!”

“What?”

“You have to let her come with us. She needs this, Twilight; she didn’t say it, but I know. I can tell.”

“I’m not bringing somepony along if they’re just going to upset you all the time,” Twilight said firmly.

“We’ll be fine, Twilight, I promise.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m just upset now because of what we discussed; if we keep going, we’ll be okay.”

“I don’t know, Pinkie.”

“It may not look like it, but this means a lot to her. A lot. I can tell. For you to kick her out now would be just about the meanest thing ever.”

“How can you tell?”

Pinkie gave a strained smile. “Because I know her.” Fresh tears leaked out of her eyes as she said it, and she put her head back down.

“I really don’t like this, Pinkie.”

Her words were muffled. “Trust me, Twilight. You trust me on my Pinkie Sense; trust me on this.” She looked back up with a weak smile. “Besides, if she stays with us, maybe she and I can overcome our differences.”

Twilight thought. It sounded like an excuse to her, but the earnest tone Pinkie took gave her pause. “Okay, Pinkie. I’ll keep her. But if she keeps upsetting you like this, I’m going to tell her to go away.”

“Thank you, Twilight. For her sake.”

Twilight looked down at her; she had never seen Pinkie so miserable. Before she could think better of herself, she was asking another question. “Why do you care so much? You two seem to hate each other.”

Pinkie sniffled loudly. “I know it’s hard to believe, but we don’t hate each other.” She forced a tiny giggle, which sounded more like a gag. “Sisters fight sometimes.”

“Do you want me to stay down here with you?”

“No, I’ll come on up in a second. I just…” She sniffed again and laid her head back down.

Twilight went back to the deck, where Octavia was standing by the torch, watching the hatch disinterestedly. “Okay, Octavia. I don’t know why, but Pinkie wants you to stay. So, you can come with us for now. But if you can’t get along with her, I’m going to let you go.”

“You are not my employer,” Octavia said. “But I understand your conditions, and accept them.” She walked to the edge and looked down, and Twilight followed. “Tell me more about what you are doing. Specifically.”

Twilight stayed behind her, uncomfortable. Octavia’s demeanor was so severe, she felt like she was talking to Celestia. She couldn’t help but speak with a respectful tone, even after her conversation with Pinkie. “I’ll… tell you what I can, but I have to admit we’re pretty in the dark on this whole thing too.”

“Very well. You all are from Ponyville, yes?”

“That’s right.”

“Rarity said that you cast your spell there.”

“That was one of the first things we did.”

“Why are you doing this, and not the princesses? Surely they would have an easier time.”

Twilight hesitated. She had wondered the same thing. “The princesses are doing their best to help, but they have to worry about other things, like maintaining order in towns and along the Equestrian borders.”

“And track down Discord,” Rarity said, walking over to them.

“Yes, him,” Octavia said. “I am, of course, familiar with his name, though I know little about him.”

“He’s… it’s difficult to explain,” Twilight said. “He ruled Equestria before Princess Celestia was born. Back then, everything was basically anarchy.”

“You make it sound as though he has returned after a period of absence.”

“He did. They banished him with the Elements of Harmony, millennia ago. He returned only a few months ago, and we did the same. And now, he’s back again.”

“Your Elements of Harmony do not seem to be very effective.”

Rarity scoffed. “They were good enough for Nightmare Moon.”

“Why not Discord?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight said.

“He’s smarter,” Rarity said.

“Smarter?” Octavia repeated.

“Nightmare Moon was just a possessed version of Princess Luna,” Twilight said. “Discord is more than a malevolent spirit. He’s very crafty.”

“And very old,” Rarity said. “Older than the princesses.”

“So it is reasonable to assume that he has a lot of experience with this kind of thing,” Octavia said.

“That’s what we were told to assume, yes,” Twilight said.

“But how does he keep escaping?”

“Personally, I think he had magical redundancies in place, in the event of his banishment,” Rarity said.

“That would make sense,” Twilight said.

“Interesting,” Octavia said. “So, what is his involvement here?”

“Well, he’s the one who cast the spell that did all… this to Equestria. And you know it’s our job to defeat him, using the Elements of Harmony.”

“Which he scattered.”

“Yes.”

“What of his magical redundancies?”

“Uh…”

“I should think that’s more Princess Celestia’s concern than ours,” Rarity said. “She knows so much more about magical theory, and Discord himself.”

“So you are just her warriors,” Octavia said. She seemed to detect Twilight’s bothered expression, and turned around to look at her, her eyebrow raised. No one said anything, and she continued. “Do you have any means of finding the Elements?”

“Yes, actually. We have a spell that will indicate if any are nearby,” Rarity said.

“And have you found any yet?”

“No.”

“I see.” Her voice lightened, only slightly. “Where were you when Discord did this?”

“We were here, actually,” Twilight said. “On the slopes of the mountain.”

Rainbow came over. “We were fighting.”

“Fighting? You?” Octavia smiled a little. “I am sorry, but that comes as a bit of a surprise.”

“Yes, well, it came as even more of a surprise to us,” Rarity said. “We were woken up in the middle of the night and called here. After a bit of… unpleasantness, Princess Celestia found us, showed us some spells, and set us loose on the battlefield.”

“That’s the cut-down version, of course,” Twilight said.

“But it seemed just as abrupt to us as I’m making it sound.”

“So you all were right there when it happened,” Octavia said.

“That’s right,” Rainbow said. “Right in the thick of it.”

“You are getting more and more interesting.” Octavia looked around. “Where are we going now?”

“The palace,” Twilight said. “We need to talk with Princess Celestia again.”

“And then we’re gonna cast our spell on the other side of the city,” Rainbow said. “Right, Twilight?”

“That’s right.”

“I look forward to seeing that,” Octavia said. “Is this your last night in Canterlot, then?”

“Unless we get held up,” Rarity said, and Twilight looked at her for a moment.

“So where will you go afterwards?”

“We haven’t thought about it that much, actually,” Twilight said.

“I would recommend that we go to Manehattan. It is very far from here, but it is the largest city in the northern half of Equestria. It would probably be good to fix it next.”

“It’s a port city, is it not?” Rarity asked.

“It is not by the ocean, but it is an island. It is in Starlight Lake.”

“How far is it?” Rainbow asked.

“I do not know the exact distance, but I would estimate it at six or seven days by train. But I do not know how fast your airship is.”

“But you can point us there, right?”

“Yes.”

The engines’ rumbling died down, and the hatch creaked open; Pinkie slunk out onto the deck. Everyone, except Octavia, turned to look at her, and she gave them a feeble, forced smile. They were slowly rising up to the palace’s front, and Pinkie wordlessly turned off the torch. Applejack carefully brought them to the palace stairs, where they had landed the day before. In the daylight, the palace gleamed, the stairway a pristine slope of white coming off the cracked curve of the inner walls.

“Have you ever met Princess Celestia, Octavia?” Rarity asked.

“A few times, yes,” she said guardedly.

“Probably when you performed at the Gala last year, huh?” Applejack said.

“Yes.”

“It must be fascinating to have a spot on the Canterlot Orchestra,” Twilight said. She smiled at Octavia as she did so, hoping to coax a friendlier response.

“I wish that that were the case, but I do not actually have an official seat there. I work freelance.”

“Ah thought you were one of them big-time musicians,” Applejack said.

“I am still very famous. I just do not have a permanent employer.”

“Why?” Twilight asked.

Octavia paused. “I do not wish to say.”

“Why ever not?” Rarity asked.

“My reasons are my own.”

They all looked at each other quizzically. Had they touched a nerve?

“We don’t mean to pry,” Twilight said. “We’re just curious about you.”

“I understand,” Octavia said.

Twilight waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. “Soooo… you’ve been all around Equestria.”

“Yes, mostly.”

“What’s it like?”

“Traveling?”

“No, Equestria. We’ve only been here and Ponyville.”

“An’ Appleloosa,” Applejack said.

“Oh, yes, and Appleloosa.”

“Equestria is… interesting,” Octavia said. She appeared to be choosing her words carefully. “Traveling as I have gives one a very powerful sense of perspective.”

“What do you mean?” Rarity asked.

“Take Canterlot, for instance. To ponies like you, this is a huge, metropolitan city.”

“Well, it is the capital,” Rainbow said.

“That is true. But there are a few cities, south of here, that make Canterlot look tiny. I no longer look at this city with awe.”

“I’ve read about some of those southern cities,” Twilight said. “Trottingham and Applewood are the biggest ones.”

“I’ve heard of those, but I’ve never seen them,” Rarity said. “Oh, Octavia, you must tell me about them.”

“My words cannot do them justice.”

“Oh, come on, Octavia,” Rainbow said impatiently.

“I was going to continue. You interrupted me.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry.”

“Trottingham is very rural, and very spread out. Much of the city is farmland.”

“Like a bigger version of Ponyville,” Rarity said.

“Not quite,” Twilight said. “Ponyville is much more insular. Trottingham is the center of Equestrian trade. Right, Octavia?”

“Yes. Airships and trains go there every day to exchange goods. Much of the society is based on transit.”

“But what is it like there?” Rarity pressed.

“Many ponies like it, though I do not. It is too undeveloped for my tastes. The ponies there are quite nice, and the view is beautiful. It is generally very sunny. The food is also excellent, but my favorite thing about Trottingham is the wine.” She smiled to herself. “I have several barrels of a Trottingham vintage at home. There is nothing like it in Equestria.”

“What ‘bout Applewood?” Applejack asked.

“Applewood is the largest city in Equestria, and most of the country’s wealthiest ponies live there. While Trottingham is open and quiet, Applewood is excessive, noisy, and… I think the best word is ‘debauched’, really.”

“Sounds awesome,” Rainbow said.

“Much of it is designed to attract tourists. There are casinos, concert halls, massive hotels, thousands of restaurants with all different kinds of food. Ponies travel from all across Equestria to go there, and everypony who is anypony has performed there. In addition, there is a huge amusement park just south of it. It covers approximately four hundred acres.”

“Sweet Celestia,” Rarity said.

“You can get anything in Applewood. Any book, any instrument, any food, any drug. Anything. It is a good city to spend a few days, but I cannot imagine living there. I like the big city, but Applewood is too much.”

“Where is it?” Rarity asked.

“It is in the middle of the desert, a few thousand miles south of Trottingham, which is itself about a thousand miles south of the Everfree Forest.”

“Long haul,” Rainbow said.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Twilight said. “If it makes Canterlot look small… wow. Just wow.”

“We will go there eventually, I am sure,” Octavia said.

“Ah imagine so,” Applejack said. “In the meantime, we’re here.”

They landed beside the stairs and debarked, and as they did, Celestia came out of the palace, smiling. “My little ponies. I cannot say how much I appreciate your haste. I had not expected you to act so quickly.”

“We just sort of lucked into a spot to do our spell,” Twilight said with a humble shrug.

“Well, whatever works. Good afternoon, Octavia.”

“Good day, your highness,” she said, bowing low.

“Princess, Octavia’s coming along with us,” Twilight said.

Celestia’s smile faltered. “Oh?”

“She volunteered to be our guide.”

Celestia smiled down on Octavia, who averted her eyes respectfully. “That’s very nice of her. Did you tell her the risk involved?”

Octavia stepped forward. “They did, your highness. I am well aware of the risk I am taking in going with them.”

“Very well. As long as you understand the danger you’re putting yourself in. How did this happen?”

“We—what? Oh, well, we were talking with my parents, and Rarity brought her over, and she asked, and we accepted her,” Twilight said. “Nothing big.”

Celestia pursed her lips. “Hm. Interesting.”

“Is there something wrong, your highness?”

Celestia took some time before answering. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Applejack intoned.

“I can’t be certain right now. But rest assured, if it does become a problem, I will alert you as soon as I can. For now, my little ponies, do not worry.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Octavia said with another bow.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell us now, Princess?” Fluttershy asked.

“I don’t want to trouble you needlessly,” Celestia said. “I might be worrying for nothing.”

“Well, okay,” Twilight said uncertainly. She looked at the princess, then at Octavia. “First Octavia’s secrecy, and now Celestia. What’s going on?” “We just came by to make sure everything was okay.”

“Everything is wonderful, Twilight. You did an excellent job on the spell, and ponies are already rebuilding.”

Twilight smiled warmly. “Thank you, Princess. We were going to do the other spell today, and then leave.”

“So soon? Have you even eaten yet?”

“Just a few of our rations,” Rainbow said hopefully.

“That’s no way for the saviors of Equestria to eat. Come, you shall eat in the royal dining room.” She thought for a moment. “And if any of you want to take a shower, you may do so in the guest washroom.”

“You don’t have to do that fer us, Princess,” Applejack said.

“Nonsense!” Rarity cried. “Oh, your highness, we would love to take you up on your offer.”

Celestia giggled as she led them into the great hall. The palace windows had been restored, again coloring the beams of sunlight that came through, and a pair of guards stood at the throne. Before it, head bowed in submission under a guard’s stern gaze, a single pony stood, hooves and wings bound. They looked curiously, but did not speak, as they went into an adjacent room, where Celestia ordered a guard to take them to the guest washroom.

While the princess stayed behind with Octavia, the others followed the silent guard down a small maze of corridors until reaching a wide, pristine bathroom, itself a labyrinth of showers, baths, and mirrors, all walled off by chest-high barriers and spanning several hundred square feet. None of them questioned why the palace had regained running water as they stepped into the warm, decorated showers, relieved beyond words at being properly clean for the first time in weeks.

When they were done, refreshed and happy, they rejoined Celestia and Octavia in a long dining room, spanned with a narrow table and surrounded, at its head, by a set of plush pillows. “I trust your showers were pleasant?” Celestia asked.

“Totally awesome,” Rainbow said in a quavering voice. They were all still shaken from the sudden relief.

“Then please, make yourselves at home. I will return shortly.”

Octavia spoke up. “Your highness, you are not planning on doing what I think you are, are you?”

Celestia laughed. “I was planning on seeing what I can rustle up for you all, and serving you. Is that what you were thinking?”

Octavia stared for a moment, her jaw slack, and shook her head. “I must protest, your highness. With all due respect, it is not your place to be serving such as us.”

“As ruler of Equestria, there are very few places that are not mine. Why should I be deprived the pleasure of serving my friends?”

Before she could object further, Celestia disappeared into the confines of the palace, returning a few minutes later with her wings spread, plates of food balanced on them like giant coins. “Bon apetit, my friends,” she said, levitating the plates of food onto the table. “I hope it is to your liking.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Octavia said, bowing.

“I truly wish I could stay and eat with you, but I am needed in the observatory. There is something that I must attend.”

“We understand, Princess,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, but thanks a million!” Rainbow said, her mouth already full.

“Wait, your highness,” Twilight said. Her voice was low. “I have a question. Who was that pony in the throne room?”

Celestia’s face darkened. “Since you chased Discord away, ponies have been turning up all over the city, claiming to be recovering from hypnosis. I think they’re left-over soldiers.”

“Left-over?” Rarity repeated.

“The majority of Discord’s army, I suspect, was composed of hypnotized or glamoured ponies. Now, those that could not escape town are waking up, so to speak.” She averted her eyes. “I’ve decided to confine them for the time, to be safe.”

“Huh. I hadn’t even thought of that,” Twilight said.

“He had to get ‘em somewhere, I guess,” Rainbow said, shrugging.

Celestia looked over the table, then over the room. “Now, I’m afraid I must go. Please, enjoy your time here.”

Octavia bowed again, and Celestia disappeared. As soon as she was gone, they began eating. Pinkie appeared to be mostly over her earlier conflict, and everyone else, taking the cue from her, began to relax. They soon started talking again, free of the tension that had defined their first impression of Octavia.

“Tell me, Octavia, how did you get your cutie mark?” Rarity asked.

“I gained my cutie mark very late in life. I had… just graduated from college, and I joined a traveling group of entertainers. There was a dramatist, a magician, a comedian, but no musician. That is where I came in. My first instrument was the guitar, and I found my cutie mark after our first show. It was not our most successful, but it has always stood out in my memory.”

“That’s a nice story,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, it sounds like lots of fun,” Pinkie said, and Octavia glared at her again.

“Something wrong, Octavia?” Twilight asked casually.

“No. There is nothing wrong.”

Twilight let her eyes linger on Octavia for a moment. “Good.”

They finished their lunch and cleared the table, Twilight leading the way to the kitchen and insisting they wash up. When they were done, they left the palace and got back into the ship. It was five o’ clock, and the sun was lowering. They flew into the middle of the ruined city, searching for a rooftop that was large enough for the sigil and the ship.

It was several minutes into their flight that Octavia pointed out a large fortress of a building, a powerful-looking totem in the middle of the anonymous grays and browns surrounding it. Twilight recognized it immediately: Stained Moon Library, the oldest library in Canterlot, modeled after an ancient castle and renowned for its selection of occult texts. It was unharmed.

“So, you said you played the guitar when you were young,” Rainbow said suddenly, coming up beside Octavia.

“Yes.”

“Do you play anything now?”

“Besides the cello, she means,” Rarity added.

“Yes. Aside from the cello and guitar, I am proficient with the piano, the viola, and the trombone.”

“You play all of those?” Rainbow said.

“Yes.”

“Octavia, that’s awesome! I’ve never known somepony who can play so much.”

“Thank you. I am best-known for my cello playing, of course, but I try to keep myself practiced with all of them.”

“I’ve heard your other instruments,” Rarity said. “I have a record of all your music. I listen to it whenever I need to unwind.”

“Thank you. While I am popular for my cello playing, I pride myself on knowing a wide variety. I wish more ponies listened to my piano work.”

“Ah used to play the guitar myself,” Applejack said, leaning back from the wheel.

“Is that so?”

“Sure is. Ah stopped a couple years ago, never picked it back up.”

“Fascinating,” Octavia said dryly.

“Some ponies might think so,” Applejack said quietly, looking back ahead.

“Where is your cello, anyway?” Rarity asked.

Octavia’s voice softened. “It is back at my apartment. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you said you were trying to find your way home when I saw you at the station, but you didn’t have any bags with you.”

“I was looking around to see whether it would be worth my time to try. I did not want to pack, only to find that the trains were not running.”

“I see.”

“Though that does remind me. If it is not too much, I would like to get some of my possessions and bring them on board.” She gave a long pause, and when she spoke again, she did so very quietly. “I do not expect I will be returning here in a very long time, and I would feel better knowing that my things are safe.”

“Of course, dear. We can stop after the spell.”

“What ‘possessions’ do you need to move?” Rainbow asked.

“Just my cello, its case, and a few personal belongings,” Octavia said.

“As long as we don’t have to make more than one trip, I guess.”

“You are overestimating how much I own.”

They began descending, and Twilight looked down at the neighborhood. The Stained Moon Library was a multistory castle of stone turrets and oaken doors, its sides colored with rows of tall, intricate stained-glass windows. Pendants flapped proudly at the top of each corner, tacked onto heavy iron poles. As she studied it, she realized something: the library, despite its old appearance, despite its fragile windows, had suffered not one iota of damage. Around it, the sidewalk was uncracked and unturned, and moving farther outwards, the damage was only minimal. An occasional pothole in the street, a leaning street light, a sagging fence. Only directly across from the library was there any serious damage: a modest, blue building knelt under a sloping roof and against a partially-collapsed façade, its face bowed out sickly.

“Do you go to libraries often, Octavia?” Twilight asked.

“No.”

Twilight frowned and looked back down. “Is this how it’s going to be with her in the group? Quiet and awkward?” She looked at Octavia again, still staring into the distance. She didn’t look away, and Octavia soon noticed her and looked back, her eyebrow raised. Twilight stared at it.

“This is not the first time you have been staring at me,” Octavia said at last.

“Oh.” Twilight was surprised at the odd statement. “Yeah, I guess it isn’t.”

“Why?”

“I… I don’t know. I guess I’m just interested.”

Her other eyebrow rose to meet its twin as she lowered her gaze at Twilight.

“Not like that!” Twilight protested. “I just meant interested in… getting to know you better.”

Octavia narrowed her eyes.

“No, not like that! I-I mean, um… I’m not into mares, okay? If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Octavia looked ready to respond, but instead, forced a smile and nodded once.

They circled down and gingerly landed on the library’s roof, which, to Twilight’s disappointment, was not of the same stone as its walls. With the ship sitting to the side, Twilight and Pinkie walked out toward the library’s front, where they could see the rest of the city in a fractured panorama.

Fluttershy watched Twilight begin her work from near the ship, mesmerized both by the intricate line work suggested in her swaying, backtracking path, and by the silent, stoic mare to her side. Octavia fascinated her, but also scared her; her presence seemed a dark, brooding imposition, heavy enough to crush her own shy nature, not out of malice, but of unthinking power. Every time Octavia chanced to look her way, she averted her eyes, but sitting next to her, she felt strangely compelled. She had never met someone so serious.

Eventually, Rainbow came up behind them and started talking, asking Octavia questions. Where she was from, where she had played—idle conversation. Octavia answered with what sounded, to Fluttershy, like trepidation, and quickly turned the conversation to the sigil and the spell.

They explained to her what Princess Celestia had explained to them a week ago—that all ponies were capable of magic, and that Pinkie in particular was an anomaly. She seemed incredulous at first, until Rainbow grabbed a book off of the ship and, with what looked like a heroic exertion, levitated it a foot off the roof for several seconds. She let it drop into a puddle of her own sweat and smiled arrogantly at Octavia, who only looked back, speechless. After a moment, she complimented her laconically and looked back at Twilight, and Fluttershy was again left alone with the stony mare.

As Twilight was nearing the end of the drawing, Octavia released Fluttershy and walked to the side of the roof. When Twilight’s movement came to an abrupt halt, Fluttershy looked away, knowing to avoid the glow that would quickly radiate from Pinkie. Applejack warned Octavia of the same.

Fluttershy kept her eyes fixed in the opposite direction, and suddenly, as she knew they would, the shadows, lengthened by the setting sun, were brutally scrubbed away in a harsh, white light, almost holy in its intensity. She closed her eyes against the glare, and listened as, for the second time in two days, the air was filled with the rumbling, sliding roar of moving earth and stressed buildings, breaking first in a single avalanche of grinding and crushing and then building in intensity and presence as more and more cacophonies bloomed around her. Behind, she heard the tinkling of glass, the growl of upset stones and masonry, and the voices of startled, confused, terrified ponies. She clamped her ears down and tried to watch the pieces move, but the light was too bright, and she could only see the mountain grow inexorably larger until stopping suddenly with a rough, twisted crescendo of tons of stone and soil, merging and marrying with steady violence.

And then it was over. The light faded quickly, and she looked around. Twilight had collapsed, and Pinkie looked dazed, but behind them, the skyline was once again whole. Buildings stood next to each other, leaning or collapsed, and pegasi were shooting into the air like living fireworks.

She and the others ran to Twilight’s side while Octavia walked slowly to the roof’s edge. There was a series of sharp, tense cracks nearby, like timber breaking, and Fluttershy looked up quickly to see Octavia’s eyes widen in horror, looking down at the street below. Beyond, she could make out the top of the blue building, swirls of dust billowing up and around it. There was another crack, louder than those preceding it, and the roof, already tilted, sunk down with a groan. The entire structure vanished from Fluttershy’s view, replaced with a massive, heavy cloud of dust, and Octavia’s face grew alarmed, then grave.

She turned quickly and galloped over to them. “Help!”

Rainbow looked at her, startled. “Huh?”

“Two ponies are hurt below. They need help.”

Fluttershy’s heart plummeted. “Hurt?” she repeated. “Oh, Celestia, no.”

“Someone needs to help them,” Octavia repeated seriously.

“Octavia, there’s no way. Look at all that dust,” Rainbow said.

“They were stuck by debris. They might not be able to get out on their own.” She looked at them all and, as if sensing their reluctance, sighed angrily. “Rainbow Dash, fly me down to the ground.”

“You’re not going in there!” Rainbow cried.

“Fly me down,” she repeated calmly.

“It’s too dangerous,” Rarity said.

“If someone does not help them, they may die. If you cannot, I will. Fly me down.” She walked purposefully to the edge, and Rainbow, with a nervous look back, followed her. They slipped over the edge, Rainbow’s forelegs under Octavia’s, and Fluttershy followed, alarmed. Did Octavia know what she was doing?

From the edge of the roof, she saw Rainbow release Octavia, who walked without a look back into the solid cloud of dust and dirt, vanishing only a few strides in. Fluttershy trembled on the edge. “She actually did it. But how? Doesn’t she know it’s dangerous?” She shook harder, mind clenching with anxiety. “But what about those poor ponies inside?”

The final question was too much. Her empathy was already inflamed by Octavia’s behavior, and she could only kneel where she stood, oblivious to the dust creeping up toward her, and cried. “She’s gone, all gone. We’ve already lost a friend, just after making one!” She coughed and sniffled and bent her head, and a pair of hooves guided her away from the edge, following Rarity’s gentle, consoling voice. She kept her head down, ashamed that she should be seen in her state, and refused to look when Pinkie tried to make her laugh.

When she stepped back onto the ship, she broke free from Rarity and ran to the back, head filled and eyes misted. “It’s too much. It’s too much. Oh Celestia, please. I want to go home (no home). I want to leave, I want Ponyville.” She rested her head on the gunwale, and the firmness on her head only made her cry harder. “This isn’t the place for a soft pony like you, Fluttershy. Soft and weak (pathetic). Weak!”

The roof sunk away, and a hoof rubbed her back. She could tell it was Rainbow without looking; no one else touched her with such unaccustomed softness. She didn’t process Rainbow’s words, only looked on miserably, studying the growing pool of tears on the deck beneath her. “Please go away, Dash.”

When they landed again, down the street and just inside the outer edge of the expanding dust cloud, she dragged her eyes up and tried to peer inside. “Oh, Celestia, please, where (she’s dead) is she?” She could see a dark form lumbering inside, but dared not guess at its identity until Rainbow shouted out her name.

“Octavia!”

Rainbow darted into the cloud, and the silhouette separated. A minute later, Rainbow flew out, an old mare hooked in her forelegs, and Octavia followed slowly, a stallion by her side, foreleg over her withers and hobbling awkwardly. Free from the dust, she stopped and patted his back, and Applejack trotted down the plank with a flask of water.

Fluttershy could only watch, transfixed, as the two ponies—the mare, panting and coated in dust, and the stallion, holding aloft a clearly-broken leg—were brought forth, left to rest on the street while Octavia spoke with Applejack.

“Fluttershy, go down there and help them,” Rarity urged behind her, and she shook her head to clear it.

“Go down, yes. Help them. You can (weak) do that, Fluttershy.” She dazedly walked down the gangplank and over to the pair of ponies, who looked at her with confusion. “I’m here to help you,” she said, her voice sounding hollow in her ears. They both looked at each other, then Octavia.

Applejack held up a hoof. “Let her help. She’s our healer.”

Octavia set the stallion down gingerly and stepped away for Fluttershy, who approached, still shocked. Against the backdrop of dust, and in her still-fragile mental state, she felt like she was walking through a dream.

“Focus, Fluttershy. Healing. Focus on healing.” She looked closely at the stallion’s leg, and for a moment, it was Princess Celestia’s. Training. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of dust and fur, and it cleared her mind. Her tears were gone, and she could feel the power of her will beginning to ebb back into her. “Healing. Restoration.” She saw the leg in her mind’s eye, and felt herself swell inside. There was energy in her mind, and with it, she forced the image of the leg to change. She exhaled slowly and calmly, a tiny stream of breath through her nose, and the swelling went down, the willpower behind it coalescing into a pearl of certainty. “Healing.” Before her, the mare and stallion shuffled uncomfortably, but she paid it no mind. She knew it was working. “Healing is good.”

She opened her eyes to see the stallion staring back at her, amazed. She stepped back, and he flexed his leg. She knew she had repaired the bone, but seeing his disbelief turn to shock and then joy before her still made her smile in surprise. He stood shakily, and Octavia moved to help him, but there was no need. He stood for a few seconds, face empty, and then laughed, once. Simple, and all the appreciation Fluttershy needed. He leaned forward and hugged her, and she could feel pricks of moisture fall onto her coat as he shook against her body. She said nothing. There was nothing to say.

After making sure that both stallion and mare were unharmed, and then offering to take them to the hospital on their ship, Octavia boarded. She knew that she could not avoid the questions and reprimands that came to her. How could she do something so reckless? Didn’t she know it was a bad idea to go into a dust cloud that thick? What if she had suffocated? She answered only that she knew what she was doing the entire time, and was never in any serious danger. Of them all, only Pinkie appeared to understand.

They took off, and when Twilight had regained her constitution, Fluttershy explained what had happened. When they were high above the collapse site, heading back around toward Octavia’s apartment, Pinkie spoke. “Did… my magic do that?”

Everyone looked at her, ready to respond, but held their tongues; her mane and tail were going straight, and her eyes were wide, tears just behind them.

“Pinkie,” Twilight began gently, “you could never have predicted that that would happen.”

“But it was my magic, wasn’t it?”

“Pinkie,” Applejack started.

“Wasn’t it?” Pinkie insisted.

“…Yeah, Ah guess technically it was, but—”

“It’s all my fault!” Pinkie wailed dramatically, and they backed away a little. Tears were flowing down her face, and she sniffed loudly, looking at them all. “See? Even now, my magic is at work! You all backed away. You’re afraid of me!”

“No, Pinkie, it’s not like that,” Twilight said, holding up a hoof.

Pinkie stopped and looked into her eyes. She spoke more slowly. “If I didn’t have these stupid powers, those ponies wouldn’t have been hurt.”

“Don’t say that, Pinkie,” Rarity said.

“But it’s true.”

“If you didn’t have your magic, we wouldn’t be able to help everypony like we have been,” Twilight said.

“If I didn’t have my magic, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place!” Pinkie screeched, and Octavia turned quickly to look at her, surprised.

“Pinkie, don’t think like that,” Twilight said. “Besides, Fluttershy healed them. Everything’s okay.”

“Their building isn’t,” Pinkie said, wiping her eyes. “Their lives aren’t. And Fluttershy only healed their bodies; she can’t make ‘em not sad, or scared.”

They were silent for a moment. “It’s not your fault,” Fluttershy said at last.

“It’s none of ours,” Applejack put in.

Pinkie looked down at the deck for a moment, and then turned and went back to the hatch, ignoring their protests. As soon as the trapdoor was shut, Octavia looked at the stunned group, hoping for some explanation; no one offered it. They only looked out, or at each other, with sad faces. A few seconds later, Rainbow went to the hatch after Pinkie, and Octavia went to the front with Applejack to guide them to her apartment. She spoke quietly, out of respect for the others.

Applejack glided them over the restored city, and Octavia indicated a monochrome stripe of apartment complexes sitting flush against the mountain, clinging to the rocks like lichen. They went down and landed in a small airship parking lot just outside one of the building conglomerations.

“My apartment is close by,” Octavia said. “I will return as quickly as I can.”

“You want any help?” Applejack asked.

Octavia thought. “I suppose some help would be appreciated.”

“All right then. Ah’ll be back, y’all,” she said to the group. She led Octavia down the plank, and then let her take the lead out of the parking lot and down a dull gray street, empty. Here, so close to the mountain, the earthquake hadn’t been as bad, and most buildings were unharmed. An odd piece of roofing material or glittering patch of glass was all the debris they could see on the road and on the sidewalk, unctuous and dirty yellow in the sunset.

“Pinkie said that if it were not for her magic, we would not be in this situation,” Octavia said. “You said that it was Discord who did this.” She didn’t ask for clarification; she knew Applejack knew what she meant.

“All right, Ah’ll be honest with ya. It was Pinkie who did this whole thing, but it ain’t her fault, okay? Princess Celestia designed the sigil wrong, an’ Pinkie got too much magic, an’ she didn’t know what to do with it. It, it got outta control.”

Octavia didn’t know what to say. She and Pinkie were sisters, but they hardly knew each other. The thought that her own flesh and blood could be responsible, even tangentially, for the crisis they faced, was too much for her to consider. It rolled around in her mind like a pebble, and she could do nothing with it; neither belief nor disbelief came naturally. “I understand.”

Applejack didn’t respond, and Octavia was grateful for the silence. In it, she could order her thoughts and enjoy the scenery. She had always liked the low-class desolation of her complex: the weeds between slabs of pavement; the tiny, cluttered balconies that hung above the street like pockets of ponies’ personal lives; the sounds of foals crying and playing, of tinny music blasting through cheap radios; the smells and spices of home-cooked, convenience store meals.

She took Applejack into a small, familiar alleyway. Curling, sun-dried posters hung on the brickwork, advertising ancient public events or lost items. She skirted an empty playground, where she would sometimes practice in the middle of the night, quiet and alone in the filthy sand and rusted toys. She walked past a small ramada, where everyone’s mailboxes were stacked and ordered by number, not name, and onto a wider street, flanked with parking spaces. A few carriages sat under rain-spotted, fabric awnings. A large, metal trash bin sat askew in a brick alcove, its blue paint flecking off to reveal blackened rust. The asphalt was still warm, and all the same sounds that Octavia was used to were there: young ponies playing, out of sight. Mothers scolding. Noisome music inside a screen door. All of it, covering the sounds of jubilation and confusion in the distance, her own personal oasis.

“Ah’m sorry we lied to ya,” Applejack said at last.

Octavia looked back at her.

“We didn’t want you to think Pinkie was some sorta crazy, out-of-control pony. That’s all.”

“I understand, and I would lie too, if I were in your situation. All is forgiven.” She turned down an offshoot of the main road. A patch of scraggly flowers bloomed in a cigarette-studded oval of dirt, bisected by a fence.

“Yer awfully quiet fer a musician,” Applejack said.

“Yes, I am.”

“Why? Are you just a quiet pony? Like Fluttershy?”

“I suppose I must be.” She let it hang, and when Applejack took a breath to try to pursue the issue, Octavia spoke again. “I do not like to speak, if there is nothing to say. It is something that I learned in my youth.”

“It’s all right,” Applejack said. “Like you, Ah understand. It’s just, you come off as kind of unfriendly. Ah think so, at least.”

“I am aware of my impression on others.” She turned an abrupt ninety degrees into a stairwell, heading up to the second floor.

“If you don’t mind my askin’… is that why you…”

“Yes?”

“Have so little friends?” Applejack finished quietly.

“That is one of the reasons, yes.”

“One of the reasons?”

“Yes.”

Octavia pushed open the door, taking them into apartment 1020.

“You don’t lock yer door?”

“I am an earth pony. Keys are too much of a hassle, and no one bothers me anyway.” She entered the dim interior, looking around disinterestedly. She loved the complex outside, but hated her own apartment: a depressing, three-room suite, furnished only with a couch, a bed, and her meager possessions. No smell of food, only dust and dry rot. She had been to the grocery store once since arriving, more than a week ago.

“I will carry my cello, but if you could go into my room and collect the bags on the bed, that would be helpful,” Octavia said, grabbing a bulky instrument case from the couch and slinging it onto her back. Applejack went into the bedroom, and Octavia went to the kitchen. The cupboards were bare, save for a couple tins of peas, and the fridge was empty but for a single, sticky stain. A stack of mail sat on the counter: bills, advertisements, subscription offers, and a single letter addressed to her specifically—not “resident.” She clumsily bit the envelope open and read the letter: fan mail. A college student in Cloudsdale had just discovered her music, and loved it.

“Is there anythin’ else?” Applejack asked from behind her.

Octavia didn’t jump, and only placed the fan letter back on the pile. “I believe not.” She exited the kitchen and crossed the living room to a pair of dirty sliding glass doors. She drew them back and looked at her balcony; only a pair of potted plants stood outside, sentinel to the dying sun. With a nod, she made for the door.

“Leavin’ the couch?”

“I doubt I will be needing a couch where I am going.”

“What ‘bout that stack of mail?”

Octavia paused at the front door. “How long do you think we will be traveling?”

Applejack looked taken aback. “How long? Uh, gee. Ah’m not sure.”

“Months? Years?”

“Uh… months. Ah’m ballparkin’, but Ah’d guess somethin’ like two or three.”

Octavia looked back at her apartment, studying it. Two or three months was not a long time—not long enough for ponies to give up on finding her. Debt collectors, her landlord, and the constant tide of bills: electricity, utilities, water. Accumulated for months in her absence, an absence spent adventuring with strangers, and not performing. Not earning money.

She looked at Applejack, who looked back with a soft expression. She looked at her apartment. The couch: dented from where she slept, when she slept. Her plants: neglected. Her bedroom: almost untouched. The pile of mail in the kitchen. Money.

“It’s hard to leave home sometimes. Ah know how ya feel,” Applejack said.

Octavia looked back inside. It was insanity. She did not know them, except Pinkie, whom she did not like. She had traveled, but knew nothing of quests. She had never fought an enemy, or faced anything more dangerous than a cold night alone. Before, in the train station, she had been confident in her sudden decision. She would throw it away, all of it. Everything. What she hadn’t considered, and now crashed onto her like a pile of unread letters: what would come after? For there would be an afterwards. After the journey, what then? Debt, depression, a career ruined by a sudden and unexplained absence. Not even an empty apartment to call home. And no family or friends to fall back on.

“Octavia? You okay?”

She closed her eyes. “There is a solution, but this is not it. Running accomplishes nothing.”

“Octavia?”

Tears squeezed between her eyelids, and she sighed shakily. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Running accomplishes nothing.”

She looked out the door, ajar, at the sunset sky, blurred by tears. A bird perched on the eave of the opposite building. Trees swayed in a light breeze. A flower fell. “Nothing at all.”

Without speaking, she walked out onto the landing, letting the door close on its own. They walked down the stairs slowly and silently, down the darkening street. Applejack didn’t say anything, and Octavia didn’t look back, not when they turned off her street, not when they passed the playground, not when they passed the sign outside the complex.

They got on the ship, and Pinkie was back out. She looked better. Octavia placed her cello against the rail, and Applejack put her bags down next to it, then took the wheel.

“We’re headin’ out,” she said. “Anypony got anythin’ else they need to do here? Now’s yer chance.”

No one said anything, and so they took off.

Bad Sleeping

Chapter Nineteen

Bad Sleeping

She opened her eyes. She was home again, and the house was empty. It was dark. She was in her bathroom, brushing her teeth before bed. The lights, electric, were on, and the bathroom gleamed. The porcelain bathtub and the shining floor. She spit into the sink. Water rushing down the dark drain. Clack—the toothbrush in its holder.

The hallway from the bathroom to the master bedroom was shadowy and narrow. She clicked off the light and squinted into the darkness. Nothing at all. She walked slowly over thick, soft carpet. It was red.

The bedroom lights were on, and she waited in the threshold. The wallpaper seemed to press in on her, and the easy chair in the corner was turned her way. Hostile. She felt she was not alone. She opened another door and looked down the corridor to the parlour. It, too, was too dark for her to see. She turned off the light. She turned the light back on. Her heart was racing.

She looked out the windows first. The grounds below were quiet and dark, the trees drooping cold, dry leaves. She checked under the bed and inside a set of drawers. She looked under the bedside table, than at its surface. There was a vase of dead ivy with perfect triangle leaves. Four leaves on the tabletop.

She took one last, long look into the dark hall and turned off the light. She walked to the door, dread growing with each step. The velvety darkness inside was unbroken, and then it wasn’t. Two splinters of light in the distance. Her pulse doubled, her blood rushed in her ears, and she broke into a cold sweat. Her legs trembled. She could not back away.

The darkness receded further, revealing an indistinct face that looked directly at her. Its eyes were motionless, its mouth open in a slanted, agonized gash. A frozen scream. She was petrified. It slipped across the ground on invisible feet, faster than her eye could observe. It filled her vision. Chapped skin, death-pale, around a gaping black hole.

Octavia shot awake, her heart pounding and her jaw clenched. She was on her back, knotted up in a sweat-soaked sleeping bag; Pinkie had volunteered to go without hers, so Octavia could be comfortable. It was rolled and tangled around her, and she slowly, quietly extricated herself to stand. It was dark still, and she breathed slowly, trying to calm herself. After several minutes, her heart had slowed, and the adrenaline was wearing off. The engine’s gentle thrum in the peaceful, starlit night was soothing on her taut nerves, but the dream image was stuck in her mind.

She crossed the deck, taking care to step lightly around the sleeping ponies. She stopped for a moment to look at Pinkie, who appeared to be sleeping no more peacefully; a grimace was spread across her face, and her lips were moving soundlessly. Octavia stepped past her and approached the railing, standing on her hind legs to get a better view of the ground below, a turtle shell of dark green and brown, separated by endless black.

“How could Pinkamena possibly be responsible for this? Not even the princesses have power enough for this—at least, I do not believe they do.” She sighed and looked up at the sky. “Does this mean that I have power too? We are related.” She pushed the thought out of her mind and took another deep breath. “Relax, Octavia. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

She leaned on the banister. She could see the Everfree Forest in the distance, cutting a ragged black saw edge on the dark horizon. She had flown over it only a few times, and always in a cramped, mass transit airship; she had never had a complete view, and was struck with how massive it was. It stretched as far as she could see in both directions, a thick, furry crescent, home to creatures and secrets she dared not imagine. Beyond, she knew, were the tall towers and congested streets of Manehattan. In a few days, they would be able to see its bright lights, if they were on; for the time, though, the expanse before her was empty.

She looked up. Outside Canterlot, the moon was a brilliant, oblong light among the salt-spray of stars, and she studied them, trying to put the dream out of her mind. She moved away and lay on her back, eyes turned to the night. She closed them; behind her lids waited the expressionless, horrified face from her dream, and she opened them again, her pulse jumping again. She sighed and put a hoof over her face.

It was a dream she had had for many years, with varying frequency, from monthly to daily. It was always the same: bathroom, bedroom, turn lights off, turn lights on, search, turn off, see face, end. It was not her only nightmare, nor even the worst, but it was by far the most persistent. She knew, even as her breathing slowed and her mind relaxed, that she would not sleep the rest of the night. She tried to make herself comfortable on the wooden deck.

As time crawled past, and the dream’s impact diminished, her thoughts turned inward. Only a few hours ago, she had stood inside her apartment, agonizing over leaving her old life behind. It was difficult for her to imagine such a pivotal decision so close behind her. “Is this really happening? Am I truly doing this? Running away? Who are these ponies, anyway?” She had been uncertain then. Now, in the darkness, with Canterlot behind them, it seemed madness. A flight of fancy, conceived on a whim, and carried out with only the dimmest of thought. “Two or three months. What then? No money, no prospects. No apartment.” She angrily swiped her hoof across a pair of wet eyes. “What have I done?”

Rainbow was the first to wake. Her eyes darted open with a light gasp, and she immediately stood up, shaking her head to clear it. The sun was just coming up, and she rubbed her eyes. Afterimages of her dream lingered, and she took several long, slow breaths to calm her pounding heart. She walked to Octavia, lying on her back a few feet away, staring emptily into the sky with glassy eyes and shallow breathing.

Rainbow waved a hoof in front of her face, but she didn’t respond. “Octavia? You okay?”

After a few seconds, her violet eyes blinked and met Rainbow’s. She slowly rolled over and stood up, smiling a tiny, polite smile as she did so. She looked at Rainbow expectantly.

“Um, did you hear me?”

“No.”

“Oh. Um, are you okay? You looked kind of… out of it, there.”

“I am fine, Rainbow. Thank you for your concern, though.”

“Were you sleeping?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

“A little. Two hours, perhaps three.” Seeing Rainbow’s concerned expression, she smiled again. “It is of little consequence.”

“You’re not tired?”

“I am exhausted, but it will pass.”

“Ooookay.”

Slowly, the others woke up, and they prepared a light breakfast from their rations and talked about the events of the day before. Aside from the compliments and questions concerning Octavia’s reckless, but successful, rescue effort in the dust cloud, they were subdued. Leaving Canterlot, they realized, was the first step outside their comfort zones. The adventure was truly beginning, and with Pinkie depressed from the damage her magic had done, and everyone else put off from Octavia’s somber presence, it was not the triumphant, exciting beginning they had expected. A single ship leaving town after dark, with nothing but a brooding musician as a guide.

* * * * * *

Eight days. Eight days since Twilight and her friends had left Ponyville in the dead of night, suddenly and without explanation, and only two days since they had left a second time, for good. For months.

Spike had taken care of the library, as per Twilight’s request, and looked after Opalescence for Rarity. It was lonely work, and he was not used to having so much free time. With no letters to write, no books to organize, and only the most routine of chores, he was left with long stretches of time completely to himself, in which he often wandered the empty library, remembering. An overturned book, a rumpled sheet on the bed, a flower in the sun. Memories of Twilight, memories of Rarity.

More and more often, he found himself repeating his confession of love in his head, each time deviating a little more from the truth until, in his mind, he was standing in the doorway while Rarity yelled and insulted him, and even hurled one of Twilight’s books at him as he scurried down the stairs. He tried not to dwell on her, on Twilight, to remind himself that their journey was more important than his personal feelings, but it did little to comfort him when he went up to an empty bedroom every night.

It was early evening, and he was dusting the globe up in Twilight’s room when he heard a polite knock on the door. He trudged downstairs and opened it. He wasn’t sure who he had expected, but the sight of the smiling, gray pegasus with the lazy eye surprised him into a moment of awkward silence before addressing her. “Oh, hey, Derpy.”

“Hey Spike. Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure, I guess so.” He stepped aside for her to enter. “What do you need help finding?”

She walked a circle around the room before speaking. “Oh, nothing, really. I was just coming by to check up on you.”

He hesitated, not certain whether he had heard her right. “To… check up on me? Why?”

“Well, I know Twilight and all her friends left, and nopony’s seen you in town since then. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She was right; he had shunned life outside the library since his friends’ departure. “Well, thanks, I guess. You didn’t have to do that, though. I’m totally fine.”

“You sure? I know if my friends left, I’d be inconsolable.”

Spike hid his surprise at her use of the word; he thought she was supposed to be slightly retarded. “I’m… fine. Yeah, fine.” He punctuated his words with a lame shrug.

“You sound sad,” she said, looking at him with another light smile. Her voice was casual, but not overt or disrespectful, and he felt himself drawn.

He crossed his arms. “Maybe a little.”

“That’s understandable,” she said, still slowly pacing around the room. There was a weird silence between them, filled only by her clomping hooves, and then she spoke again. “Wanna talk about it?”

He considered her proposition. What would he say? His feelings were too sore to discuss openly with Derpy, whom he had met only briefly before, but her relaxed voice and unpretentious manner tempted him. She was reaching out to him, but made no demands. She was patient.

He decided to tell the truth. “I’m not really sure what to say. Sure, I’m sad, but I’ll get over it.”

“And is that all there is to it?” Derpy asked innocently.

“Is it ever?”

“No, not usually.” She picked up a book and flipped through it. “Are you uncomfortable talking to me?”

He sighed. “Yeah, a little. No offense.”

“None taken. You don’t know me very well.” She snapped the book shut. “And you’ve probably heard some not-so-nice things about me.”

Spike was at a loss for words. Her behavior seemed disturbed, but her voice and her eyes remained calm. “I… I guess?”

“Ponies spread gossip about me all the time, and most of it’s pretty mean.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing to apologize for. It is what it is, right? Every town needs someone to look down on, and that someone just happens to be me. I don’t begrudge them for it.”

“That’s awfully forgiving of you,” Spike said. He wasn’t comfortable with the subject, glad as he was that they were off him for the time.

“It comes naturally. Now, are you sure you don’t want to talk? You can just vent your feelings at me if you want; you don’t have to explain anything.”

Again, Spike considered it. “No, I’ll be okay. Thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. Oh, um, actually, you probably don’t.” She chuckled. “I live in the northern part of town, by the windmill.”

“I’ll just ask around for you,” he said.

“That works too! Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

“No, not yet. I was gonna whip something up just before you came.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know I was intruding.”

“No no, it’s fine. Um… do you wanna stay for dinner? I’m a pretty good cook.”

“Sure!” There was no hesitation in her response.

“All right.” He looked askance at her. “I’m afraid I don’t have any muffins, though.”

She looked at him in puzzlement. “Why would I care if you don’t have any muffins?”

“Oh, um, I thought you were, like, a… never mind. I guess you’re not.”

“Not what? A muffin fanatic?” She laughed a little. “Just another rumor. I mean, sure, I like the odd muffin, but I don’t live off them or anything.”

Spike laughed nervously. “Uh, sorry. Rainbow Dash said it, I think. She said you had this thing about muffins. You had to eat, like, five a day or something.”

Derpy shook her head. “Silly. I have no idea where they get these ideas.”

They went into the kitchen and began preparing for dinner; Derpy offered to help, but proved herself more useful as a companion than a cook. They dined, and Derpy amicably answered Spike’s numerous questions, about her job, her friends, the swarm of rumors that had appeared around her. Only once did she balk at speaking, when he brought up her eyes. The moment passed without awkwardness, and she left around nine, promising to come by again. He spent the rest of the evening alone, but content.

* * * * * *

Days on the airship, they soon found, were excruciating. There was little to do except eat, talk, and make slight corrections to their trajectory. The items had been organized and reorganized countless times, and Twilight had taken inventory so much that she had most of their supplies memorized. On the second day, she wrote a letter to Princess Celestia, telling her where they were and asking about progress with Discord; Luna had not yet found anything, and they were growing more and more worried.

On the evening of that same day, they crossed over the east edge of the Everfree Forest. At first, flying over it was amazing and exciting; they were all mystified by its size, and the knowledge that, directly beneath them, there were all manner of strange, fantastic creatures. They quickly realized, though, that landing there would be impossible, and that, as long as they were over the mysterious forest, they could not avail themselves of any bodies of water. They could not bathe. The lack of water, mixed with only the most rudimentary of bathrooms, cast a pall of misery and discomfort over their flight, doubled by Rarity’s ceaseless complaining.

When they crossed the west edge of the forest at the end of the fourth day, they landed immediately by a tiny circle of water, an abandoned reservoir, and were so happy to be off the cramped ship that they improvised a picnic dinner in the red, sunset-tinted meadow. The relief was short-lived. As soon as they took off, boredom set in again, all the more bitter by its proximity to their brief respite.

On the fifth day, they were well over the wide western grasslands, where the march of industry was much more evident than near Canterlot and Ponyville. Rivers and streams were dammed and bridged, small patches of woodland were surrounded and segmented by dirt roads, and the countryside was crisscrossed with shining, silver train tracks. Manehattan stood in the distance, a foggy mirage by day and a dull filigree of scattered lights by night, surrounded by a wide, circular hole, the remnants of Starlight Lake in the bottom.

On the sixth day, they were drawing near to the shattered lake, and the island it embraced. It was very early morning, and only Octavia was awake to appreciate the still scene. The sky was full of thin, ghostly clouds, and a fine, steam-like shroud surrounded the ship, cooling her and drawing her into a state of relaxation from the night before. She had been up since midnight, disturbed by more nightmares, and then her own thoughts and memories for the hours after that.

When the others had awoken, they were only a few hours from Manehattan Island. Everyone moved and spoke with a palpable excitement, except Pinkie, who looked feverish and dull. Her speech was slow and her movements were languid, and she lay on the deck while the others crowded Octavia and interrogated her about Manehattan.

Manehattan was built on an island, and the river that fed the lake came directly from the ocean to the north. The city’s wealth came mostly from tourism and trade; it was the farthest-inland point that could be reached from the ocean, and more than a third of Equestria’s transoceanic commerce had taken place on its docks. At present, the lake was lower than it had been in millennia; with no inflow from the river that fed it, and a too-slow water purification and replenishment system, the ponies were draining Starlight Lake at a rate that would, unchecked, leave the island uninhabitable in a matter of months.

While the island was a soft-edged square, the city was a mindless jumble of towers and apartments in its middle, with no discernible shape or form, none of which appeared to have fallen. Unlike Canterlot, Twilight explained, Manehattan was built with earthquakes in mind, and almost all the buildings were specifically designed to withstand the aggressive shaking that Pinkie’s spell had caused.

While the majority of Manehattan was huge and anonymous, it was bookended by a pair of skyscrapers, dwarfing all the other buildings and framing the city like trees in a field. On the southeast corner: a thick, jutting, dark column, crowned with a single, sickle-like thorn, which Octavia told them contained the most expensive real-estate in the city; and on the northwest: a slender, delicate, twisting tower that looked simply too thin and fragile to support itself. Rose Tower and Glass Ribbon, Octavia said—Manehattan’s premier entertainment and shopping districts. Each tower had cost billions of bits to construct, and represented the absolute pinnacle of equine engineering and architecture. She shared their surprise, and relief, that they had not fallen in the initial disaster.

As they floated closer, the haze around them began to thicken, and the distant clouds, originally thin and insubstantial, were developing into thick, heavy, dark impositions on the sky that blocked their view. A storm front, Rainbow said. They continued to cruise through, and slowly, so slowly that they could hardly observe the change, the clouds came together, forming first a bank against them, then a floor, then a dome, and finally a complete sphere around the ship. Droplets of water condensed on the gunwales and the cords holding the balloon, and Rainbow and Fluttershy had to go below the deck to escape what was, for them, like being dragged through syrup. Still, they flew; they had flown into the middle of the storm front, Twilight said, and in a few minutes, they would be out of it.

After half an hour of aimless floating, Applejack stopped the engines. The skies had not cleared, and she didn’t want them to overshoot Manehattan. As they hung in the fog, unable to see the ground, they gathered around the hatch to speak with Rainbow and Fluttershy.

“We’ve got the torch an’ engines off,” Applejack said. “It’s a weirdly big storm cloud, but we don’t have anythin’ propellin’ us. We should reach the ground eventually. Ah say we just wait it out.”

“That’s dangerous,” Rainbow said. “We don’t know what kind of wind patterns are out here. What if we drift into the lake, or the city?”

“Why can you not use your weather-handling skills to disperse them?” Octavia asked.

“Are you kidding? It’d take a thousand pegasi to break something like this apart.”

“But we can’t just stay where we are,” Rarity said.

“Maybe we should turn the torch back on, an’ see if we can rise through this mess,” Applejack said.

“Also too dangerous,” Rainbow said. “We’re about a mile off the Gaia already, and who-knows-how-high above sea level after that. The air gets dangerously thin at seven-thousand feet.”

“We might have to take that risk,” Octavia said.

“I’d rather risk hitting the lake or the city.”

“We should cut the cords and just fall the rest of the way,” Pinkie suddenly said. She held a hoof to her mouth as soon as the words left her.

Everyone turned to look at her, and she looked back worriedly. She looked afraid, but when she opened her mouth, she only laughed. It wasn’t the usual, Pinkie Pie laugh of good cheer and happiness; this one was sinister and intelligent, as though she knew exactly what she was doing. Her eyes, however, widened in fright, and she waved her hooves, as if in protest to the wild laughter pouring from her throat.

“Pinkie, what the heck is wrong with you?” Twilight demanded.

She shook her head and gave a quivering smile. “Oh, Twilight.” She reared her head back again and barked a single laugh, then another, louder, and they all exchanged frightened looks.

“Pinkie, what’s going on?” Rarity asked.

Pinkie only laughed louder and threw her head back and forth, each laugh rising in intensity until she was screaming, raving. Her wide mouth and twisting tongue looked grotesque in the semidarkness, and the cords of her neck stood out violently. Her eyes looked terrified.

“Pinkie, stop it!” Rainbow cried.

Pinkie leaned back farther, eyes rolling up, and bellowed into the sky. Her fur rippled, and they leaned away, watching, mortified, as she fell to her knees and shuddered. Her screaming died away as she put her head down, her entire body shaking. They could see her muscles tightening and quivering rapidly, tears dropping onto the deck, and a light mist of steam was coming off her skin. Slowly, like the clouds outside, the steam thickened and coalesced into a long, coiling rope, extending off her body like the tail of an exorcised spirit, forming in spots into more anatomical shapes: a paw, a hoof, a head. A pair of smiling, intelligent eyes.

“Holy Celestia,” Applejack breathed.

Pinkie, already struggling to her hooves, lay in a heap below Discord’s solidifying mass. They watched, unbelieving, as his head and arms twisted around, the steam within coloring and condensing into bone, muscle, skin, fur.

With a sickening snap, he cracked his neck and back, and gave them all a simpering grin. “Surprise! You spend far too much time with your heads in the clouds.” He laughed, and Twilight glared at him, anger tensing inside her. He met her eyes, and in them, she saw fierceness and cunning, vastly different from the dumb playfulness she had seen in her first encounter.

She was furious, but also terrified. For an instant, she was back in Canterlot, standing in the palace courtyard and ordering her thoughts. The dark skies and terrible sounds of war were all around her, and all she could do was run. Helplessness and guilt, and then a lapse of consciousness, waking up to find everything ruined. And here was the instigator.

“Attack!” she screamed. She darted at him with savage anger, inflamed by his presence and the memories he stirred up. In that moment, she was blind to rationality and fear; her only interest was in making him suffer. She crossed the deck swiftly, and he hopped to her side, chuckling.

“No no, this won’t do at all,” he said, snapping his fingers.

Twilight turned to him again, disrupted by the sudden presence of a large block of wood in her mouth and a rough fabric patch over her eye.

“Arrrrgh, matey!” Discord shouted excitedly, jumping at her and swinging his own wooden sword at her head. Applejack and Pinkie were behind him, staring and frozen.

“You brute!” Rarity cried, finally gaining her senses and rushing him. His sword crashed off a transparent, blue shield around Twilight, and Discord laughed again.

“Arrr, well done, me bucko!” He snapped his fingers again, a spark of magic flying from them, and Rarity fell with a strangled cry of pain.

“Discord, damn it!” Twilight shouted, tearing the eyepatch off her face and grabbing her own wooden sword in her magic. She was only a few feet away from him, and her horn flashed a brilliant magenta as a spell—the first spell to come to mind—flowed out of her like a flood. A vibrant explosion crackled against his chest, and he backed up with a cough of surprise.

“Nice one, Twilight!” Rainbow shouted.

She didn’t stop, instead running forward into the residual heat and smoke to administer another, sharper spell. As the air cleared, a hoof shot out at her, catching her on the chest and firing her across the deck with the power of a cannonball. She hit the gunwale with a crack of wood and a flash of light in her eyes, and she slumped to the ground, confused and hurt.

Octavia watched with mounting dread as Discord incapacitated the ponies around her. Before she could fully process the situation, he had reduced their numbers to three: herself; Pinkie, trembling uselessly by the hatch; and Applejack, who looked at him defiantly. The pegasi were still below, unable to move through the clouds that filled the deck.

“Yer a monster,” Applejack growled, and he advanced slowly, smiling.

He snapped his fingers, and the pirate persona dropped away in a puff of smoke. “You have seen no monsters yet,” he taunted, turning away from Octavia to circle Applejack, who matched his pace.

As he put his back to her, Octavia slowly crept away from the hatch. She did not know what she was doing, but her instincts demanded she take action; simply hiding and hoping for the others to take care of him, as Pinkie was, did not even occur to her. She looked quickly at Twilight, who watched with a dazzled expression, and then Pinkie, who cowered in the corner.

“Surprise!” Discord called, sliding forward swiftly and giving Applejack a kick, sending her across the deck and into the rail next to Twilight. He laughed energetically, and Octavia ran to the torch, the nearest form of cover. “Kicks for everyone!”

“What do I do? What can I do?” she thought, cold worry gripping her heart. “There has to be something.” At the sound of Discord’s footfall, she pressed up against the torch, and the cool metal on her side gave her an idea.

“Here I come, musician,” he said happily.

The sound of his voice, smooth and masculine, struck a nerve in her, and her idea, not fully formed, fired through her mind and into her muscles. With a grunt of exertion, she threw herself against the torch. It swayed, crunching on the deck, and she threw herself at it again, knocking it down with a deafening crack. She scrambled around, her hooves slipping on the wet metal as the torch rolled away from her, and Discord only laughed more. The sound pierced her, and she growled to herself, getting a tenuous grip on the torch and pulling it awkwardly around to face her enemy.

He smiled down at her, and her thoughts slowed to a calm certainty, electrified with adrenaline. Breathing deeply, she slipped her hooves under the heavy, metal cylinder, and, with a moment of strain, brought it slowly up, her extant earth pony strength and her years of physical labor allowing her to lift the metal giant with little more than a groan of exertion. As she slowly pointed its mouth at Discord’s midsection, his arrogant smile faltered, and she smirked. Without thinking, she brought a hoof up deftly and flicked the torch on, and a gout of flame exploded off of her, breaking on Discord’s chest and sending him reeling back with a surprised, alarmed expression. She dropped the torch only a moment later, struck with the strength and heat of the flame, and the jet of fire cut off as the torch’s rim gouged the deck.

“Ugh, fine! I yield, I yield,” Discord cried, and Octavia only gasped, tired and surprised. “But not without a parting shot.” He snapped his fingers once more; at the sound, the cords holding the balloon, cold and wet, broke apart with a deadly twang, and they were suddenly falling through blind clouds, the draconequus gone.

It was a sensation she had never felt before. Suddenly weightless, she flailed impotently for something to hold, but as she did so, the deck seemed to back away from her. The torch rolled clumsily down and shattered against the gunwale, and she slid, fell, and then flew off the sides with the others.

Her ears roared with rushing air, and the clouds opened up underneath them. She, and Twilight beside her, were powerlessly tumbling, twirling, and twisting in the whipping, shredding wind. The ship was a giant splinter behind them, a momentary blotch in their whirling vision, and Manehattan, and the partial lake around it, was a hole as big as the earth itself. She didn’t scream; she was frozen. Her mind refused to think, and all her instincts—to struggle, to yell for help, to simply escape—were petrified. Discord’s laughter filled her ears.

The cold air hammered at her body and her face, and she could hardly keep her eyes open, even as she leveled out. She could see the city below, huge and gray and cracked, rimmed with deep blue, and seemingly static under her. The sky was tremendous, and as Twilight drifted out of her peripheries, she slowly lost the sensation of falling. She was simply suspended in the cold and the noise, the shadow of the city and the lake beneath her like a picture she would never fall into.

For minutes, she was poised over Manehattan, and slowly, slowly, the ground grew larger in her eyes. She could see a split in the countryside, and dull, shadowy brown at its bottom. She could see a small hollow, a nearby meadow, a little ravine by it. She could see the individual trees. She closed her eyes.

“Ha! Just kidding!” Another snap, and in a single, disorienting instant, she felt herself pulled bodily away, thrust onto her hooves, and freed from the momentum and the sound of the air. She opened her eyes; they were all back, standing, cringing, crying, on the ship’s deck, floating gently to the ground. Discord was nowhere to be seen, but it had been his voice that initiated the change.

“Just kidding again.”

They fell again, only for a few seconds, and landed with the sickening sound of wood splintering on hard earth. Everyone cried out, except Octavia, who only exhaled slowly as she looked around. Applejack was getting to her hooves, Rainbow and Fluttershy were climbing out of the hatch, and the others simply lay on the deck, eyes closed and faces twisted up in distress.

“Uh, girls? We got a fire,” Rainbow said shakily.

Octavia’s head whipped back to the hatch, where she could see smoke rising, and, she thought, hear the crackle of flames under the others’ moaning and crying. She paused only for a second. “Everyone off the ship!” she commanded, moving quickly over to Rarity and helping her up. “Someone lower the plank.”

The deck was suddenly full of frightened scrambling, and it was a minute before Rainbow had the walkway lowered, a minute in which no one seemed to know what to do, except move and tremble while the fire ate at the ship’s inside. By the time Rainbow had the gangplank down, flames were already licking at the hatch’s edge, and Octavia hastened to help Rarity down while Applejack did the same for Twilight, who followed her with a vacant expression.

As soon as they were all on the grass outside the ship, Octavia turned and, without looking back, galloped back up the plank, ignoring the others’ protests. Only one caught her attention: “Octavia, those fuel canisters are still in the engine room!”

She didn’t stop. Fire was already spreading up the ship’s back, and its heat repelled her as she crossed onto the damaged deck, scattered with bags and supplies. She grabbed a satchel of books and swung them over the rail, then an unrolled sleeping bag, all the while searching for her cello among the mess. Her legs were already sore from lifting the torch, and her jaw and neck were quickly tiring from the exertion, but she moved with determination and patience, picking through the supplies for what she deemed the most worthy of salvage.

When she reached her cello case, only lightly scratched, the fire was traveling along the ship’s sides, and she had to run to the front to avoid throwing her instrument through a tapestry of flames. The case was hot in her hooves, and her body was aching with the heat surrounding it, but she didn’t relent in her task, even as she adjusted and readjusted her burden to avoid burning herself on its metal hinges. In her desperation, both to hurry off the ship and rid herself of the scalding hunk of wood, she threw it carelessly over the side, forced to pray that she would be able to recover it afterwards.

Even at the ship’s front, the wood sizzled and hissed, and she had to dance away in places to avoid burning her hooves; the back was an inferno that was almost too hot to look at, burning her face when she so much as turned toward it. She could hear the others calling for her below, and their terrified voices, mixed with the rushing flames and the anxiety of the impending explosion, scrambled inside her head into a feverish desperation that blotted out everything but the heat, the pain, and the surrounding crackle of fire. Her body stung as she ran back to the ship’s middle, and she could see her fur singing in places, feel her skin blistering. She beat a small fire off of another bag and grabbed it between her teeth, dropping it with a cry of pain as a rivet touched her lip. “I need to get out of here.”

Fluttershy healed Twilight first. As soon as they were off the ship, she crouched down by Twilight and, after a minute of concentration, dispelled what she suspected was a concussion. She did the same for Applejack, who insisted she didn’t need it, and then Rarity, for whom, as near as Fluttershy could tell, the pain was entirely mental—a trick of Discord’s. While she tended to her friends, Octavia was on the burning ship, lobbing sacks of supplies and sleeping bags off like bombs, their contents unceremoniously bursting out on the meadow.

While supplies rained down, Rainbow Dash and Applejack hastened to get them away from the ship, collecting them in a disorganized pile near Twilight, who only watched, mesmerized and worried. As she watched the fires climb higher, covering the sides and swallowing the gunwales, she imagined Octavia in the middle of it all, still throwing their things out, forcing herself against the heat with an effort she could not imagine. She trembled where she sat, eyes locked on the burning hulk of their ship, and Fluttershy wordlessly put a wing around her.

When Octavia finally came down, the plank had fallen away, and she had to jump. She landed hard, but slowly pulled herself their way, her coat patched with blackened dots and her chest heaving. No one rushed to her. Twilight was frozen with Fluttershy holding her, Rainbow and Applejack were still moving supplies, and Pinkie and Rarity could only watch in mortified disbelief.

When Octavia stopped in front of them, her eyes were still steely. “We need to get away before it explodes. Can you lift these supplies?”

It was a few moments before Twilight realized it was she to whom Octavia had directed the question. “Oh, uh, yes.” She activated a levitation spell and grabbed their things in a single, massive cloud, and Octavia called for Rainbow and Applejack. They brought the last of their supplies, and Twilight encompassed them in her spell.

They trotted away from the ship as quickly as they could, Octavia limping in the back. When she called for a halt, the ship was a small mote of light in the distance, a colossal pillar of smoke rising from it and spreading into the sky, cloudless.

As they watched it, catching their breath, its back end exploded outwards with a force that made them wince. Fire and debris sprayed across the meadow and rocked the ship off its kilter, and it slowly tilted to the ground, exposing its collapsed deck. All that remained was a skeletal remain, burning hungrily in the flowers and the grass.

The only sound in response was the mixed weeping of Twilight and Fluttershy.

When everyone had calmed down, and the ship was a smoldering husk in the distance, Rainbow was the first to speak. “So, can anyone tell me just what the hell happened?”

Octavia was lying in the grass, breathing slowly and trying not to move. Her chest was a blackened stain. “That was Discord, was it not?”

“Yeah, that was definitely him,” Twilight said shakily.

“He… he… was in me,” Pinkie said quietly.

“Yeah, I’d like to talk about that,” Rainbow said.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of an explanation,” Twilight said. “It was probably just a low-level possession spell. He must have sneaked on and gotten inside Pinkie’s… being, I guess, when we weren’t paying attention.”

“I didn’t mean any of that stuff I said,” Pinkie said. “You know, about cutting the ropes, and then laughing at you all.”

“You gave us a right scare, Pinkie,” Applejack said, hugging her. “But we understand.”

“You’re better now, right?” Fluttershy asked.

Pinkie nodded. “Just a little shook up. No biggie.” She offered a smile.

“But why would he attack us here?” Rarity asked.

“To disrupt our progress, I’d guess,” Twilight said.

“Maybe he’s afraid of us,” Applejack said darkly.

“I highly doubt that, Applejack,” Rarity said.

“But why would he come at us so quick, just to run off like that? Don’t you think that’s kinda strange?”

“He definitely did run away sooner than he needed to,” Twilight said.

“Oh, are you sure?” Fluttershy asked. “I mean, Octavia did, um, use the torch on him.”

“Yeah, I want to talk about that too,” Rainbow said. “Octavia.” She looked at Octavia on the grass, her face tight with pain. “That was awesome. Seriously, the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen. I had no idea you were that strong. Twilight, what are you doing?”

Twilight was digging through a bag. “I have to write to Princess Celestia.”

“Now? Darling, can’t it wait?” Rarity asked.

“No, it can’t. We just encountered Discord outside Manehattan. What if he was coming from there? What if he just got done doing something awful there?”

She wrote for ten minutes, in which everyone merely milled around, rested, looked unhappily at the city, or stared into the distance. When she was done, she cast a spell over their supplies, except Octavia’s cello, for which she didn’t have room, placing them all in the same magical, immaterial dimension where she kept the ink and brush for her sigils. They had between twenty and thirty miles to cover before reaching the shores of Starlight Lake, where they would need to find a way to cross. Octavia said that they could only hope that the nearest bridge was not broken.

Around mid-afternoon, they rested under a pair of trees overlooking a gap in the ground. They had mostly gotten over the scare that Discord had given them, and chatted pleasantly as they went along; only Twilight remained quiet, looking down at the ground for the majority of their walk. For her, the fall was a salient and jarring return to the night of the battle. The snap of strings holding them aloft, followed by the rush of air, the angry wind, the cold and the fear: they had all brought her back.

While they prepared a small lunch of their rations, Fluttershy addressed Octavia’s burns, and was able to shrink many of them to nothing. Her own magic was mostly depleted, and Octavia insisted that she not tire herself. The wounds would heal, and the pain would pass, she said.

They were cleaning up their lunch and appraising the gap when Rainbow spoke again. “So, Octavia, I have to ask. I’m not saying what you did wasn’t totally awesome and amazing, ‘cause it was, but what possessed you to go running back up into the ship like that? Our stuff isn’t that valuable.”

“My cello is important to me, and I know that Twilight’s books are important to her. That is enough reason for me to go back.”

“But weren’t you scared?” Rarity asked.

“Yes. But I have learned not to hesitate in dangerous or stressful situations. Being a musician has taught me that lesson.”

“Well, thank goodness for that.”

“Thank goodness for that good ol’ earth pony strength,” Applejack said.

“Here, here!” Pinkie cried.

“It’s true. It was Octavia’s quick thinking and strength that saved us,” Rarity said.

Applejack moved over to pat Octavia on the back. “Ah reckon we owe our lives to you.”

“I only did what I had to,” Octavia said tersely. She looked at Twilight. “You have been very quiet.”

“She’s just upset ‘cause of the fall!” Pinkie said.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Rainbow said.

“We were inside the engine room the whole time, though,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, plus you two got wings. It wasn’t such a nice trip fer us non-flyers,” Applejack said.

“I thought it was fun!” Pinkie said.

“I certainly did not,” Rarity said. “The wind absolutely ruined my mane.” She sighed. “Not that it was looking that good to begin with.”

“I’m fine,” Twilight said, standing. “Let’s just bring this ground back together.”

“You sound reluctant, darling.”

Twilight hesitated. “I’m afraid Discord will show up again,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, well, he’d have to get through us first,” Applejack said.

“I’m afraid that won’t be too difficult for him, if he sets his mind to it,” Rarity said.

“It’s fine, girls,” Twilight said with a sigh. “I’m just… yeah, I’m just upset about… everything. I’ll be okay.”

They backed away and sat down as she began producing the sigil. It was starting to become routine for them, and they all found their minds wandering instead of watching her draw the symbol. They chatted idly, and before long, the ground was coming back together with the rough grinding sound they were quickly becoming accustomed to.

They went to Twilight and helped her up, but before they could move on, she stopped and lowered her horn; it glowed, and a small sliver of flame sliced out of its tip and materialized into a scroll.

She read it aloud, her voice dull. “Dear Twilight, thank you for alerting me. We have seen no signs of Discord yet, and are both heartened and unsettled by your encounter. If he is nearby, as he seems to be, we should find him soon, though I am not happy that he now has the time to harass you all. It appears we must both make haste. In love and friendship, Princess Celestia.”

She looked around at them, and they returned her expression, wordlessly asking for more. “That’s all she said,” Twilight said.

“Shall we, then?” Rarity asked.

They resumed walking.

The sun was creeping toward nighttime, and they had reached a set of train tracks, deformed. High spirits had been dulled by constant walking, and Twilight’s discomfort had waned; only Octavia seemed to be suffering. Despite her assertions against their severity, her remaining burns ate into her body like acid, and she carried herself with a powerful limp that, upon questioning, she attributed to a twisted pastern. That, coupled with the thick, throbbing cramp in her shoulders from carrying her unsteady cello case, its lid snapped open and the instrument bound inside with a length of cord, made for a head-to-hoof ache that made her want to curl up and sleep until it disappeared. She didn’t complain.

While Twilight examined the train tracks, which led in an imperfect curve to Manehattan, the others set up camp.

“Y’know, Ah just thought of somethin’,” Applejack said. “With Discord on the loose now, we might want to set up a night watch. Just in case he decides to come back.”

“Oh, you don’t think he will, though, right?” Fluttershy asked.

“Ah can’t say. Ah don’t know anythin’ ‘bout him, or his motives.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Rarity said. “We should have somepony watch tonight.”

“Two someponies!” Pinkie said. “With only one somepony, they’ll get really tired!”

“Who’s it gonna be?” Rainbow said. “I immediately vote for not it!” she added hastily.

“Well, I can’t stay up all night,” Rarity said. “I simply must get my required eight hours, or I’ll be an absolute bear tomorrow.”

“Ah, uh, Ah get up earlier than y’all anyway, so Ah think Ah should get more sleep,” Applejack said, rubbing the back of her head uncomfortably.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Rainbow said.

“What are we talking about?” Twilight asked, walking back over.

“We’re settin’ up a night watch,” Applejack said. “Or tryin’ to.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea, Applejack. Um, who’s it going to be?”

“Um, I guess I could do it, if, um, if you want,” Fluttershy said.

“Fluttershy, you’re too weak to stay up that late,” Rainbow said, and Fluttershy shrunk.

“I’m feeling better,” she said timidly.

“I can do it!” Pinkie said. “It’ll be like a slumber party, but without the slumber part! And I’m not tired at all!”

“Who else then?” Rainbow asked.

Applejack looked at Octavia, and they all followed her example.

Octavia sighed. “Fine. I can do it. I will take the first shift.”

“Good fer you, Octavia,” Applejack said.

“We should switch tomorrow night,” Twilight said.

“Do you think we’ll even need a watch when we’re in the city?” Rarity asked.

Twilight thought. “I don’t know. We’ll have to see.”

“You sure you wanna take the first shift, Tavi?” Pinkie asked.

Octavia was already walking around the campsite, studying the scenery. “Yes. I will wake you at two in the morning, Pinkamena.”

“Okey-dokey-lokey!”

They set up their sleeping bags around a small fire, which Twilight concocted from the few bits of dried grass and their old food containers. They passed a bag of no-longer-fresh apples from Sweet Apple Acres among each other, speaking sparsely of the attack, Octavia’s heroism, and Manehattan.

“Twilight, I must confess, I am dreadfully afraid of Discord returning,” Rarity said.

“I think we all are,” Twilight said, poking at the fire.

“But we all survived him this time,” Rainbow said, trying to sound optimistic.

“And that whole first night,” Pinkie said.

Twilight didn’t respond, and neither did Rarity. They stared into the fire.

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Rarity said at last.

“You know all that fancy defense magic that Celestia showed you,” Rainbow said, giving Rarity an encouraging grin.

“Yes, I do.”

“An’ Twilight an’ Pinkie both have a ton of magical powers,” Applejack said.

“Heeeey, yeah,” Rainbow said. She looked at Pinkie skeptically. “Pinkie, why didn’t you use your magic when Discord attacked today?”

Pinkie giggled. “Oh, I dunno. I guess it just slipped my mind!”

“Oh, Pinkie, I know how you feel,” Fluttershy said. “It’s so easy to forget sometimes. You just get so used to living like a non-magical pony.”

“Yeah, Ah bet it’s somethin’, havin’ magic,” Applejack said.

“Aw, don’t get down on us like that, Applejack,” Rainbow said. “I don’t have magic either.”

“You have magic, Rainbow! It’s just not very good!” Pinkie said.

“Thanks, Pinkie. I’m glad you cleared that up for everyone.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dashie!”

Rainbow rolled her eyes, Twilight stared back into the coals, lost in thought.

“Octavia, you know what to do if something happens, right?” Twilight asked, crawling into her sleeping bag.

“I just wake you all up.”

“Yeah, you got it.”

“I may be unaccustomed to playing the role of night watchmare, but I am not dumb.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Do not worry. What do you want me to do with the fire?”

“If you can find anything to keep it going, go for it, but I don’t think you will.” Twilight thought for a moment. “I guess it’s okay for you to let it burn out.”

“Very well.” Octavia took a spot on the far side of the fire, putting herself just on the edge of its protective circle. It had died to a low glow of embers and occasional, straggling tongues of flame.

Twilight muttered a soft “good night,” and Octavia turned to face the train tracks, her back comfortably warm. For several minutes, she listened to the sounds of the ponies settling in for a restful sleep, and then heard someone approach from behind.

“Hey, Tavi,” Pinkie said softly.

Octavia turned and raised her eyebrow, her way of acknowledging that she had heard.

“Um, can we talk?”

Octavia frowned, only slightly. “About what?”

“My name.”

“Your name?”

“Um… would you mind calling me ‘Pinkie,’ and not ‘Pinkamena’? That’s not my name anymore.”

“I will always think of you as Pinkamena,” Octavia said seriously.

“I know. But can you at least call me the name my friends use? Please?”

Octavia turned back around, her frown deepening. She didn’t want Pinkie to see it. “Why should I?” she hissed.

“Please? Can’t you just do it? It’s just two syllables.”

Octavia thought, her mind clouded with pain. She shifted her weight. “I will honor your request if you call me by my proper name.”

“You mean—”

“No. Octavia. My name is Octavia Melody.”

“Not… okay. Um, Octavia. Oooh, it feels weird to call you that,” Pinkie said, perking up a little.

Octavia nodded. “Pinkie, then.”

Pinkie giggled, then sobered again. “Thanks, sis. Octavia.”

“I am simply glad to reach an agreement.”

“Yeah. Uh…”

“Yes?”

Pinkie looked at her, then back at the campsite. “Um… never mind.” Before Octavia could stop her, she ran over and embraced her. “That’s all, Octavia! G’night!” She walked back to her sleeping bag, and Octavia didn’t watch her go.

She faced the darkness, and as soon as she heard Pinkie’s snores, she knew she was alone. She sighed and settled herself on the grass, and set to watching the empty field, her eyes trained for any movement, any odd flash of light, any incongruous shadow. She could see the line of railroad tracks in the distance, and beyond those, the lights of Manehattan, scattered loosely. Many of them were stacked in the thick obelisk of Rose Tower, a dark monolith. Crickets sang in the dark.

As the firelight faded behind her, and she grew accustomed to the sounds of the night, her thoughts began to wander. She thought of her sister, of her magical powers, and those that may dwell within herself. She wanted to ask Twilight, but was hesitant. “Of course, I will need to find out more about it first. Can this unlocking process be reversed? Will it hurt? What if I do not have any magic? Or what if I have too much, like Pinkamena? Er, Pinkie. Yes, she wants to be called that now.”

She sighed and looked up at the stars, then back out into the distance. It was empty. No trees, no stones, no real hills or valleys to speak of. It would be very easy for her to spot anything approaching. “But Discord is smart,” she thought apprehensively. “If he approaches, he will not do so from the front. Probably not from above, either. Where, then?”

As the night wore on, and different thoughts crowded through her head, only the idea of Discord’s second attack kept returning. Scenario after scenario played out in her mind. In some, he appeared suddenly in the middle of the campsite and wreaked merciless havoc on the group, giving her no time to react, or even wake them; in some, he appeared right behind her, incapacitating her before starting with the others; in some, he destroyed them all silently, leaving her to find them when she went to wake Pinkie for her shift. She breathed slowly and deeply, focusing on the breeze, the grass, and the moon. Relaxing things.

It was midnight, by her estimation, when she heard something new. She stood up, suddenly alert, and studied the area around them. Her initial thought was that Discord had come back, but as she stood, still and ready, she heard no further noise. She looked back at the campsite.

The fire had long since gone out, but a small, dim halo still sat around the glowing embers. Nothing revealed itself to her in the darkness, and the small sound repeated, longer. It took her a few seconds of careful listening to realize that it was breathing; heavy and uneven breathing, from one of the ponies before her. She entered the campsite slowly and looked at them all, trying to see who it was, but could not tell in the darkness. As she passed between the sleeping bags, the breathing turned into the sound that had initially caught her attention: a sharp exhale, followed by a stuttering of the same sound.

“Crying?” Octavia thought, puzzled. She remained still and watched the bags, studying each for any movement. After a minute, she saw it in Twilight’s.

Octavia sat down and considered, dismayed. “What do I do in this situation? Do I try to comfort her? How? She does not know me, nor I her.” She stood up and turned around. “She would be embarrassed that I saw her in this state.” She walked back out to her spot, out in the darkness. The sound of Twilight’s crying remained with her. “Or she might be grateful for someone to be with her.”

The idea bothered her. Staring into the darkness, her burned back to the fire, her leg injured, and her mind beset with doubts, dreams, and memories, she was hardened. “Comfort does not come from charitable strangers, or wanton kindness, nor should it. These things will only soften her. And if what I have seen today is any indication of how our quest will go, then there can be no softness.” She glowered into the shadow, and memories came back. A dark shadow in the distance, slowly sinking to its knees. She looked down, and as Twilight’s weeping persisted, her own eyes began to water.

“After everything, you still run.” She thought of her old life, her apartment. The memory of them had dulled in the days on the ship, but it still smoldered in her mind, unresolved. She had avoided thinking much about it, and in the darkness, it returned to her. There was nothing she could do; she was too deep into the journey to turn around. She took no comfort in the thought.

An hour later, Twilight quieted.

“Good morning, Octavia,” Twilight said.

“Good morning, Twilight. Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, yes. I slept like a foal. I’m surprised to see you up; I thought for sure you’d be sleeping still.”

“Oh, no. I did not wake Pinkie last night.”

“What? Wait, so did you stay awake the entire night?”

“Yes.”

Twilight frowned. “Do you realize why I wanted there to be two watchmares last night?”

“I felt no fatigue. I thought that I would save her the trouble.”

“Octavia, you’re going to be exhausted today! You’re going to be no help at all!”

“All we will be doing is walking, if I recall. Surely you do not need my help for that.”

“You know what I mean! If you’re not slowing us down, you’re going to be complaining about being tired.”

“I am capable of keeping my discomfort to myself,” Octavia said impatiently.

Twilight shook her head angrily. “I can’t believe you.”

“I have stayed awake for days at a time before. For me, this is nothing.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes at Octavia, who matched her angry stare with a look of indifference. “I just don’t think it’s the most efficient thing to do,” Twilight said haughtily.

“I assure you, I know what I am doing.”

She and Twilight spoke quietly while the others woke up, and for the next hour, they ate, cleared their camp, and bathed in a small, nearby canal. When they began moving, Fluttershy walked beside Octavia, lecturing her where Twilight had left off.

“It’s just not healthy for you, Octavia. Your body needs to rest every night, otherwise it can’t function properly.”

“I know all of this, Fluttershy. Really, I appreciate your concern, but I will be fine. I know what I am doing,” Octavia said patiently.

“Um, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you do it?”

“I am not comfortable saying.”

Fluttershy looked away, and only spoke after a minute of tense silence. “Is it… is it bad dreams?”

“I have nightmares, yes, just as any pony.”

“But that’s no reason to not sleep,” Fluttershy said, encouraged. “I mean, I’ve been having nightmares too, but I still sleep.”

“You say that as though they are uncommon for you.”

Fluttershy paused. “Well, a little. I don’t know, but just all of a sudden, I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams. For the last week it seems.”

“Since we left Canterlot.”

“Oh, um, yes. That’s about when they started. Is… is that happening to you too?”

Octavia thought long before answering. “Yes.”

“But that’s no excuse to make yourself go without sleep,” Fluttershy said.

Octavia sighed, and they walked together for several minutes, quiet. No one was speaking much as they traversed the empty fields toward Starlight Lake.

“How often do you have bad dreams usually?” Fluttershy finally asked.

“Not often. Maybe once a week.”

“Oh. Well, that’s no so bad, is it?”

“It is not their frequency, but their intensity that bothers me.”

“Um, intensity? I don’t know what you mean,” Fluttershy said quietly.

“Every time I have one, I wake up, my heart racing, and drenched in sweat.” She closed her eyes, and Fluttershy looked at her carefully. She was still limping. “It is not something I can easily describe.”

“Um… okay.”

Octavia took a breath. “Imagine the most traumatic event of your life replayed every time you have a bad dream. And imagine that you do not know when the next one will come.”

Fluttershy looked away, her face thoughtful. “Oh, um… I understand. I think. And I’m sorry for bothering you about it all.”

“You are curious. I understand.”

“Um… I still think you need to get more sleep, though. I bet you’re exhausted right now.”

“Yes.”

“We can stop,” Fluttershy offered. “I mean, if you want to.”

“I will not hold up the others for this,” Octavia said.

Fracture

Chapter Twenty

Fracture

“I will not hold up the others for this,” Octavia thought angrily. What little conversation there had been in the morning was entirely silenced, replaced with monotonous, plodding hooves on grass and dirt. Octavia walked in the back, limping more painfully with each passing minute, but determined to continue.

The others looked back frequently, flickering their eyes from side to side and up into the sky—looking for Discord, she was certain. She did not follow their example; it was all she could do to simply drive herself onwards, hating each step. At first, she had thought she had simply pulled a muscle or bruised her hoof, but as the knot of pain in her leg burned on, and the day crept along, she began to think otherwise. With each movement, a splintering rope of pain shot up her leg to jab her in the shoulder, and by the afternoon, she could think of nothing else.

“I do not need help. I do not need help.” She wiped sweat off her brow and bowed her head, taking only a moment to adjust the cello on her back. The sun was coming over a bank of clouds over the city, so close that they could hear the hum of life within. Pain pulsed inside her, and the sun, its rays truncated by the cool, northern air, felt like a wet sheet across her face and neck. Her vision squirmed, and she was tired. The last time she had slept was the night before Discord’s attack, and for only three or four hours. She felt as though she might fall asleep as she walked, but, at the same time, knew that she would not.

When they stopped to rest, it was three o’ clock. The bridge across Starlight Lake was in sight, its central support tower a proud, unbroken pylon in the distance, its cables fanning out like veins in a leaf. Bellflower Bridge, Octavia said: the shortest of five bridges to the island. It was mostly used for importing and exporting, with thousands of trains using it every day, but ponies would occasionally travel across it, spanning it on bicycles or in long-distance races.

Usually, she said, the roar of trains could be heard from miles away, but in the empty spring afternoon, the bridge was a silent monument. She asked Rainbow to fly up, to see whether the bridge was still intact; if it was not, she said, they would need to walk some seventy miles to the next one. It was with quiet tension that they waited for Rainbow to deliver her report.

She flew back down with a smile, and they let out a collective sigh of relief. There was damage, but the bridge still stood, and most of the cables were still in place. They waited a few more minutes, and then resumed the walk.

The empty land was peaceful, but unvaried; the grass and flowers were broken only by tracks of dirt and the occasional reservoir or gully, both unapproachable due to the clouds of mosquitoes and gnats they poured forth. They were forced to drink from their own reserves, which Twilight held in her pocket dimension, and by the time they reached the bridge an hour later, she was growing tired of continuously summoning and banishing their canteens.

They stopped at the edge and looked over the empty bridge. It sunk down slightly into the ridge on which they stood, wide and flat, and shining with hundreds of thin, crisscrossed train tracks. A slab of concrete, striated with metal. On the other side, they could hear the sounds of the city, but where they stood, there was only a light breeze shushing through the bridge cables. The sun was going down, and the bridge’s rough, dark gray surface was warm when they stepped onto it. The heavy ruin of an upended train rested in the far distance, and behind it, the menacing, dark tree that was Rose Tower.

Even from the middle, they could see Starlight Lake’s milky waters embracing Manehattan Island off the bridge’s edge. With the water drained, the island resembled a moldering tree stump in an eroded crater, pipes and chutes pocking its sides like flies. Many miles away, a shelf of water hung against the emptiness unnaturally, static and dirty, like frosted glass. The water, Octavia said, was not ordinarily so polluted; the silt and dirt had likely accumulated as the water level went down.

As they walked farther out over the water, the subtle smell of dirt and acid filled the air, mixing with the dusty, metallic tang of abandoned railroad tracks into an industrial, corroded, nose-wrinkling haze. Walking between the tracks in the spiderweb shadows of the bridge cables, Bellflower Bridge, soft yellow in the sunset, felt absolutely abandoned. Some of Canterlot had felt the same way, but where the older buildings had retained a sense of austerity and dignity in the aftermath, there was only emptiness on the bridge. The only signs of life were the sprawling train tracks, endless and strange in their bareness, and discarded pieces of trash: a bottle; a tire; a page from a newspaper, dated from the night of the attack. All faded from the sun.

It was six o’ clock when they approached the central support tower, leaning slightly to one side. Octavia still walked in the back, limping and panting; each hoofstep on the warm concrete was torture, sapping her will, but she only glared at the others’ backsides, forcing herself through the pain, first with steely self-determination, then with petulant anger at her potential assistants. “I do not need their help. I am not weak.” She remembered the night before, listening to Twilight crying in her sleeping bag. “I will show them all. I can overcome this.”

They rested at the central pylon, in the shadows of the cables. Even with the sun setting, the concrete had absorbed all the heat from the day, and radiated it out to them. They leaned against the rails and lay on the surface, staring quietly into the sky or the distance. For many of them, the memories of the initial night, and the first several days after, were still hard in their minds, but resting on the bridge, peace reigned.

They slowly began to converse, and talk went to Manehattan, and, specifically, the massive, black tower at the bridge’s end. Rose Tower.

“I have performed there many times, yes,” Octavia said, her tone measured. She lay in the middle of a set of tracks, eyes fixed blankly on the clouds.

“You said it was supposed to be an entertainment district. What kind of entertainment do they have there?” Twilight asked.

“All kinds. Stores, theaters, cinemas. There is an orchestra hall and two opera halls, as well as casinos and nightclubs. What else?” She thought for a moment, her face twitching as she adjusted herself on the ground. “Restaurants, of course. There are hundreds of those. And floors sixty through sixty-five are dedicated to a farmers’ market.”

“Five floors fer a farmers’ market?” Applejack said. “Ain’t that a bit excessive?”

“Yes.”

“What else?” Pinkie asked eagerly. “Are there any party stores?”

“I am sure there are.” Something in her voice made them look at her, and she closed her eyes.

“Are you all right, darling? You seem… off today,” Rarity said.

“Are you tired?” Fluttershy asked.

Octavia’s eyes shot open, and she regarded Fluttershy impatiently. With a grimace, she got to her hooves. Her breathing was hard and her brow was beaded with sweat, and she looked at them all. “I am not tired. What kind of pony do you think I am?”

“Geez, Octy, chill,” Rainbow said.

“No,” she said firmly. “Octavia, and nothing else. No abbreviations. No nicknames.”

“What’s wrong with you today?” Applejack asked.

Octavia stepped off the tracks and resumed walking down the bridge. “We have rested long enough.”

They watched her go for a moment, and, when it was clear that she was not going to stop for them, they followed. Her gait was unsteady, and they could hear her heavy breathing.

“I think she’s hurt,” Fluttershy whispered.

“She’s been limping since yesterday,” Twilight said.

“She jumped off the ship. Probably injured herself that way,” Rainbow said.

“Well, we should stop her and have Fluttershy take a look,” Rarity said.

“I’ve tried to ask her already,” Fluttershy said. “But she won’t talk about it.”

They all looked at Twilight, who sighed. “We can’t let her keep hurting herself like this. I say we tell her the truth.”

“That she’s being unreasonable?” Rarity asked.

“That we’re concerned about her.”

Rainbow was shaking her head. “That won’t work. She’ll just get defensive.” She leaned in a little. “You see this all the time in flight school. Ponies get hurt, but they don’t ask for help because they’re too proud. I almost failed some of my classes because of it.”

“Yer sayin’ she’s too proud to admit she’s hurt?” Applejack asked.

“But she doesn’t seem like a particularly vain pony,” Rarity said.

“She seems to place a lot of value on stoicism and strength, though,” Twilight said.

“She thinks being hurt is a sign of weakness,” Rainbow said. “So she’s hiding it.”

“Ugh. How… immature,” Rarity said, wrinkling her nose. “I can’t believe we owe our lives to her.”

“So do we talk to her about it?” Fluttershy asked.

“I say if she wants to make herself suffer, that’s her business,” Rainbow said. “She won’t learn her lesson if we force ourselves on her.”

“I don’t like seeing her like this,” Twilight said.

“Trust me, Twilight. She’ll just resist us if we try to help her.”

“It’s the same thing as her staying up all night,” Pinkie said, jogging alongside them. She craned her neck to look at Octavia, who seemed to walk with a more purposeful, alert stride.

She trotted a few steps farther, then stopped, her ears cocked. She turned around quickly. “I can hear someone calling for help.”

“Oh, heck,” Rainbow breathed, and they hastened to catch up with Octavia. She walked quickly forward, and they stopped again to hear. In the distance, muffled, a small voice was calling out in frustration and strain.

They half-trotted, half-galloped down the railroad lines, Octavia hobbling behind them. The overturned freight train that they had seen from a distance now lay huge across the bridge, a black centipede of scraped metal, crushed wheel arches, and skewed doors. The tracks below were twisted harshly off their ties, and the concrete was striped with black gouges. They could hear a stallion’s voice coming from underneath one of the scratched, tarnished cars.

Octavia marched past them forcefully, scanning the long wreck of the train. “Where are you?” she demanded, crouching with a wince of pain to look under a tangle of metal.

“Oh, Celestia, help me!”

“We’re right here,” Twilight said. “But we can’t see you.”

“Down here,” the voice called, a few feet along the train’s length.

Immediately, walking toward it, Twilight knew with a pang of regret that she would be unable to lift the train car away. She squinted into a dark, oil-stained crevasse between a rack of warped wheels and the cracked bridge surface, but saw nothing.

“Further along,” Rainbow said, flapping over to a black, cracked, collapsed car. Its dull, coal-dark skin was an unctuous shadow in the gloaming, heavy and black where it had cracked open. A colorful stain was dried onto the concrete where it had split, and the air smelled of oil.

Fluttershy followed her, wary, and the stallion gave off another cry of distress. They crouched by the tank and looked under an elevated, destroyed wheel arch.

A light shape was squeezed down into the crack, and it looked out at them with brilliant, blue eyes. “Here! Right here! Please!” he called, squirming.

Rainbow brought herself down to the concrete while Fluttershy beckoned the others over, and as they approached, Rainbow backed out quickly. “Holy crap!”

Before Fluttershy could react, the oil car swiveled out with a screech of rusted metal and protesting wheels, its black exterior slamming into her with a powerful, breathtaking weight. The others cried out in alarm, and Rainbow in anger, as she was lifted off her hooves and sent falling down and back. Her entire body seemed out of her control; she careened through the warm air without intent, her head lolling back stupidly, her eyes taking in the sky. She could hear masculine laughter, and the car coming to a shrieking rest, but it was just noise. In her sudden flight, her stunned mind only perceived sky.

As she fell back down to the ground, the bridge cables turned in her eyes, and her wings flared. A rough weight slammed against her back, and sparks flew in her eyes; the pain came immediately after, hot and wet on her back. Her wings felt wrenched out of their sockets, her skin aflame, and even as she cried out helplessly, she heard the maniacal laughter of the stallion they had tried to free, disappearing into the distance.

Still, her eyes were fixed above. She knew she was injured; she could hear the others yelling and galloping, and she could feel their hooves on the bridge. Her eyes watered and her breath caught in her throat, and in the thought-stopping pain, she felt like she was underwater. Someone grabbed her by the forehooves and helped her up, slowly, languidly. Her mind sloshed in her skull.

A pale figure arced over the bridge’s end and into the city, and the laughter faded away. She could feel herself fading too.

“We need a hospital,” Twilight said, looking fearfully at Octavia. She had Fluttershy draped over her back, and was trying to ignore the stickiness running into her coat.

It had happened too fast. One moment, Rainbow was poking her head under the train, and the next, the entire beast was sliding across the bridge, propelled by an unseen force and scattering the pegasi, Rainbow into the air and Fluttershy off her hooves down a separate set of tracks. While they burst apart, the stallion flew out of the wreckage in the opposite direction, so fast that Twilight thought he was a pegasus at first. When he landed, however, twenty feet away and with a small clap of hooves, she saw no wings on his pale, angular body. He was a spark of light in the sun, and with a flick of his back hooves and a sinister laugh, he was gone, flung into the city.

In his wake, the car lay on its side, dislodged from the rest of the train and giving them a dark, stained passage, yawning several feet away from a gasping, bleeding Fluttershy. Her back was shredded on the tracks; the dull wood and smooth metal had ground her wing joints apart and open, and there was blood on the concrete. The air was filled with the greasy smell of oil, and their ears rang from the sudden disaster.

Octavia was the first to move, her limp no longer slowing her down, while Rainbow flew ahead, shouting at them to hurry. Applejack helped get Fluttershy onto Twilight’s back, and they ran. They moved through the dark gap, where the smell of old oil was almost overpowering, and Fluttershy coughed and struggled on Twilight’s back. Her body was light, and Twilight had to suppress a shudder at the sound of their fur sticking and unsticking. She thought she could see blood in her peripheral vision.

The sun was almost down, and they were fast losing their visibility on the bridge. With Fluttershy on her back, Twilight stumbled against the train tracks, and with each misstep, the pegasus moaned and wiggled uncomfortably. Her frail body was a bundle of sticks against Twilight’s skin, her heart pounding unhealthily and her hooves hanging limply, bruised and throbbing. The others raced ahead.

As it had two weeks ago, Twilight’s head ran with the same desperate thought: “I can’t afford to fail here.” Fluttershy bobbed on her back, and her entire body ached from running across the bridge, but her mind refused to stop repeating itself. “I can’t afford to fail here. Not here, not after Canterlot.” She watched her own shadow skitter along the dark gray concrete, a fugitive with its bleeding burden.

When they reached the opposite side, the stars were coming out, and Fluttershy’s movements had slowed. She would occasionally lean in to murmur something in Twilight’s ear, but Twilight could distinguish nothing. Running into the city, the weight of her friend against her, it felt like a million thoughts were flying through her mind at once. Watching Octavia, hoping a hospital was close, remembering Discord. Concern and fear mixed inside her, and she hardly reacted to what she saw on the other side.

Over a small ridge, they emerged onto a sidewalk. Cars skated through the evening, glowing eyes of headlights filling the night and illuminating clean, clear streets, and interspersed with occasional, less-modern carriages. Stoplights blinked in their sequences, and buildings stood with blank faces, reflective in the starlight like still waters. They towered over them, taller than anything they had ever seen, taller even than the turrets of Canterlot Palace, hemming them in like silent giants. Ponies walked by quickly, flashlights wobbling on necks and orbs of light balanced on horns.

For Twilight, however, the details were lost. The grim-faced mass was a sea of blank statuettes, the dark buildings a wall of foreign construction to keep the night contained. They were simply more elements of discomfort, adding up to one more increment of reality removed from everything she knew. An injured pegasus on her back, surrounded by serious-faced friends and reliant on someone, who, despite a week of contact, was a stranger, to find a hospital in the dark, faceless city. She shook her head at the sound of Applejack’s voice.

“Octavia! Quit standin’ ‘round an’ get us to a hospital!”

Octavia stood on the sidewalk, leaning wearily on her cello case, one hoof aloft. Without turning, she spoke impatiently. “I am hailing a taxi. That is how you travel in the city.”

As she said it, a dull yellow car rumbled up and stopped on the curb. Its headlights swung momentarily into their faces, and they looked away; the brilliant flashes seemed hostile and foreign, the eyes of a grumbling monster. For many of them, it was their first proper look at an automobile; even with Fluttershy’s condition hanging heavily over their heads, they had to pause. The chugging motor, the rattling tailpipes, the sheer weight of the metal and rubber, all behind the powerful lights.

Octavia did not hesitate. Climbing in, she instructed Twilight and Fluttershy to do the same, then turned to the others. “You saw what I did to summon the taxi. Get another and tell it to take you to the nearest hospital.” She closed the door without waiting for a response, and leaned over to address the driver. “The nearest hospital, and fast.”

Twilight watched the others disappear behind them, their faces confused and afraid. She could not empathize; for her, the only important ponies were Fluttershy and Octavia. Her world, foreign and huge, was suddenly shrunken to the tiny taxi, and she watched the buildings go by through the window, one eye always on Fluttershy. She shook and trembled on the seat, blood matting her fur and her wings sticking awkwardly, like broken branches.

As the taxi wove through the bright traffic rapidly, Twilight felt the last vestiges of panic slipping away from her. The soothing dark, the relaxing pegasus, the pulsing engine mingling with Octavia’s insistent commands—she wasn’t sure why she felt it, but in her mind, things were slowing down. “Everything’s going to be okay. Fluttershy’s hurt, but it’s not lethal. She can probably heal herself. The others will find us, we’ll stay the night at the hospital, and then we can start working.” She smiled a little, and her chest fibrillated. The relief flooded through her, and she almost sobbed with its intensity. “We made it.”

“Not long now. I recognize this part of the city,” Octavia said. They were stopped at an intersection, and Twilight looked over Fluttershy. She met her eyes sadly, and Twilight could only smile encouragingly and take hold of her hoof.

When they moved again, Twilight looked back out the window, hoping for a glimpse of the hospital, a beacon in the darkness. Of all the buildings, she reasoned, the hospital was most likely to have backup generators.

What she saw instead made her momentarily forget her friend and the deluge of unsolicited relief. A building, its sides encased in shimmering windows, lay on its side before them, its roof cut away and its insides hollowed out. Large struts filled the corners, and debris and loose tiles lay scattered all along its length, pressed into a crude floor. Underneath, the ground fell away, and as Twilight followed the building with her eyes, she saw where the walls sagged downwards in the middle, windows winking yellow and red with the lights of hundreds of cars. Desks and chairs were pushed to the sides, forming a buffer against the glass shell, while cars passed through in a thin line, their motors buzzing threateningly in the improvised passage.

The taxi entered with a gentle stutter, its tires humming quietly on the floor, the building’s former wall. Octavia looked out the window passively, and Twilight followed her eyes. “These ponies are ingenious,” she thought dimly. “Only a couple weeks, and they’ve adapted.” She looked back at Fluttershy. “But it also means this building had to fall over.”

The thought filled her with dread, and they stopped again, caught halfway through the building, in its nadir. Cars in front of them and behind them, sagging the building uncomfortably. She looked at Octavia. “How much longer?”

“The hospital should be around the corner,” she said quietly.

They began moving again, and Twilight looked at Fluttershy. “Just hang on a few more minutes, Fluttershy.”

“She freakin’ abandoned us,” Rainbow groused, sitting on the sidewalk while Applejack tried to hail a taxi.

“She had to get Fluttershy to the hospital,” Rarity said. “She was just looking out for her.”

“Yeah, Dashie! It’s nothing personal!” Pinkie said.

“Still. I don’t like it,” Rainbow said. She looked around cautiously. The city’s artificial light bothered her.

“So, is no one going to ask about what happened back there?” Rarity asked.

“Ah was, but Ah didn’t know my cue,” Applejack said.

“No no, it’s fine. We can talk about it now.” Rarity followed Rainbow’s eyes around the streets. “Rainbow?”

Rainbow studied a defunct sign, the painted face of a smiling pony indistinct and dark over dead bulbs. “He wasn’t even equine, I don’t think. I mean, he looked normal under the train, but when I reached for him, his eyes started glowing red. Like, bright red, like a cartoon villain. And when he opened his mouth… I feel kinda dumb saying it out loud, actually. It sounds crazy.”

“Just spit it our, RD,” Applejack said.

“I think he breathed fire. Blue fire.”

Pinkie laughed loudly, and everyone looked at her sourly.

“He did!” Rainbow insisted. A taxi pulled up, and they climbed in, directing it to the hospital, as per Octavia’s instructions. “His eyes went red, he laughed and breathed blue fire, then he shoved the train off and ran away.”

“Flew away, it looked like,” Applejack said.

“No, that can’t be right. He didn’t have any wings,” Rarity said.

“I could care less about his wings. I wanna know how he managed to throw that train car off himself like that,” Rainbow said.

“Magic, Ah s’pose,” Applejack said dully.

“Oh!” Pinkie cried, jumping up in her seat. “I know what happened! Discord made him!”

Applejack leaned in, and the driver adjusted the rear-view mirror slightly, her eyes lingering on them briefly. “Pinkie, you wanna keep yer voice down?”

“Sorry, Applejack,” she whispered. “It was Discord that made him.”

“Yeah, we got that,” Rainbow said. “Keep going.”

“He came from Manehattan yesterday, but there’s no way he’s got his home base, or his castle, or whatever it is here. I bet he was making this jump-pony to cause trouble for him.”

“To spread chaos while he does his own thing elsewhere,” Rarity said, nodding.

“Celestia thinks he’s building an army,” Rainbow said. “So I guess it makes sense. He’d want to keep his influence as widespread as possible while he consolidates power. To keep ponies from uniting.”

“I don’t think he needs an army,” Pinkie said.

They looked at her, and she smiled back, her ears drooping.

“He seemed pretty powerful yesterday,” she said quietly.

“Um, yes. Can we talk about that?” Rarity asked.

“Do we have to?”

“We just wanna make sure yer okay,” Applejack said.

“Yeah, that was freaky, what he did to you,” Rainbow said.

“How he… came out of you,” Rarity said.

“Please, girls,” Pinkie whispered. She looked at the driver, who looked back in the mirror. “I’m okay, really.”

“I’m not buying that, Pinks,” Rainbow said. Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

“Please, Dashie. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“We do,” Applejack said.

Pinkie leaned back and giggled self-consciously. “But I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine. Is it really so big a deal?”

“You can’t pretend that didn’t mess you up, at least a little bit,” Rainbow said.

“Didn’t it hurt?” Rarity asked.

Pinkie shook her head. “Come on, girls. Fluttershy’s injured. We should be focusing on making her feel better, not worrying about something silly like this.”

“But this is important too,” Applejack said. “Ya shouldn’t hide from it.”

“But I’m fine. Totally, totally fine.”

Fluttershy was immediately placed on a gurney and wheeled into the hospital complex, and Twilight, much to her chagrin, was not allowed to go in after her until she was stabilized. The hospital, as she had suspected, was lit, and she thought she could hear the hum of generators behind the walls. Ponies occupied the lobby sparsely, and for long stretches of time, there was no activity.

Octavia and Twilight didn’t speak, and after several minutes, she asked Twilight to summon one of her bags. She dug through it for a moment before pulling out a small identification card. With a curt “thank you,” Octavia went to the counter and spoke to the receptionist. Even with her voice lowered, Twilight could hear every word in the still hospital air.

“I would like to check myself in as soon as I can. My name is Octavia Melody. I have been traveling for two days now, and I think that my leg is seriously injured.”

Twilight watched with growing indignation as she answered the receptionist’s questions and signed herself in. She remained at the counter, not looking at Twilight, and a nurse came with a wheelchair a few minutes later. Her head was bowed as she allowed herself to be helped into the chair and taken away.

“That nag,” Twilight breathed. “That cowardly, prideful… ugh.” She looked up at a familiar flash of colors near the door, and dropped her angry thoughts as her friends entered, looking frustrated.

“Don’t be like that, Rarity. She owes you big time,” Rainbow said.

“It was an honest mistake,” Rarity replied, looking around and seeing Twilight. “Oh, darling, there you are!”

They went to her, and Twilight felt her mood sour once more as they looked around, first confused and then worried. “Where’s Octavia?” Pinkie asked.

“She checked herself in,” Twilight said shortly.

“What? Fer what?” Applejack asked.

“Injured leg, she said.”

“That nag!” Rainbow cried, drawing gazes from around the room. “So she’s too good to ask us for help, but she checks into the frickin’ hospital?” She turned on Pinkie quickly. “Pinkie, your sister is nuts.”

“Now Rainbow,” Rarity said. “Perhaps she was simply afraid to discuss it with us. She is quite private.”

“So instead, she walks with us for two days on a broken leg,” Twilight said. “Real smart.”

“I’m not saying she was, dear; I’m just trying to look at it from her perspective.”

“Her perspective sucks,” Rainbow said. She did not try to lower her voice.

Octavia was helped into a bed, given an injection for the pain, and told to wait for the doctor. While she did, she stared at the far wall, thinking. She was disgusted with herself.

“They did nothing to deserve this. They wanted to help, and you pushed them away. And now this is your reward. An empty hospital room and a group of angry, hurt ponies. Well done, well done.” She heaved a sigh and looked out the window. She had hoped returning to Manehattan would help her, perhaps give her a sense of purpose on the bizarre quest, but the sight of the concrete labyrinth and watchful buildings—even the overwhelming Rose Tower—only reminded her of her career. Her former career, she reminded herself. Before she could completely anchor herself in her bad mood, the door opened, and a wizened unicorn entered, her sagging face the color of mustard.

“Miss Octavia, is it? Doctor Vena Cava.” She looked over her with a kind expression before continuing. “So, a fractured leg, is it?”

“I believe so. It has been causing me extreme pain for the last two days.”

“Dear, dear. What happened?”

“I fell.”

She regarded Octavia mildly and clicked her tongue, lifting the blankets and gently running a coat of magic over Octavia’s leg, pressing and rubbing along the bone. “We’ve got a lot of swelling here, ma’am, but I don’t feel any deformities. We could be looking at a hairline fracture, but, of course, we need to take some X-rays before we can know for sure.”

“I understand.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes, but not much. The nurse gave me a painkiller.”

“Good, good.” Vena Cava smiled at her. “Just give me a couple minutes, and we’ll get you those X-rays.”

Octavia nodded.

Fluttershy was suspended over her bed, drowsily staring at the far wall, her back and wings wrapped in a rigid patch of bandages. The pain had been incredible, so much that she had felt catatonic, unable to express herself except in nods and muted facial expressions. She was given painkillers, and as they slowly took effect, she slipped out of reality, then consciousness.

When her friends entered, she was asleep, and a nurse was there to explain her condition. Her wings were fractured, her muscles were pulled, and her skin was broken in several places, but she was expected to make a full recovery. Her wings, the nurse said with a grave voice, would be useless for several weeks. They took the news with very little worry; Twilight had pointed out, in their walk to the room, that once Fluttershy was awake again, she would probably just heal herself. The recovery, realistically, would take a few minutes. They didn’t say this to the nurse, and when she left, they all tried to get comfortable in Fluttershy’s room.

There were only two chairs, and not enough room on the floor for them all to sit at ease. Eventually, Pinkie decided to try to find Octavia’s room, and Twilight went with her, eager to escape the cramped quarters and confront the reticent cellist.

The hospital corridors were empty and identical, but Pinkie turned corners confidently, trotting deliberately past the few nurses and doctors they encountered, who did not seem bothered at their presence. When Pinkie pushed open a door without hesitation, Twilight didn’t question it; she was drained, physically and mentally.

When they entered, Octavia looked away, and Pinkie ran to her bedside. “Hey sis! Feeling better?”

“Please leave me. I do not want company right now,” Octavia said.

“Octavia, we need to talk,” Twilight said. She closed the door, and Octavia glanced at them.

“How did you find me without a nurse?”

“I dunno,” Pinkie said happily, grabbing a chair. “Now come on, Octy—Octavia. Talk to me.”

“There is nothing to say.”

“Why didn’t you let us help you if you were injured this whole time?” Twilight demanded.

Octavia’s hoof twisted under the sheets, and she frowned. For a minute, she said nothing, and they watched her struggle without a word. Finally, she sighed and looked away again. “I do not know.”

“You don’t know.” Twilight glared at her. “You spent all that time thinking about it, and you don’t know?”

“I… did not want to cause a delay.”

“That’s crazy!” Twilight barked. “You didn’t want to inconvenience us, so you kept forcing yourself to walk on an injury? Are you insane?”

“Didn’t it hurt?” Pinkie asked.

Octavia looked at her; she looked exhausted. “Yes, Pinkie. It hurt.”

“You’d rather hurt yourself than admit you need help,” Twilight said bitterly. She looked into Octavia’s eyes, then her tone softened. “Why would you do that?”

“I really do not know.”

“How? How can you not know?”

“I am sorry.”

“Ponies don’t always know why they do stuff, Twilight,” Pinkie said. “We can’t all be super smart like you.”

“You don’t have to be smart to know how to not injure yourself,” Twilight said bitterly.

“Did you come here just to insult me?” Octavia asked.

“We just want to know why you did it,” Pinkie said.

“I said that I do not know.”

“That’s not good enough,” Twilight said.

“It will have to be. I have no other explanation.”

“Was it pride?”

“I am not proud of myself.”

Twilight huffed angrily. “Well, yeah, not now. You’re in the stupid hospital.”

“What do you want me to say, Twilight Sparkle? Do you want an apology?”

“Well… yes, but I don’t want you to apologize just because I tell you to. In a true friendship, friends don’t have to tell each other when to do things like that.”

“A true friendship?”

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” Twilight said anxiously. “I mean… when ponies know each other well enough, they learn how to do these things.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe she’s like me. I used to have problems with friendship too.” Her anger dropped away, and she smiled warmly at Octavia. “It’s okay, Octavia. You’ll get it in time.”

“Do you really think that I do not know how to behave with other ponies? That relating to them is something that I need to learn? Twilight, I have been a professional musician for more than ten years. I know how to be friends with somepony.”

Twilight scoffed, her momentary optimism burst. “I’m just offering to help you be better friends with us, Octavia. I don’t care if you’re a farmer, or a celebrity, or a surgeon, or a big, fancy musician. You can always learn more about friendship.”

“We’re just trying to be nice, sis. You don’t have to reject us like that,” Pinkie said.

“You’re just arrogant. You’re too full of yourself to see when other ponies are worried about you, so you wind up pushing everyone away. It’s all about you, Octavia. I should have guessed that when I heard how long you’d been famous.”

“Stop it,” Octavia snapped. “Why would you do this? You come into my room while I am recovering, and, when I am very clearly ashamed, and unhappy, you attack me. Fine. I made a mistake.” She gestured emptily with her front hooves. “I do not need you to condescend to me, Twilight.”

“I’m not condescending. I’m trying to help you,” Twilight said.

“No, you are trying to understand me.”

“I have to understand you to help you,” she growled. She could feel her patience wearing away.

“So you accuse me of insanity, insult me, and treat me like a foal who does not know how to socialize.” She looked Twilight directly in the eyes, and Twilight looked away.

“We’re just concerned, sis,” Pinkie said.

“I do not want your concern, or your help. I acted foolishly. I know that now. You have my apologies for upsetting you, but I want you to stop trying to help me. Let me make my own mistakes, and let me learn from them. Alone.”

Twilight digested the apology. It seemed genuine, but she felt bitter inside. Cheated. “You really like being alone, huh?”

“Yes.”

Climbing the Rose

Chapter Twenty-one

Climbing the Rose

When they got back to Fluttershy’s room, the others gestured at them to be quiet; Fluttershy was awake, and, as Twilight had predicted, in the process of healing herself. Rarity had removed her bandages, and she held herself above the bed by her tethers, her destroyed wings sticking out behind her like incomplete fringes of flesh.

Twilight and Pinkie waited at the bedside and watched as her bones slowly straightened, and then as her skin pulsed with the muscles swelling underneath. When her wings were complete, the wave of healing magic moved down her sides, where there were only a few small scrapes, and to the middle of her back, bruised and lightly scabbed. The wounds shrunk and then vanished under pale skin and yellow fur, and after a few more moments of concentration, in which all visible damage had faded, she sat back down gingerly.

“How do you feel?” Rarity asked at last.

“Um, tired,” Fluttershy said. She looked around. “What happened?”

“We’re not entirely certain,” Twilight said.

“It’s Discord!” Pinkie cried, and everyone flinched, looking around frantically, at the window, the door, the ceiling. There was nothing.

“Pinkie, don’t scare us like that,” Applejack said.

“She means she thinks Discord’s responsible for that weird pony,” Rainbow said.

“That would make sense,” Twilight said, yawning. “He did come from Manehattan when he found us. He probably left that pony here to spread chaos.”

“That’s what I said!” Pinkie said, giggling.

“Well, we can deal with it tomorrow,” Rarity said. “For now, we need to find a place to sleep.”

“Why not right here?” Applejack asked.

“On the hospital floor? That sounds dreadful!”

“And there’s no room,” Rainbow said.

“We can share with Fluttershy!” Pinkie cried, jumping in bed with her and rattling the support ropes.

“Pinkie, if a doctor catches us sharing the hospital beds, we’ll be kicked out,” Twilight said.

“Awwwww, but it’s so comfy!”

“It’s really not that great,” Fluttershy said quietly.

Pinkie climbed out with an exaggerated moan and curled up on the floor, beckoning Rainbow over to her.

Gradually, they all found places on the floor or in the chairs, while Fluttershy sat in the bed, apologizing over and over again at not being able to share. They fell asleep one by one, uncomfortable in the cool room.

Twilight opened her eyes and stretched, yawning. Applejack’s hooves were curled around her midsection, and she carefully pulled herself away from her. She stretched and looked around; only Rarity was awake, sitting on a chair with a bored expression.

“Good morning, Twilight.”

“Morning, Rarity. How long have you been up?”

“An hour or so,” she said breezily.

“Has anything happened?”

“Nothing at all, darling. It’s been positively dull in here.”

“So, what are we waiting for?”

“We can leave as soon as everyone’s awake. I just… don’t have the heart to wake up Fluttershy. Not after yesterday.”

“I understand,” Twilight said.

They shared a moment of silence, during which Twilight looked around the room. There was little to see: a bed, a bedside table, a window, a picture on the wall.

“So, have you thought at all about our course of action?” Rarity asked.

“A little. We’ll need multiple spells, first of all. I’m not sure how many. But I don’t think we can just cast them and walk away, like in Ponyville or Canterlot. Those towers, Rose Tower and… what was the other one called?”

“Glass Ribbon, Octavia said.”

“Yes, Glass Ribbon. Those are way too tall. They may have survived the first disaster, but I don’t think we should risk it again with our spells.”

“So what do we do?” Rarity asked.

Twilight sighed. “I have no idea. We need to find a way to secure them, but… I really have no idea.”

“We can discuss it with the others. Maybe they’ll have some ideas,” Rarity said.

“Maybe.”

“And what about our living arrangements? We can’t stay here, and we don’t have the ship anymore.”

“We have to find another one, I suppose. Thank Celestia we have access to the treasury.”

Rarity’s eyes brightened. “That’s true! Oh, dear, I had completely forgotten about that.”

“And as for where to stay, I suppose we’ll need to find a hotel or something.”

“What about Applejack’s aunt and uncle?”

“I think we should definitely pay them a visit,” Twilight said. “But we can’t ask them to lodge all seven of us. That would be unreasonable.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Rarity said.

There was another moment of silence. “So, Octavia,” Twilight said.

“Oh, don’t even get me started on her,” Rarity said bitterly.

“Quite a piece of work, huh?”

“You can say that again. You know, I was, and still am, a huge fan of her work, but I sincerely wish I had never met her. She is so difficult to get along with, and so… I don’t know what to call it.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Forcing herself to stay up, for instance. She had no reason to do it. And her injuries! If she had simply told Fluttershy… but no, she had to play the hero. I can only imagine how terrible the trip must have been for her.”

“She seems almost self-destructive,” Twilight said.

“Yes! That’s exactly it. Self-destructive, that’s her,” Rarity said.

“But why?”

“She clearly has a few, um… problems.”

“You don’t think she’s crazy, do you?” Twilight asked.

“It’s hard to tell. She’s so composed, and so calm, and so reasonable, but still…”

“I don’t trust her,” Twilight said.

“Neither do I. And what about her and Pinkie?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight said, leaning forward a bit.

“I mean, the first thing she does when we get onto the ship is confront Pinkie, take her down to the hold, and make her cry! What did Pinkie ever do to her? She’s the sweetest pony in Equestria.”

“What’s even weirder is that she didn’t want me to kick Octavia out. She told me that it was important that we keep her with us.”

“Do you suppose it was just Pinkie being Pinkie?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, but I kind of don’t think so.”

“It probably has to do with the fact that they’re sisters.”

“Now that I think about it,” Twilight said, “Octavia seems kind of, um, crazy, and Pinkie’s, well, Pinkie.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. I guess it makes sense, is all.”

“Maybe she’s just the opposite extreme. Pinkie’s excitable and full of laughter, and Octavia’s private and serious.”

“But they come from the same place. Don’t you think that’s a little too opposite?”

“Perhaps.” Rarity sighed. “Oh, this would be much easier if we could just talk to her about it.”

When the others woke, they washed up in the tiny hospital bathroom and ate a quick breakfast of old rations, anxiously listening for the door to open. Should a doctor or nurse enter, they had no explanations ready for Fluttershy’s miraculous recovery.

As soon as they were ready, they slipped out of the room, leaving Fluttershy’s pile of bandages on the bed. Pinkie led them to Octavia’s room, and they stopped outside.

“So, what do we do? Are we gonna heal her?” Applejack asked.

“She might be able to help us figure out how to cast our spell,” Rarity said reluctantly.

“Do we need it?” Rainbow asked.

“What do you mean?”

“She has a point,” Twilight said. “Our problem is finding a way to keep the towers from falling. Unless Octavia has some kind of experience with stabilizing skyscrapers, she won’t actually be all that much help.”

“Ah hate to say it, but it might be nice to take a break from her fer a day,” Applejack said.

“And she did want us to leave her alone while she heals,” Twilight said.

They looked at each other, and at the door. “Let’s see if she’s even awake,” Rainbow said, pushing it open.

Before they could see her, they could hear her, snoring lightly. She was curled tightly in the bed with an anguished expression, her entire body tense and her mane frazzled.

“Yep, that’s how she sleeps,” Applejack said. She looked at them all, their expressions inquisitive. “Ah’ve woken up a couple times an’ seen her.”

“Let’s just leave her,” Rainbow whispered.

They quietly closed the door and left the hospital as casually as they could, making sure to move with as much confidence as they could manage when passing any doctors or nurses. They stopped out on the sidewalk and surveyed the city. A flock of clouds covered the sky, and a cool breeze flowed down the streets, ruffling their manes. It was the first they had seen Manehattan in the light, and they spent several minutes just staring.

The night before, the streets had been filled with motion and brightness, the buildings to the side mere shadowy renditions of the city they had imagined upon their approach; now, in the gray morning, Manehattan was awake. Ponies rushed by on both sides, heads up and alert, while the cars were packed between. The buildings, once faceless, now bore the unmistakeable shine and splendor of technology, of advancement, that they had only ever seen in Canterlot, in small doses. Apartments, offices, stores, tourist attractions, it all hummed with life, and even though most of the lights were out, the city, steeped in the cloudy dawn, seemed to shine in their eyes.

“So, we have the entire day to ourselves,” Twilight said uncertainly.

“Ah say we go up into that tower an’ scope it out,” Applejack said.

“Exploring!” Pinkie cried.

“As long as we don’t stray too far from the hospital,” Twilight said, looking over at its sign.

“We’ll just take a taxi,” Rainbow said.

“Oh, yes, that’s nice,” Rarity said. “Another ride in with one of those charmless drivers is exactly what I need.”

“Was it that bad last night?” Twilight asked.

“Octavia forgot we didn’t know how to travel in a taxi!” Rainbow blurted. “And we didn’t have any money.”

“Rarity had a little,” Pinkie said, grinning.

“Yes, I paid,” Rarity said.

“The driver wasn’t very friendly,” Applejack said.

“Well, I think we just have to get used to it,” Twilight said, looking out at the busy street. “How did she summon it again?”

“Raise your hoof,” Rainbow said, going to the side and standing up, her wings spread out awkwardly to help balance.

When the traffic finally moved, a cab swung around to pick them up; they had to squeeze together, even with Pinkie in the front, to fit. “Rose Tower,” Rarity said tersely.

They slowly crept through the streets, only moving at a quicker pace once they had passed through a bridge: a long, narrow building that emptied out into a wide thoroughfare, a canyon between dark, empty, double-story buildings. All the while, the driver talked. Rose Tower, he said, had done amazingly well in the disaster, as had its counterpart, Glass Ribbon. Their foundations were designed to withstand earthquakes, but had never been tested. The few days afterwards, no one went near them; they were afraid of a collapse.

As ponies trickled back in, however, things returned slowly to normal. Most of the bridges had been assembled within a week by an army of industrious pegasi and unicorns, and as soon as the traffic started again, Manehattan had largely recovered. They were even beginning to get electricity back, most notably in the towers, who, the mayor had made sure to impress upon the city’s numerous electricians and engineers, were the most important structures in the entire city. When they got to Rose Tower, he said, they would see it for themselves: the electricity was entirely restored.

The majority of the city was behind them, but ahead, with Rose Tower dominating the view, everything seemed to point in on it. Their street, and every one they saw between the buildings, was aimed directly at it, and the streams of ponies all seemed angled in its direction. The black tower pierced the sky, its curious, sickle-shaped top an ostentatious crown to the Manehattan skyline.

The tower itself was surrounded by a huge, circular parking lot, itself a tiny city of taxis, carts, carriages, and larger automobiles that Twilight said were buses. The taxi dropped them off at its edge, and after a few minutes of digging through their bags for some bits, it roared off, leaving them to walk the rest of the way to the largest building they had ever seen.

From Bellflower Bridge, they had been silently impressed at its stature, but they were not prepared for the majesty of standing just beneath its colossal presence. With the sun at their backs, their puny shadows brushed its foot, a solid, dark pillar that shot hundreds of feet into the air. Black ridges ran along its sides, and the tower spiraled with windows small and large, shining ethereally against the overwhelming mass of darkness like eyes on a living thing. They could almost feel it groaning under its own weight, a hundred-thousand ton monster stretching the air with its mass.

Doors sat in its front, simple glass barriers spaced several feet apart, and many filled with walking, talking ponies, vested in unassuming colors. From within, the sound of many thousands more babbled out at them, and, behind and within the sound, occasional, piercing chimes.

Pinkie raced ahead, and they followed her through the glass doors; it was like entering a completely different world, one city to another. Ponies, once walking in straight lines, now filled the vast, echoing floor, walking in every direction like insects. Pegasi flew above, diving and swooping and perching on rafters, and Rainbow looked up eagerly. The ceiling was huge and vaulted, with windows above to allow the sun in through a spiderweb of scaffolding.

The room was surrounded with small shops, their signs boarded over with painted planks of wood, advertising their wares. Gift shops, coffee shops, even a bank, which sported the longest line. At the far side of the tower, they could see the more familiar sight of train platforms, also full.

“This is amazing,” Twilight said breathlessly. She craned her neck to study the ponies, the others doing the same. “I’ve never seen such a materialistic place.”

“That’s your takeaway, Twilight?” Rarity asked. “I haven’t seen anything so marvelous in all my life, and this is just the first floor! Imagine what must be above us!”

“Oh, yes, hundreds of feet above us,” Fluttershy said, looking nervously at the ceiling. “And in a tower that got weakened by the disaster.”

“This thing isn’t gonna collapse, Fluttershy,” Rainbow said dismissively. “It survived the first one, right? It’ll be fine.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Twilight said. “Remember that, girls. We have to find a way to secure this thing, before we can even begin to think of casting our spell.”

“Yeah, not to be a downer or anything, but that sounds impossible,” Rainbow said.

“Thanks for that, Rainbow.”

“Don’t worry, Twilight! Remember: where there’s a wall, there’s a way!” Pinkie said.

“Will, dear,” Rarity said.

Pinkie laughed. “I know what I said!”

“Oooookay, that’s nice,” Applejack said. She looked at them all, still watching the room, and cleared her throat. “So, we gonna get movin’, or do you wanna gawk all day?”

“Oh, sorry,” Twilight said, taking the lead. “It’s just so fascinating. It’s easy to get lost in it all.”

“Speaking of getting lost, no one separate,” Rarity said. “We have no way to find each other if we get split up.”

“Don’t worry, Rarity. We’re not gonna go running off like foals,” Rainbow said, looking at Pinkie, who grinned back.

Crossing the bottom floor of Rose Tower was an effort in itself. The lobby was packed with ponies, all of them distracted with their own engagements: parents watching children, harried businessponies carrying briefcases, sullen groups of youths. Everyone pushed and shoved their way along, and it was difficult to keep from getting lost in the crowd. When they reached the nearest train station, Twilight did a quick head count.

“They got a farmers’ market, but no farm,” Applejack said, tapping a directory impatiently. “That don’t make no sense at all.”

“Oh, I want to go to the gardens,” Fluttershy said. She looked at Twilight. “Um, if that’s okay, I mean.”

“I wanna go up to the entertainment area!” Pinkie said. “Maybe they’ll have party supplies!” She stopped for a moment and did a quick calculation in her head, then gasped loudly, drawing annoyed glances from the crowd around them. “Girls! I just realized! We haven’t had a party since we left Ponyville? Can you be-lieve it? That’s unheard-of!” She looked around quickly, as if searching for the space to throw one where she stood. “And all my stuff’s in Ponyville! It’s gonna take an even more super-duper amount of work to get one going!”

“I’m sure it can wait,” Twilight said with a small frown.

Pinkie gasped again. “You’re right, Twilight! It can wait! We’ll visit Octavia, and then I’ll throw it!”

They all exchanged looks. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Applejack asked.

“Oh, AJ! She loves my parties!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Rainbow said. She looked back at the sign. “I want to go out to eat tonight. I’m tired of our rations.”

“Oh, Rainbow, you just reminded me of something,” Twilight said. “We should probably get some more food while we’re here.” She thought for a second. “The farmers’ market should be good for that.”

“So, there first?” Applejack asked.

“Yeah.”

“I want to see what the shopping district has to offer,” Rarity said. “All…” She counted the lines on the sign. “Twenty floors of it.” Her eyes widened, and she counted again. “Twilight, darling, would you mind terribly if we never left?”

“We really shouldn’t be using Princess Celestia’s money for shopping, Rarity,” Twilight said.

“Oh, no, darling, I wouldn’t dream of it. No, I intend to spend my own money.”

“Do we have enough room in our bags?” Rainbow asked.

“Oh, indeed. Do we, Twilight?”

“I doubt it. I packed pretty tight. And I can’t carry any more in my pocket spell,” Twilight said.

“That’s the same place you keep yer brush an’ ink, right? Fer the sigils?” Applejack asked.

“That’s right.”

“How come Ah never saw you usin’ it before?”

“There’s a lot of spells I know, but never use,” Twilight said. She adopted a small smile and straightened her posture. “‘The mark of a good magician is discipline. Know much, use little.’ That’s a quote from Princess Celestia.”

“I don’t see the big deal about it,” Pinkie said. “It’s just a pocket dimension.”

Rarity laughed, and Pinkie giggled in response.

“Are you kidding?” Twilight asked. Her ears pricked up at the sound of a shrill chime, and they all looked down the tracks; a small train was slowly sliding their way. When it stopped, Rainbow moved toward it, but was pushed back by a stream of exiting ponies.

“I think you’re supposed to wait for them to get off first,” Rarity said.

When the way was clear, they boarded and sat down in the aisle. Unlike the trains they had ridden in the past, this one was tiny and compact, with small, uncomfortable seats and plastic windows. Ponies crowded and pressed in on each other, and the doors slowly slid closed as a chime sounded from somewhere far ahead. They lurched forward.

“A pocket dimension is no joke,” Twilight said, looking at Pinkie. “They’re incredibly dangerous in the wrong hooves.”

“You just use ‘em to hold stuff,” Rainbow said. “I don’t see the danger.”

Twilight sat back and sighed. “You’re aware of Equestria’s war with the griffons, back in the second millennium. Right?”

“Which one?” Rarity asked drily.

“The first one. In the Battle of Foam Horn—that was on the coast—one of our mages used pocket dimensions to dump thousands of gallons of freezing cold ocean water on the griffons. It was a massacre.”

They were silent, and only the sound of the rolling train could be heard.

“Pocket dimensions aren’t toys.”

Rainbow yawned. “Thanks for the history lesson, Twilight.”

“It’s important to know these things.” She lowered her voice. “Especially since some of us have magic now. Magical ethics are huge.”

“Maybe fer Pinkie,” Applejack said. “Rainbow and Ah don’t need to worry ‘bout that.”

“Anypony with any amount of magic needs to know at least the basic principles.”

Rainbow yawned again, and Twilight frowned.

Not an hour after the others had left the hospital, Octavia woke up drenched in sweat. Her heart palpitated, and she rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the afterimages of her dreams. Her leg ached, and her head throbbed. She looked at the far wall, then the window, and memories of the day before came back to her. The bridge, the train, Fluttershy, the confrontation with Twilight and Pinkie. She lay back and sighed to herself. All these things played on her mind, and as her heart slowed down and her nerves cooled, her mind began to turn slowly. So many problems.

A nurse came in to check her vitals, and she only said a few words in response to her questions. “Yes. Fine. Yes, please.”

Doctor Vena Cava entered a half hour later. She commented on Octavia’s unstable appearance, and Octavia offered a smile and an assertion that she was fine. Vena Cava smiled back and left her alone.

They disembarked in another metro area, mostly the same as the one from which they had come, but with a palpable change in the atmosphere. The air felt warmer and softer, and the light, formerly sterile and hard, was a calm goldenrod, radiating in fuzzy baubles from rows of spherical lamps, lining the walls. They could smell food in the air, and the green scent of grass and growing things.

Out of the train platform, they walked down a short corridor, paneled in warm wood. A carved, wooden sign hung just above the far door, “FARMERS’ MARKET” painted in bold, green letters and stylized with creeping vines and swelling vegetables at the letters’ feet. A fat, black blotch was painted in a delicate spiderweb in the crook of the S. Applejack pushed the door open, and they went in.

Twilight, for whom the grocery stores in Canterlot were the largest commercial outlets, had been expecting a compact labyrinth of aisles, packed with goods and constantly organized and sorted by an army of workers. For the second time that day, she was forced to stop and simply marvel at the view.

They stepped through the door onto a wooden sidewalk by a dirt road, branching out through a forest of free-standing shops, some bigger than Twilight’s library and some no more than wheelbarrows with a couple shelves. The entire space was open; she could see the tower’s walls on all sides, distant and indistinct through the relaxing light and the jagged edge of disparate rooftops. Giant, square floodlights hung from the ceiling, bathing the entire floor in the same, soft light from the metro area. Carriages rolled down the streets and ponies walked along the sidewalks, ducking into shops or stopping at stands to chat and browse.

“Sweet Celestia,” Applejack said. “This is amazin’.”

“It’s like its own city,” Twilight said, astonished. “How long must it have taken them to build this?”

“Octavia said this takes up five floors,” Rarity said, looking up at the ceiling. “There must be another level above this one.”

“Aw, what? This bites,” Rainbow said, indicating a sign by the door, the silhouette of a pegasus blacked out in an X. “No flying allowed.”

“They probably don’t want pegasi dropping things from above,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, sure.” She flicked her tail in annoyance.

“So, what do we need, Twi?” Applejack asked.

“I have a list somewhere,” Twilight said, summoning one of her bags and opening it. “Ah, here we go. More food, matches, firewood, another sleeping bag—”

“Wait wait wait. Why do we need matches an’ firewood? You can magic us up a fire anytime we need.”

“Yes, but what if we ever get separated?”

“It won’t matter, since you have all our stuff anyway,” Rainbow said, gesturing nebulously behind Twilight. “Tucked away in that weird, dangerous pocket dimension.”

“It still doesn’t hurt to be prepared,” Twilight said.

“How are you going to carry everything?” Fluttershy asked.

Twilight stopped and frowned.

“I mean, you said you were at your limit already.”

“I don’t really know. I suppose I could try to carry another bag or two.”

“If we’re doin’ the night watch thing, we won’t need the extra sleepin’ bag,” Applejack said.

“Oh, that’s true.”

“Our biggest concern is a new airship,” Rarity said.

“When we get out of here, we’ll ask Octavia about an airship place,” Rainbow said.

Octavia stared at the wall. She was alone, and her mind was clouded with painkillers and worry. Vena Cava said that she had a hairline fracture in her cannon bone, and she wore a cast, her leg suspended uncomfortably over the bedsheets.

Pain was slowly ebbing back into her, but when a nurse came to check on her, she insisted that she was okay. The pain was her penance, she thought to herself. It was her own stubborn resistance to the others’ offers for help that put her where she was, and more suffering was the only thing she could think of. They would come back for her, she knew, and when they did, she intended to be humbled by her misery.

They passed hours at the market, exploring and window-shopping, but buying only when Twilight said so. There were shops for everything: gardening supplies, plants, power tools, food. There were bakeries, delicatessens, and patisseries—an entire corner dedicated exclusively to chocolates, from which it took almost half an hour to drag Rarity—as well as a winery, a distillery, tea and coffee houses, and even an apiary and silk-spinning shop.

They wandered up to the second half of the market, never once considering the fact that they were lost, and eventually settled down to rest on a bench outside a smoke shop. Twilight, despite her maddeningly strict loyalty to her list, was forced to add another bag to her pocket dimension, and simply maintaining the dimension’s integrity placed a strain on her that made walking and talking a serious effort.

As soon as they were seated, she released a few of their bags with a sigh, then stood up and stretched. A curious scent wafted out the smoke shop door, prickling inside her nose, and she inhaled deeply. With a quick word to the others, she entered.

She had been inside many of the shops in the market, and at every one, she was amazed. The selection of supplies always boggled her, no matter how familiar they had been to her before. The volume of items up for sale seemed to swell inside her mind, baffling her and entrancing her at once, turning even the simplicity of a piece of fruit into a gleaming basket of ripe novelties.

Inside the smoke shop, the feeling was intensified in more aspects than she could name. The heady smell of ash and herbs lay across her face like a wet cloth; the assortment of glinting, glass pipes pleased her eyes; the cozy atmosphere impressed upon her. If Rose Tower was the nexus of all things commercial, she thought, then the smoke shop must be the antithesis inside: humble and unknown, a place for refuge.

A heavyset mare with a luxurious, ivory mane leaned on the counter. “What can I get you, heart?”

Twilight started, but the pony only looked at her dreamily. “Um… what do you sell?”

“Didn’t you read the sign on your way in, love? It’s a smoke shop.”

Twilight hesitated. She was completely out of her element, and the mare looked like she knew. “So you sell… smoke?”

The mare laughed softly, derision clear on her face, but when she spoke again, her voice was patient. “Smoke products, honey. Herbal remedies.” She leaned farther on the counter and connected eyes with Twilight. “Anything you want, I can do for you. Relax, enlighten, enhance any sense you want. Have you ever tried?”

Twilight waited before responding. In Ponyville, she had heard of what the mare described: recreational gardening, it was called there. A few of her neighbors had invited her to partake before, and she had always declined. She eyed the strange, lamp-like, glass shapes in a nearby case. “No, I can’t say as I have.”

The mare smiled once more, her lips parting slightly in an expression that Twilight didn’t entirely trust. “Oh, love, you absolutely must experience it.” She looked Twilight up and down, and Twilight shied away. “You look like a pony who could use a vacation.”

Twilight opened her mouth to protest, to tell the mare that she was wrong, and back out of the shop. Her forehoof was raised off the ground to turn away, but she paused, her mind working. It was a connection she hadn’t been expecting, or searching for, and she hesitated for a moment, mulling over her conclusion. “What can you tell me about these herbs for relaxation? Could they… do you think they could make somepony who’s normally private open up a little?”

“I have just the thing,” the pony said, reaching around and plucking a small bag off the back wall. She dropped it onto the counter, and Twilight looked at it nervously. It was so small. “Marijuana, love.”

Twilight thought, trying to consider her options. The smell of the shop made it hard. Marijuana, and many other naturally-growing drugs, were legal in Equestria, and had been for a long time. They were still a topic of heated debate among many ponies. “How do I… ingest it?”

The salespony laughed quietly, and Twilight blushed. “You smoke it. Look.” She gestured at the glass things behind her. “These are water pipes. You use those.”

“I’m not sure if I have enough room in our bags for one of those. Do you have anything smaller?”

“Sure do! We have little tiny ones too.” She produced a small key and unlocked the glass case she had been leaning on, and Twilight obediently looked down at the row of small, glass pipes. “See one you like?”

Twilight studied them. They were all the same shape, a tiny bowl on a delicate stem, but where some were a simple, single hue, others were more elaborate, swirled with stripes and dots of color. “I like that one,” she said, pointing at a pipe with a rainbow streak through it.

“You got it, love.” She pulled the pipe out and placed it gently on the bag of marijuana, then put a small, metal lighter next to it.

Twilight looked at it. “This is all safe, right?”

“Oh, absolutely. The effects only last for a few hours, or more if you use a stronger strain.” She smiled at Twilight’s confused expression. “This strain isn’t that strong, but it’ll be perfect for a first-timer. The worst you can expect is a dry mouth and a very big appetite.”

Twilight considered for a minute. She had not intended to make a purchase; she only wanted to see what the smell was. “And yet here I am, about to buy drugs. Me, Twilight Sparkle, buying drugs. Is this what it’s like to be in the big city?” She paid and left.

“Twilight, what took you so long?” Rainbow asked when she came out.

“Oooh, whatcha got there?” Pinkie asked, snatching the bag and looking inside.

“Just a little something. I thought I could give it to Octavia,” Twilight said guardedly.

“Twilight, do you know what this is?” Rarity hissed, grabbing the bag out of Pinkie’s mouth.

“Yes, Rarity. The salespony told me about it.”

Rarity sputtered, aghast. “I cannot believe you would buy something like that.”

“What? What’s the big deal?” Rainbow asked. “Hey, Twilight, if Octavia doesn’t want it, you wanna give it to me?”

“Rainbow!”

“Oh, what? Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘no weed’ ponies, Rarity.”

“Of course I am,” Rarity said proudly.

“Rarity, you realize that weed doesn’t hurt anypony, right? That’s why Celestia legalized it.”

“Well I think that it is a waste of time and a bane to our society. It encourages delinquency and laziness.”

“It encourages having a good time,” Rainbow said, a growl edging into her voice.

“It turns ponies into apathetic do-nothings.”

“It does not! It just helps you chill out after a week of hard work.” She shrugged. “But I guess I can see why you wouldn’t understand that.”

“Are you implying that I don’t have a life outside my profession?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Rainbow, come on,” Applejack said.

Rarity’s voice took on a sharper tone. “I’ll have you know I go to the spa every other weekend for a full day of pampering. Isn’t that right, Fluttershy?”

“Oh, um, right,” Fluttershy said, looking down.

“Oh, yeah, every other week, that’s taking a break all right,” Rainbow said.

“Maybe if you did your job more than half the time, you’d understand,” Rarity said.

“Girls, come on, let’s not do this,” Applejack said, raising her voice a little.

Rarity looked at her and huffed. “You’re right, Applejack. I have no business arguing about this.”

“So you admit I’m right?” Rainbow said.

“Rainbow,” Applejack started.

“I admit no such thing. You and I both know that I am right and you are wrong. I’m not going to waste my time arguing about it, though. I’m taking the high road.”

Rainbow laughed loudly. “That’s a good one, Rare. The high road.”

Rarity frowned at her, but then grinned, a small laugh catching in her throat. “Wonderful, Dash.” She turned with a swish of her tail. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, let’s go!” Pinkie cried. “Fluttershy, didn’t you say you wanted to go to the gardens?”

“Oh, um, yes, if it’s not too much,” Fluttershy said.

“No, let’s go,” Rainbow said. “I’m getting tired of all this stuff anyway. I wanna see something green.”

It was three o’ clock when Vena Cava came by to check on Octavia, who sat perfectly still and stared at the wall. She checked her vitals, and returned a few minutes later with a newspaper.

“Thought you might like something to do,” she said simply.

“Thank you,” Octavia said, unfolding it. The front page was bold with a picture of a shocked group of ponies, crowded around a street corner. She read to herself.

The gardens were smaller than the farmers’ market, but where the market had been crowded and warm, the gardens were cool, damp, and only sparsely populated. There was hardly any indication that they were inside the tower; grassy fields rolled in all directions, cut and shaped around whispering streams, mumbling grottoes, and a thunderous tower of whitewater that spilled out from a large gouge in the roof. Ponies walked between hills and sat on benches, mostly in intimate pairs, but for the most part, the space was empty.

They spent only a short time inside. There was not much to do except admire the scenery and rest, and before long, even Fluttershy was growing bored.

They exited the gardens and found another metro station, where they boarded another train, empty.

“I wonder what they’ll have up above us!” Pinkie said. Her voice carried through the train cars, and they looked around reflexively, ready to give an apologetic smile to anyone bothered by her shrill exclamations. “Oh my gosh! I just thought of the perfect thing for Octavia’s party! Fireworks! She’s such a sourpuss, I bet some fireworks are just what she needs to cheer up!”

“Pinkie, Ah really don’t think Octavia’s gonna appreciate yer effort,” Applejack said.

“But everypony loves parties!”

“Not her,” Rainbow said.

“Maybe she would like it, and is just embarrassed to admit it,” Fluttershy said.

“Ah s’pose it’s possible,” Applejack said.

“I dunno! But I do know she loved my parties before,” Pinkie said.

“How many parties have you thrown for her?” Twilight asked.

“Just two.”

“The one at the farm, where you got your cutie mark, right?” Rainbow asked.

Pinkie nodded. “And when she and I got together years later, in Ponyville. She surprised me, but I threw a welcome party for her the next day, and she loved it! She told me so herself!”

The train came to a stop, and a few passengers got on. They could see a long, sunlit corridor through the sliding doors, packed with well-dressed ponies.

“If she liked your last parties, then perhaps she would appreciate something like this,” Rarity said.

Pinkie cheered, and the passengers looked at her, all with puzzled expressions. “Party in the hospital!”

They got off at the next exit, and were again struck by the difference in the terminal. It seemed each terminal was a reflection of the subdivision it led to, and they walked respectfully across the long platform, admiring the new scenery. For them, the change was an incredible shock; the majority of the tower had been rural and commercial, and stepping into sudden austerity was just as strange as first entering from the streets.

The light was a soft, dark cyan, the floor a marbled charcoal and silver tile; the ceiling was higher than in the other terminals, vaulted, with a white and purple crystal chandelier hanging above, casting a spider-like shadow onto the center of the room, occupied only by a pair of benches. Paintings adorned the walls, ponies rendered in dark, thin lines on light, dry canvasses, and covered with protective glass. The ponies that walked were better dressed than those below, and quieter.

“Why’s this place so fancy all of a sudden?” Applejack asked, her voice low.

They emerged in a large, marble atrium, its ceiling even higher than the metro area before, its walls distant and dark. A fountain stood in the center, a cantering Celestia and crouching Luna, granite both, shooting elegant streams of water out the tips of their horns into a rippling, circular pool that seemed, from a distance, a mirage impressed onto the tile. A single, royal blue staircase led up into the roof on the atrium’s far side, and ponies walked slowly up and down it, fading into the dark roof like shadows. It was like a crypt, huge and respectful, and the ponies were ghosts, sailing effortlessly through its shadows.

“Where do we find the party store?” Pinkie asked loudly.

“Well, look around,” Rarity said.

“All of these doors have signs, Pinkie,” Twilight said, walking to one. “Here, like this one. ‘Burning Silver Video Store’.”

“That actually sounds kinda interestin’,” Applejack said, trotting over.

“A video store? Boooooooring,” Rainbow said.

“You don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout. You ever see a movie before?”

“Uh, yeah, only about a thousand. I grew up in Cloudsdale, remember? Not Podunk Ponyville. Eh, no offense.”

“I didn’t know you were into films, Applejack,” Rarity said.

“Fluttershy an’ Ah get together fer a movie night every month.”

“Wait,” Pinkie said seriously. “You guys have movie nights, and I didn’t know about it?”

Fluttershy exchanged a look of worry with Applejack. “Um, we’re sorry, Pinkie. We would have told you, but I know your taste in movies is different from ours.”

“But I like everything!”

“You like romantic comedy?” Applejack asked.

Pinkie didn’t hesitate. “Any comedy is a good comedy, even the bad ones! And sometimes the bad ones are the best of all!”

“Um, I don’t think you understand,” Fluttershy said. “It’s a romantic comedy, not a regular comedy. They’re not the same.”

“Still funny!”

“You gotta take some parts serious,” Applejack said, pushing open the door. Inside, the room was a wide arch, covered in brilliantly reflective, dark silver tiles, with heavy, wooden stands cataloging what looked, at a glance, to be thousands of movies.

“I can be serious,” Pinkie said, drawing out her words playfully. “Here, watch.” Her eyes dulled for a moment while her mouth went straight. Then she laughed. “See? Totally straight-faced.”

“You gotta do it for more than a few seconds,” Rainbow said. She looked around at the store interior. “Yeah, see? Totally boring.”

“Maybe fer you,” Applejack grumbled.

“Whatever. You girls have fun looking for your romantic movies.” She trotted along the aisles. “I’m going to find something awesome.”

While Applejack and Fluttershy walked together through the store, swiveling their heads curiously, and the others dispersed throughout, Rainbow found what she wanted: the horror movies. She sat down and picked through them, reading the descriptions for every movie with interest she was glad the others weren’t around to notice.

In Ponyville, the only way to get movies was to have someone bring them from out of town, or trade for them at a tiny stall among the fruit and flower stands. She had gone a few times with Fluttershy, but had paid little attention; for her, reading the descriptions was more interesting than the movies themselves. Her attention span was too short.

She was lost in her reading, examining an excessively bloody movie from more than twenty years ago, and didn’t hear hooves behind her. There was a musical laugh right behind her, and she dropped the video in surprise.

“What the heck, Pinkie?” she snapped, turning to look at the mare behind her; she stopped. “You’re not Pinkie.”

Compared to Pinkie’s stocky build, the stranger’s aspect made Rainbow stare; she couldn’t help it. She was a head taller than Rainbow, standing on stilts of legs that were just a shade away from unhealthy, the hooves manicured and painted perfect, perilous black. Her coat was gray green and short enough to give Rainbow a view of the soft, pink skin underneath, and her mane and tail were long and razor-straight, black with powerful streaks of hot pink dyed in. Her face was pleasant and mirthful, her lips full and smiling over a set of perfect, alabaster teeth. Her vibrant, purple eyes gleamed in the video store light, crinkling with the smile at Rainbow’s surprise.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… that movie. It’s so bad.” Her voice was youthful and firm, the voice of an extrovert. She turned to walk away, and Rainbow looked at her cutie mark: a bold, red pair of lips, so strong against her coat that they looked like a crude joke.

“What kind of cutie mark is that?” Rainbow asked, her pride a little wounded by the mare’s judgment of her movie preferences.

“Hm? Oh, this old thing? Just a little metaphor. It means I’m good at making other ponies feel good about themselves.”

“That’s weird.” Rainbow felt bad about being so blunt to the mare, but her pride demanded it.

“Not really. Lots of ponies have cutie marks like mine.”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Are all the cutie marks literal in Ponyville?” She gave Rainbow a simpering, haughty smile, and Rainbow’s eyes widened a little.

“You know about Ponyville?”

The mare leaned in. “You are the Elements of Harmony, right? I recognize you.”

“Oh, right. That. Yeah, I guess we are pretty recognizable.”

The mare looked at her carefully. “Tantalizingly so.”

Rainbow cocked her ears at Pinkie’s voice in the distance. “Oh, Rainbow made a new friend! Let’s go say hi!”

Rainbow chuckled. “You’re in for it now.”

“We’ll see,” the mare said.

Pinkie leaped over to them, vibrating with friendly energy, the others following at a slower pace. “Hi! I’m Pinkie Pie! Wanna be friends? What’s your name?”

The mare smiled wide, showing her teeth again. “Lacey Kisses,” she said strongly, looking right into Pinkie’s eyes. “Nice to meet you.”

Pinkie laughed. “Kissy Kisses! Kissy Kisses!” She grinned widely at Lacey, who matched her smile for eagerness and sincerity. “What’s your cutie mark for? Does it mean your good at kissing?”

Lacey laughed loudly, and Pinkie laughed too. “No, no, Pinkie Pie. It’s a metaphor. My special talent is making ponies feel good about themselves!” She swept a hoof across her flank as she said it, and the red lips seemed to shine as she wiggled her backside.

“Oh my gosh! That’s almost like my special talent! See?” She flashed her cutie mark, and Lacey looked with wide eyes, still smiling. “My talent it making everypony smile!”

“Well, I can tell you have a lot of experience,” Lacey said, and Pinkie cheered.

“Wanna hang out with us?”

“Pinkie, darling, don’t be impolite. She probably has somewhere to be,” Rarity said.

“Nonsense,” Lacey said. “You’re from out-of-town. It would be my honor to show you around the city. Or at least the tower.” She laughed again, and they all smiled to each other. “I’m always up for new friends.”

“Are you sure we’re not intruding on anything?” Twilight asked.

Lacey smiled. “Please. I come to this tower to be entertained. What’s more entertaining than making six new friends? Now where are we going?”

“The party store!” Pinkie cheered.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?”

Rainbow laughed. “There doesn’t have to be an occasion with Pinkie.”

“I throw parties every week, sometimes more, if it’s a super-duper awesome week!” Pinkie said.

“Ponyville must be a fun place to live,” Lacey said. It was hard to tell whether she was being sarcastic.

“It’s wonderful, dear,” Rarity said.

“So what brings you here?” They stepped back into the lobby.

“We’re on vacation,” Twilight said confidently.

“Really? Are ponies already doing that?” They passed the fountain, and Applejack looked into the shallow basin. “I thought Equestria was too damaged.”

“We have an airship,” Rainbow said.

“Had an airship,” Applejack corrected. “It crashed.”

“Oh, no. Are you all okay?” Lacey asked. Her concern sounded genuine, and she looked at them all individually.

“One of us is in the hospital, but it’s no biggie!” Pinkie said. “That’s why we’re trying to find the party store, so I can throw her a get well party!”

“Why, of course. That’s a wonderful idea, Pinkie. But I think you’ll find what you need a few floors up.”

“You think?” Rainbow said.

Lacey shrugged smoothly and stepped onto the stairs. “I don’t live in the tower.”

“Well, let’s do it!” Pinkie screeched.

“Wait, Pinkie. I want to look around here some more,” Rarity said.

“Have you seen the Prancing Prince yet?” Lacey asked.

“The what?”

“Why, only the biggest and best music hall in all of Manehattan.”

“Octavia said something about a music hall,” Twilight said.

“Follow me, good ponies. It’s a sight to behold, even by Manehattan standards.” She took them up the stairs, through the shadowy portal and into another atrium, tiled in gentle light blue and smaller than its counterpart below.

Ponies walked back and forth along two parallel aisles, separated by a huge, glass tank, alive with fish and shimmering from a soft beam of silver light, coming in through a window in the tower’s side. Lacey hardly looked at it as she led them down to the far door and to a large, well-lit vestibule.

Shops lined both walls, colorful and alive, and the smell of food surrounded them: popcorn, hay fries, sweets of all varieties. What dominated their attention, however, was the huge, sinister, toothy smile on Prince Blueblood’s ten-foot tall face, leering at them from the top of the sparkling sign: Prancing Prince Music Hall, carved in elaborate, wooden lettering. His teeth were time-dulled, white bricks, too perfect for his square jaw, and his massive eyes loomed over the area like a greedy god, as if everything they saw, all the food and souvenirs they passed, were offerings to him.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” Lacey said. “He oversaw the carving personally. Everyone told him to go for the dignified look, but he wanted to look more friendly. This… is the result.”

“Such a wonderful establishment, ruined,” Rarity said quietly, shaking her head.

“Just don’t look him in the eyes,” Lacey said, walking to the entrance. “Seriously, don’t. Ponies think it’s bad luck.”

Rainbow scoffed and laughed, but when they passed under, she averted her eyes with the rest of them.

Inside, they stood at the top of a huge orchestra pit. Seats were stacked like kernels on a corncob, thin rows slicing them into neat, square sections, all pointing to a tremendous, oblong stage at the pit’s nadir. The entire hall was empty, and the stage was covered in a wan light, pouring in from a giant, wall-covering window behind it. Twilight could see that it was still cloudy outside.

“This place is amazin’,” Applejack said. Her voice sounded huge and unwelcome in the unfilled hall.

“I can only imagine how a performance in here must sound,” Twilight said. She looked back at the entrance. “Are we allowed to be in here right now?”

“I don’t see anyone stopping us,” Lacey said.

She casually led them through the rows of seats, slowly clopping down the stairs until, five minutes later, they were standing at the elevated stage, much more impressive close up; it was situated on a thick base of varnished wood, hollow when Rainbow knocked on it, and dark as the shadows they passed on their way up.

“We must come back here to see a performance,” Rarity said.

“Boring,” Rainbow said.

“Have you no culture, Rainbow Dash? Just look at this place.” She did a sweeping gesture of the building. “The arches, the space, the seating, the stage… I can only imagine how marvelous the acoustics must be in here!” She looked toward the window. “The view! In fact…” She sobered, her face tight with thought. “In fact,” she mumbled.

“Yeah, it’s quite the place,” Lacey said.

“Twilight, I just had a thought. Do you think we could cast our spell from up here?”

“Spell casting?” Lacey repeated.

“Oh. Um, I, um—”

“It’s a Ponyville phrase that means ‘take in the scenery’,” Rainbow said.

Lacey smiled cordially. “Ah, of course. You Ponyville folk sure have some misleading phrases.” She laughed, and Pinkie laughed along, the near loss of their cover seemingly lost on her.

“Maybe, Rarity,” Twilight said, surprised. She climbed a short set of stairs in the stage’s side and walked across it, Rarity behind. “That was close,” she whispered.

“Sorry, darling. But just look at this view. We can see the whole city.”

Twilight stepped to the window and looked out. The city was laid out like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, bits of residence and city block floating in the void, connected by fallen buildings. From their vantage point, Twilight was struck with how thin the bridges were; on the street, they were massive, yawning tunnels, but so many hundreds of feet above, they were bits of trash strewn about the labyrinthine metropolis. Just opposite them, she could see the narrow, elegant tower, Glass Ribbon, a proud and fragile opposite to Rose Tower’s menacing imposition.

“I really can see everything,” Twilight said. “And this stage is perfect for the spell. We just have to do it when there’s not a show.” She looked around at the empty seats. “Should be pretty easy.”

“And what about holding the tower?”

Twilight sighed. “Yes. What indeed. I still have no idea.”

“How many unicorns do you think it would take to hold it in place?”

“We’d have to get every unicorn in the city, at least. And coordinating them would be next to impossible.”

“Well, I don’t know what else to do, darling. And we can’t just not do the spell.”

Twilight sighed. “I have to think about this. Let’s go back to the others for now.”

They crossed the stage again. Twilight looked up at the empty tiers of seats, and the spotlights that hung in a long row across the top of the pit. She thought of Octavia, for whom the setting was routine, and wondered briefly whether they should have brought her along. “Maybe she would be able to help. Or at least point us in the right direction.”

They climbed off, and Lacey smiled at them smugly. “So, what’s this spell you’re casting? Or are you still talking about the scenery?”

“What? How did you—”

“Rarity was right, darling. The acoustics in here are amazing.” Lacey laughed her musical laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, since you seem so worried about that. Why, I won’t even ask for details about it.” She smiled disarmingly at Twilight, who tried to return the look.

Octavia looked out the window. A nurse had opened it a crack, to let in some fresh air, and through it, she could see and smell the rain. It was four thirty, and the rain had been going for almost an hour. The sound of it playing on the hospital roof soothed her, and as she reflected, she found her thoughts softening.

“Perhaps Twilight is right. All they wanted to do was help, and I spurned them, to my own suffering. I should probably apologize.” She frowned and twitched her leg, sending a shaft of pain up into her stifle. “So Twilight can offer to teach me friendship again. So Rainbow Dash and Applejack can pester me about why I did what I did, and so Pinkie can get her feelings hurt again.” She sighed. “Idiots.”

They took another train, climbing ever higher into the tower. The ponies that shared their car all looked wealthy and serious, and the talking, when there was any, was subdued. They could hear the train’s movement echoing inside the massive, hollow chambers of scaffolding, banging and thumping along.

Lacey said that they were almost five hundred feet off the ground, approaching the residential area: the crown of Rose Tower, where the wealthiest ponies in Manehattan could see the entire city laid out before them.

Where they got out, they were immediately surrounded by stores, boutiques, and restaurants, all clean and attractive. The ceiling was painted to match a beautiful blue and white sky, its only imperfections the folds of golden arches and small, circular lights that lined its middle like ridges in a marvelous mouth. A pony sat on a raised platform in the middle of a fork in the road, playing on a piano for the shuffling crowds.

For a time, they followed Rarity and Lacey from store to store, both of them building on each other's enthusiasm. Even Rainbow had to marvel at the selection of clothing and accessories, it was so far outside her expectations. Like Twilight in the smoke shop, the whole area seemed a completely different world, and even though it was nowhere near her interests, Rainbow was enraptured anyway. The colors, the sounds, the smells even; it was enough to overwhelm.

After an hour of walking, however, the interest had worn off, and hunger was setting in. After a brief argument, Rarity curtailed her window-shopping, and Rainbow took the lead, walking aimlessly until finally settling on a dimly lit restaurant with a pair of young palm trees overshadowing its sign.

Soft piano notes wafted through the dark air, beckoning them in, and they were welcomed by a serious-faced hostess who led them through a vast main room and up a trio of tiny stairs to a more secluded, even less well-lit area, seating them at a giant, curved booth that, despite their number, allotted them plenty of room.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I am already in love with this place,” Rarity said.

“What? It’s so dull,” Rainbow said.

“It is sophisticated,” Rarity corrected. “The lighting is a little too low for my tastes, but the rest of it is delightful. The walls and floor are colored beautifully, and the tablecloths complement it wonderfully. And look at these wineglasses; I should think that these are real crystal.”

“Ah just hope this ain’t one of those fancy places that don’t got any big portions,” Applejack said. “That’s all Ah care ‘bout.”

“Well, naturally, it’s portions will be a little reserved,” Rarity said. “But I’m sure if you order the right thing, you will be more than satisfied.”

“I got a question,” Rainbow said, unfolding her napkin to reveal the silverware. “What the hay am I supposed to do with this?”

Lacey smirked. “Do they not have forks and spoons in Ponyville?”

“As a matter of fact, they don’t.”

“Yes they do, Rainbow,” Twilight said. “They’re just not as common.”

“Yeah, a lot of our food is the stuff you can pick up with your hooves!” Pinkie said.

“I’ve never used one of these things in my life,” Rainbow complained.

“You just use the crook of your hoof,” Rarity said, picking up a spoon with practiced ease. “It’s easy.”

“Maybe for you.”

Lacey smiled kindly. “If you’re not comfortable using your own hooves, you can use these.” She indicated a tiny set of elastic straps under the silverware. “You fix them to your hooves and slip the silverware in.” She smiled smaller. “Though that’s rather a low class thing to do.”

“I don’t care about that stuff,” Rainbow said, grabbing at her straps.

They stopped as the unicorn waiter approached and greeted them, placing a wine list discreetly on the table; Rarity instantly snatched it up. “How may I serve you tonight?”

“Um, can I just get a glass of water?” Twilight asked.

“Water for me too,” Lacey said.

The waiter nodded and glanced at her. His eyes widened, and he looked about to speak, but Lacey smiled awkwardly and shook her head.

“You serve apple cider here?” Applejack said.

“Yes.”

“Ah’ll have that.”

“Oh! Me next, me next!” Pinkie cried. “Ummmmmmm, do you have any punch?”

“Punch?” The waiter raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but held his composure. “I’m afraid not.”

“What about a milkshake?”

“We do not serve that here,” he said, frowning.

“Pinkie, just get water,” Rarity urged, and Pinkie smiled weakly and nodded.

He looked at Rainbow. “For you, miss?”

“What soda do you have here?”

“…I’m sorry, but we do not serve soft drinks.”

“What? What kind of restaurant doesn’t serve soda?” She caught the dirty looks Twilight and Rarity were giving her, and smiled nervously. “Just the house wine will do fine.”

“I will have a glass of the Pampas Pinot Noir, dear,” Rarity said, sliding the list over to the waiter.

He looked at Fluttershy. “And for you?”

Fluttershy sunk into her seat with a small, sad noise.

“She’ll have water too,” Twilight said.

The waiter nodded again and vanished.

“Milkshakes, Pinkie, really? And Rainbow, soda?” Rarity hissed.

“Hey, don’t blame me for my tastes,” Rainbow said.

“A restaurant can’t possibly be good if they don’t have milkshakes!” Pinkie said.

“And would you keep your voices down? This isn’t Ponyville, you know,” Rarity said.

“Geez, Rarity, calm down,” Rainbow said.

Rarity sat back and took a deep breath. “Right. I’m calm. Let’s… let’s just try to enjoy a nice, classy meal, shall we?” She began browsing the menu, and the others followed suit, paying the waiter no mind as he wordlessly brought them their drinks.

Rainbow looked up and took a sip of her wine, and gagged. “Ugh, white wine? Where’s that waiter? Can I change this for something else?”

“No, Rainbow, you can’t,” Rarity said. “You should have looked at the wine list before ordering. Just drink it.”

“I hate white wine, though.”

“I’ll take it off your hooves,” Lacey said, and Rainbow pushed it over to her.

After a few minutes, the waiter returned to take their orders, which they gave without incident.

When he left, Rainbow followed him with her eyes. “Why they hay didn’t he ask to fill my glass?”

“He probably heard you whining about it,” Lacey said.

“Hmph. This food better be something else.”

“What did you get, Rainbow?” Twilight asked.

“The, um, hweet-la-cock, I think. It’s a quesadilla.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how to say it! That’s why I just pointed at the menu.”

“Oh, um, I think that’s bad manners, to point at the menu,” Fluttershy said timidly.

“I’m sure they’re used to it,” Rainbow said dismissively. “Fancy restaurants like this cater to their customers’ every want and need. They do everything except eat the food for you.”

“That’s no reason to treat our waiter like a servant,” Rarity said.

“Well, I mean, he kind of is our servant, right?”

Lacey laughed loudly, and they looked at her. “Sorry, sorry. But really, Rainbow? You Ponyville ponies really are backward. No offense or anything.”

“We are not backward,” Rainbow said heatedly. “We just don’t put up with all the pomp and ceremony that you Manehattanites do.”

“Well, I’ll give you that one.”

“Remember what I said about raising your voice in the restaurant, Rainbow?” Rarity asked. Her voice was thick with forced patience.

Their food came fifteen minutes later, and Lacey helped them attach their silverware, Rainbow fussing about the embarrassment the whole way through.

“It would be much more embarrassing, I imagine, if you had to ask the waiter to attach them for you, am I right?” she inquired innocently, tightening the knife to Rainbow’s hoof. “There you go! Ready to eat now?” She spoke in a mock motherly voice, and Rainbow frowned.

Rainbow took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “What the hay did I order?” she asked out loud.

“Rainbow, please, the waiter is right there,” Twilight said.

“Good, maybe he’ll come around and refill my drink.”

“You don’t have a drink to refill,” Lacey pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s part of the problem.” She looked around and saw him making his way to another table. “Oh no you don’t. Yo! Waiter!” She stood up and waved her forelegs about, and Twilight looked away.

“Rainbow, sit down,” Rarity growled, but Rainbow just raised her voice.

“Hey! Customers needing service over here!”

The waiter visibly sighed and walked over to their table, still wearing his courteous smile. “Is something the matter, miss?”

“Yeah, I need a drink.”

“What happened to your wine?”

“Um, I drank it already.” She looked at the others, who didn’t meet her eyes. “I’ll just have, um, water I guess.”

“Of course.” He walked away.

“Rainbow, I cannot believe how rude you just were,” Rarity said.

“Relax, Rarity. It’s not like he’s gonna spit in my water or anything; he’s just a server.”

“That don’t make any sense,” Applejack said.

“Your water,” the waiter said, placing it just in front of Rainbow’s nose. He waited for a second and then trotted away, seeing that Rainbow had nothing to say to him.

With her water, Rainbow was finally able to settle down, and they ate in relative peace, conversing and laughing politely, no longer causing a scene with their impertinence. Lacey watched them all with a keen eye, smiling whenever someone happened to look up at her.

“Pinkie, I think those mashed potatoes look pretty firm,” Lacey said, and Pinkie laughed.

“That doesn’t make any sense! They’re supposed to be soft and fluffy, like me!” Pinkie cried.

“Yeah, but those look firm. I bet you could make a sculpture out of them.”

“You think so?”

“Aw, no. Pinkie, don’t,” Applejack started, but Pinkie was already smearing her potatoes around, forming them into a large, semicircular mound.

“You did that on purpose,” Rainbow said, a small smile tugging the corners of her mouth.

“Who? Me? Never in a million years,” Lacey said, smiling as well.

“Pinkie, eat your potatoes,” Twilight said.

“But Twilight, they’re so much fun! Look, I made a circus tent!” She had somehow turned the pile of potatoes into a startlingly accurate rendition of a big top, and had even given it a tiny pennant.

“That is kinda amazin’,” Applejack said.

“It’s uncouth, is what it is,” Rarity said.

“Pinkie, are you gonna eat those?” Rainbow asked.

“Eat my circus tent? Are you crazy?” Pinkie shrieked, drawing a few patrons’ eyes.

“Fine, Ah’ll have ‘em,” Applejack said, grabbing a large portion of Pinkie’s potatoes before she could object.

“You know, Pinkie, those potatoes look pretty sticky too,” Lacey said. “Why, I’d bet they could stick to anything you put them on.”

“Oooooh, maybe,” Pinkie said. “Dashie, stick out your wing for me!”

“What? No way,” Rainbow said.

Before anyone could respond, a glob of potato struck the wall next to Twilight, who flinched.

Pinkie laughed. “They do stick! Oh my gosh, sticky potatoes! Sticky potatoes!”

“Pinkie,” Rarity intoned, but Pinkie had already thrown another helping of potato, which landed, and stuck, on the ceiling.

“Pinkie, you’re going to get us thrown out,” Twilight said.

“Just one more test!” Pinkie said. “Come on, Dashie, your turn!”

“What? No, I said don’t—” She sputtered with the impact, directly onto her muzzle. Rainbow shook her head, dislodging the fluffy, white potatoes from her face.

She was grinning maliciously. “Oh, it’s on now, Pinkie.”

“You better not do what I think you’re about to do,” Rarity said.

Rainbow stood up, bumping the table as she did so. “Food fiiiiiiiiiight!” She shouted it out into the restaurant, and was immediately pelted with the remnants of Pinkie’s potatoes; the other diners simply looked at her, then resumed eating, grumbling. Rainbow wiped the potatoes off her face and slowly shrunk back into her seat, enduring withering glares from Rarity and Twilight.

Pinkie and Lacey, meanwhile, were laughing, and even Applejack was grinning a little. Fluttershy remained scrunched up in the back of the booth, where she had stayed for the whole affair.

“Um, guess the fight’s off,” Rainbow said, trying to chuckle.

Rarity looked at her, mortified. “Rainbow Dash, what in Equestria possessed you to do such a thing? A food fight, in a restaurant like this? You’re just lucky we aren’t being thrown out right now, and—Twilight, what are you—are you laughing?”

“Sorry, Rarity,” Twilight said between a few giggles. “But it is pretty funny. I’ve never seen a food fight before, much less been in one.”

“Well, this is hardly the place for one,” Rarity said, and, seemingly satisfied, resumed eating.

Twilight stopped laughing, and Rainbow smiled, turning red.

“Ah gotta admit, Ah probably woulda joined ya, Rainbow,” Applejack said. “If Ah knew it was comin’.”

“I thought everypony was going to join in,” Pinkie said.

“Lacey started it,” Rainbow said, and Lacey put on an affectation of offense.

“I? Rainbow, I cannot believe you would mistake my own actions for Pinkie’s here. She is the sole offender. I was just there to watch.”

“You instigated it,” Rainbow said, flicking a bit of potato off her ear.

“I do not instigate anything. I merely made an observation. Pinkie did all the work.”

The newspaper lay by Octavia’s bed, discarded. She had read its contents, and stared at the far wall once more, occasionally shifting her leg to fire a fresh twinge of pain into her body. Penance, always penance. For her hurtful stubbornness, for her cowardice.

It was almost six o’ clock, and the others were not back. She tried not to think about it, but in the dead silence of the hospital room, there was nothing else for her. She looked at the door every few minutes, secretly hoping for their faces—happy, angry, anything.

They finished eating, paid the bill, and left a forty percent tip, at Rarity’s insistence. As they left, they received glares and hushed comments from diners and wait staff alike, all unapologetic in their disgust.

When they were out on the sidewalk, Rainbow groaned loudly. “I am never eating at a fancy restaurant again! That meal was way overpriced, and that waiter was the snootiest pony I’ve seen in my life! What the hay do you mean you don’t have soda? It’s only the most popular drink in Equestria!”

“All right, all right, calm down, Rainbow,” Applejack said. “Ah didn’t think it was half bad. Sure, it was a little frou-frou, but that’s what you get fer goin’ to a place like that. An’ fer the record, Ah thought the food was great.”

“Me too, especially the sticky potatoes!” Pinkie said.

Rainbow laughed. “That was the only tolerable part.” She looked at Rarity, who was looking the opposite way. “What’s wrong, Rarity? Oh, are you still mad at me?”

“Yes, Rainbow Dash, I am still mad at you. You had no reason to behave as you did in there,” Rarity said icily, her face scrunched and her eyes glistening in anger, staring into the mall.

“Rarity, you know I hate fancy places like that. What did you expect?”

“I was expecting you to show a little decency and respect.”

“Hey, I’m all for respect, but when you drag me into a place I don’t want to be, where the waiters aren’t even friendly, then I’m not gonna bend over backwards to be nice.”

“Rainbow, as I recall, you were the one who wanted to eat so badly,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, but Rarity picked this restaurant,” Rainbow said.

“No she didn’t! You did,” Applejack said.

“Look, let’s just stop talking about it, okay?” Twilight said. “It’s done, it’s over, and we never have to come back again. Let’s just go back to the hospital and call it a night.”

“Back to the hospital?” Lacey interjected.

“A friend of ours is in there,” Applejack said.

“Ah, yes. I remember. Well, if that’s where you’re going, I won’t be coming along. I have places to be.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Twilight said. “It was nice meeting you today, Lacey.”

“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you,” she said with a smile. She thought for a moment, her smile frozen while her eyes calculated. “I’ll tell you what. If you’re looking for a place to crash on your vacation, look me up. Hold on a sec, let me give you my address. Um, do you have something to write with?”

“One moment,” Twilight said, producing a quill and bit of parchment.

Lacey gave her her address in the northeast quadrant of town, which Twilight stowed away in her bag, which promptly disappeared again.

“Well, this is goodbye,” Lacey said, shaking their hooves. “See you when I see you!” She walked into the crowd of shoppers, and was gone.

“Let’s get back to Octavia,” Twilight said, a little concerned about the time. There weren’t any windows showing the sky, but she got the feeling that it was late.

The X

Chapter Twenty-three

The X

Twilight didn’t want to say anything, but as the taxi moved, taking them closer to The Shot Apple, her confidence and conviction were draining away. Standing outside Strawberry’s door, under the nervous gaze of that lonely, green eye, the choice had been clear, but as the city moved by, the sheer impulsiveness of their decision weighed on her tired mind. She looked out the window while the others talked quietly, paying little attention to the sights. It was all gray faces and gaudy signs to her, and she had seen enough of it in Rose Tower.

When they arrived at the bar, there were only two cars in the parking lot, sitting on opposite sides and framing a worn façade. The bar’s front was dark brown stucco and plaster, with a crude apple painted across its door in shadowy, tarnished red, and dull windows filled with pyramids of empty glass bottles. They crossed the lot cautiously.

The stale air inside smelled of beer and perfume, and only three ponies sat at the bar, chatting quietly under dead, dusty lights. The unicorn bartender was steadily working through a group of dirty shot glasses, and he nodded to them as they crowded around a table in the back.

Pinkie looked to the patrons longingly, but Applejack guided her to her seat and motioned for her to sit down quietly. They all looked around slowly, and out the corners of their eyes, observing, but trying not to create more of a disturbance than they already were. Twilight fixed her eyes on the front window, embarrassed and uncertain. She felt as though her discomfort were evident in the way she sat.

The bartender watched them, but didn’t come over, and before long, the door opened again, admitting a single, short figure. The pony looked around briefly, and approached them, stopping at a distance. He was short and stout, with a nondescript, brown mane and tail, both cropped short, and a plum-colored coat. He wore a dusty jacket and a tan vest underneath, and a small pair of glasses balanced on his heavily-freckled muzzle.

“I do believe you’re waiting for me,” he said. His voice was small and smooth, but his eyes were quick, and he traced each of them with small, paranoid pupils.

“Depends. Who are you?” Applejack asked suspiciously.

He smiled and nodded. “Strawberry’s contact.”

“Good enough for me,” Rainbow said.

“Here,” Twilight said, summoning the money and floating it over to him.

He held it in his mouth and gave a tentative nod, testing its weight. “Excellent. Delightful. Wonderful.” He looked at them again. “You need not ever see me again, but I have a small favor I would like to ask before I take my leave.”

“Sorry, pal, but we’re done. We don’t wanna get more involved than we already are,” Applejack said.

“Please. I just want you to convey a message.”

“No, no, no,” Rainbow said. “We gave you your money, and now we’re walkin’. That’s it. We’re done.”

“It’s a single sentence,” the pony said.

There was a heavy pause, and Pinkie spoke up. “We’re gonna talk to him anyway.”

Rainbow looked up to the ceiling and let out a loud groan, drawing eyes from the rest of the bar. “Fiiiiine. One stupid sentence. Then we’re really done.”

“Fantastic. I knew you’d come around.” He smiled again, humbly. “The message is this. It’s too late. The X will not go down. He’ll know what it means.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Rarity said.

“Don’t worry. It has nothing to do with you.” The pony smiled disarmingly and hefted the bag of bits, balancing it on his back. He swaggered out of the bar.

“The ex will not go down,” Twilight repeated, bemused. “The ex-what?”

“It does not matter. This business is between them now,” Octavia said. “We should leave.” Her ears pricked, and Twilight heard it at the same time: a faraway scream.

In the first instant, she thought little of it, but when it was followed by a chorus of similar, closer screams, she turned around with a lump of cold dread in her stomach. Ponies ran in a formless crowd down both sidewalks, knocking into each other and falling over their own hooves, some darting out into honking traffic and others ducking into buildings. Their heads and eyes all pointed behind, to an unseen emergency.

She stood back, shocked and frozen, as her friends ran to the window, craning their necks to see around the stack of bottles. Something pale flashed into view, flying from a height of several feet and crashing bodily into a car’s rear end. Ponies screamed and scrambled, and the figure tumbled clumsily and jumped again, up against the far building’s wall. It bounced like a fly, up and over the street, to land in the bar’s parking lot, its limbs splayed awkwardly on the concrete.

“It’s him!” Rainbow barked, backing away. “It’s that jump-pony!”

Fluttershy squealed and dove down, and the others turned swiftly from the window as the pony jumped again, his fast shape like a huge, soft bullet, flashing through the air and crashing through the other window with a nightmare noise.

Bottles spilled across the floor as he collided with a table, upending it and landing on his back. He scrabbled quickly to his hooves, red eyes swiveling frantically in his head and a long, loose mane flopping around like a filthy, milky froth. Blue light fluttered in his mouth, and he jumped straight up, slamming into the roof with a force that made the building shudder. They cringed back as he landed at the bar, scattering the ponies there; he jumped once more, flying across the room like a missile, the force of his impact shaking the wall and rattling the supports.

Twilight could only watch, dumbfounded, stuck in the middle of her friends, as he righted himself only a few feet away. She could feel the wind from Spring-hoof Jack’s frenetic movements, hear his hooves skidding and his coarse hair shuffling. Fluttershy and Pinkie cowered underneath the table, while Rainbow stood at a tentative alert, as if ready to engage him, but unable. Before her mind could clear, the pony jumped again, directly at them, directly over them. Rarity screamed and Applejack yelled out, and glass shattered out onto the street. Cars squealed and honked, ponies cried out, and a bottle rolled over the floor. He was gone.

“What. The. Hell,” Rainbow said quietly. She hadn’t moved, but panted with each word.

The bar seemed petrified, and Twilight with it. She watched with glassy eyes as the bartender slowly raised himself from his hiding place. The patrons looked around as her friends tried to assess damage and injury. There was quiet conversation, and Fluttershy was crying.

Twilight watched Octavia walk to the bartender and speak with him, lips soundless in the rush of fear. Her eyes locked on a bottle that had made its way to the stools at the front. In the sunlight from outside, a small band of white seemed cut into its side.

She breathed in. Light, and warmth, and dusty air, and her lungs expanding and contracting inside her squirming chest. Her eyes watered, and she breathed out. Her body was stuck. She stared, and the world contracted.

The brown bar interior was shed in shrinking frames of black, subtle and soft and all around her eyes, and her world was the shining bottle. Hard breathing. Hard breathing in her ears.

Broken glass. Shouts, cringes, stopped time. She sat down. Someone asked her whether she was okay.

It had been around fifteen seconds. A sudden disturbance, a terrible sound. The darkness, skewered on tattered sunbeams, pressed on her mouth and throat. A racing heart. Pulsing ears. Her body, sizzling with adrenaline. A careful voice repeated her name.

A crash. A clattering. An emergency. Fear, and reaction, and realization. Eyes that were determined in one instant, overflowing with tears the next. Her eyes.

Colorful glass peppering the floor. An empty throne room. The smell of her vomit on the stone. A dark stain of injured marble. A red stain of injured flesh.

A group of ponies standing around, frozen from the aftermath of a single moment. Emptiness all around. “Oh, Celestia, what have I done?”

“Twilight!” Applejack shouted desperately.

Twilight blinked and met Applejack’s eyes, terrified. She looked around. She was back in the bar. She was in The Shot Apple, on sixtieth and fifth, in Manehattan.

“Are you okay?”

Twilight only nodded, and Applejack looked into her face.

“Yer not okay.”

Twilight swallowed. She could hear sirens in the distance. Her eyes still watered. “Can we go?”

“We should stay to speak to the police,” Octavia said from nearby.

“Octavia, no. Just… no,” Rainbow said. A gentle wing folded over her back, and a tear crept down Twilight’s cheek.

“Oh, Celestia, what have I done?”

Rainbow stayed by her side all the way back to the Oranges’ apartment. She didn’t speak, and Twilight volunteered no explanation. She merely sat, allowing herself to get lost in the feeling of a warm wing around her. The others offered their own forms of comfort, but it was Rainbow’s kindness that truly reached her.

When they reached the apartment, Twilight felt better. She stopped them in the first floor corridor. “It was like I was back there,” she said.

“Back where?” Applejack asked quietly.

“Back… there.”

“Balcony,” Rarity breathed.

Twilight nodded.

“It was just like it,” Fluttershy said.

“It was too fast,” Twilight said. Her eyes watered again, but no tears came.

“But you’re okay now?” Rainbow asked tentatively, raising her wing again.

“I’m getting there.”

“They’ll get him, Twi,” Applejack said.

Twilight only nodded, looking down.

Rainbow hugged her tightly, and she allowed herself a final stutter of breath into the pegasus’ down.

They waited with Twilight until she had calmed down, and then walked back to Strawberry’s door.

“What was the message again? ‘The ex won’t go away that easy,’ or somethin’,” Applejack said, knocking.

“It is too late. The ex will not go down,” Octavia said.

The door opened and caught on its latch, and the same familiar, paranoid eye looked out at them. “Yes?”

“I just thought of something,” Rarity said. “Shouldn’t you be at work? It’s Thursday.”

“I took some time off,” he said cagily.

“Hm.”

“We delivered yer money,” Applejack said.

The eye closed, and the pony behind the door sighed. “Good. He took it, and everything was good?”

“Yeah, everythin’ seemed fine.”

“Thank Celestia.”

“There’s just one thing, though. He wanted us to tell ya somethin’.”

“Oh, oh no. What is it?”

“He said it’s too late. The ex won’t go down,” Rainbow said. “He—”

“What? Wait, what? No, I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“The ex isn’t goin’ down,” Rainbow repeated.

The door closed, and there was a muffled thump on the other side, then another, then another, followed by exclamations, first angry, but soon hopeless.

Applejack knocked again, and the thumps stopped.

The door opened. “What? What do you want?”

“Just what is goin’ on here?”

“Are you quite sure that we should be getting involved in this?” Octavia asked quietly.

“I don’t know if I should tell you,” Strawberry said softly.

“We can help you,” Pinkie said, angling herself to the crack and looking directly into the eye.

“…Yes, help. That would be… good. Yes, very nice. Um, right. Hold on.” The door closed for a second, then unlatched, then opened all the way. “Enter,” he said, and they did so.

As soon as they were inside, he snapped the door shut again. He was a deep violet pegasus with dark magenta hair and a bit sign cutie mark, a sharp green against his purple fur. A thin pair of black glasses perched underneath tired, grass-green eyes. He offered an overworked, cordial smile, narrowly exposing neat rows of little teeth.

“You don’t look like a strawberry,” Rainbow said.

“I was a lighter color when I was younger,” he said cagily.

“Ponies’ coats sometimes darken or lighten as they grow,” Octavia said.

They looked around. The apartment was sparsely furnished, with one sofa and a coffee table, along with a dead TV and a pair of still lifes hanging on the wall. The rest was empty space.

“Don’t get comfortable. I want to make this short.” He paced before the couch, worry knotting his brow. “I really don’t want to do this, but it concerns more than just me now. I have little choice. That pony that you met is named Flash; at least, that’s what he had me call him. He’s an arsonist.” He paused while they took in his words.

“Arsonist? As in, somepony who burns buildings down for money?” Rarity said.

“That is what an arsonist is, yes,” Octavia said.

“I hired him a while ago to burn something of mine down, so I could collect the insurance money.”

“That is disgusting,” Octavia said.

“Spare the judgment, guide.” He shook his head. “Sorry. That was uncalled-for. I’m under a lot of stress.”

“Keep talkin’,” Rainbow said roughly.

“Yes, yes. The job went down without a problem. That’s what I thought at the time.”

“Quit stallin’,” Applejack said.

“I have to tell you the whole story, or you won’t get it,” he said defensively. He took a second to order himself “Right. I’m not a pony who has a lot of friends. On the contrary, there are many ponies out there who want me… gone.” He turned away and went into the kitchen. “One of them found out about my scheme, and they didn’t take kindly to it.”

“Can’t think why,” Rainbow said.

“I don’t know how, but they managed to contact Flash. And… now there’s a mark on the apartment.”

“Whoa, whoa. This apartment?” Applejack asked.

“This apartment.”

“So what the heck was that money for?” Rainbow blustered.

“To pay him off.” Strawberry came back in with a glass of water. “It looks like it didn’t work.”

“So what do we do? You can’t call him off?” Rarity asked.

“Apparently, I can not.” He closed his eyes, and kept them closed for a long time. “We have four days. Today and three more, before he torches this place. That’s his rule; he marks the building with an X, waits five days, and burns it.” He rubbed his face. “He said he’d take it down. You’re sure you gave him the money?”

“Yes,” Rainbow said indignantly. “We gave him your stupid bits.” She sighed angrily. “Why don’t you just go to the police? Have them wait outside the building and then get him when he comes to, er, torch it?”

“If I involve the police, they’ll have to know why I ended up associating with him in the first place. I could go to jail for that.”

Applejack approached him. “Look, sugarcube, Ah sympathize with ya, but my aunt an’ uncle live just above you, an’ if you can’t find a way to solve this problem, Ah will let the police know. Ah’m sorry, but you goin’ to jail ain’t our problem.”

He was quiet for a minute, thinking. “Actually…” he started, a smile creeping up his face, “it is.” He looked at them. “If you want to secure Rose Tower, you’ll need my help.”

“No, we’ll need your company’s help. If we have the mayor behind us, then we can get it done just as easily,” Rainbow said.

“Not true. I’m the CEO of the supply branch. If I get arrested, the whole thing is going to be useless until they find the next pony in line. It’ll be weeks, maybe months, before you get what you need.”

“Why didn’t you tell us all of this before?” Rarity asked.

“I’m only telling you now because it’s become clear to me that we need to work together.” His eyes shifted. “I would have preferred to keep you in the dark the whole time.”

“That’s a nice thing to hear,” Applejack jeered.

“Look,” Strawberry said, holding up a hoof. “I don’t want us to be enemies. There’s no reason we can’t get along. All I ask is that you help me stop this guy, on my terms.” His expression turned soft as he looked into Applejack’s eyes. “No police.”

“But how? We’re not even from here,” Pinkie said.

“I don’t know. But we only have four days to figure it out.”

Rainbow sighed and walked a tight circle around the room. “See? This is what happens when we get involved. We do one tiny favor, and suddenly we’re sucked into this whole, huge mess! Now we have to stop a frickin’ arsonist? Where does it end?”

“Keep your voice down,” Octavia said.

“Don’t defend him!”

“Listen to me.” She waited for Rainbow to calm down. “Yes, the situation is bad. Yes, it would be better if we were not involved. But the fact is, we need this pony to accomplish our task, and we cannot do that if he is in prison. It is in our best interests to find a way to stop his arsonist.”

“This ain’t fair,” Applejack said.

“Life is not fair.” She looked at Strawberry. “What can you tell us about this Flash?”

“Not a whole lot,” Strawberry said. “You probably know more about him than me. I never even saw him.”

“How did you find him?”

“Irrelevant.”

Octavia eyed him suspiciously. “I see.”

“We can try to catch him in the act,” Rarity said.

“That’s very risky,” Strawberry said. “You’ll have to be careful not to reveal yourselves, to him or to the police.”

“Well, all the contact is over the phone, right?”

“Yes, but he’s careful. He asks questions. You’ll need to give him a name, where you’re staying, who you work for. He needs to know you’re for real.”

“And I’d imagine so he can give the police our names if he gets caught,” Rainbow said.

“Most likely.”

“So we’ll give him fake info,” Applejack said.

“Can you make it believable?”

“Well, fake names are easy,” Rainbow said. “And for the rest we can tell him we’re on vacation here.”

“He won’t believe that. What kind of pony comes into town on vacation and instantly seeks out the local arsonist? You need to think these things through,” Strawberry said. “And for the love of Celestia, keep me out of it.”

“Fine. We’ll make up a place to live, and a business to work for,” Rainbow said. “It can’t be that difficult.”

“All right, all right, let’s say you convince him to do your job. You need to pay him half upfront. Do you have that much money?”

“How much is it?”

“He’ll tell you when he sees the place. I paid eight hundred bits total.”

They winced. “That’s a lot of bits,” Rarity said.

“I can front the money,” Strawberry said. “But you have to be sure your plan works. If you don’t get him the first time, you don’t get a second chance.” He walked into another room for a moment, and came back with a small ledger. “Listen, I need to do a few things, so you have to leave now. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything, and you do the same for me, okay?”

“We’ll do our best,” Rarity sighed.

“Four days,” Strawberry said, and they left.

The walk up to the Oranges’ room was quiet and thoughtful. Inside, they told the Oranges about the attack at the bar, giving a spotty excuse as to why they were there in the first place. They ate lunch, then went back outside and took a cab to the capital building.

Rainbow stayed beside Twilight the entire time, in the taxi and at the capital building, where they once again went over the story—their story. The battle, the assignment, the spells. The mayor nodded and thought, and agreed with them in the difficulty of their task, offering no insight of his own. He was a government pony, not an engineer, he said; the problem of Rose Tower was best left to someone else. They left his office ten minutes later, possessing only the crucial go-ahead for their tenuous, unspecified plan, reliant entirely on Strawberry.

When they got back to the Oranges’ apartment, it was five o’ clock, and they took a few leftovers to their room with only a brief greeting to the Oranges, both in the anteroom, reading.

“Does nopony have jobs here?” Rarity asked. “Everyone seems to be available all the time.”

“Ah dunno ‘bout that Strawberry, but my aunt an’ uncle are retired,” Applejack said, adjusting the sheets on the bed.

“Strawberry said that he was taking time off,” Octavia said. “My guess is that he is trying to lay low, and let us sort out his problems for him. Coward,” she growled.

Rarity looked at her a moment before speaking. “Anyway, I’ve been trying to think of how to catch this Flash character, but the only idea I have is to somehow physically restrain him inside the house he’s trying to burn.”

“But that’ll look like a foalnapping,” Twilight said.

Everyone glanced at her for a second, and she blushed and looked down.

“I know. But I can’t think of anything else,” Rarity said, sighing.

“We could send him to the house, then call the police an’ tell them to find him there,” Applejack said.

“I don’t want to risk him running when he hears the sirens.”

“Or flying. He could have wings under his clothes,” Rainbow said.

“Oh, I think he might,” Fluttershy said. “His body looked really light.”

Octavia went to the window and looked down onto the street. “Some of us can wait for him inside the house, hiding. When he gets there, we let him set things up, then we knock him out. We can call the police, saying we heard something strange, and let them do the rest.”

They thought for a moment. “That sounds incredibly dangerous,” Rarity said at last.

“Who’d you have in mind to wait for him?” Fluttershy asked.

“Myself and whomever else volunteered to join me,” Octavia said. Sensing their doubt, she continued. “The police will not know anything about our involvement; we will have left long before their arrival.”

“You can’t just knock him out, though,” Twilight said. “You have to make it look like an accident.”

“If we can find a really old house, we can make it look like something fell on him,” Rainbow said.

“That would help explain why we want it burned, too,” Octavia said.

“I think it should be far away from any other houses,” Rarity said, “so if we fail, and he burns it, there will be minimal collateral damage.”

Again, there was silence while everyone thought. “I wish it wasn’t as risky,” Fluttershy said.

“Considering how little time we have, I do not think that we can afford to try something more careful,” Octavia said. “And Strawberry said he likes to wait after marking the building.”

“We’ll have to get him to hurry up with this one, then,” Applejack said.

“That might arouse his suspicion,” Octavia said. She thought. “I will do the communicating with him.”

“And who’s going to go with you?” Twilight asked.

“I’ll go,” Rainbow said. There was no hesitation in her voice.

“Uh… me too,” Applejack said, looking at Rainbow.

“You two can’t be serious,” Rarity said. “It’s simply too dangerous.”

“It’s more dangerous for Octavia to go alone,” Pinkie said.

“Wait, so we’re definitely going with this plan?” Fluttershy asked.

“Unless anyone has any better ideas,” Octavia said.

There was a third interval of silence, and Octavia turned back from the window to regard them.

“So… what house are you going to use?” Twilight asked quietly.

“Of that, I have no idea. I will need to discuss the matter with Strawberry, and likely obtain a map of the city.”

“What about protectin’ the apartment? Do you think we should tell everypony here ‘bout the threat? Just in case yer plan doesn’t work?” Applejack asked.

“It might be a good idea,” Octavia said slowly.

“No, no,” Rainbow said, shaking her head. “We can’t just go and freak everypony out.”

“She’s right. We don’t need to cause undue distress,” Twilight said. “Let’s wait and see how this plan works out. And go from there.”

“I understand,” Octavia said.

They looked at each other for several long seconds, saying nothing; there was not much left to discuss. “Right, who’s up for some Hearts?” Rainbow said, rising and going over to the cards.

Rarity and Fluttershy joined her, and Twilight got up a moment later.

“Wait, Twilight. I wish to speak with you,” Octavia said.

“Oh, um, okay. What about?”

“In private.”

“Oh.” Twilight looked at the others, who nodded to her. She and Octavia left the room and went into the dark hall outside.

Octavia looked from side to side, lips forming soundlessly around her first word. She spoke deliberately. “I would like you to unlock any magical power I have within me.”

Twilight looked at her, shocked. She had known it had been on Octavia’s mind, but in the events from earlier, had entirely forgotten it. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure.” She hesitated. “The attack at the bar made me realize this. If I had access to magic, things would not have been so bad. Perhaps they could have even been averted.” Her face darkened. “As it was, I could only watch.”

Twilight sat down against the wall and nodded. “I could only watch.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Oh, Celestia, what have I done?”

“Twilight?”

She shook her head and opened her eyes. “Huh?”

“What is this? You do not seem yourself.”

“Just remembering something,” she whispered. “Sorry.”

“If you need your friends, our conversation can wait.”

“No, I’m fine. Just give me a moment.”

Octavia waited patiently while Twilight took more deep breaths, and when her thoughts had once again returned to normal, she stood up. “So you want your magic.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure about that. I can’t reverse the spell, you know.”

“That is fine.”

“I just don’t want you to do anything that will make you uncomfortable.”

“My comfort is irrelevant.”

Twilight stared at her. “I’m sorry?”

“The way I see it, if I remain as I am now, then I will be unable to help as much as I would like. If, however, I gain magic, then the positives of my new power will counterbalance any negative aspects, such as the pain of the spell itself, the questions of identity and purpose that will arise as a result of my change, and things of the like.”

“You can’t look at it like that, though. Not completely.”

“Having magic will be helpful. Not having magic will not. It seems a simple enough decision to me.”

Twilight’s objection died in her throat. “…You’re right. But I’m just saying you should take your feelings into account too.”

“My feelings do not matter here.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. Everypony has opinions and emotions, Octavia. Even you.”

“I am not saying that I do not have emotions. I do. I am merely saying that I should not mix emotion with this decision, else I stand to make the entire affair much more difficult for myself. If I retain neutrality, then I can see this change as nothing more than that: a change. Simple and mathematical.”

Twilight considered. “Do you know how you sound right now?”

“Do my words bother you?”

“…No.” She sighed. “Yes. A little.”

“I apologize. It is not my intent.”

“I just don’t understand why you can’t show a little feeling.”

“It is in my nature to be stoic. That is all.” She looked around again. “So, will you unlock my magic?”

“You’re absolutely sure?” Twilight asked.

“Yes.”

“All right. Give me some time; I have to research the spell.”

“Take as much time as you need.”

Twilight nodded and looked back at the door. “Is there… anything else?”

“No.” Octavia went to the door.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Uh…” She thought back to the drugs, hidden away in a small pouch in her bag. “Is this the right time?” “Never mind. After the business with Flash.”

“Very well.”

They went back inside, where four of them were playing Hearts. Twilight rummaged through their bags, eventually emerging with a thick-bound tome, which she set to examining on the bed, and Octavia took out her cello, which she started tuning. As she did so, she explained her intentions to the others.

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Twilight said an hour later.

Octavia, who had taken Rarity’s place in the game, put her cards down and joined Twilight at the bedside. “I am ready if you are.”

Twilight turned back to the first page of the spell. “Sure. Everypony, keep your distance.” She looked at Pinkie. “And stay quiet. I need a lot of concentration for this.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout us, sugarcube,” Applejack said.

“Right. Get comfortable, Octavia, and don’t move.”

Octavia sat down and waited, her eyes closed. She had anticipated the moment since her conversation in the hallway, and despite the unflinching readiness she had shown Twilight, anxiety and excitement flooded her mind. She could feel the others leaning in curiously, and resisted the urge to crack her eyes open.

She heard Twilight’s horn light a few feet from her head, and her heart rate jumped. Her face remained impassive, but her brain was wiggling with fear. She had been assured in her decision, but with the sound of magic just a few inches from her face, her confidence crumbled. “What if something goes wrong? What if I am injured?” She frowned and forced her thoughts to quiet. “It is too late to back out.”

As the thought repeated in her head, firmer, her muscles tensed and contracted, as though struggling to leave her body. Her chest tightened as she took a deep breath, and kept taking it, swelling herself with air and energy. “Is it happening?” She clenched her jaw, and she could feel her neck straining.

“Are you okay, Octavia? How do you feel?” Rarity asked.

The energy within her continued to build, and she shook her head rapidly. She felt as though every cell in her body was a point of eager impulse, and she must stand, run, jump, scream, make a scene—or explode. Her muscles twitched and vibrated, and she shivered. She couldn’t stop.

“Octavia?” Pinkie asked carefully.

She inhaled a long, deep breath, and stood. The unfolding of her legs sent pulses of power through her veins and up her throat, threatening to explode out her mouth in a vast bellow, which she only narrowly contained. A small noise bubbled in her chest, and she squeezed her eyes even more.

For what felt like minutes, she stood, her knees slowly buckling under the weight of her own excitement, until she reached the floor. Gradually, her body relaxed, and she rested on the carpet, the shuddering tension draining down. She breathed again, exhaling long and uncomfortable. She opened her eyes; everyone was looking at her with worry. She let out a small sigh of relief.

“How was it?” Applejack asked.

“Uncomfortable. I felt… very energized. Too energized. I felt as though I must begin screaming to release some of the excess. That is why I did not answer you; I was afraid to cause a scene.”

Twilight studied her. “That’s very interesting. None of us reacted that way.”

“It really is different for everyone, I guess,” Rainbow said.

“Is the spell over?” Octavia asked.

“Yeah, should be.”

“So… I have magic now.” She sat back down, thinking. “I have magic now.” Her mind reeled, and she repeated it in her head. “I have magic now. For all my worry and indecision, magic was just a couple minutes of mild discomfort away.”

“Of course, you can’t use it immediately,” Twilight continued. “I’ll have to teach you how first.”

“That makes sense.” In a way, she was relieved. She would not be expected to jump immediately into spellcasting. She smiled.

While the others went back to their cards, Twilight and Octavia stood to the side of the bed.

“First, Octavia, you need to learn how to access it. Close your eyes, and breathe with me.”

Rarity stood in a small garden, fenced in from the empty sidewalk and shaded by a small, withered tree. It was early morning, and the city was completely still around her. She looked up, and the sky was clear. She looked around, and her friends were all there.

As soon as she noticed them, they started speaking, but she couldn’t make out any words. It didn’t bother her; it was natural. She looked across the street, where a sharp, white shape stood against a building, two vibrant blue eyes shining in the sun. She blinked, and it was gone.

She looked back at her friends, all speaking cheerfully, and a few words filtered into her subconscious: “fire,” “glass,” “ship.” All singular to themselves, and so meaningless, she nonetheless felt the suggestion of importance in the way they reached her. She looked at Twilight, who nodded dumbly, her head a few inches higher than the others’.

She looked to the ground, obeying neither impulse nor suggestion. Her head merely tilted, and her eyes followed to Twilight’s hooves. Where everyone else stood evenly and normally, hooves lined on the ground like decorations, Twilight’s hung, without benefit of any magic or trickery that she could see. No one else seemed to notice.

And then Twilight began to float higher. With her, the pall of uncomprehending complicity smeared away from Rarity’s mind, and she could think clearly. She watched in amazed horror as Twilight rose three inches, then four, then seven, then more, her body static like a balloon. Nopony else seemed to notice, and the conversation continued as it had, even as she rose over their heads. Twilight nodded and hummed assent as her forehooves nearly brushed Rainbow’s mane, herself just as unconcerned as the others.

It was this that struck Rarity hardest. She gasped and stared, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to act. How could Twilight possibly be comfortable with what was happening? Was it happening? “She’s letting herself float away!” she cried inside her mind, heart fibrillating with each word.

Curious and terrified, she let her head tilt upwards, a prisoner to her own perception. There was nothing above Twilight except endless miles of beautiful blue sky, nothing to stop her ascent. She tried to speak, to call out Twilight’s name, but her voice was stuck; fear flapped in her heart as she uselessly mouthed a warning, her mind loud with the unspoken words.

“Twilight! Twilight! Come down! Please, come down!” With each desperate iteration, her body tightened, and her thoughts grew louder. Twilight was ten feet over their heads, and the world fell away, as it had only once before.

The others still talked. “Cameras.” “Sudden.” “Trust.”

“Rainbow!” she cried, and stopped, startled at her sudden ability to speak. A hoof flew to her mouth, clutching it tightly. She felt ashamed.

Rainbow looked at her obediently, then up, at the speck that Twilight was quickly becoming. Without even a glance at Rarity, she turned back to the others and resumed the conversation. “Friend.” “Money.”

Rarity slowly forced her eyes back up. Twilight was a purple mote of dust, drifting in the empty blue nothing. “Smaller, getting smaller.” There was a draft, and she fluttered away, disappearing in the sun’s glare. Her mind deflated. “No. No.”

She watched the sky, but there was no more Twilight. The sun didn’t hurt her eyes, and she tried to stare past it, but saw only circling blue, too complete to be real. “No. No.”

Rarity jerked awake. Her eyes were still full of blue sky, and the apartment’s dark ceiling momentarily confused her. In the few moments of panic before she was fully awake, her eyes began to water, and she lay in the bed, panting. Pinkie was beside her, snoring lightly, and Rarity sat up slowly.

Memories of the dream tumbled back into her taxed brain, and she shut her eyes. Of course it had been a dream. But as she looked over the bed’s edge, slowly craning her neck out to look down at Twilight, she felt herself worrying about what she might find; would Twilight be asleep below, or would there be only the empty bag as proof that she had been there? Would there even be that?

On the shadowy floor, she had to extend her neck entirely before looking along the sleeping bag’s dark length. Twilight was still there, unmoved and undisturbed, soundly asleep with a tiny frown on her face. Relief washed over Rarity, and she exhaled through her nose, letting herself sink into the headboard. “Just a dream.”

She closed her eyes as her heart slowed down, and there was a creak of wood at the room’s end. She gasped, still on edge; a small crescent of starlight thinned between the door and the wall, and the door shut softly.

Frowning, she got up and followed quiet hoofsteps out into a narrow hallway, into the anteroom, and out the door into the apartment corridor.

“Why are you following me?” Octavia asked. It was so dark, Rarity could hardly see her.

“Oh… um, no real reason.” She stood for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts. “What are you doing?”

“I could not sleep, so I thought I would go out.” She padded down the hallway. “You are welcome to join me, if you want.”

Rarity followed her at a distance, looking around carefully at the outlines of dead doors and inert lights. They stopped at the hall’s end, and Octavia opened a door to a black stairwell. Rarity hesitated. “Where are we going?”

“Upstairs. I am going to the roof.”

“Why not take the elevator?” Her nerves were still raw from the dream, and the thought of climbing through several sets of dark stairs unnerved her.

“I do not want to make any noise. Follow me.”

Rarity reluctantly entered and let the door hiss shut behind her, following the solitary sound of hooves on stone steps. They walked carefully and slowly, and her eyesight never adjusted. When Octavia stopped, minutes later, she froze, suddenly and irrationally afraid. “Octavia?”

“There is a gate here,” she said. “It is weak.”

Before she could respond, there was a metallic rasping noise that made her fur stand on end. She cringed back swiftly, bumping the cold wall before mastering herself. “Warn me before you make a noise like that!” she said quietly.

“I thought that I did,” Octavia said disinterestedly. The noise stopped with a heavy thump of metal on stone. “Upwards.”

They climbed the final set of stairs, distinctly dirtier and narrower than those before them, and stopped at another door. Octavia pushed it open, and they walked out onto the starlit roof. After the absolute darkness of the stairwell, the meager moonlight nearly overwhelmed her. She had to take a moment for her eyes to recover.

“It’s more beautiful than I was expecting,” Rarity said, sliding her gaze across the roof. From where she stood, she could see the city spread out like a maze, almost entirely dark and dead. She followed Octavia out to the middle of the roof, cold and black, and sat down by a sleeping air conditioning unit. She looked into the sky. “How did you find this?”

“I went exploring yesterday.” She sighed. “It is a habit I have cultivated. Whenever I am somewhere new, I wander the area to find the most peaceful place.”

“In case you can’t sleep?”

Octavia only nodded.

“Um… yes, about that. Darling, I know you don’t like talking about it, but—”

“Please, Rarity. I come up here to get my mind off things like this.”

Rarity sighed. “I’m just worried.”

“There is no need.” She reclined into the cold metal behind her. “I was not expecting to have company tonight.”

“Sorry.”

“No, that is not what I mean. I do not mind.” She breathed out slowly, and Rarity looked at her.

“I had a nightmare,” Rarity said at last.

“I understand.”

“I don’t usually remember my dreams, but this one felt so real. I’m still a little shaken about it.”

“It sounds like you want to talk about it.”

Rarity forced a chuckle. “I suppose it does. I’m sorry, dear. You came up here to get some peace and quiet, and now I won’t stop talking about myself.”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“It’s my imposition,” Rarity said. She lay down on the roof and looked at the thick crescent moon. “This place is wonderful.”

Octavia hummed, and they stayed where they were for several minutes. Even in the depths of the night, Manehattan was alive with noise. Cars swished in the distance, and she could hear the thump of music far away. Rose Tower watched from nearby, black and imposing, and on the other side, she could see a thin, delicate band of dark silver. Glass Ribbon.

After a few more moments, Rarity looked up at the sound of magic activating. Octavia was again standing, eyes closed peacefully, with a small piece of dislodged mortar floating in a snowy, gray haze, just before her snout.

“Octavia?” Rarity asked quietly.

The mortar dropped, and Octavia opened her eyes. “Yes?”

“Is that your magic?”

“Yes.”

Rarity smiled. “You can already levitate?”

“It appears so. I tried earlier, in the room, but could not.” She sighed and closed her eyes again. “I think that Twilight was pressuring me too much.”

“She can get a little overbearing,” Rarity said, nodding knowingly. She remembered a few occasions of asking Twilight to help her with a spell, and knew the unicorn’s tendency to over-explain.

“Yes. She means well, but her methods of explaining do not make sense to me.”

Rarity was quiet again, and Octavia looked down at the roof. Several seconds later, a small stone rose up, and Rarity watched it as it rotated gently in front of Octavia’s face. In the gray fog of her magic, it looked like a tiny moon in a tiny sky.

Rarity closed her eyes and rested her head on the gritty rooftop. There was a small pop from behind, like a firecracker. She cracked open her eyes to look at Octavia, who still held the pebble. “Was that you?”

“Was what me?”

“That sound.” As she said it, there was another one.

“That?”

“Yes.”

“No.” There was a third pop, and Octavia opened her eyes, her magic fading away. “What is that?”

Rarity stood up and they looked around, seeing nothing at first. The Manehattan skyline was just as dark and strangely-dimensioned as ever, and only when her eyes turned to Rose Tower did she spot the anomaly. Hanging just behind the black tower, coming around its side like an interloper, was the massive, heavy, impossible silhouette of a ship. Her first thought was that it was an airship, but where the balloon would be, there was only a trio of points, sinister like dead trees and cluttered with dark shapes, like wings.

“What am I looking at?” Octavia asked unhappily.

Rarity’s heart clenched, and for a second, her mind was frozen on a single, irrational thought. “Another dream?” “That’s the ship from Canterlot,” she said. “The flying one.” She felt silly saying it out loud.

One more pop, and a tiny flash of light flew from the ship’s side. The night seemed to go quiet around them as the ship hovered slowly around Rose Tower, dangerously close.

“So you have seen it before,” Octavia said.

“Yes, once. But I don’t know what to do.”

“What did you do last time?”

Rarity watched it angle closer to the tower’s top, and the scene played through her mind: the dark Canterlot mountainside, writhing with battle and mayhem under the ship’s prow, unstoppably drifting toward the palace, and them watching from across the battlefield. “Not a whole lot.”

She flinched as another flash bit into the ship’s side, momentarily freezing a tendril of smoke against its dark form. Fear lanced her heart, but she didn’t move or avert her eyes. Out on the roof, she felt exposed and visible. Memories from the first night swirled through her. “Again, again. We can’t do anything but watch.”

“Look,” Octavia said, pointing across the city.

Rarity took her eyes from the tower to see what Octavia indicated. In the distance, among a blank cluster of unlit buildings, a hoop of brightness pierced the night. She rubbed her eyes and asked herself whether it had been there before. She thought not.

Her eyes adjusting to the brightness of the aspect beyond, she saw a collection of dots rising from the middle, like a scattering of stars. She squinted at it, and gasped in spite of herself as a sudden spotlight slashed the night.

The ship popped once more, and the lights slowly rose up over the city. Fuzzy dots were steadily fading into view: torches, lit by curious, frightened ponies, flung throughout the city with little between them but empty, slumbering buildings. Sidewalks and balconies were steeped in the unhealthy, wavering glow of starlight mixed with torchlight.

“We should not be just sitting here,” Octavia said.

“What can we do? It’s all the way over there.” Rarity looked up at Rose Tower; the ship had come around the front, blotting out a section of the lights that ran up its side. “What if it attacks the town?” Without thinking about it, she shuffled closer to Octavia, who looked at her. “Sorry.”

Octavia didn’t respond, and looked back at the rising lights. It was another ship, larger than the encroaching one, and faster. It drifted over a sweep of short buildings, its spotlight pinning the other ship against Rose Tower’s heavy, black exterior. Its turbines purred distantly, a quiet hum under the pulsing, pause-less music.

Rarity sighed, the knot of worry in her mind slowly melting. “It’s going to chase off that other ship.” She looked at Octavia hopefully, but her face was serious, eyes locked onto the sky.

“Another one,” Octavia said, pointing.

Rarity looked to see a second ship rising from the depths of the city, miles from the first. It was halfway to Rose Tower, and the enemy ship was breaking away, heading into the city. Spotlights scraped it, illuminating dark sails and sinister webs of rigging, and a small, erect figure standing on the prow. The scene, to Rarity, still addled by her nightmare, was strangely deliberate, monumentally symbolic. Two ships, two elevations, two alignments, meeting over the cradle of equine civilization with all the force and intent of gods, or storms. And she, and Octavia, powerless witnesses.

She watched for what felt like half an hour as the ships converged, a slow twist-and-turn over dark, angular buildings while the moon marched across the sky. Three more Manehattan ships joined the slow fray, and before long, they surrounded the dark enemy, a sextet suspended over a sharp-cornered abyss. Rarity’s heart beat faster, and she leaned forward slightly, anticipating the conflict with eager, frightened eyes and a tight grimace.

There was none. As the ships drew closer to one another, the enemy rotated away, its pointed front slowly turning out of the city. With neither flash nor sound, it was gone, shot away simply into the horizon. A dark comet, one moment menacing the city, the next an afterimage.

“What just happened?” Octavia asked.

Rarity frowned. “That’s how it escaped the first time. Or so I was told.”

The ships circled the suddenly empty space like confused birds, and they watched them for an hour before going back down into the apartment, themselves just as perplexed. Octavia had left the door unlocked, so they reentered silently. Rarity went back to a troubled sleep, but Octavia remained awake.

It was eight o’ clock in the morning when everyone was up. Because there was so little water, the entire city was under a temporary, forced drought. They took turns in the bathroom, washing with the water from a few pails, collected every day by the apartment maintenance crew and left outside each door.

While the others washed, Twilight unfolded a letter. She had received it at some point in the night, waking up only briefly to stow it under her sleeping bag.

My dear Twilight,

This is the last letter you will receive from me in a while. In a few days, I will be leaving for the land of the griffons on diplomatic duty. As you can no doubt assume, our country’s condition has left the rest of the world in a state of turmoil. Until my return, you will be communicating with my sister.

Good news first. Equestria itself is slowly recovering. Cities are building bridges and levees around their rivers, and ponies are beginning to adjust. The ponies at higher elevations have been forced to move, but for the most part, everyone is surviving. The first link in the cloud convoy is complete, and a delegation of weatherponies and engineers is heading for the coast to begin construction on the water siphoning station. I know many cities have been forced to endure droughts, but it should not be for more than a few months.

However, I still want you to be careful in Manehattan. I do not know whether you have seen the news, but there is a strange pony that has been terrorizing the city. My connections have informed me that it is a construct of Discord’s, one of a great many, which are being reported all across the country. While we have not heard from him ourselves, since your letter of his attack, the spread of his influence is becoming clear. For now, my Guard can contain the majority of his agents. I can only pray that he is not assembling another army.

Discord’s flying ship was seen late last night, over Manehattan. It did not attack, and only stayed long enough for other ships to try to repel it. I believe he was probing the city’s defenses. Where it is now, I have no idea; I have ponies trying to track it, but so far, it has eluded me. All I can tell you is that it does not appear to be under Discord's control, at least not directly; I believe there is another in charge of the ship.

Best of luck in your search for the Elements. Please let me or Luna know when you have found one. I cannot say when I will return. It may be a month or more.

In love and friendship,
Princess Celestia

She did not question the curious hour of its transmission as she folded it up and placed it in one of her bags. When Rarity was finished in the bathroom, she and Octavia recounted their experience from the night before, omitting Rarity’s nightmare. It was strange, they agreed, but there was ultimately nothing to be done. The ship was too fast and too unknown—a wild card, to be ignored in favor of the arsonist, the tower, and Spring-hoof Jack.

It was almost nine when they went out to greet the Oranges, who were busy in the kitchen. They chatted for a few minutes, catching up and dancing carefully around the topic of Strawberry, and their collaboration with him. The Oranges said nothing about breakfast, and Pinkie suggested that they dine with Strawberry instead. It would give them time to discuss their plans with him, and give him the chance to get to know them better. He was lonely, she said; he needed some friends.

And so they went downstairs and knocked on his door, and were greeted by the same paranoid eye, regarding them and then looking down the hall before admitting them. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this early,” he said, his voice a little gravelly.

“We wanted to have breakfast with you!” Pinkie said.

He made a show of looking around his apartment. “You think I have enough food here to feed eight ponies?”

“Oh, um, well, no.”

“Maybe we should go out to eat,” Rainbow said.

“Oh, yeah! Let’s go out,” Twilight said. “I’d love to get a taste of native Manehattan food.”

Strawberry looked at her impatiently. “Have you no regard for my schedule? What if I have work today? It’s Friday, you know.”

“You said you took some time off,” Applejack said.

“I never said how much time.”

“Who takes off time for a vacation only to return to work on a Friday?” Rarity asked incredulously.

“Maybe I have to—no, I’m not getting into this with you. It’s not important.” He looked around warily. “I shouldn’t be going out. There’s a reason I took this time off.”

“Are you being followed?” Octavia asked.

“I might be,” he said, looking at her closely. He cleared his throat. “Actually, I believe I am. The pony that called Flash on me is likely keeping a close eye on me. If she can.”

“She?” Twilight asked.

Strawberry hesitated. “Yes. It’s a female.”

“Ex-marefriend,” Rainbow whispered to Rarity, who nodded.

“Ex-business partner,” Strawberry corrected. “Very ex.” He walked a wide berth around them. “I shouldn’t say any more. You could be working for her.”

“Oh, come on,” Applejack said. “You can’t be that paranoid.”

“It’s not paranoia if they’re really after you.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Rarity asked.

“I just wanted to go to breakfast,” Pinkie said.

“We can go to the other side of town,” Twilight said. “If you’re really that nervous about being watched.”

Strawberry considered. “Fine. We can discuss how to handle Flash on the way. And,” he continued, seeing the looks in their eyes, “how I can handle your… whole… tower situation. I haven’t forgotten that.”

“Good. Don’t,” Applejack said.

“Yes, yes,” Strawberry said, disappearing into another room. “I’ll be a few minutes. I have to get ready.”

Ten minutes later, they were heading out the door and climbing into a pair of cabs. Strawberry shared his taxi with Applejack, Octavia, and Fluttershy, who sat away from him.

“Coresworth, eighth and thirty-first,” he said without looking at the driver. He wore a jaunty pair of sunglasses, a loose “I ❤ Manehattan” hat, a camera around his neck, and he had altered his face. His nostrils were dilated, his cheeks were stronger, and his eyes were a different color.

“Is it not too early for there to be tourists here?” Octavia asked.

“We’ve been trickling back in,” Strawberry said mildly. He leaned in. “Any further thoughts on our little… X problem?”

“Yes. I have an idea,” Octavia said. “I will contact this Flash and tell him to do a job on an old, isolated, abandoned house. I will tell him it is my summer home, but I have stopped using it, and would like the insurance money. Will he believe that?”

“If you can give him enough details. You’ll want to go there first and check the house out. Have you done that?”

“Not yet. I intend to do so today. Assuming he accepts the job, Applejack, Rainbow Dash and I will go to the house and wait for him to arrive. We will let him set up his equipment, and then knock him out.”

“We’ll tamper with the evidence, to make it look like there was an accident,” Applejack said. “Like somethin’ collapsed on him, or somethin’.”

“Yes. Then, we shall call the police, saying that we heard strange noises from within the house.”

Strawberry thought for a moment. “Why were you close enough to the house to hear noises, if it’s so isolated?”

“We—I, I mean—was on my evening stroll, taking in the scenery. It was a fortunate coincidence.”

“Sounds okay. You’ll need to be careful, though, and get a good handle on your details. Go to the house, get an idea of how it looks, how it’s been treated, and so forth.”

“Of course,” Octavia said. “Do you know of any places where I am likely to find an abandoned house?”

“Let me think.” They drove in silence for a time, and Octavia looked out the window; the memory of the ship stuck out in her mind. “There’s a few homes, I think, on the northwest side. Behind Glass Ribbon. That should be your best bet.”

“I will check there, then.”

“An’ what ‘bout our predicament?” Applejack asked.

“Your need of my cables? I haven’t forgotten,” Strawberry said.

“Yeah, but what’re you gonna do about it?”

“Until I am sure that the apartment block is safe, nothing. After that, though, I will organize your team for you. I’ll secure the cables and the ponies to pull them, as well as the cranes and trucks to haul and attach them. Just give me details about what you’ll be doing and where, and I can handle the rest.” There was a glimmer of pride in his voice.

They stopped outside a small breakfast café, adorned with faux giant apples and decorated with striking red and green stripes. The clinking of silverware and murmur of conversation filled the air, and many ponies sat outside under umbrellas.

“This place sure is bright,” Twilight said, stepping out of the cab just behind.

“Ugh, it’s hideous,” Rarity said.

“Well, I like it,” Strawberry said, approaching the hostess. “Table for eight.”

Breakfast was a pleasant affair, and by its end, Strawberry was slowly warming up up to the group. It had started out quiet and awkward, with Pinkie and Rainbow producing most of the conversation, but he gradually stopped looking around with paranoid eyes and began speaking—not much about himself.

Twilight paid the bill with Celestia’s treasury scroll, and they left, Strawberry for the apartment and the others for the northwestern quadrant of the city, to search for a decoy home.

It was forty minutes before they had passed through the city’s center, and they could clearly see the shining pillar of Glass Ribbon, a long irregularity in the sky. The friendly atmosphere from breakfast had evaporated in the tower’s shadow, and the knowledge of what was to come. Only Rainbow mumbled something to herself, once. “Shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

Ripples

Chapter Twenty-four

Ripples

The cab took them down a small, single-lane road around Glass Ribbon’s incredible parking lot, slowly circling around the reflective tower until the city gave way to modest, sparsely-settled grassland. The difference was so sudden and complete, it was like they had accidentally crossed into a completely different region. In the shadow of Glass Ribbon, small, single-story houses stood in imperfect clusters like toys scattered in a yard. A light breeze ruffled the grass as they stepped out of the taxis.

“This must be like Manehattan suburbia,” Twilight said to herself as they walked into the fields. Small dirt roads reached across the grassy plains to the knots of houses, and they followed one along the edge of a split in the ground.

“Stop,” Octavia said, awkwardly raising herself to stand on her hind legs.

“You can do that without your cello?” Rainbow asked.

“With some effort, yes,” she said distractedly.

“What are you doin’?” Applejack asked.

“Trying to get a better view of these houses, so we do not waste our time searching aimlessly.” She got back on all fours and walked purposefully to another road, long and empty. It was hot out, and the dust kicked up low from their hooves. So far, the nearest houses were behind them.

They slowly angled away from the crack and turned in to a deeper section of field, where the grass grew taller and healthier, and the houses were farther apart. The sounds of Manehattan were disappearing behind their own hoofsteps and the chirp of birds. A line of thin trees joined them as they walked, hemming in a dark, tilled patchwork of brown earth. The sun watched them from directly above, and there was no shade in the fields; houses’ dull roofs and pastel walls throbbed in the heat.

When they reached a break in the trees, Octavia stood again, wiping sweat out of her eyes as she searched the distance. She stood for only a few seconds, falling gracelessly to her hooves with a soft exhalation. She bowed her head, and stood that way for a minute, sweat dripping off her muzzle.

“Are you okay, Octavia?” Twilight asked, going to her.

“Do we have any water?” she asked. Her breathing sounded dry.

“I didn’t bring any of our things, no.”

“Shade, then,” she said, bringing her head up and stumbling back to the nearest tree, which offered only a meager needle of shadow for her. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the thin foliage.

“Octavia, what’s wrong?” Fluttershy asked.

“It is my mane. Because it is such a dark color, it absorbs heat very quickly.” She rubbed her head and lay down, staring into the bright sky. “It is very nice in winter, but at all other times, I feel like I am wearing a blanket on my head.”

“Do you want to go back to the apartment?” Rarity asked. “We can come back later in the day.”

“We are already here, and I think I see our house. Just give me a minute, and I will be ready to walk again.”

“You don’t have to exhaust yourself,” Twilight said.

“I know what I am doing.” She lay for a minute more, then pushed herself up and, with another few moments of hard breathing, walked out of the tree’s shadow and back into the heat. “Follow me.”

She slowly led them down the empty road, stopping at a house with a wilting porch and an overgrown yard, protected by a splintering, sagging picket fence. Large, grasping bushes grew at the house’s side, swallowing a bent storm pipe and scratching an olive colored wall. She swung the gate open and approached the grimy windows.

“See anything?” Pinkie asked.

“It is difficult to say. These windows are very dirty.” She went to the door and held her ear to it, then knocked, receiving no answer. “I am going in.” She tried the knob, but it didn’t turn. She turned and bucked the door, her back legs striking it with a ferocity that surprised them all, but it did not buckle.

“Try your magic!” Pinkie suggested.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know about that,” Twilight said, taking a step closer. “I don’t think you’re ready for a spell like that.”

“I want to try,” Octavia said, backing up and fixing her dull eyes on the door.

“Well, okay. But be careful.”

“It is just an application of force, no?”

“Well, yeah, but you have to focus. Remember, Octavia, when you’re casting, you need to—”

“Please, Twilight. I do not want to sound ungrateful, but I am trying to concentrate.”

Twilight frowned, but stepped back, and Octavia narrowed her eyes at the door. A wreath of gray magic enveloped it, and slowly, it rattled in place, before swinging outwards with a crack of dust and broken wood.

“Wow. That was actually pretty good for a beginner,” Twilight said.

Octavia looked at her and strode boldly into the house. The air inside was musty and stale, and thick with dust. She closed her eyes briefly and tried to breathe less deeply, a tactic she had learned in her youth, for navigating dangerous air. To take too large breaths would invite more dust into her lungs.

The carpet was unraveling at the edges, and it felt sticky in some spots. A defunct fan hung over the couch in the anteroom, moth-eaten and coated with a thick layer of dirt. It sat beside an ancient chair, its floral pattern a faded parchment color; they sagged in the centers, two depressed tenants. A mostly empty bookcase crouched by the wall, all but one of its shelves lying in a confused mess on the floor.

She looked back at the others, who crowded the doorway. “Do not touch anything. Any displaced dust could arouse Flash’s suspicions.” She walked through the living room and into a dirty kitchen, trying not to breathe through her nose as she went to the phone. She held it to her ear, hearing a weak dial tone. Enough to call the police once they had incapacitated Flash.

Satisfied, she turned out and went down a dark corridor, its walls stained with old leaks, and into a bedroom, which looked just as bad. Even the sunlight looked dirty as it passed through the fraying, green curtains. The bed was a graying slab of mildewy fabric, the sheets a wrinkled shell over the mattress, while their colors—once vibrant reds, yellows and blues—had evaporated into shades of the same slate neutrality that so much resembled her own coat. A collapsed bookcase stood by a closed closet, yellowing stacks of paper and a chipped paperweight lying against it. The dried husk of a cricket was mashed into the carpet.

She walked into the bathroom and slowly crossed the gritty tile. The bathtub drain was ringed with yellow and black crust, and a collection of empty shampoo bottles was pushed into the corner behind a dusty toilet. The mirror was spotted with water, and she wiped a hoof across it to look at herself. She rubbed her eyes, burning from fatigue. She had been awake for more than twenty-four hours.

She walked back into the anteroom, where the others were conversing at the threshold.

“And last night, she couldn’t even lift a pillow,” Twilight said, the others nodding along.

“Yeah, it was impressive, no question,” Applejack said.

“Let us go. I have seen everything that I want to,” Octavia said, parting them. Just outside, she paused to look at the row of peeling, black numbers on the house’s front. “Memorizing the address,” she said, seeing their questioning looks.

In their brief time inside, the sun had hidden behind a large bank of clouds, and the walk back to Glass Ribbon was much more pleasant. By the time they were hailing their cabs, a light drizzle was beginning, and umbrellas were blooming on the sidewalks.

When they arrived at the apartment, it was a little before noon, and the rain was coming down harder. Applejack diverted from the entryway and walked along the building’s front, eyes stuck on the wet brickwork. Around the corner, she stopped, seeing what she wanted: the X, a small, imperfect, black cross, sprayed quickly onto the wall and partially hidden behind a water meter. It was just the one letter, almost menacing in its singularity.

“All this fuss over just a stupid letter,” Applejack said, shaking her head.

They shook the rain off in the central alcove before letting themselves be buzzed in, and then made their way to Strawberry’s room.

He let them in after a cautious look up and down the hall. “Got your house?”

“Yes. It is a small, isolated house in the fields behind Glass Ribbon,” Octavia said, following him into the kitchen.

“And you have all the information about it?”

“I hope so. I have never spoken with an arsonist before. I am not completely certain what to expect.”

“Just be discreet about it. Don’t give him your real name, or any of your real information, and don’t ask for too many details of his. He’s just as concerned about being found out as you are, remember. Don’t make him suspicious.”

“What about payment?”

“I’ll front the money, as I said. I just hope it’s not too much.”

“You don’t seem particularly bothered about spending all this money on him,” Rarity said.

“I have a six-digit salary. Officially.” He poured himself a glass of water. “I can afford it.”

“Should I try to haggle with him?” Octavia asked.

“If you think you can get away with it, by all means. But don’t push your luck.” He looked at his phone, then at Octavia. “You should do this now.”

Octavia nodded and picked up the phone.

“If he asks you how you got his number, you were referred by a friend of yours; her name is Sterling Words. She works in parks and recreation, in the center of town. Do not mention my name.”

Octavia frowned at him as she leaned on the counter, and he recited the number. She waited several seconds before speaking, her face and voice as passive as always. “I am looking for Flash. Is this him?” Silence. “My name is Bossa Nova. I am looking for someone to help me collect some insurance money.” Silence. “Sterling Words told me about you. Yes. Parks and recreation, yes.” Silence. “I work for the Manehattan Events Coalition. I am a musician.” Silence. “My reasons are my own. Just tell me if you are the right pony for the job.” Silence. “One one seven zero three, Porridge Lane. It is behind Glass Ribbon.” She waited, her countenance firm as ever, though inside she was vibrating with anxiety. “It is my summer home. Was, rather. I have not used it in some time, and would like to collect the insurance money.” Silence. “The house is old, and falling into significant disrepair. I do not envision salvaging it.” She pursed her lips as he spoke; it was a couple minutes before she responded. “Very well. That is all I can ask of you. I will call you at the same time tomorrow for your report.” She hung up and looked at them.

“That was smooth,” Strawberry said with a smirk.

“Thank you.”

“Well? Is he gonna do it?” Applejack asked.

“He will examine the house tonight, and I will call him back tomorrow, at this time. It is then that we shall discuss the price, if he can do the job at all.”

“Not today?” Rainbow asked, a little disappointed.

“The process takes time, I would imagine,” Octavia said. “Especially if you want to be careful, like he does.”

“So what do we do now?” Twilight asked.

“We wait,” Octavia said with a tiny shrug.

* * * * * *

It was a little after midnight when Flash left his apartment on the west side of town, closing the door softly behind him. The key, off its ring, was tucked into a pocket of his nondescript work clothes, and he wore a large cap, its shadow obscuring the important parts of his strong-jawed face. He checked the lock, tapped the handle gently, breathed out, and quietly descended the stairs. He walked along the sidewalk to the end of the complex, then turned a corner and emerged onto one of the main thoroughfares.

There was no one around. Flash, also known as Spark, also known as Bluebell, also known as Bug—short for “firebug”—lived in a quiet, uninteresting neighborhood full of ponies who preferred to keep to their own affairs as much as possible. So it had been for years.

He walked a ways down the street until he came to a tall office building, hooking around to its back without breaking stride. He rounded the corner and took in the familiar scene before him: a half-full Dumpster, a few cardboard boxes next to it, bleak cinder block walls and a meaningless message scrawled in dark red on them. It was his least favorite route away from the apartment, of which he had nine.

He unfurled his pale purple wings through the holes in his outfit and took off, flying almost parallel to the wall. It was a difficult flight for him, who spent the majority of his time on the ground, and he had to go slowly to avoid clipping the windowsills. The windows were black, the office closed. The only ponies inside were those on the cleaning crews, who worked by candlelight; he would see their light before they saw his silhouette. He cleared the building’s roof, but didn’t stop, flying until he passed through a cloud. Only then did he stop, lying back on its cool, squishy surface, relishing the moisture on his tired body.

He rolled over and waited for ten minutes, head over the edge and eyes watching carefully for any sign that he had been spotted. “Rule one: can’t be too careful, even on stakeout jobs.” His neighborhood was a dead block of black apartments, with only a single, subdued light in the distance below. A dark band of clouds floated in the distance on the other side of town, near Rose Tower.

He saw no one nearby, but only moved after his ten minutes were up. He counted the seconds in his head. When he took off again, flying for Glass Ribbon in a long, wide-winged arc, the air was cool against his plumage, and he reflected on the events of the past day. He had passed the bar twice before collecting his money, and had very seriously considered not going in to face the group. Only on the third pass did he set aside his uncertainty, for faith that their own nervous demeanors would keep them from trying anything.

He coasted over a thin skin of clouds and rose up toward Glass Ribbon’s top. There were large vents in the walls, specifically for pegasi to enter, and he slipped through one several minutes and seventy feet off the ground later. He brought a hoof to his hat and lifted it slightly, revealing more of his face as he stepped into a mostly dead shopping center. “Rule five: no one pays attention to an uncovered face.”

He always enjoyed the mall in the dead of night. While Rose Tower came alive after midnight, with clubs and bars filled to the brim with young and energetic ponies, Glass Ribbon dreamed. Most shops were empty and dark, and the hum of voices and hoofsteps on the other levels was enough to lull him into soft contentment as he passed single patrons. A pony who looked lost, a pony enjoying a cigar by the fountain—his ponies, he thought to himself. “In this moment, Glass Ribbon belongs to me.”

He walked into a jewelry store, the only open store he could see, and looked around the watch section, appreciating the roundness and shininess of the dials, the straightness of the hands. Black, perfect, lines and shapes. The orderliness brought him comfort.

He browsed for half an hour before getting on a little train to the tower’s bottom floor. The lobby, unlike the higher floors, was more open, and every sound was amplified. Every hoofstep was a lonely clap, somewhere far away.

He left the tower and crossed the dark parking lot. Useless street lights stood all around him, of which only two, on opposite sides of the lot, shone like beacons. There was no one around, and several cars, scattered like relics.

He took an oblique angle toward the city, meeting a split in the ground as he reached the first major intersection. With a quick look around, he slipped off and under the black shelf of suspended street. Not looking down, he followed the ragged, dark line of cut earth until he judged, many minutes later, that he was near the target.

He came back up onto a rough, grassy ledge beside a small cluster of houses, settled at an angle away from the others, all scattered behind the tower, and stopped. He looked around, left, right, up, and, seeing no one else, pulled out a slip of paper with the target’s address. He walked.

When he found the house, with its sagging porch and filthy windows, he walked right past it, doubling back only when it was out of sight. He flew high and far from the house, circling a tree and only descending into it after five minutes of watching. There, he waited. “Rule two: always stake out the target.” He leaned against a bough and brushed leaves out of his face, meticulously picking any errant piece of bark or leaf off his wings. He waited and he watched, eyes narrowed and scanning the vista of dark, lonesome homes for movement.

When he was satisfied, he shifted his weight slightly and waited for ten more minutes. “Rule one: can’t be too careful, even on stakeout jobs.” He had learned the truth of it painfully recently, when he was caught with a bottle of cleaning fluid and a book of matches, just outside a target building. The mare had been calmly furious, pinning him with her eyes and hooves both, and threatening his life.

He smiled to himself, humorlessly. He had told her everything he knew about his client, and in a move that surprised him—even after six years of dealing with the scum of Manehattan—she offered her own money to reverse his job back onto the first pony. He agreed to the tune of six hundred bits, and then managed to squeeze out another six hundred from the target, just for fun. “Rule twelve: no loyalty to the client.”

He stretched his wings and flew to the house’s roof, landing on it and stomping carefully to test its sturdiness; it gave only slightly. He landed in the yard and looked around, observing carefully where the dried grass was thickest, noting possible ways for the fire to spread—something about which the mare on the phone seemed to care little, but to which he had to pay attention. “Rule four: keep it contained.”

He went to the door and opened it, his wandering mind arrested in place of a calculating, observant intelligence. The hinges gave no protest, though the door hung askew when he released it. “Door opens too easily for an abandoned house. Suspicious.”

He stepped in and looked around, smelling the air: dust. A pile of books sat to the side, and a faded couch slept in the middle of the room before a dark TV. He wandered through the rest of the house, observing all the possible ways to start the fire, and watching out for any strange signs.

He almost didn’t find any. Only when he checked the bathroom for flammable agents—ways to keep the fire’s cause inside the house—did he spot something. He looked at himself in the mirror, shining his tiny, portable flashlight on his own face. He was tracing the water spots with his eyes when he noticed it: a slight blur along some of their edges. He frowned, following them in a long swipe that ended before the mirror’s edge. He ran a hoof over it lightly. “They match. Someone’s been here recently. Clearly not living here. What, then?” His face darkened, and he flicked the light off. “A setup, maybe. Rule nine: there’s always something more to the job.”

Half an hour later, he left with a good idea of how to burn the house, but his mind was swarming with questions and paranoia. So soon after being caught, he was full of concerns and fears, all of them centered on the mare on the phone. She was hiding something, he knew, but it felt like more than mere caution. “Rule fourteen: clients never tell the whole truth.”

* * * * * *

Octavia waited patiently for the sun to rise. She had been awake since four in the morning, when she dragged herself off the floor, sweating and shaking. She had since regained her composure, and sat at the window, watching the dark street outside.

As soon as it was light, she scribbled a note for the others and left, going out onto the sidewalk and walking around the block. Very few ponies were out, and she had the path, and her thoughts, to herself. She felt alone and small in the emptied city, and it was a feeling she relished as much as she despised. Traveling with the others, dodging their questions, she had grown accustomed to being a point of focus, a curiosity, a helpful interloper. Standing on the pale yellow sidewalk by an intersection, she was none of that. She was free, but she was also alone.

She remembered Manehattan from years ago. It had been full of busy, hurried ponies then; a quiet moment to one’s self, even as early as hers, was unheard-of. She met her own eyes in a shop door’s window, and quickly looked away. “They are gone. The water drained too soon, and thousands of ponies lost homes. We are fixing a half-dead city.” She wondered whether the rest of Equestria was in a similar state.

When everyone else was waking up and getting ready for the day, Octavia reentered. She hadn’t considered that the Oranges would need to buzz her in, and so waited outside longer than she would have liked. When she got back in, there were a few hours until she needed to talk to Flash; she spent them practicing magic with Twilight. The topic: illumination spells.

It was quarter to noon when they went downstairs to Strawberry’s room. Octavia was quickly improving her magic, and she knocked on his door with a slow, magical thump that earned congratulatory smiles from everyone around her.

“Do you think he’ll go for it?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes,” Octavia said, and the door opened, caught on its latch, closed, and opened fully.

“Be quick,” Strawberry said, waving them in.

“Extra paranoid today, I see,” Rarity said coldly.

“I don’t like having a pattern of seeing you.” He closed the door and pointed into the kitchen. “Go ahead, and try to be fast. I have a call to make after you.”

Octavia led them into the kitchen and dialed, Strawberry reciting the number again. Her face was motionless as she waited, her eyes without feeling as she spoke. “It is me. Bossa Nova. I called yesterday in regards to the house on Porridge Lane.” She frowned. “What kind of questions?”

Strawberry watched quietly.

“I believe that the—the hinges are damaged. Yes, badly. That is one of the reasons that I do not want the house.” Her face straightened as she listened, and her eyebrow quirked suddenly. “Um… I do not know. Are you certain?” Pause. “I assure you, there was no one there yesterday, so far as I know.” A smile teased at her lips. “If that is the case, then that is all the more reason to destroy it, is it not?” Her mouth was tense as she listened, and then her expression melted. Relief flooded out of her. “Excellent. You do not know how great a service you are doing for me. How much shall I expect to pay?” She nodded, and stayed silent for a long time. “Wait. Five days? Why?” She frowned again. “No. The job needs to be done as soon as possible.” She breathed out of her nose, and they could hear Flash’s impatient voice on the other end of the phone. She glanced at Strawberry. “I will pay you double to do the job tonight.” She listened for a moment, then smiled again. “Fine. Whatever it takes.” She listened silently for another minute, then hung up.

“Well?” Twilight asked.

“He wanted triple the price to do the job tonight. The total is six hundred bits.”

“Another six hundred,” Strawberry grumbled. “But he said he’d do it?”

“Yes. We need to have the first half delivered today, by three. A bar on sixty-seventh and seventy-ninth.”

They looked at Strawberry, who sighed and disappeared out of the kitchen.

“We will need to be careful,” Octavia said, looking at Rainbow and Applejack. “I do not know how, but he knows that someone has been inside. He was asking about it.”

“Uh… geez, Octavia, Ah dunno ‘bout this anymore,” Applejack said.

“Yeah, it’s one thing to try it when he’s not suspecting anything, but now?” Rainbow said. “I think we should find a better way.”

“There is no time. We will need to be there by sunset,” Octavia said.

“Sunset?” Applejack repeated.

“He did not say what time he would do the job. It may be before ten, and it may be after midnight.”

“Octavia, I dunno if you know this, but we’re not used to staying up doing nothing like you are,” Rainbow said.

Pinkie laughed, and Octavia frowned at her. “Sorry, Octavia. That wasn’t very nice.”

“Here,” Strawberry said, dropping a bag of bits on the floor beside Twilight. “Three hundred, exactly. Now get out.”

“Just like that?” Applejack asked.

“I have work to do. Someone… never mind. Not your concern.”

“You said that last time too,” Twilight said.

“It has to do with that former business partner of mine.”

“The one who’s watching you,” Rainbow said.

“Is she the one who turned Flash on you?” Pinkie asked.

“I assume so,” Strawberry said. “Now please, no more questions. I have some… contacts to call.”

“Yeah, just don’t forget our agreement,” Applejack said, heading for the door.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They went back to the Oranges’ room, Twilight holding the money in her pocket dimension, and passed the time playing cards. When it was two-thirty, they got into a pair of taxis. Pinkie and Octavia sat next to each other, neither speaking.

It was nearly three when they arrived at a large stone building, its mural of an edifice proudly labeling it as the bar they wanted.

“The Toadstool. What a name for a place,” Rarity said unhappily, exiting her taxi. “It sounds positively disgusting.”

“It sounds awesome,” Rainbow said.

“I really like the artwork on the front,” Fluttershy said.

The entire façade was painted in aggressive reds, yellows, blues, and greens with thick black lines between the slabs of color. Close-up, thin to the point of near unreadability, were written small phrases and names, darkening spots of color or abutting the black lines like fine hairs.

The inside was crowded with shadowy ponies sitting at tables, most in pairs, speaking quietly and contributing to a faded ambiance that reminded Twilight too much of The Shot Apple. She stopped inside the threshold, and Rainbow stopped with her.

“You all right?” Applejack asked quietly.

“Fine,” Twilight said, shaking her head slightly.

“Who’s going to give him the money?” Fluttershy asked suddenly. Her voice was so quiet, it was difficult to hear her under the murmurs deeper inside. “We were all there last time. He’ll recognize us.”

“I have thought of that already,” Octavia said, nodding to Twilight, who summoned the money. She walked purposefully up to the bar and got the barkeeper’s attention. She spoke authoritatively, and recognition sparked in the barkeeper’s eyes when she said Flash’s name.

He nodded, and she put the bits on the counter; he stowed them in a compartment beneath the bar. She turned and made for the door, and when they were outside, she cast a look through the window.

“I want one of us to stay behind and make sure that he actually gives the money to Flash,” Octavia said. “But I am not sure how to do that without risking Flash seeing us.”

“I think I know a way,” Twilight said, her voice lightening as they walked away from the bar’s entrance. “Teaching you magic reminded me of quite a few spells that I haven’t done in a while, Octavia.”

“What are you thinking of?” Rainbow asked.

“I… oh.” Her countenance wilted again. “I can make myself invisible, and wait in there for him to deliver the money.”

“You don’t sound very happy about that,” Rarity said.

Twilight shrugged. “I’ve never really liked bars.”

A look passed among them, and Applejack spoke up. “Can you make one of us invisible instead?”

“…I don’t know. Maybe, if I had my books with me. But then I’d have to either put a cutoff time for the enchantment, or have you find me, or… well, there’s a lot to consider. It would be easier to do it myself.” She offered a nervous smile. “I’ll just do it on my own. It’s no big deal.”

“I dunno, Twilight,” Rainbow said.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to!” Pinkie said. “We can all just trust the bartender! He looked nice!”

Twilight shook her head. “I’ll do it.” She looked back at the door. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” She took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

They retreated to the side of the bar, standing between it and a short, brick wall in a patch of dried dirt. She cast her spell; it felt odd in her horn, to be used again after a long period of neglect. She hadn’t been invisible since her early days in Ponyville, when she would try to return to the library without having to stop for friendly strangers. Her body felt awash in light, foamy magic, and she looked down at herself to verify the spell. Where her hooves had been, she saw only twin depressions in the ground, mysterious forces pushing the weeds out of the way.

They went back around, and the others separated from her. Pinkie took the lead, and Rainbow followed her quickly, yelling with excitement as she took to the air. Twilight waited outside, and several minutes after her friends were gone, slipped in when someone else opened the door.

Rainbow was a flying dot of dust up in the clouds above the park, tumbling and gamboling, flying straight up like an arrow and then exploding in loops and corkscrews, while Fluttershy contented herself to lie in the shade of a tree and watch her, uttering tiny phrases of encouragement. It had been so long since Rainbow had had a proper flying session. Pinkie, meanwhile, had gone off toward the park’s center, and Applejack followed her, where they found a trio of kite-flying ponies.

Octavia watched from a distance as one of them gave Applejack the kite string and sent her running with her colorful prize trailing jerkily behind. She smiled in spite of herself, and watched until they had moved too far away to be seen properly.

She stood up, stretched, and walked to a nearby fountain, splashing peacefully in the sunshine. She looked into its basin, appreciating the water’s clarity and the cool, minute spray that hit her nose when she bent down too close.

She examined her face in its reflection. Her mane was no longer the perfect, straight, coal curtain for which she knew she was once envied, and her coat was rough and uneven, a light gray fuzz that was ruffled and untamed. Her eyes were heavy with dark purple bags underneath, the whites stippled with veins. Her face was smooth, with no creases indicating where she had smiled or laughed. Her teeth were dulling.

“Dreadful,” Rarity said, sitting next to her. “This mane is simply dreadful. I must re-brush it when we get back. Oh, but I suppose it is a lost cause. Have you seen the products they have in the bathroom? I can barely make myself presentable in the morning.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, but you look fine, darling,” she said to Octavia, who continued to stare at herself.

“I said nothing.” She wanted to say more, but she was lost in the water. Her head felt like a fizzing motor, her eyes like dials of sand. The ripples entranced her. She had gotten five hours of sleep after two days.

Rarity paused, as if uncertain how to continue. “It certainly is a beautiful day, though.”

“Yes.”

“The sun is out, the birds are awake, the grass is green.” She sighed contentedly. “I love spring.” When Octavia didn’t respond, Rarity returned to checking herself in the fountain’s reflection. Her reflected eyes looked into Octavia’s, and sighed quietly.

“Is there something on your mind?” Octavia asked.

“Oh, just that dream I had last night,” Rarity said.

“I remember you mentioning it, but you did not talk about it.”

“It was quite bad. I’m… still a little shaken up about it.”

“I understand.” Octavia wanted to ask Rarity about it, but dared not. The sanctity of dreams was not something she took lightly.

“I don’t usually remember them. This is the first in… gosh, it must be months.” She hesitated, and Octavia nodded slowly for her to continue. “And I never let them get to me. Not like this.”

“You are not accustomed to nightmares.”

“N-no, I suppose I’m not.” Her eyes flicked to the fountain’s surface once more, and Octavia looked away. “It was so real,” Rarity said imploringly. “I’ve had nightmares before. Seldom, but I’ve had them. They were never like this. It felt like I was right there, awake, watching everything happen, and I was totally helpless. For a few seconds, I wasn’t sure if I had actually woken up or not.” She sighed and looked at Octavia, who turned to meet her eyes. “I don’t understand it, but I’ve been feeling… not myself lately. Like I’ve changed, and I have to pretend to be the real Rarity.”

Octavia nodded; she knew the feeling. “And this upsets you.”

“I’m not as happy as I was,” Rarity said quietly. “I feel… I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. I feel… anxious. Things that didn’t scare me before make me nervous now. I…” Her face broke and she sobbed suddenly, leaning her head down onto the fountain’s side. She stayed for just a moment, and then, just as suddenly, collected herself. “I’m afraid to tell any of this to Twilight, or Fluttershy, or the others because I’m afraid they’ll judge me. Can you believe that? They’re my best friends, and I’m afraid to tell them.”

“Then why tell me?”

Displeasure flickered on her face. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re so understanding. Maybe it’s because you’re still kind of a stranger. Maybe it’s just because I’ve always liked your music, and I’m holding out for the same sort of comfort your performances give me.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I… I won’t say I feel hopeless, because I don’t. I just feel… lost, I guess.”

“What makes you feel this way?” Octavia asked. She looked away as she said it, uncomfortable. The closeness was making her uneasy.

“Nothing really. Just when I’m alone, my mind starts to wander.”

Again, Octavia sympathized, but said nothing.

Rarity sighed again and stared into the water; it was a long stare this time, and Octavia felt that it would be wrong to break it. Finally, Rarity spoke, in her original tone. “Have you been sleeping well, darling? I know you tend to stay up late.”

Confused by the sudden switch, but not showing it, Octavia simply shrugged. “I sleep when I am tired. That is enough for me.”

“Well, make sure you don’t push yourself too much. Being in the dressmaking business, I’ve pulled my fair share of all-nighters. I know how draining they can be.”

“Yes.”

Rarity lifted a hoof toward Octavia’s back, and she shied away. “You should get at least eight hours of sleep every day.”

“I have heard that.”

“It would do wonders for your beauty, I’m sure.”

Octavia looked at her dispassionately.

“Oh, I mean no offense, of course. I’m just saying, you would look so much better if you rested properly.”

Not wanting an argument, Octavia simply nodded.

“Have you been having nightmares too?” Rarity asked, sobering a little.

“I always do,” Octavia said, and immediately regretted it. Her sleep was none of Rarity’s business.

“Yes, everypony is having them now. I asked the others a while ago; most every night, every one of us.”

“That is… unsettling,” Octavia said, trying not to let her concern show on her face.

Rarity sighed and resumed staring into the water, and after a few minutes, walked away. She sat down under a tree, by herself, and Octavia watched. Pity stirred in her heart, but she tempered it with reason. “I am not the one to help her overcome this problem. I am not her friend.”

Twilight found them all fifteen minutes later; the barkeeper had kept his word, and passed the money to Flash with no issue. Relieved, they went back to the Oranges’ apartment, stopping briefly to tell Strawberry that everything was fine, and they would try to catch Flash that night. He bade them good luck through the cracked door.

In the Oranges’ apartment, their hosts were settling down to a small lunch. They watched them enter patiently, and when everyone was inside, Mrs. Orange cleared her throat lightly. “You know, Applejack,” she began, “you’ve been staying here for a few days now.”

Applejack knew immediately where the conversation was going. “Uh, yeah, Ah guess we have.”

“Now, we certainly don’t want to be rude, but…” She looked at Mr. Orange, who nodded sternly. “Well, we’re not exactly equipped to handle this many ponies living in our apartment like this. Not for very long, anyway.”

“Oh, um, excuse me,” Rarity said. “If this is about money, I assure you we can help out with the expenses. It would be no problem.”

“No, no, that’s not it. We have plenty of money.” She sipped her drink and regarded them for a moment. “It’s space. We appreciate that you don’t stay here all day long, but it must get awfully cramped in that guest room.”

“Well, it does get a little stuffy,” Rainbow said.

“I guess what we want to know is how long you think you’ll be staying here,” Mr. Orange said.

“Not much longer, I hope,” Rarity said. “A week, tops. What do you girls think?”

“Ah think yer underestimatin’ it a bit,” Applejack said.

“We haven’t even started to fix the city,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, ‘cause we’ve been so busy with that, uh, thing,” Rainbow said.

“Yes, your tower. How is that going?” Mr. Orange asked.

“Fine,” Rarity said shortly. “Well… we’re making progress. It’s quite the difficult problem.”

“Strawberry seems capable, however,” Octavia said.

“We can look fer someplace else to stay, if you want,” Applejack said.

The Oranges looked at each other for a moment. “You don’t have to,” Mr. Orange said. “It’s just something to think about.”

“We definitely will,” Rarity said, offering a smile.

They retired to their room. Pinkie got the cards out, but no one seemed interested.

“We should probably look fer a different place to stay,” Applejack said.

“I agree. They said that it was fine, but I can tell when a pony is being nice to you out of politeness,” Rarity said.

“But where can we go? We don’t know anypony else here,” Rainbow said.

Pinkie laughed and jumped up. “Kissy Kisses! Kissy Kisses!” She bounced in place, and after a second, Applejack laughed too.

“Who is this?” Octavia asked.

“The mare we met in Rose Tower,” Twilight said. “It’s Lacey Kisses.”

“Oh, I remember now,” Rainbow said. “She said we could come over if we needed a place to crash.”

“That sounds accurate,” Rarity said.

“We can go see her while you three are out!” Pinkie said.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Yes,” Octavia said, looking out the window. “Speaking of which, we will need to leave in a couple hours.”

* * * * * *

Since Derpy had been coming over, sometimes for dinner and sometimes just to hang out, Spike had steadily grown more sociable, enough so to venture out into the town as he used to. Some ponies treated his reappearance as though it were nothing, while others followed or surrounded him, asking whether he was okay and speaking to him as though he were not. These ponies irritated him, but he tried not to show it; they had good intentions.

He had written to Princess Celestia that morning, asking how Twilight was doing, and cleaned up a small section of the library. Even without the studious unicorn, the library seemed to naturally devolve into a state of dishevelment just as fast as he could keep it cleaned. At least he always had something to do, he told himself.

After lunch, he went into town to buy some flowers, to liven up the library’s interior. Twilight’s taste in flowers was not in accordance with his own, and it gave him a tiny thrill to decide which window would be graced with which flower. It was still a little strange, wandering Ponyville without Twilight and her entourage around him, but he was growing to like it. Before, he had always been an accessory to whatever the girls were up to. If he wanted to stop for something, he either held the entire group up, or passed it. Now, he had time.

He stopped by Golden Harvest’s carrot stall, near the town’s edge. She had been over to the library a few times with Derpy, but never said a whole lot, preferring instead to play with Opalescence, upstairs.

Her face brightened as he approached, and he leaned against one of the stall’s support posts. “Hey, Golden.”

Her voice was quiet, and she gave a little wave as she spoke. “Hey Spike. What’s up?”

“Not a whole lot. Just thought I’d say hi.”

She looked down for a moment. “Hi.”

He chuckled to himself. “Slow day, huh?”

“Yeah. Saturdays usually are.” She yawned. “It’ll pick back up tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Soooo… anything new?”

She thought for a moment. “I heard some ponies talking about the spa a while ago.”

“I thought it closed down.” The lack of running water had yet to be addressed, though there was a team that, he had heard, was supposed to start digging for broken pipes soon.

“Some parts, yeah, but not entirely. You can still get a massage there, or a hooficure. I think they collect water from the well every day too, for the steam room. They may have used it all up by now.”

“Wait, who’s in charge now? Aloe and Lotus left. Didn’t they?”

“Yeah, they did.” She nodded gently and picked at a spot on the counter between them. “There’s a pair of pegasi working there now. I forget their names. Flutter and Cloud-something-or-other.”

“Hm.”

“They’re not very experienced, but they’re trying to keep the business afloat. You have to respect them for that, at least.”

“That’s cool. I’ll have to stop by there sometime.” He briefly considered inviting her along, for politeness, but didn’t. She was simply too boring. With a nod and a few parting words, he left, heading into town in search of a flower stall. He got a small bouquet of wisteria and brought it back to the library, where he placed it in one of the front windows.

He waited around a little, thinking of things to do, but left again, heading for the spa. He had only ever been there with Twilight and her friends, and felt weird approaching it alone. With Aloe and Lotus gone, he didn’t know what to expect, and when he entered, he paused for a moment at the serious-faced, lilac pegasus behind the counter. Her white and silver hair was stiff and spiked with gel, and she looked to be just out of high school. Her mauve eyes were half-lidded as she stared at a magazine.

When she looked up at his approach, however, her bored and unfriendly expression gave way to a happy smile and congenial flap of wings. “What can I do for you today, sir?” Her voice was husky, but polite, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Um, well, what are you offering?”

“We can provide massages, hooficures, any sort of facial or cosmetic treatment you desire. And we gather water at the well daily to supply steam for the steam room.”

“Sheesh,” Spike said, impressed; they were missing much less than he was expecting. “Put me down for a massage and an hour in the steam room.”

“In that order?”

“Um.”

“I would recommend that you do the steam room first, and then the massage, so you can already be nice and loosened up.”

“Uh, sure. You’re the expert.”

She laughed. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m no expert.”

“Well, you had me fooled. When can I come in?”

“You can come in right now, if you like!”

“Oh, uh, sure. Let’s do it.”

She beamed and led him down the stairs to the large, oblong room. “I’ll get the steam room ready.” The steam rooms were on the opposite side of the spa, a fairly small, peanut-shaped chamber that held in its center a large support pillar, a vein of discolored spackle running up its length. Spike passed the hot tub, where he had relaxed with the girls many, many times, and the mud baths, of which only half appeared ready for business.

The other pegasus was already inside the steam room, and Spike watched them work, a little surprised at the quality of their effort. While the spike-haired pegasus scrubbed the benches and walls, her counterpart, an even younger looking almost-twin, brought in pales of water from elsewhere in the building and arranged the stones in their compartment. Neither spoke much, and when they were done, the younger of the two beckoned Spike in.

“She’ll take care of your massage when this is done,” the first pegasus said, leaving and closing the door behind her.

Spike leaned back uncertainly as the pegasus produced a large ladle and began pouring water over the smooth stones. Hissing clouds of steam bloomed outwards, and before long, the entire room was sweltering and fogged. Spike’s scales glistened, and he could see the pony’s fur and plumage darkening with moisture.

“You’re Spike, right?” she asked, reclining on her side of the room. “Twilight Sparkle’s assistant or something?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Former assistant, really.”

“Right, right. I’m Flitter. That’s Cloudchaser up front.”

“Nice to meet you. I don’t remember seeing you in Ponyville before. Are you new here?”

“Yeah, pretty much. We came down from Cloudsdale to help out with getting the water up there, but…” She gestured loosely with her hooves. “All this stuff happened. We’re looking for a house right now.”

“You’re not gonna fly back?”

“Cloudsdale is ruined. That’s a bummer thing to say but…” She heaved a breath and wiped her face. “This steam is really something. You okay over there?”

He waved a claw through the thick air. “Yeah, I’m good.” He didn’t want to make her suffer with more.

“Yeah, but Cloudsdale is messed up, big time. No rivers means no new water, which means hugely restricted weather production. The local government’s all tied up with the factories and businessponies.”

It could have been the steam, or it could have been the weeks without intelligent conversation with someone else; Spike could only scratch his head in confusion. “I don’t get it.”

Flitter sat up and braced her wings on the back wall. “So, Cloudsdale’s all about supplying weather to the country. There are smaller weather factories in the more distant areas, as well as way-stations for storage and such, but for the most part, it’s Cloudsdale and nothing else. The problem is, because of the cracks in the ground, the rivers aren’t flowing, which means any water the pegasi use to make clouds won’t be replenished.”

Spike nodded along, trying to keep up.

“Some places, like Manehattan and Trottingham, are trying to keep up with their own water use with recycling plants. Like, they use water like normal, then treat it, then put it back into the air as clouds or back into the lake as freshwater. And while that might buy Cloudsdale a few weeks to get its crap together, it’s not really all that helpful.”

“So what’s the problem with Cloudsdale?” Spike asked.

“Do you know anything about the way their government is structured?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. So, Cloudsdale’s government is made of three main branches: the City Directory, the Weather Directory, and the City Council. The two directories are in charge of domestic affairs and the use of the weather factories, and the City Council is kind of a mediator. That’s simplifying it, but you get the picture.”

Spike nodded. He was impressed at the mare’s knowledge.

“Obviously, with no water, the Weather Directory’s in huge trouble, trying to meet quotas. Which, at this point, they can’t. The City Directory, meanwhile, is trying to help stimulate the economy, but they’re doing it all wrong.” She sighed and wiped her mane out of her face. “They’re trying to encourage tourism and city pride, you know, to increase spending. But no one’s ready for that yet, so what it actually amounts to is a big waste of bits. They’re creating new jobs for all the out-of-work factory ponies, but in a couple months, those ponies will be in the same exact position. No one wants to spend time in Cloudsdale with our towns the way they are, so the money’s going to dry up really fast.”

“But isn’t Celestia doing something about all this?”

“She’s setting up a chain of relay points from the ocean to Cloudsdale, so we can siphon our water from there. But it’ll be a long time before it’s ready. Everyone has to just try to get by on their own until then.”

“How long will it be?”

“Well, the first relay is up already. It’s between Canterlot and Hoofington. The next one—over Hoofington—will take longer, ‘cause it’s a collection, purification, and minor distribution plant.”

“And then the siphoning station over the ocean,” Spike said.

“She’s already got a start on that. She has her work force split between getting that ready and making the chain. So far, though, all we have is a couple big pumps. No collection areas, no way to desalinate, no way to circulate it… sorry. I know this is boring.”

Spike rested on the bench with a little smile. “It’s not that bad. It’s kind of cool, actually. To listen to someone who knows so much about it, I mean.”

“I majored in city politics,” she said. “Actually, it was a double major. City politics and finance. With a minor in law, just for fun.”

Spike’s jaw dropped. The idea of extra class, just for fun, was baffling to him. “You must be the smartest pony in the whole town.”

Flitter laughed, genuinely. “Some of the folks at the hospital have me beat, I’m sure. That orthopedic surgeon—what’s her name?”

Spike shrugged.

“Well, anyway.” She added water to the rocks. “So, yeah, Cloudsdale’s not a great place to be right now.”

“So you’re both gonna live in Ponyville until it all gets straightened out?”

“Yep. We’ve already got jobs, and all our stuff here. Might as well make it official.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing,” Spike said. “How’d you wind up working here? Do you know Aloe and Lotus?”

“Never met ‘em,” Flitter said.

Spike frowned, and she giggled.

“We always loved going to spas in Cloudsdale, so when we got down here and saw one that needed management, we asked the mayor, and she let us. It’d just be foreclosed anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A pony with a double major in politics and finance, with a minor in law, wanting to run a spa with her sister. Shouldn’t you be, like, in Canterlot with all the other bigwigs?”

“It’s just a major,” she said. “For something like that, I’d need at least twenty years of heavy experience. The best I have is a four-month internship with the Cloudsdale superior court.” She shrugged and wiped her brow again. “Maybe I could be a stenographer or something,” she mumbled.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. At least I have a job.” She brightened. “And I enjoy it, too.”

“Yeah?”

“I love giving massages, and making ponies feel beautiful.” She eyed Spike. “But you’re not a pony, so it’ll probably be different for you.”

“I don’t get too picky with my massages,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, don’t be afraid to critique. I’ve never massaged a dragon before.”

“No worries.”

They both sat back and relaxed, letting out long sighs of contentment, and said no more for the hour. When Cloudchaser came in to tell Spike that his hour was up, he seriously considered purchasing another on the spot, but decided against it.

He toweled off and went to a massage table, where Flitter stood waiting with a smile. He lay down, and she set to work, taking his advice with steadily decreasing enthusiasm. By the end of the massage, it was clear to him that her pride had been hurt, and he gave her a large tip to make up for it.

* * * * * *

It was two in the morning, and Octavia pricked her ears at yet another small noise from somewhere in the house. They were in the attic, above the fan in the living room, where they had been since eight. Rainbow had dozed off first, Applejack an hour later, and Octavia let them sleep while she waited, with the experience of years of sleepless nights keeping her attention sharp.

She nudged them awake, and they quickly assumed their positions. Applejack, by Octavia’s side, and Rainbow above, in the rafters, ready to punch a hole through the ceiling at Octavia’s signal: a small flash of light magic, one of two spells she had mastered with Twilight earlier that day.

She pressed her face to a sliver of space, where she could see only a splinter of the living room around the defunct ceiling fan.

Flash watched from the tree for fifteen minutes, then from the window for ten, then sat with his ear pressed to the roof for fifteen more. When he was satisfied, he placed a hoof on the knob and pushed, slowly. He counted off in his head. One to sixty, a centimeter. One to sixty, a centimeter.

When the door was open enough for him to fit his eye to the threshold, he waited, letting his eyes acclimate to the slightly darker house interior. He had a flashlight, but did not get it out. “Rule eighteen: flashlights draw attention.”

Only when he could see every angle and every contour of furniture did he continue pushing the door open. One to sixty, a centimeter. And then he stepped through, as quietly as he could.

Octavia saw Flash’s creeping shadow against the broken bookcase, and she let out a slow breath. Finally.

Flash passed through the living room without pausing, heading to the back of the house, where he knew he would find, somewhere, the garage, and inside that, the house’s fuse box. The mark on the mirror was still on his mind, and the mare’s explanation. He was not completely satisfied.

“Three possibilities. An intruder she’s unaware of. No—an intruder wouldn’t leave a single sign. Too isolated. Too close to perfect. Two possibilities. She wanted to check something before giving the house over to me, or she was staking out for an ambush. Rule six: always expect the worst.”

He waited by the closed door to the garage for fifteen minutes, listening. A single breath, a shuffle of hooves or wings, and he would leave. He heard nothing, and entered as slowly as he had entered through the front.

When he found the fuse box, he produced a tiny flashlight, attached to a pendant that he slipped over his head, then a screwdriver. With the fuses illuminated in a wan, moon-like blue, he picked at them with all the expertise his years of arson afforded him.

Pop. One fuse gone. It landed on his outstretched wing, and he deposited it gently on the floor. The lights would not turn on, if they were even functional to begin with. “Rule one: can’t be too careful, even on stakeout jobs.”

Octavia listened and watched with mounting dread. Her heart beat in her ears and her muscles begged for release; they had held her still for too long already. She dared not speak, or even look around the attic. She could only wait, praying the fire wasn’t beginning somewhere else, praying Flash was still inside.

And then the wall darkened in the living room. His shadow crossed once more, and stopped. There was the sound of moving air and the quiet shushing noise of fabric in motion. And her view went black.

Her nerves, already taut, flinched in her muscles, and she bit down hard enough to hurt her teeth. She blinked slowly, her breath held, and waited for Flash to speak. To call her out.

Something clicked beneath her, and she resisted the urge to look down. Any movement at all, and she could give herself away. The blackness before her wiggled slightly, and with it, there was a sound of metal scraping against the plaster.

Her lungs ached, and she closed her eyes. She couldn’t alert Flash, but her body refused to wait any longer. With excruciating slowness, she let the air out through her nose. The attic was dusty, and she forced herself to wait a moment before inhaling again. She felt faint, and forced herself to keep her head up.

The ceiling beneath her moved, and her breath quickened for just an instant. There was a quiet sound of detaching metal, and then more motion. Her breathing was slowly returning to normal, and she waited for him to finish, relieved, but still terrified.

The black shroud over her view moved away with the sound of slow wings, and she heard him land on the floor. She could see his shadow again, and her body relaxed, only barely. She wasn’t safe yet. His shadow wasn’t moving.

With the light’s wiring altered, Flash had only to flip the switch and put a match to the couch. Faulty wiring, an attempt to turn on the light, a spark, and a blaze. But he didn’t feel safe.

As he worked with the light, his sense of paranoia had gone up. He felt, more than ever, that he was being watched, or waited for. He stood in the living room for five minutes, listening. And then five minutes more.

When his shadow finally moved, it slid away from the wall, and she heard only a faint click from the other side. She resisted the temptation to lean forward, lest the attic creak and betray her, and instead squeezed her eyes shut and tried to home in on his impossibly faint hoofsteps. “It cannot possibly be much longer. He must have been here for an hour, at least.” She hated to imagine how bored Rainbow and Applejack were; they did not even have her view of the room.

And then she heard it: the quick shff of a lit match. She was so tense with expectation, she wasn’t completely sure of herself. Her thoughts stirred uncomfortably, but she forced them into order. “That could be it. But it might not be.” She took a deep breath. “This house could be set up in any number of ways. If we miss our chance, we could be trapped in the fire. But if we go too early, we will ruin everything.”

She battled with herself, and in the space of half a second, impulse won over doubt; her magic, still new and unfamiliar in her mind, snapped into place around the simple spell. There was a flash of pale gray, and an instant later, a wooden crash right behind her. There was a cry of alarm and a cascade of dust and broken plaster, and she hit the floor with an awkward tumble.

Metal and glass broke apart just behind her, thumping the couch violently. Hooves clattered on the floor, and Rainbow’s wings pelted. Through the dust, she could see little, but she heard the scuffle clearly. Two bodies wrestled on the carpet, and something warm spread behind her.

As soon as Flash heard the sound of wings above, he ducked away, but the ceiling burst over him, and he was suddenly tangled up with a wiry pegasus. Two more ponies landed near the couch, where his match lay, forgotten in his haste to leave. “Rule three: never leave a match or lighter behind.”

His attacker was fast and nimble, but he was strong, and had fought before; with a savage growl, he grabbed one of her wings in his teeth, getting a mouthful of dry feathers and a squeal. She twisted around him, and he yanked in the opposite direction, to pull her off balance.

Crack!

Applejack stood proudly over Flash’s prone form, her back leg still cocked in case he tried to get up again, while Octavia beat angrily at the couch, snuffing the small fire on the cushion.

“Y’all right, Rainbow?” Applejack asked, helping her up.

“Yeah, fine. Twisted wing.” She sat down and sighed. “Nice aim, AJ.”

“T’weren’t nothin’.” She looked at Octavia. “Need help?”

Octavia hit the couch, already out, with a powerful hoof. “No.” She turned quickly and walked to the kitchen, and Applejack and Rainbow followed her at a distance. She grabbed the phone and dialed the police.

Her conversation was short; she told them to find Flash, knocked out, in the house’s living room, and hung up before they could ask for more details. She returned to the living room and dragged him over to the displaced fan, where she piled a few pieces of ceiling on his head. They left immediately after, heading for the edge of the ground and stopping when they could not distinguish their house from those around it. Rainbow stayed behind to watch from above, to make sure the police got Flash.

Only a few minutes after stopping, Applejack spotted a convoy of police cars silently moving down the dirt road. Octavia stood at attention, not looking at her companion. She ground her teeth and narrowed her eyes, angry with herself. “Pathetic, idiotic, selfish nag. Useless.” Her lips curled up over straight teeth, and she replayed the fight in her head. “Good for nothing, small-minded imbecile. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.” She could feel her pulse and temperature rising.

“Octavia? You okay?” Applejack asked.

She didn’t turn. “Eyes on the house.”

Applejack shuffled uncomfortably. “Geez, okay. Sorry.”

When the police cars drifted away, a half hour later, they headed back slowly, and Rainbow met them near the main road. Flash had been arrested.

The journey back to the apartment was strange and lonely. The streets were almost empty, and they had to wait several minutes for a taxi. The drive back was silent. The isolated, tiny lights felt like confetti in their eyes, a celebration for them only. Octavia still seethed.

When they got back to the apartment, Rarity was still awake to buzz them in, and they went to Strawberry’s room first, to tell him the news. He refused to even open the door, and had them speak through the crack between it and the floor.

Everyone but Rarity was asleep when they got to the Oranges’, and while they settled in to sleep, Rarity told them about Lacey Kisses. They had found her easily, and she was happy to see them all again. Even better, there was more room at her flat than in the Oranges’ apartment. They would be able to move in in a couple days, once Lacey had cleaned the place up a little.

“And you are certain that we can trust her?” Octavia asked dourly.

“Well, as certain as you can be about a stranger,” Rarity said.

“She’ll be fine,” Rainbow said, yawning. “Now let’s get some shuteye.”

Octavia grunted and went to the foot of the bed, where she remained for several hours before falling into a restless, angry slumber.

Something Strange in the Park

Chapter Twenty-five

Something Strange in the Park

“Sure, sure,” Strawberry said from behind the closed door. “Tomorrow’s Monday. I’ll make some calls today and get the team together tomorrow.”

“Great. Oh, and darling, I hope you don’t mind, but we all need to talk to the mayor when you get your ponies,” Rarity said.

“To make sure I know what I’m doing?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be able to go out?” Rainbow asked.

Strawberry was long in answering. “I think so. Just let me set a few things in order first. Go ahead and do whatever you have to do. Talk to me tomorrow. After work.”

“When’s that?” Pinkie asked.

“Six.”

They walked down and out of the apartment, and stood on the sidewalk. It was the first time in a while they had gone outside without a specific goal.

“So, I did a little thinking last night,” Twilight said. “Just because we’re waiting for Strawberry doesn’t mean we can’t cast a couple spells elsewhere. You know, not near the towers.”

“Do you think it’s safe?” Fluttershy asked.

“Well, there aren’t any huge buildings on this side of town. Right?” She looked at Octavia.

Octavia looked at her with tired impatience. “Have you seen any?”

“Um, no,” Twilight said, a little admonished.

“Were you thinking of doing that now?” Rarity asked.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Where are we gonna cast?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight looked around. “We can just do it on the roof.”

“Um…” Fluttershy started. “Do you think we should, um, tell somepony? You know, give a warning?”

“If we want to cast the spell now, we can only warn one or two ponies,” Octavia said.

They looked at each other, all of their expressions questioning.

Octavia continued. “How have you done it in the past?”

“We… kind of didn’t,” Twilight said.

Octavia made a noise between a sigh and a scoff. “You mean you would simply cast your spell and let the ponies deal with the consequences, without telling them first?”

“We only did it three times,” Rarity said.

“We kinda warned ‘em in Ponyville,” Rainbow said.

Octavia shook her head. “I am going to warn Strawberry and the Oranges, at least. Do not wait for me.” She reentered the building before any of them could respond.

“What’s wrong with her?” Rarity asked.

“She’s still upset ‘bout last night,” Applejack said. “Ah dunno why. Somethin’ got to her.”

Twilight shook her head. “Never mind her. Let’s get up to the roof.”

They went back inside and followed Rarity to the stairwell. Even in the early morning, it was dark, and Twilight had to activate a little light spell to keep them from tripping on the stairs.

“What are we gonna do ‘bout other ponies?” Applejack asked.

“We can’t just let them figure it out on their own,” Rarity said. “Not in the city, anyway.”

Pinkie laughed, and they looked at her, surprised. She hadn’t had a lot to say lately. “Not to worry, Rarity!” Her voice was loud in the empty stairwell. “I’ve got it all covered!”

“Is that right?”

“I know what I’m doing!”

Applejack laughed out loud, and Pinkie grinned back at her.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m skeptical,” Rainbow said.

“Sure, Dashie!” Pinkie cried.

“What Ah think she means is that you’ve said that before,” Applejack said. She lowered her voice. “That’s kinda how we wound up in this whole situation.”

Pinkie stopped on the stairs, and they turned to her.

“Uh, sorry,” Applejack said.

Pinkie looked down at her hooves, for just a moment. Then she looked up and smiled. “S’okay! No problem!” She giggled and rejoined them, and they went up to the roof, passing through the broken gate Octavia had used nights before.

While Twilight and Pinkie got into position, Octavia slunk up behind and sat down to observe.

“So how did my aunt an’ uncle take the news, anyway?” Applejack asked.

“They understood,” Octavia said.

“That’s it? ‘They understood’?”

“What more do you want me to say?”

“Well, were they surprised, or scared, or have any questions? You know, any of that?”

“No.”

Applejack frowned, taken aback a little. She squinted at Octavia, as if trying to see something hidden on her. “Yer still not sleepin’ right, are ya?”

Fluttershy turned to Octavia with a small gasp and a look of alarm, and Rainbow rolled her eyes. Rarity turned away tactfully to examine the building’s edge behind them.

“It is not your concern,” Octavia said.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, but Ah think it kinda is. If yer causin’ yerself trouble, intentionally or not, it is our concern. We’re all friends here, an’ we can’t have you—”

“I said it is not your concern. That is all,” Octavia snapped. She sighed, frustration obvious in her voice and her stance, and looked out over the streets below.

Applejack shook her head. “Ah’m not lettin’ ya get off that easy, missy.” She put a hoof on Octavia’s wither to turn her around, and Octavia fixed her blank, purple eyes on Applejack’s.

“Have I not performed my duties adequately? Was I not in the house behind Glass Ribbon last night, helping catch our arsonist? Was I not our guide in this city?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“Clearly, my sleeping habits render no effect on my performance as an assistant.” She paused, as if considering pursuing the topic further. “Why, then,” she said, edging closer to Applejack, “do you feel that you must constantly ask about me, and wonder about me, and advise me when I have no intention to listen to you?”

“Ah’m askin’ ‘bout you so much ‘cause Ah’m worried ‘bout you.” She took a step as well, and they looked into each other’s eyes. “We all are.”

“There is nothing about which to worry.”

“You always say that, but Ah never see you happy. Yer always frownin’, or contemplatin’, or goin’ off by yerself. Ah never see you sleep, you barely eat, you barely speak—”

“These are superficial things only,” Octavia said, poison creeping into her voice.

“There’s bein’ a little strange, an’ there’s bein’ unhealthy. An’ Octavia, Ah’m afraid yer in the second category.”

“I am not unhealthy,” Octavia said heatedly.

“What is it, then? What am Ah missin’?”

“Everything, Applejack. Everything. There is nothing wrong with me, and that is all there is to it.” Her tone was strong, final. “I would thank you to stay out of my business.”

“Well, Ah’m sorry, but Ah ain’t backin’ off ‘til Ah got a straight answer from you,” Applejack said firmly.

Rainbow and Rarity were watching, rapt, studying Octavia’s and Applejack’s expressions; both were dark.

Octavia broke the connection to look away into the distance.

“Yer gonna answer me, one way or the other,” Applejack said.

Octavia whirled and brought herself to her full height, nearly pressing her face to Applejack’s; she stood her ground. “Applejack, back off. This is nopony’s business but my own.”

“An’ yer friends’,” Applejack growled.

“You are not my friends. Not one of you.” She glared at them all, and they looked away as she did so.

“How can you say that?”

“How can you possibly claim to be friends of mine? You know nothing about me.”

“And whose fault is that?” Rainbow demanded, wings flared aggressively.

“Yours,” Octavia said, looking her directly in the eyes. “I have made it clear that I am uncomfortable with your questions and concerns. Yet you persist.” She looked at Rarity, who dropped her eyes nervously, and back at Applejack, who looked back angrily. “I like my privacy, and you continuously infringe upon it.”

“Sounds like yer afraid of lettin’ us get too close,” Applejack said.

“That’s what it is,” Rarity said suddenly, her tone surprised. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it? You said you have nightmares all the time.”

“No!” Octavia shouted. Before, she had been angry, primarily with herself, and defensive to the others. But at Rarity’s words, her heart seemed to squeeze up, and she could not completely keep the hurt out of her voice as she said her next words. “I knew I should not have said that.”

“Well, hang on,” Applejack said, more softly. “If it’s a problem, we should all talk about it.”

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“Quit stonewalling us!” Rainbow shouted. “We’re trying to freakin’ help you!”

“I do not need help.”

“Ah don’t believe that fer a second,” Applejack said.

Octavia stepped back to regard them all. Her voice had lost its edge. “Please. I am a very private mare. This is the last time I will ask this. Please, stop trying to interrogate me.”

“Not a chance, sugarcube. You need us, Ah can see now.”

Octavia hung her head. On her face, two warring emotions could be seen, cut into the profound frown that colored her gray features. “Fine. Goodbye.” She looked up and rapidly pushed through the small crowd, walking back down into the stairwell.

Applejack blinked stupidly for a second. “Wha—wait!”

“Octavia, come on, don’t bail on us like this!” Rainbow called. The sigil was half-complete.

She was gone.

When the sigil and spell were finished, and their side of town was pressed back together with its heavy, apocalyptic grumble, they went back down to the Oranges’ apartment. They went into their room, sat down in a semicircle, and looked at each other for a moment before speaking.

“So she just left?” Twilight asked.

“Yup. Just left. She said… she said we were hurtin’ her mighty bad, an’ that was why she felt she needed to leave. Or somethin’,” Applejack said.

“But why would she do that? She didn’t even take her cello.”

“We’re at just as much of a loss as you,” Rarity said.

“But we’re gonna go get her back, right?” Pinkie asked.

“Should we?” Fluttershy asked.

No one answered at first. “Ah think so,” Applejack said slowly.

“Applejack, think of what you’re saying,” Rarity said.

“Rarity’s right, AJ. Octavia may have helped us, but she’s awful. Everything with her is awkward,” Rainbow said.

“Or quiet,” Fluttershy put in.

“She always acts like we’re accusing her of something,” Rarity said.

“Maybe that’s ‘cause you are always accusing her of something,” Pinkie said. There was no humor in her voice.

“I’m afraid I have to disagree with you there, darling. We have done nothing but try to be friends.”

“Octavia’s different from you girls; I’m her sister, so I should know. She doesn’t warm up to ponies as quick as me.”

“Yeah, but she’s been with us for weeks,” Rainbow said. “She should have at least started getting friendlier by then.”

“Maybe she was and we didn’t notice it,” Twilight said.

“Twilight, you can’t be serious,” Rarity said.

“Well, Pinkie has a point. She’s different from us, but that doesn’t make her bad. I think there’s something to her that we don’t know.”

“Twilight’s right,” Applejack said. “Our job is to help ponies, so why aren’t we helpin’ her?”

“Some ponies can’t be helped, Applejack,” Rarity said. She cleared her throat nervously. “I mean, it’s not your fault, dear. It’s none of ours. And…” She paused, not certain how to continue. “I don’t want to sound like this is why we shouldn’t help her, but I think there are certain… issues there, that we simply can’t handle.”

“She can be pretty unpredictable,” Rainbow affirmed. “Mood swings, and all that.”

“But everypony has those!” Pinkie said. “Look at me! I’m not all laughy-daffy right now, but you’re not getting all creeped out!”

“Hers go farther than that,” Rarity said drily.

“Maybe she’s crazy,” Rainbow said, shrugging.

“Don’t say that, Rainbow,” Applejack said. “She ain’t crazy.”

“But she has a point,” Rarity said. “Octavia has been nothing but negativity since we first found her, and while she has been a tremendous help with a few difficult situations, she is far too unstable.”

“And going on how mad she got up on the roof, she might be dangerous,” Rainbow said.

“Shouldn’t we be tryin’ to help her, then?” Applejack asked. “Instead of just drivin’ her away?”

“You heard her, though. She hates it when you ask her about personal stuff.”

“She’s hurtin’, Rainbow Dash. Ah’m certain of it now.”

“What are we supposed to do about it, though? She said it herself. We’re not her friends.”

“But we’re all she has,” Twilight said.

“We don’t know that,” Rarity said.

“Ah got a strong feelin’ ‘bout it,” Applejack said.

“Applejack’s right!” Pinkie cut in. “She needs our help! She’s not mean; she’s just really mixed up right now. Like a super-complex cake batter!”

“Like a super-crazy cake batter,” Rainbow said.

“She ain’t crazy, Rainbow!” Applejack said.

“Girls, please,” Twilight said.

Applejack muttered to herself, and Rainbow flapped indignantly.

“I’m really afraid of her sleeping habits,” Fluttershy said.

“Oh, not this again,” Rainbow groaned.

“She only sleeps every one or two days,” Applejack said.

“She’s slowly killing herself that way,” Rarity said.

“I don’t think it’s her fault,” Twilight said. “I was thinking the same thing you girls are, so I did a little research on sleep disorders. According to everything I read, I think she has chronic insomnia. But the only causes are acute stress or some sort of mental disorder, and I don’t see a good case for either of those in her.”

“Not stress?” Rarity interjected. “No offense, Twilight, but you couldn’t be further from the truth on that. The signs are all there. She never smiles, she doesn’t eat much, she doesn’t talk… what else?”

“Her eyes,” Applejack said.

“Oh, yes, her eyes. Have you ever looked at them? They’re… I don’t really know. Dead.”

“Blank,” Fluttershy said.

“Hm. Maybe I should have read more about the root causes,” Twilight said to herself. She looked over at the bags, a stack of books sitting in one.

“There’s one thing I noticed,” Rainbow said. “Have any of us seen her jump? Like, out of surprise?”

They all thought about it, and shook their heads. “Now you mention it, Ah’ve never once seen her act surprised,” Applejack said.

“But what does it mean?” Rarity asked.

“Atrophied startle response?” Twilight offered. “I really don’t know. I’d have to do some reading.”

“Let’s get back to the topic,” Applejack said, tapping her hoof on the floor. “Ah say we find her as soon as we can, an’ try to bring her back.”

“I think she should be left to fend for herself,” Rarity said, and Rainbow nodded.

Applejack scoffed, her face momentarily disdained. “Some Elements of Generosity an’ Loyalty you are. We’ve got a pony out there who’s sufferin’ because of what we did to her, an’ y’all just wanna turn your flanks on her? Ah’m ashamed of you.”

“Hey, she brought this on herself,” Rainbow said.

“She’s just tryin’ to get by.”

“She’s unstable.”

“She needs help,” Applejack insisted.

“Girls, come on,” Twilight said. “We shouldn’t be arguing like this.”

“Well, what do you think we should do, dear?” Rarity asked.

“I think we should try to help her.”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I thiiiink we’re her only friends,” Pinkie said. Her ears drooped. “And I can’t be happy if I know there’s a pony out there who doesn’t have any friends.”

“Do you think our friendship will help her?” Fluttershy asked.

“It can’t hurt,” Twilight said.

“It sure seemed to,” Rainbow said.

“That was you not respecting her privacy, though,” Pinkie said. “True friends would let her be as secretive as she wants.”

“A true friend would force her to confront whatever stupid thing is causing all this trouble,” Rainbow groused.

“Maybe we should make her see a professional,” Rarity mused.

“I don’t think that would work,” Pinkie said. She didn’t explain.

“Well… I say we just try,” Twilight said. “We know how she feels now, so we won’t make the same mistake twice. And I’m sure she’ll be happy to keep going with us, if we all apologize.”

“I don’t like it,” Rainbow said.

“We’d go after you if you were in her situation,” Pinkie said. “Why should it be any different?”

“She’s… that’s not fair, Pinkie. She’s different from us.”

“Not in any ways that matter.”

“All right, all right, how ‘bout this?” Applejack said, standing. “You can stay here if y’all want, but Ah’m goin’ to get her. It’s the least Ah can do.”

“You’re the one who started this, though,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, so? Ah’m capable of changin’ my mind. An’ seein’ when Ah was wrong.” She grabbed her Stetson and dusted it off, her face contemplative. “An’ Ah aim to ‘pologize fer what Ah’ve done to her.”

“Applejack, you know we’ll have to go with you if you leave,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, Ah do,” Applejack said with a smirk. “Let’s go, before she does somethin’ she’ll really regret.”

“Where is she, though?” Twilight asked.

“The park,” Pinkie said.

They looked at her.

“She always liked to be outside when she was upset. Somewhere where she can see the clouds.” She shrugged and went to the door, and when she turned back, she was wearing her usual, daft smile. “Sisters!” She ran out the door.

Octavia lay underneath a tree, staring past the foliage and into the clouds. She had left the apartment angry, but when she reached the park, she felt only guilt and sadness. Thirteen days ago, she had left her apartment to travel with a group of strangers, and half an hour ago, she left those same strangers in a fit of defensive, injured pride. She watched the sky drift with a heavy heart and drying eyes.

When she saw the others approaching, she didn’t look at them. Her heart fibrillated with relief and happiness, but she kept her face impassive; pride again.

Applejack stepped forward, hat off, and Octavia regarded them all as evenly as she could. “Um, Octavia?”

She nodded.

“Ah’m really sorry ‘bout earlier. Ah didn’t know you felt so strongly ‘bout… the things Ah was sayin’. Ah promise Ah won’t bring it up again, if you don’t want me to.”

She continued to look at Applejack, without speaking. Indignation was trickling back.

“Um, we’d really like it if you’d come back to us. Like Ah said, we’re all friends, an’ we want you to be part of that.”

Octavia looked at the others; their faces were less contrite, and Rarity and Rainbow looked completely opposed to the apology.

“I appreciate your apology, Applejack, truly. I am reluctant, however, to rejoin you.”

“Why?” Twilight asked. There was no accusation in her voice.

“Our altercation earlier today revealed much. For me, it showed that I am not as composed as I like to believe. I can snap very quickly, and I am certain that, under the right circumstances, that would be very… bad.”

“Bad how?” Applejack asked.

“It also showed me how many of you truly feel about my presence.” Here, she looked at Rainbow and Rarity, who both looked away. Anger pulsed in her brain, and her lips curled into a sneer. “I do not want to spend time with ponies who think so little of me that they cannot meet my eyes when I address them.”

“Okay, you know what,” Rainbow began, still not looking up.

“Rainbow!” Applejack barked. She looked back at Octavia. “Ah understand. But they don’t mean nothin’ by it. They’re just as worried ‘bout ya as we all are.”

“As I have said, there is nothing about which to worry,” Octavia said.

“Ah…” Applejack appeared to debate herself for several seconds. “If you say that, Ah’ll agree with ya. But you gotta understand, we’re not used to ponies like you. Bein’ all serious all the time is weird fer us. So we think somethin’s wrong. Am Ah makin’ sense here?”

“Yes.”

“She’s right, dear,” Rarity said. “We really aren’t trying to hurt you. But you leave us with so little options, it seems like we can only ever make any progress if we’re aggressive.”

“Yeah, you’ll just shut us down otherwise,” Rainbow said.

“I do what I do for a reason,” Octavia said delicately. “And that reason is my own.”

“So you just want us to leave you alone,” Rarity said.

“Exactly.”

“But…” Applejack started.

“That’s just really depressing,” Rainbow said.

“I am not saying that you may not talk to me, or ask me questions,” Octavia said. “All I want is for you to back off when I ask it of you. Is that so much?”

“Not at all,” Applejack said quickly. “Ah promise it, Octavia. Ah’ll mind my own business with you.”

“Rainbow? Rarity?”

“I still don’t like it,” Rainbow said.

Octavia looked away. “What would you have me do?”

“Uh, let’s see,” she started, sarcastic. “Maybe begin with a little explanation about yourself. We still don’t even know what’s going on between you and Pinkie, for Celestia’s sake.”

“Why is it so difficult for you to accept me as I am?”

“Well, ‘cause… uh.”

“I want you to be honest with me, Rainbow Dash.”

“Uh.” She looked at the others quickly. “‘Cause you’re creepy and weird,” she finally said, her wings dropping a little in shame. “You talk in this really heavy monotone, and you never smile or laugh, and it’s like you’re always just watching, you know? Like, at first, it was kinda neat, when you ran into that dust cloud in Canterlot and helped those ponies, but then you broke your leg and didn’t even tell us, and… I just don’t like that.”

“I understand.”

“I mean, I don’t not like you,” she continued quickly. “You’re obviously a stand-up pony, and you really help us out. Just… smile once in a while, or something.” She offered a smile of her own, and Octavia matched it with her dead gaze.

“I have always been a very serious pony. For me, a smile feels uncomfortable. It is like me asking you to spend a day without using your wings.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Rarity said.

“I have no ill-feelings for any of you. We do not always get along, but I have no hatred toward you.”

“Well, that’s good,” Applejack said.

“For what it is worth, Rainbow Dash, I am sorry that I come across as you say I do. It is not my intention.”

Rainbow sighed. “So you can’t just be happy like the rest of us?”

“For me, it is not that easy.”

Twilight cleared her throat. “Um… if I can interject something here.”

“Yes.”

“Uh… I did some reading earlier. Octavia, do you… well, do you need help?”

Octavia closed her eyes, and her voice was strong and clear. “I do not need help, Twilight. I am completely fine.”

“I think you have a sleep disorder.”

“With all due respect, Twilight, I do not think you can say that. You have known me for less than a month.”

“Oh,” Twilight said, backing away.

“Let me reiterate. There is nothing wrong with me. I am very sorry that I am difficult to get along with, but that is who I am. I am not trying to hurt any of you. I do not want that.”

“Do you wanna be friends, though?” Rainbow asked.

Octavia paused, not expecting the question from her. “I am not certain,” she said quietly.

“I think you do,” Pinkie said, smiling. “Why else would you apologize?”

“Perhaps you are right.”

“Well, Octavia,” Rainbow said. “I don’t know what’s going on. But I’m sorry too. I got heated back there, and I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Me too,” Rarity said. “We don’t know you very well, so it’s terribly easy to jump to conclusions.” She stepped forward and offered her hoof. “However, I am willing to call it even if you are.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Octavia shook Rarity’s hoof, then Rainbow’s, and Applejack’s last. There were a few seconds of uneasy silence, which Pinkie broke by running over to Octavia and squeezing her in a tight hug, which she accepted patiently. When she was released, she stood up and stretched, then looked at them neutrally.

They went back to the apartment for lunch, and when they were done, a large bank of clouds had rolled in, dimming the city. Thunder rumbled loudly overhead, and there wasn’t much to do for the day. The spell was cast; for the time, they had only to wait for Strawberry.

They stayed inside and played cards, but by the fourth game of Hearts, everyone was bored, and tired of Octavia winning.

“There has to be something else to do,” Rainbow complained. “Can we go move in with Lacey yet?”

“Not yet, Rainbow,” Twilight said.

* * * * * *

Lacey Kisses was in the closet of her flat, which was, in actuality, a pair of flats joined by a small alley of dead grass and dirty stonework. She owned both, and the size gave the place a sense of luxury in direct contrast to the underwhelming décor and sketchy location. She was just putting away her camcorder and a bundle of blank tapes.

As she had said to Rarity when they were shopping in Rose Tower, Lacey was an actress; however, she had neglected to mention her specific brand of acting. She worked in pornography, generally starring in more straightforward, solo videos, but occasionally straying into fetish territory. She was moderately successful, and enjoyed the work.

It was a few days before they were supposed to room with her, so she was putting away her work materials before they could arrive. She didn’t want to spook them, knowing that, from Ponyville, they had likely never even heard of pornography. Being a small town, it was still untouched by the corruption of development, and so was also a treasure for anyone looking to expand their business.

It was this topic that she wrestled with in her mind as she flipped a sheet over a small collection of lubricants. Ponyville was innocent still, an untapped market, a gold mine for the adult video industry. In addition to the bits they could accrue from new customers, there was also a wealth of other resources: potential actors and actresses, new and interesting locales, proximity to the Elements of Harmony. She didn’t like the latter idea so much, but had to acknowledge it; films with the Elements were popular.

And she had access to them all.

She walked out into the living room, her mind stirring, and rifled through her collection of music. Music always helped to clear her head. She selected one of her longer records and put it in the gramophone, and the flat was filled with an empty, minimal, reverberating glitch-noise that soothed her ears and put a smile on her face. None of her friends shared her taste in music.

Humming to herself, she grabbed a rag and dampened it in the kitchen sink. While the majority of Manehattan was struggling with its water supplies, she was not. One of her friends, a pegasus on the weather team, always kept a raincloud over her area. It wasn’t legal, but the city was too big for one overworked weather manager to notice a tiny section of northeastern Manehattan getting a little wetter than it should have.

She walked to the kitchen and looked through the fridge, running from a backup generator in one of her bathrooms. She had run to the store the day after the disaster, recognizing that there would be a rush to stock up on supplies. She was one of the first to do so.

She grabbed a slice of watermelon and went back to the anteroom, and the doorbell rang. Perplexed, she went to answer it; ponies didn’t call on her very often, and the Elements were supposed to be still waiting. She opened the door and smiled slightly at the pair of friendly pegasi outside.

“Got a moment?” one asked. She was creamy yellow, with a cinnamon mane done up in a bun and over a long neck, narrow back, and tapered wings. Her voice was blunt and crass, and though she was no simpleton, it was a misconception ponies made about her all the time. Her name was Wings, and she had been in Manehattan for thirteen years, for only one of which she had known Lacey. Her counterpart, Jet, was a dark-furred pony with shocking maroon eyes that stood out like flames in her dark, thin face, surrounded with greasy strands of marbled, periwinkle mane. They were both light technicians at the porn studio, and very close friends. Lacey had only seen them apart a couple times since meeting them.

She let them in. “I wasn’t expecting company tonight. What do you need?”

“We better keep it quick, Wings,” Jet said. “Kissy’s got her music going.”

“Wouldn’t want to disturb,” Wings said, smiling mischievously.

“Certainly not. What is that? Your gramophone malfunctioning?”

“Must be relaxing.”

“Get on with it,” Lacey said. She liked them, but they talked a lot. Sometimes, she didn’t have the energy to listen to their banter.

“Money,” Jet said, her dark face straightening.

“I suspected as much.” Since the disaster, and the litany of other, smaller problems—Spring-hoof Jack, the mysterious floating ship, and a recent arson scare—the studio had been losing business. Finding a way to increase revenue was officially the job of Lacey’s bosses, but she had been trying to think of a way to help. Wings and Jet, the closest things she had to work friends, had offered to help.

“We were thinking, and you know what we realized?” Wings started. “The most popular porn out there: amateur.”

Jet spread her wings and held a hoof up in a sweeping gesture. “Picture it. We get a couple scouts, a couple cameraponies, and send ‘em out through the city.”

“Ponies need easy money.”

“And what’s easier than a little peep show behind the apartment?”

“Or in the parking lot.”

“Or the tunnel by the park.”

“I can see it now: real, hot, amateur pony action. We can find some beefcake and load him down with toys to give the young ponies.”

“And of course they would be young,” Jet said.

“Except the oldies.”

“More mature ponies too, but mostly the college crowd.”

“Tuition can be a real pain in the ass.”

“And who are you thinking of to do the scouting?” Lacey asked, cutting Wings off before she could continue. “We only have one pony.”

“We can hire a couple interns,” Wings said with a tiny shrug.

“No, no! I’ve got it!” Jet cried. “Why not cut out the middlepony, and just use the interns as they come?”

“Jet, that’s messed up,” Wings said.

“Hey, we need money.”

“But dirty intern porn? Gross.”

“We do need money,” Lacey said, closing her eyes and sighing. To cut costs, ponies were being laid off, and those that remained had to live with reduced salaries. It started low, with the technicians and cleanup ponies, but the effects were creeping up to the actors and actresses. To avoid losing her own money, Lacey had been doing more videos, often at the expense of her personal comfort.

“Well, we don’t have any other ideas,” Wings said.

“And neither does anyone else,” Jet said.

“We heard it isn’t just here, either.”

“The whole thing is looking bad.”

“Already shut down one of the smaller Applewood studios.”

Lacey frowned. “I heard that. Do you know if they’re looking at doing the same to us?”

“No,” Jet said.

“Meaning we don’t know,” Wings said.

“But I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Lacey rubbed her head. The prospect of losing her money troubled her greatly; the prospect of losing her job was inconceivable.

And then she remembered the Elements.

“So, anything?” Jet asked. Her vibrant magenta eyes bored into Lacey, and she thought back, years ago.

She had always been a smart mare, and very resourceful, but it was the trials of growing up in the poor section of Manehattan that taught her her own cruelty. She deceived and manipulated wherever she could, and grew up successful, but unhappy. She had only one friend, a traveling unicorn with whom she exchanged letters, and who, at almost thirty years her senior, acted as a kind of spiritual guide—whose advice, in her selfish youth, she often ignored. At twenty, she had learned one of life’s hardest lessons: with no friends, material wealth was meaningless.

And so she changed. She forced herself to smile more, and act friendlier to everyone. For a while, she felt like an outsider in her own relationships, but slowly, she learned to trust ponies. She lost her mean streak, but never her drive.

Standing in the living room, a slice of watermelon dripping on the end table, and ambient music coloring the air, she pieced together a plan in her head. It was simple, obvious, and it disgusted her.

“I… do have something.”

* * * * * *

“I dunno, Twilight. Are you sure you’re not overreacting?” Rainbow said. They had returned to the park to enjoy some sunshine, which was fast diminishing behind a growing collection of clouds in the distance.

“I’ve checked the books, and the symptoms are all there. Memories, nightmares, increased distress when I think about it… I’m just glad I’m still healthy enough to help you girls.”

“I… maybe? Look, Twilight, I don’t know a whole lot about this psychology stuff. But if you really think you have post—what was it again?”

“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Twilight said patiently.

“Right. If you really think you have that, then maybe we should look for someone in this city to help you.”

“I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know. I don’t think I’m comfortable holding up our efforts to stop Discord with my own issues.”

“But if these issues of yours get out of hoof, then what’ll happen? We’ll be in even more trouble.”

“That’s true, but who say’s they’ll get out of control? I’m hoping that just by telling you about it, by talking it out, I can start to feel better. Or at least not feel worse.”

“I dunno, Twilight,” Rainbow said, shaking her head.

“Well, what’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried. What if talking isn’t enough?”

“In my book, it said one of the ways to deal with post-traumatic stress disorder is to expose yourself to the upsetting thoughts slowly and gradually, so you can get used to them again. I’ll balance out my fear that way, I think.”

“And have you been doing that?”

“I try, but it’s hard. Whenever I think of… it, I…” She closed her eyes for a moment, and Rainbow watched in confusion as her breathing sped up, her eyes tightened, and her face strained.

“Whoa, whoa.” She had no idea what to do. “Uh, Twilight, calm down. Just breathe, and think of something else.” She edged closer and tried to make her voice more soothing.

Twilight’s breathing grew more rapid.

“Just breathe normally, Twilight.” She tried to figure out how Twilight was feeling, but it was difficult; her face was changing quickly, and Rainbow had little skill in reading expressions. “Relax, Twilight. Relax, relax,” she said, trying to sound gentle.

Eventually, Twilight calmed again, and let out a long, stuttering sigh. “Sorry about that. As you can see, I get… anxious when I think about it.”

“Well, don’t think about it then.” Rainbow laughed nervously. “It’s just that easy.”

“But it isn’t. It’s always in my mind, somewhere.”

Rainbow frowned. “What do you mean?”

Twilight took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ve been dreaming about it lately.”

“Uh… dreaming?”

“It’s like I’m back there.” Her voice quivered with emotion, and Rainbow stretched out a wing, in case she would try to go for a hug. “B-back on, you know… back in Canterlot.”

“Oooooh.”

“It’s so real,” she whispered. “Sometimes I wake up with my horn glowing, like I’m trying to defend myself.” She leaned in, and Rainbow embraced her.

She didn’t like it when ponies cried; she never knew what to do with herself. Her body felt awkward with another pony crying into it. “I’ve, uh, been having dreams too.” She didn’t know what to say.

Twilight nodded in her down.

“Kinda like yours. Well, not as bad. But, yeah… similar, I guess. Kinda… flashback-y.”

Twilight kept crying, and Rainbow searched for something more to say. Some way to comfort her friend.

“I heard Fluttershy and AJ talking a while ago. They were having bad dreams too.”

Twilight brought her head up and wiped her tears. “Really?”

“Yeah, every night, by what Fluttershy said.”

“That’s four of us,” Twilight said. “At the same time?”

“It’s this freaky city.” She reached out and hugged Twilight. “You’re under a lot of stress, Twi. It’s okay.”

“No, no,” Twilight said, pushing herself away. “This isn’t right. We shouldn’t all be having nightmares at the same time. Every night? All of us? There’s no way.”

“It’s just a coincidence.”

Twilight looked down at her hooves and sighed shakily. “Maybe you’re right.” She looked at Rainbow’s eyes and blinked back more tears.

“Twilight, are you sure you don’t want to see a professional about this? We don’t mind waiting, you know.”

“I know, Rainbow, but I think I’ll be okay. As long as I keep control, and follow the advice in the book, I should be fine.” She looked into her eyes. “Thanks for listening, though.”

“Hey, any time. Whenever you wanna talk, just let me know, okay?”

Twilight smiled and nuzzled Rainbow, who returned the gesture. Neither of them saw the pale pony racing toward them from behind.

Pinkie and Octavia were at the fountain, speaking sparsely about the night before. Pinkie listened to her explanation with her full attention, but Octavia did not share her interest; remembering it brought back the anger she had with herself after Flash’s incapacitation. She should have been able to help more, she thought. As she spoke, she let her eyes wander; it was for this reason that she was able to spot the pony as he crested a nearby hill in one great leap.

Spring-hoof Jack, she knew instantly. The sun caught his coat like a flash of stone as he cleared the hill and skidded down its slope. Octavia watched with fascinated concern as he tumbled; his body seemed looser than when she had seen him in The Shot Apple. His legs bent and turned quickly, and at odd angles, like a grain thresher, but when he reached the bottom of the hill, he managed another unbelievable jump, directly at Twilight and Rainbow. Octavia made to shout a warning, but before she could, the pony had already jumped, and Rainbow was suddenly crying out in alarm, the slightly larger pony pinning her to the ground.

Everyone else was by a tree, and turned to see at the same time as Pinkie, shock and alarm on their faces. Twilight’s horn shimmered in the distance, but Spring-hoof Jack was already back up, his legs and mane whipping around like anemic switches. Blue flashed near his face, and he jumped awkwardly, his body still gyrating like a broken jumble of machine parts as he collided with Twilight. She fell back, and he bounced off her, his body contorting wildly.

In the moment of freedom, Rainbow took to the air, but it was no help. With just the briefest pause, Spring-hoof Jack jumped straight up and grabbed her, and despite her frantic flapping, she was dragged to the ground violently, a captive in his churning clutch.

Still shocked, Octavia only watched as Rainbow hit the ground. Pinkie, standing, darted forward, crossing the distance in a mere couple seconds, and Spring-hoof Jack flew at her, crashing bodily with his legs flailing and a clear contrail of blue fire behind his twisting jaw, raking the air and sizzling away quickly.

Pinkie turned over in the air and hit a picnic table, striking her head on the seat with a dull noise that rang in Octavia’s ears.

Her sister slumped back, and thoughts fired through Octavia’s mind. She stood reflexively, and her eyes locked on her pale enemy. Her legs moved, and she remembered her youth. It came back to her, as it had every night for the past week, in single images: a silhouette of a pony, a starlit road, a note.

Her mind, clouded with adrenaline, processed nothing about the scene before her. She galloped, Pinkie struggled, and a large fountain of dirt and dust appeared under Spring-hoof Jack. He landed clumsily a few yards away, a knot of angles that, to her dull, overburdened mind, resembled a crushed paper figurine.

She raced to catch up to him, and as she did, his legs turned rapidly beneath, folding and creasing like reeds, bringing him back up. Her steps didn’t falter, but as she closed the distance, she looked into his eyes. They were large, empty, red pools, and his face split in a grimace, showing snaggled teeth and jagged, sharp-looking gums. His face flickered as he flashed forward, and she fell back, her chest empty of breath.

She hit something solid and her vision spun, the clouded sky a sparkling pool. She could hear hooves retreating, and looked around with throbbing eyes. Spring-hoof Jack was a cream smudge in the distance, and she stumbled to her hooves.

She tried to run again, but her legs were heavy and unresponsive; she fell back into the grass. Her mind was still a flurry of activity, but she could not hold any thought for long.

So instead she buried her face in her hooves and began crying.

“How are you feeling, Octavia?” Fluttershy asked kindly, helping her into the bed.

Octavia only shook her head.

“Oh, dear.”

As soon as Spring-hoof Jack was gone, they had rushed to Octavia and tried to calm her down, but she lay prone in the grass for ten minutes, wailing, before they were able to quiet her. They got in a cab and immediately came back to the apartment.

She turned over to sob quietly into a pillow.

“What do we do?” Rarity asked.

“I… don’t know,” Twilight said. “Pinkie? She’s your sister. Has she ever been like this before?”

“No, never,” Pinkie said.

“Oh, um, I think it might be a good idea to let Pinkie stay here with her while the rest of us leave. Um, if that’s okay with you, Pinkie,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Pinkie approached the bed and examined her sister while the others left. “Octavia? You okay?”

No response came, and Pinkie hesitantly hoisted herself up into a standing position, something she could never do as well as her sister. Octavia was prone, a dark stain forming on the pillow where she pressed her face, and her head shook.

“Just let me know if you want to talk about it. Everypony else left.”

Again, no response, so Pinkie waited as patiently as she could with worry filling her head. Slowly, Octavia calmed down, and shortly after, she turned over to stare at the ceiling.

“You okay now?” Pinkie asked.

Octavia sighed. “No.”

“Talk to me.”

“I do not care anymore.”

“Care about what?”

“The consequences of my actions.”

“What do you mean?”

“I do not know what came over me, except to say that I am very distressed by it.”

Pinkie waited, clueless. As much as she didn’t know about Octavia, she did know that it was best to let her speak in her own time. That hadn’t changed since their youth.

“As you know, it is quite unlike me to express emotion with such disregard for those around me. What concerns me more than this—no. What frightens me more than this—is that I do not know what precisely I did in those moments. I remember pursuing Spring-hoof Jack, and I remember that there was an explosion. Beyond that, I have no idea.”

She was silent, and Pinkie tried to think of something to say. There was nothing.

Octavia continued, her eyes wet and her face relaxed. “It is no longer of importance to me. I concede. I relent. I give up.”

“Give up what?”

“I do not care what I have done. I do not care how it affects me. I just…” She didn’t finish her statement, and instead sighed. “You might have inferred this already, but I am under a large amount of stress.”

“I know.”

She closed her eyes, and her voice became level once more. “It is causing me to have occasional moments of weakness, like today’s. I apologize.”

Pinkie gasped. “Don’t apologize, silly! You didn’t do anything!”

“My presence is a constant source of negativity among you. For those of you I do not make feel sad, I make feel awkward. For those I do not make feel awkward, I annoy.”

“That’s not true.”

Octavia didn’t respond, and Pinkie looked into her face.

“What are you giving up?”

“Nothing. Please, forget what I said. It was said in a moment of weakness. It has passed.”

“Are you sure?”

Octavia’s eyes glistened, but she nodded. She turned over again and cried into her pillow, and Pinkie could not coax another response out of her.

When Pinkie went out to inform the others that they could return, Octavia was still alternating between sitting and staring, and crying into her pillow. They spent the night in the room, trying awkwardly to act as they normally would, but giving Octavia respectful distance. By the time they went to bed, she was sleeping fitfully, jerking her head back and forth and murmuring incomprehensibly. The night was restless for them all.

The next morning, they rose late. They were reluctant to return to the park, but there was little to do before Strawberry came home from work, so they decided to go out and explore the town; Fluttershy volunteered to stay behind and watch over Octavia, who had only left the bed a couple times to go to the bathroom.

She changed little from her pattern the night before, alternating between staring emptily at the walls and crying into her pillow; eventually, Fluttershy learned to ignore these weeping spells, as much as it pained her. Octavia did not speak to her, despite her numerous advances and entreaties.

The others’ time out in the city was hardly more interesting; without a guide, their adventures were little more than rides in cabs from one end of the city to the other, sometimes punctuated with moments of inspiration that turned to emptiness as soon as they discussed them. They found a fast-food restaurant and got some takeout, which they brought home to Fluttershy and Octavia, who gave her share to Pinkie.

When Strawberry got back home, he had hardly gotten out of his work clothes when they knocked on his door.

“Oh, you all,” he said tiredly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but how long will this be?”

“Not long,” Twilight assured.

“Good.”

“How’d it go today? Did you get our team together?” Applejack asked.

“I’m working on it, but it’s tricky. Rose Tower is absolutely huge; I’ll need to use five of our seven strongest cranes to hold it steady. But I have to get the mayor’s permission first.”

“Not your boss’?” Rarity asked.

“Not for something this ridiculous.”

“We need to speak with him about your plan anyway,” Twilight said. “I’ll schedule the meeting tonight.”

“Do you know exactly what needs to be done?” Rarity asked.

“Yes. I crunched the numbers and had them double-checked. The company can supply all the cables and cranes, as long as the mayor gives it the okay.”

“I’ll see if I can get a meeting tomorrow. When do you work?” Twilight asked.

“Eight to six.”

“Okay.”

He looked at them, then down the hall. “Where are the rest of you?”

“Oh, Octavia and Fluttershy?”

“Those are the others.”

“Octavia’s not… feeling well, and Fluttershy’s taking care of her,” Rarity said.

“How nice.” He slowly closed the door. “Mind you don’t catch what she’s got.”

They slowly walked back down the hall. “What is wrong with her? Do we know yet?” Applejack asked.

“I think she finally snapped,” Rainbow said.

“What does that even mean?” Twilight asked.

“Well, we all thought she was kinda crazy before. Maybe she’s turned even more crazy.”

“I hope she doesn’t do anything dangerous,” Rarity said.

“She’s not gonna do that,” Applejack said tersely.

“But how do you know?”

“Yeah, she went ballistic in the park,” Rainbow said.

“She’s not crazy, Rainbow,” Applejack insisted. “She’s just… Ah dunno.”

“She’s under a lot of stress,” Pinkie said.

“See, Twilight? I told you,” Rarity said.

“Maybe we should find a professional for her,” Twilight said.

“That might be a good idea,” Rainbow said, keeping her look on Twilight for a moment.

They entered the apartment and engaged in a few pleasantries with the Oranges while Twilight scheduled their appointment with the mayor. When they went back to their room, Octavia was staring mindlessly at the far wall. There was no improvement, Fluttershy said, and after some deliberation, they decided to ignore their fears and return to the park. It was near the center of Manehattan, far from both towers; they could cast another spell there without worrying about collapsing buildings. Fluttershy would remain with Octavia.

When they got to the park, the sun was just setting, and there were few ponies around to interfere. Applejack helped Twilight move a picnic table out of the way, and before long, Pinkie was standing in the great, empty space, with Twilight on the outside rim.

“I definitely think we should find a professional for her,” Rainbow said. She didn’t have to say whom she meant.

“She certainly is unhappy,” Rarity said.

“Ah hate to say it, but you might be right,” Applejack said. “We’ll have to see how she is tomorrow.”

“She might be better after she gets some sleep.”

“If she sleeps,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah. If,” Applejack said.

They were quiet for a while, and only watched Twilight draw her sigil. The grass was warm under their hooves, and the sound of the city soothed them, only a little. In the silence and the stillness, they could only reflect. Each of them, looking around. Rainbow: uncomfortable, both with the dreams that had begun to haunt her and her earlier position as Twilight’s counselor. Applejack: concerned, but uncertain, about the way her friends were changing. Rarity: simply, and coldly, dispassionate. She had had another nightmare that night.

“I hope that bouncin’ pony doesn’t come back,” Applejack said. “Spring-hoof Jack.”

Rainbow nodded pensively. “Yeah.”

“How’re you feelin’, by the way?”

“Fine.”

Applejack picked at a tuft of grass. “Hm.”

“Twilight takes really really really long with her sigil,” Pinkie thought. She was still, but her mind, as always, was not. Along with her primary internal monologue, there were many other, smaller thoughts: hypothetical parties, ways to cheer up Octavia, questions about Celestia and Discord, a song she enjoyed. “At least it’ll all be worth it when we’re done here.”

She watched as the lines of black ink flattened the grass they covered, leaving no trace of resistance wherever Twilight’s brush moved; it was fascinating, and she wondered what sort of magic was infused in the ink. Twilight herself was working assiduously as ever, seldom looking up from her work, and the others were over by a tree, silent. Pinkie wished she could be with them. It had been discussed to death, she knew, but she was worried about Octavia.

“I grew up with her, for Celestia’s sake. I thought I knew her better than anypony ever could, but she’s changed. It’s like I don’t even know her anymore.” She frowned and closed her eyes. “Whatever is is, it’s happening to the others too. Well, Twilight and Rarity, mostly. At least I think so. Gee, I hope I’m not imagining it. Wait, no. I do hope I’m imagining it, ‘cause I really don’t want them to be actually changing.”

She tried to focus on something happier. “When we get done with this whole big adventure, we’re gonna have to have the biggest party in Equestria! I’ll invite everypony I see, from everywhere I can, and we’ll party for days! I wonder where I can hold it? Hmmm, Manehattan might be big enough, but it’s full of not-so-nice ponies, like that arson-pony and Spring-hoof Jack. What is he, anyway? Celestia said Discord made him, but what is he actually? What’s Discord up to?”

She rambled on, her eyes still closed, and when she opened them again, it was in just enough time to watch Twilight finish the last section of sigil. Pinkie mentally braced herself for the sensation to come, but, as usual, no amount of preparation was adequate for the jarring, shocking, almost physical blow the spell put to her. The sigil whisked away, and she was left standing, legs locked and rooted to the ground, body as dense as a cannonball, head lighter than smoke.

She dissociated immediately, only vaguely aware of her own body; all thought was relegated to the bottom of her mind. She could feel the world around her, and all the ponies on it. She could feel her friends nearby, and the empty park, and the neighborhoods on each side, and the life of the city. She felt and watched, and everything was slower.

While her body’s heart beat and struggled in her body’s chest, she felt the great, jagged pieces of world all around her, like shells scattered on an ocean floor. Light as air, big as clouds. She reached out and held them in her thoughts, each fragment like a shard of water balanced on a hooftip. As easy as it was to hold the land, she knew that she could do with it whatever she wanted: destroy, or repair, or redesign as she wanted. Did Twilight know how the sigil made her feel? Did Celestia?

Her mind contracted with the force of intention, subtle and powerful. She felt the world draw together, slowly at first, and then quickly, following her command. Her mind was vast, and each piece seemed to fill it, an endless series of forceful thoughts and huge, heavy burdens, controlled with her loose consciousness. It felt as natural as her own breath, and soon, under the jittery feeling of ponies and their lives all around, she felt the tremendous, inexorable crush of dirt and concrete. The bridges across gaps were lifted and moved out of the way. She felt the buildings trembling around her, the ponies panicking. She could hold it all still, if she wanted. She could freeze the moment, recreate the earth, and blink a thousand lives back, if she wanted. She could make every single pony remember only the restored land, expunge every memory of the midnight cataclysm. If she wanted.

She kept them aware. She felt everyone, absolutely; every pony’s movement was as clear to her as the power webbing her parachute mind. She controlled the earth’s movement completely, bringing pieces together only when there was no one nearby to be hurt, only very carefully. She knew what she was doing.

When she was done, her mind slowly seeped back to her, and as it did, the feeling of control slipped away. Her consciousness reentered her body, and she could move once more. She tried, and fell to her knees; she was sapped of energy, though her mind was still a storm of activity.

Her friends were already at her side, helping her up and asking whether she was okay; she recognized Twilight’s voice among them. When she was on her hooves again, she looked around. “I’m fine,” she said pleasantly. “Did it work?”

“Like a charm,” Applejack said.

Pinkie smiled and allowed them to help her to the edge of the park, from where she continued on her own. They returned to the apartment and went to their rooms. There was no change in Octavia.

Lacey Revisited

Chapter Twenty-six

Lacey Revisited

“So according to my calculations—which I’ve had double-checked—we’ll need eighty cables, which I’ll have attached to the tower at ten different heights, starting at sixty-six feet and increasing in increments of fifty-six feet until we reach the top,” Strawberry said. He stood across from the mayor’s desk, a flurry of papers messy with calculations and measurements between them. “I’ll have five cranes, sixteen cables to each, surrounding the tower as shown on this paper here,” he continued, indicating a crude circle with five dots surrounding it.

“How certain are you that these cables will hold?” the mayor asked.

“These are our strongest cables, sir; they can hold thirteen-hundred tons each, which is more than enough to hold the tower.”

“And the cranes? Can they hold the cables?”

“As long as we give each crane no more than sixteen, yes.”

“And the ponies inside the tower?”

“I was hoping you could issue a warning.”

“I see. How much will this cost?”

Strawberry smiled nervously before answering. “About three-and-a-half million bits.”

The mayor leveled a stern gaze on him. “I’m no business major, Mr. Strawberry, but I do know that three-and-a-half million bits is no small sum. How does your company plan to pay for this?”

“Well, some of it can be written off, of course, but the rest will be compensated with,” he gestured at another small stack of papers on the desk, “these. If implemented, these should provide additional revenue as well as cut costs on supplies.”

The mayor leafed through them. “You’re talking about downgrading the quality of your own cables.”

“It’s not a downgrade, it’s a redistribution of resources. If we get our steel from the same supplier that used to give us our zinc, we can save enough money after six or seven quarters to get away from our original supplier, saving us tens of thousands.”

“This company you’re proposing is based in Minotaur Territory; how are you going to ship your supplies?”

“All I need is a starting subsidy of ten thousand bits for my own fleet of airships.”

The mayor looked at him dully.

“Steel sells for a quarter of the cost there,” Strawberry said, his cheeks coloring under the mayor’s stern eyes.

“Not with you as the only buyer.”

“That’s why I’ll only cut ties with our current supplier after I’ve saved enough, so I’m not dependent on the minotaurs.”

“That will take quite a while.”

“Unfortunately, yes. It will be a blow to the company, no matter what. But this way, the damage won’t be unreasonable.”

The mayor brought a hoof to his chin. “You realize of course that this is all very risky. What does your CEO say about it?”

“She’s wholly supportive. I’ve proven myself to her before,” he said with a hint of pride.

The mayor shook his head. “Well, as I said, I’m no business major, but this all looks good. If you say you can do it, then go ahead. My primary concern is the safety of the ponies in Rose Tower.”

“As is mine.”

The mayor took several minutes to contemplate. “Your plan is approved. Come talk to me after this whole… affair, and we’ll see about those airships of yours.”

Strawberry sighed with relief. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it.”

“See to it that I don’t.”

After the perfunctory goodbyes, he left the office and rejoined Twilight and her friends, and they went back to the lobby.

The group was complete; Octavia had gotten up in the morning just like normal, and while she was as reluctant to speak as always, her eyes were no longer glazed-over. She ate and made ready for the day along with them all, and when asked about the day before, politely requested that it not be mentioned; in deference to their recent reconciliation, no one pressed her.

They got in a cab and saw Strawberry home, where they lingered in the doorway to discuss his plans.

He stood inside the apartment, the door half-closed. “It’s basically redistributing our resources to make up for the cost of the cranes. I’ll just get our steel from the minotaurs; they sell it for cheap. The airships will be a huge cost, yes, but that’ll be more than made up by next year, as long as our sales keep steady.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little dangerous to assume that, though?” Twilight asked.

“It is, absolutely, but I have a few contingency plans in place. I couldn’t say this in front of the mayor, but I know of a few more objectionable ways to make a profit.”

They looked at him skeptically.

“Never you worry, though. I can handle the finances. Just be sure you’re ready to cast your spell when I am. This isn’t exactly something I can reschedule if you’re not feeling well.”

“Is there anything we can do to repay you for this?” Rarity asked.

“Please. What you did for the complex is enough recompense. This is my way of repaying you.”

“What are we gonna do about the other tower?” Rainbow asked.

“Glass Ribbon.”

“Yeah. That.” No one spoke for a moment.

“It is uncomfortable, but I think we will need you to help us with that one as well,” Octavia said.

“I suspected as much,” Strawberry said. “And I hate to say this, but I’m not so certain I can help you. The way I see it, securing Glass Ribbon will run the company another three million, easy. We can’t afford to spend that much so soon after this venture.”

“But you’re the CEO,” Rainbow said. “You can use company money however you want.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m the CEO of the supply branch, not the whole company. And even if I was, I couldn’t just use all the money. That would destroy the corporation.”

“They are the largest cable supplier in Equestria,” Octavia said.

“Losing six million bits in the space of a couple weeks is devastating, no matter how much authority I have,” Strawberry said.

“Well, I don’t think we have any other options,” Applejack said.

Strawberry thought. “Producing the money to finance a second venture would be tremendously illegal, and very risky.” He looked at them, and they him. After a moment, he closed the door. “I’ll think about it, though.”

“That’s about all we can ask, Ah s’pose.”

“Wait, Strawberry!” Rarity called.

His hoofsteps came back to the door, but it didn’t open. “What?”

“We forgot to mention this, but we’re moving out.”

“Where are you going?”

“We’re staying on the east side!” Pinkie said.

He was silent for a moment. “That’s the poor side of town. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Rainbow said. “We’re just moving. That’s all.”

“We found a flat that’s even bigger than our old room,” Rarity said with a smile.

He was silent again.

“You still there?” Applejack asked.

“Whose flat is it?” he asked.

“Huh? Just some mare we met in Rose Tower. A friend of ours.”

“What’s her name?”

“Oh, for the love of Celestia,” Rainbow said.

“Her name is none of your business,” Octavia said strongly.

“You don’t trust me with a simple name?” Strawberry asked.

“Lest you forget, it is because of you that we were forced to risk our lives getting Flash caught. You are not trustworthy.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough, Octavia. Fair enough. Here.” He was gone a moment, and a small card appeared under the door. “You can reach me at this number.”

“Thanks,” Twilight said hesitantly, tucking it away.

“That all?”

“Yes. We are moving out today,” Octavia said.

“Okay. Well, be careful out there. I heard that that Spring-hoof Jack was spotted in the park the other day.”

“…We heard that too,” Twilight said.

They went back up to the Oranges’ apartment, where they made small talk while Twilight packed up and placed their items back in her pocket dimension. The Oranges showed polite hesitance to see their tenants out, but it was clear to all that their departure was a tremendous relief. When Twilight came back out, levitating Octavia’s cello behind her, they said their goodbyes, Applejack’s taking longer than the others, and left without further ceremony.

When they stepped out onto the sidewalk for the last time, the sun was half swallowed under the horizon, and the streets had turned to long, orange and yellow shadows. They hailed a pair of cabs and took off for the east side, and arrived at an unimpressive apartment complex twenty minutes later.

“This is where your friend lives?” Octavia said, stepping out of the taxi. It was evening, and the view that greeted them was a lawn of dead grass, flanked by a garden of dying flowers and guarded by a squat, graffito-tagged pylon bearing the complex’s name. She was reminded of her apartment in Canterlot.

“She said she owns two flats,” Twilight said with a shrug as they entered the maze of tiny avenues and winding walkways.

“This actress who has not appeared in any movies.”

“She’s just an amateur,” Rarity said.

“At least she’s on the ground floor,” Applejack said. They walked halfway down the street before stopping at a stately, black door set into a frame of chipped, plaster columns. Tape covered the doorbell, and the welcome mat was fraying.

Twilight knocked softly, and the door swung inward on quiet hinges.

Lacey Kisses, a full head taller than her guests, wore slippers on her hooves and a large smile on her face. “Come on in.” She offered Octavia her hoof. “I’m Lacey, by the way. Twilight already told me about you. Octavia, right?”

Octavia shook it politely and nodded.

“Not much of a talker, I see. That’s cool, though. Here, let me show you around.” They entered the first flat, a tiny collection of rooms radiating around a central, open junction. Kitchen on the left, dining room on the right, living room across, and a recessed bathroom off to the side, each room was a different spoke off the blank anteroom. She talked as she indicated each room, and although they were small individually, they were warmly furnished and easily accessible to the rest of the apartment. “It gives the illusion of size, which I like,” she said.

She pushed open a door at the end of the flat, in the center of the divergence, and took them out into a warm, wet courtyard. It was little more than a fenced-in rectangle of grass between the two buildings, a garden hose lying tangled at one end and dripping into a muddy puddle in the grass. Water ran in delicate threads off the eaves while a soft rain sprinkled them. Rarity moaned quietly as they crossed it into the second flat, a mirror image of the first, plus one extra bedroom.

“Both of these are mine, but I tend to stay in the first one more,” Lacey said, opening a door to a large, undecorated bedroom. “Make yourselves at home. What’s mine is yours.”

“We can’t thank you enough for your generosity,” Rarity said, shaking her hoof.

“What are friends for?”

“What’s yer water situation?” Applejack asked.

“Ah, right. I have a friend on the weather patrol here, so we get rain pretty much every day. The bathroom’s basically nonfunctional, but I have the garden hose hooked up to my water repository. Use that to clean up.”

“What about your toilet?” Rainbow asked.

Lacey’s smile faltered. “Uh… are you saying you don’t know how it usually works?”

“The toilet worked at our last place,” Applejack said.

“Oh. Well, there’s a common area for this apartment block. There are signs outside.”

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable looks, and Lacey laughed.

“Applejack, is it too late to go back to the Oranges’?” Rarity asked.

“We’ll be fine here, Rare,” Rainbow said. “Now, let’s talk about food.”

“Yes, right after finding out we’ll be using a public bathroom, food is exactly what I want to discuss.”

“Aw, get over it.”

Rarity glared at Rainbow, and Lacey edged between them carefully.

“I was actually just getting ready to set up dinner. You’re welcome to join me if you want. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I make a fairly comfortable living.” Lacey headed back to the courtyard, and they followed.

“As an actress,” Octavia said.

“That’s right.”

They followed her back into the first flat, into the kitchen, where she began opening drawers and getting out supplies, humming a cheery tune. Pinkie bounced around her, singing her own improvised song, and they stood in the threshold, listening. Pinkie hadn’t sung in a long time.

While Lacey worked, Pinkie sang, and when it was clear that they weren’t needed, they went back to the bedroom. It was bigger than the Oranges’ guest room, but just as empty, containing only a bed and a small window. Twilight stood by the bed and released her pocket dimension, and their bags crashed to the ground in a jumble.

“I am curious,” Octavia said. “How does it feel to carry those around with you all day?”

Twilight stretched her neck slowly. “It’s not that bad. You know that feeling where you think there’s something you forgot, but you can’t remember what it might be? It’s like that. Just a little weight on my mind.”

“Interesting.”

“It can get a little irritating after a while, though.”

“I can imagine.”

They sorted their things from the pile, unpacking and rearranging until the room was scattered with saddlebags, books, and supplies. When they were done, Twilight stepped back and looked at the room. With their things lying around, haphazardly as they were in the Oranges’, it was beginning to look more like home.

Octavia went to her cello and, standing up with it in the corner, worked on tuning it, while Twilight sat down to peruse one of her encyclopedias. The others dispersed into the rest of the flat.

Twilight turned to a chapter on sleep disorders. “Say, Octavia.”

“Yes?”

“In the park, when Spring-hoof Jack ambushed us.”

Her tone was immediately dark, almost a growl. “I thought I made it clear that I did not want to talk about this.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I meant the actual attack, not, uh, afterwards.”

“My apologies.” Octavia dragged her bow across the cello, producing a sound that made Twilight flatten her ears. “The confrontation yesterday is still on my mind.”

“It’s fine.” She stared at her page for a second, discouraged. “I was just going to say I noticed an explosion, right before he ran away.”

“You noticed that?”

It took Twilight a second to realize Octavia was being sarcastic. “Was that your doing?”

Octavia hesitated. “I suspect so.”

“It was quite impressive.”

“I can not comment.”

Twilight withheld a sigh. “That’s okay. I was just thinking—if you want to, of course—we might want to go somewhere and practice that.”

“Really?” This time, there was no sarcasm.

“Definitely. One of the first things I learned about magic is that surges of emotion can really help point to where a pony’s talents lie. And, uh.” She paused. “Well, you know.”

“Yes.”

Twilight looked at her, but Octavia had nothing more to say. She went back to her book.

“Diiiiiiiiiiiner time!” Lacey called from the kitchen. “Come and get it, my little ponies!”

They converged obediently from throughout the flat, and she watched each of their faces, observing smiles, eyes, and unquestioning expressions. She, Pinkie, and Rainbow had worked together to produce a large, colorful salad, and as her new friends came together, the pleasure of new housemates faded under the shadow of what she knew she had to do. With just the three of them in the kitchen, the friendly atmosphere was enough to combat the knowledge of her dire situation, but looking at the entire crowd, she knew she had no other options. The Elements were the only ones to help her keep her job. She set to work analyzing them, watching them place plates and napkins with a smile and a pang of regret.

“I dunno what it is! We tried to make separate dishes, but that didn’t work, so we pooled our efforts and made a big salad instead!” Pinkie said.

“Looks amazin’,” Applejack said, taking a large helping for herself.

“I hope so, my little ponies,” Lacey said.

“Why are you calling us that?” Rarity asked.

Lacey didn’t look up. She needed to keep the conversation light, and didn’t want her eyes to betray anything. “Why not? Celestia does it all the time.” “Inquisitive, but not aggressive. Good.”

“Not all the time,” Twilight said.

Lacey shrugged. “I always thought it was a little weird. Like, why are you her little ponies, know what I mean?” “Defensive. Not great.”

“She's our ruler,” Rainbow said.

“Well, sure, but calling you her little ponies is kind of devaluing. She doesn’t own you.” “Blind assumption. Possible.”

“She kind of does,” Fluttershy said.

“See? I told you she’d be with me,” Rainbow said, nudging Lacey. They had discussed it in the kitchen, when Lacey brought it up as a joke. It was one, then.

“I still say it’s a crappy thing to do,” Lacey said.

“I think it’s fun!” Pinkie cried, mouth full. “It’s like, if we’re her little ponies, it means we’re kind of protected!”

“Okay. Not quite what ‘fun’ means, but I see what you’re saying.” “Too spazzy. Like I didn’t know that already.”

Pinkie only laughed in response, and they ate in silence for a long time. Lacey looked up at them when they weren’t paying attention, studying their faces, the ways they related to one another. Twilight was the leader, clearly, but Octavia—the odd pony out—drew plenty of looks of her own. “Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s running this little team soon.”

She sniffed, and it was enough to get them to look at her. “You’re all from Ponyville, right?”

“Almost all of us!” Pinkie said.

“I am from Hoofington,” Octavia said.

“Oh, I’ve heard that’s a lovely town. It’s close to the coast, isn’t it?” “Too knowledgeable.”

“It is not close, exactly, but it is closer than the other towns.”

“I’ve heard it’s a beautiful place to live.”

“Yes.”

Lacey nodded. “Right. Sorry. I forgot you don’t like to talk too much. So, how’s the big city treating you all?”

“Not bad,” Twilight said cagily.

“I noticed the opposite side of town has started healing itself. You girls know anything about that?”

Twilight laughed nervously, but Lacey gave her a disarming smile. “It was actually a lot easier than we expected. We did the southwest side and the central park area, and the hardest part was finding a spot to stand to cast the spell.” The others nodded in accordance.

“Yeah, Manehattan can be a little crowded.” She chuckled lightly. “Forgot they told me their secret back in the tower. Interesting.” “Now,” she leaned forward slightly, shortening the distance between her eyes and Twilight’s. “Not to rush you or anything, but I don’t suppose you can cast that little spell on my side of town sometime soon, can you?” She smiled again, showing her teeth in a tiny, well-practiced crescent.

“I don’t see why not,” Twilight said.

“‘Cause as neat as our collapsed building bridges are, I’d rather not go over a bottomless chasm on my way to work every day.”

“What happens to those, anyway?” Rainbow asked.

“Huh?”

“Like, when we do a spell. Where do the bridges go?”

“Oh, I just push ‘em aside!” Pinkie said.

“You push them aside?” Lacey asked.

Twilight cleared her throat nervously. “She’s just being silly. She means I just push them aside. Right, Pinkie?”

Pinkie’s laughter diminished as she looked at Twilight’s serious expression. “Uh, yeah.”

Lacey smiled. “More secrets,” she said quietly. “But continue, please.”

“We can probably cast our spell tomorrow,” Twilight said sedately, eyes down to her plate.

“That would be delightful.” “Eager to please. Worth consideration.”

“Lacey, do you know of any places for Twilight to practice some magic?” Octavia asked.

Lacey paused. It was the first time she had heard Octavia speak unsolicited. “As long as you’re careful, you can do it right here.”

“There will be explosions.”

Lacey snorted laughter. “Oh. Uh, what you need is a big, empty lot.” She glanced at Octavia, who looked back seriously. “I don’t know any nearby.”

“Okay.”

She looked at Twilight, who smiled. “You have a lot of magic, don’t you, Twilight?”

She blushed a little. “I’m Celestia’s star student.”

“Mm, I remember you telling me that. You don’t look it, you know.”

“I’ve been told that.”

“So you must be fairly popular in Ponyville.”

“Somewhat. Usually, ponies only call on us when there’s some kind of crisis.”

“Like this!” Pinkie said.

Twilight looked down at her salad, mostly uneaten. “Yeah. Like this.”

“But surely you have a day-to-day job.”

“I’m a librarian.”

“Ah, that explains that.” “Bookish, quiet, intelligent. Good body, good face. Seems like something’s bothering her, though.” “And Rainbow’s the weatherpony.”

“Number one sky clearer, right here,” Rainbow said, flashing her wings quickly.

“Do you work alone?”

“Nah, I got a team. Of course, none of them are even half as awesome as me.”

“Of course.” “Outgoing, but too excitable. Might not do well in the reveal.” “What about you, Applejack?”

“Ah run Sweet Apple Acres with my big brother, little sister, an’ granny,” she said with pride.

“Sweet Apple Acres is the Ponyville orchard, I take it?” “Good ol’ country girl. Family values. No go.”

“Right.”

“Why are you so interested in our jobs all of a sudden?” Twilight asked.

“Just trying to get to know you all a little better,” Lacey said sweetly. “You’re next, Rarity. As I recall, you’re a designer?”

“That’s right. I have—er, I mean… well, I was quite successful.”

“Was?”

Pinkie leaned in, and Lacey cocked her ear. “Her store fell down a crack.”

“Pinkie, darling, that works better if you lower your voice,” Rarity said unhappily.

“So you’re pretty well-known,” Lacey pressed, masking a frown. “Sympathy, Lacey. The mare lost everything.” “As I am about to do.”

“Sure.”

“Hm.” She let some of her sympathy show, and after a moment, spoke again. “And what about you, Fluttershy? Are you a model? You could be, you know.”

Fluttershy blushed and squirmed in her seat. “Oh, um, no, actually. I help sick and injured animals.”

“Awwww, that’s sweet. So you’re a vet?”

“Kind of. Um, I usually work for free, though.” Her voice dropped, and was nearly inaudible. “Sometimes ponies pay to have me pet sit for them.”

“Too shy. I’d never get anywhere with her.” “What about you, Octavia?”

“I am—was, actually—a musician for hire. I play the cello.”

“So you travel a lot.”

“Yes. I have been here, Canterlot, Trottingham, Fillydelphia, Applewood.”

“Damn, you’ve been around. I’ve always wanted to go to Applewood.” “Way too experienced. And not an Element, anyway.”

“It is truly a sight to behold. The venues there are amazing; my ensemble and I played in front of a crowd of millions once, for a Hearths Warming show.”

“Millions?” Lacey repeated, amazed. She was no stranger to the idea of large audiences, but a million ponies watching the same performance in the same place was staggering to her.

“That is correct.”

“But the theater must have been bigger than Canterlot Palace.”

“It is.”

Lacey had to take a moment to process the idea of it.

“Aren’t you gonna ask what I do?” Pinkie said, bouncing in her seat.

“I already know what you do,” Lacey said, grinning. “You bake, and you party. That’s all you do, ever.”

“That’s right! You win! Um, what does she win?”

She looked back at Rarity while Pinkie made a show of thinking. “Rarity, would you say you’re fairly well-liked in Ponyville?”

Rarity sighed. “I guess so. Why?”

“Just wondering.” She paused and leaned forward, placing her hooves together. “Careful, Lacey.” “Are there any actors in Ponyville?”

“Not that I know of,” Rainbow said.

“Not surprising. Not a big film town, am I right?”

“You got that right,” Applejack said. “There’s only one video store in the whole town, an’ it has a pretty small selection.”

Octavia picked at something in her teeth. “Pinkie, did you put a jalapeño in this dish?”

Pinkie laughed and clopped her hooves together. “Yup! You like it?”

“Yes.”

Lacey laughed at the tiny exchange.

They remained at the table for a long time after dinner, answering Lacey’s manifold questions. She interrogated them relentlessly: their pasts, aspirations, friends, love lives, family; nothing was too personal for her. For a while, it was good to talk of home, but as the night wore on, the conversation turned more downcast, and no one much felt like sharing when bedtime came around. Lacey bade them good night and retreated to her own room, while everyone else split into the two spare rooms in the second flat.

Octavia shared the bed with Rarity, and Fluttershy lay on the floor. The two of them spoke quietly, and Octavia stared at the dark ceiling. She felt the familiar pull of fatigue on her eyes, but she could not sleep. Instead, she listened to Rarity’s and Fluttershy’s conversation; there was little to it. They missed Ponyville, they missed someone named Spike, and they missed going to the spa every week. Their conversation steadily grew more tired, with greater distances between their responses, and then stopped altogether.

She listened to Rarity’s breathing, which was still shallow and steady—not the breath of a sleeping pony. It was a trick she knew well. Eventually, after an hour of false slumber, which Octavia matched, Rarity’s breathing evened out and slowed, and Octavia was alone.

They woke the next day to a light drizzle. Lacey was the first to rise, followed shortly by Rarity and Octavia, who hadn’t slept. No one asked her about it. They had the remnants of the big salad for breakfast, and Twilight outlined the day. She and Octavia would go find an empty lot to practice magic while the others went out to explore the town, the intention being to find a police station. They were tired of running into Spring-hoof Jack unprepared, and wanted to do something to stop him. They would reconvene later in the afternoon to cast another restoration spell.

The group split, and Twilight and Octavia sat in a taxi for twenty silent minutes before stopping outside a vacant, muddy lot. A snarled chain-link fence guarded it, its wires sparkling with raindrops, one end twisted away like a metal claw. The lot was huge, a tarnished, wet brick wall surrounding it on three sides, the backs of buildings just behind. Trash, spotted with mud, lay throughout the lot, with an occasional weeping flower to add color to the cold scene.

“There is no pleasure in life. Embrace the cascade,” Octavia said. She pointed to a scrawled, acid green message on a curled lip of sheet metal.

“Yeah, this isn’t a great part of town,” Twilight said. Her horn glowed for a moment, and there was a brief shimmer in the air. “A muffling spell, so no one gets upset about the noise.”

“Good idea.”

“So, do you remember how you felt when you made that explosion the other day?”

Octavia sat down heavily. “I do not want to talk about it.”

“Octavia, you have to. If you don’t, we’re not going to get anywhere.”

“Fine,” she said bitterly. “All I remember is being upset. I do not recall any specific feelings.”

“Well… okay. I know magic sometimes only manifests during surges of emotion, but I think we should save that for last. We don’t want to get you upset just for this.”

“No, we do not.”

“Can you try to get the same intensity of feeling, without actually getting mad?”

Octavia thought for a moment, and Twilight bent to look into her face. “I am trying that right now. It is difficult.”

Twilight paced a little, trying to think of what she knew about explosion spells. She couldn’t remember using one.

“I cannot do it. I do not have enough anger right now.”

“Well… okay.” Twilight thought for a second. “Let’s break this down. It’s just an application of force, but in a more widespread, less controlled way. You can push things around well enough. Try that spell, but more… well, outwards.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not being very helpful.”

“You seem distracted.”

Twilight blinked rapidly, her breathing deepening just a tiny amount. “I dreamed about it again.”

Octavia raised her eyebrow. “Nightmares?”

“Yeah.”

“This…”

“Every night, without fail, I have bad dreams,” Twilight continued. “We all do. Rarity, Rainbow, Fluttershy… you, apparently.”

Octavia sighed angrily to herself.

“And they’re only getting worse. I… Celestia, why am I even talking to you about this? Look at you. You don’t care!”

Octavia frowned. “I am sorry?”

“I can tell. You just want me to get on with the magic lesson.” She stood up and turned around rapidly, her tail swishing in Octavia’s face.

“That is not true, Twilight.”

Twilight scoffed. “You said we’re not your friends. Applejack told me. So why should you care?”

“Because I was wrong earlier.” She dropped her gaze to the dirt.

Twilight turned again, her face skeptical. “Oh really?”

“I still do not trust you with my secrets. That is not personal; I trust no one that well. But you are the closest things I have to friends, and have had in a very long time.”

Twilight took a moment to process her words. She wasn’t satisfied with her explanation, but at the same time, knew she should be. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes.”

She walked back to Octavia. “Well… thanks. I like you too.” She smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s these dreams. They’re really stressing me out. I… I woke up crying, late last night.”

“I understand.”

“It’s the eyes,” Twilight continued. “I see her eyes. Or his eyes. I… I don’t know if it was a mare or stallion.”

“I really do not know what you are referring to.”

Twilight sighed. “I can’t go into it. I’m already… yeah.” She looked away, and Octavia could see her struggling to keep her composure.

“We can return later, if you want. It is no bother to me.”

“Just give me a moment.”

Octavia did, thinking of her own nightmares. They were familiar to her; they played out in her mind like old movies, every night, the same, and always powerful. She remembered the last time she dreamed. She, too, remembered eyes: beautiful, blue eyes, framed in a white face, devoid of crease or feature. Brief and unimportant, fixed on the slack face of the aspect of her visions, before blackening into its true form.

She pawed unhappily at the ground, drawing a small X before swiping it away.

“Oh, I remember now,” Twilight said, her sadness evaporated. “We practiced explosion spells in the bunker.”

Octavia only looked at her, not knowing what she meant.

“Here, it’s like this, Octavia. Gather your magic.”

Rarity had almost gone with the remaining group to the police station, but Lacey told her she wanted to speak with her in private. They sat at the dining room table, across from one another; Lacey looked Rarity up and down, appraising her, while Rarity endured her prying eyes with as much dignity as she could.

It was a minute before Lacey spoke. She was nervous, and very uncertain. The butterflies in her stomach made her voice uneven, and she had to look away from Rarity’s eyes to avoid losing her nerve altogether.

Even though they were alone, she could hear Wings and Jet in her head, their reactions horrified from when she told them her plan. “Lacey, your job’s important, I know, but that’s pretty low.” “Ghoulish, really.” “You’re not seriously gonna do that, are you?” She shook her head and looked at the table. “Am I seriously gonna do this?” “Don’t do it, Kissy.” “You’re better than that.” Her head cleared for a moment, and she looked up quickly. “I am seriously gonna do this.”

The thought gave her confidence, and she looked Rarity in the eye, only briefly. “What are you going to do when you get back home?”

Rarity sighed. “Oh, darling, I really don’t know.”

“Pinkie Pie said that your boutique, well, fell.”

Rarity nodded.

Compassion crept into her voice. “That has to be rough on you.”

“It was.”

“Yeah. So are you gonna try to rebuild, or what? What happens when you get back?”

“I suppose I have no choice. If I want to continue my business, I’ll need a new boutique, new supplies… new everything, pretty much. But I don’t see how I’m going to pay for that.”

“Plus the expenses of all the travel you’re planning.”

“I know.”

Lacey leaned forward slightly to watch her, her eyes serious, impelling Rarity to continue.

After a minute, she did. “You know, we still have to find an airship before we leave Manehattan. That’s at least ten thousand bits right there. And then whatever happens in the other cities.” She sat back and looked at the ceiling, sighing. “We already got involved in something bad here, and this is the first city. I don’t like to think of what may come next.”

“Where are you going after this?” Lacey asked, leaning back. “Ease up on the pressure.”

“I’m not certain. Maybe Appleloosa. Applejack has family there; it would be nice to see some friendly faces after all this. Er, no offense, dear.”

“I understand.” And she did. “How long will you be traveling?”

“Oh, at least a month. I really don’t know. We need to track down the Elements.” She paused. “And they could be anywhere.”

Lacey nodded. “It all comes back to the money. I imagine the others are just as worried as you.”

“It all comes back to the money.” Rarity smiled darkly. “And they are. Twilight especially.” She paused for a long time, and Lacey let her think. “And that’s what worries me the most, of all of this.”

Lacey had to share her smile. She was anxious, and uncomfortable with herself, but talking to a pony in a similar state brought her a sort of cruel comfort.

“I’m sorry, dear. I’m sure you don’t want to hear more about our financial problems.” She smiled pleasantly. “You wanted to talk about something with me, yes?”

Lacey nodded. “I did. It’s not easy for me to say, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not completely forward about it.”

“Of course, darling. My ears are always open to somepony who needs to talk.”

Lacey looked at her again. Her heart was racing and her chest felt tight, the knowledge of what she was doing making her almost physically ill. “It had to be generosity, didn’t it? The nicest pony in the bunch. The least deserving.” She shook her head. “Come on, Lacey. It’s her or me.” “I have a confession to make. Well, not a confession, uh, so much as a clarification.”

“What is it?” Rarity asked. Though Lacey was a storm of indecision inside, Rarity’s inquiry was free of accusation or fear. It buoyed her.

“I told you—when we met in Rose Tower—I was an actress. And… that’s true. I mean—well, yeah, that’s true. But I didn’t tell you what I acted in.”

“Uh huh. And… is that bad?”

“Rarity, do you… uh, do you know what pornography is?”

Rarity took several moments before answering. “I do,” she said slowly. She chewed her tongue and took a deep breath. “I do.”

Lacey nodded. “I’m sure you can make the connection yourself.”

“Of course, of course. So… huh.” She looked at Lacey, who leaned back and adopted a mild expression. It was like she was meeting Rarity for the first time, again. “So you… you’re a model?”

“Actress,” Lacey said simply. “I do videos. Vanilla stuff, mostly.”

“I see.”

Lacey gave her a moment. “I figured, of all of you, you seemed the most understanding. I know it’s kind of a taboo, and I didn’t want to freak out the others.”

“No, I understand,” Rarity said. “And I do agree. It’s rather… strange, but I’m not bothered, exactly. Not how I imagine Rainbow Dash would be, or Fluttershy.”

“Exactly.”

Rarity continued looking at her, and Lacey had to keep herself from fidgeting. “Well, I appreciate the honesty, Lacey. Do you think you’ll tell the others?”

“I would like to, in time. But I think it’d be best to do it one at a time.” She smiled. “Starting with you.”

“Right.”

Lacey got up and paced around the kitchen. “I appreciate your understanding, Rarity. I was a little worried, going in, but you’ve allayed my fears.”

“I’m happy to help, darling.”

Lacey paused, her head again filled with the voices of her friends. “It’s a crappy thing to do, Kissy.” “Diabolical.” “That poor pony.” “No one deserves that.” She sighed, and Rarity tilted her head inquisitively.

“Is something the matter?”

Lacey paid her no attention. In her mind, she was poised. She could remember when such a decision would be nothing to her. She could remember her younger self, a cold, intelligent filly without any trace of empathy or mercy. Betrayal, manipulation, and deception: all easy things for her. And then she thought of her present: how, for years, she had struggled to keep her selfishness in check. How, after finding friends, she told herself she would never revert to her old ways. How, standing with Rarity, all alone, and her job on the line, the temptation pulled her in ways she thought she had grown out of.

“Lacey, are you okay?”

Voices bounced through her head. Wings’, Jet’s, and her own. “You’re better than this.” “It’s her or me.” “Pure evil, Kissy baby. I don’t like it.” “Real nag thing to do.” “Disgusting.” “Necessary.”

In her mind, she edged to one side. “A single confession. A confession behind the confession. Or a simple ‘I need your help’. She would do it. Generosity.” Then she frowned, thinking back to the day before. “The others will stop her.” In her mind, she tipped to one side. Past and present, cruelty and kindness, balanced for so long. With a gentle smile, all was undone.

“Sorry. Just thinking. It’s funny, Rarity. You know, I never really expected to be in this industry.” She chuckled. “I was in college for a business degree when they found me. A talent scout asked me if I wanted to make some quick bits. I said sure. Why not? A couple months later… well, you know.”

Rarity nodded. “Life can be funny like that.”

Lacey watched her face closely. She had guided hundreds of ponies along lines of thought in the past, and knew how to judge character. Rarity was the kind of pony to arrive at her own conclusions, given time. Pushing the issue would only scare her off.

Rarity rubbed her head as a small blush formed across her cheeks. “Lacey… how much money did you get for your first… uh, thing?”

“It was a series of photographs, and a short video. For the pictures alone, it was two hundred bits. For the video, one hundred-fifty.”

“That’s… not bad.”

Lacey turned away, a tiny smile on her lips. “I had some debts to pay off, so you can imagine how happy I was to make that kind of money for just showing off my natural assets.” “And now for the clincher.” “And while it’s not exactly enough to buy an airship, it’s a good way to start.”

“Yes. A good way to start.” She looked at Lacey again, as if studying her body. “So…”

Lacey looked over at an end table, where a pair of bits shone under a window, placed deliberately. Rarity followed her eyes, and Lacey breathed out slowly. “Please, don’t make me an offer.”

“So… if I wanted, say, five hundred bits. Just to get started with an airship, or something. What… would that mean for me?”

“Lacey, you colossal nag.” “It’s difficult to say. However, if you’re interested…”

“I… don’t know. I think… I don’t know.”

Lacey nodded understandingly. Jet’s voice, more serious than she had ever heard it before, played through her head. “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemies, Lacey. And I’ve got plenty of ‘em.” “Plus, you might not even have time. You need to leave soon. You and your friends.” She gave a second of silence.

Rarity’s face clouded over with thought. Friends. She licked her lips, swallowed, looked away.

Lacey looked back over at the bits on the table.

“We… have money. But we won’t after all this.” She breathed in calmly. “What we do have isn’t even ours. It’s the princess’.”

Lacey kept her eyes fixed on Rarity’s. She was withering inside.

“The bits we had, we’ve spent on cab fare, or supplies. Twilight counted them a couple nights ago. I don’t remember how much we have left. Less than fifty.”

Lacey nodded slowly, watching Rarity’s thoughts on her face. Creases along her jawline, minute contractions of her brow. A very uncomfortable position.

“How would I go about doing something like this?”

Lacey sighed, victorious. “Well, it’s quite simple. I would take you down to the studio, and you’d talk with my manager, then, from there, a director. But I think, before that, we should have something a little more private.”

“What do you mean?” Rarity’s voice was quiet and emotionless. She wasn’t happy.

“I have a camera, and I know how to use it. What I would suggest is you and I go somewhere—wherever you feel most comfortable, obviously—and I take some pictures.”

“Of what?”

“Of whatever.” She shrugged lightly, and in that instant of insignificant movement, her sympathy was gone. Her own voice drowned out those of her objecting friends. “It’s just business, girls.” “The industry is really open-ended, Rarity, more so than I think you think. Anything you care to show off, there’s a market for it. If you don’t want to show anything too sexual, we can keep it to your hooves, or your mouth, or your ears even. It’s all about what you feel comfortable doing. If you don’t like it, we won’t do it.” She leaned closer again. “I don’t want to put you in any compromising positions.”

Rarity thought. “And if these photographs are good enough… what then?”

“Then you sign a few things, we give you the money, and that’s it. You’ll appear in whichever magazine is most appropriate for what you’re showing.”

“And… videos?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Lacey said. “Pictures first. That’s always how it starts. We need to see how the camera likes you, how you do in certain lights, in certain poses, and so forth.” She waved a hoof dismissively and smiled. “You don’t need to worry about that. Your only job is to be beautiful.”

Rarity nodded, deep in thought.

“There’s a lot of money to be made here.”

“Now… this isn’t going to turn into something, right?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re not going to try to get me to do anything I don’t want to, right?”

“Never,” Lacey said, affecting offense. “The instant you start to feel uncomfortable is the instant I back off. It’s that simple, Rarity. That’s how they were for me, and that’s how I’ll be for you.”

Rarity looked around. They were still alone, and would be for a while. “What… sells?”

“Anything. Really, anything. Name it.”

“I can…” She mumbled something, and Lacey cocked an ear.

“I’m sorry.”

“I can try… a little, um, playing around with myself. If… you know, if that would be something you want. Something that would pay well.”

“I can’t say for sure, but based on your body, I’d say it would pay very well.” Lacey smiled as nicely as she could, showing her teeth and letting her eyes crinkle in what she knew was her friendliest expression.

“How many pictures?”

“If you’re asking how many would make it in the magazine, it can be anywhere between five or ten to thirty. That’s more up to the editors; that’s not me. But we’d probably shoot at least fifty. You know, a lot of them won’t be very good.”

“Right, right. And… where?”

“Wherever you want. Wherever you’ll feel best. Bedroom, bathroom, outside.”

“Outside?” Rarity sounded appalled.

“It’s quite the rush.”

“I’ll just go in the bedroom, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Sure.” Lacey walked to the hallway. “Did you want to do it now?”

Rarity hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Keep in mind, just because we do this, doesn’t mean you have to be published. If it turns out you don’t like it, I can destroy the pictures. No one has to know.”

Rarity smiled a little. “That’s true. There’s nothing saying I have to make any commitments here. I can back out at any time.”

“Any time you want. And who knows? It might be fun. I’ve seen ponies as uptight as your Octavia having the time of their lives when a camera gets on them. You never know.”

Rarity nodded slowly, then more quickly. “You know what? I’m not… completely sure about this, but I think I’d like to give it a try.” She laughed nervously as Lacey beamed at her.

Forty-eight photographs later, Rarity finished with a shuddering, bucking orgasm that rocked the bed and stained the sheets in a wide spray. Lacey let her cool down and catch her breath, her chest heaving and her legs pistoning weakly, one hoof hanging limply between them like something dead. Her face was slack and dumb, and Lacey imagined with a sense of wry amusement how she would react if she could see herself in such a state.

She checked the film, making sure everything was secure, and took the camera to her bedroom. She would have it developed at the studio the next day, and from there, hope that the material was good enough. She knew it would be. In her head, blotting out the dissatisfied voices of Wings and Jet, was her own triumphant mantra. “The only authentic porn of an Element of Harmony, and it’s all mine.” She smiled wide and sinister as she put the camera on the bookstand.

Octavia and Twilight spent the next hour in the lot, building from the little pop of a firecracker to the startling, air-swelling crack of a grenade. Octavia was panting from the exertion and dripping with sweat, but Twilight had never seen her smiling so wide. With each explosion, she gained power and confidence, throwing jets of dust into the humid air and blasting black, ugly craters in the ground. As ponies passed, they would stop and stare, but were paid no attention.

They left the lot stained and streaked with mud, and had to endure their cab driver’s unfriendly glances all the way to Lacey’s flat, where they stood in the rain in the courtyard for several minutes, neither speaking.

The others were already back, and Lacey and Rarity were working on lunch in the kitchen. Rainbow’s crew had found no help at the police station; their account of Spring-hoof Jack had nothing they hadn’t already heard from tens of other frightened citizens.

They ate, exchanging their experiences from the day. Rarity said she had helped Lacey with some housework; one problem, Lacey affirmed, with a constant supply of rainwater was that leaks and rotting plaster were more common.

When they were done, they rested in their rooms for an hour, reading, playing cards, or chatting. Twilight split her research between explosion magic—on which her encyclopedia had disappointingly little information—and insomnia. She wanted to read about post-traumatic stress disorder, but each page turned toward the section in her book was a step back into memory.

“I’m going to fix the lot up first,” Twilight said as they got out of the cab, “and then we’ll be good to go. You feeling all right, Pinkie?”

“Are you kidding? I feel great!” Pinkie cried, jumping in place on the sidewalk. It was raining again, and with every jump, water splashed at them. They walked to the end of the fence, slipping between the wall and wires into the sopping swamp of mud and refuse. Rarity stayed on the sidewalk.

The signs of Octavia’s spell-casting were still evident, though the rain had evened out many of the smaller holes. While Twilight busied herself with filling in the remaining craters and Pinkie and Rainbow played in the puddles, Octavia, Fluttershy, and Applejack watched from the fence. Rarity stood on the other side of the fence, a small, magical shield over her head to keep the rain off.

For the lot’s restoration, they didn’t speak, but as Twilight began her sigil, their eyes turned outwards. The spell was becoming routine, and though the sight and sound of it were still jarring, the anticipation that once colored their vigils over Twilight’s design had faded. They spoke evenly, and of other things.

It was, by Applejack’s reckoning, only a week or two until they would need to leave again, and while they had been busy dealing with Flash, thoughts of another ship had been largely forgotten. On the other side of town, away from Strawberry and the trouble that followed him, there was clarity.

“There is a dealership at the top of Glass Ribbon,” Octavia said. “If we have time, we should go tomorrow.”

When Twilight finished, they calmly shielded their eyes from Pinkie’s powerful glow and listened to the ground around them fuse back together. The sound was still fascinating, and still enough to conjure a distant fear in their hearts, but when it was done, there was none of the fanfare from their earlier spells. They simply walked into the lot’s center to help Twilight and Pinkie stand, and exited.

Ponies poured into the streets and abandoned idling cars, many of them panicking—to them, it had sounded like another earthquake—while they backtracked in search of a cab. In the mess of voices, car horns, and flapping pegasi, they were able to escape without notice.

“We really should consider warning them next time,” Applejack muttered.

Pinkie laughed.

Sex and Violence

Chapter Twenty-seven

Sex and Violence

“Spring-hoof Jack appeared in the expansive Glass Ribbon parking lot early yesterday morning.” The caption appeared under a large, black and white photo of a bizarre, pale starburst behind a chain-link fence. From its front stretched a contorted imitation of a pony’s head, mouth closed in a tightened grimace, neck twisted and thin, like a warped spring.

It was early evening, and while Twilight was on the phone with Strawberry, the others were in the bedroom with a newspaper. Lacey was out.

Applejack tapped the picture. “He didn’t start out lookin’ like this.”

“He doesn’t even look equine,” Rainbow said.

“The police think he’s degenerating,” Fluttershy said. “But the article didn’t explain what that means. So…”

“He’s running out of power,” Twilight said, stepping into the room. “He’s just a magical construct. He isn’t permanent.”

“Wait. So is he dying?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight scratched her chin. “Not exactly. He was never really alive. At least, I doubt it.”

“It is like when a magical enchantment fades,” Octavia said.

“Exactly.” Twilight gave her a smile. “You’re remembering my lessons.”

“Yes.”

“So is he just gonna go away on his own soon?” Rainbow asked, tapping the paper insistently.

“Probably,” Twilight said.

“Huh. Hope it’s soon.”

“What did Strawberry say, Twilight?” Pinkie asked.

“He’s got the cranes reserved and the cables ready. The earliest he can use them is the day after tomorrow.”

“Not long now,” Applejack said, nodding. A smile grew on her lips. “Not long at all.”

It wasn’t long before they all separated, going out for a walk or retreating to their own rooms. Twilight stayed where she was to do research, and Octavia to tune her cello. She tried to read, but she was nervous: about the coming spell, about the tower, about herself, about her friends.

She sighed and closed the book, and Octavia looked at her. “Is something the matter?”

Twilight shook her head. “It’s fine. Just a lot on my mind.” She thought of the empty lot, and the explosions, and then their spell. Walking back, they saw more of the immediate aftermath than ever before. Ponies running amok, flying frantically, yelling and talking and gaping at the world like newborns. Cars hummed in the streets, abandoned, and doors hung open like their tenants’ shocked mouths. Asphalt furrowed and sidewalks buckled, and the fallen building bridges were smashed aside like pieces of trash. In a way, she thought, it was worse than before; she had to remind herself that the panic would pass.

She thought of Rose Tower, and of Rarity. She looked at her bags, and the lamplight glinted on a rivet.

“I just remembered something,” Twilight said.

Octavia looked up from her cello. “Yes?”

“I got you a present a while ago.”

“You did?”

Twilight got off the bed and rooted through her bag, producing the small pipe and pouch of marijuana, which she floated over to Octavia. She couldn’t believe she had been holding onto it for eight days. It felt like three or four. “I wasn’t exactly sure when to do this. I wanted to wait after some spells.”

“This is marijuana,” Octavia said, her voice as deadpan as ever.

“I thought it would be nice to help you relax.”

Octavia looked at her levelly. “I did not take you for the kind of pony to do something like this.”

“Oh, no, not me,” Twilight said. “I’ve never even had alcohol before. This is all for you.”

Octavia appraised it. “I appreciate the gesture, but I must decline.”

“Oh. Um, okay.” She was crestfallen, and let it show.

“Do not mistake me. I am not averse to smoking; I have done so many times, in my youth. However, I do not feel I should be letting my guard down here.”

“Letting your guard down.” “What do you mean?”

“I mean precisely that. As I have said, I am a very private mare. I do not want to forfeit any of my secrets because I am high.”

Twilight frowned; it was a reaction she had somewhat expected, but she was no less disappointed. There was pain in her voice when she replied. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”

“It is nothing personal, Twilight. There is no pony in this world that I trust that much.”

Twilight looked at her hooves. As quickly as they had come, the hurt and indignation from Octavia’s rejection had passed, but her voice remained dejected. “I thought you said we were friends.”

“I do think of you as friends,” Octavia said.

“But you won’t trust us. You don’t tell us anything.”

“I—”

“Really, Octavia. You don’t tell us anything.”

“I have my reasons for doing so,” she said slowly.

“But you won’t tell me those either.”

Octavia only stared at her, without comment.

Twilight groaned loudly, looking up in exasperation. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

“My reasons, like my secrets, are my own.”

“But everything is a secret with you.” Twilight closed her book and tossed it to the side of the bed, suddenly disgusted with her research. “Why did you even come with us, anyway? You don’t seem to be much happier.”

Octavia had no response, and so she only blinked.

“You asked to come along with us on this adventure, and you help us at every chance you get, and yet you act like you’re in some kind of prison.”

“I have said this time and time again, Twilight. I have my reasons for acting how I do. I do not know what more I can tell you to make you trust me.” She examined Twilight’s face, her furrowed brow, her narrowed eyes. “If yours is a question of my dedication, let me assure you that I am now, as I have been, devoted to the cause of bringing Equestria back together and stopping Discord.”

Twilight took her time absorbing the words. She wanted to believe Octavia, and part of her did, but it didn’t feel right. “You have a funny way of showing it,” she said at last.

She moved to sit down across from Octavia, who reluctantly stood her cello up and gave her full attention to Twilight. “Look,” Twilight began, voice softened. “I used to be withdrawn like you. I used to be quiet, and reluctant to make friends. I used to prefer studying to socializing. But all of that changed when I moved to Ponyville. I started learning about friendship, and other ponies, and that sometimes your own company isn’t good enough. And one of the most important things I learned about friendship is that it doesn’t work when there isn’t communication.”

Octavia simply looked at her, not certain what she was expected to say.

“This. Friendship. Is. Broken,” Twilight said, inching her face closer to Octavia’s. “Pinkie told me when we first found you that having you along with us was going to be just about the nicest, best thing we could do for you, and I believed her. I know we’re not alike, but Pinkie and I are best friends, and I’ve learned to trust her on things like this. But… I’m not sure anymore.”

“Why does my secrecy bother you? Do you think that I have an ulterior motive?”

“No, not that, not really. I—I just…” She raised her eyes, searching for the right way to convey her feelings. “What’s your problem? What is going on inside you that’s so bad, so scary, so… whatever, that it’s turned you into this? Sometimes I feel like we’re dragging a statue around with us.”

“Please lower your voice,” Octavia said calmly.

Twilight continued in an intense whisper. “Neither one of us is leaving this room until I get some answers.”

“If it comes down to which one of us is more patient, Twilight Sparkle, then that is a standoff that you will lose. I can wait here until, and past, tomorrow morning. I do not require entertainment, or food, or sleep.”

Twilight was prepared to respond, but the absolute conviction in Octavia’s voice sucked the aggressive resolve out of her. “Can you really do that?”

“I have done so before.”

“When?”

“I apologize, but I cannot say.”

Twilight moaned. She knew Octavia was right; she was already getting tired of the conversation. “Why are you so afraid to talk about this?”

“Fear is not my motivation.”

“Then what is?”

Octavia thought, and Twilight leaned back a little, to give her space. “I do not wish to complicate my relationships with other ponies. My past was difficult, it is true, but it is a difficulty that I can manage on my own. To tell others of it will only serve to worry them.”

“I’m already worried, Octavia. We all are.”

“You need not be.”

Twilight sighed. “Another thing I learned through my experiences in Ponyville is that when true friends are worried about you, they won’t rest until they have answers.”

“That sounds like a valuable lesson,” Octavia said.

“Dang it, Octavia, can’t you see what I’m saying? I am trying to be your friend here, trying to get inside your head, trying to get to know you better, but you won’t cooperate.”

“Why do you feel that you must know my secrets for this to be a proper friendship?”

“Because there isn’t anything else to you!” Twilight cried, her composure suddenly cracked. “Your past is a secret, your present is a secret, what you do at night is a secret. I mean, the only thing I know about you for sure is that you’re gray, you have a cello, and you might be good at explosion magic. That’s not a lot to base a friendship on.”

“I concede your point,” Octavia said quietly. She looked tired, but her eyes were as steely as ever.

Twilight bowed her head momentarily. “Thank you. Now we’re getting somewhere.” She took a breath and let Octavia rest a moment, before probing further. “So, why are you like this? What’s going on with you?”

Octavia sighed. “If I tell you what has been going on recently, will you stop asking me about my past?”

“I… if it’s my only choice, then I guess I’ll have to take it.”

“It is.”

“Then yes. Tell me what’s going on with you now, and I’ll stop bothering you.”

Octavia considered for a very long time, and Twilight waited patiently. “Very well. Understand, Twilight, that this is between us only. No other pony is to know about this exchange.”

“I don’t want to keep secrets from my friends.”

“If you are uncomfortable, you may back out now and leave me alone.”

Twilight paused, then stood and went to the door, and Octavia thought for one happy, dreadful moment that she was going to leave. She opened it and looked outside, then closed it again and sat back down. “Just making sure we’re alone. Now, talk to me. Why are you like this?”

“First, know that I was not always like this, neither in my youth nor in my very early adulthood.” She sighed; Twilight could see the exertion in her expression. The difficulty of divulging herself. “For reasons that I will not explain, I have had… dreams. Nightmares, actually. Very lifelike and very powerful nightmares.”

“We’ve all been having nightmares, though,” Twilight said.

Octavia considered her response carefully. “Mine began years ago. Shortly after I left home.”

“Oh.”

“They started slowly. One or two a week—and that was enough to disturb me greatly. As… the years went by, they grew more frequent.”

Twilight waited a minute, but Octavia seemed lost in her memories. “How frequent?”

“Every time I fell asleep.”

“And that’s why your sleep is all… messed up,” Twilight said, and Octavia nodded.

“I have given it much consideration, and believe that I have stress-related insomnia.” There was a catch in her voice, and Twilight cocked her ears. It was the first sign of strong emotion she had seen. “At first, I stayed up purely by force of will, but as it grew easier, I found that I could not fall asleep, even when I wanted to.”

“Is that why you’re so… unemotional?”

“I am unemotional because I have learned to control myself.”

“Why?”

“I will not tell you that.”

“But—fine. So, do you still have these nightmares?”

“Yes. Constantly.” She looked away briefly. “Forgive me. Talking about it is difficult.”

“It’s fine.” They were both silent for a long time, and Twilight studied Octavia’s expression. She looked sick, like she was ready to curl up and die, or else simply walk away. Her eyes reflected cold, self-aware sorrow, private and constant. Her face looked like a mask of itself.

Twilight lowered her voice. “Why were you so opposed to telling anyone about this?”

“I do not want ponies to suffer on my behalf. It is a problem that I can handle on my own. All I need is time.”

“You don’t seem to be handling it very well.”

“I only need more time,” she said weakly.

“Have you considered getting help? Professional help, I mean.”

“It would be a waste of resources,” she said quickly. “Besides, we do not have the time for me to visit a psychiatrist with any regularity.”

“If you stayed here while we went on, you could get help, and then we could come back when you’re done,” Twilight suggested.

“That is out of the question.”

“Why?”

“I…” She blushed and frowned. Twilight could see her angry self-abasement at the display.

“You don’t want to be alone,” Twilight said quietly.

Octavia only nodded, closing her eyes. “I am ashamed.”

“Oh, no, don’t be ashamed! It’s natural for you to not want to be away from your friends for so long.” She stopped and smiled faintly. She was sad for Octavia, but the modicum of progress—the admittance of affection—tore at her somber mood. “I still think it would be best for you to see someone about this.”

“I appreciate your counsel, but I will not waste your time and my own money on this.”

Twilight looked chagrined. “What if I made an appointment for you?”

“Then you would be breaking your promise to secrecy. You cannot possibly have me seeing someone without alerting your friends.”

“I suppose so.” They were both silent for a long time. “So… what are your nightmares about?”

“I will not say.”

“Have they been having a stallion in them?”

The question caught Octavia off guard, and she only regarded Twilight neutrally. “I need you to be more specific.”

“Everyone has been having nightmares recently. Every one of us. Every night.”

“Rarity has told me of this.”

“And for some of us, there’s a pony that keeps appearing.” She paused. “He’s pretty clear for me, but not so much for the others. He’s a bright white unicorn with blue eyes.”

Octavia thought and recalled her most recent dream. It had been the night before they left the Oranges’ apartment. “I remember blue eyes.”

“Have you ever met somepony that fits his description?”

“Not that I remember.”

Twilight sighed. “That’s what everypony else said too.”

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. And I’m not sure if I can find out more than the basics. I don’t have any advanced oneiromantic texts.”

Octavia raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Books about dreams, and dream magic.”

“I see.”

“If we’re all dreaming the same thing, it could be an enchantment or something. But where we were enchanted, I have no idea.”

Octavia nodded.

“But we can talk about that later. I… this was really enlightening, Octavia. Thank you for finally opening up to me.”

Octavia’s expression, blank, darkened slightly. “You are welcome.”

“How do you feel?”

“I am conflicted. I am partially upset for having shared this with you, and partially relieved for finally unburdening myself. It is a selfish feeling… I hate it.”

“It’s not selfish to feel relief, Octavia. It’s a natural thing.”

“I feel relief because you are now included in my problems. That is a very selfish thing.”

“But I asked for it,” Twilight said.

“But I should not be happy for it. I should be contrite for your misfortune.”

Twilight sat back and shook her head, a bemused smile teasing her mouth.

“What?”

“How can someone who grew up with Pinkie Pie be so unhappy?”

“It is not my place to comment on your question.”

“I don’t understand you, Octavia.”

“I already feel very uncomfortable right now; please do not make me answer more personal questions.”

Twilight held up her hooves. “Okay, I won’t. But… you should consider talking to someone else about this.”

“I have no reason to do so.”

“You’ll feel much better if you get this off your chest to everyone.”

“I will be spreading negativity.”

“Well, just think about it. Does Pinkie know, at least?”

“You are the only one who knows this particular secret.”

Twilight nodded solemnly. She knew Octavia would appreciate it. “I understand. And I promise to keep it.”

“Thank you.”

“If you ever want to talk, I’ll be available.”

“I will keep that in mind. Do not expect me to open up to you frequently, if at all.”

“I won’t.” She stood up. “I imagine you’d like to be alone?”

“Very much so.”

Twilight silently replaced her pipe and marijuana, looking at them with disappointment before stuffing them under a winter coat, and left.

Octavia went to the bedside and sat, face to the door. Only when the room was silent, completely silent, did the weight of her emotions fall in on her. Relief, shame, and, most alarming of all, loneliness, caught in one unmanageable tangle. She stared at the off-white wall and allowed her emotions to penetrate her thoughts, coloring her memories, her dreams, her fears, her secrets. She looked at her cello. It had been more than a month since she played it seriously.

Music wound through her head. Music she had learned, played, or merely heard from elsewhere. A dim room, and a single mare within. Her eyes beaded with tears, her teeth clenched, her throat tightened. An orchestra swelled dramatically in her mind. “Am I only dreaming?” Her face was wet, and she shuddered, angry even in her private suffering.

Lacey entered the flat at one in the morning. The lights were out, and she did her best to stay quiet as she set down her keys and made herself a strong drink.

She was just returning from a meeting with Wings and Jet. It hadn’t gone well. She sat down in the anteroom with her drink, the lights off, and stared into the darkness, contemplating.

Even from the beginning, they were cold to her. She had hoped news of the photographs would please them—that proof that she could save their jobs would turn them in her favor. Instead, it only soured them further.

And when she told them her plan to get Rarity in a video the next day, before she could think better of it and back out, she could almost feel the ice between them grow. Jet’s voice resounded through her head, cutting her. “I’m really starting to question this friendship, Lacey.”

It was with that sentence that she knew she had gone too far. As Jet spoke, Wings nodded along, and she could only watch from the corner of her skull as she, caught up in defensive hurt, spoke without thinking. She didn’t want to lose them, but fear, as it did when she was younger, made her mean. She insulted them; she called them fools, idiots, and saboteurs. She threatened them.

And then it was over. They looked back at her, clearly just as injured as she, and she left them where they sat. Only when she was almost home did her façade break, and she realized fully what she had done.

But by then, it was far too late.

The Elements woke to a peal of thunder, and for a moment, they thought it was still night. A quick look out the window showed the darkness only to be due to a thick blanket of black clouds. It was nine o’ clock.

Lacey was already in the kitchen, staring at a newspaper with defeated eyes while a bowl of cereal slowly disintegrated before her. They sat around her and made morning small talk: the weather, their airship plans, the tower.

When they were done with breakfast, Twilight invited Lacey along to the airship dealership, and she declined. She and Rarity had something they needed to do, she said; Rarity agreed a little clumsily, but no one seemed to notice. After they helped her clean up, they left, leaving Rarity again alone with Lacey.

“So, Rarity. I imagine you know why I’m keeping you here.”

“Yes.”

Lacey paced the room, and Rarity watched. She could see that something was bothering Lacey very deeply, but didn’t ask about it. Her own worries were enough for her.

She looked back, and Rarity met her eyes curiously, her expression soft. “I’m taking your pictures with me to the studio, today. They still need approved, but I can tell you right now, they will be. There’s enough material there, and you’re an attractive mare.”

“Oh. Um… that’s good?”

“Yes.”

Rarity looked away, out a rain-streaked window. A splinter of lightning kissed the top of Rose Tower, briefly illuminating its imposing, black crown. A crackle of thunder came quickly after. “So what more do you need me for?”

“Those pictures will get you, I would guess, three hundred bits.”

Disappointment sunk into her mind. “That’s… a start.”

Lacey looked at her face, and Rarity looked back uncomfortably. She felt exposed under Lacey’s eyes. “If you want more money, you’ll need more than some photos.”

Rarity tensed. She knew what Lacey was going to suggest, and she could feel her blood tingling with fear. “Um… do you…”

“Film, Rarity. I’m talking about film.”

The abruptness was like a physical blow, and Rarity looked down. “I understand.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Lacey did not approach her. “I can get you into a video today.”

“Today?”

“Today. As in, a couple hours from now, today.” She put on a smile. “It’ll be the easiest seven hundred bits you’ve ever made.”

Rarity opened her mouth to object, but stopped. The number cut through her mind, leaving a trail of doubt, and though she was ready to reject the offer, she had to pause. “Seven hundred bits is a lot of money. But… a video.” She dropped her gaze and shook her head; she knew it was wrong, but standing in front of Lacey, so clearly upset, she felt ashamed. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I want to do it.”

“Not for seven hundred bits?”

“I’m sorry.” She was afraid to look at Lacey. “Playing with myself is one thing, but sex with a total stranger… no, Lacey.”

“Be reasonable, Rarity.”

“Be reasonable?” She looked up, indignant. “No. I don’t want to do it. You said you’d back off if I ever got uncomfortable, and now I’m uncomfortable. I… thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to do a video. I’ll just get the money some other way.”

“You and your friends?”

Rarity looked at her, frozen. Lacey’s tone was aggressive, intelligent. “What do you mean?”

“How much does an airship cost, Rarity?” Her voice was slowing down, deepening, and Rarity could hear anger—not insulted, hurt anger, but a calculating, merciless will to inflict pain.

It made her nervous. “I’m sorry?”

“An airship will cost you somewhere around thirty thousand bits. Forty or fifty even, if you go a little more expensive. Plus furnishings for seven ponies. Plus food, supplies, and medical equipment for your adventure. Plus maintenance, for when you inevitably crash, or are attacked by Discord, or something.” She smiled emptily, humorlessly. “Plus any incidental expenses that come along from distractions. Distractions like me. Or like Spring-hoof Jack.”

Rarity’s mouth was slowly opening in shock, and she could feel the blood draining from her face. She had only known Lacey a couple days, and she considered herself a good judge of character, but the mare who stood before her was not the mare she met in Rose Tower.

“Sure, you have that little note from the treasury. That’s good, in some places. But what if you need liquid money? What if you need cold, physical coins?”

Rarity took an involuntary step back. She wanted to argue, but Lacey’s eyes glowed fiercely as she seemed to tower over her. When she tried to speak, her voice was small and scared. “Why are you doing this?”

“What about your boutique? What about anything your friends lost? What about all that, Rarity?”

“I don’t want to do this. Please, just… stop.”

Lacey paused, and for a moment, Rarity thought she was free. “I’ll make you an offer. Do this for me. Today, do this video for me. For your friends. And I’ll split the cost of the airship with you.”

Rarity gasped in spite of herself. “You… are you serious?”

“Do you need to see the money?”

Rarity could only stare. She felt cold, judged, and Lacey watched her face. Watching for flashes of emotion. Finally, she managed to speak under the pressure. “I… am still very uncomfortable.”

“Fine,” Lacey said loftily. “If that’s what you want. Like I said, I don’t want to push you. But that’s an awfully selfish thing for you to do.”

“I…”

“Of course, I would never tell your friends that you refused to help them. That’s not my place.” She turned around. “They’ll never know. But you will. Can you live with that?”

Rarity stuttered. Lacey’s words had dissolved her self-assurance.

“I sure couldn’t.”

“I… need to think about this.”

“Do so. I need to be at the studio by eleven.”

Rarity rode in Lacey’s car, a small, streamlined, lipstick red lozenge that stood out among the rain-assaulted traffic, stuck at a standstill beside the decaying corpse of a bridge, pushed up into a parking lot. Lacey didn’t speak; she had only told Rarity what to expect from her video. It was to be a standard, vanilla sex video, with standard, vanilla foreplay. “You should be able to handle it,” she said without looking.

They parked outside an unassuming, brick studio and entered through a side door. Immediately inside, the sound of the rain reverted to a low hiss, and Rarity felt trapped. All during the trip over, she could only think one thing: “here I go.” It felt unreal.

She followed Lacey down a tile corridor, afraid to look ahead at the approaching, unmarked door. She counted the lights, each live one separated by three dead ones, and listened for any sounds from within.

She moved close up to Lacey, hating the proximity to her, but hating the unfamiliarity of the studio even more. They walked into a large, open, flatly-lit room, forested with free-standing lights and surrounding a central, elevated simulacrum of a bedroom. Ponies milled around the set, checking cameras, fiddling with lights, inspecting microphones.

“This is it?” Rarity asked quietly.

“Yep. Here’s where you do your work.” Lacey looked up quickly at the flapping of wings, and her wary expression turned bitter as two pegasi, one light cream and the other deep, dark green, landed from the rafters.

“Lacey,” the dark one said, nodding curtly.

“This is the fish?” the cream one asked, nodding at Rarity.

Lacey sighed through her nose. “Yes, this is Rarity. Rarity, this is—”

“Wings and Jet, Rarity,” the dark pony said, grabbing Rarity’s hoof and pumping it energetically. “I’m Jet.”

“Like jet-black, if you have a tough time remembering,” the other, Wings, said.

“Um, it’s nice to meet you,” Rarity said nervously, looking around.

“Don’t crowd her,” Lacey snipped. “She has important work to do today.”

Wings snorted, and Lacey glared at her.

“So you must be pretty interested in getting into this kind of thing to come down here, Rarity. Is that right?” Jet said.

“Be very careful, Jet,” Lacey said. “Remember what we discussed.”

“What did you discuss?” Rarity asked.

Lacey sidled up to her, pushing her slightly away from the pegasi. “How they need to be polite with you. On account of your newness.” She looked significantly at Wings, who looked at Jet briefly.

“Wouldn’t want to scare you away from all this,” Jet said slowly.

“Or put you in a position where you’re uncomfortable,” Wings added.

“Exactly,” Lacey said liquidly. “We all want this to go as smoothly as possible for Rarity.” She glanced upwards. “Are the lights ready?”

“Nearly.”

“Well, you’d better get to work, hm?”

Wings and Jet mumbled to each other, then took off.

“Sorry about them,” Lacey said. “They can be a little too familiar with ponies.”

Rarity only nodded. She didn’t want to talk or look around more than she had to.

She stood where she was for what felt like twenty minutes, just watching. Watching ponies move around, watching Wings and Jet above, watching Lacey watch her. When a large, blue-gray pegasus entered the set, she didn’t immediately register that he was to be her partner. He introduced himself as Bigwig, shook her hoof, and smiled kindly when she failed to hide her fear.

“Yo! We’re good to go!” Jet barked from above.

“You heard her,” Lacey said, rubbing Rarity’s back affectionately. “Time to go, my little pony.”

Rarity nodded distantly and looked back. Already, she felt cold, separated from her body. Her heartbeat was slow, her brow was dry, and her fur lay flat, a reflection of the calm on her face. “I’ve been feeling not myself lately.” Lacey was already walking off the set with the others, leaving the two of them alone with a big, empty bed. In the car, she had told Rarity that the video was specifically meant to be amateur; her counterpart would do most of the work, and all Rarity had to do was react, follow stage directions, and avoid looking at the cameras. The most difficult thing she would have to do was in the beginning, where she would climb into bed, grab a book, and make like she was settling in to sleep. Easy.

As the cameras slowly swung onto them, Rarity closed her eyes. “The instant you start to feel uncomfortable is the instant I back off.” “I do need the money.” “We all need the money.” “The city changes a pony.” “We love you, Rarity.” The final thought was in her friends’ voices. All of them smiled at her in her mind, supporting her. “For my friends.”

She stepped closer to Bigwig, who nodded encouragingly.

“And we’re rolling.”

“Hey, babe.” Bigwig leaned over and put a hoof on Rarity’s book, gently pushing it away.

“Make it real, Rarity.” She half lidded her eyes and looked back at the actor. “Hey.”

“Tired?”

She smiled and leaned back into the too-soft pillow, and caught a light in her eyes. Her vision was blurred with soft color as she spoke. “Not at all, my darling.”

She didn’t resist as their lips met, nor did she squirm when his hooves slithered under the sheets to caress her. The first few seconds were pleasant. He wore a honey-flavored lip balm, and his kiss felt genuinely passionate, but gentle—both things she liked.

Then his tongue entered her mouth, and she was dragged back into the studio. “It’s not real, Rarity.” Her eyes fluttered open for an instant, and she saw his face, too close to her own. She could see his fur, smell it—processed and glamorized.

She closed her eyes tighter and tried to force her mind into a better place. She remembered Ponyville.

The sheets were down by their back legs as they tangled together, his hooves on her withers or in her mane, her hooves lower down his back. They broke a kiss for just a moment, and he ground himself closer to her.

Ponyville was sunny and beautiful, a little too warm for her liking. She and Fluttershy were meeting for lunch and afternoon tea, followed by a couple hours at the spa.

The tip of his penis slid against her lower belly. She was wet.

“Um, the citrus tea, please,” Fluttershy said to a waiter, who nodded.

“Cut! Rarity, try not to look so blank when you take him into your mouth.”

She recoiled quickly, eyes glazed, as Bigwig repositioned himself on the bed.

“And we’re rolling.”

She took the toothpick gingerly out of her sandwich while Fluttershy turned away to commune with a sparrow that had landed nearby. She took a bite.

She gagged as Bigwig pushed himself too deep into her throat, and the scene ended. He apologized as she coughed, and someone gave her a glass of water. When she was better, they started again. “For your friends.”

“For your friends, Rarity. They would do it for you. Do it for them. Do it for the mission. We need money. I need money. Just do it for your friends.”

Sun dappled through an umbrella. Spotted tabletop. Empty glasses. Rumpled napkins. Rumpled sheets. Heavy breathing. Butterflies in a tiny garden by the restaurant’s side.

A rough set of hooves on her body. Hot breath in her face and in her mouth. Eyes closed. Lights, camera, action.

“For my friends.”

Walking slowly down the dirt road. A delicate hooftip tickling the sensitive fur on her underside. Squirming with pleasure. Blushing with shame. Wiping the sweat from her forehead and shading her eyes from the springtime sun. The spa is near.

“Cut. Bigwig, this isn’t a race. Slow down and let her play with you some more.”

Admiring the leaves on a tree. Warm, wet loins. White hooves gliding down his shaft, pulsing savagely. “I need the money.” Gasp.

Kicking legs. A significant look in the eyes. Three, two, one.

Something foreign and hot and huge enters her. Rock back into the pillow. An involuntary moan. Shift weight, and the heavy feeling of his strange cock. Thrust—careful at first. Another moan.

“For my friends.” Strained, unhappy.

Birds chirp. A breeze blows. Fluttershy ruffles her wings. Pump, pump, pump. Balls slap wet skin. “Formyfriends.”

“Mm, you’re so tight.”

Sweat glistens on his chest. Her nipples burn. She smells his body, his breath, her own hormones.

Gasp.

Moan.

Gasp.

Lights in her eyes. Aloe and Lotus greet them with enthusiastic smiles.

“Oh, Celestia, yes. Give it to me.”

A sharp pain. Too deep. Gasp.

Tile floor. Stairs. The sheets are rough. “Friends.”

Change position. Crouch. Relief as it leaves her. Eyes turned down to the bed.

The book is still there.

“The usual?”

“Yes, please.”

“Unh, Rarity. Rarity, Rarity, Rarity.”

Three, two—

Pump. Easier this time.

In and out. Slap slap slap.

“This hot tub is soooo luxurious.”

Warmth.

Pain.

The fantasy unravels.

Fabric. Lights. Cameras. Ponies on the sidelines. A stranger behind. Lacey nearby. Wings and Jet watching.

Pleasure. Terror. Precum. Exposure, and vulnerability. One camera sits before them both. Her own face caught in the lens. The smell of two bodies. The sound.

Hooves and fur.

“Cut.”

“And we’re rolling.”

“Cut.”

“And we’re rolling.”

“For my friends.”

“The instant you start to feel uncomfortable is the instant I back off.”

“I need the money.”

“Uh, uh, uh, uh.”

Switch. Caught on her back. Eyes forced into a rippling chest. Muscles play along tensed wing joints.

“Here I go.”

Trapped.

Crushed.

It feels good, but she hates it.

Her body is full. Blood wiggling with pleasure.

Heat in her abdomen.

She said he’d just pretend to finish, right?

A cloudy mind, a sharp sensation.

“For my friends, for my friends, for my friends.”

She hates it, but it feels good.

“Please, stop.”

“I need the money.”

“Oh, yeah, baby. You like it like this?”

“Cut.”

“More emotion, Rarity.”

“And we’re rolling.”

“Oh, yeah, baby. You like it like this?”

Long, throaty moan.

Panting. Sweat and fluid.

Lust is in the air.

She hates it, but it feels good.

“For them.”

“Stop this.”

“Finish in my mouth.”

“Please, let me out.”

“Oh, Rarity.”

“Oh, Bigwig.”

Lights, cameras, microphones, ponies, eyes, and that book brushes her mane as she lies back. Hooves play with her chest and belly and nipples as her insides are squished and pulverized, and it feels so good.

Shiver, shudder. Masculine moan vibrating her skin.

Shiver, shudder. Feminine gasp and shriek. Sweat in her eyes. Her makeup runs.

“For my friends.”

He collapses on top of her. He sighs in her face. She wrinkles her nose as he kisses her and snuggles closer. She follows suit.

“Please, let me out.”

“Cut. Try to make it a little sweeter.”

“And we’re rolling.”

Shiver, shudder. The same moan, the same shriek. She feels false and stricken, but the director approves.

Kiss, cuddle, a hoof traces tiny, desperate circles on her stomach.

“Cut.”

“That’s a wrap.”

“Good job everypony.”

“Let’s get this cleaned up.”

Rarity didn’t speak as she signed the papers to allow her image to be used, nor on the drive home, and Lacey didn’t press her. When they arrived, Rarity went to her room.

* * * * * *

The ascent of Glass Ribbon was not the affair that it was in Rose Tower. Gone was the wonder, the novelty, the unfamiliarity of the new, glittering, cosmopolitan world, replaced with an accustomed readiness. They followed Octavia to a small station, where they rode a tiny, rocking train to the very top, passing shining shops, glowing mall corridors, and gilded fountains and rails. Just more city.

They disembarked in a narrow hallway of rain-streaked glass and entered a massive, circular space. There was no roof, and the freezing rain bombarded them like stones. The individual booths—dealerships, all—were covered, but they were soaked when they reached the nearest counter.

For half an hour they stood, shivering in the weather, while the salespony showed them photograph after photograph of ships that might interest them. They eventually settled on a forty-four thousand bit cruiser, built specifically for exploration. Seven turbines; thirty-six miles to the gallon and a forty-five mile per hour maximum speed; and a torch with a pocket dimension enchantment, to hold extra fuel—all attached to a swollen, black balloon, vented for easy descent and capable of functioning in ten degree-weather, or at fourteen thousand feet. It was mounted with a pair of heavy-duty turrets, and a flame-thrower under the bowsprit—usually used to clear oppressive snowstorms, the salespony explained. They paid on the spot, but the airship would not be ready until the day after.

When they got back, Lacey was preparing lunch, and Rarity was in her room, looking through one of Twilight’s books. Twilight wrote a letter to Princess Celestia while the others helped Lacey in the kitchen.

After lunch, Lacey wrote a check for twenty-two thousand bits, made out, with some hesitation, to the Royal Canterlot Treasury. Twilight enclosed it in her letter and sent it, thanking Lacey profusely.

She went back to her room, uncertain of what to do for the rest of the day; Octavia, Rarity, and Fluttershy were already there, no conversation among them, and Pinkie, Rainbow and Applejack had gone out for a walk. Twilight sat down with a small sigh, and Fluttershy looked at her inquisitively. Before either could begin speaking, she felt her horn glow and burn, and a letter squeezed out. Her gratefulness for the diversion was clear on her face as she read it to them.

“Dear Elements of Harmony, I hope things are going well for you. I regret to inform you that Discord has taken control of Draught Castle.” She paused, frowning slightly.

“Um, I’m sorry, but what’s Draught Castle?” Fluttershy asked.

“I read about it a long time ago in A Concise History of the Sun and Moon Goddesses. Which is, ironically, quite long. Er, anyway.” She put the letter aside for a second. “First, as you know, there was the Castle of the Two Sisters, in the Everfree Forest—though it wasn’t a forest when the castle was first built. Princess Celestia and Luna ruled from there for a long time, but when Princess Luna turned into Nightmare Moon, Princess Celestia had to move to a different part of the country. That ties into international politics; I won’t go into it right now. But anyway, that castle was Draught Castle.”

“Um, did she have to pick such a, well, not-nice name for it?”

“She didn’t want it to sound inviting. This was a castle, not a palace, Fluttershy.”

“There was the threat of war at that time, was there not?” Octavia asked.

“Exactly. And with one princess, um, indisposed, Princess Celestia had to appear extra threatening. But once everything settled down, she was able to move up to present-day Canterlot. And that’s the palace.” She grabbed the letter. “If Discord has Princess Celestia’s old castle, that’s really bad news.”

“So the villain has an impenetrable fortress, is what you’re saying,” Rarity said.

“Preeeeetty much,” Twilight said. She read on. “Unfortunately, it was very easy for him to do this, as the castle has been unguarded for some time, save for a few decaying enchantments and defunct defense mechanisms. I have no doubt in my mind that he is restoring it, even as I write to you.”

“The others aren’t going to like this,” Fluttershy said quietly.

“However, not all is ill news. Huh, that’s a weird sentence. In her last letter, my sister mentioned an increase in unexplained, dangerous phenomena across Equestria, of which Manehattan’s Spring-hoof Jack is one. I am happy to report that while Discord has been shutting himself up in Celestia’s old castle, I have had the opportunity to begin working against his other designs.”

“About time something starts happening,” Rarity mumbled to herself.

Twilight flicked a glance her way before continuing. “Thank you truly for the compensation, but you need not worry so much about finances. Princess Celestia and I both expect, and are prepared, to have a severely depleted treasury when all this is over. Be smart, and be safe. In love and friendship, Princess Luna.”

“Wait, why is Princess Luna writing to you?” Fluttershy asked.

“Princess Celestia’s away,” Twilight said. “She said she had to go to the griffons, for diplomatic duty.”

“Oh, right.”

“I hope she’s not gone long,” Rarity said dully. “I don’t like the idea of having only one princess at a time like this.”

Fluttershy looked at her, concern evident in her eyes. “Rarity, are you okay?”

“I’m just tired.”

“Oh, okay. Um, is that all?”

“Yes,” Rarity said shortly, and Fluttershy flinched. “Oh, sorry, Fluttershy. I… yes, I’m just tired.”

* * * * * *

Rainbow, Pinkie and Applejack had been out walking for half an hour, following Rainbow’s lead. It was still raining, and the streets were shining, black strands of water under rolling cars.

“This isn’t natural,” Rainbow said, raising her eyes briefly.

“Yeah, I thought this city was supposed to be having a drought!” Pinkie said.

“No, not that. Well, yeah, that too, but that’s not what I meant.” Rainbow shook her mane, throwing water all over. “A storm like this doesn’t form in a single night. It takes at least a couple days for the pegasi to get all the clouds organized, and I didn’t see anything like that yesterday.”

“What do ya think it is, then?” Applejack asked.

“I dunno.”

“Discord again?” Pinkie offered.

“Sure, why not?”

They crossed the street and walked to a music shop, resting for a moment under a waterfall awning.

“I gotta say, girls, I’m starting to get worried,” Rainbow said suddenly.

“What about?” Pinkie asked.

“Everypony’s turning sad. First it was Octavia, then Twilight, now Rarity. Who’s next? What if it’s me? I don’t want to be sad like them.”

“Hold on a sec,” Applejack said. “Twilight ain’t sad. What makes you say that?”

“Are you kidding? She—” She stopped, and a blush formed on her cheeks. “Uh, wait. No, you’re right. She isn’t sad.” She averted her eyes and scratched the back of her neck. “I was thinking of someone else.”

“Rainbow, what are you hidin’?”

“Never mind, AJ. If you really want to know, ask Twilight. I shouldn’t be talking anymore.”

“Ah think Ah’ll do just that. ‘Cause yer right; Octavia, an’ now Rarity. An’ maybe Twilight. Ah think there’s somethin’ wrong with this whole setup.”

“You just don’t trust Lacey,” Pinkie said.

“Ah don’t. Ah don’t think she’s tellin’ us the whole story. She’s got Rarity stayin’ behind two days in a row, an’ now she’s startin’ to withdraw. It’s too suspicious, if y’ask me.”

“Yeah,” Rainbow said, suddenly absentminded.

“What is it, Dashie?” Pinkie asked.

“I thought I saw something,” she said, looking around, squinting at the tops of the surrounding buildings.

“Yer paranoid,” Applejack said.

“You should talk,” Rainbow shot back, and Applejack shrugged.

“Guess Ah can’t argue with that.”

“Wait,” Rainbow said sharply. Her ears went up as she strained to pick up any sounds. There was a light scraping from above and behind; she whirled, only to face the empty sidewalk.

“We done, Rainbow?”

She turned to shush her when something, blurred by the speed of its movement, torpedoed from above, slicing down through the rain like a bolt of lightning. It crashed into a parked car on the other side of the street, rocking it on its wheels.

What they saw, they didn’t immediately understand. Spring-hoof Jack was a pale splash of flesh and fur, vibrating over the ground as he tried to gain his hooves. His head was a flattened, swiveling plate on a knotted rope neck, his mane a foaming, fluffing stew. His body seemed folded in on itself, a crumpled piece of paper turning endlessly inside a destroyed suit jacket, with splayed hooves like spindles on a crushed comb.

As he scraped and slid over the ground, he gradually reformed into a vaguely equine shape. They could see his red eyes, like match heads wobbling in dark wells of putrid shadow, and his mouth, itself a forest of motion. As he jumped again, backwards and into the building behind him, a cloud of pale flakes lingered to gently filter to the wet ground.

They watched in shock as he crashed into the wall and, instead of falling over, bounced immediately back up to land in the middle of the street. Ponies’ eyes appeared in the windows, and beside them, a door jingled open quickly as a pony stepped noisily onto the sidewalk.

“Get in,” the stranger said firmly. She held the door open as they shuffled inside, then motioned for them to duck behind the counter. She stood by the window as they hid, peeking over the counter to watch the display.

Lightning crashed in the sky as Spring-hoof Jack danced, throwing up sprays of droplets, white and crystalline both, and each reflected against the nearby car’s bumper. He moved with no clear intent; his impulsive movement, once directed and fierce, seemed sick and broken as his stricken legs flashed across the ground, bending, twisting. A crackle of thunder masked the pop and jangle of stretching ligaments.

“What’s he doing?” Pinkie asked finally. The pony hushed her.

At last, with a disorienting turn of his pallet head, he made another jump, sideways like a shock of flung snow. He skidded into the curb, and more fragments exploded off him, glittering shards of white in the falling water. Blue flashed in his gnashing mouth, and his eyes blinked out. They leaned forward, and the stranger with them, as he lazily tilted to the side, one leg waving like a dying reed, extending out and then in, flopping stupidly all the way over the street, then curling back into his body. His neck bulged, his head squished, his mouth was a long, open envelope of tiny, nimble teeth.

“Look there,” Applejack said, pointing to the street’s end. A unicorn stood, horn glowing brightly in the storm.

More fragments, more shards, more rain, and then Spring-hoof Jack made a final lunge, his body stretching like putty over slick asphalt, before slowly dissolving into a shower of white dust. A last thumb of blue flame puttered up and hissed away.

He was no more.

A group of ponies appeared shortly to inspect the remains, and scattered before the police could arrive. The stranger who let them in walked them back to Lacey’s flat, and when they were a sufficient distance away from the scene of Spring-hoof Jack’s destruction, began speaking.

“He’s not a pony, but an enchantment given form. What you witnessed was that enchantment running out of power.”

“That’s what Twilight said,” Pinkie said.

“Yes. The Manehattan police have been chasing him, to no effect. His death is due to the efforts of a small group of spell-breakers. Outside the city’s law enforcement.”

“Outside?” Applejack said, wary.

“More like apart from,” the stranger said. “We still work in service of the princesses. It’s complicated.”

“Secret agents,” Rainbow whispered to Pinkie, who giggled.

“If that’s what you like, sure.” The stranger chuckled. “It doesn’t matter. Not to you. What does matter is Spring-hoof Jack is gone. The ponies that came before the cops were forensic magicians, to verify if he was actually finished. He is.”

“So that’s it?” Pinkie asked. “The end? No more jumpy pony? No more scary, creepy Spring-hoof Jack?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Feels kinda weird that it wasn’t us who stopped him,” Applejack said.

They turned down the street to Lacey’s home. “Hey, less work, less stress. I ain’t complaining,” Rainbow said.

With both Octavia and Rarity sitting silently at the dinner table, the conversation moved slowly, even with news of Spring-hoof Jack, and the mysterious unicorns that appeared just after his destruction. The usual banter was gone; Applejack told them the news, answered what questions she could, and left the rest to mild speculation. Rainbow and Pinkie insisted that the strange ponies were secret agents, but Lacey said they were likely just part of a vigilante group. In the big city, she said, they were surprisingly common.

Afterwards, Twilight called Strawberry to finalize their plans for the spell, while the others went to a bedroom. It was still too early to sleep, but there was nothing for them elsewhere, and with two of their number depressed and quiet, it felt impertinent to try to search.

When Twilight found them, they were scattered on the bed and on the floor, but no one was saying anything. The only indication that they were still awake was the three pairs of eyes that swiveled over to her. The cranes, cables, and operators were all ready, she said, but Strawberry still had to work, so they would be casting late; around eight o’ clock, he thought.

“Where are you casting the spell?” Octavia asked, her eyes not moving from the window.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think our best bet would be the tower itself. It’ll give Pinkie the best vantage point,” Twilight said.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Rainbow asked.

“I don’t see why not. It’ll be secured.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Where in the tower?” Applejack asked.

“Remember that orchestra pit Lacey took us to? The Blueblood one?” Twilight said.

“Oh, the Prancing Prince,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, that. It had that huge window we could see everything out of. I think that’ll be best.”

“And then it’s just one more section of town to go!” Pinkie cheered.

“Finally,” Applejack said.

“It has been a while,” Twilight said.

“But where are we gonna go next?” Pinkie asked.

“Ah say we go to Appleloosa, like we were plannin’ before,” Applejack said, stifling a yawn. “It’ll be nice to get outta the city fer a while.”

“Yes,” Rarity said. They looked at her, and she blushed self-consciously.

Starlight

Chapter Twenty-eight

Starlight

Rainbow Dash cradled her cards between her hooves, still awkwardly; the others had gotten used to it, but she was not so dextrous. She was on the bed, next to Pinkie, who peeked over her own cards with an exaggerated smirk, and across from Rarity, who kept her eyes resolutely down, and Octavia, who held her cards in a gray haze of magic.

“Eight of hearts!” Pinkie shrieked, throwing her card down. They played their trick, and Octavia took it with a quiet smile.

Octavia put down a club, and Rainbow looked at her own cards. She didn’t feel well, and the black and red swam in her eyes like smoke. She squinted, but they clarified only a little.

“Come on, Dashie!” Pinkie crowed. “You can do it!”

She shook her head. Sweat was running down her face, and her mouth was dry. She blinked and opened her eyes as wide as she could, her mouth stretching in a comical oval as she tried to suck air into her suddenly tight body.

She bent her hoof, to take a card in the crook of her pastern, but it slipped away as she grasped it. She gasped and sniffled, her nose, like her brow, running.

“I gotta… uh, oh.” She shuffled off the bed and went to the door, where she leaned to watch them. “Go without me.” She panted and tried to relax her breathing, as she would when she flew too hard, but the room was hot, and her fur was moist with perspiration.

“One of hearts!” Pinkie bellowed, slamming down a card.

“Two of ones,” Rarity whispered.

“Ten of E,” Octavia said, taking the cards and incorporating them into her deck.

“Seven of Dashie!” Pinkie screamed, and Rainbow wavered.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, a pristine, white pony sat in Pinkie’s place. He smiled wide and calm, and his impossible, blue eyes seemed to freeze the air around his face; the room contracted into him, his perfect coat, his coal-and-snow mane, his needle horn. He turned to show Rainbow his cutie mark: a cloudy, black circle, like a hole drilled into his side.

“Thunder of drown.”

The room exploded, and Rainbow jerked awake with a cry. Rain lashed the walls and window, and as she looked around, lightning flashed again.

“It is only the weather,” Octavia said from the corner. She sat against the wall beside her cello, untouched, and in the lightning, her eyes looked blue as well.

When everyone got up, many hours later, and went into the flat for breakfast, Lacey was gone, in her stead a note—“gone to the studio. not sure when I’ll be back.” In the corner, a little doodle of a filming camera.

“Cute,” Octavia said drily.

They produced a small breakfast of mixed, dried fruits and vegetables, and were out the door by eight, heading for Glass Ribbon. It was time to pick up their airship. The storm from before had passed to the other side of the city, and they could see the slanting, gray curtain like a shroud in front of Rose Tower. The streets were wet still, and ponies walked with folded umbrellas or droplet-kissed raincoats. On a newsstand, headlines proclaimed an end to the brief, but intense, period of fear from Spring-hoof Jack, over a picture of an empty street. The site of his unexplained death, the captions said.

They spent only twenty minutes at the top of Glass Ribbon, signing papers, and then had to take the long ride down to the bottom again, where they decided to walk to the airship lot, only a couple blocks away.

“I think we should spend a little time today shopping for furnishings,” Rarity said. “You said that our airship would only have a shower, sink and toilet, right?”

“That’s right,” Twilight said. “What were you thinking of buying?”

“Well, two beds, for starters. Maybe a clock and some curtains. I won’t know for certain, really, until I see it.”

“An’ this is all on Celestia’s dime, Ah take it?” Applejack said.

“Well, I mean, um… I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“Just askin’.”

“Oh, and food. We should stock up on that too.”

“We’ll need a stove or an oven, then,” Twilight said. “Or both.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Applejack said.

They arrived at a large, raised square of cement, like an island in the city, and ascended the wet stairs cut into its side. The lot was flat and wide, a grid of shining white on placid gray, watched by the airships’ sleeping forms. Colorful balloons and elaborate figureheads surrounded them, their vessels quiet and dignified in warm, wood paneling.

Their own model sat near the back, stretching menacingly over half the lot’s width. Unlike its smoother neighbors, their ship was a dark, harsh seashell of heavy wood, slitted along the sides and crenelated at the edges of the deck. From all around, rising from black eyelets like a sinister manifestation, rope webbed a storm-cloud balloon. They slowly walked around it; at the back, seven gaping, metal mouths waited like demonic eyes, their middles crossed with the broad blades of inert propellers. Just beyond, they could see the motionless gnash of gears and pistons. A tall, black fishtail sat at the very end—the rudder, its crescent pushed back by the floor to gently rest in a notch in the poop deck.

The drawbridge was already down, and they tentatively boarded the intimidating ship. The dark deck bowed down slightly under a heavy-looking torch, and the ropes climbed up all around them like bars in a prison. A flowering wheel stood at the front atop a row of switches, numbered one to seven, for each turbine. From its position, they could see the entire airship lot beyond the point of a thick, ridged bowsprit. On the sides, perched like predatory birds, sat the turrets; two mounted, black coils of metal, hooked with handles and looped with echinate bands of bullets, skirting their bases like thorns.

“I am not sure how I feel about these,” Octavia said, running a hoof along a turret’s handle experimentally.

“Considering what happened to the last ship, I think they’re a good idea,” Twilight said. “Unfortunately.”

“How fast is this thing supposed to go?” Rainbow asked, looking up into the balloon.

“Forty-five miles an hour. But we really should keep it around thirty or thirty-five.”

“Seven turbines, and we can only go thirty miles an hour?”

“This ship is made for endurance, not speed,” Octavia said.

“Psh.”

At the back, a large hatch opened to a narrow set of stairs, leading into a dark hallway, which branched off into four rooms. At the front, opposite each other, two empty bedrooms, and at the back, a small bathroom and a large, empty storage area; of these, only the bathroom was furnished.

“First thing Ah do when we get in the air is take a nice, long, hot shower,” Applejack said, gazing longingly at the frosted glass door to the tiny enclosure.

“Does it even have water right now?” Rarity asked.

“There’s a pump on the outside somewhere,” Twilight said. “We have to get our own water. I guess we’ll siphon it from a river or something.”

“Are there any rivers nearby, Octavia?” Fluttershy asked.

“There is one that flows a few miles west of the city. Used to flow, rather,” Octavia said.

They went back onto the deck.

“Let’s take this up to the tower, so we can buy our furnishings,” Applejack said, going up to the wheel. “Just gimme a second to get used to these controls.”

“There’s only one wheel, AJ,” Rainbow said.

“Ah know that, but Ah need to get used to how it feels in my hooves. You ain’t never steered a ship anyway, Rainbow.”

“How hard can it be?”

“Ah’d prefer we find out somewhere where we won’t crash into nothin’.”

“Pinkie, are you going to manage the torch?” Twilight asked.

“Yup! I’m a torch pony!” Pinkie cried, bouncing circles around the torch.

Applejack ran the wheel under her hooves, turning it and feeling its weight. She smiled and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the wood all around her. On their first ship, she had always had the front-most view of the world; standing behind the wheel, everything was open to her. Looking out over the lot, memories and sensations rushed back. She turned the wheel a final time, appreciating the heaviness in the handles, the solid circularity of the mechanism. “Right, Ah think Ah’m ready. Fire her up, Pinkie.”

Pinkie pressed a button on the torch, and a long tail of bright blue and yellow flame hissed up into the dark balloon. It was already partially inflated, and it wasn’t long before they were drifting off the lot. Applejack turned the wheel experimentally, and the ship responded, moving slowly away from the tops of balloons and other airships, floating a heavy C in the air before she had swung it out and back over the lot’s back edge.

Everyone crowded the gunwales. They had seen the Manehattan skyline from the tops of each tower, but to do so from an airship was new. The apartments and businesses fanned out in a grid all around them, with Rose Tower and Glass Ribbon standing in aloof dignity at each corner, lights ribbing their surfaces like dribbling gobbets of flame under the gray clouds.

Applejack slowly turned them around to face Glass Ribbon. “Octavia, do ya know where the airship parkin’ is fer this tower?”

“It is near the top, but I do not know which side.”

Applejack nodded and turned the two outer switches, activating the side turbines. The ship hummed comfortably, and from the vibrating engine casings, they could see thin hairs of black smoke.

“Well, at least it’s quiet,” Rarity said.

“That it is,” Applejack said, guiding them upwards.

Behind, at the wooden rail, Twilight watched and said nothing; she was caught staring at a tiny trail of soot floating out of the turbine. Black grains superimposed on a cool, gray sky. Black stars.

Rarity walked behind her, and rested at her side. Neither spoke, and Rarity stared too. Rarity had changed. Twilight could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. She hadn’t put any makeup on that morning, and her mane was not the near-perfect arc that it usually was. “Not the real Rarity. Smoke.”

She closed her eyes, and there was only the grinding, chuffing sound of the blades spinning in their sockets. It sounded like running hooves. Her running hooves. Her heart quickened. “Oh, Celestia, not here, not now.”

She opens her eyes, praying for clarity, but sees only the snake of smoke. She tries to breathe more slowly, but is distracted. Her muscles: tight under her skin, ready to react; her eyes: locked down like prisoners; her tongue: a wet, dead thing in her mouth; her teeth: nipping together and then apart. Dry lips.

And then adrenaline is jumping through her head. Smoke rising in the sky, a dark sky, a dark night, and wind shredding her mane. Determination and fear crack her face, and noise howls all around, and her eyes roll over, uncomprehending. Magic and sparks fly, and broken pieces of marble railing flash like her own gnashing teeth, and she feels cold, cold, tight, and also very warm; repeat, repeat, oh Celestia, what have I done? Smoke rising in the sky.

There is a hoof on her shoulder, and she jumps. Magic blows straight out of her horn like a siren. She feels ashamed and stupid.

“Whoa! Calm down, Twilight, it’s just me,” Rainbow says, backing away a little.

Twilight takes a deep breath, steadying herself, and looks around. Everyone is staring at her. “Um, sorry. I, uh, think I left something down below.” She runs down the hatch in the back of the deck.

She could hear them asking about what had just happened above, and it was not long before Rainbow came down to her.

“Twilight, what was that?”

“Sorry, Rainbow Dash. I think I just had another flashback.” She felt the ship change orientation and, shortly after, come to rest.

“We’re here, Twi. You okay in there?” Applejack called.

Rainbow turned from the door to look down the hall. “She’s fine.” She glanced in again. “Um, why don’t you go on without us? We’ll catch up.”

“Twilight, what’s wrong?” Pinkie asked, appearing in the threshold suddenly. “At first you were just staring like I sometimes do when I start thinking about something really hard, and then you started breathing really hard like I sometimes do when I run a whole lot or lift something heavy, like a sack of flour, or sing too much without taking a breath or talk too much without taking a breath, like just now!” She made one huge gasp and laughed. “But then you got all upset and sad-looking, and Dashie tried to talk to you, and you almost blasted her! Are you mad at her?”

“I’m fine, Pinkie,” Twilight said shortly. She looked up at Octavia’s voice, too quiet to understand.

“Twi, Octavia’s comin’ down. We’re gonna be inside the tower, hear?” Applejack said.

“I’m sure we won’t be long if you want to wait here,” Fluttershy said.

Octavia strode casually into the room, pushing Pinkie aside without looking at her.

“Twilight, are you sure you’ll be okay with us gone?” Rainbow asked.

“I’ll be fine, Rainbow. I’m already feeling better,” Twilight said.

“All right.” Rainbow looked at her reluctantly before going back up the stairs, with Pinkie just behind.

When they were alone, Octavia looked at Twilight, who looked back a little defensively.

“I do not know very much about psychology by any means,” Octavia said, “but I recognize a panic attack when I see one. What happened?”

“What do you know about this?”

“Much.”

When it was clear she wasn’t going to elaborate, Twilight spoke. “It was the smoke from the turbines. It reminded me of… something.”

“What is that?”

“There was a night,” Twilight said. “We… that is, my friends and I… had to go to Canterlot. It was urgent.”

“You speak of the night when Discord attacked.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it. All you care to remember.”

“I…” She stared past Octavia, who waited patiently. “We were coming down.” Her voice was a monotone. “And they were chasing us. When we landed, they were right behind us. We had to do something, so I…” Her breathing was becoming labored again.

“Twilight? Breathe, Twilight. Relax, and breathe. You are not there anymore; you are here, inside this ship. All is well.”

Twilight slowed and tried to speak again, but faltered. On the second try, she succeeded. “I used my magic, and so did Rarity. We…” Her lips trembled, and Octavia could see tears forming under her eyes. “They were so fast, it was all so fast, we didn’t even know what we were doing. We just… their faces, when we… oh, Celestia, and Applejack, and Fluttershy too! Before we even entered the battle, Octavia! Can you believe that?” Her voice cracked, and she had to sit, head hanging, eyes fixed on the floor.

“You do not have to say what happened if you do not want to,” Octavia said.

“We just… we just… I mean, they were so fast, we didn’t even have a chance.”

“I am sure,” Octavia said, trying to sound soothing; it came out just as neutral as everything else. “What is important, Twilight, is that the event of which you speak has passed. It will not happen again, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“But we… I don’t even know what to do,” Twilight said.

“What makes you afraid?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight said quietly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then another. When she was done, she felt better. Lucid. “And that’s what worries me most of all. I have these panic attacks, and I think about them later, and I don’t even know what about them is so frightening. I… Octavia, could I be losing my mind?”

Octavia was long in answering. “I think that it is unlikely. You are experiencing something difficult, but it is not consuming you.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I cannot. All I can say is that, just as I can recognize a panic attack, I can recognize a pony being consumed by something.” Her lips twitched. “You are not one of them.”

“Yet.”

“Do you expect to worsen?”

“I don’t even know anymore.”

“I have heard that if you expect something of yourself, you will make it come to pass. It has something with the subconscious, but I do not pretend to understand.”

“So what do I do?”

“Has speaking to me about this helped at all?”

“A little, yeah.”

“If that is the case, then I suggest you look to your friends. Especially Rarity.”

“Rarity?”

“She has told me of a similar problem.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I will not betray her confidence.”

“So she’s talked to you too.”

“Yes.”

Twilight frowned. “Everypony’s talking to you, it seems, but not each other.”

“I am still a novel addition to your group. It is natural that everyone should take some sort of interest in me.”

“I guess.”

They waited for some time before Octavia spoke again. “I do not wish to impose upon you, but perhaps you would consider taking your own advice, and seeking a professional.”

“There’s no time,” Twilight said. “Besides, I’m… well, there’s just no time.”

“I understand.”

The ship creaked, and Twilight looked around self-consciously. She felt judged under Octavia’s neutral eyes. “Why did you approach me about this? You said you were private.”

“I am. But…”

“Is it because we talked yesterday?”

Octavia thought. “No. No, it is not. I would do this for anyone in your situation.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She paused for a second, then continued, haltingly. “Hard pasts, or… difficult memories draw me.”

The rest of the crew arrived half an hour later, a unicorn stranger with them to carry the heavier objects: two beds, sheets, a set of dishes and silverware, pots and pans, and a small grill; while a clock and various hygiene affectations floated around Rarity’s head like apparitions. With some effort, they corralled the beds into their rooms and set up a small kitchenette area near the back of the deck, complete with an open satchel of fresh vegetables and a small, free-standing spice rack.

When everything was arranged to their liking, they headed back to Lacey’s flat, a much shorter trip. When they entered, Lacey had returned, and was setting up lunch for herself; instead of eating with her, they took some food and went into the bedroom, at Twilight’s suggestion.

After they had settled, Twilight began speaking. “I suppose you’re all wondering what happened earlier today.”

There was a chorus of affirmations, Pinkie’s enthusiastic and cheerful.

“It’s… a little hard to talk about. But we’re all friends, and you have the right to know. I… here goes. I think I might be experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder.”

They all looked at her uncertainly, except Rainbow, who had heard it before. “What’s that?” Pinkie asked.

“It’s when a pony feels stressed out about something bad that happened to them,” Twilight said. “For me, it’s… it’s when we were in Canterlot.”

“That night when we…” Applejack started, and Twilight nodded.

“That was a hard night for us all,” Pinkie said, sobering a little.

“Oh, Twilight, what can we do?” Fluttershy asked.

“For now, nothing. I just wanted to tell you all what was going on. I think just talking about it will eventually help me overcome it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to find a professional?” Rainbow asked.

“I think I’ll be okay for now. I just need to get over it on my own. Talking will help. I know that.” She looked significantly at Rarity, who looked away quickly.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we all have a little of that post-dramatic stress disorder,” Pinkie said. “We were all in it.”

Everyone stopped, and they looked at one another. Eyes connected and tore away from faces, lips parted to speak, but no one had anything to say. Gradually, all eyes turned inwards, and Rarity had backed up into the wall, blushing angrily.

“You all right, Rare?” Applejack asked.

“Fine,” she said. She stood. She made a move toward the door. She sat down meekly. “I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been acting yourself lately,” Pinkie said.

“I… haven’t been acting myself lately.”

“What’s wrong, Rarity? Is it Twilight’s thing?” Rainbow asked.

Rarity leaned against the wall, averting her eyes.

“Not even one Element found,” Pinkie said delicately, and everyone stared at her. She giggled. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“I think it’s on all our minds,” Fluttershy said. “I know it’s on mine. I… didn’t want to say anything, because I don’t want to freak myself out. But I dream about it.”

“Me too,” Twilight said.

Rarity nodded.

Applejack only watched, considering. “Ah… think… what we oughta do is just hole up in here fer a couple hours, an’ let everythin’ out.”

“Everything?” Rarity asked.

“All of it. We gotta move on, girls. Pinkie’s right; we gotta keep our mission in mind fer this. This ain’t the way to start.”

No one spoke at first, and then Fluttershy cleared her throat. “I remember their eyes.”

While Lacey remained behind, they took the new airship to Rose Tower. It was eight o’ clock, and the sky was a deep, vast gray. Gentle rain fizzled on the balloon as they cruised.

They had gone directly from their room to the ship, not stopping to say anything to Lacey. The idea of speaking with another, even briefly, felt wrong after such a lengthy and tiring session of talking. Fluttershy had cried, Rainbow had let her defenses fall, and even Pinkie sobered enough to express herself freely, for a time. Their fight with Discord over the wilderness stuck with her; his extrusion out of her body, and the unnoticed invasion that it implied, bothered her more deeply than she liked to admit.

Through it all, Rarity had remained largely silent.

As they approached Rose Tower, a group of bulky shadows manifested, clustered around its base like giant monsters. Unextended cranes. There were five, resting together, and they stopped by one.

Strawberry stood on a crane’s giant tire, directing the ponies with the cables, when they landed. He flew down to greet them. “Excellent timing. As you can see, everything is ready to be set up.” He smiled confidently as he gestured to the crane. “You like it? This is a Tethers Incorporated reinforced, heavy-lift crane, also known as seven hundred thousand bits.”

“It certainly is… big,” Twilight said.

“That’s one way of putting it, yes. So this is how this operation is going to work. You all get in there and find your spot. I’ll start extending these cranes and attaching the cables—sixteen to a crane, and I’m doing it one at a time, so as not to get these things tangled up. I estimate that the process will take at least an hour and a half with the pegasi that I have with me.”

“We can help,” Rainbow said.

“Thank you, but I would prefer you stay with your group. When you get to your places, don’t do anything until you receive my signal, clear?”

“What’s the signal?” Twilight asked.

“If you mark your location with a flare or something, one of my pegasi will come by and say so. Once you’ve gotten the signal, wait a minute or two for my team to get out of the air, then do your thing.”

“Oh, are you absolutely sure that the tower will hold?” Fluttershy asked.

“I didn’t get to be where I am now by doing shoddy work,” he said. “It will hold. Mind, it’ll sway a little. That’s natural.”

“And what if it… oh, what if something goes wrong?”

“If something goes wrong, and the tower goes down… well, you probably won’t be around to worry about the aftermath.”

“Oh dear.” Fluttershy moved behind Rainbow.

“Come on, girls,” Twilight said. “Let’s get going. Oh, Strawberry, I need to talk to you after this.”

“Of course.” He turned to the pony in the crane. “Let’s go! Crane one, take it to sixty-six feet and hold it.” He flew up and began acting as a guide for the crane to follow, its neck slowly telescoping out.

“This is it,” Twilight said giddily, and they entered.

Notices adorned the dark walls. By order of the mayor, Rose Tower had been mostly emptied; all that remained was a skeleton crew of ponies to operate the trains inside and keep vital areas operational. Most lights were off, and all the stores and attractions were closed. Passing through the empty tower, their hoofsteps were ghosts in the vaulted rooms, their rattling train a fantasy among the dark scaffolds between floors.

When they reached the Prancing Prince Music Hall, the venues outside had gone dead, the stale smell of old food in the air. Without the noise and heat of hundreds of ponies, the massive corridor felt too large and too open, a strip of reflective tile that didn’t belong in the abandoned monolith. Small floor lights illuminated the way under Blueblood’s leering face, their pale blue color giving him an evil pallor. They didn’t meet his eyes as they entered the massive auditorium.

As it was when they found it the first time, there were no ponies in the seats, and they descended to the pit absolutely alone. The walk was long and easy, down soft, carpet stairs along brass rails. There was no light inside, only the wan starlight from the window, catching the shining banisters like sparks and the empty seats like black kernels, or rows and rows of rotting teeth.

They climbed onto the dark stage and went to the wide window, through which they could see the oblong shape of restored Manehattan, cornered on two sides by divided neighborhoods surrounding their towers. In the light-stippled distance, Glass Ribbon was a pale band in the sky, a trim antithesis to their black, powerful tower.

Twilight and Fluttershy pressed their faces to the window and looked down. The first crane was in place, and the second was just starting to extend. “It’s going to be a while still,” Twilight said.

The others were behind, sitting and lying on the stage, talking quietly among themselves. After their time in the room, conversation sounded forced and meaningless. For Twilight, just staying where she was did.

It had been a good idea, to remain inside and let their feelings out. But in practice, at least for her, the activity quickly twisted into a competition. Who could win the most sympathy? Fluttershy had started early, recounting her memories of the Canterlot balcony, but her tears soon gave way to Pinkie’s own gibbering sorrow over Discord’s momentary control of her body.

When Twilight herself finally broke down, she had done so more because she knew she ought, and not from any genuine misery. Seeing her friends so distressed was more comforting than their words; it showed her she wasn’t alone. But to say so would hurt them.

With her back to the window and her friends before her, she felt alone. She knew she shouldn’t.

“Twilight, are you all right?” Fluttershy asked, coming closer.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You know you can tell us anything, right? Um, I mean, I don’t want to pressure you, but, um, if something’s bothering you…”

“I’m just nervous about the spell,” she lied. “There’s a lot relying on us right now.”

“Oh, I understand.”

When the final crane was almost ready, Twilight stepped to the window and cast a simple flare spell, exerting herself a little more than usual to cast it through the glass. A ball of light bloomed and hung out in front of them like a star. “What must the ponies in the city be thinking right now?”

Twilight looked out again, taking in the scope of the city. “This really is a beautiful place,” she said to herself.

“It is,” Octavia said from behind.

Twilight looked at her; her face was calm and thoughtful, as always, but there was tenderness in her eyes that Twilight had not seen before. “I have spent little time outside of this tower, but I can see why one would appreciate it. It is less similar to Canterlot than I was expecting.”

“Yeah.” She looked away for a moment, but Octavia didn’t move, or make an effort to speak. “What’s Hoofington like, Octavia?”

“Hoofington? It is certainly smaller than this. Smaller than Canterlot, even. It is a town for wealthy ponies, but it is close-knit. Neighbors know each other there, and are often friends, much like you said is the case in your Ponyville.”

“I thought you said you weren’t wealthy.”

“I am not.”

Twilight eyed her.

Octavia sat down and, looking at the stage, activated her magic. In the darkness, it was difficult to see it at first. She produced a pair of small spirals in the air, and spoke as they moved together. “When I purchased my house there, years ago, I was wealthy. I had been for a period of months, and I was confident that my position was permanent. I was shown to be wrong only a couple weeks after the purchase was finalized.” The spirals swirled upwards, melded together, and then faded, easy as smoke. “It was… among the worst mistakes I have made in my life.”

“So why not sell it again?”

“It is complicated.”

“How?”

“I do not wish to say.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Octavia lapsed into silence, and a pegasus flew up to the window to look in on them. Twilight went to her, and received an enthusiastic nod and smile.

She drew Pinkie over and extinguished her flare. “All right, everypony. Places.”

They all backed off the stage, and Twilight summoned her brush and inkwell. After a minute of waiting for Strawberry’s team to disperse, she began the sigil, still clear in her mind.

Lacey stood in the middle of the street between apartments, deep into the complex. From her position, she could see Rose Tower shooting up between buildings like a candle. She had a vague idea of what the Elements of Harmony were up to, and when she heard they were heading to the tower, knew she had to see. So far, she had only felt the results of their spellcasting, never gotten to see it in action.

She watched as thin, black toothpick silhouettes extended up around the tower. Cranes. It meant nothing to her, and she sat down on the damp concrete. Slowly, thin hairs appeared to connect the tower to its cranes, until it was completely surrounded. She was reminded of a tree in winter.

She tensed with the caress of a breeze along her short fur. Not knowing how long the process took, she could only wait in excruciating excitement, each moment being, surely, the one when things started to happen.

When they did happen, they were so distant that she didn’t fully react until they were already long underway. She was expecting to jump back, to hold on to something, to flap her ears down. Instead, what she heard was faraway, rolling thunder. In the darkness, and the dying storm, she only knew it was the spell when she saw Rose Tower begin to sway. The hairs held it aloft, but the tower still moved dangerously, its thorn crown tracing a narrow parenthesis over the gray ceiling of clouds. Mild tremors tickled her hooves as pieces of land rejoined one another, but the apartment block was largely unaffected.

More ponies were slowly coming out to watch, and she ignored them. The spell that had been cast on her part of town felt much more severe, and while she was thankful for the reprieve, she was disappointed too. She had expected something spectacular.

When Rose Tower swayed its last, they all lined up at the window to look down. Manehattan was spread out like a dark plane of sharply angled earth, and they could see the familiar jitter and shake of massed, confused ponies. Most importantly, though, it was complete. The streets and lots around the tower were back to normal, the buildings once again beside and across from one another. The only area left to be restored was the scattered neighborhood around Glass Ribbon, across the city; buildings and empty spaces tossed about in the air like dice. Next to the full metropolis, it looked more like an artist’s interpretation.

The ride back to the ground floor was slow and anxious, and when they stepped out into the drizzling darkness, Strawberry was hovering high above, commanding the crane operators while swarms of pegasi worked above. When he spotted them, he swooped down with a smile.

“Is everything okay?” Twilight asked.

“Everything is perfect,” he said. “Everything happened exactly as I wanted it.” He looked around. “Which is good. If you didn’t have my help, this tower would’ve come down, hard. Probably right on the city, too.”

“Thank you, Strawberry. We truly appreciate the help you’ve given us.”

“You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Welcome to Manehattan.”

“What about Glass Ribbon?” Rainbow asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t see how I can possibly help you with that. The next year is going to be dedicated to making this money back. Doing it again? Not gonna happen. Sorry.”

“But how are we gonna hold it in place?” Pinkie asked.

“I have no idea.” He held a hoof to his chin. “The only possible way I could do this for you is if you find a way to reimburse me. But that’s between three and four million bits. I know you don’t have that much.”

“Would we have to give you all of it? Wouldn’t one or two million be good enough?” Twilight asked.

“Like we can get two million bits any easier than three of four,” Rainbow said.

“Lacey helped us with the ship. Maybe she can help with this,” Applejack said.

“Hang on,” Strawberry said sharply. “Say that name again.”

“Lacey,” Twilight said. “Lacey Kisses is her full name.”

Strawberry stared at them, eyes a mixture of confusion, intrigue, and anger. “Are you… how do you know her?”

“We live with her,” Rainbow said.

Pinkie jumped in place. “Oh! Oh! We ran into each other in this tower, actually, and really hit it off! Best friends forever! She said we could come down and live with her if we were ever in a tight spot! Which we did after helping you with your whole arsonist pony thing!”

“Okay, okay. Keep it down.” He looked around warily. “Why don’t you come back to my place for a little while? I think I might be able to help you after all.”

It was two hours before the cables were down and the cranes were heading back to wherever Strawberry got them, and in the interim, they had a late dinner at a small sub shop just under the shadow of Rose Tower. Ponies were still shaken, but everything was calming down. For them, the excitement did not abate. With one more spell, they would be free to leave town and continue their quest. It had been so long since they left, it felt strange to think in terms of the larger mission. Find the Elements, stop Discord. Money, resources, and shady CEOs were only part of the background.

It was twelve-thirty when they arrived at Strawberry’s apartment. When they knocked, his paranoid eye regarded them first, then, reluctantly, allowed them in. A single light was on by a sheaf of papers, busy with numbers and names.

“I have it,” he said.

“Have what?” Fluttershy asked.

“I have your solution. I can secure Glass Ribbon as well, if you give me something in return.”

“Wait, slow down,” Applejack said. “What’s this got to do with Lacey?”

“Ah, yes, I’m getting ahead of myself. Sorry. I’m very excited.” He let out an exhilarated sigh. “Right. Lacey. She… I had hoped not to involve you in this. But here we go. Do you remember that former business partner of mine?”

“The one who set the arson-pony on you?” Pinkie asked.

“For the love of Celestia, keep your voice down,” he said, and sighed. “Yes, that one. That’s Lacey.”

He waited for them to respond, but the only pony who spoke was Octavia. “Interesting.”

“I’ve known her for a long time; she and I are rivals, so to speak. ‘Enemies’ is more accurate, but it doesn’t have the same connotation.”

“She’s just an actress. How can she be your enemy?” Twilight asked.

“It’s her fault.” He sat down and thought. “Many years ago, as I said, we were business partners. Not friends, or anything, just partners. Middle management. Production and distribution of goods, coordination of business ventures, stuff like that. We got involved in some… backroom dealings, let’s say.” He smiled coyly. “I suspect that comes as no surprise, coming from me. But she squeezed me out. Tricked me, lied to me, cheated me out of pretty much everything I stood to gain. Upstart nag.”

“Again, actress,” Applejack said. “If she took all yer money, or whatever, how come she’s a measly actress now, instead of some big-shot CEO like you?”

“Did you get your revenge?” Rainbow asked.

“I was too busy getting back on my own hooves,” Strawberry said. “Why she chose her current career path is a mystery to me. You do know what she is, right?”

“Ac-tress,” Applejack said slowly. “How many times Ah gotta say it?”

“It’s pornography, girls. She’s a porn actress.”

Rarity shuffled uncomfortably, but the others only looked at him curiously.

“Oh,” Pinkie finally said.

“Don’t worry about that for now. It’s not important,” Strawberry said. “What is important is that you have access to her. Which means I have access to her.”

“No, you do not,” Octavia said.

“Huh?”

“You are just as much of a liar and manipulator as you say she is. For all we know, she is an innocent pony.”

Strawberry frowned. “A rigid morality like that won’t get you very far in the city, you know.”

“It suits me fine.”

They stared at each other. “Fine,” he said at last. “I shouldn’t expect you to trust me. But… you still need me.”

“Aw, crap,” Rainbow said. “You’re gonna make us do something to get you to help us again, aren’t you?”

“It’s quite simple.”

“You said that last time,” Applejack said.

“That was Flash’s doing, not mine.”

“Can we just cut to the chase and help him?” Rarity asked with a sigh. “We need him, and we know it.”

“Rarity, think about this,” Rainbow said.

“Dash, without his help, we’re not casting that spell. It’s that simple. Quit with the morality stuff and let’s just do what he wants.”

“Let’s at least hear what he has to say first,” Twilight said. “Strawberry? What do you need?”

“Just a little information. Lacey herself has no power, outside her ability to manipulate and contrive. Which is significant. However, if I can get a few things on her boss, we’re in business.”

“What would you do with the information?” Rainbow asked.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Rarity is right, but I would like to know what your plans are before I agree to anything,” Octavia said. “Tell us.”

Strawberry licked his lips and looked at the door. He lowered his voice. “Just some basic identity theft. If I can impersonate the boss, I can embezzle all the company’s money.”

“That’s really risky,” Twilight said. “If you and Lacey are enemies, like you say, then it won’t be hard for her to figure out it was you who orchestrated this.”

“You didn’t let me finish. Once I have the money, I put it in a secure place that she can’t reach—not without a lot of information on me, anyway. I know what I’m doing.”

“If you say so.”

“Let’s just do what he wants and get on with our lives,” Rarity said. “It’s not like we have a choice.”

“Ah still don’t like it,” Applejack said.

“Think of it this way,” Strawberry said. “You helped me deal with Flash, and that was much more dangerous than this.”

“That is no reason to continue doing things like this,” Octavia said. “But Rarity is correct. This is our only option, aside from leaving Manehattan unfinished.”

Applejack shook her head. “Ah… recognize that we don’t have any other choice here. But Ah wanna be on record sayin’ that Ah hate, hate, hate what we’re doin’, an’ Ah think it’s gonna cause more harm than good.”

“Uh, what she said,” Rainbow said.

“What kind of information do you need?” Rarity asked tiredly.

“I need a copy of her boss’ ID card, as well as his bank information. Account number, PIN, and where he keeps the company’s money,” Strawberry said.

“How are we supposed to get that?” Rainbow asked.

“Just go to the studio and find the manager. Get him distracted and take pictures of the papers.”

“Pictures?” Twilight repeated.

“If you take the real articles, someone will know you’ve been there.”

“Ah.” She thought for a moment. “How are we supposed to get into the studio without arousing suspicion?”

“How should I know? You’re friends with that… well, I don’t like her. Just make sure you don’t mention anything to Lacey, okay? I can’t help you if you blow your own cover.” He looked at them all, then at the door. “And now I think it’s time for you to leave. I have some arrangements to make… ponies to call.”

“What, just like that?” Rainbow objected.

“You seem surprised.”

They left, grumbling, and returned to the ship. When they were aloft, Manehattan had quieted down, and the city was mostly still as they floated back. Rarity leaned on the rail and looked down, and she didn’t notice Applejack next to her until she spoke up.

“What’s goin’ on, Rarity?” Applejack asked. “Y’ain’t yerself today.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Nuh-uh. Ah know tired, an’ you ain’t it. You’ve got somethin’ heavy on yer mind.” She lowered her voice. “Is it what we talked ‘bout earlier?”

Rarity had hardly spoken at Lacey’s. While everyone else revealed their fears, their private sufferings, she had remained quiet. “In a way.”

“What’s wrong, darlin’?”

Rarity turned her body away from Applejack. She could still feel him inside. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

They got back to Lacey’s flat and went inside with the spare key—she had shown Octavia a few days ago, knowing her proclivity for nighttime walks. When they got into their room, Rarity went to the door and stood with her head outside for an entire minute. She turned back in, closing it softly. Her eyes commanded them to sit down quietly.

“Lacey brought me down to the studio yesterday,” she said simply.

“Why?” Pinkie asked. Everyone looked at her.

Rarity stared past. “Why indeed,” she whispered. In the soft bedroom light, she looked years older.

“Oh, Rarity,” Fluttershy said, approaching her. “Oh, goodness, but you didn’t do anything, right? I mean, I know you would never actually do anything like… that.”

Rarity only sighed.

“Geez, Rare,” Rainbow said softly.

Rarity slowly tilted her head down to avoid their eyes.

“Why’d you do it?” Applejack asked at length.

“It was to help pay for the airship.”

“That’s the favor you did? But I thought you just made her a dress,” Twilight said.

“Or gave her a fashion tip, or something,” Pinkie added. “I mean, you’re the fashion pony, not the sex-on-camera pony.”

“Pinkie!” Applejack hissed.

“She tricked me,” Rarity said. “I didn’t want to do it, but she got in my head.”

“How?” Twilight asked.

Rarity sighed slowly. “I’m not that strong, Twilight.”

“No, I know—I mean, I don’t know, not like I expect you to be weak or anything, uh… that’s not what I meant, I mean. Uh…”

“She reminded me how desperate our financial situation is, and told me she’d help with the ship if I did a video. Simple as that.”

“But that’s not simple at all!” Pinkie cried. “That’s downright—”

“Simple as that,” Rarity growled. Hastily composing herself, she went on, voice strained. “I got fooled, and that’s all there is to it. It’s not my fault.”

They all looked at her for a moment, before Applejack spoke, her voice quiet and intense. “That hussy. Strawberry was right ‘bout her, to a T. Why, Ah oughta buck her straight in the head!”

“Remember what Strawberry told us,” Octavia said.

“Ah don’t care anymore. No one tricks our Rarity into doin’ somethin’ like that.”

“You are being a fool.”

“She’s right, Applejack. We’ll get her back later, but for now, we need to keep this a secret,” Twilight said.

Applejack accepted Fluttershy’s wing around her back, and she calmed down. “Ah don’t know if Ah can spend any more time with her without jumpin’ up an’ poppin’ her.”

“You will have to,” Octavia said.

“But that video isn’t going anywhere, right?” Fluttershy asked.

Rarity sighed. “I’m sure it’s going somewhere.” She didn’t elaborate, and they looked back and forth to each other.

“Well… I guess we can try to destroy it or something when we go down there,” Rainbow said.

“Don’t bother. It’s too late.”

“Are you sure?” Twilight asked.

“It’s too late!” She looked down, ashamed. “I’m sorry. I’m… sorry.”

Slips

Chapter Twenty-nine

Slips

Rarity sat in Lacey’s car, staring straight ahead and concentrating on keeping her emotions in check. Anger and disgust congealed inside her, poisoning the determination she had felt at first, when she agreed to Twilight’s idea.

They were on their way to the studio: Rarity, under the pretense of doing a follow-up video, and Twilight—invisible in the back—to track down the papers Strawberry needed.

While Lacey drove, Rarity’s eyes alternated between the rain-streaked windshield to the rear-view mirror, where she could see the slight depression in the seat, where Twilight sat.

“This’ll be easier for you,” Lacey said casually. “You’ve already delivered the goods. What I’m envisioning now is a simple interview. We set you up on the bed, you wear something provocative, and talk to our camerapony for ten minutes or so.”

“Hm.”

“Make it sexy, Rarity. But you already know that.”

Rarity didn’t respond, and Lacey didn’t press her. They drove in silence.

When Twilight had first come up with the idea, Rarity couldn’t even respond; at the mention of returning to the studio, her ears roared and her blood froze. But as they continued to bounce ideas off one another, Twilight’s slowly started to make the most sense. She fell asleep that night with a mind full of dread, and woke up even worse.

They parked. The rain was slowing down, and Rarity feigned a moment of hesitation before closing the car door, for Twilight to get out. She saw the splash of a misplaced hoof in a puddle.

“Come on, my little pony,” Lacey said neutrally.

“I am not your little pony,” Rarity muttered, approaching the studio with her.

Twilight followed closely behind Rarity and Lacey as they entered and separated from them when they reached the filming area. She took one last look at Rarity, so quiet and collected, but who had cried herself to sleep the night before. She didn’t know what Rarity was planning to do to buy time, or whether she even intended to do the video. When asked that morning, Rarity simply shook her head.

Twilight passed the first set into a large, open area of talking ponies, surrounded by props and equipment. They were preparing for another video, one that sounded more complicated than Rarity’s. One unicorn gestured pointedly with a riding crop, and she had to skirt the edge to avoid bumping anyone.

She passed into a hallway off the side of another set, occupied with a pair of warmly smiling stallions, posing on chairs. She walked slowly under the dead lights, focusing on softening her hoofsteps, until she turned into a differently colored corridor, sloping downwards slightly. She looked back quickly, remembering the area just before. The last thing she wanted was to be lost in a studio that was larger than she was expecting.

For the first half of the corridor, there were no doors and no windows, only the constant slope downwards. The temperature dropped, and the air grew musty. As the floor leveled out, she began passing doors, each with a number, but no names or designations. At the hall’s end, she stopped at an emergency exit.

Sighing, she turned to head back, but froze. At the corridor’s beginning, standing together and talking happily, were two pegasi. One vaguely reminded her of Fluttershy, for her mild, creamy coat, and the other was almost black, and faded in and out of the shadows as they walked. She could only watch with growing fear as the pair approached, side by side and taking up the entire corridor.

“Well, I was thinking I could turn up the front ones a bit, you know, to really get those sheets reflecting,” the dark one said.

“Too much, I think,” the pale one replied. “What if we go a little further back? She likes to look around a lot; maybe we can get her squinting or something.”

“But what if some ponies are into that?”

“I keep telling you, you can’t ask yourself that every time something like this comes up. Everything is a fetish, Jet.”

“I had a coltfriend once who was really into sneezing.”

The pale one laughed loudly. “I know that. You bring it up all the time.”

“It was weird!”

Twilight looked back and forth desperately. They were only a dozen feet away, and still approaching.

“Hang on a second,” the pale one said.

Talking, and breathing, stopped.

“I think I heard something.”

“Oh, you’re being paranoid,” Jet said.

“No, I definitely heard something. Breathing, sounded like.”

“I’ve been breathing next to you the whole time.”

“No, you halfwit—over there.” She gestured at Twilight. “Breathing, over there.”

“That’s an empty hallway, tho—waaaaaaait a second.”

“You hear it?”

“I hear nothin’. I see it, though.”

The pale one took a step forward and squinted, and Twilight pressed herself up against the fire escape. She could feel the metal handle against her, and looked back quickly to make sure she wasn’t accidentally going to open the door.

“Oh, yeah, I see it real good now,” Jet said.

“Hey! We know you’re there, whoever you are. Just become visible now, please? We’re not going to eat you or anything.”

“Unless you’re a dude.”

“Yeah, unless you’re a dude. Wait, no, unicorn dudes suck.”

“Hey, racial sensitivity. This is what that class was talking about.”

“I slept through that class.”

“Yeah, so did I.”

Twilight watched, petrified. She knew she was found out, but the act of releasing her curtain of invisibility seemed too great a forfeiture.

The pegasi turned back to her. “Come on, unicorn,” Jet said, exasperated.

“We’re not, like, security or anything.”

“Yeah, we’re not gonna hurt you.”

Twilight sighed. “Damn it,” she whispered, letting her spell fall away.

“That always looks so weird to watch,” the pale one said.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing back here? Are you lost or something?” Jet asked.

Twilight looked at them. No responses came to mind, and she could only gape at them.

“You mute or something? C’mon, just gimme an answer,” Jet pressed.

“Uh… uh…” Twilight stammered.

“I bet we freaked her out,” the pale one said.

Jet rolled her eyes. “All right, all right, just calm down. We’re not here to hurt you, or get you in trouble, or whatever. We’re just curious. Ya know, an invisible unicorn sneaking around the studio—that’s kinda odd.”

“Um, I’m looking for whoever’s in charge of this studio,” Twilight said ashamedly.

“She speaks!” Jet exclaimed.

“Why?” the pale one asked.

Twilight backed up a little more. “I… it’s a secret.”

“Awesome, that’s what we need more of,” Jet said, rolling her dark eyes.

“Maybe we should get security in here,” the pale one said.

“I’m not planning anything,” Twilight said weakly.

“Ah, you hear that, Wings? She’s not planning anything,” Jet said.

“Well, what a relief,” Wings said, smiling.

“But it is a secret, what you’re doing.”

Twilight looked down the hall nervously.

“How much you wanna bet this comes back to Lacey?” Wings asked.

“Lacey?” Twilight repeated.

“Oh, now we’ve got something,” Jet said. They approached her, smiling wide.

“You know her?” Wings asked.

Twilight’s tone was guarded. She was no longer completely afraid of the pegasi, but she didn’t trust them. “My friends and I do, yes.”

“Friend or foe?”

“Yeah, unicorn. Which is it?” Jet asked.

“Uh… foe.”

“Hm.”

“I dunno,” Wings said, unfurling her wings to block the end of the hall. “This smells funny.”

“And not ha-ha funny,” Jet said.

Wings snickered.

“Wait,” Twilight said, obeying a sudden impulse. “Do you know Rarity? The white unicorn in the studio?”

“We know of her,” Jet said.

“Why?” Wings asked.

“She’s my best friend,” Twilight said.

“Best friends?”

“‘Cause they’re the Elements of Harmony, you nincompoop,” Jet said. “They have to be best friends. It’s the friggin’ law.”

“And Lacey’s manipulating Rarity…”

“Who is the best friend of this unicorn,” Jet completed. She smiled. “I think I see what’s going on here.”

Twilight frowned, her pulse speeding up once more.

“I think we’ve got a revenge game going on here,” Wings said quietly.

“I think that also,” Jet said, nodding. They looked at each other for a moment.

“And I think we can help you,” Wings said. “If you’d like.”

Twilight looked at one of the doors, then back, then down the hall. “Um… yeah, I think that would be nice.”

Wings grinned and dug a key out of her plumage as she turned back down the hall. They walked together, Twilight at a distance behind, head hung low. They stopped at a door at the midpoint, and Wings opened it without a word to let the three of them in.

“Is this your office?” Twilight asked.

The door closed, and Wings locked it.

“Nah. This is the studio director’s,” Jet said.

“We’re not supposed to come in here,” Wings said.

“But we do.”

“He’s out for brunch right now anyway.”

“And it’s not like we don’t handle way more than we’re supposed to.”

“Help yourself.”

Twilight stared at them. “Just like that?”

“You are trying to get revenge against Lacey, right?” Wings asked.

Twilight hesitated. “Yyyyyyeah, I am.”

“Then get to it. Do what you gotta do,” Jet said.

“We won’t snitch,” Wings said.

“Yeah, we hate her too.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“Okay, Wings doesn’t hate her. I do,” Jet said.

Twilight nervously moved around the desk, and, taking her eyes off the pegasi for the first time, started looking through it. “Why do you hate her?”

“She threatened us,” Jet said simply.

“To keep us silent,” Wings added.

Twilight looked up quickly. “What? What about?”

They exchanged eye contact. “Do you know what she’s doing with your friend Rarity?” Wings asked.

“Making videos,” Twilight said slowly.

“And do you know where those videos are going?” Jet asked.

Twilight paused. She hadn’t thought of it.

“There’s a lot of profit to be made in Ponyville,” Wings said.

“Oh, no.” She closed a drawer softly, searching for deception in Wings’ voice.

“Yup, that’s what’s happening,” Jet said.

“We tried to stop her,” Wings said.

“But she wouldn’t listen.”

“Threatened us, to keep us from blowing up her spot with Rarity.”

“We were gonna keep quiet.”

“We don’t wanna get our apartment burned down.”

“But now you’re here,” Jet said, her smile audible. “And we’re not above helping a saboteur.”

“Really?” Twilight said. She opened a drawer full of manila envelopes. “Aren’t you worried you’ll lose your jobs?”

“We thought about that,” Wings said.

“We were kinda planning on pulling something ourselves, though.”

“Yeah, we’re willing to roll the dice.”

Twilight picked through a sheaf of papers, and folded a few up, tucking them into her pocket dimension. “So, how exactly do you know her? Are you actresses too?”

“Fuck no!” Wings blurted. “I mean, I’m flattered, but no. We’re light technicians.”

“And studio counselors,” Jet said.

“Unofficially. It’s actually someone else’s job, but they’re, like, no good at it.”

“Whenever anypony has some sort of problem, they find us first.”

“I’ve got no idea why it’s us; we’re too abrasive and stupid to be any kind of helpful.”

“I don’t know how to advise somepony whose giant dick gets in the way all the time,” Jet said.

“We have enough problems without having to get all emotional with the actors.”

“Do you know how creepy it is to hug a giant muscle monster for half an hour?”

“Sounds stressful,” Twilight said, taking another page crawling with tiny numbers and lines.

“Yeah, it is.”

“But what else is there?”

“There’s no room in this city for two aspiring comedians.”

“You want to be comedians?” Twilight asked, suddenly intrigued.

“Yeah, that’s the dream. See?” They turned their flanks to Twilight, a pair of microphones—though Jet’s was barely visible against her fur.

“We even have our comedy team name,” Jet said.

“Wild Life. Since we’re both so wild, you know?”

“So you don’t actually like this job,” Twilight said.

“Nah, not really. But we need it. You know how screwed up the economy is right now.”

“No, I don’t actually.”

“Seriously?” Jet said. “They don’t get the news in Ponyville?”

“We’ve been traveling,” Twilight said guardedly, grabbing another paper. She closed the drawer with a quiet snap.

“How? There’s no trains. You have to know that, at least.”

“We have an airship.”

“Whoa, whoa. An airship?” Wings said. “By Ponyville standards, that’s pretty impressive.”

“What do you know about Ponyville?” Twilight asked.

“I have a pair of cousins that live in Cloudsdale, and they go to Ponyville from time to time,” Wings said. “Flitter and Cloudchaser.”

“I met ‘em before. They’re pretty cool cats,” Jet said.

Twilight shook her head. “I don’t know them.”

Jet turned around and looked at the door unhappily. “Yeah, great. Look, I don’t like being here too long. Are you done stealing our company’s information?”

“Oh, um, yes,” Twilight said with a little smile.

“Then let’s get out of here.”

They exited the office, and she stood back as Wings locked it back up. “Hey, uh, total shot in the dark,” Wings said. “But does the name ‘Strawberry’ mean anything to you?”

Twilight froze. “Maybe.”

“Aw, hell,” Jet said.

“Is this one of his schemes?” Wings asked.

“How do you know him?” Twilight asked.

“Well, before Lacey totally betrayed us, she liked to include us in her little games,” Jet said.

“Strawberry was her number two,” Wings added, flourishing the key.

“Her rival.”

“Her top competitor.”

“And now he’s at it some more.”

“Or so it seems.”

“Hang on, hang on,” Twilight said. “I already know about Strawberry and Lacey. But what about you two?”

“We were just along for the ride,” Wings said.

“Didn’t actually have a stake in things,” Jet said.

“But we do now.”

“And we’re very much in the interest of letting him do what he wants.”

“So do you need anything else, or can we get back to work?” Wings asked.

“I think I’m good,” Twilight said.

“Cool.” They made to depart, and Twilight watched them move down the hall.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“How did you know I was hiding at the end of the hall?”

“Your invisible body was screwing with the shadows,” Jet said.

“Kind of twisting them,” Wings said.

“And you spotted that?” Twilight asked.

“We spend so much time around lights,” Jet said.

“It was actually really obvious,” Wings said a little meekly.

“To us.”

“Yeah, to us.”

Twilight frowned, and they walked away. Wings turned at the end of the hall and gave her a tiny wave, and she donned her invisibility spell once more. She took a moment to reassert calm, and then walked out of the studio to search for Rarity. She didn’t need to go far; Rarity was in the parking lot, near the outer wall, staring at the ground.

“I’m ready to go,” Twilight said, and Rarity jumped with a small gasp.

“Oh, dear. Don’t do that.” She looked around. “What took you so long?”

“I… got lost. How about you, Rarity? What happened?”

“I cried and ran,” Rarity said matter-of-factly.

“Just like that? Lacey let you go?”

“What else can she do? She can’t force me to act if I don’t want to.”

“I guess. Is she mad?”

“Probably,” Rarity said. “I don’t care.”

When they returned to Lacey’s apartment, Twilight loitered outside for Rarity, who would call Strawberry and tell him his information was ready. From there, she would either go with her to his apartment, or try to meet the others at Glass Ribbon, where she had told Lacey she was going earlier. It was with mild anticipation that she waited under an awning in the parking lot, listening to the rain.

When Rarity returned, she dropped her spell, and they headed out.

“Twenty bits,” Rarity said. “That’s all we have left in physical money. We’ve spent the rest on taxi rides.”

Twilight nodded as she hailed one. She wanted to know how much Rarity would make from her video, but didn’t ask. While Rarity had improved slightly, Twilight could still see the confusion and anger in her eyes. Any question could shut her down entirely.

They got to Strawberry’s twenty minutes later, where he was quick to let them in.

“That was quick of you,” he said. “Run into any trouble?”

“No trouble,” Twilight said, producing the stolen papers.

He examined them for a moment. “I thought I said photographs.”

Twilight licked her lips with a dry tongue. “Uh… oh yeah.”

“You did understand my explanation for why I don’t want hard copies, did you not?”

“No, I did.”

“Based on what you’re delivering here, I don’t think you did.”

“I forgot, okay. No one… saw me take them.”

“Irrelevant.” He flexed his wings as his green eyes dulled in irritation. “Now I have to change my entire operation to accommodate the very likely possibility that Lacey sees something coming.”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said, annoyed. “I’m sure it’s not that big a deal.”

“Oh, are you the one who decides if something is a big deal?”

“Excuse me?”

“Because I was operating on the premise that I was the one who knew what is, and is not, a big deal. Being that it’s all my operation, you understand. You do understand that, don’t you?”

Twilight glared at him.

“I’m sorry. Can you talk? Is that something you can do?”

“Why are you doing this?” Rarity asked.

“Let me talk to Twilight,” Strawberry snapped. “Twilight? Can you talk?”

“Yes,” Twilight ground out. “Can you be a little more respectful?”

“Answer the question.”

“It’s just a little mistake!” Twilight cried. “I got your stupid papers. Just get over it and help us.”

He smirked mercilessly. “Did you at least manage to keep my name out of it?”

Twilight hesitated. “I didn’t even see anyone.”

“So you’re not completely inept. Good.”

“We helped you with your arsonist,” Rarity said. “You don’t have to be so mean to us.”

“Make mistake, receive consequences,” he said, looking over the papers. He was silent for a long time, ignoring the mares’ sour expressions entirely. “Okay, this all looks good,” he finally said.

“So you can take it from here?” Rarity asked.

“I’ll do my best,” he said dourly, fixing Twilight with a cold stare.

“So you don’t need anything else from us,” Twilight said.

He shook his head.

“Good.”

They left without further discussion and returned to Lacey’s.

“I hope Rarity’s gonna be okay,” Applejack said. She and Fluttershy sat in a small coffee shop across from a linen store, where the others were shopping for some sheets for their beds.

“I feel terrible about what I said last night,” Fluttershy said. “When she told us she went to the studio. I said there was no way she did anything… I made her feel so bad.”

Applejack nodded. “Ah understand.”

“I just can’t believe Lacey tricked her.”

Applejack scowled into her latte. “That nag manipulated her sense of generosity fer her own selfish ends. We can’t let her get away with it.”

“Oh, um… well…”

“What is it, sugarcube?”

“I think, maybe, we should focus on Rarity first. To make sure she’s okay.”

Applejack thought. She knew Fluttershy was right, but didn’t want to look into her eyes. It reminded her of her own anger, small in comparison to the help they owed Rarity. “Thinkin’ ‘bout it gets me so mad, Ah just wanna do somethin’. You know?”

“Um, I suppose so.”

“Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“Oh, I hope so. I can tell she’s really upset about it.”

“She’s angry,” Applejack said.

“Justifiably.”

Applejack paused; she wasn’t expecting Fluttershy to defend it. “Yeah.”

“We are ready to go,” Octavia said from behind. She carried a bundle of bags over her back, and behind her, Rainbow and Pinkie were talking quietly.

“Hey, you two might wanna hear something,” Rainbow said, advancing to their table.

“What’s that?” Applejack asked.

“It’s my Pinkie Sense!” Pinkie said.

“You still have that?” Octavia asked.

“Yuppers!” Her smile faltered slightly. “Not so much anymore.”

“What’s it say?” Fluttershy asked.

Pinkie paused in thought. “It’s hard to tell exactly. But it’s bad.”

“How bad?” Applejack asked, her heart dropping.

“Uhhhhh… pretty bad.”

Applejack rolled her eyes. “That ain’t too helpful, Pinkie.”

“Like, it’s not ‘Discord possessing me and coming out to fight everyone in the middle of nowhere’ bad, but it’s pretty serious. We… should probably get out of town as fast as we can.”

Applejack sighed heavily. “Well…” She tried to select an appropriate response, but after all the stress the city had brought them, only a single word came to mind. “Okay.”

* * * * * *

Spike had a nice habit going. On Fridays, he and Derpy went to the spa to hang out with Flitter and Cloudchaser, and on Saturdays, he got together with her and some others to play cards. The group always changed slightly, with one pony added or subtracted each time, but the core was the same: Golden Harvest, Berry Punch, Allie Way, and Mayor Mare.

It was Allie’s turn to host the game, and they were chatting amiably in her living room while she prepared tea and coffee. Aside from the core group, Berry Punch had brought along her friend, Colgate, who sat on the couch with a tired expression.

“Long day at the hospital, Colgate?” Golden asked.

“Yeah. I had a pegasus with an injured wing this afternoon, and had to spend an hour inside her carpal joint. I hate all those tiny bones.”

“You look tired,” Spike said.

Colgate nodded and picked up a deck of cards in her magic. She shuffled them rapidly before setting them down again. “So what do you all like to play?”

“Poker, usually,” Derpy said.

“Do you play cards at all?” Spike asked.

Colgate sighed. “Not really.”

“I think you’ll enjoy yourself,” Berry said.

“And don’t worry,” Mayor Mare said. “We’re not professionals or anything.”

“Yeah, we won’t be taking advantage of you.”

“It’s fine,” Colgate said.

Allie came back out with a collection of saucers and mugs floating around her head, and she put them all down, taking a seat on the other side of the table. “Well, girls? And Spike. What’s the game?”

Thunder crackled outside, and Golden jumped.

“Let’s start with some five card draw,” Derpy said. “To ease in our guest.”

Allie nodded and shuffled again, then dealt the cards. Rain peppered the roof.

They played for two hours, chatting and laughing lightly. Of them all, Golden was winning the most hands, but not by much. As the storm picked up, and the games grew more comfortable, conversation turned more personal.

“So how’s life without the Elements of Harmony, Spike? Are you getting used to things?” Allie asked.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he said casually. “It was really weird at first, but I got over it.” He smiled at Derpy, who rubbed his back affectionately.

“Where are they now, anyway?” Berry asked.

Spike shrugged.

“What? Are you saying they don’t write you?” Golden asked.

“No, not lately.” He sighed. “Not at all, actually.”

“Some friends,” Colgate said.

“They’re just busy, I’m sure.”

“No one’s that busy.”

Lightning flashed through the windows, and the rain picked up for just a second. “Well, they are in charge of saving the… er, the whole country.”

“Just put a quill to parchment,” Colgate said drily. She shuffled the cards and dealt.

“It’s not a big deal. I’m sure they’ll write to me when they get the chance.”

Colgate put her cards down on the sofa and stood, stretching. She turned her head away, but Spike could see her lips curled up in a snarl.

“What’s wrong, Colgate?” Allie asked.

“I fold,” she said shortly, and walked to the kitchen.

“What’s with her?” Derpy asked quietly.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Berry said. “She can get a little touchy sometimes.”

“Was it something I said?” Spike asked.

“I’m not entirely sure. Just let her be.”

They played the hand, and another, before Colgate came back out. Her earlier disquiet seemed gone entirely, and she addressed them all with a dull voice. “It was lovely to meet you all, but I have to go home now. Sorry.”

“Are you crazy? It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” Mayor Mare said sternly.

Colgate flushed. “I need to go home.”

“She’s not crazy,” Berry said as Colgate went to the door. “It’s just a little water.”

“Bye, Colgate,” Spike said. The door closed, and they waited for a moment.

“She’s weird,” Derpy said at last.

“She’s okay,” Berry said. “Like I said, she can be a little sensitive. But she’ll be fine.”

Spike returned to the library just after the rain stopped, in time to do a little dusting and then go to sleep. Usually, he had at least one dream of Rarity, but more often, Derpy was appearing—sometimes even taking Rarity’s place. She was much more complicated than the caricature as other ponies portrayed her, and he felt privileged to be close enough to her to know it. She was more direct than Rarity, more down-to-earth, and less superficial. There was no comparison when it came to physical beauty, but Spike wasn’t shallow; he overlooked her eyes and un-styled mane, and appreciated the beauty within her. In a way, it was her imperfections that endeared her to him all the more.

He woke the next morning, fresh from a dream about the gray pegasus, and hopped out of bed eagerly. The storm had passed, and he set out after a quick breakfast, intending to find Derpy. Instead, he met Colgate, who waved at him from across the road.

“Hey, Colgate. What’s going on?”

“I want to say I’m sorry,” she said neutrally. “Really sorry about last night.”

“Huh?”

“The way I left. I didn’t have to go like that.”

“Oh. Uh… it’s fine. I don’t think anyone thought much of it.”

“That’s good.” She looked up at a bird passing overhead.

“Were you okay getting home? It was really coming down last night.”

“Just rain. I’ve seen worse.”

“Well, good. Uh, why did you have to get home so quick?”

“There was something I had to take care of. It’s not important.”

He nodded, thinking of his own chores. He would never leave his friends early for housework. “Wanna do something?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing specific. What do you like to do?”

“I like to walk in the park, when I have some time off.” She looked back, and Spike could see the hospital in the distance. “I’m not scheduled to be on call for another three hours.”

“Let’s go, then.”

They headed toward the Ponyville park at a mild pace. It was still early, and most ponies were just setting up their stalls. The roads, and the spaces between, were largely empty.

“So you’re a doctor, right?” Spike asked.

“Surgeon. Bones and muscles is my specialty.”

“Geez. Sounds hard.”

“It can be a stressful job.” She glanced down to see whether he was paying attention. “If cutting ponies open every day doesn’t get to you, the hours and the paperwork do. I do fifty to sixty hours a week, and I’m on call for three to four hours on Saturdays and Sundays.”

“When do you sleep?”

“There’s a lot of downtime between patients, generally.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how hard that must be.”

She shrugged. “You get by.”

“I guess so. Do you enjoy it?”

“It pays well, and I’m quite popular there.”

“That’s cool.” They walked to a small patch of grass, hemmed by daffodils.

“This is where Lyra always played, when she was alive,” Colgate said.

“When she was alive,” Spike repeated. Colgate said it without a trace of emotion, and Spike had to take a moment to catch up. “She was really talented.”

“Skilled beyond her years.” Colgate walked along the patch’s edge.

“How did she, um, go, anyway? Do you know?”

“Part of her house collapsed on her.” Again, there was no feeling in the words.

“Holy Celestia.”

“I don’t like to talk about these things, Spike.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He followed her, and they walked for a long time without speaking, just appreciating the spring morning.

“In case you’re curious, your friends are in Manehattan,” Colgate said at last.

“Huh? How do you know that?”

“Allie Way told me.”

Spike stopped, as if struck, and Colgate turned around to regard him evenly. His thoughts were still murky from the early hour, and he took a moment to process what she said. “How does she know?”

“She has connections that I do not.”

“Uh…”

“I don’t know what they’re doing there, specifically. Searching for the Elements, presumably. And working on restoring the landscape.”

“Wait… so Allie knows, somehow. And she told you. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you want to know where they are?”

“I was curious. Twilight and I talked some before she left. She seems a decent sort of pony.”

Spike frowned. To hear Colgate describe Twilight so impersonally bothered him—even if his own friendship with the Elements was straining.

“I’m not spying or anything,” Colgate said. “Spying isn’t my game.”

“I… guess it’s okay. Just weird. Weird that Allie of all ponies would know.” He thought for a second. “She’s so benign.”

Colgate smirked slightly and turned back out of the park. They were on the north side of town. “We’re old acquaintances.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Colgate led him toward a small hill, in the direction of a windmill. They sat down on the dewy grass halfway up, and she lay down to stare up at the clouds.

“So you come here often?” Spike asked.

“I like the peace and quiet.”

“Is it hectic at the hospital?”

“Sometimes. More tiring, actually.” She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly. “I prefer to be out in the open. Too much time inside bothers me.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” He picked a blade of grass and chewed on it. “So… Manehattan, huh?”

“That’s what she told me.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“I grew up there.”

“Really?”

“I’ve only been in Ponyville a few years. I did my residency in Manehattan, and moved out here immediately after.”

“Needed a change of pace?”

She sighed and turned her head farther up.

“Colgate?” She didn’t speak, and he got up to look at her. “Are you okay?”

She closed her eyes, and her horn glowed a brief blue. By her side, a blade of grass slowly crumpled into a tight, tiny knot before sinking down into the soil. After a moment, she sat up. Her eyes were hard.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to go.”

“Huh?”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she said quickly. “I… yeah, I have to get out of here.”

“Wait!” Spike pursued her off the hill, back toward town. “What’s going on? Did I say something? I’m sorry, if I did.”

“Not your fault, Spike. I’m the one who’s sorry. Again.” She stopped and sat down again. “Oh, Celestia.”

“But you didn’t do anything.” “She's like a more direct version of Fluttershy.”

She looked at him for a long time. Though her eyes were still empty of feeling, her face was taut—with what emotions, Spike couldn’t guess. She shook her head. “I have to get out of here. I’m really, really sorry, Spike.” She trotted away, and turned back quickly. “Please don’t follow me. I’ll… talk to you later.”

“Bye then,” he said as she disappeared. He scratched his head. “What the heck is going on?”

Spike was near Derpy’s house, and so, remembering his original intent, walked over to see whether she was around. She was working in a small flower garden when he approached, and didn’t notice until he was halfway up the path to her house. “Spike! You’re up early!”

“I wanted to come by and hang out. I hope that’s okay.”

“No problem at all. You know I love your company. Here, I was just pruning these zinnias, but I’d love it if you could use your claws to help me out.”

Spike crouched next to her and began clipping where she indicated, and he was reminded of Twilight. She often had him climb up into the windows to tend to her flowers, and he had cultivated a fair amount of skill in the area, as well as an appreciation for the delicate beauty the plants could bring to a setting. “These are beautiful, Derpy. I didn’t know you gardened.”

“It’s just a hobby, really. I don’t have much skill. Now Golden… she has one of the best gardens in Ponyville, I think. She got second place in a most aesthetically-pleasing garden contest a couple years ago.”

“I remember that!” he said. He and Twilight were still in Canterlot then, and he had seen part of the contest from their tower. He wanted to stay and marvel at the beauty, but Twilight had been in the middle of one of her periodic re-shelving frenzies, and demanded his attention for the entire day. He fluffed a zinnia’s petals and looked up at Derpy, trying to center a flower in her vision.

It was, as it was with everypony, the first thing about her that he noticed. Her deep, golden eyes, offset only slightly, gave her a very distinct, unintelligent appearance. What would be seen as sweetness and friendliness in anyone else was, for her, an indication of simplicity, of naiveté. For this, ponies talked about her, made jokes about her, condescended to her, and very occasionally, openly insulted her. But instead of covering her eyes, or turning hostile, Derpy kept her pleasant mien for all, friend and stranger alike. Spike stared only briefly into one of her eyes, and she caught him. She smiled, and he blushed back.

“Here, can you get these down here?” she asked, pointing to a tiny cluster of leafy, green weeds under the flowers’ stems.

He reached down to pick at them. “Derpy, how can you be so nice when ponies make fun of you so much? I don’t understand it.”

“No one bothers to get to know me,” she said with a little shrug. “It doesn’t worry me. I have my friends, so I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t feel bitter at all?”

“Well, maybe a little bit, but I get over it. They don’t mean any harm, usually. And those that do are just hurting on the inside.”

“Hmmmmm.”

“Got something on your mind? It’s unusual for you to talk like this so early in the morning.”

“Just thinking about Twilight.”

“Ah, yes.”

“Sometimes I miss her, and sometimes I don’t. She came back from Canterlot and didn’t even give me a full explanation of what was going on; can you believe that?”

“She was probably preoccupied,” Derpy said, pulling up a weed.

“Yeah, but for the entire time? She was here for five or six days, and she only ever told me what she was going to do next.”

“That sounds preoccupied to me.”

“She didn’t even know what she was doing, either. She was completely surprised when I told her how I felt.”

“Some ponies empathize easier than others, Spike.”

“I guess.”

“Do you still consider her a friend?”

“Of course I do. I consider them all friends, but… they were so insensitive. Especially Rarity.”

“I’ve heard you mention her before.”

“Yeah, well, she was… special, I guess.”

“Special how?”

He blushed a little, but didn’t question himself as he told her the truth. “I had a bit of a crush on her.”

“Awwww, that’s cute. Um, I mean, nice. That’s nice, Spike.”

“Hm.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I told her my feelings, and she rejected me.” His voice dropped. “She said she didn’t like me like that.”

“Aw, Spike, I’m sorry about that. At least she was honest with you, though.”

“I guess.” He paused, remembering when Derpy had first come over to check on him. She had offered for him to talk then, and he rejected it. “I still like her, though. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I know, it’s stupid.”

“It’s never stupid to follow your heart,” Derpy said.

“You think so?”

“For sure! Be careful not to dwell on it, though, otherwise you’ll just end up making yourself feel bad for no reason.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He broke apart a dirt clod in his claw. “Do you think I’ll ever find a special somepony?”

“Well, I’m sure there are lots of dragonesses out there.”

“No, I mean a special somepony. I don’t want to date a dragon.”

“Why not? You don’t like your own species?”

“The dragons I’ve met are all jerks that only care about fighting and eating and being greedy, and I’m not like that. I want a girl who can appreciate beauty, and who I can act natural around.” He looked at her. The words “like you” perched on his lips, but he reigned himself in.

“Well, I don’t know about finding anyone here. Ponyville’s kind of conservative. But I’m sure there are tons of ponies out in the world who’d be comfortable with a dragon as their special somepony. Special somedragon?”

“Yeah, maybe.” He sighed and dusted dirt off his claws. “Hey, do you know Colgate at all?”

“Nope. I’d never talked to her until last night. She’s nice, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Spike said hesitantly. “She’s kinda skittish, though.”

“Yeah, I got that impression too.” She pulled another weed and flicked it aside. “Still, I like her. She seems like a good pony.”

Spike nodded absently. He had only been awake for an hour, and he already felt overloaded. First Colgate, and her abrupt, mysterious departure, and then time with Derpy. His heart felt tight and weird in his chest, and he suddenly felt the need to stand. As he paced, Derpy watched him.

“Something wrong?”

“Just thinking,” he said.

“What about?”

“Uh…” He licked his lips and looked back into her eyes. In his head, he was telling her how he felt, to be reciprocated with a warm, downy hug. Then he remembered Rarity. “Never mind.” He crouched down and looked over his shoulder, in the direction of the park, and Colgate replaced Rarity in his thoughts. “If she can do it, so can I.” He stood up again and dusted himself off. “I have to go.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He looked away, trying to suppress a guilty smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you around.”

“Oh. Okay, then. Uh, see you later.”

He nodded and walked away. He felt strong. Derpy hadn’t questioned his departure, or objected to it, or anything; it was as simple as walking away. “She’s got some good ideas,” he thought happily, craning his neck to try to spot the hospital.

As he walked, his exhilaration faded, and he wended his way deeper into the northern residences with a guilty feeling hanging over his head. There was really no reason to abandon Derpy like he did; he had merely fled out of discomfort. He only stopped walking when he found another house he recognized.

While Derpy lived on the inner edge of the hilly, grassy area north of town, Berry Punch’s house was one of the last ones out. Her house and just two others, a good distance away, were the only structures between Ponyville and the wilderness, and as Spike walked up the path to her front door, he felt cut off from the town.

He had only been to Berry’s house a couple times, but every time he saw it, he had to stop and stare. Even among the individually unique houses of Ponyville, it managed to have an aesthetic all its own with a triangular lawn, edged with dandelions, and pink and purple smudged walls. The thatched roof was fluffy and soft-looking, and its chimney was an unusually long extension, six feet of light-colored bricks. Not knowing exactly what he was planning, he knocked on the door.

Berry appeared in the doorway, a harried expression on her face. Spike could see moisture glistening on her fur, and she smelled of grapes. She softened slightly when she looked at him. “Oh, hey Spike. What’s going on?”

“Not much. Just thought I’d come by and hang out. You busy?”

“Not particularly. Come on in.” She stepped aside to admit him. “I was just finishing pressing a new batch of grapes.”

“Oh, cool. Can I watch?”

“Uh, I’d rather not. My crusher’s being a little temperamental right now.” She gestured at herself. “It’s pretty messy down there.”

“Oh, okay.” Spike watched her disappear into the basement, where she made her wine. She was the only vintner in Ponyville, and, in his opinion, a very good one, considering she only had a home operation. They had met at one of her poker games, to which Derpy had dragged him; of all the participants, she was his favorite.

He looked around the front room, taking in the ostentatious décor. Berry had a penchant for eye-catching decorations, and it had thrown him off the first time he set foot in her house. Until then, he had only seen her as another pony in the background, devoid of color or passion. Her living room was a wide, windowed collection of paintings and vases on pedestals, with a gilt birdcage hanging in the corner, empty.

He walked slowly through the living room, admiring the paintings, the smell of the oils. Everything was dusted and clean, and the colors jumped out at him in a way that made him smile. His eyes fixed on a large painting of the ocean, its foaming waves tumbling over a lump of wrecked ship.

From below, he could hear Berry murmuring something under a series of banging noises, then a loud, long scraping sound, followed by her alarmed shout. He ran down into the cellar, where Berry was resting a hoof on a large machine, purple juice and bits of pulp in her mane.

“Sorry to startle you,” she said. “This stupid thing keeps getting stuck.”

“Are you okay?”

“Just sticky.” She picked a bit of grape out of her mane and tossed it on the ground. “I’m gonna have to go to the river after this.”

“Berry, what’s the painting in your front room?”

“Ummmm, which one is that?”

“The one with the ocean.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s called ‘Pursuit’. That’s a pirate ship that’s wrecked in the foreground.”

“I didn’t know Equestria had pirates.”

“Where there’s ocean, there’s pirates, Spike.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Bonbon gave it to me a long time ago.”

Spike nodded. He had never spoken with her. “How is Bonbon nowadays, anyway? I know Lyra’s… death really got her.”

“I don’t know, Spike,” Berry said with a sigh. “She goes out into town all the time, but she never really talks to anyone anymore. At least not me.”

“Geez.” He didn’t know what to say.

“I think she’s depressed,” Berry said. “But it’s all part of the grieving process. I’m sure all she needs is time. She’s a sensible mare.”

“I hope she gets over it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“So, were they, like, dating?”

“Who, Lyra and Bonbon? No, I don’t think so. They were just really good friends. Friends since birth, I think.”

“That’s tough,” Spike said.

Berry nodded. They were both quiet while she fiddled with the grape crusher, and then she spoke again. “You and Derpy seem to have a good thing going.”

Spike looked up at her, perplexed. The comment was given casually, but it caught him off guard. “I guess you could say that. We’re pretty close.”

“Only friends, I take it?”

“Uh… yeah, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“Well, you see… okay, promise not to tell anypony?”

“I promise,” Berry said without looking up from what she was doing.

“I kind of have a crush on her.”

Berry nodded.

“Uh, I really do.” Her response wasn’t what he had expected. He had braced himself for a gasp, or a chuckle, or even a startled “what?”

“I know. I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to say. You sound like you want to talk about it.”

“…Yeah, I kind of do.”

“Go ahead. My ears are always open.”

Spike took a deep breath to order his thoughts. “Well, I like her, a lot. I think that we could be really good together, and that we could have a great relationship, but I’m not sure if she likes me like that.”

Berry nodded.

“I dunno. She’s nice, but what if she doesn’t see me the same way? I don’t know what I would do if she rejected me too.”

“Too?”

“I already tried it with somepony else. It didn’t go great.”

“I see.” Berry sighed and walked around her machine. “Are you over this other pony?”

“Uh… maybe.”

“Nope,” Berry said. “That hesitation in your voice speaks volumes, Spike. You’re not over her.”

He thought of Rarity. Her pristine coat, her eyes, her generous nature. He leaned against the wall. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I would caution you about falling so easily for Derpy, Spike. She was your first friend in our little group, right?”

“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

“She found you when you were hurting and helped you get yourself back together. It’s only natural that you would develop an attachment to her.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, I feel different when I’m around her. I really do! I’ve never felt this way before.”

“Not even around your other friend? Whoever she was?”

“I don’t think so,” Spike said, shaking his head. He remembered the pain as Rarity told him he wasn’t right for her, his embarrassment, his tiny anger. He remembered crying in the forest.

“Trust me, Spike, I’m familiar with this kind of thing. It’s called ‘rebounding,’ and plenty of ponies do it. I’ve done it many times myself, and it’s never worked out.”

His cheeks flared. “Thanks for the advice, but I think I know my heart better than you do.”

“I’m sure you do, but I just want you to be careful. You’ll just get hurt otherwise.”

“Hey, the heart wants what the heart wants.”

“That it does, but that doesn’t mean you should blindly follow it. Think about Derpy’s feelings too.”

He frowned. “I already know she likes me. She said so herself.”

“Just be careful,” Berry said innocently.

“Yeah, right.” He sighed and thought of how he left Derpy. “Hey, I’m gonna go now. See you later, Berry.”

She didn’t look up. “See you later, Spike.”

He left and headed back to the library, passing no one familiar on his way. He considered tracking down Colgate, to see how she was doing, but thought better of it. She was very private, it seemed, and he didn’t have the emotional capacity to talk to her besides. Derpy and Berry both held opposing stances in his mind as he plodded down the dirt road. Love, true and pure, shone brightly on one side, while cold, passionless consideration dampened the other. He knew Berry was right, that he should be careful, but every time he thought of it, Derpy’s smiling eyes shunted all his doubts away.

He fixed himself a simple lunch and did a few chores, and then sat down with something out of Twilight’s romantic fiction section until evening.

“Spike! Hey, Spike, you in there?”

It was Monday, and Spike had fallen asleep in the living room with his book open on his lap. He scrambled out of the chair and went to the door, where Allie Way stood, looking pensive. “Hey Allie. What’s going on?”

“An airship just drifted into town and landed at Sweet Apple Acres.”

“An airship?” Spike was instantly awake. “Was Twilight on it?”

“I couldn’t see.”

“Well let’s go!” Spike cried, racing out the door.

“I can get us there faster,” Allie said, telekinetically lifting Spike and placing him on her back. He quickly wrapped his arms around her neck as she galloped away, surprised at the firm muscles across her back. She seemed to hardly exert herself as she took them toward the orchard, under fragrant apple trees and up to the barn.

A large airship rested near the barn doors, its balloon a bloated, red apple with a shock of vibrant green for the leaf. Big Macintosh, Apple Bloom, and Granny Smith were talking to whoever was inside, their heads tilted up awkwardly. Spike watched from where they stopped, and a tan pony slowly debarked. It wasn’t his friends; it was Braeburn. He looked grim.

They exchanged hushed words, and Big Mac hugged Apple Bloom, his own face displeased. Spike looked at Allie questioningly, and she shrugged and cocked her head back. “Shall we leave them?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She took off at a trot. “Sorry to get your hopes up like that, Spike.”

“That’s all right.”

She carried him back to the library, and as he slipped off her back, he thought back to his conversation with Colgate.

“Say, Allie. How did you know my friends are in Manehattan?”

She looked at him quickly, her eyes wide in shock. “Did Colgate tell you?”

“Yeah.”

“Figures. Spike, I’ll tell you about it, but not now. I have to go to work. Dinner maybe?”

He perked up. “Sure!”

“I’ll come get you when I get off work, then.” She leaned in for a quick hug. “But I really have to go now.”

He retreated back into the library and went to the basement, where Twilight kept her science equipment. All of it was covered in dust, and long inactive, but he didn’t feel right with it slowly fading into obsolescence underground. He spent the majority of his afternoon cleaning, dusting, and reorganizing. Twilight had an array of mechanical devices, the functions of which Spike knew he had been told once. All he recognized was a projector, a VCR, and a couple defunct TV screens. He knew that most of the country had surpassed Ponyville in terms of technology, and thought of Twilight as he cleaned her old things. What kind of fantastic machines had she encountered in her travels?

It was six-thirty, and Spike and Allie walked at a leisurely pace to the south side of town, to Ponyville’s second fanciest restaurant. They were seated in a cloistered booth under a long, softly glowing window, out of earshot of the rest of the restaurant. A pair of torches sat outside, unlit in the sunset. After they placed their orders, Spike looked at Allie speculatively, and she looked back openly.

“So, Colgate told you they were in Manehattan,” Allie said.

“Yup. She said she heard it from you.”

“She and I are friends. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“I like her, but I get the feeling she doesn’t like me all that much.”

“Why?”

Allie sipped her drink. “I’m not sure. Just a feeling. Anyway, Manehattan. I’m friends with the mayor of Fillydelphia, and I asked her.”

Spike leaned back, dissatisfied. “Okay, how does she know?”

“It’s her job as mayor to know where the Elements are. Most city leaders have some way of keeping tabs on them.”

“Does Mayor Mare?”

“I think so, but I’m not certain what it is.”

“Okay.” Spike pinched the bridge of his nose. “But why do you care where they are? Why does Colgate?”

Allie smiled. “Let’s call it professional curiosity.”

“You manage the bowling alley. She’s a doctor. How do your professions have anything to do with them?”

“Uh…” She looked side to side; they were alone, save for a nearby waitress. “This is a secret, Spike.”

“My lips are sealed,” he said eagerly.

“Seriously. You can’t be blabbing this, okay?”

“Okay, okay.”

“I used to be a part of the Canterlot Guard. Years ago.”

His eyes widened, and he looked her up and down quickly. “You?” Just yesterday, he had commented on how benign she was.

“Colgate too. Different cities, different divisions, different jobs. But both of us were Guards, yes.”

“But you don’t act like a Guard.”

“I quit after something unpleasant happened.” They paused and received their orders.

“What was it?”

She shook her head. “I was stationed in Baltimare. Or what used to be Baltimare. Do you know of it?”

“I think I’ve heard the name,” he said slowly.

“It was a small town on the northwestern tip of the Everfree Forest. Me and some others—and the pony who would later become Fillydelphia’s mayor. It was our job to protect a team of herbalists and botanists when they went into the forest.”

Spike nodded, his food untouched.

“But then… something happened. I don’t know what, but it destroyed the entire city. We had to relocate with the survivors.”

“Something destroyed the entire city, and you don’t know what it was?”

Allie sighed and looked down. “When we got to Canterlot, a lot of us were pretty traumatized. I was one of them. I had my memory erased.”

“Whoa.” Spike had heard of memory-altering magic from Twilight, but had never met anyone who had undergone it. “So when you say you don’t know what happened, you mean it.”

“Whatever it was, it was bad enough for me to request a memory wipe spell. And then quit.”

“You quit after the spell?”

“They wanted me to stay, but I knew I didn’t want it. Even if I couldn’t recall the specific event, I knew it really freaked me out. I considered staying in Fillydelphia with my friend, but she was still part of the Guard, and I didn’t want to be involved. So I moved here and rebuilt my life.”

Spike tapped his chin. “But you still like to know where the Elements are.”

“Once a Guard, always a Guard. I still think about it, sometimes. No one here knows, except Colgate and a few others.”

“Yeah, Colgate. She was a Guard too?”

“I don’t really know her past, and it’s not my place to talk about it anyway.”

“Hm.” Spike started in on his food, and he and Allie ate in silence for a few minutes. He had hoped for some explanation from Allie, but every answer she gave just bred more questions. “So, are there Guards in every city?” he asked finally.

“Every town has some.”

“But I never see any in Ponyville.”

She nodded. “Yeah, there’s a reason for that.”

They finished their food, and by the time they were leaving, the sun had gone down and the restaurant was filling up. The torches next to the windows were lit, and clouds of fireflies orbited them. They parted ways, and as Spike returned to the library, his mind was filled with questions. Who were these ponies Allie refused to talk about? What had happened to her? And how did Colgate fit into it all?

As he approached the library door, he jumped at the sound of thunder directly above. He went in and grabbed his book, and there was another peal of thunder as he settled in to his chair. Through the window, the eastern sky had turned into a charcoal wall of rolling clouds, with lightning dancing within in thin, jagged fingers. Shrugging, he returned to his book, and sleep claimed him an hour later.

Cascade

Chapter Thirty

Cascade

It was Tuesday afternoon, and the storm from the night before had moved in to sweep over Ponyville. The entire town was inundated, and the rumble of thunder in the distance was so frequent that Spike didn’t even notice it anymore. He sat in Colgate’s office in the hospital, still dripping with rainwater, and waited for her to return from seeing a patient.

He had gotten up that morning, mind filled with questions from his dinner with Allie. As he sat at breakfast, pouring over everything he knew and didn’t know, the only common element to all his wonderings was Colgate. He had shown up at the hospital early, resolved to get some answers from her.

A tree branch scratched the window, and he looked out at the rain-curtained countryside. Behind the hospital, the river encircling Ponyville was a boiling ribbon, splitting a grassy carpet under the grieving clouds. His own curious reflection stared back in the window, hazed somewhat by the room’s interior lighting—the hospital had restored all of its electricity, finally, a week before.

The door opened, and Colgate walked in quietly. Her face was masked and her eyes were bored, and she sat down at her desk. She pulled the mask off. “Okay, Spike. What do you want to talk about?”

He went to the door and closed it, and she tilted her head inquisitively. “I want to talk about your past.”

Her eyes twitched and her muscles tensed, and Spike thought he saw the suggestions of a frown on her face.

“As a Canterlot Guard,” he added.

She breathed out quietly, relaxing. “Oh. That’s… fine. Sorry. You scared me there.”

“Yeah?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Well, Allie and I talked last night, and she said she was a Guard. You too.”

Colgate nodded slowly. “You could say that.”

“You’re not now.”

“I quit. In Manehattan, I was on a team. I was the medic.”

“What about Allie?”

“She was in a different city. I think she was a mage. She specialized in sigils.”

“Huh. But why’d you quit?”

“I don’t like the organization’s agenda, let’s say.”

“Um… but isn’t it just to protect Equestria? What’s so bad about that?”

“Hold up. Allie said it was the Canterlot Guard?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s inaccurate.”

Spike frowned and scratched his head. “I don’t get it.”

Colgate smiled. It was the first time Spike had seen her truly smile, and he didn’t like it. Her face creased and sharpened menacingly, and her white teeth glistened behind thin lips. Her eyes narrowed into pointed, blue slits, and in them he saw, just for a moment, dark, aggressive intelligence. He almost stepped back.

“Spike, would you consider me a friend?”

“Sure, Colgate. I like you good enough.”

She nodded, her face once more settling into comfortable, harmless neutrality. “Because I have information that you are not supposed to be aware of. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have a problem keeping it from you. Secrecy was a big part of my job, back then.” She grabbed a piece of paper in her magic and looked over it briefly. “But if Allie’s sitting you down and telling you things, and telling you about me… well, that’s something different.” She sighed. “I don’t like to be implicated.”

“What’s going on, Colgate? What is all this?”

“How much do you know about the way the princesses have their Guard structured?”

“Uh…” He thought for a time, trying to recall his time spent in Canterlot. He was just a baby then. “Well, I know there’s the Canterlot Guard. You know, the ponies in armor that stand outside the palace. But that’s it.”

“Yeah, that’s what most ponies know.”

“Allie said there’s guards in every city. And in Ponyville, they don’t wear armor.”

“The Canterlot Guard is like a figurehead organization,” Colgate said. “They wear the armor, they patrol the streets, they catch the criminals. But they’re only half the organization. Maybe less than half.”

“Hm.” Spike went back to her desk and sat down across from her. So close, he could see the details on her face. Stress had etched itself into her visage, though it was outwardly calm.

“The other half covers the magical side of things. Now… Spike, how much do you know about Tartarus?”

“Uh.” He wasn’t prepared for her question, and had to look away, back out the window. Lightning lashed at a row of trees in the distance. “Twilight’s told me about it. A little. It’s like the opposite side of Equestria.”

“Tartarus is a kind of mirror world to the Gaia. Ponies don’t go there, typically.”

“It’s dangerous,” he said.

“Very dangerous,” she said, nodding. “For us. But it still is a functional world. It has creatures, and civilizations, and everything.”

“Aren’t there, like, portals or something? Between the two, I mean.”

“Yes, several. In Equestria, there are only five. Two are very far south. One is in the Everfree Forest. One is north, under the ocean. And there’s a tiny one in Hoofington—too small to be dangerous. It’s like a pinhole.”

“What’s this got to do with the Canterlot Guard?”

“For Tartarus, the laws of magic are different than they are for us.”

“Different how?”

“No one really knows. There hasn’t been enough research done.” She leaned forward. “And that makes it all the more dangerous. Because we don’t know how our magic interacts with Tartarus magic, we have to assume that everything there, or from there, is a threat. And that’s the other half of the Guard.”

Spike frowned. “So the Canterlot Guard handles stuff on the Equestria side, and the other, non-armor guard is in charge of Tartarus stuff?”

“Basically, though they don’t have to stick to Tartarus. The Gaia has plenty of mundane magical problems for them as well.”

He thought, linking the information together. “So… that was you and Allie. You were Tartarus Guards.”

She smiled. “The name is ‘Datura’. That’s the name of the organization, and the members. It’s named after a genus of flower with hallucinogenic properties. Princess Luna’s idea.”

“What’s she got to do with it?”

“She founded it.”

“Whoa. So this goes all the way to the top. But why are they a secret?”

“A bunch of reasons. We—sorry. The Datura has access to a lot of stuff that normal ponies are better off not knowing. I’m talking just raw knowledge, here. Really powerful magic, or dangerous secrets… stuff like that. But it’s also because the princesses don’t like their citizens to know just how much they’re needed. Like Allie apparently said, they’re everywhere.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Yup. Not so much in Ponyville, but places like Canterlot, or Applewood, or some of the southern cities. Important places have a lot of Datura activity. Most of it’s covert.”

“Covert.” He thought of Twilight’s Daring Do books. “Like professional adventurers.”

Colgate shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

He smiled. “That’s awesome. So, as we speak, there are ponies out there hunting for treasure, and fighting monsters, and things?”

“Probably. It’s a big world.”

He chuckled. The thought of it didn’t faze him, though he knew that it should. Part of it was Colgate’s calm. Even with a continent-covering secret split open before him, her forceful steadiness kept him from getting too excited, or too worried. “So this is a pretty big deal, huh?”

“Moderately big deal. The Datura’s a secret, yes, but they’re not actually as sinister as I might be making them out to be. It’s like… well, okay. Tartarus is pretty common knowledge, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. Like, any random pony off the street at least knows of it. If you think about it, it makes sense that something like the Datura would exist. Someone has to go to the gateways and put up warning signs, or chase off monsters, or collect the area’s soil samples, or whatever. It’s just that the princesses haven’t made it public. It would be too much of a headache for them. Too many questions.”

“I guess I can see that. Why did you quit, though?”

“On my team, we were in charge of either destroying or quarantining anything that came out of Tartarus, or was touched by it in some way. Anything extranormal. But that’s stupid; that’s fixing the symptom, not the cause. We should be doing research, not blindly eliminating things. So I quit. I…” She sighed. “I don’t want to have any part of hurting something else. I’m a peaceful pony.”

“So why tell me?”

She smiled again. “Because I like to see the Datura undermined. And it’s better than keeping a secret from a friend.”

He smiled in spite of himself. In such a serious conversation, it felt wrong, but his heart warmed. “Thanks, Colgate. You’re a good friend.”

She dropped her smile. “Don’t spread this to anyone, okay? You I trust to keep a level head, but others, not so much. And if Ponyville finds out, things won’t be very nice.”

“Well, the whole organization would be revealed, wouldn’t it?”

“No. Ponyville would have its memory wiped.”

“The whole town?”

“The princesses put a lot of importance on this.”

“Geez.” Spike mimed zipping his lips. “You can count on me, though. I won’t talk to anyone.”

Colgate’s lips twitched in an imitation of a smile—a motion he was growing familiar with. “Good boy.”

* * * * * *

“All right, it’s the same basic setup as last time,” Strawberry said. “I’ll extend the cranes, one by one, and attach the cables, while you wait for my signal.”

“Easy-peasy,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, for you.”

“Strawberry, we can’t thank you enough for this,” Twilight said earnestly.

“Well, you earned it.”

“You sure you don’t wanna tell us what yer gonna do with Lacey?” Applejack asked.

“It’s too complicated to explain in such little time. If all goes well, though, the whole studio’s going to go bankrupt.”

“Don’t you think that’s overdoing it a little?” Pinkie asked.

“Not with how much money I need to get back. Now go on, take your places. Don’t worry about me.” He flew up to the pony in the nearest crane, and it began extending upwards.

They entered the tower, again vacated for the occasion. It was Tuesday evening, calm and a little cloudy, and the eerily silent tower set them on edge. For the last two days, they had nothing to do but wait: a terrible thing to do, Pinkie said, as the unspecified, bad thing she foresaw hurtled closer with each hour. There was no helping it. Strawberry had his information, Spring-hoof Jack was an unpleasant memory, and nothing else happened. No floating ships menaced the city, no letters came, and Lacey had remained quiet. Their shopping was finished, and they had decorated their ship how they wanted by Sunday’s end. They could only stay at the flat, playing cards, talking, and waiting for Twilight to get Strawberry’s signal. She called him every day, at his insistence—he didn’t like contacting her unknown number.

“It’s coming,” Pinkie said abruptly.

“What is?” Rainbow asked.

“That bad thing. It’s almost here.”

“How close?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, Pinkie, you don’t think the tower’s going to collapse, do you?” Fluttershy asked.

Everyone turned quickly to look at Pinkie, who frowned and licked her lips in a comedic imitation of focus. “Nnnnnnooooo,” she said slowly. “I don’t think that’s it. It’d feel different if it was.”

“Can you still not tell what this bad thing is?” Octavia asked.

“Nope, no idea. But it’s almost here, and it’s gonna be a doozy.”

“Oh, geez, Pinkie, you can’t just tell us something like that and then not tell us what it is,” Rainbow complained.

“Sorry, Dashie!”

“Let’s just cast this spell and get out, then,” Twilight said. “If this disaster is coming as soon as you say, maybe we can avoid it if we leave right after we’re done.”

“I hope so,” Pinkie said.

They boarded an empty shuttle for the top of the tower. “Geez, it’s creepy in here without any ponies,” Rainbow said.

“It’s like a ghost town,” Applejack said.

“Oh, I hope not,” Fluttershy said. “I don’t like ghosts.”

“Ghosts don’t exist, Fluttershy,” Rainbow said. “They don’t, do they?”

“No, they do,” Twilight said. “But they’re rare. They’re usually found in places with lots of excess magic. Like around a Tartarus gateway.”

“An’ Ah hope we don’t ever have to go near one,” Applejack said.

“You ever see a ghost, Octavia?” Pinkie asked.

Octavia didn’t answer, but stared out the darkened windows as the tower interior passed by her searching eyes. There was little to be seen except scaffolding and narrow walkways, and the stations they passed, dimmed and shrouded.

“Just think about it,” Rarity said. “In just a few hours, we’ll be leaving. I for one cannot be happier.”

“I think we’ll all be glad to get out of here,” Rainbow said heavily. “That Lacey… eugh. She’s a piece of work.”

“Ah think we should tell her off,” Applejack said. “Since we won’t be seein’ her again anyway. Ah don’t see any harm in burnin’ this particular bridge.”

“She deserves worse,” Rainbow said.

“Maybe we could tell the mayor,” Fluttershy said.

“Or Celestia!” Pinkie added.

“Now there ya go,” Applejack said. “Ah’d wager no one’s told the princess ‘bout what she’s up to.”

“Has Lacey actually done anything illegal, though?” Octavia asked. “Yes, she got Rarity to do a video against her will, but she did not force her into it. Rarity agreed.”

“Under duress, though,” Twilight said.

“It was still her decision.”

“What ‘bout all she’s done with Strawberry?” Applejack asked.

“For all we know, she didn’t do anything, though,” Fluttershy said. “I mean, it’s all Strawberry’s word. And he’s, well… he’s no better.”

“I agree that she should be brought to justice,” Octavia said. “But I do not think we can use the princesses. She has not done anything illegal, that we know of.”

“Well, how else are we gonna get her, then?” Rainbow asked.

“If that arsonist was still around, we could have him burn her apartment down,” Rarity said.

They all stared, open-mouthed. “Geez, Rarity,” Twilight said.

“You’ve got quite a chip on yer shoulder there, sugarcube,” Applejack said.

Rarity sighed, and they rattled to a stop. The doors slid open, revealing the empty, flat, uncovered expanse of floor: the top of Glass Ribbon. They walked out into the darkness and looked around. The clouds were breaking apart, and stars peeked out at them. Wind tossed their manes gently, and the first crane was in place. They could see the entire city, nearly whole, adrift in the flotsam of surrounding countryside.

“It is kind of beautiful,” Octavia said.

“I suppose it is,” Rarity said. “Still, I would be happier if we were on the ground. Er, the actual ground. The planet itself.”

“You can hardly tell most of the time,” Pinkie said.

No one responded, and she went to the edge. Manehattan looked the same as it always did, a dark crust of buildings and streets, illuminated only in very small places by the beehive collection of individual lights. From her vantage, the healed city looked out-of-place against the rest of the world. She smiled; as weird as it was, the fragmentation effect had turned, slowly, into the norm for her. Passing over gaps was no event; looking down through them, to the planet, was a novelty.

“Anything on that disaster, Pinks?” Rainbow asked quietly.

“Sorry, Dashie.”

“I’m just really worried,” she continued. “I want us to be done here.”

Pinkie nodded and snuck a look back at Rarity, speaking with Octavia and Fluttershy. “Once we get out, maybe we can get back to how we were.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before we left home.” She smiled slightly. “Everypony’s changing.”

“I’m not changing.”

“Yeah, you are, Dashie. You’re a little more reserved. So’s Twilight.”

“Okay, now I know you’re just messing with me. Twilight’s always been reserved.”

“Nuh-uh. She’s always been studious. But now she’s getting to be quieter.”

Rainbow sighed. “I dunno, Pinkie. It’s the city, I think. Too much stress, not enough open space.”

“I miss the grass.”

“I miss flying without worrying about crashing into buildings.”

“I miss having parties.”

“Yeah. I miss that too.”

They waited for an entire hour, stranded on the cold, windy rooftop above the city, while the cranes rose. As the darkness deepened, so too did their sense of anxiety. Pinkie paced, Rainbow flew, Rarity stared off the edge, and Octavia practiced her magic with Twilight, but for all of them, the effort was strained and unreal. All minds were on the warning. When a pegasus fluttered to the top to announce that they were ready for the spell, everyone crowded the sides eagerly, and Pinkie trotted sedately to the center.

“Any news on that incoming disaster, Pinkie?” Applejack asked.

“Nope! But it’s coming, and it’s coming fast.”

“Then let’s be done with this,” Twilight said. “Everyone back up.”

Lacey was at home, listening to her music and cleaning, when there was a knock on the door. She slowly went to answer it, and took a couple seconds to recover from the surprise. Wings and Jet stood on her doorstep with frowns on their faces and daggers in their eyes.

“What do you want?” she asked, not bothering to conceal her contempt.

“Oh, hi Lacey. We just wanted to come by to tell you that we’ve been fired,” Wings said.

“Canned!” Jet crowed.

“And so, since we no longer have any professional relations with you, we just wanted to drop by so we can say fuck you, you manipulative nag.”

Lacey raised a brow in bemusement. “Really?”

“Looking out for the whole company, right?” Jet said. “And your friends.”

“Not anymore, though,” Wings said.

“Yeah, we’re history.”

“And how am I to blame for that? I’ve done nothing to you,” Lacey said.

“Aside from throw away our friendship for money,” Wings said.

“And threaten us,” Jet said.

“But that’s water under the bridge.”

“But not really.”

“Yeah, we’re really here just to say goodbye.”

“To the mare who discarded us.”

“Like trash.”

Lacey looked at the two of them. The anger in their expressions was gone, replaced only with frustration and injury. She took a breath and sat, leaning against the door-frame. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did,” Wings said.

Lacey nodded. She knew her folly; she had known it all along. But even as she was losing them—even as she looked them in the eyes and threatened them for their silence—a part of her denied it. If she succeeded, she would keep her friends.

“Well done, by the way,” Jet said.

“Where are you gonna go?” Lacey asked.

“Haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Might leave town,” Wings said.

“Yeah, we might do that.”

“But… that’s a terrible idea,” Lacey said. “You have no money.”

“We’re good in tight spaces,” Jet said.

“We’ll make do,” Wings said.

“I can get you another job, somewhere else,” Lacey said.

They paused, and looked at each other. They laughed. “Are you kidding me?” Jet asked.

“Now you try to make up for yourself?” Wings said.

“Please. Spare us the act.”

“You don’t care.”

“Never did.”

“I do, though,” Lacey said quietly.

Wings shook her head. “Sorry, Lacey. You had your chance.”

“If you really want forgiveness, try looking for it from your little actress,” Jet said.

“Yeah, try that.”

They turned to go, and Lacey didn’t object.

“One more thing, though,” Jet said. “And you can call this a parting gift, if you like. You say you can get us jobs? Get yourself one. ‘Cause this one isn’t going to last much longer.”

Lacey blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Strawberry’s on his way,” Wings said.

“And he has information,” Jet said.

“That’s how we got fired.”

“Yeah, some unicorn showed up to steal your boss’ pertinence.”

“She tricked us good.”

They took to the air, and Lacey watched them go. As they flew away, the ground rumbled in the distance, but she didn’t pay any attention. While Manehattan came together, her own world was falling apart. Her efforts to save the studio, over which she chased away her two closest friends, seemed to fade under Wings’ looming threat. “Strawberry’s on his way.” The two pegasi were black check marks in the night sky, and then they were gone. No goodbyes.

She went back inside and stared at the wall.

When the spell was done, and Twilight and Pinkie had recovered, they all surveyed the city. There wasn’t a single sign of incongruity or incompletion below them. “Well, you did it, girls,” Applejack said.

“Oh, it looks just lovely right now,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, I gotta say, you did an awesome job of putting it back together, Pinkie,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Pinkie said.

There was a pause. “What’s wrong, Pinkie?” Twilight asked.

“Well, you know that big, bad thing I was telling you about?”

“Yeah…”

“My Pinkie Sense isn’t acting up anymore.”

“But what does that mean?” Fluttershy asked.

“Whatever it was, it passed.”

“Passed?” Rainbow repeated. “How can that be? Nothing even happened.”

“Maybe Pinkie was wrong,” Twilight said, and they all stared at her impatiently. “Just a thought.”

They went back to the tiny train station and rode all the way to the bottom. The sound of excited ponies outside hissed and seethed in the dark distance, and they looked out the windows into the groaning, empty tower. Their final night in the city.

They exited and approached Strawberry, waiting by one of his cranes’ giant tires.

He smiled cordially. “Well, it looks like everything worked out okay.”

“It did, yes. Everything is perfect,” Twilight said.

“Glad to hear it.”

“We can’t thank you enough for your help,” Rarity said. “Without you, we wouldn’t have ever been able to do this.”

“Yes, we truly are grateful,” Octavia said guardedly.

Strawberry’s smile turned into a grin. “All I ask in return is that you give it a few years before asking me to do something like this again. Recovering the money from these last few days is going to be… well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I know what I’m doing. How long are you staying in Manehattan?”

“Oh, we’re leaving tonight,” Twilight said.

“Do you think you’ll come back?”

“Maybe, but I kind of hope not. No offense.”

“No, I understand. It’s been rough for all of us.” He looked up at the cranes and cables, and the pegasi circling them. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I need to clean all this up.”

“Yeah, we need to get goin’ too,” Applejack said.

“Okay. Well, if we never meet again, it’s been a pleasure. Look me up if you’re ever in a tight spot.”

“Right.”

They parted, and headed back to their ship. Pinkie looked once more at Strawberry. “I think I might actually miss him. He was all right.”

“I, personally, cannot get out of here fast enough,” Octavia said.

Lacey opened the door and smiled big at them. “Hello again, my friends. I see your little spell worked properly.”

“Sure did!” Twilight said. “Sorry to leave in such a rush, but we really feel we should get going now.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Hey, Twilight, can you answer a question for me?”

“Uh, sure.”

Lacey closed the door behind them. “Were you in the studio with Rarity when I took her down there last Saturday?”

A hush fell over the crowd, and Twilight slowly turned to look at her. “Uh… no.”

Concern knit her face. “Are you sure? Because some very important documents went missing, and a little birdie told me that there was a unicorn sneaking around on that very same day. Now, I know it wasn’t Rarity, my little star,” she turned and sneered at the white unicorn. “So the process of elimination means that it was you. Am I making any sense?”

“Well, um, I… don’t you remember, I went with the others to the tower, to shop,” Twilight said shakily.

“What store did you visit first?”

“Uh, um, we visited… the… airship dealership first, so we could verify our purchase.”

“You’re a bad liar, Twilight Sparkle,” Lacey said, suddenly serious. “Now I don’t know what you did with that information, but there will be ramifications.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Twilight cried.

“Too late to backpedal, you traitor.”

“Yer the traitor ‘round here!” Applejack shouted. “We all know what you forced Rarity into doin’! You’ve been stringin’ us along the whole time!”

Lacey smirked. “All right, fine, you caught me. I’ve been manipulating you the entire time. But what are you going to do about it? I have pornography of your friend that I can distribute wherever and whenever I want, and believe me, I’m not about to let that opportunity slip between my hooves.” She smiled sweetly. “Pack your things and go, and have fun sorting out your professional career, darling.”

“Don’t you worry, Lacey,” Applejack said. “You’ll get yours.”

“We’ll see about that, Applejack. Oh, here.” She went into the kitchen and reappeared with two halves of a piece of paper in her teeth. She spat them at Rarity’s hooves. “Your payment.”

Rarity slowly brought the two halves of the check up to her watering eyes. “You… you… how could you?”

“Like I’d let you get away with sabotaging me like this.”

“That’s illegal,” Twilight said.

“Again, what will you do about it? Stay here an extra month? Get a lawyer? Sue me over—how much is it—one thousand bits? I know you want out. You think I can’t see it in you?”

They stared at her, shocked, afraid.

“Twilight, where’s that optimistic, zippy tenacity that you’re famed for? Rainbow and Applejack, that competitive spark?” She grinned venomously. “And Rarity… you poor thing. You are dead. You won’t stay here another day if you don’t have to.” She stepped aside. “I’ve said my piece. Go ahead and go.”

They went silently into their room and grabbed their bags, checking quickly to make sure Lacey hadn’t tampered with anything. As they went to the ship, Lacey followed them, her eyes sparkling maliciously.

“Don’t you think it’s a neat coincidence that you should just happen to bump into someone like me? That we should just happen to get along?”

They didn’t respond as Applejack goaded the engines to life.

“I recognized you from the start, Elements of Harmony. And I suspect Strawberry did too.”

They lifted off, and only Rarity stayed at the gunwale, staring down, tears blotting her eyes. Lacey remained where she stood until she was out of sight. The night was damp.

Dear Twilight Sparkle,

Excellent work in Manehattan. I am gladdened to see your progress, and am happy that you are all still okay. Unfortunately, I have grave news. In my sister’s absence, Discord has had more space to spread chaos, and his chosen location seems to be Cloudsdale. I have not seen it for myself, as I dare not leave Canterlot unprotected, but reports indicate that its snow production is out of control, and the excess is covering Ponyville.

I have a team of ponies already working to solve the problem, but progress is slow, and I cannot say how long until they are successful. For the time, Ponyville is protected with a shield.

The rest of the country seems untouched, at least for now, but Discord’s actions in Cloudsdale trouble me; I suspect an ulterior motive. Of the possible reasons, I think the most likely is to get you seven to return, though for what purpose, I cannot guess. I will not go so far as to prohibit you from going back, but I urge you to use caution, if you choose to do so.

In love and friendship,

Princess Luna

P.S.: his airship has been spotted near your location. If it comes near, do your best to evade it. At this time, I have no advice on how to harm it, if, indeed, that is possible.

While the others slept below, Twilight had stayed above with Applejack. She wasn’t sure why, but where everyone else grew tired, she did not. When she received her letter, she had the shining half-disc of the moon by which to read it, and Applejack faced forward seriously while she listened to the princess’ words.

“So he’s messin’ with Cloudsdale,” Applejack repeated.

“I guess so,” Twilight said with a sigh. “Do you think we should turn back?”

“Luna don’t seem to think so. Ah’m inclined to agree.”

“You think he might be trying to lure us?”

“Ah do.”

“But why?”

“Ah dunno. A trap?”

“But he can just chase us down whenever he wants, it seems. I don’t see the purpose of a trap.”

“Hm, right. Ah’ve got nothin’, Twilight.”

“Rainbow’s going to want to go back.”

“Mm, yer right. At least her. Can you get yer map?”

Twilight reached out with her magic to one of their bags and grabbed their map of Equestria, and brought it over to Applejack.

“Hm. ‘Bout six days to Ponyville.”

“Go ahead and turn us around, I guess.”

Rainbow and Rarity shared a bed, with Pinkie asleep on the floor. For the first hour, they slept, but Rainbow soon awoke with Rarity tossing and turning by her side. She pushed herself up on her wings and prodded Rarity, who woke with an annoyed groan.

“Rainbow, what is it?”

“What is it with me? You’re the one who can’t stay still.”

Rarity yawned. “Sorry, Rainbow Dash. Bad dreams.”

“White stallion?”

“Yeah. And her.”

Rainbow closed her eyes and lay back. She knew it was on Rarity’s mind, and she had suspected, as they got into bed together, that they would talk about it, but the time was all wrong. She was too tired to give Rarity her support. “She’s gone now, Rares. We’re out of there.”

“Doesn’t change what she did.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rainbow turned over and faced the wall. “You gonna do anything?”

“I’d like to,” Rarity said quietly. “I’d like to find her, and catch her, and get my revenge as slowly as I can.” Her voice darkened. “I’ve thought about this. I’d like to tie her down and gag her, first, so she can’t scream. Then—”

“Rarity, Rarity, please, I don’t want to hear this.”

Rarity took a deep breath behind her. “I’m sorry, Rainbow Dash, but if anypony in this world deserves that, she does. She betrayed me in a way that no one ever has before, and to everypony in Ponyville. I just… I just… I just… I just want to kill her.”

Rainbow squirmed under the blanket. “Celestia, Rare, I know you’re mad, but kill? You can’t mean that.”

It was a long time before she answered. “I don’t know what I want, Rainbow. I know I don’t want to actually kill her, but I just wish I could do something to get back at her.”

“We can worry about her later. Tomorrow. Whatever.” She put her head under a pillow. “I just wanna sleep.”

“Yes, of course,” Rarity said. She scooted closer, and, after a moment of hesitation, snuggled up to Rainbow, who opened her wings to receive her.

Fluttershy woke up at five in the morning, and in the pale darkness, she could still see two bright, blue eyes, set in the sheet-white face from her dream. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and, after a moment more of warmth under the blankets, got up and went to the deck. Twilight and Applejack had retired to their rooms, and the ship’s wheel was locked in place to keep them on an even course.

It was still dark as she paced the deck, fluffing her wings in the cool, morning air. When they had set out, a month ago, the last chill of winter still lingered on the fringes of the morning, but they were mid-way into May, and Fluttershy didn’t have to move much to warm up.

She walked to the side of the ship and examined the turret mounted on the rail. When Twilight had explained it to her, she had done so carefully, as if not to throw her into a panic at the thought. Fluttershy frowned as she gently touched the weapon’s handle. She wasn’t stupid; she knew what it was for. She even understood the necessity, though the acknowledgement of that understanding made her stomach turn. She had seen Discord in action just as they had.

Turning her back on the turret, she walked to the prow and looked out over the countryside. They were heading east from Manehattan, cruising comfortably at an elevation of five hundred feet over a flat stretch of land, sparsely populated with trees and laced with thin, silver threads of river. She could see the jagged chasms separating the bits of ground, and as they passed over one, she looked down; in the predawn, she couldn’t make out any details about the planet below.

She looked back at Manehattan. It was already fading in the distance, a collection of sharply angled stones surrounded by the dark dip of Starlight Lake. As they were leaving, she had looked down into it; while whole, it was even more diminished than before, a dwindling crater of unhealthy water. As much pity as she felt for the ponies in the city, who would soon run out of lake water, and then rain, she couldn’t help but stifle a smile as they crested the final building. For all the good they did, their only repayment had been betrayal and coercion, and notches in their once firm resolve to do only what was right.

She looked away at a lofty bank of cumulous clouds a couple miles away, to their north. They were dense and billowy, and in the moonlight, soft. She thought of her animal friends. Wherever they were, she reasoned, they were there to stay; it had been too long for them to hope for her return. In a way, the thought comforted her. At least they weren’t waiting anymore.

Fluttershy looked beyond the clouds. Concealed in the darkness, she knew, was a small mountain range, some four thousand miles away, and behind that, the coast. Equestria truly was massive, she had found, perusing one of Twilight’s maps. There were entire days, and sometimes weeks, of travel between cities, all over untamed wilderness—explored, but mostly unpopulated. She sometimes thought of the ponies who chose to live in those sections of the country, forming communities of twenty or fewer on riversides, in groves of trees, or in the shade of mountains. Sometimes, she envied them. Even in Ponyville, life’s simple pleasures could be hard to come by.

She caught a glint of light in the distance, through a break in the clouds. As she narrowed her eyes to study it, it faded, and a breeze bristled her plumage. She shivered, and the clouds broke around a dark, heavy shadow, so sudden in appearance that she thought she had missed it the first time. As it pushed through, she realized she had not; the clouds rolled and fluffed away at a piercing, dark point, slowly thickening into a heavy ship. Though the precise shape was not familiar to her, she recognized it instantly: the interloper that had attacked the Canterlot Palace, and menaced Manehattan.

It turned lazily out of the clouds, and she could see its profile against the lightening sky. It was double the size of their own ship, entirely wooden, but what gave its identity away to Fluttershy was its missing balloon, replaced with a trio of sharp-looking masts.

She watched breathlessly as it floated along, waiting for it to angle toward them, to attack. For entire minutes, she waited, but it never turned. It glided silently through the darkness, parallel to their own ship, never giving any indication that its captain saw them. She crouched at the gunwale, thoughts of waking the others spinning in her head, but the ship’s sharp aspect had frozen her in fear. She could only watch it in the distance, its sails catching the very beginnings of the sunrise like dying flames. She watched it glide until her eyes were tired, and her vision had faded at the peripheries; until every miniscule motion in its sails or change in the ship’s angle was, to her, the sign she had been fearing.

The sun gradually crept over the land, but the ship didn’t change. In the light, she could see more detail: the small row of holes in its side, for cannons; the tight ropes between the masts; the black, thorny exterior. It was nearly six-thirty when it finally vanished, as suddenly as it had appeared. One moment, it was keeping pace with them, and the next, it was out of sight, an arrow to the east.

* * * * * *

On the sixth day since they had left Manehattan, Applejack cut the power to all but the two side engines. It was ten at night, and she had to check their map to make sure that they were actually close to Ponyville. Even at a distance, they could see all was not well. Where there was once a grassy plain around the tiny, thatched town, there sat instead a wide, white field of snow under a swarm of black, bloated clouds, trailing back to Cloudsdale, its entire mass dripping with displaced weather.

As they got closer, the temperature plummeted, and the first flakes of snow landed on the deck. Rainbow brushed them away petulantly, and Octavia moved her cello downstairs, to protect it from the cold. Twilight went to the front to stand alongside Applejack, who squinted into the wind.

“Looks like somepony’s already been here to help,” Applejack said.

In the falling snow, they could see a large, glassy dome of shimmering magic, covering Ponyville from the surrounding storm. Snow rippled on its surface and piled at its edges, and beneath, Ponyville was dark and empty. They edged farther into the storm, and near the torch, everyone was huddling together. Applejack was shivering.

“Who do you suppose made this shield?” Twilight asked.

“Could it have been Princess Luna?”

“No,” Twilight said slowly. “No, her color of magic is darker than that. One of her acolytes, maybe. I think the more important question is how did this happen.”

“Well, didn’t yer letter say it had somethin’ to do with Cloudsdale?”

“Yeah, that’s what Princess Luna said.” She looked to the southeast, where Cloudsdale was, but they were too far under the ceiling of dark clouds. “Maybe someone below knows something.”

They floated down to the shield, a delicate turquoise shell of rippling, glittering magic, almost solid-looking. As they entered it, the snow that had settled on the ship and their coats was whisked away, along with the wind. The cold remained.

“Not a very effective shield,” Rarity huffed.

“I think it’s amazing,” Twilight said, craning her neck to observe the town.

“But it’s still cold!” Rainbow said.

“There’s no sunlight,” Twilight said. “A shield can keep out the snow and the wind, but if there’s no sun, there’s no sun. I’m personally astonished that somepony managed to erect this over the entire town.”

“You could do it,” Octavia said.

“Well, yeah, but it would be difficult. And I couldn’t sustain it for very long. Maybe… I don’t know, an hour? Two, if I’m pushing myself to my last extremity.”

They coasted over the town to touch down in the middle of the empty schoolyard, its grass pale and anemic. With the engines off, they could appreciate the town’s silence. With no one around, and the wind blocked, they could hear the quiet spats of thunder far away, and the shield crinkling above. Applejack lowered the ramp into the brittle grass, and as soon as they were off the ship, the quiet was broken by a tiny voice shouting Twilight’s name. Through the dark field, running with total abandon, came Spike, his smiling face covered with a tearful sheen. They froze, not expecting his appearance to be so sudden, and he covered the distance between them alone. He leaped up at Twilight, wrapping his arms around her neck in a tight hug that she was too shocked to reciprocate immediately.

For the next minute, her friends shivering behind her, Twilight stood with Spike clinging to her, crying openly and spewing half-formed sentences and apologies. She couldn’t believe it. On the journey back, she had known she would meet him again, had even gotten excited about it. But seeing him, holding him, having his body pressed against hers, was too much. Before she knew it, her own eyes were leaking tears.

She shivered. Even in the intensity of the moment, the cold was too much for her, and she gently pried him off. He stood before them all for a second, then brightened and jumped up.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come on back to the library! I have some friends I want you to meet.”

“Friends? As in… dragon friends?” Fluttershy asked, trying to hide behind Applejack.

“No, no, they’re ponies. Come on! It’s freezing out here.”

They walked back to the library, Fluttershy and Octavia in the very back, the latter offering no comment. Spike kept up a running monologue as they approached, talking about the local events. Big Mac had left on an airship the day before, for where he knew not, and the electricity was slowly coming on for more buildings. Things had been looking up, until the sudden snowstorm.

The library was just as Twilight remembered it, and she took a moment to stand in the central room and breathe in the musty odor of texts and the tree’s wooden interior. Spike had a fire going, but it did little to warm up the room. She smiled; she remembered countless winter days, trying to keep the library at a comfortable temperature. She was so overcome with nostalgia, she didn’t immediately notice the gray pegasus standing by one of her bookshelves.

“Hey Derpy. What are you doing here?” Rainbow asked.

“Hey girls! I was just hanging out with Spike when he took off all of a sudden. I guess I can see why now.” She walked to Octavia. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Ditzy Doo, but you can just call me Ditzy, or Derpy, or really anything you want.”

“Octavia,” she said, shaking Derpy’s hoof.

Spike ran upstairs and returned shortly with a trio of ponies behind him, a unicorn and two pegasi. Twilight recognized Allie Way as the unicorn, though they had only briefly spoken before leaving, but the pegasi were strangers. Introductions were exchanged, and everypony went into the kitchen to sit around the table and chat.

Spike told them what had happened in Ponyville; what had started as a light, but persistent shower had turned into a rainstorm by the end of the day, and had steadily frozen into snow over the course of the week. When it became clear that the weather would not abate on its own, and there was no one in Ponyville to stop it, Allie took it upon herself to erect the shield with a large sigil, which she painted in the town square.

“You did an awesome job with it,” Twilight said.

“Thank you. I studied sigils when I was younger,” Allie said.

“I’ve never seen you do any magic.”

“I’m not too good at regular magic. For me, memorizing a sigil’s design is a lot easier.”

“Can we get to the snow?” Rainbow asked. “I mean,” she yawned, “sigils are cool and all, but they’re not, you know…”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Twilight said. “So, do any of you know why this is happening? Princess Luna said the snow in Cloudsdale is being overproduced.”

“You talked to Luna?” Flitter asked, her eyes shooting open.

“She wrote us a letter.”

“That is why we knew to show up so soon,” Octavia said.

“See, I told you they knew,” Allie said to Spike, who shrugged.

“No, we have no idea,” Cloudchaser said. “Besides what you said. As to the ‘why’ of it, nope. No clue.”

“Well, there’s not a whole lot that can cause a problem like this,” Rainbow said. “If there’s overproduction, it’s probably an excess of water getting into the condensing coil. But where it’s coming from… no idea.”

“Is it dangerous to go up there?” Applejack asked.

“You’re going up?” Derpy asked.

“Tomorrow, if we can,” Twilight said. She leaned to look out the window. “It might be tricky outside the shield.”

“Applejack, it might be,” Rainbow said. “Depends on how much snow’s backed up and gotten into the city. If there’s too much up there, we could be looking at some serious structural damage.”

“Would it not just fall through the clouds?” Octavia asked.

“Not these. Cloudsdale’s made out of construction-grade clouds—those are different from your regular rain or snow clouds. Heavier. The snow would pile up on it, just like any other building. Only difference is, if this one starts falling apart, it’s a looooong way down.”

Malignant Ice

Chapter Thirty-one

Malignant Ice

The next morning, they rose earlier than usual to the sound of Spike clattering around in the kitchen. Allie and Derpy had gone home, but Flitter and Cloudchaser were still hanging around, alternating between helping with breakfast and flying around the main room. They and Spike were laughing and joking when Twilight entered the kitchen.

“Mornin’ boss! Sleep good?” Spike asked congenially.

“Okay,” Twilight said cautiously. She had actually woken up several times; the white stallion was getting more aggressive in her dreams.

“I tried to keep the bed like how you left it.”

“And I appreciate it,” Twilight said affectionately.

He smiled as he cracked an egg in a bowl. “So when are you going up to Cloudsdale?”

“Right after breakfast,” Twilight said. “We want to get started as soon as possible.”

“And you’re leaving right after that?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We need to move as fast as we can if we want to stop Discord. We haven’t found any of the Elements of Harmony yet.”

“Sheesh. He’s really got a jump on you.”

“Don’t remind me,” Twilight said.

After breakfast, Flitter and Cloudchaser left to return to the spa, and the others got in the airship and took off after a brief goodbye and promise to return before leaving properly. By eleven, Spike was, once again, alone. He looked to the door to the basement. The day before, in the afternoon, a small cart had rolled into town with a massive collection of magazines and videocassettes, and he and Derpy were among the first to investigate it.

What they found, they had no reaction for. Ponies, mares mostly, displayed without shame or censor, filled the cart’s wares. Many onlookers stormed off, Derpy among them, but others remained to look through the selection, openly intrigued. Spike wandered off, embarrassed, but returned an hour later. There, he found Rarity.

He was immediately entranced, and it was several minutes before he even had the wherewithal to do anything with the two pieces of media in which she appeared. Her behavior in the magazine, her photo plastered across from another, equally attractive mare, excited him in a way with which he was not familiar. He felt ashamed and glorious as he stood by the dusty cart, surrounded by other ponies, but completely alone in himself.

He bought both articles, magazine and video tape, and took them back to the library, where he stored them in the basement with Twilight’s technologies. Only two hours later had he built up the courage to feverishly thumb through the magazine, dog-earing the Rarity pages guiltily.

With his friends gone, and no one due to visit for the rest of the day, he retreated back to the basement.

The sun was up, but the clouds above Ponyville left very little light by which to navigate. As they approached the outer limit of Allie’s shield, they all crowded by the torch, but when Applejack took them through, the balloon did not protect them from the snow. The wind sent flurries of it up over the rails and into their faces, and after a couple minutes of futile adjustment, they, and the deck, were covered.

“Ah can hardly see where we’re goin’,” Applejack said. “Rainbow, get over here an’ see if you can help me.”

“I’m not flying out into that mess,” Rainbow said.

“How’re we supposed to find Cloudsdale if you can’t get out there?”

“Just go where I point. I still know where it is.”

“Rainbow, it’s just snow,” Twilight said.

“Hey, have you ever flown in snow? It’s not as easy as it sounds, ya know.”

“Argue later, RD,” Applejack said testily.

“Right, right, sorry. Go up through these clouds.”

“Pinkie, torch.”

Pinkie turned up the torch, and the others gathered closer around it, where the snow melted before hitting the deck.

“I have a question,” Octavia said. “How are we supposed to do anything up here if only two of us can walk on clouds?”

“I have a spell that lets us all do it,” Twilight said. “It’ll let you breathe at this elevation, too.”

“Ah.”

They floated up into the cold, gray mass of clouds, where their visibility was buried and their coats were dampened. Rainbow folded her wings tight to her body and urged Applejack to take them higher; they would break through the ceiling soon, she said, and should be able to see Cloudsdale from there.

When they finally rose over the last crest of dark cloud, the sudden, dry coolness at the top of the sky put them all into shivering shock. The blue expanse, floored in dark storm clouds, was almost worse than the moisture that covered them moments ago. An empty wind blew, making them all tense up in tiny shivers. Cloudsdale was visible in the distance, half-buried, like an island in a tumultuous sea.

“There, see?” Rainbow said, pointing. The far side of the cloud city boiled with huge, dark clouds, while smaller ones floated around the residential districts. “That’s overproduction, no question. But I’ve never seen it this bad.”

“What part of the city is it coming from?” Twilight asked.

“That’s the snow factory.” She squinted. “Just as I thought. Take us over there, AJ.”

The bottom half of Cloudsdale was stuck in gray cloud, but as they slowly drifted around it, the problem took shape. Where one end of the city curled upwards in a large wavelike formation, from which dripped Cloudsdale’s signature streams of rainbows, there was a small collection of colorful tents below, on a slope of cloud. Small buoys of white surrounded the area, blinking with warning lights. At the bottom, just before the sea of clouds, was an inverted claw, its surface undulating with storm clouds.

“What am I looking at?” Octavia asked.

“That’s the storm refinery,” Rainbow said. “You can’t see it, but there’s a lip at the bottom of that runway-looking thing, where clouds are supposed to collect. When there’s enough, pegasi workers come by to seed them, and then they drop their heavier water before rising off. The water gets recycled back into the system.”

“Looks like it’s overflowin’,” Applejack said.

“That’s exactly what it’s doing.” She pointed at a large vent at the top of the gray slope. “See that? That’s the exit to the snow coil. That’s where water gets super-cooled.”

“So the problem is inside the snow coil,” Octavia said.

“Looks like it.”

Applejack cut the power, and they slowly floated down to the floor. Pegasi were already coming their way, and they gathered at the torch.

“This’ll just be a moment,” Twilight said. “Rarity, hold still.”

“It’s cold, dear,” Rarity said shortly.

“C’mere, Rare,” Rainbow said, putting a wing around her trembling back. Twilight’s horn glowed long and bright, and they all floated briefly off the ground as her spell grabbed them. When it was done, she sat down with a satisfied smile. “You can all walk on the clouds now.”

“Me first!” Pinkie cried, jumping over the rail to land with a soft pomf below. The others dismounted with the gangplank, where Pinkie paced excitedly, grinning down at her hooves. “This is awesome, Twilight! These clouds are so squishy! We have to come here more often!”

“Who are those ponies?” Rarity asked.

“I dunno,” Rainbow said.

“Well, go talk to ‘em. Yer the Cloudsdale mare,” Applejack said.

“No, let’s let them come to us,” Twilight said.

They stood beside their ship while the group of ponies approached—a pair of wiry stallions on either side of an oily black mare, larger than both of them. Golden badges gleamed on their vests. Rainbow closed the gap between them and extended a hoof, and the mare shook it perfunctorily. “Cloudsdale police. What is the meaning of this?” she asked, her voice resounding with haughty indignation. The stallions eyed them curiously behind her sizable bulk.

“Uh, yeah, just the Elements of Harmony,” Rainbow said.

“Yes, yes, I can see that,” she said, flapping her wings lazily. “Why are you here?”

“We’re here to help,” Twilight said. “Princess Luna told us about the excess snow, and that she suspected Discord had been here.”

“I was not informed of your pending arrival.”

“So? It’s not our job to tell ponies where we’re going,” Rainbow said.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I was not referring to you.”

“Do you know what’s happenin’ here? Or are you just gonna be frustrated at us?” Applejack asked.

“Of course I know what’s ‘happenin’ here. I’m the pony in charge of this entire counter-operation.” She looked at her two companions. “Which, admittedly, is a bit thin at the moment.”

“Is it just you three?” Rainbow asked.

“There are others, but they are elsewhere in the city. We three are trying to stop the problem at its source, while the others are keeping it from spreading.”

“And what is this problem?” Octavia asked.

“Ah, yes. The tag-along,” the fat mare said, looking at Octavia coolly.

“Excuse me?”

“Discord has planted a large amount of sigils inside the snow coil, through which water is flowing. As we are all pegasi, we are in the unfortunate position of waiting for backup from Canterlot.”

“I can break a sigil,” Twilight said.

“It’s too dangerous inside,” she said, shaking her head. “The sigils are attached to… well, it would be easier for you to just see it. But to go inside as you are would be suicide.”

“How long until your support comes?” Octavia asked.

“A day or less.”

They looked at each other. “Ah know some of us may wanna play the hero,” Applejack said, “but is it honestly worth it? These ponies already have things under control, it seems.”

“If we can help, we should,” Octavia said.

“But can we? What do y’all actually need to take care of this problem?”

“A shielder and a sigil breaker, for starters,” the fat mare said.

“I can keep a shield up,” Rarity said.

“And I can break a sigil,” Twilight said.

“There, see? Your ponies are already here,” Rainbow said. “Why not let us take care of it?”

“With all due respect, Miss Dash,” the pegasus said, “you are simply not qualified for this task.”

“We’re more qualified than any random pony out of Canterlot. We’ve dealt with stuff like this before.”

“We have fought Discord himself,” Octavia said.

“But this is not a fight, Miss Melody,” the fat mare said. “This is a planned operation. This takes time.”

“We have time,” Twilight said.

“Er, not really,” Rarity said. “We should have reached Appleloosa by now, actually.”

“But we’re here now, so we may as well deal with this,” Rainbow said.

“No, no, no!” the fat mare cried. “How many times do I have to say it? None of you are qualified to deal with this. You have done an admirable job with Discord in the past, but this is not the same.”

“So what? You expect us to just sit here and let someone else do it?”

“That is exactly what I expect.” She sighed and lowered her voice, and when she spoke again, her tone was kinder. “I know you must feel accountable for all of Equestria’s problems, but you have to be able to stand aside and let professionals handle things. We are all senior members of the Cloudsdale police force; we know what to do here. Once the others arrive, we will have the resources we need.” She gestured in the direction of the tents. “If you want, we can set up a couple tents for you, so you can be there when we break the sigils.”

“Thanks for the patronage,” Rainbow said. She turned back to the ship. “We’ll find a place ourselves.”

“Um, wait,” Fluttershy said quietly. She was hiding behind Pinkie. “Where else will we go? I, um, don’t really think any nearby hotels are going to be open… you know, considering.”

“I’m sure we can find something.”

“No, Fluttershy is right,” Octavia said. She looked to the mare. “We would appreciate anything you can give us.”

The fat mare nodded and turned to the stallion on her left. “See to them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He looked at them all. “Come with me.”

They followed him across the clouds to the tents, passing under the shadow of a large arch. So near the overflowing snow, they could feel the change in the clouds; the softness they were accustomed to had turned into a constant, icy prickling, like striding through sleet. The stallion went into one tent and pulled out a bundle of supplies, and began setting theirs up a distance away.

“So we will just stay here for the night,” Octavia said. “Will your spell last that long, Twilight?”

“I’ll re-cast it before we go to bed,” Twilight said.

“Great. And we can watch someone else do our job tomorrow,” Rainbow said.

“It ain’t that big a deal, Rainbow,” Applejack said.

“Yeah, Dashie! It’s not always on us to solve the world’s problems!” Pinkie said.

“So we’re just gonna let these yahoos from Canterlot do it?” Rainbow groused.

“Not in front of one of their friends,” Rarity whispered, looking at the stallion.

“Psh.” She flapped her wings angrily and approached the stallion. “Yo! So, what can you tell us about these sigils Discord has in the snow coil?”

He looked up at her disinterestedly. “It’s too dangerous to go in after them equipped as we are.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks. Anything else, bozo?”

“Not for nosy pegasi like you,” he grunted.

She huffed and went back to them. “What a crock.”

“What if these ponies are in league with him?” Rarity asked quietly. “They’re certainly reluctant to talk.”

“They’re police, Rarity,” Applejack said.

“That doesn’t put them outside his influence.”

“Then why would they want to keep us here?” Octavia asked.

“Maybe it’s part of Discord’s trap,” Twilight said.

The pony finished the first tent and started the second one without looking up at them, and Twilight went into it. There was no protection from the frigid cloud, save for a single sleeping bag, unceremoniously bundled for them in the back of the tiny tent.

“Gee, do you think they can spare it?” Rainbow said, poking her head into the shelter. “This is crap, Twilight.”

“It certainly is less than ideal,” Twilight said slowly.

“All the more reason to help them get this done fast,” Rarity said from outside.

When the tents were set up, the stallion left them without a word, and there they stayed for the rest of the day, intermittently trying to get comfortable in the tents and pacing outside in the bracing cold. As the sun set, they went to the ship to get food and let Twilight re-cast her cloud-walking spell. They ate on the deck, happy to be on a solid surface.

“So, Rarity, how are you doing?” Twilight asked. They were eating a batch of apples from the day before—sweet beyond words, compared to the stored food they had been using on the flight over.

“Ugh. I’m… okay, dear,” Rarity said reluctantly.

“Ya sure ‘bout that?” Applejack asked.

“I’m still upset. And, er, quite angry. But I’ve been through worse. I’ll survive. I know that now.”

“You still want revenge?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes.” She didn’t continue for a minute. “But I know this is more important. That nag can rot in Manehattan for now.”

“I’m actually happy to hear you say that,” Twilight said softly.

“And how are you, darling?”

Twilight shivered. Her last flashback had been more than a week ago, and her dreams were slowly calming down, though the white stallion still invaded them. “I’m all right.” She wanted to say it.

“You know we’re here for you,” Pinkie said.

“Whatever you need,” Fluttershy added.

Twilight looked over the gunwales at the tents, then at the rolling avalanche of storm clouds beyond. Ponyville was only a few miles away, but she felt lost.

“You okay?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight looked back at Rarity, who nodded. Her eyes were gentle and forgiving, and as Twilight met them, she felt her own tearing up. She shook her head.

“Oh, Twilight,” Rarity said softly, moving to embrace her. She bent her head into Rarity’s wither and squeezed her eyes shut, and leaked silent tears into the white fur.

“Let it out, sugarcube,” Applejack said.

Twilight tried to stammer a response, but only sobs came. The sound of her own voice cut her; it reminded her of why she was sad in the first place. Why they were all a little different. “Oh, Celestia, what have I done?”

As Twilight cried, Rarity held her, and she could feel herself slowly losing her grip as well. She knew well what had Twilight so upset; it haunted her too, though not as badly. The others watched silently, and Rarity clutched Twilight closer.

Lacey still polluted her mind, but in the pure white, and the cold, and the warmth of her surrounding friends, it didn’t seem as bad. She held Twilight, and as she did, she looked into each of their eyes. Pinkie’s, filled with quiet concern for something she had only rarely witnessed. Fluttershy’s, wobbling in the sunset light with their own tears, empathic beyond words. Octavia’s, hard, but patient and understanding. Applejack’s, respectfully downcast, but ready to offer assistance at the slightest need. Rainbow’s, uncomfortable and skittish, but very clearly upset by her friends’ pain.

And then her own eyes began to moisten. She lowered her head onto Twilight’s, and at the unicorn’s shaking, tears crept down her muzzle. Her own voice filled her head. “Hold it together, Rarity, dear. It doesn’t do to have histrionics at a time like this. Twilight needs you.” She clenched her eyes tighter. “For my friends. For my friends. The instant you feel uncomfortable is the instant I back off.” She sobbed and squeezed Twilight closer, and looked back at Rainbow, her magenta eyes uncharacteristically soft and solemn.

“No, not here. I don’t have to prove anything.” She bowed her head once more, and let the tears come.

When both unicorns were done, the sun had gone down, and a cold breeze had added its bite to the freezing air. They wiped their eyes, accepted hugs from the others, minus Octavia, and then just sat on the ship, looking out at the stars.

“He’s out there, somewhere,” Rarity said, and Twilight nodded.

“So are the Elements of Harmony,” Twilight said.

“Yes. And his castle, and all the other cities of Equestria. And all the ponies we have to help.”

“It’s quite the task.”

“Yes.”

Twilight leaned against the rail to point at a star. “That’s Polaris up there.”

“The north star, right?”

“That’s right.”

Rarity sighed slowly. “We’ll get him.”

“Yeah, we will.”

“Like you said, it’s quite the task. But we’re the ponies for the job.”

Twilight smiled and patted Rarity’s back. “That we are.”

They were all shivering violently as they returned to their tents, despite the warm clothes they had taken from the ship. When they were packing, they had accounted for high altitudes, and snow when they wound up going south, but not both at the same time. Scarves and sweaters were not enough, even inside the tents; the thin fabric hardly protected them from the high-altitude wind. They had wanted to stay on the ship, but it was too far from the snow coil; from the tents, they could see everything, and react quickly, if it was needed.

Octavia, Rarity, Rainbow, and Twilight shared one tent, two to the sleeping bag and the other two, reluctantly, on the freezing cloud just beside it.

“I do not know how you all feel about it, but I do not like sitting here and simply waiting for these ponies to handle the snow problem,” Octavia said. She was wrapped in Twilight’s embrace in the sleeping bag, and wiggled slightly away as she spoke.

“How are we supposed to trust these Canterlot ponies? They’ve never fought Discord,” Rainbow complained.

“Exactly. And while I do not want to spread suspicion where it is not warranted, it is possible that these ponies are under his constraint in some way.”

“No, we’ve been over this,” Rarity said quietly. “They wouldn’t volunteer to put us up here. They’d want to get rid of us.”

“Even so, it’s a good point,” Twilight said. “They have no idea what they’re up against. We do.”

“But we’re not allowed to go in after those sigils,” Rainbow said bitterly. “Total crap, if you ask me.”

“They could have at least shown us what was going on,” Rarity said.

No one spoke, and Twilight cuddled closer to Octavia. She had never been so near the gray pony, and felt strange holding her so intimately. She was much heavier than Twilight had expected, her back and chest taut with muscle, her body dense and warm. After her time on the ship, it brought her comfort to be so close to someone hard and unemotional.

She listened to their breathing, their turning, and the occasional shiver, her own hooves on Octavia’s abdomen, feeling the gentle rise and fall. She closed her eyes, but sleep was not on her mind. After a time, she cleared her throat nervously. “Is anypony tired?”

“Not really,” Rainbow said. “I’m still thinkin’ about that stupid snow coil.”

“Me too,” Rarity said.

Octavia didn’t speak, but shuffled in place.

“Twilight,” Rainbow said. “Are you, by chance, thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I was thinking we should go and handle this problem ourselves,” Rarity said.

Twilight broke away from Octavia. “I… was thinking something similar, yeah.”

“I will join you, if you decide to go,” Octavia said.

“I think we should do it,” Rainbow said.

“Now hold on,” Twilight said. “Let’s think it through a little.”

“What’s to think through? Those ponies are just gonna screw it up if we let ‘em. We do stuff like this all the time, Twilight.”

“No one else knows Discord like we do,” Rarity said.

“You saw those ponies that talked to us. Do you really think that fat lady can do anything useful against whatever Discord’s got in there?”

“I did not like her,” Octavia said.

“She didn’t seem to like you very much either,” Rarity said.

“I do not care for overweight ponies. They… bother me.”

“Really?”

“Okay, okay,” Twilight said. “Do we want to do this or not?”

“I say let’s do it,” Rainbow said.

“I would like to do something, personally,” Octavia said. “It has been too long since I have had any excitement.”

“Then let’s go,” Rarity said, standing. Rainbow moaned as they separated, and Octavia crawled out of the sleeping bag.

Twilight thought for a moment. Everyone else was so excited, she felt bad hesitating. “Okay, let’s.”

They went out into the freezing night and looked around, their breath rising in small clouds of their own. “Should we get the others?” Rarity asked.

“We do not need them,” Octavia said. “We have Rarity for our shields and Twilight to break the sigils. To be perfectly honest, even Rainbow and I are not strictly necessary here.”

“I’m the guide,” Rainbow said.

“Fair enough. I am not needed, though.”

“Don’t say that, Octavia. You might be helpful,” Twilight said, setting off across the clouds. “What’s the best way in, Rainbow?”

“Follow me,” Rainbow said, trotting ahead and starting up a gentle slope. “The entrance should be on the other side of this area.”

They walked closely together, and slowly, over the clouds; in the cold, it was just like walking in snow, and even with their warm clothing, the cold crept in like a disease. They passed the others’ tent quietly, but as they ascended the long, empty expanse of sloping cloud, dead in the silent, frigid night, Rarity spoke lightly and conversationally.

“I personally think a little weight can look quite charming on a pony.”

“I disagree,” Octavia said. “Not only does it point to an unhealthy lifestyle, but the shape does nothing for me. I do not like soft ponies.”

“Gee, what a surprise,” Rainbow said.

“You can carry a little weight and still be perfectly healthy,” Rarity said. She tossed her mane. “I mean, it’s not the look for me, but I have seen others who pull it off quite well.”

“If someone must be large, let them be muscular. Not squishy,” Octavia said.

“Ugh, you like bodybuilders?” Rainbow said.

“Yes.”

“Yeesh. I mean, sure, some muscle is great, but when that’s like, all the pony is, it starts getting grotesque.”

“Let me guess, Rainbow, dear. You like the lean and wiry look,” Rarity said.

“Hey, I don’t just keep this figure ‘cause it’s healthy.”

“But all that work.”

“Better to work out and look good than spend your time with accessories and be unhealthy.”

“No, I’m not saying that. Of course staying healthy is important. After all, accessories can only do so much. You have to have a good base first.”

“Accessories only distract from the real article,” Octavia said.

“Do you only like muscular ponies, Octavia? Or do you want to be one?” Twilight asked.

“Hm. I have fantasized about being larger than I am,” she said in a small voice. “Not huge, like you see in the competitions. Just bigger.”

“You’re already in terrific shape,” Rarity said.

“It comes with my upbringing.”

“Rock farm?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes.”

“How much can you lift?”

“I do not know. I have never measured it.”

“We should do that sometime. I’m curious to know how strong you are.”

“She lifted our airship torch,” Rarity said. “When Discord attacked. Remember?”

“Oh, yeah. That was really impressive, actually,” Twilight said.

“How much did that weigh?” Rainbow asked.

“If I had to guess, I would say something near two hundred pounds,” Octavia said.

“Sweet Celestia.” They came over the top of the slope to face a set of winding stairs down a sheer wall of cloud. The bottom was dimly lit, showing a collection of small shacks under street lamps. “Right. That’s just a big maintenance area down there. Electricity and security and stuff. Around midway down these stairs should be the entrance to the snow coil.”

“Twilight, what kind of pony do you like?” Rarity asked.

“Aw, come on, Rarity,” Twilight said, blushing.

“Hey, we’ve all said what we like,” Rainbow said. “Come on, Twilight. Don’t be prudish.”

“We won’t judge you, darling,” Rarity said.

“Ehhhh.” She chewed her lip. “I guess I like someone tall and handsome.”

“The classic,” Octavia said.

“Yeah, I suppose. I don’t get a whole lot out of all these different shapes and sizes. It seems weird to me.”

“There is nothing wrong with that.”

“Kind of boring, though,” Rainbow said.

“Hey! My interests are not boring,” Twilight said.

“Kidding, kidding.”

“I have personally never understood wanting someone larger than yourself,” Octavia said.

“Are you serious?” Rarity asked. “Darling, it’s wonderful for cuddling.”

“Hm.”

“Are you saying you don’t like cuddling up with someone on a cold night?”

“I have never been one to express myself physically.”

“It’s not about expression,” Twilight said. “It’s just enjoying someone else’s warmth.”

“No, darling, you’re dead wrong on that,” Rarity said. “Octavia, it’s all about showing someone that you enjoy being close to them.”

“But I do not enjoy that,” Octavia said.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Sharing warmth is fine, but I like my space. There is too much adjustment, and squeezing, and such. Plus, if we spend too long together, someone winds up having to smell the other, or someone gets too liberal with their hooves.” She looked at Twilight. “I am not a body pillow.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Twilight said.

“You had your hooves very low on my stomach.”

“You’re warm!”

“Maybe you’d enjoy it more if you had someone with a little more weight to share with,” Rarity said.

“I would be thinking too much about their guts.”

Rainbow’s laughter echoed loudly over the plain of clouds. “I’m sorry, but what?”

“Another reason I do not like large ponies is because I find myself thinking about what is actually inside them.” Octavia huffed quietly. “Do not tell me you have not done this.”

“Heck no! That’s weird.”

“I only do it with fat ponies. Just the knowledge of the grease, and fat, and other unhealthy things inside their body…” She shivered. “I find it very disquieting.”

“You never struck me as a squeamish pony,” Rarity said.

“And the gunk inside their stomachs,” Octavia continued. “That, I think, is the worst.” She shot Twilight another look. “When someone gets too friendly down there, I start to think about it in myself. I do not want to think about my food once I have already eaten it.”

“I keep saying, you’re really warm,” Twilight said.

“Okay, here we are,” Rainbow said, stopping at a large, metal door. “As much as I’d love to keep talking about Octavia’s guts, we’ve got a job to do.”

“Why is the door not made of clouds?” Octavia asked.

“Even construction-grade clouds aren’t made to last more than a couple years. What they do for places that need to be protected is reinforce the area with the heaviest clouds they can, then put whatever construction materials they need in there. But it’s really expensive, and kind of inefficient, so they only do it for the really, really important stuff. Like access to the vital areas of the city.” She gestured at the door.

“What happens if something goes wrong, and it falls out?” Twilight asked.

“Well, the city government gets fined, and whoever was in charge of keeping things safe winds up in prison.”

“Prison?” Rarity repeated.

“Cloudsdale might be super cool and useful, but it’s one of the most hazardous, uh, things in Equestria. You have to take so many safety classes before you get to be a part of the weather team, it’s ridiculous.”

“So how do we get in?” Twilight asked.

“Uh…” Rainbow reached for the door handle and pulled it. The door swung slowly, and she had to move behind it and push to get it open all the way. “Someone needs to look at these hinges.”

“Why is this door not locked?” Octavia asked. “If there is something dangerous inside, should they not be taking every effort to keep ponies out?”

“Maybe it is a trap,” Rarity said.

“Or maybe the lock’s broken,” Twilight said. She took a tentative step up into the dark tube, but flinched back at the frigid floor. It was made of cloud, but felt more like metal on her hooves. She could feel the air prickling on her face, and smell a mild mint from within.

“This does not bode well,” Octavia said, walking past her. “Rarity? Shields.”

“Hang on, dear,” Rarity said, horn alight. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this. Rainbow, get up there with them.”

Rainbow joined them, standing especially close to Octavia, who shied away. A crystalline dome glittered to life around them, and Rarity stepped into it.

“Let us go,” Octavia said. A bead of pale gray light appeared before her forehead, casting the entire tube in a ghostly haze.

“That’s a nice spell,” Rarity said.

“I have been practicing.” She walked down into the tube, and they followed quickly; her pace was swift and deliberate, and it wasn’t long before they encountered the first snow.

“Wait,” Twilight said. She craned her neck to look down the tube, where the snow deepened until it reached the ceiling.

“What’s wrong?” Rarity asked.

“Look at all that snow. We can’t go in there.”

“Why not?” Octavia asked.

“Rarity’s shield is going to just push it out of the way, so we’re going to wind up going underneath it pretty quickly. But if her shield fails unexpectedly, we’ll be crushed.” She held a hoof to her chin in thought. “And if we don’t, it’ll still be too cold. We’ll be hypothermic in a matter of minutes.”

“Why not melt the snow as we go?”

“Do you see how much snow that is?” Rainbow asked. “We’ll just get flooded instead. Plus, that would damage the tube. Deeper inside, the walls are lined with super-cooled pipes, and if we start melting things suddenly, those pipes could burst. And those are metal.”

“So what are we going to do?” Rarity asked.

“Could we dig a tunnel?” Octavia asked.

“I don’t like that risk,” Twilight said. “We have no idea how much water is coming out in there. A tunnel could collapse.”

“Wait, no, a tunnel is perfect,” Rarity said. “We can dig one, and I’ll just put up a shield around the inside, so it won’t come down.”

“That’s a lot of shield, though. Are you sure you can do that?”

“How long is this snow coil, Rainbow Dash?”

“I dunno, but it’s long. We loop around two or three times before reaching the other end,” Rainbow said.

“No, there’s no way I could take a shield that far.”

“Well, here,” Twilight said. “Let’s go in as far as we can, and see if we get lucky. We’ll get out once we reach Rarity’s limit, regardless.”

“That sounds good to me,” Octavia said, dipping a hoof in the snow. “What about hypothermia, though?”

Rainbow chuckled and threw a wing around her. “We can keep warm by snuggling.”

“Sorry, Rainbow Dash. You are not grotesque enough for me.”

Rainbow laughed and Twilight lit her horn. A disc of magic covered the snow, and as she walked into it, it was ground away with a soft sound.

“That is an impressive spell,” Octavia said. “What is that?”

“Just directed telekinesis,” Twilight said. “Nothing special.”

They slowly descended into the snow, and though Octavia looked unhappy, she stepped a little closer to Rainbow. As the snow rose higher, a sheaf of pale blue magic covered the hole Twilight was boring. Soon, they were buried, and Octavia’s gray light mixed eerily with Twilight’s magenta circle and Rarity’s shimmering ceiling.

Rainbow shivered violently. “Rarity, can you try to move that shield under our hooves? I’m starting to go numb.”

“Don’t do it, Rarity,” Twilight said. “We need your shields to go as far as they can. We can walk just fine on cold hooves.” She cocked an ear. “I think I hear water.”

“A sigil?”

They stopped suddenly as Octavia stumbled, powdering her face in the snow.

“Are you okay, dear?” Rarity asked, helping her up. As the snow churned up around her, they could see flecks of crimson in the ice crystals.

She raised her hoof, and dangled around it like a loop of fabric was a bristly, dark green vine. She eyed it carefully where it disappeared into the snow. “What is this?” she asked calmly.

“Whoa! Get it off!” Rainbow cried, reaching to bat it away. As her hoof connected, it stuck to her as well, and she flailed, dragging more up from the snow.

“Stop panicking!” Octavia barked.

“Get it off me!”

“Stop.” She stood up and placed her hooves on Rainbow’s shoulders, steadying her.

“It hurts, Octavia. It hurts bad.”

“Yes, it does.” Her light went out as a gray cloud appeared around the vine to tug it away, and the tunnel was cast only in Rarity’s ethereal glow. “Shut off the sigil.”

“Are you sure?” Twilight asked, looking at the bloody snow. “That looks bad.”

“I can handle it.”

Twilight and Rarity hesitated, but moved forward a few steps, and Octavia momentarily relished the spray of ice on her leg as more snow was tossed off. She pulled on the vine carefully with her magic, but as it tugged on her leg, her nerves flared.

“These are spikes,” Rainbow said distastefully.

“Let me get yours first. You are not tangled like I am.”

Rainbow squirmed as Octavia grabbed her section of vine and slowly uncoiled it from her leg. With each turn, she could see the delicate spines glistening with Rainbow’s blood, dripping tiny freckles of it onto the ground. When it was out, Rainbow bit the few remaining spines out and spat them against the tunnel’s sides. “Thanks.”

Octavia grunted and began working on her own. The cold and the pain made it difficult for her to hold steady, and her magic, practiced but not perfect, was jittery. Her progress was slow, and she could see Rainbow nursing her wound on one side, Twilight and Rarity digging through the snow on the other. When they stopped, she dropped her spell and looked.

“Uh, this might not work,” Twilight said.

“What is wrong?”

“This snow is dripping,” Rarity said.

“So? It’ll keep dripping if you don’t knock out that sigil,” Rainbow said.

“Just try, Twilight,” Octavia said.

“Hmmm. I guess I can give it a shot,” Twilight said, lighting her horn softly. The snow to her side moved slightly, and a splash of water made her back away. “Here goes.” Her horn flashed, and the snow puffed out and away. She immediately jumped back with a squeal, and Rainbow rushed over.

From her slight distance, the pain of the thorny vine forgotten, Octavia watched Rarity retreat deeper into the snow, then fall over; Twilight try to run back up the tunnel, drenched; and Rainbow stand back cautiously. Where the snow once was, there glowed a circular, vibrant green design, with water steadily flowing out of its center. Just behind, she could see the same dark green flesh of the vine that had caught her.

“Shut it off!” Rarity cried, floundering where she had landed. Flashes of green came up around her hooves as she raised them, and she fell deeper into the snow. For one frightening second, her head plunged under the snow, and she broke out of it, a vine coiled in her mane and around her head. Water splashed freely.

At Rarity’s cries, Twilight stopped and tried to activate her horn, but she was soaked, and her shivering was too much; every time she tried to start a spell, it fizzled out uselessly in a fit of shaking.

“Rainbow, help Twilight,” Octavia commanded, grabbing her vine again and yanking firmly away. The spines caught painfully in her skin, but her friends’ distress drove her, and she removed the vine with a small sticking sound and a nerve-burning tear. Blood stained the snow as she limped forward, and the shield around their tunnel flickered as Rarity fell under once more.

She could feel the water dampening her coat and hooves as she sloshed through the wet snow, staining the growing pool of freezing water with her blood. While Rainbow tried to get Twilight dry, Octavia stopped before Rarity, gasping in the snow.

“Hold still,” she said quietly, running her magic over Rarity’s entanglements. Water trickled down around her back hooves, and she looked around warily. Where the water had originally been pooling in its own depression in the snow, it flowed along the path she had created. As she observed it, it formed up against Rarity’s exposed side, provoking another pained moan from the unicorn. The shield flickered once more.

“Octavia, we need to get out of here. Twilight’s looking really bad,” Rainbow said.

“Then get her out. I will handle Rarity.”

“What about the sigil?”

“We can come back.” She turned back to Rarity, both of them shivering uncontrollably, and focused on the vine around Rarity’s head. Its thorns were thin and faint, more like fuzz than individual spines, but gave no resistance as she pulled them away from Rarity’s skin. She could hear Rainbow muttering encouragement to Twilight as they disappeared down the tunnel.

“It’s dark,” Rarity whispered, shuddering with exertion.

“I can only do one spell at a time,” Octavia said, slowly untangling the vine from her hair. “Now hold still, if you can. This is very delicate.”

“Cold.”

Octavia nodded. Her injured hoof throbbed dully in the ice water, and the tip of her tail dripped onto her fetlock. In the darkness under Rarity’s shield, and the slowing of her own blood, she felt underwater. Even as she pulled the vine away from her neck, Rarity turned over, exposing a second one running down her back, its pure white marred with tufts of bloody snow.

“This would be much easier if you were not half buried,” Octavia murmured, trying to clear the snow away with her telekinesis. As she did, more simply fell down to replace it; she did not have Twilight’s finesse. She could feel her legs losing more and more feeling as she stood, and tried to hurry, but her spell was weakening too. The cold sapped her concentration, and when she tried to adjust her position, and get a little blood flowing again, she stumbled into the slush. She looked up; the shield was fading.

“Cold,” Rarity whispered, resting her head on the snow.

“Damn it,” Octavia breathed. “Stay with me, Rarity. You have to keep that shield going.”

Rarity shook her head slowly, grinding her face down into the damp snow. As she did so, her horn dimmed entirely, and the tunnel shifted dangerously. Snow fell behind, and a small trail of it landed on Octavia’s head. She shook it angrily and tried to stand back up, but could only lean gracelessly into the tunnel’s side. As she did, the snow shifted, and she fell down onto Rarity, a pile of snow burying her as well.

She closed her eyes. Her head was fuzzy, and she couldn’t feel her lower half. She shook her head and broke the snow’s surface, but saw only darkness, heard only the relentless flow of water a few feet away. She tried to climb out, but could not will her back legs into responding but for a lazy push deeper into the snow.

Inside her mind, her own voice sounded slow and sluggish. “This is how it all ends. Stupid, caught in the snow. Should have listened to the police.” She turned over, freeing her chest from the snow and scraping her injured leg against something hard. More snow fell onto her nose, and she twisted away unhappily as it melted into her nostrils.

“Come back, Twilight.” She closed her eyes again and tried to turn some more. As she did, more snow shifted before her. At first, it sounded like nothing, but as it continued, she could distinguish structure in the way it crunched. Hoofsteps.

“H-h-help!” she called out, her own voice faint.

The hoofsteps drew nearer, and though she could not see, she felt a presence close by. A picture of blue eyes flashed in her mind.

“Help us,” she sighed.

“This gives you the strength to wait a few minutes more.” The voice was soft, as though the words were spoken for her only. As she processed them, her mind cleared, and she pushed herself up and out of the snow. It was still dark, but the cold, at once eating into her, seemed pushed back. She shook the snow out of her mane and reached for Rarity, finding nothing.

“Help,” she said again, louder. “Please, someone. We are stuck here.”

The hoofsteps were gone, but her resolve held. The voice was gone as quickly as it had come, and the presence with it, but its effect was real. Her numbness and pain meant nothing as she sat up and crawled forward, pressing her will back into a weak illumination spell.

Slowly, a drop of light appeared in the tunnel, and she smiled, though her strength was again fading. She looked back at the lump of snow where Rarity lay, still breathing, but no longer struggling.

As she studied the snow, her ears pricked up at the sound of more hoofsteps. They were not distant, and they were not slow. She turned back forward, but could see nothing but white.

“H-help us! We are trapped here!”

“We’re right here,” someone responded. A tiny sound followed, like a cork being pulled from a bottle, and she watched, relieved, as the tunnel suddenly lit up. The snow shone brilliantly against her tired eyes, and a group of pegasi quickly appeared at the tunnel’s end, the fat mare from earlier behind them.

Before she could react, they were upon her, helping her up and practically carrying her out of the tunnel, while others slipped by to tend to Rarity. She stumbled along, and each time she did, they supported her with strong wings.

“How are they?” the fat mare asked.

“Gray will live, but the white one’s hypothermic,” someone said behind them.

“Give her a warmth potion.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Octavia wanted to return to Rarity, but knew she could not, and so instead reluctantly let them lead her out of the snow coil, out onto the stairs carved into hard cloud outside. It was still cold, but felt wonderful on her frozen hooves. Someone wrapped a towel around her and patted her dry, and they slowly climbed the stairs.

“What about Rarity?” she managed.

“She’ll be fine,” a pegasus at her side said. “You’re both fine, and your friends too.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, too exhausted to ask more questions, or to suspect incompetence of the ponies at her side. The walk up the stairs felt endless, and when they stopped, she sat down.

“Octavia!” Twilight said.

She cracked open her eyes to regard Twilight and Rainbow, both looking as drained as she felt. She didn’t say anything, letting relief cover her instead. Rarity appeared a couple minutes later, still covered in wounds from the vines, but no longer shivering. The last to appear was the fat mare, her black body like a gobbet of ink on the cloud.

“So, are we all okay now?” she asked authoritatively.

“Yes. Thank you,” Octavia said.

“Mm-hm. So, would anypony care to explain why you all were trespassing in the snow coil?”

They all looked away with shame, and, in Rainbow’s case, anger. Octavia was the first to look back. “We had no assurance that you were as qualified as you said, and believed that we could handle what waited inside better than you.”

“I see. But that wasn’t the case, now was it?”

“No, it was not.”

The fat mare turned to one of her ponies. “Wake the others and bring them here. Explain the situation.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The stallion walked to the other tent briskly.

“We had to save you,” the fat mare continued, eyes boring into Octavia’s.

She nodded.

“Do you believe me now when I say that you are not qualified to do this job, and we are?”

She blushed with shame. “I do.”

“Very well then.” She looked behind them, where Applejack, Fluttershy, and Pinkie were sleepily coming over.

“What the hay’s all this? Runnin’ off an’ tryin’ to stop those sigils in the dead of night?” Applejack demanded. “Do y’all got mush fer brains? These policeponies told us it was practically suicide to go in there.”

“Yeah, okay, we get it, AJ,” Rainbow mumbled. “We screwed up, big-time.”

“You can fight later,” the fat mare said. “When I am done with you.”

“Oh, here it comes.”

“I don’t relish telling you this, but you have done significantly more harm than good inside the coil. Instead of letting the water stay contained in its pocket of snow, you released it. There’s a steadily growing pool of ice water inside, now buried under your little tunnel. If someone falls in that, it could ruin the entire operation.”

“We didn’t know,” Twilight said.

“Then why did you go inside?” she asked tiredly. “Why would you do that?” She sighed and shook her head when Rainbow took a breath. “No, I know why. You don’t have to explain yourselves again. Just… get out of here. Get on your ship and go wherever you’re supposed to be.”

“I don’t like leaving our job half-finished,” Rarity said.

“It’s not half-finished, or one-quarter finished, or even one-tenth finished.” She huffed indignantly. “Look at you! We pull you away from the jaws of an icy death, and your first impulse is to go running back? What kind of heroes are you? Now go, get on your ship, and fly away. Go take care of Discord, and leave the details to ponies like us.” She turned to walk away. “Be sure that they’ve actually left,” she said to a nearby pegasus, who nodded.

“Let’s go, ladies,” he said, helping Rarity up. “Onto your ship.” The rest of the pegasi were dispersing, and they slowly walked back to their ship.

“I feel awful,” Twilight said quietly.

“You should,” the pegasus said. “You made our jobs even harder.”

“But you’re just freakin’ cops,” Rainbow said. “How can you do this better than us?”

“I don’t have to explain my qualifications. They come assumed with the badge,” he said. “We saved you. That’s enough credentials in my mind.”

They went up the gangplank and lay on the deck while Applejack started the engines and torch. The pegasus flew back down to the tent area, and they took off slowly several minutes later. When they were airborne, Applejack turned to them.

“So you gonna answer me, or just sit there feelin’ sorry fer yerselves?”

“Hey, lay off, Applejack,” Rainbow said. “What’s with you?”

“Ya nearly killed yerselves on some hair-brained scheme, an’ yer askin’ what’s with me? Ah never pegged you fer an idiot, Rainbow Dash.”

“Hey, you take that back!”

“Gimme a straight answer an’ Ah might!”

“Girls, stop it,” Twilight said. “For Celestia’s sake, Rainbow, she has a right to be angry. And Applejack, we’re sorry.” She hung her head.

“We got excited about going out and doing something,” Rarity said. “We didn’t think it through.”

“Not even you, Octavia? Yer so level-headed, you didn’t realize how stupid this whole thing was?” Applejack asked.

“If you must know, I agreed with them,” Octavia said distantly. Her eyes were on the sky outside, her mind on the voice in the tunnel. “I wanted some excitement.”

“Well, ya certainly got it.” She sighed angrily. “Ah’m just glad those ponies were able to save ya.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Rainbow said sourly.

“Shut up, RD.”

“Hey!” Rainbow moved to approach her, but stumbled on her injured leg. “You don’t have to be a nag about it. We fucked up, okay? What more do you want?”

“Ah dunno.”

“Duh, Ah dunno,” Rainbow mocked. “Come on, Applejack, give it to me straight.”

She slammed her hoof on the wheel, and Fluttershy flinched back. “Ah said Ah dunno!” She placed her hooves heavily on the spokes, and spoke through a clenched jaw. “Ah gotta steer this thing.”

“She’s mad ‘cause she woke up to some ponies telling her her bestest friends in the whole wide world almost died,” Pinkie said. She looked at them. “And… maybe I’m a little mad too.”

“Pinkie, please,” Rainbow said, running a hoof over her face.

“You know better than that, Dashie. You know not to try stuff like this without at least including us. But even more when the policeponies told you not to.”

“I’m just glad they didn’t arrest us,” Twilight said.

“Thank Celestia fer small favors, Ah s’pose,” Applejack grumbled.

Twilight woke up to a sudden heat in her horn. She was sharing the cabin bed with Octavia, who, despite her misgivings, allowed Twilight to hold her close while they slept. She turned over to watch blearily as a letter spurted out and landed on the comforter.

“What does it say, Twilight?” Octavia asked tiredly.

“Ugh, do I have to read it now?”

“It might be important.”

Twilight sighed and lay back, producing a tiny light as she lifted the letter over her tired eyes. “Dear Twilight and friends, I hope you’re having fun in Cloudsdale, dealing with the mess I made. Wait a minute.” She looked at the bottom of the letter and groaned. “This is from Discord.”

“How can he send you a letter?”

“I don’t know. It has to do with mimicking the,” she yawned, “psionic imprint every unicorn leaves when she corresponds with someone. Uh, anyway.” She cleared her throat. “I hope you’re having fun in Cloudsdale, dealing with the mess I made. While you’ve been busy, I’ve been starting my new army for Canterlot. Isn’t that neat?” She put a hoof to her head. “Oh, hell.”

“Keep going.”

“Also, you should probably pay extra-special attention to your backs, because something’s following you. It should be getting close by now. Then he just wrote ‘hahaha’ a whole lot and signed his name.”

“So he knows where we are.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” She let the letter fall to the floor and turned back over. “I’ll write to Princess Luna first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Octavia closed her eyes and turned over, and Twilight brought a hoof around her middle. She ran it slowly down her chest to rest on her stomach.

“You’re still really warm.”

The White Stallion

Chapter Thirty-two

The White Stallion

While her friends slept below, Applejack slapped her face to keep herself awake. She stood at the wheel, guiding them through the unrelenting storm, already cold and getting colder. Her eyes drooped and her heart was heavy with anger and worry. That the others would decide to attempt something inside the snow coil, after such a thorough warning from the police, wore at her waning optimism.

The ship pitched anxiously in a sudden gust, and she overcorrected slightly, sending them through another freezing cloud. She wiped the dew from her brow and squinted for the aquamarine dome around Ponyville, seeing it glinting like a jewel between flurries of snow.

She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in slowly. “They were just doin’ what they thought was right. It was stupid as all heck, but they weren’t tryin’ to do anythin’ bad. Ponies make mistakes, Applejack.” It sounded like an excuse in her head, and she brushed the snowflakes out of her mane.

“Fools. Especially Octavia. She’s too even-headed fer somethin’ like that.” She frowned deeply and turned the ship violently, imagining with a cruel smile that her motion had disturbed their sleep. “Not that it needs it,” she thought. “That white stallion’s there fer that.” She hadn’t wanted to say anything, but he had begun appearing in more than her dreams. Even in moments of deep concentration or relaxation, his piercing, judging eyes smiled coldly at her subconscious. He had yet to speak to her, as he had for the others.

When she passed through the Ponyville shield, she let out a heavy sigh of relief. She still shivered, but the snow and the wind were off her—a small comfort, in the dead darkness and motionless chill that swaddled her. She landed them behind the schoolhouse, as she had the night before, but instead of rousing her friends, went below and muscled her way into the bed between Pinkie and Fluttershy.

Pinkie woke up first, her vision filled with the white stallion’s black hole cutie mark, and squirmed out of Applejack’s strong grasp. After a brief trot around the deck, she woke the others, and they took off after a small breakfast, stopping quickly at the encircling river to refill the ship’s water tanks.

It was still snowing, and Twilight had to erect a tiny shield of her own to work on a letter to Princess Luna, informing her of Discord’s message from the night before. While she wrote, they discussed their destination.

“I would like to propose that we do not go directly to Appleloosa,” Octavia said.

“Why the hay not?” Applejack asked. Her voice was quiet and dispassionate, and partially masked by the wind.

“Trottingham is much closer to Ponyville.”

“Where exactly is it?” Twilight asked, looking up quickly.

“It is on the southern side of the Everfree Forest,” Octavia said. “Perhaps five-thousand miles from here.”

“Five thousand miles! That’s closer than Appleloosa?” Rainbow said.

“Do you have no concept of distance? Canterlot is forty miles from Ponyville.”

“Most of Equestria is wilderness,” Twilight said.

“I guess it feels different when we’re on an airship,” Rainbow said sheepishly.

“Trottingham is a very pleasant town,” Octavia continued. “It is mostly rural, and the ponies that I have encountered there are very friendly. I think that we would enjoy ourselves.”

“How’s the weather?” Pinkie asked. “I don’t wanna be somewhere chilly again.”

“The weather has been temperate every time I have been there.”

“An’ how many times is that?” Applejack asked.

“A dozen or so,” Octavia said. “Classical music is very popular there.”

“How big is it?” Twilight asked.

“If I remember correctly, the city is about twice the size of Ponyville, though there are some settlements outside of its borders. There are several large villas on the south side, I know, as well as a vineyard and a system of aqueducts on the north.”

“Oh, aqueducts? I’ve read about those, but I didn’t know they were still in use.”

“I think it sounds lovely,” Fluttershy said. She shook the snow out of her coat. “At least better than this.”

“I have enjoyed myself when I was there.”

“Maybe we oughta swing by, then,” Applejack said.

“I say let’s do it,” Rainbow said. “It’ll be good to get away from the city life anyway.”

“You’ve got that right,” Rarity said.

Applejack stood against the wheel to see farther out. “Well, all right. Octavia, which way do we need to go?”

“If we are going to Trottingham, our bearing should be south by southwest,” Octavia said.

They slowly turned until they were facing the dark, broken curve of the Everfree Forest, and Applejack locked the wheel in place. “So,” she said, turning. “Last night.”

“You already know what happened,” Rainbow said darkly.

“That ain’t what Ah was gonna say.”

“I personally am sorry for what happened,” Octavia said. “I still think we had plenty of justification for what we did, but we should have gone about it much more intelligently.”

“Yer darn right ya should have. Y’almost died in there.”

“What exactly are you trying to do, Applejack?” Rarity asked. “We know we almost died. We were there.”

“You just wanna rub our noses in it that you were right?” Rainbow asked.

“No,” Applejack said slowly. “Ah just wanna make sure y’all know how foolish it was. This ain’t a game, ya know.”

“Gee, thanks for that. ‘Cause I didn’t know it was a bad idea when I had to drag Twilight out of the freakin’ snow.”

“Rainbow, come on.”

“No, you come on, AJ. We get it, we were stupid. Harping on it’s not gonna get us anywhere, so why don’t you just drop it?”

“Ah’m just concerned y’all might do somethin’ like this again.”

“We’re not idiots, okay.”

“Ya sure had me fooled.”

Rainbow scoffed and flared her wings, and Octavia stepped closer to the wheel.

“We understand our mistake, Applejack. Berating us further will not accomplish anything.”

“Um, it’s just…” Fluttershy said quietly. “Um… oh, never mind.”

“No, speak.”

Fluttershy shrunk behind Pinkie, who looked at Octavia plaintively.

Octavia sighed. “I am sorry. I am not trying to sound angry. Please, say what you want to say.”

“Um… well, I mean, I don’t… I don’t like that you did it, because you were so close to getting seriously hurt, and… well… I just don’t think that’s a very good thing to do.”

“We know this.”

“No, um, I mean it’s not a good thing to do to us.” She fluffed her wings and came out from behind Pinkie. “You didn’t even think about us when you did it. What if those policeponies weren’t there to help? You’d have never made it out of there, and we would never have known.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t at least let us know?” Pinkie said.

“But you wouldn’t have wanted to come along anyway,” Twilight said.

“That isn’t the point,” Fluttershy said.

“It’s a stupid thing to run off without half the group,” Applejack said. “An’ the fact that you didn’t tell us anythin’ really bothers us.”

“You were asleep,” Rainbow said.

“So what, Rainbow? So what if we were asleep? Ah’d rather be woken up in the middle of the night to go with y’all than be woken up to hear how y’all almost bought the farm.”

“You told us we need to stick together,” Pinkie said. “But that’s really hard when we get divided about silly things.”

“Hey, Cloudsdale is not silly,” Rainbow said.

“You know what I mean, Dashie.”

Rainbow looked down, sulking, and Pinkie approached her.

“I’m sorry too,” Rarity said. “You’re absolutely right, all of you. We didn’t even think of you, and we should have.”

Applejack was nodding slowly, and Rainbow glared at her. “Is that all ya got to say?”

“What more do you want?” Rainbow sighed. “We can’t go back in time, AJ.”

“Rainbow is right,” Octavia said. “It was a stupid thing for us to do, but there is nothing to do about it now. We need to move forward.”

“No apologies?”

“Oh, for Celestia’s sake, Applejack. Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry our stupid plan didn’t work out.”

“Ah know you don’t mean that.”

“Oh, wow, how’d you tell?”

“Stop it, both of you,” Octavia said. “Fighting will not help anything. Applejack, you cannot demand an apology. And Rainbow, you need to stop insulting her. We all understand our mistake. Can we not move on?”

“Yeah, let’s just move past it,” Pinkie said. “I mean, we’re on an airship! We’re heading for a new city, full of new ponies and new experiences and everything! Everypony’s okay, and we all learned our lesson. Let’s just be friends again.”

“I’m down with that,” Rainbow said.

“Pinkie’s right,” Twilight said. “We shouldn’t fight about this. We’ve learned our lesson, we won’t do it again, and we’re sorry. And that’s really all there is to it.”

“Sometimes, a mistake is just a mistake,” Rarity said.

Applejack sighed. “Ah guess yer right. Ah’m still a little shaken up, Ah reckon.”

“Don’t worry about it, AJ. Everyone screws up from time to time,” Rainbow said, the suggestions of a sneer pulling the corners of her mouth.

Applejack stared at her, then turned back to the wheel. “Am Ah on the right track, Octavia?”

“Yes. We will be flying over the forest for some time.”

“Hopefully our trip will be more pleasant this time,” Rarity said dully. She could remember their first journey over the Everfree, with no water to shower. She grinned. “I’ll be below for a time.”

She walked down the hatch in the back, down the narrow stairwell, to the corridor’s end. The bathroom was tiny and freezing, and she looked at herself in the mirror briefly before stepping into the tiny cubicle. Everything about the shower was small: thin streams of water gushed unevenly from a small showerhead, to vanish into a tiny, black drain, giving her just a few, uncomfortable square feet of wetness in the otherwise misty enclosure. She turned the hot water dial all the way up, hoping to counteract the cold that had seeped into her skin. The water was still tinged with cold, but on her damp fur and clammy skin, it was enough to coax a sigh of pleasure out of her.

As she slowly turned under the cool water, her thoughts moved inward. “I can’t believe this is comfortable for me now. By all accounts, this shower is absolutely below standard. This is siphoned river water, for Celestia’s sake, and it is freezing. And yet, here I am. None of our other adventures were like this.” She turned and let the water soak into her tail. “None of our other adventures lasted more than a few days. And we certainly didn’t travel like this.” She sighed. “That’s the price, I suppose. But at least I can shower myself now.” She turned back and dipped her mane into the weak stream. “And yet, we haven’t found even a single Element, or done a thing to slow down Discord. We helped fix Manehattan, and Canterlot, and Ponyville before that, but that really isn’t very much.” She activated her magic to begin scrubbing. “Who is it that has that Element-finding spell? I think it’s Pinkie and Fluttershy. I don’t remember either of them even mentioning it since Canterlot.”

She grabbed the shampoo and began working on her mane and tail. The water was already losing the touch of temperance it had, and she shivered unhappily as it hit her chest. “Perhaps I can get them to teach it to me. It would be nice to have a third Element seeker.”

By nightfall, they had escaped the snow and wind around Ponyville, and were nearly over the intimidating expanse of dark green forest, broken only by the darker color of shadowy chasms between its pieces. They had had dinner early, and while everyone else settled down for the evening, Fluttershy taught Rarity the Element-finding spell, conceding that she and Pinkie had almost forgotten about it.

Twilight sat on the deck, blearily watching the skies; Discord’s warning had scared her into reestablishing their night watch, and she was the first to volunteer. She would wake Pinkie at two in the morning.

For Rainbow Dash, it was a perfect Ponyville afternoon. The blue sky was open and sprawling, the air was still, and the temperature was just cool enough to take the edge off her otherwise grueling workout. Her wings were loose and limber and her heart pounded comfortably as she turned a tight circle over the blank fields outside town. Her reflexes were at their sharpest as she raced back across the countryside, moving close enough to fling loose blades of grass up behind her. She could see Rarity’s boutique in the distance, and marveled to herself that someone could spend so much time inside on such a beautiful day. She did one final loop before landing next to a tree to catch her breath.

“Impressive,” said a voice to her side.

She jumped, startled, and looked at the pony who had spoken to her. She recognized him instantly.

“My apologies; I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you saw me when you landed.”

As he spoke, awareness came to her, and the feeling of dreaming slowly ebbed away. He stood before her, as he had every night for a long time, tall, and proud, and very real. His white fur shone in the afternoon sun, flowing off his head and backside in single, silken curtains, contrasted with mirroring streaks of impossible, unbroken black. His sharp horn was like a point of crystal over his brilliant, joyful, blue eyes—the eyes that everyone had seen so many times, but still ensnared her with their beauty. They were without imperfection, and as he looked back at her, they danced with a smile.

“Pretty, I know,” he said, his voice courteous and smooth. His mouth was a perfect slice of straight teeth, and Rainbow couldn’t help but smile sheepishly at his acknowledgement. “Forgive me, Rainbow Dash, for I have forgotten my manners. My name is Fluttershy.”

“Fl—what?”

“Fluttershy is my name. Is something the matter?”

Rainbow looked at him warily. She knew she was dreaming, but the discomfort she felt was real. “No… it’s nothing. That’s the name of my best friend.”

“My my. That is quite coincidental.”

“Yeah.”

He smiled disarmingly. “You fly very fast, Rainbow Dash.”

Confidence swelled in her chest, her earlier awkwardness forgotten. “That’s me! Fastest flier in Equestria!”

“Is that right?” He smiled again, his perfect teeth gleaming.

“Darn right! You’re looking at the only pony alive who can do a sonic rainboom. Bet’cha never seen anyone do something like that!”

He smiled mirthfully, and his eyes gleamed with awe. “That is something to be proud of!” He paused. “Had I known I would be standing in the presence of someone of your stature, I would have taken the time to make myself presentable.” He looked unhappily at himself. “Alas—but I am distracted. I… believe this is a very fortunate encounter, Rainbow Dash. Few ponies know this, but I happen to be the fastest runner in Equestria.”

“No way,” she said, standing up.

“It is true. Would you care for a race?”

“There’s no way that’s gonna be fair,” Rainbow said. “A pony can’t run as fast as a pegasus can fly. It’s not possible.”

“You may be surprised,” he said with a grin.

She shrugged and flapped into the air. “All right, you’re on!”

“Excellent. All the way around town, then?”

“You got it. But no funny business with that horn of yours.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said smoothly.

“Then let’s do it.” They lined up at the tree, Rainbow arching her back into a comfortable position to take off, and the white stallion standing calmly by. “Three… two… one… go!” She took off in a blur of flapping wings and a colorful afterimage, determined to show the stallion the folly of his challenge.

The plain passed underneath her swiftly, leading to a small hill before a bend in the river. As she crested it, she caught no sight of her competitor, but, swooping downwards, heard his voice just behind. “Quite the excellent beginning, Rainbow Dash.” As she turned to look back, he cleared the hilltop, smiling placidly.

Her voice was a baffled whisper in the whipping wind. “What?”

“I told you I’m the fastest runner in Equestria. Come now, let’s make this a challenge, shall we?” He sped up, his white body a comet on the hillside, closing the gap between them. Her eyes were fixed on his inexorable advance, and as he drew within a few feet of her tail, she forced herself to look forward again. A spindly tree shrieked by, and his brilliant coat appeared in her peripheral vision, where it lingered for just a moment before pulling slowly ahead.

“Oh, no you don’t!” she gritted through her teeth, speeding up to overtake him. As she came beside him, he looked over briefly, still wearing his tranquil smile. She dipped to one side and extended her wings slightly, searching for an air current to give her the edge over his own impossible speed, but even as she inched forward, his blurred hooves carried him level with her.

Through the wind in her ears, she still heard him clearly. “Come now, is that all you have to offer?” He increased his pace again, pulling ahead, but she quickly matched him. Her wings were beginning to ache, and she smiled; it was the sign of a comfortable pace, one she could maintain and surpass without much effort.

“All right, no more Mrs. Nice Pony.” With a charge of adrenaline, she pumped her wing muscles firmly and swiftly, taking off with the power and confidence of her years of speed flying. She knew the skill it took to do what she did; she knew the nuance and timing behind maximizing speed and minimizing energy output, the difference between making the sky her own and exhausting herself after a couple minutes of mindless, relentless flapping. In her head, she knew of the unique physics and biology that allowed her to do what she did, the fact that a runner could never replicate it. Still, nervous sweat broke on her brow as she passed the white stallion.

“Nicely done, nicely done,” he said, again coming up behind her.

She looked quickly back at the town; they were just passing the library, and she had the inside track. “How are you doing that?” she shouted, insulted at his speed.

“This?” He laughed. “This is nothing, as I’m sure you’ll agree. Let’s see the speed you’re famed for, Rainbow Dash. The speed that’ll put you in the Wonderbolts someday.” He laughed again, and, looking forward, shot ahead like an arrow, effortlessly cutting a straight path through the air and away from her.

“No! It’s not possible!” she thought desperately, working to increase her speed again. She moved only slightly faster, but her wings were at their limit. She could only flap so fast before air resistance and gravity stopped her.

“Mind the turn, now!” he called, and she snapped her eyes up just in time to see the town’s edge.

She banked to the right, hard, and arrived at the finish line with an unbalanced turn, nearly skidding on her outstretched wing. She slowly walked back to their tree, where he stood just as he had before they started. No panting or gasping broke his firm countenance, and he nodded to her, his face unamused.

“I dare say, Rainbow Dash, I am a little ashamed of that performance. I was expecting a real challenge, and you hardly had me going at quarter speed.” She stuttered indignantly, and he smiled. “Still, it was merely a race between friends.” He looked up at the sun, raising no hoof to shield his eyes. “Oh, dear, just look at the time. I’m afraid you need to wake up now. See you in a few hours.”

“Rainbow!” Fluttershy’s voice, accompanied by a gentle shake, roused her.

“Wha? What’s going on?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but you were murmuring in your sleep, and at first I thought it was okay, but then you started tossing and turning, and then your wings started flapping and I couldn’t wake you up!”

Rainbow sat up and Fluttershy leaned back. “Oh, thank Celestia, it was a dream.”

“What did you dream about?”

“Guess.”

“The white stallion?”

“Yep, him.”

“He was in my dream too,” Fluttershy said meekly.

“He talked to me this time. Not, like, blurry dream-speak or anything, but full sentences. It felt… really, really real, now that I think about it.”

“He always talks to me.”

Rainbow rubbed her eyes. “He ever give you a name?”

“Um… yes, actually. Just tonight.”

Rainbow stared at her. “What was it?” she asked quietly.

“Um… well… you’re not going to like this. He… he said his name was, well, Rainbow Dash. You.”

“Huh.” She was too tired to give more of a reaction, though her mind froze up at the thought. “That’s… not good.”

Fluttershy only nodded, and when Rainbow lay back down, Fluttershy did too; they fell asleep in minutes, and Rainbow did not wake again.

With Pinkie taking the second half of the night watch, they wound up getting up just at dawn. As the sun slowly crept upwards, they had a light breakfast of toast and water.

“Did you get to sleep all right, Rainbow?” Fluttershy asked quietly, and Rainbow nodded. “That’s good.”

“What happened last night?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, just more of that stupid stallion,” Rainbow said.

“I dreamt of him too,” Rarity said.

“This one was really intense. I was flying around, and he approached me and offered to race. So we raced, but he… it was so weird, no matter how fast I flew, he always managed to get ahead of me.”

“So you dreamed of losin’ a race. It ain’t that big a deal,” Applejack said.

“I think it’s a pretty big deal! He ran faster than I could fly. Not by a little, either. He creamed me! By the time I reached the end of the race, I was about to collapse, and all he said was ‘too bad you couldn’t have gone faster,’ or something. He was making fun of me for losing!”

“Easy, Rainbow. It was just a dream,” Twilight said.

“Oh yeah? Well, here’s the really weird part. He introduced himself to me in the dream. Guess what his name was.”

“Ah couldn’t even begin to,” Applejack said.

“Fluttershy.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. Fluttershy?” Twilight asked. “As in, our friend, the yellow pegasus, Fluttershy?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Creeeeeeeeepy,” Pinkie said.

“And in my dream, he called himself Rainbow Dash,” Fluttershy added.

“Wait a minute. He introduced himself in my dream too,” Twilight said. “He said his name was Princess Celestia.”

“What? Celestia?” Applejack said.

“This is getting worse,” Octavia said.

Rarity shuffled uncomfortably, and they looked at her. Her eyes were wide with concern, and they stared into the distance behind the ship.

“What’s wrong, Rarity?” Twilight asked, turning. “Oh.”

Covering the clouds over Ponyville, spreading like spilled ink, a dark, distorted shadow grew, bleeding across the sky steadily, dimming the clear blue into a shadowy navy.

“What the hay?” Applejack said quietly as they got up to look.

“This… looks bad,” Octavia said.

“What do we do?” Fluttershy asked, but no one had an answer. They could only watch as the shadow reached over and around the horizon, before coming to a stop right before the sun’s edge.

Rainbow squinted into it. “There’s something out there.”

Where she pointed, they could see it: just a speck, but growing as it moved toward them.

“Right, Ah’m gettin’ us outta here,” Applejack said, turning back to the wheel.

“Wait, AJ.”

The engines’ low rumble turned to a deck-vibrating whirr as Applejack pulled back the unengaged levers. “Ah’m not lettin’ us wait fer whatever that is. What if it’s Discord, comin’ fer round two?”

“It’s him,” Rarity said. “I can see his coat.”

“The white stallion?” Pinkie asked in a small voice.

“Not for long,” Rainbow said, racing over to one of the untouched turrets on the ship’s side.

“Rainbow, stop it!” Twilight cried. “He might not be bad.”

“He’s invading our dreams. That’s bad enough for me.” She wrapped her hooves around the handles and swiveled it toward him, but nothing happened. “Uh, how do I use this?”

“He is not flying,” Octavia said. While everyone else crouched by the gunwales in fear or jogged around the deck, searching for a solution, she passively studied the distant pony. “It looks like he is walking.” She could see his blue eyes glinting and hear a swelling laugh coming from his direction.

“At least he sounds happy to meet us,” Pinkie said.

As he drew nearer, they backed away from the sides to watch as he trotted through the air. Neither wings nor shimmering magic held him aloft, only his impeccably clean hooves, stepping lightly across the air as though it were as solid for him as the earth. He drew level with their ship and strode calmly over the rail, coming to rest on the deck. His black and white mane flopped as he bowed.

“It’s you!” Rainbow cried. “You’re the pony from our dreams!”

“Who are you? How did you get up here? What are you doin’?” Applejack demanded, backing up at the same time.

“Relax, my friends. Relax.” His voice was as it was in their dreams, but more powerful; it seemed to fill the air around them, a strong and soft masculine purr that commanded attention and calm.

“How did you get up here?” Twilight asked urgently.

He laughed. “Now now now, patience. I’m not here to harm you.”

They backed away from him further and looked. They’d seen him in their dreams a hundred times, but to see him in the flesh was altogether different. His coat was more than white; it was brilliant, reflective, almost otherworldly white, the black in his mane and tail the cold, empty black of deep space. His cutie mark was a joyless, lightless circle of pure shadow, and his horn was a long, finely pointed barb of platinum. His eyes were blue chips of pure, calculating lapis, almost unreal in their intensity.

He waited as they took in his appearance, speaking only after they had settled. “My name is Vanilla Cream.”

Rainbow stepped forward angrily. “Wait, no it isn’t! You said your name—”

“Was Fluttershy? Or Princess Celestia? Or Rainbow Dash, or Pinkie Pie?” His smile vanished, and he closed his eyes as he bowed once more. “I do apologize, everypony, but that was just to give you all a start. It’s my idea of a joke.”

“That’s hardly a joke worth makin’,” Applejack said.

“Perhaps for you.” He smiled apologetically as he looked into her eyes. “You recently received a letter from a very powerful draconequus, advising you to watch for something following behind you.”

“How—”

“And that is I.” He smiled again as Applejack’s face contorted in defensive anger. “But! Hold on now, Applejack. Please, allow me to explain myself.”

“We would appreciate that,” Octavia said.

He paced before them, his hooves silent on the wooden deck. “How to begin? You are pressed into service by your goddesses, to fight Discord.”

“Yes,” Twilight said.

“And I am held under similar constraint, for his side. You may consider me a liaison of sorts.”

“Y’ain’t helpin’ yer case much,” Applejack said.

“I am not finished,” he said patiently. “He and I have met before this, but my loyalties do not lie with him. Not entirely.”

“Not entirely?” Rarity said. “Would you care to clarify that a little?”

“I am a summoned being,” he said. “Summoned and bound. Your side—the Gaia—is to me as Tartarus is to you.”

“So you’re from Tartarus,” Twilight said.

“Yes. Several months ago, I was most ungracefully dragged from my home, and forced into an audience with your malefactor, whereupon he cast a binding spell on me.”

“Wait, I thought Gaia magic couldn’t mix with Tartarus magic.”

“The magic he used was that of my own world,” Vanilla said drily. “And he summoned me into the middle of a binding sigil. I had no time to react.”

“Hold on, hold on. Now you’re saying Discord has access to Tartarus magic, in addition to regular magic?”

“Only through me.” He paused, a knowing smile teasing his lips. “Believe me, I too shared your concern. But it became clear to me that his binding sigil was more the product of someone else’s work than his own. All he really did was draw it on the floor. And no, I don’t know where he found it. Probably carved on a wall somewhere in my world.”

“So you are bound to his service,” Octavia said. “You are not sounding very trustworthy right now.”

“I’m aware of that,” he said lightly. “Discord had the right spell, but someone from… here can only use Tartarus magic so well. They simply don’t mix. He has bound me, but cannot hold me to a specific act, only a general goal. And that is why I stand before you now.”

“Ah don’t follow,” Applejack said.

“My goal is his, but my actions remain my own, as well as my agency. I may be loyal to Discord, but that does not stop me from forming loyalties extra to that. And while I cannot exactly plot behind his back, I can become friendly with the opposition. That is you all.”

“So what are you trying to do, exactly?” Rainbow asked.

“I come here with a proposition. I do not want to see him stopped, because I cannot want that, but I know, under normal circumstances, I would. Do you understand?”

“How can you force yourself to do something that you do not want?” Octavia asked.

“How indeed, Octavia?”

She looked down with a blush, and he smiled kindly.

“How do you know our names?” Pinkie asked. “And how did you get into our dreams? And how do you float?”

“Proposition first, my dear. You want him destroyed, I know. I also know how powerful you all are, both in terms of your magical potential and raw physical and mental prowess.” He regarded them carefully. “I don’t relish saying this, but at this point, you cannot even touch him.”

“Ah beg to differ,” Applejack said. “He already came by once, an’ we walloped him good.”

“He was toying with you,” Vanilla said, shrugging and sitting down by the torch. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that, but it’s the truth. However, I can change that.”

“How?” Twilight asked skeptically.

“Well, I can’t disclose any information about your enemy, but I can add to your magic, and equip you for later encounters.”

“With Tartarus magic?”

“No, never. That would destroy you. Your augmentations would be from this side of existence.”

“Why should we trust you?” Octavia asked.

He smiled, showing precise, even teeth. “Because you have little choice. I am going to vex you all whether you like it or not—that part of my agreement is non-negotiable. The least you could do is accept my offer, and receive some form of compensation for the trouble I’ll be putting you through.”

They were silent as they absorbed his words. Eventually, Rainbow spoke. “How did you get up here?”

“My word, you’re persistent. I simply walked.” He laughed. “Did you not see me?”

“How long have you been following us?” Octavia asked.

“Since you arrived in Manehattan.” He smiled again. “I thought touching your dreams would ease you into the idea of meeting me.” He looked out over the landscape, his face wistful. “Though I do apologize for how this must be for you. Perhaps a more abrupt appearance would have been better, but I think not.”

“No, I agree,” Pinkie said. “I mean… yeah, it was scary, but sometimes it’s better to be scared a little bit over a long period of time instead of being super-duper scared all at once.”

“Why’d you have to scare us at all, though?” Applejack asked.

Vanilla shook his head lightly. “I’m afraid it would have been scary regardless. My manner of drawn-out appearance could not be improved, to my mind.” He sighed. “I do wish I could stay, but that would be ill-advised. Inordinate time spent in your company can very easily inform Discord of my intentions. Think about my offer; that’s all I ask for now.”

“Wait,” Twilight said. “How are you planning on ‘vexing’ us, exactly?”

He turned and walked to the end of the deck, and stepped off the rail, walking back into the open air. “I will visit you again.” With a mild flash from his horn, he was gone, and the sky shadow with him.

“What… the… hell,” Rainbow said.

“That was definitely him,” Twilight said, frowning, trying to keep calm.

“He was followin’ us since Manehattan? He coulda killed us a million times by now!” Applejack shouted.

“Did you not hear him? He said his intent is not to harm us,” Octavia said.

“Why should we trust him? He’s been giving us nightmares for a month now!” Rainbow cried.

“That is true,” Octavia said carefully. “But if he truly wanted to destroy us, he would have done it when he was just here. He clearly has the power to.”

“Maybe he wants to deliver us to Discord.”

“He has the power to do that too,” Twilight said.

Rainbow looked over her shoulder as she settled down. They all thought for a minute. “So what are we gonna do?” she eventually asked. “Fight him?”

“I think we should accept his offer,” Rarity said.

“But how do we know his magic is the real deal? What if it’s all a big trick?”

“He may be poisoning us, or taking our original magic away,” Fluttershy said, finally choosing to speak.

They were silent, and each pony contemplated the turn of events. “We will need to continue the night watch,” Octavia said at last. “If he returns, everyone must be woken.”

“He better not be one of those night-visitors,” Applejack said.

The day ended slowly, and just after dinner, Twilight received a response from Princess Luna, to which she replied detailing the visit from the white stallion. Everypony was skittish, looking behind themselves often, or spending minutes at a time standing at the sides of the ship, staring into the darkening sky.

When they went to sleep, leaving Rarity to watch the night, there was a small note under the bed, angled precisely for Octavia to see her name on it as she lay on the floor. When no one was looking, she read it to herself: Yes, it was I. You’re welcome. Vanilla Cream.

“Interesting,” Twilight said; it was midmorning, and they were cleaning up from breakfast.

“What is it?” Applejack asked.

“Princess Luna replied to my letter.”

“Does she have anything to say about the white stallion?” Rainbow asked.

“What was his name again?” Rarity asked.

“Vanilla Cream.”

“Yes, she does. She did some research on him last night,” Twilight said.

“Like what?” Octavia asked.

“Apparently, he’s been in Equestria twice before—in recorded history, at least. Once was a few centuries ago, and he was responsible for drying up a lake near present-day Fillydelphia.”

“Dryin’ up a lake? Why would he do somethin’ like that?” Applejack asked.

“She didn’t say. And the second time was only a few decades ago, where he was spotted in the Everfree Forest. He didn’t do anything that we know of.”

“So, what? He was just takin’ a walk?”

“I guess.”

“Even creatures from beyond the veil of our reality like to take a stroll sometimes,” Pinkie said.

“What did she say about his offer?” Rarity asked.

“She says it’s completely up to us. We just need to be really careful, and think it through before we accept it,” Twilight said.

“Ah don’t like it,” Applejack said.

“I say we take his offer. We have had some of our magic unlocked already; we may as well be complete,” Octavia said.

“Princess Luna said we should ask him a lot of questions about the magic before we let him do anything,” Twilight said.

“He’s probably gonna try an’ cheat us,” Applejack said.

“That’s her primary concern,” Twilight said, her brow furrowed as she folded the letter. “However, she said that we can trust his motivation. To a certain extent.”

“What extent?” Rainbow asked.

“Well, it makes sense he’d want to go against Discord. I mean, he did summon him against his will. Most of us would try to do something.”

“Hm. Ah still don’t like him,” Applejack said.

“Neither do I, but the way I see it, there isn’t much we can do.”

“We will simply have to keep watch for him, and react with caution,” Octavia said.

“Don’t you mean act with caution?” Rainbow said.

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The Empty Middle of Equestria

Chapter Thirty-three

The Empty Middle of Equestria

That night, the night of Luna’s response, and for the first time in weeks, their dreams passed without Vanilla Cream’s pollution. For many, there was finally peace. They woke the next morning to a mild rainstorm, and as they coasted over the top of the Everfree Forest, its canopy hissing in the drizzle, they were able to take in the scope of the wilderness they traversed. The forest was a fractured, dark shell under grieving clouds, and though they were a mere two days from the southern edge, the only notable aspect beyond was the misty teeth of what Twilight’s map labeled the Leaky Mountains, from which flowed Trottingham’s primary water source.

The day after, just after dinner, they passed the forest’s fuzzy, fractured borders, and, two days later, Trottingham slid into view. It was late morning when Applejack began taking them down. They crowded the ship’s front as Octavia explained the city, and it was immediately clear to her that all was not well.

“We should not be the only airship here. Trottingham is close to the center of Equestria, so it is the town through which the vast majority of intercity commerce passes. If we are alone up here, we very well may be looking at a ghost town.”

“Wait, why?” Twilight asked.

“Just look at it.”

On their side of the Leaky Mountains, Trottingham was nestled in a hilly, sun kissed dale, cut off from the sylvan wilderness behind them and straddling an expansive trough of desert. The town was mostly farmland, divided into pastel patches by dusty roads and small rows of squat buildings, and hemmed by gentle, light brown ridges of earth, cracked like eggshell in the sun. A system of dark, stone vines clung to the shredded mountains to the north—the remnants of the aqueducts—and extended into the town in broken segments, standing atop, or lying beside, black stone pillars breaking through the empty spaces. No water shimmered anywhere, and no ponies colored the streets. No smoke uncoiled in the air.

Compared to the glittering metropolis of Manehattan and the pillared majesty of Cloudsdale, Trottingham was a depressed basin of small, stout buildings. No specific structure stood out from the rest of them; each slatted roof looked identical to its neighbor, and with no ponies and only a smattering of inert cars to indicate population details, the town was nothing but a hollowed out relic. Only the villa, the vineyard, and the aqueducts gave color to the dull brown and green city.

“These aqueducts have been destroyed,” Octavia said. “I would not be surprised if there is no one left.”

“So what do we do?” Fluttershy asked.

“I think we should land anyway,” Rarity said. “Maybe if we can restore this area, ponies will come back.”

“It’s worth a try,” Twilight said.

“Where?” Applejack asked.

“Near the mountainside,” Octavia said. “If anypony is still around, they should be there.”

They slowly cruised over the desolate town, passing over a large, hilly area speckled with buildings and large patches of dark green, and bordered on one side by a small settlement of tents; the vineyard, Octavia said. She pointed to the other side of town, where a single, massive building sat behind a large, green grid. “That is Astra Villa. It has been owned and operated by the same family for generations.” She squinted at it. “I played a show there once. The family is not particularly friendly, but they liked me well enough.”

“Gee, who’da thunk?” Rainbow said.

“Very funny.”

There was a pause as they rumbled over the silent spread of buildings. “This place is a lot smaller than Manehattan,” Pinkie said.

“Many towns are,” Octavia said idly. “How many spells do you think you will need to cast, Twilight?”

“I think two might be able to do it,” Twilight said slowly. “One on each corner. That villa and the vineyard look about best, in terms of vantage points.”

“What about the aqueducts?” Pinkie asked.

“I don’t know, Pinkie. Those look really complicated.”

“I do not want to come across as needlessly negative, but fixing the aqueducts will be of little help if the river that feeds them is still inaccessible,” Octavia said. “And that will lead us deeper into the mountains. I do not think that we should do it.”

“It’s not like anyone’s even around to go thirsty,” Rainbow said, looking over the edge. “Seriously, I haven’t seen one pony yet.”

“There were tents by the vineyard,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, but no ponies.”

“Then that’ll make our jobs that much easier, won’t it?” Applejack said. They were heading down toward the mountain’s foot, toward a small, gray curve of tiny houses, built into a stone face. A cracked slab of concrete sat nearby, hanging over an overgrown slope to a gravelly ravine.

“Oh!” Rarity cried, jumping up a little.

“What’s wrong, Rarity?” Twilight asked.

“Nothing, dear. I just remembered something. Hang on.” She sat down, closed her eyes, and lit her horn. Her brows knit in mild focus.

“What’cha doin’?” Pinkie asked.

“Searching for Elements,” she said shortly. She was quiet for a moment, and her face creased up, as if suddenly concerned. She opened her eyes and looked around, then closed them again. “I feel something,” she said at last, stifling a giggle of excitement.

“You do? Are you sure?” Twilight asked.

“Very sure. It’s not a subtle feeling, darling.”

“What does it feel like?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s like someone has a string around my horn and is tugging at it.” She opened her eyes and looked around again. “And they’re tugging it up there.” She pointed into the snarled nest of ruined aqueducts.

“Well, we’re right here,” Applejack said. “May as well get it first. Now, yer absolutely sure, right?”

“Absolutely,” Rarity said. She looked at Pinkie and Fluttershy. “It’s a very good spell. Easy, too.”

Fluttershy blushed and looked away, but Pinkie gave a cheer as they touched down on the landing pad. They got off the ship and stepped onto the stone road connected to the airship lot, and for a while, walked around, stretched, and tested the ground beneath their hooves. They had been on the same wooden deck for six days.

They were only a quarter of the way up the mountain, but from their height, the city looked even emptier. From directly above, its size was reduced to a dimensionless square of rich browns and greens, like a photograph, but on the mountainside, each individual house and barn created a point of texture in the vast panorama. The air was clear under white smears of cloud, and the entire scene was still. Wooden buildings stood, dignified and fading in the sun, presiding over withering crops and untrodden streets. Not a single flash of reflected light hit them, not a single shadow moved. No wind stirred the dust at their hooves, and even the birds were gone.

From their vantage point, only one mountain was at the front, the others behind it and separated like jagged teeth. Rough, stone structures stuck out like gnarled tree roots, grasping empty air tens of feet out, where their other halves had snapped off. Moss and lichen grew on the bottoms, and suspended in the tangle, closer to the mountain, they could see large cylinders, some cracked open and others whole, like swollen fruit. On the mountain’s shoulder, underneath a small overhang of tight waterways, there rested a collection of huts, just as lifeless as the rest of the city. “Let’s see if there’s anyone up there first,” Twilight said.

They walked up a narrow road, winding along the mountainside and through the curved shadows of the cracked aqueducts. Up close, the damage was even more severe. Not a single drop of water darkened the rough-hewn stone, scabbed over with dried fungus and cracked perilously along bends and junctions. The supporting pillars had fared little better, some tilted dangerously to one side, others splintered toward the top, others merely crowned with shattered debris where their loads had collapsed. Their shadows fingered the road they traversed, and no one spoke. Having known, but never yet seen, the damage that had been done to the world, there was nothing to say.

The mountain road led upwards at a constant, gentle pace, and the only sound was their hooves plodding along, kicking gravel or shuffling dust up and back. Bushes and small trees surrounded the path, dry and unassuming, some with colorful crusts of dead flowers on the ground around them. A black arch of stone stood in the distance, and as they made their way to it, the first sound of music reached them on a light breeze.

When they passed under the arch, a weathered crest of two ponies on its keystone, they walked down a wide side street into a small park, a welcome break from going uphill. The music was louder, and they scanned the park slowly, looking for the source; they saw it sitting at a picnic table, shaded by a cluster of trees. She was a short, light lavender unicorn with a wild, silver and sky blue mane that framed her small head like a tangle of leaves; her eyes were closed as she held a flute in her forehooves, her horn alight, controlling the instrument. She was alone.

The music she produced was light and airy, but slow, and not joyful, and she played with only the barest hint of a smile on her face. It colored the empty air eerily, so out of place, but so enchanting, that it brought them with it; as they watched her play, it seemed they were fading out of the park. She was the first real pony they had seen, aside from each other, since Cloudsdale, and her presence aroused their excitement more than their suspicion.

Up close, they could see nests of wrinkles under her eyes and around her mouth. Her fur looked thin, and her mane was tarnished with tiny slivers of gray. When she finished, she opened her eyes and smiled peacefully at them. “Well, hello there.” Her voice was clear and youthful.

“You’re the first pony we’ve seen in town,” Rarity said simply.

She nodded. “There aren’t many of us left here. Up the mountain a ways, there’s a small settlement. I think the rest of the town’s abandoned, though. Nearly, at least.”

“I take it you can still access water up there?” Octavia asked.

“There’s a couple small ground springs up in some old mines, plus the water in the reservoirs.”

“Reservoirs?” Applejack said.

“The large tanks amongst the aqueducts.”

“Ah.”

She stood up and stretched, her joints popping as she did so. “I wasn’t expecting you all to visit.”

“You recognize us?” Rainbow asked.

“How could I not? You’re the Elements of Harmony.” She eyed Octavia. “You look familiar too. A friend of theirs?”

“Bestest friends forever!” Pinkie cried, slinging a hoof around Octavia’s neck.

“Why would you not expect us?” Twilight asked.

“Trottingham is dead. I assumed you’d see that and just pass us by.”

“We… considered it,” Applejack said. “But there’s somethin’ we need here. Up there, actually.”

“Up the mountain?”

“In the aqueducts,” Octavia said, peeling Pinkie off her.

“Hm. That could be a problem.”

“They look awful.”

“Oh, dear, they are. Ponies don’t go up into them beyond the reservoirs anymore.”

“I can see why.”

“What can you tell us about the rest of the town?” Rarity asked.

“Nothing. I haven’t been down there in more than a month.”

“So, what, you just sit here and play the flute all day?” Rainbow asked.

“I watch for airships,” she said. “And also scare away any parasprites that come by. But I like to bring my flute along, yes.”

“Why do you watch for airships?” Octavia asked.

She sighed. “I don’t really know. It’s something to do.”

“And you have a settlement along the mountain?” Rarity asked.

“Yes. Walk with me?” They followed her out of the park and back up the road. Near a place where the mountain slope curved inward, they could see the settlement more clearly. The huts were small and spaced far apart, and composed mostly of tree branches and pieces of stone.

“Doesn’t look like a very big settlement,” Rainbow said.

“There’s less than a hundred of us. We tried to start a new town, kind of halfheartedly, in my opinion. But what’s the point? We have water, and there’s enough food in town that we can have ponies gathering it without much trouble. We just have to hope the monster down there doesn’t decide to come up.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Rainbow said. “Stop right there. Nopony said anything about a monster.”

“I am not entirely surprised,” Octavia mumbled.

The mare nodded. “It’s been around the vineyard. We hope it stays there.”

“The vineyard. That’s where we need to go,” Rarity said.

“Well, if anyone is qualified to do something about it, it’s you.”

“What can you tell us about it?”

“Aside from that it’s huge? Not a lot. None of us have seen it up close.”

“Sounds awesome,” Rainbow said drily.

“At least it’ll be all of us this time,” Applejack said.

“Yeah, good one, AJ.”

“You’re going to try to fight it?” the mare asked.

“That’s what we do!” Pinkie said.

She didn’t comment, and led them up the mountain silently. The quiet pressed in on them, and even close enough to see the windows in the huts, it seemed the entire city was shrouded in a damp blanket of melancholy. They walked through a small, dilapidated fence, its posts stuck in cracks in the rock, a welcome sign hanging rakishly off one picket. The structures before them were small, graying, inexpertly built sheds with oblong windows and jagged doors. The air smelled lightly of cooked vegetables, and the quiet chatter of ponies surrounded them.

“This is our settlement. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“It looks pretty good, for something you just threw together,” Twilight said. “Uh, that kind of came out wrong.”

“You’re fine, dear.” She turned on Octavia. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Octavia Melody,” she said, inclining her head.

“The musician?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. Pleased to meet you. My name is Sandoz.”

“Ooh, that’s a neat name. Is it old-Equestrian?” Twilight asked.

“Yes, actually. It means ‘teacher’.”

“Teacher of what?” Pinkie asked.

“Nothing specific. Just ‘teacher’.”

“So,” Rarity pressed, tapping the ground with a hoof, “ponies don’t go up into the aqueducts.”

“Well, they’re broken apart a great deal,” Sandoz said. She walked them to a tiny, spherical shell of overgrowth and pulled the door open. “Care to come in for some tea?”

“That sounds heavenly,” Rarity said, taking the lead into her house. The interior was cramped, but cozy and warm, and Rainbow settled down on a large, chintz couch while Sandoz dug some saucers and cups out of a burlap sack in the corner.

“You’ll have to forgive the disarray. I’m not a homemaker.”

“You live alone?” Fluttershy asked timidly.

“Yes. I’m very close with my neighbors, but I like my space.” She went to a small, gas-powered stove and placed a kettle on it. “Yes, the aqueducts are ruined. If you need to go up in there, you have your work cut out for you. How deep will you be going?”

They looked at Rarity, who let her horn glow for a moment. “It’s difficult to say. It certainly isn’t close.”

“How deep do they go?” Applejack asked.

“Fairly deep. The aqueducts themselves are built on a bunch of ancient ruins. I know those go into the mountain interior, but I only went there once, when I was young. I wouldn’t know what to expect now.”

“I bet I can guess where we need to go,” Rainbow said.

“Is there anything dangerous in the ruins?” Octavia asked.

“No one’s seen anything.” She set the tiny dining table with their cups and napkins, and they sat around it on stones. “Been in town long?”

“We landed earlier today,” Twilight said.

“I see. I wish I could give you a warmer welcome than this, but…”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Rarity said, picking at a spot on the table. “If I’m honest, it’s actually rather nice to be somewhere like this. We just want to get in, do our spells, and get out. No funny business.”

“Spells?”

“To restore the ground,” Octavia said.

“Ah, yes.”

“We came outta the big city a while ago,” Applejack said.

The teakettle whistled, and Sandoz poured it out for them. “So you’d rather be somewhere rural for a while.”

“Exactly,” Rarity said.

“Where are we gonna stay, though?” Rainbow asked. She flicked her eyes to Sandoz, who smiled.

“Don’t look at me. I’m sorry, but there’s no room.”

“We can just take an abandoned house in the city,” Rarity said, and Rainbow looked at her with a quirked eyebrow. “What?”

“Not the kind of suggestion you’d usually make,” Applejack said.

“Perhaps not. But it makes perfect sense.”

“Ah ain’t questionin’ that, Rare.”

“So what are you gonna do when your reservoirs run out?” Pinkie asked.

Sandoz didn’t hesitate. “Move deeper into the mountains. Follow the water, repair the aqueducts if we can. Don’t worry about us. Trottingham folk are hardy.”

“What kind of crops do y’all grow here?” Applejack asked.

“Everything.” She shrugged. “Well, the usual stuff. Wheat, alfalfa, fruits and vegetables. Grapes on the vineyard, of course.”

“And monsters, apparently,” Rainbow said.

“Yes, and monsters.”

“Do you know when it appeared?” Octavia asked.

Sandoz sipped her tea and shook her head. “No, no. After everyone left, I’d assume. That’s when we first saw it.”

“And you say it’s huge,” Twilight said.

“Big enough you can see it from here, if it’s not blocked by something.”

“I hope we don’t have to fight it,” Fluttershy said.

“You know we will,” Rainbow said.

“Not necessarily. Those tents could be more policeponies,” Twilight said.

“Ah sure hope so,” Applejack said. “An’ this time—”

“We get it, AJ,” Rainbow said, her voice a little raised.

The table was quiet, and Rarity cleared her throat. “Lovely tea, Sandoz, darling.”

“Thank you. It’s my mother’s recipe.”

They finished quickly and stood, and Octavia cracked the door to look outside.

“We should probably be heading out,” Twilight said. “I’d like to get that vineyard taken care of before nightfall.”

“Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”

“Do you know of anypony that can lead us through the aqueducts?” Octavia asked. “Or at least point us in the right direction?”

“Let me think,” Sandoz said. “I can lead you to the entrance we all use, and probably take you a little bit in, toward the ruins. But I can’t lose sight of town—er, this tiny town, I mean. I don’t think I know anyone who can take you where you want to go.”

“We’ll make do,” Applejack said.

“I’d be happy to lead you to the entrance, though. When were you thinking of going?”

“As soon as possible,” Twilight said. “Would tomorrow be okay?”

“Sure. Come on by any time. I’ll be watching for you.”

“We will do our best to come early,” Octavia said. “I do not want the sun to go down before we get out of there.”

“Yeah, good point,” Rainbow said.

They thanked her for the tea and hospitality, and then left her hovel and descended the mountain road. The sun was high and the sky was cloudless, and by the time they had reached the ship, some of them had broken into a light sweat. They ate a modest lunch on the deck as they flew back over Trottingham.

The vineyard occupied the northeastern corner of town, covering a large hilly area that was angled perfectly to catch the majority of the sunshine. The sloping ground was furrowed and decorated with fluffy, green lines of grape vines, extending all the way across the massive, sun-kissed area in unbroken lines. A trio of buildings sat at the hill’s bottom; one lay separate on the other side of a chasm, connected to its neighbors only by a ramshackle bridge. Outside, a colorful gathering of tents waited, pennants hanging loosely, and dots of ponies moving among them.

They landed on a flat, dusty plain beside the outermost tents. The ponies among them were faded with dust and dirt, and looked at them with cautious eyes as they approached. A single mare stood out from the crowd, walking with ease and authority, parting the others just by her presence. She had a healthy brown coat and a thick, dark blue and red marbled mane that shined like a polished stone in the golden light. She was large, but stout, and her muzzle was lightly flecked with freckles. Clusters of grapes adorned her flanks.

She surveyed them quickly with a sharp expression before speaking, her voice like a reedy whip crack in the motionless air. “Who are you?”

“Elements of Harmony, here to handle your monster problem,” Rainbow said.

She narrowed her eyes at them all, lingering on Octavia. “And you’re a friend of theirs, I take it?”

“Yes,” Octavia said.

“Well, my name’s Vintage; I own this vineyard. Have for five years now.”

“What’s with the tents?” Rainbow asked.

“These are my employees, those that remained. We wanted to set up camp somewhere farther from here, but this is where the water is. I guess you already know about the monster.” She looked back at the tents, where a few ponies had stopped to watch them converse. Seeing her watching them, they hastily returned to their own affairs. “We’re stuck between the two right now.” She looked at each of them, making eye contact before looking at the next mare. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter and softer. “If you can actually do something about it, we would be very appreciative. I would be appreciative.”

“See, Applejack? This time, they need us.”

“Lay off, Rainbow,” Applejack grumbled.

“Nah, I don’t think I will. Not without an apology.”

“Settle down, you two,” Octavia said. “What can you tell us about it?”

“And I want it nice and drawn out,” Rainbow continued quietly.

“Ah said lay off, RD,” Applejack snapped.

“Stop it!” Octavia barked. “Your attention is needed here.” She turned back to Vintage. “My apologies. There is some unresolved business with some of us.”

Vintage snorted. “I can see that.” She looked at Rainbow and Applejack. “Can you listen to me now?”

“Yes,” Rainbow said sulkily.

“I myself haven’t seen it, but some of my workers have. They’ve been calling it a barrel golem.”

“That doesn’t sound very good,” Twilight said.

“Do you always interrupt ponies when they’re giving you information?”

Twilight blushed hotly, but then looked down and pawed the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you wanna try being a little nicer?” Rainbow asked. “We didn’t ask to come and save your flanks from some stupid monster.”

“Be quiet!” Rarity said. “Let’s just hear what Vintage has to say. Please.”

“As I was saying,” Vintage continued loudly, “it’s about twenty feet tall, give or take two or three, and composed entirely of barrels. My barrels, I believe. They’re formed in the rough shape of a pony.” She sighed. “And that’s all I know. No one has tried to chase it away that I know of, let alone fight it. As much as I want it off my property, I’m hesitant to harm it—since it’s made up of my belongings.”

“Barrels ain’t that expensive,” Applejack said.

“I only replaced them a couple months ago, though. They’re still good.”

“Not if they’re part of a golem!” Pinkie said, giggling. “A barrel golem!”

“It sounds funny when Pinkie says it,” Rainbow whispered to Fluttershy, who nodded.

“Yes, I know,” Vintage said. “Well, as I said, if you can do something about it, we would all be in your debt.”

“Ah don’t see that we got a choice,” Applejack said. “We gotta cast our spell up there too.”

“What spell?”

“Restorin’ the ground.”

“Oh, you’re doing that too? I would have thought the princesses would take charge of it.”

“One might think,” Octavia said.

Vintage considered for a time, looking at Twilight carefully. “As long as you know what you’re doing, go for it,” she finally said. “My vineyard was actually quite fortunate. We only have one split, close to the northeast corner.”

“Don’t worry, Vintage. We’ve done this several times,” Twilight said.

“Have at it, then.” She turned to indicate the three buildings behind the tents. “Those are my work buildings. Crushing, pressing, and bottling. Don’t worry about them.”

“What about storage?” Rarity asked.

“That’s across the vineyard.”

“You’re not thinking of having any wine here, are you?” Rainbow asked.

“No,” Rarity said. “I was just curious.” She flipped her mane indignantly and took a step past Vintage. “Shall we?”

“I won’t be going with you, if that’s what you’re saying,” Vintage said. “But you’re welcome to head in whenever you want.”

They hesitated for just a moment, and then passed her and walked through the tents. The ponies watched them from a distance, too shy to offer words of encouragement or advice, and when they came to the short fence around the vineyard’s outer edge, they had put the small camp well behind them.

They entered through a sagging gate, coated in faded whitewash, and crossed the bridge with some hesitation. It swayed uncomfortably as they went over it, its ropes fraying slightly where they were tied to their posts. They passed the buildings into identical rows of overripe, shriveling grapes, where they stood, ears cocked and noses to the wind. No sound reached them, save for the chirping of birds and the light shuffle of ponies behind them.

They walked down the row of grapes, slowly, looking from side to side at every break in the vines. “This place is really sufferin’,” Applejack said, examining a dried vine with a look of pity on her face.

“You ever grow grapes, Applejack?” Pinkie asked.

“Nope, but there was a family of farmers that stopped in Ponyville fer a few months who did. That was before you came along, Twi.”

“Oh, I think I remember them,” Rarity said. “The… what was their name? The Black Leaves, or something?”

“Vines, Rarity. The Black Vines. Nice ponies, mostly.”

“Mostly?” Twilight said.

“Well, every harvest has its bad fruits, an’ every family has its bad ponies,” Applejack said.

“What happened to them?”

“Packed up an’ left after a while. Ponyville just ain’t good fer growin’ grapes. Not quite enough sunlight.”

“Did they ever make any wine?”

“Ah dunno, maybe.”

“I heard they only made a hundred or so bottles before stopping,” Rarity said.

“Is there any left?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, darling, I have no idea.”

“Ah bet if there is, it’s darned expensive,” Applejack said.

“Not at all like this Trottingham vintage,” Rarity said.

“What do you know about wine?” Rainbow said.

“I’ll have you know that I am a connoisseur of sorts, and have tasted wines from all over Equestria. And I’m sorry to say, but this wine is hardly anything worth mentioning.”

“But the grapes are so tasty!” Pinkie said.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Rarity said. “The wine is sweet, but has no contrast, and no body; it’s like fruit punch. It doesn’t go with anything, except perhaps candy.”

“What wines do you like, Rarity?” Octavia asked.

“Well, I’m rather partial to the southern wines. For instance, there’s a little winery just on the border between Equestria and the minotaur lands that produces the most divine Sangiovese. Shipping it all the way to Ponyville is rather expensive, but, I assure you, it is worth every bit.”

“I have never been a fan of southern wines. Have you tried anything from near the coast?”

“Ugh, coast wines, stored in cellars below sea level? Every single wine I’ve had from that area is hardly more flavorful than vinegar.”

“You clearly have not had quality wines, then. I advise you try the Goldbreast Malbec; it is made by griffons.”

“On the coast?”

“Near it. They are, I believe, a few miles northeast of Hoofington.”

“I’ve heard griffon wines are too bitter for pony consumption,” Rarity said.

“That is completely untrue. They are very bitter, yes, but it is not enough to put one off her palate. I very much prefer bitter wines, though.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. All wines are bitter,” Rainbow said from above.

Rarity laughed loudly, and a bird flew out of a nearby bush, startled. “Sorry, darling; I don’t mean to sound condescending, but you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“Wine is an acquired taste,” Octavia said.

“Pfft. If I drank rainbows every day of my life, I’d say the same thing,” Rainbow said.

“Wouldn’t that be spicy, though?” Pinkie asked.

“That’s the point. It’s… never mind. Look, we’re almost to the top of this hill.”

They stepped over a small divot in the ground and spread out over the clear hilltop, looking over the vineyard for any signs of Vintage’s monster. “So do we go chasing after it, or what?” Pinkie asked.

“I don’t see it anywhere,” Rarity said.

“Maybe we should knock our spell out first,” Rainbow said.

“And risk that thing getting the drop on us?” Twilight asked.

“We’ll be watching for it.”

“We could be traipsing through these rows of grapes all day before finding it,” Rarity said. “You and Pinkie go ahead. We’ll watch for it, and if it gets too close, you can just stop. You can just stop, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Twilight said. She took a moment to look around, and when she began clearing away the errant weeds and bits of stone, the others crowded around the sides to look down into the vineyard. The furrows of grapes spread out from their position like links in a chain, all facing the sun so they could absorb it at its greatest intensity. They looked down and out, into the distance to try to catch a glimpse of the golem, but saw little amid the shadows on the ground.

For a while, the only sign of life on their lonely hill was the swishing of Twilight’s brush and Pinkie’s quiet steps as she shifted her weight. Even for her, it had become routine; it wasn’t long ago that waiting for Twilight to draw the sigil was enough to provoke a sigh or a moan, or a quiet song under her breath to pass the time.

“So, this an’ the villa,” Applejack said.

“That is what Twilight said,” Octavia said.

“You said you performed there once?” Rarity asked.

“Yes. Several years ago, I and three others. We performed at a garden party for the Astra family.”

“I feel like I’ve heard that name before,” Rainbow said.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Rarity said. “They’re only one of the wealthiest families in Equestria.”

“Ah haven’t heard of ‘em,” Applejack said.

“Well, you—er, us—Ponyville folk have little business in the affairs of the rest of the world.”

“So what’s so great about these villa ponies?” Rainbow asked.

“They are an old bloodline, and, as I said, very wealthy,” Octavia said. “I do not know how they initially got their money, but now, they are very heavily involved in magically-animated objects. The statues around the villa, I know, can come to life when their masters want them to.”

“Living statues?” Rarity said. “I haven’t heard that.”

“They act as defense for the villa. Against what, I have no idea, but the Astras created them themselves.”

“That’s freaking awesome,” Rainbow said. “Do you think they’ll let us see ‘em when we go over there?”

“I am not certain that they will even let us in. They are not very open to strangers.”

“Even us?” Fluttershy asked.

“I do not know. Perhaps they will be friendly, perhaps not.”

“You said they liked you, did you not?” Rarity asked.

“Yes, but my ensemble and I were invited.”

“If they see you again, maybe they’ll let us all in,” Applejack said.

“They liked me, but I did not say that we were friends. They might not even remember me.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” Fluttershy said. “I’m sure they do.”

“We’ll see soon enough,” Applejack said.

They stopped talking and refocused their gazes on the vineyard. Knotted ropes of dark green foliage corrugated the dry earth, split in the distance in a wide line that cut into the mountains and streaked past, but there were no signs of their golem. Spotted throughout the vineyard were dark blotches of buildings—employee quarters, they assumed. Octavia’s thoughts were on the villa, and the family that lived within. She remembered her performance well. The quietly dignified Astras, each dressed in sharp, black dresses and suits, nodding politely to the local movers and shakers as they were guided into the vast, manicured lawn. The animated statue, joints grumbling with each movement, bringing her a drink. Shaking hooves with the severe matriarch, her silver eyes shining like moons in the autumn evening.

“Um, is it just me, or are those grapevines trampled?” Fluttershy asked, pointing at a patch of dark green near the hill’s bottom.

“Uh, maybe,” Rainbow said. She squinted. “Yeah, no, it’s too far. I can’t tell.”

“There is something I don’t understand about all this,” Rarity said. “Last time Discord was released, he didn’t do anything like this. He just played around until we sealed him away. I know he’s a massive threat right now, but surely we would have seen some of that last time.”

“Maybe last time he just wanted to have fun,” Fluttershy said, her voice hopeful.

“But he’s the spirit of chaos; he’s always in the mood fer fun,” Applejack said.

“Perhaps last time, he was merely testing Princess Celestia’s defenses,” Octavia said.

“But that would mean he knew he would get out again soon,” Rainbow said.

“Perhaps he did.”

“I don’t see how he possibly could,” Rarity said.

“How did he get out again, anyway?” Applejack asked.

“No idea,” Rainbow said. “I don’t think even Celestia knows for sure.”

“I think I see something,” Rarity said sharply, immediately quieting them as they looked in the direction she indicated. “Down there; the rows are sort of shuffling.”

“Oh yeah, there’s somethin’ there, all right,” Applejack said. The clusters of grapevines were moving to and fro near the opposite end of the vineyard, by a large shack.

“How tall did Vintage say this thing is?” Rainbow asked. “Like twenty feet, right?”

“Twenty or more,” Rarity said, shielding her eyes. “But I don’t see anything for certain yet. The ground is too dark.”

They looked back at Twilight, who was nearing the halfway point for her sigil. A few birds flew overhead, and the ground was warm on their hooves.

Wine and Metal

Chapter Thirty-four

Wine and Metal

“See anything?” Rainbow asked.

The sigil was three quarters done, and tensions were high; shortly after dismissing Rarity’s sighting, things became still. Too still, Rainbow thought.

“Ah don’t see anythin’,” Applejack said.

Rainbow ruffled her wings in the warm air and tried to stand taller. “I’m gonna check this out from above.”

“Be careful,” Fluttershy said quietly, and Rainbow took off.

She flew a tight circle around the hilltop, looking down on its slopes; on the first pass, she saw nothing except the endless blotches of grapevines, but on the second, she stopped to watch a darker shadow near a hexagon of shacks in the far distance. She quickly landed and went to the edge of the hill, trying to find it again. “It’s out there, somewhere,” she said, pointing.

They watched for several minutes, the silence and stillness painful on their eyes, and slowly, a thick shadow rose over a line of dark green vines. With it, they could hear footsteps: heavy, wet sounds, like mud squishing. The ground trembled with each step.

“Hurry up, Twilight; that thing’s on its way,” Rainbow said, looking back at the sigil.

“Rainbow, get back in the air and track it,” Rarity said.

Rainbow grunted as she took off, eyes darting from row to row as she relocated the golem. From her height, she could see its dark form swaying back and forth as it stomped up the hill, but made out no details. The small circle of buildings was far behind it, empty and brooding in the unreal afternoon.

She flew closer to the ground, turning slowly around to face the golem from behind. As she neared, she saw its individual pieces, hundreds of single barrels loosely stuck together with magic she knew had to be beyond even Twilight’s capabilities. Dull brown mounds stacked on one another, they seemed to ebb and flow across the beast’s back as it moved uphill, occasional metal hoops catching the light like tiny flashes of carapace. A mesmerizing sea of fat, full barrels, endlessly bumping and rolling together, and accompanied by a heavy, powerful thud with each step it took. She thought she could see its prints in the ground behind it.

Raising her head from the golem quickly to check her friends, she saw them still staring, apparently transfixed. She flew back as quickly as she could, passing over the barrels in its head with a fearful burst of speed, lest it notice her. She landed again and turned immediately to Twilight, nearly finished. She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated.

“But she’s almost done!” She looked behind, and saw the beginnings of the brown monster appearing over the rails of grapevines. Her friends backed up slowly, and Octavia turned toward Twilight. “No, you don’t get this one,” she thought competitively, and let her voice snap as she spoke. “Twilight, it’s here.”

Twilight froze momentarily, her eyes glazed over, and the earth trembled powerfully. Her brush was motionless over the ground, only a small section of sigil left to finish. Rainbow looked back rapidly; the golem’s head and chest were visible on the hillside.

“Twilight, Pinkie, get ready!” Octavia commanded, approaching. Her voice was stern, but her face was not; Rainbow saw fear in it.

The golem took another step, and its lifeless head blotted out the sun. One massive, splintered and wine-stained hoof crushed a small bush on the edge of the hilltop, and the whole construction was over them, twenty feet of groaning, sloshing darkness, grandiose and fearsome.

Pinkie darted to the side, and Twilight exhaled and coughed weakly, slumping over herself. Rarity and the others raced from their positions, caught in the impulse of escape, lost on Rainbow, who was too far from the monster to do anything but freeze. Octavia slowly turned toward it, but there was no confidence in her movement, and Rainbow only watched, trembling. It wasn’t Discord, with his chatter and laughter, nor was it Spring-hoof Jack, with his sudden, fast appearances that ultimately did no more than terrify. She stepped back involuntarily as it stepped forward, bringing another hoof up to meet its partner on the hilltop.

Behind her, a set of hooves galloped to meet them, and a pea green stallion jumped into the middle of the panicking crowd. “Hurry, get out of here!” he commanded, but no one responded. Twilight stood, blinking slowly and impotently, while Pinkie gawked, her face frozen in a comical imitation of a silent scream. Rarity and Fluttershy had retreated to the back, while Applejack stood with Octavia, just beside the stranger, but doing nothing.

One more step, and the stranger raced forward. The ground quaked gently, and Rainbow smelled the heady tang of vinegar on the air. Her initial, paralyzing fear was slowly washing away, and she took a tentative step forward. Her eyes were fixed on their sudden ally, rushing headlong at the tremendous structure. As he came up to its leg, he swiveled quickly to plant a resounding kick on one of the casks, splitting it open and soaking the ground with dark red wine.

As he reeled back, slipping slightly in the mud, Rainbow blinked. She felt stupid, suddenly, standing by yet again in the face of danger. She shook her head and opened her wings. “C’mon!” she cried, taking to the air. Fluttershy cried out behind her, and she lunged at the golem. Below, the stallion broke another barrel while Pinkie babbled and Octavia called for order, and she realized, with sickening rapidity, that she had no idea what she was doing. Raising her forelegs instinctively, she slammed into a pair of barrels around its neck, deflecting off of them and spiraling gracelessly to the ground, landing on her back and forcing the air from her lungs.

As she tried to regain her hooves, she saw Octavia take a confident step to the golem, her brows knit. Before she could prepare for the sound, a thunderous explosion burst from high above, and from her spot on the ground, the sun caught the spray of barrel fragments and wine in a momentary web of viscera before it splattered the ground, sending up small clouds of dust and leaves.

As Octavia hopped back quickly, eyes racing to find another spot for her spell, Applejack ran forward to buck at its hoof, as the stranger had; one cracked open and spilled its contents on her, and she backed away, sputtering and coughing.

The stallion came forward once more to continue attacking the barrels, and Rainbow pushed herself up. With one more deep breath to steady her nerves, she took flight, angling herself toward the remnants of its shattered head. More barrels cracked beneath her, and she grabbed at the edge of one broken cask, trying to yank it free and help the fight in her own meager way.

“Rainbow, move!” Octavia shouted, and the pegasus swiftly dodged over the shell of its head and toward its front; another explosion filled the air behind her, pushing her out roughly, and another shower of splinters and wine cascaded onto the small scene.

“Watch out!” someone cried. She didn’t turn to see, but dipped quickly out of the way, her flight school training kicking in. Don’t look, just move; she had learned it several times. A barrel hurtled past her to split on the ground, sending its metal rings flying like rewards while wine flashed against Octavia’s face and chest.

She landed and rushed to Octavia, who backed away clumsily, coughing and trying to wipe at her eyes. Only the green stallion remained, still fervently kicking at its hooves, splitting barrels left and right, himself covered in wine and splinters. Rainbow looked at her friends. Pinkie was with Rarity and Fluttershy, cowering, while Twilight stood still, eyes glassy as she stared up at the headless construction.

One more step. The golem effortlessly lifted itself away from the stranger’s weak efforts, bringing its hoof down only a few feet from Twilight’s muzzle; she didn’t move, except to crane her neck higher and look into the dripping wine. Her friends called for her to run, but she didn’t respond.

The stallion raced to close the distance, and on his face, Rainbow saw dread. He looked her way quickly and kicked another couple barrels out from its leg. “Pegasus!”

It took her a moment to realize he was shouting for her, and she ran forward, into the golem’s shadow. “What?”

He broke another barrel, moving out of the way just in time to avoid a large piece flying out at him, crushed by the beast’s immense weight. “There are tarps covering the grapes downhill; grab one and bring it back, and hurry!”

“What?”

“Do it!” he ordered, turning and retreating out of the sagging, dripping area beneath the barrels.

“Okay, okay!” She flew out to its side, throwing another look at her friends. Octavia had recovered, and was squinting up at the thing’s chest, while Applejack wordlessly dragged Twilight away.

She sped down the hill, and another explosion crackled behind her. Ponies cried out, and Pinkie screamed shrilly, and Rainbow stopped at a yellowing tarp, pegged loosely to the dry earth. Grabbing it in her teeth, she tugged uselessly. She could hear the stranger’s work on the hilltop, but nothing else. Even her friends’ voices had gone quiet. She pulled once more, hurting her jaw.

“I need that tarp!” the stallion’s voice bellowed from behind, and she shouted an inarticulate curse at the simple knots that held it in place. She pulled a third time, weakly, and slumped to the ground. The fight had gone on for perhaps five minutes, but she felt exhausted and helpless, and tears beaded in her eyes as she looked back. The barrel golem looked as strong as before, motionless and menacing.

“Damn it, Dash, snap out of it! Can’t you see they need you?” She weakly struck the blanket with a hoof. “This is stupid. You can’t even hurt it.” Another set of thoughts entered her mind, and she closed her eyes, squeezing out a few tears as she did so.

One more step, one more explosion. She opened her eyes to see a frayed circlet of debris rain down. “If she can do it, so can I,” she thought angrily, facing the tarp again. “If she can do it… wait.” Her mind flashed back to their night in Canterlot. Princess Celestia opening her mind to magic, and Twilight teaching her some basic spells. She took a calming breath and called upon her memories of that night. “Telekinesis, Dash. Come on, you’ve done this before.” The blanket rippled in a breeze as she coated it with her own weak magic, and she smiled as she pulled at it, her strength not limited to her jaw, but her mind.

“I need that tarp! I need that tarp!” the stallion cried, not authoritative, but desperate. Rarity shouted something, and there was another, smaller, explosion.

Slowly, the pegs loosened from the ground, and she began a slow walk back, the white rectangle dragging behind her awkwardly. She was in a trance; she knew how to cast the spell, but had done so very few times, and knew that over-thinking it would render her abilities useless. As she moved, her eyes went to the golem’s backside. Pieces of its side were missing, though it still stood, and a green form appeared at the top of the hill briefly before galloping down to meet her.

The stallion said nothing, grabbing the tarp in his teeth and wrenching it from her, breaking her spell with a voiceless flourish. She followed him indignantly, to where Rarity and Pinkie were dragging Fluttershy, unconscious, to a safer distance. Octavia stood at an awkward angle, her flank sliced open, her delicate treble cleft bisected and bleeding.

“Hold one end and stay where you are,” he said, taking one corner of the tarp and diving between the golem’s legs. Rainbow kept her own corner tight in her mouth, her concentration for another spell shattered.

She looked up at the golem as he passed swiftly around its back hoof to rejoin her, and as she did, another thought entered her mind. “What has this thing actually done to us?”

He came back to her and yanked the tarp from her mouth, twisting the ends together and around a foreleg in a feat of dexterity that insulted her own clumsy hooves. With one quick look back at the others to make sure they were well away, he pulled, hard, and the leg started sliding out from behind the golem.

Without thinking, Rainbow joined in, grabbing at the tarp with her sore teeth and adding her own weight to the effort. It did little. The stallion yanked again, jostling her jaw, and she looked unhappily at Octavia, stumbling their way. She joined them with her own dark magic, enveloping the fabric in a gray sheath, pulling forcefully and steadily, like a machine.

The golem stumbled and tried to correct its balance, and the stallion and Octavia, both thinking the same thing, gave a stronger tug, again hurting Rainbow’s jaw, but forcing the golem’s leg even farther back.

“Rarity, Pinkie, get over here and help!” Octavia shouted angrily.

Rarity gave one fearful look to her friends, but ran over; Pinkie remained where she was, tending to Twilight, who was curled pitifully at Fluttershy’s side. Rarity didn’t hesitate to add her magic to Octavia’s, increasing the power of the pull even more, but as the golem’s leg slid out from beneath it, it gave a tug of its own, releasing the tarp from Rainbow’s mouth and yanking the stallion bodily into the group of mares, upsetting their spells. As it stumbled forward, the mares that remained in front of it scattered, Pinkie and Applejack pulling Twilight and Fluttershy away from the pounding columns of barrels.

Rainbow rubbed her jaw. She was tired and angry, and with the final, easy pull of the golem, what seemed their last hope of defeating it faded. She looked at her friends in the distance, her eyes finally settling on Pinkie. “Pinkie, now would be a great time for some of that godlike power!” she called, her mind buzzing with anger, with defeat, with hopelessness.

Pinkie looked up at her unhappily, then up at the golem. It had started moving once more, passing them by, its massive strides traversing the hilltop quickly.

“Pinkie! Do something!” Rainbow cried. She tried to follow it, but her heart was not in it, and she could not keep up. Octavia was behind her, hobbling on a bleeding leg, her eyes unfocused on the colossal brown mass. When it stopped moving, Rainbow did too, surprised. Then she saw why.

It was leaking. On the edges of its holes, the barrels were shattered and empty, but those closer to the middle bled rich, red wine, their slats swelling away like inflating balloons, the metal rings pressing grooves into their breaking bodies. She watched as the dark red and purple gushes of liquid ran in splashing curtains onto the already soaked ground, pooling around their hooves. The golem shuddered, the sound of its wooden units clacking together mystifying and unnerving, and as the wine slowed down, it was clear that the fight was over. The empty barrels fell away like dead leaves from a tree, rolling down the hill, until all that remained were the crude stacks that formed its hooves: simple pyramids of inert barrels.

Pinkie exhaled roughly and backed away, trembling. There was silence for about a minute before anyone spoke.

“Is everyone okay?” It was the green stallion, soaked with wine. He moved among them slowly.

“I’m okay,” Rainbow said, and Applejack nodded in agreement.

“Twilight and Fluttershy are not okay,” Octavia said, limping over. Her stance was weak, and Rainbow leaned in to support her. She moved away.

“Twilight?” Appleajck asked nervously.

Twilight was again standing, still staring lifelessly. “I’m…” Her lips quivered for a second, and she turned abruptly to throw up onto the ground.

“Fluttershy is unconscious,” Rarity said, and the stallion made his way to her. He knelt by her side and examined her, checking her pulse and prodding her limp body. “No broken bones, just unconscious.”

“What happened?” Rainbow asked.

“She was hit with a metal hoop,” Octavia breathed. “And Twilight was struck as well. I did not see with what.”

“Unicorn, let me check you,” the stallion said, and Twilight complied as he felt her, much the same as he had Fluttershy. “This needs medical attention. You have two broken ribs.” He looked over at Rainbow. “Someone, bring me the tarp.”

Rarity levitated it over, and he began tearing strips off it and wrapping them around Twilight’s midsection. She made no sound as he splinted her, and when he was done, he inspected her once more.

“Try to cough often, so fluid doesn’t collect in your chest cavity.”

Twilight gave an experimental cough and winced. “It hurts.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing to do about that.” He went to Octavia. “Gray pony?”

“I will be fine,” she said, but allowed him to inspect her anyway.

“As long as you keep that wound clean, you’ll be fine,” he said. “The cut is not too deep. Pink pony?”

Pinkie only shook her head.

He looked her over quickly, then Rainbow, then Rarity. “We must return to Vintage.”

“No!” Twilight cried, coughing. She sat down, and Applejack rubbed her back. “I mean, we haven’t finished our spell yet.”

“Yer not in any condition to do that spell today, darlin’,” Applejack said gently. “Rainbow, help me carry her.”

“I can walk fine,” Twilight protested, struggling to her hooves and then falling down again.

“Twilight, you have two cracked ribs, plus whatever else. Just let us help,” Rainbow said.

“Pink pony, help me carry the yellow pegasus,” the stallion said, and Pinkie wordlessly helped him lift her up, at first slinging her over his own back, but then trading to Pinkie’s when it became clear he couldn’t hold her. “Follow me,” he said, limping down the hill.

Twilight took one last look at the abandoned site, the dark ground strewn with splintered barrels, and allowed her friends to help her away.

“Okay, who are you?” Rainbow asked after a while. They were well on their way down, but the tents were still far away, and the sun was beginning to set in front of them.

“Just a humble worker,” he said.

“No way, nuh-uh. I’m not believing that. No ‘humble worker’ just jumps into the fray like that.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, but we have experience.”

“Is that so?”

“We have faced things like this before,” Octavia said.

“Where?”

“Manehattan,” Rainbow said.

“Ah, yes. Spring-hoof Jack.”

Rainbow looked at him, shocked. “Seriously? I could’ve believed you before that one, you know. How do you know about…” She smiled in spite of herself. “Wait. Are you one of them?”

“One of what?”

She leaned in to whisper to him. “Secret agent pony?”

He laughed heartily, his rustic voice loud in the silent vineyard. “Now what makes you think such a thing exists?”

“We saw the same thing in Manehattan, when Spring-hoof Jack came at us. A group of strangers came out of nowhere and kicked his butt.”

“They said they were apart from the police force, but still workin’ in concert with the princesses,” Applejack said. “Ah remember them. Didn’t really give it much thought, to be honest.”

The stallion nodded. “Very well.”

They walked on slowly, and Rainbow looked at him. He was short and muscular, his green coat dull and sticky with wine, his graying mane an unkempt bird nest of spikes and swoops, a premature crescent of baldness sitting on its crown. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“So, are you gonna admit you’re a secret agent?” she pressed.

“Oh, that. If it helps you sleep at night, then yes. I am a secret agent.” He glanced at her. “I’m part of a secret organization that spans the entire globe, in charge of keeping the world safe from magical anomalies like that golem.” He smiled. “Happy?”

“Psh. Yeah, right.”

“Your idea, not mine.”

She shrugged. “Sounded cool, though.”

“So what were you doing on that hilltop?” the stallion asked.

“We have a spell we were trying to cast,” Twilight said quietly. “Tooooooo bring the world back together.”

“I see.”

Twilight stopped moving, and Rainbow faltered. “I don’t feel good,” she mumbled.

“How do you feel?” the stallion asked.

“Dizzy. I think I might have a, uh, a headache or somethin’.” She opened her mouth to dry heave.

“You might have a concussion,” he said.

“A concussion?” Rarity repeated. “Is it serious?”

“I cannot say,” he said. “However, I would be more worried about your unconscious pegasus.”

“Fluttershy,” Rainbow said.

“Yes, Fluttershy.”

“What ‘bout you, Pinkie? Yer bein’ uncharacteristically quiet over there,” Applejack said.

“I’m fine,” she said dully.

“Uh, beggin’ yer pardon, but it sure don’t sound like it. What’s wrong?”

Pinkie only shook her head in response, and Applejack was quiet for the time.

When they reached the tents, the sun was just at the edge of the horizon, and Vintage was speaking to a pair of workers.

“Madam Vintage,” the stallion called, getting her attention.

“What is it? Oh my goodness, what happened?” She rushed over to them and took in the scene. Twilight was entirely relying on Rainbow and Applejack to carry her, and Fluttershy had made no recovery. Octavia’s flank was caked with blood and dust, and the stallion moved with a serious limp.

“The golem,” he said, and she gasped.

“Did you fight it?”

“We destroyed it,” Rainbow said, giving Pinkie a sidelong look.

“But many of us are hurt,” he said.

She thought for a second, and when she addressed him, her voice was firm and commanding. “Take them back to my house, get the injured ones in beds. Do whatever you have to do—feed them, clean them, anything—then come back here. Inform the workers that they can go back to their homes.”

He nodded and turned back toward the vineyard. “Come along. It’s not far now.” They followed him slowly back out of the tented area, over the tiny bridge, and into a small cabin, similar to the houses in Ponyville. The inside smelled of stale dust and dead flowers, and they felt strange entering it with the stranger. He led them to a bedroom, where they rested Fluttershy. He checked her pulse and breathing. “She’s fine for now. Make sure her head remains tilted back so her airways remain clear.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes.” He took them to a second bedroom, next to the first, and put Twilight to bed. “You need to stay here. Get plenty of fluids, and don’t exert yourself.” He turned to Pinkie and Applejack. “Watch her.”

“Will she be okay?” Applejack asked.

“In time. Just be sure she stays rested. I need to head back.”

“Already?”

“What about Octavia?” Pinkie asked.

“It’s just a cut. Clean it out and put a bandage on it.” He trotted out of the house, and Octavia entered the room, her face downcast and respectful.

“How are you, Twilight?”

“I’m… no,” Twilight said, shaking her head lightly.

“What is wrong?”

Twilight turned to look at Applejack and Pinkie. “Uh… uh… I wanna have privacy with this pony here.”

Octavia looked to the others. “Watch for Vintage. Tell her what is happening when she arrives.”

“You gonna be okay, Twilight?” Applejack asked.

Twilight shook her head, fraying her mane across the dull beige pillow. “I wanna talk to Octavia.”

“I will watch her,” Octavia assured. When they were alone, Octavia looked closely at Twilight. “What is bothering you?”

Before she had prepared herself for the talk, Twilight was crying. She watched dispassionately as Twilight stared at the ceiling, her eyes leaking across her fur. She didn’t wipe them away, and slowly came to a stop on her own. Her lips trembled as she started to speak, and faltered. She swallowed, and tried again. “I’m drowning,” she whispered.

Octavia moved closer. “What do you mean?”

“It all came back to me now, just now. When we were up there.”

“A flashback?”

Twilight shivered and sobbed again, nodding. She brought a hoof to her face, slowly, and grimaced with the pain it caused her chest. She coughed. “I coulda sworn I was over it. I really could have.”

“It is not something one overcomes easily.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t continue, and looked back at the ceiling.

Octavia sat down. “I do not know the details of what you have experienced, so I cannot try to understand how you feel. However, I want you to know that you are not alone. You and Rarity have talked about it, I know. And you and I have talked, to a lesser extent.”

“What are you saying?” Twilight asked dully.

“I want you to understand that you have friends here, who are looking out for you. I too am haunted by my past, and I know how flashbacks feel.” She stopped briefly to look out the window. She was uncomfortable, opening herself to Twilight. “I suppose, what I am trying to say, is that I am here for you. If you need to share, and do not want to do so with the others, you need only ask, and I will listen.”

Twilight sniffed loudly, and blinked away her tears. “Thanks.”

Octavia regarded her. She could hear the others in the other room. “Is that why you froze up on the hilltop?”

“Yeah. Flashback. I… I’m not really sure why, now that I think about it. Kinda silly.”

“You said that you were drowning. Why is that?”

Twilight didn’t answer.

“Are you afraid that you will never recover?”

Twilight nodded, then closed her eyes, squeezing more tears. “I just want to get over it, Octavia. Is that too much to ask?”

Octavia sighed. “Is it?” “I am sure that you will get better in time.”

Pinkie joined Rarity in the other room, while Rainbow went with Applejack to wait for Vintage. Fluttershy still slept, and Pinkie still moped.

“I’m sorry, Pinkie, but I just don’t see what the problem is,” Rarity said. “Why did it take so long for you to do something?” In her mind, guilt lanced at her, for she too had waited.

Pinkie sighed, but looked into her eyes as she responded. “I don’t want to have this much power, Rarity. Remember what Celestia said? I have enough power to rival even her. But I don’t want to rival anypony. Back before I knew I was magical, I could just do things, and nopony cared. I could make ponies happy however I wanted, and it didn’t matter, ‘cause I was just little ol’ Pinkie. Nopony questioned it. But now, ponies only want me to use my power for mean things, like killing that barrel monster.”

“But Pinkie, that thing needed killing,” Rarity said.

“How do you know? What if it was just trying to go for a walk or something, and we attacked it? How would you feel if you were a big pony-golem-thing in a world where everything else was tiny? How would you feel if everything ran from you or attacked you? And whenever you go on a walk, just to relax or see the sky or whatever, everyone instantly tries to be mean to you?”

Internally, Rarity had to concede Pinkie’s point. The golem hadn’t actually done anything except walk toward them. “It was going to ruin our spell,” she eventually said, feeling shame at the excuse.

“It wasn’t her fault, though. She was so big, and didn’t have a face; she probably couldn’t even see where she was going. She didn’t know we were there.”

“That’s certainly no reason to let her destroy our work and endanger our lives,” Rarity said. She looked over at Fluttershy, still motionless.

“I just don’t like having the power to do these things,” Pinkie said. “I don’t want to hurt ponies.” She smiled a little, her eyes recapturing their characteristic gleam. “I want to make them smile, and laugh, and dance! I want to cheer ponies up, not destroy them!”

“You’re comfortable using your magic when you and Twilight do the sigil,” Rarity said slowly.

“That’s different,” Pinkie said.

“How?”

“I… I dunno. It just is.”

Applejack stopped Rainbow by the dilapidated bridge. The pegasus had been giving her looks all the way over, and she felt tension coiling in her gut, still, from days earlier. “Okay, Rainbow. Ah know you an’ Ah got a job to do, but Ah’m tired of us walkin’ on eggshells ‘round each other. Ah wanna talk this out.”

“Talk what out?” Rainbow asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“Come off it, sugarcube. Ya think Ah can’t tell yer still sore ‘bout our argument?”

Rainbow looked down. “Yeah, all right.”

Applejack looked at her. In the sunset, her eyes looked dark and judgmental, and she breathed slowly through her nose.

“What? What are you waiting for?”

“Ah’m waitin’ fer an apology. Still.”

“I already apologized,” Rainbow said quietly.

“We both know you didn’t mean it.”

Rainbow’s lips curled upwards momentarily. “Maybe you should apologize for nagging at me so much. It was just a dumb mistake, okay? You’re treating it like it’s some huge betrayal of trust, or something.”

“Ain’t it? Y’almost killed yerselves in that consarned snow tube, an’ ya didn’t even tell us what was goin’ on. That’s pretty selfish, RD.”

Rainbow pawed at the ground. “We weren’t thinking about that.”

Applejack sighed. “Ah know. But… Ah just feel scared. Scared fer you, scared fer us. This ain’t Ponyville no more. Runnin’ off on a whim like that can get a pony killed. It almost did.”

Rainbow sighed.

“Can you understand where Ah’m comin’ from, Rainbow?”

“Yeah, I can.” She nodded. “I totally get it, AJ.”

“So…”

“I’m really sorry. I should have been smarter, but I wasn’t.”

Applejack breathed out. The tension was beginning to loosen. “Ah forgive ya. Everyone makes mistakes. Just don’t do it again, ya hear?” She moved to hug Rainbow, but the pegasus shied away.

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I apologized, but it’s your turn now.”

“Apologize fer what?”

“For being such a nag about all of this,” Rainbow said, frowning. “For pushing and pushing and pushing at it. And demanding I apologize, earlier on. That sucked, Applejack.”

“Ah was upset, RD. Can’t ya get that?”

“I get it, sure, but you didn’t have to be so nasty about it.”

Applejack watched her closely. She looked away as Rainbow continued.

“I already felt like dirt, you know? I felt bad about freaking you girls out, and for screwing things up with the police, and all that. I was… I was just hoping for some kindness, okay?”

Applejack nodded slowly, and Rainbow sniffled. She still didn’t turn around.

“I know I don’t usually get like this. It’s just this, and that damn monster up there, and now Fluttershy and Twilight are hurt, and… like you said, we’re not in Ponyville anymore, you know? I hate admitting it, but I need you, AJ.” Her voice cracked. “I need all of you. I thought I could handle anything, but I can’t. Not alone, anyway.”

“Rainbow…” She thought. She had seen her friend cry a few times, and badly, but she never got used to it. It always felt like an insult to Rainbow’s usual character to hear the vulnerability she knew was inside take voice.

“I love you girls so much, a-and it makes me feel like such crap when I do stupid shit like that.” She took a ragged breath in. “I just wanna go back to how things used to be.”

Applejack placed a hoof on the quivering spot between her wings. “We can always go back, RD. We’re in a tough patch right now, but it’ll pass. You know that.”

Rainbow nodded. “Thanks, Applejack.” She turned and embraced her, and Applejack returned it with a strong hug of her own.

“Ah love ya too, Rainbow. An’ Ah’m sorry fer makin’ ya feel that way.”

Rainbow sniffed and snorted into her mane. “It’s okay.” They disconnected after a minute and kept walking, humbled by the outpouring of emotion. When the tents were in sight, Rainbow looked askance at Applejack. “Uh, but not, like, marefriend and marefriend love.”

Applejack grinned. “No, Ah know.”

When they returned with Vintage, Twilight was already feeling better, and the workers were beginning the tiresome process of returning to their houses on the vineyard. Octavia cleaned and dressed her wound before helping Vintage in the kitchen, and entered Twilight’s room with a quartet of sandwiches balanced on her head.

At her odd appearance, Pinkie immediately broke into raucous laughter. “Octy, you—”

“Name,” Octavia corrected sternly.

“Octavia, you look sooooooo funny! It’s like a sandwich hat!” She gasped, and they braced themselves for the explosion of talking they knew was to come. “Oh my gosh! I just thought of the best party favor ever! Hats, but made out of food!”

Rainbow and Applejack exchanged amused looks, and Twilight watched with confusion as Pinkie rambled. Octavia passed out the sandwiches, keeping none for herself, and when Pinkie finished, a full minute later, she looked at them with eager eyes.

“Ah think it’s a great idea,” Applejack said carefully, not wanting to tarnish Pinkie’s sudden good mood.

“If we have enough time after finding the Element, perhaps we can,” Octavia said cautiously.

Pinkie beamed at her, and Applejack spoke up.

“Yeah, uh, what’re we gonna do ‘bout that, anyway?”

“Oh no!” Twilight cried. “We can’t get it tomorrow! Not without Fluttershy.”

“Not without you either,” Rainbow said.

“She is right,” Octavia said. “Someone will need to tell Sandoz that we will not be seeing her tomorrow.”

“Oh! Oh! Pick me! I wanna go see her again!” Pinkie cried.

“Ah’ll go with ya,” Applejack said.

Octavia nodded to them, and they exited. They could hear them speaking with Vintage in the other room. Since returning to her home, and finding it undamaged, her mood had improved, though she still addressed them with a certain distance.

“So how long do you think we’ll have to wait?” Rainbow asked.

“Longer than we would like,” Octavia said. “While Fluttershy is unconscious, we can do nothing for Twilight.”

“What about you heal her? You’re pretty powerful.”

Octavia shook her head. “I would dare not. I do not know anything of healing magic.” She looked up to see Rarity enter. “How is Fluttershy?”

“Still no change. I’m really starting to get worried,” Rarity said. “And how are you, Twilight?”

“Little better,” Twilight said mildly. “We were just talking about what to do about the Element.”

“Ah, yes. I hope we don’t have to wait too long.”

“You don’t know any healing magic, do you?” Rainbow asked.

“Me? Goodness, no. I’ve never been good enough for something like that.”

Rainbow sighed. “Guess we just gotta wait it out.”

No one spoke, and Twilight closed her eyes as she laid her head back on the pillow.

Rarity cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t help with the golem, girls.”

“I’m sure you did fine,” Twilight said, not opening her eyes.

“I didn’t want to say anything, but I was wondering about that,” Rainbow said. “What happened?”

“I don’t really know. I think I just froze up. It was terrifying, you know.”

“It was,” Octavia said. “I was also afraid.”

“You?” Twilight asked.

“I am only a pony.”

“I’m just happy that secret agent pony was there to help us out,” Rainbow said.

“Yes…” Rarity said. “Yes, thank goodness.”

“What’s wrong, Rarity?” Twilight asked.

“I’ve been thinking about that, actually. And… I don’t like it.”

“What?”

“If it wasn’t for that secret agent—and I’m not entirely convinced that’s what he is, Rainbow, darling—I really don’t think we would have stopped that thing.”

“I have been pondering the same thing,” Octavia said. “We were all too slow to react. And some of us did not react at all.”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight whispered. “I really am.”

“I was actually thinking of Fluttershy.”

“But she’s right,” Rarity said. “We did quite poorly.”

“Speak for yourself,” Rainbow said.

“I am.”

They were silent for a second. “We will not always have ponies around to help us with things like this,” Octavia said. “We were fortunate today, but we cannot rely on that. We need to learn to overcome our fears.”

Twilight sighed, and they looked at her. “I agree,” she said. “We can’t keep on going like this, freezing, uh, every time somethin’ scary comes up.”

“We are no longer just beginning our adventure. Discord is on the move once again, restarting an army, and we are nowhere near Canterlot.” Octavia paced the room, still limping. “If Twilight’s letters are correct, then things like this are happening all over Equestria, and the princesses expect us to handle it on our own. I am not saying that it is right, only that it is so.” She took a moment to order her thoughts. “Trottingham is nearly dead, and Cloudsdale was left in the care of the police. Who knows what the other cities are experiencing. If we cannot overcome our problems, then we may as well return home right now and tell Princess Celestia to concede her throne.” She looked at Rarity. “We have a job to do, each and every one of us. Manehattan was difficult, and Cloudsdale was a learning experience, but now, we are running out of excuses. We need to rise to this occasion.”

“What if some of us can’t?” Twilight asked. She thought of herself and Fluttershy.

“Then this is for nothing,” Octavia said simply.

“Do you really believe that?” Rarity asked.

“Yes.”

It was an hour before sunrise when Octavia woke up with a start, shaking and sniveling. She ran a trembling hoof over her disheveled mane, and rested her head on the hard, uncovered floor. Her injured flank burned, and she turned over, replaying the fight in her mind. She had been initially afraid, and her slow reaction simmered in her mind with the rest of the negativity, dredged up freshly by her dreams.

She lay back, watching the dark ceiling. She had done it more times than she could count, in hotels across Equestria. The night before a show, knowing she should be asleep, she would instead lie on top of the foreign bed, as tense as her instrument. The last time she had been in Trottingham, to perform for the Astra family’s garden party, she had spent the night in a tiny, cheap hotel next to an airship lot, alone. The play of airship lights and the sound of engines overhead kept her company all night, and she wound up watching the sunrise from the freezing windowsill, just beside the air conditioning vent. “I never did get to visit the vineyard, though. So there is that.”

She could hear little. Her roommates’ breathing, the night softly purring with crickets and sighing wind, Vintage snoring on the other side of the house—she had volunteered to take the couch while Twilight and Fluttershy recovered. She got up to go to the window, and stopped at another noise: a shuffle, as faint as the light at the edge of the horizon, in the other room. She listened for a minute as it repeated, always at odd intervals, always coming to rest immediately after beginning.

She edged the door open, stepped into the hall, and carefully entered the abutting room. Rainbow and Applejack were snuggled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, and she moved around them to see Fluttershy.

In the dim starlight, she could see the contours of her face and mane, and they moved in a single, restless jerk. “Fluttershy?” Octavia said softly, raising a hoof to prod her.

Her eyes slowly opened, and Fluttershy looked around, anxiety buckling her brows into a pained line.

“It is I, Octavia. You are somewhere safe.”

She tried to sit up, but Octavia placed a hoof on her to hold her down. “Octavia? What’s going on?”

“You fell unconscious during the battle with the barrel golem. Do you remember it?”

Fluttershy nodded. “How… how long have I been, um, out?”

“Only a few hours. It is the very early morning, the day after.” She looked around at the sleeping pair on the floor. “Rainbow, Applejack, wake up.”

They stirred uncomfortably, and Rainbow let out a loud yawn. “What the hay? It’s still dark.”

“Fluttershy is awake.”

At her words, they started up to stand at Fluttershy’s bedside, looking at her worriedly, asking how she was doing.

“Give her space. She has just woken up, and is still confused,” Octavia said. “Someone, go wake up Vintage.”

“Ah’ll do it,” Applejack said, trotting out of the bedroom.

“So how do you feel?” Rainbow asked.

“Um… my head hurts. But I think I’m okay,” Fluttershy said.

The door opened again, and Applejack and Vintage entered. They checked on her, giving her a glass of water, checking her pulse, asking whether she was hurt. Octavia felt bad for Fluttershy; she could see her trying to shrink under the sheets, uncomfortable with the attention being given to her.

When they were finished, the sun was halfway over the horizon, and Fluttershy went back to sleep with a sigh. Vintage did not go back to sleep, choosing instead to go out into her vineyard and assess damages.

While Vintage was out, Octavia prepared breakfast. She hadn’t gone back to sleep either, and spent a couple hours outside, enjoying the cool, central Equestrian weather. It wouldn’t last; summer was less than a month away.

Everyone was relieved to see that Fluttershy had woken during the night, and Rainbow had to hold Pinkie back from having a preemptive recovery party. Twilight too was feeling better, and though she was still in pain, her concussion had vanished. She took her breakfast in bed, and her friends stayed in her room to keep her company.

“Until Fluttershy is feeling better, I advise against having her heal you,” Octavia said.

“Ah’m with her on that one,” Applejack said. “Ah’m sorry, Twi, but it’s best you just wait.”

“I’m really sorry, Twilight,” Fluttershy said, head hung. “If I had just been more careful.”

“It’s not your fault, Fluttershy,” Twilight said. “It could have been any of us.”

“How long until she is able to heal you, though?” Rainbow asked. “I mean, I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Fluttershy, but without Twilight, we’re kind of stuck here. We can’t go into those aqueducts, and we can’t do any spells.”

Fluttershy only bowed her head again.

“I think it’ll be a couple days, at least,” Twilight said. “Brain injuries tend to leave their mark on a pony’s magical abilities.”

“So what can we do while Fluttershy recovers?” Octavia asked.

They looked at one another, thinking, for several minutes. “Oh, I got it!” Pinkie cried, jumping in place. “The villa!”

“We can go down there an’ get acquainted with that snobby family,” Applejack said, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds good. We won’t need ya fer that, Twilight.”

“Okay,” Twilight said, a little crestfallen. “Go on ahead. I had kind of hoped to go with you, but… well, anyway. Yes, yes, go ahead.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Fluttershy asked.

Twilight sighed. “I’ll live, Fluttershy. You girls just focus on getting the villa ready for a spell. Don’t worry about me.”

After breakfast, Rainbow went out to find Vintage and tell her they were leaving for the day, with Fluttershy staying behind to look after Twilight. After going in briefly one final time to say goodbye, they left her alone in her bed, and Fluttershy to stand beside her. She turned, ignoring the pain in her ribs, to watch the ship fly away from the window.

When it was out of sight, she waited a few minutes more, then slowly reoriented herself under the comforter. She sighed and tried to get comfortable, boredom already creeping in. Fluttershy looked at her with a mild blush, and Twilight forced a smile. “Sorry, Fluttershy. I’m afraid I’m not the best company right now.”

“Oh, it’s okay, Twilight,” Fluttershy said quietly. “You’re injured.”

“Yeah.” She thought back to her conversation with Octavia. “That’s what it is.”

It took Twilight an hour of assurance that she was okay before Fluttershy agreed to leave her alone. She hated to admit it to herself, but the pegasus’ company did more to sour her mood than uplift it. The constant shyness, the apologies, the awkward silences, all broken by occasional bursts of forced optimism; it was too much, and Twilight saw through it. Neither was comfortable in her position, and both were scared to speak freely.

At noon, Vintage came into her room with a vase of flowers, which she set on the windowsill. “I thought you had a friend here to look after you.”

“She’s outside,” Twilight said shortly.

“Ah. So, how are you feeling?”

“Bored.”

“Mm, yes, the eternal boredom of recovery. I know your pain.”

Twilight looked up at her with an involuntary smile. “You do?”

“I was in the hospital a few years ago for a broken leg.”

“What happened?”

“Accident in the bottling building. I fell off a stack of barrels.”

“That must have hurt.”

“Tons. But, that’s history.” She sighed and paced the room. “I know you’re not doing too great, but you seven actually did a really good job with the golem. I have no idea what we would have done if you hadn’t shown up.”

Twilight dropped her smile. “We’re happy to help.”

“I know you’re the Elements of Harmony, but I didn’t know you knew how to fight monsters like that.”

“We have a little experience.”

“Have you run into Discord yet?”

“Yeah, a couple times.”

Vintage uttered a light gasp, and her eyes lit up. “What’s he like?”

“It’s kind of hard to tell, actually. The first time, he was really annoying.” She thought for a moment. “Pinkie thought he was funny, though. He was a real joker. But this time… none of that. He’s pretty scary, to be honest.”

“But you fought him and survived.”

Twilight gave her a weak smile, and Vintage sat down. “Yeah, we’re all okay.”

“What was the golem like? If you don’t mind talking about it, that is.”

“No, it’s fine.” She paused. She wasn’t sure why she had said it; she wasn’t comfortable discussing it with the pony in her room—the pony who had, up to that point, been cold and authoritative with them, not curious and pleasant. “I was trying to cast my spell when it showed up, and I was concentrating so hard that I barely even noticed anything until Rainbow Dash screamed at me to get out of there. And… well, then we fought.”

“And how was that?”

Twilight recalled her time with Octavia the day before. It was still fresh, and the memories it invoked still smoldered, newly stirred up by the sudden appearance of yet another horror she couldn’t handle. Even sitting in the bed, the sun up, alone with Vintage, she could feel herself shrinking inside.

“You all right? You look sick.”

“Oh, it’s… this whole thing,” Twilight said lamely. She waved a hoof to dismiss the thoughts.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No, I’m okay.” She looked back to the window and sniffed. “Thanks, though.”

Vintage shrugged. “I never thanked you for saving my vineyard. I truly appreciate it.”

Twilight forced a smile. “It’s what we do.”

“You suffered the most for it,” Vintage said, and Twilight shrugged.

“Do you know the green stallion that helped us?”

Vintage thought. “Well, his name is Loose Threads, Threads for short. He’s a picker, I think. But I don’t know anything about him.”

“Hm. Rainbow thinks he’s a secret agent.”

Vintage barked a loud laugh. “Oh, goodness. That’s rich.”

Twilight giggled too. “I know. She thinks because we saw some undercover cops in Manehattan that now there’s secret agents everywhere.” She coughed. “It’s actually kind of cute.”

“Are you okay?”

“It hurts to talk.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. If I knew talking hurt you, I’d have left you alone.”

“No no, it’s no problem. I appreciate the company.”

“Oh, well that’s good.” She looked at the door. “I’m sorry, but I need to get back to work. I’ll make sure to spend time with you later tonight, okay?”

“Sounds great.”

Vintage gave her a smile, her rosy cheeks dimpling pleasantly, and left the room. Twilight waited, and a few minutes later, she sighed: bored already.

The two story, burgundy-roofed villa occupied its own corner of the abandoned city, extraordinary among the small houses and barns everywhere else. It was a wide, rectangular building set between two smaller, single story houses, each topped with a sloping, pointed roof and guarded by a menacing, black fence. The walls were pale, the decorative windows large and blank; a neatly trimmed wall of shrubs skirted the front, hiding the space where the villa seemed to spring from the grass.

From the front door, raised on yellowed steps, a walkway passed through a wide courtyard, almost as large as the main building itself. It was centered with a long, clear pool and headed by a tall, shimmering fountain, a large bird on top, conjuring water from its beak. Rows of perfectly shaped trees lined the courtyard’s outer and inner edges, fuzzy green giving way to the huge, dark, intricate hedge maze before it. A haze of sunlight softened its edges, mixing shadow and light into a wide, circular whirl, broken only by the numerous points of light filling its corners and junctions: fountains and statues, Octavia said, each endowed with the family’s enchantment. She directed them to land outside the maze.

They got off the ship slowly. From the ground, the maze seemed impossible; a deep, maddening den of dead ends and false exits, its walls deep green, stippled with flowers and blurred by sun-caught motes of pollen and dust. A black fence kept the entrance closed, and Octavia indicated a large, concrete pedestal. On it was painted a simple, bold sigil. “That is a communication sigil,” she said. “We use it to tell the Astras why we are here.”

“They don’t like walk-ins, huh?” Rainbow said.

“They are very private.” She walked to the sigil and looked at it for a moment, then pressed a hoof to it. At her touch, it glowed a soft rose, and she looked back at them.

For a minute, they stood around, watching the sigil. “Are you sure it’s working?” Rarity asked.

Octavia’s ears stood up as a child’s voice spoke on the other end. “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this the pony in charge of the villa?”

“Uhhh… no. Can you wait? I can go get Mama Astra if you want.”

“Please do so.”

The voice faded away, and Octavia looked back at her friends with a small roll of her eyes.

“Yes, who is it?” a gruff, feminine voice asked from the sigil.

“Ah, hello. My apologies, madam. We are the Elements of Harmony, and we were wondering whether we could have an audience with you.”

“What does it concern?”

“We are working to restore the city.”

A momentary pause. “I see, I see. And you are looking for my permission?”

“In a manner of speaking. There is much to discuss on the specifics of the spell, and our mage believes that your family may be of some help.”

The sigil went quiet for a time, and the others moved uncomfortably behind Octavia. Eventually, it spoke. “Very well. Someone will guide you through the maze.” Before Octavia could respond, the sigil went blank, and the gate to the labyrinth creaked open.

They walked in. “So… how exactly are we gonna talk specifics if Twilight ain’t here?” Applejack asked.

“To be honest, I do not really know,” Octavia said. “I was hoping to figure that out when we got inside.”

“I hope you weren’t relying on one of us to know how that spell works,” Rarity said.

“I am afraid that I was.”

Rarity sighed and Rainbow giggled, but they quieted at the sight of a light gray pony approaching from afar. Its face was blank and lifeless, its eyes dull, and it carried a small spear in its closed jaws. As it moved, it grumbled, like gravel scraping on stone.

“Oh, wowee! Is that one of those living statues?” Pinkie cried, jumping up and running over to see it. It ignored her as it approached, and she followed it back with a series of energetic hops.

Its stone face was lined with the same details on any pony’s face, but without depth or color; eyes with no pupils, shallow nostrils, a thin line of lips, parting only barely at the ends to give room for the spear it held. It stood before them expectantly, and Octavia walked toward it. “Well, follow the statue.”

As soon as they all moved, it turned and walked before them. Its hoofsteps were heavy and final on the soft grass, mixing eerily with the sound of the unseen fountains. They walked past a wide trough of hedge, curving them gently to the side, until the entrance had vanished. They looked up; though the sun was up, the shadows of the hedges kept them shaded.

“Is this how you got in when you played for their garden party?” Rarity asked.

“Yes,” Octavia said. “Though last time, it was not a statue, but a topiary pony. There are many of these in the maze.”

“Can it… hear us?”

“I do not think so. I think they are enchanted to understand their masters’ orders only.”

“So I can yell at it and it won’t get mad?” Rainbow asked.

“Don’t,” Applejack said.

“I do not know how they will react to harassment,” Octavia said. “And I would really rather not find out.”

“I think they’re wonderful,” Rarity said, stopping briefly to look at a fountain behind a black fence.

“I like them as well.”

“Wait, so how many of these things do these Astras have?” Rainbow asked.

“There are very many. Statues and topiary ponies live in the maze, I know. I think some of the fountains are enchanted as well, for defense.”

“How can a statue defend something?” Pinkie asked.

“They are like magical turrets. What else? Oh, they have servant outfits that move on their own. For things like cleaning, serving food, and the like.”

“And the princesses are okay with this?” Rarity asked.

“I do not understand your question.”

“Magical workers are against the law,” Rainbow said. “We had to take a course in elementary business law to be part of the weather team. You know how we have to have a ton of pegasi to operate the weather machines in Cloudsdale? That’s only because we’re not allowed to have self-operating machinery. Can you imagine how many ponies would be out of a job if we did?”

“I’ve never ever heard of ponies having enchanted servants or guards for their homes,” Rarity said. “Except these Astras. It’s tremendously illegal, isn’t it?”

“I understand now,” Octavia said. “And I have no idea. I know next to nothing about Equestrian law.” They passed around a tight corner and between a pair of large, circular barriers, to the maze’s exit.

“Maybe they’re bribing the princesses,” Rainbow said, and Applejack laughed.

“Yeah, Ah’d like to see someone try it. She’d have them in the dungeons so fast, their heads would spin.”

They walked down a beaten, grassy road to the black fence around the courtyard. The villa stood at the end like a watchful master, looming over the pristine, sunbathing area with silent dignity. The fence swung open for them, and the statue walked them through, turning a sharp corner at a line of trees. They moved down the path, lateral to the villa, to another corner, where they moved toward the house, giving a wide berth to the glimmering, central rectangle of crystal water.

“I played there,” Octavia said, pausing to point. “Near that pool.” She inclined her head toward Pinkie, who was taking a breath to speak. “And no, we did not get to swim. It is not for recreation.”

“Do you like swimmin’, Octavia?” Applejack asked.

“No.”

“I don’t care for it either, darling,” Rarity said. “It takes so long to get one’s mane and tail in order afterwards, and more often than not, the water is too cold, or dirty.”

“You spend hours in the spa hot tub,” Rainbow said.

“Yes, but that’s different. That is a controlled environment, Dash.” They turned another corner and walked toward a large, three-tiered fountain.

“That is the primary defense fountain,” Octavia said. “See the bird on top? Spells come out of its beak.”

“That sounds awesome,” Rainbow said.

“Have you seen this fountain in action?” Rarity asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” Octavia said. They walked to the grand staircase to the front doors, and the statue stopped at the foot. They ascended slowly and respectfully, Octavia at the front. She had to stand on her hind legs to reach the door-knocker, a brass ring clutched fiercely in the beak of a dark crow’s head. She pounded the door twice, and backed up to wait with the others.

The door opened slowly, revealing a wizened, dirty green unicorn mare. She looked down at them through a pair of small glasses, evaluating them before speaking. At last, she did. “Well, come on in, then.”

A group of ponies, old and young, stood just inside to watch their entrance. Some were mere foals, while others were almost as old as the matriarch that ushered them in. The door closed of its own accord, and they had only a moment to look around before following her across the marble foyer, past a decorative suit of armor, and down a warm corridor. She didn’t speak, and no one pursued them.

She led them to a large study, lit through a row of tall, narrow windows. Above an empty fireplace, flanked on both sides by tall bookshelves, hung a large, yellowing tapestry depicting the family crest: a huge crow, red-eyed, clutching a book in its beak and a formless rod in its talons. Its feathers seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, and its eyes glowered down on them. A single mare occupied the room, reading at a large, disorganized table. She looked up with an impatient expression, which changed when her eyes lit on Octavia. “I remember you,” she said in a delicate, polite voice. “Octavia Melody. You played for us four years ago.”

Octavia bowed. “Yes, I did. I apologize, you seem to have me at a disadvantage. I do not believe I remember you.”

The mare rose and walked over to them, her stride practiced and deliberate, her eyes steady. “I am Violet Astra. We did not speak at the party.”

“Violet, would you please leave us alone?” the matriarch asked. “These ponies have some important business to which they must attend.”

“Oh, please, Mama Astra, may I not stay?” Violet asked, only the barest hint of desperation in her voice. “I so enjoy visitors.” She looked at Octavia. “Of course, if it does not trouble you.”

“Our business concerns all of you,” Octavia said.

“Oh, fine,” the matriarch said, walking to a threadbare rocking chair. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a minute.

“That’s a cool tapestry,” Rainbow said. Her voice was absent of its usual brashness.

“The crow is our family symbol,” Violet said evenly. “And guardian.”

Mama Astra cleared her throat, and they looked at her obediently. “Restoring the city is your intent, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Octavia said. “We have been traveling across the country, helping ponies and bringing the earth together near cities. We have already been in Ponyville, Canterlot, and Manehattan.”

“How is Manehattan?”

“It… has seen better days. But it will recover, of this I am certain.”

“Good. Proceed.”

“We come to you partially as a courtesy, and partially to make a request.”

“Oh?” She opened her eyes, only to narrow them at the group. “What kind of request?”

“Your villa is in a very fortunate place, as it gives an excellent view of the city. We would like to request your permission to use it as a place from which to cast our spell.”

“I see.” She looked at Rarity. “And you are the one casting this spell?”

“Er… not exactly,” Rarity said. “Our other unicorn is… indisposed.”

“She is injured,” Octavia said. “We encountered a dangerous creature at the vineyard yesterday.”

“I see. You represent the Elements, then?”

Octavia hesitated. “In… this instance, it seems that I do.”

Mama Astra smiled. “Violet, would you show Miss Octavia’s friends around the house?”

“If it is all the same to you, I would rather they stay here to help me explain.”

“Nonsense. You seem to have things under control. Violet?”

“Yes, Mama Astra,” Violet said, looking at the four friends. “Come with me.”

“Good luck, Octavia,” Pinkie said, giving her a small wave.

Octavia nodded, and they followed Violet out of the study. She led them back down the corridor to the foyer, where the crowd of ponies had dispersed. “Mama Astra will accept your request. She puts up the appearance of coldness to scare away the riff-raff, but she is very warm-hearted.”

“Why’d she just want to talk to Octavia?” Rainbow asked.

“I think she wants me to show you the villa so you can figure out where to cast your spell more quickly.”

“So where we gonna go?” Pinkie asked.

Violet thought, and a small smile appeared on her face. “Do you want to see our crow?”

“Your… crow?” Rarity said.

“The family crow. For defense.”

“I mean, if it’s okay, sure. It sounds fascinating.”

“Sure. Follow me.” She set off at a trot through a pair of double doors under the central stairs.

“So, who exactly are you?” Applejack asked. “Not to be rude, but…”

“I’m one of Mama Astra’s granddaughters,” Violet said simply.

“Can we talk about those animated statues?” Rainbow asked. “They’re really cool, by the way.”

“Hm, thank you. What would you like to know?”

“Do you make them yourselves?”

“Yes, actually. Everyone in the house has his or her own job, and for many of us, that is creating and maintaining the servants. I’m one of those ponies.”

“So, you must be a very powerful mage, then,” Rarity said.

“Within my specialty, yes.”

“An’ what specialty is that?” Applejack asked.

“Animation—that is a subset of necromancy.”

“I thought necromancy was illegal,” Rarity said quietly.

“It is when it concerns ponies, but for simply animating lifeless objects, it is fine,” Violet said. They walked silently down a narrow hall, and they could hear music from behind the wall.

“What music is that?” Pinkie asked. “Are you girls having a party?”

“It’s probably Magenta playing his piano. He could use the practice, if you ask me.”

“So, are you all named after yer colors, or what?” Applejack asked.

“It’s Astra tradition to name a foal after the color of their coat, yes. Just as it is to call the matriarch and patriarch ‘Mama’ and ‘Papa’.”

“That’s kinda neat.”

“It makes it easy to remember names.”

“You have a big family, then?” Rarity asked.

“Around thirty ponies live here. This way.” She led them through a small door into a side room, and then out into a long, glass-ceilinged space, lined on each side with large troughs of leafy plants. The air smelled heavily of spice and greenery, and the rustic, Trottingham sun shone strongly onto them. Violet took them out into a small, cobbled pathway, uncovered and un-walled save for the outer walls of the surrounding rooms, and to a dull brown entryway, its sides elaborately carved with vines and feathers. She stopped. “It isn’t actually a crow, or any kind of creature. It’s… just don’t be afraid.”

“Why would we be afraid?” Pinkie asked.

She led them through the entryway and into a large, uncovered area, a small, prideful smile on her face as they stopped, one by one, at the room-filling machine before them. The Astra crow, fifteen feet of black, gleaming iron, stood on twin shurikens of talons, its corrugated body swiveling like a suspended planet as it idly pecked at the vast lawn. Its wings were folded sheets of sheer metal, perforated and pointed like knives, and from its wicked thorn of a beak rose two thin tails of black, stuttering smoke, obscuring, but not covering, its hotly glowing eyes. On the back of its neck, turning lazily, a small snarl of sharp gears clicked warningly as it turned its head to regard them.

“She won’t hurt you,” Violet said.

“Can it… see us?” Rarity asked, her voice an anxious husk. She didn’t take her eyes off it.

“She has all the abilities of a real bird.”

“Except it’s huge, and a machine,” Rainbow deadpanned.

“What’s it doin’?” Applejack asked.

“Feeding,” Violet said. “Sort of.”

“It feeds? How does that work?” Pinkie asked.

“The crow thinks she’s alive—that was the easiest way to get her to behave like a real bird. She’s enchanted to behave in accordance with her form. So, like a real bird, she eats things.”

“But it doesn’t really eat them,” Rarity said.

“There’s a latch in the back of her throat that collects everything she eats—she’s actually really good for gathering food for us. My aunt empties it every week, when we clean her.”

“It doesn’t preen itself?” Rainbow asked.

“No, she does… but she can’t reach everything with that big beak. Like the spaces between the feather hinges, or the soot pipes, or the furnace.”

“Furnace,” Applejack repeated. She looked at Violet interrogatively.

“Where her heart and lungs would be, there’s a pair of magical furnaces.”

“And this… thing is completely safe?” Rarity asked. She had moved behind Pinkie, who stood forward, fascinated, watching the crow watch them.

“She is safe for you, because you are friends,” Violet said matter-of-factly. “But she’s quite protective.”

“Yeah, no, we won’t be pulling anything on you,” Rainbow said. “Not with, um, her.”

“I think she’s beautiful!” Pinkie cried. “Can I pet her?”

“You can’t be serious, Pinkie,” Rarity said.

“Go ahead,” Violet said. “She’s gentle. Don’t burn yourself on her beak, though; that smoke can be quite hot.”

As Pinkie cautiously moved toward the mechanical crow, Rainbow walked along the room’s side to see it from a different angle. “So you made this thing yourselves?” she asked.

“Every generation gets a new crow. That’s another tradition.”

“Are they always so… terrifyin’?” Applejack asked. The crow lowered its head for Pinkie to stroke a fan of black metal.

“Not at all. Each one is different. Last generation’s crow was actually very ordinary.”

“Yikes! You weren’t kidding about that smoke!” Pinkie said, recoiling from the machine’s head.

“She’s not designed to be pleasant,” Violet said, approaching. The crow bobbed its head rapidly, and Pinkie ran away with a small squeal. “She’s a defense mechanism, remember. Would you like to see her outside?”

“Oh… dear, that sounds… fine,” Rarity said weakly. She still hadn’t taken her eyes off the bird.

“Come out here with me.” She turned to the crow. “Crow, go outside; my friends want to see you fly.”

Mama Astra nodded as Octavia finished explaining their mission, and pushed her glasses back up on her face. “Very well, Miss Melody. As soon as your unicorn is ready to perform the spell, we will be happy to welcome you back.” She looked around, and grabbed a small, silver bell in her magic, ringing it shortly. “A servant shall take you to your friends. You are all welcome to stay the night, if you want. I know the vineyard does not have much to offer for lodging.”

Octavia bowed. “Thank you very much, madam. I would not be surprised if some of us take you up on your offer.”

“It is my pleasure.” She waved languidly, and Octavia turned at a faint whisper of fabric. An empty suit stood before her on neatly cuffed sleeves, its gaping neck hole pointed to her as if it could see her.

She followed the servant suit back through the foyer, down a small, bent hallway, and outside. Immediately, she froze. A colossal, black bird threw its shadow over the pristine fields, huge curtains of deep yellow flame shaking off its screeching, beating wings like dust. Below it were her friends, and several others, not running, but watching, only the barest sign of unrest on their faces. She hastened to catch up to the suit.

When she arrived at the crowd of onlookers, Pinkie turned to regard her with a wide smile. “Octavia! Check it out!”

“What is happening? What is this?”

“It’s the family crow,” Rainbow said. The bird machine shrieked over them once more, jets of flame following its deadly wings. “It’s… yeah, just watch.”

Octavia sat down with them. Several of the Astras—younger ones, mostly—had come out to watch the spectacle as well, and cheered as it passed.

Violet came up to them. “Did everything go well with Mama Astra?”

“Yes. She will allow us to cast our spell here.”

“Good. I knew she would.”

“And… what is all this?”

Violet smiled, but didn’t answer. Instead, she tilted her head up to the massive machine. “Return, and land.” She spoke at a conversational volume, but the bird responded immediately.

It turned a sharp corner and flew toward them, its beak and eyes glowing bright, flaming red. Smoke rolled off it in huge, wind-torn crests, and its wings stretched out across the field like demonic clouds to slow its approach. It flapped once, blowing hot air at them, to steady itself as it landed.

Violet’s smile turned into a toothy grin. “Now watch this. Those gears on her neck serve a very important purpose, besides intimidation. Crow, take off your head.”

“Wait, what?” Rarity cried, but her objection was drowned out by a dark grinding sound as more fire licked up the crow’s head. It turned away from the spectating Astras, and, crouching forward slightly, released its iron head from its body with a fiery bang of separated metal and torn landscape.

Fire wreathed its empty neck, and for a moment, they had to shield their eyes from the sudden intensity of light from the mechanical monster. Tens of feet away from its standing body, the head lay on the ground, beak to the sky, heaving plumes of crackling smoke. Connecting the two, there was a twin set of thick, dull gray chains, loosely spanning the lawn.

“That is amazing,” Octavia said quietly.

“Thanks,” Violet said. “She’s never had to use it in battle. Most ponies run away just after looking at her.”

“I can see why.”

“Go ahead and put your head back on, crow.”

With an agonizing crunch, the gears at the back of the crow’s head whirred in place, and the chains slowly retracted back into its neck, dragging the flaming head across the withering grass. Sparks flew as its beak scraped its breast, and it leaned in and wiggled its shoulders to reattach the head, which snapped and twisted on with a sharp crack. The family cheered once more, Pinkie with them, adding a small spray of confetti.

“That was so awesome!” she shrieked, running around them while the crow dipped its beak into a wing. “I mean, it’s absolutely terrifying, but in a really good way!” She bounced up and down, laughing, and Rainbow joined her. Before Octavia could admonish them, they were gone into the crowd, stirring up laughter and happy conversation.

“Go ahead and rest, crow,” Violet said, and the bird gave her one last, fiery look before dimming its eyes into low glows. “Don’t go near her for at least an hour. She’s really hot right now.”

“Twilight will be very interested in this,” Octavia said.

“Is she your missing unicorn?”

“Yes. She is very studious.”

“I like her already.” She cocked her ears and looked over at the group of ponies. Pinkie and Rainbow had mixed them into a small frenzy, dancing and laughing to disembodied, happy music. “What exactly is going on?”

“The pink one has a very particular talent for creating parties out of thin air. It appears that she is doing that now.”

“Hm. Parties were never really attractive to me.”

A ghost of a smile passed over Octavia’s face. “As for me. Shall we go somewhere quieter?”

“Sure. Do you want to see the music room?”

“I would love to.”

They quietly separated from the growing crowd and reentered the villa. Ponies were moving about with the occasional suit servant among them, and they paid Octavia and Violet little attention as they went deeper into the stately house, away from the noise and commotion that Pinkie conjured. “So are you a friend of the Elements?”

“Yes. We met in Canterlot, purely by chance. I have been traveling with them since.”

“Funny how life works.”

“Yes.”

They entered a vast ballroom, empty but for the piano in the far corner. “We can find other instruments if you want—this was just the nearest one.”

“No, this is perfect,” Octavia said, going to the instrument eagerly. “I have not sat behind a piano in a very long time.”

Violet stood nearby while she tested the keys, listening carefully for imperfections. She played the scale, nodding to herself. Then she turned back to Violet.

“I must confess, I was not expecting such a warm reception. I thought that you were all unfriendly to strangers.”

“That’s the impression we work very hard to give off,” Violet said. “If you were part of the most powerful non-royal family in Equestria, you would want to scare ponies away as well.”

“That is very true.” She played a little more. “And do not worry; we will not go spreading word of your true natures.”

Violet sighed. “I appreciate it, I’m sure.”

“Is something the matter?” She keyed a quiet melody, more to give her hooves something to do than anything else.

“No, don’t worry about it. Go ahead, play. I’d love to hear you.”

Twilight, Fluttershy, and Vintage ate in the dining room. It had taken them considerable time to help Twilight out of bed and to the table, but she had insisted. The sun was setting, and no one talked much. Twilight still felt strange, like she was cornered. Fluttershy’s constant questions about her mental and physical state, and Vintage’s perplexed looks at their awkward interaction, sapped her confidence. She stared sullenly across the table as they ate.

“I know it hurts, Twilight,” Fluttershy said. “But you’ll feel better soon.”

Twilight nodded. She didn’t even register what her friend had said, she had said it so many times already. It wasn’t the pain that bothered her. “Why can’t I just let it go?”

She looked at Vintage. Her brown coat was so much like the earth, Twilight couldn’t help but stare. “Just get over it, Twilight. Rarity got over her problems, why can’t you?” It eased her mind in a way she couldn’t describe to herself.

“So your friends went to the villa?” Vintage said. “It must be fascinating there.”

“Oh, I hope the family there is nice,” Fluttershy said. “We need more nice ponies.”

Twilight continued to eat, and stopped when she became aware of Fluttershy looking at her. She met her eyes slowly. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you okay?”

She grit her teeth in a smile, but as soon as she did it, she dropped it. “I’m drowning, Fluttershy. Not okay, not at all.” She sighed shakily. “You don’t have to keep asking about me, you know.”

Fluttershy recoiled slightly, blushing, and Vintage looked away politely. “I’m sorry, Twilight. I’m just worried.”

“Yeah, well, don’t be.” She looked down at her food. “Not okay, Fluttershy, and now I’ve gone and hurt you. Stupid, Twilight.” She tried to stand, and Vintage and Fluttershy immediately went to her side to help. She struggled off her seat and yanked a hoof away from them, a tiny act of defiance. She took a pained step away from the table, back to her bedroom, and Fluttershy followed her, her worried face downcast and obedient. She hated it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Fluttershy whispered.

Twilight’s eyes closed, and when she shouted, she surprised herself with the ferocity in her voice. “Leave me alone, Fluttershy!”

The room, and her head, went silent, and she felt suddenly, singularly trapped in the spotlights of their eyes. Fluttershy cringed and slunk away with a squeak of surprised hurt, and Twilight walked out of the dining room on her own. She heard Vintage give a derisive “hm” as she exited. Her mind was fiery with anger, at herself, at Fluttershy, at Vintage, and her thoughts were disordered. “Stupid Twilight stupid look what you did now they think you’re crazy. Crazy mare walking away from dinner what would your parents think well too bad I’m entitled I mean I am going crazy right?” She stopped at the door, the urge to turn back and shout one final message stuck in her tightening throat. She pushed the bedroom door open and lay down.

Pinkie, Applejack, and Rainbow returned from the villa at ten o’ clock, having left Rarity and Octavia to spend the night there. They were still excited from the party Pinkie had improvised; it had started small on the outer lawn, but it wasn’t long before it had ensnared the majority of the family. Coming back to Fluttershy and Twilight, for them, was an uncomfortable shock.

With Twilight still upset, only Applejack elected to share her room. They hardly spoke, and Twilight fell asleep full of guilt.

The Ruins

Chapter Thirty-five

The Ruins

Rarity opened her eyes to the sound of birds outside, and the first thing she saw was the gold and black spiral design on her bed’s canopy. She sat up with a confused frown, and looked around for a moment before remembering that she was still in the Astras’ villa. She looked over to the other bed in the room, where Octavia lay, eyes open and staring. “Good morning, dear. Did you sleep? Er, well. Did you sleep well?”

Octavia climbed out of bed. “I did not sleep.”

“Darling, we’ve been over this.”

Her voice was dark when she responded. “Yes. Yes, we have.”

Rarity didn’t say anything, instead getting out of bed and going to the door. It took her a moment to remember where the washroom was, and soon, she had left Octavia alone.

When they had both freshened up, Violet found them and brought them to the family dining room for breakfast. They had had dinner with the family the day before, after Pinkie’s party wound down, and were surprised at their hospitality. Mama and Papa Astra had toasted them, and everyone was friendly and conversational—a shocking contrast to the warning Octavia had given on their approach.

When they entered for breakfast, the ponies already there looked at them with docile, cordial expressions. They sat down with Violet and ate.

“I trust all was to your liking?” Mama Astra asked.

“It was wonderful,” Octavia said sincerely.

“Good, good. I’m sorry to start your day speaking of business like this, but there is one thing that I forgot to mention yesterday.”

“What is that?”

“There is half of a strange sigil on our grounds, behind the house.”

“Half?” Rarity repeated.

“On the edge of a split. It’s difficult to tell what it’s for, because we can’t see the whole thing, but it looks like a summoning sigil.”

“For what?”

Mama Astra shook her head. “None of us can identify it. It’s not a design we’ve encountered before.”

“We will have Twilight look at it,” Octavia said, looking unhappily down at the breakfast a servant suit brought. Her head buzzed and her eyes felt dry, worn down from the sleepless night. Eating didn’t sound good to her.

“Fluttershy, I really think you should wait,” Twilight said. She and Fluttershy were alone; the others were outside, helping Vintage gather water from a broken reservoir over the far side of the vineyard.

“Oh, Twilight, I know, but I’d really like it if I could heal you now,” Fluttershy said quietly. She had not fully recovered from Twilight’s outburst the night before, and it showed. She wouldn’t meet the unicorn’s eyes, and when she spoke, her head dipped deferentially and shied away, as if awaiting reproach.

Twilight felt no better; she had dreamed of the Canterlot balcony once again, and her patience, already injured, had drained away as the sun came up. As Fluttershy looked away, thinking, she wanted to spring out of bed and shake her. “I’m sorry, Fluttershy! I’m sorry I yelled, it’s not your fault, it’s me, I’m drowning and none of you seem to even notice it!” She looked away as Fluttershy looked at her.

“Um, Vintage seems to really like you,” Fluttershy said. Banal conversation. Pointless words to mollify her friend, still inexplicably angry.

“I like her too,” she said automatically. She glanced at Fluttershy, who had her eyes closed in concentration. “Thank Celestia.” She didn’t think Fluttershy was ready to use magic, but talking to her was worse.

She felt the familiar prickling sensation in her midsection, deep under her skin, and even then knew that the spell was not right. There was too much discomfort, too much uncertainty; like sandpaper rubbing her bones. Fluttershy had her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and her jaw was clenched as beads of sweat formed under her pink hairline. Only a few moments in to the spell, she began shaking, softly at first, but then in great, worrying tremors as her head bobbed up and down, as if she were panting and retching at the same time.

Twilight watched her for a second before reacting, and when she did, her words sounded hollow and forced in her ears. “Fluttershy? Fluttershy, if this hurts, stop it.”

She paid Twilight no mind as she continued with her spell. Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, the shock forcing her eyes open with a gasp of breath.

Twilight moved a little to see her better, and the pain in her sides blazed still. “Fluttershy, are you okay?”

She struggled to her hooves and caught her breath. “I’m fine.”

“I take it it was too hard,” Twilight said. Her voice was cool, almost disappointed; secure that her friend was not harmed, she could safely hold on to her frustration.

“Yes. I’m sorry Twilight, but I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“Great. More time in this stupid bed.” She frowned. “More time with this… pony.”

When the others returned, they crowded the bed and exchanged sympathies over Fluttershy’s unsuccessful spell, each of them neatly avoiding Twilight’s harsh gaze. They knew that something was wrong, but, like Fluttershy, feared investigating it. It was natural for her to be a little grumpy in her condition, anyway.

Octavia and Rarity landed shortly after, and told Twilight about Astra Villa, and the wonders within: the servants, the statues, the friendly ponies, the mechanical crow. Twilight’s eyes lit up as she discussed the magic and technology within the villa’s walls, and for the time, she felt better—until the conversation ended, and she remembered that she was still unable to see it for herself.

The pair of them stayed in her room only a little longer, to keep her company; there was nothing more to do that day. When they left to find the others, Twilight decided to pass the time researching animation magic and, later, the Astra family itself, garnering much historical knowledge, but nothing helpful for their situation. Everyone steadily moved about the house and vineyard, going outside, coming in to check on her, talking with Vintage, who was home nearly all day. The workers, she said, were handling the move well, but with the city and country in the state it was, there was really no point to tending the grapes. She, too, was feeling the strain of boredom.

After dinner, the others retreated into the living room with a deck of cards. They hadn’t had the time to play in a few days, and Twilight envied them their ease and comfort in the unfamiliar situation. Only Vintage stayed behind, to talk to her.

“So… how are you feeling?”

Twilight only grunted. Grateful as she was for the company, she had nothing to say about herself.

Vintage fixed the corner of the sheet a little. “Fluttershy’s really sorry. She wanted me to tell you that.”

“Huh?”

Her voice was low. “She doesn’t know what she did to upset you, but she feels horrible about it. She wanted me to tell you, because she was afraid if she tried, you’d just get angry again.”

Twilight closed her eyes, to shut out Vintage’s curious expression. “I’m not mad.”

“You seemed mad last night.”

“Yeah, then, I was. Not now. Now I’m just guilty.”

Vintage shuffled uncomfortably. “What… um, what happened?”

“I just lost my temper. It’s no big deal.”

“I don’t think I believe that,” Vintage said.

Twilight looked at her, shocked at her forwardness.

“Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”

“Yes, something is bothering me. What would you say if I told you?” Her eyes quivering with unshed tears, she brought the sheets over her head. “Please, don’t.”

“What’s wrong, Twilight? You can tell me, whatever it is. I promise.”

Under the sheets, the light was faded and blurry, comfortable. She was safe. A clattering of metal on marble.

“Please, Twilight? I’m worried too.”

“I… I’m afraid,” she rasped.

“Of what?”

“Everything. I’m afraid of what happened, and I’m afraid of what comes next. I’m afraid…” She sighed shakily. “Celestia, I’m afraid I can’t handle it.”

“What happened?”

The dreaded question. She knew Vintage would eventually ask it; she would have to. It hit her like a cannonball, stunning her into uncomprehending silence while her mind rolled and pitched with panic.

“Twilight?”

“Yeah. I…”

“Is it that bad?”

She gasped and closed her eyes. “Oh, Celestia,” she whispered. “Oh, oh, Celestia, Vintage.” The innocence of the question was more than she could handle. Vintage had no idea the secret she searched for, and her calm, unobtrusive curiosity brought tears to Twilight’s eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Okay,” Twilight said, opening her eyes and looking back up into the sheet covering her head. She didn’t know what it was in Vintage’s voice that calmed her, but her anger, her impatience, were gone. Vintage had slipped under her defenses. She took a deep breath. “No more self-pity. No more hiding it from yourself.” Still, she hesitated. “This is what happened.” For a time, she didn’t continue. “You’re doing it, Twilight. You’re going to talk about this.” “Sure doesn’t feel like I’m talking about it.”

“I’m right here,” Vintage said.

“I’ve thought about this for a long time.” She stopped, uncertain. She had known, before, that she would eventually relive it to someone; she had played out the conversation in her mind, with each of her friends, and even with a kind stranger. At its beginning, though, she was lost for words. “Start with the context. Easy.” “Canterlot. This is the night of the battle—you know the one?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. So, me and my friends, we had to go there to help Princess Celestia. She woke me up in the middle of the night to summon us all there. We… have to hurry. We’re needed in Canterlot, but we don’t know why yet.” She took the sheet off her face; Vintage watched solemnly. “So we get there, and the whole area is torn to Tartarus. War. And…” Gooseflesh crawled along her limp body. “This is it.” “Some of us got chased, to the palace. We landed on a… on a… balcony.” She closed her eyes again, and the royal parapet shone in the starlight behind her eyelids. A reflexive flash of magic.

“What happened?” Vintage asked.

“Some… ponies made it up onto the balcony with us. They were going to… well, to kill us.” Her mind went blank, and the next words came out easily. “So we killed them first.”

Both mares were quiet, and Twilight waited, suddenly aware of what she said. Waiting for Vintage’s horrified reaction. When Vintage took a breath to speak, Twilight recoiled inside her mind. “I understand.”

Twilight gave no response. She dared not.

“It’s hard to come back from that. I don’t… you know, know, but I can assume it. Geez, Twilight, I’m so sorry.”

She looked at Vintage. There was no anger or disdain in her expression as she looked back at Twilight. “I’ve been having a hard time getting over it.”

“I’ll say.”

“It’s like I’m drowning, and no one else even sees me. They all got over it already. They… they moved on.”

“And you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.” She sighed. “I… feel like… I don’t think I’ll ever really get over this. And that terrifies me.”

Vintage nodded.

“I want to move on, but I can’t. I… remember it, I dream it, I have flashbacks. It’s classic post-traumatic stress disorder—I’ve done the research. But I can’t get past it.” She rubbed her eyes, suddenly angry with herself. “She doesn’t need this.” “I just can’t get past it.”

“Is there anything I can do? Any way I can help you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She sniffed loudly. “Weak, Twilight. Crying for this stranger. You’re not even flashing back this time, and you’re crying. Weak!” “And that terrifies me too,” she whispered.

“Do you… would you like a hug?”

Twilight didn’t look at her; didn’t even think. She nodded, and in a moment, she had Vintage’s forelegs around her as she cried. For the brief, perfect moment, her mind went quiet, and she wept openly. She didn’t care that it was a stranger who comforted her, or that she would have to apologize to Fluttershy, to explain. “I knocked the first one off the balcony. I grabbed her and threw her through the rail.” She breathed unevenly, the details of the encounter sticking in her mind. She could feel memories resurfacing, and cried harder, squeezing Vintage to her. The golem had brought it back.

Vintage held her tightly, cooing in her ear. She rocked Twilight gently in her bed, absorbing the sobs without complaint.

“Celestia, I can still see them,” Twilight whispered.

“You did what you had to do.”

At her words, Twilight shook harder, releasing a fresh wave of tears, stifled sobs, gasps, moans. Vintage could hear the others had gone quiet in the other room, but didn’t look over to see whether anyone was at the door. It wasn’t important to her. She held Twilight for nearly half an hour.

When she had calmed down, she slowly separated, and lay back on the bed. “I’m so sorry, Vintage. You didn’t have to see all this.”

“Nonsense,” Vintage said kindly, smiling warmly at her. “I’m happy to help you, Twilight. Do you feel better?”

Twilight nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, a little.”

“Can you still see them?”

Twilight stared ahead for a minute, eyes still glistening. “Not really.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“I think so.” She sniffed. “Thank you, Vintage. So much. I… I wasn’t expecting to do that. But you really helped, I think.”

“I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

“I appreciate it.”

“So… do you need to talk some more?”

Twilight gave a small smile. “I think talking would be helpful, yes.”

* * * * * *

Thursday night. Spike, Colgate, Allie, Derpy, and her friend, a blue earth stallion named Noteworthy, played poker in the library living room. It was usually a weekend tradition, but Spike couldn’t wait, and most everyone was free for the night: the clear, beautiful, spring Ponyville night. The snow from Cloudsdale was long gone, and the water in town was slowly returning. A crew of ponies had finally been commissioned to work on the pipes and wells, starting with those near the mayor’s office.

“Raise,” Allie said, dropping her bits on the table. “Three bits.” She had the largest pile of money.

“Darn it, Allie,” Spike sighed, putting his cards away. “Fold.”

Colgate, sitting next to him, grunted and folded as well. Since speaking to Spike in the hospital, when she revealed to him the existence of the world-covering, secret subsection of Royal Guards—the Datura—she and he had been socializing more, and though she was not always particularly vocal or excitable, she was fast becoming a stable fixture in his life. Almost as stable as Derpy, on his other side.

Allie smiled smugly. “You’re awfully quiet tonight, Colgate. Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, Colgate, what’s going on?” Derpy asked.

Colgate smiled humorlessly for just a moment, before turning serious again. “I’m upset with you, Allie.”

“What? Me, why?” Allie asked.

She stole a glance at Noteworthy, who watched passively.

“I’ll tell you. Spike asked me recently about what happened to Baltimare.”

Noteworthy’s eyes flickered in recognition, but he remained silent.

“What?” Allie looked at Spike. “You asked her?”

“How could he not?” Colgate said neutrally. “It’s an intriguing piece of history. That, however, is not the problem. I’m more disturbed that he would know to ask me about it at all.”

Allie thought. “I may have mentioned your name, but I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Girls, what is this?” Derpy asked. She looked at Spike. “What’s going on?”

“Colgate, I didn’t do anything,” Allie said. “I was just talking.”

“I just don’t like to be implicated,” Colgate said. “Tell him whatever you want about yourself, but keep me out of it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d mind.”

For a moment, it looked like Colgate was going to drop the conversation. “You do know I value my privacy, don’t you?”

“What? Sure—I mean, who doesn’t?”

Colgate sighed, and Spike looked at her. She looked saddened and defeated, and looked back at him unhappily. “Let’s just keep playing.”

They returned uneasily to their game, and Colgate kept stealing looks at Allie and Noteworthy. He made no comments, but Spike could tell he had been affected by the brief exchange.

After the card game, everyone slowly left, except Noteworthy, who told Derpy he would catch up with her. He helped Spike put away the cards and table, still saying little, and when they were done, he sat down in the middle of the library floor. “What did they tell you?” He was young, but his voice and eyes were serious.

“Uh… about what?”

“Allie told you about Baltimare. What did she say?”

Spike thought. “Not a lot. It got destroyed by something, but she didn’t know what. She had her memory wiped.”

Noteworthy nodded professionally. “And Colgate?”

Spike recoiled slightly under his eyes. He remembered her warning not to speak of the Datura to anyone else—a promise he had made, and then broken, to Flitter and Cloudchaser. The thought of telling it to Noteworthy, a stranger, did not sit well with him.

“You’re uncomfortable. I promise I’ll be quick, Spike. Did Colgate mention anything about Tartarus to you?”

He stiffened. “Um… maybe.”

“And Princess Luna?”

“Yeah, I think her name came up.”

Noteworthy nodded. “She has been a pain in my flank for some time. Spike…”

“What’s going on?” Spike blurted. “I’m sorry, I really am, but what is going on here? Are you involved with this too? Are you another one of those super secret Datura ponies or something?”

“Shush!” He looked around warily. “Yes, I am. But unlike Allie and Colgate, I am still active.” He rubbed his temples wearily. “Colgate.”

“So that’s why you care about what they told me. Because I’m not supposed—er, well, you want it to be kept a secret.”

“Everyone wants it to be kept a secret! Everyone, apparently, but Colgate.” He looked at the door. “Listen, Spike, I don’t know if she told you, but it’s of supreme importance that you don’t tell anyone about this. Not your closest friends, not Twilight, no one.” He thought. “I need to go and talk to Colgate. You… just… just don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I haven’t.”

“Thank Celestia for small miracles, I suppose.” He went to the door. “I’ll be in touch. We need to talk more. But right now, I need to find Colgate.” He left, and Spike stood behind him, confused.

Colgate was just arriving home when Noteworthy appeared, a look of anger on his face. She didn’t say anything as she let him in.

“We need to talk,” he grumbled, sitting on her couch.

“I’m sure we do,” she said evenly, going to the kitchen. She levitated a small bottle of pills off the counter and got a glass of water.

“Spike knows everything.”

She swallowed her third pill of the day and turned back to him with a put-on smile. “Does he? Now, that’s odd; I thought Allie only gave him vague details.”

He glowered at her. “I’m disappointed in you, Colgate. I thought you had more regard for your friends than that.”

She paused, and sat down, thinking. It took a moment for his words to click in her mind, and when they did, her neutral expression turned aggressive. “You will not hurt him, Noteworthy.”

“A young dragon like him, knowing what he knows, is no good for anyone.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. She wasn’t angry, exactly, but her mood had soured, and she felt responsible for Spike. “Do not touch him. Do not threaten, coerce, manipulate, or do anything to him.”

“I would merely wipe his memory. It’s a simple, painless process.”

“I don’t care. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him about it—maybe that was a big mistake. Don’t take it out on him, though. Like you said, he’s a kid. He’ll forget all about us in a month or two.”

“You know I can’t rely on that.”

Colgate thought for a moment. “I won’t let you screw with him.”

He sighed. “Please, Colgate. Be reasonable.”

“Be reasonable, while you threaten to erase his memory over a tiny slip? What does he actually know, Noteworthy? That we exist. That the three of us are associated with it in some way. He doesn’t know any of the bases or storage units you have, none of the important names. He knows no incidents. And he can prove even less. Do you realize how ridiculous he would sound if he tried to out the Datura? He’s just a dumb kid, Noteworthy. He can’t hurt your beloved organization.”

“The protocol states that anyone unassociated with the Datura—”

“Who finds out about it gets wiped, yes, I know. But he doesn’t know anything important. In fact, pretty much everything he knows is stuff he could figure out anyway, through logical inference.”

“You gave him that confirmation, though.”

“So? So did you, just now. That is why you stayed late, right? To interrogate him.”

“I asked him only a couple questions.”

“Wow, some covert Datura you are. Find a potential leak, and address it face-to-face. What if he knew more than you thought?” She smiled hungrily; she liked toying with him. “What if he actually is one of you, and you’re just not allowed to know?”

“Don’t joke about that.”

“Who’s joking?”

He sighed. “Please don’t make me apply force here, Colgate. Please, please don’t.”

“Force? What kind of force do you have to apply? You don’t control me.”

He stood, his voice low and severe. “Spike poses a plausible threat to my operation, and that’s all there is to it. I will handle him, and you will not interfere.” He looked her in the eyes. “Minuette Colgate, you may have forgotten, but I know why you take those pills so religiously. Stay out of my way, and it can remain a secret between us.”

She looked at him, evenly as ever, even as the blood rushed from her face. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. She struggled for a response, but only managed a single word. “Don’t.”

“Do not force my hoof here, Min.”

“Don’t call me that,” she whispered. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Stay out of this matter.”

She stared at him. He looked back confidently, and she wetted her lips. “Please don’t hurt him, Noteworthy.”

“Will you interfere?”

“…No. I can’t.”

He nodded. “You’ll be okay, Colgate.”

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“If you keep out of my business, your secret is safe.” He narrowed his eyes. “But do not take me for a sap. One slip, Colgate. One slip, and everyone in town will know you for what you are. No second chances—that’s a concept I know you know very, very well.”

“Please stop.”

He walked to the door. “Good night.” He left, and she stared at the closed door behind him, her mind full of the conversation. She had always disliked him, and he her, but it was the first time he had threatened her so. She knew he was serious—he wasn’t the kind to make empty threats—but still, a part of her insisted that he was just trying to scare her.

She tried to distract herself with a book, but made it only through a single chapter before locking up and crawling into bed. Just a half hour had passed, and her displeasure at his threat had faded. She remembered it well, but his words were not the barbs they were so recently. They were just words, communication, one pony to another. Spike would lose his memory, Noteworthy would be happy, and the Datura would proceed as it always did. Nothing of value would be lost.

Spike and Flitter were in the steam room while Cloudchaser gave another customer a hooficure. He was still unsettled from the night before.

“Do you know Noteworthy?” he asked.

“Uhhh, a little. He comes in for massages every now and again, asks for ‘em extra soft around his flanks.”

“What else?”

“He’s a generous tipper, and very polite. He never hits on me or Cloud.”

“Does that happen?”

“Oh, yeah.” She batted her eyes playfully. “We’re young, pretty, and run the spa. What’s not to like?”

“Well, you’ve got me there.”

“You had him over for cards last night, right?”

“Yeah. He stayed behind to talk to me.” Spike lowered his voice. “About the Datura.”

Flitter gasped loudly—an exaggerated gesture on her part, Spike knew. “Another pony involved with them? Where does it end?”

“I think he knows Colgate told me all that stuff. He ran off after her, said he’d find me later.”

“Ooooh.”

“Yeah. I’m a little nervous, actually. He didn’t seem very nice about it.”

“You said it’s supposed to be a secret, right?”

“Yeah, a big one.”

“Well, there you go. So what are you going to do?”

“I dunno. Promise not to tell anyone, I guess.”

Flitter chuckled.

“And not tell him I told you two, obviously. I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“You think you will?”

“I might. He seemed pretty upset with Colgate last night.”

“I hope he doesn’t do anything too severe to you. If this is as secret as you say it is, there might be some pretty serious repercussions.”

“Yeah, that’s why I came here, to get my mind off it,” he said.

“Sorry.” She leaned back with a sigh. For a minute, they just enjoyed the steam. “Cloud and I have your back, you know. If he tries to pressure you into something, we’ll help you out.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. If he knows you know, it’ll be a lot worse for everyone. Thanks though.”

Flitter hummed her assent, and they didn’t speak until he got out of the steam room. He had a massage from Cloudchaser, and they talked about other things. News from Canterlot, speculation on Discord, politics. When he was done, he stepped outside, but didn’t get to enjoy the day; Noteworthy was right there, watching the door. Spike gave him a wary smile, and Noteworthy nodded in return. They walked.

“What did you do to Colgate last night?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“But she’s my friend. I am worried.”

“We just talked.”

“About what?”

“I’m sure you can guess. Let’s go back to the library.”

They silently walked to the tree house, and Noteworthy stayed by the doorway while Spike made a show of shelving some books—anything to delay their conversation.

“Spike, you’re not allowed to know about the Datura. Period. I’m sorry, but action must be taken.”

He froze. Thoughts of punishment flashed through his head, things he remembered Twilight being afraid of from Celestia. “Uh… what kind of… action?”

Noteworthy, seeming to see Spike’s fear, smiled. “Don’t worry. You won’t be arrested or anything. I would ask only that you drink a simple potion, to wipe your memory.”

“Oh.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Wait. Wipe my memory? I don’t want that either.”

He nodded. “I understand your reservation, but I must insist.”

Spike looked at him. “Uh, how ‘bout no?” The surprise on Noteworthy’s face spurred him on. “Why should I let you do anything to me? I don’t know you.”

“Spike, please.”

Spike thought of Twilight; he had rarely seen her raise her voice to a stranger. “I’m not gonna let you mess with my memory. I just met you yesterday, for Celestia’s sake. You can’t take away my memory just ‘cause Colgate told me some stuff she shouldn’t have. That’s not my fault.”

“Do you realize the threat your knowledge poses to the Datura?” he hissed.

“Do you realize that I’ve known about this for weeks now, and haven’t said anything to anyone?”

“That doesn’t matter. The fact that you know stands on its own.”

“No it doesn’t! You’re just a big bully.” He crossed his arms. “And I want you out of my house.”

“Spike—”

“Now!”

He hesitated, and for a moment, Spike cringed inside. There was no one around to help, and if Noteworthy decided not to, he doubted he could force him out. Noteworthy, instead, gave a tired smile. “Fine. I can see I’m not wanted here. I’ll give you—”

“I said now,” Spike said.

He backed out of the library. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you some time to cool off and think about it.” He walked out onto the lawn. “You’ll be ready to reconsider soon, I think.”

Spike slammed the door when Noteworthy was out of sight.

* * * * * *

“Fluttershy, I really don’t mind if you want to wait another day,” Twilight said insistently. She had apologized to Fluttershy the night before, after talking with Vintage for two hours, but still felt the sting of guilt when Fluttershy looked up at her with her wide, fearful eyes.

“Don’t worry, Twilight. I think I can handle it this time.” Fluttershy slowed her breathing and closed her eyes, standing and putting her hooves on the bed for support as she lowered her head to Twilight’s midsection.

Immediately, Twilight could see the strain the spell put on her. While her body tingled uncomfortably, Fluttershy’s breathing was uneven, and her wings were tight over her sides. Veins stood out over the wing joints, and her feathers strained backwards at the force with which she held her wings down. For minutes, she stood in this way, vibrating slightly as sweat first broke, then trickled down her face; her hooves trembled. The feeling inside Twilight’s chest persisted, and Fluttershy began making small moaning sounds, which slowly became long whines from deep within her chest.

The tingling intensified into needling pain, and Fluttershy gasped, but Twilight didn’t stop her. Watching her friend at her side, torturing herself over a simple healing spell, gave her a perverse satisfaction. “That’s what you get for caring too much.”

Her whining turned into wheezing, then into crying, and still her spell persisted. Her head shook, sweat dripped off her chin in a steady stream, and her breath was ragged, but the pain, so small in comparison to the scene Fluttershy provided her, lessened. Gradually, Fluttershy slowed, and reverted to a deadened, distant concentration as Twilight felt her pain disappear, and with it, the throb of cracked ribs that she had grown to tolerate.

Fluttershy waited a few seconds before letting herself slide onto the floor, where she laid inert for several minutes, her breathing labored. Twilight looked down at her, then at herself. She flexed her back, her legs, her neck, and took a deep breath in. All painless. She climbed out of bed and helped Fluttershy up, and suddenly, the bitterness she felt had evaporated. “Are you okay?”

Fluttershy gave a weak nod as she calmed down. “Are you?”

“I feel great,” Twilight said with a genuine smile. “Your spell worked perfectly.”

The others were in the dining room, to give Twilight and Fluttershy privacy. When they emerged, Fluttershy a walking wreck, everyone got up to tend to her, just as it was when she had woken up from her head injury. Vintage was elsewhere.

When it was two o’ clock, they exited the house and headed to the top of the hill, looking around worriedly for any sign of more of Discord’s creatures. Pinkie ran off into the vineyard to find Vintage and alert her.

“What ever happened to that green pony?” Rainbow asked. “The secret agent.”

“Loose Threads?” Twilight said. “He went back to work after he saw that we didn’t need him. Vintage was enough to take care of us.”

“You spent a lot of time with her, didn’t you, Twilight?” Rarity asked.

“Yeah, well, she kept me company when I was in bed.” Rainbow laughed, and Twilight frowned. “What? What did I say?”

“She kept you company while you were in bed,” she snickered, prompting a blush from Twilight.

“Get yer mind outta the gutter, Rainbow,” Applejack said.

“Hey, she said it.”

“She’s really nice when you get to know her,” Twilight continued.

“Hey, maybe she can come with us too!” Pinkie cried, bursting out of a patch of grape vines in front of them.

“Ah take it she’s been warned?” Applejack said.

“Yup! She’s heading back to the house right now!”

They kept walking. “Why would she want to come with us?” Twilight asked.

“I dunno. Maybe she could use some adventure or something.”

“Ah doubt it,” Applejack said. “‘Specially not with all this golem business she went through.”

“Octavia came with us,” Rarity said.

“But Vintage has a life here,” Rainbow said, and everyone looked at her. “What? She said it herself, she doesn’t have any friends or prospects. Right, Octavia?”

“Right,” Octavia said evenly.

“Aw, Octavia, don’t say that! We’re your friends!” Pinkie said.

“Rainbow, could you have possibly worded that any less tactfully?” Rarity said.

“Sorry Octavia,” Rainbow said quickly, giving an unconvincing shrug.

“You need not apologize for stating the truth,” Octavia said quietly.

“Uh, okay.”

No one talked until they reached the top of the hill, where Twilight and Pinkie took their places. The dirt was still stained a sanguine, dark red from the battle they had fought the other day, though the pieces of barrel had vanished. Flies buzzed in small clouds all around, and they picked a spot on the far side of the hilltop to watch the spell’s progress.

“So, Fluttershy, did you make up with Twilight?” Applejack asked in a low voice.

“Yeah, what was up with that?” Rainbow asked.

“Oh, um, yes, we’re fine,” Fluttershy said. “She was just upset because the golem fight triggered another flashback.”

“What? Again? I thought she was over it,” Rarity said.

“She seemed a lot better,” Applejack said.

“Um, not really. She wanted to be, but when it all came back, she wasn’t,” Fluttershy said. “She felt really bad about it.”

“Hang on. Bad? About having a flashback?” Rainbow said.

“She feels guilty.”

“About what?”

“She said we all are doing so well, and she isn’t. She feels bad about being slow to recover.”

“That’s stupid,” Rainbow blustered. “None of us care about that.”

“It’s actually quite common among traumatized ponies,” Rarity said. “They feel that if they need help, it makes them weak. So they bottle it up.”

“Yeah, stupid.”

“Intelligence has nothing to do with it, Rainbow.”

“Clearly.”

“Lay off her, Rainbow,” Applejack said. “Don’t blame the mare fer sufferin’.”

“It’s not that. It’s just she should know better than to hide that stuff from us, you know?”

“It is not always that easy,” Octavia said.

They all looked at her, and in that moment, she knew she had made a mistake.

“I guess you would… know?” Rarity asked.

Octavia sighed. “I suppose I must.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” Rainbow said.

“I am sorry. I should have stayed out of it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” Rarity asked. “You must have spoken for a reason, dear.”

“I was trying only to illuminate the issue. I do not want to talk about myself.”

“Ah wouldn’t mind talkin’ ‘bout ya,” Applejack said.

“Do not push this, Applejack. I am content where I am.”

Applejack looked at her for a moment, but then shrugged. “Okay, Ah’ll back off. Ah’m curious, y’understand.”

“I do, but I have nothing to say.”

When they got back to Vintage’s house, she was waiting outside with a broad smile. “I knew you’d be undoing the spell, but sweet Celestia, girls, that was outstanding! I’ve never seen such a thing! I was looking out the window and I heard this earthquake sound, and I started to panic for a second, but then remembered what you were doing, and then the pieces just started floating toward each other! I mean, the one between here and your ship came right at me and crushed that little bridge between them! Crushed! The pieces are somewhere underground now!” She ran up to them and embraced Twilight. “You’re awesome, Twilight!”

“Uh, thanks, Vintage,” she said, uncertainly returning the hug while Applejack and Rainbow exchanged incredulous looks.

“Yay! I want in!” Pinkie cried, jumping up and squeezing them both tightly.

“Uh, Pinkie, you’re crushing us,” Vintage said, and Pinkie let up. They went into Vintage’s house. “So, what comes next? Was that the whole town you fixed?”

“No, only half,” Twilight said. “Next, we’re going to the south side. To Astra Villa.”

“Ah, yes. They let you?”

“It took some convincing, but they eventually agreed to let us cast our spell, yes,” Rarity said.

“But before that, I think we ought to try for the aqueducts,” Twilight said. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“Ah agree,” Applejack said. “We can’t rely on that Element to wait forever.”

“Element of Harmony?” Vintage asked.

“Yeah! It’s hiding up in the old aqueducts somewhere!” Pinkie cried. “We’re gonna go find it, and then we’ll be one step closer to stopping that big meanie Discord!”

“Ponies say there’s treasure in the old ruins.”

“Treasure’s cool,” Rainbow said, looking at Applejack with a sneer. “And you know who finds treasure a lot?”

“Oh, shucks, Rainbow, Ah couldn’t even begin to think who you might be talkin’ ‘bout,” Applejack said with a playful roll of her eyes.

“I don’t think Daring Do has ever gone to Trottingham,” Rainbow said, thinking. “She should. It’d be awesome!”

“Rainbow, darling, don’t you think you might be a little, oh, how do I put this lightly? Obsessed, perhaps, with that fictional pegasus of yours?” Rarity said.

“Actually, she’s not fictional,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, the books are based on a real pony,” Rainbow said defensively.

“Archaeologist, right?” Applejack asked.

“Actually, the books are a little vague on that. They always just say she’s an ‘adventurer’. Not sure what it means.”

“Isn’t it obvious, Dashie? It means she goes on adventures all the time!” Pinkie said.

“Well, yeah, but how can that be her job? How does a pony get paid to go on adventures?” Noticing the looks she was getting, she blushed. “I know it’s not a realistic career. I’m not that dumb.”

“Ah didn’t say anythin’,” Applejack said.

“Hey, where’s Octavia?” Pinkie asked. They all looked around, but she was not there. She had been quiet that day, quieter than usual, and her absence cut their conversation short.

“Aw, geez,” Rainbow said. “Uh, we’ll be back, Vintage. We need to find our friend.”

“Don’t let me hold you up,” Vintage said, smiling peacefully. Her eyes lingered on Twilight, who smiled back, and they exited the house, heading for the airship.

Octavia was cleaning the airship’s bathroom when her friends came onto the deck, calling her name. She briefly debated not answering, but went out to them. She knew a reprimand was coming.

“There you are. Why’d you disappear like that?” Applejack asked.

“I was not needed where you were, so I returned to the ship. While I was here, I was able to clean the bathroom. Mostly. I am not finished yet.”

“It’s not like you to walk away without saying anything,” Twilight said.

She resisted the urge to rub her eyes. She was exhausted. “Yes, it is.”

“No it ain’t. It’s like you to stand there like a zombie an’ not say nothin’, not to abandon us when we’re not lookin’,” Applejack said.

“I apologize if I have offended you. I merely thought that I would make myself useful, instead of watching you chat with Vintage.”

They were silent for a moment. “Aw, sheesh. Octavia, is this about me saying you didn’t have any friends earlier?” Rainbow asked.

She paused. “That is irrelevant.”

“Just answer.”

She narrowed her tired eyes, and opened them up again. “I can not get upset at Rainbow for this.” “You did not have to point it out.”

“Look, I’m sorry if that hurt your feelings. I just say stuff like that sometimes; I didn’t mean it.”

“That is irrelevant. It is true, and that is enough.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got friends now!” Pinkie said.

“I know, and I am grateful.”

“You need to stop dwelling on the past,” Twilight said.

Octavia frowned at her. “You are certainly one to talk.” “Yes.”

“Um, okay. So, no hard feelings?” Rainbow said, offering a hoof, which Octavia shook.

“No hard feelings,” she said quietly.

They returned to Vintage’s house, and she politely refrained from asking about why Octavia had left. They thanked her for the hospitality, and for taking care of Twilight and Fluttershy, and after another brief exchange and another long hug for Twilight, they packed up and flew to the other side of town.

There was no place for them to land closer to Sandoz’s settlement, so they settled for the small slab of concrete where they first touched down, and walked up the mountain road. It was early afternoon, and, again, they were surrounded by uneasy silence. The northeast half of Trottingham was complete, but the difference was not as drastic as it was elsewhere. Unlike Manehattan and Canterlot, the city had only been split in but a few places, leaving massive icebergs of land to loom near one another, instead of small shards to clutter the air.

The settlement in the mountains was still, and it took them a few tries to find Sandoz’s house. She invited them in for tea, commenting on, but not pursuing, Twilight’s strangely fast recovery, and they made small talk about the vineyard, the golem, and the villa. They asked about the aqueducts, and she apologized; she could take them only later that day, due to a prior engagement. They reluctantly agreed to get up at dawn to go with her.

Sandoz left an hour later, and they, with nothing to do until the next day, returned to the ship.

Octavia kept watch for the second half of the night, after four hours of restless, unsatisfying sleep, and woke them up at six; the sun was just coming up, and everyone was still tired. She had already prepared breakfast for them: modest plates of greens, with nothing extra. As far as Octavia was concerned, breakfast was just another task, nothing exciting. They ate in sleepy silence, and, finished, left the ship to head for Sandoz’s house.

The walk up the road was long and quiet, still chilly in the dawn. They were all privately excited about finding the first Element of Harmony, but it was too early to talk about it; they only walked, endless hooves plodding on the dust and stone. They passed the park, where they first met Sandoz, four days ago. After the long flight from Cloudsdale, broken only by Discord’s envoy, Vanilla Cream, it felt strange to be making so much progress in the space of only a few days. Half the town restored, and an Element of Harmony but a few hours away—so much faster than the big city.

They met Sandoz outside her house, where she played a small, lilting song, thin as the air. She smiled at them and, with only a brief pause in her playing, directed them to follow her.

They walked through the tiny settlement without seeing anyone else, and began the climb up a steep offshoot off the main mountain road. A ground squirrel dove out of a nearby bush, and Fluttershy gasped happily as it shot across the road and into a small, unseen depression. Still, no one spoke, and Sandoz played.

When they paused to rest, the entrance to the aqueducts was in sight, a massive, cracked, black arch, covered in moss and lichen. The smell of standing water filled the air, and clouds of mosquitoes swirled in small patches nearby. Rainbow flew up onto a ridge to look down on the town; from their height, it was a foggy, anonymous model, cracked in places like the shattered shell of a relic. Astra Villa was a dark bookend in the corner, brooding over the emptiness.

They continued on, stopping at the arch, where Sandoz removed the flute from her mouth. “Go straight in and follow the pathway until you reach a large, vaulted chamber. From there, take the path into the mountains. Keep going until you’re inside; it may take a while to find your way. After that… good luck.”

“Thank you, Sandoz,” Rarity said.

“Come see me when you get out, so I can know you’re okay.”

“Of course.”

She nodded and brought the flute back to her lips. She closed her eyes and played, the same sad song they had walked in on days ago, and Octavia took the lead. The music faded as they walked down the dry, stony road, until it was gone entirely, and the entrance had curved away behind them.

They stepped over pieces of masonry and clusters of mold and algae as they walked deeper into the broken down aqueduct. Above, black paths crisscrossed, and in the distance, Trottingham slumbered. The chamber Sandoz mentioned loomed ahead, a tall cylinder attached at the base to several other pathways, branching out like the limbs of an ancient tree.

They climbed a small set of crumbling steps and walked by a crusty grate, then across a wide, soggy basin to the chamber. The dark bricks were hard and rough on their hooves, and the air smelled of decay, deeper and more pungent inside the arched vault. Mold climbed the crumbling, design-inlaid columns, and water stood in a small, fetid pool in the middle of the wide floor. The stones, slick in places and dry in others, resembled mottled, dead shells, or the Everfree Forest from above.

“We want to go that way,” Rarity said, angling her horn toward a tall, narrow archway that framed part of the mountain behind.

“Is it in this mountain, or the next one?” Twilight asked.

“Next.”

“Let us move, then,” Octavia said, walking slowly to the exit. “We cannot take too long here.”

They followed her reluctantly back out onto the uncovered aqueduct. The mountain behind loomed impressively in the near distance, fronted by a confusing, incomplete maze of channels and pillars. The aqueducts resembled less a flat labyrinth for them to navigate, but a shattered wall of black thorns, with support columns on lower waterways and slanting chutes all around. In places, the channels ended abruptly over large reservoirs, but no water flowed through the air.

“Rarity, take the lead,” Octavia said tiredly.

Rarity calmly stepped forward, horn alight with the Element-finding spell. She sighed, and walked on. The sun was still behind the mountaintop, and they walked in the shade of countless miles of stone. There was no one else nearby, but one of them would sometimes point out a sign of civilization. A hammer left by the guardrail, a bit shining in the bottom of a mosquito-clouded pool.

“Ponies use this channel,” Twilight said quietly. “This must be one of the ones they travel to find more water.”

“Sandoz said we need to go into the ruins,” Applejack said. “Twi, you read anythin’ ‘bout them?”

“Actually, yes. While I was injured, I had plenty of time for reading. I read about the ancient aqueducts, the Astra family, and a little about Tartarus creatures, to try to learn more about that Vanilla Cream.”

“Him,” Applejack said bitterly.

“You don’t like him?” Rarity asked.

“Ah don’t trust him. He talks too smooth.”

“You trust Twilight,” Rainbow said.

“She’s smart, not smooth.” She grinned apologetically at Twilight. “No offense, sugarcube.”

“I do not like him either, but I still think that we should take his offer,” Octavia said.

“He made a good point,” Rarity said. “And made it well.”

“Too well,” Applejack said.

“Aw, that’s an excuse,” Rainbow said.

“Well what do ya want me to say?”

“He was really handsome!” Pinkie said.

“Pinkie, you’re not going to have a chance with someone like him,” Rarity said. “I don’t think he’s even equine.”

“He isn’t,” Twilight said. “Almost certainly. I couldn’t find him specifically, but the book said that ponies can’t live in Tartarus. So unless he’s some kind of one-in-a-billion, ultra-powerful or ultra-lucky stallion, who found a way to survive there, he’s not equine.”

“He looked equine,” Pinkie said.

“He probably changed his appearance so as not to frighten us.”

“Well ain’t that nice of him,” Applejack said.

“We are forgetting that we do not have much of a choice in this whole matter,” Octavia said. “He said that he would be vexing us regardless. We cannot get rid of him.”

“That we know of,” Rarity said. “Twilight, is there a way to do that? A banishing spell, or something?”

“We can’t banish him,” Twilight said, “because we didn’t summon him. Only Discord can do that. I could try to break the binding on him, I suppose.” She thought. “But that’s hard enough to do with Gaia magic. Breaking a Tartarus binding spell? I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Ah have a question,” Applejack said. “Everyone keeps talkin’ ‘bout how hard Tartarus magic is, an’ how weird it is to work with, an’ how dangerous it is.”

“Yeah, what’s the big deal?” Rainbow asked. “Tartarus is all fire and brimstone. Its magic can’t be that complex.”

Twilight chuckled, and Rainbow gave her a dirty look. “Sorry, Dash. I’m afraid none of that is correct. First of all, Tartarus isn’t all fire and brimstone. Most of it’s just like the Gaia—you know, oceans, forests, grasslands, mountains, everything. Things live there.” She waved a hoof around her face as they passed through a cloud of gnats over a puddle. They were well into the maze. “That’s one thing ponies get wrong so much. Tartarus is not pony hell, or some kind of sinister prison, or whatever; it’s just a mirror world. That’s literally all it is.”

“That happens to be dangerous to everything in Equestria,” Rarity said.

“Its laws of physics and magic are slightly different; of course it’s dangerous to us. What’s normal for them is crazy for us, and vice-versa.”

“It is not inherently bad, just different,” Octavia said.

“Exactly.”

“An’ the magic?” Applejack said. “What’s so special ‘bout it?”

“Oh, so much,” Twilight said. She chuckled. “How are we doing, Rarity?”

Rarity lit her horn for a moment, and nodded. “Getting closer. But… it’s still a long way to go.”

“If you’re really interested in the differences between Gaia magic and Tartarus magic, I’d be happy to explain,” Twilight said.

“We’ve got a long walk ahead of us,” Applejack said. “Let’s have it.”

Twilight grinned.

“So when a unicorn tries to cast even the simplest Tartarus spell, like telekinesis, for example, she has to consider the aura of the object she’s moving, along with her own, along with the ambient aura of the room. And if it’s a Gaia object, then she has to consider the aura she’s forcing onto the area by using Tartarus magic. Not to mention all the null magic and anti-magic from before,” Twilight said. She paused, and they came to a rest on a dry parapet. “I’m not boring you yet?”

They were at the edge of the mountain. The tangle of aqueducts, up close, was not as daunting as it had appeared, and with a few minor corrections, Rarity was able to lead them out of the maze and to a long, perilous curve of waterways over the mountain’s rocky, southeastern slopes. At the other end was the second mountain, and a smaller maze.

“I think that it is fascinating,” Octavia said, covering a yawn. “I am sorry. I did not sleep well last night.”

“Did you sleep at all?” Rarity asked.

“Yes.” Her voice was impatient.

“Just asking.”

“It’s good to hear you talking again, Twilight,” Pinkie said.

“Yeah, even if it’s way over our heads,” Rainbow said.

“I don’t think it’s over my head,” Fluttershy said shyly.

“It certainly is fer me,” Applejack said. “But go ahead an’ keep goin’.”

“Actually, I need to rest my voice,” Twilight said. She lit her horn for a moment, and a single bag materialized by her side. She dug a canteen of water out of it and took a long drink.

“I do not like the look of these walkways,” Octavia said.

“They still have their supports,” Rarity said. “Most of them, anyway.”

“Yes… I suppose so.”

“You afraid of heights, Octavia?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes. I, and the majority of the earth ponies.”

“Ah’m right there with ya,” Applejack said.

They stood on the precipice of a large outcropping of stone, only a couple feet under their waterway. Past its edge, they would be over sharp rocks thirty or forty feet below, and steadily climbing up, until reaching the other mountain’s edge. Everyone was hesitant to take the first step.

“Come on, then,” Octavia said. The sun was peeking over the mountain’s shoulder. “Standing here does not help.” She walked off onto the unsupported aqueduct, and they followed her. The stones were undecorated and dry, and before long, the walls of the channel had risen to block out their view. They could only catch glimpses of deep, empty sky through cracks between the bricks.

“Are you really interested in magic? Or were you just glad to get me talking again?” Twilight asked.

“For me, it was both,” Octavia said.

“Uh… Ah was more interested in hearin’ you talk,” Applejack said.

“It’s true, dear. Before today, you weren’t exactly… happy,” Rarity said.

Twilight sighed. “I suppose I brought this on myself.”

“What’s that mean?” Rainbow asked.

“With my behavior these last couple days. Yelling at Fluttershy.”

“But you’re better now, right?” Pinkie asked.

“Sure.”

“Darling, you know there’s no shame in needing help getting over a traumatic incident,” Rarity said.

“I suppose I do.” They continued in silence for a time, and when they stopped to rest at a large crack in the aqueduct’s bottom, Twilight spoke again. “That was something else I read about.”

“We’re all here for you,” Rainbow said. “You just gotta let us know.”

“Yeah.” She looked down. “I know. I’m okay now. Maybe later tonight. Nights are… hard.”

Rarity looked at Octavia before speaking. “I know what you mean.”

Twilight nodded and stepped over the crack. “Let’s keep going.”

They followed her, and soon, they were coming up on the second, smaller, maze of aqueducts. Rarity stopped them and cast her spell. “Much closer now, girls.”

They walked up a set of moldering stairs, squeezing past the dislodged top of a support column. Above, a narrow trough sagged, its bottom damp.

“How’s your magic coming along, Octavia?” Fluttershy asked.

“It is developing well. Twilight and I still practice, from time to time, though I have taken to reading her texts at night.”

“Yer really good,” Applejack said.

“I surprised myself, yes. I do not know why, but magic makes sense to me.”

Applejack chuckled. “It’s just a complement, darlin’. No need to explain yerself.”

“I am sorry.”

Applejack chuckled again. “Oh, yer a hoot, Octavia.”

“You’re really good at blowing stuff up,” Rainbow said.

“You really are,” Twilight said. “That kind of spell demands a lot from a pony. They don’t usually start with them.”

Octavia only shrugged. “I do not know. For me, they are not very difficult.”

“Have you tried teleportation yet?” Rarity asked.

“No. I am not looking forward to it, either.”

“I don’t think you’re ready for that,” Twilight said.

“I am interested in expanding my knowledge, though.”

“What kind of spells are you interested in?”

“That is just it. I do not know where to go from here. I can do basic telekinesis, explosions—as we said—and I am practicing shield magic. I am not very good at that yet.”

“What about illumination magic?”

“Ah, yes. I forgot that.”

“I’d say you should keep working on your shield spells, and maybe, when you’re comfortable with that, try… hmm… I’d say advanced telekinesis.”

“What about sigils?”

“Oh, no, those are much too advanced for you right now.”

They walked over a rough grate, and Pinkie stopped for a moment to look down into it. Water trickled far below, and she pressed her face against the metal mesh.

“Pinkie, get away from that,” Rarity said. “You have no idea how filthy that is.”

“It smells like an old salad!” Pinkie cried, bouncing over to them.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to say anything, but these aqueducts really do smell disgusting,” Twilight said.

“Hey, look!” Rainbow said, pointing. Over on the other side of a large gap, two tiny pony shapes moved along. “We’re not alone up here after all.”

“Ah can’t imagine havin’ to come up here every day fer water,” Applejack said. “It’s already noon. What time did we start?”

“We’ve been up here a few hours by now,” Rarity said, shielding her eyes as she looked into the sky.

“But we’re close,” Twilight said, walking on.

When they finally reached a hole in the side of the mountain, the sun was over the mountaintop, and they were happy to be back in the shade. A shaft of light illuminated a corner of aqueduct deeper within the tunnel, but Twilight put up a light spell of her own anyway.

The difference between the outer aqueducts and the ruins was obvious and instant. While the aqueducts outside were large, heavy stone troughs, devoid of personality or color, the mountain interior was alive with pillars, faded carvings, and arches. In Twilight’s light, the space resembled the interior of a decrepit palace.

They passed the curtain of sunlight and bent sharply to the side, going up another large staircase, until stopping at a cracked, circular platform, enclosed by a shattered brick wall. Twilight stood to the side of the platform and aimed her horn at a large stone above them; a bold frieze stared back down at them, carved into the smooth surface by an expert hoof.

“I read about these,” she said reverently. “They’re all over the ruins, starting where the water comes up from the ground. They’re supposed to tell a story.”

“What’s the story?” Pinkie asked. Her voice was extra loud inside the mountain.

“It’s the story of the river, and the ponies that used it to survive.” She traced her eyes across it. From one corner, water flowed in small, gentle spirals, with ponies standing to either side, until it reached a large, dark circle, where it vanished. Inside the circle, there were carved smaller circles and crescents: eyes and claws. “This is the last carving in the story. It depicts where the river flows into a lake near the southern border of Equestria. Back in those days, they called it the Black Lake.” She indicated a small row of lettering. “It says ‘make deeper the deep waters, fill the blackest hole’.”

“That’s kinda creepy,” Rainbow said.

“Why do ancient ponies always have to name stuff so grim an’ depressin’?” Applejack asked. “Why can’t it be the Green Lake? Or Big Fish Lake? Or somethin’.”

“They called it the Black Lake because of its depth,” Twilight said. She looked back at the frieze, and they continued, off the platform and deeper into the mountain.

“I believe that the lake it refers to is now called Creation Lake,” Octavia said.

“Now that’s better,” Applejack said.

“I think you’re right,” Twilight said.

“It is a beautiful place,” Octavia said. “I played there once. It has marvelous acoustics, for being naturally-occurring.”

“Well, Ah look forward to goin’ there,” Applejack said.

They passed another frieze, but Twilight didn’t stop to explain it. They could hear water flowing nearby, and as they continued, the sound disappeared behind them. For a long time, they walked in silence, following Twilight. Trickles of water occasionally slithered in the darkness, and speckles of light winked at them from jagged stones: bioluminescent fungus, Twilight said. There was rarely more than one path to take, and as they wound deeper into the mountain, Rarity periodically stopped to confirm their progress.

They rested on another circular platform, suspended over a dark well of water, and Twilight took the time to examine another wall decoration. “This one is about the rapids in the desert. How the river gains speed and strength as it moves away from pony civilization.”

“What’s the inscription say?” Pinkie asked.

“I don’t remember. I only read a couple in my book.”

“Why is it so clear?” Rainbow asked.

“Huh?”

“Ancient ruins aren’t this easy to read, Twilight.” She stood up and walked to it. She couldn’t reach it from their platform, and flew up to run a hoof over it. “Look at this. No dust, or dirt, or cobwebs, or anything. This is wrong.”

“She’s right,” Rarity said. “I didn’t notice it before.”

“Discord’s been here,” Pinkie said. “What else could it be?”

“His buddy, maybe,” Applejack said.

“Either way, it is not a good sign,” Octavia said. She thought. “Or, perhaps, it is a good sign. It might mean that we are on the right track.”

“We’ll just have to see,” Rarity said. “Twilight, let me take the light spell for a while, darling.” Twilight’s horn dimmed while Rarity’s came to life, and they resumed their walk. Half an hour later, Rarity stopped them. “We’re almost there.” She went to the side of the walkway and looked over it. A wide channel went just below them, leading to a huge, rusted sluice gate. She sighed and pointed to the gate. “It’s that way.”

Octavia looked down at the aqueduct. “I do not want to jump down there.”

“We can carry you,” Rainbow said, looking at Fluttershy. “You too, AJ. Pinkie, you can teleport.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Pinkie said nervously.

“What about me?” Rarity asked.

“You can’t teleport? What kind of unicorn are you?” Rainbow said.

“Dash, you should know I can’t teleport. I never could.”

“You did the night of the battle!” Pinkie cried.

Everyone went silent, and Rarity cleared her throat. “Er, I suppose. That was different.”

No one looked at Twilight, and Rainbow went to Octavia. “Right, let’s get you down there.” She and Fluttershy carried Octavia down to the lower waterway, then Applejack, then Rarity. Pinkie and Twilight teleported together. The sluice gate was tilted on one side, and Octavia dislodged it with a simple, strong telekinetic pull. A strong odor of decay wafted from inside, and they reeled back.

“Ugh, he didn’t have to put it in there,” Rarity said.

“Can we get a shield to keep out the smell?” Octavia asked, taking the lead inside.

“No, don’t,” Twilight said. “We might have to fight something inside. Be ready to help us with that instead.”

The roof was low and damp, and the tunnel stretched deep under the stone, its end lost in deep, thick shadow. They had to stoop slightly to move along it, and there was not enough room for Rarity’s light to reach past the first few ponies in the line. For those in the back, there was no seeing how close to the end they were. They splashed through occasional skins of slimy water, but encountered no cracks or pieces of debris as they moved deeper and deeper into the unseen aqueduct filtration system.

“Twilight, did these ancient ponies have the technology to make any, um… turbines, or things?” Rainbow asked.

“Magical ones, I think. But those enchantments should be long dead,” Twilight said.

“Unless Discord reactivated them,” Octavia said.

“Aw, great. Thanks fer that,” Applejack said.

“Quiet. I think I hear something,” Rarity said. They all cocked their ears to listen. Not far away, but muffled by the walls, was a quiet shuffling sound, steadily moving away. “That would be the monster.”

“Whoa, slow down, there. Nopony said anythin’ ‘bout a monster,” Applejack said.

“Well, no, but how could there not be one?”

“I don’t want to fight something all the way down here,” Rainbow said.

“Up here, Dash,” Twilight said. “We’re halfway up the mountain.”

“Oh, right.”

“Keep moving,” Octavia said. “If we must fight, let us try to find a better place for it than this.”

Rarity moaned, but kept moving. Where the tunnel ended, they stopped on top of a metal grating, stretching over a steep, stone incline. She angled her light down into the bottom of the stone funnel, where a few large, mossy, stone gears waited. On their edges, like pricks of crystal, more fungus glowed softly.

“We’re right on top of it,” Rarity said. “I think it’s on the other side of this… thing.”

“Should I fly on over there?” Rainbow asked.

“Hang on.” Rarity tilted her head and closed her eyes, and the others followed her example. The shuffling noise from earlier had not returned. “Yes, go ahead. But be quick.”

“You kidding? Quick is my specialty.” She took off, and Rarity trained her beam on her as she crossed the foul, stone chasm. She landed on the other side and looked around, sticking her head in open pipes and flapping up to look behind vents.

As she searched, Octavia activated her own gray light and, with some concentration, sent it down in a weak cone to the bottom of the funnel. Behind the gears was a large opening, dark but for a couple small splotches of light. She narrowed her beam further, and as she set it on the opening, the lights faded back. They did not return when she turned her light off.

She looked up to see Rainbow proudly waving a small, tarnished artifact. “It’s yours, Fluttershy!” She flew back to them and showed off the Element. It was creased with dirt and grime, and its jewel was smudged, but the craftsponyship was not lost on Octavia, who had never seen one before.

Fluttershy looked at it for a moment before putting it on, giving only a small smile as she stuttered out a question. “Um… h-how do I look?”

“Like the best darn thing Ah’ve seen in a long while,” Applejack said.

Rarity stiffened, and they looked at her. “I hear it again.”

Octavia turned her light back on and looked over the grate’s edge, but saw nothing in the hole.

“We need to get out,” Twilight said, backing away and stooping to reenter the tunnel.

They followed behind her quickly, back into the constricting stone passage. The shuffling was louder and nearer, as if its cause was just on the other side of the wall. As they moved, it faded behind them, but did not go quiet as before, even as they emerged back into the waterway. Rainbow turned quickly to look around as they approached the channel above them, looking up unhappily.

Without speaking, Rainbow and Fluttershy helped Applejack, then Rarity, then Octavia back up to the pathway, leaving Twilight and Pinkie to teleport. When they were all on the waterway, they looked around, Rarity lighting the entire cavern. For a few fearful seconds, they saw nothing.

“Below,” Pinkie said quietly, staring. They looked down rapidly, at the narrow passage they had escaped only minutes earlier. An eerie light waxed from within, and the scrabbling, once only near, had loudened into a present, uncovered warning.

“Follow me,” Twilight said, taking off at a jog down the aqueduct path. They followed quickly, Octavia at the back, and the sound passed underneath them.

“Stop,” Octavia said, turning to look down. It moved smoothly and quickly, like flowing water, out of the sluice tunnel. In Twilight’s dimming light, she could make out dull spines over its back, some glowing with the bioluminescent fungus. White flecked its shell in places—barnacles, she recognized. Two large, heavy claws preceded it, thumping the ground menacingly as it skittered. Most striking, however, was the smell: overpowering, acrid salt and decay, as though the monster had been heaved up from the depths of the ocean. It did not look their way, but passed swiftly below their channel, to disappear around a corner.

“Okay, well, there it is,” Rainbow said quietly. The fear was obvious in her voice. “Can we go now?”

“Move, and do not speak; listen for its approach,” Octavia said, hastening to catch up with Twilight.

They jogged in a rough line, looking around anxiously, listening for the monster’s approach. At every corner, they paused, watching Twilight slowly look around it for the creature. At the group’s head, she constantly adjusted her light’s intensity; she dared not make it too bright, but couldn’t keep them completely in the dark either. When they passed the first circular platform, Applejack stopped briefly. The creature glowed on a small plinth across an empty space, some forty feet away.

“Okay, let’s try to rest real quick,” Twilight said, stopping. “It’s all the way over there. It can’t get us.”

“You don’t know that,” Rainbow said.

“What do we do if it comes after us?” Rarity asked.

“We fight it,” Octavia said. “I said that we need to begin rising to the challenge Discord has posed us. Do you remember that?”

“Ah’d really rather run, to be honest,” Applejack said.

“We cannot run from everything.” She looked at the creature, and it slowly sank from its perch. “There will come a time, I am sure, when running will not be possible. We need to be ready.”

“What makes you so sure about this?” Rarity asked.

“Look at what we have already witnessed. Manehattan and Cloudsdale: those were when Equestria was at its best. Discord is building a new army, and we only have one Element.” She sighed. “I am sorry if I am discouraging you all. But things will not be getting better on their own.”

“You’re really negative today,” Pinkie said.

Octavia looked at her emotionlessly, and the water stirred below. In Twilight’s light, the change of illumination was not obvious, but when Applejack looked over the edge and reeled back with a shout of alarm, they all knew what was below.

“Run!” Rainbow cried, taking off down the dry waterway. The others followed behind her, and Octavia growled to herself as she moved to the circle’s edge.

“Cowards,” she said to their retreating forms. She looked down at the water; the monster swam slowly within, its body illuminating the overgrown edges of the reservoir.

“Octavia, get over here!” Twilight yelled, flashing her light briefly to get Octavia’s attention.

She didn’t respond as she studied the creature. Its eyes, tiny beads of white on a thick, plated head, seemed to survey the area with dumb malice as its claws clicked under the water. Its tail waved lazily, and its antennae broke the water’s surface like thin reeds. Her friends were running back to drag her away, and she, without thinking, targeted the circular dais’ center.

As the creature hoisted itself up on its claws, bringing its head only a few feet from the bottom of the platform, she brought her magic into focus in her mind. For her, it was easy: one charge of concentration into the floor, and a separate, parallel thought to twist it from latent energy into a powerful, walkway-rocking explosion.

“Octavia, no!”

It was too late. The cavern flashed brilliantly as the stone cracked and split, flinging dust and pebbles. The entire base of the platform seemed to tip away from her, its corner digging into the monster’s head with a harsh crunch. Both parties sunk, fast and dangerous, into the water. The entire mountain seemed to shake with the impact, and she watched as it struggled, pinned to the bottom of the shallow reservoir. Though it was only faintly illuminated, she could see its thrashing legs and whipping tail, stirring the well into a cauldron of freezing, stained water. Dark blood seeped upwards as its claws moved spastically, and on the other side, where its tail lay flat and crushed, light foam dispersed rapidly in the ripples.

Something groaned and creaked nearby, and her friends shouted her name again, right behind her. She was conscious of them watching the scene as it unfolded, as blood mixed in the water with the creature’s squirming, creamy discharge. Small bits of glowing fungus floated to the top, some still clinging to pieces of sheared shell.

“Oh, Celestia,” Applejack whispered.

“Come on,” Rainbow said angrily, grabbing Octavia by the hoof and yanking her along.

They moved quickly at first, to escape any potential collapses Octavia’s explosion had caused, but then at a slower pace when they were free of the ruins. They followed Twilight out and away from the mountain, not speaking. Octavia could tell they were all unhappy with her; they would look at her, only to look away quickly, and the mood was tense. They traversed the free-hanging curve between mazes, and made it all the way back to the first chamber, where they rested, before she finally spoke. “Are you uncomfortable with the way that I dispatched the threat?”

“A little, yeah,” Twilight said.

“You didn’t have to kill it at all,” Fluttershy said.

“It was horrible, but… you made it worse,” Rarity said, clearly uncomfortable finishing the sentence.

“That white stuff was its eggs,” Fluttershy said quietly. “Um… I’m just saying. It was a mama.”

Octavia looked at them with a bemused expression. “I apologize. I was under the impression that our common goal was to gather the Elements, stop Discord, and undo the spell; I was unaware that you did not want to destroy his creations as well.”

“Don’t make it sound like it’s our fault,” Rainbow said heatedly. “You’re the one who crushed it under the freaking platform! We would have been perfectly content to send it to sleep or something.”

“Realizing, of course, that it would pose a threat to all other ponies passing through. This way, it shall present no danger to anyone.”

“It was so violent, though,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, Octavia, I hate to say it, but you couldn’t have picked a more gruesome way to kill that thing,” Twilight said.

“It is true that it was unpleasant to watch, but I believe that my option would have been preferable to a drawn-out battle.”

“How can you talk like that?” Applejack asked. “How can y’all just stand there an’ talk ‘bout killin’ a livin’ creature so coldly? Like it’s a chore or somethin’.”

“I do not attach emotions to my actions. I believe I have said this before.”

“Don’t you feel even a little remorse for killing that thing so violently?” Rarity asked.

“I did what I had to do.”

“Answer the question!” Applejack barked, suddenly angry.

“Very well. No. I feel no contrition for my action.”

Applejack frowned at her. “Yer… yer a psychopath. Killin’ indiscriminately an’ not feelin’ any sort of sorry ‘bout it.”

“Name one instance in which I have killed ‘indiscriminately’.”

“Just now!”

“Are you saying that we were not threatened?”

“Not enough for what you did,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah,” Applejack said. “Ah mean, there’s a line between killin’ somethin’ fer defense, like that thing in the vineyard, an’ killin’ somethin’ fer the hay of it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Ah can’t help but wonder if you might enjoy it a little.”

“You are incorrect,” Octavia said.

“Why not just blow a hole in the reservoir?” Rarity asked. “Drain all the water, so it couldn’t climb out?”

“Yeah, did y’ever think of that?” Applejack glowered at her bitterly. “Ah think you get pleasure from this, Ah really do. An’ that would explain why yer so reluctant to talk ‘bout yer past.”

“You are wrong on all accounts, Applejack, and I would ask that you please stop accusing me.”

“Why? You gonna kill me too?”

She took a moment to compose herself; the comment hurt more than she wanted them to know. “Do not push me, Applejack.”

“What do y’all think? Ah think she’s bluffin’,” Applejack said, looking smugly at the others. “Well, come on, Octavia. What are ya gonna do?”

“Stand down, Applejack.”

“No way! Ah’m just as much part of this group as you are. Ah have a right to my opinion, an’ Ah’m exercisin’ it.”

“You are accusing me of something for which you have no evidence.”

“You killed that creature by bashin’ its head in, you emotionless nag!”

“Stop it!” Her voice was suddenly huge in the chamber, and they all took a step back. “I will not stand here and allow you to accuse me like this. You are angry and upset at what you saw, and you are taking it out on me.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I felt that I did!” She glared at them all, and they looked back, as if stricken. “And if you are not comfortable dealing with occasional violence, after this long on our journey, then you are not fit to be on this mission. How many times have I said it now? You took me into your group assuming that I would be your guide, and instead, through your inaction, you have led me to fight for you! Some gratitude this is, then; accused of being a murderess! A psychopath! A heartless killer! You talk about me behind my back, speculate on my mental state.” She looked at Rarity. “And wonder whether I am crazy, and then have the audacity to try to get me to open up to you?” She stopped, and they stared at her.

“You—”

“What would you have done without me?” She looked at each of them. “What would you have done?”

“We… I don’t know,” Twilight said quietly.

“Exactly.” She swept a glare around them, lingering on Applejack and Rarity. “Now walk, and do not speak to me.” It was Twilight who made the first move.

The journey back to Sandoz’s house was silent, and when they finally reached the ship, it was almost four o’ clock. While they prepared to take off, Octavia went directly to her room; Pinkie followed a few minutes behind. When they were sure she was out of earshot, they all looked at each other, none of them wanting to be the first to start the conversation.

“She’s crazy,” Rarity said finally. “That’s all there is to it. Perfectly crazy. Applejack was expressing a legitimate concern, and she just shouted at her.”

“Are you nuts, Rarity? She asked Applejack to stop attacking her like three times,” Twilight said.

“Twilight, you’re not siding with that… that, are you?” Rainbow asked.

“I think she’s right; for being such good, accepting friends, we really don’t understand her.”

“And whose fault is that, darling? She needs to learn to open up more,” Rarity said.

“I think we should learn to be more patient.”

“Oh, um, if you don’t mind, I’d like to say something,” Fluttershy said.

“Go ahead, dear,” Rarity said.

“Um, I agree with Twilight. I mean, she’s done all our dirty work for us. We… we shouldn’t get mad at her for when things get too violent.”

“Fluttershy, Ah thought you were mad at her fer killin’ that thing,” Applejack said.

“Oh, I am; I mean, I kind of am. I mean, I was, but I realize now that she was right. Other ponies could get hurt if they run into it and don’t know it’s there.”

“She didn’t have to kill it so violently, though. There’s still that,” Rainbow said.

“It’s ‘cause it was alive,” Pinkie said, coming onto the deck.

“Pinkie, Ah thought you were down below,” Applejack said.

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Oh. An’ what do you mean ‘bout it bein’ alive?”

“It was no different from the golem in the vineyard, except that it had blood and guts and stuff inside.”

“So?” Rainbow said.

“So? Are you loco in the coco, Dashie? That stuff is upsetting to see, especially so much of it like that! That’s why we’re all bent out of shape about this, but not the barrel golem. ‘Cause all that had in it was wine.”

“How come yer so full of insight all of a sudden?” Applejack asked.

“Don’t change the subject, AJ; this is important. Octavia’s feeling unwanted and unappreciated, and to be honest, I can see why.”

“Maybe if she did a better job to endear herself to us. It’s not like we asked her to come along.”

“She’s trying her best,” Fluttershy said.

“Maybe that’s why she’s so willing to do all these difficult things,” Twilight said.

“But Applejack’s point still stands,” Rarity said. “She’s so cold and calculating, even when it’s a life that’s on the line; how can we trust someone like that?” “Rarity, we’ve been trusting her the entire time so far,” Rainbow said.

“It’s just how she is,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, it doesn’t make her a bad pony,” Pinkie said.

“I still don’t like her,” Rarity said.

“She doesn’t like you either,” Rainbow mumbled.

“Don’t switch sides on us, Rainbow,” Applejack said.

“Hey, you gotta admit, they make a good point. She’s just different from us; it’s not that big of a deal.”

“I just don’t think I can associate with someone who acts so… inequine,” Rarity said.

“If we all just give her her space, and show her that we trust her to take care of herself, maybe she won’t be so unhappy,” Fluttershy said.

They took a moment to consider, and Pinkie spoke quietly. “Um, she probably won’t like me telling you this, but she’s down there right now doing this thing where she sits there and concentrates on not crying. She’s just as upset about it as us.”

“Ah need to get back to steerin’,” Applejack said abruptly, returning to the wheel.

“We should focus on what we’re going to do at the villa,” Rarity said, eager to change the subject.

“Right,” Twilight said reluctantly. She wanted to continue, but didn’t; remembering her own few days of displeasure, the thought of forcing further attention on Octavia seemed cruel. “You said you found the spot where I should cast the spell, right?”

“Yes, dear. It’s on the second floor, and there’s a huge window, so you can see the entire countryside.”

“Okay, good.” She waited around a little to see that no one had anything more to say, and went to her own room to compose a letter to Princess Luna, informing her on their acquisition of the first Element. Fifteen minutes later, she had sent it, and back out on the deck, they were about to land. Octavia was out and standing at one of the sides, looking at the approaching ground; everyone was ignoring her. “Hey, Octavia,” Twilight said casually as she moved to stand next to her.

Octavia didn’t look at her. “Hello.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Octavia,” Twilight said, her voice scolding.

“Fine. I am very unhappy, at myself, and at some of you.”

She lowered her voice and scooted closer. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I think you’re right. So does Fluttershy, and Pinkie, and even Rainbow.”

“So only Rarity and Applejack do not see.”

“Rarity’s just upset that you’re so good at keeping control of your emotions,” Twilight said. “And Applejack’s, well, Applejack.”

“Does Rarity honestly believe that I am crazy?”

“It’s hard to tell with her. Look, we’re landing; come on.”

They got off the ship, and Octavia went to the pedestal outside the hedge maze. She announced their arrival, and the gate swung open again. They waited for the statue pony to come and guide them through the maze, and though the mood was still sour, Twilight’s happiness at finally seeing one of the Astras’ creations helped to lighten things.

They followed the statue through the maze, through the courtyard, and to the stairs, where Mama Astra was waiting. She let them in without a fuss, nodding to each of them in turn and shaking Twilight’s hoof. Violet Astra was nearby, and trotted over to greet them.

“Are you ready now?” Mama Astra asked.

“Uh, I guess so,” Twilight said. “I was hoping I could see some of your wonderful villa first. My friends told me about it.”

“You can look around after your spell.” Her tone brooked no argument, and Twilight nodded.

“As you wish.”

“You go ahead. I will socialize with the family,” Octavia said.

They didn’t argue with her, and let Violet lead them up the grand staircase. Octavia looked at Mama Astra, who smiled sagely. “Are you all okay? You seem much more tense than before.”

“We had a fight earlier today. Do not worry.”

“Nonsense. Walk with me, dear.”

Octavia followed her into the house. She didn’t want to talk, but Mama Astra’s bearing was pressuring. She resisted the urge to speak.

“There’s no need to clam up around me, young lady. I only wish to help.”

“I appreciate your offer, but I must decline. It is very personal.”

“Mm, suit yourself.” They entered a small parlor. “Violet told me you liked our pet.”

“Your pet? Oh, the crow. Yes, I thought it was lovely.”

“We’re quite proud of her, you know.”

“You should be.”

Mama Astra sat down, and Octavia followed her example. “What did your unicorn think of our sigil?”

Octavia’s eyes widened. “Oh… I forgot to ask her about it.”

“After you left, one of my grandchildren went to the other side of the chasm, to see if there was a second half.”

“Was there?”

“Yes, identical. The sigil is definitely to summon something. But the complete picture is no more helpful than the half.”

Octavia thought, combing over her memories with the group. Two possibilities stood out to her: Vanilla Cream; and the strange, floating ship. “How did your grandchild reach the other side of the chasm?”

“She rode the crow.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “I did not know that a pony could ride that… that.”

“She has a saddle just between her wings for exactly that purpose. The more adventurous of us take her for flights out over the country every now and again. I’m told it’s quite the rush.”

“I can imagine.” Octavia looked out the window. While she was still angry with Applejack and Rarity, speaking to the Astra matriarch was strangely comforting. In the villa, away from the aqueducts and the responsibilities of the ship, she felt freer. “It truly is an astounding piece of machinery.”

“The magic is better than the machinery,” Mama Astra said with a quiet chuckle. “Without her enchantments, she could not even stand on her own.”

“I see.” She looked up anxiously. She knew the spell would be nearing completion.

Fast Bloom

Chapter Thirty-seven

Fast Bloom

Only one day after Vanilla’s visit, they had left the mountains behind, and were growing bored. Twilight’s augmented magic, though exciting, left her with no new capabilities, merely strengthening her extant telekinetic powers.

* * * * * *

“I think she’s adorable,” Flitter said; she and Spike were up in Twilight’s room with Opalescence, feeding her.

“She’s a nice kitty most of the time,” he said, stroking the fluffy cat and being rewarded with a purr.

“Can I?” Flitter came closer, but Opal backed away with a hiss, and she stopped her advance.

“Guess not.” Spike looked up quickly at a knock on the door, and went to the window. “Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s back.” Since kicking him out of the library three days ago, Spike had seen Noteworthy nearly everywhere he went. The blue stallion never addressed him, or even got close, but was almost always in sight. As Spike looked down through the window, Noteworthy stood patiently at the door, Colgate beside him.

“Do you want me and Cloud to stay away?” Flitter asked.

“Yeah, it’s for the best.” He went for the stairs, passing Cloudchaser, and opened the front door. “What do you want?”

“Hey Spike,” Colgate said. She sounded emotionless as ever, but something about her bearing put him on edge.

“Can we come in?” Noteworthy asked.

“We can talk out here,” Spike said. He leaned against the door-frame. “So? What do you want?”

Colgate looked once at Noteworthy and then connected with Spike’s eyes. “Spike… I think you should let him give you the memory wipe potion.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Are you serious?”

“It won’t erase anything except your knowledge of…” Noteworthy looked around. “Us.”

“And it won’t hurt,” Colgate said.

Spike crossed his arms. “I don’t want to do it.”

“Please, Spike.”

“Colgate, why do you even care?”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble—and you can, with what you know.”

Spike narrowed his eyes at them. Noteworthy stood apart from her, watching him closely. “Are you trying to manipulate her?”

“No, he isn’t,” Colgate said quickly. “Please, Spike. It’s for your own good.”

“She’s right, Spike,” Noteworthy said.

“Why can’t you just trust that I won’t reveal anything?” Spike asked. “Is that so hard?”

“Spike,” Colgate said. “You… have to trust me on this. It’s for the best.”

He thought. He did trust Colgate, to a point, but knew she could be secretive when she wanted to. “Can I talk to Colgate alone?”

“Spike, I assure you, anything she wants to say around you, she can say around me,” Noteworthy said. “In fact, she asked me to come with her today. For moral support.” He looked at Colgate mildly.

“I don’t trust you,” Spike said simply. “Like, at all. If she’s got nothing to hide, then let her talk to me.”

Noteworthy looked at Colgate once more, and she looked down. “Fine. I’m sure Colgate will set you right, though.”

Without responding, Spike let Colgate go inside, and closed the door on Noteworthy. Flitter and Cloudchaser peeked around the corner, and Colgate turned quickly to Spike. Her eyes were wide, and Spike blushed.

“Anteroom,” Colgate snapped, trotting purposefully away. “All of you.”

They followed her meekly. Spike looked at his friends, and at Colgate, and immediately felt deflated. Noteworthy’s appearance brought up his defenses, but alone with Colgate, he felt shamed and ineffectual. “Colgate, what is going on here? Is he manipulating you?”

“Spike, listen. You have to let him wipe your memory.” She looked anxiously at the front door.

“What? Colgate, what the heck?” Cloudchaser blustered.

“Cloud, shut up!” Flitter said.

“Okay, okay, stop it,” Colgate said. She sighed. “Spike, did you tell them?”

“He didn’t tell us anything,” Cloudchaser said. “But maybe he should have. What’s this about a memory wipe potion?”

“Don’t let him do it, Spike,” Flitter said.

“Spike,” Colgate said. “You have to do this. If you don’t, he’s going to punish me.”

“Punish? Spike, he can’t do that,” Cloudchaser said.

“All right, everypony be quiet!” Spike cried. “Colgate, what do you mean, punish you?”

“If you don’t consent to the potion, Noteworthy’s going to ruin my life,” Colgate said.

“He can’t do that!” Cloudchaser said.

“You should sue him,” Flitter said.

“Not with all the secrecy they have to have.”

“You did tell them!” Colgate hissed. Anger glinted in her eyes. “Damn it, Spike, why would you do that?”

“It just slipped out,” Spike said.

Colgate held a hoof to her forehead. “Great. Freaking great. Now we have three leaks instead of one. He’s gonna ruin me, I just know it.”

“You can still sue for harassment,” Flitter said.

“Can we try to give him the potion instead?” Cloudchaser asked. “You know, the old switcheroo?”

“What’s he even gonna do to you?” Spike asked.

“No, everyone shut up,” Colgate said. She sighed. “Okay. Flitter, Cloudchaser, what do you know?”

“Everything Spike knows,” Flitter said.

“Fine. I think I know how you can get out of this, and not destroy me.” She looked back at the door, sucking air through her teeth. “But it’s not pleasant.”

“Skip town?” Spike asked.

“Join him.”

“What?” The thought had crossed his mind, never seriously, but to hear it suggested almost froze him.

“Whoa,” Cloudchaser said. “Like, become Daturas as well?”

“That’s what ‘join’ means, Cloud,” Flitter said.

“I don’t know if I want to do that,” Spike said.

“Well, you can’t have it both ways,” Colgate said. “I’m sorry, Spike. Join, or take the potion. All of you.”

“I’ll join,” Cloudchaser said.

“Yeah, me too,” Flitter said. “It sounds interesting.”

“You can’t join if Spike doesn’t,” Colgate said. “Because you two aren’t even supposed to know about it. Spike.”

“I’m sorry,” he said defensively. “I didn’t know it would get this big.”

“Well, it is. Now make a decision, and fast. Noteworthy’s waiting.”

He looked at the two pegasi, and Flitter gave him an encouraging smile and nod. “Yeah, all right, I’ll do it. If it means I don’t have to have my memory erased.”

Colgate sighed. “Okay, good. You two, stay back here and jump out when Spike says he’ll join. Ask to join with him like the two blind, good-hearted friends you are.”

Flitter looked at her. “Huh?”

“Like, we hear Spike say he’s gonna do something, and we offer to join because we don’t want to leave him hanging,” Cloudchaser said. “We’ll ask Noteworthy for the details later.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Spike, come on,” Colgate said, heading for the door. She gave him a dirty look, and he flinched away. With her lips curled up in a sneer, she looked like a different pony entirely. She flung the door open, and Noteworthy backed up quickly.

He smiled at them. “Well?”

“I want in,” Spike said.

“In?”

“He wants to join your stupid team,” Colgate said. “Instead of having his thoughts invaded and violated.”

“Oh, I see. Now that’s an interesting alternative; I hadn’t considered it.”

“Well, consider it.”

He looked at her. “Is something the matter, Colgate?”

She gave him a twisted smile. “Not at all.”

“Hm. Spike, do you realize what you’d be getting into?”

“All I know is I’d be getting out of having my memory wiped. That’s good enough for me,” Spike said.

“I don’t understand why the prospect of having your memory wiped is so frightening,” Noteworthy said.

“I’ll bet you don’t.”

He chuckled. “Okay, okay. In all seriousness, Spike, I’m not sure you can handle it.”

“What do you even do? I know you’re supposed to be protecting Ponyville. From what, though? Parasprites? That’s about the worst thing we get here.”

“He makes a fair point,” Colgate said, looking coldly at Noteworthy.

“All right, that’s true. Sure, you can join me. Who knows? Maybe you’ll turn out okay. There’s potential in you.”

Spike nodded, and remembered Flitter and Cloudchaser back in the library. “Will I have to leave?”

“Leave?” Cloudchaser asked from within.

Noteworthy’s face darkened. “Who is that?”

Flitter trotted out while Cloudchaser flew overhead. “Spike’s leaving?” Flitter asked.

“You two have been here the whole time?” Noteworthy cried.

Spike looked at them. With their appearances, the conversation was out of his control, and he knew it. He prayed they knew it as well.

“Where are you going, Spike?” Flitter asked.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Noteworthy said. “Celestia’s sake, girls. Settle down.”

Cloudchaser narrowed her eyes at Noteworthy, Colgate, and finally Spike. “What’s going on here?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

“Uh, pardon me, but it is of our concern if it’s got Spike talking about leaving,” Flitter said.

“He’s not leaving!”

“Spike?”

“What am I supposed to do?” “I’m not leaving,” he said lamely.

“There, see? Now go home,” Noteworthy said.

“I heard him say something about joining you,” Flitter said. “What’s that all about?”

Noteworthy regarded them carefully and motioned for them to come closer. “Okay, listen. So it’ll get you two out of my mane. This is supposed to be a secret, but Spike and I are going on a mining expedition, to find gems for a… client, let’s say.”

“He just wanted me to give him directions, but I insisted on joining him,” Spike said. “Wait, why am I helping this?”

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Noteworthy said.

“Well, we want in,” Cloudchaser said staunchly.

“Yeah, let us join,” Flitter added.

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” Noteworthy said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Aw, let ‘em go with you,” Colgate said. “What’s the harm? They fly; nothing that gets you two can get them.”

“Colgate, stay out of this.”

“I’m just saying, Noteworthy. Three for the price of one? Only an idiot would pass up that opportunity.”

“You’re not supposed to know about this expedition any more than they are.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I know how to listen just as well as you do.”

He shot her a dirty look and faced the pegasi. “We’ll talk later. Spike and I need to go prepare, but I’ll be back tonight to talk to you.”

“How do we know you’re not leaving?” Flitter asked.

“Oh, he won’t,” Colgate said.

Noteworthy and Spike stood in the middle of an empty field just outside of Ponyville. The Everfree Forest stood on one side, Sweet Apple Acres about a mile in front of them, and empty grassland in all other directions.

“Spike, your friends are in for quite the surprise when I talk to them this evening,” he said calmly.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He looked around. “So… why are we here?”

“This is where I’m going to train you. Not today—but soon. And them, if they still want in after I’ve explained things.”

“What kind of training?”

“I’m going to start with the history of the Datura, its tenets, its goals, the way it operates, ethics… and so on. That should take a couple days. And then we can get into basic operations: observation, listening, keeping yourself protected, and so forth.” He sighed. “I hope I didn’t give you too bad an impression of myself when I was trying to wipe your memory.”

“Right.”

“You’ll understand when I’ve started teaching you about us. The Datura doesn’t just thrive on secrecy; it needs it. Even the tiniest leak can lead to horrible outcomes, if it isn’t checked.”

“Right.”

Noteworthy gave a tiny, guilty smile. “You’re still upset with me, aren’t you?”

“You threatened me.”

“I’m sorry, Spike. I always hated stopping leaks. I can only promise that it’ll never happen again. You’re one of us, now.”

“What’s going on between you and Colgate?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing.”

“Fair enough, I guess. She’s a Datura malefactor. I’ve tried to convince her to rejoin, but she’s refused every single time.”

“How many times is that?”

“Many.” He sighed. “She would be a tremendous asset to this team, so I keep trying. But she doesn’t want to.”

“So I’m not the only one you harass,” Spike said.

“She’s done more than her share of harassing me, I promise.”

“So should I avoid her now that I’m with you, or… what? What do I do?”

“You can talk to whoever you want, as long as it’s not about the Datura. I guess with Colgate it’s different.”

“Yeah, I’d like to talk to her about all this.”

“I’m sure you would. Go on, go ahead. I only took you out here to show it to you. I’m going to wait to see if your friends join before teaching you anything.”

“Right.” He looked at Noteworthy—such an unassuming, average pony—and set off back to Ponyville.

“Oh, Spike.”

“What?”

“Be careful around her. She’s a lot more dangerous than she looks.”

He scoffed quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It was five o’ clock when Spike finally got to sit down with Colgate at the hospital. He had gone directly there from Noteworthy’s field, but she was in surgery. He went back to the library, and Flitter and Cloudchaser had gone to the spa, so he passed the time with a book and, later, in the basement with his magazines.

Colgate entered her office with a smear of blood on her vest and a harried look on her face. She closed the door and tossed a clipboard on her desk with a sigh. “Rotator cuff repair.”

“You okay?” Spike asked.

“It’s been a long day.” She smiled wearily. “So, what do you need?”

“What did Noteworthy threaten to do to you?”

She nodded. “I thought so. Spike, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I am worried about you, though. If he’s manipulating or harassing you, that’s not okay.”

“He’s not manipulating me anymore. Now that he got what he wants.”

“But even so, that’s not good. He can’t just threaten you to force me to do something. I think Flitter could be right; you should sue him.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I’d love to, but I really can’t.”

“Why?”

She looked at him with dull eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“Come on, Colgate. You can tell me, really.”

“No, I can’t. I… I’m sorry, Spike, but I really can’t go into it. It has to do with my life before I moved to Ponyville. He knows about it, and he threatened to reveal it. And I can’t live with other ponies knowing.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“I’d have to leave town, Spike.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He looked at her carefully, thinking. Even from the beginning, she had seemed odd to him, but never offensive or threatening. She was smart, and kind, and a little boring; not the kind of pony anyone would be able to blackmail. “Noteworthy warned me before I came to see you. He said you’re a lot more dangerous than you look.” He leaned forward over her desk, lowering his voice. “Are you a criminal?”

“No, I’m not. And…” She slanted her eyes away from him. “I am not dangerous. He’s trying to drive a wedge between us.”

Spike groaned. “I should have known.”

“He’s the dangerous one, Spike. You’ve already seen some of it. Duplicity, cruelty, manipulation. Noteworthy is not someone to trust.”

Spike looked at her. Her face was as serious and blank as ever, her voice a low monotone. Behind her veneer, however, she was intense and anxious, and he felt suddenly uncomfortable being in the office with her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Be careful, if you can. And please try not to bring me up around him. I don’t want to get more involved than I already am.”

He moved toward the door. “No, I won’t. Don’t worry, Colgate.”

Colgate waited outside Noteworthy’s house until nine, when he returned with a wide grin and a spring in his step—which faltered when he saw her.

She smiled lightly. “Can I come in?”

“Of course, Minuette. Of course.” He let them in. “Spike’s friends accepted. They heard what I had to say, listened to Spike’s testimony, and asked to be involved. I really am shocked.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss. My good fortune is your good fortune. Three new Daturas means I won’t be after you to join anymore.”

She held back a smile. “That is good news, actually.”

“See? It’s not so bad. Now, what did you want to talk about?”

“Spike said you warned him about me earlier today.”

“Yes, I did.” He looked at her coldly, his good humor gone. “Surely you know why I would do that.”

“You realize that I’m not like that anymore.”

“I recognize you for what you are, Colgate,” he said calmly. “Perhaps more than you do.”

“Do not presume that.”

“I’ve seen your dossier. Are you telling me that you’ve changed?”

“Look at me. Look at me and tell me I haven’t.”

“But it isn’t you. I’m not looking at Colgate right now. That pony is still in Manehattan.” He gestured at her loosely, framing her. “This is a facsimile.”

“You arrogant bastard,” she said. “You think you know about my life because of some dossier, and that gives you the right to dictate how I comport myself?”

“In the interest of protecting my new recruits, yes. Absolutely.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Can you stop me? Dare you try?”

“I…”

“The secret I have about you, I can use to any effect I want. I’m sorry to put it in such stark terms, Colgate, but to be perfectly blunt, I control you. Until we reach such a point as you are comfortable letting your secret be known to the public, you can do nothing to fight me. And that’s just the way it is.”

“You… bastard,” she sighed.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t enjoy it. But you need to learn to stay in your place.”

“My place is with my friends.”

“Your friends are my Daturas. I won’t let you threaten my team.”

“But I am threatening nothing.”

“Your very presence is a threat.” He smiled humorlessly. “Or would you argue otherwise?”

“I…”

“There’s a reason you take those pills. Have you had yours tonight, by the way?”

“I did it before I left,” she said quietly.

“So you understand the need.” He shrugged. “Where’s the argument?”

“You can’t suspend my rights when I pose no clear threat. That’s one of the Datura tenets, for Celestia’s sake.”

“You are poisonous and deceptive. I don’t claim to be perfect, but you’re worse. You turn ponies against each other, disrupt relationships. Everything you touch, you ruin. Look at poor Spike. He didn’t have to get involved in this, Colgate.”

She breathed slowly. She wanted to be angry, to scream and rage at him, but could not. “This isn’t the last you’ve heard of me.” She walked to the door.

“Colgate, if something goes wrong, and I find you at the bottom of it, your secret is out. Remember that.”

Spike, Flitter, and Cloudchaser sat in lawn chairs in the middle of Noteworthy’s empty field, while he stood before them. They had been there for four hours, listening to the story of the Datura: its creation by Princess Luna deep in the first millennium, her early efforts to force its spread across the globe, the tensions between neighboring countries when it finally did. He explained its policies and tenets: the importance of preserving life and liberty, whether by action or inaction.

“Now, this is something I know you’ve heard a lot about already,” he said. “Secrecy. Spike.”

Spike blushed and looked at Flitter, to his side, and she gave him a nervous smile back. Noteworthy’s explanation the night before had been stressful for him—watching his friends act their way through shock, disbelief, and eventual excitement before asking to join.

“The Datura’s call to secrecy is its most important guideline. The one thing common to all Daturas, across the globe, is secrecy—more, the knowledge that that secrecy is paramount. All operations, from the benign to the incredible, are done with secrecy in mind.”

“Including learning about it all in this big, open area?” Cloudchaser asked, prompting a snicker from Flitter.

“We’re sitting in the middle of a sound dampening sigil, actually. I’m glad you thought of that, though.”

“I didn’t see a sigil,” Spike said.

“We keep this lawn watered for that reason.”

“Ooooh, a grass cover,” Flitter said, nodding. “Clever, clever.”

“Secrecy,” Noteworthy repeated, “is the lifeblood of the Datura. If regular ponies knew of its existence, the results would be catastrophic. Aside from the initial panic and skepticism, there would be countless attempts at sabotage, upheaval from the media, and social unrest for years after. Ponies with really no potential at all would try to join or assist us, and while a few disposable members can be useful, an influx of hundreds per city would just slow everything down.”

“Not to mention everypony would know about all the monsters and stuff that you all are supposed to be fighting,” Flitter said.

Noteworthy sighed. “Yes, and the monsters. I hope you realize that being a Datura is about so much more than just hunting strange creatures.” He looked at them each, frowning at their blank expressions. “It’s about order,” he said finally, frustrated. “Maintaining order in a world that is unpredictable. Keeping ponies safe and secure from anything and everything that threatens to disrupt their lives.”

“Secret police, pretty much,” Flitter said. “The griffons have those too.”

“Yeah, it’s not a hard concept,” Cloudchaser said.

“Not secret police; we don’t police just anyone. We only interfere in situations where ordinary law enforcement cannot do the job.”

“So super police?” Spike asked.

“‘Datura’ sounds cooler,” Flitter said.

“Yeah, I’ll give you that one.”

“Okay, settle down, you two,” Noteworthy said. “We still need to cover the more recent history of the Datura.”

“We already did that,” Cloudchaser said.

“Yeah, you talked about how the whole world changed when Baltimare got flattened for, like, forty-five minutes,” Flitter said.

“No, I mean recent history,” Noteworthy said. “Starting with a couple months ago.”

“Oh.”

“Now, we haven’t seen an emergency of this magnitude since Nightmare Moon.”

It was three o’ clock when he dismissed them for lunch, and the three of them walked to a small café in the center of town. Their food came out quickly, and for a while, they ate without talking.

“Whoa,” Cloudchaser said abruptly. She sat up and waved Colgate over, and they quickly saw the reason for her surprise. Her left eye was swollen and ringed with a dark purple stain, quickly fading under her blue fur, and she had a split lip. Her scrubs were bloodied once again.

“What in Tartarus is going on with you?” Flitter asked.

“I bumped into a tree branch on my way home last night,” she said shortly. Her voice was rough and quiet, and her fur was frazzled.

“Are you okay?” Spike asked.

“Don’t worry about it, Spike.” She looked over her shoulder quickly. “I have to go.” Before they could stop her, she had trotted away, not looking back.

“Okay, that was weird,” Flitter said.

“She always was kind of… off,” Cloudchaser said. “But not like this.”

“It’s that Noteworthy,” Spike said quietly. “It has to be.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Flitter asked.

“Who else would have done something like that? He’s trying to control her. They probably talked yesterday, and he got mad.”

“Spike, blackmailing someone is one thing,” Cloudchaser said, “but assaulting them? That’s different.”

“Battering, Cloud,” Flitter said.

“Yeah, you know what I mean.”

“He doesn’t seem violent, though. Mean, yeah, and a dirty liar, but not violent.”

“Yeah, but he’s a… well, one of them,” Spike said. “Secrecy’s important. Maybe they’re all like that.”

“Colgate isn’t.”

“Unless she’s better at it than him,” Cloudchaser said.

“She’s such a sweetheart, though,” Flitter said.

“Yeah, especially in that blood-stained outfit.”

“Rotator cuff repair,” Spike said.

“Huh?”

“Just something she said yesterday.”

“You two are pretty close, aren’t you?” Cloudchaser said.

“Kinda. I don’t know, though. There’s something going on there.”

They returned to the field at four, quieter, and absorbed Noteworthy’s lecture without interruption. He spoke of the Datura structure: each city had at least one team of ponies, headed by one leader, and charged with general watchfulness and caution. In the case of Ponyville, he was the team leader, as well as its only member. Ponyville rarely had cause to engage him, and he had only seen a few minor incidents, something he warned them would probably change with Discord strengthening. He closed the day in telling them of a second, nearby team, stationed in the shallow edge of the Everfree. Zecora was a mid-level operative.

The three of them walked back to the library at nine o’ clock, with Flitter and Cloudchaser stopping by the spa to make sure all was well. When they stepped into the library, Cloudchaser went immediately for the couch, and Spike and Flitter sat on the floor before her.

“So what are you gonna do about the spa?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Cloudchaser said.

“Hopefully he lets us have some time off soon,” Flitter said. “Ponies aren’t going to be happy if they can’t get their massages and mud baths.”

“I already miss it,” Spike said.

“He did have some interesting stuff to say, though. The history and everything.”

“Maybe for you. I was nodding off those last two hours,” Cloudchaser said with a yawn.

“Looks like you’re nodding off now.”

“Eh, I guess.” She closed her eyes, and Spike and Flitter exchanged tiny smiles.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go to bed too,” Spike said. “We need to be up at six tomorrow.”

“I hear ya,” Flitter said, following him up the stairs.

The door was pounding, and Spike slowly climbed out of his bed, judging the time to be very early morning. The knocking was insistent, and he ran downstairs, Flitter just behind and Cloudchaser looking up blearily from the couch. He threw the door open. It was Noteworthy.

“Follow me; there’s something going on at Sweet Apple Acres.”

Alarm pulsed through Spike’s head, but his response was sleepy. “What? But… what?”

“What is it?” Cloudchaser asked.

“I don’t know,” Noteworthy said. “Come on.”

“But we’re not ready to fight!” Flitter said.

“Just follow my directions.” He galloped away from the door, and they followed him unhappily, trudging through the damp grass and over a small hill toward the farm. There was no sign of the sun, and they followed his sound more than his shape as they crossed the empty Ponyville fields. The barn stood silently in the distance, silhouetted on the starlight, but Spike could see nothing amiss. The lights were off, and no sound reached him but for Noteworthy’s pounding hooves.

He stopped beside a lone apple tree and watched them catch up, nodding approvingly. “Not bad for a first try. Now calm down; there’s nothing here.”

“What?” Spike gasped. He leaned over and put his hands on his knees. “I thought you said we had to fight!”

“That was just to get you to feel the urgency of the situation.”

“You mean you woke us up in the middle of the night for nothing!” Flitter said, angry for the first time Spike had seen her.

“It’s all part of standard training,” he said quietly. “Sometimes you have to act in the middle of the night, sometimes the middle of the day.”

“This is bullshit!” Cloudchaser cried.

“Be quiet. You don’t want to wake anyone up.”

They stared angrily at him, waiting to see whether he would continue. Eventually, Spike spoke, his fists clenched. “You woke us up for nothing.”

“You need to be able to react any time,” he said coolly. “Trust me, it’ll come up. Now come on, let’s get back to town.” They began walking, and when they were away from the orchard, Noteworthy sighed. “If it makes you feel better, I went through the same thing you just did. I trained under… well, that’s not important. She woke me up in the very early mornings at least twice a week; it was a nightmare.”

“This is a nightmare,” Cloudchaser said.

“You’ll get used to it. The goal of these exercises is to get you more used to waking up ready for action. And trust me, that’s a skill you need. Danger doesn’t wait for your convenience.” They passed into town, and he turned away. “Right, I’ll see you tomorrow; be in the field at six-thirty, sharp.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Spike said.

“Good night to you too.”

They separated, and the three were silent on their way back to the library. Cloudchaser collapsed right in the middle of the doorway, and Flitter and Spike didn’t stop on their way up to his room. They went to the bed and climbed in, and as the haze of fatigue swept over him, the last thing he remembered was sliding closer to her and slipping an arm under her wing.

At six-thirty, sharp, Noteworthy stepped into view in the cold, dewy, empty field outside town. Spike, Flitter, and Cloudchaser were only a couple minutes early.

“Good, glad to see you all here. Not too tired, I hope?”

“Are we gonna have to do that again tonight?” Spike asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. As Daturas, you have to be ready for anything, at any time—a pattern to my surprise visits will undermine that.”

“Oh, this is great stuff,” Flitter mumbled, and Spike nodded.

“Now, the tenets. Cloudchaser, can you tell me what they are?”

Cloudchaser stared blankly at him.

At eleven o’ clock, midway through a lecture on the importance of emotional distance between Daturas, a pair of large mares in official uniforms approached from across the field.

“Are those more Daturas?” Flitter asked.

“No,” Noteworthy said. “They’re… police. Hm. Wait here.” He went to them, and they watched him converse with them. Though they heard no words, the policeponies’ stances were enough to indicate their dispositions.

“Looks like someone’s in trouble,” Cloudchaser said.

“Sweet Celestia,” Flitter said. “What is it with this guy? Does trouble just follow him or something?”

“I bet it has to do with Colgate,” Spike said.

“Oh yeah, her. You think he attacked her?”

“I know it. Who else would even lay a hoof on her? Like you said, she’s a total sweetheart.”

Cloudchaser giggled.

“What?”

“Are you sweet on her?”

“What? Me and Colgate?” He paused. “I mean, I guess I’ve thought of it once or twice, but no, there’s no way. She’s… eh, weird.”

“Oh, crap! Look at that!” Flitter cried. The police were leading Noteworthy away and back to town.

“Do we follow them?” Cloudchaser asked.

“We should at least get back to town,” Spike said. He walked, and Flitter moved up to walk alongside him.

“So, you and Colgate?”

“I like her, sure, but just as a friend. I’m not interested in her at all.” He glanced at Flitter. “She’s too closed-off. I dunno, whenever I talk to her, I get this feeling like I’m missing something.”

“Now, stop me if I’m off-base here, but if I had to pick someone for you to be sweet on, I’d say it’d be little Flitter here,” Cloudchaser said.

“Aw, thanks Cloud,” Flitter said with a laugh.

“I saw you two cuddling this morning.”

“We were tired.” Flitter stuck out a wing to bump Spike playfully. “Right, Spikey?”

“Hey, you have really soft wings,” he said. “What’s a dragon supposed to do?”

“See?” Cloudchaser said. “Admit it, Spike, you’re sweet on her.”

He laughed. “Yeah, okay, Cloud.” He bumped Flitter back, and she giggled. They crossed a small bridge over the stream around town, but Noteworthy was out of sight.

“So… uh… early lunch?” Flitter asked.

“I wanna find Colgate first,” Spike said. “I get the feeling she’s involved somehow.”

“She usually is,” Cloudchaser said. “Here, you go to the hospital, I’ll check the stalls. Someone’s bound to have seen her.”

“Right!”

Spike and Flitter turned to the hospital, and as they walked quietly, Flitter nudged him again. “You like my wings, huh?”

“I never appreciated how much fun they could be.”

She chuckled. “So, Spike, is Cloud right? Are you sweet on me?”

He stopped, shocked. He could feel the air rush out of his chest as he tried to cope with the bluntness of her question. “Uh…”

“Be straight with me, Spike. I don’t like guessing games.”

“Eh… all right, fair enough.” He laughed nervously, in spite of himself. “Yeah, I guess I kinda am.”

“Aw, you’re sweet,” she said, leaning down to hug him. “I like you too.”

“Huh?”

“As a friend,” she said, and laughed. “But yeah, maybe a little more too. I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

“I have to think about it.”

As they drew closer to the hospital, Derpy walked out of the doors, carrying a small bag in her mouth. “Hey! Derpy, hey!” Spike called, running to catch her.

She smiled wide and dropped her bag. “Spike! Wow, long time no see! Where’ve you been?”

“Eh, around,” he said hesitantly. “What’s going on with you?”

“Allergy medication refill,” she said. “Are you looking for Colgate, by any chance?”

“Yeah, we are,” Flitter said. “Have you seen her, Derpy?”

“Yeah, I saw her,” she said seriously. “I saw her yesterday.”

“Ew, with the black eye and all?” Spike said.

“Do you know what’s going on with her?” Flitter asked.

“Allie thinks someone’s beating on her,” she said quietly. “Come on.” They followed her away from the hospital, north around the edge of town, behind the library. “I saw her yesterday, asked her what the heck happened. She didn’t want to talk about it, and I’m like, immediately thinking ‘okay, someone’s hurting her.’ But she ran away before I could do anything. I tracked down Allie, that bowling friend of hers.”

“Yeah, I know her,” Spike said.

“Oh, wait, that’s right. You two are friends too. Yeah, I found her and asked her about it, she had the same story. I asked her who she thought it was, and she said Noteworthy. Now… I don’t think he would do something like that, but Allie said those two had been being awfully frosty with each other.”

“You two are friends, right?” Flitter asked.

“Yeah, Note and I know each other from high school. I really doubt he’s behind it. At least, I hope he isn’t.”

“Some police came earlier and led him away,” Spike said.

Derpy nodded. They were on the grassy, hilly, northern side of town. “I was wondering about that. Allie said she was going to tell the mayor about it. I guess those two are in her office right now.”

“Together? Are you sure that’s a smart idea?” Flitter asked.

“It’s just an inquiry, I’m sure.”

Spike exchanged looks with Flitter, who pursed her lips. “Uh… maybe.” She thought. “He might get arrested, actually.”

“What? Really?”

“If the mayor thinks Colgate’s in imminent danger, she can have him arrested without a warrant.” She shook her head. “Geez, what a way to start.”

“Start what?”

“Eh, nothing,” Spike said.

“Right, right.” She spread her wings and looked into the air. “Poker Saturday?”

“I should be able to make it. Your place, right?”

“You got it. See you later, Spike!” She took off, and he and Flitter watched her go.

“How likely do you think it is he gets arrested?” Spike asked.

“Depends on if he can get Mayor Mare to believe he’s innocent,” Flitter said. “Colgate looked pretty bad, and they do have a history.”

“But it’s a Datura history. They can’t talk about that with the mayor. Can they?”

“You’re asking the wrong pony. Hey, there’s nothing on this side of town. Why’d she even lead us up here?”

Spike shrugged.

“Want a ride back?”

He grinned eagerly and scrambled onto her back, and they took off.

Colgate sat in an office, alone with Mayor Mare, who had never before looked so formidable. The three of them—she, the mayor, and Noteworthy—had talked for twenty agonizing minutes, before he was dismissed to wait in the lobby.

“Colgate, I know it hurts, but you have to tell me who did this,” the mayor said. “I can’t help you otherwise.”

Colgate nodded. Her eye and lip throbbed, and her mind ground sluggishly through options and plans. Through the entire meeting, she had looked down and feigned embarrassed fear, trying to think of how to handle the one-on-one confrontation she knew was to come. The players: Derpy, Allie, Spike, Flitter, and Cloudchaser, each one against Noteworthy in some way, but the way to use them escaped her.

“Colgate?”

She licked her swollen lips. “I can always just play it straight.” She took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said.

“Who is it?” Mayor Mare asked gently.

She nodded. “Him.” She tilted her head toward the door only slightly, averting her eyes as she did so. The mayor followed her direction effortlessly, looking at her indication for a moment before responding.

“I suspected as much.”

“He said if I say anything, it’ll be more than my pretty face. That’s what he said.”

“Okay.” She nodded softly and looked at a paper on her desk. “I’ll assign someone to watch him. Two someones. They’ll keep him from reaching you.”

Colgate nodded. She looked at the mayor’s desk clock quickly: eleven forty-five. Almost time for her pill.

“Would you like to file a report with the police?”

“No, thank you. This is enough for now.” “Play… it… straight.” “But maybe later.”

“Of course. Just let me know, Minuette.”

“Hm.”

She rose and went out of the office, and when Colgate was alone, she sat back and sighed. She studied the dull patterns on the ceiling and tried to envision the results of her decision. Noteworthy would be watched; that meant his Datura training would be curtailed for the time. They would still talk, he and she; she had no doubt that he would demand she do something to help as soon as he was able. “More injuries, I guess.”

She listened to his protests outside the door. It was easy for her—too easy. In a secret corner of her mind, she felt shame. She smothered it.

Flitter and Spike found Cloudchaser by the joke shop, walking south. She had just spoken with Noteworthy, she said; he had left the mayor’s building with two police officers, and told her that training would be suspended until he had dealt with the situation. They decided to get an early lunch at Sugarcube Corner.

“So Allie told on Noteworthy,” Cloudchaser said. “I guess it’s for the best.”

“It is, in a way,” Spike said. “But what are we gonna do without him?”

“Just wait it out,” Flitter said. “Or maybe we can go to Zecora for our training.”

“I want to get back to the spa,” Cloudchaser said. “Ponies were asking about it when I was looking for Colgate.”

“Right, so you two can go to the spa,” Spike said. “What about me?”

“Come with us. Keep flirting with my sister.”

Flitter let out a light chuckle, and Spike blushed. She looked at him and extended a wing behind his back. “Aw, Spike, she’s just messing with you.”

Spike’s blush only intensified as he averted his eyes.

“Spike, you’re blushing!” Cloudchaser said with a laugh.

“Aw, Spike,” Flitter said, rubbing his back. “He’s so cute when he’s like this.”

Cloudchaser let out a high-pitched giggle and returned to her food, and Flitter leaned over to give him a half-hug with her wing.

“Yeah, right.” He didn’t know what to say. Cloudchaser’s joke was just that—a joke—but he felt it sink into his heart as she and Flitter laughed. Her half-hug lingered for a second, and he hated the quick emptiness as she retracted it. “It’s just a joke, Spike. Don’t get worked up about it.” He frowned and clenched a tiny fist, and suddenly, the pegasi with him didn’t seem like friends. “They don’t take you seriously.”

He ate quietly, and when they were done, they parted ways. He returned to the library and sat in sullen silence in the easy chair, not reading, not thinking, just turning the conversation over and over again as he stared at the window. He wanted to talk to Flitter about it, but every time he imagined her walking through the door, he was lost for words.

Colgate went to bed with an unusually active mind. She tossed and turned for half an hour, under the blankets, over them, holding a pillow to her chest, but nothing relaxed her. She felt uneasy and expectant, like she had forgotten something, and finally gave up and got out of bed at eleven o’ clock. She kept the lights turned off, and the door unlocked, and went outside.

She put a hoof to her lip and pressed down slightly. It ached weakly under her hoof, and she walked a straight line from her front door into town. When she had first moved there, she was wont to take night walks, but it was a habit of which she had largely rid herself as her surgical career took over. Asleep by ten, awake by five—so it had been for years before.

She stopped by the dirt road and sat down. The stars were alive and glinting happily down at her, and she closed her eyes. In Manehattan, the sky was always hemmed in by towering buildings on both sides, giving stargazers only the briefest patch of night to drown in. Night walks there were always too interesting; she was never completely alone, always sharing her solitude with some other wanderer. Vagrants, homeless, or just other ponies that couldn’t get to sleep.

She walked on, passing the partially-finished structure of Dr. Whooves’ house. Since he had left, no one had touched it. She turned away and looked down at her hooves, her mind still churning slowly and deliberately, like gears soaked in syrup. She liked the quiet, and the deep, endless loneliness outside the town’s limits. Past the last few houses on the north side, there was nothing between them and Canterlot Mountain.

She grabbed a pebble in her magic and floated it around her head. She shivered and sat down. Her mind was momentarily quiet, and she felt an instant of dull relief, before it started up again. She couldn’t control it. Thoughts she knew were locked away clattered uselessly in obscurity, and memories resurfaced, as they had in the mayor’s office.

She had known what she was doing, to a point. She knew how her friends felt about her, and she knew how they felt about Noteworthy, but she didn’t know where anything would lead, except that it would not be pleasant. Authorities would get involved, and someone would get betrayed; someone had to get betrayed. She didn’t know who it would be. She wasn’t worried.

She sighed and lay down in the grass and dirt, opening her eyes to the dark sky, and finally, mercifully, her head went quiet. Peaceful, beautiful emptiness. She could lie there all night, or not; it didn’t matter. Noteworthy, a bruised eye, concerned friends, countless damages. So much weight, so much responsibility, slipping away without pause or regret. She would see whether she could get the blood out of her scrubs on Saturday.

Spike woke up and ate breakfast, spent some time in the basement, and walked out to enjoy the rest of the morning. He had heard nothing of Noteworthy, but knew he shouldn’t be worried. He and his friends would be informed when things were ready to return to normal.

“Normal,” he thought with a grin. “Right. Learning about the super-secret organization of magical policeponies, trying to figure out that crazy surgeon. Normal.” He breathed in through his nose and let it out with a satisfied sigh. “Ah, Ponyville.”

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Berry Punch said. She was in a stall across the street, and Spike jogged over to her. “Hey, Spike. I haven’t seen you in a while. What’s new?”

“Ah, nothin’ much. Just out enjoying the day.”

“I hear you. Hey, the spa ponies were around earlier asking about you.”

“Spa ponies?” He thought instantly of Aloe and Lotus, and chuckled. “Oh, Flitter and Cloudchaser. Yeah, I haven’t been awake very long.”

“I think they’re actually open today. They seemed a little worried. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he said casually. “Probably just bored. I don’t usually sleep this late.”

Berry giggled and waved to another pony across the street. “You better go to ‘em, Spike.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you later.” He set off at a quick pace for the spa, eyes open for any glimpse of Colgate. He hadn’t talked to her since her appearance at the café, with her injured face.

He entered the spa with a light jingle of its silver bell, and Flitter looked up expectantly. “Oh, thank Celestia,” she said.

“What’s going on?”

“We need to talk, Spike.” She got up quickly and ushered him outside, and they moved to the back of the building.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“Are you?” she asked.

“What? Me? Yeah, of course.”

“Don’t do this to me, Spike.” She looked around nervously, and when she looked back at him, her eyes were wide, almost scared. “Seriously. I’m worried about—ugh, yesterday. Did we offend you?”

“Offend?”

“Spike!”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he said. “I mean, yeah, maybe a little.”

“I knew it!” She turned around and put her head to the wall, eyes closed. It was a moment before he could see the tears coming out from under her tight eyelids. “I’m sorry, Spike. I know it was just a joke, but I didn’t think about your feelings before I played along. I didn’t mean it.”

He looked at her, completely stumped. In all of his unhappy fantasies the day before, when she and he discussed it, she was nothing like what she was before him. She looked ready to collapse, and he tentatively put a claw on her back. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not that big a deal, Flitter.”

“It is, Spike. It is.”

“Why?”

She sniffed and sniveled, and broke into a light fit of crying, head still against the wall. “I’m really sorry. I hurt you, and I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay, really.”

She sniffed loudly and looked at him, a little hostilely. “Aren’t you mad? I would be.”

“I mean, it was just a joke,” he said carefully. He had never seen her so emotional, and it put him on edge.

“I shouldn’t have done anything. Celestia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be inconsiderate, Spike.”

“Flitter, it’s fine,” he implored. “Why are you like this? Why are you so upset?”

“I’m sorry.” She broke away from the wall and hugged him. “I’m really sorry. You said you liked me, and I made fun of you for it. Celestia, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, calm down, okay?” He gave her a squeeze. “It’s fine. It’s not that big a deal, honest.”

She sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Come on, let’s go back inside. We can take an hour in the steam room. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

She sniffled a laugh. “We’re already out of water for the steam room.”

“Oh. Well, we can pretend.”

She laughed and let him lead her back into the spa.

It was seven o’ clock when the pegasi closed the spa for the night, and met Spike, Allie, and Derpy back at Sugarcube Corner. Since making up with Flitter and Cloudchaser, and explaining his feelings to them both, he had gone to find the others to see whether they were free that night. The high of forgiveness and romance kept his spirits aloft as he reserved space for them all at the bakery, even as he paid an entire week’s pay for it. He had tried to invite Colgate, but she gently refused his offer.

The dining area had been cleared of the tables in the middle, and two were pushed together into one long surface. The light was dimmed, and there were no balloons or streamers, something that initially confused Spike. Without Pinkie around, the Cakes had turned the bakery into something a little more professional. He wasn’t sure whether he liked it.

He sat at the table’s head, Flitter and Cloudchaser on either side, Allie and Derpy at the back. The Cakes served them their food and stayed for a few moments to chat, but quickly left them alone, to talk of business, the changing town, the news—everything. Colgate, and the strange incidents that seemed to always lead back to her, were forgotten, and everyone was happy. At intervals, Flitter would spread a wing out to cover Spike’s back, and he would return with a small, awkward hug of his own.

When things were winding down, he stood up and tapped his empty glass, and his four friends looked at him obediently. “Uh… I just wanna say, I’m glad you were all able to make it tonight.” He glanced down at Flitter, who looked up with a wide smile. “I haven’t known you all very long, but I can easily say you’re all my best friends.” He looked at Derpy. “It started with you, Derpy. Then you, Allie, and then these two girls right here.” He looked down at the pegasi twins once more. “You’ve been great to me, every one of you. This is the first time I’ve hung out with a group since Twilight left, but even then, I never really felt like I was a part of it, you know? It’s different now. I’m just glad to be able to spend this time with you, as an equal, not a sidekick. You know?” He looked back down at Flitter, who smiled wider and nodded. “So, a toast. To best friends, old and new.”

Unwelcome Deviation

Chapter Thirty-eight

Unwelcome Deviation

The same night as Spike’s dinner party, Octavia stood by the ship’s rail, practicing her cello and watching the night. It was eleven-thirty, and Appleloosa, with its minimum of electric lights, was hardly more than another spot of texture on the ground before them, sandwiched awkwardly between two long, parallel chasms. She watched the stars as she played, and before long, her mind was wandering. She sighed, a luxury that she could afford in the loneliness of her station.

“Up late again, I see,” a silken voice said behind her; she turned slowly, recognizing it. “You truly are remarkable,” Vanilla said. “Your friends scare so easily, yet you look at me without fear.”

She looked him up and down carefully before answering. Even in the darkness, he gleamed perfectly, his blue eyes piercing the night, his black hole cutie mark an infinite shadow. “Why are you here?”

“When you left Trottingham, I told you not to come here. I told you that the enemy ship is nearby, and yet you came anyway. Was Applejack impatient to see her family?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, well, she’ll be better off waiting a little longer to see them, I think.”

“Why are you here?” she repeated.

“In the beginning, if you will kindly remember, I told you that I was bound to vex you at intervals. You received your first gift.” He gave her a sympathetic smile. “And I am afraid this is your first interval. Would you wake the others for me?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll show you when you wake them.” He held her in his endless gaze for a moment, and she nodded carefully.

“Very well.” She leaned her cello against the rail and went downstairs, the sound of her own hooves on the deck loud and uncomfortable to her. She was tired, having not slept the night before, and Vanilla’s presence put her on edge. His eyes stuck in her memory: beautiful, brilliant, deep eyes that she could get lost in, if she let herself. She knocked firmly on a cabin door. “Vanilla Cream is here, and he wants us all awake,” she said to the chorus of confused half-questions from within.

Twilight was the first to come out, rubbing her eyes. “He’s out there now?”

“Yes. Come up to the deck with me.”

They slowly assembled on the deck before Vanilla, each pony giving him a glare or a deferential glance. “Why the heck are you waking us up?” Rainbow asked fractiously.

Vanilla walked to the rail and looked down. “I merely wanted you to see what I am going to do, so you can’t blame Octavia for it. Look out at the world.”

Hesitantly, they went to the rails and looked down at the small settlement, only a few miles away. “What are we supposed to be seeing?” Rarity asked, stifling a yawn.

With neither vocalization from Vanilla nor sound from below, as sudden and fast as a bolt of lightning, the semi-familiar landscape was swept away. The ship remained placid while the world turned underneath them, mountains and rivers speeding by like flotsam in a drift. “What’s goin’ on here? Explain this right now!” Applejack yelled, upset.

“We’re simply moving somewhere else,” Vanilla said. “Relax. It’ll all be over… now.” As he said it, the ground snapped to a stop, and they were on the edge of a large, bright city. No one stumbled, and not a sound was heard from the ship.

“You rotten son of a—” Applejack started, but didn’t finish; he was already gone.

“Where are we?” Rainbow said.

No one answered at first. They had gone to bed out in the western desert, where nearly all the light was from the stars. Vanilla, however, had left them on the edge of a vast, glittering cityscape, prickled and stacked with orange and red lights. A single bright ribbon of cars ran down the city’s middle, just along a split, and a wide wedge of a hotel sat just underneath them, a turquoise crescent shining at its top. “This is Fillydelphia,” Octavia said.

“He moved us all the way up here?” Twilight said.

“That bastard!” Applejack cried. “We were there! We were at Appleloosa, an’ he moved us!” She paced angrily across the deck, taking one more frustrated look at the city. “Is this the price we gotta pay fer yer new magic, Twi? ‘Cause if it is, Ah don’t wanna pay it.”

“He said that the ship was waiting for us,” Octavia said, looking over the edge at the glowing, fragmented cityscape before them. “At least he did not move us into the middle of nowhere.”

“Appleloosa can keep on fine without us, I’m sure,” Rainbow said. “They’re all strong, hard-working ponies.”

“Ah don’t like him bein’ able to move us like that,” Applejack said, going to the wheel.

“I don’t like it either,” Twilight said. She closed her eyes and massaged her temple. “But what can we do? It was too fast.”

“Can you counteract his spell?” Rarity asked.

“He’s from Tartarus. I couldn’t counter his magic any more than Applejack could.”

“Thanks fer that,” Applejack said.

“Are you saying we just have to lay down and let him screw with us?” Rainbow demanded.

“I’m… sorry, but I think so,” Twilight said.

“Gee, too bad we didn’t know that before we agreed to his proposal.”

“Okay, calm down,” Octavia said.

“Oh, here we go,” Applejack said, turning around to eye her.

“If you do not want to hear what I have to say—”

“Sorry, sorry. Ah’m just annoyed, all right?”

“Hm. I was going to remind everyone that this is not actually that bad. It is inconvenient, but compared to the other things I am sure he could do, it is quite inoffensive.”

“She’s right,” Pinkie said with a yawn. “At least we’re not dead.”

“Oh, come on, Pinkie, don’t say that,” Rainbow said.

“No, it’s true,” Twilight said tiredly. “Nopony got hurt. It’s just really… irritating.”

“At least it’s a nice city,” Rarity said. She had remained at the rails, looking down on the lights.

“Yeah, seems okay,” Applejack said. “Where can we land?”

“I know there is an airship lot by the park,” Octavia said.

“Can we get a hotel?” Pinkie asked.

“Not tonight. Ah just wanna land us an’ get back to bed,” Applejack said.

“I’m gonna get back to bed right now,” Rainbow said, and Twilight followed her. When they landed, only Applejack and Octavia remained.

“Are you gonna be okay on yer own?”

“Go ahead. I will be fine,” Octavia said, standing up her cello again. “I need the practice anyway.”

When morning came, Octavia was roused from a lulled session of staring by a voice down on the lot. A worker, just checking that they were okay; someone had seen them land, but not debark. She assured him they were all fine, just sleeping, and he went on his way.

She woke the others after preparing breakfast. Their rations were running low again, most of their fruit long since dried up. They ate sparsely, and she told them about the city.

“Fillydelphia is a city where entrepreneurs go when they cannot succeed in Canterlot or Manehattan. It is wealthy, but there are many retired ponies here, and a lot of the city relies on tourism. What I have seen of it is fast-paced, but friendly. I have always enjoyed myself when I performed here.”

“What’s the water situation?” Applejack asked.

“There is a river that runs through the town’s center. It is not particularly large, but Fillydelphia gets a lot of rain.” She looked up at the cloudy sky. Pegasi flitted between large clouds, pushing and pulling at them. “I think that this city should be okay.”

“And it’s inhabited,” Rainbow said. “About time.”

“I missed being somewhere where ponies actually live,” Rarity said. “And this town looks positively delightful.”

“Yeah, we said that about Manehattan too.”

“But look,” Applejack said. “No giant towers. We won’t have to worry ‘bout knockin’ things over this time.”

“Yes, speaking of that, how many spells do you think will be necessary to put this town back together?” Octavia asked.

“Oh, I’d say four,” Twilight said. “Four or five.”

They left the ship, and when they stepped off the lot, they found themselves in the middle of a large, long row of stores along a smooth, clean street. The neighborhood was gray under thick clouds, and ponies walked and flew past them without pause or worry, even as they stepped on to the heavy bridge of scaffolding at the street’s end. Nothing else seemed wrong: no bent light poles, no broken windows, no refuse in the streets, no upset cars. Only a single store was closed, with large plywood covers over its windows and door.

“It seems as though everyone has gotten over the spell,” Octavia said.

“I guess it makes sense; it was a month ago,” Twilight said.

“A month, really?” Rarity said, looking back from a window of designer dresses.

“Yeah, really.”

“It feels like a week,” Rainbow said.

“It’s hard to imagine, I know,” Twilight said.

“We’ve been away from home since April,” Fluttershy said.

They crossed a bridge, much wider and safer than the skinny, wooden one to the Trottingham vineyard, and walked down a side street past a bustling coffee shop. Ponies glanced at them, and a few waved, but there was no fuss. They followed Octavia’s lead, past the crowds of shoppers that thronged the multitudes of bookstores, restaurants, and clothing outlets. As the area thinned, they crossed at a busy intersection and entered a large park.

“This is Heart Park,” Octavia said. “It was designed in the shape of a heart.”

“Aw, that’s nice,” Fluttershy said.

“There are more weddings here than anywhere else in Equestria.” She looked around briefly. “Though I see none today.”

“Yeah, swell,” Rainbow said. “I need to take a fly.”

“Don’t get lost,” Twilight said.

“Pff. Like I’d do that.” She took off in a blue ribbon for the middle of the park, and no one followed her.

“There she goes,” Applejack said.

Rainbow flew low and fast over the park, scanning the crowds for anything of interest. It was a beautiful day to be outside, and everyone seemed to know it. Ponies relaxed by fountains and under gazebos, talking to one another or napping. A quartet performed on a small platform to a crowd. She looked out across the park, and saw a larger conglomeration in the distance, dispersing away from what looked to be an elevated stage. She sped up to head for it, flipping upwards quickly to see a large, colorful theater, empty but for one pony. The blue coat and silvery mane looked familiar, and she dove.

As soon as she recognized the unicorn mare, she shouted. “Trixie!” Arcs of indignation and shock went across her brain as she drove herself harder toward the stage, zeroing in on the unicorn that had threatened Ponyville so long ago, and had damaged her pride.

Trixie looked up curiously, but the interest on her face quickly morphed into fear. She ducked behind a small prop before racing to the back of her stage, and out a small hatch. Rainbow crested the back of the stage and dove again, but her charge was arrested in a frantic backwards flap as fireworks exploded in her face. She snarled and batted at them, and Trixie darted across the lawn, vanishing into a crowd of ponies.

“Dammit,” Rainbow breathed, reorienting herself. She took off, flying over the crowd and searching for her quarry with a deep frown. Every flash of reflected sun caught her eye and made her stop, thinking she had found Trixie’s argent mane, but each time, she was wrong. “Damn it!” She flew upwards, hoping to scope out a larger area, and flew to a nearby gazebo. She doubted Trixie would have stayed in the crowd and risked detection.

As soon as she saw a glint of sunlight, she was off, diving for a pair of large, twisted trees. She flew between them, looking around frantically, and saw a retreating pony near the park’s edge. Grinning to herself, she kicked off the tree’s trunk and shot across the lawn, but the distance was too great, and by the time she was at the gateway to the street, Trixie was across it, galloping into an alley between buildings.

She flew quickly over the busy street and looked down the alley. Trixie had nowhere to go, that she could see, and she didn’t pause in her dive toward the offending unicorn. As she got closer, she saw Trixie straighten up, her jaw and eyes set, and gave a hungry smile of her own as she dove into the shade between buildings. As she crossed into the alley, closing in on Trixie, a titanic, dark form rose up from the ground, obscuring her vision and filling her ears with an awesome roar. Immediately, her wings froze, and she plummeted, flailing and twisting to escape the sound. She slammed to the ground, dust and darkness all around her head. Thoughts of Trixie were gone as she tried to backpedal, succeeding only in backing up into a wall. The roar continued as her vision swam, pricks of light dancing across her eyes as her ears were shredded.

And then it was gone. Both sensations were swept away, and the alley came back, strangely bright and almost surreally still and ordinary. She sat against the bricks, a trash bin by her side, a discarded mattress across from her, and just breathed. Trixie was not in sight, though she dared not move to get a better look. She was trembling, and she drew herself into a ball, closing her eyes against the ugly aspect that surrounded her. She wanted to leave, but the sudden attack had left her speechless and motionless, her muscles tightened and tensed like ropes, her tongue and lips dry.

“Really?” a feminine voice said. She opened her eyes, and Trixie was there, looking down on her, bemused. “You’re not going to try to run now?”

“W-what? What the hell is going on?” Rainbow sputtered.

Trixie rolled her eyes and tapped her horn. “Illusion magic. To freak you out.”

“Why would you do that?”

“You chased me! What was I supposed to do?” Trixie cried. She frowned down at Rainbow, then advanced and offered a hoof. “Geez, are you okay?”

“Get away from me,” Rainbow spat, tensing further.

“Okay, okay.” Trixie backed away. “Was it really that scary? I use it for my shows sometimes, but ponies don’t usually react so negatively.”

“I thought I was a freakin’ goner,” Rainbow said. She adjusted to release her wings, stuck at an odd angle.

“Yes, that’s the idea.”

Rainbow slowly moved back into a sitting position. She looked at Trixie, who stood at a respectful distance, watching her carefully. “You suck, Trixie.”

“I thought you were trying to hurt me. Who even are you?”

“Are you kidding me? Ponyville?”

Trixie’s face darkened. “Oh, you’re one of those. I’m sorry, but I didn’t care to memorize all of your names.”

“Rainbow Dash! One of the Elements of freakin’ Harmony! You humiliated me on your stupid stage.”

“Ah, yes. Sorry about that.”

Rainbow shook her head quickly, shocked—partially at the apology itself, and partially at the coolness with which it was given. “What? Is that it?”

“What do you want from me, Rainbow Dash?”

“Uh… never mind.”

Trixie sighed, and Rainbow rubbed her head. “So are you going to be okay? You looked ready to cry there.”

“I’m fine!” Rainbow shouted. She flinched and put a hoof to her mouth. “I mean, I’m fine. It… you freaked me out, all right?”

“I can see that.”

Rainbow shook her head and pushed herself up. She looked around before moving, still nervous.

“Seriously? Dash, it was an illusion. A trick with my horn.”

“Hey, lay off, okay?”

“All right, all right,” Trixie said tiredly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to seriously upset you, just give you a scare.”

“I’m not seriously upset.”

“Hm. Well, come on, let’s get back to the park.”

They exited the alley and waited for the cars to thin before crossing. They stepped back onto the grass without talking, and Rainbow looked at Trixie quickly. She cleared her throat, and thought of Twilight. “All right, no, that did really bother me.”

Trixie took a deep breath through her nose, and deviated slightly to a picnic table. “Come on. Let’s sit.” She nodded to a spot across from where she sat. “Sit. You’ll feel better.”

Rainbow sat, and Trixie looked away. She looked down at the tabletop and picked at it. She wanted to be angry with Trixie, but the image she had of her, of boastfulness, insensitivity, and arrogance, felt suddenly out-of-place. The pony before her was none of those things, instead patiently waiting for her to speak. Again, she thought of Twilight. Trixie’s stunt would have had her in a full flashback, she knew.

“I’m sorry I scared you so bad. I was just trying to defend myself, not actually hurt you.”

Rainbow heaved a sigh. “Yeah. I know.” She looked up briefly. “Sorry I chased you. I saw you, and, I don’t know. I just reacted.”

“That’s always nice to hear,” Trixie mumbled.

“Hey, you don’t have to be a nag about it.”

“I don’t know what it is you want from me. You’re acting like there’s some sort of grudge between us, but I don’t even know you.”

“You know me.”

“I saw you once.”

Rainbow sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.”

“Do you need a hug?”

“Stay away from me.”

Trixie sighed. “It’s a joke, Rainbow Dash. I’m trying to lighten the mood.”

“Psh.”

Trixie rose. “Well, I don’t know what to do! I want to make you feel better, but you just want to be depressed.” She rolled her eyes impatiently. “Let’s just get you back to wherever you came from, so we can be done with each other.”

“Fine.” Rainbow stood up and followed Trixie back across the park.

“I’m really sorry about the trouble I caused in your town. I don’t know if you’ll believe this, but I never intended for things to go so wrong.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t know what it is. Whenever I get in front of a crowd, I lose that part of me that empathizes with ponies. I’ve been working on that.”

“Excuses.”

“I’m not trying to excuse my behavior. I’m just telling you why I did it.”

“Uh-huh. So what are you doing here?”

“Oh, just a little thing I like to call getting my life on track.”

“What?”

“Well, after my entire livelihood was crushed, I had nowhere to go. That is what happened, you know. My trailer got smashed.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Thanks for the sympathy. So after I found someone to live with, I tried to get my career back. And now here I am.”

“Sounds like you got lucky.”

“Luckier than I’ve been in my life.” She looked Rainbow up and down. “I’m getting a nasty feeling about that now, though.”

“You brought it all on yourself, you know.”

“Oh, please,” Trixie said. “How was I to expect those two imbecile fans to drag a real ursa minor into town? You know, your hick town was the only place that took my stories literally.”

“Hey! That hick town is my home!”

Trixie sneered. “Sorry. I don’t want to incur another attack.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Listen to me, Rainbow Dash. I’m not interested in getting into some kind of conflict with you and your friends. I’m just trying to make an honest living here, and, to be frank, I’d be perfectly happy if you just left me alone.”

“Honest living. Right.”

The stage was back in sight, and the others were nearby, looking around curiously. “Just what do you think I am?” Trixie asked.

“Uh, let’s see here. Liar, braggart; there are two big ones right there.”

“I’m a showmare, for Celestia’s sake. I tell stories for a living. I haven’t conned anypony in my life, and I’m certainly not out to hurt anyone.”

“Tell that to Twilight. She had to clean up your mess.”

“Twilight?” Trixie squinted into the distance. “Oh, Celestia.”

“What’s the matter? Afraid to face the music?”

“Do you want to be quiet for a second?” She looked at the group of ponies, approaching swiftly. “I’ve imagined this moment.”

“Psh.”

“Rainbow, what the heck is goin’ on? Why d’ya have her with ya?” Applejack said.

“Holy guacamole! Is that the Great and Powerful Trixie?” Pinkie shrieked.

Trixie took a half step back, but before the crowd could continue, Octavia shoved her way through, smiling. “Is it truly you, Great and Powerful Trixie?” Her voice was happy and hopeful, a tone they had never heard before.

Trixie only stared, her initial indignation lost on her baffled face. “The… it can’t be. The… Gorgeous and Magnificent Octavia?”

“The one and only.”

Trixie stared at her for a second, then at the ponies behind her. She smiled, and the smile gave way to a laugh, first small and shy, but then joyous, and she broke her closed stance to rush forward to crush Octavia in a bear hug, one that—to Rainbow’s even greater surprise—she reciprocated.

“Whoa, whoa, okay, time out,” Rainbow said. “You wanna explain this, Trixie?”

The two mares stepped apart from each other. “Why are you with them?” Trixie asked.

“You have met,” Octavia said hesitantly, looking back at her friends.

“I played a show in Ponyville a long time ago, and they heckled me off the stage.”

Octavia cast them a dark look.

“Is that why you took off so suddenly, Dashie?” Pinkie asked.

“Yes, she came flying at me like a crazy pony,” Trixie said. “I thought I was under attack.”

“Why would you do that, Rainbow?” Twilight asked.

Trixie stomped back to her trailer, and Octavia followed. She hesitated for the merest moment. “I’m not done with you. I want to talk. But I really must catch up with Octavia here.”

Octavia looked back at them. “These are my friends.” She looked at Trixie, and thought. “But Trixie is right. We have much to discuss. Please excuse us.”

They all stepped back and watched as Octavia shut the door behind her, barring them from the inside, from Trixie.

“What. The. Hell,” Rainbow said.

“Since when do those two know each other?” Applejack blustered. “Has the whole world gone mad?”

“They must be friends!” Pinkie cried. “That’s so awesome! All this time she had a friend and she never said anything! I thought she didn’t have any friends, ‘cause she said so all the time, but now she and Trixie are—”

“Be quiet out there!” Trixie snapped from within.

They waited a moment, startled. “They certainly were happy to see each other,” Twilight said.

“I don’t like it,” Rainbow said.

“Ah think it’s mighty suspicious, myself,” Applejack said.

“Oh, come on, dear. Not everything is more than it seems. I’m sure they’re just friends,” Rarity said.

“Then why didn’t Octavia ever tell us?” Rainbow asked.

“Why would she? She didn’t know we knew Trixie. And besides, you know how reluctant she is to talk about her past.”

“Maybe they had a fight,” Fluttershy said.

“Nah, they’re too happy to see each other. Ah don’t think it has anythin’ to do with her at all, personally,” Applejack said.

“I’m actually surprised she’s still performing,” Rarity said.

“Yeah! Didn’t her cart get crushed by the ursa?” Pinkie asked.

“Yeah, it got flattened. She said it had all her stuff in it,” Rainbow said.

“That must have been tough,” Twilight said.

They waited for a moment, listening to the muffled voices, Octavia’s quiet and Trixie’s shrill. “How long will they be in there?” Pinkie wondered aloud.

“Let’s just wait out here until they’re done,” Applejack said. “She said she wanted to talk with us. Ah wonder what that’s gonna be ‘bout.”

They waited for half an hour, enough time for Rainbow to go on an impatient flight around the park, before anything happened. The crowd had long since dispersed, though the stage still stood, props still in place and decorations still hanging tackily from the rafters. Octavia poked her head out and beckoned them all inside, and, grateful for some break in the monotony, they trotted in.

Trixie reclined on a plush cushion, her cape and hat hanging rakishly on a peg near a mirror. Her tail flicked angrily, and Octavia returned to her side. “So,” she said, demanding their attention with the single syllable. “Octavia has told me why you’re here.”

Twilight didn’t respond. She was not like Rainbow and Applejack; she bore Trixie no ill will. Trixie’s sullen expression as she addressed them, however, made her nervous.

“Well?”

“I… I don’t know what to say. I mean, yes, here we are. You know what we’re doing. What do you want me to say?”

“Does it matter?” Rainbow asked.

“Hey,” Trixie said, fixing her eyes on Rainbow’s for a second. “This matters to me.” She sighed and looked at Octavia, who looked back emptily. “Ugh. Twilight, I’m sorry for the trouble that followed me to your town. It wasn’t my intent for things to go so… catastrophically wrong there. I don’t want to be enemies with any of you.”

Twilight blinked as Trixie watched her face cautiously.

“Ah don’t believe you,” Applejack said.

“Is my offer of contrition not enough? Would you have me fall to my knees and pray for your absolution?”

“See, there y’are with that boastful attitude.”

“That, dear orange pony—”

“Applejack. My name is Applejack.”

“Noted. And that was sarcasm. I don’t like to be judged.” She scoffed and sat back in her chair, tossing her mane. “You don’t even know me!”

“We know ya fine.”

“No, you knew me. Knew.” She gave an ugly smirk. “Or is personal change only reserved for you six? The heroines of your dramatic tale.”

“You’re not acting very changed,” Rarity said.

“You really are not,” Octavia whispered, and Trixie blushed hotly, giving her tail another angry flick.

“Fine. You’re right!” She sunk deeper into her chair. “You really are right. And I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to see you all here, and it put me in a temper.” She glared at Rainbow. “Twilight, I am truly sorry about the trouble I caused in your hometown.”

Twilight looked at her, mouth open slightly. She felt lost; her friends beside her, angry, and Trixie before her, seemingly contrite after a fresh bout of indignation. All the eyes in the room were on her. “I… I mean, of course I forgive you, Trixie.”

“I don’t,” Rainbow said.

“You still lied ‘bout yerself,” Applejack said.

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” Trixie said, twirling a hoof. “Hey, I just had a good idea. How about, instead of dumping on me, we talk about Octavia? She knows both of us; isn’t that strange?”

“Yes, that is what we should do,” Octavia said, rolling her eyes.

“I for one am curious about that,” Rarity said. “You two know each other, then?”

“We are childhood friends.”

“You had a childhood friend?” Pinkie asked.

“Yes. After I left home, I ran into Trixie, and, having nowhere else to go, I joined her. That is where I earned my cutie mark.”

“I remember that night,” Trixie said. “Dear Octavia here, being an earth pony, had to settle for comedy and acting routines to fit in with my little traveling show.”

“I was skilled at neither.”

“You can say that again. She tried her hoof at music, though, and, well, it was the most successful performance I’d had back then.”

“I played an old acoustic guitar that Trixie had acquired somewhere in her journeys,” Octavia said.

“With great skill and charisma, too. Unfortunately, she and I parted ways shortly after she discovered her talent.”

“Once I had earned enough money, I decided to enroll myself in Hoofington’s school for gifted musicians.”

“That was the last time I saw her,” Trixie said. “Until today!” she exclaimed, springing up to grab Octavia in another hug.

“So, you two knew each other before Octavia was all… serious?” Twilight said.

Trixie laughed loudly, and they looked at her oddly. “Oh, dear. No, Octavia here was always serious.”

“Gee, there’s the surprise of the century,” Rainbow said.

“Remember what I used to say, Octavia? You were never young.”

Octavia smiled thinly. “It is very good to see you again, Trixie. And I do apologize, but my friends and I have an important errand at the mayor’s office.”

“What are you doing there?”

“We need to clear everything with her before casting our spells,” Twilight said.

“Ah, that. Octavia filled me in on what you’re doing. That’s quite the spell, Twilight.” She sneered. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“We’ve been handlin’ it since Ponyville,” Applejack said.

“It’s a joke, my dear. I use them to lighten the mood. Do you know what that means?”

“We really should be going now,” Octavia said, giving Applejack a dirty look.

“Do you have a car?”

“No; we were assuming we would simply walk.”

Trixie scoffed playfully. “Now I can’t let my best friend do that.”

“It is not a problem.”

“I insist. I have a car; you can ride with me.”

“All of us?” Pinkie asked.

“Er, no, I suppose not. It only seats three.”

“We can wait with the ship,” Applejack said.

“That’s better than dealing with boring politics,” Rainbow said.

“Politics aren’t boring, Rainbow,” Twilight scolded. “It’s the very force that shapes nation-states and cities, and—”

“Yeah, and that stuff is boring,” Rainbow insisted.

“Okay, well, you can stay with the others and go back to the ship. Why not see if you can get us some hotel rooms?”

“If I may make a suggestion, the Moonbeam Hotel is very good. I have stayed there a couple times,” Octavia said.

“We’ll see if we can find it,” Applejack said.

“It is the hotel that was underneath us before we landed.”

“Ah, that. Should be easy enough. C’mon, y’all.” She went for the door, and turned at the last moment, tipping her hat only a sliver. “Trixie.”

“Applejack,” Trixie said, eyes narrowed. As soon as they were gone, she looked to Octavia and Twilight. “Shall we?”

Trixie’s car was a small, low, silver and blue arrowhead with her cutie mark inexpertly painted on the sides. Twilight sat next to Trixie up front, at her suggestion, and Octavia took the back seat, staring ahead lifelessly. Twilight looked at her in the rearview mirror; she had never been able to stare at Octavia’s eyes for more than a couple seconds. Her heart ached with pity at the bloodshot, muddled whites, surrounded by drooping, unhealthy skin. She knew Octavia didn’t sleep well, but the physical effects were easy to pass over when they were always at work.

Trixie started the car and stole a look at Twilight, who was doing her best to appear unassuming. “Twilight, I want to be sure you accepted my apology because you truly forgave me for my wrongs, and not because of some misguided feeling of pressure by your friends. We’re alone now.”

“Octavia’s here,” Twilight said, glancing once more at the mirror.

“Like I said, alone,” Trixie said, and Octavia smiled wryly.

“Well, Trixie, I have to say, it kind of… got me by surprise. I mean, you left so quickly, I never really got a chance to talk to you. But yes, I forgive you. I’m glad you’ve grown as a pony.”

She sighed. “As am I. It was hard, but I’ve learned not to take ponies’ good natures for granted.”

“So, friends?”

“Sure. Uh, friends.” She cleared her throat awkwardly and drove for a minute, quiet. “I envy you, Twilight.”

“Why?”

“You’re on a grand adventure, the kind of which I talk about during my shows. Travel, an impossible foe, magical artifacts—it’s all there. I’ve never done anything even close to that.”

“But you’ve been on some kind of adventure, I’m sure.”

“Sure, but nothing like yours. The biggest adventure I ever went on was right after I left Ponyville,” she said glumly. “But that’s a story for only my closest friends. Not for the stage.”

“Well, I think you’re the lucky one,” Twilight said.

“How so?”

“The fate of Equestria doesn’t sit on your withers.”

“Fair enough.”

“Compared to us, you have a very ordinary life, Trixie,” Octavia said.

“Octavia, how did you even wind up with these ponies?”

“We met.” Trixie laughed, and Octavia smiled once more. “They found me in Canterlot, and I offered to go with them.”

“That’s it? That’s hardly a story.”

“It was a very simple exchange.”

“So you just up and left with them. What about your job, and friends? Your entire life. You left it behind?”

“I play—played—for hire, but was not committed to any one organization. I was free to leave whenever I desired. And… I had no friends,” she finished quietly.

“No friends? A delightful mare like you? How does that work?”

“I simply never got around to making any,” Octavia said.

“That sounds like a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” Trixie said indignantly.

“I am sorry you feel that way.”

Trixie was silent, and Twilight looked out the window casually. She recognized Octavia’s tone, having heard it directed at her a few times before. She glanced at Trixie, who stared ahead evenly, her eyes hard, her mouth drawn. She tried to relax, but tension radiated off the two mares, and the quiet was too much. “Trixie? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Trixie said curtly, and Twilight flinched. Trixie looked at her and rolled her eyes, and Twilight looked back out the window. A light mist of rain was forming on the glass, and the buildings were growing taller. Downtown. Unlike Canterlot’s gentle, white architecture, Fillydelphia’s buildings were thin and angular, their walls formed of sharp, unpainted curves of scaffolding that seemed to cut and dice everything behind them. Nearly every door she saw was glass or metal, and only a single, small brick building stood out to her, squat between two iron-gray warehouses. No one spoke until they reached the mayor’s office, a bright dome on a chalky green, two-story loaf of black windows and stately, plain columns.

The receptionist said they may see the mayor immediately, and Octavia walked them to her office, moving ahead with quick, clipped steps. Trixie didn’t talk. Rain streaked the windows as they moved down the quiet halls, passing ponies that gave them only the tiniest of curious looks.

“You two go ahead in,” Trixie said. “I don’t have any place in this conversation.”

Octavia gave no response as she pushed the office door open. The mayor stood up as they entered, gliding swiftly over to shake their hooves. Even before she spoke, Twilight felt nervous around her; her office was dark and cluttered, filled with knickknacks and books. A globe stood on the corner of her desk, wrapped in yarn and tacks, and a glass of water stood on an open tome. Twilight bit her tongue to stay herself from commenting on it. The mayor shook her hoof firmly and leaned in to look into Twilight’s eyes; her own were intense, and her horn was long, curved slightly upwards. Her ashen, purple mane was pulled back in a skull-tight bun, drawing her dark, blue-gray fur up to reveal tiny slivers of pink skin on her forehead. Her tail, a startling contrast to her mane, flowed out behind her, long and smooth, as though caught in a wind.

“Um, hi. My name is Twilight Sparkle. This is Octavia Melody.”

“Mayor Splotch,” the mayor said. “I already know why you’re here.”

“Oh. You do?”

“I’m close to the princesses.” She looked them up and down slowly, taking them in, studying them. “Pinkie knows what she’s doing, yes?”

“Uh… she said so, yes,” Twilight said.

“Then go ahead. Fix my city.”

“Oh. Is that it?”

“When shall the first spell take place?”

Twilight looked at Octavia, who shrugged. “I would like to get the first one done today, if that is possible,” Octavia said. “We can use the hotel roof.”

Splotch appeared to think for a second. “Which hotel? I will tell the ponies there to stay inside.”

“The Moonbeam.”

“Fine.” Splotch leaned in to a large, ornate, bell-shaped phone on the corner of her desk, depressing a button with a hoof. “Lowercase, get the ponies in the southwest quadrant inside for the night. We have a restoration spell.”

A tinny “yes ma’am” echoed out, and Splotch turned back to Twilight and Octavia. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

“N-no, not really. So…”

“Wait for the cars to get off the street before casting your spell.”

“Okay.”

The mayor looked out the rain-slashed window in the back of her office.

“We will just be leaving, then,” Octavia said. She opened the door for Twilight, and they exited.

“That was fast,” Trixie said.

“She was ready for us,” Twilight said.

“So where do I drop you off?”

Trixie left Twilight and Octavia just outside the Moonbeam Hotel, where their ship was already parked. She gave a curt goodbye wave before driving away, and Twilight walked beside Octavia. “So what’s going on with you two? Why’s she so upset?”

“I think she is angry that I did not explain my lack of friends. She thinks that I am keeping something from her.”

“And are you?”

“The same thing that I am keeping from everyone.”

Twilight grunted and nodded, and Rainbow flapped through the hotel doors. “There you are. So did it work? Are we good?”

“Everything is fine,” Octavia said.

“Sweet. Oh, Twilight, Octavia, you need to check this out.” She gestured excitedly at a fenced in area near the corner of the hotel. “They’ve got a pool!”

“Hm.”

“Octavia, do you swim?” Twilight asked.

“No.”

“You can just lounge around on the deck with me,” Rainbow said. “I’d like to get some sun, but that’s not gonna happen today.”

“You sunbathe, Rainbow?” Twilight asked. “I read that that’s unhealthy.”

“Well, yeah, if you do it every day.”

“In moderation, it can keep one’s coat glossy,” Octavia said.

“See? She knows what I’m talking about,” Rainbow said, offering a hoof for Octavia to bump.

They entered the hotel, and Twilight craned her neck to look around. Immediately, she was reminded of the towers in Manehattan: ponies moved easily across the smooth, semi-reflective floor, speaking completely normally, and about normal subjects; the disaster seemed utterly gone from their minds. Thin, silver stripes crawled the pale blue walls, and colossal windows above let in enough light to give the lobby a cheerful, soothing ambiance.

“I have always liked the look of that,” Octavia said, looking up. Above, suspended on thin wires, was a brass and silver construction of overlapping rings emanating outward from a large, dull sphere. It caught the light on its rounded surface, turning it into a brilliant, tiny sun over the lobby. “It is the largest astrolabe in Equestria.”

“That’s not actually an astrolabe,” Twilight said. “It’s an armillary sphere, sometimes called an armilla or just an armil. It’s used to measure celestial longitudes and latitudes, as well as the ecliptic.”

“Yeah, that’s awesome,” Rainbow said. “C’mon, girls. Twilight, you’re rooming with us.”

They followed her down the hall to a neat, confining elevator, which took them up to the third floor. The carpets were a deep crimson, checkered with paler pink, and the walls were a calm cream. The air smelled faintly of roses. Rainbow stopped at their door and pounded on it, and Rarity let them in. Rainbow went immediately to the bed and flopped onto it with a sigh.

“We’ve got this room fer two days,” Applejack said. “An’ if we’re gonna take a look ‘round fer our spell, we should do it soon. Ah don’t wanna be doin’ it when it’s dark.”

“The mayor wanted us to wait, actually,” Twilight said. “She needs to let the ponies in the area know to stay indoors first.”

“Oh, something’s actually being done about that?” Rarity asked. She looked at Pinkie for a moment.

“About time,” Rainbow said.

Twilight nodded and sat down on the bed beside Fluttershy. The room was small, but light and comfortable; the walls, like those in the corridors, were a soothing, striped cream, and the twin beds were luxurious pads of white and burgundy. Out the window, she could see a large, circular series of cracks just beside a bend in the river. Most of the town looked relatively unharmed; no debris littered the streets, and while it was apparent in some places that a building had collapsed, the areas were blank and taped off, not messy with wreckage. The single, shattered circle, however, was busy with narrow slivers of land, like cracked glass. Only a few small buildings stood in the disaster area.

“I have not seen anything like it,” Octavia said, following Twilight’s eyes.

“It’s the plate tectonics, it has to be,” Twilight said. “I don’t remember exactly, but I think there’s a subduction zone there.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Bored,” Rainbow blurted.

“You don’t want to talk about plate tectonics?” Fluttershy asked with a tiny smile.

“Aw, you know, ordinarily I would, but it’s been a long day.”

“It’s barely two o’ clock,” Applejack said.

“All right, long morning then.”

“Shall we play some cards or something?” Rarity asked.

“That sounds good,” Twilight said. She grabbed the deck out of their bag, not even looking at it. Octavia cleared a table, and they sat at it while Twilight dealt.

Fluttershy, who sat out from their last card game, alerted them when the streets looked clear. It was four o’ clock when they walked to the elevator and went to the seventh floor, where Rainbow led them to the stairwell. The climb up was short, and the roof was empty, but cold; the rain was coming down hard. While Twilight and Pinkie set up for the sigil, the others relaxed in the meager shelter inside the well.

“So how was it with Trixie and Twilight, Octavia?” Fluttershy asked.

“Fine,” Octavia said.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Rainbow said.

“Twilight and Trixie seem to be willing to let bygones be bygones, and for that I am grateful. I do not think that they are very comfortable together, though.”

“Well, Trixie’s a bit of a… she’s hard to get along with,” Rarity said.

“I would not know. When I traveled with her, she was always nice. That was many years ago, though.”

“Have you two reconnected like you wanted to?” Fluttershy asked.

“I do not believe so. She is unhappy with my reticence.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Rarity said.

Octavia regarded her with a bland stare. “I am sure you cannot.”

“I thought she was nice,” Fluttershy said. “Or less mean, at least.”

“I don’t think she’s changed,” Rainbow said. “I mean, come on. Do ponies really change that easy? How do you know this isn’t some sort of revenge tactic?”

“I am curious. Why do you distrust her so? From my experiences, she has been nothing but well-meaning,” Octavia said.

“You didn’t see her in Ponyville,” Rarity said.

“She was boastful, loud-mouthed, and annoying,” Rainbow said.

“She showed us all up in front of the crowd,” Applejack said.

“And she lied about her accomplishments,” Fluttershy said.

Octavia thought. “It is not… in the best taste, I agree, but if she has not led a very interesting life, I think she is entitled to some room for falseness.”

“I’d like to think she’s changed, though,” Rarity said. “She stopped referring to herself in the third-pony.”

“Yeah, what was up with that?” Rainbow asked.

“I do not know what you mean. She has always spoken in first-pony,” Octavia said.

“Not when she came to Ponyville,” Fluttershy said.

“Interesting.”

“Do you think we’ll visit her again?”

“I think it would be best if I left her alone for now.”

“Oh.” Fluttershy looked down, disappointed.

“I am sure she will come around soon. She was never the kind of pony to shut someone out.”

“I guess you would know,” Rarity mumbled.

Octavia looked at her. “Is there something that you would like to say?”

“No, dear,” Rarity said, sighing. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I was ready to see Trixie either. It’s put me in a mood.”

“I know what you mean,” Rainbow said. She sighed and lay down, and it wasn’t long before she spoke again. “I’d like to know more about your cutie mark story, Octavia.” She grinned. “Or is that a secret too?”

“No, actually. I did not talk about it before because it was never relevant. As Trixie said, as an earth pony, my skills on the stage were very limited. I usually played as her assistant or sidekick, but I was occasionally charged with entertaining the audience on my own. I tried acting, but I was no good, and I could not tell a joke to save my life.”

Rainbow stifled a giggle, and Octavia gave her a false smile.

“I sang, but I was nothing spectacular—moreover, I did not enjoy it. After a few long discussions, she had me play with an acoustic guitar, and after a few days of practice, I was able to perform a few songs for our next show. We were in the middle of the country at the time, so my first crowd was of only forty or so. Still, it was a great success. Only after our show did she notice that I had gotten my cutie mark.”

“How’d y’all celebrate?” Applejack asked.

“The same way any other pony would, I imagine. We cheered and laughed, and Trixie opened a bottle of champagne that she had been given. From there, I improved my craft.”

“That’s a nice story,” Fluttershy said.

Octavia nodded and turned away from the brightly glowing rooftop. The others followed her example, and they listened and watched as the surrounding landscape drew itself together. Buildings swayed and creaked dangerously, but there were no ponies to make an uproar, no cars to shriek off the street and up onto the sidewalks.

When it was over, Twilight and Pinkie slowly walked back to the stairwell. “Easy-peasy!” Pinkie cried.

“I’m just glad the mayor thought to warn everyone,” Rarity said. “We have to remember that we’re not in Trottingham anymore.”

“Yeah, we’re somewhere with a pool,” Rainbow said. “Speaking of pools, I’m gonna go check ours out.” She jumped over the railing and flew down onto the grounds, streaking over the gate and landing in the rippling water with a noisy splash.

“Ah don’t know why she’s so set on swimmin’ in that thing,” Applejack said as they descended the stairs. “It’s rainin’.”

“I don’t know about her, but I, for one, am more interested in that hot tub,” Rarity said.

They stopped in their room to grab some towels out of the bathroom, and then went down to the empty pool enclosure. The deck was a pristine white, softened by the rain, and was surrounded by a tall fence just in front of a row of trees. The lounging chairs and their umbrellas were slick with rain.

“Everypony else is inside,” Fluttershy said.

“Cannonball!” Pinkie screamed, taking a flying leap into the pool. She landed near the center, sending a splash all the way to the edges and getting their manes damp.

“Pinkie!” Rarity whined.

“It’s not that bad!”

“Yeah, we can feel it,” Applejack said. “Seein’ as how you splashed us!”

“Hop in!”

Applejack grumbled and stepped in after Pinkie, crouching down slightly on the penultimate step and submerging herself to the neck. “All right, Ah’ll give it to ya, this water is pretty nice.” She shivered a little. “Rain’s awful cold, though.”

Twilight followed after her, stumbling awkwardly on one of the steps and half-dunking her face. She emerged, laughing, and Pinkie gave her a light splash.

“We will be fine out here,” Rarity said, looking distastefully at the water.

“Octavia, jump in,” Twilight said.

“I do not swim, remember?” Octavia said.

“You can hang out in the shallows; that’s probably what we’re gonna do anyway,” Applejack said.

“Fine.” She splashed ungracefully into the water, prompting another laugh from Twilight. “Why did you all want to do this?”

“Ah haven’t been in the water like this since… shoot, Ah can’t even remember.”

“I suppose it is rather nice.”

“I’m actually interested in trying out some high-level telekinesis,” Twilight said. “Vanilla Cream said he enhanced my magical capabilities, but I didn’t get to test them very well on the ship.”

“I would like to see that. What will you do?”

Twilight thought for a second. “Do you want a water show?”

Octavia’s eyes lit up slightly, and for just a moment, she looked happy, despite her dripping, bedraggled mane. “That sounds fascinating.”

Twilight grinned and lit up her horn. She had experimented a lot on the ship, reading and practicing, but there was only so much she could do. The effort it took to lift all of their supplies was considerable, but one she had exerted before; she had nothing to truly test her. With a small exertion, she lifted a large sphere of water out of the pool with an unseemly sucking sound, and held it between them. It wobbled and jiggled in the rain, and Octavia moved around slowly to examine it.

“Is that difficult for you?” Octavia asked.

“A little, but it’s not bad. I could do this without his help.” Her horn glowed more intensely for a moment, and the orb moved lower, skimming the pool’s surface. Twilight smiled, and the ball stretched slowly into a tube. She wiggled it a little, and Octavia smiled again. In her mind, her thoughts were quiet, but happy. With an audience to her practice, she felt comfortable, and even mimicked Octavia’s smile as she split her water into a pair of long snakes.

“Try something harder,” Rainbow said.

She frowned and concentrated a little more, raising the water back to eye level and dividing it into ten smaller spheres. Octavia watched closely as she twirled them around an invisible focal point, faster and faster until they began to taper at the ends, creating a fine rain of their own. She slowed them down and dropped them back into the pool with a heavy plop.

“That was impressive,” Octavia said. “How was it?”

“Really not that hard,” Twilight said. “I was expecting to have to really exert myself when I had them spinning, but it was… easy, almost.” She thought for a moment, and another idea came to her. “No, that’s too much.” She looked all around the pool, determining the amount of water within. “Is it?” “Okay, let me try this. Everypony hold still.”

Everyone stopped moving to watch her, and she brought the spell to the front of her mind. It was just a telekinesis spell, but the size and scope of it, she knew, would be a challenge—or should be. She activated her horn again and looked all across the pool, trying to ignore her friends’ inquisitive expressions. A slight magical haze appeared at the pool’s edges, and she slowly lifted it out. She could feel the unbelievable weight sagging down on her mind, chipping at her concentration like a bad idea, but she ignored it. “Still too easy.”

She frowned and paused, and the solution came to her. Splitting her magic into more, smaller spells, she created small columns around her friends and herself, to keep some water in. Still, her strain was small as she lifted the majority of the pool out of the ground and floated it over their heads. The others gasped, and Pinkie cheered, and Twilight only watched the undulating mass above her. “My eyes should be closed with the concentration. I should be sweating. This spell should be kicking my butt, but it isn’t.” She watched her friends’ colors move and refract in the bulb of water, and looked down to see the rain already wetting the pool’s bottom, suddenly much larger than it looked when they had entered the enclosure. Even keeping her friends ensconced in their own personal spaces was easy—hardly a thought, under the focus she used to keep the thousands of gallons aloft. She slowly lowered it back, and released her magic; a tiny current twitched her tail as the bodies of water met.

“Twilight, that was amazin’,” Applejack said.

“Amazing isn’t even the half of it,” Twilight said. “I wish I could tell you how easy that was!” She giggled nervously. “I’m not even tired.”

“Perhaps now we can look more favorably upon Vanilla,” Octavia said, looking at Applejack.

“Ah know, Ah know. He’s been plumb helpful with this here magic. That ain’t undoin’ the fact that he moved us halfway across Equestria against our will, or the fact that he’s from Tartarus.”

“Racist,” Rainbow said from across the pool.

“You don’t like him either,” Rarity said, and Rainbow only chuckled.

“Well, Ah don’t trust him. We shouldn’t be so quick to just assume he’s all he says he is,” Applejack said.

“That is a fair point,” Octavia said.

For an hour, they played around in the pool. Pinkie and Applejack had a splash fight, which swiftly incorporated Twilight and Rarity, who jumped in angrily after being awoken with cold water across her front. Twilight treated them all to another water show, taking the pool back out and forcing it into a titanic corkscrew that Rainbow flew through, and Octavia tried to make her own water sphere, which she could only hold for a few minutes before giving up and letting it collapse back. By the time the sun was setting, they were cold, and the rain had only slightly let up, so they migrated to the hot tub, where conversation turned calmer.

“So, Octavia, did you and Trixie ever… do anything?” Rainbow asked, adjusting the heat dial.

“I do not know what you mean,” Octavia said. She was up to her snout in the bubbling water, and had to raise herself slightly to speak.

“You know, sexual.”

“We did not, not even to experiment. I did not know that I was gay then, so I did not look at her that way. I do not know how she felt about me.”

“You seem oddly comfortable talkin’ ‘bout this,” Applejack said. Her Stetson was tipped down over her face as she leaned back against the cold, rain-spattered tile corner.

“How so?”

“You don’t tell us nothin’ else, an’ yet here y’are, talkin’ ‘bout yer sexual relationship with Trixie.”

“Would you prefer I kept that a secret as well? I can, if you want.”

“Why’d you have to bring it up, AJ?” Rainbow asked, exasperated.

“Yer the one askin’ her ‘bout her sex life,” Applejack said.

“Yeah, and she’s perfectly fine talking about it, for once.”

“I would not say ‘perfectly’ fine,” Octavia said.

“Excuse me,” said a timid female voice from the side. A dark brown griffon stood on the side, tail swishing lazily. “Would you mind?”

They scooted over for her, and she got into the tub, letting out a long sigh as she did so.

“Wowee! You’re the first, uh… the first… what’s the generic term for all life?” Pinkie asked.

“Pony,” Twilight said.

“What? Twilight, she’s not a pony!”

“No, seriously. According to the Equestrian Language Association, any intelligent creature inside the Equestrian borders can be referred to as a pony in the generic sense. We only use their proper names if they’re being referenced specifically.”

“Okay! You’re the first pony we’ve seen in the pool all day! Are you here on vacation?”

“Yep. I came up here to see my parents,” the griffon said.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Rarity said. “Where are you from?”

“Where d’ya think, Rare?” Applejack asked.

“I’m actually from Applewood,” the griffon said, a touch of indignation on her voice.

“Oooooh, Applewood,” Twilight said. “I’ve read all about it; it’s the biggest city in Equestria.”

“I was born and raised there. It’s kind of a shame, actually; no matter where I go, everything seems smaller. Here, at least.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rainbow asked.

“Griffon cities are a lot larger than pony cities,” Twilight said.

“Oh, have you been there?” the griffon asked.

“No, no. I’ve only read about it.” She chuckled self-consciously. “I haven’t even been to Applewood.”

“I have,” Octavia said. “I have performed there many times.”

“You’re a performer? What’s your name?”

“Octavia Melody.”

“I knew you looked familiar. I saw you on TV a lot when I was younger.” She stared at Octavia for a moment. “This is too cool. Hey, would you mind signing something of mine when we get out? I’d like to show my parents.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, ma’am. It means a lot to me, truly.” The griffon spread her wings and let herself sink deeper. “So, you here on vacation too?”

“So to speak,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. You can’t really have a relaxing vacation anymore. Did you hear what’s been going on lately?” Before they could respond, she continued. “Discord’s completely amok. There’s reports all over the place of mysterious attacks, and weird creatures running around. That powerful Trottingham family—what’s their name?”

“The Astras,” Rarity said tentatively.

“Yeah, them. They lost their house about a week ago. Can you believe that? What with that, and all the stuff ponies are finding in the wilderness, it’s like he’s turning Tartarus inside-out on us. It’s incredible.”

Rainbow licked her lips, and Applejack looked at her, shaking her head. Rainbow rolled her eyes and kept silent.

“We have heard a few things, but we have been travelling for a while; the most recent news has likely missed us,” Octavia said.

“Well, it’s no secret that Discord’s getting stronger, but they never said just how strong he’s getting. Ponies are seeing him all over the place now, not really doing a whole lot, just… watching. Spying, the princesses think. Probably testing the country’s interior defenses. He’s got an army, you know.”

“That we know,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised.” She leaned in a little closer. “Canterlot is getting ready for another battle. I don’t know if you’ve seen the press release, but Princess Luna already has the city on lockdown, with a curfew and everything. The Royal Guard is getting ready to fight again.”

“That’s horrible,” Fluttershy said.

“You’re telling me. I hate to say this, but personally, I don’t think they have the resources to stand against Discord. I mean, the guy can just conjure an army out of thin air.”

“Ah’m sure that ain’t right,” Applejack said. “His ponies are flesh an’ blood, just like everybody else.”

“He’s using hypnotism magic,” Twilight said. “Remember what Princess Celestia said when we were in Canterlot?”

“Oh yeah.”

The griffon looked between them, perplexed, but didn’t say anything.

“I have heard that there is a team of ponies traveling around and undoing Discord’s spell on the land,” Octavia said. “What do you think of that?”

“Lies, all lies, concocted by the princess to keep us from panicking. She has to keep morale up somehow.”

Rainbow sat up suddenly. “Now wait a minute. I’ll—”

“No,” Octavia said firmly, and Rainbow shrunk back.

“Don’t mind her,” Applejack said. “She’s just had a bad day.”

“But surely someone’s doing something about Discord, right?” Twilight asked.

“I’m sure there are ponies out there who’re trying to do something,” the griffon said. “But do you honestly think they can stand up to him?”

“Maybe if they had the Elements of Harmony,” Fluttershy said.

“I guess. If they’re out there, though, they’re not doing a very good job.”

Everyone exchanged looks.

“And what do you think of the reparations done to the cities?” Octavia asked.

“Ah, that’s a tricky one. I think it’s the ponies that already live there; I’m sure there are unicorns powerful enough to do the job.”

“Maybe,” Twilight said, thinking. She sighed in the hot water. The griffon had a point; she and Pinkie weren’t the only powerful mages in the world.

The griffon looked around at the darkened area. “I mean, it makes sense. This part of town just knitted itself back together, and Celestia’s friends weren’t around for it. We’d know if they were.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Octavia said. “Unfortunately, it is getting late. I am going to get out and return to my room. Let me dry off, and I will give you your autograph.”

“I think I’ll get out too,” Twilight said, climbing out. She levitated a towel over, and, thinking better of it, instead used her magic to slide the water out of her coat. “Much easier,” she said quietly to herself.

“Yes, it is getting rather late,” Rarity said, getting out as well.

They all climbed out, and Octavia signed a small slip of paper and left it on the griffon’s things. They walked back and separated to their rooms.

Rainbow Dash, Mayor of Fillydelphia

Chapter Thirty-nine

Rainbow Dash, Mayor of Fillydelphia

On and off, for the entire night, thunder and rain rattled the windows. When they woke, it was eight in the morning, and they met downstairs in a large, posh breakfast area at the hotel’s bottom. The dining room was crowded and quiet, and they sat in a booth by a bay window. Outside, the clouds were fat and dark, and there was a small rim of frost on the windowsill.

“Geez, how’d it get like this? It was fine yesterday,” Rainbow said. “Well, fine-ish.” She leaned against the glass to look up at the clouds, and when she spoke again, her pleasant, casual tone had hardened. “Those look really bad.”

“They’re big,” Applejack said.

“More than that, though. Look how dark they are. And how they’re in kind of a line.” She turned back to her food for a moment, but when she looked back out, she adopted a look of concern. “It almost looks like tornado weather.”

“Tornado?” Fluttershy said.

“Don’t worry, Fluttershy. They have to warn us if something’s gonna happen. Still…” She picked at a piece of food.

“Have you ever made a tornado, Rainbow?” Twilight asked.

“Nope. We don’t usually need that stuff in Ponyville. But I had to know all about them to get my job. They even made us take a class on hurricanes, even though we’re nowhere near any water. You gotta be a veteran weather pony to work with those things.”

Twilight stirred her tea absentmindedly and scooted over for Octavia to sit down. She had stayed back at the room to phone ahead, and get Mayor Splotch to clear the northeast section of the city for a spell. “How come I don’t see any pegasi up in those clouds?”

“They’re probably behind them,” Rainbow said.

“And you’re sure we’ll be okay?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yeah. The mayor has to let everyone know before she has a tornado. We’d see signs and things. Besides, it’s not like it’s gonna touch down on the city itself. If that’s even what it is.” She glanced back outside. “Sure looks like that’s what it is.”

They finished breakfast and returned briefly to the room, on Rarity’s insistence that she take an umbrella, and then went outside. The rain from the day before had gotten harder and colder overnight, and the city beyond the hotel lawn was shrouded in a gentle, gray haze. A light breeze brought the rain slightly under the hotel awning, and Rarity moaned as she opened her umbrella. They crossed the grounds as quickly as they could, but she was still wet and shivering by the time they were on the ship. While Applejack got them in the air, everyone else hid under the balloon, enduring its dripping to get out of the more torrential storm.

“How long does it even take to set a tornado up?” Rarity asked.

“Couple days, if you wanna do it right,” Rainbow said. “You can do a quick and dirty tornado in one day, but that’s only if there’s an emergency. Even properly-handled tornados are dangerous.” She blinked away the rain as she leaned out to look at the sky. “You know, I said we have nothing to worry about, but… I’m not seeing very many ponies up there.”

“Is that a problem?” Octavia asked.

“Well, yeah. Just look. I see one, two pegasi over there. And three up there.” She pointed to a large bank of clouds, partially hidden by a lower roll of dark gray. “Do you think five pegasi are enough to set up a tornado?”

“No. But does that not mean that it must be something else?”

“Hey, I know tornado weather,” Rainbow said. “No, it means we don’t have enough weatherponies working for what the weather is doing, which means that it’s happening on its own.”

“That can’t be,” Applejack said. “This ain’t the Everfree, Dash.”

“She has a point,” Twilight said.

“And it would fit with Discord’s whole… thing,” Pinkie said. “You know, to remove the binding we have on the weather.”

“It happened in Cloudsdale,” Fluttershy said.

“If that is true, then what is there to be done?” Octavia asked. They touched down, and Applejack lowered the gangplank.

“Well, ordinarily, we’d just get a bunch of pegasi to bust apart the clouds,” Rainbow said. “But that’s a lot to break apart. I’m… not actually sure.”

“We can worry about it later,” Twilight said. “Rainbow, get up there and see if you can scout out a good rooftop for us.”

Rainbow took off, and they stood in the middle of the empty street. The gutters flowed noisily with rainwater, and all the shops, while lit, were inactive. Ponies watched from behind registers or from chairs under awnings, offering no comment to the soaked team.

“Why not cast our spell in the street?” Applejack asked. “Ah thought we only did rooftops so ponies wouldn’t get in the way.”

“It helps if Pinkie can see the whole area,” Twilight said.

“Mm.”

Rainbow flapped back down to them. “There’s a grocery store about a mile away with a good roof.”

They followed her quickly, heads bowed to the rain. “I know the weather is atrocious right now, but it’s still a shame we can’t spend more time here,” Rarity said. “All I’ve seen is Trixie, the park, and the hotel.” She stepped carefully over a large, dirty puddle. “I must say, this is hardly the opulent atmosphere I was promised.”

“I promised nothing,” Octavia said. “And you must always keep in mind that everything will have changed drastically in response to all this… mess.”

“But where are all the rich ponies you talked about?”

“They live in the residential districts. We have only seen midtown.”

They stepped up onto the curb and entered a grocery store. A courtesy clerk nodded and smiled to them, and Twilight told her what they were doing while the others headed for the back of the store, in search of a passage to the roof. A small crowd gathered around her while she explained the situation.

When she turned around to find her friends, Trixie was at the crowd’s front, watching passively, but with an interested twinkle in her eyes. Twilight trotted over, and the crowd reluctantly dispersed.

“Fancy bumping into you here,” Trixie said casually.

“What are you doing here?” Twilight asked.

Trixie looked at her, bemused. “Grocery shopping.”

Twilight giggled. “Guess I should have known.”

“And you’re doing another one of those special spells.”

“That’s right.” They turned down an aisle to rejoin Twilight’s friends. Octavia looked at them, and, noticing Trixie, softened her expression somewhat as she approached.

Trixie tilted her head to look down her nose at Octavia. “Oh, hello old friend.”

“We need to talk,” Octavia said. She looked at the others. “Go ahead and get started.” She waited until they were all gone, and then looked back at Trixie. Thunder rumbled outside. “Trixie, I need to apologize for being so insensitive yesterday. I should have explained myself better.”

“Oh, is that right? You should have explained why you thought lying to me would be the best course of action? Well, please, oh Gorgeous and Magnificent Octavia, enlighten me.” She looked over Octavia’s withers and frowned at Pinkie, standing at the aisle’s end with a concerned expression; she disappeared at her look.

“You were correct; my reason for not having any friends was false. It is not that I did not try to make any. I was simply not any good at it.”

Trixie’s expression softened a little. “Explain.”

Octavia lowered her voice. “I am very uncomfortable talking about this. I… do so now, only because we go back so far. You must promise to keep this between us.”

“Of course.”

She sighed and moved in closer. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I have been living with a lot of stress for a very long time now, and it has taken a… very heavy toll upon me. I am short-tempered, uncreative, and have no sense of humor.”

“Gee, I couldn’t tell.”

“I have not slept more than eight or nine consecutive hours in longer than I can guess. A year. More. I do not know. In the past, any attempts at friendship I made, I ruined with my inability to appear genuine, or my refusal to speak openly on the subject of my life.”

Trixie took several moments to take it in. While her face remained neutral, Octavia could tell she was thinking seriously about what she had said. The sarcastic tinge had entirely gone from her voice. “So, of course, you know what I have to ask next.”

“I can say no more.”

“Not even for me?”

“I can tell no one. It is too personal… and you would not believe me anyway.”

Trixie narrowed her eyes. “Try me.”

“I will not. Please, Trixie, understand that it is not personal; I will not tell my own sister, and she shares a large part of my childhood with me. Just leave this as it is.”

“Now why should I do that? It sounds like you’re destroying yourself.”

“You must not worry about me.”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course. You’re right. I should have realized you were completely okay when you said you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in over a year.”

Octavia sighed and lowered her voice further. “If it makes you feel better, my friends have all expressed the same concerns as you.”

“Do you talk to them?”

“…At times.”

Trixie stepped a little closer to her. “Listen. I get it—I think. You didn’t have to hide it from me, but I can understand why you might want to. But you need help.”

“I am fine.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.” She hung her head. “I know what it’s like to be afraid to help yourself. Change is scary.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Octavia said. “I know that I am in trouble, but it is not serious. I know what I am doing.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You have to believe me, Trixie. I am having a life-changing experience, and there is no doubt in my mind that I will, eventually, overcome much of what now makes me so… unhappy. I do not need you to worry about me.”

“Friends worry about each other, Octavia.”

“And as your friend, I promise you that I will be okay.”

“Is that what you said a year ago?”

Octavia looked away. “I did not realize the severity at that time.” She forced a small smile. “But things are looking up. I have friends now. The rest will follow, I am certain.”

Trixie regarded her for a minute before finally nodding. “If you say so.” She smiled. “And I forgive you.” She shook Octavia’s hoof, and they headed for the store’s back. “If no one minds, I’d very much like to watch Twilight do her spell.”

“Of course.” Octavia took her to the rooftop, where everyone was already set up: Twilight drawing the sigil around Pinkie, and the others watching.

“Oh, look who it is,” Rainbow said.

“Rainbow Dash, my dear. I’d missed your dulcet voice,” Trixie said.

“An’ we missed yer sarcasm,” Applejack said.

Trixie laughed. “Yes, I bet you did.” She edged closer to the front of the group. “That has to be the most complicated sigil I’ve ever seen.” She sat down and rubbed her head. “I thought it was supposed to restore the ground.”

“It is,” Octavia said.

“It looks like Twilight’s trying to transfer power into that pink one. What’s her name again?”

“That’s Pinkie Pie,” Rarity said. “And she is.” She looked around uncertainly, not sure how much to tell Trixie.

“Pinkie is the one actually using the restoration spell,” Octavia said.

“Hm. So, forgive me if this is a dumb question, but why use her at all? Twilight is aware that she can enhance her own magic, right?”

“That’s possible?” Applejack asked.

“Well, it takes a little creativity with the sigil, but you can set up a kind of miniature feedback loop on yourself, yes.”

“That sounds incredibly dangerous,” Octavia said.

“What do you know about it?” She frowned. “Sorry. Not trying to sound condescending.”

“Twilight has been teaching me a lot of magic… theory.”

“Interesting.” She watched Twilight draw another small cluster of lines. “So is that ink enchanted to not wash away, or is it a locked sigil?”

“A what?” Rainbow asked.

“A sigil that doesn’t dissipate until it’s completed,” Trixie said.

“Wait, hold on,” Applejack said. “Sorry, but this is kinda blowin’ my mind. How come you know so much about magic?”

Trixie scoffed. “I just so happen to study it in my spare time.”

“No you don’t,” Rainbow said.

They were silent for a second, and only the sound of the rain surrounded them. “Right, my mistake,” Trixie said. “I’ll have you know I’ve been studying magic, both arcane and modern, for quite some time now, in hopes to increase my own skills.”

“An’ how’s that workin’ out fer you?” Applejack asked.

“I’ve been improving steadily,” Trixie said defensively. “Very steadily. But wow, that sigil! Where in the world did she learn it?”

“Princess Celestia gave it to her,” Rarity said.

“Oh, that’s right. Miss Dash mentioned you were all Elements of Harmony. Princess Celestia’s special friends.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Hm, perhaps not. Oh, here we go!” She stood up and craned her neck at the sigil.

“You will want to avert your eyes,” Octavia said.

Trixie nodded eagerly as Twilight finished the sigil, which first shimmered and then blew away, and she turned her head and closed her eyes as Pinkie started to glow. She sat totally still while the spell took its effect, her ears cocked the entire time to capture every sound of the restoration. For her, it was new, and she found herself shrinking against the roof in spite of herself, the sounds outside too catastrophic to face standing up. The store trembled, and the street below groaned as everything shifted into place. When it was done, she looked around, mouth open in a shocked smile, while Twilight and Pinkie regained their hooves. Ponies boiled into the streets, some of them staring up at the roof, many crowding the edge of a former split.

“Right, let’s get out of here before they mob us,” Rarity said.

“Oh, hello Trixie,” Twilight said, nodding tiredly.

“Trixie has expressed great interest in your sigil,” Octavia said.

“Oh, are you interested in magic too?”

“Come on, come on,” Rainbow said. “We can talk magic later. We gotta get out of here now.”

“We could always wait for them to disperse,” Trixie said. “Have you never tried that? Instead of pushing through the crowd, just let it dissipate naturally.” She looked quickly at the door to the store. “It’s not like they’re going to climb up after us.”

“They might,” Rainbow said.

“Please. Look, they’ve already stopped looking up at us.” She scoffed. “Crowds are all the same.”

“What did you want to talk about, Trixie?” Twilight asked.

“That amazing sigil. What—”

“Tornado,” Rainbow said. They all looked at her, and she narrowed her eyes. “Tornado. Maybe we should talk about that instead?”

“Trixie, what do you think of the weather? Rainbow Dash thinks it looks like a tornado forming,” Rarity said.

Trixie looked up into the clouds, shielding her eyes from the rain. “It’s… actually interesting you should mention that.”

“Trixie’s involved!” Rainbow cried.

“Will you stop that? It’s like you’re expecting me to turn up at the heart of every bad thing in Equestria.” She tossed her mane. “Although I am involved, peripherally.”

“Do tell!” Pinkie said.

“It’s nothing serious. A couple friends are trying to do something about it.”

“So there is something going on,” Rainbow said.

“They think so.”

“You don’t?” Twilight asked.

“Looks like rain to me. That’s been a concern, you know.”

“For having minimal access to flowing water, we have not seen a lot of shortages,” Octavia said.

“Last I heard, they’re almost done with the next link in that cloud convoy,” Trixie said. “I think it’s a collection facility over Hoofington. But my theory makes more sense. Think about it. There are pegasi up there, working, and we’re getting a ton of rain. Plus, no tornado warnings.”

“I wanna meet your friends,” Rainbow said.

“Sure.”

Rainbow paused. “Oh. Really?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, was I supposed to deny you the first time?”

“Look, they’re gone. Let’s get back to the ship,” Applejack said.

“You go ahead. I’m gonna go with Trixie,” Rainbow said.

“Oh, are we going now?” Trixie asked, affecting a pleasant demeanor.

“Unless you’ve got something better to do.”

“I was planning on going back to my trailer to work on the logistics of a new magic trick.”

“Pft, come on. Magic tricks can wait. This is important.”

“She is right,” Octavia said. “If there really is a tornado coming, we need to act as quickly as we can.”

“All right, all right.” Trixie stood. “But you’d better keep those snide comments of yours buttoned up, Dashie.” She grinned. “Or I’ll have to saw you in half.”

Hailstone was a low-level Datura of six years, originally from Applewood, and assigned to Fillydelphia on a permanent basis. She was on a team with five others, one of which, a pegasus named Sunbeam, had become her steady coltfriend a year into her post. They were weatherponies all, and their team leader was Mayor Splotch, the only Equestrian Datura to be in charge of an entire city. More often than not, her job revolved around monitoring the empty plains and plateaus to the northwest. Seldom did she see any action.

She sat in a booth in the corner of her favorite bar, Patina’s, with a glass of cider before her and Sunbeam slouched in the crook of her wing, his over-gelled and under-combed mane blending in with her teal coat, which contrasted sharply with his garish, pink fur. She and the other Fillydelphia Daturas—minus Splotch—were due to meet in an hour in Heart Park, but for the time, she was without anything to do.

She sipped her drink and looked up as the bar door creaked open, admitting a unicorn and pegasus. She let a smile spread across her face, recognizing the unicorn’s confident gait.

“There you two are,” Trixie said, seating herself. “Take the load off, Dashie.”

“Don’t call me that,” her rainbow-maned companion said sourly. She looked at Hailstone and Sunbeam. “I’m Rainbow Dash. Trixie’s… associate.”

“Acquaintance,” Trixie corrected.

“Trixie, my friend, I wasn’t expecting this,” Hailstone said. She didn’t let it show on her face, but she was happy to see her; Trixie was a lively pony. Sunbeam grunted agreement and took a drink from her cider. “Hailstone and Sunbeam.” She shook Rainbow’s hoof.

“So, Trixie tells me you’re involved with this tornado business,” Rainbow said.

Hailstone nodded slowly. For the last week, her, and her friends’, suspicions were steadily piqued at increasingly strange behavior from Splotch, but it was only when the weather began to turn ill that they thought something was truly amiss. It had started becoming threatening only a couple days before the Elements of Harmony arrived, catapulted across the country by Discord’s envoy. Through it all, Trixie was their unwitting eye on the public.

“Are you going to put up more posters?” Trixie asked. “Because I don’t think that’s been working.”

“…No, I have a better idea,” Hailstone said.

“How much do you know about what’s been going on?” Sunbeam asked.

“Uh, there’s a tornado forming,” Rainbow said. “But that’s about it.”

“Okay, let me fill you in,” Hailstone said. “You’re not the first one to notice something up with the weather. About four days ago, the clouds started becoming a little harder to control. We’re weatherponies, by the way.”

“Trixie already told me.”

“Good. So, ‘okay,’ we thought, ‘no biggie. Sometimes it happens, you know, when the ambient temperature or humidity levels are right.’ So we tried to work with them, but it only got worse. A buddy of mine asked the head weatherpony what to do, but he got stonewalled. Just keep working, you know? No explanation. Treated it kind of like it wasn’t even happening.” She drank from her cider. “Soooo, that same buddy asked Mayor Splotch about it, and she said the same thing. It’s nothing, just keep working. Now… she and I, and my little group are pretty close. We’ve been friends for a while. So I knew something was wrong with her when I heard that. We tried to confront her about it, but she wouldn’t go along with us.”

“So what does this have to do with the tornado?”

“How about you let her get to it?” Trixie asked.

“How about you stop riding me?”

“Quiet down, children,” Sunbeam said. “Let Hail talk.”

Hailstone shot him a quick smile. “Thanks, dear. So we all talked about it—”

“How many of you are there?” Rainbow asked.

“Six in total. We all talked about it, and the conclusion we all reached was the mayor has been hypnotized.”

Rainbow looked at her seriously for a moment, and then cracked a smile. “Hypnotized? That’s the conclusion?”

“Discord got to her,” Sunbeam said. “Are you not aware that he can do that?”

“Oh, he discorded her.”

“That’s what you call it?” Trixie asked, covering a giggle. She leaned out to signal a waitress.

“Listen to me,” Hailstone said testily. She liked Trixie, but the pony she had brought along was far too antsy. “We have a plan. Those are definitely tornado clouds, but we can’t do anything about them. Even if we could get all the pegasi to abandon their posts and help break up the clouds, it’s too far along. Our only chance is to evacuate the city.”

“Those are the posters I mentioned,” Trixie said. “They’re trying to get ponies to leave.”

“It’s not going well,” Sunbeam said.

“Yes, ponies keep tearing them down. I suspect Splotch is behind it, but I don’t have any proof.” Hailstone sighed. “Not that it matters. Like I said, we have a plan. But we need help.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, can you just let me talk without interrupting?”

“Sorry.”

“She knows all of us by sight—Splotch, I mean—so we can’t get close enough to her to do anything. That’s why we need someone else. I was thinking of asking Trixie to do it, but now that you’re here… well, a pegasus is better for this kind of thing.” She took another sip, considering her words carefully. She recognized the pegasus, but knew nothing of her. She had to be careful. “We need Splotch to be incapacitated so we can evacuate the city.”

“Incapacitated? Like knocked out?”

“Asleep,” Sunbeam said.

“But how will you six evacuate the city?” Trixie asked. “I never understood that. Oh, thank you.” She levitated her drink immediately from the waitress’ tray to her lips.

“We have a plan, Trixie. Don’t worry,” Hailstone said, giving them both her best cordial smile. “We only need you for the first part of the operation. Putting Mayor Splotch to sleep.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Rainbow asked.

Hailstone looked at Sunbeam. He cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Mayor Splotch has a meeting with the commissioner of parks and recreation at five-thirty this afternoon. None of us can enter the capital building undetected, but you,” he pointed at Rainbow, “can.”

“She has a habit, you see,” Hailstone said. “She’s a pretty heavy coffee drinker, but she’s also very impatient. She likes to have her coffee waiting for her, freshly brewed, when she returns to the office.”

“So you want me to slip a sleeping potion into her coffee?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s not quite that easy. She likes it hot and fresh—which means that you’ll only have a minute or two to administer the potion. It also means you have to time your entry exactly right.”

“No problem.”

“Don’t be so confident,” Sunbeam said. “If anyone notices you carrying a potion into the building, the whole thing will be ruined.”

“I’ll put it in a saddlebag then.”

“Uh, they search you,” Trixie said.

“Yeah, Splotch has security, you know,” Hailstone said.

“So how am I supposed to get up to her office?” Rainbow asked.

“You’re going to use a window,” Sunbeam said. “Fly up the side of the building and slip in. You have to be quick, else they’ll spot you.”

“And you can’t just go in and out,” Hailstone said. “You have to make sure Splotch actually falls asleep.”

“Then what?”

“Then signal us.” She thought for a second. “There… is a second potion that you need to worry about. I won’t tell you what it does, but you need to carry it up to her office. Don’t put it in anything; just leave it inside the desk.”

“And she does mean inside,” Sunbeam said.

“When we’ve got your signal, someone will come up, and she’ll take over from there. Then, your job will be to get out.”

“So I just slip in, pour the potion in her coffee, make sure she falls asleep, signal you, and run,” Rainbow said. “Easy.”

“Have you been to the capital building?” Trixie asked.

“Uh… no.”

“You haven’t even seen the building?” Sunbeam asked. He looked at Hailstone. “Honey, are you sure about this?”

Hailstone sighed. “I suppose so. Trixie can’t do it on her own. Sorry, Trixie.”

“I think I should accompany Rainbow,” Trixie said.

“Aw, heck no,” Rainbow said. “I can do it on my own. It’s just an office. I mean, seen one, seen ‘em all, right?”

“No, Trixie’s right,” Hailstone said.

“Sorry, Dashie,” Trixie said with a smirk.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” Hailstone said, standing. “We need to meet the others in Heart Park. You two come with us.”

They rose from the booth and waited while Trixie downed the rest of her drink, then left the bar. The rain outside was still strong, and a mild breeze slanted it into their faces as they walked down the street. “Shoot, it’s nasty out here. Come on, Hail,” Sunbeam said, bumping her playfully.

She recognized his tone of voice immediately, and nodded as he took off at a gallop. He didn’t really mind the rain, she knew; he just wanted to get to the meeting before Trixie and Rainbow, so they could speak openly. They ran down the sidewalk, side by side, past cafés and bookstores, leaving their two associates far behind. When they were out of sight, she let out a small, jocund laugh. Despite the developing tornado, the rain lightened her spirits—something she needed, with the prospect of their illegal task looming so closely.

They arrived at a small gazebo in Heart Park, winded and exhilarated, and shared a panting kiss in the rain before stepping into the shelter and joining the other four Daturas. “We’ve got a volunteer,” Sunbeam said.

“Is it that Trixie?” a jade unicorn asked. “I don’t trust her.”

“No, a friend of hers. The Element of Loyalty.”

“Oh dear. I hope you didn’t tell her too much,” a teal earth pony said, fiddling with his dripping mane. It was standard Datura policy to be familiar with the Elements’ psychological profiles, and they all knew what he meant. Rainbow wasn’t the most thoughtful of the six.

“She knows to fly to Splotch’s office and deposit the potions. That’s it,” Hailstone said.

“And Trixie?” the jade unicorn asked.

“She’s going to accompany her,” Sunbeam said. “Not sure what she’ll do specifically.”

“Here they come,” an iron gray mare said.

They all quieted down while the two blue mares joined them. Rainbow shook water off her wings, splashing them all. “You could have waited up.”

“You could have hurried,” Hailstone said. “These are our friends. Introductions can come later. Which one of you has the potions?”

“Me,” the teal pony said. He leaned into a small saddlebag by his hooves and pulled out two tiny, corked bottles, neither much larger than his eyes. He stood them up on an empty space on the bench. “Purple to put her to sleep, gold to do the other thing. Don’t worry about that.”

“You just need to remember which is which,” Sunbeam said.

Rainbow looked at them all. “Uh… huh. And you’re sure you can evacuate the town if I do this?”

“Absolutely,” Hailstone said. “We have everything in place already.”

“You’re the final thing we need,” the gray mare said.

“Well, okay,” Rainbow said. “And when do I have to do this?”

“Her meeting is at five-thirty,” Sunbeam said. “And we guess it’ll take somewhere between half an hour and forty minutes.”

“We already have someone to let us know when she’s finished,” the teal pony said.

“You’ll have from our signal until she returns to her office to fly up to the window, open it, get the potion in her coffee, and hide.”

“No problem. I’m quick.”

“Let’s hope you are,” Trixie said. She looked at the six Daturas. “And what can I do? Anything?”

“I can’t think of anything,” Hailstone said thoughtfully. “Rainbow, take Dewdrop’s saddlebag and follow him to the office. Trixie will follow you shortly.”

The teal pony stood up obediently and beckoned for Rainbow to go with him. When they were gone, everyone looked back at Trixie.

“How did you manage to get her?” the gray mare asked.

“I bumped into the Elements by chance,” Trixie said loftily. “They and I have a bit of a past together. That one, Rainbow Dash, tried to attack me yesterday.”

“Attack?” Sunbeam asked.

“She has some kind of grudge against me.”

“But she’s willing to put her feelings aside to help our city,” the fourth pony said. She hadn’t spoken at all during the meeting, and did so with a lazy slur. The corner of her mouth drooped.

“Yes, she seems genuine enough,” Hailstone said. “Trixie, I think it would be a good idea if you went with her to watch, in case something goes wrong. She can get rather excitable.”

“What do you think could happen?” Trixie asked.

“Well, if Dash gets caught, we’ll probably have to save her,” Sunbeam said.

“Hopefully not,” the jade unicorn said.

“Yes, hopefully not. If we have to barge in there, I doubt the plan will go through.”

“And what are you going to do with that other potion?” Trixie asked. Her eyes were alight with curiosity, and she flitted them among the five of them.

They looked at each other, silently wondering the same thing. How much to tell her? “It should release Discord’s effects on her mind,” the gray mare said.

“She has to be asleep so she won’t notice the potion taking its effect,” the droop-lipped pony said.

“Interesting,” Trixie said. “Now… do you think I should go inside the building, or stay outside, or what?”

“Stay outside, near the entrance. If we need to go in and help, you can go in first and make a little distraction,” Sunbeam said.

“I don’t want to get in trouble for going in there at the wrong time.”

“You don’t have to cause any trouble,” the jade unicorn said. “Just go in and get the receptionist distracted so we can slip in and do what we have to do.”

“This is all assuming that Dash fails,” the gray mare said.

“Not a hard assumption to make, unfortunately,” Hailstone said. “Go on and follow them, Trixie.”

Trixie shrugged and trotted out into the rain, and they waited for her to fade into the distance.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything impulsive,” Sunbeam said.

* * * * * *

Colgate sat in the park, watching ponies and thinking. Her eye and lip still hurt, but only vaguely. It was only a few days since Noteworthy had been assigned his personal guards, for her protection; she could see them in the distance, they keeping a respectful distance as he talked to Derpy. They stood close together, both with serious looks on their faces; to her knowledge, neither knew she was nearby.

She looked up and around; the sky was clear of clouds and pegasi. It was a Sunday afternoon, but she felt no ease in her anxious mind as it slowly churned over possibilities and options. She had spent the entire night before trying to think of a solution to her problem, but only one solution stuck out to her.

She stood and crossed the grassy lawn, approaching Noteworthy. Derpy saw her first, and Colgate did not miss the slight falter in her composure at the sight of her bruised face. Noteworthy followed her gaze, and as he noticed her, the pair of police officers hurried to come between them.

“Hello, officers,” she said evenly.

“I’ll, um, just be going,” Derpy said quietly.

The police looked at her cautiously, and Noteworthy peered from between their broad bodies. “You shouldn’t be here,” one said.

“I need to talk to Noteworthy.”

They exchanged incredulous looks. “I don’t think you should, ma’am.”

“You can watch from afar.” She looked into Noteworthy’s eyes. “I know him. I know how to talk to him.”

“Colgate, what is this?” Noteworthy asked.

“Please,” Colgate said. “I promise I know what I’m doing.”

“But I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Please.” She looked at the officers, then down to her hooves. “This is important.”

They exchanged looks again, then stepped back. “We’ll watch from a distance,” one said.

Colgate nodded and forced a smile, and looked at Noteworthy. “In private.” She tilted her head at a nearby tree. They walked, and as soon as they were out of earshot, she released her serious expression for a faintly contrite one. “Note, I am so, so, so sorry.” Her voice was an intense whisper.

“Oh, now you’re sorry?” he growled. “A little late, isn’t it?”

“You have every right to be furious with me, but I’m begging you, let me explain.” She looked back quickly, making sure no one could hear them.

He didn’t respond immediately. He looked back at her, and she met his eyes, letting him search hers for signs of deception. He snorted. “Fine. But make it quick.”

“It was Allie.”

They were both silent for a moment. His pupils dilated, and she chewed her tongue nervously. “Allie Way,” he said.

“Yes.” She angled her bruised eye away and lowered her voice. “As Spike’s friend, she was… really mad that you roped him into the Datura. Even more than me. She asked me to talk to you about it.” She sighed. “I told her you wouldn’t listen, but she didn’t care. She yelled at me. I should have recognized something was off then, but I didn’t.”

“And she hit you when you told her I wouldn’t release him?” he asked quietly.

“I’d never seen her so angry. I thought she was just going to bark at me—I’ve seen her do that before, once or twice—but when she took a swing, I wasn’t ready. I… Celestia, I’m so sorry.”

“So why am I being blamed for this?” he hissed.

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “I really am, I swear it. I-I didn’t know what to do, okay? She tried to pin it on you to cover herself, and I was still shaken up.” She sat down and leaned against the tree. “I… Mayor Mare had no choice.” She lowered her voice again. “It made so much more sense to blame you.”

“You could have told the truth.”

“I was scared. I still am. She threatened me, you know. She… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking so much. I’m already in trouble.”

“Colgate, listen to me,” Noteworthy said. “If Allie is assaulting you, you need to do something about it.”

“Like what? I can’t defend myself. She’s bigger, stronger, and more magical than I am.” She closed her eyes and rubbed a hoof across her mouth. “Celestia, this is such a mess.”

“Tell the mayor!”

“I can’t!” She took a deep, shaking breath. “I can’t. If she hears I ratted her out, I’m dead.” She let a frown cross her face. “You’re not the only one who knows my secret, you know. She might not have the details you do, but she knows where to go for them.”

“So you’re just going to let her keep bullying you, and let me keep taking the blame?”

She sighed. “That’s why I needed to talk to you. I can’t help myself, but I’m really hoping you can.” She watched his reaction carefully. “I promise to help clear your name, if you can help me.”

He scoffed. “And why should I trust you?”

“I hate you, but not that much. I’d rather deal with blackmail than beatings.” She gave him a wry smile. “Geez, how desperate must I be? Asking my blackmailer for help.”

“Don’t call me that out here.” He looked around again. The police still watched, gazes intent. He sighed slowly. “Colgate, I hate you too. But… I will help you. You deserve a lot, but you don’t deserve this.”

She let a smile curl up her lips, and a tiny, anxious laugh escaped her. “Thank you. Thank you… so much, Noteworthy. You have no idea how alone I’ve felt these last few days.”

“You realize you’ll have to come forward with the truth once I’ve handled Allie.”

“Of course, anything. Just… help me.” She sighed again. “Celestia, I can’t believe this is my life now.”

He leaned in, and she looked up. His expression was soft—softer than she had ever seen. “Listen, Colgate. You’ll be okay. I know how to handle things like this. I’ll take care of her.”

She nodded, eyes averted. “Good. I really appreciate it.”

He flashed a terse smile and made to return.

“Noteworthy.”

“What?”

“Seriously. Thank you.”

* * * * * *

Rainbow sat under a dripping tree in the sprawling lawn before the capital building. Beside her was Trixie, wearing an indignant pout under her limp, soaked mane, and a distance away, Hailstone, her friend. The other five were scattered outside the building, watching and listening.

Her saddlebags were light, and she could feel the two potions shifting slightly when she moved. She grinned to herself. Her eyes were trained on the window that Dewdrop had pointed out, and her heart was beating quickly. “So, how’d you meet these ponies?” she asked, not looking at Trixie.

“They sought me out after a show,” Trixie said flatly. “Said they enjoyed my work, asked me out for a drink afterwards.”

“That’s it?”

“What were you expecting? A conspiracy?”

The word bounced through Rainbow’s mind. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Hey, Trixie. Do you know anything about secret agent ponies?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Secret agents. We saw some in Manehattan, and one in Trottingham too. At least, I think that’s what they are.”

“I think you’re out of your mind.” Trixie wiped her mane out of her eyes. “And to be perfectly honest, I think these ponies are out of their minds too. Rebels.”

“Not secret agents?”

“Did I stutter?”

“Sorry, geez.”

Trixie sighed. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m wet and cold, and I don’t want to be here right now. I think this whole thing is stupid. How six measely ponies expect to evacuate an entire town in a matter of days, right under the mayor’s nose, I have no idea. I guess I should have a little more faith in them, seeing that they were able to procure those potions. But it just seems like a waste to me.”

“You don’t think the city is threatened.”

“No, I do. By rebellion.” She turned to look at Rainbow, and Rainbow turned too. Trixie’s eyes were hard and judgmental. “Do you realize what you’re doing? You’re helping to overthrow the city leader on the authority of some ponies you met in a bar. For all you know, that ‘sleeping potion’ could be poison. For all you know, they’re the discorded ones, not Mayor Splotch.”

“Hey, if it helps get ponies away from this tornado, I’m gonna do it. And if this is so offensive, why are you even here? I thought you were friends.”

Trixie squared her shoulders and shivered as a stream of rainwater crawled down the crease of her eye socket. “I like them, but I’m not going to help stage a coup.”

Hailstone turned to look at them. “I just got a signal. Get ready to get up there, Dash.”

“I’m ready,” Rainbow said eagerly. She tested her wings, weighed down from the rain, and shook them, to Trixie’s vocal displeasure. She met Hailstone’s eyes, waiting for her sign. A nod, a word, something. They hadn’t discussed it.

Hailstone swiveled her head quickly to the side, where the gray mare waited beside a parked car across the field. She turned back to Rainbow. “Get going. Purple potion in the coffee—”

“And other potion in the desk, yeah, I got it,” Rainbow said, taking off in another spray of water. The rain pelted her face as she climbed quickly to the upper reaches of the capital building, sliding laterally along the wall as instructed, counting the windows. When she reached the correct one, she flared her wings to stop herself short, and turned to try to open it. There was a simple latch, already undone for her, but her hooves slipped and squeaked on the slippery glass. She could see the cup of coffee on the desk only a few feet before her, steaming.

“You wanna hurry it up?” Trixie shouted from below.

“I’m trying!” She dragged her hooves up the window again, catching them uncomfortably on the frame, and managing to lift it up enough to slip a hoof under and push it the rest of the way. Swooping inside, she quickly doffed her saddlebags and dug around, clenching the tiny potion in her teeth.

“Close the window, you halfwit!” Trixie’s voice called.

“Dammit,” Rainbow growled, stomping to the window and slamming it shut. She looked fearfully back to the door, still closed, and swiftly dumped the potion’s contents in the cup of coffee, having to waste a few seconds prizing it open. She didn’t know how much time she had; Hailstone had said a few minutes, but she wasn’t keeping track as she worked. Outside, thunder rumbled, and she jumped, her nerves stretched tight as wires. “I gotta get out of here.” Without thinking, she picked her bags back up and bolted for the door, throwing it open to an empty corridor. She let it close on its own as she raced down the hall, leaving a trail of rainwater behind, searching for somewhere to hide. Even with no one in sight, she felt oppressed and desperate. She could hear ponies in the rooms and floors around her, and in her mind, they were after her.

She turned into a doorway suddenly, entering a bare meeting room. A custodian glanced at her, and she gave a nervous smile. Outside, hooves strolled softly by, and she went back to the door. She didn’t hesitate in opening it, lest she make the custodian suspicious, and exited just in time to see a dark-tailed pony enter the mayor’s office. From the other side of the hall, a trio of official-looking unicorns trotted into view. They stopped for a second when they saw her.

“Aw, crap,” she breathed.

Before they could yell at her to stop, she was off at a gallop in the opposite direction. The patter of hooves hurried behind her, and she barreled around a corner, narrowly avoiding crashing into a small pony with a stack of papers.

“Stop where you are!” an official barked, and she looked back quickly. The corridor was long, and her pursuers, while falling behind, could still see her in the long hallway.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered, taking to the air awkwardly to reach the hall’s end faster. “I gotta get out of here.” She rounded another corner and turned abruptly into the first open door she saw, and nearly slammed into the wall behind. An elevator. Standing up awkwardly, she jabbed at the button for the top floor, and the door slid closed just as the guards came around.

They cried out from behind the doors, and as their voices slid out of earshot, she sat back heavily and doffed her saddlebags. The elevator ride was only a brief interlude, she knew. She sighed and listened to the machinery around her, trying to order her mind.

“Why does it have to be me? This would be so much easier if it was Twilight, or Octavia. What would they do?” The elevator stopped, and doors slid open. Her heart froze, but she didn’t move to look; there was no one outside. They closed again, and she smoothed her mane. “Octavia’s right. We can’t let crap like this get to us.” She flipped the saddlebag open and looked at the glass vial glinting inside.

When the elevator stopped again, she grabbed her bags and crept out. A quick glance to the side showed that a second elevator was coming her way, and she knew who would be in it. She dashed down the quiet hall, past tall, narrow windows, and ducked into a small alcove. She pushed open a door and stepped into a bathroom.

She stopped and looked around, muttering another curse under her breath. She trotted to the sink. On the opposite side of the wall, she heard someone move past. “Crap, crap, crap,” she whispered. She dropped the bags again and rolled the vial out. “I gotta get rid of this thing.” Without thinking, she scooped it up in her wing and set it on the counter, leaning down and awkwardly yanking out the stopper with her teeth. More hoofsteps moved outside, and she tipped the vial up and let its contents spill into her mouth. It tasted like cough syrup, and she almost gagged at the sudden intensity on her tongue, but managed a sputtering swallow.

The vial dropped loudly into the sink, and she leaned over it, immediately struck with a powerful, hot, debilitating nausea. Her stomach and intestines seemed to bubble and squirm, and the strength went out of her legs as heat spread through the rest of her body. Her chest, throat, and lungs burned with a wet, pounding, infectious heat, and she coughed and gasped, her mouth hanging open, her jaw joints tight. She could only manage a strangled “oh Celestia” before leaning down farther, letting her head droop into the sink, the pony outside completely forgotten. Face to face with the porcelain, she coughed again, and her skin began to burn. Fire crawled along her fur, sending needles into each individual hair follicle, and her muscles tightened as her vision went black. On her back, her wings were screaming, tightening endlessly into knots of skin and sinew, tighter than the tightest cramp she had ever experienced. She could feel the cool air inside the sink, smell the drain, but every other sensation was distant and unimportant behind the pain. Her muscles stretched, her bones strained, and her mouth again opened reflexively as a retching, whining sound escaped her tight, convulsing throat. A shard of heat split her forehead, and her vision, still blacked out with closed eyes, went white and red. She couldn’t help it; she screamed, hoarse and desperate, her voice dry. The pain in her head widened, burned, and she rested her head on the sink surface, panting. When it was over, she spit into the sink uselessly and heaved a sigh. With her hot breath, a fraction of the pain seemed to ebb away, and she was able to open her eyes to the dull porcelain shine.

She breathed slowly, in and out, as the pain faded further. Starting at her core, the burning subsided, leaving behind a peculiar gritty sensation. Her heart beat faster and stronger, and she flexed her shoulders. They felt looser and easier, almost lighter.

When she raised her head out of the sink, it was a moment before she realized that the pony in the mirror was still her.

Ashen purple eyes stared back from under a heavy brow, underneath an abnormally long unicorn horn, curved upwards only slightly, like a crooked stalk. Thin lips creased down into a terrified frown, pulling her skin taut over soft cheekbones. She looked down quickly. Her hooves, once light, almost delicate, were powerful, shorn, cornified cudgels, all coated in an iron gray fur that was not her own. Trembling, she looked back: no wings. Only a massive, heavy, long tail that flowed out behind to trail for two feet more when it hit the bathroom floor.

She stared at herself with a blank expression, and the bathroom door opened.

“All right, where—oh! Madam, uh, excuse me.”

Rainbow turned to the official that had been chasing her. Her head was still empty, and no ready response came.

“I-is everything all right, madam? There’s an intruder somewhere in the building. We think she came up to this floor.”

“I haven’t seen anything,” Rainbow said quietly. Her voice was stern and hard, and even addled by the pain that had not completely faded, it was easy to keep it low and even. She looked directly at the official, thoughts spinning, and gave a curt nod. “But if there is someone up here, spare no resources to catch them.”

The official nodded firmly and trotted out, and Rainbow turned to look back at herself. “I’m her. I’m that creepy mayor.” She turned slowly in the mirror, examining herself. She was large, broad-shouldered, and heavy. Just the act of setting a hoof down to shift her weight felt powerful, like she could split the tile floor with one stomp. “So they were gonna impersonate her to evacuate the town.” Her dark eyes widened slightly. “Aw, shit.” “Now I have to do it.”

She left the bathroom, leaving the empty vial in the sink, and slowly returned to the elevator. The official was absent, and she had a long, lonely ride to the bottom of the building. “So what the hell do I do? The real mayor should still be in her office, passed out. I can’t go in now. But I can’t show Trixie’s friends what happened.” The elevator door slid open, and she looked out at the reception area. The large front room was quiet, and the few ponies that were there seemed unconcerned, reading at the room’s side or staring up at signs posted on the walls. A flash of blue caught her eye near an exit corridor, and she hastened after it. “Trixie!”

Trixie turned quickly and watched with a dreading face as Rainbow approached. “Uh… hello, mayor.”

“Come with me.” She didn’t stop her walk, much slower than she was used to. Without wings, and with a heavier body, she was forced to plod along with a deliberate gait that she didn’t like.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Trixie asked.

“In here.” She turned abruptly into a tiny, empty food hall. “Sit.” She looked at her reflection in the vending machine for a minute before returning to Trixie.

“Mayor, listen to me,” Trixie said quietly. “I don’t know how much time I have, but you’re in danger. A team of weatherponies is trying to slip you a sleeping potion—I don’t know why.”

“What?”

“They’re trying to take you out,” Trixie hissed. “They… well, they had a pegasus fly into your office to plant it. It’s in your coffee.”

“Trixie, dammit, it’s me,” Rainbow said.

She looked at her, shock and slight fear mixing on her face. “I… I’m sorry?”

“Rainbow Dash.” She tried to flex her wings, but only wiggled awkwardly.

“Wait. How do you know her? You… what?” Her voice rose. “What is going on here?”

“I’m Rainbow Dash.” She pressed a hoof to her chest emphatically. “I drank the other potion, the non-sleeping one. I think it’s a transforming potion.”

“Wait, wait. So… wait, so did you get the sleeping potion in the coffee?”

“Yes, dammit, I got your stupid potion in the stupid coffee! That’s not my problem.”

“No, I know. Hold on.” Trixie studied her, her expression not quite believing. “You were supposed to leave that for them to find. So… they would change into her.” Her expression soured. “It’s a freaking coup! I knew there was something fishy about all this.”

“Fishy? You just ratted them out to me,” Rainbow said.

“Are you stupid? Do you truly think they’re in this to evacuate the town? Splotch, it’s rain. That’s all it is.”

“Are you blind? It’s obviously more than that.” She put a hoof to her eyes. “No, that’s not important right now. What is important is what the hell I’m gonna do now.”

“Well, you’ve apparently taken the mayor’s place. So… you ruined their plans, for better or for worse. They’re going to be pretty irate.”

“They can kiss my flank. Do you know how painful it was to turn into this… body? Celestia, I’m so heavy.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. What I do know is that if you get seen before they can hide the real mayor, everything is screwed. You’ll be found out, which means they’ll be found out, which means I’ll be found out.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“What do you think? Hide.” She looked fearfully back. “You really are lacking in critical thinking skills, aren’t you?”

“Shut up, Trixie,” Rainbow said tiredly. “I really don’t want to deal with your shit right now.”

“I’m going to go out there and tell them it was a success. They’ll come in and do… whatever to her body, to hide it. Once that’s done, you can tell them how you single-hoofedly screwed the pooch on their whole scheme.”

“And what then?”

“Well, you seem pretty set on evacuating the town, so maybe you should look into doing that.”

“I can’t do that on my own! I’ve been here a day!”

“Keep that voice down, you obstreperous dullard. And for Celestia’s sake, keep your tone even. Mayor Splotch is imposing and terse, not some… loudmouth.” She sighed and ran a hoof through her mane. “This is so stupid. You could have just kept the potion in your bag, you know. Or dumped it down a sink.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Oh, wow, I never would have expected you to say that.”

“Can we get back on topic? Maybe the topic of how my life is over?”

“It’ll wear off, you know.”

“Well… fine.” She sighed. Though she didn’t show it, she hadn’t even considered when she would return to her original form; the fact that she would, however, was a small relief. “How am I supposed to know when it’s safe to come out?”

“Go up to the top floor and wait in the bathroom. I’ll find you when everything’s ready.”

“I don’t want to wait in a bathroom.”

“Then wait inside a broom closet or something! Or stuff yourself into a freaking vending machine. I don’t care, Dash; you’re not my biggest problem right now. I have to find a way to tell those weatherponies that you were successful without letting on how completely you messed it up.”

“Fine, go do it then. Get off my back.”

Trixie looked at her for another moment, disgusted, before turning away with a scoff.

When she was gone, Rainbow stood and walked out the back of the room, circling around through a narrower corridor to the back of the reception room, where she got back into an elevator and set it to take her to the top floor. Her mind was heavy with questions and fears, and in the empty hum of the elevator, she felt, for the first time that day, truly, devastatingly alone.

“No one knows I’m in this situation but Trixie, and she’s more concerned about herself. I can’t go to Twilight, or I’ll risk being caught.” She pushed open the bathroom door again and entered a stall, sitting down and staring at the floor. “And those weatherponies are gonna kill me when they find out I stole their potion.” She let out a small moan. “I am so screwed.”

She sat for half an hour before someone entered the bathroom. “You in here?” Trixie asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Rainbow said. “I’m here.” She stepped out of the stall and looked at Trixie, who looked her up and down.

“So, the mayor’s fast asleep. They said she should be out of commission for a couple days. But they know something’s up.”

“They noticed their potion isn’t in the desk.”

“I told them I had no idea. It’s on you whether you want to tell them the truth. They’re going to be coming for you, though.”

“Great. Just great.”

“Hey, you brought it on yourself.”

“I know that!” She cleared her throat and sighed. “I know, okay?”

Trixie appraised her for a moment. “So if you really think you need to evacuate Fillydelphia, I can help you. Not, you know, help get ponies out, but I can familiarize you with your own office. I’ve been here a lot.”

“Have you?”

“Yeah. I have.”

Rainbow looked at her, then at the mirror. She felt lost in her new body, and Trixie’s unsympathetic expression didn’t help. “So what do I need to do?”

“Come with me to your office.”

“What about the other ponies?”

“They’re looking for you elsewhere. I think they assumed you flew away.”

“Okay. Let’s go.” They left the bathroom and went back to the elevator, and rode down to her office. She sat down behind the massive, cluttered desk, and Trixie closed the door. “So what’s going on here? What do I need to know?”

“Well, you’re the mayor. Mayor Splotch is your name, and you’re a formidable pony. Stern, but fair; that’s your motto. You don’t take anypony’s crap, and you don’t give anyone any crap in return. No beating around the bush with you.”

“Sounds all right.”

“You don’t talk much—at least, I haven’t heard you talk much. You seem to know a lot about global affairs, so I’m guessing you have a lot of connections. Now, I’ve heard a story or two about you. Apparently, you’re really strong, and you’re not above getting physical if the situation demands it. Sunbeam said you came to blows with a griffon diplomat once.”

“So I’m violent?”

Trixie closed her eyes. “No, you’re just not afraid to get violent if you have to.”

“I hope I don’t have to.”

“Trust me, so do I. Now, hold on a second. I need to find something.” She opened a file cabinet and slowly picked through a sleeve of manila envelopes, until finally yanking a piece of paper out with a flourish. “Here we go. This is the pony you need to get your evacuation underway.” She showed Rainbow a picture of a wiry, pale chartreuse earth stallion with narrow eyes and a punkish, spiked mane. He looked to be barely out of high school. “This is Lowercase. He’s your logistics manager and situation analyst. Don’t let his youth fool you. He’s a genius, and an ice cold professional. See that bell phone on your desk corner? That connects you to his office directly, so you can ask him something or give him an assignment. In this case, it’ll be setting up an evacuation.”

“Wait, so I just tell this Lowercase pony to do it all?”

“You’re still the one in charge, Splotch. Now, I have no idea how the evacuation will work, but I’m sure you’ll need to sign forms and talk to other ponies.”

“That should be easy enough.”

“It won’t be. You have no idea how any of this works, and you can’t ask Lowercase about it. You’re supposed to be familiar with your own staff.”

“So… I tell him to set up an evacuation, and then I have to make sure everything’s authorized on my end, so he can actually do it?”

“Exactly.” She sighed. “But you know no one here.”

“Well, you seem to know a lot about this place.”

Trixie shook her head quickly. “Oh, no. No, no, you’re not involving me in this any more than you already have. There are files on different personnel in that cabinet. I advise you start reading.”

“What?” She looked at Lowercase’s file. “That’s huge! And I hate reading. And I can’t use this stupid horn,” she said, more quietly.

“You can’t use your hooves for reading?” Trixie asked, giving her a stern look.

“I can, I just hate it.”

“Hm. Well, poor you.”

“All right, all right, I’ll do it.” She awkwardly grabbed a bundle of manila envelopes and spread them on the table. “What if someone needs me to do something?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’m not a government worker, Splotch. I only know what I do know because I’ve been in and out of this stupid building about a hundred times.”

“Why?”

“Various mix-ups and misunderstandings about permits and such. Red tape. Look, I don’t know what you expect from me. You have your employee profiles and you have your phone. I can’t do anything else.”

“Well, fine. Why don’t you get out of here then, so I can start reading.”

Trixie sighed indignantly. “I don’t have to help you at all, you know.”

Rainbow petulantly flipped a file open and stared down at it.

“I’ll tell your friends what you did.” She went for the door.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you. I know you’re my only help right now, and I… appreciate it, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Yeah.”

Trixie smirked. “Then I guess I can forgive you.” She swished out of the office with an upturned nose, and Rainbow watched the door slowly inch closed. When she was alone, she sighed and looked down at Lowercase’s file. The words blurred in her eyes almost immediately, and she lay her head down on the desk.

“Oh! I’m getting a letter,” Twilight said, looking up from her book and letting the parchment unfurl from her horn. They were back at the Moonbeam Hotel, waiting for Rainbow to return. It had been a couple hours, and some of them were getting worried.

“What’s it say? What’s it say?” Pinkie asked, immediately getting up to hop on the bed.

“Howdy Twilight. Oh, geez, it’s Discord again.”

“What’s he want?” Applejack asked disgustedly.

“How’s Fillydelphia? You haven’t written back, and I’m starting to feel a little unwanted. That’s no way to treat the future ruler of Equestria. Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Um, there’s more, but you get the idea. Anyway, you might want to be careful; I heard there can be some nasty weather up there this time of year.”

“So he is behind this,” Rarity said.

“Too bad you don’t have any umbrellas; you’ll be needing those soon. Give my regards to Vanilla Cream when you see him; he told me everything’s going just according to plan. He has that part italicized for some reason. Then he wrote ‘ha ha ha’ a few more times, and signed his name.”

“How does he know what we’re doin’ all the time if he’s all the way across the country?” Applejack asked unhappily.

“All he knows is that we are in Fillydelphia, and the weather is bad. Vanilla probably told him both of those things,” Octavia said. She looked up at a knock on the door, and Pinkie zipped over to open it. Her smile faltered only slightly when Trixie entered.

“What are you doing here?” Twilight asked.

“Can I sit down? This might take a while.” Trixie pointed at the bed, and Rarity scooted over to let her in.

“Is something wrong?” Fluttershy asked.

“Kind of.”

“Is Rainbow okay?” Octavia asked.

“Yes, she’s fine for the moment. Well, not fine, but unhurt.”

“All right, get to it,” Applejack said. “Yer worryin’ me.”

“Those friends I mentioned back on the rooftop… I think they were plotting a coup on the mayor. They say she was… oh, shoot, what did Dash call it? Discorded.”

“She’s been discorded?” Pinkie cried.

“But she’s been so helpful,” Twilight said.

“I don’t know. I’m just saying that’s what I heard. So we all went to the capital building, to do something very covert and very illegal. Long story short, Rainbow wound up drinking the wrong potion, which just so happened… you know what, why don’t you take a guess?”

“Why don’t you just tell us?” Applejack asked, an edge of hostility creeping into her voice.

“Ugh, fine. It was a polymorph potion. Rainbow Dash is now disguised as Mayor Splotch.”

They looked at her for a moment, silent, and Rarity spoke. “Twilight, we only let her go on her own for a few hours.”

“So my friends—er, well… anyway, they’re quite upset that Dashie ruined their plans. They haven’t found her yet, but it’s only a matter of time before they figure it out. They’re pretty smart.”

“So she’s there now?” Twilight asked. “At the capital building?”

“Should be. She wants to try to evacuate the city.” She looked out the window. “All this rain is really eating at her,” she said loftily.

“Funny you should mention that,” Rarity said.

“Oh?”

“I got a letter from Discord a few minutes ago,” Twilight said.

“He sends you letters? Why?”

“He is trying to demoralize us,” Octavia said.

“And in this one, he confirmed that there’s something wrong with the weather,” Twilight said. “He didn’t say it was a tornado specifically, but he alluded to something bad to come.”

“Can I see?” Trixie asked. Twilight floated the slip of paper over to her, and she scanned it quickly. “Oh, dear. This… complicates things.”

“It does?” Pinkie asked, leaning in to read it over Trixie’s shoulder.

“It means it just became about a hundred times more important that Rainbow doesn’t screw this evacuation up. Which, based on her track record since I’ve met her, is very likely.” She lay back and turned over quickly, burying her face in the pillow. Pinkie put a hoof on her back.

“We need to go see her, now,” Octavia said.

“I’ll drive you,” Trixie said, voice muffled. “She probably needs my help again anyway.”

They managed to stuff themselves into Trixie’s car, and it was fifteen uncomfortable, loud minutes before they were approaching Mayor Splotch’s office. “She’s going to be really happy to see you, I’m sure,” Trixie said.

They entered, and the mayor—Rainbow—jumped up at the sight of her friends. Rarity closed the door as she trotted over to them.

“Thank Celestia you’re here. Girls, I am so screwed.”

“Trixie told us the whole story,” Octavia said. “Have the weatherponies found you yet?”

“Yeah, Hailstone came and told me off already.”

“That was quick,” Trixie said. “What did she say?”

“Same as you, actually. Called me stupid, said I ruined their plan, yadda yadda yadda. I should actually thank you, Trixie. You helped me get used to being insulted.”

“I must have recognized your natural potential. So are they going to try to oust you, or help you evacuate?”

“She said they’d help me, but I had to release a couple, uh, safeguards first. The old mayor had them on some kind of security watch thing.”

“That’s suspicious,” Twilight said.

“Well, she was discorded,” Rainbow said.

“Oh, right. But why them?”

“I dunno, and I don’t really care.” She slowly went back to her desk and closed a folder. “These are all the files on my employees. I have to read ‘em all so I don’t look like an idiot when I try to get the evacuation underway.”

“How many are there?” Twilight asked.

“Like fifty.”

“And how many have you read?” Rarity asked.

“Half of one.” She slid Lowercase’s file across to Trixie.

“You’re going to have to actually put forth effort to do this, you know,” Trixie said. “I know that might be hard for you, but it’s not really an option.”

“Hey, I’ll get it done, all right? I have my own pace.”

“Not here,” Octavia said. “We received a letter from Discord, confirming your theory. You need to begin preparing to evacuate the city immediately. We do not know how long until this tornado strikes.”

“Wait, he wrote to you again?”

“Yeah, about thirty minutes ago,” Twilight said. “He admits he’s behind this.”

“Of course he is,” Rainbow murmured.

They all jumped at the sound of Rainbow’s desk phone ringing. She stared at it.

“You might want to answer that,” Trixie said.

Rainbow slowly depressed the button on its metal front, and a small voice came out.

“Miss mayor, you have a meeting in five minutes.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked at them. “Five minutes?”

“In conference room C, yes, ma’am.”

“O-okay. Thanks.” She let the button go, and the room was quiet. “Uh… does anyone know where that is?”

Manufactured Obstacles

Chapter Forty

Manufactured Obstacles

Rainbow waited in her office while Twilight hurried down to the receptionist for directions. She looked at her friends pleadingly, but they could only look back at her with nothing to offer.

“That was Lowercase, by the way,” Trixie said. “He might be at your meeting. I wouldn’t sit next to him, if I were you. Someone like that, he might notice something up with your bearing.”

“You think so?” Rainbow asked quietly.

“He’s worked for you for a while now, and while I don’t know him personally, he seems like the kind of pony to pick up on details like that.”

“Just what I need.”

The door flew open, and Twilight entered, chest heaving. “Okay, mayor, come with me.”

“Uh… well, see you girls, I guess,” Rainbow said, taking off after Twilight slowly.

“We need to hurry. You don’t want to be late for your meeting.”

“I don’t even know what it’s about.”

Twilight shook her head and turned a corner. “I’m sorry, mayor. I can’t help you.”

“I know.” They got into an elevator and went up.

“But it should only be for a couple days. Set up the evacuation as soon as you can, and we’ll handle the last two spells.”

“So everything’s okay on your end, then?”

“We’re fine,” Twilight said. She looked at Rainbow again. “Sorry. It’s weird talking to you like this.”

“No, I know.” They walked to a small boardroom, and Twilight stopped. Rainbow sighed and entered.

“I didn’t want to say anything with her in the room, but I’m really worried,” Trixie said.

“She seemed so uncomfortable,” Fluttershy said.

“More than that, I get the impression she doesn’t fully get what her situation is. She holds the reins of this city’s government, and she hasn’t even tried to familiarize herself with her employees.”

“She’s only been in this position for a few hours,” Rarity said. “Give her time to adjust.”

“Unfortunately, we do not have time,” Octavia said. “Based on how quickly the weather has been worsening, she needs to get the evacuation underway immediately.”

“You’ll help her, right?” Pinkie asked.

“Me?” Trixie asked, pointing at herself.

“We have to do our spells,” Rarity said.

“I have a life, you know. I’m playing golf with some snobs tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yer not helpin’ Rainbow ‘cause you’ll be too busy playin’ golf?” Applejack said.

“I’m not her personal assistant!”

Twilight reentered with a grim look. “Well, she’s in. I’m… I’m worried, girls.”

“We were just talking about that,” Rarity said.

“Trixie doesn’t think she can handle the pressure,” Fluttershy said.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Trixie said. “But no, I don’t.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Pinkie asked.

“Someone needs to help her,” Octavia said.

“Well, I can’t,” Trixie said. “I’m not even supposed to be on this side of the situation. I thought the tornado was just a rumor. A convenient pretense to use for the attempted coup. I tried to stop it.”

“You tried to stop all this?” Rarity asked.

“Why are ponies always shocked when I say that?” Trixie cried. “Am I the only one who doesn’t automatically trust someone when they have some kind of crazy scheme?”

“She has a point,” Octavia said.

“This is what Ah think,” Applejack said, standing to support herself on the desk. “Our hooves are bound here. We gotta keep doin’ our spells, an’ Trixie has to live her own life. As much as we may not like it, we gotta trust Rainbow to do her job, ‘cause that’s all we can do.”

“I am not certain whether that is a risk that we should take. Should she fail, everyone in this town suffers,” Octavia said.

“What’s the alternative?” Trixie asked.

Octavia looked at her.

“You can’t hang out with her all day. Ponies will get suspicious. You can’t do her job for her, because you know just as little about this town as her. You can’t evacuate ponies on your own, because you don’t have the resources.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry, but am I missing something? Is there some other possibility?”

“No, dear, you’re absolutely right,” Rarity said. “But… I shudder at the implication.”

“She knows who she needs to talk to, to make this happen. She knows it needs to happen. What else is there?” She looked at them all as they took in her words.

“We should at least remain here until she finishes her meeting,” Octavia said.

Rainbow spent the majority of the meeting sitting back and listening, trying to figure out what was going on. It didn’t last. Despite her passiveness, her cold, calculating expression that brooked no nonsense, she was forced to contribute. With all eyes on her, she agreed with somepony she had never seen before, without knowing what she was talking about.

When the meeting was over, she was the first to rise and head for the door, but Lowercase reached it first and held out a hoof to stop her. He smiled and cordially said goodbye to the others, and when they were alone, he gestured at a chair. She had only seen his picture, which, to her disquiet, seemed to add a few years to his appearance. He watched her, his youthful face straight and un-creased, two narrow eyes locked onto her, moving rapidly over her face and body. She felt trapped in his presence, even before he spoke.

“Please forgive me if I am out of line, but is everything all right, madam mayor?” His voice was calm and polite, but she had to consciously avoid squirming under his gaze. “You’re very much unlike yourself today.”

“Uhhh…” She met his cold, yellow eyes, and he cocked his head inquisitively. “I guess I’m a little preoccupied.”

“Why?”

She looked away quickly, searching for anything else to look at. “Uh, personal stuff.”

He nodded and rose from his seat. “Very well. Forgive my imposition.”

She slouched in her seat when he turned his back on her, but jumped back up with a sudden realization. “Wait! Um, wait.” She cleared her throat and reasserted her serious tone. “There is something that I have been meaning to discuss with you.”

“Of course, madam.” He returned to his seat and stared at her again.

She shuffled uncomfortably, failing to meet his eyes. “How do I do this? Do I just tell him? I am the mayor, I guess. My word is law.” She looked back at him, just for a moment. His eyes gleamed intelligently in his skull, reflected cloudily off the tabletop. “We need to evacuate the city.”

He blinked slowly, but showed no other sign of discomfort. “May I inquire as to why?”

“Uh…” “How would Octavia handle this?” “No, you may not. It’s… uh, it’s too dangerous.”

He thought. “I’m afraid I must insist. This is an incredible task you request.”

She chewed her lip. His calm front was sturdy and stern, and she could find no fault, no suggestion of weakness, to exploit. She slowly rose from her seat, hesitating a moment to try to steady her voice. “Who is the one in charge here, Lowercase?”

His eye contact didn’t falter. “You, madam.”

She grit her teeth. His responses were too easy, too immediate. She leaned in, doing her best to flatten her expression into something intimidating. “That’s right. Me. Not you. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“It is my duty as your assistant to question decisions that affect the entire city, especially those with no explanation.”

“You want an explanation? Look outside,” she said, suddenly bitter.

His mellow eyes bored into her a moment longer, before sliding to the window. “The so-called tornado? You said yourself that it was a scheduled deluge to take advantage of the weakened weather binding.”

She froze, her response dead in her mouth. “Uh…”

He looked back at her. “What is going on?”

“Nothing!”

“I find that hard to believe.”

She had no response, so instead, stared angrily into his inscrutable eyes. They stayed locked for several seconds, he as tranquil as ever, she slowly shriveling inside. Her resolve was not strong, and it felt like he knew.

“The safety of our ponies is my highest devotion, so if you order me to evacuate, I will obey. But I—”

“Do it.”

He met her eyes once more, and for the first time since she had seen him, a flicker of emotion passed across his face. “As you command. How soon does the city need evacuated?”

“As soon as possible. Every stallion, mare, and foal needs to be out and as far away as you can get them. I want it done by the day after tomorrow.”

He nodded slowly. His voice was soft, slightly disappointed. “I will begin the process immediately.”

When Rainbow returned from her meeting, a combination of smug and frightened, she told them she had initiated the evacuation, and Twilight reminded her that she would need to keep parts of the town locked down for their spells. They shook hooves and left, climbing into Trixie’s car so she could take them back to the hotel.

When they were back in their room, it was evening, and the rain still poured. The Fillydelphia horizon was a foggy orange under the dark rainclouds, their bellies lit by the city’s scattered, but strong, lights. Pinkie cracked the window open to let in the sound of the rain, and Rarity shuffled their cards.

“Twilight, we need to talk about something,” Octavia said. “It is not comfortable.”

“Uh, okay. What’s wrong?” Twilight asked, cutting the deck.

“We still have two spells to go. That means that we will be here tomorrow and the day after. Given how the weather seems to be developing, we could wind up casting with a tornado bearing down on our heads.” She magically picked up her cards, sparing only a small glance at them to raise them before her face. “I know that you do not do well in intense situations.”

“Um, do we have to talk about this?” Fluttershy asked.

“Nothing will change if we do not talk.”

Rarity chuckled, and Twilight looked at her. “Um, nothing. She’s right, though. How have you been lately?”

“Better, actually,” Twilight said. “Ever since we left Trottingham, I’ve been feeling… I don’t know. Happier.”

“Do you still have dreams about it?” Fluttershy asked. “Um, because I do.”

“Ah think we all do,” Applejack said, Pinkie nodding beside her.

“Yes, but not like I used to,” Twilight said. She sighed. “So, to answer your question, Octavia, I think I’ll be okay. I certainly hope so.”

“You don’t think you’ll have another flashback?” Pinkie asked.

“Pinkie,” Rarity said. “Tact, darling.”

“But Octavia said—”

“I don’t know,” Twilight said. “I don’t know if I’ll have another one. According to my books, I probably will.”

“Don’t say that, Twi,” Applejack said.

“It’s true, though. It takes a long time for a pony to get past something like this. I can only hope I don’t have one in the next ‘intense situation’. At least, then, I’ll know I’ve made progress.”

“It’s just a tornado,” Pinkie said. “It won’t be that bad.”

“Yes, it’s only a storm that can tear our ship to shreds. Nothing to worry about,” Rarity said.

“I just hope Rainbow knows what she’s doing,” Fluttershy said.

* * * * * *

That same day, Spike and the pegasi woke up at dawn to a knock on the door and a terse note on the doorstep. It was from Zecora, the Everfree operative, stating that she would take Noteworthy’s place indefinitely. He was still under police watch, rendering him unable to teach.

The three of them walked to the empty field, Spike under Flitter’s wing. When they arrived, for the first time in several days, Zecora was already there.

She gave them a wide, gentle smile. “Welcome.”

They waited for her to continue, but she did not. “Well?” Cloudchaser asked.

“Ah, yes. My apologies. While I grew up rhyming, it is far too inefficient for communication in the Datura.” Her voice still flowed with her distinctive rise-and-fall, and it was not pleasant to hear it without the rhymes. “Besides, rhyming with ‘Datura’ constantly would make me very unhappy.” She winked. “Shall we?”

“Do you know what’s going on with Noteworthy?” Spike asked. “He hasn’t told us anything.”

“I have suspicions, but it’s not my place to say.”

“Not even a hint?” Flitter asked, a little dismayed.

“What about Colgate?” Cloudchaser asked.

“She’s the one you should pay closest attention to if you want to solve this mystery,” Zecora said. “I would love to talk to her about it, but, like this conversation, it’s not my place.” They moved to sit down, and she stopped them. “Not today, my friends. Today, we’re taking a walk.”

“Where?” Flitter asked.

“Noteworthy wanted me to take you into the forest.” She smiled at their hesitant expressions. “Not deep.”

She set a light march to the edge of the forest, and they followed closely behind her, out of the field and down a small trail between the trees. Light slanted down on them, but the air inside was thick and warm, the trees tight around the path. Zecora walked confidently and without looking back, but Flitter and Cloudchaser stayed close on either side of Spike, who resisted the urge to slip a claw under Flitter’s wing for comfort. Around them, the sounds of the waking forest stirred: birds chirping and shaking branches, distant creatures moving through the brush, occasional flies or mosquitoes around their heads.

When they were a few minutes into the wood, they passed a sunken fence, leaning uselessly before a small pond. Zecora spoke. “Tell me what you know of this place.”

They didn’t answer at first, waiting for her to finish her rhyme. “Uh… well, it’s full of monsters and stuff,” Cloudchaser said. “And dangerous plants.”

“Medicinal stuff too,” Flitter said.

“There’s manticores and hydras if you go deep enough,” Spike said.

“We’re not going that deep, are we?” Cloudchaser asked.

Zecora chuckled. “Heavens, no. We’re nowhere near any large creatures anyway. Hydras like to stay closer to the bog, or the swamp on the southeast side, and manticores are closer to the center, where it’s dark.”

“What about ursa minors?” Spike asked.

“Again, not where we are.” They crossed a small bridge over a trickling brook. “We’re here for something far less imposing.”

“And what might that be?” Flitter asked.

“It’s better if you see it.”

They exchanged wary looks as Zecora marched on, stooping to avoid a low-hanging fan of drooping leaves. The path, already thin, continued to narrow into a beige hair that curved between the trees, until tapering off into shadow an indeterminate distance away. When they stopped, only a fraction of the original sunlight illuminated their surroundings. Water flowed nearby.

“I hope you’re not afraid to get a little wet,” Zecora said, stepping through a cluster of bushes. “We need to follow this stream.”

They picked their way through the shrubbery and stepped down a gentle bank to a thin vein of cloudy water. Reeds and grasses picked at the pegasi’s tails as they walked, sometimes splay-legged to straddle the tiny brook, sometimes to one side where the ground was flat enough. Crickets and minnows flitted out of the way as Zecora walked dutifully ahead, not mindful to the water around her legs. They passed a large alcove, stopping for just a second for Spike to point out a beaver dam at its back.

“Hurry onwards,” Zecora said without looking back. “We are not yet there.”

They walked deeper into the forest, skirting a larger pond and climbing over a large, fallen tree, overgrown and slippery with damp moss. When Zecora finally stopped, they were at a small clearing, where the stream widened into a large, wide pool. Mounds of dirt and brush contained it from all sides, and through a space in the trees ahead, they could see a dark, unseemly blotch.

“We will go no further today. This part of the forest is relatively safe, but beyond, it is not. Beginning Daturas do not get to explore the dark places of the world.”

“So what are we doing here?” Flitter asked, trotting to the pond’s edge to look into the water.

“Go up to the edge with her,” Zecora murmured. Spike and Cloudchaser exchanged glances, but did as Zecora bid them, joining Flitter by the pond. Zecora’s voice was touched with mellow guilt. “I am very sorry for this.” Before any of them could move, they were pushed forward to gracelessly splash into the water.

It was cold, and as soon as Spike broke the surface, the forest blacked out around him. Flitter and Cloudchaser floundered by his sides, wings splashing frantically, and he tried to paddle backwards, his senses sharply awake from the cold water. From the shore, the pond had looked only a foot or two deep, but as he tried to find his footing, he only sank, his head dipping under the surface long enough to see nothing but deep, dark emptiness tilting away with his panicked movements. He pushed himself back to the surface, but the forest was gone. Cloudchaser was treading water, her own eyes glassy with fear, but Flitter still struggled. Spike tried to cry out, but his small body was too heavy, and he sank again, releasing a stream of bubbles in the oppressive, freezing water. He waved his arms and kicked his legs, but his strength was sapped, and he only barely grazed the surface before plummeting again. One last flash of lavender wing struck in his eyes as he went down, fast and terrified. His eyes slid closed.

When he opened them again, he was staring into the canopy. His head was sunken in wet ground, and he slowly sat up, pulling himself out of the mud and muck by the pond. Flitter and Cloudchaser were both there, crouching with their eyes closed, their wings tense across their sides. He looked back slowly, and Zecora was still there, watching with a heavy expression.

“Uh… what just happened?” He was too shocked for anger, and only looked at her shyly as she looked back at him.

“Noteworthy wanted me to do this. It’s a sort of initiation.”

“But what was it? Am I… am I okay?”

Flitter suddenly fell backwards into the water, and her eyes opened. She flipped over quickly and looked around, and Spike tried to run to her, but Zecora stopped him. She slowly crawled out of the water, trembling, and Spike hugged her silently.

“Stay here,” Zecora said, trotting into the water. She grabbed Cloudchaser and pulled her out, and as soon as she was on the shore, her eyes cleared.

“What in Tartarus is going on?” Flitter whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” Zecora said, hugging Cloudchaser close.

“I’m not dead.”

“You’re all okay. It was an illusion.” Zecora looked at them all. “Nothing happened to you.”

“I think something did,” Spike said.

“All right, this is what happened. Come on, let’s get out of here.” They slowly followed her away from the pond, and when they were back alongside the stream, she spoke. “It’s called Cloak Pond. Its waters are enchanted, and the Datura has been using it as an initiation tool since before I was born. Anyone who enters it experiences what you did, until they drown; then they wake up. Cloudchaser, you must have been treading water.”

Cloudchaser mumbled affirmation.

“I really hate pushing members into it, but it has to be a surprise for you to get the full effect.”

“And why is this necessary?” Flitter asked.

“Has Noteworthy woken you up in the middle of the night yet?”

“Yeah, he did it on our first day,” Spike said.

“This is on the same principle. You have to be ready for anything.”

“We have to be ready to drown suddenly?” Flitter said.

“You have to be ready to face life-or-death situations.”

They marched silently up the creek to the thin path. Zecora let them wait a moment to dry their hooves in the dirt, and then continued back toward the edge of the forest. When they returned to the clearing, Flitter and Cloudchaser sat down, and Spike stood by Flitter’s side. They looked at Zecora blankly.

“As I said, I’m sorry. Things like this come with the job, though.”

“Do they?” Cloudchaser asked incredulously.

“A true Datura is ready for anything, at any time. Even the high-ranking members have to endure things like that.”

The pegasi only sighed.

After a quiet, subdued session in the field, Cloudchaser went back to check on the spa, while Flitter and Spike returned to the library. Allie Way was there, slouched beside the door with a despondent look stuck on her face. Flitter gave her a weak greeting, and she looked at Spike with hard eyes. “Spike, I have to talk to you.”

He let them both in, and Flitter went to the couch, where she watched uncertainly. “Do you need me to leave, or…”

“We just need a little privacy,” Allie said curtly. Her voice was clipped, like she was holding something powerful back.

Flitter stretched and disappeared down to the basement, and when the door clicked shut, Allie was by the door again, pacing. A small, intense frown clouded her face.

“What’s going on?” Spike asked lifelessly.

“Noteworthy.”

He closed his eyes. “Oh, no. What now?”

“You’re not going to believe what he did today. He caught me on my lunch break and accused me—accused me—of hitting Colgate.”

“Wait, what?” Spike’s focus, waning, was suddenly sharp at the mention of Colgate’s name. It usually meant trouble.

“He told me he knew I was the one who gave her the black eye, and I needed to stop it.”

“That rat bastard!” Spike shouted. He blushed quickly, afraid Flitter had heard him, and lowered his voice. “What in Celestia’s name does he think he’s doing?”

“I wish I knew. He said he saw me acting threatening to her, but I’ve never threatened her in my life. I haven’t even talked to her since I told the mayor about him. I don’t know what his game is.”

“Well, I haven’t heard anything from him.”

“Yeah, neither have Derpy or Berry. They’re starting to get curious, but no one’s heard anything.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “If I could figure out what he’s trying to do, I could react, but it doesn’t make sense. He’s the only one who’s approached me about this. If he really thought I was the one responsible, wouldn’t he tell the mayor?”

“Maybe he doesn’t think she’ll believe him.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t.” Allie rubbed her head. “He’s such a snake.”

“Or maybe he’s trying to keep you away from her so he can reach her easier.”

“But I’m not protecting her. Uh, that didn’t sound right. I mean, I’m watching out for her, but I’m not… you know, always with her.”

Spike shook his head. “I don’t know, Allie. He’s weird. I don’t like him.”

“I hate him.” She grabbed a book and flipped through it idly. “He manipulates you into the Datura, assaults Colgate, and then tries to pin it on me?” She snapped the book shut and threw it across the room, and Spike flinched. “If he pulls something like this one more time, I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.” Spike looked at her. Her eye twitched, and her face, suddenly angry, softened into the face he knew. “Sorry. I can get kind of mad sometimes.”

“No, I understand. I would be too,” Spike said, glancing at the book on the floor.

“I have to get out of here, get some fresh air. I’m sorry to tell you this and then leave, Spike, but… ugh, I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “Yeah, me too. I’m gonna have to talk to her.”

“I don’t think you should. It’s too dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” He wanted to ask why, but considered the implication of her word instead. “You don’t think he’d come after me, do you?”

“Well, he’s comfortable attacking her. I wouldn’t put it past him to do the same to you.”

“Geez.”

“I know. I know.” She levitated the book and brought it back to its shelf. “I know it looks bad.”

“Not just bad. It’s so confusing. Ponies keep getting involved, and Noteworthy’s capitalizing on it.”

“And it’s only going to get worse once Derpy and Berry start nosing around. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to deflect them onto me too.”

“You don’t think he’d threaten them, do you?”

“Probably not. Not with those police watching him, anyway. But you never know.” She went to the door. “See you later.”

“Bye, Allie.” He watched her trot out into the night, and as soon as the door was closed, Flitter was coming out of the basement, a coy grin on her face. “What’s with you?”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing,” she said innocently. “What was that all about?”

Flitter and Spike shared Twilight’s old bed, he with a book and she by his side, a wing around him. After Spike told her what Allie had said, she only shook her head sadly. “It just gets worse and worse,” she had said.

He turned a page and wiggled slightly closer into her wing. “So… you gonna be okay?”

“I think so,” she said.

He grunted.

“I don’t know if I want to stay in anymore, though. It’s very interesting, and I love the politics of it, but if we have to get pushed into magical pools that trick us into thinking we’re drowning…”

“I know what you mean.”

“Cloud’s gonna want out. She hates surprises like that.”

Spike’s eyes were glazed with fatigue, and he struggled to reread a sentence. He knew what he wanted to say. “I don’t… uh…”

“I’m sorry, Spike.”

“I don’t want to go it alone.”

“I know.” She shifted to hug him tightly. “So you’re not gonna quit?”

“I thought about it, but no.” He closed the book and rubbed his eyes. “With me on his team, Noteworthy won’t have to harass Colgate.”

“Huh?”

“He only kept bugging her ‘cause he wanted her as a Datura, but if he has me, he won’t need her.”

“You’re gonna stay for her?”

“I’d stay for any of my friends.” He lay back and sighed. “I just wish I could talk to her.”

“You’re not responsible for her problems,” Flitter said gently. “Or anyone’s, but your own. If you want out, you need to get out.”

“I can’t. I said I’d see it through, and I will.” He closed his eyes, and Twilight smiled at him behind his eyelids. “I’m tired of not doing stuff. It’s always someone else doing all the hard work, and never me.” He gave a tiny smile, his own words encouraging him slightly. “Not this time. Noteworthy wanted me for a reason, and I can’t let him down. I can’t let the Datura down.”

“Spike…”

“Sorry, Flitter. My mind’s made up.” He crossed his arms defiantly, but uncrossed them a second later.

“Just be careful,” she said, leaning over quickly to kiss his cheek.

* * * * * *

The first thing Twilight did upon waking was call the mayor’s office, to speak with Rainbow. She had Lowercase working on preparing transport ships to empty the city, and had spent the early morning practicing her own signature. She had another meeting at noon, for which she was, again, unprepared.

They had breakfast and took the ship northwest, into the heart of residential Fillydelphia. Through the freezing rain and wind, they could make out a crenellated ridge of houses built into the side of a gentle hill, a sharp contrast to the streamlined and sophisticated larger buildings that had surrounded them before. Smaller, single-story suburban houses surrounded palatial estates like debris, split away and collapsing, all of them shining with unbroken ropes of rainwater. In the storm, the shattered landscape was a jagged crater of misty glass. Octavia was able to point out the houses of some more wealthy ponies, though Applejack steered clear of them, wrestling with the wind. They circled the area for half an hour until finally landing in the middle of an empty cul-de-sac. It wasn’t favorable, Twilight said, but there was simply no possibility of using a roof in the sprawling neighborhood.

While she and Pinkie set up their sigil, the others went for a short walk around the block. Octavia led them to a large, incomplete wall by a fenced-off gully, thick with ivy and grass at its base.

“This is the meeting wall,” Octavia said. “It is somewhat of a neighborhood secret. A fan… brought me here after one of my performances.”

“It’s just a broken down wall,” Applejack said, rubbing a hoof across an exposed bit of slick masonry.

“It is an unspoken place for privacy and intimacy. No one should bother us if they see us speaking here.”

“Why did you lead us here, then?” Rarity asked. “Is there something we need to talk about?”

“Not especially. I thought you might like it, though.”

“It’s just a wall,” Applejack repeated.

“I think it’s… nice,” Fluttershy said. “You’re a very nice tour guide, Octavia.”

Octavia gave a thin smile. “Thank you.”

“What are you gonna do when you get back home?” Applejack asked.

“Home?”

“We’ve been on the move fer a couple months now.”

“But with only one Element,” Rarity said.

“Rarity is right. We are nowhere near close to needing to think about home,” Octavia said.

“That’s easy fer you to say,” Applejack said.

Octavia sighed. “Okay, Applejack. I will bite. What is bothering you?”

“What makes ya think anythin’s botherin’ me?”

“It is very easy to tell.”

“You do tend to get rather angry when you’re upset,” Rarity said.

Applejack paused, as if considering her options. “All right, ya got me. Ah’m just thinkin’ ‘bout Ponyville.”

Rarity and Fluttershy exchanged looks.

“Ah miss the farm, an’ Granny Smith an’ Big Mac an’ Apple Bloom. Ah miss buckin’ the trees an’ collectin’ the apples, an’ makin’ apple pie.” Thunder cracked, and she jumped. She leaned into the wall, its greenery cushioning her head.

“I miss the sun,” Fluttershy said.

Rarity only sighed and looked plaintively at Octavia, who stared back emptily.

“Ah know we’ve got a ways to go still. Ah know we can’t let homesickness get us,” Applejack said.

“We should get back to Twilight,” Rarity said.

After the spell, they hastened back to the ship, and were in the air before they could be crowded by confused or congratulatory ponies. They flew directly back to the Moonbeam Hotel and spent several minutes outside, under an awning, while Octavia magically combed the water out of their coats, with Twilight’s guidance.

When they got back to the room, Trixie was loitering outside with a bedraggled mane and a dour expression. No one spoke as Twilight let her into the room, where she sat on the bed to stare at the wall.

“Were you waiting long?” Octavia asked.

Trixie took a dramatic breath. “I am dead.”

“What’s wrong?” Fluttershy asked.

She let herself tip over and pulled the sheet over her, burying her head and muffling her voice. “Remember when I said I had that golf game today?”

“What happened?” Pinkie asked. “Did you shoot a bogey? An eagle? Two eagles? Ohmygosh, was it maybe even worse than that? Did you—”

“Shut up!” She growled, and the sheet tangled into a glowing knot over her covered horn. “I’m not in the mood for your nonsense.”

“Well what are you in the mood for?”

“For crawling into a hole and dying.” The knot slowly loosened. “I was hob-nobbing with those snotty rich ponies, and I decided to run my stupid mouth off. I told them I knew you all, and that you and I were good friends, Twilight.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Rarity said.

“I promised them a show with both of us.”

“Wait, what?” Twilight said. “A show with… you mean starring both of us?”

“Yes, you and me, on a stage, performing.” She growled again. “And no, I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I was just being—brace yourselves—boastful.”

“Trixie…”

Trixie flipped the sheet off herself, revealing a tear-soaked face. “Strike me down now, Twilight. Reach into my chest and snuff out my heart.”

“Trixie!”

“My agent’s going to kill me.”

“Trixie, stop this,” Octavia said. “I am sure that we can find a solution.”

“Why don’t you just tell these rich ponies the truth?” Applejack asked.

“Are you joking? That would be social suicide.”

“But you were just talking about suicide a couple seconds ago,” Fluttershy said.

“Celestia damn it, I was speaking rhetorically.” They were quiet for her, and she put the sheet back over her head, sniffling some. “My agent is going to kill me.”

“Trixie, when is this show supposed to be?” Twilight asked quietly.

“I didn’t say. I just told them ‘sometime soon’.”

“Maybe they’ll forget about it,” Rarity said half-heartedly.

“I can’t rely on that. What if they don’t?”

“Um, actually, it might not be so bad,” Fluttershy said.

“It certainly feels bad,” Trixie mumbled.

“No, think about it. Um, not to suggest that you’re not thinking, but—”

“Get to it.”

Fluttershy blushed. “Rainbow said she’s evacuating the city. The first ships should be leaving town later tonight. With that and the tornado that should be coming soon, it’ll be a really long time before anybody here can even think about performances.”

“Hang on,” Octavia said. “You are making me realize something, Fluttershy.” She looked at Twilight. “There is no way to stop the tornado, is there?”

“Eh, not so far as I know,” Twilight said.

“You’re just realizing this now?” Rarity asked.

Twilight tilted her head inquisitively. “That’s why it’s so important that everypony evacuates before anything happens, because once that tornado touches down, we won’t be able to do anything.”

“I guess I had not made that connection,” Octavia said.

The sheets wiggled slightly as Trixie spoke up again. “You’re not seriously giving up on saving the city, are you?”

“What d’ya expect us to do? It’s a weather formation, not a monster,” Applejack said.

“And if what Rainbow Dash said is true, it’s much too far along for us to dispel anyway,” Rarity said. “Independently-occurring—I can’t believe I’m saying it—independently-occurring weather phenomena are almost impossible to shut down.”

“I suppose,” Trixie said. “But… but…”

“If you have any suggestions, we are open to them,” Octavia said.

“No, I don’t.” She crawled out from under the sheets and went to the window. “I hate how relieving this all is. Fillydelphia’s getting destroyed, and all I can think about is how glad I am that I don’t have to perform. At least, not immediately.”

“Where do you think you’ll relocate?” Twilight asked.

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to talk to my agent.”

“And when are you going to do that?” Octavia asked.

Trixie sighed.

Rainbow stared at the file on her desk. It was Lowercase’s, and she had avoided reading it the day before. She had thought she had sufficiency cowed him the day before, but at every turn, he made his suspicion obvious. Inquiries about her health, whether she had overworked herself, and the like flew from his lips, always in the same professional, clipped way that put her on edge. It was impossible for her to respond well; nothing unsettled him.

The day was drawing to a close, and she had just gotten off the phone with him, telling him that she would be working late once more. The day before, she hadn’t considered all of the implications of her transformation, thinking only that she would wait until the workday was over and then go home. The reality was, she had no idea where the mayor lived, or what car she drove—or even how to drive it, if she were to find it. She had spent the night in her office, curled up under the desk, and woken to her phone ringing, to Lowercase telling her that he needed her to authorize the use of the Fillyelphia air fleet. It was for that reason she had spent her entire morning staring hopelessly at one of her own decrees, trying to memorize her own signature.

With a tired groan, she stood and went to the window. On the lawn, teams of ponies were boarding and preparing airships, while others were already in flight in the distance. Airships would be moving throughout the night, taking ponies to designated safe areas far outside of town, and by Lowercase’s estimations, the last citizens would be evacuated by ten the next morning. She and he would be on the final ship, she as acting captain and commodore, and he as her second in command.

As she watched, another ship slowly lifted off, its propellers spraying mist over the drenched grounds. She had never seen so many ships together, and the sight of them kept her transfixed at the window. Unlike the vessel they had purchased in Manehattan, the Fillydelphia airships were large, bulbous things of glass and metal, like bubbles encased in steel. There was no deck, instead two or three floors inside the glass tank, at the top of which was the captain’s large steering room.

She looked down to see a pair of ponies hustling across the grounds to the flooded parking lot. She knew the city was in a dire way, but she was tired, and her mind was stretched thin with constant worry. Since the day before, she had not been truly relaxed, not even in sleep. The phone calls, the meetings, the botched signatures, and the endless rain drumming her window made her tense and empty, and as she sat back down, she could only sigh. “Lowercase has it under control,” she whispered. “He’s getting everyone out of here, he knows what he’s doing. I just have to get on the last ship tomorrow and let my friends do their jobs.” She leaned back and looked at the ceiling while thunder growled outside. Another long, lonesome night.

After Trixie called her agent, it was only a few minutes before she cheered up. As darkness fell, and airships fanned away from the capital building, she and Twilight decided to go out for dinner, just the two of them. No one else wanted to brave the weather.

Trixie drove them to the middle of town and parked outside a stately, wooden restaurant, its abandoned front patio covered in the rain shellac. The interior was mostly empty, and they got a seat in the corner, by a large window behind a tree. The storm thundered on the glass and rattled the tree outside, and the waiter was visibly shaken as he served the pair their food.

“I figured I should have one last good meal before this city is wiped off the face of the Gaia,” Trixie said.

Twilight looked out the window. In the darkness, the storm looked even more intense. “I’ve never seen anything this bad. Have you?”

“Nope. Read about it, though. When they have hurricanes on the coast.”

“Mm. Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that. You’ve been studying magic?”

“It was always an interest of mine, even before our little incident in Ponyville.” She took a bite of her salad. “I’d like to pick your brain on a couple things, actually.”

“Of course. What would you like to know?”

“Let’s start with that spell you cast yesterday, on the grocery store rooftop.” She kept her tone casual, but when she looked at Twilight, her eyes were gleaming with a youthful fascination, much like Twilight imagined in herself when she was younger. “I’ve never seen a sigil so complicated in my life. How did you manage to activate it?”

“It’s not as hard as it looks,” Twilight said. “It’s a royal sigil.”

“But the size, and the complexity. Memorizing it must have taken forever.”

“Not really,” Twilight said carefully. The memory of the incident rushed to meet her. Blinding, throat-shredding pain, splitting her head under the princess’ compassionless gaze. Tingling at the edges, a different, stronger memory. “Princess Celestia burned it into my mind.”

Trixie reeled back. “She burned it into your mind?” Her face was serious, almost concerned. “I’ve read about that. Is it as bad as they say?”

“It was the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life.”

Trixie shook her head. “I could never be you, Twilight Sparkle. The dedication it takes to do what you’re doing. Do you miss home?”

“All the time.” She nodded as the words reverberated inside her head. “All the time.” She took a bite and forced a smile. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean—”

“Please, Trixie?”

“Okay, sorry.” She cleared her throat uncomfortably, and they shared a moment of semiquiet. The rain crackled outside. “In light of the turn the country’s taken, I’ve been reading more deeply into the darker side of magic.”

“I had to take a couple classes on that, a long time ago.”

“How were they?”

“I never liked dark magic very much. I know ‘dark’ is just a misnomer, but it really seems… nastier than the magic I’m used to.”

“Too bad you couldn’t have studied it before Luna was banished. I read that she taught, back in the day.”

“Really?”

“I have a couple of her lectures—copies, anyway—in a drawer at home. I could lend you one, if you want.”

“What are they on?”

“I’ve got a couple on the spirit world, and what it’s like to die. How to preserve your consciousness in a semi-autonomous form, either as an apparition, a thoughtform, or a localized chain of causality.”

“That… is some very advanced magic.” She looked at Trixie again, her good mood returning. The blue unicorn was suddenly much more than a surprising encounter. “I had no idea you were so knowledgeable.”

“I also have one on the ever-popular necromancy.”

“Really?” Twilight’s voice dropped a little. “They’re not allowed to teach that anymore.”

“I know. That’s why Luna’s lecture is so fascinating. I’d love to get my hooves on an authentic textbook from that era, but I wouldn’t know where to go for something like that. Not that I have the money for it anyway.”

Twilight smiled cordially. “You’re not thinking of trying something like that, are you?”

Trixie gave a hearty laugh. “Me? Of course not. I’m nowhere near skilled enough to even attempt something like that. It’s so much fun to read, though.”

“I know exactly what you mean. The logistics are fascinating.”

“Mm, that reminds me,” Trixie said, gesturing with her floating fork. “I read something interesting the other day. Have you done any reading about dreams?”

“Not a lot. I tried to avoid it when I was younger, because so much of it relies on a good grasp of psychology, and that was never my strong suit.”

“Ah, I see. I love that stuff, myself. Have you ever heard of dream distillation?”

“Oh, wow. Yeah, a long time ago. I’d completely forgotten about it.”

“Where you take the dream’s essence—”

“And turn it into a physical thing, yeah, I remember now,” Twilight said. “I had to distill a dream for one of my finals.” She smiled nostalgically. “It was fascinating.”

“I haven’t gotten to the chapter on its applications yet. What’s it used for?”

“Some incredibly advanced potions require distilled dreams to function. Just off the top of my head, I know the Solar Watch potion requires dreams of fancy and fever.”

Trixie shook her head. “I’m not familiar with that.”

“It’s used to make a metaphysical sun that stays above the caster and keeps things illuminated for them. Princess Celestia showed it to me once; it was amazing.”

“Metaphysical sun?”

“Meaning it only exists physically for the caster, but its magical energy can be detected by anyone.”

“So why use that instead of a simple lantern spell?” Trixie asked, picking at her salad. Lightning flashed fiercely outside, throwing her curious face into a momentary, rigid relief.

“It’s mostly used as a display of power,” Twilight said. “Someone who can produce such a potion is a very formidable pony.”

“So dreams are a magical resource. Interesting. All I’ve read so far is how to harvest them. You—”

“Hold on, I want to try to remember. This is from years ago.” She took a bite and thought. Though her face was serious, she was enjoying her time with Trixie. “You have to get inside the sleeping pony’s head, and cast a transposition spell on yourself and the entire psychoscape, which brings their dreams into our world. After that, though… dang, I don’t remember. You have to ground it all, somehow, and then it’s just a simple extrapolation spell.”

“It’s similar to the process of tethering a spirit back to the body,” Trixie said.

“Really? I don’t know anything about necromancy, so…”

“It’s all very indeterminate, surprisingly. Finding a spirit, helping it find its way to a vessel, forcing form onto the spirit plane… it’s so cerebral and philosophical, I can’t follow half of it. Luna’s lecture on the unspecificity of form in conflation with potential and knowledge kicks my flank every time I try to read it.”

“Geez, sounds like it. I’m kind of glad I didn’t have her as a teacher.”

“Well, you studied under Celestia, right?”

“That’s right.”

“So you probably wouldn’t have had Luna. She only did advanced classes. Epistemology, properties of thoughts, self-propagating spells.”

“Aren’t those illegal now? I thought I heard that somewhere, that it’s too dangerous because it can lead to exponential development.”

“I think you’re thinking of autonomous spells. Magic that can perform itself.”

“Oh, you may be right.”

“With that, you can get a kink in the formula, and spells start to compound. That is seriously dangerous stuff, though. Celestia doesn’t even touch it, I don’t think.”

“Well, with the wrong combination of spells, you can really do some damage.”

“You can go from a mild emergency to an end-of-the-world scenario in a matter of minutes.” She leaned to look out the window. “I guess that doesn’t mean a lot anymore.”

Tornado

Chapter Forty-one

Tornado

“We really need to hurry, Twilight,” Applejack said as they crossed an oblong stretch of green behind an isolated mansion. The golf course, like the city to which it belonged, was empty. A final group of airships hovered on the other side of town, obscured by the rain.

“I know,” Twilight said, squaring her withers. The wind, a shrieking curtain of freezing water before, had graduated into a skin-piercing gale, forcing their eyes half-shut and numbing their faces as they traversed the sopping lawn. The clouds were a hive of motion, swirling and overlapping like angry ropes in a massive net; from the corners of their eyes, the world around them seemed in constant motion. The ship tilted uncomfortably behind them as they set up for the final spell.

Lowercase stood on his hind legs to operate the wheel, and Rainbow stood behind him, watching the fleet of airships lead them away from Fillydelphia. They were the last ones to leave, crowded inside Mayor Splotch’s flagship, a quadruple-decker vessel with a gigantic blue balloon and an austere trimming of ribbons and garters that snapped and hissed like sparks in the storm. While Lowercase steered, he periodically looked up at the clouds, giving Rainbow reports on the tornado’s progress.

He looked back at her, and she stared into his cold, yellow eyes, herself empty of emotion. The night before, falling asleep in her chair, had drained her, and it was all she could do to feign calm. Calm, knowing her friends were still somewhere in the empty city. He angled his head to look up through the rain-speckled glass ceiling. “Thirty minutes, madam.”

Twilight worked under Rarity’s glistening shield, with Applejack and Fluttershy on the ship, ready to take off as soon as the spell was finished. Rarity bowed her head against the rain and wind, her horn a safe jewel in the harsh mist, leaving Octavia to endure the dripping, smothering cold. She could see the beginnings of a funnel forming in the center of the cloud mass, still far away, looming over Fillydelphia’s downtown district.

Her mane hung limply over her eyes, and she was caught in a constant shiver at the wind buffeting her body. The air was a deafening blanket around her, and the grass was a freezing marsh at her hooves. She could feel her eyes throbbing in her skull; she hadn’t slept the night before, and despite the intense cold and pushing winds, she fought to keep her eyes open and her mind clear. Thoughts flitted in and out like dust swirled on a pond, brief and indeterminate, and much smaller than the danger she knew pended.

At the sound of Applejack’s voice, carried and torn in the wind, she looked up and around. It was a hazy moment before she saw it: a long, dirt-gray cone towering into the sky, a skirt of dust at its tip. A splintering crash heralded the touchdown, adding a trembling impact to the insistent wind and rain, pounding the rippling shield. Twilight still drew her sigil, its edges outside the shrinking dome. Even in the storm, the ink stuck to the ground like a solid shadow, almost unreal.

Octavia looked quickly to Rarity, her eyes closed and her face stuck between grave calm and terror, trying to hold the shield while the tornado gained strength miles away. It had touched down near their hotel, and Octavia could see a collection of trees and debris flying around in the meandering whirlwind.

The sign off the Moonbeam Hotel careened through the air, a blue sickle to wind up embedded in the side of a disintegrating strip mall. Rainbow watched with shallow breathing, trying to pick the shape of her friends’ ship from the darkened vortex. The southwest corner of town was still a flooded, shattered gauntlet. Her eyes traced the emptiness between buildings. Too much space.

Lowercase had his mouth to the ship’s communication link, a hoof holding down a small, brass button. Rainbow was too transfixed to hear his conversation, and he had to repeat her name twice to get her waning attention. “The tornado is moving southwest, away from us.”

She nodded blankly.

Applejack stood at the helm, squinting through the rain at Twilight’s progress, mouthing a warning that was lost to Octavia. The ship leaned at a frightening angle, its fins all to keep it from tipping completely on its side, but she only had eyes for the advancing pillar of cloud. A roar like a train whistle rent the air, forcing her ears down and her eyes up, watching, petrified and resigned.

She looked to the sigil. Twilight had stopped her drawing, and stood, shocked and still; her eyes were drawn up to the sky, and her face was expressionless. Pinkie remained in the center of the drawing, uncertainty clear on her frightened face.

“Twilight! We must leave now!” Octavia shouted, awkwardly galloping over to her and Pinkie. At the last moment, a gust of wind picked her up, and she slammed into Twilight, sending them both to the freezing ground in a disorienting splash. In an instant, the sigil was gone, and Twilight looked at Octavia, her eyes uncomprehending for the merest moment.

A white form rushed to their sides, and Twilight helped Octavia up. They followed Rarity to the ship, its tilting mass like a piece of debris at the end of deep gouges in the lawn. The gangplank had been torn off, and lay several yards away, near a muddy, frothy sand trap.

Before she could begin to analyze the situation, Octavia’s vision went black, and her body constricted. For one terror-filled second, she thought she had been sucked into the cyclone, but as the deck bloomed into her vision, sudden and firm, she realized what had happened. Pinkie and Rarity stood near the torch while Twilight panted in the powerful rain.

She lay on the floor, feeling the engines vibrating beneath the deck, but their sound was drowned out. Applejack clutched the wheel, wrenching it back and forth wildly, and the balloon’s fabric crackled above them like a thunderhead of its own. With a sudden, heart-stopping motion, the gunwale to her side rushed to batter her, and she was given a sickening, sweeping view of the golf course, some ten feet below.

Over the wind and the rain, she heard Applejack screaming. “Rarity! Shield!”

Rarity stood in the corner, her eyes half-lidded and swiveling like turbines. Slowly, a mild, blue shield crystallized around the ship, and the wind seemed to die; they steadied out.

Rainbow could see nothing in the distance. The tornado itself blocked her view of the city, and they were far enough away that even her keen eyes could only barely distinguish what little remained in sight from her angle. Another of her assistants had joined them in the room, and spoke quietly with Lowercase, who nodded sharply with each response. Double-checking systems and rations.

High off the ground, deep into the clouds, pitched and tossed by the wind, the ship was an egg in a bubble. Rarity crouched and trembled in the corner while Applejack fought the wheel, while Pinkie and Fluttershy cowered by the torch. Twilight stood at the rail, one hoof resting lightly on it, to look into the maelstrom that surrounded them. All around her was noise, and cold, and pressure. She couldn’t take her eyes off the rolling, black walls that surrounded them.

“Twi, we need to get out of here,” Applejack said. “Rarity’s not gonna last, an’ as soon as her shield breaks down, we’re gonna get shredded.”

Twilight looked to her emptily. In the back of her mind, the same, dark memories turned over each other. A gentle sway to one side, the ship moved into yet another eddy of wind, and she blinked. Armored ponies in the air.

“Damn it, Twilight, snap out of it!” a harsh voice barked. Applejack stared her down fiercely. “Yer the magician here. Do somethin’!”

A single, tired sob escaped from Rarity’s corner.

She looked into the endless ceiling of clouds. “Break a storm. Break a storm. How?” Slowly, the answer ebbed into her mind. They tilted again. “New telekinesis.” She looked out into the storm, her eyes landing on a dark shape deep in the dust. Reaching out, she could feel its heavy form on her magic, a slight imposition, and dragged it to them.

A car, crumpled and slick with rainwater, hovered in her purple aura just outside the ship. She looked into the destroyed interior, and for a moment, froze. Destruction. Glass on the seats.

“Twilight,” Applejack said again.

She closed her eyes for just a moment, asserting her strength on the invasive memories. “I can do this. I’ve done it before. Remember Cloudsdale (that’s Polaris up there).” She looked up once more and slowly tipped the car to face the clouds, bringing it to a better angle. With a sudden backlash that sent the entire ship reeling, it rocketed into the voluminous ceiling, punching a small hole. For a moment, she saw blue sky, and then it was gone. As quickly as she had damaged the storm, the clouds had returned.

Rainbow stood before Lowercase at an assembly in the fields outside Fillydelphia. The ships rested in a deep semicircle, and the citizens stood within, attentive and fearful. Lowercase stood at her side, professional as ever, his eyes expectant. She was supposed to tell them what to do. She looked back at the city, its eastern half pulverized.

“Uh… I, uh…” She looked out and saw Trixie at the front of the crowd, watching closely. “I can’t do this.”

She walked back to the ship.

Twilight tried another car, an uprooted tree, the destroyed plaster from a house, but each time, the clouds rushed back to fill the spaces before any progress could be made. Octavia watched as Twilight’s resolve slowly buckled, clear on her face with every failed attempt. Her eyes had been alight with optimistic creativity for a minute, but with her most recent, useless try, they clouded over once more. She slumped to the side of the rail, and Octavia could see hopelessness filling her. They had been in the air for ten minutes.

Octavia closed her own eyes to see the image that filled her dreams, and her memories. Even in the storm, contrition flooded through her; through the filter of adrenalin, and stretched thin by sleeplessness, it felt more like forfeiture.

A crude, shattered outhouse slid by, and Twilight caught it reflexively, bringing it to the ship. Octavia watched her appraise it, and an idea came. Her first impulse was to dismiss it, as she did every time it intruded, but it refused to fade. Looking at the ship, tossed and damaged, and with no clear way down, the idea suddenly seemed like her best option.

“Twilight, bring that closer,” Octavia commanded. “I have an idea.” She had to raise her voice over the shrieking air.

Twilight hesitantly dragged the outhouse onto the deck, its wooden body bouncing and shaking in the wind; Rarity’s shield was losing integrity, and the deck, slick and still earlier, was again jumping with droplets. Octavia approached the outhouse with mechanical resignation. Her head was dulled by the cold, the endless rain, and insomnia; her voice was a fearless monotone.

“Toss me, inside this, and I can make a large enough hole for us to escape.”

Twilight looked at her for a second before comprehension broke over her face. “No.”

She looked at Rarity, still crouching in the corner. “You have no other way to break these clouds. I can produce an explosion large enough, but you have to get me there.” In her mind, her own dead voice responded. “I can not do this.”

“Octavia, no! That’s crazy!” Pinkie wailed from behind.

“You’ll kill yourself,” Twilight said, shaking her head.

Octavia looked up again. “If it is to save this ship, then I will do it.” Not allowing Twilight to respond, she stepped into the outhouse, careful to place her hooves on only the most stable parts of its broken floor. “I know that I can do this.”

Twilight stared at her and looked from side to side. Rarity in the corner, Applejack at the wheel, Pinkie and Fluttershy holding each other by the torch. Clouds above, death below. Wind and rain, and a weak shield. The door swelled into its space, a purple tinge around it.

Octavia closed her eyes as Twilight lifted her off the deck. The sudden weightlessness made her chest tighten with fear, and as true knowledge of her situation crept into her mind, she was tumbled into oblivion.

Rainbow watched the city from her window while Lowercase pounded at the door, politely but firmly asking to be let in.

“This is my death.” Dust and grit blasted Octavia’s face and body, and she had lost all orientation within the first few seconds of flight. She bounced painfully within the wooden cage, and something sharp and rough scraped down her stomach; she did not cry out. In her mind, she had already lost. The idea was insane, and her confidence had been false from the start. She had thought only of dying when she voiced the idea. Her eyes were still closed, and she could hardly breathe. “I am so sorry.”

Her head hit something cold and wet, and her eyes cracked open. The wooden interior was stained with water and blood, jostled beyond coherency, and outside, there was only rushing gray. Images flashed through her mind. The farmhouse, the empty road, Trixie. A bed, a black silhouette, the moon through a grimy window. Mountains and trees.

“Yes, I am sorry.” She brought her focus into a single point. “So, so, sorry.” Confidence waxed back into her overwrought mind, and suddenly, the thoughts were powerful. “So, so, so sorry.”

It was easy. She felt her power coalesce, flowing from the tips of her hooves, from her tail and mane, from behind her eyes and nose, to the center of her forehead, until she seemed to wear it like a tiny, white hot crown. Across her fur and flesh, it tingled and singed, and with a release she had not felt in a very long time, the energy exited her in one rush.

Her vision went white, and her ears, once filled with the roar of wind, were bathed in a high-pitched drone.

A bang, loud enough to drown out the storm and Lowercase’s knocking, resonated from across the land, and a divot of clouds puffed outward. For a moment, Rainbow stared stupidly, but as the tornado thinned, she stood to press her face to the glass. It wobbled unhealthily, and slowly, its top was shed away. Ghosts of clouds drifted off the main mass, and the tail of wind, a cone of incalculable destruction not minutes ago, slowed. Dust bloomed outwards and specks of debris rained down, slowly.

Lowercase was quiet, and she glanced out at the edge of the crowd. Every pony stared, slack-faced, at the city.

When the clouds burst above them, halving the wind almost immediately, Twilight wasn’t sure what to do. Rarity’s shield fell away, and rain hit them again, but it was weaker. She looked up, her disbelieving eyes searching for signs of Octavia. Whether she had survived did not enter Twilight’s thoughts. She knew only two things: they were miraculously alive, and Octavia would be coming down.

Applejack made no sound, but slowly guided them away from the remaining wall of clouds.

Rainbow lay, with closed eyes, in a soft bed under a wide arc lamp. Only a minute after the tornado’s sudden abatement, Lowercase entered the room with a spare key. Rainbow, thinking quickly and impulsively, lowered herself to the floor, where she feigned unconsciousness—easier than she was expecting, in her heavy body.

She couldn’t keep the act up for long. As soon as she was had been deposited in the flagship’s medical wing, she gave herself away with a poorly-timed swallow. For a moment, she cringed inside her head, waiting for a reprimand; instead, Lowercase insisted she stay for the time. She made no objection.

While a single nurse did paperwork at the front of the wing, someone walked in and went straight for her bed. She was still addled by the impossible event she had witnessed, and even Trixie’s speculative, annoyed face softened her discomfort.

“That was some stunt you pulled out there,” Trixie said quietly.

“I know.”

Trixie stood by the bed for a time, looking at the medical equipment, the lamp, the sheets. “I can’t say for sure, but I borrowed a pair of binoculars; it looks like your friends survived. Their ship is leaving town. Or what’s left of it.”

The words sunk in slowly. “Of course they’re okay. They’re my best friends.” “I thought for sure they were gone, though.” “Totally alive.” “Totally dead.” She didn’t smile, or laugh, or anything. She didn’t know what to do, how to feel. “Huh. Good.”

Fluttershy dressed Octavia’s wounds as gently as she could. Twilight had plucked her out of the air, falling with closed eyes and a blood-matted front, to lay her, unconscious, on the deck. It was only once Fluttershy had gotten her into the bedroom, with Pinkie’s help, that she saw that Octavia was still alive. Her pulse was weak and erratic, and Fluttershy had to act quickly to stem the blood that flowed from a deep gouge across her stifle.

She could hear Rarity shivering in the adjacent room, where Pinkie tried to comfort her. The effort of keeping a shield around the entire ship, and Octavia's outhouse as it rocketed into otherwise certain destruction, was enough to form a hairline fracture in her horn—comparatively minor against Octavia’s injuries, but far more painful.

She held her jaw closed tight enough to hurt her teeth as she wiped a sponge across bloody fur. She had tried to tap into her magic at first, but her mind was overworked and over-stimulated. The tornado, the incredible plan, and the suddenness of their escape were all too much for her, and her eyes quivered with empathy for her friends. She looked at Octavia’s limp body.

“Why’d you do it?” she thought. No one else seemed to notice, but Fluttershy had. She saw it in Octavia’s eyes that morning, as they were heading for the golf course: desperate, dismal unhappiness that surpassed her usual neutrality. She had looked ready to fall down and die as they walked, and though Fluttershy had suspected something amiss, it was only confirmed in Octavia’s mad idea. She could not admit the word in her head.

When Twilight entered, silent and pensive, she could only meet her eyes for a second. “We’re out of the storm. Heading for Rainbow’s airships.”

“Oh, um, good,” Fluttershy said.

“How is she?”

“She stopped bleeding.”

Twilight sighed. “Thank Celestia.” She sat down at the foot of the bed and closed her eyes. “I almost flashed back on the deck.”

“Almost?”

“Applejack stopped me.”

“Ah.” Fluttershy nodded, not sure what to say. She was still upset, and Twilight’s problems, though she knew they shouldn’t be, were eclipsed by her own.

Twilight stayed where she was for a few minutes, but left when it was clear to her that there was no conversation. Octavia breathed lightly, and Fluttershy watched her, unable to do much with her frayed, stretched nerves.

Trixie stayed by Rainbow’s side, not speaking, but comforting her all the same with her passive presence. When she trotted out of the medical wing, Rainbow inclined her head curiously, but did not call out for her.

When she returned with Twilight and Applejack, Rainbow had to consciously stop herself from springing out of bed. They convened around her, and Twilight bowed her head.

“Is everyone okay?” Rainbow asked.

“Octavia’s in emergency care, and Rarity’s unconscious, but they should be okay in time.”

“What did you do?”

“We’ll tell you later. Once… all this is done. Trixie said ponies are starting to suspect something.”

Rainbow looked at Trixie severely. “Is that true?”

“Yes. Hailstone and Sunbeam are trying to get ready to switch you out for the real mayor,” Trixie whispered. “That little speech you gave was too much. Mayor Splotch would never do something like that.”

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “Well, the real Mayor Splotch didn’t think her best friends were dying in a tornado.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Trixie said with a defensive shrug. “I have to talk to my agent. Be sure to say bye before you leave. You are leaving, right?”

“As soon as Octavia’s fit to be on our ship, we’re out of here,” Applejack said.

“You sure you can’t tell me what happened now?” Rainbow asked, looking briefly at Trixie as she walked away. Her face fell, only slightly.

“It’s best to wait,” Twilight said. “And… I haven’t quite processed it myself yet.”

Rarity had an ice pack tied around the base of her horn and a pair of jaunty sunglasses that she borrowed from Pinkie. Her head throbbed and ached like a broken tooth, and the medical ward’s stringent light was like drills in her eyes.

Octavia lay in bed, needles in her legs and a urinary catheter slithering out of her abdomen, a respirator hissing gently to one side. Fluttershy’s dressings still clung to her wound, but they had been reinforced by a second patch of gauze and bandages.

“She looks horrible,” Rarity said reverently.

“But she’ll be okay,” Pinkie said, offering a smile. “She’s my sister. I know she’ll be okay.”

Rarity nodded, too tired to question Pinkie’s resolution.

“But how are you? Your horn looked really unhappy.”

“I don’t really know. I’ve never cracked it before.” She looked at her reflection in the heart monitor, hating her ridiculous appearance.

“I bet you’ll be okay too. They do heal, right? I bet they do.”

“Again, I don’t know.” She tried to adjust the ice pack to adjust it, but winced at the bolt of heavy, hot pain through her head.

“You want me to get that?” Pinkie asked, tilting her head.

“It’s fine.”

After Twilight and Applejack left, back to the ship to try to begin repairs, Rainbow stared emptily at the ceiling. When a familiar-looking pair of ponies appeared at her side, she didn’t look immediately.

“We’re about to create a diversion in this wing, so we can switch your place with the real mayor,” Hailstone said.

Rainbow closed her eyes. “What do I have to do?”

“Just follow me,” Sunbeam said. “It’ll be extremely simple for you.”

“And you’re gonna put her in this bed, asleep? Won’t ponies question it? They’ve seen me awake.”

“Oh, there will be a tremendous inquiry later,” Hailstone said. “What Mayor Splotch has been saying would never happen just happened, and half the city is in ruins.”

“That isn’t our problem, though,” Sunbeam said. “Once she wakes up, we’ll sever her connection to Discord. She’ll realize what happened, and why it had to happen, and she’ll smooth everything over.”

“She’s in for a spectacularly rough couple of months,” Hailstone said with a tiny smile.

“Geez. I… feel kinda bad now,” Rainbow said.

Sunbeam looked quickly to the side; a jade pony stood in the doorway, staring at them intently. “That’s the signal. Come on, miss false-mayor. Get up.”

Rainbow climbed out of bed and allowed the pair of pegasi to escort her from the medical wing, down a corridor and outside. Her friends’ ship rested not far away.

“Go to your ship and stay there. We can’t have anyone seeing two mayors.”

“When do I get to be myself again?”

“The potion should wear off in a couple more days,” Hailstone said.

“And to address your concern about feeling bad, you should,” Sunbeam said. “We had someone lined up to do this for you. Someone who knew how the city worked, who wouldn’t simply dump the entire process on poor Lowercase.”

“He’s a creep, though,” Rainbow said.

“Lowercase is an inspiration,” Hailstone said. “Don’t tell Splotch this, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s running things soon.”

“Whatever.”

“Go, get on your ship.” She shook Rainbow’s hoof. “No offense, Rainbow, but I hope this is the last time we meet.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I hope I never have to come back here.”

Dinner time. Octavia sat in their circle on the deck, her lower half still wrapped in an ugly patch of yellow-white. Fluttershy had managed to bring her back to consciousness, once she had calmed down, but the wound was still tender. Twilight and Trixie sat to the side with Rainbow, discussing the tornado, and how they had handled it.

“Oh, getting a letter,” Twilight said sharply, producing a scroll from her horn. She opened it and read. “Twilight and friends. I must say, I’m shocked and a little proud of you. I didn’t know, wait, hold on.” She glanced at the bottom of the scroll. “Yeah, it’s Discord again. I didn’t know you had it in you to destroy my tornado. You’re clearly more powerful foes than I had thought. My commendations.” She frowned. “Celestia’s back, by the way. Weird that she hasn’t contacted you. I’m sure she has her reasons, though. Say hi to the princesses for me. Love, Discord.”

“He has the audacity to sign his letters that way?” Trixie said.

“Not usually,” Twilight said, folding it up and stowing it away. “He usually just writes ‘hahaha’ a bunch.”

“Ah think he’s mad ‘bout what we did,” Applejack said.

“He didn’t sound mad,” Twilight said.

“That’s the point. If we think we’re gettin’ to him, we’ll know we’re on the right track. He wants us to keep goin’ in circles, lookin’ fer new ways to attack an’ never figurin’ anythin’ out.”

“So what are you going to do?” Trixie asked.

Twilight pulled out a roll of parchment and her quill. “Write to the princess. Tell her what we did, and what Discord’s been saying.”

“Well, you go ahead and do that. I need to get back to my quarters,” Trixie said, stretching and getting up.

“Wait. We need to talk about your show.”

“Oh. That.” Trixie sat back down. “With all this excitement, I had forgotten about it. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Where are you gonna go?” Rainbow asked. Still in Mayor Splotch’s body, her voice was an unseemly rumble.

“My agent wants to try Manehattan. Apparently my kind of show is popular there, among the rich. They think it’s,” she made a disgusted face, “quaint. The rustic appeal, you know?”

“You? Rustic?” Pinkie said.

“I suppose,” Trixie said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I was born in Trottingham, so… yeah. You can take the girl out of the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the girl.”

“Ah never knew you were a farmpony,” Applejack said, smiling the first real smile she had given that day. “What’s yer crop?”

“I never grew anything. I worked on the loading ramps when I was younger. Twenty or so airships passed through every day, each one dropping off this, picking up that.” She groaned softly. “I hate manual labor.”

“I can’t picture you doing anything like that,” Rainbow said.

“That’s an image I work to cultivate. I loathe my humble roots.”

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with startin’ small, you know,” Applejack said.

“Yes, yes. Anyway, Twilight, Manehattan. We’re going to relocate there and… well, I suppose I’ll have to start figuring out how to get you into one of my shows. Maybe another polymorph potion.”

“If we’re in the area, I’m sure we can drop by to help out,” Pinkie said.

“Pinkie, dear, I would prefer if we never touched that horrible city ever again,” Rarity said.

“Hard feelings for Manehattan, huh?” Trixie asked.

“There was an incident there,” Rarity said icily. “One that I would not care to remember.”

“Say no more, Rarity. I understand completely.” She stood once more. “I’m afraid I must be leaving. Here, Twilight.” She floated a piece of paper to Twilight. “This is the spell you can use to send letters to me. Try to keep in touch.” She smiled. “I want to keep talking magic with you.”

“Of course, Trixie,” Twilight said. “I’d like that too.”

“And Octavia.” She shook her head sadly. “Please stay safe, Octavia.”

“I will do what I can,” Octavia said quietly.

“Well… see you all. It was lovely getting to know you.” She smirked. “Even you, Dashie.”

“Right back at ya, Tricky,” Rainbow said.

Trixie let out a single laugh as she went to the rail and teleported down to the ground. She gave them a final wave, and disappeared into the city of docked airships.

“Please excuse me,” Octavia said, rising unsteadily. Fluttershy hastened to help her, and, together, they went below the deck.

“Ah think Ah’m gonna miss her,” Applejack said. “She don’t have her head in the clouds near as much as Ah woulda guessed.”

Fluttershy helped Octavia into bed, and remained by its side, studying her. She wanted to speak, but couldn’t find the words.

“Is something the matter?” Octavia asked. “You look distressed.”

“Um… yes.” She sat down, suddenly resolute. Octavia’s question had bolstered her. She locked eyes with the injured pony. “You could have died today.”

“I am aware of that.”

Fluttershy took a deep breath. In her head, she had gone over the conversation, but before Octavia’s inscrutable expression, stern even for her weakness, her courage withered. “I… um, I think you knew that too. Before you suggested it.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow, and Fluttershy moved back slightly. “What are you saying?”

“Um…” She looked away and pawed at the ground. “She needs this, Fluttershy. Don’t be a coward now.” “Maybe that you wanted to die?”

“I see.”

“Please don’t be mad,” Fluttershy said quickly, looking back up to try to discern Octavia’s mood. It was blank as always. “But… that’s what I thought. I’m sorry if I’m off-base; I’m not trying to accuse you of anything.”

“I was ready to die on the ship.”

“You… you were.”

“I did not expect Twilight to pull through. I know that she finds it difficult to rise to a challenge like that. I could see her slipping.”

“But—”

“I expected us all to perish today.”

“Octavia, no. You can’t do that.”

“What should I have done instead? Blind optimism is useless, as I am sure my sister has demonstrated.”

“But… sui—um, that, um, isn’t the answer. Ever.”

“I know that. I realized it inside the outhouse.”

“You realized it… up there?”

“Yes.”

“So… that means, before, when you told Twilight to throw you, you were…”

“Going to my death, yes.”

Fluttershy stared at her. Octavia’s composure suddenly didn’t look right; it looked tight, false. “No. No, that’s not right. That’s not… Octavia, no.”

“It was a momentary impulse.”

“With permanent consequences, though. If you hadn’t come to your senses, what would have happened?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Um… no.”

“Fluttershy, please.” Her voice changed on the final word. Fluttershy looked again at her eyes; they were different too. The faintest shine went across their bottoms, and when Octavia blinked, a drop clung to her eyelash.

She approached reflexively, ready to offer herself for comfort. “Octavia, what is going on?”

“I see it everywhere. Every waking moment, I see it. When I sleep, it fills my dreams.” There was a catch in her throat. “Every. Single. Day. For years, Fluttershy.” She shook her head. “I cannot prolong this agony much longer.”

“What agony? What happened?” Thoughts of suicide were gone; all that filled her head was how to help the pony before her, whose exterior she had never seen break.

“I cannot say,” Octavia whispered. “I thought that I had found peace in this adventure. For a time, I did.”

“What changed?”

“I do not know. I have been thinking about my fillyhood very much lately.”

“Is that what hurts you so much?”

“Yes.” She bowed her head. “I am sorry. I should not be doing this right now.”

“Octavia, no.” Fluttershy climbed up to the bed and moved in close. “It’s okay to let your defenses fall. Everyone has to, sometimes.”

“I am sorry.” Tears dripped onto the sheet. “I am so, so, so sorry. So sorry.” She gasped and leaned in to Fluttershy, who accepted her without a thought. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s really okay.”

Octavia shook her head deeper into Fluttershy’s down and whispered harshly, her voice rough. “I am so sorry.”

Fluttershy squeezed her tighter, wrapping her wings around her, and began to cry as well.

Applejack and Twilight, with a mixture of magic and guesswork, got the ship back in working order, repairing a wobbly turbine and replacing the gangplank. Afterwards, they took off, heading back to the golf course to finish their spell. The city was a tapestry of destruction, gleaming snags of metal and concrete in splintering rows along the barren streets. Their hotel had been reduced to ornate timber, and Heart Park was torn in long, ragged furrows. Trees and pieces of masonry littered the city, and the river was clogged with debris. What clouds remained continued to release a fine mist of rain, and near the west end of town, a single, dark thunderhead still loomed, but the wind and cold had died away.

With no storm to stop them, the spell worked just as well as always, and with the final quarter of the city restored, they boarded the ship and left, stopping briefly at the river to refill their water tanks. Applejack turned them to the west, into the empty fields, toward Appleloosa: a ten-day flight over plains, plateaus, and Manehattan in the middle.

It was eight o’ clock, and Fillyedlphia was a dark stain behind them. The airships outside were a small bubble of light and life, and it was while Twilight watched them slip away, leaning on the gunwale, that she received another letter.

Dear Twilight,

My sincerest apologies for not contacting you sooner. Work in the griffon lands was long and exhausting, and I am only now beginning to catch up with the affairs of Equestria. Princess Luna has informed me of your work in Fillydelphia, as well as Discord’s. It is a consequence of the initial spell that I do not believe any of us foresaw.

I will not bore you with the technical details, but the stillness of the waters, along with Cloudsdale’s recent difficulties, has left our pegasi in a state of semi-helplessness. In brief, their control over the weather is slipping. I cannot say whether it is entirely due to this that the country has been encountering such problems, or if there is an unseen magic at work as well, weakening the weather binding. Whatever the case, the incident in Fillydelphia, while certainly the most severe, is not isolated. Applewood and Snowdrift have been beset with uncontrollable storms as well. So far, it is a minor obstacle; I hope that it remains so.

As I am certain my sister has told you, Discord is again at work, reconstructing an army. She has taken steps to slow his progress, and while the process has been successfully prolonged, there appears no way to completely stop it. Discord has been very elusive lately, and while Luna can, and has, shut down many of the spells around his castle, she cannot reach him.

For the time, Canterlot is safe, but it will not be for much longer. Take haste.

In love and friendship,

Princess Celestia

P.S.: I have commissioned a search for the missing Elements. I have heard of no progress yet, but ponies have been looking for only a couple days.

None of her friends were nearby. Applejack steered, Rarity watched the world from the other side, and everyone else was below. She folded the letter and assumed it into her magical storage area, empty. She could have put it in her bags, she knew, but turning away from the lonely view seemed inappropriate to her. Fillydelphia had fallen because they hadn’t acted quickly; it was only right she watch it go.

“Maybe it’s not our fault,” she thought. “We were only there a few days. Things were already well and truly progressing by the time we got there. Could we really have made a difference?” She sighed at the thought. “There’s only seven of us. Princess Celestia is only just beginning to enlist help.” She looked at Rarity, hunched at the opposite rail much the same as herself. “Are we really alone in this?”

She shook her head softly. “I can’t think this way,” she whispered, and turned to walk over to Applejack.

The farmpony gave her a friendly nod as she sat by her side. “Quite the day, huh?”

“I’m just glad Rainbow was able to get the citizens out in time,” Twilight said. “Things were bad, but they could have been a lot worse.”

“You can say that again.”

Twilight nodded and stared off the front of the ship. “So, Appleloosa.”

“The western frontier. Ah just hope we get there this time.”

“It’ll be good to see your family again.”

The following morning, they had escaped the last of the rain clouds, and the sun was out. Rainbow, still in the mayor’s body, sunned herself on the deck while everyone else settled into the routine of flight. Twilight read and studied, and taught Octavia magic when the books got to be too much for her, while everyone else socialized. Applejack found a warped train track and set the ship along it, and for the entire day, and some of the third, their only view was the small, dense chain of mountains a hundred miles to the north.

On the fourth day, midway through lunch, Rainbow doubled over in a convulsing, gasping tremor, and before their alarmed eyes, transformed back into her former self. She had to rush to the rail to vomit, but when she was done, and had downed a glass of water, she went on an ecstatic fly alongside the ship. The mountains were gone, and they were over a wide, pale green spread of shattered fields.

By the sixth day, they were passing Manehattan, and Rarity fell quiet as they slipped over Starlight Lake. The closely packed towers were a far cry from Fillydelphia’s expanded, spacious architecture, and they spent all day looking down into the city; the clouds that had covered it weeks ago were still there, and there was not a lot to see.

Outside Manehattan, the green fields leveled out into dusty, brown plateaus. A single, thin set of train tracks ran parallel to a sparkling river, and they followed it away from the metropolis, deep into the empty west. Nothing broke the flat skyline, and on the seventh day, when Manehattan was only a hazy aspect behind them, trees appeared in the distance.

The ground once again turned uneven and colored, and the gaps between were fewer. A strong sense of excitement suffused the ship, with nearly everybody’s thoughts on Appleloosa; only Octavia remained steadfastly depressed, refusing everyone’s advances with icy formality. According to Twilight’s map, they were only a few hundred miles from the western Equestria border: the edge of their world.

It was early evening on the tenth day when they descended onto the tiny town.

“Well, we made it,” Applejack said. She smiled and took a deep, long breath. “Smell that good ol’ country air.”

“You know what this calls for, don’t you?” Pinkie asked, gamboling to the front of the ship to look out at the town.

“Ah’ll bet Ah do, Pinkie, an’ fer once, Ah agree with ya.”

“A paaaaarty!”

Applejack released the gangplank, laughing, and the two of them raced down it with a cheer. Rainbow streaked behind, and Rarity smiled warmly from the gunwale as the three of them filled the dusty road with their jubilation. For several minutes, they danced and made noise in the dim street, kicking up clouds and raising their voices to the sky, but no one appeared. They slowly wound down, until they were standing in quiet confusion between two dark, small buildings, Pinkie’s confetti pounded into the dust.

“Where is everyone?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s still evening. There should be ponies in the streets,” Applejack said.

“Especially after the racket we just made,” Pinkie said. “Helloooooo? Anypony there?”

“Hang on,” Rainbow said. “Let me scope this out.” She flew into the gloaming, where she turned a slow circle, one hoof to her eyes to clear away the lingering sunset. “There’s something going on on the other side of this street.” She landed, and the others debarked from the ship. “There’s a huge crowd outside a big house.”

“Let’s check it out,” Applejack said.

As they walked to the street’s end, low voices faded in from the distance. The road was unpaved dirt, and the buildings on its sides were simple, wooden constructions, unpretentious, but not without charm. A wooden sign creaked on chains in a dry breeze, and the sunset caught the skeleton of a bridge in the far distance, silhouetted against a row of thick trees.

They turned the corner onto a larger thoroughfare, where they were faced with a broad crowd of ponies, some with torches, standing outside a large, square house. A thick collar of rose bushes skirted its pale yellow walls, white pillars holding up a second story, one of its narrow windows lighted like a feverish eye in the evening. A respectful hush covered the dry lawn, and Applejack tapped a pony on the wither.

“What the hay’s goin’ on here?”

The pony looked at her with narrowed eyes, for just a moment, before speaking in a quiet voice. “Miss Ringlet’s been possessed.”

“Possessed?”

“Like, discorded?” Rainbow asked.

“No one knows,” the pony whispered.

“Is she inside?” Pinkie asked. Her voice was at full volume, and she drew a few displeased glances.

“With the family, yes. And an exorcist.”

She looked back quickly at an agonized howl, and an indeterminate, authoritative shout over it. A sea of ears cocked at the sounds, and as the scream died down, the shouting continued. They could pick out a couple words: “Luna,” “compel,” “out.”

“He’s even reached the frontier,” Rarity said.

“I’ve gotta see this,” Rainbow said, flapping up into the air.

“Seriously?” Twilight breathed, watching her friend fly up to the lit window.

“She may have something helpful to report,” Rarity said.

Rainbow felt awkward and unwelcome as she brought a hoof to the windowsill to stabilize herself. She could feel the crowd’s eyes on her as she flew up, and immediately regretted her impulsive decision, but it was too late. It was better to follow through and look impertinent than back out, she imagined.

Through a gateway of thick curtains, she could see a dim bedroom, illuminated only by a trio of candles in a wide pool of pale wax. Three ponies surrounded a bed of tossed sheets. Two, she could see profile; they wore frightened, beleaguered expressions, one looking into the bed, the other staring resolutely ahead. The final pony had his back to her, and looked to be several years older than the other two. He was a vibrant green unicorn with sharp, polished hooves, and a gnarled tail that brushed the ground softly.

He floated a golden insignia before him, and slowly lowered it to the bed, which thrashed and howled in response. He appeared to speak, but Rainbow couldn’t make out the words. She leaned in, her nose almost touching the glass. The pony in the bed lashed out, and the unicorn stepped back quickly; Rainbow caught a single glimpse of a bound hoof as he adjusted his position.

“In the name of our princess and goddess, Luna, I command you to leave her!”

Another howl pierced the stillness, and Rainbow flapped her ears down. The sound was pained, almost afraid, but she felt only anger and disgust for its source. The bed rattled and the ponies at its side stood back, but the exorcist was not shaken. He lowered the symbol once more.

“Out! Leave her now!”

Another howl, louder and longer, and Rainbow closed her eyes in annoyance. “Celestia, shut up,” she whispered. She watched the exorcist thrust his symbol at the bed, and the voice rose in pitch.

“In Luna’s name, I command you to leave!”

The scream turned to a low growl, and Rainbow matched it with her own. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she mumbled, resting her head on the glass. The scene fascinated her, but listening to it was tortuous. As she mouthed the words, the creases of her frown deepening, the unicorn turned around briefly.

As soon as he saw her, his face changed. From determined to alarmed in a flash, his horn lit the entire room, and the two others looked up quickly.

“Aw, shit.” Rainbow flapped away from the window, but before she could land, the pony was outside the house.

“Stop where you are, demon!”

Far West

Chapter Forty-two

Far West

In a single whirling, noisome flurry, Twilight and her friends were swept to the sides of the crowd while Rainbow sped overhead, a stern, masculine voice commanding her down. She streaked past them to land outside the building on the other side of the street, and the crowd admitted a leaf-green unicorn. He pushed past Pinkie, and Rainbow turned.

“You won’t fool me, demon!”

“Hey!” Pinkie took off after him, and Twilight followed behind her. The unicorn, his horn alight and pointed at Rainbow, had her backed into a fence post.

“She’s not a demon,” Twilight said, approaching carefully. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Yeah, back off, you freak!” Rainbow spat. She spread her wings and tried to take a step toward him, but his horn flashed warningly, and she flinched back.

“All right, all right, let’s calm down here,” Applejack said, coming forward. “She’s with us, mister.”

The pony slowly dimmed his horn, but Rainbow didn’t move. “What were you doing in the window?” His voice was toughened with age, and ragged from his small exertion.

“Just watching,” Rainbow said. “I wanted to see the discorded pony.”

He paced between them. “I saw a shrouded face with moving lips. My first thought: a demon, casting a hex.”

“Do you encounter things like that often?” Octavia asked.

“Yes.” He sauntered back to the house. “Let me through.”

The crowd parted, and Rainbow flew behind him. “Hang on. You wanna tell us who you think you are?”

He whipped back around, his horn glowing again. “I have an exorcism to perform.”

“Put that thing away,” Applejack said.

He turned around with an annoyed grunt and marched to the front door. “We shall converse later tonight.”

The door slammed, and many of the ponies on the lawn remained looking at Rainbow. “I’m not a demon, okay?” Rainbow said.

“Let’s just get back to the ship,” Rarity said.

“Go ahead. I will wait here,” Octavia said.

“You sure?” Pinkie asked.

Octavia didn’t respond, and disappeared into the crowd. It was a moment before ponies started to look away from Rainbow, and the commotion from within the house resumed. They returned to the ship, reverent and awkward from the brief encounter. The unicorn’s powerful voice snapped from far behind, muffled into a mere suggestion through the house’s walls.

When the last traces of light had faded, Octavia called for them to come down from the ship. She stood alongside the unicorn, who still regarded them suspiciously as they gathered before him.

“To the Salt Block,” he said, his horn blinking. He waited for no response, instead turning sharply and trotting down the street, away from the house.

“So how’d the exorcism go? Did you get rid of the ghosts?” Pinkie asked.

“Spirit, not ghost. And no.” He shook his head. “We’ll talk about it inside. I want to see you all in the light.”

He led them down the street, around a bend and into a wide, downward-sloping road, a single, giant apple tree dominating from behind a circular fence in the middle. To one side was an even row of houses, and to the other was a post office, a cart repair store, and a saloon, unevenly spread out and away from each other like teeth in a gap-toothed smile. As they approached, a sheer edge of darkness manifested from behind the buildings, and when they reached the saloon doors, they could see a perilous edge just behind. Rarity paused to look around the corner, and the unicorn pushed the door open, plunging into the unaccustomed lantern light within. No electric lights decorated the Salt Block’s walls, just bracketed torches and dainty candles on each table.

He sat them down in a large booth to one side of the bar, underneath a tattered, oxidized road sign that hung from the wall. He looked at each of them, and they him. He was a lank, elderly unicorn with no mane over his wizened, green head, and searching, dark purple eyes. He wore a small necklace, a silver moon glinting from between tufts of short, green fur. He squinted slightly at Pinkie. “You resemble someone I know.”

“Oooh, neat! Who is it? Do I know her too?” Pinkie asked, getting up to lean over the table. “I’d love to meet her if I haven’t already! Where is she? Is she here? Can we meet her now? Can—”

“That’s enough.” He looked to the side to wave away a bartender. “Be still.”

“Who are you?” Twilight asked.

“Who are you?” His horn pulsed a single time, punctuating his question.

“Seriously? We’re the Elements of Harmony,” Rainbow said. “Ponies recognized us in Manehattan,” she mumbled to Fluttershy, who nodded.

“Forgive me,” the unicorn said. “I come from far away. I had no cause, up to now, to know any of you.”

“Just where is ‘far away’?” Rarity asked.

“I came here from Snowdrift.” He smiled faintly at their reactions. Since leaving Ponyville, they had mostly forgotten about the tiny, southern town. “I see you’ve heard of it.”

“Yeah, we’ve heard a couple things,” Applejack said.

“I grew up there. My name is Green. Reverend Green.”

“Reverend?” Fluttershy repeated.

“He was performing an exorcism earlier,” Rarity said.

“So why did you want to talk to us?” Rainbow asked. “Wanna be extra sure I’m not a demon?”

“I am already sufficiently assured. What I want is your help.”

“With the exorcism?” Pinkie asked.

Green nodded.

“Why us?” Octavia asked.

Green lit his horn to a soft glow and let it slowly extinguish. “Miss Ringlet is a wealthy, young mare from Hoofington, known around here for her adventurous, kindhearted spirit. She is known to go into the wilderness from time to time, alone or with a friend. After her most recent venture, however, she started showing signs of unrest. Only a couple weeks ago did I truly become concerned.” He frowned and lowered his voice into a thoughtful, deliberate drone. “She was restless. What once caused her joy brought her only vexation. Some of the more pious ponies in town suspected a spiritual ailment.”

“And they called you,” Rainbow said.

“All the way from Snowdrift?” Fluttershy asked.

“I was already here,” Green said. “I was reluctant at first. A spiritual malignancy, in this backwater part of the country, is as unreliable an assessment as they come. But I agreed to meet her.” His horn pulsed once more, long and dim. “And yes, hers was an illness beyond the ordinary.”

“What was wrong?” Twilight asked.

“I determined that she was in the grip of a partial possession. Her spirit, once at rest, had somehow found itself squeezed into her body, displaced by that of another.” He looked at them all. “Her body was host to two souls.”

“How does that happen?” Applejack asked.

“I cannot say, but the second spirit is malevolent. I suspect demonic involvement.”

“Like mine,” Rainbow said.

“We get it, dear,” Rarity said.

“Hey, I have a right to be mad.”

“And I apologize, my sister. It was a response made in haste,” Reverend Green said. “I had come to this town in search of rest, and to find a way to Manehattan.”

“What’s in Manehattan?” Twilight asked.

“A very troubled young mare, and my dear friend. She needs a firm hoof to guide her back to the path of righteousness.”

“So you really are a reverend,” Applejack said.

“Of course.”

“Uh, that is, Ah don’t mean to offend ya. Ah just thought it might’ve been a nickname or somethin’.”

He smiled warmly. “I preach at Shade Chapel, in Snowdrift, six days a week. Rather, I did.”

“What denomination is that?” Twilight asked.

“Mid-Celestial.”

“So you believe Luna is the superior goddess,” Fluttershy said.

“That is why you kept invoking her name,” Octavia said, nodding.

“Only by the power of the night goddess can spirits be removed,” Reverend Green said.

“Then why do you need us? Just get her to do it for you,” Rainbow said.

“Faith without practice is as a wing with no feathers, my sister. My faith in the night goddess gives me strength, but I am still only one unicorn. The magic required to properly exorcise this spirit is beyond me.”

“What makes you think we can help?” Twilight asked. “We don’t know anything about spirits.”

“Miss Melody said the same thing. Fortunately, I need no complex spells from you; I need only your combined input. This,” he gently floated his pendant into view, “is my blessed talisman. Forged from holy metal beneath the mountains, and enchanted by the head of my order, I wear it always. It causes the spirit great pain, but is not enough to oust it.”

“So what do you need?” Pinkie asked.

“A potion is what I seek. A potion that, when drunk, will tighten the mind of Miss Ringlet, and squeeze her invader out.”

“Um… I wasn’t aware that something like that existed,” Twilight mumbled. She blushed slightly.

“You?” Rainbow said. “I thought you knew, like, everything.”

“I never learned beyond the basics of spirits. Princess Celestia had me focusing only on the tangible.”

“I have a set of instructions already, but they require multiple unicorns,” Reverend Green said.

“What do we need to do?” Rarity asked.

“I’ll lend you the book.” His horn glowed, throwing a slight glare into their eyes. “The page is already dog-eared.”

“And what are you gonna do?” Rainbow asked.

“I must work with Miss Ringlet and her family.” His pendant jostled against his chest. “I cannot drive the spirit out on my own, but I can weaken it.”

“First night in, an’ already caught up in some kinda mess,” Applejack mumbled.

“I do apologize for involving you. If it’s any consolation, I should need your help only for the potion. The procedure, I can handle myself.”

“You sure?” Pinkie asked. “We’d be happy to—”

“No. Our concern should be finding the Elements,” Octavia said. “Delays are not acceptable. Not with the progress Discord has made.”

“I don’t mean to delay you, I promise,” Reverend Green said. “You must understand that I reach out to you now out of desperation. No unicorn in this town has anywhere near the skill to produce the potion I require.”

“We’ll do it,” Rarity said.

Octavia glanced at her and rolled her eyes. “I do not suppose you have heard anything about a stray Element of Harmony near here, have you?”

“Um, there isn’t one,” Fluttershy said. “I already checked.”

“Oh?”

“Well, um, since Rarity’s horn is injured, and Pinkie always forgets, I figured I’d just do it. I’ve been checking every day we flew here.”

“Magically?” Reverend Green asked.

“Um…” Fluttershy blushed and turned her face away, draping her mane over one eye.

“Now that is interesting. I was not aware ponies outside of Snowdrift knew how to unlock their own magic.”

“Nopony recognizes the Elements of friggin’ Harmony, but they all act like it’s old news when they find out we’re magical,” Rainbow said. “What is it with this country?”

“Ponyville is far-removed from the majority of the world,” Octavia said.

“You hail from Ponyville? Quite the distance,” Reverend Green said. He stood up and stretched, a sequence of arthritic cracks coming from his legs. “The hour grows late, my sisters. If you need lodging, I know a family who will happily lend you their barn for the night.”

“We’ll just sleep on the ship, thanks,” Twilight said. “Um, the book?”

“I’ll float it over your guardrails tonight. I must first get it from my quarters.” He looked at them one last time, pulsed his horn, and left with a quick, curt nod.

When he was gone, Rarity went to a nearby window. “I have to see something.” She wiped a hoof across the grimy glass and looked down. She couldn’t see much, but the area beneath was dark and deep, and spanned several feet before being cut off with the milder brown of a starlit earth. A small row of trees waited on the other edge.

“So we’re hanging off,” Pinkie said. She giggled. “Neat!”

“Not particularly,” Rarity said weakly, turning from the window. “Let’s get out of here.”

They walked into the cool, empty night, and back to the ship. Everyone got comfortable, some in the bedrooms belowdecks, but Twilight stayed above with a quill and parchment. She wanted to write a letter to Trixie.

The following day was clear and bright, the wide, dusty main road bustling with ponies, most of them farmers. Reverend Green had failed to deliver the book, and they ate a scant breakfast while Twilight read Trixie’s response, which had woken her up at five in the morning. She and her agent, Globe Trotter, were still in Fillydelphia, waiting for clearance to leave; since Mayor Splotch had been released from Discord’s influence, the city was locked down in a massive investigation.

When they were finished, they merged with the crowd and went into the city. Applejack took the lead, walking them past buildings and into the middle of town, identifying landmarks and extolling the town’s brief history. They passed the sheriff’s office and smithy, crossing a long, sturdy bridge to a run-down train station, where they stopped in the shade of a large, tattered sign.

“This would be a great place to cast a spell,” Pinkie said. “Up there, I mean. I bet I can see the whole town from that rooftop!”

“We need to refill our rations,” Applejack said. “Ah’m tired of dried veggies.”

“I saw a grocery store on the opposite side of the far road,” Fluttershy said.

“We should do that first,” Rarity said. “You know everyone’s going to be in quite the fuss once we’ve done our spell.”

“I need time to warn everybody anyway,” Octavia said. She looked at them, looking at her inquisitively. “What? You were not going to do it, I assume? It hardly ever gets mentioned.”

“No, you’re right. Go get everyone prepared, and we’ll restock our rations. We can do the spell at, say,” Twilight looked up and smiled, “high noon.”

“Yeeeeee-haw!” Pinkie shrieked, grabbing Applejack’s hat and swinging it raucously. “Magical cowponies!”

“Gimme that,” Applejack said, snatching it back. “Come on. Where’d you see that store, Fluttershy?”

“I saw it too! This-a way!” Pinkie cried, taking off back across the bridge. They followed behind her, and Octavia separated without a word.

“What’s wrong with her?” Rarity asked.

“She’s been quiet since Fillydelphia. Just let her be,” Applejack said. “Oh, there it is.”

They entered the small building, with only three registers and a dozen aisles, sunlit through rows of skylights. Dust swirled in the air, and the smell of fruit and straw filled their lungs. Bins of fresh food stood in the back like chests of jewels, while tacky, metal stands advertised more processed fare. At the front of one aisle, there was a small wall of apple juice decorated with Fluttershy’s smiling visage.

Pinkie, after a moment of looking around, ran to the side, to the bakery. A large cake glistened beneath the counter.

They dispersed through the produce section. “So how is it this tiny town has done so great, while cities like Trottingham or Manehattan are all screwed up?” Rainbow wondered aloud.

“It’s exactly because this is a small town,” Twilight said. “Big towns need a lot of energy and resources to stay alive, but a little one like this hardly needs any, especially with its own apple plantation. Why, the splits hardly even affected it.”

“Their bridge is really nice,” Fluttershy said. “I didn’t like the one in Trottingham.”

“What ‘bout those building-bridges in Manehattan? Those were a sight,” Applejack said.

“Those were awesome,” Rainbow said.

“But this one looks almost professional,” Fluttershy said. “And they’re only going to get better, too.”

“It is amazin’ how easy ponies are adjustin’,” Applejack said. “Fer the most part.”

“If anypony goes digging after we’ve put everything back together, they’re probably going to find old bridges lodged underground,” Rarity said thoughtfully.

“Huh. Yeah, you’re right.” Rainbow laughed. “Can you imagine? They’d be so clueless! Aw, I wish I could see the looks on their faces.”

“Oh my gosh! Twilight! Come over here! You have to see this!” Pinkie yelled from the other side of the store.

Twilight glanced over at her. “What is it?”

“Come see!”

Twilight strolled over to look where Pinkie had her face pressed against the display case, looking in at a towering, five-layer cake of marbled brown and white frosting, trimmed with hot pink, each layer adorned with rings of tiny, red flowers and small strands of silver droplets.

“Got yer eye on her, eh?” the unicorn baker said, swaggering up with an unctuous smile. “She’s a beaut, that’s fer sure.”

“How long did it take you to make this?” Pinkie asked, eyes wide.

“Oh, just a couple days,” he said with an easy shrug. “Yer lookin’ at a lemon cake with cherry fillin’, chocolate an’ white icin’ an’ strawberry trim. Pride of my bakery, if Ah say so myself.”

“Twilight, we have to get this.”

“Pinkie, there’s no way we’re going to eat it all,” Twilight said, stifling a chuckle and looking at the cake again. She couldn’t deny that it pulled at her as well.

“I’ll eat it! I’ll eat the whole thing if you girls don’t want any! Come on, Twilight, please? Pleeeeeeeeeease?”

“How much is it?” Twilight asked, suppressing a small sigh.

“Oh, fer nice ladies like yerselves, let’s call it twenty bits.” He winked at Twilight, who only stared back, incredulous.

“We’ll take it!” Pinkie cried, producing a small bundle of bits.

“You got it! Just lemme box this up fer ya.” He floated the cake out of its place and took it to the back.

“Pinkie, we’re going to end up wasting it,” Twilight said.

“No we won’t, Twilight! Like I said, I’ll eat the whole thing if you girls need me to.”

“Way to take one for the team, Pinkie,” Rainbow said. Pinkie beamed, and the unicorn came back out with a tall, bright blue box. They thanked him and found the others on the other side of the store, Applejack with a basket on her back.

“Oh, Rainbow, by the way, Trixie says hi,” Twilight said.

Rainbow looked at her. “Huh?”

“In her letter.”

“Oh, right. Uh, hi, I guess.” Rainbow walked a short distance to a display of dehydrated vegetables. “Why me?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Weird.”

“Maybe she likes you!” Pinkie said.

“Pinkie, not so loud,” Rainbow griped. “And she doesn’t like me. We got on each other’s nerves.”

Pinkie giggled and sidled over to Rainbow. “Aww, Dashie, didn’t you know? Lovers tiff.”

“Ugh, gross!” She shoved Pinkie away, still giggling. “We are not lovers. We’re not even freakin’ friends.”

“Yer blush says otherwise, sugarcube,” Applejack said with a grin.

“I don’t know why she would even want to say hi to me. We hardly talked. She just got mad at me for screwing things up so bad and impersonating the mayor. Which sucked, by the way.”

“No, we know, darlin’. We heard all ‘bout it on the way over here.”

“Twilight, let me know when you’re writing back to her. I wanna give her a piece of my mind.”

“Geez, Rainbow, she just said hi. It’s not that big a deal,” Twilight said.

“Applejack seems to think so.”

“Ah was just funnin’ with ya, ya galoot,” Applejack said. “No need to get yer hackles up.”

“All right, all right; I’m cool. It’s just weird.” They filled Applejack’s basket, and one more, with goods, and returned to the ship, where Pinkie showed them the cake.

“Oh, my, what a delightful thing,” Rarity said. “What’s the occasion, darling?”

“Just wanted to have it! You can never have too much cake!” Pinkie chirped.

“We’ll have to have some after our spell,” Applejack said.

“You go ahead,” Twilight said. “I’m not hungry.”

“You’ll change that tune when yer done with yer sigil.”

“We’ll see.” She craned her neck to look down at the road, where Octavia approached, flanked by two stallions. “Is that Big Mac?”

They went down to meet them. Octavia stood behind while Braeburn and Big Mac approached Applejack, the former locking her in a crushing hug, the latter taking turns to shake each of their hooves and look into their eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Rainbow asked. “Shouldn’t you be back at Ponyville?”

“Mm, nope.” Big Mac shook his massive head slowly, and Braeburn returned to his side, suddenly somber.

“Ah’m sorry to have to tell ya this, cuz, but we lost Jonagold. ‘Bout a month ago,” Braeburn said, doffing his hat.

“Oh, no.” Applejack removed her own hat. “What happened?”

“Let’s talk about it somewhere more private. Ponies are a little on edge right now; Ah don’t wanna scare ‘em with mentionin’ the, er…”

“Agent,” Big Mac mumbled.

“Yeah, agent of Jona’s passin’.”

“You can come with us. We’re heading to the train station,” Twilight said.

They returned to the train station, Octavia resolutely at the front. The building was a decrepit, cobwebbed mess, its windows smashed in and its front step cracked. A tiny sprawl of train tracks glinted behind it, all curving gently into the distance, where they ended at a sheer chasm.

“I wonder what happened to all the trains,” Rainbow said.

“A lot of them fell through, I am sure,” Octavia said.

“Oh. Uh… all right.”

“Intercity commerce is really hurtin’,” Braeburn said.

“I thought most cities were self-sufficient anyway,” Rarity said.

Twilight pulled out her supplies and lifted them to the station’s roof. “They used to be, back when Princess Luna was more freshly imprisoned. Toward the end of her banishment, though, trade started to take off. I know Manehattan was the first to branch out.”

“Thank the princess we got our own orchards,” Braeburn said. “The only city we got any real contact with is that southern one, Snowdrift.”

“That weird priest is from there,” Big Mac said.

“We know. We talked to him already,” Rainbow said.

“Ah don’t like him.”

“He’s awful secretive,” Braeburn said.

“Really?” Twilight said. She flashed up to the station roof, where Pinkie already waited, having teleported when no one was looking.

“Not ‘bout the goin’s on here, but if ya try to ask him ‘bout Snowdrift, he clams up awful fast.”

“Well why would you be askin’ him ‘bout that town anyway?” Applejack asked.

“We send more’n half our apples there.”

“But not right now,” Big Mac said.

“Yeah, not anymore. No trains.”

“Wait, before we go on, tell me ‘bout Jonagold,” Applejack said. “What happened? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“No one knew where you were, cuz,” Braeburn said. “We took the family airship down to Ponyville to get everyone, but only Big Mac was able to come.”

“When was this?”

“A month ago, more or less,” Big Mac said, nodding contemplatively.

“We were in Manehattan, I think,” Fluttershy said.

“We’re sorry we couldn’t contact ya,” Braeburn said.

“Just tell me how it happened. Was it Discord?” Applejack asked.

Braeburn’s casually content expression fell, and he removed his hat again, dusting his front with it. “How long’ll we be here?”

“It takes about half an hour for Twilight to draw her sigil,” Octavia said.

“Right. Go on an’ sit down, then.”

Nine days after of the most shocking, reeling disaster in Equestrian history, Braeburn worked in the apple orchard, same as every other day. Separating the good apples from the bad, his eyes kept rising to the tilting cadaver of a soot-blackened, dust-interred train, its smokestack jutting into open air, its wheels kicked haphazardly over a gentle, vertical bend of tracks. He tossed a single, mushy apple into the air and kicked it across the dry earth, to plummet through the chasm.

Everything had happened so suddenly, his reaction only came the day after, empty and confused. The problem was too vast to incite panic or anger, and so, for the first couple hours of that strange, quiet dawn, he had sat on his house’s stoop and looked at the divide. He hadn’t known, then, the scale, but he could assume easily enough; with nothing more interesting in his world than a coming shipment to Snowdrift, the stimulus must have come from afar. Still, he felt a twinge of guilty relief when, a few days later, the damage assessment concluded only a single collapsed house—apart from the torn train tracks that surrounded the town, and what countless ruination was beyond his sight.

He looked up again at the train, and there was something dark above him. He rubbed his eyes with a dusty hoof and watched the airship, with no balloon, crest a hairline of clouds. Three masts, a canopy of black sails, and one proud bowsprit pierced the blue sky, facing the town.

He tilted his head, ready to turn around and go into town himself, but froze when he heard the first projectile whistle. A second later, wood and thatching crashed somewhere not far behind him.

And then, suddenly, action. The tight knot of doubt and denial inside split and uncurled through his body, and he ran as fast as his hooves could carry him, head still calm, calm enough to realize that he was not even entirely sure what he was running to, or from. Through the lines of apple trees and past his small house, he raced. A second crash echoed the first one, and the sounds of alarmed ponies filled the distance. Rounding a street corner, he felt physically stricken from the sight.

Friends, neighbors, and ponies he didn’t know galloped in a disorderly panic over the main street while the strange ship cut a menacing figure behind him. An avalanche of plywood and plaster had spilled into the road, fluffed around a single, black ball that threw a dull wedge of sun up into the startled air. As he watched, there was another shriek of wind, another crash, and a dark spray of wood coupled with the visceral crack of a dislodged sign denting its porch. A light green mare charged out of the damaged building and stopped, aghast, and for a sickening moment, Braeburn met her eyes. Dust shrouded the sky, flung off flashing hooves. Some ponies looked on, dumbfounded.

He looked back feverishly. The ship was turning a languid circle over the apple orchard, lowering and throwing its malicious shadow over the chaos below. When a third cannonball fired, tearing a peacock tail of dust off the road not twenty feet from him, he jumped, stricken with a frantic urge. Tail in the air, he turned and galloped to the side, along his line of trees, toward the largest house in town. Behind him, the same sounds pattered, intermingled with shrieks and babbles. Above, he heard no turbines, no creaking rigging.

When he reached the large house—belonging to Miss Ringlet, a mare he had had his eyes on for a couple months—he stopped at a dainty support beam by the powder-white stairs. Another cannonball shredded the air, and another crash flattened his ears.

Amid the din, he perceived a single, calmer voice, its tone rushed but firm. He discerned no words, but the voice was measured, and its sound brought brief comfort to his alarm. The ship dipped once more to show him a small row of shadows along one of its sides: more cannons. He froze, the thought of their deadly potential filling his mind. Should a single one fire, he would be right in its path.

A flash of motion caught his eye by the ship’s back, and he flinched away again, his head reflexively sinking down into his body to avoid its payload. No whistle, however, sliced the uproar. He looked closer to see a single pegasus, flying closely parallel to the mizzenmast, and before he could process what might be happening, a second one joined from the far side. While the first waited atop the mast, the second swooped low over the deck and burst over the rail in one smooth motion. A small flash speared the masts and sails, and a thick cloud of smoke billowed upwards. The ship fired another cannonball. In only a few seconds, the smoke had filled the space between black masts, and the first pegasus dove into it. Braeburn could only watch as fingers of flame snaked upwards, cradled between dark smoke and darker wood.

The pegasi landed on a nearby rooftop, backs to him. Another building crashed, and he only watched, transfixed, as a bent, metal stovepipe leaned to the ground.

The door to his side opened, and a young, fit mare took a single step out. Miss Ringlet was small and lithe, and when her emerald eyes lit on Braeburn, some of the tension in her demeanor seemed to loosen. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice quiet and respectful.

It was a moment before he could fathom her question. Smoke blackened the sky above the ship, but closer to the ground, he could see another gray ghost, centered in what seemed to be a radiating group of escaping ponies. “Ah can’t say.”

They watched, together, and the pegasi took off again. In the close distance, someone was wailing. He stood his ears up; the wail was not fear or anger, but a lost cry of grief. He shared a worried glance with Miss Ringlet, and the ship fired again, twice in quick succession. Twin thumps shook the ground, but no more buildings crashed. The crying died down, and he looked up again; the fire was gone. Smoke hung in the air like a ghost, but the ship drifted as if unharmed, its front pointing southward. Its cold shadow slithered over him, and he edged closer to Miss Ringlet, unaware of her doing the same. She let out a demure, feminine gasp, and he stepped forward, as if to get a better look. The ship had taken off. It was gone in an instant, dragging a tail of smoke behind it in a feeble, spectral claw. No noise was heard in its departure, and for a moment, the sounds of the town were drowned out by the roar of shocked adrenaline in his head.

When it ebbed back to him, the fantastic doubt and grandeur was gone. No unreal ship, no defiant pegasi, just smoke in the sky and debris on the warm ground. Through a gap between buildings, he could see one edge of a gathering crowd. One stallion limped away desperately, his face turned away from Braeburn’s.

He looked quickly at the sound of hooves on the wooden steps. Miss Ringlet took off across the dust, leaving him to watch from afar, unnoticed. After a moment of hesitation, he followed her.

“An’ when we’d helped everybody, we found Jonagold’s… remains. It was her an’ two others.”

Applejack nodded slowly, eyes to the ground. Her face was steely, and she looked up sharply at the first sounds of Pinkie’s spell taking effect. Braeburn and Big Mac held onto each other as the ground trembled back together, and when it was done, Rainbow helped Twilight and Pinkie down.

A large group of ponies had gathered around the ship when they returned, and, for the first time since they were in Ponyville, they endured wave after wave of questions and thanks about the spell. To their relief, Appleloosa was tiny, and needed only the one—Pinkie said she had even gotten the northern section of Dodge Junction.

When the crowd had dispersed, an hour and a half later, only Reverend Green remained, an open book across his back. He boarded with them and floated it to the deck, where Twilight immediately crouched to study it. “My apologies for not getting it to you sooner. I’m afraid I got distracted with a rather personal affair.” His horn lit up, and a small dot of color danced across the page. “As you can see, the recipe itself is quite simple, and all but one ingredient is easy enough to procure.”

Twilight frowned slightly. “Distilled dream. Sheesh.”

“I know. I’m heading to Dodge Junction today, to see if I can’t get the other ingredients at their apothecary.”

“And you need me to distill this dream,” Twilight said. “This dream of confinement.”

“I can assist if you need,” Reverend Green said.

“We might. I haven’t done something like this in years. I need to research it.”

“Of course.” He looked over at Applejack, watching him, and went to the gunwale. He ran a hoof tenderly over the turret, cold and unused. “I saw you with the large, red stallion today, and his excitable friend.”

“That’s Big Mac. My brother,” Applejack said.

“Ah, I see.” His horn pulsed, and Applejack narrowed her eyes. “Does he seem okay to you?”

“Okay? What are you gettin’ at?”

“Oh, no, I’m making no accusations.” His horn strobed rapidly. “Forget I said anything.”

“Yer not doin’ anythin’ to him, are you?”

“I? I would never,” he said indignantly. “It was a mere expression of concern. Please, do not think ill of me for it.”

“You said you were from Snowdrift, right?” Rarity asked.

“Yes.”

“How’d you get here from there?” Rainbow asked. “You can’t fly.”

“What is this?” Reverend Green asked, a smile pulling his wizened face apart. “Am I really so interesting?”

“If you got somethin’ goin’ on with my brother, you sure are,” Applejack said.

“No, no, nothing but a passing curiosity, I promise.”

“So how did you get here?” Rarity pressed.

“Well, a stallion of faith can go wherever he wants,” Reverend Green said. He backed away to the ramp. “Your worries are not with me. They are with poor Miss Ringlet.”

“Where can I find you if I need to talk about this dream?” Twilight asked, not looking up from her book.

“Just ask someone in town. I’m always around.”

Rarity raised a hoof to ask another question, but he didn’t stop, and was gone.

Twilight didn’t return from belowdecks until the sun was low, and Pinkie had whipped everyone into a small frenzy. In the distance, what sounded like the windup to a large party lit the air.

“Braeburn just came by to tell us,” Fluttershy said. “They’re having a hoedown in honor of the town coming back together.”

“Not that it made much of a difference this time,” Rainbow said, hovering several feet off the deck. “All we really did is break their cool bridge.”

Twilight looked at them all, then back at the hatch, then out at the town. The deep yellow of a large fire played on the side of a barn, and ponies’ shadows danced against it. “I can take a break from my research.”

Pinkie cheered beside her, and before she could do anything else, she had a pink foreleg wrapped around her own, awkwardly yanking her across the deck. “Let’s goooooooo!”

They hit the street, and Pinkie immediately took off at a gallop, Applejack just behind, laughing. Rainbow flew a few feet over Twilight’s head.

“I hope they don’t insist on thanking us or anything,” Fluttershy said.

“You can stand behind me if they do try anything, darling,” Rarity said.

“How’s your horn, anyway, Rarity?” Twilight asked.

“Oh… it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“It was a heroic thing you did with it,” Octavia said, prompting a jump from Rarity.

“Geez, Octavia, we forgot you were even there,” Rainbow said.

Octavia nodded. “I have not had much to say today.”

“Are you all right?” Fluttershy asked.

“Of course.”

They turned away from Miss Ringlet’s house, its lights all off, to approach the barn, where Pinkie and Applejack waited at the door. A pair of bonfires flanked its mouth, large groups of ponies dancing or sitting around them. Inside, torches decorated the walls, and ponies, some dressed up and many not, moved feverishly in the hot light. Bales of hay were stacked against the sides, serving as chairs or places from which to hang decorations. A trio of earth ponies stood on an improvised stage playing two acoustic guitars and a beaten-up pair of drums, while a fourth leaned on a stool with a sultry, observant smile.

They went to the side, where Braeburn waved at them from beside a snack table. Pinkie and Rainbow didn’t stay to chat, and Fluttershy and Octavia receded to the back while Braeburn spoke quietly with Twilight and Applejack.

“This music is nice,” Fluttershy said.

“It serves its purpose well enough,” Octavia said.

“Oh, um, you don’t like it?”

“I did not say that. But no, I do not. I have never been much of a fan of country music. There is too much of an emphasis on twanging strings.”

“You don’t have to like the music to be able to dance to it!” Pinkie said, suddenly next to them. “You just gotta have the right spirit! Come on, Octavia! I’ll show you!”

“Pinkie, please, you do not need to—”

“Nonsense! Let’s go!” Pinkie dragged the protesting mare into the crowd, and Twilight joined Fluttershy, giggling.

“Oh, poor Octavia. She doesn’t want to dance,” Fluttershy said.

“I’ll bet she’s good,” Twilight said. “You don’t get to such a high status without picking up at least the basics.”

They waited and watched for a time, silent, but they couldn’t see Octavia in the crowd—only Pinkie, jumping up and down, flailing her limbs, cheering in small puffs of confetti.

“Um, Twilight, you don’t have to stay here for me. I’m perfectly comfortable staying by myself,” Fluttershy said. “Not, um, not that I want you to leave or anything. It’s just, I don’t want you to think—”

“It’s okay, Fluttershy. I like spending time with you.” She breathed out slowly. “And I’m not much in the mood for dancing. I thought I might be, but now that I’m here…”

“Do you want to go outside? We can sit by one of the fires.”

Twilight shrugged loosely, and the two made their way to the exit. They hadn’t seen it on their approach, but near the back of the barn, there was a curved row of smaller fires, with only a few ponies tending each one. They took seats on a hay bale some distance away from the others.

“I’m really worried about what the princess said,” Fluttershy mumbled. “Discord’s on the move again, but they can’t find him anywhere.”

“He has the castle, but he’s never there,” Twilight said. “He’s up to something else, I know it. But… we have to have faith in the princesses. They know what they’re doing, and they’ve fought him before. Princess Celestia is right; we need to worry about getting the Elements.”

“I know.” Fluttershy leaned forward to stare into the flames. Her wings were limp. “I just hate how much pressure it puts on us. We still have to find five Elements, and use them on Discord before he completely takes over Equestria. But instead of searching for them, we’re here, at a party, acting like there’s nothing the matter.”

Twilight nodded, curious to see where Fluttershy was going. She leaned forward as well.

“You, Rainbow Dash, and Applejack are the only ones who really seem to care about what we need to do. Pinkie doesn’t seem to know what’s going on half the time, Rarity acts like she’s just along for the ride, Octavia’s too caught up in her own problems to do more than help the immediate situation, and I’m too much of a coward to do anything useful. Then, when something does happen, we all turn on each other and get mad or upset, like when we have to fight a monster. It’s like Discord’s already working on us, and we don’t even realize it. It makes me so mad.” She abruptly stopped and looked at Twilight. “Oh, Twilight, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to rant, or say all those bad things about our friends.”

Twilight didn’t look up. “Don’t worry, Fluttershy. You’re just speaking your mind; there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I feel awful.”

“Don’t feel bad for expressing your opinion.” She shook her head lightly to break her trance on the fire. “If it makes you feel better, I think you’re right. We are lacking in focus. Some of us, anyway.”

“But that’s no reason for me to be mad,” Fluttershy said.

“Maybe not, but it is good that you pointed it out. We should be paying more attention to our goal, not getting distracted every time we enter a new town.” She looked back into the fire. “It’s like a formula. Each time we enter a new town, we find a spot to park our ship, talk to the mayor, then run into somepony with some sort of problem and get ourselves involved in it. That Strawberry pony in Manehattan, the Astras in Trottingham, Trixie in Fillydelphia, and now this reverend. Reverend Green.”

“I don’t know if I like him.”

“He seems fine. I know what you mean, though.” She levitated a sprig of hay and let its tip curl up on a hot coal at the bottom of the pit.

“So… how have you been lately?”

“I dreamed about it the night we left Fillydelphia, but not since.”

“There you are!” Rainbow cried, swooping in from above. “You girls have to see this. Pinkie and Octavia are in a dance circle.”

Twilight stood up, her momentary discomfort lost. Fluttershy looked at her with knit brows, but followed her lead, and the three of them dashed into the barn. Everyone cheered as the musicians supplied a jocund tune, and Rainbow cleared a way to the front of the crowd. Pinkie twirled and jumped with a giant, unfocused smile, but Twilight only watched Octavia, shuffling along with a barely-contained grimace. Ponies still egged her on, and with every flourish, even a twitch of her tail, someone gave a yawp of delight. Even Twilight let herself be swept up in the ridiculous, joyful catharsis, laughing and calling out encouragement.

When Octavia finally managed to escape the circle, replaced with a stranger, she joined Twilight without comment. Rainbow patted her on the back, but she only closed her eyes patiently. They watched Pinkie for a minute longer, and when Octavia moved for the doors, Twilight followed.

“You danced pretty well,” Twilight said. She led the way back to the small fire.

“You flatter me. I do not like my dancing. It is clumsy, and often off-beat,” Octavia said.

“Well, I liked it.”

Octavia sat close to the fire and grabbed a coal in her magic; looking up at the others, she dropped it. “I did not. It is too easy for me to break into a sweat.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve got that problem too.”

“At least you were able to escape Pinkie.” She looked up slowly as Braeburn approached, his happy eyes unseemly with the fire’s reflection.

“There y’are. Ah was hopin’ to catch ya, Miss Octavia.”

“What do you need?”

Braeburn chuckled and held out his hoof. “Ah’d like t’ask if you’d like to be my dance partner. They’re gonna start square dancin’ in a couple minutes!”

Octavia considered for a moment, glancing at Twilight, who offered her an encouraging grin. “Certainly.” She stood with a grunt and walked by his side, out of the circle of light.

Twilight didn’t follow. She leaned back on her hay bale and closed her eyes, reflecting. A pony with a thick accent announced the beginning of the square dancing inside.

“I guess you haven’t seen it, but Braeburn’s really taking a shine to Octavia,” Rainbow said.

Twilight looked at her.

“I thought you could use the company.”

“Thanks.”

Rainbow sat next to her bale. “Yeah, he’s been looking at her all night long. Keeps smiling and nodding at her.”

“I can imagine how she’s been reacting,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, it’s like you’d think. I saw ‘em walking back in together.”

“He wanted her to square dance.”

Rainbow laughed and slapped the hay, rolling onto her back. “Aw, I’ve gotta see that.” She stood up to walk back, but stopped when Twilight turned back to the fire. “Eh, you know, I think I’ll stick with you.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Rainbow sat down again. “So… you all right?”

“I’m all right. You know how it is.”

“Nnnnnot really, actually. I haven’t, you know, dreamed about it.”

“Well… I think I’m okay. Or I will be.”

“You sure?”

Twilight cocked an ear to hear Pinkie inside, calling the square dance. She smiled in spite of herself, in spite of the serious conversation, and fixed her eyes back on the fire. It was still vibrant and low, and her face was warm.

“Twilight?”

“Sorry. Just thinking.”

“Oh.” Rainbow sighed. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“You know, the whole… flashback thing.”

Twilight didn’t avert her eyes. The day had been long, and with the noise from within and glare of the fire in her eyes, she felt dissolved into the night. She knew there were strangers around, but she didn’t care. “Do you really want me to tell you?”

“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Okay.” She blinked and savored the warmth on her muzzle. “It’s like… you’re trapped, in a way. Mm, that’s not doing it justice.” She lowered her voice. It was like she was speaking just to herself. “It’s like, most days, I can get by just fine without really thinking about it. It’s in the back of my mind, but it doesn’t really bother me that much.” She shivered and scooted closer to the flames. “But then something reminds you of it. Something small, like the smoke off the stern, or something big, like when Spring-hoof Jack wrecked that bar. And suddenly, it’s all really clear, and the memories are so strong, you kind of… of lose that sense that they’ve already happened, that they’re complete.”

“Uh huh.”

She looked up. Rainbow was watching her with a patient, unassuming expression, magenta eyes calm in the flickering light. “And it’s really, very easy to lose yourself in those memories, because they’re very powerful.” She stopped to take a deep breath. There was a catch in her throat as she did so. “And… so then, when you do lose yourself, it’s kind of like… like you’re back there, like you’re back on that… balcony. You know, like you, like you just landed, and it’s all happening again. Like, you kind of black out a little bit—at least I do—and I can see the night, and the stars, and those ponies, and I see myself back away, and I see the, the broken…” She dipped her head and felt a hoof on her back. “The broken rail.” She shuddered. “And then everyone else is freaking out, like ‘Twilight, are you all right?’ Like ‘what’s going on with you?’ And I just want to stop sometimes, and, and scream, you know, like ‘what is wrong with you ponies? Can’t you see what’s happening?’ But I don’t, I never do, I, I, I can’t, I can’t bring myself to it, I don’t want to make this even harder, and then I come back and I feel okay, but I’m not, you know? I’m not. I’m, I’m drowning in this pool of horrible, dark thoughts, and this swamp of memories, and everyone else is just swimming around me.”

“Twilight…”

“I don’t even feel like getting out of bed sometimes. Like, I dream about it and I wake up, and I remember, it’s not some distant memory; it really happened. I really experienced that, and then that just brings it back again, and I’ll spend forever in bed just thinking about it.”

“I… I can’t even imagine.” Her voice was soft.

“When…” She trailed off and stared at a pocket in the coals. A shred of hay winked reflected firelight at her, and she focused on it. She could feel her world dropping away. With the burden of expression eased, she felt light and inequine, a statue, content to sit and slowly die before the fire. The warm earth was gone, and the hay under her was too. Rainbow’s hoof retracted, and the noise from inside the barn became a low, throbbing roar. Pinkie’s enthusiastic calling, a scream.

“When what?”

She swallowed, but didn’t move her head. In the distance, someone cried out, and she could smell her own vomit, tinged with the iron of blood. Someone was approaching from above to attack her, but she didn’t look up. She let it come.

“Twi?”

Eyes closed, wet and hot, she feels so tight that she must explode. She feels the impostor just a meter over her head, bearing down. She feels the aching swell of her chest as nothing comes, over and over again. The pulsing, cold night, and fading clarity. One more time, she thinks. What’s the harm?

But it doesn’t come.

She opens her eyes and looks around. She is free, her mind swept clear. Rainbow looks back at her, concerned—afraid, even. She hangs her head. “Nothing.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing happened.” She doesn’t feel happy. She feels stupid, selfish, melodramatic.

“What do you mean, nothing happened? Are you okay?”

“I thought I was going to do it again, just there, just now,” Twilight said. “Talking about it made me think I was going to relive it.”

“And you didn’t?”

“No.”

“Wha—but that’s good. You don’t want that.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“Why?”

“All this talk, and I didn’t even deliver on it.”

Rainbow looked into the fire for a moment. “All right, I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe I’m just being stupid, but you’re not making any sense here.”

“I should have flashed back. Don’t you get it? I should have, but I didn’t. I’m just wasting your time.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on now. Wasting my time?”

“With my complaining. It’s clearly not even that serious.”

“Twilight, look at me.”

Twilight moaned.

“I’m serious. Look at me.” She grabbed Twilight’s head and gently tilted it toward her own. “You are not a waste of time. Not of my time, not of your own time, not of anyone’s time. You are in a lot of pain—more pain than I even knew someone could feel, and that’s not okay with me. I care about you, and how you’re feeling, and that’s serious enough for me.” Twilight tried to avert her eyes, but Rainbow put a hoof to her face. “You said you didn’t flash back this time?”

“No, I didn’t. I was thinking about all the stuff, but… no, I didn’t go back there.”

“Then that’s good. That’s a step in the right direction.”

Twilight nodded, and, for the first time in several minutes, looked around. They were alone. “Where did everyone go?”

“They left,” Rainbow said evenly. “Don’t worry.”

Twilight slowly rose from her seat and sat on the ground beside Rainbow, leaning in to her. “I really appreciate what you’re doing for me, Rainbow Dash.”

“I never leave a friend hanging. If it takes a million more of these weird fire-staring things, then that’s what it’ll be.”

Twilight smiled calmly. “I don’t think it’ll be quite a million.”

It was well past ten when the party stopped, and Twilight was ready to return to the ship. She and Rainbow had spent the remainder of their time outside, only getting up when the fire was out. As ponies shuffled out the barn doors to their homes, Twilight’s group stayed behind to help Braeburn and a few others clean up.

“That was some party, huh?” Applejack asked, coat soaked with sweat. She picked up her hat from the dance floor and dusted it off, smiling warmly.

“It was a wonderful change of pace,” Rarity said. “Though I’m going to need to have at least three showers when I get back. My mane is a fright.”

“Ah didn’t see much of you all night, Twilight. Everythin’ okay?”

“I’m fine,” Twilight said. “Now.”

“Now?”

“I’ll catch you up on the ship.”

They moved the hay bales out of the barn, and before they left, Braeburn stole a hug from Octavia.

As they walked back, Twilight told them what had happened, sparing no details, no matter how they embarrassed her. When they were all on the deck, everyone was quiet, and Rarity went to the side to look out at the country, tail flicking on the wooden floor.

Twilight grabbed her book, next to Reverend Green’s, and flipped through it. “So, the reverend should have the first two ingredients under control, but the last one, we need to get ourselves.”

There was a long silence on the deck: ponies contemplating whether they were satisfied with Twilight’s account of her night. “Only three ingredients?” Rarity asked.

“It’s a simple recipe, though we’ll need to be very careful with our ratios,” Twilight said. “That final ingredient especially is nothing to sneeze at. We need a distilled dream.”

“Uh, what?” Applejack asked.

“It’s the essence of a dream, made into a physical thing. It’s usually a liquid, but you can turn it into a powder or a gas if you’re careful.” She looked closer at a page in her book. “Ponies like to use them for spiritual, metaphysical things.”

“An’ how the hay are we s’posed to get a hold of this?”

“Well, unfortunately, it’s pretty complicated. According to my reading, we’ll need four ponies for the job. Someone to actually have the dream; someone to go in and make sure it’s right for the potion; someone to bring the dream, and the pony who went in, out; and someone to capture and contain it once it’s in our world.”

“Uh… can you do that again? Maybe a little slower?” Rainbow asked.

“Okay. Four ponies. One pony falls asleep and dreams the dream we need. One pony, under a magical spell, will look inside her head and watch the dream, to make sure it’s right for the potion. They’re called ‘divers’, by the way. I guess because they kind of dive into your head, like a regular diver goes underwater.”

“Okay, Ah’m with ya so far,” Applejack said.

“We need one pony to facilitate; she has to hold on to the diver, act as a kind of guide wire. She pulls the diver, and her dream, out when everything’s done.”

“All right.”

“And then the pony who captures the dream once it’s been extracted; she’s called the ‘bottler.’ Since it’s kind of like bottling a butterfly, or a fish or something.”

“I understand,” Rarity said.

“So who’re these ponies gonna be, Twilight?” Rainbow asked.

“Well, hold on. I’m not done. There are some risks involved.”

“As there must be!” Pinkie exclaimed.

Twilight glanced at her. “Right. The sleeping pony probably has it easiest, but she can still be hurt if the dream is extracted incorrectly.”

“What kind of dream does this potion require?” Octavia asked.

“We need a bad dream. A dream about being trapped, or stuck, or something like that.”

“Trapped in what?” Rarity asked.

“It doesn’t matter. As long as the dreamer feels physically immobilized in some way, the dream is good. Now, the diver has the riskiest job, since a part of her goes into the sleeping pony’s mind and interacts with her dreams. It can be very dangerous, and if the diver isn’t careful, she can seriously harm herself, or the sleeper.”

“How seriously?” Fluttershy asked.

“Well… I don’t want to freak anypony out, but there’s a minor possibility of getting lost in the dreamer’s subconscious. Either that, or the diver accidentally opening up old thoughts or memories. You know, introducing forgotten… traumas, or creating new ones.”

“This is soundin’ like a worse an’ worse idea with each thing you say, you realize that,” Applejack said.

“I do, but we have no other options. This is the key ingredient to Reverend Green’s potion, and we can’t get it anywhere else.”

“We can always not do it,” Rarity said.

Everyone paused to look at her.

“I mean, if it’s truly that risky, why should we?”

“Element of Generosity,” Rainbow whispered, shaking her head.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be discerning, darling.”

“We already promised to help him,” Octavia said. “Rather, Rarity did. Continue, Twilight.”

“Uh-huh. Uh… yeah, okay, sure.” She looked back to her book. “The facilitator just has to be alert and pull the diver out if things start looking bad. And if worse comes to worst, she can wake up the sleeper, but something like that is a very easy way to harm the diver; it’s only for emergencies. Lastly, there’s the bottler. The bottler has to cast the right spell at the right time to contain the dream; if the dream isn’t contained properly, or, worse yet, escapes… well, if it’s the right kind of dream, that can do a lot of damage.”

“But that almost never happens, right?” Fluttershy said.

“Well, usually dream distilling is done by professionals; it’s outlawed in Canterlot, I know, as well as Ponyville.”

“Probably not out here,” Applejack said.

“No, probably not.”

“So who’s the lucky pony who gets to sleep through all this?” Rainbow asked.

“Well, we need two unicorns for the facilitating and bottling, so Rarity and I are automatically out.”

“My horn is injured,” Rarity said.

“Oh. Right.” Twilight looked at the others. “Okaaaay, this is a little weird. Um… Octavia? How would you feel about taking her place?”

“Why me?” Octavia asked.

“The way I see it, it has to be you, Pinkie, or Fluttershy, and you’ve spent the most time learning magic.”

“How complicated is the spell?”

Twilight looked back to her book. “I’m not entirely sure. This brand of magic is pretty far outside my wheelhouse, to be honest.”

“Then how do you expect me to do the job?”

“Ask Green,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, ask that creep,” Applejack said.

“You’re still bothered about what he said about Big Mac, huh?”

“He’s got my suspicions up, let’s just say that.”

“If you want, Twilight, I will volunteer to be the diver,” Octavia said.

“Mm, that sounds better. You won’t have to do any magic that way, and I can just as Reverend Green to facilitate. Now, as for who sleeps. We need someone who has a fairly stable, easy-going mind, who isn’t going to have dreams that fluctuate wildly. Pinkie, that puts you out.”

Pinkie put on a pout. “Awwwwwww, shucks!”

“Pinkie, I bet you couldn’t even fall asleep with us standing around you like that,” Rainbow said.

“Yes I can! Watch me!” She collapsed onto the deck with a heavy thud and a giggle, and Rainbow poked her side, prompting a spasm of laughter.

“It’s gotta be Fluttershy,” Applejack said. “Ah got fairly peaceful dreams, but Ah’m not sure Ah’m comfortable with y’all runnin’ ‘round inside my head.”

“Um, I can do it,” Fluttershy said. “As long as you’re sure I’ll be okay.”

“I’m as sure as I can be,” Twilight said, pausing to give her a smile, which she didn’t return.

“And you’re gonna be the bottler?” Applejack asked.

“I guess I have to be.”

“When are we doing this?” Rainbow asked.

“Not tonight,” Twilight said. “I still need to do a ton of reading about it. Maybe tomorrow night?”

“Oh, that sounds… great,” Fluttershy said.

“You’ll be fine, Fluttershy!” Pinkie cried. “You just gotta make sure you’re super sleepy when Octavia’s ready to jump into your brain!”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep with that hanging over my head.”

“Twilight, will it be the same if we give her, like, a sedative or something?” Rainbow asked.

“I doubt it. Drugs tend to mess up the dreaming process pretty bad,” Twilight said. “I’m going to my room.” She lifted her book and vanished below the deck. Outside, Big Mac’s large shadow slowly moved down the road.

Dream Diving

Chapter Forty-three

Dream Diving

Octavia was passed out at the foot of the bed, and Twilight read about dream distillation with Pinkie curled up beside her. She perked her ears at the sound of hooves on the deck, but only got out of bed as it moved down the stairs. When she opened the door, Reverend Green was right there, his horn alight. They both started back.

“What do you want?” she asked. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Rouse the others and come with me. I want you to see Miss Ringlet.”

Twilight closed her eyes for a moment. “Why do we need to do this right now?”

“Just come. I will wait on the deck.”

She waited for him to go before turning back to her room and bumping into Pinkie, right behind. “Oh. You heard.”

“Octy’s sleeping, for once,” Pinkie whispered.

Twilight nodded and gathered the others, and they met Reverend Green by the gangplank. He didn’t say anything, and they walked back down into the town, chilly in the darkness.

Miss Ringlet’s house was not far, and he stopped them before its porch. The upper floor’s windows were lit. “She is being watched by her parents. Enter and ask to see her; they know to expect you.”

“An’ where are you gonna be?” Applejack asked sleepily.

“Behind. Hopefully unseen.”

“Is she gonna attack us?” Rainbow asked.

“I imagine not. That station, she seems to have reserved for me alone.” He climbed the few steps and knocked on the white door, and a concerned-looking earth mare answered. She admitted them without a word.

The house was spacious and still, illuminated by soft candlelight from a small chandelier on the ceiling of the two-story living room. From where they stood in the middle of the narrow room, they could see both floors, as well as the den and anteroom through arches on either side. A covered boudoir piano sat in the corner.

The mare calmly led them through the anteroom and up a tight fold of stairs, into a restrictive corridor. The only light that shone naturally was the meager starlight through curtained windows, and the mare lit a tiny bead of pink light, throwing the entire hall into a ghastly rose relief, like the throat of a massive beast. They had to walk two-by-two, all the way to the end, where a decorated door stood by the only un-curtained window. She knocked twice, and a demure voice bade them enter. She nodded to Twilight and Applejack, at the front, and flattened herself against the wall to let the others pass.

Miss Ringlet sat up in her plush, disturbed bed. She looked younger than Twilight, with smooth, smoky-blue fur and a dull gold mane, with sharp yellow eyes. They crowded in, careful not to come close to her bed. When the six of them had assembled before her, they resembled less a group of visitors and more a procession of interlopers, uncomfortable in the dark room.

“You may come closer,” Miss Ringlet said in a small, willowy voice. “She’s asleep right now.”

“Who is ‘she’?” Rarity asked.

“The other.” She looked down, and they could see the impression of ashamed grief on her face. “That is why you all are here, is it not? To bear witness to my affliction?”

“We were actually hoping to help you,” Twilight said. “We know of a potion that can cure you of… whatever it is that’s wrong.”

Miss Ringlet didn’t respond. She raised her eyes again and connected with Twilight’s, but slowly, her attention slid away. She stared past and through them, lips parted only slightly.

“Are you still with us?” Pinkie asked.

“Yes. Yes, sorry.” She didn’t move. “I’m worried she might wake up. Thinking about her can do that.”

“How did this happen?” Rarity asked.

“I don’t know. I wish I did.” She blinked and looked at them. In the unaccustomed light, given only by a trio of candles behind them, she looked like an inequine shadow, the sheets around her waist like the displaced earth. Her head cocked to one side suddenly, and she let out a tiny gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Twilight asked sharply.

Miss Ringlet sunk down into her sheets. “She’s up.”

Everyone took a step back, except for Pinkie, who craned her neck to get a better angle on the sinking pony.

“What do we do, Twi? Do we try to get him in here?” Applejack whispered.

“No!” Miss Ringlet cried. “Please, don’t.”

“It might be fer the best.”

“Please.” She slid up over her blanket and crawled down the bed, yellow eyes glinting. They backed up again. “Please don’t bring him in.” Her voice turned to a hoarse whisper as she lay prone, her head rubbing into the sheets. “She doesn’t like him.”

“This is starting to freak me out,” Rainbow whispered, looking significantly at Twilight.

“Can she talk to us?” Pinkie asked.

“Please, can we not?” Rarity mumbled plaintively. She, of all of them, was the farthest back, and trying to hide behind Applejack.

“Let her talk.” Pinkie moved to the bedside and looked Miss Ringlet in the eyes. “Can she do that? Will she try to hurt us if we just want to talk?”

Miss Ringlet stared past Pinkie for a second, deep in thought. “No. N-no, she says she won’t.”

“Then let’s do it.”

“Pinkie, no,” Rarity moaned, but Miss Ringlet was already gone again, her eyes far away, her mouth making silent words. She slowly reclined her head into the mattress until she was almost looking at the headboard, then quickly relaxed, falling into a still form, utterly unchanged from before.

“You okay?” Rainbow asked.

She moved quickly, springing up to look at her questioner. “You have to help me.” Her voice was suddenly hard and serious.

“Wait, yer the demon now?” Applejack asked.

“Demon, ghost, spirit, symptom of insanity, whatever, it doesn’t matter. All that does is that I have to get out.”

“Out of where?” Pinkie asked.

“Out of here. This accursed body, this room. We stay here all day because no one trusts her to go out on her own.”

“How do we get you out?” Twilight asked.

She turned and buried her face in the sheets, producing a long, enraged growl. Hooves shuffled outside, and she raised her head. “I don’t know. Don’t you think I’d get out myself if I knew how?”

Someone knocked on the door, and Miss Ringlet whipped around. It opened, and as soon as the ball of light entered the room, she let out a shriek.

“Out! Leave me alone, damn you!”

“What are you doing here?” Reverend Green shouted, thundering to the bed. His amulet hovered before him, and Miss Ringlet cringed away with a howl. “Let her go, spirit!”

“Green, stop!” Pinkie cried.

“In the name of your goddess and ruler, Luna, begone!”

Miss Ringlet tumbled off the bed and pushed past Pinkie and Rainbow, trying for the back of the room, but recoiled away as Reverend Green thrust his amulet into her face.

“Back, demon! Begone from this mare!” He pressed the small decoration to her skin, and she released a visceral, throaty bellow as she flailed back into the wall, a hoof coming up to try to swipe the object away. Her back hooves struck the paneling with a strong snap, and she jerked her head violently as he pushed the amulet close again.

She spat another inarticulate scream and tried to slide across the wall into the corner, and Green followed her, broadening his stance to keep her trapped.

“Out! Get out of there!”

She thrashed again and let out a long wail, and when he thrust the amulet again, she broke from the wall to dive at him. He backed away, the insignia before him like a shield, and she fell short, straining against her own powerful aversion to his object.

“In the name of the goddess of the night, I compel you, leave us at once!” He came forward once more and pushed the amulet to her forehead, and she screamed again, her eyes closed and her teeth shining. He relented, wrapping a foreleg around her neck to bring them face-to-face. “What are you doing here, demon?”

“Let me go!” she snarled, and he thumped her on the head with his amulet. She rewarded him with a sharp bark of pained anger.

“In Luna’s name, I command you to leave us,” he said. “Leave us, demon. Leave us at once.”

She twisted violently in his grasp, but his foreleg didn’t buckle, and she remained facing him. The smell of sweat tinged the stuffy air.

“Begone!” He pressed the amulet to her head again, but didn’t relent at her scream, holding it in place until her wail became a cry of anguish. She tried to make herself smaller against the wall, but he followed her. Her legs pushed weakly across the floor, and she turned on to her back, gasping and yelping. With a final, frail twist, she collapsed, and was motionless. Reverend Green kept his amulet pressed to her for a minute more, then retracted it, his face sick.

“Did it work?” Rarity asked.

“No,” he said shortly. “This is how it always is. The demon retreats into her body, and I can’t go in after her.” He sighed and put the amulet back around his neck.

“So she’s still possessed?” Twilight asked.

“Yes.” He wrapped her in his magic and lifted her back to the bed, then replaced the sheets over her. He bent down to put an ear to her chest. “She will wake tomorrow with only the faintest memory of this incident. I… have not told her how these are going. I do not want to worry her unnecessarily.”

“Shouldn’t you be bein’ honest with her?” Applejack asked.

“She will not benefit from knowing the details of her torment.” He adjusted her pillow and went into the hall. They could hear him conferring with Miss Ringlet’s parents, and when their hoofsteps faded down the hall, he returned. “Come.”

They followed him outside, and he stopped a distance from the porch. Under the moon, just beginning to wane, his weathered features looked harsh and sharp, as though cut into tired stone.

“Have you researched the dream potion yet?”

“Yes, but we need someone to be our facilitator,” Twilight said.

“I would, but my horn is injured,” Rarity said.

“Say no more, my sisters,” Reverend Green said. “I shall take that job upon myself. It’s the least I can do in return for what I am about to ask.”

“Ah knew it,” Applejack said.

“What do you want us to do now? Catch a criminal? Impersonate someone for an indefinite period of time?” Rainbow asked. “Do you have another incredible magic machine you want to show off?”

“What? No, nothing of the sort,” Reverend Green said, backing up a step. “I only ask that you stay longer.”

“Oh, Octavia’s not gonna like that,” Applejack said.

“The potion requires concentration of scarlet pimpernel, and there was none in Dodge Junction. I special ordered some, but it will be a few days before it arrives.”

“That’s all?” Twilight asked.

“That’s all.”

“That’s not so bad,” Pinkie said, adopting a southern drawl. “It just means we can’t roll on outta here like we wanted to!”

“And I do apologize for what I put upon you all,” he said, bowing his head. “I realize you don’t have to stay here after today.”

“No, it’s fine,” Rarity said. “Helping that poor mare is just as important.” She yawned and put a hoof to the base of her horn. “Oh, dear. Um, I don’t wish to be impertinent, but do you need us here any longer? I’m quite tired.”

“Oh, no, no! My apologies, dear sisters. Please, go to your ship. Twilight, when did you want to go dream diving?”

“I’d like to be ready tomorrow evening, if I can,” Twilight said.

“I’ll be sure to speak to you before that.” He shook her hoof and walked the other way, disappearing into the shadow of a small house.

* * * * * *

“Do you think being watched makes me harmless?” Noteworthy had Allie Way cornered in her own living room, his eyes narrow and angry. It was past midnight. “Did you think you would get away with it?”

“I haven’t laid a single hoof on her, you sociopath,” Allie hissed. Her eyes were angrily narrowed to match his, but she slid closer to the bookshelf by her side, putting only an inch more between them. “Don’t even pretend you’re looking out for her.”

“I am!” He shook his head and slammed a hoof to the wall to block her movement away from him. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it ends here. I’m still the leader of the Ponyville Datura. I have pull in ways you can’t imagine.”

“Are you gonna sic Spike on me?”

“Leave him out of this,” Noteworthy growled.

“Him? Why not me? Why in the name of all that’s holy are you trying to keep up this charade? We both know it’s you!”

He snarled. “You disgust me, Allie Way. Mark my words, the instant, the instant I get proof that you’re behind this, I will personally see you in prison.”

“You don’t scare me.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. “The truth will out, Allie. Until then, watch your back.”

Colgate had watched Spike, without his pegasus friends, go to the Datura field with Zecora the next morning. It was eleven o’ clock, and she was looking over a chart while a patient lay before her, counting down from ten with a mask over her face.

She limped to the other side of the operating table, her back leg sending twitches of pain through her pelvis with each step. It wasn’t serious, but she had it splinted, just in case. The nurse gave her a smile that she falsely returned through her own mask, and she lit her horn to guide a breathing tube down the patient’s throat. When it was secure, she looked at the shaved section of flesh before her. “Scalpel.”

She took the instrument and made a long incision across the pony’s shoulder joint. Floating the blade back and replacing it with a cotton swab, she looked up briefly at the viewing window—one thing she never liked about the Ponyville hospital. She looked back down sharply, shocked; Berry Punch peered in on her, Derpy to her side.

“Everything okay?” the nurse asked.

“Perfect. Self-retaining retractor.” She carefully positioned the tool and slowly, slowly slid it open, exposing the patient’s subcutaneous tissue. She stole another glance at the ponies outside. She knew why they were there, but frowned to herself to think of it. It was not something she had foreseen, though she knew she should have.

“Doctor?”

She glanced at the nurse, realizing then that she had again paused in her procedure. “Sorry. Preoccupied.”

“Is it your leg?”

“Yes.” She let the instrument stay where it was. “Scalpel.”

Three hours later, the patient was asleep in a different room in the hospital, and Colgate was just finishing a meeting with the physical therapist. Ordinarily, her medical assistant handled all the post-surgical talks, but she wanted to prolong talking to Berry and Derpy.

When she returned to her office, they were outside, not speaking. She gave them a smile, and the three of them went inside together.

“Are you okay?” Berry asked.

“It hurts, but I’ll live,” Colgate said, sitting down at her desk. She had a stack of charts to look over, as well as a list of messages she needed to answer, but instead, she looked at the two ponies. She forced a pleasant smile.

“How does this keep happening?”

She slowly lifted a pen off her desk and toyed with it in the air. “I don’t think that what’s really happening here is what you think is happening.”

“Well, Noteworthy’s being watched,” Derpy said. “Did they get the wrong pony?”

“No, they got the right pony,” Berry said. “He’s just sneaky.”

Colgate smiled humorlessly. She wasn’t comfortable with what she knew she had to do. “That’s not it either.”

Berry gasped. “Is Derpy right? Do they have the wrong one?”

Colgate made a show of looking away and breathing deeply. She let her face rest unhappily, and spent several seconds staring at her credentials on the wall. “This has to be a secret between us. I had hoped to keep you out of it, but I guess I can’t hide this on my own after all.”

“Who’s doing this to you?” Derpy asked, both of them coming close to her desk.

She looked between them quickly to make sure the door was shut. “Allie.”

Berry’s eyes sprung open and Derpy’s jaw dropped, and Colgate held back a grin at their reactions. It was a full minute before Berry managed a complete response. “Her?”

Colgate only nodded, eyes to her desk.

“That nag,” Derpy said. “That… that audacious, unbelievable nag!”

“Let’s keep our voices down,” Berry said.

“Sorry.”

“Colgate, Allie’s trying to play us.”

Colgate looked back up at her with an expression of alarm. “What? How? What do you mean?”

“She was fuming to us earlier,” Derpy said. “She said Noteworthy confronted her late last night to try to get her to stop. She said he was trying to distract her or something, so he could get closer to you.”

“And then she’s trying to get us to get mad at him,” Berry said. “That manipulative… ugh, I don’t even know.”

“Wait, how does Noteworthy know?” Colgate asked.

“He must have seen something,” Derpy said.

“Interesting.”

“That’s why she was the first to tell the mayor,” Berry said, eyes wide. “Because she didn’t want anyone to keep wondering about it.”

“Everyone would just assume it was Noteworthy escaping watch,” Colgate finished, nodding. “I have to admit, that’s kind of genius.”

“It’s sociopathic,” Derpy said.

“It almost worked,” Berry said. “We almost believed her.”

“Why didn’t you tell the mayor, though?”

Colgate looked down again. “I’m starting to think I should have. I don’t know, though. You know how everyone assumes Noteworthy can escape the police watch? Allie, I know, actually can.” She lowered her voice. “She told me this.”

“Colgate, no,” Derpy said. “You can’t let her bully you like that.”

“What else can I do? I already helped her frame Noteworthy. If I came forward now, she’d kill me, if I didn’t get arrested.”

“It looks like she’s not far from killing you anyway,” Berry said, indicating her splinted leg.

Colgate sighed. “It’s only when she gets mad,” she mumbled.

“That doesn’t matter!”

“Yeah. If she’s doing this, it doesn’t matter why. It’s not justifiable,” Derpy said.

“What is she even trying to get you to do?” Berry asked.

“I have some information on her that she wants kept quiet,” Colgate said. “I can’t tell you what it is.”

“This has to be some pretty serious information for her to be so abusive towards you,” Derpy said.

“It’s bad. I’m sorry, but I can’t say more.”

“That’s not important anyway,” Berry said. “What is is getting you out of this.”

“No.” She paused, having spoken too quickly. “I mean, I know what you’re thinking. Girls, you can’t interfere. I’m the only one who knows what’s going on; if you suddenly do too… do I have to say it?”

“You can’t keep going like this,” Derpy said.

“Hang on,” Berry said. “Noteworthy knows.”

Colgate looked down at her leg. “She said this was a warning. She doesn’t think I snitched—and I didn’t—but she said it’s better to be safe than sorry. Maybe she wants to try to make the police tighten their watch on Noteworthy, I don’t know.” She put her head on the desk. “That’s what this comes to. Her, Noteworthy, me, and now you two. I just don’t know. I just don’t know what’s going on anymore.” Her voice rose incrementally. “All I know is he does something, and I do something, and something ticks her off, and then I pay for it, and then he pays for it. I just. Don’t. Understand.” She picked up a piece of paper and held it aloft, as if to tear it in a minor demonstration of anger, but instead let it fall. “I graduated from the best med school in Manehattan. I was a resident of four years with one of the best orthopedists this side of the Everfree. I’m smart, and driven, and have the steadiest… freaking horn in Ponyville.” She glanced back at her credentials. “I shouldn’t have gotten myself involved in this. I should have seen the signs earlier, done something about it.”

“No, no, stop right there,” Berry said. “I’ve seen you do this before. We’re not playing ‘how is Colgate to blame?’ again.”

“The simple truth is, sometimes life really sucks,” Derpy said. “I’m not saying you handled it as well as you could have, but she manipulated you, and this whole situation. There’s not a lot you can do against someone that sociopathic.”

“A lot of good that does me now,” Colgate said.

“It’s not gonna get better if you keep defending her,” Berry said.

“I have to.” She put her head on the desk again, tapping her horn harder than she would have liked. A twinge of pain shot through her head and down her spine. “Like I said, if she finds out that you know, my life is in even worse danger.”

“We can’t just sit back and let this happen.”

“You haven’t seen her when she gets mad,” Colgate said. “She’s a different pony. I… I can’t stop her. It’s like she blacks out or something. Just turns into this enraged, shouting monster. It’s difficult to describe.”

“Can I just say, you seem remarkably composed, Colgate,” Derpy said. Berry looked at her briefly.

“‘Seem’ is definitely the operative word. I’m a wreck inside, you know.” She made eye contact with them both. “I haven’t been eating very well, either.”

“Colgate,” Berry said sternly.

“I know. It just seems so pointless, you know?”

“Seriously, something has to happen.”

“I know.”

They were all silent for a time. “Well… if it’ll truly endanger your life, I can’t really do anything,” Derpy said.

“She’s right,” Berry said. “But I’m not giving up. We’ll just have to find an indirect way to help you.”

Colgate shook her head in resigned bafflement. “If you can do it without setting her off on me… but she’s smart, and paranoid. I don’t know how you’d do it.”

“We’ll find a way,” Derpy said. “I promise.”

“She’s not the only smart pony here,” Berry said. “And if Noteworthy figured it out on his own, others can too.”

They exchanged final looks and parting words, and Derpy left. Berry stayed behind. She looked at Colgate, who had gone back to her charts. “Colgate.”

Colgate recognized her tone of voice. She and Berry had been friends since college, after a chance meeting at an extracurricular event. She looked at Berry patiently.

“I’m proud to say that I’ve known you the longest, and I’m one of the only ponies who knows the whole story about you.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’m sorry if this sounds like an accusation—it’s not. But… does this have anything to do with your condition?”

Colgate shook her head. “Not one iota, Berry. I—”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Berry said, breaking into a weak smile. “You’ve never lied to me, Colgate.”

“Thanks.”

Berry shuffled in place, then went around the desk to hug the blue unicorn. “You’ll be okay, all right?”

“I hope so.” She watched Berry leave with an expression of mild mollification, and when she was alone, turned to her messages. “You’ve never lied to me, Colgate.” It didn’t bother her.

Sunset. Fresh from a session in the field with Zecora, Spike had only a couple minutes to start dinner before Flitter was due to show up. With her and Cloudchaser absent from the Datura, he found himself missing them almost as painfully as he had missed Rarity, in the beginning.

As he entered the library, head pounding from his lessons, he stepped on an envelope, sealed with an unmarked lump of tallow wax. Picking it up, a thought entered his mind, and he looked back to make sure the door was closed. In the kitchen, he used a single claw to open it.

As you know, I am indisposed, but I am still your commander. You will come to my house the day after tomorrow, at one in the morning, for a briefing on your first mission. You will come alone.

Tell no one of this, not even that you will be doing something at that time. Your mission relies on secrecy. To that end, you must do everything in your power to avoid interaction with Minuette Colgate. The dissent that has appeared around her will only harm you, and the mission.

I am aware of how you feel about me. Put these feelings aside for your commitment to the organization, and to Equestria.

You will knock thrice to show that it is you at my door.

N.

As he looked up from the note, a knock on his own door startled him. Leaving the note open on the table, he went to the main room to allow Flitter inside. She greeted him with a long hug and a small kiss on the bridge of his nose, then crouched slightly to allow him to reciprocate.

They went into the kitchen, where Spike started to prepare for dinner.

“Secret mission, huh?” Flitter asked after a moment of silence.

Spike turned around sharply, and she gave him a mischievous smile. He tried to look stern, but the way her face dimpled when she smiled made his own countenance break, and they shared a laugh.

“Sorry. It was right there.”

“I would’ve told you anyway,” he said nonchalantly.

“Did you get this just now?”

“Yeah. Right before you showed up. I’m not actually sure how to react.”

“Well, it is Noteworthy. He’s…”

“Yeah, I know,” he finished. “Did you see her today, by the way?”

“She came in to the spa to say hi before work,” Flitter said. “Her leg looked bad.”

“Hm. Well, I’m glad one of us gets to still talk to her.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too. Do you think he’s trying to separate you two?”

“I don’t know what to think. I mean, we haven’t talked in a while now, so I don’t know what he thinks I’m gonna go do.” He sighed and got out a knife to chop his vegetables. “I do miss her, though.”

“She doesn’t honestly seem that torn up about everything that’s been going on,” Flitter said.

“How?”

“I dunno. She seems weirdly calm. But she only stayed and chatted with us for a couple minutes, so…”

“Huh. Yeah, I’d like to catch up with her. Maybe after this secret thing, she can I can hang out again.”

“Let’s hope. You need any help, by the way?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He diced a parsnip and slid it into a large pot with carrots and potatoes.

“So, you’re comfortable with this?”

“What do you mean? You mean this? Talking?”

“Not going out. Me sitting at the table while you do all the work.”

“It’s really not that big a deal,” he said, anticipating her response.

“I think it is, Spike. You shouldn’t have to do all this for me.”

“Flitter, it’s fine. You can’t cook. It’s not a problem, really.”

“If you say so,” she said reluctantly. “You’ll let me know if there’s something I can do to help, won’t you?”

He was quiet a moment. “I promise, as soon as I need someone, I’ll tell you.”

She smiled. “Thanks. Am I being too needy?”

He turned on the stove. “Not at all.” He watched the fire caress the bottom of the pot, filled with water and vegetables. He could feel her behind him, trying to read the back of his skull. He didn’t want to look at her, lest he betray any impatience. “How’s the spa doing?”

“It’s great. Now that Cloud and I don’t have to worry about the Datura messing up our lives, we’re free to pamper ponies again. I couldn’t believe how much they missed us.”

“I bet they were really happy when they found out you were back.”

“Someone even said she liked us better than Aloe and Lotus. In fact, now that I think about it, I think that was Colgate.”

“Oh, like she ever went there before you two showed up,” Spike said with a smile.

“I know, right? No, she said that Lotus and Aloe were always a little invasive, she thought.”

“Psh. I used to go back when Twilight and all them were here. Aloe and Lotus were discreet as anything.” He looked up slightly, out the top of the window. “Lotus really knew how to touch a dragon.”

Flitter laughed. “I remember the first time I had to massage you, Spike. Your body is weird. No offense.”

“None taken. I kind of like being the only dragon in Ponyville.”

“It’s nice to be unique.”

He looked back at her, but she only gave him another smile.

“I’m really curious about this secret mission of yours.”

“I’ll tell you about it after I talk to him.”

* * * * * *

That same day, in the afternoon, Twilight was in her room studying dream diving. Rainbow was having an afternoon flight over the frontier town, and everyone else was on the deck. Twilight could hear occasional bursts of jubilation from Pinkie, wound up from eating the entire top tier of her giant cake.

Octavia stood on the deck, watching ponies move and work in town. It was relaxing in a way, seeing others run out their lives without the worries she wore constantly. In the miasma, she spotted a cream-coated stallion heading toward the ship. Braeburn, she recognized, and leaned out slightly to acknowledge that she had seen him.

He stood below her and looked up with a squint and a grin. “Howdy, miss Octavia!”

“Hello,” she said, as pleasantly as she could—it sounded like her usual tone.

“Ya busy?”

She looked at the others. Pinkie and Applejack talked and laughed together, while Rarity and Fluttershy were working with each other’s manes near the torch. “Not at all. What do you want?”

“Ah was wonderin’ if you’d like to have lunch with me.”

“Only me?”

“Yeah, if yer up to it,” he said with a hopeful smile.

She made a show of thinking for a moment, knowing already that she would accept. Life on the deck was only more interesting than the sleepless nights, with everyone else talking more naturally and pleasantly with one another than with her. She nodded and descended the gangplank, giving a casual goodbye to her friends. When she joined Braeburn on the ground, he beamed at her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.

“Does it gotta be anythin’? Ah just wanted to see ya. Ah feel like we got to know each other a little bit last night, an’ Ah figured you’d like to finish the job, so to speak.”

“I understand.” She looked at him with her best attempt at a soft expression, and he took off at a robust clip back into the town.

“So what do ya think of life on the frontier?” he asked with a smirk. “Probably a bit different from what yer used to, huh?”

She smiled to herself. “I have ridden the Astra Crow over Trottingham, and you want me to be impressed by dust and apples.” “Yes, it is rather different, I confess.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “It takes some gettin’ used to, that’s fer sure.”

“Where are we going?”

“If it’s all the same to you, Ah was gonna suggest we eat at my place. Ah know my way ‘round a kitchen.”

“As long as I do not have to eat ship rations, I will be happy.”

Braeburn laughed again, and they reached the outskirts of town, near the southern corner of the apple orchard. A little house sat just on the edge, where the trees gave way to the city. “Well, here we are,” he said, opening the creaking door. “Make yerself comfortable. Ah’ll start preparin’ our lunch.”

“Nonsense; it would be presumptuous and selfish of me to let you do this on your own. I will help you,” she said.

“Well, gosh, if you want to. Ah was just gonna whip up some apple cobbler; t’ain’t nothin’ difficult.”

“I insist.”

He smiled wide and clapped her on the back. “You got it! If ya don’t mind my sayin’ so, Miss Octavia, yer nothin’ like the other Canterlot ponies Ah’ve met.”

“Why does everypony assume that I am from Canterlot?”

“Yer not?”

“I am from Hoofington, born and raised.”

“Oh, my apologies. You carry yerself with such dignity, Ah just thought—”

“Do not worry.”

“Right, sorry. Ah’ve got a cousin in Hoofington, Ah think. Red Delicious; ya met him?”

“I have not.”

“Aw, too bad.” He slid a peeler over to her. “Ever used one of these?” She grabbed it with her hoof and began working on an apple, and he chuckled. “Guess so. So, why exactly are ya here? How’d you get to know Applejack an' her friends?”

“It was a chance meeting.”

He looked at her for a minute. “Is that it?”

“It is a long story, one I tire of telling. Besides, it does not matter. I am here now.”

“That y’are.” They peeled in silence for several minutes, during which he kept looking at her. He opened his mouth a few times, but only finally spoke when she had gotten the dough out of his tiny fridge. “Yer a traveler.”

“We all are.”

“Before this, Ah mean. You were a musician of some repute.”

“I was, yes.” She thought. “I suppose I still am.”

“Y’ever been to Snowdrift?”

“The closest I have ever been to Snowdrift was a show I played in one of the factory towns to the south. It is not an experience I would care to repeat.”

“Ah had to go into Snowdrift once.”

“Really?”

“We trade our apples with ‘em. We give ‘em apples an’ apple products, they give us lumber an’ ore. Ah got to go on a train a long time ago, to oversee a shipment. The usual overseer was busy.”

“How is it there?”

“Ah never left the train station, but Ah’ll tell ya one thing, it was darn cold. Didn’t help that Ah went down there in the dead of winter.”

Octavia nodded appreciatively.

“Ah didn’t pack nothin’ warm either. Didn’t occur to me. Ah stood out on the ramp shiverin’ my horseshoes off fer half an hour while two youngin’s took inventory.” He shook his head. “Like you, it’s not an experience Ah’d care to repeat.”

“I imagine we will have to go there sometime,” Octavia said.

“That kooky reverend is from there.”

“You said that, yes.”

“Did Ah tell ya how Ah don’t trust him?”

“Yes.”

“Big Mac said he keeps catchin’ him followin’ him. Givin’ him looks, but shyin’ away when he tries to say hi.”

“Is that right?” She thought for a second. “It is strange that you mention that. Yesterday, when he was visiting us on the ship, he asked about Big Mac. He is your brother?”

“Cousin.”

“Yes. Reverend Green was asking about him. He asked whether we thought he seemed okay.”

“Really? Now that’s interestin’,” Braeburn said. “Ah’m tryin’ to keep an eye on him, but he disappears a lot.” His voice darkened. “He’s very good at that.”

“We are helping him with the possessed pony.”

“Ah, of course.” Braeburn shook his head sadly. “Such a shame.”

“I was not aware that ponies could be possessed by spirits.”

“Yeah, the reverend gave us an impromptu speech the day he saw her the first time, warnin’ us ‘bout the dangers of magic an’ rituals an’ things.” He adopted a mock deep voice. “‘You must be wary of magic you do not understand, for it is ignorance that is the first step down the path of wickedness.’ He’s a hoot. Everypony was eatin’ outta his hooves, too.”

“I do not have much experience with ponies of faith.”

“Ah mean, he’s always nice to me, but Ah don’t trust him, not one bit. How hard was it fer me to talk ‘bout Snowdrift just now? Why can’t he do it?”

“Some ponies are not open about their pasts.”

“Yeah, those that got somethin’ to hide.” He looked at her, and she looked back evenly. For a second, their eyes met, and in his, she saw a hesitant glimmer that she had learned to recognize in others. “So… Ah hope Ah’m not bein’ too forward, Miss Octavia, but Ah sure enjoyed our time together last night.”

“It was nice to get off the ship.”

“Yeah, Ah reckon. Ah reckon too ya can get awful lonely there.”

She thought for a second. “Are you suggesting at something?”

“Well, again, Ah don’t wanna chase y’off or anythin’, but Ah’d be lyin’ if Ah said Ah didn’t think there was maybe a little somethin’ to all this.” He gestured at the two of them. “Ah quite enjoy yer company, even if it is a little quiet.”

“Stop.”

He looked at her with mild hurt.

“Braeburn, I think you are a very nice pony, but I sincerely hope that you are not interested in me as anything more than a friend.”

“What? Uh, I, uh—”

“I am gay. No stallion has a chance with me.”

He blushed and looked at the oven window. “Cobbler’s still got some time to go,” he mumbled.

“I am sorry if I have led you on in any way. It was not my intent.”

“No, Ah understand. Ah shouldn’t have tried so early anyway. We hardly know each other.” He looked at her, and when she didn’t speak, cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh… Ah mean, maybe Ah did jump the gun a little bit.” He chuckled. “Sometimes it’s hard findin’ a nice mare like yerself here. Everyone’s worried ‘bout farmin’ an’ workin’, it’s like lookin’ at mirror images of myself sometimes.”

“You are not happy here?”

“No, Ah didn’t say that. Ah love it here. This place is perfect. But…” He sighed, but perked up at a second look at the oven. “Cobbler’s ready!” He took it out and put it on a cooling rack, and spat out the oven pad. When it was cool, they sat around his table in the other room.

“Please, continue,” she said. “What is troubling you?”

“Oh, you don’t wanna hear ‘bout my troubles, Miss Octavia.”

“Some ponies like to know that they can help others by listening.”

“Well, since ya put it that way.” He took a bite and spent some time savoring it. “Wow. Ah hope you enjoy this as much as Ah am.” Meeting her uninterested glare, he lowered his voice. “You might have figured this out already, but Ah’m a pretty exuberant pony by nature. But every time Ah think of findin’ a mate, Ah don’t like the options Ah’ve got here. Ah don’t want someone who’s excitable an’ loud like me, or as hard workin’. Ah want a nice, quiet mare, who knows a thing or two ‘bout the world. Ah want someone who can appreciate the finer points in life, an’ who can show ‘em to me. Ah want a mare that can teach me about life outside of an apple orchard.”

“What makes you think that I can do any of those things?”

“Yer quiet, an’ that’s a start.”

Her fork paused in the air as she released a single, unexpected laugh. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

“So how long you gonna be here?”

Her voice darkened, and the momentary jocularity was gone. “We are waiting for an ingredient to be shipped from elsewhere, so at least four more days. Perhaps five.”

“An’ where ya off to after that?”

“I do not know. So far as I am aware, a decision has not been made. However, the only town left in the northern half of Equestria is my hometown, Hoofington.”

“Ah bet it’ll be nice to get back home.”

She stared at her cobbler.

“Octavia? You okay?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, it will be nice to return home.” She forced a smile, and it seemed to mollify him.

They finished their meal and cleaned up, and Braeburn walked her back to the ship, giving her a brief hug before returning to his own house. She went to the deck and found that nothing had changed in her absence.

They crowded into the bedroom at ten o’ clock that evening. Pinkie, Applejack, Rainbow, and Rarity stood back, while Fluttershy took the bed, Octavia, Twilight, and Reverend Green around her. In Octavia’s absence, the reverend had arrived to discuss the magical logistics of his role with Twilight. He stood close to Fluttershy, looking on her with calm eyes and quietly explaining the process to her.

Twilight’s book was propped on the end table, pulled out to be next to her for quick access—she hoped she wouldn’t need it. With all but a single light out, Fluttershy took a small potion that Twilight had concocted, made to induce nightmares, and tucked the blankets over her hooves and head. They waited in uncomfortable quiet, listening only to her breath, first quick, but slowly lengthening into long, low sighs.

“Okay, Octavia. We need a dream about being physically trapped,” Twilight said. “When you go in, you’ll see the dream as Fluttershy does, but you’ll still be able to speak out here.”

“Like being in a trance,” Reverend Green said.

“How aware will I be of myself outside the dream?” Octavia asked.

“Marginally at best,” Twilight said.

“I’ll do my best to keep a tight leash on you, my sister,” Reverend Green said, his horn pulsing twice, quickly. “But you can’t keep too close to me, else you won’t find anything fruitful in Miss Fluttershy’s head.”

“When you think the dream is okay, just say so, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

“I shall pull you both out, and Twilight shall capture the dream.”

“And you know how to do these things?” Octavia asked hesitantly.

“I’ve been reading about it all day,” Twilight said. “I feel pretty good about it. Plus, I did it once before, years ago. I remember it pretty well—now that I’ve studied up.”

“I have much experience with this variety of magic,” Reverend Green said.

Octavia studied him for a second. “I cannot be hurt in the dream, can I?”

“Not if I cast the spell properly,” Twilight said.

“I understand.”

Twilight gingerly lifted the covers from Fluttershy’s head. Her eyes moved rapidly under her lids, and Twilight looked questioningly at Octavia, who took a deep breath before nodding. Her horn glowed, and Octavia felt her perception dim into nothingness.

When her senses returned, she was flying. Elsewhere, her body stood, and she could feel it distantly, but her conscious mind was with Fluttershy—in Fluttershy. A blur of pink mane wiggled at the top of her eyes, and her back contracted with each wing flap as if the muscles were her own. They were high above an uneven, checkered floor of soft clouds, under the cold, dark blue dome of the endless sky, whipping across the unbroken world.

She was just outside Ponyville, having passed it a couple minutes ago; she knew so empirically. In the same way, she knew that Rainbow Dash was flying ahead of her, but there was no sign of the blue pegasus. Though she knew otherwise, she felt alone in the sky. Alone, and something else that she didn’t immediately recognize. The feeling was abandonment, paralyzing and disorienting, and tinted with anger and worry. Alone in flight, her dream heart pounded madly, the promise of some unspecified consequence floating in her mind and spurring her to fly as fast as she could after the pegasus she knew was faster still. She sped up, and as she did so, Rainbow did the same; a bolt of sadness ran through her mind, more powerful than the standing sorrow she began with, and she felt her waking body jerk involuntarily, not accustomed to the unguarded, intense emotion.

“Octavia? What’s going on?” Twilight asked. It was distant, almost as if Octavia were remembering the question, instead of hearing it in real time.

She thought of her answer, but before she could do anything, her own voice spoke in what felt like the back of her mind. “Nothing damn fly faster, no no no no fly.” She felt her body’s mouth snap close, and distantly wondered what she had just said—the memory was already gone. She felt herself speed up, again with no sign of Rainbow.

“What’s wrong with her?” Rarity asked, just as faintly as Twilight.

Suddenly, and without transition, she was on the ground, and walking calmly to Fluttershy’s house; the sadness was gone, replaced with uneasy tranquility. Her heart still thumped strangely in her chest. She could feel something was wrong inside the dream, but could determine nothing more.

“Twilight, are you sure you cast it right? I don’t think she should be like that,” Rainbow said.

“Just let it happen,” Twilight said.

Octavia entered Fluttershy’s house, but instead of the peaceful cottage space that its exterior suggested, she found herself in a large, open room with thick metal walls, rough with rust and harsh with sickly overhead light. The entire space vibrated and thrummed with an unheard, but felt, sound, like rows of unseen engines. Her legs didn’t move, but she glided out over the floor. Looking down, she was on a small platform, suspended on nothing over an open, funnel floor, at its bottom a pair of large, dark pipes, their empty mouths wide and worn. She floated near the middle of the room, resting above one of the pipes, and her eyes naturally moved to the far entryway. Through a wide, unmarked door, walking with heavy, resounding steps, moved a massive, muscular pegasus, dark brown with a knotted, thick mane. A powerful affection inflated her heart, and despite her peculiar position, she felt safe.

“Twilight, Ah’m startin’ to get worried,” Applejack said.

The stallion stepped to his platform’s edge. He locked eyes with Octavia, who moved to the corner of her own area without thinking. In her head, the affection from before twitched uncertainly. The former sense—that something was wrong in the dream—resurfaced.

She glanced over the edge. The floor sloped dangerously downwards, textured with grime and scratches, and her vision slowly swung out to stare down into the mouth. Hooves firmly planted on the ground, her body wobbled slightly from the dizzy parallax. When her vision returned to normal, the stallion was staring deep into her eyes, aggressive. Withering fear gripped her, but she couldn’t shrink back. She could only stare into his dark, powerful eyes, until just anxiety and desolation remained.

Lost in his eyes and the dim, industrial interior, her thoughts were even more distant. Past the veil of memory, she thought silently. “Does this count? I feel trapped.” Again, a couple words escaped her waking mouth.

“Was that it?” Reverend Green asked.

“Wait,” Twilight said.

She slowly looked away, up the walls and around the room. Everything looked different. The lines and seams in the walls were fuzzier, and the light was thinner.

“Bring her back a little, Reverend.”

She looked back at the tremendous stallion, who hadn’t moved from his spot. Her eyes traced his giant wings, and, for a second, the fear was gone, replaced with soft admiration. He adjusted his weight, and an intense shock of anxiety blasted through her.

“Holy crap! Twilight, look!” Rainbow cried.

With an easy, short motion, he jumped off his platform, and was gone. She had only a second to observe the suddenly empty room, confused, before her own platform disappeared, and she plunged, suddenly headfirst, into the pipe. Fear like she had never known enveloped her as she fell, smoothly for the pipe’s textured interior, into a sickly yellow and orange shadow. She wanted to scream and call out for help, but the sudden, suffocating darkness cut off her ability to think. She slid, straight down at first, but then on a curve as the pipe tightened around her. Her hooves were behind her, and before long, she was pinned inside, caught in the tunnel’s nadir. Her mind seemed to constrict, terrified and confused, and her friends began making a commotion in the quiet part of her mind. She struggled, and for a second, it was real.

“Now! Green, get the dream!” She tried to shout it, but the words came out in a choked-off husk, and the commotion stopped. “Get the dream,” she repeated.

Her world faded slightly, and for an instant—a wonderful, calming instant—she recognized it fully as a mere fantasy. Then, it was gone, and she felt the pipe pitch and turn into further darkness. Someone screamed in the deepest part of her mind, and it was quickly joined by the buzz of panic, faint as her thoughts on a relaxing day. She twisted and turned, and as her orientation dissolved, her physical body seemed to disappear as well. She fell and tumbled, and in her mind, she was crying out. Suddenly, she snapped back to reality, the wooden grain of the floor right in front of her eyes.

“Octavia! Can you hear me? Octavia!” Reverend Green yelled, and Octavia slowly rolled over. “Oh, thank Luna, you’re okay.”

He helped her up, and Octavia looked around. She was sticky with sweat, and her lips felt raw. Before her, her friends were lined up against the back wall, Twilight with a small bottle in her magical grasp and Reverend Green by her side. “Were you successful?”

“I got it,” Twilight said unhappily, holding up the small bottle. A strange, viscous, dark brown fluid churned inside. “Are you okay?”

“I do not know. I feel strange.” She touched a hoof to her face and looked at it: blood. “What happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure. You stood there for a while, and then you said something, then you began crying. Not a lot, but a little, and you started grinding your teeth too. Then, you started biting your lips, hard.”

“I wanted to stop there, but Twilight said to continue,” Rainbow said.

“I remember hearing that,” Octavia said.

“You stayed that way for a while.”

“Then you fell, and began rolling around and flailing your legs, like you were in pain,” Twilight said. “We heard you say to get the dream, and as soon as Reverend Green pulled it out, you began crying again.”

“Much harder,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, you sounded really bad,” Pinkie said. “But then you woke up!”

Octavia looked at Fluttershy, who was awake, and watched with a mildly horrified look. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, I think. It was just a bad dream.”

“I felt everything go blank, and I lost contact with my body near the end. What happened there?”

“That was me extracting the dream,” Reverend Green said. “Unfortunately, Fluttershy woke up at that same moment, which is why I didn’t pull you out.”

“Her waking up expelled me? I thought that you said that was bad.”

“It is,” Twilight said. “That’s why I’m worried.” She looked at Fluttershy. “I’m… afraid you’ll need to stay in bed right now, Fluttershy. I need to do a couple tests.”

“Tests?” Fluttershy repeated, clutching the sheet to her chest.

“Cognitive tests, to see if Octavia’s exiting of your subconscious hurt you at all.” She looked at the others. “Go ahead and go about your business.” Twilight turned to face Fluttershy and deposited the bottled dream on the end table, picking up the book as she did so. Everyone else emptied out onto the deck.

“Are you sure yer gonna be okay, sugarcube? You look a fright,” Applejack said.

“It was a shock, nothing more,” Octavia said.

“What was the dream about?” Rainbow asked.

“It is not my place to say.”

Rainbow shrugged. “I’ll ask Fluttershy about it. So, now we get to wait, what? Three or four more days?”

“Hopefully only that many, yes,” Reverend Green said.

“So what do we do until then?”

“Are you kiddin’?” Applejack asked, laughing. “There’s a big ol’ apple orchard just next to town, an’ yer askin’ what we can do to keep busy?”

“I don’t want to buck apples all day.”

“Well, looks like yer in the wrong town, partner.”

Out, Out

Chapter Forty-four

Out, Out

Spike had enough time for a leisurely stroll back to the library after a surprisingly difficult session with Zecora. In the past, each day in the meadow was a day of sitting and listening, learning about history, the Datura tenets, the importance of observation and secrecy, and other things. However, that morning, she had no blackboard. Instead, they stretched. From his feet to his neck, he ached, almost satisfyingly. She had taken him through a lengthy routine of slow, deliberate motions meant to loosen his muscles and help his flexibility, herself faltering briefly, and only a couple times, to compensate for his draconic physiology. He didn’t say anything to her, for fear of coming across as condescending, but he was impressed at her knowledge of his body. She must have done a lot of research, he told himself.

He entered the library and made a straight line for the basement, his mind clouded and only very slightly ashamed. He had a dinner date with Flitter in twenty minutes, but he knew he could accomplish his task quickly, if he set his mind to it.

Spike arrived at the candlelit table five minutes late, and Flitter was already there, looking through the menu. She greeted him with a hug, and he sat down across from her, relieved that his tardiness hadn’t bothered her. They ordered, and he fiddled with his silverware while she watched.

“Something wrong, Spike?” she asked. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m worried about tomorrow.”

“Hm.” She paused for a moment and looked around carefully.

“What?”

“In case he’s here. I’m not supposed to know, remember?”

“Oh, right.” He scanned the room half-heartedly, knowing she had already determined it safe. “If I could just know what I’m gonna have to do, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Well, it can’t be that horrible,” Flitter said. “He knows you’ve only been in it for…”

“Less than a month,” Spike said. “Wow, it really has been less than a month. That’s crazy.”

“And he’s aware of what Zecora’s teaching you, presumably. It won’t be anything you can’t handle.”

“I hope I don’t have to fight something.”

“You won’t.”

“I hope it’s not another trick.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” She thought for a second. “Eh, never mind.”

He snorted humorlessly. “Thanks.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I know. I guess I know.”

She leaned a little to stretch a hoof to his claw, and he looked into her face. The candlelight wiggling in her clear, sincere eyes was enough to thaw his worry.

He breathed out slowly. “How’s the spa?”

“Good.” She retracted her hoof to give room for their plates, floated over by unicorn waitress. She gave Spike a knowing smirk as she deposited his.

“How’s Cloudchaser doing? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She’s a lot better,” Flitter said. “Still a little pissed at Zecora for pushing us into that pond, but she’s back to her usual self.”

“That’s good. I was a little worried.”

“Oh, she bounces back easy enough. Cloud’s my rock.” They shared a laugh.

“Have you heard anything about Cloudsdale recently?”

“Well, they managed to get their snow production back under control. They had to set up a bunch of sigils inside the snow coil to siphon the excess snow out, before they shut down Discord’s overproducing ones. I think I read that they finally got the area back to normal a couple days ago. A bunch of ponies lost their jobs.”

“Because Discord snuck in and vandalized it?”

“They take security seriously there. It really threw a wrench in the cloud convoy, too.”

“That thing’s still going on?”

“It’s going to go on for a while, Spike. It has to span the entire country.”

“Geez. Well, how close is it to complete?”

“Not. They’re finishing the station over Hoofington in the next couple days, or so I heard. That is, of course, if the facility passes its final authorization. You know, safety, efficiency, worker accommodation. That kind of stuff.”

“And this is interesting to you?”

She giggled. “It should be interesting to you, too. You’re a part of this country.”

“I guess. It’s hard to worry about it when Ponyville is doing so good, though.”

“That’s just proximity to Cloudsdale. The other cities are having some problems.” She paused while the waitress refilled her glass. “Some ponies are speculating that the weather is being unbound in places.”

“Unbound? You mean, like, pegasi are losing control of it?”

“Exactly. Storms have randomly appeared a couple times now. Officially, the princesses say it’s because of Discord’s direct involvement, but not everyone’s so sure. I’ve got a science article at home in Industrial Economics that I really want to read. The abstract sounded pretty interesting, that maybe the weather binding is coming uncoupled because of our distance from the Gaia. The citations were pretty spare, but the core idea might be solid.”

Spike nodded, his eyes empty and his face slack.

“Sorry, Spike. Sometimes I ramble.”

“No, I’m fine. I just don’t follow this stuff as easily as you do.”

“I shouldn’t monopolize the conversation, though. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “If it interests you, I don’t want to make you feel weird about talking about it.”

She looked down at her plate and picked at some food, and they resumed eating without speaking. She blushed slightly, though it was hardly visible in the restaurant’s dim interior.

Spike spent the following day distracted and absentminded. Zecora didn’t ask him what was bothering him, not that he expected her to. When he was finished, despite his fatigue, he took the long way around town, stopping outside the hospital and debating whether to go in. He didn’t, and went back to the library, where he ate dinner alone.

At one in the morning, he stood outside Noteworthy’s house, shuffling his feet nervously with one claw at the door. His first mission.

He knocked thrice, as the letter had specified, and the door opened quickly. He entered, his eyes immediately on the harried, blue stallion. Noteworthy hadn’t changed much. His fur was a little longer, and his eyes had lost some of their luster, but he showed no discomfort as he led Spike to the kitchen, where a single overhead light illumed a round table. On it sat a single, thin vial of turquoise potion.

“Berry and Derpy talked to me earlier today,” he said.

“Did you threaten to beat them up too?” Spike asked, staying by the kitchen entryway.

“Quite the contrary. They helped me to a conclusion that I had suspected for a while now, but could not confirm.”

“Right.”

“When was the last time you spoke with Colgate?” His voice was light, almost casual.

“It’s been a while. You seemed pretty firm about me avoiding her.”

“Good. Yes, it’s best for this mission that you have as little prior conversation with her as possible.”

“Prior?”

“For the next several days, you will need to be in her company.”

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Still outwardly defiant, his mistrust was softened at the prospect of time with Colgate. “…Interesting. Why now, and not before?”

“She’s a dangerous mare, Spike. Your mission is to declaw her.”

“Oh, please. Why are you even trying?” He rolled his eyes dramatically, so Noteworthy could see his derision. “How can she be dangerous? She’s the most even-tempered pony in town, and your victim. I shouldn’t have even come here.”

“You swore loyalty to the Datura, Spike.”

Spike turned partially away, his fists clenched by his sides. “Yeah.”

“I am the Ponyville Datura leader.”

Spike glared at him from across the kitchen. “Fine. What do you want?”

“This potion is… well, not standard, exactly, but common in the Datura recruitment process. As you have found, our line of work can be unavoidably traumatic at times, and there’s only so much lying a pony can do to persuade someone of intelligence to join.”

“Someone of intelligence, huh?”

“Colgate is one such pony. She’s too smart and too firm in her personal philosophy to let us subsume her naturally. This potion is a neat little way to get around that.”

“What are you saying?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but if she drinks this, she will join us. It subtly affects a pony’s thoughts and opinions, until all the negatives about what the Datura represents fade away, or turn to positives.”

“A brainwashing potion.”

“Basically.”

Spike snorted. “You seriously expect me to brainwash my friend into joining your stupid Datura?”

“Yes, I do, and I’m not the only one. My superiors expect it as well.”

“Well, tell ‘em to do it themselves.”

“I would have done it myself already, but I can’t go within twenty feet of her.”

“Then have Zecora do it or something. I’m not gonna.”

“She is outside this team, and has bigger things to worry about than recruiting your suspicious friend.”

“Tough.”

“Spike, just listen. I know you hate me, and I know you don’t trust me. You have good reason for both.”

“Keep talking. It might get you somewhere.”

“The reason I—we—want Colgate on this team is because the time will come that just the three of us will not be enough to hold this town. You don’t know this, of course, but outside Ponyville, there is unrest. I’m not talking far outside, either. Thirty or forty miles away, there are dangerous things being found. The Daturas in those areas are handling it admirably, but Discord’s handiwork is pervasive. It’s moving inward.”

“And you expect one pony to be enough?”

“Colgate will be a marvelous start. She has experience, and for this team, that is gold.”

“You’re still asking me to use our friendship against her.”

“For the good of the city, and probably for her too.” He crouched down to look at the potion, his eye large in its glass. “It does not force agreement, exactly. By the time she’s a part of us, she’ll want it. She’ll wonder why she ever believed differently. The decision will be hers; all this is for is setting her down that path.”

Spike held a finger to his chin as he looked at Noteworthy, and his potion, dispassionately. “So it’s not actually brainwashing. It’s just to help her change her mind.”

“Exactly. Completely harmless.”

“Why her? Why not Allie?”

“Allie comes later. Based on what I’ve seen and heard, Colgate needs to escape her present situation rather more direly than our lanky friend.”

“You don’t say.”

“Not in the same way you think. She’s one conversation away from losing a lot of hard work and thought, I think.” He smiled disarmingly. “Again, this is based on my unconfirmed suspicion.”

“Which is?”

“Not for you to know. I don’t want to color your opinions on her, or me, any more than they will be by what I’m about to tell you.”

“Fine. So spit it out. What more do I need to know before I give her this?”

Noteworthy nodded as he slid the potion over to Spike, who took it. The liquid was translucent, and as he moved the bottle, the blue fluid slowly turned the color of glass. It fit well in his claw.

“Is it more about Colgate?”

“The way you will want to administer that is by mixing it into her water. She keeps a bottle with her at all times, at work.”

“Okay.”

“Have you seen her taking pills at all?”

Spike thought, taken aback at the question. “Not that I remember. Why?” He hesitated. “Is she okay?”

“Yes and no.” He stood and paced before his cupboards. “Colgate… is a very special pony. She takes three pills every day, without fail. One when she wakes up, one at noon, and one before bed.”

“Is she sick?”

“In the head, yes.”

Spike stood apart from the wall, suddenly alert. The words rang in his ears jarringly. “What do you mean?”

“She needs medication to even her out. To keep her that mild-mannered, inoffensive mare everyone in Ponyville knows her as.”

He frowned at the easy way Noteworthy stated it. “She’s crazy?”

“Mentally ill, Spike. She doesn’t connect to ponies like everyone else does, and that causes—caused, rather—lots of problems in the past.”

“How long has she been like this?”

“They put her on antipsychotics as soon as she was of legal age. That was her freshman year of college. To the Datura’s knowledge, she hasn’t gone off them for a single day since.”

“So this is serious.”

“If you are in her office around noon, you can put this potion—all of it—in her water, with assurance that she will drink it before its effects dissipate. A sip is enough. As long as she gets some in her body, the rest will activate when it’s introduced later.” He grinned. “It truly is a work of genius, this potion.”

“I think you’re insane.”

“I didn’t invent it. Now, Spike.” He paused to connect with Spike’s eyes. “The reasons I told you about Colgate’s condition are twofold. First, so you will know when to administer the potion, and second, so you understand why I tell you that she is a dangerous pony. On medication, I doubt she’d harm you. Then again, I doubted a situation like this could arise as well.”

“You mean with you thinking you need to keep her in line.”

“You know what? Sure. Frankly, Spike, I don’t care if you never trust me again. I just want your loyalty.”

“And why, exactly, should I be loyal to you?”

“You think I’m beating on Colgate. Why would I continue to do so if she was in my team?”

“To discipline her.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Again, why should I trust that?”

Noteworthy sighed and dug a glass out of a cupboard. “I’m not going to have you address me like this. I can understand your emotions, but you are a Datura, and you are held to a certain, very high, standard. You have your potion, and you have your orders. Administer it tomorrow, and be by her side while she makes the transition. She’ll need a friend who understands. Zecora knows to not expect you in the field for this time.”

“I’ve got the next couple days off?”

“Spike, get out of my house. If you have any questions, find Zecora.”

“Fine.” He held up his hands as he left. “My pleasure.”

“Oh, and a word of warning, in case you have the sense to take it. Do not tell Colgate that you know of her disorder. I tried to use it against her, and look what happened to me.”

Spike left the house without a response, and walked directly to the treehouse, where he flopped into bed with the potion still in his claws.

He rose in the morning with a huge smile, though it quickly fell back when he remembered what he was going to do that day. He found the little vial in the sheets and studied the liquid in a sunbeam. “So, this is going to make her want to join us,” he said, rolling it around a little. As before, it turned transparent with the motion.

He set it on the breakfast table while he ate, reminding himself a few times that he had no training that day, and was in no rush. The sun caught it like a small jewel, and as he ate, relishing the leisure with which he could do so, he found himself entranced. The innocent-looking bauble glinted at him, and though he mistrusted Noteworthy, he felt no ill will. He was, after all, a part of the Datura, he thought, and orders were orders. Sleep had cleansed him of his anger.

He kept the small vial palmed as he strolled through Ponyville, heading for the hospital with lightness in his steps. “Spike the dragon, Datura, coming through.” He smiled wide and nodded to a passer-by, who smiled back. “These ponies don’t know a thing. They think their lives are so easy. If only they knew.” He restrained a sardonic chuckle. “Imagine what Rarity would say if she saw me now. ‘Oh, Spike, I can’t believe how brave you are, how selfless you’ve become!’ Yeah.” Her voice sounded in his head, slightly muted from time. “‘Such a brave, manly dragon you are.’ ‘Yeah, Rarity, well, I always knew I had a higher calling.’ ‘You must have seen so much.’ ‘Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I have been around some. Have you heard of a little thing called Cloak Pond?’” He chuckled to himself. “Yeah, that’s right.” He edged past a pony to avoid stepping off the road. “Don’t mind me, citizen. Just a part of the thin line that keeps you all safe and sound.”

He wandered into the hospital’s bright lobby, nodding a greeting to Nurse Redheart as he passed her in the hall, and went immediately to Colgate’s area. As he passed the surgery room, he saw her inside, working on someone’s pelvis. Not wanting to be seen, he sped past to her office, which she had left open.

He had never had the opportunity to look around without her there. There wasn’t much to see. Organized stacks of papers lined the desk on one side, with her bottle of water on the other side, alone. She had no decorations, and a small compartment by the wall to store her lunch, sitting under a curtain of her credentials. He took a moment to study them.

Turning back to the water bottle, he uncapped his potion, but hesitated. He didn’t know how long she would be in surgery, and didn’t want to taint her water too early. “Where the heck is her medical assistant?” he mumbled, looking around. He closed his vial and stepped back into the corridor.

With nothing to do, he returned to the surgery room to observe her at work. As he watched her moving the delicate instruments with calm precision, even with her bloodstained scrubs, he thought more on what Noteworthy had told him. Mentally ill. He could almost see it. Her behavior had been strange in a subtle way, not enough for him to seriously question. Her reticence; her constant, mild demeanor. Things that had only ever attracted him for their curiosity.

“Noteworthy could be lying about it, Spike. Trying to drive the wedge between us even deeper. They could be vitamins for all I know.”

She glanced up from her work and met his eyes. She looked back down with no sign of recognition.

“What did he even mean, she doesn’t connect to ponies like everyone else? She has friends. I’m one of them.” He grinned. “And we’ll be even closer when she joins.”

As she continued, his thoughts cleared of his assignment, and he watched her without a care. He couldn’t hear her, but every time her facemask wiggled, the nurse responded immediately. The authority fascinated him. At first, the nurse held all of her implements while Colgate worked with just one at a time, but as the surgery progressed, more and more tools wound up never leaving the tiny cloud around Colgate’s head, and the nurse was often watching more than helping.

When Colgate finished, she stepped around the table into his view for the first time, and he let out a small yelp of surprise. Her back leg was splinted, and she limped with every step. He squeezed the vial in his fist and stared, before realizing what he held, and where it needed to go. He turned away from the window to walk quickly to her office. Looking back at the door fearfully, he uncapped the potion again and poured it in her water bottle, then threw the empty vial in her wastebasket, shifting a couple papers around to cover it. It was a full minute before she entered.

She regarded him with a look of mild offense. “Why are you in my office?”

“Uh… I wanted to greet you.” He walked falteringly to her for a hug, looking to prove his point. She accepted it passively, and he didn’t keep his arms around her for long.

“Well, greetings.” She sat down. “Sorry. I’m very distracted.”

“I can see why.”

“It’s not my intention to make you feel unwelcome, Spike, though I do find your presence rather odd. Shouldn’t you be with Zecora?”

“Oh, her. Well, uh…” He watched her levitate her lunch compartment open and float out a small pill bottle. “I’m not feeling all that great. She gave me time off.”

“You’re feeling bad enough to be excused from training, but you still came here? Spike, I’m touched.” He watched her intently as she took her pill. In half a second, he felt a twinge of guilt stir in his chest.

“What were you doing in there?”

“Pelvic arthroplasty.” She nodded at his confused expression. “Fixing someone’s hip joint. Left side.”

“Oh. That sounds… neat.”

“You don’t have to feign interest for me.” She smiled. “How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“Oh, okay. Can’t complain.”

“I hear you and Flitter are going out.”

He blushed. He wasn’t sure why, but something in her voice put him on the spot.

“Congratulations. She seems like a really nice pony.”

“Oh, she is.” He looked away, embarrassed. What else could he say?

Colgate sighed, and the door closed in a mist of her magic. “I’m sure you want to know the latest on my situation. Is that why you’re so quiet?”

“Well… yeah.”

She frowned, shuffling the charts with her magic. “I think Noteworthy’s trying to manipulate my friends. Berry and Derpy talked to me this morning. They’re not happy.”

“What’s wrong?”

“They think I’m being dishonest.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Don’t worry about me. I have it under control. Watch out for yourself, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to get you to do something to me soon. If he hasn’t brought it up already.” She eyed him closely, and, suddenly, he thought he understood what Noteworthy had meant. In her unyielding, unfeeling gaze, he felt dried up and doubtful. Not a friend, but a factor. She didn’t let up, and, after several seconds, he felt his resolve buckling under her steady gaze. Her eyes didn’t even move. She had him pinned, and, in her expressionless face, he could tell she was thinking intently. She kept her eyes on him until he could feel the first suggestion of sweat on his head, and then she looked back at her charts.

“Uh, I haven’t seen him in a long time. He’s pretty much let Zecora take over for him.”

“Waiting for everything to blow over, I suppose.”

“Huh?”

She turned around quickly. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” She stood up and ushered him out the door, following and closing it. “Sorry, Spike, but I can’t stay and chat any longer. I’m supposed to fill in for Dr. Honeycombs later today, and he has this really spazzy intern. I’m gonna have a headache before I go home, I just know it.”

“You don’t like interacting with that pony?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“She’s too high-energy, and she’s too eager to please.” She hmphed. “I wonder if I can get her to see his patients for me.”

“What’s wrong with seeing patients?”

“I don’t like it.” She suddenly leaned over and scooped him up in a one-hoof hug. “Gotta go. See you later, Spike.”

“See you later, Colgate.” “Not too much later, though.” He exited the hospital and stood just outside, searching for something to do.

* * * * * *

“So all the waiting we did, for stupid Reverend Green’s stupid ingredient for our stupid potion so we can exorcise this stupid demon was for nothing?” Rainbow complained.

“It ain’t hopeless yet,” Applejack said with a sigh. “It only feels that way.”

Twilight faced the deck of disgruntled ponies, minus Octavia, herself just as disappointed with Reverend Green’s news from that morning, but unable to express herself like they could. He had come early to tell her that the shipment from Manehattan, carrying their essence of scarlet pimpernel, had gone missing. Discord’s flying ship was suspected, but his source had no further information.

“Can we order another batch?” Fluttershy asked.

“And wait another four or five days? I say we ditch her,” Rainbow said.

“I hate to say it, but there’s a point where we have to consider our obligation to Equestria,” Rarity said. “I would say that this is it.”

“I hate that choice,” Twilight said. “I think we should try to find another way.”

“Such as?” Applejack asked.

“I…”

“In case you’ve forgotten, dear, while we buck apples and fraternize with these kind ponies, Discord is amassing another bunch of soldiers in that dreadful castle of his,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, uh, are we supposed to go back to Canterlot and help out, by the way?” Rainbow asked.

“We should stay away,” Fluttershy said. “We won’t find any Elements on the battlefield.”

“We might!” Pinkie chirped.

“I’d really rather we don’t get involved,” Twilight said.

“Besides, both us and the princesses are targets,” Fluttershy continued. “We wouldn’t want to consolidate those.”

“Ah’m convinced,” Applejack said. She looked around. “Hey, where’s Octavia? She should be tellin’ us how we don’t got no excuse to stay here any longer.”

“She’s with Braeburn!” Pinkie said.

“Ah shoulda guessed.”

Octavia and Braeburn were stargazing. They had spent the afternoon together, him showing her how to harvest apples and she telling him about the places she had visited. It had been peaceful and tiring, and as she lay in the grass, watching the sky come to life, her mind was quiet. Her eyes, heavy and gritty from lack of sleep, didn’t bother her, even as a dry breeze swept across them from the desert outside.

“An absolutely beautiful way to end the day,” Braeburn sighed. He looked over at her, and she slowly angled her head to do the same. “Somethin’ the matter?”

“I enjoy the quiet.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He repositioned himself and scooted a little away from her, and she closed her eyes. For several minutes, neither spoke, but Braeburn couldn’t stay still. “Ah got a question for ya. Maybe yer worldliness can help me out.”

Her eyes didn’t open. “What would you like to know?”

“Let’s say a pony’s in a position of power. She’s comfortable with responsibility, but only on a small scale—only a couple ponies ever relied on her. But then, suddenly, her decisions could affect an entire town.” He paused and looked at her.

“I am listening.”

“Do ya think she should accept that responsibility, even if she might not be cut out fer it, or should she just do what she knows she can?”

“I do not know. Can you give me more specific information?”

Braeburn chuckled, and she glanced at him. He shook his head at her. “Yer a hoot, Octavia.”

“What?”

“All right, this is what’s happenin’.” He sat up and faced her. “Ah’m one of the main apple ponies here. Me an’ a couple others, our decisions affect commerce between Appleloosa an’ Snowdrift. Ah know, if Ah try fer it, Ah can become the top pony. Ah’ve got a bunch of ideas floatin’ ‘round in my head, but Ah don’t know if Ah wanna go fer it. Ah don’t know much ‘bout economics, ‘sides what ya learn workin’ on a farm all yer life. Ah never went to school fer it, or anythin’.”

“I think that you should do it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You seem level-headed, and you say you have ideas. Why withhold them?”

“Ah don’t wanna mess everythin’ up, though.”

“You will still have your other apple ponies around to help you.”

He licked his lips and smiled slowly. “Ah hadn’t thought of that.”

“Do it. Become the best you possibly can.”

He lay back and looked into the sky. “It ain’t that easy.”

“I am not saying it will be easy. It will be worth it, though.”

“Hmmm. Just a couple more train lines between here an’ Snowdrift will make trade super easy, an’ make us their best fruit supplier.”

“Do it, Braeburn.”

“Ah might have to spend more time in Snowdrift.”

“I am sure you can find a sweater before then.”

He was silent for a mere moment, and then burst out laughing, raucous and wheezing. His hooves pounded the ground as he rolled, and Octavia smiled a little to herself. When he slowed down, he rolled over, a hoof connecting with hers. She drew away, and he rolled back to his spot, clearing his throat quietly. “Uh, sorry.”

“Friends, Braeburn. Only friends.”

“Ah know.”

She turned away from him to look at the thick line of apple trees that ran parallel to his house. She had walked among them for hours earlier in the afternoon, and had watched the sun set from underneath their branches. Their aspect still felt unfamiliar to her. She studied their watchful silhouettes and stopped to squint at a shape, partially hidden behind one of the trees. It didn’t move, but she could tell it was a pony—a large pony. Very little went through her head as she stood up to get a better look at it.

It stayed where it was, even as she approached, focusing her thoughts and preparing for a spell. As she neared, the pony stepped away from its tree. It was Big Mac. He nodded cordially, but she kept her distance.

“Is that Big Mac? Mac, what are you doin’ out here?” Braeburn called.

Big Mac rolled his eyes and looked away, his face cut in a moderate grimace. Octavia opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing, but he turned and ambled away. He disappeared into the thick of the trees, and she considered pursuing him, but did not. Braeburn trotted up beside her.

“That was very odd,” Octavia said.

“He’s been actin’ funny lately. Ah dunno. Listless, Ah guess.”

“I remember Reverend Green asking about him.”

“Yeah, Ah remember you sayin’ that. Ah hate to say it, but he might’ve been onto somethin’.” He squinted at a space between the trees. “He ain’t right.”

“What do you think is wrong?”

“Can’t say. AJ might be able to put a hoof on it better’n me.”

Octavia nodded thoughtfully. “I hope that whatever is ailing him improves. I do not think I should stay, though.”

He protested briefly, but walked her back to the ship, and gave her a goodbye hug, at the same time extorting a promise for her to say goodbye before leaving—soon, she had told him.

Everyone else was already asleep, and she skulked to her room, curling up at the foot of Fluttershy’s bed.

Twilight was the first to wake up the following morning, and while everyone else had breakfast on the deck, she stayed in bed, reading. Her dreams had been filled with the tiny flowers, and ways to grow them—for they would not be found naturally in Appleloosa. Sandy soil, open light, fabricated drippers over rows of shallow plant pots, hidden somewhere in a repurposed bedroom, its usual occupants forced to sleep on the deck for entire, wasted weeks. Her head was neither clear nor rested, even in the instant after waking. Calculations of time and ways to potentially circumvent them filled her thoughts, quickly and uselessly.

She read for an unbroken hour before Pinkie burst into the room to check on her, eating a slice of cake. “Hey Twilight! Find any of those flowers yet?”

“No, Pinkie. We’re not going to find any in Appleloosa, and I can’t think of how else we’re going to get them, aside from growing them ourselves. Which… is not easy.”

Pinkie sat down and cocked her head. “Do tell!”

“Well, to start, it needs to grow in sand.”

“Sand? You can’t grow something in sand!”

“The soil needs to be sandy,” Twilight said irritably. “That way, the roots… Pinkie, what is that?”

“Cake, Twilight! Have you been cooped up here so long that you forgot what cake is?”

Twilight looked at the dessert her friend held. The frosting sagged slightly, and a silver bead sat innocently on the plate next to it. Above it, hanging awkwardly on a curl of frosting, perched a small, red flower. “Pinkie, don’t take another bite.” Twilight got up and looked at the slice she held. Suddenly, every thought she had dissolved, and she could only stare, mouth open. “These garnishes…” The cake had been stippled with tiny red flowers, but Twilight had never looked at them closely. “Pinkie! It’s this cake! This cake is the answer!”

“The answer? What’s the question?”

“Don’t eat any more, Pinkie.”

“Huh?”

She grabbed Pinkie’s face between her hooves excitedly, shaking her lightly. “The flowers on this cake. These are scarlet pimpernels. Oh, I could just kiss that baker!” She grabbed the cake out of Pinkie’s hooves and rushed it to her book. “Yes, there’s no mistaking it. These are the flowers we need.” She floated the plate to an end table. “Thank Celestia.” She slumped back and sighed, releasing all the worry she had pent up since the day before.

“So…”

Twilight waved her off, and Pinkie skipped back upstairs. She reclined in bed and closed her eyes, savoring the weightless relief. Questions and worries slipped away one by one, until she fell asleep again, thinking one short, blissful thought: “I’ve got it.”

When Applejack woke Twilight half an hour later, she skipped breakfast and got right to work extracting the scarlet pimpernels’ essence. Very few, she found, were needed to get the right concentration, for which Pinkie was grateful, eating more of the cake while she watched Twilight work.

Rainbow, meanwhile, had taken off to find Reverend Green and tell him the news.

She climbed to a height of a hundred feet over Appleloosa before scoring a lofty circle over the toy buildings. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun baked her back as she flapped through the dry air, only half-searching for her target. She knew she had time, and hadn’t had an opportunity to properly stretch her wings in a while. She slowly spiraled down onto the desert, noting the thin, shattered thread of train tracks in the distance, uncertain in the haze of heat waves.

She landed on the saloon roof and took a moment to preen her wings. A second pegasus landed next to her, and she gave her a nod and a smile. The pegasus didn’t respond.

“Hey, have you seen Reverend Green today?”

“Went south,” the pegasus said, jutting her chin outwards.

“South?”

She looked at Rainbow, bemused. “South of town? Out. Thatta way.” She pointed at the train tracks Rainbow had looked at. “He’ll be back. He never disappears for long.”

“Thanks.” Not sparing the stranger a look, Rainbow hopped off the roof and tilted herself away, flying back up and away from the town. She cleared the final building in a matter of minutes, and before she could wonder whether she had been lied to, she spotted the telling spot of green in the distance.

It wasn’t difficult to catch up to him, and she landed next to him, at an edge. He didn’t acknowledge her as he stared into the perfect, blue horizon.

“So, what are you doing?” she asked.

“Reflecting. I like to leave town to do so, to avoid prying eyes.”

“Oh.” She wanted him to respond, to stop looking at the distance, but he didn’t. “Uh, sorry.”

“Be at peace, sister.”

She frowned, but sat down, her back to the gap. They were close enough to Appleloosa still for her to make out individual ponies, but it was a few seconds before she recognized the large, red pony approaching.

She got up and half-trotted, half-glided to meet Big Mac, plodding resolutely through the dust outside town. “What the heck are you doing here?”

“Ah thought you could use some help.”

She studied him. “I’ve been hearing about you acting funny ever since we got here. What’s going on?”

He rolled his eyes and took a step closer, stopping at her side and looking down at her expectantly.

“Right, ‘cause you’re so shy. Uh… just try not to get in the way, I guess.” She turned back to Reverend Green. “Weird,” she mumbled.

“Is that Big Macintosh I hear?” Reverend Green asked.

“Yeah, he came out to say hi, I guess.”

He nodded and broke his eye contact with the south. “What is this concerning?”

“Potion’s ready,” Big Mac said.

They both looked at him, and he smiled nervously.

“Praise Luna.” He glanced at Big Mac. “Meet me at your ship.” In a dim flash of blue light, he was gone, his departure followed by another flash near the town’s border.

“He teleports fast,” Big Mac said.

“Talkative today, huh?”

“A little.” They walked together, she slowing down for him. “Ah’ve been thinkin’ heavily.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ah been here fer a while now. Came down fer Jonagold’s funeral, an’ never really felt the urge to head back. Ah dunno why. Maybe Ah thought Appleloosa could use me more’n Ponyville.”

She nodded. Her expression betrayed none of her shock at his speech.

“Ah ain’t no fool. Ah know there’s a lot of wrong in the world that ponies ain’t seein’ on the first look. Not much Ah can do ‘bout that, least not on my own.”

“Are you gonna ask to join us?” she asked. Her eyes were straight ahead, but in the sides of her view, she saw him recoil a little.

“Ah dunno why it occurred to me. Since Ah’ve been here, it’s been in the back of my head. Can’t get rid of it, it seems. Ah wanna help out, an’ the best way to do that, seems to me, is to join y’all. So, yeah. That’s what Ah’m askin’.”

They passed the first building and crossed the first road, and, suddenly, the sound of town life again surrounded them. She paused for a moment to get her bearings, then turned to face him. She looked around quickly. “I ain’t no fool either, Big Mac, and I’m not gonna waste your time. Ponies have been asking about you. Actually, that reverend, mostly. Octavia was a little bit this morning. I was gonna shrug it off, but, just now, you said more to me than I’ve ever heard you say to anyone, ever. What gives?”

“If ya want me to quiet up, Ah’d be happy to.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He rolled his eyes and backed away, but then turned and trotted in the direction of the ship. She followed him there, where Reverend Green was already speaking with the others. He shook Twilight’s hoof before making to depart. He stopped, seeing Big Mac. With a wary look behind, he teleported away.

“Skittish today, ain’t he?” Applejack said.

“It’s Big Mac,” Rainbow said. “Here, why don’t you tell the girls what you told me? I gotta get back to flying.” Before Big Mac could respond, she was off the ground, shooting into the sky. Her eyes picked out a flash of light on the other side of town, where Reverend Green trotted between a pair of houses.

By dinner, Twilight had finished the potion, and Big Mac had not left the deck. He told them his intention to join, and was accepted with little hassle. Applejack had taken him aside to warn him of the reality of the situation for which he was volunteering, but he only shook his massive head and uttered his characteristic “nope” when asked whether he would back out. Pinkie remained quiet.

While Big Mac went through town to say goodbye to his friends, the other seven met Reverend Green outside Miss Ringlet’s house, where her parents waited on the porch. Their part in the exorcism would be minor, he told them. With their potion, he needed only their magic and muscle, should Miss Ringlet prove more ferocious than he expected.

The ten of them entered the dark house and went up to Miss Ringlet’s room. Her parents went in ahead of the others, and for several minutes, they crowded the narrow corridor while three muffled voices hummed from within. When the door creaked open to admit them, Reverend Green entered first.

Before his tail had even disappeared through the entryway, a harsh scream erupted from within. The wooden walls bounced it around them, and their ears flapped down as Reverend Green’s stern voice joined the enraged chorus. Rainbow led the charge into the dark room, where Miss Ringlet lay prone on the bed. Her head snapped to face them as they filled the space by her bed, and Reverend Green brandished his talisman.

She yelled and thrashed in the tangled sheets, and as he came nearer, she struggled until she fell off the bed, jostling the end table. Twilight moved aside as he staunchly moved past her, uncapping her potion as he did so.

“Last chance, demon. Get out of her!”

Miss Ringlet shook her body, knocking the table over and slamming her head into the wall with a hard crack. He pressed the amulet to her body, but, instead of recoiling, she lunged forward with a shriek, wrapping her forelegs around his wiry neck.

He backed away to topple over the bed, and with a scrape of her back legs on the floorboards, she managed to get atop him, pressing his foreleg back unnaturally. The amulet wavered before pressing into her forehead, and she screamed somehow louder, forcing her disheveled head into his own, teeth bared, spittle shining at the corners of her mouth.

Rarity moved forward with a tremble in her step. “Reverend?”

“In Luna’s name, I command thee—” He panted, and, wrenching his foreleg back underneath Miss Ringlet, tensed his muscles. “Leave us at once!” The bed creaked dangerously as she tumbled off him, hooves over her head in a powerful, dangerous arc. Before she could right herself, he was up again, his potion floating by his face, twinned by the amulet. “Out, demon!” He dove onto her, one hoof to her face, the other to her flailing foreleg, and jammed the small potion into her mouth.

She sputtered and tried to spit it in his face, but his magic was faster, creating a pair of wedges over her muzzle, forcing it closed. She struggled and kicked, still moaning and trying to scream, and he shifted away slightly as her back leg worked frantically to kick him in the groin. Twilight stared at the head of her group, awed.

After a painful minute of Miss Ringlet’s resistance, her movements came to a brief halt, and she coughed, allowing a tiny halo of spit through her lips. He released her, and she fell to the floor, her head hitting it with a thud. Her chest heaved and her back legs still moved weakly, but her eyes were unfocused. He brought the amulet closer, and her eyes shot to it, though she did not recoil.

“Is it over?” Pinkie asked quietly.

Reverend Green shook his head, his eyes not faltering from Miss Ringlet. She was still another moment, but then stirred, her head jerking, her golden mane swishing across the floor. He backed away, just enough for her to sit up, where she moved into a crouch.

“Cursed priest,” she whispered harshly. Her dry voice quivered as she lowered her head to the floor. She coughed and tried to spit.

“Leave her now, demon. Return to whence you came.”

She shook her head and rested it on the floor. What came next made them all jump back. With her mouth wide, the room was filled with a splitting wail, not angry, but pained. She rolled over, eyes closed, and screamed between jagged breaths. For a moment, she lay still on her back, but then she began to writhe, her neck tight and her mouth distorted with pain.

Fluttershy inched forward, but Reverend Green held up a hoof to stop her. Miss Ringlet quieted, her screaming dimmed down to pathetic whimpering. From the door, four eyes watched the scene.

“Be still,” he mumbled, retracting the amulet and placing a hoof on her head. She sighed at his touch, arching her back and releasing another volley of sniffles. Her eyes shimmered in the mild candlelight before closing.

“What’s happening?” Twilight asked.

Reverend Green didn’t answer, but produced his amulet and lowered it to her body. Hesitating only a moment, he rested it gently on her chest, and she didn’t stir. He sighed. “She is at peace.”

“It’s done?” Fluttershy said.

“The demon has been squeezed out of her body. Praise Luna.” The door opened, and two more ponies entered. Reverend Green didn’t immediately turn to them. He looked down at Miss Ringlet’s sleeping form, her dark fur sinister in the dark room, and raised his amulet over her body. He mumbled as he traced a small circuit over her, too quiet to discern, and when he was done, put a hoof to her forehead. “May Luna protect you.” He closed his eyes and replaced the amulet yet again, then looked at her parents. “Do not disturb her. She has gone through a great ordeal. I will return tomorrow to help you explain. For now, do what you can to see to her comfort. And pray.” His voice took on a strong tone. “I have blessed her, but she must be dissuaded from further senseless excursions into the wastelands outside town. I have no doubt that more demons than this one haunt the empty spaces of Equestria.”

“Of course, Reverend,” the mother said, bowing her head.

“I must speak with these others. Until tomorrow, go in peace. Try to get some sleep.”

“I don’t see how we can,” the father said.

“Do it for her sake. She will need you for her recovery.” The parents bowed, and he escorted the others out into the cool night. They had been too transfixed in Miss Ringlet’s room to notice the heat of so many bodies in a tight space, and the fresh, Appleloosa desert air was a momentary surprise.

“So she’s okay now?” Applejack asked.

“The demon is gone, but Miss Ringlet will take many months to fully recover. I fear the toll it may have taken on her mind.” He looked up at the stars. “That is not your concern, I know. Your potion was successful, and the exorcism is complete. I can request nothing more of you.”

“We’re just happy to be able to help,” Rarity said.

“Your road is dangerous, my sisters,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I have seen the parts of the world that you, too, must someday see.”

“You speak of Snowdrift,” Octavia said.

“Not every horror you encounter is inequine.” He raised a hoof and made a crescent motion over their heads. “Go in peace, and remember your friendship. Through the grace of Princess Luna, and your harmony, Discord may not have his way with you.”

“Where will you go?” Pinkie asked.

“I will stay here for now. When my services are no longer required, I will travel to Manehattan.”

“On your own?”

“Yes. I prefer it that way.” He gave each of them a nod before backing away and walking into a deep shadow of the Ringlets’ large tree. They waited several minutes before departing, long enough to see a small flash of light in the far, deserted distance. Reverend Green was going back to the wasteland.

Octavia split from the group to say goodbye to Braeburn, and when she returned, Applejack spared no time in preparing for takeoff. Big Mac sat by the torch, watching pensively, and Twilight read a letter she had received on the walk back. When they were aloft, she went to the front of the ship, and everyone looked up at her obediently.

“The only city in the northern half of Equestria that is yet to be addressed is Hoofington,” she said.

“So that’s where we’re goin’,” Applejack said, turning the wheel hard to the side.

“Hold on. Er, yes, turn us that way, but let’s not get our hearts set on Hoofington just yet.” She brandished her letter. “This is from Trixie.”

Rainbow blew a raspberry.

“She told me to tell you hi again, by the way, Dash.”

“Screw you, Trixie,” Rainbow mumbled.

“She’s going to be in Manehattan in the next couple days, where she’s going to try to set up her show. The one she promised I would be in.”

“Twilight, Ah don’t like where Ah think yer headed with this,” Applejack said.

“I’m just saying, it’s not out of our way at all. We should consider stopping for a couple days and helping her.”

“I don’t wanna stop for her,” Rainbow said.

“I’m with Rainbow,” Rarity said. “I don’t think I need to explain why.”

“We really, really shouldn’t be delaying things any further,” Fluttershy said.

“If this Trixie needs our help, Ah say we help her,” Big Mac said.

“Twilight, my brother don’t get a vote. He doesn’t understand the scale of this thing yet,” Applejack said.

“I think we should do it,” Octavia said. The deck went quiet as everyone looked at her.

“You can’t be serious,” Rainbow said. “You want us to waste our time in that messed up city?”

“Hoofington will be fine if we are a couple days late.” She thought for a second. “Besides, Princess Celestia said she had ponies searching for our Elements, did she not?”

“That’s no excuse to fritter away our time like this,” Rarity said.

“I think it’s a great excuse!” Pinkie cried.

“Twi, Ah don’t think Pinkie should get a vote either,” Applejack said.

“Shut up, AJ,” Rainbow said.

“Rainbow, we’re on the same side. Besides, you should be champin’ at the bit to see Trixie again, what with her havin’ a crush on you and all.”

“She does not! C’mon, Applejack, it’s not funny.”

“That’s right!” Pinkie yelped. “It’s hysterical! You two are gonna be the most adorable couple that ever existed! You’re both blue, you both like to talk about yourselves, you—”

“I don’t want to go to Manehattan!” Rarity said again. “Let’s just coast past it and let Trixie figure out her own solution. She didn’t have to run her mouth off and involve us, you know.”

“Rarity, please,” Octavia said.

“Why do you want to go?” Twilight asked.

“Trixie is a very good friend.”

“Hmmm.” Applejack rubbed her jaw thoughtfully. “This ain’t like you.” She looked over at Big Mac. “An’ you ain’t like you either, big bro. Ah ain’t suspicious, exactly, but Ah want it on record that there’s somethin’ weird goin’ on here with our little dynamic.”

“Manehattan is fun!” Pinkie said.

“Marvelous contribution,” Rarity said. “Twilight, please, can we not?”

“You do not have to see either of those two ponies from last time,” Octavia said.

“It’s not that. Just setting hoof there makes me feel…” She shuddered and looked at Big Mac. “Never mind how it makes me feel.”

“Please, try to see it from our perspective.”

“I can’t, Octavia. You have to realize that.”

Octavia took a deep breath and looked to the side, over the desert. “All of us have problems, and they have not gotten in the way in the past. Why should they now?”

“Wait, what about Twilight’s post-traumatic thingy?” Pinkie asked.

“Pinkie, can you not?” Twilight snapped.

“It has not affected the mission as a whole. We have not avoided a town because of it,” Octavia said.

“Maybe returning would be good for you,” Rainbow said. “You know, facing your fears.”

“I’m not afraid,” Rarity said.

“Psh, yeah right.”

“Darling, why don’t you stop worrying about me, and start worrying about your relationship with Trixie?”

“Fine! Screw you, Rarity! I’m just trying to help.” She trotted to the back and flung open the hatch. “Go ahead and take us to Manehattan, AJ. Everyone else wants it, and I guess I want it to, so I can go and… fucking… make out with Trixie, or whatever it is you keep saying!”

The hatch slammed, and no one spoke.

“So… we doin’ Manehattan or Hoofington?” Applejack asked.

“Take us to Manehattan,” Octavia said.

Pairs

Chapter Forty-six

Pairs

As it turned out, Big Mac had nothing to tell. They returned to the ship, where Twilight was just preparing some rations for herself, and exchanged news from the day. Twilight had noticed the commotion on her way back from Trixie’s apartment, but had heard no details on the fire.

“So what do we do about this Shout pony?” Rainbow asked. “This… what did you say he calls himself, Octavia?”

“A loudmouth rebel,” Octavia said.

“Yeah, him. We gotta stop him.”

Octavia walked down under the deck, but reappeared a minute later with her cello, which she set up by the gunwale. Playing a small tune, she spoke. “Ordinarily, I would say that we should not. However, we are here as long as it takes Twilight to help Trixie anyway, so we may as well stick our noses in this.”

“Now that’s a surprise, comin’ from you,” Applejack said.

Octavia shrugged and played a flourish on her instrument.

“But where do we find him?” Twilight asked.

“I do not think we should search for him,” Octavia said. “Because I do not think that he is ultimately behind this. He is crass and annoying, but I never got the impression that he is malicious enough for what we witnessed.”

“Oh, crap,” Rainbow said. “I’ll bet I know who you’re thinking of.”

Octavia drew out a high note. “Perhaps it is well that Rarity is not with us after all.”

* * * * * *

While Cork snored in the bedroom, her every grunt and breath coming through the thin walls as if she were right next to them, Rarity and Fluttershy shared the couch. For most of the night, Rarity had been in high spirits, but after Cork had gone to bed, and they were alone, her mood dipped. For all her knickknacks, Cork had nothing in her house that was of interest to them for more than a couple minutes, and they couldn’t talk too much, lest their tenant wake and overhear something. Worse still, Cork had gone to bed early, and neither of them were tired.

“It’s kind of like camping,” Fluttershy said.

“As close to camping as I’d ever like to be,” Rarity said. “Though I guess that’s silly, considering all the time I’ve been away from home now.”

Fluttershy leaned to the side to bring her wings around Rarity, who didn’t object. They stayed that way, unspeaking, listening to the crickets outside, Cork’s slumber, and the distant sounds of the city. Before long, Rarity had closed her eyes, and as she lowered her head into Fluttershy’s soft fur, wondering still whether they had made the right decision, she heard a quiet humming from within her friend’s chest.

* * * * * *

It was nine o’ clock at night when they cruised over the complex of flats where Lacey Kisses lived and landed in the parking lot next to what Twilight recognized as her car. It was late, but Octavia reasoned that because they didn’t know when she left in the mornings, or even what days she worked, it would be better to catch her late than early.

It took them a couple minutes to find her flat, and they waited pensively at the door while Twilight knocked.

There were hoofsteps behind, a pause, and then it opened. “Back so soon?” Lacey asked, eyeing them. A head taller than them all, save Big Mac, she looked down at them with a smug, greasy grin. “Missing some of your friends, I see.”

“Cut the crap, Lacey,” Rainbow said.

“What do you know about the fire in Rose Tower this afternoon?” Octavia asked.

“I know that it happened,” Lacey said, leaning on her door with a dulcet smile. “And I know I’m not responsible, before you get too excited.”

“Yeah, right,” Twilight said. “Do you have any proof?”

“I don’t owe you a single explanation,” Lacey said. She flashed a beautiful, white smile at Big Mac. “New meat. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She offered a hoof, but Applejack batted it away.

“Not with my brother, you harlot.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” She looked at their faces, seeing varying degrees of loathing. “You may not remember this very well, but you left me and Strawberry caught in a properly dreadful mess. Twilight.”

“Don’t even try. You deserve everything that happened to you,” Twilight said.

“Maybe I did, but everyone else who got laid off because of your actions most certainly did not.” She gave Twilight a simpering smile and patted her cheek bracingly. “It doesn’t do well to get your revenge with so much collateral damage, my love.”

“What do you know of Captain Shout?” Octavia asked loudly.

“I know he’s a fan of mine.”

“What else?”

Lacey retracted her hoof and straightened her face. “How long is this going to take?”

“As long as it needs to,” Applejack said.

She looked at them askance for just a moment. “Let’s go for a walk. That’s better than loitering on my doorstep.” Before letting them respond, she walked out and closed the door softly. “Celestia knows who’s watching.”

“Paranoid, Lacey?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m being careful. Not that I’d expect someone like you to know what that means.” They walked into the complex, keeping pace a distance away from her. “Perhaps I do owe you an explanation, if for no other reason than to get you off my flanks.”

“We’re listening,” Twilight said.

“As I said, you left me and Strawberry in a nasty spot. My company was hemorrhaging money, despite what your friend Rarity did to help, and we lost thirty percent of our staff. I took a substantial pay cut.”

“Cry me a river,” Applejack said.

“You do realize the more you interrupt, the longer you have to be with me, right?” Lacey snapped. “Or is the desire to hurl one-liners simply too much for you to deal with?”

“Let her speak,” Octavia said tiredly.

“Thank you. Now, anyway, not only was I out quite the large sum of bits, but I also had Strawberry coming after me. I had a good idea of what he was going to do, so I was able to prepare. It enabled me to strike back at him a lot more quickly than he was expecting.”

“What’s this got to do with the fire?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s all Strawberry, I know it. I’ve seen him do things like this before, though never on so large a scale.”

“You mean you’ve seen him commit acts of terrorism, and you never did anything?” Twilight asked.

“No, I mean I’ve seen him make trouble when he’s feeling threatened. It’s a diversion. He wants the media, and me, to look elsewhere so he can get his revenge unseen.”

“How do you know all this about him?” Octavia asked.

“We were business partners once. Well, white-collar criminals. That’s a kind of business.”

“You just really want us to hate you more, don’t you?” Applejack asked.

“If Captain Shout is related, he’s taking his cues from Strawberry. Probably his thug.”

“And why should we trust you, exactly?” Rainbow asked.

“Go ask Strawberry, then. I don’t care.”

“Are you trying to stop him from what he is doing?” Octavia asked.

“I’m trying to stop him from destroying my life, so in an oblique way, I guess I am.” She looked at Octavia with an analytical frown. “Let me guess. You’re thinking of helping me stop his misdeeds, for the greater good?”

“That is exactly what I am thinking.”

“Octavia, no, you can’t team up with her,” Rainbow said.

“Let the mare do what she wants,” Lacey said. “You already all know the truth about me, and this one seems sensible. You’re not going to make the same mistake twice.”

“The mistake of trusting you, you mean,” Twilight said.

“The mistake of letting me exploit you.”

“I will first confirm what you say of Strawberry,” Octavia said.

“Go for it. While you’re at it, see if you can get him to reveal his next crime. It might help if I have a little foreknowledge.”

“He won’t trust us any more than you,” Pinkie said.

“Not my problem,” Lacey said. They turned a tight U and went back to her flat. She paused at her door to look down at an empty dish.

“What’s that?” Twilight asked.

“Have you not seen a food bowl before?” She pushed the door open and leaned inside, pulling out a sack of cat food.

“You have a cat?” Rainbow asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I can’t imagine you taking care of anything.”

She filled the bowl. “Maybe I like animals.” They watched her, and when she had put the bag away, she faced them. “Well? Go on, shoo. I have nothing else for you.”

“An’ a good night to you too,” Applejack grumbled.

The following morning, they spared no time in flying back to a familiar apartment complex, where they immediately found Strawberry’s room. It was just dawn, and a Monday, and they had no idea whether he would be home, or asleep. They didn’t care.

After only a couple seconds of Rainbow pounding the door, they heard him move inside. It cracked open, and his nervous, green eye regarded them through the space between wall and latched door.

“Still paranoid, partner?” Applejack asked.

“If you came to ask for more financial assistance, I’m afraid I can’t help you. Goodbye.” The door shut, and Octavia stepped to the front of the group.

“What do you know about Captain Shout?”

“Never heard of him. Should I?”

“Lacey told us about him!” Pinkie said.

The latch behind the door slid back, and he beckoned them inside without a word. His apartment was still the same, minimally decorated quarters they had seen before, and he hastened to the coffee table to snap closed a large ledger. “What are you doing with Lacey? I thought you’d have learned your lesson.” He looked at them. “Ah, I see now. Some of you did.”

“What do you know about Captain Shout?” Octavia asked.

“He’s a radio personality, I know that much.”

“We think he’s responsible for the fire in Rose Tower,” Twilight said.

“Odd,” Strawberry said. “What does this have to do with Lacey? Or me, for that matter?”

“You’re the two shadiest ponies we know. Connect the dots,” Rainbow said.

“Are you sure it’s not that we’re the only shady ponies you know?”

“So you admit to knowing about Captain Shout.”

“I didn’t say that at all.”

“You didn’t not say it.”

Strawberry looked at her dispassionately. “Is this why you’re here?”

“All right, Ah’m gonna be honest,” Applejack said. Octavia looked at her quickly, but Applejack didn’t look back. “More lies ain’t gonna help no one here. We saw the fire, suspected Lacey, an’ she told us it was you. She thinks Shout’s yer thug or somethin’.”

“So why in the world did you come here? Either she’s wrong, in which case, you waste your time, or she’s right, in which case, I have to destroy you for finding me out.”

“We need to stop him, or the pony behind him,” Octavia said.

“Besides, you wouldn’t hurt us,” Rainbow said. “We’re the Elements of Harmony. You’d be looking at a lifetime in a dungeon, at best.”

“Physical harm is not the only way to keep someone silent,” Strawberry said. “But your point is taken.”

They stood on opposite sides of his table, looking at each other carefully, appraising. Thinking of what the other knew.

“I think we have all we need,” Twilight said.

* * * * * *

Cork woke Fluttershy and Rarity early, and after a disoriented couple seconds where they didn’t remember where they were—or who they said they were—she corralled them out of the house and over to Arch Carrier’s comparatively palatial hovel, where the rest of the town had gathered for breakfast.

Of all the ponies Cork said would be there, only two sat at the legless breakfast table: a tawny pegasus with a long, uncombed mane, and a small, pale earth pony with unseemly pink eyes. Cloud Line and Eggshell, Cork said, greeting the two with energetic hugs. Fluttershy and Rarity exchanged worried looks: Deco had said they were mystery ponies.

Slowly, the rest of the town trickled in. Deco and her deaf brother, who gave them a shy smile. Clipper in his weathered suit, who nodded curtly and sat away from Cork. Arch Carrier from the kitchen with a magically-carried cloud of food. Two ponies in matching cravats, one of whom wore a rakish, feathered hat. Lastly, Rotor, a burgundy unicorn with braided bangs that showed only a clever, cocky smile.

Eating, Rarity took control of answering everyone’s questions. Who they were, where they came from, and what they were doing in town—a question she skirted with as little detail as she could. Fluttershy remained quiet for the most part, but warmed up when Cloud Line slid over to her. It had been a long time since she had interacted with another pegasus, and was eager to have a fly with her later that afternoon.

It wasn’t long before Rotor called attention to Rarity’s disuse of her horn, which she blamed on an unfortunate travel accident. One wrong step on a patch of rocky ground, and she cracked her head and horn on a blunt tooth of stone. She received sympathy all around, and Cork asked to take a picture of it, citing personal interest.

* * * * * *

“Is this what I think it is?” Twilight asked. It was ten in the morning, and her friends had dropped her off at Trixie’s only five minutes ago. Before getting right to work, they chatted, affording Twilight time to look around the apartment. On a varnished, teak mount, hanging alone in the corner, was a single, small, acidic red crystal caught in a firm web of straps.

“Oh, that. Globe Trotter says Manehattan’s a dangerous place nowadays, especially for anyone with a known name. So she bought me this as a little contingency.”

“May I?”

Trixie shrugged, and Twilight pulled down the pulse crystal. She turned it over before her eyes, studying the mount’s crafstponyship, the crystal’s luster. Her own face reflected back at her, feverishly gleeful in the red stone, and she brought a hoof over the woven straps, stiffest at their junctions, but loose enough to fit around a foreleg elsewhere. The original device had been designed about a century ago, ninety years prior to its larger, mechanical counterpart, but obeyed the same principle: a projectile of concentrated magic, moving at sufficient speed, was enough to deter most any attacker, at least those of flesh and blood.

Still looking into the lurid gem, she slipped it onto her own foreleg. The straps, responding to her body heat, tightened minutely, trying to adjust to the contours of her foreleg, and failing in subtle ways. It was an uncomfortable fit.

“This must already be bound to your hoof,” she said, looking at Trixie.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie may have done a little practice with it,” Trixie said, giving her mane a flighty swish. “The first pony who lived here didn’t take all their dishes with them. And there is a park right across the street.” She grinned, and for a moment, Twilight saw a glint of old mischievousness in her eyes. She smiled back, imagining the scene.

“Is Manehattan really that dangerous?”

“According to Globe Trotter. She said there’s big trouble brewing, and I think I trust her. Look at what happened yesterday.”

“Yeah. My friends were there, too.”

“Ah, that’s what they were talking about. I’m glad none of them were hurt.”

Twilight nodded absently and put the pulse crystal back, then looked at Trixie.

“What?”

“No, nothing. I’m still getting used to… you know, nice Trixie. I wasn’t ready for that comment.”

Trixie chuckled and grabbed their stack of writing supplies. “You’ll see how nice I am after I tell you my impressions of our first draft here.”

“I am going out.” Octavia stood at the ramp and looked deep into the city, expression contemplative.

“What? Alone?” Pinkie asked.

“Yes.”

“With all that’s goin’ on?” Applejack said. “Weren’t you the one arguin’ against splittin’ up in the first place?”

“I know this city,” Octavia said. “And I know where the ship is. I will be back before nightfall.”

“Not a good idea,” Rainbow said, shaking her head.

“Think of what you’d say to yourself!” Pinkie said. She adopted a deadpan voice. “The consequences of this decision are grave.”

Octavia looked her sister directly in the eye. “Fuck consequences. I am going out.”

It was hot when she had left the ship, but not twenty minutes into her lonesome walk, clouds covered the sky, and she moved through a mild drizzle. She stopped on a street corner and ran a hoof through her mane, separating the dark hairs and savoring the cool water on her scalp. Her dark fur and darker mane made heat stroke a real possibility, especially in the summer months. She was glad that they had gone to Trottingham when it was still spring.

Her own words echoed ominously in her mind. “Fuck consequences.” She was raised not to curse, and, in her line of work, such language was anathema. She was no brute. Still, it had felt good to say it. Her own tiny mark of devastation to signal her departure, and her new freedom.

She let a genuine smile out as she crossed the street with the crowd. For the first time in a long time, it felt good to be alone.

She stopped to look into a shoe store’s dark window. Ponies moved behind her unhealthy reflection, but the lights were not on. Two months, and the electricity wasn’t even fully restored, she mused. “At least my utilities would be less expensive.”

All around her, ponies moved quickly, umbrellas over their heads, some in magical unicorn grips, others on small harnesses that attached at the neck. She saw no one like her, unadorned. A hurried mare gave her a dark look as she passed.

“I will go where my hooves lead me, and something will happen,” she thought, continuing past the store and toward a small, open strip mall, a splashing fountain in the middle of its lot. She smiled again.

Somewhere in her mind, the thought of Captain Shout, and his suspected affiliation with Strawberry, rolled over. Another set of issues, and uncovered the same day they had touched down. Was nothing easy? She stopped at the fountain and dipped a hoof in the water, pausing halfway down to a spare bit. It was cold, and she did not want to walk through the mall any wetter than she already was.

“We could always refuse.” She trotted through the revolving door. “There is nothing that says we have to do anything about this. It is not our problem. Our business is with Discord and the Elements of Harmony, not this petty squabble between criminals.” She smiled courteously at a pony offering decorative glass works in a small, open stand.

“Miss! Miss Melody!”

She looked across the open area to see a young colt trotting her way. He wore a neat, pressed letterman jacket and a pair of thick sunglasses on his head. She stopped and let him come closer, and he raised the glasses to reveal a pair of searching, golden eyes.

He smiled nervously. “I saw you walking past, and I wasn’t sure it was you at first.” He laughed and ran a hoof through his stiff mane. “Wow, I can’t believe it.”

“It is always a pleasure to meet a fan,” she said, smiling politely and inclining her head.

“Is it true?”

She looked around. A few other ponies were looking their way, and one was pointing as she spoke to a friend. She walked quickly back, and the colt followed. “We can walk and talk. I do not want to draw a crowd.”

“Walking with Octavia,” he breathed to himself. “I can’t believe it.”

“Is what true?”

“Huh? Oh, what the papers are saying.”

She felt a thin crystal of ice in her heart. “What are the papers saying?”

“You don’t know? You’re traveling with the Elements of Harmony now. Like, as a guide or something. Or a friend.”

She did not immediately answer. The papers. She had not once thought about them. No one had come up to them, not for an interview, or even a photograph. “Fuck consequences.” “Yes, it is true. I have traveled more than they. I am their guide.”

He chuckled. “What was Fillydelphia like? It must have been really something to be in the middle of that tornado.”

“They know about that.”

“Not gonna lie, I envy you,” he said, looking at her. “I can’t imagine how awesome that must have been.”

“Awesome?”

“Think about it! The wind whipping your mane and tail, the height, the noise. Total sensory overload. The sight of the clouds above you, and total chaos below. I can’t imagine how cool that must have been for you.”

“You are making a mistake.”

He paused, and his face showed an instant of worry. “What do you mean?”

“That storm was one of the most horrifying times of my life. It was not ‘cool’.” She stopped and looked at him. His glasses were on. “Take those off.” He slowly lifted the sunglasses up, and she stared directly into his eyes, her own amethyst irises overpowering his youthful gold. “I was ready to die. Not get injured and survive, not be saved by someone else. I was ready to leave this world, and my friends, because I thought that I was about to. It was all I could think about in that moment.”

“Uh… oh. Well, that’s, uh—”

“Say and do as many stupid things as you possibly can right now, because, when you graduate, you will get much worse than an offended mare. Are we clear?”

“Uh, yes ma’am.”

“Get out of my sight.”

“Wait. Uh, I’m sorry. Can I please get an autograph?”

“No.” He didn’t move, and she looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Well? There is nothing for you here.”

He reluctantly walked away, looking back at her with mixtures of admiration and anger, and she only moved on when he had disappeared into the crowd of shoppers. Her mood was soured, and the sea of ponies and stores no longer interested her. Everything for her was far away behind a pane of glass, or ice, and nothing reached her. She moved in a dazed trot through noise and color. Rain buzzed outside, and her head swam with mixed feelings. She still felt residual triumph and readiness for adventure from her abrupt departure from the ship, but it was shaken.

“Never mind him. I am not the pony he thinks I am anyway.” She rounded a sweet-smelling corner where ponies ate cinnamon buns, giving the enticing store no more than a flick of her eyes. She restlessly climbed the stairs to the second level, but there was nothing there. Just a clearer view of the glass ceiling, stippled with rainwater. Thunder rumbled.

* * * * * *

It was late evening, and the rain had slowed to a gentle mist that made the reeds and river sigh. Since breakfast, Clipper and Arch Carrier had accompanied Fluttershy and Rarity, showing them how to keep the riverside clear of weeds and how to draw and carry water. If their intent was to live there, even for a couple weeks, they needed to contribute. Any longer, and they’d need to build their own house; they couldn’t rely on Cork’s charity forever, Clipper said. And they might not want to.

As the light died away, they had moved from the riverside to the houses, just in time to find shelter from the rain. They had watched the clouds menace Manehattan, but only as it grew dark did they settle over Passage Town. While Fluttershy stayed behind to help Clipper with some light gardening, Rarity returned to Cork’s house, to dodge more questions on her own.

It was only after Cork had gone to sleep—at eight o’ clock—that Fluttershy returned, her expression a shade away from worried. “I think you should see this.”

Rarity followed her out into the damp evening. Mud squished under her hooves, and she balked at Cork’s entryway, but Fluttershy didn’t stop. Rarity wanted to call out, but something in Fluttershy’s gait suggested it would be unwise, especially considering their nosy tenant. They walked down into the glistening reeds and passed beside the river’s still waters, chasing frogs and crickets astray. Until the hovels were behind them, they marched quietly and straight, sometimes slipping where the stream’s banks were steeper. With the last of the houses behind, Fluttershy walked them to the jagged, metal pump outside town.

Cork had shown them endless pictures of it, but they were always taken from artistic angles, or with dramatic weather effects. Her favorite to show off was a solemn and dignified profile of the broken-down device, framed against powder blue sky with joyful, green grass all around, as if it were a revered monument.

In the clearing, in the rain and deep dusk, there was no drama or flair to it. Its tarnished exterior was beaded with water, its handle long gone, its connecting rod sticking out at a weak angle like the battered reeds behind them. A twisted spout sneered at them with a dewy spider web inside. On the ground, around it, was a concrete circle, grass rimming it and sinking down in a lush carpet where a large crack gave way to silky darkness beneath. Rarity walked around it, unimpressed, until she saw what had attracted Fluttershy’s interest.

Ending at the crack, approaching in a straight line, was a single trail of hoofsteps, pressed vaguely into the mud. Around the trail, only their own stood out, busy and confused. The line looked to originate from the nearest house, which, they had learned that morning, belonged to one of the mystery ponies, Cloud Line.

“Maybe Cork is right about this thing,” Fluttershy said.

“Fl—Butterfly, dear, it seems perfectly clear to me. She was here, it started to rain, so she flew back home to get out faster.”

Fluttershy crouched at the crack and bent an ear to it. “I don’t know, Madam White. Um, I mean, I’m not saying it’s a bad explanation. I just don’t know.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s not our job to find out,” Rarity said, tossing her mane and briefly activating her horn, sending a twinge of pain down the center of her skull. “Let’s head back. I’m getting cold.”

* * * * * *

While Rainbow, Applejack, Big Mac, and Pinkie waited for Octavia to return, Twilight waited for them to pick her up. She wasn’t worried; she knew they could take care of themselves, and was having too much fun with Trixie besides.

After another lengthy conversation on magic theory over the dinner table, they took a break from their intellects to play with Trixie’s pulse crystal in the park. Twilight couldn’t keep her eyes off it for the whole day, and Trixie offered to let her try it out on some empty bottles.

Though the park outside Trixie’s apartment was not the same park where they had been attacked, Twilight found herself checking over her shoulder every few minutes. After her third missed shot in a row, preceded by two bottle-shattering direct hits, Trixie spoke up.

“Something eating you, Sparkle?”

“The last time we were here, things didn’t go so great.” Twilight stretched out her right forehoof and looked down the crystal’s edge, trying to line up her shot. She tensed at the last moment and shot a feverish, scarlet tongue of light wide of the bottle, where it splattered against the shield Trixie had erected behind. A red infection on a field of blue.

“I can imagine. Finding a way to secure the towers must have been quite the problem.”

“Yeah, you’ve got that right.” She took the pulse crystal off her hoof and floated it over to Trixie, who accepted it without comment. “You go ahead. I don’t know if I like this.”

“Is that why some of you are missing?” She squinted and tilted her head before clipping the bottle’s neck, tipping it over in a spray of fine glass.

“I’d rather not say.”

“Fair enough,” Trixie said. “And this is why you’re nervous, too?”

“I’m not nervous. I’m…” Her ears flattened at the sound of another pulse coming out of Trixie’s crystal. It was a tight sucking sound, like wind passing through a pinhole. “What am I?” She smiled at Trixie. “Don’t worry about me, Trixie. It’s just post-traumatic stress disorder. Murder isn’t easy to live with.” Her smile faltered. The thought had come quickly and naturally, the filter of her conscious mind untouched. Her mouth was suddenly dry when she went to speak again. “I… think I want to go back inside now.”

“What?” Trixie sounded disappointed.

“Sorry.”

“Let me just take a couple more shots.” She steadied herself and aimed again, and Twilight looked around, hearing—or thinking she heard—familiar voices.

When Rainbow came into view over a line of trees, she hollered at them both, throwing off Trixie’s aim. “There you are! C’mon, Twilight, let’s go.”

“Picking up your marefriend for the night, Dashie?” Trixie said, not looking up from her target.

“You’d like that, huh?”

“I’d like a lot of things.”

“Wow, smooth.”

Trixie took the shot and destroyed the bottle. “I was concentrating.” She lowered her hoof, the crystal sliding up into a smaller net along her foreleg. “There, now I can pay you all the attention you want, Dashie.”

“Never mind.”

“Same time tomorrow?” Twilight asked.

“Yeah, sounds good. Get some rest,” Trixie said. She turned to Rainbow. “And you don’t get too rambunctious.”

“Like you know what that’s like,” Rainbow said, and Trixie laughed.

Back on the ship, Octavia was at her cello once again, playing a jocund piece of music that put a smile on Twilight’s face as soon as she boarded.

“You seem happy tonight,” Applejack said.

“The weather is beautiful,” Octavia replied.

“Uh…” She looked at Pinkie, who shook her head “no.” “All right. Well, Ah’m glad to see ya like this.”

Octavia didn’t speak, but increased her tempo slightly.

Pinkie dreamt clearly. It was not uncommon for her to wake with no recollection of her sleep, but at times, a dream would stick out to her. Since the night in Ponyville, where she woke up screaming, it hadn’t happened.

Attached to no body, her conscious eyes glided over wet ground. Reeds and grasses malingered to one side, empty houses to the other. Rain drenched the earth and swelled the river, hard and fast and loud, and very cold—though she felt none of it. In her head, she could hear her sister speaking, not to her. Snippets of sentences drifted up slowly with the images of the peaceful riverside settlement.

“Consequences.”

A scattered array of rounded stones in a shallow bowl of muddy water, surface turning slower than the raindrops that fell.

“Beautiful weather.”

Something wrong with the ground. A feeling of lightness, of uncertainty, she couldn’t tell. A tiny shape in the distance, suddenly important, and then, just as suddenly, right there. No transition.

“Not sleep.”

Pinkie wicked rainwater off the pump’s rusty neck with a sudden pink hoof, which, finished with its task, disappeared again. A black hole sits near its base.

“Worry.”

Through the hole, easily, and she sees well in the dark. But not for long.

“Do not be quiet.”

She takes a step.

Pinkie started awake with a snort, prompting Applejack to tighten her grip on her from behind. Before she closed her eyes again, the image of that great, dark throat filled her eyes.

She takes a step.

Octavia faces her after neither seeing nor hearing from her for years, and instead of joy or love in her eyes, Pinkie sees only sinking hope.

Something cold presses her imaginary hooves, and she falls in a controlled, instant-as-teleportation motion that drags her vision along like a smear of pale masonry in the dark, until she is face-to-face with an even greater darkness, a crack in the wall, through which she can tell is emptiness.

“Caused suffering.”

The vastness of the vault she steps into makes her pause and think. An entire city could fit in this cavern, and, distantly, she wonders whether it ever has. She crosses distances immeasurable in the dark, but knows when she is near the far wall, somewhere deep underneath the static river, perhaps under Manehattan’s outer edge. Cold, slick stone, once rough, but eroded by ancient veins of seeping water. Were there light, she might see the emptiness behind her disembodied consciousness.

“Pinkamena.”

And then, in another instant, she is elsewhere—but not really. It feels the same, like she hasn’t moved at all, but now there are trees, and ponies, and buildings. All of them sharp and distinct, but forgotten as soon as they pass from sight.

Octavia approaches from behind and stops before a shop window. Pinkie doesn’t know how she moved from the town’s edge to its middle, but doesn’t question it.

“This one is nice.” She looks past Pinkie expectantly, and her eyes are a little softer. “Do you not think so?”

And then she woke up, and stayed awake.

* * * * * *

While Rarity slept, Fluttershy crept back outside into the wet-smelling air. Lightning skittered in the far north, but no thunder reached her. In her head, she repeated an exhausted litany: “This isn’t a good idea.” It didn’t matter. After a day of cutting reeds and hauling water, she was tired, and the fatigue made it easy for her curiosity to overcome her natural worries. Only in foggy doubt did she want to resist, and in a quiet part of her mind, there was the suggestion of a thrill of doing something she thought to be dangerous.

Approaching the pump from the same angle as before, she stopped in front of Deco and her deaf brother’s house, and took flight. Just in case someone didn’t want her being near the pump, she wanted none of her own hoofprints around it.

As she circled it, she paused in air, and almost touched down. She had to boost her wings in surprise when they brushed the mud. That evening, a single trail of prints led to the pump; at eleven o’ clock at night, a second trail, originating from the crack, led back toward Cloud Line’s house, chopping up and scrambling its precursor. She flew back to Cork’s in dark bemusement.

* * * * * *

“Could not sleep, decided to go to Lacey’s and tell her what we learned of Strawberry. Figured you would not want to see her again, and I was bored. Remember that I can protect myself before you get angry. Octavia.” Applejack crumpled up the note and threw it into the torch’s unlit mouth. “Well, that’s just swell.”

“Anyone else got the feeling something’s a little off about her lately?” Pinkie asked.

“Off about whom?” Octavia asked, cresting the plank and sitting by the wheel.

“How long have you been out?” Big Mac asked.

“I left an hour before the dawn.”

“Well, we only just got up to find yer little note,” Applejack said. “Mighty irresponsible runnin’ off like that. Ah guess you know that.”

“I was fine yesterday.”

“That mare seems dangerous,” Big Mac said. “An’ from what Ah heard, she is.”

“She is a pony, not a demon,” Octavia said, walking a broad circle around them. “One-on-one, she was actually quite pleasant with me. Do not get me wrong: I do not trust her, and what she has done in the past is loathsome. However, she has never wronged me personally, and, in fact, was very nice today.”

“Well aren’t you special,” Rainbow said.

“What’s the news with her an’ Strawberry?” Big Mac asked.

“There is nothing to tell. We have told her nothing she did not already know—or, if we did, she has not let us know that. She is planning her next move, but also waiting for his.”

“An’ what are these moves?” Applejack asked.

“She did not say. I do not think she is sure, herself.”

* * * * * *

Lacey Kisses, pornography actress and object of Strawberry’s considerable wrath, got off the phone with her stage manager with a whispered, breathless curse. Another pay cut.

For half a beautiful week, it had looked like she would be okay. Manipulating Rarity into a video was her smartest decision, and the one for which she still held a private self-hatred when she couldn’t sleep. However, with Strawberry’s hooves on her business information—with Twilight’s help—he had been able to strike directly at the heart of the company with a lawsuit. Whether it was successful was irrelevant. It was the publicity that mattered, and there was plenty of that. She had to admit to herself: the pony was good at what he did. Ruthlessly calculating, he seemed to pick out the most gruesome statistics to let slip in interviews. Porn of all six Elements wouldn’t save them after what he had revealed.

She put her head in her hooves and tried to clear her mind. A while ago, she had realized, but not accepted, that her job would end soon. It would be weeks, a month, maybe two if she clawed her way against the tides of downsizing and called in every favor she was owed—but it would happen, and the painful truth was, she had no idea what to do afterwards. Hers was not the only erotic media company that was sinking, though it was one of the fastest to fail, and she had little else to put on a résumé when that happened.

The conclusion she kept coming back to, and that she kept telling herself was not the only one, was that she would have to give up her chances for a legitimate profession to engage with Strawberry. She would have to shore up her remaining funds and find a way to become just as potent a criminal as he, locked in an impossibly intricate dance of lies and manipulation, with him, until one of them fell. And what then? What spoils were there for the victor? Money, she supposed, and power beyond her wildest dreams, but those were aspirations she had given up years ago.

Besides, she thought, any fool could see his was a lifestyle that would not last. Why would she join him? He was good at being circumspect, but no one could distance himself from the destruction indefinitely, especially with the Elements and their friends mucking around. It would not be long, she suspected, before something broke, and Strawberry would be found in the middle. That didn’t help her, though. His destruction would not open up new options for her to survive, at least not quickly enough that it would matter.

That was the crux of her problem. She could see only two options: join him in battle and hope for the best, or leave him alone and try to pick up the pieces of her life as they fell apart around her. Change, or persist. She wasn’t sure she could do either.

And then Octavia had visited. It was early morning, before work, and they had walked through her drowsing neighborhood and talked. Unlike her friends, Octavia hid her contempt, and hid it well. So well that Lacey had considered asking the serious, gray mare for help—though she knew it would blow up in her face the minute Octavia told her own group.

Instead, they talked about Strawberry, and what Lacey was going to do about him. In that regard, Octavia was more than willing to assist, she had said. Strawberry had become a menace, and anything to keep him from terrorizing innocent ponies was acceptable to her. Lacey kept her mouth shut while Octavia spoke, not wanting to admit that she was not even sure she wanted to do anything.

It was only when Octavia mentioned, with no small amount of irritation, how the others had asked Strawberry about his relations to Captain Shout, point-blank, that Lacey started to form an idea. “So they’re trying to become a problem for both of us,” she had said, and Octavia had nodded. She knew from past experience how Strawberry approached problems, but didn’t need it to realize his next move. It would be a bad one.

Thinking Shout a leak, he would surely arrange for an “accident.” If he decided to kill two birds with one stone, and dispatch his used-up goon in a large disaster, she would need only enough foreknowledge to send the Elements to his location. He would be saved, and if she could get him to believe he was betrayed, she would have an ally—a disposable ally. Angry and hurt, he would need only be pointed in the right direction and given the right tools, and Strawberry would suddenly be in much hotter water than he was prepared for.

Lacey, meanwhile, could stand back.

* * * * * *

“Do you have any regrets, Trixie?” Twilight asked. Her pencil stood on its tip on a period on the page, balanced in her magic.

“Yeah, I regret not picking up milk last night. I walked back from the park and the store was right there.”

“No, I mean something serious.”

“I know. But it’s awfully early for something heavy like this, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Twilight said reluctantly.

“Look,” Trixie said, turning on the couch to face her. “Everypony has regrets. I regret being a nag in Ponyville, and elsewhere. I regret running my mouth off in Fillydelphia and making you get involved in my stupid problems. I regret some other stuff. That’s life. Is there something you want to talk about?”

“Uh…” She thought of Vintage in Trottingham, the only stranger to whom she had revealed her painful secret. She remembered the guilt of burdening her with something she really had no business knowing about.

“I’m sure you’ve seen some nasty things,” Trixie said. “Given your position in this whole… heck, I’ll call a spade a spade. This whole war-apocalypse.”

“Yeah.”

“My advice, Twilight? Tough it out, and keep your chin up.” She offered a congenial pat on the wither. “There’s a reason you’re all Elements of Harmony, don’t forget that. Celestia trusts you to get this done, because, of all the inept, dumb, and cowardly ponies in this poor, suffering country, you actually make things happen. While ponies like me run around with our heads in the clouds—literally, for those individuals of higher elevation than us—you’re the ones bringing it back.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“You’ve done this before, just not on the same scale,” Trixie said, looking back at their script.

“Not all of it,” Twilight said. “Do I tell her? I should just blurt it out. Yeah, right.” She looked at Trixie’s face, peaceful and contemplative. All she had to think about was how to word her dialogue. “She doesn’t deserve this.” She opened her mouth to speak anyway, but stopped herself. Too much time had passed from Trixie’s attempt at ending the conversation.

After breakfast, Octavia went wandering again, with one difference from the day before: she could not shake Pinkie. Her sister insisted that she not be alone for so long, and Octavia could come up with no reason not to let her come along.

Octavia followed her hooves without a thought, and Pinkie walked beside her, chattering the whole way. They eventually came to a stop outside a trendy looking bar. Inside, everything was paneled in chrome or Formica, and smooth, glass lights and sculptures hung from above. A bartender in a suit and bow tie greeted them with a cordial, overeager smile and asked what they would have, and Pinkie paid. Octavia had forgotten, in her wandering, that she had no more liquid money.

They took a seat at the bar and drank, Pinkie a martini and Octavia a gin and tonic. It was before noon, but Octavia didn’t care. She wasn’t missing anything.

It was only a couple minutes into their drinks that Pinkie started telling Octavia of her dream. She left out Octavia’s part in it, but spoke at full volume, drawing looks from the bartender whenever she made a particularly loud exclamation. Octavia sipped her drink and listened, but did not comment until the end.

“Do you think that this has significance?”

“Well, sure! I don’t really know what it is, but it’s significant!”

“Hm.” She looked over to where the bartender was fiddling with some glasses. A radio sat on the counter, a small voice coming out of it. She looked at it, and an idea came.

“Can you turn that up?” Pinkie asked, stretching over the bar. Her drink was almost empty.

The bartender looked and smiled at them, but turned the dial until a quick, clipped voice filled their half of the bar. “—but of course this airhead nag keeps dogging me while I’m trying to get my groove on, and I’m like ‘hey, step off,’ but she just doesn’t get the damn hint! And so by that point, even if the music made my eyes want to blow out, I couldn’t enjoy any of it. Here’s the latest from Pay Attention.” His voice cut out, replaced with a rapid barrage of electronic notes.

“Who is this?” Octavia asked. She thought she knew, but wanted to be sure.

“Pay Attention,” the bartender said. “She’s a recording artist in, I think, western Applewood. Electronic music, some breakbeat stuff. Pretty good; I play her music in here sometimes, when it’s crowded.”

“No, I mean the announcer. Who was that speaking earlier?”

“Oh, him. That’s Captain Shout. He does great show reviews. Really gets to the meat of the performance and atmosphere. This is a retro review: DJ Pon-three’s last rave, also in Applewood.”

Octavia thought for a second. “I met her once.”

“How was it?” The bartender and Pinkie both leaned in a little closer to her.

“Brief. We shook hooves and exchanged mutual benign compliments of each other’s work. She seemed nice, though.”

“I’d love to meet her someday,” the bartender said, his eyes momentarily glossing over dreamily. “You need another one?”

“Yes, please!” Pinkie cried.

“Take it easy,” Octavia said. “Remember where we are.”

“Don’t worry, sis. I’m good for it!”

The bartender served Pinkie her drink and looked at Octavia, who shook her head. On the counter, Captain Shout was back, ranting about the lights in DJ Pon-three’s show.

“Do you think we should try to track him down?” Pinkie asked.

“I do not know. I have thought about it.”

“I heard he was a real jerk in real life,” the bartender said.

“That would not surprise me.” She finished her drink and thought again. She had gone too fast, and her head was buzzing slightly. “All we can hope to do in finding him is get ourselves deeper in trouble.”

“Aren’t we already in trouble?” Pinkie asked.

“We are on the edge of it.” The bartender had turned away, but she could see his ears standing up to keep listening. “And I am certain that some of you will want to stay that way.”

“You won’t, of course.”

“I need to find a way to help Lacey, but I do not know how to do that. She knows more about the situation, and Strawberry, than I do, and she is on the defensive besides. All I can think of is finding some way to stop Captain Shout, or expose Strawberry.” She glanced at the bartender, who had stopped cleaning the glasses. “I can do neither safely.”

Pinkie chuckled. “Since when do you care about that, though?”

“It is not my safety alone that would be threatened. I will not attract his attention with you all around me.”

Pinkie shrugged and drained her glass. “I dunno, Octy!”

“Octavia.”

Her smile faltered. “Octavia.”

“Good.” She stood up and paused a second longer, listening to Captain Shout’s fast-paced speech. “He annoys me.” They walked back to the door.

“Have a nice day, ladies. Stay safe,” the bartender said.

Trixie’s talent agent, Globe Trotter, was a creamy blue pegasus with a short mane and a thick country drawl. She came around noon to look over their completed script, and determined that it was good. The story Trixie and Twilight had come up with was a simple tale of betrayal and revenge. Trixie and Twilight, friends at the beginning, would go searching out a magical artifact, only for Twilight to steal it for her own selfish ends. After a fight scene and a monologue from Trixie, and plenty of special effects, the show would culminate in a battle of magic and strength, with fake thunder and lightning.

They discussed costumes, magical effects, props, and venue; Globe Trotter had her eyes on a studio close to the central park, where Twilight had cast one of the restorative spells before. After half an hour of going over potential issues with logistics, they settled on doing the show after five days of rehearsal. Trixie would be comfortable with one or two, she said, but Twilight had never been in a show before. In addition to lines, she needed to learn stage presence, delivery, and everything that came so naturally to her partner.

When Globe Trotter was gone, Twilight and Trixie headed out for lunch. Twilight was quiet. A total of six days before they could leave, if they flew away the same night they did the show. Meanwhile, Discord was getting ready to try for Canterlot again.

Big Mac had them all listening raptly as he told stories of his time in Appleloosa, some small, some fun, some serious. He told of drinking a little too much cider and accidentally offending the sheriff’s secretary, which prompted a round of laughter from all but Octavia. He told them of taking pot-shots at the train that hung off the edge outside Braeburn’s house, and toppling over when he tried to stand on his hind legs. He told them of the friendly, white cowpony who rolled into town a couple days after he did—and then Applejack stopped him.

“White cowpony? How white?”

“White as the clouds, an’ eyes as blue as the skies.”

“Unicorn?” Octavia asked.

“Eeyup. How’d you know?”

Applejack walked to the torch and turned it on, taking them up slowly. “We’ve run into this white stallion too. He calls himself Vanilla Cream.”

“He’s trouble,” Rainbow said.

“Seemed nice enough to me,” Big Mac said.

“What did he do in Appleloosa?” Octavia asked.

“Nothin’ much. Helped a couple ponies make minor repairs, wagons an’ such. Took me an’ a few friends out fer drinks. He disappeared ‘bout a week after he showed up.”

“Big bro, Ah know you ain’t the kind to believe somethin’ without seein’ it first, but you need to trust me on this,” Applejack said. “That Vanilla Cream ain’t to be trusted. Is he still in contact with ya?”

“Nope. How do you know him, anyway?”

They took turns describing their relationship with Vanilla, starting with the way he subtly encroached into their dreams before appearing. They described his admission of servitude for Discord, and his intentions of subversion, then the spell he cast on Twilight, enhancing her telekinesis, and the subsequent spell he cast, yanking them thousands of miles off course to drop them near Fillydelphia.

“We have not seen him since,” Octavia said.

They landed outside Trixie’s apartment, and Rainbow went up to collect Twilight.

“Why would he want to hang out with you?” Pinkie asked. “Did he say anything weird? You know, like ‘if you happen to meet the Elements of Harmony, do your best to sabotage them’ or something?”

“He does not want to sabotage us, though,” Octavia said.

“You can’t know that,” Applejack said.

“Well, given how much power he seems to have, if he wanted to do somethin’ seriously harmful, he would’ve by now,” Big Mac said. “Me? Ah dunno. Maybe he’s more equine than he wants you to think. Maybe he was havin’ a vacation or somethin’.”

They turned toward the apartment. They could hear Rainbow complaining loudly inside, and she came flying out the doors, Twilight strolling calmly behind.

“She tried to hug me!” Rainbow shouted.

“So?” Applejack said.

“AJ, did you not hear? Trixie tried to hug me. A hug!”

“All right, all right, no need to flip out. We’re talkin’ ‘bout some pretty serious stuff here right now.”

“Like what?”

“Yer friend Vanilla Cream tracked me down when Ah was in Appleloosa,” Big Mac said.

“Oh, really? Like, that’s weird, but serious? He’s on our side. Kind of.”

“If he is not communicating with Big Mac anymore, I do not see an issue,” Octavia said.

They climbed up over Trixie’s apartment, and Rainbow went to the edge to see it go. A tiny window flickered open, and a small bouquet of purple and blue lights came out, crackling cheerfully. She grinned in spite of herself.

Interred in Stone

Chapter Forty-seven

Interred in Stone

The following morning, the entire group crowded into Trixie’s apartment. The show was larger than most Trixie did, large enough to merit props and backdrops. They needed at least two ponies to help move things around when the lights went down, and Twilight had volunteered Rainbow and Applejack—and Octavia to supply the music, after a too-brief stretch of thought under Globe Trotter’s impatient, questioning eyes.

It was nine o’ clock, and Twilight worked on a list of duties for Rainbow and Applejack while Trixie discussed her music with Octavia; Big Mac and Pinkie were out on a walk.

“I don’t like this,” Rainbow finally said, placing her hooves on the table to get their attention. “Something’s off about her today.”

“Are you seriously gonna get in a twist over her not teasin’ you this time?” Applejack asked.

“I guess I’m just not used to it.”

“She probably realized that it bothered you, and decided to stop,” Twilight said. “It’s no big deal.”

Rainbow mumbled something and looked down at Twilight’s list of props and their placements on the stage.

* * * * * *

Cork had gone over to Cloud Line’s house for breakfast, leaving Rarity and Fluttershy alone.

“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” Rarity said. “Discord is the god of chaos, or the spirit, or something. Why is he so focused on attacking Canterlot?”

“I’d been wondering about that too,” Fluttershy said. “But I think I know why. Remember what Twilight told us about how ambitious he can be? About how, last time, he was just poking Princess Celestia’s defenses?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“His end goal is still chaos. I think he just realizes that if he removes Canterlot, anything he does will be much more lasting. If Equestria loses its political center, it’ll be almost impossible for ponies to stop him. We might put up a good fight, but with nothing to rally around, ultimately, he can just divide us up and have his way.”

“Take out the central pillar, and the whole thing collapses,” Rarity said.

Fluttershy nodded once. “Essentially, yes.”

“Hm. Well, it hasn’t worked yet, and I doubt it’ll work this time. The princesses are too prepared.”

“I’d feel better if we had more Elements.”

Rarity nodded and glanced out the window. She could hear a singing voice approaching, and looked at Fluttershy quickly, who nodded understanding. Not a minute later, Cork pranced back into her house.

“Girls, we’ve got a date with destiny!”

“What is it?” Rarity asked.

Cork hummed a loud, cheerful tune as she walked around their table, swishing her tail rakishly. “Okay. Brace yourselves.” She grinned at them. “Are you braced?”

“I’m braced,” Fluttershy said.

“We are going under the pump.”

Rarity and Fluttershy exchanged looks of muted disquiet. Fluttershy had not yet told Rarity of her findings the night before; as far as Rarity was concerned, there were no signs that the pump led anywhere at all.

“Why?” Rarity asked slowly. Her voice was a drawn out groan that Fluttershy had heard before. She was ready to get upset.

“Cloud Line’s taking us down later today.”

Rarity looked resolutely at her dish of food. Her eyes were hard, as was her voice. “And why are we going?”

“Um.” Cork stopped her pacing and sat by the counter. “Are you not excited to go?”

“I don’t know why you would ever think we would be. Since we got here, you’ve done nothing but talk about that pump, and we’ve never expressed any interest whatsoever.” Fluttershy shrunk into her seat.

“But you have to come! Cloud Line only agreed ‘cause I told her you were coming along.”

Rarity’s lips parted to show her perfect teeth. “Well, that was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

“Why do we have to come with you?” Fluttershy asked.

“Apparently I’m not trustworthy enough to go down with her alone.”

“Volunteering us to go with you without asking first isn’t the way to help that,” Rarity said. “I’m not going.”

A long pause uncoiled in the air. “Please, Madam White? Please? I’ve been asking Cloud Line to take me down there forever, and this is the first time she’s ever agreed. You have to come!”

“You shouldn’t have gone behind our backs,” Rarity said, crossing her hooves and tilting her head imperiously.

“Okay, okay,” Cork said, getting back up. “I screwed up. I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I’m not as vacuous as I think I made you believe. I saw how your faces fell whenever I talked about the pump. I was just thinking, maybe if you went down with me, you’d get it. This means a lot to me, you know?”

“We can tell.”

“Please, Madam White. Please? I’ve dreamed of this day since I got here. I’m really sorry I lied. I guess I just saw an opportunity and jumped on it, without thinking about your feelings.”

Rarity thought, and, for a minute, it looked like she would agree. “I’m sorry, Cork. I know what it’s like to make a decision in the heat of the moment. But… I’ve been manipulated before, and tricked, and lied to.” She shook her head. “I’m not going to let it happen again. If you go in, you’re going in without me.”

“I understand.” It was scarcely a whisper, and she didn’t look at either of them as she walked out of the kitchen. When she was gone, they looked at each other.

Rarity pushed herself from the table. “I think I’ll carry some water.”

“Would you like me to come with you?”

“No, thank you. I just need to get some fresh air.”

When Rarity was gone, and the house was quiet, Fluttershy perked her ears up. She could hear Cork crying softly on the other side of the house. She understood Rarity’s stance, and agreed with her, but the crying pony so close to her stirred powerful pity in her chest, and she found herself staring at her plate, running through idea after idea of how to comfort her. In the back of her mind, she remembered Lacey, and how she had used guilt to manipulate Rarity.

“No, this pony isn’t the same.” She rose and drifted to Cork’s room. It was a familiar routine for her. First, she knocked on the door to signal her presence, then she entered as gently as she could. Her eyes went to the pony lying facedown on the bed, paying little attention to the room’s decorations. The countless pictures, drawings, and annotated diagrams of the pump meant next to nothing to her as she crossed the bare floor to sit on the edge of Cork’s bed.

Typically, one of two things happened when Fluttershy put herself in position to comfort a crying pony. They would either do nothing, allowing her to rub their back, their wings, or just cover them in a quiet hug; or they would tell her to go away, in which case she would—for a little while. Cork looked up and, seeing who it was, put her head back to the pillow. Fluttershy knew what it signaled.

Placing a hoof on the small of Cork’s back, she rubbed up and down. Cork shuddered softly, but did not object, and Fluttershy leaned in a little, getting comfortable where she was. In such situations, she could find herself rubbing a grieved pony’s back for up to an hour, so comfort was important.

Fluttershy was conscious to not overdo her comforting motions. Too large of a rub, or too fast, and the pony could think she was trying to communicate with them, or, worse, getting impatient. The goal was to provide a constant reminder of her presence, without pretense or pressure. They would feel better in time; it was not Fluttershy’s job to rush the process.

Cork turned over after five minutes of shaky sobbing, and Fluttershy did not look immediately into her red eyes, though she could have. She didn’t want Cork to think she was waiting for something. When they did meet eyes, Fluttershy didn’t smile, but only held her gaze in her own serious, understanding one. “I know you’re in pain, and that’s fine, because I’m here to help.”

Cork sighed. “Sorry. This probably seems silly to you.”

“Not at all.” Fluttershy’s voice didn’t waver.

“Yeah.” She nodded and wiped her nose. “This has been my dream since I got here, but I’ve never been this close.”

Fluttershy nodded. Sometimes it was best to stop a crying pony from talking, to stop them from working themselves up, but Cork’s eyes were almost dry, and Fluttershy was confident that they were on an upswing.

“I don’t blame Madam White. I shouldn’t have tried to trick you into coming with me.” She put her head to the mattress, and her voice came out a miserable squeak. “And you’re not even going to be here much longer, and when you’re gone, there’s no way Cloud Line’s gonna take me down there, and no one else even wants to, and…” Her words died in a high wail, which gave way to more trembling that Fluttershy was quick to suppress with her hoof. After five more minutes of crying, she got off the bed and wiped her face with a sheet off the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t like to do this in front of ponies. I’m usually not like this, Butterfly.”

“It’s all right, Cork. This is a serious thing for you.” She brought up a wing and turned her face into it to preen—a subtle indication that she was not uncomfortable in the situation. Cork heaved a sigh, and a sudden thought hit Fluttershy. In her mind, a warning throbbed, but she was entirely focused on helping the pony before her. “Would Cloud Line let you go down if I still came along?”

Cork looked down at the floor, but Fluttershy could see the minute changes in her expression. At first, she was unbelieving, but, as the suggestion sunk in, a small, guilty smile appeared. “She might. She… I bet she would!” She stopped herself. “Are you sure?”

Fluttershy nodded emphatically. “I’m sure.” The last thing she saw before being bowled over in a hug was Cork’s amazed smile.

* * * * * *

Octavia, Pinkie, and Big Mac had returned to the ship, leaving the others to sit at Trixie’s table and go over the show again. Rainbow had a beer and stared at Trixie dispassionately as she explained the way different scenes would have to go faster than others.

“You realize we’re gonna go over this during rehearsal, right?” Rainbow said testily.

“You ever rehearse something?” Trixie snapped. “There’s no guarantee you get this right, Dash. You need to be as prepared as possible.”

“No, you do. We’re just grunts. And by the way,” she looked at Twilight. “Six days, Twilight? Really?”

“I’m sorry, Rainbow,” Twilight said. “I didn’t think it would be this long.”

“It’s not her fault,” Trixie said.

“I know you screwed up first, Trixie,” Rainbow said. “Friggin’ Manehattan. One screw up after another.” She slouched in her seat and took a long pull on her beer. “This city sucks.”

“I like it.”

“Well lah-dee-dah, Tricky.” She finished her beer and looked derisively out the window.

“Don’t get sore, Dashie. It mars your pretty face.”

“Hm. Yeah, I can see why you wouldn’t want that.”

Trixie looked at the others, who watched the exchange with more interest than they had shown her talk of props and stage directions. “All right, well, everypony looks about dead in their seats, so let’s call it good. We’re meeting tomorrow at ten.”

“Awesome. I’m out of here,” Rainbow said, jumping from her seat. “Hey, Trix. C’mere.” She trotted over and gave Trixie a terse hug. “For yesterday.”

Trixie, however, only grinned as Rainbow made to pull away. Bringing her foreleg up, she yanked Rainbow close again. “And one for the road, Dashie.” She kissed Rainbow on the cheek. “Don’t let it go to your head, now.”

Applejack laughed, but Rainbow was dead silent.

When they got back to the ship, Octavia was practicing her cello, stopping and starting jaggedly. She was trying to come up with music for Trixie’s show. Rainbow had gone immediately below, frowning and blushing furiously.

“What happened this time?” Octavia asked.

“Trixie smooched her,” Applejack said.

“Ah.”

“It’s always something with those two,” Twilight said. “Don’t tell Rainbow, but I think she likes it.”

“I think you are right.” She drew the bow across the strings, producing a low hum that she repeated, sawing back and forth, eyes closed.

“What kind of sound are you tryin’ for?” Big Mac asked.

“Something original, first of all. I have always liked to challenge myself to create new music, and not fall back on the work of others.”

“Okay.”

“I do not exactly know. I want something minimal, but deep. I want a lot of significance in these sounds.” She tried another string, but frowned. “I am not certain whether I can produce what I am thinking of.” She created a long, groaning wheeze from her instrument, and sighed. “Actually, I am certain.” She propped the cello up against the rail and fell back to all fours. “I need more than these strings.”

“Are you goin’ out again?” Applejack asked.

“Yes.”

“But sis! You don’t have any money!” Pinkie cried.

Octavia sat down with a thump. “Damn it.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot you were bit-less!”

“It is not something I find myself thinking about lately,” Octavia murmured.

“What do you need?” Twilight asked. “If it’s not too much, I think we can get away with using Princess Celestia’s treasury slip.”

“That thing is s’posed to be fer crucial stuff only, Twi,” Applejack said. “We can’t go fritterin’ the princess’ bits on stuff that don’t matter. No offense, Octavia.”

“Never mind this,” Octavia said, standing again. “I am going out anyway. Something will happen, and I will figure this out.”

“Hold up,” Applejack said. “Yer doin’ this a lot lately.”

“Yes.”

Applejack scrutinized her, but only backed away from the ramp with a shake of her head. “We worry ‘bout ya, girl.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Octavia said, walking down the plank. Big Mac hesitantly followed, until she turned and gave him a nod; then he took off at a trot.

“Somethin’s up with her,” Applejack said. “She ain’t usually so impulsive. Twi?”

“Ponies change, I guess,” Twilight said. “As long as she’s not getting into trouble, I’m okay with it. Heck, it might be good for her.”

“Any particular reason you wanted to come along?” Octavia asked.

“Just tryin’ to get to know ya better. Gotta be friends with everyone if Ah wanna do this right.”

“Fair enough.” She paused at a street corner and watched the cars going past.

“What are ya lookin’ for?”

“I can hear the music that I want in my head, for the most part. It is quiet and… I am not sure of the word. Not distant. I want it to blend in with the background and heighten the mood without ever calling much attention to itself. It is not quite ambient. It is more than that, but not by much.”

“Soft?”

She smiled a little and shook her head. “If I could get my hooves on a double bass, or something even bigger, that would be very helpful.”

“Ah doubt you’ll get a double bass with no money.”

“I know I will not.” They came to another crosswalk and hurried across the street. There was a spacious parking lot, and they went into it to escape the crowd. “It also needs an element of tension. I need something subtle and repetitive to put everyone on edge.”

They walked deeper into the lot. “We’re not gonna find any instruments in here,” Big Mac said, and she stopped to look at him. She was accustomed to her friends backing away or dropping their smiles when she turned on them, but, Big Mac, still unfamiliar with her, stood his ground and looked into her offended expression with mellow bemusement.

“I left the ship to be alone with my thoughts, Big Macintosh, not to find instruments. If that happens, then it is a fortunate coincidence, and nothing more.”

“Sorry, Miss Octavia.”

“I know that you are trying to help, but you should stop now.”

He hung his head and followed a couple paces behind her when she continued. Unlike the day before, there were no clouds, and so she had to move slowly to avoid exerting herself. It was nearly noon, and it was hot. When they reached the other side of the lot, they were able to cross a larger road and go into a small park. Many ponies were out and about with kites and balls, and a picnic had been set up deeper into the lawn.

“This looks nice,” Big Mac said tentatively.

Octavia didn’t respond, but moved close to the park’s inside edge, skirting the majority of the ponies. She could see Big Mac pausing and hesitating to go with her, but did not stop for him. Instead, she spoke without looking. “If you want to socialize, do so. I doubt you have spent enough time with us to be in danger.”

“Ya sure?”

“I will come through this park when I return. That will probably be in an hour or more.”

He thought for a moment. “An’ you’ll be okay on yer own?”

“Yes.” She looked at him, and he gave her a gracious smile before cantering to the nearest group of ponies. She watched him for a minute, then continued on her own. She had thought, initially, that the company would be pleasant, but was happy to see him go. “He tries too hard to ingratiate himself to us.” She frowned. “Or perhaps he is just friendly,” she whispered.

She stopped to rest under a large tree, where a couple was sitting and talking quietly. She turned her back to them, to show she was not listening. In the distance, carved out of the brilliant, blue sky, was a towering radio antenna. Thoughts of Captain Shout and the unseen conflict that moved him resurfaced. As much as she wanted to help Lacey stop Strawberry, she was utterly lost as to how to do so.

She got up again and walked out the nearest gate to the street, music on her mind. Big Mac’s insistence had broken the tiny, rebellious flame of curiosity inside her, and she found herself, not following her hooves as she exited the park, but considering ways to obtain the sounds she wanted. A passing taxi: the low groaning strings that she wanted to vibrate the stage. Someone humming: the windy chimes that descended from above like gentle flakes of snow.

She turned down the sidewalk and stopped to rest again by a telephone pole, looking up at the bowing wires. The first time she had mentioned telephones in casual conversation with the others, she had received mostly blank looks. It hadn’t occurred to her that there were ponies in the world who were so insulated from the technology she and her peers considered ordinary. Seeing her friends’ marveling faces at the phone lines the first time they hit the city had amused her.

A pony trotted past and righted a bicycle that leaned against the building. Octavia watched him pedal away, envious. Though she could stand unsupported on her hind legs—for a few minutes—balancing on a bike had always been beyond her. The bike clicked away, and, suddenly, the final idea fell into place, as easily and naturally as if it had been there all along. The ticking, turning chain: that tiny sound, perfectly, mechanically insistent. Before she knew it, she was galloping down the sidewalk, shouting at the pony to wait.

He was already well ahead, and didn’t stop immediately. When he reached a crosswalk, she thought he would speed through and leave her behind, but he turned abruptly at the traffic light to regard her, at first just curious, but then amazed when he recognized her. She didn’t notice; by the time she had caught up, her head was pounding drily, and she fell back against a wall. The heat on her dark fur, the sudden exertion of running, and no sleep the night before combined into a single sledgehammer of exhaustion that almost made her black out on the spot.

“Miss? Miss, are you okay?” a distant voice asked.

She looked around in a semi-daze, panting. “I just need to rest.”

“You’re Octavia Melody.”

She nodded.

“Did… did you need something?”

Octavia sat back against the wall and caught her breath, and the stallion with the bike watched her, perplexed and worried. She waited another minute, and, when she no longer felt in danger of losing consciousness, spoke. “I apologize if I startled you. I have what may sound like an odd request.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“May I see your bike?”

“Wait.” He stifled a giggle. “Really?”

She let out a heavy breath. “Please. I just want to listen to the gears.” In the back of her mind, one thought stuck out: “He must think me utterly insane.”

He made no objections, however, as he leaned his bike next to her and helped her up. Lifting one end off the ground, she had him slowly turn the pedals, her ear up and judging. She was tired, but the seriousness of her music was enough to stay her concentration, and she analyzed the ticking as she directed his speed. In her head, the other music played as she wanted it.

“What’s this for?”

“Quiet.”

“Sorry.”

After another minute of listening, she stopped him, and then stopped, herself. “So I found something. He is not going to give this to me for free.”

“Uh, can I talk now?”

“It is for a musical project that I am doing,” she said. “I need a small, mechanical noise that I can repeat very easily.”

“Oh, wow! So you’re still doing music?”

She wiped sweat off her brow and looked around. A few ponies were staring, and her head throbbed stickily. “Yes. Please—and I am sorry for being abrupt like this, but I need to be somewhere—what can I do to make you give this to me?”

“My bike?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know you were into bikes.”

She withheld a sigh. “I am today. Please. I… left my money in the hotel, but I can do other things to arrange a trade.”

He took a moment to process what she had said, then smiled. She recognized his hungry expression immediately. “How about a date?”

“How about I fling you across the street and just take your damn bike?” She put on her polite smile. “That would be fine.”

He laughed self-consciously, his eyes lighting up. “Really?”

“Yes.” She stood and grabbed his bike, and he reached for it tentatively. “I want this now. Come by the airship lot outside Rose Tower at eight o’ clock, and I will meet you at the entrance ramp.”

“Uh… the airship lot?”

She fumbled for a way to move the bike and walk at the same time, and endured a snicker from him as she fell gracelessly back on all fours. “Yes, the lot. Eight o’ clock.”

“Well, okay. I mean, it’s a little far, but—”

“Thank you for the bike.” Leaning it against her side awkwardly, she walked away. She hated how silly she looked, but did not turn back to look at him. When she rounded a corner, and saw no one pursuing her, she stopped again to take stock of what she had agreed to.

“Ah’m just sayin’ we ought to be more cautious ‘bout lettin’ her go off like this, an’ Ah think, under the circumstances, that ain’t unreasonable,” Applejack said.

“But you’re making it sound like you want her locked up on the ship,” Rainbow said.

“Well, that ain’t what Ah’m tryin’ to say.” She stood up to look over the gunwale, hearing a small, approaching sound. “What in the world?”

“What?”

“Speak of the devil.”

Octavia came to an unsteady halt outside the ship, dismounting off the bike and removing the twin blotches of magic she had used to keep it upright. She tried to walk with it, but, failing, instead levitated it ungainly over the railing while she walked up the plank.

“And just what is this?” Rainbow asked. “Where’s Big Mac?”

“He wanted to jog behind,” Octavia said, wiping sweat out of her eyes. “I need someone—”

“Here, before you say whatever you gotta say, this is fer you,” Applejack said, thrusting a letting into Octavia’s face. “Yer pal Lacey sent someone ‘round to drop this off. Said it was fer you.”

“Why me?” She unfolded it.

He knows you know of Captain Shout, but can’t hurt you quickly enough for it to matter. He can, however, silence that nasty leak. Just so happens, a little birdie told me a local firebug just took on a huge job, to the tune of 2,000 embezzled bits. Connect the dots, and do it quick. That same birdie thinks it should go down later tonight.

He has goons. I have connections. Don’t screw this up for me. LK

“Interesting.”

“Well? What did it say?” Rainbow asked.

“I think Strawberry is going to destroy Captain Shout.”

“Psh. Bad move, Strawberry. Wasting your own muscle.”

“He does not believe he has a choice. He thinks that Shout is a leak,” Octavia said. She dropped the letter and righted the bike. “Do not worry. I think I know what to do. For now, I need someone to help me dismantle this.”

Applejack and Rainbow exchanged looks just as Big Mac plodded up the ramp, gasping for breath.

Octavia sat across from the bike-riding stranger at the Mooncrash Bistro, a trendy outdoors restaurant full of college students and hanging plants. They shared a table in the corner by the white metal rail, a lantern flickering with moths to one side, and tiny chili pepper-shaped lights hanging above. From her position, she could see the blinking tower of lights that was one of Manehattan’s radio stations. She had insisted they dine close to the station, saying she wanted to see the lights. In reality, there was only one light she was looking out for.

While he talked, gushing about how much he adored her and her art—mindless repetition to her ears—she stared at the station and thought about her music. Before she had to leave, she and Big Mac—who replaced Rainbow a couple minutes in—had managed to remove the bike’s wheels and handlebars, preserving the chain, gears, and pedals. They sat in a loose tangle on the floor, and he had told her, by the time she returned, he would have them suspended as she wanted. The ghostly ticking repeated in her mind, and she could still hear the music.

“So what are you doing with the Elements of Harmony? All the travel must stifle that beautiful creativity,” he said, prompting a flat smile.

“I am taking a break.”

“From fame?”

“From everything.” She glanced at the tower and leaned back for her plate of food. She watched him watch her, waiting for her to take the first bite. Grace and poise were expected, she knew, but she also knew, the instant that horrible, orange light appeared from between the gaps in buildings, she would be gone.

“Sabbatical. I hear you,” he said, nodding politely. “I’m surprised you’d want to travel if you’re taking a break from it all. No staying at home?”

She chewed thoughtfully. “None of that matters. Please, tell me more about yourself. Is being an accounting clerk as dull as it sounds?”

He laughed good-naturedly and dove into his own meal, appeased. Her eyes wandered as he described his work: hundred-page documents, receipts, sorting checks by date and by entity. She could feel the familiar buzz of exhaustion in the back of her head, steadily draining at her anxious readiness for action.

“Are you all right? You look sick,” he said.

“I have something on my mind.” She didn’t look away from the radio tower. In her heart, her intuition was tensing up. Something was going to happen soon, she felt.

“Yeah, I hear you. Work was crazy today. Hump day, though.”

She breathed through her nose. “Yes. Today is a Wednesday.”

While he paid the check and she fumbled with the wrapper for her after-dinner mint, which the unicorn waiter had forgotten to open for her—a common courtesy for the non-magical—she took her eyes off the radio station long enough that the orange pulse across the black street looked as sudden and impossible as if the whole thing had vanished before her eyes. She froze for a moment, her thoughts scrambled, but a single sentence cut through the confusion. “Do not screw this up.”

She rose so quickly that the chair fell over, and she didn’t even look at her date as she jumped over the railing, landing in the bushes by the steps up to the porch. His shocked voice followed behind her, but it meant nothing to her; as sudden as the fire, she was in another world. She bolted across a street and down an alleyway, splashing through a puddle and passing a homeless mare crouched in an alcove.

Turning quickly at the brick wall, she dove deeper into the space between buildings, losing sight of the blinking tower, but not the sound of its shrieking alarm. She stopped for breath by a Dumpster, and, for the first time since she realized, back on the ship, what she was going to do, doubt entered her mind to the sound of approaching fire trucks. She hadn’t even thought about other ponies.

“Too late to turn back,” she muttered, shaking her head and plowing headlong through the shadows. On the other end of the alley, she almost hit a pedestrian, swerving quickly to avoid him. The radio station howled in the night as a crowd moved restlessly in the parking lot outside, and there were no firefighters. The squat, double-story building glowed through its windows, and smoke came out from the first floor eaves. She was operating on impulse and instinct, and first ran to the skeleton crowd, absent Captain Shout, to ask his location.

All she received for the first minute was confused babble, before discerning, from one more levelheaded mare, a general idea: none of them had seen him exit, though they knew he was inside somewhere. Turning on her fetlocks, she made a dash for the front door, slowing her pace at the heat that already aggressed her. Still, she could hear her music.

Her only conscious thought was to channel some of her energy into a rudimentary shield spell, one of the things Twilight had shown her and that she did not practice nearly enough, in her opinion. It glittered around her, hidden from the watchers by the smoke that billowed from the door, fire licking at its edges.

Sound surrounded her in a harsh wave. The klaxon screech from all sides and the fuzzy, crumbling sound of growing fire created an urgent, uncertain atmosphere that seemed to squeeze her blazing head and ears. The parking lot was already lost, and the only important thing was the secretary’s desk: a colossal, oblong fireball that Octavia had to skirt on her way to the stairs. She didn’t think about where Captain Shout might actually be. As before, no urge to stop and consider her situation entered her fevered mind. She threw a bolt of magic at the metal door, rending it aside and off one of its hinges, scraping the floor with a distressed sound and a dark, quarter-circle groove.

Smoke clouded the stairwell, but the heat was not strong inside, and she was able to ascend the stairs with hooves unharmed. The overhead light was still on, casting the well in a hazy glow that was familiar to her. Outside, sirens were coming closer.

The second floor door snapped open, and she was bathed in a sudden rush of heat that hit her in the chest and made her pause, head bent near the warm rail. Sparks swirled through slits in the tiled floor, and heat waves danced before her eyes. Near the back wall, nascent spines of flame feathered up along a large window, through which she could see the crowd, waiting for something to happen.

Something groaned below, and she stayed by the door, watching, but also gathering her senses. The heat below had been tolerable, but, above the fire’s source, she felt as though she were standing in a giant oven. Even with her shield, her skin itched under her fur, and her eyes watered at the thick heat. She scanned the room, taking another step back as more flames appeared in a near corner. Stepping under an alarm, she was sharply reminded of its presence, and flapped her ears down. “Get out of here, stupid. You are not a firepony.”

Outside, a shell of lights drifted into view, and she took a single, painful step forward, then another. “Do not mess this up for me.” “Fuck consequences.” She moved along the side of the room, between desks and igniting cubicle partitions, always too close. A pinned photograph of a blank-expressioned foal was curling over someone’s scheduling book.

She passed a pair of desks and raced into the lounge, where an engulfed tablecloth forced her to back away immediately, not back through the door, but to the side, bumping into a hot trash bin and spinning away to the middle of the room, where she paused, back end searing. Through the smoke and noise, she saw only the suggestion of another door, and dashed to it uncomprehendingly, into a glass-sided corridor. Smoke filled her eyes, and she bent her head, coughing. Something else that Twilight had taught her about shields: they could keep out projectiles and intense energies, but it took a particularly strong spell to filter something as small and particulate as smoke or dust.

One second too many, and her hoof singed painfully on a hot tile. With a small cry, she lurched forward and, acting on impulse, dove headlong into the smoke, face down and breath held. The alarm momentarily quieted, but grew louder as she approached the opposite door, which she almost slammed into.

She could feel her concentration waning, and tried to kick the door open, turning around and getting another face full of smoke. Her hooves slipped out from underneath her as she doubled over in another fit of coughing and gagging, her eyes stinging and watering, the pain on her scalp from the hot air momentarily forgotten. The alarm shrieked, and the floor was hot as well, and growing hotter.

“Hey! Are you in here?” A firm voice barked in the floor below, but she ignored it. Pushing herself up and shaking her head, she realized something: as hard as it was to stand, it was harder still to open her eyes. She had not slept for nearly forty-eight hours, and she could feel the familiar pull of exhaustion on her already strained muscles. There was little left to give.

She shoved the door open and entered a recording room. The control panels still blinked, and, to her fading mind, they, too, were a warning. “Alert. Alert. Dangerous situation in progress.” She shook her head again, and her eyes focused on the grotesque form behind the glass.

Lying on the floor, head rosy with a blunt injury, she saw him. The small stallion with the big voice, the loudmouth rebel, Captain Shout, was unconscious and waiting patiently for the flames to consume him.

Voices called for her again, higher up but farther behind, and she, again, didn’t respond. Stepping carefully onto a panel, she brought up what magic she could into the only spell she thought herself truly skilled at. The glass shattered outwards in an amazing crest of glitter, its delicate tinkling barely audible over the alarm and the crunching flames.

Head fuzzy, she made to step into the room, but balked. She couldn’t get glass in her hooves.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” she rasped. Her throat was sore from smoke inhalation, but it was nothing in comparison to the leaden feeling that was settling in her mind and body. Her head was a cinder block, lifeless on the inside and slowly sinking.

“Hey! Can you hear me?”

She didn’t turn, but the voice prompted a response nonetheless. Without thinking, she took a hoof and thrust it to the side, into the window frame. Tiny teeth of glass bit into her with bitter, antiseptic speed that immediately cleared her mind and woke up her drooping eyes.

Targeting Captain Shout, she produced a crude levitation spell and half-dragged, half-bounced him toward her. His head flopped like a plaything, and, to her disquiet, she saw that the perpetrator had taped a pair of obnoxious, overlarge sunglasses to his face.

It took her a moment to turn around; she had to keep him in her mind, but behind her and out of sight. By the time she had him in a comfortable spot, the pain in her savagely bleeding leg was slowly dimming away, and even the sight of her own blood did not elicit anything stronger than mild distaste.

“Come on, Captain,” she whispered, heading back down the hall. The floor sagged, and her hooves burned at the first step. Something far before her fell, and she heard the wild spray of sparks and splinters, coupled with fireponies’ cries of alarm. She stood at the exit, shrouded in smoke and fatigue, and yet another impulsive thought entered her mind.

“Can I teleport us?”

She had tried it only once, after reading about the rudiments in one of Twilight’s tomes. The process was easy in theory, but, in practice, she had been unable to get a clear enough vision of her destination. That had been after a night when she slept.

She slowly went to her knees. Her eyes closed again, and her mind was slowing once more.

A powerful sound hit the building’s side, steady and thunderous, and she opened her eyes again. Looking around, she thought of the front window on the second floor.

“Hang on, Captain. In the words of my sister, this one will be a doozy.” Conjuring the best image she could of the outside lot, she forced her magic into the narrow process of teleportation. Around her, the sounds died away, and her body felt suddenly tight, no longer the heavy burden it was mere moments ago. Somewhere, Captain Shout was tethered to her, and, together, they shrunk and tightened. The smoke-filled, death-hot room snapped and flipped away, and a cold plunge of black concrete met her with a powerful, ear-snuffing crack.

* * * * * *

Cloud Line slipped a hoof into a small divot near the pump’s edge and lifted, and the slab of earth came up to reveal a soft, grassy slope. Cork stood right beside her, lantern in her jaws, and Fluttershy was behind them. Rarity was back at the house.

“All right, before we go down, listen,” Cloud Line said. “Don’t put that lantern down. Just listen to what I have to say. There’s a lot of room down here, and not much light. If either of you wander off, there’s no guarantee that I can find you again.” She went down into the hole, and Cork eagerly followed, her light swinging jauntily deeper into the earth.

At first, Fluttershy didn’t move, but when Cork turned back and looked at her, eyes alight with more than the reflected flame in her mouth, she crept along. The tunnel was cool and dry, and as soon as she was inside, the ceiling stuck shut again with a sound that made Fluttershy’s wings and throat snap closed. Cork’s lantern illumed a stone-sided and dirt-floored corridor, slanting down gently, but, beyond her sphere of light, all manner of imagined horrors waited. Each step was an effort, even in the light. There were no sounds, and Fluttershy thought anxiously back to their journey through the aqueducts of Trottingham.

Every dozen or so feet, they passed a pair of slits in the walls: air vents, Cloud Line said, and they stopped for Cork to take a picture and scribble something in her ledger.

“Where do the vents lead? I’ve never seen anything on the outside.”

“I can’t say,” Cloud Line said. “I can’t say much about this place. I only know where things are.”

“Still,” Cork breathed, and they walked deeper.

There were no sounds, though there was a palpable change in the air as they passed under the river. The air grew cooler and damper, and, before long, another light appeared in the distance.

“It’s an enchanted lantern. Proximity activates it,” Cloud Line said.

“Amazing,” Cork said, trotting ahead, but stopping to look back at them. For her eagerness—obsession, Fluttershy thought—she appeared careful to abide by Cloud Line’s warnings and advice. When they reached the light, the tunnel had widened, and a slab of concrete had replaced the dirt of the floor and ceiling, leaving them in a large, deep well of dark stone.

“And this is where all resemblance to the outside is gone. This stairwell goes fifty feet down. I usually just fly down, but we’ll take the stairs tonight.”

Fluttershy looked over the stone banister while Cork and Cloud Line got on the first step. The overhead light only barely reached the bottom, where she could see the gray lines of spiraling banisters and landings, edges thin as spider silk. The air was again dry and devoid of smell.

“Isn’t it amazing, Butterfly?” Cork asked, bringing her attention back to the stairs.

“It really is something,” Fluttershy managed. She joined them down the stairs, passing the hanging light’s calming glow to the opposite wall, where they stopped on a cold, flat, concrete landing. “All this, hidden beneath your tiny town.”

“I always suspected something like this, but never at this… scale,” Cork said, taking off her camera for more pictures. “How long did it take to make this?”

“About five years,” Cloud Line said. Her voice quieted reverently. “You’ll understand why I know that when we get to the bottom.”

Cork’s camera flashed a couple times, and they went on. The stairs were steep and rough, and progress down was slow for Cork. Fluttershy and Cloud Line stumbled occasionally, but a quick flap of wings was enough to right them.

When they stepped onto the final landing, the light above them was a distant star; without Cork’s lantern, they would be lost. Fluttershy followed Cork’s enraptured gaze as she swiveled around the flat, empty ground. On opposite ends of the atrium, there were archways, both leading to rooms that were too deep to penetrate from where they stood.

“Behind us is a vault that you don’t want to go inside,” Cloud Line said. “It’s empty, and it goes on for miles. It could be hours before you find the edge, and there are no lights anywhere.”

“Is it all open?”

“Completely. Er, I think so.” She turned around, her brown body moon-like in the unaccustomed lantern light. “The other way takes you to the cemetery.”

“Ponies are buried here?” Fluttershy asked. A note of fear cracked her voice, and, as she backed a step away from Cloud Line, she realized it was the first since she had gone down below the ground.

“The ones who created this place, yes. Many of them died digging.” She waited for Cork to take a couple more pictures, and then led them onwards into the dark, under a plain arch. The keystone bore the only decoration, which Cork photographed as well: a snowflake, encased in a circle.

For the first several yards, their path was a slight curve away from the entryway, along a concrete road with half-inch high borders. Nothing outside them but more emptiness, Cloud Line said.

“And here’s the first headstone,” she said. The perfectly-edged gravestone stuck out of the rock with neither seam nor fracture, as if shaped from the stone itself, not inserted later. Fluttershy and Cork crouched together to read it. The words were unweathered, though the date put it at eighty-four years prior.

“Opal Eyes, cement mixer, bottom chamber. September fourth, thirty-two thirty-one. Sweet Celestia,” Cork whispered. “This place is old.”

“There’s about a hundred ponies interred down here,” Cloud Line said. “All workers.”

“I wish I could talk to them.”

Cloud Line walked silently past, and they followed her, Fluttershy lingering at the grave for a second. There were no decorations, not on the headstone itself and not around it. No dried flower petals wreathed its base.

The single gravestone quickly became a field of them, and free-standing torches sprung to life of their own accord as they moved through. Their hoofsteps clicked like ghosts in the stony abyss, and headstones’ shadows swayed in the swing of Cork’s lantern. There was no apparent edge to the grotto, but she could see the shining contours of stones far off the concrete road.

“Look at that,” Cork said, awe turning her voice to a dreading whisper. She had stopped in her tracks to stare, amazed, at the beginnings of the far wall. Arched ribs of stone condensed downwards like bent spokes, converging somewhere in the deep distance. Fluttershy squinted and took a step closer. Cork hadn’t seen it—else she would have exclaimed about it, instead of the carved stone above—but Fluttershy did. A pale cloud of starlight seemed to leak from within the center of the darkness, revealing nothing.

They walked on, and, when Cork finally did notice the change in light, she looked to Cloud Line for guidance.

“It’s a window,” Cloud Line said.

“Where to?” Fluttershy asked.

“The location changes. Far from here, though.”

It felt like half an hour before the tunnel’s end was in sight, and they were stepping cautiously onto the stone plinth that would lead them to a single, modest step, ensconced between swirling pillars, emblazoned with delicate line work.

“Look at this,” Cork said, crouching down to read a small scrawl of lines on the stair’s lip. “It’s in Equestrian!”

“This cave is less than a hundred years old,” Cloud Line said.

“‘For those who gave their lives here, use this to find a way home again.’ So… this lets us go wherever these ponies came from?”

“Not exactly,” Cloud Line said, approaching the monument. It was a gentle blue field, thin as silk, or the surface of a pond scraped away from the water beneath. It didn’t move at her touch, and, as she walked through it, cleared partially, admitting her to the rough stone behind. “We can’t pass through.”

Cork joined her and stuck a hoof through. Her camera was forgotten, strapped around her neck.

“How does it feel?” Fluttershy asked.

“Like air.”

“But look at the image,” Cloud Line said, gesturing. The window was close to ten feet tall, oblong. Through it, stars shone and snowflakes drifted sparsely. The moon was a minuscule, curved wire at the edge of the window. Tree branches swayed at the bottom border.

“Where is it?” Fluttershy asked.

“One of the southern forests. This window connects to another at the top of a large tree, it looks like.”

Cork’s camera clicked energetically, making Fluttershy jump. “This is incredible. All this time, such a rich history was buried a scant fifty feet below my hooves!”

“Remember our agreement, Cork,” Cloud Line said in a low voice.

“I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone. This will be my secret. And Butterfly’s, of course.”

Cloud Line looked at Fluttershy, who could only smile weakly. “I’m not worried about her.”

“Um… thanks?” Fluttershy offered.

“I wish I could meet the ponies who made this. Even one of them,” Cork said. “It’s simply too much. Where did it come from? Why did they make it? How? Did they use the window and then deactivate it? Not to mention that vault we didn’t look at, that empty one.”

Fluttershy turned back. Her thoughts strayed to Rarity, and she looked up and around, suddenly, acutely aware that she was more than fifty feet below the ground. She looked at another headstone.

“Sugarcane, vent digger, top tunnel. January twenty-ninth, thirty-two thirty-six,” Cork read aloud. “Lots of dead for just five years here.”

Cloud Line looked at them both, lips parted softly. “Have you seen enough, Cork? Butterfly?”

“Yes, and also no.”

“I figured.” She put her back to the enchanted window, and Fluttershy took one last glance at it as they walked away. A large flock of birds scattered across its lambent surface, and she could almost hear them in the back of her mind.

* * * * * *

Octavia woke up with a searing pain across her backside and a pounding head. Her body was wrapped in bandages, and everyone minus Twilight was already there.

“Some date last night, huh?” Applejack said.

Octavia sighed, realizing what must have happened. “How bad is it?”

“Not.”

Pinkie peeked over the bedside at her. “You’ve got a bunch of first-degree burns and a bump on the head. Oh, and your hoof needed some stitches. The doctor thinks you’ll be all right to leave by tomorrow.”

“And Captain Shout?”

“That blowhard is the reason you’re like this?” Rainbow said.

“You saw the note Lacey left for me, did you not?”

“Well, yeah, but…” She looked to the side, and Octavia looked at her.

“Yer actin’ awfully impulsive lately,” Applejack said. “At first, it was just kinda strange, but now we’re gettin’ worried. We’re all concerned fer you, Octavia, an’ that’s what it is.”

“I see.” Octavia looked out the window. It was late morning, and she thought she could see the afterimage of smoke in the sky, but wasn’t sure. “Yes, I have been acting more on impulse these last few days. I do not know why.”

“What are you lookin’ for when you go out?” Big Mac asked.

“Excitement. I do not want to stay on the ship all day, so I go exploring. Yesterday, Rainbow is correct, I wanted to save Captain Shout.”

“You’ll notice that it’s you who’s sufferin’ to do what Lacey wants, an’ she’s not even here,” Applejack said.

Octavia thought for a second. “I did not notice that.”

“Well now you do.”

“Yes.” She waited, but they didn’t look away from her. “You know how I am. You know that I get restless. I am sorry that I did not tell you, but I knew you would try to stop me, and, frankly, I do not think it is something that should have been stopped.”

“Almost killing yourself for some stranger, you mean,” Rainbow said.

“Yes.” Rainbow shook her head, and the derision gave Octavia defensive strength. “I know you do not like it, but I feel very strongly about the topic. The firefighters did not get there until late. If I did not help him, what would that have made me?” She flipped her mane out of her eyes, but if flopped back down calmly. She snarled and shook her head, prompting a rough slap of pain across her chest.

“A bystander,” Pinkie said.

“Exactly. A bystander who could have helped.”

“But Lacey…” Applejack started.

“Her involvement does not affect his life, or the importance of saving it.”

“It screws with yers, though,” Big Mac said.

* * * * * *

On the floor below Octavia’s, Captain Shout lay in his own bed, hooked up to an IV drip and wide awake. Lacey Kisses stood at his side, quiet, while he considered what she had said.

“You don’t expect me to believe you came here just out of the goodness of your heart. What aren’t you telling me?”

“You didn’t figure it out?” Lacey asked, head cocked.

He coughed. “I know, right? All that time unconscious, you’d think I’d have plenty of time to think about what happened.”

“Fair enough, Captain. I’ll spoon-feed you this one. That fire was no accident. It was planned, by Strawberry.”

“Who?”

She smiled sweetly and looked at the door. It was closed, and she heard no one outside.

“I mean, I’ve heard of him, but—”

“Shhhh, shhhh. Let Auntie Lacey explain.” She sat on his bed and curled her tail around his back hoof, tickling it gently. “The Elements of Harmony figured you out somehow. I don’t pretend to know where they get their information. Instead of trying to do something subtle, they asked Strawberry about you point-blank, and he concluded—quite naturally—that you were a leak.” She flicked his nose with her hoof. “And that’s why he tried to burn you down.”

“You think you have this all figured out, huh?”

Still smiling, she leaned in and removed her hoof, placing it, instead, on his bandaged chest. “Strawberry and I know each other. Let’s not argue, hm? I’m trying to help you, anyway.” He glowered at her, and she let her weight rest on him slightly. He groaned and tried to shift away, but she pressed harder. “He betrayed you, Captain, and he thinks you’re dead.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“Your loyalty and all the information you have on him.”

He tried to move once more, and she moved her hoof lower, where the bandages were softer. She smiled as his breathing grew harder.

“Tell me everything, Captain.” She gave him one last press and then retracted her hoof. “And let’s be friends.”

* * * * * *

Rehearsal began late. The others arrived back from the hospital at ten-thirty, where Globe Trotter and Trixie had set up the stage and Twilight was going through the script, mumbling dialogue to herself.

“I don’t want to sound like I don’t care about her health, but where does this leave my music?” Trixie asked.

“If I know her, which I do,” Pinkie said, “it’s the biggest thing on her mind right now.”

“Well… all right.” She shook her head quickly. “Dumb mare. Twilight, you ready to start this?”

Twilight flinched, but floated her script to the side of the stage with a smile. Trixie hopped up with her, and Globe Trotter took a seat at the front. With a slight glow of her horn, Trixie dimmed the lights and cleared her throat.

“Remember, delivery is more important than accuracy. The audience doesn’t care if you can recite your script perfectly; they care if you can recite it with energy and panache.”

“Right, panache,” Twilight said.

Trixie began her slow strut around the stage, Twilight lingering in the back, waiting for her cue to step forward.

“Shouldn’t we have some dramatic lighting for this part?” Pinkie asked.

“I’m my own dramatic lighting,” Trixie said. She flourished her cape and flared her horn, and the stage went dark except for a small patch of light surrounding her. Her voice carried through the empty space, full and opulent. “As you may have heard, the Great and Powerful Trixie has known many foes, all of which she had bested with her bravery, cunning, and unparalleled sorcery. Her skill was celebrated throughout the land. But there were always… doubters.” The light took on a dim red hue, and her strut became a skulk.

Applejack and Pinkie watched from behind the stage as she delivered her introductory monologue. “She’s still full of herself,” Applejack said. “She’s just better at disguisin’ it.”

“I like her,” Pinkie said.

“You like everyone.”

“I don’t like Discord.”

“He doesn’t count.”

“Hey!” Trixie shouted, her speech coming to an abrupt stop. “We can hear you back there, you know. Stop talking and start setting up those props.”

“Aw, ponyfeathers,” Applejack mumbled as they scrambled to the front. By the time Trixie was finished with her monologue, the lights went up to pin them halfway on the stage, a large, plywood tree between them.

“The idea is to have that up before she’s finished talking,” Globe Trotter said.

They retreated back behind the stage as Twilight came forward and began her dialogue with Trixie; neither held their scripts for it.

“They’re pretty good,” Applejack whispered, back behind the stage, earning an emphatic nod from Pinkie.

Octavia lay in bed, trying to think of her music for Trixie’s show and trying to ignore the persistent, itching pain under her skin. According to the doctor, the firefighters had been pulling their ponies out of the building when she and Shout appeared, flying fast and only a couple feet off the ground. The two of them crashed into the parking lot, leaving twin smears of blood and fur, along with a mystery: how could two earth ponies manage a teleportation accident?

She looked up as someone entered the room, and couldn’t completely stem the grateful smile as Lacey closed the door and came to her bedside. “I was hoping to speak with you.”

“I thought you’d have a couple questions,” Lacey said. “But first, let me just say, thank you. I know as well as you do that you didn’t have to go to this length to save a stranger.”

“Stop it. I am not interested in your gratitude.”

Lacey’s composure didn’t flicker, but her eyes hardened. “Ah, right. Because of what I did to poor Rarity.”

“If Strawberry were not here, I would probably be looking for ways to avenge my friend. You are lucky that you are only the second most evil here.”

“No, I get it,” Lacey said lightly. “Just business. That’s smart.”

“How did you know what would happen?”

“I told you, did I not? I have connections.”

“That is not good enough.”

“It’ll have to be.” She smiled and crawled up to Octavia’s bed, leaning in close, almost touching muzzles. “How about you try asking different questions? Instead of worrying about me, worry about yourself.”

“If I worried about myself, you would not have Captain Shout.”

Lacey grinned. “My point exactly. Strawberry had a goon. He did dangerous things without ever knowing the whole story. What do you think you are for me?”

Octavia looked past Lacey. The thought had not come to her, and hearing it stated so lightly made her sore muscles tighten.

“You’ve made it clear that you don’t like me, but, Octavia, in the little time I’ve spent with you, I’ve come to respect you. Your friends are just airheaded slaves to the royalty, but you think.” She smiled. “Not well, and not enough, but at least you try.”

“Flattery will not help you.”

Lacey slipped off the bed and went to the window at a trot, suddenly throwing a curtain aside. “My hoof was forced, dammit. I was protecting myself and my friends. Does that make me a bad pony?”

“Your methods make you a bad pony.”

“So you probably don’t trust my motives, when I try to get you to be careful getting between Strawberry and me. You probably suspect manipulation.”

“Yes.”

Lacey scoffed. “So I’m not capable of feeling legitimate need to warn you about all this.”

“Based on what I have seen, you would not be so kind, even if you did respect me.”

“Fine.” She went back to the door. “Think about this, then. Captain Shout is a minor celebrity. If your friends managed to piece together enough to screw up his spot, you’re darn sure someone else will. He can’t last as a goon, because he’s under too much scrutiny. I know it, and Strawberry had to know it too.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying he won’t last.” She narrowed her eyes and spoke slowly. “The minor celebrity will not last. The minor celebrity. What happens when someone doesn’t last?”

Octavia only looked at her.

“I’m asking you. What happens?”

“Someone tries to eliminate them.”

“So maybe the very popular Octavia Melody should heed my warning, before rushing headlong into this mess. I appreciate your help, I really do, but if it’s a choice between that… low-life, and you, then I’ll pick him.” She perked up and stepped into the hospital hall. “And there’s a second conclusion in all this, if my kindness isn’t enough.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“Think about it yourself. Your goal is to make this fighting stop, isn’t it?”

Octavia was silent.

“Just think about it.” She was gone.

Trixie took the table’s head at the Folded Fruit, a local pub that she dragged the others to for lunch. The interior was musty and warm, with thick, wood-paneled walls offset by sporadic mirrors—a faulty design choice, Trixie claimed.

While everyone else looked over their menus, Rainbow scooted closer to Trixie. “Why’d you do it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trixie said, not looking up from her own menu.

“Then I’ll clue you in.” Before she could react, a pair of pastel blue lips floated over and planted a kiss on her cheek.

Trixie paused. “Ah, that.” She closed her menu. “Well, Dashie, if you must know, it was because I have fallen hopelessly in love with you. Frankly, I’m head over hooves.”

“Well, yeah, but who isn’t? I’m great.”

“But are you great and powerful?” She faced Rainbow and brought up a hoof to give her nose a quick boop.

“Get a room, you two,” Applejack said.

“Hey! We’re not doing anything,” Rainbow said.

“Just boops and kisses over here,” Trixie said. “Certainly nothing.”

“Shut up, Tricky.”

“Now now, Dashie, don’t get too angry, else I’ll have to leave you for Twilight.”

“Me and Trixie?” Twilight asked. “I don’t think so. No offense.”

“It’s too obvious,” Pinkie said. “But you know what would be hilarious? Trixie and Applejack!”

“You know Ah’m straight,” Applejack said.

“Uh, duh! That’s why it would be so funny!”

“Trixie’s mine, though,” Rainbow said. She looked at Trixie, who smiled toothily. “Right?”

“Always and forever, my dear, boisterous pony,” Trixie said, patting Rainbow’s wing joint.

“See? All mine.”

“Okay, okay, you can have her,” Applejack said. She exchanged a look with Pinkie, who giggled and buried her face in the menu.

* * * * * *

The following morning, Fluttershy and Rarity woke up to an angry shout. Cork had spent the entire evening before making preparations in her darkroom, an arduous task with her limited supplies, but had not placed the negatives until earlier that morning.

“I don’t get it. I just don’t get it,” Cork said, coming into the living room.

“What’s wrong?” Fluttershy asked between yawns.

“They’re not developing. The negatives are fine, but the prints keep turning up black. I know I had the flash on, but it’s just not coming out.”

“Not one?” Rarity asked.

“Not a single one. If I hadn’t have written anything down, I’d have no documentation. Zero.”

“Are you sure it’s not your development process?” Fluttershy asked.

“I’ve developed film since I got here. I know what I’m doing.” She sat down and released a heavy sigh. “I really thought I had something. I really did.”

“You still have your notes,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, but I didn’t take measurements. I was going to go through the photos later and use them to get the specifics. Now all I have is some dumb impressions. ‘Dark slits in the walls’? What’s that even mean?”

“Dear, are you quite sure you’re not overreacting?” Rarity asked.

“You can always go again,” Fluttershy said.

“Pff, not likely. Cloud Line said she didn’t want to go down again, at least for another couple months. Too much activity around the pump can make others suspicious, she said.” She looked at them both. “Of course… I could probably make it on my own. I watched her open it up.”

“I’m not sneaking into the crypt under that old thing,” Rarity said.

“I know.” She walked back to her bedroom, where the darkroom took the place of a closet.

“She’s sneaking in,” Fluttershy said.

“Obviously,” Rarity said. They exchanged glances. “Should we try to stop her?”

“I don’t think we can.”

“Tell Cloud Line?”

“Um… I’d rather not.”

“I know,” Rarity said. “We can’t exactly afford to have Cork angry with us, can we?”

“Um… I have another idea,” Fluttershy mumbled.

Rarity pursed her lips, recognizing her tone. “I bet I know where this is going.”

“Please, R—Madam White? Please? It’s really, really spooky down there.”

“Then don’t go. Let her get her own fool self into trouble.”

“But…” She thought.

“Why do you care so much? You don’t expect her to get hurt or anything, do you?”

“It’s really dark down there, and big, and cold too. Plus, she could go into the giant vault, the one Cloud Line said you can get lost in.”

“That’s not exactly our problem.”

Fluttershy frowned and got off the couch.

“What?”

“I have to think about this.” She went to the door, but Rarity followed closely behind.

“Darling, please, can we talk?”

“You didn’t want to talk yesterday. Why should I talk now?” She held her nose up and walked forcefully to the static river. It was still dawn, and the sun bounced off its surface.

“I’m sorry. I was upset.”

“Well, I’m upset now.” She rounded to face Rarity. “I get it, Rarity.”

“Dear, remember—”

“Why should I? Why do you care? Why does it matter?”

Rarity looked down for a second, and back up.

“I get it. Manehattan was no good. You were lied to, and manipulated, and taken advantage of. We all were, but you had it the worst.”

Rarity walked past her to the riverside. “Where is this going?”

“I think you’re losing sight of who you are.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Fluttershy took a minute to watch the river ripple with insects, forming her sentence in her head. “I think you’re refusing to confront your experiences, and letting them poison you instead. I’ve never heard you suggest what you did just now.”

“I’ve never been in a situation like this,” Rarity said. “Have you thought of that? Dear, with all due respect, you have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“Well, no, not that. But we’ve all seen the same horrible things, Rarity. You were right next to me when we had to defend the palace. You were there when we fought that thing in the vineyard.”

“Those are different, and you know it.”

Fluttershy sighed and lowered her head. A grain of anger was turning over in her mind, and she flapped her wings once. “Who are you helping by holding onto this? Certainly not yourself.”

“You don’t just get over something like that, Fluttershy. It’s not that easy.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy.” Her voice was low, almost a warning. She looked at Rarity. There was no recognition in her eyes, and it brought a tiny snarl to Fluttershy’s lips. “But you have to let go.”

“Just let go, huh?”

“Yes. Just let go.”

“Hm. Well.”

Fluttershy’s frown deepened. “What?”

“No, nothing. I guess I can’t seriously expect you to get it.”

She took a deep breath through her nose. “You’re right. I don’t get it.” She advanced on Rarity, facing the river. “I don’t get why you want to feel this way. I don’t understand why the Rarity I know would ever let herself turn into the bitter, frightened, mean-spirited, self-pitying pony that she’s becoming.” She came up beside Rarity, who didn’t look at her. “Cork is annoying, but that suggestion was cold, and you know it. I don’t get…” She sighed, her thought momentarily lost. “I don’t get why you would embrace all that negativity, all because of some nag who did you wrong, when you can just find support in your friends and find a way to let it go.”

She exhaled, suddenly aware of the outpouring of emotion. Her knees wobbled, but she stood as still as she could, listening to Rarity’s breath. In the distance, a scythe swished.

“Well… okay.”

Fluttershy looked at her.

“I’m sorry, Fluttershy.” She looked up, and then to the side at the dark, Manehattan skyline. She sighed.

“Is… um, is there anything else? I’m sorry—I’m not trying to—”

“No. That is, no, there’s nothing else. I don’t know what to say. You’re right, but I don’t know what to do about it.” She sat down, rubbing her head, and Fluttershy sat with her. For a long time, neither spoke. The sun gradually ascended, the day grew warm, a lone cloud drifted into view and broke apart. The scythe shivered in the air. “I guess I’ve known this for a while now.”

* * * * * *

Octavia didn’t sleep. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the nurses and attendants shuffling throughout the building around her. She shared her room with another, a young colt, who rested at an incline, one leg in a cast. He had tried to talk to her earlier, but her monotone responses soon stopped his advances.

A nurse came to check her vitals at eleven, and the only word she spoke was a dull “yes” when asked if she was doing well. She watched the weather through the slit in her curtains. It was a bland, sunny day, and she could see the corner of a strip mall from her window. Someone asked a question in the corridor outside.

“Something dark and lonesome, but not overly heavy.” Her mind was full of sounds, but no combination was right. Every thought she had ended in a beautiful, windy melody, as they had in her youth, or a dirge, as they had in her adulthood. She lay back and closed her eyes, but immediately opened them back up. Behind her lids, the usual image swam out to her.

“I cannot keep doing this,” she murmured. “They know. They have to know. Something is wrong.”

“Is something wrong?” An unfamiliar pony stood at her bedside.

“No.”

“I heard you say something. Are you sure?”

“It is nothing.”

The pony pulled up a seat. “Can’t be easy to return to the hospital so soon.”

Octavia looked at her.

“We have your medical record. Pretty mean fracture last time, and now this.” She shook her head. “So, what’s your story?”

“There is no story.”

“No, that can’t be right.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

She smiled and leaned back. “For you? Because it’s my job. What say you, Miss Melody? Does trouble just follow you?”

“Yes. Rather, I follow it.”

“Is that right?”

“My friends and I are the ones putting the country back together. Trouble is something that we encounter quite often.”

“But you land in it more than they do,” the pony said. “My name’s Latte, by the way. I’m an MA.” She smiled. “Medical assistant.”

“Ah.”

“So, why do you wind up in the hospital so much? They said you somehow pulled that DJ out of the radio fire. Mysterious, two earth ponies injured in a teleportation accident.”

“Yes, that is strange.”

Latte laughed a jingling laugh, but her voice was serious when she responded. “So what’s wrong?”

Octavia sighed.

“It’s not going on your records, or anything. I don’t know if you know that. We don’t record everything about you here.”

“May as well. Fuck the consequences, right?” “I have recently made a decision, and I am not certain whether it was the right one. I am trying to live a lifestyle that fits with that decision, but all it has done is confuse my friends and put me here.”

“What kind of decision?”

“I am not certain how to say it. I suppose I am being more impulsive.”

“Impulsive enough to run into a burning building? That’s a strong impulse.”

“Yes.”

Latte tapped her chin. “So you adventure with the Elements, come to a life decision, and put yourself in harm’s way because of it. Are you sure you don’t want to go back?”

“There is no going back.”

“And why not?”

“Going back would… destroy me.”

“Really?” She scooted a little closer. “Maybe it’s different. I wouldn’t use that word lightly around here. You get to see things.”

“I am not using it lightly.” She closed her eyes again, and held them closed, despite the image behind. “There is nothing behind me but debt and shame. My musical ability has plateaued, and I have not the money to make next month’s rent, let alone the rent that I have ignored in my travels with the others. And yet, before me, I see only confusion. This adventure will end, but I have nowhere to go after that.” She stopped for a minute, but Latte didn’t respond. “I cannot lie to myself, as I thought I could. That is what I mean, when I say that I cannot keep doing this.”

“Surely you won’t be completely unsupported. The princesses will take care of you all.”

“For a month or two, yes, but then I will be expected to get back on my own hooves.” She sighed again, and, before she could stop it, there was a catch in her throat. “I have nothing to stand on. I should have stayed home, and focused on saving my money. I should not have run. Now that I have, what little I have has dissolved.”

Latte sighed. “I don’t think it’s that bad. Like I said, the princesses will take care of you. I’m sure any debts can be erased, and they’ll put you back in your orchestra.”

“I was never a part of one.”

“Oh. Well, your ensemble, then. Something.” She leaned on Octavia’s bed, and, for a second, an image more terrible than the reddish one in her head clouded over, and a black figure filled her mind, animate and heavy. “Things work out, Octavia. You see as many recoveries as I have, you start to believe that.”

Octavia grunted.

“Seriously. I’ve seen ponies with a one to a hundred chance walk out of here on their own power. I’ve seen kids come back after months of unconsciousness. I’ve seen three leukemia remissions in my time here. I still get Hearth’s Warming cards from their families.”

“Where I come from, hope is not so easy to find.”

“Then it’s probably good you got away from there.”

Only when the light first dimmed did Octavia think of her friends with something more than detachment. A nurse came in with her discharge papers at six o’ clock, and she stepped onto the street a half hour later, bandages on her chest and hoof, and pain slowly flexing and un-flexing through her body.

Part of her wanted to go exploring again, but she resolutely sat down by one of the decorative pillars forming the hospital’s façade. When the sky was powdery blue, and the first stars were appearing, a taxi rolled up, Pinkie and Twilight’s faces in the window. She gave a genuine smile and climbed in with them.

“How do you feel?” Twilight asked.

“Better. Ashamed, and dumb, and I feel like I am in a lot of trouble when I get back to the ship. However, I am better.”

“Um… well, we’ll see,” Pinkie said.

“How is rehearsal?”

“Dashie and Trixie are gonna go out!”

“Pinkie, that’s not even close to accurate,” Twilight said. She looked at Octavia, who looked back humorlessly. “They’re playing with each other. Teasing.”

“Flirting, Twilight. It’s flirting,” Pinkie said. “You saw them poking at each other today.”

“It’s harmless fun,” Twilight said.

“So’s flirting!”

“As long as Rainbow does not do anything to delay this further, I do not care,” Octavia said.

There was a long silence. “Good to have you back, Octavia,” Twilight said.

* * * * * *

“I’m going down there,” Cork said. “Tomorrow, I’m going down there.”

“So are we,” Rarity said.

Cork looked at them both.

“We don’t want you to get hurt,” Fluttershy said.

* * * * * *

“Music?” Trixie asked.

“I can hear it in my head,” Octavia said. Everyone was setting up and getting in place for the third rehearsal. “All I need to do is find a way to put it to form.”

“And I take it that’s what this is for?” She gestured at the awkward setup Big Mac had dragged in that morning: a disembodied bike chain on a frame, one handle sticking out from below for her to crank.

“You will understand when you hear it, tomorrow. I need some bells.”

“You mean you don’t even have all your materials?”

“That is what I mean.”

Trixie sighed. “Talk to Globe about it after this.” She stepped to the stage. “Twilight, let’s go.”

An hour later, they took a collective bow to Globe Trotter’s applause before hopping off the stage and forming a semicircle around Trixie, who appraised them.

“We’re getting there. Applejack, Pinkie, I need you two to focus more. I can still hear you playing around in the back sometimes.”

“She almost knocked over a light!” Applejack said.

“That doesn’t mean you go on a five-minute rant about watching where you’re going,” Trixie said. “The only one who should be monologuing is me.”

“Fiiiine.”

“Everybody else is doing well. Octavia, I like your music so far.”

“It will be better tomorrow,” Octavia said.

“Great. So let’s go get lunch and get back here in an hour and a half.” They dispersed. “Twilight? A word?”

Twilight looked back at her friends before following Trixie out the studio doors to the hot, clear day beyond.

“I feel bad about leaving my friends back there,” Twilight said as Trixie wove through traffic. The streets were bare, hot ribbons under the city’s auspicious canopy.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re grown ponies. Besides, I want to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been thinking about my performances lately. This is the first time I’ve shared the stage with someone since I was young.”

“That was when you and Octavia were traveling?”

“Yes ma’am. She’s changed a lot, you know.”

“I would think so.” Twilight looked at her for a second, watching the road reflect in her eyes. “You don’t know her past, do you?”

“Only the parts she spent with me. Why?”

“Just curious. What was she like?”

“Serious, but in a more precocious, youthful way. She wasn’t all business all the time, like now. She knew how to have a laugh.”

“I think I’ve heard her laugh once or twice.”

“Color me amazed,” Trixie said, pulling to a stop. A long, concrete lot held the fallen corpse of a building between two of its brethren, a former bridge. “I know what you’re going to say, but how’d you like to do this again sometime?”

“Put on a show?”

“Yeah.”

“Trixie, you know I can’t do that,” Twilight said. “I have a duty to Princess Celestia, to Equestria. I can’t just abandon it to team up with you.”

“I know, but it was worth a try. I get pretty lonely sometimes.”

“Yeah?”

They accelerated. “After Octavia left, I grew up entirely on my own,” Trixie said. “I fast learned how to survive, in the wilderness and in an unforgiving town. I’ve done things I’m not proud of to keep myself alive, Twilight.” She stared ahead for a bit, and Twilight watched her. “But now, I have an agent, I have some stable income, and I get to do what I love without wondering if it’ll be my last time. And I want to do it with someone. I’ve been alone for too long, Twilight.”

“I’m sorry, Trixie, but I can’t join you. Not now, anyway. Maybe after all this is done, I can find you again, but… even then, I don’t know. I can’t make my friends change their lives just to accommodate me.”

“Not for long, anyway.”

Twilight nodded. “Yeah. Not for long.”

“She stole Twilight from us!” Rainbow said, slouching in the restaurant booth.

“Rainbow, let it go,” Applejack said. “So Twilight wanted to hang out with Trixie this time. It ain’t a big thing.”

“I bet Trixie’s trashing me behind my back.”

“It’s probably just business! Or lines! Or stage stuff!” Pinkie said.

“You don’t seriously think she wouldn’t take this opportunity alone with Twilight to talk about us,” Rainbow said.

“The Trixie that I know does not talk about ponies behind their backs,” Octavia said. “I do not appreciate what you are implying about her.”

Rainbow frowned. “Sorry, Octavia.”

“What was Trixie like back when you knew her?” Applejack asked.

“We were both young at that time. I remember that it was difficult to get along with her at first; she was very abrasive, and arrogant, much like how you describe her when she came to Ponyville. However, once I got to know her, it became clear that those traits were just ways to appear strong; in reality, she was full of doubt, much like myself at the time. I suppose it was sad.”

Rainbow let out a single laugh, and Octavia smiled.

“When we grew closer, she reverted to what I suspect is her true personality: friendliness, kindness, and a desire to make ponies happy. Quite similar to you, Pinkie.”

Pinkie beamed. “So she is a nice mare!”

“Yes. She had merely spent so much time on her own, forced to fend for herself, that she had learned to be cruel and manipulative. Living by one’s own means tends to do that to a pony.”

“I still don’t know,” Rainbow said.

“Well, it does not matter,” Octavia said.

When they got back to the studio, they got into their places without much conversation; time was short, and they could feel the seriousness of the situation pressing on them. The sound of Trixie’s and Twilight’s performances were becoming routine, and everyone was beginning to pay attention only when their cues came up. The show went by with no incidents, and, afterwards, they crowded around Trixie for her usual after-performance assessment.

“Good job everypony. Twilight, you’re almost there. Remember, emotion! You’re not Twilight Sparkle, the adventurer; you’re Evening Shimmer, the magician with the most powerful enemy in the world.”

“I’ll do my best,” Twilight said.

“I expect you all to be at the top of your performance tomorrow,” Trixie said. “Now go home and get some rest. Same time tomorrow, full run, no mistakes. Clear?”

“Clear,” they echoed.

“Great. See you all tomorrow.”

They dispersed and went back to the ship, where they had a light dinner and went to sleep, quiet and waiting.

Assertion of Kindness

Chapter Forty-eight

Assertion of Kindness

Rarity held the lamp, and Fluttershy held her breath. Cloud Line’s house was a dozing crate only twenty feet from the pump, one dead window facing them accusingly. Cork felt around the crack in the pump’s concrete foundation for a moment before locating the divot, and pulling upwards with a squish of moist earth and oiled, hidden hinges.

They descended quietly and swiftly, intruders all. As the lantern’s light flickered away from the hole’s edge, it re-sealed itself, as it had before, and Cork trotted ahead. Her camera was absent, but she had a bundle of pens with her notebook.

“Hold that up to this slit,” she said, indicating the first vent. Rarity angled herself to throw a beam of light onto the thin cut in the wall, and Cork put her nose to it. “It definitely smells like fresh air.” She scrawled something in her book and ran a hoof down the thin space, then pressed her eye to it. “Can’t see through it, though. Dang.” She wrote more.

“Exactly how long were you thinking of being down here?” Rarity asked.

“Mm.”

“I’m just saying, Butterfly was right. It is really… well, spooky down here.”

“I’m almost ready to keep moving,” Cork said. She drew a quick picture of the slit, and they moved on. When the lantern in the stairwell came to life, Rarity froze with a small cry, and it was a couple seconds before Fluttershy could coax her into moving again.

The three of them entered the stairwell in a tight triangle, Cork at the head, from which she broke to go to the banister, leaning over it with careless fascination.

“Fifty feet down, through solid rock,” she said, returning to a safer vantage. “Incredible. Excuse me.” She edged past them to inspect the back wall. “I’m checking for tool marks.”

“I don’t like this at all,” Rarity whispered, and Fluttershy put a wing around her.

“It feels emptier without Cloud Line with us,” Fluttershy said.

“It feels like we’re not supposed to be here.”

“Well…”

“Down we go,” Cork said, beginning the first steps. Her hoofsteps on the uneven stone were loud and irreverent, and fading fast into deep darkness. “Come on, ladies.”

Fluttershy led Rarity down, slowly at first, to where Cork waited a few landings down.

“We’re supposed to stick together,” Rarity said. “Butterfly said it’s really easy to get lost down here.”

“Only in the vault,” Cork said. “These are just stairs.”

“Yes. Dark, old stairs,” Fluttershy said. “Wait for us to light the way, Cork.”

“Fine, fine. Ooh, look at this!” She trotted to a broken corner in the banister.

“What now?” Rarity asked.

“Look at it.” Cork pointed at the banister, then at the concrete floor directly beneath it, where there was a second fissure in the stone. “Something must have fallen on it.” She looked up. The overhead lantern was still bright enough to cast them in a pale pool of light. “Can’t see the ceiling, though. Butterfly, would you mind—”

“She’s not flying up there,” Rarity said.

“Let’s just get to the bottom,” Fluttershy said. “Wouldn’t you rather take notes on the window than these old stairs?”

“I’d rather take notes on everything,” Cork mumbled, plodding down the next set of stairs.

Their remaining walk to the bottom was long and quiet, with Cork pausing only for minutes at a time, no longer exclaiming or explaining her stops. When they reached the central chamber, the light from aloft was nearly gone, and Cork turned a slow circle.

“Into the cemetery,” Fluttershy said. “You know the other way is dangerous.”

Cork took a deep breath. “I have to see it.”

“Cork, no,” Rarity said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I won’t go in.” She walked resolutely into the darkness, stopping at the edge of Rarity’s light. “Well? You’re my light. Come on.”

“We’re not doing it,” Rarity said. She glanced at Fluttershy, who stared into the darkness dispassionately. “Either come with us, where it’s safe, or go alone. You know what’s in there.”

“A light isn’t enough,” Fluttershy said. “The vault is too big. We’re not getting lost with you.”

Rarity turned to her and mouthed a quiet “thank you.”

“Says Cloud Line. Butterfly, think for a minute,” Cork said. She had moved out of their range. “Of course the one pony who knows about the pump wants us to avoid certain parts of it.”

“Yes, because they’re unsafe,” Rarity said.

“Listen to her, Cork,” Fluttershy said. “You’re putting yourself in huge danger here.”

Cork was silent for a moment, but then she stepped back into the circle of light. “Have it your way.” She didn’t stop for them. “To the cemetery. To the window. Come on, girls.”

They followed her, the only sound their clicking hooves and the tiny cry of the lantern on its hinge. The atrium constricted into the undecorated arch, and then expanded quickly into the massive, open field of headstones. Cork studied the short divide that indicated their road, but did not stray from their light. She noted the first few graves, recording names and dates. Still, no one spoke.

When the first suggestions of the cavern’s end manifested against the window’s smooth, ethereal light, they stopped again. “I’d love to be able to go through that window,” Cork said.

“I know what you mean,” Fluttershy said, taking a half step forward. “Come on. Madam White hasn’t seen it yet.”

“I’ll be right there.” Cork was sitting at another gravesite, writing in her book.

They turned back to the window, nearly invisible from their distance, and walked slowly, giving Cork enough time to catch up. When she didn’t, they paused and looked around.

“Foal of a…” Rarity breathed. “Cork! Cork, answer me!”

They waited a second. “She went back to that vault, I bet,” Fluttershy said.

“Damn it.” Rarity sat down beside the lantern, a growl bubbling in her chest. “This is what happens here. We try to do something good, and it blows up in our faces!”

“Rarity, please, I’m sure she hasn’t gone far yet.”

“It doesn’t matter, dear. She clearly doesn’t want to answer us.” She turned quickly and clamped the lantern’s handle in her teeth. “I fay we wed her go.”

“What?”

She walked ahead before dropping the lantern again. “You heard her! She wants to go back there on her own. I say we let her.”

“But…”

“Darling.” She came closer and put a hoof on Fluttershy’s wither, sitting her down. “You can’t help her if she doesn’t want it. She’ll just resist if you go after her.”

“If I go after her?”

“Well, I’m certainly not.”

“Rarity, you’re not serious.”

“Darling, you have to realize how foolish she’s being. How else is she to learn?”

“Certainly not by dying in the vault!”

Rarity took a moment, and sighed. “Well, we can’t sacrifice ourselves for her. If what you said is true, our help won’t actually do much. We’ll just get lost with her.”

“But…”

“You know I’m right.”

“But…” She stood up and turned around. Flexing her wings, she trotted into the darkness.

“Fluttershy, are you serious?”

“I can’t let her do it.”

“You can’t go in there!”

Her voice was faded and small in the darkness. “I have magic, you know.”

Cork moved as swiftly and quietly as she could, taking care to step with her hooves at an angle so as to lessen their sound on the stone. Her pasterns were sore from the awkward bending, but she was resolved.

On the surface, her mind had been dulled by banality and routine. She had lived in Passage Town for years, moving there as a reaction to social discommendation. At first, it had been the respite she needed from a hurried, stressful life, but as the months turned to years, comfort and relaxation became apathy and sloth. There was little to do but socialize, help with an occasional gathering, and carry water. Below, however, the challenge was titillatingly real.

She could hear Rarity and Fluttershy arguing behind her, using their real names. Why they had chosen to hide their identities was lost to her, but she supposed it was natural for the types of ponies to be attracted to Passage Town. A couple others had false names too, she knew.

With a change in the air, she came to a halt, turning slowly and fruitlessly to try to see. “Shoot,” she whispered. She had assumed that the atrium would still have the overhead lamp’s faint light to guide her. Dropping her notebook, she remembered: it was proximity-activated.

“If I’m careful, I can still do this. I wasn’t going to have light in the empty place either.” She felt for her notebook and picked it up, spinning cautiously, nose open and ears up for any signs of her orientation. The first sound she heard, she heard from behind. Hooves coming her way.

Carefully, she stepped forward. The air was cool and open, and it did not smell stale. “Where do those vents lead?” In her head, there was a rough picture of the bottom atrium, and she counted her paces, trying to determine when she would be passing the stairs. “How many light mages must they have needed to do all this?” She stopped, her hoof suddenly on a slight decline. “Is this the entrance? Am I already in?” She took a single step to the side and extended a hoof, hoping for a wall.

The hoof went through air.

Rarity’s jaw was sore from holding the lantern, and from clenching too hard. Her mind felt divided. On one side, Fluttershy was already lost, and, on the other, the three of them would meet again at the top of the pump.

She stopped to look up at the crypt’s ribs. “Calm down, Rarity. Fluttershy will be fine. She’s smart, and she has magic. Lots of it, in fact.” “But this place is huge.” She walked farther. “If she didn’t know she could do it, she wouldn’t have tried. She’s not stupid.” “So why not me?” Her thoughts went quiet as she walked. The gravestones drifted past her as if carried on water, and her eyes remained fixed ahead. “Because I’m selfish and a coward.” In her head, Fluttershy spoke. “That suggestion was cold, and you know it.” She did know it; she knew it even before she had said it, though the knowledge was itself cold and detached as well.

The vault was ending. Its arches, once huge and lifeless, dwindled before her eyes into stone fangs before the softly glowing window, something Fluttershy had described as totally insubstantial, but the most beautiful thing she had seen since leaving home. “Let Cork go, and Fluttershy with her, you nag. Don’t even try.” She sighed. “Why bother? No one expects more from you anyway, coward.” “At least I know how to protect myself.” “At least none of that matters. At least you’re becoming someone you hate.” She stopped by another grave.

“Pure Crystal, sigil layer. Stairwell.” She sat before the headstone. “How many of you were there?” She closed her eyes. She saw the shining river from before. She saw Fluttershy’s seldom-angry eyes accusing her.

With another sigh, she rose and walked. The window was nearer. “Why? When did this even happen?” She flipped through the cities in her mind. Cloudsdale, Trottingham, Fillydelphia, and then Appleloosa. Nearly every major point in Equestria’s northern half. “Steadily,” she whispered. Her own voice disappeared into the air, meaningless seventy feet below the ground.

“Too steady to be seen, at least by me.” She swung her head around to throw a cone of light onto the path behind, revealing nothing. “Pathetic. I don’t even have the courage to face my mistakes.” She set the lantern down and kept walking.

The window was dark blue in the near distance, and, with her light behind her, her eyes adjusted. The cave wall was rough and undecorated, save for the thick supports that curved from the window to the ceiling. “What to do?” “Let it go.” She took a breath and held it as she walked, the final, fearful phrase repeating endlessly. “Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.” Fluttershy’s voice was insistent and patient.

“Can’t let go.” “Let it go.” “Can’t let go.” “Let it go.”

She came to rest by the window’s thin stairs. The large, perfectly flat oval before her was dark and calm, its stars too small to give off more than the barest light. She sat at the edge, looking out over a solemn meadow. A carpet of black-green grass did not wave at her, but only waited, encircling a small city.

As she watched, a large bird curved through the sky, its great, black wings vanishing at the edges where the night sky was too thick. The city was absolutely still, and she studied it, unmoving. Every house, every window, she let her eyes linger where they landed, searching for life.

She found it coming down what looked to be the town’s main road: two ponies, stooped under a cloak, shared the path toward her. She could see their heads moving and dipping in speech, and as they turned to walk out of the window’s frame, she found herself yearning for their company.

“You did something cold.” She blinked and searched again, yielding nothing. “Okay,” she whispered. Her voice, even under her breath, felt huge in the cave, and she half expected the window to ripple. “You’re right. It’s not me.” “None of this is.” A light breeze tickled the grass before turning to wind, and she watched as the landscape swayed. The window didn’t move, but the grass and trees did, and with them flew leaves and bits of dust, black stars to go against white counterparts.

Something in the earth creaked, a mile away, a hundred—she couldn’t tell. She stared into the portrait of a small southern town.

“I have friends.”

A brilliant antler of lightning creased the distant sky, and, for a second, she saw mountains capped with steel gray snow.

“I have friends who love me.”

In her own head, more impulse than conscious thought, the sound of thunder played as she imagined it floating across the plains. Lightning flickered again, deep inside a cloud.

“Not you, Rarity.”

The clouds were too far away, but she imagined rain hitting the grass anyway.

“Not me. Not myself. I’m not myself. Haven’t been since… even before.” She bowed her head, rain drumming inside. “But it’s so beautiful.” She inhaled the scent of the stone, cold and dry, faintly metallic. A tang of earth.

“So beautiful. Why? Why? Why?” She held onto the thought until it faded away, repeated too much. “Why not?” She looked back up at the window. “Why not?” she sighed. “Why not, Rarity? You’re the same flesh and blood as you were before. So are your friends. So why not?” “So beautiful.” She stood and looked back to her lantern, a half-dead beacon in the graveyard. She took another deep breath and let it out as slowly as she could. “So why not, then?” She turned and went back to the path.

Fluttershy bit another feather and tugged for another painful moment before gently placing it on the ground. She had located Cork after an excruciating interval of calling; whether she was out of range or unwilling to answer, Fluttershy didn’t know.

As Rarity’s light dimmed behind, and it became clear that she would be pursuing Cork alone, she delved into her small pool of magical knowledge to activate a rudimentary light spell, giving her a couple feet of visibility. The feathers were to give her a path back to the vault’s entrance.

Her long, gold feather stuck only slightly into the light’s edge, and she stopped to pluck another. As soon as she had stepped through the arch, she could feel the vault’s immensity in the air. No walls, no ceiling, only darkness all around, and a flat, unmarked floor. When she called for Cork, her voice did not return to her, even in the faintest murmur.

She pulled the next feather with a tiny grunt of pain. She would lose them naturally if she waited, she knew, but the thought gave her no comfort. Seeing a part of her own body float to the ground was, in her unconscious mind, almost as alarming as the muffling darkness.

“Cork?”

“Still here,” Cork said.

“I’m almost there.” She took another few paces before pulling out another feather. She was tempted to take another step, to possibly preserve at least one more mote of pain for herself, but did not. One wrong step into the darkness could end in an infinite wander.

“Do you have a light?”

Fluttershy looked down at herself. The light that surrounded her came from no particular spot. “Yes.” She yanked another feather out and took a couple more steps.

“Wait. I-I think I see you!”

Cork had assumed the worst. In her head, her friends’ mocking voices jeered and laughed, chanting choruses of “told you so” and “now you’re in it.” Rotor, Arch Carrier, and Clipper all added their insults to her imagined demise, and the darkness around pressed down on her until even the effort of walking was too much for her straining calm. Mind frazzled, and quickly realizing that Cloud Line had not been lying, she didn’t go far before stopping and trying to backtrack; by then, it was too late. She had gone too far into the vault, and her powerful, contrarian confidence was swiped away.

Fear filling her mind, she had wandered, telling herself if she had already turned around, and if she just moved in a straight line, she would get back to the stairs. She had walked for five minutes before giving into fear and turning back. That was shortly before Fluttershy called out for her.

How Fluttershy intended to help, she didn’t know, and also didn’t care. That someone was searching for her was enough. With a worry-cleansing sigh, she had sat on the cold ground and waited for the pegasus to find her. It was a few minutes—which felt like a few hours—during which she could only stare impotently into the blackness filling her eyes.

The light that came was faint and sickly, but, to her eyes, it was no less than the glow of Celestia, radiant and saving. A cry leapt from her throat when its bearer stepped forth, the pale yellow pony, with no lantern.

She could only stare dumbly as Fluttershy offered a hoof and helped her up, her light seeming to come from behind and around at the same time, its source hidden, or simply nonexistent.

She didn’t speak. Fluttershy walked with a wing out, letting her hold on gingerly, as they crawled down a trail of feathers. When they reached the central chamber, Rarity was there as well, holding her lantern. Her eyes widened with shock just as Fluttershy’s light dimmed, and Cork moved to the light’s edge.

“Did you…”

“Let’s get out of here,” Fluttershy said. “And yes. Yes, I did.” She led them up the steps without another word.

* * * * * *

The lights dimmed, and Trixie stepped onto the stage, the glow of her horn producing a tiny halo just underneath her hat. Without the steadying breath that she had taken in their other rehearsals, she plunged into her opening monologue. As she moved about the stage, gesturing slightly with the rise and fall of her inflections and exaggerating her face to express every emotion more clearly, it was easy for those offstage to see why she was so successful a showmare.

Applejack and Pinkie wasted no time in silently setting up the background for her and Twilight. The only other sound came from Octavia, who stood with her cello, grinding out a soft, somber arrangement. Globe Trotter sat as the audience, watching with a quiet, critical eye.

As Trixie’s introduction ended, a row of overhead lights switched on, and Twilight walked out to deliver her opening line. The dialogue was artful and full of flourishes, designed to emphasize showponyship, instead of drama. Trixie strutted the stage with sparkles and swirling ribbons of light; while Twilight moved with dancing, neon images and bright, multi-hued flames.

Eventually, she faded into the shadows, and Trixie once again took over. That was how the show was structured: dialogue and action between Trixie and Twilight, interspersed with Trixie’s solo, expository narrative.

Her character, an aggrandized version of herself, managed to seem both completely in control and totally oblivious to Twilight’s duplicitous intentions, while Twilight managed, a little shakily, to be confident, but nervous. During the first climax, when Twilight stole an amulet for which they had quested, Rainbow caught herself feeling sorry for Trixie. She had worked so hard and put so much faith in her friend, and her reward: betrayal. Magical rain fell while Octavia’s instrument moaned.

For the next thirty minutes, the actresses alternated, with Trixie in her pursuit of Twilight, and Twilight in her pursuit of more fame, power, and wealth. There was yelling, threatening, and a short trade of magical spells, but neither mare saw much of the other until the very end, at Trixie’s venomous, simple phrase: “hello, old friend.” That was the beginning of their climactic fight scene.

They circled each other for some time, neither breaking eye contact until the unseen cue to cast their spells, creating a spectacular, but safe, explosion in the middle of the stage. The fight, Trixie had explained, was like the dialogue: flashy and dramatic, but nowhere near the real thing. Fire leapt from their horns, beams of energy sliced through the air, and Twilight even threw Trixie across the stage into a collapsible prop.

The fight ended with Twilight cowering under Trixie’s detesting stare, and giving back the amulet that she had stolen. It was raining again, a little harder, and Twilight’s last line was a plea for forgiveness. With believability that made Rainbow grin, Trixie turned and walked off the stage. The lights went down for a minute, the silence filled only with Globe Trotter’s applause and the steady pit-pat of rain on wooden floor, and then went back up, revealing the two actresses, side-by-side, smiling. They took a bow, and the curtain fell. Globe Trotter came backstage to compliment their work, and Octavia and Big Mac packed up her instrumentation. She had several components, and felt she needed to practice again, on the ship.

After a celebratory lunch, they separated, Trixie back to her apartment and the others back to the ship. It was the final night, and Pinkie threw a “last night in Manehattan” party that carried on past midnight. When they finally did quiet down and settle in for sleep, they did so quickly; even Octavia slept.

* * * * * *

“I assure you, Captain, it won’t matter by the time he finds out you’re alive,” Lacey said. The two of them shared his hospital room, something for which she had to give up half a precious day at the studio. “He won’t go after you again. Rather, he won’t be able to.”

“Because…” He reclined in his bed, eyes closed, his voice a luxurious drawl. She hated it.

“Because your story’s going into the papers.”

“I don’t recall consenting to any press coverage of the attempt on my life.”

She lazily rose from her chair. “Yes, well, I don’t recall you being in a position to dictate terms to me. If you’d care to remember,” she sat on his bed, “you need me far more than I need you. There’s a reason you’re in that bed, and I’m not. Captain.”

He sighed through his nose. “Fine. So I’m getting publicized for almost dying. I assume you’re leaving out my, er, involvement in the events leading up to it?”

“I’m not. You are. It’s your interview.”

“And you?”

“Absent entirely. Think of me as your PR pony.”

“I thought you were trying to bill yourself as my protector.”

She chuckled and got up, going to his IV line. With a deft flick of her hoof, the tube popped out, and liquid dripped on the floor. “Whoops. Silly me.”

“Is that supposed to prove a point or something?”

“Only that I’m getting tired of your attitude.”

“Sucks.”

She smiled tiredly. “Okay, you degenerate. I get it. You’re a rebel, you don’t take guff from anypony, and you don’t put on airs. It’s very fun.”

“Threatening me again, Lacey?”

“Spelling something out.” She poked at a vase of flowers by his bed. “Once Strawberry sees you’re alive, he’ll suspect interference from me or the Elements. It doesn’t matter which, because, either way, he’ll want to get a hold of you again, you damn, dirty loose-end you. Soooo…” She smiled. “It’s in your better interest to buddy up with me. Give me incentive to find ways to protect you beyond your utility. Utility that, I’m sorry to tell you, is well on its way to running out.”

He tilted his head in an arrogant half-nod. “You’re bluffing.”

“You told me how much he paid you, who he used to talk with you after you weaseled your way into a face-to-face, and even some of his future targets. What more do I need, Shout?”

He glanced at the door.

“All I need now is what I can get from that depressing satellite who saved you. Someone to look like the object of my attention, to draw him even further astray.” She bobbed a flower’s head up and down. “I advise you find something more valuable to do for me.”

“Or you’ll just throw me to the wolves, huh?”

“More like I’ll let you hang yourself. There’s a stunning amount of rope around your neck right now, Captain, and a very narrow ledge.” She chuckled again. “So lower the ‘tude, okay? No need to piss of the one pony holding you back from that nasty fall.”

* * * * * *

“Okay, everypony,” Trixie said before them, backstage. “I know it’s been kind of a whirlwind these last few days, but you’ve all put forth an astounding effort, and now we’re ready to reap the benefits.” She looked at them all. “We’ve done well to pull this together so quickly. Now, everypony get in their places and be ready. We’ve got five minutes, and then, we’ll blow the roof off.” Everyone went to their spots.

Octavia started a small, inoffensive tune, playing only her cello. Nearby hung the bicycle’s corpse, and, on a rack to her other side, a collection of silver bells that Globe Trotter had helped her procure two nights ago.

“I am that friend,” Twilight said, stepping out of the shadows and taking her place beside Trixie, who gave her a cordial smile.

“Evening Shimmer,” she began, sweeping with her cape, “I think I may have found something.”

“What might that be, oh powerful one?” Her voice carried a hint of skepticism, as Trixie had instructed.

“You are, of course, aware that there are numerous magical artifacts to be had in the world.”

“Created by the most powerful mages of their time, yes, I am aware.”

Trixie looked her in the eye with a large grin. “I think I have found one.”

“Ha! In your spare time, I suppose.”

“Have you not wondered where I go every eve, when the night begins to fall?”

“I merely supposed you had a stallion in your life,” Twilight said, producing a fine pepper of crimson spots from her horn.

“Such things do not distract me from my work,” Trixie said, flipping her cape again. “I have been researching. Countless hours, I’ve spent among musty old books, along with countless candles I’ve burnt to nothing, reading.”

Twilight stepped back, hurt. “You would research without me?”

Trixie smiled, and a small filigree traced itself over her head, fizzling out with a teasing spurt in Twilight’s face. “Evening, darling, you know I care for you, but this was a solo project only. Two ponies would merely get in each other’s way.”

“Never before.”

“We’ve never had such an important task before,” Trixie said with a wink. Twilight had her back turned on the blue unicorn. “Evening? Come, you won’t be angry when you see what the treasure is.”

“We’ll have to see,” Twilight said, turning.

“Just think of it! A magical object to help us on our journeys; never more will we fear being eaten by the dreaded creatures of the wilderness.” The light darkened, and Trixie’s eyes took on a lurid, green sheen. “We’ll be unstoppable, Evening.”

Twilight let a smile slowly spread across her face. “Where is it?” The lights went down, and Twilight faded into the back. Trixie continued her story.

* * * * * *

The worn sundial outside Cork’s house read eleven o’ clock, and the three of them sat in the shade of a small aspen. Fluttershy picked at her sore wings, and Rarity stared at the river. Cork watched them both.

“So, clearly there’s something going on here,” Cork eventually said.

“Would you care to explain, Butterfly?” Rarity asked.

“I heard your real names. Rarity and Fluttershy.” She nodded at them as she spoke. “It didn’t occur to me until later that you’re Elements of Harmony.”

“Please, lower your voice.”

“Sorry. Why the deception?”

Fluttershy looked at Rarity.

“Um… well…”

* * * * * *

Trixie laughed unbelievingly as they strode up to the tourmaline amulet—one of Globe Trotter’s earrings on a chain—on the plywood pedestal. “I… I can’t believe it. After all this. The heat, the mosquitoes, the disease, everything, and here it is!”

“I was half-expecting it to not be here,” Twilight said, a thin smile teasing her mouth. She looked up; Evening looked into the jungle canopy.

“The Amulet of Everwaking,” Trixie said, awed. She picked it up gently while Twilight slunk from her side to her back.

“It is a delightful trinket,” Twilight said.

“After all this, and you call it that?” Trixie laughed. She turned, and stopped, just with the music. “E-Evening?”

Twilight, her horn pointed at Trixie’s chest, only sighed sympathetically. “I’ll be taking it now.”

“What?”

She spoke lightly. “Give it here.”

A moment of silence hung between them, and, with a flourish of Octavia’s cello, Trixie dodged to the side, throwing a fireball into Twilight’s face. Applejack smiled to herself. The fireball scene had been among the hardest for them to get right, because Twilight wouldn’t stop flinching before Trixie’s dodge.

She backed away with a scream, and the audience gasped. Twilight shook her head violently and shot a beam of energy at Trixie, knocking her on her side and sending the amulet flying out of her magical grip. Without pause, Twilight grabbed it and raced off the stage. Octavia drew out a long, low note as the lights dimmed once more, and Trixie lay on the floor for a minute. She staggered to her hooves to deliver the next piece of her story, lacking the enthusiasm she had used in the beginning. The show was half over.

* * * * * *

Lacey sat at a red light, still simmering from her encounter with Captain Shout. She had tried to remind herself that he was in the hospital, and had a certain right to express distaste for her obvious manipulation, but the thought felt perfunctory. After what she had done already, what good was empathy?

She pulled out and made a turn, thinking of her next step. Shout would have his interview, which Strawberry would see. Concluding interference, he would try to determine which side of the conflict Shout had landed on. Finding it to be Lacey’s, her job would be to step back and watch the results: there was no way Strawberry would silence Shout so shortly after his talk with the papers. He would be too busy scrambling to hide evidence, besides.

She smiled and pulled up to an empty lot, scorch marks decorating its interior like giant, fallen petals. “And the countermeasure?” Despite his precarious position, Strawberry would invent a way to strike back, and she needed to be ready. She had never said it to Shout, but, until the point where she had him in the hospital bed, Strawberry had had her on the defensive.

She pulled into her small neighborhood of flats with a scant pair of ideas circling in her head.

* * * * * *

“Only by casting a spell to allow herself to see into the future did the Great and Powerful Trixie manage to catch up with the dastardly Evening Shimmer,” Trixie announced, Twilight’s cue to come out. She waited a second for Twilight to come up behind. “Hello, old friend.”

“You finally found me.”

“Yes.” A single, red spark blinked to life above her horn. “And I’m afraid that this is the end for you.”

* * * * * *

“It’s all very interesting,” Cork said. “How often do things like this happen?”

“I think we’re the only ones,” Rarity said.

“But other ponies have talked about it with us,” Fluttershy said. “So there are others who know about it.”

“A curious secret, to be sure,” Cork said. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thanks.”

Rarity nodded at Fluttershy’s word. “These past few days seem to have gotten away from us, I must say.”

“They look okay to me,” Cork said.

“No, none of this was supposed to happen. We were supposed to wait in this town for them to finish in Manehattan, not get in any trouble, and just have a relaxing time. Instead, this.”

“Well, personally, I’m delighted you showed up. Cloud Line would have never let me under otherwise.”

“So what are you going to do when we’re gone?” Fluttershy asked.

“Compile my findings and keep asking questions,” Cork said. “There’s something huge here, and I’m only seeing the tip of it.”

“Are you going to keep pestering Cloud Line?” Rarity asked.

“Not for a while, but yes. I’ll be sure to leave you out of it. Especially you, Fluttershy.”

“I’m sure it’s okay,” Fluttershy said. “You’re all isolated. I doubt knowing about my magic will really hurt that much.”

“Maybe. I’d rather focus on the pump, though.”

“That’s still your main concern, after all this,” Rarity said. “I must admit, I admire your dedication.”

“Imagine what I can learn if I figure out where it came from. Who those ponies are, why they decided to build it. There has to be something in that vault.” She looked at Fluttershy and grinned sheepishly. “Don’t worry. I won’t be going back there anytime soon.” She sighed. “I learned that lesson.”

“And what will you do when you have answers to all these questions?” Rarity asked.

Cork shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far in advance. There aren’t any publishing options out here, so I guess… brag about it to Rotor.”

“She’s the one who—”

“The skeptic.”

“Ah. Yes, well, you do that.”

* * * * * *

Twilight threw a genuine fireball, engulfing Trixie, who wore a skin-tight—but not fur-tight—sheath of magic. The flames burst around her to singe the stage and warm the front-most audience members. Because of her shield’s shape and relative weakness, Trixie did not have to fake being knocked back. She scrambled up and answered with a telekinetic push of her own, launching Twilight across the stage and into one of the pieces of background, reinforced with metal latches for just that purpose. The music had reached a short diminuendo.

“Three, two, one,” Trixie counted off, and she and Twilight rushed at each other, both throwing a force beam at the other and locking themselves into a battle of wills that shook the auditorium. The audience gasped, but Trixie was paying them no attention. Her mind was entirely on the music. As soon as the sound of their initial collision had faded, the reverse tug-of-war was almost silent, and the two of them would be using Octavia’s song for their cues.

Octavia played the final installment slowly and deliberately. The actual music was easy to produce, but the concentration she would need in a short time, she knew, would make something as simple as a scale difficult. She nodded once, and Big Mac began turning the bike pedal. Anxious ticking filled the song’s background, and she located the rack of bells to her side.

As soon as the bike started, Trixie let up on her magic, allowing Twilight to have the advantage. She pushed, hard, and Trixie gave some more, until her own blue beam ended but a few inches from her horn. She narrowed her eyes dramatically and put strength back into her spell, just as Twilight weakened her own. In an actual battle, Trixie knew that Twilight would win easily, but they had practiced the final fight the most of all scenes. In a few seconds, Twilight would force Trixie back, and they would spend a near minute evenly matched.

Octavia did not close her eyes, as she would have liked. Instead, she glared at the first bell, conjured her magic, and gave it a push. The sound that resonated was glassy and thin, more an echo than a chime. It rang long and clear, and she pushed the second one, glancing then at her cello, to keep her hooves in the correct positions. She had never done magic while playing.

The bells meant that it was time to wait. Trixie and Twilight stood on opposite ends of the stage, beams of light balanced between, their meeting point moving only slightly. Both mares glowered, not at each other, but at the small bead of light in their middle, willing it to move. There was no real plan to the small section, except for Twilight to not overtake Trixie too easily. They needed to wait for the bike chain to stop clicking.

Octavia nodded again, not looking from the bell rack, and Big Mac stopped turning the pedal. She was playing automatically, most of her attention on the simple magic with which she was not yet wholly comfortable.

With a grin of triumph, Twilight’s spell inched closer to Trixie’s face, but Trixie’s determination didn’t crack. The turnaround was coming, and she listened for the final bell, a low-pitched cry that would herald her sudden break from the standoff. She was aware of the audience, leaning forward, fascinated.

When the bell called out, Trixie turned and jumped away, releasing her end of the link. What would follow would be mere trickery with light, and a real spell of Twilight’s; Trixie lacked the skill to actually reverse magic of the strength that they were playing with just moments ago.

Twilight dimmed her telekinetic push before it could slam into the floorboards, and Trixie, her illusory light ready, produced a beam of her own to match the one they had been fighting with, lancing it powerfully back into Twilight’s chest. The only forceful magic was the spell Twilight then cast on herself, sending her flying back to crash into another prop. She did not get up.

Trixie gave the music a second to play. The final bell sounded, and the bike resumed, alone. She went to Twilight.

“Please! No more,” Twilight said. “I… I’m sorry. I am, truly! It was weak of me. I know that now.”

“You’re the only one who could ever hope to best me,” Trixie said.

“I promise, never again will I betray your trust. I just… I was mixed up, and confused, and jealous. You’re so much more powerful than I, and I… I had to have some of that for myself.” She coughed—a dramatic affectation that Trixie and she had argued about at length. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Trixie looked her in the eyes, delighting in the moment. The chain stopped ticking. Without a word, she turned and walked off the stage, and all went dark before the audience exploded into thunderous applause.

Octavia returned to her four hooves as soon as the applause began. She looked at Big Mac and nodded, and he smiled back. The others were on the stage, moving the props off.

The lights came back up with Twilight and Trixie together, and they bowed, smiling. Trixie gestured sweepingly across the stage, and Applejack, Rainbow, and Pinkie came out to bow with them. Octavia and Big Mac were the last two to emerge, striding calmly to the sound of hundreds of hooves on the tile floor. They bowed deeply before joining the others, and the seven of them bowed one last time, all together.

* * * * * *

Lacey Kisses sat in her chair and watched drivel on TV. When the electricity had come back on, long ago, she had been ecstatic, but her joy diminished when she saw that the only stations she could get were the smaller, local ones. Cross-country electricity was still a distant, unimportant dream, which meant her favorite sitcoms were out of reach, locked in production in some studio in Applewood.

Life with Gemstone was a dull, clichéd relationship comedy that had lasted for three idiotic seasons, centering around a moronic househusband and his successful, modelesque wife, with a baby introduced in the latter half of season two. Lacey hated it, but it was the only interesting thing she could find, so she sat through it, eyes glassy and head full.

“Honey, she won’t eat!” the husband whined, stomping prissily. The audience roared laughter.

“Oh, dear, have you tried putting yourself in her shoes?” the wife asked.

“She’s not wearing shoes!” More laughter.

The wife rolled her eyes dramatically. “Watch this.” She leaned down, and Lacey closed her eyes. One of the show’s running gags was that the wife ate with hilarious indignity; it was meant to be a touch of absurd humor, but, to many viewers, it was only disgusting. She could hear the wife burbling and laughing, ruining a single spoonful of baby food, while the infant giggled raucously. When the laugh track died down, the spoon clacked on the table. “See?”

“Stupid shit,” Lacey muttered, pressing the power button bitterly. The tiny family blinked away, and she was immediately happier. After the show had ended, the imbecile husband had gone on to become one of Photo Finish’s marketing directors, while his wife spiraled into drugs and depression. The thought of it boggled her mind.

She leaned her head back, Shout, Strawberry, and the wife all cycling through her mind. The overblown dialogue repeated in her ears. “She’s not wearing shoes!” She frowned and pressed her head deep into a chair cushion, but the line didn’t fade.

“Stupid shit. Whoever green-lit that garbage should be taken out and shot.” The ferocity of the thought surprised her, and she sat up, the imaginary audience screaming distorted mirth. She closed her eyes and counted toward ten, but five faded away in a tidal wave of frustration. Shout, the TV, Strawberry: too much junk, too few ideas. The wife’s intentionally vague question remained in her head, taunting in its self-assured simplicity.

She tipped over and wrestled her head under a cushion again, where she stayed for five minutes in a catatonic reverie of spiraling, useless thoughts. Gradually, as her breathing slowed and her mind cooled off, a pearl of an idea formed.

“Her shoes.” She coughed and sat up. “Her shoes.” She looked back at the blank screen, a sudden, new thought coming, and she repeated the two words over and over again, a mantra. When it came, the details fell into place rapidly. “Of course. Of course.” She smiled, then laughed, then fell back once more, her naturally cheerful voice filling the house until she was crying. “Lacey, you’re fired!”

* * * * * *

Pinkie concocted a sudden party in the parking lot outside the studio, for which many of the patrons stayed. It was usual party fare for her: streamers and confetti raining from above, music from nowhere, tables of food that sprung up when no one was looking, and balloons that neither popped nor disappeared into the sky.

They caroused and danced until the sun was half down, and Trixie found them all to suggest they return her apartment, where they could relax. She and Twilight were getting tired of the endless, same compliments on their performances.

While Octavia took Big Mac and Pinkie to find a taxi, Trixie drove Twilight, Rainbow, and Applejack back to her place. No one bothered to try to shut the party down, and the other three were waiting for them at the door when they arrived.

Trixie flipped on the lights with an energetic click. “Whoo! Great job, everypony! I know it’s been said to death already, but you haven’t heard it from me yet. We had three days to learn an entire show, and we pulled it together better than I could have ever imagined.” She laughed. “Those Fillydelphia snobs were blown away!” She went into the kitchen. “Anyone care for a celebratory drink with me?”

“Right here!” Rainbow said, and Trixie emerged with a bottle of coconut rum.

“I would not mind something to drink,” Octavia said. “Do you have any gin?”

“It’s in the cupboard. Help yourself; what’s mine is yours, at least tonight.” She took a swig of rum. “That’s the stuff. Here, Dashie. Just take it from the bottle.”

Rainbow took a sip and shook her head, pursing her lips.

“Don’t like it? Well, go in there and find something you do like.”

Rainbow sauntered into the kitchen and came back out with a six-pack of beer.

“You know, for hating my taste in beer so much, you sure have drank a lot of it,” Trixie said.

“Eh, I’m open-minded. Octavia, what the hay is that?”

“Gin,” Octavia said, taking a sip and smiling to herself. “Do you want any?”

Rainbow accepted the bottle, but gagged and almost dropped it after tasting. “Shit! This tastes like how our torch fuel smells.”

“I enjoy a stiff drink.”

“You take that stuff straight?”

“Yes.”

Their ears jumped up at the sound of more music. Pinkie, in the corner, had produced a small stereo set.

“Not in here, Pinks. I’ve got neighbors,” Trixie said.

“Awwwww.” She bounded over the speakers, their music turning down seemingly of its own accord. “Can I at least drink?”

“You heard me. What’s mine is yours.”

“Can I have a mimosa?” She giggled. “Mimosa! Trixie, can you make me one? Can you, huh? Pleeeease?”

“As a matter of fact, Pinkie, I can’t. Go make it yourself.” She jiggled her rum bottle. “I, like dear Octavia here, prefer my drinks neat.”

“Sunscreen,” Rainbow said.

“You’re just mad ‘cause it burns on the way down.”

“Does not!”

“Oh, don’t pretend, Dashie.” She took another swig, and Rainbow scoffed, wings up.

“How much of that torch fuel can you take?” she asked Octavia, who had taken a seat at the dining table, her gin pooled around a single ice cube in a glass.

“I have never measured my intake,” Octavia said.

Trixie pulled up a seat. “She’s not lying. I only got her to try booze once. Remember that night, Gorgeous and Magnificent Octavia?”

“How could I forget?” She glanced down at her cutie mark.

“Wanna make a bet?” Rainbow asked, sitting down as well.

“I do!” Pinkie cried, sitting on the floor beside them.

“It’s for Octavia only, Pinks.”

Pinkie blew a raspberry and took a drink of her half-empty glass.

“What do you propose?” Octavia asked, sipping her drink.

“Trixie, you got any shot glasses?”

Trixie smiled. “Oh dear, I think I see where this is going. Hooooold on.” She activated her magic and cocked an ear, and, after a couple seconds, a trio of glasses floated from the kitchen out to them.

“I was only gonna need the one.”

“That’s okay.” She placed one before Octavia and one before her, the third discarded at the table’s side.

“Octavia, for every two shots you take, I’ll drink an entire beer.”

Trixie and Pinkie both laughed, and Rainbow’s cheeks flamed. “I’ll do two rums for a beer,” Trixie said.

“Rainbow, you know better than to get in a drinking contest with an earth pony!” Pinkie said.

“I accept,” Octavia said. “I am in the mood for fun.”

Rainbow smiled mischievously. “Now there’s something I wasn’t expecting to hear. It’s on! Or, to quote Rarity, it. Is. On!”

“Challenger goes first,” Octavia said, motioning at the beer Rainbow held.

“Twilight, Apple siblings, wanna get in on this?” Trixie asked.

“Sorry, girls, but Ah’m not interested,” Applejack said. “Not tonight. Too much… too much stuff goin’ on.”

“I don’t drink,” Twilight said, and Big Mac simply shook his massive head.

“Suit yourselves. Let’s do this!” Rainbow lifted the beer to her muzzle and chugged it, slamming the empty bottle onto the table ostentatiously. “There! Beat that, Octavia!”

“Me first,” Trixie said, pouring one shot, then a second quickly after. She downed the second one a little slower, just as Octavia swallowed her first.

Rainbow shook her head. “How do you do that?”

“I said I like it this way,” Octavia said. “Get your next beer ready.” She eyed the second shot and picked it up with a sly smile. “This is good gin, too.”

“How can you tell?”

Octavia took the shot. “This does not make me want to vomit.”

“We’ll see.” She drank her bottle slightly slower, and Trixie only grinned.

Both mares matched her with another pair of shots, as effortless as the first. Hiding the growing worry in her gut, Rainbow finished her third beer and sneered at Trixie, who wavered in her spot, the magical field holding the bottle fading in and out subtly. “Like what you see, Dashie?”

“Maybe. Come on, Octavia, bottom’s up.”

“This is boring for me,” Octavia said, finishing her pair of shots.

“Take an extra one, then!” Pinkie said.

“Three for one of Rainbow’s beers? I do not know,” Octavia said.

“Aw, come on, your highness,” Rainbow said, leaning over to her. “Afraid you can’t take the heat?”

“Perhaps not,” Octavia said, pouring herself one more shot. The pair cheered as she downed it.

Twilight and the others watched from the couch as the four mares turned steadily more rambunctious and less comprehensible. In the car, Twilight had received a letter, but had seen no good time to share it. Giving up on reading it to everyone, she read it in a low voice to the two Apples.

“Dear Twilight, I have mixed news. Discord is on his way at last. He set out from Draught Castle yesterday. While I am preparing the city defenses, Luna is working to weaken him, but progress is slow. He teleports his army sporadically, and breaking him down has proven exactly as difficult as we had feared.” She sighed. “Please, please do not come to Canterlot. Your place is in transit, searching for Elements. We have the resources to defend ourselves, and the preparation time.”

“Is this normal?” Big Mac asked.

“Kinda,” Applejack said. Octavia took another pair of shots, and Rainbow slumped in her seat.

“However, I have good news as well. A second Element of Harmony has been found.”

“Wait, what?” Applejack blurted.

“I don’t know which one it is, but a team of ponies—hm, she crossed something out there—has located it out in the small piece of ocean that came up with us. They think it’s on the… oh, crap.”

“What is it?”

“They think it’s on the bottom.”

Applejack whistled low and Big Mac looked with widened eyes.

“You must go to the coast as quickly as you can, and find a way to reach this Element. I do not know if Discord is aware of my efforts to track the Elements, but, if he is, I do not doubt he will relocate them again.”

“Naturally,” Applejack said.

“I close with an update. The cloud facility over Hoofington will be complete tomorrow, and the siphoning and desalination station over the ocean is nearly ready as well. For now, we are working on the schematics to extend the convoy to Trottingham. In addition, Luna has discovered the identity of your mysterious, flying ship. Oh, all right. That’s something.”

“Flyin’ ship?” Big Mac asked.

“We’ll tell ya in a second,” Applejack said.

“The ship is a projection of its captain, who is, herself, a projection of Discord’s will to devastate and ruin. Both are magical in nature, but the enchantments, I am afraid, are too strong for any of you to break on your own. With an enhancement sigil, Pinkie could do it, but the logistics of such a thing are likely insurmountable. Well, that’s just great.” Twilight looked up to the three mares, talking and laughing wildly, even Octavia. “Maybe I should take up drinking.”

“Twi,” Applejack warned.

“Sorry. Er, it says that our best bet is still to avoid the ship. It’s obvious he’s using it as a decoy.” She frowned. “Decoys are typically harmless, though. This thing is serious business.”

“Not as dangerous as him, Ah’d reckon,” Big Mac said.

“I suppose not. So, yeah. Love and friendship, blah blah blah. No PS.” She rolled up the scroll and tucked it into her magical storage area.

“So, flyin’ ship?”

“Even more annoying than Vanilla Cream,” Applejack said. “At least all he does is talk too much.”

Twilight and Applejack took Trixie’s bed, at Trixie’s drunken behest, while Big Mac and Octavia took the floor. Rainbow leaned heavily on her wither as she searched for a place to sleep.

“Couch. Couch,” Rainbow mumbled.

Trixie shrugged out of Rainbow’s grasp and moved to the couch, collapsing on it with a long sigh. Before she could turn over and get comfortable, Rainbow was on top of her, sighing right into her face.

“Long night, Tricky?”

Not thinking, not hesitating, Trixie stretched her neck to kiss her burden on the lips. She imagined that Rainbow would recoil, or scoff, or something; instead, Rainbow leaned in to her. She lay under the pegasus, their lips together, and closed her eyes. Her world was slow and squishy, and her mind churned lazily.

Rainbow detached and rolled to the back of the couch, and Trixie followed, clumsily flopping over onto her. They kissed again, quicker, and Rainbow wrapped her wings around Trixie’s back, bringing her close to snuggle into a downy chest. Her head bobbed as Rainbow hiccupped, and she opened her eyes long enough to give Rainbow a smile she didn’t see. Bringing a hoof up to return the hug, Trixie too fell asleep.

* * * * * *

When Cloud Line knocked softly on the door, Fluttershy and Rarity were not entirely surprised. The three of them walked back to her house, an unassuming shack that smelled strongly of roasted peppers. She sat them at her table and studied them for a second.

“Rarity and Fluttershy, the Elements of Generosity and Kindness, who are vacationing in Passage Town while their friends are distracted, yet again, in Manehattan.” She gave them a wide smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I already know all that.”

“Of course you do,” Rarity said. “Why would you not? You’re another random stranger.”

“What she’s trying to say,” Fluttershy said, “is we’ve met ponies like you before.”

“Loose Threads in Trottingham, and the police in Cloudsdale,” Cloud Line said.

“You’re another secret agent pony,” Rarity said with a frown.

Cloud Line’s smile snapped tight.

“At first I thought it was silly, but here’s another one. Everywhere we go, secret agents. And it would be you. You know about the pump.”

“And you went down there with Cork again.”

“Er, that is… well, yes.”

“She wasn’t going to let us talk her out of it. We just wanted to protect her,” Fluttershy said.

“I appreciate it,” Cloud Line said. “Ponies like her need protecting. I hope she learned something.”

“I think she did.”

“And when is she planning on going again?”

“Oh. Um…”

“She said she’ll wait a while, and just ask you questions until then,” Rarity said.

“So at least she is aware of me. That’s… something,” Cloud Line said.

“What is the purpose of this?”

“Nothing really. I just wanted to make sure you knew I knew.” She sighed. “There’s too much ignorance in the world.”

“So what is going on with the pump?” Fluttershy asked. “Um, if you don’t mind. It’s clearly important to you.”

“It’s a communication outpost, that’s all. There’s a sigil in the empty vault that lets me talk to other… secret agents.”

“What about that creepy window?” Rarity asked.

“I hope I never have to use it.” She drew an idle circle on the tabletop. “That’s all I’m going to tell you.”

“Why would you need a communication outpost here?”

“Early warning, in case something is threatening Manehattan,” Fluttershy said.

“Basically,” Cloud Line said. She flicked her eyes between them. “Anything else?”

“What can you tell us about Discord, and what’s going on elsewhere?”

Cloud Line smiled. “That is the question I was hoping to hear. Your friends get distracted so much, it’s hard to tell if they’re even trying sometimes. At least you have your minds on the mission. I’m sure Octavia probably does too, but she’s not an Element.”

“I’m hoping we can get back on track soon,” Rarity said.

“Tomorrow, they should be leaving. Their little show is done.” Rarity frowned softly. “And you might want to invest in some rain gear, because you’re going to the coast next.”

“The coast?” Fluttershy repeated, sitting up.

“The coast.”

She giggled nervously. “Sorry. I’ve always wanted to go, is all.”

“Why are we going to the coast?” Rarity asked.

“Element of Harmony,” Cloud Line said. Her face straightened. “On the very bottom.”

Rarity took a moment to respond. “Well, that sounds perfectly horrid.”

“How do you know all this?” Fluttershy asked.

“It’s my job to know,” Cloud Line said. “All of us are supposed to know where you are and what you’re doing. I’m sorry; it’s really better I don’t go into it. You’ll just search us out otherwise.”

“And?”

“Well, they are secret,” Rarity said. “We’re probably not supposed to know any more than Cork.”

“That’s right,” Cloud Line said. “Personally, I never would have thought I’d be talking with you. Why would the Elements of Harmony ever come to measly little Passage Town?” She smiled a real smile. “It’s okay, though.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Lots. Enough that, when you’re in or near a city, someone will be looking out for you. In the wilderness, though, you’re on your own.”

“Most of Equestria is wilderness,” Rarity said.

“I know.” She stood up and went to the kitchen. “Go ahead and go back to Cork’s place. I’m sure you have more questions, but I’m not in a position where I can answer them.” They rose reluctantly and went to the door. “Wait, hold on. I almost forgot. Your original question.”

They turned to face her again.

“Discord is on his way toward Canterlot as we speak. Luna’s on his tail, trying to weaken the spells he has around his army, but it’s proving difficult to track him. Canterlot is ready to face him, though. It won’t be like last time, and he knows it.”

“That’s encouraging,” Rarity said.

“Celestia has ponies searching for the Elements, and, last I heard, they’re narrowing that search nicely. The weather binding is coming undone in most places, though. That’s the explanation for your tornado in Fillydelphia. Admirably handled, by the way, if not extremely reckless.”

“I know.” Rarity tapped her horn.

“Ah, yes. Everything else is progressing okay. Electricity’s back on in most cities, water rationing is… fine. Bridges are established, sewer systems are on their way as well.” She thought for a second. “Trottingham is still a ghost town, but the Astras—remember them?—are setting up on the outskirts of Hoofington. Outside of Discord’s march to Canterlot, Equestria’s actually in okay shape.”

The two mares looked at her, and she them, for a minute. “That actually is a little encouraging,” Rarity said. “Thank you.”

Cloud Line nodded and pushed the door open for them, and they walked into the dark. Outside, they went to the riverbank.

“Can we talk?” Fluttershy asked.

Rarity didn’t respond, but stopped by a cluster of reeds.

“I had to do something to help her. I know how you feel about me using magic in the presence of others, but I didn’t have a choice. I would rather she knew about that than get hurt.”

“It’s fine, dear. I figured it was something like that.” She hesitated, looked at the river, and kept walking.

* * * * * *

Rainbow woke up hot and sticky with sweat, with a weight holding her down and stale breath in her face. She struggled to disentangle herself from Trixie, who woke up with an inglorious snort and cough. When she was off the couch, and lying in an undignified pile, she took a moment to assess where she was. The apartment, with a headache, and Trixie formerly atop her. Bottles covered the table in the other room, and she nodded slow comprehension.

“Morning,” Trixie said, her voice uncertain.

“Uh… nothing happened, right?”

“We didn’t have sex.”

Rainbow sighed. “Thank Celestia. Did we… do anything else?”

“I remember some fooling around. I think we both woke up at some point, later on. Maybe halfway.”

“Crap.”

Trixie smiled a little. “It’s not so bad.”

“Uh, like hell it isn’t. I don’t know if you know, Trixie, but I’m not into shacking up like that.” She paced the living room, glowering at her beer bottles. “Never again.”

Something thumped loudly in the bedroom behind them. “Would you two kindly shut up!” Octavia bellowed.

Ears flat to her head and a coy smile on her face, Trixie motioned to the door. They went outside, out of the apartment, and across the street to the park, not speaking until they were at a picnic table.

“Okay, real talk,” Trixie said. She ignited her horn to straighten her mane.

“Real talk?”

“I know how you are, but I need you to be serious, Rainbow Dash. No jokes or melodrama or stuff. Please?”

Rainbow took a moment to study Trixie, and the scene. She could feel the conversation swelling inside each of them, powerful enough to sweep her away. “All right, I’m good. What is it?”

“How much do you remember about last night?”

“A little bit.” She thought back. Much of it was noise and laughter, and then a long period of quiet. She and Trixie had been the last to go to sleep, and she remembered a swampy, soupy jangle of motion and warmth on the couch. There had been at least one kiss. “We cuddled for a while, and you kissed me. Pretty sure I fell asleep after that.”

“And later that night?”

“Uh… I got nothing.”

“Okay. Well, it was a lot of the same. We spooned for a good half hour, or an hour, or… hell, I don’t know. I was still drunk. I do remember a good deal of tongue.”

Rainbow’s jaw dropped, and she almost shouted out on the spot. She met Trixie’s eyes, and reasserted her cool. “Uh-huh. That’s interesting.”

“How much… so, how much do you regret?”

Rainbow swallowed and slid her eyes off the blue unicorn. “Well…” She tapped a nervous hoof on the table and contracted her wing muscles. Her head pounded, and her thoughts were blurry. She closed her eyes and put her head on the table, and the events she remembered played through her head. Something, however, was absent. “Actually, pretty… much… nothing. Maybe those last two beers.” She grinned, and Trixie nodded.

Trixie chewed her lip. “These last few days, all the stuff I did, I was teasing you, because your reactions were funny. I never meant anything.”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t playing around last night.”

Rainbow nodded. In her head, she was trying to catch up with what Trixie was saying. When Trixie didn’t respond, she looked up. “O-oh. You’re waiting for me.” She gave a single chuckle. “Uhhhhh… geez, do we have to talk about this now?”

“Please, Dash. I know we’re both hung over, but I need to know this. How do you feel?”

“Well… last night, I was too wasted to, you know, joke around.” She sighed, the realization hitting her. “So I guess I meant it too.” She rubbed her eyes. “But I’m not gay, Trixie.”

Trixie raised her eyebrow and parted her lips in concerned bemusement. “Are you sure?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yeah, I’m sure!”

“It felt pretty gay last night.”

“Well… I know what I am, okay. I don’t know what else to tell you.” She stood up and unfurled her wings. “I gotta fly this hangover off.”

Trixie only nodded as she flew away.

* * * * * *

When the first rays of sunlight caressed the forest of towers that was Manehattan, Rarity and Fluttershy were up. They said goodbye to Cork, who was already awake, and went to the road they had originally followed into Passage Town, stopping to wait for their ride where it bent closest to the still river.

They didn’t talk. Rarity faced the water, her gaze as far away as it had been the first day they arrived, and Fluttershy trotted a small line back and forth on the path. The first hour was silent and empty, and then Cork joined them.

“Still waiting for your ride?”

Fluttershy looked at her and nodded, then flinched. “Wait, how do you—”

“I saw the ship pass and land in the distance. I didn’t bring it up because, in all honesty, it didn’t matter.” She shrugged and started walking where Fluttershy had frozen. “I get it, I do. It’s no big deal.” After a minute, Fluttershy walked beside her, and the silence continued.

* * * * * *

Rainbow returned to the park half an hour later, mind clear and body sore, and still uncomfortable from the night before. Trixie was there, still, and looked up at her as she circled around before landing.

“How was your fly?”

Rainbow walked to her without speaking; speaking might ruin the fragile state of readiness she had whipped herself into in the air. Trixie stood, and Rainbow stopped before her, their faces an inch apart. “Three, two, one.” She darted in for a kiss, and did not bring her head back. Instead, she allowed Trixie to meet her there, and for her own body to reflexively move closer, until she could feel a heart fibrillating in or against her chest. Trixie’s lips were chapped and a little large, and she could taste the cloying afterimage of the previous night’s coconut rum. She closed her eyes, but Trixie was still there. No stallion replaced her.

“Okay, Dash, honey, you have to do more than sit there on them,” Trixie said, breaking the connection.

“Right. Sorry. I-I had to try something.”

“And what do you think, now that you’ve tried it?”

“I think…” Her mouth was suddenly dry. In flight, she had envisioned the scenario, and it had seemed so easy. Before Trixie, the mere act of speech was an obstacle she was not familiar with.

“You think…”

“I think I liked it. Like, a lot.” She sighed and sat on the grass, the tension broken. “And I like you a lot too. I like you more than kissing you. Er, that’s kind of weird, since they’re both you in a way. Uh, what I mean is—”

“Shut up,” Trixie said, smiling. “I like you too.” She released a single, tight laugh. “Like, a lot.”

Rainbow smiled thinly and stood back up. “What does it mean, though?”

“It means,” Trixie sighed, “that you’re going to leave later today, and I’m going to stay here and worry about you. You’re flying into the jaws of danger, and I’m staying in my nice, comfy apartment.”

“Come with us.”

Trixie paused.

Rainbow shrugged too elaborately. “It’s not like we all haven’t thought of it.”

“I know.” She breathed out slowly. “I know. I… Celestia, what timing.”

“Hey, no one blames you. No one can withstand my charm for too long.” She laughed, but abruptly stopped when Trixie only looked at her. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I thought—”

“It’s fine.” She approached Rainbow, then backed away. “I have to think about this. You’ll let me know before you leave?”

“Of course, if I can find you.”

“I’m just going to do a circuit around the park.”

* * * * * *

It was nine-thirty, and Rotor and Eggshell stood with them on the path. Rarity still stared at the river, and Fluttershy had stopped her pacing long ago. The three others chatted in the sunshine, not about the pump—Cork had promised not to talk about it, at least not for a long time. Fluttershy watched them, silently amazed. Outside of Cork, and Cloud Line at the very end, she had not gotten to know anyone else. Rotor spoke animatedly and often at great length, the type of pony who seemed to enjoy working herself into a frenzy of self-expression, while Eggshell watched with his haunting, pink eyes, offering little. The richness of friendship was obvious to her, out on the path, but it had been eclipsed by the pump and its wiles.

She felt another notch of unhappiness in her heart when she saw two more ponies approaching.

* * * * * *

After a terse, professional conversation, in which Lacey could feel her boss’ shock and alarm like icy suction on her stomach, she drove to the bank to withdraw her savings. She would do the same with her checking, once her retirement funds cleared.

She drove home and switched on the TV, but paid it no attention. Captain Shout would be preparing for his interview, which she had fixed already. The questions would be very basic and non-invasive, allowing him ample space to vilify Strawberry. Still, he was a loose cannon, and she felt vaguely intrusive in her own home, preparing to relax at a time when she would ordinarily be working and worrying.

She lay on the couch and let her eyes slide closed before the gibbering TV.

* * * * * *

At eleven o’ clock, the airship came into view. Everyone from town had gathered, and a few had even gone back to gather ingredients for a picnic, which they joined. They talked and laughed, and, in a move that amazed Fluttershy, Rarity confessed their true identities.

When it touched down, they took a pair of cucumber and tomato sandwiches, prepared by Deco, the pony that had introduced them to the town in the first place, and boarded to a sea of greetings. Only Octavia was not present; she was below, nursing a powerful hang over.

“New friends?” Applejack asked.

“Yes, but not as good as old ones,” Rarity said, hugging her. “I missed you girls so much.”

“We both did,” Fluttershy said. They went to the rail next to Rainbow, glaring pensively into the distance, to wave goodbye to the small gathering.

The last thing they heard was Rotor’s brazen voice screaming “happy trails!”

Eyes in the Sky

Chapter Forty-nine

Eyes in the Sky

The Elements of Harmony were on their ship, heading northeast to the coast, and Spike was with Flitter in the sauna. She lay on her back with closed eyes, but he wasn’t fooled; her wings were tight and she hardly moved, even to swipe sweat off her face. Her stillness was in response to his own insufficient stutter at her question: am I doing something wrong?

Of course not, he had wanted to say. But the words didn’t come out that easily.

“I mean, I still really like you,” he finally said. “I’m in a weird place right now.”

“What does Colgate do that I don’t?”

“Wait, you don’t think I’m doing anything funny with her, do you?”

“You spend a lot of time there.”

“Well… yeah, okay. So? I spend time here too.”

“Of course you do. We’re dating.” She turned on her side, putting her back to Spike. “What does Colgate do that I don’t?”

“Flitter, I’m not attracted to Colgate,” Spike said. “By pony standards, she’s more than twice my age. Or something. Er, anyway, and she’s not as pretty as you, or nice.”

“That’s all you care about, being pretty and nice?”

“What? No, of course not.” The heat was pounding into his head, and he had to rest for a second. “You don’t have to worry about anything, okay? We’re just friends.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’m telling you!”

“And I’m saying ‘mm-hm’.”

“Flitter.”

Flitter didn’t answer, and Spike got up to walk to her, but hesitated. He had never seen her angry, and didn’t know whether to try to console her or stay quiet. He decided to return to his spot on the bench.

When one o’ clock came around, Spike was in one of the hospital’s break rooms sharing lunch with Golden Mercy, Colgate’s medical assistant. Colgate was in a meeting with a team of occupational therapists.

Almost two weeks ago, he had put Noteworthy’s potion into her drink, expecting a change within the first couple days. What he got, instead, was day after day of half-fun with Colgate, his enjoyment at being with her poisoned with anxiety and, sometimes, guilt.

“What’s it like to work for Colgate?” he asked.

“Mm, a pain,” Mercy said. Her ruddy, rich fur shook with her nod. “She’s very particular about how things are. She likes to have her charts a certain way, has only one way to document encounters. Sometimes she tries to oversee prescriptions, and we have to tell her, ‘Colgate, girl, go back to your room, this ain’t the place for you.’ She’s tight as a dang clock.”

“Really?”

“But she’s also very calm. I’ve never seen her buckle under pressure, and you can imagine what sorts of pressures there are in the operating room.”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t.

“So it’s a trade-off. I don’t know. I like her. Some of the other MAs think she’s kind of weird, but you can tell they look up to her too.”

“Hm, now that’s interesting.” He grinned. “I didn’t know she was the kind of pony other ponies, you know, did that with.”

“Well, we’re a pretty small practice. We’ve only got three surgeons, and the only other specialist is Dr. Down.” Seeing his blank expression, she smiled. “Dr. Sable Down, our renal surgeon. He and Colgate are the two big names here.”

“So she’s like a minor celebrity or something?”

“Eh, not really. It’s more like… she’s important, and smart, and everyone knows, and she knows they all know.” She nodded again. “She’s earned it, though.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, the usual way. By being smart and reliable.”

He thought back across the last several days. He had spent so much time at the hospital that ponies stopped questioning his presence, except Colgate, for whom he had no good explanation. His earlier lie, that he hadn’t been feeling well enough to practice with Zecora, failed to hold water around the third day, and no other lies came to mind. Colgate hadn’t stopped mildly pestering him.

And then, there was her medication. He saw her take it most days, but every time he considered asking about it, stopped himself. If what Noteworthy said were true, and she was crazy behind the pills, it was not a situation he wanted to get close to.

“How is she with patients?” he finally asked.

“So-so. She’s pleasant.”

“Pleasant. Is that it?”

“She couldn’t ever be a nurse, is what I’m saying.”

“That I can understand. She’s a little standoffish.”

“She’s a lot standoffish. I’m always reminding her, ‘Colgate, smile when you see this patient, okay? She’s about to get her knee joint scraped clean, the least you can do is smile at her.’ So she puts on this big, fake grin, and I’m just trying not to burst out laughing at how poor an attempt she’s making.”

“Hm. Sounds familiar.” He looked at her closely for a moment, and she paused.

“What?”

“What’s with the pills she takes every day?”

“Oh, those are for migraines.”

“Oh.” He slouched in his seat. “I thought they were something else.”

“No, she told me it was migraines. Why, what’d you think they were?”

“I thought they were… you know, crazy pills.”

Golden smiled in concealed laughter for several seconds. “Okay, sure. Whatever floats your boat, Spike.”

“Hm.” He thought of Noteworthy, his mind suddenly darkening. “I gotta go. I just remembered something important.”

“Aw, leaving already?”

“I’ll be back, I’m sure. What time’s her consultation?”

“Uh, five-thirty.”

“Yeah, I’ll be back by then.”

She gave him one more smile as he left the break room.

He found Noteworthy running a flower stall outside the mayor’s office, the two police officers flanking his setup from a distance. As soon as he saw Spike’s approach, Noteworthy’s expression soured.

“Crazy pills, really?” Spike said.

“Oh, this is what my day needed.”

“She’s taking them for migraines, you bastard.”

Noteworthy looked to the side. Roseluck, in the stall next to his, looked over, concern unconcealed. He sighed, eyes closed for a moment. “You’ll just believe anything you hear, won’t you?”

“Golden Mercy said—”

“Golden Mercy doesn’t know her.”

“Uh, yeah she does.”

“Uh, no she doesn’t. Do you know the difference between coworkers and friends? I’m starting to think you don’t.”

“Everything okay?” Roseluck asked.

“Noteworthy’s being a jerk,” Spike said.

Noteworthy rolled his eyes, but his voice was pleasant when he addressed Roseluck. “It’s fine. Everyone’s just a little heated right now.”

“Colgate?”

Spike’s eyes sprung open. “Wait, what?”

“She’s the one everything comes back to,” Roseluck said with a tiny shrug. “Just my opinion, though.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that same thing,” Noteworthy grumbled.

Instead of returning directly to the hospital, Spike did a circuit around town to order his thoughts. Since a week ago, Berry and Derpy had stopped coming around, and Allie’s visits were lessening as well. Even Colgate was going quieter, though another black eye appeared midway through his time with her.

He passed close to the small bridge that curved over a narrow part of the river and stopped, spying a small commotion in the waters. He hastened to the shore, but as he got closer, the pony flopped out onto the bank, her mane hanging limp and her white scrubs showing a moderate blue beneath.

“Colgate?”

She whipped her head to face him, her eyes wide and frantic, but deflated into the mud when she recognized him. “Spike, it’s just you.”

“What in the wide world of Equestria are you doing? Are you okay?”

“Just taking a refreshing dip before a meeting.”

“You’re soaking wet.”

She got up and headed back toward the hospital, her entire body dripping water and mud.

“Hey!” He ran to catch up with her, and she stopped, staring through him. “What’s going on? You haven’t been yourself lately.”

Colgate frowned. “Not myself?” He didn’t respond, and they walked together along the riverside. “I never really got that phrase.”

“You’re not like how you were before,” he said, his dread growing.

“No one is.”

“Uhhhh…”

“Okay,” she snapped, stopping suddenly to turn to him. As quickly as she looked at him, her eyes changed, and she was again looking through him. Her voice dimmed, and she was the Colgate he knew, though much wetter. “I need your help.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry, Spike.” She sat down on the grass, her mane dripping onto her muzzle. “I… this is very strange for me. Way stranger than I would expect.”

“What are you talking about? What’s he doing to you now?”

“It’s not him. Or maybe it is. I’m losing my mind, Spike.”

The words passed over him, as though uttered as part of a story, or from an unfathomable source. He looked at her, the sopping, muddy, black-eyed unicorn who sometimes wore bloodstained scrubs to work, whom he knew outclassed him in every capacity.

“I need help.”

“Uhhh… what, what makes you think that?”

“I can’t focus. I can’t think right. Everything’s mushy and slippery, and every time I try too hard to think one thought at a time, it either drifts away or gets replaced with something else.” Her eyes moved rapidly. “Sometimes it’s familiar stuff, like what I’m gonna do later that night, or memories, and sometimes it’s Datura stuff. I was involved when I was in Manehattan.”

“I know.”

“Team medic. They called me ‘terror nurse,’ or I did, or something. I don’t remember. I remember being with them, though.” She looked quickly at the hospital. “Redheart thinks it’s anxiety. I guess that makes sense. Someone’s beating the stuffing out of me, I suppose.”

“Colgate, where is this going?”

“She’s the head nurse practitioner. I remember thinking I wanted her job for a while, but that was a pipe dream. I’m no nurse. I’m a… surgeon.”

Spike watched her closely.

“I think I’m losing my mind,” she said slowly. “Surgeon, surgery, stuff. Oh, fiddlesticks, I have a consultation coming up.” She got up and galloped across the field, and Spike followed, but her stride was longer, and she had soon disappeared into the gleaming double doors.

The following day, Spike woke up early, skipped the spa, and was stopped halfway to Colgate’s office by Nurse Tenderheart, Nurse Redheart’s second-in-command. Colgate had been suspended for the rest of the week, her bedraggled appearance causing a minor stir among the patients and staff. She had taken the news quietly and calmly, and the last thing she did was leave a trail of filthy water to the prescription department, where she made certain her patients were caught up. Not one iota of the unhinged fear by the riverside had made it into the hospital.

After a quick chat with Golden Mercy, who had little to say, Spike passed the spa again on his way to Colgate’s house. Nurse Tenderheart had said it was normal for a surgeon to have a nervous breakdown. Their jobs were extremely high-pressure, and even the strongest pony eventually broke. She hoped Colgate’s break was a brief one, she had said to Spike, who nodded without hearing.

Colgate let him in without comment. A book lay on its face on the floor, and she settled down on a cushion nearby, looking at him pleasantly. Her black eye gleamed morosely, its sclera marbled with capillary red.

“Uh… how you feeling?”

Instead of answering, she smiled the same smile he was used to, got up, and embraced him. He stood inside her grasp, almost afraid to reciprocate, and patted her on the back.

“So… is that good, or bad?”

“I’m sorry about yesterday, Spike. You shouldn’t have seen that.”

“Um… it’s okay?”

“Sit.” She disconnected and indicated a spot on the floor. “Please. There’s much to discuss.”

“S-sure.” He grinned and sat down, and she fell onto her cushion, dark blue, like portions of her mane.

“I’m going to tell you about my final day in the Datura.”

He blinked, expecting more of a lead-up, but Colgate only stared past him. Her voice was calm and collected, not the voice of the pony he had caught a glimpse of the day before.

“Know first, I am well aware that you are withholding your true reason for spending so much time with me lately. I can infer that it’s Datura business, and that terrifies me. I think there’s a connection between your recent appearance and what I’m coming to consider my descent into madness, but I have no proof, and, moreover, I don’t care anymore. Whatever happened happened, and my course seems clear. I still think of you as a friend, Spike.” She smiled toothily. “But I’m never trusting you with anything important again. This happened eleven years ago. I was on a team of other doctors in Manehattan.”

Her first residency was a mismatch that tempted her to end her career before it started. She, fresh-faced and ready to take her new skills and innovations to the world of orthopedics, was paired with a dermatologist by the name of Dr. Sheen. Her first month was a blur of arguments, uncomfortable biopsies, and unhelpful administration.

Then, Dr. Sheen took her to a meeting of the Datura. The odd coupling was to see if Dr. Colgate could function in the peculiar mixture of taxing social situations and high-importance procedures. As it turned out, she could.

It was another week before she met Datura outside work. A pair of quiet, watchful phlebotomists showed up at her apartment and led her through the hospital at two in the morning, answering the questions she had not had the wherewithal to ask initially, much the same as she would for an inquisitive dragon more than a decade later.

For the first year afterwards, her life felt complete. Assignments, when she went on them, were fascinating, but seldom dangerous, and she quickly became a mainstay of the team, her ability to work under pressure making her the perfect emergency medic. Hers was the duty of resuscitating victims and suspects of the extranormal, and her medical knowledge stretched and expanded to conform to the array of magical treatment options known only to a tiny percentage of ponies in the country.

The catalyst of her discommendation from the Datura was a slight, stuttering colt by the name of Ultraviolet, whose life she saved in a mundane act of CPR. They had found him hypothermic in a dull summoning sigil, the words “ice made flesh” slathered on the wall in what looked more like paint than blood. Witness accounts claimed only a sudden snap of cold, accompanied by a monolithic gear groan—“like an engine chewing itself to pulp,” one had said.

Finding him to be dangerous only insofar as his curiosity often gave way to irresponsibility, the Datura let him free with all his memories, so he would hopefully learn his lesson. Days later, “The Ice Demon of Manehattan” was published in a local tabloid, to discredit any uncontained testimony.

Dr. Colgate would see him a month later on the operating table. The procedure was, again, routine, and she hardly had to think about it as she worked inside his pastern joint. When he was in the recovery room, shaking off the effects of general anesthesia, she came in for a visit.

“I r-recognize you,” he said.

“I was there when you were anesthetized,” Dr. Colgate replied, putting on her nurse smile.

“No, from before. You re-re-re… you saved my life, a while ago. ‘Ice made flesh,’ right, doctor?”

She paused with her blood pressure cuff still floating off its hook. “And why do you possess this little nugget of information? I scurried away before your focus came back. Your memory should be a blur.”

“The same way I remember you silently pr-praying to Luna when you thought you’d nicked my f-femoral artery today.”

She hesitated, and then took his blood pressure. “So how do you know these things?”

He tilted his head playfully. “I’m the eye in the sky.”

“Cute.”

He smiled. “You must th-th-think me ludicrous.”

“I think you mysterious. Deep breaths.” She checked his breathing and heart, noted the results, and put the clipboard on her back. “I’d like to talk to you more, and I bet my friends would too.”

“How could I say no to more time in your c-company?”

“But it’ll have to wait. Did the nurse show you everything already?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Rest up, and we’ll talk later.”

Later was eight o’ clock that night, when Dr. Colgate, Dr. Sheen, and the two phlebotomists, Flowerfalls and Amber Mist, crowded into Ultraviolet’s room. Despite Dr. Colgate’s ease with him, and her comfort with his unexplained knowledge, the others were not as confident. Flowerfalls and Amber Mist stayed cautiously back while Dr. Sheen questioned Ultraviolet with quick professionalism that sometimes bordered on hostility, which he returned with fearful noncompliance.

“Okay, let’s back up,” Flowerfalls said, stepping over and speaking for the first time. Dr. Sheen glared at Ultraviolet from the foot of his bed. “How long did you know about Dr. Colgate’s involvement in your resuscitation?”

“I d-d-d… I don’t know. I think I woke up with it, b-but I don’t know.”

“And then, in the course of your conversation with her, you intuited another piece of knowledge about her, something only she could have known,” Amber Mist said, circling to the bed’s other side.

“Yes.”

“What else do you know about me?” Dr. Colgate asked.

“Nothing. But if I l-look at you, I can get m-more.”

Dr. Colgate shooed the phlebotomists away and stood before him, allowing his weary eyes to cover her. As he examined her, his smile grew.

“I know you tried writing poetry in c-college, but didn’t think much of yourself.” His eyes glazed over and he began to recite: “Tell me, oh t-t-tell me, the difference between—”

“What else?” Dr. Colgate said.

“Let’s see here… you ate an entire tub of sour cream when you were five years old.”

“This is nonsense,” Dr. Sheen said. “Anyone can guess at what someone did at that age, they hardly remember it anyway.”

“Dr. Colgate had to… oh.”

Dr. Colgate clenched her jaw; she thought she knew what Ultraviolet had hit on. “Perhaps we should discuss it privately.”

Ultraviolet paled.

“Not acceptable,” Flowerfalls said.

“Until we know what exactly is going on with you, we can’t let you alone with her,” Amber Mist said.

Dr. Colgate looked directly at her. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not worried about your safety.”

“What do you th-think I’m going to do?” Ultraviolet whispered. “I’m bedridden. I swear, I c-couldn’t hurt a f-f-f… I couldn’t hurt a f-fly.”

“It would be unprofessional,” Amber Mist said. Her surly tone was enough to make Ultraviolet shrink into his sheets. His eyes didn’t leave Dr. Colgate.

“It’s fine, Ultraviolet,” Dr. Sheen suddenly said. He smiled beatifically. “You have to realize how bizarre this is for us. I apologize if we came across too strong.”

“Of course.” The unicorn was barely audible.

“Let’s get a nurse in here,” Flowerfalls said, heading outside. Once in the hall, they turned on Dr. Colgate.

“Whatever he’s doing, you’re the one he likes doing it to,” Amber Mist said.

“But he responds well when you talk,” Dr. Sheen said. “Better than for us. I say go for it. Visit him later tonight and see if you can get some answers.”

“And risk an information breach?” Flowerfalls asked calmly.

“He seems to know only her past. With us, there’s not much to reveal.”

“I’m the safest option,” Dr. Colgate said.

“I think so.”

“I don’t want to interrogate him.”

“You’re only asking questions,” Flowerfalls said. “You don’t need to torture him.” She grinned a little. “Although…”

“Don’t push me,” Dr. Colgate said. Her voice came out with no inflection, the words habitual only, but Flowerfalls looked down quickly.

“Ladies,” Dr. Sheen said. “Don’t worry, doctor. No one on this team is going to push you.”

“Then don’t.”

“We’re not going to,” Amber Mist said.

Dr. Colgate stepped back to look at them all. “Then don’t.”

Outside Ultraviolet’s room, the nurse gave Dr. Colgate the report. Shortly after their small conference, Ultraviolet had fallen into a disturbed, sweating sleep, and woken in a fugue that did not improve with opening the window or the administration of drugs. He seemed exhausted, almost hung over, and something more that the nurse couldn’t place.

She advised that Dr. Colgate spend very little time within, and to be consciously gentle with him; Dr. Colgate dismissed her with a terse “understood.” When she entered, Ultraviolet looked to the door, and when he saw who it was, froze.

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Colgate asked. She took a second to put on a smile. Her bedside manner, she had been told, left much to be desired.

Ultraviolet did not un-tense. “Fine, ma’am.”

“You know why I’m here.”

He shrunk against the headboard, his eyes stuck to her like she might spring at him at any second.

She sat on the tile. “What did you see? I have a general idea, but I want to know the specific thing.”

“Uh…” He finally looked away, and she could see sweat on his fur. His lips trembled. “You were y-young, and you g-g-g-got them with the locker.”

“I remember it.”

“I’m sorry, doctor.”

“I’m not like that.”

He studied her more, but closed his eyes with a groan. After a minute of struggling, he let his head fall onto the bunched sheets.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she approached.

With a strangled yelp, he shimmied away from her.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I told you, I’m not like that.”

He only moaned.

“Fine.” She returned to her spot. “Why do you know what you know?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have to.”

“I-I don’t. It just comes to me.”

“Intuition?”

He nodded. “Sorry.”

“How long have you had this ability?”

He stared past her.

“Ultraviolet?”

He jerked. “Sorry, sorry! I-I think I’ve had it all my life, doctor.”

“And you can choose how to use it,” she continued.

“Kind of.”

“Explain.”

He relaxed a tiny bit. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Right. D-doctor Colgate. Okay.” He relaxed more. “It only works on ponies, and only if I’m interested in them. S-sort of, I mean.”

“So you were interested in me?”

“You saved my life, and operated on me.” He smiled, but, seeing her serious face, went quieter and tightened his muscles once more. “Please don’t be mad. I was… er, I kind of w-wanted to ask you on a date.”

“I assume that was before you caught a flash of my past.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Tell me more.”

“J-just out to breakfast or something, nothing fa-fancy.”

“Your intuition.” Hearing something outside, she stood, and the sheets piled to the other side as he scrambled away. “You need to stop that. It’s not good for you. You’re still recovering.”

He only looked at her, frozen again.

“Speak, Ultraviolet.”

“Sorry! Sorry, s-sorry. Uh, I can only do it so much. If I overdo it, I get kind of sick.”

“Did you overdo it this afternoon?”

“Think so.”

“So you woke up from surgery, exhausted yourself with intuiting my past, and freaked yourself out when you saw something you didn’t like.” She took a quick step toward him, and he almost fell out of bed. “Are you okay?” She moved to his side and helped him back. His body felt ready to explode with fear under her careful, expert hooves. She magically adjusted the blanket around his throat and gave her best nurse smile, then left.

“I don’t get it. Why was he so freaked out?” Spike asked.

“Before I grew up, I had a little temper. He caught a glimpse of me hitting someone.”

“Sounds like he got a lot more.”

“He was still a little funny from the anesthesia. Can I continue?”

“Sorry, doctor.”

“Not exactly what we asked for, but you did an amazing job, Minuette,” Flowerfalls said. She had cornered Dr. Colgate the following day with a huge smile, and news of Ultraviolet’s fate.

“Thanks, I think.”

“He was so scared, he told me everything I wanted to know.”

“You went in after me?”

“Sorry, doc. Nothing personal.”

“Feels personal.”

“Hey, I just said you did an awesome job, okay? Lighten up.” She grinned. “Terror nurse.”

“What?”

“That’s what he kept saying. I assume he was talking about you.”

“I’m the terror nurse?”

“Guess so.” She bumped Dr. Colgate’s flank playfully. “Good job, doc. Thanks.”

“So what’s going to happen to him?”

They walked down a narrow, empty corridor to the secondary lab, where she, Amber Mist, and four others drew blood and conducted countless tests. “Nothing good. Turns out, he’s an unregistered postcog. Someone who has access to the past, whether they should or not. Rarer than precogs, and potentially devastating for us.”

“And?”

“He’s getting a full interrogation by the police, in the presence of our Information Handler.” When Dr. Colgate didn’t respond, she forced a chuckle. “That’s right, you don’t know. Our Information Handler is a big deal. She’s coming here specifically to see it.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not necessarily. It just means it’s huge. She’s one of the top ponies in the Datura. Not just the Equestrian division, but the whole thing. As her title suggests, she’s in charge of all our information.”

“All of it?”

“Absolutely all of it.”

Dr. Colgate nodded and separated from her coworker. She wanted to see Ultraviolet again, but Flowerfalls was not the only one who had figured out who the terror nurse was. Every time she passed his room, there was someone outside to gently guide her away.

“I saw him only once more, in a list of anomalous intellects. I liked to keep track of Datura stuff after I quit.”

“They let you?”

“Kind of. Anomalous intellects are in the public record, though.”

“Oh. Wait, so was that your last day?” Spike asked.

“Not officially, but that was the day I decided I wasn’t sticking around. I didn’t want to be involved in a group that brutalized ponies like him. He wasn’t hurting anyone, and they put him through two days of questioning and a memory wipe.”

“At least he doesn’t remember the suffering,” Spike offered.

“That doesn’t matter. I was told the Datura stood for the security and comfort of all, but then they turned around and tortured him.”

Spike nodded. “And to be instrumental in that betrayal, too.”

“I know. Flowerfalls really went behind my back.”

“Uh, right. So… why did you tell me all that?”

“I told you I’m losing my mind. I’m probably going back.”

“Back to Manehattan?”

“No, back to the Datura.”

Though he knew to expect it, Spike had to pause at her bluntness.

“I’m going to give it about a week, and if I’m still thinking about it as strongly as I am now, I’ll join.” She got off her cushion. “The suddenness and enormity of these thoughts makes me uncomfortable.”

“So… do you know why you’re suddenly so attracted to the Datura?”

“No clue.” She looked through him and shook her head. “I wish I wanted to care more. Something’s going on, it’s extremely obvious. But I’m not looking at it the right way.”

“Look, Colgate,” Spike said. “Ponies change their minds all the time. Maybe you’re just thinking about it in a way you hadn’t earlier. Maybe you just need some time away from agonizing.”

She shrugged.

“You’ve got the day off, right?”

“The whole week. Nurse Redheart kicked me out after coming in all wet.”

“Yeah, so let’s go do something to get our minds off it.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Walk in the park?”

“Fine.” She followed him out the door and around the town’s center, to enter the park from the east side, opposite the Everfree Forest. Unlike her house, on the north end, there was only flat grassland to their backs, creased with mountains against the horizon. From their distance, there was no sign of the splits that had, for Ponyville, become no more than a strange fact to be recalled when thinking of the outside world.

Spike followed Colgate, her ears up, to a picnic table under a tree, where an earth pony played a harp with soft, open eyes. A small crowd had gathered, and a few had tossed bits onto the ground, which she did not acknowledge except with a smile and nod to those who contributed. Her lime peel coat was long and fluffy, and in the summer warmth, it puffed the mare up comically against the like-colored grass. Her eyes were unremarkable golden discs under a short and neat candy-stripe of mint and powder blue mane, with no horn parting it. Spike fixed his eyes first on the unmarred spot of her mane, its blankness putting him in a state of mild shock. Non-magical musicians were rare; hooves made instrumentation difficult.

As her song dissipated, she gave Spike a friendly smile and stooped to gather her meager bits. Some of the audience moved away, and Spike and Colgate came closer.

“That was beautiful,” Spike said.

“Thanks. Spike, right?” She strummed a little on her harp.

“Yeah! How’d you know?”

“I moved down from Canterlot,” she said, her voice lilting slightly, her face turning up in a smile, as if the statement of her origin should have been enough for him.

“Does that mean the gaps between Ponyville and Canterlot are fixed?” Colgate asked.

“There are bridges.” She started plucking out another tune. “I just blew into town a couple days ago, actually. I don’t know anyone here.”

“You’ll be fine,” Spike said. “I’m Spike; I guess you already know that. This is my friend, Colgate.”

“Oh, you’re her,” the pony said. “I’m Foxglove. Great to meet you both.”

“Where did you hear my name?” Colgate asked.

“Just kind of around. It came up in conversations I walked past a couple times.”

“Yeah, uh… you came at a weird time. There’s been some trouble,” Spike said.

“Involving you?” She nodded to Colgate.

“I’m in the middle of it all,” Colgate said quietly.

“Hoo, wow. Not as an instigator, I hope?”

“Victim.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not angry,” Colgate said, angling her body away.

“I didn’t mean anything, I swear.”

“It’s fine,” Spike said. “We’ll see you later.”

As they parted the tiny crowd, Foxglove began a slower, sadder song.

They sat outside Ponyville’s only ice cream parlor sharing a large sundae. By the time they had arrived, Colgate had lost her displeasure at Foxglove’s playful comment, but still refused to smile when Spike tried to cheer her up.

“So are there any precogs in Ponyville?”

Colgate thought for a minute. “Well, Pinkie Pie, of course. She’s a low-level precog. She can get hyper-specific events with short notice. Not overly useful, except as a guessing game. There’s someone else. Oh, who is it? I checked out the public records a long time ago.”

“Does the mayor know?”

“Oh yeah. If Ponyville is like Manehattan, Mayor Mare should know about half the stuff your ponies know. Half the immediate stuff, that is.”

“I don’t even know that much.”

“Bonbon. That’s who it is.”

“She’s not a precog,” Spike said.

“No, I know it’s her. She and Pinkie are the two. I remember thinking it was cute that the baker and candy maker were both precogs. Bonbon’s barely one, though. She gets impressions of future events, so unspecific and unrelated to her own circumstances that it hardly matters. I wouldn’t be surprised if she just thinks she has a super-vivid imagination.”

“Where do they come from?”

“Precogs? I have no clue.”

“I wonder if Flitter knows.”

“Why would she know?”

“She knows everything else.”

“Oh.” Colgate stared into a small pool of ice cream on her side of the dish. She had eaten fast.

“If I find out, want me to tell you?”

“Sure, I’m curious.”

Spike finished his side of the sundae and looked from under the edge of their shade. To the south, he could see the huge, reflective fortress of Cloudsdale. A pegasus took off from the orchard and caught her lithe body against the white canvass. With half the Apple family gone, Granny Smith had taken on the Cutie Mark Crusaders and a drove of pegasi, ousted from their home city by economic unrest. All of that seemed irrelevant. At a quaint resting spot, Colgate across from him—black eye notwithstanding—and no Datura training, he sighed contentedly. At ease, he looked back to his friend, and her eyes went comfortably through him yet again.

* * * * * *

Princess Luna used her traveling library liberally, and sometimes for research. Discord had gotten his forces underway the Sunday previous, and she, on a stormy Thursday, dined alone behind its protective paneling. She had summoned it for a rest on the eastern side of Toad Pond, the highly inaccurate name for the five hundred square-mile lake that basked a scant hundred miles away from Draught Castle’s solitary figure.

Discord had originally led her on a chase east of the castle, almost to the cloying waters of Mineral River, which had marked the Equestrian border at one time, before turning quickly in a way she expected, but wasn’t fully prepared for, and teleported his entire contingency back to the starting point. A pure waste of time, meant specifically to annoy her: a tactical raspberry.

She didn’t give in to his taunt, and let him get ahead of her by about a day, feigning inability to relocate him. While she had dinner, he was strutting around the perimeter of his army’s improvised campsite, intermittently singing to himself and plotting more seriously. She saw it all through a simple remote viewing spell, which she had placed the instant she found him the first time.

After an hour of repeated renditions of the Equestrian national anthem, sung backwards and in every register at once, she deactivated her spell, raised the moon, and went to the library’s bedroom. She could comfortably go a week without sleep, Celestia two months, but it was a luxury she had grown accustomed to, and felt a quiet pang of shameful giddiness as she climbed into bed. It was baseless. One of the first things she did when setting out was strengthen her awareness of others’ sleep. When Discord finally nodded off, as he had to every night, she would know, and the spell would wake her. Then her true work would begin.

At one o’ clock exactly, she slipped out of sleep as comfortably as taking off a nightgown, and glided up and through the library wall, flying to a height where she could see the entire southern half of the Everfree Forest. The clouds, no longer raining, filled the sky above her, but she held herself aloft with centuries-old muscle memory.

The library, the smallest of her four in Canterlot Palace, was an afterthought. As soon as she had flown far enough from it, she banished the structure back to her pocket dimension, a magical construct the envy of every knowledgeable magician in Equestria. With it, she held an armory of spells, suspended mid-cast, to be released instantaneously if she needed, along with a set of enchanted armor, should the need for bloodshed become unavoidable. The magical power it took to even create what she stored was more than most could aspire to in a single lifetime, and the power to contain it was greater than the sum of equine magical power in the city of Manehattan. She had done the math once.

With another spell, she let her body’s dimensions fragment and flatten until no light touched her, and she flew, an invisible labyrinth of two-dimensional crystals, bound still in the form of an alicorn. Occupying the same space in multiple forms was one of her moderate spells, and the most advanced one she remembered teaching. Better than a simple camouflage spell, her spell rendered her undetectable to anyone paying attention to air currents or changes in temperature, a common warning against hidden enemies.

She took her time over the quiet fields fencing Toad Pond. She was only just on the south side of Equestria, a side that, normally ending flush against minotaur country, brought them close to the south pole. She could feel the temperature difference even where she was, nearly parallel with Trottingham to the west. The south half of Equestria was chilly all over, and crushingly desolate in many places; she was over one of them.

After fifteen minutes of flying, soft light manifested on the ground. She lowered herself to see a ghostly forest of torches glowing from within a bank of mist, enchanted, she could tell. She resisted the urge to teleport; such a bold method of movement would likely activate one of Discord’s myriad magical defenses.

While she and Celestia, pulling no punches and undistracted with keeping civilians safe from collateral damage, might eventually destroy him, he was a match for both on their own, though more to Celestia than Luna. Her sister, who had spent longer as a mortal, took nine centuries to develop into a master of the tangible. With energy to level cities at a touch, shatter mountains with a thought, and turn her own body into something almost as hot as the sun itself—which Celestia sometimes lied she could walk across—she was the clearer of the two superpowers that could unseat Discord, but also the more vulnerable to his malignant, entropic magic.

Luna, meanwhile, who had died more times than she could count or clearly recall, held firm control over the subtler, more thoughtful brands of magic. In some circles, she was affectionately known as the warrior scholar, not inaccurately. Immersed in magic dealing with form, causality, and the fabric of reality, her power was as far-reaching and impossible to track as Celestia’s was to avoid. With a mind like a million-gear timepiece, she could watch the dreams of every pony in Equestria at the same time, and split herself to intervene in half that number simultaneously. She could change her appearance, or create duplicates of herself. She could see into memories, and invade them if she wanted; she could do it to herself.

Her magic was not something Discord could contend with with a simple wink, joke, or song-and-dance routine.

She sped down to the campsite in a cone of dilated time, half an hour for her passing only two minutes for the dozing enemies below. She had shied away from chronomancy for a long time before achieving full agelessness, when death by natural means was still possible, and the prospect of putting herself out of synchronicity with the rest of the world imminently plausible.

Coalescing back into the form she was most comfortable in, she winglessly hovered a half inch above the ground to silently move around the site. She could see their dreaming minds like glowing pearls scattered in the field, and quickly scanned the area for those who were still awake.

Most of the beings before her were ponies, hypnotized, glamoured, or merely lied to, but some were magical constructs. Like Spring-hoof Jack and the flying ship that menaced the wilderness, they were powerful enchantments wrapped in an equine shape. She glided around the perimeter until she was near one of their tents. A single mortal shared with two constructs, and she could feel his dreams pulsing sexually behind the fabric.

She gently landed on the grass and closed her eyes, her horn glowing a soft, lunar blue. While Discord’s magic was not as effective against hers, it was by no means benign. She had briefed the Canterlot Guard and her own Datura, separately, on the nature of his magic. Celestia’s was like a ball of molten stone, Luna’s a chorus of suggestions and commands, and Discord’s a whirl of acid. With a flair for dynamic enchantments, hidden redundancies, and corrosive spells, his was a style of magic best suited to gradually eat through defenses and subvert traps. She needed full concentration to ferret out whatever lingering magic he had left floating around his ponies.

The lead she had allowed him had worked. Confident that she was on his tail, but still trying to figure out her approach, he had set up only a simple pair of spells, one to react to dispelling magic and one to react to teleportation, either in or out.

“I will not kill them if I can help it,” she had said to her sister. For Luna, who knew well the spiritual plane beyond mortal life, the thought of sending an unprepared pony there always put her heart in a quiet clench. “I will uncouple what magic I can without his knowledge, but the bloodshed, I leave to you.”

“Okay,” Celestia had said.

She let her horn lie dormant while she considered her possibilities. She had already laid a large cascading resonance spell on Discord’s ponies, to be activated in response to his own total-affect magic. He would try to help his army in the fight, but, instead, they would be overwhelmed by the sounds of their own mayhem. That would buy Celestia’s defenses a minute of time, or less.

“Besides, why do you not simply go to him yourself and unleash Tartarus in the wilderness?” Luna had asked. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“Because, dear sister, that would not work,” Celestia had said, her voice an imperious taunt that Luna would have jumped on, were the time less serious.

“I think it could.”

“With no Elements of Harmony, we could not hope to strike a final blow against Discord. His plans and army would be devastated, but he would remain, aware of our power and our eagerness for battle. And he would be angry.”

“I could destroy him,” Luna had said after too little consideration.

“You could slow him down.”

She rapidly flipped into a remote viewing spell, to make sure no one was watching her. Of course her sister had been correct. The Elements of Harmony were designed specifically to contain the kind of magic that filled and exuded from Discord, quarantining his viral magic in a way that neither of the princesses could. Celestia could flay his flesh from his bones, reduce his entire being to a cough of carbon in the air, and Luna could banish his spirit to a microcosmic loop of its own chaos, but the aftershock would stain them both. The smallest remnant of his magic to cling to their own spirits would be enough. It might take decades or centuries, but it would draw together, mend, and strengthen, and he would return. Chaos magic, Luna had taught more than a thousand years ago, was by its nature impossible to use exactly as one intended. To wield it, one needed to suffuse themselves in it, and so lose the firm spiritual grounding that helped keep mortals and immortals alike from dissolving into obsolescence.

“By some accounts, Discord died the day he cast his first chaos spell,” she had said to an amazed classroom.

Any implanted suggestions in his ponies would be immediately found, she knew, as well as any magical constructs of her own. Invading their dreams or minds, too, was out of the question; it would take but one suspicious dream of the lunar goddess to put Discord on edge.

She couldn’t do a single thing to affect them physically or psychologically, she knew—not in a way that would matter. Discord would heal any damage done. She thought for a moment more, and then smiled mischievously, her idea coming.

“I can drive the madman madder.” Lighting her horn, she pooled her concentration into studying Discord’s dispel warning. It was a simple barrier, but airtight: any change to the other, smaller enchantments he had on his ponies—things like increased strength, pain tolerance, and confidence—would set off an invisible alarm for him.

She concentrated for a minute, separating her bodily and spiritual identities in her mind, and cast a low, monotonous spell to copy her own form into the same folded dimension as her library, armor, and frozen spells. The body—her body, not tangible but heavy in her mind with the twin knowledge it possessed—waited inside, non-sentient. When it was ready, she loosed it from herself. In a different part of her mind, she imagined lecturing on the process to a crowd of collegiate mages, ponies who thought they had seen everything the theories of magic had to offer.

“And in so creating a copy of myself, epistemologically manifest only, for the sake of efficiency, I’m allowing my own version of the anti-dispel warning enchantment to connect back to an anchor outside my enemy’s mind.” She produced a spell, nearly identical to Discord’s, and let it slowly unfurl over the meadow, invisible tides of magic blanketing the grass.

“By understanding the construction of Discord’s spell, I can weave my own into his, strengthening it. Then, it’s simply a matter of applying… oh, wait.” She slunk away from the campsite, too intently focused on her magic to hover. Her next move would wake Discord. She took flight outside the enchanted mist that shrouded his army, keeping herself a modest five feet off the ground, and made her way back to the lake. She cast no spells on the return trip; there was much going on in her head already, and she needed to center herself before adding to it. Too many spells at once could upset the elaborate framework of magic she had created in her mind.

The sun was coming up when Luna made it back to the lakeside, tired from flying and walking. Her spells were linked and ready, and the warning would go to both sides, though hers was simply an unaware pit of intelligence. Standing at the shores, she took a moment to view a side of her country she didn’t often see. The lake and outlying fields fit on an unbroken slab of earth, so large that she had, in her walk back, forgotten that there would be gaps to negotiate in the future. The sun turned the lake into a flat eye, lashed with golden grass and whips of reeds. Morning sounds surrounded her. Insects flitted past on humming wings as the grass breathed in a light, warm wind.

She activated the final component to her chain reaction, a simple unbinding spell, far too small to undo Discord’s magic, but enough to force both alarms to blare inside their heads.

As soon as her spell was active and away, a constant drill that would not break and not break through its obstacle, she felt him stir. He was already awake, but not alert. In the back of her mind, the twin-Luna squirmed in discomfort, but her true body, her true spirit, were untouched. “Attaching both spells to myself means that Discord can only shut off the alarm if he can disconnect the two defensive spells, which would force him to face me directly.” The imaginary audience stomped applause, and she walked to the shore, dipping a hoof in its placid surface. The minor storm from the night before had passed, leaving only ghosts of gray clouds above to take the edge off the summer sun. The weather had not been planned—in the wastelands, it never was, though few ponies knew that.

By noon, Discord was underway, marching his troops relentlessly north, to cut through the swamps. It was another five days of travel until he would reach their stifling, overgrown edge, and he would need to create a path, go around, or teleport them some thousand miles in a single shot. He could do it for himself, but she did not believe he could move the army that far.

She followed.

To the west, far from where Toad Pond tapered to a large delta, then a river from the swamps, there stood a single, tall finger of stone, Paragon Point. To most ponies, it was nothing more than an image for a postcard, something to hike a quarter of the way up and marvel at. To Princess Luna, it was the lithified remains of an ancient watchtower, constructed when griffon incursions were common, and to be defended against.

The sun was going down, and Discord was slowing. When she looked, he was just beginning to set up camp, throwing up tens of enchantments in faltering song. After clearing a spot in the grass for her library, later, she sped toward the stone monument. Magenta light bathed the desert in a roseate tone, and she rose to striate the clouds’ dark undersides. In the imperfect distance, she saw the suggestions of what was once Trottingham, an abandoned shell. In the past, she would see flocks of airships occluding the lapis sky beyond, where, on the opposite end of the country, one would hit a worn, desolate hoofpath between Appleloosa and Snowdrift. There, instead of black silhouettes of ships, she saw endless, blank sky.

Paragon Point sloped gently upwards for forty feet before becoming a vertical testament to the architectural abilities of the past’s pegasi. Unicorns, at that time, belonged to an aloof aristocracy, and were more likely found ordering the construction of such a tower, rather than assisting it. Time and weather had removed the friezes and busts that once ornamented its exterior, and all she could see were faint depressions where windows had filled and then petrified with dust and sand.

Cresting its top, she looked automatically to assess how many ponies were on watch that night, seeing only her own shadow standing behind. She trotted to the middle and turned a circle, letting Equestria expand around her. Splits sectioned the world into rough pieces, like individual gems in a mosaic. She and Celestia had surveyed damages, both remotely and up close, in the days after the disaster. Around Canterlot, the chasms had radiated extremely closely, turning the surrounding hundreds of square miles into something resembling shattered glass from a thousand feet up. Farther out, the splits thickened and lessened, until the wastes to the south were more like icebergs than splinters, and, while cities still suffered, there was more room for ponies to interact and create solutions.

“Beautiful view,” Discord said.

She turned lazily to face him, standing at the point’s edge in full battle regalia, the striking blue and green of ancient Equestrian Air Defense glinting like a living crystal in the sunset.

“Commander.”

“Not for you,” she said, and turned away from him. If he had wanted to harm her, he would have; she hadn’t been paying attention in her contemplation. “I’m surprised you remember, given your… condition at the time.”

“As Equestria’s premier warmonger, it’s my duty to study your military past.”

“Is that what you’re calling yourself now?”

“I figured I’d taste the term on my forked tongue.” He spat, and a small patch of flowers sprung up from the stone. “Raise your moon, princess.”

She sat down and folded her wings against a breeze. “It’s not quite time.”

He grinned, almost harmlessly. “Okay.”

The wind died, and she sat with him, both of them quiet. When the light had dimmed and the first stars appeared, Princess Luna reached into the darkness outside the world, grabbed the tiny satellite that was their moon, and brought it up. She set it in motion with what felt like a gentle flick of magic: enough force to blow a city-sized crater out of the ground.

“You wound me, Luna.”

“You don’t act wounded.”

He paced a loose figure eight in the dust. “How many servitors did you have to use to get in my head?”

“Just the one.”

“In your null space, I assume.”

She didn’t answer.

“When will you realize how much better it is to simply be your own servitor?”

“I will not sacrifice my sanity for power, Discord.”

“And am I insane, Princess Luna?” Though he came no closer, his voice sighed in her ear. “We both know the answer, but I want to hear you say it.”

She continued to stare toward Trottingham. “You are not well.”

“And yet you wound me.”

“As you march on our capital city.”

“As I march on Equestria’s capital city.” She turned to see him grinning. “Dare you admit such conceit as to say they are equal?”

She studied him.

“Please, think about your answer.”

She sighed. “I will not. You are correct. The city is mine, but I do not stand for Equestria as a whole. I could never hope to.”

He strode to the edge of the tower. “It’s maddening, you know. The amount of suffering your poor, dumb copy must be enduring staggers me.”

“She doesn’t suffer. You know that.”

“Perhaps.” He spread his mismatched arms. “My arrival at your city will be a slaughter, Princess Luna. Of me, to be precise.”

“You think so?”

“I expect it. You harry me from behind while Celestia prepares the way. How could I hope to succeed?”

“I do not know.”

“I am but a single city-state, besieged on both sides, crumbling in the march toward destruction.”

She sneered. “You know, I thought you were charming in your villainy when we first met, Discord. You were creative, suave, and charismatic. Now you’re a pompous shell, hiding behind mind games.”

“And you used to fear death,” he said. “No games.” He folded his claw and paw behind his back as he paced. “You say I am unwell. Insane. What about you?”

She tilted her head to look down at him.

“Of course, both of you are doing fine now. What will happen in a millennium or two, when the tides of memory and experience finally begin to sweep over your heads? I’ll have shattered by then, of course. Will you sink under the burden of too much knowledge?”

Luna wet her lips. “I have already considered that fate.”

“Oh, good! Then there’s nothing to worry about.” He sashayed toward her, and she stood her ground until he knelt, bringing their faces inches apart. He looked into her eyes, his own unfocused and shallow, and then backed up a step, offering a claw. She shook it.

“You can get help.”

“That so?” He walked back to the edge.

“If you renounced your chaos magic, it would be possible to restore your mind and spirit. I see them for what they are, Discord. I see how broken you are.”

“Thank you, but I’ll pass. The magic and I are one.”

She watched him walk off the tower, across air, and then fade into the navy blue beyond. “Very well,” she eventually said.

Princess Luna woke atop Paragon Point, disoriented from a dream three thousand years in the making. She was chatting with Discord, sharing a chamber in his castle, a map of the world between them. With neither aggression nor duplicity, they talked and made plans: plans for trade, diplomacy, airship routes. No such meeting had ever taken place, though such a detail was trivial to her: the goddess for whom thoughts, imagination, memories, dreams, rhetorical scenarios, observations, and deduction blended with magic inside and outside her mind until they were inseparable pieces of each other, turning and transforming endlessly in the only phenomenon of its kind.

She and Celestia were precocious youths, younger than Twilight when she had moved to Ponyville, when they met him for the first time. They were not powerful, but crafty, and well-liked in their hometown. Discord had offered them an audience after hearing of their roles in the renovation of an eroded canal. At that time, unicorns using their magic for labor was unheard of, and their charity had finished a two-month project in a week.

Discord was different too. He was still mad—Luna thought he must have been touched with madness even before he began practicing chaos magic—but his madness was soft, easily guised under languorous cheer.

They traveled for two days in a carriage that he had sent himself, creaking and swaying north from the dark conifers on the southwest border, between a pair of small mountains, and through a smaller wood to his castle. The building left them speechless. On one side, it was a heavy, powerful stone monolith, steady and firm enough to withstand any disaster with thick, black walls and reinforced towers; on the other, it was a crystalline chandelier of buttresses, crenellations, and turrets that rose high from the rest of the building, its gentle curves and angles offset by serrated edges and cruciform points of shining glass, a magnificent insult to the mud and tree branch village twenty miles west. For Celestia and Luna, it was like something from another world. What they had seen their race accomplish was no comparison to the awe-inspiring castle.

They dined in his great hall on sumptuous breads and candied fruits that they had never seen, he at the head of his high, curving table and they at his sides, and answered his questions, delivered calmly and without threat. He asked about life in a town that had easy access to water, what had inspired them to help with the canal, and how the other ponies had reacted. He asked what they thought of their world, and what they thought of the castle. He asked what they thought of him.

They were happy to give him a frank impression of impoverished life, though they didn’t know that that was what it was. They told him of their house, and the earth pony servant who did their food preparation and water carrying, and did so without bitterness. Servitude was all she knew as well.

He told him nothing of his own life, except that it was similar to theirs, and then offered them a tour through the crystal gardens. It was a location that Celestia would often visit in her own dreams, centuries later. Under the flat surface of a sinister, ovoid balcony, they embarked down a glass path into a courtyard of delicate fireworks of pale blue and pink, forests of scalpels and perfect, clinking teeth growing from stalks fuzzy with microscopic needles. They had to avert their eyes where the sun shone over dips in the fortress walls, where the crystal gardens glared with almost as much intensity as the sun itself. A souvenir he had treated himself to in a visit to the changeling lands, he told them. A little grove he had selected from a jungle that was slowly succumbing to the magical march of organic crystallization, and which then visited its own magic on his home, spreading within months to transform much of the castle’s ramparts.

They left his castle that day thinking they had found a quirky potential ally in the unformed goal to better their world.

Luna took off from the former watchtower and followed the lake’s brilliant curvature back toward the empty grasslands of mid-eastern Equestria. Discord was already urging his contingency forward, and she could hear the frustration in his voice through her spell. Despite appearances, her drill was doing its job. She moved at a comfortable fifteen mile per hour glide, keeping the ground in sight but not near.

The first split she found since turning around at the castle was laced with the distinctive, vaporous afterimage of magic that signaled Discord’s presence. He had teleported his army across in a single burst of magic, and she touched down to look closer. They had crossed a mere four hours ago.

When Celestia and Luna arrived home two days later, their house was a blackened crater of brittle, sharpened coal, the word “traitors” painted in a crude, crimson dye on a massive, smooth stone in the middle of what had once been their flower garden. Their audience with Discord, the careless and distant despot of Equestria, had turned the town against them.

She flew to the other side of the chasm and dipped down, coming to rest on a narrow outcrop of stone, and looked down to the planet. She had not been to the surface, but her sister kept her informed of goings on. By far, the most disastrous result of the spell was the near draining of the northern ocean. For the minotaurs, to the south, the result was a sudden, cataclysmic coastline that had swept several miles inland before leveling off somewhere near the capital city, on the inside edge of the planet’s arctic circle. To the north, the changeling archipelago had gone from a chain of islands to a chain of mountains caught in a ship-destroying, industry-crushing riptide, until they stood, not in the bountiful equatorial ocean, but in a collection of massive lakes, divided by ridges that hadn’t been exposed in recorded history.

Celestia’s first task had been a harrowing one. The griffons, who shared Equestria’s western border, and with whom the country's truce was the most tenuous, had demanded explanation. She had gone first to New Brasston, the capital, to assuage accusations of an indirect attack, and then to the lofty, isolated Ridge of Gold, a mountain range deep in griffon territory where pony incursion was infrequent. There, she met with the griffon elites, a class of fifty or so aristocrats and tycoons, to explain the situation again. Equestria would handle its internal affairs, she had asserted, but cooperation from the bordering countries would be indispensable for overcoming the ocean drain.

Her next task, she realized after a week of agonizing back home, was to visit the dragons to the east. Luna had urged her to visit the changelings instead, for whom the disaster had been most ruinous, but Equestria’s position with the dragons, Celestia felt, was more important. They, neighboring the lesser nation of draconequuses to Equestria’s southeast, would be key in mending ties with the land from which Discord hailed, and which had, long ago, ceased to acknowledge him as anything more than a political embarrassment.

There were no clouds below, and Luna could see the faint suggestion of blue that was the new ocean. She knew that some ponies had attempted to find succor below, either in marathon flights that often ended in the pegasi plummeting, unconscious due to the shift in air pressure, or in airships that swiftly found nowhere to land. To her knowledge, only six groups had survived the journey down, none of them large.

She enjoyed being under the shelf of the world. Below, sometimes hundreds of feet, sometimes only tens, there was solitude and darkness, perfect for contemplation. The view from above, while demonically beautiful, was nothing compared to that from below, she thought. The infinite shadows, sectioned off by sword-like cataracts of sunlight and starlight, were like a great, black puzzle, and she found herself lost in its pieces that afternoon, as she frequently had before.

She tipped off the stone and flew along the ground’s bottom rim. The coupling of proximity to the intimate places of the world and dissociation from the planet put her machine of a mind at what was, for her, ease. It was something Celestia would be envious of.

Every day in Canterlot presented challenges. Keeping up with the cloud convoy, tracking Discord and his magic ship, and rebuilding the city’s infrastructure were just the beginnings. While Celestia often held day court for endless streams of ponies and their individual problems, the lesser politicians and acolytes were in charge of coordinating repairs to roads, sewer systems, phone lines, and landscapes. Luna, meanwhile, applied calm to ponies’ dreams when needed, and worked with her Datura to obviate worsening damage or stagnation outside the diarchy’s circle of immediate influence.

She had been told that the Elements were in Manehattan, having stopped there to help a friend of theirs put on a show. The Datura Information Handler, the pony in charge of all knowledge aggregation and dispensation for the country and small parts of the outside world, had informed her, and she had only stared at her globe for a minute, processing the information. The sheer shortsightedness was enough to make her sick, and almost write an angry letter on the spot. She thought better of it, but, by the time her gentler reminder was ready, Celestia had already sent her commendations and word of the newly found Element.

She stopped to rest in a dead tree by a lone wheat field. Some bold farmer had set up a single house and shack in the golden distance. She did not send out a spell to determine whether there was anyone within.

A grackle flapped into the tree, its black droplets of eyes surveying her. She offered no token of recognition, and, soon, it flew off. Its tiny mind was a fleck of foreign material to her own labyrinthine intellect.

The townsfolk chased them into the pine forests just south of their town, where, it was fabled, demons and monsters roamed freely. They moved inwards, as far as they could, heedless of the stories they had grown up with. A foolhardy, reactionary journey into cold isolation.

Deep in a forest that would eventually be clear-cut to construct the city of Roan, where she and Celestia would rule some seventy years later as burgeoning goddesses, they learned their craft. Celestia, mover of earth and feller of trees, who had riven the canal’s length with a trowel of sharp, heavy magic, learned to control the stones and the air, creating their first house from a hollowed-out boulder. Luna took to meditation in the boughs of a leaning pine, where she, more often than not, fell simply and restfully asleep. For a time, it looked as though she was destined to waste her intellect on reflection while her sister excelled.

When she began lucid dreaming, it was enough of a shock to reignite her passion for magic, dulled with a lack of clear development. After a couple months, lucid dreaming became a second wakefulness. When she started casting magic in her dreams, affecting, not only the dreamscape itself, but the way it changed to her moods and impulses, she began to learn about her mind. Five months into their exile, she would sleep for entire days, plunging into the dark and delightful facets of her unconscious mind, unraveling mysteries and creating puzzles to tease her when awake.

When she discovered the propensity of these puzzles to change properties, dependent on the state of her consciousness, she knew she had found something immense. If she could affect a change in herself and her own mind simply by dreaming, she could find ways to do the same to the outside world, she reasoned.

The tree was not quite large enough to hold her comfortably, and she struggled out, falling to the ground in a graceless pile that made her giggle. She pushed herself up with her wings and trudged through the field toward the house, no specific intention in mind. Discord rushed ahead, exhausting his army, but she was in no hurry to catch up. The defensive spells he had erected rendered it extremely difficult, if not impossible, for her to approach him when he was awake, and he would lose speed at the swamp’s edge besides.

She paused by a scarecrow. Its splayed spindles of legs sunk into the ground like a quartet of rigid, spinal weapons, supporting a hollow imitation of a pony’s skeleton, its head hanging crazily on a helix of black twine. She nodded appreciatively at the tiny moon carving in the back of its jaw.

The door creaked open, and a tan pony stepped out, her flaxen mane obscuring her face in a mottled, coarse curtain. A hoe dragged behind her in a sunny halo of magic.

“Uhhhh…”

Princess Luna smiled. “Hello.”

“You’re Princess Luna.”

“I am.” She studied the pony, who looked up into the sun for a moment, allowing her hair to fall back and reveal a slack, weak expression. Luna turned away quickly to hide her horn’s glow as she glanced into the pony’s mind.

“This is the meadow.”

Luna looked around obligingly. In the instant of magical probing, she had seen the fuzzy, black pit of mental retardation. “And a very good meadow it is.”

“My brother is a farmer.”

She nodded. “That’s very nice.”

The tan pony nodded rapidly, her head dipping lower each time, and turned back to the door. “Come on in, come on in.”

Luna hesitated. Her meeting with Discord the night before had put her in the mood to think, to reflect, not to commune with citizens. The pony’s drooping, pathetic gait impelled her inwards.

The first thing she noticed about the house was the smell. Moldering vegetation mixed with the heady smell of smoke and herbs, tinged with mildew, and her nose wrinkled. Sunlight came through dirty windows to land on an uncovered foundation, and spider webs filled the corners. A slight stallion with dull eyes reclined on a threadbare cushion under an uneven table. She reached out to him as well, and was relieved to find his mental faculties undamaged.

“It’s Princess Luna,” the mare said.

The stallion crawled out from under the table and offered a hoof, then retracted it and bowed instead.

“Rise,” Luna said. “I’m not here for official business.”

“She was in the meadow,” the mare said.

The stallion sat down. “What brings you here, your highness?” Luna looked at the mare, who looked back with her blank, mane-covered face, and he smiled. “Let’s go outside.”

Heat pulsed on her face and chest outside the small house, but the stallion didn’t seem to mind, traipsing quickly through the field to a small well hidden in a skirt of dry grass.

“I’m sorry about my sister, your highness. She’s not the most intelligent pony.”

“She has brain damage.”

“Yes, yes she does.” He nodded feebly. “So…”

“I am tracking Discord. He passed this way around four hours ago.”

He frowned, and his voice was softened with concern. “Princess, are you sure it was him? He was encased in stone a long time ago.”

She studied him closely. He was a hoof-to-mouth farmer in the wastes of Equestria, completely cut off from other ponies. Things like the palace, the castle, and cities like Manehattan were probably foreign to him, she realized. She sighed, not wanting to explain the country’s state of affairs yet again. “It resembled him. However, when I saw your house, I thought I’d take a closer look. Bold of you to have a dwelling all the way out here.”

“Is it? With all due respect, your highness, I grew up here. It doesn’t feel particularly bold.”

“Your family, then,” she conceded with a cordial smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Apple Jam.” She eyed his flank, and he laughed. “Apple Jam the wheat farmer, yes, I know.”

“Are you from the Apple family?”

“Distantly.”

“I knew they were all over the place, but I didn’t know they ever went this far outside civilization. Or that there were unicorns in the family.”

“Oh, her. I don’t know. Maybe she’s an accident.” He shrugged and looked at her. For a second, he held her gaze, but then broke into a scowl. “Don’t ask her, either, unless you want a never-ending loop of repetitive drivel. We’ve always been in the meadow as far as she’s concerned.”

“What happened to her?”

“Born that way.” He yanked a stalk of wheat out of the ground and chewed on it. “At least she’s not dangerous.”

“That’s good. Unicorns can be tricky sometimes.”

“Yeah. Er, yes, your highness.”

“You don’t need to be formal, Apple Jam.”

He grunted.

“So what do you do here?”

“Harvest wheat, get water from the well, and that’s it. She does a lot of the heavy lifting. Gets her out of the house for a while.”

“Sounds… interesting.”

He laughed. “Thanks, Princess, but you can do without the pretense.” He hopped up to sit on the well’s edge, and his voice sobered severely. “This is Tartarus. Worse than Tartarus—in Tartarus, I know what I did to earn it. Here, I’m just stuck with my idiot sister, turning land that I hate for food I don’t want to eat.” He looked into the depths of the well, his face a rictus of disgust and confusion. “I don’t even know what I’m missing. There’s some great world out there, but I have to stay with that waste back there and take care of us. Nearest town’s more than a thousand miles away.”

“There’s no need to blame your sister, though,” Luna said.

“No, that would be a waste of time,” he murmured. “I know that.” He climbed off. “I better get back before she drowns herself in the water jug.”

Luna followed closely behind, studying his motion. Where his sister was well muscled, Apple Jam had little definition, and he moved with a comfortable motion that did not fit his occupation.

When they got back to the house, his sister was lying on the cushion under the table, but sprung up at the sound of the door opening. She looked around wildly for a second, trying to see between locks of hair, before realizing who had entered. Luna paid her little mind, but, when she cringed away at her brother’s approach, the princess paused.

“Go plow, Dirt,” he grumbled, and she scurried past, throwing one worried look up at Luna. “I have a little water, if you want it.”

“No, thank you. What’s wrong with your sister?”

“She’s afraid of everything. Poor thing needs a couple seconds to recognize anyone familiar.”

Luna frowned. “I see. Well, Mr. Jam, I appreciate your hospitality. Good luck.”

“Oh, you’re leaving already?”

“Yes.” She left swiftly and without looking back at him, and walked over to his sister, pulling a plow with little effort. She looked up slowly as Luna stopped before her.

“You’re Princess Luna.”

“I am.” She watched as the mare went back to work. Her brother’s feelings were obvious, and the mare’s reaction to his arrival put Luna on edge. However, there were no signs of anything worse than condescension and exhausted pity, and her memories, so far as Luna could see in a couple seconds, were empty of abuse. Though the fear in his sister’s eyes was significant, she couldn’t be sure enough to act.

“I like the meadow.”

Luna nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Dirt.”

“That’s not a very nice name.”

“I’m called Dirt because that’s where I belong.”

“Who told you that?”

“Applejam.” She froze, and the plow handle dropped to the ground. “Oh! Oh no!” She looked around again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not supposed to call him that.”

“Why?”

She waited several moments before responding. “It’s bad.”

Her frown returned. “Why is it bad?”

“It’s against the rules.”

“It’s okay. He’s not here now.”

“But it’s bad,” she said. She remained in her pensive position for a minute before returning to her work. Luna watched.

She had touched ponies’ minds before. Those with brain damage or psychological disorders, she would, very occasionally, cure. It was an ability she took as seriously as her moon-raising duty, for a change as basic and profound as a healed mind altered the trajectory of one’s life forever, and could not be taken back. Even to return the mind to its original state after a mistake, the pony had to live with the memory, or the lack thereof; it had destroyed as many lives as it had restored in her long existence.

Luna took off with a powerful, single flap of her huge wings. She only looked back when the first smears of cloud partially covered her view, and the house was a clod of dark brown in the golden field.

She could have cured Dirt’s condition. She could have reached inside the mare’s brain and reconnected whatever was broken, filled in whatever was missing—but to no good. What Luna could not do with the time she had was relocate them, take them away from the isolated wasteland that had been their birthright. As uncomfortable as the decision was, she knew that intelligence would only reveal suffering to the mare: she was stuck in a world of stagnation and filial contempt, and a healed mind would only uncover that.

It was a decision she knew she would make as she walked back with her brother, where it had also crossed her mind to try to remove his negative emotions. She dismissed the thought immediately. The equine mind, for all its complexity, was like an echo chamber, and any change from outside could be the catalyst to anything else; no matter how strong her own knowledge of psychology, it was not something she could safely predict. He could potentially go mad from the unsolicited, unexpected alteration—she had seen it before.

The first time she had tried to heal someone’s mind, she had removed a debilitating obsessive-compulsive disorder from a young mare. Instead of a life of comfort and stillness that the mare had supplicated her for, she got a ceaseless sense that something was missing that followed her to a miserable grave twenty years later.

When a contingency of bandits and raiders came through the forest, they did not expect to find Celestia and Luna, nor did they expect such incredible retribution from two young mares when they decided to attack. Celestia had been the star, lighting backpacks on fire and launching ponies into the air with small cyclones of dirt and leaves, while Luna stayed back to erode at their perception, dulling every sense and turning reflexes into stretched, faltering impulses.

It was at that time, a year and a half after they had been chased from their home, that they began to think about their futures. In exile, their powers had grown beyond anything they had seen, excepting Discord’s. The question they faced was monumental and simple: what next? They could not hide away in the forest forever, but after so long a hermitage, returning to society was intimidating.

They decided, after a month of excuses and false starts, to destroy their house and head north. They did so, not thinking, in the middle of the afternoon, and arrived at what was once their home in the middle of a cold, sunless morning. The remnants of their house had been cleared away, and they fell asleep in a small knot at the bottom of an abandoned, dry canal outlet.

They woke up with a slip of parchment draped across Celestia’s muzzle. “The banished ones return stronger than ever. You have my full attention. Discord.”

She put more strength into her wings before stopping for a moment atop a tiny cloud, scarcely large enough for her to hold on to. She hugged it and watched the landscape unfold, her mind stuck between self-doubt and anger. Perhaps it was nothing, she told herself, but the thought did not ring true. Whatever was happening in the lonesome house, she was sure the mare was not happy. She buried her face in the cloud, its soft coolness clearing her head only a little.

“Discord,” she mumbled, pushing off.

She pursued him all night, pausing only to raise the moon and have a quick dinner inside her mobile library. By the time Celestia had taken over the sky, she was only one hour behind Discord. The land was again turning verdant and alive, endless seas of dried grass surrendering to lush tracts of vegetation. She traveled along another rift, splitting a plain of grass into two green clamshells, dotted with flowers and larger patches of trees.

A quick check of her remote viewing spell showed Discord standing abreast a wide valley: Southern Smile, so named for its long, gentle curve and waterfall dimples on both ends. His army milled about uncertainly behind, some at the edges craning their necks to search for a bridge. Luna knew there would be none; both bridges across the Smile had collapsed in the disaster, and no one had bothered to replace them.

“We’re going down, ladies and gentleponies!” he crowed, his voice a tiny chirp in her ear. She heard the crescendo of disappointment as a minuscule sigh, like wind through the grass below.

She landed. Only a day before, the ground had been hot and rough, and she had had to endure frequent pokes from dried grass on her hooves and pasterns. Her silver horseshoes were tarnished and scratched, and she briefly imagined returning home. “The first thing I’m doing is hitting the spa,” she thought.

“No.” She climbed over a large stone. “The first thing I’m doing is helping sister set up defenses.” She sighed. The sky was clear, and the day promised to be warm and strenuous, as usual. She would pursue Discord until he reached the bottom of the valley, and then strike, though she knew not how.

When the ground started sloping down, she stopped to gather her wits. Summoning the building behind her, she went inside and pulled a book at random. Discord had reached the bottom, his army covering the south slopes like a network of scrap caught on uneven terrain. Armor and weapons reflected all along the ground, and no one was still.

She leafed through the book casually, stopping on a chapter about the formation of the first trans-Equestrian road. Paths and roads had been common even in Discord’s chaotic reign, but they were not standardized, or handled by a competent governmental body, until six hundred years after his deposition. By that time, many towns had established themselves, and the Everfree Forest had started growing, making roadways all the harder to map out.

She stopped on a page concerning the difficulty in keeping road surfaces level, an idea suddenly forming. With a grin, she dropped the book and flew out of her library, again simply passing through the wall and out into the coming dusk. She stopped at the valley’s edge and looked down.

Golden sunlight pierced low, long streaks of cloud over the other side, filling the massive, flowering valley like tea in a tremendous, earthen cup. A silver band of water marked its lowest point, terminating a few miles to the east, at a split. Daisies and daffodils broke through the all-covering grass on the slopes, gems scattered in the sea, until the halfway point, where grass became bushes, and bushes became trees. The only path down was the trampled wake Discord’s ponies had left.

She climbed onto a fallen tree and used a thick, broken branch as a point to jump off, letting her wings carry her down into the valley quickly and quietly. She had no desire for stealth. She could feel Discord’s enchantments filling the valley like a pollutant, could determine every single one, and was ready for them. A hundred counterspells worked their way through her mind, shifting in and out of each other, more complex and fast than any mortal pony could handle.

The cry of alarm first went up when she was halfway over the army. She was nothing but a dark blue shape hurtling downwards, too high to reach, too fast to make out in detail. Her eyes, though, were on Discord, a tall point down by the static river.

Before anything could happen, she released her counterspells to let them fly out all around her.

His magic was persistent and strong, hers insidious. The air around her seemed to boil away with activity as spell met spell, some dispersing, some hardening into pointed grains of intention, some expanding into membranes that moved beyond the valley. Trailing lines of sparkles climbed like steam through small clouds of uncontained electricity. Lights flickered, and her mind felt besieged. Ideas not her own winked in and out of her conscious and unconscious mind, and her ears rushed with the power and violence she had introduced into the air. Behind, an anti-time dilation spell swelled and twisted, and, for a moment, she could see herself tumbling down into the river as the magic flooded past and through her.

Then, Discord moved. His standing form whirled and stretched, and his face was in her own, big and imposing. Her reaction was immediate, as was his: her body shifted and emptied, to pass around him, and then a crushing grip snapped down onto her heart. The world spiraled away, replaced with a firm crack of pain as a tree slammed into her face. Before she could orient herself, her ears were pressed in with soft static, and her skin sizzled rapidly.

Her chest ached, and her heart rate jumped slightly as she activated an impulsive shield spell, tied to a spell to dispel enchantments, at the same time activating her remote viewing spell. She could see herself lying in a weeded arroyo, hemmed in by soldiers pressing up on her shield, eyes glassy and limbs crumpled. Discord was streaking through the air toward her, smiling.

With a flap of flying debris, she teleported upwards. Her first instinct was to escape the valley, to get away and reconstitute herself, to do exactly what Discord should have expected. She could feel her head and wings lurching away with the sudden velocity and air resistance, and her body tumbled like a cork through the air.

She wasn’t worried. Though he had anticipated her defensive maneuver and overwhelmed her senses, her mind was still sharp. She looked below at the churning mass of displaced ponies, Discord beneath, waiting for her landing with a devilish grin.

Her clockwork of magic and thoughts spun quickly, creating and banishing spells and ideas until one satisfied her. Several plans had worked their way to the surface in her uncontrolled descent, but the one she went with took the least amount of effort. She summoned her library.

As soon as it was out, it sunk beneath her, more streamlined than the winged, plummeting puppet of a body that her own magic had reduced her to. Startled voices cried out, and were silenced with a thunderous explosion of wood and stone. Windows burst outwards, avalanches of books shuddered within, and, for a moment, the library stayed where it had landed, Luna splaying awkwardly on its roof two stories above the valley slopes. Then, it slid. A stone gave, a tree branch creaked, and the structure began a slower dive toward the river, tearing bushes and soldiers alike, while masonry and glass shattered on the ruined path. Somewhere, Discord was cackling.

The building stopped its grind thirty feet below, and before she could reorient her body, still using her remote viewing spell, a charge of energy hit the back of the building, and she was flying again. Her wings went out, but were uncoordinated, and her body crashed into a large bush.

“Let’s do something about this pesky second sight, shall we?” Discord loped over the rubble with a lopsided smile, his head twisting in place like a knob of loose flesh. The sky went dark, and the valley faded, and he laughed again.

For an instant, she was worried, but her body cast a light spell of its own accord. One chain reaction, set in motion by the initial surprise and waiting for the correct set of sensory inputs, had activated. The valley did not illume.

“It’s in your head, dear princess!” he cried, his voice cutting through the fluffy static in her ears. She moved again, loose and weak in the darkness.

Then, another idea came, one she did not often entertain, but had prepared for nonetheless. She could still feel her null space, and quickly located the spell within that would give her an immediate and complete advantage.

“Now now, Luna, we can’t—”

She was too fast. His words were cut off in the resultant implosion, and the most impossible pain scraped her brain, like ice through her skull, thick and raw, brutally dull and powerful.

Then, she was free. The imposing magic was gone, and her senses, first acute, then smothered, exploded into an intricate and detailed awareness that was her version of death. The body’s head had been crushed, sucked in on itself, and her spirit, and the magic tied to it, were released, untouchable from the other side.

Discord stood, shocked at the suddenly headless princess held aloft in his talon, and then realization came, and his smile vanished. With a growl, he hurled her inert body into the river, stomping and waving his arms.

“No one move!” he shouted, his voice amplifying across the entire valley. “Not one inch! She’s among us!”

Her entire arsenal of spells at her disposal, an invisible cloud of power that filled the space, she refocused her original spell, coupling it with a pair of others. The first was a simple message, directly to Discord’s tensed ear, and spoken in dripping self-satisfaction: “You’re right. I used to fear death. Do you still?”

The second was a simple application of force, cutting up the ground at the valley’s top and letting it slither downwards, picking up speed and power.

The third was not simple. Spreading what felt like her own dark wings, she let her magic cover the army, blanketing them from any interventional spells from their commander and letting her own intentions dig into their minds. Perceptual alteration was her best and most nuanced area of sorcery, and the only class of magic that her sister could barely touch.

The army dispersed to the sound of Discord’s shrieks for order, and in all directions. Rock and earth growled above while ponies scattered, falling over each other, their own hooves, vegetation. Discord wouldn’t realize it until he had collected them all and restored calm, which would take the rest of the day, but they were effectively trapped in the valley. The spell she cast was a wide-area lateral-vertical space inversion spell; the ponies would travel along the valley, thinking they were climbing out.

She did not stay for the carnage. In a single moment, she was out of the valley and covering a plain, her magical presence huge and unformed, invisible mist. The avalanche was audible from her distance, though she did not hear, and the sun was nearly down, though she did not see. Sparing no thought for the act, she sent an extension of herself into space to set the moon on its way. As easy as it was in a corporeal form, it was effortless when she was uncoupled from her flesh. She could have swung the moon out of the planet’s gravitational range, had she wanted, or reeled it in for a cataclysmic embrace to pale the one wrought on their country only three months prior.

Death was not difficult or foreign for her, but it was also not the same death that mortals experienced. The separation of the spirit from the body was disorienting and weakening, and left the spirit always in a state of helpless uncertainty. Senses and awareness faded, sometimes so severely that the dead pony did not know it was dead when they entered the spiritual plane.

For Luna, who had had millennia of practice, death was like a second skin. Her magic unhampered, she used simple and complicated spells both to keep her consciousness constantly oriented and bound to itself, so she would not fly apart in a planet-covering skein of magic, stretched too thin to do anything. Her awareness was a sheet of such sensory magic, feeding her information of all sorts from across anywhere between one or two square miles to two or three hundred, typically. In an instant, she had access to temperature, topography, elevation, and the presence of life, along with other common materials: water, air, stone, metal, and the like. She had a constant read on the flow of time, and the presence of magic.

However, no matter how comfortable she was, one thing that she could not overcome in death was the need for an anchor in the tangible. With no body, a spirit, no matter how strong, would eventually fade. For most mortals, the threshold on first death was a couple days, and would expand with each subsequent experience. For her, it was centuries.

Princess Luna woke up to the sound of birds. She had no eyes, but she had a body, and she had magic. Using a quick spell to check the ecliptic, she determined that only two and a half days had passed since her death.

Her spirit was in possession of a large cypress tree. She could feel her magic surrounding it in a haze, and took a moment to contemplate her next move. For the dead, the passing of time was vastly different, and her momentary distraction in the battle had left her addled enough to not pay attention to her own sensory magic, alerting her at the passing of each day. Her sister would be worried; she would have had to raise the moon twice herself.

A dozen birds communed in her boughs, and she flicked a spell up at them, tying herself into their minds to use their eyes and ears. She was on the edge of the swamps southeast of the Everfree Forest, and the last obstacle that separated Discord from Canterlot. Around her, seen through twenty-four eyes, was peace and stillness and trickling water. The river that was supposed to eventually feed Toad Pond reflected pale sunlight half a mile before her.

“Okay, let’s move.” She selected a large half sphere of ground beneath her nest of standing roots and gently separated it from its cradle. Water rushed in to fill the space, and she floated away, her earth and water held in a filthy, algal bubble. The birds did not stir; she had made them hers.

She let herself float over the treetops and up into the clouds. The birds’ eyes were useless at her altitude, so she used magic to survey the landscape. The Southern Smile was quiet. No soldiers struggled in its depths, though many lay dead under the rubble she had sent their way. Her library was still there, and she dipped to return, then stopped. “I’ll just assign some Datura to recover it.”

She could not feel Discord nearby, but she could feel her own drill alarm still screeching in the mind of her servitor. Wherever he was, he was still suffering, and the thought made her want to smile, a tense and uncomfortable feeling in her tree body.

She floated back toward the swamp and lowered herself until she was a mere fifty feet over the treetops, and there she felt him, fourteen miles in. Masking herself and her supporting bulb of water with a curtain of invisibility, she silently drifted through the air.

Distant Thunder

Chapter Fifty

Distant Thunder

Colgate entered the library without knocking or otherwise announcing her presence. She searched, and, hearing Spike in the basement, waited in the main room, going through his books.

When he came out, he froze, and she tactfully avoided looking at him as he rushed to the kitchen for a dishtowel. Before he could manage more than confused half-sentences, she spoke. “I’m a Datura.”

“H-huh?”

“Datura, Spike. I am one.”

He came out and froze again. Her lips were swollen and black, a scab of dried blood clinging to the fur under her nostril.

“Go ahead and stare. Get it out of your system.”

“What in the world happened? Are you okay?”

“This is for you.” She floated a scrap of paper over to him, and he stared at her for a moment more before grabbing it.

“Tomorrow, you and Colgate will go to the field where you used to train. Zecora will return to her normal post, and Noteworthy will be transferred within the month. I am his replacement. Foxglove.” He looked up at her.

“Didn’t even cross your mind to read that silently, did it?” she asked.

“Uh…”

“Thanks for your help, Spike.”

“Huh?”

“You helped me a lot, and I thank you for it.”

“But… what?”

She limped out of the library, and did not look at him.

* * * * * *

Applejack and Big Mac woke the others, as they had requested, as soon as Equestria’s desolate coastline came into view. The sun was coming up, but it was far from bright, and they could see only the play of shadow across dry rocks and sand. They had passed under the edge of one potential storm into a chasm of sunlight before a second one, where a large anvil of cloud malingered on their northwest side. They would be able to land in an hour’s time.

“So, here’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” Rarity said. “This Element is at the bottom of the ocean.”

“How are we gonna get it?” Applejack completed.

“Well, yes, that too. What I was actually going to say, though, was how do we get down to the planet first?”

“I’m not certain we need to,” Twilight said, producing her map of Equestria. “On this map, you can clearly see a small section of the ocean is within Equestrian borders.” She glanced up as thunder mumbled far away. “And if the princesses are right, and the spell filled the borders, then it’s not unreasonable to think that this little bit of water got dragged up here too.”

“The same way the rivers did,” Fluttershy said.

“Exactly.” She glanced at Rainbow as she approached, a scroll clutched in her mouth. “Another one, really?”

“Hey, she’s worried,” Rainbow said.

Twilight rolled her eyes playfully as she sent Rainbow’s letter to Trixie. They had been exchanging notes, through Twilight, since the day of their departure.

“RD, you see anythin’ out there that might look like an ocean?” Applejack asked.

Rainbow trotted to the gunwale and leaned out, almost tipping herself over. “Yeah, that’s water all right.”

“Well there we go,” Rarity said. “But how do we get to the bottom?”

All eyes went silently to Twilight.

“What’s that?” Rainbow asked. She trotted to the front of the ship and leaned out again. They could see something dark in the middle of the distant thunderhead.

“Shiiiiiiiip!” Pinkie cried from behind, making them jump.

“Pinkie, don’t do that!” Applejack snapped.

“No, really! Look!”

The thunderhead parted around the center, and the dark form came into sharper relief. Head-on, they saw the familiar black sails over a familiar splinter of bowsprit, and the familiar, unreal lack of balloon.

“Get the others up here,” Twilight said, calm enforced by the sudden marathon her heartbeat performed in her chest.

“We’re not going to fight it, are we?” Rarity asked.

“We’re gonna slip past it,” Applejack said, turning them hard to port. “Just pretend we don’t exist.”

“Do you think that’ll work?” Fluttershy asked.

“Big Mac, take the turret facing the ship. Applejack, keep him trained on it, and be ready to engage the flamethrower under the figurehead,” Octavia said, marching purposefully across the deck, Rainbow and Big Mac behind.

“We’re not fighting it,” Rarity said. “At least, not if we can help it.”

“Why can’t we just say ‘hi’?” Pinkie asked quietly.

“Yeah, uh, I think she already has that in mind,” Rainbow said, pointing. The dark smudge of the ship had grown, but its edges were still flat, unarmed.

“Turn us, Applejack,” Octavia said.

“No! Just get us away!” Twilight cried. “Land us. Do something else.”

“If we do not prepare to fight now—”

“Then we might not get its attention. Applejack, angle us away.”

“Pinkie, some of that Pinkie Sense would sure be nice right now,” Rainbow said.

They glanced at Pinkie, who watched the ship with a slack expression. “Uhhhh… I dunno, girls.”

“Pinkie!”

“Turn us, Applejack,” Octavia growled.

“Don’t do it!” Twilight cried.

“Do it!”

“Shut up!” Rarity shrieked. “Celestia, you’re going to attract her with all the screaming at this point. Look. The ship is going on its way.” Where she extended her hoof, the ship had its side to them, its profile pointed slightly upwards and away.

“See, Octavia?” Twilight said.

A ringing crack cut off Octavia’s response, freezing her, open-mouthed and chagrinned. A ring of smoke drifted off the enemy ship’s side.

“Okay, Ah’m takin’ us down,” Applejack said.

“Big Mac, prepare to use that artillery,” Octavia commanded, moving to his side.

“Octavia, none of us know how that stuff works,” Rainbow said.

“What?”

“We’d never even seen it until we got this dang airship,” Applejack said.

“Are you… fine!” She growled again and tried to shove Big Mac out of the way, instead throwing herself to the side, where she clasped the rail and leaned out. “Bring us close.”

“It’s comin’ on its own,” Big Mac said, standing to grasp at the turret’s handles and turn it experimentally.

“Shoot. Come to my side, Twilight. I need your magic.”

As Twilight joined her, the ship drifted to their side, its own cannons braced and ready. Its deck was empty.

Octavia lowered her voice. “Twilight, can you do this with me?”

“Yes, Octavia,” Twilight said. She stared ahead, but shook her head; a blank stare, she knew, was a bad sign.

“It’s not doing anything,” Rarity whispered.

“Is it waiting for us to make the first move?” Rainbow asked.

“Pinkie, turn the torch on,” Octavia said. “Get us above it.” As Pinkie trotted to the torch, a shrouded figure stepped onto the deck. “Wait.”

“Who are you?” Big Mac hollered.

“We don’t want to be enemies!” Twilight added, selecting a shield spell in her mind anyway, to be called up in an instant, if needed.

The unicorn was wrapped from her eyes down in a dark green shawl, decorated with thin, white designs and glowing faintly. Her eyes were clear, green pools, and, through the shape of her brow and the fabric shrouding her mouth, were astoundingly gentle as she surveyed the Elements’ airship. Her stance, however, was strong and determined.

“Leave us be,” Octavia called. “Or come aboard, so we can talk.”

The unicorn walked to the edge of her ship and rested her hooves on the rail, showing more of her slender body. Despite the shawl, they could see that she was very thin, and not muscular. A rope of a tail bobbed up as she adjusted her weight on clean, shod hooves. Then, the cannons fired.

Everyone ducked at the sound of rupturing wood and plaster, though they had been hit below, rocking them slightly. Twilight was immediately alert, her shield out, though she knew she had reacted slowly. Most cannonballs had glanced off her magenta barrier, but a few had slipped in before she could activate it, and they were hit. Octavia was the second up, and she responded with a spell of her own, embracing the ship’s side in a lurid fire that sent one cannon tumbling immediately away in a spherical cloud of dislodged planks. To Twilight’s side, the machine gun produced a brief roar that forced them all to cover their ears and cringe away, and which left Big Mac recoiling onto the deck with a pirouette of alarm.

The turret smoked and ticked idly, a monster in its own right, and Big Mac approached it again, casting a fearful look at Octavia, who had her eyes fixed on the ship. Another orange bulb of fire uncurled from behind the cannons as they fired a second time. Their ship did not move, but Twilight flinched, a feeling like a needle striking the center of her forehead twisting her concentration. Something ground and protested below, in the machinery, and a brief peacock tail of smoke clouded the stormy sky behind.

Without being told, Big Mac grabbed the turret’s handles again and located the switch, his ears preemptively flattened on his skull. On his face, Twilight could see indecision, mirroring her own as she stood beside the only pony with a competent counterattack. The other ship hardly moved, and the silent mare gave no reaction to the fireballs lurching out of her own hull. A third retort of cannon fire battered their shield, and Rainbow and Pinkie shared a scream behind as it flickered. Big Mac fired.

Speckles of light filled the gap between the two as the jaw-rattling sound made Twilight swivel away again, nearly bumping into Octavia. She could see his entire body vibrating with kickback as he struggled to bring the weapon, a weapon Twilight had only read about, once, to face their enemy.

She tried to put the torrent of sound out of her mind. It was a skull-piercing drill of fast clatters, and she could feel the deck shaking under its enormous power, an earthquake in the sky. She glanced back at the aggressing pony just as a massive explosion tore the mainmast off its base. The mainsail, stippled with gray cloud through bullet holes, tipped and pitched sideways. Rigging snapped and twanged, but the pony didn’t move, even as the topsail swept past her to drape over the gunwale.

Octavia looked at Twilight, and Twilight reached for a different spell. The turret quieted with a hiss of steam and a gasp from Big Mac, and heat flowed out of her horn in a quick flash of effort. Magical fire, in the form of superheated air, shimmered through her shield to manifest in a sudden circle in the topsail, and she smiled, even as her shield collapsed into her head. She would bring it back later, but wanted to rest when she could. Octavia and Big Mac panted to her sides.

Her damage didn’t last. The sail, quickly a curtain of flame spreading down to the shattered, charred hull, whipped aside with a heavy snap and a ostentatious explosion of sparks. One corner was wrapped in a green mist of magic, and the swirl of flame and fabric twisted together into a spiral that, in a too-fast second, swept across the meager space to slap against their own perforated hull.

The sound was akin to a rushing ocean wave. The sail, huge and uneven, with flame wreathing pony-sized holes, growled and susurrated across their airship before catching on a stabilizing fin and pulling them suddenly forward and around with a rip of stressed cloth. All three of them stumbled to the side, and, when it was let go to fall to the ground, they were turned away from the aggressing, burning ship.

“Are we okay?” Applejack asked. Rainbow hopped over the rail to inspect the damage.

“It ain’t over,” Big Mac said. While they were recovering, the unicorn had positioned herself on the rail, one hoof wrapped in rigging. Twilight looked quickly at Octavia, resting with an exhausted, unfocused expression on the gunwale, and dodged to the turret’s other side to fire a small hive of fireballs, aiming carefully so they would land around, but not on, the enemy. She let them come, and the fire burst in small gouts all across the deck and side, framing the unicorn once again in shimmering air and heavy, bright fire. The unicorn only lit her horn, eyes meeting Twilight’s for a second.

With a flare of magic, bright and sudden as lightning, the entire damaged side of her ship was encompassed in a brilliant, green aura. The ship fell away slightly, and a deafening crack, like a tree uprooting, froze them. In a single, fierce motion, she ripped the hull away in one perforated piece, and slowly turned it in the air, as if to let them examine it. Small flames crawled along lines in the wood, smoke rising and ash falling, a massive, Tartarean claw.

“What is this?” Octavia said, and Twilight glanced at her. She leaned low on the rail, her mane frazzled and dirty, and her eyes looked defeated.

“Twilight!” Rarity yelped.

She looked up to see the blackening curve looming rapidly into them, a wall of hot air preceding the wall of hot wood. She backed away, throwing up her magenta curve to deflect it. It crashed only four feet away from their ship, from their balloon, with a sound somewhere between a scrape and a crash, chunks of it flying off to go past or slip over the shield’s edge and onto the deck. The bulk of the projectile, however, only bounced off, catching a corner on the aggressing ship’s exposed inner deck before tumbling, a smoldering ruin to land and go out on the rocky coast below.

“Twilight,” Big Mac sighed, pointing.

They faced half a ship. The inside was fully exposed, scant flames still licking at its tattered edge. She could see supplies, rooms, a bedroom even, and cannons on the other side, but no sign of machinery or magic that kept it mysteriously aloft. However, what drew Big Mac’s attention, and hers, was the slow, sliding panels of fresh wood, appearing seemingly from behind the damaged edges, and then each other. No sound accompanied their monotonous activity as, before her eyes, the damage that should have crippled the ship and sent it sinking to the ground like its ruined fragment repaired itself. The unicorn still stood on the banister, one hoof idly wrapped in rope, no magic coming from her horn. Twilight saw no bullet holes, even in the sails above, and while the mainmast still lay skewed across the enemy deck, she could see ropes already drawing inward like the frozen beginning of an ivy web.

Without warning, an explosion rocked the ship back as its helm burst outward. Twilight watched the wheel spin crazily up and back down, but the unicorn did not move, did not even look. Octavia slumped to the deck beside Twilight, and Big Mac, sparing one look of strained sympathy down to her, took a fresh hold of the turret to spray the ship’s healing side with more bullets, useless. Before Twilight could reorient herself with the sudden noise, the ship rotated, its motion immediate. No sail swayed, no rope twitched, but the unicorn was suddenly standing on the upper portion of the bowsprit, exposed with Octavia’s final spell, and looking directly at them with her impossible craft. The bullets stopped again, before restarting below the bowsprit, concentrating on the remaining, thin connective structure.

“Watch out!” Rainbow cried, flying back up. A single stain of black colored an orange tip of mane.

Twilight tensed and doubled the magic in her shield, expecting another cannon blast, another thump of pain as it contacted her magic, but nothing happened. She hesitated, then looked over the rail.

The ship’s side was restored, and the mainmast leaned unbelievably into a cradle of ropes, tilted a perilous forty degrees over the side. On the ship’s front, ensconced beneath the bowsprit and decorated with a simple, black spiral motif, a large gate was opening. She could see a thin, sulfurous trail leaking out of the circle’s nadir, and knew with a sudden, crushing certainty what was about to happen.

“Applejack, get us out of here,” she said without looking, her voice calm with enforced dread.

“Ah’m tryin’,” Applejack grunted. They slowly swung away, but Twilight kept her shield up, and before they could engage their turbines to attempt a speedy escape, her magic met something hot, intense, and heavy. Though the shield held, it did so only five feet off the rails, and the burst of intangible heat so close to the sudden wall of molten metal could not be stopped entirely. Thick, yellow-white liquid dripped to the ground, its heat and weight forcing Twilight’s eyes closed to keep her shield from shifting. Merely keeping it from breaking, she knew, was no good; even a small leak or change would invite flaming disaster, whether in driblets of liquid fire or a torrent, it mattered little. She crouched, painfully aware of the heat on her bent head, not sure whether it was her exerted horn or the melted metal feet away.

When the pressure let up, she opened her eyes and stood. They were moving away slowly, their engine chugging unhealthily; it was the ship’s attack that had stopped. Glowing shards of flame dripped from the ship’s demonic gate, and heat rose from below. The pony walked to the tip of the bowsprit and watched them, loose ends of her shawl flapping in the air like an open-limbed taunt, but there was no pursuit. Big Mac helped Twilight up while Rainbow and Pinkie dragged Octavia away from the rail. The shield was still up.

“What do we do if she comes after us?” Applejack asked.

“Surrender,” Rarity said.

“Seriously.”

“Yes, dear. We surrender.”

“Never mind. There it goes,” Pinkie said. Twilight looked up in time to see the last thread of glowing metal fall to the ground, pointing after the ship, already gone. It had headed south.

“Everypony okay?” Applejack asked.

“I think so,” Twilight said. In the brief interlude of movement away from the rail, her shield had collapsed, leaving her with a small headache.

“The ship’s not looking so hot, though,” Rainbow said.

“How bad?”

“We’re leaking water, for one thing.”

“How large a hole?” Rarity asked.

“Pretty huge. It’s not a simple patch job.”

“Well, we’re landin’ anyway,” Applejack said. “We’ll do what we can when we’re on the ground.”

“Don’t go too close to the edge,” Twilight said, staring into the clouded distance. Their small patch of sun was sliding away, and sunlight had again turned pale. “It’s all unsupported sand down there. We don’t want to slide off.”

“Well, great, thanks for making me imagine that,” Rainbow said.

“I’m just saying.”

“She’ll be fine, Fluttershy. She just tired herself out,” Rarity said. Fluttershy crouched over Octavia, asleep.

“She didn’t sleep last night,” Big Mac said.

“How d’ya know?” Applejack asked.

“Ah stayed up with her fer a while. She played her cello fer me. She’s really good.”

“Ah thought Ah heard somethin’ last night. Okay, get ready fer a bumpy landin’ now. Ah think one of our turbines is shot, so we’ll be uneven.” The ship skidded loosely into rock and rough sand, still held together on firmer terrain and patches of grass. For a moment, it sounded like one turbine would not shut off, but then the ship rested. They disembarked to inspect the damage.

“Oh, wow. That’s… better than I was expecting, actually,” Rarity said.

“Better?” Rainbow cried.

“You said the leak was huge, darling.”

“Well, huge by certain standards.”

“Big Mac an’ Ah can have that fixed up in an hour or two,” Applejack said. “As fer the rest of it… shoot, Ah dunno.” Though they had not suffered more than a couple small, localized fires on the hull, the side of their ship resembled a moldering piece of bark, frayed rings of splinters ornamenting a pair of holes to the empty spaces or machinery within.

“There are shipyards further east of here,” Octavia said weakly.

“O-kay, I guess you’re awake again,” Rainbow said.

“Sorry. I thought you knew.”

“Are you okay?” Twilight asked.

“Yes. Is everyone else?”

“We’re all fine,” Rarity said. “Shaken, but okay.”

“So that was the ship y’all told me about, Ah assume?” Big Mac asked.

“That’s it,” Twilight said.

“We have never fought it, though,” Octavia said.

“Couldn’t help but notice it can regenerate,” Big Mac said.

“Yeah, that happens,” Rainbow said. “So, Octavia, shipyards?”

“Assuming that they are undamaged, we can try to fly there for repairs.”

“‘Try’ is the operative word there,” Applejack said. “Landin’ us was kinda tricky. Ah dunno if Ah wanna try movin’ us like this.”

“Would it help if we drained the water?” Twilight asked. “You know, so you don’t have a constantly changing center of gravity?”

“Could.”

“Twilight, we filled this thing up a couple days ago,” Rainbow said. “We can’t just drain it all. What’ll we use to replace it? Seawater?”

“Actually, Rainbow, seawater—provided that it’s clean—can do wonders to your coat. It helps to replenish vital chemicals and minerals that we need to have lustrous fur,” Rarity said.

“I don’t want to get seawater in my eyes.”

“Why would you get seawater in your eyes?” Pinkie asked. “I’d think you’d want it on your body!”

“I don’t do it on purpose! I just tend to get, you know, stuff in my eyes when I shower.”

“Oh my gosh! Dashie, are you serious! Do you get shampoo in your eyes too?”

“Well, doesn’t everyone?”

“From time to time, sure,” Twilight said.

“What? Are y’all out of yer minds?” Applejack said. “Am Ah the only pony here who doesn’t get her own cleanin’ supplies in her face? It’s not hard, girls.”

“Shipyard,” Octavia growled.

“Do you get shampoo in your eyes, Octavia?” Pinkie asked.

“It has happened in the past.”

“Are you kiddin’?” Applejack asked. “You ponies are crazy. Anyway, Ah reckon Ah can get us there, but it’ll be tough.”

“And the water?” Twilight asked.

“How far is the nearest shipyard?”

“A few hours away,” Octavia said.

“Eh, let’s see how it goes, an’ if Ah need it, we can do it later. It ain’t like it’s not already happenin’.”

“So that’s it? We just landed after this huge battle, and it’s back on the ship?” Rainbow asked.

“You should exercise more discretion with that word, darling,” Rarity said, eyeing the leak in the ship’s hold.

“Fly alongside us,” Octavia said. “We will be going slower anyway.”

Twilight jerked a little as a letter spurted from her horn.

“I think I’ll stay on board for now,” Rainbow said, snatching it and flying up over the rail.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” Rarity said.

Rainbow was so intent on reading Trixie’s letter that she almost tripped over the miniature pillar of salt standing freely just inside the doorway.

Dear Dashie, that’s great to hear. I know he’s got his eye on you, so you’ll have to forgive me if I worry sometimes. I’ve always wanted to see the coast. I don’t suppose one of you thought to bring a camera on this grand quest?

Any idea how you’re going to get the Element yet? I’ve got nothing still, except trying to make a shield bubble, but I know Rarity can’t do anything with that injured horn.

Sorry. I shouldn’t be so negative. You’ve made it to the coast! The next Element! I think Pinkie’s right, you should celebrate.

Not much new here. I got a fan letter today that was meant for Twilight, but addressed to me. I think they thought we lived together. They really liked her development into a villain (don’t tell her, but I think it was average at best).

Manehattan’s not doing so great, though. Someone set off a cloud of bees in a fudge shop a couple miles from my apartment, and accusations are flying. All you can hear on the radio is speculations on who’s responsible for what. Strawberry, Lacey, and that DJ Octavia saved, all of their names are coming up. I don’t know what to make of any of it.

It’s not heartless to be happy to be away from Canterlot right now, Dashie. I know I’m glad to be so far from that mess. I don’t care what Celestia says, it’s going to be bedlam when Discord lands. You just focus on your job away from the center of violence, okay?

Be careful, Rainbow. There’s no way there isn’t some weird setup around this Element. Discord is sneaky. I’m sure you’ll be fine, but still. Be careful.

Warmly, The Great and Powerful Trixie

She stowed the letter in between the pages of one of Twilight’s books with the others, and turned around at the sound of a bag shuffling.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Fluttershy said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.” She looked at what Fluttershy was going through. “Studying magic?”

“I think I should. Octavia has been. Why not me?”

“Right, yeah. I forgot, you’re supposed to be powerful.”

“Um… yes, Princess Celestia thought so.”

Rainbow nodded, and her eyes went to the white prism on the floor. “What the heck is that?”

“I was going to ask you.”

“Not mine.” She went to it, and Fluttershy levitated it clumsily to rest on the bed. They took turns turning it over in their hooves.

“There’s something engraved,” Fluttershy said. “On all sides. ‘Approaching storm’.”

“Oh, it’s another stupid, cryptic Discord thing.”

“Another warning?”

“It’s like when he sends Twilight letters, that’s all. Throw it off the edge.”

“Are you sure? I mean, the last time we ignored something this, um, overt, it was those sigil halves in Trottingham.”

Rainbow held the salt block to the pale yellow light and lay back on the bed.

“We can’t just dismiss him anymore, Dash. It’s a nice gesture of self-aggrandizement, but we have to be honest.”

“This isn’t a game.”

The ship lurched, and Applejack called out. “It’s all right, it’s all right!”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I hate giving him the satisfaction, though.”

“He’ll be much more satisfied if he defeats us with a silly trap,” Fluttershy said.

“Right.” She let the salt roll out of her hooves onto the sheet. “Wonder why it’s salt.”

“I’m going to take it up to Twilight.”

Rainbow turned over and dragged the book over to the bed to look through her tiny collection of letters. She had felt weird, at first, scrawling such long notes with her hooves and mouth, and for no reward except a response from some mare she had shared a couch with. Her own writing was jagged and unevenly spaced, and looked like the product of extreme duress or drunkenness next to Trixie’s unicorn-horn script. Every time she got a reply, though, her self-consciousness faded.

“You found it on the floor?” Octavia asked, making Rainbow jerk and snap the book shut.

“Will you stop that?”

“I am sorry.”

“Celestia, you’re even quieter than usual today.” She slid the book under the bed and sat up. “What’s going on with you?”

“Never mind that.”

“Whatever.” She flopped back. “Yeah, right on the floor. It says ‘approaching storm’ on the sides. It’s carved in.”

“I saw it.”

“So what do you want me for? It’s just a stupid block, and you know as much as I do.”

“I am sorry.” She moved for the door.

“Wait, Octavia.” She frowned, almost ready to restrain herself. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“That is fine.” She was gone as quickly as she had come in, and Rainbow put her face into the pillow.

She woke up with Pinkie colliding into her in a squealing, wiggling pile and a chorus of laughter beside the bed. She struggled awake with a snarl of surprise, and Pinkie climbed off after a moment more.

It was three o’ clock, and they had made it to a shipyard. She went out and followed the group off the ship to a dry crater, floored with fragments of shells. An evaporated tide pool, Twilight said. Their bags were all there, heaped against a small castle of graying coral.

“So what are we gonna do?” Rainbow asked.

Octavia had her cello out, and began one of the tunes she had used in Trixie’s show a week ago. “Wait for the workers here to repair our ship. They said it should be complete tomorrow afternoon.”

“So we’re just stuck here until then?”

“It’ll give us time to figure out what to do with this,” Twilight said, floating the salt pillar around their heads. She frowned at Pinkie. “Aside from season our meals with it.”

“I can be patient,” Pinkie said with a small smile.

“Did you find anything out about it?” Rainbow asked.

“Nothing helpful,” Twilight said.

“It’s just regular salt,” Rarity said. “The only thing different about it is that, apparently, it’s been magically shaped.”

“And engraved on,” Octavia said, not opening her eyes from her performance.

“But I’ve got no idea where it came from, or how it got in the room,” Twilight said. “But, it also doesn’t seem like a threat. It’s creepy, and that’s it.”

Rainbow looked at Fluttershy, who blushed. “I already shared my concerns.”

“Personally, I think we should proceed with caution. I am going to go exploring when I have grown tired of playing,” Octavia said.

Rarity sighed. “Octavia, dear—”

“This is the abandoned coastline, not the big city. Besides, knowing you all, I will not be alone.”

“Nope,” Big Mac said, shaking his head.

“We got a warnin’ from Discord earlier this mornin’, an’ yer talkin’ ‘bout wanderin’ off,” Applejack said. “On the same day we were attacked by that dang ghost ship.”

“Is this another screw the consequences thing?” Rarity asked.

“No,” Octavia said. “It is an ‘I have been cooped up on the ship for days and want to stretch my legs’ thing.”

“We’ll stay in sight,” Rainbow said.

Applejack considered. “All right, fine. If ya need me, Ah’ll be seein’ if Ah can help those repairponies.”

“Oh! Oh! Me too! Me too!” Pinkie cried.

Octavia smiled as she drug her bow across the instrument one last time. “You enjoy yourselves.”

Outside the ring of warm sand that marked the beginning of the coastline, thinned by gravity and wind and no tides to replenish what was lost, Octavia, Big Mac, and Rainbow climbed between rocks to a low, grassy ridge. Beyond, they could see the flat, monotonous grasslands that separated Equestria’s coastal area from nearby Fillydelphia and Hoofington, to the southeast and southwest.

No wind stirred the field, and the sun was out again, and warm. The smell of salt still lingered faintly, coming from the sand that remained. A short fence hemmed the distance. Far along the coast, where a great bulb of water hung like an overlarge jewel, a dark mushroom of water vapor spread into a low-hanging cloud fortress. The siphoning station, and keystone of Celestia’s efforts to bring weather back under ponies’ control.

“Well, this is… great,” Rainbow said.

“Ah’m just happy to get some grass beneath my hooves,” Big Mac said.

“Yeah. Hey, Octavia? Sorry for snapping at you earlier today.”

“I told you, it is fine.”

“I thought you were being sarcastic.”

She trailed a hoof through a stalk of dried grass. “I was. Now, though, I mean it.”

“Oh.” She looked around, quickly regretting her decision to walk with them, and not just fly alone.

“How is Trixie?”

“She’s fine. Getting by.”

“Good.”

Rainbow looked at her, sitting in the grass with her eyes closed. Her breathing was slow and measured, but Rainbow could tell she was not asleep. “I’m still not used to it, though. This whole ‘being in a relationship’ thing.”

“Is that what you are calling it?” Octavia asked.

“What do you mean? Of course. What else would it be?”

“My understanding was that you had shared the couch, and each others’ saliva, but that was it. I was not aware that there were deeper feelings involved.”

“Hey, I don’t just shack up with anypony, okay? There’s something there. There… I mean, there has to be.”

“How can you know?” Big Mac asked. “You were both drunker’n a rat in a cider barrel.”

“Has that happened?” Octavia asked.

“Nope. Just an expression.”

“I knew what I was doing!” Rainbow said. “I did then, anyway. I mean… ugh, how do I explain it? My body was drunk, but my mind was sober.”

Octavia smirked. “Drunk sex is one of the greatest pleasures in life, but only if it is with someone who understands how meaningless the act is.”

“Yeah, we get it, Octavia, you’ve been around.”

“What I mean is, there is no reason for you to feel ashamed of something you did in the grip of drunkenness. If it was a pleasant experience, then what is the harm?”

“I dunno.”

“So you two’re datin’?” Big Mac asked.

“Yeah, I guess.” She turned her back to the shipyard and sat on a rock. “Er, maybe not ‘dating.’ Since it’s long distance, you know?”

“But you consider yourselves a couple,” Octavia said.

“Yeah.”

“Congrats,” Big Mac said.

“How will you deal with the distance?” Octavia asked.

“Well, we’re trading letters back and forth, and that seems to be working fine,” Rainbow said.

“I see. I would like to caution you about that, though.”

“I know, I know. Distance kills relationships, yadda yadda yadda.”

“It does, though. Some ponies like to think that if a relationship can be ended by the lack of physical rewards, then it is superficial, and that is not so. You two are bound to miss each other, no matter how many letters pass between.”

“Gee, thanks for the encouragement. It means a lot to me especially since I can’t go back to her until this freaking adventure is over.”

“I am sorry,” Octavia said. She lay down and nestled herself in the grass. “It is hot out here.”

“She’s just bein’ honest with ya,” Big Mac said quietly.

“Yeah, I know,” Rainbow said. “Like I said, this is all really weird for me.”

“You like her, though. That is a good start,” Octavia said.

“Uh… isn’t that kind of the idea?”

“You would be surprised. Ponies do not always get together because they like each other.”

“No, I know that! I—I said it wrong. I mean… I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“You do like her, right?” Big Mac asked.

“Of course. But…” She paced and scared a grasshopper out of the weeds. “I realize I don’t really know her. I’m not sure I’d even be comfortable calling her my friend yet.”

“Then this is the perfect opportunity to… get to know her,” Octavia said. “Oh, Celestia.”

“Something wrong?” Big Mac asked.

“Hot.”

“Come on, get out of that grass,” Rainbow said, pulling her bodily out. Her fur was dark with sweat.

“I need water.”

“Right.” Rainbow took off for the ship, and returned a minute later with a canteen, which she helped Octavia drink.

“What is this?” Big Mac asked.

“Her mane is so dark, she gets lightheaded if it’s too hot. You wanna go back, Octy?”

“Do not call me that, and no. Let me stay.”

“Whatever.” She grinned and sat down, and, for a long time, the only sounds were the others’ low conversation and the clatter and clunk of ship workers. Their own airship was a jagged, spinal torpedo beached in a swale of light brown sand, with large, gruff-looking ponies moving about behind, some with chains or other tools, many unadorned. Applejack was not visible, but Pinkie flitted from place to place, earning impatient looks and laughs both wherever she went.

“Y’ever use those turrets before?” Big Mac asked.

“I hardly paid attention to them,” Rainbow said. “That’ll probably change now.”

“I have been curious about them since we bought the ship,” Octavia murmured. “But no.”

“How was it?”

Big Mac didn’t answer immediately. He looked back to the empty space where an ocean had once moved, face devoid of effort or clear consideration. “It’s weird.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“It’s too much destructive potential fer one pony to operate. Ah’ve seen magic, an’ Ah’ve seen pulse crystals—used one, even.”

“Pulse crystals?”

“Imagine the turret, but smaller, portable, and it shoots magic instead of bullets,” Octavia said.

“Oh, that’s what they’re called. Trixie has one.”

“But there ain’t no comparison,” Big Mac continued. “Ah felt like Ah coulda ripped the planet in half with that thing, if Ah didn’t rip myself in half first.”

“Is it that powerful?”

“The kickback woulda sent you flying.”

She frowned. “Is that a challenge?”

“Stop,” Octavia said. “They are not to be trifled with, Dash.”

“Psh. Whatever. It’s not like I’m gonna spray the countryside with ‘em or anything. I’m not that stupid.”

Octavia grinned, but said nothing.

“Ah don’t ever wanna touch those things again, or their like,” Big Mac said. “Ah only did it today ‘cause Ah was overwhelmed.”

“It was an overwhelming situation,” Octavia said. “You did fine. Everyone did.”

“We just hid in the back, though,” Rainbow said.

“But nobody freaked out, and nobody caused undue difficulty.” She turned over in the grass and sighed. “We are all getting more accustomed to things like this now.”

“I bet you’re pretty happy about that.”

“I am.”

“Was that a problem before?” Big Mac asked.

“Octavia got mad at us for not pulling our weight a couple towns ago,” Rainbow said.

“I had my reasons, and I stand by them.”

“No, I’m not saying you were wrong. I never did.”

“Ah. Yes. I am just relieved that we seem to be learning to take care of ourselves. Even Twilight.”

A long silence turned over among them, to the sounds of labor and conversation a short distance away. “She didn’t flash back, you mean,” Rainbow said quietly.

“That is what I mean.” Octavia paused. “I only hope that it is a sign of recovery, and not atrophy.”

“Am Ah missin’ somethin’?” Big Mac asked.

“It is not my place to say. Ask one of the girls.”

He looked at Rainbow, and she got up. “Yeah, okay. You’ll be all right here, Octavia? I wanna take a walk.”

“I will be fine.”

The two of them walked along the fence toward a small shelf of rocks over another collection of dead tide pools. On the other side of the ridge, the others sat around the pillar of salt while Pinkie distracted the workers and Applejack worked on a hole, which had stopped leaking water an hour ago.

Pillars

Chapter Fifty-two

Pillars

By lunch, the rain was coming down harder than ever, and they retreated to their rooms to eat, though not for long. In close quarters with Octavia, conversation was strained and clipped, and it was only half an hour before Rainbow, exhausted from dodging confrontation, left in a nascent huff.

She took off from the deck in a spray of freezing rainwater at her hooves, and went as high as she could through heavy, cold sheets of water. Rain blurred her eyes and weighed her down, and, though she wanted to reach the clouds, she had to turn back or else risk plummeting with numb wings.

She landed on the far side of the port and walked under a dark wooden dock. Its legs were encrusted in scum and wrapped in seaweed and the odd barnacle, all things she had read of in one of her Daring Do novels, but never actually seen. She walked up a gentle slope and watched the pegasi at work. Some of them dragged tremendous chains, while others helped stabilize hanging crates as they swung through the heavy air.

“Okay, let’s see here,” she mumbled. She and Twilight had discussed Vanilla’s gift the night before, and what she could do to use it. She closed her eyes and let the sound of the rain lull her into something resembling meditation. Feel the magic inside—that was Twilight’s first instruction. Look inside yourself and feel the newness of magic stirring around your psyche. An easy task for Rainbow, she had said, whose magic was hardly there to begin with.

She felt only the cold wind on her face. Frowning and squeezing her eyes tighter, she willed herself to locate what Vanilla had bestowed, but found only the same confused mix of self-confidence and uncertainty. Salt stung her nostrils, and the sand was packed around her hooves like ice. She shook her soaking mane unhappily and crept deeper under the dock, shielding herself from most of the water, but not the cold wind.

“Controlling the weather.” His note puzzled her. Though the words made sense, she could not imagine their application in the context of magic.

Something heavy struck a crate far above her, and pegasi flurried. Thunder crashed moments later, and she closed her eyes once more. In Cloudsdale, she had learned about sanctioned “free weather,” weather that was left uncontrolled. Certain national parks had it, as did places of highly concentrated weather production. The thought of no one controlling the wild rainstorm above her was oddly exhilarating.

“Find your center, and then see what surrounds it.” It was what Twilight had done with her enhanced telekinesis, she had said. It was as simple as thinking for a moment, locating the part of her magic that she drew from to cast spells, and noticing a part that didn’t belong. “So my center should be emptiness, or near emptiness.” She closed her eyes again, ignoring a lower rumble.

In her mind, beneath the quick moving thoughts and questions, the fantasies and discarded ideas, she found—with active pursuit and desire—the emptiness she sought. Subtle as an abandoned memory, it was the magic she had used so seldom that even the recollection of its initial discovery was a hazy afterimage.

And, exactly as promised, around that empty, meaningless memory, she could feel the queer urges of something she’d never before considered. She opened her eyes to a crash of thunder, and the idea didn’t waver.

“No way it’s this easy,” she murmured, following the foreign idea. It was simple, but felt profound inside her head, and where it ended, she had a choice. The options were clear and simple, though she knew she could not articulate them, if asked. Adjusting herself in the sand, she thought briefly what she wanted to do. “Oh. Psh, duh.” As easily as flight, she pursued the thought along a single, very clear line.

At first, she felt nothing. Then, her skin tingled, and grew warm. Rain fell noisily outside, wind sliced through the pier’s underside in occasional bursts, the sand was still cold, and the rotting wood above her dripped freezing water, but she was warming up.

The dark sky lit up with a sudden tower of lightning, and thunder came immediately after, loud enough to shake the boards above her. Wind followed, shrieking through spaces in the pier and hissing across the ocean. The working pegasi were drowned out, and a powerful gust of air knocked the warmth out of her, and her concentration. Wings tight against her sides, so she wouldn’t get yanked back, she reluctantly left her shelter. The ocean had been still that morning, but, with the increased wind, it churned and moved in great, gnashing whitecaps. She was reminded of a film reel she had seen once of a hurricane breaking on the coast. It had been controlled, and weak; even Equestria’s northernmost point was several hundred miles south of the planet’s equator, and the water simply wasn’t warm enough to sustain a proper tropical storm.

She looked up at the pegasi, but they were gone. Cargo swayed from the cranes nearby, their great necks lowering to the ground, and she shook her head. The thought of working in such conditions was beyond her. Thunder crashed and rolled with the waves across the sea, and she took off at a gallop to return to the ship, anchored to a large mass of rocks.

Everypony played cards in the other cabin, and Octavia listened to their banter from across the corridor. Her interest in practicing magic had waned for the day, and she merely lay in bed, listening for her own name in their conversation and the storm outside. She had not known their airship had an anchor, but was grateful for it.

“I should just go over there and get my apology out of the way. They will swallow it like they always do, and we can return to normal.” She got up, but stopped at the door. “I do not want to forfeit my integrity like this.” On the tail of that thought came another: “The needs of the group outweigh the needs of the one. And they do need me.”

She crossed the tilted hallway to their cabin and entered, silencing the conversation. Only Big Mac looked at her directly.

“You can do this, Octavia.” “I have given some thought to my previous words, and have decided that I owe you all an apology.” “This is ridiculous.” “I should not have been so callous.” “I should not have been so honest.” “I can see that I have upset you all, and I do not want that. We should be working as a team, not as enemies.”

Rarity put down her cards and looked at her dispassionately. “Is that it?”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s all you can do, apologize for saying what you said?”

Her voice darkened. “What more do you expect of me?”

“Every time, it’s the same exact thing,” Applejack said. “We’re fine, then we fight, then you apologize. It’s the same stupid cycle over an’ over again, and it’s gettin’ old.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Change,” Twilight said, glancing at her apologetically.

“You’re the reason we keep going through this,” Rarity said. “If you stopped pushing us away, there’d be no problem.”

“You expect me to change,” Octavia said slowly, “realizing that you are asking that I redefine my entire life. Is it not easier for you to simply avoid pestering me?”

“It’ll be better for you to do the first one,” Pinkie said meekly.

“And what would you know about self-improvement?” “I have my reasons for not dwelling on the past, and I think that they are enough.”

“I know it’s scary, but you’ve gotta do it sometime.”

“I am perfectly—”

“Fine on yer own?” Big Mac rumbled.

“…Yes.”

“When was the last time you slept for an entire night?” Rarity asked.

“An entire night? From start to finish?”

“That’s what an entire night is.”

She sighed. “I do not remember. It has been years.”

Twilight stood up. “Years? It’s been years since you’ve slept a whole night through? Octavia, I was worried before, but this is out of control!” She flinched as a salt block tumbled out of thin air to knock Pinkie’s cards out of her hooves. “And can we put a stop to this?” she shouted, gesturing at the overturned cards.

“Stop that. The last thing we need is histrionics.” She took a step back and breathed out. “Listen to me. I am fine. Am I not standing before you, carrying on a conversation normally? Do I not contribute when asked, and often when I am not? Where have I failed you?”

“You just don’t get it,” Applejack said. “We don’t care ‘bout yer performance here. We care ‘bout you. If yer not healthy, the group ain’t healthy. Can you understand that?”

“I understand it, but reject it.”

“What?” Twilight cried.

“Your care is misplaced. You should be more concerned with finishing your task, not worrying about me.”

“We can’t do that, Octavia. Friends don’t do that to each other,” Fluttershy said.

“If abandoning me on this coast would somehow ensure Discord’s defeat, would you do it?” Octavia asked, immediately turning her eyes to the floor. “Stupid, indulgent question.”

“Absolutely not,” Twilight said.

“Is it really that hard to accept our friendship?” Fluttershy asked.

“I…” “This is my chance to end this—for a time.” “After all I have done to you, I find myself reluctant.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Aw, you’ve got it reversed,” Applejack said. “After all we’ve been through, we’re even more ready to call you a friend. Not less.”

“That is not what it sounded like yesterday.”

“Well…” Rarity started. “I will admit, none of us were very nice to you.”

“Fluttershy and Big Mac have been nice.”

“Okay, I haven’t been nice. I… did say some things about you last night, that I didn’t mean.”

“Why?”

“I’m not certain. I just did.”

“We were trying to figure out where we all stood,” Twilight said. “Much the same as I’m sure you were.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rarity said. “What does matter is that we forgive you, and hope you can forgive us.”

“For talking behind my back,” Octavia said.

“Yes.”

“And refusing to change how you approach me, or address your concerns about my well-being.”

“We’re just worried,” Fluttershy said.

“I should walk away right now. These hypocrites will never learn if I stay.” She looked at each of them. “And they will surely fail without me.”

“Well?” Twilight said.

“Friends fight,” Octavia said. It was the best response she could produce with a straight face; anything longer, and a disgusted grimace would break through. She weathered the group hug that suddenly converged upon her. “And the cycle begins anew.”

By nightfall, the rain had let up some, and they could share the deck without being soaked. Octavia remained in the back, watching the others talk and laugh nervously. She was familiar with the activity; before her first several professional shows, she had engaged in the same anxious chatter with her orchestra mates.

They would leave as soon as the sun was up, no matter the weather. Fluttershy could not determine how much ocean they needed to cross, or how deep she and Twilight would need to dive, and, knowing Discord, Twilight felt it highly likely that they encountered something unforeseen on the bottom. They didn’t need the encroachment of sunset to complicate things further.

“Bet you’re happy sitting this one out, huh?” Pinkie asked, sliding over to Octavia.

“In a way.”

“What way?”

“The idea of being under all that water bothers me very much, just as the idea of being so high off the ground.”

“Is there a ‘however’ coming?”

Octavia gave a thin smile. “Yes. However, I am not confident that two ponies are enough to deal with whatever is down there.” She idly grabbed a salt block as it fell onto the deck. “And I am starting to worry about these.”

“At least they’re yummy!”

“Hm.” She lobbed it off the ship, as she had seen Twilight and Fluttershy do. “Why did you go quiet when I spoke with the others this afternoon?”

“No reason!”

“That cannot possibly be true. I have seen you playing and joking with them, and I heard you having a great time before I entered the room.”

Pinkie giggled, but sobered after a second under Octavia’s relentless eyes. “Well… you don’t really like all the noise, I know.”

“So?”

“Octy—Octavia, sorry!” She threw a foreleg over Octavia’s back. “I wanna make everypony happy, and that includes you! If that means toning down the volume a little, it’s a small price to pay!”

“It is not a mere lowering of the volume. You change dramatically around me. You hardly contribute to conversation, and, when you do, it is often in quite basic terms.”

Pinkie frowned. “I dunno, sis.”

She scrutinized Pinkie. “Shall we go beneath? Or perhaps for a walk?”

“Walking sounds nice.”

Without a word, Octavia left the ship, Pinkie just behind. Only when they were several meters from the ship, walking through the wet grass, did she speak. “I think that you—”

“It’s something about you.”

“Is it?”

“I’ve noticed it too,” Pinkie said. “I didn’t want to talk about it, but I guess I’m gonna now.” She made a stifled giggle. “Whatever it is, whenever you’re around, I just… I don’t feel myself, I guess. I don’t feel as… well, not happy, ‘cause it’s a quiet happiness. I don’t feel as rowdy. There you go, rowdy.”

“So my presence makes you calm down.”

“Well, it’s not quite that either. I guess I feel like… kinda diminished.”

“I see.”

“Maybe like I’m kind of unwelcome. Like, when you’re around, everypony else suddenly forgets about me.”

“Nonsense. For the most part, they just tolerate me. You are much more favored.”

“You think so?”

“You all enjoy talking behind my back. Ask them yourself.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Did you join them?”

“No, of course not!” She looked at Octavia briefly, her wide eyes pleading. “But I’m still sorry.”

“It is okay.”

“It is?”

Octavia looked over at the sound of shifting grass. Another salt pillar.

“You’re not really okay with them talking bad about you, are you?”

“I suppose not.”

“It’s okay to admit it when you don’t like something.”

“I am not afraid of anything that simple.” She sighed. “Being with you has reminded me of the rock farm. Have I done the same for you?”

“Sure, but that’s okay.”

“It is?”

Pinkie giggled weakly. “Not really. I guess we are alike, huh?”

Octavia grabbed the salt block and watched its edges furrow in the rain.

“So we remind ourselves of home. It’s okay. It’s natural.” She gasped. “Is that why you’ve got such bad insomnia?”

“No, Pinkie, it is not. I have been this way long before I met you.”

“You mean this most recent time?”

“Since leaving.”

“Oh.” She looked down for a second, then back up, an insincere grin on her face. “Change is coming.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know!” She hopped up, suddenly with an actual smile. “Just a feeling.”

“Is it that Pinkie Sense of yours?”

“Uhhhhh…” She scratched her head. “Yeah, actually! Yeah, it is! It’s really vague, though.”

“From what your friends have said, I thought you were supposed to get intuition like this rather frequently.”

“I used to.”

“What happened?”

She giggled. “Change!”

“Which is also on its way.”

“Yup!”

“What kind of change?”

“Uhhhhhh…”

“Try to focus, Pinkie. It could be important.”

“Well, it’s still pretty far away. I think it’s about you and me, though.”

“I do not like that.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t worry, sis, it’s nothing detailed.” She playfully bumped Octavia’s flank. “I know how personal you are.”

“If you do happen to randomly gain any insight about me, please do your best to forget it.”

“Uhhh, hello? World’s best secret keeper, right here!”

“I am not asking you to keep the secret, I am telling you to forget the information entirely.”

“Exactly! It’ll be like keeping a secret from myself!” Another salt block appeared at her hooves, and she kicked it over. “These are funny!”

Everypony got up at six o’ clock in the morning, except Octavia, who was already out, exploring the fields behind their ship in a misty, gray drizzle. They ate on the deck, and, by six forty-five, they were aloft and drifting out over the shore to make a large circle around the water siphoning station.

By seven fifteen, the shore had become a line of light brown, cluttered with dirty docks and meandering ships. They had decided to pile the salt blocks in the corner as they appeared, not wanting to throw them off over the ocean and resalinate the water. The drizzle had turned to yet another full rainstorm, and only Twilight, Fluttershy, Applejack, and Octavia stayed out. Each pony watched her version of the ocean’s gentle expansion under them from different vantages, as they floated farther and farther out, but seemingly no closer to the indeterminate edge that they had seen from afar days ago.

Fluttershy let out a small yelp, and Twilight thought it was a raindrop hitting her on the nose or eye—that happened from time to time—but then she gave a single, heart-freezing order: stop. Applejack disengaged the turbines and allowed them to drift in the wind.

“It’s beneath us,” Fluttershy said reverently. “Very far down.”

Octavia went below to collect the others, and Twilight looked over the rail. The ocean was a mere thirty feet below, and coming up slowly. She had tuned out the steady plink of salt blocks appearing, some on the deck, but many onto the modest pile they had already constructed. No waves swelled up at them, but the water boiled with rain, coming down in a steady outpouring, not as bad as the day before, but enough to make her seriously consider wasting some of her magic on a shield.

“So this is it?” Rarity asked.

“As soon as we’re low enough to make the jump, we’re going,” Twilight said, and sighed. “I guess.”

“Twilight, you’re not scared, are you?” Rainbow asked.

“Scared? Of what? Jumping off the ship into the middle of the ocean? Sinking all the way to the bottom, if there even is a bottom? Going until we run out of light? Of course not! What’s there to be afraid of?”

“It’ll be just like flying,” Rainbow said. “Except, you know, underwater.”

“Oh, great. Yeah, no problem there.”

“Don’t worry about it, Twilight! I’m not scared!” Pinkie said.

“Yer not goin’,” Applejack pointed out.

“Still not scared!”

“Twilight, I’m super scared too,” Fluttershy said, “but I’m ready.”

When they were a mere five feet from the incredible surface, Applejack lowered the gangplank, and Twilight and Fluttershy stood together under Twilight’s shield, a layered dome of shimmering magic. “This will keep all the water out,” Twilight said, “and weigh us down, so we’ll sink. I’ll have an oxygen summoning spell going on the whole time as well, and a carbon-dioxide banishing spell. Thank Celestia I learned about chemical spells. What this shield won’t do, though, is regulate air pressure. We’ll have to stop periodically to let our bodies adjust.”

“You have to do that underwater too?” Rainbow said.

She looked down at the water. “What did you think it was for?”

“Altitude flying.”

“Pressure goes both ways, Dash.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, no more messing around. Ready, Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy nodded, and they stepped down the plank, pausing at the tip. With a final look back to her friends, Twilight closed her eyes, counted down, and made to hop off. The temptation to stop flashed through her mind, but Fluttershy jumped, and she had no choice but to follow. With a muffled splash, they entered cold water, and Twilight had enough time to watch water recollect over the spherical shield’s top, cutting them off from the ship.

“It takes a lot to keep these spells up, Fluttershy. I can do it, but it’s best if I don’t waste energy talking too much or looking around. Can you steer us?”

“Um… yes,” Fluttershy replied through clenched, shivering teeth. “Can you turn the heat up?”

“Waste of magic.” She squinted into the dark blue water that surrounded them. All the rain was gone, replaced with a dry freeze that seemed to creep through Twilight’s body like ice in her veins. The endless, dimensionless blue swiveled around them, empty of markings. She saw a dark patchwork below, but could not tell how far down they would have to go before stopping their slow free fall.

“No fish,” Fluttershy said. She jumped and screamed as something appeared with them to land on the shield’s bottom without a sound. It was a pillar of salt.

“Push it through the shield,” Twilight said, not looking. “If you push hard enough, you’ll go through. It’ll be okay, but use your hooves. I don’t want your magic mixing with mine down here.”

Fluttershy complied, shoving the salt out of their shield with a small grunt. She retracted a wet hoof. “I really don’t like this.”

The splash faded in frigid rainfall, and Applejack pulled the plank back up. “An’ now, we wait.”

Pinkie and Rainbow stood together at the gunwale, and Octavia sat in the middle of the deck with Big Mac, letting rain reduce her mane to long locks of shadow across a gaunt, sleep-deprived face. Salt blocks tinkled onto the pile.

The surface was a gray matte above them, the bottom a jigsaw of shadow and stone. Fluttershy pointed Twilight back on course as they drifted down, and it was not long before she descried their target while they hung, waiting for their pressure to equalize. The sunken ship from Octavia’s dream, brought back to life in Discord’s fearsome artificiality, rotted in a pale plain of silt more than a hundred feet below. To Fluttershy, it was but a curiously shaped rock or piece of coral, and to Twilight, it was but a thought as she stared emptily into miles of cold, crushing ocean.

“Stupid,” Octavia mumbled again, producing one of Twilight’s history anthologies and setting up a tiny shield over its pages. She had forgotten to tell Twilight of Vanilla Cream’s research recommendation until a couple minutes after her descent.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Rarity said. “Not that that’s a surprise, exactly.”

“We’re all nervous, Rarity,” Rainbow said.

“Here it is,” Octavia said. “The Deep Freeze was a standard passenger vessel, active from 2779 to 2790, that commonly ferried ponies across the boundaries of the Horseshoe Band—that is the name of this section of ocean—”

“We gathered that.”

Octavia gave Rainbow an icy stare. “And to the smaller, neutral islands south of official changeling territory, now part of their empire. It was captained by the siren, posthumously named ‘Coral Scales’ by the Equestrian Record Keeping Bureau, and ‘Web Wings’ by the Changeling Identification Commission.”

“A siren?” Rarity said.

“I am flipping to that page right now.”

“Wait, no, go back to the ship,” Applejack said. “Tell us more ‘bout this Deep Freeze.”

Octavia scanned the page. “It got its name from its captain, who enjoyed taking her leisure time at the bottom of the Horseshoe Band. It has nothing to do with the ship itself, or any particular ice powers. In fact, it says here that the ship was quite ordinary. There is no mention of magical healing powers, or the ability to float off the water, or any enhanced speed or maneuverability.”

“So it’s just a model Discord used to make this ghost ship,” Big Mac said. He shivered violently, and Rainbow giggled at him.

“Apparently. Okay, sirens.” She flipped through several pages, pausing often, before reading again. “Before I read this, do you all know what a siren is?”

“Ah don’t,” Applejack said, Big Mac nodding along.

“Sirens are aquatic creatures, strongly related to changelings. They take magical power from emotions, much like a changeling, but have a narrower range of emotions that they can actually convert to magic. They primarily live in the waters to the north and south of Equestria: the Changeling Ocean, where you will find larger sirens, and the Jarvick Sea, south of the minotaur continent. That is where the south pole is.”

“We know that,” Rainbow said.

“We don’t,” Big Mac said. “Keep goin’, Octavia.”

“Arctic sirens are much smaller than tropical ones. Because they are so close to the changeling, they can shape-shift, though it is harder for them to do for long periods of time, and they typically do not choose to do so anyway.” She looked down at the book. “Sirens live long, lonely lives in the open water, capable of surviving at depths of up to three hundred feet. Young sirens frequently live alone, but it is common to find older sirens in bands of three or four. They do not have a common language or government system.”

“So this Deep Freeze siren,” Rarity said. “Coral Scales. She… left the ocean?”

“It said that she would take the form of a pony to put her travelers at ease when moving them. Hold on, let me go to the page on her, and not her ship.” She turned a chunk of pages. “Coral Scales has been posthumously nominated for multiple awards and acknowledgements for her assistance to forming the pony-changeling alliance.”

“Whoa, alliance?” Rainbow said. “Last I heard—”

“We are on tense terms with them now,” Octavia said, “but we are not enemies. We trade goods extremely frequently. Do you know where bananas come from?”

“No way,” Applejack said. “All the way across the ocean?”

“That’s why they’re so expensive!” Pinkie cried. “I always thought there was a sinister banana cartel somewhere in the Equestrian heartland, managed by a grizzled thug with an eye patch and a banana bandana!”

“No,” Octavia said flatly. She read on. “Coral Scales was rather private, but well documented as being open about her identity, and is noted as one of the greatest examples of siren kindness. She was once quoted, ‘We learn to cultivate savage minds under the waters, but we’re not without goodness. We are not animals, and we are not wicked. A siren can be good or bad as easily as a pony, a griffon, a dragon, a changeling. We are individuals, just like you’.”

“Heh, you used a contraction,” Applejack said.

“It was a quote.” She smiled and brushed her mane back. “There are numerous rumors of her engaging in affairs with her shipmates… and it goes on into more personal, trivial details. Nothing that we are interested in.”

“It kind of makes sense now,” Rarity said. “Discord wants to harass us with a ghost ship, so he chooses its captain to look like the nicest siren in history.”

“The exact kind of irony he likes,” Big Mac said.

“But not particularly helpful,” Applejack said. “Ah guess it’s nice to learn ‘bout sirens. They got a picture in there?”

“Only in her pony form,” Octavia said. “And yes, Rarity, she wore the same shawl then as she does now.”

“What’s with her name?” Rainbow asked. “It said ‘posthumously named’; doesn’t that mean they called her that after she died?”

Octavia sighed and flipped back to the section on sirens, reading for a time before responding. “Apparently, they use subsonic vocalizations to communicate, and what they use to identify each other does not follow Equestrian naming convention. It does not say anything about her specifically, but my guess would be that ponies merely called her ‘captain,’ or something like that, and she never had occasion to invent a name for herself.”

“So do we call her Coral Scales now, or Thunderhead?” Rainbow asked.

“Thunderhead, definitely,” Rarity said. “Let’s not dignify Discord’s little gimmick.” She glanced at the growing pile of salt blocks, its peak nearly touching the top of the rail. “Although we may consider dignifying that.”

The ocean was absolutely silent. Twilight felt no strain from the trio of spells she kept running, but released a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding when Fluttershy cast a rudimentary illumination spell, turning their bubble into a pearl of light in the vast, frozen darkness. The bottom, closer, was an immense, pumiceous field, the ship a lonesome ruin wrapped in shadow.

The light swiveled sickly every time Fluttershy moved to remove a salt block, and Twilight could see her own shadow and reflection distorting across the shield’s inner surface. She closed her eyes, but that more absolute darkness was worse.

“Ah think we get more salt the closer they get to the Element,” Big Mac said. The pile of blocks had shifted slightly, tipping the top several off the ship and into the ocean in a white cascade of awkward splashes. Their origination had since shifted inward, and a new pile was forming beside the torch. “Which means we need to find a solution to this before it gets worse.”

“We’re not gonna eat ‘em all, that’s for sure,” Rainbow said, looking at Pinkie.

“I only suggested it once! Am I the salt-eating pony now in your heads?” Pinkie said.

“I hate to say this, but we may need to consider bailing it out,” Rarity said. “I don’t know how heavy this is, or if it can sink us. I’d rather not find out.”

“Yeah, let’s put all this salt that they broke their backs to get out back into the ocean,” Rainbow said.

“Better than bein’ crushed,” Big Mac said, grabbing one and hurling it in a great arc off the deck. “If we don’t sink, we could get pushed off.”

“Ah agree,” Applejack said. “C’mon, big bro. Reckon you can send one of these things farther’n me?”

They hit the bottom with a gentle bump, and Twilight flattened the shield’s floor, turning their sphere back into a dome. The wet sand at her hooves was like ice, and only the faintest light from above made it down. She could see the edges of stones, coral, and what she thought was the ship, but without Fluttershy’s meager spell, she would be utterly lost.

“This way,” Fluttershy said, taking a tentative lead.

They moved through the water at a normal walking pace, Twilight careless of the immense pressure on her shield. A group of fish scattered as they walked through, and she saw one bounce harmlessly off the shield. Seaweed bent away or collapsed at their hooves as they passed around or over it.

“Inside,” Fluttershy said. The ship lay flat, a massive gouge apparent in its port side, veiled by decomposing sails and webbed in encrusted rope. Nothing was smooth; every inch of the ship was besieged by calcification, barnacles, and shells affixed to its surface. Unlike the model they had faced two days ago, Twilight saw no evidence of any offensive capabilities. No cannons or cannonballs rusted in the silt.

They walked along the ship’s curving bottom to the raised back, leaving behind them a trail of salt blocks. With her shield bottomless, they could simply let the blocks fall and walk past them, the membrane sliding over them easily. The tattered, triangular boom mainsail hung in a great, pale curve on frayed rigging, and Twilight imagined she could hear the entire structure creaking in the depths.

Applejack had lowered the gangplank once more, and she and Big Mac worked at dumping groups of blocks off the edges while Rainbow, Rarity, and Pinkie shoved piles toward the ramp, letting them slide off in torrents. Octavia grabbed dozens at a time in her dark magic to toss them over the side.

It was enough, but only just.

Twilight and Fluttershy ducked under a protruding finger of shattered mizenmast to reach a short incline of broken deck, and passage to the ship’s black interior. They were both shivering, and Fluttershy moved constantly, looking around for potential assailants or traps. Her jittery motion was always in Twilight’s peripheral vision, and the silence she had imposed on her own thoughts was straining for it. The magic held strong, but she had to close her eyes from time to time to re-order her thoughts.

The first heavy thump made her jump. A block of salt fell before her to rest on the wooden deck, and another slowly drifted to the seabed outside their shield, behind.

“It shouldn’t be like this,” Twilight said, walking onto the deck. “Unless it only sank a year or so ago, it shouldn’t be able to support our weight.”

Fluttershy made no response as they climbed to a more level area. Twilight ran her hoof along a length of slick rope that passed through her shield. A sagging doorway, with no door, beckoned from the very back, and Fluttershy went toward it, pausing to watch a small crab move past.

“Do you think there could be octopi down here?” she asked quietly. Twilight didn’t look at her, but heard the lilting note of hope in the query.

“Can you give me more light?”

“Um, I’ll try. Hold on.” Fluttershy froze and closed her own eyes, and the glow that surrounded her deepened, only slightly. Twilight could see suggestions of the room’s interior, and held her breath as they walked through the portal into the dark, decaying navigation room.

Nothing sprung out at them, and no sounds were heard. A scummy globe rested in a rusting bronze crucible, with sextants, spyglasses, and compasses lining a depressed shelf in a similar state. Her eyes passed over the Element at first, sitting with other metal tools as innocently as if it belonged there. Applejack’s orange jewel glinted a dull goldenrod when Fluttershy’s light hit it.

“That was… easy,” Twilight said.

With more and more salt blocks covering the deck every minute, slick in the rain, they were not prepared for the sudden snap of magic above them, nor the heavy thunder of countless more pillars descending from atop their balloon. Only Rainbow was looking up at the time, and it was her swift shout that made them all dive for the torch, just in time to avoid being bruised and possibly knocked unconscious by the heavy, edged objects.

They crashed and banged on the deck and each other, chipping off flecks of salt to join the raindrops in a twinkling, eye-watering display. Beyond, more blocks fell outside the ship, an endless cylinder of undulating, imperfect white, stirring the ocean even more.

“Something tells me they found the Element,” Rarity said, looking from pony to pony. Above, the pummeling sound of pillars on the balloon swelled in a sound more ferocious than the rain that had been with them since leaving the shore. They whipped their heads around at a metallic creak and wooden crack, and had just enough time to see the plank leaning brokenly down.

“Something tells me we’re gonna be taking a swim soon if we don’t figure something out,” Rainbow said. She looked at Octavia, who could still throw clusters of blocks off the ship from her position. “She’s not gonna be nearly enough.”

Applejack took a moment to take in the scene, struggling to process it. What had started as one or two mysterious pillars of salt a day had become hundreds every minute, right on top of their ship, and the only magician they had, already dulled from insomnia, she could see weakening from the repetitive grab and toss that was not enough anyway.

“Applejack, can we move the balloon to a different part of the ship?” Rarity asked.

“What? Uh, Ah guess so, but how does that help?”

“Trust me. I think I have an idea.”

Something large and pale retreated into a crack in the wall as they exited the navigation room, and Twilight’s heart momentarily stopped. They left a trail of salt pillars behind them, falling through water and shield at a rate of two every second. Fluttershy had proudly placed the Element around her neck, claiming that it felt uncomfortable on her. Her own, when she chose to wear it, fit perfectly, but Applejack’s honesty was itchy and tight.

They left the ship at a quick trot, and, only a few steps away, turned to the first sound they had heard underwater. An unhealthy, twisted creak, like wood bending against itself, growled behind, and they watched as the shipwreck dulled, grew thin, and finally vanished in a current of bubbles. A moment later, a pair of letters spurted from Twilight’s horn.

“One’s from Trixie, for Rainbow Dash,” Fluttershy said, “and the other’s from Discord. It just says ‘more illusions’.”

“I knew that ship couldn’t be real,” Twilight said. “Hold onto them, please.” They followed their own dimming hoofprints across the ocean floor to where they stopped, a mere thirty feet away. “Ready?”

“More than ready.”

With a brief pulse of her horn, the dome became a sphere. “This part is the hardest of all, Fluttershy. I’m decreasing the shield’s weight without decreasing its strength. Only talk to me if it’s vitally important, okay?”

“Okay, Twilight.”

They started to float upwards as Twilight sat and closed her eyes.

With half the balloon’s ropes tied to the back of the ship, and Octavia dragging another over to where Rarity directed, trying to show where to put it without putting herself in danger of falling salt, Rarity felt more acutely than ever the pain of being without a functional horn. She had to use her hooves to tie the knots, and, while she could do it, it was difficult and terrifying, even with Octavia’s stabilizing magic. Every slip was another ten pillars onto their damaged ship, and the others simply could not keep up.

She hadn’t the time to voice her plan, and, for that reason, had felt a swell of pride and affection in her heart when everyone broke to try to stem the tide of falling destruction. On her word alone, Applejack and Big Mac had dared to go out into the cascade of blocks, accepting blows to the backs and flanks without complaint, and risking more serious head injuries without question.

With two ropes left, and the deck tilting upwards mildly, she stopped, realization hitting her like lightning. The torch.

“Big Mac!” she cried. Through the sound of rain, wind, and ceaseless pounding salt, she was surprised to see him turn his head on her first call. “Take this rope over there, Octavia,” she said, and approached Big Mac. “The torch needs to be stowed below. Can you get it down there on your own?”

He nodded in a long arc. In it, she saw a relieved smile; the balloon covered most of the space he needed to cover.

She returned to the side of the ship, where Octavia was holding a cable in place. “If you are doing what I think you are doing, then how do you expect Twilight and Fluttershy to get back on?”

“Octavia, darling, I really have no idea,” Rarity said, putting her cold hooves to the rope to knot it. “They’re both smart mares. I hope they can think of something too.”

They ascended with a rope of salt blocks falling off to their sides, but the block that drew Fluttershy’s notice came from much farther above. It drifted and tumbled down at them from an indeterminate height, and, a few minutes later, a second one followed. Anxiety brought its own icy touch to her insides, and she crouched on the clear shield’s floor, trying not to look down, or around. The vastness was close enough to touch, and, with the Element safely around her neck, she had nothing to distract from that cold feeling.

“Everypony back here!” Rarity shouted. The balloon was attached to the ship’s back, but they were not moving. “Push all the salt to the front!”

The others started immediately, hurling blocks off the deck, or forward onto it. Octavia used her hooves, following Rarity’s advice to conserve magic until the back was clearer. Thunder exploded overhead, and it was the first time she had heard it since the salt began falling in earnest.

The cascade had shifted its point of origination as well, following them to buffet the thick balloon. Enough of it overhung the back that the majority slid harmlessly into the water.

“Okay, Octavia, lift us,” she said, and Octavia nodded, retreated from pushing pillars, and looked into the dark throat of the balloon. “Rainbow, get over here.” A small explosion echoed low within its fabric chamber, and two more: miniature blasts that would produce hot air, but not enough force to harm the balloon. Rainbow came to their side to hover at the hole, using her wings to fan air upwards.

Six blasts in, carefully placed, and they were tilting upwards. The first blocks of salt at the very front slid uselessly into the water, and Rarity held her breath. “No way this is actually working.” She squealed giddily as an entire pile followed, and then something inside shifted, and she stumbled.

“And how are we to avoid sliding off ourselves?” Octavia asked.

“We—oh, ponyfeathers.”

The bubbling maelstrom of descending foam was like a reverse of the column she had seen rising into the water siphoning station. From their vantage, it was a powerful circle of white, marching down to them in inexorable, boiling insanity. The sheer volume of salt—and Fluttershy knew it could be only that—made her heart briefly sink with pity for the sea life that would not be ready for the sudden salination, and then contract with fear for their own situation.

Not speaking, she nudged Twilight and pointed forward emphatically, toward where the salt would eventually meet them. When they began moving, she made another motion to Twilight: “watch for more directions.” Twilight didn’t look up, and Fluttershy envied her for what she didn’t see.

From within the corridor, leaning awkwardly in the corner between stairs and floor, they listened to the salt storm outside. Their hull was tough, they knew, as was their balloon, but each had their ears cocked for a more disastrous sound: a crack of compromised wood, a scream of broken turbines, or, even worse, the world-ending rip of a hurt balloon.

Rainbow was outside, hanging miserably in a safe spot, watching the waters and their own elevation. The combination of her wind and Octavia’s explosions had gotten them back to ten feet off the bubbling surface when they had scrambled into the safer ship’s interior, but with their chipped and damaged bowsprit perilously close to the water.

She ducked in quickly, her voice clipped. “Hey, you might wanna know that we just lost the freaking wheel.” She didn’t wait for a response.

“Forgive my language,” Rarity said dully, “but fuck Discord.”

Pinkie chuckled lightly.

“What in Tartarus is this?” Twilight asked, her voice only a shade away from anger. The ocean was closed off from them in a sudden curtain fall of spinning, sliding, gamboling salt, occasional errant blocks ticking off their shield.

“I think they get more salt the closer we are to the Element,” Fluttershy said. “And now that we have it, they’re being flooded.”

“That’s not good.”

“I need to think,” Fluttershy said. With the amount of salt coming down to them, and the cylindrical shape it took, she could reason easily enough that the others had found a way to keep it off the ship—why she had directed them into the middle. Finding a way through the falling salt, at the surface, would be suicide, given how weakened Twilight’s shield would be. It was an explanation she realized only trapped inside the giant, hollow column; the initial choice had been intuition.

“So… who wants to hear a joke?” Pinkie asked. “Since we’re stuck here.”

“May as well,” Applejack said. “What do ya got fer us, Pinkie?”

“Why did the batch of cookies get sent to jail?”

“They were so delicious, it was illegal,” Octavia said, drawing their eyes. “Sorry. Ignore me. I am in a strange place right now.”

“Why, Pinkie?” Big Mac asked.

“As-salt! Get it?”

Applejack and Big Mach chuckled, but Rarity only looked at her.

“Get it? Because salt?”

“Cookies?” Rarity asked.

“They have salt in ‘em,” Applejack said. “A little bit.”

“Ah thought that was common knowledge,” Big Mac said.

“Oh,” Rarity said. “Well, oaay.”

“Wanna hear another?” Pinkie asked.

Fluttershy felt a resurgence of the iciness below in her veins when she looked up to see a colossal, solid, white mass coming down on top of them. Some twenty feet up, and closing fast, the hollow pillar ended in a filled hammer of salt, ready to shatter their shield and send them sinking to the bottom in shreds.

Pulling Twilight’s mane urgently and jabbing a hoof forward, she bit her tongue to keep the scream in. Twilight, not looking up, but recognizing that something was wrong, pushed them unflinching into the cascading prisms of dirty white. Slowed by water, relatively few hit the shield as they crossed through, and Fluttershy looked back to see the more massive obstacle sink behind them, unbroken to the surface. They were less than a hundred feet down.

When Rainbow poked her head in to announce Twilight and Fluttershy’s resurfacing, Pinkie froze mid-joke, and they looked at each other. “So, what do we do? AJ, it’s your Element they got, by the way.”

“Are they okay?” Rarity asked, not knowing what else to say.

“They look all right. Scared as hell, kind of like me.”

“Go to them,” Octavia said. “They know their situation better than we do. We can only wait.”

When Rainbow was gone, Applejack turned to Octavia. “Delegatin’ a job? You really are tryin’ to change, huh?”

“She flies. I do not.”

As soon as they hit the surface, Twilight removed the top half of the shield, leaving her and Fluttershy standing in a shallow bowl in a violent sea. Above, the ship leaned at an unnatural angle, its balloon hoisting the back end almost forty degrees up over the front, letting a deafening cataract of salt funnel and crash down the tapered deck to pour off in the stream that had nearly obliterated their shield some sixty feet below.

Rainbow swooped down to them and perched on the lip of Twilight’s shield. “So… yeah. You can see what we’re dealing with.”

“Can you carry me up?” Twilight asked. “That seems easiest.”

“Yeah, I got you.” Rainbow grabbed Twilight under the forelegs and dragged her upwards, Fluttershy just behind, and the shield faded away with a content sigh from Twilight.

“How are we going to stop this?” Fluttershy asked.

“I’ve been hoping Twilight can help us out,” Rainbow said. “Twi? Please tell me you have some idea on how to stop this.”

“Get me with the others,” Twilight said.

“I’m remembering our little, er, adventure in Cloudsdale,” Rarity said. “They had a similar problem. Too much snow.”

“How could I forget?” Octavia said.

“So my guess is it’s just a summoning spell that he cast on the Element. I guess there has to be a proximity spell involved too. If we could break either of those, we might be okay.”

“Girls, are you okay?” Fluttershy asked, flying down the tilted stairs. “Oh my Celestia, I’m never going underwater again!”

“We’re hangin’ in there,” Big Mac said, hugging her.

“Out of the way,” Twilight said, struggling out of Rainbow’s grasp. “I have to research.”

“Twi, wait,” Applejack said.

“What?” Twilight snapped. “Applejack, I have to break this stupid spell before the ship falls apart!” She marched up the hall to her room, throwing the door open with a powerful spell.

“No, listen to me! You don’t have to break it right now.”

“Really? ‘Cause I think that would be preferable to traveling under this nightmare over our heads.”

“How far out can you keep your telekinesis active?”

“What?”

“Answer me, sugarcube.”

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking!” Pinkie cried. “Twilight, just throw it away!”

“Pinkie, seriously,” Twilight said, bringing a hoof to her face. “That is the dumbest—”

“Keep it on a string of telekinesis, and throw it out behind us,” Applejack said firmly. “We’ll still hold on to it, but it’ll be too far away fer more’n two or three pillars to come at a time.”

Twilight looked at her, incensed, and then softened with a sigh. “That… could work.” She moved along the stairs, lifting the Element off Fluttershy’s neck, and, without waiting for further signal, sent it flying away with a sharp snap of magic and a flash.

The salt stopped falling.

Fast Wilt

Chapter Fifty-three

Fast Wilt

The Element of Honesty hung on a sparkling, purple tether of magic some hundred and fifty feet behind the airship, and the salt prisms had slowed to a livable pace. In just a couple stunned minutes, they had reoriented the ship and cleared the remaining salt off, a task made much easier with Twilight’s enhanced telekinesis. One after-effect from its bestowal, she discovered, was its utter separation from her natural magic; even tired out from a deep sea dive, her augmented magic was as fresh as if she had just woken up.

When they were level and clear of debris, they set to finding a way to solve the problem of the destroyed wheel, while Twilight went below to research a way to break the spell on the Element. While she could hold it for several hours still with a weak levitation spell, she would have no choice but to bring it back before falling asleep, else lose it a second time.

While Applejack and Fluttershy inspected the broken wheel mount, Rainbow sat under the returned torch and read Trixie’s letter. It had come in response to Rainbow’s only shortly before their battle with Thunderhead, and the relaxed tone of her letter made Rainbow smile faintly as she read.

“How’s she doin’?” Big Mac asked.

“Good. Manehattan’s starting to look weird, but she’s doing all right.”

“That’s good. Ah liked her.”

Rainbow looked askance at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Meanin’ Ah thought she was nice.”

“Oh. I thought you had a thing for her or something.”

“Nope. Unicorns were never my type.”

“Big bro, you think you can come over here an’ stomp a hole in the deck fer me?” Applejack asked. “Ah can’t figure out how this dang thing works.”

Big Mac sauntered over to Applejack and Fluttershy, and Rainbow went below to stow her letter with the others. The cabin had been restored to its former orderliness, and Twilight sat on the bed, reading from a pair of books.

“How was it down there?” Rainbow asked, sitting next to her.

“I’m studying, Dash.”

“It’s just a lousy summoning spell, though. Why do you need to study it at all?”

“It’s not that simple. Discord uses chaos magic, which makes it a chaotic enchantment. All the cards are off the table when you’re dealing with that kind of magic, even for a low-level spell.”

“Why?”

Twilight sighed and tore her eyes from her book. “Because chaos magic doesn’t fade away when it’s broken. It goes all over the place, and if I do it wrong, it’ll screw with everything else. If I don’t break this spell absolutely correctly, I could summon a blanket of salt half a mile across.”

“Geez, okay.” She hopped off the bed. “Is it possible that nothing would happen?”

“Well… yeah, it is, but safety comes first.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What I do not understand is why he told me to look up the Deep Freeze at all,” Octavia said. She and Pinkie sat in the back, watching Applejack and Big Mac dig at a hole where the wheel had once been. The entire deck was tarnished with holes, none larger than a bit.

“Maybe he just likes to share!” Pinkie said.

“I do not get that impression. He does not seem like the type of pony to give information for no reason.”

“But what’s so special about the Deep Freeze?”

“I have no idea.” She watched Applejack stuff her head into the hole in the deck, tail switching. “Perhaps it is not the ship, but its captain.”

“I wish she was still alive. She sounded super-duper nice!”

“I would like to meet her as well. I have never encountered a siren.”

“Do you think we will?”

“Unless we go to the surface, I do not think so. Even then, it would be doubtful.”

“But the surface is all ocean now, right?”

“Yes, but the sirens within have been swept to a climate that is much cooler than they are used to. I do not know how resilient they are, but I would be surprised if many have survived in the lower latitudes.”

“What about the arctic ones though? They can handle it.”

“They are different.”

Pinkie hummed assent. “Soooo, no sirens?” she asked at last.

“Likely not.”

“I guess it’s just as well. I don’t like the cold anyway.”

Octavia leaned to get a better angle as Fluttershy took Applejack’s place, and a pink glow emanated from the hole in the deck. “I am surprised that Applejack does not know what she is doing.”

“She’s not a mechanic, sis.”

“But she is our pilot. I would think she would want to learn about the ship as much as possible.”

“Hey, Ah ain’t a mechanic, okay?” Applejack said from where she stood.

“See?” Pinkie said.

“Hm.” Octavia looked up. At some point in the madness, the rain had stopped, but was starting again with an ominous crackle of thunder from near the far end of the ocean. “I do not care for the cold either.”

An hour later, they were heading back toward the shore. With help from Fluttershy’s magic, Big Mac was able to wedge a dislodged deck board into the pit of wheel mechanics. The mechanism was jerky and slow to respond, but it was enough to turn them around and keep the wind from pushing them off course. The gangplank had to be retracted, and Fluttershy set to examining its injured hinges, to no effect.

The storm was buffeting them from all sides when they passed over the jagged shoreline, and Twilight directed Applejack to land them by the farthest pier. She was ready to break the spell, but they needed something to hide under in the torrent of salt that would come before she could free the Element from Discord’s chaos.

They debarked, with some help from Rainbow and Fluttershy, and crowded under a sagging, wooden pier by an encrusted, leaning shack. A lavender pony watched from a grimy window as Twilight activated her horn and reeled the Element in. At twenty feet, the salt was filling up the space around them, and her friends had to rush to push it out onto the rocks. At ten feet, it was pouring in from everywhere, but as soon as she had it under her studious gaze, the origin point switched, and they were inundated. Ready for the sound and heart-stopping rattle of battered boards above, they were nonetheless brought into a frozen huddle as Twilight worked on the glittering, orange jewel.

It only took her a minute. The tumult ended with an exhausted tinkle of blocks down the slopes they had formed around the pier, and they escaped with a simple shove of gray magic. Back aboard the ship, Twilight lowered the Element of Honesty onto Applejack’s neck, and Fluttershy dug her own out of her bag. Two of six, they stood together at the strange, vertical steering board while the others exchanged congratulations and expressions of relief, cut short quickly with an avalanche of thunder and a deluge that turned the balloon into a kettle drum.

When they landed at a port for repairs after a two-hour fight with the weather, the sun was going down, and no one bothered to stay out on the deck while workers serviced the ship. The eight of them gathered in a cabin to play cards and listen to the rain.

“So where do we go next?” Rarity asked.

“I’m going to write to Princess Celestia tonight and ask for advice,” Twilight said. “Hoofington is the closest town, though, and we haven’t gone there yet.” She set her cards down with a scowl.

“Didn’t you say you were from there, Octavia?” Applejack asked.

“That is where I did most of my growing up, and where I learned music,” Octavia said.

“You’ll probably be pretty happy to visit home, then,” Twilight said.

“My happiness is irrelevant to this.”

“Octavia, don’t start with that crap again,” Rainbow said. “If you wanna go home next, just say so.”

“What’s it like there?” Rarity asked quickly. “Is it warm?”

“It is warm,” Octavia said. “We get rain from time to time, but the town is mostly warm and dry.”

“What else?”

“You will like it, Twilight. There are many studious ponies there, and the Hoof—”

Twilight gasped. “The Hoofington Art Museum! I’d completely forgotten!”

“Settle, sugarcube,” Applejack said, raising a hoof.

“It’s just a museum,” Rainbow said.

“It is the most comprehensive collection of Equestrian visual art in the country,” Octavia said. “It also has a stunning Lepidoptera exhibit.”

“Lepi—”

“Butterflies,” Fluttershy said.

“Kind of a weird combination,” Big Mac said.

“The curator is a lepidopterist of some repute,” Octavia said. “His name is Lumb.”

“I’ve seen that name before,” Fluttershy said. “I don’t remember where, though.”

“He has a chair on the Equestrian Wildlife Preservation Society.”

“That’s it. I get pamphlets from them sometimes. His signature is always really huge.”

“How do you know all this about him?” Rainbow asked. “Are you friends or something?”

“Yes, actually. He has professed great interest in my house, and, particularly, my library. Celestia knows why,” Octavia said.

“I’d love to meet him,” Twilight said. “And I’d love to see your house. It must be pretty big to have a library.”

Octavia paused. “We should avoid my house. It is infested with termites.”

“Twilight, I propose we stay in a hotel,” Rarity said.

“Afraid of some measly bugs, Rarity?” Rainbow asked.

“Gee, Dash, what do you think?”

“No, Octavia’s right. If her house has termites, we can’t go occupyin’ it,” Applejack said. “Might cause careless damage.”

“Exactly,” Octavia said, standing and putting her cards down. “I know that I am opening myself to jokes here, but I believe I will turn in for the night.”

“Just go,” Twilight said. “Get some rest. We all need it, especially you.”

Equestria’s coastline was behind them by eight in the morning. The workers had repaired their wheel and gangplank, and Applejack refilled their water stores before taking off and heading south.

Twilight had written Celestia the night before, just before bed, and her response directed them toward the Everfree Forest. Luna, passing over the swamps to their southeast, had stumbled across another Element, but had not the ability at that time to go searching for it. Celestia didn’t specify what held her up, but Twilight knew it was likely related to her most recent death.

Rainbow emerged from her cabin last, a curious look on her face. Before anyone could ask, she lifted her wing to let something drop.

“Another one?” Twilight asked, floating the salt block over. “I could have sworn I’d broken the spell.”

“Read it,” Rainbow said.

Twilight squinted at the engraving on the side. “Open me up, Dashie. That’s ominous.”

“Yer not gonna say yer considerin’ it, are ya?” Applejack asked.

“It could be important,” Rainbow said in a small voice.

“It’s just a stupid parting shot,” Twilight said, preparing to swing it over the rail.

“Wait! Uh… at least let me get rid of it myself, okay?”

“Fine.” Twilight floated it back to her. “Go ahead.”

Rainbow walked it to the gunwale and looked down at the waxing field below. “Eh, I’ll get to it.”

“Rainbow,” Applejack said.

“We get hints from his taunts sometimes, okay?”

“If you do smash it, do it over a bowl!” Pinkie said, springing over from where she stood with Rarity. “Since somepony swept all the old stuff off the ship.”

“Yeah, right,” Rainbow said. “More salt, just what we need.”

* * * * * *

Colgate had been a Datura for three days, and it was an unwelcome shock to Spike when she covered, in an hour, the history, tenets, and practices that had taken him, Flitter, and Cloudchaser several days. From there, under Foxglove’s guidance, he continued to stretch and condition his body while his friend shot ahead. While he would hold a deep crouch for leg-destroying ten minute intervals, Colgate and Foxglove sparred in the grass. His friend always staggered away in obvious pain, often bruised, sometimes bloody.

Foxglove had all appearances of an ordinary earth pony, in her color, her gait, and her voice, so seeing her pulverize and instruct Colgate at the same time was not something Spike processed easily. He had asked her on the second day why she was comfortable leaving such evidence of their encounters on Colgate’s body; the two of them had discussed it previously, she had told him, and left it at that.

When they broke for lunch, Foxglove produced a picnic basket from a hidden bundle of blankets in a tuft of grass, and they stayed in the meadow.

“Today’s a big day for you,” she said. Her voice was quiet and measured, a reflection of the gentle deliberation with which she moved and behaved outside of training; Spike had not once heard her raise it. “Zecora has been keeping an eye on the surrounding wilderness outside Ponyville, specifically the southern areas. There have been minor reports of strangeness out there, and while much of it is in line with what she and her team typically deals with from the Everfree, some pieces of news have gotten my attention.”

“Like what?” Colgate asked. Her face was undamaged, but Spike could see a nasty reddish crescent on her chest where Foxglove had connected a powerful blow.

“Someone released a swarm of things called bush balls out in the forest a couple days ago, and one of them she saw malingering a little close to civilization. Now.” She leaned forward and widened her eyes, something Spike saw her do often to convey that she was finally getting to the point. “Normal procedure would be for Zecora’s team to round up the balls, bring them out somewhere far away where nopony will see and fire won’t spread, and exterminate them quietly. But you’ve been doing pretty good, and I thought it would be nice for you to see some action.”

“Are we gonna fight it?” Spike asked. The thought didn’t sit well in his mind.

“No, but you get to watch Zecora and her ponies dispatch it.”

“What exactly is a ‘bush ball’?” Colgate asked.

“Imagine a big, floating ball of branches and underbrush, with retractable hooks for scraping food off the forest floor. That’s essentially a bush ball.”

“And there’s an entire swarm of these things in the forest?” Spike asked.

“They move slow, and are generally non-aggressive. Think of them as giant bumblebees.”

“Generally non-aggressive,” Colgate said.

“They’ll fight back if you attack them, like any other animal. You shouldn’t have to worry, though. They’re pretty common in the Everfree; Zecora’s team takes care of them all the time.”

“What do you want us to do to be ready?” Colgate asked.

“Just come by the field around… let’s say ten-thirty. That’ll give us enough time to actually find the thing. No need to bring anything with you.”

Spike looked to Colgate, whose face revealed nothing. “Sounds fun.”

He and Flitter shared a bowl of popcorn on the couch in the library living room. He had rigged up Twilight’s old projector and some film reels he had gotten at the Ponyville media trading post, much revitalized since the town’s brush with Manehattan film.

“Got any movies of Rarity?” Flitter had asked, playfully nudging him. He still wore a blush as they got ready for the first movie.

The first thing he had done after his training was race to the spa, and, in the steam room, tell Flitter why he had been spending so much time with Colgate, and then of his adventure later that night.

She had apologized on the spot, tearfully admitting to jealousy she knew was unfounded. Even at the beginning, a part of her had known that there was no way Spike was falling for Colgate, but she had allowed emotion to overtake her anyway. They hugged and kissed, and she apologized a second time before they left for the library.

Only half an hour later, she lay across the couch with Spike wrapped in her wings, settled comfortably against her chest.

“Say, Flitter? Do you know where precogs come from?”

“Naturally occurring mutations in the brain that let ponies tap into ambient magic and follow causality to different points. Why?”

“Colgate and I were wondering about them. She said Bonbon’s a precog. A really weak one.”

“Oh. Huh, I’d have never pegged her for one.”

“Like I said, she’s weak. Colgate said she probably doesn’t even know it.” He squirmed in her embrace. “So you just knew that off the top of your head?”

“For my minor, I took a class on anomalous intellects in law.”

“Oh, right.” A double major, with a minor in law for fun: he had forgotten entirely.

“It’s actually really interesting. Did you know that one of the landmark laws on agriculture business was founded entirely on the testimony of a precog? We got to read some transcripts from the hearings. They got heated. You wouldn’t believe how complicated the law gets when you start adding precogs into the mix. Heck, postcogs even.”

“Wow.”

She chuckled, bouncing him slightly. “Here’s something more relevant. Did you know that Applejack’s testimony is legally admissible in every court in the country?”

He looked up at her. “No way.”

“Element of Honesty,” Flitter said. “Not even the princesses have that power.” They both jumped as the door knocked, and Spike allowed himself to slide out of her warm grasp. Outside the library stood Allie Way, flanked by Berry Punch and Derpy. Noteworthy stood behind them all, looking on bitterly.

“Uhhh… I’m busy.”

“Is that Flitter in there?” Derpy asked.

“We need your help, Spike,” Allie said.

“What is he doing with you?” Spike asked.

“It’s about Colgate,” Noteworthy said. “We need to talk.”

“Spike?” Flitter asked from within. He sighed and closed his eyes. On the cusp of his first pleasant night alone with Flitter in a long time, he was suddenly faced with the prospect of dealing with Noteworthy and Colgate instead. He wanted to slam the door in their faces. He wanted to back away, shut the four ponies out, and return to the calm and warmth of having his back scales massaged by Flitter’s downy fur. Instead, he sighed again and faced them. “How long is this gonna take?”

“Could take a while,” Derpy said apologetically. “Colgate’s situation is… super complicated.”

“Let them figure it out themselves,” he thought. “Colgate’s craziness can wait.” Something in Derpy’s eyes, though, said otherwise. She stood at attention, misaligned eyes serious and worried, and her side very close to brushing Berry’s.

Against his better judgment, he turned back inside to tell Flitter, but she was already behind. “Do you need me too?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” Allie said. “You managed to avoid her for the most part.”

“Well, okay.” She looked down at Spike, then kissed him. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Colgate stood before her bathroom mirror. Four ponies and a dragon were approaching her house; she had seen their silhouettes by Allie’s weak illumination spell. The pony in the reflection looked back at her and forced a crushed, bleeding grin. Stained teeth stuck out of torn gums and black lips, a gory crown to a sticky bib of blood she wore on her chest.

She went to the kitchen and put on a pot of water, setting out, as she did so, a tea bag and a spoon. She didn’t bother to let her visitors knock. Admitting the five of them into her house, she went immediately to the chair and set her book aside, which she had been reading before seeing the strange glow in the distance, and rushing to the bathroom to prepare their surprise.

“All right, Colgate. What in Tartarus is going on?” Derpy asked.

She simply looked at them, noting with no satisfaction their faces at her own destroyed mouth. “I see Noteworthy managed to—”

“Stop,” Allie said. “Don’t even try.”

“We all talked,” Berry said quietly. “We exchanged the stories you told.”

“We know it was you,” Noteworthy said. “All along, you.”

Colgate scoffed, but her head was suddenly buzzing. “Seriously? That’s your conclusion? You can’t possibly believe this, can you?” she looked from Derpy, to Spike, to Berry.

“You told me, Noteworthy, and Derpy that it was Allie,” Berry said. “You told her and Spike that it was him.” Her voice faltered. “Please, Minuette, tell me what I’m missing.”

“You played us against each other,” Noteworthy said. “And we know it.”

“Who’s really responsible for your injuries?” Allie asked.

“Fine. I am.” Colgate stood up to get the whistling teapot, returning with a mug of tea and setting it down.

No one spoke at first. Spike watched, stunned, behind Derpy, who looked on with a slackened jaw.

“That’s what I suspected,” Noteworthy said. “I thought your medication removed those impulses.”

“Why would it?”

“What? Isn’t that what—no, never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“Psychopath,” Berry whispered.

“Pardon me?” Colgate asked.

“You’re a psychopath,” Berry repeated. “I mean… I know what… look at this, Colgate! Look at what you did!”

“What I did?”

“Yes, what you did,” Allie said. “This whole screwed up situation. Why did you do it? How could you do it?”

“Did you tell the truth to anyone?” Spike asked.

“What is wrong with you?” Berry hissed.

Colgate sipped her tea, still too hot, trying to think against the sudden torrent of indignant reactions spinning through her drugged mind. She set the mug down gingerly, but her voice was a tense grunt. “I think I see what’s going on here.”

“Then please, tell me!”

“Yeah, I see it, plain as day.” Behind the veil of medication, anger stirred, but became no more than a hot germ. “I try to protect myself, and you all get upset with me for not consulting you first. That’s what this is.”

“What?”

“You can’t be serious,” Derpy said.

“I thought you were my friends,” Colgate said, lowering her head aggressively—a habit from her youth. “So, naturally, I had assumed that if I was ever in trouble, you’d jump at the chance to help me out. That was my mistake, assuming.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Allie asked.

“Don’t pull that on me, Allie.”

“No, really, tell me. I’m…” Her voice softened, and a single tear blinked down a crease of her face. “I’m really confused.”

“She needed an indirect way to get me off her back,” Noteworthy said. “So she orchestrated this, knowing I’d be the first one to be blamed. Then she told me it was Allie, so I’d never wise up.”

“I thought I’d save us all the time and let you help me without your knowledge. I thought that would be okay,” Colgate said.

“You manipulated us,” Derpy said. Unconsciously, she put a wing over Berry, who could only stare.

“I did your jobs for you,” Colgate said matter-of-factly. “I know you pretty well. You’re not actresses. You’d have never flourished if you knew the nature of my deception, and that’s fine. I never expected you to. I created this whole situation, all to make it easier for you to do for me what you would do anyway.” She stood, and the whole crowd leaned back. “But no. Being in the dark is unacceptable, so you conspired behind my back, each and every one of you. That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it, Spike?”

Spike jumped “Huh? Uh, I, uh—”

“How long were in cahoots with these snakes?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. I see you all for what you are.”

“Min, please!” Berry cried. “Don’t do this!”

“Traitors and control freaks,” Colgate said. “That’s it. That’s all you are. Same as everyone else in this town.” Her voice shook. “Same as everyone else!” She stomped her hoof once, and then moved to sit back down. Already, the anger was fading. She knew she had been wronged, but, by the time she reached the chair, her sanguine rictus was an act. “I’m most surprised at you, Berry. You say I’m the psychopath, as you throw away the longest friendship you’ve ever had. What do you have to gain from this?”

Berry took an involuntary step back. “Wait, what? I’m not betraying you, Colgate. I just want some answers.”

“Don’t even try,” Colgate said. “You’re all liars and turncoats, pretending to be my friends just as long as it suits you. Well that’s just fine.” She grabbed the door in her magic, opening it. “I’d like you all to leave now.”

“We’re not leaving until we get a straight answer,” Allie said. “Why did you manipulate us?”

“Dispense with the empty rhetoric, Allie. I didn’t manipulate anything.”

“You lied to all of us!” Derpy cried. “How can you defend that?”

“I helped you,” Colgate said. “I helped you help me, just not the way you would have liked it.” She paused, a sudden idea hitting her. “Maybe you were just uncomfortable taking the central role, Allie.”

They only stared at her.

“I’m sorry if you were. I should have gotten a clearer idea of how you’d do in that kind of situation before thrusting you into it.”

“You shouldn’t have done any of this,” Noteworthy said. “You framed me, and betrayed her. You injured yourself. How long is it going to take for your mouth to heal, Min?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Colgate said. “How many times do I have to say it? I didn’t frame anyone.” She sipped her tea. It was cool enough to drink. “You all were doing fine on your own, but you just weren’t content with letting me run the show.”

“If we didn’t know we were being manipulated, how could we know you were running things?” Berry asked. Her voice was a hot accusation that made Colgate raise her eyebrow.

“If you’re going to get angry, then I’m not going to talk. I don’t see why we can’t discuss this like adults.”

“Damn it, Colgate, don’t you see what you’re doing?” Derpy asked. “You’re the one throwing away friendship, not us! Can’t you see that?”

Colgate forced an arrogant smile. “I’m a doctor, remember. I’ve read all about ponies like you. I’ve met ponies like you before. You delight in ensnaring innocent ponies in webs of lies, and ruining lives just for the sake of seeing if you can. I’m not going to let you do that to me. So, again, get out of my house.”

“You’re insane,” Derpy said. “I don’t know how, but you’ve got this whole thing flipped around in your head.”

“Lies,” Colgate said, shaking her head. “I have to admit, you had me going for a while, Derpy. Playing the innocent simpleton really worked well for you.”

“Shut up!” Berry yelled. “Please, just shut up! Stop talking! You… you… you’re making me sick!”

“I thought we were friends,” Allie said, shrugging. “I really did think that, Colgate.”

“It was an admirable attempt,” Colgate said, taking another drink. “Now please, leave. Before one of you gets upset and hurts me even more.”

“You need to see a doctor,” Noteworthy said evenly.

“I’ll take care of myself.” She watched them steadily move to the door, filtering out one by one, until only Berry remained, looking at her with tears in her eyes.

“Were we ever friends?” Berry asked. “Or was our time together just you waiting for… this?”

“I would not have anticipated a betrayal like this, Berry,” Colgate said. “You know that.” She shut the door, went to her seat, and opened up her book.

Spike almost didn’t meet Colgate and Foxglove. After her house, the five of them stopped at the park to talk. Berry wept, despite the outpouring of warmth from Derpy, and Allie simply stared morosely at nothing. Noteworthy explained everything to Spike, starting with his threats to keep Colgate from interfering with the Datura. After they separated, he returned to Flitter, to whom he promised he would explain everything after his bush ball sighting. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t quite over, he said.

He met the two mares at the practice field, Foxglove with a pair of undecorated saddlebags, and Colgate with a crusted over mouth. He put his back to her as they walked away from town.

“Bush balls are common fare for Daturas,” Foxglove said. “They come from Tartarus, but are relatively benign, as long as you know to keep your distance. Like I said, they move pretty slow.”

“And what exactly are they?” Spike asked.

“I’m not entirely sure.” Her voice was faintly apologetic. “They take in energy and eliminate waste like animals, but their actual construction is much more mechanical in nature.”

“How do we get rid of them?” Colgate asked.

“We don’t do anything. We watch Zecora’s team handle the single bush ball that came out this far from its swarm. This is just so you can get an idea of what it’s like to deal with actual threats. Not that a bush ball is too big a threat, but… anyway, you get it.”

“When will we start actually doing stuff?” Spike asked.

“Soon, possibly. I said bush balls come from Tartarus. If there’s a swarm out in the forest, then there could be a gateway nearby as well. Once this is all taken care of, Zecora’s going to do a sweep of the surrounding area. If she finds a gateway, she’ll want us to help her close it off.”

“Oh.” His footsteps suddenly felt very far away. “Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“That’s why I’m accelerating your training, Spike,” Foxglove said patiently. “Along with a couple other things.”

They walked to a ruffled line of shrubbery on the forest’s edge and followed it past the view of their training field. A long ridge of short stones emerged from the darkness, and Spike saw a bobbing equine head moving behind them.

“Zecora,” Foxglove said. “Right on time.”

They met the zebra at a rough archway, a pinched, aggressive face cut into the stone just beside her emerging, striped one. She nodded to them and looked back at a growing glow behind the wall. Spike stepped away from Colgate to see a second zebra emerge, momentarily blinding him. From her mane, hanging on decorated braids, miniature spheres of light jiggled and bobbed. Behind her, three more appeared: a male in a rough wooden mask, and two more females, one with a triangular canvass of twigs and folded membrane lashed to her back, the other a walking mural of spiraling fur designs. The pungent smell of vinegar wafted from the team, and a sweeter tinge of spices he could not identify.

Zecora introduced them, each with a foreign moniker, and listed their roles on her team, ending on the burdened female, who, with a quick snap of her neck and a pull of an unseen ripcord, unfurled two crinkling wings with enough force to make Spike stumble back.

“Bird Daturas,” Foxglove said. “Non-pegasi with artificial wings. They can’t fly, exactly, but they can jump and push things around really well.”

“I didn’t know about these,” Colgate said.

“They tend to avoid the big city. Too much stuff to run into. Plus, look at those wings.” The zebra held her wings out for them to admire. “Ten feet from tip to tip. Can you imagine trying to get a solid takeoff in the middle of the street with those things?”

“They look like they’re made out of branches,” she said. Spike only looked at her as she spoke. Her voice showed no evidence of the encounter only shortly before.

“Magical engineering,” Zecora simply said. “Foxglove already told you what we’re doing?”

“We’re ready,” Spike said. “Let’s see this monster.”

“That’s the attitude I like.” She nodded to the winged zebra, and her rickety looking construction folded in on itself with a soft creak. They assembled on the other side of the wall behind the zebra with lights in her mane, and followed her along it, across a shallow ravine, and into a patch of forest. The trees were thin and short, and they tread a loose hoofpath past a small stream and to another clearing. A silo watched from far away, with smaller buildings at its base.

“What is this?” Spike asked.

“Cloudsdale Farms,” Foxglove said. “Cloudsdale grows some of its own food, but not all. This is where the rest of it comes from.”

“And the bush ball’s out here?”

“Past here, on the other side,” Zecora said. “Skemer, douse the lights.”

Their little globe of illumination faded with a twitch of the zebra’s ear, and they were suddenly bathed in a pale wash of starlight. They walked single-file along a low wire fence, a thread of shadows crossing before the distant, dark silo. It circled behind them steadily until they were standing in a wide meadow, surrounded by a soft, wooded crescent.

“Two o’ clock,” the masked zebra mumbled.

“Spike, Colgate, go with Skemer to the bush ball. You should see it,” Zecora said. She looked at Foxglove. “If that’s okay?”

“Please. Go check it out,” Foxglove said.

The zebra with the lights glanced back at them before trotting across the meadow, and Spike followed behind Colgate. It was dark, and he couldn’t see her face, but nothing in her bearing had suggested any discomfort. His head still rang with her simple admission of guilt. “Who’s really responsible for your injuries?” “I am.”

“How long have you girls had Bird Daturas?” Colgate asked quietly.

“The technology was only perfected around a decade ago,” the zebra, Skemer, said. “We had the magic, but the wings kept falling apart every time someone tried to use them.”

“Falling ponies.”

Spike shivered at the light tone in her voice as she said it.

“Zecora said you were both new.”

“I have a couple years in Manehattan, a long time ago,” Colgate said.

“I’m new,” Spike said.

Skemer grunted and stopped her advance. “See it? That floating circle up by the treetops.”

Spike squinted against the darkness. The bush ball was exactly what Skemer had said: a floating, circular shadow ornamenting the trees’ black branches, motionless and threatening in its quiet incongruity.

“Can we go closer?” Colgate asked.

“Sure.” Skemer dipped her head slightly, and a pair of globes nestled in her mane came to life. “I’ll put a spotlight on it when we’re close enough.”

They walked a minute more, stopping at a small gully of roots and underbrush. Nodding and tilting her head, the zebra activated a mild beam from the crown of her head, and let it show the bush ball more clearly. What they saw was less than they had expected. No features or strange colors set the floating sphere of branches apart from the rest of its surroundings, no moving parts intimidated them. From within its mass, they could hear a gentle clicking, easily lost when a breeze ruffled the leaves and grass around them.

Its form was a simple sphere, around six feet in diameter, and rough with protruding twigs. Spike could see no variations in the surface, no holes, and the ball did not immediately respond to Skemer’s light.

“How do you know it’s dangerous?” Spike asked. “It’s not even moving.”

“Look again,” Colgate said, and he threw her a small frown before looking up at the bush ball. Its bristling, intricate shell was a moving mural of shadow, and he realized after a second that it was rotating. In the dark, though, and at the angle from which he viewed it, he couldn’t tell whether it was coming closer.

“Let’s get back,” Skemer said, killing her lights again. “They’re not dangerous if you know how to pay attention to your surroundings.” She trotted a rift through the grass. “Better safe than sorry.”

The quiet clicking disappeared behind as they moved to rejoin Zecora’s team, which met them halfway across the field. The marked zebra carried a square bottle in her teeth, the masked one trailing behind, mumbling quietly in her ear.

“So what are you gonna do?” Spike asked.

“That’s an incendiary potion,” the bird zebra said. “She can throw it from the ground, but Zecora wants me to show off my wings.”

“You’re gonna incinerate that harmless bundle of branches?”

“Over the forest?” Colgate asked.

“My job is to lure it out,” the masked zebra said.

They reached the bush ball after a couple more silent minutes, and the masked zebra trotted to the bush ball, stomping his hooves and hooting quietly. It wasn’t long before the bush ball was drifting away from the trees and out into the open, and he jogged back. The potion was passed to the bird zebra, who motioned for them all to back off. When she had sufficient clearance, she tugged her cord again, and the rattling contraption sprung out around her like a trap, wooden frames swinging around with enough force to bend the grass back momentarily.

With light steps, she first circled the floating collection of tinder. After a full orbit, she jumped up and flapped her wings with a whip crack sound. Spike gasped involuntarily as she rose twenty feet off the ground, arced over the bush ball, and flung the potion down into its loose body. She flapped a second time, arresting her descent a few feet off the ground and allowing her to land softly, her wooden wings splayed to the sides for a second before contracting back in. In his stupefaction at her sudden, graceful jump, he only realized what was going on when the glow of fire pulsed visibly above.

The clicking had stopped, and tendrils of smoke uncoiled from its body. He looked at Colgate again, and saw the first tongues of flame reflected in her bruised eyes. Dark shards of dried blood wreathed her mouth like rotting teeth, and he shivered again.

A hiss of escaping steam was the only sound the ball made as it slowly turned, drifted, and was engulfed. The floating bonfire threw fearsome tree shadows all around, and forced him to shield his eyes. Under the cup of his hand, he could see the lifeless buildings of Cloudsdale Farms, miles away.

“What if someone sees?” Colgate asked.

“We have someone else out there,” the masked zebra said. “The mask is enchanted for her and I to communicate. If there’s someone awake to see this, I’ll know.”

“Why have I not heard of any of this?”

“Zebra Daturas are different from pony Daturas,” Foxglove said. “Their magic is more shamanistic than ours.”

Zecora trotted after the bush ball. Cinders and coal rained down into the field loudly until all that remained was a small, glowing core, which hit the grass with a weighty thump. With a quiet pop of an uncorked bottle, the air was suddenly filled with a cascade of water, and then the aggressive sound of miniature fires and coals suddenly going damp.

“Pressure potion,” Foxglove said. “Materials enchanted to be packed into tight containers. Water is the most popular, used for—you guessed it—putting out fires. Your friends have a similar enchantment going on with the fuel in their airship torch.”

“Wouldn’t that be heavy?” Colgate asked.

“That’s why we enchant the material, not the container.”

“You have everything figured out, don’t you?” Spike said.

Foxglove smiled. “It’s just a bush ball. Cloak Pond was more advanced than this dumb thing.”

“You know about Cloak Pond?”

“As your team leader, it’s my duty to know your histories, both in the Datura and out.”

“What’s Cloak Pond?” Colgate asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Spike said, and stopped. The phrase had come out automatically. “Uh…”

“We’ll talk later, don’t worry.”

Zecora’s team parted from Foxglove’s at the wall by the field, not before her Bird Datura took off once more for Spike’s pleasure. Foxglove sent them home with a simple “see you tomorrow,” and Spike and Colgate went back to the library. She only had to wait a minute outside; Flitter was asleep, and Spike was able to follow her to the hospital immediately.

“I thought you were kicked out,” he said as they entered her office.

“Suspended,” Colgate said. “Foxglove saw to my work schedule so I can be in the Datura. I don’t know what she did, but Nurse Redheart said I’d be welcome for whatever hours I could get, after this suspension runs out.”

“Nice.”

She regarded him, grabbed a piece of paper, then set it aside. “I don’t blame you, Spike. I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier tonight. I was upset.”

“Upset that we discovered your grand deception, you mean.”

She sighed. “Spike, do you know what a psychopath is?”

“Uh, yeah. A crazy pony.”

“More than crazy, Spike. A psychopath is the most dangerous kind of pony you will ever meet. They are totally without remorse or empathy.”

“Like you.”

“Like what Allie wants you to think I am, yes, exactly. Listen. A normal pony feels feelings about her fellow equine. She sees somepony in trouble, and feels bad for them. You felt bad for me, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Exactly. A pony like Allie, she didn’t. She couldn’t. That little switch in her brain that makes her understand how others feel, it’s permanently turned off.”

“So what does this have to do with you, or me, for that matter?”

“Everything, Spike. You, like me, are betrayed.”

“Uh huh.” He looked back at the door as it knocked.

“Enter.”

Through the doorway, Allie Way walked with an air of affected calm. “I thought I might find you here,” she said.

“So did I.”

“Then you expected reprisal.”

“From you, yes. You get hot-headed, and I wounded your pride tonight.” Colgate smiled, showing off stained teeth.

She took a minute in answering. “Why are you here, Spike?”

“He wanted to talk, so we were talking.”

“Spike, don’t listen to her,” Allie said. “Whatever she says, it’s just lies.”

“That’s quite the accusation, Allie. This is an innocent chat between friends, nothing more.”

“Spike, what did she tell you?”

“I told him to watch out for ponies like you,” Colgate said. “Ponies whose second nature is to lie and manipulate.”

“That’s an innocent chat?”

Colgate waved her hoof dismissively and grabbed a pen in her magic. She spun it idly before letting it rest, its tip pointing at Allie’s face. “Isn’t it interesting how everything she says manages to sound like an attack on my character, Spike?”

“Shut up! Stop poisoning him! Spike, come on, let’s just go.”

Spike was frozen, torn between the mares. Allie stood at the door, her temper suddenly simmering, while Colgate rested behind her desk, as cool as when she had turned them all out of her house hours ago.

“I want to ask a question first,” Colgate said. “Just one.”

“Everything you say is a lie,” Allie said. “Why should we listen?”

“That’s my question, actually. Why.” She looked at Spike. “Why, Spike? Why would I do this? What do I have to gain?”

He frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Let’s say Allie’s correct, that I’m behind this whole mess. Why would I keep lying? If she’s right, then my plan’s been unraveled. I’ve lost my friends, my self-respect, and my career—thanks for that, by the way. So why would I keep trying? Why not cut my losses?”

“Uh…”

“However, let’s say I’m right, and she’s the liar. What does she have to gain from this? More defamation of my character, Noteworthy’s appreciation, and saving face after I ruined her attempt to catch me off guard tonight.” She faced Allie. “More deception won’t crush the truth, Allie Way.”

“You’re insane,” Allie said, her lips peeling back in a disgusted snarl.

“Is that all you have to defend yourself?”

“I… uh…”

“Use your head, Spike. Look at us. I can explain everything. Why can’t she?”

“You’re… that is… Spike, please,” Allie said. She turned to shout at Colgate. “You’re so deep in your own web of lies, you don’t even know what you’re trying to do anymore!”

“Voices down. I don’t want any patients hearing you.”

“What about all those self-inflicted wounds?” Allie asked, quieter. “You said it yourself, you were behind them.”

“I said I was behind this.” She showed her smile, but dropped it an instant later, moving to lean over her desk. “You command a lot of ponies’ opinions right now. This… this ruined mouth… this is proof, Allie. Proof that you don’t control me. Proof that there’s nothing you can do to me that I can’t take.”

“I didn’t do anything to you, though!”

“Enough!” She cleared her throat. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You say I have no explanations, but the second I try to offer one, you say you don’t want to hear it.”

“Because you’re just begging the question,” Colgate said.

Allie stared at her. “This is ridiculous. I’m out of here.” She turned and slammed the door open, and was gone.

“Coward,” Colgate said. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Spike. Like I said, a complete psychopath. She doesn’t care if you’re in the middle of all this.”

He only looked at her, still rooted to the spot. Her words filled his head, but he couldn’t make sense of them. Someone was lying.

“Are you okay?”

He averted his eyes. His voice was soft, and he recoiled involuntarily as he spoke. “I think I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“She’s just going to pull you into her pit of lies, Spike.”

“I have to talk to her, though.” He heard her say “suit yourself” as he put her office behind him. There were no windows in the corridor immediately outside, but he could sense the lateness of the day. The hospital was still, and all the nurses, medical assistants, office workers, and physicians were either asleep at home or doing quiet busywork in their own areas. Colgate had once told him that she had worked the night shift at Ponyville Hospital for a couple years after arriving in town. The small hours, she said, were always the most stressful for her; she had learned to expect emergencies at that time from her work in Manehattan, and never gotten used to the peace everyone else looked forward to. “The silence always seemed to precipitate a disaster that never came,” she had said.

He passed empty exam rooms, empty gurneys, empty beds in empty bedrooms. He jogged by a dark window at a corner that would lead him to the ICU, where he had walked once or twice, very close beside her. He passed no one in the front lobby, save the receptionist, and saw Allie’s pale body through his own confused reflection in the glass doors.

His mind reeled. Someone was lying, and someone was not. Colgate had bludgeoned her own mouth, and perhaps done more. One of the mares, one of his friends, was trying to use him.

He made no sound as he approached Allie. Mind fixed on the blue unicorn in the back of the facility, he only raised a tentative claw to get Allie’s attention. He reached, stumbled, reached again, and heard an angry shout.

“Back off, Colgate!”

She kicked out, and then he woke up in a soft bed in an empty room. A nurse entered shortly after, and he was aware of a quiet beeping coming from an unseen source.

Allie had bucked him, thinking it was Colgate attempting further antagonism, around one o’ clock on a Tuesday morning. It was Thursday, around noon, when he woke up with a headache and a lot of questions, and only a nurse he had never met for the first hour.

Flitter and Cloudchaser visited him on their lunch break, and, after a tearful reunion that belied the short time Flitter had been without him, they caught him up on events. The whole town had been informed of Colgate’s incredible deception; Allie herself had told near a quarter of the ponies before going to bed that night.

The news spread, and no one, Flitter said, believed Colgate’s story. The surgeon spoke well, had explanations for everything, but could not fight the fact that Allie had gotten her version out first. Rumors spread and mutated, and, that morning, Cloudchaser had heard talk of a lawsuit from a customer.

“She said that Allie was behind it all, though,” Spike said.

“She’s a dirty liar,” Cloudchaser said. “A lying, manipulative psycho.”

“But—”

“Spike, there’s no way Allie could have done this,” Flitter said. “Trust me. I heard both stories, and Colgate’s explanations don’t hold any water. For one thing, they don’t actually account for where any of her wounds come from. Everything she says is just deflecting back onto Allie.”

“Plus, Allie’s just straight up more trustworthy,” Cloudchaser said. “She emotes.”

Spike thought back to Colgate, and her abnormal calm, even during the heat of the accusations. “So what’s gonna happen?”

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Flitter said. “The only pony who can possibly sue her is Noteworthy, but she only got in trouble because he was blackmailing her. He knows better than to poke that beehive.”

“Why can’t Allie sue her?” Cloudchaser asked.

“Colgate didn’t do anything illegal.”

“What?” Spike blurted. The blood that rushed to his cheeks made his vision squirm, and he collapsed back into his pillow.

“She didn’t do anything illegal to Allie. She came close to slandering her, but that’s it. The rest is just a lot of misrepresented self-mutilation.”

“No way,” Cloudchaser said. “So she’s gonna get off with nothing?”

“Her reputation has been obliterated, but, legally, there’s not much recourse. Allie can try to sue her for slander, I suppose, but there were no formal accusations made, no evidence. It would be like me trying to sue Noteworthy for saying my hooficures stink.”

“What about defamation of character?”

“There wasn’t any, though. Colgate never said anything about her publicly. In fact, it’s more likely that any lawsuit that we get is the other way around, Colgate suing Allie for dirtying her name.”

“No way,” Cloudchaser said. “But she’s too caught up in her own craziness to do that, right?”

“I think she probably is.”

“So she was using me the whole time,” Spike said.

“And Derpy, and Berry Punch,” Flitter said.

Cloudchaser shook her head. “I don’t understand how someone can do that. Like… it must have hurt beyond belief. We all saw her that one time she was in the splint.”

“She broke her own leg at one point, yeah. It’s scary.”

They shared the hospital silence that was not really silence for a minute, before Cloudchaser eventually spoke up. “I think she specifically requested to take care of you when you came in earlier.”

Spike frowned. “What?”

“She did,” Flitter said. “She wanted to oversee your recovery.”

“Uh… huh.” They all turned to the door as it opened, Spike shrinking under his blanket at the expectation of Colgate’s perfectly timed entrance. Instead, it was Golden Mercy, her medical assistant.

“Golden, didn’t Colgate specifically ask to take care of Spike?” Cloudchaser asked.

“Sure did.” Golden did not smile as she checked Spike’s vitals and machines. She tapped at an IV drip, and gently removed the needle he hadn’t even noticed sticking into his arm.

“What do you think of all that’s been going on?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She gave him a hollow smile and left, and it was only a couple minutes before the unicorn herself entered, wearing the same bloodstained scrubs that many ponies knew her for. Her mouth was cleaned up, and her limp was softer.

“I’d like to speak to my friend alone, please,” she said.

Flitter and Cloudchaser eyed her, but left, Flitter after a peck on the lips.

“They told me it was all you,” Spike said.

“Not surprising.” She pulled up a chair and sat down. Her mane was bedraggled, her coat un-brushed. He could see exhaustion in her slouch. She looked at him with dull eyes for a second before lowering her head. “Celestia, what a mess.”

“I’m not gonna believe you, you know.”

“I don’t expect that. All I want is for you to let me take care of you, and let me give you a prelude to what I’ll be doing later this afternoon.”

“Breaking your other leg?”

She sighed, and, in her voice, there was a catch. “Allie was right. Everything was a lie, every single thing. Every single damn thing was a stupid, stupid lie. I… Celestia, what a mess.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Noteworthy tried to blackmail me. That’s true. But… I don’t know, I guess I just lost my grip on things. I’ve been a surgeon for a long time now, and I always thought I had an ironclad psyche. Something about him, about the situation, about… everything, I just didn’t know what to do. One idea led to another…” She took a shaking breath, but did not look up at him. “And then I got scared, and I didn’t know what to do. I told Allie that more lies wouldn’t help, but I should have told myself.”

“Colgate, stop.” He adjusted himself in the bed to look at her. There pooled a sheen of tears on the tile below her muzzle, and his own thoughts stopped. “Look at me.”

She slowly turned her head up to him, her face wet.

“I… why, though?”

“I couldn’t think of anything else,” she whispered. “Anything more direct would just make him hurt me. Hurt me worse, I mean.” She smiled without humor. “I really don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Maybe see a psychiatrist?”

She sighed. “Do you think I need it?”

“Uh, yeah.” He recoiled at his own harshness. “I mean, yeah. There’s gotta be something wrong, if you can pull off something like… all that.”

“You may be right.” She stood shakily. “Did Golden Mercy already check on you?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Uh… when can I get out?”

“I’m not sure yet. I want to hold you for a while still, just in case.”

He nodded. “Hey, Colgate? What made you realize what you were doing?”

“Allie kicking you. It was… a shock, to see you like that. I guess it got me thinking.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. So… see you around.”

“Bye, doctor.”

Colgate stopped home fifteen minutes before her public apology and tugged a crimson thorn out of her frog, using a washrag to stifle the sudden outflow of blood. With careful magic, she slowly inserted it into a different hoof, deep until she could feel her own pulse like caustic jaws on her muscles. The pain was distant and indistinct, but she knew resting her weight on the hoof would eventually lead to tears.

Almost Three

Chapter Fifty-four

Almost Three

Picking up a southward current of powerful wind, and with their engines at full capacity to outrun the army they knew was drawing nearer to Canterlot, the airship swung down around Hoofington, across a vast, uninhabited prairie, and brought itself in sight of the swamps south of the Everfree Forest in the space of four days.

It was just after dinner, and most of them were in their cabins, playing cards. By Applejack’s reckoning, they would be able to land in the swamps on the following afternoon, and they would then have half of the Elements.

Rainbow and Fluttershy sat on the deck to watch the swamps’ slow approach, not talking, but enjoying the warmth under a magical dome of hot air. Since Vanilla’s visit, Rainbow had been experimenting with her magic, not enough in Twilight’s mind. She could heat and cool the air around her, and, with enough time, create condensation, but the magic’s simplicity had failed to inspire her excitement.

Beside her, Rainbow had left the salt pillar from the coast, its taunting message bold against the white, flat sides. Only an hour before, she had sent Trixie a letter detailing their flight across the lonesome Equestrian northeast.

“You know what? I’m doing it.” She took the block in her hooves and held it to the dying light.

Fluttershy watched without comment as she fumbled the pillar for a moment before striking it against the deck, snapping it in rough halves. As soon as she did, a cloud of white powder puffed up into her face, and she reeled away with a sneeze. Batting at the air, she shook her head, and Fluttershy stifled a laugh. “Was all that waiting and wondering just for sneezing powder, Rainbow Dash?”

“Stupid draconequus,” Rainbow said, hurling the two pieces off the ship without a thought. She sighed and sat back, suddenly colder. In the minor distraction, she had lost her spell, and they were again exposed to the summer night. “Oh well.”

“I don’t think we need your weather magic again.”

“That’s fine.” She looked around. “So what do you suppose it was all about?”

“It could have been a complete ruse. A mind game.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that too.” She studied the dark distance. “You can’t feel it from here yet, can you? The Element?”

“We’re not close enough.”

Rainbow nodded, noticing, as she did so, a large, pink jewel around Fluttershy’s neck. “When did you start wearing yours?”

“I thought I’d try it tonight. I don’t think it’s a good idea to just leave our Elements in Twilight’s bags. That’s how Princess Celestia lost them, after all. Um, not that I’m suggesting she did anything dumb. She had them in a vault.”

“Wonder how he broke in,” Rainbow said.

Fluttershy only shook her head.

“I mean, Canterlot Palace is the strongest, most well-protected place in all of Equestria. It should have been impossible.”

“It should have been impossible for him to get the jump on the princesses,” Fluttershy said. “And then devise a master plan in the few days we were figuring out what had happened.”

“Do you think his master plan involves us getting half the Elements before he can even invade the capital city?” Rainbow asked, smirking.

“Um… I don’t know. He might be trying to buy time. I really don’t know.” She heaved a light, airy sigh. “I don’t know very much at all. I thought the princesses were more powerful than to let something like this happen, though.”

“Is that bitterness in your voice?”

“No,” Fluttershy said, her voice firm. “Maybe a little.”

“I get you, Fluttershy.” She twitched her nose from the salt cloud and sneezed again. “Madness.”

The following morning, they were just approaching the edge of the swamps, passing over a wide, slow river, which Twilight identified as the same one that encircled Ponyville. Its path took it from Canterlot Mountain, around their tiny town, through the swamps, past Draught Castle, and down a deep canyon in the deserts to the far south, before crossing Equestria’s border to terminate in some freezing lake in the middle of the minotaur continent.

“We’ll hover over the swamps until Fluttershy finds the Element, and then grab it nice and quick,” Twilight said. “I’d like this to be fast and efficient.”

“What makes you think it will be?” Big Mac asked. “Ah’m not tryin’ to put a damper on nothin’, but the last one was a production, an’ Ah’m told the first one was too.”

“Those had their own special locations and circumstances,” Rarity said. “Trottingham had monsters, and the coast… well, we were all there. This is looking more like Discord just tossed it in there as he passed by.”

“Yer just sayin’ that ‘cause we’re not havin’ a week’s worth of adventure before collectin’ it,” Applejack said.

“A most welcome change,” Octavia said.

Twilight turned around at the hatch opening, and Rainbow came out, a letter in her teeth.

“You’re getting faster at writing those, Dashie!” Pinkie cried.

“Twilight, send this immediately,” Rainbow said. “It’s important.”

“What’s wrong?” Twilight asked, enveloping the letter in her magic to send it to Trixie.

“Trixie’s in trouble.”

“Whoa, hold up,” Applejack said.

“Did we just find our week’s worth of adventure?” Pinkie asked.

“We already had a Trixie adventure, though,” Fluttershy said.

“What kind of trouble?” Octavia asked.

“It’s… I don’t know,” Rainbow said. “It’s bad, though.”

“You don’t know,” Applejack repeated. “How d’ya know she’s in trouble, then?”

“I don’t know! I just do!” She growled. “You sent it, right?”

“I did it right in front of your face,” Twilight said.

“I don’t know, girls. It’s just… intuition, I guess. Something’s wrong, I can feel it.”

Everyone looked at Pinkie, who only shrugged and smiled. “I don’t get my Pinkie Sense much anymore.”

Applejack glanced at Octavia, who did not react. Her conversation with Pinkie on the subject, Octavia had assumed, was private.

“Well, let’s hope it’s not serious, whatever it is,” Rarity said.

“It’s all we can do,” Twilight said. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to say this, Dash, but, unless we’re in the neighborhood, we won’t be returning to Manehattan. It’s way too far out of the way, and we always get in trouble there.”

“I would not be surprised if it is those two con artists,” Octavia said. “Strawberry and Lacey Kisses.”

“Aw, crap, I should have asked about them,” Rainbow said. She looked at Twilight. “I get it, Twi.”

Twilight smiled, a little guilt coloring her tempered face. “Good.” They exchanged looks for a moment.

“Where do we go after the swamps?” Big Mac asked.

“The nearest unaddressed city will be Applewood,” Octavia said, and there was a small stir. “The largest city in Equestria, and the heart of tourism.”

“Uhhh, I’ve heard of it,” Pinkie said.

“We ship tons of our apples there every year,” Applejack said proudly, and Big Mac nodded.

“And I have a few of my designs there,” Rarity put in. “And it’s where the biggest names in fashion live. Hoity Toity, Photo Finish… I think Fleur dis Lee has a summer home there.”

“That stuck-up skeleton is big enough to have a summer home in freakin’ Applewood?” Rainbow said.

“You know of her?”

“How could I not?”

“You don’t follow fashion, though,” Applejack said.

“Uh… well, sometimes I get a magazine or two by mistake.”

“A magazine or two?” Rarity asked. “Rainbow, dear, is there something you’re not telling me?”

Rainbow blushed and looked down. “I kind of like the pictures,” she mumbled.

Rarity keeled over in laughter with Pinkie, who thumped the floorboards loudly.

“It’s not like I care about it at all! I just like the colors, okay?”

“Dashie’s a magpie! Dashie’s a magpie!” Pinkie screeched, clutching her chest.

“Ohhh, hoo boy,” Rarity sighed, getting back up. “Darling, I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a long time.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What can ya tell us ‘bout Applewood, Miss Octavia?” Big Mac asked.

Octavia paused in thought. “There is a lot to take in, even after your first time. The first time I went there was with an ensemble to perform at a wedding, and Hoofington was the largest town with which I was familiar. The sheer amount of lights was enough to give me pause. The colors can be disorienting.”

“I read that Applewood uses more electricity in a day than Ponyville does in a year,” Twilight said.

“That would not surprise me. The entire city is powered by the Whitewater Stampede, running through Appelwood Dam.”

“We saw that river in Trottingham,” Twilight said. “It formed up in the aqueducts.”

“It becomes the largest, strongest river in Equestria closer to Applewood.”

“With the one dam to power the whole city?” Big Mac asked. “Ain’t that the definition of puttin’ all their eggs in one basket?”

“One very large, fortified basket, yes,” Octavia said. “I have heard criticism of the decision before.”

“That’s a disaster waiting to happen,” Rarity said under her breath.

“Well, Rarity just jinxed it,” Rainbow said.

“That’s not how jinxes work,” Twilight said.

“Applewood is the entertainment capital of Equestria,” Octavia continued. “Anything you can imagine, you can do there.”

“Example?” Applejack asked.

“Concerts, raves, gambling, drinking, shows, extreme sports, orgies, drug use—”

“Orgies?” Pinkie repeated.

“Disgusting,” Rarity mumbled.

“Did you go to one?” Rainbow asked quietly.

“I was invited,” Octavia said.

“This sounds like a story,” Applejack said.

Octavia shrugged. “It was after my ensemble and I opened for Sapphire Shores. We decided to go to one of the local bars—Zero Point Five, it was called. An ice bar. One of my peers knew the owner.”

“Um, excuse me, but what’s an ice bar?” Fluttershy asked.

“Imagine a bar, but the walls and furniture are made out of ice. They are a cheap novelty for a city that lies in the desert.”

“Glowing description,” Rainbow said. “Keep talking.”

“After several drinks, we all got out and piled into a limousine. I remember there being many ponies with us then that were not before. We drove for a while, and I was completely lost when we stopped. It was the… Celestia, what was the hotel name?”

“The Crystal Castle?” Rarity offered.

“It was not that tawdry.”

“Comet Tail?” Fluttershy said.

“That sounds familiar,” Octavia said. “It was near the Comet Tail. Oh, Inspire. That is what it was.”

Rarity whistled low, and the others looked at her. “Inspire is one of the best hotels in Applewood.”

“It was a shame that that was the only experience I had in it.”

“Wait, so you went to the… er, the gathering?” Applejack asked.

“Of course.”

“Octavia, gross,” Twilight said.

“I did not enjoy myself, if it makes you feel any better. I tried to get involved, but wound up in the corner with the same rotation of partners until one of them fell asleep between my legs. She had been drinking since that morning, I was told.”

“What about the gambling?” Rainbow asked.

“Nearly every hotel has a casino, and there are several that are independent of their hotels. You can spend an hour in the Sky Kiss casino, get tired of it, and walk across a block to the Southern Lights. Alcohol is everywhere, and many other drugs, if you know where to look.”

“And… you do?” Rarity asked.

“Some of my band mates liked to partake.”

“This place is sounding kind of scummy,” Twilight said.

“In a way, it is. However, you can also have a great time without touching a single drug or drop of alcohol. The shows there are the best of the best. Artists come—came, I suppose, now—from around the world to perform. Around the world. And the night life is gorgeous, once it stops being disorienting.”

“Ah’d like to see it,” Big Mac said.

“I’m guessing we will after the swamps,” Twilight said. “How long from here to Applewood, anyway?”

“Based on the way our air current’s been runnin’, maybe four to five days,” Applejack said.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry, but speaking of the swamps, I can feel our Element,” Fluttershy said.

They hung over the swampland, their shadow slowly growing atop a damp mound. The warm smell of vegetation floated up at them, and a few gray clouds shared the bright sky; Rainbow said they didn’t look like rainclouds. Twilight was perched at the front, ready to push any bothersome treetops away from the ship.

They sunk into mud and silt, leaning until their lower propellers were nearly touching the stagnant water that pooled at their landing. The sun had disappeared behind grasping treetops, and the humidity was a weight on their chests, but, even before they got out, the most immediate concern was the insects.

With no contiguity to the country’s rivers, nearly all flow had stopped, leaving water circulation to the clouds and the pegasi who controlled them, in areas where they did. Mosquitoes, gnats, flies, lacewings, and countless others filled the air like living motes of glowing dust, stirred up in a geyser at their sudden arrival and filling the swamp with a high, minuscule drone.

Twilight put up a shield, and, in response to Rarity’s pleas, four smaller shields for her hooves, and they moved down into the swamp. Mud squished and sucked at each step, and they let the slope carry them into a greenish, shallow lake. Trees broke its surface and filled their view, with speckles of insects clouding the shield’s exterior, and black lines of dirt and living things writhing in the sudden cross-section produced as the shield pushed water away from their legs.

“Twilight, did Trixie write back to you yet?” Rainbow asked.

“No, not yet,” Twilight said. “But it’s only been a few hours. She never gets back to you that quickly.”

“Still got that feeling, Dashie?” Pinkie asked.

“Yeah,” Rainbow said. “I don’t know, something tells me she’s in trouble.”

“Trixie has traveled on her own since she was a filly,” Octavia said. “She has encountered many difficulties in her time. I am sure that she can take care of herself, whatever she runs into.”

“I hope so.”

“Meanwhile, I would like to talk about some of the difficulties we are about to face. Twilight, how dangerous is this swamp?”

“I heard there’s poison gas in swamps,” Rainbow said.

“Where’d you hear that?” Big Mac asked.

“Daring Do.”

“There… can be, yes,” Twilight said. “But my shield should be able to filter most harmful gasses out. What we need to worry about is slipping in mud.”

“Not me,” Rarity said happily.

“You can still trip over roots,” Big Mac said, lifting his hoof out of the water briefly to take a larger step.

“Yeah, and then you’d get a face full of mud,” Rainbow said, flying overhead.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Rarity said, stopping to look down at the stagnant water around her shield. “Are there leeches in here?”

“Probably,” Twilight said.

Rarity said no more, but Twilight could see her movement stiffen.

“It’s not far, though,” Fluttershy said.

“The leeches?” Pinkie asked.

“The Element, you scatterbrain,” Rainbow said. “Twilight, seriously, let me know as soon as she writes back, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” Twilight said. “She’s going to be fine, though. I don’t know what’s got you so worked up all of a sudden.”

“It’s a gut feeling, Twi. Us normal ponies get them from time to time.”

“I’ve got a gut feeling too!” Pinkie cried, stopping. They all paused to look at her, and she waited, eyes wide. “C’mon,” she mumbled. Her stomach growled, and she shrieked laughter, toppling into the mud with Big Mac, laughing as well.

“Twilight, is this poison gas the same gas that they administer for dental surgery?” Octavia asked.

Twilight giggled. “I doubt it, Octavia. It’s probably a mix of hydrogen sulfide and methane. You wouldn’t laugh about it.”

“I’m suddenly thinking about what Octavia would be like under anesthesia,” Rarity said.

“That’s one way to get her to fall asleep,” Rainbow said.

“Oh, wow, that must be the funniest thing that I have ever heard,” Octavia said.

“Sorry.”

“I love it when you make fun of me for my insomnia.”

“Okay, okay, let’s settle down,” Big Mac said, standing back up. “Fluttershy, where’s that Element?”

“Follow me,” Fluttershy said, taking flight through a low patch of hanging foliage.

“Seriously, those kind of jokes are my favorite, because they take something that is a constant source of misery to me and make light of them,” Octavia said as they started walking.

“Okay! Geez, Octavia, I get it,” Rainbow said. “You can stop now.”

“You of all ponies should know that stopping is something that I have a hard time doing.”

“Will you two shut up?” Applejack asked. “RD, don’t tease the poor mare, an’ Octavia, calm down. It was one tasteless comment, that’s all.”

“Holy ravioli!” Pinkie cried from the front. “We’re at the edge!”

“Is the Element there?” Big Mac asked.

“It must be,” Fluttershy said. “It’s too close to be on the other side.”

The group rushed through a dense barrier of bushes and ferns to suddenly stop behind Pinkie, the immediate emptiness of an expanding sky stunning them. Beyond the flora, the water waited against nothing, and Pinkie marched along its rim.

“This is amazing,” Twilight said, edging toward the end of their section. “I’ve never seen it up close like this.”

“The water?” Rarity said. “We were over an ocean of it not long ago.”

“No, I know that. But the very edge, where it just stops.” She lowered her head to the swamp surface. “Fascinating. No active magic here at all.”

“Fluttershy, where are you goin’?” Applejack asked.

Fluttershy made no response, and Twilight turned around in time to see her pushing through more soggy foliage.

“Fluttershy?” Big Mac called, trotting after her.

“Wait up!” Pinkie cried, pushing ripples across the fetid water in her gallop to join them. Twilight followed, the others cautiously behind her.

Applejack saw it immediately, what had drawn Fluttershy’s attention. Along the glass-smooth edge of standing water, there winked small, opaque lights, like a tiny trail of low stars. Fluttershy kept her distance, but Pinkie did not, following the lights loyally, nose to the water’s surface.

As they drew closer to one another, Fluttershy stopped, looking around slowly with pricked ears. Applejack could hear their breathing around her, shallow and high, and she looked to her hooves. They were cold in the mud.

“I don’t feel good,” Rainbow said.

Applejack looked over. The picture of her surroundings slithered past, her friends blurs in the scene, static. Rainbow stood at a distance, walking without moving, and Applejack couldn’t see her eyes. “No, this ain’t right.” She looked down at her hooves again. The ground was an indistinct, brown visage of long shadows and hard points of light. Somewhere, her hooves were orange bands, curving downwards.

“Get out,” Rarity said.

A white ember floated across her field of vision, weaving between trees and gliding over still, glossy water. Colored curls rose from below, obscuring her view of the ground like discarded wires. She felt cold, the tips of her ears and nose throbbing, her eyes dry. Her breathing was slight.

More chromatic sparks danced before her eyes, some behind pieces of the aspect, some superimposed onto it like projections. Stars twinkled and wandered, and someone, somewhere, was speaking as if from miles away. She tried to turn her head, but her body did not respond, and the view wobbled without changing. Solid stripes of light skewered the ground and water like rails, many loose, some terminating near her body.

A large, orange flower bloomed nearby, and her eyes strayed to it, caught in a pull that was guided by the rails. Deep in the nebula of color and cold, electric fuzz, one rail snapped to her jaw and locked in. She twisted her head, right and then left, and with an alarmed cry galloped forward, impelled. The flower did not move from her sight, and the rails converged.

Spindles of dark green skewered the purlieu of her turning sight, a silent tornado of heavy color. The air around her seemed still, even as cold splinters of light passed up around her head and stippled her fur. She heard only her own breathing, and her thoughts, often steady, were a soft, sloshing mass in her head. She had forgotten the others and also the rails as they dissolved in motion; she was suddenly stuck looking into a mouth of moss and shadow, motionless.

Then, loud and clear, as solid and gentle as a wine glass, someone else spoke. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

She opened her eyes to a soft, yellow mountain. She rolled over and saw flat, blue sky, and closed them again.

“Rarity, are you okay?” Applejack recognized Octavia’s voice, worried. She stretched and got to her hooves, drawing her friends’ attention.

“You all right?” Rainbow asked.

“Fine,” Applejack said.

“Thank goodness,” Octavia said. She leaned to help Rarity up.

“Hey, Ah’m fine too, thanks fer askin’.”

“You do not have a head wound.”

“Wait, Rarity’s hurt?”

“It looks like it’s just a scrape,” Twilight said.

“I only didn’t heal it because I want to figure out what’s going on first,” Fluttershy said. “Whatever happened, it was magical.”

Applejack turned slowly, taking in the scenery. “Ah’m seein’ that.” The buzzing, slopping swamp had been replaced with a wide, empty prairie, broken only by a slope down several miles to the north. The air was clean and cool, and she could smell fresh flowers on the light wind. Behind where she had gotten up, the ship leaned on a side turbine, throwing them all under a massive, smooth shadow.

“I cannot tell where we are, but it is the afternoon, and it is chilly. That suggests that we are on the south side of Equestria,” Octavia said.

“Ain’t the swamps on the north end?”

“Closer to the middle,” Twilight said. “But we traveled a long ways, regardless.”

“Do you think it was Vanilla again?” Pinkie asked.

“Could be. Rainbow, would you fly up there and let us on our ship?”

While Rainbow went up to lower the ramp, Twilight turned a circle, stopping to face a mountain chain to the west. “If we’re where I think we are, those are the Friesian Mountains.”

“The Friesian Mountains,” Octavia said, following Twilight’s gaze. “I performed at the foot of one of them once. It was one of my least favorite shows.”

“Why would you perform at the foot of a mountain in the first place?” Big Mac asked. They filed onto the ship.

“It was part of a Hearth’s Warming charity event. The Manehattan Philharmonic wanted us performing somewhere picturesque.” She went to her cello case, leaning on the rail, and inspected her instrument. “I have always hated the cold.”

“Then I think you’re gonna hate the second half of this adventure,” Rainbow said. “‘Cause we’re pretty much wrapped up in the north section, right, Twilight?”

“Pretty much,” Twilight said. “We need to go to Hoofington still, but that’s it.”

“What about the swamps?” Big Mac asked. “Did no one find the Element before… whatever happened?”

They collectively shook their heads, and he walked to the side, to look at the mountain chain. “Guess we should turn back.”

“I think we should continue our search where we are,” Rarity said. “We know we have an Element waiting in those… swamps. We still have three unaccounted for, though. Why fly all the way up there just to turn back into the south immediately afterwards?”

“I agree,” Twilight said. She turned at the sound of the back hatch opening, and froze momentarily. A unicorn horn was emerging, platinum-white, and attached to a familiar, bright body.

Applejack stepped forward boldly. “What do you think yer doin’, bargin’ in on us like this? Now of all times!”

“And a fine hello to you too. That’s some way to address your savior,” Vanilla said.

“Savior?” Pinkie repeated.

“How else do you think you escaped the swamps?” He smiled sympathetically. “Such a shame, that.”

“Why are you here?” Octavia asked.

“I didn’t want to leave you to your own devices after plucking you out of your predicament, so I thought I’d stick around until one of you found me.” He jerked his head, flipping his striking, black and white mane back delicately. “Alas, my patience wore thin, though. Such uninspiring reading material you have, Twilight.”

“Get on with it,” Rainbow said. “We don’t have time for you.”

Vanilla smiled, laugh lines appearing under his eyes as they turned to meet Octavia’s. “I’d have warned you if I were paying attention to your progress for longer than I was. By the time I saw where you were, it was already too late.”

“What do you mean?” Rarity asked.

“After your experience with the Element of Honesty, did you not think there would be some kind of trick to getting the next one? That Discord would just leave it lying around in the muck for anyone to take?”

“I suppose we didn’t think about it,” Twilight said.

“I definitely didn’t!” Pinkie said.

“You got excited and charged forward, and we’re both lucky I thought to go looking for you,” Vanilla continued. “You would have perished otherwise, most likely.”

“What were we caught in?” Big Mac asked.

“Wide area dissociation enchantment. You may have seen some lovely, orange flowers nearby.”

Pinkie gasped. “Like the ice flowers in the snow coil!”

“What?” Rarity asked.

“Exactly,” Vanilla said. “Blooming, growing sigils. One of his more beautiful ideas, quite lacking in the barbaric uncreativity in many other of his tricks and traps.”

“But why’d you save us at all?” Applejack asked.

“Typical Applejack, skeptical as always. Have I not said on multiple occasions that I’m on your side?”

“You have,” she started.

“I would think this, if nothing else, would prove it.”

“Where are we?” Rarity asked, taking a single step in front of Applejack as she made to protest.

“South. Very south. Middle of nowhere.”

“We can see that,” Rainbow said.

“Then why ask me?” He grinned.

“We missed an opportunity to get an Element of Harmony thanks to you,” Applejack said, shifting astride Rarity.

“And you were so close to getting it too. Rarity, come here please.”

Rarity only looked at him.

“Not a spell enhancement, but a favor I want to do for you.”

She stepped forward, never taking her eyes off him or his smile.

“I noticed this a while ago.” He reached out a hoof and gently tapped her horn; she winced, and he nodded. “There. All better.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I fixed your injury. You can thank me later.” He turned to leave, looking back for a parting comment. “You’re keeping up, by the way. At this rate, I believe you can defeat Discord.” He was gone easily.

All eyes went to the top of Rarity’s head.

While Applejack navigated them toward the distant mountains at Twilight’s suggestion—start with a landmark, and go from there—and Rainbow paced across the deck, Rarity reacquainted herself with her estranged magic. First simply levitating some of Twilight’s books, then constructing a spherical shield around herself and then Fluttershy as she flew alongside the ship, she ended prancing along the gunwales with gouts of delicate, shimmering, magic membrane coming from her horn, to fade and glitter away in the afternoon sun, great jellyfish with gentle, mile-wide phantasms of shadow on the vibrant ground below.

“He may be suspicious, but you have to admit, he did a marvelous job of healing my horn,” she said. “I’m never going to take magic for granted again.”

“Ah still don’t know,” Applejack said. “Don’t it seem convenient that he should do it now?”

“Not really,” Pinkie said. “She’s been out of magic since Fillydelphia.”

“He’s only visited us a few times,” Twilight said. A letter unfolded from her horn, and Rainbow had rushed over before she could levitate it up to her.

“She’s clearly okay if she can write back to you,” Rarity said.

“Sorry for being concerned,” Rainbow said. She sat by the wheel to read. “Whoa.”

“What is it?” Applejack asked.

“She’s moving to Appleloosa.”

“Wait, what? Really?”

“Why would she want to go there?” Rarity asked.

“Apparently Manehattan’s getting too dangerous.”

“Are Strawberry and Lacey still going at it?” Pinkie asked.

“She didn’t say, but crime is really on the rise, and all over town. Big crime, too.”

“Big crime?” Fluttershy repeated.

“Businesses shutting down, ponies getting hurt, stuff like that.”

“How have those two not been stopped yet?” Rarity asked.

“They’re sneaky,” Pinkie said.

“Please. Strawberry lit a fire in Rose Tower our first day back. That’s sneaky?”

“He had that stupid DJ do it,” Rainbow said. “Yeah, Trix mentioned him.”

“Trix, huh?” Applejack asked, smirking.

“He’s getting the public whipped up. There was a protest outside her neighborhood recently, she said. The police got involved.”

“So she’s headin’ west to escape all the chaos.”

“Her and her agent, Globe Trotter. They were packing today.”

“See, Rainbow? Nothing to worry about,” Twilight said.

“Yeah.” She folded the letter. “I guess… not.”

The Mountains

Chapter Fifty-five

The Mountains

Twilight read below, sharing the room with Octavia, practicing her shield magic quietly in the corner. She was halfway through A History of the Elements of Harmony, one of the few books she had chosen to bring for pleasure reading. It traced each Element separately, starting with their collective origin as servitors of Celestia and Luna’s will, and following them as they moved down generations of bearers, sometimes vanishing in times of peaceful inactivity, hiding in ponies who never knew they had been chosen.

“Twilight?”

She looked up at Octavia, who held a pillow in her magic, and her first thought was “Is she going to try to start a pillow fight?” She motioned for Octavia to proceed.

“I want to speak with you.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I do not like the way we handled the swamps this morning.”

Twilight only nodded, the remnants of her humor fast wilting.

“I am not blaming you. We all acted rashly.”

“Yes.”

“What will we do when we find the next Element?”

“Uh, be more careful, I guess. It’s all we can do.” Twilight frowned. “Where is this going?”

“I have been thinking about the future. We are close to half finished with our task. I believe that we need to begin considering our paths more seriously.”

“We’ve been pretty serious already, though.”

“Look at how we began, and look at where we are now.”

Twilight thought back. “Well, the first place we went with you was Manehattan.”

“Our time together has been riddled with disasters, both minor and severe. Our morning in the swamps is yet another. As this adventure continues, the stakes will get higher, the consequences graver. To be blunt, Twilight Sparkle, I do not like the way I see this ending.”

“And how do you see it ending?”

“Discord is preparing his second attack on the capital, if he has not done it already. At this pace, there very well could be a third. I do not know how strong Canterlot is, or the princesses’ capabilities to defend it, but I do not feel confident that it can survive three attacks.”

“You think Canterlot will fall,” she said, her voice low.

“Yes. And if that happens, our goal is lost. We will no longer be stopping an intrusive threat; we will need to reclaim our country from his rule. I do not think that we can do that.”

Twilight thought. Octavia’s words echoed her darkest thoughts, and, though she wanted to agree, she could not. “Octavia, I think you’re being pessimistic.”

“I am being cautious.”

“So what do you suggest we do? We can only fly so fast, you know.”

“I do not know. I want to say that we should not allow ourselves to be distracted, but I know now that that is not likely. Moreover, it is not in the spirit of what our princesses want us to do. As much as this is about removing Discord, it is also about helping ponies.”

“So… I’m lost. What is it that you want? Why are you telling me all this?”

“I am voicing my concerns, nothing more.” She paused, placing the pillow on the bed and moving to grab a book of her own. “Did I tell you that I researched Thunderhead while you were under the ocean?”

Twilight didn’t respond immediately. “What a question. While I was under the ocean.” She shook her head. “You didn’t.”

“Vanilla Cream came to me in a dream and told me to research a ship by the name of Deep Freeze. It is the ghost ship.”

“What did you find out?”

“Nothing useful. Thunderhead is an imitation of a dead siren, who ferried ponies from the coast to an island for meetings with the changelings. She was no villain.”

“A siren?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. I’ve read about them, but not extensively. Do you suppose Thunderhead is a siren too?”

“I do not know.”

“You’re right, though. That’s not helpful at all.” She went back to her book, and Octavia encased her own book in a small, spherical shield.

Rainbow wrote back to Trixie that night, and had Twilight send the letter before bed, despite her advice to wait until morning. Trixie had had a long day, she said, and a letter sent at their hour would likely wake her up. Rainbow didn’t care.

Spurred by Vanilla’s sudden reappearance, she volunteered to spend half of the night watching the deck, Big Mac with her. The two took opposite sides of the ship for half an hour before converging at the wheel and sitting together under a weak weather dome of warm air. The Friesian Mountains were but a single day away, and Rainbow thought she could see the still glow of Applewood in the deep distance. In the cold sky, no sound reached them, and the world was again laid out before them as a dark matte, divided.

Far from Canterlot, the splits were large and few. A crack in the ground ran a few miles to their north, jaggedly stretching along a sparse wood. The neat lines of railroad tracks caught starlight below, winking at them out of a sea of velvet shadow. The depths of the wilderness were not something she had seen before, even in film.

“So y’all been away from Ponyville fer how long?” Big Mac asked.

“Close to four months now, I think. We left sometime in April.”

“That’s incredible, bein’ away from home so long. Ah dunno ‘bout you, but Ah get homesick.”

“Same. It’s the simple stuff you miss the most, you know? Flying around that familiar sky, goofing off with the other weatherponies, napping on a cloud.”

“Harvestin’ apples,” Big Mac said, nodding in powerful strokes. “Pullin’ the old cart.” He sighed. “My other friends.”

“Did you have a lot of friends back there?” She looked at him, realizing as she did so how little she knew about him.

“Aloe an’ Lotus an’ Ah were pretty close. An’ Roseluck.”

“I never knew any of them.”

“Three sweethearts, especially Rose.”

Rainbow raised her eyebrow, and her magic faltered. She took a moment to reassert control over her small spell. “Tell me about her.”

“A great mare, all around. She’s funny an’ outgoin’, and smart too. Much smarter’n me. She an’ Ah had a game where we saw how many of her flowers we could sneak into a pony’s bag before they noticed.”

“That’s cute.”

“Artist, too. She drew me a picture of her hometown once. Ah’ve got it in a drawer back on the farm.”

“Is she a unicorn?”

“Earth pony, like me.”

“So…” She toyed with her hoof. “It kinda sounds like you like her.”

“Eeyup. Ah had a big crush on her.” He exhaled through his nose and looked over Rainbow’s head. “Ah wanted to ask her out, but Ah never did. Ah regret that strongly now.”

“You can always do it when we get back.”

“If we get back, you mean.”

Rainbow looked at him. “When we get back, Big Mac. We’ll be okay.”

“We weren’t okay this mornin’.”

“We were stupid this morning.” She lay down on the deck, and her warm air faded away. “Crap. Lost it.”

“It’s okay.”

“Most of us are pretty level-headed. Maybe even a little too level-headed. I doubt today is a mistake we’ll be repeating any time soon.”

“Miss Octavia said she feels bad fer lettin’ us run ahead like we did.”

“Of course she does.”

“She was bein’ foolish, she said.”

“You hang out with her a lot.”

“She’s an interestin’ pony.” Noticing Rainbow’s sharp look, he continued. “Not that Ah’m interested in her in the way yer thinkin’ of. Ah find her an intriguin’ conversationalist.”

“I guess you could call her that.”

“Bit of a pessimist. Not like you, Miss Dash.”

She cocked an eyebrow and ear. “Not like me? What the heck’s that mean?” She studied his serious expression. “I mean, I know I’m awesome. It comes naturally.” She smiled with her teeth.

He yawned and stood up. “What time is it?”

“You can go to bed if you want,” she said. “Don’t make yourself miserable on my account.”

“If you say so. Night, Miss Dash.” He took a step toward her, then backed away and went to the hatch. She watched his tan tail disappear into the dark square, wide awake and puzzled.

“Yeah, see ya.”

The torch was on full blast to bring them high enough to cross into the mountain range. From where they approached, the land rose swiftly in a great, white and green shelf, fanged with rigid spines of earth. By the time they reached the first mountain, they would be approximately three thousand feet above sea level, and more than eight thousand feet off the planet’s surface. Twilight had breakfast with a thin book on climatology that morning, hoping to determine whether they would need magical assistance to compensate for the possible lack of air. Their atmosphere had come up with them, for the most part, but there was no telling how much there would be at approaching two miles; if any had bled off the borders or up into space, they might not get the chance to figure that out.

“So we’re just gonna use the mountains to get our bearin’s,” Applejack said. “Probably cast a spell or two, right Twi?”

“I think that would be a good idea. I don’t see much from this angle, but I bet it’s pandemonium inside.”

“Are there any volcanoes in there?” Rainbow asked.

“No active ones.”

“But there were volcanoes in the past?”

“Several centuries ago, I think so.” She leafed through her book. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Personally, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an Element hiding in there,” Rarity said. “A desolate mountain chain, cold and cut off from the rest of Equestria? It’s perfect.”

“I’ll be checking for it,” Fluttershy said. “I do every day now.”

“Every day? Is that necessary?” Applejack asked.

“The most intelligent thing Discord could do in this situation would be to hide at least one Element in a random spot in the uninteresting wilderness,” Fluttershy said. “No landmarks, no cities, nothing to attract our attention.” She looked at Rainbow. “And no adventures.”

“You sure are insightful into how he thinks,” Pinkie said. “Weeeeeeeirdly insightful.”

Fluttershy frowned at her. “Why would you say that?”

“No reason!”

“That’s if he’s smart. Um, I’m not entirely sure that’s the case.”

“So, what are these mountains like, anyway?” Rainbow asked, looking at Octavia.

“I have not been anywhere except the base of one,” Octavia said, “but, from what I understand, they are mostly uninhabited. They are very cold, and vegetation is scarce.”

“I read that there are only a few small settlements,” Twilight said. “Pegasi, mostly, since they do best at higher altitudes.”

“There is also a system of mines underneath them.”

“Mines? No way,” Rainbow said.

“They’re called the Murgese Mines,” Twilight said. “They’re very old; I have a book about them, but I didn’t bring it.”

“Are we gonna go down into them?” Pinkie asked.

“Probably not. I was hoping we could just pass over this, cast a couple spells, and move on to the city.”

“I agree. The sooner we get to Applewood, the better,” Rarity said, shivering to punctuate her point.

By lunch, the ship’s altimeter proclaimed them at sixty-five hundred feet off the surface, and the air was as thick as ever. Twilight had a spell ready in case they suddenly lost oxygen, but, she said, it didn’t look like they’d need it.

Below, sharing the cabin with Pinkie, Rainbow got out a quill and parchment, intending to write back to Trixie, who had responded early that morning, primarily urging her to be careful on her flight out to Appleloosa. What began as a description of their journey to the mountains, however, became something else, and she sat back with three pages of sloppy mouth-writing half an hour later, none of it addressed to her marefriend.

Then she wrote more. Three pages became five, and she didn’t notice Pinkie reading over her shoulder as Daring Do made her appearance in the sudden story, flew off what had become her own airship and dove into a malingering bog to do battle Ahuizotl.

Five became ten, and ten became twenty, and when Big Mac came down to check on her, it was seven-thirty; she realized she had spent the last five hours writing, and not one bit of it fit to send to Trixie. She stowed it in her bag, emptied of most of its contents long ago to be used as a communal sack, and went up to dinner. Three hours later, most of them had gone to sleep, and Applejack took the first watch so she could land them somewhere safe.

They were parked casually on the outermost mountain slopes when the first snowflakes fell, midway through Octavia’s watch, taking over for Applejack. An icy gully collected white dust in a shining, arterial stream down into a craggy mouth, unhinged and collapsed in a shattered abyss of moon-kissed shadow. Towering pines peeked echinate tops out of soft snowdrifts, furring the mountain, a dark front to the suggestions of a calamitous interior, beset at one time with avalanches, mudslides, and chasms all suddenly visited upon the land, motionless months later.

She had wanted to play her cello. Even the minor motion of creating music would help warm her, but the air was dry as well as cold, and she had no means of repairing the instrument should it warp. She paced the deck, occasionally practicing her magic to clear snow, waiting for dawn.

When it came, they ate below, and Rainbow tried to warm their room before losing her magic to a fit of laughter at Pinkie’s joking around. They went out reluctantly and got in the air, Applejack bringing them up at an oblique angle to the nearest cliff faces. An hour later, and with no sign of an Element, they landed on a gray sheet of bedrock jutting audaciously from its mountain. Below, a glittering display of stone and ice decorated a small, narrow pit that emptied several miles west into pale sky.

With Rarity holding a shield up to keep snow off the pair, Twilight and Pinkie moved down onto the sheer, striated parapet, overlooking a wide vista beyond the ice and stone below that they had not noticed from the ship. Mountainsides converged like the teeth of a massive saw, boulders as large as their ship caught in perilous balancing acts on points of stone or ice, their heavy, dark forms offset with the dimensionless sheen of fresh snow. Twisted trees straggled against the cold, bending up at intervals like warped hooks, their branches bare and spinal.

Twilight set to work with her magical ink and brush without a thought, except to recall the sigil that Princess Celestia had burned into her mind close to four months ago. It was as if she had a drawing of it behind her eyes, and she completed the outer ring before giving into shivers. The snow formed a pale dome over their heads, but Rarity could not keep the wind out, nor heat the air within.

“So yer magic’s back to normal,” Applejack said. “That’s good.”

“You know, after I adjusted, it wasn’t actually that hard to get by without it. I only wish I had it back in Passage Town.”

“I wonder how they’re all doing,” Fluttershy said.

“Didn’t you say there was a secret agent pony there?” Rainbow asked.

“At least one, yes. She told us about their pump before we left,” Rarity said.

“Are there any around here, you think?”

“If there are ponies here, then yes, most likely.” She crouched to draw her forelegs in under her chest. “Can you heat us up, Dash?”

“I’m trying,” Rainbow said. “It’s hard with everyone talking.”

Rarity rolled her eyes and watched Twilight work. She moved tightly across the harsh stone surface, head bent in concentration, horn a mild purple beacon behind falling snow. The shield above her had been covered, and snow steadily sloughed down its sides. Rarity could feel its weight on her magic like a suggestion she had taken to heart, keeping her mind alert but not taxed.

Behind her, Octavia came out to watch, grumbling about the cold. Rarity looked at her for a second, long enough to see harried eyes and patchy fur. She looked back to Twilight, completing a circle of interconnected glyphs close to the sigil’s middle, close to Pinkie. It had been a long time since they had witnessed the spell, and she saw Applejack looking upwards out the corner of her eye.

“Ah think we’re okay fer now, but, Rarity, be ready with a shield fer the ship.”

“Why?” she asked, still watching Twilight.

“Avalanches.”

Fluttershy, on her other side, turned around swiftly to look up, backing up and moving forward in swift jitters, her wings partially flared.

“It’ll be fine, Shy,” Rainbow said. “Rarity can handle it. You can, right?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Rarity said. “Avalanches are pretty large.”

“It is too late anyway,” Octavia said. As she said it, she sat down, lowering her head and closing her eyes to the thunderous sound that wrapped around them. The mountains seemed to quiver in their seats, and, above, peaks wheeled in the distance like buoys on a turbulent sea. Snow fell in rills all about them, near and far, spangling sharp-angled chasms.

On their own ship, no debris landed, and their eyes were glued to a dislodged obelisk of ice as it fell not twenty feet away, chipping its base off into a cuboid fragment on a similar platform to Twilight’s, a single, sharp crack over the rumbling throughout. Somewhere, a grumble turned to a powerful growl of moving stone.

When it was over, Octavia pushed past to go down to them, stepping through Rarity’s shield and emerging a minute later with Twilight draped over her and Pinkie hopping cheerfully behind. When they were all on the ship, Rarity let her protection fall, and the accumulated snow collapsed in a single soft noise, scarcely audible over the dying rockslide in the distance.

“Bet you’re not so adverse to physical contact now, huh Octavia?” Rainbow said.

Octavia let Twilight lie on the deck under a smaller shield. “It is averse, and I never said I was against it. It is simply not my preference.”

“Don’t backpedal, you hate it.” She sidled up to throw a wing around Octavia, but Octavia moved back, and the ship came to life.

“Get away from me.” She raised an ear. “Is there something wrong with the ship?”

“Ah think it’s the cold,” Applejack said. “Engine’s runnin’ a little slow.” They lifted off the mountain with a chug of machinery. “There we go.”

“Is it only running slowly, or do we need to worry?”

“We’ll probably be okay, as long as we don’t spend too long up here.”

“I thought the Manehattan dealership told us it could withstand temperatures like this,” Rarity said. “That was the reason we chose it.”

“That sounds right.”

“Good. I will be below,” Octavia said. She went down to her cabin without looking back, and there she found Twilight staring into a book, her eyes not moving.

“How’s it going up there?” Twilight asked.

“Fine. I do not know where we are going next. I do not think Applejack knows either.”

“Great.”

Octavia eyed her for a second before responding. “Is something bothering you?”

“No, of course not.” Twilight flipped a page. “I’m fine.”

“You do not sound that way.”

“How do I sound?”

“You sound like you are hiding something. That is something that I have learned is not a good sign from you.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.”

Twilight flipped another page, then two more, frowning. “Where is it?” she mumbled. Octavia watched, motionless, as Twilight went through her book, never finding her page. At last, she looked up briefly and closed the volume. “I had another flashback in the swamps, okay? I saw it while we were all under that enchantment.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” She scooted the book off the bed and drew the sheets around her. “Not good.”

“But you must be handling it better, if you were able to hide it from us like this.”

Twilight glanced at the book on the floor. “It means I’m handling it worse, Octavia.”

“I do not understand. If you are worse off, then—”

“Because I’m hiding something serious from my best friends. That’s what I was researching. Not that I didn’t already know it, but I wanted to be sure.” She sighed. “It means I’m withdrawing. Instead of trying to find help, I’m trying to shut you out.”

“Why admit this to me, then? Why let me know?”

“You asked.”

“You could have lied.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose I could have. Would you have?”

“Do I ever?”

“I wouldn’t know the answer to that.” She put her face in her hooves. “Okay, we’re getting off topic. I think a part of me must still want help, because there’s this really strong temptation to lie to you, and tell you I’m okay, but this little voice in my head keeps insisting that I shouldn’t.”

“You should do what you think will help you. If you need to be alone—”

“Don’t.”

“No?”

She lay down, putting the sheet over her face. “I did this in Appleloosa too. And Trottingham. Rainbow Dash and Vintage. They both talked to me. I almost did it with you, in Manehattan. More, I mean. I’ve wanted to.”

“Why me?”

“You seem like you have experience.”

Octavia nodded slowly. “You flatter me.”

“We kept active immediately after the swamps, and I had a lot to think about, like the mountains, and Rarity’s horn. But, then I dreamt of it again last night.” She paused, holding onto her next words. “It’s not looking good.”

“I disagree.”

“How?”

“You are speaking more openly than I have ever heard you, and you are not yet crying.”

“Well, isn’t that just great?”

Octavia grabbed her blanket and tugged it away. “Face me when you speak. Do not hide yourself like this.”

“I’m cold.”

“Me too.” She approached Twilight, her tail flicking once. “I am cold, and tired, and miserable, just like always. In this exact moment, I feel as though I am one long blink away from falling forward and sleeping on the floor, but utterly unable to take that blink. My muscles are sore, my eyes feel like sand, and my stomach hurts. You do not know this, because I hide it well, but some nights, I spend hours in the bathroom, thinking that I must throw up from the stress. Sometimes, I do.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Before, you have expressed that you feel like you are alone in this, and I want to remind you that you are not.”

“So how do you make it look so easy?”

“If you think that this looks easy, then you are a fool,” Octavia said. “I receive comments on my appearance all the time. However, to answer your question: determination. It is as simple as that.”

Twilight fell back with her sheet. “Well, all right then. Easy enough, right?”

Octavia whipped the blanket away once more. “Do not be glib, Twilight Sparkle.” She bundled it up in her magic and lobbed it over the bed. “This is your health that we are talking about.”

Twilight looked at her defiantly for a moment before looking away. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s… this is really hard, okay? I woke up from a flashback, talked with that creepy devil Vanilla, and then had a dream about it.” She forced a chuckle. “I didn’t have a good day yesterday.”

“None of us did.”

Twilight simply lay where she was, breathing. “This isn’t something that’s going to go away after our adventure.”

“Did you think it would?”

“A part of me’s been assuming it.”

She watched Twilight for a time, watching the play of thoughts ordering and disordering themselves across her dulled face. “I understand.”

Twilight looked at her.

“If you remember, the day we met, I had us stop near my neighborhood for me to get some things out of my apartment. My cello, and a few smaller possessions. I nearly had Applejack return without me.”

“Really?”

“It was one of the hardest decisions of my life to come with you, even though it meant that all I was running from was debt. In the end, I think I agreed to come along because I did not fully understand that there would be an end to this. Like you, part of me assumed that everything would fix itself in my absence. Bills would stop coming, money would somehow return, and my life would be restored while I was off on a quest.”

“And it didn’t.”

“Of course not.”

“So what does this have to do with me?” She looked up at the ceiling. “Sorry. I don’t want to sound callous. I know you have a lot of issues too.”

“The point, Twilight, is that we are not finding the solutions to our own problems here. We are trying to help Equestria. We cannot pretend that this adventure is some kind of inexplicable cure-all, because it is not.”

“No happily ever after, right. I know that.”

“Do you accept it?”

“Do you?”

“Of course.”

Twilight sighed. “Of course you do. I knew that.”

“Determination, Twilight.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Above, a pair of clear, blue eyes shone from a patch of snow under the balloon’s edge, and Vanilla Cream climbed out of the shallow, white shape like something inflating from an unseen source. Fluttershy watched him emerge before racing below, and the others turned to see him at her hurried movement.

“Yer back early,” Applejack said.

“There’s a reason for it,” he said. “I was going to go off on my own for a while, but then I saw that you had gone into the mountains, and I couldn’t resist the excuse to come back. This is my favorite region of Equestria, right here.” He inhaled the brisk air with a grand smile. “One can be alone here, if one chooses, for an entire lifetime, and it’s seldom that any as brave as you come calling. More spellcasting, I assume?”

“Psh, duh,” Rainbow said, and he nodded.

“Well, as you should know by now, I don’t like to visit without bringing with me some sort of reward, and as last time I moved you across the map, this time I come bearing magic.”

“Another one of yer fancy Tartarus schools of magic?” Applejack asked.

“I cannot wield your magic.”

“Hmph.” He appraised her, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Y’all best stop starin’ at me like that, if you wanna keep that smug face of yers.”

He laughed. “Applejack, you are no more threat to me than the snowflakes landing on my coat.” He walked towards her. “I know what I shall do. You, my doubtful friend, will be my next recipient.”

“No, Ah ain’t. Ah don’t want it.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“It’s actually pretty awesome,” Rainbow said. “Like, you can feel the magic inside you. It’s powerful stuff, AJ.”

“Now’s not the time to play devil’s advocate, Rainbow,” Applejack said.

“Pun intended?” Vanilla asked coyly.

“Ah don’t remember addressin’ you, dark one.”

Vanilla laughed softly. “Cute, very cute. Do you think naming me gives you power?”

“What Ah think,” Applejack said, taking a defiant step toward him, “is that Ah’m tired of you hangin’ ‘round uninvited, an’ Ah’m tired of you freakin’ out poor Fluttershy every time you decide to show.”

“You want me gone.”

“Good guess.”

“Applejack, don’t be like that,” Rainbow said. “This magic’s the real deal. Twilight and I can both vouch for that.”

“Ah don’t care if Ah get the power to alter space an’ time, Ah don’t want it from this thing.”

“What about a power that will remove the need to worry about taking care of your ship?”

“Pardon?”

“Magic that will, with practice, allow you to control machines,” Vanilla said, sweeping the air in front of him with a hoof. “Like your airship.”

“Ah control that good enough already.”

“I suspect that is only because you don’t understand what it’s like to have true dominion over a thing.” He grinned. “As Rainbow Dash said, it’s pretty awesome. To magically control your ship is to do more than steer and accelerate it; you will have mastery, complete and unbroken, over each mechanical aspect. Engines, torch, flywheels, rudder, all things controlled separately from the others or in concert, in accordance with your choosing. It’ll be a connection unlike any you’ve ever experienced.”

Applejack looked at him, then back at the torch. Pinkie stood just by, watching, and Fluttershy’s eyes reflected between the cracked hatch and deck. “Ah don’t care.”

“What do you fear?”

“Ah don’t like the idea of you messin’ ‘round inside my head, plain an’ simple.”

“Applejack, this isn’t a trap,” Rainbow said. “He didn’t do a single thing to me.”

Vanilla’s grin widened. “It won’t just be the airship. I advertise control of all machines—if you have the patience to learn it.”

Applejack shook her head. “Ah don’t care.”

“Your friends might.” He gestured to Rainbow, and then the hatch, which snapped shut.

“Do it, AJ,” Rainbow urged. “Think about what Octavia would say. ‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one’.”

Applejack looked at her, then back at Vanilla. “Ah don’t like any of this, Ah’ve been sayin’ from the beginnin’. Ah don’t trust it, an’ Ah don’t trust you.”

“You’re not even giving him a chance, though.”

“Look at the swamps,” Vanilla said. “Or have you already forgotten?”

“No, Ah remember.”

“Do you suspect an ulterior motive in my saving your lives as well?”

Applejack bit her lip, and heaved a heavy, breathy sigh that visibly rose in the air. “If Ah say yes to this spell, what are you gonna do to me?”

“You won’t feel the enhancement.”

“How long will it take?”

“Maybe a minute.”

“C’mon, Applejack, don’t resist progress,” Rainbow said.

“The lady is correct, Applejack.”

“Okay, okay, quit pushin’ me,” Applejack said. “Okay.” She took a shivering moment. “Let’s get this over with.”

Vanilla smiled patiently. “Wonderful. Was that so hard?” Not giving her a moment to reconsider or prepare, he shrouded her in a fine, misty magic, and she closed her eyes after a moment of struggle; her knees went slack, and the mist supported her as she collapsed to the deck. No one ran forward to help her; they’d seen it all before. When she regained her hooves, swiveling her head in obvious confusion, he stepped back. “And that is all it is. How do you feel?”

She took a couple breaths. “A little nauseous, actually.”

“That will pass.” He walked past her, past the wheel, to look over the mountain they glided above. “I love these mountains.”

“Does that mean they’ll be dangerous for us?” Rainbow asked.

“Look around you. Do you see anything dangerous?”

“Hypothermia,” Rarity said.

“Nonsense. You have magic and shelter.”

Applejack groaned, and raced to the hatch, shoving Pinkie out of her way.

“She’ll be fine. Some ponies take to the magic better than others.”

“What do you know about Discord, Vanilla?” Big Mac asked.

Vanilla raised his eyebrows. “A bold question, Big Macintosh. Have you not been made aware of the terms of my binding?”

“Ah know ‘em, an’ Ah’m not askin’ ‘bout what he’s doin’ now. We know what he’s doin’ now. Ah wanna know how he was years ago, before this all happened. Why’s he doin’ what he’s doin’?”

“Ah, I see,” Vanilla said, nodding obligingly. “His story is one that has been echoed many times throughout history.”

“Madness?” Rainbow asked.

“Corruption of power.” Vanilla sat down and flashed his horn, arresting the snowflakes where they fell. He picked one out of the air and let it melt on his outstretched hoof. “Discord has been around for so long, he doesn’t even remember much of what he did in the past. He’s not the immortal god figure he says. Much unlike your princesses, he cannot return from death.”

“So what is he?” Rarity asked.

“A fool who discovered chaos magic a long time ago and took it as far as he could. I don’t know much about how magic works for you, but he stretched his to the point where he lost his own being.” Vanilla grabbed another snowflake. “He can’t come back from true death, but killing him is still next to impossible, remember that. Your Elements of Harmony only petrify him. He’s not exactly mortal.”

“But where’d he come from? How’d he get corrupted?” Big Mac asked.

“Simple incompetence. He took rule of your country when it was just forming, and he was freshly exiled from his own home for being too unpredictable with his power. It was an attempt at proving his ability to lead and create a kingdom of his own, and it failed miserably.”

“I seem to recall Twilight telling me that Equestria had hardly even developed cities by the time Celestia and Luna appeared,” Rarity said. She wore nothing, having given her warm clothes to the others. They had perilously little.

“Discord has never been good at ruling. He gets too caught up in details, and the big picture runs away from him.” Vanilla smiled. “Look at me. I can criticize his strategies to his enemies with impunity, because he’s entirely focused on Canterlot.”

“Wait, he’s there now?” Big Mac asked.

“As we speak.”

“Is Canterlot okay?” Rainbow asked.

“That, I cannot tell you.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Binding conditions.”

Rainbow groaned. “What about him being the god of chaos?”

“Yes, I thought he was, er, divine,” Rarity said. “Or something.”

“Calling himself the god of chaos was an attempt to save face after driving Equestria into centuries of stagnation. Life is purest when it’s allowed to develop without intervention. That was his mantra.”

“An excuse to not take responsibility.”

“Precisely.”

“The way you say it, he sounds like nothing but another big-headed despot.”

“From what I’ve gathered, that’s exactly what he is.” Vanilla shrugged elaborately. “Not to say that he’s completely clueless. As far as ruining the entire country, he’s done a fine job.”

“Hasn’t stopped us, though,” Rainbow said.

“He has more important things to worry about.”

“How?” Rarity asked.

“Yeah, we’re the architects of his freakin’ destruction,” Rainbow said.

“You are all safely caught up searching for your Elements, far away from him and Canterlot. You’ll be a problem later, but, right now, you’re small concerns. Why else would he entrust you to me?”

“Speakin’ of Canterlot, can you say anythin’ ‘bout what he’s doin’ there?” Big Mac asked.

“I can’t. That violates the terms of my binding. Anything regarding any recent choices of his are off limits.”

“Convenient,” Rainbow said.

“I told you from the beginning,” Vanilla said. “And now, I must go. I’ll be expected to have an audience with my master at his castle in around an hour, and I want some time to have a stroll across the grounds first. Goodbye for now, and give Applejack my condolences for her upset tummy.” He flicked his tail, twitched his ear, smiled wide, and disappeared as the snowflakes resumed their errant downward course.

While Applejack shivered in a bundle of four blankets and Rarity’s scarf, ignoring her magic and manually guiding them through the peaks and valleys, Twilight read Princess Celestia’s letter. Evening was falling.

“Dear Twilight, we have repelled Discord, but at a large cost. The Canterlot Guard is threadbare and exhausted, and, while our borders still stand, many citizens fear for their security. They are not wrong to do so. He will be back, I am sure, though I can’t say until when.”

“This sucks,” Rainbow said.

“Princess Luna has returned and been restored, and will be off again shortly to monitor his progress in raising yet another army. She has been immensely helpful in slowing his progress, and I am beyond grateful for her actions. Meanwhile, I will be away for some time, attending to diplomatic duties in the dragon kingdom. I leave in a few days, after I have seen to my city. I am sorry that you were unable to get your third Element, though I am relieved that you are okay. Please, be cautious in your travels. As you know by now, this is no game. No new Elements have been located, but I have ponies all over Equestria searching. In love and friendship, Princess Celestia.”

“Short and sweet,” Rarity said. “So to speak.”

“At least Canterlot’s okay for the time,” Twilight said, rubbing her head.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Twilight folded the letter once. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

After two hours of sleep, Twilight started awake with Fluttershy’s wings around her in bed, the dark balcony in her whirling mind, sharp with memory. She could hear the soft sounds of retching and coughing from the bathroom, and thought of Octavia, but it was Applejack who returned minutes later.

She closed her eyes again, but no sleep came. The memory of the balcony, and her princess’ letter, filled her head, and no amount of deep breathing or counting bunnies could put her at ease. She eventually slid out of bed and went to the deck. Octavia was packing away her cello, and she gave Twilight a shallow nod.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said, turning back for the hatch.

“You are not. I was going to take a walk.”

“Where? It’s below freezing.”

“Movement warms you up.”

Twilight frowned at her as she stowed her cello case down the hatch stairs. “I know that.”

“Come with me, if you want.”

“Again, where?”

“Look.” Octavia went to the side and pointed down the mountain. “There is a path.”

Twilight squinted for a moment in the dim night, not entirely dark for the light reflecting off the cloud-filled sky. A white path traced its way down the mountain from where they were landed, wide and hard and framed with scrags of plants. It bent, unseen, into a path deeper into the stone not far below.

“I am going.”

Twilight trotted to the ramp behind her. “Me too. I could use something to take my mind off things.”

They set hoof on a frigid stone platform ringed with small boulders, enough space between each to admit a narrow view of the mountains beyond. A waning moon cast a pale spot from behind the clouds, and a cold breeze stirred their fur at the pass.

“Is this safe?”

“We are being careful.” Octavia pushed a clawing branch away, where it snapped and fell to the ground. Small gutters of snow filled spaces in the rock, marbling it in shades of steel. They descended slowly, Twilight magically pushing loose shale and gravel off their path and Octavia leading to test the way. They were silent until reaching the bend they had seen from the ship, where all that moved the quiet air was their twin intakes of breath, surprised but not startled.

In an angular crevasse, suspended like a monolithic block of ice, a rusted and blackened fuselage seemed tucked away, shoved back forcefully and left to corrode in the freezing elements. Frost covered milky eyes of windows, and a jagged line of dead searchlights hung from below its bow like dislodged bones. Brittle rigging webbed the space above the ship’s back end, caught on a sharp overhang, small bights glistening like dewdrops on strands of silk. Obscured under a line of black spruce, the open ruin of a turbine watched, propeller blades bent and perforated with rust.

Octavia stepped back and lifted a thin spoke out of the snow, and tossed it aside. “What do you make of this?”

Twilight yawned. “Shipwreck, I guess. I know these mountains are dangerous if you’re not careful, and I think the weather’s supposed to get really bad in the winter. They could have gotten lost in a blizzard.”

“Could there be survivors?”

“I doubt it. Look at it; it’s been here a while.” She took a careful step toward the slumbering wreck.

“We should search anyway, just in case.” Octavia walked to the ship, stepping over a narrow gap in the stone to climb up a slanting ridge. Twilight followed right behind, and the two of them slowly clambered up the side of the crevasse, stopping level to a bent stabilizing fin. The ship’s name was visible in tarnished paint beside it.

Without speaking, Twilight activated first a light spell and then a globe of telekinetic magic to pull at the damaged railing. She set it down quietly on the mountainside, and Octavia crossed the rattling fin alone to meet Twilight, who teleported to the other side.

“I would like to learn how to do that soon,” Octavia said.

“I’m sorry, Octavia, but I don’t think you’re ready. Teleportation is seriously dangerous.”

“Why?”

“Lots of room for mistakes. You can accidentally teleport yourself inside an object, or another pony, or you can injure yourself if you don’t reassemble correctly. And it’s a bad idea to do it on as little sleep as you get. You can give yourself chronic migraines, or worse.”

“How much worse?”

“I’ve never seen it, but I know you can give yourself an aneurysm if you really mess it up.”

“I see.” She crouched to look through a gap in the metal deck.

“I think this was a military ship,” Twilight said quietly. “Normal travel ships aren’t made of metal. Why it’s out here, though, I don’t know.”

“Is there anyone in there?” Octavia called, muzzle to the hole. She flattened an ear to the deck, but only shook her head when she looked up. “Do you see an entrance?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to go inside.”

Octavia walked to the back, treading softly around a dark hole of rust, inside which glinted only inert mechanics. She magically lifted a heavy hatch off the deck, its locks falling loudly askew. She rested it on the deck and shone a beam of gray light down on the narrow rungs of a ladder. Not looking back at Twilight, she descended, and Twilight trotted to catch up, muttering under her breath.

Inside, the air was even colder, and she stepped back with a cry as her hoof dipped into a freezing liquid. Octavia’s light disappeared around a corridor corner, and Twilight hastened behind, adding her own magenta light to create a lurid fuchsia between the two intruders.

“Nothing,” Octavia said ahead. She turned around, and Twilight almost collided with her. “There does not appear to be anything here.”

Twilight rounded the corner and cast her light around the shells of doorways and glassy splinters of ice, each glowing with life as her light hit. A star spray of glass covered the ground where overhead lights had blown apart, or simply crumbled from too long in the cold. Octavia pushed the shards away in a gray trough of telekinesis, and entered the nearest room, empty save for a pair of wire bed frames, divested of sheets, pillows, or mattress.

Each room was the same, not a single sign of habitation, not a crumb, not a colorful hair on the floor. The glass had piled into a glittering bank in the corner, beside a larger, undecorated door, and Twilight pushed it open. A metal desk rose from the floor on sharp-angled legs, ending in ribbons of slag, as if welded there. Its surface was clear.

Octavia stayed by the door while Twilight walked to the other side, no longer in fear of falling asleep. Her breath rose in the air, and she could smell the heady tang of metal all around her, dulled and dead in the terminal mountaintop winter.

Angles glinted on the desktop, and she swung her light across a maze of line work, etched into the metal. No shavings winked at her, and the edges, unlike those of the legs on the floor, bore no sign of crafstponyship, as though they had simply sunken into the metal or been pressed in when it was first created. From the way it ran, she assumed it to be lettering, though it was meaningless to her.

“What have you found?” Octavia asked.

“Don’t know.” She ran a hoof over the etchings, and they were smooth at the edges. She swept her magic over the tabletop. “Uh… Octavia?”

Where her magic had touched, the line work remained, a dark magenta filling the tiny trenches. No motion accompanied the surprise, no sound, and even though she removed her magic, it flowed from unconnected line to unconnected line until the entire table was ablaze.

“Get away from it,” Octavia said, stepping over for a closer look.

They stood side by side away from the table, the ceiling alive with a roseate glow. Twilight imagined she felt warmer in the feverish light, but her skin still stung with cold, and her muzzle still felt like a rubber cap on the pinpricked rest of her face.

Outside, something cracked and fell. Heads turning simultaneously, they met only the same darkness down the hall, and there was no motion inside the ship as a second sound followed, sharper and longer.

Octavia took the lead out. As soon as they were through the door, a repeating, reverberating thump filled their ears, like the pulse of a giant, soft organ outside. Snow and gravel shuffled, and missed pieces of glass twinkled on the floor. Around the corner, they paused again at the sound of clicking and clunking machinery behind the wall. Something metal scraped the rocks outside, and they both froze as the first tremors crept up their legs.

The ladder was not tilted at an angle that allowed them easy passage, and they climbed out haltingly as the ship shivered under their hooves, sometimes seeming almost to swing out, only to fall back in to a softer tremble. The pulse-groan was not insistent, but it thrummed and stomped in their ears as they passed the upper threshold to scramble to the deck, and it was there that they saw what Twilight had awoken.

On the side nearest the mountain, from which they had entered, a long sickle descended in a graceful arc, its speed disembodying it at first from the ship. With a terrific clang of metal and stone, sparks jumped up and froze a gray and white edifice against the growing metal one. Steel bent and crumpled along the edges of a wide swath of pressed sheet metal, widening at the mid point to end in a rude, blunt edge that rested askew across broken rocks before sliding, grinding, and lifting away again, sheering the air and turning in a lopsided circuit to cleave a tree in two.

“What is this?” Octavia asked, but Twilight did not respond. The sight of it, dark and heavy against the scattered snow, set her tired mind distant from herself, and there, memories surfaced.

With a slash of rent ice and stone, the marble banister clattered away. The rosy memory of the tabletop, a harsh smear of blood. The cold, adrenaline.

“Damn it, Twilight, do not do this now!” Octavia snapped. A hoof shoved her to the side, and she whirled, her horn ready and her magic already flowing. It was her friend, it was someone else. She did not pause. “No, wait.” Magic leapt out of her horn as if irresistibly attracted to the empty air, and the stout, gray pony bore it to her chest with a sharp sigh. She hit the rail, and Twilight ran to her.

Octavia pushed herself up and let Twilight stop before her. Octavia raised her hoof, and sharp pain rent her head around, her eyes watering. “Stop. Snap out of it.”

Twilight shook her head, and the mountain crashed again. The shape of the valley would funnel the sound directly to their own ship, and she could not imagine her friends sleeping through the paroxysmal din.

Octavia made for the stabilizing fin, stumbling as the large wing came down again, and Twilight stopped her. She went to her side at the edge, and, hooves entwined, teleported them both several meters off to land on a safe section of mountainside.

They rested there for a second. “I am not angry that you attacked me. I should not have shoved you,” Octavia said.

Twilight just nodded. The ship was no vessel she had seen before. Unfolded from it like the fins of a great fish, metal scythes, or wings, moved. Some hung uselessly from the side they could not see earlier, some lay in sharp-jointed snarls underneath the machine, and one more tried to flap with its neighbor on the exposed side, grazing uselessly against rock and shredding ice chips into the air.

“What in Celestia’s name is this?”

“I have no idea,” Twilight said. “Not something I’ve ever read about.”

“It reminds me of the Astra Crow.”

“Huh.” Twilight remembered the Astra Crow, the fifteen-foot colossus of smoking metal and twin furnaces buried in its chest. She remembered Octavia riding it to the Vineyard to evacuate before Thunderhead could attack. She remembered standing with the others, stunned and useless, as it happened.

“Do we leave it, or try to deactivate it, or… what do we do, Twilight?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Think.”

Twilight looked at the struggling machine, her head reeling. The slap stung, and the guilt she was familiar with was already creeping in, saturating her thoughts. Her own voice, scolding: “You say you’re getting better, then you pull a stunt like that?” “She just tried to help, and you almost threw her off the ship.” “Perfect flashback timing, as usual.”

“Twilight?”

“I’m thinking!” Twilight shouted.

“We cannot let it stay here.”

“I know that, Octavia.” She closed her eyes. “I freaking know that.”

“What do we do?”

Twilight turned. Octavia’s inquisitive, unfaltering eyes looked right into her own, and she huffed an angry cloud. “I said I don’t know. How can I be expected to fix this when I don’t even have my books?” She stomped toward the ship, still flailing, its racket forgotten.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up, Octavia.” She stepped over a patch of ice, and watched the ship’s wing come down once more into a thicket of frozen underbrush. “Shut up and let me think.” In her head, her thoughts took on Octavia’s voice. “Determination, Twilight.” She grit her teeth and shoved past a bush, its twigs tugging at her coat.

“Twilight!”

She stepped out to a wide overhang and observed the ship from across a steep gully. Rocks rolled out of sight, dislodged from where she stood; the vibrations with each impact went up her legs each time, and she fixed her eyes on the injured ship. A headache pounded quietly in the back of her skull.

Horn alight again, she conjured a battering ram of magic to press into the ship’s side. With a screech of metal and a throb at the base of her horn, she tilted the machine up. Rocks skittered underneath, and snow followed in white trails, and then the ship got away, pushed by its own dumb wings to slide down with a slow grind, chased by boulders. A wing caught and hung for a moment before bending away, and the ship resumed its passage, banging and careening down until it was but a loud crack at the unseen bottom of the chasm.

She stood and looked into the quiet vanishing point. Rocks clattered still, and the wind blew. When Octavia rejoined her, she didn’t speak, and the two of them found their path back up. Twilight’s head pulsed and ached like a swollen melon, and her eyes stung with cold and sleeplessness.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” Twilight said. “I wasn’t all there.”

“I know.”

“Are you okay?”

“I will want Fluttershy to look at me when we get back, but I will survive.”

Thunderhead

Chapter Fifty-six

Thunderhead

Only Applejack was awake when they returned, standing at the top of the plank, watching them approach with an expression that was at once stern and sick. They went below, and Fluttershy examined Octavia, noting internal bruising and nothing more, while Twilight explained to Applejack where they had gone and what they had seen. Expecting anger, Twilight was shocked when all Applejack said was “Ah’m just glad yer okay,” and left it at that.

The following morning, they opened the hatch to the sound of Rainbow and Pinkie engaged in a snowball fight on the deck while a cascade of flakes came down on them from a windless, gray sky. The torch was covered in frost and snow wreathed its base, and icicles hung from the ropes keeping their balloon in place.

“Incoming!” Big Mac cried, diving into the middle of the snowball barrage and kicking up a shockwave of powder in a hasty attempt at a snow fort. He was pummeled, but didn’t back down, and it wasn’t long before the three of them had the entire ship covered in a freezing crisscross.

A wild snowball flew and smacked Octavia in the face, and she hmphed. Rarity laughed as she magically dabbed the powder away, and they watched in silence until the morning play stopped and turned into a warm breakfast back in the cabin, after which Twilight, Octavia, and Fluttershy cleared snow off the deck and balloon, the latter taking the time to practice her own telekinetic magic, rudimentary in comparison to the other two’s. Applejack put them into the air manually.

“Where we goin’, Twi?”

“Northeast, towards the end of the chain,” Twilight said. “I’d like to do another spell, and then we can go to Applewood.”

“What about after that?” Rainbow asked.

“Well, what’s closest to Applewood?” Rarity asked, looking at Octavia.

“Several miles south of Applewood is a large plot of land where they have built an amusement park,” Octavia said.

“Park! There’s an amusement park out there?” Pinkie cried, racing over to them from where she watched off the back.

“Yes. It covers around a hundred acres.”

“Twilight, we have to go there.”

“I’m with Pinks on this one, Twilight. We’ve been busting our flanks for a while now; we deserve a break,” Rainbow said.

“It’s not going to be running,” Twilight said. “It’ll just as messed up as everything else in the world.”

“Yeah, but it’s an amusement park!” Pinkie insisted.

“And maybe once we fix it, it’ll start working again,” Rainbow said.

“That’s not how it works, Rainbow,” Twilight said.

“Could be.”

Twilight shook her head. “Have you been there, Octavia?”

“I have, many times. We would often spend a day or two there before or after a concert in Applewood.”

“How is it?”

“Most find it fun. I do not enjoy rides, or carnival games, though. In that regard, I was at a severe disadvantage. I think you would enjoy yourselves.”

“Twilight, come on,” Rainbow said.

“It’s not even going to be operational,” Twilight said.

“You don’t know that,” Pinkie said.

“I can guess it, okay? Girls, come on, Canterlot just repelled Discord again. Do we really want to waste our time at a stupid amusement park?”

“Yes!”

“Pinkie!” Fluttershy turned from where she stood at the front. “Will you please focus?”

Pinkie fell to her knees and rolled onto her back. “Fluttershy, it’s an amusement park! An amusement park! How do you say no to that?”

“By caring more about finding these,” she lifted her Element off her neck to demonstrate, “than some broken down toys.”

“Fluttershy is right,” Octavia said.

“I’ve tried to keep quiet, and be polite, but this is ridiculous. How are we supposed to make any progress if we get waylaid every single time something interesting appears? We’ve rushed into obvious complications more times than I can count now.” She sighed and put her Element back on. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“You’re absolutely right, though,” Twilight said.

Pinkie lay motionless, her upside-down face drooping. “But… but roller coasters, and carnival games, and prizes, and—”

“All defunct,” Fluttershy said. “Also, no, there aren’t any Elements out here. Not that anypony asked.” She turned back around and folded her wings tightly across her shivering back.

“So, d’ya s’pose we can see Applewood from here?” Big Mac asked after a moment.

“No way,” Twilight said. “It’s over six-thousand miles away.”

Applejack whistled long and low. “Shoot, that’s far. Ah reckon that’s ‘bout a week in the air right there.”

They landed on a large, jagged finger of stone, hanging off into the narrow void like a balcony, and the first thing Pinkie did was race to the edge to look off. Twilight followed, admonishing her to be careful the whole way, and the others remained on the deck to watch, crouched under Rarity’s first attempt at a shield that could keep the wind out. It hardly worked.

Rainbow read Trixie’s response, delivered not long after breakfast, and folded it up with a sigh.

“How’s she doing?” Rarity asked.

“Fine. She’s still on the airship out to Appleloosa,” Rainbow said. “I dunno, I just have a bad feeling about it. She said her ship was perfectly fine, but she doesn’t really know about airship mechanics, you know? What if she missed something?”

“Is this what you talk about in your letters?” Octavia asked.

“I asked.”

“‘Bout her airship mechanics,” Applejack said.

“Hey, I don’t want her crashing in the middle of the desert, okay?”

Applejack pursed her lips for a moment. “Ah’d like to take this moment to express somethin’, an’ that’s that yer actin’ right out of character, RD.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. It ain’t like you to be this protectin’ of someone.” She looked at her brother. “An’ Ah ain’t forgot ‘bout you neither, big bro. Yer still strangely talkative. That’s two ponies now who ain’t actin’ right.”

“Applejack, dear, I think Rainbow’s solution might be a bit easier than what it sounds like you’re suggesting,” Rarity said.

“If yer gonna say somethin’ sappy ‘bout how love changes someone, an’ ya never really see the real pony ‘til they’ve given their heart to another, yer sorely mistaken. Ah’ve seen Rainbow smitten before, an’ it was never like this.”

“Being smitten is not the same as being in love, Applejack.”

“I’m not in love with Trixie,” Rainbow said. “We’re not even going out.”

“Then what in the world d’ya call this?” Applejack asked. She snatched the letter out of Rainbow’s hooves. “Here, look at all these X’s and O’s before her signature.”

“Give it back!” She folded it again and stowed it under her wing. “These are mine, and mine only, okay?”

“Ah didn’t read anythin’ up top.”

“I don’t care.”

“Rainbow, what is your relationship with Trixie?” Rarity asked. “If you don’t mind.”

“Nothing. We’re friends, that’s it.”

“Ah thought you said you had a thing fer her,” Applejack said.

“I agree,” Rarity said. “I thought you were sweethearts.”

“No!” Rainbow said. “I mean, yeah, we had a bit of a… moment, back in Manehattan, but it didn’t mean anything. I’m not even gay.”

“Ah’m gettin’ mixed signals here,” Applejack said.

“It’s not complicated, Applejack.”

“Yer actin’ like a pony in a relationship, the way you covet those letters.”

“And how you’re worrying yourself into knots about her move,” Rarity added.

“Girls, listen.” Rainbow’s voice was a stern monotone. “We’re just friends, okay? There’s nothing else going on.”

“If that’s true, you’d better let Trixie know,” Applejack said. “‘Cause all those X’s an’ O’s on yer letter don’t look like any ‘just friendship’ Ah’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe I will.”

“You should, if ya wanna be honest with her.”

“Fine!” She turned to storm off, but didn’t. “It’s really cold out there.”

“Be sure to let her down gently,” Rarity said.

“That’s enough, Rarity. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Maybe Octavia’d like to talk ‘bout her little adventure last night,” Applejack said.

“I really do not know what to call it,” Octavia said after a time. “It was like no ship that I have ever seen.”

With another length along the mountain chain restored, and nothing keeping the crew invested in staying, they took the first path they could find down and away from the perilous, white cliffs. With each mile behind them, the air lost its bite, and the final volley of snow thinned to a weak stippling of hail on their deck just at noon, as they passed the final slope to hover over the clouds covering a vast, empty highland.

Rainbow had written Trixie, asking her about Octavia and Twilight’s mysterious discovery, and with nothing to do, they fell into their usual flight routines. Octavia went below to play her cello, not trusting the dry air without a shield spell, while Twilight coached Rainbow and Applejack on their magic. With no mountains to avoid or wind to do battle with, Applejack was able to reach into their ship and practice her communion with the mechanics, first coaxing only grating protests from its parts. The process, she said, made her feel slightly ill, and, after half an hour of swiftly switching her magic on and off, she complained of a headache, and practiced no more.

They landed by a narrow turn in a stream, the field around it speckled with lichened stones and the bleached, frostbitten remains of a broken down cart. There, they refilled their water tanks, advised to wait at least three or four hours before showering for the ship’s internal heater to make the river water bearable. Under the shade of a growing cumulonimbus, they ate rations heated up over a magical fire that Octavia had lit with Twilight’s guidance.

There, too, did Trixie respond. Rainbow grabbed the letter before it hit the ground, scanned it once, and read aloud.

“It might be a relic from the old days, when necromancy was more widely studied. Necromancers frequently used magic to give motion to the inanimate, or bestow life upon the lifeless, and that included forcing machines like that airship into strange, liminal sentience.” She looked at Twilight. “What’s ‘liminal’ mean?”

“It means in a condition of being between things,” Twilight said. “Like the ship is kind of alive, but not quite.”

“Discord is kind of mortal, but not quite,” Big Mac mumbled.

Rainbow looked at him. “Yeah. Right. Ponies used to call these creations ‘angels,’ because they were so frequently tasked with menial duties for their masters, or creators. The only sanctioned angel in existence today is in possession of the noble Astra family. Then she goes on to say how she wishes she could have seen it with you, and… some other stuff.”

“Dashie, your marefriend is really smart!” Pinkie cried.

“I told you, she’s not—”

“She’s just jokin’,” Applejack said.

“So it was created by a necromancer, and left to rot in the mountains,” Octavia said. “I still do not understand. Was it alive?”

“Not in the same way we are,” Twilight said. “I think it was alive like how a virus is, or a crystal.”

Octavia only looked at her. “Crystals are not alive.”

“Not technically, but—”

“Where did she get her information?” Rarity asked.

“She’s into arcane stuff like that,” Rainbow said. “She can’t actually do any of the magic, but she loves reading about it.”

“Am I seeing a blush, Dashie?” Pinkie asked.

“Shut up, Pinkie.”

Something warm and slippery seemed to fill Rainbow’s abdomen as she lay down for the night. She shared a blanket on the floor with Applejack, but had to restrain herself from squirming and jostling as her guts spooled and unspooled like oily snakes. Her breath was hot and her mind raced, and she could feel her own pulse deep inside herself, hear it in distracted ears.

She knew what it was, of course.

Memories of Manehattan pounded and pooled inside her head. Betrayal, and money, and Trixie’s kisses and Prince Blueblood’s flaming jaw hitting the floor. Hung-over, flying circles around a park and trying to figure out her own feelings. Haunting, soft music as someone she almost hesitated to call a friend performed with one of her best friends.

She moved to slide out of the sheets, but stopped herself again, not wanting to wake the mare beside her. One leg pistoned across the floor, and a hoof nudged a knot in her fur back and forth. In the other room, sharing a bed with Octavia, was Big Mac.

Trixie had inspired first anger, then impatience, then grudging respect, all before their shared night on her couch. The thought of her flying out to Appleloosa made Rainbow’s skin crawl, and imagining the lonesome frontier town around the unicorn put her thoughts into dark certainty. How she knew—if it was knowing at all—she could not say, but, in her mind, the western town was inextricably tied to disaster. Trixie had said she knew what she was doing, that there was nothing to worry about in the first place, but the faith she knew she should feel was but a forced shell of optimism for her friends.

“Dashie, your marefriend is really smart!” Pinkie’s voice resonated inside her, shrill and tactless. From the instant of its utterance, she had been turning the single, heavy word over and over. Marefriend.

In the city, in Trixie’s company, the idea had wavered between tantalizing and frightening, but, with only her friends and letters that failed to assuage her worries, the implications froze her.

“I’m not even attracted to mares. I can’t be.” She ran a hoof across her lower belly and shivered. “I was drunk when we were together, and not in my right mind the morning after.” Her thoughts went to Big Mac, in bed with Octavia. Jealousy stirred, and she ran the hoof back.

Trixie’s chapped lips, and the point of her horn waking her countless times on the too-small couch. She closed her eyes and yawned, her worry dissolving into absentminded desire, and Applejack moved beside her. Trixie had said, in one of her more recent letters, that she appreciated the inglorious way they had discovered their feelings, for, without pomp or ceremony, there was no room for affected emotion.

She opened her eyes and followed an imagined curve of black over the ceiling, though could see nothing, with no windows in the cabin. Her eyes closed, and Big Mac rested, chest to back, against Octavia. Trixie’s silken mane.

Starlight, the sound of Trixie’s pulse crystal in the park. Grass as cold and sharp as ice against her hooves. A quarter turn under the blanket, and her wings splayed out, defenseless. The music of Manehattan was as soft as it was deep, and the city, reflected in the darkness, steeped and still in a cocoon of arrested, fevered thoughts, shone under her eyelids. Towers.

While Rainbow Dash smoothed her feathers with a soft brush of her wing against the floor, Big Mac brought one hoof up. The moon’s hollow light refracted on endless, amber bottles. Ponies swished around her, restless and unseeing imitations of life surrounding the electric relief of her own activated body.

The deep thrum of airship mechanics filtered through the walls; half a country away, Trixie heard the same thing. Her drunken embrace, awkward and gentle. Big Mac’s hoof came to rest, and Octavia’s powerful chest bore his weight. A quarter turn back. Starlight washed across an empty park, leafless trees spangled with a pillar of rising, distant lights. Wet heat groaned and see-sawed in her pelvis, and her heart quivered.

While Octavia’s breast swelled with her sleeping breath, Big Mac scooted closer. Trixie kissed her again. A siren grew. She was inundated with alcohol and excitement, and two lips parted to a bold tongue, and she turned in her blanket once more to smell Applejack’s mane.

Her tail brushed his inner leg. Trixie calling her names, and then, when it was all said and done, telling her she wasn’t playing around last night. Through closed eyes, she saw the silhouette of Rose Tower from where she glided over the park outside the apartment.

When she raised her head for him to better feel the taut musculature of her body, Rainbow moaned where she lay. Sluggish imaginings sloshed uselessly in her empty, sleeping head. Trixie. Big Mac. Octavia.

Two ponies shared yet another kiss. She watched in her dream, fractured by turns. Octavia kissed Trixie. Trixie kissed Rainbow. Rainbow kissed Big Mac.

Applejack mumbled something in her sleep.

The following day found them over a wide swale of yellowed grass and freckles of poppies, unvaried but for a crack several miles to the north. Applewood was out of range, but their compass kept them on point, and Applejack spent the first few hours practicing communion with the ship.

After breakfast, which was more like brunch, Twilight and Rarity retreated below without a word, leaving Rainbow stranded with no way to send her letter. She had wanted to follow, but Fluttershy stopped her with a plaintive glare. Instead, she went to the other cabin, where Big Mac lay, reading.

She froze in the doorway.

“Howdy, Miss Dash,” he said without looking. He turned a page, and Rainbow saw a linear diagram.

“What are you reading?”

“Sigils. Ah never understood ‘em. Twilight told me to look it up fer myself.”

“Huh. You’re lucky she didn’t talk your ear off about them instead.”

He shrugged, and she saw his glossy eye roll over noncommittally.

She moved to the bed to sit on its edge. “So… pretty interesting stuff, huh?”

“Kind of.”

“I mean, you know, all this. Not that.” She put a hoof on the mattress to get his attention, but his eyes did not stray. “First that freaky swamp, then Vanilla Cream, then the mountains. Octavia’s angel.” She recalled a phrase she had read in one of her Daring Do books. “These are interesting times.”

“Eeyup.”

“Am I distracting you?”

“Eeyup.”

“Sorry.” She slid off and went to the desk, but her writing was in the other one, and she sat in the chair, defeated. “So…”

“Say what you want to say, Miss Dash. Ah can listen.”

Rainbow pulled a drawer out of the desk to look in on a lone inkwell, no quills. She nudged the inkwell, and then pushed it into the drawer’s side until it rolled away. She was insulted that he should see through her pretense so easily, but her voice bore no sign. “So, what do you think of me and Trixie?”

“Ah dunno what to think. Ah’ve heard different things.”

“Well, which one do you agree with?”

“Ah think yer hidin’ from yer feelin’s. Ah think ya like her, but yer afraid to admit it to yerself.”

“Why would I be afraid of something like that?”

He shrugged.

“I’m not gay, Big Mac. I know that.”

“You’d have to be to have feelin’s fer Trixie.”

She frowned. “What are you saying?”

He turned a page delicately with the tip of his hoof. “Ah’m merely thinkin’ out loud here, but is it not possible yer foolin’ yerself?”

“About my own sexuality?”

“Eeyup.”

She stood up and returned to the bed, sitting beside him. Her tail curled around to lie across his shoulder. “I think I’m pretty clear where I stand on that.”

“It’s okay if yer not.” Another page flipped.

“I am, though.” She leaned in to emphasize herself. The dream from the night before filled her head again, and she leaned to nearly brush his fur with her nose. He smelled like nothing. “Are you gay?”

“Nope. Not even curious.”

“Really?”

He finally looked away from his book. “Really.”

She lowered her own gaze. “Do you like Octavia?”

“She’s not my type.”

“I thought you two were sharing a bed last night.”

“She’s nice, and warm. Keeps her hooves to herself.”

Rainbow blushed. “Someone else doesn’t?”

“You ever share a bed with Pinkie?”

Rainbow thought back, and crept forward again. “I think so.” She looked at the smooth muscles across his back, tapering into his wide neck. A hoof inched toward him.

“She can be hard to sleep with. She moves around a lot.”

“I’ve heard her laughing in her sleep before.”

“Eeyup. That’ll happen.” He turned another page. “Ah’m guessin’ she has some pretty funny dreams.”

Rainbow smiled, forced a chuckle. In the momentary lightness, she moved a hoof to pat him on the back. It lingered there, and her weak laughter died away. As he shifted, turning a page back to look at another diagram, the muscles slithered against her hoof. Her own foreleg tensing, she moved her hoof up his shoulder, then down. Up, then down, eyes not leaving the spot; a streak of mussed fur, as brazen and clear as her confused expression. Lips parted, eyes wide, capillaries under her cheeks aflame.

In her mind, as it had the night before, Trixie turned over and kissed her drunkenly, breath hot and stale on her face. Big Mac gave her no reaction, and she closed her eyes. Octavia replaced Trixie, and then Big Mac, and then it was Trixie again.

His cavernous body vibrated with a content hum, and she opened her eyes to see him resting his chin into the pillow, deeper than before. She drew a longer arc across his warm back, her blue meshing uncomfortably with his red. She found the nub of his scapula, and drew away. A barrier of bone, reversing her advances.

When she reached the slight rigidity of his spine, buried in flesh, she paused again. His skeletal geography filled her overflowing mind, and, before it was him again in the bed, she had moved on, downwards, stretching, nearly to touch the dock of his tail. His fur and skin, oily; she inhaled. Trixie rolled over, and Rainbow with her. Big Mac grunted, and she withdrew.

In a second, her mind cleared, and she saw the lurid canvass of his body beneath her perplexed face. Shifting her weight, she brought the hoof back, and then the other. His eyes rolled over again, and he moved his head. Emboldened, she straddled him to better drag her hooves up and down his broad shoulders, withers, and back, even daring to dip down to the croup. At her touch so near the base of his tail, the red corpus shivered, and he shifted himself, back legs extending momentarily to bring them both up. Resting again, she resumed, heading up to his neck.

Her chest fluttered, and her breath felt loud and intense in her ears. The same bed had shared both Big Mac and Octavia, and Rainbow had shared a couch with Trixie. Flesh pushed and dammed against her hooves, and his pulse thrummed in her frogs. She was an interloper, completing the union; Trixie, to Rainbow, to Big Mac. Octavia: suddenly an afterthought. With a toss of her mane and a renewed sense of determination, the gray mare was cast away, and then there were but three.

Her stomach was hot, and her insides were heavy, rapidly unctuous and sensitive. Her ears tingled, and her eyes did not move from where they rested on a dimple in the fur of his neck. Her hooves worked the flesh of his shoulders, malleable and warm, and he shuddered with subvocalizations. He shifted them both again, and she flapped her wings once, reflexively.

“Higher.”

His voice was a low shock to her, so distracted inside her own head. She slid her hooves over his shoulders, coming up to his crest and working small crescents along the sides of his neck. A sigh quivered in his throat, and he squirmed. She adjusted her weight on his back, disconnecting, as she did so, from his pulse.

“Wait.” Her massage slowed as she looked upon his head and neck, seeing, for the first time, only what was there: Big Mac, not Trixie, clueless on the bed, enjoying her touch. There was nothing more. No hidden significance, no tacit understanding between them.

“Aw, crap.” She reeled back, and he tried to turn to look at her. Her ears still buzzed, but her chest sank into her body.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was quieter, and she looked onto his perplexed face with disgust.

“Get up.” She slid off him, off the bed, using her wings to avoid more contact. “Get, get up and go, and… and, aw, Celestia.” She jerked her head away, too slow still to avoid the look at his engorged penis. “Was that sexual for you?”

He looked at her, but she didn’t look back. “Was it not fer you?” he asked eventually.

“I’m out of here.” Head down to keep herself from seeing him again, she went to the stairs and stumbled onto the deck, nearly running into Pinkie.

“Heya Dashie! I was just coming down to say hi and to let you know that we—”

She shoved past, ran for the gunwale, and cast herself over.

The wind flew fresh and sharp against her wings and face as she kept pace with the airship, occasionally having to hold on to the rudder to rest. Rainbow’s thoughts were a nervous concoction of unaired lust and guilt, but they soon slowed and converged around Daring Do, and the story she was creating. Utter perversity, she thought, and insulting flippancy, swatting at a trail of cloud that had been chopped by the ship’s progress. In the air, Big Mac and Trixie, and all they represented, had been reduced to nothing.

Daring Do had been left, on Rainbow’s page, perched on the edge of a volcano, cornered by the advancing Ahuizotl. She would dive in, Rainbow knew, but the question was whether she would find a ledge to hide on and wait for him to pass.

She shook her head, the chirring turbines wavering back and forth mildly. Trixie popped into her mind, but slid away just as quickly to make room for Daring. The archaeologist’s imagined gravelly voice quipped taunts at Ahuizotl, who would be revealed, later on, to be a mere puppet of the true evil. “Really should have written an outline or something,” she thought.

Rainbow took the first watch that night, but all there was to observe was the shrinking mountains. In the dark quiet, she leaned on the rail beside one of the turrets, its cold metal gleaming like an alien crystal.

“What in the world got into me? Am I attracted to Big Mac?” In her head, a second line of thought joined, adopting Trixie’s haughty voice. “You’re attracted to me, Dashie, and don’t you dare think otherwise.” “Then what happened today? Or last night, for that matter?” The Trixie-thought remained silent, and she put her head on the rail, jumping up at a low, wooden wail behind. She whipped around to see Octavia, standing at her instrument.

“Sorry. I thought you had heard me come up.”

“Do you ever sleep?”

“I slept last night.”

“With Big Mac, remember?” Trixie-thought said. “And she was a part of those dreams too.”

“I will go somewhere else, if I am disturbing you.”

“You’re fine,” Rainbow said. “Maybe you can help, actually.”

“What do you require?”

“How do I say this?” “Well… okay, so you and Big Mac are pretty close, right?”

“We talk sometimes.”

“Did you talk today?”

“He told me of your encounter, if that is what you are referring to.”

Rainbow frowned and tightened her wings.

“He was very confused.”

“Yeah.”

“I assume that you also want to talk about it.”

She looked at Octavia’s inert cello, mentally willing her to play. Her purple eyes did not waver. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“He said that you were not aware of how you were affecting him.”

Rainbow looked away. “I should practice my magic right now.” “Don’t hide from a good talk, Dashie,” Trixie-thought jeered.

“Are you attracted to him?”

“Of course,” she said. “He’s the perfect stallion. Big, strong, a good listener. He’s the kind of pony everyone would be attracted to.”

“That is not true.”

“Everypony who’s attracted to stallions, I mean. I know you’re gay.”

“That is not what I am saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“One is not attracted to someone because they think they should be. He is an ideal partner by many ponies’ standards, but, if you do not feel that way, then there is no forcing it.”

“So then what was this afternoon?”

“How would I know that?”

Rainbow growled quietly. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult, I promise.”

“You are confused. So is he.”

“Can you play your cello?”

“I am sorry?”

“I don’t wanna talk about this like this. It’s… too quiet. That’s what it is.”

Octavia shrugged after a momentary, studious stare, and began a slow song. “Tell me again about Trixie.”

“What’s there to tell? We’re just friends.”

“That is not how it has sounded in the past.”

“Well, what do you know about it?”

“I know that you two shared a special moment in Manehattan, and that you behaved like someone who was in love for at least some time after leaving.”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you give him that massage this afternoon?” She reached a quieter moment in her song, but sped through it.

“I don’t know that either.” “Tell her about the dream,” Trixie-thought whispered. “It just felt… right. At the time, I mean. I went in to say hi and maybe write a little something, but instead, I got on the bed with him. One thing led to another, I guess.”

“So how do you feel now?”

“I’m not attracted to Trixie. We were never a thing, like she thinks.” “I guess I’m into Big Mac.”

“You guess?”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

“Someone who is attracted to mares.” She scraped her bow across the cello, giving it a frown at the sour note.

“That’s not me.”

“This is probably something you should clarify for Trixie, then.”

Rainbow stayed up all night agonizing over her letter, going through multiple ways of breaking the news—so she thought of it—of her encounter with Big Mac, and the implications for her sexual identity and the relationship predicated upon it. At dawn, she finally settled on the simple, casual approach of announcing her move, and apologizing for stringing Trixie along. She had Twilight send it at breakfast, and, with a sigh of relief, scooted closer to Big Mac, who shied away.

The mountains were still well within sight as they crossed a wide fissure, approaching as they did so a dense area of hills and valleys. On the south side, partially obscured by the dominating shadows from larger hills, a smooth, grassy ridge protected the marbled green and white colonnades of an ancient, abandoned village.

At ten, they passed near a dark, textured area of slopes and protruding rocks, and a high ridge of grass giving way to another split with a vast, windswept plain far beyond. They were far from any city, and there were not even train tracks to point them toward civilization. Only by the ship’s compass did they stay resolutely east by northeast, hoping to touch down in Applewood by the end of the week.

Rarity was just bringing up the supplies for lunch, and Applejack was practicing her new magic, when Thunderhead arrived in a dragged contrail of cloud, quiet as a stir of air. At first, no one moved. Applejack, entranced in her own spell, watched passively as first Octavia, then Rainbow and Twilight, then the others scattered and grouped around a forgotten turret, which Octavia angled toward the ship, not firing.

The standoff lasted only long enough for Applejack to return to her right state of mind, rushed by her friends’ anxious babble. When the ghost ship’s hatches slid open, the resultant clap of thunderous magic made her stop her approach midway across the deck. Dark fire sprayed off the ghost ship’s port side, ringed with splintered debris.

“Big Mac, take the turret,” Octavia said between breaths, and looking at Twilight as she said it. Twilight, one hoof tentatively on the rail as if to stand for a better angle, had her horn strongly lit, connecting her with the magenta shield that already surrounded them. The fire from Octavia’s blast, as usual, did not spread.

The retort of cannon fire made Applejack jump, but Twilight barely flinched. Black balls dropped away from the ship, swiftly unseen, as another round followed with the same result.

“Big Mac, fire!” Octavia cried again. Applejack could see only half his face, and knew what his drawn lips and imperious eyes meant. Growling and turning away, Octavia faced the ship again to deliver another explosion, cleaving the foremast at the midpoint and eliciting no response from the covered unicorn on the other side, her cool eyes watching from her place on the bow, before the wheel.

The mast did not fall. On the coast, ropes had split and popped like wild twigs, and the ship had endured the entire removal of its side before nearly engulfing them in liquid metal. Applejack saw no such damage as she watched, still quiet, still away from her friends. With visible mechanical defiance, the ropes held, and the mast, swaying once in its cradle, righted with a sourceless pull of rigging. Somewhere in the mess of motion, Rainbow was producing a stream of curses, and Big Mac did not move from his spot, even as Octavia shoved at him.

Another explosion lit the ghost ship, one of Twilight’s. Small sparkles followed tongues of flame into the air, and one of Octavia’s followed just behind on the opposite side, her own magic the same color as the smoke that appeared and stopped in a brief puff off the ship’s hull.

When it turned to face them, Applejack’s ears went up at the shrill sound of Twilight’s singular, seldom-heard expletive. Under the bowsprit, just as before, the simple, circular grate fell away, and it was in her frightened, swiveling search for alternatives that Applejack noticed Rarity’s shield meshing just beneath Twilight’s.

Before her heart could slow down, the day brightened in a sizzling punch of liquid on shield, but neither mare cried out in alarm or pain, and Applejack watched, slack jawed. Three lights: the orange-yellow of molten metal, shooting toward them in a fat jet and dribbling off of the rosy combination of Twilight’s and Rarity’s melding shields. Shadows swayed across the deck as the others ran against the outpouring. Octavia maintained her calm, her eyes narrowed as she shifted from side to side, trying to see something. Her movements took her past Applejack to the front of the ship, where she stood up to conjure a guttural, metallic blast that arrested the sulfurous attack in an articulated sphere of flung crescents of solid light, and then nothing.

For the first time that day, the ghost ship reacted. Within its magical body, something wrenched and juddered, and hairpins of smoke lifted off its sails where halos of fire spread, un-stopped. Thunderhead had moved from her position, and Applejack watched her glide smoothly across her deck, green blotches of magic quashing the fires as she moved.

Then, clapping. She first thought it another round of cannons, but the sound was higher and larger, and decorated with Twilight’s and Rarity’s yelps of alarm. Like suddenly being caught in the cockles of a churning machine heart, the sharp slaps came rapidly and with an awesome, surrounding sound each. When she looked up, following Big Mac’s example, she saw the twin wings of ethereal green flapping against their shields, contracting with speed and strength she feared would tear them in half if the barriers went down.

“Stop! Stop!” Rarity squealed. “We surrender!”

The sound repeated twice more, then remitted. Twilight’s shield had faded away, and she stood with her shoulders down and her horn still lit, mouth cracked in a suggestion of speech.

“We do not surrender,” Octavia said, returning to where she had stood with them.

“Yes we do!” Rarity looked over at the ghost ship, but Thunderhead only watched. “Twilight’s out, and I can’t take much more.” She looked Applejack’s way, and then everyone did. “Get us out of here, Applejack.”

“We cannot keep running.”

“Well, we sure can’t keep fighting. What do you expect, Octavia?” She glared at Applejack, still stunned. “Take us away.”

Applejack meant to turn toward the wheel, but the ascent of another green spell kept her rooted to the spot. It arced over the space between them to land in the middle of the deck, leaving behind a pony-sized sigil. No one moved.

“Ah recognize it,” Big Mac said after a moment. “Saw it in one of Twilight’s books. That’s a sigil fer teleportin’.”

“Teleporting where?” Octavia asked.

“Seems obvious to me,” Applejack said. Her mouth was dry.

“Wipe it away.” Octavia stepped toward Applejack, and the wheel behind, but stopped as well beside her at the wings’ reappearance outside, low and ominous, green scythes.

“I think she wants us to come aboard,” Fluttershy said.

“That is ridiculous.” She looked at the wings again, and did not take a step. Twilight came up from below with glassy eyes.

“So what do we do?” Rainbow asked.

“We’re going to do what she wants,” Rarity said, approaching the sigil. It glowed at her presence, and she looked down at its simple design. “I don’t think we have a choice anymore.”

“What about our stuff?”

“I’ve got it,” Twilight said from the back. Her voice, like Applejack’s, was weak, and she didn’t look around as she came up beside Rarity. As soon as her four hooves were inside the green circle, she was gone. Rarity went next, then Fluttershy, then Big Mac, all silent, none looking at the others.

Octavia looked at the remaining mares. “We are throwing our lives away. If we must die today, we should die fighting.”

Applejack took her words in, her mind still blank. She moved toward the sigil.

“I’d rather not die at all,” Rainbow said. She went to the sigil as well. “I gotta… there’s something… I don’t know.” She entered, and was gone. Pinkie slipped in behind without comment.

The ghost ship loomed beside them, totally inert, the only sound the slow engines of their own craft. “If you go, I will stay here,” Octavia said. “I will most likely fall to my death, but I will not step into entrapment like this.”

“That’s suicide,” Applejack said.

Octavia looked around her. The deck was utterly empty. “I have had enough time in my life to get comfortable with that idea. Go if you want; I do not think ill of you for this. But it is not my path.”

Applejack went to the sigil’s edge, not too close, and sat down. “Ah’m not lettin’ ya let yerself die in somethin’ this foolish.”

“That is not your choice.”

“It is if Ah’m yer friend. You can’t just kill yerself ‘cause yer afraid of what’s on the other side of this thing.”

“Death is on the other side.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What else can it possibly be? Do you think that we will be able to escape her ship? We were powerless outside of it.”

Applejack looked at the sigil again, still glowing. “Maybe we can buy some time in there.”

“And maybe I can buy you all some time to escape if I sacrifice myself, here.”

She shook her head. “Ah can’t let that happen.”

“You must.”

“No, Ah mustn’t. Yer bein’ stubborn.”

“I am being reasonable. You want to condemn me to captivity. Again, that is not your choice.” She met Applejack’s eyes. “Please, let me do this final thing.”

Applejack stood up. “Absolutely not.” Taking a second to steel herself, she lunged at Octavia, who fell over heavily in the farmpony’s tackle.

“Let me go, Applejack! You do not have the right!”

“Yer comin’ with us!” she grunted, wrestling Octavia’s forelegs behind her back. She squirmed and fought, but the effects of her insomnia were obvious to Applejack. Her movements were slow, and, after the first two attempts to throw her off, Octavia could only wiggle and growl as Applejack dragged her to the sigil. Still, she was heavy, and her long tail threatened to entwine around her hooves.

“Do not do this! Let me stay here!”

“So you can die?” Applejack positioned herself around Octavia and awkwardly half-tossed her into the green circle, her gray hooves skidding on the deck as she struggled for purchase.

Her shrill “damn you” cut off in a whisk of magic, and Applejack stepped in, readying herself for the gut-wrenching feeling of teleportation, and feeling none of it.

She found herself standing with the others within the confines of a room-filling sigil of a similar design, somewhere within the ghost ship’s hold.

“It’s really not that bad in here,” Big Mac said, pointing at a lone cushion. Pinkie was already resting on it, chin nearly to the floor, eyes wide and curious.

A terrible crash sounded just outside, and Octavia, lying on the floor, glared at Applejack.

“Better than death,” Applejack said with a shrug.

“This is just slower,” Octavia muttered.

Signals

Chapter Fifty-seven

Signals

Rainbow patrolled the sigil’s edge, and Octavia paced across from her. The painted lines were the same feverish green as the smaller sigil that brought them there, and its outer rim was as firm as the wooden cabin walls within their view.

Twilight sat close to the edge, but not so close that the mares had to step around her to continue their circuit, and Pinkie remained on the cushion. From an empty part of the line work, Big Mac watched them all. Fluttershy wept where she stood.

Of Thunderhead, there was no sign, and there were no windows to indicate the passage of time or the landscape. It felt to Applejack like an hour before the talking began in earnest, and not in a way that she wanted.

“I think I’m stuck.” Pinkie wiggled on her cushion to emphasize.

“You’re just lazy,” Rainbow said without looking.

“No, really! I can’t get up!” She strained where she lay, but her joints did not unbend, and she could only stretch her neck pathetically.

Fluttershy went to her to help her up, but only dragged her, and the cushion, across the floor.

“Great. Captured, and Pinkie fell for some cruel trick,” Rarity said. “Maybe we should have stayed behind and fought more.”

“Don’t say that,” Applejack said, looking at Octavia as she did so. Octavia turned away moodily. “Look, we’re in a tough spot right now, but we’ll figure somethin’ out. Twilight, yer bein’ awful quiet over there. Got anything to say ‘bout this?”

Twilight blinked.

“Twi? C’mon, speak to me, sugarcube.”

Twilight allowed herself to fall over, her head ringing heavily on the floor. She said nothing.

“She probably had another freaking flashback,” Rainbow said. “Good timing, Twilight. It’s not like we need you or anything.”

“Rainbow, hush,” Applejack said, approaching Twilight.

“Octavia, blow a hole in the ceiling or something.”

“If there are upper and lower limits to this sigil, then an explosion will probably kill us all,” Octavia said. “And I do not want to do that to you.”

“It might be for the best, though,” Rarity mumbled.

“Leave me be.”

“Rarity, yer good with shields,” Applejack said. “Can you figure this one out?”

“I can make them, dear, not dispel them. Twilight probably can, but…”

“She’s feeling sorry for herself,” Rainbow completed.

“Rainbow, be quiet,” Big Mac said sharply. “Let her have her space.”

Rainbow only glared and turned away.

“Fluttershy?” Applejack asked plaintively.

“I’m really sorry,” Fluttershy whispered, shaking her head.

“Well.” She looked back at Octavia, who met her eyes accusingly. “Well.”

The ghost ship contained no mechanical components, leaving Applejack’s nascent magic useless. Twilight did not get up, and allowed Rarity to turn her over without comment after another hour.

A single bowl of water appeared without warning in the center of the sigil, and, with it, a pair of carrots, which wound up being split between Pinkie and Rainbow. By the next hour, only Octavia remained awake, angry and bored in her cage.

* * * * * *

“Fillydelphia Mayor Steps Down, Assistant Takes Over.” Below, on the same page, “Manehattan Pharmacy Supplier Goes Under.” Colgate and Spike shared a blanket on her floor with the daily newspaper. He had brought it over, and asked for her insights into the complex issues. He had done it with Flitter that afternoon, but wanted his surgeon friend’s thoughts as well.

It was evening, and Thunderhead was coasting over the southeast deserts of Equestria, the shape of her vessel terrifying a tiny settlement in the far corner, near the convergence of a river and a meteorite crater. She had captured the Elements that day, and the Ponyville Datura’s first decision was to keep the upsetting news from Spike and Colgate.

“It probably means Fillydelphia’s going to get itself together,” Colgate said eventually, finishing the story. “Sounds like Mayor Splotch got too paranoid to handle her own city properly. This Lowercase sounds like the perfect choice to replace her.”

“So it’s a good thing,” Spike said.

“Yes, it’s good.”

She had apologized before the entire town, thorn embedded deep in her hoof, and cried halfway through the announcement that she would be entering therapy as soon as possible. She had revealed every malicious thought and plan in her scheme to discredit Noteworthy and Allie, and made no excuses, except that she had gotten sucked into something she had no way to control. With false tears streaming down her face, she exited to the sound of every citizen in Ponyville applauding her and her bravery, and took a train to Canterlot the following day to find a therapist, to whom she showed the wounds on her hooves and claimed depression and self-mutilation.

She still took her medication, and had checked out numerous self-help books from the library. Everyone supported her attempt to get well, and she kept the books in her room for research, to better emulate the symptoms of depression for her very concerned, and very caring, therapist.

Spike, as was his developing habit, reached over to half hug her, and she allowed it. He pitied her, she knew, but he also believed her, where Allie did not.

“What about Manehattan? I don’t get it,” Spike said. “It looks like they’re leaving stuff out.”

“That’s because they are,” Colgate said. “I don’t envy the Daturas there. Their hooves are completely tied until one of these criminals starts messing with something extranormal. For now, they’re just a trio of high-level scumbags, and the police have it all to themselves.”

“Who are they?”

“Well, Strawberry. He’s the only one they quoted in this. My understanding is that he’s trying to create some kind of empire behind the scenes of all this mess Lacey and Captain Shout are whipping up. Those other two aren’t anything special, I don’t think. Shout’s Lacey’s puppet.”

“What about Lacey herself?”

“She’s the smart, resourceful underdog to Strawberry’s merciless advancement. That’s how the Daturas I know like to talk about her, anyway.”

Spike thought, and, for a second, Colgate thought he was going to hug her a second time. Instead, he said, “where do you get your information?”

“Foxglove is very well in the know about things. I usually stay behind for a few minutes to get the news as she sees it.”

“Everypony’s so much smarter than me,” he said in a smaller voice.

Colgate made no comment.

“How’s therapy?”

She had only had one appointment, on account of the distance to Canterlot, but had contemplated her response to the question she knew would be on every friend’s mind. “It’s way, way harder than I expected. Being honest about myself is… not always pleasant, I’ve found.”

“What’s wrong? Like, the diagnosis?”

“They don’t diagnose you after one session, Spike. It’s probably a lot of things.”

“I just worry is all.”

“I know, and I appreciate your concern.”

He hugged her again. “Have you thought about apologizing to Noteworthy and Allie specifically? It might make them feel better about you.”

“I don’t know if I can face Allie right now. As for Noteworthy, there’s a very simple reason I’m not going to apologize to him.”

“The blackmail?”

“No. Well, yes, that’s part of it. He’s getting sent away tomorrow.”

“What? I didn’t hear that.”

“Like I said, I stay behind and chat with Foxglove. He’s leaving on an airship early tomorrow morning, for Trottingham.”

“Why? Not that I’m upset or anything, but why?”

“Foxglove said he was a disgrace to the Datura. The way he handled me, she said he should never have let me ruin his operation so easily. So, he’s being exiled.” She smiled. “Her words.”

He chuckled. “Guess you won.”

“I don’t think anypony won in this, Spike.”

The sun was just coming up when a small, unmarked airship, carrying Noteworthy, lifted off a field just outside Ponyville. Spike and Colgate, and a smattering of others, stood in the chilly morning air to watch the blimp take off. Spike waved goodbye, but Colgate remained still, face as passive as ever, eyes locked on something only she could see. When the ship was a simple, dark dot in the sky, he got on her back, and they went to their meadow to train.

Foxglove was a few minutes behind them, and greeted them without a smile. “I just got the word from Zecora: there’s an artificial opening to Tartarus several miles south of Ponyville.”

“There are artificial openings?” Spike asked.

“Sure. They didn’t used to be very common, but now that Discord’s at large, they’ve been appearing. Not a lot. Yet.”

“But Zecora’s gonna take care of it, right?”

“Afraid not, Spike. Her team is busy chasing monsters around the forest. It falls to us to actually close the gateway.”

“How?” Colgate asked. “I’ve never even seen a gateway, much less dealt with one. Neither has Spike.”

“That’s why we need more Daturas,” Foxglove said.

Spike looked at Colgate. “How… exactly do we get more?”

“After some consideration, I would like to reclaim Flitter and Cloudchaser, as well as Allie Way. I believe they’ll need a little coaxing.”

Spike crossed his arms, but remained silent.

“I’m afraid it will have to be you, though, at least for Allie. She’s not going to let her guard down around you,” she said, nodding at Colgate.

“What exactly are you proposing we do?” Colgate asked.

“I’ll talk to you about it tonight, if you can come by my house.”

She looked at Spike, who looked back at her, and understanding dawned on her face.

* * * * * *

That night, while Colgate was receiving the same memetic potion Spike had used on her, to slip to Flitter and Cloudchaser, all eight ponies sat on opposite sides from each other in the ghost ship sigil. Fluttershy, who hadn’t spoken all day, tried to look into Twilight’s dead eyes. Big Mac sat across from Octavia, finding himself looking more at Rainbow than her, and Rainbow was across from Rarity, head down and eyes closed. Pinkie, still fixed to her cushion, faced Applejack, who had tried unsuccessfully to raise the mood earlier.

Some hadn’t eaten since the night before, and only another pair of carrots and a bowl of water appeared for them. Twilight and Octavia refused them for the second day in a row.

It was, ultimately, the persistent sound of Rarity’s weeping that revived them. Fluttershy was the first to move, breaking their invisible octagon to envelop her in her wings. Applejack got up next, and Pinkie slowly scooted over as well. Only Octavia and Twilight stayed where they were, while the crying spread from pony to pony.

* * * * * *

Spike found Allie in the bowling alley at noon, after sleeping in for the first time in a long time. He entered with a confident stride, head full of heroic, magical thoughts. “Spike, Datura recruiter extraordinaire!” “Look out, Tartarus gateway, here we come.” He stopped to let a group of young ponies pass in front of him. “If only they knew the things I had to do to keep them alive…” He shook his head slowly, a smile creeping across his lips. Flitter would be ecstatic in a few days, when she realized she could finally join him in his vocation.

The job was so easy, he found himself looking over his shoulder on the way out, in search of an unforeseen trap. Allie had been at the counter, with an open water bottle, and left it alone after a quick hello to him. He let only a couple drops into her bottle, and was on his way in under a minute, swelling with pride.

Colgate felt no fear as she approached the spa in the early evening, fresh from her second therapy appointment, potion rolling in her saddlebag and deception on her mind. Flitter and Cloudchaser, for all their earlier confidence in the totality of her evil, had apologized endlessly after her speech. The thought of using a potion on them to force their minds to rewrite themselves did not bother her, nor did it occur to her that she would be thrusting on them exactly what had happened to her.

Their greetings were sedate when she jingled the entry bell. She had pondered how to deliver her potion the night before, and it was without hesitation that she ordered a half hour in the steam room. Cloudchaser led her to the wood paneled room and prepared the bucket of water.

“Can you go get Flitter? I want to talk to you both.”

Cloudchaser paused for a second, but trotted out with a professional smile, allowing Colgate time to uncork her potion and spike the water. Foxglove had assured her that the potion could be imbibed in any way, including inhalation in the form of vapor.

“What’s up, Colgate?” Flitter asked. “I can only stay in here for a few minutes. I need to start closing us down for the night.”

“That’s fine,” Colgate said, levitating the ladle and producing a cloud of steam. “I just wanted to apologize personally for all the trouble that happened.”

“You don’t have to do that, Colgate,” Flitter said, taking the ladle out of her magic. “We both understand.”

“Especially once Spike started getting involved, it must have been difficult for you.”

They shared a brief interval of quiet while Flitter formed her response. “I’m just glad he’s okay. He’s not exactly… good with complex things like this.”

“I knew, once he got hurt, that it had gone too far. That was what I think shocked me out of it.”

“Mm, yeah.”

“He cares for you a lot,” Cloudchaser said.

“I know,” Colgate said. She watched the two pegasi fluff their wings and look around awkwardly through the steam, until Flitter finally broke the silence.

“Well, I need to get back out front. Thanks for the apology, Colgate. Good luck with your therapy.”

“Thanks.” She leaned back with a false sigh, and Cloudchaser did the same, relaxing. Colgate’s eyes were wide open.

“There’s still something I don’t understand about all this,” Cloudchaser said.

“What’s that?”

“Allie said you were taking—still take, I think—medication. She said it’s supposed to…” She squirmed on her bench, and Colgate watched from the bottoms of her leaning eyes. “Uh, even you out, I guess?”

“It’s for controlling impulses.”

“How did you manage to do some of the things you did, if you were medicated?” She adjusted herself again. “Hurting yourself, I mean.”

As an answer tried to develop in her head, Cloudchaser continued.

“Because if the meds stop impulses, but you were still able to hurt yourself, wouldn’t that mean there was some premeditation?” She shifted nervously. “I’m sorry if I’m offending you or something. I’m just curious.”

“What are you trying to do?” Colgate asked.

“What? No, nothing; I just want to understand, that’s all.”

Colgate waited for her to continue, and, when it was clear she had nothing more to say, waited longer.

“It takes a lot of commitment to hurt yourself like that.”

“My therapist said the same thing,” she said slowly. She could not predict what Cloudchaser was trying to say, and the thought bothered her.

“How does it work?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, you have to have some idea,” Cloudchaser said. “I mean, you chose to do it each time, right? You didn’t have, like, a bunch of schizophrenic episodes or anything.”

“It didn’t feel like I had control then. The idea was there, and it seemed like the only recourse.”

“Huh.” She was mercifully quiet for several minutes longer, before clearing her throat and drawing Colgate’s wandering eyes again. “Are you gonna apologize to Allie?”

“Why would I do that?”

“What? Seriously?”

Colgate angled her head to look in the direction of Cloudchaser’s voice.

“Colgate, ever since Allie thought she caught you, she’s been devastated.” Her voice lowered. “The thought that one of her friends could be capable of what you… did, it really messed her up. Then your apology left her even more confused. You need to talk to her.”

“I doubt she’d want to.”

“But she needs to. She doesn’t know what to think right now.”

Colgate parted her lips to reject the idea, but paused at the opportunity she suddenly saw. Spike was a useful resource, but weak-willed and unreliable; Allie could be better. She closed her eyes, and the opportunity flew by in her mind. “I suppose I will, then.” No sooner had she spoken the words than the idea was forgotten.

* * * * * *

I thought our time in Manehattan meant something, but I’m guessing you were just too afraid to admit you had no idea what you were doing. Good luck saving the world. Trixie.

Rainbow had read the terse letter more times than she could count since its arrival. Her circadian rhythm told her it had been in the early morning, but she couldn’t be sure.

She reclined against Pinkie’s cushion, with Pinkie still on it, and listened to Rarity’s attempt at a private conversation with Twilight on the far side of the sigil.

“Don’t you dare say that,” Rarity said. “There is still hope, Twilight, no matter what. If we’re alive, there’s hope.”

“But I’m useless,” Twilight said.

“You are not useless,” Rarity hissed, grabbing her face in her hooves to force their eyes together. “You are in pain, but you are not useless.”

Twilight looked over at Rainbow, and Rarity followed her gaze.

“She’s in pain too.” Her voice lowered even more, but not so much that Rainbow couldn’t hear. “Trixie broke up with her.”

Rainbow flattened her ears and turned away.

“I couldn’t even hold a shield,” Twilight murmured.

“Neither of us could, dear. If she had hit us one or two more times, I’d have lost it too.”

Rainbow buried her face in Pinkie’s tail, only partially muffling the mares’ conversation. At the mention of Trixie’s name, her mind went wild, imagining her furious on her airship one minute, weeping in uncontrollable melodrama the next. She wasn’t sure which was worse. The anger wounded her pride, accused her of betrayal she could not defend, but the sadness was a relentless, grinding pressure that she could not snuff away.

“It’s her own fault. She assumed too much about our relationship.” An imaginary Trixie joined her again, adding her shrewd voice to the monologue. “We talked before you left, Dash. You said you felt the same way.” “But I was hung over and confused.” “Didn’t say that.” She grunted unhappily and turned over, catching her own name in something Twilight was saying.

“What’s so great about Big Mac anyway? He hasn’t even talked to you since the massage.” She pushed herself up to look over at him, sitting beside, but not speaking to, Octavia, her tail lying across his. The shock of it resonated in an invisible pulse through her whole body, ending in a dumbfounded shake of her head.

“He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about me at all.” It was almost unbelievable to her. Their moment of intimacy, sexual for him and erotic for her, despite its awkward and confusing end, was not something she could simply brush away and ignore, nor something she could imagine relegating to simple memory, a lesson learned. “So what’s going on with him?” Trixie-thought asked. Rainbow only stared at the merged tails, and Trixie whispered inside her head. “Nothing at all, Dash. It was meaningless.”

She shook her head. “That can’t be.” “Look at him. Does he seem bothered?” “He never seems bothered.” “Has he talked to you?”

“That’s the spirit!” Rarity said happily. “But what are you going to do about it?”

“Big Mac doesn’t care.”

“I don’t know, though. That’s the problem.”

“Trixie cares.”

“Well, let’s start from the beginning. Where are we?”

“No she doesn’t.” She looked to the folded letter. “She hates me now, ‘cause I betrayed her. At least, that’s how she sees it.”

“Trapped.”

“I don’t hate you,” Trixie-thought said. “I’m hurt, but I don’t hate.” Rainbow closed her eyes. They felt hot, suddenly, and her breathing was stifled. “It’s not true. You do hate me.” In her mind, she stood before the actual Trixie on board her ship, alone.

“Inside a sigil, darling. Something magical. You know the most about magic of all of us.”

“I don’t.” Her thoughts went quiet, and a tear leaked out. She frowned, trying to squeeze it away, but only smeared it into her fur. “Did it mean anything to me, or was I proving a point?”

“—to do with this. If I do dispel it, we’ll be caught.”

Trixie-thought died away, and Rainbow opened her stinging eyes.

* * * * * *

Spike was in charge of seeing Allie easily into her new position as Datura, while Colgate was given to Flitter and Cloudchaser. For their duties, they were given time off in the mornings, and the excuse that their schedule was shifting toward nighttime for practicing in the dark. “Noteworthy was an imbecile,” Foxglove said to Spike, “assuming an inexperienced Datura like you could just improvise your own solutions to suspicion.”

He met Allie in the bowling alley, where, sitting over a basket of hay fries, he delivered Foxglove’s excuse for his suddenly open mornings. He asked how she was, and she shrugged and said she couldn’t complain.

“How are you and Flitter?” she asked after an interval of silence. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“We’re good,” he said, nodding.

“That’s good.”

He looked at his fries, then at her, then past. “She’s been kind of needy, actually. Since the hospital, I feel like she’s always looking for my approval about stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just the way she talks. She looks at me like she wants me to decide for her a lot. Like at dinner a couple days ago, she didn’t decide what she wanted until I commented on it. I dunno.”

“Mares can be like that, Spike, especially when they’re young.”

“I don’t know if I like it. I kind of do, but it’s creepy too.”

“Whatever you do, be careful not to use it against her.”

“What? No, of course not. Why would I even think of that?”

“You can do it without meaning to.”

He scoffed. “No way.”

“Look at Colgate. She says she didn’t mean any of what she did, that it just got away from her.”

“She’s different.”

Allie swallowed her retort, and instead said, “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“I’m not gonna manipulate Flitter.”

“I know you wouldn’t ever do that, Spike, but I’m just saying that you can fall into something bad easier than you might think.”

“Not me.”

“Well, I hope so.”

He watched a lone pony bowl a calm strike beside Allie’s head. “Flitter said she talked with Colgate yesterday.”

“How nice.”

Spike furrowed his brow. “Why don’t you like her?”

“She tricked me into fighting her battle for her, then accused me of being a psychopath.”

“She didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, she did. A pony doesn’t do something that big and elaborate by accident.”

“It got out of control for her. She didn’t know what to do.”

“Even if that’s true, she had no reason to drag me into it.”

“She probably thought you’d be the best one to help her.”

“Without knowing it?”

“Yeah.”

Allie shook her head. “I think I see why she likes you so much.”

He shrugged. “I’m a likeable guy.”

She leaned forward intimately. “Have you questioned a single thing she’s told you?”

“No. She’s my friend, and I trust her.”

“Even after everything she admitted to, tricking the whole town, injuring herself, and all that, you still believe what she tells you?”

“Not at first, but she apologized. She’s going to therapy for this. She knows she did wrong, and wants to make up for it. I trust her, Allie.”

“You realize, Spike, that if she was able to get all of Ponyville to believe that Noteworthy or I were beating her, tricking us into thinking she’s looking for help will be even easier.”

“She cried at her apology. Cried, Allie. You can’t fake that.”

Allie sighed. “Right. I know.”

“You just don’t want to give her a chance, I think.”

“Believe me, I wish I could, but she ruined my perception of her.”

“Flitter forgave her willingly enough.”

Allie hmphed. “Flitter. She’ll take any reason to not have to feel bad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I think she’s great. She’s just a little soft.”

“Soft?” He raised an eyebrow, imagining himself coiled in readiness to refute Allie’s suggestion.

“She doesn’t take uncomfortable situations very well. I’m sure you’ve seen it.”

He shifted in his seat. “Maybe. But what does that have to do with Colgate?”

“Flitter doesn’t want to acknowledge that something’s still very, very wrong with her. She just took that apology at face value, because doing otherwise would be uncomfortable.”

Spike frowned. “Colgate’s telling the truth,” he said at last.

Allie shook her head. “I seriously can’t understand why you’re so firm on that position. Will you at least concede that it’s possible that I’m right?”

“I mean, everything’s possible. That doesn’t make it likely.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, great, fine.” She got up. “I have to get back to work. See you later, Spike. Try to think about what I told you, okay?”

“Sure.”

The following day, Spike met Colgate for breakfast. She had already gone to the spa to make sure Flitter and Cloudchaser were handling their changing minds well, and he told her he had done the same for Allie.

For most of their meal, they spoke of casual things: recent events at the hospital, Spike’s relationship with Flitter, veiled Datura gossip. After a period of quiet on his part, he looked up at her.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“I? Why would I?” she asked. She didn’t look up from her food.

“Allie thinks you’re taking advantage of my trust.”

“Hm. Figures.” She looked him in the eyes. It was strange for him to see her face clear of injury, but her eyes were the same lifeless things as always. “What do you think?”

“Uh…”

“If you think she has a point, let me know. I’m not going to tell you what I think of her yet, because I don’t want you in a tug-of-war between us. You’re not my messenger, and she shouldn’t be using you as hers either.”

He looked down and pushed a rag of egg white across his plate. “I never really thought of it that way. She’s never said anything like that.”

“If I were you, I’d take that into consideration.”

“Yeah.” He thought, though it was mostly for show. His opinions felt clear and sturdy inside his head. “I don’t think you’d lie to me. I think you’re being honest.”

“Good.”

He waited for her to continue, but she did not, and they talked of other things until it was time to head to the field for training.

* * * * * *

While everyone else on the ghost ship slept, Octavia surveyed them. She had not yet eaten, and slept in fitful bursts of half hours, and her eyes drooped and burned as she watched her companions. Twilight had been vocal that day, but only enough to explain why taking their things out—she still had them stored in her pocket dimension—would be a bad idea. The sigil periodically eliminated their water bowls and shamefully ignored waste, and any items lying around at the wrong time might be lost forever.

She looked at Applejack, face turned to her in a serious, meditative slumber, and looked away, disgusted. Inside her, not dull from time, but made acute by days of quiet reflection, conflict anguished. She was relieved to be alive, and the thought of it made her almost too ashamed to meet the others’ eyes.

In her mind, two phrases circled each other. “I should have died for them.” “I am glad that I did not.” The thought of self-sacrifice, its morose allure, the serious, self-pitying ideas that it conjured, had held her attention for hours on end, a private, perverse fantasy for her to worry while the others slept. On the other side, the relief shone and lightened her mood, and she hated it.

“I claimed preparedness to die for them, and here I am, secretly rejoicing a reprieve I did not choose. I did not think I was capable of such hypocrisy.” Applejack turned over with a snort, and Octavia glowered at her, imagining the sound to be an accusation. “Coward,” she thought. The single word sat heavy in her heart and mind, and with each repetition and taciturn acceptance, turned darker and darker, from coward, to liar, to traitor.

“Pathetic, that is what I am. And yet, I cannot deny this pleasure.” She closed her eyes, and kept them closed, and woke with a start twenty minutes later, confused. She rubbed her head.

The only other time she had been so close to death, so ready, was in Fillydelphia, when she commanded Twilight to toss her out of Rarity’s shield and into the cyclone’s crown. Afterwards, Fluttershy had spoken to her. No one had extended that courtesy on the ghost ship.

She glared again at Applejack. “You care for my life enough to force me to accompany you on this deathtrap, but not enough to talk to me.” A sudden urge gripped her and swiftly moved away, to wake Applejack and make her sit through the same conflict and unhappiness that had been stirring inside her. “She does not deserve this. She is not the one responsible for my suicidal thoughts.”

She smirked, a front even before no one. “It would not be bad in this case. Giving my life for them would be a fitting end.” She frowned and faced the room’s walls, so searched and stared at that her eyes passed every detail equally. “And yet, here I am, selfishly relieved. Truly pathetic, Octavia.”

Pinkie stirred in her sleep, and Octavia looked at her. “Perhaps I should have chosen her path after all,” she thought tenderly. In her memories, she stood outside her apartment in Canterlot, with Applejack waiting, trying to decide. Forfeiting her life, as desperate and difficult as it was, had not been an easy decision, and Pinkie’s comfort on her affixed cushion seemed at last a reminder, not of what she hated about herself, but what she missed.

She thought of Vanilla Cream, of his strong, patient voice, and his tolerance for her moods. If she were to talk to anyone, he would be her first choice, she thought. He allowed her expression without Fluttershy’s immediate concern, Rainbow’s condescension, and Twilight’s tendency to drift away.

Thinking of him, she did not immediately notice when Rainbow jumped awake. Only when her magenta eyes approached, reflected in the soft magic green, did she service to move her head, and show she was awake.

Rainbow stopped and sat down in front of her. “Can we talk?”

Octavia’s voice was dry. She had only had a few swallows of water earlier. “What do you need?”

“AJ told me you tried to stay behind to buy us time. Are you okay?”

Octavia frowned. The question seemed an affront, a deliberate poke at her condition. She closed her eyes. “Do not be stupid. She is just concerned.”

“I will be fine.”

“Octavia.”

She thought for a second more. “If I am truly ready to die, then what is stopping me from sharing this with her?”

“C’mon. We’re friends.” She said it without much conviction.

“I am merely going through a difficult period of my life. We all are.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.” Her wings drooped. “You may have heard about it. Apparently Rarity knows, and who knows who she told. Trixie and I are finished.”

“Trixie.” “Because of Big Mac, Octavia. Focus. She needs you.” “I am sorry to hear that.”

“You know her pretty well. How easily does Trixie forgive?”

She took her time in answering. She had not had much occasion to ask forgiveness from Trixie. Once, when they were very young, when she accidentally damaged a prop mid-show, and then many years later when she had dismissed her concerns about her suffering countenance.

“It’s important.”

“I believe that she is good at discerning true contrition from fear of punishment. If you are legitimately sorry, then I think she will forgive you.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. I have not broken her heart.” Immediately, she regretted her wording.

“Oh.” They stared at each other for a long time. “Do you think I should try it anyway?”

“It depends on whether you are truly sorry, and what you intend to do about it.”

“I’m gonna tell her that I know I screwed up. I screwed up really bad.”

“Where does Big Mac fit into this?”

“Mistake. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I think I was right the first time. I think I’m… gay for Trixie.”

“You know that there is nothing wrong with that, do you not?”

“I’ve always thought it was kinda weird. My whole family was straight, so I thought I was too.”

Octavia shrugged. “It is not my place to discuss family with you.”

“Oh. Okay. No, that’s fine. I get it.”

“Tell her that you realize what you did, and tell her how much the knowledge of this has hurt you in the interim.”

“Do you think she’ll forgive me?”

“I have no way to know that. Like I said—”

“You never broke her heart, yeah, I know.”

“I was not going to say it that way, but yes.”

“Hm. That’s if we survive this at all.”

“Yes.” She thought dimly, her eyes falling closed again. She forced them open with a rough shake of her head.

“You okay?”

“Tired.”

“Well, sleep, then.”

Octavia stood up. “I have too much to think about. I cannot sleep tonight.”

Rainbow sighed. “You really are crazy, you know that?”

* * * * * *

“Are you crazy? After everything you’ve said, and now you’re going back on it?”

Colgate listened from the steam room as Flitter and Cloudchaser conversed. Flitter had revealed, first to her and then to her sister, that she was strongly considering rejoining the Datura. She had quit so quickly and impulsively, she said, she didn’t feel it was given a fair chance. All Colgate thought was that she wished she could know the science and magic behind the potion she had given them.

“I’ll be helping ponies, Cloud.”

“You’re helping ponies now,” Cloudchaser said.

“By running a spa? Think about what’s more important, keeping ponies comfortable, or keeping them safe.”

“But you tried the Datura already, and you hated it. I just don’t get why you’d want to try again.”

“I just feel like I shouldn’t have abandoned it so soon.”

“Have you forgotten how you felt after we got pushed into that pond?”

“It was scary, sure, but was it honestly that bad?”

“It wasn’t the pond, Flitter, it was that we were tricked. Why would you ally yourself with an organization that supports that?”

They were quiet, and Colgate thought, for a second, that they had moved to a different part of the spa. “I can’t explain it, Cloud,” Flitter finally said.

“I don’t like this.”

“I’m sorry, sis.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” Hooves shuffled outside.

“Don’t give me that look. I know you don’t like it, but this is my life.”

“Your life, but our business. Where am I gonna find another pony to manage this thing with me?”

There was no pause, and Colgate started at Flitter’s suddenly raised voice, shrill with weak-sounding anger. “I don’t know, sis, how about anywhere? We’ve got a whole bunch of disenfranchised pegasi trying to scrape by on the farm, and about a thousand more waiting their turn up in Cloudsdale. One of them has to know about business management, probably a lot more than me.”

“Oh, yeah, let me just fly all the way to Cloudsdale to find a replacement. Am I supposed to knock on everypony’s doors, or put up a job posting and hope?”

“I don’t need this,” Flitter sighed. “I’m sorry, Cloud.”

“You don’t need it? What about me? I do need this, Flitter. I can’t just run off with you, you know.”

Colgate adjusted herself on the floor.

“And you can’t just walk out on me. You know that.” Her voice dropped to a gentler register. “We’re supposed to be in this together, Flitter.”

Wings opened and closed in the sound Colgate recognized as pegasi hugging, something her association with Spike had exposed her to. “I’m not saying I’m gonna leave today. I’ll help you transition.”

Cloudchaser didn’t respond.

“Okay?”

Their hoofsteps retreated, and Colgate got up and returned to her bench. She knew it would be a matter of days until Cloudchaser was right next to her sister in their field, as eager to learn and practice as she had been before.

* * * * * *

Rainbow even dreamt of the ghost ship’s interior, its hold neon green with an enhanced sigil, and empty of her friends. She cantered around the rim, finding, as she did so, an absence of the strong repellant magic that had contained them earlier. She broke the outermost line with a tiny yelp of pleasure, which became a startled grunt when Trixie’s head materialized out of the walls.

With her, dread. Rainbow watched her emerge from the dark grain of tempered wood, flawless blue on sable shadow, and beautiful even in the sickly green tinge. Her tail was an argent ghost, dragged weightlessly out of the dark, a soft contrail as she crossed before Rainbow to an unseen door, and her certitude sank with each step. She wanted to call out and warn her, or otherwise let her know she was not alone, but could not force her body into a response. Just as a white ring appeared to engulf her, Trixie turned of her own accord.

Her eyes, eyes Rainbow had not seen in nearly a month, pinned her in the half second they connected with her own. They alighted and then slid away, as though Rainbow were a mere fixture to the room. Trixie’s mind was elsewhere, occupied with more important affairs; Rainbow’s disquieted witness to her calm visage was not her concern.

The simplicity of the look filled her with concern. So incomplete, so small, was she that she could not even deviate Trixie’s gaze for a moment, and she felt dark and petty as Trixie vanished, leaving the exit’s halo behind.

When it closed, her dream froze, and Rainbow could only sit on suddenly shaking back legs. Trixie had walked out of the ship’s hold and directly into the carrying arms of death. The transition was so swift that it left only space for quiet shock, and the stunted breathing of Rainbow’s disbelief. The surprise, dulled, contrasted and amplified her hurt, itself sharp and freezing with the sudden recognition of familiar, overlooked foreknowledge. She had been expecting it, but not really. She had expected Trixie to go away at some indeterminate point, but never at an actual, calculable moment. She had expected a day when she would think of Trixie with the mild, acidic burn of regret, but not the day that that regret would burn a hole through her, and for all the colorful optimism to drain away.

When she woke up, heart stretched with a diminished ache, she turned over and took a minute to remember that Trixie was still alive. It had felt real, and so expected that her accustomed worry was gone, in its place acceptance.

* * * * * *

Flitter signed back on to the Datura that same afternoon, the afternoon of her talk with Cloudchaser, and Colgate and Spike were both there to watch. Foxglove gave her the standard runaround of questions, asking her about her past, her experience with the extranormal, but they both knew it was for appearances. The Ponyville Datura was dangerously understaffed, and with a Tartarus opening nearby that needed closing, Foxglove wasn’t in a position to be selective.

Spike and Colgate trained together while Flitter went over the Datura history and tenets for her second time.

“It’s south, that way,” Colgate said, flashing her horn and nodding her head toward Cloudsdale.

“What is?” Spike asked, arms raised to stretch his shoulders. He had been in near constant motion for an hour, Colgate just beside him, and his movements, while easy, were slowing.

“The gateway.” She rotated before taking a short hop toward him and lashing out with a back leg, a clumsy maneuver they both knew Foxglove would reprimand, were she with them. “See that line of trees back there? It’s really hazy right now.”

“Yeah, I see ‘em.”

“Those fence in Cloudsdale Farms, and past them is a narrow valley that leads to the rock farm. The gateway is a couple miles beyond that.”

“Pinkie’s rock farm?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“She grew up on a rock farm.”

“Oh. Spike, remember, I’m not friends with the Elements of Harmony. I don’t know their lives.”

“I thought you were friends with Twilight.”

“She was friendly with me at one point, but I didn’t reciprocate it, at least nothing beyond politesse.”

He dodged a much better kick from her, and returned with his own flurry of little punches, which bunted uselessly on the air right before her sides while she held him back magically.

“Not fair,” he grumbled.

“I know there are strategies we employ to deal with unicorns like me,” Colgate said, “but I don’t know them.”

“What do you think of the Elements of Harmony, anyway?”

“I don’t think about them very much.”

“Well, when you do, what do you think?”

“Take a break, you two,” Foxglove called from where she paced before Flitter. “Seven minutes.”

They sat where they stood, Spike exhausted, Colgate panting quietly. “I think Rarity’s my favorite. She seems to have the best head on her shoulders. Twilight’s smart, but, from what I’ve seen, she flies into a panic too easily.”

“Rarity can be pretty dramatic too, though. Over-dramatic, I think.”

“You just say that because she’s a prissy girly-girl.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

Colgate’s lips drew up in her intimation of a smile. “I still like her.”

“Me too.” He paused, and sighed. “I used to have a thing for her, you know.”

“Okay.”

He frowned. “Have you ever had a crush on somepony?”

“I don’t know. I’ve dated, though. I went out with Dr. Whooves for a few months, most recently. That was more than a year ago.”

“But that’s dating, that’s different. I’m talking about love, Colgate. When you have a crush on somepony, they’re all you can think about.”

“I’ve never had a hard time getting ponies out of my mind.”

His nostrils flared as he plucked at a blade of grass. “Have you ever seen someone, and your heart just goes crazy? Or skips a beat, or something? Like they do something to you, and you don’t know what it is, just that you want to be around them more?”

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about. Ponies don’t do that to me.”

“All ponies?” He smirked. “What about dragons?”

“I doubt it.”

“I’m joking anyway.” He lay on his back in the grass. “It’s a really good feeling, Colgate.”

“I don’t remember feeling anything like that,” she said.

“Well how did you feel when you were with Dr. Whooves?”

“He was very affectionate, and he challenged my intellect, which I appreciated. So, appreciative, I guess.”

“That’s it?”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“He didn’t make you have butterflies in your stomach, or make you want to sing and dance and shout your love from the rooftops?”

“You’re talking about cheesy romance book things, Spike. I don’t feel that.”

“You just felt appreciative that he was smart.”

“More or less.”

He laughed. “You really are something special, Colgate. I’ve never met anyone as in-control of her emotions as you.” He hopped up and hugged her. “You’re like totally inequine, but in a really cool, relaxed way.”

“You like that?”

“I think it’s neat.”

“On your hooves over there. Break’s over,” Foxglove said. “You should be able to keep track of that on your own.”

He woke up to a gentle, insistent knocking, and looked out the window to see Zecora’s distinctive coloration outside his door. At the threshold, after a second for him to get his bearings, she took him onto her back, and they galloped away from town. They passed the fringe of the training field and traveled along the forest curve until Ponyville was not visible. Before them, a great, flat field unrolled into a broken ruffle of trees, and Spike could see a windmill’s lazy silhouette against the rough shadows.

After fifteen minutes of quiet movement, Zecora set him down on a large, flat rock beside a stream, and turned him to look into the trees. “I bring you here to show you that not all the Datura sees is flesh and blood, and also to take you away from something.”

He only looked at her, and voiced the question that had appeared as they crossed the Ponyville river. “What’s going on? I thought you were chasing monsters.”

“My team is. I returned for other reasons. Someone in Canterlot wants to speak with me, in person. I journey there tomorrow.”

“Huh.” He was still tired, and her words skated over him. “What do you want to show me?”

“Look.” She gestured silkily into the trees, and he followed the imaginary line from her hooftip. Behind the trees, almost hidden, a crisp, blue light incandesced, rising and falling like a coiled lasso of starlight, disappearing behind leaves and dispelling shadows. He imagined he could hear the shimmer of unicorn magic with it, overtaking the crickets and the breeze that filled the night.

“What is it?”

“That is a glamour,” Zecora said. “This one is harmless. They are simply spells or enchantments that have come untethered, and are free to wander about.”

“How does magic come ‘untethered’?”

“Various mistakes in the casting. I already know who accidentally released this glamour. A friend of mine, within the forest.”

They were quiet, and he watched the glamour move in its place. It never drifted, only endlessly turned over itself. Dappled shadows scattered at its movements, bringing the forest to life before him, a labyrinth of decaying darkness.

“You said you wanted to bring me away from something,” he said.

“You keep company with a peculiar mare, and I would be lying if I said she didn’t worry me sometimes.”

“You too, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t like Colgate either.”

“I did not say that. I do like her, I just worry.”

“Why? Colgate’s harmless.”

“She got her name on the Datura’s watch list because of what she did to Noteworthy.”

“Really?”

“She’s what we call a ‘potential malefactor,’ yes. Spike, I want you to think of all the times you’ve been with her. Think about how she treats you, and how she sees you.”

He put a claw to his chin. Colgate had been a stable friend for what felt to him like years. She was always there when he needed an opinion or a good thought, and she never made him feel small, as Noteworthy had.

“What does she see when she looks at you?”

“I dunno. Hopefully, a good friend.”

“Ask her sometime. See what she says, and how long it takes her to say it. She’s smart, but think of how seldom she shows emotion.”

“She’s stoic, Zecora. You’re like that too.”

“Ask Colgate if she thinks she’s a good friend to you. See if you need to explain what you mean to her.”

“Why would I need to?”

“You would need to explain because, if she’s how I think, she won’t understand the question.”

“She will. I know it.”

“I hope so.” She sighed and watched the glamour move in its place, and he looked at her. He reeled in the wake of her advice, trying to imagine Colgate as the pony Zecora thought her to be. In the cool summer night, and an hour outside Ponyville on his short legs, she didn’t feel as real to him. In town, when she was a quick jaunt away, it was easy for him to let her overtake his thoughts with her own strong, quiet personality. Such intensity of knowledge and intent, and her nearly unshakable composure, was the antithesis to his own relatively weak mental foundation, and he knew it.

“What did you mean, you want to take me away from something? Is it her?” He looked back at Zecora, but she was lost in the glamour’s twinkling show. He breathed out and looked to the stars. Years of stargazing with Twilight had taught him just how much of the night sky ambient light could cover. Even Ponyville’s weak lights, on a dark night, created a thin skirt of illumination to muffle the weaker stars. Outside the town, he could see it in the distance, a wide, ethereal cone of pallid light with no clear edges, rising.

He thought of the hospital, responsible for a large part of the Ponyville light pollution. It had become nearly a second home since joining the Datura, his time there with Colgate fond in his memory, despite what everyone told him.

“So what if she’s a little crazy? We’re all a little weird. That’s doesn’t make it right for ponies to try to separate us.” He imagined Colgate felt the same way. “She wouldn’t take advantage of me. I’d know it if she tried, though that’s not why she wouldn’t do it. She doesn’t do it ‘cause she’s nice.” He frowned, remembering the confrontation he witnessed. The twisted indignation as she leapt to the conclusion that they were all betraying her. “She’s usually nice, anyway.”

“Still awake?” Zecora asked.

“Yeah.” He put a claw on the grass and took a moment to take in its softness. “It’s beautiful. The glamour, I mean. I didn’t know you girls dealt with things like this.”

“There is a lot of beauty in this world, even now. We must hope that your friends can restore it in time.”

“I’m sure they can,” he said reflexively.

“They’re very busy.”

“I can imagine. I just hope they’re okay.”

Zecora hesitated. “I cannot reveal any sources of information, but if they were to perish, Foxglove would know. And she would tell me.”

“And would you tell me?”

“Yes,” she said after a time. He sighed, and she finally looked at him. “You seem unhappy.”

“Have you ever used one of Foxglove’s memetic potions?”

“You mean my memetic potions.”

He looked at her. “Yours?”

“I am a potions specialist, remember?”

“Right, I forgot.” He turned to look at her askance, his tone not quite as polite when he spoke again. “So you made these, huh?”

“I didn’t invent them, if that’s what you mean, but I produce them. Getting to your original question, though, yes. I have used them, many times.”

“I see.”

“A lot of Datura members were given the potion. Noteworthy was.”

“Noteworthy? You’re kidding me.”

“Not at all. Before he was a Datura, he was a singer in a barbershop quartet. Ponies loved him.”

He picked at a tuft of grass. “Noteworthy, given the potion. That’s crazy.”

“Believe it. You’re not alone, Spike.”

“I hate it.”

“Why?”

He looked at her. “Do you seriously need me to tell you?”

“There are many potential reasons for a Datura to hate herself. I want to know yours.”

“I betrayed Colgate and Allie to bring them here. They trusted me, and I slipped them potions.” He looked behind him quickly, suddenly conscious of what he was saying, and what he had done. He had never given it voice.

“Betrayal, yes. We’re all familiar with it.”

“How do you deal with it, then?”

“It is customary, after slipping someone a potion, to watch over them and try to protect them from harm, at least initially.”

“That won’t change what I did.”

“Nothing will. You need to learn to live with that.”

He considered her words, though they seemed too simple. “So that’s how you do it? By watching over the ponies you betrayed?”

“Yes.”

He reclined onto his stone, eyes still on the glamour. For the following hour, no one spoke, and he intermittently watched the lights and dozed, jerking awake at times with tingling arms and confused head.

“It’s two in the morning,” Zecora said. “Do you want to go back? I can see you struggling to stay awake.”

“I don’t wanna disappoint you.”

“Falling asleep out here won’t do that.”

He groaned and turned over, and she poked him in the side. “Come, follow me back.”

“No ride?”

“I am not in the business of enabling Daturas, Spike.”

* * * * * *

“I have no idea how I would go about that, Octavia,” Twilight said. Everyone was awake, and, for the first time, sitting together. Rarity had dragged Pinkie over to join them, though she had not said much.

“I know that, but it is the only idea that I have had. That any of us have had, I believe.”

“How can we even be sure he’ll help us?” Rainbow said. “I mean, with his binding thing and all…”

“Let’s not be pessimistic now,” Applejack said. “We can’t afford to kill the first sign of hope since arrivin’ here.”

“Psh. Realistic, more like.”

“Okay, settle down,” Twilight said. “Maybe we can figure this out.”

“Ah don’t know what you think you’re gonna accomplish talkin’ about this with us,” Big Mac said, “since we don’t know anythin’ ‘bout magic.”

“We can always be her sounding board,” Fluttershy said.

“How did you even come by this idea, Octavia?” Rarity asked. “Forgive me for saying so, I mean no offense, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing to come from you.”

“I was merely thinking about him, and I remembered that he had appeared in my dream to tell me to research Thunderhead. When we did, it seemed strange that he should point us in the direction of someone so unlike the creature we face now. I think that he must have suspected that something like this would happen, and wanted to show me that he knew about her.”

“He wanted to make us realize that we could reach out to him,” Twilight said. “Maybe.”

“If that’s so, I feel we should all reevaluate how we feel about him,” Rarity said, looking between Rainbow and Applejack.

“But the question remains, how do I summon him?”

* * * * * *

It was Flitter's second day back with the Datura, and Spike, impelled by the light nag of guilt, went to visit Allie. Colgate was at the spa with Cloudchaser, comforting her in what was becoming a frightening loss of her previous mental solidity, and wouldn’t be available for another hour. He flagged down Allie as she emerged from behind the pin collecting machines, and she approached him with a sour expression.

“I was wondering if you’d show up. Come on, let’s talk.”

“Uh… okay.” He glanced briefly at her spot at the counter, but she was not stopped as she left the building with him alongside her.

“They know to expect erratic behavior from me right now. I said I’ve been having migraines.”

“Why?”

“Why indeed?” She sat down in a patch of grass off the hoofpath, and he stood on its edge, wary. “So, as you know, I’ve been one of your ponies before. I happen to be familiar with the potion that I assume you slipped me.”

“Wait, what?”

“The potion to force me to be open to joining up with you. The potion that you must have given me, and for which you’ve recently been shirking responsibility.”

“Whoa, whoa, let’s back up. Allie, where is this coming from?”

“Spike, did you give me a potion?”

“Uh, I mean, Foxglove told me to, but—uh, that is, I didn’t really want to.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have to be the most pathetic, untrustworthy little smear I’ve ever met in my life. At least Colgate knows where to exercise discretion.”

His jaw fell open slightly.

“You gave me the potion, and you don’t even have the decency to check up on me every day. Were you not told that that’s what you do? You watch the other pony, to make sure she doesn’t freak out when she starts thinking she’s losing her mind.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because I was a—er, one of you—for years before moving to Ponyville. Did you forget that?”

He stared at her.

“I get the strong impression that you did.”

“I’m sorry, Allie.”

“When I realized what had happened, I was pretty mad. Scratch that; I was furious. I had a whole speech prepared on why you don’t betray your friends, or trick them, or any of that, but then I realized something else. You wouldn’t get it.”

“What do you mean, I wouldn’t get it?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” She looked at him, empty of emotion. “Spike, you and I have been friends for a couple months now. You know how I feel about your organization, that I quit it years ago because I was uncomfortable, and what do you do? As soon as someone tells you to administer a potion that will force me to accept something I really, really didn’t want, you do it without question. If you’re that inconsiderate, I don’t think there’s anything I can really say to make you get it.”

He furrowed his brow and scratched his chin. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Do you know the definition of the word ‘integrity’?”

“Hey, I have integrity, okay, but the Datura’s a little more important than one dragon.”

She closed her eyes, straining for patience. “Did you notice how I haven’t used that name out here? How we’re in public, and talking about something that’s a secret? Did you notice that? Did you think about it?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. You don’t have to rake me over the coals about every little thing.”

“Right, you’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just kind of upset. Ponies get that way when you take advantage of their trust, Spike.”

“I didn’t mean to! I was just following orders.”

She looked at him, mouth open, and sighed. Her breath came out long and shallow, and she shook her head. “Do you know?”

“Know what?”

“Do you know how dumb you are?”

“Hey!”

“Are you aware that you’re not smart? That you’re usually the last one to figure something out?” She got up to pace a small circle. “Have you noticed how you’re never acting on your own, how everything you do, you do because someone else told you to? Noteworthy, Foxglove, Colgate. Spike, anyone can take advantage of you, because you take everything at face value. You don’t think.”

“I think plenty, Allie.”

“Spike, Colgate accidentally told me today that she was planning on leaving you stranded in the Everfree Forest.”

“Wait, what?”

“She’s starting to suspect you’re figuring out her game, and needs a way to dispose of you.”

He crossed his arms, but looked past Allie. “I… but…”

“Spike, I’m lying,” she sighed. “We don’t even talk anymore. You…” She shook her head again. “You complete idiot. I’m sorry, I’m really trying to show you what you did, but… I mean, I feel like I’m talking to a flower right now. You’re giving me this blank look like you have no clue why I’m mad, like you’re going to ask Colgate about what I said later today ‘cause you’re still hung up on my stupid test.”

“So she’s not gonna abandon me.”

“And that is how the story of you and me ends.” She sighed again. “If you ever think critically, about anything, think about your relationship with Colgate. I promise you—Spike, I promise you—she is going to use you up and leave you.”

“Uh-huh. I bet you’d like that.”

She turned to move back to the bowling alley. “You’re a resource for her, not a friend. That psycho is going to ruin your life.” She paused. “Just like you both have done to me.”

Spike was unable to talk to Colgate. They trained all day, and, by the time night had fallen, he was too exhausted to follow her back to her house. He stumbled into his own living room with Flitter right behind, where Cloudchaser waited for them, a look of contrition on her face and the smell of food coming from his kitchen.

Over cornbread and blackberry tea, they talked about life in the Datura, and Cloudchaser apologized to Flitter for her strong words. Spike watched, struggling to keep himself awake as the two sisters discussed an argument he hadn’t seen, and a decision he had known to expect. It ended, to his lack of surprise, in a tearful hug.

“Is this what it’s like to be her?” he thought, chewing his bread and watching the emotional display dispassionately.

The next day, he woke up inside a pair of wings, and the two of them made breakfast together, she singing softly as she worked, he checking out the window absentmindedly. The two left for the spa at eight o’ clock, and there he met Colgate, speaking with Cloudchaser, who nodded along glumly. The final words of encouragement.

When she left half an hour later with Colgate beside her, Spike waited at the edge of a hot tub, intermittently speaking to Flitter as she cleaned. He knew he could not tell her of his encounter with Allie, but it was the only thing on his mind, and his words circled the topic loosely and distantly, threatening to pull him into his own disastrous mire of questions and explanations. Only Colgate, he knew, could soothe him.

“Spike, what’s wrong? You’re not yourself today.”

“I’ve never really understood that question.” He remembered Colgate, on the banks of the river, confused that she should be any different from what she was in that single instance. He remembered wondering whether Noteworthy might be right, that an unspecified, toxic illness waited beneath her quiet veneer.

“Spike?”

“Just thinking,” he said at last, trying to think of what to tell her preoccupied him. “That Tartarus gateway has me a little worried.”

“That what?”

He looked at her. “There’s an opening to Tartarus just outside Ponyville. Did Foxglove not tell you about that?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Oh.” He kicked his feet in the warm water.

“Geez, some timing I have,” she said. “What a time to join up with you.”

“Flitter, don’t fool yourself. You’ve been tricked. There’s this potion that makes you susceptible to Datura influences somehow, and Colgate gave it to you and Cloudchaser. I did it to Allie too, and now she hates me.” He bit his tongue. “Yeah, guess so. Huh, crazy.”

Colgate sat in her office with Spike on the other side of her desk, her papers cleared away, her patients safe with some other doctor, her credentials forgotten mirrors of glass on the wall. Lunch was spread out between them.

“I talked with Allie yesterday,” he said.

“How’s she coming along?”

“She knows.”

“Knows?”

“She knows I gave her a potion. She knows I went behind her back.”

Colgate picked a seed out of her teeth. “Interesting.” She studied Spike, thinking. “I was not aware that ponies could figure that out,” she said slowly.

“She did, somehow. And she was mad.”

“Explain.”

“I dunno, she kept calling me stupid, and naïve. She said I didn’t get it, and I tried to explain to her that I do get it, but she wasn’t listening.”

“What do you get?”

“She’s just mad that she has to go back into the Datura. She left it once, and thought it was done, and now she knows she’s going to sign up again.”

“She’s mad that you were the instrument of her downfall.” She nodded, once. “Makes sense.”

“She mentioned you.”

“No surprises there.” “That psycho.” “What did she say?”

“She told me that I need to examine my relationship with you, that you were gonna ruin my life.”

Colgate raised an eyebrow.

“Colgate, am I a resource for you?”

“Why in the world would you ever think that?” “You didn’t think to ask me that on your own.”

“Allie told me. She said I’m not your friend, I’m your resource, and you’re going to abandon me as soon as I stop being useful.”

Colgate closed her eyes. “Please tell me you don’t believe that nutcase. Spike, look at what she’s done to us. She tries to drive us apart at every turn.”

“I know, I know. I wanted to say that to her, but… well, she was pretty mad.”

“Spike.” She looked into his young eyes. “I am now, as I have been since the very beginning, your friend, and only that. I know I’ve made some mistakes in the past, but I know what I did, and I refuse to let it happen again. Allie…” She shook her head. “Her head’s so screwed up, I almost feel sorry for her.”

“I know, me too.”

“I promise you, I only want you to be happy.” She sighed. “Please tell me you’re not seeing her anymore.”

“After all that? Heck no. We’re through. She just kissed my friendship goodbye.”

“Good. It’s sad, but sometimes that has to be done.”

He rose, and she knew what he was planning to do. She scooted back to allow it. Hugging her, his mouth right next to her ear, he said, “You’re the best friend anypony could ask for.”

“I’m glad I can be that for you.”

They finished lunch, and he left with a spring in his step. She magically swept the empty food containers into her trash before locking the door, deep in thought.

“There’s no way Allie knows this on her own. The first indicator of a psychopath is that they have no self-awareness, or almost none. She shouldn’t be able to recognize a change in her mentality like that.” She looked out the window. “Which means someone told her, and the only ponies who know are Foxglove and Spike. She has no reason to spill the beans.” She watched a bird perch on a bridge strut to fan its wings.

“Spike. He told her. Why?” The bird flew away. “He knows she hates me. Any reason for her to try to hurt me, she’ll take.” A pair of dragonflies skirted the river, flecks of color and movement. It clicked. “He tells her, knowing she’ll connect it to me. She does, and tries to push us apart, but he wasn’t expecting an attack that indirect. Probably thought she’d try to defame me again.” She went back to her desk. “But why would he try to set her on me?”

She picked up a paper, a month old referral that she had never gotten around to sending to medical records. “And then he asks me if he’s a resource for me. Of course. He probably suspects something. Allie, you nag. But you’re not to blame here; you didn’t choose to see this.”

Someone walked past her office, whistling, and she kept thinking. Conclusions and ideas unfolded, slowly and haltingly, many of them half-formed and stunted by medication.

“A warning. I’ll give him a warning. I’ll show him that I’m not to be trifled with.”

Crashing Down

Chapter Fifty-eight

Crashing Down

Weak with hunger, tired, and dehydrated from too many tears shed, Twilight struggled to draw her sigil. It was a miniature design between the lines of their containment sigil, and its form was not certain in her mind.

Octavia’s suggestion had been to try to summon Vanilla Cream and ask for his help. At first, the feat seemed unreasonable, but as time pressed harder and harder on their minds, Twilight found herself consumed by the idea. She knew the basic design to summon an object, and knew the way to vary it, theoretically, to summon a living thing. Her problem was translating it into a shape that would get the attention of a being not of the Gaia, and, from there, condensing it into only a few square feet of space.

She completed a spacious, intricate center before stopping to frown down at the beginnings of the sigil’s middle circle, what was known as the sigil’s mezzanine. There were to be two in her sigil, with only a half-inch of space between, and the thought of so little room froze her creative process.

“All right, Twi?” Rainbow asked.

“Fine.” She knew her terse tone could easily frustrate Rainbow, and the idea of it was secretively attractive. Since their first hours aboard, she had not forgotten Rainbow’s sarcasm, and had indulged herself countless times with elaborate fantasies of telling her off.

She put her brush back to the floor and began the outer rim, telling herself she would return to the middle later, and it was after twenty minutes that she was staring at the empty rings again. She could hear her friends mumbling outside her range of focus, but, as was always the case for her, her concentration rendered their voices down to soft white noise.

Two ideas vied in her taxed brain, ways to complete the spell and draw Vanilla from wherever he was, but she had not the education in Tartarus magic to choose with confidence. Worse still, she had to assume that Thunderhead would notice a spell of the size she was attempting; she had to assume that she had only one chance.

“He might not show up no matter what she does,” Rainbow said.

“Not so loud,” Octavia said.

Twilight sighed through her nose and resolutely began a design, Rainbow’s pessimism enough to bury her uncertainty. As she rounded her sigil, thoughts of magical theory and design from all the way back to her education in Canterlot filled her mind. In a sigil, the mezzanine was the center’s predicate, the magic that determined the conditions by which the middle’s ultimate objective was achieved. For summoning Vanilla, she was unsure of the specific line work to bridge the gap between her world and his. She could summon him, or she could accidentally fill their prison with a stolen patch of high-altitude cloud. She simply didn’t know enough.

She had taken a single class on sigils, and in it she learned the basics on the geometry of magic, and saw how complicated it could become. A line that curved when it should be straight, or radial symmetry instead of bilateral, could make the difference between a sigil that purified the air and one that set the room on fire, or between a sigil that worked and one that fizzled and faded away.

She paused again, considering her progress, before stippling a trio of dots within a small floret of curves. When she was finished, she took a single step away. Her sigil filled only a couple square feet, and she lowered her horn to it to perform the simple activation spell. The sigil coruscated to life, pulsed once, and was gone, just as it was meant to.

“Is that it?” Rarity asked.

“Yes.” Twilight wanted to say that she hoped it would work, but didn’t.

“I don’t see him,” Rainbow said, not looking around.

Fluttershy raised her ears and surveyed the room.

“What?”

“I was expecting him to respond to that. For, um, for dramatic effect.” She looked around again, and Rainbow did as well. “Or that.”

“Hey!” Rarity started, and they all looked.

Vanilla sat just outside the rim, looking in coolly. “Don’t worry, I was only there a couple seconds before you saw me.” He smiled politely. “That was an impressive spell, Twilight. Did you do that from memory?”

“Not exactly; I had to improvise most of it. Was it okay?”

“It was all right. If you were trying to summon me directly, you failed, but it got my attention. Where did you learn to draw like that?”

“Can we get on with it? Thunderhead could be on her way right now,” Applejack said.

“She isn’t. I have occluded myself from her.” He gestured to Twilight. “Please, continue.”

“It’s actually a combination of different spells I know. One was a basic summoning sigil, but the other was for invoking magical beings. I just thought I’d combine the two and add a more… Tartarus-y design to it.”

“You truly have an amazing mind,” he said. “But I suspect you all want to do more than talk about the magic that brought me here.”

“Uh, yeah,” Rainbow said. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re kind of stuck here.”

“No, don’t mind me. I can leave if you don’t want me.”

“Wait, please!” Rarity cried, and shot a bitter look at Rainbow. “Please, we’ve been stuck here for… I’ve lost count.”

“You want my help.”

“We need your help.”

He appraised the sigil, and the room’s interior.

“Please say you can do it,” Twilight said. “Please.”

“I am afraid that it would violate my binding far too much.”

“You move us all the time,” Applejack said. “Just do it again. Yank us out and put us in the wilderness.”

“He wants you to be here, and, as much as I would like to, I am in no position to disobey.”

“So that’s it? Twilight summoned you here for you to prance around and let us rot away in this stupid ship?” Rainbow said.

“Is it possible for you to enable us to help ourselves?” Octavia asked.

“Yeah! Give us another upgrade or something.”

Vanilla thought. “An intriguing idea, but who would I select for such a thing?”

“Twilight,” Applejack said. “She’s the magical one.”

“Wait,” Twilight said. “I don’t know.”

“Let me do it instead,” Octavia said. “I have not stopped wanting to fight this, and I do better under pressure. Sorry, Twilight.”

“A charitable suggestion,” Vanilla said.

“What will you do?” Rarity asked.

He entered the sigil and walked to Octavia, who looked at him with mild inquisitiveness. “Thunderhead, as you call her, is a magical being. A spell, given form. Her true substance is a collection of interconnected sigils on the floor of one of Discord’s rooms, but I cannot allow you to erase them.” He paused, inspecting Octavia. “Instead, Octavia, I shall allow you to undo the spell from this side.”

“That sounds simple enough,” Fluttershy said.

“You must undergo a transformation, though. Thunderhead is a self-regulating enchantment, and it would take a mage of high caliber to take her apart. You probably could, Twilight, but not in this position.”

“Then give her the magic,” Applejack said. “The way you were talkin’, it sounded like she needed to do more’n cast a spell.”

“She already has the ability, I’m sure,” Vanilla said, walking around Octavia. “What she lacks is the time to study, the resources, and, most of all, the space to draw her own counter-sigils. The undertaking would be too significant for her confinement. Now, Octavia, you’ll want to close your eyes for this.”

“That’s always an encouraging sign,” Rainbow muttered.

“You will see her disappear, but she will remain here the whole time. I’m going to turn her into a cloud of magic, very similar to Thunderhead.”

“Whoa, hold on,” Applejack said. “Ain’t that like killin’ her?”

Vanilla held her in his blue gaze for just a moment. “No. It is not.” He turned back to Octavia. “Ready?”

“Do it before I think better of this,” Octavia said, eyes already shut.

Vanilla smiled in benediction and, horn unlit, cast his spell. The weight of the floor on her hooves vanished as her friends cried out, and her vision returned right after, the resistance of her eyelids forgotten, the feeling of her body in its space gone.

“She’s fine, she’s fine,” Vanilla said. “I told you she would be invisible to you.”

Octavia found herself amidst a panoply of iridescent color, giant ribbons of pale violet, lurid scarlet, and glowing amber, twisting and curling in long, loping spirals like strands of submerged rope. Each gossamer swath was faded and fuzzy at the edges, translucent all the way through, and through her incorporeal eyes she saw distant darkness all around, a penumbral shroud of colors layered on colors. Her friends were still discernable in the miasma, silhouettes of themselves, and one crowned with an oblate, olive green bauble.

“What you are seeing, Octavia, is magic. That’s Twilight’s pocket dimension on her head there.”

She turned a slow circle, her vision rotating free of a body. She wanted to speak, but could not.

“It’s okay. I can understand you,” Vanilla said.

“Is this how you see the world?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

She watched the room, her friends’ nervous movements. “Why can I not see you?”

“I am here, don’t worry. I’m difficult to see.”

She followed a band of dark yellow light upwards, but stopped when she saw her friends falling away.

“You’re free to move in any direction you choose, and wield any magic within your power. There is no need for familiarity here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You need not have learned a spell to cast it in this form. If you have the power within, it is yours.”

She looked around again, already lost in the network of magic that was Thunderhead’s ghost ship. Where she looked closer, she went, and the sigil that had imprisoned her for so long was a small, flat crystal of color in an unfolding prism, left behind without effort.

“I’ll be watching.”

Above and beyond, a vast canopy of semi-solid light twisted away into the ghost ship’s dark cocoon, and she flowed over a rail of light blue. With Vanilla’s voice gone, she was aware of something more. Slipping through the undercurrent of thoughts, hardly conscious, but within her grasp should she pursue it, an endless stream of numbers and equations, complex beyond her reckoning, flowed through her like pine needles in a river, sprung from every curve, every vertex, every change in the static river of deliquescent light. She stopped between a pair of golden cartwheels, edges frosted with delicate strands of pink and purple.

Positioned atop the wheels, she scanned them briefly to inherently recognize their function. The spell that afforded Thunderhead access to a microcosm of gravity defiance—a spell to turn the ship upside-down without harm.

“I have to start somewhere.”

She prepared to cast a spell of her own, but stopped. “How, though?”

Expecting Vanilla’s response, she froze, confused, as the wheels partially unraveled around her. Fronds of magic twinkled and faded away like living steam as gilt spokes swung around glimmering irises, unhinging and then slowly rebounding back to their places.

Octavia then felt another presence. Moving her perspective, remembering after a second to keep her mind on her position, she looked into the dark envelope of magic. A heraldic point of flame, encased in a tight jacket of hot maroon streamers, moved through the curtains of magic, exploding her disembodied mind with hundreds of calculations, both from the approaching spell itself and the slight displacement of its presence among its own magic. Ripples of visible math flowed and flowered across her artificial sense of sight.

Thunderhead was upon her before she could conceive a reaction.

Her sight rotated as she plummeted through a reforming wheel, and the math in her head turned to static. She was aware of the power of the magic washing over her, intense and indescribable; there was no perspective of the greater world, but her own intentions were clear inside her own dewdrop of energy. Stopping atop a calliope of half-unfurled wings, green as the sigil that brought them there, she swiveled to direct her attention to Thunderhead. As she thought of her action, so it was, and the spell spun and separated like a falling flower. From one side, a curl of royal blue dove obliquely over her, and, for a moment, the magical world gave way to the more familiar view of her friends in the sigil before vitrifying again.

“I made you more powerful than that,” Vanilla whispered.

She traveled along the curve, following it down across the dark purple rib of a barrel of magic, the spell to allow the ship its near instant travel. Thunderhead lagged behind, and she moved away from the barrel, focusing in on the complex viscera of magic behind its swirling skin. With the same intention as when she started uncoupling the cartwheels, she added her own magical thoughts to the mix. Her mind boiling with calculations, it was a simple matter of tweaking the formula—the removal of a coefficient, the shifting of a parameter, was all she required, and it was so easy that she saw the effects before she fully understood what she was doing.

Thunderhead swayed into the purple cylinder and released a cobweb of yellow tendrils, a pincushion of sharp magic caught in a gobbet of bruised amber. Octavia shifted back, thinking without understanding, and removed the barrel’s containing border.

The math grew in an instant, and Vanilla laughed in the back of her mind. All around her, darkness clouded and churned, and she could feel flakes of ambient magic returning from distances so immense as to ruin the scale of her empirical calculations. Numbers cascaded into exponents of themselves, ones became hundreds of thousands, and decimals stretched to a hundred places, and every bit of it, fast as thought, covered her. She could see it. For an instant, she followed an equation, but dismissed the thought as Thunderhead moved again—leaving her with the isolated knowledge that they were, for one two-hundredth of a second, flying over the south pole, back on the planet. Releasing pieces of herself, Thunderhead fused her colorful barbs to the barrel’s interior before driving the main fuselage of her enchantment after Octavia.

She turned and flung herself away, feeling the magic behind her adjust to admit Thunderhead’s pursuit. The familiar shapes disappeared as she flew past entire cities of magic. Green arrays of orientation magic formed offset walls to checkered, broken crowns of force field and invisibility enchantments while parabolic, orange bands of remote viewing magic hung like decadent earrings. Thunderhead was a star of energy behind her, punching through magical spaces like a meteorite, her endlessly complicated ripples holding Octavia’s attention more than her destination, which was, simply, away.

She was not aware of the passage of time, but when, suddenly, magic gave way to the cavernous vault of the open-atmosphere planet, she stopped as if perched on a cliff—only for a second. Incorporeal weight forced her farther, and the cavern pivoted and opened wider as she spun to take in a panorama of glittering specks, spells so powerful and so distant that she could not find them in the endless string of formulas running through her. The ground below them was a black mantle, the sun a pale silver disc, and Thunderhead a heavy, bristling engine of faceless, soundless aggression.

Her sensations again wavered, and she was resting on the ship floor, her friends looking around with worry. For a second, it came into sharper focus.

“No. That is not what you were made for,” Vanilla said sternly. The magical world returned.

Octavia hung over the wide, coal earth to watch the retreating ruby pillar, a bauble angled away from the gleaming ark of light, its shapes still annealing from their exit. She followed Thunderhead, gliding over the vague countryside until the tangled geometry of the ghost ship filled her vision, the edges of its magic efflorescing against the lifeless sun.

Undaunted, she scanned the ground, the same magical awareness allowing her a sense of location from every faint rumple and crevasse in the distant, dark surface. They were five miles outside of Snowdrift, suspended uselessly over a wide, forested plateau. The town itself glittered below like a plate of refractory crystals, a single vein of white magic bisecting the ovoid village.

She reached the ship, but did not notice Thunderhead waiting within the confines of a temperature regulation spell until her vision thawed into the same view of her friends in the sigil.

“Pay attention, Octavia. This is now three times you would have died if this were in your world.” She fell back away from her body and into Thunderhead’s magical tide, pulling at the edges of her consciousness, trying to separate her senses from her cognizance. With a pull of her own, enough to send another river of calculations through her, she distanced herself from Thunderhead. She was still inside the larger spell, and Octavia, seeing her chance, reached inside to remove a piece. The flowering enchantment immediately folded in on itself, encasing Thunderhead briefly. Her tendrils switched out again, but Octavia, ready for the reaction, held the math firmly in her mind; every change Thunderhead exerted, she was able to sweep away right after.

Thunderhead fought to restore the spell, but Octavia narrowed her thoughts, closing it further. Thunderhead’s movements became more frantic as her arms bent and coalesced, and Octavia squeezed harder, finding, as she did so, growing ease of encapsulating the spell in her mind. Extraneous pieces of the formula died away, and she was soon left with only the pure, simple core of the spell, Thunderhead trapped within like a fly in a jar.

“Wait.” As she could see the calculations behind the magic, she could also follow them. Holding Thunderhead captive, she followed the decision to snuff her out, and saw with dismay the consequence: the ship, connected to its captain, would vanish also, and her friends would plummet.

Thunderhead vibrated and spun like a gyroscope against her artificial confinement, and Octavia could see the pressure on the numbers. The magic within was not equal to the exponential magic outside, but it would not be long before the spells reached equilibrium, and Thunderhead would break free.

“Can I?” She examined the spell’s edges and, finding them reduced and unattached, tried to grab the spell entire. Minute pieces of other spells and enchantments stuck to it as she dragged it through the maze of magic, and, by the time she had found what she was looking for, Thunderhead was closer to freedom, and an ineffective pseudo-spell had accreted to her simple ball of magic, adding useless, confusing values to the delicate balancing act that was close to tipping in her head.

The purple barrel had been repaired, and she reached a different thought into it. Thunderhead strained, and the first parameter snapped; the inequalities were about to fall into place to allow escape.

Putting the first place to come to mind in the middle of her thoughts, she squeezed Thunderhead’s spell tighter, and let the flood of uncontrollable, whirling numbers spray from the instant-travel spell, while a different singularity formed and resolved itself. Tighter, tighter, and then gone.

* * * * * *

Colgate watched the solitary windmill to the south from her seat at the café. She was waiting for Flitter to join her so she could enact Spike’s warning. Telling Flitter that Spike had attempted a kiss during one of his hugs, she would rend his relationship apart—a reminder to him to never go behind her back.

With a far off crash, the windmill’s blades flew apart, and they pirouetted briefly in the clear sky. The wire frame of a fast-fading ship had appeared suddenly, its nose embedded in the ground, but it only remained for a second before leaving the ruined mill tilting awkwardly, its skeleton broken and scattered like a fallen bird’s nest.

She rose from her table quietly and followed the startled crowd across Ponyville’s main square. She could hear Spike’s flabbergasted voice somewhere ahead of her, and hastened to catch up; she needed to make sure he wouldn’t try to take advantage of the momentary confusion to set up some other obtuse plan against her.

When she reached the town’s edge, what she saw gave her pause. She recognized the Elements of Harmony, she recognized Big Mac, and she recognized Discord from multiple advisories from the princesses, towering over the seven ponies.

“—you ponies mucking about like this. I’ll just create another.”

“Like hell you can!” Rainbow shouted. “That thing must’ve taken you a month to get right. Twilight told us.”

He rolled his head around mockingly and flapped his arms. “Twilight told us. Everyone’s intellectual darling, the pony with the answer for everything.”

“Are you going to do anything, or just rant?” Rarity demanded.

“Would you like me to do something?”

He took a moment to look around, and Spike marched out of the crowd.

Twilight’s bearing changed instantly, her eyes widening. “Spike!”

“Stay away from this,” Big Mac said.

“You think you’re something, huh?” Spike cried, pointing his tiny finger at Discord. The size difference made Colgate’s lips twitch in a partial smirk. “You think you can just bully Equestria into submission?”

His little voice was hollow in the sudden silence, and Discord stood akimbo, appraising him, then the ponies on the other side.

“Okay,” Discord said. “You take from me, I take from you.” He clapped his paw and talon together softly, and Spike crossed his arms. “Enjoy the next few minutes of your life, Twilight Sparkle.” With a loud crack of displaced air, Discord was gone, and Spike doubled over.

“Spike?” Twilight asked.

The dragon coughed and faltered, but stayed on his feet. His breath came out in wheezes, and Twilight approached him. Colgate watched as he squeezed out a tighter cough, bent, and then raced back into the crowd. His legs gave out from beneath him as he fell to the sound of everyone’s cries of alarm, his fists pounding the ground as he struggled to take in another breath.

“We need a doctor!” someone screamed, and the crowd gave way as Twilight galloped forward. Spike rolled over, his back curling sharply as he clutched at his chest, his breathing a febrile whisper.

Twilight stopped short, her horn lit but inactive, and Colgate heard a snap like a twig breaking. Spike’s arms and legs drew inward as his chest trembled, and the crowd backed away again at the final, thin scream he would be heard to produce.

The grass leaned inward as Spike vanished in a puff of steam, and the Elements of Harmony collectively screamed. Amid their cries, she could hear Applejack objecting, telling someone to go away. Colgate saw no one in their midst, but their noise halted abruptly, and they were gone.

“Guess I don’t need to find Flitter anymore,” Colgate thought.

* * * * * *

Octavia was restored to her body as soon as Thunderhead was no more, and the first thing she saw was the flicker of an upturned gas lamp in the windmill’s wreckage. She heard Discord, and Twilight, and a small, male voice that quickly fell to a deathly wheezing, and then, as she was trying to lift a gear away to let herself out, felt her hooves sink into warm sand. Blinking in the sunshine, she was first aware of the stale scent of salt, and her friends’ uproar just after.

They formed a rough semicircle around Twilight, hunched over and wailing into the ground. She was a desolate figure, a single source of anguished sound on the far away, empty beach. For the first minute, her cries were without definition, but from them emerged two distinct words, repeated: Spike, and a venomous, gasping him. While the rest of them converged, Pinkie remained off to one side. She had lost her cushion in the crash, and traced a small oval in the sand, lips twitching.

“He’s gonna pay,” Applejack said solemnly. “He’s gonna pay an’ then some fer this, Twi, mark my words.”

“I never could have imagined,” Rarity said, shaking her head.

Octavia set her gaze on Pinkie at the sound of quiet laughter. Pinkie had backed a distance away from the group, smiling weakly, and shaking with small giggles, which she was attempting to contain. When she noticed her sister looking at her, her expression broke, and the laughs came out louder, but without mirth. Tail up, she raced down the beach, off the thinning sand bank and onto the stone that remained to form the country’s edge. Twilight stopped and looked up, wiping her eyes.

“What the hell is this?” Rainbow asked.

Pinkie cackled, and a dark pink bubble of magic swept off her, passing them entirely to pick up a wall of sand and fling it out into the grasses and plains behind. She cried Discord’s name, and was gone in a flash of teleportation that was mirrored several miles up the coast before a second wave of magic followed. Sand flew again, and the magic flashed across them, susurrating quietly and leaving a soft, white noise in their ears.

They could still hear Pinkie’s manic laughter, but no more spells followed. “He may have just been moved,” Big Mac offered slowly.

“No. I can tell that wasn’t it,” Twilight said.

“That cowardly bastard’s gonna get it,” Applejack said. “Celestia an’ Luna aren’t gonna stand fer this.”

“Spike was defenseless,” Rarity moaned. A third spell rocked the beach as birds scattered, and Twilight cried out again.

Fluttershy shuffled at Octavia’s side, and, before Octavia could recoil, grabbed her in a shaking hug that did not relent until twenty minutes later, when Twilight had quieted and Pinkie had skulked back, head hung low. Clouds were gathering in the distance, enshrouding the tiny pillar of water that reached to the siphoning station.

With only a brief congress, they started down the beach. Octavia and Rainbow led the group, with Twilight and Applejack talking quietly in the back. Rainbow walked with a quiet, deadened calm that Octavia appreciated. As they moved to meet the coming rainclouds, she had time to think.

“Three times I failed in Vanilla’s form. More powerful than I can ever hope to be as a pony, and I failed three times. Disgusting.” Her steps became more forceful as the day ripened. “No ship, no idea where we are, no plans, and someone important dead. I do not even know what day this is.”

“We’re restin’ here,” Applejack said from behind, and everyone stopped obediently. Everyone looked at Twilight, some subtly, but she returned nothing. Twilight sat and stared into the blue distance, blank. It reminded Octavia of the face she wore when she was fresh off a flashback.

“I do not mean to sound insensitive, but who was that back there?” she asked at length. Rainbow looked at her, first offended, but then appeared to recall that Octavia had no reason to know.

“You met him before we went to Cloudsdale, I think.” Her voice was low, so Twilight couldn’t hear. “That’s Spike, Twilight’s assistant. He’s kind of like her son, or little brother, or something. I’m not too sure.”

“Oh.”

“She hatched him.”

Octavia frowned, trying to imagine Twilight hatching an egg. “I am sorry to hear that.”

“Where were you?” Rainbow asked, meeting her eyes for the first time. “Weren’t you all magical?”

“I was in the wreckage. I regained my body as soon as we crashed.”

“Oh. So you couldn’t have helped any more than us.”

It was five o’ clock when they stopped outside a sulking collection of sheds and cabins, tilted toward the field’s eroded edge and dark with rain, and ate beneath Rarity’s shield. Though they had lost their ship, Twilight had kept all their supplies in her pocket dimension, and they were able to subsist on some old rations.

“I can’t keep a shield up all night,” Rarity said.

“We’ll help ourselves to one of these houses,” Rainbow said. “We’ll be fine.”

Twilight nodded, and Pinkie got up without a sound to go into the rain. By the time they had finished eating, she had returned to lead them to an empty building. Through Twilight’s magenta light spell, they could see a moldering mattress pushed into the corner under a sagging bundle of fiberglass. Shadows twitched across spaces in the walls, and the rain rattled atop a slatted roof. A partially collapsed staircase had gathered filth and cobwebs, and they could see nothing but darkness in what appeared to be an open attic.

“It’s the best I could find,” Pinkie said. “They’re all like this. At least we’ll be alone.”

“Are there ponies in the others?” Rarity asked.

“Yeah. They’re a lot like these buildings.”

They fell asleep early, except for Octavia, who waited at the door, listening to the rain and watching them. Twilight was the last to drift off, doing so after a brief round of crying, partially smothered under Fluttershy’s wings.

When she was confident that she was alone, she stepped into the cold weather and went between two neighboring shacks. She could see light from the small port town up the coast, and reflected off the clouds, but there was no clear reason for the pathetic settlement to have appeared where it did. The smell of rotting wood surrounded her, even as she cleared the alley to skirt a disjointed, asymmetrical house, half-buried in a bank of sand.

She hadn’t slept for nearly two days, and her head, pounding from insomnia, spun as well from her abrupt return from Vanilla’s enchantment. She half expected him to step out of the shadows or appear behind her; she wanted him to. His last words had been to admonish her, and she could not consult Twilight on the matter. She had been left to uselessly ponder what had happened to her, what it meant for her understanding of magic, and she hated herself for her curiosity. One of Twilight’s closest friends was dead, she told herself, and she was concerned about what Twilight might teach her about her magical excursion. The thought of Vanilla’s patient conversation, withheld, depleted her mood further.

“Yo, Octavia!”

She stopped to allow Rainbow to catch up.

“I thought you might go wandering.”

“You know my habits well.”

“You okay?”

“I am confused.”

“Yeah, me too.” They put the final building behind them and stepped onto slippery stone. “I’m taking this way too well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Spike’s death. Twilight and Applejack are angry, and Rarity and Fluttershy are devastated. Pinkie’s… something.”

“She is very upset. Laughter is her coping mechanism.”

“I know that. But—”

“When she ran off earlier today, I think she was trying to get a handle on her emotions. There was a lot of anger there, and I doubt she is used to dealing with that.”

“Right. Anyway, though, I don’t know. I should be pissed, but I’m not.”

“What do you feel?”

“That’s the thing. I feel… just fine. Well, not fine—I’m still sad about it. But I feel okay. Better than the others.”

“Were you not as close to him as they?”

“No, we were buds.” They sat down beside a jagged boulder. “I’m almost relieved.”

“Relieved.” Octavia tried to think, but could only focus on Vanilla, and his absence. “I do not understand.”

“Me neither. It’s like finally breathing after being underwater for a long time.” She shivered and tried to press herself closer to the boulder. “I’ve had death on my mind for a while.”

“I imagine we all have.”

“Before we got captured.”

“Hm.” Octavia swept her mane out of her face.

“I don’t know what it all means.”

“It has been a hard several days, and it looks like it will be hard for the next several as well. Go back to your friends and get some sleep.”

“What about you?”

“I will stay outside for now.”

“You sure?”

Octavia looked at the clouds off the edge of the world. “I am sure.” She did not look back to see Rainbow fly away, only turned fifteen minutes later to find herself alone. She got up and crossed toward the edge, ignoring the pain of freezing stone against her hooves.

“Vanilla, if you are watching me, please come now.”

She stopped at a slope’s edge, where the rainwater flowed off in a steady rivulet, craning her neck to see more of the dark emptiness beyond. It had been so long since she had seen a gap, she had forgotten the dread majesty of their altitude. Somewhere, a mile below her hooves, the water was landing in a shallow, displaced ocean.

“Vanilla, if you are watching me, please come now.”

She sat down and shivered as the water flowed under her flanks and dock. Thrice, she had needed help to continue fighting Thunderhead, and, even then, she had been too distracted to consider Discord’s intervention.

“That little dragon is dead, and I could have prevented it. I had the same power that Vanilla does, and I could not handle it. I could not even comprehend it.” She turned her head, but he was still not there. “Absolutely pathetic. My friends are sleeping in a leaking shack, their friend dead, and we have no transportation. We should have stayed with Thunderhead.” Her brows knit, and her head throbbed. “Perhaps I could have bought them enough time if I stayed behind.”

She closed her eyes for a minute, only to force them open again. She knew she was pushing the boundaries of her endurance, but the idea of sleep felt inappropriate with the volume of grief that surrounded her. She lay down in the thin skin of water and looked at the clouds, and, before she knew it, she was crying.

“It should not be like this. I should not be punishing myself for Discord’s cruelty.” She uttered a soft gasp and hit her hoof on the stone. “Weakness, Octavia. This is exactly what you have helped Twilight with. Do not succumb yourself.”

Her eyes closed once more as she lay her head down in the water, letting it soak into her fur and numb the corner of her mouth. “They are right. I am killing myself. Slowly… slowly, slowly, I am killing myself. For what?” She shuddered and sat up to look into the abyss of the sky. She felt only the cold creeping deeper into her flesh, and the unremitting pulse of sleeplessness, scouring the inside of her skull. Another couple tears came out quickly before she stemmed them with a frustrated, wet hoof.

“Perhaps it would be better if I ended everything now, rather than in a few years, when I finally lose my mind.” She raised a hoof to take a step onto the slick rock, but faltered, afraid to lower her body by even a small margin. The rock edge had no rim, and one or two steps would leave her standing on a slick precipice with no purchase. One slip, and she would fall.

“Just like you want to, right? Weak, Octavia. Indecisive. Either do it or back away, but do not stand here like a lost filly.” She bit her lip emotionlessly, tracing the endless curve of the imprisoning sky. She was used to seeing more ground across a gap, and to stand at the absolute verge of Equestria was enough to distract her thoughts for a second.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?”

She turned slowly, expecting Vanilla, but saw, instead, an unassuming, brown stallion a few feet to her side. He wore an umbrella over his head, leaving his tail to stick out and drip like a tuft of ragweed. His cobalt eyes shone like dull stones, and his body was thin.

“Just wish the weather was more clement, eh?” he continued. His voice was courteous and smooth, his tone light. “I wish I had wings.”

She looked back at the sky, imagining, as she did so, the feeling of a mile of cold air ripping through her plummeting body. It didn’t sound so bad to her.

“No offense, ma’am, but you look awful. Do you need some help?”

She didn’t say anything; she was mesmerized by the view.

“You’re very close to that edge.” He gasped. “Wait, you’re not… please, hold on!” He trotted over to move in front of her, but there was no room. “Come on now, no need to think those kinds of thoughts! I’m sure things’ll look up eventually! What about all the ponies who love and care about you? There’s so much in life worth living.” He placed a hoof on her chest and guided her away, and she was too tired to offer resistance. “Sorry if I’m violating any personal space, but it looked like you were getting ready to jump there. Lacking wings, I suspect that would kill you. Not a nice thing, especially for a mare so young.”

She stared at him.

“Uh, well, you’re not alone, anyway. Truth be told, I was also considering ending it all, a few hours ago. I guess good can come from anything.” He shuffled uncomfortably. “Do you want to share my umbrella? You look cold.”

She looked back at the edge.

“Look.” A hoof slowly curled around one of hers, leading her a few paces farther from the drop-off. “I don’t want to pry into your business, but I also really don’t want to have a dead mare on my hooves, so if you could just tell me you’re okay, then I can get out of your face.”

She did not look at him. “I am okay.”

“Come on, lady, even I know that’s a fake. Here, I’ll tell you what! Let’s go back to my place, have a little warmth, a little shelter, maybe some food. We’ll both feel better, I promise.”

She sighed, but let him begin his tentative walk back to the buildings.

“Not much of a talker, eh? I guess that’s forgivable, considering. So… ugh, look, I’m not good at this kind of thing, okay? But, uh, do you want to talk about it? Whatever it is? Talking will make you feel better, you know.”

“I do not want to talk about this.”

“Hey, you spoke! That’s a good sign.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Wouldn’t anypony?” He looked up and sighed. “Maybe you just caught me at a sensitive time. Like I said, I too was thinking about, uh, jumping. A few hours back.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t want to unload all my life’s grievances on you now. Not after you were so close to… well, anyway. Here, I live in that crooked one.”

They entered into a damp, candlelit chamber similar to the shack Pinkie had found. A single tallow candle flickered in a glass bulb atop an overturned apple box, and a heap of sand filled one corner. Across from it, there was a small pile of cans and pouches of food.

The brown stallion grabbed a can of diced peaches and worked the top off before dragging over a flat stone from another shadowy corner. “My beautiful eating stone. Fully washable, and if you leave it out in the sun all day, you can kind of cook eggs on it.”

“What is the meaning of all this?” Octavia asked, sitting down. “Why did you do this? Why were you even there?”

“Just returning to scene of the, er, almost-crime. Call it a morbid fascination.” He looked up at her as he bent to eat his peaches. “You look like you’ve been through Tartarus and back, lady.”

“It has been a hard several months.”

He nodded. “I hear you.” He shook his head once, slowly. “I can’t believe this. Where are my manners? I’m so sorry—my name is Whooves. Dr. Whooves.”

“Marble,” Octavia said. “My name is Marble.”

“Happy to make your acquaintance, Marble. Shame it wasn’t under better circumstances.”

“Please, stop speaking of it.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry! You know, sometimes, my mouth runs away from me, and I have to—”

“Relax.”

He looked at her again, demure in the weak light. “So what’s wrong?”

“I am sorry, but my story is not for telling.”

“Are you sure? After all, talking will make you feel better. We already covered that.”

“Earlier, I could have perhaps been convinced to speak on this. I have since recovered from that temptation.”

“Well, that’s good. I think.”

“It is not good. It is, in fact, the worst thing I could do to myself.”

“Oh.” He looked at her perplexedly. “Why?”

She swallowed. “I am in desperate need of help, and I refuse to accept it.”

“Well… what if—”

“You will not convince me. I have been this way since I was a filly. I appreciate the effort, however.”

“Uh, you’re welcome?”

“Never mind. I was momentarily weak. Tell me about yourself.”

He looked her up and down for a second, considering her proposal. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say, this isn’t where I envisioned living out my life when I left home.”

“Where is home for you?”

He squirmed and took a peach, chewing it thoughtfully. “You know, south of here.”

“Everything is south of here. This is the coast.”

“Not the northernmost tip.”

She sighed and put a hoof to her head. “You know what I mean.”

“Sorry, I’m not being very helpful, am I? I was born in Applewood, but I haven’t been back there lately. I, er, move a lot. That’s part of being the doctor.”

“What kind of doctor are you?”

“The kind with a doctorate in mathematics and science.”

“Are you a professor?”

“I collect bags of grass and haul them over to trucks, to take down to the siphoning station.”

“And before that?”

“You know, odd jobs. I was referee for my town’s local hoofball team.”

“I see.”

He tapped the stone with a hoof, gesticulating aimlessly with the other. “I’d like to find something more, er, consistent. You know, a nice, steady place to live, with a good income. No living in a shed on the former beach.” His eyes narrowed to dark slits in the candlelight. “Marble, how did you get here? There aren’t any other ponies around for miles, and I didn’t see an airship.”

“My friends and I were taken here.”

“Taken? I’m afraid I don’t quite catch your meaning.”

“We are… travelers, but we have run afoul of a mischievous spirit.”

“Discord?”

“No, but an envoy of his. He magically moves us across the country from time to time. We were in Ponyville a few hours ago.”

“I see.” He slapped his hooves on the table, jarring a peach to the floor. “That’s a fantastic story, Marble, but, under the circumstances, I guess I have to believe it.”

“We have no airship. It was lost.”

“Well, maybe we can find it.” She sighed again, and he smiled weakly. “It’s a joke, okay? Admittedly, a little weak, but—”

“Do you have access to an airship?”

“I—what?”

“Airship. Do you have access to an airship?”

“Er,”

“We do not travel for pleasure. We have an important task, and for it, we need an airship.”

“Well, I don’t, but… well, I might be able to help.”

“Explain.”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

“Doctor, you cannot say that you might help, and refuse to explain. Either you have an airship or you do not.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry. It’s just, it’s not easy, okay?” She fixed him with her dark eyes, burning with fatigue. “I don’t have a ship, but my coltfriend might be able to get us on one. How many of you are there?”

“There are eight of us altogether.”

“Yeesh. Tight fit. Uh, he might be able to help, but I don’t know.”

“What is the problem?”

“Well, you see, we had a fight the other day.”

“Will he not help us for that reason?”

“Feelings were running high when I left.”

She narrowed her eyes, letting them slip closed for a moment. “Left?”

“The area. We’re still together, at least nominally. I don’t know if he’ll want to help, after how distraught he was.”

Octavia jerked her eyes back awake. “Where can we find him tomorrow?”

“Find him?”

“Doctor, you are not the one who is supplying our airship. I appreciate what you have done for me, but, with all due respect,” she yawned, “you are not needed here. We need to find your coltfriend, not you.”

“Oh.” He slumped in his seat. “I suppose you can find him…” He sat up and looked at Octavia, her head down. Grabbing the candle in his teeth, he held it closer to see that Octavia had fallen asleep in her seat. He gingerly guided her to the floor, dragged the stone out into the rain, and fell asleep himself on his pile of sand.

Octavia awoke to two heated male outside. She rolled over, knocking her head on a stone, and started up. The night before flooded back as she rubbed her eyes, dispelling her dream’s afterimages and replacing them with the memory of the vast drop she had considered consigning herself to. She looked around the bare room for something to drink, finding only a plastic container of stale water.

“Fine, if you’re going to demand an apology—”

“I’m not demanding a single damn thing,” an unfamiliar, blunt voice returned.

“Any idiot can see they’re the Elements of Harmony,” Whooves said. “That Octavia’s sleeping in my shack right now. She didn’t get here on her own, and not by accident either.” He sighed, and sand shuffled as he paced. “I’m trying to think about our country here.”

“Oh, there he goes again,” the other voice said. “Look at you, Mr. For-the-good-of-the-world. Do you get dizzy on your college-educated pedestal?”

Whooves scoffed, and the door flung inward a second later. “Oh, you’re up.” He walked past Octavia and grabbed the pail of water, dragging it to throw out onto the sand.

“What is going on?”

“Your friends are out wandering in the work fields.”

“You know that I am not who I say I am.”

He shook his head, not looking at her. “That purple cutie mark, that mane—even bedraggled as it is—those eyes. As soon as it was light, I could tell. I’m not a fool.” He went outside for a moment and returned with the stone they had eaten on. “Octavia, there’s some free-standing showers on the edge of our little burg. For the love of Celestia, go use one.”

“Tell me what is going on first. Is that your coltfriend out there?”

“Yeah, that’s him. Glorious fellow, isn’t he? You must have a glowing first-impression.”

She walked past him and out into the overcast morning, where stood, beside an oval of wet sand, a stout, brown unicorn, standing almost an inch below her. “I am told you can help us with an airship.”

“Octavia, right?” he grunted. “Doc told me about you. Are you feeling okay?”

She paused, looking back at the sagging doorway, through which Whooves bustled anxiously. “All is well.” She looked at him, and he looked back for several seconds before speaking.

“Yeah, an airship.” He looked up. “I fly a cargo ship between here and Hoofington every couple months. I’m leaving later today, if you’re interested.”

“Hoofington.” Her pulse was suddenly huge in her head. In the haze of other events, she had lost sight of the city, and its reappearance felt false to her—like a tasteless joke, lifted from the annals of her own tortured memory.

“Is that a problem?”

Her voice felt like it was coming out of someone else. “We will go with you. We will be happy to do so.”

“Hold up, hold up a second,” Whooves cried, trotting back out. “What about me?”

“What about you?” the stallion asked.

“You can’t leave without me.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not?”

“I mean why not?” the stallion said, glancing at Octavia. “Go and get your friends together. We’re leaving at six tonight.”

While the eight of them worked to arrange their supplies and themselves comfortably in the cargo ship’s cramped quarters, Whooves and his coltfriend bickered outside. The sun was setting when they lifted off, and it was night when the arguing finally stopped and the coast was well behind.

Whooves clattered into their room, a hastily repurposed dry storage compartment, shoving a stack of books over to tumble across a pyramid of spice bags. “Apologies,” he mumbled. “I need to get some space.” He looked at them, sitting close beside one another, and grinned weakly. “In a metaphorical sense. If I can just,” he shuffled between Rainbow and Fluttershy. “There we are. So, the Elements of Harmony. Can’t say I was expecting this.”

“We appreciate what you’ve done for us,” Rarity said.

He looked at the rest of them and forced a chuckle. “I can see where Octavia gets her reticence, anyway.”

“This ain’t a good time,” Big Mac said.

“For any of you?”

“Fer all of us.”

“What’s wrong?”

Big Mac rolled his eyes and leaned into the wall.

“We’ve had a hard several days,” Rarity said. “Please, we’re not trying to be cold, but now is not a good time to talk.”

“Okay, okay,” Whooves said, getting up. “I can see when I’m not wanted.”

“Don’t be like that,” Applejack said.

He looked to the door. “I just don’t want to go out there with him right now,” he whispered.

“There are other rooms on the ship,” Octavia said.

He looked at her, mouth parted in a tiny, shocked oval.

“I am sorry. That was unkind.” She stood as well. “Come. I will keep you company.”

Step Onto the Spiral

Chapter Fifty-nine

Step Onto the Spiral

While Whooves’ coltfriend steered them resolutely eastward, and the others gradually dozed off, Octavia stayed up with Whooves and listened to him ramble. He started with their route. They would travel all the way to Hoofington, drop off their supplies, and turn around, leaving the Elements of Harmony stranded in the city—better than the middle of nowhere, they both agreed. He spoke of Applewood, his birthplace, and they exchanged stories of the tourism capital of Equestria. When he asked her about Hoofington, she prompted him to speak more of his time on the coast. He fell asleep complaining of the tension between him and his coltfriend.

The following morning, Rainbow and Big Mac took turns explaining to Whooves the nature of their journey, and what had brought them to the coast, omitting Spike’s death and little else. Twilight offered no explanation when Whooves inquired about the specifics of the spells they were casting, and they had to settle for a weak “we’re not sure, but they work.” All throughout, Applejack never took her eyes off the doctor.

“Yer the pony whose house we tried to rebuild back home,” she finally interjected. “Ah knew you were familiar.”

Inside their compartment, there was little room for Whooves to escape the scrutiny of six more pairs of eyes.

“That’s what it is!” Rarity cried. “I’ve been trying to place your face forever. You ran away from home all the way to the coast?”

“Why?” Applejack demanded.

“And how?”

“No, no, reasons first,” Rainbow said, standing to extend her wings before sitting awkwardly back down.

“Runaway!” Pinkie screeched, and Rarity flinched.

“Right in my ear, Pinkie. Don’t do that.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Ya didn’t even say goodbye in person,” Big Mac said.

“Wait, who even are you?” Whooves asked. “I get that you’re Applejack’s brother, but, well, who are you?”

“Ah was there at yer house, helpin’ move lumber. Ah offered a space in the barn fer you to sleep, Ah think.”

“That was me,” Applejack said.

“I’m surprised it wasn’t Rarity,” Pinkie said.

“My boutique fell off, remember?” Rarity said, and paused. “Hm. That memory hardly hurts at all now.”

“We have been away from things for a long time now,” Octavia said.

“You can say that again,” Whooves said.

“You’re not wiggling out of this,” Rainbow said, looking askance as Pinkie started writhing in her place.

“Wiggling!”

“Dear, can you stop? You’re on my tail,” Rarity said.

“Why did you abandon us?” Applejack asked loudly. “Those two spa ponies were devastated.”

Whooves looked down slightly. “Er, quite. Yes, a regrettable decision on my part, but I can explain.”

“You’d better.”

“I had to. Leave, that is.”

“Is that right?”

“We need more information than that, darling,” Rarity said.

“Why is it even important? I’m here now, aren’t I?” Whooves asked. “It’s not like I’m one of your add-ons.” He looked at Octavia. “I’m just the pony who got you an airship. No one important.”

“Do not be like that,” Octavia said. “Please, just answer the questions. We are curious.”

“Octavia, you missed it,” Rainbow said. “We were—”

“I have gathered what happened.”

Whooves cleared his throat. “I had no choice, okay? Please believe that. I had every intention of staying and helping all you kind ponies—sorry for forgetting you, Mac, by the way. Er, I had a lot on my mind. It, well, it hasn’t changed much.” He chuckled nervously. “Anyhoo, I was going to stay, but… It’s the darndest thing, I couldn’t.”

“What does that mean?” Fluttershy asked. She was right beside him, and he jumped a little. “Sorry. I thought you knew I was here.”

“Quite all right, my dear. You’re so quiet, it was hardly more than a—”

“Get to it,” Big Mac said.

He waited a minute, ear up; their pilot was still outside, whistling to himself. Whooves’ voice was quieter. “Just the thought of getting up and facing all your happy, charitable faces filled me with something. I don’t know what to call it, exactly. It was more profound than shame, I can tell you that much right here.”

“Why?” Rarity asked.

“I can’t say. It was just a feeling. Everyone in town banding together to help me, and I didn’t even ask for it… it made me feel almost empty inside.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Rainbow said.

“I can’t explain it. It’s just how I felt.”

“Fergive me,” Applejack said, “but Ah somehow doubt you can’t explain it. You seem pretty smart.”

“It’s got nothing to do with intelligence,” Whooves said. “If there’s one thing I learned in this life, it’s that the mind has no say in affairs of the heart.”

“Oh, gimme a break,” Rainbow said.

“I’m afraid I don’t know why I felt the way I did. I’m no psychologist. For what it’s worth, though, I’m quite sorry about leaving you all in the twist.”

“So you felt uncomfortable accepting our charity, and ran away. That’s what I’m hearing,” Rarity said.

“Yyyyyes, perhaps.”

“But why?” Pinkie asked. “What’s so bad about letting us help?”

“I said I don’t know. I don’t know now, I didn’t know then, and I’m not going to know ten seconds from now.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Mr. Grumpy.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to come across as the bad guy here, or like I’m hiding anything, but I honestly don’t know what to say. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something I ever explored.”

“How did you get here, then?” Rarity asked. “How did you get from Ponyville to the coastline?”

“Now, that is a story more worth telling. So much more interesting than groundless psychological pontification, self-gratifying tautologies based in—”

“Get to it,” Applejack grumbled.

“Er, yes. Indeed. Sorry. I can get caught up in talking too much from time to time. It’s—”

“Today, please.”

“Right. Right.”

He told himself jokingly that half the town would be there to help reconstruct his house, and his proximity to the truth was the first shock. The second was that the illustrious Elements of Harmony, still fresh from horrors he couldn’t imagine on the mountainside, had numbered among them. The third was the presence of his ex-marefriend, Colgate, who, in his experience, hadn’t the heart for a project of that type, and should have been indissociable from the hospital anyway.

It was she who had inspired his first egress from the Ponyville oasis. Earlier, she had caught him nervously hanging around the hospital, afraid to ask for help with a hurt pastern, but not too afraid to make an imposition of himself. She assured him it wasn’t broken, talking all the while of the issues the hospital was facing in the aftermath of the yet undefined disaster. They had a couple backup generators in case of temporary power failure, but not enough to last the whole facility indefinitely, so many non-emergency procedures were taking place in the ICU, the only area with electricity. Tensions were high among the staff, dealing with both power shortages and freaked out, injured ponies, and, Colgate said, she and the other surgeons could eventually be forced into an uncomfortable reliance on Zecora for medical supplies.

A day later, when he met everyone at the ruins of his former house, he knew then and there that he would not be happy. The pity, the pressure, and the responsibility of gracefully accepting alms paralyzed him, and he wrote his goodbye note without thinking that feverish night of broken sleep on Aloe and Lotus’ couch. He left it outside his old house before dawn and escaped into the forest, where he found Zecora’s hovel empty.

When a kind, but wary, voice woke him from his spot napping in the crotch of a tree, he thought Zecora had found him, but he did not recognize the zebra that stood a distance away. On her back, she carried a large wooden construction that, despite its loose appearance, did not rattle when she moved, and her mane was cropped so short that he at first thought her bald. She brought him to Zecora’s hut, where she had returned earlier that day, and went in herself first, leaving Whooves to watch with wonder as they spoke quietly.

Perhaps it was his frazzled mind, he would later speculate, but the significance of a second zebra eluded him, and he could only tie the stranger’s presence, somewhat obliquely, to the world’s recent unfolding. Their conversation that morning, in his mind, took on grave importance, and it was reluctantly that he entered Zecora’s sanctum while the stranger departed. He watched her from Zecora’s window, uncertain whether he would choose to follow at the conversation’s end.

His impulsivity did not fail him. After a brief, perfunctory exchange of pleasantries and news from the town, none of which seemed to surprise Zecora, he invented a poor excuse and took off, trying to track the other zebra through underbrush and pieces of the forest’s fallen canopy.

He found her disappearing between two beeches, her gray tail a mottled swish of shadow that he almost missed against the gray bark, on the other side of a chasm. He had seen them earlier in town, but the magnitude, in the wilderness, seemed doubled. Pure blue sky cut through sylvan grays and greens like a crystal shard, and he was so awed at its sinister majesty that, for the first several minutes, it did not occur to him that the earth-bound zebra had managed to traverse an open-air canyon of nearly ten feet with no visible bridge or jumping point.

He returned to Zecora and spent the day in her home, alternately helping her with menial chores and getting in the way. He was able to get no information about Zecora’s friend, but she, after a lot of prodding, revealed to him her own method of moving across gaps: a simple potion, made in fifteen minutes by her expert hooves, that could teleport a pony a predetermined distance in the direction they faced. It was an extremely dangerous method of movement in the forest, where the slightest miscalculation of distance or orientation could leave a pony half inside a tree, or knees deep in the ground. There were clearings specifically divested of shrubbery for the exact purpose of teleporting safely, and Whooves assumed that it was the strange zebra he saw that was responsible for them, but could not get Zecora to speak of it.

She was gone the next morning, and he searched the gap’s edge for clearings, finding only one, with no parallel. Confused, he kept walking, and found a second on the other side close to a half-mile away, by the bare cross-section of mysterious, hanging river. As he moved deeper into the wood, he found other clearings, but never next to each other, and returned to Zecora’s in the afternoon more perplexed than ever.

After lunch, during which he pestered her more about the gaps, she agreed to take him somewhere else. Her agreement was short, and she hardly spoke as they moved through the forest, which was beginning to feel comfortable for him. She turned him bodily in the first clearing, facing him directly into a hanging cluster of white flowers, and the potion ripped him along the gap to leave him beside a narrow trench of fallen branches. He sidestepped, per her instruction, as she flashed into existence right after. As they continued, he realized the purpose of separating the clearings: to not arouse suspicion among any wanderers, such as himself. Two parallel clearings were already a coincidence, but a chain of them was too much.

She took him on a route lateral to a widening, segmented river, and left him with one more potion outside a wide down, guarded in the distance by a line of silos and barns, some tilted and a couple reduced to splintered silhouettes. Cloudsdale Farms was not what he had expected, he realized, and, walking alone into the sudden pastoralism, he realized too that he had not thought of where he might end up at all. He had wanted out and away, and, possessed in the nameless certainty of the need to escape, did not consider anything for the future.

He crossed into a large disc of earth on which stood, at the far edge, two houses, cut off from their neighbors. It was there that he found more permanent lodging with the ponies who lived there, trading him between houses as space allotted while they, and those within shouting distance on the other side, worked to construct a bridge. There were pegasi on the farm, but nowhere near Whooves’ tenants, and so they were frequently without air support.

Well away from Ponyville, he was able to settle in and let his memories bury themselves in his subconscious. Colgate had been his longest-lasting romantic partner, and it was the end of that relationship, he deduced later, that likely caused him to switch back to stallions. A mare had failed him, in his mind, so it was time to return to the other sex.

His name was Copper, and he was, like Whooves, a clueless interloper. He was walking between Ponyville, where he sometimes did business, and a no-name farm somewhere to the southwest when the cataclysm struck, and he was caught. A split had opened up right next to him, he said, and almost swallowed him. Since, he’d been forced to make do and live with the farmers he was stuck with.

After nearly a month, a system of ramshackle bridges had been set up across the farm, and Whooves’ relationship was souring. Neither stallion was who he thought the other had been at first, and Whooves was growing restless once again. So, late one balmy evening, he walked across the farm to where he had seen an airship land earlier that day, and begged his way on board. He didn’t care where it would take him, as long as he could escape the plodding routine of farm life and his own romantic grievances—the latter of which he did not mention to the reluctant airship pilot.

They left at dawn, he and several others, heading for the northern coast, where Celestia had ordered the construction of a massive siphoning station to supply the country with more water. He thought of Copper all day, hoping he would understand and move on.

When, nearly two weeks later, they had their final stop at the coast, they did so on a tight schedule of drop-ships and supply cruisers, all lined up to deposit or pick up goods and ponies at one of three way stations on the eroded beach. The siphoning station, approaching completion, was all Whooves could look at that day and those following. Even growing up in Applewood, he had never seen something so incredible. The hydroelectric dam that powered his hometown was one thing, but was to him a joke compared to the floating castle Celestia’s best and brightest had put together: a sky-dominating juggernaut of protruding wheels, iron gray scaffolds, and snowy smokestacks—and nearly all of it made from cloud.

The first day it turned on, he went out with his new, rough-cut laborer friends to watch the ocean rise. It was the first time of his life that he felt he shared a world with flesh-and-blood divinity. A shining tube extruded down to the still, gray waters, its tip clouded in a flock of pegasus technicians, and produced the softest, most sinister scream he had heard, like a pneumatic drill far underground. The cold air seemed to suck away from him as he watched, waiting for the spectacle he had expected.

When, an hour later, a white skirt of foam crashed off the tube’s top, he thought something had gone horribly wrong. What he saw, he would later find, was nearly seventy thousand gallons of ocean runoff per second, an expected by-product of internal pumping mechanisms he could not begin to comprehend.

Then, he was put to work. Sharing a rattling tuck bed with the pony who would later become his most recent coltfriend, they were shunted miles down the coast to gather grasses and other natural supplies from the already over-harvested fields to the south. The other pony was training to fly airships, and hoped to be able to pilot one soon.

“And that’s about it. Rain, work, a dinky house, and… him, until you eight came along,” Whooves said.

“You do get around,” Rarity said.

“So you went from Colgate to some stallion?” Rainbow asked. “Wasn’t that weird?”

“Who doesn’t like a little variety in his life?” Whooves asked. “Colgate was nice, but she’s no stallion.”

“Was?” Pinkie repeated.

“Sometimes things don’t work out, that’s all.” He looked back to the door. “And it happens with some more than others.”

“What’s wrong between you two?” Fluttershy asked. “Um, if you don’t mind.” She paused. “If you’re uncomfortable—”

“No no, my dear, just thinking. How to start? Where?”

“From the beginnin’ might be nice,” Applejack said.

He chuckled. “You have no patience for me, do you, Applejack?”

“Ah got no patience fer those that beat ‘round the bush.”

“Aw, let him do his thing,” Pinkie said. “It’s not like we have anything else to do!”

“Yeah, certainly no Elements to find,” Fluttershy breathed.

“What was that?” Whooves asked.

“Nothing.” She looked at Octavia for a second. “Proceed.”

“Well, as you know, I am a pony of the mind. My dream, even as a youngster, was to graduate from a prestigious college, magnum cum laude, even. I did graduate, and with high honors.”

“You’re a mathematician, right?” Twilight asked. Everyone paused to glance at her.

“I have a degree in mathematics,” Whooves said. “But that stallion behind me… he has no such aspirations. Can you believe what he told me one day? He’s content to just stay where he is. He doesn’t want to advance at all.”

“So?” Rainbow asked.

“So? Young lady, we are looking at a poor roughneck with no desire for higher education. Even exposed to what he could be, he spurns the very idea.”

“Again, so?”

“I understand,” Octavia said. “Willful blindness is a vice that I see far too often.”

“Thank you,” Whooves said. “Willful blindness! Why didn’t I think of that? And frankly, he’s a bit of a brute when he gets his back up.”

“The uneducated often can be.”

“You went to college, Ah assume?” Applejack said.

“Of course,” Octavia said, narrowing her eyes a fraction. “I graduated from Grace Notes Artistic University in Hoofington. It has a very strict curriculum.”

“Did you go in to be a cellist, or is that just what you wound up selecting?” Whooves asked.

“I did not choose an instrument for a long time. I wanted to be a composer up until midway through my third year. I remember one of my professors meeting me in her office and advising me to change my focus of study. She did not see much potential in me as a composer.”

“That’s rather prescriptive, don’t you think?”

“It is, but she was right. I could arrange notes correctly, but never with much creativity. I graduated instead with a major in professional music, and a concentration in instrument repair.”

“Instrument repair? Really?”

“By that time, I was proficient with many instruments, and I wanted to be able to take care of them on my own.”

“What’s Hoofington like, anyway?” Twilight asked. “That is where we’re going, right?”

“Yep, that’s the destination,” Whooves said. “Personally, I can’t wait. I’ve never been.”

“Octavia has! She lived there for years!” Pinkie said. “I wanted to visit her, but I never knew until later.”

“So how is it there?” Big Mac asked.

“The city is fine,” Octavia said.

“Fine? Just fine?” Pinkie asked.

“I was not finished. I am choosing my words.” She spent a minute in watched silence. “It is the smallest paved city in Equestria, which I know has led to some difficulties. It is still small enough that some ponies are comfortable walking everywhere, but there are cars too. You will need me to get around efficiently, more than in other places; the hoofpaths deviate from the roads quite frequently.”

“It’s a maze,” Big Mac said.

“There is plenty of signage for tourists, but, yes, it can be a maze at times.”

“How close is it to a river?” Twilight asked. “What sort of water situation will we be dealing with?”

“It should be fine,” Whooves interjected. “It’s the closest city to the coast, so it was the first to get its own cloud relay station.”

“That is true,” Octavia said. “It is also near a river besides. The wealthiest ponies live right on its banks. It is generally a quiet city, though there are large events every now and again. There is a three-day garden party every spring.”

“That sounds lovely,” Fluttershy said.

“I would not know. The only time I attended, I was performing. The weather and architecture are both beautiful, though there are certain parts of town that are less savory than others, as with anywhere.”

“Not Ponyville!” Pinkie said.

“Ponyville’s too small,” Whooves said.

“What about your house?” Rainbow asked. “You said you lived there. Were you on the rich side by the river?”

“I lived in a mansion on a ridge overlooking the river, yes. The largest.”

“Really? Like, the biggest?”

“In Hoofington, yes.”

She whistled appreciatively. “I thought you said you didn’t have much money.”

“I do not, now. Much of what I made went to its purchase.”

“Can we stay there still? Instead of a hotel?” Pinkie asked.

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Rarity said.

“We cannot do that,” Octavia said.

“Why ever not?”

Octavia frowned. “I do not know how to explain myself, but we cannot go there. I certainly will not.”

“Does this got to do anythin’ with yer…” Applejack glanced at Whooves. “Well, Ah think ya know what Ah wanna ask.”

“I lived there for many years.”

“So that’s a yes,” Rainbow said. “Figures.”

“What am I missing?” Whooves asked.

“It is nothing,” Octavia said. “Do not concern yourself.”

“Let me ask this,” Rarity said. “Is this… reason that we shouldn’t go there, is it actually dangerous, or do you simply not want to return?”

Octavia sighed, thinking, and finally turned to Whooves. “I am sorry for this, but will you please leave us? This will be much easier if we can speak in private.”

“Say no more, Madam Octavia,” Whooves said, standing awkwardly, his legs bent oddly to avoid leaning him into anyone. “I’ll make myself scarcer than a four-leaf clover.” He shuffled around Fluttershy to the door, pausing for a second to look back at them. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be around.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Octavia said without looking. When the door was shut, she scooted forward, and the others did as well, as they were able. “There was some legal trouble regarding the house shortly before the disaster, and I am afraid to return there now. I do not know what kind of trouble I could be in.”

“That wouldn’t stop us from stayin’ there, though, would it?” Big Mac asked.

“It could. It depends on whether the house is foreclosed.”

“Termites, too,” Applejack said.

“I am sorry?”

“It’s infested with termites,” Rarity said. She sighed. “Right. Never mind. Again. I forgot that part.”

“Why do you think that I have termites?”

“You told us,” Fluttershy said. “The first time we were on the coast.”

Octavia felt the blood drain out of her face. “Ah, yes. I did.”

“Octavia,” Applejack said. “Sugarcube.”

“I do not want to go back there. There are many things that are wrong with that house, and I do not want to return.”

“But it’s your house,” Rainbow said.

“She doesn’t have to go back if she doesn’t want to,” Rarity said. “It’s not our place to try to make her. We’ll just stay in a hotel. I’m sure there’s something nice in all of Hoofington.”

“There are plenty of hotel options,” Octavia said.

“I wanna see her mansion, though,” Pinkie said.

“We can go without her. We can, right?” Rarity asked.

Octavia frowned. “As I said, it is dangerous. But, I suppose I cannot stop you.”

They stopped at the sound of raised voices outside.

“Some couple they are,” Rarity whispered.

* * * * * *

Spike was reduced to a heavy pearl of slick scarlet, depressing the grass where he imploded two days ago, and Ponyville wore black. A few woodworkers banded together to create a casket befitting Ponyville’s only dragon resident, past or present, and the mayor delivered a mostly-improvised speech that grim night, urging the citizens to remain calm and remember that the threat was transitory. Most were too subdued to require her soothing rhetoric.

The Daturas—Foxglove, Flitter, Cloudchaser, Allie Way, and Colgate—met in the spa’s underground portion, its sign flipped to “closed.” One of Zecora’s zebras met them inside, strolling naturally out of the steam room as if there all along, and revealed to Colgate, the only one with energy to be curious, a semi-permanent teleportation sigil on the underside of the room’s floorboards, to be flipped over as needed.

“It is a grave event,” Foxglove said from an empty massage table, “but we can’t let this setback keep us from our task.” Flitter and Cloudchaser listened with glazed expressions, Flitter still with tears occasionally standing in her eyes. Allie had hardly said a word since his death, and Colgate donned a respectful demeanor as well. “I’m not saying don’t grieve; that would be inequine. Just remember that, even though a dear friend has been taken, we still have a job to do, and Discord won’t wait for us. The fact of the matter is we’re in the very beginning stages of preparing an approach on a Tartarus gateway.”

“We will be helping,” the zebra said. “The rest of us are scoping out the area right now, and clearing it as much as we can, but you need to be the ones to shut it down.”

“Exactly. This isn’t the only gateway that’s opened up recently, but it’s the closest one to us, and the only one we’re dealing with at this time.”

“Why are they being opened?” Cloudchaser asked.

“Discord has a subordinate moving around and opening them for him. The Datura is assuming they’re setting up for a synchronous attack on Canterlot.”

“Shouldn’t we be going after the subordinate, then?”

“We don’t have the resources to handle something that involved. We don’t even fully understand what this being is; chasing after him would be useless.”

“I thought we dealt with exactly this kind of magic,” Allie said. “How can the Datura not know what it’s facing?”

“It’s not something we encounter very often, and the specific magic that it’s composed of is tricky. It doesn’t help that none of us have been able to meet him, or that our Information Handler is engaged with something more immediately important.”

“What’s that?” Colgate asked.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Okay, so we take care of the gateways, and who takes care of this subordinate? Do we go to him after this?” Cloudchaser asked.

“We’re playing it by ear. He has contact with the Elements of Harmony, but, so far, all their biggest obstacles are coming from elsewhere. It might not be wise to interfere with their relationship at all,” Foxglove said.

“One of the Datura’s biggest jobs is to make things easier for the Elements,” the zebra said. “But also slowing Discord’s progress.”

“Which, at this point, means closing the gateways he’s opening. Now, the good news is that the gateway is only forty-eight miles away, which is about two days of walking. Even more, closing it is pretty simple in theory; we just need to neutralize whatever’s holding it open.”

“Gateways,” the zebra interrupted, “follow a very simple rule. Natural gateways will stay open unless a force is applied to close them; as soon as that force goes away, the gateway opens again. The opposite is true of unnatural ones.”

“So we just need to knock out whatever’s holding this one open,” Allie said.

“Exactly.”

“You said that was the good news. What’s the bad news?” Colgate asked.

“Except for Allie, this is the most dangerous assignment you’ve seen, and you’re too inexperienced for it. If I had the choice, I would leave you here, but, frankly, I’m up against a wall. We all are.”

“That’s not comforting to hear,” Cloudchaser said.

“The truth hurts,” Foxglove said with a shrug. “We’re going to have our meetings here from now on. It’s indoors, it’s hidden, and this building makes a nice base of operations. All these underground areas would be great for defense.”

“We’re not going to need to do that, though. Right?”

“Who’s to say? Better to have a fortress you never use, though.”

“You speak like you’re preparing for something serious,” the zebra said.

Foxglove sighed and nodded. “Every town is gearing up for a battle to be brought to them, and, if nothing changes, exactly that will happen. Discord will envelope the country in a few months if we let him.”

“Won’t he overextend himself?” Allie asked. “There are Datura colonies all over the country, not even including Canterlot.”

“It’s not overextension, though. It’s dividing and conquering.”

“Keep in mind that Trottingham is already a ghost town,” Colgate said. “Did anyone do anything about all the unused airships there, or are they all still lying around for Discord to take?”

“Luna hoof-picked a team to protect Trottingham, all its precious ships included.”

“I don’t think taking over Equestria as easy as you made it sound,” Allie said.

“I didn’t try to make it sound easy,” Foxglove said. “It’s hard to divide up a country and take it over piecemeal, even for someone with much more focus and discipline than Discord, and we’re not going to make anything easy for him.”

“We might,” Flitter said. “We don’t know hardly anything.”

“Of course you don’t. That’s the purpose of these meetings.” She slid off her table. “Allie, I want you to show Colgate some basic defensive spells. I’m going to coach the pegasi on flying techniques.” Foxglove smiled at Cloudchaser’s bafflement.

Colgate got into bed mentally exhausted, and in better shape than Flitter and Cloudchaser, for whom the training had been as difficult as it had been humiliating. Foxglove, an earth pony, was able to explain and correct aerial techniques that were beyond them, and Flitter looked close to defeated weeping for the final hours when Colgate saw her.

Their plight, however, was not her concern. All day, Allie showed her spells she knew of, but had never practiced, with a stiff and serious demeanor that put Colgate on edge. It was clear to her that Allie was preoccupied, but Colgate could think of only one reason.

Since discovering her initial deception, Colgate knew Allie had been looking for ways to hurt her, and Spike’s death presented another perfect opportunity. With no clueless pawn between them, the distance was suddenly closed, and Allie had no reason to attempt discretion or subtlety. For their first day of training, Colgate imagined, Allie was sizing her up.

She would need to act first, while Allie was still forming her plan, but she would have to be careful. They were teammates, and anything crippling would leave the Ponyville Datura down its second most experienced member.

“It’s not fair,” she murmured. She wasn’t important enough to use the Datura to protect herself as Allie was, so, though she expected something devastating and direct for herself, she had to find a way to hurt Allie obliquely, and fast.

She fell asleep full of potential plans to shut Allie down, at least for a time.

They congregated in the spa as normal and waited restlessly for ten o’ clock, the hour of Spike’s burial. Foxglove tried to rouse them with talk of training, but a somber pall kept them from taking to anything with much vigor, and she eventually let them alone.

When the hour came to depart, they did so in a thin line, leaving the spa and circling north around the mayor’s office. Flitter led them slowly, and they could see other small groups of ponies plodding through the streets. Pegasi, out of respect, walked with everyone else, their wings folded at their sides. The cemetery was on the northern border of the town, shaded under a big windmill.

Half the town had set up by a simple gravesite, and as Flitter and her crew joined, Berry Punch approached them, dewy-eyed. They exchanged no words, but hugged each other lightly; they only knew each other through Spike, but, in that moment, it didn’t matter. Berry led them to a spot in the back, and they stood with her and Derpy, a shivering, gray wreck.

There was no conversation as the three funeral directresses, the same from Lyra’s funeral, helped set up. It had been the mayor’s decision that Spike should be seen to quickly, to give Discord’s move as little dignity as possible, and—though she was not aware of it—to give the resident Daturas the closure they would need to not be distracted in their coming task.

The lack of preparation time showed clearly. While the undertaker made final adjustments to the floral arrangements and the tables that held them, the directresses spoke in hushed voices with the priest. Most Ponyville funerals were secular, but Spike was no pony; it was Derpy, who had known him the longest after the Elements left, who was the deciding voice behind whether to give him a religious burial.

When the music began, Flitter fell to pieces. Berry and Derpy had put together a small slideshow of Spike and his friends on Twilight’s ancient projector, pictures of things Flitter had heard about, but seldom seen. Weekly poker games that stopped for the Datura, walks in the park, a picture of him enthusiastically riding on Allie’s back that incited a few stifled chuckles from the crowd. Colgate did not appear.

When the music stopped, leaving the pictures to endlessly cycle, the priest delivered his eulogy, a warm rendition of Spike’s short life, beginning with his hatching, an occasion worthy of celebration in its own right.

“Our goddess and ruler, Princess Celestia, has graced this world with the ability to celebrate those we love,” the priest said softly, but not sadly. “And the ability to graciously depart. From her Edicts on the Nature of Things, she writes, ‘We cannot know when our time will come, so we must choose. Fear, or life.’ Let us choose life this day, in the name of Celestia, our goddess.”

Derpy sobbed, and he looked at the casket for a moment before stepping aside. He regarded her with patience as she shakily made her way to the podium, her muzzle dripping.

“I-I-I don’t really know w-what to say up h-here. I d-d-d-don’t even know why I did it. I don’t have any… anything prepared. I g-guess I just wanted to say goodbye one last time.” She closed her eyes and collected herself. “So, goodbye, Spike. You were the best anyone’s ever been to me. You were… you were patient, and brave, and kind. Guess hanging out with the Elements of Harmony really rubbed off on you. I…” She looked at the audience, watching her politely, and teared afresh. Without another word, she ran from the podium and out into the field back towards town.

Flitter’s eyes cleared briefly, and then snapped open at the sight of the next pony at the lectern.

“Spike was probably one of the best friends I’ve had, and without a doubt the best friend I’ve had in Ponyville,” Colgate said. She stood stiff and straight, as composed as Flitter had ever seen her, as she surveyed the crowd, looking through each and every one of them. “I’ll never forget his loyalty. He stood by me, never once believing ill of me, even when he should have. Through every tribulation, he trusted in my intentions. He had the peculiar ability to see a pony’s core character without trying, and I think that must be why he was able to be my rock. Whatever the reason, a friend like that is hard to come by, and even harder to lose. I actually considered not coming up to speak, but I think his memory deserves my words, and my thanks.” She sighed. “The most trustworthy pony, or dragon, I’ve ever met in my life. In my darkest hours, all of them, I knew he would be there to support me.” She took a moment to look at the open casket and the heavy, crystalline vial within. “And I know it wasn’t just me. Thank you.”

Many ponies clapped, many others cried, and Flitter only watched, speechless. So she remained for the final words, the benediction, the blessing, and the Daturas' departure past an informal reception.

“There isn’t enough time in the day for me to tell you how much, and in how many ways, I hate you,” Allie said over a late lunch.

Colgate looked through her and nodded. She had already anticipated Allie’s reaction.

“You have a sick, sick mind, Colgate, and it honestly freaks me the hell out at how easy you make it look.”

“You could have offered a counter-eulogy,” Colgate said. “You chose not to. Face it, Allie, the only pony with a hoof in her mouth here is you.”

“It takes real evil for someone to use their friend’s funeral like a bargaining chip.”

“My point exactly.”

“You don’t see it. You just don’t see it.”

“I see you.”

Allie rose, her horn glowing for a second, but then sat back down. “Believe it or not, this isn’t why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Really?”

She looked at her plate of food for a long time before continuing. “I don’t know what I did to you. I know what happened later, but not what got me here in the first place. That doesn’t matter, though. Life is so short, and there’s a chance it’s about to get shorter for us in particular. It’s not just you, Colgate; it’s this. This whole messed up situation, I hate it. I hate it every day of my life, and I’m sorry.”

Colgate looked at her, concealing her surprise.

“I don’t want to butt heads with you anymore. I’m tired of worrying and second-guessing myself trying to figure you out, and I’m tired of… I’m just tired. I’m sorry for whatever it is I did to you.”

Colgate waited nearly a full minute before speaking, her words chosen with great care. “I know what I’m supposed to say here. I can practically hear my therapist urging me to say I forgive you.” She averted her eyes for a moment. “Allie, I can’t forgive you. But…” She took a deep breath. “I would be comfortable with this being the last exchange between us.”

“Non-aggression,” Allie said.

“Non-aggression. I won’t touch you, and you won’t touch me. We’ll do our jobs, we’ll work together, and that’ll be it. Professional mares, like we’re supposed to be.”

Allie smiled. “I like that.”

They shook hooves.

* * * * * *

Hoofington was in sight, but about a day away, and the arguments hadn’t stopped. Whooves spoke with tense, excruciating civility in the Elements’ company, but the ship was too small to hide all of his conflicts, and they sometimes heard single bellows from his coltfriend, met with measured derision.

So it had been for the entire short trip, and while tensions mounted within earshot, but never in front of them, Twilight could feel her own atrophying grief give way to new indignation.

The wave broke at eleven o’ clock, the night before touching down in a new city.

“Rainbow Dash, can we talk?” Twilight asked. The group had spread as best they could in their storage space, and Twilight and Rainbow had to cross the deck, a recently-emptied shouting arena, for a more private hold. Among tight bundles of grasses and flowers, stacked floor to ceiling along each wall, they sat, waiting for the other to say something.

“I had a flashback that day we were captured.”

Rainbow nodded.

“And when we went aboard, I felt like I was ready to die.”

“Wait, why are you telling me this now? I mean, no offense, but why now? Why not earlier?”

“Rainbow Dash, I was lying on the floor. I let myself fall over, because there was nothing left. The ship was—is—gone, and we were prisoners. Everyone was trying to figure something out, and you said I’d probably had a flashback, which I had. Then you said—I remember it well—‘Good timing, Twilight. It’s not like we need you or anything’.”

Rainbow paused. “Uh…”

Twilight held up a hoof. “Do you know why it’s not nice of somepony to be sarcastic about somepony else’s traumas, Rainbow Dash?”

“Hey.”

“When somepony typically suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, has a flashback, they’re often at their most vulnerable in the few minutes to hours after the episode. They’re often left shaken to their core, because they just relived something that they cannot, cannot forget, that they would like to.”

“Okay, I get it,” Rainbow said. “Let’s not make this a lesson, all right?”

“I thought you might need it, though, considering how incredibly, amazingly insensitive you were.” She chuckled and shook her head. “And you forgot it right after. It didn’t even register with that brain of yours what you were saying. Just some automatic response, to berate my problems.”

“Twilight, I get it.”

“No, no, I don’t think you do,” Twilight said, hopping up and grabbing a bundle of white flowers. “I… I think…” She stopped, and crumpled the flowers up. “I don’t really know what else to say, actually.”

“Can I talk now? Are you done being condescending?”

“Go ahead and defend yourself.”

Rainbow frowned, thought for a moment, and sighed. “No, I think I’ll go flying instead. Or maybe I’ll go to bed. I can do those things, Twilight, because I don’t have my head wedged up my butt.” She went to the door, not turning around, and her words faded up to the deck. “I’ve been thinking the marefriend I cheated on is gonna die sometime soon, and you don’t hear me freaking out about it.”

They landed in the late morning on a sprawling, full airship lot, the first sign, Octavia said, that her town was prospering. It was no surprise. The cloud convoy had rejuvenated Hoofington first, and, without the concerns for water that metropolises like Manehattan and Applewood faced, its ponies and government had time to erect solid bridges, repair buildings and monuments, and reinvent the sewer system.

Their first view was the crowded, turreted government quarter, its multi-point buildings rising like unicorn horns in a crowd of lesser domes and minarets to catch the early sun. Behind, the broken, pale river marked the wealthy portion of town, sprouting with ornate chimneys and cruciform weathervanes, black stars atop clay red roofs. A blue brick clock tower tilted on one corner, webbed with cables to an idle crane.

Toward the center, opulence surrendered to a florid puddle of grass, spindled with pathways and speckled with flower gardens. Fountains and statues shone like waypoints for ponies on their morning walks, some dressed up and some in just their fur, occasional parasols moving like poppies on their own tiny currents. Outside, like a wart inside the park’s concavity, a dark purple lemniscate sat alone at the epicenter of rippling tiers of houses, both sides with iris windows to stare back at the clear sky.

“That is the museum,” Octavia had said as they passed over.

“You said your friend was the curator, right?” Fluttershy asked.

“Lumb, yes. I wonder what happened to him.”

While they stretched their legs on the tarmac, Whooves and his coltfriend stepped off, ice palpable between.

“Thanks for the ride,” Whooves said without looking. Rarity tried to supplement his words with a grateful smile of her own, but the stallion just grunted, opening a hatch on the ship’s side.

“We will find a hotel first,” Octavia said.

“I want to at least see your house,” Rainbow said. “Like, from a distance or something.”

“If it will stop you all from pestering me about it, I will walk you to the beginning of my grounds. Any further incursion will be yours alone.”

“You really have a chip on your shoulder, don’t you?” Whooves asked.

“Ah thought Ah saw you walkin’ away,” Applejack said.

He chuckled. “We see what we want to, eh, Applejack?”

“Ah don’t dislike ya, Doctor,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just find ya a little tirin’.”

“Some ponies call it ‘engaging’.”

“What do you want?” Octavia asked.

“Ouch, my heart, Miss Octavia.” Seeing their unamused expressions, he cleared his throat. “I was hoping I could get a little tour as well, that’s all it is. I’ve not been here before.”

“What about your coltfriend?” Rarity asked. Lowering her voice, she added to Fluttershy, “as if I can’t tell already.”

“Done and dusted. I’ve said what I need to say, and there’s nothing more to it. That brute will return to his life of salty air and hard labor, free to pursue the obsolescence he craves without me.”

“Now who has the chip on his shoulder?” Big Mac asked.

“Great minds, brother Apple. Come, why tarry on this old lot, when there’s a new city to be explored!”

Rarity had never told a taxi to follow another one before, and she did so with queer excitement, like she was a character in a mystery novel. They traveled the main roads to the hotel, ignoring for the time the branching rivulets of hoofpaths, around the government area and down a steep thoroughfare into a paved valley.

Their hotel dominated its corner beside the river, a four-story gingerbread-colored keystone to upscale restaurants, bookstores, and nondescript office buildings. Balconies covered the outer walls under crowning arches, decorated with modest stone swirls and separated by hanging lantern brackets. Through a frosted glass revolving door, they entered into a bright and spotless vestibule, their hooves clicking on the tile aspect of a massive compass rose. Some ponies looked up from their newspapers, many not stifling the recognition that broke onto their faces.

They checked in with Celestia’s bank note, reluctantly deciding on three rooms, and for Whooves to stay with them until he found his own lodging. On the second floor, up a dark green stairwell and down a wide corridor, their rooms were not together, and they crowded into the first one they reached for Twilight to deposit their bags, which she’d been holding in limbo since they were captured. She sighed and slumped to the ground as she released her holding spell, and Pinkie rubbed her back affectionately while the others gathered at the window to gaze upon a sparkling, empty pool.

“So, house?” Rarity asked.

“We may as well get it out of the way,” Octavia said.

The river was only a block away, down a set of crooked stone stairs built into the sloping ground. They took a cobbled hoofpath between a set of august buildings and an empty street, the smell of the river hanging in the air thickly. On the other side, a dark, spiked chapel threw twin spires into the sky, Luna and her moon intermingled in the stained glass windows.

The river was widest where they were, and they had to cross a threadlike bridge beside a slow moving stream of traffic, cars and carts both. On each stanchion, there glistened, half submerged, pastel pink designs that Twilight identified as repellent sigils. By the bridge’s end, she had realized their function: likely, she said, to keep mosquitoes and other insects from breeding in the standing river water.

On the other side, they walked on a slanted sidewalk past the spiked chapel and through a twisting network of smaller roads into a lightly wooded neighborhood. Mansions crowded their backs to them outside the trees’ cover, and they were able to move directly through a wedge of untended lawn between two metal latticeworks until reaching a different, clearer path.

“I see what you mean about getting around here,” Rainbow said.

“The main road would eventually lead to my house, but we would have needed to go around several more residences first,” Octavia said, not looking back. Her head was fixed forward, and her steps did not falter or waver, even as they crossed a shorter bridge of wood and rope over a narrow gap of fifteen feet. Along its length, they could see a patch of discolored ground.

“What do you make of that?” Applejack asked. “Clearin’ space fer another sigil maybe?”

“I remember there being a house there. It probably fell through.”

Rarity moaned sympathetically.

“What is this?” Octavia stopped, and they followed her eyes to a parked limousine, unfamiliar to all but herself and Rarity. Spotless black windows gleamed in a black shell over silver wheel arches, and a golden butterfly perched gently on the license plate.

The Good Thing

Chapter Sixty

The Good Thing

It was not Octavia’s car; she had never seen it before. They passed it to a wide, black gate, open, where Octavia stopped. Inside, they followed a straight path into a trench of precise hedges rising on both sides, terminating before a glossy, four-tier fountain crowned with a pair of waltzing ponies draped in sparkling water. Around it moved a mare in a perfect white uniform, and she trotted to them, unflinching at their sudden appearance.

After a brief dialogue, she led them up the walk to the house, a three-story fortress of wood and plaster that slowed them in their tracks. The walls were the same startling white as the servant’s uniform, and stood like icebergs on a perfect lawn at the head of the path. To one side, there waited a pointed gazebo beside a static brook, bridged with a wide cobblestone arch, and on the other rested a two-story brick guest house, decorated with flowering bushes and luscious drapes inside flawless windows. Twin chimneys forked the sky, themselves shadowed by the incredible, deep shroud that came off the central abode, its mahogany double doors embossed with images of ponies carousing to an unseen source. Black half moon windows stared down at them, set deep in the mansion’s face, the only curved lines to be seen on the sharp façade.

Through the tall threshold, between a pair of gilt columns, they entered a sweeping foyer and crossed twenty feet of ocean blue carpet to a single, wide staircase, where they went through another inlaid door down a wide corridor, its walls a mild cream with thin, crimson lines spiraling and intersecting throughout. The servant said nothing until they reached a vast lounge, where she bade them make themselves comfortable until someone could meet them, and then left them alone.

No one spoke as they all took in the room. Through the foyer, they had been too focused on the servant, and thrown off by the silence of their acceptance, to truly observe their surroundings. Over their heads twinkled a still, crystal chandelier, while strands of jeweled glass hung in rows like lambent soda straws, scattering light from the huge bay windows across the wide, ribbed ceiling. On one wall, there nestled a gaping hearth, its bricks black with use but otherwise clean, its grille a reflective steel grimace at the horseshoe of velvet couches across. Beside one end table was a large globe in an astrolabe cradle, while the central coffee table, glass, held a single flower arrangement in a low, square vase. The walls’ electric lights were covered with soft, loose veils, like free-hanging jellyfish, each one trailing glistening threads that ended in more jeweled glass.

“This is incredible,” Whooves said. “I’ve never seen such opulence. It makes the mind reel. To think, the owner of this, this house, left it to go on an adventure with us.”

“You never knew about this, Pinkie?” Rarity asked. Noticing Whooves’ curious expression, she clarified. “They’re sisters.”

“Ah, a filial journey! Now that I can—”

“I knew she lived here,” Pinkie said, still turning to see everything. “And I had a feeling it was a nice house, but she never told me more than that. If I knew she lived in this, I would never have worried as much.”

“Yeah, a lot of good it did her,” Rainbow said. She frowned at everyone’s looks. “Just saying.”

Rarity rolled her eyes, but perked her ears at the sound of someone approaching. The door opened silently, admitting an elderly mare in the same pristine white, embellished with embroidery and lace, her face and chest covered by sheer veils. The only color was a pink rosebud of muzzle that peeked through her elaborate garb, and ghostly dark eyes behind her silk. Her voice was soft and calm as she walked around a sofa, her practiced hoofsteps silent on the carpet. “You must be the good thing.”

“Pardon?” Applejack said.

“Our master told us to expect a good thing. Seeing you now, it can only be you… eight.”

“They’re friends of ours,” Fluttershy said.

“Wonderful.” She smiled and bowed. “Um…”

“Who are you?” Rarity asked. “Are you the master?”

“Only of the other servants. My name is Opal.” She looked at them expectantly.

“Do you know Octavia?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes, of course. You know her?”

“She’s travelin’ with us too,” Big Mac said. “Decided to stay outside.”

“She didn’t want to come back,” Pinkie said.

“I can understand that,” Opal said. She held up a hoof, and continued. “This house’s master is currently at work.”

“Your master owns this incredible place, and she has to work still?” Rarity asked.

“It’s complicated, in a way.” She sat before the fireplace. “If you are friends with Madam Octavia, perhaps you have heard her refer to a pony by the name of Lumb as well.”

“She mentioned him, yes,” Fluttershy said. “They were friends.”

“Of a sort. He is the present master.”

“Is that his limousine outside?” Rarity asked.

“That’s right.”

“Hang on,” Pinkie said, frowning. “She never sold this place, though. She couldn’t. That’s why she had such tremendous financial difficulties.”

“Tact, Pinkie,” Rarity said. “She is right, though.”

“It’s an unofficial affair. When it became clear to us that Madam Octavia would not return, at least for a long time, we decided to allow Lumb mastery of the house. He spent so much time here, it seemed better than letting everything fall into disrepair. However, his day job is curating the museum.”

“So he just hung around long enough for you to accept him?” Rainbow asked.

“I guess you could put it that way. He was a familiar sight before Madam Octavia left. He was always using her library, and the servants were comfortable around him.”

“Library?” Twilight said. Rainbow glanced at her. “Yes, I’m still here. Just being quiet, girls.”

“The library is down the hall through that door,” Opal said, indicating her point of entrance. “If you want.”

“Later.”

She smiled. “Master Lumb was always reading and researching, and that hasn’t changed. He’s a welcome relief.”

“Was it difficult to work under Octavia?” Applejack asked.

“Really, Applejack? What do you think?” Rainbow asked.

“Ah think that we should let the servant speak fer herself. The mare, sorry.”

Opal’s polite smile weakened. “My job, when she lived here, was to see to her music room, and the care of all instruments within. All sixty of them, and the equipment that came with them.”

Applejack whistled low and long. “Did she play ‘em all?”

“Yes, whether she was skilled or not.” She paused, selecting her words. “There is a restored pipe organ, the only instrument that was here before her, that she had the horrible habit of waking us up with.”

“Insomnia,” Rarity said.

“It was not uncommon for her to rouse every servant in the house at three or four in the morning with the most wrenching, unskilled melodies, only to send us searching through the rooms for someone in distress. She claimed to hear ponies screaming for help.”

“O-kay, that’s new,” Rainbow said.

“She was mad,” Opal said frankly. “I have walked in on her destroying things in a room—the plates and glasses in dining room were her favorite—only for her to blame an unseen intruder hours later. Other servants would say they could hear her weeping in empty rooms, or raving in the attic.”

“This doesn’t sound right,” Whooves said. “We are speaking of the same pony, right? Miss Octavia is as mellow as a meadowlark, and thoughtful as a—”

“Will you shut up?” Applejack snapped. “Keep goin’, Opal. What else?”

“She had a tendency to lock herself into rooms and beg to be let out, thinking someone had trapped her.”

“What in the world was wrong?” Rarity asked.

“For years, she would not say. Only by being allowed into the music room—I was the only one permitted within when she played—did I slowly come to understand what agonized her. The house, so I gradually learned, was haunted in her mind. She complained of restless spirits that delighted in tormenting her. She would stay awake for days at a time, keeping herself up and alert with her music, and terrifying the other servants in the process. Many left.”

“Can’t think why,” Whooves said, glancing at Applejack, who didn’t react.

“She said she could see them sometimes, stalking her in the halls, and waking her up by screaming in her face. She eventually stopped sleeping in the beds for… cleanliness.”

“Gross,” Pinkie said.

“Even worse, many of the lesser servants started to believe her, or believe that she was a spirit, come back to haunt the place where she was slain. Utter nonsense, but what was I to say?” She frowned. “Some started suspecting me near the end too, thinking I was poisoning her, or held a curse over her.”

“You weren’t, were you?” Applejack asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“We’ve encountered malignant spirits before,” Rarity said. “They do exist.”

“Yes, I know that,” Opal said dismissively. “But look around. Is this a house of evil? Is this a house of the macabre?”

“So what happened?” Big Mac asked.

“Nothing. She eventually stopped eating, lost thirty pounds, and started disappearing into the wilderness outside town for days on end. She would return and speak to us as though she was here the whole time, asking of the house’s condition as she would when she was well. We all knew it didn’t matter. We could have been boiling rocks and serving them in her soup for all she knew.”

“Okay, okay, stop it,” Fluttershy said. “Um, sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt—”

“Sounds like you do,” Whooves said, poking her playfully.

“I mean… oh, anyway, Opal, there has to be something missing here.” She cleared her throat. “We met in Canterlot close to four months ago, and she was none of those things, except for the insomnia.”

“Could have been the house,” Pinkie said. Her voice was even.

“What do you mean?” Opal asked.

“Where you live can do funny things to you. Maybe she didn’t feel right here.”

“Could be why she chose to be a travelin’ musician, an’ not a local one,” Big Mac said.

“Could leaving this house behind have been enough to set her straight?” Fluttershy asked. “Er, straighter, I mean?”

“Personally, I cannot imagine her any other way,” Opal said. “Her final words to me were a warning to not allow myself get trapped inside the piano. ‘The keys will break if you try to escape,’ I remember that part. She spoke it to me as one does when preparing to tell someone of a loved one’s passing.”

“Well, something must have changed,” Fluttershy said. “Or living here must have been worse than you say.”

“I honestly don’t know. You could be right.”

“Could it be something as simple as a gas leak in her bedroom?” Whooves asked. “That can make a pony pretty funny.”

“We checked for every mundane explanation we could think of. Whatever the problem, it’s inside her.”

“No surprises there,” Rainbow said.

“Miss Octavia would never let something like a spirit overtake her,” Whooves said. “She’s not that type of pony.”

“I don’t know,” Opal said. “She has a hard streak in her, I know, but…”

“She’s one giant hard streak,” Applejack said.

“She can be soft when she wants to,” Whooves said.

Opal only shook her head. “I can’t say. You know her in a different way than I ever did.” She looked pointedly at the door from which she entered. “Would you like to see more of the house?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Rarity said.

“Not at all.” Opal bowed and beckoned them to follow her into a long corridor, and, as soon as she was out the door, Rarity turned on Whooves, putting a hoof to his chest. “You do not know Octavia that well, you realize that.”

“We’re friends,” Whooves said.

“No, you’re friendly. There’s a difference.”

“Psh, Octavia, friendly,” Rainbow said.

“She has her moments,” Pinkie said.

“I’m with Pinks, though. We might as well get our fill here before getting buried under another set of issues.” She glanced at Twilight, who stood and went to the door.

Through the following hallway, they entered into a high vaulted, wood paneled library, walled with bookshelves and lit softly from above by articulated spreads of glowing spheres, on the bottom of each a black insignia of Celestia’s sun. Twilight froze in the threshold while the others moved around her, some gawking, some looking uninterested. The chamber reached up to the roof, with the second and third floors ringing the walls to leave an unbroken area of empty air for their voices and hoofsteps to reverberate.

“How many books are in here?” Twilight asked.

“Thirty-five thousand nine hundred and forty at present,” Opal said. “If I remember correctly. You’re a librarian in your hometown, I believe?”

“I haven’t seen this many books since Canterlot.” She swiveled her head slowly. “Oh, uh, that’s right.” She trotted to a table, piled with smaller books, open upon a heavy compendium.

“Anything you could want on magic, philosophy, art, music… anything, we have it. If you’d like to take a closer look—”

“Please,” Twilight said, turning on her suddenly. “That would be fantastic.” She looked at her friends. “Go ahead.”

“You don’t wanna see the rest of this haunted mansion?” Pinkie asked.

“I’ll catch up.” Without waiting for Opal, Twilight broke away and flagged down another servant.

“She’ll be fine in here,” Applejack said. “We just gotta remember to get her when we’re leavin’. She’ll stay all day if we let her.”

Opal giggled obligingly as she led them through the chamber, past carved wooden doors and seating areas in various states of use. At one, a white-clad servant was wiping a table, a cup of liquid perched on her outspread wing. She nodded courteously as they passed, coming finally to a door set apart from the others. The doorway to Octavia’s favorite part of the house, she said, and a costly piece of unnecessary renovation.

The knob, decorative, shone like a platinum snowflake. From the silver teardrop in which it was set, slender argentine veins branched outward, thinning as they went until the dark oak door resembled a plank of shadow overtaken by viral luminescence. Even beyond the door frame, the silver lines reached and terminated in hair-thin tapers along the shelves.

They entered into another corridor, flanked with stone columns on which sat rough busts, many of ponies, but some of other species, and of varying materials. A glass dragon glared with tourmaline eyes beside the stiff, haughty face of a plaster earth pony, while a clay unicorn sulked several busts down. The hall was the longest they had yet seen, and, at its end, on a pool of crimson carpet, they faced another door, identical to the one in the library, guarded by the top half of a rough, oxidized steel minotaur and a rude limestone dog, which Opal ignored.

“Look at this,” Whooves said, pausing to peer around to the dog’s nape. “I knew it. I just knew it.” He tapped the statue, indicating a small starburst design, similar to Celestia’s sun on the library lights but uncontained in a circle. It sat innocently on the back of the ear.

“What does it mean?” Big Mac asked, cutting short the beginning of Rainbow’s unimpressed “So?”

“What it means, my dear ponies, is that whomever put this fellow here did so not for decoration—rather, not purely for decoration—though I can’t be too certain of the decorative properties of such a ghastly—”

“Come on, come on, she’s waitin’ fer us,” Applejack said.

“Er, it means that she put this dog here as a protector. This sun symbol, unbound by a circle at the border, is an old symbol for strength through fealty. Such designs were placed upon inanimate objects as a way of empowering them, like a talisman.”

“Does it actually work?” Fluttershy asked.

“No. This little mark has no magical power. Likely it was invented before ponies really had a grasp on how to produce a proper sigil.” He looked at the minotaur. “Wouldn’t be surprised if that ugly brute has one too.”

Rainbow shoved the door open, trotting in and stopping short while white light spilled into the hall behind her, reflected out of a vast marble pit. Golden banisters like arrows of sunlight curved along smooth walls to converge in a pinwheel on the arched ceiling, its spokes separated by wide wedges of glass. Throughout the room, on pedestals or in cases, were musical instruments, unsorted but pristine. Beside an onyx double bass, its shape a large, sleeping bat, there leaned a decorated tuba, its mouth textured with zigzagging strings of blue. Three violas hung on the near wall, bows slanted next to them, while a heavy, brown grand piano waited on an aubergine crescent moon in the tile.

“What’s that?” Pinkie asked, pointing to a set of lazy parabolas strung across what resembled a pair of trapezes, suspended on the second floor.

“Looks like an art piece,” Rarity said.

“That’s a whale cello,” Opal said. “It produces one of the lowest sounds an instrument can make. You have to play it with a telescoping bow.”

“Could she do that?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yes, but not well.” They descended a shallow staircase and passed a small pit they had not seen from their entrance, contained within a large collection of drums and cymbals, and even a full-sized gong to one side, a brazen spiral etched on its face. Entering onto a slender, helical staircase to the second floor, Opal stopped to let them see the cables’ full span, close to thirty feet over the stadium music room, large enough to contain any of their houses with enough room for most of the instruments around the margins still. “It takes a pony of great strength to wield the bow, as large and long as it is. Madam Octavia could do so, for short periods of time.”

On the second floor, they could see on one end the spread of instruments, more impressive from aloft, like treasures adrift in a field of snow, and on the other, one half moon window to the grounds’ back end, where sat another gazebo, a statue of something unidentifiable and inequine, and a wall of flower-speckled hedges.

“This is her most prized possession,” Opal said, indicating the colossal, roof-reaching organ, its brass pipes shining dully like rotten teeth beside a dark bird’s nest of gears, embedded in the floor beside a bellows Big Mac’s size. “Fully restored from the southern mines, and long before she took residence here.”

“So she’d just sit and pound on this thing, huh?” Rainbow said.

“In the middle of the night, yes.”

Opal took them up through an undecorated door into an art gallery, full of pictures and portraits that bore no relation to Octavia, and had been there before she purchased the manse. Between burnished grandfather clocks with golden faces, they passed through a carved teak door into the second floor dining room, its twenty-foot long table empty of food but glittering with brilliant arrangements of china and cutlery, enough for a feast. The smell of woodsmoke filled the room and the corridor beyond, where Opal took them through the solarium, where Lumb had set up an extensive spice garden, and then the parlor.

They skipped the third floor, Opal stating that it contained the attic and little else, and circled back around to the library to collect Twilight, who insisted on remaining. They separated from Opal in the foyer and found Octavia waiting outside, exactly where they had left her.

“Let us go to the hotel first,” she said. “Whatever needs to be said can be said in the privacy of our own rooms.”

Octavia went to sit beside the window as soon as they entered their room, and did not face them. “Say what you will.”

Applejack sat between Rainbow and Fluttershy on the bed, and her voice showed no hesitation. “Ya lied ‘bout there bein’ legal trouble, an’ Ah’m guessin’ termites as well.”

Octavia did not respond, but Applejack could see her eyes close in the window’s reflection.

“Your head servant said that you were rather troubled when you lived there,” Rarity said. “In a way that we have never seen.”

“We’re confused, dear, an’ worried,” Applejack said.

Octavia breathed out quietly.

“I know you like your privacy,” Fluttershy said, “but… well…”

“We need answers,” Applejack said.

Octavia stood up and faced Whooves. “Leave us.”

He looked at her mildly. “I?”

“Leave us. This is not for you to hear.”

“Well, where would you have me go?”

“I do not care.”

“I suppose I could nip over to the other room, or perhaps go exploring a little on my own. Would you like me to—”

“I do not care!” she snapped. “Stop talking, and go away!”

“I’ll take him,” Rarity said, putting a hoof to Whooves’ shoulder and smoothing his mane with her magic. “Come, dear. Let’s go for a walk.”

Whooves slunk out with Rarity behind, who cast a plaintive look their way before shutting the door, and Octavia faced them all, mouth ajar for a minute before closing it again. She went to the other bed, sat, pulled up a blanket, and then tossed it away.

“So? What’s going on?” Pinkie asked.

“I cannot say,” Octavia murmured. “I…”

“We know somethin’s wrong,” Applejack said.

“Yes, that is clear.”

They were silent for a minute, before Rainbow spoke. “Opal said you were mad. That you thought the house was haunted, and the ghosts were tormenting you.”

Applejack looked at Rainbow for a second before continuing. “You’d lock yerself in rooms or smash plates, an’ think a spirit did it.”

“Stop,” Octavia said.

“It’s the truth.”

She went to the door, and no one stopped her. “I need to clear my head.”

“Octavia, don’t.”

“I am not trying to escape. I just need to order my thoughts. I will return.”

Applejack studied her, neither mare’s eyes wavering. “All right, Ah believe ya.”

Without response, Octavia departed.

Walking along the park’s south side, Octavia’s thoughts closed on one word, an accusation she had drilled into herself countless times before: pathetic. She had known what was coming the instant her friends vanished into the horrible, august mansion, and no one came to her while they were within, leaving her alone to echo dread to herself. She could see the occasional servant inside the grounds, but none acknowledged her, and her simmering self-loathing was punctuated only by the mild curiosity whether those that passed her scope of vision would recognize her if she should go inside.

When Applejack spoke to her in the hotel, she had known, moreover, that she would not explain. She would get as close to it as possible, and run away. It had happened before, and, though she quietly hated herself, she felt powerless to stop it.

“Pathetic.”

She had bought the house in a storm of fame and fortune, fresh out of college and lucky to be both talented and beautiful, a combination that was enough to put her in magazines and newspapers over duller musicians ten or more years her senior. She had not once considered the risks of putting more than three quarters of her money into a house; to her, elated with newfound popularity, such risks belonged to others.

The rest of the money was split between a bank and a vault in the cellar, hidden behind a stack of empty whiskey barrels, and her last sight of it was closing the sliding, brick panels with confidence that bordered on arrogance. She imagined it was still there.

“Pathetic and stupid.”

When Applejack had helped her empty her apartment in Canterlot, the house was on her mind. When they landed in Manehattan, and she was confined to the hospital for her own stubborn refusal to admit an injury, the house was in her thoughts. When they had been taken aboard Thunderhead’s ship, it was in her head, and she had hoped their passage from the coast to Hoofington would give her enough time to get comfortable with her memories.

She entered a small gate into the narrowest part of the park, hurrying through to the other side. The scenery had not changed from when she was last there: the fountains, birdbaths, trees, and Ramadas all stood as they had before, either unaffected by the disaster or given enough time to be rebuilt or resituated. A group of fillies gamboled across a sturdy wooden bridge without pausing for the endless drop just beneath, and she startled herself when, crossing the same bridge, she did not either.

“It has been a long time since the disaster, and longer than that since I have been here, yet that house scares me now as it did before. Pathetic, Octavia. It is a stupid house, not a monster.”

She exited onto a gravel wash that connected to a trio of hoofpaths and one sidewalk and headed north to circle around the park’s upper half. She wanted to keep walking, to let herself disappear into what she saw as her hometown.

“I could do it. I know this town, and there are those who know me, and countless more who would let me hide just to say they gave lodging to the famous Octavia. There would be no choice but to go on without me.”

She kicked a rock out of her way, then drew it back in her magic. She hadn’t used it in a while, and held the rock shakily before throwing it again, arcing it over a distant street into someone’s flower garden.

A different, more cynical part of herself spoke up. “Or I could go drown myself in the river, fulfill that old impulse I expressed in front of Thunderhead’s ship. Celestia, how has no one brought that up?”

She rounded a corner and saw their airship, parked beside a smaller ship, what looked like a personal cruiser.

“This is ridiculous. It is a little bit of honesty for my friends, and I am thinking about suicide again. We are not even in danger.”

She looked at a pair of young ponies walking the other way, tails entwined, but not speaking; they both wore serious expressions, and did not look in her direction.

“And I suppose I should return before Rarity comes back with Dr. Whooves.”

She faced west to skirt the government quarter, and to take the same route they had all taken to the hotel. With each step, her anxiety dimmed until she stood in the hotel’s lobby, twenty minutes later, full of loathing for her fear and herself, but also acceptance.

She didn’t have to knock; Pinkie yanked the door open for her before she had made it to the room, and she went in without looking at any of them, sat on the bed, and closed her eyes. A familiar image looked back at her hazily.

“Feel better?” Applejack asked.

“No. Proceed with your questions.”

There was a thick moment of hesitation before Pinkie spoke. “So is it haunted, or are you crazy?”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Applejack breathed.

A soft weight depressed the mattress to her side, and Fluttershy spoke. “Um, I’m sorry. She means—”

“I know, and get away from me,” Octavia said. She waited until she was again alone on the bed. “I know how this must look to you, but I can promise you that that house is infested. I cannot say how many… malignant spirits lived there, or if they still do, but I remember them perfectly.”

“What did they do?” Applejack asked.

“Did my servants not tell you? You said you spoke with them.”

“We wanna hear it from you,” Rainbow said.

“If this is just to get me to admit something you already know, then there is no point in my being here,” Octavia said, snapping her eyes open and sliding off the bed.

“That’s not it,” Fluttershy said.

“We want you to be open with us,” Rainbow said. “That’s it, okay?”

Octavia curled her lip as she sat back down, tentative on the edge. “I remember…” The image in her head changed slightly, shifting to what she wanted to describe. “I would frequently wake up to a stretched, black face screaming into my own, or prying open my mouth to scream into it. I…” She shook her head violently. “Stupid, stupid.”

“What’s stupid?” Big Mac asked quietly.

“I am. This is ancient history. There is nothing to be gained here.”

“Yer not the one to decide that,” Applejack said. “If we can help you—”

“Do not bother.”

“I know it’s hard to relive these things,” Fluttershy said, “but it’s important for you to move on.”

“If I never see that house again, I will be just fine,” Octavia said.

“Fine like you always are?” Rainbow asked.

“You know what I mean.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think I do. You’ve never really been… you know, great. You’re like the picture of suffering.”

“Perhaps ‘fine’ is the wrong word, then. I will be a lot happier to never return there.”

“An’ no one’s sayin’ you gotta,” Big Mac said. “But you do gotta deal with these memories.”

“Memories can consume a pony,” Fluttershy said.

“Gobble ‘em up,” Pinkie whispered.

“There is not much else to say except for more examples, and that would be truly pointless,” Octavia said. “The house is haunted, and has been since I bought it. I suppose my sleeping problems originated there.”

“Opal said you stayed up for days,” Rainbow said.

“That is true. I practiced my music all night long with the doors locked. Sometimes, they surprised me, but not often. Not nearly as often as when I was sleeping.”

“Would it help if we said we didn’t see anything even remotely scary there?” Pinkie asked.

“No. For all I know, the ghosts departed when I did, or are in hiding, waiting for me. They singled me out, I know that much. No servant admitted to seeing anything.”

“Well… at least that hasn’t changed,” Fluttershy said.

“Ah’m sorry ya had to experience that, whether it’s real or not,” Applejack said from across the room. “Ah want you to know that Ah’m tempted to go over there an’ offer you a hug, but Ah know ya wouldn’t appreciate that.”

Octavia nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’ll do it!” Pinkie shrieked, and Octavia was bowled over and tangled in the sheets as Pinkie smothered her.

“Pinkie, get off her,” Rainbow said.

“I love you, sis!”

“Get away from me!” Octavia bellowed, kicking out and striking something flimsy through the sheet.

“You need it!”

“Off!” She lashed out again, glancing off Pinkie’s soft flesh, and the pink pony squirmed away, allowing Octavia to pull the blanket off her head and glare at the room. The end table lamp had been knocked over, and Pinkie stood beside the unoccupied desk, blushing. “Do you know anything about restraint?”

“I just wanted to make you feel better,” Pinkie mumbled. Her mane had lost its luster, and Fluttershy was beside her in an instant with a comforting wing.

“Yer not gonna do it by attack huggin’ her,” Applejack said, not unkindly.

“I am going out, again,” Octavia said. “You are trying to be good to me, and I appreciate that. However, this is not your concern right now. I need to think.”

The propeller cast a curious shadow from almost thirty feet up, aloft on a narrow steel neck and turning lazily in a high wind. Beside it rose a dark metal half dome, flat end turned toward them, and ridged unevenly near its base built onto a gentler curve of light brown wood, itself an extension of an amorphous wreck of rigid, uneven walls.

Rarity and Whooves had no inkling of what they would find within the cacophonous amalgam of smooth, vague surfaces and disembodied airship pieces. They had not expected either to be welcomed within when they got closer, and even less by someone Rarity recognized.

The Astra family had traveled from Trottingham to Hoofington aboard a group of ships that Princess Luna had sent them after their villa was destroyed, and, instead of separating and trying to find individual lodging in the city, they elected to create their own home off the city limits, cobbling their ships together with debris from the disaster, which they found pushed into a nearby wood.

It was still not enough for their large family. After the first fortnight of construction, they had run out of materials, and everyone was forced to settle down into a state of uncomfortable crowding. One of the older Astra daughters, Violet, had received them, and she and Rarity spoke in a small anteroom, sitting on half crates around a gear, its teeth filed smooth, while Whooves stood dumbfounded in the entryway a room away.

Since Thunderhead’s attack, the Astras had been living in a state of nervous half-preparedness for another, which never came. For the first week of life outside of Hoofington, they had their crow circle the area while they and their animated servants worked, but nothing was found.

“And you built this whole thing yourself?” Whooves asked, following another Astra into the anteroom. “It’s simply amazing! Engineering and architecture have always been beyond my scope, and to think just a group of unicorns put this whole thing together. You must be the most industrious—”

“Darling,” Rarity intoned, “come sit with us, hm?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He looked around the room, hesitated, and sat on a crate. “So how do you know each other? Actually, never mind, it makes sense. Elements of Harmony, Astras—powerful ponies stick together, after all.”

“We met quite by coincidence,” Violet said. She looked at Rarity. “And we do consider it a good coincidence, my friend.”

“Ah, coincidences,” Whooves said. “The unseen machinations of fate. What a marvelous thing, to be able to say—”

“Dear, would you like to see the Astra crow?”

“But of course, if only I knew what you were talking about.”

“I’m afraid she’s not here right now,” Violet said.

“Pity,” Rarity said. She turned to Whooves. “The crow is their… pet.”

“Guardian. She’s our guardian.”

“Haven’t seen her in a while, though,” another Astra said, passing through.

“I thought I heard Papa Astra say he saw her earlier this morning.”

“No, she’s still out there.”

Violet furrowed her brow. “How long has she been gone now? This is the third or fourth day, isn’t it?”

“Was it supposed to come back earlier?” Rarity asked.

“We sent her out to look for more materials to work on our complex, and to return in three or four days regardless. Silver, when did we send her out?”

“She should be back today,” the other Astra said. “This morning, actually.”

“Hm. That’s not right.”

“I’m confused,” Whooves said.

“She’s bound to us,” Violet said thoughtfully. “There isn’t much somepony could do to stop her from carrying out an order.”

“Could it be a malfunction in the machinery?” Rarity asked.

“Machinery? I thought it was a bird,” Whooves said.

Violet looked at Silver, who went to Whooves and put a hoof on his back. “Let’s see more of the complex, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, he led Whooves away, and Violet waited until the doctor’s chatter died away before continuing.

“A new friend?”

Rarity sighed. “It’s a long story. Right now, let’s just say he’s a tagalong.”

“Ah. Well, he seems nice enough. It can’t be helped, you know?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The lower class. They latch on whenever they can, Rarity, you must know that. A classical mare like you, consorting with friends like yours. Surely you’ve run into some unsavory types.”

“Of course, but I don’t think he’s with us for our fame.” She frowned. “Though I guess I can’t be sure.”

“He doesn’t stand to gain much by staying with you all, I imagine,” Violet said airily. “Perhaps a swift death, if he’s not careful.”

Rarity swallowed. “Perhaps.”

Violet tossed her head back in laughter. “You act like you hardly know the affairs in your own country, my dear.”

“I know Discord was recently repelled from Canterlot for the second time. Is there more?”

“No, no, that’s all. So it’s not ignorance, then, but mere carelessness.”

“What could you possibly mean?”

“Rarity.” She lowered her head to look at her through purple bangs, a coquettish smile bright on her lips. “Rarity.”

“Just say it, please. I don’t want to guess.”

“Everyone knows that Canterlot is being run down, and all the space between cities is slowly being overtaken as well. Ponies have cause to be worried, more worried than you appear.”

Rarity huffed. “And what’s wrong with it? We live in isolation on our ship and with each other, and we have to. If we didn’t, we’d get stuck with everyone’s smaller problems. We’d lose sight of our task.”

“Yet you allow the likes of him to ride your coat tails.” She raised her hooves emphatically. “Rarity, listen to me. This is for your own good. You can’t have it both ways, living as a hero but also as a common pony.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The masses will weigh you down.”

Rarity frowned and looked Violet in the eyes. “He’s one pony, and we’re only here as long as it takes for us to get an airship. What do you think I’m playing at?”

“I assure you, I’m not trying to offend.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Silver Astra reentered, Whooves still right behind and still rambling, and a bodiless maid outfit floating behind like an apparition.

“Come along, Rarity!” Whooves said. “This family is wonderful! Such ingenuity, and power, and dignity, it makes me regret not tagging along with you from the beginning.” He laughed, pushing open the door, leaving Violet to look at Silver inquiringly.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Rarity called, chasing after him. He trotted out into the afternoon sun and let the maid outfit catch up before following it into the fields outside the Astra complex.

“Just a little adventure, shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.”

“Adventure? Wait, hold on, stop.”

The maid outfit did not falter, and Whooves gave a single gay laugh. “Don’t worry, we’re not going far.”

“But where, dear? I was having a perfectly, er, strange conversation with Violet.”

“We’re finding their missing crow, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to do that!” Rarity cried. “That crow of theirs is dangerous, and horrifying.” Panting for a moment, she added, under her breath, “Personally, I say good riddance to the thing.”

“Come, Rarity, where’s that famed sense of spontaneity?”

“You’re thinking of Pinkie Pie.”

“No, you. Oh! Look, slowing down already. See? I told you it wouldn’t be far.” He pulled up alongside the maid outfit, one cuff angled off and pointing into a thick ridge of trees. “This is where it was headed.”

She shook her head. “Doctor, this is preposterous. Why are we doing this?”

“Well, Silver and his friends were talking about their little crow, and how it got lost.”

“Yes, and?”

The maid outfit started floating back, and Whooves waved congenially.

“Doctor?”

“Ah, yes. Well, I said that we could find it.”

“We?”

“Well, I don’t want to take all the credit.”

She sat down, ignoring for the time the letter that slowly unfolded from her horn. “So you talked with them for five minutes and ended up volunteering both of us to go find their demonic machine pet.”

“Machine?”

“You didn’t even know what it was when you said we’d go after it?” she cried.

“They just made it sound like a big bird! How was I supposed to know?”

Rarity brought both hooves up to massage her temples, and she picked up the letter. “Dear Twilight… huh.”

“Misfired letter?”

“It could be automated. Dear Twilight, if you thought offing Spike was my revenge, you are a fool. That was sour grapes. The Astra Crow rests at the bottom of a lake near your position. Search for her if you want, but I don’t think you will. Hoofington has its own surprise for you, one you may or may not have yet uncovered. Clock’s ticking, Twily. Discord.”

“Um… I have a couple questions.”

“We’re going back to Hoofington.”

“Wait!”

“Doctor, he just said there’s something in Hoofington.”

“Spike?”

“Discord killed him as recompense for us destroying his ghost ship,” she said quickly, and blushed. “And this whole crow business is a trap. The letter proves it.”

“The little guy is dead?”

“Doctor!”

“Excuse me, Rarity, but I want to hear about Spike.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything, and I apologize. It’s not my place,” she said, turning back.

“He was your friend too, wasn’t he? How is that not your place?”

“It’s just not.”

“Rarity, listen to me.” He grabbed her by the withers and brought his face down to meet hers. “Listen to me.”

“We need to get back.”

“They are fine,” he cooed. “Just fine. They’re all waiting in the hotel, probably watching a little TV, laughing at Pinkie Pie, that charmer, or snuggling under Fluttershy’s wings. Did you know that—”

“Okay, okay, I’m calm,” Rarity said. “I’m calm. Let’s talk.”

He let her go and sat down, and she did the same. The disregarded letter blew into a patch of taller grass, where it stuck. “Why shouldn’t you talk about Spike?”

“Because it hit Twilight hardest of us all.”

“So? I don’t mean to sound callous, but—”

“I get it. It’s not my place because… it just doesn’t feel right.”

“I’ve gotten the impression that she’s under a lot of duress.”

“No, now that is definitely not my place. This is heading toward the realm of her personal secrets, and I can’t divulge that.”

He raised a hoof. “Say no more, fair enough. So you don’t want to talk about Spike because it seems to have hit her in the same place as the rest of her issues. Am I in the ballpark?”

“I don’t really know, because I don’t fully understand what’s wrong.”

“Well—”

“Please, Doctor, something else.”

He sighed. “Indeed. Now, that letter of yours said there’s something to be uncovered, suggesting that it’s by their action, not Discord’s, that this surprise comes up.”

“What are you saying?”

“I doubt Hoofington will miss us for a couple hours, Rarity. Our friends are safe and snug in the hotel, not going to stir anything up.”

Rarity looked back to the letter and levitated it to her, rereading it. “I suppose.”

“And if we get these Astras’ crow back, well, who knows what the gratitude of a family like that can bring?”

“We need a ship.” Her eyes widened. “And their house is made of ships.”

“What do you say, Rarity? Do you have it in you to adventure with me?”

“Okay, Doctor. This once, I’ll go.”

“Yes! There’s that impulsiveness that I—”

“But I’m telling you now, this is a trap. We’re going to approach this lake with caution, are we clear?”

“As a crystal, my friend.” He walked in the direction of the trees, humming loudly. Rarity did not join him, but he didn’t stop until they were at the trees’ edge, where Rarity held up a hoof and then, after a moment of thought, motioned for him to back away.

“Discord likes to lay traps that we can walk into without knowing it. He did it in the swamps, surrounding an Element.”

“Do tell, fellow adventurer!”

She sighed. “We ran directly into a cloud of hallucinatory gas, and it almost killed us.”

“My word, that must have been horrible.”

“Well, it was.” She peered around the nearest tree, seeing only chunks of grassy plain beyond the wood.

“Anything back there?”

“I don’t see anything.”

“We could always go around.”

“We will anyway, but I wanted to see if anything was hiding in here.”

“Like what? Discord himself?”

“A monster,” Rarity said shortly. “We’ve seen one or two.”

“How was that?”

She stepped away from the trees and made to head around them.

“Rarity?”

“We faced them, and we survived. What else do you want to know?”

“Some embellishment might be nice.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re not pleasant memories, darling.”

He sighed, but was, for a time, quiet. It wasn’t long before the reflective plate of a lake stood out in the distance, and Rarity angled them obliquely toward a small rise in the ground, from which they could see the faint unevenness in the lake’s surface: a distant split, cutting the body of water in half, leaving both hemi-lakes stranded from each other.

“So what do you make of it?” he asked.

“Let’s go down, slowly. I don’t like that split in the lake.”

“It’s fascinating, though, isn’t it? You know, if I was still in Applewood, I could be with a team of researchers on why the water doesn’t run out. Now that would be prestigious! Imagine it, your very own Dr. Whooves, foremost—”

She tuned him out as they moved downhill, servicing with a nod or “uh-huh” as they went, until reaching the lake’s edge, where she motioned for him to stop again.

“I don’t see a blessed thing.”

“Stay quiet,” she said, not taking her eyes off the lake’s serene surface. They were at a ring of tall grass that she parted with her magic, allowing a clearer sight of the half-inch of wet mud before the water’s edge. Not far off, a simple rowboat perched on the banks, a wedge of its bottom still dark with water. She extended a single hoof to the mud, as if testing its solidity, and retracted it just before it could get dirty.

“Trap?”

“I still think so, but I don’t see anything.” She looked at the boat. “The crow’s underwater here, I guess. That’s what it said. And we have a boat right here.”

“Convenient, no?”

She looked at him blankly. “Too convenient. Right?”

He grinned. “Maybe?”

“The answer is yes, Doctor. This has all the makings of a setup.”

“Well, then.” He trotted to the boat and put his head to the stern. Pushing it, he overbalanced, and Rarity giggled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked lightly.

“If it’s a trap, let’s spring it safely,” he said gruffly, wiping at his face. “It’s probably going to go off when this boat gets out there, so let’s send it out without us.” He strained again, enough to lift it up and slide back in the mud.

“Let me,” Rarity said. She didn’t want to admit that he had thought of something she hadn’t, and did not wait for him to steady himself before magically shoving the boat out of its spot. It landed gracelessly lower in the mud, and he moved at it again, his head making a hollow thump off its hull. She withheld a snicker and pushed it more steadily, her magic and his earth pony strength combining until it was in the water. She gave it a final, hard shove, and they stepped back as it coasted inwards.

“I feel a touch silly.”

“Mm.”

“It’s like watching our hopes for retrieving their bird drift away.” He sat and sighed. “Ah, the vicissitudes of time. We’ve developed bridges and boats, yet we have no agency in the great river of time, swept along like so much flotsam.”

Rarity rolled her eyes as he continued. Part of her wondered how long he would talk if she didn’t stop him, but her thoughts were cut short as he interrupted himself: “bubbles.”

“Huh?”

“Bubbles, Rarity. Look.”

On the surface, close to the cutoff point, she saw what he meant. A quick rhythm of small bubbles rippled across the deep middle, turning it into a fizzing circlet on still glass. She craned her neck to see more, and thought, for one strange instant, that Whooves’ “whoa!” was in response to her motion.

The bubbles sped up to a boiling frenzy where a dark shape appeared below, and then broke the surface, tipping the boat over and casting it aside on a heavy wave. A column of steam hissed behind the streamlined black shape for a second before water and vapor both whipped away with the heavy, smooth sound of two wings billowing out. The crow rose in a soft arc, a rainbow dripping behind, and the first embers glowed on its steaming crest. The boat lay capsized and discarded as the crow rose higher and higher until finally pulverizing a cloud and turning northwest, in the direction of the Astras. They traced its progress until it had disappeared, dragging behind it a trail of weak flame, and the final water droplets sprinkled the lake.

“We would have been caught totally off guard,” Rarity said, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Rarity?” His voice was weak. “What was that?”

She smiled at him as sweetly as she could. “That, my dear Doctor, is why we don’t volunteer ponies for something without knowing what they’re doing. That was the Astra crow.”

“I thought it was a bird,” he mumbled.

“Come. I’m sure they’ll be happy that we released their… pet.” She looked back at the lake scathingly. “I don’t know if the trap was bad, or we just handled it well.”

Half an hour after Octavia left for the second time, Rainbow left as well, following her memory as best she could until she reached the mansion. Tucked under her wing was a letter she had written, the first in a long time, and it showed; the jiggly lettering was her first serious attempt in more than a week, full of ligatures and accidental serifs. She had told herself that she was out of practice, but that was only half the truth.

Her nerves had been alight all day with the thought of what she would write, and with worry at what Trixie was going through. What had started as easily dismissed concern when they were in the mountains had become genuine anxiety on Thunderhead’s ship, and had, since arriving in Hoofington just earlier that morning, fermented into sweet, reaction stifling fear. She could not clear her head for more than a few minutes at a time, and in those sober moments, wondered whether she would be overtaken, or somehow come to grips with herself as she had bitterly urged Twilight to do. It seemed to her the only thing she could focus on was the myriad scenarios in her mind, of Trixie parading through one untimely accident after another.

A servant led her to the library, where Twilight still sat, all alone in a corner and head between two open books, propped against stacks of others. Rainbow cleared her throat to get Twilight’s attention, and was rewarded with a small jump, then a dazed expression looking around.

“What time is it?” Twilight eventually asked. Her voice sounded dry.

“Like three in the afternoon.”

“Oh. Huh. It feels later.”

Rainbow produced the letter, and Twilight took it. She looked at it for a moment, still recovering from the self-imposed catatonia of studying. “Trixie?”

“Yeah. I’ve decided to apologize for what I did to her.”

Twilight nodded and sent the letter. She looked up at the ceiling, held aloft by strong patchworks of beams, two shades of gold in the artificial light from below and the sunlight streaming in from skylights above. A golden cradle.

“I don’t deserve you,” Rainbow said, wanting to look away, but forcing herself to keep herself facing straight ahead.

Twilight turned to her books, marked the pages, and closed them. She looked back to Rainbow. “Sometimes, I think you don’t.”

Rainbow pulled up a chair beside her. “I’m really sorry.”

“I know. You should be.” There was a brief pause. “I forgive you.”

Rainbow nodded, embarrassed. Never, in her imaginings, had the apology been so quick and painless. The sorry speech she had tried to compose suddenly felt like a tawdry indulgence. “So… still best friends?”

“Not yet.” Twilight waved away a servant, who smiled and bowed. “There’s something I need to say.”

Rainbow could only nod, disarmed. “Okay.”

Twilight appeared to collect herself, and Rainbow noticed for the first time the expression of frayed calm that she imagined mirrored her own. “You were right, in a way.”

“How?”

“It’s all me. At the end of the day, this is my problem, not yours, or anyone’s.”

“Twilight, no.”

“I’m not done. I’ve thought about this, you know.” She smiled self-consciously. “Today, mostly. Without realizing it, I’ve let you all martyr me, and I’ve given up on trying to help myself. I spend more time researching than thinking, more time waiting for the right conversation with the right pony to make me well again than letting the better aspects of my life shine through to me. I took your sympathy for granted for so long, I didn’t know how to get by without it.”

“Well… okay?”

“I stopped trying to help myself, Rainbow, because I started expecting someone else to solve my problem for me.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

She giggled, and the sound, alone in the cavernous library, made Rainbow look around, instinctively expecting someone to give them a dirty look. “Every other time someone asked me that, I said ‘I don’t know.’ This time, I know. I’m going to live one day at a time, enjoy the good parts, and survive the bad parts, and then, by the end of all this giant mess, I’ll have made it out.” She put a hoof up to Rainbow’s shoulder, and Rainbow scooted closer to allow it to reach her. “I’ll need you girls’ help.”

“Anything, Twilight. We’re here for you, you know that. And I am sorry, again. It was really insensitive of me.”

“I know, and I forgive you, again.” She reached for a scrap of paper atop a stack of books. “I got this earlier this afternoon.” She unrolled the letter. “It’s from Princess Luna. Dear Twilight, my sincerest condolences for Spike’s death. It is a loss that has affected us all deeply, and we all grieve for him. He received an honorable burial in Ponyville Cemetery, but I regret that I was not able to attend. Still, life goes on, and I am happy to report that everything is progressing as well as it is able. My sister will be returning from the dragon lands in a few days.”

“She’s still there?”

Twilight nodded. “I was most pleased that you managed to stop Discord’s ghost ship; the loss has set him back significantly. Still, you must continue as you are; there is still Discord’s advocate, and while he does not appear to be a threat at present, I implore you to be cautious. Be safe, and be swift. In love and friendship, Princess Luna.” She put the parchment back on its book.

“How do you suppose she knew we knew about Spike?” Rainbow asked.

“I can’t say.”

While Twilight reshuffled the books on her table, Rainbow looked up to a low groan emanating through the walls, offset by the quiet creak of stressed beams. It lasted for only a few seconds, and she looked to Twilight.

“It’s been doing that all day. You get used to it.”

No Unicorns

Chapter Sixty-one

No Unicorns

Opal lay, sheet to chin, in her four-poster bed on the outside edge of the servants’ quarters, a labyrinth of interconnecting corridors and arbitrarily placed bedrooms in a section of mansion that an old owner had had cobbled together after the structure was initially finalized. However, even with her music box twinkling soothing music and a gentle wind moving outside, sleep escaped her.

The Elements had come earlier that day, the only herald to their arrival Lumb’s vague reference to “a good thing,” and they had left her in a state of reflection, which she could not indulge in the daytime with a house full of servants to coordinate.

Octavia was back, and, moreover, had been waiting just outside her estate not twelve hours ago. The thought of her mad mistress filled Opal with uncertainty that bordered on pity, and she remembered her times with the mare’s unstable condition. Her most striking experience, one that refused to soften with time, was walking in on Octavia trying to scrub her bed sheets, weeping and murmuring self denigration at her own nightmares. She had yelled at Opal to leave her, and found her two hours later to beg her not to mention the episode to anyone else.

A hollow moan filled the house, and something within the walls creaked. She had grown accustomed to the house’s sounds over the years, where they were frequently ignored for Octavia’s own disturbed residence, but, alone with her thoughts and memories, she tossed uneasily as the house quieted again.

Since Lumb had taken over, Opal’s purview was mostly empty of activity, but it was still her job to keep all the instruments in working order, and tuned—a weekly chore. With no one to play them, though, the music room had become a cemetery, except the bodies still stood watch. She remembered the piano’s glassy notes from days before, cheery at the time, but spectral and brooding in her restlessness. She remembered the trombone’s empty mouth as it sat askew on its stand, gaping at her while she attended a nearby harp as if transfixed, a black cave for the malicious spirits recalled to her by Octavia’s renewed presence.

A space in the attic creaked, then groaned, then settled, and Opal turned over, pulling the blanket over her head and so leaving her tail exposed. In the semidarkness, her mind was free to run wild. She hadn’t told the Elements how Octavia’s madness had affected her; how, in the final months before the disaster, she had begun to believe her mistress’ stories. Each time the house settled, it was a ghost moving through the drywall; each time water moved through a pipe unexpectedly, it was a spirit letting itself sluice past her.

So it was, when her tail twitched involuntarily, she started up, her back popping and eyes wide, expecting some dark, furry face to leer out at her, as it had done in Octavia’s stories countless times. She sighed, tucked her tail back in, and reclined back. She was all alone, save for her music box, and smiled at her own silliness, but there was no relief in the gesture.

Outside, wind brushed the tree branches.

The museum was a large, blunt figure eight in the epicenter of a neighborhood of concentric houses, its dark walls slick and curved gently upwards into twin domes, like dark dollops of ice cream on the grassy knoll. Twilight, Rarity, Whooves, and Rainbow filed through the revolving door into a cool, quiet vestibule, where Twilight paid the standard admission price for them all, using Celestia’s universal bank slip.

When Rainbow was able to at last drag her back to the hotel, it was ten o’ clock that night, and Octavia had returned, more conversant than usual. The museum’s curator, and new master of her mansion, Lumb, was a close acquaintance of hers, and he was pleased to see her again. They had caught up on events, she careful to skirt any lingering topic of her house, and she had returned to the hotel with a renewed sense of belonging, she said. Meeting someone who remembered her was nice, even if he was a little on the strange side.

The museum was separated into two main areas, art and history, with Lumb’s famous Lepidoptera wing a vestigial nodule off the former’s side, and each was further split into a wide outer ring and a central chamber, both lit more from the glass ceiling than any electric lighting. The first thing they saw on their entrance was a room-dominating oil painting, a shadowy, cyclopean labyrinth of squat, square buildings rendered in rough, reedy brushstrokes. No life was depicted within, only yellowing dusk on uninviting architecture.

“The fabled City of Roads,” Whooves said, trotting past to nearly press his muzzle to the canvass. “Ancient city on the now southeastern border of Equestria, though it was part of minotaur territory back then.”

“I think I’ve heard of it,” Twilight said. “It’s mentioned in a few of my history books.”

“Probably concerning ancient teleological philosophy,” Whooves said. “How the minotaurs built the city originally to serve as a waypoint for messengers and traders, but it turned into a town of residency, which led to its eventual downfall.”

“Bandits and criminals took advantage of its citizens’ weakness and lack of meaningful government until anarchy took over.”

“Uh, I hate to break this up,” Rainbow said, “but we came here to find Octavia’s friend, not discuss boring history stuff that no one cares about. What are you talking about anyway?”

“Don’t worry, Rainbow; it’s nothing for you,” Whooves said, not looking away from the painting. He was squinting, scrutinizing a patch of dark brown amid an amber crosshatch.

“I know that.” She huffed. “C’mon, Twi.”

“Oh, let them have their fun,” Rarity said. She had gone to observe another painting, a dark blue landscape of miniature black trees and flint sparks of stars above. “This looks so familiar.”

“Why’d you even come along, if you’re just going to complain?” Twilight asked. “You knew what this was.”

“I was hoping there’d be, you know, an archaeology section or something,” Rainbow said.

“Maybe in the history wing,” Whooves said, then turned, smiling queerly. “Archaeology? You? I’d have never guessed.”

Twilight, moving to a different painting, attempted to stifle a laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing. I know what she’s getting at.” She flicked her tail. “Go do your own thing, Rainbow. It’s just a museum. Nothing bad’ll happen here.”

“Twilight! Don’t say that,” Rarity said. “Don’t jinx us.”

“I’ve told you that’s not how they work.”

Rainbow groaned softly as she floated down the hall and around the gentle bend, and the remaining three moved after her at their own pace, stopping frequently for Twilight or Whooves to speak about the painting’s subjects, mostly impressionistic landscapes. Rivers flowed across the walls, cutting into deep valleys or stopping short against hills and mountains. Sunrises framed forests on one wall while pitchy nighttime embraced waving fields on the other, and throughout, the meager crowds gave way for them, deferring either to the Elements or the perceived authority from Whooves’ running commentary.

They reached a heavy door off the outer ring, decorated much the same as Octavia’s door to her music room, garish with navy and indigo spirals, symmetrical but offset. The room they emerged into was even quieter than the museum behind, and Twilight nudged Whooves in the ribs to make him stop talking. The spectral, omnipresent blue glow and the dust hanging in galactic streams in the low light seemed to demand it. Rows of glass cases on nondescript pedestals spread from wall to wall, leaving them a wide central aisle and narrower branching ones, like the veins in a leaf. Each case had a light to itself, and with the reflections off each glass lid, Twilight felt like she was standing abreast of a field of bits, shiny and well ordered on a dark carpet. On the floor, painted in toneless white, was the single word, Lepidoptera. Lumb’s claim to fame, Octavia had said, and the real pride of his work.

Twilight led, and Whooves kept quiet as they picked their way through the room, stopping for particularly bright colors or intricate wing patterns. The specimens were pinned either alone, for the larger or more eye-catching ones, or in like groups, each with a brass tag at the bottom of the canvass, identifying taxonomy and date of collection. Some had been gathered before Nightmare Moon’s return.

Quiet hoofsteps drew their attention upward from a hyles lineata, and Rarity started back with a tiny gasp. The light of her horn joined the pallid light around them, and Whooves put a hoof on her back.

“Soft, soft,” the shadow said. “I am no one to fear.” The largest unicorn they had ever seen stepped then from behind a case and came to rest a respectful distance away, his eyes on Rarity’s forehead. “Lumb. Curator. I was told about you.”

He studied them for a minute, raising himself to his full, prodigious height. He was just a few inches shorter than Princess Luna, and his coat was just as dark. His horn was a navy blue obelisk cutting through thick, curly locks of dark blue and purple hair, and his bloated swish of tail dangled pompously behind a single butterfly cutie mark. His eyes were a murky, brick red, which looked almost black in the dim exhibit. His voice, when he spoke again, was delicate with an accent Twilight couldn’t place, and low.

“You are the good thing.”

“Yes, er, that’s what your servants told us,” Whooves said, stepping forward. “Dr. Whooves, sir, and a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. We were told very much about you, very much indeed.”

Twilight and Rarity exchanged glances.

“You are Twilight Sparkle, and you…” He held the pause for almost twenty seconds. “…are Rarity.” He inclined his head. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Without further conversation, they followed Lumb to the massive central room back in the art wing, where he toured them past sculptures and mosaics, explaining each one in his tireless, gentle voice, which had become sonorous in the larger room. They ended at a free-standing frieze, curved lightly to face ponies as they entered from across the Lepidoptera room, which, he said, was the most used entrance. It was a replica of the sequence found inside the Trottingham mountains, telling the story of the river that flowed through its aqueducts. Twilight shivered when Lumb repeated the final words in the river’s story: “make deeper the deep waters, fill the blackest hole.” They had been navigating the dark, decrepit aqueducts just over two months ago.

Their tour ended in his office, where he sat on a threadbare cushion and pointed his horn at an open book on top of his mini fridge. “Within that tome, there are the answers that I seek, but I am unable to reach them.”

No one spoke. His explanations of the art within his museum had been precise and eloquent; faced with such a vague statement, they were uncertain how to respond.

“You know, of course, that the house I occupy is still, in title, Octavia Melody’s. That is something that I cannot take away.”

“Yes, we do know that,” Twilight said. “It’s a lovely house. You’re a lucky stallion.”

“It is a largess I welcome.” He looked back to the book, then rose, grabbed it in his teeth, and brought it to the desk. “We did not speak of it, the residence. She would not.”

“That doesn’t surprise us,” Rarity said.

“Good.”

“I’m sorry?”

“If it comes as no surprise, then perhaps you know more than I.”

“I feel like we don’t,” Whooves said. “You’re talking in riddles, old sport, and that makes me wonder if perhaps you are the one with the advantage.” He smiled a tiny, self-deprecating grin. “Which, in turn, wouldn’t surprise me. We are, after all, strangers in a strange town.”

“How came you to be with these good ponies?” Lumb asked.

“It’s a long story,” Rarity said. “But he is right. Can you please be a little clearer with what you want?”

“Why were there so few unicorn servants there?” Twilight asked.

Rarity looked askance at her, as if to ask whether her question was relevant, but only returned her eyes to Lumb, who watched Twilight patiently.

“I read up on the history of the mansion all yesterday, and there were next to no unicorn servants recorded, which doesn’t make sense.” She straightened her own posture, a smile creeping onto her own face. “It was originally built in twenty-two fifty, right smack dab in the middle of the Apologist Period. A wealthy earth pony named Golden Slumbers had it built in what was then known as Glitterville, a primarily unicorn city—renamed Hoofington some thirty years later—as a response to growing unicorn prosperity and independence in the more resource wealthy regions of Equestria. But, after the house was complete, only a few unicorns served there, and, after Golden Slumbers passed away, there were no more.” Her smile became a frown, the same frown Rarity had seen countless times when Twilight was wrestling with something that didn’t make sense. “Everywhere else, unicorns were given the lowest level jobs available, but serving in that mansion was a job for pegasi and earth ponies, while another earth pony lived as master.”

Lumb thought for several seconds. “That is curious. Why do you ask such a question?”

“It was just weird to me. I figured, if there’s something weird going on on your end, and something weird on mine, they might be connected.”

Whooves bounced a little where he stood. “Just because—”

“I know correlation doesn’t mean causation,” Twilight said quickly. “But it’s somewhere to start.”

“I dare say, you took the words right out of my mouth, Miss Sparkle!”

“I have noticed strange occurrences inside the house,” Lumb said, pausing again for a long interval. “…which the mansion’s incunabula support. It seems an active place.”

“Active in what way?” Rarity asked.

“Like an arthritic skeleton, it groans and creaks noisily, more than an ordinary house should. My own house is as quiet as a church.”

“You have another house besides the mansion?” Twilight asked.

“Of course. I try to split my life between the two equally.” He sighed dramatically. “But, I confess, it is a trying task.”

“I noticed a lot of creaking as well. I just figured that’s how old houses were.”

“It may be so.” He looked through his book.

“So what exactly did you want to tell us?” Rarity asked. “We still don’t know what’s going on.”

Lumb lowered his voice to a dulcet hum. “I do not know if Octavia is aware of this, if she has explored her mansion well enough. If…” he paused again. “…one were to draw a map of the house and its rooms, one would find that the first and second floors are put together much the same as any old abode. However, on the third floor, there appears to be absent half the space. Two corridors intersect upon a small attic, and the rest is unexplored drywall.”

“Insulation,” Whooves said. “Fiberglass.” He chuckled. “You didn’t think that a house is just rooms and walls, did you?”

“Funny that you seem to know about the construction of houses, doctor,” Rarity said.

“Point taken, my gentle friend.”

“I know that there is more than empty space and partitions,” Lumb said. “But there would be more fiberglass in this third floor than I could imagine.” He smiled, as if seeing a joke in his own words. “I took it upon myself to make an inquiry of the structure.”

“And what did you find?” Rarity asked.

“It is better to show you.” He pulled open a desk drawer and produced an envelope, on it tight, narrow lettering, saying only “attic.” He upended three photographs onto the desk and dexterously turned each over, using his hooves.

In the first, a dark corona of ashy light framed a crude ingress, its edges fuzzy with splintered drywall and tufts of insulation. A firm loop of exposed wiring put its silhouette into the upper corner while a wider curve of a pickaxe imposed itself on the floor, half out of the picture. Within there was little to be seen.

In the second, the attic opened up for them to show an open floor cluttered with small debris, overshadowed by naked ribs of scaffolding. Light came from a single bulb hanging in the corner, a distant sun, casting long, tooth-like shadows from the scattered bits of wood and nails. A faint, circular design covered the floor.

The third photograph showed a dark blue sigil painted in thick lines on the attic floor, illuminated from an unseen, different source.

“When did you find that?” Twilight asked.

“Several weeks ago,” Lumb said serenely. “I have been attempting, to no avail, to research what waits on the other side.”

“That’s a sigil for keeping something stored in magical stasis,” Twilight said, noticing Rarity and Whooves’ expressions. “And by the looks of those outer rings, it’s hiding something pretty powerful.”

They all looked at Lumb, who turned another page lazily.

“Something sordid inside the estate,” Whooves said. “And how long has it been there?”

“That information has eluded me, but at least two generations before Octavia,” he said. “And that worries me.”

“Why?” Rarity asked. “It seems to me like that… thing was hidden away quite nicely before you broke down the wall.”

“My Rarity, it is…” Pause. “…that very wall that grieves me the most. Why would it be there at all if not because that room is in disuse?”

“Oh, I get it,” Twilight said. “That is bad.”

“Fill us in?” Whooves said.

“Standing enchantments deteriorate if there’s no one around to keep them up. Lumb, how long has that wall been up?”

“I cannot say,” Lumb said.

“So we have a sigil of indeterminate origin, abandoned and possibly forgotten for an uncertain amount of time, and all we know is that it contains something powerful,” Rarity said.

“How long does it take before deteriorating spells turn, er, bad—for lack of a better phrase?” Whooves asked.

“Depends on the skill of the caster,” Twilight said absentmindedly.

“Like, how much?”

“Pretty much entirely.”

“Do you suppose this could have something to do with what we learned about Octavia?” Rarity asked.

“Oh, who knows? Lumb, can you take us there? I need to see this for myself.”

Lumb smiled and waited close to thirty seconds before speaking. “The pleasure will be all mine.”

After a slow cab ride and a slower walk through the wealthy residential section, they approached Octavia’s mansion for the second time in two days. Rainbow had split off from them to return to the hotel, her earlier good nature soured.

“Do you know the Astras, Lumb?” Whooves asked. “Such a charming bunch, even with their, er, crow.”

“Are the Astras here?” Twilight asked.

“The Astras,” Lumb echoed. “You’ll soon find their charm to be superficial.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Whooves said.

“Pardon any impertinence, but what do you know of it?”

“Why, yesterday, we had the pleasure to bring back their delightful flying machine, and they were so gracious as to promise to help us find a ship.”

“Stop,” Rarity said, coming to a halt outside the front door. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“That lovely Violet told me,” Whooves said innocently. “I thought she told you too.”

“When were you even alone with her?”

“When did you two even go see them?” Twilight asked.

“Yesterday, darling.”

“You left a bit ahead of me,” Whooves said. “That’s all. Violet said their matriarch would call in a favor so we can get another airship.”

“Well… that’s wonderful.”

“What’s wrong?”

“How long were you planning on keeping that a secret?” Twilight asked.

“I thought she knew!”

“Listen!” Lumb said. The air inside the room seemed to swell as the house groaned again. “The house speaks.”

“It could be an effect of the deteriorating sigil, now that I think about it,” Twilight said.

They ascended to the second floor and followed Lumb through a lengthy corridor, its cream wallpaper crawling with scarlet lines like the inside of a fantasy beast.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” Whooves said.

“I suppose I can’t blame you for thinking I knew,” Rarity said.

“But yes, we should have a ship on the way, as soon as—what did she call her?”

“Mama Astra?”

“Yes, her. As soon as she can call in that favor.”

Lumb snorted quietly.

“You don’t like them.”

“That family of posturers and their hellbeast belong nowhere near Hoofington,” he said calmly. “Their fortress resembles something that fell out of the sky.”

“They’re quite nice to us,” Rarity said.

He hmphed and started up the next set of stairs, his hoofsteps muted on the black carpet. “They flaunt their wealth with that horrible bird, but can’t bring themselves to live inside the borders.”

“They’re not in the city limits?” Twilight asked.

“Something…” Pause. “…about zoning regulations, or so I assume.”

The doorway at the top of the stairs was a simple burgundy plank with a pair of growing spirals running up its sides, far from the ornate portals below, and it opened into a lifeless well of angled shadows. The overhead bulbs were encased in dreary, white ovals, so that the entire long corridor appeared to be lit by a sequence of alien beans hanging on crooked stems. Everything was still spotless.

“Finding a way into the forbidden room took much forbearance,” Lumb said, leading them to a sharp turn in the hall. “The wall returned hollowness in many places, but granting myself access where no wiring would intercede was a joyless task.”

“Yes, wiring can be a bit of a pain, if I say so myself,” Whooves said, enduring an impatient look from Rarity.

They turned the corner and walked to a pale ellipse on the floor, where the same ashy light from the photograph shone through a tattered hole in the wall. Lumb stayed in the corridor while Twilight, Rarity, and Whooves stepped into the giant, hollow room. Black wires burrowed through fiberglass above them, while low beams formed X’s where wall met ceiling. The sigil at their hooves was wide and not perfectly circular, and Twilight paced its perimeter.

“It’s old, I can tell that much. This could have been done more efficiently.”

“Can you tell what waits inside?” Lumb asked from the hall.

“Let me try something,” Twilight said, preparing a spell in her head. “Maybe I can see inside this thing.” She closed her eyes, and her horn turned the attic into a warm, magenta cavern.

The magic did not last long. As soon as she reached out, the house groaned again, louder on the third floor, though whether by the attic’s acoustics or her proximity to the offending spell, she didn’t know. She withdrew her magic.

“Twilight, dear, remember what we discussed on correlation not equaling causation?” Whooves asked.

“I didn’t do that for the dumb sound,” Twilight said. “I did it because I saw that it’s not stable.”

“You can see that?”

“Well, not see. That was the wrong word. ‘Sense,’ more like. I’m guessing this has been like this for a while. The magic’s a little shoddy.”

“So what does that mean?” Rarity asked. “What happens?”

Twilight went back to the corridor. “Spooky up here. What it means is that sigil won’t hold. I can’t say how long; I would need some specialized equipment, and a couple hours, to figure that out.”

“Can you give a range of possible durations?” Whooves asked.

“Not a good one. It could be days, months, years, or longer.” She sighed. “So much depends on how well the original caster made this, and I can only tell so much by staring at the design. Sigils aren’t even my area of expertise.” She sighed again. “But, when it goes, whatever’s in there is going to come out. I can be sure of that.”

“That’s probably bad,” Whooves said. “And you can’t look too well into it, because it’s not stable?”

“Think of it like trying to see inside a bubble.”

Whooves chuckled. “A bubble that isn’t clear?”

“You know what I mean. If I poke at it too much, it’ll pop on me.”

“So what in the world do we do?” Rarity asked. “We can’t just leave this to dissipate on its own.”

Twilight looked back into the room. “This would be a lot better if I knew what was in there—if anything. Heck, it could be empty for all I know.”

“Do you believe that?” Lumb asked.

“Not for a second.”

“Could it be a trap from Discord?” Rarity asked.

“Seems like his style,” Whooves said.

“I don’t get that impression,” Twilight said. “He’s more for grandstanding. Can we get out of here?”

Lumb led them out, humming a light song on the stairway down. On the front step, he stopped them. “Beware the Astras. They are of weak character.”

“What did they do to you?” Whooves asked. “If you don’t mind my asking, good sir.”

“I am…” Pause. “…a wealthy pony, but self-made. They exhibit their good fortune as though they earned it. Disgusting arrogance, and that crow of theirs is nothing short of an opulent vulgarity. I wonder that they did not dress the thing in gold.”

“I was under the impression that they worked just as hard for their money,” Rarity said.

“No, their ancestors did. The current generation is safe to luxuriate in their birthright.”

They came to the main fountain, and Whooves trotted up ahead as they moved through the hedge runway.

“That’s your limousine, correct?” Rarity asked.

“Yes, non-operational. I need it worked on, but haven’t had the time.” He didn’t turn to look at her, but she could feel the pointedness of his words. “I know what you’re getting at, and I’ll have you know that I worked for years to afford the machine.”

They passed the sleeping limo, Lumb stopping to affectionately look at the golden butterfly on the license plate, before exiting the gates and stopping at the head of a bridge.

“Do not let their affluence blind you, and, Twilight, keep…” Pause. “…me informed on the spell in the attic. I feel a great confidence that my interests and yours intersect directly over every servants’ head.”

Octavia and Applejack spent close to two and a half hours at the capital building, waiting for an audience with the mayor to alert him to Twilight and Pinkie’s restoration spell, which they cast toward six o’ clock later that day, standing on the hotel rooftop and looking out over the city that had learned to suture itself. Some ponies had disengaged bridges from the gaps, to save them from being embedded when the earth drew back together.

By seven, the sun was dipping into the horizon and the worst hubbub from the spell had cleared. Following Octavia’s prompts, they took a cab to the park for some fresh air, leaving Rainbow back at the hotel to sulk and stew in a bad mood she couldn’t explain. On the grassy promenade, they stood a moment to take in the Hoofington evening. Their first had been inside the hotel, awash in uncertainties and anxieties for Octavia, and, in memory, was nearly indistinguishable from the parade of difficult nights since first finding themselves en route to the mountains in the south. One more hard night.

Octavia took the lead down a cobblestone walkway, taking them between circlets of bright flowers and lush grasses, moving deeper into the park’s thick, floral atmosphere. Grasshoppers hummed through the air while distant ponies walked, many chatting about the recent restoration spell, and they stopped again on the far side of a group of well-dressed ponies clearing away the remains of a wedding.

“Even in all this, love persists,” Whooves said. “It’s enough to make even a hard case like Discord soft-hearted. Ah, young romance!”

“I could not count how many times I have performed here,” Octavia said. “I think I have seen this park from atop a stage more than from my own hooves.” At this, Pinkie laughed, and Octavia returned a conciliatory smile.

“Rainbow really is missin’ out,” Applejack said. “All this fresh air’d do her good, Ah say.”

“It’s something about Trixie,” Twilight said. “She’s been acting kind of touchy since last night.”

“What happened last night?” Rarity asked.

“She apologized.”

“About time,” Fluttershy whispered. She blushed and looked away at Twilight’s questioning expression.

“There it is. I wanted you all to see this,” Octavia said. She pointed across an open space toward a crowd of dark, dull metal statues, surrounded by a ring of stone pylons and hemmed by a pointillistic carpet of roses—pink, orange, purple, white, yellow, and blue. “They are statues erected in your honor. The Six Bearers, they are called.”

They approached and stared at themselves, about thrice their size, standing ready and confident behind Twilight’s cantering form, diadem on her head sparkling proudly in the waning sun. Rainbow and Applejack bore determined frowns, while Rarity and Fluttershy took more quietly formidable stances behind, with Pinkie laughing in the rear. Their cutie marks, outlined in thin gold, were the only colors aside from each shining Element, though the detail was breathtaking. Unicorn horns had grooves, and Twilight could see the texture of each feather on Rainbow and Fluttershy.

“These are incredible,” Twilight said. “I never knew about them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we never heard anything about these!” Pinkie said, running to the chain that was there to hold ponies off the flowers. “But they’re so cool! Look, Twilight! They got me perfectly! And you, Applejack, they even put the notch in your hat! And Twilight’s doing that little stand-up thing that she does!”

“Everypony does that, Pinkie,” Twilight said.

“Am Ah the only one a little unsettled by the fact that no one bothered to tell us ‘bout this?” Applejack asked.

“Ah’m pretty sure it’s legal,” Big Mac said. “They’re public property, technically, so they don’t have to get our permission to carve ‘em.”

“Now that seems backwards to me. Wouldn’t they have to get our permission more fer somethin’ like this? Somethin’ that everyone’s gonna see an’ use?”

“But no one’s profiting off of them,” Twilight said. “Except us, I guess, in an abstract way.”

“I thought it was more that our images are public property,” Rarity said. “We don’t have to be consulted on every single use of our likeness. If we did, we’d be buried in paperwork day and night. Celestia knows my face has been in a lot of places without my express consent.”

Pinkie snickered, and Rarity reddened. “You know what I mean.”

“I did not know you knew law, Big Mac,” Octavia said.

He shrugged. “Little bit. ‘Nough to do our taxes each year.”

“Hey, there’s something written on Fluttershy!” Pinkie said, pointing. “It’s carved into her chest. That must hurt!”

“What’s it say? Ah can’t make it out,” Applejack urged.

“Uh…” Pinkie squinted. “‘If Twilight defers, Fluttershy takes a mantle.’ Well, that’s silly. That doesn’t mean anything!”

“This is not the first cryptic message that we have encountered,” Octavia said.

“Discord toying with us?” Whooves asked.

“It sounds like more than that,” Fluttershy said. “Um, I don’t know about the rest of us, but I’ve noticed a lot of his little… messages don’t amount to much. This seems pretty direct.” In a much lower voice, she added, “and it’s about me.”

“Pinkie, can you sense anything coming up? Anything… disastrous?” Twilight asked.

“Nope! My Pinkie Sense has been quiet as a mouse! A really, really quiet mouse!”

“And no Elements nearby either,” Fluttershy said.

“Sooooo,” Twilight sighed. “Another mysterious problem. Just what we need.”

Daring Do stared down the dark barrel of the cannon, but she kept her cool. Rainbow Dash hunched over the hotel writing desk, listening to the city outside and trying to write. Her mind was clouded with anger, fear, and doubt, and the words flowed out of her clumsy pen more naturally for her than ever.

Discord, the puppet master behind all the chaos from earlier, grinned an insane smile while Daring struggled uselessly. She was scared, who wouldn’t be? But she wouldn’t let him see it.

Her thoughts traveled back in time to her former lover, also a mare. Her name was Sheer Moon, Sheer for short, and she was a beautiful blue unicorn with a silver mane. Sheer had been captured by Ahuizotl and held captive for months before finally escaping.

Daring didn’t know where she was now. She hoped Sheer was still alive. Dread filled her soul when she thought of it, and even trying to be optimistic was an unimaginable effort.

She remembered Sheer’s smile and loving touch. Never had a pony, much less a mare, loved her in such a way, and the thought that she might be in trouble made her want to scream. No, not might. Was. Was in trouble. Something bad was coming and she could feel it in her heart like a pony feels a sneeze coming. Whatever it was, it was bad, and Daring couldn’t do a thing about it. She was so scared and worried for her marefriend that nothing else seemed to matter, even the danger she was in.

Sheer Moon was half a country away in Appleloosa and she was in trouble, but Daring didn’t know what kind of trouble. She wanted to scream and cry, but she couldn’t because she didn’t know what she would say. It was bad and it was inevitible.

Sheer was going to die, she knew.

Rainbow turned over her page and tried to begin a new sentence, but the pen would not stay still in her trembling jaw. And so, she did the only thing she could. She put her head down on the desk, closed her eyes, and wept bitter, self-conscious tears.

* * * * * *

Princess Celestia inspected her gilt hooves unhappily. The decorated golden shoes she wore were tarnished with heat and dust, but she would have to wait until returning to Equestria to fix them—a spell so simple, she had actually caught herself casting it without thinking, and had to quickly reverse the magic. The dragons’ culture valued ceremony and appearances, and any alteration to her outfit, especially one that rejected the natural wear and tear of living in their harsh, mountainous country, would be a metaphorical slap in the face.

Her bedchambers, however, were not monitored, and she was free to modify them to her liking. Unlike in Equestria, the dragon lands were rich in conductive metals and piezoelectric crystals, easily allowing for tools to transfer, direct, and shape magical discharges. Back home, if Celestia wanted to encase her bed in an infinite looping waterfall—the sound helped her sleep—she needed an array of spells; in her substitute bedroom, she needed only arrange a jaw of crystals around her bed and throw a water summoning spell, and the complexities of magical propagation and electrostatics would take care of themselves.

Leaving the country in her sister’s care was not easy to do. As much as she loathed it, as much as she told herself she was being irrational, her memories of Nightmare Moon put a pause in her decision each time she needed to leave. The dragons were barely familiar with the incident, only those ruling, some even older than she, conversant in Equestrian history. She didn’t mind.

Someone knocked on her door, and she bade them enter. A young dragon, only a few years older than Spike, entered with obvious fear and handed her a letter, trimmed in gold. Something formal, but not vital—so the color indicated.

She waved the young dragon away with a polite “thank you” and read the letter, smiling to herself as she did so. There had been earlier talk of her attending an Unburdening, what the dragons called the eruption of a volcano, but she didn’t think it was serious.

She placed the letter on her bedside table, scooted well away from her waterfall, and stopped to think. Dragon custom was painfully particular about dress and posture for those of power, but she did not know whether it was required of her to change outfits for entertainment. In her time there, she had only attended hearings and a single uncomfortable press conference, for which her words were translated on site.

She knew she could not freshen up her shoes. That was one detail that she could not change.

Twenty minutes later, she was in the air, soaring over the complex of castles, in no hurry to head for the volcano, which was due to erupt in two hours. She could reach it in a matter of seconds if she needed to, or less, if she had a clear line of sight. Her flight, mirroring some of the Elements’ departures from company, was for fresh air and something to clear her head.

The dragon lands had formed in Gaia prehistory when the continent that would become Equestria collided with a young mountain range in the eastern ocean, leading to a cataclysmic subduction zone on one side and a snarled clench of mountains on the other, many of which grew from furious uprisings of magma into the water. She found it hard to believe that it had been an island nation before solidifying into a single, blackened bur on the planet’s face, and then overgrowing into a sylvan blemish the envy of aspiring geographers all across Equestria.

The geographic results of the country’s restive birth were drastic, and had taken her breath away when she first arrived. Mountains sawed the brilliant, blue sky for as far as she could see, creating a panorama of ragged peaks, sheer cliff faces, and narrow canyons, all of it covered with trees and grasses, and threaded with unpaved roads or bored through with black tunnels. Where she was staying, a marvelous, slate-smooth shield volcano had been used as foundation for a spreading, low castle, towers sprouting off of each other like enchanted mushrooms and unguarded, covered corridors reaching like roots across and into the ground. The structure went at least half a mile underground, she knew, and there lived her dragon consult.

She paused her flight atop the pointed tower top, draping a wing around a stone flagpole for support, and breathed deep of the fresh dragon air.

Around a week after they arrived back home, full of pride and vitality, Celestia and Luna were sucked into a power vacuum, not entirely unwillingly. Discord had decided, with no given reason or warning, to harvest the mud from the riverbanks north of town, allowing for unchecked erosion. Several ponies in the small town feared a drought if the river could not be saved, and it just so happened that the forepony who had overseen the construction of a rudimentary canal system—the same system that the sisters had helped, so cementing Discord’s pique—had gone missing. With no prior knowledge or experience, Luna and Celestia stepped up to take control of the operation, and found that it was not particularly hard. The ponies practically organized themselves after Celestia gave them a motivational speech.

It didn’t stop at the river. As primary foreponies, and the only ones from town who had seen Discord, their knowledge and experience with magic was much sought after, never mind that it was by the same ponies who had chased them out of town months prior for simply having an audience with the draconequus despot. When a new system of thin canals and inlets was in place, there was a town-wide celebration in their honor. They were the first unicorns in that section of Equestria to accept a position of such hard work, something reserved for earth ponies and occasionally pegasi—“undignified labor.”

A generation later, the sisters would trace their rise to power back to that one point.

She landed on a circular, metal parapet that hung from bulky chains across a former quarry, and met the dragon dignitaries: three familiar faces and one stranger. Her decision to seek the dragon lands had been a difficult one, and one against which Luna argued strongly. Visiting the griffons first had been unquestionable; their relationship with Equestria was frosty at best, and frequently given to suspicion from both ends. After that, she had been torn between the dragons and changelings.

The changelings, inhabiting an archipelago to the north, had been most drastically affected by the disaster, and securing their trust was vital. The dragons, meanwhile, shared their southeastern borders with the vestigial and geographically remote nation of draconequuses. Celestia knew that they had disavowed Discord as a political gaffe, but did not know whether they would assume Equestria’s disappearance was a sign of a successful coup. If so, she knew she could wind up with an army of confused draconequuses on her doorstep, thinking they were there to help oust their own maniac, as one reigns in a rabid dog. The implications of that, while not as severe as the changelings’ loss of respect, would be more immediate and obvious. Her ponies, close to ninety-five percent of which polls showed knew next to nothing of other draconequuses, could easily assume the worst, and terror and aggression would sweep the shattered country.

She had decided to curb the more immediate threat first, and planned to use the dragons’ support to leverage more time for herself to figure out the next step, which, she imagined, would probably be to pay the draconequuses a visit, bracing words at the ready.

The stranger, an iridescent green dragoness with a barbed chest plate and a lightning bolt branded into her shoulder, bowed, bringing her briefly to Celestia’s height. With a second of hesitation, she offered her claw to be shaken, and the five of them marched in a row to the portal, through which they would take five separate staircases up to the volcano’s lip.

Ceremony was everything for the ruling elite, and, Celestia was happy to discover in her research, that the same set of rules was applied to each city-state ruler, even though specifics were allowed to develop and break down for the lower citizens of each area. As an honored guest, she must have the first word in any meeting, a rule she had tested only slightly. She would never admit it, but, of all the creatures in the world, dragons were the only ones that could consistently scare her. The thought of sharing a meeting room with something older and larger than she was did not sit well, and, though they had been universally patient and pleasant, she fancied she could see a ferocious glimmer in each of their eyes, a fire that she could not extinguish with diplomacy if it were excited.

The rest of the nation, however, was different. While the dragon kings and queens, barons and baronesses, comported themselves with exhausting calm and dignity, the working class, the youth, and the domestic stirred within the mines and channels of their sweeping country like disorganized bees, a sea of life that she could never imagine transplanted into her country.

She could hear the disquieting sound of thousands of dragon voices—some speaking Equestrian, many not—beyond, and she stopped where their path split into staircases, all of different sizes to accommodate the differing sizes of dragon. She was to take the left-most set, left being their honorific position, but, first, turned to her companions.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

They each bowed and returned phrases of acknowledgement, then started up their stairs. She wondered, on her own, what would happen if she refused to let them speak up through the greetings at the volcano, whether everyone would look to her to announce its eruption, or whether the crowd would simply let it occur in silence. She withheld a giggle at the idea.

Discord finished his newest project, a ten-ton trebuchet made entirely of molded and enchanted earth, and used it to fire a single boulder over a field outside his castle, whereupon it collapsed into a ten-ton pile of dirt. He cackled and went back inside, and the ponies who bore witness to it were finally made aware of why he had seen fit to ruin the riverbanks. At that same time, Celestia and Luna were facing a question they had never expected to encounter: what to do with the ponies they commanded?

While the river was safe, there appeared more work to be done: houses to build or rebuild, fences to create, wells to dig, and no one seemed more qualified to lead in these projects than the unicorn sisters. They had proven themselves competent leaders and intelligent delegators, and it didn’t take long for the novelty of their magic to turn into a mystical reputation.

It also didn’t take long for Discord to respond.

Before leaving Equestria, she had set a team of three researchers to compile five or ten pages of essentials on dragon culture, and, up until she had stepped into view of the crowd, she thought they had done well.

One sentence in the report had caught her eye at the time, but she forgot it almost immediately after reading it: “The young dragons have also used you as a certain inspiration for their own culture.” She hadn’t given it much thought at the time.

Tiers were carved into the volcano’s outer rim, which didn’t surprise or bother her. Dragons had incredible heat tolerance, as did she. What made her stop and stare, drawing curious looks from the other dignitaries, was the multitude depictions of her own visage looking back at her, moving like feverish reflections through curtains of heat waves. The young dragons below held banners, flags, and posters of her and her name, much in Equestrian, and decorated with clearly draconic whorls and arabesques. Torches adorned much of what they held, and some dragons, she saw on a second long pass, were even dressed in her colors. Pastel rainbow manes hung off scaly heads, and golden suns shone on proud chests.

Before she had looked away from the mass of pretend-Celestias, one of the dragons by her side started speaking, and the crowd quieted after a brief spurt of unintelligible murmuring. She was surprised that the announcement was not in her language, while so much else had been, but she knew well enough what to expect. The volcano would erupt, the lucky dragons toward the front of the stands would get lava on them, and everyone would be happy. It was an event for the dragons what an eclipse was for her ponies.

In exactly thirty-one minutes, the first upwelling of magma would announce itself. Looking into the volcano’s mouth, she could see enough to know it would be soon, but her magic allowed her to put a precise time prediction to it. She noted with a certain surreptitious pride that the daylight mixed with the earthen glow below her masked her pale magic.

While her sister used the subtle, cerebral aspects of magic to manipulate reality more quietly, Celestia took firm command of force and matter, using them to shape her world like clay, or words on a page. She could move mountains, or create them. She could make herself fly at apocalyptic speeds, or make herself into something so dense that she would fall through the ground. She could wick away radiation and reproduce the conditions to create diamonds on the tip of her horn, and her body was nearly indestructible. Whether the dragons knew that of her, she wasn’t sure.

A friend of theirs, a pegasus, warned them over the mending of a wall one day, saying that he felt that “something unwelcome had made them its destination.” Those words had stuck with Celestia, so much that she would reuse the phrase in a book about magic and its many complicated forms, a book that would become required reading for nearly every university student.

If it was Discord, of which they were confident, they knew their tiny village would be insufficient to hide them, even if they could pull every pony there together around a lie as to their whereabouts. Luna first suggested they retreat into the southern forests again, and they would have, had not Celestia had an idea of what she called pure madness, inspired by the pegasus’ physiology.

Weaving together the unicorns’ ability to apply magic to targets and the pegasi’s inherent magical lightness, she created a precursor to the cloud-walking spell, an inarticulate and dangerous piece of magic that required both sisters to wear permanent magical shields to protect them from any movement of air, which stung like windblown sand. It was the only way she could find on short notice to render them capable of resting atop clouds. Where would Discord never think to search for them, she had mused. Why, in a pegasus’ house.

With the help of a team of pegasi, they hid away on a low cumulus cloud four horizontal miles from their village, constantly tired and anxious from maintaining shields and watching for Discord. They didn’t have to wait long.

Eldritch, pulsing darkness heralded his arrival on a chilly Thursday afternoon, two days after their ascension, turning the distant town into a decomposing toy model. Dumbfounded ponies ran to and fro, but they could only hear thin, infrequent cries of displeasure from their vantage. For hours, they watched the town malinger under shadow before he actually appeared, making himself a giant silhouette to stride through town, waist deep underground and as black as the intimations of night that were coming on. With no facial features or expressions, his lifeless picture head swiveled like a dumb cloud, once lighting on a larger cloud beside them, but never quitting the town.

The first firework of magic made their hearts plummet, until they realized that it was not Discord who was illuminating the village’s tiny sky, but the unicorns who lived there. The shadow figure dissipated without a sound, but the magic continued, a miniature stream of sparks coalescing as ponies found one another, and then moving up and down pathways before turning and converging on a house. Luna would later swear she had heard the door bang open, but Celestia could only watch, astounded, as a tall, serpentine figure flopped into the dark, dusty street and batted at the tiny lights like he was trying to shoo away fireflies. He was chased, and the giant shadow figure flickered to life for only a second before Discord stretched, thinned, and became no more than a ribbon of blackness, sucking away the unnatural dark as he allowed the sky to claim him. Starlight regained the town, and a confused murmur reached them from where they sat.

And then another note came, coming to rest directly on Celestia’s muzzle. “Wherever you are hiding, we can all be sure that you will be found.”

The volcano rumbled, and Celestia smiled giddily. It had been a long time since she had seen something as awesome and invigorating as an eruption, the disaster to her own country too fragmentary to incite much fascination. It was interesting, and the magic involved was a topic of endless conversation between her and Luna, but it lacked the splendor of the world at work.

She had read that certain dragons, at a sufficient age and magical capacity, would go to live under the ground in water tables, magma vents, or mineral deposits. She didn’t know whether there were any dragons under the volcano she watched, but she assumed so; it seemed appropriate.

Orange glowed below her in a moving disc, and she could feel the heat that would put most mortal ponies in the hospital. She inhaled and puffed out her chest, relishing the bands of scalding warmth in her metal decorations—permanently enchanted, so they could not melt. She had stopped perceiving temperatures as normal ponies did millennia ago. For her, heat was nothing but another kind of energy, something she could absorb or radiate at will, but which hardly affected her. The same was true of most magnitudes of kinetic energy.

The first bubble of lava sent orange flecks over the volcano’s rim, and the dragons cheered. She only watched calmly, noting the temperature increase impassively while the molten rock rose. While the dignitaries spoke from their parapets, still in draconic, she studied the lava’s undulation, its bubbling, the rising violence as it drew nearer to her position on the edge.

She let a smile break out as she thought, playfully, what might happen if she were to dive in. She would not be harmed, of course, but the dragons might not know that. “Heck,” she thought, “I could probably make my way to the core from here.” The smile faded as more lava spurted upwards, some nearly touching her platform.

She had seen the planet’s core before, once. When she was young and arrogant, she thought she might create a sanctum for herself there, not realizing how far below it was. Choosing a spot at random in the middle of the desert, she had activated a favored spell and started boring through the ground, stopping only once when she broke through solid bedrock to fall nearly two hundred meters into an ancient deposit of magma. The heat had not bothered her, nor the pressure, but she was dizzy upon landing, and had to take several minutes to regain her bearings. Deep inside the world, she had not considered the fact that everything would be too condensed to allow her sight much use.

In her mind, it was among her most incredible applications of magic she had ever managed. Punching through pure rock and magma, enduring impossible pressures and temperatures, she traveled at just under two hundred miles per hour to reach the solid core in what Luna would later tell her was nearly a full day. At that depth, even her godly magic was not sufficient to keep all the heat out, and she was sweating heavily as she surveyed the tiny cavern she was able to create for herself on the core’s shell, her dulled senses warped further by dizzying magnetism. Disappointed, but feeling accomplished nonetheless, she carved her name into the core and returned to the surface, a meteor that must have resembled a fiery harbinger to those who saw her, rising into the stratosphere on a monstrous column of smoke and steam, pulling behind a pocket of superheated air that took the leaves off the trees in a mile radius. A week later, Celestia created a mountain to hide her passage to the center of the world. It was a few hundred miles northeast of Applewood’s eventual location.

Below the tiers of seats, there were carved wide slits in the volcano’s rim, and Celestia watched appreciatively as lava poured out in slow, sporadic streams. Smoke and heat waves mingled in the air, and the dragons had fallen gravely quiet. Lava lapped at the bottom row of seats, and she watched as some, but not nearly all, spectators bent to dip their claws in the red liquid. As a resource, lava in its natural form was all but useless, and this made it something of a luxury in draconic culture. She made a mental note to bring some back in an enchanted vial for her sister.

The dragon closest to her leaned over and extended a long, grotesque arm to indicate the outflow. “Like a sunset, very pretty,” he said, smiling. She internally flinched, but returned the smile. Their sharp teeth made for a disturbing grin, but she knew they meant no harm—to her, at least.

A fierce bubbling sound erupted near the volcano’s middle, and a larger font of lava came up in a broken, red rainbow, with a coda of small, smoking, black stones to pepper the crowd. They cheered, and she nearly did too.

After the celebration, they convened in a large, open dining room, where her dragon counterparts dined with surprising elegance on various, unidentified meats. “Not pony, no worries,” one had said, earning laughs from her friends and a strained smile from Celestia. She helped herself to their other fares, but found herself, toward the dinner’s end, eyeing the glistening meat. She had heard descriptions of its flavor, and, though curious, was enticed more by the presentation. Smooth-trimmed, spice-rubbed discs of flesh hung on decorative pikes over open flames, the fat dripping and shining above eager flames, like treasure, while bones stuck out of the larger beast from which they were carved, yellowed and sticky. Fat, red tomatoes and pristine, white pearl onions mingled with yellow and purple potatoes in decadent salads, dressed with a vinaigrette that glittered with herbs, and, she thought she saw, tiny shards of gold, while geometric mounds of bread steamed on sweet-smelling wooden pallets. Sesame and caraway seeds fell off in sand-like streams whenever she helped herself, and she laughed with genuine amusement when one dragon, a huge, black drake with a head like a cannonball, used his claw to slice a delicate wedge of cheese for her.

Her thoughts did not linger on Equestria, or her sister, or the Elements, for that time.

Pumpkin Patch was the most successful farmer in town, and her neighbor, who went by the simple sobriquet “Whip,” had been the one to intuit Discord’s coming to the sisters. The four of them met at a hillside next to town and decided that staying there would invite disaster for the other ponies. Discord was after them in some way, and, though the unicorns there had defended themselves once, it was an act of terrified desperation, and could easily be shaken out of them if he should come a second time.

They decided to leave, heading west, to a nearby village that Whip said was familiar with the sisters’ names and deeds. It would bring them within viewing distance of Discord’s castle, but it was the closest civilization that they knew of.

Under cover of night, the four friends slipped away. Celestia and Luna offered to go alone, but Pumpkin Patch and Whip were adamant; they would not see the two unicorns who gave their town renewed hope and self-worth march into danger alone. The four traveled as far as they could through the narrow horn of forest, until it dwindled into nothing, and they had to walk through open plains, distantly frightened under the gleaming, crystalline figure of Discord’s castle, just visible.

In her bed, surrounded by the soothing sound of running water, Celestia allowed herself to become lost, looking emptily into the small vial of lava. She could see the Elements. One of the first things she did when they weren’t paying attention—and that was frequently, she was mildly ashamed to admit to herself—was cast a remote viewing spell on them. She could track their progress no matter where they went, as long as they stayed on the Gaia. Luna had done the same thing, but disbanded her spell a few days in. She had no desire to see their day-to-day comings and goings, and was content to simply hear reports from Celestia, or Twilight directly.

In Hoofington, they had reached a strange lull in activity. Twilight had a research project and Rainbow appeared to be under significant stress, but that was it. She assumed they were waiting for something, but, if they had discussed it, they had done so when she wasn’t watching.

Luna’s stern voice played through her head. “You can see them at any time, and be by their side in an instant if they run into trouble. Why do you stand by and let them get hurt?” Her sister’s tone had stung, but not the question itself; it was a question she faced all the time.

“It is not my place,” she had said. “Nor is it yours, nor the Datura’s, nor anyone’s. They are the bearers of the Elements of Harmony. It must be them to finish the task and ultimately seal Discord away. They must learn how to do it on their own, Luna.”

The unfortunate truth, she reflected, was that caution was not something they could afford to throw away. She had to assume three things: that Discord had some way of watching them, or at least keeping tabs; that he had a plan for quick, violent retribution if events tipped out of his favor too quickly; and that any use of country-wide magic would be a trigger for such a move. Unlikely, she thought in the safety of her foreign bed, but possible, and not something she wanted to test. It would almost certainly mean the dissolution of what little hope they had. She had explained it to Luna, who wanted simply to find his castle, kick down the door, and tear his operation apart, as a chess game with a mad pony. Make one overt move, and their opponent was liable to flip the board. Therefore, they had to rely on the Elements to invent a solution, while the goddesses and their acolytes worked as far in the background as they could. Even this, she explained, was risky, as it could well take them too long, and give Discord the time he needed to whittle Canterlot away naturally.

She closed her eyes and looked in on the Elements. Twilight was at Octavia’s mansion, pouring over several books at once, and everyone else was back at their hotel. Rainbow Dash sat against the wall, a pillow propped behind her back, holding herself poised in flagging concentration while a magical dome of precipitation moved in and out of existence, dampening the carpet. On the other side of the room, Applejack appeared to be sleeping beside the radiator; Celestia could determine the magic that passed between her and the machine. Remarkable, she thought, how the group had taken to magic. She smiled knowingly while Applejack practiced interfacing with a simple appliance half a world away.

Silence on One Side

Chapter Sixty-two

Silence on One Side

Octavia and Lumb sat at a short table in his living room, an empty decanter between them and a stack of books beside it. He lived in one of the heavily populated rings of houses that surrounded his museum, a ten-minute walk away. She had agreed to meet him there for tea and a light lunch while the others explored the town on their own, their third day in Hoofington. While waiting for the Astras to call in their favor and furnish them a new airship, they had only a pair of reparative spells to cast, and there was little sense of urgency to the task. Enough time had passed that only the largest gaps posed an issue, and any major damages done to houses had been undone, or swept away.

Lumb had told her of his conversation with Twilight, and her plan to research his find in her attic, and she accepted the news with a nod and a grave “very well.” As she sat on his couch, she watched his reflection in the decanter as he spoke, looking up quickly each time he paused, making sure it was his strange affectation, and not him waiting for a response.

“It makes sense,” she thought, “but not completely.”

“My own research into the affair has brought up several names, few of which I think of as relevant,” he said. “I doubt that Golden Slumbers had much to do with it, but I could be mistaken. There is little verity to be found here.”

“They thought—think, still, many of them—that I was mad. My friends as well.” She thought of Rarity. “Anyone would be mad after the time I spent in that house.” She looked at Lumb, holding himself in an interval of silence. “Why he is drawn to it, I could never imagine.”

He gestured to a book in the stack. “And this oblique reference to Tartarus doesn’t help the mystery. One usually takes such references with a grain of salt. Minced oaths, many. That passage seemed oddly serious.”

She looked at the smudge of gray in the decanter that was herself, but looked up again at a rise in his voice.

“I’ve faith in your friends, though. How could I not?”

“Yes. They are good ponies,” she said.

“In more happy news, I have a confession for you.”

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Confession,” she knew, was his favored word for “announcement.”

“For a time, I was not certain of…” Pause. “…this course of action, but my conference with your friends has inspired me. Octavia, my friend, I intend, with full conscious and free will, to hold an event.”

She smiled lightly. “It has been too long since I have seen him. I nearly forgot how circuitous he gets when he is excited.”

“The Astras are a loathsome bunch, it is true, but they make a fine point in the use of disposable income. I shall never condone their wantonness, but a single demonstration can not hurt. I shall call it ‘A Change in the Weather.’ Perhaps that’s what it is.”

“I still have no idea what he is talking about.”

“The engagement, if you will, shall be a masquerade ball. My own museum will be the venue. The large spaces it inheres will fit perfectly—rather, in them it will fit perfectly.” He laughed once.

“Please do not ask me to perform,” she thought, still smiling. “I did not know that you were interested in such things.”

“A gathering of this sort does not fit within my usual cares, it is true.” He held a hoof to his chin before licking his lips. “I cannot say where this sudden idea originates, except that it is in some way related to your friends. I suppose they are as fitting a muse as any.”

“Of course,” she said, thinking of the statues they had seen the evening before. The carving on Fluttershy’s chest.

“Perhaps it…” Pause. “…is my way of showing the Astras that they are not the only ones capable of such things.” He sat back and sighed. “Or, perhaps I am conceited.”

She only looked at him.

“Would you say that I am?”

“I…” She thought, not sure how to respond. Her time with Lumb, in the past, had rarely extended beyond the discussion of her library, and the contents therein.

“I do not want to put you on the spot, and for that I am sorry.”

“I do not think of you as conceited, or selfish,” she said. “Though I do not know you very well.”

“Something I’m finding I now regret, given the years we shared,” he said, nodding. “I worry for my integrity, as a pony.”

“I understand.”

“My research, and my interests, frequently…” Pause. “…converge upon unsavory magics, and I know that I am regarded strangely.”

She only watched, and, after a minute of struggle, Lumb continued, his voice halting and unsure, as if unburdening himself of something great.

“I would disdain them if they held a ball of this nature. Should I not disdain myself?”

Octavia propped herself on the couch. “You are not like them. They are of high status, and are accustomed to that. They are fortunate, where you are hard-working. There is no shame in that.”

“The same could be said of some of their number, I am sure, yet I see them in this pernicious, general way. What will ponies see when they see me?”

“Why should that be your concern, though?”

“Why should it not? I am social, in my way. I want to be liked.”

She furrowed her brow. “Yes, that is true of us all, but what I mean is, why should that overtake your desires?” “And I am one to talk.”

He shook his head for a long time. “I cannot say. It sounds ludicrous when you put it so simply.”

“I do understand, though. Image is important to many, myself included.”

“Yet you speak as one for whom integrity is a given, not something to pursue.”

She averted her eyes back to the decanter, where she saw his reflection lean forward.

“I have incited silence.”

“I am thinking,” she said. “I do not know how to respond. It is not something I have ever considered.”

“Integrity? Or the nature by which it germinates?”

“How I got mine, because you are right. I am not accustomed to questioning myself in terms of my morality.” “But that is not entirely true, is it, Octavia? You have six good reasons to question yourself, wandering around town.”

“Things originate from experience,” Lumb said.

“Yes.”

He only continued to look at her.

“I grew up in a house of strong ponies,” she said at last. “Certain things were absolute. I must assume that I take my stance from this.”

“Then I envy you. It was never a challenge.”

“I did not say that.”

“But it must be true,” he said, frowning into the decanter. “Integrity was thrust upon you. Strength of character was bred into you.”

“I had to learn these things, just as anyone else,” Octavia said. “I simply did so at a younger age than most.”

“Youth is as clay. There cannot have been much difficulty in shaping you into the…” His pause lasted nearly a minute as his dark face darkened. “…wonderful mare you are.”

“You are making it sound like I am fortunate for my upbringing.”

“Are you not? Your conflicts cannot be as personal as mine, not on the foundation you bespeak.”

She stood, and he watched her calmly move from her seat to the other room.

“I wish I could be you, Octavia.”

“Shut up,” she sighed.

He coughed. “Forgive me?”

“Forgive me? Really?” Suddenly, his words sounded false, feeble, and she kept her eyes pinned to the window. “I said, shut up. As in be quiet, as in stop speaking.”

“Miss Octavia…”

“How dare you compare yourself to me?” she barked, snapping her head to face him. The calm had drained out of his face, and he looked as though he were ready to try to escape a potential attacker. A stallion more than twice her size, nearly cowering from her; the picture incensed her further.

“I do not want to have an argument right now,” he said weakly.

“I am not just some mare that a family decided to create one day, moral compass pre-made, and I am not your metric to measure character. I am that for no one.”

“But how can that be so? You are—”

“I am not your symbol, Lumb.”

He only stared at her, and, after a second, his eyes began moving across her body, flicking to her legs, her barrel, her neck.

“My eyes are up here.”

He forced a cough and turned away entirely.

“For someone with such a pathetic idea of what a pony like me might have to offer, I say that you should hold your masquerade. Maybe the Astras will like you better once you show your superficial side.” She crossed the room again to go to the front door. “Thank you for lunch. I will see myself out.”

Rainbow and Twilight met in Octavia’s dining room for lunch, and the servants were happy to oblige them. An errand had kept Lumb from the mansion more than usual, and they were frequently without anything to do except maintain unused rooms. Everyone else was on the other side of town, either exploring or speaking with the Astras.

“So, Trixie never got back to me,” Rainbow said. “Right?”

“I didn’t get anything,” Twilight said. She took another sip of wine, something she had never tasted, and that she did not intend to have more of after her goblet was politely finished.

“Well, I’ve got this other letter, if you wanna send it. I figured, you know, maybe a little more might not hurt. I was kinda vague in the first one, I think, or at least it felt that way. I dunno.” She pulled a roll of parchment out from under her wing and placed it on the side of the table, beside a bowl of green olives.

“I’ll send it.” She fixed Rainbow in her eyes. “If you’re sure. Are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You really want to try to keep the relationship.”

“Yeah, of course. I… uh, yeah, I do. I do like her.” She wet her lips. “I want this, even if I’ve gotta wait to actually see her again.”

“Okay.” She wrapped the parchment in her magic and activated the spell, and it flamed. After a second, it dropped, unharmed, onto the tabletop.

Rainbow laughed. “You mess up your spell, egghead?”

“No,” Twilight said. “At least, I don’t think so.” She grabbed it and cast the same spell, putting more concentration into it, though she knew she didn’t need to.

The letter fell to the table once more.

“Seriously, send it this time,” Rainbow said. “I don’t like this.”

“I’m not playing,” Twilight said, trying one more time, to the same effect.

“Why’s it not working? I’ve seen you send letters a gazillion times.”

Twilight bit into a slice of cantaloupe and thought back to her magic lessons. There was little theory behind the magic of sending letters between unicorns, and little variance in the methods.

“Could it be the paper? Should I write it again on something different?”

“You can try,” Twilight said absently.

Rainbow sprung from her seat and tore out of the dining room. “I need the lightest paper you can find!” she cried, disappearing into the house.

Twilight frowned. The only reasons that a letter might not send, outside of caster incompetence—which she knew she was not guilty of—was if the paper or ink itself were enchanted, or the receiving unicorn were strongly incapacitated.

“Got it!” Rainbow said, slapping the paper down onto the table. She unrolled her scroll and began copying. “Maybe she’s just asleep or something?”

“Unicorns can get letters whenever,” Twilight said. “Even if they’re in a coma sometimes. I know doctors try sending them letters to determine brain-death.” She snapped her mouth shut and looked guiltily at Rainbow, who had stopped scribbling.

“Twilight?”

She swallowed. “Yes?”

“Send it.”

“As is?”

“Yeah, incomplete, whatever, just send it! Er, please.”

Twilight lifted the letter up, half-complete on lacy crepe paper, and torn in several spots, and sent it. Magical fire engulfed it, and Rainbow sighed in relief.

It fluttered back as the last lick of flame whirled away.

Rainbow’s quill clattered to the floor.

“I need to know what kind of situations can result in a unicorn not being able to receive a letter,” Rainbow said quietly.

“Well… not many.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She might be—”

“Cursed! That’s it, that’s gotta be it.”

“It wouldn’t get stopped on my end,” Twilight said. “Not if the curse was on her.”

“Then… too far away, somehow. Is Appleloosa too far?”

Her mouth was dry, and she finished her wine in a long drink. “Distance doesn’t affect the magic.”

“Well, something else, then.”

“Rainbow.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. Maybe she… I dunno, put up a barrier or something.”

“Rainbow.”

“Twilight, come on! That’s gotta be it, the signs are all there! She got mad at me for being a crappy marefriend, she didn’t respond to my first letter, so she’s blocking me off somehow. She just hates me now, that’s all!”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Well…”

“Rainbow.”

Rainbow looked at her.

“I think she might be gone.”

Rainbow bent and tried to pick up the quill, and Twilight levitated it up to the table for her.

“I can try it again.”

Rainbow didn’t respond, but Twilight could see the thought in her eyes, and she knew it was true: one more try wouldn’t help. She sighed and looked at the rolled parchment, and Rainbow’s chair scraped.

“I can research, to see if there’s something else going on.”

“There isn’t,” Rainbow said. “There… nothing’s going on.”

“I might be wrong.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“But—”

“Twilight.”

“Maybe Discord’s interfering somehow.”

“Twilight.”

Twilight looked at her.

“I can just tell, okay? I’m gonna go fly.”

Twilight didn’t try to stop her from leaving, and waved the nervous servant away when he approached to take her dishes.

Applejack and Pinkie went to get Twilight from the mansion at eight o’ clock, and, at eight thirty, the nine of them crowded into one hotel room while Rarity explained what Mama Astra had told her. The family was grateful at the return of their crow, and it was Violet who had first suggested a reward of some kind.

“Fortunately for us, I was there to steer them into getting us an airship, and not, say, fabulous wealth or some such tawdry silliness,” Whooves said, sharing the bed with Fluttershy.

Papa Astra would not go into why he had the connection, Rarity said, but he had assured her that he needed only to make a call to Canterlot, and an airship capable of housing all nine of them comfortably would be sent from the coast. He said he planned to do so that evening, after setting a different affair in order on the other side of the country.

Rainbow said nothing, and when they went to their separate rooms, she climbed into the nearest unoccupied bed without comment.

“A change in the weather: masquerade ball at the museum. Refreshments served, music procured, all surfaces decorated. Tuesday, six of the clock. No costumes provided. Lumb.” Applejack read the ad in the paper, complimentary with coffee and pastries in the dining area. “So it’s a costume party?”

“It’s a masquerade ball, dear. It’s right there on the paper,” Rarity said.

“Ah don’t know what that is.”

“It’s a formal get-together, originally reserved for royalty or nobility, for ponies to dance, mingle, and so forth, but with their identities concealed,” Whooves said. “Embarrassment is an impediment to social enjoyment, after all.”

“Soooo, boilin’ down all those five-bit words, it’s a costume party.”

“Disregarding the need to ameliorate dissonance on the topic, one might affirm so.”

“Aw, shuddup.”

“He went through with it after all,” Octavia said.

“Was he not gonna?” Pinkie asked.

“He was not sure he wanted to. He asked me whether I thought him selfish.”

“You sound annoyed, dear,” Rarity said.

“And not ordinary ‘I am Octavia and I am the most serious pony around’ annoyed, but annoyed annoyed,” Pinkie said.

“He asked about his integrity, and when I said that it was not something I ever gave much consideration, he accused me of having an easy life,” Octavia said.

“Ah can’t imagine that went well,” Applejack said.

“No, it did not.” She took a sip of coffee. “Though I am actually gratified to hear you say that.”

“It’s ‘cause we knooooow you!” Pinkie sang, patting Octavia on the back and giving her tail a light tug.

Octavia only looked at her.

Another afternoon with nothing to do. While Twilight poured over books in the library and Rainbow vanished into the sky, Pinkie ran to the museum with Big Mac. The prospect of a party was something she had not had in a long time, and Big Mac was reminded of his own life back in Ponyville as he trotted behind her, following more the sound of her singing than the shape of her moving form.

He and Applejack, to his surprise, did not speak much of the farm, and, though it was frequently on his mind, he could not tell whether it was ever on hers. Her mind often seemed elsewhere, and he wanted to ask her what she was thinking about. She never appeared sad, or even worried, but she was given to intervals of silence more than he had ever seen when they were back home. He wondered whether being with her was how it was for others to be with him, but no one else seemed to mind, so he didn’t voice his concerns. If no one else was bothered, then neither should he be.

They met Lumb in his butterfly exhibit, and Pinkie did all the talking, asking what he had in mind for the party, what decorations he would have, what the theme was, and so on, all at a pace that Big Mac found dizzying. She ended with a mild “‘cause we wanna help set it up,” causing Lumb to smile and Big Mac to raise a brow. He had said nothing about wanting to help, only tagging along to give himself something to do.

Lumb took them to his office, where he draped a large, covered item across Big Mac’s back and directed them to a curio shop on the other side of the park. There, he said, they would find a pale yellow unicorn, with whom he had already arranged the use of magic to enchant the object.

“It will be a great service,” he said, bowing and showing them the door. “And I appreciate the offer. You are welcome to help me set up on the night of the affair.”

They left the museum at a leisurely pace, Pinkie skipping circles around Big Mac, who did not move slowly for the weight, but to give Pinkie adequate space to run her excited rings. One passer-by called out to her, and she responded with a wave, a cheer, and a pop of confetti.

“What d’ya s’pose his problem is?” Big Mac asked at last, choosing a moment while Pinkie was at rest. “Ah never saw him usin’ that horn of his.”

“Certain unicorns can’t use theirs,” Pinkie said. “Twilight told me about it once. I think it’s called a dead horn or something. The magic’s there, but the connection isn’t right, so they can’t do anything. If I was a dead-horn unicorn, I’d hang marshmallows on mine! Or doughnuts! Or maybe a loop-de-hoop!” She laughed, and Big Mac obligingly laughed with her. “As for the creepy pauses, I dunno! Maybe it’s a kind of s-s-s-stutter!” She laughed again and fell to the ground, rolling and nearly bumping Big Mac.

He helped her up, leaning awkwardly to avoid dropping his burden, and they reached the curio shop in time to disturb the owner’s lunch. While he went to find their yellow unicorn, Big Mac and Pinkie loitered in the front, looking at the trinkets.

“You wanna novelty pencil sharpener, Big Mac?” Pinkie asked, poking him and pointing at a pony’s head, wide-mouthed and toothed with a dull-looking blade.

“Ah don’t need no pencil-eater,” Big Mac said, and Pinkie shrieked in laughter. “Ah reckon Fluttershy’d like that, though.” He pointed to a small, colorful ceramic turtle with a picket sign held in the crook of one leg, welcoming them home.

“Oh my Celestia, yes!” Pinkie nearly shouted, jumping up. “Turtles are the greatest! Though that looks more like a tortoise.”

“Shell critter, that’s what Ah used to call ‘em.”

“But what about other shell thingies? What about snails, Big Mac? Huh? Huh?”

“Those are still snails. Ah knew all ‘bout them.”

“Did ya?”

“They eat crops. Ah had to get rid of ‘em when Ah was younger.” He pointed to a nondescript golden dish. “We had bowls of sugar water, an’ the snails would get themselves trapped, poor things.”

“What d’ya need?” the yellow unicorn asked, approaching. She reminded Big Mac of Fluttershy’s color on Twilight’s body, but a little shorter.

“Ah need this enchanted,” he said, shrugging the object of his back. “Lumb told me you an’ he’d spoken ‘bout it.”

“Ah, yes, the shocking thing,” she said, lifting back the cover for a peek. “Very good, very good. I’ll take care of it. Come back in an hour to pick it up, or I can have him grab it himself. Miss, do you need help with something?”

“How much for the shell critter?” Pinkie asked, bouncing in place. “I’ve got no money on me!”

They walked back side by side, she humming to herself, and told Lumb that they had deposited his “shocking thing.” He thanked them with a courteous nod, saying he would retrieve it himself, and they walked back through the park, taking an indirect route to the hotel.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Big Mac asked. “Yer not the quiet type.”

“I can be quiet too!” Pinkie said. “Don’t you hear me with the other girls? I’m quiet a lot with them.”

“Yeah, but this is different. Least, Ah think it is. Yer not competin’ fer yer voice with me.”

“It’s not that different.”

“No?”

“They listen to me when I talk,” Pinkie said. “But… well, I guess it is different. I don’t know, they make me feel silly sometimes.”

“You like silly stuff.”

“No, not good silly.” She stopped suddenly and went to a tree. “Come on, let’s sit down. They’re not gonna miss us.”

“Ah don’t wanna impose nothin’,” he said. “Ah’m just curious. Ah’m used to callin’ a spade a spade, is all.”

“You’re fine, Big Mac, big boy. Sit next to Auntie Pinkie.” She chuckled half-heartedly. She waited for him to be seated before continuing. “I think they look down on me, a little.” She leaned back, as if looking into the branches. “Wooooow, I can’t believe how easy that was!”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“No, it’s just that I’ve been thinking about how to say that forever, and it turned out to be the easiest thing in the world!” She laughed, then sobered. “Yeah, they look at me different. Everyone has this sort of… thing they do for everyone, you know? Twilight’s the leader, Applejack’s the moral compass, Rarity’s the can-do girl, Dashie’s the wild card… you get it.”

“What am Ah?”

“You’re like the best friend in training! You’re like the pony everyone likes, and knows to rely on, but who isn’t scary or mean like Octy!” She giggled. “Oooh, she’s gonna kill me if she finds out I called her that! But me, no one acts like I have a thing.”

“Well, what is yer thing?”

“I’m the one who stands in the middle of the sigil, of course! And I try to lighten the mood a lot—I used to more, back then—but that doesn’t go over so well anymore.”

“Well, bein’ funny ‘round Octavia—”

“No, it’s more than her. I thought the same thing too, but it’s not her. Well, not all her, I mean. It’s everyone. They all look at me like I’m gonna do something stupid.” She frowned. “Can you promise you won’t tell anyone this?”

“Of course. Yer safe with me.”

“Okay.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back, nervous. It was not a side of Pinkie he even knew existed. “It’s the worst with Fluttershy. I think she’s mad.”

“Mad?”

“It’s been forever since we’ve gotten an Element, or really done anything.”

“Y’all got rid of that Thunderhead character.”

“I don’t think that counts. We had to do that. No, I think she’s impatient with us, mad that we’re taking our time, which, yeah, that’s kinda justifiable, but I think she thinks I’m a big cause of that or something.”

He only looked into the tree.

“I’m not stupid. I know what’s going on just as well as everypony else does, and I feel bad about how slow we’re going too. I don’t know what to do, though. There’s only so much time in the day, and when we’re all together, waiting on this, and that, and the other thing too, it adds up.”

“It does add up, that’s true.”

“But it’s not my fault, and sometimes I think they look at me like it is. She—Fluttershy—acts like… uh, this is still all off the record.”

“Ah’m listenin’.”

“Like she wants to be all high and mighty, and tell us how to do our jobs, and hurry us along or something, like we’re a bunch of dummies who don’t know that we’ve got an important job.”

“Ah don’t see how you can get that impression from such a quiet pony.”

“Have you seen the way she looks at me? Or the way she hangs back and watches our conversations? I feel like she’s judging us.”

“It ain’t a sin to judge ponies in yer mind, s’long as ya don’t get no rotten ideas from it.”

“And I don’t think she does, but just… I don’t like how she looks at all of us, especially me.”

“Yer feelin’ singled out.”

“You could say that, yeah.”

“Why you, though?”

“See, I don’t know! That’s what’s so weird! Am I supposed to do more stuff or something? What makes me so special?”

Big Mac frowned. “Ah seem to remember someone sayin’ that you’ve got some kind of major magic.”

“It’s not that much! Twilight knows more about magic than I ever could, so I don’t know how I could be expected to do more, or take more responsibility.” She sighed. “I’m just little old Pinkie, and sometimes I wonder if ponies forget that.”

“Yer not little, though. You’ve got a lot of power, an’ yer good at gettin’ stuff done, an’ you’ve got a great attitude.”

“Thanks, Big Mac.”

“Ah mean it.” He sighed. “Truth be told, Ah actually envy you a good deal.”

“Nuh-uh. Really?”

“Eeyup. Ah don’t let it show, but Ah ain’t always the happiest pony. Ah get homesick, as Ah imagine all of y’all do, an’ Ah get worried too. Ah got no magic, nor much experience with adventurin’. You’ve got both, an’ a lot of it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“No?”

“Why would I? Why would anyone want all the responsibility?” Her expression soured. “Look at Fluttershy, Big Mac. Who needs someone like that breathing down her neck all the time because of some stupid magic? Something I can’t do anything about?”

“Ah guess Ah see yer point.”

She hopped up and hugged him. “Thanks for sitting down and talking with me!”

“Huh?”

“C’mon, silly, we gotta get back to the hotel!” She disconnected. “I appreciate you, Big Mac.”

He nodded slowly, not sure how to respond.

Rainbow sat on a cloud over the hotel, looking at the grounds, not seeing. She went out at sunrise, and didn’t appear to her friends again. She was hungry, but the feeling was a minor distraction, as was the knowledge that her friends knew something was wrong, and would be worrying about her. She would have a long explanation ahead of her when she returned.

Worry. For a close to a month, she had been beset with a nameless worry, something that she was not familiar with. Fluttershy had said she empathized with it, one long, exhausting night on the ghost ship: the unremitting pulse and pound of impending doom, the tiring erosion of good cheer and, later, rationality, the belief that something was going to go terribly wrong, so deep-set that it bordered on prescience.

She thought it was them, at first. Everything else had happened to them, so one more disaster seemed fitting. She thought it was Thunderhead capturing them, and, then, when the feeling refused to subside, she thought it must be Spike’s death.

In that slow, binding moment the day before, when she saw Twilight’s conclusion on her face before hearing the words, the worry vanished. As it was when bad news came, all secondary problems shrunk, she reasoned, but, upon waking, the worry was still gone.

Only as she reached her first cloud did she realize her other emotion, one that turned to shame every time she focused on it: relief. Relief that the object of her anxiety had come and gone, relief that the disaster had struck and was complete. Relief, in her secret heart, sickening and self-conscious, that it had happened to someone other than them.

She had been waiting for tragedy to strike, and she had felt that it revolved around Trixie, but that was natural, she told herself. Ponies who cared about each other worried when one traveled, and the association of one negative thought to another was to be expected.

“She couldn’t. She said she was careful,” Rainbow thought. “Not careful enough,” she thought back, her mind’s second voice donning a perversely loud version of Pinkie. “Not careful enough for Discord, Dashie, and that’s the way it goes!”

“But why would he go after her? She’s nothing to him.”

“She’s a loved one, duh!”

Her thoughts stuttered and flipped away before converging again. “Did I love her?”

“Too late to matter.” The voice turned into Twilight’s, steady and distant. “At least we’re okay.”

“And now you won’t be making such a fuss about her,” Rarity added, her haughty tone making Rainbow close her eyes.

“This sucks,” she thought.

Twilight had tried sending the letter again that morning, when Rainbow was pretending to be asleep. It flapped uselessly to the bedside table, and Twilight sighed and swept it into a drawer. Rainbow turned in her sheet, hoping Twilight would only think she was tossing in her sleep.

“No, I suck. Trixie’s gone, and all I can think of is how relieved I am that my stupid… whatever is done. I’m not worried anymore, ‘cause it happened. Whoop-de-doo.” The last memory she had was a simple scene of Trixie standing in her apartment doorway, waving goodbye as they disappeared down the hall. That was the last time she had seen her.

“I wonder if she forgave me.” She put a hoof to her face, then buried her face in cloud. The vapor was cool, and gave her a moment of pleasure in the hot afternoon. “Like that matters now. Right. She’s dead, and all I can think about it myself. Typical Rainbow—same stuff that got me into this mess in the first place.”

“Don’t get so down on yourself, Dashie!” Pinkie screeched. The thought repeated, losing its significance, and she pushed her face deeper into the cloud, drowning out nothing. “So down, Dashie! Down, Dashie! Down, Dashie!”

And there she fell asleep, face wedged comfortably in a socket to the open sky beneath.

Rainbow and a vague form that she empirically knew was Trixie walked side by side down a snowy sidewalk in a location she knew was Manehattan, but more resembled Fillydelphia. Trees covered the walkway, and the world was washed out and gray, but not still. Flakes of snow mingled with slivers of ice in long snail trails off the tree branches, as if they were caught in a giant snow globe.

Trixie turned slowly around Rainbow’s front, forming a fuzzy C that brushed her chin. “Come on, mare,” she said, turning the other way and giving her tail a flick to tickle Rainbow’s nose.

They passed through a space between trees and stopped at a bench, Trixie sitting and Rainbow standing beside her, facing past, into the rest of the park. In the near distance, beside a vacant birdbath, stood an earth pony on long spindles of legs. Rainbow could only watch her, somehow transfixed.

The pony turned her head and met Rainbow’s eyes, her own small and uncolored, and Rainbow was suddenly hit with emotion. The stranger’s face was long and serious. Her name was Mrs. Gale—so Rainbow knew, in the same way she knew it was Trixie she was with—and she walked a few steps to a small object partially obscured in short, frosty grass. She knelt.

Rainbow watched as a smaller figure walked to Mrs. Gale. Rainbow did not know the filly, but felt compelled to watch as both forms, tall and short, stopped a distance from each other. Mrs. Gale nudged the ball in the direction of the filly, then bent her head and pushed it farther. The filly lifted it with her unicorn horn and trotted away, and Mrs. Gale looked back at Rainbow.

She woke up with tears in her eyes, and Fluttershy was on a cloud nearby, watching. She flew to Rainbow’s side.

Twilight had two books open on a cluttered table in Octavia’s incredible library. She had started that morning with four, and managed to condense the mystery of the sigil in the attic to just two tomes. One, A Complete History of Hoofington, had not been easy to sift through.

The mansion had started as a pet project for an earth pony named Golden Slumbers, who wanted to show that earth ponies could be just as prosperous and industrious as unicorns—who were, in turn, just beginning to assert their own dominance in a culture that had learned to disdain wanton use of magic just two decades earlier. A reaction to a reaction in the latter half of the Apologist Period, and it was the center of a grand controversy. Slumbers was the target of much hatred, saying he was giving the aspirational unicorns too little space to prove themselves worthy of respect in the larger socioeconomic sphere, just then a distant concept that was more thought experiment than reality. Intercity commerce was only taking tentative steps forward, hindered frequently by conflicts between unicorns and earth ponies.

When the house was complete, its photograph was published in an edition of the Glitterville Herald, and a copy of the page appeared on the cover of Twilight’s other book, A Macabre Act, a pulp novel supposedly inspired by true events. Slumbers employed mostly pegasi and earth ponies as servants, though three unicorns found jobs as well, two in the wine cellar and one in maintaining the tremendous windows overlooking the grounds.

Having no direct kin, he allowed the house to pass to a wealthy pegasus by the name of Bellflower, who had been one of the driving forces behind setting down a bridge over the bay that surrounded what would later become Manehattan. The bridge was named in her honor.

It was then that events turned strange. The Apologist Period was marked by its high number of unicorns taking on tasks and positions that did not require magic, and, in large residences across the country, unicorns were almost universally selected as servants. In Slumbers’ house, however, no unicorns served. A passage in A Macabre Act, cross-referenced, had brought her to a footnote in A Complete History of Hoofington, which simply read, “Unicorns were seldom turned away from Golden Slumbers’ mansion.”

The conclusion was clear: if they weren’t rejected, and they never worked there, then something about the house had repelled unicorns on its own. She was stuck for an hour before finding the next link in the chain.

Originally only two stories, the mansion was frequently subjected to leaks, a problem with the roofing that a team of pegasi attributed to continuous shingle damage, perpetrated by the minor magical warping effects of a pinhole opening to Tartarus. It was far too small to allow anything more than ambient magic through, and even then in a trickle, but it was enough to distend and damage the shingles that nearly brushed its underside, as well as bother any magical ponies that got close enough. The opening was discovered shortly after the fourth owner took the mansion, a cousin of Bellflower’s daughter, a dark-coated and willowy pegasus whose heavy eyes stared dolefully out of an oval picture in A Complete History of Hoofington. Her name was Seashell.

Seashell ordered the construction of a third floor, and refused to address laborer concerns that such a project would not be successful with the Tartarus portal nearby. She insisted and put in a quarter of her prodigious wealth, and, three tiring years later, the mansion had been given a third story, its massive attic containing the opening. Her measurement specifications had been the object of some curiosity, but their intent became clear upon completion: she had designed the attic to be large enough that no Tartarus magic could harm the walls, floor, or ceiling.

Chapter three of A Macabre Act, entitled "The Pull," detailed Seashell’s residency. She took no visitors and was never seen in the company of anyone more serious than a casual acquaintance or a servant, but her lights were always on. While Trottingham was growing on agriculture and easy access for those who had set up villages in the surrounding mountains, Seashell began to grow her wealth by selling off treasures found in the house. By the time she had three million bits to her name, ponies were beginning to experiment with locomotive technology in the distant west.

At three million five hundred-thousand bits, she discharged every servant in the mansion and hired a skeleton crew of earth ponies, all of them blind. Her one charitable act, the book said, giving jobs to ponies who could have no hope of good employment elsewhere. The thought of it had given Twilight chills.

Seashell appeared in public less and less, never speaking, never smiling, and thinner with each successive sighting. The mansion fell into disrepair, and the only known comment its owner made had a paragraph to itself in A Macabre Act. When asked by a local public meeting official what was going on at the estate near the river, Seashell said: “The task I appointed myself is harder than I expected.” The quote appeared opposite a small picture of her beside a fence post near a small store, her ribs standing out and her gentle, tapering wings resembling arrow tips.

After that, she vanished. Her house was locked and left in the care of the blind servants, and she reappeared five months later on the other side of town with what the book described as “skeletal pallor.” She stayed home for a week before disappearing again, and, somewhere in the wilderness, ownership passed to the only other unicorn who would set hoof in the mansion until decades later. His name was Sweet Tea, and he admitted no relation to Seashell, though he had everything he needed to legally take the house as his own. His first act was to purge the mansion of clutter and servants. His appearance caused a significant stir in town, which had been renamed Hoofington, but the fact that he had magic did not.

And then, for a long time, nothing. Twilight dug through half a shelf of books before finally finding answers in the pulp novel she had set aside as tawdry garbage. Years after the unicorn’s arrival, and a month after a minor construction project on the third floor, he disappeared on business. The first trains were moving short distances between towns, not efficient or safe enough for long travel, and he had no means of swift movement. Yet, only a month after his departure from Hoofington, a small village near Bellflower Bridge, the passage to what would become Manehattan, was consumed in an unspecific panic. A Macabre Act said only that the town suffered a dark shape prowling its alleys and borders, and that no ponies were harmed.

The only evidence that Sweet Tea had been there was his name credited in a list of ponies who donated to the construction of a small chapel—a building that would not survive to see Nightmare Moon’s return.

Twilight followed the thread of mysteries in A Macabre Act, verifying the first three in ancient censuses and dusty newspapers, before trusting the book and reading along without worry.

Sweet Tea traveled south, stopping only in towns that were more than five miles from natural bodies of water—something Twilight noticed, and the book’s author had not—and dragging the same vague terror with him. In most accounts, ponies were not hurt. He made it into the desert, near the old border between ponies and minotaurs, close to forty miles northwest of where Applewood would be built, before disappearing entirely.

His sudden absence was felt for miles around, though no one would make the connection for close to sixty years later. The nameless fear blossomed and grew, and, in the space of a fortnight, two neighboring villages on opposite sides of a mile-long river were reduced to bleached ruins. Scattered remnants of buildings were as white as the pony skeletons that were found, and even the ground had been leeched of color and vitality, except on the riverbanks, where water seemed to seep in and return life.

The anomalies were called “ice plates,” so named for the startling white and utter lack of softness in the ground’s textures. Ten ice plates appeared before a strange creature was captured on a small island in a lake. It took a team of fifteen ponies, which the book said were under orders from Celestia herself, led by a mute, sunken-eyed, parchment-skinned pegasus. One paragraph, which Twilight resisted the urge to underline and circle, said that she was able to calm the creature with a touch, while no one else could even approach it without risking their lives. They called her simply “Lake Witch,” but A Macabre Act opined that she was Seashell, the creature’s alleged master.

An artist’s depiction showed the scene. A knobby sphere of flesh stood on four equally spaced legs, double-jointed, while four arms, two in the front and two in the back, hung loosely to its second knees, decorated with wide, crescent claws. No facial features were apparent, and chains hung off it while an emaciated pegasus reached a hoof to its leg. The caption read: “The Lake Witch Taming the White Demon.”

There were no more ice plates, and the creature was never seen again. The Lake Witch became a scary story, made all the stranger because her death was never confirmed.

The mansion, meanwhile, went on to experience several decades of peace and quiet, with only a final tiny construction project in the attic some thirty years before its latest owner, a young, upstart musician by the name of Octavia Melody, bought it. She, too, A Complete History of Hoofington noted, was no unicorn.

Twilight crunched the numbers. The white devil had been captured one hundred eighteen years ago, and the attic, she suspected, was walled off fifty years ago. The containment sigil’s purpose was still unconfirmed, but she imagined that it held one of three things: either the White Demon, to keep it close to the opening from which she suspected it had been magically siphoned; the body of the Lake Witch, returned to the house she had once owned; or nothing at all.

She looked up at heavy hoofsteps, and moved her books aside to allow Lumb a spot to sit. He had known to wait to come to her intuitively, he said, and she explained all that she had found.

“I was not aware that a monster could be summoned piecemeal from an opening,” Lumb said after a lengthy extent of thoughtful silence.

“It’s not easy, unless it’s a really simple creature. Either that, or it’s more magic than flesh. There’s not much research on the process; not many ponies are interested in experimenting with that application of magic.”

“Understandable.” He pointed to the end of the library. “Outside, there rests a statue that I have oft found very strange. It resembles your White Demon.”

Twilight thought, chewing her lip. “Yes, I remember seeing it. Huh. I thought it was just some abstract art.”

“What will be done?”

“I need to talk to the girls.”

A Safe Decision

Chapter Sixty-three

A Safe Decision

Twilight returned to the hotel around nine o’ clock, saying goodbye to Lumb in the lobby. She saw no stripe of light under the door, so used a simple spell to let herself in, having forgotten her key and not wanting to wake anyone up with a knock. As soon as the light from the outside corridor was gone, the room lit up, showing most of her friends lounging on the beds and floor. Applejack shared a bed with Rarity and Pinkie, and grinned at Twilight.

“Pretty neat, huh? That magic Vanilla gave me seems like the real deal,” Applejack said.

“You turned the lights on?” Twilight asked.

“Sure did, sugarcube.”

She got into bed next to Octavia. “I’d like to take some notes on your spell-casting process sometime, if you don’t mind. I’ve never had an earth pony’s perspective before.” She glanced at Octavia, slightly guilty for not thinking of it for her.

“Eh, Ah guess not. Can’t say how helpful Ah’ll be, though.”

“Did you find anything yet with your research?” Octavia asked.

“That’s what we need to discuss. Where’s Rainbow and Fluttershy?”

“Talking,” Rarity said. Twilight understood the tone in her voice clearly: it was about Trixie.

“They’re on the roof,” Pinkie said. “I can go get ‘em if you want!” She sprang from the bed, jostling Rarity.

“No, let them have their space,” Twilight said. “But the rest of us need to figure this out. I’ve got a couple ideas of what’s inside that sigil.”

“Let’s have it,” Big Mac said.

“There are two strong possibilities, from what I can tell. Number one is that it’s some kind of monster, which a previous owner summoned gradually through a pinhole Tartarus opening in the attic.”

“Yes, of course,” Rarity said, looking at Octavia. “An opening to Tartarus right in the attic. How did I not guess?”

“And number two is that it’s the pony who summoned it, or her body, at least.” She paused, trying to remember everything she had read. “Although she could still be alive, I suppose. Depends on the skill of the pony who put her in stasis.”

“That works?” Pinkie asked.

“It can, though it’s hugely illegal.”

“Why would someone want to preserve themselves after death?” Big Mac asked. “Seems like a lot of work fer not much payoff. If she’s in there, the world she knows has passed her by.”

“Lots of necromancers are attracted to the idea of being revenants,” Rarity said. “That is what this nameless pony is, right?”

“Yeah, necromancer. Gave life to an inert form,” Twilight said.

“So what do we do? Rather, what do you do?” Applejack asked. Big Mac looked at her, and she shrugged. “She’s the one with the brains fer this, not us.”

“I’m not sure. Oh, and the third option is there’s nothing in there at all, but I kind of doubt it. Now, that sigil’s been up there, walled off, for close to thirty years before Octavia got the house.”

“So it’s been untouched for thirty years,” Rarity said. “That’s really not so bad.”

“Thirty years is a long time,” Octavia said.

“But it’s not centuries,” Twilight said. “And yes, for at least thirty years, it’s been untouched. At least. But here’s where it gets confusing. You see, my research indicated certain well-educated ponies—not necessarily unicorns—occasionally going in to touch up the sigil. I don’t know the last time one of them went in. See, so it could be thirty years, or it could be sixty since someone last checked the sigil.”

“Or more,” Big Mac said.

“Yeah, or more.”

The door opened again, and Whooves strolled in, wearing a garish scarf, which he tossed over a chair.

“What were you doing with a scarf? It’s still summer out there,” Applejack said.

“Oh, just woolgathering, my dear. A little blue sky for the old noggin, that’s all. You know what they say—”

“Hi doctor,” Twilight said.

“Twilight! I met our large friend outside the hotel. Knew to wait for me, he said. I was just at the Astras for some tea and scones, finally got to see their bird machine—fascinating specimen, a true marvel of magic and engineering.” He sighed. “I remember the first time I saw an enchanted wheel in a textbook. Back when they were legal—”

“Come on, come on,” Applejack said. “Twilight was talkin’ our ears off first. No offense, Twi.”

“Quick and to the point, then! Yes, expediency in all things, an unquestionable virtue. I told our good friend Lumb that some of the Astras are planning on attending his ball.” He laughed. “You can imagine the state that left him in. Why, I could swear I almost saw an irate blush even on those aubergine cheeks. Well, not aubergine, that’s more of a purple, but—”

“Anyway, Twilight, the sigil.”

“The sigil?”

“Based on what I read today, and from what I’ve seen,” Twilight said, “the magic is of pretty good quality, despite being a little outdated.”

“So how long do you think we’ve got ‘til it goes kaput?” Pinkie asked.

“This is a rough estimate, but I’d say it should be at least another two or so years before it really starts to come undone. What we have now, the creaking walls, the uneasiness in unicorns, and all that, it’s pretty mild.”

“I haven’t experienced any unease,” Rarity said.

“Me neither. I think it’s because… well, frankly, we’ve been through a lot. It probably didn’t register.”

“Might there be one of your Elements of Harmony inside?” Whooves asked. “I just thought of that.”

“I’d have detected something that powerful when I scanned it the first time.”

“So some monster, or a necromancer,” Applejack said. “Heck of an option.”

“If it’s the necromancer, she probably won’t be much of a problem. She’ll be disoriented, weak, and there’s a good chance she won’t even remember who she is. Keeping a pony alive and in stasis after her natural life has passed is close to impossible. She’d need Princess Celestia herself to make sure she was okay when she came out.”

“Quite the surprise for whoever’s living there at the time,” Rarity said.

“Oh, I’m going to tell Lumb everything. Now, if it’s her monster, that’s a different story. Whether it’s mostly made of flesh or magic, it had a lot of Tartarus in it, which means that if it gets out… I really don’t know. I don’t know how Tartarus magic will hold up against an Equestrian spell for extended periods of time.”

“Can ya make an educated guess?” Big Mac asked.

“Well, I would think a lot of it would be degenerated by now, or well on its way to being reduced to what it once was. When that spell goes down, it might just be a lump of clay, or a big piece of driftwood or something that falls out.”

“It sounds like there’s not much threat here,” Rarity said. “Or am I jumping to conclusions?”

“I think not. I think there’s a greater chance that whatever comes out of there is harmless, if not a bit scary, but I wanted you girls’ thoughts.”

“Seems to me,” Whooves said, climbing into bed on Octavia’s other side, “that we should tell Lumb about all of this, and let him worry about it. There are ponies who can help with this haunted sigil, I’m sure, and they can see to the disposal of this creepy piece of flotsam, or ancient, senile necromancer.”

“He’s right,” Rarity said. “We need to move. We can’t take even more time to worry about something this small.”

“Okay, good. That’s what I was thinking too,” Twilight said. She looked at Octavia, who was looking back to her. “Question?”

“Can a Tartarus gateway support malignant spirits?” Octavia asked.

Twilight frowned before realizing Octavia’s meaning. “Oh, sure, it’s possible. Not common, but possible.”

Octavia nodded to herself. “Such a simple explanation.” She got up. “I will be out.”

“No snuggles?” Whooves asked.

“Snuggle Twilight. I need fresh air.”

* * * * * *

It was six in the morning in Ponyville, the one hundred twenty-second day after the disaster. A third of a year. Colgate, Allie, Flitter, Cloudchaser, and Foxglove shared the empty spa common area, speaking lightly. The Tartarus opening was south of Ponyville, a couple miles south of Pinkie Pie’s rock farm, which was itself several miles south of Cloudsdale farms.

Their jobs were simple, but not easy. They would walk to the gateway, the majority of their supplies buried under camping gear, to assuage anyone who might see them. At the gateway, Flitter and Cloudchaser were to circle the area and watch for ponies and dangerous creatures alike, a difficult task in the wooded area where the gateway had sprung up. Allie and Colgate were to cast a sequence of spells all around the area, scouring any ambient Tartarus magic from the landscape before culminating in a massive, complicated sigil that Allie needed to lay to hold it open from their side. It needed to be held from both ends so that Foxglove could come back; her job was to cast magic inside the gateway, on the Tartarus side. The last thing she wanted was to get stuck after her magic did its job.

Colgate could only sit on her bench and wish that there were steam to hide her eyes from the others. They had all noticed a change in her, she knew, and it bothered her. She had stopped going to therapy as soon as she was sure that her neighbors had stopped caring, going so far as to mimic a breakthrough on her final day so she could leave the office without hassle. Her wounds had healed fully, though her hoof was still slightly tender from the abuse she had given it earlier. That Allie, in her mind, had forced her into the position made her seethe quietly.

Of them all, Allie worried her the most. She knew that their truce after Spike’s funeral had been false on both sides, and it was only her slightly sharper suspicion, she thought, that had kept her unharmed during training.

When it was six-fifteen, Foxglove got up, and they all followed her to get their things in the other room, packed the night before. Among their supplies, Foxglove had a set of chains stuffed into her saddlebag, and a large, plywood disc that could not have passed the door. They used the teleportation sigil in the steam room to leave from an unmarked, abandoned house inside the forest’s edge, and they were underway. Foxglove strapped the disc to her back, quickly adjusting to the slight stoop it imposed on her posture.

Colgate could feel the pegasi’s anxious energy in the air between them, and she knew she was adding her own stiff fear as well. For her, part of it was the morning itself. The air was still cool and damp, the light pale, and she felt a strange pang of discomfiture as she passed the hospital. She thought of her patients, many of whom would have to find their way up to Canterlot for another orthopedist. The morning sounds seemed to go on too long as she moved, the only other accompanying sound her companions’ hoofsteps: a solitary march into unknown lands.

The larger part was her company. She knew that Allie would not try anything with Foxglove watching, but she also knew that Foxglove couldn’t monitor them constantly. As they walked, skirting Sweet Apple Acres, which was active with hundreds of Cloudsdale immigrants’ lively banter, a horrible thought formed. The Tartarus gateway, the physical portal between the Gaia and the mirror world, would be the perfect site for revenge. One push, timed well, and Colgate might not have time to get her bearings and come back out. Tartarus was not pony hell, she knew, but it would quickly become that for her if Allie’s plan were successful.

She considered her course as they walked along the Everfree Forest’s rim.

They rested at a smooth rock formation beside a weak spring, and Flitter and Cloudchaser went up briefly to gauge their distance from Cloudsdale Farms. They had emerged on the far end of the empty countryside between it and Ponyville, and had a significant distance to cover before seeing anything but trees and grass.

When they started walking again, Colgate was sure to let Allie go ahead of her. Flitter moved to her side, but Colgate ignored her as she studied Allie for any signs of suspicious activity.

They reached the edge of Cloudsdale Farms just ten minutes before noon, where they stopped for lunch. Foxglove expected they could reach the other side, or close to it, by nightfall, where they would set up camp. Many Datura operations took place at night, she said, but theirs would not. A group of ponies moving at night would arouse suspicion, and would save too little time, given how close the gateway was anyway.

The flat farmland was broken by silos, barns, and processing plants, but the Daturas would be afforded no shade as they traveled obliquely along its edge. From the ground, the patchwork of cultivated land lost its texture and color, becoming a single, contiguous line for the eye to traverse. Soft sunlight brightened the green into a shining floor and the blue sky above into a wide, arched ceiling, Cloudsdale a chandalier in the middle. For Colgate, who had only seen Manehattan and Ponyville, the wide, open space was not calm, but watchful. She felt impatient as she scanned the rows of corn and soybeans, thinking how much distance they had to cover.

“No gaps,” Flitter said.

“You don’t think the Elements of Harmony are the only ones who know how to piece our country together, do you?” Foxglove said.

“I thought they were supposed to be,” Cloudchaser said. “Isn’t the magic involved really complicated?”

“It’s more a power thing than a complexity thing,” Foxglove said. “I think they were told they were the only ones so they wouldn’t get complacent. That would make sense to me, at least.”

“Seems kind of funny that the princesses would lie about that,” Flitter said. She glanced at Colgate.

“Deception’s the name of the game when Discord’s playing. See, he likes to make the big plays, deal with the whole thing at once. There’s no such thing as a small disaster when it comes to him, and he’s not above throwing out his plans to stomp on the game board if he feels threatened. Celestia and Luna have to play along as best they can while working against him quietly, doing things he won’t notice, or won’t think are legitimate threats. That’s why the Elements are traveling alone.”

“What could he possibly do if he got spooked?” Colgate asked. “We’re already in a bad situation. What more is there?”

“Break the spell,” Flitter said after a second.

“That would do it,” Foxglove said. “Remember, we’re a mile off the planet. All he has to do is find a way to break the country’s enchantment, and we’ll all plummet.”

“Does the Datura have a plan in case he does that?” Cloudchaser asked.

“Not the Equestrian Datura so much; we’re worrying about him in the here-and-now. The changelings and minotaurs have a plan, though, in case that happens. It won’t be a pretty sight, though.”

“Well, we’ll all die, right?” Allie asked.

“I don’t know. It depends a lot on how much the country breaks apart in the fall. One thing’s for sure, we’d make the largest tidal wave in the history of the world when we hit. Everyone surrounding us would be totally wiped out, except probably the minotaurs. Their country extends pretty far south.” She looked at them all. “I’m not saying we’re likely to fall, just that it’s a possibility.”

“Question,” Cloudchaser said.

“Yes?”

“We’re going to have to get back down eventually. How are we gonna do that?”

“No idea,” Foxglove said. “It’s not exactly a priority right now.”

“Fair enough.”

They fixed upon the boundary between cultivated grass and free weeds, using it as a guide, and the pegasi hardly stopped talking. Conscious of their proximity to civilization, their conversation, when it was about the Datura, was veiled, and Colgate was able to observe quietly for most of her time, only contributing when addressed. As the sun went down, they moved outwards to skirt the lengthening barn shadows, and they rested briefly in the shade of a large tree near an inactive harvester.

By five o’ clock, the farmland had gone mostly quiet, and they stopped to rest again at a bend in a narrow path, a route that led from the farms to a scattering of tiny settlements in the deep south, worth marking on only the most detailed maps. Flitter sat against a tilted fence post, a mangled lock of wire hanging off. Cart tracks stood out in the dust, creating broken fishbone shadows under their hooves, and they could see a windmill in the distance. It was also visible from Ponyville, but only from a couple elevated spots.

Above them, Cloudsdale floated like a fortified bank of dark snow, supporting countless buildings, the tops of which they could only begin to see. Thin, polychromatic lines trailed down from the city to dots of clouds far below: rainbow reservoirs. In the gloaming, the lines shone like liquid gold, or blond hair adorned at the tips with pearls.

“How’s Cloudsdale doing nowadays?” Allie asked.

“Better,” Flitter said, “but still not that good. Their government is crap.”

“Still?” Foxglove said. “I thought they replaced the director.”

“They’re working on that, but it takes a while to get anything done.”

“Too much bureaucracy,” Cloudchaser said. “It’s causing a lot of problems elsewhere.”

“They don’t care,” Flitter said. “As long as they’re producing at minimum, they’re not worried. It doesn’t help that two thirds of their best technicians are out working on that cloud convoy, or stuck wiring generators in the ocean siphoning station.” She grinned. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d give anything to see it in action, but it hasn’t done much for the life in Cloudsdale.”

“Well, that’s why there are so many immigrants working on the farm, right?” Foxglove said.

“No jobs for sure, but it’s Tartarus in the social spheres up there too. Pardon the pun.”

“A little too apt, sis,” Cloudchaser said.

“It’s the most important city in Equestria from a logistical standpoint, ‘cause it’s the only one that can possibly keep the weather circulating over cities, and it’s also the most understaffed and least wealthy. Well, Appleloosa’s less wealthy still, but they don’t really count in this discussion.”

“The Appleloosa Datura have actually been having a hard time lately,” Foxglove said. “There’s some weirdness going on there that they can’t seem to pinpoint. Some poor mare got her life sucked out somehow.”

Flitter gasped. “What happened?”

“Don’t know. And that’s not the evasive ‘don’t know,’ that’s a real, genuine, I don’t know what’s going on. However, it seems contained, so it’s not my problem.”

There was a lull in speaking as a cloud passed over the dying sun. “I heard they were considering a Wonderbolt for the Weather Directory,” Cloudchaser said.

“Spitfire, yeah,” Flitter said. “I hope that doesn’t happen.”

“What’s so bad about Spitfire?” Colgate asked.

“She’s a grade-A moron. Most of the Wonderbolts are. All they care about is going fast and smiling for cameras. They’re entertaining, but they can’t do anything. Spitfire least among them.” She flared her wings suddenly, and gesticulated as she continued. “We don’t need a dang celebrity on the Weather Directory right now! That’s tourist stuff, soft-hearted revenue boosters to get the mindless public to dump money on hotels and other tacky crap.”

“Wouldn’t more money be a good thing, regardless of where it comes from?” Allie asked.

“It’ll just give a jolt to the local entertainment industries and create non-sustainable jobs. In a couple months, ponies will be right back where they started, but angrier and even less willing to trust their government, which’ll probably become an all-out plutocracy in that interim.” She snorted. “I suppose Spitfire could take the fall for that, but why bother? That just hurts her, doesn’t solve anything.”

“Well, what do you think should happen?” Foxglove asked.

“What it needs is a total overhaul,” Flitter said immediately. “Purge the government entirely, get ponies in there who aren’t afraid to think outside the confines of tradition.”

“Keep going, Flitter,” Cloudchaser said. “I know you’ve got more than that.”

“Don’t put me on the spot, Cloud.”

“Come on, impress our company.”

Flitter rolled her eyes. “It’s not that impressive. But what they should do first is have their weather factories partner up with some of the local charities, get ponies to push clouds and things around for free. Consolidate what money they have left and just buckle down and produce. More clouds, more snow, more rainbows, all of that. Celestia’s got the airships, so shipping wouldn’t be a problem, at least not on their end. And if she has to take a bigger bite out of the royal treasury than usual, so be it. Get places like Manehattan and Appleloosa hydrated, and, at the same time, put together a city council or something like that, all citizenry. Ad-hoc stuff, it doesn’t matter, it just needs to be a figurehead so ponies will get their hopes back up and get interested in the way their city is run. Then it’s down to the actual officials to listen to their citizens.”

“You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?” Allie said.

“I’m just spitballing,” Flitter said quietly, blushing. “For all I know, the local revenue isn’t enough to support even that. Maybe they really are screwed, and there’s no getting out of it.”

“Have you thought about going up there and trying to start some reform yourself?” Foxglove asked.

“I’ve considered it, but I really just don’t want to go back there. That’s the thing, and I hate how hypocritical it makes me. Cloudsdale is a bummer to live in right now, and I like Ponyville.”

“Well, why not write for the paper?” Cloudchaser asked.

“Yeah, incite change in Cloudsdale through the Ponyville newspaper. Great, Cloud.”

“Political essays,” Foxglove said.

“Ponies read those?”

“Are you kidding? Ponies… well, okay, maybe not the Ponyville ones so much. I was thinking of Canterlot.”

“What about contacting the Datura in Cloudsdale and getting them to help out?”

“Absolutely not,” Foxglove said. “The Datura is never supposed to interfere in government procedure. We’re powerful enough as it is.”

“Could it hurt to do it just this once?” Flitter asked.

“Yes, it can. The instant we start changing cities’ governments to fit our standards, we’ve gone too far. Our jurisdiction is in the extranormal only. No exceptions.”

“All right, sorry. Forget I mentioned it.”

“Just remember that. We let normal affairs take care of themselves, even when we don’t like them.”

“Right, I guess so.”

“Are Daturas allowed to hold government positions?” Colgate asked.

“Depends,” Foxglove said. “If a Datura wants to apply for something, they have to clear it with Luna first.”

“They have to clear it with the founder? No middle-pony?” Allie asked.

“It’s complicated. There’s a whole system in place, but I can’t tell you a lot about it, I’m afraid.”

“Are we too low ranking?” Flitter asked.

“Yep. It’s not that we can’t have you knowing how the chain of command works, but there are some rather unavoidable conclusions you’d reach if you understood it. Conclusions you’re not qualified to reach yet.”

“But Luna gets a pass,” Cloudchaser said. “On the rulership thing.”

“She was ruler before she had the Datura. In the grand scheme of things, we’re just a pet project. A hugely important one, but a pet project nonetheless.”

“Does she ever go on missions?” Flitter asked.

“Yeah, sometimes. She goes on the especially dangerous ones, ones that regular Daturas can’t handle.”

“I imagine that’s rare,” Colgate said.

“It’s difficult to find a situation that actually demands her attention. Sometimes, though, she’ll go on a mission with the lower ranks, to inspire them.”

“Aw, that’s nice,” Flitter said.

“She’s a nice pony. Very good leader.”

“Have you been on any missions with her?” Cloudchaser asked.

“One.”

“How was it?”

“Sorry, Cloudchaser.”

“Darn it. Will we ever meet her?”

“I doubt it. She’s too busy running the country in Celestia’s absence to do more than the most essential Datura stuff.”

“So who handles it all for her?” Flitter asked.

“Sorry. That would be saying too much.”

“Really? How advanced do we need to be to know these things?”

“Zecora’s about the lowest rank,” Foxglove said. “She’s third from the bottom.” She got up. “Come on, two more hours of walking, then a light dinner, then sleep. I’d like us to put this farm behind us, if we can.”

It was night when they reached a line of trees before a river, right off the edge of Cloudsdale Farms. There was no fence, but a row of signs that told them they were officially leaving the farmland, and to have a nice day. They would cross the river in the morning, and Foxglove instructed them to set up camp and prepare a small fire. Colgate did so with her magic, a spell that impressed the pegasi, and the only one she was totally comfortable performing. Every now and again, it was handy to have a horn she could use for cauterizing.

“We will meet Zecora and her team at the gateway tomorrow, where they’ve done some preliminary research,” Foxglove said, taking a seat beside Allie on an uneven log. “For now, rest.”

They ate in silence for several minutes, accompanied only by the sound of the world coming to rest. It brought Colgate no peace of mind.

“What worries me most is if a gateway decides to open up somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and we only find it by the time it’s bled half of Tartarus into our reality.”

“Can that happen?” Allie asked.

“Sure, if no one shuts if off quick enough. Think of it like a leaky faucet. Sheesh, that’s really trivializing it. Think of it like a lit match in a forest. If there’s someone to stomp it out, then it’s not a big deal. That’s what we’re doing here, stomping out a tiny spark of Tartarus. If one opens up down in the great, empty desert, though, and goes unchecked for a month… there’s a problem.”

“What happens?”

“Anything. Tartarus magic screws with everything it touches in some way. We could get toxic air, unstable ground, bad water, all sorts of stuff ponies can’t easily test for. Or, we could get some kind of incredible monster loose in the wastelands. Now that has happened before. The desert Datura patrols have encountered some properly freaky stuff.”

“Uh… example?” Flitter asked.

“Let’s see here. Hm, nothing recent, but they once had to fight some kind of creeping, predatory root-structure, one that took on the shape of the creature it got a hold of. Imagine a thirty-foot tall pony made of blackened, dried bark and twig legs, walking around willy-nilly. Now imagine the Daturas’ astonishment when setting it on fire only made it easier to see at night. There’s a whole story to it, but I don’t know a lot of the details. I wasn’t there.”

“And this happens a lot?”

“No.” She sighed. “Gateways don’t normally just show up. These are special times.”

“Could the Elements of Harmony close off a gateway?” Flitter asked.

“I think so. They work with the same general magic that Allie and I are gonna use. It probably wouldn’t be as clean, though.”

“What does that mean?”

“There would be issues. The Elements are pretty explosive things, when you get right down to it, and that might not mix well in the Tartarus magic. They’d want to do it well away from other ponies, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t be surprised if all that glorious light became heat or something in the mix.”

“Yeah, how does that work?” Allie asked. “Light without heat. I’ve seen them put their necklaces together—it’s really something—but how do they not, you know, go blind or something?”

“No idea,” Foxglove said. “They’re quite primitive tools, but delicate as well. My first guess would be that it’s all one big radiation effect, with the ponies themselves safe inside some kind of magical shell.”

“Could the Elements keep them in a kind of stasis?” Flitter asked. “Keep them safe that way?”

“I doubt it. Like I said, they’re fairly simple tools.”

“But they’re so important,” Allie said.

“Yeah, but they’re old. Celestia and Luna had them made a long, long, long time ago, back when Discord was still in control.”

“Oh, and magic wasn’t well understood then,” Flitter said. “Makes sense.”

“It’s actually quite interesting. Celestia and Luna didn’t know anything about holding magic in reserve at that time, so they needed something with a quick release, but that couldn’t be accidentally activated. I guess they designed the things over the course of a week, going through hundreds of ideas.”

“Well, they work on friendship, right?” Colgate said. “That’s the idea.”

“If you share a strong bond with someone else, and you both get Elements, those Elements can be sort of attuned to you. You know how a pulse crystal works? How there’s that period of adjustment, for the thing to… what’s the word? Learn, I guess? Get accustomed to the way the pony moves, how her muscles contract with the use of magic, all that jazz. Same idea. The Elements learn to resonate with their bearers after a day or so of contact.”

“How can an object learn?” Cloudchaser asked.

“Oh, something about how the magic fires across the crystal’s internal lattice structure. That’s why crystals are so useful. They’re really reliably structured, so it’s easy for the magic to flow through them.”

“So… the friendship goes through the crystal’s lattices?”

“The magic, the magic of friendship—essentially the ambient, unfocused mental energies of two ponies who are really in sync with each other—Celestia, this is getting heavy.”

“I think it’s fascinating,” Flitter said. “Keep going.”

“Well, so that friendship, that vague, useless, sort of everywhere side-magic gets focused into these tiny reserves,” Foxglove continued. “And if you get all six together, then they reach some kind of harmonic resonance with one another. Elements of Harmony, get it? And when that happens… aw, shoot, how does it go?”

Flitter poked at the fire, and Colgate watched Allie in the dying light. Her face was sharp and grim, her eyes sunken, her mouth an almost mournful frown, the only sign of the fear and loathing that seeped through her.

“Right, I remember. You have to study these things if you get high enough in the Datura. An utter waste of time, if you ask me. Don’t tell Luna I said that.” She chuckled. “So there’s some kind of threshold that they have to reach, that they can only possibly get to if all six are together. Figuring out the math on that had to have been one of the singular most maddeningly frustrating acts of genius. Once the Elements hit that threshold, there’s a cascade effect, and everything comes rushing out in one great big torrent.”

“Why six?” Colgate asked.

Foxglove smiled. “Are you ready for this? Six was all they could afford at the time.”

Flitter and Cloudchaser laughed, and Allie smiled too. “Oh, that’s perfect,” Cloudchaser said. “The most powerful artifacts in Equestria were made on a purely financial decision. I love it.”

“Yep, that’s the reason. Hey, money makes the world go ‘round, after all, even if it’s run by a demented dictator, or, indeed, a mile off the ground in a bunch of puzzle pieces. Look at Cloudsdale.”

“I’d really rather not,” Flitter said.

“So is each Element having its own friendship title just a cosmetic thing?” Allie asked.

“Oh, not at all. I don’t pretend to understand this part one bit,” Foxglove said. “But each crystal is designed to react to those specific vibes. Laughter, for instance, would be just a dead rock if Applejack tried to use it. Well, actually, I don’t know. It might just work less well. Heck, I really don’t know about this very much.”

“Could someone make more Elements?” Colgate asked. “If all Celestia and Luna had to do was order up a batch from some miner somewhere, what’s stopping them from doing it again?”

“That sounds like that would be really useful for fighting Discord. More Elements, more magic. Right?” Flitter said.

Foxglove thought. “It’s not that simple. For them all to work, you have to have all the bearers in the same space, so the magic can resonate and combine with itself properly.”

“Ah, I see the problem.”

“Exactly. Getting all six together is enough on its own. If we had twenty of them, it’d be a nightmare. Plus, I’m not really sure if the cascade threshold would hold up. I don’t know how well it scales.”

“What happens if someone not related to the Elements becomes a close friend of them?” Allie asked. “I ask because, last time I saw them, they had some other pony with them, some gray mare. I forgot her name. She said they’d been traveling together for a while.”

“Depends on how deep the bond is,” Foxglove said. “I think if someone else gets connected well enough, they can get added in.”

“How does that work?” Colgate asked.

“I’ve got no idea. I don’t even know whether that’s happened. It’s just a theory, based on the way the things are made.”

“You’re saying that, out of all history, no one has gotten to be close friends with an Element bearer?” Allie said.

“No no, what I mean is that I don’t think the Elements have been used with an additional, non-bearer friend. Keep in mind that bearers haven’t been called to action very much. A lot of the time, Element bearers weren’t anything more than glorified friendship consultants. Their potential for shutting down dangerous magic wasn’t particularly well explored.”

“How many times were the Elements used, outside of the current generation of bearers?” Flitter asked.

“Oh…” Foxglove yawned. “Three or four times, I think. Well, once to deal with Nightmare Moon, of course. That was Celestia alone, and she didn’t have anyone else close enough to impose an Element. Not surprising. They were used once back in the late first millennium, to dissipate some kind of enchantment that got away from its caster.” She yawned again. “I’m sorry, we can talk tomorrow, if you really want to hear more history. I’m bushed.”

She grabbed another small branch and tossed it on the fire before retreating into her sleeping bag. Flitter and Cloudchaser soon followed, leaving Allie and Colgate. Neither spoke, and when Allie went to bed, she was sure to lie so she could see Colgate, who hadn’t moved a muscle since the talking stopped. She just sat at the fire’s edge, lost in thought.

They woke to rain. So close to Cloudsdale, they could see a billowing, gray umbilical cord of storm clouds trailing up to the city’s underside, spreading farther below and covering much of the farmland and empty fields surrounding. They ate under a tight dome of shield magic from Colgate, who raised no objection to the exertion. It was her first outside of training.

Cloudchaser saw no bridge or narrow part of the river inside the forest near their location, and so they had no choice, in Foxglove’s words, but to ford it. She led them in a line across the unmoving, cold waters, quiet while the pegasi complained of intense cold. They were nearing the boundaries of where the Elements had cast their very first ground-reparation spell, and would soon need to cross a gap.

“Remember those?” Foxglove asked conversationally.

They stopped at the final tree before a large, open field, its gentle rises glistening with rain on grass. The clouds had overtaken the field, and, though no one spoke, they could all feel collective hesitance reeling them back from the long, cold march.

Foxglove was the first to move, followed by Allie, then the pegasi, then Colgate. She was not afraid of the rain, only of having Allie out of sight.

“She’s waiting for the gateway. Last night proves it; she was too interested in unnatural openings to Tartarus. The way her ears stood up when Foxglove was talking. She knew I would see her, she knew she was visible. She’s taunting me.” Her expression remained completely neutral as she shoved through lengthening grass, blinking away raindrops. “She knows the next move is hers, and she knows she has the advantage. That nag, she got lucky, and now she’s flaunting her position like it was all part of her plan. She wants me to try something preemptive.”

“So where were you before you came to Ponyville?” Allie asked up ahead.

“Sorry, Allie, that’s classified,” Flitter said from behind, earning a laugh.

“It really is, though,” Foxglove said.

“Seriously? I was just joking.”

“It’s not usually like this, I promise, but I’ve been through some nasty changes recently. You don’t need to hear about them now.”

“Things get pretty serious, huh?” Cloudchaser said.

“Are you saying that this isn’t serious?” Allie asked, turning back. Her eyes connected with Colgate’s.

“Even here. That smirk, no one smirks like that. But what can I do?” Colgate stumbled in a puddle.

“Whoa, watch out there, Colgate,” Cloudchaser said. “You okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.” She put on an apologetic smile. “Sorry if I’m a little spacey right now. I’m just thinking.”

“Wanna share?” Flitter asked.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Cloudchaser asked.

Colgate paused, and the pegasi both raised their eyebrows. She had taken her pill with breakfast, as always, and found herself suddenly stupefied. The unique combination of mind-numbing medicine, body-numbing weather, and seemingly genuine curiosity from multiple sources triggered within her a deep-set, reactionary thought, which registered in her brain as a spark of the fight-or-flight impulse.

“No, Colgate, now is not the time for a scene. Smile and say something benign.” She caught up, hopping jauntily over another puddle, and said, “Just thinking about therapy.”

“You got discharged, right?” Allie asked.

“That’s right.”

“I had a friend who went to therapy once,” Cloudchaser said. “Back in Cloudsdale. Remember Banana Peel, Flitter?”

Flitter giggled. “How could I forget?”

Colgate let their conversation become white noise. “Good. In and out, no problem. Well, no more problems. I wonder if I can get Allie kicked out of the Datura for trying to sabotage me. No one asks a follow-up question for such a delicate issue so quickly. She was ready. Not surprising; I should have seen it coming, frankly.”

“You took kinesiology, right, Colgate? For pre-recs?” Flitter asked.

“No, don’t worry about me, I’ll just pretend to know what that word is,” Cloudchaser said.

“Yeah, two semesters,” Colgate said. “Physical therapy stuff, a lot of it. At least that’s where it was going to lead. I jumped ship when I saw where I was headed.”

Allie looked back at Colgate and smiled.

The ground was wet slop with stone teeth, and walking was painful and slow. They had seen the rigid vertebrae of fence posts an hour ago, showing an end to the empty field, and thought they were approaching possible shelter, or at least variance to the cold, depressing view through which they trudged. They found themselves, instead, skirting the edge of the rock farm Foxglove had said would mark the zone where they needed to begin moving with caution.

They saw only one pony, a lonesome, small form framed against brutal saw-tooth mountains in the far distance, her back bent under a large yoke. She appeared to take no notice as they passed, and they quickly left her behind. The rain stopped around five o’ clock, and they encountered their first gap a few minutes later.

Within easy walking distance of the farm, the endless cliff was wreathed with low mist and pinstripes of flowing rain. Flitter was the first to speak, asking why rain was able to fall off, where rivers were not. No one knew.

Foxglove walked them to a single fence post, leaning at an angle that indicated clearly that its counterparts had fallen away. Around its base was coiled a single, yellow flower on a narrow stem, its petals dripping. She rummaged through her saddlebags, producing a purple potion: a teleportation potion, she explained, one of Zecora’s recipes. They each took a sip, and, facing with the lone flower, were torn across the gap to rest in a wide, wet clearing, where they took a brief rest. The exact same way Daturas were traversing the rest of the world, and how Zecora had so easily navigated the shattered forest in the confusing days directly after the disaster.

“The gateway is only around a mile from here,” Foxglove said, “so I want no conversation from here on. If you need to ask me something, now’s your time until we meet with Zecora and ascertain that it’s safe.”

No one had any questions; they had spent an entire day on the various perils a leak of Tartarus magic could create. It was immediately evident that some of them had not come to pass, but there were still the possibilities of many other, subtler dangers—like a voice amplifying to deafening volumes inside the enchanted air.

They did not stop until first seeing a misty helix of long, vertical hairs in the distance, seeming to originate from behind the trees and fade into the backdrop of dark clouds. It didn’t take long for Flitter to confirm that it was coming from the gateway, though Foxglove said they would need to get closer before determining what it was. No one moved quickly.

They met Zecora and her team on the edge of a shallow pond beside a pair of stumps, some three hundred feet from the gateway. Zecora smiled and said simply, “the air is fine.”

Her team consisted entirely of zebras, the same Colgate had seen close to a month ago, with Spike: two in undecorated, wooden masks; one with small, glass balls hanging in her braided mane; one covered in spiraling fur designs; and one with a rickety wedge of kindling strapped to her back. While everyone got acquainted, and Foxglove and Zecora exchanged information, Colgate watched, paying particular attention to Allie, who spoke with the two masked zebras. The three laughed at something one zebra said, and Colgate studied Allie’s face for signs of false emotion. She couldn’t be sure in the dim lighting.

They followed a rut in the ground to a break in the trees, where Zecora gestured at the clearing. The gateway was a large circle of unreflective black, totally flat against the textured forest floor, offering no sense of dimension or content. There was no hard edge; it was as though the ground had simply been erased in one spot, and might continue to fade away if left unchecked.

Flitter and Cloudchaser gasped lightly before Colgate, who took in her surroundings without interest. Trickles of rainwater fell from the trees, collected in dimples close to the gateway, and then, when they were close enough, turned back upwards to become the faint hairs they had seen from a distance. The water fell upwards off of a slick, rocky depression, divested of nearly all of its topsoil. Small patches of grass held on, strangely isolated in the barren stone divot.

Foxglove doffed her disc and stood it up against a tree. “Zecora’s team and the pegasi are coming with me to clear the surrounding mile or so. Colgate, Allie, I want this place empty of ambient magic, as much as you can make it. Don’t worry about that gravity-reversing magic; that’s coming out of the gateway itself. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Colgate smiled politely, dread and excitement moving sluggishly together inside her. “Yes, ma’am.”

The distance was punctuated with occasional grand, sweeping sounds as Zecora’s Bird Datura took off to inspect the higher spaces of the forest, and it put Colgate in a strange state of calm. While Allie used her horn and a large book with laminated pages to find unnaturally enchanted objects or pockets of air, Colgate followed behind her and extinguished them with a simple dispelling spell, which Foxglove had taught her. “Good for most small-scale Tartarus leaks,” she had said.

Allie concentrated on a bush growing mostly inside the reverse-gravity area, and put it behind her. “I’m glad you’re out of therapy. That must feel nice.”

“Yeah, I’m happy to be done.” Colgate stopped, eyes tracing a leaf as it swung on a tiny current around her leg. The rain had resumed, but she didn’t mind. She frowned thoughtfully, knowing Allie was watching. “Can I share something? It’s a little personal.”

“Of course.”

“This isn’t easy to say, but my therapist told me talking about difficult things like this can help, especially when I’m not feeling too hot.”

“Are you not? You seemed fine today.”

“Aw, you know how I am,” Colgate said lightly. “It’s funny, I never told my therapist this. I didn’t want to make it into a whole big deal, but I was actually thinking about suicide a while back.”

The silence was exactly what she had expected. The Bird Datura flapped noisily nearby.

“Colgate, really?” Allie asked. She was quiet, her voice respectful, worried, and disbelieving.

“Right off the top of the hospital. Can you believe it?”

“Well… no, not really. I mean… wow, what? I’m sorry, I don’t really know what to say.”

“Nothing. You don’t have to say anything. I’m not going to do it, I know that. It was a momentary impulse. Well, more like a day-long impulse.”

“Why?”

“It can’t be that hard to imagine why. Look at what I did to myself.”

“But… still. That’s not the way to deal with things, Cole.”

“Cole? Good try.” “I’m aware.”

“But you’re not thinking about it now. Uh, can you get this for me?”

Colgate dispelled a displaced bird’s nest, watching curiously as it pirouetted when the magic left it.

“Exactly.” She watched Allie’s faint shadow on the water, trying to determine, from her stance, how she felt, and whether she needed more material before pursuing the line of conversation, an utter fabrication. After a moment more of quiet, she continued. “I don’t know for sure, but it could have been the nadir of my life.”

“You’re not sure?”

Colgate smiled to herself. “I had a very confusing upbringing, let’s say.”

“And… did this, er, contribute to those feelings later? I’m sorry—just tell me to back off if I’m getting too personal.”

“No, you’re fine.” “You’re perfect.” “If you must know, I think the biggest part of it was all the nonsense with you and Spike. It’s too much for one pony to keep track of.”

“You did an okay job,” Allie said, and Colgate thought she could hear bitterness.

“Too okay, and that was the problem. You pointed that out to me quite clearly.”

Allie hummed assent, and dispelled a small button of water herself. Colgate knew what it meant; she was giving her space to talk and think. She was buying the story.

“I’m glad I came to my senses.”

“Me too.” She sat in the water for a second, thought evident on her face. “Isn’t it weird how things work out? You and I were fighting a week ago, and now, here I am, listening to your innermost feelings.” She smiled softly. “And I’m happy to do it, Colgate. You know that, right?”

“I’ll confess a little worry about that, actually.”

“Well, you needn’t. I still don’t exactly… well, you know. We’re in a truce.”

“Of course, of course.” The Bird Datura crashed through tree branches in the distance. “That’s part of the appeal. I don’t have to worry about freaking you out too much, because you have no real intimacy with me.” She feigned ironic laughter. “Do you want me to pay for this therapy session?”

Allie laughed. “Don’t worry about it. This is what non-enemies are for.”

When the others came back, Allie and Colgate were taking turns lobbing stones into the gravity well, watching them shoot upwards before crossing the boundary and coming down in massive parabolas, ending somewhere in the trees. They had used a different spell to check for magical anomalies after Allie had thought she had found them all, dispelled the scraps, and waited.

“Good, and we’re clear for a mile around,” Foxglove said, surveying the area. “This gateway hasn’t bled too much into the environment, although Zecora’s team is going to have to block off certain sections of the nearby river, just to be safe.” She removed the chains from her saddlebags. “Flitter, Cloudchaser, you’ll be in the air to circle the area. Anything approaching, tell us immediately. Colgate, get these chains secured to that disc; I’m gonna have Weteck help you hang it over that gateway. Allie, rest up and prepare for your sigil.”

“Do I have to be upside-down?” Allie asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

“It would have been nice to know that going in,” Cloudchaser said.

“Daturas don’t always know what’s going to happen to them. I want you all to be as flexible as you can.” She shook water out of her mane. “Besides, you don’t have to worry about it. You fly.”

“It’s the thought that counts.”

“It’s fine,” Allie said. “I’m not afraid of a little flip in my internal gravity. Huh, never thought I’d say that.”

Colgate tuned out the rest of their speech as she slipped the chains’ latches through rectangular slots in the disc while one zebra placed a circle of small, spherical potions around the gateway. The Bird Datura helped her move the disc over, where Colgate placed the chains into the potions’ mouths, just wide enough to admit the first few links, where they stuck as if in concrete.

“Think of those like tiny cinder blocks,” the Bird Datura said. “They’ll hold on to anything immersed in the liquid.”

Colgate nodded absentmindedly. Part of her knew that she should be more interested in the array of new magic she was being exposed to, but Allie was too much of a distraction. She lingered on one potion to watch Allie from the tops of her eyes, but what she saw served only to stir up more dull anger. She had expected Allie to appear thoughtful, to contemplate what she had heard; the lie was meant to entice her into attempting a betrayal that, in reality, would not hurt Colgate. Instead, she looked troubled.

“She’s toying with me, even now,” Colgate thought. “I know I was too subtle to arouse suspicion on my own. The nag must have been hiding her own preexisting suspicions all along.” She tugged on the chain, hurting her hoof, testing its placement. The potion held fast. “She’s taken the single sign of friendliness from me and turned it into some kind of portent in her own head, and now she’s pretending to be concerned.” In a way, it was admirable, she reflected. False concern as a default reaction to uncertainty was not something she had ever thought of for herself.

“So I got nowhere. I have to assume she’s sticking to her plan, whatever it is. She has no reason to change it, if she’s just going to disregard my conversation. I should have known she’d be too suspicious to try to fool.”

“There, that one looks good,” Weteck, the Bird Datura, said. She let the platform fall upwards, as instructed, and Weteck took off after it, transitioning easily into the gateway’s repellent force as she flapped to stay level with the swaying platform. She grabbed it just as it began to tumble back to the ground as it crossed the boundary on the backswing.

And then, the idea came. It was so simple that Colgate could not help but smile to herself as she moved around the gateway, catching a thrown chain in her magic and placing it in another potion. No one was watching her closely, and Allie, even distracted as she was with taunting Colgate, seemed engrossed in another thought.

She lowered her head as if to inspect the potion. With a final quick look around, she lit her horn and allowed an easy pulse of telekinesis to tip the potion, spilling half its contents. The falling rain and gray forest interior helped mask her light blue magic haze, which held for only a couple seconds. The chain was immersed only to the last quarter of its ending link.

She could only weaken one other hold safely, and, in a matter of minutes, she stood between Flitter and Cloudchaser while the Bird Datura tested the platform, suspended defiantly above the gateway. She hopped up and down on it, upside-down, and Colgate waited with grim self-loathing for it to snap prematurely. She had not anticipated a test of its stability, and knew she should have.

“Okay, feels all right,” Weteck said. “Allie, you be careful. It’s still a bit wobbly.”

“Not surprising,” Allie said quietly, looking up at the platform.

“Flitter, Cloudchaser, start flying,” Foxglove said. “Be careful not to cross into the gateway’s gravity column.”

The pegasi took off, and Allie put her head over the edge to let her mane fall up.

“Colgate, stay with the zebras. You’re the ones who respond if the pegasi see anything. Weteck, you’re watching the platform?”

“And the pony on it, yes ma’am,” Weteck said.

Foxglove nodded. “I’ll need you to help me get inside when it comes time.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Colgate watched Allie work, her book on the platform’s outer edge, pages flat to the ceiling. She could not look away, not even for a second. Allie’s revenge was tied to her knowledge of magic, and there was only the one opportunity that Colgate saw.

She breathed deeply through her nose to relax, as she had done before hundreds of surgeries. That past seemed too distant, part of another life, even though she could still remember the details of her final patient’s condition. Operating on another life required nerves of steel and indomitable patience, and she had both. Feeling herself so close to an unnamable betrayal, she was nonetheless in control of her thoughts and her emotions. Her heart beat slowly, and her blood felt cool and distant. In her head, she played through all the possible scenarios. “Allie falls up, and eventually out and back down—I can be sad, devastated even if the Bird Datura or pegasi fail to save her. Allie stumbles but stays on the platform—I can be afraid for her. Someone notices the faulty knots and fixes them—I can apologize, pretend to be stupid, accept a reprimand. At least I’ve bought some time. She’s going to be freaked out regardless, unbalanced.”

“Looking good up here,” Cloudchaser called.

“Am I prepared for her blood to be on my hooves?” She let no emotion betray itself on her face, and smiled up at the pegasi. “Awesome! We’re looking great down here too!”

“Zecora, did you already get some of the weeds around the rim?” Foxglove asked.

“We have got some in a saddlebag already,” Zecora said. “I intend to study them at my house when I return.”

“Very good. Keep me informed. I’m curious.”

“They’re not my hooves. If she perishes, it’s her own fault,” Colgate thought. “No pony acts without sufficient cause, and her actions have fed my own. There is no crime in self defense.”

Allie paused and flashed Colgate an inverted smile, which she returned. Her mouth was still sore; she hadn’t been to a dentist since bludgeoning herself.

“What’s more, she should have checked the chains herself. If her life is on the line, then she’s a fool not to make sure that line is secure.” Her thoughts stopped and restarted suddenly, resuming from a different track. “And what if I’m the one whose life is on the line? What if the trap has already been laid?” She looked around, concealing her worry. “Sigils can do multiple things, I think. What if its other design is to destroy me? If so, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“What’cha looking at, Colgate?” Foxglove asked.

Colgate moved her eyes around in a dramatic, wide circle before answering. “Nothing really. Just trying not to get too worried, you know?” She looked up at Allie, whose sigil was mostly complete. Her calm thoughts cracked.

“Almost ready up there?” a zebra asked.

“I think I hear something,” Colgate snapped.

“What?” Foxglove asked.

“I can’t tell. It sounds… I can’t tell.”

“Zecora, go with her.”

Without waiting, Colgate turned and trotted into the forest. She felt no better as the sigil vanished behind the first trees, and her trot turned to a gallop as she tried to put more distance between her and Allie. Zecora crashed behind.

The structured, deliberate thoughts from before were washed away in a sea of noise and rain as Colgate moved through the trees, frequently picking the most difficult looking routes. A simple direction stuck out to her: away. Get away, and the sigil might not catch her. She imagined it, detached and wheeling through the forest like a possessed table saw, careening off trees and heading always for her, flattening and elongating as needed, always unhindered. Her imagination blazed with the image, and she focused randomly on the phrase “death from above.”

Rain splattered and puddles broke under her hooves, and she was hardly aware of her own body moving. Operating purely on instinct, she pushed herself onward without thinking, wanting only to go away.

“Colgate, stop!” Zecora shouted, and something grabbed her, making her nearly sprawl forward. Zecora moved to block her path. “What is this?”

One look back, and Colgate’s fear raveled back up. She grinned sheepishly and adopted an embarrassed voice. “Sorry. I think I got carried away.”

“You are certainly right, you did. Explain yourself.”

She thought for as long as she dared, searching for an alternative explanation for her rash behavior.

“Okay, come with me. We’re going back,” Zecora said impatiently. “Daturas don’t run headlong into danger, are you aware of that?”

“I thought I was going to chase it away.”

“A cute idea, but a stupid one.”

When they got back, the sigil was gone, Allie stood right side up on the forest floor, and Foxglove looked at Colgate. She didn’t recognize the emotion on her face at first.

“So, Colgate, would you like to explain why the platform wasn’t secured correctly?” Foxglove asked.

Colgate frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

The Masquerade

Chapter Sixty-four

The Masquerade

“Look at her,” Colgate said evenly. She and Foxglove stood behind a slender tree while the others tried to look busy by the empty eye of the gateway, except Allie, who stared unabashed.

Foxglove sighed and looked. “And what am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Look at her. Don’t tell me that’s not anger you see on her face.”

“What are you getting at?”

Colgate gave her a patient smile. “Come on. If I’ve been noticing the way she’s been looking at me this whole time, you certainly have.”

“No one’s looking at you, Colgate.”

“She’s been watching me since we left the spa, just waiting for the right moment to take her revenge. She nearly did it now, inside that sigil.”

Foxglove thought. “You’re telling me that Allie has been plotting to hurt you, and tried to do it just now. How?”

“A smaller sigil, painted inside the larger one, would be my first guess,” Colgate said. “Look, logistics aren’t important. It’s plain as day on her face. She hates me. She’s been trying to demoralize me this whole trip.”

“And how is that?” Foxglove asked calmly.

“Sneers, smirks, arrogant gestures. She wants me to know she has me at a disadvantage.”

“So you mishandled the chains as a way to get her to fall off?”

Colgate jerked her head, indignation firing wildly through her thoughts. “I knew it. I knew you would take her side.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just trying to defend myself.” Her voice rose. “But you want to get in the way of that.”

“You’re crazy!” Allie cried. “No one’s trying to get in your way. You’re getting in our way.”

“Liar!”

“Colgate, stop,” Foxglove said.

Colgate looked at her for a moment, but sat.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m dismissing your concerns. Rest assured, I will look into this when we return to Ponyville, but, for now, I want you to know that your behavior is absolutely unacceptable. With all due respect, consider yourself no longer a part of my team.”

“I’m getting kicked out for defending myself.”

“There is no proof that Allie had any intentions to harm you.”

“I can see it in her face!”

“Are you sure you’re not simply misinterpreting things? Did she say anything?”

“Of course not. She’s not dumb. She knows she’d get caught for something like that.”

Foxglove chewed her lip. “I see. Well, with nothing concrete, I’m afraid your claims have no ground to stand on.”

“Hm.”

“Unfortunately, Minuette Colgate, you are hereby dismissed from the Ponyville Datura.”

Colgate looked at Foxglove, then past her at Allie, who looked back coldly. “Fine. If it’s gonna be with traitors and conspirators anyway, then I’ll be more than happy to go.” She got up and made to head back.

“You can’t get back to Ponyville on your own. There’s a gap.”

“Then I’ll wait there.”

They replaced the potions Colgate had poured out, reset the platform, and Allie was able to cast her spell without issue. The rain stopped, and Foxglove, with the Bird Datura’s help, went into the dimensionless gateway. They waited for half an hour before they reemerged, fur sandy and windblown. They got Allie back down, the sigil dissipated, and the gateway was no more. The black eye blinked and did not reopen, and a fine sprinkle of rain followed, finally pulled back down from its magical reversal.

It was early evening when they reached the edge and found Colgate, as she had said, waiting for them. She walked morosely at the back of the group and accepted her teleportation potion without comment. On the other side, she broke from them and walked along the rock farm’s dark edge. While they set up camp in a thicket a quarter of a mile outside the farmland, she was making her own meager campfire in a dry gully.

Zecora’s team was still with them, but would go into the Everfree Forest the following day. While they slept, and Allie stared into the fire, Foxglove retreated into the trees with a flat rock on her back. Cloudchaser was in her sleeping bag, and Flitter sat nearby, still wide awake.

The day’s events moved in Flitter’s memory. Colgate’s sudden fearful reaction had drawn their attention, and then, a minute later, Allie’s platform snapped up, nearly flinging her off. Only one chain had come out of its potion, but the uproar around her had been lurid and frenzied. From above, Flitter was reminded of chess pieces suddenly losing their nerve to careen around the board, frightened by something she could not see. They got Allie down as quickly as they could, by which time it had become clear to all what had happened.

Personally, Flitter had been shocked, but didn’t show it against everyone else’s angry self-assurance. Of course it was Colgate, they all agreed; she had been a toxin since the beginning, since even before that. Even Cloudchaser, who had forgiven her just as genuinely when she had apologized for her earlier actions, said that she should have known.

There was no way for them to know, as far as Flitter was concerned.

She got up from the camp and passed Allie, pausing a second to look at her—her face and stance both pensive—and walked to a nearby hoofpath. Stars turned the dust to silver and the leaves to shingles, and she could see the glow of Colgate’s fire in the distance, becoming a slow strobe as Flitter moved past uneven ground.

Where the hoofpath bent around a small pond, there was the change in ground color that marked where wilderness gave way to the Pie rock farm. She flapped to the farm’s edge and looked at the tiny house, its lights off. It took her eyes a minute to adjust, and she was able to see the square imposition of a well on the other side of the land. Her heart skipped a beat when the shadow moved, but she quickly saw that it was a pony, almost invisible in the darkness.

She remained still, watching, waiting for a voice to break the tension she felt pulling at her insides. As the silhouette drew closer, she realized with a start that her light coat color made her obvious in the night. The pony walked straight for her, slowly, but with purpose.

Flitter did her best to not recoil when the strange pony stepped into view, still a good distance away. The mare’s eyes were a dull gold and stared out at Flitter with docile confidence. Her slate gray mane was cropped short, like her tail, and her coat looked soft and damp, as though she had just walked through rain, or gotten out of a shower.

“Hello?” Flitter said.

The pony made no move.

“Do you need something?”

The mare lowered her head, but remained where she was. Flitter took a step in her direction, but stopped as the mare backed away.

“I won’t hurt you. What’s wrong?”

The mare turned and walked back toward the house, but Flitter could not see whether she entered it.

The next morning, Colgate woke up hungry and miserable, and it was a few minutes before she remembered why she was alone. She remained where she was for fifteen minutes after the other Daturas passed her, and then crept out of her gully and started after them. She didn’t bother to eat of the food she had packed, and had only her morning pill with a sip of water.

Focus came and went, as it frequently did in the first hour of waking. Thoughts decoupled and became loose ideas, and emotions softened into indistinct suggestions. It was a nice day, she recognized, but did not appreciate the sun on her cold body. The air smelled wonderful, but it brought her no pleasure. She knew that Allie had gotten the best of her, and Foxglove had betrayed her in her moment of supplication, but she felt only vague unease.

Before, she had been able to focus on another pony, and so turn such unformed emotions into concrete plans, fueled by defensive anger. Alone, with only the ideas of Allie and the other Daturas to keep her company, no feelings crystallized around her unease. She simply walked, unthinking, across featureless grassland. She knew that it, too, was not right for her, but could do nothing to allay the sense of wrongness that made every step seem like a mistake.

When she finally gave in to her aching stomach and sat down for lunch, she saw the first sign of a distant form, moving in her direction. The pony stopped beside a tree Colgate had passed twenty minutes ago and waited, and Colgate did nothing. They both waited, watching each other, for ten minutes before the strange mare got up again and began walking. Colgate let her come.

She was the color of dusty amethyst with serious, murky eyes and a severe face that Colgate recognized would make many others uncomfortable. She stopped short and looked around, and Colgate did the same, as if to confirm that they were alone.

“Where is town?” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“North a ways. I’m headed there right now.” It was the first Colgate had spoken since leaving the Daturas in the forest.

“May I follow you?”

Colgate nodded and got up. “Sure. Where’d you come from?”

“Nowhere. Let me follow you, please.”

“I said okay.” She put her back to the pony, who walked behind her at a distance. Neither said a word.

As they moved, Colgate felt no urge to look back at her follower. Her mind was elsewhere, trying to form coherent thoughts on the fragments of things she remembered feeling so painfully the day before. She knew she had been betrayed, that her trust had been unfounded to a greater level than she had expected, but what to do about it eluded her. Trapped in her own solitude, she could only plod ahead as Cloudsdale Farms grew before her.

“What is the town?” the pony asked.

“Huh?”

“What is the town?”

“The one we’re going to? It’s called Ponyville. Population of about two hundred, I’d guess.”

“Oh.”

Colgate frowned. She didn’t like the mare’s terseness.

“Do you live there?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The second sound of hoofsteps died away, and Colgate turned to look, but couldn’t tell what the mare was looking at. She faced south, where they had come from, but her face showed no hints of emotion.

“I don’t think I like this,” Colgate suddenly said. She got up and turned away, surprised at her own words. They had come out without warning, with no planning or forethought.

“What do you not like?”

“There’s something in the air, and I don’t know what it is,” Colgate continued, more for herself than the mare behind her, who was already just a fantasy in her mind. “I can’t think. I should be able to think about stuff, but those faculties seem dampened.” She stepped over a patch of flowers and watched a butterfly corkscrew away from her. “There’s no one out here.” “She is.”

Colgate shook her head and looked back at the mare, following but not making eye contact.

“Allie’s gone, I think, with the others. You’re here, but you’re nothing. I can’t…” She sighed. The thought was gone. For one electric moment, she thought she had found it, the catalyst to bring her back to her old self. It faltered and faded just the same as everything else. “I remember thinking about myself a lot, but I can’t do that anymore.”

The mare nodded, never taking her eyes off the ground.

“She’s judging me. She’s sizing me up.” Colgate frowned again, looked back at the mare, but nothing grew in her head. She nudged a blade of grass with a hoof and tried to focus.

“Tired?” the mare asked.

“Go on. I need to stop.”

“I do not know the way on my own.”

Colgate flashed her a dark look. “Likely story.”

The mare said nothing, but bowed her head.

“Good, we understand each other.” She sat in the grass and looked to the north, where Cloudsdale Farms cut a segmented horizon of pale blue and cotton white. The mare sat as well, still looking south.

A gentle breeze blew, and she could hear the small drone of cicadas over the sound of work in the distance. Grass and flowers grew all around, and there were no hoofpaths nearby. In her mind, she knew she should be at peace, that most ponies would feel that, but she could not. There was too much confusion buried in her head, lost under drugs and the uncertainty she faced at being truly alone for the first time since she could remember. The Colgate who had ceaselessly lied and abused herself for the audience of her friends seemed a strange memory, one of many; the Colgate who had sabotaged Allie Way the day before seemed an oddly concise fantasy, one she was already not completely certain she had lived.

There was one thing only that she knew for sure: there were two of them in the field, alone. She could not imagine what it meant.

A cloud passed over the sun, and Colgate didn’t move. The mare got up to walk around a little, and Colgate didn’t look. Her eyes were fixed on a darkening silo near the middle of the farmland, her mind fixed on the past.

When at last she got up, she did so without warning the mare, and nearly left her behind. They walked along Cloudsdale Farms’ border, not stopping even after dark, and made it to Ponyville by two in the morning. The mare said she had nowhere to go, and so Colgate let her sleep on her easy chair.

When Colgate woke the next day, the first thing she was aware of was a sapping, deadening hunger that felt like a solid weight inside her. She went to the kitchen to see her strange visitor gone, and a note on the floor. It was not from her, but Foxglove, telling her to come to the spa when she had a chance.

She met Foxglove and an unfamiliar, pale green unicorn in the inactive sauna, and sat down. She still felt lost from the day before.

“So, Colgate, it’s good news-bad news time,” Foxglove said. “Good news first. You’re not kicked out of the Datura entirely.”

She kept silent.

“Really? I was expecting an argument for that. Guess my morning just opened up. Well, anyway, if it was my decision, I’d have you out like yesterday’s news, but one of my superiors wants you in Canterlot. This is Chilly Clouds; she’ll be taking you to where you need to go.”

“Pleasure,” Chilly Clouds said, shaking Colgate’s hoof weakly.

“Likewise,” Colgate said, inclining her head.

“You’ll be living with someone else—another Datura, don’t worry—but Chilly here volunteered to be your tour guide, so to speak,” Foxglove said. “Now for the bad news.” She sighed and produced a small, metal collar, which Colgate recognized immediately. She had put them on patients before surgery countless times. “This is a magical suppression collar. I’m sure you’ve seen them.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Colgate, there’s a very real reason I want you wearing this.”

“Are drugs not enough for you now?” The spark was returning, and she clung to it. “Are you not content with—”

“You’re going to run out of pills.”

Colgate paused. “I sent in a refill request last week.”

Foxglove reached behind her and pulled out a newspaper, dated a couple weeks ago. “Manehattan Pharmacy Supplier Goes Under,” she read. “Silver Scales Pharmaceuticals, which, along with many other large businesses in the upper west side, has been hemorrhaging money since the Radio Disaster, reported its profit margins to be the lowest since the company’s formation thirty-five years ago. Let’s see here.” She scanned down the page. “Yeah, here we go. Including the production of certain specialty psychological medications. Ponies are urged to try to find replacements as soon as possible, though alternatives in Manehattan are proving harder and harder to find, according to the—well, anyway.”

Colgate only sat, looking intently into the newspaper’s other side.

“I’m working on finding another supplier as well, but it’s not easy,” Foxglove said. “Your drug isn’t exactly mass-produced.”

Her earlier aggression was gone when she replied. “You don’t have any special sources?”

“We can look into putting you into some kind of long-standing hypnosis, if you want.”

“Why not a supply of calming potions? Surely those exist,” Colgate said.

“It would be too expensive. Besides, you couldn’t take potions with you like you can a bottle of pills.”

“I need something, Foxglove.”

“I am aware of your situation. Now, let me ask this: how long can you hold out without your pills? Can you conceivably stretch them to just one a day?”

Colgate thought, with some difficulty. “I don’t think so. It would be dangerous, at best.”

Foxglove shrugged. “There’s not much I can tell you, Colgate. I’ll do what I can to get you more medication, but, in the meantime, I want you wearing that suppression collar. You might consider going back to your therapist as well.”

Colgate glanced at Chilly Clouds, who looked back with a doleful expression. “Yeah, probably.”

* * * * * *

While Lumb had prepared the museum for his masquerade, only a day away, Pinkie and Big Mac had covered the town in fliers, signs, and spools of ribbon to celebrate. What had been a stodgy source of gossip and town folklore had transformed into a site of intrigue, “a box of sun and surprises, waiting to be torn open,” as Lumb was quoted in the town newspaper.

The sudden festive air, however dampened in a dim afternoon, was still a floral affront as the nine friends stood in a tight circle, close to alone in a corner of the hotel grounds. Octavia had brought her cello out, and Applejack had fashioned a crude memorial out of a tree branch, Trixie’s name carved in with an imperfect magical wand, which more resembled a flower. They had laid it on the grass near a multi-hued flowerbed, predominantly blue, and, with heads bowed, tried to tune out the rest of the world.

Rainbow had no more tears to cry, and so stared bitterly at the flowers. It was Rarity who spoke first.

“She was a good friend, though we only knew her a short time. As we live our lives, we come to recognize ponies with integrity, and with passion, and to connect with them. It is these qualities that I could tell, even so early, that Trixie had in the fullest degree.”

“Here, here,” Pinkie said quietly.

“I’ll never forget her,” Fluttershy said. “Um, I mean, I also didn’t know her that well, but, well, she made a lot of us happy, and helped us whenever she could, which wasn’t very often. Um, anyway, though, she was a kind mare… that is, when you got to know her. Um, which we did. Oh, never mind.”

“I’ll miss you, Trixie,” Rainbow said, putting a wing around Fluttershy. “That’s the truth. I messed up real bad. I hope, wherever you are, if you’re in some kind of afterlife or something, you can look down and see how sorry I am for screwing around like I did. If not…” She paused, her voice catching. “Well, if not, then you’re at peace, I guess.” She sighed, and whispered to herself, “I’ll miss you.”

No one else spoke for a time, and they kept their heads bowed for a full minute before Twilight looked up and ignited her horn. A small drop of light formed on its tip and shot up over the flowerbed, exploding in a web of blue and silver threads.

“May Celestia guide you through life, and Luna through death,” Whooves said softly. “We all must travel from this world into the next, come what will. Even the goddesses must someday make the unifying passage. Though I never had the pleasure to know her, I can say from what I’ve heard that this Trixie was a rare breed, a mare of both inestimable kindness and obdurate vim. A young flame, too bright to fill our night skies for long. A heart so big, it couldn’t be allowed to live. A righteous spirit of love and fancy, a star for us all to orbit. A delicate flower to—er, sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Terribly sorry.”

“Be this just a simple gesture,” Twilight said, “let it nonetheless fill us with the comfort we need to endure. Trixie Lulamoon, may you be at rest.” They bowed their heads again, and, after a moment, Applejack kicked a little dirt onto her wooden carving while Octavia began a dirge.

When it ended, they hugged, except Octavia, and went back to the room in subdued silence. Rainbow did not cry, but made a pot of complimentary coffee, which some of them shared.

The spells were done, and there was nothing to do but wait. Their new ship was on the way, courtesy of a connection with Papa Astra, and would be arriving some time shortly after Lumb’s masquerade.

Rainbow and Fluttershy watched TV on the bed while Big Mac and Twilight looked out the window. In the daytime, the city was bright and happy, a decorated Tinseltown in anticipation of the museum’s metamorphosis. At night, the streets were glowing veins of activity, with crowds moving constantly, contracting at stoplights and expanding across sidewalks and into brilliant shops.

“I really haven’t gotten to appreciate this town,” Twilight said to no one in particular. “I’ve been cooped up in Octavia’s mansion so much, I didn’t even get to do any sightseeing.”

“Pinkie and I were at the chocolate shop last night,” Fluttershy said.

“Right there on the corner?”

“Yes, that one. Oh, Twilight, their hot chocolate is heavenly. It’s been so long since I’ve had anything like it.”

“Is that where Pinkie is now?” Big Mac asked.

“I think she’s with Rarity, looking for something to wear tomorrow,” Rainbow said. No one spoke, and she grunted. “I’m fine, by the way. Got all my mourning done. Okay?”

“Sorry, Rainbow,” Twilight said, turning away from the window. “I’m never really sure how to approach someone at a time like this.”

“I know, I know, you’re fine. I’m just saying, you know, we can get back to normal. I’m not… devastated anymore.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Life goes on, Twilight. I’ll live.” She got up. “Although all this talk of chocolate does have me suddenly not so tired. Twilight, wanna come? You gotta see this place.”

They went outside, and, circling around the hotel, saw the museum in the distance. It had been an impressive blotch of darkness from above their first day, but, from the sidewalk, it stopped both of them. In only six days, Lumb had turned it from a sedate, somber crypt into a celebrating, flashing, glittering mound of color and lights the likes of which the building’s conservative form seemed to contradict. It appeared as a heart, with bold checks of color curving along its walls and electric stents of ribbon sticking off and away to form a loose half-dome. No light shone from within, but, without, torches and electric lights mingled to produce a wash of paleness, at once sharp and fluid, turning the distant aspect into something almost organic, a dark dewdrop around a great spindle.

“C’mon, Twi, you’re gonna love their s’mores shake!” Rainbow called, galloping down the sidewalk and taking to the air briefly to avoid colliding with a slower moving couple. Twilight took after her, unconsciously smiling to herself.

Whooves was Octavia’s only companion in the other room, and she tried not to take offense at the way he stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. She was tuning her cello, which required her to stand; she knew how it put her body on display. It was one of the things she had received compliments on the most when her career was at its peak.

“My apologies for rambling at our little ceremony,” Whooves said. “It wasn’t my intention. I simply wanted to honor her, the mare I never met.”

“I did not mind it,” Octavia said truthfully.

“Oh. That’s good. I know certain others tend to dislike my loquacity.”

“My sister can be the same way. She does not have your vocabulary, but she also has a hard time stopping once she gets started.”

“Yes, she’s a card, she is. Er, Pinkie Pie, right? Sorry, you’re all still kind of new to me, you especially. You don’t—”

“Talk much, yes, I know. I am a quiet pony.”

“Perfectly respectable, Miss Melody. Perfectly respectable.”

She did not respond, except to glance at him as she loosened a string.

“So, this friend of yours, this Lumb. Is he some kind of precog?”

“I would not know.”

“He seems to know where and when to show up for things a lot. Like waiting for me outside the hotel a few days ago, or when Twilight said he knew to wait until evening until consulting her about your house.”

“Perhaps he is, then.”

“Are you trying to concentrate? Or have I done something wrong?”

She rolled her eyes. “When I have something to say, I will say it. Please do not take my silence as a comment on your company.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far! Though I appreciate the assurance.”

She nodded and played a scale for herself, then, impulsively, took up the bow in her magic and played it again. It was nearly as smooth as with her hooves.

“Neat trick. I presume Twilight let you do that?”

“It would be better for you to ask her about it.”

He laughed. “If you want to get rid of me, you need only say so.”

She put her instrument down. “Doctor, if you are trying to win my favor with self-deprecation, you are wasting your time. I find it neither funny nor endearing.”

He nodded and saluted. “Duly noted, my dear! No more self-pitying Whooves around you, you can count on it!”

She got on the bed and turned on the TV, switching it off a news station to a black and white comedy, several decades older than she.

“No news? You’re not the type.”

“I read the newspaper whenever I can get one. It is much better than the television. Details are not omitted as frequently.”

“Well, you’ve got me there,” he said, climbing in next to her. “So, let me ask you this. It’s a touch personal.”

“By all means.”

“I know I joked a little about the others not liking me that much, but do you suppose it could be true? I don’t simply speak of impatience; I’m talking about outright dislike.”

“What gives you this impression?”

“Oh, you know, stray comments here and there.”

“I really do not know how the others feel about you.” She scooted to the side, away from him. “You should ask them.”

“Ah, but that would defeat the whole purpose of this exchange, my friend. I want the impressions of an impartial party, such as yourself. And, I confess, I am not as nervous with you as I am with some of the others.”

“Like whom?”

“Applejack and Rarity, mostly. They seem to have the least patience for ponies like me.”

“If Rarity disliked you, you would know it. She would not tell you so, but you would be well aware. Applejack would simply tell you. She is, after all, the Element of Honesty.”

“Ah yes, yes, that is true. So you believe them to accept me?”

“I do.”

He sighed and moved closer. “I know it’s silly to worry about such things with friends I just met, but a bit of an anemic sense of self is one of my more sorrowful conceits. Ah, what joy to be with someone so firm and well grounded.”

“You are starting to sound like Lumb.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“No. He showed himself to me as well, and turned out to be a weak stallion.” She scooted closer to the edge of the bed, noticing as she did so a slight pull on her tail as some of her hairs came free.

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know, then, that I’m made of sterner stuff than that odd duck.” He slid closer. “Much sterner stuff.”

“Do not think that I am unaware of your coming closer,” Octavia said.

“Terribly sorry, Miss Melody. It’s just instinct for me—getting close to the one providing comfort. Something about one’s instinctual closeness to one’s mother, I’m sure. A psychologist would likely have a field day with me.” He laughed. “Oop! There’s that self-deprecation again. My apologies; I’ll zip it up tighter.”

“Just know that I do not enjoy cuddling. Keep your distance.”

“What if I were to break into tears? You’d have to hold me tight to keep me from bawling myself silly, Miss Octavia.”

She got up, closing her eyes and mastering her tone. “You are free to indulge that fantasy when you are in bed with one of the others. Not me.”

He laughed, and she rolled her eyes. “Octavia, you have some bite to you! Yet I cannot help but laugh. Ah, queen laugh, she comes when she wants. That’s the way to tell when a laugh is fake or the real article, you know. A false laugh will ask permission before making her entrance, but a real laugh, she will simply come and say ‘I am here.’ You have no choice but to bow to queen laugh.”

“What is all this?”

“Nothing, nothing, just a slice of personal philosophy. Pretty, no?”

“I am sure Twilight would love to hear it. Come, let us find her. I need to go walking anyway.”

“A walk down the corridor, to our dear friend, Twilight Sparkle? And with the eminent Octavia Melody as companion, how could I resist?”

She opened the door and went first, so he could not turn around and see her face.

With Pinkie’s help and Celestia’s treasury note, Rarity had bought them all costumes for the masquerade. Applejack had not known that full regalia would be required, and the others had simply not given it any thought.

They stayed around the hotel all day, taking breakfast at a crowded pancake house and strolling the neighborhood. After so long in the musty mansion, Twilight explored with vigor that had passed through the others, save Pinkie, who ran ahead with her each time she spotted something new.

As the day deepened, they returned to their hotel with a large variety of fresh fruits and vegetables, along with a week’s worth of dried and canned rations. After taking off, Twilight said, they would want to head south, to the unexamined side of Equestria. They would pass over the Everfree Forest and stop at the swamps, to try a second time to get the Element that was there.

“We’ll also be passing within shouting distance of Discord’s castle, I think,” Twilight said. “So… you know.”

“He has a castle?” Whooves asked.

While Twilight reviewed a map of Equestria with them, Pinkie and Big Mac slipped away to help Lumb with his final preparations. Ponies were already beginning to aggregate near the museum, some with makeshift shops to capitalize on the crowds, others with relaxed pre-parties in parking lots or on lawns.

At six o’ clock, they changed into their costumes and walked to the museum. The sidewalks were crowded with other similarly outfitted ponies, all heading the same way, a tide of color and decoration that had them all talking loudly and excitedly—except Octavia. Of everyone, she was the most somberly dressed, in a black cloak with turquoise trim, and metallic purple spirals shimmering along its folds as she moved. Her mask was a simple white half sphere, with slits for eyes and nostrils, and no markings. Rarity had objected to its purchase, but Pinkie had insisted that it was perfect.

While Big Mac led, wearing a garish orange and brown coat with a black and orange mask, its edges decorated to resemble a wreath of thorns, Pinkie bounced up and down right behind him, backwards, talking about her influence on the decorations and the refreshments, how Lumb was a nice pony when one got to know him, and a couple surprises that he had in store.

The main mass of partygoers was audible before it was visible, a swelling ocean-sound of laughter, buried music, and thousands of conversations. Around the museum, a mob had converged on the front lawn, a sea of elaborate and colorful costumes and masks. A pair of statues, stately in their simplicity, which guarded the walkway had been bedecked with flowing silver fabric that caught the sunset and made them into towering, melting pillars of weak flame. Rainbow circled them both with several other pegasi, laughing.

“We must be certain to pay attention to where we all are,” Octavia said, catching up. “And recognize each other’s masks.”

“Do ya think we’re really gonna need to?” Applejack asked. Hers was a simple green and golden butterfly, one of a hundred in the crowd.

“I shouldn’t think I’ll be too hard to find,” Whooves said. “I don’t see a whole lot of ponies with as long a nose as mine.”

“I see a couple with Rarity’s,” Twilight said.

“Perhaps, but theirs aren’t as glorious as mine,” Rarity said; her mask was a pale face with a wreath of crimson ribbons and golden trim, with plum lipstick and a small crest of blue jewels.

“Come on, girls! How can you stand here and plan at a time like this? There’s fun to be had! Race you to the punch bowl!” Pinkie cried, before running off, her short train flapping gaily behind with her tail.

“You’re on!” Rainbow cried, and she was gone.

“C’mon, Twilight! Let’s check it out!” Big Mac said, prancing in place before cutting through the crowd toward a large tent.

“He’s sure excited,” Rarity said.

“Ah’ve never seen him like this,” Applejack said. “Ah kinda like it.”

“Twilight Sparkle? Is that you?”

Twilight turned to see a small pony in a sharp tuxedo, her face obscured by a stern, gray mask.

“It is I, Violet Astra. I trust you are well?”

“Violet! Good to see you here. I thought your family was feuding with Lumb.”

“Lumb is feuding with my family. We have no knowledge of what brought on his bitterness.” She gave a single, haughty laugh as she looked around. “It hasn’t stopped me, or many of my siblings, from enjoying his ‘change in the weather.’ This is wonderful.”

“Violet, my darling, I don’t suppose you brought that wonderful crow with you to this little event, did you?” Whooves asked. Rarity rolled her eyes behind her mask.

Violet chuckled. “No, she’s resting at home. We had to completely replace one of her furnaces after you got her out of the lake. It’s a… taxing process.”

“I can only imagine!” He raised a hoof. “Forgive my abruptness, but might I have the first dance?”

She bowed her head demurely. “Of course you may, Doctor. Let me first speak with Twilight, though.”

“Of course, of course. We must tarry until our esteemed ingress anyway, must we not? What’s one moment of waiting when—”

“Twilight, the airship is nearly here,” Violet continued, while Whooves completed his thought and fell awkwardly silent. “You can expect it to land in the airship lot on the north side of town sometime in the middle of the night. Its courier will stay here; she has her own arrangements to return to where she needs to be.”

“I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it, Violet,” Twilight said. “We were really worried about transportation there. I’m sure Princess Luna could have gotten us something, but this was so much faster.”

“I’m sure. It’s a small price to pay to help the saviors of Equestria, and the rescuers of our crow.”

“You’ll stay here, then?”

“Yes, we will be staying here. Our roots are once again set down, and our house is approaching completion.” She laughed politely. “You will forgive me for saying that we would rather you not bring Discord or his friends our way again.”

“If we can help it, this’ll be the last day we spend in Hoofington,” Rarity said. “We need to get going.”

“Yes, of course. Where to?”

“Applewood, I think,” Twilight said. “It’ll be the closest once we pass the forest.”

“Ah, the forest. I trust you will be careful.”

“Of course, every day.”

Violet nodded and turned to Whooves.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Lead the way, Doctor.”

The two disappeared into the crowd, and the others followed at a distance, staying close together. Closer in to the center of activity, they could hear classical music, not anything Twilight could immediately recognize.

There was a sweeping tent set up near the lawn’s corner, large enough to encompass a hundred ponies. The fabric was light, covered in patterned pastels that shaded the candlelight within softly lambent circles and ovals, and was divided into four massive compartments, their common corner held up by an elegant, central metal structure, so that each area seemed covered by a wing.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Fluttershy said. “He’s so clever.”

“Ah don’t see nothin’,” Applejack said.

“I see it,” Rarity said with a smile. “It’s a butterfly.”

Inside, ponies were slow dancing to a somber classical tune, and Octavia nodded appreciatively.

“Do you know what this is, Octavia?” Fluttershy asked.

Octavia nodded. In the low light, her mask was a bold moon. “‘The Tapestry of Celestial Wonderment,’ by the composer Gilded Baton. It is from the middle second millennium. I am surprised Lumb is familiar with it; Gilded Baton never got much recognition.”

“It doesn’t sound like any of the music I’d know from you,” Rarity said.

“Gilded Baton was known for his use of multiple time signatures in the same song, often with one instrument moving very fast and another very slow. He liked sharp contrasts, some say too much. If you listen closely, you can hear the viola moving significantly slower than the rest of the strings. I never did care for most of his music, but, from a technical standpoint, he has my undying respect.”

There was a commotion by one of the tables at the side, and they turned to see Pinkie standing precariously on the punchbowl rim, trying to ladle it into ponies’ glasses, while Rainbow circled overhead, laughing. It was precisely the impetus they needed to let go of their worries and let the party take hold, and by the time they were done laughing, they had broken apart.

Almost hidden by a crowd of cheering ponies, Whooves was dancing a tight jig while Violet, nearby, laughed along. Applejack found her brother, and the two of them hopped and stomped about, ignoring the slower dancers that hastened to get out of their way. Rarity bobbed and swayed with two other mares, talking jovially, and Twilight accepted a hoof without thinking and joined a dark purple stallion in a slow dance that she had to muddle through. As she twirled, she saw Octavia and Fluttershy slinking toward the tent’s edge.

As the last shred of sun disappeared under the horizon, the crowd slowly came to a stunned halt, as if responding from some invisible, central catalyst. All around them, the tent’s fabric glowed along its pale insignias, first lightly enough to be natural, but soon producing a light that was only bright enough to be magical. Everyone was paralyzed in delight, and only Twilight felt dread as the magic brightened and the fabric blackened and split in web-like lines all around, the tent deflating momentarily before disappearing in a shimmering haze of smoke and movement.

It took Twilight a couple seconds to process what had happened: the tent fabric had dissolved into magical, butterfly-shaped zephyrs, flitting and flapping around in a muted frenzy, sometimes alighting onto a pony or a table before winking out of existence. They were gone in a matter of minutes, and everyone cheered and clopped the ground in appreciation. Pinkie was jumping around in the crowd, leading the cheers.

“That was certainly impressive,” Octavia said next to Twilight, who jumped. “I did not expect he would produce something like that.”

“He’s quite creative,” Twilight said, not sure what else to say.

“The door’s open!” someone shouted, and everyone turned to look.

“I’m going in there,” Twilight said, and Octavia followed her without a word.

Twilight had not given much thought to what she expected inside the museum. Her own research in the mansion had left her no energy to consider what Lumb, to her mind the most eccentric unicorn she had met, might produce. The walls, once nothing special, bore striking, overbearing abstracts of brilliant, aggressive colors in angular, asymmetric forms, before which hung long strips of transparent fabric that, Twilight soon realized, were enchanted to amplify the aspects behind them. The already disquieting and confusing display worsened with each motion, forcing proportions to bend and squeeze like colors inside kaleidoscopes. Similar fabric was hung from the ceiling in long, draping parabolas, but instead of seeing through, Twilight found herself staring back at her mask, also magnified.

“Twilight, this is probably the closest you will ever be to seeing what I saw when Vanilla turned me loose inside the ghost ship,” Octavia said. “Though this hardly compares.”

A soft chuckle came from behind, and Twilight jumped again. “I think it is rather a charming arrangement,” Lumb said.

Twilight had learned to stop paying attention to his abnormal size, but the crowd of ponies seemed strangely diminished around him. Coupled with his mask—a flowing, flowering, exploding fiasco of ribbon and pattern—she felt compelled to back away, as though she were looking, not at a pony, but something Discord had conjured for his own perverse amusement.

“My angels, it is a pleasure upon a pleasure to see you here. I knew you would not disappoint me. Octavia, may I just…” His pause felt huge in the noisy labyrinth. “Say that your mask is beautiful?”

Octavia nodded. “Thank you.”

Lumb bowed and walked into the crowd, parting it effortlessly, head and withers over most of the ponies. They had long lost the rest of the group, and so they allowed themselves to be drawn deeper into the museum. Farther inside, the soft classical music from before became energetic and staccato, and more like a sampling of different songs than one, all timed so no one overlapped with another, but with no silence between either. Brilliantly reflecting swirls of confetti rained, and a glittering pincushion of blue and yellow light hung from above, each point of color its own star on articulated, hair-like branches.

She couldn’t help herself. The music, strange as it was for her, the color, and the closeness were too much. Twilight gave Octavia a guilty look, which she knew didn’t translate through the mask, and whirled away. A large circle had formed around a pair of slow dancers, and Twilight filled it in without thinking, following the stranger before her and dancing without intent. When the movement stopped, she laughed and put her foreleg around someone she didn’t know, and they moved into a less crowded area and began a dance of their own, largely unnoticed, but appreciated by those who did watch. Whether mare or stallion, she did not care.

“You’re dancing with an Element of Harmony, and you don’t know it!” she thought, and laughed to herself, considering, for a second, lifting her mask and allowing her partner to see the pony he or she had caught. The movement ended in a quick exchange of compliments, and she trotted into a thicker concentration, where she thought she could see Rarity carousing.

Nearly an hour later, Twilight found Octavia at a table by a spotless window, away from the music and jostling hordes of ponies. The dancing and the crowd’s closeness had coated Twilight with thin sweat, and her head was swimming. The confetti that had blanketed the ground reflected the ponies from underneath while more came inexhaustibly from above, sending flashes of mirrored chaos into her eyes. She was surrounded, top to bottom, with movement and color, and the overloaded unicorn could only take a deep breath and try to relax.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Octavia asked.

“Yes, yes I did, but I need a break. It’s a lot to take.”

“I can see that plainly. So, Applewood.”

Twilight levitated a glass of water from a nearby table. “Frankly, we probably should have gotten to it sooner. It’s so big, I can’t imagine the southern half of Equestria is too happy having it in pieces.”

“I do not doubt that Applewood has recovered in its own way by now. Most towns have.”

“I suppose so.”

“You seem distracted. Should we wait to speak of our travels?”

“I’m just thinking about the Everfree,” Twilight said, sobering a little. “We’ll have to go over it, and that worries me. What worries me even more is that we might need to stop there.”

“Why?”

“Sooner or later, the whole country needs to be put back together, not just places where we have cities. A couple spells in the forest might not be a bad idea, since we’ll be there anyway.”

“Why can that not be left for the princesses to handle last?”

Twilight didn’t respond at first, and raised her mask briefly to wipe sweat out of her eyes.

“There is no reason for us to be the only ones with this burden.”

“No, I suppose not. Sure feels that way.”

Rainbow flitted past, laughing and cheering, and Big Mac followed, happily bellowing something between booming laughs. Through an open door in the museum’s central chamber, dancing a close, slow waltz with Violet Astra, Twilight could see Lumb.

“The princesses chose you for a reason,” Octavia continued, drawing Twilight’s attention back. “I cannot say what it is, but I must trust that it was sound. To do otherwise would be to concede hopelessness.”

“I don’t feel hopeless,” Twilight said. She watched ponies move in a mass, dancing and laughing, a careless riot. “I miss Ponyville, though,” she said at last.

Octavia said nothing, but looked at her.

“Pinkie used to throw the best parties any of us ever knew. The whole town would show up sometimes, and everyone loved it. There was music, and snacks, and sometimes live performances. Pinkie had a lot of party tricks she liked to play.” She shook her hoof, declining an offer for a dance from a stranger. Octavia did the same. “I never knew that things like this were happening elsewhere. I knew the big city life was something else, of course, but I never imagined what it might look like.”

“The world is big,” Octavia said. “Too big for any one pony. I learned this the first week I left home.”

“I thought this was your home.”

“I have lived here the longest, but this is no more my home than where I was born.”

“Well… what is home for you?”

“For me, there is none.” She sat quietly for a time, and Twilight turned away. Her breathing was heavy, but, with Octavia, she missed the dance again. “I left my place of birth at a young age, and have since never settled. I thought that I had grown comfortable in this town, but I was shown otherwise.”

“The mansion.”

“Of all the houses in the world, I purchase the one that is haunted.”

“…Yes.”

“You have not seen them, I know. They are for me only, it appears.”

“So what happened?” Twilight asked.

“Nothing of importance.” She sighed, and Twilight frowned under her mask.

“What does that mean? You’re important to us.”

“I am one small instrument in a world that is too large for me.”

“I don’t see how you can say that. You’ve seen and done so much.”

“And yet, in my travels with you, I have time and again been amazed and terrified by things I never imagined.”

“We all have, but we persisted. Just like you said. Remember? In Trottingham, yelling at us to shape up?”

“I remember.” She lifted her mask to show Twilight a weak, but genuine, smile. “And it seems to me that we have, for the most part.”

“We’ll be okay, Octavia,” Twilight said, patting her on the back. “Come on. A party like this shouldn’t bring on this kind of talk. There’s fun to be had.”

Octavia replaced her mask and stood. “You are right. I am depressed right now—this town has touched me in many ways. Some fun will be good for my spirits.”

It was past one in the morning when the group managed to reconvene at a table near one of the exits; the ball was still going, with no signs of an end, but they had all had enough, except Pinkie. On their way out, Lumb appeared at the door and bade them all a good evening, which they returned courteously.

They took a taxi to the hotel, where they stayed in one room, talking and joking, tired but not ready to sleep. The sounds of the masquerade still wafted through the town, pleasant background noise to their eventual slumber.

Octavia woke to a gentle knocking. She started from her spot on the floor, instantly alert, and took a moment to realize she was still in the hotel, safe. It was dark, and the knock persisted. She got up and opened the door, resisting the urge to back up in surprise. A tall shadow stood before her, and she could only stare uncertainly.

“How do you know where we live?” a voice asked behind her: Whooves.

“An artist knows. I hope I’m not intruding upon…” Pause. “Anything here.”

“We were sleeping,” Octavia said.

“I would speak with you, if you will come with me.”

She looked back at Whooves, who gave an apologetic shrug, and, running back to grab a room key, went with Lumb. They went outside, where he led her to a damp, grassy lawn. She could still hear the masquerade.

“I formally apologize for what I said to you earlier. I was thoughtless, and did not consider your feelings.”

She looked at him blankly. Having only slept a couple hours in the last few days, she was not able to immediately process his words.

“I grew nervous, and lashed out with my words.”

“I understand,” she said at last. “It is something that has happened with me before. You are forgiven.”

He sighed and knelt, bringing himself to her height. “A great weight has been lifted this eve, but it was not my only design.”

“What more do you need to say?” she asked, trying to make her voice kind.

“I have happy news, and then a portent. You may have seen me dancing with young Violet Astra. Was it not so?”

“I do not recall. This evening has been rather disorienting.”

“Ah, very good. That was my intention. I…” Pause. “…wanted to ensnare the senses as well as I was able. This will be a night to remember for Hoofington, and myself.” He sighed. “She has touched my heart in a way indescribable. I think I was perhaps not right to prejudge the Astra family. Violet is not fettered with wealth and status, as I had so suspected. She is as wonderful and down-to-earth a mare as even you and your friends.”

“I am happy to hear that.”

“I will be seeing her again tomorrow, after you have gone.”

She started. “How do you know we will be leaving?”

“An artist knows,” he said again, smiling. “And an artist forgives. You had not the time to alert me of your hasty decision.”

“Yes, that is true,” Octavia said, unsure.

“Perhaps we will seek higher pleasures than mere friendship,” Lumb continued. “That is not for me to know.”

“I wish you luck.”

“You have my gratitude, and also my regret.”

“Regret?”

“The portent.”

“Ah. What is it?”

“I know not whence it comes. This message seems the kin of intuition, something I trust, but understand not. I woke this morn knowing that I was to meet you here, after your part in my festivities, to deliver unto you a message that seemed then as now as senseless as a dream.”

“And what is that message?”

He closed his eyes and softly intoned, “The castle will show you your destination faster. Time is precious.” He opened them. “I pray that that makes sense to you, my dear.”

“I am afraid that it does not, but I will relay it to Twilight. She might understand better than I.”

“It is just that you do so. Such phrases do not explain themselves, only appear in my mind as if I invented them.” He rose and shook her hoof. “I feel it in my heart that we will meet again, though I cannot say when. May fortune smile upon you in your task, Octavia Melody.”

“Thank you, Lumb, and likewise.” She looked to the west. “And make free use of my house. I do not suspect I will be returning any time soon.”

He bowed, and she went back to the hotel, where she found Whooves waiting for her. She lay down on the floor, expecting to remain awake until the morning, when they would go to the lot and claim their airship.

“May I ask you something?” she asked.

Whooves sat beside her. “What?”

“The day we met, on the edge of the world. You said that you were there for a similar reason to myself.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?”

“Hmmmm, how to approach this? It’s kind of a long story.”

“I have time.”

He fidgeted. “Yes, I suppose you do. You must understand, Octavia, that I’ve never been much for relationships. I’ve had them, but I’m not good at them. I suppose I must have a talent for finding the ficklest ponies, or the dullest.” He laughed softly. “In a sour relationship, things take a negative cast, and it’s easy to lose hope for the country on the edge of everything. The long drop is a beautiful view, and seductive in its way.”

“Most ponies that commit suicide show signs of depression. I have seen nothing of the sort from you.”

“I’m not depressed. Never have been.”

“You must be something. Nopony decides to almost kill themselves that easily.”

“Hm.” He took his time in responding, but she was patient. “The most painful thing I ever experienced—it does still weigh on me from time to time. I don’t like to speak of it.”

“Do not let me pressure you.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” He got up. “Come outside? We can speak freely out there.”

She followed him out, and they rested on the lawn where she and Lumb had conversed.

“I have your confidence, I presume?”

“I will say nothing of this meeting, if you want me to,” Octavia said.

“Two mares, both wonderful in their ways. I met them both in Ponyville. Have you been?”

“I was there very briefly. I remember little.”

“I wish I could be like you in that regard.”

She shook her head. “You do not mean that.”

His mouth twitched. “Perhaps. They were walking miracles, these mares. The first, my marefriend, and the longest relationship I ever had, was a surgeon at the hospital. She was the steadiest, most even-keeled pony anyone had ever met, a perfect match for my more flamboyant attitudes. The second worked at the spa, a natural for comfort and gentility. She and her sister were good friends of mine.”

Octavia nodded obligingly. She imagined she knew his story.

“The relationship ended with the simple phrase, ‘it’s not working out.’ Simple as that, and devastating to a heart. I remember its utterance like it was yesterday.”

“If it was not working out, then breaking up was the correct decision.”

“Yes, of course I know that. The way she reacted, though. Hardly seemed to affect her at all. I was a mess, a fun project for the spa ponies, and I can’t even say if she cared. She, my surgeon, that is. I… don’t want to say her name. It’s a pain for me.”

“Perhaps she was hiding her feelings.”

“I hope so, but I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I still think about her, Octavia. I hate how it makes me feel, but I do it. I think of her, and I get all twisted up inside, like a rotten apple. It feels like I’m gonna start crying out if I can’t find a way to express myself. That old cliché about all that stuff love does to your heart; I never believed it, but it’s true. That tired, old cliché, almost as trite as the cliché of pointing it out.” He chuckled nervously. “I’m sorry. I guess I never properly addressed your question.”

“Were you thinking of her that day?”

“I find myself comparing all partners to her. I wonder still whether it was a mistake.”

“Then I have my answer.”

“You understand, don’t you? Being in love with someone, when they don’t care about you? You’ve been there before.”

“I have never been in love, as you describe it, but I know ponies who have, and I have seen what it is capable of doing to them.”

“I guess that’s something.”

“Do you have suicidal thoughts often?”

He frowned. “No, I don’t. Look, I really don’t want to turn this into a ‘talk me out of suicide’ conversation, okay? The thought came once, because I was on the edge already and had had a bad day. Nothing more to it, all right? I promise.”

She looked back up at the hotel, trying to tell which window was hers. Her eyes felt like sand, and her mind was sluggish, and bright with the night’s memories. “As you wish.”

“This is nice how it is. I don’t get to talk about this with anypony else.”

“Then why are you telling me? Of all of us, I am the least approachable and the least compassionate.”

“Am I wasting my time doing so?”

“No. I mean only to say that I would expect you to be less forthcoming with someone as unfriendly as myself.”

“Well, you’re the only one who woke up when Lumb knocked, and I didn’t want to wait.”

“So it was pure coincidence.”

“Er… maybe not entirely. I get the feeling you’re just… better for this. You understand things easier than the others. Things like this. It could be that you are yourself more isolated from the group. You’re an easier refuge.”

“That is the prevailing opinion.”

“Is that to mean that I’m not the first?”

“I have held council with most everyone, I believe. They all think similarly to you.”

“It’s part of your nature, Octavia. You exude confidence. You always know what you’re doing.”

“So it appears.”

“Yes. But now, let me ask you something.”

“Please.”

“Why were you on the edge? You never gave me a good answer back on the coast.”

She hesitated. “My inaction resulted in the death of a friend. Not a friend of mine, but a friend of the group’s. I could have helped, but I did not come to my senses in time.”

“You felt guilty, so you thought you’d just end it all.”

“Since I left home—” she paused, smiling to herself. “I have been burdened with something great. Sometimes, yes, I do think that death would be a relief.”

“But you’re not actually going to…”

“No. That would be a disservice to you all, and to Equestria.”

“That’s rather an arrogant way of putting it.”

“I am merely aware of the pivotal nature of my position.”

“Fair enough.” He moved closer to her. “You must have had some heck of a past to be what you are now.”

“You will not get me to speak of it to you.”

“Why not?”

“I will not allow you, or anyone else, to help me carry it. This is my past, and no one else’s.”

“You sound penitent.”

“I have nothing to say to that.”

He sighed. “Fine, fine. I won’t push you. It’s gonna have to come out sometime, though.”

“No.”

He laughed, and they went back to the room, where he lay down beside her.

“Why are you so close?”

“Oh, uh… I guess I’m the only one that’s cold in here.” He chuckled a little.

“I understand that you are feeling tender right now, but please do not expect physical comfort from me.”

“What if I’m trying to give it to you?”

“I will not accept.”

He huffed and turned over.

“If you want to snuggle with someone, find my sister.”

Whooves moved away, but remained next to her, and they didn’t talk again. He fell asleep eventually, but she did not, much as she wanted to.

More

Chapter Sixty-five

More

The new airship was wide in the middle and tapered at both ends, leaflike, with four propellers along each side and a pair of balloons, a larger one above and a smaller tethered to the bottom. It had no armaments, but a sigil painted onto the torch to activate a rudimentary envelope of shield magic, for keeping out rain or snow. Belowdecks were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a storage room, already stocked with a few essentials: a small stove, a change of sheets, cleaning equipment.

While everypony explored and inspected the ship, Twilight was at the museum, telling Lumb what they had decided regarding the sigil in his attic; in the haste and fever of the night before, she had forgotten to discuss it with him. They took off only an hour after sunrise, readying themselves, for the first time in a long time, for a long stretch of nothing. It was four days until the Everfree Forest, where Twilight said she would decide whether they needed to stop for a spell. She sketched a quick note to Celestia, informing her of their progress, and they were off.

When Hoofington was behind them, she joined Octavia at the rail, looking south, seeing only the distant horn of Canterlot Mountain. Behind, Rarity’s voice took on an indignant tone.

“I thought you were supposed to find a home in Hoofington.”

“Me?” Whooves asked. “Ah, yes. Er, quite.”

* * * * * *

The Elements of Harmony were four days out of Hoofington and just beginning to cross the Everfree Forest, and Colgate stepped onto the train with one suitcase and no backward glances. Her former Datura teammates were there to see her off, but she didn’t acknowledge them. In her mind, they were all traitors. She sat in the aisle beside a lemon yellow stallion, and, through the cracked window, heard Allie shout. “See you never, you psycho!”

She closed her eyes and tried to cast a simple spell, but her horn refused to respond. The suppression collar hugged her horn’s base snugly, its inside ring grooved to make safe removal only possible with magic; clumsy hooves could pull at it, but it would come off at terrible pain to the unicorn wearer.

On the aisle’s other side, Chilly Clouds read a book and occasionally glanced at Colgate. She had nothing to say of Colgate’s new assignment, saying only that she was to live with someone “in similar circumstances.”

They stopped for an hour at a nameless way station in the middle of the grassy wilderness, and arrived in Lower Canterlot at the outer edge of dusk. Chilly Clouds took her to a small, lipstick-red car, and they moved through the yellowing highways into the grimy heart of the Canterlot suburbs. Above them, the white palace hung like a prize, an opulent platter of turrets and towers over mile after mile of faceless city.

At a red light, Colgate stuck her head out the open window, studying with cold passivity the passers-by. She was reminded more of the ponies in Manehattan, but without the sense of entitlement that manifested in their strides and postures. No one looked down their nose at the pony asking for change under a shop’s awning, but no one gave either.

They turned a corner, and Colgate’s eyes followed a poster as it appeared and then faded, pegged to otherwise empty brickwork. She hadn’t time to see it all, but she had caught Celestia’s stern face and the word “Discord.” She had seen smaller, similar versions on light poles on the way.

“What’s with the posters?” she asked.

“What posters?”

“The ones with Celestia.”

“Oh. Right. Those.” They stopped at another light. “Been here so long, I don’t even notice them. We’re supposed to call them ‘safe thought posters.’ They’re propaganda.”

“Seriously?”

“Look up,” Chilly said, pointing to a building in the distance. On its roof, Colgate saw Celestia’s same visage, looking down on them. Below her dutiful frown, there read “Trust No Dissent.”

“Celestia’s taking this pretty seriously.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Colgate snarled and looked back out the window. Chilly’s tone rubbed her the wrong way, but she was in no position to say anything. She read another poster as they passed: “Support The Elements Of Harmony.”

“Okay, here we are,” Chilly said, stopping them on a small residential street. “The blue house.”

Colgate got out and looked back at the car. “From now on?”

“Good luck.”

Before she could say anything more, Chilly was rolling away, and Colgate was soon left on her own, suitcase at her hooves, her shadow long on the sidewalk. The house was a single story compact, windows open to show a conservative interior. The walls were bright blue, almost the same shade as her coat, and its chimney was perfectly clean. She imagined it was for show.

She walked up an empty driveway and crossed a patch of warm, moist lawn, a sprinkler chirping beside a sapling. The welcome mat said “Oh no! Not you again!” and Colgate wiped her hooves on it uncomfortably before knocking. She had four pills left, enough for the evening and the entire day after. They rolled in their bottle in her suitcase, along with a couple books, what little money she had outside of the bank, and some changes of clothes. Everything else, she had left at home. Standing in the golden evening, waiting for someone to get the door, she wondered for the first time why she had left so much.

A pale cream earth pony with a navy blue mane and heavy eye shadow answered, smiling. “Colgate?”

“That’s me.”

“Oh, thank Celestia. I’ve asked everypony who came by that so far; they must’ve thought I was crazy!” She laughed, and Colgate went inside with her. As soon as the door was shut, she turned and pumped Colgate’s hoof in an energetic shake. “I’m so happy to meet you. Powder Rouge. Or just Rouge.”

“Colgate.”

“Yep, sounds about right,” she said, laughing. “They told me to expect a real serious mare.”

Colgate looked around the new room. The brown carpet was thin and streaked with shed fur, most of it Rouge’s color. A small TV sat atop an empty crate next to a bookcase piled with audio equipment, all of it covered in dust.

“So did Foxglove tell you anything about what we do here?”

Colgate looked back to her host. Her eye shadow reminded Colgate of her own formerly bruised eyes. “Only that I couldn’t do any damage over here.”

“Aw, another rejection! Hey, don’t be glum; a lot of us are rejections around here. I am!”

“I… see.”

“You gotta meet the team later, you just gotta. Some of us say it’s a convenient place to put all the useless Daturas, but they’re fulla crap. It’s a place to whip us into shape,” Rouge said.

“What do you do here?”

“Oh, only some of the most important groundwork a Datura can possibly do,” she said with over-affected casualness. “We’re Datura information gatherers: ponies who keep an eye and an ear out for anything suspicious.”

“And what do we do when we find something?”

“I have a wire to another team leader, and I let her know.”

“Another leader?”

“Yeah, so, it works like this. Hey, c’mon, let me give you the grand tour. This is the front room. Tube right there, but I don’t usually turn it on. Out here’s the kitchen. Anyway, yeah, we got one team leader for us, keeping us rejects in line.” They moved into a messy, but not unclean, kitchenette. Rinsed dishes were stacked in a sink, and a roll of trash bags sat in the corner, beside a dusty fire extinguisher. “Here’s the living room. Got a TV in here too; again, not much doin’ with it.”

Colgate went to the sagging gray couch opposite a larger TV, beside which she could see through a floor-to-ceiling window to the cluttered patio. A grill stood in tall, yellowing grass with a garden hose clumsily looped around its base. “The other leader, she’s like the, uh, you know, the emergency responder or whatever. Takes cues from us, and sends her own ponies out to get it. She’s got the more capable ones of the bunch. There’s just a garage through that door there, nothing special.”

She walked Colgate the one bedroom down the hall, where a wide, musty king-size dominated the tacky decorations and stacks of TV and music magazines. Colgate eyed a gaudy foam parrot perched on a bedpost; with the curtains drawn, it looked like it was eyeing her back. “Yeah, this job is cake,” Rouge said from within an abutting bathroom. “If this is what they do to the useless ones, I wish I’d screwed up earlier!”

“What do you have outside?” Colgate asked.

“Oh! Duh! I gotta show you the back. C’mon!” They trotted back to the kitchen and out into a small back yard. “So you can see we’ve got the grill there, and whole butt-load of chairs, and ashtrays, and all that jazz. I like a good yard party. Uhh, tool shed.” She pointed at a graying structure with a large dent in its door. “Got an inflatable pool in there somewhere, but, last I checked, it’s covered in cobwebs. You can probably pull it out, though.” She looked at Colgate, eyes widening. “Hey! Wanna have a pool party? I’ll round up the crew, get some beers, and we can introduce you in style!”

“Sorry, I can’t,” Colgate said, indicating her suppression collar.

Rouge looked at her, excited expression deflating only slightly. “The heck’s that?”

“It keeps me from using magic.”

Rouge frowned—an expression that didn’t look natural on her face—and then popped her eyes again. “Oh, what? Are you a freakin’ saboteur?” She backed away. “That’s cool if you are, I mean.”

Colgate led them back inside, where she sat down on the couch. “I got transferred. Simple as that.”

“Well, yeah, sure, but why? I gotta know, Cole, I just gotta.”

Colgate thought. She had no compunctions about discussing her Ponyville Datura with her new partner, but, at the same time, could not dispel the suspicion that she was sharing the house with an informant. “She’s too nice. Clearly hiding something.”

“Yeah, I get it, sensitive topic. I was hoping you wouldn’t be touchy about it, but, if so, whatever,” Rouge said. “So there’s no hard feelings, I’ll let you in on me. I used to work down in Applewood. I had a sweet gig as a makeup artist—ding! Check the cutie mark if you don’t believe that, baby—watching a little mare you might recognize. Ever hear of Photo Finish?”

Colgate leaned forward.

“She got involved in some weird stuff a couple years back. One of her models turned out to be some kind of artificial, er, thing. I think they call those golems. You know, made from inanimate crap and then made to walk? Well, anyway, a lot of ponies got really freaked out, and she did too—she didn’t know it was a golem, you know, she just found the model at some party—so they sent me to watch her. Guard stuff, nothing serious.”

“That sounds serious to me,” Colgate said.

“Eh. But I got too wrapped up in my cover job, started neglecting Datura stuff, and then bing-bang-boom, hello Canterlot reject team.”

“So who’s our team leader?”

“Fancy Pants.”

“I know of him.”

“Pretty important pony ‘round these parts. Paragon of the social elite, tons of admirers, really big name to drop, and all that. He lives up near the palace, but he’s cool. His wife’s a Datura too.”

“How romantic.”

“Sure is. I envy ‘em, running around, taking missions, saving the world together.” She went into the kitchen, still talking. “I don’t even have a special somepony.” She placed something on the counter. “Shots!”

“What?”

“Shots! What kind of ‘welcome to Canterlot’ party is this without shots?”

Colgate got up, hesitant.

“What say you?” Rouge deftly opened a bottle and lined up a pair of amber shots. She smiled, bent forward to wrap her lips around one, and took it. “Hah! Ever seen an earth pony do that?”

“I really shouldn’t,” Colgate said.

“Oh, come on, Miss Serious. Live a little!”

“No, I seriously can’t.”

“Allergies?”

Colgate frowned and nudged her shot glass aside, knowing she wouldn’t be able to drink it as easily as Rouge had if she tried. “Medication.”

“Ooooooh, gotcha.” She grabbed the shot and took it. “Wait! Medication for what? I don’t think Foxglove mentioned anything about that.”

“It’s medication to keep me evened out. I’m not exactly… well.”

“Then why the collar if you’ve got pills?” Rouge asked. Though she had taken two shots in the space of a minute, she seemed no less focused as she spoke to Colgate.

Colgate went to her briefcase and kicked it lightly. “You’re telling me no one told you what’s going on with me. You have no idea what to expect?”

“Nope! Is that a problem? You look unhappy.”

Excitement and anxiety trickled into her thoughts, and her mind chugged rapidly. She was speaking before she even knew what she was trying to do. “Okay, this is what happened. I was in Ponyville, and they wanted us to go to work on a Tartarus gateway out in the wilderness. Well, things got a little heated, and one of us had some kind of flashing potions. They were to disorient and blind some of the wildlife that had come through to our side.”

Rouge listened with wide eyes, mouth slack.

“I accidentally looked at one as it went off, even though the pony shouted at us to avert our eyes. You see, I heard the urgency in her voice before I actually processed the words, so I looked at her, thinking she was in trouble. I was rendered useless in the middle of all this chaos, and they had to drag me out.” She affected a sigh. “That’s why I got kicked out.”

“Wow, talk about rotten luck. That coulda happened to anyone!”

“Well, it happened to me.”

“Geez.” Rouge slapped the countertop and put the liquor back in the fridge, slotting it beside several other bottles. “So what happens when those pills run out, huh? You gonna go crazy or something?”

“I really don’t know. I haven’t gone off them, ever.”

“This should be an interesting week, then.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“On the up-side, once you’re off the meds, you can drink with me. I’ve got this wicked lead at a bar that I’m trying to crack. You can probably help me.”

“Sure. Where is it?”

“It’s called the Twisted Plum. It’s on… aw, heck, I don’t know the crossroads. I know the way, though. Walking distance.”

“What’s the lead?”

Rouge went to a window and stared out of it, her voice lowering to a dramatic, arch tone. “You know when you meet someone, and you can just tell that they’re not all that they seem?”

“All the time,” Colgate said, watching her with practiced neutrality.

“Bingo. This pony… there’s something going on with him. And I don’t like it.” She turned abruptly. “We’re gonna have to trust each other, you and I.”

“I wouldn’t be a Datura if I weren’t trustworthy.”

Rouge smiled and hugged Colgate, saying, as she did so, “And so a friendship is made!”

While Rouge was outside scrubbing the grill, Colgate sat and watched TV. The Super Six was on, one of the more successful films concerning the Elements of Harmony, and their efforts to stop Nightmare Moon.

Colgate’s mind drifted far from her location, even as Nightmare Moon screamed that her night would last forever.

Rouge seemed harmless, but Colgate was not ready to give up her suspicions. She hadn’t batted an eye at Colgate’s lie about her time in Ponyville, though she realized shortly after that it was a lie she would have to keep track of for her entire time in Canterlot. If Rouge did suspect, and was merely hiding it, her job would be as simple as waiting and asking Colgate to repeat the story in the future, to see if her details would slip.

At the same time, she had checked Rouge’s fridge, and found only cheap food and hard alcohol, neither of which suggested to her a pony of particular intelligence.

She sat up and watched as Rouge crossed the lawn to speak with someone on the other side of the wall. She could see only the top of a mane, bobbing up and down with what she imagined was enthusiasm while Rouge doubled over in laughter.

At sunset, Rouge led them out of the neighborhood to a warmly lit, spacious bar far from the street corner. Piano music spilled onto the street with an electric purple light, coming from the garish, neon plum glowing on the bar’s sign. A yellow toothpick skewered it and dripped fat, purple teardrops into a martini glass.

Inside, the bartender greeted Rouge with a casual wave, and Colgate gave him a friendly nod, which went unnoticed.

“Right here, next to the pianey,” Rouge said, pulling out a chair and slapping the table garrulously. Colgate sat down and looked at the selection of signature drinks, more for appearances than any real curiosity. What Rouge had said earlier stuck in her mind. After her final pill was gone, she could, and possibly would, start drinking, and the thought of it shriveled her dull emotions into a painful knot of what other ponies knew as fear—nothing but a peculiar quickening of thought for her. She had never drank, being too young for it when she first started taking medication, and studied the myriad bottles behind the bar, knowing nothing of them, a stranger in a world she would shortly be encouraged to dive into.

“Howdy, miss. Don’t think I’ve seen you before,” a bright green unicorn said, sashaying beside their table in a checkered blouse and skirt. “What can I get for you?”

“Just water, please,” Colgate said.

“Gimme a tropical storm,” Rouge said. “And can we get some zucchini boats too?” She leaned over the table as the waitress moved off. “Cole, you’re gonna love these things. They stuff ‘em with pimentos and some kind of cheese, I don’t know what.”

Colgate nodded and looked around. The only ponies inside were themselves, the piano player, the bartender and wait staff, and a pair of intimately conversing ponies at the bar’s corner.

Rouge laughed. “Hey, Cole, did I forget to mention I’m a space alien here to steal the city’s newspapers?”

“I’m listening,” Colgate said. “Just familiarizing myself with the area.”

“Good. I thought I’d lost you. Oh, thank you, hon.” She sipped gratefully at a dark blue drink, and Colgate looked at her water. “Mm, now that’s the way to start a night. Check this out, Cole. Dark rum, simple syrup, pomegranate and cherry juice, and some orange peel rubbed around the rim. I know you can’t taste it, but take a whiff.” She pushed the drink toward Colgate, who smelled it.

“That’s a strong drink.”

“You bet your bippy it is.” She took another sip and looked meaningfully at Colgate, then flicked her eyes at the piano player. “Oh, darling,” Rouge addressed the player, who paused, “play something more upbeat. I just made a new friend, and I want to celebrate!”

The player smiled and leaned into his work, switching into a discordant, happy tune, to which Rouge began nodding her head and then swaying in her seat. Each time her eyes connected with Colgate’s, she smiled, and Colgate returned it without thinking. Her ears were up and she tried to pay attention to the song. She knew there would likely be no message to it, but, she thought, she had to start somewhere.

Nodding in time to affect distraction, she looked around the bar again, and when she turned back, Rouge had finished half her drink, and was staring intently at the back of the bar. Colgate turned similarly, pretending to crack her back, but saw nothing. Leaning as much as she could, she gave Rouge a questioning look.

“Waiting for someone to come out of the bathroom,” she said. “You’ll be okay on your own?”

Without waiting for a response, Rouge hopped up and vanished, and Colgate waited out the piano’s song, thinking to herself how to approach the stallion. She could do nothing that night, she knew; she was too new, too noticeable. Whatever was to happen, she realized, she would be forced to rely on Rouge for direction.

By eleven, the bar was full of jostling ponies, a vacant piano, and an impenetrable noise. Rouge was on her sixth drink, gregariously drunk, and was splitting her time between Colgate and a neighboring booth of strangers. She didn’t appear to notice, but Colgate watched their smiles waver each time Rouge returned to them.

She wet her hoof on her sweating glass of iced tea and watched a guffawing pair of mares stumble out into the streets. One of the things Rouge had told her before losing herself to the night was that public intoxication was worthy of a hefty fine in Canterlot, but, in their part of town, there weren’t many police to enforce it. Colgate quietly hoped that the two strangers would not be so lucky.

She jerked her eyes over to Rouge, who was cheering something with a foreleg around one unicorn’s wither, and let her gaze slide away. No one paid her any attention, and she was both fascinated and disconcerted.

In one way, the anonymity charmed her. She was surrounded, the scene impossible to miss, but was just a quiet unicorn buried in the middle. She felt invisible.

In another way, though, she could not completely believe it. She felt, even as she folded a napkin and looked at a basket of peanuts she could not grab with hooves alone, that someone was scrutinizing her. She could not pick them from the crowd, but she knew what it was. The same prickling sensation that moved her skin nearly constantly in her final days in Ponyville beset her in the bar, and she had to consciously slow her movements, to pretend a relaxed air.

“Hey, Cole, how you doin’?” Rouge shouted. “You all right?”

“Fine,” Colgate called, nodding along. She froze. “Too much.” The nod was exaggerated, so Rouge couldn’t miss it, but she felt with a too-heavy comprehension that her mystery watcher had also seen. “I stick out here. I’m not drunk, and I’m keeping still.” She looked warily around, still holding to her casual demeanor, her face still blank. A burly earth pony at the bar turned at the same time and gave her a smile, his young face light and ruddy.

She turned back to her drink, the slowness pulling at her nerves. She could feel his eyes on her even with her back to him, and she tried to imagine what she would do when he approached.

“Hi! Cherry Orchard,” he said, coming swiftly from behind to take Rouge’s seat. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Colgate froze, and a single thought shouted through her muddied mind. “Don’t let him see you.” She smiled warmly and met his eyes. “That would be nice, Cherry Orchard.” She sighed. “My friend ditched me.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I saw that. Nice mare, right?”

“Eh, she doesn’t mean anything by it.” She laughed. In the noise of the bar, her laughter sounded, to her, false and mechanical. A tiny thought reminded her that no one else knew it. “Petunia. Good to meet you.”

“That’s a pretty name,” he said. “I’ve always liked ponies with plants for their names. I thought it always sort of said something, you know? Ponies named after growing things have good character, in my opinion. At least, every one I’ve ever met. What is that?”

“Just iced tea. I don’t drink.” She gave an apologetic look, but he smiled.

“They serve non-alcoholic mixed drinks here, did you know that?”

“Really?” She smiled again and held it for as long as it took him to look away, and then quickly studied his face. The grin he wore seemed genuine to her, clouded as it was by alcohol.

“I haven’t tried any myself, but I heard the apricot blitz is really good.”

She swept his face again, noting as she did so a mild wrinkling of the brow as he spoke. She felt her own smile falter. He was judging her.

“So what does a nice pony like you do for a living?”

“I’m actually on vacation right now. I work in the spa down in Ponyville.”

“Ponyville, wow! I’ve always wanted to go there,” he said, turning around. “Is it nice?”

“It’s wonderful there. Everyone is really nice. This is my first night, and I already miss my friends.”

He smiled and leaned forward. The overhead light reflected briefly in his eyes, and she stared. He seemed to search her, and she sat back. No articulate thought crossed her mind, but she felt a renewed sense of threat from him.

“I should go down there sometime.” He chuckled. “I’ll be sure to visit your spa, too, Petunia.”

“This isn’t right. I shouldn’t have told him it’s my first night. He knows he can lie to me now.” She sighed and pushed her tea aside. “Did you know that you can have a heart attack if you spend too long in the steam room? The heat and humidity can affect older ponies.”

He frowned.

“One of my friends had to resuscitate one once.” A small thought stirred in her swirling mind: “What are you doing? This is no time to be overt.” Her mouth went on without pause, and she could feel a malicious smile taking over her false, friendly one. “Of course, it can be hard with all the sweat and condensation on the fur. Imagine squeezing a sponge.”

“That’s horrible,” Cherry Orchard said.

“The old pony later died of more natural causes, not in our building, thankfully. The family could have taken us to court, maybe, but they didn’t. Good ponies, nice upbringing.” She licked her lips, watching her new friend’s face grow more and more uncomfortable. “The undertaker and I are good friends, and she said that the oldster died aspirating a carrot. Imagine that!” “My Celestia, what is this?” “They had to use a speculum and a pair of pliers to get the sucker out of him. Of course, the teeth get in the way, so they take those out first.”

“Oh my Luna.” He looked paler, but it was hard to tell in the light.

“I think the teeth get incinerated, along with the unicorn horn and the hooves. There’s a crematorium somewhere under Ponyville, I think, or a giant oven anyway.” She drank her tea and watched his eyes, wide and soft, and then looked over at Rouge, who gave her a wink and a grin.

“Petunia?”

Inside her head, suspicion had become a slow spiral, drawing conscious thought away from her words. “I remember one pony accidentally stepped on a thin patch of earth and got her leg caught in one of the exhaust pipes. There are signs, but some ponies don’t pay attention. There’s a spot right next to the river where, if you step wrong, you can fall right through and accidentally go down a giant vent. There’s no coming back from that.”

“I have to go,” Cherry said, pushing away from the table rapidly. “It was, uh, great to meet you, Petunia.”

She watched him go and waved, but he didn’t look back.

“What was his problem?” Rouge asked, taking her seat back.

“I’d rather not find out.” She looked at her tea, still a quarter full, and got up. “I think it would be best if I got out of here.”

Colgate woke up under an open window to the smell of brewing coffee. Rouge’s bed was larger than hers back in Ponyville, and she rolled over and got up, feeling no pleasure at the knowledge that she had neither hospital nor strenuous Datura training to occupy her day.

She went to the dining room and helped herself to a piece of bread, and Rouge poured them both a steaming mug. “Black, great for the morning after,” she said.

Colgate sipped it, distantly registering the scalding in her mouth. She tried to levitate a pill from her bottle on the counter, but faltered, remembering the collar, and took ten minutes to get it out with her hooves.

“So what did you do to that poor stallion last night?” Rouge asked. “He was cute.”

Colgate placed her pill bottle between them on the table. She had thought about her course of action for an hour after returning the night before, but it was with hesitance that she began speaking.

“You all right?”

“I told you I’m going to go off these,” she began. “And that’s nothing to scoff at, Rouge. These pills keep me calm. Once they run out, I’m not completely sure what will happen to me.” She paused and looked away, drinking more coffee as she did so. It was such a simple act, telling the truth, but Rouge’s interrogative, non-threatening expression felt like a drill in her mind.

“Is that really something to worry about? From what I’ve seen, you don’t have a mean bone in your body.”

“Something about the bar last night got to me. I don’t know what it was, because I’ve never been in one before.”

“Got to you how?”

“I can’t define it, but that stallion last night caused it. I don’t know what he was trying to do to me, but I just went off. I started making up this whole story about a giant oven buried underneath Ponyville, and how ponies sometimes fell through the ground to get burned up. That was around when he left me. He looked worried.”

“Geez, Colgate, you don’t say! Where’d you even come up with that?”

“I don’t know.”

“So that whole time, you were lying some gruesome blue streak at him?” She laughed. “That’s kinda funny, actually.”

“I didn’t even give him my real name.”

“That’s okay, though,” Rouge said. “Celestia, that’s one hell of a story to tell someone who’s just trying to be friendly.”

“That was not friendliness. He had something planned, I could tell.”

“Really?”

“I have some skill at reading expressions, and body language. He isn’t the first pony to try something with me, either.”

“Huh, wow. Some luck you have, huh?”

Colgate smiled. “What about you? Did you learn anything about the pianist?”

“Oh, him? No, no, nothing at all. Hey, that’s the cost of a good time sometimes, you know? We’ll get him eventually.”

* * * * * *

Lacey Kisses was reading when someone knocked on her door. She rose, crossed a cranberry red carpet, and allowed in a coolly uniformed pony with her room service. She thanked her with a smile and a couple bits.

Manehattan was long behind her. It was her twelfth night in Applewood, and her third in the Apogee, a hotel ironically close to the city’s center. From her vantage on the seventeenth floor, she could see nearly the whole city beneath and before her: the monolithic hydroelectric dam in the northeast; the night-shredding spotlight of the Sun Stadium in the northwest; and the endless grid of bars and restaurants that formed The Bright Road, the jewel of Applewood’s tourist economy. Millions of ponies visited every year, coming for their chance at wealth, fame, or treasured memories, temporarily—and occasionally for longer—losing themselves in the ribbon of lights under her window.

She had left only a month ago, more than half of which was travel time, and was only just recovering from having to uproot herself so quickly. Seeing disastrously few options for survival, she had quit her job and taken all the money out of her bank account. Keeping it hidden, and spending with unflagging caution, she said she had been fired to anyone who would ask.

Captain Shout, the radio personality she had persuaded to turn on Strawberry, believed her story happily, which was exactly what she wanted. The information made its way to Strawberry, which was also what she wanted. When he sent a new thug to her house in the middle of the day, she was ecstatic that her plan had worked. Quick to overconfidence, he would slip up right in front of her, as long as she could wait him out.

What she had not counted on was Captain Shout’s idea of personal integrity. She had assumed that he would be blinded by a need for revenge, and not once consider the innocent lives he would be disrupting at her behest. She had not expected that, despite doing and saying what she wanted him to, he would turn and reveal everything to the listening public, to his own detriment. “A warm sense of duty,” he called it on the air.

She remembered listening to his show, as she did every night, and sitting in stony horror as he listed her name, Strawberry’s, and other incidental criminals’, and then calmly stating their parts as he knew them in the city’s recent tribulations. She was still on the defensive from Strawberry, and, with neither job nor prospects, found herself in the space of a few hours unable to handle the machinations that had carried her since first meeting the Elements of Harmony. Her delicate web of lies and plans was blown apart, and she was forced to face the reality that she had manipulated herself into a corner. Strawberry was good enough at hiding his tracks that all accusations appeared groundless, but Lacey did not have the resources. Between exile and eventual arrest and imprisonment, she had no choice but to embrace the former.

She finished eating and opened her bag, finding, on top, a note that she had read countless times. Reverend Green had written it in the airship docking station in Manehattan, and passed it to her at the last second as she boarded. Barely legible, it read: “Do not let Applewood’s brightness blind you on your way.”

She tucked it away and closed her eyes. He had left Manehattan already, she was sure, but she had no idea where he was headed. She recalled his voice, responding to her worry with a patient tone that always made her smile, that care was intrinsic to anyone who walked in the way of Princess Luna.

He was her oldest friend, but she did not ordinarily feel fear for him in his travels, so frequently occupied was she with her own affairs. Alone in the new city and free of the chess game of her former life, however, she was able to wonder where he went, and how he survived in the wilderness. He had told her, in Manehattan, that he had come on hoof from Appleloosa. Her own legs felt weak to imagine the distance.

She did not even think to ask the most obvious question in her astonishment that he had tracked her down in her hometown, unsolicited, and it tore at her in her solitude: how did he know to come? They had not even exchanged letters after The Crumbling, as she and many others were starting to call it, but something had drawn him all the same. He had found her only days before Captain Shout unraveled her life on live radio, and the timing was too good, she thought. She knew he would deny foreknowledge, and attribute the meeting to coincidence, or divine will, but she didn’t like to think of his life-saving advice as a mere product of good luck.

She had called him just after midnight, crying tears of humiliation, rage, and despondency, and then waited for an agonizing hour as he made his way to her house, where they stayed up until four in the morning, talking. She told him everything, starting with the threats to her job, and the way she had coerced Rarity into performing for the camera. She told him how she lost Wings and Jet, her two closest work friends, and how Strawberry had gained the advantage in the then invisible conflict.

She ended with the catastrophic broadcast, and, after a disquietingly short interval of silence, he advised she leave Manehattan at once, not only for her safety, but for the security of her soul. He had even offered to pay for her airship ticket, and the choice had seemed perfectly clear at the time. Her life in Manehattan was falling away. She could feel it by the hour, and there was no safe place to land. She left two days later, leaving Reverend Green to his own devices—a mystery to her—and leaving Captain Shout with, she hoped, a big enough distraction to keep him pinballing between sides until she had an opportunity to reestablish contact.

The only problem: she still had no idea how to regain power, once she was settled. In Applewood, she had a meager pair of contacts, ponies she had only ever written to, and whom she could not trust in a time of need. She had found an apartment, but could not move in until a few more days had passed, and so had to drain her finances shifting between hotels.

On the other side of Equestria, meanwhile, Strawberry remained, just as dauntless and completely hidden from her. Phone lines were up inside the city, but not across the country, and she had no unicorns at the ready to send or receive letters. A public mail-sender would not suit her needs. She knew she couldn’t trust the pony she would contact anyway, had she the option.

She was cut off, but had to consider what her counterpart did, and try to predict his movements so she could catch up when the opportunity presented itself. She could not rely on it to last, and a quick decision could mean very much for her life, and possibly more. Strawberry’s ultimate goal, as she knew it, was not to destroy her, but to enlarge his own power in whatever way he could, to the greatest extent he could. She was doubtless that, if he were able to envelope Manehattan, his eye would turn outwards. Appleloosa seemed to her a likely next target, as did Fillydelphia.

The only other thing she knew was that Captain Shout would not be a serious threat to him. Strawberry’s talent for moving evidence was too great. It would be only a matter of time before the loudmouth rebel outlived his usefulness as an easily redirected missile, and Strawberry saw fit to remove him; Lacey feared that she would not get to see the results of what she could only imagine as Shout’s final blaze of glory.

“Still, if Shout can keep him off balance for long enough, I might be able to pick myself up and create a counter-attack,” she thought.

It was a familiar idea, one she had looked at many times in the last week. And as she did each time she thought it, she looked around her room, out the window, at the most expensive city in Equestria. She found, as she did every time, that she didn’t want to.

It was a simple fact that she could not ignore. Freedom from suspicion and vague threats was like a splash of ice water to the face, opening her eyes to herself. She had no desire to return to white-collar crime, not for her own gains and not to depose her rival. Were she younger, she knew she would jump at the chance, but she saw no good in it from her safe spot in the Apogee. Danger, stress, worry, and endless ways to try to manipulate good ponies into bad situations. As far as she was concerned, one had been too many.

“But I can’t dismiss the fact that I have the best chance of anyone at removing Strawberry from his position,” she thought. “Shout has his own warm sense of duty. Why not me?”

Retreating to Applewood, after all, would be easy. She could get the apartment, find a steady job as an attractive waitress, and wait for the Elements of Harmony and the princesses to take care of the country, assuredly safe in the giant city. By the time Strawberry’s net had widened to reach Applewood, if it ever did, she would be far from his mind, as long as she kept quiet.

She read Reverend Green’s note again. “How does one know her own way, though?” she asked the empty room. The TV was on, and answered with a cheering crowd as a loved character entered the scene. It was her favorite sitcom, but she was too deep in thought to enjoy it. The problem’s benign orthodoxy stood out to her, though what it meant, she wasn’t sure.

She looked along The Bright Road once more. Hotels towered at its edges like festooned trees among patches of glowing lichen, and ponies pulsed through the streets like confetti ants on the forest floor. The distant noise was atonal, but, closer, she heard music. Someone had set up a drum set of buckets and pounded away while a unicorn with a harmonica wailed at passers-by.

“Do other ponies lose themselves so easily?” she wondered, and lay on the bed, propping herself enough to see the TV. She slipped her eyes closed and tried to embrace the walls of sound, and nearly succeeded. A well-timed burst of laughter broke her concentration, and she moved the pillow aside to look up at the ceiling. “Damn it,” she whispered.

* * * * * *

One pill jostled in Colgate’s bottle. Rouge, much better with her bare hooves than Colgate, tipped it out and gave her a glass of water.

“So, that’s it,” Rouge said as Colgate swallowed. “How do you feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh… what’s it like to be out of medication?”

“I think I’m okay.” She went to the fridge. “I don’t know how withdrawal is going to be, though. I know going off them suddenly like I’m about to is a bad idea.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. I probably won’t want to go out with you for a couple days. I might be sick, or I might be something much worse than that.”

“How much worse?”

“I can’t say.” She frowned. “I’ve never done this before, remember?”

“Sorry, Cole.” They were silent for a second, and Colgate closed the fridge door. “Wanna go out and have a last hurrah, then? Before you get all messed up on withdrawal?”

“What did you have in mind?”

Rouge shrugged.

“Let’s do dinner. I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, okay. Wanna do what you did last night again?”

“What’s that?”

“You know, make up some kind of elaborate lie. Could be a fun little challenge, see if we can keep up with each other.”

“I imagine you’d outpace me.”

* * * * * *

It was the middle of their eighth day from Hoofington, and Twilight was in her room, researching. Celestia was done with the dragons, and was to take only a week to rest before going to her next country, the small city-state of draconequuses deep in the southeastern plateaus and mesas, a peanut-shaped sea away from the minotaur continent. Discord was staying nowhere in particular, but always near his castle; both princesses assumed, with much dismay, that it meant his third attempt on the capital could not be far off.

She was perusing a book on the Elements of Harmony, their origins, and how they functioned. It had been in the ship’s hold, apparently forgotten, but she recognized the author, and was excited to have time to go through it. Silver Sun was a jeweler and alchemist from the mines beneath the Friesian Mountains, her name appearing in dozens of journals ranging from magic studies to crystallography. Twilight knew her best from her articles on the Elements of Harmony.

Twilight knew that they had been created as a joint effort between the goddesses, who did the research and experimentation with magic, and a jeweler in the present-day Friesian Mountains. She knew that the Elements were best used by six separate bearers, but had been originally designed to work for the princesses only, all six for both in case one were to be indisposed. Originally, Celestia or Luna could, at any time, take up the Elements and use them, but at great risk, for to power six artifacts from one source was to invite confusion and disaster in the delicate magical system.

She even knew why it had to be them to use the Elements on Discord, and not the princesses, though she was not certain Celestia was aware of her knowledge. Luna had returned from her imprisonment to be cleansed, and, in addition to the manifest evil that had surrounded her, she lost her spirit-deep connection to her sister. It was no real surprise, Twilight thought, but it rendered her unable to use the Elements as she once was intended, and it would be too dangerous for Celestia to attempt all six again. The single shot to imprison her sister could have easily backfired.

When she looked up from her book to see Fluttershy before her, she started. “Geez, Fluttershy, how long have you been there? I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry, Twilight.”

“Where are we?”

“We’re over the swamps, not far from the Element.”

“Oh, good. Tell Applejack to stop, but keep us above ground. We need to find a way to get in there without breathing that gas again.”

“I did.”

“Ah. Good.” She looked back at her book, hiding mild surprise. “Hang on.” She looked back at Fluttershy, and flipped several pages. Something about Fluttershy’s quiet calm, the fact that she had given an order of her own accord, and a good one, made Twilight’s brain run. She looked under a section titled “Element Propagation.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Hold on.” She read. “Listen to this. When one bearer passes or in some way makes themselves into an inhospitable environment for the Element of Harmony, it will either go into dormancy or transfer to a more suitable host, ideally within the extant group’s circle. If it must go outside the other hosts’ range of friends, the other Elements will follow, if possible.

“If a bearer is to become close enough friends with someone else, it is possible to impose an Element onto that pony. A Familiar spell cast between bearer and the appropriately structured gem will become an Element of Harmony, if that Element and its bearer fit with the current bearers.”

She put the book down. “It goes on to show the math behind Element thresholds, technical stuff. Are you okay?”

“I didn’t know it was possible to make more,” Fluttershy said.

“Fascinating, right?” She got up and went for the stairs. Fluttershy followed her silently, and she turned, recognizing what it meant from her. “What’s wrong?”

“I think it might be more than fascinating, Twilight.”

They went up into humidity and sunshine. They were just above the treetops, slowly coasting south and waiting for further word.

“So where’s the Element from here?” Rainbow asked.

“I think we can stop in around ten minutes,” Fluttershy said, walking to the prow to look out with Applejack. Twilight stayed back, watching as the pegasus directed Applejack’s movements. She spoke with quiet authority, and a tone that did not expect questioning.

Fluttershy turned and looked at Twilight. “We may as well do it now, Twilight.”

“Do what?” Pinkie asked, hopping over from the other side, her tail switching.

“Something I read,” Twilight said. “And… well, yes, Fluttershy’s right; we should all talk about this.”

“Is it bad?” Big Mac asked.

“No, but it is important.” She looked around. “Where’s Octavia?”

“Brooding down below,” Rarity said. “Shall I get her?”

“Yes, please. We all need to talk about this.”

They waited for Applejack to bring them to a stop, then assembled in a circle on the wide deck. Behind, the torch emitted occasional spurts of flame to keep them at the height they wanted.

“So, the Elements of Harmony.”

“You sure this ain’t bad?” Applejack asked, and Fluttershy looked at her. “Sorry. Continue.”

“According to A Study of the Elements of Harmony… well, I mean, I read that… how do I say this?”

“Just spit it out,” Rainbow said. “That’s what I do.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay.” She looked at them all in a slow gaze. “We have the option to create more Elements of Harmony.”

For a minute, in which Twilight could feel her own heart beating, no one spoke. She had not seen any severity in the information, but Fluttershy’s reaction, and then everyone else’s, made her wonder whether she was missing something.

“How?” Rarity asked. “They can only be made by the goddesses.”

“No, they can’t.” She settled more on the deck, the moment past. “Anyone with sufficient skill with gemstones and magic can make one. As far as the actual object is concerned, it’s just a crystal in a golden frame, with some base-level duration enchantments on them.”

“But ours are special,” Rainbow said.

“Yes, indeed,” Whooves said, sitting close to Fluttershy. “If that were true, Twilight, then every knock-off Element of Harmony souvenir would be almost just as good as the real article.”

“Yes, plastic is so close to crystal,” Rarity said.

“A mild exaggeration, my dear.”

“It’s not the thing itself that’s special,” Twilight said. “It’s the magic cast between the bearer and the Element. It’s a kind of spell that intertwines their energies, and it’s really complicated. It had to be, for how they were used.”

“I mean no offense, but what does this have to do with us?” Octavia asked.

Twilight looked at Fluttershy.

“Um, well, I just thought it was something we should all get on the table,” Fluttershy said.

“Ah got a question,” Big Mac said. “Instead of runnin’ around an’ tryin’ to find the rest of the Elements, could we just make three substitutes an’ get everythin’ over with?”

“Blasphemy!” Whooves cried, and chuckled. “Just a joke, old chap.” He blushed slightly under the others’ looks. “What? Some ponies take the idea of Element purity extremely seriously. Silly idol worship and all that, you know?”

“You talk like you’ve heard about this before just now,” Rarity said.

“Er… well, that is, not as such.”

“I think it’s a worthy idea, Big Mac’s. Twilight?”

Twilight shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“What do you mean?” Applejack asked.

“The Elements of Harmony—the six original ones, the ones we’re supposed to be finding—were made to be used together only. It’s in the way the magic compounds inside the crystals, and inside us. We have to have all six for all six to work. We can’t just take half the real ones and use three new ones.”

“What is stopping us from simply replicating that magic, and making the new ones so that they can work with our three?” Octavia asked. “Is that not possible?”

“See… it’s, well, it’s hard,” Twilight said. “It’s more than hard.” She cleared her throat. “Getting the Elements of Harmony to work the way they do was one of the biggest things that separated the princesses from the rest of the mortal ponies. Tampering with their fundamental magic is so far beyond my capabilities, it’s like asking Big Mac here to pick up our airship and toss it across the country.” She shook her head. “And if I tried, and got it wrong, we could wind up destroying ourselves and leaving a crater the size of Manehattan behind.”

“No easy way to avoid findin’ the last three,” Applejack said. “All or nothin’.”

“Exactly. The simple truth is, that’s how they were made. No getting around that.”

“So what about new Elements, ones that aren’t supposed to take the place of ours?” Rarity asked. “Is that possible?”

“I guess, but I don’t see the point.”

“Wouldn’t they just wind up producing the same magical power from more sources?” Fluttershy asked. “Um, spread the load more evenly?”

“Yes, but that’s not even a problem. They were designed to be safe with six ponies. One or two—especially one—bearer is playing with suicide, but all six are fine anyway. More just complicates things.”

“Besides, Discord would just scatter the others,” Rainbow said.

“No, he wouldn’t, because we wouldn’t leave the mines until they were complete.”

“Mines?” Whooves asked.

“We’re not gonna buy ‘em from a jewelry store, pard,” Applejack said.

“The point is moot anyway,” Octavia said. “There is no advantage to creating more, so we will not. Right?”

“Why was it six?” Pinkie asked.

“Six Elements? I don’t know,” Twilight said. “I think it said something about six being all they could afford at the time.”

“Six Elements, made specifically to work for two princesses,” Whooves said. “Two, ten, however many more Elements, made with another pony in mind. You said something about them drawing from the same source, Fluttershy?”

“What she means is that six Elements and sixteen Elements would give the same amount of power, because they would be combining their energies to the same magical tipping point, whatever it is that activates that rush of magic we’re so familiar with.”

“Is that tipping point not inherent to the ponies that made it?”

“What do you mean?”

“So say we have the main six right here, and they combine to reach an activation point. Who’s to say that any extras have to abide that point? They’re not made by the princesses, or for them. They can be totally different entities.”

“But don’t they have to tie in to be Elements of Harmony?” Applejack asked. “Ah thought that’s what made ‘em special.”

“If we have to cast a spell—psh, we—if Twilight has to cast a spell to draw the new Elements in to the same magical, er, system as the old ones, why not just skip that step and let them be Elements unto themselves?”

“I get it,” Twilight said. “It wouldn’t mess up the six originals, because we wouldn’t be adding anything to their magic, and we wouldn’t need to have all the new ones assembled to use the six we’ll hopefully already have.”

“You’re talking about creating a new set entirely,” Fluttershy said.

“Exactly.” She thought, a frown deepening. “No, that doesn’t work. They have to be tied to one pony, though. One of us.”

“I thought you said they could stand alone,” Rainbow said.

“Why can’t they?” Whooves asked.

“Because then they wouldn’t be Elements of Harmony. The Elements combine magic into a single beam. They synthesize magic efficiently. They have to work together, otherwise they’d be useless. They don’t do anything to amplify magic on their own, so they’d be an empty filter.”

“Why not abandon the idea of more Elements, then?” Rarity asked. “Just make amplifiers?”

“Those are just pulse crystals,” Octavia said. “Discord is stronger than that. Though it might not be a bad idea to have some with us anyway.”

“Can we make a big one?” Rainbow asked.

“Sure, and we can march it right up to his castle, knock politely, and ask him to stand there while it charges up,” Twilight said. “An amplifier that can produce the same magic as the Elements of Harmony would have to be the size of one of those Manehattan office buildings.”

“They condensed all that power down to just six little baubles?” Whooves asked.

“It’s why they’re the goddesses, and we’re not,” Twilight said.

“Why not pick one of us an’ attach the Elements to her?” Big Mac asked.

“We’re not getting any,” Twilight said. “At least, I’m not planning to.”

“I just thought of something else,” Rarity said. “If we did make these new Elements—and I’m not saying we should. I quite agree with Twilight, actually—then how could we be sure they would even go to the ponies we wanted them to? If we did an Element of, say, trustworthiness for Big Mac, then how do we know it’ll go to him when it’s complete? It might wind up with some pony we’ve never met on the other side of the country. Then what good is it?”

“It would have to stay with one of our friends, if it wants to be included in our set,” Twilight said.

“But if it’s a new set,” Pinkie said, “then does that still work?”

“Oh, right. Uh… geez, I don’t know. I think not.”

“This is what Ah think,” Applejack said. “We’re clearly not ready to make this kind of decision, even if it just amounts to a lot of nothin’. We don’t even have a good idea of how it works.”

“Applejack is right,” Rarity said. “Let’s table this discussion and come back at a later time.”

“Yeah, okay,” Twilight said, looking out over the swamps. “Let’s worry about the Elements that actually exist for now.”

“Like the one less than a mile away,” Fluttershy said. Twilight thought she could hear bitterness in her voice.

While everyone else discussed the possibility of new Elements, and Twilight pondered a solution for the toxic gas that malingered in an invisible field just below, Rarity went to the shower, her second that day. She felt bad for using so much water, but the smell of the swamp stuck to her fur, and she had to take shallow breaths to keep from gagging.

She let tepid water turn her mane into a dark curtain, eyes closed and breathing slowly through her nose. It felt good to relax for the time, even though she knew, in less than an hour, she could need to go back into the swamp.

“This makes three, and then we go south. Half the Elements, half the country. Discord sure does like things symmetrical, doesn’t he? It’s a shame he’s such a villain; I’d love to try to make clothes for him.” She smiled and giggled, imagining taking his measurements with a comically long tape measure.

Still grinning, a tiny voice spoke inside her head. “Don’t fret. It is just I, your good friend.”

She did not register the words at first, thinking them an idle thought of her own, but jumped back and nearly bolted out of the tiny enclosure as a shape appeared in the corner. Her own wet fur converged out of the drain and slid up the wall, dragging thin snakes of water behind. She froze, simultaneously terrified and disgusted, unable to stop herself from imagining the grime and water spots dragging on her fur. As it moved up the wall, the trail grew, and she was pressed into the opposite corner watching as it reached her own height, then slightly taller, to become a narrow thread of dirty, wet white. It seemed to bend and swell out of the shower wall, and gained two beautiful blue eyes, a horn, and a sharp black mane.

Vanilla Cream nodded courteously and let himself out, closing the door behind him. Rarity only stood, trembling.

“Sorry for startling you,” he said quietly.

She let out her breath in a low moan, surprising herself that it was not louder. After a moment, she found her voice. “Don’t ever do that again. I nearly had a heart attack!”

“I told you it was but me, did I not?” He sounded apologetic, but she could see only his silhouette through the shower door.

“What do you want?”

“Last I saw you, you were all in a sorry state of affairs—something that could not be helped, I’m afraid. It looks like you’re all much better off now.”

“Yes.” She still avoided the shower stream, though her calm was seeping back.

“Twilight has reached a breakthrough, Rainbow has finally seen the end to that troublesome anxiety, and you’ve even made a new friend. One wonders whether you should want my magic at all.”

“Is that what you’re here for?”

“And yours specifically, Rarity.” He walked to the other side of the room. “I like you very much. You have integrity, and that’s something I respect in one of your kind.”

“You flatter me.”

He laughed. “They can’t hear us, by the way.”

“How?”

“I have ways,” he said. She felt it unwise to pursue the question. “So, you’ve got about a month before Discord attacks Canterlot again. Do you think you can get four more Elements in that time?”

“A month?”

“Give or take a week.”

“You’re being intentionally vague.”

He laughed again. “Of course I am! I can’t give precise information on him, not that I have it anyway. That is against—”

“The terms of your binding, yes, I know,” Rarity said. “It’s quite convenient.”

“I see Applejack’s been getting to you lately.”

“I can be suspicious on my own.”

“As you will be of getting in the shower for the next several months.”

“Now you flatter yourself.”

“My my, testy today. Why does no one seem to be in a good mood when I’m around?” He chuckled. “Despite all I do for you. Well, here.” The door slid open and Rarity shrunk under the faucet, a shriek ready on her lips. “This is your gift.” His horn glowed, and she stumbled where she stood.

“What is this?”

“Some heaviness in the legs is to be expected. Your magic will manifest when you wake up tomorrow. I put a delay on it because… well, why not?” He closed the door again, laughing softly. “You seem to be in no hurry.” Then he was no more.

Dismissal

Chapter Sixty-six

Dismissal

“I really don’t get it,” Rainbow said. She and Pinkie sat under a gentle raincloud that she had produced, with some effort, while, in another room, Twilight worked with Big Mac and Fluttershy on a plan to get the Element, and Rarity was on the deck, telling Applejack, Octavia, and Whooves of her encounter with Vanilla Cream.

“It’s hard to explain, Dashie.”

“Yeah, uh, well, that makes sense. Personal stuff can be tough to talk about sometimes.” She thought of Twilight. “I would know.”

Pinkie smiled.

“Why’s it so scary? Let’s start there.” Pinkie kept smiling, and Rainbow flapped once. “Like, with me, it’s really weird, ‘cause I never thought of myself as someone who could do much with just my brain. I’m not saying I think I’m stupid, but, eh, you know, mental stuff isn’t really my bag.”

Pinkie snickered.

“I don’t even think about it all that much, which makes it really freaky when I suddenly remember that I can do magic now. It’s like rediscovering something super huge, you know what I mean?”

“Not really,” Pinkie said, shaking her head.

“Well, so what’s it like for you? When you think about it.”

“I dunno. Like… well, I don’t really think about it much. Like you.”

“But?”

“But… well, I also always had it, I guess. I never thought of it as anything special. Things just happened for me, circumstances came together, whatever. I never gave it that much deep consideration, like Twilight would. Or Fluttershy.” She looked quickly at the sound of prancing hooves over their heads.

“I don’t think you need to, though.”

“No, probably not.”

“But what scares you?”

Pinkie sat in consideration for a long time. For Rainbow, it was strange to see her friend so taciturn, so serious. With the others, she was used to it, but Pinkie was a shock—and, more, she realized that it had been so for a long time. She wasn’t sure when it had started.

“When everyone starts talking about the princesses.”

“What about it?”

“Goddess-like power, Dashie. Remember back in Canterlot, when Princess Celestia first figured out that I had, uh…”

“Won the genetic lottery.”

“Yeah, that. If I can think it, I can do it. That’s what she said.”

“I remember.”

“I don’t want that.”

Rainbow thought she knew what Pinkie was trying to say, but Pinkie went on before she could respond.

“Princess Celestia can level cities if she wants to, Princess Luna can alter the flow of time. Both of them are basically indestructible.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s not me, Dashie. I don’t wanna be able to do that stuff.”

The raincloud purred thunder, and Rainbow’s fur stood up.

“No one’s saying you have to.”

“But isn’t that what happens? What if I try to do something nice, and it leads to something bigger? And that bigger thing leads to other even bigger things, and then even bigger things? What if it doesn’t stop?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

Pinkie frowned and curled up on the floor. Her drooping mane splashed quietly in the rain puddle. “‘Cause there’s always some bigger problem. That’s why we need goddesses now, isn’t it? Octavia’s always talking about how she has to pay attention to the greater good, or the bigger duty. On paper, it sounds nice, but look at what it makes her. She’s my sister, and I love her, but anyone with eyes can see she’s miserable all the time. All the time, Dashie.”

“So… you don’t wanna be like her?”

“I don’t want goddess magic, or whatever this is. Unfiltered, pure, magic potential, whatever, I don’t want it.”

“What do you want?”

“I just wanna make ponies happy. I wanna do what I’m good at. I want to throw parties, and make desserts, and blow up balloons. You know what I was doing to help Lumb back in Hoofington? I wanna do that kind of stuff.”

Rainbow’s thoughts strayed to the cloud. Without realizing it, she enlarged it, and the rain grew cooler and harder.

“No goddess magic. Just fun.”

“Pinks… uh, I mean…”

“What’s wrong?”

She batted the raincloud away, suddenly angry. And then, she was suddenly not. “It sucks, Pinkie. It sucks a lot to hear you say that. If I had a shred of your power, I’d be about the happiest pegasus in Equestria. Look at me. I have about enough magic on my own to push a bit across a table, and I can only whip up wimpy stuff like this cloud by using Vanilla’s… whatever. I would give a lot to be in your position. If I was you, you know what I’d do? Slap a couple turbo chargers on this stupid airship, grab the Elements in a week with some sort of enhanced Element-finding thing, and—you know what? I’m positive you know that spell.” She got up and tried to re-summon her cloud, but only lowered the ambient temperature again. “Everything would be cake, ‘cause I could do whatever I dreamed. Yeah, goddess magic comes with a lot of responsibility, but, hey, you know what, we’ve got a big responsibility.”

Pinkie only looked at her.

“It sucks to see one of my best friends so unhappy to have something I’d gladly trade with her.”

“It’s not that easy, Rainbow.”

“Isn’t it? Infinite potential, and you can’t do anything with it?”

“It’s hard, okay? I still have to focus and do all the right things! I still have to pay attention to all the right stuff, and think the right things. There’s no just doing something.”

“You used to just do parties.”

“Parties are different,” she said in a small voice.

“Different how?”

“They just are. Maybe ‘cause I grew up with them. They’re easy.” She frowned and looked at Rainbow, her eyes hard. “This isn’t.”

“Oh, wow, really? Gee, I didn’t know. I was wondering when things would start getting hard to deal with.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I don’t know!” She slapped the wall with her wing, immediately regretting it.

“Well… okay, Dashie.” Pinkie’s voice was quiet again, and Rainbow could feel her anger draining away. “What do you think I should do?”

“Can’t you practice magic with Twilight or Rarity? I’m sure there’s a couple easy spells you can learn that’ll really help out.”

“I suppose I could.” She brightened. “I can still do that ground-pull-together trick, if Twilight helps me out.”

“Yeah, I dunno when we’re gonna need to do that again. I’m starting to feel like we’re not the only ones who can do it after all.”

“I heard Rarity and Fluttershy talking about that too. They think there’s other unicorns who take it on themselves to fix their little sections of Equestria.”

“I never thought about it, but I guess that doesn’t surprise me.”

Everyone assembled on the deck for Twilight to cast her spell. Weaving her own magic together with one of Rarity’s shields, she would produce a bubble of air-filtering magic over Big Mac’s head. He had volunteered to go into the swamps, reasoning that he was the toughest of them all, and the strongest; he would be the least likely to get caught in mud, or stopped by dense foliage. Meanwhile, Fluttershy would fly above him, guiding him toward the Element.

“Here comes the hard part,” Twilight said, watching him intently with her horn alight. “Steady, Rarity?”

“Perfectly,” Rarity said.

Twilight cast the spell slowly. It had to be done in increments, or else she might overdo the filtration spell, and leave Big Mac with nothing to breathe at all.

“This is quite exciting,” Whooves said, watching close by. “Is there always this much preparation? When was the last time you got an Element? How did that go? What did you do? Which one was it?”

“Will you be quiet?” Applejack asked, not looking at him. “Twilight needs her concentration.”

“Not anymore,” Twilight said. “I stopped casting.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Take the shield off, Rarity. Something’s going on.”

“What is it?” Big Mac asked. “Am Ah gonna be okay?”

“Just hang on,” Twilight said, floating a book over to herself. “I don’t think it’s serious, but there’s something very weird here.”

“Elucidate, Twilight,” Whooves said. Turning to Applejack, he winked. “That means ‘explain’.”

“It appears that your brother may be enchanted, Applejack.”

“What?” Big Mac said.

“Enchanted? By Discord?” Applejack cried. “Twi, yer sure?”

“Am Ah gonna be okay?”

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” Twilight said quickly. “At least, you have no reason not to be.” Her horn glowed again, and she surrounded him with her purple mist. “You’ve been enchanted for a while now.”

“An’ how long is a while?” Applejack asked, advancing.

“Months.” She frowned at Big Mac. “You didn’t tell us?”

“Ah didn’t know,” he said sheepishly.

“What kind of enchantment?” Rarity asked. “Surely it can’t be dangerous. If it were, we’d have already seen it in action, yes?”

“Unless it is subtle,” Octavia said.

“Am Ah gonna be okay?” Big Mac asked. His voice had not risen, and he just looked at Twilight earnestly.

Twilight thought, and paged through another section of her book before covering him again in her magical sheath. Big Mac laughed, and Twilight looked at him.

“Kinda tickles.”

“Right, so it’s nothing active.” She glanced around. “Meaning it’s nothing that’s going to happen suddenly. He’s not going to blow up, or anything.”

“Great example, sugarcube,” Applejack said.

“Let me try something else.” She looked at a paragraph and then cast another spell, lighter and longer. “Hmmm, not only is it a passive enchantment, but it’s hardly there. It’s small.”

“How small?” Big Mac asked.

“Er… well, magic is difficult to quantify in that way. If I had to put some comparison to it, I’d say it’s like an idea was implanted into your head.”

“From months ago?” Rarity said.

“So Ah woulda been in Appleloosa,” Big Mac said.

“What happened there, big bro?” Applejack asked.

“Nothin’. Visitin’ with family.”

“What idea went into him?” Whooves asked.

“Working on it,” Twilight said, going through the book again. For a moment, she was quiet, and everyone stared at Big Mac uneasily, as though Twilight’s assurance that he would not explode held no authenticity. “Bingo. Let’s try this.” She snapped the book closed and faced Big Mac. “Look me in the eyes, and everyone else be quiet. That means you, doctor.”

“I? I wouldn’t dream of disrupting—”

“Good, then don’t,” Applejack said, marching over and smacking him lightly on the wither.

Twilight looked into Big Mac’s large, green eyes, for the first time noticing their size and their depth. She lit her horn, focusing on a thin, gentle spell, and cleared her throat. “Big Mac, what is your purpose?”

He shrugged lightly. “Dunno, Miss Twilight.”

She blinked and dimmed the spell with a muttered curse, and then tried again, careful to keep her own magical center stable. She repeated the question, her voice softer, with an edge of kindness that had not been present the first time.

Big Mac smiled. “My purpose is to do everythin’ Ah can to become close friends with y’all.”

She kept her face serious, though excitement jumped in a corner of her mind. “Why do you want to be our friends?”

“Ah don’t know.”

“And who charged you to be our friends?”

“A white unicorn, a stranger.”

“Describe the white unicorn.”

“He had pure white fur, a long horn, an’ blue eyes.”

“What was his cutie mark?”

“A great, black circle.”

“Vanilla!” Applejack shouted.

Twilight flicked her eyes over, and the spell ended.

“Shoot, sorry Twi.”

“It’s fine. I got what I needed,” Twilight said, straightening. “Big Macintosh, you have been glamoured. At some point, Vanilla Cream visited you in Appleloosa, and put a glamour on you. Do you remember what you said?”

“Eeyup.” He shook his head. “Ah’m a little dizzy.”

“Sit down, get some air. Someone get him some water.”

While Rainbow went downstairs, Twilight explained.

“A glamour is a kind of mild enchantment, meant to be long-lasting, but harder to notice. They’re very easy to break, and difficult to detect. As you all saw, I had to put him under mild hypnosis to reveal it.”

“So Ah’m gonna be okay?” Big Mac asked.

“Yes, you’ll be fine. It seems all Vanilla wanted was for you to get close to us.”

“Why would he want that?” Rarity asked. “Isn’t it rather arbitrary?”

“I’m not sure.”

“And Ah doubt he’ll be too forthcomin’ if we ask him,” Applejack said. She turned to Whooves with a smirk. “That means ‘talkative’.”

“A well-earned rejoinder, Applejack,” Whooves said, laughing.

“But that’s all it is?” Rarity pressed. “Just be friendly?”

“That’s all it is,” Twilight said. “It’s odd, but it’s… fine. It’s fine.”

Big Mac sighed, and Twilight smiled at him.

“Yer okay, big bro,” Applejack said.

“Copacetic,” Whooves said, glancing at Applejack.

“So the question,” Octavia said, “is what to do now. The glamour is harmless, but do we leave it, or break it anyway? You said that would be easy, Twilight.”

“I’d just need to hypnotize him again and tell him to forget about it,” Twilight said, shrugging.

“Why would we, though?” Rainbow asked, coming back up, a glass of water on her outstretched wing.

“Don’t,” Big Mac said, shaking his head.

“Don’t break it?” Rarity said.

“Let it stay.” He thought for a moment. “Ah remember now, y’all sayin’ Ah wasn’t myself, back then. Sayin’ Ah wasn’t how Ah was in Ponyville.”

“Much less shy,” Applejack said.

“Eeyup. So Ah say leave the glamour. Let me keep bein’ helpful.” He rolled his eyes. “Celestia knows, if Ah go back to my old shy self, Ah won’t be any good out there.”

“Are you sure that is wise?” Octavia asked.

“If things start to go bad, Twilight can always just break it,” Rarity said.

“She’s right. I can do it pretty much any time I need to,” Twilight said.

“Might you take away Vanilla’s, and just give him the same one, but from you?” Octavia asked.

“I’d rather not. They’re easy to break, but hard to cast.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Whooves said. “I daresay you’re familiar with that one, old sport?”

“Um, I’m really sorry, but can we get on with the Element now?” Fluttershy asked. “I think Big Mac’s okay.”

Twilight looked at her for a moment, and Fluttershy blushed and hid herself behind a wing.

“Yes, let’s,” Rarity said, bringing back her shield. “I do love it when mysteries turn out to have friendly solutions, don’t you?”

Big Mac stepped into the giant shadow under a cypress tree, half his attention on the dirty, unclear water that was up to his knees, and half his attention on Fluttershy, above. She was his compass, but could not come closer than the treetops. There was no way to know how far up the toxic gas extended.

Small fish darted around his hoof as he took a step, and he smiled to himself. Their tiny currents on his short fur were pleasant.

“I wonder which Element it’ll be. Maybe loyalty. Rainbow’d like that.” He smiled at the thought of bringing her back her Element. “Fluttershy and Applejack, so far. I wonder which one’ll be the hardest to find. This is pretty easy so far.”

“You’re veering off course, Big Mac,” Fluttershy called faintly.

He corrected himself and climbed over a rotting log, his thoughts again on Rainbow.

“Shame about her sexual orientation. I really like her.” He stepped into a pool of sunlight through a break in the canopy. “At least I know what I was to her, though. Poor mare trying to prove a point to herself. Wasn’t personal.” It was a well worn thought, one he had worried frequently while the others conversed, passed time, or accomplished important things. He had plenty of time, as often as he was a background character to their lives, to contemplate.

“Kinda funny, I have to admit. A stallion like me losing to someone like Trixie. That pony wouldn’t know hard work if it knocked on her door and hung its hat on her horn.”

“Hold on, Big Mac,” Fluttershy said. “I need to check ahead. Stay where you are.”

“I shouldn’t think about her like that. I don’t know where she comes from.”

“Okay, turn up by that little pond,” Fluttershy called. “Hard right. How are you doing down there?”

“Just fine,” he said, looking up. Fluttershy looked nice from below, he recognized, but the sight did nothing to interest him.

“Kinda surprised no one else’s tried anything out on me. Twilight’s too shy, I guess, and Fluttershy too. Pinkie must not be into me, or she’s afraid. Hm, maybe ignorant. Doesn’t strike me as the type, though. Whooves, though. He seems a bit suspect; I’ve caught him checking my flank out a couple times.” He frowned; the thought bothered him, and he rolled his eyes as he moved into a deeper pool.

“Whoa,” he mumbled, his hoof catching on something. He stepped over a concealed root and into a shallow puddle, sending a cloud of gnats into the air. The shield kept them from his face, and he was grateful. Though he had spent most of his life outdoors, it was in the relatively dry rural area of Ponyville. Humidity, and all the life it brought with it, was not something he had encountered.

“You’re close,” Fluttershy said.

He nodded and stepped around another cypress, his hooves squishing in fetid mud. The shield kept him from smelling anything, so he could only imagine the filth he was picking up. He was sure Rarity would have something to say about it on his return.

“Stop there. There’s something up ahead. Give me a second.”

Big Mac resisted the urge to sit down. The ground was wet all around, and he wanted to keep at least part of himself clean.

“Straight ahead, Big Mac. You’re almost there.”

He moved through a small clearing and crossed an expanse of green gray mud, speckled with algae and dotted with lily pads. Across a clearer section of water, which he suspected was deeper, he could see a large spindle shape, obscured somewhat by stunted trees. He slopped through, batting at the mosquitoes and flies in the air reflexively, though the shield pushed them away easily.

“It’s in there somewhere,” Fluttershy said. He looked up to see her pointing at the spindle before him.

He approached the figure. Most of it was in shadow, and covered in creeping briers, but he could see enough to deduce that it had been in some way constructed. Trees bent at harsh angles to create a vaguely conical framework, topped with a moss-covered nodule of what appeared to have once been rope. Branches were snapped to form rough bracings for the trees, themselves braced by thinner, more uniform slivers of shadow inside the structure. Water trickled all around.

He moved around the structure, trying to get a good angle to see inside. Under the thin water, he could see buried ends of wood, rotted to cruel apple-core shapes, connected to larger blocks of disintegrating material. He stopped after a while, seeing a brief shine as sunlight caught something in the scaffolding. He brought his hoof up to touch the piece that had attracted him, and held it to the material for a moment, not sure what to think.

Metal.

“Did you find it?” Fluttershy called.

“Not yet, but Ah found somethin’,” he said.

He tapped the metal plate, and brushed at a skin of lichen. It was uneven, as if once embossed, but he could discern nothing.

“Can you please try to hurry? I don’t like you being down there.”

“Is there anythin’ around me?”

“Not that I can see, but still. Please.”

He shrugged and kept pacing around the structure. “Just as well I listen to her. I guess my purpose is to do whatever I can to make friends with everyone. That’s why I was so happy to help Pinkie plan that masquerade with Lumb. What a great party. I’ll have to attend more when we get back home.”

He found a more open spot, and, wishing Fluttershy could give him more precise direction, knocked on a beam with a hoof. The whole structure groaned.

“How does the glamour work if I know about it? It’s supposed to make me do something, but if I know it, then I can work against it. I can leave at the next town and ruin Vanilla’s whole plan, whatever it was. Not that I would—maybe that’s it. Maybe I would just never have the guts to go through with the decision, whatever it might be.”

He pressed on the beam, earning another groan, but nothing else.

“If this thing collapses, I’ll never find that Element. How do I get inside?”

He walked a little longer, and stopped at a small arch, half submerged. “Great,” he murmured. “In Ah go.”

He crouched, keeping as much of himself out of the water he could, and shimmied into the cone, once bumping his head on a branch and freezing for several seconds, expecting the whole thing to crash down onto him.

“So what’s my decision, and what’s the glamour, I wonder? Where do I draw that line? If I’m being nice to everyone, is it because I’m a nice pony naturally, or because Vanilla made me to be that way?”

He stopped with his eye at another fossilized loop of rope and looked around, searching for the Element. He saw more metal within: joints, he realized, for whatever wooden constructions had been cannibalized to create the wooden cone. He idly brushed something at his hooves, and looked down, seeing a dislodged wheel, nearly whole. He looked up to see what looked like a bare axle.

“Twilight and Doc are gonna be plenty mad to have missed this thing,” he thought with a tiny smile. He took another tentative step, ducking under the rope and an extending branch. “Where is that dang Element?”

He looked around again, up, and down at his hooves. He was certain he was deep into a field of toxic gas, and it was a strange thought to him, that the only thing keeping him alive was a thin bubble of magic, its casters close to a quarter mile away.

“None of us would have found this thing the first time. What were we thinking?” He looked up again and stared into the cradle of ossified ropes, resembling a clamshell with all the overgrowth. Something glinted from within, and he angled his head.

“There we go. Now how to get it?” He smiled, the solution occurring immediately, and then laughed a little. “Heh, Big Mac smash.”

He picked his way back outside and looked up at Fluttershy, who was circling slowly.

“Ah found it, but Ah gotta knock this thing down to get to it. It’s gonna get loud down here.”

“I’ll watch for anything dangerous,” she replied.

He grinned and searched for a weak spot in the structure. “Probably won’t even hear her if something does decide to come my way.” Selecting a pair of thin branches joined by rotting rope, he gave a swift kick, snapping the wood. The cone creaked and moaned, but did not fall.

“Okay,” he mumbled, moving along its side to a thicker beam. It snapped almost as easily as the branches, and the structure tilted inward dangerously, its top swaying. He thought he could see the Element, but wasn’t sure.

Glancing back at Fluttershy, he struck a similar beam, and then backed away, splashing through thick mud and nearly falling on his face in his haste to escape the collapse. Through an effect of the light, and the thick air, he had felt hemmed in, and realized as he watched the tower’s top sink toward the ground that he was much more in the open than he had thought. The only noises were small splashes as pieces fell into water or mud, and a slight protest of bending wood. Most of the structure remained intact, merely tipped over.

He went to the top and was able to put his front hooves to it, standing gracelessly for a second to drag it down to his level. Smacking the rope tangle away, he was able to loosen it enough to uncover a dirty, purple gemstone in a black and brown-streaked golden frame.

“The castle will show us our destination faster; time is precious,” Twilight said. She was studying the dried fur in the shower, looking for signs of enchantment that Vanilla might have used to frighten Rarity. She had found nothing.

“That is what he told me,” Octavia said. “He said he did not know where it came from, only that he knew he had to deliver it to me, and in that location.”

“I think he’s a precog,” Twilight said.

“He never said anything about that.”

“It’s possible he doesn’t know it. Not everyone notices their own insights.” She picked at a long, purple hair. “He might just dream these things, and think it’s some kind of higher intuition or something. It happens.”

“Regardless, that is what he told me.” She paused a moment, picking up a toothbrush with her magic and then putting it back down. “I am getting better. Do we trust his intuition?”

“I think so. He knew where to find us, and when to find me in the mansion. He had a pretty consistent habit of being in the right place at the right time overall.”

“I agree. But what does it mean? Our destination is Applewood, is it not?”

“Yeah, and the castle—I have to assume he means Draught Castle, Discord’s base of operations—is several days east of that.”

“Perhaps he was speaking of our more general destination.”

“What’s that?”

“Discord’s defeat.”

Twilight left the shower and looked at herself in the mirror.

“Or something to hinder him greatly.”

“With only three Elements, we can’t do anything to him.”

“From what I have read in your books, and what I have heard, and seen myself, he very well could have some kind of secret in that castle, something he does not want us to see.”

“Oooooh, now that’s something,” Twilight said. She angled her head and brushed at her mane with a hoof, one side and then the other. “Maybe we can’t hurt him, but we can ruin whatever nasty plan he has in there. Set him back.”

“Ah, the portent, is that what we’re discussing?” Whooves asked, entering.

“Yes,” Octavia said.

“Mysterious words, that, utterly baffling. I must confess, I feel we’re rather without a rudder right now.”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Twilight said. “We might be able to—”

“I heard, yes, take out his secret weapon, if such a thing exists. I daresay, it probably does. He’s a nefarious sort, he is. Tricks and illusions, his bread and butter. I’d rather like a moment to talk with him, actually. Such a labyrinth he must conjure in dialogue!”

“You might get the chance,” Octavia said. “He appears from time to time, to frighten us.”

“Oh?” He sobered. “We must also consider that our esteemed Lumb was being more literal. The castle could serve as some unexpected waypoint to the great city of Applewood.”

“It is a thousand miles west of Draught Castle. That would make no sense.”

“Ah, but does not our malefactor work in mysterious ways?”

“It’s not his prediction,” Twilight said. “It’s Lumb’s.” She froze for a second. “He couldn’t be working to misdirect us, could he?”

“A spy, perhaps?”

“Discord has no need of a spy,” Octavia said. “He has shown himself capable of seeing our progress in the past. I imagine Vanilla Cream is watching us far more frequently than he would have us believe.”

“Does his binding force him to tell Discord everything he sees?” Whooves asked.

“Discord would be a fool for it not to,” Twilight said. “And that’s an easy condition to apply to a binding spell, too.”

“I have known Lumb since I first started living in Hoofington. He has always been strange in his mannerisms, but never sinister, nor dishonest from what I could tell,” Octavia said. “I am strongly inclined to trust him.”

“So it’s agreed,” Whooves said. “The castle?”

Twilight frowned at him in the mirror. “We can’t just go to his castle, you know. He’s going to have it defended somehow, maybe even hidden.”

“You can do that?”

“There is magic to mask a structure of that size,” Octavia said.

Twilight smiled at her. “Sharing my books?”

“I did not think you would mind.”

“I don’t.”

“Can we not do the same thing, though?” Whooves asked. “Make ourselves invisible?”

“We’d need more than that,” Twilight said. “We’d need to mask the sound of our approach, as well as any smoke that we produce. Plus, if he has his own magical defenses, or surveillance systems, we’ll need to find ways around those.”

“Something about the castle?” Rainbow echoed, entering the bathroom. She looked at them. “What’s going on in here?”

“Let’s do this upstairs,” Whooves said. “I’m sure the others would be happy to contribute. Dash, join us?”

“Yeah, in a minute.”

“Hey! He got it!” Applejack called from above.

* * * * * *

Flitter and Cloudchaser struggled to drag a massage table up the spa stairs, so they could tumble it out on the path outside. Foxglove had put boards over the windows and painted the words “out of business” in menacing black.

The princesses were preparing Canterlot for a third battle, which, Foxglove said, probably seemed like a lost cause to the remaining members of the Canterlot Guard. Luna, however, was preparing all available Daturas to support the city, which required a migration of hundreds from all over Equestria. Ponyville was only a few days away from finding itself full of foreign Daturas, and they came with a plan.

The spa, Ponyville’s best base of operations, needed to be empty and ready to become something its original architect had never intended. While the pegasi removed furniture and supplies, Allie and Foxglove cast spells and laid sigils around and within the building, to aid with secrecy and movement inside.

Stopping inside the reception room with their burden, Flitter and Cloudchaser stepped outside for fresh air. A dark mare was picking through what they had already tossed out, and Cloudchaser hailed her.

Her name was Limestone Pie, and she had followed Colgate from the rock farm without thinking about where she was going. In Ponyville, she met and made quick friends with Berry Punch and Lemon Hearts, whose house she shared. They confided in Cloudchaser that they pitied Limestone; she was a runaway from somewhere, obviously with no idea of what life was like outside her home—or perhaps just feeble-minded, they weren’t completely sure.

Limestone approached with neither a smile nor vocalization, but Cloudchaser liked to think that she was happy to be greeted by another. She looked at them blankly, waiting for one to speak.

“Feel free to take whatever you like,” Flitter said. “We don’t have any use for this stuff anymore.”

“I have no claim to these things,” Limestone said. Her voice was soft and raspy, as though she had not much experience using it.

“You do if you want it,” Cloudchaser said, shrugging. “Hey, I’m hungry. Let’s go get lunch.”

“It’s a little early,” Flitter said, scrutinizing the sun.

“I was up early. Limestone, you want to come with us?”

Limestone gave a short, sharp nod that made Cloudchaser smile.

They got the massage table out on the path and then walked to a café across the main town square, where they got seats outside.

“This is where we were when Colgate showed up with that first black eye,” Flitter said.

“Great, Flitter. That’s what I need to remember,” Cloudchaser said. “I hope that psycho got put away.”

“I apologize for interrupting,” Limestone said, “but who are you speaking of?”

“Some crazy pony who used to live here.”

“We were friends at one point,” Flitter said. “She did a lot of really bad things, though.”

“She wasn’t straight in the head, Fox—our friend told us,” Cloudchaser said.

“Totally nuts.”

“I understand,” Limestone said. She considered for a minute, her blank stare going through Flitter’s menu. “What did she do?”

“Pretended to be the victim of abuse to frame an innocent pony,” Cloudchaser said. “Which worked. Then she faked a public apology, and even went to therapy, and pretended to be better. Then she tried to sabotage one of our other friends.”

“Which almost worked,” Flitter said.

They placed their orders.

“She sounds pathetic,” Limestone said.

“How do you say that?”

“She did not cause trouble by strength or use of resources; she lied and hid. That kind of pony deserves twice what she creates. It sounds like you did not have a chance to do very much in return.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” Cloudchaser said, “but I guess you’re right.”

“No chance,” Flitter repeated. “That’s an interesting way of putting it.”

“Is it correct?” Limestone asked.

“Yeah, I’d say so. She really… well, no one expects that kind of thing from somepony.” They didn’t speak until their orders came, and then Flitter continued. “I think it’s when we confronted her, when her mouth was full of blood, that I realized things were more serious than I think we all thought.”

“Blood?”

“She hit herself in the mouth a bunch, when she noticed us approaching her house,” Cloudchaser said. “To unnerve us.”

“A sick mind,” Limestone said. “That cannot have been easy for you to deal with.”

“We try not to dwell on it,” Flitter said. “But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t leave us kind of shaken.”

While the Ponyville spa was being purged of its supplies, Colgate could feel her body being purged day by day. It was her third day off medication, and she woke up just in time to lean out of the bed and vomit into a saucepan she had placed on the floor for that purpose. Nausea, headaches, and wild swings between depression and acute focus had beset her the last days, and she wondered whether she would begin improving as she slid out of bed and shuffled to the shower.

There was the sound of a bathroom door opening, and Powder Rouge’s voice. “Room for one more in there?”

“Go for it,” Colgate said.

Rouge stepped into the shower and let out a long sigh. “Oh, yeah, this is where it’s at. Feeling okay? I heard a wee little spewski just now.”

“Same as usual.”

“Dang, that bites. Maybe this is the day? Hey, oh, crap, Cole, did I tell you what’s going on today?”

“Maybe. I don’t remember.” She stepped away and leaned in the corner, savoring the cool walls.

“Okay, so don’t freak out, but Fancy Pants is coming by for an inspection this morning.”

“Inspection?”

“Don’t worry, it’s just a formality. His expectations are in the dumper. As long as we’re sober for it, we’ll be fine.”

Her eyes were closed, her head swimming. “It’s good to know the Datura expects so much of its members.”

Rouge laughed.

“Why do they keep us here? Why not just kick us out properly?”

“I dunno,” Rouge said, moving to lather up Colgate’s back.

“I thought I was supposed to be shaping up here, but all I’ve done is messed around at bars, watched you drink yourself stupid, and get sick.” Colgate bowed her head and let the water stream down her mane. It felt vibrant and electric in her nauseous state, and she wasn’t sure what to think. “I’m starting to wonder if this is some elaborate kind of punishment.”

“You’re just adjusting from Ponyville, is all. I can tell. Don’t worry; once the Big Pants comes by, you’ll see. Everything is okay, really.”

When Fancy Pants did arrive, Colgate was sleeping on the couch, and Rouge bolted from the living room to let him in, sweeping a huge mock bow. “Good afternoon, Mr. Pants! How’s the Datura life?”

Fancy Pants stayed respectfully outside, though his eyes seemed to take in the room’s every detail. Nothing showed in his toothy smile. “Busy, as always, but never busy enough for me to neglect my favorite team. Where’s the new recruit? I’d love to meet her.”

Colgate groaned and let herself flop off the couch, and he looked at her.

“Are you at all well?”

“It’s psych med withdrawal, sir,” Rouge said. “She’s gone off her crazy pills.”

“Ah, yes, I was told about this.” He turned to address Colgate. “I have, of course, been informed of your condition, and the circumstances surrounding your transfer. Most unfortunate, my dear; you have my utmost condolences.” His dazzling smile resumed. “But I didn’t come here to talk of your failures. I came to speak of more positive things. Rouge, what news do you have for me?”

“None at all, sir! We’ve been doing exactly what you told us, and no one’s opening up.”

He shook her hoof. “Keep up the good work, Rouge, and you, Colgate. Do you have a mark?”

“Yeah, we’re both following someone. He doesn’t talk much, though.”

“Keep at it. Everypony cracks.” He smiled. “Well, everything looks good. House in order, everyone happy, et cetera?”

“Hundred percent!”

“Jolly good! I’ll leave you to it, then.” He turned and left, and Rouge helped Colgate up. “Told you. He’s the coolest. The coolest, Cole.”

“He wasn’t even here for five minutes. He’s our team leader?”

“Not just us. He oversees a lot of teams here.”

Colgate shook her head. Her thoughts were buzzing uselessly, like dreams that had been trapped and left to continue in wakefulness. “He didn’t even sound like he was paying attention to what you said.”

“He has a lot on his plate.”

Colgate closed her eyes painfully and slumped.

“Ooop, puke time? C’mon, let’s hop to it! I don’t wanna—”

“Quiet,” Colgate snapped. She jerked out of Rouge’s grip and lay on the carpet. “Headache. It’ll pass.”

* * * * * *

It was four more days from the swamps to Draught Castle. Rarity, who had found with no small amount of joy that Vanilla had nearly tripled her magical allowance, had scrubbed her Element clean, and fashioned a box for all six, when they should be finally found. She didn’t like the idea of them loose in their luggage, as they were when their bearers weren’t wearing them—uncommon.

Twilight had been surprised at how little conversation there was to be had about Lumb’s prophecy. There was little resistance when she first proposed they turn off course for Discord’s castle, and, though she could sense the fear in some of her friends, no one tried to force a change of direction.

For three days, they moved over waning swamps and grassland, the only shadow crossing over rumpled miles of swales and hills. Occasional toy villages appeared below, and Rainbow said she once saw the ponies retreat into their houses before the ship got too close.

On the fourth day, it was sunset before Draught Castle became more than a hazy shape. The grass had given way to trackless wasteland, the only variance in their view a large lake fed from the swamps. Twilight had kept up a nearly constant set of surveillance spells, but found nothing on their approach. From what she could tell, the castle was completely undefended by anything but its walls, and whatever waited within. Rarity suggested that perhaps Thunderhead had patrolled the area, when she was still around. The thought buoyed them all.

Draught Castle, an abandoned fortress from which the princesses had ruled in a time of fear of attack, was a simple building caught between two large towers, with a thread-like bridge connecting them. There were no banners, and no decorations, only plain stone. From aloft, they could see a green triangle of courtyard inside, and nothing else. Nothing moved inside, and they could see neither ponies nor armaments along the walls or towers. Surrounding the castle were three concentric walls of solid stone, with no visible entrances.

“We’re going to have to get through those,” Whooves said, heart audibly sinking. “I knew there would be something. Simply flying up to him would never have worked. Hmph, three barriers and a castle, standing between us and Discord. Imagine that!”

“Uhhh, am I missing something? Why can’t we just fly over them?” Rainbow asked. She stood up front with Applejack, forehooves on the gunwale to lean out into the dusk air. It was growing chilly, despite the fading sunlight.

“There is no way he would leave the air above his castle undefended,” Octavia said.

“Checking for that now,” Twilight said, horn alight. She only needed a second. “Yeah, no way. If we tried to float over those walls, we’d be swatted out of the air like a moth. I think, hang on… ooh, yeah, those walls move all right.”

“Move?” Fluttershy asked.

“It’s actually a very creative spell he has. The walls can rotate in their bases whenever he wants them to, or retract, or shoot out. We’d get up to the edge of one, and it would clip us in half.”

“But they’re huge,” Whooves said. “Can such a thing happen? Something so large move so quickly as to bifurcate our dirigible?”

“Gimme a break,” Applejack mumbled.

“In short, yes,” Twilight said. “Applejack, land us outside. We’re doing this on hoof.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up,” Rainbow cried. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now,” Octavia said. Her eyes were particularly bloodshot, and the sunset reflecting in them, combined with her purple irises, made her eyes look like dying embers in the soft gray charcoal of her face.

“Unless he saw us coming with his own eyes, he doesn’t actually know we’re here,” Twilight said. “We didn’t find any other magic, remember? Whether on purpose or by accident, he hasn’t put up an alarm system, and I intend to take full advantage of that.”

“What about Vanilla?” Applejack asked.

“We can’t worry about him. I’d like to know where he is, but we can’t. We might as well not think about it.”

“I’m not so sure he would let Discord know anyway,” Rarity said. “He might conveniently forget to mention something like us coming to his doorstep.” She giggled. “I’m actually rather excited! He’s been such a pain to us, it’s about time we give some back.”

“That’s the spirit, Rarity!” Whooves said.

“Have you ever done somethin’ like this, doc?” Big Mac asked.

“You mean faced a god outside his own stronghold? No, can’t say as I have, old chap.”

“Discord’s not gonna let us just walk around outside his castle,” Rainbow said, still looking on as they approached the ground. “He’s gonna fight us, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he came out of nowhere. Twilight, are you sure about this?”

“We’ve fought him before, Rainbow.”

“Yeah, but… not outside this.”

“Are you scared, Dashie?” Pinkie asked, bouncing in place.

“No! Well, uh, not really.”

“I think I know what it is,” Whooves said. “It’s the scene. Sunset, empty country, approaching the single, monolithic bastion of our enemy. Even though it probably isn’t, this feels like the final fight.”

Rainbow swallowed. “Yeah. That.”

“We are more powerful now than before, and there are more of us,” Octavia said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Especially Rarity,” Fluttershy said. “Now, I mean.”

“And I have been practicing with shields,” Rarity said. “So we should have enough time to react to whatever weird thing he throws at us.”

“See, Dashie?” Pinkie asked. “We’ve got this!”

“Ah think we oughta have an escape plan, just in case things don’t go well,” Applejack said.

“Uh, run for it?” Rainbow offered.

“And what if he decides to give chase?” Octavia asked.

Rainbow was silent.

“Twilight, do you have a spell that can attach the ship to us?” Whooves asked.

“What do you mean, ‘attach’?” Twilight asked.

“So we can’t be separated from it. Oh, confound me, I don’t know the word. So it can follow us, if we go far from it.”

“Oh, you mean imprint it. I don’t, but I know exactly where to find one. Be back in a moment!”

While Twilight searched below, they came to a soft landing on the dirt outside the castle. The walls stood thirty feet over their ship, the sunset gilding their surfaces. “Ah s’pose it’s good you thought of that,” Applejack said.

“Always happy to lend a helping hoof,” Whooves said, fiddling with the ramp. “How does this blasted thing work?”

Octavia set it down for him and walked onto the dust, Rainbow right behind. She put a hoof to the wall. “It is only now hitting me how far away from civilization we truly are.”

“Sixteen days out of Hoofington,” Whooves said, trotting down to meet them. “Quite the travel, if I say so myself. I can’t wait to get back to the hustle and bustle of the city. Ah, Applewood, Equestria’s shining beacon in the middle of the desert! An almost orchestral—”

“All right, that’s enough out of you,” Applejack said, coming up beside him. “We can’t have Discord catch on to us ‘cause of yer yammerin’.”

“I dare say, Applejack, a clearer voice of reason there never was. I shall henceforth only speak when spoken to!”

“That’s more like it.”

“Here we go,” Twilight said, meeting them and looking around furtively. A book floated before her, and she placed it on the ground. “One minute, and I’ll have this ship imprinted onto Applejack.”

“Me? Why me?”

“You’re the pilot.”

“But why just her?” Rarity asked.

“Easier,” Twilight said simply. “And no chance of it getting caught between ponies.” Her horn glowed a bright magenta that turned the walls’ golden sheen into that of blood, and the ship returned her illumination like a grounded fireball.

“Simply breathtaking,” Whooves muttered.

Applejack cast him a dark look as Twilight finished.

“So what now? How do we start?” Applejack asked.

“We search for an entrance,” Octavia said. She looked along the wall both ways, and started walking. The others followed her without a word.

“Hang on,” Big Mac said. “AJ, get back on the ship.”

Applejack scoffed. “Big Bro, Ah know you wanna protect me, but—”

“So you can follow us,” he continued. “An’ so it’s ready fer us if we need to get away.”

“Unless you can get it to follow us of its own accord,” Whooves said. “Can you do that yet?”

“Ah can…” Applejack said. “But Ah’d like to be up there anyway, just in case. Gimme a sec.” She boarded the ship again and brought it a few feet off the ground, following them noisily and slowly. Her hooves didn’t touch the wheel.

“So there goes our cover,” Rarity said. “Not that I feel we had much to begin with.”

They walked steadily out of the sunset, single-file, no one looking straight forward for more than a minute. All around their walk, they found no possible points of ingress into the wall, or signs that there had ever been any.

“If he catches us by surprise, I will attack first,” Octavia eventually said. “I will hit him fast and hard. Twilight, I think that you should be beside me.”

“I’ll keep us protected,” Rarity said.

“Anythin’ Ah can do?” Big Mac asked.

“Keep your distance. There will be a lot of magic flying around,” Octavia said.

“Yo!” Rainbow stopped to point up at the top of the wall. Where the sun caught the edge, sending a sharp line of shade down the wall’s curve, they could see a thin band of light, long and slender, like a thread of silk. It did not appear to move at first, but, as they watched, Applejack bringing their ship closer behind, it wiggled and gyrated in its place, slowly moving down the wall.

“Shields?” Whooves asked nervously.

“Only once I see what it is,” Rarity said.

“No, put them up now,” Octavia said.

“I don’t want to waste my energy.”

The ribbon stopped to hang at the wall’s midpoint, high above them but close enough for them to clearly see a serpentine form.

“I think now is rather a good time,” Whooves said, his voice weak.

“Discord!” Rainbow shouted, and the light he emanated vanished. He crawled down the wall like an insect, mismatched arms, legs, and wings splayed out in a catastrophic pinwheel that gripped imperfections in the stone that the ponies could not discern.

Rarity’s shield sprung up in a thin bubble, rippling dust around them, just as Discord slipped from his vantage and landed before them with a heavy, liquid sound.

“Now!” Octavia shouted, dashing forward with an explosion already erupting. It had been a long time since she had used one, and no one was quite ready for the sound that crackled out into the dry desert air. Fire flickered momentarily at Discord’s face, but his only reaction was to straighten his long hair as it blew back. He looked at them.

Twilight, grunting with exertion behind them, flared her horn, producing a rapid bloom of magenta blasts, pounding at the draconequus’ face and body. Concussive bolts, raw telekinetic power, were something that nearly every unicorn could produce but that Twilight could create with such intensity as to leave a trail of sonic booms as she ripped her magic through the air.

As magic slapped out of thin air at his upper body, another tail of dust shot up at his legs as Octavia ignited the ground, and Discord was hidden in the mess. Rarity’s shield remained untouched.

“Stop!” Applejack shouted. “Ah said stop!”

With a furtive glance in her direction, Twilight arrested her spells, and Octavia followed her lead. Discord still stood, arms crossed derisively, eyebrows quirked, an unamused look on his face. He waited for the dust to settle, and everyone stared at him. Any movement on his part could set them into another flurry of attacks, and his expression suggested he knew it.

At last, he spoke. “Is that it? Half your Elements, amazing powers, and the unassailable magic of friendship, and this is what you bring me?” His serious countenance cracked, and he cackled, a more familiar sound, and almost comforting in the strange armistice. “You’re bouncing off my shield like flies. I could just stand here and watch, and you’d probably destroy yourselves for me in all the confusion you’re producing. I mean, come on.” He laughed again. “I’m the god of chaos, not,” he waved his paw and talons at them rapidly, as if swatting at flies, “you all. Am I not supplying enough disorder for you? Are you trying to tell me that?”

“We’re more powerful than ever, Discord!” Rainbow shouted.

His laugh dwindled to a chuckle, then a self-satisfied smile. “Clearly. You took me by surprise once, but I’ve since adjusted my strategy. I suggest you do the same. Relying on the most powerful mares doesn’t seem to be working for you anymore.” He stretched and laughed a little more. “Maybe you should find a way to dispel shields, Twilight. Force me to use my wits and my reflexes, rather than a wall of magic. It really is too easy when I can just put up a barrier and let you wale on it.”

“It don’t matter none, Discord. Once we got the Elements, it’ll be a one-sided fight,” Applejack said.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I guess I’d better hurry up and conquer Equestria before that, hm? For now, begone!”

He snapped his fingers one last time, and they all pitched forward.

The sky spun over Twilight’s swimming eyes. She rolled over and took a deep breath, but the fresh air did little to clear her head. She felt as though she had collapsed through the ground, only to tilt back and snap into her prior position after a second of disorienting weightlessness. The others wore expressions that suggested that they felt similarly.

The same desert landscape surrounded them, broken only by a navy blue stripe of river nearby, but there was no castle in sight. The airship hovered above, its captain looking around slowly.

“What the hell happened?” Rainbow yelled from behind.

“The same thing that always happens,” Applejack said.

“He cast us away,” Whooves said, more offended than alarmed.

“Every few freaking weeks, it’s the same damn thing!” Rainbow continued, taking to the air. “We’re making progress somewhere, and then we just get pushed away. Vanilla, Discord, whatever! Twilight, we can’t go on like this much longer.”

Twilight rubbed her eyes. “I hear you, Rainbow. I hear you.”

“Darling, could you land the ship for us?” Rarity asked sweetly. Her smile was pained.

The ship set down gently, and they climbed on. “Do we at least know where we are?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes. We are a few miles southwest of Applewood,” Octavia said. “Lumb was correct.”

“Applewood? Where, where?” Pinkie cried.

“The only town in sight, Pinks,” Rainbow sighed, looking out at it. “It’s big.”

They all watched the city swing into clear view as the ship turned. Applewood glittered like a pan of gold in the desert, much of it mirrored and diminished in the river’s reflection. To one side, a line of bright buildings formed the middle of a dense web of light, a pocket of jewels in the gold; on the other, a tawny curve of stone blocked the river.

“It hardly looks damaged at all,” Rarity said.

“They’ve had enough time to pick up the pieces, so to speak,” Whooves said. “Enough time to get the dam fixed, even.”

“There’s a dam?” Pinkie said.

“Sure. This river here is the Whitewater Stampede. It starts in Trottingham and runs directly through Applewood, and the Applewood Dam, powering the whole city. They’ve obviously got electricity again, so the dam must be up and running.”

“Fluttershy, do I recall you saying you know someone here?” Rarity asked.

The airship purred to life, and they were gaining height. Fluttershy nodded reluctantly.

“Who is this friend?” Twilight asked.

“Well, um, I’m not sure if I want to call him a friend,” Fluttershy said.

“Him? Why, Fluttershy, I’d have never guessed,” Whooves said.

“It’s not that. Um, and I’m gay anyway. He’s, um, well, more of an old acquaintance.”

“We’ve got no reason to barge in on him,” Rainbow said. “Uh, or it sounds like it.”

“It’s no one who can help us?” Pinkie asked.

Fluttershy blushed. “Um… I don’t really know.”

“Unless he has some kind of knowledge of what Discord’s doing, he’s useless,” Rainbow said. “So let’s just drop it, okay?”

It was nine o’ clock when they crossed into the Applewood city limits, the sting of Discord’s dismissive banishment well soothed by the prospect of landing in a new location. The city spread farther than they could see at their low altitude, a fishnet of scintillating highways, shops, apartments, and houses. On the eastern end, they could see the great curve of suburban residences like a speckled cape laid over the desert, pinned and flattened to the ground by the shining, black band of river, its surface scratched with boats’ occasional white arrowheads.

On the west end, the city was altogether different. Giant dominos of hotels stood amidst and over countless points of textured and colored light, each individual building anonymous in the mist of moving lights. The only names that they could read from their ship were those of the hotels, all lined along one artery of pure, golden electricity. Apogee and Perigee stood on opposite ends of The Bright Road, dignified and bathed in somber, blue and turquoise light from their signs. Streams of gold and silver light pulsed up the walls of Inspire while a triple-decker fountain erupted on its rooftop, while The Comet Tail proclaimed itself with a bold, art deco meteor, below which ponies tromped across a courtyard of tiles made to resemble a red and yellow starburst. At the very back of the city, they could make out a bright orange cowpony clasping an electric lasso in her teeth on the front of The Frontier, while a white snowflake coruscated on the face of the Whirlwind.

“This is the city I am most comfortable in,” Octavia said. “I have played here more times than I can remember.”

“This place is huge,” Rarity said, awestruck. “Of course I’ve read of it, but I never dreamed I would actually be here. It’s… it’s larger than life.”

“Ah didn’t know it was possible to even build things that big,” Big Mac said. They were passing directly over a silver cylinder, gleaming black windows spiraling up its sides, where the building became a flowering sequence of overlapping balconies and ramps, from which hundreds of ponies watched as they flew slowly by.

“You should see the dam,” Whooves said. “I’ve had the pleasure once or twice, and I must say, it is quite the marvel of engineering. Just enough to knock one’s socks off, if one were to wear them to begin with.” He chuckled.

“I have performed atop the dam,” Octavia said.

“No way,” Rainbow said. “Seriously?”

“The entire Manehattan Royal Orchestra was allowed up to play. It took three hours for the technicians to set up our equipment, and, as I recall, three or four ponies simply to move each amplifier.”

“How’d you do?” Pinkie asked.

“The media called it my most successful show, but I suspect that that is because of the setup, rather than the performance. I thought that my playing was average. Good, but average.”

“That’s average fer you,” Applejack said.

“Yes.”

“So the question is,” Rainbow said, leaning her entire front half off the ship, “where the heck do we stay?”

“I have always preferred the Apogee,” Octavia said. “That one.” She pointed to a dark blue box with a large replica of the moon hanging half off, as if ready to fall and roll comically down the street at any second. “It is close to the middle of The Bright Road, which is where, I suspect, a lot of us will want to be.” She smiled a rare smile. “In between casting your spells, there will be plenty to occupy you, much more than in Hoofington.”

“Holy cow! Twilight, look at that!” Applejack shouted, pointing. Coiling around a different hotel, somewhat off The Bright Road, a train of lights and screaming voices thundered through the air. It took Twilight a second to see the rails beneath.

“That is The Hurricane. It is less popular, but has the advantage of being accessible by that giant roller coaster.”

Pinkie joined Rainbow at the rail, speaking so quickly they couldn’t understand her.

“I never really cared for it.”

The Moon Shot

Chapter Sixty-seven

The Moon Shot

Applejack landed them, again without touching the wheel, on a lot dense with other airships. The entire area was bathed in sharp, warm light, an island in an ocean of even greater lights and the tumult of thousands of walking, talking tourists.

The Apogee was a flat rectangle that stood auspiciously apart from other smaller hotels, a gloomy obelisk with its straight-lettered name bathing its top half in dark blue. The Bright Road was one easy walk away from its front doors, themselves behind a tile courtyard of Luna’s cutie mark, a fountain with silver, glittering water inside her moon’s crescent.

From the courtyard entrance, hemmed with towering shrubs of cantering royal guards, and lined within with sleek, black cars and ornate carriages, they could see only a half mile wedge of The Bright Road, and Octavia had to prod them to keep them moving. Only she and Whooves had ever seen so much electricity concentrated in one place. Signs and advertisements, many in motion, glowed with every color in the spectrum, nearly all of them advertising food, drinks, shows, or all three. On a squat dive bar, a grinning neon pony lounged in a martini glass, while an acid yellow and green sandwich endlessly ate and then restored itself just next door. Crowds of ponies, many just as young as the Elements, stomped down the sidewalks, shouting, cheering, and clamoring to be heard over everyone else. Some danced, some galloped freely, some stopped in front of shabby-looking performers contributing their own brand of improvised music to the mess of activity.

“In, in,” Octavia said. “We can explore later. We are in everyone’s way right now.”

The Apogee was a soothing refuge from the hurrying city outside. Soft blue and white light mingled in a dark carpeted vestibule, while chandeliers, stylized to resemble armillary spheres, painted giant dots all across the lobby. They checked in with Celestia’s treasury slip, getting three rooms, on different floors and far from one another. There had been no reservations made, so it was the best they could do, the concierge explained, even after Rainbow reminded her who they all were.

In the elevator, shared with a single, elderly pony who smelled of tobacco, they silently climbed to the highest room: the Elements of Harmony Suite, reserved for only the highest paying guests. After their humiliation outside Discord’s castle, Twilight had figured they deserved something nice, and no one had objected.

Their room was more than nice. For the second time, they could only stand in the doorway and stare while Octavia waited for them to come to their senses. Two king beds, blankets emblazoned with cutie marks they did not immediately recognize, stood on the far side of a forty-two inch TV, which stood atop a cabinet of dark blue wood, tiny stars sparkling in silver all across its surfaces. A life-sized painting of six ponies stood between the beds, but they did not see themselves in the picture.

The walk-in shower was tiled with another cutie mark, and each bottle of shampoo, lotion, and soap was stamped with Luna’s moon. There was a balcony outside, eleven stories off the ground, where three ponies could sit and look to the stars, or to The Bright Road. Proud palm saplings were there to offer shade for the daytime, and lank shadows in the night; their pots were carved and shellacked with yet another unfamiliar cutie mark.

“So that’s five Elements,” Applejack said, spinning in the room, jaw slack. “Where’s the sixth?”

“Here,” Whooves said, turning off the light. They all gasped, and Fluttershy cheered. Through the glass doors to the balcony, starlight and electric light streamed in, catching an unseen pattern in the glass and throwing a spectral ice cream cone onto the carpet.

“These are earlier Elements,” Twilight said. “I knew I recognized these. They’re from the ponies who had them before we did.”

“Why is there a room themed on the Elements of Harmony?” Rainbow asked. “Not that I’m saying it isn’t totally sweet, but why?”

“I can only imagine it sells fantastically,” Rarity said, sitting on a bed and bouncing experimentally. “Absolutely divine. Is this common to Applewood?”

“You tell me,” Octavia said, levitating a bottle of beer from the mini fridge. On it posed an orange earth pony with a blonde mane, slightly different from Applejack, but obviously intended to resemble her.

“Yer kiddin’,” Big Mac said, plucking it out of the air. “Sis, it’s yer spittin’ image.”

“It is something you will need to get used to here,” Octavia said. “I had forgotten about it, myself. I apologize. I could have told you to brace yourselves for the shock.”

“This is crazy,” Rainbow said, out on the balcony. “Look! Is—is that me?”

They rushed outside to see where Rainbow pointed: a polychromatic tail hanging off a darker blue pegasus, smiling while the words “loose slots, fast drinks” coruscated below.

“Do not fall for advertisements like that,” Octavia said. “Gambling is the fastest and least satisfying way to lose money here. If you insist on wasting bits, go out for a show, or go drinking. Even a club is better.”

“Are you on anything here, sis?” Pinkie asked.

“I doubt it. I never rose to your levels of fame. Not even close.”

“I’m sure we could find you in a record store or something,” Whooves said. “Surely there is some manner of respite in this cultural wasteland, where one might happen upon that lovely, stern face of yours.”

Octavia gave a tiny smile and turned away.

The other rooms were beautiful, but less so, and they ended with an argument over who would take which. Twilight, Rarity, and Applejack took the Elements of Harmony Suite, while Rainbow, Fluttershy, and Octavia got the Ecliptic Suite on the sixth floor, and Whooves, Pinkie, and Big Mac took the second floor Moon Suite. While they sorted their bags into the appropriate rooms, and Octavia set to tuning and inspecting her cello in Twilight’s room, the town outside quieted and cooled by degrees.

They had been in their hotel for only an hour, and most everyone was in the Elements of Harmony Suite, still marveling and playing with the amenities. Rainbow was in her own room, trying to fold a towel with a weak attempt at telekinesis, when Fluttershy came up behind. “I think you need to see this.” She flourished a pair of letters. “They materialized on the bed, just now.”

Rainbow frowned. “Like, this instant?”

“I think it’s a bad sign.”

Rainbow grabbed the letter and read aloud. “Dearest Elements, consider this a wake-up call. I write this mere hours after kicking you off my lawn, so to speak.”

“It has to be Discord.”

“You’ve spent plenty of time up north, within yelling distance of Canterlot. No more.” Rainbow looked up briefly, then continued. “While your princesses have been doing plenty to keep things neat and tidy on the north side, they can’t pay the same attention to the south. So, let me officially welcome you to Applewood. Enclosed, you will find documentation of what I say here: the Equestrian south belongs to me, and this city most specifically. Don’t get comfortable.” She put the letter on the mattress, and Fluttershy looked at it.

“We need to show Twilight.”

“Holy crap,” Rainbow mumbled. “He’s not joking.” She turned over the second paper, a contract. They spread it on the mattress and read. Dated from only a month after the disaster, it was between Discord—his signature contained within a scalene triangle cuspate to the two D’s in his name—and the owner of Applewood’s hydroelectric dam, a stallion by the name of Pure Waterfall. In it, Discord promised to make unspecified enchantments to the dam, its reservoirs, and four miles of river behind it, ensuring its immediate recovery from the disaster and allowing power to return to Applewood in full before any other city. In return, an equally unspecific term was accepted: control over key systems, to be ceded in “times of need.”

“He can’t have actually agreed to this,” Fluttershy said.

Rainbow only nodded, thinking. “But to restore power only a month after everything went to Tartarus? He might.”

“It can’t possibly be worth it.”

Rainbow looked pointedly at the window. They had a full view of The Bright Road, its spangled conflagration bursting with tourists, and money. “Looks worth it to me. This city has hardly changed.”

“In exchange for giving him control over the dam?”

“I would.”

Fluttershy gasped.

“If I was responsible for the power to the biggest city in Equestria, I think I’d do it. I’d look for ways out as soon as I got things up and running, but I’d do it at first.” She shook the contract and let it float to the ground. “That rat bastard. He knew he didn’t have to give fair conditions. He had this city cornered from the start.” She shook her head. “Why didn’t we hear about this?”

“I have no idea,” Fluttershy said. She turned the contract over, showing a single word, written in a clumsy hand. POOF.

As soon as their eyes scanned the word, both papers vanished in ribbons of smoke, and they looked at each other. Someone was knocking, and Rainbow got up to admit Whooves, behind which came everyone else.

“We are going out,” Octavia said.

“We? Who’s we?” Rainbow asked.

“All of us,” Twilight said. “Even me.”

“This place is too awesome to ignore!” Pinkie cried, hopping up and down behind them. “Even if we have planning and stuff to do, it can wait ‘til tomorrow! Tomorrow’s not far off as it is!”

“What say you, ladies?” Whooves asked. “A night on the town? It would do us all good, I say.”

“Maybe,” Rainbow said. “But first, Twilight, we have to tell you something.”

“Um, no, thank you,” Fluttershy said. “That is, no, we’ll just stay in. I’m feeling kind of tired.”

“What do you need to tell me?” Twilight asked.

Rainbow glanced at Fluttershy, understanding the look she was giving her. “You know what? It can wait. You girls have fun out there.”

“You’re staying behind too?” Rarity asked.

“Like Fluttershy said, we’re tired,” Rainbow said, faking a yawn. “Tell us how it is tomorrow, will ya?”

“You are missing a lot of fun,” Octavia said. “But I understand.”

“Come along, ponies! The city calls!” Whooves said, charging down the hall.

As soon as they were gone, Fluttershy closed the door, went to the complimentary coffee press, and started making a batch. Rainbow sat down.

“I’m sorry, Rainbow, but I really don’t want to explain everything to her, especially with everyone else there. With the letter too, it would be too much.”

“That’s kinda what I thought,” Rainbow said. “What do you want to do?”

“How tired are you actually?”

“I can go for a while.”

“Good. We have to get a plan, and fast. I doubt Discord’s exaggerating, which means we could have as little as twenty-four hours to figure this out.”

Rainbow looked wistfully at the window, then got up and shut the curtains. “Good thinking, Shy. I’m gonna need that coffee.”

No one spoke at first, not that they would be able to hear one another. They walked as a speechless crowd with the surging masses, past blinking bars, glowing restaurants, and shops to sell commodities and souvenirs. The night sky was a rosy bowl admitting only the brightest stars, and the streets were rivers of honking cars and impatient ponies in carriage harnesses. When stoplights turned, hundreds of ponies crossed the streets at once.

The Apogee disappeared behind them as they made their way up The Bright Road, following Big Mac and Whooves as they parted the crowd, heads swinging to take in the overload of sights. Despite the apparent congestion, they found it easy to move just as quickly as the ponies that surrounded them, and they soon found themselves abreast of two tall stanchions, decorated with spirals of tapering light as if painted with thin rays of sunshine. A bridge, as wide and densely populated as the street that connected to it, spanned fifty yards to another section of The Bright Road. There hung overhead a sign that read “Windy Walk.” Slats were cut into the guardrails, tall as some of the buildings before them, through which they could see only more city, slightly offset by the ground’s sectioning.

They could not even tell they were suspended over nothing. The thunder of countless hooves caused no vibrations, and the wind, funneled through the long canyon of air between city segments, caused no swaying that they could feel. At Big Mac’s behest, they stopped and entered a fat building, its sign a garish red dollop of ice cream on an ecstatic pony’s snout.

The cold, white marble was a shock from the warm macadam outside, and they, again, took a moment to blink in stupefaction in the threshold. Colorful glass cylinders reached halfway to the roof like alchemical decanters behind a polished counter, and a pair of attractive, corseted mares tended to a line that nearly reached the door. Beyond, the marble floor curved away and became dark brown tile, on which they could see the dim reflections of overhead lights, torn by yet more marching hooves.

Pinkie, her silence finally broken by the sight of something familiar, hopped into line, babbling to the others to join, and then about what they were in line for when they did. Twilight looked around, nervousness and fascination combining into wary observation that hardly left room for Pinkie’s monologue.

When they finally reached the front, Twilight took a second to scan the list of flavors, and found, with a start, that everything contained alcohol. In that same moment, she glanced at the mare making Pinkie’s order, and, for two bits extra, she added a second shot of something to the mix.

Twilight was so stunned that she didn’t even think about what she ordered or agreed to, and left the line holding a banana yellow smoothie with two shots of rum in it, which Whooves eyed intently over his own tangerine.

“Well, go on, Twilight!” Applejack said, laughing. “Tell us how yer first sip of alcohol is.”

“Your first?” Whooves echoed. Then, looking to Applejack, he asked, “what flavor is that?”

“Blue raspberry.”

“Not green apple?”

“Ah can like other flavors, doc.”

Twilight put her lips to the straw in her drink, sipping lightly, then stronger to pull the thick liquid up to herself. She tossed it in her mouth for a few seconds before swallowing and taking more.

“Good?” Rarity asked. Hers, a pastel pink, was already one third drained.

“Actually, yes,” Twilight said. “I thought it was supposed to burn, like how Fluttershy’s did.”

Whooves stared at her, wide-eyed, a laughing smile on his face.

“Isopropyl, Doctor.” She took a bigger drink. “This is nothing like that.”

“I should hope not, my dear!” he cried, playfully bumping her flank with his own. “That stuff is monstrous, not fit for equine consumption in the slightest! This, however, is the nectar of the goddesses. I would not be at all surprised to see Princess Celestia patronizing an establishment of this kind. Er, in different times, I suppose.”

“Please, dear, she’s far too busy,” Rarity intoned.

“What’s down there?” Big Mac asked, pointing to the rest of the building.

They walked, their drinks secured in small neck harnesses, down a long corridor and to an aisle of clothing and accessory stores. Rarity gasped and trotted to the nearest window, before turning back, disappointed. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, I can tell already.” She finished another quarter of her drink in a few seconds. “Now that looks like something else.” She moved past them to a shop across from them, and Twilight looked at Octavia, who had not ordered anything.

“Large groups of ponies tend to want to split up from time to time when they are here,” Octavia said. “It is natural.”

They looked over at a flash of red, and saw Big Mac going after Rarity, calling something that they could not hear.

“That glamour really did a number on him, didn’t it?” Whooves asked. “How do you suppose he knows which one to go with? Us or her?”

“I’m not leaving her behind,” Twilight said. “Come on.” She lowered her voice, and her head to take another long drink of her smoothie. “Remember who we are, and who watches us. We can’t be one hundred percent safe here.”

After an hour of browsing and trying on different outfits, and eventually purchasing some, they left and returned to the street, where they crossed the bridge and, following the crowd along an off-shooting sidewalk, entered into The Observatory, a squat, domed hotel with climbing purple and pink lights all along its ribbed sides. Inside, they were again stunned by a wave of noise and images. The Apogee too had a casino on the first floor, but the entrance they chose had allowed them to skirt it and go directly to their rooms.

The floor was checkered mostly with shades of blue, but an occasional white tile, making it resemble a lurid kind of night sky, while a circular skylight above, built into a titanic fresco of Princess Celestia, allowed for a brief respite from the dizzying sights. An army of slot machines faced them, many with ponies sitting at them, their spinning wheels blurring in their overwhelmed eyes to become meaningless spits of color on shifting white teeth. Electric bells chimed, lights flashed all around, and the sound of bits clinking on metal trays was everywhere. Throughout, neatly dressed unicorns moved with drink trays levitated well above their heads.

“This is what I was talking about,” Octavia said, guiding them along a carpeted path around the slot machines. “A total waste of time and money.”

“Surely there’s more than just these?” Pinkie asked.

“Of course. There are other games to play. Some even require skill.”

They passed through a smaller area of roulette and blackjack tables, past an alcove of quiet ponies playing cards, which held Applejack’s interest for a few minutes, and went up a set of stairs to come out above the street on a thinner bridge, which would connect them, as Octavia pointed out, to the Enchanted Wood. The entire building was painted and textured to resemble a gnarled tree, and they could see individual room lights glowing from within tremendous leaves twenty stories up.

“I am looking for a bar that I used to attend,” Octavia explained as they walked toward the door. They passed a homeless pony half-dozing beside a crate of water bottles: one bit, one bottle. Pinkie obliged him.

The Enchanted Wood, though interesting on the outside, bore no difference from the shopping centers they had briefly seen in Apogee, and it was a short walk before they were back on the street, following Octavia to a dark, wood-paneled bar call The Moon Shot. She stopped a moment, as if examining her memory, and then led them in.

Music was playing, but it was drowned in the patrons’ tumult. There were only a few scattered seats open at the bar, so they were obliged to take a booth near the back, and an extra table placed beside. Everyone’s drinks were finished, and Twilight, though she said nothing, was feeling hers. The slowness of inebriation was not something with which she was comfortable, though she had read accounts of it before, and experienced magic to produce a similar effect.

The only other pony who appeared to be affected was Rarity, who slouched next to Whooves, who seemed more than a little happy to take advantage of the close quarters, and had leaned to offer himself as a comfortable place for her to rest.

The waiter appeared and got drink orders, and Twilight, again not thinking, absentmindedly ordered a Manehattan—the first drink name to spring to her lips.

“Yer really goin’ fer it tonight, Twi,” Applejack said. “You just be sure to pace yerself, ya hear?”

“I didn’t even mean to get anything,” Twilight said softly, looking around.

“Pardon?”

“I said I didn’t mean to get anything!” She leaned across the table, and Applejack did the same. “This city is too much! I feel totally overwhelmed, and I’m not thinking!”

“Ya gonna be okay?”

“Yes, I think so. It’s not that kind of overwhelmed—thanks for asking, though, really.” She looked at Whooves, who was leaning to hear them as well. “It’s just weird.”

“I think it’s enchanting,” Rarity said, sitting up to watch a tray of drinks go past them to a different table. “I’ve always wanted to see this, and now I am! In the flesh, Twilight!”

“You put that smoothie of yers away right quick, huh?” Applejack said, poking her.

“A lady is entitled to… to… how do you say it? Oh, put one away, every now and again.”

“It has been quite a road,” Octavia said, nodding graciously as their drinks arrived, hers a thick, brown glass with no garnish. She sipped it without a smile.

“What is that?” Big Mac asked.

“This is Deep Underground, neat. It is a brand of whiskey. One of my orchestra-mates taught me to enjoy it.”

Twilight gagged and sputtered as she sipped her Manehattan, and Applejack laughed.

“Er, yes, if I could just expand upon what Miss Octavia has said,” Whooves said. “It has been rather a tough experience for us all.” He paused, and Rarity frowned at him. “Castles, traps, tricks, and nature itself set against us, and yet, we prevail! Tomorrow, we rally around our new Element, but, tonight, we celebrate.”

“Hear, hear,” Applejack said, nudging her glass with a hoof—the earth pony manner of toasting.

Octavia took another drink of her whiskey; the last thing Twilight saw before the lights went out was her impeccably straight face wrinkling a fraction at the alcohol’s potency.

She was aware of the volume first. Music cut out, and every bar patrons’ conversations were momentarily suspended in loud nothing before dropping into a chorus of groans and questions. Light still came in from the window, but it was diminished by distance. Twilight could see bars and hotels far off that were still alight, but everything she could immediately see had died.

The crowd outside had frozen as well, caught in the blackout as if not one of them had ever seen its like before. The neon signs were defunct coils on walls, the pictures of entertained ponies reduced to ghostly visages with leering mockeries of faces. In the space of a second, every building had turned to a tombstone.

In The Moon Shot’s soft chaos, Twilight discerned someone calling for everyone to be quiet. Her voice was thin, and the shout sounded like an exertion she was not used to.

And then, light returned. From somewhere in the crowd, a cone of light spattered their shadows against the walls and fanned the ceiling as its bearer got up from her seat. Twilight could only catch a glimpse of mane as the pony moved, bringing the light with her. It toggled unevenly as she walked to the door, where she stopped. In her movement, everyone had quieted, and she looked at them all for a moment before telling them to prepare themselves a second time. The light turned and widened, and the bar was suddenly bathed in an unnatural simulacrum of day.

Twilight stared as everyone else cheered. The light was soft and evenly distributed, two signs of a pony with considerable skill with the spell. She lowered her head and sipped her drink again, keeping a straight face with some effort and a clenched jaw.

“Barkeep, what’s the spread on that circuit-breaker?” Twilight heard her ask, and someone replied that it was more than the bar that had gone out. The mare turned to look out the door, her light not shifting.

“I recognize that pony,” Octavia said. “She goes by DJ Pon-three. I have forgotten her actual name.”

“Sounds familiar,” Pinkie slurred. Her drink, a cotton candy-pink liquid in a martini glass, was already finished.

“She’s really good with a light spell,” Twilight said. She took another sip of her Manehattan and gagged again. “Who wants this?”

“I will take it,” Octavia said. After a second of shifting her eyes, she drew it to her telepathically. “I like these as well.”

“Don’t get too drunk, Miss Octavia,” Big Mac said.

“I know my limits.”

Despite the strange mare’s light, the crowd was not long in staying. Some ponies finished their drinks before leaving, and many did not. Where only minutes ago the wait staff had moved with drink trays, they moved instead with checks. Twilight paid when they were finished, and they followed a group of grumbling stallions outside. DJ Pon-three remained, though she had dimmed her light, and was speaking closely to the manager. Outside, movement had resumed, and no one seemed much to mind the blackout. They could see that it was contained to a couple blocks, and many ponies seemed content to simply walk through and find new places to entertain themselves.

“Where next?” Twilight asked after a moment. The darkness puzzled her, and she wanted to think about it, but found that she could not. “I think I’m what Rainbow Dash calls ‘buzzed.’ Or maybe drunk. Does it happen that easily for beginners?”

“It does, yes. You did not order beginners’ drinks, either,” Octavia said. She looked around. “There is something in every direction. Personally, I am hungry.”

“Yes! Food!” Pinkie shouted. “This fluffy body needs fuel!” She charged ahead for a second before doubling back and hopping over to them, crying a mixture of encouragement and directions that Twilight was not sure she would have understood even if she were in her right mind.

They half walked, half trotted, along The Bright Road, putting more distance between them and the Apogee. All music had faded with the light, and the only sounds that remained were the ponies’ conversations themselves, strangely empty with no accompanying noise. Cars honked and carriage ponies shouted at intersections, where traffic lights had winked out, and wandering drunkards were suddenly more noticeable, looking at the dark buildings as though they had been transported to another city entirely.

The nearest hotel was Sky Kiss, a light gray ribbon with its name in slender cursive on a glowing archway before its main entrance, made to look like the golden grilles of heaven, or Canterlot Palace.

Before they could get close, though, the hotel flickered and went out.

“The heck is goin’ on?” Applejack asked.

“It’s some kind of bizarrely slow rolling blackout,” Whooves said, turning a lazy circle. “I’m not sure what to—hey! The Moon Shot’s back!”

They turned to see. The bar, completely dead five minutes ago, had regained its lights, and they could even hear its music bleeding into the emptied street. Around it, too, businesses had come back to life, and customers were trickling back, though the mare and her light were absent. Near them, everything was still dark.

They kept moving, and, when they reached Sky Kiss, ponies were milling about the courtyard in a confused mob. From snippets of conversation, they were able to ascertain that it was not just the lights that had gone out. Televisions and radios had blinked off, refrigerators had stopped humming, irons had started cooling on ironing boards. All the electricity, it seemed, had been cut off at once.

“We will not want to stop here,” Octavia said. “Onwards.”

“What’s that one?” Pinkie asked, pointing to an awkwardly shaped building, something between a split stalk of wheat and a bell. Crimson ribs of delicate metal bloomed out in a rough-edged dome over a thick, white building.

“That is The Core.”

“Oh, Ah get it,” Applejack said. “Shaped like an apple core.”

“You think you’re gonna see much of yourself in this one, pard?” Whooves asked.

“Ah think yer not gonna be seein’ much of anythin’ if you keep callin’ me that, pard.”

Whooves guffawed as they walked in the direction of The Core, but, as they did so, they never once stepped into light. As they moved, buildings dimmed and went out, and waves of displeased voices followed them everywhere. By the time they reached the small, apple-themed hotel, it too had lost its light, and a pool of confused, sleepy ponies was filling the courtyard and lawn. Behind, Sky Kiss was returning to its previous state. Lights were climbing back up its sides, and they could hear the crowd they had left there fading as it dispersed.

“This is really weird,” Rarity said. She still appeared drunk, but less so; they had been walking for nearly half an hour.

“I have an idea,” Twilight said. “Or, rather, I think I have an idea. Hang on just a sec.” She lit her horn, and they stood in her magenta glow in silence before she dimmed it and shook her head in obvious frustration.

“What is it?” Big Mac asked.

“I can’t cast magic like this!” She shook her head a second time. “Stupid, Twilight, stupid. I should have known this would happen.” Her eyes widened. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about this!”

“Calm down, Twi,” Applejack said. “You just gave me an actual idea, though.” She walked to a light pole and balanced herself into a standing position.

“What are you doing?” Octavia asked.

“Just hold on,” Applejack whispered. She had her eyes closed, and, after a second, her intentions became clear as the light pulsed once, and then went back out.

“You can’t possibly hope to restore power to the entire block,” Rarity said, going to her and offering herself as a support for Applejack to get down safely. She leaned too far into the pole and overbalanced, nearly falling herself, as Applejack tried again. The light glowed again, held for nearly five seconds, and then dimmed.

“It’s too much for one pony,” Whooves said. “I dare say, even the princess herself couldn’t restore this much power on her own.”

“Yes she could,” Twilight said. “Easily, and for days.”

“It ain’t just that, though,” Applejack said. “There’s somethin’ goin’ on with it.” She looked around at the nearby ponies, many of whom had stopped to look or listen. “Uh, let’s keep goin’. Still gotta find somethin’ to eat.”

They headed back in the direction of The Moon Shot, and Applejack kept her voice down as she explained.

“Controllin’ the ship with magic was actually pretty easy once Ah got used to it. It’s sorta like meditatin’. Least that’s what Big Mac said it’s like when Ah told him.”

“You meditate?” Pinkie asked.

“Used to. Not much time anymore,” Big Mac said with a halfhearted shrug.

“This weren’t like that, though, not at all,” Applejack said. “Felt like there was somethin’ there resistin’ me, somethin’ Ah had to push against to get that light to go on. Maybe like someone else already had a hold of it.”

“Hey! There it goes again!” Pinkie yelled. The Moon Shot had again darkened, and another, smaller, angry cry was rising up from its seats.

“Stop,” Whooves said. “A thought just came to me.” He put a hoof to Pinkie’s chest to keep her from moving forward, and she stumbled with a loud giggle. “Everyone move back. Keep your eyes on that bar.”

Doubtfully, they walked back, getting as far as the street corner before stopping again. A soft glow came from within The Moon Shot, and after some minutes, it had returned to its full brilliance, along with some of its neighbors. The patrons waited outside, no one moving with any decisiveness.

“And now forward,” Whooves said. “Slowly.”

They crossed the street and got perhaps a hundred feet away before The Moon Shot went out again. No one in the crowds seemed disappointed.

“It’s us,” he said. “It’s… here, look. Sky Kiss is up again too. Look!”

They looked around, following his own turning, guiding hoof. All around them, the shops and bars were lightless, but after a point, everything was fine.

“It’s us. This slow, crawling blackout is following us.”

“Is that possible?” Octavia asked, looking at Twilight intensely.

Twilight only shook her head, taking a moment to find her words. “Yeah, it’s possible, but… hard.” She looked up. “We can still see by the stars, and that’s really weird.”

“What is the significance of that?”

“Well, my first thought was that we have a pillar of darkness following us, but we can still see by light that enters from afar. It’s not dampening everything, just… I guess, the electricity? Some kind of electrical spell? That would explain your difficulties, AJ.”

“Might it be a dome, and not a pillar?” Whooves asked.

“Domes are harder,” Octavia said. “Actually, they are—this is not the place for this conversation.” She shook her head lightly, eyes wide in disbelief that she had nearly given a lecture on magic.

“Can you break it?” Pinkie asked.

“Heck no,” Twilight blurted, a little louder than she had intended. “Maybe if I haven’t been drinking, but… shoot, I had, what, two drinks tonight? Girls, I think I’m drunk. I… I think—”

“Back to the hotel,” Applejack said. “We need to meet the others and figure this out somewhere safe.” She looked at Twilight. “An’ we’ll get you nice an’ sobered up.”

“Figures, the one time we actually need an expert magician, we encourage ours to get toasted,” Rarity said.

“Everypony, be quiet,” Octavia said. “We cannot let passers-by know what we think is going on. We will be very much unwelcome wherever we go if they realize what we are bringing with us.”

From the balcony of the Apogee, which had experienced a blackout nearly an hour ago, Fluttershy and Rainbow were able to see their friends’ approach with complete clarity, though they did not know that it was their friends that they were watching. From their perspective, the rolling darkness appeared even stranger, but still just as without cause as it did for those on the ground. A small dot of unicorn light marched back and forth inside the circular blackout, popping out from behind buildings like a tiny target in a bizarre carnival game.

“So, how much are we gonna tell them?” Rainbow asked.

“I hate that question,” Fluttershy said. Her voice was still feather quiet, but she did not stutter. It was her own brand of confidence that nearly only came out when she was alone with Rainbow. “As little as possible, though. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to explain… everything. Especially with Doctor Whooves around.”

“I’m sure we could chase him out for an hour or something.” She flapped her wings. “Uh, but if you’re uncomfortable with just explaining in general, I guess we can keep it a secret. Or, you know, parts.”

“They’re going to wonder where we’re going, at least.”

“Drinking?” Rainbow offered.

“I don’t drink, at least, not in the daytime. It’s uncouth.”

Rainbow laughed a little in spite of herself. “Okay, Rarity.”

“They know I have a friend here. I can say we’re meeting him.”

“Why am I coming along?”

“Because he’s mutual.”

Rainbow nodded.

“It’s not going to hold up,” Fluttershy said quickly. “No, I just realized, I’m being foolish. The minute we figure out what has to be done, there’s going to be no way to explain myself without just telling the truth. They’re not going to want to do… whatever it is we have to do to that dam just on my word alone.”

“I think they’ll trust you.”

“I don’t want to put them in that position, though. They shouldn’t need to have blind faith with me.” She adjusted her position in her chair to better see the moving blackout below. “I’m a horrible pony.”

“What? Whoa, where’s that coming from?”

“I’m keeping secrets from my best friends, and not for any benefit. I’m just afraid to relive something.”

“Well, yeah, but we all have… you know, tough things we don’t wanna look at.”

“It’s selfish of me to want to keep them all in the dark about these things.”

“Heh, okay, Octavia.”

“Seriously, Rainbow.”

Rainbow sighed and scooted her chair closer. “Okay, look. I think it’s totally reasonable that you should keep some of this. It’s personal, it’s not really their business, even if they are your best friends. If it’s not affecting them, then what’s the harm of keeping it to yourself, anyway?”

“But the questions. They’ll have so many questions.”

“What questions do you think they’ll ask?”

“Where are we going, for one. How I know that we need to do… whatever, to the CEO, or the dam. And if I choose to tell them about Discord’s letter, and the contract, then they’ll try to help, and I’ll be forced to tell them why we already have a lot of it under control. And that… that is what worries me.” Her eyes watered, but she kept her voice strong. “I don’t want to relive it, Rainbow.”

“Would simply telling them really be reliving it?”

“It would for me.” She looked at Rainbow’s eyes, and smiled knowingly. “I just had an idea, and I don’t know if you just had it too.”

“Uh, probably not. I haven’t had any bright ideas about this yet.” She cracked a grin of her own. “You’re the smart one here, and you know it.”

“If you tell them, please make them swear not to talk to me about it, and don’t let me know yourself. If they know, I want to be ignorant of that. Okay?”

“Aw, geez, Fluttershy, I can’t keep that kind of thing from you. You’d spot it in me in a second anyway; you know I’m no good at lying to you.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“That blackout’s getting closer.” She leaned out and squinted at the dot of light moving around. “Who the heck is that?”

Apogee was already out as they approached. Their darkness merged with the extant funnel half a block before the front entrance, and they exchanged worried looks of understanding. Many ponies were still outside, but it was clear that there were fewer than at the other hotels. The lights had been out much longer, Whooves said; it made sense that a lot of residents would return to their rooms to wait it out.

They found Rainbow and Fluttershy where they had left them, and explained what they had discovered while Twilight lay on the bed and sipped at a glass of tap water, trying to clear her head.

“He wasn’t joking,” Rainbow said. “Discord really does mean business here.”

“Huh?” Twilight said.

“We need to get out of here,” Fluttershy said. “That’s what she means. Um, and what I mean is that this is Discord’s doing; we probably shouldn’t stay.”

“But we just checked in! Surely with a little explanation and, er, financial assistance from the diarchy, we can get the manager to let us remain here,” Whooves said.

“Yer suggestin’ we bribe the manager to let us stay here, when we’re the cause of this blackout,” Applejack said.

“Well, ‘bribe’ is a strong word. I would say more ‘persuade’ or ‘entice,’ my dear.”

“No, I think we need to go,” Fluttershy said. “You said the lights will come on again if we get far enough away, Twilight?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Twilight said softly. “Like a block or two should do it.”

“We’re gonna be hated everywhere we go,” Big Mac said. “An’ it won’t be long ‘til others figure it out. Took us ‘bout twenty minutes.”

“I say we just wait for Twilight to come back to us,” Rarity said. “She can find a counter-spell, and then we’ll be fine.”

Fluttershy exchanged looks with Rainbow, who took a step back, inclining her head.

“With no light to read by?” Whooves asked.

“I… um, that is, I don’t think that’ll work,” Fluttershy said. “Um, I’m really sorry, but I think we should just go. You have to believe me; it’s for the best. I don’t think there’s a counter-spell she can do.”

“You think it is beyond her?” Octavia asked.

“I don’t think the problem is magical in nature.”

“What in the world might it be, if not magic?” Whooves asked. “This certainly appears to be magic. The parameters for the loss of electricity are too perfect.”

“Look, let’s just get out of here,” Rainbow said. “I trust Fluttershy. We can think of a solution while we walk, or we can just hover outside the town for a little while.” She looked at the piles of luggage in the corner. “Twi, I don’t suppose you can pack this stuff back up for us, can you?”

“Way too dangerous in her condition,” Rarity said. “It could get damaged, or she could hurt herself.”

They all jumped at a shrill sound: the phone was ringing. They watched it vibrate in its cradle for a moment, before Octavia answered it with a solicitous “yes?” Her face darkened, and then she hung up.

“Wrong number?” Whooves asked, smiling nervously.

“That was Vanilla Cream. He said it was a courtesy call. The ponies in the room above us know that we are here, and are approximately one minute from quite accidentally figuring out that we are the cause of this darkness.”

They looked at one another, and Big Mac put his nose under Twilight, flipping her into a standing position beside the bed.

“Leave the luggage. We will have to find a way to retrieve it later.”

It was nearly one in the morning when they got out of the hotel. No one stopped them or said anything as they passed out of the lobby. They moved again into the street, stopped at a street corner, and looked around. Twilight was still partially drunk, and Rarity was not much better. Pinkie appeared focused, but was slow to respond, and Rainbow and Fluttershy kept exchanging furtive glances.

As a carriage rolled to a stop in the street beside them, and the driver called out an idle comment on the strange blackout, the disquieting realization settled over them all: they did not know where to go. The airship was nearby, but, with no electricity, access to the lot would be restricted, and they would have no way to see where they were going if they tried to take off.

They did not have time to let the knowledge paralyze them. As soon as the path was clear, Octavia took off at a brisk pace into the city, and they followed uncomprehendingly. She said nothing, and no one asked her where she was going. They passed hotels and bars, their gimmicks flickering and going out at their approach, and always surrounded by confused ponies. The febrile light from without was no guide; it faded too soon from their approach. To their eyes, the city had no end, and no variance from its graveyard darkness.

Stopping at another defunct traffic light, they turned circles and tried to take in what they could, while some sat down to rest. A narrow beam of light cut through a canyon between two buildings, flashed around, and came to rest on them. It was an intense white, a spotlight, and they covered their eyes and turned away with cries of alarm. As if reacting to their discomfort, it broadened into a gentler floodlight, and they were able to watch as its bearer came closer, waving a hoof occasionally to signal them. She was the same mare that had stood up in The Moon Shot.

When at last she reached them, they looked at her, and she them, from behind a pair of garish, purple goggles. Her two-tone blue mane was a bird’s nest of spines and gel, an unfitting crown to the soft, creamy white of her coat, and the crisp, black music note cutie mark that showed between folds of a pale green dress.

Her light turned into a soft dome around them all, and she took turns shaking each of their hooves. Her light flashed to turquoise as she smiled and lifted her glasses with a hoof. They had to lean in to hear her. Where Fluttershy’s voice was merely quiet, a product of the pegasus’ timidity, the new pony’s was fragile and breathy, more a sigh than speech.

“Vinyl Scratch. Good to meet you all.”

“You were in The Moon Shot,” Applejack said.

She nodded. “I wanted to find you. Figured you’d be somewhere in the darkness.”

“Why would you want to find us?” Octavia asked.

“Curiosity.” Her light flickered purple. “If I can help you, all the better.”

“Help us how?” Rarity asked.

She smiled again, and her light became brighter. “I want to light the way.”

Pressure

Chapter Sixty-nine

Pressure

Fluttershy walked in on Pretzel and Midnight Oil in the hotel bathroom, heads bowed together and speaking with quiet intensity. She did not hear a word, but the look in Midnight Oil’s eyes, his focus, told her immediately that she was not supposed to witness it. She froze for a second, then backed out swiftly, turning back to her parents in their bed, watching TV—color, which was a luxury in those days.

No one paid her any mind as she crawled into bed and covered her head with the sheets. She could not imagine what was going on between them, but she recognized the faces. It was personal, and it was bad. Pretzel’s face had been serious as well, more serious than she had ever seen, and strangely inscrutable. It was this quality that would later make Fluttershy question Pretzel’s integrity. Surely, given what was going on, Pretzel would show at least a little contrition, she would come to think.

She lost track of time under the covers, and started awake at Rainbow running in and pelting her with a pillow. She cried out and whipped the blanket off, looking around wildly. Both sets of parents were out, and she shoved Rainbow’s pillow out of her face.

Not understanding that her friend was not in the mood, Rainbow continued to batter her with pillows, and Fluttershy eventually gave in to a half-hearted fight on the bed, culminating in her own sobs when Rainbow bludgeoned her too hard. It was not uncommon, and Rainbow was quick to fetch a glass of cool water for her. When her nose stopped hurting, Fluttershy threw the rest of the water in Rainbow’s face, and they both laughed—one of the oldest inside jokes they shared.

The following day, their number was reduced to its original six, and, when asked where Pretzel and her husband were, the parents would only say that they were “busy with adult things.” Fluttershy hadn’t yet told Rainbow what she saw.

Applejack woke up on Photo Finish’s living room floor to see many of the others already in the kitchen, making breakfast. Photo was gone, Rainbow said, which was just as well; she would never let them try to work in her kitchen, even supervised.

Whooves had returned at some point in the night, and joined them at the breakfast table as naturally as though he had been among their number for months. Only Rarity and Octavia gave him more than a cursory look as he sat down, chattering and gesticulating about his night on the town.

“Oh! I nearly forgot. How foolish of me, were I to lose such a thing! Our friend, Miss Vinyl Scratch—she said to dispense with the title in her presence, but it just doesn’t feel right to me, no ma’am—wanted me to relay to you a little message.”

“Well, spit it out, then,” Applejack said. “See if you can say the whole thing in under a minute.”

“Ah, it is good to see that the early hour doesn’t seem to affect your wit, Applejack, as it does for some others.”

“Clock’s tickin’, doc.”

“Yes, yes, but of course! She wanted me to let you know that she will be returning here later today, and that she will do so with something very important to discuss. She wants us all together for this little confluence.” He looked at Fluttershy and Rainbow, sitting together. “I hope that won’t create any inconveniences?”

“How much later?” Rainbow asked.

“She didn’t specify. I would guess mid-afternoon, perhaps? Later? I’m not sure.”

“We will not alter our plans for some vague idea of a meeting,” Octavia said. “If she wants to speak to us, she will need to find her own time.”

“Someone spit in your instant coffee, sis?” Pinkie asked.

Octavia put her head down.

“Tossin’ an’ turnin’ all night,” Big Mac said.

“It is the usual for me, and, as always, it will pass,” Octavia said. She thought for a second. “I appreciate the concern.”

“We’ll be out again today,” Rainbow said. “But we should be back by…” She looked at Fluttershy. “Six?”

“We hope,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah.” She frowned. “We do?”

“Big Mac an’ Ah are gonna be headin’ out as well,” Applejack said. “We’ll be back earlier than you two, Ah reckon.”

“Please tell me it’s not for a secret reason,” Rarity said. “I’m not sure how much I can take being in this house while everyone else is doing… things, out there.”

“We’re goin’ to the dam. We’re gonna check it out,” Big Mac said.

“Me an’ my fancy machine magic are gonna try to get to the bottom of things,” Applejack said. “Not that Ah think you two are doin’ a bad job,” she said hastily to Fluttershy. “But some concrete information is gonna be good. Plus, it’ll keep Miss Finish happy.”

“Us snoopin’ ‘round the dam won’t threaten whatever private thing yer keepin’ secret, will it?” Big Mac asked.

“Not that that would necessarily stop us.”

Everyone looked at her.

“Element of Honesty, sorry.”

“You should be fine,” Fluttershy said. “You wouldn’t… yes, you’ll be fine.”

“We’ll be safe, right?” Big Mac asked.

“I believe so.”

“You believe so?” Rarity said. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re doing the best we can with what we’ve got,” Rainbow said.

“I do not like that you are keeping so much from us,” Octavia said. “I appreciate your reasons for doing so, but I still do not like it.” She closed her eyes, as if to steady herself, and continued. “Can you promise that you are not keeping anything vital from us? Anything concerning either our safety, or the city’s?”

Neither pegasus spoke, and Rainbow looked at Fluttershy, who tensed her wings to her side.

“That’s a tellin’ silence,” Applejack said.

“It’s not going to be worth it,” Twilight said. “And that I can promise. Whatever you’re hiding, if we can do something about it now, it needs to come out.”

“It’s all just personal stuff, though,” Rainbow said. “You know, personal? Octavia, come on, don’t pretend you don’t totally sympathize with us.”

“Do not tell me whether I sympathize,” Octavia said. “I will tell you.”

“And do you?”

“That’s beside the point!” Twilight said. “I’m not saying you’re up to anything bad; I’m sure you have the best intentions, but you need to figure this out. We’re not going to want to stay here in the dark while you go out and do whatever, nor should we have to.”

“Why can’t you tell us anything?” Whooves asked. “Why can’t you separate what you’re doing from the personal stuff that surrounds it?”

“Unavoidable conclusions, would be my guess,” Rarity said. “Just tell me if I’m on the right track here, please. There’s a line of inquiry that we could make that would threaten these personal things of yours, and making it would be easy, if not necessary, if we knew precisely what you were doing. Is that correct?”

“That’s right,” Rainbow said, and Fluttershy hung her head.

“Okay.”

“What does this mean for the city?” Octavia asked. “Or for the dam? You are obviously doing something with it.”

“At this time, we have everything under control,” Fluttershy said. “We’re going out this afternoon to talk with someone, and then we’ll have more information.”

“Will you be able to share it?” Twilight asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you promise that?” Octavia asked.

Fluttershy breathed slowly, not returning Rainbow’s worried look. “Yes, I can.”

Octavia looked at Applejack and Big Mac. “In the meantime, is there any way I can be of service for you two?”

“Tired of Photo Finish’s house?” Pinkie asked.

Octavia snapped around to fix her sister with an icy stare. “You stay silent through this entire conversation only to contribute an insipid question at the end?”

Pinkie held her gaze for a moment, then looked down. “Sorry, then.”

Big Mac and Applejack, following Rainbow and Fluttershy’s example from the day before, signed up for a full river tour, subtracting one hundred-twenty more bits from the Royal Canterlot Treasury. They, too, rode a paddlewheel boat, a baroque, brick-red steamer with an authentic wooden wheel. Happy Hooves was its name, for its original captain, whose rotund face smiled at them from the fronts of their information brochures.

They took seats close to the back while one of the crew informed the passengers of the safety protocols. Like Rainbow and Fluttershy, they did not want to be seen.

“So how potent is this magic of yers, anyway?” Big Mac asked quietly.

“It’s gettin’ pretty good,” Applejack said. “Ah was learnin’ to fly us by just magic before we popped in on Discord. What d’ya s’pose he’s up to?”

“Couldn’t tell ya. Ah don’t really see any reason to worry about it.”

“How can you not see a reason?” The boat stirred and began the laborious process of backing out of its dock.

“What could we do if we knew? We’re in Applewood, an’ locked down tight. He ain’t.”

“We could write to the princesses. Just last night, Ah saw Twilight workin’ on a letter.”

“My understandin’ is that they usually know more than we do.”

“Well, suppose they didn’t for once.”

“Supposin’ don’t do no good, sis.” He turned his brochure over. “Ah wish they’d give us these at the end of the tour, so we don’t have to hold ‘em the whole time.”

Applejack laughed. “Well, Ah reckon Ah can get somethin’ on him. He don’t know Ah can do what I do, does he?”

“Ah don’t believe so, no.”

Applejack looked at his face, then his brochure. “Just sit on it, big bro. You’ll forget ‘bout it.”

“It’ll wrinkle.”

“So?”

He shrugged and tucked it under his haunch. “Ah dunno.”

“Yer spendin’ too much time with that doctor if yer afraid to wrinkle a little paper.”

He grinned at her. “Those are some strong words fer someone who likes him so much.”

“Ah do not like him!”

He laughed, and said no more.

They stopped for nearly a half hour on one of the makeshift bridges connecting the river segments while the captain talked about their formation. Applewood had been the first city to recover without the Elements’ aid, due entirely to the genius and level-headedness of Pure Waterfall, CEO of the Applewood hydroelectric dam. Where other ponies, even the city mayor, panicked or froze, Pure Waterfall consolidated his resources, gathered a team of specialized unicorn mages, and, putting the city before all other concerns, mended what he could, starting with the river. According to the tour guide, their section of the Whitewater Stampede was the longest flowing body of water in Equestria.

“Note the bridge struts,” the tour guide said cheerfully. “If you’ve been to other cities, you’ve probably noticed small sigils or clouds of magic near them, to discourage insects from breeding in the standing water. Not so in Applewood!”

“Sis, this is killin’ me,” Big Mac said.

“Ah think it’s interestin’. That thing he said ‘bout there bein’ plans already to stop the river before reconnectin’ everythin’, so the currents don’t get messed up—”

“Ah’ve already heard Twilight talkin’ ‘bout it. She said they oughta use a serial spell or somethin’, so the magic can just flow with the groundwater an’ override the existin’ stuff.”

“Yer listenin’ to Twilight’s lectures, an’ you call this borin’?”

Big Mac shrugged. “Fair point.”

“—the first of their kind, totally submerged bridges! They have to be made of a special kind of metal, or else they would oxidize, or rust, before a month had passed,” the guide continued.

“How far can you reach with yer magic?” he asked.

“Ah dunno, Ah never experimented with its range.”

They were quiet until the boat started moving again, and Big Mac sat up to get a better view of the dam.

“Certainly not from here,” Applejack said.

“Hm. Do you know what Fluttershy and Dash are keepin’ secret?”

“Huh? Me?”

“Yeah.”

“No, Ah can’t say as Ah do. Well, Ah shouldn’t say that. Ah might know it, but just not know that it’s what’s goin’ on now.” She shook her head. “Rainbow’s told me a lot of things over the years.”

“Ah wouldn’t wanna pry.”

“Ah know, an’ Ah’m not volunteerin’ anythin’.”

“There are more than a hundred separate magical spells that keep the dam, the reservoirs, and the river all working in harmony,” the tour guide said.

The dam, in clear view, reminded Big Mac of a ribcage. It was not smooth, as he had thought it might be, but striped with long concrete struts across its face. It rose up into the space between two large hills, the sides of which teemed with Applewood’s more residential districts. At its base, curving around the water, huge buildings gave shelter to the cranes and trucks, while smaller offices sat in their shadows for the ponies to operate them.

Atop the dam, the skyline was broken with weed-like shafts of machinery, which, he noticed after a minute, was in motion. Yellow and orange cranes flexed and stretched on huge, blocky gantries that appeared attached to the dam’s upper edge. He could see nothing of the other side, and wondered just then how far they were beneath the river’s other half. He looked to his sister, imagining her trying to interface with the machine. He had marveled at the city’s hotels, their lights and splendorous designs, but the dam disarmed him. As he stared at it, all he could think was “yep, there it is.”

Under the dam, so large that he couldn’t see the whole thing in one look, the tour stopped for an hour so ponies could stretch their legs and have a bite at one of the small restaurants that floated permanently beside the piers.

Big Mac and Applejack did not eat. They walked confidently to one of the main buildings at the dam’s base, Applejack at a slower pace than usual. She had her magic in mind, and was trying to access the main machine, or one of them.

“It’s hard,” she said calmly. “Ah hadn’t thought about it, but Ah guess the dam ain’t just one giant thing. It’s a whole lot of pieces, an’ Ah gotta find the right one.”

“What are you lookin’ for?” Big Mac asked.

“Anythin’, right now.” She closed her eyes in concentration. “We need to be closer.”

There were no workers in sight as they approached the concrete shell. They knew there had to be ponies around, but no one stopped them from coming closer, and no one was there to object when Applejack forced a gate to admit them. No cameras studded the dam’s sides, and, besides the single gate, there appeared no other security measures. The water was calm, but flowing swiftly out of spouts and sluice gates under their walkway. They could see turbine housings far under the water, though their distance was unclear.

“Now this is weird,” Applejack said, stopping. “Ah’ve got one of them turbines down there, but it don’t feel like it’s connected to anythin’.”

“What do you mean?”

“On the airship, Ah can grab a propeller, say, an’ follow it to the engine, to the rudder, an’ so forth. It’s all connected, ‘cept the torch. This here turbine is all alone, an’ it ain’t even active.”

“Probably broken.”

“Ah can tell it ain’t. No, this has just been turned off. Let’s keep going.”

They walked along a platform over the water until they were staring at a wide chute, totally dry, but totally clean.

“Okay, now we’re somewhere. Ah’ve got… Ah don’t know. Ah’m guessin’ a gate mechanism or somethin’. Whatever it is, it’s attached.” She sat down, and Big Mac looked around nervously. “Don’t let no one sneak up on us. This might be a while.”

He swiveled his head a second time, still seeing no one. The machines inside their buildings were motionless.

It always unnerved Big Mac when Applejack closed her eyes to “meditate,” as she sometimes called it. He knew her first and foremost as a doer: someone who not only took action, but relished her ability to do so. Seeing her possessed of the quiet confidence he was more accustomed to seeing in Fluttershy or Octavia, he didn’t know what to do. He had no imagination for what she experienced, though she had tried to describe it in the past. To him, she was beyond reach. She simply sat down, closed her eyes, and ceased to be his sister.

He looked back up at the dam, thinking to himself, “she’s up there somewhere. Somewhere in this thing, she’s floating around.” That she had a certain control over the dam’s many mechanisms hardly occurred to him. The simple knowledge that her faculties were lost somewhere in the guts of the largest structure he had ever seen in his life was enough. The thought of what she must know, or be able to know, made his mind reel. And then, the naked evidence of how completely she was elsewhere: her still body, its breathing nearly indiscernible. She might pass for dead, he thought.

When she stirred, he helped her to her hooves, seeing, as he did so, a dark look on her face. She looked over the river, and he watched carefully.

“Ah can hardly move inside it. Not that Ah’ve got much practice at this, but it felt like there was somethin’ resistin’ me. Ah wanted to access the electrical stuff, like the power grid an’ whatnot, but Ah couldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah found it, but Ah couldn’t possess the dang thing. Every time Ah tried, it felt like it was slippin’ out of my hooves. Unless it’s a product of this thing bein’ so much more complex than the ship, there’s magic goin’ on. Ah think the others are right. Someone’s watchin’ us, an’ usin’ this thing to keep the power off wherever we go. It’s only on now ‘cause we’re so close.”

“It can’t power itself off,” Big Mac said.

“Exactly. But there’s more.”

He looked at her patiently.

“There’s more magic in there than what’s keepin’ me from explorin’ how Ah’d like. Ah can’t identify it—maybe Twilight could—but there’s a lot of it, an’ it all feels like the same kind of thing. Ah think they’re enchantments on machines. Ah went into one. Actually, several.” She looked up the dam’s side. “Big Bro, they were all off. Every one, an’ the things they were connected to too.”

“That’s good, right? It means the magic isn’t doin’ anythin’.”

She shook her head. “But the dam still works perfectly fine. Ah checked fer that, ‘cause yer exactly right, it does sound good, what Ah said. The dam is totally fine.”

He thought. “So all that magic you found is extra.”

“An’ the machines it’s attached to.”

“Which means…”

“Somethin’ hidden inside.”

He sighed.

“Ah don’t feel good ‘bout this, an’ Ah don’t feel safe here no more. Somethin’ like that on the inside, someone’s bound to be watchin’ us. Let’s go eat with the tourists.”

They walked back to the nearest pier and got something at a hayburger joint. Sitting in the back, Applejack took a second to slip into meditation.

“It’s somethin’ special ‘bout the dam, all right.” She lowered her voice, forcing Big Mac to lean over the table. “Ah just tried takin’ somethin’ here, an’ it worked with no problem. It ain’t me, big bro.”

“Let’s bring Twilight up here.”

“Ah don’t think that can work, at least not easily. If Ah understand how magic works correctly, she’d need to head inside, an’ probably run some tests. It’d be too conspicuous.”

“Yer pretty conspicuous yerself, just hangin’ around out there.”

She waved a hoof. “Ah’m sure Ah could find a spot to hide.”

He chewed his food thoughtfully. “Are you suggestin’ stayin’ behind?”

“Ah think Ah oughta.”

He blinked, taken aback at the quickness of her reply.

“If someone doesn’t interfere with whatever is goin’ on, it’ll blindside us. Whatever it is.”

“An’ you’ve got no idea what it might be?”

“No idea. Maybe Ah can get one if Ah spend more time in there.” She thought. “But… sendin’ you back alone to tell the others what Ah’m doin’ ain’t gonna be enough. They’ll have questions you can’t answer, an’ my bein’ here won’t do no good.”

“No immediate good, you mean.”

“Yeah.”

“We should work out a way fer you to communicate.”

Applejack sighed.

“Ah’m comin’ up blank,” Big Mac said. He looked out the window at the dam, looming over them, a concrete curtain keeping the river locked away. He was again hit with the thought of Applejack’s spirit inside the structure.

Both families, Pretzel, and Midnight Oil were out for dinner. The restaurant was lightly themed after the current Element of Kindness, a construction worker in Appleloosa. He would never need to use his Elemental power.

“So, how are things?” Mrs. Dash asked. The question seemed innocent to Fluttershy, who was hardly paying attention.

Pretzel looked to her husband, who took his time in responding. “Good. Great.”

“I have to agree,” Pretzel said, nodding.

Fluttershy looked up to watch them. Something in their voices got her attention in a way she did not like.

No one spoke for a time, and then Mr. Shy proposed a toast. Everyone tapped their glasses with their hooves.

“So how’s work, Midnight?” Mrs. Shy asked.

He grunted, and Pretzel looked at him before turning to Fluttershy’s parents. “I’m sorry, he’s been a little cranky lately.”

Midnight Oil grunted again, as if in affirmation, and Pretzel offered a smile.

“We all have our days,” Mr. Dash said.

“Can you pass the pepper?” Midnight Oil asked.

Pretzel slid the black cylinder over. “Do you want salt as well, honey?”

He didn’t answer, and slid the pepper back to its spot when he was done.

“Too much salt isn’t great for your heart,” Mrs. Shy said. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too,” Mrs. Dash said.

“What about you, Pretzel?” Mr. Dash asked. “How’s work?”

“Good,” Pretzel said. “Nothing remarkable lately.”

“There’s nothing wrong with an average day here and there,” Mrs. Shy said.

“I think so too, which is nice, ‘cause my days have been purely average for a while now.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Mr. Dash said, shrugging.

They ate for a while, quietly. Fluttershy wanted to talk and play with Rainbow, but it didn’t feel appropriate, and it appeared to her that Rainbow felt the same way.

“You sure you’re okay, Midnight?” Mr. Shy asked, eliciting a shrug.

“Midnight, you can at least be polite,” Pretzel said. “I’m sorry for this. He’s had a rough couple weeks.”

“I will speak for myself,” Midnight said quietly, then looked up from his plate, as if realizing that he had said it out loud. “Please.” He noticed Rainbow, staring at him nakedly, and he gestured to her food. “Eat. It’ll get cold.”

Fluttershy blushed, thinking he was mad at Rainbow, but Rainbow only took a sullen bite, still looking at him.

“There’s no need to be so short,” Pretzel said, ruffling her wings.

“I’m not being short,” Midnight said. “I’m doing what you said, being polite. This is a nice dinner, and we’re having a nice dinnertime conversation.”

Pretzel nodded, looking away, and sipped a glass of water.

“Would you like a taste of my wine, Pretzel?” Mrs. Shy asked.

“Oh, no thank you. I don’t drink.” Midnight Oil grunted, and she looked at him. “What is it?”

He averted his eyes. “Mm, nothing.”

She tittered. “No one likes a tease, dear.”

“I have nothing to say,” he said slowly. “Is that okay with you?”

“Well, don’t say anything on my account.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Midnight, did you recently get your mane cut?” Mr. Shy asked. “It looks good.”

Midnight blinked slowly, not looking away from his wife. “Thanks.”

Pretzel shook her head and rolled her eyes playfully. “Maybe we should have stayed in the hotel. I didn’t know Mr. Grouch was going to be joining us for dinner.”

“It’s fine,” Mrs. Dash said quickly. “Really, everything is fine.”

“Midnight, if you’re ever in the mood to get it styled, I found a shop a couple blocks from the hotel,” Mrs. Shy said.

“I think I’ll keep it how it is for now,” Midnight said. “Thanks.”

“I so miss your mane when it was shorter,” Pretzel said, raising a hoof to touch his head. He leaned away, and she flinched. “Okay, Mr. Sensitive.”

He sighed, closing his eyes. “I hate that name. I’ve told you that before.”

“We are in a bad mood tonight, aren’t we?”

“There’s no need to linger on these things,” Mrs. Shy said.

“At least once a month, I have to remind her,” Midnight Oil said. “I hate that nickname, and she still uses it.”

“I forget, okay?” Pretzel said. “And you don’t have to bring it up here.”

“Oh no? Where would you like it?”

She scoffed. “Anywhere else,” she said, her voice a near pout.

He nodded slightly, reaching for the pepper again. “You’d know a lot about where that is.”

She looked at him, then the others, nose wrinkled in disgust. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He simply frowned and took a bite.

“I… um, think we might need to do a rain check on that spa visit tonight,” Mr. Shy said.

“We can still do it,” Pretzel said moodily. “Just because my husband is being a sourpuss doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time.”

“I think it should wait,” Mr. Dash said. “I don’t want to get in the middle of anything here.”

Pretzel smiled. “What makes you think there’s even anything to get in the middle of?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Mrs. Shy whispered.

Pretzel looked at Midnight, who returned her expression with a lifeless stare. “Exceedingly obvious, Pretzel.”

“Can we talk about this later?” Pretzel asked.

“And spoil a nice dinner conversation?” Midnight asked. He looked to the parents. “Come on, everypony, this is interesting. Don’t pretend we’re all content with this small talk. I think my wife has something to say.”

“Midnight.”

He sighed. “I don’t like this, Pretzel.”

“Then don’t do it,” she said.

He shrugged, and accepted a refill of his iced tea. “A shame Pure Waterfall couldn’t make it. I invited him tonight as well.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Dash said. “He’s nice.”

“You did not,” Pretzel said.

“I did, but he was busy.”

She glowered at him, then the candle in the table’s middle, but said nothing.

“How would you know whether I did?”

“Bathroom!” Rainbow cried, jumping up. Everyone pretended not to watch her as she scurried away.

“Pretzel, how would you know whether I invited Pure Waterfall?” Midnight asked.

“Because you wouldn’t,” she said.

“He’s my friend, though. My friend too, I mean.”

“I don’t want to talk about this now.”

“Midnight—” Mrs. Shy started.

“If not now, when?” he asked, his voice an intense whisper. His wings had gradually opened, and he loomed over his side of the table like a malign spirit. “When?” he repeated.

“Just not now,” Pretzel snapped. “We’re at dinner, Midnight. With friends. This is hardly the appropriate place for such talk.”

“Well, forgive me for wanting to speak,” Midnight said, spreading his wings farther. “I’ve been quiet until now,” he added quietly.

“So stay quiet a couple hours longer.” She turned, and, with a strained smile that Fluttershy would not forget, said, “we must do this again, when things are a bit smoother. As you can see, my husband is—”

Midnight stood up, and, for the first time, Fluttershy noticed that other restaurant patrons’ eyes were on them, and him. He took a moment, appearing to steel himself; he looked like he might not speak, and sit back down, defeated. His voice shook. “Pretzel has been sleeping with Pure Waterfall.”

He turned and left the restaurant, his food unfinished, the pepper still beside his plate. He stepped onto the curb and walked out of view.

Pure Waterfall was graying, but his eyes still glinted with a kind of youth. It was not the youth Fluttershy and Rainbow remembered from years ago; it had been tempered and dulled, turned into a more experiential twinkle, no longer the reckless confidence that had bewitched Pretzel. He shook their hooves firmly before they sat down for lunch, not far from where Applejack and Big Mac had discussed their own plans with the dam.

Rainbow, instructed to let Fluttershy do the talking, sat beside her and emanated magical warmth to combat the chill over the river. Fluttershy waited until their food had come before ending the small talk.

“So, sir, I—we—have a problem that you might be able to help us with,” she said. She did not meet his eyes; she had not done so since meeting him. “It has to do with your dam.”

“What’s the problem?” his voice was mellow and clear, not the powerful clap of authority that it had become in Fluttershy’s memory, and for which she had prepared.

“You, um… do you know of our quest? Our, um, assignment? Princess Celestia gave it to us.”

“Yes, of course.” He smiled. “I’d be surprised to meet someone who doesn’t, at least the basics.”

“We’re having some difficulties in Applewood. Um… well, I don’t have a good word for it. It’s not quite a curse, but that’s what we’re all calling it.”

His eyes widened, and she was quick to explain, nearly stumbling over her words as she went over Discord’s spell on the group. She ended on a long pause.

“We… that is, Rainbow Dash here and I, we, um, think that its cause is in the dam. Um, some kind of spell, maybe, affecting the power grid. Or something that controls it maybe, we’re not sure.”

“I see.”

“Um…” It was the part of the conversation she had dreaded most: telling him that she knew of his agreement with Discord. Telling him she had seen the contract, seen the outrageous terms with which he had agreed, and telling him that she had no doubt their curse was a direct result. She looked down and angled her head so a lock of mane would cover her face. “I… um, do you know anything that can help explain?”

Rainbow fidgeted by her side, but said nothing.

Pure Waterfall regarded them both coolly. Fluttershy had seen the look before. He had used it to regard Midnight Oil when confronted for his infidelity, and Pretzel after that—Fluttershy had seen both meetings. It was the look of calm thought, and detachment from his subjects. Like a good businesspony had to sometimes do, Pure Waterfall had removed the equine element from his consideration.

“Do you have time to join me on the river?” he asked. “I’d like to show you my boat. We can talk there.”

Fluttershy sighed. “Sure.”

Pure Waterfall owned a motorboat that could seat ten ponies, grass green with dark yellow trim, called Salamander. It skidded out onto the river and took them nearly to the edge of the dam’s shadow. The tour boats were circling, but none came near, and he stopped close to a bobbing buoy.

“Sweet ride,” Rainbow said without enthusiasm.

“This isn’t easy to say, but I can see that this is my best chance. You have contact with the other Elements of Harmony, I assume?”

“Yes, of course,” Fluttershy said.

“I, uh, I think I’m in over my head with this one.” He killed the motor. “You know Discord, I assume?”

“Yes, we do.”

“I thought so, just making sure. I entered into a contract with him back in April, a week after The Crumbling.” He eased back in his seat, and Fluttershy narrowed her eyes. “I agreed to let him get the dam, and the river behind it, back in shape with his magic, and I granted him some rather unspecific liberties with the dam’s functions in return.”

“Unspecific?”

He smiled guiltily. “‘Only to be used in times of great necessity,’ I believe was the verbiage. I know it wasn’t ideal, but it was that or lose everything. Lose the city, and everything in it. Well, he repaired the dam all right, and the river. I admit I wasn’t thinking much beyond the present situation. I was just happy to have someone capable of saving the city.”

Fluttershy didn’t respond.

“He did a lot of the magic himself, but he left a good deal of other things to his friend, a unicorn named Vanilla Cream. Vanilla… oversees.” He sighed. “I’ve never quite known what she does specifically, but she was there every day for the longest time, directing my workers. Engineers and electricians, mostly.”

“Directing them to what?”

“Well, I don’t know what they’re building,” he said evenly. “That was never explained to me, and I felt it unwise to ask, given my… relationship with Discord, and his reputation.”

Fluttershy nodded. “I already know most of this.” She still didn’t look directly at him. “When we got into town, Discord sent us a letter, with a copy of the contract attached, as a way to gloat.”

“I see.” She caught the worry in his voice, though it was clear he wanted to conceal it.

“So…” She took a deep breath, trying to push her memories away. She needed a clear mind to lead the conversation; otherwise, she would wind up trapping herself in his problems, and never get to theirs. “You seem unhappy to be in this position. Why is that?”

“Do I need to explain?” He chuckled, but she looked at him—past him, just. “Okay. I don’t want him having control over my dam. At first, I didn’t have a choice, but now that the Elements of Harmony are here, I’d like to request some assistance. If he’s using my power to make your time here harder, all the more reason.”

She frowned and tried to fix him with a cold stare. “Why do you need our help to free your own dam? Is there no way to back out of the contract, or make Discord want to nullify it?”

“It was made abundantly clear that I could nullify the contract at any time. He would leave, and take all his magic with him.” He held his hooves apart in an indication of his powerlessness. “I have no unicorns who could replicate what he has done. I believe he knew that.”

“Probably,” Rainbow said. She looked at Fluttershy, who gave him a mild glance. “Sorry.”

Fluttershy clicked her hooves together. “You’re sure you have no idea what’s going on with the magic inside your dam?”

“I’m quite sure, yes.”

“You have safety inspectors, don’t you? Part of their job is to identify potentially dangerous spells or enchantments.”

Pure Waterfall looked away briefly. “With everything else going on, maintaining the business, power flow, and so forth, I haven’t really had the time to do a thorough inspection.”

“Really?” She widened her eyes, then, thinking better of leaving her response at that, continued. “That’s a strange thing to not have time for. Does that mean you haven’t had the time to do any sort of safety inspections? Not even magical ones, but mechanical ones too? Nothing?”

“As I said, I’ve done basic inspections, but nothing as in-depth as enchantments.”

“Is that to mean that, um, you want us to go into your dam and try to undo whatever Discord did, without knowing what’s waiting for us?”

He appeared to consider her question. “I can try to give you some information, but I can’t promise its quality.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s going to be possible.” She broke into a smile, pleased to use a similarly businesslike phrase. “It’s not safe for us.”

“You must be the most magical ponies in Equestria, except the goddesses.”

“We’re also Discord’s biggest threat, and he knows it. If he has things set up inside your dam, I have to assume he has something in there that will harm or entrap us, if we get too close. None of us will want to risk that.”

He waved a hoof. “I understand. If you can’t do it, then I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone else.”

She paused. “That easily?”

“It won’t be that easy, but—”

“What I mean is—oh, sorry for interrupting. Wait, no.” She closed her eyes for a second. “No I’m not. Listen, you just asked us for help, and when I turned you down, you just accepted it without question. How desperate is your situation, actually?”

“We’re putting power out at, last I checked, approximately—”

“Your Discord situation. How badly do you think you actually need help?” She looked at Rainbow, who clearly wanted to speak, but held her tongue. “You are right that we’re the best ponies to help you, but it’s not safe enough. Are you seriously comfortable leaving it at that?”

“I don’t see that I have any other option.”

“You didn’t look for another option.” She tightened her wings. “You realize that when this meeting is over, you won’t be able to see me again, right?”

“What do you mean?”

She suppressed a groan. “If you’re working with Discord, or Vanilla Cream—we know him, by the way—if you’re with them, you’re being watched. If you try to contact us, one or both of them will know, and you will not like the results. Neither will we, I’ll bet.”

He smiled. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions. Why would Discord ever endanger his partnership with me? If I want to talk with someone, I still can. I’m not his prisoner.” He laughed then, looking pointedly at the river.

“What makes you think this is a partnership?” Fluttershy asked. She looked at Rainbow, who watched intently.

“I need him, and he needs my dam.”

“For what? To fill with his own magic? To change and enchant?”

“I’m sure he has reasons for what he does, and I’m sure they are not things any of us would like to see happen. He has his own goals, separate from mine, and I recognize that, but my dam is still an instrument that he can’t afford to lose.”

“And what makes you so sure the dam will remain yours when he’s done with it?” She thought. “You shouldn’t trust him, and I can guarantee that he doesn’t trust you.”

“The truth is, as long as he’s dependent on me or my dam, I can do whatever I want. He would be a fool to risk losing me.”

“You said he was comfortable walking away and leaving you to try to maintain his magic.”

“Yes, before. Now that he’s an established presence, he can’t let go so easily. He has too much invested in the dam.”

“You shouldn’t just assume that.”

“What alternative is there? Are you suggesting that you think this whole thing is just something he can drop at any time? A hobby?” He jerked his head. “No, no.”

“So you’re comfortable with your present situation?” Fluttershy asked.

“Not comfortable, but I see possibilities.”

She sighed. “Can we go back to shore now?”

“Are you not enjoying our time out here?”

“Not particularly.”

“Very well.” He reached for the switch to bring the motor back to life. “I get the sense that there’s something more bothering you.”

“Hm.”

“The dam will be fine, I can tell.”

“If you say so.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Can you stop?” Rainbow asked. “Just stop talking and take us back.”

“What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Fluttershy said quickly. “Rainbow is right. Please, let’s just go back. I don’t have anything to say.”

He brought them about, and they started back toward the dam. It was far enough away for them to see its entire scope without moving their heads, but only just.

“How are your parents?” Pure Waterfall asked.

“They’re fine,” Fluttershy said.

He nodded, and they slowed to a more comfortable cruising speed. “That’s good. I haven’t heard from them in a while, so I wasn’t sure. They’re very good ponies.”

Fluttershy looked at his back, her face heavy with the disgust she was not trying hard to hide. Part of her wanted him to turn around, to see the loathing she felt, not just for him, but for what he represented to her.

Then, cresting a ripple from the wake of another boat, he did, and her anger dried up and gave way to surprise.

“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

They went over another ripple, and Fluttershy turned her cheek as cold spray peppered her face. She remembered the day before, impulsively leaping off the side of the ship, ignoring her instincts and throwing herself into discomfort. The two ideas, safety and catharsis, wrestled in her head, and she said, not thinking, “you won’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“Fluttershy,” Rainbow said.

“Or maybe you will. A good pony wouldn’t like it,” Fluttershy said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pure Waterfall asked.

“That you’re a bad pony,” she said simply. She shrugged, part of her trying to figure out the most graceful way to end the conversation she had started, part of her wanting simply to act casual and hide her fears.

“And what makes me bad?”

She adjusted her weight. “Well, um, ruining Pretzel’s marriage, for starters.”

From where she sat, she could see his face in profile against the blue river. He leaned his head back and laughed, giving her a perfect view of his smile, and the confidence in it.

“You knew she was married. She was with her husband the day you met her.” She was keeping her tone as even as she could. “Just a calm conversation, that’s all,” she thought. Over and over.

“I understand where you’re coming from, Fluttershy. Would you like to hear my side?”

“Not really, no.”

“She came to me. She made the first advances. If she wants to have a little fun, who am I to deny that?”

“You’re disgusting!” Rainbow shouted.

“If she had wanted my advice, or contact with a marriage counselor, I would have supplied that just as happily. I didn’t ruin anyone’s marriage, she did that all on her own.”

“You made yourself available for it,” Fluttershy said. She looked at Rainbow, who looked at Pure Waterfall much the same as Fluttershy had minutes ago.

“But it wasn’t my choice to break them apart.” He chuckled. “I suppose, being the Element of Kindness, you’ll tell me I should have offered to help them instead. Get involved in their lives, completely uninvited, without considering what Pretzel wanted. Let me ask you, Fluttershy: would you have done that?”

“I would have made the offer,” Fluttershy said. “And if they didn’t want me, I’d leave. I wouldn’t stick around and sleep with the wife. I wouldn’t enable her to make her own life worse.”

He smirked. “So I’m responsible for her life choices?”

“You know, it takes more effort to keep after her than to just say ‘no’ that one time,” Rainbow said. “You’re making it sound like this was a one-time thing. You slept with her like fifteen times.”

“You could have told her to stop,” Fluttershy said. “It’s not that hard.”

“And what about her husband? What’s his name? Burning Oil? Ah, anyway, what about him?” Pure Waterfall asked. They were approaching the dam, and Fluttershy could see his personal dock on the end of the pier. “Seems to me that he has the biggest part in this. If I remember, it was his neglect and emotional instability that drove her to look for me in the first place.”

“That doesn’t justify your actions.”

“But it does justify hers? It was okay for her to approach me, because her husband was an adult foal? Where’s the logic there?”

“First, I never said that. Second, don’t change the topic.”

“How am I changing the topic?” He laughed again, quieter. “Oh, or is the topic just taking out your frustrations on me? I get it now.”

Fluttershy sighed, and they pulled up to the dock. “Yes, I am taking out my frustrations on you. I’m frustrated because you helped a friend ruin her marriage, and you knew exactly what you were doing, but you can’t accept that you actually had a part in it.”

“I was a third party. It could have been anyone.”

“You are not a victim!” She saw Rainbow moving to exit the boat. “You didn’t sleep with her by accident, okay? You made the conscious choice to—ugh, you’re right, Rainbow, let’s leave.”

“Enjoy your dam, you creep,” Rainbow said.

Fluttershy turned to Pure Waterfall and accidentally met his eyes. She tried to stare him down, but his eyes were still full of unassailable self-assurance. It was then that Fluttershy knew she had not reached him, and she looked away. “If you can’t take responsibility for this, what are you going to do when Discord pulls the rug out from under your hooves?”

Photo Finish got back home before everyone else. Octavia and Twilight sat in the front lawn, looking at what they could of the river and speaking about magic, while Whooves was back in town for what he promised was a short time. Rarity and Pinkie were alone in the house, and Photo was so pleased at how few ponies were there to bother her that she offered to show Rarity some of her newest pictures.

There were a few rooms in the jumbled house that were locked, and it was into one of these that Photo allowed Rarity and Pinkie, saying, as she did so, to keep quiet about it from the others.

The room was little more than a home office, its walls a mess of pinned papers and its sole desk covered in large binders and books, some of which had fallen onto the rolling chair. The carpeted floor was flat and hard, indicating frequent use, and a drawn, sable curtain darkened the one window. Photo flicked her hoof at a switch by the floor, lighting an overhead lamp, and sorted through the stacked books for a minute before finding the one she wanted.

“These have not been approved for publishing yet. Consider this a preview, for your eyes only.” She snapped the last word, but smiled as she did so.

“Is this for the new winter line?” Rarity asked.

“That? Yes, yes it is.”

“What is that?” The glossy square of paper showed a pony wrapped in what appeared to be a raincoat made of tinsel, her dark eyes staring into the distance in what was supposed to be a contemplative pose.

“Is it not hideous? That is a part of ‘Rapture.’ It is one of the foremost fashion lines influenced by The Crumbling.”

“I think it looks like fun!” Pinkie said. “Imagine the noise it makes when you walk!”

“I’m assuming this designer is buying in to the disillusionment and confusion brought about by the—I’m sorry, The Crumbling? I’ve not heard that term before, though I suppose I know what it must mean—by The Crumbling,” Rarity said. “Where do we stand as equines, what good is order and rationality in a time like this, and so forth?”

“More or less,” Photo sighed. “It is perfectly derivative.”

“Tawdry.”

Photo smiled at her and turned the page to a pony in a wide, conservative dress of dark blue, swathes of it glittering like fish scales in the runway lights. “Now this is much more worthy of my work. This is part of an ongoing project by Whitewash. See how the fabric sparkles in different patterns depending on the light.”

“It reminds me of something I once wore to a garden party,” Rarity said. “That must have been, oh, several years ago.”

“It’s not the most original, but it quotes the classics well,” Photo said.

“Is it just fashion stuff you take pictures of?” Pinkie asked.

“Mostly, but not all. I, Photo Finish, am a versatile mare.” She dropped the book and sifted through the pile again, coming up with a thinner tome with ruby red lettering on the spine. “This is a little something I’ve recently picked up.” She opened it on the table, and Rarity and Pinkie both gasped. A pale purple unicorn stood in a courtyard, leaning casually against a sundial, while, atop her head, glittered the Element of Magic.

“Where did you find that?” Rarity asked after a lengthy pause.

“What do you mean?” Photo asked. “I must have twenty of—oh! My apologies. I should have realized. The bauble you see on my model is a fake.”

“Oh,” Rarity breathed. She could feel Pinkie un-tensing beside her. “A fake.”

“There is money in mock Element of Harmony pictures. I’m finding it a very effective way of testing a new model’s capabilities; these pictures are some of the simplest to pose for.”

“Well, yeah, all you need is a pretty setting, a pony who knows how to smile, and a fake Element,” Pinkie said, pointing roughly at the picture. “How hard could it be?”

“Not hard,” Photo said. “However, the pictures can take on rather interesting directions sometimes.” She flipped through a few pages before stopping again. “This, as you will see, is much more provocative.”

They both looked at Rarity as she sat down heavily. Her face was a picture of shock and horror, as if she had just seen a harbinger of her own demise.

In the picture book, a slim, charcoal gray mare with streaks of hot pink in her mane and tail smiled slyly in a gaudy rainbow dress, short enough to allow a partial look of her back end as she rested on a chaise lounge, while the Element of Loyalty lay across her chest. The picture was dated from a week ago.

It was six o’ clock when Big Mac returned, alone, and carrying a small radio. Fluttershy and Rainbow were already back, and they could see Vinyl and Whooves walking in their direction, but still a couple minutes away.

Ignoring Photo’s request for secrecy, Rarity told everyone that she had seen Lacey Kisses in a picture, wearing a fake Element of Harmony, and Big Mac walked in on Photo explaining, with clear irritation in her voice, that Lacey was a project of hers: an exile from the big city, she was considering forfeiting her potential and becoming a waitress or bartender. It was Photo, she said proudly, that had encouraged her to get back on her hooves and return. She was brilliant, Photo said, and simply needed some money to start rebuilding herself. Hence, a simple modeling job.

“Enough about this,” Octavia said. “Not that it is not important, but I feel there are more pressing matters.” She looked at Big Mac.

“Can we be in private fer this?” Big Mac asked.

“You cannot say these things in my presence?” Photo said indignantly. “I, Photo Finish, who give you lodging?”

“Please,” Twilight said. “This is a sensitive topic, and very important.”

Photo huffed, but left them alone.

“This radio is fer communicatin’ with AJ,” Big Mac said. “She said she’d set it up fer me, an’ Ah’d just need to turn it on.” He pressed a button, and static filled the room.

“That’s not good,” Rainbow said as Vinyl and Whooves entered.

“Ah, words I love to hear on my ingress,” Whooves said. “What’s cooking, friends?”

“No, it’s good,” Big Mac said. “She’s back at the dam still. We’re not quite sure what’s goin’ on down there, but it’s pretty bad. She, uh, she went in.”

“She went inside?” Twilight said.

“Like how she goes into the ship to drive it.”

“Ah, inside, you mean. Yes, right.”

“There’s a lot of extra stuff in there, turned off, an’ not connected to anythin’, an’ it’s all wrapped up in magic she can’t identify.”

Fluttershy moaned.

“So, she’s stayin’ behind to explore more, try to figure out what’s goin’ on, maybe even stop it.”

“And she’s going to talk through this,” Rarity said. “That makes sense.”

“How’s she going to get her voice into it, though?” Whooves asked. “She might be able to control a radio system in the dam, but that won’t let her synthesize her own words, will it?”

“She can return to her body whenever she wants,” Twilight said. “She probably has one of her own, that she’ll talk through.”

“Oh.” Whooves laughed, and Vinyl patted his back, looking at them. Her goggles showed no emotion, but her mouth was curled in a small smile.

“So you do not know anything specific as of yet,” Octavia said.

“Nope,” Big Mac said. “She’s workin’ on it.”

“Wonderful. Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, what have you discovered?”

“Now hold on,” Twilight said. “Big Mac, you said there’s magic in the dam. Shouldn’t I go down there myself? I could probably recognize it, and help stop… whatever is going on.”

“No,” Fluttershy said. “That’s a bad idea.”

“Oookay. Well, what did you two find today?”

Fluttershy took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “The CEO of the dam signed a contract, a long time ago, with Discord—”

“Aw beans,” Whooves said. “Sorry. Continue.”

“When everything was still messed up. The pony we talked to today showed us a copy of it. Discord approached the CEO early and promised him to get his dam, and the river behind it, up and running, in exchange for certain unspecified liberties with the dam’s internal structure, and its use. The CEO knew it was a bad idea to sign the contract, but did it anyway. He wanted to restore power to the city.”

“He didn’t think that letting the enemy of the entire country have unspecific liberties with the dam was a bad trade-off?” Twilight asked.

“In short, no, he didn’t. Now, months later, the city is prospering, we’ve been cursed, and there’s a huge amount of enchanted machinery lying around inside the dam, just waiting to be turned on.”

“Vanilla Cream oversaw a lot of this,” Rainbow said.

“Ah, yes, Vanilla Cream. He was in charge of setting most of this up, apparently.”

“The, uh, pony kept referring to him as a she, though.” They all looked at Twilight, who shrugged.

“I’m assuming it’s because the CEO—so I’m told—has a particular fondness for attractive mares. Vanilla chose a form that would make it easier for him—or her, I suppose—to manipulate him.”

“Hmm, mare or stallion,” Whooves said. “Now that is a head-scratcher.”

“Stay on topic,” Octavia said. “I thought that Vanilla was supposed to be on our side.”

“He’s helping us discreetly, but I doubt he could just blow off whatever Discord wants him to do with the dam,” Twilight said. “If he has a scheme that centers on the biggest hydroelectric dam in Equestria, you can be sure he wouldn’t let Vanilla do a shoddy job. The conditions in that request must be ironclad.”

“So what do we do?” Whooves asked, and smiled. “Perhaps I should rephrase. What can we do?”

They all thought for a minute before Twilight responded. “We need to keep waiting, and see what Applejack can tell us.”

“You can’t go down there?” Big Mac asked.

“If Vanilla’s there, any one of us going inside and investigating will probably do more harm than good.”

“Applejack is doing it,” Octavia said.

“She’s stayin’ outside,” Big Mac said. “Her body, Ah mean.”

“I am sure Vanilla can detect her spirit.”

“There’s no use worrying about it,” Fluttershy said. “She’s already down there. We’re not going to tell her to come back; that would be foolish. But yes, I agree with Twilight, we need more information.”

“Forgive me if I am misremembering, but was that not the point of today? To get more information?” Octavia asked.

“Well, it’s complicated.”

“There is something inside the dam, something magical, and it comes from Discord. Okay, fine. What else?”

“Where is this going?” Twilight asked.

“We have been stuck here for three days now, waiting for Fluttershy and Rainbow to get more information. Now, and with Applejack staying behind, we have only the vaguest sense of what we are dealing with, and no idea of what to do about it.”

“It’s not like we can go wherever we want,” Rainbow said. “Do you know how long it takes for these river tours to get us up to the dam? We’ve been gone all flipping day.”

Octavia glowered at her.

“We know that Discord and Vanilla are definitely involved,” Twilight said. “We know they’re behind the curse. Once Applejack finds out more, she’ll tell us, and then we can start doing things.”

“What things? What is there that we can do?” Octavia demanded. “You know magic better than any of us. What will Applejack be able to tell you that will make your job easier, Twilight? You know that this will end with you going to the dam. There is no other way out.”

Twilight looked at her for a moment, and sighed. “I know you’re impatient, but waiting is the best move right now. It still is.”

“We should go now. If Vanilla is there, then he will expect us. Better to surprise him by coming early.”

“And then what?” Twilight asked. “Suppose there’s magic to detect us coming upriver. What do we do if we get there and security is ready to remove us at the front door? What if there’s magic that responds when the curse rejoins itself near the dam? If I wanted to set a trap, that’s what I’d do.”

Octavia exhaled loudly.

“What about things like time of day? The mechanics don’t work the same all day long, and if they’re enchanted, then the magic, even inert, will go through cycles as well. We could walk up there and accidentally activate something horrible just by being near it at the wrong time, and Applejack would have been able to clue me in. I don’t have my books, but I still know a lot about magic, and, trust me, I’ll be spending hours on this radio if I can, talking to her.”

“It’s going to be less touch-and-go than I think you think,” Rarity said.

“Fine,” Octavia said. “Wait, speak with Applejack, do whatever it is you feel is necessary.” She stood up, and no one stopped her as she went out to the lawn.

The room was momentarily bathed in an orange glow, and they looked to Vinyl, who smiled. “She’s a piece of work. Where’d you pick her up?”

“Pardon?” Big Mac asked.

She gestured for them to sit closer, and repeated her question.

“We met in Canterlot, not long after the disaster,” Rarity said. “It was actually me who approached her.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you should have,” Rainbow muttered.

“She’s just in a mood,” Big Mac said, looking at Vinyl. “Miss Scratch, doc told us you wanted to tell us somethin’.”

“Just Vinyl, please,” Vinyl said. “Don’t follow the good doctor’s example.”

Whooves laughed, but said nothing more.

“I want to come with you.”

“You too?” Rainbow said.

Vinyl frowned. “Oh. Um, well…”

“You were expecting us to be taken aback, perhaps?” Rarity offered.

“I was.”

“A good try, to be sure, but you’d be number four in our little team,” Whooves said. “Not much room to surprise us anymore, I’m afraid.”

“That’s not to say this isn’t coming out of nowhere,” Twilight said. “You don’t even know us, or we you.”

“Ah wouldn’t say ‘nowhere’,” Big Mac said. “She’s been hangin’ around.”

“You know what I mean.”

“For you, it would be sudden,” Vinyl said, nodding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to seem entitled. You don’t owe me anything.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Can we dim the lights, please?”

“What fer?” Big Mac asked, nonetheless getting up to turn the lights off.

“The goggles protect my eyes. They’re too sensitive.” In the near darkness, she lifted them up and rested them on her horn. “I want you to see my face naturally anyway.” She looked at them all, and they her, everyone looking too long at her red irises.

“Her eyes and voice are both medical conditions,” Whooves said. “Birth defects, if I recall? A real double-whammy.”

“Thank you, doctor,” she said. “I love it when other ponies announce my flaws.”

“Sorry. My mouth sometimes—”

“We know,” Rarity said, and looked back at Vinyl.

“I’ve been thinking about this moment since the end of April.” Her horn lit up, and a soft, green light filled the room. “I don’t live here, but I was here on tour when the world fell apart. I wound up joining a volunteer rescue team. I’m good with lights, as you might guess.” She licked her lips. “Sorry, I’m not used to talking this much. One moment, please.”

She got up, put her goggles back on, and went out to the kitchen.

“Real quick, while she’s away, what do we think so far?” Rarity asked. “I think it’s a terrible idea.”

“I’m fine with it,” Twilight said. “At least, I don’t see the harm.”

“Sorry,” Vinyl said, returning and lifting her goggles back off. “I’m good with lights, so I helped to illuminate collapsed buildings, or show obstacles in the road. I led ponies to safety a lot of the time.”

“Like hospitals and things?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes, or homes that had not been badly damaged. Many lucky ponies opened their homes to those who had lost theirs.”

“That’s wonderful,” Rarity said.

“It was. At other times, I would bring my DJ setup, and provide music for tired or disheartened workers.”

“Miss Vinyl—oop! Sorry, Vinyl, just regular Vinyl—I had no idea you had a heart of gold,” Whooves said.

“Everyone does in a disaster,” Vinyl said. “I just had more ways to show it.”

“So why join us if you have something going on here?” Twilight asked.

“Because I want to do more. Being able to help ponies is great, and I love it, but…” She frowned and lowered her goggles. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

“Plus, Applewood seems to be doing okay on its own,” Rainbow said.

“You mean The Bright Road is doing okay on its own.” Her horn glowed white. “I want to be a larger instrument of good than what I have been here.”

“That’s noble of you,” Rarity said.

Vinyl’s eyebrow shifted under its goggles. “Is there something wrong?”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this adventure, it’s to not trust ponies with pure intentions. No one’s that good.”

“Would it help if I told you I also have an uncomfortable, personal reason for wanting to come along?”

“Would it be true?” Rainbow asked.

“If I told it, yes.” She looked at them all again, went to lift her goggles, thought better of it, and stood instead. “I can give you privacy to talk this over.”

“Please,” Twilight said. “And can you tell Octavia to come back in?”

“Oh, she’s gonna love this,” Rainbow said.

“She’ll flip if she’s not a part of the discussion, though,” Big Mac said. “Go on, Vinyl.”

Vinyl left, and Octavia came in, still bitter. “What do you want?” she asked.

“Hello to you too,” Rarity said. “Vinyl wants to come with us.”

“Fine.”

They paused. “Really?” Pinkie asked. “That was easy.”

Octavia turned to her and took a breath.

“No, let me,” Pinkie said, holding up a hoof. “How dare I make some kind of comment when I haven’t contributed anything meaningful all day? Right?”

Octavia glared at her, then looked at Twilight.

Twilight looked back, but her voice was quieter. “She’s, uh, well, she’s been helping out around town a lot, and she wants—”

“I said ‘fine,’ did I not?” Octavia asked. “Bring her if you want. I do not care, and I have no need to hear her life story. Is there anything else?”

“What is up with you today?” Rainbow asked.

She turned back to the door. “I am going out.”

“What? Seriously? Octavia, c’mon, don’t do that.”

“I am going out.” She threw open the front door.

“Coward,” Big Mac said.

She paused, turned back, and shut the door softly. “Excuse me?”

Big Mac stood and approached her. The lights were still off, and his colossal shadow, tinged with red, appeared demonic beside her cool gray. “Ah called ya a coward, Miss Octavia.”

She looked at them. “I have done nothing but urge us to move forward, yet you remain in this house.”

“It ain’t them that called you it,” Big Mac said, reaching up to gently turn her head back to him. “It was me who did it, right to yer face. Speak to me, not them.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“You should.”

“There is no discussion, and I am no coward.”

“Yer makin’ to run off an’ isolate yerself, when all we wanna do is talk ‘bout Miss Vinyl. Yer not one to make a moral objection to somethin’ as small as talkin’.”

“I simply need to clear my head.”

“What’s got it unclear?”

She shook her head and went back to the door. “This is pointless. I have no reason to speak with you if you are going to buffet me with unanswerable questions.”

“Yer afraid of speakin’ freely, why?”

“Might it be me?” Whooves asked. “I know I’m not—”

“Your presence is so insignificant to me,” Octavia said. “I would rather never speak again than have someone like you constrain me.”

He looked down. “Oh.”

“Did that make you feel better?” Big Mac asked.

“Shut up, and let me out,” Octavia said.

He gestured at the door. “Right there, Miss Octavia.”

She opened it and looked at them again. “I am going to get the ship. Someone here needs to take action, and I see that it will be me. Good night.” She slammed the door, and Big Mac returned to them.

“She’ll be back sooner than that.”

“No, she won’t,” Fluttershy said.

“She will. Ah know she will.”

“What makes you so sure?” Rainbow asked.

“A feelin’. Just a feelin’.”

Twilight turned the lights back on. “Should someone go tell Vinyl she can come with us?”

“I’ll do it,” Rarity said. “We’re sure?”

Twilight sighed. “I guess so.”

The Curse

Chapter Seventy

The Curse

Octavia did not get the airship. She crept back to Photo Finish’s house when everyone else was asleep, and, finding herself locked out, spent the night in damp grass, caught between fitful sleep and frigid waking.

It was Vinyl who found her the following morning. She appeared to have not slept either, and the two of them entered Photo’s house without a word between them, where they found everyone at the breakfast table, talking quietly. Photo was absent.

“Where the heck have you been?” Twilight asked. Her eyes were rimmed in red, and she drooped at the table.

“Found her on the lawn,” Vinyl said.

“You spent the night outside?” Rarity asked. “You could have knocked. We would have let you in.”

“I saw no reason,” Octavia said.

They all exchanged looks, but no one commented.

“Well, I was able to talk with Applejack last night,” Twilight said. “I must have spent three hours on that radio with her.”

Octavia sat on the floor while Vinyl went to the kitchen. “What did you discover?”

“It’s extremely complicated, that much is clear. Moreover, everything appears to be there deliberately.”

“So there is a design to his plan.”

“Looks like it. There’s a lot of possession and propulsion magic inside the dam, mostly on things like pistons and gate mechanisms. I know it sounds crazy, but it looks like movement could be the goal here.”

“Movement?”

“Is the thing not always in a kind of motion?” Whooves asked. “Much like a body. Much like the world, one might say.”

“Gross bodily movement,” Twilight said. “Pretty much all of these pistons and gates are positioned near the foundation. Now, the foundation is all reinforced concrete, so Applejack can’t access it, but if that concrete were to be separated from the dam in some way, the dam could conceivably drag itself along.”

“Bull hockey,” Rainbow said.

“Is that your first conclusion?” Rarity asked.

“My eleventh, actually,” Twilight said, rubbing her eyes. “Applejack and I were talking about it until she fell asleep. Trust me, I think it’s preposterous too, but I have to admit that it’s the most Discord plan.”

“A love of the spectacular,” Whooves said, “and a perfect way of disposing of the entire city, if it’s true. A big if, I hope.”

“What other ideas did you have?” Octavia asked.

“It could be part of an elaborate water pumping system, and Applejack did find a lot of pumps and pipes down there too. I’m not sure I think it is, though.”

“That sounds reasonable enough to me,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, but the pumps are all facing the wrong way. They’re facing the river in the back, not the reservoir. Wouldn’t he want to use something like that as a kind of offensive tactic?”

“Like a big fire hose,” Big Mac said.

“Exactly.”

“They could be there to keep water from spilling out and obscuring his view of the front,” Fluttershy said.

“Mm, maybe. I don’t know. I’m going to spend all day making a list of questions, so I can dial in on this. Last night was a little more slapdash than I’d have liked.”

“While you are doing that, what else will be happening?” Octavia asked. “Is anyone going up the river again?”

“There’s no point,” Rainbow said. “We got what we needed. Right?”

“Quite enough,” Fluttershy said.

“So we are staying here, again, all day,” Octavia said.

“Sure looks like it,” Whooves said, shrugging. Then, seeing Octavia’s face, he sobered. “I’m sure we can find something to do, though.”

“Do what you will. I am going outside. I need to figure something out.”

“Let me come with ya,” Big Mac said, standing.

“I am not leaving yet, if you are thinking of joining me.”

“Let me come anyway.”

“Very well.” At the front door, she stopped and gave everyone a final, inscrutable look.

When they were gone, Vinyl spoke up. “If you weren’t all cursed, I’d offer something to do. Involves going into town, though.”

“What is it?” Twilight asked.

“I have a show tomorrow night, and I need to get my gear.”

“A final show before embarking on the epic quest,” Whooves said. “Not only do you have a heart of gold, but enough romance to melt a heart of ice.”

“Easy, doc.”

“Ah, but is that not the challenge? To be easy in a time like this—”

“You can feel free to interrupt him,” Rarity said. “He doesn’t mind.”

“Talk about taking the words out of my mouth, Miss Rarity!” Whooves said. “Why, it may be rather silly, but I actually value such directness in a pony’s speech. It shows me the error of my own ways, and lets me mend them, much like—oop! Much like I ought to now, no?”

“How can you be so wound up this early in the morning?” Rainbow asked irritably.

“Twilight,” Vinyl said. Twilight leaned in to hear her over Rainbow’s continuing complaints. “Could I use your horn for a moment? I have some supplies in the other room I need to set up.”

Twilight got up and went with her to one of Photo Finish’s anterooms, an arched, colorfully carpeted vault, dominated by a large screen TV and two shelves of movies, outstretched like wings. Vinyl closed the door and dimmed the lights, and Twilight froze before remembering her eye condition. She removed her goggles and set them on a nearby end table.

“Sorry about this. That was a lie; I wanted to talk with you.”

“You don’t have to make up anything to get me alone,” Twilight said. “I don’t mind, and the others wouldn’t either.”

Vinyl nodded. Her electric blue mane looked sullen and violent in the lessened light, her white fur unhealthy, and her red eyes dark and unfeeling. Twilight was reminded of one of Rarity’s mannequins.

“So what’s the problem? If you’re having second thoughts about coming with us, you don’t have to. We understand.”

“That’s not the problem. Kind of wish it was.”

“What do you mean?”

Vinyl’s horn lit up briefly, pink. “I didn’t want to say this earlier, ‘cause I didn’t want you to take me on as a kind of charity. Let’s just say…” She paused for a while, thinking. “Guess I mean, I took a big risk asking to come with you.”

Twilight looked at her blankly.

“I have a lot of friends here, and I had to sever ties with them so I could come along. I… did that a couple nights ago.”

Twilight’s blank look melted into shock, then disappointment. “Vinyl, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t want to have baggage, in case you accepted me.” Her horn glowed again, longer. “In case you wanted to go—or even had to go—soon, I didn’t want to hold you up. Had to be ready immediately.”

“You could have asked us when we meant to leave.”

“But you don’t know either.”

The statement made Twilight stop. Vinyl was right, but hearing it stated so bluntly, and by a near stranger, made her uncomfortable. “Yes, I suppose so,” she said softly.

“I don’t regret my decision, but I kind of do. I’m sure you know the feeling. I know it’s the right thing, but now that it’s done, I’m looking back.”

Outside, there was a chorus of laughter.

“This might surprise you, but I really don’t know that feeling well,” Twilight said. “At least, not how you describe it. It’s like this.” She considered her words, and whether to tell them to a stranger. “Until I became an Element of Harmony, I didn’t have many friends, so I never had to decide between them and the right thing to do. Heck, staying with my friends then probably was the right thing to do. After I got the Element, though, that option kind of vanished. You know, when there’s trouble that only us Elements can handle, we don’t have much of a choice.”

“You could choose to—well, I suppose you wouldn’t, though.”

“Exactly. I never had as open a choice as you did, or any of the ponies who joined us. I think about it sometimes, and I realized a while ago that they’re a lot braver than I am. I was compelled from the beginning, and you weren’t.”

Dark blue seeped from her horn. “You can’t say that.”

“Isn’t it true? You just said you chose to sever connections with your friends.”

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t compelled. Just means I wasn’t compelled the same as you.”

“Okay, true. So, well, what drove you to this, then? And now you’re looking back on it…”

“It’s just my conscience, Twilight,” Vinyl said.

“Nothing more?”

Vinyl studied her face for a minute, her unseemly eyes feeling each contour of her expression, reading her. “Do you regret being an Element of Harmony?”

Twilight did not flinch, but she could feel the repulsion inside her, instinctive to having her own embarrassing thoughts voiced. It was a thought that kept her up at nights, sometimes, and one she buried in the daytime. It was not regret exactly, but close. She was happy with her friends, and she loved her closeness to the princess, but she had to admit to herself that she sometimes wished the mantle had passed to another.

“Is that true?” Vinyl asked.

“Maybe.”

“I’m sorry if I hit a nerve.”

Twilight nodded.

“I did. Sorry about that.”

“So you also made it so that we couldn’t refuse you in good conscience.”

“That’s why—”

“Now that I know what you did, I can’t very well have second thoughts.”

Vinyl frowned. “You’re wondering why I’m telling you this now, instead of after we’ve left, when it would be safer.”

“I might put it differently, but you’ve got it.”

“I didn’t want to wait so long to talk.” Her voice was smaller, for her, and more demure.

“Okay.” Twilight looked at her, then away. “That’s respectable.”

“What’s the matter?”

“You’ve been with us for only a couple days now, and you’ve already lied about something pretty big.” She exhaled through her nose. “We’ve met ponies like that before, and it’s really messed us up.”

“I see.”

“But, of course, we can’t refuse to take you now, can we? You saw to that, or, at least, you say so.”

“I wanted to make the transition as smoothly as possible.”

“You know, that’s awfully entitled of you, to assume we’d pick you up if it was easy for us,” Twilight said.

Vinyl’s horn glowed. “You might be right. Didn’t feel entitled, though.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Vinyl nodded after a while. “Think I see what I did wrong.”

“Do you?”

“Didn’t consider your situation enough. I assumed being in the right place at the right time would be fine, and you’re saying it isn’t.”

“I don’t mean to sound cruel, Vinyl, but it’s for the best I get this on the table now.” She took a deep breath. “We don’t owe you anything, and we also don’t need you. I’m sorry to have to say this, but not all of us are going to feel obliged to validate the risk you took. I’m not sure if I do.”

“Oh.”

Twilight let her wait for a reply, watching her confidence slowly diminish. “You didn’t know that, did you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll bet you have some sort of idealized idea of who we are. That we’re the nicest ponies in Equestria, the most competent, and always happy to get involved in other ponies’ problems. Is that right?”

Vinyl looked at her, horn glowing a bright sea green. “I’ll admit that. But aren’t you the literal embodiments of friendship?”

Twilight paused. “In a way, but that doesn’t make us pushovers. We’re out here to stop Discord and get the country back together, not get sidetracked by things other ponies can handle—no offense. That’s one lesson we learned the hard way, one of many.”

“I see. I think.”

“Is there anything else on your mind, since you’ve got me here?”

Vinyl shook her head. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

Big Mac helped Octavia practice magic behind Photo Finish’s house. Not wanting to damage her lawn, and not having anything else nearby, she used Big Mac, levitating him, pushing him around, and wrapping him in a weak shield. When she was satisfied, she said so, and the two of them set off across the yard, out the gate, and down the narrow street. Houses lost power at both sides as they walked.

“Yer gonna get the ship, right? That’s the plan?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You don’t mind if Ah come along?”

“At first, I did, but I realized that I do not know how to pilot it, and you do.”

“Glad to be of some use to you.”

She looked at him while a perplexed pony exited her house nearby, looking for the source of the sudden electricity loss. “You sound unhappy about something.”

He rolled his eyes and offered a weak smile.

“If it is about last night, you have my apologies. I get irritable when I am idle, and the lack of sleep does not help.”

“We should keep movin’. Don’t want these ponies to black out fer too long.”

“Yes, you are right.” She trotted ahead, and they soon put the neighborhood behind them. The Bright Road was in sight across a distant ribbon of freeway bending into the distance, and they quickly realized that they would be unable to take a taxi. The instant they appeared at a stoplight, it would go out, and traffic would jam up around them. They would need to proceed on hoof.

“How many ponies you think know it’s us?” Big Mac asked as they passed a gated community. There was a line of trees in a median in the road, through which they could see a much larger thoroughfare that would connect to the freeway and take them near The Bright Road.

“I do not know. I would like to believe that there are few, if any, but I do not think Discord would leave it at that. The phone call from Vanilla has me worried as well.”

“Ah, right. Forgot ‘bout that.”

“Even if ponies know of the curse, we have a slight advantage of not being as well known as the Elements. We will not be spotted as quickly—or so I hope.”

“What if we are?”

“I do not know. We will worry about that if it happens.”

They entered the larger road and crossed into the less residential section of Applewood. Houses and apartments faded behind them as hotels and restaurants appeared, always on their side. They branched away from the freeway as soon as they could, and moved into one of the city’s main arteries. Big Mac noticed a significant number of ponies in cars or pulling carts turn their heads to see Octavia. As predicted, the traffic lights went out long before she and Big Mac reached them, and it was not long before they were passing familiar vehicles, which had been reduced to crawls or standstills.

When they saw the first police officer directing traffic, Octavia stopped, but Big Mac nudged her forward. “They’ll be thinkin’ it’s the Elements, not us. Just don’t act suspicious,” he mumbled.

They were able to enter The Bright Road without incident, but the tension was clear as day in the way Octavia moved. As they walked, she snapped her head left, right, and back in a near constant attempt to survey the city, and fidgeted whenever they stopped. Big Mac wanted to say something to calm her down, but could not imagine the words to do so, so he maintained his silence.

In the daytime, The Bright Road felt just as new to him as it had on their first night. Every building, even blacked out, shone with reflective glass and bright paint. Water was everywhere, in pools, fountains, and artificial rivers to run next to certain side streets, doubling the cluttered skyline in a way he had not noticed before. Signs and sculptures, too, filled the smaller spaces between buildings, all but the largest and flashiest going unnoticed by passers-by. When they had to stop again, he was able to study a pair of small stone minotaurs guarding a grassy path to a large, shady patio behind a café.

“There it is,” Octavia said. She pointed up and away at the top of a distant hotel. Far off, but clearly visible, there stood the dignified, dark blue domino that they had only spent a couple hours inside. “We should be able to reach it soon.”

He nodded and led them across the street, where they ascended a staircase to a walkway over a huge, jammed intersection. Octavia looked longingly at the hotel at the end of their path as they went down another set of stairs.

They walked quietly down The Bright Road in Apogee’s general direction. The hotels were laid out unevenly along the road, and it was not a straight walk to their destination. It had taken them nearly three hours to walk the distance from Photo Finish’s house, and they were growing weary and hungry. Traffic hardly moved, even with police directing it at some, but not all, junctures, and ponies around them milled around and tried to carry on with their lives as best they could amid the confusion. Several times, they heard the names of their friends, but never their own.

It was four o’ clock when they came down from the final walkway to face the Apogee. The familiar sound of confused ponies filled the outer courtyard and entrance, and Octavia led them past the front doors to a smaller side entrance, where they stopped. There were no ponies nearby to overhear them, and she sat against a concrete plant box.

“We need a plan. I did not want to discuss it amidst the pedestrians,” she said.

“A plan,” he echoed.

“You know how to get the ship moving. You do, right?”

“Eeyup. Which means you’ll need to distract anyone who might wanna stop us.”

“But I cannot go somewhere where you will be unable to later reach me.”

“If you can get whoever’s usually watchin’ the ships out of there fer long enough, you can come runnin’ back to me when Ah’m ‘bout ready to take off. Timin’ that’ll be tricky, though.”

“How long does it take to get the ship ready to take off?”

“Mmm, Ah don’t know. Depends on how much hot air’s still in the balloon. We’ve been away fer a while; Ah might need to inflate it first.”

“That is a long time. I do not think I can create a diversion that will last that long. Not a safe one, at least.”

Big Mac turned to look at a pair of ponies inside, looking out at them. “Let’s get inside before we draw attention. Maybe scopin’ out the lot will help.”

Octavia said nothing, but followed him into the hotel, down the unlit corridor, through a dead casino, and over to a large, carpeted staircase. They went to the third floor and took a curving path around a large, central bar that, though dark, still had a few patrons. The shops and convenience stores were all nearly empty, though scattered ponies still wandered in places. They eventually found a long, narrow hallway that took them out of the hotel and over the grounds to an airship lot, connected to the one they had used.

No ponies guarded the unlocked doors, and they were able to walk out to the steadily darkening concrete unhindered. All around, airships of vastly differing sizes and models waited for their owners, painting the flat lot with confused, thorny shadows. Some had their balloons down, others remained in position in various states of deflation. At the lot’s edge, landing lights stood dead on thick stems, while overhead floodlights stared down blindly.

A wide bridge connected the two lots, and they crossed, Big Mac nodding a greeting to an official walking the other way. He could feel Octavia’s tension as she moved beside him. They traversed its perimeter all the way around, and then a little farther, until they were certain they had seen the entire lot. Their ship was not there.

They looked at each other, each trying to read the other’s face for signs of comprehension. “So, now what?” Big Mac asked at last.

“I am sure that we can ask someone where it is.” She looked around. “Though I do not see anywhere we might find them.”

It took them half an hour to find a location to ask about their ship. Reentering Apogee from their position, they were not in a familiar area, and had to circle back, all the while navigating increasing darkness inside as the sun went farther down. By the time they had proven their identities, it was nearly sundown, and they were still no closer to achieving their ship. It was registered under the Elements of Harmony, with Twilight’s signature; neither Big Mac nor Octavia could prove that they had any association with the six heroes of Equestria, and so they went wandering again, dejected.

“And we cannot call them at Photo Finish’s house,” Octavia said. They were alone in a casino, searching for a solution. “That would require electricity.”

“We just need to think ‘bout this a little,” Big Mac said, sitting down at a lightless bit slot. “What do we know?”

“We know that we cannot see our own ship.”

“We also know that it’s been moved somewhere. Why might it be moved?”

“Perhaps we broke some sort of regulation without knowing it.”

“Ah’d think Twilight would be notified of that. Though, if they don’t know how to reach her…”

“It is not easy to move an airship,” Octavia said. “I cannot imagine that it is far.”

“Could someone have stolen it?”

“Perhaps, but I do not think that happened. We would have seen more guards if a theft had taken place recently.”

“So it’s either hidden, or…”

“What else?”

“Discord might have teleported it,” he said in a low voice.

She sighed. “Yes, that is a possibility as well. If he did, then we will have to return. We are in no position to do anything about it now.”

“No use worryin’ ‘bout it.”

“Exactly.” She magically pulled a slot machine’s lever, to no effect. “These hotels extend underground as well; I do not know whether you know that. They do not go far, but there is space to hold security, and, I believe, impounded vehicles.”

“That’s just cars an’ carriages, though, right?”

“Usually. It is not common that an airship needs to be impounded—that I know of, at least.”

“Mm, but this ain’t a common situation.”

“That is what I was going to say.” She frowned and tilted slightly in her seat, and Big Mac followed her eyes. A lone pony was loitering in a dying sunbeam through a towering window, facing away from them. “We need to move. It is fortunate that no one has figured us out yet, but we cannot rely on that.”

They went through the casino to exit on the far side, avoiding the stranger in the sunbeam, and Octavia took them to a side door, barred with a heavy rod.

“I believe that this will take us below. Keep watch while I open it.”

Big Mac stood apart from her and slowly scanned the emptiness around them, listening to Octavia’s exertions and the door’s protests. She was attempting to prize the bar free, but it was locked onto the door handle. He watched, rapt, as her magic released the bar and coalesced around the hinges. Octavia herself stood perfectly still and stiff, and she wore an intense look, which she directed at the door, as if trying to stare it down. Eventually, the hinges cried out and then bent back on themselves, and the door swung open, its bar wobbling in place. They went in, and she replaced the door, trying to pull it in as tightly as she could.

Save for the merest hair of light that came in from around the door, they were in complete dark. Cold air welled up from below, but Big Mac felt distinctly exposed. When Octavia activated her gray light, he saw why: they stood in an empty, stone stairwell, its top and bottom both invisible. A dead bulb glinted in Octavia’s light like a suspicious eye, disturbed at the sole sound of their hoofsteps moving into the hotel’s lower section.

He counted three stories until they reached the bottom, and a large, metal door, which no one had bothered to bar or lock. Big Mac blinked quickly as Octavia’s light went out.

“What’s wrong?”

“We are not supposed to be here,” she whispered. “And we do not know who might be down here already. I do not want to give away our presence.”

“Ah can’t see anythin’, though.”

“I think we will need to move blindly for a time.”

“Ah don’t like that idea one bit, Miss Octavia.”

“We cannot be seen.” Her tone was final, and with it, she pushed the door open, exposing them to another wall of cold air. They stood with the door open for nearly a minute, listening, trying to penetrate the darkness. They were underground, he could tell, where the blackout was total.

She turned toward him, groping with a hoof. When she found him, she drew him closer. “Grab my tail. We will move slowly.”

“Mm.” He took her tail in a loose grip in his mouth, and they moved into the new room. He tried to use her confidence, or the appearance of it, to help his own, but could not; the darkness was simply too total to be put out of mind. No light made it down to them, and no energy remained in the countless overhead lights. One might look for them for days and not find them, he thought. They might look for the way out for days and never find that either.

He felt her take a step up, and bumped his front hoof on a concrete lip. Carefully stepping onto what he imagined was a curb, he closed his eyes experimentally. It made him feel no better.

Octavia stopped, and he held his breath. Her tail in his mouth was coarse and greasy, and he wanted to spit it out, but dared not. Then, he heard what had made her halt. Hoofsteps moved steadily and far away, unhurried. They listened to the sound move, never pausing or wavering, and never coming nearer. Briefly, it was muffled, as if the pony had stepped behind something.

He tugged at her tail, hoping the gesture would convey what he desperately wanted to ask: “what now?” She made no response, which he interpreted as the answer he least wanted, but had expected from her: “we wait.”

He lost track of time, and did not know how long they had been sitting defenseless in the darkness when the hoofsteps quickened. Without warning, they broke into a gallop, still far from them, still never coming closer. For a time, he sat, muscles tensed, telling himself unsuccessfully that if the pony wanted to do anything to them, it would have already. Eventually, he could distinguish the runner’s labored breathing as it continued to gallop, which became panting, and then cut off entirely. The hoofsteps were gone, accompanied by no catching of breath, and no skid of a sudden stop.

Ten minutes later, to his mind, Octavia started moving again, taking them within touching distance of a wall at all times. He could feel them sloping downwards into an even colder section of the vast garage he imagined.

They stopped again at a cold, metal guardrail, and then Octavia spoke. “I am going to give us some light, just a little.”

It was as if he had jumped out of bed and immediately stuck his head out the window to see the sunrise. His eyes contracted painfully as a low halo of gray light opened around Octavia’s head, and he could see her face screwing up in similar shock. When it had passed, they looked at their surroundings, but there was not much to see. They stood on a sidewalk, nearly thirty feet away from a closed door, its only marking a fading black circle near the top. A scattered few cars and carriages filled parking spaces in their view, each one a lonely shroud of angles and lines half swallowed by darkness, like sunken ships, placidly awaiting decay.

“How many levels?” he whispered.

“I do not know, but I have an idea. Our airship cannot have moved here on its own, nor through conventional entrances. If we can find a large door, or a set of rails that it could have ridden on, I think we will find it.”

“How are we gonna get it out once we find it? No electricity means no bringin’ it back the way it came in.”

“I know. We will have to improvise something when we get there, I think.” She pulled her tail away. “You can release me now.”

He nodded gratefully, and she led them back up the slope, toward the garage’s top level. He had thought that the light would make him feel better, but, as they walked deeper and deeper into the darkness, he felt even more afraid. Octavia’s earlier worries suddenly made painful, perfect sense: they stuck out to anyone in the garage, and they would never see someone approaching. They were as easy to track as the running pony from earlier, and he found himself swinging his head wildly around, expecting someone to step out from behind a concrete pillar or an abandoned carriage.

“Here we are,” Octavia said, making him jump. She brought them parallel to a metal rail embedded in the floor, swooping down a different ramp and leading up into more shadow. He tried to imagine where they were in relation to the hotel’s foundation, and found that he could not.

They walked uphill for a minute and leveled out, and there it was. Their ship, its balloon disconnected to lie limp over one side like a blackened fruit, sat on a slightly elevated concrete square, the rail running underneath its middle. Keeping their distance, she led them around it first, checking for guards. When she was satisfied that they were still alone, she stepped onto the concrete platform and looked up. The plank was retracted, and there was no way to board.

“I will need to turn off my light to do this, Big Mac.” Without waiting for a response, she extinguished her light, and the immensity of the darkness pressed down on him again. She sighed, and he backed away, clueless as to what she was planning.

With a brilliant flash of light and a crackle that made his fur stand up, she was gone, a twin flash calling his attention to the ship’s deck. She did not reactivate her light, and he could hear her fumbling for the mechanism to lower the plank.

When he heard it meet the floor, he looked in what he thought was her direction. “Light, please? Ah don’t wanna climb this thing blind.”

“Yes, of course.” The familiar, weak light appeared, and he got on with her. The ship looked as it had when they left it, and a quick inspection below showed that it had not been used since then.

“So how do we get out?” he asked.

She sighed. “I do not know. I am still trying to come up with something, and will welcome any ideas you have.”

They stood together on the deck, again in darkness, thinking. She was so quiet, he sometimes lost her breath in the empty space, at which time he would shift his weight to just remind himself that sound still carried under the hotel.

“We moved uphill to get here,” Octavia said, making Big Mac jump. “It is not a complete plan, but we might improve our situation if we can get this platform to slide back down.”

“We’ll alert anyone nearby,” Big Mac said.

“Yes, that is true.”

“Let’s check below first, an’ at least see what’s down there. Bein’ at the other end of this rail might not be worth the effort.”

“I agree.” Her light came on, and he squinted and turned away. “Can you begin refilling the balloon? I do not want it full, but maybe halfway. I will find the rail’s end while you work.”

“Ah don’t like us splittin’ up, Miss Octavia.”

“You will have the light from the torch, and I have magic. We will not have a hard time finding each other in this.”

He thought over her words, and nodded.

“Good.” She helped him move the balloon into place, and then left him with the torch. He watched her dot of light retreat into the darkness, so much smaller from far away. It resembled a lone firefly on a moonless night, and soon it was gone. He fumbled for the switch to activate the torch, then lowered his ears and closed his eyes in preparation for the assault of noise and light. The torch roared and hissed into the cavernous balloon above, and he lowered himself in a half crouch, embarrassed at his own fear.

To his relief, Octavia returned before he shut off the torch. At the end of the rail, which moved straight for a while, and down, but never back uphill, there was a large doorway, behind which she had seen a wide uphill tunnel, and, more importantly, other light. If they could get the airship up the tunnel, they could conceivably take off from ground level.

She waited at the wheel while he finished with the balloon, and then they took several minutes to let their eyes adjust to the darkness again. It was important, Octavia said, so that they could see well in her comparatively meager light when they needed it.

When they were ready, he took his place at the wheel, not for steering, which would be useless on the ground, but to look out and ahead. “Miss Octavia,” he said, realizing something, “how exactly are we gonna move this? Yer not expectin’ to push it with magic, are ya?”

“That was the plan,” Octavia said from the ramp. “Why?”

“Do you think you can? That’s a lot of magic, an’ a lot of weight to push with it.”

“Well, Big Macintosh, it seems to me that I will have no other option.”

“Ah got an idea, of sorts. It’ll save yer magic.”

“What is it?” She sounded reluctant.

“We’re chained to this platform. Let’s just let our turbines push us instead.”

“That will be too loud.”

“But it’ll be quick. Quicker, anyway. Least until we get to yer tunnel. Ah might have some trouble with that.”

“If we do it your way, then I will be available to deal with any obstacles,” Octavia said thoughtfully.

“Obstacles?”

“I am expecting to destroy that door at the bottom.”

He narrowed his eyes, though, of course, she couldn’t see it. “Yeah, that too.”

“Very well. That does sound preferable. However, we must, as you said, be quick about it. The instant this begins making noise, we will have every authority within earshot upon us, and it will not end well.”

Octavia went below to check the chains, and Big Mac ran his hooves over the ship’s simple controls. She returned and cast her light in a wide beam, half over the controls and half over the ship’s front.

“Ready?” he asked.

“We will need to take off as quickly as possible once we are free of this garage. Perhaps you should fill the balloon more.”

“You can do it while I steer her.”

Octavia nodded and went to the torch, and Big Mac hesitantly touched the switch to activate the turbines. Out in the open, their noise seemed negligible, but, underground and steeped in cold silence, he knew they would sound like Tartarus itself tearing open.

“I am ready,” Octavia said. He recognized her tone; she was choosing to express her impatience tactfully.

“Hope I knew what I was talking about,” he thought, pulling the switch. The engine below hummed, then growled, then rattled to life, and the turbines at the sides and end all came to life at the same time, filling the air with the awesome, reverberating sound of awoken machinery. The chains rattled and battered the side of the ship, but they did not move forward. After a minute, he turned the engines off.

“Well, that is it. I will try to push,” Octavia said.

“Check to see if there’s somethin’ holdin’ us up,” Big Mac said. “Look at the rails, see if there’s a lock or somethin’.” His ears were up, straining to hear in the darkness, enhanced as Octavia went down again. His fevered imagination conjured hoofsteps and distant voices, and he trotted to the gunwale to look out, not sure what he was looking for.

“There is something,” she said. “One moment.” More sounds of abused metal, and the ship swayed in place as its platform juddered. “Try now.”

She came aboard as he turned on the engines, and he immediately felt the difference. Even locked down with chains, there was a fluid looseness in the minor movements that had not existed earlier, as if every minute shift had been amplified in the stifling interim between attempts.

They slid forward, and Big Mac could not help a small cry of delight. At last, he felt that something was happening, that their journey was coming to an end. The engines shook for a second, and he kept his gaze steady out into the darkness, so steady that the first mote of light stirred no reaction within. It was only when the one was joined by several others that he looked to Octavia, who was looking the other way.

“Someone’s out there,” he said quietly.

She whipped around, her eyes intense enough to make him flinch. She took his spot at the rail and cursed.

“What are we gonna do?”

“I think I have an idea.”

“Yer not gonna blow ‘em up, are ya?”

“I would not do that.” She held up a hoof for his next question. “I need quiet. This is a spell that I have not practiced very much.”

“Teleportin’?”

“Quiet.”

He backed away while she settled her forehooves on the gunwale, fixing the approaching dots of light with her icy stare. He could see the concentration on her face even in the dim light she radiated, implacable, almost angry. It was nothing new, but, as with all things, the darkness gave it a new and unexpectedly powerful cast of sinister power.

“Avert your eyes,” she said.

He kept his eyes fixed on her, recognizing the tone of her voice before the words. “Huh?”

She did not respond, but the garage was suddenly ablaze in white light. His eyes seemed to curl in on themselves, and he fell to the floor in pain. No sound escaped him, but others shouted out, and hooves scrambled nearby. He rolled over, his vision a sea of shifting blotches of dark color. He heard Octavia curse him and race to the other side of the deck.

Then, he was aware of another sound, persisting just under the engine’s thrumming. He was reminded of sheets rustling, though slightly faster and more constant, and then, rolling over again, he knew what it was he heard: fire.

He sprang to his hooves, but his vision was still empty, and he was able to catch only a single acrid taste of smoke before being bodily slammed back to the floor. Hooves raced by his head, and he decided to stay down.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” Octavia was muttering. She did not stay still, but his sense of hearing was not precise enough to determine her position. He could smell the smoke, and heard her cough.

She continued murmuring to herself far away, and he twitched at the sound of splintering wood with her grunt of exertion. Hooves on the deck, shuffling, and then another splitting noise, with the added sound of nails being prized free. Something hard hit the concrete below, and Octavia galloped to the ship’s front.

“Out of the way! Out of the way now!”

They tipped down in a way that made him queasy, and he knew that they were on the downhill portion of the rail. Fire whipped nearby, for a moment drowning out the engines and turbines, and then there were more shrill cries below.

They leveled off with a sickening lurch forward and a heavy jangle of chains, and Octavia was back with another sharp rap. He could see her outline, and the shapeless glare of growing fire that seemed almost to cocoon her, and saw her lash out at what he assumed was the gunwale. She was trying to kick the flaming portions off, so they could not spread to the rest of the ship.

The ship lurched to one side and he fell again, Octavia’s silhouette diving into the rail with a shout of alarm. Their platform squalled, and wood groaned, and Big Mac could only freeze, half-blind and sure they were to tumble over. The moment of weightlessness extended out, and his body instinctively tensed to brace itself for the long fall off.

“Damn it,” Octavia breathed. “Big Mac, I need your help.”

He swiveled his head in her direction, his vision returning slowly. He could make out the awkward, dark shape of their balloon over her glowing head, and, on his other side, the embers embedded in the gunwale. He shakily stood, balanced himself on the slanting deck, and kicked the damaged rail away.

“Big Mac!”

“What?”

“We are stuck. Get down and pull us back.”

He stammered and looked past her. The glow of her magic rose up from behind, and she stood, leaning strangely on the torch. He could just see her angry eyes.

“Get!”

Not responding, he lowered the ramp, paused, turned around, and deactivated the engines. His vision was nearly back, and enough for him to clumsily negotiate the angle at which they were stuck. On the platform, he looked up and saw what she meant. They had taken a turn too quickly and leaned over, nearly capsizing as he had feared. Octavia had unthinkingly grabbed for a piece of ship to hold on to, managing a chunk of its hull, giving a large circle of wood siding a shimmering, gray scale; above, their balloon pressed inward dangerously, caught on a corner of lower ceiling.

He ran for a chain, stretched too taut to comfortably grab. The ship groaned again, and Octavia said something quietly above him. He heard his own name, but nothing else.

Sparing a look back for the ponies Octavia had shouted at during their descent, and seeing no one, he brought up a foreleg and looped it around the chain, its links large enough for him to get a secure, but painful, grip.

“Ready?”

“Do not let it crush you,” came her reply.

He licked his lips and pulled, easily at first, testing the weight and his own resistance to the pain he knew was to come, and then steadily increased the pressure. The ship groaned again, and he thought he could see it move. He paused, took a breath, and pulled again. A hot band of tight pain encircled his leg, and he knew he would likely lose some fur, if not skin, in the sudden escape when the ship tilted back his way.

“Ah wish Twilight was here,” he said, and gave one more pull, faster than he knew he should. Pain throbbed once, more intense and spreading farther along his limb, but he got the desired effect: the ship leaned over him, slowly at first, and then with a quick, wrenching sound.

He had felled enough trees to know how to escape being crushed, and hardly felt the fur tear free as he dashed back and to the side, nearly stumbling off the platform as he did so. Octavia grunted above, and the magic dissipated. Dust and air blew into his eyes, and he did not think of how close he may have been to being injured.

“Come back up,” Octavia said.

He rolled his eyes, but did not say anything as he boarded and turned the propellers back on. They coughed to life, and they were soon moving again, though listing to one side.

“We are near the tunnel I mentioned.”

“What in the world happened? Where did the fire come from?”

“It was my fault. I tried to disorient the ponies approaching us—which is why I told you to avert your eyes, by the way.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“But, apparently, I cannot produce a simple flash spell. I made light, but also heat. It was a stupid, careless mistake; Twilight has warned me about it before.”

“But we’re okay now,” he said, looking cautiously over the rail.

“There is the door.”

He turned back to see only shadow, then the outline of a large sliding door.

“Miss Octavia, Ah can’t stop us fast enough to not hit that.”

She looked at him sidelong, and, sighing, walked to the front of the ship. “This is ridiculous.”

“Sorry.”

“Not you. I advise you not look directly at what I am about to do.”

He turned resolutely away, confident he knew what she was planning. The ship was vibrating, more strongly, he thought, than before. Its imperfect balance on the platform made each propellor’s revolution send an individual shiver through the deck, which multiplied further with the first explosion, as if the ship itself were afraid of how quickly they had lost control. Metal and wood shattered, and he fell to his knees, head down. A second explosion echoed quickly, and then a third, for which he heard a rain of displaced stone, some on the deck.

This ship shook and slammed to a halt, and Octavia cursed once more. “Turn off the propellers again, Big Macintosh.”

He did as she said, then joined her at the front. Most of the doorway had been blown outwards, forming a funnel of jutting scaffolding and broken beams. They had enough of an entrance to push through, but their progress immediately beyond was hindered. Debris covered the ground before them, some pieces larger than him, and he thought he could see a bend in the track where a block had fallen.

Octavia simply stared at the mess she had made, and Big Mac turned around to dancing lights in the distance. Flashlight beams skittered across the ground far off, and one slid over his face, not stopping. The ponies were too far away to see them clearly, but he knew it would not be long before they were close enough.

“Miss Octavia?”

She looked where he pointed. He expected another curse, but she only looked back at him. “I am open to any ideas you have. Quickly, please.”

“Well… shoot, Ah don’t s’pose you can hop down there an’ clear off that junk right quick, could ya?”

“We are right in the doorway. Moving the debris past us will take too long.”

The approaching ponies’ voices manifested out of the darkness, the words inaudible, but their tones clear.

“That did not take long,” Octavia said.

“How much magic do ya have left?”

“Some. I am more out of practice than anything. What is your idea?”

“Can we just keep blastin’ our way through?”

“Celestia almighty,” she mumbled, closing her eyes.

“It’s all Ah got.”

She squared her shoulders and beckoned him to turn the propellers on again. Nothing more was said. One moment, he was bracing himself for the avalanche of sound, and the next, it was upon him. The same weak shield she had practiced on him that afternoon glinted and faded away at the first piece of masonry to hit it, and the flashlight beams jumped to them. Multiple voices shouted for them to stop, one announced itself as Applewood police.

“We will need to fly away more or less immediately,” she called back to him.

He nodded, not knowing what to say. Broken concrete poured down with each rocking explosion, and sparks flew as metal and deactivated wiring was torn apart. The ferocity of her magic, applied in the one way with which she had any skill, made him nervous. He could feel each blast as a punch in the chest and two smaller concussive touches on his eyes. The sound, amplified in the massive garage, left his ears ringing, so that each successive blast was less incredible, and all the more astonishing for its tactile power. Soon, he was watching the scratched and ruined walls mark their ascent, an agonizing climb at a slightly steeper angle than the tunnel, and waiting for the balloon to burst. He did not think she had kept it in mind when demolishing their path.

Voices screamed at them to stop again, and, a second later, a small teardrop of light whizzed past them. Octavia did not look back, but he did. In a dome of magical light below, police officers crowded the destroyed doorway. He recognized the pulse crystals on some of their hooves, and ducked, hearing only the words “or we will use these!”

“Miss Octavia!”

“Shut up,” she snapped, and tore another chunk of masonry off the ceiling. It fell before them, missing by a foot, and then slid down to grind against their bottom. They were driving up into the ceiling, their balloon scraping past shards of concrete and twisted, broken girders, while more magical lights zipped past them.

“They cannot do anything,” she said, pausing. “They have no angle to hit us, and they will not want to destroy the ship.” She looked down and cursed, her voice sharp. Four small pops rocketed off, and they bucked upwards; she had broken the chains they had forgotten to remove.

The balloon scraped against an unseen detail in the ceiling, and Octavia drowned it out with another explosion. The air was getting warm in their shaft, and he could hear each spell propagate through the structure above. He could not imagine what the ponies above were experiencing, if they had not already evacuated.

The exit was in sight, and Big Mac moved uncertainly to the torch, knowing that, though they floated up against the tunnel’s ceiling, they would not have enough lift to get far off the ground in the open.

“Angle those spells higher,” he called. “Ah’m turnin’ her on.”

Octavia did not respond, but peppered the ceiling with a smaller burst of explosions, sending dust and gravel down onto the deck. The lights had stopped passing them, just as she said they would, but he did not make himself any larger a target than he could help. Behind, there was no threat anymore, but he could see the red and blue whir of lights waiting for them.

With a resounding crack, Octavia wrenched a tremendous piece of masonry away and held it before them briefly, then tossed it up the rest of the tunnel, where it spun gracefully and then fell with a crunch of stone on asphalt. Pausing only momentarily, she threw up another explosion; he watched it bend and split the bulky, metal webwork that had not yet pierced their balloon.

Voices came down to them, ordering them to stop, and Octavia spared a cold, determined look at Big Mac. “Do not fail me now,” he imagined her saying. He nodded, wishing he had stayed behind.

The night was nearly upon them, and he could see a congregation of dead edifices in wan starlight, streaked with police lights and, in the distance, hotel faces streaked with spotlights from above.

“Stop immediately!” a bullhorn cried, and Octavia responded with another explosion, sending the large piece of stone she had earlier left at their exit spinning in another direction. The voice crackled, and threatened to shoot. She ducked her head down and shattered another portion of ceiling.

When their bowsprit pierced the air and freed itself from the shadow he had become accustomed to, Big Mac could only stare in astonished fear at the number of police that waited for them. Cars, carriages, and loose ponies with riot gear and pulse crystals covered the parking lot in front of them, and a pair of vibrant, red and blue airships circled above, their own turbines nearly masked under Octavia’s ruckus.

Shots from at least ten different pulse crystals spread upwards to them, but deflected off another shield. In the split second that it was active, Big Mac saw that she had only put it around the balloon.

He half stood, half crouched at the back, hoping he could not be seen, but knowing he was in just as clear sight as Octavia. He shot a furtive look back to see them clearing the tunnel, but felt no joy, not even as they began rising into the air. Octavia’s shields were not good, and he could see her breathing heavily as she slumped on the gunwale’s inside edge, eyes on the balloon. With each shield that was broken, she flinched, closed her eyes for a second, and conjured another, to be broken almost immediately after. The effect was nearly like that of the spinning police lights, steady and quick as an orchestration. Almost whimsical; in his head, he took note of it.

He looked around swiftly, searching for an escape. Their only chance, he thought, was to somehow rise above the police, but what then? They could not float endlessly away, nor could they hide from the searchlights; they would need to land sometime, and their curse would keep their location even clearer than the huge, stolen ship they were attached to.

Something dark and shiny leapt into his vision, and he, unthinking, turned the ship in its direction. It was an impulse, an instinctual attraction to anything other than the lights and angry ponies. A shadowy band of water curved under an ornate bridge between Apogee and a smaller, neighboring hotel to become a star-shaped pool off the street.

Magic pinged off their shields, and Octavia made a small noise between pain and exertion with each iteration of her feeble shield. He, meanwhile, no longer with nothing to do, traversed the deck with his head down to turn off the ship and be in place to vent the balloon, a position that forced him to stay near the side, allowing him a clear view of the chaos that he could only hear seconds ago.

He glanced at Octavia, who looked back with a dead glare and sweat standing on her brow. She closed her eyes, and another shield flashed up, to be shattered a second later.

“We’re gonna crash into that pool over there,” he said, edging closer to her. “As soon as we do, hop out an’ swim with me. We can double back, or send Twilight to pick it up when it’s impounded.”

“I cannot swim,” she said, eyes closed.

He stood up briefly, gauging their distance to the pool, and then yanked a cord near the balloon’s tether. His ears strained for the hiss of escaping air, but he could not make it out in the rest of the chaos. What he could feel, painfully clearly, was the soft jolt as they lost what little elevation they had.

“I will try, though.”

“Ah can carry you,” he said. “Ah hope so, anyway.”

While the magic shots continued flying, igniting darkened windows all around them like tiny comets, or fireworks that did not explode, they banged into a white fence and scraped across its top, dragging a portion of it with them and furrowing the lawn. Again, someone shouted for them to stop, one more voice in the catastrophic patchwork.

“Ready?” he asked, coming closer to her. “Ya better get ready.”

She got to her hooves, and he watched a shot go into the balloon, leaving a tiny ring of scorched fabric in its wake.

They tipped to one side, grinding against a statue, and the propellers jangled in place. The water was cool and black, empty of ponies, not a swimming pool at all, he saw. Spouts and pipes adorned the sides, and a large, tiered structure sat just under the water in the middle, for shooting colorful fountains for a gawking audience.

They brushed the surface, slowed, and then splashed to a halt, white foam chewing at their bottom. He did not need to guide Octavia; she took a last look at the sidewalk, where the police cars had moved, then up at the sky, where the airships were looking for a vantage from which to spear them with light again, and let herself fall over the side. Big Mac followed with only a moment of hesitation, hitting the water in a graceless ball.

The temperature took his breath away, and he felt like coiled steel under the water, until he was able to claw to the surface and get air. Octavia struggled just under his midsection, her hooves parting the water like leaves on a current, and he dove down to get her over his back. She was light, but not as light as he would have liked, and he had to paddle aggressively and immediately to keep them both above water. The darkness around them was complete, still, but he knew it would not stay so for long. The water would return to calm, and the police would spot them making their escape.

“Octavia,” he managed, his head dipping down briefly to give his eyes and ears another cold shock, “splashes. Hide us.”

She was dead weight on his back, but it was no sooner than he had managed his request than a litany of smaller explosions sent geysers of water up over their heads, putting them in perpetual rainfall that stung the top of his head, somehow colder than the water that surrounded the rest of his body.

Flashlights and spotlights pinned the ship in the water, and voices demanded that they come out unarmed. Big Mac paddled gamely toward the far sidewalk, only ten feet away, and unwatched. He looked rapidly in the direction of the police to see how much longer they had, and his head slipped under again. Octavia sputtered and struggled, and pounded his back when he brought her up again.

“Do not do that,” she hissed in his ear.

When they reached the far side, he swam alongside it until she was able to get off and help him up. She wasted no time; as soon as they were out, she ran for the closest hedge and forced herself half in and half behind it. The police on the other side were looking around in a small, disorganized knot, and he, again without thinking, turned and started down the sidewalk, forcing himself to hold a casual pace.

“Looking for a unicorn, looking for a unicorn,” he thought to himself; he had realized it in the water. “Don’t run. Walk normal, blend into the first crowd you see. Find Octavia later.” Flashlights roved over the sidewalk and the few nearby ponies, some of whom gave him strange looks, but nothing else. He did not stop, though his heart did as the light crossed his side, and he allowed himself to follow another pony down a side path, up to an unlit shop off the hotel’s side.

The flashlight moved on, but still he did not hurry. He would wait until there was a wall between him and his pursuers, and then he would do what he could to dry off and reclaim Octavia.

Just outside Pinkie’s Pies, a pastel pink confectionary with one confused, despondent cashier attending its darkness, he did not hesitate to reach into the trash and rummage for things to dry himself. Napkins, wrapping paper, and a spare newspaper, its headline decrying the strange, moving blackout from days before: he used them all, and emerged onto the street from the other side with only a slight drip, something he contented himself he could explain as having bumped into a stranger and getting a drink spilled on him. The other airships had landed, and police were covering the deck of theirs, still cautious, but quieter. The demands had stopped, and the lights had all converged.

He passed within a few feet of a parked police car and followed the bridge’s curve to Octavia’s bush, where he, watching the other edge fervently, helped her to stand back up. She walked with him, down the sidewalk, away from the pond, away from their ship.

It was one in the morning, and everyone was in bed except Twilight, who sat by the radio and scratched notes and ideas into a notebook she had liberated from one of Photo Finish’s desks. She felt she was coming nearer to an idea of what Discord wanted with the dam, but progress was slow. For every new question, Applejack needed to retreat into the dam, sometimes to come back out minutes later only to ask for clarification.

Someone knocked on the door, and Twilight muttered a quick “be right back” to the radio. She dragged herself to the front door and let in Big Mac and Octavia, she with damp fur, and both of them looking defeated and exhausted. Big Mac simply slumped against the kitchen counter, and Octavia took a seat on the couch, her eyes drooping but not closing.

“Where in the world were you?” Twilight asked.

“What’s goin’ on?” Applejack’s voice sounded. “Who’s there, Twi?”

“Big Mac and Octavia just got back. They’ve been gone all day.”

“We went to go get the airship back,” Octavia said quietly.

“From the hotel?” Applejack asked.

“I didn’t see it out there,” Twilight said.

“It was not a success,” Octavia said. “I am sorry.”

“Uh…” Twilight looked at her, then Big Mac, and then at the radio. “Sorry, hang on. Applejack, can you investigate those sand filters for me, please? I need to know their relative position between the foundation and the main generators.”

“Yeah, Ah can try,” Applejack said, and the radio went quiet.

“What did you do?”

“We went to the hotel, as I said I wanted to, blackout or no blackout,” Octavia said. “The ship was not where we left it. After some searching, we located it in an underground impound lot, but getting it out proved… difficult.”

“I don’t like how you’re making that sound.”

“The airship is currently in police custody. I hate that I am thrusting this onto you, but you need to go get it. It is under your name.”

“Actually, it’s under all of our names,” Twilight said. “When the Astras signed it over to me, I put all of us on the title.”

“Not us, apparently.”

“Did you sign each of our names to it, or did you put ‘Elements of Harmony’?” Big Mac asked.

Twilight paused. “Oh, crap, I’m sorry, Octavia. So you probably got into trouble trying to take it back. Is that why you’re all wet?”

“It is I who am sorry, Twilight,” Octavia said. “And yes. We had to make a quick escape, and that involved being in the water. Big Mac saved my life then.”

“Think nothin’ of it,” Big Mac said.

“I apologize for earlier, when I vented my impatience. I acted rashly, and put both myself and Big Macintosh in danger as a consequence, as well as inconvenienced you.”

Twilight smoothed her mane, secretly agreeing with the apology. “It’s okay, Octavia. I understand where you’re coming from. Ugh, where’s the police station?”

“We do not know.”

“Yeah, I realized that as soon as I asked. You wouldn’t know; you were running from them.” She looked at the radio. “You’re safe now, right? No one’s going to knock on the door later and try to arrest you?”

“As Big Mac pointed out, the police will be looking for unicorns.”

“Good.” She looked at the radio again, expecting Applejack to cut in with a response. “Why don’t you two get some rest? I’ll be up a while longer, and I can deal with the ship tomorrow.”

“I believe I shall,” Octavia said. She went to a different room, but Big Mac simply let himself slide to the floor and fall asleep on the kitchen. He did not stir when Applejack came back, nor when Twilight finally replaced the radio to its spot two hours later.

Whooves and Vinyl traveled together into the city, across The Bright Road, into a tight bank of apartments and squeezed houses, where he helped her gather up crates of electronic equipment and decorations and load them into the scratched, silver carriage she kept outside.

“Not one for driving the mechanical beast, Vinyl?” he asked, running a hoof over the carriage’s green trim.

“Don’t trust my eyes enough,” she said. The day was overcast, but she still wore her goggles. He could see himself in them.

“And where’s the lucky stallions who get to pull this treasure chest once it’s loaded up?”

“On the way already. I use a pull service.”

“Ah, very good, very good. You know, I once worked part-time for a carriage pulling service. Dreadful hours, but you never get so intimate an acquaintance with your city as when conveying the wealthy and lazy to and fro. I’ve often thought that this germ of youthful experience is the cause of my well-documented wanderlust. I dare say you know a thing or two about that, no?”

She giggled. “I might.”

“You needn’t let an old windbag like me take up all the valuable real estate in a conversation,” he said. “Why, I don’t mind letting the old ears stand to attention a bit more than usual.”

“Sorry.” Her single word was so light, it could have been a sigh of wind. “It’s not personal. Habit.”

“A habit of quiescence? Such a fate!”

“Ponies lose patience,” she said, lifting a square container and slotting it between two larger cases. “There’s politeness, and there’s stopping a whole conversation to hear one mare. I wouldn’t want to do it if the roles were reversed.”

“But you can’t resign yourself to such a pitiful existence! Never let yourself keep mum for the mere convenience of others.” He laughed. “I’m sure Octavia can tell you all about it.”

She tapped a hoof on one of her cases. “Music, doc. I speak with my music.”

“Oh hoh!” He rested his own hoof on the black case, admiring its shape. “Yes, and lights, and activity, and a smile on that face of yours.”

“Sure.”

He followed her back to her apartment room on the ground floor. “Maybe not so much tonight, though? You seem preoccupied.”

“It’ll be a pretty personal show.”

“Pardon?”

She gave him a smile and repeated herself, her horn glowing a soft yellow as she did.

“Ah, yes, I suppose so. The last hurrah.”

“More than that.” She stopped at the doorway, looked down the street. “One more trip should do it.”

“What is this show of yours, if it’s more than a sentimental goodbye to the city you love?”

“Last time I’ll see some friends. Former friends.”

“Former?”

She grabbed a bundle of cables and coiled them loosely around her neck. “I cut ties with them so I could come with you. I think we’re good to go.” They went back outside, and she locked the door.

For a moment, Whooves was quiet, and she looked at him, surprised. “Do the others know?”

“Twilight.” She sat down beside the carriage and gestured for him to get in. She watched the end of the street, waiting for the stallions to pull her to The Moon Shot, where she would perform in six hours. Whooves settled in to his seat with a sigh of contentment, and, for a moment, her worries lifted. Seeing him comfortable and carefree—or seemingly so, for it was hard to tell with him—was soothing. It told her she had done at least one thing right in the past few days.

The feeling did not last, and she was sullen and direct when the pull service finally came. She directed them to the bar and paid, sparing no amiable chitchat as she often had in the past.

When the sun had nearly set, and Vinyl had her setup how she liked it, The Moon Shot was full of young, energetic ponies, as it had been the night she met the Elements of Harmony. Whooves had fallen in with a trio of strange mares, and the four of them sat in a corner booth close to Vinyl. She could turn her head and get an encouraging smile from the doctor, and she could turn it the other way and see the slouched forms of two of her former friends, there to offer their bitter support.

Vinyl had made her intentions known to eight ponies in total, one of whom, she knew, had been planning on asking her on a date. That pony was not present.

Ursa Major, a dark purple unicorn from the glacial city of Snowdrift, who had made a name for himself by expressing his joyful zeal for life in walls of textured beats and electric soundscapes, was the only of the two to give Vinyl a nod of recognition. He had understood her choice, but disagreed strongly. She was not surprised to see him at her final show.

A light brown reed of an earth pony with a snapping voice and a taste for the psychedelic side of music, stage name Doggy, stretched out on the other side of the booth in a position Vinyl had seen many times before. Affected contentment, a stretch designed to communicate maximum comfort and relaxation, which Vinyl knew was at war with the serious, stressful attention to detail that filled Doggy’s head. She had voiced her objections to Vinyl’s plan with the most venom, and the most hurt.

The senior bartender, a pony who frequently gave Vinyl a discount on drinks, asked her when she would be ready to perform, and Vinyl gave her setup a last look. She nodded and flashed a bead of pink on her horn tip, and the bartender smiled and clapped her on the wither.

She didn’t look at anyone, not Whooves and his new friends, who vibrated in their seats with laughter and drink, and not at Ursa Major and Doggy, who she suddenly wished hadn’t shown up.

The lights dimmed, the TVs were turned down, and Vinyl began. Unlike many of her friends, she had never settled on one particular style of music. Half the time, in expression or pursuit of her own tranquil worldview, she played longer, more melodic music, designed to sweep listeners away and fill the room with a soft atmosphere of her own making. At other times, often when remembering her younger, confused days, she would play a harder and faster brand of music that was popular with the Equestrian youth. For those shows, she was often stunned to find herself the oldest pony there: not yet thirty, but too old to chop herself up in the rave scene, had she still wanted to.

Her last show, perhaps in her life, perhaps in several months, or perhaps that week, started with the soft twinkling of notes sprinkled over cut up vocal samples and a soothing, swelling ambience. She frequently sampled from old documentaries and radio commercials, things that formed the sonic backdrop of her youth. Nostalgia was not the end goal, as it was with one of her other friends, but an expected and welcome side effect to her music.

She took note of the faces in the crowd, seeing pleasure on most and puzzlement on several more. The first song was the easiest. From where she sat, she needed only to activate sample loops with the right timing; most of her energy could be focused on the light show.

From her horn there emerged twin fans of color that swept up and down the bar, catching ponies’ drinks briefly and making them shine like stars. Her light shows were never the same twice, for she never rehearsed them all the way through. The majority of her tricks were well practiced, and suited for specific sections of her songs, but she was certain to always leave areas for herself to improvise. It kept her sharp, and kept her from potentially losing track of her own show.

She cut in a soft backbeat that would continue on after the first song had passed, and she nodded her head in time, activating another set of samples in quick succession.

She had grown up in a dark corner of Equestria in a settlement between two freezing rivers, runoff from the glacier sixty miles away. Her town, and the hundreds like it, all along the rivers, had sprung up to capitalize on the recently discovered wealth of natural resources and gemstones. There, the first thing she learned was that hers was a world of growth and need. No one prospered in the freezing wilderness south of Snowdrift, and only the lucky acquired the materials to leave and prosper elsewhere. In absence of parental guidance, but not love, she was chastised by the bitter winds and waters, and uplifted by the hardy weeds and flowers that pushed through black earth.

Crossing the bar one more time with her colorful fans, which had multiplied to five by the time the song was over, she formed a polychromatic cone that floated up into the rafters and turned lazily to the much faster, lighter beat of her next song, something meant to bridge the gap between her earlier, more ambient sound, something to show that she could bring energy as well. Her cone was not an easy trick to do, and she had to keep careful watch of its edges, lest the colors form a diluted rainbow; that was not the look she wanted. She kept it turning, sometimes dramatically shifting the position of colored bands inside, but keeping all within a tight cone. Later, when the show was near its end, she would use the same shape, but with her horn strobing the colors. Correctly timed omissions from the overall shape would turn her cone into a twisting corkscrew, and a quiet audience into an awestruck one.

She had thought it cruel irony when she was younger, that her eyes should be so sensitive to the same light it was her obvious talent to produce. In her area of Equestria, healthcare was not a high priority, not when more than eighty percent of the ponies that lived there intended to put the shanty towns behind them in a year or two, so there were no clear solutions to her eye problem. She wore sunglasses everywhere she went, which helped, but she had no way to block any light from the top or sides. She would grow up to associate memories of home with pain and discomfort.

Her parents were among the fortunate enough to leave wealthy, but not until after Vinyl was old enough to have left on her own. It did not feel like abandonment at the time; in that area of Equestria, ponies struck out on their own frequently, disenfranchised with toiling in riverbeds and panning for gold, to try to find their destinies in Snowdrift, which was colder, harsher, and still more dangerous. The journey, sixty miles on hoof and completely alone, would inspire her first album, entitled “X Marks the Spot.” It sold thirty million copies in the first year.

She smiled and let her cone break apart into lively swirls of color that crossed the floor and walls as her song broke down and lost the trimmings of vocal samples that she had steadily been adding for the past couple minutes. It was an easy point in the show, the first of not many more, and she took the opportunity to glance at Ursa Major and Doggy, who watched without enthusiasm.

Vinyl’s lights faltered, but no one would have been able to notice with the way they were jittering around the bar. She fixed her smile and brought the lights back together into a small sphere on the tip of her horn, before dimming it and starting the next song, a jaunty, whirling synth beat over some sharp snares.

Her cue was simple, a quick triple on the high hat that would tell her to bring her light back out in a spider of slender, white threads, which she would then rove over the bar and patrons. She was so ready for it that she let her light shoot out when she knew the cue would play, but faltered a second time at the sound she wanted least to hear: silence.

As if in a dream, her composure total and a smile affixed stupidly to her face, she scanned her setup for the problem. Something had come loose, she figured.

Then, the soft uproar. Ponies did not shout or cry out, but simply turned to each other and looked around, questions filling the air. Vinyl looked out as well, and did not immediately recognize what was happening. The bar lights had gone out, as had the TVs, as had the unnatural light from the street outside. Her own equipment was as lifeless as the cases it had been transported in.

In the bar, someone called out “the Elements of Harmony,” and she realized what had happened. The blackout, the curse, Discord’s enforced darkness, had returned.

“Who could possibly have come, though?” she heard Whooves say. The three mares he was with were assaulting him with questions in young, nasal voices, their tones threatening to tip over into panic. On the other side of her stage, she could hear Doggy cursing a blue streak.

Not giving any regard to her ruined show, Vinyl left the stage and illuminated the bar with a calming, white light, just as she had days earlier. She approached Whooves and grabbed him by the foreleg, giving the mares an apologetic smile as she did so.

“Pon-three! What is the meaning of this?” a sharp voice accused. She was making for the exit, but turned in time to see Doggy shoving her way through the confused crowd, her face pinched and angry.

“Outside,” Vinyl said, knowing neither of them would hear it. She made it out to the sidewalk, positioning herself by the window so she could still keep The Moon Shot mostly lit.

“What’s going on?” Doggy demanded. She scowled, then looked at Whooves. “Pleasure to meet you. Pon-three, what is this?”

“It’s a really long story,” Vinyl breathed. “It has to do… what is that?”

They both looked around, and Vinyl pointed to the nearly invisible trail of smoke rising a street away.

“Shit,” Doggy said, her indignation gone in an instant. “Vinyl, I know—”

“Doc, fill her in,” Vinyl said, and took off at a gallop towards the smoke. She heard Doggy shout “dammit” behind her, and Whooves beginning what she knew would become a verbal tug of war with her friend, and then the milieu of voices that so well resembled the catastrophic symphony of alarm on the night of The Crumbling.

She rounded the corner and dashed across the street, moving between stopped cars and pedestrians running the other way. The Magic Bowl, a restaurant where she had once been cornered into signing fifty autographs, glowed from within, a dull but powerful orange, tinged with soot and alive with contorting shadows. Through dark windows, she could make out the source of a terrible sound, a throng of ponies panicking and trying to escape all at once.

While a smaller crowd had managed to form outside, closer to the back, most remained inside, immobilized by the sheer size and intensity of their numbers. Smoke strung itself from the roof, but she could see—or thought she could see—a dense ceiling of it near the tops of the windows. She could feel the heat where she stood on the opposite sidewalk, not difficult to withstand.

In her experience volunteering for cleanup and rescue crews, she had seen plenty of fire aftermaths, and a few fires fought from a distance, but she had never set hoof near a flaming building. She paused, glanced down the street, and realized that the fire department would not arrive until it was too late; with no electricity, they would only receive the phone call when the fire was visible from several blocks away.

She galloped to the restaurant, trying to find a way to help. She could not imagine that her light would be of any use, and she was unable to speak loudly enough to order the ponies.

Inside, something cracked, and she looked in the window to see a curtain of sparks toward the back, framing the frantic diners in dark, inarticulate, jagged shadow, like broken reflections of themselves. The crowd had blended into one seething whole, pushing with groaning force toward the front while the back got hotter. Smoke poured out of an ajar door, a toxic brown that completely obscured what was behind it, save for occasional thorns of fire that reached outwards.

She had little other skill with her horn, just enough to lift her gear or heat up a lunch, but tried to punch a hole through the window. Her magic was unresponsive, and she closed her eyes and dashed away, one glimpse of her reflection filling her with disgust at her own ineptitude.

She shoved past the crying, yelling ponies that had managed an escape and rounded the building. The back entrance was flung open, and she could see fire curling around the black shapes of kitchen implements, almost filling the room. In her haste, she had stepped close enough to singe her fur, and backed up nearly ten feet before she could study the interior without pain.

The crowd was not visible from her angle, but she could hear them, their screams having risen in pitch. Inside, a light bulb popped, and she saw the small cluster of sparks fall to the floor, orange and unctuous in its reflection of the flames. On the stove, a blackening pot was smoking.

She ran back around, following the sidewalk to the front, where a few more ponies had made it out, and several were pressed against the front door, trying to find purchase but unable to move enough to actually escape.

Then, her idea came. Flashing her horn like a camera, she got a bystander’s attention, and, leaning into her ear to speak, gave her instruction. While the bystander spread it to others, Vinyl raced to the front door, and, lowering her head to give her horn the best angle she could, put her concentration into a familiar, but infrequently used pattern of thought. The sound, and the heat, made her back up a step, but she did not look at the ponies inside. The view would ruin her focus; she knew she could easily panic with the rest of them.

White light flashed out of her horn twice, both times so strong inside her head that she felt physically weakened. It was bright enough to temporarily blind, and she looked up quickly, first seeing the ponies nearer the back and middle, still stirring with terror. She froze and tried to ready the spell again, not knowing what else to do, but then noticed the ponies at the front, blinking dumbly and moving with a slightly slower sense of urgency.

She felt no relief, only trembling determination as she raced to the front door and tried to pull it open. The glass shattered with her wrenching motion, but the door came open in her hooves, and ponies collapsed out onto the sidewalk. The escapees ran forward to help the crowd out, as she had told them, and she held herself at the door, leaning away from it with one hoof painfully out to keep it in place. The fire was advancing through the restaurant, catching tables and booths, and she could feel the incredible heat stifling her lungs, still clear of the smoke she could see in a swirling, undulating ocean on the ceiling.

Ponies streamed out of the restaurant steadily, some taking to the air, some huddling on the sidewalk in thickening groups. Distantly, sirens moved, and Vinyl finally gave up holding the door and retreated, hoping it would stay as it was. She ran down the sidewalk, ignoring the pain in her legs and in her eyes—the goggles were strong, but not strong enough to withstand looking directly at the fire—and hoping to spot the fire truck or ambulance, so she might direct it to The Magic Bowl.

She did not, and wound up running to Whooves and Doggy, exactly where she had left them and still talking animatedly. At her approach, both ponies’ jaws dropped.

The conclusion, though strange, and inappropriate, seemed clear to Vinyl: she, Whooves, or possibly both of them had been incorporated into Discord’s curse. Seeing the soot and singes on Vinyl’s usually flawless off-white coat, Doggy had bullied her and Whooves into her own car and driven them to a hospital, which lost power before they could arrive. They wove through traffic jams, searching for a place to get help, but the blackout followed their car flawlessly, until Whooves directed them to the river, where they were able to inexpertly soak Vinyl’s first-degree burns in cold water. She could see the smoke in a dissipating tower from where she reclined between her companions, Doggy shooting angry, questioning looks at Whooves whenever she thought Vinyl wasn’t looking.

When it was midnight, they got Vinyl back into Doggy’s car, her leg and chest wrapped in cool cloths, and headed back into the city, dragging darkness with them. There wasn’t much traffic, so they moved fast enough that most lights did not stay out for more than a minute.

Doggy brought them back to The Moon Shot, where all of Vinyl’s setup remained where it was; apparently, her set had tried to play the rest of itself after she was gone, but, with no one to control the effects of samples, it was just an incomplete, mildly interesting soundtrack to the night.

Ursa Major met them there and helped pack Vinyl’s equipment into her carriage, for which he traveled outside the cursed area to call a pull service and have everything brought back to her apartment. Doggy dropped them off at Photo Finish’s house without question.

A Threat Proven

Chapter Seventy-one

A Threat Proven

“So,” Twilight started. She surveyed the breakfast table. Octavia and Big Mac looked only marginally better than before, she with the same dark rings under her eyes, and he with an expression of forceful indifference. Vinyl and Whooves sat together, both exhausted, and Vinyl gently dusted with ash. Fluttershy and Rainbow were quiet and placid—not in the manner of ease or contentment, but of having spent all their energy and said all their words. Pinkie had lost her smile, and Rarity carried an impatient glint in her eyes that took away the charm in her calmer visage.

“So,” she said again, glancing at Photo Finish, who took the table’s head, listening politely. “There’s no space inside the dam to store any sort of weapons or monsters, or the components to assemble them suddenly, so that idea’s out. From what I can tell from what Applejack tells me, there’s not much chance of there being any sort of latent enchantments that can directly hurt us. There’s plenty of magic in there that she can’t identify, but I think it’s for something else.”

“You are able to ask her the right questions so you can trust her answers?” Photo asked.

“I am, yes.”

“So where does this leave us?” Rarity asked.

“I keep coming back to my old idea, that Discord’s going for some kind of movement. I don’t see how it’s possible, but nothing else pans out. Tonight, I’m going to ask some more questions, but, hopefully, I can go down there tomorrow and take a look for myself. I just need to double check for traps.”

“So what about today?” Rainbow asked.

“Today, I’m going to go get our ship back.” She did not look at Octavia, but the others did.

“Should any of us come along?” Fluttershy asked.

“If you want. I know it’s tough to stay here for so long.” She looked at Photo Finish. “Thank you for putting us up for so long, by the way. I’m sure it has its difficulties.”

Photo only shrugged. “My house still stands, and I have not the curse you wear. As far as I am concerned, I’m getting along splendidly.”

Twilight smiled and checked the time. “Ah, crud. I was hoping to have a little more time. This’ll probably take all day. Octavia, how angry were ponies when they thought we were back in the city?”

Octavia thought for a moment. “If you have a spell to change your appearance, you will want to use it.”

* * * * * *

“Check this out, Cole,” Rouge said. They were at a bar somewhere on the other side of Lower Canterlot, waiting for Rouge’s friends, and for the party to begin. Colgate no longer wore the suppression collar around her horn; Rouge had helped her remove it a couple days ago, and since then, she used it almost exclusively to lift drinks. “The latest news from Ponyville.” She lowered her voice, and Colgate leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes on Rouge’s face, the door, the windows, and the ponies nearby.

“We’ve got a battle coming up, see? Lots of precogs are confirming it. Disco baby is gonna knock on the princesses’ door in about thirty days, we think.”

“Okay.”

“Our friends in Canterlot are gonna be supporting the Royal Guard, and a whole lot of others are gonna sneak up behind when the battle’s heating up. They’re setting up this big caravan of mobile weapons and things down in Ponyville, all secret-like.”

“How are they keeping an entire caravan secret?” Colgate asked, not caring about the answer.

“Beats me. There’s a lot of magic involved, I’m sure. You have friends down there, right?”

“Had. They betrayed me.”

“Ah, right. That’s right.” She swiveled uncomfortably in her chair while Colgate flagged down the bartender for another drink.

The last withdrawal symptoms had vanished a couple days ago, leaving her caught in a state between confusion and expectation. No veil was lifted off her eyes, no sartorial understanding about the nature of being, nothing. She woke up on the first normal morning of her life, rubbed her eyes, looked around, and had breakfast. Nothing changed, except she was able to keep food down.

“Listen… No, listen, I’m telling you—” the mare broke off to laugh, sliding in her seat onto the other pony.

Colgate watched Rouge’s friends talk and laugh, each of them with a drink, each of them dressed like gaudy advertisements. She thought she recognized them, but couldn’t be sure; Rouge’s friends seemed to rotate, and Colgate had never been sober with any of them, nor they her. Even before they were seated, it was clear they had been elsewhere first.

The assignment, something Colgate still remembered from days earlier, but had come to assume would never be accomplished, and never become important, was to get information from one of the regulars at the bar. Rouge had told her about it briefly, and not mentioned it again, even to point the pony out when they arrived.

She was on her fourth drink, and did not know whether she was drunk or sober. Though she had been out with Rouge nearly every night that week, it was not a sensation she understood. While her mind felt as sharp as ever, her lack of coordination bothered her, but only after she woke up the following day. It was easy to give herself up in the moment.

She could feel herself sitting inconspicuously in the booth, and could feel her eyes watching other ponies. She saw them not paying her any attention, and this, too, puzzled her. She didn’t know whether she wanted to be visible or invisible.

She ordered a second drink, her current one hardly touched, and put the two glasses beside each other, one a dark, stormy blue, the other a soft orange.

“Yyyyeah, Colgate knows what’s up!”

The whole booth jostled to accommodate one mare’s excited movements, and Colgate put on a smile. That, she knew, was enough to make her invisible to the others, and she found herself choosing that option more and more as she socialized. She finished one drink in a single draught, sluggishly pondering what had the other mares so happy, wondering what it was exactly that she—and possibly they—imitated.

The drink was strong, and she felt her head seem to swell up with the sudden influx of sensation. She could imagine herself wobbling in her seat like a windblown sign, stupefied, and imagined putting her head down on the table for a second. The idea of resting cleared her a little, and she fixed one of Rouge’s friends in her eyes. The friend stopped laughing to look back, and Colgate again donned her smile.

She knew she would throw up if she tried to drink her other drink too quickly. She had seen it many times in the past few days, and had avoided it for herself. She knew she would be sick, but smiled, grabbed the drink, and tried to drain it anyway.

The glass dropped, spilled, and rolled off the table behind her as she raced for the bathroom. Rouge and the others cheered and screamed at her departure, and she was able to force the bathroom door open in time to vomit all over the tile floor.

She fell to her knees as liquid, still cold, came up and slicked the patterned tile. She could hear movement outside and her own quiet sounds, and saw the fuzzy icicles of light reflected in her mess. She remained kneeling for a time, catching her breath, then spit, wiped her mouth, and got up. She saw a disheveled, dead-eyed mare on the other side, her front wet with vomit, and thought nothing of it. The moment had passed, and she was no longer that pony. She went back out.

The bathroom was ensconced in a dark mahogany hallway off the bar’s side, affording her a quick glimpse into the kitchen as she passed. Narrow lights kept the space dim and warm, and the teeming room outside her hole reminded her of looking through a telescope. The idea of life packed into so tight a space unnerved her, and she spun at the hall’s end. She could keep a corner in her vision at all times if she angled her head correctly.

That was when it hit her. Her head no longer pounded, her thoughts no longer felt clouded or faulty. She felt empty inside, and clear, as though she might take on any challenge and be assured in her abilities. Laughter rose up within her, but she did not laugh; her eyes had locked on to a picture on the back wall, and in its lines, she lost herself.

On her first night off her medication, she had stayed up wondering, in addition to what might happen, how she had managed to wreak such havoc in Ponyville, and had repeated the question to herself many times since. It was designed to quell impulsive behavior, and her entire scheme had been only a litany of impulses, strung together with deceit. She had been asked many times how she could do such things to herself and her neighbors, and it annoyed her that she did not know.

Alcohol was the answer. An altered mental state was what she needed, and the only other time she had ever been altered from her usual state—that of being drugged—was in those grim days of constant pressure, Noteworthy trying to blackmail her into submission. It had been enough then to push her out of her mind and into that of the pony she could become.

She walked down the corridor, walls sliding past like film reels, ponies staring in surprise at something as she moved by. More and more clicked into place as she walked. The medication had never left her; after more than twenty years of taking it every single day, three times a day, it was probably a permanent part of her body’s chemistry. She could go off of it and let its effects recede, but, to fully overcome them, she needed to overcome her own biology. She needed to transcend herself and her accustomed way of thinking; only then could she reach her true potential. She sat down with Rouge, and she had to laugh at the irony. She was a victim of herself.

“You okay, Cole?” someone asked.

“I’m fine,” Colgate said. She smiled a real smile, hoping it wouldn’t arouse any suspicion. She did not want anyone to know that she had found the answer. The pleasure was for her and her alone.

She ordered another drink while someone dabbed at her coat with a napkin, but the bartender refused. Her words fell dead on Colgate’s ears, but she responded anyway, simply repeating her request.

“C’mon, Colgate, let’s just go,” Rouge said, grabbing her by a foreleg. “This place is getting kinda stuffy anyway.”

Colgate allowed herself to be taken out of the bar and into the cool night, where she stood under the awning, breathing. The others watched her until she spoke. “So, where next?”

They chattered amongst themselves, and she nodded to the first suggestion that came her way. She knew she needed to pay more attention to the strange mares; they were her friends, she reasoned, and friends paid attention to one another. The intoxication of her discovery was simply too much, though. She walked through the dimly lit Canterlot suburbs as if wearing a talisman, completely safe and completely confident. She greeted a passing pony on her way to the next destination, but he only ran. “Go on, faster!” she called, smiling to herself. Simple words of encouragement, but she was happy to express the inflating feeling of completeness inside her.

They found a wood paneled cigar bar, much quieter than their starting place, and less crowded. Younger ponies in more conservative clothes looked up at them as they entered, and Colgate could only stare at the crowd while one of Rouge’s friends got them a table near the back.

The drinking did not stop. Colgate ordered a dry martini, knowing it to be a dignified drink, and her friends followed the same principle. She sipped it, barely tasting the alcohol, while everyone talked around her. She caught words here and there, but paid attention only to the feeling of her own joy, slowly melting into a more permanent satisfaction. She tapped her glass to make a toast, and everyone followed her, naming random things they thought were worthy of celebration.

She didn’t see the cigars arrive, but soon found herself smoking one, watching the others laugh and try to blow smoke rings. Jokes flew through the heavy air, and she felt lightheaded again. She was reminded of how she felt just before her realization—it had been only forty-five minutes ago—and, so invigorated by the feeling, finished her martini. One of her friends cheered as she set the glass down.

“My kinda girl, my kinda girl,” someone crooned, throwing a leg over Colgate’s back.

“Colgate, you’re suppose to nurse ‘em, not chug ‘em!”

“Colgate does what she wants!”

Colgate laughed, half genuinely and half for the others’ benefit. She heard their words, but comprehended little. Her own triumph had transfixed her, and she could only turn the same thoughts over and over again, returning to that bright moment in the bathroom. The answer, the solution. It filled her up inside, made her want to burst, made her want to let loose an avalanche of righteous laughter, or a torrent of heated explanation, though she knew she could never speak quickly enough to express what she felt, and everyone else would be too drunk to appreciate it.

A different pony bumped her, and someone said something that sounded like a joke, to the sound of more laughter. Colgate smiled, chuckled, took her cigar, and drove the hot end directly into her neighbor’s side. She was able to give it one playful twist before it was knocked away, and the whole table was quiet, save for the screaming. She looked blithely into the pony’s face, distorted in pain and shock—not the reaction she had expected.

“Colgate, what the hell?” Rouge shouted.

“You psycho!”

“Get that away from me!” The burned pony kicked her dropped cigar away and into the hall, and Colgate watched it skitter on a trail of cinders. “What is your problem?”

“Celestia, are you insane?”

Colgate stood up, and everyone flinched away from her. Her smile was starting to deflate, and she looked from face to face, trying to find a recognizable emotion. All she saw was anger. “Sorry, geez.”

“‘Sorry, geez’? That’s it?” the burned pony asked, clutching a cool glass to her wound.

“It was a joke,” Colgate said. “A harmless jab, that’s it. I wasn’t gonna keep it there for long.”

“You fucking twisted it,” she said, looking back at Colgate. She removed the glass, showing a ring of burned fur around a black ring of ash, enclosing a circle of raw flesh. One of her friends had a wad of napkins that she was trying to wet with her own drink, to put on the burn.

“I was just kidding around.” She frowned, mind racing. “You don’t have to get so huffy about it.”

Another mare laughed loudly, looking around. “Are you serious? Are you actually serious right now?”

“That’s, like, first degree or something,” Rouge said.

“Third. It’s third,” Colgate said. “But it’s just a little one. What’s the big deal?”

“Maybe I should try it on you, then,” the burned pony said, fumbling for her own dropped cigar.

Colgate watched her reach, watched the others trying to find something to do, or to say. It played out to her like a film, the only real sensation her own shrinking sense of satisfaction. The night had been hers, and then, as fickle as the wind, had turned around and left her empty, sucked away by the sudden uproar. She watched her hoof shoot forward to smack a drink off the table and into the pony’s lap.

“Are you nuts?” Rouge cried.

Colgate didn’t say anything, just stood there, turned, and walked out.

She stayed up and waited for Rouge to come home, sitting at the dinner table and drinking water. When Rouge stumbled through the door, she was singing something under her breath, but froze when she saw Colgate.

“Hello, Rouge.”

Rouge appeared to hesitate, then stepped into the dining room. Her voice was slurred when she spoke. “Just what is wrong with you? Seriously.”

“Your friends aren’t here anymore. You don’t have to keep up the act.”

Her voice was dry. “What act?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She smiled a real smile. “I was pretty angry, walking home, but I realized you were just posturing for them. They are your friends, and friends do that sometimes.”

“Uhh.” She moved to a chair, sat down, and then got up again, unsteady. “Okay.”

Colgate went to her and patted her on the back. “Good. Sorry for storming out like that. That was a little too much, I know.”

Rouge nodded, and Colgate helped her to bed, where they fell asleep next to each other, heads spinning.

Rouge woke up the next morning with a hangover and an appetite. She made her slow way to the kitchen, where Colgate was already sitting, drinking whiskey from a coffee mug. She nodded a greeting and offered Rouge some, which she accepted. The two of them sat across from each other, drinking.

“So, last night,” Rouge said.

“Hm?”

Rouge weighed her words. The alcohol from the night before was not fully out of her system, and she knew better than to put more on top of it. She watched Colgate pick up the bottle with her magic and refill her mug.

“What about last night?” Colgate asked.

“Well, Colgate, since you don’t seem to remember, I’ll clue you in. We were all having a dandy time at the cigar bar, when you decided to just up and zap Pirouette with your ciggy.”

“Oh, that. I remember. I remember things getting heated as well.”

Rouge nodded and took a reluctant drink. “Yeah, that’s about the right word.”

“So what’s the problem? Or are you just checking if I remember?”

“Cole, you burned one of my friends. That’s the problem.”

“It was a joke.”

Rouge stared at her, trying to consider Colgate’s response, and finding it both ridiculous and unassailable. “What do you mean, a joke?”

“You know, like ‘ha ha, gotcha’. I was teasing.” Her eyes lit up briefly. “Were they angry at me?”

“Wha—yes.” She squinted. “What did you think they were angry at?”

“I don’t know.”

Rouge looked at her, trying to think of what to say, but settled for another drink instead.

“Are you angry?”

“I dunno. It’s early.” She closed her eyes as a wave of nausea hit her. Putting her head on the table, she heard Colgate’s chair scrape the floor.

“Do you need the bathroom?”

She breathed slowly. “I’m fine, just gimme a minute.” When the feeling passed, she faced Colgate again. She didn’t look concerned, but she also didn’t look happy.

“I’m sorry if it was in bad taste,” Colgate continued. “I didn’t think your friends were that sensitive.”

“I mean, it hurt her pretty good.” Rouge shrugged, drank. “I’m just saying watch it, okay? Maybe take it easy on the drinking for now.”

Colgate’s lips formed a thin smile. “Funny you should mention that, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking recently. I enjoy going out with you and your friends. Last night aside, I have fun drinking and partying with you. However, I don’t think I should be drinking as much as I am.”

Rouge sipped her whiskey, thinking. “Um.”

“Alcohol is too disorderly. Hold on a sec.” She went to her room and came out with a slip of paper, which she slid across the table. “I need your help, Rouge.”

“Oh.” She looked into her mug, seeing it close to halfway empty, and then to Colgate’s, which she had refilled at least once. “Help? Like, with drinking? ‘Cause—”

“I need you to take that to your pharmacist.”

Rouge looked at the paper, frowning. “Meh-pear-a-dine?”

“It’s a prescription painkiller. The way I see it, I need something that I can dose out to myself accurately, something I can control.”

“Whoa, hold on.” She drank again. “Just hold on, Cole.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m no certified doctor or anything, but aren’t prescriptions like this hard to get for a reason?”

“There is addiction to consider, yes. That’s why I want you to get it for me, so ponies don’t get suspicious. I don’t want to be seen writing myself prescriptions.”

Rouge thought, fighting the alcoholic sensation in her head. “I don’t need these, though.”

“You’re my dummy patient. Don’t worry, I already wrote your name in, and they’ll accept my signature here.”

“Here?”

“It’s a thirty-day supply of pills. You can have some, if you want. I don’t mind.”

Rouge stared at the prescription. It was only nine in the morning; living alone, she would be making breakfast, cleaning herself up, maybe trying to wrangle the inflatable pool out of the shed.

“You’re okay with this, I assume? You’re not saying anything. Any pharmacist will do, though I suppose you might want to use one that won’t recognize you. I am planning repeat trips for you.”

“Celestia, Cole. You sure you don’t wanna just split a bottle of cheap vodka with me today?” She looked back at the prescription, its implacable presence on her table making her recoil inside. “I mean, booze is one thing, but pills?”

“I’m a doctor. I know what I’m doing.”

She looked Colgate in the eyes. “You’re sure about this.”

“I’ve seen plenty of addictions in my time. I know how to administer responsibly.”

Rouge’s mouth was dry, and her head pounded like a tumbling cinder block. She felt another round of nausea approach and preemptively put her head on the table for it to wash over her. When she could focus again, she looked at Colgate, who looked back patiently.

“Well, if you know what you’re doing, I guess it’s okay. What is it that’s hurting?”

“You can tell the pharmacist whatever you want.”

* * * * * *

The airship was outside Photo Finish’s house, battered, charred on one side, and its balloon patched. Twilight had flown it over that afternoon, after a day and a half of paperwork and proving, multiple times, that she was who she claimed to be. The day before, she had taken Octavia’s advice and changed her appearance upon entering the city, but her timing was not perfect, and a few police officers saw her in the middle of returning to her original appearance. Proving that she was Twilight Sparkle, and not a skilled mimic, had taken hours.

Upon demonstrating her identity, she could not simply take the ship and go. It was a matter of giving statements, verifying her purchase from the Astra family, and signing multiple waivers and documents to show that she did not intend to press charges or appear before a court of law, as well as answer questions pertaining to her residency in Applewood, the curse that followed her, and Octavia’s comments to the concierge concerning living with Photo Finish. It had taken so long to fill out and process all the paperwork that she could only reclaim their ship the day after.

Finally back, and finally able to relax, she hadn’t the time to go up to the dam. They would wait one more day.

It was eight o’ clock in the evening, with a fine mist of rainfall hissing off the river. Octavia and Big Mac were out again, keeping near the banks, where the cold air behind them mingled with the colder air off the waters. Octavia did not attempt to put up a shield to keep them dry, and Big Mac didn’t ask her. They walked side by side, soaked by the time they had covered the half-mile between river and house. Black piers stuck out into the black river, and thunder purred far to the west, where lightning would occasionally reveal small mountains that would eventually become the larger chain they had visited weeks before.

“I have something I would like to ask,” Octavia began, “but I do not know whether you will be able to answer it.”

“Go fer it,” Big Mac said.

“What is it like to be glamoured?”

“Mm, yer right. Ah don’t know what to say to that.”

“How does it feel? What does it feel like to be forced into certain decisions?”

Big Mac thought for a long time, and they turned back around before coming too close to a ribbon of distant lights. “Ah s’pose it feels all right. Ya said ‘forced,’ but it don’t feel like Ah’m bein’ forced into anythin’. Even knowin’ that Ah got it, it don’t feel forceful at all.”

“Do you feel that the decisions are still your own?”

“Eeyup. It makes me think it’s a particularly powerful bit of magic fer that reason; Ah feel like Ah’m always in control. My decision to go with you to get the ship was my own—though, lookin’ back, Ah don’t think it really was.”

“I do not understand. How can it be both?”

“The glamour don’t make me do specific actions, Ah don’t think. Ah think it just makes me do the right action.”

“I apologize, but I still do not know what you mean.”

“Hmm.” He wiped rain out of his eyes. “Well, Ah was wonderin’ lately what made me wanna go with you to get the ship, but not go with Rainbow Dash an’ Fluttershy to find information. Ah know them both better, an’ goin’ with them sure would’ve been easier, but fer some reason Ah never felt like it was important.”

“It was not important enough to merit your help?”

“Well, not really. Ah don’t understand it very well.”

“I realize that. That is why I said I do not know whether you can answer.”

He nodded. “You know what it’s like to know when somethin’ needs to be done. Gettin’ that ship, fer instance, or doin’ some of those other things Ah heard you did. The aqueducts, that tornado, an’ so on.”

“I remember.”

“Well, Ah reckon it’s a lot of the same stuff. When Ah knew what you were plannin’, Ah had that same feelin’, that sense that Ah darn sure better go along, or…”

“Or what?”

“Ah’m not sure. Ah just knew, this time, it would be bad if Ah didn’t go.”

“And it would have been. It sounds like precognition, in a way. It sounds like the talent my sister supposedly has, but more reliable.”

“Maybe it is. Ah guess it was this time. But anyway, Ah never got that sense ‘bout Miss Dash an’ Fluttershy. It always felt to me like stayin’ away was the right thing to do.”

“And it appears that it was. The nature of their task was too sensitive for anyone but themselves.”

“Eeyup.”

“That is two instances of accurate intuition.”

“It sure is. Ah noticed that too. Ah won’t lie, it’s kinda spooky.”

“You are supposed to do things that will ingratiate you to us, and, specifically, to the Elements.”

“That’s true.”

Octavia stopped and trotted closer to the river. There was only a narrow sidewalk where they were, with tall lamps spaced conservatively all along; they were the only ponies there to not benefit from their light. Waves lapped at the concrete pylons holding them off the steep banks, and she craned her neck, spotting the dull red of an old protection sigil.

“They placed those before the river got to flowin’ again, so they could keep bugs from breedin’ in all that standin’ water,” Big Mac said. “Ah learned that on the river tour.”

“I have seen them elsewhere.” She looked at him from behind her sopping mane. “If your glamour makes you do things to get closer to the Elements, and it most recently caused you to help me only, then I imagine that that would mean I am close enough to them now to take up an Element as well. Do you remember that?”

“Makin’ new Elements? Ah remember us not reachin’ a decision.”

“Yes.” She started back down the sidewalk. “This is troubling.”

“Ah’ll probably get one too,” Big Mac said. “In fact, Ah think Ah’m s’posed to. That’s what the glamour’s fer. Ah get close to the Elements, become an intimate friend, an’ then Ah have to get one fer myself.”

Octavia froze. “That is it.”

“What? What’s it?”

“That is why you were glamoured. I see it now. If you can get close enough to us to need an Element of your own, then finding the six will not be enough. We will need to create at least one more for you.” She frowned.

“Ah… Well—”

“There is more. I remember Twilight saying that she could not possibly add in one Element to the extant six, because it would change the very natures of the artifacts. You would be that one Element.”

“Yer losin’ me.”

“Big Macintosh, you are a red herring. You were made to force yourself to be eligible to be an Element of Harmony, only for us to waste time trying to figure out how to make it so, something that we would never be able to do.”

He appeared to not understand at first, but then comprehension filled his face. “Ah see,” he said softly.

“I am sorry if I sounded insensitive.”

He sighed. “Well, Miss Octavia, it ain’t yer doin’.” A light flicked on far behind them. “So Ah’m one of Discord’s tools, sounds like. Just like that Thunderhead, an’ Vanilla, an’ whoever else is out there that we don’t know ‘bout. Probably the dam.”

“But you are aware of what you are.”

“An’ Ah’m also aware that Ah can’t make my own decisions!” he snapped. “Ah can’t shake this glamour, an’… you know, Ah remember Twilight sayin’ she could break it real easy if she needed to. Ah don’t want that.”

“You do not?”

He sat down and bowed his head, and, in a small voice, said, “Ah can’t. Ah’m not allowed to want that.”

Octavia watched him. “Well… I do not know what to tell you. I am sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry fer. Ah… uh, Ah dunno. Ah don’t wanna talk, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

He slumped closer to the ground, then glanced up at her. “You don’t have to stay here. Ah’ll make my way back home eventually.”

She approached and sat down beside him. “I will stay with you until you are ready to go.”

Whooves was rattling around somewhere else in the house, speaking apparently to himself, making himself laugh, while Rainbow and Fluttershy occupied one of Photo’s drawing rooms. They had checked the house’s acoustics before selecting the room, Rarity having told them of its qualities to ease in eaves dropping.

“I’ve been thinking, and Octavia’s right. There really is no way this is gonna end without us being in or around that dam,” Rainbow said. “Especially now with Vinyl and the doctor getting taken in, we’re gonna have to do something. So.” She spread her hooves wide, as if indicating the empty space to be filled by Fluttershy’s contribution.

“Don’t worry, Rainbow Dash. I have it under control,” Fluttershy said.

“Now, for some reason, I get the feeling you’re holding out on me.”

She smiled, then smothered it. “Yes. You know me well.”

“C’mon.” Her voice was easy, patient, as she knew it needed to be to draw Fluttershy into speaking openly.

“You know I’m not one to get angry easily,” Fluttershy said. “And I’m not one to hate, either. I don’t think I’ve hated anyone in my whole life.”

“Me neither. Not hate.”

“I might hate Pretzel, and I think I probably hate Pure Waterfall.”

Rainbow nodded respectfully. She could tell Fluttershy was exaggerating, but not much.

“They’re both disgusting ponies. I only hate him more because he’s still doing wrong. At least Pretzel had the decency to keep to herself.”

“You have that right,” Rainbow said softly. She was concentrating on summoning a calming dome of warm air. When she was comfortable, she continued more easily. “What are you gonna do when we have to go back to the dam?”

Fluttershy turned her head, got her mane in front of her eyes, and then, after a moment of consideration, pushed it out of the way. Her eyes were harder than Rainbow was accustomed to seeing in her. “I don’t know if I can, Rainbow Dash.”

“I think you can.”

Fluttershy’s mane fell back into place in front of her eyes. “I don’t know.”

Rainbow eased onto her back and talked at the ceiling. “You were able to take us this far.”

“You helped, and you know it. Without you, I wouldn’t have done anything. I’d have stayed here and let Twilight try to research her way to a solution.”

“I only helped by being there. You did all the work, and you know it.” She looked at Fluttershy. “I’ll be there this time too, you know.”

“I know.” She blinked, and a tear appeared on her fur. “I’m sorry for this. It’s stupid of me to waver here, now, when I’ve managed for so long.”

“It’s never stupid to need help. Celestia knows, I’ve had that conversation with Twilight enough times.”

Fluttershy sighed. “That doesn’t surprise me. She’s doing better, don’t you think?”

“Worlds. I don’t think I’ve seen her doing that thousand-mile stare in quite a while.”

“Maybe I inherited a little of that for this leg of the journey.”

Rainbow closed her eyes, and the dome momentarily grew hotter as she ordered her thoughts. “Don’t compare this to that. They’re not the same thing, Fluttershy.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I get that it messed with your head in some way, but it never… well, Twilight took her thing harder.”

Fluttershy moved her wings, a light whispering in the otherwise silent room. “You’re right. I should have said that differently.”

“You are right, though, that Pretzel and Pure Waterfall are awful ponies. Are you planning on keeping this all a secret still, when we’re done with the dam?”

“If I possibly can, yes.”

“I’ll do what I can to follow along.”

They remained in the room, both quiet, listening to the house and to Whooves going about his business. “I’ve been thinking about what to do if I see either of them again. What I’ll say.”

“And what’s that?”

“If I see Pretzel again, I’ll tell her to enjoy her life. It seems to be the only thing she’s good at. If I see Pure Waterfall again, I think I’ll slap him.”

Rainbow laughed. “Promise you’ll leave room on his face for me.”

“I promise.”

Every machine stopped at once. Applejack lay prone on a walkway abutment, the radio by her head, speaking with Twilight, when she was suddenly aware of a stifling, emptying silence. The concrete under her body stopped vibrating, and the low rumble of water and machinery came to rest. She stood up and tapped herself into the dam, not pausing to tell Twilight what was happening.

She felt the presence of each machine as she had in days past, the ways in which they were separate from their fellows, and the ways that they were connected. Wires like bundles of nerves, engines like tiny hearts, pistons like muscles: all of it was still, as if someone had flipped a switch somewhere and turned off her world. She could distantly hear Twilight asking whether she was okay.

The generators had stopped. The sluice gates had frozen where they were, open or closed, or between the two. The filters stopped filtering, the pistons stopped firing, the gauges and meters had gone dead. Water moved within on its own, filling up canals that were not meant to be filled, coming to rest inside turbines, cutting the dam’s life.

“Applejack, you need to answer me now,” Twilight shouted.

Applejack dove back into herself, rolling over with the familiar, sickening sensation of compressing her cognizance back into her single, small body. She picked up the radio, but didn’t need to ask what had upset Twilight. Before her, the entire city of Applewood, every light, every sign on The Bright Road, had gone completely dark.

And then, under her hooves, she felt a different vibration. The river was flowing backwards.

No one locked the door, and only Twilight held them up, doubling back momentarily to grab her books, Celestia’s vault note, and, after a second of thought, Octavia’s cello, stowing them all in her magical space. Big Mac already had the ship running when she raced aboard, and no one thought to yell down to Photo Finish, who remained gawking in the doorway long after they were out of sight.

Applejack spoke through the radio on the deck, her urgency threatening to break into true panic with each passing minute. The river was flowing backwards, and the dam was starting up once more. She was too shocked with fear to put herself inside.

They flew at a high altitude, taking several minutes to reach a point where they would not accidentally hit any hotels as they crossed the darkened city. Ponies below were raising their voices in a confused miasma while unicorn lights popped in and out like slow fireworks, each one illuminating its section in a sea of disorganized life. Vinyl was in the back of the ship, staring out and trying to master her trembling. She knew nothing, except that whatever hypothetical reason the Elements might need to leave early was upon them, and she was a part of it.

The dam, too, was dark. No floodlights showed its walkways or gantries as it hummed in the distance, the only mechanical sound in the entire city. Applejack said she was near the bottom, close to the residential side on an artificial hill. Big Mac aimed the ship in her direction and sent them flying straight over The Bright Road. Apogee swiveled past them, and Rarity spared a moment to look longingly at it.

“Okay, Ah think Ah can do this now,” Applejack said. “Ah’m in a safer spot. Celestia, Twi, you should hear it! There must be a million gallons of water under my hooves, an’ it sounds like it’s comin’ out on the other side somehow.”

“That’s great, Applejack,” Twilight said. “What can you tell me about what’s going on inside?”

“Hang on. Yer on yer way, right?”

“We’re about to start flying over the river.”

“Good. Be right back.”

Twilight looked up from the radio and out over the dark road of river. The clouds still covered Applewood, but there was no electric light for them to trap. The dam could have been a part of the landscape to her eyes.

“Ah really can’t explain this, Twi,” Applejack said.

Twilight wet her lips, willing her eyes to adjust faster. “Try.”

“It’s pumpin’ water back into itself. Ah followed it, an’ there’s a whole bunch of hatches in the back, holes in the concrete encasement. Ah think it’s spewin’ water back into the river behind itself.”

“How can the dam make the river flow backwards?”

“It ain’t, it’s doin’ that on its own.”

Twilight looked down, thinking she might be able to see evidence of the water’s reversal. “Okay. That’s probably Discord’s magic at work. What else is the dam doing?”

“All that stuff at the bottom came to life at the same time. All them pistons, all them turbines, everythin’s whirrin’ away down there. Ah reckon the first reservoir’s gonna be drained off in ‘bout five minutes.”

“So he’s removing all the water,” Rainbow said, flapping over. “Is he stupid? What good’s that gonna do?”

“Twilight, there’s gotta be at least a hundred individual pistons down there. Once the water’s gone, it’s gonna be pistons an’ land, an’ nothin’ much else but some stranded boats and buoys.”

Twilight thought, waving a hoof at Rainbow to be quiet. “Applejack, is there anything happening near the top of the dam? Anything at all, except whatever’s pumping the water back out?”

“Let me check.”

Twilight turned to the others, all looking at her. “There’s the entire foundation and a crazy amount of mechanical components all at the bottom of the dam,” she said. “It’s bottom heavy, and it has a hundred industrial pistons that are about to be in contact with the ground.”

“Please tell me that crazy idea of yours isn’t going to turn out to be the correct choice,” Whooves said. “I don’t know if I can handle seeing something like that.”

“Twilight,” Applejack said. “Not only is it all off, but it’s not there anymore. It took me a second to find it, but it all slid down to the bottom. Twilight, all of it’s at the bottom.”

“How long until that water’s gone?” Rarity asked.

“Maybe two minutes.”

“And then it’s going to start moving,” Twilight said. “That has to be it. It’s going to drag itself, inch by inch, on its own pistons. There won’t be a reservoir to hold it back.” She looked at them, then at the dam, still far off. “If anyone has any ideas, now would be the time to voice them. Nothing’s too stupid right now.”

Applejack cradled the radio under her chest where she lay, backed into a corner between a wire fence and wet, gravelly hillside. She thought she could see the airship coming near, but it was so dark, she wasn’t sure.

Taking a second to prepare herself for the shock she knew she would find, she closed her eyes and slipped back into the dam. As soon as she did, she rushed back out.

“Twilight, it’s goin’.”

They had only thirty seconds to stare at each other in defeated shock before Applejack announced that their time had run out. One more quick check inside the dam confirmed Twilight’s idea: its foundation was free, and only the abutments, weak shelves of concrete that would be easily snapped off, held the dam back from an agonizing forward motion.

“Applejack, find somewhere safe, if you can,” Twilight said. “And do everything in your power to stop it or slow it down. Don’t worry about talking to us anymore, just get in there and work. We’ll… do something.”

“The instant it moves away, that river’s gonna come crashing in from the other side,” Applejack said. “So Ah hope you’ve got a plan fer that. Ah’ll stay inside as long as Ah can, an’ Ah think you told me once that my spirit can stick ‘round in the machine if my body dies.” There was a pause on the other side, and they could hear the rushing water over her head. “Ah love you girls. Over an’ out.”

Twilight clicked off the radio, then clicked it back on. “I hadn’t thought of it, but she’s right. That river back there…”

“Big Mac, take us up to the residential area on that hillside,” Rarity said. “Drop me off right on the edge.”

“You?” Rainbow said. “Just you?”

Rarity exchanged a nervous look with Twilight, who understood immediately what the idea was. “Vanilla recently enhanced my abilities with shields, and thank Celestia he did. I think I’m going to need to hold that river back.”

“You’re crazy,” Whooves said.

“Let me help, Rarity,” Twilight said.

“No, don’t.” Rarity turned back to them. “This is what needs to happen. Actually, Rainbow Dash, I’d appreciate it if you can come with me. The rest of you, go below, in front; Big Mac will hold you stable over the river.”

“Rarity, are you sure about this?” Octavia asked.

“I believe so.” She turned back around quickly, making sure the dam was still in its place. “Twilight, Octavia, Pinkie, you three do everything you can to take out the pistons at the bottom. Keep it from advancing too much, and maybe we can push it back in place once it’s immobile.”

“All that weight,” Octavia said softly from behind.

“Vinyl, you’re good with lights, I heard? Keep their targets lit up for them.”

“What about us, Rarity?” Whooves asked, indicating himself and Fluttershy, frozen and shaking.

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you can do for us here, doctor,” Rarity said. “We’ll surely need Fluttershy for when someone passes out. I… I don’t want to mince words here. That’s going to happen, almost certainly.”

“What do you need me for?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s cold out, but with the magical exertion, I’m going to overheat. I need you to keep the area around me at a stable, comfortable temperature.”

“Rarity, what happens if you pass out?” Fluttershy asked.

Rarity sighed and looked up at the balloon. “Well, Fluttershy, the way I see it, Applejack thinks she might be giving her life tonight. If it means keeping that river from escaping, then so can I.”

Inside the dam, Applejack saw for the first time the spectacular intricacy of Discord’s design. The pistons were positioned so that there would always be some touching the ground, a system she thought was random at first, before everything had moved into place. Empty tunnels and channels filled the dam’s top half, where everything had dropped to its appropriate location at the bottom, into perfect empty spaces that had puzzled her and Twilight endlessly. Water still flowed out the backside, the dam emptying itself of the water it had taken on in the brief period of inactivity. The spouts, she saw, would automatically close when the last of the water was gone.

The same magic that had kept her from accessing anything central in the dam had shifted, too, with the reorganization of its internal structure. She could reach no pistons and no generators on the bottom, as they were suddenly connected to the dam’s enchanted heart. Had she been in one at the time of transition, she realized, she might be trapped, or squeezed into oblivion.

For a minute, she was lost, amazed at her own unconscious bravery, and then found her idea. She swam up to the dam’s top half and located a set of closed gates, ordinarily just above the waterline. They were unprotected, apparently forgotten, not vital to the dam’s leg structure. She didn’t hesitate; with all her influence and all her will to ruin, she flung them open. Water rushed back in.

Rarity and Rainbow galloped off the ship and onto the trembling, but unbroken, parapet at the dam’s top, within view of a line of dark houses. The airship didn’t touch down, but immediately swooped off the hill and down toward the river.

“Rare, you sure you can do this?” Rainbow asked.

“Rainbow Dash, there’s no one else who can,” she said. “Get the temperature stable around me, and I’d ask that you please not speak unless you absolutely must. Concentration is paramount.”

Big Mac found a spot on the river, just before the water cut off at the reservoir’s edge, and angled the ship to face its broad side toward the dam. The superstructure shook like an unhealthy creature, its pistons like centipede legs, producing a greasy chewing sound in the exposed riverbed. Still, it did not separate from its abutments.

“Vinyl, light,” Twilight said, and Vinyl beamed a bright triangle of light at the dam’s very bottom. Each leg was the size of the airship, moving up and down with crushing speed, a blur too big to be real.

Octavia stood just beside her, and, leaning out, conjured the first spell. An explosion, dwarfed against the rising leg, momentarily bloomed, leaving a fan of smoke over the deafening, cavernous emptiness. Twilight nodded in approval and cast her own spell, grabbing a leg telekinetically and holding on.

It struggled, and Octavia smacked it with another explosion, warping its outer casing and bending a cage of thin bars outwards. Twilight could see it try to move when she released it, but it could only wag in place before stopping. She looked at Octavia happily, readying herself for another spell, when something large snapped on both sides.

Rarity was ready before anyone else. She could feel the vibrations speed up, and she could see the ground loosening. The reservoir behind had filled past its barrier from the rest of the river, and when the white snake tails of pumped water finally stopped pouring from the dam’s top, she scanned the vista. Separation would come next, and she needed to be ready. Closing her eyes as she had been taught, she first visualized the river as it was, then visualized it as it would be, then visualized it as she desired, her magic in place.

Her horn activated, and magic flowed through her, first hers, and then the foreign, but comfortable magic that Vanilla Cream had grafted into her. She stretched out until she could feel the freezing water against her, filling her mind like an inflating balloon. She opened her eyes slowly, breathing through her nose. Rainbow stood out of sight, but the air was to Rarity’s liking.

She looked over the river. Up against the dam’s inside edge, a curtain of magic glistened, and she watched it dispassionately, knowing to expect pressure when the dam finally moved.

The snaps did not make her jump. She held on to her shield, almost relaxed in her determination, and watched as the nearby abutment crumbled. The tan curve of concrete and metal slid out of place, shuddered, and then took its first lumbering step as each piston worked in concert to roll the monolith over exposed riverbed. The river didn’t even ripple.

When the dam moved toward them, Twilight and Octavia both paused. It had been threatening to do so, and Twilight had told them to expect it, but seeing it actually before them was enough to momentarily drain their preparation. It was too big to be completely seen from where they floated; its heavy, arched step sent tremors through the paused river and made the air tremble. Months ago, when they periodically cast spells to wedge pieces of ground back together, they had faced the same sense of appalling awe, but that was pure magic, and restorative. The only magic they could see was the magic that powered the machines, but it was the machines themselves that moved the structure, and moved it toward them.

“Are you okay?” Fluttershy asked from behind.

“Come on, Octavia,” Twilight said. She conjured another telekinetic spell, difficult at her distance from the dam, and grabbed a leg, holding it in position for Octavia to break with an explosion. They had managed a couple legs in such a way, many simply folding up into the dam’s underside, some snapping off entirely.

“Rarity’s holding that entire river back,” Whooves said. “I simply cannot believe it.”

No one responded.

Rarity held the river, and she was at ease. Her horn ached comfortably, and she did not mind the rivulets of sweat coursing down her face. Her vision would occasionally fade, tired of looking at the same thing for so long, but her concentration was ironclad; in her mind’s eye, the waters were still against her shield, and it was so. She could hear her friends below, attacking with a steady rhythm.

Concentration was important for powerful magic, she knew, but had not long ago learned the power of patience as well. Often overlooked, patience with one’s own magic allowed for longer intervals of use, as well as a more consistent level of intensity. Somewhere deep in her thoughts, not yet overtaken by the single-minded need to keep her shield alive, she knew that her spell was especially sensitive to breaks in focus, in patience. One overeager push back on the waters could split her shield in half, send one side flooding into the reservoir and destroying everything in its way.

It was not difficult for her, but she knew it soon would be. As she grew more tired, it would be harder and harder to maintain the same power level. She would feel it fading, or believe herself to be feeling it, and would need to compensate safely.

Applejack got out of the dam so she could move her body farther up the hill, pushing through thorny bushes and stumbling over rocks. When the dam separated from the hill, she had thought she was dead, but no water crushed her, and she could only look up, dumbstruck, hoping that whatever her friends had done, it would last.

She found a narrow ravine where she could climb onto a partially buried boulder, and escape to a higher, more distant vantage. The dam’s side was pure, faceless concrete, perfect for seamless, painless separation. She went back in.

The legs moved in a constant, sickening spin, like spindle’s teeth. With only a few inoperative, the dam’s progress had not slowed, and the broken legs did not get in the way of the others; Discord, or Vanilla, had even thought to leave room for collateral damage and wreckage.

She had been worried initially about finding ways to help damage the structure, but found that it was not difficult. Her options were so limited that finding a component she could control, even partially, was akin to feeling her way along a corridor, so constricting that any open space called out to her spreading consciousness. She was reminded of water filling a porous stone; there were only so many places to go.

The inert mechanics, pieces of the dam that had been important only for maintaining its ordinary function until the change, were unguarded. She flowed from supplementary generator to supplementary generator, activating each one and leaving it to operate at maximum output. She couldn’t hurt any moving piece of the dam, but she could waste its energy.

Meanwhile, her body lay useless on the rocks.

Twilight could not tell how long she and Octavia had been attacking. They were both tiring, and the dam still moved, each step a thundering alarm. Rarity’s words seemed more and more a distant, impossible idea: putting the dam back once it had been stopped. Twilight was beginning to question whether they would even get that far.

Whenever one of its legs was taken out of commission, it would fold up out of sight, and nothing would change. For a few heartening minutes, they had thought that removing the legs on one side would make the dam lose balance, but each remaining leg, they eventually noticed, would slide over like beads in an abacus. There was never more than a minute of imbalance.

“This is ridiculous,” Octavia said softly as another leg folded away. “There are too many. We will be flattened before we finish this.”

Twilight said nothing, only grabbed another leg, struggling to hold it back. As much as she tried to keep it out of her mind, her magic was weakening, and she knew it. Sweat was standing at the base of her horn, and she could feel her heartbeat.

“Big Mac, take us farther away,” Octavia said.

“No!” Twilight cried. “Take us closer.”

“Do not be foolish, Twilight.”

“Big Mac, take us closer,” Twilight insisted. “I can do better closer.”

Big Mac looked at her for a second, and then did as she said. They slowly turned to face the dam and flew along the river, not high off its surface. The legs rolled maniacally onwards, pulling it up for its next step, a step that would take it only two or three away from the reservoir’s edge. It was not far from breaking into the rest of the river, something Twilight knew with unscientific certainty would be disastrous.

When they evened out, she was able to look directly into the interior, where featureless, black walls of cogs and wiring writhed. Vinyl’s light held steady, and she selected another leg, wrenching it away with only slightly renewed strength.

Rarity didn’t know how much longer she could hold the river. Keeping the shield up was no longer easy; she could feel the water’s weight pressing against it, and it pressing against her, wanting to sink back into her horn. Her mind had to work faster to keep her shield alive, rushing to strengthen sections that were growing tired, as well as regulating itself so she didn’t push back too hard.

It had been fifteen minutes, and the base of her horn was hot. She stood in the same position as she had been when she first summoned her magic, and the circulation in her hooves was gone; if she moved, even to shift her weight, the heavy tingling would bring her to her knees, and she might lose control of the spell in that moment. She could see the dam moving toward her friends out of the corner of her eye, and the explosions had stopped, but she dared not look. She could only hold the waters and hope they weren’t as tired as she.

Twilight stopped attacking, and Octavia looked at her. “Come on, Twilight. We cannot stop; Rarity will not last forever.”

The quick reinvigoration she had felt upon casting from a shortened distance lasted only for two legs before crashing around her, leaving her with a chest aflame and soaked in sweat, which was gradually turning cold as it flowed down her face. Her vision was fuzzy. “What are we gonna do after this? To help Rarity?” Twilight panted, reigniting her horn weakly.

“We must return the dam to its spot in front of the river.”

Twilight looked at her, astounded, then shocked that she had forgotten, and pitched forward.

Anger flared up in Octavia, and her explosion crackled and spat like a grease fire against its moving target. “Get up!” she shouted, and Twilight struggled.

“I can’t do it.”

Fluttershy rushed forward to help, to attempt to heal something that was not within her magical expertise, and Octavia looked back to the dam. Each spell she cast was a blow against her body, and her head was spinning.

“You are an Element of Harmony. The Element of Magic, no less,” she mumbled. She knew Twilight could not hear. “I cannot do this on my own.”

Twilight’s horn glowed weakly, but nothing happened, and the dam completed another step. The ponies in the city would feel each one as miniature earthquakes, but all she felt, aloft, was the pit of dread in her stomach deepening further. Rarity was a white speck above them, and Applejack was not visible.

“Twilight, please!” She backed up involuntarily and sat down, her vision pulsing in and out of squiggling darkness. The shout had been too much, and she could feel herself sliding toward unconsciousness. Voices called her name and Twilight’s, and she fought to keep her eyes open. Like falling asleep, to close them, even for an instant, would be to forfeit. Pinkie was screaming something, and she felt herself dragging back. A figure stood before them, horn alight, tiny flashes of power shooting out at the giant dam.

“Thank you, Twilight. I will join you as soon as I am able,” Octavia said, and gave in to darkness.

Applejack was stuck between a sheer cliff face and a steep path of loose stone that she could not descend safely. She had climbed up by bracing her legs against larger rocks on both sides, not paying attention to where it led, only trying to put more distance between herself and the relentless dam. With each step, it encroached upon the hillside, its blank concrete sides scraping land away like butter to pitch into the frothy, muddy hell below, and then pounded into nothing by its marching claws.

With effort, she could still reach the dam, and did so again, securing herself as best she could. Her friends had hurt it, but not slowed it; it was designed, she saw, to be as near to unstoppable as possible. Until more than half the legs had been destroyed, a number they were nowhere close to fulfilling, the dam would be able to keep moving.

Amidst the jumble of feelings, she picked out something new, and followed it back down to the pumps. They were starting up again, and she could feel reserve power slowly flowing toward the gates. The dam was preparing to start pumping water again. She had seen Rarity’s shield—she had recognized the magic’s color—and knew that the unicorn would be tiring soon, if she weren’t already. Any water sent through the dam would hit that shield, and she knew it could easily be the gentle tap required to break Rarity’s concentration and inundate them all.

It was with a spiraling, sickening feeling that Applejack discovered that Discord had been careful. She could not reach the pumping mechanisms on either side.

Pinkie and Fluttershy could only drag Twilight and Octavia back as Big Mac stood at the wheel, flashing his clueless expression between the advancing dam and the remaining ponies. Only Vinyl stood at the ship’s side, flicking tiny seeds of light off the dam’s legs.

“Take us back, Big Mac,” Fluttershy said. “Take us… just back for now. I think. Oh, Celestia.”

The dam jerked forward with a creaking menace, and Vinyl jumped backwards. Her horn glowed dark red for a moment before she resumed her position, visibly shaking. Pinkie stood behind her, watching, standing partial guard over her unconscious sister.

Twilight stirred, and Fluttershy helped her sit up; she was unstable and weak, and almost collapsed again, had Fluttershy caught her.

“Come on, Twilight! You can do it!” Pinkie said, and Twilight looked at her dimly. Fluttershy moaned and helped her walk up beside Vinyl.

Twilight did not comprehend what she saw; it was a formless, gray slab to her, a dream. She leaned against Vinyl, who smiled emptily and leaned in to Twilight’s ear. “Please, Twilight, do something. I’m less than useless up here.”

She hit the dam with another ineffectual blast, and Twilight, swaying in a daze for a moment, built up a cone of magic on her horn. For nearly twenty seconds, it shimmered in air, and those that could look did so, in their hearts feeling it was the salvation they were praying for. In the throes of desperation, Twilight would persist and produce a spell to topple their enemy.

A powerful column of sparkling energy fizzled and scorched the concrete over the legs she hit, and the dam shuddered. Once.

Behind, Fluttershy was trying to wake up Octavia with Pinkie crouching over her. Her eyes flicked up to the dam nervously, meeting Fluttershy’s for a second. Neither of them said it, but the look they exchanged was clear enough to them: it was the end. Twilight’s stand had failed, and she would not last for more than a few minutes, nor would Octavia if she woke up. Vinyl was no help, and Fluttershy knew nothing of offensive magic.

“At least Rarity and Rainbow Dash will probably survive,” Fluttershy thought, offering an encouraging smile to Pinkie, who shook her sister, whispering her name under tears.

Applejack banged her dislodged spirit against Discord’s magic, each touch with it like a stab of uncontrollable, frightening thoughts invading her core. She could do nothing else, and could see and hear clearly that nothing else was being done.

Vinyl backed up, dragging Twilight with her, and Whooves came to her aid. “Passed out again. Can’t do shit to this thing. Help,” she whispered, and he only nodded, taking Twilight and setting her next to Octavia, who was still not awake.

He looked up at the dam, one step from the reservoir’s edge, one step from the river, and not much farther from their ship. Big Mac had them creeping upwards, and he scanned the scene, hoping for inspiration, when his eyes strayed to Pinkie.

“Wait… Pinkie! You! That’s it!” He jumped up, heart suddenly soaring.

Pinkie looked at him. “What—what’s it?”

“Pinkie, we need you,” Whooves said. “Your magic. I—we—you—we all forgot it, but it’s you! You’re the one with the power, Celestia said. You can hurt it.” He laughed. “We can still win!”

Pinkie looked from him, to Fluttershy, to Twilight on the deck.

“Go on, Pinkie, give it what for!”

Pinkie didn’t get up.

“Come on! No time like the present!”

She looked at the dam, closed her eyes, and said, “I can’t.”

He shook his head and perked up an ear, grinning. “What’s that?”

“I can’t. I—I think you’re misunderstanding, doc. I don’t have that kind of power.”

“Pinkie, you have to do something,” Fluttershy said calmly, not looking away from the dam.

Pinkie hung her head and traced a circle on the deck.

“Not long now,” Rarity thought hopelessly. The shield was weakening in places, and she had to allow it. Water seeped through and trickled down the outside, and keeping her magic up held all of her concentration. Simply knowing she could do it was no longer enough; she was almost out of energy, and maintaining her output had her shaking where she stood. Her horn was an iron poker in her forehead, and her vision had tunneled to almost nothing. Her legs were dead; her neck was screaming from holding her head in the same position for so long. Her head was empty from lack of sleep.

Still, she persisted. She had meant what she said.

Vinyl was out of magic, and the dam advanced. Only Whooves stared ahead with dead indifference. They were rising with all speed, but, with the damages the ship had endured, they would need longer than they thought Rarity could give before the river took them.

“We’re not going to stop it,” Fluttershy said softy. “This is well and truly it.”

Pinkie’s refusal had not shocked them; they were beyond shock. Numb from sleeplessness, spirits stunted from the sudden pressure, every face showed its resignation. Death would come. They had made peace with it, some before the last hope had flown.

“Someone’s coming,” Pinkie said, and they looked.

Out across the river, striding with all the unhurried calm of an omen, Vanilla Cream’s white body shone out. He trod over the water, gently floated up to their level, and gingerly hopped over the gunwale. He took in the scene, watching first the ponies and then the dam, its final step descending. “Well, this is quite the mess you’ve got here.”

The riverbed rumbled with impact, and he smiled at Pinkie, who did not look at him.

“Unfortunately, destroying it is not my place,” he said. His voice cut through the noise perfectly. “I have come only to move you.”

“Where?” Whooves asked. His head bobbed up as he said it.

Vanilla pierced him with a look of contempt. “Where my fancy dictates.”

His horn flashed like a camera, and Rarity and Applejack, lifeless, were by his side. Roaring water instantly filled the air, and Pinkie screamed. The water broke on the dam, spreading two towering, white wings of foam at its sides before coalescing back into a single, flowing battering ram, front fanged with boiling tips of whitewater.

Those that could run scattered across the ship, and those that could not flew like storm-tossed branches at the force of millions of gallons slamming into them. Each one became a crushed body in the flood, and their ship shattered.

Vanilla stood inside the deluge as it passed through and around him, not caring to watch the carnage. His horn flashed a second time, and his voice filled the corners of their dying dreams: “Wake up somewhere new.”

Applejack's Body

Chapter Seventy-two

Applejack’s Body

The city of Roan had once been the largest and most advanced settlement in Equestria. Its construction began nearly three decades after Celestia and Luna had deposed Discord, and half a century before they would graduate from mere rulers to goddesses, and move to the Castle of the Two Sisters.

Since then, Roan had grown into a dense, two-tiered column, one half above ground and one half beneath, where some of the oldest bloodlines carried on in fissiparous indecision of whether to accept or revile the tawdry, falsely antiquarian tourist traps that comprised the city’s more prominent half.

With tall pillars modeled after Cloudsdale’s architecture holding up stone domes, made to look much older than they were, and brass cupolas to catch the sun and turn the city into a studded design from above, the city was designed to embody dignity and stoicism, as well as an old-world sense of grace and confidence. The effect was lessened by the train tracks that rooted it to its spot, twisted off in the distance, but whole at the city’s borders.

Night had fallen over Roan, and the blank desert that surrounded, and no one was around to see ten soaking wet bodies materialize in the dust.

Twilight was one of the last to wake up, and she did so violently. She had been shaking with cold, on the edge of alertness, but started awake when her dream imploded. She shot up, pulling with her a single, bright memory of freezing, crushing water, which seemed all the more real when she realized her own dampness.

“Thank Celestia,” Rarity said softly. She lay on one side in a wet circle of dirt. Behind her, Twilight could see the diving blue dot that she knew was Rainbow Dash. Her movements were not smooth in the air.

“Are you okay?” Fluttershy asked.

“I think so,” Twilight said, rubbing her head. “What’s going on?” She looked slowly around, then stopped, seeing an orange mound behind her.

“She’s not breathing,” Whooves said. He paced before them, eyes downcast and voice empty of its usual vim.

“Oh, hell.” Her horn reflexively pulsing to life, Twilight winced as pain stabbed from behind her eyes.

“Do you know how we got here?” Rarity asked. “Your face suggests you don’t.”

Twilight moved to Applejack and sat down, putting a hoof to her chest. “How did this happen?”

“She was like that when we woke up,” Octavia said from afar. She was approaching, and appeared just as exhausted as ever. “We are near the city of Roan. It took me half an hour to get close enough to see that. We will have a long walk ahead of us, I am afraid.”

“Wait, just, everypony stop,” Twilight said. She looked at Applejack again, tears coming to her eyes. “What the hell is this?”

No one responded.

“How? When? She wasn’t like this before we were moved—I do assume that’s what happened. No ship, unfamiliar location, all that.”

“We were in Applewood last night,” Rarity said. She nodded acknowledgement as Vinyl stirred and woke up nearby. “At least, I think it was last night. I suppose we can’t know that.”

“Applewood.” Twilight tested the name on her dry tongue.

“The dam,” Octavia said.

“What’s going on?” Vinyl asked quietly.

“Oh Celestia,” Twilight said. Suddenly, the dream returned. She had dreamt that she was standing somewhere above the ground, the only clear feeling a formless but acute fear, and then been swept away by a wall of cold water. “Oh Celestia, that was real?”

“If you dreamed of a tidal wave, yes,” Octavia said.

“Your idea was right,” Whooves said. “The dam moved. It woke up, pulled itself along, and we couldn’t do a thing to stop it.”

“Rarity held back the river,” Fluttershy said.

“I’m remembering now,” Twilight said. “And then we moved. We were finished, and Vanilla came by to save us, or something.”

“He let us get hit first,” Rarity said.

Vinyl approached Applejack and put a hoof to her chest, exactly as Twilight had done. “Twilight? Um, I think you should see this.”

“I saw,” Twilight said. “I… yeah, I know.”

“Big Mac, Pinkie, and Rainbow are out there,” Octavia said. “They… are not happy.” She sighed. “Which leads me to something I wish I did not have to say right now. We are completely without resources. All of our food and water was on the ship, which is gone, and we are in the desert. The nearest city is an hour away, probably more with Applejack’s… with Applejack.”

“Sweet Celestia,” Vinyl breathed.

Twilight stared at her friend, lifeless on the ground, her hat askew and her jaw slack, her eyes staring glassily into the flawless blue sky. She wanted to say something, something to comfort the others, or herself, but there was nothing. Where she should feel sadness, she knew, she felt mostly mute astonishment at the veracity of her slowly regenerating memories. The nightmare was real, and recent. She had used her horn so much that even the smallest magic current hurt her head.

“Help me get Applejack over my back. If we start now, we can get to town before it gets too hot,” Octavia said.

Fluttershy helped sling Applejack onto Octavia, and Whooves and Vinyl grabbed her cello and Twilight’s book bag, which had fallen out of Twilight’s pocket dimension when they arrived.

“I don’t see how it could have happened,” Whooves said, trotting up next to Vinyl, both of them wheeling their heads around as they followed Octavia. The desert was flat and empty, but for a mound of buildings in the middle distance and a short ridge of mountains much farther beyond, to the west. The sun was at their backs, and the desert horizon still ended in a dark rim, nearly out of sight.

“She got hit worse than the rest of us,” Rarity said. “That’s all.”

They met Big Mac first, flat on his back and staring into the sky. He had not been crying, but he would not rise on his own. Twilight and Whooves pulled him up and shoved him in the direction they were going after a minute of unsuccessful encouragement. Rainbow did not land, but followed them from above, and Pinkie fell into line without comment beside Rarity, her mane down.

No one spoke. Their arrival site disappeared and the new city grew slowly larger, and throughout Applejack looked back at them from where she inanimately jostled on Octavia’s back. Pinkie was a constant stream of wails and cries, and Rarity and Fluttershy walked with her, Fluttershy’s wing on her back in that familiar gesture of comfort. Twilight heard nothing from the others, and nothing from herself. Her own feelings were too heavy, her shock too great. It simply could not be, she thought. There was no truth to what had happened, she would see in time; someone would wake up, either herself or Applejack, and the nightmare would end. Just like that, she thought.

They stopped only when Octavia fell, panting and weak from the heat on her dark mane, but Big Mac moved onwards, dragging no one with him. Pinkie had finally run out of tears, and Twilight and Rarity moved Applejack onto her back at her own insistence, then resumed, Roan within a half hour of walking, and noon nearly upon them.

Even when Rainbow Dash landed at close to falling speed, no one talked. Their hoofsteps blended into one unbroken stretch of white noise, and Twilight was conscious of calm gradually overtaking her other feelings. Slowly, she stopped thinking she might wake up, and her mind was able to wander.

Applejack still wore her Element, its golden frame tarnished but its jewel shining perfectly in the pre-noon sun. If an Element of Harmony were to die, Twilight knew, the identity would pass to another, someone already close to the other bearers. How it was selected, she did not know, nor did she know how to determine who would wear Applejack’s necklace next. Her studies had not prepared her for the possibility of needing to find a new Element without warning.

“So we’re going to that city,” Rainbow said.

“That is correct,” Octavia said. Both of them were at the front.

“Great.”

Octavia said nothing, and Rainbow looked back at Twilight and the others.

“I don’t really see the point, Octavia. Twilight.”

“The point is to find food, water, and shelter from the heat,” Octavia said.

“Then another airship, I suppose,” Rarity added.

“Why bother?” Rainbow asked.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re done, that’s what I mean.” She didn’t turn around, just spoke to the empty air before her. “We lost—which means he won. Discord. He beat us.”

“We are not done,” Octavia said.

“Uh, yeah, we are. I don’t know if you noticed, Octavia, but we lost Applejack.”

“We did,” Rarity said, casting a fearful look at Twilight.

“This crappy mission can’t go on without all of us, Twilight. I know you agree with Octavia here, but we’re just walking to our own deaths now.”

“You can’t know that,” Fluttershy said.

“I can.” They walked on for a while in silence, then Rainbow spoke up again, her inflection pointed. “The Elements are broken, and the team is incomplete. We can’t accomplish much except our own destruction if we’re missing someone.”

Twilight stared at the back of Rainbow’s head, not sure how to respond.

“This is hopeless now. At first it wasn’t, but now it is.”

“What do you think we should do?” Rarity asked.

“Cut our losses.”

“And go home?” Pinkie asked.

“You know that we cannot,” Octavia said. “We are—”

“No, we used to be whatever you’re about to say,” Rainbow said. “Let’s just get a ship, something cheap and quick, and fly off to Canterlot. If we can get there fast enough, we can warn the princesses.”

“And then what?” Twilight asked. “Their hooves are tied even worse than ours. They won’t be able to finish this for us.”

“Well hell, Twilight, I don’t know then! Maybe you can use some of that brain power to figure something else out!”

“You want to abandon our quest and hope someone else comes along to finish it,” Rarity said. “That’s not cutting our losses, that’s cutting our own throats.”

“Doesn’t matter if they’re already cut, Rarity.”

“I do not believe that we are so without hope as you say,” Octavia said.

“And it means so much, coming from you. You can go home any time you want.”

“That is not true.”

“Well, you sure don’t have the fate of the whole freaking country on your back.”

“A duty that you wish to abandon.”

Rainbow thought for a moment and spoke again, somewhat mollified. “I just don’t see the point anymore. There’s no coming back from this.”

Twilight nodded, and Rainbow turned back around. She didn’t want to believe that Rainbow was correct, but her own lack of a plan rang loudly in her head. Time was already short; it had been short for a while, something they all had denied in their ways. With one Element and its bearer missing, along with the three they still hadn’t found, she could easily envision Rainbow’s plan.

“We hold a funeral for Applejack, somewhere where it isn’t as dusty. Somewhere in the grass. Then we get a ship and fly home. Princess Celestia will understand, and maybe we can work something out with Discord. He can leave Ponyville alone if we agree to… something.” Twilight blinked, and, finally, tears came. That was the crux. Failure. She realized it, and she cried.

They were walking in the middle of the trackless desert thirteen thousand miles from home. The southern half of Equestria had been so long a distant idea, a destination no more interesting than the next town, and Discord’s veiled warnings had never completely landed. Everything had worked for so long, despite the occasional fight, the occasional danger, the occasional harrowing moment. Someone had always come through.

Even flying home would take too long, she realized slowly. No airship she knew of could get them to Canterlot in less than a week, and in that time, there was no telling what would happen.

She thought of Spike. Even he had been a momentary bump in an otherwise competent plan. She had recovered from that loss relatively quickly, and it had not made their own quest any harder. He was not part of the central effort, and he never had been. She wondered whether he had known that.

“Ponyville won’t be home for long, though, even if it is when we get back.” They would not persist there with the weight of their failure hanging on their hearts. “We might not persist anywhere.”

The princesses would be no help in the long term. Twilight knew, as she knew they did as well, that they might be able to coordinate a way to stop Discord, but he would not go quietly, and even the goddesses were only two. The ripples would expand much the same as they had after that first horrible night, and no one would be left to hold them back. The goddesses were only two.

“Twilight,” Whooves said, “I just had a thought. Actually, Vinyl did.”

“Wait, she’s still with us?” Rainbow asked, turning around. “Celestia. Just what we need.”

“What is it?” Twilight asked.

“Over the radio, Applejack said that you told her once that her spirit can stay inside the dam if her body dies, and she was inside it for a large portion of the battle—or so I believe. Might it be possible that she’s still… you know, around?”

“Dead in body, but alive in spirit?” Rarity said. “Twilight?”

Twilight thought, trying to remember her readings on the subject, long ago. “If she was inside the dam when her body… passed, then she might still be inside it, yes. Getting her back wouldn’t be easy, though.”

“But it’s possible?” Rainbow asked, suddenly right in front of her, filling her vision with her intense expression.

“It is possible, yes.”

“Then we’re going back to Applewood,” Rarity said. “How far is it, Octavia?”

“Three or four days by airship,” Octavia said.

“Hang on,” Twilight said. “Stop. Stop walking. Pinkie, put her down.”

“What’s wrong?” Rainbow asked.

“Just thinking. I might be able to figure this out more.” She walked a careful circle around Applejack, keeping a respectful distance as though expecting the orange pony to spring up.

“Talk to us, Twilight,” Whooves said. “You’re our thread of hope right now.”

“She’s not hurt,” Twilight said. She prodded at Applejack’s body, lifting the hooves, stroking the chest and sides. “I’m not finding any broken bones, or anything else unusual.”

“She drowned,” Octavia said. “Most likely.”

“But we didn’t? It makes no sense that Vanilla would keep all of us but one alive. By rights, we should all be dead.” She sat down, chewing her lip, recalling what she could from her reading. She didn’t want to pull out a book then and there. “If she was inside the dam at the time we were teleported, then her body would have moved, but her spirit wouldn’t. Maybe. Maybe… or the spirit might have come along, torn away from the dam.”

“Then it would just go back into her, wouldn’t it?” Fluttershy asked.

“Nnno, I don’t think so. Unless Vanilla specifically put it back inside—which he obviously didn’t—sorry.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose. Her heart was beating with excitement, much as she willed it not to. It was too early for elation, the idea too small for relief. “Which he didn’t,” she repeated. “Applejack wouldn’t have any knowledge of how to get around in the empty air, between her own body and whatever she possesses. So, if she’s not in the dam, she might be… around, I guess. She might be out here, separated from us, but not actually that far geographically.”

“So what good does that do us?” Rainbow asked.

“Hope, Rainbow,” Whooves said. “It gives us hope.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got that, but what does it do? If she’s stuck out here, then what can we do? She obviously can’t get back into herself, or she would have already.”

“Not necessarily,” Twilight said. “Now—bear with me on this, it’s been a while since I studied this kind of magic—she might be lost. She… how does it work? When a pony’s spirit leaves its body, things like time, spatial orientation, and so on go out the window. If Applejack is a spirit, suspended out here somewhere, she probably only knows she’s not in the dam. She won’t be able to see us, hear us, or contact us in any way on her own. She might even think she’s dead, or not know that she isn’t. If she isn’t.”

“Soooo, again,”

“Is there a way for us to communicate with her?” Rarity asked. “Surely there’s some kind of magic that will let us do that.”

“I’m sure there is, but I don’t know it, certainly not off the top of my head,” Twilight said. Seeing Rainbow’s embittered expression, she said, “this is a problem for Princess Luna. She was never my teacher.”

“We should keep going, then,” Octavia said. “If there is a solution, it will be easier to enact in town.”

“Yes, I agree,” Whooves said, a little pep back in his voice. “I say, though, this little talk has rather emboldened my resolve. What say you, Miss Dash? Don’t you feel that pessimism washed away in the tides of possibility?”

“Let’s just walk,” Rainbow said.

Roan rose to greet them from atop a gentle hill, which nonetheless took them close to an hour to climb in their fatigued state, stopping once for Octavia to recover from another brush with heat stroke. The city was full of life and noise, and they were nearly to a small, arched gateway when Whooves stopped them.

“We can’t just go marching into town carrying a corpse on our backs,” he said. “Especially one as eminent as Miss Applejack.”

“Well, I don’t see any other options,” Rainbow said.

“Okay, okay, hold on,” Twilight said. “That’s a good point. We need a place to stay first. Let’s see here, a place to stay, then supplies, then an airship.”

“Where’s Applejack fit into that?”

“Can one of you go into town? Take this.” She brought Celestia’s worn and crumpled treasury slip out of her book bag. “Get us some rooms in a hotel, any will do. Uh, and while you’re at it, try to find Big Mac. I’m going to research something to do with Applejack while we wait.”

“I’ll do it,” Rainbow said, grabbing the note. “Fluttershy?”

The two of them flew low into the city, and Twilight began sorting through her books. Pinkie sat down to provide shade for Applejack.

“How’s everyone feeling?” Whooves asked. “Physically, I mean.”

“We are all dehydrated,” Octavia said. “Personally, I have an excruciating headache.”

“Dare I ask how much sleep you had before last night?” Rarity asked.

“I was actually asleep last night, before Twilight woke us up. It was horrible.”

“What about you, Vinyl?” Pinkie asked. “I haven’t heard a peep out of you.”

Vinyl looked at them all, her purple goggles reflecting like garish oases in the mid-afternoon sun. Her horn pulsed briefly. “I’m still taking everything in.”

“Here it is. I knew it was something like this,” Twilight said. “Spirits can perceive themselves—so Applejack does know she’s alive, or at least not in oblivion—spiritual magic, if it’s in a high concentration, and energy gradients, also at high intensities only. In Applejack’s case, since her spirit is attuned to machines, I’d hazard a guess that she can perceive anything mechanical as well.”

“Perceive how?” Rarity asked.

“Distantly. The book describes it as a feeling sort of like remembering or imagining something. So…”

“The world is full of things that she can perceive, then,” Whooves said. “I propose we find a way to combine all of them into something, to sort of double down on the sensory information. Make the biggest beacon in the spirit world, as it were.”

“Yes, I was thinking the same thing,” Twilight said. She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know how to go about that, though.”

“She might just go back to the dam,” Rarity said. “That has a lot of machine to it, as well as magic.”

“Twilight, what did you mean, ‘oblivion’?” Vinyl asked softly.

“That’s just a generic term for what happens to spirits once they fade away.”

“Exactly,” Twilight said. “A spirit persists outside of its host body for a little while after it’s removed, but then eventually loses potency. That’s all it is. Some ponies call it ‘true death’.”

“That title seems a hair romantic, does it not?” Whooves said.

“I’ve never liked it.”

“And this happens when the pony dies?” Vinyl asked.

“That’s the most common way, yes. There are certain types of magic that can rip a spirit out of a living body, if the pony is restrained properly; that’s what exorcism is. Then that spirit has a limited amount of time to find a new body, an empty shell, it can make its own. If it doesn’t, then it goes into oblivion.”

“How much time?” Pinkie asked. “How long does Applejack have?”

“It depends on her magical strength. It could be a matter of days. It could be less.”

“Could it be more?” Whooves asked.

“That’s unlikely.”

“How will we get Applejack into town?” Octavia asked. She sat to the side, and had listened patiently for a time.

“Can’t you just use that handy magical space?” Whooves asked, smiling at Twilight.

“No chance,” Twilight said. “I’m spent from last night. Even if I weren’t, carrying something like that is… different. Bodies aren’t the same as inanimate objects, even when they’re dead.”

“Is it the same reason why self-levitation is so difficult?” Rarity asked.

“Something like that.” She paged through her book before selecting a different one. “I really have no idea how to even start this. It’s going to be some heck of a setup, though. That much I can already tell.” She looked at Applejack’s body.

The sun was a dark fireball in the west when Rainbow, Fluttershy, and Big Mac returned. Applejack’s body was beginning to turn, and nopony had the magical energy to stop it.

Leaving Fluttershy behind to watch over Octavia’s cello, they walked through dusty, hoof-beaten streets to a small hotel caged in a sky-blue colonnade, athletic pegasi painted on its sides in all manner of motion. Their rooms were small and had a view of the backs of the neighboring buildings, but the view didn’t stay for long.

“Pull the curtains,” Twilight ordered, dragging the cello case to the middle of the room. Rainbow helped her pull Applejack out and lay her on the floor, and Octavia set to wiping the inside of her case before leaving to get her instrument back from the desert.

“So, what do we do?” Big Mac asked.

“For now, we need to keep her preserved. I simply can’t cast magic of the magnitude this kind of… thing requires. Tomorrow, yes, but not tonight.” She thought for a second. “We should fill the bathtub with ice.”

“You’re kidding,” Rainbow said.

“I hate to say it, but she has a point,” Rarity said. “There is a certain smell that’s beginning to drift.”

“Ponies are going to be curious why we need so much ice,” Whooves said as Vinyl grabbed the ice bucket. “Suspicious, even.”

“As long as they don’t ruin my magic, they can be as suspicious as they want,” Twilight said.

“What about tomorrow?” Big Mac asked. He sat on the bed with a long, greasy squeak of old springs.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to take that coffee maker there and draw a big sigil around it, and some smaller sigils around the main one. I’ll probably need one or two of you for some active spellcasting as well. If I set this up right, it shouldn’t be that strenuous on you.”

“An’ that’ll bring her back?”

“It’ll get her attention, if… well, if anything can.”

Vinyl returned with the ice, and they listened to her pouring it out in the tub. “Twenty or so trips, I think,” she said, exiting the bathroom.

“We’ll take turns,” Whooves said. “I volunteer to go next.”

“Thank you both,” Twilight said. “I’ll go after that. I… I’ll go after.”

* * * * * *

How ironic, Colgate thought, that the solution to her problem had been as simple as a different type of pill. And she, working at the hospital, had seen it a thousand times, and never thought anything of it.

She had taken one in the morning and one in the afternoon, with intentions to take a third for dinner. She and Rouge were on an afternoon stroll around the block, so she could introduce Colgate to her neighbors. “It’s something I should have done long before,” Rouge said. “Some of them are Daturas too. Small world, huh?”

While Colgate trotted beside her, a bounce in her step and the warm sun on her face, Rouge listed to one side and occasionally stumbled in the curb or, once, someone’s flower garden. She’d been nursing a bottle of cupcake-flavored vodka since nine in the morning.

“Yup, this is your ideal slice of suburbia,” Rouge said, pulling Colgate by the foreleg across the street to a canary-yellow house. “Here, this place belongs to my friend Whipped Cream. Now, he’s not a Datura, Cole, so no shop talk.”

She ran and nearly overbalanced on the uneven walkway to the front door, then rested for a second against a planter box full of daisies and pinwheels. A wind chime shone silently like an icicle from the eave, and Colgate saw a large cat jump off a cushion in the window at their approach. Rouge mashed the doorbell twice and gave Colgate a grin. “Whipped Cream’s the best, Cole. The best.”

Colgate’s expectations were set. The house’s clean, wholesome exterior, the ornamentations outside, the cat in the window—all of it enhanced by the warm numbness from her new pill—had put her in the mind of an elderly pony, or a cookie-baking househusband. She only smiled dumbly at the college-age colt who hoof-bumped Rouge as he levitated his headphones off.

“Cream, this is my new roommate, Colgate. Hey, it rhymes! Roommate, Colgate.”

Colgate shook his hoof, adjusted her smile to something less vacuous, and looked at his face. “Pleased to meet you. We’re just making the rounds, meeting the neighborhood.”

“Can you believe she’s already been here like half a month? Where does the time go?”

“It’s great to meet you, Colgate,” Whipped Cream said quickly. “Hey, listen, Rouge, now’s not a great time. I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

“It’s good,” Rouge said, shrugging. “I just wanted to show you the fresh face.” She patted Colgate’s back affectionately. “We should totally hang out sometime. When’s the last time we met up for drinks? I could bring Cole here, she’s a hoot. One hell of a good time.”

“Uh, yeah. Great.” He smiled and tentatively lifted his headphones back up. “We definitely should. Yeah, uh, but, as I said, I’m kinda in the middle of—”

“Right, yeah, I gotcha.” Rouge nodded, and Colgate imitated her, not knowing what else to do. “I gotcha. Yeah, go ahead, do what you have to do. You’ve probably got, like, homework or something, right?”

“It’s a midterm,” he said slowly.

“Cool, cool. Yeah, I remember those days. What’s it about?”

“Listen, Rouge, I really—”

“Sorry, sorry. Go ahead, go in there and write your paper. Me and Cole gotta cover the other half of the block still. Hey! Drinks later, don’t forget. Maybe after that paper.”

He chuckled and glanced at Colgate, who had let her dazed smile return.

“Bye Cream!” He closed the door, and Rouge bumped Colgate playfully. “Isn’t he the best? Shy ponies are the cutest.”

“He was all right,” Colgate said. They stayed on his doorstep for a minute before returning to the sidewalk and making for the next house. Something about him had put her off, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

Rouge ordered a large pizza to split for dinner, and while Colgate let her third pill do its work with some water, Rouge mixed an astringent drink for herself with the rest of the cupcake vodka. Its smell filled the dining room, and Colgate leaned away whenever Rouge faced her to speak. She had immediately put the neighbors out of her mind when they came back, except for Whipped Cream. He had stuck out to her, and she thought she knew why. Dialing in on it was difficult with Rouge rambling.

“So, of course, for that first month after the, uh, the incident, I guess, Photo Finish has her models doing these mandatory physicals. Gotta check if they’re flesh and blood, and not, you know, clay.” She bit into her third slice of pizza, grease smearing her face and hooves. Her eye shadow was smudged, reminding Colgate, as it had when they first met, of her own once bruised eyes. “And being a Datura, I had to be there, just in case one did turn out to be something weird. I don’t remember the excuse she made so I could be in the room when they were being inspected.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I kept telling her she should do some kind of medical-sexual fusion, you know, sort of normalize those physicals, but she said I was full of shit. I dated one of her models for four or five weeks. Now that was a whirlwind! Cole, you ever hear of Big Bop? It’s a street drug kinda like that thing I got for you, but, like… Imagine your mer-peh-dime had a foal with some good old-fashioned LSD.”

“I didn’t know you did more than drink.”

“Sure, I’ll get my party on other ways sometimes. I’ve calmed down a lot since those days, though. I kinda have to for this gig.” She donned a sage voice. “The Pants has been known to do random drug testing.”

Colgate nodded. The thought of it didn’t worry her.

“Yeah, I, uh—where was I? Oh, right, Big Bop. I wound up trying to make out with his coffee table once. Almost caught my mane on fire, too!” She leaned over, laughing, her pizza slice falling to the floor. “Can you imagine? It was like, this—” More laughter. “This romantic dinner thing, candlelight and soft music and crap, and I was outta my gourd! Just right out of it, Cole!” She let herself flop to the carpet and belched. “You sure you don’t want some of my drink?”

“I shouldn’t mix my pills with alcohol.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I might die.”

Rouge snorted one rueful laugh. “Oh. Well, that’ll do it, I guess. Geez. This is a good night, Cole. I like you.” She got to her hooves, then back on the couch. Her breath stung on Colgate’s muzzle as she moved closer. “I want you to know, you’re a really good friend. I know I’m not in great shape right now. Maybe I shouldn’t have drank so much, but fuck it, you know? What day is it?”

“It’s Monday,” Colgate said. She was watching someone’s light from where she sat; she could see its top half over the back yard fence.

“Eh, fuck it. See?” She stood up shakily. “This is what happens when you get to our spot in the fucking Datura, Colgate! All this, this is ours!” She turned a circle, stumbling, and laughed at her imbalance. “Easy job, no hassles, no boss on us all day long, nothing! Hey, did I tell you how I can afford to live like this?”

“I think you did, a while ago.”

“Fancy Pants pays for it! Right, isn’t that a hoot? It’s some kind of stipe, stipend. All this, right out of his pockets!” She fell to the floor in laughter again, and Colgate watched her roll around for a while.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Colgate asked. She turned the TV on, and Rouge crawled to the couch.

“What’s on?”

“Let’s see.”

As Colgate moved through the channels, Rouge lay down and began playing with Colgate’s tail. “This is the life, I’m telling you. Who needs all that responsibility the other bigwigs have? We’ve got it made. Made in the shade.”

“I enjoy it so far.”

Colgate stopped on channel eleven for a second. A dark blue pegasus danced underneath a yellow, cardboard moon to a crowd of laughing ponies.

“I hate this show. Keep going,” Rouge said.

Colgate moved one up, and they left it on Runway, a griffon-made film with badly dubbed subtitles and cheap special effects. She watched it with Rouge until she could hear the cream pony snoring, and then waited until eleven o’ clock. It was starting to get chilly at night, but she didn’t put on any clothes as she stepped out the front door and into the street.

She reached Whipped Cream’s house after ten minutes of wandering the neighborhood. It was dark, as were most of the houses nearby. Only one had its lights on still, a corner house that belonged to a married pair of Daturas that Rouge referred to as “the gruesome twosome.” Colgate stood in the middle of the street for a long time, waiting to see if anyone would come out and ask her what she was doing. If so, she would pretend to be drunk and lost, and shamble away.

No one did, and she quietly crossed, avoiding the streetlights as best she could, and made her way over Whipped Cream’s lawn. The grass was cold and soft on her hooves, and it reminded her of Rouge, whom she imagined would like to fall asleep in something like it.

The prescription that Rouge had gotten for her was a painkiller of middling strength that she had frequently given to ponies after surgery, or right before anesthesia. She had selected it specifically for its ability to dull pain without completely slowing her down. Something stronger, like morphine, had been tempting, but she knew it would be too much.

She stopped again behind the house’s corner, out of view from the street, and sat down beside his garden hose, coiled neatly. It had taken her all day to figure out what about Whipped Cream was wrong.

He was, like she, too good at seeing through ponies’ faces. He had looked into Rouge and seen the alcohol she had consumed, saw the thoughtlessness that would manifest as her unsolicited lingering. So, too, had he looked into Colgate, and seen her own suspicions, her own dormant caution. He would not understand why she was so cautious, so anxious in her new place in Canterlot, and would struggle to find a connection until finally breaking down and attempting to force it out of her.

It was Colgate’s job to show him that that would be a mistake.

She looked back at the street, verified that no one was watching her, and slunk to the gate. She balanced on the edge of another planter box and inspected the back yard. He had a birdbath, a trampoline, a covered patio, a raised flower garden around the back fence, and—most importantly—no guard dog. The gate’s latch was not locked, and she let herself in magically.

She strode confidently across the grass, not hesitating or even looking up as the patio light clicked on. She assumed it was automatic.

She circled to the other side of the yard, where she found a shovel leaning with some other tools against the wall. Her path was clear, and she felt a lightness in her movement as she dug up his flowers and deposited them in his birdbath. Daisies and marigolds mixed with swirls of soil in the concrete pool, and she added to the mess until nearly half of his garden was a sopping, ruined disc in the middle of the yard. Then, taking the hose from outside, she placed it in what remained of his flowerbeds and turned it on full blast.

The trampoline came next. No one had come out to inspect her, though the patio light remained, giving flawless light to her actions and identity. She got under the trampoline and, placing her horn to its bottom, activated her weak heat spell, one of the few she was any good with. It wasn’t long before the center had burned away, leaving a drooping ring of black mesh.

She crawled out and inspected her work so far. She wasn’t finished, but she felt she had made a good start. She smiled a real smile as she imagined his reaction to the damage. He would not know who had done it immediately, of course, but would figure it out soon enough. She was a rare sort, she knew, which meant that he would know it as well.

Colgate walked across the muddy ground to the flowerbed and lifted a large, painted stone from the soaked soil, dripping cold water onto her hooves. She carried it to the patio and wiped her hooves on his mat, making sure she wouldn’t track mud along the sidewalk as she made her escape, and then, hefting it with more magic than she was used to, pitched the stone through the back door window. The blinds shivered and snapped like wires, adding to the sound of breaking glass to become the single, sharp warning she wanted to give. She saw the light click on in a nearby window, but didn’t stay. She trotted through the gate, closed it, and crossed the street. Whipped Cream would spend so long gawking at his back yard that Colgate knew she need not worry about him seeing her walk away in the front.

She didn’t run; she didn’t need to. She had done exactly what she had come to do, and the choice was his. If he wanted to respond, she knew her message was clear enough that he would do so knowing that he would not do it safely.

When she got back to Rouge’s house, Rouge was still passed out on the couch, the TV still mumbling quietly. Colgate turned it off, wrapped up the remaining pizza, and went to bed. She fell asleep happier than she could ever remember.

* * * * * *

A few thousand miles away, in the dead of night, in Hoofington, the Astra Crow paused in its foraging. Something strange had come over it, and it stood completely still in the empty meadow outside the Astras’ makeshift fortress. After several minutes, it lifted its head and looked around, its glass marble eyes magically seeing its surroundings. It dipped its beak to the ground experimentally and extended its dangerous wings, giving a single, uncertain flap.

Putting its wings back, it tried to walk back to the Astras’ residence, but tipped over. It rolled across the ground, its hot metal body leaving a wide trail of withered grass behind where its sharp angles did not completely tear up the soil.

Outside the fortress, it paused again, and, as if not knowing what else to do, battered its wings against the ground until someone came out.

Not at Rest

Chapter Seventy-three

Not at Rest

Sleep did not come easily with Applejack’s body on ice just a room away, and Twilight spent most of her night thinking and rethinking her sigil’s design. She knew that sleep was more important, but it did not come until the first suggestions of dawn broke through her window.

She woke up at seven in the morning, and everyone else was up within the half hour. Octavia appeared shortly after from wandering the city all night. Her eyes were bloodshot and apathetic with charcoal rings beneath, and her mane looked to have not been combed in days. She did not say where she had gone, or what she had done, and no one asked.

Rarity and Fluttershy brought breakfast to the room while Twilight prepared the spell. Rainbow and Pinkie helped her move the beds to the side of the room, leaving her a wide, empty section of carpet. Placing their complimentary coffee maker on its side, she examined the room’s dimensions, then began drawing the first sigil. She had to check her reference book constantly, and frequently erased sections with mounting frustration.

“You said something last night about needing us to continually cast spells,” Rarity said. “What did you mean?”

“I’m going to need two ponies to stay here all day long and keep their magic on a slow, but consistent, level of activity. It’ll keep the main sigil active and, well, visible, I guess, in the spirit world,” Twilight said. “Don’t worry. I’ll put in satellite sigils to help you regulate your magic. It won’t be difficult for you.”

“Who do you need for it?”

“You and Fluttershy will be fine, if that’s okay.”

“Fine with me, darling.”

“Twilight, question!” Whooves said, hopping back onto the displaced bed. “Say this works, and our good friend is able to take possession of that little coffee maker. How are we to know she’s within, and how do we convey her from coffee maker to body?”

“Once this sigil’s complete, I’m going to enchant the coffee maker so it activates if a spirit enters it,” Twilight said.

“Is that to suggest that Applejack’s return is to be heralded by—”

“It’s not going to make coffee, doctor,” Rarity said. “Most likely, its little light will come on, and that’s it.”

“Exactly,” Twilight said. “As for getting her back to her body, well, that’s up to her at the end of the day. Physical distance doesn’t mean much to a spirit, so having her body nearby won’t be any better than having it on the other side of the city, except that we’ll know where it is. I’m still trying to work out a way to communicate with her, once we get her. How’s she doing, by the way?”

“Still… whole,” Whooves said. “I believe Vinyl is taking on the unenviable task of replacing her ice. I might suggest we get her out soon, though. After all, what good is a body to go back into if it’s hypothermic?”

“Um, that’s what I’m for,” Fluttershy said. “At least, I’ve been assuming so. Once she gets back, I can heal any, um, decomposition.”

“Hmm, perhaps the title of ‘unenviable task’ was given a touch hastily. Miss Fluttershy, that is hardly an ideal situation!”

“You wanna shut up?” Rainbow said, looking through one of Twilight’s books. “Like, for once in your freaking life?”

“Pay him no mind,” Octavia said slowly. “Twilight, is there anything for me to do?”

“If you’re not too tired,” Twilight wanted to start, but held it back. “We need an airship, Octavia. I know we’re stuck here for now, but I intend to get out and moving as quickly as possible.”

“Moving where?” Vinyl asked, exiting the bathroom. At Twilight’s cocked ear, she repeated herself.

“I’m not really sure. Part of me wants to go back to Applewood and see if we can fix what we left behind, but part of me wants to forget it and focus on the last three Elements. Uh, incidentally, Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy shook her head.

“We’re running out of places to search,” Rainbow said.

“We’re running out of cities,” Fluttershy said. “They’re probably in the wilderness.”

“If I am not needed, I will go about finding us an airship now,” Octavia said. “Where is the treasury note?”

“On the nightstand,” Twilight said. “Oh, uh, the other room. Sorry.”

“You just left it there?”

Twilight looked at her, and Octavia shrugged before leaving.

It was September, and cold in the southern half of Equestria, and it was not good to be out again. Octavia carried the note and a water bottle in her saddlebags, otherwise empty, through the streets of Roan with no clear destination and a headache that had persisted from the day before. The city was dead and silent for her nighttime wandering, but, as it woke up, more and more ponies recognized her, though she had only performed there twice. In Applewood, it had been easier; the ponies there were accustomed to being impressed, and the sight of a celebrity did not often incite more than an excited falter in one’s hoofsteps.

She turned down a slender path to a park in a small depression in the ground, where there were fewer ponies. Frost still clung to the leaves and vines that twined around a fragrant pergola, and she sat on a cold, concrete bench to rest. Even the exertion of walking from the hotel, after making herself pass out trying to stop the Applewood dam and then keeping herself up the night after, was enough to set her head to throbbing and her muscles to burning. Her head drooped, and though the cold bit, she didn’t shiver.

Hoofsteps squished on dewy grass, and she looked up. A light gray mare, only a shade lighter than herself, smiled calmly.

“No autographs, no photos,” Octavia said. “I am in no mood.”

“I’m not here for that, Octavia.”

Octavia closed her eyes. “You know my name, but are not bothering me for any of the usual reasons.”

“Is it really a bother to meet a fan?” the pony asked innocently.

“Right now it is. So, if you would please—”

“I assume you’re in town with the other Elements of Harmony? With Twilight Sparkle?”

Octavia looked at the mare, putting all of the scorn she could muster into her exhausted, burning eyes. “What do you want?”

“I work for Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, and it’s vital I speak to Twilight Sparkle. There is something of hers here, something important.”

Octavia thought, her mood immediately changed. “Twilight Sparkle is presently staying at… I do not recall the hotel’s name. It does not matter; I know the way. If you give it to me, I can deliver it to her.”

The pony frowned. “Give? I’m, uh, afraid it’s not something that can be delivered, exactly.”

“Okay,” Octavia said slowly. “What is it, then? I assumed you were speaking of the Element of Magic.”

“No, I’m afraid not. Octavia, it really is important that Twilight sees it. She must come with me.”

“Twilight cannot go anywhere today.” Her mood was back to its original state, and she got up to better face her interlocutor, who was half a head taller. “She is in the middle of overseeing some very important magic.”

The pony looked around. “The town has recovered already, so I assume you are referring to something else.”

“Take me to the thing you need her to see. She and I are close; I can relay the information to her.”

The pony considered for a minute, but acquiesced. Octavia followed the stranger out of the park, down wide streets into a section of town unfamiliar to her, eventually down a sloping road to a slanting well in the desert. Large, lit spheres decorated the ceiling as they descended into the earth, showing tiled walls and black macadam.

“Have you been underground before?”

“Not in this city,” Octavia said.

The stranger nodded and smiled, her eyes small and clever in the thin light. She took Octavia to a wide building, its top flush to the cavern’s ceiling like a speleothem that had at last reached the floor and so widened until ponies could carve away its middle, leaving sweeping archways as ingress points to brown emptiness. A shaft of light bisected the building, a soft cone in the vault beneath the desert.

“What is this?” Octavia asked.

The stranger did not answer, but led her to the building, then down a narrow staircase carved into cool, gray stone. Lights blinked on as they descended, and Octavia thought she could hear voices through the walls, but did not say anything.

“I’m told you and your friends have encountered ponies of my kind before,” the mare said. “Manehattan, Cloudsdale, and Trottingham being the most notable examples. Rarity and Fluttershy made friends with an associate of mine in Passage Town, outside Manehattan.”

Octavia did not acknowledge the comment, though a memory surfaced: Rainbow, speaking excitedly about “secret agent ponies.”

They emerged in a stone room, undecorated and lit with both overhead lights and sigils on the walls. Other ponies nodded greetings, and the pair waited outside an unmarked door for several minutes before a pony in an abutting booth decided they could enter, his eyes fixed on Octavia as he spoke to someone unseen. At the end of a short corridor, Octavia could hear straining, abused chains and a metallic sound that reminded her of the dam.

“That’s where I remember you from!” the pony said suddenly. A hulking, dull metal shape emerged in the light. “You were the other pony who found this. It was you and Twilight. Octavia, does this look familiar?”

Octavia sat down and ran her eyes over the airship-sized, dark gray lozenge that struggled against its bindings. Six large, blunt wings tried to beat, held back by knots of chains, one at each wing’s base and one ground in and out of its eyehole by the tips. Blind spotlights hung in a row across its top, counterparts to the frosted windows streaked down its sides.

“You bumped into this in the mountains. Remember?”

“I remember,” Octavia said. The night she and Twilight had walked alone, they had found it and gone aboard, inadvertently waking it. With no other ideas, Twilight had shoved it from its perch, and that had been the last either of them had thought about it.

“They’re called angels, and they’re all but gone nowadays. The Astra family has one, their crow. I know you’re familiar with that one.”

“More than I would like to be.”

“Necromancer relics,” the pony said calmly. “Part of our job is to decommission them when we find them, which is not often. However, this one is special.”

“You said that it belongs to Twilight?”

“In a way. More accurately, I’d say it’s under her command—not that I think she’s aware of that fact.”

Octavia looked at the angel again, her sleeplessness sapping any interest she might have in the mighty machine. “How is it that she commands this?”

“She woke it up,” the pony said, smirking. “Simple as that.”

“That was an accident.”

“Angels aren’t made to recognize if something is or is not an accident. There is a panel inside, which Twilight’s magic touched at some point, and that put the angel in her control.”

Octavia rubbed her eyes and sighed. “This is very interesting, and I am certain that she will want to see it, but today is still not a good day. It might be a while before there are any good days.”

“Why?”

“Our business is our own, stranger. I would appreciate it if you showed me the way out now.”

The pony took another look at the angel before smiling and beckoning Octavia to follow her.

When they were outside the building, an idea struck Octavia, and she turned to her quiet companion. “Can the angel be used for travel in the same way an airship can?”

“That’s how they were often used back in the day.” She looked at Octavia with near sympathy. “It’s illegal now. Here.” She produced a business card. “If Twilight Sparkle does have a good day, have her call this number, and we can arrange for her to reunite with her… property.”

Octavia took the card without a word.

* * * * * *

Princess Celestia was out of the country, and the palace was left to Princess Luna alone. She was in one of many Private Chambers, accessible for the princesses and some of their closest acolytes only—a soundproof place for Datura meetings.

Fancy Pants and his wife, Fleur dis Lee, had reported to her on their dealings with the Canterlot Datura, both the reliable, useful members under Fleur’s control, and the rejected members that it was Fancy Pants’ job to keep out of greater trouble.

“Tell me about how Ponyville is coming along,” Luna said, glancing at the clock. “You’ve been in contact with the leader there?”

“I have,” Fleur said. “Most everything is on schedule. The caravan is well underway, but there’s still several vehicles that aren’t ready.”

“Which ones do they still need to complete?”

“The floating battering ram needs work, both articulated sweepers, and the double wheel. Foxglove said the floating battering ram is being especially difficult. I guess their mage down there is having a hard time making the enchantments work properly.”

“Have Foxglove put them in touch with Ink Pearl,” Luna said.

“She’s already overseeing the placement of our talking posts,” Fleur said. “Do you want me to pull her off that, or…”

“No, let her keep doing that. Sorry, I thought she was done already.”

“She can be in around a week.”

“No, don’t bother her. Um, try Misty Dawn.”

“I didn’t know she was back from Cloudsdale.”

“She’s been back for a couple days now. Try her.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Luna nodded, and the pair took their leave with some parting remarks. She had worked with them for close to a century, sometimes together, sometimes separately. As with many high-level Datura, the princess had forgotten the bodies and names they had been born with, and she imagined they had forgotten as well.

Canterlot was preparing to meet Discord head-on, with a group of trained Daturas to appear in pre-selected spots on the battlefield and sow whatever destruction they could, a group of Fancy Pants’ rejects appearing first to draw attention. Luna did not particularly like the plan, but had to admit it was an admirable way to throw off the invading army and remove problem Daturas at the same time. She was happy she was not the one to concoct the plan originally; such disregard for life was not a thought she wanted crossing her mind.

Meanwhile, in Ponyville, the largest concentration of Datura in the north half of the country labored to create a caravan of war machines, magical vehicles to surprise Discord from behind and unseat any of his own siege engines. It was risky, concentrating her ponies in such a number just outside Canterlot, but she did not see a better option. Ponyville would be useless on its own, its meager Datura selection only a fraction better in a battle scenario than the useless Daturas she was preparing to throw to Discord.

Luna waited a minute before exiting her chamber. She had half an hour before having to appear in the throne room for Night Court, and went to her bedroom for a change of regalia—she was in a more somber mood than her light pink robe suggested. She looked in the direction of her office, right off the bedroom, where she could write letters, make calls, and plot the course of the heavens. Inside, her voicemail machine blinked red.

Only a small group of ponies in the country had the number to her personal phone, a device she herself used infrequently. She slid new clothes on and listened to the message, expecting Celestia or the Datura Information Handler. It was neither, and when the message was over, she did not immediately react, but then listened a second time.

Nearly rushing to the throne room, she found one of her custodians and instructed him to hold Night Court as best he could in her absence. Something had come up, she said, and she needed to be in Hoofington as quickly as possible.

Princess Luna teleported directly from that spot to another of her private areas, a small tower that housed her personal airship, the HMS Quasar. She had built it herself for the purposes of speed and quiet, using it mostly for Datura business, but occasionally to tour the country without magic. She considered teleporting herself to Hoofington, something she could do without much trouble, but knew she would not want to attempt a second long-distance teleportation when she had reclaimed Applejack’s spirit. The Astras had no way to know how damaged it was already, and could only tell her that it had somehow invaded their angel.

On the deck, alone, she cast a quick spell to rouse the HMS Quasar, then another to make it invisible. She turned her ship to the northeast, and its two lightweight, magical turbines shot her into the darkness at two hundred-fifty miles per hour.

It was close to eight in the morning the following day when Luna landed far outside the Hoofington city limits. In that time, she had contacted Celestia, who used her remote-viewing spell to ascertain that the Elements were close to five days away in her ship. Leaving it cloaked, Luna flew the remaining distance to the Astras’ fort, outside which their black, metal crow leaned against a singed tree. The Astra patriarch was there to meet her.

“Your highness,” he said, bowing. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Luna walked past him with a nod and reached her mind out to the crow. Its own consciousness, a construct of pure magic, scattered at her probing to reveal the aberrant soul within. Applejack’s spirit had found its way inside, exactly as the Astras had said. Luna could feel the crow’s false soul, small and predatory, pushed aside.

“How did this happen?” Papa Astra asked.

“I cannot say.” She turned back to him. “This body will serve her for several hours still, but I must return her to the Elements of Harmony as soon as possible.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I know what must be done. Stay here and tend to your angel, and keep the rest of your family away. What I will do, it is not for your eyes.”

Papa Astra smiled back insubstantially, and Luna teleported to her ship first, where she scratched out a hasty letter to Twilight, then flew in the direction of town. Her first stop was at an airship dealership, where she, using the fullness of her royal privilege more than she liked to, secured a new ship in the space of half an hour. For the Elements’ quest, the Canterlot treasury had spent the most on new airships.

When the transaction was complete, and the scraping, bowing salespony had finally left her alone, she tucked the ship into her pocket space, where earlier she had carried an entire library, and went in search of a Datura team leader.

By ten that morning, the entirety of the Hoofington Datura had gathered in an underground meeting vault beneath one of their houses, only a few miles from Lumb’s museum. There, Luna conducted a swift, uncomfortable questionnaire before selecting an old mare, a Datura of forty years, to accompany her back to the Astras.

When they returned, she said nothing of the taciturn mare, only sent Papa Astra inside and told him that she had the situation under control. He gave her a final worried look, but did not question her.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Luna asked the Datura. She didn’t know her name, and didn’t want to.

“I’m ready, your highness. I’ve been brought back three times before.”

Luna nodded. The mare was speaking of returning from death, which was different from what the night princess had planned for her. She momentarily considered telling the mare that she was going to do something much worse, but didn’t. Not knowing was happier, she felt.

She directed the mare to close her eyes, then lit her horn and reached her magic into the Datura’s mind. Like sliding through water, she penetrated layers of thought as gently as she could, crossing countless fathoms of secrets, desires, regrets, and dreams, until finally finding the ice hard core of magic and personality that ponies commonly called the soul.

A topic she had written about extensively and researched prolifically, the soul was neither living nor inert, neither completely magical nor completely metaphysical. It could be made to exist in the real world, she had determined, and could even be touched. She had done it once. She, and Celestia, and no one else in the world.

The Datura’s soul was the anchor by which her entire being was allowed to stay inside her body, inherent to the flesh, but also coherent enough to survive outside, if removed properly. Where death allowed it to escape, as though through the destruction of a prison, removing the soul from a living body required finesse, intelligence, and—if she wanted the soul to be unharmed—a willing participant.

Half an hour passed while Luna let her magic feel along the pony’s soul, learning its shape, its tendencies. No one soul was the same, except at its most basic composition, and removing one was a different process each time. She could feel fear welling up several layers above the soul, in the pony’s subconscious. It was natural; she was wondering why Luna had not simply taken her life.

Luna’s magic was gentle, insubstantial, like a veil of smoke. To caress a soul, it had to be; anything more overt could mar it, ruining its host’s mind beyond repair. That had happened as well, one of thousands of regrets the princess held close to her heart.

She said nothing, thought nothing to steel herself. She needed all her concentration for the procedure, which took less than a second, and, she knew, the pony would remember as a sense of utter, incorporeal desolation, for which she would be unable to find a cause. There was no physical sensation associated with the removal of a soul, and no way for the pony to know it was happening unless told prior. Luna did not know whether the mare would eventually figure out what had actually happened.

Unadulterated, her soul took no form at the end of Luna’s horn, and she released it into the spirit world. In Equestria’s spirit plane, there was too little magical energy to sustain a released soul for long, but in Tartarus, there was. Luna was suddenly thankful for the pinhole gateway in Octavia’s mansion.

The pony fell to the ground, her life perfectly washed away, and Luna stared at her. She had performed thousands of exorcisms in her time, but only removed a few souls from their natural hosts. She forced herself to look into the nameless mare’s dead eyes for a full five minutes before approaching the crow and performing a much simpler spell to coax Applejack out of it and into the waiting body. Applejack’s separation had been more natural, a product of circumstances directed elsewhere, and so did not require the same level of care to free. Her soul, her spirit, released into the dam, had undergone no damage, for it was Applejack’s actions alone that made it so. She needed not have Luna’s expertise to handle her own spirit. It was she.

The pony woke up and looked around, and Luna put on a smile. “Welcome back,” she said.

“Yeah.” The pony that was Applejack rose shakily. “What happened?”

* * * * * *

Twilight hardly slept, and Rarity and Fluttershy not at all. They sat, tethered to Twilight’s sigils, their magic at a slow burn that had them both staring at the TV with glazed eyes and drooping mouths into the small hours, while Twilight tossed and turned on one of the beds. Nothing happened, and Rainbow and Vinyl were the only others to keep them company in the room’s bleary, magical light, a vigil of the sleepless and sleeping.

Luna’s letter came in the early morning, starting Twilight awake and thundering to the other room. The message was a terse few lines: “Applejack’s fine, I’ll have her back in five days’ time. Getting you another airship too. Luna.”

At first, they all looked at one another blankly, the sigils smoldering in the cheap hotel carpet. Pinkie laughed, then Rarity, then Rainbow, then everyone. Big Mac cried as he laughed, and his huge, barrel chest heaving up and down with emotion made Twilight cry too. In a singular, joyous moment, Rarity ripped the coffee machine from its spot in the sigil’s center and splattered its pieces against the far wall.

They jumped up and down, bellowed a greater cheer in response to the knocking on the wall, and spilled out into the dining area. Heads turned and newspapers lowered, and Rainbow shot outside, a war cry at the top of her lungs.

Breakfast sobered them. On Rainbow’s return, coated in a fine sweat despite the cool morning air, Twilight had discovered a problem.

“She said five days. That’s five days we need to keep the…” Her eyes moved across the other diners. “Vessel intact, or at least whole enough to be healed when it’s occupied again.”

“Ice won’t cut it,” Vinyl said. “She’s still…”

“Yes, five days will not be enough,” Rarity said. “I suppose I do have an idea, though.”

“Embalming,” Fluttershy said in a low voice. “I can’t see any other way.”

“I have to agree,” Twilight said.

“Question,” Whooves said. “Is it possible to, you know, bring someone back from that?”

“We should continue this discussion elsewhere,” Octavia said. “I would suggest back up in the room.”

They finished their breakfasts and retired to their room, where Twilight’s sigils still stained the carpet, and Luna’s letter sat innocently on the nightstand.

“So, embalming,” Twilight said. “I need to read up on the subject, and so should you, Fluttershy, because the doctor is right. Bringing her back from that will be difficult.”

“My understanding is that the organs need to be removed,” Octavia said.

“I hope not,” Fluttershy said. “Because, um, if so, I wouldn’t be able to heal her. At least, not without help.”

“We’ll have Princess Luna right there,” Big Mac said. “Can’t she do it?”

“I’m not sure how far her power can go for something like that,” Twilight said. “I can write her a letter real quick.”

“Yes, do so,” Rarity said. “Though I’d rather not take any risks, as far as healing goes.”

“Keep this in mind as well,” Whooves said. “If that body is in poor enough shape when Luna returns with her spirit, she might die as soon as she goes back in anyway. Then it’s square one, and one unhappy goddess.”

“I thought you said once that Luna can traverse the spirit plane,” Octavia said to Twilight. “What would stop her from immediately finding Applejack and pulling her back?”

“It’s not that simple,” Twilight said. “At least, I don’t see how it possibly could be.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rainbow said. “It sounds like we can’t do anything until we know more about this embalming process. Fluttershy, you sure you don’t know anything about it? You’ve had animals die on you back home.”

“I never preserved them,” Fluttershy said. “That’s grotesque.”

“Doc? You’re a doctor, after all.”

“Non-medical, my dear,” Whooves said, nodding. “I’m afraid as it comes to the process of preparing the dearly departed for that eternal sleep, I’m as blind as, well, the proposed subjects of such a grisly endeavor.”

“You do get on,” Rarity said absently. “Yes, Twilight, read up on it anyway. Hopefully, Luna can restore her from something like that.”

“I’m just thinking of how to word the letter,” Twilight said, taking out her writing materials.

“In the meantime, I’ll help Vinyl replace her ice.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s for the best,” Twilight said, moving toward the bathroom.

“Might not want to go in there,” Vinyl said. “It’s not pretty.”

Twilight stopped outside the door.

“Seeing her won’t make you feel better.”

“Right.” She went to her bed and pulled out her books, beginning the letter on a cover, and Vinyl and Rarity left together.

Rarity made to turn at an ice machine, but Vinyl flashed her horn and kept walking. “I know Twilight doesn’t care if we arouse suspicion, but I do. If anyone sees what we have in that tub, we’re properly screwed.”

“Fair point,” Rarity said. “Where do we go?”

“First time I’ve gone into this part of town.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure we can find a place that sells ice somewhere.”

They exited into the crisp, September morning. Sunlight exploded softly off smooth stone edges or pooled in puddles from a small shower the night before. Carts leaned to one side or another at the street’s edge, as powerfully tranquil as Applewood’s streets had been crowded, quiet and wide between thick bars of buildings, none shorter than two stories. Flowers stood to attention under slender trees in concrete medians.

Rarity took the lead across a cobblestone roundabout, pausing in the middle to get her bearings. Roan seemed to span in all directions equally from her pivot point, the flinty pieces of stone and dew-speckled flowers the only indicators of her cardinal direction.

“You said you’ve never been here?” she asked Vinyl. “I thought you were supposed to get around a lot.”

“This part of town, I said,” Vinyl said. “I’ve seen downtown.”

Rarity looked at her for a second before recognition dawned on her face, and she resumed scanning the streets for what she wanted.

“There’s a general store.” Vinyl trotted out of the circle, and Rarity followed, finding herself watching Vinyl’s fur in the early sunlight and comparing its tone to her own. Vinyl’s was the merest cream color, buttermilk to Rarity’s snow.

They purchased twenty bags of ice and a wheelbarrow to carry it in a quiet, single-room store. A trio of ponies sat on stools around the counter, their conversation halting as soon as Rarity and Vinyl entered, leaving only the hum of an electric fan and the bristle and crinkle of tinsel tied to flutter before its wind. Rarity hardly noticed the strange looks they received, but Vinyl visibly withered under the naked curiosity, and Rarity held back a giggle until they were outside.

“What?” Vinyl asked.

“I’m sorry. Perhaps this isn’t the best time to ask this, but how are you adjusting to our little group so far?”

“You’re right, it isn’t a good time.” Vinyl’s horn glowed pale red.

“I’m sorry. I have no right to make fun at a time like this. I’ve seen the same things you have.”

“Not more?”

“I’m sorry?”

Vinyl’s voice audibly strained, and Rarity still leaned in. “Not more?”

“Oh, well, sure, plenty more. But nothing like this.”

“Nothing as grisly, I assume.”

“Not even close.” They passed the roundabout again. “The worst would be the night it all started, I think. We were in the thick of things then.”

“I can’t imagine.”

They walked side-by-side, quiet on the drowsing street, their wheelbarrow squeaking behind. A stately, pillared edifice caught Rarity’s eye a few buildings down from their hotel, a copper border decorating its colonnade and snaking down the farthest columns to weave into the single stair up, forming alluvial veins in the marble. Rarity pointed it out and asked about it, and they walked over.

“Just a bank,” Rarity said, looking disappointedly at the sign.

“Not ‘just a bank’,” Vinyl said. She framed the smaller, chiseled letters under the bank’s name: MANSEL. “Recognize the name?”

“I can’t say as I do.”

“The Mansels are one of the oldest bloodlines in Equestria, and they live right here, in Roan. Underground, in the non-tourist part of the city.”

“Underground?”

“I don’t know why it’s like that.”

“And they’re bankers?”

Vinyl turned away from the structure. “Banking got them their fortunes in the old days. It’s different now, so I’m told.”

“What do you mean?”

They entered the hotel lobby and endured more looks of bemusement from the concierge and bellhops. In the elevator, Vinyl continued. “Don’t know any of them myself, and I don’t want to. Powerful ponies, lots and lots of connections. Most ponies think they’re tied to organized crime here and elsewhere.”

“Old-timey gangsters?” Rarity said. “You said you were told this. Do you believe it?”

“I don’t think about it. I’d like to think they’re all wholesome ponies, but that’s a lot of wealth to get naturally.”

Rarity held the door while Vinyl brought in the ice, spared Twilight a nod that she ignored, and entered the bathroom, grabbing a face mask and strapping it to her muzzle. “How do we want to do this?”

Vinyl looked at her.

“I don’t know anything about preserving a body, Vinyl.”

“Think I do?”

Rarity sighed and faced the tub. “I guess let’s start by draining the water. Water makes it decompose faster, I believe, so we should do that.”

“Who wants to dry her off?”

Rarity saw Vinyl’s reflection in the mirror in the corner of her eyes, her face blank, but slightly downturned. “I can do it magically.”

“Okay. I’ll break up the ice.”

“Please.”

Vinyl pulled the first bag off its pile and kicked at it, and Rarity drew back the shower curtain. She had not seen Applejack since the night before, and the mask was not enough to stop the smell from creeping into her nose.

Applejack lay on her side in a pool of slush, half submerged, head peering at Rarity from the waterline like the forgotten, baleful gaze of a sunken figurehead. Her green eyes were dull and rheumy, her fur above the water flat and dry, the fur below fanned out like wreaths of weak flame, blotted by soft-edged ice cubes. She was positioned so that Rarity had no clear look at her backside, but she could see the speckles of filth suspended in the water.

Rarity wordlessly took a towel from its rack, spread it over the bathroom tiles, and levitated Applejack out of the tub. Rank water dripped in threads off her mane and tail to slick the floor, and she settled on the towel with a stiff weight that made her spring back lightly when Rarity removed her magic. Her mouth was faintly open, lips and gums pale, teeth wet, and water sloshed out as Rarity adjusted the towel.

Vinyl kept beating on the ice, loosening it. She did not look up when Rarity went to drain the tub.

“Okay, dear, let’s get you dry,” Rarity whispered, eyes fixed on a blank patch of orange fur. She could see the bones in her hip and spine, articulated behind the skin like construction pieces under a tarp. Where the fur was wet, it clung to pale skin like the shredded remains of a dress, its garish color not lessened from its time in the water. Applejack was noticeably lighter, her entire frame tight and unflinching to Rarity’s ministrations. She started with the limp tail, wringing it out as best she could before running a spell through it to shimmy off the remaining moisture—a spell she used on herself every day after her shower. Applejack’s hair tie was gone.

She moved up to the back legs, rude hunks of flesh that tapered down to waterlogged hooves. Her frogs had swollen and puckered, turned white like oversized larvae drowned in their boreholes, and her hooves dangled and kicked dumbly as Rarity turned and repositioned her.

When Applejack sighed, Rarity squealed and dropped her where she lay, a thick, meaty slap. Applejack’s mouth did not move, but a rotten abattoir smell permeated the room, and Rarity and Vinyl both had to step out.

“How’s it going?” Whooves asked from his spot on the bed, reading over Twilight’s wither.

Vinyl shook her head, and they went back in after a minute.

“I guess this isn’t what you had in mind when you volunteered to join us,” Rarity said. Both towels were soaked, and Rarity temporarily placed Applejack in the tub to replace them.

“Not really,” Vinyl said. “Ice is ready.”

Rarity began Applejack’s mane. She held the position she had in the tub, a twisted apostrophe that made her difficult to turn when Rarity wanted to get her other side. Her muscles had tightened to dry cords, and the entire body bounced and strained like a fruit deflated in the sun.

“Okay,” Rarity said. She pivoted Applejack’s body more toward her, giving her access to the face. Water dripped and ran from her nose and mouth, leaving no trails in the wet fur, while one glistening, glaucomatous eye fixed her with its dead marble stare. Rarity passed the towel over it with tears in her eyes.

Though she used magic, she could feel resistance in the surface of Applejack’s face. She felt the muzzle’s tug, the unblinking eyes shifting in their sockets. One lip curled up slightly and snapped back to its place with a quiet pop. Then, when Rarity removed the towel, Applejack’s face stared out at her as if she had done nothing at all. Her frozen expression returned only drowsy interest.

“Celestia,” Vinyl said softly, looking on. “Thank you for doing… it.”

Rarity bundled the towel with the others under the sink. “Let’s get the ice in there.” She replaced the plug and scooped the remaining ice into the sink.

“Do we put her in first, then cover her with ice, or layer them?” Vinyl asked.

“I don’t like the idea of her touching the porcelain.”

“Ice first, then,” Vinyl said. She upended the first bag over the tub, its contents clattering noisily, then skittering like the contents of an upended vase as Rarity spread the cubes more evenly.

“The worst is done, at least,” Rarity said.

“This is the last time we do it. Twilight’s gonna find a mortician.”

“Good.” They added two more bags. “I won’t be able to look Applejack in the eyes for a month after this.”

Vinyl smiled.

“So, um, we were talking about something else earlier?” More ice crashed, and she kept her eyes resolutely on the tub.

“The Mansels,” Vinyl said. “Don’t know much else about them. Never heard anyone refer to them dismissively. Maybe that says something.”

“So they’re well-known—down south, anyway—and a lot of ponies think they’re dangerous. What kind of crime are they involved with?”

“The popular theory is money laundering. Fits with the banking thing, you know?” She added her magic to Rarity’s, both hues refracting through the ice and giving the tub a momentarily joyful cast of color.

“I’m sort of reminded of the Astra family. They’re from Trottingham, and also quite powerful.”

“I’ve heard the name. Know nothing about ‘em.”

“We helped them out of a predicament once, and they helped us get one of our airships. The one we lost most recently, actually.”

“Interesting.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve got some criminal associations as well, like your Mansels. I suppose the two must know of each other. Do you know?”

“No idea. Again, I don’t know the Mansels. Only rumors.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ve heard of ponies associating with them and coming to bad ends.”

“What kind of bad ends? Like…” She looked back at Applejack. “Let’s get her settled. We’ll need to adjust the ice once she’s in.”

“Want my help?”

“I can lift her. Make a trough in the ice.”

Vinyl scraped a long oval for Applejack, and Rarity gingerly lowered her into it, angling her face away as much as she could without losing sight of her target. The body sunk onto its frozen casket, shifting cubes and groaning lightly again. Her head stuck at an angle, staring leisurely into the shore of ice Vinyl had created.

“Rarity?”

“Yes, yes. Let’s cover her up.”

They poured out most of the remaining ice until Applejack was encased, then Rarity pulled off the shower curtain and draped it over the tub, for added insulation.

She stayed in the main room long enough to tell Twilight that they had finished the task, and then went to her own room for a long, hot shower.

They had lunch at a pasta restaurant, its walls cloaked in withering morning glory, after which they would separate.

“Princess Luna said that as long as we don’t remove any organs, or too much blood, she can heal, uh, the body,” Twilight said. “Fortunately, for embalming, you don’t have to take the organs out, just clean them. As far as the blood goes—”

“What about the blood?” Pinkie asked. She slurped a noodle.

“Well, a lot of it does have to be removed to make room for the embalming fluid. We’ll need to find a way to store it, and then get it back in.”

Whooves nudged Fluttershy. “Bet you’re glad to be off the hook, eh?”

Fluttershy hadn’t ordered anything, and stared at the tablecloth. “I am.”

“So I’m thinking I’ll have the mortician use an IV setup to store the blood. I hope that kind of thing is easy to acquire.”

“Question,” Whooves said. “This mortician’s in for rather a shocking bit of news. What steps will be taken so that she doesn’t run her fool mouth off and give the entire town a panic?”

“I know what I’m going to say.”

“And you are going there directly after this?” Octavia asked.

“Yes.”

“How do we move the… subject of this endeavor?” Whooves asked. “Again, secrecy is important.”

“It’ll look too suspicious to go into the mortuary with the cello case again,” Vinyl said.

Twilight took a bite. It had been a long time since she had eaten anything substantial, and she felt nauseous with the sudden rich food. “They have hearses that we can use. It’ll just be a matter of getting her out of the hotel with no one seeing. Also, I have to say it again, thank you two so much for taking care of the ice today. I can’t imagine how that must have been.”

“It was horrible,” Rarity said. “But it had to be done.”

“Rethinking your noble decision to join us, Miss Vinyl?” Whooves asked.

“Not yet,” Vinyl said. “Nothing like this has happened?”

“Not even close,” Rainbow said. “We’ve never had to deal with something like this. I don’t think any of us even saw it as a possibility.”

“I did,” Octavia said. “Though, I admit, more for myself than anyone else.”

“Same,” Twilight said. “I always knew something like it might happen.”

“For yourself, Octavia?” Vinyl asked.

“I’ll fill you in back at the hotel,” Rarity said.

“While you’re at it, you can fill me in on this Vanilla Cream pony.”

“Our friend,” Big Mac said bitterly.

“He was just doing what he had to,” Pinkie said. “I’m not mad at him. I’d like to be, but I’m not.”

“Neither am I,” Twilight said. “Again: I figured something like this was bound to happen eventually. That sounds terrible to say, I know.”

No one responded, and Twilight bid them all a quiet goodbye after lunch.

* * * * * *

Peaceful Meadows followed Twilight Sparkle at a distance. Both were on hoof, and it was easy for her to blend into the afternoon crowd of tourists and shoppers that clogged Roan’s above-ground streets. She was a toned, but physically unimpressive mare whose orange coat had faded with age, her mane and tail cropped short and her cutie mark a simple hourglass. She was from Manehattan originally, but had lived in the south for close to thirty years, during which she had become a close associate of the powerful Mansel family.

Officially, she worked as a consultant for one of the hundreds of banks that the Mansels owned, but the majority of her payroll came from “duties as assigned,” following ponies who had caught the Mansels’ vast eye, silencing some, keeping constant tabs on others. There were at least five others like her in the city, but she knew neither their names nor occupations in the Mansels’ empire.

She had received word that the Elements of Harmony were in Roan that day, the same day that they received news that Pure Waterfall had perished in a spectacular accident at his dam. How the Elements, known to have been in Applewood at the time of death, had managed to travel the thousands of miles in so short a time frame was a topic of great curiosity and worry for the family she served, and it was her job to find answers.

Twilight stopped at a street corner and studied a piece of paper. Directions, Peaceful Meadows assumed. She slowed her pace until Twilight was moving again, and allowed a group of chattering stallions get between them.

Her plan was to casually approach Twilight when she reached her destination and pretend to be one of the thousands of admirers that she would be used to. She didn’t expect Twilight to enter a funeral home.

* * * * * *

Twilight noted the look of recognition, immediately stifled, in the funeral director’s face. He uttered a courteous greeting and asked her what she needed, his eyes never once leaving hers. They repaired to his office, where Twilight sat across a huge, heavy table from the slight director.

“I need someone embalmed.”

“Of course, ma’am.” His face quivered. “My condolences. Um, can I get your name?”

“You know my name.”

He smiled obligingly. “What sort of funeral do you need planned?”

“We’re not having a funeral.”

A clock ticked softly on the wall above her head. “I’m confused. Then what exactly are you looking for?”

“I need a body preserved, that’s all. No funerals, no service, and no decorations. Just preservation.”

“Um, Miss Sparkle, I’m afraid that we don’t exactly offer that particular kind of service here. We specialize in the full package for grieving families and friends, be it burial, cremation—”

“There is no burial,” Twilight said.

“What? So… I’m sorry, but I’m still not sure I see what’s going on here.”

“How much to embalm a body? You don’t even have to store it, if that’s going to be a problem. I just need a professional to make it so the body doesn’t decompose.” She took out Celestia’s treasury note. “I have money.”

“We can’t just embalm someone.”

“Why?”

“Wh-why? Fond Farewell Funeral Homes does not provide single services. We simply can’t embalm someone and nothing else, just as we couldn’t only cremate the deceased pony.” His voice took on a harder edge. “We’re not in the business of disposing of bodies. We provide dignity, closure, and compassion to the grieving family.”

Twilight looked at him. “There is no grieving family here. All I ask is that you embalm this pony.”

The director shook his head. “Now, if you’d like, we can hold a small service for the departed, but that really—”

“No.”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know what to tell you, Miss Sparkle.”

Twilight scooted back in her seat. She had expected resistance, and blinked slowly, putting all the disdain she could into her expression. “This body will not be dead for very long.”

The funeral director stared back, visibly shocked.

“I am in the final stages of researching a way to bring someone back from the grave, and this pony is my test subject. I need her embalmed, and nothing else. In five days’ time, I plan to return to this place, and the corpse and I will both walk out.”

“Um… um, well, Miss Sparkle—”

“The only other thing I need you to do is store her blood outside her body. I’m putting it back in when the time is right.” She blinked again and deepened her frown.

“Well…”

“This will be the greatest advancement in magic of this age. Do you really want to get in the way of it?”

The funeral director stood up, and, for a second, Twilight was certain he was going to kick her out. “One thousand bits, and not one less.”

She withheld a sigh of relief. “And you will do the embalming process personally? You and no one else?”

“If that’s what you need—”

“It is.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I saw hearses around the back. We can get her now.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“I can… I’ll see if I can find a driver.”

“You. I want you.” Her horn glowed softly, and he flinched.

“Of course, ma’am. My pleasure.”

“Good. If you have a body bag, bring it. I don’t have one of my own.”

Twilight left the frightened funeral director parked behind the hotel. She carried the body bag in her magical space up to their room, where she and Rarity spent ten minutes stuffing Applejack in. With Pinkie and Rainbow watching for observers, she brought the bag downstairs and out to the waiting hearse. She climbed back in once Applejack was stowed safely.

“You don’t have to come back with me,” the director said.

“I’m going to make sure you get this body to where it needs to go. We can work out payment at that time.”

Without another word, but with a nervous, sidelong glance, the director took them back.

Twilight was back at the hotel at six o’ clock, and she was stepping out of the shower just in time for room service to arrive. Everyone was in high spirits for the first time in several days, and Twilight sat down with a slight laugh.

“I have to tell you, Octavia, acting and talking like you really did the trick today.” She spooned a mass of salad onto a paper plate. “I had that funeral director quaking in his horseshoes at the end. I feel kind of bad, actually.”

“Do not,” Octavia said. “You did what you had to do. You are certain that Applejack is secure?”

“As sure as I can be. He said he’d do it.”

“And the IV?”

“It cost us an extra two hundred bits, but it’s taken care of.”

“No more ghastly bathroom,” Whooves said.

“Like you’d know,” Vinyl said, giving him a playful smile.

“Well, perhaps not as intimately as some of our number, but I can fill in the blanks just as well as anyone else. I’ve seen the dearly departed before.”

“Is that on TV, or in real life?” Rainbow asked.

“Five bits it was just TV,” Vinyl said.

“You’re on!” Pinkie cried.

“Now now, let’s not make fun,” Whooves said. “I’ll have you know it was more than just pulp movies. I’ve seen some documentaries in my time as well.”

“So just TV.”

He sighed. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Ha! Pay up, Vinyl!”

Vinyl shook her head. “I bet he would say TV.”

“Wait, so did I.”

“I’m sorry, can we talk about something else?” Rarity asked. “We’ve spoken of death and decay and nothing else all day, and it’s affecting my appetite.”

Big Mac nodded, but said nothing.

“Tell Vinyl about that marvelous Astra machine,” Whooves said. “She’s been bending my ear about it all day, and I’ve not much to divulge, aside from its stunning aspect.”

“Doctor here was the one who stopped us from falling into one of Discord’s traps when we went to go find that dreadful thing,” Rarity said.

“Oh, ‘twas nothing, my fair lady. Just a little—”

“Phone’s ringing,” Rainbow said.

Everyone looked around, and Octavia got up to answer it. “It is for you, Twilight.”

Twilight frowned. “Me?” She approached the phone and held it in her magic, not completely comfortable with the shape so close to her head.

“Maybe someone can explain why Octavia seems able to do magic, too,” Vinyl said behind her.

“It is a long story,” Octavia said.

“Maybe I should get some magic,” Whooves said. “I’ve not given it much thought. Could be a fine jape, I warrant.”

“It comes with a lot of responsibility, I have found.”

“Are you serious?” Twilight asked the phone. She glowered at the far wall, listening to a small voice.

“Who was it?” Rainbow asked.

“I did not recognize the voice,” Octavia said. After a second, she added, “It was not Vanilla. At least, not the voice he has used with us before.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Twilight demanded. Everyone watched her. “That… hey, hang on! What about two thousand bits?”

“Hoh boy, that’s a figure to sweat over,” Whooves whispered.

Twilight bared her teeth as her horn glowed brighter. “Fine. If that’s how it has to be, then fine. No, don’t bother. I’ll get her tomorrow morning.” She snapped the phone into its cradle.

“What’s wrong?” Pinkie asked.

“Who is this Mansel family?”

“Huh?”

“That was the mortician. Apparently, someone from this family called ‘Mansel’ came by and asked about me. They wanted to know what I was doing there, and scared the mortician. He’s refusing to do the procedure now.”

“Whoa, hang on,” Rainbow said. “They’re refusing just like that?”

“Yes, Dash, just like that.”

The room was silent in thought, and then Rarity spoke up. “Are we really leaving her all night long?”

“No. I’m going to wait until they close, then go down there.” She grabbed a book off her stack and folded it into her space. Her voice was hard, her eyes tired. “I’ll embalm Applejack myself.”

For Good Reason

Chapter Seventy-four

For Good Reason

“Er, perhaps we should have a think before rushing off to do this,” Whooves said. “I’m no lawyer, but—”

“There is no ‘we,’ Doctor,” Twilight said, returning to her seat and her dinner. “I’m not volunteering any of you to come along. I said I’ll do it myself.”

“But you’ve never done anything of its like!” He paused. “Have you?”

“No, I haven’t. But I have my research, and that’s going to have to suffice.” She looked around for a moment, basking in the dumbfounded looks that met her. In different circumstances, she reflected distantly, it might be empowering. “What about the Mansels? I’ve read the name, but I don’t remember anything about them.”

“Old bloodline,” Rarity said. “Vinyl says they have connections to organized crime.”

“They might,” Vinyl said.

“They’re a right scary bunch,” Whooves said. “I’ve heard the name pass in certain circles before. Much like our good musical friend here, I have nothing concrete, only hearsay.”

“Imagine the Astras, but more criminal,” Rarity said. “That’s how I’ve been thinking of them.”

“And they’re asking about me,” Twilight said, “meaning that I was being watched earlier today.”

“But why?” Pinkie asked. “What have we done? Um, aside from concealing Applejack’s body.”

“If they knew about that, they wouldn’t be asking what I was doing at the funeral home.”

“Then what is it?” Octavia asked.

“I don’t know, but I’d like to.” She thought for a moment, chewing. “If they’re going to get in my way like this, we’re going to have problems.”

“May I pursue a line of inquiry?” Whooves asked.

“What?”

“It is, perhaps, a hair orthogonal to the main thrust of this little conversation, but nonetheless—”

“C’mon,” Rainbow said.

Whooves cleared his throat. “Nonetheless something that’s jumping out at me. Twilight, you’re being rather… er, ‘dangerously’ is the wrong word, but maybe… worryingly. Yes, you’re being rather worryingly focused on this whole embalming business. Why not find someone else to do the job tomorrow?”

“I don’t want her staying another night as she is,” Twilight said. “And I have to imagine, if this mortician got scared off by these Mansels, who’s to say the next one won’t be too?”

“But is it not true that there’s likely a good reason they’re so afraid?”

“So what if they are?” Rarity asked. “I happen to agree with Twilight’s sentiment. We can’t let this get even more out of control than it is just because of some criminal family.”

“Exactly,” Twilight said. She shrugged and lifted another book over to her face. “Frankly, I’m done letting other ponies get in my way.”

“I like the sound of that!” Pinkie said.

“But breaking in to embalm her yourself?” Whooves asked. “Might you be swinging that pendulum a little too far the other way?”

“Doctor, do you have any better ideas?” Twilight asked.

“I?”

“You,” Rarity said.

“Well, certainly not off the top of my head. It’s a sticky situation, you see, with many factors. I would need to sit on it for a good while before—”

“We don’t really have that luxury,” Twilight said. “I wish we did, but we don’t.”

“We have not for a while,” Octavia said. “Twilight, I would like to come with you for this, actually.”

She didn’t look up. “Absolutely not.”

Octavia looked at her, silent.

“Okay, fine. What would you do if you came?”

“I would make sure that no one walks in on you.”

Twilight shook her head.

“Why? What is wrong?”

“First, I already have magic that can serve that purpose. Second, I don’t want you, with how little sleep you get, forcing yourself to tag along with me. You should stay behind.”

“I do not want to stand idly by while you put yourself through this.”

“I’ll do it,” Rarity said, sighing. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

Twilight thought. “Yes, that would be better.”

“Twilight, I am not incapable,” Octavia said. “I have helped you all in this condition before. What is stopping me from doing so again?”

Twilight put her book back on the bed, looking at Octavia.

“Have I not been doing my very best these last several days?”

“Back off, Octavia.”

“I am sorry?”

“I told you to back off,” Twilight said. “This isn’t your project.”

Octavia stood. “It is just as much mine as it is yours.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me about the research you’ve done.”

She blinked, but held her gaze.

“Go on, really. What research?”

Octavia sat. “I have none.”

“Ah, right.” Twilight levitated her napkin to a wastebasket.

Whooves whistled low, drawing Twilight’s stern look.

“What can I do to help, then?” Octavia asked.

“I don’t really know how you would go about it,” Twilight said, “but a meeting with these Mansels would be nice. I’d like to know why they’re so interested in my whereabouts.”

“Speaking of,” Rarity said, “how are we to know they won’t follow us back to the mortuary tonight?”

“We’ll be disguised. I know a spell.”

“Disguises or no, you’ll be the only two ponies going there,” Whooves said. “Breaking into a funeral home is significant, no matter who you are.”

“But we won’t be followed there. That’s all I want. What time is it?” She looked at the clock on the TV stand. “I forgot to get their hours.”

“Let’s give it a while,” Rarity said.

At eleven-thirty, Twilight and Rarity exited the hotel in the illusory guise of two colts, strong and big enough to not be accosted in the streets, young and innocent enough to appear harmless to any other night wanderers. They followed a resolute path down the sidewalk, past the Mansels’ bank and up a light incline that took them out of the warm city air and into a layer of cooler, damper darkness.

At a stoplight, waiting to cross, Twilight stared into the stars. In Applewood, she had seen them much more than she had expected or wanted; it was nice to see them drowned in artificial light again.

They crossed into a rectangular plaza of shops across from an L-shaped apartment complex, both still faint with last lights. Someone was swimming laps in the apartment pool, and paused to call a greeting. Rarity returned it with a deep voice that Twilight laughed at in spite of herself.

“How much farther?” Rarity asked.

“There’s a pub up here a ways, and then it’s across another apartment complex,” Twilight said. “We can cut through it, I think.”

“I don’t want to trespass.”

“It’ll be fine. I don’t think it’s gated.”

They walked past the pub ten minutes later, both mares pausing to look in on ponies chattering and consuming, glowing in orange and yellow lights. Their own unfamiliar faces stared back in a streaked window, broken by sticky lettering and soft at the edges where darkness shaped them from behind.

“I don’t often find myself wishing for a drink,” Rarity said. “Tonight, I want one. A nice, stiff drink.”

“I know what you mean,” Twilight said. “Come on. Once this is over, we’ll be in the clear. We can go out tomorrow night.”

“That sounds perfect.”

They walked on, down a dark street where they had to duck under overhanging branches from surrounding yards. Headlights glided past in the distance on slithering wheels, and torches bobbed along on carriages, showing only backs and manes on the silent ponies pulling them.

“I know we’ll be doing it shortly, but what can I expect?” Rarity asked. “I already know it’s going to be hard to look at.”

“I don’t remember the process perfectly—I brought the book, don’t worry—but I know we need to shave her first. We’re going to have to pierce the heart.”

Rarity stopped. “Seriously?”

“We embalm the arteries first, and, for that, we have to get to her heart.”

“Oh, Celestia.”

“That’s not the worst part.”

“Great. Just great.” She kicked a plum into the gutter. “Why did I volunteer for this?”

“I think I would have asked you to come along,” Twilight said. “You’re good with delicate magic.”

“What happened to ‘There is no we, Doctor’?”

“I thought better of it.”

They reached the street’s end and entered the apartment complex, passing through a wide, open space of dark grass. Music played from within a lit room on the ground floor, but they saw no one inside as they passed.

When they reached the funeral home, they first traversed the street outside, one way and then the other, looking for anyone who might be around to see. When they were clear, Twilight led them on a tighter circle around the building, stopping periodically to cast spells that fizzled in the cool air before vanishing like puffs of breath. When they had completed their circuit, Twilight pulled at the front door.

“Watch for me,” she said. “I’ll be quick.”

Rarity turned around to face the way from which they came, and Twilight cast a spell to see whether there was any security magic surrounding the door or vestibule. Satisfied that there was none, she used a simpler spell to reach into the lock and move its tumblers, allowing them inside.

“I noticed this when I was here earlier,” Twilight said to the darkness as they entered. “No security cameras. They had them in Applewood, but I guess Roan doesn’t have the same abundance of technology.”

“Thank Celestia for small favors,” Rarity said. “Can we drop these disguises now? I hate my voice.”

“Oh, right. Hold on.” Twilight’s horn glowed briefly, the only light in the funeral home, and their appearances dribbled away. “Follow me.”

They moved deeper into the building, passing a small chapel, a set of offices, and the meeting room where Twilight had intimidated the mortician. Only when they reached the preparation room did Twilight grope for a light switch.

“Dear Celestia,” Rarity said. They stood abreast of a wide expanse of sterile linoleum, reflecting overhead stripes of light to make whiter the white tablets that stood on anvil-shaped stems, ends connected to the counter arranged neatly with chemicals, soaps, disinfectants, and sprays. Each table, depressed in the middle like a shallow bathtub, was fit with a wide, plastic tube, clasped in a small, metal claw off its side, to siphon away any leaking fluid. Gray cords ran along the counter’s underside, trailing into the tables’ bases, powering them for an unknown purpose. The thick smell of formaldehyde coated their tongues as they clicked across the floor, not quite hiding the tang of stainless steel from the sinks as they approached the far side.

They found Applejack, and several others, in the adjacent room, locked into their sliding compartments and freed with the same spell Twilight used to get them inside the mortuary. They unzipped several body bags before finding the pony they wanted, and took turns looking until it was time to lift Applejack to a table. Rarity levitated her; Twilight did not know how much magic she would require, and wanted to take no risks.

“Leave her for a minute. We need to look around.”

“What for?” Rarity asked.

“Those spells I put up were to let me know if anyone comes close, like a night watchpony. If that does happen, we need an escape route.”

“Oh.” Twilight’s concern made sense, and Rarity was shamed that she had not thought of it herself. “What about Applejack?”

They walked back into the darkness, diminished from behind by the light in the preparation room, Twilight swiveling her head. “I’m looking for a casket. We can’t bring her back loose like that.”

“And how exactly do we plan on getting a casket into the hotel?”

“Back entrance. I’m trying to preserve some of my strength, so I can put a disguise spell to it as well.”

“Hm. Well, I’m not sure if I see any.”

There was a moment of hesitation in Twilight’s voice. “If not, we can take one out of the chapel. I saw one in there.”

“Twilight!”

She rounded on Rarity, her voice sharp. “Rarity, I’m sorry, but now is not the time to be squeamish about these kinds of things.” She took another few steps toward the front doors, then doubled back. “I think I saw an exit back where we came from. We’ll use that.”

“I don’t like this, Twilight.”

They entered the lit room, Rarity’s eyes going straight to the body, Twilight going into the adjacent room from which they had gotten her. She watched from afar as Twilight rifled through papers and folders she pulled from a drawer.

“What are you doing now?”

“This is going to be noticed,” Twilight said. “Which means the police will be involved. Best-case scenario, they come tomorrow, after the mortician sees he’s missing a body. I don’t want any records that Applejack was here.”

“So you’re…”

“There won’t be many records yet, since she just came in today, but I’m sure something was filed. It would have to have been. I should also find the records of my transaction.”

“You really thought this through.”

Twilight said nothing, swung her head back around and floated another stack of papers over.

“We can’t spend all night combing through this place’s records,” Rarity said. “You know that.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” She pushed all the papers into a pile. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess. I’ll destroy the whole thing right before we leave.”

“The whole thing?”

“All the files, I mean.” Twilight deposited her book on the counter and opened it to a dog-eared page. “I was wrong. We need to massage her first, not shave her. That’s second.”

“Massage?”

“It loosens the muscles, so the arteries aren’t constricted. We want the embalming fluid to get spread as evenly as we can.”

“And…”

“If you can massage her, I can prepare everything.”

“Twilight, I’m—”

Her firm voice resurfaced. “You changed her ice, Rarity. You can do this.”

“I’m not good with magic that’s that forceful.”

Twilight stared at a line of bottles, glancing at her book and selecting chemicals. “Then use your hooves.”

Rarity gasped.

“I’m sorry.” She looked back. “I didn’t mean to sound callous. We need to do this as quickly as we can, though. The risk we’re taking is enormously illegal.”

“And yet, you don’t seem to be too worried,” Rarity said, looking at Applejack furtively.

“Like I said, I’m done letting myself get pushed around.” She opened a cluster of drawers and searched through them.

“Well, good for you,” Rarity thought, approaching Applejack. She was in the same position as before, her muscles tight and dry under the coarse fur, its luster gone. Her cutie mark was a dull stain on sere orange hair, her tail a flattened, blonde brush splayed on the table. Her face looked shrunken, the corners of the mouth pulled back and the eyes staring with a frozen, intent desire at the empty table beside them.

“Methanol,” Twilight muttered nearby.

The fog of chemical odor was not enough to hide the rich smell of putrefaction so close to Applejack, and Rarity had not thought to bring a face mask. She paced around the table once, stalling to find a more appropriate angle for her task, for which there was none. The table presented Applejack at the perfect height, and a thin lining of rubber cushioning hugged its edge to give Rarity a comfortable surface against which to rest.

“Here we go. Okay, how much? Oh, I need a bucket.”

Rarity pushed herself to her back legs, something to which she was not accustomed, and poised herself awkwardly against the table. Her forelegs hung vestigially over Applejack’s body, bewildered witnesses to the inexpertly arranged pieces of broken statuary that the body resembled, its colors incongruous and too distinct against the white tabletop, the blonde tail a shattered peg lodged between two oxidized plates of flank, cut off to overhang a slightly darker barrel and rearing up like tilted question marks to the dappled spinal contour. One white hoof inched to the closer leg, did not pause, and caressed it gently. Applejack’s texture was overgrown leather, her fur dry and sparse. The leg pushed back on Rarity’s hoof, and the entire body moved slightly as Rarity increased her force.

“How’s it going?” Twilight asked.

“It’s going,” Rarity said. She closed her eyes for a second, reminding herself that Luna was on the way with Applejack’s spirit, and that all would be well in time. She put her other hoof to Applejack’s body and worked the leg muscles. Dry resistance allowed her to massage the leg in only a certain way, and she soon had it pistoning back and forth in a weak, uneven circle, an imitation of natural movement.

“Just pretend she’s someone else,” she thought. “You’ve given massages before, pleasant ones. Just pretend this is someone else, like Big Mac, or Pinkie.” She pressed deeper and harder, running her hooves against firm ribs of muscle that had not moved in days. Before long, her eyes had glazed over, and the astringent light, the burning smell, and the monotonous motion had hypnotized her. She moved to the back, the chest, the forelegs and neck carefully, but never gently. Applejack creaked and croaked, her hooves and jutting bones thumping the table whenever Rarity repositioned her, her mane and tail swishing across the sterile plastic and sending judders through the liquid as it collected around her body.

“Twilight, what do we do when she starts… leaking?”

Twilight moved over and looked at the table, and the body atop. “I’m not sure. Maybe that tube can suck it away.”

Rarity frowned.

“Try it.”

Rarity plucked the tube from its place at the table’s side and located a switch, which, activated, rewarded her with the fibrillating sound of sucking air. She lowered its mouth into Applejack’s fluids and watched them drain away, a tea-brown mixture of nameless waste. Somewhere in the facility, those tiny pieces of her friend would never be identified in an anonymous slurry of medical waste. The thought of it made Rarity flick the switch off before all the liquid was gone.

“Hanging in there?” Twilight asked calmly.

“I’m doing my best.”

“Good. The embalming fluid is almost ready, I just want to let it set up a little longer.”

“Fine.” She stood back up to work more at Applejack’s neck, but Twilight gestured for her to back away.

“She looks great. Well, not great, but, you know. Take a break; I’m going to shave her.”

“For the incision.”

Twilight nodded, producing a straight razor from one of the drawers. She carefully positioned Applejack on her back, spread her forelegs apart, and looked her over, the razor standing against the fur like a sickle in a wheat field. Twilight brought it down and scraped hair away, wiping the blade with a white towel after each pass, repeating until a chalk-white coin of skin winked up at Rarity just along Applejack’s throat. She created a second one over her heart.

“What do you need me to do?”

Twilight levitated the bucket of chemicals over, then the embalming machine, a stout glass cylinder on a stand with a slender, black tube coming from its top. She managed to open it after a moment, and emptied the embalming fluid into it.

“This goes into the carotid artery, somewhere in here.” She pointed to Applejack’s neck. “I need you to guide it in.”

Rarity stared at the blank skin, then the machine, then Twilight.

“Only a quarter inch or so. I’ll tie it off.”

“You’re being too level-headed, my dear.” Rarity looked at the three of them a second time. “Okay.”

Twilight danced a small beam of light off the other patch of skin. “We’re doing the same basic thing for this one.”

Rarity could feel gorge rising in her chest as Twilight replaced the razor with a scalpel. Eyes slowly taking in the body below, she lowered it to Applejack’s neck and deftly unzipped the artery, partially collapsed but still visible. No blood leaked out, but Rarity could see a point of congealed, dark red paste, like a scab somehow assumed into the flesh it should protect.

The cannula snaked on Twilight’s magenta telekinesis, its tiny tip pushing gently into the wound. “Guide it in, Rarity.”

Rarity swallowed and took the tube, her paler magic throwing a splinter of light across the tube’s side and burying itself in Applejack’s throat. She felt the space it occupied, tight and fragile, and slid the tube a fraction of an inch deeper, eyes on the open artery and mind on the tube’s orientation. She could feel her magic against the spongy obstacle of Applejack’s ruined vasculature, microscopic ruptures and displaced motes of blood.

“Okay,” Rarity said. “That should be good.”

A pair of forceps floated to Applejack and, after some fumbling, pinched onto her artery, locking the cannula in place. Before Rarity could bring her eyes away from the sight, Twilight had the scalpel again, and had opened another slit over Applejack’s heart, a longer entrance around which thick blood pooled, dredged from a larger store.

“Here.” Twilight pulled an IV stand over. “I switched the needle for this drainage tube, so we can collect the blood easier. Put it in.”

Rarity looked at her, taking the tube’s end wordlessly. “Put it in. Like an apple going into someone’s saddlebags.”

“Ready?” Twilight was looking at the embalming machine.

“One second.” Rarity inserted the drainage tube, ignoring as best she could the minuscule squishing sound as it pushed into the open flesh. “Okay.”

The machine sighed to life, its gauges twitching in time with its tube. Twilight’s back was to them both, and Rarity searched the still room for a diversion. She found none.

“This is what it’s come to, Rarity, darling. From making dresses and spa visits every weekend to breaking in to a funeral home to embalm your best friend.” She glanced at Applejack, her artery bulging like an earthworm, and realized that it was not a scene she would be able to share later. “Who would believe it? And, of those that would, who would want to know me after learning what I did?”

Twilight mumbled something and turned a knob on the machine, sparing a look at Applejack.

“She’s not herself, either. I can’t imagine any of us are ourselves right now, but Twilight least of all. This idea would never even occur to old Twilight.” She thought again of Ponyville, and of her little sister. “And old Rarity would have refused.” There was a catch in the machine’s noise, but Twilight didn’t move. “I wonder if it’s okay that we’re like this. Like Twilight said, we’re doing something enormously illegal.”

She blinked and looked back at Applejack. “For good reason, though. They’re all good reasons. At least, I think they’re good. But where is that line?” She looked at Twilight’s back, as if it might have her answer.

“Rarity, can you open up the vein a little bit?”

“Oh. Sure, Twilight.” She gently opened the forceps, and the bulge in Applejack’s artery noticeably diminished. “How long does this take?”

“We’re going to wait until the solution is close to empty, then we reverse the tube, so it can go into the parts it was blocking.”

“And then we’re done?”

“Not quite.” She still didn’t look back, but Rarity could hear the dread in her voice. “After that, we need to embalm the abdominal cavity.”

“And… what does that involve?”

“More cutting.”

“Ah.” She nodded to herself. “I’m never going to look at you the same way, Applejack. You probably won’t look at us the same either.”

“Halfway there,” Twilight said.

Rarity sat down, eye level with Applejack’s side. She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

“Once tonight’s over, I’m going to sleep in. I’m going to sleep until ten or eleven, and have a big breakfast, with coffee and doughnuts.”

Rarity frowned at her back, but then said, “I think I’ll just have a mimosa or three.”

“I think you should.”

“And a long, hot shower. I didn’t see if there’s a spa in our hotel.”

“There is.”

“And a massage, then.” She looked back at Applejack. “A living massage,” she thought.

“I might go with you.”

They both sighed.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, dear. What’s on your mind?”

“When we were fighting that dam. Can you believe it was only a couple days ago?”

“It feels like part of another life.”

“Yeah. When we were fighting it, I was putting everything I had into my spells. Naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“No flashbacks.”

Rarity didn’t smile, but felt a drop of happiness in her heart. She had expected the conversation to turn in that direction. “None?” she asked simply.

“Nothing. I realized it later, that I didn’t have one. Don’t get me wrong, this fight’s going to haunt my dreams for a long time as well—it already is—but it didn’t bring up anything old. Hold on.” She adjusted the knobs on the embalming machine. “We’re going to reverse it in a second here. I’ll do it.”

Rarity stepped aside.

“Yeah, so, I just thought that was pretty great. It’s improvement.”

“It’s marvelous,” Rarity said. “And I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” She glanced at Rarity. “Please don’t make a big deal of this, though. I… don’t want to linger. Just move on. You understand, right?”

“Perfectly.”

Twilight pulled out the cannula and inserted it into the other side of the open artery. “What was it like for you? I don’t think I ever heard you talk about your part in the fight.”

“No one’s really talked about it much. Too focused on…”

“Right.”

“It was okay, though. It’s funny, I hadn’t had Vanilla’s new magic for very long before. Part of me wonders if he knows some things in advance. I suppose he must, hm?”

“I’ve always thought so.”

“Holding on to the river wasn’t the worst. You can kind of enter a state of relaxation when casting a spell for so long—you know how that is.”

“Of course.”

“That wasn’t so bad, except right at the end, where my horn was really hurting. No, the worst was my legs. I didn’t want to shift my weight, you know, and possibly break my concentration, so it was like standing on pins and needles for most of that time. That was absolutely dreadful.”

“I’d still trade my job for yours,” Twilight said.

“I can’t imagine.”

“It’s a sight I’ll never forget. One of many.” Her voice lowered. “That thing was so big, and so impossible. Seeing it lift up and take a step toward us, that sound of it coming down, I felt like an ant under someone’s hoof.” She took a moment to adjust the machine. “‘There’s no way we’re surviving this.’ That’s the thought that kept popping into my head. I just couldn’t believe that we would be able to stop something like that.”

“I suppose it’s fitting that we didn’t, then.” Rarity held her tongue.

“But, at the same time, I had to admire it. All of that was due to magic. I mean, yes, it had its technology in all the right places, but magic is what held it together. The spells that had to have been working inside to get it to move like that, and the magic it took to get the river to flow backwards into it. I couldn’t do that.”

“No?”

“Well, maybe in time. Give me a week with the right books, and I could do it, actually.”

“But who would want to?”

“But think about it, Rarity. That dam, that thing, that represents the kind of magic we’re up against.” She sighed and turned off the machine, and Rarity removed the tubes. A pouch of dark, prune-colored blood hung from its IV stand. “A while ago, I wondered what Discord would look like at his full capacity. I think we saw it.”

“What next?”

“We need to tie off those wounds somehow. I wish I’d thought to bring Fluttershy for this.”

“She’d have never come.”

“I don’t know.” Twilight looked around, and eventually settled on a pair of bandages and some gauze.

“Halfway there?” Rarity asked.

“Yes.” She looked at her book again. “Okay, this part’s going to… well, it’s going to really suck, Rarity.”

“More than before?”

“Much more.” She grabbed a long, thin instrument from the counter. “We have to get inside.”

“Like…”

“We’re opening the abdominal cavity. I already have the embalming fluid mixed—it’s a slightly different formulation from the first one—so I’m ready.”

“And what exactly are we doing?”

Twilight approached them, the trocar glinting dangerously. “I’m going to open up her hollow organs, and I need you to clean them out.”

Rarity looked at her.

Twilight looked back, shrugged. “Especially the intestines; those need a gentle touch that you’ll be more able to give than me.”

“Twilight, I really did not think I was going to be doing this when I agreed to go with you.”

Twilight looked back to her book before inserting the trocar with a soft pop of dry skin. Rarity slowly reeled back as blood and clearer fluid welled up by the entry point, smelling strongly of decay and iron. Twilight frowned, wrinkled her nose, and left the instrument in its place to grab a scalpel and a shallow dish.

“I hope this is okay, Rarity. The book isn’t as clear on how to clean the organs.”

“So you’re just going to let me figure it out?” Rarity gasped.

“You should be able to… ugh, I hate this word, but squeeze some of the, er, the juices out.”

Rarity looked down at Applejack again, trocar sticking out of her abdomen like a flagpole, a grim marker of their progress. Her throat was tightening, and she swallowed reflexively, mouth dry. “I don’t think I can.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, Twilight, I seriously don’t think I can. I’m…” She swallowed again. “I can’t even look at it. You expect me to go in there? To go deeper than that?”

“I know it’s not pretty, but—”

“I have to go,” Rarity puled, racing with her head down out of the preparation room and blindly through the darkness, horn alight. All at once, she knew, she had reached some invisible tipping point inside herself. She barged into a bathroom, into a stall, where she dry heaved over the toilet seat. Once she had caught her breath, she opened the lid and bent her face toward the cool water. A small part of her mind called out warnings that she should not be so close to a toilet, but, against the corpse she had escaped, at least momentarily, the ecru porcelain and its glassy water were salvation. She breathed in the cool air, tinged lightly with bathroom antiseptic, and spit a bitter, thick strand of saliva into the water. She coughed, tried to retch, and hung her head lower.

Twilight knocked on the stall door, and Rarity recognized trouble in her tone before the sentence was complete. “Someone’s crossed my first spell.”

Rarity coughed again and took a deep breath. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing yet, necessarily. I put up a bunch at different distances. If it gets closer, though, we’ll need to move.”

“Fine.” “Anything but going back in there,” she thought. “Wait, but she’s not complete.”

“I know.” Twilight sounded worried, and it took Rarity a second to identify a second quality in her voice.

“You’re not thinking of trying to take everything with us, are you?”

There was an interval of silence outside. “This has to get done, Rarity.”

“At the hotel, I suppose?”

“If it comes to that, then yes. Hang on.” Her horn effervesced. “Are you okay?”

“Not really, dear. I don’t think I can handle more of this.”

“Rarity, please.”

“Twilight.”

A pause. “Yes?”

“I’m asking you to empathize with me here.” She looked into her own miserable eyes, staring out at her from the toilet’s white throat. “I know you have your plan, and I know we’re up against a wall in pretty much every way imaginable right now, but I can’t. I can’t just scoop out her organs, or whatever you want me to do. I can’t handle it.”

Twilight’s voice was lower when she responded, after half a minute of silent consideration. “I can try to do it myself.”

“I’ll do whatever else I can to help, but not that.”

For a second, she thought that Twilight had walked away. Overcome with frustration, she had simply left Rarity to her transitory illness and gone to finish the job herself. Instead, her voice, sharp and flat in the bathroom, made Rarity’s already aching stomach clench harder.

“We have to get out of here.”

She gagged again. “What? Now?”

“They’re getting closer.”

“How close?”

“Close enough. Can you walk?”

Rarity shook her head, noticing for the first time her purple hair trailing in the water. She sat up, alarmed and disgusted.

“Rarity? I need an answer, please!”

“Get everything together. I’ll meet you in the room.”

Twilight’s hooves clopped away, and Rarity pushed open the stall, stood uncertainly, and examined herself in the mirror. Twilight’s urgency was lost on her, her reflexes reduced to blunt flashes of information in the last week’s pressure cooker of anxiety and uncertainty. She rinsed her mouth in the sink and shambled out of the bathroom.

In the preparation room, the book, surgical implements, and embalming machine were gone, while the files and papers Twilight had found earlier had been reduced to a salt-and-pepper haystack on the floor.

“Rarity,” Twilight said, a casket floating behind her like a gondola. “Get her in.”

Rarity enveloped Applejack’s body in her magic and tossed her in, seeing as she did so the catch of light on the trocar, still embedded. A wreath of white carnations hung on the casket's wire frame from one side, caught on a flourish of gold-trimmed ribbon. Twilight’s stern face looked around in the casket’s varnished reflection.

“What’s wrong?”

“Making sure I’m not missing anything,” Twilight said. Her horn flared again. “Yeah, closer still. We need to go.”

“Are we just leaving the papers?”

“I shredded everything I found.” She looked around the room once more and moved toward the exit she had seen and Rarity had not. As soon as the door was open, the fire alarm bellowed at their backs, and Twilight cursed as the night spilled in on them. Somewhere inside the funeral home, a foreign voice was calling out.

They raced down a set of stone steps and stopped at the inlet of road, one direction taking them to the main street, the other taking them back around the building. Rarity only looked at Twilight; she had no ideas to offer.

“Shoot, I forgot to disguise it!” Twilight yelped, looking back at the door. “Go to the front real quick, tell me if anyone’s out there.”

Rarity moaned, but crept down the dark road, ears ringing from the fire alarm and the adrenaline pushing at her brain. The air was cold against her eyes and nose, and she wore a preemptive grimace as she poked her head around the corner. A pair of ponies raced to and fro at the front door with flashlights dancing, and she backed away before she could be spotted.

Where the casket had floated earlier, Twilight held a splinter of magic to a string, a gaudy carnival balloon motionless above her head. She locked eyes with Rarity and said, “It’s the only thing I could think of, okay?”

“There’s two guards out front.”

“Crap. Okay, follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

Twilight responded with an abrupt trot deeper into the space behind the building. Where their hooves had clicked on the tile inside, they crunched and scraped on the gritty blacktop. A pale wash of lamplight blotched the smooth, vacant parking lot, hearses in both car and carriage forms lined against the building behind a chain link fence. Beyond, light traffic hissed, and the city of Roan rose up like a vast sandcastle shot with cut glass. The funeral home brayed on as they raced across the lot.

“Shit,” Twilight breathed, slowing at the lot’s end. Another chain link fence, invisible from a distance, hemmed them in from the street, and there was no gate. “I’m going to force it open.”

“Wait until there’s a break in traffic, for the love of Celestia,” Rarity said, resting her head against the cold metal wire. She could feel the seeds of a headache at the top of her spine.

“I am.” Twilight looked back furtively, and Rarity copied her. Every light was on, and, after a second, the fire alarm stopped. Rarity looked down at her white body and hoped that the ponies were still investigating the building’s interior.

A final carriage, pulled by a pair of arguing mares, groaned past, and Twilight set her magic to the fence. Wire twanged and untwined as she peeled an opening for them, and they stepped through and onto the main street with a graceless hurry.

“Okay, casual,” Twilight muttered. “We just need to get this back to the hotel now.”

Rarity shook her head. The fresh air had improved her constitution but a little at the very beginning; with the fear of pursuit arcing across her taxed brain, every breath was shallow, every glance a quick and severe gesture. She had been nervous inside the funeral home, facing both the logistical horrors of death—and her own mortality, crouching behind the main concern like a burglar—as well as the knowledge that there was no clean escape should they be caught. Twilight, with her confidence and certitude, was no help.

“What time is it?” she wondered. It had been eleven thirty when they left, and she did not imagine they were out more than an hour, longer though it felt. They took the same route they had used to reach the funeral home, carrying their balloon, which refused to bob and list in the air, through the darkened apartment complex. Laughter died down as they passed the gated pool, a pair of ponies in the hot tub staring at them.

“I apologize if I put too much on you earlier,” Twilight said. She looked at Rarity earnestly. “There’s a lot to this that I’m trying to figure out as I go along, I’m ashamed to say.”

Rarity sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be upset. At least, not at you.”

“You can be, if you are. I’d accept it.”

“It’s not your fault.”

They stepped into the lawn to go around a puddle in the sloping section of walkway. “Nnno, I guess not. But there’s a certain grace that’s lacking in all this, and I can’t help but feel responsible.”

“You’re doing your best.”

Twilight smiled. “Yes, and look at where my best has gotten us.”

“Oh, pish posh. It’s better than I could have done. I wouldn’t have even gotten her there in the first place. I’d be desperately shoveling ice still, trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong.”

“I still apologize.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, but, if it makes you feel better, I forgive you.” They turned at the next street, down the same dark road from the pub they had passed earlier. The sounds of ponies enjoying their night still hung on the air, diminished.

“We won it at a carnival, if anyone asks,” Twilight said.

“I figured it would be something like that.”

They passed the pub, both mares looking in longingly a second time, imagining themselves on the bar stools or in the booths, strong drinks and good food before them, their only concern whether to get more. Both sighed as the pub slid behind them.

When they reached the hotel, Twilight led them back around to a slim entrance that would take them through the family fun area. A breakfast buffet was cordoned off, its dark chamber of tables and chairs and curving countertops a sharp, domestic taunt to their exhaustion.

Up echoing stairs, through the softly lit hallway, and to their room, where voices quietly rolled over one another, they walked with their balloon riding on a flat trajectory that betrayed no more than the tang of formaldehyde that had barely registered in the open air. Rarity knocked, and Fluttershy threw open the door, her face a map of concern and puzzlement when Twilight squeezed their prize into the room.

Everyone, except Octavia, who Rainbow said was out on one of her midnight strolls, was on the bed playing cards, and they hastened to move the furniture to make room for Twilight. As soon as there was sufficient space, she broke the disguise spell with a soft rain of magical sparkles, and the true object settled on the carpet. Twilight, standing beside the closed casket, askew and still garlanded with the remains of the bouquet they hadn’t time to remove, and looking back with a disinterested gaze, completed a scene as dark and solid as a phlegmatic family portrait of old. Her words mirrored Rarity’s thoughts closely: “I really cannot see how we must have changed to get to this point.” With another quiet pop of magic, the embalming machine, IV stand, and bucket of embalming fluid materialized with their implements.

“Twilight… my Celestia,” Whooves said.

“Is she in there?” Vinyl asked.

“Something came up,” Twilight said, “and we had to leave. I’m going to finish the procedure here.”

“She’s not done?”

Twilight opened the casket, and the smell of embalming fluid filled the room. “No, but she will be soon. Can someone get the TV off its stand? I need somewhere to lay her.”

Four a.m. An old movie played on mute in the corner where they had shoved the TV, and Applejack, prone in her casket, was complete. Fluttershy had healed, with some effort, the dead flesh where Twilight’s stolen trocar pierced, and Rarity was asleep with Whooves in the other room. Her only other contribution that night was placing the cannula in Applejack’s abdominal cavity once it was cleaned out.

Vinyl stood with Big Mac beside the corpse, one hoof on his back. He had offered to help, but, before Twilight could formulate a polite way to tell him that she needed only magical assistance, he had drifted off, his eyes losing focus and leading him into a private world of thought. He didn’t cry, though Twilight sometimes thought he was about to.

She moved a slow circle around the casket, book floating before her face, running through the procedure in her mind, making sure she had not missed anything. When she was satisfied, she sat on the foot of the bed and let out a sigh.

“What about the stink?” Rainbow asked. She sat in a corner of the room, wings fluffed in a bubble of warm air of her own creation.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t be too bad, but I think I’ll need to find a dampening spell,” Twilight said.

“Or we can open the window and turn on the fan,” Vinyl said.

Twilight nodded. “Yeah, or we could do that.”

Hesitating, Vinyl went to the switch to turn on the overhead fan. “Might not work, just so you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry to have to ask this right now,” Fluttershy said, “but you’re sure you won’t get in trouble for this? You’re sure no one will think it was you?”

“I was careful not to leave anything behind, and I destroyed all the evidence I could find that Applejack was there.”

“Except you, of course,” Rainbow said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, that funeral director, he’s gonna remember you were there, and who you brought in. You were gloating about how you scared him just tonight.”

Twilight let herself fall back on the bed, and for a moment, was tempted to close her eyes and let the rest of the morning sort itself out without her.

Vinyl mumbled something, and Twilight tilted her head up to look at her. Vinyl’s horn popped a bright white, and she spoke up, a louder whisper. “Said I don’t see why he would think Twilight’s responsible.”

“She’s the one who has the most interest in Applejack,” Pinkie said.

“Not necessarily. What about the Mansels?”

“What about ‘em?”

“They sent someone to check up on me,” Twilight said, realizing what Vinyl meant. “Scared the director into giving up the job.” She laughed, a sound close to a cry coming from her sapped body.

“Exactly,” Vinyl said. “All you did was drop the body off. The Mansels are way more suspicious. That funeral director has no reason to think you had anything to do with it.”

“Especially if I show up early tomorrow to pick her up, like I said I would.”

“There you go.”

“This is getting weirder and weirder,” Rainbow said. “Am I the only one who sees that?”

“You’re not,” Fluttershy said, eyes on Big Mac, still looking at the casket.

While Rarity slept in, had a luxurious shower, ate breakfast with the Elements, and then treated herself at the hotel spa, Twilight walked to the funeral home again and faked her way through puzzlement, shock, anger, and then acceptance as the police explained what had happened during the night. A pair of ponies—her heart leapt to her throat when the officer identified one as white with a dark blue or purple mane—had managed to escape with a corpse, whom the funeral director had somewhat reluctantly identified to the police.

Vinyl had been nearly correct; it was not the Mansels who were the object of suspicion, but an unnamed, assumed associate of theirs, though this suspicion was only held by the director himself. What they had not predicted was the barrage of questions that Twilight had to endure concerning Applejack’s death and its circumstances, given in return only the assurance that the information would not reach the news immediately.

While Twilight sat in a police station for the second time in a week, Octavia crept back to the hotel room, mane limp and eyes red. She stumbled at the door, spared a blank look at the casket, and collapsed face down on the bed. An hour later, she started awake with a cry of alarm and got up, ignoring her friends’ looks as she went into the bathroom and drew a freezing shower.

When she emerged, looking almost normal, she asked around and found Vinyl at the poolside, speaking closely with a pair of fillies. With one stern look, Octavia chased them away and addressed Vinyl. “I need your help. You know most about this Mansel family.”

“Just chased away a pair of fans. We were having a nice time.”

“My apologies, but this is important.”

“Is it?”

“I am going to try to set up a meeting between them and Twilight, and could use your help.”

“You’re really gonna try to find them? Thought that was just Twilight talking without thinking.”

“It could have been. However, it has aroused my curiosity as well. I would like to meet them.”

Vinyl shook her head and got out of her seat. “I doubt that.”

“They have criminal connections, but are not criminals themselves. I do not think I have anything to fear from them, at least not for a simple meeting.”

“I wouldn’t assume that, Octy.”

“It is Octavia. Use my full name.”

“All right, sorry.”

“Where can I find them?”

Vinyl sat back down, and Octavia glowered at her. “I give Rarity one little piece of trivia about this town, and everyone thinks I’m an expert on it. I don’t know where to find them, or how to get their attention. I’ve spent my life trying to avoid them.”

“Surely you have heard something, even if it is a rumor.”

“Know they’re in a big, fancy house underground. That’s no help; it’s not like we can just pop in.”

Octavia shielded her eyes as she looked up, gauging the sun’s position for the time.

“We’re not gonna try to find them at home. Maybe they’re not as bad as we think, but a stunt like that would be stupid with anyone. Look at what happened to our funeral director. Scared crapless for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Should that not mean that they will be easy to find? If their attention is fixed on Twilight so strongly—”

“Why, though? Say we do get their attention. You know what’s gonna happen then? Nothing good. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if they come for us. If their pony found out about Applejack, they’re gonna find out about Applejack’s disappearance.”

“You suggest that we just wait around for them to come to us?”

Her lime green light was washed out in the sun. “Better than trying to barge in on them where they live.”

“It worked with the Astras.”

“Haven’t ever heard of the Astras having ponies offed before.”

“Has that really happened?”

Vinyl put a hoof to her forehead and groaned, a breezy sound that belied her tone. “I don’t know. When I said I didn’t know anything about them, that’s what I meant.” Octavia looked back at herself in Vinyl’s goggles, suddenly pointing at her. “Not ‘I know a couple things, but hold ‘em back for no reason.’ I don’t know.”

“Sorry.”

“Know it’s not my place to tell you your business, but you know what I think you should do?”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Pull up a chair, order a drink or two, and relax. The Mansels should know about what happened before the day’s end, and they’ll have someone sniffing around. If they’re so interested in Twilight, they’ll follow up. She can have her little meeting then.”

“On their terms.”

“Sure.”

“She will not like that.”

“She won’t have a choice. C’mon, Octavia, sit down for a while. Don’t think we’ve talked much yet. I like a little one-on-one time with everypony.”

Octavia withheld a sigh of defeat and dragged a chair over, keeping her magic hidden from the other ponies around the pool. She sat beside Vinyl, who lay back with a smile.

“So you’ve been with ‘em for a while?”

“Several months now. I was there for everything but the very beginning.”

“Tilt your chair towards me. You’re gonna get tired of holding that ear up eventually.”

Octavia did so, angling herself so her head and Vinyl’s were only a foot apart. “I had seen much of the country before, but never like this.”

“Mm, I can’t wait. Knew you were with them before we met; I read it in the newspapers. You and the big red fella—what a hunk. Don’t think I ever actually got your take on things, though, in the paper. Quiet mare, huh?”

“Twilight told me that the media is not allowed to approach us for interviews,” Octavia said. “They would get in our way and slow us down. Photography is the most that is allowed.”

“Neat.”

Octavia sighed, and Vinyl looked at her.

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

“I am just thinking.”

“Yep, I see that. Bit for your thoughts? C’mon.”

Octavia did not look at her, but surprised herself by speaking. “I do not like the way the last several days have gone.”

“Don’t think anyone could blame you for that.”

“No, not that. But I am worried for the future.”

Her voice, no softer than usual, came after a significant pause instead. “Worried how?”

“I do not doubt that we will get our friend back. That seems to have been handled very well, for which I am proud of Twilight. I was upset at the time, but she was right to stand up to me last night. I did not belong with her then.”

“Are you worried about Twilight at all?”

The question took Octavia aback. It had been on her mind, and everyone else’s as well, she assumed, but never given voice so bluntly. She thought of Twilight that morning, clearly frazzled and speeding out the door, off to pretend to be shocked at something she herself had done. Of Twilight the night before, scooping out drying bile and viscera with the detachment of a coroner while Applejack lay on the TV stand. Of Twilight before that, sweating and passing out on the deck of the ship, trying to stop the dam’s advance; and before that, months before, endlessly researching ways to overcome her private torment. “I am worried about her, yes.”

“Me too. I don’t know her like you, of course, but even I can see that she’s not right. You don’t just do… all that stuff, last night, and be all right.”

“She is doing what is necessary, but I have never known her to make it look so easy.”

“Soooo…” Her horn glowed a light sepia. “You’re her friend. What do you make of it?”

“I do not know. It bothers me, but I do not know what to do about it. In several ways, she reminds me of what I once wished this team could become. Now that I am seeing it, or part of it, I do not like it.”

“What did you wish they’d become?”

“The kinds of ponies who did not shrink from a challenge, no matter how daunting. Ponies who would stand up to any danger and go to any length to accomplish their goal.”

“I see.”

Octavia looked around, seeing whether they were within earshot of anyone else. In an instant, the thought flashed to get up and leave, to give Vinyl a sorry excuse and retreat to the hotel room, where the others, afraid to challenge her stern stoicism, would allow her to hide in bed. Her muscles tensed, and, in her mind’s eye, she saw herself doing it, then laid back, not at ease. “Forgive me. I do not like talking like this.”

“Take your time, Octavia. I’m just relaxing.”

She nodded thanks, unsure whether Vinyl had her eyes open under the goggles. Preferring to believe they were closed, she continued. “For the first time, I feel like there is enough power and determination between us to legitimately challenge Discord. I thought that it would feel good, but I am finding that it frightens me instead.”

“Why?”

“I do not know where it will take us.”

Octavia heard the smile in her voice. “Mm, gonna have to explain that to me, I’m afraid. I’m not really one for metaphorical talk.”

“I expected us to be victorious in the end. I know that that is conceited of me, and that there is no guarantee of victory just because we are on the side of good, but it was what I expected. I believe that I did not actually think about what that would look like, and at what cost it might come. I certainly did not think about how my friends would change. How I would change.” She took a second to order her thoughts. “It is stupid of me to say so, but I do not like this change. I do not like who Twilight is becoming.”

“Who would you say she’s becoming?”

“It is difficult to describe.”

“You just know it’s scary.”

“I feel like I am losing touch with her.”

“Hm, I might suggest it’s the other way around,” Vinyl said. “That she’s losing touch with all you.”

“That is possible, yes.”

“But if it’s for the sake of this grand quest, then isn’t it okay? Know you would think so.”

“Of course. It is more than okay. Nonetheless…”

“Keep in mind that we’re dealing with some nasty subject material. Could be as simple as that, and once it’s over, we’ll get back to how we were. Not that I’d know what that’s like, but you get the point.”

“I do not think that would be good. I do not like these changes that I see, but I do think they must take place. With them is coming the willingness to do what is necessary.” Someone splashed in the pool, and Octavia shaded her eyes again. “This just occurred to me: Twilight might not be the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Twilight could be the first, and lead us all into change like this.”

“Does that scare you too?”

“Yes.” Octavia looked around the pool again. A parent and his children were entering the enclosure, the young ones making a racket as they stormed into the water.

“So what will you do?”

“In Appleloosa, I remember a holy pony, a pastor, blessing us and telling us something. I wish I could remember what it was. It was a warning of some sort, concerning our path.”

“You’re losing me again, Octy—sorry. Octavia.”

Octavia closed her eyes, thinking, not of Twilight, but of herself. She had changed too, simultaneously opening herself to the possibilities of friendship and further tightening her resolve to her goal, something she did not know how to express in words, only live every day.

“Sorry. I’m used to nicknames.”

“Not that. I am wondering where we will end, that is all.”

“That’s a big thing to wonder.”

“It is difficult for me to imagine an end to this, because I have been working at it for so long, and given up so much.” She paused, and thought she could see another pane of color from Vinyl’s horn through her eyelids. “The others have heard this, though I do not know how many of them remember me telling it to them. When this does end, and if I survive, I do not have anything to return to.”

“Thought you were rich. Certainly popular; can’t you get back to performing? Well-known mare like you should be able to pick up a gig easy.”

“I left without telling anyone. While I travel the country, debt is piling up behind me. My work obligations, what few I had, were completely neglected. I have not practiced my instrument—which is now ruined, despite my efforts to protect it—in so long that I would be accepted in an orchestra as a novelty only, and let go before I could begin rebuilding my life.” She sighed. Hearing her thoughts summarized in her own monotone brought a modicum of peace to her mind, as though vocalizing her life also distanced it from her.

“Wow, geez. Not sure what to say.”

“I do not yet know whether it was a mistake. Despite what I have lost, these experiences have changed me. I like to believe that I am a better pony.”

Vinyl grinned. “Seem like a pretty good egg to me. Little on the serious side, but there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Still, I worry about the future, and whether I can come back from where I wind up.”

“If you’ve become a better pony, why would you want to go back?”

“Back to my normal life, I mean.”

“Ah. My opinion? No way. Even what little I’ve seen is gonna change you. All the stuff before adds up, and you’re not gonna get rid of it.”

“So what do you think will happen?”

“Depends on you. You can embrace it and grow, or you can hide from it. I hid from my experiences when I was younger, so I can tell you, the second option isn’t fun. Might start that way, but it won’t last. Doesn’t make embracing them any easier, of course, but, you know. Time heals all wounds.”

“You are remarkably more calm now than when we first met.”

“Don’t let it fool you. I’m just laying low right now, trying to figure all this shit out, like you.”

Octavia nodded. “I am sorry. I have said so much about myself, it did not even occur to me to ask about you.”

“I kept ya talking.”

“How are you taking everything so far?”

“I think okay,” Vinyl said slowly. “I’m not regretting coming along, so there’s that. Wish things had turned out differently, of course.”

“You are getting along well with everyone?”

“Mmm, not sure. Sometimes I feel like an uninvited guest.”

“In what way?”

“Before we moved, or were moved, Twilight and I had an argument. Never really resolved it; didn’t have time. Don’t know if she remembers it, what with everything else.”

“I did not know that.”

“I did something stupid, and she called me out on it.”

“I have done many stupid things in my time.”

“To tell the truth, I wasn’t even sure I was gonna join you after all. I thought it would be easy to tag along, just as long as I didn’t have anything holding me back here, but Twi set me straight.”

“If you do not mind me asking, what did she say?”

“You’re—you all—aren’t under any obligation to take me along, or to validate me severing ties with my old friends. That’s what I did to make the transition easier.”

“You left your friends to come with us, before you even knew we would take you?”

“Told you it was stupid.”

“Selfish too.”

“Yeah, Twilight told me.” She waited for Octavia to go on, but the gray mare had nothing to add. “Now I don’t know if Twilight’s still mad at me because I’m here, or if she’s over it because she can’t change it.”

“She has larger concerns right now.”

“Yeah, I know that. I mean for the future. What do you think? Think she’ll forgive me? It’s not my fault I came along for the ride.”

“You had every intention to do so. Circumstance may have been the deciding factor, but can you honestly say you would have changed your mind otherwise?”

“Gone back to my friends?”

“Yes.”

Vinyl thought, and Octavia glanced at her to make sure she wasn’t missing anything particularly quiet. “Probably not. I’d have tried to seal the deal.”

“So the decision was yours.”

“I guess so. Is it really that bad, though? My intentions were good.”

“The decision itself was made poorly, but that does not mean that it has to lead to bad. You can help us, I am sure.”

“That’s something I’ve been trying to figure out. Seems like everypony’s already got everything, though, at least everything I could do.”

“You gave us light during the battle.”

“Small beans,” Vinyl said.

“Why did you want to come along, then? What did you imagine doing?”

“Not getting caught up in stuff like this, that’s for sure.”

“That is a given.”

“No, I mean small stuff, like individual pony stuff. Thought there’d be a lot more large-scale heroism going on.” She traced a hoof through the air. “Not all this dickering around.”

“I see.”

“Back in Applewood, I’m sure you know, I was all about the relief effort right after The Crumbling. Thought this would be even larger than that—that’s what drew me.”

“You thought that you would better help Equestria with us.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“That is noble of you.”

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t mean that?”

“Because I, too, do not fully trust your motivation. I find it difficult to believe someone in your position would give up their life to come along with us.”

“You did it.”

“My life was worth giving up.”

Vinyl grinned where she lay. “And just as I have no way to know that about you, you have no way to know what made me do what I did.”

“If that is supposed to make me trust you more, it does not.”

“Forget it. I meant something else.”

“What did you mean?”

“Never mind, Octavia. Let’s just be quiet now.”

“If I have offended you, I am sorry, but I do not like to lie about these things.”

Vinyl turned on her side, putting her back to Octavia. “Sure, me neither. Tact is nice, though.”

Evidence

Chapter Seventy-five

Evidence

Sunset blushed behind the turreted mountaintop, its reflection broken in the backyard pool. An inflatable cooler jostled on the water, its middle filled with slushy ice around an empty bottle of white wine. Rouge had finished it, and one of her friends ran inside the house, dripping carelessly, to return with another.

“Here, let’s make some room,” a burgundy unicorn said, lifting the empty bottle out and hurling it into the lawn, where it disappeared in the uncut grass. Using his teeth, he uncorked the bottle and filled everyone’s cups, sitting conveniently in holders on the floater’s rim. “What the heck is this?”

“Can’t you read?” Rouge asked. “That’s port. It says so right on the label.”

“Chocolate raspberry port, to be preeeeeecise,” the other pony, an amber pegasus, said. She slapped Colgate’s back with a wet wing. “No vinegar in this one, big blue.”

Colgate returned a false smile and lifted the bottle to see its label. The four of them, all Daturas, and all relegated to what Rouge called “the good life,” had spent the day shopping, eating, and having fun. It had started with a morning trip to the mall, getting new clothes and trinkets, and then a noon movie. They were kicked out of the theater when Rouge, already drunk, started an argument with the row behind them.

They moved to the streets and had lunch at a fine café, racking up a bill of two hundred bits from mixed drinks, and then skipped out on it. Running and laughing up a storm, they made their way to the park close to their neighborhood and invited themselves to a birthday party. Colgate remembered the sight of everyone’s hooves dancing on the grass, her own uncoordinated and numb from the pills she had been taking in increased numbers.

A stop back home for Rouge to grab another bottle of liquor, for Colgate to take more pills, and then they were back to the streets. One of the other Daturas, also drunk, hurt himself trying to push a carriage over on a dare.

The house where they wound up belonged to the pegasus, whose name Colgate did not remember, and she prodded Colgate with the bottle of port. “So, you gonna have some? Huh? Huh?”

“She can’t,” Rouge whined, leaning to one side and dunking herself in the water. She rose, laughing, and flipped her mane out of her eyes. “She’s on drugs.”

“Ooooooh, we’re telling!” the unicorn cried, and took a draught from his glass. “Whoo! That has some body to it.”

Colgate smiled again and waded to the side. A cricket jumped away at her approach, and she leaned on the decking, feigning being tired of keeping herself balanced in the water. She couldn’t see it from her vantage, but, on their approach, she had seen Whipped Cream’s house, the house she had vandalized a few nights ago. Police moved around the yard with cameras and notebooks, cataloguing her message. When she first noticed it, she was too high to think much of it. In the calming water, the cool numbness ebbing back out of her limbs and her head, understanding slowly filled her.

“Leave her be,” Rouge said. “She’s going through some shit. Honey, I swear to Luna, if you give me that look one more time, I’m gonna rip your wings off!”

The ponies laughed, and Rouge splashed the pegasus before falling backwards into the water again. Colgate’s nostrils flared.

Somehow, everything had gone wrong, and her sole advantage was that she seemed to be the only one who knew it. She wanted to blame Whipped Cream, and had for a little while, but closer reflection revealed the flaw in her reasoning. He had gone to the police instead of confronting her—not unforeseen, but disappointing—but her bad feelings had started before she knew that. The morning after she had thrown a rock through his window, she had awoken with a smile on her face, ready to relish her sense of newfound importance in the world.

By breakfast’s end, she was faking the smile, and only telling herself she had found that important place. Whipped Cream was a convenient target on which to put the blame for her loss of confidence, but the problem was inside her, a painful, silent admission as she took two pills at a time, washing them down with shower water. Something was missing. Whatever she had found that night was not there the morning after.

That was days ago; she had taken six pills today, and had a couple more stowed away in a bottle she had brought to the house, in case of emergencies. A fin of water hit her across the face, and she blinked and sneezed. More port was poured, and she climbed out.

Her path was not clear to her, but the immediate solution was, and she floated the remaining painkillers back to the pool. She took them with a swallow of pool water, then leaned back, savoring the feeling she knew was to come. The knowing was almost as good as the sensation itself.

She swished and swashed back to the group, a giddy smile back on her face, and splashed Rouge, who laughed and slapped her across the face with her lank, wet mane. Colgate laughed and pretended to be thrown back, landing on her back and sliding under the water. The sunset sky briefly wavered and wobbled on the other side of the pool’s surface, and she smiled to herself. “Whatever I was worrying about, it’s really no big deal.”

She pushed herself back up, the smile smaller. Her eyes darted from Rouge to the others, talking and standing much closer than before. “It’s not right. It’s not right, Cole.” She blinked water out of her eyes. Whether from the sudden stab of pessimism or a true lessening in the pills’ effect, one thing was sure: her good mood, as quickly as it had come on, was tarnished.

“I’m faking it again,” she thought.

Another splash turned her out of her introspection, and she looked drily at the other unicorn, his lips locked with the pegasus. Her wings flapped stiffly in the water, initiating smaller sprays that went unfelt. Colgate looked at Rouge, who stared into the yard with a queer look on her face, and then she looked at the floater. Dark wine had splashed out of overfilled cups to stain the rubber.

“Perfect,” Colgate thought, grabbing a cup. She saw the indistinct cotton ball of dying sun in the port’s surface as she tilted it up to her mouth and drank, the sweet and heavy wine seeming to fill her up long before the cup was drained. She sputtered and let herself fall back, spilling the rest, where it clouded the water around her head as she pushed herself back to the surface. Her head throbbed, and a part of her mind, the responsible part that had at one time been in control, suggested that she get out, but it was only that: a suggestion.

For half a moment, that elusive feeling hit her again. She had done something, she had taken action, and things would happen because of it. Happiness colored her thoughts, and then spread away, thinning like the wine that swirled around her middle.

“It’s working,” she thought, knowing even then that it was a lie. Even with alcohol on top of the pills—a bad idea, she knew—no new feelings emerged. No light broke through her foggy mind, no clarity of emotion or reason, as when she had destroyed Whipped Cream’s yard. She looked back at Rouge, who twirled slowly with her mouth open in distant-sounding song. She looked at the pair of lovers, creating a distinct shape against the pieces of house she could see behind.

The sun felt hot, the water thick and without temperature. Her head pulsed, and she looked back at the ponies; she had forgotten what she saw. The lovers embraced, Rouge had stopped moving. She looked again. Rouge stood still, and the lovers embraced.

She looked again, and the sun felt hot.

She looked again as blood slammed in and out of her head. Her breathing was slow and heavy.

Rouge fell forward and the lovers embraced.

The sun felt hot.

Colgate tried to move her head, but her eyes slid across the water, and nothing was done.

Her breathing slowed further.

A splash sounded like it had occurred from the end of a long tunnel.

Dark purple filled the pool near where she stood.

The second splash was much louder than the first.

Rouge sat in the hospital waiting room alone. The other two Daturas had left her once Colgate was gone; they were through the sliding doors before the gurney’s wheels were out of earshot. She tried to read a magazine, but only got as far as the second sentence before having to stop and try again.

Her best friend was incapacitated, but, more than that, she was far too drunk. Even throwing up all the port from earlier, ruining her friends’ pool, she was in no condition to make decisions for herself or for Colgate. When the ambulance came, all she could say was that Colgate had drank too much. She knew pills were involved as well, but no connections had made themselves apparent to her.

She wasn’t even sure why she was so set on staying where she was. She was drunk, and still fairly sick herself, but had enough self-awareness to know that she would be less than useless if anyone needed her. A vague sense of solidarity was the only conclusion she could grasp, but, the more she thought about it, the feebler it sounded to herself. Inside, there were only questions that she could not answer, while, outside, there was the support system of friends. In trying times, friends were truly one’s most treasured possessions. The Elements of Harmony’s example had taught her that.

The lobby doors opened, and she didn’t look until a shape stood over her. Blinking, she put the magazine down before regarding her visitor. A slurred “oh, shit” escaped her lips.

Fancy Pants cocked his head. “I’m sorry? I hope I’ve not selected a bad time, Powder.”

“Sorry, Mr. Pants.” She sat back and rubbed her eyes. “Wasn’t expectin’ ya.”

“How is she?” His voice was grave, and he took a seat beside her.

“I dunno. I guess okay, if they haven’t told me anything yet.”

“I understand there was a little too much drinking this evening.”

“Yeah… you could say that.”

He nodded. “Such is life.”

“Huh?”

“Can you walk? Let’s go outside. Fresh air can do wonders for a troubled mind, I’ve always believed.”

Rouge got to her hooves and walked beside him, trying to hide the sway in her step as the hospital pivoted around her. They walked a ways down the sidewalk toward a sleeping ambulance, and Fancy Pants leaned against it. “Breathe in, breathe out, Powder Rouge. One, two, three.”

She took a deep breath, then another, and her head cleared slightly. She smiled. “It does help, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Pants.”

“My duty, first and foremost, is to support my ponies.” He did not smile, but Rouge could feel the goodwill radiating from him all the same. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t think so. They’ve got her in there, I guess. It’ll be okay.”

“For you, I mean. Anything you need?”

“A couple beers might be nice,” she thought, but didn’t say so. She just shook her head.

“A tragedy. I came over as soon as I got the news.” He sighed. “Such is life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, the life of a Datura,” he said softly. His eyes were downcast, and he appeared to be speaking to himself. “Trapped in a seedy town like this, forced to comingle with the worst of the worst, it’s a wonder tragedies like this don’t strike more often.”

“You got that right, sir.”

“And Colgate was one of my more favored Daturas, too. I saw true potential in her. Why must this happen?”

“Just bad luck, I guess.”

“Yes, I suppose you must be right. That’s the bitch of it, Rouge. Even the best laid plans can come apart with a spot of bad luck.”

“I know how that feels, Mr. Pants.”

He smiled warmly at her, and she smiled back, still taking deep breaths. The air was helping, but she still felt ill. “How about you get out of there? I know you want to stay with your friend, but, as you said, they have everything under control. It will do you more good to get away and find some friends than staying and agonizing in that dusty old waiting room.”

“I guess so, sir.”

“Come on. I drove here. Shall I drop you off someplace?”

“Uh…” She quickly weighed the idea of going home against the idea of another bar. “Just home, I guess. That’s probably for the best.”

“Sleep will do you good,” he said, leading them back to the hospital doors. “Fresh air is good, but sometimes a restful night is better.” He brought them to a sleek, low, silver car, his cutie mark studded on the wheel arches. “This is the car I use to appear in public,” he mused, caressing it. “Hop in.”

Rouge climbed in and rested her head against the window as he drove them back to her house, where she collapsed in the front room and fell asleep.

Fancy Pants drove to the end of the block, parked, and cast his remote viewing spell, the same magic that Celestia used to watch the Elements. Through it, he saw Rouge lying prone on the floor, asleep. He cast it again and saw Colgate in the hospital bed with an IV and a breathing tube while nurses shuffled around her.

He drove out of one Canterlot suburb to another, the mountain rearing up behind him as he put more and more city to his back. It had been a long day, and he wished he could be driving the other way, up to his mansion near the palace, where his wife would be waiting for him.

Instead, he drove half an hour through thin nighttime traffic to a run-down house with an overgrown yard. A rusted washing machine listed to one side in the grass; it had been there for as long as Fancy Pants could remember. The house belonged to Ink Pearl, a Datura of thirty-four years, and a powerful member of his wife’s team. She was being groomed for an instrumental position in the coming battle.

Looking all around for other ponies to see, then lighting his horn and checking for standing enchantments in the area—there were none—he got out and knocked on the door, two pairs of quick taps, the standard Datura knock.

A dark purple unicorn with a messy, dark blue mane opened the door and let him in without a word. She had been asleep, he could see on her face, but he didn’t apologize, and she didn’t object when he sat on her dusty, sunken couch.

“Sir?” Her voice was the only bright thing in the house. It was clear and youthful, a singer's voice.

“Colgate and Powder Rouge have to go.”

She nodded and sat on the floor in front of him. “I’ve heard the names, but I don’t know them.”

“They’re both on my reject team. Rouge is an alcoholic low-life with a sycophantic streak, otherwise harmless, and Colgate’s a verifiable psychopath without her medication.” He smiled humorlessly. “The downward spiral has begun, and she’s pulling Rouge along with her.”

“I understand.”

“Colgate’s in the emergency room. I spoke to Rouge—just came from her house, to drop her off—but she was too drunk to volunteer any information. I’m guessing Colgate overdosed on those pills of hers. A little earlier than I was expecting.”

“Isn’t that good, though?”

“She was alive when I looked in on her, and I don’t like to take chances.”

“Yes, sir.”

He adjusted himself on her couch. “You don’t have anything pressing going on right now, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“I want you to get together with Chilly Clouds tomorrow and invent a trap at watchpoint sixteen. Do what you have to do, but I need them both dead, and I need it to look like an accident. Preferably an accident that one of them made.”

She paused. “Yes, sir.”

“Keep it simple if you can, but I’ll trust your judgment. No summoning and no creatures, though. I’ll have to put on a show of investigation afterwards, and I don’t want anything too glaring. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I want it complete by the day after tomorrow. Lose sleep if you need to. She’s in the hospital right now, but, from what I know of her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she lets herself out early. I want to be able to send them both away immediately if that happens.”

“I will contact Chilly immediately, and we will begin tomorrow morning, sir.”

“Good. I’ll tell Fleur about this as well, and if you have any questions, ask her. Tomorrow, I’m going to be busy telling my ponies how much of a tragedy this is.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Questions?”

“Do you want me or Chilly to remain there and verify that they die?”

“No. I’ll check in on them myself.” An uncomfortable thought passed across his mind, and he wondered whether Ink could see it in his eyes. “And keep the collateral damage to a minimum if you can, but don’t make it a priority.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fancy Pants nodded sharply and got up to leave. “Good night, Ink. Have Fleur contact me when it’s ready, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sparing a look out the peephole, he opened her door a crack and slipped out to the disheveled front lawn. Greater Canterlot shone attractively above him, and he got into his car with a sigh. It would be at least an hour’s drive back home, and he thought about simply going to sleep at one of the spare Datura safe houses. He left the neighborhood, trying to remember which one was closest.

Colgate was allowed a soft breakfast the following morning. A vitamin drip still clung to her foreleg, but the nurse had removed her breathing mask at some point in the night, which she did not remember. She looked around the bedroom and knew immediately that she had missed her pills. Her skin felt clammy and her eyes burned.

She frowned at the nurse taking her vitals, distractedly spooning oatmeal around its bowl. Her horn had been left unrestrained, a detail that did not pass her by, even as fear and anger flooded through her mind.

“So, what happened?” Colgate asked quietly. The nurse looked comfortable in the room with her, and it told Colgate two things: she had not been a particularly difficult case in the night, and the nurse had been around long enough to develop her own quiet, worker’s confidence. Mild confusion and shame textured her voice as she posed the question, calculated to answer her legitimate concerns and mask the fact that she felt worse than she could ever remember.

“I was hoping you could tell us,” the nurse said. “The ponies who called you in didn’t know anything. Your friends?”

“Probably.” She saw the mare’s nametag, but, not wanting to give away her attention to the detail, asked her name.

“Echinacea. It’s a type of plant with medicinal properties.” She smiled at Colgate, who looked back blankly. “You’d been drinking, Miss Colgate, and it looks like the alcohol interacted with something else, but we’re not sure what yet. Do you remember what else you were doing last night?”

“Not what I was taking, but what I was doing. Diplomatic.” Colgate frowned and wiped drying sweat off her forehead. “Two can play at that game.” Another detail that did not escape her was the title Echinacea used: miss, not doctor. Either the nurse was subtly insulting her position, or didn’t know who she had once been.

“Deep breaths, Colgate. Colgate is okay, right? Or do you prefer Minuette?”

“Colgate, please.” She sat up and let the nurse hold the stethoscope to her back, sticky with sweat from the night. “I remember swimming with my friends. I think that was right around when I had to come in here.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Ummm…” She had been prepared to lie about her activities the night before, but found, as she was about to speak, that she didn’t need to. “I’m not really sure what else happened. I fell, I think. That sounds right.”

“Your friend said you had taken some pills earlier, or had been for the last couple days.”

She let Colgate lie back and noted something on a clipboard, and Colgate watched her.

“Can you remember what prescriptions you’ve been taking, Colgate?”

“I take…” A list of common prescriptions jumped to her tongue immediately, lies all, but she held back. “I’m trying to remember.”

“Something for pain, anxiety, anything like that? Have you ever had trouble sleeping?”

“I know I take something for my heart. Atto… something.”

“Atorvastatin?”

Colgate smiled. “That’s it. Eighty milligrams, once a day.”

The nurse noted it on her clipboard.

“But I hadn’t taken it for a couple days.”

“How long were you off it?”

“I wanna say around a week. I still had a while until my next refill, so I figured I’d space the rest out.” Adding a touch of uncertainty to her voice, she said, “I felt fine up until last night.”

Echinacea circled something, and Colgate glanced at it. Echo. Echocardiogram. “How did you feel last night?”

“Last night? I mean, aside from some dizziness, fine.” She paused significantly, feigning thought. “I was having some trouble eating, though. My jaw was just hurting up a storm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, especially when I yawned. I don’t know why, but I was really tired yesterday.”

“Do you take anything else?”

“The odd ibuprofen for headaches sometimes, but that’s it. I took a couple yesterday for the jaw.”

“And how do you feel right now?”

“Kinda crummy, but okay. No pain or anything.”

“Hmm.” She looked at her clipboard for a second. “I’d like to have the doctor take a look at you this morning. We might need to run some tests, if that’s okay.”

“Sure. Do what you need to do.” She smiled warmly as the nurse left the room; everything she had told her was a lie, of course.

As soon as she was alone, she closed her eyes as a wave of goosebumps overtook her. She felt suddenly dunked in water, her sheets rendered invisible, and gathered them to her nonetheless. Her eyes rolled over as she tried to get a grip on herself, and she managed to after a minute. Taking a moment to relax, she then opened her eyes and looked out the window. She was three floors up, but facing away from the main street. A direct escape from her room would be impossible, she realized with a pang of anger.

Calm ebbed away as she tried to assess her situation. From the calendar on the wall, she saw that only a single night had passed. That she could not remember those intervening hours sent sparks of dread adrift through her mind.

“Rouge put me here.” Though there had been two other ponies, she had no doubt that it was Rouge who had taken her to the hospital. For a second, the thought of avenging herself on Rouge appeared, but it dissipated; though misguided, Rouge’s heart had been in the right place. She was not culpable to Colgate’s imprisonment.

She got up, tugging the IV needle with her, and yanked it out with a grunt of annoyance. As sleepiness, whether artificial or natural she couldn’t tell, seeped out of her body, pieces of thought began moving more quickly around her skull. She tried to hold onto them, first all at once with the thread that connected them, and then just the individual ideas as they surfaced. Like trying to catch bubbles in her mouth, no idea lingered long enough but to indicate that she was missing something greater.

She found herself at the window, staring through her reflection, eyes contracted in angry concentration. Rouge, and the hospital, and the pills: no chain of causality seemed to support what she felt. She needed out, needed to be away from the confining walls and the detached professionals that filled them.

Then, it clicked.

“Whipped Cream.” She looked around quickly, afraid she had spoken aloud in her revelation. “He’s smarter than I thought.” The mere college student, seeing her message on his backyard, had held back his true response and allowed himself to lose his pride in her eyes, hiding behind the police and waiting for her guard to fall, to spring and take her by surprise. “And it worked. It worked, Cole. Think about that.”

She could not. The entire plan took abstract shape in her mind, bereft of details but clearly and positively directed toward Whipped Cream. He had been the plan’s architect, she knew.

“Colgate? You should be in bed,” a voice said.

She turned to see Echinacea giving her a hard, but not too stern, look, and returned to her bed with a shrug meant to show innocent bemusement. Settling in, she plucked the IV needle off the sheets and replaced it to her foreleg.

“No! Sweet Luna, let me.” Echinacea tenderly removed it, switched the needle, and stuck it back in her leg. Colgate watched her eyes, trying to determine what had bothered her.

“What’s the verdict? How sick am I?”

“We’re going to run a couple tests on you. We think you may have suffered a heart attack last night.”

“Hmmm. That’s not good.” Pride flamed up and faded away inside her. She had gotten what she wanted, even down to what they thought had happened to her, but she could not relish the feeling.

* * * * * *

Shadows lengthened in Roan, splaying its classic architecture out in battered angles down and across narrow streets. The sun was an orange bit that hung from every window like a pull ring, and ponies filled the city no matter where their taxi carriage wound itself. Twilight, Rainbow, and Fluttershy sat in a neat trio as they curved through town, while Applejack in her casket, disguised as a bundle of luggage, filled the back.

A large thunderhead menaced them from the west, and ponies were already preparing, setting up awnings over shops and stalls. Umbrella vendors seemed to be on every street corner, and the town’s pegasi were busy clearing the smaller clouds away so the city would not get too much rain at one time.

While Colgate was returning from her echocardiogram without any idea of how to handle her problem, or even what her problem was, Twilight stared straight ahead and tried to think as little as possible, mostly to maintain the casket’s disguise—difficult when out of sight. Inside the casket, she had brought a shovel.

They were dropped off at a train station near the edge of town, and from there walked two quiet miles into the desert, past red mounds of rock and into a striped cleft of riverbed. Twilight climbed through a combination of short teleports and regular, physical exertion to the other side, where the pegasi already had found a large patch of soft dirt.

Twilight dropped the luggage, removed the disguise, and opened the casket. Applejack stared back, her eyes bulging and plum-colored, her face misshapen as if packed with black powder. Found that way in the morning, she was a cause for revulsion, but not concern. Luna was halfway there, and the decomposition process had nearly stopped. Applejack’s face could be healed.

Twilight took up the shovel and started digging into the red dirt.

“We’re positive we won’t lose her?” Rainbow asked.

“I’ve marked the location on my map,” Twilight said, flourishing a small brochure out of her magical space. “And I’m going to bury her deep enough that the rain, if it comes, won’t wash her out.”

“I still don’t know what we’re going to tell ponies.”

“Who cares? Once we’re out of here, we never have to worry about them again.”

“Maybe,” Fluttershy said. “But it is a valid concern. Um, I’m not sure if you’ve seen it as much, Twilight, but a lot of ponies know something is up at the hotel.”

“I went for a fly this morning and had to answer like six ponies in the lobby,” Rainbow said. “That forma-whatever isn’t easy to hide.”

“Nor is the fact that every one of the Elements of Harmony, except Applejack, is known to be in Roan. A lot of ponies are picking up on her absence.”

Twilight let the shovel fall back and looked at the large oval she had cut into the earth before responding. “I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t do everything.”

“No, I’m not saying you should. I’m just saying… well, I don’t know.”

“No one’s blaming you for anything,” Rainbow said. “We just hope that this is it. Like, really, really it.”

“I don’t want to see her again until she’s up and about,” Fluttershy said.

“You can say that again.”

Twilight nodded and latched the casket shut, then walked around it one more time, searching for potential leaks. When she was satisfied, she magically encircled the patch of ground she had outlined and lifted it out, a six-foot wedge of displaced earth. Closing her eyes for a second, she branched another spell out and grabbed the casket, then lowered it into the ground and covered it. The process was done in less than a minute.

“That settles that,” Rainbow said. “You didn’t even need us.”

“I needed you,” Twilight said softly.

“Bye for now, Applejack,” Fluttershy said.

“We should get back.” She turned around and halted. Behind them, watching from a plate of sandy, red stone, Vanilla sat with a look of solemn ease. He shone like a second sun in the overcast desert, and did not rise to greet the three ponies. They walked to him.

“To answer your question, for the entire affair,” he said. In the desolate desert air, his voice just as much a physical sensation as it was a sound. Twilight’s ears felt full when he spoke. “I came in just as you were digging the hole with that magic of yours, Twilight. Or is it of mine?”

“It was mine,” Twilight said. “I can tell the difference when I use them.”

He nodded. “A fine skill to have, if not pointless.”

“Why do you choose times like this to intrude?” Fluttershy asked.

“It’s one of my more voyeuristic conceits, to watch ponies at their most genuine. The display of emotion attracts me.”

“That’s really creepy, you know that?” Rainbow asked.

“I applaud how you’ve handled this situation, Twilight. It can’t be easy, burying a best friend like that. Even if you know she’ll be back soon.”

“This was actually extremely easy,” Twilight said. “Getting to this point was the difficult part.”

“Hmm, now that is interesting. You’re familiar with the process of tempering metal?”

Twilight sneered. “You’re going to compare that to the last week for me, right? How I’ve responded to adversity by becoming a harder mare?”

Vanilla smiled serenely.

“Dr. Whooves beat you to it by about a mile. I stopped counting his metaphors for my life at six.”

“I love how quick you are, Twilight Sparkle. That quality, above all else, makes me regret my position with your enemy. You are dead right, of course. I was planning on making that comparison.”

“Why are you here?” Rainbow asked. “Is it good, or is it bad?”

“I can think of another question it would be fruitful to ask: what happened in Applewood? Even for all your intelligence, Twilight, that question has escaped you. You were preoccupied, of course, but, as you said, it’s over—at least, that’s the hope. The past is buried, quite literally.”

“Can you please answer the question?”

“Yes, of course. My apologies. Fluttershy? Nowhere to hide this time, my dear.”

“Her turn?” Twilight asked, turning her broad side to Vanilla as Fluttershy shrunk behind her.

“Her turn. Fluttershy, please, have I ever been known to poison my gifts? Look at your friends. Have they any reason to complain?”

Fluttershy looked at Twilight, then Vanilla. “No,” she said, just above a whisper.

“I have limited foreknowledge, something I know you know, Twilight. I give my gifts for a reason.”

“What about mine?” Rainbow asked. “All I do is… I dunno, tiny weather. Hot and cold, and rain sometimes, you know? What good is my thing?”

Vanilla nodded to her once, as if conceding her point, but said only, “Winter’s on its way.”

“Uh, hello? Sweaters.”

“Let’s get it over with, then,” Fluttershy said, walking out from behind Twilight. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“That is not in my control,” Vanilla said.

“Yeah, right,” Twilight said.

He shrugged, and Fluttershy sat before him. He didn’t bother to light his horn, but they could see from the way Fluttershy’s shoulders and wings seized up that he was filling her with his magic.

“While we’re waiting,” Vanilla said, “I’ll give you a little advice. This does not pertain to Discord or his machinations, but to the Mansel family. You’ve been wondering about them, Twilight?”

“I have, yes,” Twilight said. “But why should I trust you?”

“If you don’t, don’t, but I can tell you that ponies are correct to fear them. What the Astras have in ostentatious magic, the Mansels have in dangerous connections. Many of them are themselves quite dangerous.”

“Exactly how dangerous?” Rainbow asked. She had her eyes on Fluttershy, who had relaxed slightly.

“Discord likes to say he owns the Equestrian south, and particularly Applewood; I’ve heard him say it several times. Perhaps now he does, but the Mansels had it first. Not in any way you could see easily.”

“Did they have some sort of crime syndicate there?” Twilight asked. “And do they now?”

“Organized crime, yes, as well as drugs and illegal magic. I could give you the name of a drug lord in Applewood, if you’d like. Give you a little something to do on your down time?”

“We’ll pass, but I take your meaning.”

“They were also quite close to a fellow by the name of Pure Waterfall. Perhaps that name rings a bell?”

Twilight frowned just as Fluttershy stirred. Vanilla helped her to her hooves, smiling.

“That dam CEO,” Rainbow said. “He was with them?”

“A trusted associate,” Vanilla said, and winked. “Sorry, client. He oversaw their largest money laundering operation, you know. Ahhh, there’s an expression I’m more familiar with. Twilight, you wear concern well, did you know that?”

“What do you mean, money laundering?”

“Twilight can tell you. Now, the choice is yours, of course, but you’d be better off not letting on that you know what I just disclosed. Elements of Harmony or not, that kind of knowledge can put a flashing target on your backs, and you don’t need one right now, not with my master amassing his forces in the cold, Equestrian south.” He bowed to them each.

“Wait. What did you do to me?” Fluttershy asked.

“Hm? Oh, I stacked some healing magic of my own onto yours. It might feel a touch different, but I’m not one to skimp on quality, Fluttershy. Count on that!”

“Different how?”

Lightning flashed from afar, and he was gone, leaving only hoofprints behind.

“You all right, Shy?” Rainbow asked.

“I… actually, I feel great. I feel like I do after a good massage.”

“Money laundering,” Twilight mumbled.

“Yeah, what is that?” Rainbow asked.

“I’ll tell you. Let’s get back before this storm hits us.”

While they were out, Rarity and Pinkie had gone shopping, and they had crowded the bed with bags of warm clothing, much of it fashionable, and a couple souvenirs. In their haste and excitement to get back from a fruitful day out, they hadn’t noticed the envelope on the floor, which Twilight picked up as soon as she entered.

“It’s done,” she said simply. “What is this?”

“Was that just there?” Rarity asked.

Twilight didn’t answer, but tore it open and pulled out a tri-folded sheet of decorated paper, thin as onion skin and marked in tight, precise lettering.

“Well? Don’t keep us waiting, Twilight!” Pinkie said. “Wait, let me guess! Discord taunting us? Celestia telling us why she can’t help again?”

“Neither,” Twilight said. “It looks like an invitation. To the… to meet the Mansels.”

“Let me see,” Rarity said, floating it over. “To Twilight Sparkle and the Elements of Harmony, you are cordially invited… and so on and so on… the Mansels’ office on Fourth Street and Inchworm Way, Sunday at seven p.m. Sincerely, Peaceful Meadows, business correspondent. No response necessary.”

“That was just chilllin’ there on the floor when we got in,” Rainbow said.

“How’d it get there?” Pinkie asked.

Twilight took back the letter and folded it neatly. “Let’s find the others. I think it’s time to switch hotels.”

* * * * * *

Colgate sat through an X-ray, an echocardiogram, and a lengthy talk with the doctor about what she had done the night before, all of them yielding nothing to her in the way of escape plans. In the lengthy, but rare, moments when she was alone, she tried to imagine the steps to take to ensure her safe egress from the hospital, but, between the hot and cold flashes, sprints to the toilet to throw up, and general dysphoria, focus was impossible.

Even more frustrating, she knew she had the ability. She remembered Ponyville, playing the entire city off itself with a few well-placed lies and wounds. Even that morning, she had been able to concoct a small, but intricate set of lies to waste the doctor’s time, but, on her back in the hospital bed, nothing occurred to her scrambled mind.

Ideas flashed in and out like comets, some of them scintillating in their simplicity and brilliance, setting her heart to racing; and others laborious and intense, requiring effort from her that would unassailable in its unexpectedness. No single thought stayed in focus long enough for her to analyze it, and, at the end of the day, she had only pieces of disparate ideas, dust settled from her brainstorm.

Three things she knew for certain: Rouge was waiting for her to come home, Whipped Cream was to blame for her imprisonment, and the hospital staff would be on to her game by the following day. It would not take much scrutiny to determine that she was withholding the truth.

Someone was wheeling a cart down the corridor away from her, and she listened until the sound was entirely gone. As soon as it was, as soon as her attention was diverted, her thoughts spun away again, and more ideas exploded and collapsed until she fell asleep.

She woke up to breakfast, again, and Echinacea smiling at her. “Morning, Colgate. Sleep well?”

“Fine,” Colgate said. She felt sluggish, and her muscles hurt. Her head was gummy, her skin rubbery under the sheets and her short, blue fur. “Top of the world.”

“That’s always good to hear.” She set another bowl of oatmeal on a folding table. “Hungry?”

As the nurse took a deferential step away, several things happened at once. Colgate jerked away in bed as one barbed thought made itself strong in her still groggy mind: poison. The bowl and table overbalanced to spill onto the sheets. Echinacea cursed in shock and produced a roll of paper towels to clean the mess.

One thing led to another. From some buried catalyst in her psyche, Colgate followed the expanding thread of conclusions: the oatmeal was poisoned, which of course meant the breakfast from the day before had been as well, hence her soreness. The nurse was in on it, maybe following orders and maybe not, which of course meant that she and Whipped Cream were related in some capacity. The curse had proven that: she, displeased but not as surprised as she should be, moved with what seemed to Colgate to be exacting precision, as if in a parting shot. “You may have discovered my plan, but you’re still covered in hot oatmeal, Colgate. I’ll just take my time cleaning that up.”

And then, almost immediately, it was all gone. Only the suggestions of paranoia and fear remained, and Colgate watched Echinacea as she bustled around the room, shifting Colgate around to remove the sheets and then capturing someone in the hall to get her another set. She did not move from her tightened spot at the head of the bed, though, by the time the nurse had left, she could not completely remember what had been so frightening as to put her there.

She did not relax, but got up and paced around the room, noticing only after several laps along her small route that she no longer had the IV needle.

“They’ll come for me now. I did something strange, and they’ll want to know why. I don’t know why.” She turned around, half expecting the doctor to be watching her. “I don’t know why,” she mumbled, testing the phrase on her tongue. “I don’t know why.” It felt false to her, but that feeling also came with no explanation.

She looked out the window, then into the bathroom, then at the empty chair for visitors. Dread moved in as a tide, first at the edge of her cognizance, then receding, then creeping further into her thoughts. They were coming, though who they were was not yet known. The nurse, surely, and the doctor, but probably more than that. Ponies she had never met, perhaps.

She raced to the bed and got in. “If I stay in bed, they won’t know I know who they are. I’m just another dumb patient to them.” This, too, felt wrong: the sheets were too clean, too stiff. Normal patients didn’t need the sheets changed after only their first day. She beat at them and got up again.

She sat on the chair, put her head between her hooves, and traced nothing in the floor. She got up and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, but stopped before she could get a ball in her telekinesis.

“They’ll know for sure then. Wet-face Colgate can’t hide anything. She’s too suspicious. Why the wet face, you might be wondering.” Water moved down the clean drain, and she ripped the faucet closed, rewarding herself only with another implicating sound of unrest. The pony in the mirror looked back with wide, watery eyes, and she looked over her back to see if anyone was behind. No one was.

“But they will be, and soon.” She exited the bathroom and looked at her room. Everywhere, she saw signs on her unease. The dent in the chair, evidence of her sitting where she shouldn’t. The sheets, already rumpled, indicating she had been up. The slick sink behind, showing she had run the water recently.

She smiled as a black hole appeared in her rapidly beating heart. It was the perfect trap, and she had walked directly into it. Everything in the room was so perfect, so regulated, that any aberrant behavior was recorded, not with nurses’ eyes or doctors’ notes, but by the very furnishing, designed to retain every slight imprint of her movement, of her plans. Whosoever saw the room would have no questions as to her intent, and her knowledge.

Eyes flicking rapidly around the room, heart hammering, Colgate did the only thing she could think of. She went for the door, opened it, and stepped into the hall. No one was around to look at her or question her, but she could feel eyes on her just the same as she traversed the corridor.

She had no plan. She was operating on instinct, on fevered adrenaline. Another chill was creeping over her, but she ignored it as best she could. She had no idea how much time she had to escape, but she knew her limit was short and shrinking.

“Perfect,” she said aloud, reaching out with her magic. A blue haze grasped the fire alarm’s handle and pulled down. She jumped, startled, when the screeching alarm turned on, then trotted away. Patients and staff spilled out of rooms around her while questioning voices rose up in the floors below and above.

For her, it was meaningless noise. While doctors and nurses helped escort patients out into the hall, many in wheelchairs or on gurneys, many with machines attached and wheeling disjointedly behind, Colgate walked purposefully toward the stairs, ears flat against the ringing alarm. She could feel the piercing sound slapping her chest as she approached the stairwell, the first to do so of a crowd accreting behind.

“Miss! Stop!” someone shouted, but she didn’t look back. She moved down the stairs, the sound even larger in the confined area, funneling and reverberating all around her, pounding on her head like her heart in its ribcage.

On the ground floor, she paused to take in the disarray. Orderlies and receptionists scurried all around, trying to direct patients and other staff to the front doors, so full of motion and jostling machinery that Colgate imagined it was only a matter of time before the way became impassable. Though she had worked in hospitals all her adult life, she had never seen a mass evacuation.

Someone collided with her, but she didn’t look as she tried to blend with the crowd of confused, frightened ponies. She could smell the sweat and medication, a smell she had come to associate with anxiety and tension; only in the direst of medical emergencies did those two scents have occasion to mingle.

Names flew through the reception area, ponies calling for doctors, for nurses, for friends, or for Celestia and Luna. Behind the eruption of noise and the flagrant blaring of the alarm, Colgate heard a thin slap and scatter of magazines slipping off their table. Hooves pounded the tile, and, outside, she thought she could hear sirens.

As soon as she was at the doors, she pushed past a wide-eyed worker helping a very ill looking pony shamble out. Without a second glance, she bolted into the parking lot, the only thing on her mind the inevitable pursuit of her captors. It wouldn’t take long for them to discover that there was no fire, and then the only things on their minds would be her name and whereabouts.

Behind, voices expanded and moiled into a wall of sound that served only to propel her forward faster. As her trot became a gallop, an ambulance pulled up, and the driver sat in his seat slack-jawed at the emerging crowd while no one helped unload the injured passenger.

Colgate reached the parking lot’s edge and shoved through a bordering line of bushes, then took off down the sidewalk. Whether anyone could see her, or had seen her, left her mind. She was nearly free, and all other considerations disappeared in the presence of that grand idea.

Along the sidewalk, ponies were lining up to see the commotion, and a few ran forward to try to help the growing sea of infirm life. She slowed to a walk as she passed a grocery store, her heart straining and stinging. The chill had passed, and she felt momentarily well.

“Oh, crud,” she said, her throat dry. She had not given any thought to what would happen after she escaped the hospital, and had not realized that she had no idea where Rouge’s house was, or that she had no way to get there.

There was no turning back, though. That much she did know.

“You all right, lady?” someone asked. A mare around Colgate’s age stood at her nearby, undecorated carriage with a young pony by her side.

Colgate advanced, and the colt shrunk behind his mother, who stood up a little straighter.

“Are you okay?” There was a note of hesitancy in her voice, and Colgate looked into her eyes. Understanding, cold and hard, glinted there, and Colgate activated her horn without thinking about it. Ideas bubbled inside.

Keeping a straight face, but with teeth bared, she spoke slowly and clearly. “You tell him that I am going to see him ruined.”

“Wh—I’m sorry? What?”

She stepped around the mare, ignoring the frightened colt, and hefted a jug of fruit juice out of the trunk. Wordless, she slammed it into the carriage’s side, her blue magic’s rapid dissipation catching the amber liquid in a lurid relief against dark wood.

The mare screamed and backed away, and Colgate walked on. She could feel something tightening inside, something winding up. She realized it had been coiling in her since the hospital, but could only notice it in the freedom of the grocery store parking lot. The fire alarm had stopped, but sirens continued to crawl in the distance, skewered on the mare’s cries and the colt’s whimpers.

Someone called out for her to stop again, but she didn’t, and walked to the street. A line of cars and carriages waited at the red light, and, among them, she saw a taxi. The driver turned around with a cry of surprise as she stepped in, covered in juice and sweat.

“Take me to the Twisted Plum,” she said, leaning her head back on the seat. She felt hot all over, despite the cool air outside.

“Ma’am, I’m not—”

“The Twisted Plum. It’s a bar, I don’t remember the cross streets.” Not knowing whether it actually was, she added, “It’s nearby.”

He studied her for a second, then turned back to the wheel. “Sure thing, ma’am.” He spoke slowly, the voice of a pony weighing his options. “I think I know where it is.”

“I hope so.”

They began moving with the traffic, and Colgate started straight ahead, watching the cars and carts flow around them, drivers and pullers alike anonymous to her and her plight. It was a strangely comforting thought, that, just outside, there was a city of ponies who had no stake in her struggle. No one to share in her efforts, to conspire with or against her.

It was eleven on a Saturday morning, and Powder Rouge lay on her back, staring at the TV news, a bottle of wine on the table beside a purple stained glass and its cork. She had been up since nine and drinking since ten.

“We are just getting reports that the escaped pony has been identified,” the newsmare said, standing a distance in front of a massive crowd of visibly angry ponies. “She is on the run, and, hospital staff are saying, should be treated with caution.” A graphic of Colgate appeared on the screen. “She was last seen approaching the Golden Bough Supermarket on One-hundred Fifteenth and Sunburst. If anypony sees her, they are urged to call the police immediately. Again, she is to be treated with caution, as hospital staff says may be mentally unstable.”

Rouge rolled over and pushed herself up. Pouring another glass of wine, she looked out the slit in the drawn curtains.

“Mentally unstable?” she thought. “That’s not right. Cole’s just rowdy.” She thought of the painkillers that sat brazenly on the counter. She had received a strange look when picking them up, but nothing more, though she did remember Colgate’s advice that she get the next prescription from a different place. She had wondered why at the time, but hadn’t the heart to ask.

She looked into her wine glass and took a deep drink, hardly tasting the alcohol. She had purchased the bottle for five bits at the closest grocery store before breakfast. In a way, she reflected humorously, it was her breakfast.

“But she did burn that pony,” Rouge said aloud. “But that was just a joke.” She nodded and drained her glass. Her head was spinning pleasantly, and she fell back into the couch. She did not feel happy, but she was not worried. Equestria, and the Datura that occupied it, were distant, and not her problem. Colgate, too, was not her problem—for the time.

“Is she a problem?” The question startled Rouge, who had never thought of Colgate as anything more than a little strange, a little excitable. The ponies on the TV seemed to think she was a problem, but Rouge could not remember seeing anything like it in her own experiences.

She lost herself for a minute in the shape of the overhead fan, its blades static. She stared long enough for them to resemble holes in the beige ceiling, then leaned forward again, a habitual movement that brought her closer to her wine, then over and on to the floor. She closed her eyes.

Then, an instant hour later, she rolled over to a voice repeating her name. She opened fuzzy-feeling eyes to look up at Colgate, haggard, pale, and sticky, standing over her and speaking rapidly.

“Wait, hold on, hold on, good buddy,” Rouge whispered. She rolled over and knocked her head on the table. The wine bottle jostled.

“Rouge, you’re drunk.”

Rouge chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that.” She looked at her roommate again. “Hey, wait, you’re on the TV news.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here.” She looked furtively at the door. “We need to go.”

“Huh?”

Colgate took a deep breath, but her voice did not slow down. “We have to get out of here, Rouge. Don’t worry, I already got my pills. They’re safe.”

“I’m not… I’m, uh, I’m not sure I’m following,” Rouge said, finally standing. She reached for the wine, but Colgate slid it away.

“Not now. I need you to focus and help me out. They’re going to find us here eventually.”

“Who, ‘they’?”

“The police, mostly.”

Rouge looked at the bottle. “Can I have that back?”

“We need to go,” Colgate said, smiling lightly. “Not far. I figure we can stay at a hotel or something.”

“Colgate, come on, it’s like five in the afternoon.”

“It’s noon.” A note of finality tinged her voice, and Rouge looked at her hooves.

“Well, I sure can’t drive us anywhere.”

Colgate appeared not to hear. She walked past and peeked out the blinds to the back yard.

“Cole?”

Colgate manipulated the pill bottle open and tipped a couple capsules onto the table. Without pausing for speech or thought, she went to the kitchen, grabbed a spoon and a glass, and set to work crushing them.

“What are you doing?”

“Rouge, we’re about to be in big trouble, so I suggest you think of some way we can get out of here.” She scraped the dust into her spoon and considered it for a moment before daintily snorting it.

Rouge observed the spectacle impassively. “I can get a friend to drive us somewhere, yeah. Like a getaway thing, right?”

“Let’s go!” Colgate cried cheerily. Her cheeks were aflame and her eyes and nose were running, but her smile was so genuine that Rouge had to return it before heading for the door—with one last check that her wine was still safely floating by Colgate’s side.

They didn’t lock the door behind them. Rouge stumbled across her lawn, once well tended, and Colgate moved behind with long, purposeful strides. She looked imperiously down the road and asked, “Who shall it be?”

“I got it, I got it.” Rouge trotted unsteadily down the sidewalk to the house on the corner, knocking for a full thirty seconds before a caramel-colored pony answered. Colgate lagged behind, lost in what she looked at, and, after a minute of talking, Rouge dragged her in.

Much like Rouge’s house, the caramel pony’s quarters were more sedate than Colgate was expecting. A table of art supplies occupied one corner beside a vacant cat bed, while a small placard reading “Bless This Mess” hung opposite. No signs of unrest or illicit activities marked the area, and Colgate could hear water running in the adjacent room.

“Sweet Dreams,” the pony said in a nasal voice, pumping Colgate’s hoof. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m a good buddy of Rouge’s.”

Colgate only smiled at her.

“You were both out of your minds that night. Hey, you’re that pony from the news!” She smiled and gamboled into the other room. “Sun goddess help me now, for I am a party to criminal activity!”

“Cut the crap, Sweet,” Rouge said. “Cole says we’ve gotta get going, like, yesterday.”

“Going?”

“As in vamoose.”

“Like, get outta town vamoose?”

“Cole?”

Colgate frowned at them. “Just away from the house for a while. We need to… ugh, like a motel or something. Something where we can lay low.”

“You heard her,” Rouge said. “Like a motel or something, so we can lay low. Hey, make it a place with a pool, though.”

Sweet Dreams rolled her eyes. “I’ll make it right up your ass. What makes you think I can just drop everything and drive your sorry selves around, huh?”

“C’mon, Sweet. Datura code.”

“No such thing.” She took a step back, grimacing. “Celestia, you stink. Have you been drinking?”

“Not much,” Rouge said. “Now that you mention it, though—”

“After we get to the hotel,” Colgate said. “You can get back to ruining your life once we’re in the clear.”

“Hey, Cole, quit doggin’ me.”

Colgate looked at her quietly for a second, then swung the wine bottle up with a whooshing telekinetic arc. It hit the ceiling and came open on Sweet Dreams’ carpet, spilling very little. She stared at Rouge, who stared back, shocked, and turned out of the room, her tail switching back and forth.

“Hey, you know what? I think I can spare a little driving,” Sweet Dreams said. “I think I’d be happy to get you two on your way after all.”

Rouge nodded sedately and picked up the bottle, looking at the spill and then taking another long swig.

“You should probably put that down, Rouge.”

“Yeah, you may be right.” She placed it back on the floor and went down a short hall to a living room, then to a garage where Sweet Dreams cranked open the rattling door. The sunlight revealed a large, empty aquarium tank, its glass speckled with calcification and its wooden stand rotting in places. She helped Sweet push it out of the way.

“As you can see, I don’t go driving much,” Sweet said. “Last time I did, must’ve been… eh, three, four years ago. Everything’s within walking distance now.” She tried to open the car door. “I know I’ve got the keys somewhere.”

Rouge followed her back into the house and looked for Colgate, who had disappeared elsewhere. She had never been in this particular friend’s house.

“Bingo, right where I thought they were! Get your friend, and let’s get out of here. Do you have cops after you?”

“If not now, soon,” Colgate said, stepping out from a different hallway. Sweet had already turned away, and did not see the pair of bulky crystals that hung in Colgate’s telekinetic grasp, entangled in dark brown straps and lashes. Rouge tried to give Colgate a questioning look, but the blue unicorn ignored it.

They climbed in, Colgate lying as flat as she could while making room for Rouge, who leaned her head against the window just as she had in Fancy Pants’ car. Sweet fumbled with the keys.

“So, I don’t want to pry, but what exactly happened?” Sweet asked. “Something at the hospital? The news wasn’t very clear.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Colgate said.

“I’d like to worry about it,” Rouge said, and hiccupped.

“I’ll fill you in when we get settled.” She took out her pill bottle as the car started.

“Boo-yah! Still works!” Sweet cried. “Okay ladies, comfortable? Keep your heads and limbs inside the vehicle at all times, no roughhousing, no—”

“You wanna get us out of here?” Rouge said.

“I’m working on it, I’m working on it.” They slowly rolled back out of the driveway, and Sweet gave Rouge a sour look as she checked her rear. “One last question, and maybe I should have led with this. Am I gonna get in trouble for helping you?”

“You shouldn’t,” Colgate said. “They have no idea you know me.”

“Good enough for me.” They sped west out of the neighborhood.

Sundrop Inn was a two-story L that embraced a small pool and faced away from the main street, its huge, plaster sign resembling a colorful teardrop overhanging a short, green lawn. A pair of overweight ponies inclined their heads simultaneously from their checkered beach towels as Sweet Dreams managed to curb her car on the turn in.

Colgate and Rouge jumped out looking like a pair of performers. Rouge wheeled and stumbled, taking in air in huge, fishlike gasps and occasionally leaning over an ashtray beside a streetlamp, while Colgate looked around with a manic glint in her eyes and an electric tension in her steps. She thanked Sweet tersely for the ride, and the room money Rouge had begged off her halfway to their destination.

Then, the car pulled away, banging a wheel arch as it clunked off the curb and leaving a trail of smoke in its wake.

Rouge was finally puking in an ashtray when Colgate entered the lobby. A lone stallion in a dark green vest was speaking with the single pony at the front, so Colgate sat to the side and took in her surroundings as best she could. She was still glowing from the powder she had snorted, and even though she was running low on pills, she was too euphoric to care.

The entire room was floored with white tile and walled with a wood pattern. A tiny table sat to one side, piled with magazines, across which she could see an empty dining room. An offset door stood open on the other side of the lobby to a maroon staircase.

“Honey, I’m home!” Rouge called out, throwing open the doors and slouching in. “Celestia, Cole, I gotta tell you, I’m actually feeling a lot better now.”

The stallion looked back at them nervously.

“I think I need like a, a shot of vodka or something. Something to get me straight, you know? Get my head in the game.”

“I’m sorry, can you please keep your voice down?” the stallion asked, not looking at her, his head high and stiff.

Colgate stood up, but Rouge reached out and put a hoof to her side. She sat back down slowly.

After the stallion left, they purchased a couple nights in the cheapest room they could on the bottom floor. It afforded them a view of the sandwich shop next-door and a queen-sized bed squeezed into an alcove. Colgate set the pulse crystals in the bathroom sink and began crushing up another pill.

“So, what’s the deal with those?” Rouge asked, looking around the room.

“I found them in Sweet Dream’s house. They were hanging over her mantle in one of the rooms.”

“So you took ‘em?”

“It’s the smart thing to do.”

Rouge tested the bed. “Is it?”

Colgate snorted the powder and came back out, stopping to wipe her nose on a corner of the sheets.

“And what’s this now? You’re snorting stuff?”

“It’s a quicker, more efficient way to introduce the painkillers, that’s all. They last longer too.”

Rouge thought for a long time, and Colgate turned on the TV. She was still on the news, but her face was calm as she watched the ponies report on her last known location.

“I don’t think they saw me get to your place.”

“Isn’t that what hurt you yesterday, though?”

“What are you talking about?”

“When you went into the hospital, Cole. C’mon, even I remember that.”

“That wasn’t yesterday, it was the day before.”

“Whatever, whatever, whatever.” Rouge lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “But that is what happened, right?”

“I mixed them with alcohol, which is a bad idea.”

“Ohhh, okay. I thought you had too many.”

“I can’t have too many, as long as I’m careful.” She rattled the bottle. “Besides, I’m almost out. I might need you to get me another prescription tomorrow.”

“Me?”

“Wait, no, you’re right, you can’t show your face in public. I’ll find someone else to do it. The check-in pony should be fine. He probably does it all the time, working at a place like this.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna take a break first?”

“I am sure. These pills are perfect, Rouge. They enlighten me, they help me think straight. I can actually be myself when I’m taking them. Though the effects do wear off a little too quick for me. I’ll up the dosage on my next prescription.”

“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Rouge said. “Hold the phone.” She rolled over, and her question was muffled in the sheets. “Colgate, are you addicted?”

“Not even close.” She shook the bottle again, then placed it on the bedside table. “I’d know it if I was.”

They stayed up until eleven watching with growing dread as the news continued to break. When they turned the TV off and settled in for bed, the police had found Colgate and Rouge’s house, and were in the process of getting a search warrant.

Both mares were quiet. Rouge had sobered up, and lay with Colgate, gently stroking her chest fur as they listened to the sounds of traffic outside. Even though her head was clear, she didn’t feel well. It was her first sober night in several days.

She turned over, and Colgate moaned in her sleep. Her eyes felt solid in her head as she watched the ceiling, watched the hands turn on the clock. Eventually, at quarter past midnight, she got out of bed, grabbed her room key, and went into the hall. She went up the stairs to the second floor, then found a second staircase to the roof, something the pony up front had mentioned as the hotel’s most popular feature.

Chairs sat in sets of threes and fours along the roof’s edge, but Rouge was alone. She could see the stars and a piece of the moon behind Canterlot Mountain from where she sat in the corner beside the service staircase.

She had joined up with the Datura—of her own free will—seven years ago, and she had prided herself on a healthy level of ambition. She wanted to move up, but had no pretentions of ever being more than a small or medium-sized team leader. She had gotten close with her commander, and was well on her way to fulfilling the first step of her plan when she met Photo Finish.

Posing as a makeup artist, which fit her cutie mark anyway, she was hired to watch and protect Photo’s models, and Photo herself. The incident inducing the job had already passed, and there were no indications of further need for Datura involvement, but her commander was a cautious mare.

As with that commander, Rouge had gotten close to Photo, their personalities complimenting each other in a way that Photo found charming and Rouge found exciting. When they began socializing outside of work, Rouge fast discovered the side of Applewood that she had heard about and never seen, and, though she abstained from all the drugs, sex, and illegal magic that Photo and some of her other friends found so enticing, she did develop a taste for the wild and the opulent, which, for a while, she could rarely fulfill to her satisfaction.

She spent four months attending outings with Photo and the other socialites, enjoying the most expensive food, the most expensive drinks—a two hundred bit shot of scotch, once—and the most expensive company. Dancers and escorts frequently attended their parties, many ignored by Rouge, who did not know how to interact with them. Most of all, more than titillation or validation of money and power that seemed to so enchant her associates, it was the inundation in spectacle that she loved.

Photo Finish’s Hearth’s Warming party, the only one Rouge would attend, took place in Starlight Summit, a small but beautiful hotel off The Bright Road that Photo had rented for the occasion. Rouge and close to two hundred other ponies celebrated from late afternoon into the dawn of the next day, and the hotel was finally clean two days after that.

It was that night that Rouge had tried her first illicit drugs. She could remember stirring a soft, pink powder into a flute of sparkling wine and drinking it off to the side of the lobby. She could remember feeling exquisitely happy and calm as she swayed across a ballroom floor, watching as ponies grew and shrunk and corkscrewed all around her. Most of all, she remembered laughing as Photo, small as a mouse, tried to tell her something, and she put her ears to the floor to more closely listen.

Rouge watched as an airship appeared off the mountaintop and began its descent. She felt melancholy, and from more than the bittersweet nostalgia at the return of air traffic to her part of the world. The ship’s headlight beamed down to diffuse over Canterlot suburbia.

She spent the next months after Hearth’s Warming casually sampling everything Applewood had to offer in the way of dangerous nightlife. She and Photo grew more distant, and it was then that she discovered that Photo’s models were wilder than their employer. Where Photo would organize the astonishing displays of excess and then appear on the dance floor with a bloody nose and a stiff drink, her models went out at odd times of the night, took pills in bathrooms, tricked ponies into bar brawls, and went home with strangers.

Rouge knew it had been good fortune that she was pulled from her position when she was, and treated her indefinite confinement to the Canterlot suburbs as a vacation. She was quick to make friends with the other local Datura—Fancy Pants had introduced them personally—but slow to reacquire the habits she had left behind in the big city.

Moderation and safety. So it had been for her and her friends for close to two years.

She watched the sleeping neighborhood, which looked huge to her tired eyes, even though she was only two stories off the ground. She tried to see the Twisted Plum, but could not find it.

A chilly wind swept across the rooftop, and she shivered. Winter was approaching, with it the memories of her enchanted life in the diseased heart of Equestria. She sometimes saw pieces of herself in Colgate, and, she had been unnerved to discover earlier that evening, more pieces of her old self in her own reflection. Brushing her teeth before bed, and sober, she had realized that she could not remember the last week very well. It was a feeling she remembered before being removed from the Applewood team.

“Cole’s different, though,” she thought. “She’s a special case, with the crazy pills coming along before these ones. We’re not that much alike.” Alone on the rooftop, the thought gave her no comfort.

They had a late breakfast in the hotel café, spent a little time in the hotel pool, and returned to their room, completely lost as to how to proceed with their lives. Colgate had taken three pills that morning, and Rouge was irritable from lack of alcohol.

Their room was unlocked, a detail that neither gave much attention as they entered, but was quickly explained when Fancy Pants stood up from the bed and shook their hooves.

“Ladies, it’s your lucky day,” he said, smiling and patting Rouge on the back. “I know the last couple have been tough. I am so pleased that you’re feeling better, though, Colgate.”

“Much better, yeah,” Colgate said, watching him closely.

He laughed. “I’d have thought your dip in the pool would have woken you up a bit more than that, my dear! No matter. As I said, I have very good news. The time has come at last for you to act on the information you’ve so diligently been gathering for me.”

Rouge only looked at Colgate.

“Here.” He floated a note over to them, its envelope sealed with the official Datura seal—what Colgate assumed it to be. “This contains your directions, as well as the train tickets required to go out there and back.”

“I’m confused,” Rouge said.

“A mission, my friend. I have an assignment for you at last.”

Colgate hissed air through her teeth.

“Where are we going?” Rouge asked.

“You need to get out to watchpoint sixteen, ten or so miles northwest of the city limits. There’s been some strange activity there, and I need you to check it out.”

“What kind of activity?” Colgate asked. “Tartarus activity?”

“No, no, nothing so severe,” Fancy Pants said. “The closest gateway is several hundred miles away, and not your concern. I suspect the standing enchantments at the watchpoint are beginning to fail; they do that from time to time. Go up there and do a magic inventory, let me know which enchantments are still in working order. I’ll send one of our mages up there as soon as you get back to me.”

“When would you like us to do that, sir? Shall we go immediately?” Rouge asked.

“Tomorrow, actually,” he said, nodding to her. “I don’t want anyone seeing you leave so soon after I do. Besides, you’ll be needing to prepare yourselves.” His smile shrunk. “I couldn’t help but notice all your things are still back at the house.”

“Yeah, there was a bit of a snag, sir.” She hopped up once. “But we’ll get it done for you, Mr. Pants. No worries. You can count on us.”

He smiled again, his eyes crinkling up as he did so. “That’s exactly why I chose you for the task, Rouge. And you, Colgate. I know I don’t come around as much as I should, and I apologize. I appreciate what you do for the team every day.”

He looked at them both, Colgate’s high wearing off and Rouge shaking with excitement, then left. He sang softly to himself as he disappeared down the hall.

“Watchpoint sixteen? What in the world is that?” Colgate asked.

“I can’t believe he didn’t just string us up,” Rouge said, wide-eyed and releasing a shaking breath. “Like, ho-ly crap, that was close. Cole, he has no idea how bad we screwed everything up.”

Colgate looked at her for a second before recognition dawned on her face. “This is our chance to get out of this, isn’t it?”

Rouge slit open the envelope and dumped out the map and the train tickets. “Our ticket out of trouble! The Pants saves us yet again!”

* * * * * *

Twilight, Octavia, Vinyl, and Rarity rode the elevator with Peaceful Meadows, the pony who had followed Twilight to the mortuary. She met them at the entrance to the underground and had driven them in a dented, off-white car deep into the darkness under the Roan they knew. Everyone else had remained at their new hotel, unpacking and working out answers to the questions they knew would follow them. Twilight wasn’t sure which position was worse, theirs or hers.

The meeting was scheduled at seven p.m. in the seventh-floor boardroom of Mansel and Company, a stucco tower draped in a shaft of dying sunlight. They were in the deepest parts of the caverns under Roan, which Peaceful Meadows referred to as “the cradle of power.” Twilight heard the reverence in her voice as she named it, and the pride as well.

The elevator released the five mares into a carpeted corridor of glass walls, showing a small office of suited ponies on phones, at typewriters, or pouring over records. Voices were soft, and a couple ponies greeted Peaceful Meadows, who nodded only. She wore a green-grey business suit with a silver bola tie, and a pair of half-moon reading glasses that underscored her unimpressed eyes whenever she favored her followers with a look.

Through the boardroom window, they could see the floor of the city, the buildings that seemed to rise out of an abyssal darkness to grasp at the cavern ceiling, far away, but not for them. Looking up, they could see a space of only twenty feet from rooftop to ceiling, and then the sweeping pink feathers of clouds across a periwinkle dusk sky.

Peaceful Meadows took her seat beside three unicorns, each in his or her shade of gray. The youngest, a green-eyed stallion with a slick, sharp mane and a disarming smile, rose to shake their hooves. His chiseled musculature was not quite hidden inside the charcoal outfit.

“Campari Mansel,” he said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “At your service. This is my mother and father, Mr. and Mrs. Mansel. CEO and CFO of Mansel and Company.”

“Twilight Sparkle,” Twilight said. “As you know.”

Campari smiled, and his parents stared at her as one.

“And this is Rarity, Octavia, and Vinyl Scratch. My friends.”

“Could the other Elements not make it?” Mrs. Mansel asked. Her blonde mane was short and wavy, its tips just touching the collar of her suit, and a diamond winked on a ring that tipped her horn. Her voice was softened with age, but her tone brooked no nonsense.

“There was some business that needed to be attended to. They asked me to convey their apologies, though.”

“And we convey our forgiveness,” Mr. Mansel said. Beside his wife, who filled her suit, his thin shoulders appeared sharp and severe. His face was lined, but not wrinkled, and his teeth were too perfect for his age. He showed them when he spoke. “Please, seat yourselves. Would you like anything to drink? We have water in the fridge. Soda. Tea.”

“Water is fine,” Twilight said. She opened the fridge under the window and removed a bottle, not looking. A trick she had practiced in the hotel.

Rarity was the first to take a seat, and Mr. Mansel nodded to her.

“Are you enjoying your time in Roan?” Campari asked. His eyes twinkled as he rested his hooves together, clicking them softly under the table.

“It’s been lovely,” Twilight said. “I wish we had more time to spend here.”

“I know it. This city has a certain charm, a depth of character, that I’ve not seen anywhere else. Do you like minotaur food?”

“I don’t believe I’ve tried it.”

“You’d know if you had.” He chuckled, and Twilight politely did as well. “There’s a small restaurant just a few blocks north of here—on the surface, that is—that isn’t very well known, but serves the best minotaur food I’ve ever had. Why can I not remember the name right now? Ah, no matter, it’ll come to me. But, anyway, I suppose I should tell you why we wanted to meet you.”

“You wanted to know why I was seen entering a mortuary,” Twilight said. “And then, presumably, why there was so much trouble surrounding that mortuary the very next day.”

“Trouble?” Mr. Mansel echoed.

“You mean the police activity,” Mrs. Mansel said.

“I do remember hearing about it,” Campari said. “I didn’t think that had anything to do with today’s meeting, though. Perhaps I’m mistaken?”

Twilight looked at Rarity, who looked ahead, nervous.

“It’s no secret that we knew you were here before you had gotten yourselves settled. Word travels, and it seems like it travels twice as fast where you all are concerned. Am I right?”

Mr. and Mrs. Mansel smiled, and Peaceful Meadows watched the window.

“I imagine you are. Ponies tend to pay attention to us,” Twilight said.

“How could we not seize the opportunity to meet the Elements of Harmony when they choose to drop by our city?” Mr. Mansel asked. His voice was liquid, his face peaceful, his movements thoughtful. Even the inquisitive tilt of his head was a languid, measured act.

“Your city?” Octavia repeated.

“Yes indeed.”

“We owe you a debt of thanks for what you’ve done for the country,” Mrs. Mansel said. “For what you continue to do.”

“Too true,” Campari said. “Too true.”

“So you wanted to thank us for everything we do,” Twilight said.

“At seven o’ clock on a Sunday,” Rarity added.

“We do apologize for the inconvenient time,” Mr. Mansel said. “We’re having meetings up here all day. I promise, we did everything we could to select the least of the possibly difficult times. We know you, too, have busy schedules.”

No one spoke. Peaceful Meadows glanced at the clock on the wall and adjusted herself in her chair, and Campari continued to smile greedily.

“Well, it’s been nice meeting you,” Twilight said, moving to stand up. “But, if that’s it, then we’d like to get going.”

“Of course. Don’t let us keep you,” Campari said, rising to shake her hoof again. “I understand that mortician was rather put off when he contacted you, is that not so?”

Twilight retracted her hoof.

“And then you lost something, Twilight. May I call you that?”

“Miss Sparkle, if you please.” She sat down again, ignoring her friends’ looks.

“Miss Sparkle. He did speak to you, correct?”

“We spoke, yes.”

“Were you able to recover your lost item?”

Twilight licked her lips. “I’m not sure what item you’re referring to. We lost nothing.”

Campari looked at his parents, who said nothing.

“We lost nothing,” Twilight repeated.

“My understanding was that you left something valuable in that mortician’s care.”

“Could have been a social call,” Peaceful Meadows said.

“Ah, that makes sense. Are you a social pony?” He looked at her friends. “I suppose you must be to show up with two of the largest musical names in Equestria. Miss Melody, I must say, I’m a fan.”

“Thank you,” Octavia said.

“We’re social ponies as well, Miss Sparkle,” Mr. Mansel said. “We have friends all over Equestria. I shouldn’t have to tell you the value of friendship.”

“It’s the cornerstone of our business model,” Mrs. Mansel said. “Good friends and good connections, that’s what made our company into what it is today.”

“Who do you count as friends?” Campari asked. His green eyes glinted for a second in the light from outside.

“Well, the princesses, of course,” Twilight said guardedly.

“Yes, the goddesses. That’s two friends we have in common, then.”

Twilight hesitated.

“There must be more than that. Ponies we may know about?”

“Photo Finish,” Rarity said.

“Ah, we know of her,” Mr. Mansel said. “We’ve met before. Not she and I personally, but she and the family. I’ve heard she’s an interesting mare.”

“She’s okay,” Twilight said.

“When did you meet?” Rarity asked.

“Three or four years ago,” Mrs. Mansel said. “She reached out to us on a matter of business, but I hope you don’t want to know more. We keep our clients in the strictest confidentiality.”

“Of course,” Twilight said. She smiled thinly, and the Mansels all looked at one another.

“Well, it looks like we might have one up on you, Miss Sparkle,” Campari said, smiling warmly. “We’re also friends with a certain number of the princesses’ royal court, and several politicians in the other cities.”

“And some other strong businessponies,” Mr. Mansel added. “Do you know who Pure Waterfall is?”

“I’ve heard the name,” Twilight said, averting her eyes for a second before looking back at him, determined to keep her stern exterior intact.

“Have you heard the news, I wonder?”

“There’s been an accident,” Mrs. Mansel said.

“A—really?” Twilight said.

“And I’m afraid it was quite fatal,” Campari said.

“It was recent. You should have been traveling between Applewood and here at the time,” Mr. Mansel said.

Twilight looked back at them, waiting for them to continue.

“The Astras too,” Vinyl said softly. “Twilight forgot them.” In the boardroom, her voice was perfectly clear.

“Yes, we’re friendly with them,” Rarity said.

Campari looked to his parents, and Mr. Mansel sat back in his chair. “Yes, we’ve heard that. Lucky for you. That family is powerful.”

“They’re the most powerful family in northern Equestria,” Twilight said.

“We are aware of that,” Mrs. Mansel said, inclining her head.

Again, no one spoke, and Twilight looked at the clock.

“The news of Pure Waterfall’s death does not inspire any reaction?” Campari eventually asked.

“Why should it?” Twilight asked.

“He’s your friend, not ours,” Rarity said. “I would think the reaction should be yours.”

“We have reacted,” Mr. Mansel said. “This meeting is a part of that reaction.”

“Is it?”

“We were hoping you could explain what happened,” Mrs. Mansel said.

“Why would we know?” Twilight asked.

“You can stop wasting time at any point, you know,” Peaceful Meadows drawled.

Twilight smirked. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Consider your position,” Mrs. Mansel said lightly, still smiling. “And consider what we already know—the mortuary, for instance. Applejack. Yes, we know about that, and our most sincere condolences for her passing.”

“It’s in the business’ best interest to know where the Elements of Harmony stand on their journey,” Mr. Mansel said.

“What does that have to do with Pure Waterfall, though?” Rarity asked.

“He was one of our higher-value clients. The Mansels look after their clients—another important piece of our business model. We pride ourselves on our integrity.”

“It seems like it’s in your interest to know about us before actually meeting us,” Twilight said, quietly doubting her own words. “Why? We would have been comfortable speaking openly about this.”

“If that is so,” Mrs. Mansel said, “then you have my sincere apologies, but this seemed too delicate a situation to approach head-on.”

“Don’t tell us that this is entirely a matter of the heart for you, Miss Sparkle,” Campari said. “You’ve done well to cover yourself.”

“What are you implying?” Octavia asked, and Vinyl put a hoof on her.

“Nothing.”

They were silent, and Twilight looked at the clock again. She could feel their eyes, and her friends’ eyes. They had discussed the meeting on the way over, and agreed that Twilight would handle the speaking. She, of them all, felt most confident in her understanding of their position. Sitting under the Mansels’ collective gaze, however, that past confidence felt inferior to her need to be out of their boardroom.

“Pure Waterfall tried to stop us from something important,” Twilight said at last. “I’m not sure what happened to him, but I know that he wasn’t successful.” She looked at Mrs. Mansel, mustering a little of her former hardness. “Ponies rarely are when they get in our way.”

“A bold claim,” Campari said. “I appreciate that in a mare, Miss Sparkle.”

“One that goes without saying,” Mrs. Mansel said. “Naturally, if anything were to befall the Elements of Harmony, or even one of you, there would be retribution from Canterlot, and probably elsewhere as well.”

“I’m not sure it does go without saying,” Twilight said.

“What are you implying?” Mr. Mansel asked. “Anything?”

“Nothing.”

He smirked.

“I’m tired of this,” Mrs. Mansel said. “This dancing around the topic. Miss Sparkle, where were you on the evening of Sunday, September fourth?”

Twilight felt her heart skip a beat. That had been their last night in Applewood, the night that Discord’s and Vanilla Cream’s magic had sprung to life and woken up the dam.

“I’m waiting for your response.”

“We were… in flight, between Applewood and Roan. I think.”

“You weren’t still in Applewood?”

“Is this a meeting, or an interrogation?” Octavia asked, ignoring Vinyl’s motions to quiet her.

“Miss Melody, this is an open meeting,” Mrs. Mansel said. “You are free to leave whenever you want. Right, Miss Sparkle?”

Twilight nodded.

“Would you like to leave now? Or would you like to conclude our business?”

Twilight looked at Octavia, her mouth dry. The company owners had her pinned with their eyes, and Campari continued to smile his rogue’s smile. “We came to speak with them, so that’s what we’ll do. We’re finishing this.”

Octavia glowered at her, then at the Mansels.

“So, the fourth?” Mrs. Mansel repeated.

“Between cities,” Twilight said again.

Mrs. Mansel smiled again, still kindly, though Twilight could see the venom in her expression. “That’s funny. The report I have indicates that you were still in Applewood that evening. Your last evening, as it turns out.”

“What report?” Twilight asked quickly.

“A report on your whereabouts, your comings and goings.” She half-laughed. “I suppose, in the interest of honesty, I can tell you we’ve had this report for a long time.”

“Since Nightmare Moon,” Mr. Mansel said. “Or shortly after.”

“Mansel and Company likes to know where the current bearers are at all times,” Mrs. Mansel said. “It’s nothing personal. It’s business. I’m sure you saw your likenesses in Applewood, and those of previous bearers. Our business has a moderate standing with many of the hotel and restaurant chains there.”

“So you know we were there still,” Twilight said.

“And staying at Apogee, yes. Well, you seemed to be. You weren’t actually seen there after checking in.”

“There were some complications.”

“And that’s no surprise,” Mr. Mansel said. “Trouble does follow you, after all.”

“Perhaps you can enlighten us,” Mrs. Mansel said. “We’ve been trying to figure out what happened that night. Current reports are unclear, as no one who was there then has had time to get into good contact with us. Except you.”

“Another question we’d like answered,” Mr. Mansel said. “Though that’s more personal curiosity.”

“Yes indeed. But, business first, Miss Sparkle. I’m sure you were involved when Pure Waterfall passed on. There was a large disaster, I know, and I know the Elements are drawn to large disasters.”

“No point in lying about this,” Peaceful Meadows said. She hadn’t looked away from the window once since the meeting began.

“How do I know you haven’t already concluded what happened?” Twilight asked. “How do I know you’ll believe me, even if I tell the truth?”

“Were you planning not to?” Mrs. Mansel asked.

“No, I was… that is, I was planning on being honest and open throughout this meeting. But I can see you weren’t.”

“I don’t know if I like what you’re suggesting, Miss Sparkle.”

“Maybe you can clarify your point,” Campari said.

Twilight sipped her water. “I mean to say that, well, I don’t think you’re being completely honest either. You strung me along, knowing already where I was and what I was doing.”

“The intention was to encourage your honesty without presenting an intimidating front,” Mrs. Mansel said, her smile still fixed, still kind.

“Well, it didn’t work.”

“Yes, we can see that,” Campari said. “Perhaps we should start over?”

“No,” Mr. Mansel said, rising. “We’ve wasted enough time with these ponies. This meeting is concluded.”

They all shook hooves, and Rarity uttered the only pleasantry in the room. Peaceful Meadows walked them out of the building and drove them back to the surface, where the evening sky had waned to a bruised blue.

Roots of Forgiveness

Chapter Seventy-six

Roots of Forgiveness

“How’d it go? How’d it go?” Pinkie asked, bouncing on the bed beside Dr. Whooves, who only looked at them pensively.

“Huge waste of time,” Vinyl said.

“They seemed to already know everything about us, and where we’ve been. I think they just wanted to show it off,” Twilight said, sitting heavily on the other bed.

“What did they know?” Fluttershy asked.

“They know about Applejack, which didn’t surprise me, but they also know about Applewood. Rather, that we were there for the dam incident.”

“I got the impression they weren’t clear on what happened,” Rarity said.

“I as well,” Octavia said. “Fortunately, it does not matter. Princess Luna should be arriving tomorrow.”

“Thank Celestia,” Rainbow said.

“I think we are all ready to put this city behind us.”

“I’m not!” Pinkie said.

“I’m more than ready,” Vinyl said. “Never want to be in the same room as those ponies again.”

“Were they that bad?” Big Mac asked.

“I’d say so,” Twilight said. “Every time I said something, I felt like I was just digging myself deeper into some kind of hole.”

“Did better than I would’ve,” Vinyl said. She looked at Whooves. “Okay, doc? Sure are quiet.”

“Oh, hm, hm, it’s nothing,” Whooves said, twirling a hoof. “Just soaking in the conversation, so to speak.”

“Do we know when and where we are to meet the princess tomorrow?” Octavia asked.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Twilight said. “I’ll send her a letter.”

“We should probably meet her out… well, out there,” Fluttershy said.

“In the desert, you mean?” Rarity asked.

“Yes, there.”

“You know, it didn’t occur to me until recently, but it would be really easy to follow us out there,” Twilight said, hunting for a quill.

“Always encouraging to hear,” Whooves said.

“I mean, realistically, though.” She sat down and started on her letter. “We should probably start watching our backs. I don’t like these Mansels, and I don’t think they liked me very much either.”

“Psh, so what? We’re the Elements of Harmony,” Rainbow said. “What’re they gonna do?”

“They can’t harm us, sure, but there’s other things.”

“You’re suggesting us four be more careful,” Vinyl said.

“Ya think they might try to hurt us?” Big Mac asked.

“If they thought they could use you as leverage against us, maybe,” Twilight said.

“You are assuming that they want to stop us or hurt us because of this one meeting,” Octavia said. “It did not go great, yes, but there is no reason that they should assume any direct antagonism.”

“I just want to cover all my bases.”

“Can’t blame you for getting into the habit,” Vinyl said. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Anything that needs doin’?” Big Mac asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Twilight said, quill tip between her teeth. “This is about as good as it’s going to get for us, I think. Let’s try to get a good night’s sleep though. I want to set out pretty much as soon as we get Applejack back, if possible.”

Big Mac woke up on the floor and sat up. Pinkie and Rainbow shared the bed beside him, the sounds of their breathing the only noise inside the room. He had woken from a dream, but it faded away before he could think straight. The fact that it had happened at all piqued his curiosity; he was ordinarily a heavy sleeper.

After a minute of quiet sitting, measuring time by Pinkie’s breaths, he recognized what he felt. Since arriving in Roan, he had felt only slight impulsions to action, but had not given them any thought; his deceased sister took full priority, although he knew he could do little to help bring her back.

He rested his head against the table leg and let the feeling unfurl in his mind and quicken in his heart. They were never strong, but he had learned to recognize them all the same, the works of Vanilla’s glamour, meant to impel him into acting to befriend the Elements and endear himself to them. He could not remember feeling so before he was aware of the glamour, though he could point to specific times when it must have been at work in him; cognizance had truly made all the difference.

At first, he thought that it was important that he clear his mind of his own biases, but it was not so. He simply sat, eyes closed but wide awake, thinking of nothing in particular, knowing that the idea that was not his would not lose potency with time.

When he got up, his course of action was clear, and he left the room, grabbing the key for the other one. He needed specific ponies, but, for what, he was not sure. He did know that he was one of them.

In the other room, he found Vinyl and Fluttershy sharing a bed, and woke them both. It was not as difficult as he had expected to get them to follow him. He looked around, frowning, and found Whooves at the foot of the bed. He nudged him awake, and he started up with a small yelp that made Twilight, nearby, stir and mumble in her sleep. Awake, he allowed Big Mac to lead him out into the corridor with the others.

Outside, Vinyl tapped him on the shoulder. “What’s up, Big Mac? Is something wrong?”

“Ah don’t think so. This is one of those…” He shrugged and twirled his hoof in the air, and Fluttershy nodded.

“I’m not following.”

“It’s his glamour,” Fluttershy said. “What’s going on? What’s it saying?”

“Old chap, you’d better have a good reason for rousing me from my beauty sleep,” Whooves said. “Although perhaps I owe you a debt of gratitude instead. You saved me from a truly perilous dream.”

“Let’s do this elsewhere,” Vinyl said. “Outside okay?”

They went to the bottom floor and out to the hotel courtyard, where they sat at the small, marble fountain. Goldfish moved lazily beneath the surface.

“Ah’m not sure why Ah wanted to get us all together, but Ah know it’s us four,” Big Mac said.

“And it couldn’t want ‘til tomorrow?” Vinyl asked.

He shook his head. “Mm, nope. That idea feels real bad to me.”

“So what’s the story?” Whooves asked. “What’s so special about us?” He looked at them. “Only one is an Element of Harmony, so it’s nothing to do with that.”

“You’re sure you can’t tell anything else?” Fluttershy asked, ruffling her wings. “It’s cold out here.”

“Right here, my dear,” Whooves said, scooting closer to her.

“Ah don’t think we have to do anythin’,” Big Mac said, trying as he spoke to focus on the vague idea stuck in his head. He felt calmer that the four of them were together, as if he had accomplished an important step, but nothing concrete manifested to him.

“Commonalities,” Whooves said. “What do we have in common?”

“Two stallions, two mares,” Vinyl said. “Two of us are close to Applejack, two not so much. May be something there.”

“If we’re not doing anything, then why are we together?” Fluttershy asked. “Are we here to see something? Is—oh, Big Mac, please tell me something bad isn’t about to happen.”

“Ah doubt it,” Big Mac said, internally wondering the same thing.

“Mayhap it’s like a puzzle,” Whooves said slowly, hoof to his chin in a thoughtful pose. “We each hold a piece of something, and it’s our jobs to put it together. Why does this need to be tonight? Don’t misrepresent me, I’m not cross for being awoken at such a time, but I have to wonder about the urgency at play here.”

“Ah woke up with this thought, and, as Ah said, waitin’ ‘til tomorrow seems like a right terrible idea to me. That’s as much proof as Ah need.”

“I like doc’s idea,” Vinyl said. “What do we have that needs put together?”

“Information,” Fluttershy said. “That would make sense, right?”

“Perfectly,” Whooves said. “I’m sure it’s not concerning the location of an Element of Harmony.”

“I wouldn’t keep something like that secret. I’ve been sweeping the city every morning and every evening.”

“Ah’m glad someone does it,” Big Mac said. “As fer me, Ah don’t know what Ah’ve got. Ah am a part of it, though. Ah’m more’n the pony that gets you three together.”

“Information about the Mansels?” Whooves offered.

“Doubt it,” Vinyl said. “What about the city? Maybe there’s an unknown threat.”

“Octavia would be better for that than me,” Fluttershy said. “She’s been here before.”

“It has to be something we share,” Whooves said. “Some well of knowledge or experience, something shared by us four and no one else.”

“We’ve been left back at the hotels each time Twilight went out to… deal with the body,” Vinyl said.

“Not me,” Fluttershy said. “I was there when she was buried.”

“So that’s out,” Whooves said. He looked at the sky and dangled his hoof in the water. “My, that is cold, isn’t it?”

“Winter’s approaching. Vanilla told us that yesterday.”

“Maybe it has to do with him,” Big Mac said.

“Still haven’t met this guy,” Vinyl said. “Kind of looking forward to it.”

“He never deals with us one-on-one, from what I’ve heard,” Whooves said. “Anything concerning him would involve the whole crew, would it not?”

“I think so,” Fluttershy said. “What about Applewood, though? He told us we should be looking back at the battle.”

“That happened to everyone too,” Big Mac said. “We were all involved.”

“We saw the conclusion,” Vinyl said. “That’s something.”

“Mm, maybe.” The feeling in his head was unchanging, something he hated. In his experience, he never knew when he was on the right track, only when something needed to be done or was completed.

“So did Rarity and Rainbow, though,” Fluttershy said. “And Pinkie, I suppose.”

“Pinkie,” Whooves said.

“We are all clear on what happened, right?” Vinyl asked.

“You mean her standing by while we lost everything?” Fluttershy asked.

“Er, yeah.”

“Ah didn’t see it, but Ah was there,” Big Mac said. “Ah heard her say she couldn’t help.”

“I as well,” Whooves said. “Is that it?”

“Twilight was passed out, so was Octavia,” Vinyl said. “Rarity and Dash were elsewhere, and Applejack was right up next to it. Yeah, we were the only ones who saw.”

“We’re the only ones who know what she did,” Fluttershy said, nodding. “Well, except Pinkie, herself, of course.”

“You felt no urges to invite her?” Whooves asked.

“Nope,” Big Mac said. “She don’t feel important to me. Erm, not like that, but important to this conversation.”

“Curious.”

“Of course,” Fluttershy said. “I get it.”

“Share, my dear!”

“Um, can you not do that right in my ear?”

“Oh, sorry.”

Fluttershy frowned for a moment, ordering her thoughts. “We four know what Pinkie did—what she didn’t do, I should say. Only us four. It’s serious enough that, if word got to the others, some of us might not be able to accept her as a friend anymore, which means the Elements would be fractured.”

“So if Big Mac didn’t feel the need to include Pinkie in this,” Vinyl said, “then can we assume that we don’t have to worry about her spilling those beans herself?”

“That sounds right to me,” Big Mac said.

“But what to do about it?” Whooves asked. “Talk to her about it?”

“No, bad idea,” Vinyl said. “She’d hate that.”

“Rightly so,” Fluttershy said.

Vinyl looked at her, horn alight with silver. She lifted her goggles and rested them on her horn, only opening her eyes after its glow had faded.

“Strong opinions incoming?” Whooves asked.

“She let us die,” Fluttershy said. “Metaphorically speaking, she stood by and let us get defeated. There was nothing left to give, except what she had, and she pretended not to have it.”

“Is it possible she wasn’t pretending? I haven’t been with you as long, I know, but—”

“In the first couple months of this adventure, Pinkie’s magic was what helped to put back all the pieces of land that were shoved apart. It had to be helped a little, but she had all that potential. We’ve seen it there, and we saw some of it the first night as well.”

“She could have at least done more than nothin’,” Big Mac added.

“So she let us die, and she also let a lot of Applewood die too.” Fluttershy sighed. “I’m amazed she can still show her face around us.”

“Have to assume she doesn’t recognize the severity,” Vinyl said.

“How could she not?” Whooves asked. “Seems pretty cut-and-dry to me.”

“But what do we do?” Big Mac asked.

“I know what I’d like to do,” Fluttershy said.

“What’s that?”

“Well… I shouldn’t say. It’s very unkind.”

He nodded. “Ah feel similar.”

“I can tell you, if the others find out about this, it’s gonna be Tartarus,” Vinyl said. “Octavia’ll flip her lid, and so will Twilight. Probably in that order.”

“She’s turning into quite the formidable mare,” Whooves said.

“We all know you’re scared of her now,” Vinyl said, playfully nudging him.

“She is, though,” Fluttershy said. “And you’re right. Those two alone would run her out of town. I’m not so sure about the others. Rarity might, and Rainbow… well, she’s the Element of Loyalty. Which side would she be loyal to?”

“This is startin’ to make sense now,” Big Mac said. “We need to keep this information away from the others.”

“You’re proposing we all keep mum about this and pretend nothing happened, for the sake of keeping the Elements together,” Whooves asked.

He smiled a little. “Eeyup.”

“No way, no how,” Vinyl said. “Terrible idea.”

“One of us will want a juicy confrontation,” Whooves said. “Plus, who’s to say it would be all bad? Maybe a bit of clarity is just what this needs. We can shock her into an apology, I’d wager.”

“An apology wouldn’t be enough,” Fluttershy said.

“What would be?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Maybe nothing,” Vinyl said.

“Yeah, maybe nothing,” Fluttershy said.

“Seems to me that Fluttershy’s the only one this is important fer,” Big Mac said. “She’s the only Element. Us three can go off an’ fergive her or not, it don’t matter, ‘cause we won’t be givin’ our energy at the very end.”

“I thought that was the whole reason you joined us,” Fluttershy said.

“Beg pardon?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be here to try to get us to add an Element to you, to buy Discord time?”

He chewed his lip and looked at himself in the fountain’s reflection. “Ah didn’t know Octavia told you ‘bout all that.”

“Um… oh, well, no, she didn’t. I thought of that on my own.”

“Brava, Miss Shy!” Whooves cried, patting her on the back. His hoof remained where it was as he continued. “A truly astonishing feat of analytical thinking, wot?”

“That’s enough,” Big Mac said calmly. “Yes, that is my purpose. Ah ‘pologize, Ah’d rather not talk ‘bout it.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” Vinyl said, and he gave her a flat look.

“Back to the matter, then,” Whooves said.

“Fluttershy’s the only one who needs to forgive Pinkie. Us three just need to keep quiet, which we can do. Doc?”

“Me?”

“You got the biggest mouth outta all of us,” Big Mac said. “Can you keep this secret?”

“It does affect the core of our friendship,” Fluttershy said.

“Well, when you put it that way, my dear, I suppose I’ve no choice,” Whooves said.

“And we don’t mention it to her either,” Vinyl said. “Unless she approaches us about it first.”

“That might be hard,” Fluttershy said.

“You can do it,” Whooves said.

She moved away, getting his hoof off her back. “I’m actually not sure if I can.”

“Why ever not?”

“You’re running out of patience,” Vinyl said.

“Yes, that’s a good way of putting it,” Fluttershy said. “Pinkie also has access to the Element-finding spell that I use every day, and she hasn’t touched it since getting it. She claims to have her Pinkie Sense, but none of us have seen her use it in forever. Even before this, she almost never helped in any meaningful way.” She shuddered. “I hate this. Please, this needs to be confidential.”

“Of course,” Big Mac said.

“At this point—and I’ve thought this for a little while—she’s basically just a warm body to convey the Element.”

Whooves whistled. “Ouch. Now that’s—”

“Again, I hate that I feel that way. I used to think of her as a best friend, but now…” She shook her head. “That’s what I mean when I say I hate this.”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game?” Whooves offered.

“I at least respect Discord. He’s terrible in his way, but he has a goal, and he’s a worthy opponent. Pinkie’s become… well, just a waste.”

“That’s how you see her?” Vinyl asked.

Fluttershy’s voice was small. “Basically.”

Big Mac nodded. “Ah can understand that easily enough. Ah’m not sure if Ah share yer opinion, but Ah get it, as far as Ah can.”

“But, again, what to do about it?” Vinyl asked. “My understanding is you can’t win like this. You need to be in, well, harmony, right?”

“The Elements don’t work if there’s a buried grudge in the mix,” Whooves said.

“That’s right,” Fluttershy said. “So how to fix this? I don’t know.”

“What could Pinkie do to earn your forgiveness?” Vinyl asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, think about it.”

“The fate of the country hangs in the balance,” Whooves said.

“Thanks for the melodrama, doc.”

“She’d need to save us from something,” Fluttershy said. “Actively, not with a warning or premonition. She’d need to pull us out of a situation. Unasked.”

“Much as I fear to open myself to ridicule, I must ask: can we simply invent something like that?” Whooves asked.

“Only if I don’t know about it,” Fluttershy said. “But if we’re at that point, we might as well alter my memory. That would be safer, at least.”

“That’s possible?” Vinyl asked.

“Sure.” She glanced at the row of dead windows on the hotel’s upper floors. "Let’s keep that as a failsafe. In case we get to the end, and I still haven’t forgiven Pinkie, we can wipe my memory.”

“Miss Vinyl, the honor is yours,” Whooves said. “Unless Miss Shy can wipe her own memory?”

“I’d guess that’s dangerous,” Vinyl said. “Even more dangerous than leaving it up to an amateur like me.”

“Ah don’t like it at all,” Big Mac said. “But Ah realize it’s the best we got.”

“Again, a failsafe,” Fluttershy said. “I’m going to try to forgive her on my own.”

“You are the Element of Kindness,” Whooves said softly. “So you’d be the most qualified one to do it.”

“Kindness and moral decency don’t always guarantee each other. I’ve been learning that a lot lately.”

“Suppose we all have,” Vinyl said.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Big Mac asked.

“Aside from keeping silence on this, nothing that I can think of,” Fluttershy said. “I’ll need to reach that point on my own.”

“It’ll take a while,” Vinyl said.

“It will.”

They looked at one another, Whooves offering an uncomfortable smile all around.

“That was it, by the way,” Big Mac said. “That was the thing we needed to talk ‘bout.”

“I still wonder why it had to be tonight,” Whooves said.

“Luna’s coming tomorrow,” Vinyl said. “I bet she’ll want to ask us what happened to get AJ in such a fix.”

“And if we all didn’t know to keep a unified front, someone would let it out,” Fluttershy said. “That makes sense.”

“And blow up the whole friendship in the process,” Whooves said.

“Which means Pinkie’s not going to reveal it on her own,” Vinyl said. “If Big Mac didn’t feel the need to include her tonight, then she’ll keep quiet without help.”

“No surprises there,” Fluttershy said.

“I sense bitterness,” Whooves said.

“In a way, it’s good,” Vinyl said. “If she’s too ashamed to say anything, it means she knows she did wrong.”

“Quiet,” Big Mac said. “Ah hear someone.”

They all looked around, each one affecting their idea of casualness, but it was only Octavia who slunk into the courtyard. She stopped before them with a slow intake of breath. In the starlight, Big Mac thought he could make out dark patches under her eyes, but her voice betrayed no emotion.

“I did not expect to see anyone out here.”

“We just thought we’d enjoy Luna’s night,” Whooves said, hopping up to greet her. “And what a night it is, if I may say so myself!”

“I as well.” She stepped away from him and trotted past to the lobby doors. “Please, carry on.”

“Good night, Miss Octavia!”

She disappeared into the hotel, and Whooves angled his head to try to watch through a window.

“Never saw someone get spooked so easy,” Vinyl said.

“That’s just our Octavia,” Whooves said. “She’s not the ordinary type. I never noticed how well she wears the darkness, though. That penumbral shade to her mane is—dare I say it in the company of such strong feminine competition?—enchanting at this hour.”

Vinyl laughed, a gusty sound that made Big Mac furrow his brow. “Go to bed, doc.”

“Alone?”

“I’ll be staying up,” Fluttershy said. “I need to think.”

“Ah’ll go back,” Big Mac said. “My business here is done. Yer stayin’, Vinyl?”

“If Fluttershy doesn’t mind,” Vinyl said.

“You don’t need to,” Fluttershy said.

Vinyl shrugged, replaced her goggles, and followed the other two back to their rooms.

A light drizzle cooled their coats and dampened the dust as the nine friends marched into the desert. Roan was graying in the shadow of the coming storm, which had not yet reached its borders. Twilight led them along an empty set of train tracks, paying close attention to her map, which she kept dry in a tiny shield.

The burial site was obvious even from a distance. She had done nothing to disguise the fact that the ground had been recently dug up and replaced. A dark patch of red, muddy soil spread like a bloodstain under loose stones, and there they sat, each with eyes fixed on the northern horizon, where a small, dark shape moved laterally to the approaching storm clouds.

It took thirty minutes for the airship to complete the distance. It landed silently between a pair of large, jagged stones at the foot of a hill, and Princess Luna disembarked first. She was quickly followed by an elderly mare, pastel pink with a thinning mane and large spectacles. She hobbled behind with a smile on her wrinkled face, until she stopped a short distance from the Elements, suddenly unsure.

“This is right?” she asked in a worn voice.

“This is correct,” Luna said. She nodded to Twilight. “You have the body?”

Speechless, Twilight lifted the dirt out of Applejack’s grave. A small headache sent its first barbs behind her eyes as she set it aside and lifted out the casket, brushing it off as best she could with her spare magic.

“Look away, Applejack,” Luna said, and the elderly mare looked at her for a moment before doing so. The princess approached and unlatched the casket without looking at the silent ponies around. It swung open on fresh hinges, revealing Applejack’s bloated, blackened face, and Luna looked at Twilight. “You forgot to lay her on her back.”

“I… we did the best we could,” Twilight whispered. Under Luna’s eyes, tired but not fatigued, she felt defenseless.

Luna’s horn lit softly as magic caressed the corpse. “Other than that, you did fine.”

“She’ll be okay?” Rainbow asked.

“Shortly. The body needs restored, as I knew it would.” She lifted Applejack’s body from the casket and held it before her face. “Where is the blood?”

“Inside,” Twilight said.

Luna looked again inside the casket and pulled out two pouches of dark fluid, as dark as the ground they stood on. “This will be upsetting to watch.” She didn’t look at the Elements as she said it.

After a second, a light blue droplet of magic appeared at the top of Applejack’s chest and pulled downward, leaving behind an incandescent trail of light. Thunder rumbled as the light dissipated, and Luna held the body before her, splayed open from sternum to stomach. Her face devoid of emotion, Luna flashed her horn once, softly, and magic began to dribble out of the body. Glowing globes of blue fire streamed gently out from the hole’s edges, leaving faintly smoking impressions on the ground. Applejack’s shriveled heart and yellowed ribcage resembled a rotten beehive caught in tree branches.

“What are you doing?” Whooves asked at last.

“Removing the embalming fluid,” Luna said. “She can’t return to life with it still inside her.” For a minute more, fire dripped out of Applejack’s chest, and then Luna brought up the bags of blood. She sliced both down their middles and sent the black fluid into the cavity, sides of a delicate helix twining together to vanish into Applejack’s body.

Still without a glance in their direction, Luna drew her magic back up Applejack’s chest, sealing it with neither scar nor singe. She gently placed the body on the ground and motioned the elderly mare, who had been looking away, over. Twilight had been so transfixed by the scene, so appalled at the display of power and gore, that she had not noticed that, as Luna was returning her blood, she had restored much of Applejack’s former vitality at the same time. She looked nearly asleep in the mud.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” the pony said, looking warily at the orange body before her. “You won’t lose me?”

“I promise it. Now close your eyes.”

The pony did, and Luna bowed her head, her horn tip glowing almost white. The transition was fast and invisible, but they all knew when it was complete.

Applejack jerked and opened her eyes, as if returning from a nightmare. She breathed, and all Twilight could look at was the rise and fall of her chest, simultaneously astonished that she was finally alive, and fearfully expecting to see some painful evidence of Luna’s work.

Applejack nearly overbalanced in her haste to get up, her legs jutting awkwardly and forcing a faltering limp toward her friends, none of whom moved, so petrified from the shock. Even with the expectation, seeing Applejack rise to her hooves and approach was enough to make their enthusiasm waver for alarm. Applejack’s eyes squeezed shut, but no tears leaked out, and her voice was a rusty croak. It was obvious to them what she was trying to say.

Applejack shambled down the line, embracing everyone with newborn ferocity. Big Mac cried and held her for a full minute; by the end, Rainbow and Pinkie were crying too, and Vinyl was tearing up, though no one could see it. When she hugged Twilight, Twilight felt the beginnings of pride in her heart. “Luna’s magic, but my work.”

“Drink this,” Luna said, offering her a canteen of water. “You’re dehydrated.”

Applejack drained the canteen, and, after a couple attempts at speech, managed words: “starvin’ too.”

“We can eat on your new ship.” She cast her eyes around the desert and then flashed her horn once. A large airship materialized out of a dark blue mist and settled on the damp dust. Six turbines turned slowly in their compartments at the back of the ship, leaning to one side on a long, elegant shark fin stabilizer.

They boarded and sat on the deck while Luna conjured up plates and food, everyone still speechless.

“It’s nothing fancy.” She placed plates before everyone, Applejack’s with half portions. “You need to ease back into eating, Applejack. You can have a luxurious meal in a few days, but, right now, too much will shock your body.”

“Anythin’s better than nothin’,” Applejack said slowly, grinning at her food.

“As for the rest of you, this is now your ship. Please try to take care of it.”

“How’d you know we’d need one?” Rainbow asked hesitantly.

“I guessed. You tend to go through them.”

They all looked at Applejack, who watched them back openly, her eyes glinting with a small smile.

“So what’s it like to be alive again?” Pinkie asked.

“Ah’ve been alive fer a while now, actually.” She worked her jaw with a queer expression. “Did my teeth always feel this small?”

“You’ll get used to it,” Luna said.

“Anyway, Pinks, Ah couldn’t be happier.” She paused, chewing thoughtfully. “Ya know, Ah think Ah’m startin’ to remember some stuff.”

“What do you mean?” Rarity asked.

“Even though she was alive, she was confined to the other body,” Luna said. “In such a state, she only had access to her strongest and most recent memories. Different brains.”

“Yeah, Ah’m gettin’ it now,” Applejack said. “Doc, Ah even missed you.”

“Why, I never doubted it for a second, my dear!” Whooves said.

“It’s funny how much stuff Ah fergot, though. Yer parents’ names, Twilight. The name of yer favorite Wonderbolt, Rainbow. Ah guess it was names an’ places, mostly.”

“It’s truly wonderful to have you back,” Fluttershy said.

“Trust me, honey, Ah’m just happy to be done with all this. Ya know, once Ah had a body to call my own, at least fer the time, it was more of a hassle than anythin’ else. Oh, Princess, pass on my thanks to the mare who let me use her body fer a while, would ya?”

“As soon as I bring her back,” Luna said.

“Um… do I want to know what you did?” Twilight asked. “Not to dampen the mood or anything, but… that was all really weird.”

“You’ll sleep more easily if you don’t,” Luna said, and turned to Applejack. “Just as you will sleep better if you don’t ask them what they did to keep you preserved.”

“Yeah, Ah dunno if Ah wanna know ‘bout all that,” Applejack said. “Let’s keep it a mystery fer today, at least.”

“Probably for the best,” Vinyl said.

Applejack nodded to her. “You might be happy to hear that Ah did remember you in that other body. You were important enough fer that.”

Vinyl blushed. “Thanks.”

“Are you feeling better now?” Luna asked.

“Well, you know. Kinda,” Applejack said.

“It will be between two and four days before you’re fully acclimated, I think. You’re going to spend a lot of time in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, Ah can already tell. My guts ain’t too happy right now.” She sniffed the air. “Is that me Ah’m smellin’?”

“It’s really not that bad,” Rarity said quickly. “Considering everything that’s… well, yes, considering. The earthiness is almost tolerable.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t you worry about it!” Pinkie said, sliding over for another hug. “We’re just happy to have you back, stink or no stink!”

“We’re quite desensitized to it by now,” Whooves said. “After all the quality time with Twilight’s chemicals—”

“Whoa, whoa, doc, that’s enough,” Applejack said. “Chemicals?”

“Another time,” Twilight said. “Princess, I can’t thank you enough for this.”

Luna nodded. “I’d be lying if I said it was my pleasure, Twilight.”

“I, uh, did get the feeling you weren’t exactly… happy.”

“I’m substantially less than even that. A lot of it is disgust with Discord and his thrall, Pure Waterfall. A lot, but not all.”

Twilight hung her head.

“I’m not going to reprimand you. You know what happened better than I do, and you know what needs to happen. You’ve known for a long time now.”

“We have,” Fluttershy echoed.

“Moreover, there is no punishment I could realistically mete out that will compare with what you’ve gone through for this moment.”

Twilight gave the princess a smile, which went unreturned. She averted her eyes, wishing consciously that Applejack had come back differently. After all their work, Twilight had expected a joyous reunion, something prompting a spontaneous Pinkie party. She had expected laughing, jumping in the air, cheers and a revivified sense of solidarity.

“I do have some business to discuss with you, though.” She produced a thin scroll. “I received this yesterday. Some of my ponies have located another Element in Trottingham. It seems it’s fallen to someone else; fortunately, it doesn’t appear that that pony knows what it is.”

“How’s that possible?” Rainbow asked.

“The other point is for Twilight and Octavia only.” She fixed them in her strong gaze. “We’ll discuss it later this evening. I’ll find you at your hotel when I’m ready.”

“Will you want us to leave?” Vinyl asked.

“No. We’ll be going elsewhere for this discussion.”

“Who’s got the Element?” Rainbow asked.

“My ponies didn’t give me a name. They only assured me she seems ignorant of what she possesses. I think it’s strange as well, but my sources are trustworthy.”

“You’re sure?” Pinkie asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Oooh, Ah think Ah know why you had me eatin’ so little,” Applejack said, leaning back. “This thing has a bathroom, Ah take it?”

“Downstairs at the end of the hall,” Luna said.

Applejack rushed across the deck, gagging, and everyone watched her. “Couldn’t do anything to help the transition process?” Vinyl asked.

“The magic I used to heal her body is at work now easing her symptoms, but there’s only so much I can do. If you were comfortable letting her sleep for a few days, I could make the process almost painless, but I believe you have places to be. Is it not so?”

“We would like to leave today, yes,” Octavia said. “If that is possible.”

Luna nodded, thinking. “I’m not sure if it is. It depends on how you and Twilight respond to what I tell you later.”

“Is it about the Mansels?” Rainbow asked.

Luna’s serious expression twitched, and a smile appeared and quickly vanished. “You’ve met them?”

“Twilight and them did.”

“Rarity, Octavia, Vinyl, and I,” Twilight said. “We went to their office last night.”

Luna chuckled.

“What is it?” Rarity asked.

“I’m not surprised that it happened at all, but that it happened so quickly. What did they want?”

“I’m not sure,” Twilight said. “They said they wanted to know what I was doing around a—a mortuary, but then they said they knew about Applejack, so I don’t know what the real reason was. They were asking about Applewood a lot, right before the meeting ended.”

“What happened to Pure Waterfall,” Octavia said. “Princess Luna, Vanilla Cream told us that Pure Waterfall laundered money for the Mansels. Were you aware of this?”

The deck went silent, and Applejack came out of the hatch in the back.

“This is a good place for that tact I mentioned,” Vinyl said. “For the future.”

Luna sighed as Applejack took her seat again. “I did not know that, Octavia.” She thought, looking at Twilight. “That would be why they were so interested in what happened to him. You moved here instantaneously, courtesy of Vanilla—I’m keeping an eye on him, by the way—but other ponies can’t do that. News of his… to put it delicately, involvement with Discord will not have traveled this far yet.”

“Seemed to think we were responsible somehow,” Vinyl said.

“Well, we were, weren’t we?” Whooves asked.

“Indirectly,” Twilight said. “We were there, but we didn’t kill him.”

“Is it true that they’re dangerous ponies to cross?” Rarity asked.

“Not for you,” Luna said. “Being the Elements of Harmony gives you a certain amount of immunity. Now, friends of the Elements are another story.” She nodded to the other four. “In your cases, yes, the Mansel family can be dangerous. They have a wide range of influence, and a lot of powerful friends.”

“How wide?” Octavia asked.

“They have connections all across the country.” She held up a hoof. “I can’t say more.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Applejack said. “Soon as we’re outta here, it’s off to good ol’ Trottingham. Hey, did they say which Element it is?”

“It doesn’t say,” Rarity said, reading the note Luna had given them. “Although, that does remind me of something. Applejack, dear, look at your chest.”

Applejack looked down, where the Element of Honesty still hung, dirty and tarnished, but unharmed. “Well Ah’ll be! If that ain’t the nicest ‘welcome back’ gift Ah’ve ever received, then Ah don’t know what is!”

“I really am glad you’re feeling better,” Rarity said.

“Ah got a wicked stomach ache, my heart’s not quite right, an’ Ah feel like a stranger in my own body, but Ah feel better’n ever.” She sobered. “Ah thank each an’ every one of you fer what you did, makin’ this possible.”

* * * * * *

Colgate lounged on the bed, one eye on the TV and one eye on Rouge. She had taken her final three pills at once hours ago, and sat on top of the sheets with an angry expression she didn’t try to conceal. She felt affronted wherever she looked, as if every single object or aspect in the hotel room had taken up a grudge against her. The knowledge that she felt so, and was powerless to temper it, blighted her mood further. She wanted to cry out, but had nothing articulate to say.

Rouge hauled out a makeshift set of saddlebags, fashioned from one of their sheets and a twisted coat hanger. It draped over her sides like soaked wings, clanking gently as she dragged it across the floor.

“Not bad, huh?”

Colgate didn’t respond. Among the many things that offended her, Rouge’s calm was among the worst. While she could feel every passing minute without her painkillers, Rouge seemed to feel no worse the longer she spent sober. They had agreed that they would return to the house and collect everything they could as soon as the police let up a little, but, until then, it was a dry spell.

“Yo, Cole? You still with me?”

“It’s fine,” Colgate said, not looking at her. “A very fine saddlebag indeed, Rouge, very fine.”

“Okay, okay,” Rouge said, wriggling out of her drapery. “Wanna swim real quick before we head out? We have about an hour and a half before we have to catch our train.”

“Sure. Fine.” The newspony once again pulled up Colgate’s face and explained that she was still at large, and still dangerous. “What a bunch of crap,” Colgate said, her heart quickening. As soon as she was on her hooves, she staggered, and threw a hoof out to catch herself on the wall.

“You all right?”

Her mind flew in two directions: one, screaming “poison,” the other calling “heart attack.” She groped for the nightstand.

“What’s up, Cole?”

“My damn heart, you boob!” She sunk to the floor, clutching one hoof to her chest while the other pressed and tilted the nightstand. “Celestia, I think I’m dying.”

“You look fine. Can you breathe?”

“Of course I can breathe. Of course… okay, it’s passing.” She frowned and spat on the carpet.

“Withdrawal?”

“I haven’t had enough to experience that,” Colgate said quietly.

“I saw you suck down like a dozen today, Cole.” Her eyes wandered across the far wall. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

Colgate shook her head and pushed herself up. “I’m fine, now. See, this is why I need to keep my prescriptions up. One mistake, and I could end up facedown on the carpet, with you just standing there, grinning.”

“Cole, c’mon, let’s just swim.”

Colgate whirled on her, and Rouge took a step back. “Just like you. Just like you!”

“What? Cole, c’mon!”

“I almost died just now, and all you can think about is swimming!” Her voice sounded rough and alien in her ears, compressed by the hotel room’s close quarters. All the irritation and anger from earlier seemed compressed as well, a marble of ugliness that had somehow managed to roll up and pin her under its weight.

“You did not almost die. It was probably a gas pain or something.”

“You can’t tell me what it wasn’t, you cur! You, you stupid, uncivilized…” She advanced, her eyes wide and wild, her heart pounding in her ears, and Rouge backed into the wall.

“Cole, buddy, I’m warning you.”

“Nopony warns me,” Colgate snapped. She turned and delivered a kick to the bedside lamp, shattering it on its table and across the wall. In the suddenly dim room, Rouge looked like a wax figure to Colgate, who grabbed the lampshade in her magic and made to slap it into Rouge’s face.

Rouge ducked the blow and popped up, standing momentarily on her back legs to strike Colgate in the throat. The lampshade dropped as Colgate coughed and stumbled back, and Rouge flipped open the makeshift saddlebags to pull out one of the pulse crystals Colgate had stolen.

It attached easily to her hoof, its magical straps hugging her flesh gently but firmly, so that she was able to point the dark blue crystal directly at Colgate’s upturned, expressionless face.

“I forfeit,” Colgate said.

“Cole, are we gonna have a problem? I don’t wanna report you to the Pants, but I might have to if you try that again.”

Colgate stood up, looked at the pulse crystal around Rouge’s hoof, then at the one in the saddlebag. “I’m fine. I got a little heated there.”

“Uh, a little? Hey, Cole, ponies don’t just attack each other out of nowhere.”

“I’m sorry, Rouge.”

“Huh.”

“Lower that crystal.”

Rouge, balanced easily on three legs, relaxed, but did not lower her weapon. “We’ve gotta get out of here for that mission.”

“And we’ll leave the crystals here.”

Rouge thought. Though she didn’t show it, her own thinking was muddied as well. She had gone too long without a drink. “How will I know if I can?”

“Look at me,” Colgate said, coughing for effect. “I’m a unicorn, and you still put me down with a single blow. You don’t even need that thing.”

Rouge smiled a little.

“You’ve got years and years on me, you could probably kick my butt with a blindfold.” She turned her other side to Rouge. “I’m better now, so let’s just calm down. We can take that dip, if you’d like.”

“Why are you the way you are?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what’s up with the mood swings, you noodle-head,” Rouge said, throwing the crystal back into the bag with its twin. Colgate’s eyes never left her face as she did it.

“Maybe you’re right about withdrawal. I’m irritable, and I apologize.”

Rouge stood beside the saddlebag, her eyes sharp in the darkness. Colgate’s, meanwhile, had lost their spark.

“Pool?”

A smile seeped out from between Rouge’s lips, and she hated herself that she couldn’t control it. The two trotted out of their room to the tiny hotel pool.

The Canterlot Express clattered along at a leisurely fifteen miles per hour, taking Rouge and Colgate slowly out of suburban Canterlot and into the wilderness beyond. The train was ultimately bound for Appleloosa, carrying its cargo, mostly lumber, over thousands of miles of grassy plain, dusty plateau, and countless reinforced bridges. In the past months, Canterlot had partnered with Fillydelphia, managed strictly by the mayor’s former assistant, Lowercase, to resurrect the major arteries of cross-country trade. Nearly half a year after The Crumbling, major trade routes were returning alongside the smaller rail systems of public transit. Of these, the Canterlot-Appleloosa route was among the most important, and the second to be completed, after the Canterlot-Manehattan expressway.

Colgate read a magazine, perfectly at ease, while Rouge stared past her reflection at the thinning city outside. Canterlot was built like a dollop of ice cream, with most of the infrastructure and population inside the central ninety percent, within five or ten miles of the mountain. After that point, there was a clean, noticeable division between the city and the outskirts. Trees began to overtake sidewalks, traffic lights vanished in place of stop signs, and the roads were suddenly left neglected. Houses shrunk and yards grew, and carriages disappeared entirely. No one was willing to pull a carriage all the way out of the city, and so the only ponies to be seen in transit were either the parallel travelers by train, their faces wan ovoids in windows just like Rouge’s, or the odd car driver. With so few intra-city gaps healed over, and so few bridges save for use by trains, Rouge could not imagine where the drivers were going.

If she angled her head, she could see the approaching city limits, the point at which the last house’s yard gave way to trackless, beautiful wilderness. A small ridge of mountains stood just in sight, their lower peaks obscured by yellowing trees. Their destination would be past those trees, deep in an abandoned, fallow farm.

Watchpoint sixteen was built into a decaying house, disguised as the structure’s chimney. There were fifty-one such Datura locations around Canterlot, some within sight of the city limits, some as far out as sixty miles, and each one laden with passive enchantments. Rouge had never visited any of the Canterlot ones, but knew the sorts of magic they used from her work outside Applewood. From any watchpoint, one could magically see all of the others, and teleport to any one as well. A pony could detect a spell from over a hundred miles away and could also watch the socialites mingle in the palace courtyard.

Rouge had explained this to Colgate as they were first departing, trying, as she did, to not picture her partner as she had been an hour before.

“How much longer, you think?” Colgate asked.

“I think we pick up speed once we’re out of the city, so probably forty minutes or so,” Rouge said. She didn’t move her head, but could see Colgate through the window’s reflection.

“And it’s Grass Graves, right?”

“That’s right.”

Grass Graves, their stop, was the name given to a small, semi-functional vacation spot built into the husk of a ghost town, its only fixed population consisting of the ponies who ran the ramshackle hotel and gift shop.

“Can’t wait,” Colgate said.

Rouge watched one color of tree give way to another as the last tattered edges of the city faded behind. Distantly, she could see the golden splinter of a wheat field, which she knew would eventually overtake the grass and shrubbery that accompanied their train so close to Canterlot.

“I’m sorry if I came across poorly today,” Colgate said.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Rouge said, meaning it.

“I didn’t mean to let my emotions get out of control. You know that.”

“Of course.” She looked away from the window to face her friend. “We all have our days, Cole. You mind if I call you that?”

“Sure, why not?”

“No, it’s just the last couple times I’ve called you that, you seem to get kinda irritated.”

Colgate thought, her magazine still propped up against a hoof. “Not my intention. No, Cole’s fine. I kind of like it.”

Rouge nodded, relief trickling into her. “Good.”

Colgate didn’t smile, but, in her eyes, Rouge could see contrition. Though she had not known her long, she had quickly learned to read Colgate’s variations of inexpressiveness.

“So, if you don’t mind, what is going on?”

“With the pills.”

“Yeah, and maybe beyond that too. You’ve been kinda kooky since the start, Cole.”

Colgate closed the magazine. “I consider you my best friend.”

“Yeah. Uh, I mean, I know. I think.”

“I have a short temper.” She shrugged. “Simple as that. Even as a filly, I had trouble with it.”

“That’s why they had you on crazy pills when we met.”

“Exactly. I’m not sure what triggers me, if there’s even any consistency in it.”

“And the pills?”

“They keep me calm. Painkillers are great for dulling the senses, and that helps a lot.”

Rouge smiled. “I wish I was like you, Cole.”

“Why?”

She glanced out the window. “You make being honest look so easy. If it was me in the hot seat, I’d just make something up.”

Colgate smiled back. “So what would you make up if I asked why you drink so much?”

Rouge winked. “A lady never tells.”

“You’re no lady, Rouge.” They both laughed.

Someone knocked on their door, and Colgate magically slid it open. The pony with the trolley smiled cordially. “Can I get you anything?”

Rouge’s eyes glinted as she saw the samples of liquor on the trolley’s bottom shelf.

They were the only ponies to get off at Grass Graves, doing so with a string of strange looks trailing behind them. With one clearly improvised bag between the two, and Rouge visibly tipsy, they made a strange picture to the other travelers.

The train rumbled into the night, and the two mares stood awkwardly under a canvass awning, bathed in amber light. A quartet of flickering torches indicated the path down from their platform and to the ruined village of Grass Graves, many of its buildings partially overtaken with grass and weeds.

Rouge sat heavily on a wooden bench and looked uncertainly at the ghost town. Between them and it, a green-gray expanse of grass clung to a smoothly steep slope. One torch wavered in the distance, and Colgate thought she could see the suggestion of another in a window.

She searched their bag and pulled out the horn-drawn map. Watchpoint sixteen was past Grass Graves, three miles north and across an overgrown field. Fancy Pants had wanted them there that night, but, looking at Rouge, she wasn’t sure whether they would make it.

“C’mon,” she said, prodding her pale partner. “Let’s go.” Uncertainly, she added, “We’re Daturas, not tourists.”

Rouge got to her hooves and moved toward the four torches. “Sure, right. Real professional-like, I gotcha. You got the map?”

“Right here.”

“Cool. You lead the way. I think let’s just pass right through here, as the crow flies, you know?”

Colgate began their descent, stepping carefully on tilting, wooden stairs that soon became almost too dark to see as they put the torches behind them. Grass swooped over to hide the stairs’ edges, and sometimes, they stumbled on a loose step. Crickets sang all around, and their train whistled in the far distance.

“Canterlot looks so big,” Rouge said. “Look, Cole.” She laughed. “It’s kinda awesome.”

Colgate looked obligingly, not caring about the view. Lower Canterlot, their home, was a flat line of light, neither grand nor interesting, serving only to brighten the opalescent veins of streetlights that covered the mountain and coalesced at the artificial promontory on which was built the seat of the royalty. Canterlot Palace appeared as a flawless, white toy castle on its clamshell above the rest of the city. Far off to one side, Colgate could see the dim bubble of light that was Ponyville.

“Mad awesome,” Rouge repeated, grabbing a blade of grass and chewing it.

Colgate said nothing as she continued down the stairs, thinking. Her apology to Rouge had felt genuine, but her explanation for herself had been a lie. Of the two, only the apology bothered her.

“But Rouge is a friend, as I know, and friends don’t take advantage of other friends. She wouldn’t try anything with me, because we care about each other.” She slowed slightly as her muscles contracted and chills swept over her. She was sweating in the crisp evening, and, though her skin felt cold, she felt too hot inside. Her head throbbed, and her tail and flanks felt tense.

“That doesn’t stop her from making mistakes, though, like sending me to that hospital. She’s a friend, but she’s also stupid and easily misguided. Remember that, Cole.” She thought of the pair of pulse crystals in their bag, left at the hotel, and wondered again whether she might want to start sleeping with one when they got back. Ever since leaving home, her enemy’s identity had seemed more and more insubstantial to her. Perhaps the identity is shifting, she had thought earlier. It seemed possible.

“Cole, what do you say to spending the night here and getting a fresh start tomorrow?” Rouge asked. “I’m not feeling too hot. I think I drank too much.”

“You sound fine.”

“I can hold my booze, good buddy. Still, I’m not feeling great.”

Their path evened out as they stepped onto a packed dirt road. The only buildings in sight were overgrown with cat-claw and morning glory, one with a collapsed roof and the other with a porch banister that leaned into the yard as if punched out long ago. Chipped paint exposed dry wood in walls, porch steps, and a broken down cart in the grass beside a well. One wheel lay on its side, a tomato plant growing through its spokes, like a period to the sentence of neglect and decay before them.

“Where’s that damn hotel?” Rouge grumbled, pushing sprigs of grass out of her way as she walked on one side down the hoofpath.

Colgate followed her, taking in the scene with disinterest. To her, the buildings did not mean anything, did not suggest that ponies had once attempted to live where they walked. It was a fact of history only, a quirk in the region’s geology, something to be navigated and left behind. She did not pause, as Rouge did, to look closer at the preserved architecture that became prevalent as they moved closer to the hotel.

One thing she did notice, and knew that Rouge did not, was the dim shadow of an equine head thrown against a bare patch of ground beside a darkened general store.

* * * * * *

“One thing I forgot to tell you earlier,” Luna said, dropping the bellhop disguise in their room, but keeping the false voice, “is to stop worrying so much about bringing pieces of land together. I’m sure you’ve noticed that the south is in a less dire position than the north?”

“Fewer gaps, bigger slabs, and all that,” Whooves said. “Noticed, yes, but not thought much about.”

“Speak for yourself, dear,” Rarity said.

“There are ponies in this region who are actively working on restoring the countryside. Snowdrift and Roan are already mostly or completely whole.”

“Is that because of your ponies?” Octavia asked. “These unnamed ponies that seem to belong to you?”

“The same ones who found this next Element,” Rarity said.

“Yes, they are the same. Rather, they belong to the same class of ponies. I employ many of them around the world.”

“Equestria, you mean?” Vinyl asked.

“I mean the world.”

“So focus on finding the last Elements,” Pinkie said. She was giving Applejack a back massage. “Can do, Princess!”

“Pinkie, not in my ear,” Applejack said.

“How quaint,” Whooves said. “I was admonished for the selfsame transgression not twenty-four—”

“Shut up,” Big Mac said patiently.

“Er, yes, quite.”

Luna looked at Twilight, then Octavia. “Ready? I’ll teleport us there.”

“I’m ready,” Twilight said. “What is it, anyway?”

Luna’s horn glowed, and Twilight closed her eyes as she was sucked away from the hotel. The sensation did not even make her waver, and she stepped out of the spell as easily as leaving their airship, though Octavia needed a moment to collect herself.

“Maybe this place is familiar to you, Octavia?”

“Vaguely. It reminds me of the route to the Mansels’ office,” Octavia said.

“It’s not far off, but no, this is where you were shown Twilight’s angel.”

“My what?” Twilight blurted.

“That horrible airship in the mountains,” Octavia said.

They walked through a granite slab of a door, into a narrow corridor, and then through another stone door to a busy vault. Ponies moved across the floor in droves, up steps to doorways that lined the room all the way to its unseen terminus, all of them speaking, many with one another or to glowing balls of light on their horns. Luna parted the crowd without a glance in either direction, and Twilight noticed, while they moved politely aside, no ponies bowed to her.

She took them down a set of stairs to a door with a simple 109 carved on its face.

“What in the world is all this?” Twilight asked.

“These are some of the ponies in my employ,” Luna said, taking them down the thinner hallway. Twilight could just make out a tall, seedlike shape at the hall’s end, jostling awkwardly against titanic chains that disappeared in huge, dark holes bored in the faceless stone. Sparks flew as a sickle-like wing scraped down the wall, and the pony standing beneath didn’t even look up.

“Luna, good to see you,” the mare, a pegasus, said. “Miss Twilight, Miss Octavia, a pleasure.”

“You’re dismissed, Feather Frame,” Luna said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The three of them stood before the angel, two of them gawking up at it as it strained against its chains. Its broad, asymmetric wings had worn black grooves in the stone, and years of grime had turned its searchlights opaque, like blind spider eyes.

“This is mine?” Twilight asked in a small voice.

“To activate a machine of this sort, one needs to touch it in a specific place with their magic. I don’t know when or where you found this, but you must have gone aboard at some point and woken it up,” Luna said. “Having done so, you took command of it—which, of course, you didn’t know.”

“How did it get here?” Octavia asked. “We discovered this in the Friesian Mountains.”

“I don’t know the details. Someone from the mines beneath probably discovered this, doubtless while investigating the racket a living angel can make when it’s been abandoned, and they decided to send it here.”

“Why am I only hearing about this now?” Twilight asked.

“A matter of courtesy,” Luna said. “I knew you were dealing with your own difficulties with Applejack, so I told my ponies to leave you alone until my say-so, and simply contain the angel.”

“One of them actually found me and took me down here the first or second day,” Octavia said. “She wanted me to bring you here as soon as possible, but you were indisposed.”

“And I told her to stand down and let you take care of your affairs in peace,” Luna said.

“Well… well,” Twilight said. “Thanks, I guess?”

“So now what, your highness?” Octavia asked.

“Ordinarily, we destroy them,” Luna said. “These machines are illegal in Equestria, as you know, Twilight.”

“Except for the Astra crow,” Twilight said.

“That’s a special case.”

“Shall we assume this is as well?” Octavia asked. “Since you are showing us, rather than quietly destroying it.”

“Don’t take me for an impulsive pony, Octavia. I gave this matter much consideration before acting. Ultimately, though, yes, I figured it would be best to have you both at least look at it first. I needn’t tell you how perilous our position is with Discord right now, and something like this could have its uses.”

The angel batted its wings against the wall, jangling its chains fearsomely and momentarily deafening them with the sound of its heavy wings slamming against stone. Grit and dust trailed down from the boreholes, and another shower of sparks dissipated over their heads as a wing scored a line down the rock.

“How do I deactivate it?” Twilight asked. “If it’s in my command, can I just ask it to?”

“Address it, and say ‘sleep’. All angels have names—at least, they’re supposed to—but I don’t know what this one’s is. Just call it ‘angel’.”

Twilight looked at the princess doubtfully, then at the vertical airship, all six wings creaking and groaning in their sockets. The machine’s outer shell was devoid of design or ornamentation, heavily scarred and battered from its time in the mountains. Dark oxidized patches spotted its front, the upper deck, like wounds.

“Speak clearly; no need to shout. It will respond to your voice.”

“Um… angel, sleep.” She backed away, but the angel’s only response was to sag in its chains and allow itself to hang limply. Like an exhausted body, it steadily came to leaning rest, throwing an ungainly shadow all the way to the corridor’s exit.

“I cannot believe how easy that was,” Octavia said.

“Easy for you,” Luna said. “It was a waking nightmare for my ponies to contain this.”

“It must weigh more than a thousand pounds.”

“Several times more, yes. Almost everyone you saw coming in was involved in some way, putting this angel into captivity.”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said. “I had no idea. If I did, I wouldn’t have… well, left it.”

“I know. Frankly, Twilight, the chances of you finding this were very slim. Part of me wonders whether Discord may have planted it for you, but I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“So it’s done?”

“The angel sleeps, so, yes, it is done.”

“What about Discord?” Octavia asked. “How do you intend to use this against him?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Luna said. “I have a couple ideas, but they’re risky. Of course, making this machine my own would be ideal, but I can only imagine his reaction if he saw me piloting it. It could well be just the prompt he needs to drop pretense and do something truly cataclysmic.”

“Can he do that?”

“My sister and I have to assume so. With an ally like Vanilla Cream, and even his limited access to Tartarus, and the gateways there, he could do some real damage.”

“A Tartarus gateway in the middle of Canterlot Palace, for instance,” Twilight said, nodding. “Right?”

“Never. But somewhere nearby, or somewhere in the city, is possible. Goddesses or no, we cannot cover our entire city in the same magic that protects our inner sanctum, and still have enough left over to fight.”

“And he is on his way for the third time,” Octavia said. “Is he? Or is he still preparing?”

“That is what I will be investigating as soon as I’ve left you. If he is not ready, he will be soon.”

Octavia looked up at the inert hulk of machinery. Her tired eyes traced the scratches in the stone, the brutal cudgels of wings. She closed her eyes, and Twilight glanced at her, recognizing her expression at once. It was the expression that frequently heralded a barb of uncomfortable honesty, or a dangerous idea.

“Could one conceivably use this angel in combat?”

Luna shrugged. “Sure. It would be awkward, though. This isn’t the most graceful beast I’ve seen.”

“But it could be done.”

Luna smiled slyly. “What are you suggesting, Octavia?”

“Octavia, don’t do something you’ll regret,” Twilight said.

“It is because of me that we lost in Applewood,” Octavia said. “I could have given more, and I was weak instead.” She looked up at Luna, who looked back with matriarchal patience. “Suppose I were to wake up this angel and take it to Canterlot. Could I help?”

“Octavia, you can’t be serious.”

“You could,” Luna said. “How much, I cannot predict. I hypothesize that Discord had a part in this angel’s discovery, but I can’t discount the possibility that he didn’t, and if he didn’t, then this would be the single biggest surprise we could hit him with.” A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “It’s been a long time since angels have been used, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s forgotten about them, or simply never factored them into his plan.”

“Suicide,” Twilight said simply. “That’s all I’m hearing.”

“No need for drama, Miss Sparkle,” Luna said. “I understand Octavia has some experience with the Astra crow as well. You rode it once, did you not?”

“I did,” Octavia said. “Your highness.”

“Which ironically gives you experience that relatively few of my ponies have, and none in this city do. However, Twilight does raise a strong point.”

Octavia was a minute in responding, and did so tentatively. “In the coming battle, I do not believe my safety should be of particular importance.”

“Come on,” Twilight said. “Come on, your highness. Talk some sense into her.”

“You did not let me help you with Applejack. Let me help with this.” She softened. “This is what I want to do.”

“This is the wrong place to make a decision,” Luna said. “Let’s do this, girls. We’ll go back to the hotel, and you can talk it over with everyone there. When you do make a decision, have Twilight write me, and I’ll take you back here if you need. I’ll instruct my ponies to keep the angel safe and secure for now, and you can wake it up if you choose.”

“Very well,” Octavia said, and Twilight only rolled her eyes. When they returned to the hotel room in a flash of light, Luna was not with them, and their friends encircled them, asking for all the details. As Octavia explained what they had seen, and what it meant for the coming battle at Canterlot, Twilight studied her expression. Octavia spoke of needing to come to a decision, but Twilight could see that she had already reached one. Some of her friends’ faces suggested that they could see it too.

Elements Ahead

Chapter Seventy-seven

Elements Ahead

“You do understand our reluctance, though,” Twilight said. It was six a.m., and Roan was just waking up. The first street vendors were setting up, and the hotel’s earliest risers moved around slowly. A shower ran above their heads, a soothing sound, but also an unsettling reminder of their position. Luna had teleported them back to their hotel, and Applejack had not left since then. If they left late enough for ponies to see them, then the fragile net of excuses that had been set up when Twilight wasn’t around would burst.

“Sure,” Pinkie said, a cup of coffee between her hooves. “I’m pretty scared too, but I think it’ll be good.”

“Ya got anythin’ specific that’s good ‘bout this?” Applejack asked. “Boy howdy, talkin’ still don’t feel right.” She glanced at Whooves, who looked back somberly. “Anyway, Ah missed y’all sorely; Ah don’t wanna say goodbye so soon, especially to you, Pinkie.”

Pinkie laughed and reached across the bed, hugging Applejack and nearly upsetting her coffee. “Aw, I’m gonna miss you too, AJ! But don’t you see? It won’t be that long, and then I’ll come back and we’ll be even closer to beating Discord! Two Elements to go and the most recent battle won, what’s not to like?”

“If I may step in,” Octavia said. “May I?”

“Of course, sis.”

“I would never have asked any of you to accompany me, though the idea of going alone was a cause of great concern. I believe Pinkie will be perfect for helping me handle what is to come.” She frowned. “That I should need it at all just goes to show my weakness, I suppose.”

“Let’s not start in on that,” Vinyl said.

Octavia nodded.

“It’s my choice, girls, and I wanna do it,” Pinkie said. “I really, really wanna do it, just about as much as I really, really don’t wanna do it, you know?”

“I think we’d all be scared,” Twilight said.

“But it’s a good fear, like the kind that feels all funny and tingly in your tummy, and makes you wanna jump around and do cartwheels and—” She stopped herself. “Well, you get it.” She sipped her coffee.

“Any thoughts, doc?” Big Mac asked. “Ah’m all fer it, myself.”

“Oh, hm, hm, more power to her, I suppose,” Whooves said.

“Are you quite all right?” Rarity asked.

“Not a morning pony?” Vinyl asked.

“Exactly, not one for the dawn,” Whooves said. “No pep in this step ‘til after noon.” He chuckled halfheartedly.

“Fluttershy? Thoughts?” Big Mac asked.

“I support you, Pinkie,” Fluttershy said, nodding. She sat beside Rainbow, sharing a dome of warm air on the bedspread.

“Now that does come as a surprise,” Rarity said.

“If she wants to help, I think she should. Especially considering… well, they’re blood. And that’s thicker than… um, water, I guess.”

“We understand,” Twilight said. She pointed at both of them. “Just you two?”

“I think so,” Pinkie said. “Right?”

“I will not request that anyone join us,” Octavia said. “You all have your own places in this mission, and I would not infringe on that.”

“Idea,” Rainbow said. “We’re heading north anyway, to Trottingham. Let’s just swing by after the battle and pick you two up.”

“If it would not be too far out of your way, I would appreciate it.”

“Don’t go passing up any Elements to get us early, though,” Pinkie said. “We can wait, or ask Luna for a ride.”

“I agree.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Twilight said. “Octavia, do you want me to keep your cello for you, or do you want to bring it along?”

Octavia thought as the others got up and began grabbing bags. “I would like to keep it, please.” She floated the instrument in its case and looked at it. “So strange.”

“What’s strange?” Applejack asked.

She glanced at Twilight, who shrugged. “When we first entered this city, we hid your body inside this case, to not arouse suspicion.”

“Shoot, sorry fer askin’,” Applejack said, laughing. “Ah gotta tell ya, girls, Ah think Ah’m gonna need the full story on my resurrection.”

“Yer not disturbed ‘bout hearin’ it?” Big Mac asked.

“How can Ah possiby? Ah’m alive, ain’t Ah?”

It was seven when everyone boarded their new airship. Big Mac insisted he take the controls, and Applejack agreed with an affable pat on the back. Octavia and Pinkie waited until the balloon was inflated and the turbines were humming comfortably before leaving and watching from the tarmac as their friends merged with the sky. Seven hooves waved back until they were out of sight, and Pinkie let off a final, shrill goodbye before they returned to the hotel.

“When’s Luna bringing us to that angel thingy, sis?” Pinkie asked, bouncing on the bed.

Octavia went immediately to the window. She was used to stepping over bags, discarded clothes, books Twilight had not picked up, or sleeping ponies, but nothing got in her way as she crossed the room. She resisted the urge to turn at the window and absorb the emptiness, a sign more abrupt and cold than her friends’ gradual fade into the sky. “Around eleven. Until then, we have nothing to do. For once.” She tried to see the airship while Pinkie, wriggling with anticipation, climbed back under the covers and turned on the TV. She flipped through the channels until she found a news station.

“No turning back now,” Octavia thought. “My only—our only way forward now is with that angel.” She sat down. “This is really happening.”

As she understood it, Discord would be hitting Canterlot like a typhoon in the coming month, and the city had only a depleted Royal Guard and whatever Luna could muster with her own mysterious ponies to defend it. Even victory would be trying on the city, and the inevitability of a fourth battle weighed in the back of her mind, as she imagined it did for the goddesses. By that time, if they had not recovered all six Elements, she saw no possibilities of victory. Their time, so slowly draining away, would finally run out with the last of the capital’s resources. She had threatened it several times, but had never fully imagined it herself.

Her thoughts once more went to her residence, the apartment she had abandoned with neither notice nor forethought. Legally, she had no home, and she knew her career would have dried up by the time she returned, if she did. Most times, when those thoughts surfaced, she could distract herself, but, standing in the empty hotel with her sister on the bed and her friends in the air, there was nothing else to occupy her thoughts.

“And if I—we—fail, then the others will share my fate. If Canterlot falls, there really will be nothing left.”

“You okay, Octavia?”

“I am fine.” She looked at Pinkie, then went to the bathroom and crouched by the toilet as a sudden tide of nausea built inside her. She hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, and could feel hunger sapping at her underneath the illness, brought on, simply, by stress. She breathed heavily as her thoughts ordered themselves, all of them coalescing around one hard point: “no more than I deserve.”

She had passed out on the airship deck when her friends needed her most, and Applewood had been lost. There was no anger in her mind as she reflected, only loathing. She hated her weakness; when it was not of the spirit, it was of the body, both so difficult to overcome, no matter what she thought of her own willpower. She looked into her own eyes in the toilet bowl, hating them.

“You all right in there, sis? You didn’t fall in, did ya?”

Octavia coughed. “Fine, fine. I will be out in a second.”

“You don’t sound too good.”

Octavia hung her head. “I know.”

Luna arrived, again disguised as a bellhop, and waited until after Pinkie tipped her to reveal herself.

“Are you girls ready?”

“Let’s do it!” Pinkie cried.

Luna nodded, and the three of them teleported back to the angel’s chamber. Pinkie gawked and exclaimed as they passed through the crowd of ponies, but Octavia stared straight ahead, trying to clear her mind and taking deep breaths, recovering from the shock of teleportation. With every step, one phrase repeated in her mind: “This is really happening.”

The angel hung just where Twilight had left it, huge and useless-looking in its chain cradle. Pinkie sat on the stone floor and uttered a long, dramatic gasp as she took in the sight. “Wowsers, that’s big! I didn’t know what to expect, but this sure isn’t it! Look at that! One, two… six wings! Six, Octavia!”

“Yes, I see them,” Octavia said. “How do I wake it?”

“I’ll take you aboard,” Luna said. “You have to hit a special place with some magic. Pinkie, you can stay here. We’ll be coming back out.”

“How do we get it out of here?”

“My ponies will handle that. We do want it awake first, though, so there’s no threat of someone else accidentally waking it and making it their own during the movement process. Come along, Octavia.” Luna teleported them inside the machine.

From a shady colonnade outside a movie theater, Whooves had watched the airship take off. There was no crowd to interfere with his view, but he wished there had been. As he was, able to see his friends’ departure unbroken, he was not able to stem all of his self-consciousness, and found himself tearfully waving goodbye to the empty, blue sky, unheeded and painfully aware of himself.

He had only been positive of his decision the night before. Until that point, he had been wavering between two choices that frightened him: stay with the Elements and brave the dangers they were sure to face, or turn away and live with guilt he knew would come.

Twilight had been the deciding factor, which, looking back, did not surprise him. He remembered first meeting her years ago in Ponyville, thinking her charming in her shyness and desirable in her intellect. Her conversation was companionable, her appearance a constant delight, and her presence never failed to brighten his mood. Crossing paths with her and her friends on the coastline had been, for him, a minor miracle.

Then, Roan. With Applejack dead, something had emerged in Twilight that he knew he was not alone in noticing. Where once there was cautious confidence and a warm core of good nature, he was quick to discover instead an unnerving bolt of determination, from where he could not say. Whether it had been inside her all the time or had developed in the dark of her psyche, unseen until its emergence, he had wondered with a fervor he felt was greater than his own minor affections.

Alone, it was enough to bother him. What pushed him, at times of deeper consideration, into outright fear was the fact that no one else seemed as concerned. Those who did not help her supported her, and his was the only dissenting voice. The image of Twilight and Rarity, stolen casket between them, standing in the hotel room could not be erased from his memory, and it was in that moment that he realized he had cast his lot with a much more dangerous group than he thought.

Even so, his decision had not been easy, for he had also to consider the others. He had grown fond of Vinyl and Rarity, despite the latter’s involvement in robbing a mortuary, and he also didn’t like the idea of vanishing so soon after Applejack’s return. It seemed to be in poor taste.

“Still for the best,” he said to himself. Despite his liking for the others, there remained one fact that he could not excuse: he knew of Pinkie’s mistake, one of the three inessential ponies who did, and his absence would unerringly make the secret that much easier to keep. And Big Mac had said it himself, Whooves reasoned. He had the biggest mouth of all of them.

He sat and enjoyed the shade for a minute more, then set off on hoof to find some breakfast. He had no money on him, but hoped he could charm an attractive tourist into letting him join at a table. Barring that, he wasn’t above begging. He had done both before.

Walking down the street, the sight of ponies emerging from their homes or hotels, many still blinking sleep out of their eyes, warmed his heart. He looked back instinctively, then laughed to himself. He’d traveled with the Elements so long, he was accustomed to making sure whomever he was with was keeping up.

He grinned and jogged across the street to a large café, just opening. A few diners had already trickled in and were being seated at tables, and the smell of eggs and fresh fruit made him want to cry for joy as he approached. Veering to one side to examine the patio area, he saw no one who struck his fancy, and he played his approach off as a shortcut to the street beyond. There, he turned around and stared dolefully at the restaurant’s windows, then noticed one of its plantar boxes close by. He grabbed a flower off the top and hastily ate it.

“I saw that,” a passing mare said, giving him a stern look. He smiled and moved on.

Once he reached the edge of downtown, he turned back, knowing that he would be better off exploring deeper into the city, where the neighborhoods outnumbered the tourist destinations. After breakfast, he would need to set his mind to finding somewhere to live, and, after that, a job. So it had been in Ponyville, so it had been on the coast, so it would be in Roan. He whistled a small tune as he looked for someone attractive with food, the idle music enough to keep his mood up and stem any guilt from abandoning his friends.

He stopped briefly in more shade outside a flower shop and nodded a greeting to an approaching mare. She stopped beside him and pretended to check the shop’s hours, though it was clearly open.

She didn’t look up. “Have you eaten yet, doctor?”

“I? No ma’am, I’ve—I’m sorry, do I know you?”

She fixed him with two dark, unsmiling eyes. “Not yet, no. Let’s get some breakfast. My treat.”

He followed meekly, at once amazed at his luck and uncomfortable that the strange mare had appeared to know him. Assuming it was an acquaintance he had forgotten, he began to speak.

“I dare say, I think I’ve always had a little bit of Roan in my heart. I love this town, though, I confess, I’ve not spent much time here.” He laughed, and she didn’t look at him. “I’d actually been eyeing that nearby establishment for a while, but I take you for a local. If you know a place that’s better, then I happily defer to your good judgment.”

“Here’s fine,” the mare said. She got them a table on the patio, near the corner, and waited until they had water and bread rolls before introducing herself. “My name’s Peaceful Meadows, and your name’s Dr. Whooves. At least, that’s what you’ve gone by recently.”

He looked at her and bit into a roll.

“I’m a friend.”

“Why, my dear, I didn’t doubt it,” he said, pretending her words hadn’t lifted a weight off him. “But I have many friends in the world. Perhaps we’ve met over tea in Trottingham, or ale in Applewood?”

“We don’t know each other.”

“We seem to.”

She rolled her eyes. “I thought all you were gone. I saw the ship you brought back from the desert, and I saw it leave this morning.”

Suspicion rose in his mind for the first time, and he narrowed his eyes. “What ship?”

“The airship, doctor.” She narrowed her eyes back at him. “Do you think I’m some kind of spy?”

“Oh, hm hm, wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I don’t work for Discord, or any of his clowns. I’m a friend of the Mansel family.”

“I—”

“And don’t you dare pretend not to know who they are.”

He swallowed. “Okay, the Mansels. Delightful bunch, are they not?”

“Not to everyone,” she said. “Why aren’t you with your friends?”

“It’s a, um, a long story. Perhaps for when we’re better friends, Miss Meadows.”

“We still need a minute,” Peaceful Meadows said, and the waitress scurried back from their table.

“What exactly do you want? What do they want?” Whooves asked.

“The same thing they wanted days ago. They want to know what happened to Pure Waterfall, and how the Elements were involved. They know the Elements are gone, but not that you’re still here.” She smiled. “It’s lucky I found you.”

“Is it?”

“It could be, doctor. It could be.”

“Soooo… well, Pure Waterfall, he was that CEO, wasn’t he? The dam pony.”

“Yes, him. A valuable client.”

“I heard he was—” He stopped himself. “Money launderer” tingled behind his lips, but he bit it back. “I too heard he was valuable. I suppose being a CEO will do that, no?”

“You were there, weren’t you?”

“Where?”

“Doctor, I have little patience for roundabout conversations with ponies I don’t know, and you are making me wish I’d chosen somewhere less public to conduct this interview.”

“Oh?” He could feel his heart speed up.

“What happened to Pure Waterfall? Just tell me what you know, and we can have breakfast in peace. Look at that poor waitress, she wants to come over here, but she’s afraid I’ll rebuff her again. Look!”

Whooves took his eyes of Peaceful Meadows for just long enough to glance at the waitress. Even though they were in the open, he felt trapped.

“Do it for her sake, lover boy. Tell me what you know.”

“Well…” He forced a chuckle. “It was rather a pell-mell situation, and I’ve no photographic memory, but I’ll do my best.”

“Please.”

He took a long drink of water, and Peaceful Meadows sighed. “Seems to me that Discord, that merciless puppeteer, had Pure Waterfall in his grasp. Metaphorically speaking.” He smiled. “The poor pony had signed over his dam a couple months prior, promising its control for a speedy return to the status quo. It was Discord, and his friend, Vanilla Cream—I dare say you’ve heard of him?”

Peaceful Meadows’ eyes gained a little life as she studied him. “I don’t. Let’s go back to that later.”

“Oh.”

She accepted a refill of water from the nervous waitress. “Proceed, doctor.”

“So Discord had them put in all these big magical alterations to the dam, to the structure of it. When the time came, and I imagine the time was our arrival, or shortly after, he had that cork poised to pop.”

She looked at him, and he smiled back. “You’ll need to be clearer than that.”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, yes, forgive me; I’m a little scattered right now.”

“Then collect yourself.” She stared into his eyes, and he blushed before looking away.

“You might not believe this. How well acquainted would you say you are with the magnitude of his magic?”

She sighed. “Well enough to believe you’re about to say something ridiculous. What did he do to the dam?”

“Er, it’s more a matter of what the dam did to us. It, uh, it walked.”

“Mm hm.”

“No, I mean it!” He looked around quickly, startled at his tiny outburst. “I don’t know the logistics or any such and such, but I know it detached from its cradle and tried to advance on us. It was, er, rather a bit more than luck that we survived.”

“And Pure Waterfall died at some point in this story?”

“I suppose he must have. I wasn’t aware of any harm that came to him.”

“So you never actually saw the pony yourself.”

“To my knowledge, none of us ever did.” He frowned at a roll. “Wait! No, not so. Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash did; they met him before the fiasco. And what a fiasco it was, Miss Meadows. Count yourself lucky that you weren’t there for it!”

“Where are the Elements going now?”

“Why, Trottingham. They’ve… hang on, why?”

“Why?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t. My employers do.”

“Now, Miss Meadows—”

“Who is Vanilla Cream? A friend of Discord, you said.”

“Well… oh, my, is it hot out here? Well, this Vanilla is—again, I’m not up on the logistical side of this—Vanilla is some kind of magical being, something Discord summoned. Not a pony, like you or I. No, not at all.”

“A magical being, like the ghost ship.”

Whooves smiled wide and nodded. “The very same, yes! Well, probably. I’m not positive of it.”

“And what does this Vanilla do? How is he related?”

“Oh, well, he’s a sort of double-agent type, I suppose, to put it in broad strokes. He’s ostensibly on Discord’s side, but throws in and helps us out from time to time just the same. Why, Miss Meadows, he has access to magic that we don’t. Perks from being a summoned pony, no?”

“How does he help?”

“Well, most recently, by pulling us out of Applewood. We—that is, all of us—were about to be run down by this monster dam, and Vanilla popped in and gave us a good old yank.” He bit into another roll. “These are terrific. Want one?”

“I’m not hungry.”

He shrugged. “Anyhoo, that’s how we made it to your neck of the woods so quickly. Teleportation, long-distance stuff.”

Peaceful Meadows nodded. “I see. And this Vanilla Cream. What does he look like?”

“Oh, just about anything, really.”

“He changes his shape.”

Whooves nodded. “Another perk of being a summoned pony.”

“What shape does he take when he’s with you?”

“Ah, yes! Well, when he’s consorting with the likes of us, he’s a stunning white, with a black and white mane. Reminds me of an ice cream cone, with a tapered horn. Beautiful blue eyes, and a bold, black dot as a cutie mark. I imagine he was going for a touch of intimidation on that, wot?”

Peaceful Meadows smiled. “Thank you, doctor. You’ve been most helpful.”

“Now, hang on. Why were you so keen on knowing the Elements’ location?”

“Goodbye, doctor.” She stood and threw a couple bits on the table before leaving, and he stared after her for a second before finding his resolve and giving chase. She was well down the sidewalk before he caught her.

“Miss?”

“Leave me alone, doctor. Our business is concluded.”

“But miss! I simply must—”

In a single, fluid motion, Peaceful Meadows angled her body and kicked out, hitting him in the jaw with a hard back hoof. He coughed and staggered back, and she adjusted her balance as a pair of onlookers slowly backed away.

“Wh-what was that for?” he shouted. “I’m—”

“Shut up,” she said, moving toward him. “I don’t know you, so leave me alone.”

“Well maybe—”

“Leave, sir. Leave me alone.”

“But I just—uh, that is, well—”

“You got no business with me.”

He wiped his muzzle. His lips stung, and he could feel blood pooling in his mouth, but he also felt brave. The pain was not so bad that he couldn’t speak his mind. “And what if I do?”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t.” She was walking away as she said it.

He grinned to himself, but then stopped when he noticed the assurance in Peaceful Meadows’ movement. He had only to repeat what Twilight had told them, and she would listen, and probably more, he thought. The spreading pain in his jaw was reason enough to keep away from her.

“Never mind,” he said to himself, putting his back to her and taking off at a trot. “The good doctor lives to see another day.”

Luna teleported Octavia and Pinkie back to their room and left them, promising to return in a couple hours to escort them to the angel, which would be left in a clear spot in the desert outside town. Octavia had woken it, then ordered it to allow itself to be transported. Luna wanted it awake and ready to go at a moment’s notice; having something like it out in the open outside Roan was a dangerous idea, she explained.

The sisters sat in their separate beds and watched TV, neither saying much. Pinkie had exhausted her questions about the angel before Luna had left them alone, and Octavia was too busy contemplating the next few days to speak. The idea of commanding such a massive machine was personally appealing, and had seemed like a good idea when she suggested it, but, the more she thought, the less certain she was that she had made the right decision. She had no idea how she might use the angel in battle; it had no weapons that she was aware of.

“Wanna play a game, sis?” Pinkie asked.

Octavia glanced at her. “No.”

“Okay.” She fiddled with the sheets. “Why?”

“I am not in the mood.”

“What? Not in the mood for games?”

“I think they left us a deck of cards. Play solitaire.”

“But that’s no fun!”

“I am confident that you can find a way to entertain yourself with them.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Pinkie raced to open it. Octavia’s ears flattened when she heard the voice on the other end.

“Praise the princesses, but I don’t think I can believe my own eyes!” Whooves cried. “I thought you’d left already!”

“Doc!” Pinkie shrieked, hugging him. “Sis, look! It’s the doc!”

“I see him,” Octavia said.

“Just as warm and fuzzy as ever, I see, Miss Octavia,” Whooves said, nodding.

“What happened to your mouth?”

“Oh, this? A little disagreement, that’s all. A rather attractive mare made it abundantly clear that my company was not appreciated.”

“You hound dog, you!” Pinkie cried, patting him on the back.

“Er, yes, that’s right, Pinkie. So I figured I’d return to the home base, as it were, and what do you know? Familiar voices from within.” He sat on Pinkie’s bed, and she with him, their tails entwined. “What fortune!”

“So you did not go with the others,” Octavia said. “Why?”

“Well, you know, differences in opinion, and so forth.”

“Did you have a fight?” Pinkie asked, her concern just as loud as her joy.

“One might not call it a fight, per se, but there was some, shall we say, discomfort. Oh, but I’m getting ahead of myself, it’s so good to see you two!”

“What happened?” Octavia asked.

“Well… I felt that, perhaps, a leave of absence might not be wholly unwelcome to them.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She narrowed her eyes. “Do they know that you are gone?”

“Uh? Er, well, I would imagine so, yes. By… now, anyway.”

Pinkie gasped. “You mean you didn’t tell them first?”

“Not as such, no,” he said quietly. “I was going to, I swear, but I hadn’t the words. Goodbyes are so hard, and so often end in tears, at least for me. I honestly feel it’s better this way.”

“You coward,” Octavia said.

“I?”

“Yes, you. You abandoned them. Did you at least leave a note?”

Whooves hung his head.

“Pathetic.”

“It’s not my fault! I can’t contain my own feelings, Miss Octavia. Would you ask a sparrow not to fly, a—”

“Shut up. Just shut up, doctor.”

“Did Twilight scare you?” Pinkie asked, rubbing his back affectionately.

He leaned in and accepted a hug. “Perhaps a little, yes. But how could she not?”

“Perhaps you are afraid of what we are planning to do,” Octavia said. “Perhaps you are afraid of our responsibility.”

“Oh, hm, hm, could be so, my dear.” He smiled. “Is not our Twilight emblematic of that, though? She is, after all, a figurehead of determination now.”

“Yeah, she’s great!” Pinkie said. “I really like her now!”

“So what are your intentions?” Octavia asked. “I take it you do not want to find a place to settle down here, since you came back to your room.”

“Well…” Whooves made a show of considering her question. “I had meant to do that very thing, but, now, I’m not so sure. I might need some help.”

Octavia showed her teeth in a sardonic grin. “This should be good.”

“Now now, no need for unkindness, my lady. But yes, I might have inadvertently gotten myself into a can of worms here, in the great Roan. The wonderful mare I met, who gave me this,” he indicated his hurt jaw, “she said she was a friend of that family of yours, the Mansels. Yes, the very same!”

“Did you get her name?”

“Why, yes, I did. Peaceful Meadows, she was called. Ironic, I think, since peace seemed the furthest thing from her mind at the time.”

“She accompanied us to the Mansels’ boardroom,” Octavia said. “What did she want with you?”

“News of what happened in Applewood.”

“Persistent, huh?” Pinkie asked.

“Did you make sure that she did not follow you back here?” Octavia asked.

“Oh, I doubt she’d do that. She seemed much more interested in being rid of me,” Whooves said.

“What did you tell her?” Pinkie asked.

“Well, nothing incriminating, I can tell you that right here, my dear. I told, quite simply, the truth. The truth and nothing but—for even then, I felt—”

“So why’d she thump you? Is it tender? We can get some ice, if you want.”

“I wouldn’t want to prevail upon you in such a way. Ah, but the punch! Well, I, so curious, approached her after our conversation had concluded, but she was in no mood to tolerate me further. My line of inquiry was cut short by her hoof. What a hit, too!”

Pinkie looked at Octavia, who thought. “I do not see anything wrong with her knowing what happened. If they know that we are not directly responsible for what happened to Pure Waterfall—wait, you did not tell her what you knew, did you?”

“About the money laundering?”

“Not so loud,” Pinkie hissed. “These walls have ears. Mansel ears.”

“Do they?”

“I dunno!”

“Did you tell her, doctor?” Octavia snapped.

“Oh, no, no, not at all,” Whooves said quickly. “The temptation was there, to be sure, but I kept mum. Our knowledge of Mr. Waterfall’s wheelings and dealings is as hidden as ever.”

“Thank goodness for that, at least.”

“But what’s the problem?” Pinkie asked. “If you two went your separate ways, then what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that I went hardly half a day away from my friends, and get assaulted by one of the Mansels’ thugs!” Whooves cried. “How am I to know what more they want from me?” He lowered his voice. “How am I to know they might not decide that I’m more use to them dead than alive? After all, I know what happened, and am no Element. I am, to put it bluntly, expendable.”

“So you want to stay in our company, for protection,” Octavia said.

“Well…” Whooves formed a word, but did not speak it as he looked at them. Octavia could see the distress on his face.

“We are going to Canterlot, remember.”

“Yes, yes, I’m recalling that just now. So I can stay here, and risk the Mansels’ charming company, or I can go with you, and go to war. Quite the choice.”

“I say come with us!” Pinkie said. “Two’s company, but three’s so much better!”

“Ah, well, perhaps.” He looked at Octavia, who stared back at him. “What does the lovely Miss Octavia think?”

Octavia sighed. “As much as I dislike you, if you truly are afraid for your life here, then you should come with us.”

He gave a thin smirk. “Such selflessness.”

“I only ask that you not get in the way, when the time comes for us to fight.”

“A coward like me? Never in a million years. I’d be surprised if you even see me for the duration of the battle.”

“You’ll be fine,” Pinkie said. No one smiled.

* * * * * *

At ten in the morning, Colgate walked through the empty town of Grass Graves to return to their hotel. She had been up since eight, startled awake by a dream of disembodied, shadowy pony heads, always turning away when she came close to recognizing their faces. The symbolism was not lost on her, even as she strode the streets in a partial daze, sweating and shivering from withdrawal.

She had seen no one on her walk to the train station and back, but felt watched all the same. She moved slowly, not hiding her suspicion as she studied shadows, hoofprints, and anything she felt was out-of-place.

When she arrived, the single pony at the desk told her that her roommate had been anxiously asking about her, and to go back to her room as quickly as possible. Irritably, Colgate trudged to their room.

“Hot shit, Cole, there you are!” Rouge cried, jumping up from her seat. An open bottle of mouthwash sat on the end table. “Where were you?”

Colgate didn’t look at her as she went to the small desk, where she had left their train tickets. She needed only to look at them for a second to re-confirm her suspicions.

“Hey, good morning! Cole, c’mon, what’s up?”

“Rouge, we’re in trouble.”

“Huh?”

“Look at these.” She floated the tickets over to Rouge, who stared at them blankly.

“What am I looking at?” She sat down. “I don’t feel too good.”

“Look at the arrival and departure times. Compare them.”

Rouge rubbed her eyes and glanced at the mouthwash. “Uhhhh…”

“We arrived last night at nine twenty-seven, and we were supposed to catch a train coming back at six-thirty, today. That’s around four hours ago.”

“Oh. Wait, what?” She jumped out of her chair. “Crap, what?”

“Hold it,” Colgate said, taking the tickets back and fanning herself with them. “Think about it, Rouge. Fancy Pants didn’t say anything about hurrying, and he didn’t say anything about not sleeping, even though he knew we’d be getting off in a place with a hotel, and at night. He didn’t warn us about missing our train, even though it would be easy to do if we slept.”

“Well, geez, Cole, maybe he assumed we’d pay better attention to that kind of thing on our own?”

“I considered that. But how about this? Nine-thirty to six-thirty is nine hours.”

Rouge nodded dumbly, and Colgate could still see the tension in her muscles. She was ready to panic.

“Take about a half hour for us to get here from the train station, and a half hour back. So eight hours left. Probably an hour and a half to walk from here to the watchpoint, so that’s three more hours. Now we’re at only five hours for the mission. I don’t know that much about watchpoints, but I’ve been a part of magical inventories before, and those can be pretty time-consuming. I’d be surprised if we finished at the watchpoint in under four hours.”

“And that leaves one extra,” Rouge said. “So?”

“So only one hour, maybe less, for us to prepare, to rest between walks, to eat, and all that. Especially since neither of us has much experience in recent times, it’d take us longer to do the inventory than most others. All of that, Rouge, is without us sleeping.”

“Okay.”

Colgate frowned at her, hating her slowness. “Think about it like this. You and I do nothing, just run around and drink and have fun, for a couple weeks. Then things start heating up, and we get sent on a mission in the middle of nowhere, with a tight schedule that Fancy Pants doesn’t even mention to us. He knows we’re not the best Daturas in the bunch, he has to, and yet he sends us out here without a care in the world.”

Rouge thought for a second. “That is freaky, huh?”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to come back from this mission.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

“What?”

“I dunno about that, buddy.” She sat down and teetered for a second. “Lemme see those ticks again.”

Colgate set them on the bed, and Rouge stared down at them.

“Yeah, that’s not much time. But still, I dunno.”

“I say we go over there and scope it out, see if there’s any kind of trap there, or anyone waiting for us.”

“That’ll definitely prove something.” She swept the tickets off the bed and lay back down. “Crap, how the heck are we gonna get home? How often to trains come by here? Not often, probably, huh?”

“Get ready,” Colgate said, digging through their meager supplies. “I want to see what’s waiting for us.”

The first rule of investigating a possible trap, Rouge had explained after a sobering, freezing shower, was to always assume someone was watching. She and Colgate left the hotel and carried on a false conversation about hoping a train would come by soon so they could get back to town, and split up at the train station, each one circling around one side of Grass Graves to meet in the wilderness outside. They had agreed on a tree they could see from their window.

In Colgate’s mind, her theory did not need confirmation. The facts lined up perfectly, and she had always found Fancy Pants mildly suspicious on his own. His complacency had bothered her from the moment she met him.

The grass was tall and tickled her underside as she made her way through the fields outside Grass Graves. Her ears were up for any sounds of grass moving around her, or for voices. She heard neither, but her attention didn’t waver, even as her patience thinned. She wondered whether Rouge could be trusted to meet her, or would circle back to the hotel and drink more mouthwash. She batted a stalk of grass out of her way, disgusted with the thought.

She could tell that Rouge wasn’t feeling well. Her movement had been sluggish, her eyes filmed, and her fur had lost some of its sheen. The exuberance and pep that so often radiated off of Rouge had been lessened. Colgate knew that she was probably not much better off.

Since going off her painkillers, she could feel her own mind slipping in places. Concentration was difficult, both for magic and for basic thought; she had glowered at their tickets early in the morning for ten minutes before figuring out what the problem was, even though she had spotted that something was amiss almost instantly.

She could ignore the nausea and the headaches, and she could endure the muscle cramps when they came. Even the craving itself, while powerful, was not difficult to divorce from her idea of herself as a living thing; with enough going on outside, she could forget that it was she who was suffering, and simply imagine the drug cravings as empty sensations, uncomfortable feelings to which she was witness but not victim.

It was the chills and the hot flashes that most upset her. As she walked under the autumn sun, she felt frozen inside. Her fur was damp and her hooves shook if she stopped walking, and her whole body twitched and shivered uncontrollably. She felt electric, as though the life inside her had been sapped and replaced with a cold, chemical sludge.

Her eyes watched a butterfly judder across the grass, and she looked back at Canterlot, hate swelling in her chest. In the city, she could be happy; she could find herself, find her medication. She could find purpose there, and power, and leave the sensation of lost determination behind her in the fields.

When she drew closer to the agreed-upon tree, she was relieved, but not happy, to see Rouge coming from the other side, a little ahead of her. Her movement was still unsteady.

“What now?” she asked after they checked for any evidence of followers.

“Well, there it is,” Rouge said, pointing to a broken down house standing by a ridge of trees. “Let’s go for it.”

“How do we check for traps without actually falling into one?”

Rouge leaned against the tree. “I dunno, Cole. Kinda hard with us not knowing what kind of trap it’s gonna be, you know?”

“Let’s see if we’re alone first, then,” Colgate said. “Could be as simple as some thug waiting to bash our heads.”

“You think the Pants would do that?”

“Sure.” She put her forehooves on the tree to stand, giving herself a better look at the house. It was clearly abandoned, its windows broken in and its paint scuffed off in many places. The chimney, the actual point on which all the spells had been cast, leaned to one side, a few holes in its side where bricks had fallen out over the years.

They needed to approach through more thick grass, and did so slowly, ears cocked and eyes wide. At every sound, one of them would stop and look around, and, closer to the house, Colgate began pushing grass out of the way before stepping. There was no fence around the house, no sign of habitation. No tire or wheel tracks indicated travel to or from the watchpoint.

“Move around the house first,” Rouge said. “Secure the area.”

“What if it’s not secure?” Colgate asked.

Rouge looked at one of the broken windows. “We’ll play that by ear, good buddy.”

They walked a slow circle around the house, checking for signs of life, finding nothing. Colgate could feel the faint effervesce of standing magic in the air, something that unicorns could almost universally feel and that others usually only noticed in extreme concentrations.

“Anything?” Rouge asked, making Colgate jump. “Sorry.”

“Idiot,” Colgate muttered.

“Hey, c’mon.”

She was shivering again, and her head felt like it had been squeezed in a vice all night long. She looked through a window to an empty kitchen.

“Don’t be like that, Cole.”

“Sure, sorry,” she said automatically.

“So, anything?”

“I don’t see anything. You?”

“Looks okay to me. Looks like a regular old watchpoint.”

“Do you know what a ‘regular old watchpoint’ looks like?”

“Kinda, yeah. I’ve seen some. Not in C-lot, but down in Applewood, I did a couple.”

They circled back to the front door, unlocked, and Colgate led them inside. The interior was just as barren as the exterior, with countertops and tables faced with dust and cobwebs that had come loose from the ceiling. A petrified log had rolled out of the fireplace.

“Wow, this place sucks, huh?” Rouge asked. “Hey, echo. Cool.”

“Look at this,” Colgate said. She trotted around the dark brown table and pushed out a chair. It was covered in dust, save for a single reed-like swish pattern. “Looks like someone’s tail.”

Rouge laughed and opened a cupboard. “Sure it wasn’t yours?”

Colgate looked down at the chair and shoved it back in. “I was.”

“Hey, no worries. You still got that train ticket thing, and that was smart.” She snapped the cupboard closed and opened a drawer under the sink. “Well, lookee here.”

Colgate joined her. Partially hidden behind the bending pipe, its joints calcified, sat an opaque bottle of rubbing alcohol. Rouge grabbed it, and Colgate noted the dust that was underneath, but had not settled elsewhere. It was not as old as everything else.

As Colgate pondered the significance of her discovery, trying to bully her mind into work through a cramp that was turning her lower half into a ball of wire, Rouge was rummaging in the other cupboards. She finally selected a large spoon from the silverware drawer and set it on the counter with an audacious clack. “Uh, little help? You’re magic.”

“What in the world are you doing?”

Rouge looked at Colgate as if she had uttered the question in another language. “Booze, Cole.”

“That’s isopropyl alcohol. You’re not supposed to drink it.”

“No, you’re not supposed to drink a lot of it. Look, this is only seventy percent. C’mon, I just want a little bump. Like a spoon full, and I’ll be straight. C’mon.”

Colgate weighed her choices; her decision wasn’t hard. She opened the bottle and squeezed out enough to fill Rouge’s spoon, and she held back a laugh as Rouge awkwardly got the alcohol in her mouth. She sputtered and coughed as she swallowed it, but was soon laughing.

“Hoo! That’s wacky stuff, Cole. Want some?”

“Maybe later,” Colgate lied. The cramp was letting up, but her headache was not, and she was in no mood to argue health with Rouge.

“It’s medicine. Doctors treat patients with this stuff all the time, so how bad can it be?”

Colgate shrugged, trying to get a good look at the fireplace interior. A grille of thin chains separated her from the chimney’s dark barrel, and she used Rouge’s spoon to poke it. Nothing happened.

“So you a genius or something?” Rouge asked. “Holy crap, that booze is fighting something fierce, Cole.”

“I told you you’re not supposed to drink it.”

Rouge released a sickened gurgle and nothing more, and Colgate didn’t spare her a look as she continued prodding the grille. When she was satisfied that nothing would happen, she opened it with her hooves and leaned in to look closer at the firewood. It, too, was covered in dust.

Behind her, Rouge slumped to the ground and vomited. It was a fast affair, and she stared dismally into the bitter puddle under her mouth. “Well, this sucks.”

“There’s more on the counter,” Colgate said. “Next time, take it outside. I don’t want to slip in that.”

“Yeah yeah, mom,” Rouge said, moving to the bottle, still open. Instead of waiting for Colgate to help her, she simply grabbed it in her teeth and upended it, where it swiftly flipped away and spilled on the floor in a spray of her choking spit. She went to the floor, coughing and retching, and Colgate approached. She lifted the bottle off the ground, wiped its mouth on her tail, and sniffed it.

The acrid, potent smell made her nostrils flare, and she tried to imagine drinking it. A lone part of her mind commanded that she try it, and, before she had thought about it further, she tipped it up and squeezed a little into her mouth. She spat immediately, not mindful of whether she hit Rouge. Her tongue and gums felt swollen and afire, and no matter how much she spat, she could not rid herself of the sharp residue that accompanied the biting pain.

Rouge moaned, and Colgate took another drink, this time swallowing before she could register a fresh wave of pain. Her throat clenched and her stomach churned, and she grit her teeth, dropping the bottle and spilling more. All she could think was “awful, awful.”

“Nasty stuff, huh?” Rouge asked, and laughed.

“It’s okay.” She went back to the fireplace, but stopped before she could resume her inspection of the logs. Her guts turned somersaults while her eyes strayed up the room’s corner, where a triangle of empty holes had been bored long ago. She looked back at the table, where she had found the displaced dust.

Behind, Rouge pushed herself back up. “No more of that for me, that’s for sure. Wait, where’d you put it?”

“Rouge, are watchpoints usually this empty?”

“Huh?”

“Rouge.”

“Oh, crud, sorry. I’m, uh… uh, not that I remember. In Applewood anyway, I think they typically have, like, a lot of stuff. Living stuff, like food and crap, in case someone has to camp out there.”

“That would make sense,” Colgate said. “And yet there’s nothing at this one.”

“There’s that booze. Where’d it go?”

“Nothing essential here, but some rubbing alcohol for the alcoholic.”

“I’m not—”

“You obviously are, but that’s beside the point. This is a setup.” She scanned the room again, paused to sit down and wait for another bout of cramps to pass, and finished looking around. “I don’t feel very good either.”

“Crazy, huh?”

“Let’s get out of here.” She stumbled to her hooves. “Oh, hell.”

“Here it is.” Rouge took the rubbing alcohol.

“I need that.”

Rouge frowned at the cap on the floor. “Me first.”

“No, not to drink.” She approached as Rouge fought another sip and took the bottle as it tumbled from her grasp. Most of it had been spilled, and Colgate went outside. The yard was filled with weeds, but not overgrown, and she walked all around the house, collecting any dried plants she could find until she had a large bundle gathered around the alcohol.

“Cole, I’m keeping it down this time!”

“Good for you,” Colgate said, passing Rouge as she came outside. “Where’s a good spot for this?”

“What are you doing?”

“Well, this was a setup, so I’m gonna burn it down.” As an afterthought, she added, “we’ll get more booze at the hotel before heading home. Too much of this stuff’ll blind you, anyway.”

“Shit, really?”

She knew it as a fact, but only said, “I’ve heard that, yeah.”

“Huh. Now that’s… uh, hold on.” She trotted into the tall grass, and Colgate could hear her throwing up as she spread her dried grass around the corner of the house and soaked it with the remaining alcohol.

Without looking around, without seeing whether Rouge was a safe distance away, she leaned down and cast a simple spell to produce a couple sparks at the tip of her horn. She had just enough time to back away before the bundle had become a modest fireball. “Let’s go,” she said, patting Rouge on the back.

“Guh. Hurts a lot worse coming back up.” She turned around. “Whoa, I thought you were joking.”

Colgate doubled over, sweat coursing out of her skin, stomach cramping and burning like a red hot ball of metal. She went to her knees and split her face in a silent retch.

“You gonna be okay?”

Colgate shook her head, words beyond her.

“We might wanna, uh, get out of here. Once that house gets hot, we’re gonna burn up pretty good.”

“I’ll be fine,” Colgate whispered.

“No, Cole, you don’t understand,” Rouge said, fear beginning to overtake her voice. “House fires are hot. Like, you’re sweatin’ twenty feet away.”

“I’m sweating now.”

“You know what I mean, buddy. Aw, crap, you used the last of the booze, huh?”

Colgate spat and tried to get up, succeeding only in rolling over to stare into the sky, filling at the edge of her eyes with strands of smoke. “Rouge, can you shut up about the booze for two seconds?”

“Oh, shit, sorry, Cole.” She shielded her eyes. “You know, you could’ve asked me before wasting all that.”

“It’s rubbing alcohol, for Celestia’s sake,” Colgate growled. “You keep puking it up.”

“That’s not the point!”

Colgate rolled over again and got up. “Fine. If it’s so important to you, go get it. The bottle might not have melted completely yet.”

“Screw you, buddy.”

Colgate flashed her a guarded glare and kicked her puddle of vomit, splashing a little on her chest and a lot on the grass.

“C’mon, let’s not fight out here,” Rouge said more kindly. “It’s getting really toasty. Let’s get out of here.”

“Right, right,” Colgate said. She didn’t know whether she felt guilty for her minor outburst.

Together, they walked and stumbled through the meadow as the fire behind them grew, a pillar of darkening smoke rising to divide the blue horizon.

* * * * * *

Luna, Octavia, Pinkie, and Whooves stood in the hottest part of the afternoon, only slightly dampened by a shelf of storm clouds, in the desert outside Roan. The angel lay peacefully in the dirt, its six wings forming two sides of a huge, rough metal rib cage. There was room in the angel for around ten ponies comfortably.

“It will follow your orders to the best of its ability,” Luna said. “Remember to address it first. Say ‘angel,’ and then give your command. If you don’t address it, it won’t respond.”

“I understand,” Octavia said. She shifted the cello case on her back.

“I know it looks unwieldy, but it can fly, and I believe it can fly pretty fast if you want it to. We searched it quite well, and found no weapons.”

Octavia nodded.

“It’s not exactly easy on the eyes, is it?” Whooves asked.

“I think it’s kinda charming,” Pinkie said. “Kind of. In a creepy, coffin-y way.”

“I suppose that’s appropriate.”

Luna stifled a chuckle, and Octavia looked at her. “I’d actually like to come with you for a couple minutes. I want to talk with you about something.”

“Is it bad?” Pinkie asked.

“Not for you.” She looked at Octavia, then the angel.

“Oh, sorry. Angel, let us board you,” Octavia said, and the machine leaned to one side, half of its wings retracting to allow its strange, seed pod body to rest on the ground.

When they were aboard, it righted itself without being asked, and Whooves fell over.

“Does it know we’re on it?” Pinkie asked. “If Octavia tells it to take off, are we gonna fall off the side?”

“Angel, fly, and keep us level,” Octavia said, looking down at the corrugated floor. Around them, the gunwales were thin cords of metal, only chest-high and with ample room beneath for a leg or more to slip out.

The wings scraped against the desert floor and swung upwards, once, slicing the air in a heavy, slow sound. They lifted off smoothly, much smoother than the wings’ appearance suggested, and were quickly aloft. Off the ground, the wings were silent, even their joints inside the angel’s connective sockets. As Octavia had ordered, it stayed level, and they were able to walk freely, though with occasional corrections as they dipped and rose. Octavia set down her instrument after a moment of consideration.

“See? It knows how to take care of you,” Luna said. “Be careful with your orders, Octavia. Anything too complicated, it probably won’t understand. No ‘if-then’ orders.”

“That is good to know.”

“Now, to business. Oh, be sure to tell it where it’s going. We’re flying the wrong way right now.”

“Oh, I apologize.” She cleared her throat. “Angel, fly towards Canterlot. Does it know where that is?”

“Tell it to fly north for now. You can get more specific as you get closer.”

“Angel, fly north.”

They turned sharply, still level, and coasted back toward Roan.

“Angel, take us around that city.”

Luna nodded. “Very good. No one else needs to see this.”

“So what’s the biz, princess?” Pinkie asked. “Element stuff? Discord stuff? You stuff?”

“Financial stuff.” She smiled a humorless smile. “Octavia, you said something about this Pure Waterfall laundering money for the Mansel family.”

“I believe I recall that, yes.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Planning a criminal hunt, your highness?” Whooves asked. “No more fitting a family, if I say so myself.”

“I did not hear of this personally,” Octavia said, craning her neck to look out over Roan. From the air, the completeness of the city was astonishing. She had grown so accustomed to seeing fragments in their travels that not doing so was strange. It almost filled her with dread; the appearance was too final, and it disconcerted her.

“Who told you?”

“Vanilla Cream told Twilight, and she told us. I am quite certain that is why they were so interested in what we were doing in Applewood. If their money launderer has perished, and we were involved, then it makes sense that they would suspect us of something.”

“Interesting,” Luna said slowly. “Why would Vanilla say that?”

“Can you confirm it?” Pinkie asked.

“I cannot. However, it would not be entirely surprising.”

“It would not?” Octavia said.

“The family’s always been wealthy, fabulously so. Let’s say it’s been… advantageous to not look as closely into their personal dealings as certain others.”

“How is that?”

“Well, they have quite the share of political clout,” Whooves said.

“Exactly,” Luna said. “If the Mansel family were to lose its money, or its good face, a lot of ponies in Canterlot would be very unhappy. A lot of powerful ponies.”

“But they are criminals,” Octavia said. “You cannot allow them to go unpunished, your highness.”

“No, I’m not suggesting that. If they’re truly laundering funds, as Vanilla Cream says, then there will need to be action. I’m actually more alarmed at the implications than the fact itself. What sort of things are they involved with to produce enough money to need the entire dam to launder their money?”

“I do not know.”

“Rhetorical question.” She sighed. “This is going to be delicate.”

Octavia only stared at her, inscrutable.

“I will need to keep this calm and diplomatic back in Canterlot. Like I said, a lot of ponies will be very angry if the Mansel family goes down. They control the largest chain of banks in the south. There’s a lot of money to be lost here.” She sighed again. “Don’t worry about it, Octavia. You need only to worry about the coming battle. I’m going to have more of my ponies focus their efforts on disrupting Tartarus gateways; hopefully, that’ll distract Vanilla. The last thing I want is for him to notice you three coming and report it to Discord.”

“Maintaining the element of surprise,” Whooves said, nodding. “A wise decision, your highness.”

Luna gave him a withering look that he didn’t notice. “Thank you.”

“What can we expect from the battle?” Octavia asked. “Is anything known?”

“I’ll have the Royal Guard helping as much as it can, as well as several of my own personal ponies, some on the ground and others coming from Ponyville in a caravan, also a surprise. You’ll see siege engines with my cutie mark on them; do not attack those.”

“Yes.”

Luna appraised the three of them. “As for what we can expect from Discord, I’m not sure. I’ll keep in touch.” She shook Octavia’s hoof, then Pinkie’s, then, after a pause, Whooves’. “I can’t thank you enough for this, truly. It’s an incredible risk you’re taking, especially you, Pinkie.”

“It must be done,” Octavia said, shrugging. “I would be a coward not to do this.”

Luna smiled softly. “I need to take my leave now. I’d love to stick around and chat, but I’m needed in several places.”

“The life of a goddess is never easy,” Whooves said. “It’s been wonderful to make your acquaintance, your highness!”

“And you, doctor. Stay safe, everypony. I’ll keep an eye on you as well as I’m able.” In a silent flash of light, she was gone, off to parts unknown.

Many miles north of Octavia’s angel, Twilight and her friends were relaxing on the deck of their new airship, its flight much steadier than the angel’s. Twilight and Rarity were taking turns relaying the details regarding Applejack’s resurrection, something to which Twilight had objected at first.

“So that’s where ya got that casket,” Applejack said, and laughed. “Hoo-wee, now that’s a story. Ah’d’a thought you’d’ve just bought it or somethin’.”

“That was the first idea,” Rarity said. “But, well, it didn’t work.”

“Ah’ll say.” She chuckled again.

“You’re taking all this pretty well,” Rainbow said.

“Why shouldn’t Ah?”

“Well… ugh, I don’t know. Isn’t death bad? Wasn’t it, like, really terrible?”

“Sure, it was terrible, least at first. If Ah didn’t have Princess Luna to help me out, it would’ve been a lot worse.”

“We’re all quite fortunate,” Rarity said.

“Don’t get me wrong, RD, it weren’t no picnic,” Applejack said. “Ah had plenty of questions at first. The night princess walked me through it all. Bless her, she’s patient.”

“Well, you did just do something most ponies don’t even know is possible,” Twilight said. “What was… um, what was it like? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Shoot, Twi, Ah don’t mind. But Ah’m not too sure. It’s hard to put into words.”

“Did it hurt?” Rainbow asked.

“Psh, no. Ah didn’t know what ‘hurt’ was then. There ain’t no sensation in death, not my version.”

“None at all?” Big Mac asked. He was at the wheel.

“Nothin’. Ah wanna say everythin’ was dark, but Ah couldn’t see either, so that ain’t right. ‘Blank’ is better, but that still doesn’t do it justice.”

“I guess we’ll all know in time,” Rarity said.

“Geez, Rare,” Rainbow said. “Wanna warn us before you drop something like that?”

“Sorry.”

“Vinyl, Ah wanna thank you especially fer helpin’ out,” Applejack said. “You don’t hardly know me, an’ you still pitched in.”

Vinyl blushed and looked at her hooves. “Not knowing you made it easier.”

“What’s that? Sorry, Ah fergot how quiet y’are.”

Vinyl repeated herself, and Applejack laughed good-naturedly.

“I’m just glad to see you so happy and at ease,” Twilight said.

“Much unlike you, Twilight,” Rarity said. “Just saying.”

“No, I’m aware of it. I’ve been keyed up for a while now.”

“Whooves is afraid of you,” Vinyl said.

Twilight smiled. “I noticed.” There was a moment of silence. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Huh?” Rainbow said.

“He’s not here,” Rarity said, looking around. “Oh.”

“What the hay? How did that happen?” Twilight asked. She sighed. “Crap, let’s turn back.”

“Let’s not,” Vinyl said, holding up a hoof.

“Why?” Rainbow asked. “Not that I’m objecting.”

“Doubt it’s an accident. More likely he chose this.” She shrugged, her horn lighting up a dark fuchsia.

“You think he abandoned us,” Fluttershy said.

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Big Mac said. “Seems the type.”

“I agree,” Vinyl said. “Noticed him being quieter these last few days. More aloof. Probably thought about it for a while, finally made a break for it.”

“What a coward,” Rarity said. “And he didn’t even leave a note.”

“It would’ve been excuses and long-winded apologies anyway,” Rainbow said.

“Still, dear, it’s the thought that counts.”

“Yeah, and here, there is none,” Fluttershy said.

“Yowza, Fluttershy with the beatdown,” Vinyl said.

“‘Fluttershy with the beatdown’?” Rainbow said.

Vinyl laughed.

“So we just go on without him?” Twilight asked. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“Oh, who cares?” Rarity asked.

“Ouch,” Applejack said.

“AJ cares,” Big Mac said, and chuckled.

“You quiet down there, big bro.”

“I say good riddance,” Rarity said. “He was hardly any help, and often just background noise. He was the very definition of inessential.”

“I don’t disagree,” Vinyl said, “but I kind of liked him. He was cute.”

“He was cute, sure,” Twilight said.

“Watch out, AJ, Twilight’s after your coltfriend,” Rainbow said.

“RD, don’t you start up. Ah may be recently back from the dead, but I’ll whup ya.”

Rainbow laughed, but, like everyone else, sobered.

“Ah can just hear him makin’ some kinda comment right now. ‘Well that’s one way to stop a conversation, ha ha.’ Or somethin’.”

Twilight fell back in laughter, and Rarity looked at her, smiling queerly.

“Yer a peach, sis,” Big Mac said, grinning himself.

“Too bad Pinkie’s not here to enjoy this,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, too bad,” Twilight said, standing again. “Still, we won’t be apart for too long. We—whoa, hold on.” Her horn burned and a small flame flickered out, and she had to react quickly to catch the letter before it was whipped off the deck.

“What do you think? Princesses, or Discord?” Rarity asked.

“I say Celestia,” Vinyl said. “Checking in. Doesn’t know Luna just dropped by.”

“Ah say Discord,” Applejack said. “Now’s a good time to hear from him. Spirits are up.”

“Including yours,” Rainbow said.

“Damn,” Vinyl breathed.

“RD, that was downright gutsy of you,” Applejack said, patting her on the back. “My word, it’s good to be back.”

“Okay, here we go,” Twilight said. “Crap. Discord.”

“Oh boy, Ah won.”

“Dear Elements and friends, how’s life? I’ve been preparing for my move against your capital, as I’m sure you know, and all this setup has been the death of me. Happily, most of it’s ready. Are you? You still have three Elements to go, remember. A hint, if I may: watch the skies. Adequate preparation for your next stop will be vital. Say hello to the princesses if you see them again. I would, but I’ll probably be too distracted when I visit Canterlot. All in good fun, Discord.” She balled up the letter. “Useless.”

“At least it was short this time,” Fluttershy said.

“So what are we preparing for?” Vinyl asked. “Next stop is Trottingham.”

“What are we watching the skies for?” Rarity asked. “He didn’t make another of those horrid ghost ships, did he?”

“Princess Luna would have told us,” Twilight said.

“Unless—”

“No, she’d know. She watches for those types of things. She, or her ponies. Whoever they are.”

“Secret agents,” Rainbow said.

“Could be,” Applejack said. “After everythin’ lately, there really could be.”

* * * * * *

By one o’ clock, Colgate and Rouge were back in their hotel in Grass Graves, staring stupidly at the TV. There was a warrant out for Colgate’s arrest, and Rouge’s likeness and name were beginning to appear as well, but only as a pony of interest. The severity of it landed on neither of them, smacked out of their minds on mouthwash and, in Rouge’s case, another bottle of rubbing alcohol from their first aid kit.

“I’m gonna puke,” Rouge said, and Colgate automatically leaned the other way while Rouge put herself to the side of the bed to look down at a clean patch of carpet. She had announced her illness more times than Colgate could count, but she still turned away, just in case.

Colgate’s head felt fuzzy and heavy, and she would occasionally catch glimpses of the smoke pillar from their window. The fire had not lasted, though no firetrucks had made their way out to the countryside; she assumed that a team of Daturas had seen to her conflagration. She felt no pride and no anger; only a dull, dead hunger. She needed her pills.

“All systems clear,” Rouge mumbled, easing back into her spot on the bed. “No go. Pass me a… uh, pass me. It. You know.” She lay back and sighed at the ceiling while Colgate drifted the mouthwash over. She considered spilling it on Rouge, but did not, deciding to wait until the next time she was asked.

“We should get back,” Colgate said.

“Back home?”

“Sure, that.”

“I think so too.” She took a swallow of the blue liquid and coughed, rocking the bed. “This stuff is rotten, Cole. Oh, wait a sec.” She leaned over, and Colgate leaned her way, this time hearing Rouge produce the vomit she had been promising since halfway to the hotel. The room was immediately filled with a cloying, minty smell that almost burned Colgate’s eyes.

She got up. “Need a towel?”

Rouge coughed in response, and Colgate looked at the mouthwash. Plucking it up, she gingerly tipped it over onto Rouge’s spot on the bed and walked to the bathroom to examine herself. Her head was swimming, her pupils dilated, her eyes unfocused. Her fur was patched in ash, her mane tangled, her horn dull and sandy. Her tongue was coated in thick, blue-white film.

“I’m okay,” Rouge said from the other room.

Colgate ran the faucet and tried to rub a spot of ash out of her side, succeeding only in smearing it across her flank.

“Hey, I think we finished the booze, buddy.”

“That’s okay. I think we should get back home soon.”

“The hotel?”

“Yes, the hotel.” Her temper momentarily flared, but no action came to mind.

“Yeah, okay, that should be… should be fine. Hey, lemme get some sleep first, huh?”

“The pulse crystals are still there.”

“Aw, crud.” Rouge began snoring.

Colgate took a two-hour shower, half of which was spent throwing up until all she could produce was a foul, black bile, and then she stumbled into the room to see Rouge still asleep, lying on her side with a puddle of vomit under her muzzle.

“Wake up, Rouge,” she said, knowing Rouge would be too intoxicated to hear. Frustrated nonetheless, Colgate took a corner of the TV in her magic and pulled until it was poised to tip onto the carpet. “Hey, Rouge,” she said again, quieter. When Rouge did not stir, Colgate nudged the TV, and it went to the floor, its cord snapping out of the wall and its stand crunching as an outside edge was suddenly crushed.

Rouge bolted awake at the sound of shattering glass, and Colgate stared down at the mess, pretending to be surprised. Shards of glass littered the carpet while an acrid tendril of smoke rose from the black casing, and Rouge shook her head.

“What’s going on?”

“Come on, naptime’s over,” Colgate said.

“Did you do that?”

“No, I just heard it and rushed out.” She pointed to her mane, still damp. “I was in the shower.”

“Oh, sweet. How was it?”

“Water pressure’s not great.” She looked at the TV. “You sure you didn’t do that?”

“I think so,” Rouge said. She looked down at the bedspread, blinking slowly as she processed the stain under her face. “Good thing I slept on my side, huh?”

“How do you feel?”

“Still not great. Hungry, actually. Wanna get room service?”

“They’re not going to serve us with that in here. We need to get out before anyone wises up.”

“You think so?” Rouge’s eyes were wide. “Is it that bad?”

“You tell me. Look at all this glass. That’s a safety violation. We really ought to go before we get caught up in the middle of it.”

Rouge got out of bed. “I’m glad you’re on top of this kinda stuff, Cole, I really am.”

“Come on, let’s go.”

“What about the bill?”

“I took care of it already.”

Rouge laughed. “The Mighty Colgate to the rescue!”

The four o’ clock sun saw Colgate and Rouge walking along the solitary set of train tracks that would eventually lead them back to Canterlot. According to the schedule board at the platform, the next train was set to arrive in two days’ time, so they decided, with some reluctance, to walk. They could probably stay the extra in Grass Graves, Rouge had thought, but Colgate was right: no one would want them in their town after a broken TV.

The only problem was that, in the excitement of slipping through the gift shop and away from the hotel, they had both forgotten their hunger. Out in the middle of nowhere, with only their one saddlebag between them and minimal supplies, food was at the front of both their minds. The grass was no good to eat; most of it was dead.

“At least we have water,” Rouge said, smiling at Colgate.

“Sure.” She had her eyes on her hooves, paying no attention to what was in front of them, trusting Rouge to alert her to anything strange ahead. With the fresh toxins finally clearing her system, she was able to think more clearly, and the first thing she remembered was why she had given up drinking in favor of prescription pills.

“How much trouble could I have gotten in earlier, all because of Rouge’s idiotic drinking? I can’t believe no one caught us after that little TV stunt.” She smiled in spite of herself. “Pretty good of me to do all that without their notice. I don’t remember it, though. Damn it, Rouge.”

“Hey, I just thought of something we should probably talk about,” Rouge said.

“What?”

“I’m pretty sure I saw you on the TV earlier today. You’re, like, under arrest, I think.”

Colgate thought back. “Something like that.”

“How we gonna get back to our crystals, Cole? They’re probably watching the hotel as we speak.”

Colgate registered the words, but they didn’t spark any response in her crowded mind. She continued to watch her hooves as they moved through the grassland. She remembered her lonesome walk back to Ponyville after the other Daturas betrayed her, and found it strikingly similar. Even with Rouge beside her, she felt alone.

“Hey, Cole? I don’t like it when you get quiet. That usually means you’re gonna yell at me.”

“Just thinking,” Colgate said, pushing an insult back. She needed Rouge, she knew, and would for a while.

“Well, I’m thinking about those crystals. Remember those?”

“We’ll get them when we get there.”

“Well, yeah, sure, but how, Cole? How? You’re a wanted pony now.”

“We’re Daturas, they’re just cops. Should be no sweat.”

Rouge was silent for a second. “That’s a darn good point, buddy. Why didn’t I think of that? Celestia, I’m hungry. Hey, let’s get room service after we get the crystals, huh? How ‘bout it? I think I’m gonna get a big, fat cherry pie.”

By ten p.m., they were walking past the outermost house of Lower Canterlot. Both hungry, tired from the walk, and painfully sober, they looked at the lit structure with unconcealed envy as they passed. Colgate had been trying, unsuccessfully, to conceive a plan for retrieving their pulse crystals—her pulse crystals, in her mind. No matter the sense of urgency or importance, no idea stuck long enough for her to give it more than passing consideration. She needed her pills.

They passed a second house on the other side of the street, still unpaved, and Colgate saw furtive eyes peering at them from a slit in the curtains. She gave the house a friendly nod, simply to show that she had seen her watcher.

“We’re gonna need to have a plan on getting back to the hotel,” Rouge said. “You’re wanted now. I don’t think they’re gonna let you in easy. Right?”

“I was just assuming we’d run in, grab our stuff, and run out before anyone can do anything,” Colgate said, thinking of it on the spot. “That’s been my plan since the start.”

“That might work, but I dunno. It’s a little dangerous.” She paused in her walk. “Hey, wait a minute, what about after that, huh? Where are we gonna go if they recognize us at the hotel?”

“That’s a good point.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“Your friend probably wouldn’t appreciate us potentially dragging the cops with us back to her place.”

“Which friend? Actually, yeah, no, none of them would really be keen on that. Well, crap, Cole, and it’s too late to turn back. We gotta get somewhere tonight.”

Colgate shook her head. She wanted to think about her predicament, but the pony in the curtains had taken all her attention. The eyes, and her nod to them, made her nervous.

“We could sneak in, spend the night in our room, and get a fresh start tomorrow,” Rouge said. “How about that? It’s a dingy, crappy place, I bet they don’t have a great security situation.”

Colgate shrugged.

“I recognize that shrug, good buddy. You’re not listening, are you?”

“I’m listening just fine.”

“So what do you think of my plan?”

“It sounds great. Let’s do it.” She hadn’t paid the plan any attention.

“Now that’s what I like to hear! But how do we do it?”

Colgate looked up at Greater Canterlot, looming, as Rouge thought through her plan out loud. From it, Colgate gathered what she had agreed to.

“But, the only problem is, no room service. Oh, well, we could have it delivered to a different room, and then just catch ‘em in the hall. ‘Hey, sorry, wrong room number, but that was me. Yeah, the giant cherry pie and the bottle of red wine. Yup, right here.’ Cole, you likin’ this as much as me?”

“You’ll have to be the one to get our food. I can’t show my face,” Colgate said.

“Yeah, true. That shouldn’t be a problem. Hell, you wanna get in one last swim before we have to leave?”

“That sounds good.”

“Yeah, your last swim as a free mare.”

“A free mare?”

Rouge forced a laugh. “Well, you’re sure not getting away with all this, you scamp. Someone’ll catch you.”

“I doubt that very much.” In her mind, she was speaking directly to the Canterlot police. The warmth of defiance filled her chest with a pleasant lightness.

“Well, if you run, you’re still, you know, on the run. Leave town, and you’ll be wanted elsewhere, probably. You gotta be cagey wherever you go.”

“There are Datura safe houses. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe. I hadn’t thought of that. Hey, Cole, no matter what, though, don’t leave me hangin’, okay?”

“What do you mean?” She sensed the conversation’s sudden turn, and quieted her voice accordingly. A conscious decision.

“If you have to skip town or something, just try to drop me a line sometime, okay? You’re my number one, and I’d hate to lose ya.”

“I’ll keep in touch.”

“Good, good. That’s all I ask, I guess.” She looked at Colgate, who plodded resolutely on, into the city. “Oh, one more thing. Make sure you remember me whenever you’re getting trashed with your new friends.”

“You’re talking like me leaving is an inevitability.”

“Isn’t it? One pony sure can’t hide from the whole police force, even if she is a Datura.”

“I’ve managed so far, and with someone with me too. I’d think going it alone would be easier.”

“Mmm, I dunno. Guess it depends on who you ask.” Her stomach growled. “If I don’t get that pie and wine tonight, I’m gonna die.”

“We’ll be fine,” Colgate said. She looked back at the house they had passed and saw a pony enter one of the cars by the side of the road. They continued walking, and the car never started.

Heat Lightning

Chapter Seventy-eight

Heat Lightning

Colgate woke up with a splitting headache and a dry mouth. Between her and Rouge, there lay the empty bottle of red wine, a thin curve of dark purple on the sheets under its spout. She rolled over and looked at Rouge’s cherry pie, mostly intact, forgotten about as soon as they started drinking.

She picked her way through their trash and supplies to the bathroom where she splashed her face and took a long drink from the faucet. It didn’t help.

Remembering why she had wanted to return to the motel, Colgate went back to the bedroom and dug through the closet until she found both pulse crystals. She lifted one and turned a slow circle in the room, thinking of nothing as she did so. She had operated one once when she was younger, but only once, on a firing range.

“Hey Rouge.” She approached the bed and lowered the pulse crystal, affixed to her hoof, so that her partner could see it. “Hey, Rouge. Wake up.” She poked Rouge with the crystal’s tip.

Rouge stirred, rolled over, mumbled something, and Colgate jabbed her harder in the small of the back. She turned back around, eyes open, and froze.

“About time.”

“Uh… wait, what’s going on?” Rouge wiggled away, sending the wine bottle clattering against the end table and off the bed.

“It’s noon.”

“What?” She rubbed her eyes, then looked at the clock. “Oh, noon. For Celestia’s sake, Cole, don’t point that thing at me!”

“What?”

“That crystal. Dammit, you scared me half to death.”

Colgate looked down at it. “I wasn’t gonna shoot you.”

“Well I should hope not. Geez, some way to wake up, huh? Staring straight into one of those things. All right, I’m up, I’m up.”

“Before you ask, we’re out of booze.”

“Yeah, I was afraid of that,” Rouge said grimly. “I’ll be back. I’m gonna see if anyone left something on one of those little carts outside, ‘kay?”

Colgate nodded, placing the crystal on the bed. “Oh, she was afraid for her life. I get it now.” Colgate shrugged to herself and went back to the bathroom. The sink was stained with what looked like vomit, which didn’t surprise her. Upon a second examination, there was yet another bottle of isopropyl alcohol beside the toothbrush holder. Its lid was open, its contents mostly depleted.

She could hear Rouge singing to herself out in the hall, and rubbed her head. The previous day’s events were coming back to her, and she tried to order them. As memories fell back into place, she looked through herself in the mirror. Something made sense that had not the day before.

“Hey, Cole, wanna help a buddy out? I forgot the dang room key!”

Colgate let Rouge in and playfully swatted her face with her tail. “I figured it out.”

“Huh?”

“No food?”

“Nothing good. Hey, figured what out?”

“What to do next.”

“Oh, that, right.” Rouge passed her and grabbed the rubbing alcohol. Then, thinking better of it, she set it down and grabbed the bottle of toothpaste instead.

“We need to get out of here.”

“Right, yeah. Probably get somewhere safer, right?” She squeezed out a dollop onto her tongue.

“You’re not going to get anything off that.”

“Mouthwash works.”

“Toothpaste doesn’t.” She snatched the tube away from Rouge. “Don’t waste that. You think this is free?” Her voice took on a sudden heat, and she threw the toothpaste back onto the counter, where it skidded into the sink.

Rouge just stared at it, then her, and grabbed the rubbing alcohol.

“Go down and get us a newspaper.”

Rouge spit and coughed, leaning over the sink as her chest heaved and her throat worked soundlessly.

“Rouge, come on, that’s dangerous. Every time you make a racket like that, someone’s bound to hear us.”

Rouge wiped her mouth shakily. “Crud, hadn’t thought of that. Okay, what’s this about a newspaper?”

“Just get one. Downstairs, I’m sure they serve them with breakfast.”

Rouge only blinked. “I don’t feel so good, Cole.”

When Colgate returned to the room, Rouge was in the shower, singing again, and she slapped the newspaper down on the bed with a quiet curse. She opened it to the property listings, but every time she tried to focus on a house, her eyes slipped off the page. Her mind felt alive with activity and untethered emotion, and it was all she could do to keep herself seated. Going after the newspaper herself had been a bad idea.

A wanted mare, she had no business showing her face anywhere, she knew, but it had been her duty. Rouge was unfit, even at the early hour, and she knew they had too little time to waste.

She had walked into the breakfast area, returned a greeting, and sat down at a small table by the buffet counter, immediately recognizing her mistake. Sitting implied she planned to stay, which she did not, and rising so soon right after would only draw further attention. Mind spinning, eyes flashing all around the common area for watchers, she had risen from her table slowly and crept to the nearby newspaper rack. Wanting to tip it over to cover her escape, she was barely able to make it back to their room quietly. Fear and paranoia tangled inside her, and she had no way to release them.

The shower shut off, and Colgate jumped to her hooves, alert. Rouge was still singing, her voice loud and off-key. Colgate wondered how much more rubbing alcohol her partner had managed to consume in her brief absence.

“Oh, you made it!” Rouge said, emerging. “What’s up?”

“Come here and help me,” Colgate said, feigning calm.

“You wanna explain your latest scheme, good buddy?”

“We need to find an empty house to stay in for a while. This place is no good anymore.”

“Oooh, squatters, huh? I can dig.” Rouge shook water droplets everywhere, and Colgate watched a few bleed onto the newsprint.

She blinked slowly, her mind suddenly reeling into even higher tension. The indignity of the scene, of the water everywhere, Rouge’s carelessness, made Colgate want to strike her across the face. Instead, she went into the bathroom.

The door had not even swung closed before Colgate had swept everything off the counter in a curtain of blue magic. The bar of soap slid across the floor and went behind the toilet, the rubbing alcohol spilled onto the tile.

“You okay in there?”

“Find us a house, good buddy,” Colgate said, her voice still even. The anger was fading as quickly as it had appeared, and, by the time she had left the bathroom, she had dismissed its cause.

“Sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” She pointed at the paper. “Preferably something close. We don’t have a car, remember.”

“Right, yeah, good call. Hey, how are we gonna get in? What if it’s locked?”

“We’ll get in.”

Rouge smiled devilishly. “Darn right we will, Cole.” She put a hoof to the paper and scanned the listings. “Where are we?”

“You mean our address?”

“Yeah.”

Colgate looked at the newspaper with her. “I’m not sure.”

Underground, inside an enchanted, concrete vault, Fancy Pants and Fleur dis Lee, his wife, sat down to sandwiches and lemonade. They ate alone at the long meeting table under the standing set of royal armor. From its head extended a lethal, six-foot barb, for rushing opponents.

Outside the arched doorway, transparent from their side but solid from the other, they could see their Daturas moving about the massive library. With the third battle for Canterlot fast approaching, there was much research to be done, for projects inside the city and elsewhere. Luna had just relayed the news that they would not be able to rely on Snowdrift for reserve Daturas; she had put the entire Datura population there on Tartarus duty. Fancy Pants didn’t envy them.

“How’s the caravan?” he asked.

“Good. They’ll be able to start field-testing any day now, I’m told. Zecora has a few of her zebras clearing a space in the forest for them to play in.” Fleur smiled peacefully. “Ink Pearl was able to help them quite a lot. If she’s not careful, she might be looking at a promotion.”

Fancy Pants grinned in response. “I miss being able to discuss that.”

Fleur laughed and put her hoof on his. “What about your malcontents? Did that get taken care of?”

He sighed. “Actually, no.”

“No?”

“It’s the craziest thing.” He pushed his lemonade aside and put up his hooves. “It looked great, your girls did a fine job of setting the place up.”

“Apparently not, if it wasn’t taken care of.”

“I’m not sure it was their fault,” he said quickly, recognizing the fire buried in his wife’s voice. “Colgate and Rouge made it there right on schedule.”

“Did they wait until the morning?”

“Of course they did.”

She smiled.

“They headed to the watchpoint, just like normal—actually, better, they split up. I should have known something was wrong right there, that one of them suspected something.”

“They split up from the hotel, you mean?”

“They did, and it wasn’t a bad job, either. They got inside the watchpoint, just like normal, but nothing happened. Then…” His horn flashed lightly. “Fire. They set the house on fire.”

Fleur frowned. “They set it on fire?”

“Yep. I checked the spells in place. Fleur, baby, the trap was never sprung.” He sighed again. “So as soon as it was clear, I had someone disable it. They’re back in town now, doing what I don’t know. I’ve got someone tailing them.”

“That is weird,” Fleur said at length. “Why didn’t you off them then and there, though? Why let them back into town?”

“Because I’ve got a feeling. And, if I’m right about this, you owe me.”

“Okay.”

“I think I may have something in Colgate. You remember which one she is?”

“The crazy unicorn? Kicked out of Ponyville?”

“Her. I get the feeling she’s behind this; I certainly can’t imagine her useless friend doing anything. But that Colgate.” He shook a hoof, tapping the lemonade glass with the other. “I think she’s smarter than I gave her credit for.”

“Smart enough to get thrown out of the most understaffed Datura team in Equestria,” Fleur said. “Yeah, she sounds like a real bright one.”

“She’s absolutely untrustworthy, you’re right, but I think she knew what she was doing at the watchpoint. I’m not sure, though.”

“Could have been the voices talking, Fancy. She might have seen the watchpoint, the alcohol, and simply said ‘why not?'”

“Yeah, I know.” He took a bite. “Doesn’t explain why she was so cautious approaching it, though. I think she caught on right away, and this was her way of sending a message, or something.”

“So you think she might be useful to me?”

“I don’t want to be firm on it, but, yes, my gut tells me so.”

“You planning on testing her?”

He grinned. “Oh, yes. Once my pony gets back to me about her whereabouts, she’s going to have a little run-in with the Canterlot police.”

Fleur laughed loudly, and Fancy Pants chuckled. He loved his wife’s laugh. “Fancy, you sneaky pony! Those poor police, though.”

“They’ll be fine. Oh, but Fleur, you are going to have to put her through rehab before you can take her on fully.”

“Oh, right, the pills. I forgot. Stupid mare.”

“What do you think is worse, her pills, or Rouge’s alcohol?”

“Oh, I’ve got no idea. Would you mind taking your pony off her tail, though? If she’s gonna be a potential asset, I’ll put my own girl on it.”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll call him back once Colgate gets settled, then she’s all yours.”

“Thanks, dear.”

“And once Colgate’s out of the picture, I’ll figure out something to do with Rouge. Or, maybe she’ll take care of that for me.”

Fleur raised an eyebrow, and Fancy pants sipped his lemonade. “You mean she accidentally kills herself?”

“Maybe. If not, I’m sure one of your girls can make it look like an accident.”

Fleur shook her head. “No way, no how. She’s just a poor alky, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Harmless.”

“I suppose.”

“Just let her live her life, Fancy. There isn’t much left to it anyway.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Har har. Yeah, but if Colgate can escape the police, she’ll probably have my recommendation.”

“Supposing I take her. What am I supposed to do with a crazy unicorn?”

“I bet she’d make a good missile.”

“Oooh, no, I’m not going to do that,” Fleur said. “If she’s smart enough to see my trap, and good enough to escape your police, I’m not going to try to weaponize her. She’ll see right through that too, I bet.”

“Yeah, could be.”

“You owe me so damn much,” Sweet Dreams said, keeping her head down as they waited for the traffic light to change. Colgate and Rouge sat in the back, the newspaper between them.

“We’ll get you back in good time, I promise,” Rouge said quietly. They had needed to pull over once for her to throw up, and the smell of rubbing alcohol lingered in the car.

“Bet you will.”

Rouge only fiddled with her seatbelt.

“Are you at least sober this time?”

“Yeah, sober as a skunk.”

“Probably why your head hurts so much,” Colgate said.

“We’ll do something about that as soon as we get home.”

“They’re not gonna have anything, you know that,” Sweet Dreams said, accelerating. “It’s a house for sale. That means it’s cleaned out. Do you even know if you’re gonna be alone there? What if you walk in on a showing or something?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Colgate said.

“I hadn’t thought of that, Cole,” Rouge said. “What if there’s already someone there?”

“There won’t be.”

“Hey, if there is, don’t go calling me again,” Sweet Dreams said. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“You’re a true friend, Sweet,” Rouge said.

“Yeah, yeah. Rouge, you realize that you’re in trouble too, right?” She looked at Colgate in the mirror. “Both of you are in the same pile of crap. You know that?”

Colgate shrugged, and Rouge chuckled.

“Lunatics,” Sweet mumbled. They turned on to an empty street and went all the way down to the cul-de-sac, where Sweet paused to look at their newspaper. She drove them to the corner and stopped in front of a white house with a well-kept lawn, its “for sale” sign waving gently in the breeze.

“We here?” Rouge asked.

“Get out,” Sweet said. “This is your stop.”

“Thanks, Sweet,” Colgate said. “You’re a good mare.”

Sweet Dreams just looked sourly ahead as the two got out and made their way up to the front door. Before they had tried it, she was down the road, turning onto the main thoroughfare.

“Locked,” Colgate said.

“Crap,” Rouge said.

“We’ll go in through the back.” She led them between the wall and a short picket fence, looking all around as she moved, watching for neighbors.

“Shit, Cole, I just realized something.”

“Hm?”

“I forgot to check if it had a pool.”

Colgate paused. “Damn.”

They rounded the corner. Their new back yard was a barren, desert landscape with a dry pond in one corner and a blooming acacia tree giving shade to the patio’s far corner. Colgate noted the hoofprints in the soft dirt as they moved toward their house.

“How do we get in?” Rouge asked.

Colgate tried the back door, then the patio door, both locked, and walked over to the pond. She levitated a flat stone, its top half baked white and its bottom half flecked with dried moss, and carried it back.

“Breaking and entering?”

Colgate lobbed the rock through the glass patio door without hesitation. Sparkles of glass covered the carpet inside, but nothing more; no alarms. She used her magic to clear the larger shards from the hole and stepped through, taking care to step around the broken glass as best she could. Rouge followed, mouth ajar and eyes wandering.

They stepped into a warm den, empty bookcases facing a square, glass dining table, a plush, red couch between. Wires trailed discreetly along the baseboards, where they had once connected to a TV set. The carpet was clean and vacuum-striped; Colgate didn’t mention it.

“Well, my fears are realized,” Rouge said from the kitchen. “Empty fridge, buddy.”

“And the cupboards?” Colgate asked, testing the couch.

“A couple cups. Someone left their little box of toothpicks here.”

“Will you be okay being sober for a night?” She got up and went to the bookcases, looking for dust. There was none.

“Me? Hope so. I’m gonna check the bathroom next.”

Colgate went down a short hallway to the kitchen and looked at the sink, then the oven. Both were perfectly clean.

“Nothing!” Rouge called out.

“You’ll be fine,” Colgate said, looking in the fridge. Also clean, and there was no smell. She went to the front room and parted the curtains, from where she could see down the street to the houses in the cul-de-sac, as well as the house on the opposite corner. Someone was gardening in the front yard, a floral sun hat pulled low over her head. Colgate spent a minute watching her lean form as it stooped to pull weeds, and didn’t hear Rouge enter the room.

“Home sweet home, though, huh?”

Colgate jumped and whirled, but suppressed the urge to hurl an insult. Rouge flinched back anyway, and Colgate forced a smile. “Everything is very clean here.”

“Yeah, pretty sweet deal.” She visibly relaxed. “Too bad about the pool. Hey, you don’t suppose the water’s still on here? They got a pretty primo garden hose, I saw. Picture it, Cole: you, me, a twelver of beer, and then we get that hose in the mix. I’m talking about some kinda awesome night.”

Colgate smiled a real smile. “I like that idea a lot. What do you think, inside, or out?”

“You mean the house?”

“Hey, it’s not our place.”

Rouge laughed. “Indoor pool? Heck yeah, I’m down. Carpet’s gonna stink up real bad, though.”

Colgate shrugged.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She laughed again and hopped up and down. “Tonight! We’re doing this tonight!”

Colgate’s smile turned to a toothy grin, still genuine. “I love it.”

“Wait, but what about the beer? Cole, we can’t go out there.”

“Even you?”

“I’m, you know, connected. You heard Sweet Dreams. I’m in it too.”

“I think she was just trying to scare you.”

“You think so?”

“Probably.”

“Hmmm. I dunno.”

Colgate looked back out at the neighbor. “We might need to worry about something worse than a wet carpet, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this place is pretty clean.”

“Yeah, so? Sweet deal, right?”

“It means that someone’s been around,” Colgate said. “And recently. Who’s to say they won’t be back?”

“Ooooh, I hadn’t thought about that.”

Colgate went back to the den and looked at the broken glass. The sun only reflected off of some of it, and she knew it was only a matter of time before someone got cut.

“So what do we do?”

Colgate sat back on the couch and looked at the blank space on the wall where a TV had once sat.

“Cole?”

“Thinking,” she snapped.

“Sorry.”

Across the back fence, Colgate could see a house with a large bay window, its curtains closed. “Someone’ll look out and see the hole in the patio door, and then they’ll probably call the cops. I could break their window too, to distract them. No, wait.” She frowned, shuffling through impulsive ideas, rejecting each one, swinging, as she did so, farther and farther from the original problem. “If I knew the name of the hotel pony, I could turn him in for letting us stay there.”

“Cole, buddy, talk to me,” Rouge said. “Whatever it is, let’s solve it together. Yeah?”

Colgate looked at Rouge. A wave of cold was slowly overtaking her, and she tried to sink deeper into the couch. Rouge watched with wide, concerned eyes, glazed but clearly sober.

“Remember Grass Graves? You talk, I think. Good team, huh?”

“Sure,” Colgate said. She took a second to order her thoughts as best she could. “We’re gonna be in trouble.”

“Okay, why?”

“The minute someone sees that broken glass, they’ll call the cops, and we’ll need to move again.”

“Hmm, and Sweet Dreams doesn’t wanna drive us anymore,” Rouge said. “Okay, so cops on our tails. How soon, you think?”

“How in Tartarus would I know that?”

“All right, sorry. Hey, okay, check this out. It’s the middle of the day and that house’s curtains are still drawn. Good chance there’s no one home, right? No one there to let the sunshine in.”

Colgate nodded. “So we’ve got today, at least.”

“To do what, though?”

“If it’s cops, we’ll need to escape.”

“And get somewhere safe.”

“Yes, that too,” Colgate said. “I keep coming back to that garden hose.”

“Yeah, I really hope the water’s on.” Rouge studied the broken glass for a minute, mouthing silent words. “Okay, I’ve got something. Well, kind of something. It might be hard to set up. Do you still have those pulse crystals?”

“In our bags.”

* * * * * *

Twilight spent the night at the ship’s side, watching a wall of dark brown clouds creep over featureless desert, intermittently dozing and pondering their position. Fragile dreams intersected with fragments of plans, giving her only sleepy confusion and, in moments of wakeful clarity, frustration. There was little to think about that she had not discussed with the others, but she couldn’t sway her restless mind out of its rut. She kept thinking of Discord, Vanilla, and the angel. Its illegality, and the calm way Luna had dismissed it, had not gone unnoticed.

Fluttershy prodded her awake that next morning and, seeing how tired she still was, helped her to bed, promising that they had everything under control. They knew where they were going, and Big Mac, with Applejack’s advice, was growing into a competent pilot. There was no immediate cause for concern.

Around three in the afternoon, Twilight came out to the deck and joined them for lunch. They were crossing over a dark valley, the desert finally showing signs of giving way to the more verdant sections of Equestria. According to their map, they were not too far from Applewood.

An hour later, they passed over the first gap in the land they had seen since Roan. The sheer drop to the vague, dark planet below unnerved them all as their ship passed over, and, for a long time, no one spoke. It had been so long since they had done anything to restore the country on their own, yet it was healing all the same. Twilight remembered, months ago, the princesses telling them that only they had access to the power necessary to bring back the crumbled countryside. A bold-faced lie, she now realized.

The evening turned dark burgundy as the sun set behind the parallel dust storm, rolling across the landscape steadily like a physical manifestation of the evening. At times, they could see where it ended, miles away, but those times were few; often, the storm appeared as a wall of dark brown, faceless and impenetrable. Applewood was in distant sight, but was not the focus of their conversation. Much closer, they could see the dead lights and designs of Applewood’s famous amusement park.

Its Ferris wheel made it immediately recognizable, even for the strange, uneven clutter that riddled the park’s skeletal acreage. Wisps of smoke mingled above the land, uncoiling from tiny fires buried in the jumbled scenery. Closer, they could see a wild gray crack of sky where the ground had been pulled apart behind a tottering roller coaster, and, closer still, they could see threads of bridges, unlit and scarcely visible in the dying light.

“Stop,” Fluttershy said, and Big Mac complied without asking or looking back. Had it been Rainbow or Rarity’s request, he might have—so Twilight imagined.

“What’s up?” Vinyl asked. In the evening, she was able to lift her goggles, and looked at them with her unseemly, red eyes.

Fluttershy smiled and fluffed her wings. “I feel an Element.”

“Now that’s the kind of news Ah like to hear,” Applejack said. “Down there, in all that hubbub?”

“I thought Luna said it was in Trottingham,” Rainbow said. “Isn’t that, like, a thousand miles away?”

“More than that,” Twilight said. “I think.”

“So either it moved, or we’re about to get two in a row,” Rarity said.

Applejack laughed. “Better’n better, girls! Octy an’ Pinkie are gonna be fit to burst.”

“Octavia,” Rainbow corrected. “She goes by—”

“Aw, she ain’t here,” Big Mac said, grinning. “Ah’m gonna set us down outside, if that’s all right. Ah don’t wanna rattle any cages by droppin’ in in the middle of things.”

“Yes, good,” Fluttershy said.

“Uh, actually, not good,” Rainbow said, looking over the edge. “Check this out.”

They joined her and looked where she pointed. At the park entrance, a metal gate growing out of collapsed stone from an earlier wall, they could make out the words “Discord World” in tall, swooping white letters. On both sides of the sign, there glowed a pair of globular light bulbs, held aloft magically.

“That could be trouble,” Rarity said. “He did make it seem like there was something strange coming, in his last letter. This is probably it.”

“Said to ‘watch the skies’,” Vinyl said. “We’re the only thing in the sky right now.”

“Nevertheless, we should be careful,” Twilight said. “If he’s made this place his own, who knows what’s waiting for us?”

“Nearly there,” Big Mac said.

The park flattened as they approached the ground, and they had soon settled in a shallow basin of fragrant earth, close enough to see the individual spokes of the park’s fence.

“It’s basically night time,” Rainbow said. “I say we get in, get out, and fly out of here before he knows what happened.”

“I’m sure he’s expecting that,” Twilight said.

“Well… maybe.”

“There are obviously ponies living here,” Vinyl said. “So if it’s a trap, it’s a safe trap. I mean, it’s not immediately dangerous.”

“It’s the kind of trap that’s sprung when we’re noticed,” Fluttershy said. “I get it.”

“So we just go in unnoticed,” Applejack said. “Twi, you an’ Rarity seem to have that under control. Ya got me all ‘round Roan just fine.”

“I’ll be honest, I really don’t want to try something like that again,” Rarity said.

“It’s not gonna be as grisly as Roan,” Rainbow said.

“I know that, dear. I’m referring to the act itself. I don’t like sneaking around like that. It feels dirty.”

“I know what you mean,” Twilight said. “But still…”

“I have an idea,” Vinyl said, a light popping on her horn to get their attention. “Big Mac and I aren’t you girls. We can get in without disguises, I bet.”

“Unless they know we’re associated with ‘em,” Big Mac said.

“I doubt it. Looked like a bunch of homeless in there.”

“Homeless ponies know things too,” Rainbow said.

“Didn’t mean it like that. Just meant they probably don’t have access to the same information we do. Less up on current events.”

“This sounds dirty too,” Rarity said. “I don’t like it.”

“Rare, come on,” Rainbow said.

“Ah could try it,” Big Mac said. “Ah’m not a remarkable stallion.”

“Vinyl, on the other hoof,” Twilight said.

“Just wash all that crap out of her mane, and she’ll be fine,” Rainbow said.

“Thanks, Dash,” Vinyl said.

“Just sayin’.”

“She has a point,” Rarity said, scrutinizing Vinyl. “I could revert your mane to something more, well, natural, and you’d hardly look yourself.”

“Goggles,” Applejack said.

“We can switch ‘em for some wraparound shades,” Vinyl said. “I can handle that for a little while.” She smirked. “And how do you know this isn’t my natural hair color?”

Applejack and Rainbow laughed.

“I propose we wait until light,” Twilight said. “If this is a trap, which it sure looks like, then we’ll want to go in when we can see everything.”

“Fine by me,” Vinyl said. “I’m tired anyway. I don’t wanna adventure.”

“That’s the spirit,” Rainbow said.

“We can’t push ourselves,” Rarity said. “Rather, we can’t push ourselves in this way. If it’s the wrong time to try something, it’s the wrong time.”

“Let’s just be grateful Octy isn’t here to badger us about it,” Applejack said.

“Exactly. Come, Vinyl, let’s go below.” She looked at her mane and tail. “This could take a while.”

They woke up the next morning from a fitful rest, none of them sleeping well in spite of Rainbow and Twilight’s night watches. The day was dull and windy, and the amusement park appeared lifeless and foreboding. No ponies moved within, but no one felt alone on the ship.

Vinyl wore a pair of reflective sunglasses that Rainbow had dug out of the bottom of one of her bags. Against her almost white coat, they looked like unfeeling beetle eyes, further contrasted with the long, light blue mane that hung in loose locks down her neck. Un-styled, her hair was so voluminous that it nearly hid her horn.

After breakfast, she spent close to half an hour with Fluttershy, learning the spell necessary for her to track the Element herself. She hadn’t the magic to match Fluttershy’s range, but, inside the park, it would be enough.

Big Mac took the lead across the fallow field between their ship and the park. “Discord World” loomed over them, casting a scythe-like shadow over the dead grass before a long, metal gate, through which they could see a tall, clapboard house built against the ticket booth.

“Let’s just get in and get out as quick as we can,” Vinyl said. “I already don’t like this.”

Big Mac nodded and walked a little closer to her.

“Tickets here!” a voice called, and they both looked carefully at the booth-house. At the top, the window was boarded up, on its uneven covering a painted version of Discord’s face. They stared at it for a minute, and both started when it blinked. “Get your tickets!”

“Um, no thanks, just visiting,” Big Mac called uncertainly.

The face only stared down at them as they walked underneath, stepping carefully around the gray crater of a dead campfire.

“Enchanted park,” Vinyl said. “Is it too late to go back for Twilight?”

“We can handle this, Miss Vinyl. Now where is it?” Big Mac asked softly.

Vinyl lit her horn as they walked, but stopped. “Wait, hang on.” She tried again, and the voice yelled at them again to get their tickets. “It’s hard.”

Big Mac stared at a nearby hovel, its walls arched to partially surround a battered cotton candy machine. The door had been torn off, taking a piece of wall with it, and lay in the overgrowing grass beside a heap of empty burlap bags.

“Okay, this way.” She took them deeper into the park, past more burnt-out campfires and one that still smoldered, more tilting houses, but no faces and no ponies. Bottles and wrappers clogged the grass and weeds outside the paths and sidewalks, but there was no smell in the air save for the heady combination of smoke and coming rain. Along a gentle slope, they had to carefully skirt a bend in the walkway where an errant bumper car had come to rest. They could see the scratches on the cement where it had been dragged.

“Hold up. Look at this,” Big Mac said as they rounded the car. From behind, it had seemed harmless, painted an innocuous pink that clashed with the dull ground on which it rested. Its front, however, bore Pinkie Pie’s manic, grinning face. Someone had colored in the whites of her eyes with orange spray paint.

“Discord World indeed,” Vinyl said. “Probably best we didn’t bring the others after all.”

“Up there.” He pointed at the top of the hill, where a pair of huts had become a splintered impact site under a food court’s shredded, blue tarp. They slowly walked to its edge and stared into the wreckage for signs of life, of which there were none. Most of the floor was covered in pulverized thatching, with only a single, small bare patch beside a dented potbelly stove. On the concrete, Vinyl could see stubs of bolts; the benches they had kept in place formed a rough border around the scene, upended carelessly, but all facing inwards, as if shoved aside. Across a desolate lawn, a snack shop, its top bulging out with the awkward shape of a bulbous façade, appeared to be sinking under its own weight. To one side, an iron rod was embedded in a tree stump. As they passed, Big Mac saw Rarity’s cutie mark painted on the stump’s surface. He shivered.

“Storm’s still out there,” Vinyl said, nudging him and offering a weak smile.

“Ah think it’s comin’ this way.”

She looked at him, her horn pulsing once.

“Give it about an hour, Ah’d say.”

She pursed her lips and cast her spell again, looking all around. From where they stood, a roller coaster arched its back dangerously, the plaster siding before its drop either hanging off or chipped entirely away. Below, a tangled trio of rooftops poked up, each with its own smokeless stovepipe chimney.

“Y’ever come here?” Big Mac asked when she began walking again. The poker in Rarity’s mark bothered him more than he would have liked to admit.

“A couple times.” She looked back at him, but he nodded, indicating he had heard her fine. “Um. We didn’t come that often, ‘cause of the crowds and the lines.”

“Ya probably wanted to avoid stuff like that on yer down time.”

“That’s right. But the rides were always fun.” She looked around again. “Trying to see The End of the Rainbow. That was my favorite coaster. It takes you up into this bank of clouds, and you can’t see when you’re gonna drop. When you do, you go through the cloud, get all wet, and then… it just went so fast, Mac.”

“Sounds great.”

She grinned. “You don’t sound enthused.”

“Ah ain’t, Miss Vinyl.”

“You can drop the ‘miss’.” She slowed and brushed her tail against his side. He had never been so close to her, and was surprised at how soft her tail was.

“Sure thing. Vinyl.”

She smiled again, a little stronger, and trotted back ahead. “Not much farther, I think.”

They walked between a pair of shacks, both windows blown inward to reveal disheveled, but unfurnished rooms. The grass vanished at a hard line just after, and Vinyl paused at the dust, looking down at the riot of hoofprints. A bicycle chain lay uncovered around another bench, overturned, under a Ramada’s shattered rooftop.

“Big Mac, can you feel this?” Her voice was serious, and its natural softness in the stern tone made his fur stand up.

“Like feelin’ watched?”

“That too, but no. The magic.”

He shook his head.

“I know earth ponies can’t feel it easily, but there’s a lot here. Just thought this time you might.”

“Sorry, Miss—sorry, Vinyl.”

“This is really freaky,” Vinyl said, stepping over to an empty patch of ground beside the Ramada. A trash bin lay on its side nearby, a spray of wrappers wreathing its mouth, its metal edges singed. “This shouldn’t feel like this.”

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s no one here, but there’s magic everywhere. It wasn’t too bad earlier, but here, it’s really something else.”

“Are we in trouble?” he asked, taking a step back.

“Oh, no, no, it’s old magic.” She went back to him. “Which is even crazier. Someone cast a ton of spells out here. All around, it feels like.”

Big Mac looked around, then shrugged. “Feels normal to me.”

She patted his wither. “Us unicorns are more sensitive to it than you earth ponies. Trust me, something’s up. Or it was up.” She walked to the edge of the rest area and beckoned him on. They walked past a dislodged curve of roller coaster railing, one of its support legs fallen nearby. The gaudy stripes around its sides were dampened in the dust, and there was a dark band of scorch marks near its top, where the bolts appeared sheered away.

“So what d’ya think happened?” Big Mac asked as the first speckles of rain found the dust.

“No clue. Wanna say a fight or something, but all the ponies are gone.”

“As well as any stuff they might have with ‘em.”

“Ooh, yeah, that too.” She lifted her sunglasses a crack. “So cloudy out here, I can almost go without these.” She paused to cast her spell again. “So, Pinkie with the angel. Weird, huh?”

Big Mac rolled his eyes. “Ah’m glad fer it.”

“Me too. You caught that Fluttershy was super-supportive of her going?”

“Eeyup. Plain as day. Ah can guess why Pinkie wanted to go.”

“Guilt.”

“Guilt.” He paused, mulling over how much of his thoughts to reveal to Vinyl, hardly better than a stranger, despite everything that had happened in Roan. “An’ Ah think she should feel guilty.”

Vinyl just shook her head, looking around. The wall of dust was coming ever closer, and they could see a distant forest slowly fading into it.

“You don’t think so?” he asked.

“I don’t like to pass judgment like that. Guilt isn’t something you assign to just one pony.”

Big Mac took a minute to respond. “In Pinkie’s case, it seems pretty clear-cut, though.”

“In a way, sure. She failed to help us out when we needed it.”

“Refused.”

“We don’t know that. Some ponies freeze up under pressure, and it’s not their fault. Either way, we could blame her, but couldn’t we also blame whoever didn’t help her overcome what was stopping her? If it was fear, shouldn’t some of the guilt go to all of you?”

“How d’ya figure?”

“Lots of time to talk it out before the dam. Lots of time to unearth any misgivings, and deal with ‘em.”

“Ah s’pose. Seems like a stretch to me, though.”

“Point is,” Vinyl said, sniffing the air, “there’s more sides than Pinkie’s in this. Making her into a straw-pony isn’t gonna help anyone.”

“Ah guess this is why we don’t share with the others.”

“The accusations would fly like crazy. Probably.”

“Think so?”

“Maybe. No, I don’t, actually. Thinking out loud, is all. You’re better friends than that.”

“Ah like to think so.”

“Sorry, Big Mac. Should have thought before I said anything.” The rain picked up, and they took shelter under an awning by a broken staircase, leading up in a tight spiral to a dry water slide. The smell of damp dust was in the air, and the forest had been swallowed.

“We’re gonna need shelter in a couple minutes,” Big Mac said.

“Thought you said about an hour.”

“Ah was wrong.” He shrugged and walked across the pathway, wind coming to sweep the dust at his hooves, to the Tunnel of Love. Fluttershy’s beneficent face and wings overlooked the entrance, both scratched savagely by unknown hooves. Vinyl followed at a distance, running with her head down to keep her sensitive eyes from the dust.

She lit the tunnel to reveal a line of scarred rails and two walls of mostly broken plaster decorations. Discord mingled amongst the various cutie marks and hearts that filled the tunnel, his serpentine form twisting in loose spirals or tail-eating circles, some depictions painted and others in crude marker. A couple were slashed. A jagged crack in the ceiling afforded them a look at the sepia sky as the dust storm finally met the theme park, and a howling gust of wind filled their shelter. Big Mac righted an overturned cart and held it up for Vinyl, who climbed in after a moment’s hesitation. Dust swirled lightly inside, and Big Mac squinted against it. Both ends of the tunnel were obscured, and Vinyl strengthened her light, accomplishing little.

“We’ll just wait it out,” Big Mac said. “Any idea how close we are to that Element?”

“Not far, but I can’t tell where exactly it is.”

“Could be under some rubble, fer all we know.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised.”

Big Mac sighed and looked out through the crack in the ceiling, waiting for the storm to pass. He was eager to return to the ship, for the excited greeting and the compliments he knew he would get for bringing them their next Element. He withheld a sheepish smile, knowing he was being vain, not caring.

He looked up in time to see something dark pass over their tunnel, an oblong shadow behind the clouds, so fast and shapeless that he thought nothing of it. A loose piece of cloud or a free tarp from somewhere on the park’s desecrated grounds, he figured.

He and Vinyl jumped up at a sound, the latter bumping her head on the cart’s rail. Worryingly close, it was the sound of solid impact, of large objects colliding. There was metal and glass, and Big Mac felt himself trying to sink into the wall in spite of himself. A groan carried through the air like the death cry, its phantasmal, sonorous monotone yawing from one side of the tunnel to the other as the wind carried it.

Then the ground trembled with a weighty crash, more glass breaking within the sound, and he didn’t move, waiting for it to continue or repeat. All that followed was the long, cold suspense of the uncaring wind.

The dust storm’s outermost fringes ruffled their fur before Rarity had erected a shield around the ship, turning it into a smooth droplet of magic to deflect the winds. Toward the back of the ship, where she had been practicing her magic to rotate through levels of humidity and temperature, Rainbow leaned out to stare pensively into the brown wall.

Twilight joined her, noticing with a spark of pride the remaining moisture in the air, where Rainbow had most recently conjured a fine mist. “Anything out there?”

“Yeah, actually.” Rainbow shielded her eyes, though she did not need to. “I can’t tell what it is, but there’s something big flying around out there. Doesn’t look like a ship.”

Twilight frowned and followed Rainbow’s eyes, but saw nothing. “I can’t tell.”

“You know, Discord did say to watch the skies.”

Twilight nodded. “Storms come from the sky. I don’t… do you think this could have been summoned?”

“Is that possible?” Fluttershy asked, approaching. “Um, sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s hard, but it’s possible.”

“It’ll get you life in the dungeon, too,” Rainbow said. “Not that Discord cares about that, I guess.”

“That would be some really good timing,” Fluttershy said. “Um… because I think I remember seeing it outside Roan.”

“Vanilla’s a precog, though,” Twilight said. “Oh, crud, Dash, I think I just saw it.”

“Applejack, we need to get into the air,” Fluttershy said, turning around.

“I would have said it,” Twilight said quietly, meeting Fluttershy’s level gaze.

“There it goes again,” Rainbow said. “Fluttershy, can you see it? It looks kind of animal-y.”

“I didn’t know there were even animals out here,” Twilight said. “Then again, if this storm is summoned, so’s that probably.”

“There it is,” Fluttershy said. “My, that’s large.” She glanced at Rainbow, who smirked. “I can’t see any wings.”

“How high?” Applejack asked.

Twilight jerked out of her thoughts and looked down. Applejack had them effortlessly hanging around thirty feet off the ground, close to the Ferris wheel’s axle. Twilight could barely see it through the dust.

“Keep us here for now, but get those propellers ready too,” Fluttershy said. “We might have to move quickly.”

“Okay, hold on,” Applejack said, walking over to them. “What exactly are we ‘bout to clash with?”

“It looks like a big, flying fish,” Rainbow said. “Shy? Any flying fish monsters that you know of?”

“A couple,” Fluttershy said. “It could be a pisces, and it could be a cetus. They’re both constellation-forms, like Trixie’s ursa minor.”

“They fly?”

“They can survive in the water or the air. Um, since they’re not flesh and blood, they don’t need to breathe.”

“Are either of ‘em dangerous?” Applejack asked.

“Um, well, maybe.” She balanced on the gunwale briefly. “They’re not typically aggressive, like an ursa, but they can do a lot of damage if they crash into anything.”

“Like that Ferris wheel,” Rainbow said.

“Or us,” Twilight said. They all gasped as the shadow loomed into view for the first time, not near enough to pose a threat.

Stars spangled the creature’s dark, glistening skin as it cut through the dust, one massive fin stretching down like a spike of midnight to nearly touch the desolate landscape. Its tapering tail ended in a pair of beautiful, bat-wing flukes that thrust upwards in a half-moon arc as the whale angled itself to ride a current of air. Its graceful form slid near the park’s border and then turned sharply to fly over it, where it briefly vanished.

“Twi? Ideas?” Applejack asked. “Ah’m ready to get us outta here, but we’ll have to come back fer my brother.”

“I’m thinking,” Twilight said. “I’m thinking.”

“We can’t hurt it,” Fluttershy said.

“Twilight, if you have to, do it,” Rarity said. “If it starts tossing us around, my shield won’t last long.”

“No killin’, Rare,” Applejack said.

“No, no, I wouldn’t suggest that. I mean, well, just a good poke or something. A little lightning bolt to scare it off?”

“Rarity, stop,” Twilight said. She jumped as the cetus suddenly appeared again, heading straight for them. They froze, Applejack’s engines kicking in after a second, but the whale passed over them, giving a quick view of its speckled underbelly.

Twilight looked back just in time to see its tail, trailing a ship’s length behind, dip down and strike the Ferris wheel as it turned awkwardly in the wind. A scattering of glass popped off and was swept away, and the wheel shook, its altered angle not immediately apparent from their position. In the wind, it was suspended for a moment before sagging down like a wilting leaf. Its supports were buried in the storm, but they could see the dully reflective windows and bright paint of each capsule as the wheel gradually lost its shape, and, like a string of Hearth’s Warming lights uncoiling from a spool, settled to the ground in a slithering crash that was only partially visible.

“There that goes,” Rainbow said. “It’s coming back around, girls.”

Worried, but putting her questions aside, Twilight moved to the ship’s starboard side to watch the dark form. It bobbed up and down a few times in the distance, steadily approaching, its shadow changing with its orientation into a flanged boulder bearing down on them. It was above them still, but could easily dip and ram their ship.

“Twilight?” Rarity asked.

“I’m going to deflect it,” Twilight said, trying, as she did so, to figure the best angle at which to cast her spell. “Fluttershy, does this animal have any predators?”

All around the ship, dust billowed and swirled, and Twilight could hear rain hitting Rarity’s shield as well, though couldn’t see it. With a quick jot of pride, she remembered that it was the shield only that held them steady in the morass.

As the great whale’s starry, faceless head burst through the brown curtains of shifting winds, Twilight flinched back and cast her spell, a powerful, blunt force blast to knock it away. It flashed from her horn in an unfocused magenta explosion, from the middle of which ran a solid-looking lance of magic to punch the cetus off its course. She saw the spell’s impact and saw one fin flip up as the whale changed trajectory as they spun off in the opposite direction with a shout of alarm.

The park spiraled into view for a moment before they stabilized, and Applejack and Rarity were picking themselves off the deck when Twilight turned around. “Sorry, sorry! I forgot, I’m sorry.”

“The heck was that? Did it hit us?” Applejack asked, racing to the wheel. She closed her eyes briefly, assessing whether the ship was damaged.

“No, we just got pushed the other way by my spell. Sorry,” Twilight said. “I forgot to ground us.”

“Ugh, warn us next time,” Rainbow said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Um, excuse me,” Fluttershy said, stumbling as the ship shuddered. “Twilight, I don’t really know of any natural predators, but—”

“Well, great,” Rainbow said. “Maybe we should get that lightning bolt ready after all.”

“But,” Fluttershy pressed, “you might be able to scare it off with a big enough noise.”

“Should Ah turn the engines up?” Applejack asked. “Will that help?”

“Here it comes again,” Rainbow said.

“Twilight,” Fluttershy said.

“Everypony quiet!” Twilight shouted, pushing herself away from the rail and going to the torch. “Let me—”

Rarity screamed and fell to the deck as the whale’s shadow passed over them again, its starry skin gliding so close that Twilight could make out the indistinct flowers of distant galaxies patched on to its body. Its tail cudgeled the air just above their balloon, and Twilight thought she could see the glittering result of a scrape with Rarity’s shield.

It glided over the park again, vanishing just beyond the rise of a roller coaster, waving back and forth gently in the storm.

“Twilight, a really low sound might help,” Fluttershy said. “Whales use really low frequencies to talk to each other.”

“Tell it to go away?” Rarity asked.

“No, scare it off. If we can make a low enough sound, it might think there’s an even bigger cetus nearby.”

“Or it might want to be friends,” Rainbow said.

“I doubt that,” Fluttershy said. “Twilight, can you make a magical sound like that?”

“Well, not off the top of my head,” Twilight said, staring out into the dust to try to find the starred cetus. She was listening, but distracted. “But it shouldn’t be that hard. How low are we talking about here?”

“Too low for us to hear. I think… oh, I think they usually talk at around twenty hertz.”

“So ten of these hurts should be okay if we wanna be big?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight looked at Fluttershy, who nodded after a moment. “All right, I’ll get the books.”

“Wait, hang on,” Rarity cried. “What are we supposed to do while you’re researching?”

“Bring us lower, Applejack,” Rainbow said. “Maybe we can keep it going above us while Twilight’s… ugh, reading.”

“Sorry, Rainbow,” Twilight said. “I’ll try to be quick.”

Rain pelted the scarred concrete inside their tunnel, blown in through the entrance and exit and falling in an unbroken stream through the hole in the ceiling, but there were no more crashes.

While Vinyl was huddled under the cart, sunglasses pressed as tightly to her face as possible to keep out the dust, Big Mac stood at the tunnel’s edge. He was searching for a better shelter, somewhere they would not be beholden to the gale, which, if it became stronger, could turn the irritating dust in their tunnel into a real breathing hazard. With one eye on the shifting shades of obscured park before him, he scanned the sky for the dark shape. He had seen it a couple more times from his shelter, but didn’t know whether Vinyl did. He imagined, in the sunglasses, she had not.

On one side of the tunnel’s exit area, once roofed, he could see the corner of a food court and hear its tarp flapping loosely; and, on the other side, a windswept path with no clear terminus, but a map of the park silhouetted in dust beside it. He shivered, his chest and face sticky with filthy rainwater, and trudged back to Vinyl.

Lifting her cart, he helped her to her hooves and told her his plan, and she nodded with a flash of pastel orange light. In the storm, both of them knew she would not be heard, so she had to communicate through her light.

At the tunnel’s mouth, beside a pair of Discords engaged in a tango on the wall, Vinyl grew a purple ball of light on her horn. She shivered as well, and the sight of rain and dust beading off her sunglasses momentarily picked at Big Mac’s nerve.

“Let’s go,” he shouted, knowing he didn’t need to, that he could simply begin walking and she would follow. The issuance of the order, nonetheless, made him feel better.

It was not the dust alone that concerned him; it was the lack of visibility in a place with collapsible structures. Big Mac knew the rain would be weighing down on many of the buildings, soaking into wood or filling imperfect gutters and eaves, while the wind would tear through clapboard walls and throw open unsecured doors and windows. Able to see only a few feet in any direction, any crash was a threat, and one about which neither of them could do much but wait and hope it was occurring elsewhere.

He stopped at the map and leaned in close, Vinyl providing a helpful beam of white light. They were near the middle of the park, close to a log ride and a roller coaster, one called “Lake Witch” and the other “White Demon.” The two rides formed a rough V that protected a gift shop, which Big Mac tapped with his hoof. “Let’s go there.”

Shielding his eyes as best he could, he pushed against the wind in what he hoped was the right direction. He had only taken a few steps when Vinyl yanked his tail and emphatically pointed to the sky. The same dark shape he had seen through the crack in the tunnel’s ceiling coasted over them again, its form long and smooth, with tapered fins and a large, deltaic tail. For Big Mac, whose thoughts were not on the ship and his friends, it was a herald of predation and disaster that froze his heart and made his resolve nearly buckle in a terrific wash of adrenaline.

Another of Discord’s creations, come to protect his park, was Big Mac’s first thought. A colossal watchdog, perpetually cloaked in storms, set to patrol Discord’s land and guard any Elements hidden within. As it sped over their heads, he let out an unheard, shaking sigh, relieved that it had not seen them, or at least was not immediately coming for them.

Vinyl flashed a red light behind him, and he moved again, squinting his eyes against a gust of grit. A small tree swayed on the far side of the nearby picnic area, and Big Mac thought he could see a flap of sheet metal at its base.

The metal chute at the end of the log ride was dented and offset, its paint almost totally flaked away, a tree branch sticking over its lip like a limb, and Big Mac could just see the contours of the drop before it. Rain streamed down the slide in a tinny, insistent cataract, divided closest to the bottom as it hit a crude waterwheel set aside a stilted cabin. Below its deck, Big Mac could see the dark gap where soil had been washed away.

Steering Vinyl farther from the log ride, lest they be too close when the cabin inevitably fell, he stumbled in a gopher hole. A dirt-encrusted golf ball sat in tangled grass just beside it, and he kicked it away as he got up.

Vinyl flashed another light, and he looked at her. She pointed at his leg and wobbled her hoof in the air. “You okay?”

“It’s fine,” he said, his eyes rolling up for another possible glimpse of the dark harbinger. It had passed only minutes ago, but he felt it should be coming back soon.

Another shattered building rose up in the distance, rain streaming off its corners and a tattered flag fluttering on a length of rope from one piece of askew scaffolding. Over the house’s door, in sharp, menacing letters, was painted “Lake Witch,” and, under, “Ride if You Dare!” Someone had tried to paint over it, but the new lettering was unreadable.

Big Mac whipped around at the low sound of shifting earth, at first thinking it was a growl from the mysterious shadow. Vinyl came up beside him and wrapped one hoof around his, and, together, wet and shivering, they watched the log ride cabin come loose. Wet arrowheads of mud and stone plunged first, snarling in the wind and rain as they trailed down the mild slope, coming to rest mostly against the metal trough where it had depressed the ground. Wood creaked and groaned, and the entire building shifted briefly before giving way and sliding down. Above, more mud raced to join, carrying a dark brown carpet of garden and shrubbery with it to violently shove into the cabin as it came to rest a scant ten feet lower, impacting its back and forcing its face to partially burst out, a contained explosion.

Only a second later, the waterwheel tilted and, with a rough screech, fell off its stanchion to pummel the log ride’s slide. It hung awkwardly in the slide for a moment before leaning out and crashing to the ground, ripping away a chunk of the slide’s siding and crushing a sorrowful, soaked popcorn stand.

When the spectacle had stopped, both ponies looked up again, ranging the sky with their eyes for signs of the monster. Big Mac didn’t see Vinyl quickly lift up her glasses, but felt her poke him excitedly. He looked at her, and she, smiling, waved her hoof in a large circle around her head. He frowned, trying to figure out what she was saying, and she replaced her glasses. Dimming the purple light for a moment, she summoned a dust-brown bulb of light, held it for a second, and then faded it away.

Big Mac looked around, then understood. Visibility was returning. He smiled at her, and she nodded along, then pointed. “Onwards!”

At a trot, they went under the entrance point for the Lake Witch and emerged in a grassy quadrangle. Large pillars surrounded it, between them strung gray sails to provide shade, many of which were perforated or hung by only one corner. Wedged between a pair of pillars was another shoddy house, both sides caved in to reveal a sparse network of tree branches and a metal pole, the only things keeping the ceiling up besides the tension of the compressed walls.

Big Mac took them past the house, past a ruined shaved ice stand, and down a different mud-choked path toward the gift shop. He heard Vinyl’s soft gasp and looked up wildly, seeing the shadow circling low on the northern side of the park. The spire of some defunct ride stood against the wind, and the shadow floated gracefully past, one extension of its bulk seeming almost to float up to miss the top. The shadow, clearly massive, did not move like something with strength. There was no ponderous momentum in its motion, no labored tugging of body parts against one another; it floated and flowed like a living cloud, buoyed on the currents with surety and poise. He shuddered, the immensity of a body so secure in its place making him feel oppressed, watched, small. From the look on Vinyl’s face, she felt it too, and he signaled to her to follow him off the path, where they stood, hooves entwined again, under a dripping pinyon pine. The thought of lightning did not cross his mind.

When the monster vanished into the dark distance, they splashed and stumbled their way toward the gift shop. The dust had all turned to mud at their hooves, though they could still see vestiges of it to the north. The rain, meanwhile, was coming down harder and colder, the wind spraying it into their faces and sides. As they trotted down the path, keeping their heads low, heat lightning flickered overhead for the first time.

The gift shop door was already ajar, and they entered into what resembled an abandoned living room. Store shelves had been pushed to brace the walls while the counter had become a lopsided table, a splintered board nailed on to one side.

Big Mac followed Vinyl’s flash around a corner, stepping over a greasy puddle under a sagging section of ceiling. On a bare spot of floor, encircled with glossy, white paint, a life-size Discord doll reclined on a patchy blanket, a smaller doll of each of the Elements of Harmony under one of his coils. Each stuffed figure smiled gaudily, their colors faded and their fur damp and, in some places, coming off.

“Didn’t like the Elements much, I guess,” Vinyl said. Big Mac could barely hear her with the rain outside.

“Speakin’ of, how close are we to the next one?”

Vinyl doused her lights to cast the more complicated spell. “Not far. Once that thing’s gone, we can get it.”

He nodded, thinking, trying to see into the sky from a grimy window.

“Ah’ll bet bits to a hat pin this critter heard our engines an’ thought it’d made a friend,” Applejack said, watching with wonder and disgust as the cetus edged farther away from them. Twilight, back on the prow, horn lit stridently, didn’t respond. The sound of rain pounding Rarity’s shield was more distracting than she had said it would be.

“It was here before we took off, though,” Rainbow said.

“It could have been the storm,” Fluttershy said. “Large storms like this can produce low-frequency sounds. If the cetus was already nearby, it could have been attracted. Um, I know that happens out at sea. They sometimes get hurt because they get too close to hurricanes.”

“Well, this ain’t the ocean,” Applejack said.

“I’m sure we can assume Discord summoned it,” Rarity said, sweat beginning to soak her fur from keeping up their shield.

“Probably,” Rainbow said. “Vinyl and Big Mac are okay, by the way. I saw Vinyl’s little light show down there, a couple minutes ago. They’re on the move, or they were.”

“Thank goodness,” Applejack said. “Though Ah have to admit, Ah wasn’t all that worried. They’re smart ponies.”

No one said anything, and Applejack nodded, as though their silence confirmed her words. She looked back out at the cetus, too far off to be more than an odd shape, and sighed.

“Okay, I’m going to give it a rest, and we’ll see if it comes back,” Twilight said, settling back. “This is actually harder than I thought it would be.”

“You gonna be able to finish it?” Applejack asked.

“I’ll be fine.”

Vinyl stood at the gift shop door for five minutes, watching the skies, while Big Mac rested and calmed down. When those minutes passed, and the monster had not appeared, she got him and they went back into the rain, following a path down a row of trees toward a covered petting zoo. “Petting” had been slashed roughly, over it written “Discord.”

There were no animals in the enclosure, but a strange, circular indentation in the ground, lines faintly visible at the edges, where the rain had not completely soaked in. Vinyl lit her horn again, then went to a destroyed shed and stared down at the remnants.

“Here?” Big Mac asked.

She nodded, nudging a bag of animal feed. Big Mac, understanding immediately, used his teeth to tear open the bag while Vinyl gored a second one with her horn. They dumped the pellets on the ground, a cloud of wheat-smelling sawdust rising up as their bags emptied. Inside the third bag, Twilight’s diadem tumbled out onto the pile of wet bunny food.

“Bingo,” Vinyl whispered.

“Let’s get goin’, then,” Big Mac said, looking closely at it, seeing his own distorted reflection. “Ah don’t wanna tempt that monster up there any more’n we already have.”

Applejack touched them back down at the entrance of Discord World, guided by Vinyl’s silver spotlight. While Fluttershy explained the cetus, and what they had done to chase it off, Twilight cleaned her Element in the bathroom sink, withholding a shout of joy at finally having reclaimed her tiara. When it was sufficiently clean, she gingerly lowered it onto her head, where it still fit perfectly. In the mirror, she stared into her own eyes with a look of dour determination, then broke it with a silly, open-mouthed grin. “Five down, one to go,” she said, confident that the Element in Trottingham would be similarly easy to acquire.

Back on the deck, Rarity had dissipated her shield, and they flew north through the departing storm, Trottingham not quite a week away.

* * * * * *

Colgate and Rouge had spent the entire day before setting up their plan for hasty escape. It had taken them half the day to fully form, and the two of them had worked into the night getting every detail right, and then slept together on the couch, letting the night breeze lull them.

Rouge woke up early, complaining of a headache and a dry mouth, and Colgate only stared at her mercilessly. Her own head felt thick and full, her muscles tense and raw. She was covered in sweat from the night before, and as she looked out at the yard, the garden hose called to her. Neither of them had showered since the hotel, and she doubted she would have the opportunity soon. The garden hose had been dedicated for a single, specific task, and could not be safely removed from where they had left it. Knowing this, she was still tempted.

Then, Colgate noticed the house across the wall. Its curtains were open, and she stared into the reflected sun. Rouge was gargling water from the kitchen sink.

“Looks like you were right,” Colgate said, rubbing her eyes. “Curtains’re open.”

“Shoot, really?” Rouge asked.

“Yes, really.”

“Aw, crud. Well, Cole, hey, we might not have to do it at all. You know, it depends on if they call the cops.”

“They will. They always do.”

Rouge opened a cupboard, searching uselessly for something to drink. Her eyes lingered on a bottle of surface cleaner. “Wanna get set up? Just in case?”

“Yeah, let’s.” She yawned. “Aw, shit, Rouge, it’s too early. What time is it?”

“Dunno. Stovetop says eighty-eight eighty-eight. Uhh, the sun’s up. Noon?”

Colgate shrugged.

“Well, I’ll wake up the scanner.” She fiddled with a black box beside the couch, a police scanner, one of several items she had had delivered to their new house the day before, brought by the scared, shy college student whose house Colgate had vandalized: Whipped Cream. He had supplied all the tools they needed, but no alcohol; Colgate had been adamant that Rouge remain sober for the proceedings.

While Rouge searched among static for police activity, Colgate went outside to make sure everything was still in place. The garden hose was pulled around to the utility closet, where its nozzle was wedged between two pipes, ready to spray straight into the bottom of the water heater, which they had turned all the way up the day before. On the opposite side of the yard, their staircase of stones gave Colgate enough of a boost to get over the fence, which she had practiced only once the night before.

“We’re all clear for now, buddy!” Rouge called. “Everything good outside?”

“Looks fine,” Colgate said, stepping back in, avoiding the glass still embedded in the carpet. “Are you going to put on your makeup now, or later?”

“I’ll do it when they’re on their way.” Another item she had had Whipped Cream bring, a full makeup kit, she had used the day before to disguise herself to safely visit the neighbors, setting up a potential storm of distractions for curious police.

Getting Colgate, and Rouge later, safely out of the house was important, but they also needed a way to escape the neighborhood. They needed a car, one they could take. After a sunny stroll in her fake face, Rouge had found a car parked in the driveway just on the edge of the cul-de-sac across from them; even more, she said, its owner lived alone. Reaching the car would involve them passing six individual houses.

“Four-forty-two, north Paisley Way, copy,” the scanner said.

“That us?” Colgate asked, tensing up as though it were.

“No, that’s a ways away. We’re on… crap, I forget. Cole, c’mon, they’re not gonna do anything today. Let’s just tank it and get some booze. Kick back, huh?”

“No chance.”

“Well hell.” Rouge yanked open the cupboard under the sink and grabbed some window cleaner.

“You’re an idiot if you think that’ll do anything for you.”

Rouge shrugged in an imitation of Colgate’s noncommittal gesture and sprayed into her mouth, gagging immediately. “Ugh, this is horrible!”

“It’s a cleaning agent,” Colgate mumbled. “You stupid, compulsive, stupid…” She shook her head violently, imagining trying the cleaner herself. The thought made her angrier; how dare Rouge thrust such a thought on her?

“Easy, easy. I’m putting it down.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know.”

Colgate looked at her, receiving a warm smile.

“What?”

“Do you know?”

“Sure, I’ve got a pretty good Cole sense. You know, you’re not the most expressive pony out there, except when you’re, you know, mad at me.”

Colgate frowned, not liking the implications of being known so well. She looked at the phone and the list of numbers next to it, and the notes next to each. “Stray dog,” “gas leak,” and “Colgate.” Three numbers, three lies, each designed to move the ponies within the houses or otherwise obfuscate the police’s job, when they came. The list made Colgate nervous. They had discussed the details for most of the day, imagining as many possible issues as they could, but the calls would only work once, and could not be practiced. Timing would be everything.

They didn’t even have food. At three in the afternoon, shortly after Rouge had attempted, again, to drink the window cleaner, Colgate heard their address on the police scanner. Canterlot’s law enforcement was on its way to investigate what looked like vandalism.

Colgate rushed to the phone and Rouge rushed to her makeup, putting on a perfect imitation of her disguised face from the day before with deftness and precision Colgate had not seen in any other activity. Once she was ready, she took the phone and made the first call, deepening her voice.

“Yes, hello? I need to speak to the pony handling the Colgate story.” She grinned into the receiver. “Sweet Dreams. I’m a… not a friend, but kind of an associate. Yeah, I met her yesterday, that’s what I’m calling about.”

A pregnant pause on the other end before Rouge continued.

“I’m at sixty-five oh-one north Lemongrass Avenue. As soon as possible, please, and as many ponies as you can spare. I think she’s following me.” She sighed dramatically. “No, ‘cause I haven’t actually seen her today. It’s just a hunch, that’s all. I don’t wanna call the cops for nothing. I hope it’s nothing. Uh-huh. Yes, as soon as possible, I’m ready. Okay, great, thanks. I’ll be waiting outside. Sweet Dreams, yes. Okay, bye.” She hung up. “Half an hour, Cole.”

The first link in their plan, calling a team of reporters on the Colgate case to swarm the corner house. Colgate would eventually be going past, but, by that time, they would be engaged in something much more immediate.

“You’re on, Cole baby,” Rouge said. “Hey, this is kinda fun. I haven’t done this kind of thing before!”

“Go, go,” Colgate said. “Tomatoes, right?” Their signal word.

“Tomatoes.” Rouge exited the house and Colgate picked up the phone. She had approximately five minutes to make two calls and get over the back fence, five minutes being how long they had estimated it would take the police to arrive, given the two-or-three minute conversation with the local news.

While Rouge was knocking on the neighbor’s door, Colgate called Canterlot animal control to report a stray dog, a golden retriever with no collar and a big bark, and then the Canterlot gas company to report a leak at one of the houses in the far cul-de-sac.

As soon as she hung up, she was out the patio door, out into the desert landscape, and to the stone staircase. Resting for a second to make sure she could hear two voices at the house’s front, she vaulted the fence, landing uncomfortably on a back leg. The neighbor’s dog looked at her with friendly bemusement.

“C’mon, Daffodil,” Colgate mumbled, approaching the dog as Rouge had taught her, slowly but without fear. There was a latched gate to the alley behind both houses, but it was easily opened, and it was through this that Colgate needed to release the dog after removing its collar.

The dog gave two short barks, and Colgate folded her ears down quickly before opening them again to make sure both voices persisted. The sound plucked at her nerves, its insistent insouciance making anger flare up. She could see herself kicking it in the snout, barking back at it as loudly as she could, a just reciprocation in her mind.

Shaking her head and closing her eyes, feeling briefly only the midday sun on her lidded eyes, she could hear Daffodil’s collar jangle. Pony and dog looked at each other for a second before Colgate gently tugged at the dog’s collar, trying to find the buckle that held it on amidst so much golden fur. Daffodil barked again, and Colgate gave the collar a yank, rewarded with a quieter, more demure yap.

“C’mon, dammit,” she said, rising and trying to move at the same time. She knew she couldn’t dawdle, could sense the police cars coming nearer. Rouge had to be back in their house to greet the police, and Colgate had to be back in the yard for her signal.

One of the first questions Rouge had asked: why did they need to go to so much trouble if they had a police scanner? Why not use the early warning to grab the car and get a head start? Because they needed to escape in confusion, Colgate had said; it was too easy for someone to notice where they were going if they took the car in broad, placid daylight.

Daffodil licked Colgate’s cheek when the collar came off, and Colgate didn’t look at the dog as she draped it over her own neck. It wasn’t part of the plan, but she figured she might use it. She walked the dog to the gate and let it out, having to give it a firm push to get it across the threshold into the alley.

She couldn’t hear Rouge as she went back over the fence, using the edge of the neighbor’s elevated flower garden as a step up. As she landed in the dust of her own yard, she heard the first sirens in the distance, and had to resist the urge to race inside and make sure Rouge was in place. The most uncomfortable part of their entire plan was her inability to verify that Rouge was doing her job. Each pony had to trust the other in multiple places, something real Daturas did all the time, Rouge had pointed out.

Colgate crept into the utility closet and pulled the two pulse crystals out from underneath an overturned bucket, which she had cleared of black widows the afternoon before. Holding them to her hooves, waiting for the enchanted straps to respond and affix themselves to her pasterns, she was entering into the more dangerous phase of the operation, where she would be most conspicuous to police and civilians alike.

The sirens stopped, and she could hear the police knocking through the shed’s unlocked door to the house. Rouge’s voice answered, and Colgate sighed in relief. She chatted amiably with the police, her only job to keep them talking as long as possible, to give the reporters, dog catchers, and gas technicians time to arrive.

“Who?” she asked innocently when they asked whether she had heard anything about Colgate, who an anonymous neighbor thought they had seen. Stalling the police might be the one job Rouge could only do better if she were drinking, Colgate thought.

She went outside and folded herself next to the wall, sliding along, ears up, still able to hear the conversation as it leaked through the hole in the patio window. She stopped five feet away from the hose spigot, able to reach it with her magic from that distance, and waited for Rouge’s signal. Eventually, the police would ask about the broken glass, and Colgate would need to leave.

“How’d that happen, ma’am?” a crisp female voice asked.

“Neighbor kids, probably,” Rouge said. “It was like that when I got here.” There was a slight pause, then she said, “I was gonna start a tomato garden, but now I’m not so sure.”

Colgate jumped as if given a sudden shock, and twisted the spigot quickly. Rouge had said her code word, meaning that an officer was coming near to the back yard, and it was time for Colgate to activate the first distraction. Water hissed down the hose and Colgate ran for the back fence, for that time fully visible to anyone looking out. Pleasant tension tightened her insides as she vaulted the fence again with more practiced ease, heedless of the voices behind her, which were quickly buried under the sibilance of vaporizing water.

She wanted to stick around and watch, but could not. Rouge would feign fright and do what she could to get the police distracted, rush into the steam, brave getting burned, and double back into the house, where she would have maybe thirty seconds to put on more makeup and gallop through the front door to her next task.

“What? Holy crapola, what is this?” she heard Rouge crying as she went for the other side of the neighbor’s yard. Other voices joined together behind her, Rouge’s the most frantic among them, and Colgate used a decorative planter to get herself into the next yard, belonging to the house on the street’s inside corner. There was nothing for her to do there; she went immediately for the low gate to the front, which Rouge had identified the day before. In the alley, Daffodil barked twice and was silent.

Through the cracked picket gate, Colgate watched the street for activity. Alone in the grass and under the ceaseless sun, Colgate felt free. Her own corner of the foreign lawn, her own place to watch and wait for her next move. She leaned out cautiously to see more police malingering outside their house, as they both knew to expect.

“Just stay out of sight,” she thought, crouching behind the gate and waiting for something to happen, for someone to arrive. The walls were thin enough that she could hear the ponies inside the house moving around, one asking the other what they saw out the window. Colgate checked her back, seeing no one. She shifted her weight nervously, relishing the fear as much as she wished she didn’t feel it.

“Hey!”

Colgate jumped as her attention snapped to the space above and behind her. An open window framed a young colt’s incredulous face.

“You’re not supposed to be there!’

She frowned. “Yes, I am.”

“Moooooooom!”

Before she could react, the colt dashed off, and she stood, as if to give chase. Though angry at the child’s audacity, her mind felt clear.

A car pulled up and stopped in the street outside, and she spared it a glance as she tried to form a plan, the parent’s inquisitive voice floating nearer.

“Hey!”

She whipped back and locked eyes with a police officer, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, a retracted baton clipped to his hoof. The gate, ajar for Colgate to watch, gave the officer a perfect line of sight.

“Get off our property right now!” someone shouted, but Colgate wasn’t listening. She dashed back into the yard, straight for the fence, but balked; there was no way back from where she had come. A pair of officers was heading her way while the mother and colt watched, suddenly awestruck as Colgate dove into their pool, obeying the first idea she had. She scraped her knees on the bottom and had to surface quickly, trying to think, knowing in the back of her mind that Rouge would be continuing the plan, having no way to know that Colgate had been caught. She grabbed a floating chlorine dispenser as she got out.

The police were just behind, pushing single-file through the gate, calling for her to stop. She did, then turned and ran across the patio, lobbing, as she did so, the dispenser through the glass—her old trick. The glass shattered, and she, heedless of the fire the shards raked across her sodden skin, jumped in to skitter across a tile floor. The napping husband woke up with a start and raced to cover himself.

The pulse crystals clattered against her pasterns as she ran down the hall, expecting to find an exit. She could double back at any time and attempt a standoff, she knew, but would need something to lean against; on three legs, Colgate was not quick, as she imagined the police would be.

“Hey! What?”

She shoved the mother, an earth pony, out of the way as she barreled through a door, slamming it back onto the wall with a house-shaking bang. She was in the master bedroom, and could see the lights of police cars through the window, the same window from which she had been spotted.

The colt wailed from the corner, a high, prepubescent shriek that reminded Colgate more of the police sirens than of an equine voice. Her tension tightening still, moving upwards into true fear, she ran for the window and scrambled out, banging her horn on the sill. Her vision came back only after she was outside, lying in the grass, having pushed herself through an interval of darkness in which she trusted her orientation to chance.

Freedom, of a sort, flowed back into her. Outside the house, and the police with too many supplies to follow her out the window, she had given herself a tiny head start. It would be perfect to slip in amongst the reporters, grab Rouge, and vanish in the confusion—so perfect that she almost saw it when she ran back through the gate. Instead, she saw only the minor confluence of police as she ran into the street, a group forming outside her door.

It was too late. She was out of hiding, in the air, the plan dashed and ruined by cruel circumstance. She turned a quick circle on the blacktop, the sun wheeling over her head as she tried to think of what to do. She wanted to run up the street, away from the cul-de-sac and to the larger road ahead, but it would be easy for them to intercept her.

She switched back to pelt deeper into the neighborhood, noticing the parting of curtains at one of their target houses. Just behind, she heard raised voices, warnings, and demands to stop where she was. All she could think was, “Where is Rouge?”

On the street, her wet hooves were able to find purchase, and she ran at full speed without slipping. She turned the corner, her chest already burning, her face streaming with sweat, her vision clouding. Her thoughts of Rouge were fading, and she thought instead of her pills, their memory too distant to be real. If she had her pills, she knew, she would be unstoppable.

“Celestia! Booze!” She jumped onto the sidewalk and didn’t stop herself from banging into a trash can, almost sending herself sprawling. “She got distracted. That’s why she’s not here.”

The cul-de-sac, not thirty feet away, constricted as realization stacked on realization. Rouge had gotten distracted, and would be no help. Colgate would be on her own in the middle of the neighborhood, in the middle of the day. She needed a car, but didn’t know how to drive one. Still, Colgate raced for the house on the end, her legs on fire, while the police trailed behind her. The hum of tires joined the fray.

Rouge, with one poorly-done imitation of a black eye, raced the opposite way from Colgate. She needed to wait outside for the newsponies to arrive, then be seen running toward them, feigning terror, her story that Colgate had sent someone to “give her a message”; the injured face. A lie that would bring newsponies and police together, hopefully, so Colgate could slip closer to the target house, and the car.

When she heard the police rallying and calling for someone to stop, her heart sunk, and she stopped running. She looked back, knowing what she would see. The small group of officers marched like ants through a gate, cautious but clearly ready for action.

And like that, Rouge, too, knew that she was finished. She could feel her future folding around her, options slipping away, escape more and more unlikely. Alone in the middle of the street, the sun baking her on the macadam, and too far from safety to do anything except pray for salvation, or to wake up, Rouge walked.

She took two steps before pausing. In her sudden, terrific, all-too-real depression, leaving the neighborhood as quickly as she could had seemed the best choice. Colgate could handle herself, but Rouge would disappear.

“Should I abandon her? Can I?” She watched Colgate streak across the street, police in her wake only a few seconds later. She watched one get in the police car. She knew that Colgate would rely on her, not only to facilitate all the diversions, but to drive them both to safety, wherever it was. “I need a drink.”

Colgate crouched in the hot, crowded space between a huge, dry tree and the target house. Carpenter bees moved around her head, and she watched one vanish down a hole into the tree. The sight of it made her shudder.

She was next to a bathroom. Overhead, through the cracked window, she could hear a shower running, someone within, speaking to herself. Still no sign of Rouge.

The police car drifted by again like a predator, its driver the same level of patient calm each time it passed. No one had seen her hide, but they had also not seen her leave. In time, she knew they would find her.

Even so, as she settled into a more comfortable position, poking herself on dried grass and twigs, Rouge’s betrayal was at the front of her mind. Part of her had expected it.

“Is it any surprise, Cole? They tried to kill us off once, it’s no wonder they would get to Rouge somehow. Fancy Pants is too smart for her.” She watched a bee swoop within inches of her face, a little black bullet, one of an unseen multitude crawling inside the twisted tree. “This is the perfect time to do it, too. Of course.”

It was always at the height of danger, she thought. In Ponyville, outside the Tartarus gateway, and Canterlot, chased by the police. “Always close to something great, and then they pull the rug out from under me.”

“No, darling, I insist, you take it. It’s much too valuable for me,” the shower pony said. Running lines, Colgate figured.

“Face it, Cole, good buddy: you’re betrayed once more.”

She rose, located the pulse crystals still near her hooves. She could make it easy for herself and for Rouge, turn herself in, throw herself on the mercy of the court, and see what happened. She could accept discommendation from the Datura and, in a few years, fewer even, if she behaved well in prison, get her life back on track.

“Hey! Over here!” she shouted, then clamped a hoof to her mouth. As quickly as the idea had appeared, it collapsed. Feeling as though every eye in the neighborhood had turned her way, she knew then that she wanted no option that would so wholly gratify Rouge and the ponies she served.

When no one came, she knew that they were toying with her. Having heard her brief instance of weakness, they had jointly decided to wait and watch her squirm under the regret of so rash a decision. “That kind of cruelty is inequine,” she thought. “How do I wind up entangled with these kinds of ponies all the time?”

Then, she realized with a slow shock, cruelty though it was, it was also their mistake. The pony was still in the shower, still talking, and no one had the time to reach the back yard to watch her. She crept away from the tree, past a garden hose buried in leaves and sticks—thoughts of Rouge—and let herself into the yard. She picked up a baseball and, once again, put it through the nearest window. As soon as the glass had stopped falling, she trotted back to the tree to listen for any signs that the shower pony had heard the commotion. She had not.

She climbed awkwardly through the window, momentarily caught halfway as she had to lean and sweep broken glass off the short bookcase she would crawl over. Each time a pulse crystal banged against something, her paranoid mind pictured it shattering in its holster.

She walked through the house, knowing it to be empty except for the shower pony, another thing Rouge had learned the day before. Through the front window, she saw the police car edge into view again, then stop. Officers moved in a loose formation around the house opposite while a frightened pony in pajamas explained something. Colgate could just see the news vans arriving at the street’s corner.

She followed the sound of the shower up one of two hallways and stepped into an unoccupied bathroom off to one side. Flicking the light on, her eyes rested on the medicine cabinet. Paying no mind to the bedraggled, miserable looking face in the reflection, she opened the cabinet with more force than she had intended and inspected the contents.

Unthinking, unfeeling, she opened a bottle of ibuprofen, emptied it onto the counter, and, alternating between the sink and the pills, took them all.

She rested for a second, slapped the empty bottle onto the floor, and went for the door, mind already cloudy with excitement. She wanted to scream, to dance, to jump into a pool and splash her friends. Even Rouge’s betrayal disappeared under the sunrise in her soul, the pills’ very existence enough to improve her mood and her thinking, long before the active ingredients would. So suddenly, so easily, her problems had been solved. She felt she could have floated up to the ceiling if she wanted.

The shower stopped, but Colgate didn’t mind. She went to the bathroom, listened to the pony inside. Still running her lines, banging around, drying herself off. She heard a drawer open and close, and imagined her new partner, still unaware, taking some pills as well. Not as much as Colgate, of course; no one else had the same vim for life.

She readied her pulse crystal and waited for the door to open.

Rouge walked down the sidewalk to where she did not know. She sang as she did so, not happy, but to give her voice something to do. Whatever happened, happened, she figured. Colgate makes it, or Colgate doesn’t. Either way, she needed a drink.

She stopped to rest on the grassy shoulder at a traffic light, putting herself in the shade of a small shrub, and watched the anonymous Canterlot citizens move. No one seemed frantic or annoyed. No one seemed worried. She greeted a passing pony and received a friendly greeting back, no snap of the eyes or irritated “thinking.”

“You got a little something to drink?” she asked the next pony, who only stared at her and hustled past. Rouge shrugged.

“Wait, duh. Ponies don’t carry that stuff with ‘em. I need money, then I can get my own.” She smiled, pleased by her own cleverness.

She settled back on the grass and waited for more pedestrians to come her way. “Ma’am? Sir? Spare change?”

Colgate’s pulse crystal, reflected in the other unicorn’s frightened, shining eyes, seemed to her a shard of emotion come loose and caught before the rest of it escaped the pony’s mouth in a deflated “huh?”

“I need you silent,” Colgate said. Strength ebbed through her veins, and her mind felt sharper than it ever had. Perhaps she had taken too many pills, she thought, but it seemed unlikely.

“What do you want?” the pony whispered.

“Drive. Drive me, I mean. I want you to take me away from here.”

The two stood where they were for a second, then Colgate moved to one side to allow the pony to pass her. Keeping the pulse crystal aimed at her the whole time, she followed her on three legs out to the living room, into the garage, where they stopped.

“Open the door and look out,” Colgate said, moving to the side, where she would not be visible from the street. “Describe what you see.”

The unicorn hesitated.

“Use your hooves. That horn remains inactive.”

She nodded, fumbling with her hooves at the garage door latch.

Colgate watched her horn as the garage door swung open, knowing the sudden band of sunlight would be a good time to fire off a quick spell. The unicorn was too dazed to think of it.

“I see police,” she said. “And the news. Looks like a utility vehicle coming in from this side, too.”

“Where are the police?”

“They’re… Luna, they’re talking to Berry Delight over there.” She didn’t look at Colgate. “What did you do?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t do, good buddy. This is what needs to happen. You and I get in that car, and you take me away from here.”

“The car?”

If Colgate were not hiding, she would have smacked the unicorn. “Yes, that car. Can you drive?”

“Y-yes.”

“Silently. Okay?” Suddenly realizing that the pony was afraid, Colgate switched to a kinder tone of voice. She used to use it on patients just before surgery, a lifetime ago. “I’m not going to hurt you if you do what I ask, okay?”

“Okay. Sure. R… right now?”

“Are the police looking?”

“Not really.”

“They could be coming right now. She’s lying to you.” “Now. Do it now. Let’s go.”

Colgate moved out into the light behind the pony and climbed awkwardly into the back seat, where she could just see the tip of her horn as she settled into the driver’s seat. The only sound was that of the car starting.

“Sorry about all this. My name’s Powder Rouge. I’m trying to get away from that crazy pony, Colgate. You heard of her?”

“I… um, okay. Where are we going?”

“Take me up the mountain.” She rapped the headrest with her spare hoof. “I can see your horn still, by the way. No magic.”

The pony didn’t speak, and they pulled out of the neighborhood. Colgate expected to see a police car glide behind them, but there was nothing. Relief flooded her, a tiny part of her mind still persisting that it was a trick. She took a deep breath, then another. Her breathing was finally slowing down.

“What’s your name?”

“Me?”

Colgate slapped the headrest again, hard, and the pony jumped. “S-sorry! My name’s Fluffy Clouds, ma’am. Fluffy Clouds.”

“False. That’s no name for a unicorn.”

“I… I specialize in cloud and air-based magic. I’m a forepony on one of the smaller weather teams here. I…”

“C’mon. Keep talking. It’s better than quiet.”

“Um, okay.”

Colgate slapped the headrest.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m thinking. It’s… do you mind if I turn the air on?”

“Go ahead.” Watching the nub of horn, she pushed her crystal closer. “No magic.”

“I can’t do it with my hooves. The dials are too small.”

Colgate frowned and leaned to one side, using her magic to turn on the air conditioning and the radio. Fluffy Clouds had turned it down as soon as the car was started.

“What’s your station, Fluffy Clouds?”

The unicorn’s terrified eyes found Colgate’s in the rear-view mirror. “Um… twenty-five point four. The jazz station.”

Colgate found the station and was silent, watching Fluffy Clouds’ face, her horn, and the road. The freeway that would take them up Canterlot Mountain was not close.

Ink Pearl, the mare who had helped set the trap at the watchpoint, followed the car from the sidewalk. Her amulet bent light around her, making her close to invisible, while her shoes allowed the traversal of an entire block in a single step. Both were standard Datura equipment, but not for ponies like Colgate or Rouge.

Fleur dis Lee had told Ink most of what Fancy Pants had shared with her, and ordered her to tail Colgate and see what happened when the police inevitably found her. Rouge, Fleur had said, was of no consequence, and could be ignored if the two should split up.

Ink took a step and put herself a block ahead of the oncoming traffic. She leaned against the wall and waited for it to catch up to her, wishing all the while that she had not been selected for the job. Watching ponies, especially failures like Colgate and Rouge, was her least favorite type of assignment. She wondered whether Fleur knew, but put that thought out of her head. She was one to complain, but she never questioned authority.

To Ink’s thinking, it was preposterous that her talents—and manifold talents they were, she being the most senior member of her team, except Fleur—should be wasted tracking the delinquent pony from Fancy Pants’ reject team. Colgate’s actions were best left to be catalogued by the Canterlot justice system, not its hidden elite, but, again, she didn’t question Fleur’s orders.

Her teammates were on the other side of the city, setting up magical barriers and surveillance systems, testing watchpoints, and creating magical storage spaces for all the siege machines that would come from Ponyville, fight, and be decommissioned in Canterlot. They had to move extant areas of operation, and the dangerous magical artifacts contained therein: a laborious, tedious process that Fleur had dubbed “night marches.” Verify route, tear down security magic, load artifact into special transport unit, drive silently, load into new bunker, replace security magic. The tedium of these marches, for Ink, was calming.

All the while, the spare Daturas that were neither in Canterlot nor amassing in Ponyville were collecting their strength to make a concerted effort on as many Tartarus gateways as they could, all concurrently. The order, with the emphasis on simultaneity, had come straight from Princess Luna herself, and Ink knew nothing about it, except that it had made plenty of nervous ripples in the Datura.

Then there was the angel to think about. All seven team leaders had been briefed on Octavia’s plan and told to bring their teams up to speed on angels. Finding an expert on the subject, Fleur had said, was proving difficult.

Ink Pearl turned and followed the car to the on-ramp for the one-hundred, the freeway up the mountain. She would need to move slightly faster to keep up, but didn’t mind. That Colgate had thought to go uphill, rather than find another seedy corner of the suburbs, surprised her.

“Okay, Fluffy, put on those hazard lights and stop around here,” Colgate said. It was five o’ clock, and her head was pounding. She felt like she might throw up, and her breathing was labored. She hadn’t had any water since taking Fluffy Clouds’ ibuprofen.

“Right here?”

“Good enough. Stop the car.” A saxophone wailed on the radio, and Colgate turned it down. “This is… Celestia, okay, okay. It’s hot in here. This is where I get off. You, just turn around, or go the rest of the way up, or something. Go about your business, forget that this happened. I took good care of you, didn’t I?”

“I suppose so.”

“I didn’t hurt you.”

“Not… really.”

“So go and get back home. Listen to your jazz, practice your lines, do whatever you do. Forget about all this, okay?”

“Look, Miss Rouge,”

“If you try to follow me, or have someone else follow me, you’ll regret it. Is that clear?” She wiped sweat out of her mane, her breathing harder. She felt nauseous.

“Please, just let me go.”

“I’m gonna, well, that’s fine.” She crawled across the seat, opened the door. “That’s fine. Bye sunshine. We were nice.” She fell onto the side of the road, pushed herself up, and stumbled into the tall grass before the trees. They were halfway up Canterlot Mountain, and Colgate’s pulse crystals clinked and clanked jauntily as she tried to run uphill into the wooded area beneath the home of the aristocracy.

The Spark

Chapter Seventy-nine

The Spark

Dear Twilight Sparkle and friends,
Depending on where you are, you may need to turn back. I’ve been informed that there is yet another Element of Harmony in the ruins of the Applewood Amusement Park. I apologize for the lateness of my timing, but my ponies only just got finished there. It took them a while to report back to me.
I am pulling what resources I can to encroach upon the wild Tartarus gateways in our country, but, if you should see any, please keep your distance. There is much to suggest that your “friend,” Vanilla Cream, is behind their opening. I know you trust him, but I urge you to be cautious with what information you choose to share.
My sister is returning, and will be present for the coming battle, not a minute too soon! Please focus on finding the remaining Elements and leave the protection of Canterlot to myself, Celestia, and your friends. I will apprise you of our situation again when time deems appropriate.
Again, sorry for the lateness of my letter. I hope you are not too far past the amusement park.
In love and friendship, Princess Luna

The airship was cruising over the empty husks of hotels and attractions that had once formed The Bright Road. The city, formerly pulsing with millions of bits worth of electricity and colorful magic, had had its luster forcibly taken only two weeks ago to reduce it to a waterlogged lattice of graying spires and sagging bridges. In some places, they could see where bridges had given way, either forced down from the weight of the river water or eroded off their struts. One hotel had collapsed, leaving a fish bone trail of tears and furrows in the flooded street below.

Just like the amusement park, there were no ponies to speak of. Vinyl assured them that most would have gone to higher ground, and The Bright Road would have suffered the worst.

“It’s actually completely deliberate,” Twilight said to Rarity and Big Mac, watching the unfolding scene of their failure from the back of the ship. “When ponies were first debating where to place The Bright Road, they had teams of pegasi chart the air currents above the city and in the deserts to the south and north. They found a strong current that runs all the way up from… oh, where does it start? I think it comes up from the south pole, wraps around in the desert some, and then more or less shoots straight up through Applewood to Manehattan, where it weakens and eventually joins with another current out over the ocean. Well, anyway, since this current is so strong, they figured any traveling airships would follow it, so they designed The Bright Road to run with it.”

“That’s so clever,” Rarity said. “And here we are, following it.”

“It didn’t change after The Crumbling?” Big Mac asked.

“I guess not. Either that, or we saw the city and unconsciously steered for where we knew The Bright Road would be,” Twilight said. “Afternoon, Vinyl.”

“Twilight. Enjoying your Element?” Vinyl asked, taking a seat.

“Yeah, thanks again for going in there. Oh, here, I got this.” She gave Vinyl the letter. “So something happened down there pretty recently.”

“It sounds like, based on what you said was down there, Luna had some of her, um, secret agent ponies do some clean-up work,” Rarity said.

“Where you gettin’ that term?” Big Mac asked softly.

“Guess they put up quite the fight,” Vinyl said.

“Looked like it.”

Applewood moved by slowly, and they looked at one another. Twilight could see the ridges of the city’s residential side far off, looking much better than The Bright Road.

“So this is Applewood now,” Vinyl said.

“Sure is,” Twilight said.

Vinyl shifted uncomfortably. “It’s horrible. Can’t imagine what all those poor ponies went through down there.”

Twilight looked at her. “It is, yes.”

“I’d love to be able to help them.” She looked over the edge, balancing as she did so against the rail. “How many souls hidden in the rubble?” No one replied, and Vinyl looked at each of them in turn. “Tragic,” she said at last.

“We could drop you off.”

“Huh?”

“I said we could drop you off. You’d like that, right?”

Vinyl frowned. “It’d be nice to help them, but don’t we have somewhere to be?”

“We do, Vinyl.”

“So…”

“Do you want us to let you off here?”

“Twilight…” Rarity started.

“I’m just asking in case Vinyl here wants to stop. Vinyl, do you want to stop?”

“Do we have time?” Vinyl asked after a moment.

“Do you?”

“If you don’t, I don’t, Twilight.”

“So you are a part of the crew, then.”

“What? Yes, of course. What are you driving at?”

Twilight flicked her tail as she turned back to look out over the city. “Nothing specific.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Believe what you will.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Shall we leave you two to it, then?” Rarity asked sweetly. “I’m sure Applejack could use some company at the wheel.”

“Go ahead,” Vinyl said, horn glowing softly. When they were gone, she leaned next to Twilight, keeping her distance. “Have I done something to offend you?”

“Yeah, well, Vinyl, I just don’t seem to recall anypony really asking you to come with us.”

Vinyl’s light dimmed. “Oh. I see.”

“Sorry to be blunt about it, but I figured you’d appreciate that.”

“You mean instead of the word games.”

Twilight smiled. “Yep.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say, Twilight. I already apologized. What more do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Now I don’t believe that either.”

Twilight faced her.

“Do you want me gone?”

“…I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say?”

Twilight sighed and faced back the other way.

“You do want me gone.”

Twilight kept up her vigil of the city, silent, a small part of her taking pleasure in Vinyl’s dawning sadness.

“No answer?”

Twilight twitched an ear.

“I know you can hear me out here. You can at least look at me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why’s that?”

“If I look at you, I’ll be roped into talking with you, and I’m trying to think. Talking doesn’t help that.”

“What’s there to think about? You don’t like me.”

“Vinyl, if you keep pushing at it, you’re going to hear some things you really don’t want to hear.”

“What kind of things?”

Twilight forced a sigh.

“I’m an adult mare, I can take it.”

“I don’t care if you can take it!” Twilight cried. “Vinyl, I’m not doing this for your sake. I’m trying to think. Do you know what that means?”

Vinyl’s horn glowed lavender. “You could have just asked for space.”

“I thought I was making myself quite clear.”

“You said—”

“Vinyl, get out of my space. How’s that? Clear enough?” She wanted to turn and give the other unicorn a parting look of disgust, but didn’t. “Waste of time,” she thought, feeling bad all the same as Vinyl’s hoofsteps moved away.

* * * * * *

The angel, a day ahead of the others, soared above the fractured fields between the desert south and forested north. Its course perfectly straight and level, Octavia had only needed to command it a few times since their departure, once to double back on Roan for supplies, which all of them had neglected, so used to Twilight or Rarity seeing to them on the other ship.

In one of the unfurnished rooms deep in the angel’s midsection, Octavia sat on a wire cot and tried to tune her cello. Its wood had warped from too much dry, desert air in Roan, and some of its pieces were loose from too much jostling inside its case. It couldn’t be helped, but Octavia tried anyway.

When Whooves stepped in, she gave him a curt nod and nothing else, knowing he would not be fazed by her coldness. He carried a canteen with him which released the smell of wine when he pulled from it.

“Afternoon, Octavia! And what an afternoon it is.”

“It is hot out.”

He laughed and pranced before her. “That indeed! Far too hot to be frisking about on the deck, I wot. Pinkie and I were gamboling all around—this angel does rock and yaw a bit, doesn’t it?—but I told her I must retreat belowdecks for a spell. Simply too hot, as you said.”

“I am glad that you two can still have fun.”

He sat down and took another drink from his canteen. “Now now, don’t be like that, you can have fun too. Look at this! Your cello, the source of your well-deserved fame. You’d not be playing with it if you were not, too, in the mood for a bit of frivolity.”

“I am trying to repair it.”

He looked at the instrument balanced beside her as if for the first time, one eyebrow quirked. “Oh dear, dear. Well, I’m sorry to hear that it’s suffered.”

Octavia thought for a second. “Better it than any of us.” It was melodramatic, but she was not in the mood to care.

“My, someone’s feeling blue on this, another beautiful day.” His voice suddenly lost its sparkle. “Is something the matter?”

“I would rather not, thank you.”

“Now, Octavia, you know that, ordinarily, I would honor such a request, but I’m afraid I must insist here. There are only the three of us on this, er, ship. We can’t do with one of us shutting herself off, especially considering our momentous destination.”

Octavia knew he was right, hated it. She set her cello back on the wall and fixed Whooves with her sleep-deprived eyes. “I have simply been reflecting on what has brought me here.”

“Ah, yes, the agony of reminiscence.”

“A year ago, I was performing for crowds of thousands, I was traveling, I was making a living, modest though it may have been. I had no conception of magic, or angels, or great wars.”

“You were just a musician,” Whooves finished.

“I would ask that you not share this with my sister; she has enough to occupy her, I am sure.”

“Of course.”

“I wonder, sometimes, whether I was ever meant to perform. This feels so correct to me, so rightful, that the thought of any other occupation pales in comparison. At the same time, I wonder if I might not be deluding myself, and I should never have left Canterlot.”

“Well… what makes you happy? This, or your music?”

Octavia closed her eyes, and almost fell into sleep there. “Neither. This has brought me happiness, as performing has in the past, but I cannot say that I enjoy either with much consistency.” Sighing, she continued. “Recognizing this, I wonder if there is any pleasure for me in this world. I might, simply, be a miserable mare.”

“It certainly is possible you have a chemical imbalance, or something along those lines.”

“I do not mean mental illness. I am sure I have none. I simply mean that it might be my lot in life to be unhappy. To make myself unhappy.”

“Like right now? Like how you like to do whenever you go off on your own?”

She smiled thinly.

“Come on, Miss Melody, there’s no need to overdress this. It’s quite natural to feel unhappy from time to time, especially here, on this ghastly angel, but it’s no reason to get so totally down in the mouth. Hey, I’ve a notion! Let’s get back outside, yes? Some sun will do you good. Some sun and a beautiful view. We can watch the mountains of Trottingham come closer.”

“I am comfortable here.”

“No you aren’t. Come on, up, up.” He grabbed her hoof and dragged her up. “Fresh air and sunshine, Octavia. Doctor’s orders.”

She smiled, not without humor. “You are no doctor.”

“Come now, no need for accusations, my dear. Up, up the stairs, out into the light. Ah, there, don’t we feel better already?”

He raised the canteen to his lips, but she pulled it away with her magic and took a swig. “It is still too hot out here.”

He only laughed and took his wine back.

“Where is Pinkie?”

“I suspect the poor dear ran below, much as I. This desert air is no place for the likes of us, let me tell you.”

“Are you used to pampering, doctor?”

“Primping, pampering, pats on the back, everything, Miss Octavia! Why, a stallion like me craves the finer things in life.” He nodded appreciatively as she took another drink. “And after this battle, when the bards sing of my—our—names, I shall have them. My fill of the sweetest fruits and softest hooves at my tired shoulders.”

“Or,” Octavia said, almost grinning, “we both die in the air, like petals in the wind.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t hear of it,” Whooves said, drinking. They sat down, the canteen between them. “Not I, and certainly not you.”

“Where did you get this?”

“Lovely little vintner in Roan, family-run, seven generations. A local wine.”

“I used to drink this brand a lot when I was in Hoofington. It sold for twenty bits a bottle there.”

“Er, yes, well, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste, hm? Me, I paid thirty. Rather, the beautiful, young stallion paid thirty at my behest.”

She took a long drink. “Then he was robbed.”

“Perhaps, but a face like his will make that money back soon enough.”

“What did you mean, certainly not me?”

“Beg pardon?”

She sighed and reclined a little. “You said you would not hear of it, our deaths. Not yours, and certainly not mine. What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, pish posh, the ramblings of a tired mind. Pay them no regard.”

“No, no, you meant something. Tell me. I will not hold it against you.”

Whooves hesitated, took a drink. “Well, truth be told, I suppose I’ve come to hold you in very high regard, Miss Octavia. When you speak of mortality, I often find I don’t like the idea of it as much as I do in other circumstances.”

“Why would you like it at all?”

“There’s a certain romance to death. The finality, the tragedy, the coming together of friends and loved ones to share in singular sorrow, there truly is nothing like it. Poets and artists have found their muse in the eternal sleep for centuries.”

She took a drink.

“Anyway, but with you, I get none of that. I only imagine the emptiness that you would leave behind, and none of the strange, fantastical, storybook stuff.”

“You care about me, that is what you mean.” She smiled, the wine loosening her tongue. “You simply mean to say that would feel bad if I were to die.”

“I suppose, minus the burlesque verbiage, you’ve rather hit the nail on the head.”

“Doctor, do you have another bottle of this?”

“Are we empty?”

She raised the canteen to her lips and took several swallows. “Yes.”

“Ah, allow me, my dear. I’ll nip down to the room and grab us another.” He rose and went for the hatch at the back of the angel.

“You were right. I am feeling better,” Octavia said, lying back and letting the angel’s rocking soothe her. She didn’t mind the sun’s heat so much, but knew she would regret her decision in the morning, if she were not careful.

“Your wine, my lady,” Whooves said, cantering back out. “Only the best vintage for us today! This one cost thirty-five bits.”

She laughed and let him have the first drink.

“You have a musical laugh, you know.”

“I have heard that. I do not like my laugh, personally.”

“I wish I could say I was surprised, Miss Octavia.”

“Is my sister below still?”

“Oh, yes, she’s in her room. Busy writing away at something, or maybe drawing a picture. I didn’t intrude to see.”

Octavia nodded, her mane rubbing the angel’s dark metal, still cool in the afternoon sun. Much better than the Astra’s crow, she thought.

“Strange that she should join us, no?”

“It is not like her.”

“Mmm, yes, I sort of got that impression.”

“Pinkie is not one to join the minority on something like this. I have considered speaking to her about it, but I do not want to pry.”

“No?”

Octavia sighed. “I do not feel it is my place.”

“But you’re—”

“Yes, I know, which is why I feel so bad to say it, but it is true.”

He thrust the canteen her way. “Shall we brush away that rain cloud from your tongue?”

“We shall, yes.” She drank, hardly tasting it. Her head was spinning, and she was paying no attention to her words. “It has not stopped me from wondering, of course. I do love her, even if we are distant, and I want to understand her, as she me.”

“Sisters do as sisters do.”

“She has been quite averse to danger of this sort from the beginning, or at least from when I joined the Elements. It feels like the beginning.”

“Well, it was only a few weeks after The Crumbling, was it not?”

“A few days.”

Whooves whistled.

“Why this? Why now? If I did not know her better, I would say that she is trying to prove something.”

“What has she to prove, though?”

“That she can? It is as worthy a goal as any, I suppose, though misguided.”

“Perhaps she’s repenting for something?”

“She has done no wrong. She is cowardly, but no more so than some of the others.”

“Well…”

“You are right.” She drank. “It is possible she might judge herself more harshly than I. But I doubt that.”

“I don’t know, Miss Octavia.”

“If my sister is repenting for something by coming with us on this errand, I would imagine it is something large. A simple mistake does not merit this kind of decision.”

“Big contrition for a big mistake, Miss Octavia.” He nodded. “Big mistake.”

Octavia looked at him, appearing to contemplate his words. Smiling, she reached out a hoof and pushed him, and he fell over, laughing. After a second, she joined in, and the two made such a noise that Pinkie, below, hearing nothing before, grinned to herself.

* * * * * *

“Goodbye?” Limestone Pie echoed. She occupied a shaded circle beneath an oak tree in the park with Flitter and Cloudchaser.

Flitter hung her head. “I’m afraid so. I’ve been… well, it’s complicated.”

“A promotion of sorts,” Cloudchaser said.

“Yeah, a promotion. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

Limestone did not frown, but they could both hear the hurt in her tone. “I understand.”

“It’s out of my control,” Flitter continued. “I’m gonna miss a lot of ponies here.”

“You will write, though?”

“If I can…”

“It’s complicated,” Cloudchaser said.

“Are you being promoted too?” Limestone asked.

“No,” she sighed.

“I’ll write if I can, I promise,” Flitter said. “But I don’t know how frequently that’ll be.”

Limestone’s eyes, half-lidded, dropped to the ground, fixing the grass with a look of mingled anger and shame.

“I’ll still be here, Lime,” Cloudchaser said.

“Won’t be the same, two instead of three.”

“Aw, it won’t be that bad. Think of it as a chance to make new friends.” She tugged Flitter’s wing gently. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Flitter repeated. She couldn’t think of anything more; explanation was out of the question.

Limestone nodded dimly.

“C’mon, Lime, cheer up. It won’t be that bad.”

“We’ll all be fine,” Cloudchaser added.

“I would appreciate it if you would please leave me,” Limestone said.

“Sure, okay. We’ll… be around, if you need us.”

The sisters took flight, leaving the gray earth pony behind to mourn, and alighted on a personal rain cloud over a patch of flowers, a luxury for no one else that only Ponyville’s proximity to Cloudsdale afforded. Flitter, taking her friends’ advice, was attempting to publish an article about it in the Social Climatology Monthly, a Canterlot-based magazine of significant renown.

“Well, that takes care of that,” Cloudchaser said.

“I feel awful,” Flitter said.

“She’ll get over it.”

“Will she?”

“She’ll make more friends soon enough, and then everything will be peaches, I’m sure of it. It’ll be good for her to have friends that aren’t… our kind, anyway.”

“Yeah.” Flitter’s promotion was inside the Datura, forcing her to uproot her life in Ponyville and take part in the caravan she and Cloudchaser had worked so hard to construct. Hers was a relatively small position, but she would be riding inside a siege machine with ponies innumerably more experienced than she. If she survived—no one had yet said those words out loud—she would be given a spot on a more important team in Canterlot.

“I’m happy for you, at least,” Cloudchaser said. “You know that.”

“Course. Yeah, I know.” The sisters exchanged smiles. “You’re too good to me, Cloud.”

“Nonsense. You earned this, Flitter, and you know it.”

“At least you I can actually stay in contact with. I don’t know how I’m gonna keep in contact with Lime.”

“You can have me relay your messages.”

“Eh, you know how she is. She’ll feel bad if she doesn’t get something on paper.”

Cloudchaser smiled. “She’s a funny one.”

Flitter looked at the sun, using her hoof against the horizon to measure its position. “I think I need to get going.”

“Already?”

“Yup.” She looked at Cloudchaser, who looked back with a coy little smile, and laughed. “Stop that!”

“Hey, there she is! Chin up, sis, you’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, and don’t worry about Limestone. She’ll be fine.”

“Right, right, I won’t.” She flexed her wings. “We still on for cards tonight?”

“I think so. Go on, get outta here, slacker.”

Flitter slapped her sister on the back playfully and took off, heading for the Everfree Forest. The sun threw her shadow onto the fruit and flower stands below, hers mingled with several others, pegasi preparing for a rain storm. It was nearly time to begin making initial arrangements for winter, and Flitter didn’t envy them the task. Even in the Datura, moving machine parts and hauling supplies, her muscles hadn’t ached as much as when pulling troughs of distilled water for rapid snow production.

She lowered her altitude and looked all around, as she had been trained, before getting close to the town’s edge, where a windmill had once stood. The wreckage had been cleared, in its place a small memorial, both for the structure and for Spike, who had perished nearby. His engraved face watched Flitter pass, she sure to not look back at it.

She gave one final look around, and, alone and unwatched, thrice touched a cluster of baby’s breath on the windmill memorial before entering the small enclosure. An arrangement of pictures filled the wall, including a yellowed newspaper cutting from the day the windmill was first activated. Flitter ignored everything, placing her hoof in the sigil that she had activated by touching the flowers. As soon as her hoof grazed the glowing insignia, she was whisked away into a clearing in the vast forest. She hardly noted the sensation as she teleported, she was so used to it.

A jet-black pegasus with a cobalt mane and aviator’s goggles on his wide forehead greeted her with a firm hoof-shake. “There you are, honey. I wasn’t expecting you for another few minutes.” He grinned and lowered his goggles, and she could see the treetops in their reflection. “Flitter?”

“That’s me.”

“Windy Weathervane, at your service. Here, she’s on through these trees a bit.” He led Flitter through a narrow copse of trees, across a stone bridge over a laughing stream, and to an overhanging cliff at a gap in the ground. Moss and ferns had grown like a beard over the edge, softening the sharp cliff face into a rolling cascade of flora.

“Is there anyone else here?” Flitter asked.

“Not for another half hour; last-minute adjustments back at the spa. There, see that?” She saw a white band between the trees. “She still needs to be painted. I’ve got a couple sketches, but I just don’t know. I don’t want it to be too loud, but it definitely needs some purple somewhere.”

Thoughts of Limestone slid away as Flitter put her eyes on the complete siege machine for the first time. Twenty feet in diameter, it was a smooth, jaggedly lined torus of white and light gray wood with no visible propulsion system or windows, nothing adhering to its smooth, sanded surface. In the forest, surrounded by life and color, it reminded Flitter of something that had fallen off of a massive airship. Before she could ask anything, Windy depressed a small panel on the machine, causing it to bloom in a single, silent movement, hinges and openings appearing and snapping their surfaces into place with serene efficiency. She could make out a hollow space, large enough for one pony comfortably, amid the jumble of slender supports and arms holding flaps of wood in place.

“This is the lotus flower. Don’t let her delicate form throw you, Flitter, this lady packs a punch,” Windy continued, beginning a proud march around the machine. “Think of her like a flying blender. Take the blades out of the blender you’ve got at home, smooth ‘em off a little, and here we go. She’s sleek and quick, and, most importantly, already ready for action. She just needs a pilot—that’s me—and some spotters—that’s you.”

Flitter wanted to say something intelligent, but could only think, “It’s a great big inner tube with secret compartments.”

“Now, I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking ‘how can I see out of this with no windows?’ Observe.” He flourished his hoof as he twirled, indicating a blank patch of wood. “She’s transparent from the inside.”

Flitter approached the lotus flower as Windy waved her over, pointing inside. She could already see the gradients of transparency on the inside edge, but stuck her head in the cavity obligingly anyway. From within, as promised, the wood had turned transparent; she could see blades of grass underneath them.

“Go ahead, hop in, hop in,” Windy said. “I’m told you actually have never done something like this before, is that it?”

“Nothing like this, no,” Flitter said, unsure.

“Well, climb on in there, there’s a seat for you already, and let’s get underway. I can talk and fly.”

Flitter stepped over the lip of thin, white wood, too thin, she thought, to hold their weight, let alone protect them from whatever waited on the empty, beautiful plains of outlying Canterlot. The lotus flower settled slightly, its bottom sagging under her hooves, but holding solid, and she took her seat while Windy stepped into position.

Without warning, the device folded back inwards. She saw a slit of mild color rising up and then, narrowing to nothing, becoming a transparent outline of itself as it fastened with an unseen convalescence of hinges and bolts. Quiet sounds of moving parts slithered over her head.

“You play air hockey, Flitter?”

“Sometimes. My sister’s better at it.”

“Think of this as a great, big air hockey puck. Hold on a sec, let me get us up there.” They lifted gently off the ground, the bent grass seeming to breathe out once more as the weight that held it down abated. Trees slid down and then away as they floated, first parallel to the chasm, and then toward it. Flitter was looking down when they crossed the rim, her natural comfort with heights and open air not preparing her for the shock of seeing, for the first time in a long time, the stunning, open-air fall back down to the planet so many of her friends and colleagues had learned to forget was not with them.

Into the shadows they descended, sliding without sound or turbulence underneath a mossy overhang and down into the clear air between their world and faceless, ocean-flooded crust.

“You like the view, I take it?” Windy asked. “We’re practicing underneath the ground here, much safer than above the trees. No one is going to see us, especially so far out into the forest.”

“How far are we, anyway?”

“Oh, thirty miles or so. Look.” He turned them and pointed to a large spot of shade behind a shaft of light. “Ponyville’s back there. We’re completely alone.”

Flitter did not respond. She had not seen the underside before—Cloudchaser had, but Flitter hadn’t the courage to fly down on her own—and was startled at the faceless waste of her country’s foundation. For her, there was nothing interesting in the strata of bedrock and packed soil, untold amounts of which she was certain had fallen to the world below. Still fell, most likely. A shattered plate of land, crumbling from below.

“You need to keep your eyes peeled for any nasties,” Windy said. “Anything that can knock us around, set us off course, anything. The lotus flower is hard to pierce, but easy to fling about—air hockey, remember? We’ll be using that property to move about quite a lot, but it can come back and bite us if we’re not careful.”

“So what do I actually need to do? Will I just call out when I see something?”

“Yeah, you know, directionality, speed if you can guess it, that sort of thing. Whether it’s a projectile or a ship.”

She looked all around, awkwardly turning in her seat as she tried to cover the half behind her, sectioned as it was by overlapping edges of transparency.

“No, no, dear, you only have to watch your quadrant. There are two others—we’ve already met, they’re great, you’ll get along fine, I’m sure. Here, look out over there. See that underhanging tree limb?”

“I see it.”

“So the way we’ll move a lot of the time is like this. Hold on.” They floated over to a gnarled tree branch, long enough to reach down into the open space, and, with a deft movement of Windy’s hoof, careened off, one flap of their machine flinging out to strike the branch and send them spinning rapidly away. Flitter noticed the other flaps rising up as air brakes, terminating their spin after only half a rotation, several yards away and bathed in a dappled stream of sun through the high treetops.

“Fun, right? In a crowded space, it can get kind of disorienting; that’s why I need you spotters. You tell me which side the target’s coming from, I move us toward it or bounce us off, depending. Here, watch this; my lady’s not simply a glorified bouncy ball.”

They floated back to the branch and slowed. Windy, slowly so Flitter could prepare to see what he had to show, pulled a small crank. Upwards, a different, thinner flap sliced at an oblique angle, and the branch was no more. Specks of bark turned lazily in a dusty whorl, caught in the sunshine, too peaceful an indication of the spark of power just displayed.

“This must be incredible to drive,” Flitter said.

“Absolutely wonderful. I’ve never handled anything like it before. I’m an airship specialist, but this is the first time I’ve gotten to control something so reactive, so agile.”

“I can also see this spotting job becoming difficult fast.”

Windy Weathervane laughed a full-voiced laugh. “Remember, there’s three of you, so it won’t be that bad. Well, not as bad. I don’t want you thinking it’ll be a cake walk, because, my dear, it won’t be.” He smiled to himself. “However, you’ll have plenty of time to enjoy the ride, once you get used to things. Okay, Flitter, how you feeling so far?”

“Good,” she said, not feeling good at all. His confidence felt too automatic, and she could only wonder what she had done to already deserve it.

“We’re heading back up for a moment to pick up something, and then we’ll get you practicing your spotting.”

They made for the jagged outside edge of a slab of ground, its opposite edge flush with a chartreuse marble wall of water, inexplicably held. One more minor mystery to be solved by magical scholars and theorists, but later.

“So where are you from?” Flitter asked.

“Snowdrift, actually. You know it?”

“I’ve never been, but I’m familiar with it, yes.”

“Oh my days, Snowdrift is my favorite city in Equestria. Love it, love it, love it. I’ve been everywhere ponies live here, and Snowdrift will always be my favorite.”

“Really? I’ve heard, you know—”

“Darkness, despair, danger? Well, for the casual visitor, I can understand those things, but Snowdrift is actually quite close and cozy. The ponies there all know each other, the food is excellent, the architecture very old. We have Equestria’s only college of magical architecture there, Orange. Go Poppies.”

“I heard there’s a Tartarus gate right on your doorstep.”

“Well, yes, there is that, but it’s well regulated. We have the highest concentration of Datura there, which I’m sure is no surprise, and they all take care of that gateway.” He smiled at her as they landed on the grass. “It does get quite cold, though. You know, we’re right next to the glacier, so we get plenty of wind and snow. At least we’re under the timberline.”

“And we share that glacier with the griffons, right?”

“Which is why we have such wonderful cuisine. Lots of griffon influences in our meals, lots of far western spices and flavors that us Equestrians just don’t see very often. You can even try meat there, if you want.”

“Meat?” They climbed out of the ship.

“I haven’t had any, don’t intend to.”

“It sounds nice, though. I’d like to go there sometime.”

“Save up, take a vacation. Or distinguish yourself in the Datura and get moved out there for free. Have you ever seen a Tartarus gateway?”

“Once, yeah.”

“Ooh, right, that’s right, in your report, it said you helped close one off. You’re pretty young for that kind of activity.”

“There are younger Daturas than me.”

Windy winked. “You might be surprised.”

* * * * * *

Across from a cheerful brick fireplace, lounging on a thin sofa, sipping hot apple cider with a spike of bourbon, Aloe turned a page in her book. Outside, the first true snowstorm of the season was beginning.

“Seventeen small gateways, and twelve large ones, of course,” Lotus said from the other room. The gentle glow of a communication sigil spilled out from the open door, where she conducted her business. “The most recent one opened twenty-six hours ago five point four miles outside Roan, in Lemongrass Vale.”

Aloe looked up at the waver in her sister’s voice. She sipped her cider again and hoped that Lotus’ conversation would not last much longer.

“Who’s in charge of the Roan gateway?” the disembodied voice asked. Someone Aloe did not immediately recognize, but Lotus would.

“Sunny Smiles is organizing an ad hoc while Applewood is working on sending Candy Flakes. She’s been helping with the relief effort, so they need to find someone to replace her.”

“And anything on the dam?”

“You mean who’s stopping it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’re hoping the Elements run into it and do something, but Trottingham has a skeleton crew they’re willing to contribute if need be. I hope they don’t need to; I’m sure a gateway would just happen to open nearby if they did.”

“How is Trottingham doing right now, anyway?”

Lotus paused, and Aloe withheld a sigh. Open-ended questions were a pet peeve of Lotus’. “Most recent count has them at one-thousand four hundred-twenty ponies, eighty-five percent displaced businessponies or laborers, the rest displaced farmers and a couple original homeless or minors. The Water Loop is operating still sub-optimally; last count had it at approximately three-thousand gallons of water per day. That’s an eight percent increase from two weeks ago, and a two percent population decrease from three weeks ago. Most of those ponies are leaving and dying on the walk out to Appleloosa.”

“Good gracious. Are there any plans to help them?”

“I want to organize a trail for them, a railway if resources allow, which I don’t think they will. I still need Luna’s approval, but, if I get it, I’ll pull laborers down from Manehattan; that city still has plenty of ponies, and a lot of them want to get out.”

“You’ll probably want to set up a temporary town out in the plains, so they don’t have to commute all the way from Trottingham when you relocate them.”

Lotus sighed, and Aloe furrowed her brows. “I’m aware of that. I’ve already got a cartographer, a city planner, and a geomorphologist seventy miles east by northeast to Trottingham. They’re getting my numbers for me.”

Aloe sipped her cider with a mixture of pride and, even after her many years with Lotus, astonishment at the speed and perfection of her recall. The blue pony in the other room had no books, no charts, no scrolls, and no parchment from which to refer. Still, Aloe recognized the discomfort in Lotus’ voice. She watched the snow that was not quite yet covering their window pane with mounting trepidation.

“What about the gates outside Applewood?”

“What do you need to know about them?”

“Who’s handling them?”

“I’ve got an Applewood team sweeping northwards, Dusty Tome’s team. They’re going to have them closed off by the end of next week.”

“What sizes are they?”

Lotus paused again. “Seven point six feet diameter, six point one feet diameter, ten point two feet diameter, south to north.”

“Not too bad, all things considered.”

“Anything else?”

“Mmmmm, nope, I think that covers it.”

“Remember to re-educate your ponies on handling trans-magical materials; I didn’t like the most recent report that came in from you. Also, tell Midnight Sky happy birthday from me. Do it on her birthday this time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The glow dimmed, and Aloe set her book aside. She knew her attention would be required shortly.

“Simpleton,” Lotus sighed, walking into the living room. “You can tell he was just testing me at the end there.”

Aloe nodded.

“What’s the diameter of each gateway? Give me a break, no one where he is needs to know that. What a load of hooey. I could hear the smile on his stupid face the whole time, smug bastard.”

Aloe followed her sister’s pace with her eyes, wearing a faint path in the carpet. Still, she said nothing; it was best to let her sister grumble uninhibited, but heard.

“Probably thought I was being short with him. Well, what’s wrong with that? My time is valuable.”

“I’m sure he understands.”

Lotus shot her a dark look.

“That you have a lot on your plate right now, I mean,” Aloe amended.

“Oh, yes, probably. Psh, but that makes it even worse, bothering me with trivialities. You know, I wouldn’t mind if he was in Applewood, even Trottingham, but he’s up in Hoofington, he has so little to worry about.”

“What about the Astras?”

“What about them? They haven’t done anything out of the ordinary.”

“The—”

“The pinhole gateway is nothing. Any dumbo can monitor that, even him.”

Aloe wanted to ask who he had on the gateway, knowing Lotus would be able to answer immediately, but held her tongue.

“A bunch of hooey,” Lotus repeated, finally settling down on the couch. Aloe shifted over and grabbed a blanket to cover her sister.

“Do you have any more meetings today?”

“One at seven, going over the Canterlot battle again. I get why Luna insists on having these meetings so frequently, but there’s been hardly any variation in the precogs’ stories.”

“At least it should be easy.”

“At least she doesn’t test me,” Lotus said. She sighed, and Aloe resisted the urge to put an affectionate hoof on her sister’s back: a gesture Lotus frequently took as patronizing.

“What sort of job should this new Mr. Quizzical get?”

“He’s so interested in facts and figures, I wish we still needed ponies to clean up Luna’s library.” She grinned. “I wonder if they’re done yet. If not, they will be soon.”

“Where was it again?”

Lotus’ smile thinned.

“I’m really asking, I don’t remember.”

“It was in the Southern Smile. She dropped it on Discord and his friends.”

“Ah, right. What a mess.”

“Or maybe I should relocate him to Manehattan and let him stew.”

“Oooh, yeah, put him up to watch Strawberry. Now there’s an interesting job.”

Lotus laughed. “Dumb old fogey.”

“Dumb stooge.”

“Dumb dullard.”

“Dumb subequine.”

“Dumb addelpate.”

“Dumb… dumbass.”

They looked at each other and laughed, and, so quickly, Aloe rose, knowing that Lotus’ mood had passed, at least mostly.

“Want a cider?” Aloe asked.

“I can do some cider today,” Lotus said, glancing down at herself as if to judge her size. It was an empty gesture; both of them knew Lotus paid meticulous attention to her weight.

Aloe went to the kitchen and prepared a second cup of apple cider. The first she had prepared when Lotus began her meeting with the pony in Hoofington, and had kept the ingredients out just in case she would need to play comforter. It was her role; Lotus was the intellect, and Aloe was Lotus’ soft place to land when knowledge overwhelmed.

“Thanks,” Lotus said, Aloe nodding, knowing she need not say anything. The two of them shared the couch, Aloe keeping a respectful few inches away, and watched the first of several Snowdrift storms build outside.

* * * * * *

The Royal Accountant was a bespectacled unicorn whose fiery orange mane had dimmed, with age and countless salon visits, into an anemic salmon. Freckles covered her muzzle and too-big ears, and her lips were thin and chapped. She often spoke too quietly, a constant source of irritation for Luna.

As Luna signed the final document, she glanced out the window. Time for sundown. “I want you to begin as soon as you possibly can. I can have an airship ready to take you to Roan or Applewood whenever you need.”

“Hmmm.” The accountant tapped her chin with a pen. “Well, I’ve still got the armory funds to balance, and I’d really like to get a jump on this month’s precog funding, get as much of that prepared as I can.”

“Those can wait, or be done in your stead.”

“Well…”

“What’s wrong?” Luna scrutinized the pony, patience thinning, already weak from a day of dull routine.

“I’d probably need to explain my filing system to whoever took over. I’m very particular about my papers.”

Luna blinked slowly and leveled her gaze. “How vital is that?”

“Well, if they’re gonna be going over the war budget, I’d say pretty vital. I’d need to start with—well, I’ll save it for them, I guess.”

“Can you leave tomorrow?”

The accountant fidgeted in her seat, and Luna watched. “There’s a reason this pony is in my inner court. There’s a reason she’s here.” Her mood softened a little—just a little.

“I need you en route to Applewood or Roan tomorrow, the day after at the very latest. You and whoever you need.”

“Whoever?”

“Pull whoever you think will serve you best out there. I’m sure we can replace them for the time.”

“Well, okay, ma’am.”

“Once you arrive, I need daily updates, even if there’s nothing new to report. You remember the communication sigil’s design?”

“I’ve got it on a scroll in my desk.”

“Good. I’m going to put Sunlit Leaves in charge of your budget for now.”

“Sunlit Leaves?”

“Is that a problem?” Luna knew that the two ponies didn’t much like each other; office drama. She didn’t care.

“No, ma’am,” she said sulkily. “What if the Mansels find out?”

“Let them, but don’t say anything about the dam. Tell them it’s a routine audit.”

“They won’t believe that.”

“They won't, but I doubt they’ll try to pry any serious information out of you. They won’t touch a royal representative.”

“Still…”

“You’ll be fine. If things get out of control, I can always put some pressure on them from here. Considerable pressure.”

“If you need to.”

“That’s right.” She looked at her best accountant, her second most trusted financial advisor—the first being her Datura Information Handler—and then down at the papers. “Anything else?”

“No, I think that covers it. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

Luna smiled. “You’ll do what I tell you.”

The accountant hesitated. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * * * * *

In Trottingham, in a modern, richly furnished office room sitting incongruously atop an adobe building, in a private back room, a communication sigil pulsed softly. The overweight earth pony rose and slouched to answer it, first dismissing his doorpony.

“May I ask who is speaking, please?” The sigil was private, used only to communicate with his associates in Roan.

“Is Icy Stream available, please?”

“No Streams here. I think you have wrong pony.”

“I need to speak with him. It’s important.”

They both waited a second. The introduction was always the same, a code to establish that both speakers were alone in their rooms. The overweight pony cleared his throat. “Mrs. Mansel.”

“Gold Ribbon.”

“What do you require?” She never called socially.

“I have bad news. Our client, Pure Waterfall; I’m afraid he suffered a fatal accident inside his dam.”

Gold Ribbon gasped, pretending shock, pretending that the information had not reached him days ago, and at the same time appreciating the calmness with which Mrs. Mansel delivered the news. All business, she: something he respected. “You are sure of this?”

“Quite sure. As you know, he was one of our highest-level clients, and his death came with poor timing. We now must restructure the business several quarters in advance, and it would be helpful if we knew more concerning his demise, which is why I need you. The Elements of Harmony were present at the time of Pure Waterfall’s death, and are currently flying toward Trottingham.”

“Hmmm, Mrs. Mansel, this is difficult thing you are preparing to ask of me.” He thought for a moment, forming his words. “Regular ponies, I could do what you seem to ask, but not them. They have royal protection.”

Her tone became impatient. “I’m sure there’s something in that city of yours you can use as leverage, Gold. There’s no need to involve the princesses; all I require is a little information.”

“What did they have to do with the incident?”

“Precisely.”

He considered. “I need more ponies to run the Loop. Control is relaxing here.”

“I’m afraid I cannot help you. All of my ponies are required in Roan.”

“You cannot spare a few contractors? I would only need three or four.”

“If you get my information first, then I think I can send someone to help you.”

Gold Ribbon knew she was bluffing. “I really need those workers. The time I will spend gathering your information will keep me from running the Loop; I cannot guarantee you anything without ponies to help me with my business while I do you this favor.”

She sighed audibly. “Very well. I will have three ponies on an airship tomorrow.”

“I thank you.”

“Goodbye, Gold Ribbon.”

He stepped off the sigil, deactivating it, and sat back at his desk.

Gold Ribbon was a friend of the Mansel family, on their payroll as an intercity consultant. He had been placed in Trottingham years ago to keep tabs on the Astra family, but, when they left, he suddenly found himself with nothing to do. The Mansels were quick to step in, supplying him with workers, money, and resources to construct his own business.

With the aqueducts ruined, those who did not fade into the wilderness clustered around the mountains to try to access what little water remained. By the time Celestia’s cloud convoy, starting at the tremendous saltwater processing station over the piece of ocean that had come up with them, had reached Trottingham, a small town had been grafted onto the mountainsides, suckling on the trickle of groundwater. The water that the convoy brought was a relief, but not enough on its own, and it was there that Gold Ribbon and his business flourished.

The cloud convoy was a highly regulated government project, and its regulations concerning volume of rainfall by city size and population density meant that those who in Trottingham remained received only seventy percent of the total rain, while the rest landed on the arid and abandoned farmland. Gold Ribbon’s business, The Water Loop, collected that rain and transported it to the town on the mountainside.

A completely legitimate business, backed by Mansel and Company, The Water Loop was the only water transportation company in a thousand square miles, the nearest being a fledgling corporation in Applewood that would be set back terribly after Pure Waterfall’s dam woke up and walked away. Gold Ribbon was able to set prices and rates how he or the Mansels wanted, and he was fast finding such freedom to be intoxicating.

He called his doorpony back in. Gold Ribbon knew that Pure Waterfall’s death was much more than what Mrs. Mansel made it to be. He was their primary source of clean money, his business the artery through which almost all of their Applewood funding flowed. Cut off from that, they were in a unique position relative to his, and the thought of it was enough to get his mind racing.

* * * * * *

Out in the middle of one of Trottingham’s fallow fields, sitting in an office underneath a heavy, hoof-shaped trough, Lacey Kisses tried to make sense of the pages of numbers and dates before her. Traveling north from Applewood—and not a moment too soon—she had stopped in Trottingham for a rest, intending to make her way up to Canterlot to set down roots and gather strength to use against Strawberry, from whom she had heard little lately.

Once she reached Trottingham and discovered its burgeoning water industry, though, it was difficult to resist. Canterlot was for the strong and the savvy, a city for ponies who were already well off, while Trottingham was only just pulling itself back together.

It had been easy for Lacey to beguile her way into the confidence of a local middle management type and secure a position for herself at a rain collection facility, but, she thought, it would be difficult to hold onto it. She supposed that was fair, considering the string of half-truths she had told to get herself hired.

She set down the papers and looked out the window at the machines that sucked water out of the topsoil, a system of narrow pipes that spread over the farm like a net.

* * * * * *

Colgate lay in the grass and stared up at the trees above her, the stars behind, spinning as if the entire night sky had been balanced on a gyroscope. She couldn’t think straight, and her breathing was slow and hard. She sweated, she shivered, she wanted to vomit. She had spent the last hour trying to turn over, each time finishing an attempt with the sorrowful realization that she had only imagined the movement; in reality, she was as motionless as the forest in which she was lost.

Lights grew on one side of her tableau, and she turned her head, the minor movement exhausting her and forcing from her starved, dehydrated chest a stuttering sequence of coughs. Pain crackled inside, and she wanted more than ever to throw up. Grass spun underneath her face as the stars had above.

Something slammed, and hoofsteps swished over to her. A presence stopped over her head and said something.

“Come again?” Colgate whispered. Rouge come back to help her, it had to be.

“I said you look like you just crawled out of Tartarus, Colgate. Hold still.” A light pink magic bathed her, and she closed her eyes against the light. The pony sighed.

“What’s going on?”

The pony gave no answer, and Colgate heard a tiny, metallic click. Then, she was asleep.

White walls, a closed window to a cloudy day over the trees, a fan rotating softly over her bed. Colgate was not surprised to see the IV needle in her foreleg.

“Back in the hospital,” she said, then looked up to see someone at the foot of her bed. “You’re not Rouge.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot. Do you remember anything?” She gave Colgate a cup of water.

Colgate studied the tall, slender, white unicorn before her. “I recall everything.”

“Is that so?” she asked with a smile.

“Absolutely. I have a photographic memory.”

“Mm-hm. Who am I? I introduced myself last night, Colgate.”

“I don’t need to tell you anything.” She glanced down, saw the empty phone jack behind her bedside table. “Bring me a phone. I need to call my lawyer.”

“My name is Fleur dis Lee, Fancy Pants’ wife. You remember him?”

“Of course I do. I told you, I have—”

“I’m sure you do.” She came closer, closing the door with her telekinesis. “I’ve taken care of the police for you. No one wants to arrest you anymore.”

“That doesn’t seem likely to me.” She closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness hit her.

“You think this is an elaborate ploy to entrap you.”

“Not that elaborate.”

“Well, think about it this way,” Fleur said patiently. “You know I found you last night in the forest just off the freeway, clinging to life. Right? You remember that?”

“I remember,” Colgate said after a moment. She remembered the stars and the shape of the headlights, feathered and broken by trees. She remembered a strange energy inside the dark cage of a quiet car.

“I had you at my mercy then, all night. If I wanted to do anything, it would have already been done.”

“You could be tormenting me, or at least trying.”

“I feel like you’ve already done a good enough job of that yourself.”

Colgate studied the needle in her leg. The fluid it delivered burned under her skin. A potassium drip. “Makes sense, I suppose. What about your lover, though? He tried to have me killed, do you know that?”

Fleur smiled sympathetically. “Yes, and we’ll talk about that, but later. Right now, we need to focus on getting you well.”

“I am well. I’m perfect. I feel like a million bits.”

“We nearly lost you last night. You came in here severely dehydrated, malnourished, and—how could we forget?—out of your head on some kind of drug. Ibuprofen, the doctor thinks. It’s three o’ clock in the afternoon, by the way. You slept for fifteen hours.”

“Good for me.”

A nurse entered with a soft knock and shared a few quiet words with Fleur. “Get well, Colgate,” Fleur said. “I’ll be in touch.”

Colgate said nothing and allowed the nurse to take her vitals, answering the questions and pretending to feel better than she did. She could see straight and think clearly, and her breathing was back to normal, but she still felt sick. She rejected the food offered her, and then the extra blanket when the nurse noticed her shivering.

Colgate watched the moon reflect off the tile floor. She had opted to keep the blinds open, saying the ambient light helped to relax her. While the hospital wound down for the lonely night shift, Colgate sat up by the window and tried to figure out where she was. The skyline offered nothing but the great, impersonal glow of Canterlot Mountain, its freeways gilt roots to the city hidden behind the facility’s trees.

She thought of Rouge for the first time that day. Though she had thought her name countless times, she had failed to attach the pony to the concept, using the words instead as a mantra, something to say to keep her grounded as reality slowly trickled back.

“She’s out there, right now, probably drinking and living it up.” Colgate watched an airship disappear behind the mountain. “Traitor,” she murmured. She had thought Rouge was her friend, even imagining, for a time, that she was Rouge’s friend as well. “But she likes drinking more than she likes me. Idiot. It’s probably for the best.”

Colgate closed her eyes and leaned back, feeling herself suddenly suspended, as if in water, or a dream. Her addled mind clouded again as a small wave of nausea hit, but she endured it.

She was not curious where Rouge had gone or what she was doing, but wondered what had caused her betrayal, whether it was something planned days or weeks in advance or whether it was an impulse, a reaction to an unfavorable set of circumstances.

“I really can’t trust anyone. This proves it.” She went back to her bed, turned over, got up again, went to the bathroom. Watching water pour down the sink, she reflected on her hopelessness. As the water going down that black hole, she too was powerless to stop what had been made for her. Since Ponyville, she had seen signs, but simply refused to accept them: the entire world, or at least the entire Datura, was against her. She lowered her head to the sink, for the first time in months feeling what ponies called loneliness. She imagined that it felt less painful for others, if it compared at all.

Obeying her first thought, Colgate pulled up the stopper with her teeth. Betrayed, abandoned, manipulated, and lied to, she let the sink fill up, shut off the water, and let her muzzle rub the porcelain. Cold water seeped into her fur as she closed her eyes.

The Water Loop

Chapter Eighty-one

The Water Loop

For the first time in a long time, Rainbow Dash stayed in her room to write. Her work, mostly forgotten, had suddenly sprung back into her mind at the sight of the ruined dam and its lake. The static scene, and the obviousness of the power used not long ago, had excited her all the way until when she stared at the blank page.

By the time they were touching down in Trottingham, she had forgotten about it again.

“At least it’s warmer up here,” Rarity said, bundling her scarf closer around her neck. “Relatively speaking.”

“Ah expect Ah know where we need to go after this,” Applejack said, guiding the airship to an overgrown lot set in the middle of an untended field of yellow grass.

“Somewhere cold.”

“Snowdrift,” Twilight said, walking up behind them. “It’s the only major town we haven’t visited yet, and, with its reputation, I’d be surprised if we don’t find the final Element there. Oh, um, Fluttershy? It is still here, right?”

“I’d have told us before now if it weren’t,” Fluttershy said, sitting against the torch. “Um, no offense. Sorry. Yes, Twilight, it’s still here.” She sighed and looked to the south. She could still see the topmost curve of the dam between ragged, narrow plateau edges, the edges that widened to form the fertile valley where Trottingham had been settled.

From high above, Trottingham had looked largely unhurt, a pastoral paradise with only a touch of desolation. From that distance, they couldn’t see the houses overgrown and left to nature. They hadn’t seen the enormity of the lack of carts and airships that had once filled the city’s roads and skyways. On their strip of parking lot, theirs was the only airship, theirs the only draft of air to push back encroaching grass and whip up the floor of dust and debris that had been carried and patched to the concrete by months of uncontrolled wind and rain.

A pale web of roads converged at the ruins of the Astras’ villa, cleft and smashed by Thunderhead so long ago. Some effort had been taken to tear down the larger pieces, but the walls still mostly stood, their decorations faded but visible. Columns still rose to support unattached pieces of ceiling, or just themselves, and the central fountain in the courtyard was dry. The hedge maze had become a dark sponge, its top completely hidden from the sky in places. Trees burst from the topiary cages in several places, themselves mossy and gnarled.

When they stepped off the last stone stair into a sickly lawn, and their ship’s propellers had stopped, each pony took a second to take in the great silence that greeted them. In the time since their departure, it seemed every inch of space in the city had given way to a sea of grass. Stalks, like feelers, rose from the carpet in places, landing places for butterflies and smaller flying insects.

“Out here?” Rarity asked.

“It’s close,” Fluttershy said. “Or at least, close-ish. We do have a little walking ahead of us.” She started pushing through the grass, and the others marched after her, plodding a slow course north.

They walked for an hour before seeing the first sign that they were not alone in the city, and another half hour before reaching it. Rising up on an awkward, metal tripod, a rough trough leaned to one side, looking as if it might topple off at any moment. It was crudely painted in orange and white stripes, and a pair of chains ran up its back to connect at the elevated underside opposite its tilting mouth.

Just beside, shaded by the precarious trough, there sat an adobe building, in its windows ponies who paid the approaching Elements no mind until they were right outside. One engaged Rainbow in a staring contest as the others passed, assured by Fluttershy that their prize was still farther along.

“That’s a rain collector,” Vinyl said. As they passed the building, they saw a checkerboard of slender, white pipes with green spigots covering the bare, cracked ground. “It’s part of The Water Loop.”

“Haven’t heard of it,” Rainbow said.

“Ah have,” Applejack said. “Luna told me ‘bout it when we were flyin’ over. It ain’t been here long.”

“Is it just what it sounds like?” Rarity asked.

“The trough catches rain, the pipes take water out of the soil, what seeps in. That mountain, there? Everything gets pumped over there,” Vinyl said.

“That’s where the ponies are, mostly,” Applejack said. “Holed up on the mountainside, where the aqueducts used to be. Well, they’re still there, Ah guess.”

“Dysfunctional, now.”

“Yeah, they’re dried up.”

“Did the princesses set this up?” Fluttershy asked.

“No, actually,” Applejack said. “Oh, sorry, Vinyl. Go ahead.”

Vinyl waved her off.

“Just some enterprisin’ businesspony, that’s all. Came on in, got all the workers together, an’ set this whole thing up. Ah s’pose she must be the most loved pony this side of the Everfree.”

“That’s incredible,” Twilight said.

“If I didn’t join up with you, I was probably gonna move out here,” Vinyl said. “See what I could do to help the cause.”

Twilight looked at her without reply.

As the pipes tapered off, Fluttershy led them around the rim of the encroaching grass to a flat trail, clearly the path the workers used to reach their office.

“That’s convenient,” Rainbow said.

“I don’t think ‘convenient’ is the right word,” Rarity said, raising a shield. “Does anyone else suddenly feel exposed?”

“I never feel exposed.”

“I don’t see anything,” Twilight said. “But that’s not a bad idea. Every Element so far has been unpleasant.”

“No reason why this should be any different,” Vinyl said, and Twilight looked at her again.

Though it was mid-afternoon, the wind was still cool, and a bank of clouds was approaching fast, threatening rain.

“Those collectors are gonna have some work soon,” Rainbow said.

“‘Cause most ponies live in one spot here, the mountain,” Vinyl said. “But the rain falls all over. They don’t wanna waste any on crops that no one’s tending.”

“I think it’s in one of those,” Fluttershy said. She didn’t have to point. Dead ahead, there sat a semicircle of shabby houses, much resembling, in Vinyl and Big Mac’s mind, the ramshackle buildings they had seen in Discord World.

“What a life,” Twilight said. “Who’d want to commit to something like this?”

“Someone with no other options,” Vinyl said.

“Point taken.”

“And one of those saps has our Element?” Rainbow asked. “How’s that work?”

“We’ll see,” Rarity said, pushing ahead, her shield gleaming in the sunlight.

It took only a moment for Fluttershy to locate the correct house. Close to the edge of the semicircle, its door a simple trio of planks lashed together, one of its windows a wide hole in the wall and another a foggy porthole from some ship, roughly screwed into the wooden siding, their house released a thin trail of smoke from an ugly, narrow pipe chimney that seemed simply jammed into the roof, a skewer keeping the house pinned to the ground.

“Get ready to fight, or run for it,” Twilight said, “but also be ready for some random stranger to be afraid of us. Okay?” She looked at each of them, lingering on Rarity the longest, and knocked.

The pony within made no effort to conceal herself as she rose to get the door, but there was a significant pause when her shadow finally reached its bottom. A tired, familiar voice spoke from within.

“What could I have possibly done to deserve you lot coming around here, of all places?”

Rarity gasped. “You!”

“Whoa, hold on, Rare,” Applejack said, putting a hoof on Rarity’s back.

“Yes, hello, Rarity,” the voice said. “I’m not opening this door until all those little horns go dim.”

“Scared we might hurt you?” Rarity asked, eyes narrowed at the door.

“Of course I’m scared. I’d be stupid not to be.”

“Um, excuse me?” Vinyl asked. “Who is this? What is this?”

“You replaced Octavia with this white one?” the voice asked. “She was the only one I liked."

“Lacey, dammit, open the door,” Twilight said. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

Rarity looked askance at Twilight.

“Rarity, take the shield down.”

“She might have a pulse crystal behind that door,” Rarity said. “Maybe something worse.”

“You wanna know what I have behind this door? A bathrobe and a cup of hot chocolate,” Lacey sad.

“Twilight…”

“This is stupid,” Lacey said, swinging the door open halfway, then scraping it the rest of the way across the floor. “Look, here, unarmed and non-dangerous.” She looked back to a lawn chair beside a radio, a steaming mug balanced on its arm. “Okay, fine, I lied. It’s a mug, not a cup.”

“How in Tartarus does she have it?” Rarity asked, putting her glare on Fluttershy.

“Good to meet again,” Applejack said, shrugging.

“No it’s not,” Lacey said. She was thinner than before, more haggard. In Manehattan, her mane had been perfectly trimmed and glossy, her coat soft and skin-short. Standing before them, thousands of miles farther south than months ago, she looked as though she had aged ten years; her fur was patchy and tufted in places, her mane frizzy. Her eyes had not lost their luster, but the youth was gone from them. “I assume this is important. I know you’re just as unhappy to see me as I am you.” She looked to Vinyl and shook her hoof. “Good to meet you. I’m Lacey Kisses, basically the worst pony in the history of the world. I’ll put a knife in your back if you let me.”

“Um… Vinyl Scratch. Good to see you,” Vinyl said.

Lacey sat down and looked at them, her eyes occasionally flicking to Rarity, who stood by, calm, but ice in her eyes.

“You have something we need,” Twilight finally said.

“Okay,” Lacey said.

They exchanged looks.

“Spit it out, heroes of Equestria. Tell me what it is I allegedly have, so we can put this meeting to an end and I can go back to dreading my next days in peace.”

“What’s wrong?” Vinyl asked.

“No one cares,” Rarity said. “The Element of Harmony. Bring it out now, and we’ll leave you alone.”

Lacey stared at her. “That almost made me laugh.”

“We know you have it,” Twilight said. “We have a spell that leads us to any Elements, if there are any nearby.”

“And it led you here, to my shed?”

“We’re not here for a social visit,” Rainbow said.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t have it, or anything.”

“Lies,” Rarity said. “Typical.”

“What would I gain by lying? If I had an Element, I wouldn’t hoard it. Look at where I live. Look at this place, really.” She gestured at her imperfect door, at the rough floors, at the lawn chair that appeared to be her only furniture. “I’d sell it so fast, my eyes’d spin.”

“Favor with Discord,” Big Mac said. “You’d be doin’ him a favor by keepin’ one of the Elements hidden.”

“Yes, and see how favored I am,” Lacey said, again gesturing around. “I don’t know, truly.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if we looked around your house,” Twilight said.

“As it happens, I would actually mind that very much. How do I know this Element business isn’t a ploy, hm?”

“Yer outnumbered, seven to one,” Applejack said. “An’ it ain’t. Ah’m tellin’ you, it ain’t.”

Lacey sighed and let them pass. “Thought I’d at least get in one good remark before you forced me aside.” She threw up a hoof. “Go on, dig in, do whatever you want to do. I won’t try to stop you.”

“You can’t,” Rarity said, stepping into the shed’s humid air.

“Spare me the acid, Rarity. I want at least a little of my dignity if I make it to Canterlot.”

“What’s in Canterlot?” Twilight asked, guarding the door while Fluttershy and the others went through her house.

“A fresh start. My fourth.”

“Wasted,” Rarity said from across the room.

Lacey rolled her eyes.

“Last I heard, you were in Applewood.”

“Yes, well, circumstances changed. I’m sure you know more about it than me. So, despite my better judgment, I’m finding myself heading north once again.”

“Why?”

“No matter of yours,” Lacey sighed.

The others disappeared around a corner, but Vinyl doubled back. She looked at Lacey for a minute, and Lacey turned to give Vinyl the less patchy side of her face.

“Don’t seem evil to me,” Vinyl eventually said.

“It happened a while ago,” Twilight said.

“So you’re telling me you found me all the way out here, not for revenge, but for one of your little jewels,” Lacey said.

“Like I said, we have a spell—”

“I don’t see how I could have one, though. All my life, I’ve done nothing but distance myself from the princesses’ grand schemes.”

Twilight didn’t reply, though she was rankled by Lacey’s choice of words.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” Rainbow asked, returning with the Element of Loyalty around her neck.

“What?” Lacey asked, tired. “Wait, you found it? What?”

“You had a whole chest of ‘em,” Big Mac said.

Lacey thought for a second, remembering. “Oh, those. Those are modeling props. I used them in Applewood for a stint.”

“Modeling?” Fluttershy asked.

“A stint?” Applejack asked.

“There’s money for a pretty mare wearing the various Elements. I’m pretty, and my photographer had a bunch of plastic Elements lying around.” She brought herself up to her full height, almost as tall as Big Mac. “And no, Rarity, I didn’t know there was a real one mixed in. I wouldn’t have shoved it in a box if I did.”

Twilight turned to look at Vinyl, who was chuckling. “It is kinda funny,” Vinyl said.

“At least this one was painless,” Applejack said. “An’ you kept it clean fer us.”

“It’s dusty,” Rainbow said. “Not that I care.”

“All right, all right, get out,” Lacey said. “You had your fun, you found your treasure, and you were able to torture me a little for good luck. Leave me alone.” She hesitated. “Please."

“What are you even doing here?” Twilight asked, still studying her. While the others filed toward the door, Big Mac with a calming hoof on Rarity’s wither, she watched Lacey’s face. The eyes were sunken and quick, and she carried herself with a slouch and a slight forward tilt of the head. Her mouth was a flat line that betrayed no emotion—a skill that had not changed from Manehattan—but her pupils were slowly widening again as the others crossed out into the grass.

“Like I said, none of your business,” Lacey said.

“You’re working for The Water Loop.”

“Was working.”

Vinyl looked at Twilight, eyebrows contracted.

“And that’s why I’m so eager to get you all out,” Lacey said, gently pushing Twilight toward the door. “I don’t intend to spend what may be last days ducking you lot.”

“Last days?” Vinyl echoed at the door.

“No job, no prospects, too little money. Good day.” The door scraped, then slammed.

Above, Rainbow and Fluttershy were celebrating the acquisition of the penultimate Element.

The pegasi remained above as they walked back to the ship, but both landed early to tell Twilight that there was a stranger waiting by the lot. A car was parked nearby, mired in the grass.

With Rarity’s shield up once more, they approached the airship lot with confidence they didn’t feel. To Twilight’s mind, it was yet another unwelcome iteration of the lesson they had learned early on: picking up an Element was never simple.

His sleek, black car was visible first, its silver grille a striking mouth of needles amidst the dry grass, its shining, aerodynamic hood a menacing slice of shadow. The pony who owned it met them in the middle, using his magic to flatten a wide circle in the grass for them to see one another.

His coat was a deep, ocean blue, and his two-tone mane an eye-popping contrast of orange and fleshy pink, short licks interwoven to resemble a cap of wrinkled skin adhering to the back of his head from a distance. He wore simple, brown trousers with a dusty, white jacket and a bola tie, white stones on the rim and turquoise in the middle, with a fleck of onyx in the middle of that: an eye. A lone pulse crystal swung comfortably on his right flank.

“Well Ah’ll tell ya, Ah was a mite worried y’all wouldn’t be comin’ back ‘til dark,” he said, pushing up his Stetson and going to shake each of their hooves. “Name’s Whippoorwill. Pleasure to make yer acquaintance.”

“I’m assuming you already know who we all are,” Twilight said.

“Course, ma’am.”

“And how did you know where to find us? We haven’t been off this ship for more than the afternoon,” Rarity said.

“And we’re not staying for more than that either,” Rainbow said. “We’ve got places to be.”

“Now now, at least hear me out, ladies,” Whippoorwill said smoothly, but without the cordial grin he used to greet them. “Ah’m representin’ my good friend, Gold Ribbon. You know the name?”

“I can’t say as we’ve had the pleasure,” Twilight said, looking at her friends.

“You will.”

“How ‘bout you cut to the chase, cowpony?” Applejack asked.

“What does this Gold Ribbon want with us?” Twilight asked.

“Ah don’t presume to speak fer him,” Whippoorwill said, adjusting his tie. His dark eyes searched the group, and his mane, momentarily caught in the sunset, appeared as a wild coronet of flame. “He’s very interested in settin’ up a meetin’ with y’all, though.”

“He should have come himself, then. As it happens, we’re not staying.” Twilight took a step toward Whippoorwill, who stood his ground. “We were actually leaving in the next few minutes.”

Whippoorwill sighed. “Ah don’t think that’s so good an idea, Mizz Sparkle. Ya see, my friend, Gold Ribbon, just so happens to be the one in charge of this here Water Loop. Ya familiar with that name?”

“We are,” Rarity said.

“He’s a pony of many fine talents, but he don’t take rebuffs too easy. Now, s’much as Ah’d love to see y’all off on yer ways, Ah know Gold Ribbon wouldn’t like it. Might not sit well with him, are you understanding me?”

“I’m sure he’ll be okay,” Twilight said, starting to walk.

“He’s a passionate stallion, Mizz Sparkle,” Whippoorwill said, stepping aside and nodding courteously at the others as they passed him. “Might not be thinkin’ right, when he’s decidin’ how to allocate this city’s water.”

Twilight stopped, but didn’t turn.

“He might not make the best decisions, concernin’ The Mountain Zone’s hydration.”

“That’s some kind of threat,” Twilight said, looking back at him.

“No threats, Mizz Sparkle, just one stallion concerned fer his friend. Ah would beg you reconsider yer schedule, though. It’s just one sit down, an’ we can avoid a whole mess of unpleasantness by it. What do you say?”

Twilight didn’t look at her friends, though she could see them all looking at her. They were waiting for her response, she realized without surprise. “How long will it take you to get back to this Gold Ribbon?”

“‘Bout an hour, Ah reckon. He’s on the other side of town, under the aqueducts.” He laughed and shook his head, the straps on his tie swishing gently by his chest, and his pulse crystal at his side. “Y’all picked a right inconvenient spot to land yerselves.”

“We’ll stay here for two and a half hours,” Twilight said. “That’s one hour to get back, one hour to get here, and half an hour for him to make his decision. After that, we’re leaving, threats or no threats.”

Whippoorwill nodded and tipped his hat again. “Ah think Gold Ribbon’ll like you, Mizz Sparkle. You’ve got backbone.”

“Two and a half hours. Oh, and he can come alone.”

“Two and a half hours, alone.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Not a minute more.” Whippoorwill closed the distance and shook her hoof, then teleported the short distance directly into his car and turned a wide circle in the grass before finding his trail and fading into the darkening distance.

It was sundown when Rainbow spotted a different car approaching their lot. It was fifteen minutes before takeoff, and the whole ship collectively sighed when they saw that they were not going to be leaving just yet.

The car stopped just outside the lot, and they went to the top of the steps, where they looked down on a fat, olive green earth pony. He wore three gold chains that hung loosely off his wide neck, visible in the half-unbuttoned, black shirt he filled. His mane was thinning, and he wore a dark brown cloak that trailed in the grass, and, where his tail tapered, pooled in an oil spill of fabric.

“Let me do the talking,” Twilight said quietly. “Gold Ribbon?”

“I.” He rose to the first step and stopped, and Twilight quietly admired how he carried his weight. There was no adjustment of balance, no uncertainty in his stance, and no loud breathing. Behind, she could hear Fluttershy’s nervous sounds, and hoped that the large stallion could not.

“I’m told you wanted to speak to us about something.”

He nodded, his neck bulging outward grossly as he did so. “You know who I am?”

“Your friend told us about you, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again, from you this time.”

He growled in the back of his throat, clearing it. “I run The Water Loop in this city, taking rainwater and groundwater from desolate farm districts and bringing it to Mountain Zone. I pick up what Celestia’s cloud convoy cannot be asked to deliver to those who need it.”

“Is that what ponies are calling their settlements by the aqueducts?” Twilight asked. “The Mountain Zone?”

“It is.” He looked at Twilight silently, and, though she could feel her friends shuffling anxiously behind her, she looked directly at him.

After a minute, she said, “If you have nothing to ask us, then we’ll be going.”

He chuckled. “You don’t scare as easily as I expected, Twilight.”

“Miss Sparkle, please.”

“Miss Sparkle. You’ve had meetings like this before.”

“In Roan, yes. I’ve faced scarier ponies than you.”

“Ahhh, then you are familiar with them.”

“That criminal family, yes. Are you another outlet of theirs?”

“More of an appendage,” Gold Ribbon said. “But not for long. My interests in you are nominal, at best; I’d much rather have you help me, without Mansels’ knowledge.”

“And how do we know this isn’t a trap?”

“Hear my request and see.”

Twilight thought. Though she was trying her hardest not to show it, she had not expected to be meeting with the Mansels, or one of their ponies, so far north. “And how do you know we aren’t working for them?”

“Because I’m supposed to be extracting information from you.” He smiled and held up a hoof when the others started. “I have no intention of doing that.”

“What kind of information?” Twilight asked. Behind her, she could hear the others whispering.

“Mrs. Mansel contacted me days ago and told me to expect you to stop here. How she knew, I do not know. She wanted me to find you and leverage from you your involvement in Pure Waterfall’s demise.”

“This again?” Rainbow asked.

“So they tried to get it from you in Roan,” Gold Ribbon said.

“Tell them we didn’t do anything,” Twilight said. “We were there, that was it.”

He looked at her quietly, appearing not to register that she had spoken at all.

“Discord had been enchanting his dam, and the river, for months before we arrived—with his consent. Pure Waterfall signed a contract with him. When we arrived, it got up and moved, and we tried and failed to stop it. I don’t know how Pure Waterfall died, but it must have been then.” She cleared her throat. “We had no reason to want him… gone, at that time.”

“At that time?”

Weighing her options, she decided she could shock him. “We later found out that he was their money launderer.”

Gold Ribbon started, as if her words had physically thrown him off balance. She smiled.

“Yes, we know.”

Collecting himself quickly, Gold Ribbon said, “Then you might know how desperate the Mansels’ situation is now, yes?”

Twilight shook her head. “We don’t involve ourselves with ponies like them.”

“And yet you are here, speaking to me.” He smiled with his mouth only. “You know what he was. Know this: Pure Waterfall was their largest source of income in Applewood. He was the channel through which flowed nearly all their money from that city, mostly drugs and illegal magic. With him dead, not only are they cut off from that money, but the drug and magic lords there have no reason to stay loyal to the family. They’ve all either found their own money launderers, or are still searching.” His smile vanished, but his voice took on a heavy, silky satisfaction. “No one in Applewood cares about the Mansels anymore.”

“Why is that good for you if you’re a part of them?”

“They’ve never been so weak before, and I never so strong.” He gestured at the top of the stairs. “May I board your ship? I wish to rest my hooves.”

Twilight thought for a second.

“Sorry, pal, no sale,” Rainbow said from behind.

“You can sit on the steps,” Twilight said.

Gold Ribbon smiled thinly and, with an adjustment to his billowing cloak, sat on the step. In the dying sunset, he more resembled a mossy stone than a pony.

“You want to be independent of the Mansels, is that it?” Twilight asked.

“That is it, yes. Right now, we need each other still. They need my information, and I need their money, and their workers. I want to grow The Loop, but have not the funds. That is where you come in.”

“You want our money,” Rarity said flatly. “That’s what this boils down to?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Twilight said. “Sorry. We don’t fraternize with ponies like you, and we certainly don’t give them donations.”

“Perhaps,” Gold Ribbon said. “I’d ask you to kindly hear me out.”

Twilight sighed. “Proceed.”

“My Water Loop is the thing that keeps those who remain alive. You know this?”

“I know it.”

“Then perhaps it is not unreasonable for me to request recompense. I could always just…” He raised his hoof, and let it drop. “Shut The Loop off.”

Pregnant silence filled the space between them, and Twilight was suddenly aware of how dark it had gotten. The stars were out, turning the yellow grass into smudged, gray fur as far as she could see.

“Twilight,” Fluttershy said. “I think we should do it.”

“It’s like we never left Roan,” Rarity said.

“No,” Twilight said. “You’re bluffing. You need Trottingham just as much as it needs you. If you turn off your Loop, you’ll be destroying the only source of money you have left, and you’re thousands of miles from the nearest town.” She snorted. “You can’t threaten us, Gold Ribbon.”

“Shall Ah get the ship ready?” Applejack asked.

“Please.”

“Wait,” Gold Ribbon said. “Perhaps the entire town is too much. What about just one pony?”

Twilight narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I can hurt in other ways, Miss Sparkle.”

“Oh, here we go,” Rainbow said. “Lemme guess. You’ll single out some poor nobody and threaten to hurt them if we don’t pay you, and when we do, you’ll turn around and do some other terrible thing. Right?” She paused. “Mansel scum.”

“Rainbow’s right,” Twilight said. She activated her horn, and Gold Ribbon lifted off the ground with a cry, his legs flailing and his cloak flowing out around him, as if the tension keeping it together had suddenly burst. The car door flew open and a pony jumped out, the gleam of a pulse crystal at the ready on one of his hooves. Rarity’s shield snapped to life an instant later.

“Wait!” Fluttershy yelled. “Everypony just… hold on. Twilight, please, put him down.”

Twilight looked at Fluttershy. Her intentions had simply been to frighten, but Gold Ribbon did not appear at all alarmed. His kicking had stopped, and he simply hung in the air and watched them.

“Please, Twilight.”

Twilight dropped the fat pony, but gestured to Rarity to keep her shield up.

“I have a different idea,” Fluttershy said. “There doesn’t need to be violence at all. Why not, instead of making threats, you promise to do something for us? Help us, instead of forcing us.”

“What do you want?” the pony by the car asked. From his voice, they knew it was Whippoorwill.

“Back in the car,” Gold Ribbon said. “And put that thing away.”

No one spoke until Whippoorwill had slunk away.

“What do you want?”

“Fluttershy?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, um, I didn’t have anything specific in mind. I… just wanted to de-escalate things.”

“Perhaps we meet again tomorrow, when you’ve had some time to consider your terms,” Gold Ribbon said breathlessly. He produced a white rectangle from somewhere in his clothes and started up the steps.

“No. Leave it there. I’ll pick it up,” Twilight said.

He nodded, and, not taking his eyes off her, left the business card on the stone stair. With a final look that could not be interpreted in the darkness, he got in the car and was chauffeured away.

* * * * * *

While Fleur dis Lee talked, Colgate studied the peas on her plate. They were having an early dinner before heading out on assignment; Colgate had to be assured multiple times that it was no ruse to kill her, but only pretended to believe it. Time would tell, she figured, and, if her death were to come that night, it might not be so bad. She was not convinced that she had escaped from the Datura’s rehab prison, only peeled back the first layer of it, so it stood to reason that death was most likely the better option.

“This is as much a test of your skills as it is an opportunity to re-acquaint you to the Datura, the real one. None of that hokey, flaky stuff Fancy Pants had you doing.”

“We were never meant to be useful there, were we?” Colgate said. On the plate, the overhead light hit in such a way as to create a small, grave-shaped band of light. “His team was for keeping us safely contained.”

“That’s right.”

Colgate hated the calm way that Fleur spoke, the polite precision and the utter lack of hesitation at her admission. She also understood its subtext: Fleur was no one to toy with.

“So tonight you get to see some action, or at least something like it. You’ll get to see someone doing her job well.”

“Aside from watching, what am I doing?” She didn’t look up. She felt poised on the edge of a trap, or of escape from a trap; she couldn’t tell which, and didn’t want to accidentally find out when she wasn’t ready.

“You’ll pass me supplies, set up the police tape, and all that fun stuff. Clerical duties.”

“Can’t wait.”

“These things are important, Colgate,” Fleur said, her voice lowered.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Let’s watch the sarcasm, hm?”

“Sorry, ma’am.” In her heart, she feared she had crossed that fatal line.

Fleur sighed. “I suppose it’s unfair of me to expect you to trust me so soon.”

Colgate looked up at her.

“Once the stars are out, we’ll get moving. I assume you know why it’s best to do this under cover of night?”

“Fewer ponies out to see us.”

“Good. Good.”

“That was too easy. What’s she doing?” Colgate glanced down at the floor and resisted the urge to slide her plate off the table. It might trigger an avalanche from Fleur, but at least it would be something. Sitting and speaking, the air of calm pressing in around her, was too much. She felt like she was underwater, and sinking all the time; the pressure was growing, and she was powerless.

“If this works out, you can meet the rest of my team. They’re looking forward to seeing you.”

“What do they know?”

“Just the basics.” Fleur gave Colgate a smile that she didn’t see.

When they were done with dinner, they packed, Fleur using a pair of enchanted saddlebags with enhanced volumes, and Colgate with a pen and pad, should she want to take notes. As soon as they were outside, Colgate had to stop by a flower pot and catch her breath. After a torturous dinner, a reprieve had finally come.

“All right?” Fleur asked.

“Gimme a sec.” She focused on her breath, on the night air inside her lungs. After a minute, she climbed into Fleur’s car, and they swung out onto an empty street that they soon abandoned for a thin, country road. The forests of Canterlot Mountain appeared in the distance, below them but rising, merging with a soft, black sky.

Colgate leaned her head on the sideboard to stare out the window, watching trees and fields whip by under a thin crescent moon. Inside, Fleur had the radio turned to static, filling the car with calming white noise. It was not something Colgate could recall experiencing.

She had expected to immediately return to the feeling of drowning, but the car did not box her in as the house had. She breathed in and out deeply, and ignored Fleur’s occasional glances. Still, the spectre of death or imprisonment loomed.

Fleur’s cover was brilliant, Colgate reflected. She was everything a leader should be: authoritative, knowledgeable, quick to correct and also quick to forgive. Colgate was not sure how she would handle it when Fleur showed her true self, as she knew she must.

Yet, inside the moving car, humming away from the city, her world was singularly at rest. “Whatever happens, happens,” she told herself, watching the moon glide behind a cloud. “If there’s no hope, then there’s nothing to worry about.”

As the first cluster of trees ended around them, the static gradually faded out, replaced with a moderate, masculine voice, speaking without inflection. “Six, one, one, zero, nine, zero, two, five… five, five, three, nine, zero, one, seven, zero…”

“What is this?” Colgate finally asked.

“Numbers station,” Fleur said. “It’s a radio station that broadcasts… well, you can hear it. Strings of numbers.”

“Is that it?”

Fleur said nothing, and let the station play. “Transmission iteration zero-one-point-seven: one, seven, four, six.” Then, the static resumed.

“This one’s been going for… hmm, a couple decades, now. At least.”

“Nonstop?” Colgate asked.

“Nonstop. That bit there at the end, though, that’s new. I noticed it a couple months ago.”

“What is it?”

“Couldn’t tell you.” She looked quickly at Colgate. “That is, I don’t know myself.”

The voice returned with a new set of numbers.

“I love them. I’ve always thought they were fascinating. Fancy Pants thinks I’m crazy.” She chuckled. “I just think there’s something charming in all of it, the loneliness. A machine running forever with no one to watch it. There’s something attractive about that, I think.”

Colgate nodded, tapping her horn against the glass, but could think of nothing to say.

“Some of them are top-secret Datura communication outposts, or can be used as such in times of need. I don’t know if this one is.”

Colgate tuned her, and the numbers station, out. The intrusion of voices from the sea of static had been unwelcome, but even that did not last long inside the car’s atmosphere. The darkness and the quiet were too much, and she was soon relaxed again, even as the fleeting view of Lower Canterlot was lost amid the ever-approaching trees. They finally stopped at the edge of a wide, flat field, hemmed in by a broken-down fence and a thin line of dark trees, whispering in the breeze.

“Stay by me, and stay alert,” Fleur said. “Nothing’s going to jump out at you, but this place is dangerous for the unwary. There’s a magical anomaly out in that field.”

“Can we see it from here?”

“No, and what’s more, you don’t want to. It’s… I’ll explain it in more detail when we get home, but, basically, if you do see it, you’re in trouble.”

“Huh.”

“Colgate, if at any point I tell you to close your eyes, you do it immediately, okay?”

Colgate looked at her, then past her.

“Seriously. I don’t want you accidentally seeing this.”

“What’ll happen?”

Fleur sighed. “It’s an uncontrolled teleportation enchantment, manifested somewhere out there. Observing it activates it.”

“So—”

“Keep your distance. I know how to spot these, and I know how to avoid accidentally activating them.” She lifted their supplies out of the back and got out. Laying a roll of police tape and a bundle of pegs at Colgate’s hooves, she took for herself a strange, multi-jointed spyglass. “Set up a border around this side of the field while I scout the area.”

“What about the other sides?”

“The field ends right at a cliff. No one’s likely to be coming up that side, but we have a satellite cloud out there just in case. The last team set it up.” She shrugged out of her loose coat jacket and nudged a small, silver amulet around her neck. “I’ll know if someone’s coming up on us.”

Colgate recognized the type of amulet from her times in Manehattan, but didn’t say so. They were enchanted on a specific wavelength of magical energy, easily matched to any nearby object enchanted in the same manner. In that way, a Datura was able to set up a remote alarm system, receiving a gentle feeling in their amulet if someone or something were to be detected by the other enchantment.

“Go on, we’re burning nighttime.” She propped herself on the hood of her car and held the spyglass to her eye, one hoof up to steady it in its magical mist.

Colgate walked to the field’s far edge, hearing only the crickets’ song as she wrapped the tape around a tree. She pounded the stake into the ground, her mind miles away, back at Rouge’s house.

She was not accustomed to using her magic for something less delicate than surgery, and was already tired when she had put the first stake into the ground. Hitting it harder, all she could do to assert herself in her constricting world, reaped no reward.

She felt the tension in the tape as she spooled it and brought it to where she would place the next stake, and wondered how far she could stretch it before it broke. A useless gesture; she knew she would prove nothing by it, and only show her lack of confidence to Fleur, who she was certain had the spyglass trained on her, at least part of the time.

How to escape? Her first thought was that she needed her pills again, that they would give her enough clarity to think through her situation more carefully, but the idea was softer than before. They always punished her when she took pills, she knew, and, with Fleur living with her, she imagined there was no way she could hide anything. Even if she were to leave for a time, she would be followed; she knew it with as much certainty as she knew her own name.

“Face it, Cole, you’re trapped,” Rouge’s voice mocked in her mind. “Of course, there’s always one way out.” She rejected the thought immediately; she didn’t want to give the Datura the dignity to know it had pushed her so far, even though the idea of it coming on its own was not so alarming.

She was nearly back to Fleur’s car, but the white unicorn was not watching her, as she expected. Fleur faced the field, almost motionless, her horn alight and a small, luminescent sphere sitting beside her.

“What’s that?” Colgate asked.

“Magic proximity potion,” Fleur said. “It gets hotter as it gets closer to an enchantment. Well, this one gets hotter.”

Colgate thrust the stake into the ground and pounded it with her hooves, her own magic waning. Her horn ached, a sensation she rarely felt, and which depressed her. “Some unicorn I am, tired already from a few stakes.”

“There’s always that one option…” Rouge’s voice reminded her.

“Shut up,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Thinking out loud,” Colgate said without looking up.

When she had finished stringing the police tape across the field’s face, Fleur got off her car and put away the spyglass. She rummaged in her bag and produced a pair of cheap sunglasses, which she donned.

“Kinda dark, isn’t it?” Colgate asked. She hated that she found it funny; she was in no mood to laugh.

“The phenomenon is sensitive to observation, remember. These black out all but the largest details, and movement. I can look around a little more safely.”

“So those really are just sunglasses. I thought they’d be enchanted.”

“I got ‘em for two bits at the mall, extra tacky. Wanna try?”

“I’m good,” Colgate said, waving the gaudy glasses away as they floated near her face.

“Too bad.” Another pair floated over, and Colgate put them on after a second. “Once we get out there, we’ll be close to it. I can’t have you spotting it.”

“Fine.” She looked around, uncomfortable. The stars and moon were mere suggestions of light, the grass a sea of shadow.

“This is one advantage to having such a nice, white coat,” Fleur said. “Stay behind me, and don’t rubberneck too much. And remember, if I say close your eyes, you do it.”

“Sure.”

“Give me a yes or a no, not a sure.”

“Is that a Datura rule, or a Fleur rule?”

Fleur looked at her, the dark glasses doing nothing to hide her annoyance.

“All right, all right. I understand about closing my eyes.”

“I hope so. C’mon.”

They pushed into the tall grass, and a pair of moths scattered in a white helix in front of Colgate’s muzzle. She didn’t see them, save for flutters of white at the bottom of her glasses. “So, you said I might meet the team soon.”

“That’s right.” Fleur had her eyes down, trying to see a clear spot on the ground.

“What are they all like?”

“I’d rather you just meet them.”

Colgate rolled her eyes as a worrying thought occurred to her: perhaps there was no team at all, and her “meeting” was just a trap. She supposed it wouldn’t be too much of a surprise. Again, Rouge’s voice echoed in her mind with its toxic suggestion.

She lowered her glasses a fraction, enough to let in only a little more light, and looked into the sky, facing the bright, full moon, and stumbled. As she looked back down, the air around her rippled, and her head swam, as though she had suddenly gotten her wish and received the clarity that only a couple painkillers could give her. No sense of euphoria or confidence came with it, however.

“I think I saw something,” Colgate said at last, when her head cleared.

Fleur froze and looked at Colgate, her voice quick and concerned. “Close your eyes and tell me what you saw.”

“It was just…” She closed her eyes, half expecting a strike across her face for not doing so faster. “Like, a ripple in the air. Could have been the wind.”

“A ripple?”

Colgate thought and cracked her eyes. In the distance, not where it was a minute ago, the crescent moon floated inside the treetops, barely visible through her glasses. “That wasn’t there before.”

“What do you mean?”

“The moon. It was full just a second ago, and right above me.”

Fleur looked at the moon, then back at Colgate. She took off her glasses and moved at a hasty trot. “Back to the car, right now.”

“Did you see it?” She followed behind, the sound of grass under her hooves coming up at her in thick bursts, as if the sound had been dissociated from its cause.

“I think you did.” Her voice was distant, and echoed faintly.

“Stop,” Colgate said. “Something’s up.” Her own voice, too, echoed in her ears, and she backed up a step. She remembered nights like it, except she had been in bars, with friends; out in the nothingness between Greater and Lower Canterlot, she had no business feeling as she did.

“How do you feel?” Fleur asked as if from across the field.

“Fuzzy.” She could not feel her lips forming the words, and barely heard them. “It’s quiet.”

“This way,” Fleur said calmly, taking the glasses off her face and, at the same time, grabbing Colgate’s foreleg in hers and limping deeper into the field. Fleur’s slender physique belied a wiry strength that Colgate was surprised to feel, even in her state.

“Keep talking,” Fleur said. “Let me know if things get clearer.”

Colgate’s head brushed a tall stalk of grass, and she struggled to think of something to say.

“Come on, Colgate, talk to me!”

“Uhh, I don’t know. The best way to operate on somepony is when they’ve been anesthetized.” She stumbled in a gopher hole. “Celestia, how long has it been since I’ve been in the operating room? I remember one time giving a talk to the school fillies about proper safety when doing sports.” She shook her head, and clarity faded back in. “Hey, I’m feeling better.”

Fleur sighed and stopped, and Colgate realized then that she was breathing heavily. “We need to get to the car, but it’s blocking us.”

“Okay, hang on.” She looked back at the sky, just to make sure the moon was still where she had left it. “So I activated this spell?”

“Looks like it.”

“There was no spell, Cole, you just followed her into a trap. You let her put some kind of enchantment on you.”

“Into the trees,” Fleur said. “We’ll go around. I need you to close your eyes.”

Colgate nodded, stupefied and paranoid.

“Yes or no, Colgate.”

“Sorry, sorry. Yes, yes, fine, let’s go. Get me out of here.”

“I wish it were that simple,” Fleur muttered, and yanked Colgate in the direction of the trees. She walked behind, her eyes closed, and tried to feel her location by the rises and dips in the ground. When her tail caught on a low branch, she almost screamed, thinking it the activation of the trap she imagined she was in.

Outside, the crickets’ song began to press in on her, no longer an articulate arrangement of separate sounds, but an oscillating screech that reminded her, in conjunction with her earlier thoughts, of the operating room. She used to work with tools that made a similar sound.

She almost pitched forward on a stone and flung open her eyes, catching a whirling look at the trees as she got back to her hooves, one still held by Fleur. The trees were black obelisks in front of her face, beyond them the empty field, and hanging just above the grass, a dark circle that became clearer as she gained her balance. It vanished for a second behind a tree, but, as Fleur pulled her into a small clearing between two fringes of foliage, she got a better look. It was no illusion, and did not carry the familiar coruscation of magic that she could attribute to Fleur. It simply rested in the air, dark.

Then, to her horror, she realized that it was growing. Thoughts exploded in her mind, amid them a cacophony of Rouge’s suicidal advice. “Hey! Uh… it’s getting bigger.”

“Colgate!” Fleur gave her hoof an angry jerk, forcing her forward and almost into the dirt. “Eyes closed!” She growled and pulled Colgate back up, faster than Colgate could get her hooves under her, but didn’t stop, and Colgate stumbled and twisted a leg before regaining her balance. She didn’t feel the pain.

“It grows when you look at it,” Fleur said, her voice underwater. Colgate felt as though she were being pulled through sand, the grass brushing her fur all part of an infinite sensation. As the feeling grew and transfigured, and she could feel her own body in its space, she became worried that she would leave past iterations of herself stuck to the clasping grass, slices of herself in motion in a wild trail for the imposter sphere to follow. If she did, she knew she would not feel it, and she was suddenly all the more afraid.

“Here we go,” Fleur said, opening the car doors. They sounded like empty suggestions of thunderclaps to Colgate, who had to be guided into the passenger seat. When the engine rumbled to life, her sensations were beginning to come back, and she was fully recovered just in time to hear the numbers station begin its lonesome monologue.

Back at the house, the two sat in the living room with the lights off. Colgate took hesitant sips of water, wishing it were something else, while Fleur stared at the wall, thinking.

“All right,” she said at last, “unfortunately, there isn’t much of a good side to this.”

“Did I screw up?” Colgate asked. She kept looking at the window, even though curtains covered it.

“You could have been more careful,” Fleur said slowly. “It won’t do to pass blame right now. You’re in trouble for a whole ‘nother reason.”

“That thing’s gonna get me.”

Fleur smiled. “It’s good you can keep calm at a time like this. Really. You have no idea how important that is with us.”

Colgate looked at the window again, then turned on the TV. She needed background noise.

“It’s a natural phenomenon that most often occurs when a powerful unicorn mis-casts a certain combination of spells. It’s a teleportation enchantment, given form.”

“I was never strong in magic theory, so I don’t know what that means.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter so much. Basically, if it catches you, you’ll get teleported somewhere random.” She held up a hoof. “I know that doesn’t sound too bad, all things considered, but the magic isn’t stable. You might not make it to your destination all together, if you read me.”

“So touch it and I die.” She sipped her water and changed the channel. “An awfully long way to go just to kill me. She had me in the bag earlier; why not then?” She looked at Fleur again, who watched her, but not carefully. She leaned in her chair, seemingly relaxed. Her tone was calm and conversational, and her eyes didn’t linger on Colgate.

“It’s safest to assume that.”

“And…” She changed the channel again, on guard. She couldn’t figure what Fleur had planned, acting so at ease. She decided to keep talking. “What about all the sensory stuff from earlier?”

“An effect of proximity to the magic. Do you want to know how it works?”

“We can leave it at that.”

“The closer you get, the worse it gets. If you’re close enough to be teleported, you probably won’t be aware of it, which is a mercy, in a way, but it also makes it pretty difficult to stop.”

“How, exactly, do we stop it?”

“Well, as I said, it’s observationally activated; whoever sees it first, in its inactive state, is the only one it can touch. It’s… oh, it’s all about the transitory nature of perception-based magic, how seeing something can inherently change it. I won’t bore you. What it means, though—what it means, Colgate—is that it’s up to you to dispel it.”

“You can’t do anything?”

“I… don’t think so.” She thought for a second. “I think it is possible for a non-participant—that’s what we call anyone it hasn’t targeted—to dispel it, but it’s really complicated and time-intensive. May as well just have you do it, since you’re a unicorn.”

“I don’t know how to dispel stuff,” Colgate said. “I can’t even teleport.” She mashed a button on the remote control, realizing too late that she had just revealed her magical limitations. Hopefully, she thought, Fleur would think she was lying. “What happens if an earth pony or pegasus gets targeted by one of these things?”

Fleur nodded, but said nothing.

“Hell. But if I’m supposed to dispel it, how can I get close enough so it doesn’t… I mean, I’ll be out of my head when we get close to it.” She bolted up. “Is it still coming for me?”

“Relax,” Fleur said. “It’s slow.”

“How slow?”

Fleur’s hoof tapped idly on the coffee table. “Seventy, eighty years ago, there was a pony who spent the last half of her life running from one. She died of something else, not because it got her. Trust me, they’re slow. You have time.”

Colgate sat back down.

“No looking at it. Direct observation strengthens it. It gets bigger, and its area of effect grows.”

“Dare I ask?”

“No known upper limit, no, but no one’s keen on testing them to such an extent.”

“That’s not what I was gonna ask.”

“Then ask away.”

“Does that mean I’ll have to have my eyes closed when I try to dispel it?”

“Not when you try, when you do. And don’t worry, I’ll be right there.”

“I thought you said—”

“There are ways to track its position without seeing it. I don’t know them off the top of my head, I’ll have to do some research, but I know it can be done.”

Colgate thought. “What if it turns out I’m not powerful enough to dispel something like that?”

“I’ll say kind words at your ceremony.” She rose. “That is, if Canterlot is still standing by then.”

* * * * * *

The vastness of the Everfree Forest had not diminished for its fractured state, but, from nearly three hundred feet above, it struck them how small it was in comparison to the wilderness of unexplored Equestria. Since Trottingham, where they stopped for half a day to restock supplies, the three ponies had only one another to remind them that they were not alone in the world.

“Whoovsies told me the forest would rebuild itself in time,” Pinkie said. She was pacing across the angel’s flat back, enjoying the high-altitude temperatures.

“I doubt that,” Octavia said, eyes closed. She had stolen a look over the side as they finally reached the top of their climb, where they would remain until reaching Canterlot. She didn’t want them to be seen until the very last moment, by anyone. From their height, she imagined most ponies would assume they were a bird.

“No, I think it makes sense. The forest is full of old, spooky magic, so why not? All those trees, with their deep, deep roots, they can probably pull their little slice of the world together easy-peasy.”

“You are beginning to talk like him.”

“He’s funny, that’s for sure!”

Octavia cracked an eye to give her sister a look, and Pinkie only giggled.

“Um… I gotta go real quick,” Pinkie said. “Be back in a jif!” She went downstairs, passing Whooves in his room, reclining with a tattered book, and went into her own room. The accommodations inside the angel were almost nonexistent, with a wire cot and thin sheet in each otherwise empty room. She had decorated hers as best she could, with wrappers and packaging from their rations. She had smeared her cutie mark onto the steel wall with a butter pat, and tacked its golden foil onto a metal spur at the bottom of her cot.

Without thinking, she closed the door, and all that remained was what starlight came in through a thin slat close to the ceiling. On the cot, all at once there and as solid as she, sat the white stallion.

“Did you make me come down here?”

“I impelled you quietly, yes,” Vanilla said. “Your princess would be most upset if she discovered I visited you here, Pinkie. She doesn’t want me to know where you are, and what manner of machine you mean to bring to the coming battle.”

Pinkie stared at him. “Sooooo…”

“She has concentrated an attack on all the Tartarus gateways she can find, in the hopes that this will in some way distract me from my number one job, monitoring you all. The fear is that I tell Discord of this angel of yours, and so spoil the surprise.” He smiled disarmingly. “You, of all ponies, know the bad in spoiling a surprise.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Pinkie said.

“Come, sit.”

She edged to the cot and sat on the corner, watching him closely as he faced her.

“Why are you afraid? I come with no ill intentions.” He laughed once. “I’m not moving you today.”

Pinkie relaxed a little, and was able to give him an innocent head-tilt with her question. “Should we keep our voices down?”

“I’ve taken care of that,” Vanilla said, gesturing toward the door. “I have us wrapped in a cushion of soundproof magic, you and I.”

“You don’t want them to know you’re here either, then. Sneaky. But why are you here? Is someone getting another magic boost?” She perked up for a second, but dropped her happy expression instantly. “Is it me?”

“It was going to be. My original intent was that you be the last of the six original friends to receive my largess. I had your special magic picked out and everything. After much soul-searching, however, I do not believe I can give it to you.”

Pinkie looked at him and almost had to shield her eyes from his brilliant coat. “Why not?” She knew she should be happy, but only felt rebuffed.

“Why, Pinkamena, you perplex me. I thought you hated magic. I thought you wanted to distance yourself from the responsibility that inheres to it.”

“I don’t know.”

“You said it yourself, to your beloved sister. Were you lying?”

Pinkie looked down at the spark of gold foil she had attached to her cot. The color suddenly seemed a garish insult. “I wasn’t lying, no. Not to her.”

“But you were,” Vanilla said after a pause, voice soft. “Omitting the truth is just as much a lie as constructing a falsehood. Believe me, Pinkie, I’ve seen plenty in my life, and you’ll have the opportunity to see another shortly.”

“I won’t,” she said suddenly, looking into his eyes, glinting with pride. She scooted back and almost fell off, as much alarmed at her own response as the pleasure that danced in his eyes.

“You will. What you do with that opportunity, that is another question entirely. It will be a choice between allowing the lie to take root, and telling the truth.” He smiled. “You know the truth I speak of.”

“You don’t know anything. You weren’t there.”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong. I watched from the start. I was only physically present for the last minute or two, but I saw everything. Pinkie, that dam and its river were my babies. Discord can take the credit if he wants it, but half that magic was mine, and I intended to see it perform.”

Pinkie got up, disgusted, but afraid to show it. “So you watched us get our butts kicked, and only intervened at the last second?”

Vanilla Cream smiled up at her.

“I… uh… well, you know, my guilt doesn’t absolve you of yours!”

“I make no claim that it does.”

Pinkie’s retort died. She had been prepared to keep talking, to work herself into an avalanche of defense and deflection—for that was all it would have been, she knew in her sudden lapse of indignity—but Vanilla had sucked the feeling away from her, his own calm mien as inimitable as the deep, black marks on his flanks.

“Well… okay.”

“We share guilt, let’s say. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there, Pinkie? Life goes on, and us with it.”

He looked into her eyes, and she looked down. “I guess so.”

“Was it fear of responsibility?”

She slouched against the wall, remembering her conversation with Octavia only days ago. She had admitted to it then, but had been too scared to reveal the context to her sister. “You’re not going to tell anyone about me, are you?”

Vanilla shook his head. “Not my place.”

“Then…” She sighed. It was the first time she had spoken openly of it. “I didn’t mean to. I just froze. I wanted to help, obviously, but I couldn’t.”

“Yes, yes, performance anxiety. The true evil behind all your country’s woes.”

“Hey, come on.”

“I mean no offense.” He smiled sedately and held up his hooves. “Do you think you’ll be able to make up for your mistakes on this angel?”

“I have to think that. Otherwise, this is all for nothing.”

“Spoken like your sister. You two have a lot in common, you know that.”

“Don’t tell her!” Pinkie cried, finally breaking her stoic act and running over to him. “Please, don’t! She’ll kill me.”

“Pinkie, Pinkie,” he said, laughing. “Your secrets are safe with me, you can be sure of that.”

“You promise?”

“I’m not in the business of making promises, except to those who can forcibly extract them from me. But I’ll do my best.”

She eyed him, and he smiled earnestly at her.

“You can at least trust me far enough to try.”

“I can,” she said after a moment. “We’ve come this far with you, why not a little further?”

“Precisely, my dear. Now, chin up. Remember, life goes on.”

“And me with it, yep.” She smiled a little in spite of herself.

“There, see?” Vanilla clapped her on the back. “Good cheer, Pinkie. You’ve a battle to win.” He winked, and was gone in a puff of smoke.

* * * * * *

“Fat Mansel scum,” Rainbow said again. “Call.” Over a game of chip poker, she, Twilight, Rarity, and Fluttershy were discussing their course of action.

“It’s more that Whippoorwill I’m worried about,” Twilight said. “He has the pulse crystal, and he looked like he was ready to use it.”

“They’re both bad ponies,” Fluttershy said, studying her cards. “I fold.”

Rarity rolled her eyes and peeked at Fluttershy’s cards. She nodded. “Perhaps we can get him to help rebuild some houses, or something. This side of town is completely ruined.”

“I’m not sure that would be worth it,” Twilight said. “If the water’s as scarce as he’d like us to believe, it’s probably best everyone remain concentrated in The Mountain Zone.”

“We should check it out,” Rainbow said. “Tomorrow, though. Twilight, you gonna play, or just look at them?”

“Sorry.” She threw in two chips. “Raise.”

“Crap.”

“In the meantime, what do we want?” Fluttershy asked.

“What can he give us?” Rarity asked. “Rather, what can he give us that we don’t already have? He doesn’t have the last Element.”

“Now that would be something,” Rainbow said.

“And I doubt he has anything he can spare for the Canterlot battle.”

“Maybe we can get him to send Whippoorwill,” Twilight said with a chuckle.

“All right, ladies, let’s see them,” Rarity said as the betting came back to her. Twilight took the pot.

“Are we missing any materials, any resources?” Twilight asked, shuffling the cards. “I remember Octavia’s cello is ruined.”

“We’re not gonna give him however much money he wants for a dumb cello,” Rainbow said.

“I’m just saying. It’s a jumping off point.” She passed out the cards. “Seven-card stud, threes are wild, low heart in the hole splits the pot. Ante up, girls.” Chips clattered on the floor.

“Warmer clothes?” Fluttershy offered. “We’re going to Snowdrift next. We are, right?”

“That’s still the plan, yes,” Twilight said.

“I already got us some sweaters in Roan,” Rarity said.

“And I’ve got my weather magic,” Rainbow said.

“How’s that going, by the way?” Fluttershy asked.

“You tell me. You’re sitting in it.”

“I thought it was oddly comfortable tonight,” Rarity said. “It’s freezing up on the deck.”

“It isn’t that cold.”

Twilight looked at her cards and folded, disgusted.

“What about Lacey?” Fluttershy asked.

“What about her?” Rarity said.

“She’s in trouble, I gathered today.”

No one said anything, but Twilight kept her eyes on Rarity.

“What are you suggesting?” Rarity asked at last.

“Call,” Rainbow said quietly.

“What if we told him to secure her passage to Canterlot?” Fluttershy asked.

“And help her with her latest scheme?”

“Precisely,” Rarity said, smiling at Rainbow. “We’d be helping her if we did that, so I suggest we do something else.”

“We’d also be getting her out of here,” Twilight said. “Which… well, it’s tricky.”

“We’d be saving her,” Fluttershy said, “which is the right thing to do for someone in trouble.”

“We’d also be removing any opportunity she might have to involve herself with Gold Ribbon and the Mansels.”

“Ooooh, that’s a good point,” Rainbow said. “Seriously, Twilight, do something or fold.”

“I already folded.”

“Oh. I didn’t see.”

“That’s what it means when the cards are down, Dash, dear,” Rarity said.

“You might know if you folded once and a while yourself,” Twilight said.

“All right, all right, all right,” Rainbow said.

“Imagine Lacey teaming up with the Mansels,” Fluttershy said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“They might not like her,” Rarity said. “They might find her too smart, or too independent, and remove her.”

“Don’t get too excited now, Rare,” Rainbow said.

“It’s something to consider, that’s all.”

“I prefer the idea of sending her away,” Twilight said. “But to Canterlot?”

“We don’t have to give her much,” Fluttershy said. “Just book her passage on an airship, and give her maybe a hundred bits so she doesn’t starve immediately.”

“And how do we know this whole ‘down on my luck’ thing isn’t an act?” Rarity asked.

“She had no way to anticipate us coming to see it,” Twilight said.

“She might have,” Fluttershy said, picking up the cards and clumsily shuffling them in her unpracticed telekinesis. “Whippoorwill knew where to find us easily enough, and we were only gone for an hour or two.”

“But are they working together?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s possible,” Rarity said.

“I think not,” Twilight said. “We’re talking about them like they had this elaborate, huge plan for tricking us. I think the simple explanation is the real one. Lacey moved here, lost money, and needs to get out. Nothing more to it. Whatever’s going on with Gold Ribbon and Whippoorwill is something else.”

“You’re probably right,” Fluttershy said. She passed out the cards. “Um, is five-card draw okay?”

“You’re the dealer,” Rarity said.

“We could send her somewhere else,” Rainbow said.

“Hoofington? Not much there.”

“The Astras are still there,” Twilight said. “And that precog pony, what’s his name?”

“Lope?” Rainbow offered.

“Lumb,” Rarity said. “No, we can’t have Lacey in the same town as a precog.”

“There are precogs everywhere,” Twilight said. “It’s just most of them aren’t that powerful.”

“Maybe that’s how Whippoorwill found us,” Fluttershy said. She looked intently at her cards.

“We could send her back into Strawberry’s jaws,” Rainbow said.

“That defeats the purpose.”

“What about Appleloosa?” Rarity asked.

“That’s a thought,” Twilight said, raising.

“I hate it when you do that,” Rainbow said. “‘Cause I know you’ve got something good. You don’t bluff.”

“I bluff.”

“You’re not bluffing now.”

“I call,” Rarity said.

“So are you in or out, Dashie?” Twilight asked.

“Ugh, in.” She threw in her chips from a dwindling pile.

“I say we just send her to Canterlot,” Fluttershy said, folding. “There’s enough there that she can make a living, and it’s big enough that she won’t be able to do a lot of damage.”

“I hate the idea of helping her,” Rarity said.

“Think of it like expelling her from Trottingham,” Twilight said.

“But she wants that.”

“If she stays here, there’s the possibility she survives, and sets down roots,” Fluttershy said. “This city is just starting to rebuild.”

“Yeah, you don’t want someone like her in a fledgling city,” Twilight said.

“I don’t want her anywhere,” Rarity said.

“I don’t see why we haven’t considered using him to get revenge on her,” Rainbow said.

“We haven’t considered it because we’re not like that,” Twilight said. “We’re supposed to be good ponies, Rainbow Dash.”

“I know, but… she’s a toxic mare, Twilight.”

“We’d be like the Mansels if we did something like that,” Fluttershy said. “You’re talking about purchasing revenge.”

Rainbow lowered her eyes, and the temperature dropped.

“I’ll tell him tomorrow,” Twilight said. “We want her taken to Canterlot, safely, and with a hundred bits so she won’t starve. Good?”

“If we must,” Rarity said, feigning indifference as she watched Twilight shuffle again. “But that means we’ll need to stay here long enough for Gold Ribbon to get her a ship and send her away.”

“We don’t trust him to do it without us watching?” Rainbow asked with a grin.

They all looked at one another.

“Five-card draw,” Twilight said. “Aces wild, but the high spade in the hole takes it all.”

Set Up to Succeed

Chapter Eighty-two

Set Up to Succeed

In the buttery dawn light, deep in the Everfree Forest, Flitter and the other two spotters practiced with Windy Weathervane inside his odd, cramped, lotus-shaped ship, as they had all that week. Sometimes, they raced amongst the trees, practicing tight maneuvering, and sometimes they flew underneath the edge of the land.

On days when they were to be in the open air between Equestria and the rest of the world, Windy Weathervane would bring a black briefcase and set it down on the beach towel where they kept their things. With a gentle nudge, he would open it and allow its shining, spherical contents to spill out and roll harmlessly off the edge; Flitter thought he was going to make them try to catch them when she first saw it.

It turned out to be the opposite. The spheres—unmarked, metal balls, much the same in form to the magic that pursued Colgate nearly fifty miles to the north—floated in air, bobbing harmlessly like lures. During one of their lunch breaks, Flitter finally overcame her fear of going over the side alone, and soared with the metal balls.

They were called chasers, Windy said. With a pony, they were no threat, but, allowed to move on their own and left too close to a strong source of magic, like their airship, they would be swiftly and relentlessly attracted. Their training, on those days, consisted of evading and parrying the chasers, an act that always left Flitter in a state of mingled dizziness and elation.

“Ten on the three,” Flitter said from her station, and, inches from her muzzle, the mechanism snapped into place and one of the ship’s many fins flipped up to bat a chaser away. Though she had gotten used to the proximity to so many moving parts, she was not used to the ship’s transparency. She felt she could see everything too clearly, and it sometimes made her uneasy.

Behind her, another spotter called out a pair of numbers: positional directions, the first to indicate horizontal orientation, the second vertical.

“Okay, ladies, we’re going to do something a little more exciting now,” Windy Weathervane said as they looped away from the chasers for a second. Flitter could see the smile on his face, and hid one of her own.

Without a word more, he pulled hard on a lever, and they were flying straight down toward a checkered floor of soot-gray clouds below. Flitter’s stomach turned, but she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t see the ground behind them, but could tell that it would be receding quickly if she turned back.

The air around them shrieked as the clouds rose up to meet them, and Flitter shifted uncertainly in her seat. She could feel the air pressure changing in her ears, and she could see, beyond the clouds’ rim, the shapes of land features, small but grand. She knew they had probably descended a hundred or more feet in the space of a minute, and they weren’t stopping.

Finally, unable to resist, she turned for a quick peek behind. The play of shadow and light through the shell of her world had never been so structured; beams and columns of light appeared to hold up a loft of shadowy earth far above them, their edges soft as if with magic, as if they had entered into the enchanted foundation of the world. Her keen eyes perceived, as well, needles of flame, and she realized with a start that they belonged to the chasers.

“We’re gonna turn around in a second here,” Windy said. “We’re gonna fly through our little buddies up there and get back to the forest, just as quick as we can. Ready?”

Flitter looked back where she was supposed to, a bolt of fear causing her to tense her wings against the seat back. She had never felt so vulnerable and so lost, hurtling through pure open space. She doubted she could fly back to safety on her own, if she had to.

Her cockpit was outfitted with a U-shaped cushion that went around her head, which always messed up her mane and often made her neck sore after a day of practice. In the space of a single second, Flitter realized its use as the world flipped around and almost tossed her out of her seat. No longer was she facing the storm that raged on the planet’s surface. She had only a moment to react as they entered into the concentrated storm of flaming chasers, the first one glancing off their side and sending sparks raining across their face as Windy Weathervane hit it with a fin and sent them spiraling upwards at a fast approaching pair of fireballs.

“Eight-two!” Flitter cried, shrinking back as the chaser disappeared in a sickening mixture of serene blue and pins of spitting white. They spun a full rotation only, long enough for her to get a look at the fast diminishing clouds below, and then spun back the other way as a different spotter cried out a direction. To her other side, the third spotter was watching their back, watching as the chasers turned their meteoric descent into a meteoric rise. More sparks flashed across the clear pane of enchanted wood that kept them contained.

Voices, her own often mixed in, began to escalate and overlap as chasers veered in from multiple sides. Numbers and corrections, as numerous as the embers that traced white hot striations across her eyes, flew inside the airship, and Windy Weathervane cackled as they wove and bounced upwards through the maelstrom of their own creation. Flitter’s ears popped without her noticing.

“Ready for the grand finale?” Windy Weathervane hollered when the voices died down. With all the chasers once again behind them, the ground was drawing near, and Flitter could see trees on a few inside edges.

No one replied, and he steered them, still at their earlier speed, in a wide circle and then at an oblique angle directly toward an edge. Flitter saw it early, but one of the other spotters did not, and screamed as they burst into the open mouth of a river. Water roared over their heads while silt billowed below, and, only a few seconds after, Flitter heard the enraged hiss of the superheated chasers hitting the water behind them.

They came to a rest on top of a wide, flat stone, and allowed the metal balls to catch them, streams of bubbles still rising from their surfaces as they gently adhered to the airship. Once the bubbles had stopped, Windy Weathervane floated them out and over to the starting area.

“Now was that a way to start the day, or wasn’t it?” he asked, puffing his chest and taking a deep breath of the brisk, morning air. “Ahhh. Nothing like it! And a fine job you all did, too. Composure mostly intact, as it should be.”

“How do you keep all our commands straight?” one spotter asked. “I could never follow three voices at once.”

“It’s actually not your voices I listen for, precisely, it’s the patterns. Why else would I impress the importance of standardized communication, hm? Let’s take a breather. Oh, and don’t touch the chasers; they’re still quite hot."

* * * * * *

Everyone trusted Twilight and Fluttershy to represent their interests to Gold Ribbon, so, while the two of them were in his office, everyone else went out for breakfast. At sunrise, they had taken off and flown over to the mountains, where there clung a small village of stone and moss to the aqueduct ruins, long ago dried up.

“This used to be the center of Equestrian commerce,” Vinyl said over a flute of white wine. They sat on a cracked dais, its surface embossed with depictions of ponies carrying jugs and pitchers of water. Once the crown of a multi-channeled tower, it had been converted into a patio for the few ponies with money enough to eat out. They had been served by a courteous, but poorly groomed, earth pony with a grape vine cutie mark, Trottingham’s answer to Ponyville’s generic hourglass mark. Only a couple other diners were in view, but Vinyl, Applejack, Rarity, Rainbow, and Big Mac had the patio to themselves.

“We were here when it was still active,” Applejack said. “Ah’d say it was probably on the decline then, but nothin’ too severe had happened yet.”

“We fought a monster here,” Rainbow said. “On the vineyard, actually. I think you can see it from here.”

“It’s probably overgrown by now,” Rarity said.

“Hope not.” She stood up to get a better look. “Eh, I can’t see it. Maybe you’re right.”

“What kind of monster?” Vinyl asked.

“A bunch of barrels.” She grinned at Vinyl’s skeptical look. “Discord got a bunch of wine barrels and stuck ‘em together, then made them come alive.”

“Like a golem,” Applejack said. “That’s the word, right?”

“You must have defeated it, since you’re all right here,” Vinyl said.

“It was no sweat,” Rainbow said.

“Yes it was,” Applejack said. “We had a bad time of it. Twi wound up with a concussion, if Ah recall.”

“That’s right,” Rarity said. “It wasn’t easy, Vinyl.”

“Still, you did it,” Vinyl said. “That must have felt good.”

“Only once we’d gotten out of here. There was… quite a bit more unpleasantness than that.”

“Yer referrin’ to the Astras an’ Thunderhead?” Applejack asked.

“Yes, and Octavia’s little stunt with their crow.”

“Now this I have to hear about,” Vinyl said.

“Do ya know what we’re talkin’ ‘bout when we talk ‘bout their crow?” Big Mac asked.

“Oh yeah. I’ve wanted to see it for as long as I can remember.”

“You might get the chance,” Rarity said. “They’re still out there somewhere, and we still have one more Element to go. Who knows where we’ll have to go?”

“Have we decided, ladies?” the waiter asked, bowing as he did so.

They placed their orders, and Vinyl got a refill on her wine.

“So, the crow?” she asked. “Octavia did something with it?” Her horn glowed a soft sepia. “Of course it would be her. She’s reckless.”

“She’s saved us too many times to count,” Rainbow said.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“But she is,” Applejack said. “Yer right on the money on that.”

“She rode it,” Rarity said. “Climbed up on its back and rode it across the city, to head off Thunderhead.”

“Hootchie mama,” Vinyl said, eyebrows climbing up over her goggles. “Not what I was expecting.”

“Yer glad you missed it, big bro,” Applejack said.

“Yes Ah am,” he said. “Most of this stuff is too rich fer my blood, or it’s supposed to be.”

“These last few days have been quite tame, though,” Rarity said. “We just need to not get involved in anything untoward, and we’ll be golden.”

“Yeah, just in time for Snowdrift, too,” Rainbow said.

“Speakin’ of untoward, how are you takin’ Lacey bein’ here?” Applejack asked.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Rarity said. She looked into the distance, holding a soup spoon in her magic.

“It’s totally okay if you don’t wanna tell me, but what happened?” Vinyl asked.

The spoon bent in the air. “We were manipulated and betrayed, me particularly. I’ll leave it at that.”

Vinyl faced her, as if appraising her response. “Severely? It must have been, for the reaction you had yesterday.”

“As I said, I’ll leave it at that.”

“Vinyl, it was rotten what that mare did,” Applejack said.

“She deserves to rot in Tartarus,” Rarity said, setting the spoon down gently.

“Dang,” Vinyl said. “That bad?”

“I understand why we’re helping her here, I’m not going to let my feelings blind me to that, but, girls—and Big Mac—I must admit some rather… strong feelings.” She quieted. “Stronger than I’ve let on.”

“That’s only natural,” Applejack said, reaching over to rub her back.

“I didn’t want to make a big deal of it in front of Twilight last night.”

“Yeah, thanks for including us in that conversation, by the way,” Vinyl said.

“It just happened, it wasn’t planned,” Rainbow said, looking at her over the menu, which the waiter had neglected to take back.

“Ah kept you occupied away from them fer a reason,” Big Mac whispered in her ear. She only looked at him, perplexed, and he shrugged.

“How do you feel, Rarity?” Applejack asked. “Honestly, no sugarcoatin’.”

Rarity took a deep breath. “No sugarcoating, okay. Yes, well, quite frankly, I think Lacey Kisses needs to stay here and waste away. I think she deserves to see her money dwindle, and then her possessions, until she’s living under one of these broken aqueducts somewhere. After that, maybe lightning can strike her, I don’t know.”

Applejack nodded solemnly.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Vinyl asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rarity asked.

“Can you just let her talk?” Rainbow asked.

“I was done. I’ve… well, I have a lot of practice, saying it to myself.” A deep-set frown appeared on her face. “I hate this pony.”

“Hate’s a strong word,” Applejack said.

“It’s how I feel. No sugarcoating.”

“Why not bring this up last night?” Big Mac asked. “Why did ya not want Twilight to know?”

Rarity’s frown deepened.

“Rarity? You okay?”

“Because it wouldn’t do any good. She’s the leader, and I could tell her mind was made up. Better to keep my mouth shut and get along than make a big fuss over something I can’t change.”

“Twilight’s not the leader,” Rainbow said. “None of us are. This is a team.”

“No, Ah think Ah know what you mean,” Applejack said. “There’s been kind of a, a sense, Ah s’pose, of authority ever since Ah came back. Ah know she’s been actin’ like she’s more in charge.”

“She’s not like that ordinarily?” Vinyl asked. “Sorry, I didn’t know the dynamic before.”

“No, yer fine.”

“Twilight’s less considerate of other ponies’ opinions,” Rarity said. “She’s less thoughtful, and quicker to spring into action than usual.”

“Bringin’ me back really did a number on her, huh?”

“There’s nothing like it, dear, truly. Talking about it like this, I do understand somewhat where Twilight’s coming from. She must have felt a little like Celestia when you opened your eyes again.”

“No reason why we should feel like we can’t speak our minds around her, though,” Vinyl said.

“I do it,” Rainbow said.

“I’ll bet if you told Twilight how you feel, she’d have no idea she’s making you feel that way.”

“You’re probably right,” Rarity said. “But I shouldn’t be feeling this way at all. The Element of Generosity shouldn’t have room in her heart for hate.”

Vinyl’s horn glowed again, rose. “I remember something Twilight told me in Applewood. You may be the Elements, but you’re not perfect, and you’re not out here with friendship as the primary goal. I’d say some hard feelings here and there are reasonable. To be expected, even.”

“Let’s not go validatin’ hatred,” Applejack said. “If that’s what it is. Ah don’t mean to belittle yer feelin’s, but you could just be sore ‘cause you saw her yesterday.”

“Sure,” Rarity said with a shrug.

Applejack scrutinized her for a minute, then shrugged herself.

The day passed slowly and without diversion; their sole task had been addressed that morning, and they had two days to wait before Gold Ribbon said an airship could be ready for Lacey. Twilight had written a check for thirty-five hundred bits, made payable to The Water Loop, and kept it in one of her books. Gold Ribbon, when questioned, had assured her that he had a place to cash it, but volunteered no further information.

By sundown, restlessness had overtaken the crew, and no amount of card games or reminiscing of home could dull it. By nine, Rainbow and Fluttershy had flown out over the barren, parched farmland, hoping to find Lacey and let her know of her impending departure; Big Mac and Vinyl went for a walk amongst the ruins. For a time, Applejack remained with Twilight and Rarity, but she reluctantly volunteered to watch the ship when it became clear that they, too, were aching to go elsewhere. The two unicorns decided to walk into the small village. They had seen its buildings all along the mountain’s slopes, but hadn’t ventured far that morning or afternoon, which had been spent going over plans for Lacey and for Snowdrift afterwards.

The road was swept but unpaved, guarded on both sides by spindly branch and twine rails. Dried flowers bobbed their heads in a chilly wind, and, above, the stout stone faces of buildings seemed to wink at them as heat lightning fluttered overhead. Another storm was coming, more work for Gold Ribbon and his Water Loop.

It was just beginning to sprinkle when Twilight and Rarity reached a stretch of level ground where waited a dark, gray building whose corners were overgrown with soft grass, as if the ground were in the early stages of subsuming the structure. Just past, lantern lights waved behind the smudged glass of a castle-like pub. Its roof was a sharp, shingled cone from which waved a blue and white pendant, the same colors represented on the round sign that creaked as the wind moved it under the shadows of mossy crenelations.

Twilight and Rarity were able to get seats at the bar beside a pair of denim-clad farmers who gave them a casual look and nothing more. Both unicorns had left their Elements back on the ship, not wanting to be so easily recognized.

For a while, neither said much. Twilight took small, grudging sips of her ale while Rarity stared into her martini, prepared, it seemed to her, by someone who had never done more than pour into a glass.

“Question,” Rarity finally said, giving up on her drink and ordering what Twilight had gotten.

“Go ahead,” Twilight said.

“Do you think of yourself as the leader of this group?”

Twilight paused. “Not really.”

“Maybe a little?”

“Maaaaaaybe. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“What is it?”

Rarity sipped her ale, hating it just as much as her martini, but determined to finish it. “I know it’s too late to do anything about it now, but I don’t think we should have had Gold Ribbon help Lacey.”

“I know you’re still angry with her, but, like I said last night—what?”

Rarity had slouched in her seat and took another difficult swig of her drink.

“What’s wrong?”

“This is why I didn’t bring it up last night. I knew it wouldn’t do any good.”

Twilight frowned.

“Can I talk now?”

“Sorry, yes, please. Go ahead.”

“I believe that Lacey is getting what she deserves, and sending her to Canterlot is rewarding her for living how she does. She’s a poisonous mare, and we’re allowing her free access to the big city. To me, that’s stupid.”

Twilight glanced at Rarity’s glass to see how much she had drank, a detail that Rarity didn’t miss. “I don’t think it’s our place to mete out judgment for past mistakes.”

“We’re doing it to Discord. We’re doing it to Gold Ribbon—if we didn’t care about his ‘past mistakes’, we wouldn’t be making him do anything to earn that check you wrote. We’d just give it to him and be on our way. Frankly, I think we should have just left him and washed our hooves of all this mess.”

“We can’t just do that, though.”

“That’s hypocrisy, then,” Rarity said, pushing back a hotter retort. “You say we shouldn’t pass judgment on those who wronged us, but you preach intervention wherever you see injustice.”

“I’m not saying we should intervene everywhere. Like this time, for instance, I just think we should give him the money so nothing bad happens.” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “We’re just trying to get by, Rarity. Nothing more.”

“Getting by, but also helping that nag who stabbed me in the back.”

Twilight sighed.

“What is so bad about letting someone suffer for their own mistakes?”

“I think she’s—”

“You think she’s suffered enough. Well, I don’t.”

Twilight took another drink. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Who does it sound like?”

“I don’t know, but not you.”

Rarity threw a dark look at a table of ponies she could see pointing at them in the bar mirror.

“I’ve never known you to be mean like this. To wish pain on someone else.”

“Well, I’m not the Element of Kindness,” Rarity said sulkily.

Twilight thought and sipped. Rarity could see frustration building in her friend’s expression. “Would you do to her what she did to you?”

“It wouldn’t work.”

“Something equivalent, then?”

“Without hesitation.”

Twilight took another sip. “You would?”

“Happily.” Rarity looked at the ponies again, and one of them got up.

“I don’t think I believe that.”

“Ladies, my friends and I were wondering if you’d like to sit at our table. A couple of us are leaving, and we’d love the company.” He was broad-shouldered and short, a toothpick moving jauntily as he spoke. His tail curled back strangely, as if bent out of place.

Rarity and Twilight looked at each other and got up. The table was cluttered with drinks, coasters, and open notebooks, the ponies seated at it all talking boisterously amongst themselves. They seemed no threat; Twilight noticed that no one hastened to close the notebooks as they approached, and Rarity noticed that none of them paid their arrival much attention, until they sat down.

“You are—right? Twilight Sparkle and Rarity?” a teenage filly asked, eyes gleaming under a wide straw hat. “You’re my heroes, both of you, really!”

“We, eh, don’t want a lot of ponies knowing we’re here,” Rarity said.

“Neither do we,” the broad-shouldered pony said. “We’re—hey, Vintage! Over here.” He hopped up to wave another pony over, and Twilight scooted over to give her room, not recognizing her at first.

“Well, it sure is good to see you two again,” the brown earth pony said. Her freckled muzzle and marbled red and blue mane looked familiar to Rarity, but Twilight stared at her. “Last time you were here, you restored my vineyard and smashed some of my best barrels.” She hugged Twilight. “It really is good to see you again.”

“I’m sorry?” Rarity said.

“Vintage,” the pony said. “You stayed with me while you were recovering.”

“No, that I remember. I just didn’t have your name. Vintage, it’s great to see you again.” She gave Vintage a firm hoofshake. “I’m happy to know you’ve made it in this town.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Vintage said. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce my other friends.” She indicated the stallion who had brought them over. “This is Heart of Palm, and this is Copper Wire, Fruit Tree, Saturday Sun, and Moment’s Notice.”

The teenage filly, Saturday Sun, pumped Rarity’s hoof. “It’s great to see you two, really!”

“Are you old enough to drink?” Rarity asked, and the table laughed.

“So what happened?” Twilight asked. “When did Trottingham become… this?”

“Trottingham is dead,” Copper Wire said in a breezy voice, her sea-green mane hanging over her eyes and touching the rim of her glass. “You’re in The Mountain Zone now.”

“We couldn’t hold on without the aqueducts,” Heart of Palm said. “We tried to repair them, but it was impossible. We had to move up here, where we could still reach the old reservoirs.”

“And by the time we had this town established, the rains were starting to come down,” Saturday Sun said. “Then The Water Noose showed up.”

“The Water Noose?” Twilight asked. “Gold Ribbon’s company?”

“That’s what we call it,” Vintage said. “A lot of us aren’t particularly happy about the recent state of affairs.”

“What’s going on up there?” Twilight asked, looking out the window. From where she sat, she could see a dark bore hole in the mountain, its mouth lit weakly, but enough to show the straight lines and sharp angles of machines huddled around. Dark shapes moved among them, some holding lanterns, many not.

“Mining,” Fruit Tree said. He was a pastel pink unicorn with pale blue eyes and a shaved mane. In the bar’s light, it looked like he had no fur at all. “For more water.”

“They’re searching for more water? Why?” Rarity asked. “I thought you were all taken care of.”

“‘Taken care of’ is about right,” Heart of Palm said. “You know what the tax is for basic water delivery? Seventy-five percent.”

“What?” Twilight blurted. She had been watching the ponies on the mountain, trying to see more of their operation, but jerked her gaze back to the burly farmer. His toothpick had switched sides.

“Three quarters,” Saturday Sun said. “Rotten, huh?”

“Why is it so high?”

“He’s extorting them,” Rarity said. “Or embezzling, or something.” She paused as thunder crashed overhead. “Rainbow Dash was right, he is Mansel scum.”

“Who’s Mansel?” Vintage asked.

While Rarity explained, Twilight watched the village outside. Rain-lashed and dark, The Mountain Zone looked more like a ruin than the remnants of Trottingham. No ponies moved in her view, except those at the cavern’s mouth, and no signs gave away a population larger than what fit in their bar. She drank her ale without recoiling, finally accustomed to the bitter flavor. A pegasus flew over a distant rise in the ground and pelted over the buildings, heading for the mountain crew. A minute later, an earth pony raced up the road, the lantern chained to her neck swinging recklessly. She made for the bar.

The door flew open, and the new pony, breathless, half-shouted something that Twilight did not make out, but everyone else did. At the cue, nearly half the bar rose as one, tankards and glasses clunking onto tables and chairs scraping. Their table was among them, and Twilight saw the earth pony fade into the darkness between buildings as she rose herself.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Rarity asked as ponies began pushing out into the wet street. She and Twilight followed, confused and worried, shoved along by the mass movement of so many agitated bodies.

Lightning crackled above them, a long bolt that lit on a mountain farther north of town, and wet ponies scattered, some into houses and some down the same road the first pony had taken.

“You get out of here, Elements,” Saturday Sun said, pushing at Twilight and Rarity fearfully. “You can’t be seen here!” Then she joined the retreating mob, kicking up mud as she went down the road.

“What’s going on?” Rarity asked again, to no one. In the space of a minute, she and Twilight were the only ones outside the bar.

“Come on,” Twilight said, jogging to an empty triangle of grass beside a collapsed house. Using a chunk of fallen aqueduct to brace herself, she rose up to look over the rise at the dark, windswept valley below, the original site of Trottingham. She could still see their airship, and momentarily imagined Applejack trying to keep herself occupied in the cold and the rain.

“Those lights,” Rarity said, pointing at twin pin pricks of light sliding along below. “Someone’s coming. Is that what everyone’s so afraid of?”

“It’s just a car,” Twilight said.

Rarity was silent for a second. “Twilight, who’s the only pony in this city we know who has a car?”

“Whippoorwill. But what’s the problem with that?”

The car turned slowly onto a larger path and briefly vanished behind a patch of trees. When they spotted it again, it was past their ship, and heading their way.

“Let’s hide,” Rarity said. “I don’t know what’s going on up here, but I don’t want to be on the receiving end.”

“Right,” Twilight said, following her. With only a dim horn-light, they crept into the collapsed house and found a window that afforded them a good view of the street that Whippoorwill was using.

“Turn off that light,” someone whispered from behind, and they both jumped. The voice laughed nervously. “Sorry. Thought you saw me go in here. C’mon, if he sees you with us, it’ll be our end.”

Twilight snuffed her light and they crouched at a window, empty of glass. The rain was slanting away from them, but there was a biting draft from behind, through the broken door.

“What in the world is going on?” Rarity asked again, softly.

After what felt like twenty minutes of silent waiting, nervous breathing, and hammering rain, Whippoorwill’s headlights came up over the rise and cruised slowly past. In the dark, his car appeared even sharper and more sinister, its flat, black hood bearing down on their hiding place for only a second, and long enough to make Rarity hold her breath. Its windows were tinted and its windshield wipers were racing to keep up with the storm. Its white wheel rims were spattered with mud, and, as it moved up the path to climb the mountain, she saw that it had no license plate.

Only when he was fully out of sight did Rarity and Twilight relax. “So what’s he doing here?” Twilight asked. “And why are we afraid of him?”

“Heard you talkin’ about Gold Ribbon, familiar-like. I expect that’s why you don’t know; he’s Gold Ribbon’s attack dog,” the voice in the shadows said. “Those ponies up there? Trying to find a fresh source of groundwater, or a better way into the deep aquifers inside the mountain, so we don’t have to rely on The Water Loop.”

“He has a monopoly on your water, that’s what they said in the bar,” Rarity said.

“That’s right. You can’t make a living with three quarters of what you make going back to the bastard who owns your city, but we’re powerless. Pony can’t go without water, after all.”

“And he sends Whippoorwill to do… what?” Twilight asked.

“To shut down our operation. If we find our own water, he’ll sink, and he knows it. He has to keep us reliant.”

“Shut down, as in incarcerate the ponies up there?”

“No jails in The Mountain Zone, Twilight Sparkle.”

“Twilight, we can’t pay off this creep,” Rarity said.

“Pay off?” the voice asked.

“It’s complicated,” Twilight said. She could see Whippoorwill making his way up the mountain again, winding up the narrow road toward the mining operation. If the ponies hadn’t seen him earlier, Twilight thought, they certainly would now. He made no effort to conceal himself.

“How many other ‘attack dogs’ does Gold Ribbon have?” Rarity asked.

“Just the one, but it’s enough,” the voice said. “They say Whippoorwill’s the most powerful unicorn south of Canterlot. You don’t fight him and walk away from it.”

“He can’t be that powerful,” Twilight said.

“I can’t speak for what others’ve said, but I once saw him throw one of those big yellow diggers, what’cha call ‘em, right off a cliff.” As if ashamed of his own fear, the voice added, quieter, “plus, none of us know how to move the water like Gold Ribbon, and we do need it.”

Twilight stood up, and Rarity put a hoof on the windowsill. She thought she knew what Twilight was thinking, and wanted to be ready to help.

The car stopped, but the lights stayed on. Lightning flashed, but they were too far to see any details. Before Twilight could form a plan, there was a bright yellow plume of flame, catching the underside of a tree for a second before the rain put it out. Tiny, thin voices popped and chattered.

“He’s gonna offer ‘em a deal,” the voice said. “Leave town, or die. Same result either way, if you ask me.”

“He’s going to kill them, on the spot?” Rarity asked, appalled.

“If’n they don’t accept his deal, yeah. Like I said, no jails in The Mountain Zone. Lots of room for graves, though.”

“Twilight, we can’t let him do this.”

Another flash of fire burst up at the cavern’s mouth, and his car blended into the rock and shadow.

“That’s their machines he’s burning,” the voice said. “He’s giving ‘em a warning.”

“Can you teleport that far?” Rarity asked.

“Not safely,” Twilight said.

“You don’t have to get involved on our account,” the voice said.

“We can’t let you stay like this,” Twilight said back into the darkness. Lightning flashed and she looked up again, thinking it was another explosion.

Twilight’s blood turned to ice as a sudden flurry of lights flashed at the cavern’s entrance. A confetti spray of colorful magic flew through the air and mingled with the lightning and rain, but the largest light by far was a mild, sand-colored shield that sparked and flickered as the attacking magic chipped at it. Another tail of flame sprouted and withered, and then, without warning, the shield flew apart. Rarity gasped beside Twilight, who could only watch in mute astonishment as small figures filled the air with the larger forms of their vehicles. A digger tumbled and paused, its arm hooked on a tree, before slowly rejoining the small avalanche of machinery.

“Guess they took the quick way out,” the voice said. “Hope I’d have the courage to do the same.”

“He’s going to just get away with that?” Twilight demanded. “He… that son of a nag.” She scoffed and looked around, trying not to see too much of the lights coming up along the mountainside.

“But he’s just one, and there’s hundreds of you,” Rarity said.

The voice only sighed.

“Well, someone has to do something,” Twilight muttered angrily, and Rarity knew they were going to go back into the weather. She followed Twilight meekly, her earlier anger forgotten, as they went down the road until they could see the advance of Whippoorwill’s headlights.

“What’s the plan?” Rarity asked.

“We’re going to hide behind that garden gate, and when he comes by, I’ll grab his car and shake him out of it.”

“And what then?” They crouched behind the cool iron gate.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I can’t take another life.” She looked Rarity in the eyes. “And I don’t want you to either.”

“I don’t think I could.”

They were silent, and the headlights dipped and emerged from a copse of trees, closer and moving fast.

“I could try to teleport him out into the country somewhere, far from here. Or we can bind him and bring him… no, that’d be too far.”

“We could just write the princesses, and leave it at that,” Rarity said.

“I’m not waiting for them to find time for this.”

“What about Gold Ribbon? What are we going to do with his money?”

Twilight didn’t respond, only watched the car draw nearer. She could make out its shape among the shadows, could hear its tires laboring in the mud. Her breathing was hard and her skin tingled, her horn lit preemptively.

“He doesn’t even have that shield around his car,” Rarity said. “Arrogant cad.”

“Just as he’s passing, I’m going to do it.”

They waited and watched, feeling much the same as they had inside the collapsed house, as he closed the distance.

Twilight didn’t say anything when she cast her spell. She simply stood up and the black car followed her example, slamming to a halt and turning lazily in the air until its front end hit the ground with a shockingly loud clap.

Before either pony could react, the sandy shield formed, in one instant a little bead of sunshine behind the tinted glass, in the next a concussive wall of magic that slammed both of them back into the house and rattled the gate. The car hit the ground with a shuddering sound, and the engine wheezed as Twilight got to her hooves, blinking rapidly to clear the harsh afterimage.

The car trundled down the path and managed to pick up speed just as it reached the top of the rise. Without thinking, Twilight took off after it, her horn alight and a smaller shield forming around her. Rarity raced to follow her, though the wind had been knocked out of her.

The car bumped and yawed down the path, and Twilight could see that one wheel had been knocked out of alignment. Still, she could not run as fast as Whippoorwill could drive, and she didn’t want to lift the car again. It had taxed her magic more than she had expected, though, she thought as she ran, she shouldn’t be surprised; she hadn’t practiced in a while.

“Twilight, wait!” Rarity cried behind, but Twilight didn’t look back. Her heart was racing and her mind was aflame with anger. The pony before her had destroyed countless days of planning and work, and the lives behind them, as casually as someone kicking over a sandcastle, and all he wanted to do after that was go home in his fancy car.

Making a snap decision, Twilight lit her horn and, taking only the shortest time to focus on her destination, teleported to a clear spot by the road. She slipped on the mud as she came out of the spell, but was still able to throw up a wall of magic to hold the car in place, remembering too to add strength to her own shield.

When Whippoorwill’s spell exploded outwards again, Twilight’s shield faded momentarily, but did not buckle, and she could feel the power inside her horn burning slowly. It was a pleasurable feeling, a confident feeling, and she used it to rip one door open, then completely off. Glass scattered out to dust the soaked grass.

A quick duo of magical pulses glanced off her shield, and she looked in time to see Whippoorwill dodging out the car’s other side. He dashed into the road, and, with a screech of twisted metal and broken plastic, wrenched the other door off and held it aloft.

His body was scarcely visible in the darkness, but his contrasting mane was, as was the magic that slithered across his horn. Twilight could tell by its opacity the power that he had, and saw, with a moment of fear, that the voice in the room had not exaggerated as much as she had hoped.

He slowly put down his pulse crystal, but did not lower the car door. Twilight raised hers to match, two fencers at the ready on opposite sides of the road.

“Ah didn’t peg ya as the type, Miss Sparkle,” Whippoorwill said. He was dressed more formally than the day before, his black suit jacket protected from the rain by a thin skin of magic. In the whipping wind, the only loose articles on his body were the same eye-shaped bola tie and the cold, white corner of his pocket square.

“What type?”

“The type to fra-ter-nize with terrorists. The type to say one thing an’ then do exactly another.”

“Terrorists? Those farmers you threw off the mountain, you mean?”

“Eco terrorists, Miss Sparkle.” He took on a cordial tone, so smooth and sincere that Twilight almost lowered her improvised weapon. “Ah was plannin’ on sittin’ ya down an’ explainin’ everythin’, but Ah can see yer curiosity got the better of ya. Ah’m sorry we have to reach this topic on such violent terms, but you left me little choice.” He chuckled. “That was my favorite car, by the way; Ah’ll be wantin’ some restitution for it. We can talk about that later, though.”

“You’re squeezing them out of their way of life with your big business,” Twilight said. “They just want to be left alone, and not have their water held hostage.”

Whippoorwill took half a step back and tilted his head. “Well golly, Ah hope this whole affair ain’t the result of some sort of misunderstandin’,” he said. “It ain’t my business that’s doin’ the squeezin’.”

“No, you’re just the one helping Gold Ribbon to keep it that way, that’s all.”

He shrugged. “Stallion’s gotta make a livin’ somehow. These are rough times, as you, of all ponies, well know.”

She looked up at his car door, still held tight, ready to swing down on her or sweep across the road. She had hoped to keep him talking and tire him out, but his magic hadn’t wavered one iota.

“Let’s put down our weapons,” Twilight suggested. He may match her in stamina, but he may not in reflexes.

“If’n you please,” he said, taking the pulse crystal back out. “You first.”

“You won’t shoot me. I’m the Element of Magic.”

“Now, Miss Sparkle, Ah’m not sure Ah follow that logic. Seems to me Discord an’ his friends are all quite content to hurt you. Ah don’t see that Ah shouldn’t be, acceptin’ it’s gonna one of us who goes underground tonight. Given the choice, Ah’d prefer it be you.”

“I’d like to see you try that.”

He brought the pulse crystal up and pointed it at her, but didn’t fire. The car door streamed with rain, and lightning flashed in its window.

She brought her door higher in response.

“If you intend to do somethin’, Ah suggest you do it soon,” he said.

Twilight was afraid to take her eyes off him. She had foolishly attacked someone more willing to do her harm than she was to him, and had gotten herself into a standoff. She could break his shield, but he would be far from harmless; moreover, he had seen her with the other ponies, and would tell Gold Ribbon at his next chance. She would be lucky to escape Trottingham without harm to herself or her friends, she knew, all because of a momentary impulse.

“Unless…” she thought, an idea rising out of her discouragement. She smiled to herself, and tried to keep her voice from showing the sudden, shaking sense of relief at finding her solution. “You better back off, Whippoorwill. Last chance.”

Whippoorwill turned swiftly and ducked into an oncoming gust of wind, his magic flashing out and engulfing the car. In an instant, Twilight’s eyes were seared as the black metal turned orange and then white, and a deafening thunderclap popped inside her ears. Fire poured upwards with a spiraling column of smoke as the car bucked and separated, its underside flying in one direction and shards of its chassis exploding outwards. Her shield held, and kept her from being thrown back, but she hadn’t expected the noise or the light.

Something heavy smashed off her shield and bounced into the grass beside the road as she took off running for shelter. She could feel smaller pieces of debris hitting her shield, but could see only a brilliant white field imposed on the weak lining of the car, a rosy tinge surrounding all. She rubbed her eyes to no avail.

Resting against a tree to catch her breath, she tried to see where Whippoorwill had gone, knowing it impossible. She would simply have to wait for her vision to come back and trust in her shield to prevent any further attacks. She cursed herself; there was a spell to temporarily give herself artificial senses, but she had never bothered to commit it to memory.

Far off, she heard shrill screaming. She wanted to yell back and tell Rarity to keep her distance, but knew it would do no good.

Lightning flashed, and she was able to see it, as well as hear its thunder. Her head lolled back and forth for a second as she tried to parse the night sky. She could see a little better, and got back on the road, going as close to the wreck as she dared. The rain had put out the worst of the flames, but she could still smell fresh smoke and feel a powerful wave of heat coming from its middle.

“Where’d you go, you scum?” she whispered, pushing herself a little closer to the car to shield herself from any pulse crystal shots. Uncertainly, she picked up her car door again, spun far off into the mud, but unharmed.

She snapped her head up at the sound of magic. Back up the road, she was able to see the last second of Whippoorwill’s sandy shield bursting outwards and sparking against Rarity’s smaller one.

Twilight made no effort to sneak. She galloped through the mud and the rain, almost slipping several times, straight at the ducking and weaving form of Whippoorwill’s mane, the only part of him that was clearly visible. With just a moment spared to make sure his shield was still up, she put more of her magic on the car door and swung it down fast enough to make a thunderous, shredding noise; hard enough to shatter it entirely against his magic.

Whippoorwill stumbled as his shield went out, and Twilight, ready, hit him with a bolt of raw telekinesis, only powerful enough to knock him off his hooves.

“Stay back!” she shouted, preparing her last spell. She hadn’t the time to hope that Rarity had heard or heeded the warning; even as the magic leapt off the tip of her horn, Whippoorwill was rising and trying to aim his pulse crystal.

He stopped, stunned, as the magic hit him in the face. The faded remnant of his shield vanished, and his pulse crystal drooped at his side. He was only just able to catch himself with the upraised hoof.

“We have to go, now,” she said, not turning to him but running past Rarity, panting where she stood.

“What did you do?”

“Now!”

The two mares galloped back up the road to the dark cluster of buildings, and Rarity put a thinner shield around them to keep the rain out of their eyes. When they reached the bar, its lights still on but most of its patrons gone, the few that remained at the window to see the ruckus, they were able to stop.

“I hit him with a memory spell,” Twilight said between long, deep breaths. “Wiped his memory of this whole day. Now he won’t be able to tell Gold Ribbon he saw us up here.”

Rarity craned her neck to look down the road. From where they stood, a scant forty feet away, there was no evidence that there had been a unicorn fight. The car fire had been smothered, and the smoke blended into the night.

“Thanks for helping me. I didn’t see what you did, but it kept him distracted.”

“I just rushed him,” Rarity said, wiping her mane out of her eyes. “I tried to use one of those force spells you showed me. At least, I think it was you.”

They began walking again, Twilight leading them past the bar to a smaller road behind it, which, after a moment of study, they saw would take them close to the ship. They would need to cut through some field to reach the lot where they were parked.

“Might have been Celestia, I don’t remember,” Rarity added.

“We can’t let him see us up here again,” Twilight said. “We can’t give him any reason to think we were involved.”

“How, er, thorough were you?”

“Not as thorough as I could have been. I don’t know how much Gold Ribbon knows about memory restoration, but I don’t want him to think someone with much skill cast this spell.” She smiled at Rarity. “Hopefully, they just chalk it up to a lucky shot by one of those farmers he killed.”

“But won’t we be in huge trouble if they recover his memory?”

“Hopefully, we’ll be gone by then.” Twilight stopped, thinking she heard hoofsteps nearby. When she was sure they were still alone, she kept going. “If not, I don’t know. At least next time we’ll know what to expect.”

When they got back, Applejack was still the only one there. She watched them board the ship with a small smirk. “Can you two ever go out an’ not get in trouble? What the hay happened up there?”

“You saw all that?” Twilight asked.

“It took me ‘bout two seconds to realize it wasn’t lightnin’. Ah take it yer okay? Come on, let’s hear this story.”

* * * * * *

Sunrise was Whippoorwill’s favorite time of the day. A new day, a new sun, a new light parting his curtains and giving him a new spotlight before his mirror. He had made it back home around one a.m., having to walk when he discovered that his car had been destroyed; he guessed by his own magic, but couldn’t be sure.

He lived in a shed much like the other employees of The Water Loop, although his was only a few doors away from Gold Ribbon’s office, and filled with expensive trinkets. Each night, if he could spare the time, he enjoyed sitting on his chaise lounge with a tumbler of cognac and a thin, pale cigar, which he could slowly disintegrate into a crystal ashtray etched with his cutie mark, a florid bass clef. If he needed to dull a headache or any other injury received on the job, he had five bottles of ibuprofen, something the town had long run out of when it stopped importing. Better yet, he could walk over to Gold Ribbon’s house, on the other side of his office, whenever he wanted, and indulge in all manner of decadent dishes that the fat earth pony prepared for himself. He ate well, which meant that, often, so did Whippoorwill.

But, before anything, he had to look good. In the golden tumble of morning sunshine, he put the confusion of the night before out of his mind and focused on his wardrobe. First step: the shirt. He leafed through his closet and, after several minutes of indecision, selected a simple aquamarine button-down among more somber, businesslike fare; it fit a little snugly around the withers to accentuate his more triangular shape. Over that, a two-button suit jacket, iridescent white with navy trim, again helping his shape with its rigid, pointed shoulders. He was the type of pony to button both buttons.

He combed his mane until pink and orange were blended into the shining, helmet-like shape he preferred, then looked through his pants, paying them less attention than the shirt and jacket. Gold Ribbon liked to keep his cutie mark covered with wide cloaks and drapes, but Whippoorwill had never been able to make the look work for himself, something for which he envied his boss. He eventually settled on a pair of simple, black slacks, ironed the day before using one of the few private generators left in town. Lastly, he tucked a royal blue pocket square into his front pocket and donned his bola tie, the eye he had purchased years ago in Manehattan. It had been speckled with mud, which took him an hour the night before to clean to his satisfaction.

He allowed himself only a couple minutes of admiration before heading out the door, thinking once more of what may have happened to him. The fact that his mind was a blank was disturbing, but he tried to look on the bright side: he was alive.

In the main branch of The Water Loop, he bypassed his coworkers without even looking at them and made for Gold Ribbon’s office. There, he shared the troubling fact of his altered memory, and there he was patiently informed of what he had been assigned to do the night before.

“So Ah go up to the mountain to pay those water miners a fine ‘howdy doo,’ get in a scrape, an’ lose my memory along with my car. But Ah still shut down their operation, yer sayin’.”

“That is what I’m saying.” Gold Ribbon looked at Whippoorwill as if expecting a response.

“It’s… well, obviously, that wasn’t my intention.”

“Do any of these malcontents of yours have access to this kind of magic?” Gold Ribbon’s attention was divided between Whippoorwill and a folder full of charts and schedules, through which he sorted carefully as he spoke, rarely looking up.

“Ah s’pose one of ‘em must,” Whippoorwill said. “Couldn’t speculate who.”

“I advise you speculate harder, then. Find the pony who erased your memory and deal with them. Meanwhile, I’ll have someone contact you so we can begin rebuilding last night. It could be a lucky shot from someone who didn’t want to maim, but it could also be covering up something important.”

“Of course, sir.”

Gold Ribbon sighed and closed his folder. “I’m not happy that you allowed this to happen.”

Whippoorwill bowed his head after a moment of defiant indignation. He couldn’t defend himself; he had nowhere to start. Besides, perhaps it was entirely his fault, and he had simply forgotten the fact.

“The Elements of Harmony have magic enough to erase your memory.”

“Ah haven’t given ‘em any reason to do that to me. They know nothin’.”

“You know this?”

He paused, knowing what he was about to say would not please his boss. “Ah’m supposin’ it, sir.”

“I don’t pay you to simply suppose. We’ve been over this.” He looked at Whippoorwill as one would look at a fresh problem. “Because you failed to complete your assignment to my satisfaction, I have no choice but to deduct from your paycheck. You understand that, do you not?”

Whippoorwill only stared at him. He could feel his face reddening, but he was too stunned to reply. He only nodded, hoping to put as much hate into his eyes as he could.

“Even better, now I need you to take the day to investigate last night. Come back here at four. I’ll have someone to work on your memory by then.”

“Yes sir.”

Gold Ribbon gestured to the door, and Whippoorwill left, quietly seething. Outside the workplace, Gold Ribbon was a fine friend, but inside, he was unmerciful and easily displeased. Whippoorwill wondered, as he had many times before, whether Gold Ribbon was a boss first, or a friend. In his heart, he supposed he knew.

In a special room to which only he and Gold Ribbon had the key, he armed himself with a large, white pulse crystal, a cannon in comparison to the crystal he had found on himself the night before.

It was a pleasant day for a stroll, Whippoorwill thought without conviction, as he followed the damp path up to The Mountain Zone’s tiny settlement. His car still sat where he had left it, too disoriented and frightened the night before to attempt any sort of recovery. He paced around it impersonally, his nose burning from the persistent gasoline smell, his eyes slowly taking in details and peeling away the layers of mystery concerning its destruction.

The rain had washed away any tire tracks, but it was reasonable to assume that he had encountered his enemy on the return trip. He knew he had done what he was ordered to do up on the mountain.

The car doors, he noticed next, were not scorched as the rest of the machine was. Someone, possibly himself, had torn them away. If it was he, he thought, then it had been an ambush; he wouldn’t deface his own vehicle if he had time to think. The doors lay on opposite sides of the road, and, after a moment more of thought, he decided it was most likely he had held one and his attacker the other. It made sense; someone powerful enough to wipe his memory would also be powerful enough to yank his door off.

“So I run into someone down here who wants a piece of me, and we fight. She doesn’t kill me, though she probably had the power to. Maybe not, maybe she had help. How could they get through my shield? Was I distracted? Doubt it, but maybe.” He scratched a circle in the dried mud, frustrated. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that he had been distracted.

His mood was black when he finally reached the abandoned mining operation. He couldn’t shake the thought that he had been distracted or otherwise compromised, that he had been too proud of himself or too excited to be as careful as he should have. He felt stupid and angry, but he let nothing show on his face, even though he was alone on the windswept mountainside. Working for The Water Loop had taught him to conceal his emotions well.

Down amongst the trees and rocks, he could see the diggers he had tossed off. A group of ponies moved quietly below, finding the injured and the dead. The sight of it brought neither pride nor disgust to Whippoorwill.

“I come up here, ruin their operation, and apparently do fine. They only ambush me below, when I’m almost back home. Maybe someone who saw but wasn’t involved.” He thought, but no one came to mind. In The Mountain Zone, he was not often challenged, and never before had he been actually harmed. The town was populated exclusively of farmers and small laborers, many uneducated beyond their trades. For as long as he had worked under Gold Ribbon, he had been the most magically proficient pony, and most ponies quickly came to know what that meant.

Going back down, he wondered about the Elements of Harmony, whether they might have had cause to attack him after all. If they had seen him on the mountain, it was likely that at least one would come to The Mountain Zone’s aid.

By the time he had reached his car again, he was certain that one of the Elements had found him out. His identity was known—he never had reason to hide it, before—and it would be easy for someone to learn it, simply by visiting The Mountain Zone and speaking with one or two ponies there. If they had been in the area, and seen the flashy, intimidating display it was clear he had made, then they could have rushed him as he drove back into the valley.

Head buzzing with suspicion and worry as he returned to the office, the day gone too quickly, too much time spent walking and waiting for unanswerable questions to resolve themselves, Whippoorwill snapped at the receptionist who told him there was someone waiting in his office. With a mumbled apology, he hurried past.

As soon as the door was closed, he set his pulse crystal down on the desk between himself and the memory therapist. She eyed it with an unimpressed smile.

“Yer the pony?” he asked.

“Mr. Gold Ribbon appointed me to assist you with regaining your memory, Mr. Whippoorwill.” She looked into his eyes as she spoke, hers large and expressive, her lashes long and lustrous. Ridiculous, he thought, that they reminded him of his car.

“Ah’m afraid ya have me at a disadvantage, Miss…”

“Second Look. You can call me Look; most ponies do.”

Whippoorwill shook her hoof. She was a salmon-colored unicorn with the typical, farmland stoutness in her shoulders and her barrel. She wore thick glasses that made her large eyes even larger, almost grotesquely so, a fact not helped by her skull-short brown mane. He had seen her once or twice over the course of his work, but they had never met, though he had always thought her pretty in a homely way.

“Miss Look,” he said. “Pardon my askin’, but yer a true memory therapist? Here, in this wasteland?”

“I’m a cop, actually. Former cop.”

He stiffened in his seat as she fixed him with an empty, searching gaze.

“No fear, I mean you no harm. I work for The Loop just the same as you.”

“Well, that’s good,” he said with a forced chuckle.

“Shall we?”

“Oh, you mean right here, right now?”

“In my office, Mr. Whippoorwill.” She smiled unconvincingly. “You can leave the crystal behind.”

He rose and levitated it into its holster at his side. “Ah’ll put it back in its locker.”

She held the door for him and followed quietly behind while he put his crystal back, setting it on a rack beside five others, and then she took the lead out of the building and across the road to a fallow field.

“How far do we have to go to get to yer office?” he asked.

“A mile, give or take. I’m told you lost your car last night?”

“Yer told correct.” Whippoorwill saw her ear twitch as he spoke, and he thought he could see the minuscule change in her profile that would indicate a smile. From behind, it was hard to tell, but he decided he knew what he saw. He fixed her with a bitter glare as she led him deeper into the abandoned countryside, certain that she was judging him. Back in his office, from the first look, he had thought it a possibility.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Shouldn’t we wait ‘til we get to yer place?”

“It makes no difference for now.” She paused. “Unless you think it would.”

“Ah—”

“If you’d be more comfortable talking about it in an office setting, we can wait. I just figured I’d start now.”

“She wants to get this over with as fast as possible,” he thought. “Is it me? Did I make a bad impression?”

“Well? Which will it be?”

“Let’s wait,” he said. He wanted to trot ahead and walk alongside her, to ask her more about herself, but didn’t. He was too worried that she disliked him, and didn’t want to spoil the cold, but civil, way she was treating him.

They walked in silence for a while as more clouds sailed in from the north. They were in the midst of a long chain of rain clouds, which, according to Gold Ribbon’s schedule, would soon end and leave them with a month of very little. Ponies were scrambling to save as much water as they could to prepare for the drought.

“I’ve seen you around before,” Second Look said. “How did you come to work for The Loop? You don’t dress like someone from Trottingham, and you’re no farmer.”

“Ah come from the corner of Equestria, Snowdrift. Well, Ah was born there, anyway.”

“And then?”

“Moved up to Appleloosa when Ah was seven, me an’ a whole troupe of folks. There’s always some group or another goin’ between cities. Ponies in Snowdrift complain it’s too cold, ponies in Appleloosa complain it’s too dull. Ah can tell ya, they’re both right.”

“I’ve not been to either.”

“Yep, Ah expect not,” Whippoorwill said. “What ‘bout you? Native?”

“Roan, actually. I moved up here ten years ago. The police force in Roan wasn’t a good fit.”

“Ah see, Ah see.” He looked at her again, and realized that she hadn’t looked back at him once. His follow-up question died as he imagined with renewed bitterness that she had already come to dislike him.

“Shouldn’t be surprised,” he thought. “Everyone hates an attack dog.” For he knew that that was how ponies knew him.

Second Look’s office hove into view, a single-room shed of corrugated metal and empty windows that most likely doubled as her living quarters. A scrawny cat fled at their approach.

“It’s not much, but here we are,” she said, again holding the door for him.

“You said you were a former cop. What do you do now?” There was only one place for him to sit, and he took it.

“I get to file employee complaints and give pep talks to unhappy workers.” She sat on a straw mat and, with a tiny spell, lit a stick of incense.

“Livin’ the dream,” he said, and she smiled thinly.

“Let’s get started.”

“Course. How does this work? Yer not gonna invade my thoughts, are ya?”

“Hopefully not, but I may have to if we can’t rebuild your memory with standard techniques.” She looked him in the eyes again, and he felt suddenly guilty for the frown he was wearing for her. “If it comes to that, anything I find will be one hundred percent confidential.”

“Hope so.” His voice was low, the voice he used on ponies he wished to intimidate. Second Look glanced away with a blink and a pause before she began.

“What’s the last thing you remember before losing your memory?”

Second Look had plywood boards that she put up to keep the rain out of her shed. It was dark when the rain finally began to fall, and Whippoorwill was getting ready to leave.

“I want you to try not to think too much about the night in question,” she said. “You’ll only worry yourself, and anxiety makes it harder for us to rebuild your memory. It clouds thought.”

“Of course, makes sense,” Whippoorwill said. He felt defeated as he said it.

“I’ll come by and check in tomorrow afternoon, but I want to wait a little until our next session. Too much too soon is detrimental.”

“That’s fine. Ah could use the time to… relax, Ah s’pose.”

She gave him one of her anemic smiles. “You’ll be okay in the rain?”

“Ah’ve got the best shield out here. Ah won’t even be damp when Ah get back home.”

“Good. Have a nice night, Mr. Whippoorwill.”

He stepped into the cold rain, his sandy shield gleaming above his head as the water covered it. “You too, Miss Look.” The door closed before he was off the doorstep.

* * * * * *

All seven ponies sat in a circle on the airship deck, dry under Rarity’s shield and warm from Rainbow’s radiating magic, and played cards. Applejack had managed a pie from various berries Vinyl and Big Mac had picked earlier that day, and a single slice of it sat in its tin at the shield’s edge.

“So he has no idea what happened last night,” Vinyl said, voice raised against the rain. Between her hoof and the deck, she waggled a chip.

“I thought I saw him poking around earlier today,” Rainbow said. “I thought I saw that ugly mane on the path.”

“We have to assume he told his boss what happened,” Twilight said. “Which means he probably knows some things, like that he blew up that mining operation. That wasn’t random, that was planned; Gold Ribbon can just tell him he was assigned to it. I raise.”

“Ah fold,” Big Mac said.

“But he can’t pin anything on us, right?” Vinyl asked.

“I doubt it very much,” Twilight said.

“But what do we do?” Rainbow asked. “We’re safe from this Whippoorwill guy, but the other yahoos out here aren’t. As soon as we leave, they’re toast.”

“An’ we can’t just rely on Gold Ribbon needin’ ‘em fer the money,” Applejack said, pushing her chips into the middle. “Last night proves that. Whippoorwill seems free to blast to his heart’s content.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Twilight said. “Unfortunately, I don’t really have any ideas.”

“Well, they need him, like it or not,” Rarity said.

“They need water,” Vinyl said. “Maybe instead of directly getting back at Gold Ribbon, we find some way to help them find more water.”

“I mean, there’s only so much water to be had out here,” Rainbow said, folding as well.

“We also have to do it after we see Lacey off,” Twilight said. “I know, Rarity, I know. She said she’d be ready?”

“She doesn’t have anything to pack,” Rainbow said. “So yeah, she’ll be ready. She’s ready now.”

“Could we get her to help?” Vinyl asked. “Or do something on her own?”

“She won’t care, as long as she’s safe,” Rarity said, putting her chips in. “And if you think I believe that raise, dear, you’re strongly mistaken.”

Twilight rolled her eyes.

“Wait, hang on,” Applejack said. “There is water close by.”

“Where?” Rarity asked.

“We passed a whole lake of it just before gettin’ to town, behind that monster dam. It’s just sittin’ there, waitin’ fer ponies to scoop it up.”

“Holy crap, that’s right,” Rainbow said. “Wait, but that’s way out there. It’s close by airship, but I sure don’t think they have any airships hiding in those dingy little shacks.”

“I’ve seen some tiny airships,” Vinyl said, folding.

“Well, we can’t give them a ride, if that’s where this is going,” Twilight said. “How about this? It’s easy. Well, not easy for them, exactly. I’ll just throw up a semi-permanent beckoning enchantment above the dam. We can swing out and pass it a second time on the way to Snowdrift, and that’ll be that. It’ll guide them.”

“They’ll have to walk all that way,” Big Mac said.

“We can’t do everything,” Rarity said, taking the pot with a sneer at Twilight, who tucked her pair of threes back into the deck. “Besides, they seemed competent enough, just until that Whippoorwill showed up.”

“We destroyed his car,” Twilight said, “So he won’t be able to chase them down as easily.”

“From what you said, kinda sounds like he doesn’t need it,” Vinyl said.

“One pony can’t keep everyone inside a town who wants out,” Rainbow said.

“He can if he scares the pants off everyone he looks at,” Rarity said. “As it happens, if last night is any indication, this stallion does.”

“That much of a reputation?” Vinyl asked.

“Five-card draw,” Twilight said. “Deuces wild.” She paused. “And yes.”

“Ah dunno, one pony scarin’ a whole town? Seems like too much to me,” Applejack said.

“Wouldn’t hurt to set up a diversion, just in case,” Vinyl said.

“They’re not all going to leave at once,” Twilight said. “They’ll be trickling out over the course of a month, probably.” She dealt. “We’ll do what we can, but we have to trust them to take care of themselves too.”

“I still don’t like it.”

Twilight looked at her for a moment. “Well, what would you suggest?”

Vinyl’s horn glowed softly as she raised her goggles. Even in the nighttime, she seldom revealed her eyes. “I don’t have anything, I’m just voicing my opinion.”

“Ah, I see. Noted on above.”

“All right, all right,” Applejack said. “Twi, gimme four.”

“That bad?” Rainbow asked.

“None of yer beeswax, RD.”

“I just need one card.”

“Me too,” Vinyl said.

* * * * * *

Fleur dis Lee was known in the Datura as a skilled magician in the Celestial schools of magic, which was chiefly concerned with different forces and their applications. She could bore a hole through ten feet of rock, could bring a pot of water to a boil in a matter of seconds, and—with more effort—conjure a whirlwind of enough size to rearrange a house. Dispelling and enchanting objects or locations, and otherwise dealing with the less physical aspects of magic, however, had never been her strength, or her preference. To teach it to Colgate, she first had to learn it herself, for which she spent an entire night with Ink Pearl, her team’s defensive mage, the pony originally tasked to assist in Colgate’s destruction; it was for that reason that Fleur didn’t simply put the two together, and leave herself out of the educational process.

Fleur and Colgate practiced in the living room, the table and couch pushed against the walls to give them more room. The TV was on, but muted. It simply being on, Fleur had quickly surmised, was often enough to relax Colgate. Her cat watched them practice from the kitchen, offering an occasional, curious meow.

“How am I supposed to ‘feel the shape’ of these enchantments if you keep changing them?” Colgate asked irritably. “You’re not giving me a reference point.”

“They’re all similar,” Fleur said. “You’re not looking closely enough.”

“Then I’m missing something bigger, ‘cause these don’t seem similar at all.” She paused and looked past Fleur, who braced herself for a lie or an excuse. “Can we do this outside?”

Fleur raised an eyebrow. “I’d rather the neighbors not see us doing this.”

“If they’re scrutinizing us, they’ll see the magic lights through the curtains anyway.”

“Us being out on the front lawn is more noticeable than lights through the curtains, Colgate. Here, try this one.” She dispelled the enchantment on the pillow and replaced it with something else simple.

Colgate frowned at the pillow and shifted her weight, eyes darting around. Her horn glowed for a time as she glared at her target. “Kinda spikey.”

“You can explain it better than that, I hope?”

Colgate shot a dark look at Fleur, but didn’t lose her concentration. “Yeah, hey, sure, ma’am. I’d say there’s points of magical intensity all over it, but they’re small. Mostly, it’s smooth.”

“Good. And how do you deal with something like that?”

Colgate’s horn glowed as the magic inside the pillow faded. Fleur could feel her enchantment peeling away like shell from a hard-boiled egg, finally leaving the pillow as it had been.

“Nice. See? Confidence is key, Colgate.”

Colgate eyed her, and Fleur knew she had said something wrong. The unicorn’s suspicion was easily aroused, and Fleur hadn’t yet figured out all the triggers. She hoped surviving the rogue enchantment would help.

“Ready for another?” One thing she did know: Colgate hated to be interrogated about her feelings. It was best to let the moment pass.

“I need to go outside,” Colgate said, not waiting for Fleur. She stepped into the front yard and began a small circuit around the lawn.

Fleur watched and distractedly stroked the cat. “What in Tartarus is eating at you?” she asked the window. Despite their differences, despite what Colgate had done to earn her mistrust and the enmity of many others, Fleur liked her. She had only seen the merest glimpses over the past several days, but Colgate, it seemed, contained an articulate and interesting personality beneath the layers of meanness and deceitfulness. Fleur had worked in the Datura long enough and seen too many damaged ponies for any one disorder to bother her overmuch, and she had enough experience to spot the good amidst the bad in anyone. Most of Colgate’s act, Fleur thought, was defensive.

She said nothing when Colgate came back in. She wasn’t sure what the right response might be, if there even was one, and didn’t want to try her luck again. She just stood by the pillow and pretended to take interest in the TV.

“Hang on, turn the volume up,” Colgate said. “This looks interesting.”

“…are advised to report any suspicious activity to the police at the number below. At this time, there have been eleven reports of gang violence on local businesses in the Lower Canterlot area, all within six square miles of one another, but police say they believe the violence may not stay in the same place for long.”

Fleur turned the TV back down. “Are you interested in gangs, Colgate?”

“I thought I saw somewhere familiar,” Colgate said.

“Are you ready for more?”

Colgate sighed. “Sure, go for it. Why do I need to do this tomorrow, again?”

“We’re doing it, not you; we’re a team. We’re doing it tomorrow because that magic will be coming into our house the day after that. I can’t have you running cross country to escape it, and I’d really rather not have you fight it off here. No offense, but you’re not the most orderly pony I’ve met.”

“You also have all these enchantments lying around that might interfere, I’d imagine.”

“Some, yes. So I’d rather we meet it somewhere in the middle; that means tomorrow. I’ve got a location already picked out, don’t worry.”

“You work fast.”

Fleur just smiled. “Pillow’s ready.”

Fleur got up at seven, Colgate eight-thirty, and they got to work practicing dispelling enchantments by nine. By noon, Colgate was dispelling everything Fleur put on the pillow without much trouble.

By one, Fleur set the pillow back on the couch. “Let’s go.”

“Huh? Wait, now?”

“Now, Colgate.”

Colgate stared at her, dumbstruck, while Fleur got her things into her purse. “You could’ve given me some notice, you know. What if I’m not ready?”

“You’re ready. Come on, we have a schedule.”

Colgate shook her head in vexation.

Fleur opened the door to the garage. “Let’s go.”

Colgate wordlessly got into the car, and they sped out of the neighborhood.

“I didn’t want you practicing with that hard deadline on your mind. You’d get sloppy and nervous as it got closer. Better to spring it on you, like ripping off a bandage.”

“And here I thought you just did it for a laugh.”

“I have your blindfold right here. Actually, it’s just my sleeping mask. I’ll tell you when to put it on.” They stopped at a red light. “This,” she continued, producing a small headset from the back seat, “is what we call a hummer. You ever seen one?”

“No,” Colgate said sulkily.

“You wear it on your head with this little piece in your ear, and it emits sounds at either constant or intermittent intervals.”

“Oh, I get it. So if the sound starts to get all chopped up, I can know I’m close to the moon.”

“The moon?”

“That’s the form it took when it targeted me, so yeah, the moon.” Colgate looked askance at Fleur, as if not sure Fleur would approve the name.

“You’re right about the hummer. I can talk through it too, so that’s what I’ll use to guide you.”

“I didn’t know they made machines this small.”

“It’s mostly magical.”

Colgate nodded and put it on, experimenting with the adjustments. “I guess I get why you didn’t tell me when we were leaving.”

Fleur smiled, knowing not to respond verbally to the statement. Colgate might think she was rubbing it in that she was right. “We’re going to a track. Specifically, Jackdaw University’s track. A couple of my other Daturas have already seen to it that the area is evacuated. You’ll have plenty of space to dispel the moon.” She tapped her hoof along with the radio. “I like the name.”

“And you’re completely certain this thing is going to be there?”

“Once we get there, I’m going to drive a little ahead. If you look back there, you’ll see a set of potions wired together. Those are for detecting it.”

Colgate looked back obediently. She had noticed the potions earlier, but paid them no mind; her thoughts had been elsewhere. Fleur had wired up six huge, circular beakers full of what looked simply like colored water, and, on the lip of one, perched what resembled a dislodged clock face, inscribed with a tiny sigil.

“You made this yourself?” Colgate asked.

“Last night, yes, after you went to bed. I tested it then too.”

Colgate narrowed her eyes, and Fleur knew why; it didn’t sit well with her that Fleur had left her in the night.

“We’ll go up, make sure it’s where we want it, then circle back and get you out in the field. Then, it’s just like how we practiced.”

Colgate fiddled more with the hummer.

They drove past the college and up to a strip mall, where Fleur turned in. They circled the parking lot and stopped for a moment by the north entrance.

“I don’t feel any different,” Colgate said. “Hummer’s working okay. How do I adjust the volume?”

“That little dial on the side there.” Fleur looked back at her potions, willing the first one to react. When it did, Colgate jumped; she had not expected the liquid to emit a sound. The washed-out green potion chirped like a mechanical bird in the back seat, and Fleur nodded, satisfied. “We’re within sixty feet of it. First chirp is sixty, second fifty, and so on. They increase in pitch.”

“Drive us closer. I want to be sure all of these work,” Colgate said.

“That’s the plan.” She got them out of the parking lot, where the potion stopped for a moment, and then up the road, where it restarted and was quickly joined by two more. “Blindfold, Colgate. I’m gonna get us closer.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Put it on.”

Colgate glowered at her.

“Do you want to have to deal with it here, or on the field? Blindfold on. I promise I know what I’m doing; you won’t get teleported.”

Colgate slowly covered her eyes, her frown etched like a thin cut in stone. As she had often since taking Colgate in, she wondered how close Colgate was to doing something impulsive. The frown gave little away, aside from general dissatisfaction.

Fleur had to only drive them, slowly, for a minute before all six potions were singing in the back. As soon as the final one activated, she threw the car into reverse and got them well away before doing a U turn. Colgate, blinded, had frozen in her seat. Fleur could see the tension in every part of her body.

“We’re fine, we’re back away. Everything works.”

Colgate didn’t say anything until they were back at the college. “How long do I have?”

“Between fifteen and twenty minutes. Get out there and do your best to relax.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’ll drive ahead and monitor the potions. I’ll let you know as it gets closer.”

Colgate lifted the mask. “Any recommendations on where to stand?”

“Wherever you like. Preferably somewhere flat.” Fleur let Colgate out near the bleachers, patted her once on the back, and drove beside the track to the field’s far end. Through her earpiece, she could hear Fleur humming to herself.

“Can I talk to you through this thing?”

“I have your voice come through on the radio, yes.”

Colgate slowly walked into the empty field and, after a moment of looking around, decided to stand in the exact middle, in the white, painted circle. “You have a thing for radios, I notice.”

“I used to take them apart and try to rebuild them when I was younger. That was when I had time.”

“Go figure.”

“Second potion just started.”

“Any reason you made ‘em sound like birds?”

“That’s how it turned out. Are you okay? You sound nervous.”

Anger, but not suspicion, appeared in Colgate’s mind. “Of course I’m nervous.”

“Take some deep breaths. Think of this as your re-initiation into the Datura, if you like.”

The words passed straight through her ears; she was watching the fence at the end of the track, waiting for the strange, smooth shape to appear against the city backdrop. It would probably appear as a shadow at first, until it started to grow. Imagining it, she backed up a step.

“Third potion’s on. Get your blindfold. It should be coming into sight momentarily.”

The word startled Colgate. Momentarily: in a moment. In a moment, it would be in visual range, and upon her not long after. She fumbled the mask over her eyes and backed up another couple steps. The hummer pumped a soothing, low pulse into her ear, and she thought she could detect the first signs of fragmentation.

“Fourth potion. How’s your hearing?”

“Getting fuzzy. How close until I can dispel it?”

“Your horn isn’t on yet?”

“Should it be?”

“Colgate, as soon as you can feel it with your magic, start.” She heard Fleur sigh, and more chirping start up behind her. “Fifth potion.”

Colgate lit her horn and extended her magic as far as she could, which was not far. Prior to the night before, she had never needed to extend it farther than across the room; stretching more made her feel lightheaded, something Fleur told her would improve with practice.

“Sixth potion. It’s right on top of me.”

For a brief, horrifying moment, Colgate could hear only the potions making their noises, and thought that the rampant spell had gotten Fleur. Maybe she had been wrong, and the moon could get anyone.

“Fleur?”

“What?”

“Nothing, just checking.” Relief filled her for only a second, then she heard the background noise lose one potion.

“It’s coming. Remember, deep breaths, relax. Reach out and feel it, then just apply your magic however you need to. Unwrap the spell, Colgate.”

Fleur’s voice, like the hummer’s sound, was steadily losing its cohesion. She once again sounded like she was speaking from the opposite end of a tunnel.

“I need quiet,” Colgate said. Her lips tingled.

“Acknowledged.” Fleur paused. “Back to four.”

Colgate didn’t hear her relay the potion count; she was in her own world of anxiety. She remembered the night she had accidentally found the moon, the fractured darkness and the drilling sound of the crickets singing, and she thought that she might prefer it. That night, she had been inundated with sensations, but, alone in the field with just the disintegrating sounds of the hummer, she felt like she was already dead, but hadn’t yet discovered it. Her practice suddenly didn’t seem to amount to much.

She stumbled and fell into the grass, and realized that she had been backing up. The hummer sounded no less insistent, the feel of the ground on her hooves no less distant, but she was tuning them out all the same. She was focused, but on nothing in particular. It was simply an empty intensity of thought, bereft of intention or target. She was ready to panic.

“Three.”

The voice pulled her back, and she was able to make herself stop and reach out with her magic again; she still felt nothing. Though blinded, Colgate turned her head in a slow, worried circle, noting the mild unsteadiness creeping into her hooves, parting her from the ground.

“I could let it get me,” she realized suddenly. It would put an end to her suspicion, her mood swings, and the infrequent but still intense onslaughts of withdrawal symptoms that beleaguered her. She might die, or she might wind up somewhere completely different, but, either way, she would be finally free of the Datura.

“Two potions left, Colgate. Can you feel it?” Fleur’s tinny voice asked in her ear, echoing as if from the bottom of a long shaft.

Colgate backed up again, feeling as though she must soon pass out. As before, in the dark field, and before that in the company of her drug-addled friends, her only recourse was to sit down and wait for the feeling to pass, or else claim her and allow her to wake up in a hospital somewhere.

“Maybe it’ll teleport me to a hospital,” she thought. “That would be funny.”

“Last one. You can do it.”

Colgate looked around again. Her head felt like a bowling ball wheeling through empty air, and her ears buzzed with the hummer’s noise, reduced to static.

“Your horn! Use your magic, damn it!” Fleur’s voice was as soft as a memory to Colgate.

Her face pressed down into something that felt, to her, like a feather pillow. In her ear, Fleur was shouting about her horn.

The hummer’s static had turned into a white hiss.

Then, something clicked in her mind, and she sprang up, falling back over into that same pillow. She rolled and crawled back, trusting her muscles to move her even though she could not feel the ground. When the hiss returned back to static, she realized the impression of pain was flashing across her face.

She stood up and activated her horn, not sure when she had let it go out, and felt with a jolt of fear the magic, bearing down on her and big as life. Fleur’s enchanted pillow had felt harmless, even fun, the night before, but there was nothing harmless or fun about the magic that approached her a mere ten feet away. She could feel its size as it relentlessly rolled toward her, and she backed off as fast as she could while trying to concentrate on the dispelling magic.

She stumbled again and fell, this time hitting something much harder, and felt another flash of pain across her side.

“You’re on the track, Colgate.”

Colgate steadied herself as well as she was able and tried to concentrate on her magic. The static had returned to a fuzzy pulse, but was turning back steadily.

She felt the moon’s size and heft once more, but did not let herself be frightened, instead letting her magic cover its surface; that was frequently the first step to dispelling something.

“Relax, take it slow,” Fleur said.

Colgate could feel her magic seeping into the moon’s outer shell, just as she was again losing touch with the ground. Her head swam, but her magic didn’t break; she used it as an anchor.

“Too close,” she thought unhappily, and once again began her backwards march.

“You’re at the bleachers,” Fleur said.

Colgate stopped. Her magic was working, but it was slow. Fear again grew inside her, but she smothered it.

“Move to your right. You’re right against the bleachers.”

“This is it,” she thought quickly. The thought simply shot through her mind, but, once there, she could not reject it. Fleur had her completely trapped. She couldn’t take off her mask without risking falling into the malign spell, and she couldn’t move any farther back; she felt the bleachers against her back legs. She was cornered and blind, easy prey for a Datura seeking revenge.

“Your right, Colgate, your right.”

She trembled where she stood, her magic thinning in the lapse of concentration. She was finished, she knew; it was just a matter of how she chose to end her life.

The static in her ear was again becoming a hiss, and she faltered away, not trusting Fleur, but preferring that to being sucked into the moon. She could feel her legs moving at a gallop, and sensation again clarified. She stopped and turned, redoubling her magic, still keeping a tenuous grip on the moon.

Nothing happened. She had expected some kind of sudden attack, either a burning scythe of magic to cut her down or perhaps simply Fleur’s car, tossing her like a crushed cup. Her anxiety heightened in the calm, sunny air; she wanted again to cast off her mask and her efforts and run away.

“You can do it, Colgate,” Fleur said.

She lifted her hoof as she felt something drip onto it, thinking at first that rain had come. Then, with a start, she realized the significance: she could feel.

The moon still approached, but from afar, and Colgate thought again of her magic, finding it easier to reach in and begin the process of untangling the spell that chased her. In her focus, she didn’t notice the hummer’s familiar transition from pulse to static.

“Almost there,” she mumbled, not knowing whether she was.

She had not felt a sensation of its like in her life. Her magic, comparatively weak, was mixing and moving inside the larger spell like an infection. Her horn was warm, and her mind felt adrift with the effort of holding the spell in place. Still, she could feel the moon coming undone, and, once it began, it was over so fast that Colgate thought something had gone wrong.

She turned in place, casting about for the threatening magic, feeling nothing. The hummer pulsed gently, and the ground felt solid and real.

“Colgate? Did you get it?” Fleur asked. Her voice was as clear as a bell.

Colgate lifted the sleep mask off her face, pulling with it some of her fur. Her face was sticky with blood, and she had a scrape down her flank. She threw the mask off onto the concrete. “Think so.”

Fleur breathed a sigh of relief, and was silent for a minute. “You had me really scared there.”

“I was pretty scared myself.” She felt clear and attentive, and, for the first time since arriving in Canterlot, strong. It was not the feeling of bombastic power that she felt when she was with Powder Rouge, but the feeling of simple solidity, the proud feeling of overcoming adversity. Her mistrust of Fleur had vanished in a wash of honest relief.

“You probably see that you took a few spills. Do you feel okay?”

Colgate tenderly touched her muzzle. “Some ice wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll be right there, and we can get you back home.”

Colgate looked back at the bleachers that had hemmed her in. Fleur had guided her past them to an open patch of dust in front of an empty concession stand. She looked down to see a few speckles of blood in the dust, trying to consider the implications of what she was realizing. There had been no setup. From the start, Fleur had only tried to help.

She got into the car, not forgetting to grab the bloodied sleep mask.

* * * * * *

Thousands of miles to the south, under another heavy Trottingham thunderstorm, Twilight walked to Lacey Kisses’ shed. Back at the airship lot where they had first landed, Gold Ribbon was personally seeing to the preparation of her airship, with the other Elements keeping close watch. Whippoorwill waited in a different, smaller car, Gold Ribbon’s chauffeur.

Twilight had to pound on the door to be heard over the rain. Though she had a shield up to keep out the wetness, she could not completely block out the cold, and shivered on Lacey’s doorstep.

“I wasn’t totally sure this was really happening,” Lacey said, walking out with no bags and no belongings. “I’m still not.”

“Applejack promised we weren’t tricking you,” Twilight said. “She’s the Element of Honesty.”

“I have a tough time with that logic. Anyway, let’s do this.”

The two mares walked back toward the lot, Lacey keeping a respectful distance from Twilight, who had to extend her shield to keep the rain off both of them.

“Why would you do this, Twilight?”

Twilight looked at her. In the short time she had allowed rain to batter her, Lacey had been diminished to a bedraggled, ashen skeleton. When they had first met, in Manehattan, her mane and tail had been colored in jarring stripes of jet black and hot pink, the remnants of which had remained when they met her again days ago. She had washed it all out in the intervening time, though, and Twilight was surprised and a little amused to see her natural hair color, a bubblegum pink much like Pinkie’s. The only vibrant color on her now was the ruby red lipstick cutie mark, which often reminded Twilight of a small flesh wound.

“I did it because I don’t think you deserve to waste away here,” Twilight said.

“A sentiment shared by everyone in your group, I presume?”

“Not entirely.” Twilight didn’t explain; she knew Lacey knew who did want her to waste away.

“I appreciate it.”

They walked past the water collection station where Lacey had once worked. The large metal trough at the top had extended like an orchid blossom, stems of magic holding massive, thin sheets of plastic out in a wide, flooding funnel. Where the water went, Twilight could not see.

“It’s kind of silly to have just one of these out here,” Twilight said.

“They were working on building more. Just never got around to it, I guess.”

“Hm.”

When they reached the airship lot, Gold Ribbon was there in a dull, black cloak that made his olive fur appear dark and rotten. A wide, burgundy umbrella floated on a magical string attached to a small, golden button on the clasp of his cloak, and Twilight was reminded of a wilting, magical flower that had somehow taken root in stone. Gold Ribbon’s entire lower half was soaked, but he appeared not to mind.

They walked to the side of the second, much smaller airship, to talk out of the rain.

“Your ship, Miss Kisses,” Gold Ribbon said, nodding solemnly. His deep-set eyes studied her dourly, but she wasn’t looking at him.

“Are you coming with me?” she asked.

“One of my employees will escort you to Canterlot.” He looked back at another heavyset earth pony, who sauntered up and shook Lacey’s hoof perfunctorily.

Lacey looked back at the ship, then at Gold Ribbon, then at Twilight. “This really is happening.”

“Don’t let Canterlot eat you alive,” Rarity said from a distance, she and the others comfortable under her superior shield.

Gold Ribbon gestured at the ship. “Safe travels,” he said with a final note.

“I’ll be right back,” Twilight said, and he frowned. She still held his check, but wanted to say goodbye to Lacey first. She wanted him to wait in the rain.

The employee boarded first, mindless of the rain, and took a position at the small torch. Lacey boarded next, stepping out of Twilight’s shield into the cold rain. “I won’t forget this, Twilight.”

“As I said, I didn’t want to see you waste away here.” She looked around. “Does this have any protection against lightning?” she asked the employee.

“It has all the standard protective enchantments,” the employee said.

Lacey came closer and stuck out her hoof, which Twilight shook firmly.

“Friends?” Twilight asked.

“You really screwed me over in Manehattan,” Lacey said. “But this is… I’m grateful, truly. Not friends, but not enemies either. If I see you in Canterlot, I’ll say hi. Maybe.”

Twilight smiled. “Probably the best I can ask for, considering.” She stepped off the airship’s gangplank, and Lacey turned the crank to bring it up.

“Good luck out there.”

“And to you, Lacey.” With that, she walked back down to Gold Ribbon, who stared at her unabashedly.

“Your friend is on her ship, and the hundred bits in her cabin,” he said.

Twilight neatly took out the check, already signed, and floated it to Gold Ribbon, who deftly stowed it in a pocket somewhere in his cloak. “Pleasure doing business with you,” she said.

He nodded and walked off the lot. Only when the car doors slammed and the tail lights disappeared into the rainy distance did Twilight and her friends board their own ship and watch Lacey’s break through the low clouds.

The Calm

Chapter Eighty-three

The Calm

Under the prosperous, ancient city of Roan, in their well-ventilated home atop the petrified remnants of a much older city, the CEO and CFO, husband and wife, of Mansel and Company prepared for bed.

Mrs. Mansel, in her pale green nightgown and striped socks, playfully pressed on her husband’s midsection. “I had an interesting conversation today.”

“Mm?” He rolled over and let his eyes slowly trace her silhouette.

She kissed him, her blood rising; she could feel his as well. “Someone called on the Trottingham sigil, but it was not Gold Ribbon. It was his attack dog, Whippoorwill, I believe the name was.”

Mr. Mansel kicked at the sheets, trying to get into a more comfortable position, and his wife lay back.

“He was distressed.”

“What’s going on? Must be serious, for him to go to you directly.”

“He had quite the story to tell; I was talking to him for close to twenty minutes.” She breathed out as her husband lowered himself over her, his eyes closed—a quirk that still annoyed her, after years of marriage. “It seems Gold Ribbon has it in his head to cut ties with us.”

His thrust faltered, but she moved with it as best she could, wishing to spare him the embarrassment.

“Instead of getting the Elements of Harmony’s information, he got their money, enough to secure a loan from a third party.” She gasped as he finally found his rhythm, and, for a time, neither said much.

Afterwards, they both lay back with the sheets off, enjoying the cool night air. “What did he want? Whippoorwill?” Mr. Mansel asked. He was out of breath.

“Safe transportation elsewhere. He mentioned something about the Elements knowing about him, and what Gold Ribbon is up to, and some sort of retaliation. I could tell he was scared.”

“Rightly so, if the Elements and Gold Ribbon are against him.”

“Only maybe,” she said. “He knows nothing.”

Mr. Mansel frowned. “So what did you decide? Or are you still thinking?”

“I’d like to send him to Canterlot. I think he can be useful there.”

“What about Gold Ribbon?”

Mrs. Mansel huffed and grabbed a pillow off the ground. “I’ve already spoken to the contractors I sent up to him. They’ll take care of him for us.”

“A nasty surprise, for sure,” Mr. Mansel said. “And the dog? What’s in Canterlot for him?”

“Nothing at first glance, but I pulled his file, and he has a connection to a local gang leader there. Friends back in school, I think.” She stretched, and Mr. Mansel planted a kiss on her ribs. “Tell me what you think of this plan. I want to send Whippoorwill to Canterlot and have him reestablish ties with this gang leader of his. I’d like him to be our liaison, of sorts. A go-between. Do you know how many magical trinkets we have that we can’t sell?”

Since the disaster in Applewood, the Mansels had found themselves suddenly in possession of a large quantity of illegally enchanted objects, things they were going to ship to the big city. The product was no small cause of distress among the company owners, who were, at the same time, coping with a sudden audit from the royal treasury. Keeping a step ahead of the royal accountant was a daily task, and one they both knew they could not keep up indefinitely.

“Something in the thousands, isn’t it?” Mr. Mansel asked. “I haven’t looked at our most recent numbers in that regard.” He sighed. “I’m still working on hiding our involvement with Heavy Sleeper.” Their former Applewood drug lord.

“Two thousand-something,” Mrs. Mansel said. “If we can dump them into Canterlot, that’ll be a couple problems solved as one.”

“I see the first. What are the others?”

Though it was dark, he could hear her lips part in a toothy smile. “The Astras are there too, you know. They’re working on a new crow.”

“Another one?”

“The way I see it, we fill Lower Canterlot with some magic toys and have the dog drop a hint or two, implicating the Astras. They are known for enchanted objects, after all. We can put the pressure on them when they’re far from home, and potentially set up a business in Canterlot.”

Mr. Mansel propped himself up on his pillow, not completely shocked by what he heard, but unsettled. “What would make you think we can set up in Canterlot now, of all times?” He lowered his voice. “We’ve never been weaker.”

“Weak or no, this is a golden opportunity, and it won’t come again.”

“The best we can hope for is to distract the Astras, unless we find some way to plant evidence. Were you thinking of using the dog for that too? How can we trust him?”

Mrs. Mansel was silent.

“He betrayed Gold Ribbon; how long until he betrays us too? Suppose he goes native there? Suppose he gets it in his head to take over for his gang friend and split, just like Gold Ribbon?”

“I hear a lot of negativity,” Mrs. Mansel said in a near growl. “Any positive suggestions?”

“Yes. Don’t do it. Let’s dump our magic in a landfill out in the desert, or incinerate it. Something. Let’s weather this audit before striking out on new business ventures.”

She turned over and frowned at the wall. “I want Canterlot.”

“We all do, which is the exact reason why now is the wrong time to make a move. If the Astras get wind of us there, they’ll have room to maneuver, time to plan, and money and resources to execute that plan. Basically, everything we don’t have.”

“But at least all we’ll lose is a ton of product we need to dump anyway, and a traitor.”

Mr. Mansel paused, one hoof on her side. “Is the plan to fail?”

“The plan is the plan. If it works, then we’ll have a piece of Canterlot. If not, we’ll get rid of some liabilities, at the cost of a little dignity.”

“You’re talking like you’ve already set this all up.”

“No, no, of course not.” She turned back over, tenderness returning to her voice. “I’m going to speak to Whippoorwill again tomorrow and give him my answer.”

Mr. Mansel nodded, thinking her plan over. He didn’t like it, but couldn’t deny a certain allure it aroused in him. Another, larger part of his mind was still thinking about Heavy Sleeper. They had been business partners for years; severing ties suddenly was not easy on anyone. “At least,” he thought, “all the drugs are up there.” He would rather deal with a warehouse full of illegal magic than vats of illegal chemicals.

* * * * * *

The Elements’ last hours in The Mountain Zone, formerly Trottingham, were short ones. By one, they were within view of the dam, but still a long way away, and Twilight paced the deck nervously. Her plan, to cast a beacon above the dam and its artificial lake, had been met in town with fear and mild excitement, not the emotions she had expected. Rarity had had to convince her that there was only so much that could be done, and, ultimately, the ponies would need to help themselves.

“How much water do we have?” Fluttershy asked.

“Enough fer one or two showers, Ah expect,” Applejack said. “Don’t worry, we’re refillin’ at the dam.”

“I can’t believe, after everything in Applewood, something good came out of it,” Twilight said. “Maybe.”

“They’ll be fine,” Rarity said from her position on the opposite side. “I just hope those Mansel ponies don’t do anything.”

“What can they do?” Applejack asked. “By my reckonin’, there’s only two of ‘em.”

“Still.”

“Us farmers are a tough lot, Rare. Ah think they can handle themselves if we just give ‘em a little hope.”

“What about Snowdrift?” Rainbow asked. “First of all, how far is it?”

“We’ll be in the air for quite a while, I’m afraid,” Twilight said. “And we’re going to want to stop at the first settlement we find. Our rations are running low.”

“How low?”

“Pretty low. By my calculations, we have enough for three or four days, if we eat light.”

“Seriously?” She flapped her wings angrily. “No one picked up anything in Trottingham?”

“What’s to pick up?” Applejack asked. “They’re just as poor as us.”

“Oh, but whatever teeny-weeny village we find won’t be?”

“They won’t be crushed under one of the Mansels’ tentacles, at least,” Twilight said. “I’m sure we can find some farm land. Besides, we have money.”

“No, we have a treasury slip,” Rarity said. “They won’t want that in the wilderness. The nearest bank will be thousands of miles away.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to bring that up,” Rainbow said. “How long are we gonna go on without any, you know, physical bits? For that matter, how long until… well…”

“One of us loses the slip?” Big Mac completed.

“It hasn’t happened yet,” Fluttershy offered.

“Maybe we should’ve made a withdrawal in Roan,” Rarity said. “Those Mansels are bankers, after all. We could have put them to use.”

“How far from Snowdrift to Roan?” Rainbow asked, concern entering her voice.

“They’re not going to get us in Snowdrift,” Twilight said.

“You don’t know that. They almost got us in Trottingham.”

“That wasn’t them, though,” Fluttershy said. “That was just some… I don’t know.”

“Third party,” Vinyl said.

Twilight looked at her for a second before going on. “Yeah, he was different. He was just a trumped-up attack dog.” She thought for a second.

“And who’s to say there won’t be someone just like him in Snowdrift?” Rainbow asked.

“If there is, we can deal with them like we did Whippoorwill.”

“Can we?”

“I can.”

“Has anyone here been to Snowdrift before?” Vinyl asked.

“None of us,” Rarity said. “And none of the others either, I think. Whooves hasn’t, right?”

“Does it matter?” Rainbow asked.

Rarity shrugged.

“I spent a lot of time there, when I was younger,” Vinyl said. “I can tell you about it.”

“There’s an entryway to Tartarus there, that much I know,” Twilight said.

“It’s a mile outside. Not as bad as ponies think.”

“How can that not be bad?” Fluttershy asked, coming closer.

“Never had any trouble with it when I was there. There are ponies in charge of watching it.”

“Secret agents,” Rainbow said.

“Could be,” Vinyl said. “I saw it once.”

“What’s that like?” Rarity asked.

“It was a long time ago. The most striking memory, I think, was the warmth. Snowdrift is really really cold, but the doorstep is actually comfortable. Feels kinda like Canterlot weather.”

“The doorstep?” Applejack asked.

“What we call the Tartarus gateway.”

“What does it look like?” Big Mac asked.

“Not much, honestly.”

“They’re just dark holes in the ground,” Twilight said. “Kind of dimensionless.”

“You’ve seen one?”

“A while ago. I’ve mostly read about them.”

“Ah, should’ve guessed.” Vinyl smiled. “It’s kinda like a big shadow over the ground.”

“Does it emit heat?” Rainbow asked.

“Think so. It’s probably warmer on the other side.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Applejack said. “Hell is hot.”

“Hopefully we won’t have to go near it,” Rarity said. “But…”

“It’s too perfect a hiding place for the last Element,” Twilight said. “It’ll be there, or at least nearby.”

“Which one are we missing?” Vinyl asked.

Twilight paused for a second; her use of the word “we” annoyed her. “Pinkie’s. The Element of Laughter.”

“I propose we glide over, locate it, and stop for just long enough to grab it,” Rarity said. “Then it’s off to the castle.”

“Wasn’t that the plan for this one too?” Vinyl asked.

“That’s always been the plan,” Rainbow said. “We still haven’t been able to do it right.”

“This one was better, at least,” Twilight said.

“How was this better?” Fluttershy asked.

“Shorter, then.”

“How much of it do you suppose is coincidence, and how much Discord?” Vinyl asked.

“Maybe fifty-fifty,” Rainbow said. “Some of it’s been monsters and stuff, and we know those don’t just show up. Right? Discord summons them.”

“They do just show up in Snowdrift, though,” Big Mac said. “That’s what Ah heard, that they come out of the gateway.”

“Again, never saw anything myself,” Vinyl said.

“What about the rest of the town?” Fluttershy asked.

“Mm, I like it well enough. Kinda like Ponyville, with its shops and stalls and things. Lots of small business there, lots of magic.”

“There are griffons there, right?” Twilight asked.

“Some.”

“Ah seem to recall hearin’ somethin’ ‘bout illegal magic there,” Applejack said. “Is that right?”

“‘Experimental,’ we call it.”

“Heh, maybe we should’ve taken you there to get you resurrected, AJ,” Rainbow said.

“Takin’ my first breaths in a freezing city right next-door to hell, yeah,” Applejack said. “What could be better?”

* * * * * *

According to a team of Datura precogs, the battle with Discord was to be in four days’ time. The Ponyville caravan was making final adjustments, and another of Fleur’s teams was working inside the palace to get its bevy of magical defenses back up to standard. The angel from Roan was just crossing the northern edge of the Everfree forest, and would be arriving maybe a day early.

Meanwhile, Fleur and Colgate walked side-by-side through the opulence of Greater Canterlot. Once a ruin just the same as everywhere else, it had received the first of the princesses’ ministrations, and returned to former, expensive glory in a matter of months. Young ponies, mostly unicorns, filled the sidewalks in trendy clothes, many with bags swinging in clouds of magic, while many more filled the streets in noisy, shining cars. Colgate had never seen so many cars in one place, even in Manehattan.

Fleur wore a long, ragged-edged dress with silver trim and silver spirals decorating its deep blue fabric, which turned nearly transparent if the sun hit it right, giving her the effect of one encased in stained glass, and more resembled a chandelier twisted around her body when the sun didn’t. A necklace of pale red pearls clasped around her throat, a pastel underscore to the darker red eye shadow she wore, which gave her eyes a haunted, sleepless look that Colgate thought ridiculous, but Fleur insisted was in style. Her mane had been transformed into a single, braided whip of white and pink, tied at the very end with a black bow, a tiny, jeweled ladybug on one corner.

They had only to walk for ten minutes before stopping at a three-story, cathedrallike wood and glass building, its arched entrance engraved with the bold capitals and long, precise lowercases of Canterlot Public Library. Through wide windows, light poured in to turn the wood flooring into a slick, copper shellac, on which reflected the barest suggestions of the hundreds of arched sub-corridors, each stocked ceiling to floor with books. The smell of paper filled Colgate’s nose, and she was reminded of Twilight’s library in Ponyville. It seemed part of another life.

Their hoofsteps echoed faintly as they walked past tables mounded with tomes and encyclopedias, engraved pillars, and stout platforms on which stood marble and granite busts. Twilight’s own likeness stared seriously back as a dead-eyed statuette, around which was arranged a round table of reference materials. A lone unicorn frowned into a thick, burgundy book, occasionally pausing to scribble on a leaf of scrap paper.

Through the library’s heart, past a large bust of Princess Celestia, its horn tipped with gold to emulate the effect of magic being cast, Fleur took her to a nearby help desk, where sat an elderly, blue stallion in a rumpled polo shirt. He smiled warmly at Fleur’s approach.

“Well, there’s a face I wasn’t expecting to see today.” He laughed genially, his rickety voice putting Colgate on edge. “You’re looking as beautiful as ever, my lady.”

“Thank you, Peel.” She smiled and leaned on the counter. “I was hoping to show my new friend here some of your rarer research materials. Can you tell me what you have in right now?”

“Well, let me check,” he said, leaning under the counter for a second. “I have a couple old things on the origins of Equestria, if you’d like.”

“What is this?” Colgate asked.

“Those would be lovely,” Fleur said, telling Colgate with a single look to be quiet.

“This way, please,” the old pony said, hobbling out from his spot. He walked them to a corner off the main hallway, near the bathrooms. He gestured to a spot on the bookshelf opposite. “Enjoy, please. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Fleur waited for him to turn the corner before pulling out a book, seemingly at random, and paging through it.

“What in the world is going on?” Colgate asked again.

“Just wait,” Fleur said.

Colgate selected a book for herself and looked through it without interest. Fleur was confident that she would notice that the books did not match what the information pony had said they would find.

When the light changed, Fleur put her book away, and Colgate did the same.

“So?” Colgate asked.

Fleur walked silently back to the main corridor, which had been replaced with a long, stone alley, still lined with bookshelves, but cooler and lit with torches, not windows.

“I knew it.”

“You did, did you?”

“That this was some kinda Datura area, yeah. You know, you act kind of cagey when you’re about to introduce me to something new.”

Fleur smiled, but, inside, was not happy that she was so transparent. Who else might notice such a change in her? She resolved to try harder to act naturally with Colgate.

“Was all that some kind of code with him?”

“Yes, code phrases. There are a few others, for emergencies and things.” Fleur paused by a decorative suit of armor in a glass case. “This is one of the main Datura headquarters. We’re underground.”

“Any reason you wanted to bring me through the bullshit entrance?”

“I’m sorry?” Silently, she was again amazed at the unicorn’s incisive mind when she wasn’t ruining herself with pills.

“You’re not gonna hide a ‘main Datura headquarters’ under a library like this and have the only entrance go through the ponies working the help desk. Other ponies would notice, when large groups came in, vanished, and later came out.” Colgate tapped her head with a hoof. “I pay attention, you know.”

“Most important Daturas have access to teleportation sigils, it’s true,” Fleur said. “I wanted you to see the surface entrance, though.”

“Yes, why?”

“It’s interesting. Wouldn’t you agree? If we only teleported, you wouldn’t grasp the scope of our operation here. Plus, it’s good for you to know where it is, in case you need to come here someday on your own.”

“Hm.”

Fleur could tell she wasn’t satisfied, but didn’t care. “Today, you’re meeting one of my teams.”

“How many do you have?”

“Three. I’ve got a team of eliminators, a hazard crew, and a research team. You’re meeting my hazard ponies.”

Colgate said nothing as they entered a small, cozy room of velvet cushions and softly speaking ponies, who all quieted as they appeared. Above a gray brick fireplace were crossed two long pulse crystals, thin and sharp enough to double as swords, if one wanted. The firelight in their glassy bodies made them appear alive.

“Colgate, this is the hazard team.” Fleur indicated a bright purple unicorn with a wide muzzle and a swirled pink and white mane that reminded Colgate of taffy. “Desserts Dust, our toxicologist.”

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Desserts Dust said, jumping up to shake Colgate’s hoof.

“Silveretta,” she pointed to a small, light gray feathered griffon lounging closest to the fire, “is our memetics and cognition expert.”

Colgate’s eyes lingered on the griffon, who waved and smiled, but said nothing.

“Ink Pearl, our defensive mage.” A dark purple unicorn with a disheveled, blue mane nodded somberly.

Fleur lifted a crystal glass and filled it with water from a ewer on the central table. “And Chilly Clouds, our emergency medic.” The last unicorn was sickly pale green, with a wan, pastel blue mane and an unhappy face, frown lines so ingrained that she looked to be almost incapable of smiling. Colgate recognized her; she was the mare who had escorted her out of Ponyville and to Rouge’s house.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” Silveretta said in a voice that, to Colgate, seemed hardly different from a pony’s. “We’ve been told about you.”

“Yeah?” Colgate asked.

“I’m going to let you get acquainted while I speak with someone. I won’t be long,” Fleur said. She smiled and patted Colgate’s shoulder.

Colgate took a seat between Desserts Dust and Chilly Clouds, and they all looked at her. “I remember you,” she said to Chilly Clouds.

“That’s good,” Chilly said.

“Commander Fleur said you used to be with Commander Fancy Pants,” Ink Pearl said. “Why’d you get transferred?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Colgate said, taking an immediate dislike.

“It is strange, considering what we’ve heard about your recent drug problem.”

Colgate blinked, not immediately sure she had heard right.

“Ink, geez,” Desserts Dust said quietly.

“You’re mistaking me for someone else,” Colgate said.

Ink Pearl brushed her mane out of her eyes and looked imperiously back at her. “Minuette Colgate, originally from Manehattan, medic, recently—” She paused at a claw on her shoulder. Silveretta whispered something in her ear, and she relaxed. “We all know who you are,” she finally said.

Colgate frowned and thought back, recalling her brief imprisonment in the rehab center.

“It’s my business to know.”

Colgate stood up, aware of all the eyes on her.

“What I mean,” Ink continued quickly, holding up her hooves, “is that we’re all briefed on new team members, both on the good things and the bad things.”

“Fleur likes us to have a little foreknowledge,” Silveretta said. “Of course, most of us try to be tactful about certain things.”

Colgate glanced at Chilly Clouds, whose bloodless face was drawn. She looked like she might vomit.

“Why does she look like she’s seen a ghost?” Colgate asked, gesturing at Chilly without looking at her. Her eyes were still locked on Ink’s.

“She’s just shy,” Desserts Dust said.

Ink opened her mouth to speak again, but thought better of it, and sat back. “Introductions. Let’s go, we’re already five minutes behind. Desserts Dust, begin.”

“I want Silver to begin,” Desserts Dust said, sharing a grin with Silveretta. “She’s the better speaker.”

Ink rolled her eyes and turned to Silveretta, and Colgate noted that her expression did not change between them.

“Silveretta, or Silver,” the griffon said. “Clever name, huh? I’ve been a Datura for, one, two, six years. No, six and a half. I used to work in Appleloosa.”

“That’s where we met,” Desserts Dust said, lightly punching her shoulder.

“But, then I—wait, what rank are you?”

“She’s a standard,” Ink said.

Colgate glowered at Ink, who felt she could speak for her.

“Okay. Hey, I’m just one above you. I got my first team in Appleloosa, research and reconnaissance, but then they shipped me out to Canterlot a little before the Crumbling. It’s an incredible honor serving under Fleur.”

“It is?” Colgate asked.

“Ordinarily, Daturas like us would get stuck under someone lower-ranking than her,” Desserts Dust said.

“Fleur’s one of the Datura household names,” Silveretta said. “It’s her and five or six others, then a few higher than that, then Princess Luna.”

“Careful,” Ink said.

“Oh, she can know that at least.” Silveretta waved Ink off.

“Is it coincidence that you and Desserts Dust were put back together out here?” Colgate asked.

“Commander said you had a good eye for details,” Ink said.

“Maybe we should talk about what you already know about me.”

Ink just stared at her.

“Friendship is a very important part of teamwork,” Desserts Dust said hastily, staring first at Colgate and then at Ink. “So no, it wasn’t a coincidence.”

“Memetics and cognition expert,” Colgate said, rolling the terms around her tongue, trying to keep her mind off the abrasive unicorn across from her. Escalation at the Datura meeting, she knew, would not go over well with Fleur. “I’ve heard of you ponies, but I’ve never worked with one.”

“Think of me as one part magic philosopher, one part counselor,” Silveretta said. “I work with information and how it moves and changes, and how it interacts with the mind. I do a lot of hypnosis, memory alteration, and things like that. I also instruct ponies on the metaphysical properties of magic, and how to use them.”

“On a hazard team? Shouldn’t you be on a cleanup team?”

“Have you heard of a cognitohazard?” Desserts Dust asked.

“There’s lots of bad stuff out there that can alter the way you think,” Silveretta said.

Colgate nodded and looked at Desserts Dust, who beamed and tipped an imaginary hat. “Five years in the Datura, also from Appleloosa, as I said. Silver’s in charge of the intangible poisons, and I’m in charge of the physical ones.”

“The toxicologist, Fleur said,” Colgate said.

“Yes ma’am, poisons, repellents, toxins, venoms, all of it. I worked in pharmacy for about five years before the Datura got to me.” He smiled wistfully. “I love chemistry. My first day in the lab was love at first sight. And it’s really not so hard to transition from that field into the Datura life, not like for some.”

“Don’t take him for an Appleloosa rube,” Silveretta said with a chuckle.

“Heh, well, not entirely,” Desserts Dust said. “You can take me for a rube on plenty of things, I’m sure. Heck, I was just lucky to find my calling early.”

“Do you bake as well?” Colgate asked.

“You mean my name? Changed it when I got my mark, yeah, I thought it’d be better than some chemical nonsense that only a few ponies would understand. I never got seriously into the confectionary arts.”

“Unfortunately,” Chilly Clouds added, earning a glance from Colgate.

Desserts Dust gave her a wink, then looked at Ink Pearl. “Go ahead, Ink. I can see you’re about ready to burst out of your seat.”

Ink straightened herself in her seat and fixed Colgate with a cold, businesslike stare. “My name is Ink Pearl, and I have been a Datura for thirty-four years. I’ve served under many commanders and in many cities, though I spent the majority of my time in Roan as a monitor on known supernatural entities. I am now this team’s defense mage; I keep everyone shielded in compromising situations. If need be, I am proficient with close combat weapons and some ranged weapons, but I do not generally like violence.” She threw a glare to Desserts Dust, who was nodding his head in time with her obviously rehearsed speech. “I am in a committed, heterosexual relationship and do not drink, do drugs, or attend parties. I am mildly racist against minotaurs and have a moderate phobia of heights, open water, and bees. I am allergic to latex and tree nuts, as well as sulfonamides, which are—”

“I know what they are,” Colgate said.

“Ah yes, medical background.” She paused, finding her place in her recital. “Before I was a Datura, I had an associate’s degree in magical engineering. I am much happier serving my country in this way, though.”

“You’re very concise.”

Ink Pearl looked around her at the corridor behind, sparsely populated with more Daturas, all of them, when Colgate looked as well, no different from the ponies she might have seen above ground. The lack of distinction from the ponies on the street still surprised her, sometimes.

“My name is Chilly Clouds,” the pale mare said quietly. “Um, I’m a Datura of twenty years, medic. I’ve always been a medic. I used to be a marine botanist.”

“Interesting,” Colgate said, and she meant it.

“I suppose so, yes.”

“You spent a lot of time with the changelings, didn’t you?” Desserts Dust asked.

“My first fifteen years of Datura life was with the changelings,” Chilly Clouds said. “Most of that was on the ocean.”

“Oh yeah,” Colgate said. “I forgot we’re a global organization.” She thought back to her Datura history lessons in Ponyville, and in Manehattan before that. She didn’t remember very much. “I thought pony-changeling relations weren’t very good.”

“They’re frosty,” Silveretta said.

“But there’s respect on each side, and mutual need,” Chilly Clouds said. “We do a lot of trading, mostly of goods.” A smirk crossed her face, and she turned as if embarrassed by her emotion. “Sometimes Daturas. Changelings make invaluable spies here.”

Colgate hid her shock. “Changeling spies in Equestria. It makes sense, I suppose, but I’d never thought about it.”

“We can’t tell you any names,” Ink Pearl said, “before you ask.”

“I wasn’t going to, Ink.”

“What about you, Colgate?” Silveretta asked.

“Me?” The impulse to lie shot to the front of her mind, but she resisted the urge. They already knew some things about her, but she had no way to know what they did and did not. “Well, you already know I’ve had drug problems. Thanks for that, by the way,” she said, glaring at Ink. “Before that, I was an orthopedic surgeon in Ponyville. I don’t really know how I got lumped into all this, but the Datura picked me up down there.”

“…Anything else?” Desserts Dust asked.

Colgate looked at him. “Nothing important.”

Again, all eyes at the table pinned Colgate, and she looked at each one in turn. She was certain that they were probing her for weakness, but couldn’t be sure whether it was on Fleur’s prior orders. She wanted to believe it was not so.

“Commander Fleur knows what she’s doing,” Ink eventually said. “If she says Colgate belongs on this team, then she belongs on this team.”

“Speaking of which,” Silveretta said, relief filling her smile. “Excellent timing, commander. We were just concluding our introductions.”

“I trust everything went well?” Fleur asked.

“Peachy keen,” Desserts Dust said.

“Excellent.” She looked at them all. “I just received confirmation that the area for tomorrow is cleared and ready for us. The mine shaft has a type six warning spell on it, not a type five.”

“Thank Celestia for small favors,” Silveretta said.

Colgate looked at Fleur, but didn’t receive a look back.

“Let’s meet at ten in the morning just outside. No cars except mine. Chilly, pack for blunt trauma and possible rearrangement, and bring the puncher. Ink, rest well, ‘cause we’ll need you on quarantine for most of the day.”

“Yes, commander,” Ink Pearl said, bowing her head.

“Desserts, anything new from reconnaissance?”

“It’s not getting bigger, at least,” Desserts Dust said. “But the area of effect is, due to accelerated erosion, so we know it’s only practical contact that’ll hurt us.”

“Will protective clothing help?”

“If it’s close enough to touch your protection, it’s too close.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. What’s the spill factor?”

“‘Bout an eight.”

“That’s not too bad,” Fleur said.

“We’ll want air tanks, though,” Desserts Dust continued. “It ain’t confirmed, but it might be rearranging the oxygen down there as well.”

“Shit.” She looked at Colgate for a second. “You’re positive it’s not spreading through the air?”

“I’m positive, commander. Practical contact only.”

Colgate simply watched, fascinated. Surrounded by unprofessionalism for so long, she had forgotten what capable Daturas looked like.

“It’s not a cognitohazard, commander,” Silveretta said meekly.

“That’s good,” Fleur said. “But I bet it could rearrange a brain pretty good, if it got the chance, hm?”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Desserts Dust said.

“Right, well, this is what the job’s all about. Oh, and Colgate will be with us tomorrow, shadowing.”

Ink and Chilly visibly soured.

“Don’t forget to bring your lunches. It’ll probably be a long day tomorrow. Questions?”

“Are we going to keep the operation entirely underground?” Ink asked.

“I’d rather we not, but it might come to that. I’ll bring a vacuum glass in case we need to turn this mine into a quarry. We all have our air tanks? And they’re all full?”

A chorus of “yes commander” replied.

“Good.” Fleur appraised her team. “Good. Dismissed.”

“Wait, commander, one more question,” Ink said.

“Yes?”

“Why is this pony shadowing us tomorrow?” She looked directly at Colgate as she asked.

“Because I want her to see professionals in action.”

Ink turned up her nose.

“Is that a problem?”

Ink’s face twisted slightly in the pain of indecision. “I do not think it’s appropriate for someone like her to be seeing this, given her, um, rank.”

“Especially with the puncher,” Chilly said.

“How do you know I’m not ranked higher than you?” Colgate asked. If Fleur were not standing beside her, her very presence a strange, cold calm, she felt she would surely approach the purple mare and escalate.

“Your objections are noted,” Fleur said, nodding politely.

“How do we know she won’t… well, how do we know she can handle this?” Ink asked. “We don’t even know her past. She refused to go into detail, you should know that, during the introductions. Colgate only said where she was from.”

Colgate looked at Fleur, her heart sinking. All the strength from the day before was seeping back out.

“That’s her right,” Fleur said.

“She has no right to withhold vital information from the team.”

“She’s not on the team.” Fleur’s voice was firm, and Ink’s stare immediately lost its edge. “She owes you nothing, Ink Pearl. I brought Colgate as a courtesy, so you would not have to wonder who she was when I brought her tomorrow. If she doesn’t want to go into depth about her past, she doesn’t have to. Is that clear?”

“Yes, commander,” Ink said, quieter.

“Chilly, you look upset.”

Chilly Clouds only bowed her head, blushing.

Fleur looked at Colgate. “I’m going to stay here, but you can get back home. Silveretta, please escort Colgate back to my house.”

When Silveretta said goodbye to Colgate outside Fleur’s house, Colgate went inside and locked the door, then went to the window to watch her leave. The griffon took off at a steep angle that Colgate could not follow from her spot at the bottom of the window, so she waited, crouched, until her legs had fallen asleep. Seeing nothing, she cracked the front door and watched the yard for ten minutes more. Then she went outside.

A quick look around proved that she was alone, something she did not completely believe. Her chest and stomach quivered with black fear, and her mind felt like it had been wrung of all of its memories, to be given room for every word, every expression, every look in the eyes from the conversation she had just had. The displaced memories, meanwhile, she could only wear around herself like a shawl. If any passer-by came along, she felt certain they would turn and jog away from her, disgusted by the life on display.

She couldn’t think coherently. Frustration and paranoia were once again at the forefront of her thoughts, twisting each moment with the other Daturas into a montage of unspoken accusations and insinuations. They were all sharing a laugh about her, she was positive, and probably scheming against her. Was it Ink Pearl’s job, she wondered, to give her a fighting chance, or to demoralize her?

When Silveretta had described her job to Colgate, she had used the word “counselor,” and looked directly at Colgate as she said it. Remembering the detail, Colgate realized with a shot of angry self-pity that she had missed its significance at the time. Not seeing the subtle suggestion that Silveretta believed she needed a counselor, Colgate had allowed herself to play the fool for them all.

Imagining the iceberg of meaning underneath their interactions, and everything that she had missed, was almost overwhelming. She wanted to sit down and stare into the sky until the sun burned her eyes out. She wanted to go for a swim, mixing dessert wine and painkillers as she had one remote afternoon. She wanted to get lost in the TV.

And yet, petrified as much by her own anxiety and indignation as by her reluctance to commit to any one idea, Colgate stood right where she was, outside Fleur’s house, a portrait of confusion on top of the despicable catalogue of choices to that hypothetical passer-by. She looked down the street, expecting to see them trotting over to meet her.

Before her hyperactive mind had fully settled into a well-worn groove of less specific negativity, a simple case of baseless depression, another familiar idea popped up, one to which she had not given serious thought in a few days.

She could find a pharmacy nearby, she was sure, and write herself a prescription. Barring that, she could find someone willing to purchase something for her, or simply get a case of over the counter pills herself and take all of them at once. The prospect of spending the next few hours face down on her bed carried with it a certain appeal; all she would have to worry about afterwards would be how large a glass of water to drink.

Thinking such, she stayed rooted to the spot. Her thoughts still refused to be ordered, and she didn’t like the idea of taking off before thinking things through fully, especially living with another Datura. She looked around again, in case someone was watching who wasn’t before.

“I’m a pathetic idiot if I let this stupid meeting get to me so much,” she thought. “It was just a meeting, after all. There’s no need to freak out.” She frowned at her own thoughts. “I don’t know that.”

But Fleur had stuck up for her, she thought. That, too, needed to be factored into the decision.

“I should just get it over with. I know how this ends, with me back in rehab, or worse. Well, not worse, just dead. But I know that’s where I’m going. May as well start now, while I’m unsupervised.”

Trapped again, though. She would be trapped in rehab, just as she was trapped in the Datura, and thinking more seriously about killing herself made her fast realize that she hadn’t the courage to free herself in such a drastic, permanent fashion.

She looked over at Fleur’s cat in the window, licking its paw.

Pills seemed the most likely option. Not ideal, but simply the most likely to happen. She knew she was weak, and she knew it was no better than she deserved, for letting herself be trapped so easily in the first place. Better, she thought, to backslide as much on her own terms as she possibly could.

And still, she didn’t move from where she stood. She was beginning to get hot in the sun, and wiped her brow, realizing then that her heart was hammering. The agony of indecision had largely slipped into her unnoticed.

“I can’t even figure out what I want.” Aware of her inability to decide her own fate, in what seemed such a critical time, enhanced and clarified as it was by the upwelling of emotion Fleur’s team had brought about, was merely another reason to hate herself, which she did all the way back into the house and to the bedroom, where she stared at the ceiling at the foot of her bed until Fleur came home.

She shared none of her thoughts the day before with Fleur, who was preoccupied with much larger concerns anyway. She had, in addition to overseeing the hazard team’s neutralization of the thing Colgate still hadn’t had explained, to coordinate some last-minute preparations for the battle, only three days away. She said she had a job for Colgate, potentially, but refused to go into detail.

In Fleur’s car, magically disguised as a tarnished, blue minivan, they slowly rumbled down into Lower Canterlot, through miles and miles of suburb that Colgate had never visited, and eventually out into the cracked wilderness. Along a fenced-off split, they drove, Fleur with her radio set, as usual, to static. No numbers station intruded.

“So shouldn’t you tell me at least a little about this thing?” Colgate finally asked, afraid to break the silence but more afraid to be unprepared. Her experience with the moon had shown her just how serious Datura work could become.

“Sorry, Colgate. Yes, I should be telling you. I have a lot on my mind right now.”

Colgate allowed her a minute more of quiet. “So…”

“The moon, that spell that chased you around.”

“Another one of those?”

“No, but they’re related. To pare it down to basics, those types of spells only occur naturally if something with a lot of magic gets sent through a teleportation enchantment. It ruptures the magic holding the teleportation spell together, and those moons, as you call them, are by-products. So…” She tapped her hooves on the steering wheel. “What we’re dealing with today is the thing that broke that portal in the first place.”

Colgate looked into the back seat thoughtfully. Suddenly, the air tanks seemed woefully insufficient. “What in Tartarus is it?”

“Exactly.”

“Wait, seriously? It’s from pony hell?"

“Tartarus isn’t pony hell,” Fleur mumbled. “It’s a kind of poison, or pollutant I suppose would be better. It… well, you’ll see it in action when we get there, but it has to do with phases of tangibility. If it touches something tangible, like a rock, or a car, or you or me, the affected area of that thing suddenly becomes less stable. It starts phasing in and out of our perception.”

Colgate thought for a moment. “What did this happen to touch?”

“An underground mineral deposit.” She looked askance at Colgate.

“And things phase in and out continuously, once touched?”

“I mean, they stop eventually, but—”

“So it’s like a localized earthquake out there, somewhere,” Colgate said. “There’s a ton of shifting rock beneath the ground.” She smacked the dashboard in excited understanding. “That’s why Desserts Dust was concerned about erosion. All the unaffected rock and stuff is still getting knocked around at the edge of the earthquake. And you want to do all the work above ground so we can look down on it, not be in with it.”

Fleur smiled. “You have the brains to be a good Datura, do you know that?”

Colgate shrugged and returned to looking out the window.

“I mean it. You’re great with details, and you put things together really well. We just need to clean up a few… quirks, and you’d be fit for most research or reconnaissance teams.”

“Is that why I’m shadowing? Are you vetting me?”

Fleur’s smile widened. “That is exactly what I’m doing.”

“Whether Ink Pearl likes it or not.”

Fleur laughed. “Yes, whether Ink likes it or not.”

Out in a sea of yellowing grass, the three ponies and griffon waited for Fleur’s arrival around a wide hexagon of warning tape. A cool wind furrowed the grass and Colgate’s fur when she stepped out of the car, and she regretted that she hadn’t brought a scarf or a light coat. In the city, it was relatively warm, but in the open fields just outside the suburbs, the temperature dropped. From where they stood, she could see a fat line of clouds marching southwards, due for Cloudsdale and dispersal across the southern half of the country after that.

“Do we have a seismometer already set up?” Fleur asked. Unlike the day before, she was dressed conservatively and without makeup.

“By the rocks,” Desserts Dust said. “Readings are holding steady at around a hundred thirty-five kilojoules.”

“Good. You feel it, Colgate?”

Colgate walked deeper into the field, where she did feel it. The ground trembled and pattered underneath her, sometimes right under her hooves and sometimes from afar. It put her in mind of a large, burrowing monster, restlessly traversing its small den just below.

“The mine shaft is secured, ma’am,” Chilly Clouds said. “They already put an airlock inside, it just needs to be activated.”

“Okay. Ink, come with me and let’s take a look at this. The rest of you, set up the vacuum glass.”

Colgate stayed where she was while Silveretta flew to Fleur’s car and grabbed a bundle of what looked like metal turnips from the back seat. She and Desserts Dust adjusted the dials and cranks on each while Chilly Clouds set to flattening a particularly long patch of grass. Layers of paper-thin wings unfurled from each turnip’s top to catch in the sun like thin crystals.

None of them spared Colgate a look as they set up their operation. She stood, mane flapping in her face, watching silently, wondering what the vacuum glass was and what she would discover below. Her worry and vexation from before returned slowly. That everyone should ignore her, when before they had been so intent, ate at her. They had already known about her drug problem, so they probably knew more than they were telling her. Perhaps, she thought, yesterday had been a test, and she had failed.

“Colgate, you can grab the air tanks out of Fleur’s car,” Desserts Dust said. “You’ll be needing them coming up here.”

Without acknowledgement, Colgate trudged back to the car and lifted the air tanks out, primitive yellow cylinders that looked disconcertingly similar to the kinds used to inflate balloons. Tied with rubber bands around them were plastic bags of tubing and face masks.

Fleur and Ink emerged from a spot in the grass far from the warning tape, the former chatting energetically, the latter only nodding. It sounded like more technical magical jargon to Colgate, who looked back at the air tanks with a sinking feeling. She wasn’t sure why, but she had expected something different.

“Looking good?” Fleur asked the Daturas working at her turnips.

“Almost there,” Silveretta said. “You wanted a total vacuum, you said?”

“That’s right,” Fleur said. “Ink, how are you feeling?”

“I’m ready when you need me,” Ink said.

“All right, good.” She walked back to Colgate, her taller form able to cut through the grass with ease and poise. “You excited? This is gonna be your first serious experience.”

“I thought the moon was my first serious experience.”

“Ehh, well, in a way it was. It was supposed to be more routine, but… you know. This is some properly serious stuff, though.”

“It’s already interesting.”

Fleur took the tubing out of its bag and started putting her tank together. “Do you know anything about vacuum safety?”

“Uhhh… I thought I was just shadowing you.”

“You can still do some digging,” Fleur said. “We’ll be digging for the first half of today, you know.” She looked at the taped field as Desserts Dust and Silveretta placed the turnips all around it, their wings expanding slowly like magical locusts waking up.

“These things are gonna create a vacuum, and we need to dig inside?” Colgate asked.

“That’s right.” She smirked, but quickly wiped it away.

“I thought vacuums were fatal.”

“They are, if you’re not protected. That’s why Ink is so important here, ‘cause she’s our shields.”

Colgate looked over at Ink Pearl, watching the vacuum glass set up.

“She’s completely trustworthy,” Fleur said quietly. “She’s had us in and out of vacuums, and worse things, more times than I can count.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.” She looked at Colgate for a second, as if trying to determine how much trust Colgate was willing to put in her judgment, and continued. “With her shields, it’ll be mostly the same as being out here, but there’s some differences. You won’t be able to hear anything, for starters. No sound in a vacuum.”

“So I’ll want to keep my head up, in case someone needs to tell me something.”

“Well, yes, here. In a larger vacuum, we’d use radios and earpieces.”

“What else?” She eyed Ink, then the field, trying to imagine it as a soundless landscape.

“You need to enter and exit the vacuum slowly, so you can decompress and recompress safely. The shield isn’t perfect, no one expects that, so there’ll be a little discomfort there. If you cross steadily, though, you’ll be fine.”

“How steadily?”

“A little slower than an average walking pace,” Fleur said.

“Ready, ma’am!” Silveretta called.

“Awesome! That was quick. Go get your tanks and come back to me.” She turned back to Colgate. “We’re only allowed to stay in for a half hour at a time, so we’ll dig in shifts.”

“Why is this necessary at all?” Colgate asked. Beneath, the ground still shook, but she had forgotten all about it.

“We don’t want whatever’s down there escaping into the air. All that shaking below, imagine that happening in our atmosphere.”

“Has that happened before?”

“Ohhhh yeah. They’re called skyquakes. I have a book on them, if you’d like. Ink, get my shield up.”

“Yes, commander,” Ink said, horn glowing a dark fuchsia and wrapping Fleur in a similarly colored shield. Ink held it for a moment as the shield wimpled and contracted. “Ready, commander.”

Fleur nodded and strolled to the field, her tank secured to her back by a pair of nylon straps. “Get outside the area of effect,” she called. “Vacuum on in three… two… one.”

She strapped the air mask to her face and pressed a button on one of the devices, and, as if choreographed, the wings of all extended even farther, magic crackling across their surfaces. The more they spread, the harder it was to tell the difference between glass and magic, until dozens of wing tips came to rest on a point high above the field to form a translucent dome, like a bead of water. Fleur walked back with a nod of satisfaction, a light breeze tousling her mane.

“Get Colgate set up while I grab some supplies.”

“I don’t want to go in there,” Colgate said, not thinking.

“It’s part of the job,” Fleur said, going through a large satchel of digging tools.

“Here, Colgate,” Silveretta said, unwrapping her tubing for her. “This bit just hooks into here, like this, and then this goes over your face.” Colgate levitated the air mask over her muzzle, reminding herself of all the times she had done the same with a surgeon’s mask. Silveretta helped her strap the tank to her back; it was an uncomfortable fit, and there was no cushioning.

“Now hold still,” Ink said, lighting her horn again as Colgate experimented with the air release valve.

She watched Ink cast her spell, heart sinking once more. She had only been distantly aware of vacuums, and aware that they were dangerous, before joining the Datura, her only exposure being through one or two movies she had seen in college. Having suddenly to venture into one, protected only by a thin skin of magic, and it not even hers, was enough to make the specter of abandonment again appear in her thoughts. Rouge may have been right to leave her to her fate that day, she thought.

“This will protect you from most of the dangers inside,” Ink said, “but you won’t be able to hear, and it’ll be cold. Don’t overexert yourself. If you need something, wave or send up a magical flare. We’ll all be watching from here.”

Colgate looked over at Fleur, walking with a pair of shovels and a twisting, four-pronged claw. “We’re not digging all the way down into that, are we? That’ll take all week.”

“We’re just prepping the site,” Fleur said, walking up.

“Your shield is ready,” Ink said.

Colgate looked back at the vacuum, contained by the thin, magical moth wings and darkened by Ink’s shield over her eyes. Her heart jumped inside, and she almost bolted there. She was able to anchor herself to the ground with the thought of finding a medicine bottle, a greater threat and a greater comfort.

“We’re scoring the ground,” Fleur said, “then Desserts will come in and plant some blasting caps. We want this plate of earth loose enough that I can lift it out in as few pieces as possible, like taking the top off a jack o’ lantern.”

Colgate didn’t say anything, though it was difficult for her to imagine Fleur doing something so impressive with her magic. So far, she had only seen her dispel some simple enchantments.

“Here, take this.” She dropped the claw at Colgate’s hooves. “Go around the rim and loosen the ground. I’ll be behind with the shovel.”

“Just in a big circle?”

“All the way around.”

Colgate fumbled the claw in her magic, its shape awkward and weighted strangely. The metal claw seemed to hold all the thing’s mass, while the short, fiberglass handle stuck out like a vestigial piece that might belong to another tool entirely.

“That’s the unicorn model,” Desserts Dust said. “We have a manual one if you’d like it. It’s longer.”

“I’m fine,” Colgate said, shoving it into the ground and twisting. A small furrow of earth hopped up at her knees.

“You ever do any gardening?” Silveretta asked.

Colgate ignored her, thinking it a taunt.

“Let’s get moving,” Fleur said, stepping back into the vacuum.

Colgate stood at the edge, the warning tape a blurry yellow line just inside the dome. She tried to think, to examine her options, to determine whether she truly had no choice but to entrust herself to the dark, disheveled unicorn behind her. She could just simply refuse, but would forfeit what little respect she had won from Fleur. She wasn’t sure whether that would matter, but supposed it might.

“Go on, it’s not that bad,” Silveretta said.

Colgate put a hoof through first, surprised to find that the vacuum glass was nothing more than a magical shield. Feeling nothing out of the ordinary, she slowly brought her face through the glass as well. For one brief moment, when her eyes were through but her ears were not completely, she could hear the outside world and see the empty, dreamlike expanse. Then, all sound was gone, and she stepped silently under the tape. She spoke, but nothing came out.

Fleur was using her shovel to flatten a small divot in the grass when Colgate moved up to her. She was surprised when she needed to touch Fleur’s back to get her attention, but quickly remembered that Fleur too couldn’t hear her rustle through the grass. She took her claw, pointed to a spot by the rim, and Fleur nodded.

With what felt like the real world just a few inches away, work began, turning up clods of earth and rags of grass in the empty, cold field.

Chilly Clouds and Silveretta had to finish scoring the ground, and, by the time they were done, the day had turned warm. Colgate sat on a folding chair and sipped from a bottle of water, her head cloudy and dazed, and Fleur sat beside her.

Desserts Dust, when it was his turn, entered the vacuum with a bag of small, metal caps that gently clinked against glass when he moved them.

“Explosive potions,” Silveretta said, pulling up a chair beside Colgate. “He’s gonna set them all around the rim, and then direct the charges down, so Fleur can lift the ground up.”

“Then the real work begins,” Chilly Clouds said.

“What are you going to do?” Colgate asked.

Fleur thought for a long time. “I can’t tell you.”

“That dangerous?”

“That dangerous,” Ink said, but looked down at Fleur’s stern glance.

“I’ll actually want you blind and deaf,” Fleur said. “It’s complicated, and you simply don’t have the experience to know about it.”

Colgate snorted.

“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel better, if I were to tell you, Luna would have me out of the Datura within the day. Besides, they’d wipe your memory right after.”

“Is not knowing for my own good, or for yours?”

“Both. More yours than mine, I guess.” She held up a hoof. “Don’t worry, you’ll be well away from the vacuum when we do it. There will be no threat whatsoever to you.”

Colgate stared at her. She knew she would have no way to hold Fleur to that promise.

Desserts Dust emerged from the vacuum with a thin, yellow wire clasped in his mouth. He spat it out with a grin and set to inserting it into a plunger he had left for himself. When it was ready, everyone quieted and gathered around him. Colgate noticed that no one lowered their ears in preparation for the blast, as she had.

The charges went off in a ring of silent, loose soil geysers, and the earth rocked gently in a manner different from the continual shifting below. No dust swirled afterwards; all was again still in the space of a second.

“Isn’t it a fire hazard to have all this grass in there, with explosions going off?” Colgate asked.

“No oxygen to keep a fire going,” Desserts Dust said.

“Hm.” She remembered the next step, for Fleur to magically lift the disc of ground off the enchanted cave, but asked anyway. She wanted to hear Fleur say it again.

“I’m going to just grab the column of ground here and try to pull it off,” Fleur said. “If I can. If it looks like it won’t work, we might have to go in and do some more digging. Chilly, you and Silver will be on digging duty if we need to do more.”

Colgate could hear the disappointment in their voices when they agreed.

“All right, let’s see if we can get this on the first try,” Fleur said, approaching the vacuum and cracking her neck. Igniting her horn, she spaced her legs farther apart and grounded herself, a quirk Colgate had seen in many other unicorns. A more solid stance actually did nothing to help a user’s magic.

The Crumbling had happened half a year ago—a startling thing on its own for Colgate to realize—and she had thought, since then, that she would never again see anything of its like. She had been awoken that night and ran out into the streets in time to see a split form only a back yard away from her house. The image of the earth yawning would sometimes pop up in her mind, unexpected and fascinating, a memory so grotesque and absurd that it was almost a treasure.

She thought that she would witness no repetition, but, with Fleur’s magic circling inside the vacuum, she saw the scale of the undertaking, and realized a smaller repetition may only be minutes away.

At first, Colgate thought that the wind had somehow got through the vacuum’s edge as the grass swayed, but then noticed that it did so all together, and in a consistent direction. First one way, then the other, the dying grass swayed. Fleur, after what had appeared to be simple mental preparation, had bored through the field to a depth only she knew, grasped the entire resultant tower of earth, and twisted it, like coring an apple.

With a light sigh of exertion, Fleur bobbed her head once, and the first edge of topsoil lifted. With it, gradually and steadily, came more layers of ground, a cross-section of the field emerging. Colgate watched, awe contained, as the other end lifted similarly, making for one short moment a great bowl of the grassy meadow. Soon, other ends joined, and the bowl flattened again into a sheet, hovering first a foot, then three, then nearly seven, and still solid underneath. Fleur pulled and the tower of earth gained altitude, its bottom following smoothly with a gentle caress of magic. Its shadow engulfed them all, a giant splinter extracted from the skin of the world.

When at last the column tapered off, rocks and clods of dirt falling silently into the abyss, Fleur slowly rotated herself, dragging the tower with her. Colgate’s jaw hung open as the lone unicorn gracefully swung what amounted to a small hill out of the vacuum, selected a spot by some trees, and let it softly slough out of her magic. It remained mostly whole, but small avalanches appeared to melt off its sides, turning the sharp cylinder into a stick of butter in the sun. The edge of the new hole stared up into its dome with monstrous impossibility, something Colgate would have expected from Celestia or Luna, and no one else.

Fleur, panting and glistening with sweat, trotted to the edge and put her head to the vacuum’s edge. She stayed that way for several minutes, then walked back to the group.

“Looking good so far. Ink, go ahead and take off everyone’s shields for now. How does lunch time sound?”

“Music to my ears,” Desserts Dust said.

Colgate started. She had forgotten to bring something. In her imaginings of the mission, she had kept herself apart from the team, knowing she was just a shadow; the notion, without her notice, had extended to the need for a break and for food.

“What did you bring, Ink?” Chilly asked.

Colgate turned away and, with effort, pulled up some of the brittle grass. She could feel the judging eyes on her back, and flicked her tail petulantly in response.

“Here, have some of mine,” Silveretta said, nudging her with a claw. “Don’t worry, it’s vegetarian.”

Colgate looked at the half sandwich offered to her, and decided, after a moment, it would be wise to take it.

“How’s the battle looking?” Chilly asked.

“As good as it can,” Fleur said. “We’ve got a time and a location, and the Ponyville caravan is right on schedule. So’s the angel.”

“They flew it all the way from Roan,” Ink said. “How do we know it’ll be in working condition when it gets here?”

“They’re not like airships. They were built to last. As long as it’s not missing any crucial pieces, it’ll be just fine.” She smiled. “Discord won’t know what hit him.”

“That’s certain?” Desserts Dust asked.

“Luna told me not to worry about it.”

“What is this angel you keep talking about?” Colgate asked.

“Short version,” Silveretta said, “Is that the Elements of Harmony stumbled upon it somewhere in their travails, and now a splinter group of them is bringing it up to us to help with the fight.”

“Luna visited them personally, in Roan,” Fleur said. “Something important happened down there, but I don’t know the details.”

“Do the princesses visit the Elements often?” Colgate asked.

“Not that often, not that I know of.”

“Well, Princess Celestia is always elsewhere,” Chilly said.

“Yes, diplomacy. It’s on Luna to govern in her absence.”

“What about us?” Colgate asked. “What part do we play in the battle?”

“You, I’m still thinking about.”

Some final preparations made, and the sun creeping toward dusk, Fleur knew it was time to begin the procedure that would remove all the enchanted minerals from below. She talked Colgate into the car, where she tied a blindfold around her, then put on her earmuffs.

“Okay, let’s start,” she said briskly, trotting out to her team with a large flask of neon purple potion. “Chilly, you have the puncher?”

“Right here, ma’am,” Chilly Clouds said, producing a tall, metal crown.

“Good.” She eyed the device nervously, though she had used them before. Punchers, as they were known, were among the most dangerous tools the Datura had at its disposal, and Fleur carried a healthy sense of respect for the chain reaction she would soon unleash.

“You’re lifting everything?”

“That’s right.” She looked back at the car, half expecting Colgate to have released herself, but she sat where Fleur had left her, appearing placid. “How long do you think it’ll take to calibrate it?”

“Ten minutes should be fine,” Chilly said.

“And Ink, how long can you go for both of us without line of sight?”

“I can give you a half hour safely,” Ink said.

“Perfect.” Decades of working in the Datura and years as a model, her cover job, had taught her how to mask her emotions, which she often did for her team. Everything was not perfect; the risks she was taking were great, as they always were when a puncher was involved.

Made specially and specifically, punchers contained the highest density of magical energy of any piece of technology on the Gaia. Inside the pure tungsten casing were set one thousand twenty-four enchanted filaments, the largest measuring only an inch long and weighing two grams. Alone, they were useless, but if calibrated and enchanted correctly, magic would travel from filament to filament on both sides of the circle, propagating exponentially until colliding with itself on the other end. The reaction took a shade less than half a second, and the end result was a concentration of magic so intense that it would temporarily put a hole in the barrier between Gaia and Tartarus—for what reason, Fleur did not understand. Only the princesses had the answer to that particular question.

Ink put shields on Fleur and Chilly Clouds, as well as the puncher, and the two mares descended the mine shaft. It was good not to hear the earth continuously shifting, but disconcerting at the same time, still being able to feel it in the walls and the floor. Fleur knew some ponies who found the silence of vacuums to be relaxing, but she was not one of them.

They had to walk for five minutes before reaching the vestibule the reconnaissance team had dug for them, and there they waited, taking in the scene. Nothing was still in the cave. From above, waning sunlight cast the jagged clench of shifting rock in a soupy, yellow tinge that made the chaotic shadows nearly indistinguishable from the stone. Boulders pushed at one another while fingers of stone got jammed between heaving piles of looser earth, or broke off into splinters that would either settle or wink out of existence before hitting the ground. Occasionally, Fleur could see the liquid sheen on the toxin that had begun the shifting, something out of Tartarus that had been teleported to a spot underground. She wondered, not for the first time, whether the location had been random. It seemed that way.

Chilly poked her and pointed at the puncher, indicating that she was going to begin calibrating, and Fleur nodded in kind. After a few minutes of watching, Fleur set down her potion, ignited her horn, squared her shoulders, and braced herself. Lifting the field’s floor off the cave had been harder than what she was about to do, she knew, but it had tired her out, and she needed to take longer to gain her focus. The fact that everything was moving did not hinder her, it having taken a year of daily practice to master the technique that allowed her that luxury.

When she had properly formed a floor of repellent magic, and gotten all of the affected material on the correct side of it, Chilly poked her again and gestured at the puncher. A tiny, red light glowed on its front, indicating that it was armed. Few Daturas were even qualified to see the light when it was on.

Fleur nodded and pointed into the empty space below the soundless crash of moving stone. Chilly ducked in—she had only a couple feet of space, and not much time before her commander tired—and placed the puncher in a divot in the ground. She didn’t once look up at the magical ceiling, something Fleur noticed and appreciated, but also expected. The trust between the team and leader had to be absolute, and though Fleur wouldn’t have begrudged a glance at the calamity above, she was happier that Chilly had not found it necessary.

Fleur picked up the potion again, branching off a small splinter of magic to bring it up to eye level, and pointed at the mine shaft. Chilly retreated into the ebbing light, and Fleur watched the flicker and fade of solid stone through the purple liquid.

Chilly had calibrated the puncher to only be powerful enough for a five-minute gateway. She could have given Fleur an hour, or even a day, but Fleur wanted only a small window.

It was a semi-rare action for forcing objects back into Tartarus, known as flushing. The purple liquid inside her flask had been brewed in the Everfree Forest, and would burn off any oxygen it contacted. Inside the flask, uncorked, it was a long-lasting lantern, but shattered in the Tartarus air, it would produce a sudden, impermanent vacuum, which Fleur would use to suck the polluted stone out of the Gaia.

The puncher’s second light came on, the one-minute warning, and Fleur quickly threw a forcefield onto the floor where the puncher would summon its gateway. She could not have any matter from Tartarus rushing in as soon as the way was open, one piece of known physics that, as far as anyone could tell, remained the same on both sides of reality.

While Fleur was about to again earn her rank as commander on the fields of Tartarus, Ink Pearl was proving her worth as a defensive mage, keeping Fleur’s shield in place while also placing a slightly larger one over the vacuum dome, to ensure that only what they wanted would be flushed into the other world.

Fleur had seen more Tartarus gateways than she could remember, and had actually traveled through one eleven times in her life—at a certain point in the Datura ranking, one could not ascend without having spent at least a little time in Tartarus. She was no longer unnerved by the seamless band of shadow that encircled the floor; nor by the dimensionless, unreflective face of the doorway to hell. A small seep of water appeared at the portal’s edges. Orientation meant nothing across the membrane that separated Tartarus from the Gaia, but, from the water coming through the floor, she was able to guess that she would pop her head up from the ground on the other side.

She put her head through first and assessed the rain-swept plateau where she would emerge. Dark clouds rolled above, and she jumped when the first peal of thunder hit; she had forgotten that she would be able to hear on the other side. She had to close her eyes to emerge into the other world. Stepping forward and climbing through the gateway, while her head, already through, told her she was going to simply smash her face against the wet grass was not a complication she wanted.

Once through, she looked around again, seeing only the grass and a small pack of wild animals in the distance, apparently paying her no mind. She put her head back through into the Gaia tunnel and threw a shot of yellow light up through the rocks, a signal to her Daturas to take down the vacuum glass. After a few seconds, a similar beam of light danced down to her, the signal that she was clear.

Fleur sidestepped to the gateway’s rim, one eye on the wild animals in the distance, and judged how the stones would come through. On their own, they would simply fall into the gateway when she released the shield that kept them aloft, but the affected air would not; moreover, in the sudden gravity reversal, very little would remain in Tartarus for long. She needed a second vacuum, perfectly timed, to pull everything deeper, and allow herself the time to slip back in and set up yet another shield behind herself, shutting the stone out until the gateway sealed itself naturally—which it would in only a few minutes.

She waited for thirty seconds more to allow air to seep through Ink’s shield and back into the once vacuumed space on the Gaia, and so allow for a greater pressure differential between worlds. “Okay,” she said to herself, judging that she had waited long enough, and not wanting to accidentally stay too long and be trapped in Tartarus. It had not happened to her, but she had known ponies who were not so careful. “Three, two, one.”

She floated the potion to a space above the gateway and magically shattered it, at the same time releasing her hold on her magic across the gateway. Purple fire flashed and clawed in a wide, hot sphere all around her and the gateway, and she was once again at Ink’s mercy. Of all the times for Ink’s shield to fail, Fleur knew, this was the most likely; the sudden introduction of yet another vacuum was not easy to weather for even a skilled magician.

Stone quietly shot through the black hole, with it fine curls of dust and soil, gravel and the occasional glint of the malignant magical pollutant that had called them all out in the first place, golden in the gentle rainfall. The ring of purple fire dimmed as it expanded, its edges reaching out in a perfect sphere as it combusted upon less and less oxygen. Such potions were not made to combust perfectly, else their use could accidentally blow away the entire sky, but sometimes Fleur wished they had wider range.

As the last pieces of stone jumped out of the gateway, Fleur focused all of her magic on another flat shield on her side of the gateway and jumped through before the larger pieces of land could fall back down and block her egress.

She fell for a second one way, then half a second the other, and landed gracelessly on her own shield. She was momentarily balanced atop the umbral gateway, an unnerving image for her, and she wasted no time in getting back on solid ground. She slumped against a slick shelf of rock to catch her breath, her head pounding from all the magic she had used. Still, she could not dawdle, for she knew Ink would be close to her end as well.

She stepped only slightly into the mine shaft and watched the gateway shrink, its edges silently retracting until all that remained was a pebble of shadow, as the hole in the center of a record; and then that, too, was gone. She saw no motion inside the scraped well of stone and dark minerals, no flutter of dust or bounce of gravel on the floor. With a nod and a mental pat on the back for a job well done, Fleur returned to the surface. It was nearly sundown, and Fleur had Desserts Dust turn the vacuum glass back on to allow Ink a rest.

“Now we just have to sweep the area. I want specific attention paid to the air. Ink, how much more do you have in you?”

“I can keep Desserts shielded for another half hour if I have line of sight,” Ink said, sweat glistening on her brow and chest.

“Take five, and then let’s do it. I’d like to get out of here before dark.” She looked over at her car. “How is she?”

“Can’t sit still, but she hasn’t peeked,” Silveretta said. “You should probably—”

“I am, I am.” She went to the car and lifted off Colgate’s blindfold first, gave her a smile, then removed the earmuffs.

Colgate simply watched her.

“The sensitive part’s over now. We just need to clean up, then we’ll go.”

Colgate slowly climbed out of the car, her face not serene, but not angry either. She looked only uncomfortable.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Colgate looked at the other Daturas, then at the vacuum glass. “You and Ink did most of the work, looks like.”

“That’s right,” Ink said, looking at Chilly Clouds and giving her a sympathetic smile. Chilly, beside her, smiled back with a touch of color in her cheeks.

“What in Tartarus did you do?” Her horn lit for a second, then extinguished. She rubbed her head. “I felt it in the car too. There’s a lot of magic in the air right now.” She squinted at Fleur. “And yet only you two look tired.”

“Sorry, Colgate, I really can’t go into it. Maybe in a year or two.” She moved to pat Colgate’s back, but the blue unicorn looked at her with icy disinterest, and Fleur decided not to.

Cleanup took no more than twenty minutes. Desserts Dust, using his own observation and a pair of faintly glowing potions that Silveretta mixed up for them on the spot, went into the mine shaft with a light song on his lips. He reemerged with one fewer potion, and the second one a different color, with what resembled a gobbet of amber in the bottom.

“No residuals on the stone, and I got all the air,” he said, laying it at Fleur’s hooves. “Not too much.”

Fleur examined the potion. “Lock the vacuum glass and flag the area,” she said to Silveretta. “You did good, Desserts, but I think I’d actually like a micro-detail on this place. I’ll talk to Racing Stream as soon as I get home.”

“So are we done?” Desserts Dust asked hopefully.

Fleur sighed contentedly. “We are done, team. Let’s get back.”

Silveretta cheered lightly and hugged Chilly Clouds, still aglow with pride for operating the puncher.

“That’s it?” Colgate asked.

“That’s it. Hop in.”

“Commander, my report? When would you like it?” Ink asked.

“Don’t worry about it this time,” Fleur said.

Ink stiffened. “Yes, ma’am.” At that, she turned and grabbed her bag out of the pile they had left by the car, tossing each member’s out to them.

“Rest up, relax if you can, and I’ll see you Monday. I’ll have Rushing Stream bring back the vacuum glass.” She started the car and turned the radio up, though there was nothing to hear so far outside the city.

The Storm

Chapter Eighty-four

The Storm

“Life goes on, and me with it,” Pinkie said to herself. Canterlot Mountain was in sight, framed against the broken tableau of fields and streams that disappeared into the north, a continuous sign of how vast was the damage yet to be undone. Vanilla’s visit, a secret she kept from both her companions, weighed on her mind.

She was alone where she stood, and looked over her shoulder, half expecting Vanilla to be there once more. Since leaving her, she had not fully felt rid of him. In her imaginings, his eye was on her day and night, watching her twist inside a cocoon of guilt, waiting to see whether she would admit her failure or bury it. At times, she saw herself confessing to Octavia and Whooves; at others, admitting only the vaguest action of cowardice and forcing an interrogation upon herself, with its inevitable revelation, by that time so built up and romanticized in her mind, the springboard into a moment of perfect understanding and compassion. Whenever she was with one of them, though, she would pull back from the thought before she could scare herself into even the first hint that she had something to say.

“Besides, it was just fear. Fear isn’t a crime,” she would think. In those moments, for only a moment, it would lift her spirits.

They were to arrive in Canterlot that night, landing on a wide balcony on the palace’s back side, and would be able to spend their last night before the battle in a real bed. The last couple days had seen them over the forest and past Cloudsdale, still churning out its rain clouds in what appeared inexhaustible supply. No matter how Pinkie had tried, she couldn’t spy Ponyville from her height, she being the only one interested in doing so.

“You ready for the performance of a lifetime?” Whooves asked, appearing to her side.

Pinkie took a second before looking at him, bottling a rare impulse of irritation. “Not even close,” she said.

“That makes two of us, then.” He chuckled. “At least we have your beautiful sister.”

“Is she okay?” Octavia hadn’t been on the deck since the night before, when she had played half a faltering song on her warped cello and spoken not a word.

“What passes for ‘okay’ in Octavia-land?” Whooves asked.

“Is she keeping up any of that classical composure?”

“In spades, my dear. In spades.”

“Then she’ll be fine.”

“Fine?”

“She’ll be fine tomorrow,” Pinkie said. “I’ve never known her to buckle under pressure.” “Not like some ponies,” she added in her thoughts.

“Ah, to be so strong.” Whooves sighed dramatically and rested his chin on his hoof, looking into the sky in a deliberate pose. At first, Pinkie thought he was trying to be funny, but his face suggested deep thought.

“I’m sure we’ll be okay,” she offered, forcing a smile.

He looked at her for a time. “I’ve never been directly responsible for lives like I’m about to be. Look.” He held up his spare hoof. “It’s actually shaking. I… I can hardly even believe it myself, Pinkie.” He gestured grandly at the moon, scooting closer as he did so. “Celestia, this plunge I’m about to take!”

“I’m right there with ya, Whoovsies.”

“The paths we take, hm? I’m sure you didn’t plan for any of this when you became a baker in humble little Ponyville.”

“Nope, and not after that either. Even leaving home, right after… well, all of it, even then, I didn’t see this coming.”

“How could you have?”

“Well…” She thought of her Pinkie Sense then, and the last time she had felt it—she couldn’t recall precisely, but it had been a while ago.

“The paths we take,” he repeated quieter, shaking his head. “Of course, I’m a rover, so I at least have a taste for the unexpected.”

“I’m pretty sure we were told to expect this kind of stuff earlier,” Pinkie said. “But you don’t really, not until you’re right on top of it.”

“In other words, how does one expect the unexpected?”

“That’s right.” She sighed. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow.”

He closed the distance, putting a hoof around her. “Let’s see if we can’t dispel this rain cloud chasing us, hm? When I find myself beset with worries for the future, I like to tell myself a little something. It might help you.”

“What’s that?”

“Repeat after me, my dear. No matter what, tomorrow will end. Go on, say it.”

Pinkie smiled again, more out of habit than anything else. “No matter what, tomorrow will end.”

“No matter what, life goes on. Everything is transitory, the night is always darkest before the dawn, and all that good stuff. Pearls of wisdom, each.”

“Even if it does it without us, tomorrow will end,” Pinkie said.

“Ah, yes, well, I like to leave that little caveat out.”

She giggled. “Thanks, doc.”

Hoofsteps behind them made Whooves back away from Pinkie. He needn’t have worried; Octavia looked like she couldn’t even see them. “We are landing,” she said simply, and then went to a different part of the deck to watch them approach the palace balcony, decorated with a single, blue torch.

When they had landed, the angel folded its wings as best it could, and Luna came out to greet them. She ushered them into the palace, down a torch-lit corridor to a dining room, where they ate their first real meal in months. The last days on the angel, they had only dehydrated greens and water, the last of what they were able to scrounge up in Trottingham; only Pinkie had managed to hold onto an appetite that befitted the sumptuous spread that Luna had prepared for them.

Talk was forced and stiff. Everyone’s minds were elsewhere, and Luna was only truly engaged when she told them what to expect for the following day. Her team of precogs had given her a four-hour window in which to expect Discord to arrive, likely jumping his army the last several miles with a teleportation spell to try to catch Canterlot unprepared.

Octavia’s job would be relatively simple, Luna said. She would wait in the palace for the armies to engage, Discord’s rag-tag mixture of the hypnotized, the artificial, and the treasonous; and Canterlot’s dwindling, dispirited, but better trained regiment. Then, they would strike, focusing on any airships Discord had brought. By their scouts’ reports, Luna told them, the options would be many.

“Get a good night’s sleep,” Luna said, giving Octavia a quick look and a smile. “I don’t need to explain how important that is tonight.”

“Why do you need us?” Pinkie blurted. She had remained largely quiet over dinner, preferring to offer benign compliments on her food, which, she felt, was a sorry waste on ponies too stressed to enjoy it. She blushed and looked down as soon as she asked the question. “I mean, you being goddesses and all.”

Luna sighed.

“Might you not want to accidentally overdo it?” Whooves asked. On his plate sat a fat slice of rye bread, buttered and untouched.

“That’s part of it,” Luna said. “The truth is, if either one of us demonstrates too much eagerness to simply crush him, Discord could slip away.” Her horn pulsed softly, and her drink refilled. “Think of it this way. Encased in stone, his magic still had effects in ways we weren’t aware of. Chaos magic, by its very nature, cannot be easily contained, after all. If my sister or I were to strike at his heart, we would buy a little time, but leave you all back where you started. He would go to ground, likely slamming the door on his way out, and we are only two. We cannot monitor him and run a country at the same time, and we are in so precarious a position that any angry parting shot of his might put us past the point of no return.”

“Best to keep him out in the open,” Octavia said. “I understand.”

“I’m glad you do. It seems I have to answer that question ten times a day.”

“Sorry,” Pinkie said.

“No need to apologize.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “It’s been a long couple of months.”

“At least Celestia’s back now,” Whooves said.

“For now, yes.” She looked at them and sighed again. “I can’t express how grateful I am that you’re here, and how sorry I am for being such woeful dinner company.”

“It’s okay, your highness,” Pinkie said.

Luna gave her a tired smile. “I will direct you to your bedchambers, and then… tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

Whooves tapped his glass tentatively. “A toast?”

“To life,” Octavia said abruptly, raising hers in a gray cloud.

“To life,” they echoed.

* * * * * *

Morning broke fresh and lovely, and with it, quiet. It was Monday, but the sidewalks were almost bare, the shops almost all closed, the houses’ curtains pushed closed. No sprinklers ran across lawns, no cars hissed in the distance, no music came from the palace or the mansions in its shadow. Most everyone, Colgate knew, had left for Ponyville or farther abroad, and she wished she were one of them.

She lay in bed for ten minutes before getting up and cinching the curtains tighter. It didn’t help her mood. In the muted sun rays, she saw invitations to what might be the last day of her life, matches for the birds’ chirping, jeering valedictions. The flapping of leaves in the wind outside reminded Colgate of scattered applause, as if the world were giving her a final, insincere farewell, and all before she was even out of the bedroom.

The coffee Fleur brewed did not perk her up, nor did it Fleur; the two mares drank quietly over their breakfast, Colgate’s a bagel with cream cheese, Fleur’s a mound of lightly sautéed potatoes.

“So,” Fleur said, finally breaking the morning’s silence. “I know you’ve been feeling like I’m keeping apart from things.”

Colgate only looked at her, her mind elsewhere. Four hours, perhaps fewer, until the moment.

“And I am. I… this was always kind of a chance, Colgate, you understand that, and I wasn’t always sure you would even be needed, okay? Nothing against you, but every Datura needs to be broken in.”

“Of course.”

“You’re not going to be on the battlefield today.”

Elation threatened to color her face and her words, but she held it back. Fleur’s tone suggested that it was not the happy occasion it appeared, at least to her.

“You’re actually not going to be with us at all. I want you out at watchpoint thirty-six with Chilly Clouds.”

“The medic?”

“That’s right. I—”

“I’m one of your battlefield surgeons,” Colgate said. “Right? That’s what you were gonna say.”

“Pages ahead, as usual,” Fleur said. “But there’s more than that.”

There was a moment before Colgate focused, and she looked at Fleur again, more willfully.

“You’ll have a team of four nurses at your disposal as well. They’ll be handling the simple procedures, like bone setting and bandaging and so on. You, I want to be there to coordinate them, but also for anything more complicated. You’ll be working alongside Chilly.”

At the mention of nurses, Colgate’s mind sharpened out of its anxious miasma. Her voice was businesslike. “Was this a last-minute decision, to put me in charge of ponies? I haven’t done something like that in a long time.”

“You ran a successful clinic back in Ponyville.”

“I had one medical assistant and a couple nurses for surgery. This is completely different.” She threw an angry look out the window, silently cursing the beautiful weather. “I don’t know anything about battlefield surgery, for starters, and even if I did, I don’t know these ponies you’re suddenly giving me.”

“They’re all certified nurses, some of the best we have in Canterlot.”

“I would hope so. That’s not the point.” She paused, wondering for a second whether Fleur was testing her. Perhaps she was deliberately trying to annoy Colgate, to see if she might buckle under the impending battle.

“You need to know their relative strengths and weaknesses, and how well they work with one another, and all that,” Fleur said. She shrugged. “I’m sorry, but we didn’t have time. I thought for a while that I was gonna give all ten to Chilly, but then you came along.”

“I came along.” Colgate pushed her bagel aside, wanting more to throw it at the wall, or out the window.

“I chose to put you in charge of these mares because I think you can do it.”

Colgate looked at her for a long time. “This is it,” she suddenly realized.

“You have twice the experience they do, they’ll listen to you. You just need to tell them what to do.”

“It’s been a couple months since I’ve set hoof in a hospital. I’ll be rusty.”

“You know, I hate to say it, but a little rust probably isn’t going to hurt. This is a battlefield, not ER.”

Colgate stared into the dregs of her coffee. It had only been a few months since she had been in the operating room, but it felt longer. As always when she thought of her life in Ponyville, she felt as if she were remembering a dream. It was a peaceful, unfulfilling dream, enough to support an imitation of happiness, and she sometimes missed it.

“Can you do it?” Fleur asked.

Colgate’s mind remained on Ponyville, and, specifically, those final, poisonous days before she was ousted for good. She remembered setting up Noteworthy, and later Spike, then Allie Way, but not the ponies themselves. Each one was a blank, generic face in her mind, not even charged with the emotions she knew had dictated her actions toward them at that time. For her, they were characters in someone else’s story, about whom she had once read.

“Colgate?”

“I’ll do my best,” Colgate replied automatically. Even in the calm and ease of Fleur’s dining room, she saw no hope for her success. She didn’t want Fleur to know.

“I’ve already got your train ticket; it’ll take you right to the watchpoint. Chilly will meet you outside.”

“When am I going?”

“Couple hours. Don’t worry,” she hastened on, seeing Colgate’s face morphing to shock, “everything will be set up already. You don’t have to scrounge up any tools.”

“Good.”

“There’ll be ponies in the floor above yours, running defense.”

“What if they’re not enough?”

“You’ll be miles from the main grounds, but if something tries to breach you, you’ll all teleport out to the next one.”

Colgate’s heart still beat evenly, but her skin tingled. In the moment of anger, already dulled into dread, the battle had lost its fullness; it remained a toothless idea, something that would happen in the indistinct future and that she would weather like any other trial. She had not thought about the moments just before, the conversation that would have to happen, the planning, and the possibility that the planning might go bad. She had ignored the litany of tiny, simple steps that would complete her march into the nightmare, the ordinary things that would deliver her into chaos’ arms.

“You okay?”

“What are you going to do while I’m dealing with patients?”

“I’m going straight into it,” Fleur said with a sigh. “I’ve got a few spells that’ll help ‘em out there. And there’s something else, too, I need to see to.”

“What is it?”

Fleur looked at her.

“We might die today. Go ahead and tell me; I’m hardly listening anyway.” Her own honesty shocked her, but she could do nothing to stem it. Her life seemed already at an end; she just needed to wait for her appointed time.

“There’s a group of ships that are coming out of the suburbs, ships we’ve rigged to explode upon impact with the ground. Decoys, to drop into Discord’s army.”

“Ah.” Colgate nodded, but something clicked in her mind, and she brought her eyes back up to Fleur. Her mane, far from immaculate as she usually had it, was framed by the window, allowing Colgate a look at every stray hair. For the first time, she looked into Fleur’s face, not simply at it, and saw bags under her eyes in place of makeup. Her commander was just as tired as she, and probably just as worried.

“Why the suburbs?” she asked.

“That’s just where they’re coming from,” Fleur said with a shrug.

Colgate mirrored her shrug and thought to herself. A car drove past outside, and neither mare looked up. Each had her own thoughts, her own way of wishing she were elsewhere. Colgate shut her eyes as a headache started to grow behind her horn.

One unfortunate pony stood on the side of the otherwise empty freeway, her car broken down, while Fleur and Colgate shot down the mountain’s slopes into the suburbs, where they had to slow only a little. Most cars they saw were, like them, heading out of town, and a few were stopped in wrecks. Fleur simply drove around them, once dodging onto the wrong side of the road to bypass a tangle of two cars and a carriage. A mob of arguing ponies filled the sidewalk, and there was a single police officer there to sort it all out.

“I know I can ask Chilly,” Colgate said, “but what kind of stuff should I expect? What sorts of injuries am I dealing with, primarily?”

“Shrapnel’s a big one,” Fleur said. “Lots of splintering and things, from when airships crash or get blown up. I’d say burns are gonna be a biggie, too.”

“Is everyone wielding pulse crystals?”

“Not everyone. My understanding—and this is just what I’ve heard—is Discord doesn’t have very many resources for pulse crystals.”

“At least we have that.”

“Broken bones, of course,” Fleur continued. “Ponies are gonna be falling off of things and getting hit with walls of magic. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have to deal with a lot of fractured ribs and skulls.”

“Tell me more about those burns. Broken bones I can handle, but I’m not so sure about the rest.”

“Mm, you should probably just wait to talk to Chilly. I’m not much experienced in the medical field. I wouldn’t want to give you faulty information.”

They cruised through thinning city, past the familiar and the unfamiliar, until arriving at a small station. In the distance, Colgate could see the steam of her approaching train.

“Are you paying attention? I’m about to tell you something important,” Fleur said.

“You don’t like to give me much notice on things, do you?”

“Sorry.”

“Well, go on, then.”

Fleur looked at her, and they stopped, one of five cars in the wide parking lot. “Chilly has these instructions as well, and I also left a note with them back home. Colgate, after the battle, I don’t want you to wait for me.”

“She’s expecting to die,” Colgate thought, but said nothing.

“Find your own way back to my house. Hopefully you can find a taxi or something, or maybe Chilly can drive you, I don’t know. I know you’re resourceful, so I’m not worried. Once you get home, though, just lay low.”

“Will someone be looking for me?”

“There’s always that possibility, but I don’t think it’s likely. It’ll probably be me they’re after, if there’s anyone to go after one of us. Er, anyway, if I can, I’ll come back, and we can return to normal. If not… like I said, lay low.” She sighed, and the train whistled. “Quick, there might not be another one. If I don’t come back, stay out of sight, keep a low profile. Don’t do anything unnecessary.”

Colgate opened the door. “Okay, Fleur. I can do that.”

“Someone will come for you eventually. It might be my husband, it might be one of my hazard ponies, it might be someone you’ve never met. But Colgate, someone will come.”

The train pulled into the station across the parking lot, and Colgate took a hesitant step away from the car.

“Go get your train. Watchpoint thirty-six. It’s a quarter mile north of the Orbit Station.”

Colgate flourished her tickets and took off.

When she arrived at the watchpoint more than an hour later, Chilly was standing outside, shielding her eyes from the sun. She gave Colgate a wave, not meeting her eyes, and Colgate entered the two-story, defunct windmill without a word. On the second floor, she could see the straight lines of large machines, what she thought might be mechanical guns, but no one was there to operate them that she could tell.

“Welcome,” Chilly said. “So this is our landing zone for all the injured ponies.” She pointed at a pair of sigils on the floor, lying between two semicircular counters stacked with supplies, the spaces underneath dedicated to stretchers and, Colgate noticed without relish or remark, cheap-looking body bags. The windmill itself had been gutted, its gears and cranks laid to the sides, all of its poles cut off at the bottom and top to leave a mostly even, unobstructed floor. Above, the belts and ropes that ordinarily kept the windmill in motion had been locked to the ceiling, either knotted around beams or stapled to panels above.

Even so, Colgate felt cramped inside the watchpoint. The smell of cedar wood was strong, with it the fine grit of dust that tickled her nose. She watched the sunlit door on the other side, through which she could see a field of tents and a couple white-clad nurses, making final preparations.

“We’ve got a dozen or so teleporters out in the field to move casualties,” Chilly continued. “Maybe more. I don’t remember the exact number.”

“Are the other watchpoints doing this too?” Colgate was trying to spot the mechanism that held the mill’s blades in place, but couldn’t. She wondered whether they were secure.

“Most of them, yes. I know it’s been a while since you’ve done this, Colgate. Do you remember the triage system?”

“Red for urgents, yellow for less urgents, green for minor injuries, yes, I remember,” Colgate said. “Tags?”

“They’ll be tagged before you get to them. Come with me, out here.”

Chilly led her through the back door to the wide field of stiff white tents, each one identical, like points of stone in an archaeologist’s grid. Colgate thought it strange that they were arranged in such an orderly fashion, considering what would soon be taking place, but said nothing.

“Looks about right,” Colgate said, entering one behind Chilly. She looked at the bed, the straps hanging from the reinforced tent ceiling, the small plate of surgical implements, and lifted a mask onto her muzzle, thinking of how long it had been since she had worn one.

“They’re not here yet, but there’s going to be a team of triage nurses in the windmill to receive all the injured. You and I are staying out here, with our teams.”

“I’d like to meet my team before the battle starts.”

“In a minute. Gauze, dressing, staples and such on that table there. That’s the sanitary station next to it, and the anesthetics next to that. We’ve got intravenous and intraosseous devices.” She tapped a bright red box. “Sharps go here; we’ve got lots more, so don’t top these off in the interest of saving space.”

“Fleur told me to expect a lot of burning, from pulse crystals.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m in charge of burns and contusions, you’re broken bones and excisions.”

“There’s gonna be ponies with multiple injuries, and we’re both going to need to be able to jump at any second. Tell me about burn treatment, even if it’s just the basics.” Colgate tried to keep her voice calm, but Chilly’s idea rankled. The thought that their duties could be so cleanly split in an emergent situation was, to her, preposterous, and telling. “Have you actually worked in ER before? Or have you been just a medic all this time?”

Chilly looked to the sharps container and fiddled with it, but Colgate wasn’t fooled. “I’ve mostly been on teams, like this one. I don’t have as much emergency experience as you.” She looked up. “But I do know what I’m doing.”

“Then tell me how to treat a burn. I know you elevate it, keep the blisters intact, and use non-adhesive, dry dressing.” She looked at the straps hanging down over the bed. She could remember first learning how to get a pony properly trussed up in the complicated web, how frustrating maneuvering so many limbs could be.

“Watch for shock too.”

“I know. That’s why you don’t use cold water.” She looked at the oxygen mask and the IV stand. The IV stand was a little taller than she would have wanted, and she had to angle her head to see the fluid bag. That, she thought, would become annoying, but she saw no way to lower the stand. It didn’t matter anyway; she wouldn’t be lowering them in every tent she used.

“A typical pulse crystal shot will give you a deep-partial burn, but we’re probably going to be seeing ponies with multiple shots. Taken together, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s mostly third and fourth-degree that we’re seeing today.”

“Aren’t those usually amputations?” Colgate looked over at the table spread with surgical implements.

“Unfortunately, yes. Have you amputated before?”

“I’ve seen it done.”

“Save those for me, then. I know it goes into the orthopedic side, but I don’t like the idea of your first amputation happening out here.”

“Fine.”

Chilly hesitated. “Can you administer your own anesthetic?”

“If I have to. I prefer letting an anesthesiologist handle that.”

“We’ve got none here.”

“Then I can do it myself.” She looked at the sun through the white tent fabric and felt a wave of calm pass over her.

“Fluid resuscitation?”

“What about it?” Chilly’s questions were coming too fast, and, just like that, the calm went behind a flash of anger. She was being tested, and looked at Chilly, who again averted her eyes. “She’s guilty,” Colgate thought. “Someone put her up to it, testing me on the eve of battle. Probably Fleur’s doing.”

“Do you know how to do it?” Chilly asked softly.

“Don’t I just hook them up to the IV?” Colgate asked guardedly.

“Only if their burn’s less than twenty percent. If it’s more than that, or any size fourth-degree, you’ll want to do oral intake. Your solution is already there, hooked up to the IV. You’ll need to switch your tubes for oral. Oh, there’s more in the refrigerator.”

“How much do I give them?”

“Enough to—sorry, hang on.” Chilly raced out of the tent, and Colgate could hear someone else talking at the windmill. She looked back at the IV stand and the face mask, trying to imagine how she would handle her first patient. She had worked in the ER before settling down in Ponyville, but it was a long time ago, and she hadn’t been operating then. The pressure, she knew, would not be easy to handle. She had seen nurses crumble before, and wondered why at the time, but it seemed no mystery to her as she stood in the warm tent.

It was pressure of a sort she had not felt before. She had been pressured to save the lives of others for years, and was accustomed to it, and she had only recently learned of the pressure of keeping her own life. This was neither. She knew she herself was under no direct threat, and the prospect of losing her patients did not particularly bother her, except as a mark of failure in her professional life. Still, the armada of tents, the endless rolling fields in front and the city behind, the nervous medic she had met only days before: all of them combined into a scene she could have never prepared for, where she found herself at once in the middle of action and totally unsupervised. Having left Fleur only hours ago was suddenly all the stranger in her memory; a note of finality rang through her mind. Having no say, she was suddenly alone and responsible, and, should she fail, she would do so quietly, her shame hidden by the grand battle, so that even her accountability to her patients and to the Datura was hollow.

“Doctor?” A burly, young mare entered the tent, a look of friendly confidence on her face as she shook Colgate’s hoof. “I’m Urgent Cross. Happy to meet you.”

Colgate nodded, and, using her doctor’s voice—clipped and precise, with no false happiness or interest—told her to gather the other nurses.

Outside, she had time to introduce herself to the four other unicorns and get their credentials before Chilly returned at a gallop.

“Discord’s at the top of the hill, just outside. Get ready.” She was out of breath, and ran off in search of her own team.

Colgate blinked and looked, trying to get a view around the windmill.

“We won’t see him from here,” Urgent Cross said. “At least, I hope not. Come on, let’s get ready.”

“I am ready,” she lied. “Are the triage nurses here?” She walked to the windmill.

Then, the startling noise of a brass section sliced across the fields. Horns bellowed miles behind her, and she hurt her neck turning around so quickly, thinking that Discord had tricked them and appeared inside the city. Their watchpoint sat atop a small rise in the earth, from which she could see the gentle angle of low-end apartments and tract homes that formed the loose border of Lower Canterlot. Coloring the view, she could see white and purple banners that seemed to hang on their own, their colors brilliant in the sun but not the ponies who carried them. Occasional flecks of gold armor were all she could see of the Canterlot defense.

“If we get attacked, we’ll have to move,” a nurse said. “We’ll use the emergency teleporter in the back of the windmill, behind the two reception sigils. It’s bright red.”

Colgate nodded. Her pulse was up, and her mind was wide awake. The first patient was going to be a shock, she knew; for all the tension that had mounted inside her over the past days, it still had not broken, not even with the brazen sound of the Canterlot Guard’s march as it started out of the city.

Colgate was surprised at how peaceful the countryside was immediately around her. She had imagined, in the pregnant stillness that came just before the unseen clash, that the armies would be meeting only a short distance from her position, but she could barely see the back end of the Canterlot ponies as they moved toward their foe, walking downhill in a resounding lockstep. At one point, a pillar of smoke rose from their formation, but Colgate could not tell what impediment they had set ablaze.

Though she saw little beyond the sea of organized movement, she could hear much. There were the cries, of course, and the shouts of rage and passion, all dulled by distance into an even-toned static of voices. There was the constant tapping of metal on metal, and the purr of thousands of hooves on grass, much of it slower than she had expected. Above that, she could hear the steady whocking of airship propellers, the swish of magic in the air, and the higher shrieks that came before deep explosions. Occasionally, a furious fizzling or whirring sound tore out of the air, but even that was so distant that she didn’t feel quite prepared when the first soldier came through the windmill’s back door on a stretcher. Chilly’s team grabbed him before Colgate could move. The entire scene felt premature to her, as if that one soldier had somehow jumped ahead in time to get injured first.

Colgate had only a moment to contemplate her slow response. The teleportation sigil flashed again, and she tried to mentally prepare herself as she listened to the triage nurses’ chatter, picking out too few words. She knew they would tell her the vital information, but wanted to be ahead; and, a smaller part of her mind wanted to be extra sure she was not being lied to.

The stretcher glided like a gondola, bearing a young mare on her side with a twisted pastern and a garish wound on the opposite shoulder. The triage nurse carried her to the nearest tent, where Colgate waited with just one of her nurses—she told the others to wait for more patients—and situated her on the bed. She pulled a cord at the entrance, raising a yellow flag to indicate that the tent was occupied—something Chilly had neglected to show her, but Colgate imagined must surely be there anyway.

She was not surprised at how much came back to her; she was too anxious to be surprised. The pastern was not just twisted, but broken, and a spear tip had broken off just above the skin in her shoulder. Colgate could imagine the scenario as she watched her nurse stabilize the wounded pony, casting her tarnished golden armor to one side carelessly. The Canterlot soldier was young and plain, and her green eyes searched the white tent ceiling as she was anesthetized. She had rushed the enemy, gotten hit with a good shot with the spear, and twisted away on the wrong hoof. Long streaks of mud on only one side of the breastplate and forelegs confirmed Colgate’s suspicion, that the soldier had taken a bad fall.

“Check for internal fractures and prep her for peritoneal lavage,” she said to the nurse, who stepped aside to let Colgate access the spear tip. The fur was caked with blood around the shattered neck of a wooden shaft, and Colgate had to take her eyes away from the wound for a second to locate the shaver. In that second, the soldier tried to roll over, and the nurse put a firm hoof to her back, speaking kindly.

“Patient incoming!” a triage nurse shouted from the windmill.

“When you’re done, shave the wound area and elevate the injured leg,” Colgate said, dodging out of the tent to see what was coming next. She felt awful, first allowing the patient to try to roll over, and then leaving her nurse, who she didn’t know, alone scarcely minutes after stabilizing the soldier.

A pony with no breastplate and a smoldering burn on her chest floated past, attended by two of Chilly’s nurses, and Colgate looked up to see the triage nurse disappear into the claustrophobic windmill. She ran back to her tent.

“No fractures inside,” the nurse said, hastily shaving the fur around the patient’s wound. “She says it hurts to breathe.”

“Probably cracked ribs. Blood pressure?”

“One-fifty over eighty.”

“Good.” Colgate grabbed her scalpel and deftly made an incision down the soldier’s abdomen. She squirmed, but did not complain.

“Doctor, why are we doing a DPL?”

“Her armor’s damaged at the abdomen. Were you trampled?” She looked down at the patient, and lowered her face. “Were you trampled?” Her eyes were wide, an expression she had been told made her appear friendlier.

The patient nodded weakly. “It hurts to breathe,” she repeated.

“We’ll get that taken care of too, but we need to do this first.” She glanced back up at her nurse. “If there’s internal bleeding, we need to worry about that right away. This spear isn’t going anywhere, and neither are the ribs.”

“What do you mean, not going anywhere?” the soldier blurted.

“You’re not bleeding out, I mean. Not from that. Now hold still, please.” Carefully, she divided and pulled back the thick membrane, and inserted her catheter. “Almost there, you’re doing great.”

“Patient incoming!” the triage nurse called.

“Can you remove the spear, if I need to help someone else?” Colgate asked, fixing her nurse with a glare.

“I can, but—”

“Then watch when I do it.” She retracted the catheter slightly and put in her syringe, but no red colored the barrel. “I need saline solution.” While the nurse ducked under a counter for the solution, Colgate studied the patient more closely, noting a few details that had escaped her the first time. The patient’s ears were drooping, but her eyes were alert. Around her wound, the fur was stained green, indicating to Colgate that, at some point, the armor had come loose, and she had been dragged or rolled in the grass.

She slowly infused the saline solution, keeping one hoof up against the soldier’s side to keep her from wiggling. She had never felt what her patient felt, but had had it described, and knew the pony was experiencing an awkward pairing of pain and discomfort. Her mind would be momentarily off the spear wound, Colgate imagined, one good thing.

“Take some of that out in about five minutes and get it on a slider, so I can analyze,” Colgate said, floating her scalpel over and holding it by her head. “Unless one of you can do lab work.”

“I think Evergreen can.”

“I’ll get her in a minute. Now pay attention.” She prodded the spear tip, moving it slightly.

“Is it bad?”

“Think about it,” Colgate said testily. That she should have to explain to the nurse darkened her mood, and she thought the nurse noticed. “First, notice the patient didn’t react. Anesthetic’s kicking in.”

“I saw that.”

“But also, if it moves freely, that means it hasn’t gotten under a bone. We’re gonna try to remove it. Hold her steady.”

“It hurts,” the patient said.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll have it out in no time,” the nurse said, and Colgate twisted the spear tip slowly. More blood pooled around the wound, and she wiped it away with a corner of blanket. The nurse had at least done a good job shaving her, Colgate saw.

The patient cried out as Colgate pulled at the spear tip. Though it had not been lodged in or under any bones, it was still well into her flesh, too deep to simply pull back out.

“Clippers,” Colgate said. The nurse scrambled back to the table of implements and passed a simple pair of wire clippers to Colgate, who snipped the exposed section of shaft away from the wound. “We’re going in. How badly does it hurt?”

The patient was breathing hard, but hadn’t uttered a sound since her cry out at the spear’s tug. “I’ll be okay.”

Colgate took her scalpel, and, without another word, or a look at her nurse, drew a gentle line down the wound’s side. She hadn’t looked at what kind of anesthetic they had at their disposal, but, from the patient’s reactions, she could tell it was local, and not particularly strong. She made no reaction to the incision, but would begin moving once Colgate began excising the tip.

“Get ready to steady her again. This’ll hurt,” Colgate said, and the nurse put both hooves to the patient’s back. She lifted back the skin, revealing the shrapnel in what resembled a crimson bore hole. Without speaking, she grabbed a tourniquet and tied it around the soldier’s leg.

“Patient incoming!” someone called from outside.

“Doctor?” the nurse asked.

“After this. Watch me.” She traded the scalpel for a small pair of forceps, which she locked over the wound, and then grabbed her tweezers. Never had she had to grab her own surgical tools, and the rapid back-and-forth of her eyes from patient to tool counter was disorienting. Each time, she needed to pause for a second to re-familiarize herself with the wound. Though the foreign body was large and menacing, she was more worried about the wooden shaft; one splinter could cause an infection, and potentially cost the mare her leg if it went unnoticed.

She teased the spear tip, and the mare shook, but said nothing. The metal was dark with blood, a large, strange lump caught inside the rosy shoulder flesh, its shaft a cleaner, bolder affront. Colgate twisted it once more and angled it away from her, and was rewarded as it came looser. Using her tweezers to move a flap of muscle back, she grabbed the shaft with her magic and pulled a barb back past it.

“It missed her subscapular artery by a good portion,” Colgate said, producing a thin line of magic across the pony’s fur where the artery ran. “If it hadn’t, we’d be doing something quite different.”

The mare moaned, and the nurse soothed her.

“Doctor Colgate! We need you!” someone called from outside.

Colgate froze, and the nurse with her. “Take it slow and steady, try not to nick any muscles, and dress the wound when you’re done. Make sure you wrap her against the grain of her fur, otherwise you might get a hair in the wound, and she could become septic. I’ll be back as soon as I can, with Evergreen if I can find her. Get that saline on a slider.”

She ran outside, sweating, and knew right away why they had called her when she saw the stretcher with her next patient. Far off, another awful sound of magic rose and then fell, and she heard her earlier patient shout in pain.

* * * * * *

Luna told Octavia to wait until the battle was underway before going out and trying to help. The armies needed a chance to break against each other, and she wanted all of Discord’s airships out in the open, to minimize the threat of Octavia being surprised. It would be risky, sending her out against the airships fully amassed, but the angel was tough; Luna had faith.

So waiting, the angel was poised on a marble balcony off one of the palace’s many secondary towers, its wings hanging menacingly off both sides like black palm leaves. Octavia didn’t know how Luna had gotten it there, for it was not the balcony where they had landed the night before.

“They’re really going to it,” Whooves said, standing at relative ease between Octavia and Pinkie on the angel’s front. They could see the battle, but without detail.

“When do you think we should go?” Pinkie asked.

“Any time now, I’m sure.”

“I will let you know,” Octavia said. She had been beset with nightmares, both waking and somnolent, the night before, but too much adrenaline ran through her to let exhaustion or despair take hold for more than a few seconds at a time: quiet intervals of private self-loathing. She knew fear and anxiety, but she did not often face the more immediate, mortal fear for which she was supposed to prepare on the balcony.

“I’ll be back,” Pinkie said, turning to go down into the angel’s interior.

“She’s scared,” Whooves said when she was gone. “Only natural, I suppose.” He chuckled weakly. “Celestia knows I am.”

Octavia looked at him.

“I know you aren’t, but—”

“I spent all last night trying to think of an excuse not to see this through. I am terrified.”

He pursed his lips. “Oh.”

Octavia forced a smile and leaned to look out, seeing nothing better than before. “We will depart soon.”

“If it makes you feel better, Miss Octavia, fear aside, you’re still ten times the mare I am. Er, that is, well, I’m not a mare, but you are—which is to say—”

“I know what you mean.”

“Er, quite. You and Pinkie both, ten times easily the pony I am. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“But you are.”

“Well… yes, I suppose.”

Octavia rubbed her head with a quiet sigh. “We are nothing special.”

“Not so, my dear!” He put a hoof to her back. “You are everything I could only hope to be, I mean it.” He lowered his eyes. “She saved my life earlier, Pinkie did. Bet you didn’t know that.”

Octavia frowned and took a moment to bring herself back to a listening mindset. She had not expected his praise to cut off after only one sentence. “What happened?”

“Do you, um—I suppose you must—recall how we met?”

“I would prefer not to.”

“Yes, I as well. Still, the dark cloud of recognizance hangs over me sometimes, when I’m at my lowest. Of late, I’ve relived those strange moments, on the coastline. On the edge.”

“Are you saying what I think you are saying?”

Whooves hesitated. “Only that your sister has a good ear for these sorts of things. I… let’s simply say I’ve had my share of weakness recently, and leave it at that. Shall we?”

Octavia nodded. “I am happy that she was able to do that for you.”

“You and me both.”

She let a minute of respectful quiet pass, then turned to him. “Go get her, please. I think we should go.”

He sighed. “So it begins. The great war of our age, with a—”

“Now, please.”

“Sorry.” He trotted to the back and vanished from sight, leaving Octavia momentarily alone with her thoughts.

“I’m ready,” Pinkie said, emerging from the back. “Sorry, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t leave anything important behind.”

Octavia glanced at her, not sure what she meant, and they went below, where they would not sail off the edge once they started flying. Octavia planted her face in the angel’s port hole, seeing the city and a section of the battle through one of its eyes. “Angel, fly us over the battlefield.”

They rocked and rollicked along a shallow valley, forming a natural flight path from deep within the suburbs and stretching well out into the green wilderness, where it eventually widened and turned into a deep patch of forest, an offshoot from the Everfree. On the east side of the field, across from Discord’s army, a stream glittered, but did not run.

Of the three of them, only Pinkie had seen a full army before, but she gave no sign of familiarity as they sped over the disorganized mass. Pikes and spears stuck into the air, some of them hung with banners, while all around larger constructions moved ponies with smaller weapons, some of them armored and some not. Occasional flashes of magic appeared below, but it was not the maelstrom of lights that any of them had expected. Where their shadow passed, heads turned upwards, and some soldiers turned and ran.

The image was not lost on Octavia, who knew well what they saw, and why they were afraid. She remembered first finding the angel with Twilight, one moonlit night in the mountains. They had thought it was another wrecked airship, a rusted anachronism from the time when the western border was contested and needed defending. That it could move, could govern itself in a limited way, despite its mass and the seeming insufficiency of its scythe-like wings, had been a shock to them all.

Theirs was not the only shadow over the battlefield. Far ahead and above of the army, Discord’s airships moved, big blocks of colored wood arranged in abstract shapes, many of them floating without benefit of balloons and moving without propellers or wings or sails. Through the angel’s fish-eye lens, it appeared to Octavia as if they were flying through a frozen tumble of toys, recently purged from an upended chest. They moved past an umber wheel with what resembled a lampshade hanging from its underside, turned slowly into a spray of magic from the ground—glancing harmlessly off the angel’s armor, but not without a worrying sound of free electricity all around them—toward a large, firetruck-red airship, from which rained a silver spray of thin lights, like sleet. It was magic that Octavia did not recognize, dissipating across the ground where a disorganized team of soldiers brought up the rear.

Octavia watched through the angel’s spotlight eyes as they approached their first quarry, the black tips of their ship’s heavy wings sparking across the eyes’ peripheries. Though she and the others were safely crowded in the angel’s hold, Octavia could not help the fear that spread through her body as the great, red ship took up more and more of their view. Whooves was saying something, but she had no sense of what it was.

“Angel, fly through that airship and destroy it,” Octavia said, and she was conscious of her companion’s sudden silence. She looked at him, and he looked back, face slack.

On the ship’s upper deck sat a bristling crown of black, metal gantries, from which came the stream of silver magic, a downpour of sparkles that looked no more substantive than a heavy mist. From behind the scintillating cataract, Discord’s painted face, animated across the paneled wood, twirled its eyes and blew a raspberry as the angel’s blunt nose rammed its side, splitting it in an avalanche of metal and wood and throwing them forward. A silver firework cascaded over them, accompanied by an internal flash as Octavia’s head struck the port hole’s edge.

Sizzling filled the air outside, soft as rainfall to her covered ears, until Whooves bodily pulled her away from the eye with a shout of alarm. He was pale, his ears on end and his eyes dilated.

“Angel, hover here,” Octavia said, still not hearing him and not caring to. Head throbbing, she raced for the ladder up to the deck and climbed high enough only to pitch the door open. A soft skin of electric magic moved across the surface, and her fur stood up as she poked her head out. As she had commanded, they hovered just behind the tail of dust, and she watched as the red ship hit the ground. One metal beam flew off jauntily, twirling for a second before bouncing off the grass and flipping down into the gentle valley, leaving gouges in its wake and scattering the already scattered soldiers. The rest of the ship, with a heavy thump, landed on its damaged side and threw red splinters of itself across the plains, like crimson bird shot, quickly obscured by dust. Octavia still made out the occasional spitting sound of a pulse crystal, or the wooden twang of a crossbow, amid the distant din.

She stopped for a second, regaining her senses, before reaching out with her magic and closing the hatch behind. She dropped the last few rungs and moved slowly down the corridor, her balance easy and accustomed in the angel; she was used to the heavy, awkward way it bobbed up and down in the air, when holding position, but it was not the angel’s movement that caused her to go more slowly.

She saw no ponies on the ship, nor amid the wreckage, and felt disquieted as she made her way back to the angel’s eyes. In her head, starting a few days after leaving Roan and refusing to stop for longer than an hour or two once it began, a countdown ticked, its exact length unknowable, but its terminus certain: she would soon take life. She had given it no thought earlier, volunteering herself to fly to Canterlot’s aid, and it was too late to turn back when she realized what, exactly, she had consigned herself to. She was bringing her magical juggernaut to battle; of course blood would be spilled, and yet, such a consideration escaped her in the damning moments of her decision.

But she saw no bodies with the ruined airship, just broken boards and a torn landscape below, and the whirl of dust tethering it to an empty patch of sky. The countdown ticked on, and she knew she surely did not have much more time before she was no longer the mare she thought she was. As with most others, she was convinced that it was beyond her to snuff out a life, and deferring the climactic moment was no comfort to her. Thinking, as she walked back to her station, that the fuse inside her was nearing its absolute end, her only comfort was the stressed, stretched anxiety that filled her thoughts and her movements, leaving no room for higher thought.

Pinkie sat quietly in the corner, watching as Whooves flitted between port holes, looking out of different eyes and remarking upon what he saw. To Octavia, her two friends were of little concern. Her ears rang and her eyes burned, and her mind had frozen. Like Colgate, she had not truly imagined the moments of battle. She had not thought of it as a sequence of individual occurrences, only one large event that would later pall upon her memory.

“Angel, move away from the battle and let me see it better,” Octavia said, slotting her face back into her favored port hole. They jerked away for a moment before turning abruptly and halting, a move that sent them all staggering to the side. Only Pinkie was able to keep her balance with a small, joyless jig, accompanied by nervous laughter that Octavia had heard many times before.

Through the machine’s multiple eyes, Octavia could see a piecemeal version of Discord’s opus, and Canterlot’s retort. On one side, boldly colorful airships floated in a loose wave, their sides prickled with cannons and other machines, and some of them resplendent in curtains of magic as well. As she watched, a sea green airship released a bright purple fireball into the air to smear, seconds later, across a translucent forcefield that surrounded the sprawling suburbs of Lower Canterlot. They had been told, that morning, that Celestia had locked herself in the highest room of the tallest tower, blown out the walls and ceiling, and taken it upon herself to shield the entire city. Though Octavia had heard the pride in Luna’s voice as she said it, she had also picked up the fear.

Below, a twinkling of organized magic drew Octavia’s gaze, and a shadow of relief passed over her. She was finally seeing the discharge from the pulse crystals she knew must be there somewhere, spreading out in a panoply of colored light as the wielders moved deeper into the field, their flanks closing the distance with the Canterlot army’s. In the middle, across a flat stretch of grass, unbroken even by a single tree and yet untouched by more than an occasional mote of isolated unicorn magic, the mass was impossible to discern.

“They didn’t have any crystals the first time we did this,” Pinkie said, taking her face out of a port hole beside Octavia’s.

“Takes time to make ‘em all,” Whooves said. “He probably hadn’t a good source of magical crystals at the time.”

“Angel, attack the yellow airship,” Octavia said, and they again fell over at the hard acceleration as their angel threw itself into a prevailing wind and dipped north, toward Canterlot and a wide, leaf-shaped airship of burnished ochre. From its underside hung an elaborate mass of cables and beams, connected through holes in the deck to a forest of catapults on top. As they advanced, a catapult at the very back swung its arm out and up, throwing a white chunk of masonry which, like the purple fireball, splattered harmlessly against Celestia’s shield.

The network of ropes jostled beneath as the ship rotated, a pair of glassy rudders rising from its sides to catch the wind like gigantic moth wings. Another catapult fired off its payload, and the ship rotated again.

“Angel, fly through it.” At her words, Whooves backed up and shook his head, his lips reading the word “no” over and over. Octavia ignored him. She didn’t know what else to tell the machine, or how to better define what she wanted.

They met the ship at one of its rudders, shearing it off against the angel’s hard nose. The ship itself, however, was harder, and did not yield to their force as the first had. Octavia saw the splintering of wood as they crashed into its side, but as the angel tried to push through, the enemy ship only tilted back, bringing its mass of ropes to meet them in a loose caress.

Then, the ship split. Its sides were reinforced, but its bottom was not, and it was through the flat disc of wood that they broke when the angel asserted itself again. Through her eye, Octavia could see the interior, a mirror of the ropes below that reminded her of a walk-in closet, so loosely everything moved in the growing beam of sunlight their collision introduced.

She could feel herself sliding forward, and brought her head out of the port hole to see Whooves and Pinkie doing the same, both of them too tense to wear more than nervous puzzlement on their faces.

Whooves met her eyes and widened his own, forming an O with his mouth, as if to ask whether they were about to be in trouble.

Outside, the angel’s wings beat rapidly, slicing the air and occasionally catching on a piece of dislodged debris or a loop of rope. They were surrounded by a weak, but insistent creaking, and their wings were shaking them where they stood. The angel had stopped moving, and was trying to stay aloft with the weight of the enemy ship pulling it down at the front. Octavia ran again for the hatch to see, afraid of what she might discover.

Ignoring as best she could the tingle of silver electricity that still clung to the angel’s shell, she watched despondently as shreds of the ground rose up to them, visible only scarcely through missing pieces in the enemy ship’s far side. They had lodged themselves at an angle, so that Octavia, at the angel’s back, could turn and see all the way down the ship’s hollow middle, where cables and hooks swung and were caught on broken beams. A thick loop of rope had tangled around one of their wings, and as the angel tried to keep them aloft, the yellow ship would groan and deform.

“Angel, get this ship off our front,” she said, hoping it would be able to figure out how. She herself had no good ideas as she ran back into the viewing room.

No sooner had she rejoined them than she was thrown forwards into the port holes in a flat, final crash. She touched a hoof to her forehead, where a thin line of blood had opened. For a second, they were still, and she was able to get an unhelpful look at their situation. Around its eyes, the yellow ship was still broken, a forest of displaced scaffolding and paneling. There were again no ponies to be seen amid the wreckage.

Then, they tilted again, and Whooves yelped as he hit the wall next to Pinkie. Octavia could hear the wings on one side struggling to dig into the ground, and thought she knew what the angel was doing. After a moment, the floor flew up and swung to the other side, and they with it.

“Octavia!”

“Out, into the hall,” Octavia barked, trying to scramble into the doorway that had been turned on its side in the angel’s flailing. The three of them stopped in the middle of the corridor, and Pinkie screamed when a sickly wail of broken metal filled the air. They lurched into a gentler angle, and the angel turned in a lazy arc, something Octavia had not once felt it do on their flight over.

“What’s going on? Did we crash?” Whooves asked, his voice trembling.

They fell flat as the angel righted itself to another squaw of twisting metal, paired with the quick snap and release as of the sudden breaking of tension. On one side, the wings hammered the ground, scattering pieces of airship.

“Get up to the hatch and prepare to come out,” Octavia said, running for the exit. She took nearly a minute to climb out, having to steady herself as the angel yawed back and forth.

She didn’t immediately see what was the matter, but could tell that her machine was injured. The yellow airship had been largely reduced to debris in front of their face, scattered irreverently across the small stream they had seen earlier. A purple oil slick ran down the stream to coat the grass beside a divot made by a fallen barrel, its sides severely dented.

A bolt of magic hit their side, and Octavia lost her balance once more. She looked to its caster, expecting to see Discord towering over his equine army, but saw only a middle-aged unicorn in glasses with a floral bandana under her horn. She fixed a sphere of magic around one of the angel’s wings and, with a twist and a tug, popped it from its socket, then tossed it behind to join two others, lying in the scarred field like discarded pea pods.

The unicorn saw Octavia at the same time, and brought out a pulse crystal as Octavia galloped to the angel’s front, where she could better jump onto the ground. It did not occur to her to tell it to simply roll over, and crush the attacker; to her thinking, the angel was finished, and her frantic mind was already running out of control to find a solution, finally awake but too late to do any good. Soon, they would be swarmed.

A hot bolt of magic flashed past Octavia to scorch the side of one of the angel’s spotlight eyes, and Octavia brought up her shield, a woeful imitation of Rarity’s that would probably only save her from one good shot with the crystal.

The good shot came swiftly, momentarily blinding Octavia as her magic broke, her concentration with it. For one small moment, hopelessness flooded her thoughts, but she ducked and turned, trying to hide herself behind a wing’s overhang while her senses came back. The mare was shouting something, but Octavia couldn’t hear. Her blood was pounding in her head, heavy from only three hours of sleep the night before.

The mare shot again, and Octavia flinched before conjuring up a more familiar spell. She had practiced her explosions while riding the angel, simply releasing them in the thin air and trying to create a pressure wave strong enough to jostle them on their course.

The pulse crystal sang once more, and Octavia jumped out of cover, eyes wide and searching for the unicorn. She was trotting to where Octavia had hidden, and Octavia saw shock on her face for a moment before she released her spell. Her eyes bloomed white and her ears rang as she flew backwards into cool earth. She thought she had been hit, and frantically turned and felt herself with her hooves, searching for the painful absence of flesh that wound indicate the mortal wound she assumed she had just incurred. Her chest felt fine, her neck, her face, her flanks. She jumped up as the ground vibrated nearby, and, still mostly blinded, she ran a few steps before tripping and falling face-first into the stream.

She snorted and coughed, raising her head and catching a glimpse of the angel as it settled back onto its injured side. A smoking crater was all that remained where the mare had been, and the angel’s side was caked in dirt and mud where the blast had been. As it struggled, she could see the trio of black spiracles where its wings had been plucked. Octavia gasped, finally catching her breath, and climbed out of the freezing water.

Whooves and Pinkie were coming out, the former trying to gingerly step off, the latter simply casting herself over the railing to land in an unhurt pile in the grass. When he saw Octavia returning to them, Whooves ran at her, babbling as he did so. Pinkie’s name appeared, but Octavia wasn’t paying attention. She raced to the angel’s back to see whether anyone was approaching from the other side.

Her blood turned to glue when she saw the galloping mass approaching their crash site. Amidst the contingency of ponies, some shimmering in the dust as if enchanted, there moved a pair of battering rams, rolling sturdily in their harnesses over the grass and bushes. Both had Discord’s face, pulled in an inquisitive expression, painted on their ends.

“The angel, Octavia, it’s still alive!” Pinkie said, coming up beside her sister. She looked almost calm, though ruffled from the fall, and spared a second to brush a piece of wood out of Octavia’s mane.

“Get back to that stream, both of you,” Octavia said, not sure how she would defend them from the approaching ponies. The angel was grounded, and she didn’t have the strength to create explosions for the rest of the day.

“You heard the lady, Pinkie!” Whooves cried, racing for the water.

“Angel, do not let them get close,” Octavia said. They were already close, only a minute away, but she could not think of what else to say. The machine needed simple orders, she knew, but she could not imagine herself escaping unscathed, if she herself could give no better direction than a simple command to a mindless machine. She backed away, fearing more pulse crystals.

The only advantage Octavia could see was that the approaching enemy was on the angel’s uninjured side. It brought up two of its three remaining wings and slammed them into the earth like giant guillotines, raising dust and scattering the ponies, who ran about to search for a safer angle of approach. One wing rose a second time, while the other turned and scraped across the ground, producing a wrenching sound that reminded her of her cello.

She saw with only dim pleasure that one battering ram had come too close, and watched long enough to see Discord’s face pirouette away as the wing smashed its housing. A wheel flew off to crash into a tree trunk nearly fifty feet away, by a pair of circling soldiers.

A single magical stream flew past her, and she ran back behind the angel, wishing she had taken more time to practice her shield magic. She had used it intermittently at best, and could never be consistent, something Twilight had criticized time and again.

“This is where it ends for us,” she thought, looking around and trying to crouch more tightly every time the angel rose to bring a wing down. She could hear the crash and snap of metal in the middle distance, but no magical attacks repeated near her. The wings battered the ground again, but no one cried out. The ponies, naturally, would be coming around the angel’s front, where it could not reach them. She could see them from where she crouched, their hooves moving under the black shelf of metal that protected her.

A dark blue gobbet of magic streaked past, only a foot in front of her face, and she jumped up with a terrified look behind, where a unicorn stood, unarmored. He backed up a step when he saw she had spotted him, but before he could run back, she had reflexively released an explosion, smaller than her first.

Whooves yelped from the stream, and Octavia looked back; he stared at the colt she had just attacked. Her aim had been off by a few feet, and instead of reducing him to a forgettable cloud of smoke, or another crater under the angel’s side, she had tossed him back into a knot of tree roots, his head twisted at a strange angle while blood pooled under his open mouth.

“There,” she thought. Neither pleasure nor sadness moved inside, but she still trembled as she faced the angel’s front, where she saw the first of the advancing group come into view.

In the screeching tug of war that was the surrounding battle, she and her friends hidden from the millions of joules of magic that turned the air into an electric haze, Octavia felt unreal. She felt as if she must wake up when she stumbled, her tail caught on a bush she hadn’t noticed, and she felt as if she absolutely would wake up when she built up her magic for yet another explosion.

Whooves shouted again when the fire leapt out of her mind and out of the ground. Stones and bodies flew up and clattered into the water, and a tree was pushed rudely away. Octavia blinked sweat out of her sleepless eyes.

* * * * * *

“Seven on the two, shredder,” the pony in the back said, and Windy Weathervane turned them about to face the small, pink airship, its sides whirring with metal fins.

The morning had been strange for them all. Flitter had woken up in a tent in the Everfree, bathed in a stream, and boarded the lotus, where they waited at the back of the caravan for an hour before moving. Just behind them had rolled a small machine that reminded Flitter of a ballista, its sole purpose to launch their ship into the air with a sound like a bull whip and enough force to split the final, large airship as it tried to unfold a rack of cannons from its underside. The rain of metal cylinders and ammunition had torn a circle of large holes in the field below, as if it had been smacked with a giant, spiked mallet.

They shared the sky with a small team of other airships, many of which were beyond Flitter’s recognition, though she had helped with their construction. A trio of large, charcoal-gray spheres floated like weather balloons, around them faint, blue cloaks of electricity. Flitter had helped build one, setting a thick, wooden division between the helium bladder in the sphere’s top chamber and the electrical generator in the bottom. Swinging around the field of battle, she supposed the machines’ potential to explode might not have been an accident. In a pinch, they would make excellent bombs.

By the time they had finally gotten within range of Canterlot, the air was largely clear. The angel had done a little, but the Canterlot Guard had done the rest, either plucking airships out of the sky with their own catapults or taking them apart with highly trained pegasi. Discord was learning the folly of making his armaments into a collage of color, and their job, far from the harrowing bob-and-weave through hostilities that Flitter had been told to expect, was to corral the occasional smaller projectile when it rose up to meet them.

Windy pulled a lever to release, from their bottom, one of the chasers that they had originally used for practice. Their small ship, the lotus, was best able to move when it had something to push off of; in the absence of enemy ships, something they had not expected before entering Canterlot air space, a chaser, quickly unleashed and properly manipulated, would lend them enough force to move with speed.

Flitter had become fascinated with the manner of the lotus’ movement early on, as much as it sickened her sometimes to be victim to it. Never had she seen it move from the outside; to her, every complicated maneuver was the same maneuver, twisting and twirling in air as panels snapped and sparks flew, too fast for her to follow and understand at the same time. All that she could see clearly was the chaser’s parabolic fall and rise, before it was slammed away again as the lotus’ bottom fin batted it down, sending them flipping upwards. At the same time, before she could announce its coordinates, the enemy ship turned like a saucer flipping off a table, spinning down to the ground. They had hit it in their hectic upward movement, but Flitter had no idea when or how.

It was very much a ship that thrived under physical duress, not magical. Though the enchantments that powered it enabled a certain amount of quick movement, they were also subject to unbinding, if tested too much. Windy Weathervane had told them only after the stunt, that, during their free-fall practice to the planet, he had done nothing except shut off the levitation enchantment until it was time to rise back up. The knowledge had made Flitter’s skin crawl.

Even above the battle and with relatively little to do, Windy Weathervane was never still. His seat was surrounded on all sides, above as well as beside, with levers and switches, each controlling a discrete fin or an enchanted piece on their ship. He adjusted them always, keeping the ship in a constant state of minor, subtle movement that Flitter found mesmerizing, but disconcerting when her mind was free. It was like sitting inside a living creature, and knowing the power that lurked inside the tiny, interior hinges that held the transparent device together made it all the stranger, and all the more worrisome when she thought too much about it. After all, the ship weighed only a few hundred pounds, the wood that held it together only half an inch thick in some places.

How Windy Weathervane knew which adjustments to make, and when, and to what extent made Flitter feel small in her seat, her only job to call out numbers if something approached from her quadrant—which had only happened twice, despite them being a part of the battle for nearly two hours.

“Can’t we go down?” one of the spotters asked.

“No, honey, we can’t,” Windy said, regret in his voice. “This is our place. We can only go down if I get the orders.”

Flitter looked to the palace, where waited both princesses, one holding a shield around the city and the other holding operations in the palace together. Even in times of war, Windy had said, someone had to take care of the home.

“You can tell we’re winning,” Windy said mildly. “If we weren’t, I don’t think we’d be able to simply hang out up here.”

Flitter silently agreed. Though she had never seen a battle in her life—the very first one being something she only heard about from others the day after—she thought that their chances for repelling Discord looked good. He himself had not been seen on the battlefield, and his ponies were appearing fewer and fewer each minute. The Canterlot Guard, easily picked out for their golden armor, filled the lands below like sand, while the disorderly mass of Discord’s invaders spread like oil, and seemed to seep away each time the gold began to overtake an area. She could see some shrinking in retreat into the arm of trees that followed the stream, where she had seen the angel crash.

For all his magic and all that they had heard, from their vantage in the sky, things simply did not look so bad.

“Whoa, Windy, we’ve got five ships coming up from the city,” Flitter called out, jumping in her seat when she saw them.

Windy turned them slowly, the ships far off. “Oh, not to worry, those are ours.”

“Reinforcements?”

“Not quite.” He pulled a lever and lowered them a few feet, allowing a better angle by which to see the ships. They floated in a cluster, decorated all white and with red crosses on their sides.

“Holy crap, are they evacuating the city?”

“It’s not as serious as you think, I promise,” Windy said. “You remember what I said about a nasty little surprise for Discord? This is it.”

“I thought we were the surprise.”

“Well, that too. Oh, look alive girls! We’ve got something approaching, twelve on the one.”

They craned their necks to see what Windy had spotted as he backed them off. Flitter could see what looked like a golden splinter, at first seemingly telescoping from the ground, but then rising up at them slowly. It looked nothing like a ship, nor a spell.

“Is that a crystal?” one of the spotters asked.

“Crystals don’t fly,” Flitter said. “Do they? Can they?”

“One minute, Flitter,” Windy Weathervane said, working a crank to bring them closer to the wind.

As the splinter rose, it elongated, its golden frame stretching like taffy in the afternoon sun.

“Preparing for impact,” Windy said, hoof steady over a switch. “Get ready to call orientation, girls.”

There were no gasps of fear inside the lotus, the only thing that kept Flitter silent, her own fear not voiced. She liked to believe that she was used to riding in the strange ship, and comfortable with bouncing around in the air like a pinball, but the truth was that every time she had to ride with Windy, she was a little unnerved. Her head still sometimes spun after particularly vigorous practice sessions, and she still felt shame for needing to stop once to throw up.

There was something different about being hit, than hitting. In the latter, Windy was in control. The collision was part of a plan, something that they could measure and predict. The other way around, though, she had only experienced from the ultimately harmless chasers. As she watched the golden beam curve and bend in on itself, forming the beginnings of a gold ring, she knew it would hit them harder than the chasers, and it would be Windy’s reaction time that might mean the difference between staying aloft and crashing to the ground in pieces.

She gripped what she could of her seat moments before the ring smashed into them. The sound was a weak snap, as of a branch breaking, but they spun rapidly away with force enough to whip Flitter’s head back. Sparks moved across her field of vision, bathed in golden afterglow, and for a moment it seemed Canterlot had been lost in a sunset. The thing had been nearly bright enough to blind.

“Still approaching, five on the two,” a spotter said. “Impact in two,” she added, just before they spun again. Flitter’s head was thrown back against her seat, but her body felt less pressure. They had been knocked off their center of gravity.

“Three on the two,” the other spotter cried, and Windy grabbed for another switch. Flitter had just enough time to see a panel flip outward to catch their attacker before an amber explosion of light scorched her eyes. Concurrently, Windy cried out, and for one dazed second she thought it an oddly severe reaction to her looking away from her quadrant. When she opened her eyes, she saw with a drop of dread in her stomach what had happened. He rubbed his eyes vigorously, and when his hooves moved away, they stared stupidly out at the world.

“It’s moved off, don’t worry,” a spotter said, seeing, as Flitter did, what had happened to their driver.

“Oh crud, that’s him,” Flitter said, excitement filling her. Inside the gold casing of magic, she recognized his wings, folded tightly like tent cloth; his horns, conductors for a bluish, electric light; his goofy, drawn face, poised in a look of assiduous interest.

“Discord?” Windy asked, turning them.

“I’m pretty sure.”

He breathed quietly, trying to marshal his thoughts, and Flitter watched him nervously. Inside the pause, Discord wheeled away with a brilliant catch of sunlight on his magical shield, and whipped off toward the city, where he, like so many projectiles before, clanged inoffensively off Celestia’s shield.

Unlike the other projectiles, though, he did not vanish or scrape down the side to rest at the city limits. Discord wobbled slightly, swooped down and out, then swung back as if on a wire to slam into the shield a second time. In the momentary flash during which the shield was visible, Flitter could see ripples along its surface.

“He’s gonna break that shield,” the other spotter said. “Windy!”

“Girls, I’m gonna land us,” Windy said, one hoof over his eyes.

“Don’t,” Flitter said, an idea suddenly coming. In her various studies, she had touched on the magic of forcefields, and the magic used in dispelling them. Though the specifics and the subtleties had always been lost on her, she had remembered the one basic rule that it all boiled down to: the best shields were of an orderly form of magic, the best manner to dispel them chaotic. She could not assume that they had time to land and regroup.

“What do you expect me to do, Flitter?” Windy snapped.

“I know you can’t see,” Flitter said rapidly, trying to think ahead of her mouth. “Just trust me. Drop a—oh, geez, uh…” Another set of ripples, larger, moved over Canterlot. “Drop a chaser to seven on the one and get ready to punch it.”

“Flitter.”

“He’s ramming that shield bad,” a spotter said.

“Chaser, seven on the one!” Flitter said again. “We’re gonna knock him out of the air.”

“You can get us there?” Windy asked, putting his blind eyes on her.

“I know it.” She licked her lips, regretting her promise immediately.

Windy didn’t give her the time to regret for long. With muscle memory, he grasped the crank to release a chaser, waited a second, and slapped it backwards, sending them forward several feet. In the distance, the shield was sparking where Discord kept striking.

“Okay, uh, drop at five on the two,” Flitter said.

As the first chaser raced to rejoin them, the second looped out, around, and then shot away again, and Flitter, ready, called out the next coordinate before they had stopped. So far so good; the two chasers moved opposite and away from each other in a see-saw motion, one flying back and the first one closing in at the end of its fast curve. Another spotter called its position, and, just below Flitter’s seat, a fin flew out to propel them, hitting the chaser a little wide and spinning them with a clang right into the path of the second. Flitter tried to turn to see, her own cramped compartment slowing her, and saw it whipping up to their aft side just as a different spotter called it.

She put her eyes back on her own quadrant, cheeks aflame. In her haste to take control, she had forgotten the other two spotters.

“Drop, six on the two,” Flitter said, watching feverishly as two chasers now hurtled toward them. The third dropped, momentarily completing a triangle of shadows, which then broke apart when Windy struck with a sharp downward slap. In the corner of Flitter’s eye, she could see him writhing in his seat, both hooves moving blindly to feel for his switches. That he was able to control their ship at all, Flitter thought, was remarkable.

“We’ve got three chasers out and behind, six-five on the one,” a spotter said.

“What’s the plan?” Windy asked, but before Flitter could answer, the other spotter called a position, and they were flung once more, leaving behind a wake of sparks.

“C’mon,” Flitter mumbled, studying the chasers’ paths intently. Except for the first jolt forward, each chaser had come at them concurrently, and Flitter needed them staggered; otherwise, every time they introduced another into the air, it would bump into the others, and her task would become truly impossible. She would not be able to keep up with so many trajectories once they got four or more chasers bursting apart at each movement. Three, as it was, had her turning around too fast, though she knew to place more trust in her companions.

Two swung out and up while the other, flung too far to catch the lotus as it sped past, had to double back in a hairpin turn, and each was again set to converge upon their back side.

“Approaching,” a spotter said.

“Windy, I need a short hit and then a long one right after, same positions,” Flitter said, wiping sweat out of her eyes. “Okay, three on the one… now!”

Windy flailed in his seat and the levers clunked in their housings, and two panels shot around at Flitter’s back, the first slapping a chaser away in one direction and the second, longer one flapping out to hit a second one right at its tip. The force was unseen, but enough to pound the seat back into Flitter’s wings as they jerked forward once, then to the side almost immediately after in a sickening stutter step that broke the pair of chasers apart like popcorn kernels. In her mind, Flitter tried to envision the different angles and vectors, just as she had in college, trying to learn billiards.

She didn’t want to blink. They were moving too quickly through the air, the chasers behind moving faster still, and still below the battle pulsed on with its own unstable magic, itself a distraction. She could hear Discord bludgeoning the shield like a moth on a lantern’s glass, could see the other ships approaching him much more slowly.

“Okay, strike four on the two,” she said, and they shot wide of the invisible line Flitter was trying to keep them to. One more chaser flew away to swing back and join the others at a distance, and Flitter realized that they would need to add more anyway. She hadn’t angled the first few well initially, and, as a result, was moving them in the beginnings of a circle.

“How much farther?” Windy asked. “And what’s the plan?”

Flitter turned, mind racing, trying to work out how the fourth chaser would behave. “Celestia, drop a chaser, seven on the one, and prepare for my call after,” she rambled, and off they went, spinning their partial spin into the rushing air. Two of the coming chasers were too close, and would shoot past, but the one lagging behind would catch them on their back-swing, and Flitter watched it curve suddenly in their direction with an isolated sense of satisfaction. “Nine on the two, second quadrant call after.”

Without slowing, they shot back into line, and the spotter called the second chaser’s position, it just before the third and a good ten feet from the fourth.

Flitter had to close her eyes to avoid losing her perspective, and, in that brief moment when she was opening them, feared the chasers were not as far off as she thought, and her plan would fall apart. They needed speed when they reached Discord, and were finally beginning to build it; one mistake, however, would ruin their chances, and the other airships might not be any help. They were larger and slower, and could simply be kicked out of the sky, if he put his mind to it.

The chasers behind had been beaten into a more staggered helix, but it was still not quite right. For one horrifying moment, Flitter saw no solution. She saw them going as they had, letting the chasers batter them forward at a consistent pace but with jagged angles, until they ended up colliding with Celestia’s shield like another ineffectual weapon. She had gotten them moving steadily, but not smoothly.

“Uh, seven on the three, and drift on nine until next call.”

“We’re gonna miss the closest chasers if we do that,” a spotter said.

“Do it. I want a drift.” She winced. It wasn’t her place to be giving orders, and she could feel Windy’s reluctance as he appeared to dance in his cockpit. If she were too assertive, they might simply land until the real leader’s vision came back, by which time it could be too late.

She had no more time to contemplate; they slapped off again, and Flitter ignored the queasy feeling in her stomach as they listed to one side. One wing was angled outwards right in front of her face, its long plane stretching the light into a concentrated, obscure splinter through which she could not see. Behind, the nearest chaser, as predicted, moved past and into a tight turn. Another spotter called for the fourth.

“And drift on two,” Flitter added, glad that her back was to the other spotters.

Discord was only a few impulses away, and Flitter saw, in the second between looking back at the chasers and losing her view in the spin, the strange intensity in his magic. She had seen plenty of magic before, but not that of anyone so powerful. Colgate’s, when they were friends, and Allie’s, she was used to. The light was dim, the sparkles few, the charge in the air around them negligible.

As they entered into Discord’s golden haze, hung with a canopy of slow sparkles, she could feel her fur standing on end, her ears ringing. He himself glowed like gilt treasure, rotating and wobbling like a dislodged cartwheel as he popped off the shield, stirring his own mist of magic into spirals and vortices that completed themselves independently after he had moved. Flitter caught herself staring at it when they came to their next momentary rest, before the other spotter called the next chaser’s position, and they were off again.

On the other side of his attack, Celestia’s shield, once invisible, had become a faint outline, a magical palimpsest of ribs and concentric circles, artifacts of the magic whose significance was beyond Flitter’s ken. Whether it had always been there or had only been rendered because of Discord’s assault, she didn’t know.

“Oh!” Windy cried. He swiveled in his seat, and as Flitter gave her next coordinates, their ship bobbed up suddenly, a pair of wings flying above like a transparent umbrella to catch an updraft. The nearest chaser came up too fast for Flitter to correct, and they hit off of it, flying straight into the golden ring.

Flitter’s words died in the shock as they collided, their clear, thin lotus splitting along nearly all its seams and turning, before Flitter’s surprised eyes, into a pancake of large glass shards, at the same time whirring and striking against the form of pure magic, a hammer hitting an anvil.

Fireworks exploded all around them while a sound burst out and into their ship, a furious, fast clang and clatter, like a piano hitting the ground. Shattered magic flaked away like gold leaves while a larger, more solid band of light swerved across the sky before leaving only a sunset afterglow on Flitter’s eyes. In the brilliant morass, the chasers streaked, ignoring the lotus and pursuing, instead, what at first appeared a random spot in the small nebula they had created.

Flitter stared for a second before remembering the entire purpose of her plan. “Drop the rest of the chasers!” she shouted. In the magic, her voice sounded thin to her.

Windy was nodding as he pulled the crank to release them, and she saw in his smiling face that he had caught on with her plan. His eyes were clear—he did not need to feel for the appropriate switches anymore—and he shot her a toothy grin as the small, black balls poured out of their underside. Breaking apart on one another, they swarmed out and up to join their fellows, harassing the slowly reforming shape of Discord. His noodle-like limbs, not yet returned to their original proportions, flailed to hit the chasers away, but he hadn’t the physical strength to hit them as far as the lotus. They bounced off and around him like flies, and he wiggled and turned violently, not noticing their slower approach. What Flitter had not realized, in her plan, was that they would move more slowly at the end, without their chasers to propel them. She blushed again, feeling foolish, but no one’s eyes were on her when the lotus struck out again, a wide slat of wood coming out like a saw blade to catch Discord across the middle where he struggled.

Another, smaller explosion blotted their eyes as the chasers flew apart and Discord flashed with more golden magic. On his face, they could see shock and frustration, not the smugness that had leered at them from all his depictions in the media. One spotter yelled excitedly as they were shot backwards, pulling some of the chasers back with them. Discord, halting his movement several meters away, vanished in a faint, golden shock wave that disintegrated the chasers that had remained in his orbit. The others simply came to rest on the lotus’ surface with heavy clunks, ignored in the chorus of cheers in the ship’s cramped cockpits.

Back in the middle of the battlefield, beside a tall, scorched finger of stone, the five airships from earlier shuddered and sank to the ground, where they were engulfed in a wicked, black curtain of magical fire.

* * * * * *

On the day of the battle, beacon glowing behind like a second sun over the displaced dam, the Elements passed an airship heading toward Trottingham. Both paused and glided near enough for words to cross the gap, but little was said save for introductions and pleasantries. The Elements needed no help the strangers could give, and the strangers made no supplication for anything. They parted.

It was sunset when Vanilla Cream appeared, freezing all ship activity as he walked up and down their deck, looking out at the endless fields and forests that separated them from Snowdrift, and put a hoof on the wheel, beside which Applejack watched distrustfully. The last time they had seen him had been in Roan, and so much had gone wrong since then; she took no care to hide it in her expression.

“You can trust me, or you cannot,” he finally said. Gone was the geniality in his voice, the edged courtesy that they had come to associate with his visits. “What you seek is not to be found in Snowdrift. With that in mind, you might consider this next move a favor.”

“They so often are,” Applejack said, not once taking her green eyes off him.

He nodded to her, turned the wheel gently, and let himself be carried off, kite-like, as they slid over the country, not quite teleporting, to come to rest inside a cloud bank over a river. How many thousands of miles they covered in mere seconds of movement, was not immediately evident, but the change in the air suggested he had moved them north.

“At least it wasn’t a thunder cloud,” Applejack grumbled, clearing them of the vapor and bringing them over a familiar sight. “Well Ah’ll be.”

He had shot them over to Ponyville, low enough to see each small building and high enough to see the entire village at once. In the middle distance, they could see the farm, its orchards tea stained in the dusk, its barn repaired from The Crumbling. They could see Cloudsdale far off, casting its oblate shadow over the gentle dale that led away from the farms, and which hugged the stream over which they hung, before it curved back up and around to skirt the school, the library, and a few fringe houses. There was no rubble and no disorder, not even from the destroyed windmill from their most recent visit, and where Rarity’s boutique had once stood, there instead flapped a small collective of pennants where someone had set up a series of tents.

On rooftops, some under umbrellas and some on beach towels, ponies waited and watched, each head pointing the Elements to the true object of Vanilla’s intent. Not raging, but simmering, the battle for Canterlot moved inexorably toward its conclusion under a smoldering sky. A pillar of smoke rose up far away, completely obfuscating a section of Canterlot Mountain, and they could see the flicker of black fire at its base.

Airships drifted above like toys on a mobile, none of them attacking, while a giant shield glistened unhealthily over the whole city. No one needed to ask Twilight whose shield it was.

What struck them the most, and Twilight the hardest as she stood on the prow with Applejack and Rarity, was the quiet. In their own battle, on the first evening of what would blossom into their most arduous quest, the sounds of war had been deafening. Magic had shrieked, voices had bellowed and pleaded, metal and armor had been struck and rent, but none of it filtered over to them as they sat over their home town. On the ground, too, movement had been diminished.

“I think it’s almost over,” Rarity said.

“Looks that way,” Applejack said.

Twilight kept her eyes on the mountain, where no signs of battle had appeared. The palace stood as pristine and dignified as ever, and the city around it as well. The forested mountainside did not burn or smoke, and the river was un-dammed, though still it would not flow.

Her memories of that night stirred once more, as she knew they would as soon as she realized where they were, but she still chose to look out at the battle, and chose to keep her eyes fixed as her friends’ voices faded from conscious notice. That she had missed the battle at its peak was no source of relief, nor was her physical distance from it.

“It’s freezing out here,” Rarity said suddenly, putting a hoof to Twilight’s shoulder. “Come, let’s get you below, where it’s warmer.”

Twilight let herself be led away.

The Aftermath

Chapter Eighty-five

The Aftermath

She was covered in blood, dirt, and sweat, walking in a daze through a field of poppies. Smoke weighed down the sky in a deep, hazy umbrella over her head, rising from flames as black as tar, guttering low in the wreckage. In her ears, she still heard the whistle of far-off magic and the insistent screams of wounded, and her mind was still crowded with questions. Her nurses had seemed to surround her at the end, and Chilly’s too, asking her question after question. No patient was ordinary, no situation standard, and her mind and memory, drawn past what she was sure was her limit, still ran on, reviewing her answers and questioning her decisions.

Mentally exhausted and emotionally drained, she got close enough to the airship crash to see that it was actually a confluence of five ships, all brought down and reduced mostly to cinders in a single, smoldering pile. The paint had long since fizzled away, leaving only glowing spears of charcoal to protrude over a great, ashen circle that buried the grass and flowers. She stepped over a corpse to get a better look, pushing its golden helmet away without thought.

She saw the metal husks of engines, the fan blades, an occasional gear or spring poking out of the ash. Snake tongues of flame still coursed over the soot, and her chest was warm where she stood over an outreaching delta of gray dust. On a closer look, she saw the nails and screws that held each board together, all reduced to black points in a smoking miasma.

Her magic drained, she could not move anything to help her observe, and so began a slow circle around the crash site. As she walked, one thing stood out to her: there was only one direction that all the wreckage faced. The ships had been traveling together, and they had fallen together. Together, the ruin formed a single stroke across Canterlot’s plains. What intrigued her more than that, though, was the lack of static in the air.

Unicorns, and occasional sensitive earth ponies or pegasi, could feel ambient magic in the air, even after it had been cast. The battlefield had only gone quiet an hour ago, and the air still thrummed with the remaining Datura airships; magic strong enough to bring down all five airships at once would not have faded so soon. She didn’t know what it meant, but it piqued a part of her mind, the same part that had saved her from a painful end at the watchpoint outside Grass Graves.

She was not surprised when she spotted a skull partially submerged in the ash, not then. It merely confirmed for her that she had seen all she needed to see, and she began the slow walk back to watchpoint thirty-six. The patients had all been teleported to hospitals in the city, but she still needed to help clean up.

The nurses and a few random volunteers, one of them a shell-shocked young mare who refused to remove her armor, were taking down the first of the tents when Colgate returned to camp. Chilly Clouds was inside the windmill, stacking body bags; she, too, was covered in blood. She had been amputating all day.

“Where are we putting the medical waste?” Colgate asked.

“We’re just putting it aside for now. Someone’s gonna bring a couple trucks from the city.”

Colgate nodded and went out into the sunset, ignoring the reverent looks she received from the ponies she passed. In her mind, the looks were unearned; she had not done anything special. She had simply provided answers that the nurses should have known already.

“Wait, Colgate,” Chilly said. “A moment, please.”

Colgate went back, staying at the back door. She still felt claustrophobic inside the windmill.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll need to find your own way back home. We can’t be seen with each other in the city.”

“Okay.” She had expected it, after Fleur’s warning in the parking lot.

“Remember what she told us. Just… stay out of trouble. Don’t do anything uncautious.”

“I’m aware of what I need to do.” She looked down at herself. Her hooves and legs were stained red, and some of the ash from the crash had gotten into her fur, carried by an astringent breeze. Over the windmill’s roof, the smoke still billowed, but lessening.

“All right. Hey, good job today. They told me you took over while I was busy.”

“It felt natural.” A lie; Colgate still felt strange, stiffly apart from herself, as if she had suddenly intruded into someone else’s life, and no one cared to notice.

“We look for those qualities.” Chilly hefted another body bag onto a stack, not using her magic, and Colgate went into the field, where she helped tear down tents until night fell and Celestia’s shield finally burnt out, putting the countryside into true darkness. From the watchpoint, the only sounds to be heard were the crickets, the ruffling of fabric, and the routine exchanges of directions and answers. When the trucks rumbled out of the city to pick up the medical waste, Colgate was right there, watching with her keen eyes that they should not miss a single syringe, a single flap of gauze—or a single limb.

******

Flitter wrote a single sentence on a piece of parchment, “I’m fine, will write tomorrow,” gave it to a sour-faced pegasus whose job it was to fly all the mail, and news of the battle, to Ponyville, and walked with her teammates to the nearest hotel. There was no question of payment; Windy Weathervane told the clerk that they were in the battle, and they were given a pair of rooms with neither complaint nor commendation. To Flitter, it meant little. She was happy to fall into a bed.

Her head pounded, her wings and back were sore from sitting and being jerked around all day, and her eyes felt like she had rubbed sand in them, but she lay down with a smile. She knew, guiltily, that she had had it easy in the battle. She and her companions had stayed in the air the whole time, had the majority of their jobs done for them before they even arrived, and had only to contend with a single sequence of true fear and uncertainty. She fell asleep next to one of the spotters, reliving her moment of courage and brilliance over and over.

The following morning, Windy treated them to an upscale breakfast on the edge of the mountain forest. From where they sat, they could see a deep scar in the rocks, from where a thin, but strong waterfall had once emptied from a stream above. Young trees were growing along its edges, and, as they sat and simply enjoyed their food and peace of mind, a falcon perched on a sharp stone. Flitter watched it as it preened for a moment.

“So where’s everyone going after this?” Windy Weathervane asked. “Any plans?”

“I’m supposed to meet with a contact in Hoofington,” one spotter said. Her name was Citrus Dawn, and she had barely touched her food. Her eyes were wide and expressive, but Flitter had never heard her say very much.

“Is that for the coal deposit thing?” Windy asked.

“Yeah. This pony says he knows where they’re coming from.”

“Good luck. I’m heading back to Snowdrift, myself, after I wrap up a couple things here.” He grinned and sipped his mimosa. “I’ve got a vacation saved up that I’m going to use. Well deserved, in my humble opinion.”

“Good for you,” the other spotter, Sand Star, said. She was the spotter with whom Flitter had shared the bed the night before, a heavier unicorn with a soft, blonde coat and a long, pumpkin-colored mane. It was obvious to Flitter that Windy thought her beautiful, and she didn’t blame him.

“Where are you off to, then?” Citrus Dawn asked.

“Applewood. Flood relief.”

They all nodded knowingly. “Flood relief” was the code phrase for “classified.”

“I’m staying here,” Flitter said. “Right? That’s still happening?”

“I need to get you set up still,” Windy Weathervane said. “I think I know who you’ll be working for, but nothing else.”

“So…”

“Hm?”

“So what’s gonna happen until I get settled? Where do I stay?”

“That’s what I’m working on, honey.” He accepted another mimosa and smiled again. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you high and dry, Flitter. One good turn deserves another, after all.”

Flitter blushed. She knew it was coming, the conversation about her performance in the lotus, but she felt embarrassed all the same. She wasn’t used to adulation.

“You’ll be in high demand in these next few weeks, I guarantee that. I’ve already got your letter of recommendation in my head; I just need to write it.”

“This is your first experience outside of Ponyville, isn’t it?” Sand Star asked.

“I guess so, yeah,” Flitter said.

“Congrats,” Citrus Dawn said. “You couldn’t ask to start off better. With Windy vouching for you, you really will have some good options coming down the pike.”

“Don’t let it get to your head, that’s all I ask,” Windy said. “Don’t lose perspective.”

“I won’t,” Flitter said. “To be honest, I think I’m too scared to let anything blind me like that.”

“There’s no need for fear,” Sand Star said, “just caution. You did a good job yesterday; keep doing a good job, and you’ll be golden.”

Flitter nodded, no less uncomfortable than when they had been about to praise her. “How do I know which assignment to take, when I’m given a choice?”

“Same way you’d choose anything else,” Citrus Dawn said.

“Though one thing I’d advise,” Windy said, “figure out what you want out of this as quick as you can. I didn’t, and I spent a lot of time running around, doing stuff I hated as a result.”

“Yes, absolutely. Are you the type of pony who wants a steady job, something she knows she can do well, and nothing else? Or are you looking for advancement? That’s the first thing I’d ask.”

“Well…” Flitter thought, realizing she had never once considered the idea of advancement with any seriousness. In her mind, she was still a nervous spa worker, and she wasn’t sure when that had changed. “I guess advancement?”

“Know for sure,” Windy said. “Some ponies can fast-track you to the most dizzying highs of the business, if you can take it. Some’ll let you travel the world. Others can set you up with a cozy job somewhere with minimal stress.”

“Logistics is a good branch for that,” Sand Star said.

“But not everyone’s cut out for that,” Windy said. “Or, who knows? There’s lots to choose from out there.”

“Plenty more than what we’ve said.”

“And who are you thinking of putting me with first?” Flitter asked.

“An old partner of mine. She’s tough, but she’ll take you places, if you want to follow. She’s a good pony,” Windy Weathervane said. He tapped his glass. “C’mon, ladies, eat up. This is a glorious day, let’s savor it.” He sighed. “Who’s for dessert after this?”

By sundown, Flitter had waved goodbye to both Sand Star and Citrus Dawn, leaving on different trains. She and Windy walked back to his carriage in the beginnings of a rain storm. Celestia had ordered it specially to cover the entire city, both to start washing away the trappings of war and to remind her ponies that there was still beauty in the world.

“Where are they going? The trains don’t go all the way to Hoofington and… wherever, do they?” Flitter asked.

“Back to Ponyville for now. There’s some cleanup to do there too. I don’t know if they’re helping, but they’ll at least catch a pair of airships there.”

“Cleanup. Right.”

“Your sister’s going to have her hooves full.” He smiled at her, but, seeing her expression, looked away. “Sorry. She’s doing well, I know. I… well, I like to keep my ponies informed as much as I can, as to family. Cloudchaser is doing just fine.”

“What about Limestone?”

“I’m sorry?”

“A friend of ours. She came from some farm out in the wilderness.” They got into the carriage, and Windy raised the divider after giving the pullers his directions. “She was sad to see me go, almost sadder than Cloud.”

“I’ll ask about her before I go. Flitter, speaking of family, I’ve found a place for you to stay until things can start up again.”

Flitter frowned. “Have things stopped?”

“So… here’s the deal. We weren’t the only team at work yesterday, which I’m sure is no surprise. We had support from below, and from the sidelines too. Medics and so on. They all had to go to ground after the battle, though, and some of them were pretty important ponies.”

“Is it bad?”

“No, no. Well, hopefully not. It’s quite routine, disbanding like this and having everyone disappear. Actually, it’s one of these invisible ponies I’m setting you up with. She… well, anyway, one of the things is that they’ve ordered total silence from the watchpoints until one of these ponies can do her job. It’s complicated, Flitter.”

“But I assume I’m going to be learning more soon, since—”

“In the next few days, I expect. But back to family. You have a cousin?”

“One, in Manehattan, yeah.”

He smiled, and they pulled onto a crowded street, where they waited for a knot of traffic to loosen. “What if I told you she’s moved out here?”

Flitter thought about it. Last she had heard, her cousin Wings was in Manehattan, making a living and getting along, keeping her head down and staying out of trouble. She wasn’t entirely surprised to hear that she had moved, but she hadn’t thought about her in a long time. They were never especially close.

“I guess it’ll be good to see her again,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve actually seen each other in… shoot, years. She’s not affiliated with us, right?”

“That’s right. She’s in the dark, and so she shall remain.”

“I can handle that,” Flitter said. “When did she move out here?”

Windy looked at her.

“I guess I should ask her.” She chuckled. “Sorry. It’ll be nice to get back in touch.”

They returned to the hotel, and Windy left a number for Flitter to call while he repaired to his room. Her cousin, Wings, did not answer the phone, and, for a second, Flitter didn’t recognize the other voice. It was Wings’ good friend, and, Flitter suspected, closeted marefriend, Jet. Flitter had met her once, but forgotten just how much Jet enjoyed talking. It was fifteen minutes before she could get a word in without sounding rude.

An hour later, they were driving again, heading out into the suburbs in a swaying carriage with a fabric roof that drummed with rainfall. Inside, Windy gave Flitter a sheaf of paper with a complicated, circular design.

“This is a communication sigil,” he said. “A design for one, anyway. Have you drawn one before?”

Flitter shook her head.

“Ink works best, but any sort of material will do, as long as it can hold an unbroken line. This is already designed to connect with my sigil. Just find a flat surface away from prying eyes, draw it, and wait a moment. If I’m there, I’ll complete the connection.”

“A magical telephone,” Flitter said.

“Sure, if you want to call it that. Contact me late tomorrow, and hopefully I’ll have something for you.”

“About this mare I’m supposed to work with.”

“Yes, her. I need to try to find her first, though.” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think I thanked you for helping us yesterday.”

“You have.”

“Well, thank you again. I see my trust in you was not misplaced.”

Flitter only smiled as he shook her hoof. He didn’t need to know how little trust she had placed in herself. Then again, she thought, he had been around Daturas long enough; perhaps he would understand.

Life in Manehattan, Wings and Jet were eager to explain, had become so complicated and dangerous that most ponies who could move out were doing so. For them specifically, the impetus was when Lacey left. They hadn’t known it at the time, but, for all the ill she had brought them, she was the sole obstacle between their business and a heap of legal and extralegal trouble. Most of it, they figured, was from Strawberry, the scheming pegasus who had finally ousted Lacey from the big city.

“No one just gets to the level he’s at, in my mind,” Jet said. She and Wings sat on the couch, tails entwined, and Flitter sat to the side of their crackling hearth. Each pegasus had a warm glass of apple cider, generously spiked with a bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey. “Canterlot’s finest,” Wings called it.

None of them were much for elaborate introductions. Flitter had simply knocked on the door, gotten a suspiciously close and lengthy hug from Jet, set down her one saddlebag, and that was it. Wings got the drinks, Jet set up the fire, and Flitter just watched, amazed that she had found a familiar face after so much Datura madness.

“We’ve thought it over,” Wings said. “Seems to me—”

“Us, rather.”

“Yeah, seems to us that he had a lot of friends in low places well before he got the power to match.”

“Why haven’t the princesses done anything?” Flitter asked, though she well knew why. They had bigger problems than a businesspony with a dirty record.

“Who can say?” Jet asked.

“Last I heard, he’s gone full mob-boss status,” Wings said.

“Not a don, or anything, mind.”

“Yeah, nothing like that, just a pony with deep pockets and a lot of criminal buddies.”
“I doubt he does anything himself.”

“Just gets his goombahs to do the dirty.”

“And plenty of deeds, Flitter, have been done.”

“Folks go real quiet when they start sniffing around in his business, if you catch me.”

“That’s why we high-tailed it.” Jet spoke with her wings flared out, and her coat was almost black; in the dark from outside, she seemed more shadow than pony. Next to Wings, a weak cream color, Flitter couldn’t help but think of Jet as some manner of beast the Datura might encounter, spreading itself over a civilian.

“See, we know a thing or two, and we sure didn’t want him to remember that fact,” Wings said.

“We’re like the only ponies left who know he’s at the bottom of this trash pile. Or would that be the top?”

“Either way, it’s a no-no.”

“As far as loose ends go, we’re about the loosest left.”

“Two laces that need to be tied up.”

“Unlike Lacey, who seems to have been tied quite nicely.”

“An irony we really should not lose in these trying times.”

“Agreed,” Jet said, nodding solemnly. “That nag got gotten good, if you ask me.”

“We’ve had a lot of time to consider it, in our journey from the big city to the other big city.”

“But what about you?” They both paused, and Flitter looked at Wings instinctively, expecting the conversation to keep volleying.

“Me?” Flitter asked.

“What brings you to C-lot?” Wings asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you again, but… it’s a shock, cuz.”

“You can stay here as long as you need, by the way,” Jet said.

“Yes, absolutely. We have the room and all that.”

“But how’d you come here? Don’t you have a sister, too?”

“Cloudchaser,” Wings said. “How is she?”

“She’s fine,” Flitter said after a second, making sure they were going to let her answer. “She’s back in Ponyville still, running the spa.”

“Holy crap, little Cloudchaser, a business owner? Who’d’a thunk?”

“I ran it with her for a little, but I decided to move here.” Flitter took a long sip of her cider. She had rehearsed her reasons for leaving everything and showing up in Canterlot, but, with the good cider and good company, those reasons were dissolving. She coughed, accidentally drinking too much.

“Easy, ace,” Wings said. “Hey, is anyone hungry? I’m starving.”

“I could do a little food, I guess,” Jet said. “I think we’ve got a thing of instant tapioca powder in the fridge.”

“The fridge?”

“What?”

“You don’t keep dried goods in the fridge, Jet.” Wings frowned and sat up straight, adopting a tone of mock-severity. “They go in the cupboard, with all the other non-perishables.”

“We keep flour in the fridge.”

“Yeah, after it’s been opened, so it doesn’t get millipedes.”

“You like tapioca, Flitter?”

“Tapioca is a poor pony’s rice pudding, anyway.”

“You are so full of garbage, do you know that?”

“You can at least put some golden raisins in it.”

“Wings, there’s a damn good reason why I never use those golden raisins.” She held up her hooves. “See these? You think I’m gonna go to all that work to dig those teeny-weeny little things out of their box just for a snack?”

“They make boxes for the non-magical, you know.”

Jet laughed. “Yeah, well, tell that to past me.”

Wings smiled at Flitter. “Sorry, cuz. C’mon, Jet, we shouldn’t bicker in front of our guest.”

“I don’t mind,” Flitter said. “It’s good to hear regular conversation again.” She snapped her jaw shut, but neither pegasus appeared to read into her slip.

“Do you think they’re delivering pizza again?” Jet asked.

“I’d hold off a day or two,” Wings said.

“We can nip down to the grocery, I guess.”

“Too cold out.”

Flitter chuckled, and Wings blew her a raspberry.

“Manehattan gets cold too, you flake,” Jet said.

“That’s different. This is, like, a dry kind of cold. It sucks all the moisture out of my coat.”

“Aw, you’ll be fine.”

“Wait, who said I’m going?”

Jet laughed, and Wings bopped her on the head.

“We can go out,” Flitter said. “I saw a couple places open on my way over, and it’ll be warm inside. Oh. But, um, I don’t have any money.”

“We can spot you, cuz,” Jet said.

“She’s not your cousin,” Wings said.

“She’s close enough.” She eased off the couch, pushing her mug away from the table’s edge. “Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

“Lemme get a scarf at least,” Wings groused, going to the hallway closet. “Say, so, Flitter, how did you wind up here, anyway? I don’t think I got your story.”

******

Of the angel, there was no trace, save a crash site that was indistinguishable from all the others. Of Octavia, Pinkie, and Whooves, there was less. They had vanished into the city, Pinkie and Octavia into the midnight streets of Lower Canterlot, Whooves to parts unknown. He was absent when the battle was won.

On that night, with smoke blighting the sky behind and the Datura scrambling, unseen, to clean up the traces of its involvement all across town, the two sisters walked with heads reeling into a quiet pub and sat at the bar, not a bit between them. The bartender, a weathered mare with yellow eyes and too much makeup, looked Pinkie up and down first, then Octavia, then shrugged to herself and got two glasses. She poured their drinks, and, seeing Octavia look around for saddle bags that weren’t there—a habit, nothing more—said not to worry about it.

Octavia savored the drink. On the angel, they had had to ration water and food both, and, since dinner in the palace, they had had little of either. Their stores had been tossed into oblivion in the crash, along with her cello. Having something to wet her throat almost brought tears to her eyes, and she could see that it had a similar effect on Pinkie.

“We made it,” Pinkie said, prodding her glass with an unsteady hoof.

Octavia nodded. For the first time in weeks, she wanted to talk, to describe her feelings to someone, but she couldn’t. Elation moved through her, making her feel like she might float to the ceiling, but she could not put it into words she felt would do the feeling justice. They had left Roan close to a month ago, what felt more like two months, and had nothing but one another for company since. The Elements had forged ahead, the world had kept running, the battle had been fought. So certain had she been that she was to reach an end of some sort, Octavia had accepted it long before. That she could still sit in a bar with her sister, enjoying a draft, unscathed from Discord’s attack was simply too much. She was safe.

Octavia finished her glass and ordered another. Though her head felt empty, partially with relief and partially with the usual cocktail of insomnia and anxiety, she wanted to keep drinking. She wanted to celebrate.

She had not seen the battle’s end. Under the angel’s shadow, she had held off the approaching ponies for as long as she could, which was not long, before wavering in her spot and fainting where she stood. Pinkie had sprinted out of her cover by the river to drag Octavia back, where the two of them hid under a rise in the bank, freezing but safe. The angel fought on, obeying its master’s last order, even after its wings had all been rent away. Wingless, it rolled and flashed its spotlight eyes. Eyeless, it rolled. Dented and scarred, it juddered in the notch it had eroded for itself. Eventually, the army had left it alone, and it rested. It was at some point in the proceedings that Whooves left them, Pinkie suspected by creeping upriver. She figured he was in town somewhere, but had no particular interest in finding him. He had made his choice.

At dusk, Octavia awoke, her first impulse to hop up and guard against the enemies she thought still approached. Pinkie kept her distance for a minute, then told her that it was over, and the two of them had then simply sat on the river banks until sundown, silent, watching the smoke and the last of the airships vanish. Far away, they could see the mute fires of a work camp, but could make nothing of the details.

When Octavia had cleared her head, and had dried from her immersion in the static river, her suggestion had been to celebrate, the shocking and galvanizing opposite of what Pinkie had expected. She had anticipated tears, or rage, or some other extreme emotion; she had expected a release of whatever her stoic sister had kept bottled up in the interminable flight from Roan to Canterlot.

“We’ll get you a new cello once all this is done,” Pinkie said. “Don’t you worry about it, sis.”

“I hate to admit it, but I have not worried about it in a long time,” Octavia said.

“No?”

“No.”

Pinkie smiled, then giggled, and finished her beer. “Custom made, shiny finish, whatever wood you want, stained a nice dark red—what’s the color again?”

“You are thinking of port,” Octavia said. Her favorite color.

“Port, yeah! A little short, so you don’t have to reach as much to play. Then you’ll be ship-shape again, that’s what I say.”

Octavia thought of it for a moment, but did not smile. In her heart, she did not feel it was an idea worth entertaining.

Still, she lived.

“I am glad that you were with me,” she said at last. “I had my doubts.”

“I know, and I forgive you,” Pinkie said, patting her sister on the back. “You did a good job. As doc might say, you really thumped ‘em.”

At this, Octavia did smile. “I thought it impossible. I still do, in a way; it does not seem like something that actually happened.”

“I know what you mean. That’s how I felt when I found out I was an Element. Heck, sometimes I still feel weird about it. That’s life!”

“Life is strange sometimes.”

“But it goes on, with or without us.”

Octavia poked her glass, and Pinkie followed suit. “To life, then.”

“To life!”

******

By the time the Elements reached the battlefield, waiting until nightfall and watching to make sure they would not float into an ambush, there was plenty to see, but nothing that they were looking for. The ground was scarred from the edge of the suburbs to the beginnings of the river valley that marked their way to town, shot with debris and bodies. Pieces of armor added their hard shapes to the pocked relief, sometimes askew and empty on the ground, sometimes attached to their battered bearers. Spears stuck out of the ground in places, some draped with banners, some bare.

In places, the grass and scrub had been burned away. Some trees by the stream had been charred, or mostly charred, and the stream itself was redundantly dammed with a crude, leaking levee of packed dirt and what looked like an amalgam of airship parts. An engine lay in a teardrop divot by a pile of stones, not far from a pile of destroyed ships. They could see a sweltering red glow in its heart still, and the air smelled of smoke.

Amongst the wreckage and the ruin, they saw no sign of the angel. They had not expected to find it, but they had also not expected to be so without recourse upon inspecting the battlefield. They landed for want of anything else to do, and conferred in the moonlight.

“Ah say we get a hotel fer the night an’ strike up a search tomorrow,” Applejack said. “Ah’m bushed, an’ Ah know they will be too. Even if we did find ‘em tonight, we wouldn’t wanna head out right now.”

“They probably have business with the princesses anyway,” Rainbow added.

“That’s true,” Twilight said. “But we can’t let ourselves lose focus. We don’t know how close this was, after all; Discord might not need a full army again to push the city over. We need to turn around as soon as possible.”

“Where to, though?” Fluttershy asked. “Vanilla said that the Element wasn’t in Snowdrift.”

“Do we believe him?” Rarity asked.

“Not fer a second,” Applejack said.

“Ah say we should,” Big Mac said.

“Is that you talking, or the glamour?” Twilight asked.

“Me.” He rolled his eyes. “Ah think.”

“He’s treacherous,” Applejack said.

“Why would he steer us wrong?” Fluttershy asked. “He… well, he still wants what he wants. He said he can’t tell us where it is, but he can probably tell us where it isn’t.”

“That’s a habit he’s startin’ nice an’ late.”

“That’s a reach,” Vinyl said. “Personally, I trust him. Not a lot, but I trust him. He seems competent.”

“Suppose he is telling the truth,” Twilight said. “Where do we go, then? Where haven’t we gone?”

“Not to sound pessimistic, but there’s thousands of miles of unexplored wilderness out there. Seems like a good hiding place to me.”

“I’ve thought the same,” Fluttershy said. “But he hasn’t done that yet. It’s always towns or landmarks.”

“There was that one in the middle of the swamps,” Big Mac said.

“An’ that one at the bottom of the ocean,” Applejack added.

Vinyl’s horn lit up. “Bottom of the ocean?”

“Well, okay,” Fluttershy said. “Maybe not all towns, then. But he prefers them.”

“What towns haven’t you been to, besides Snowdrift?” Vinyl asked.

“As far as large towns go, none,” Twilight said. “Small towns, there’s hundreds.”

“Like Passage Town, outside Manehattan,” Rarity said.

“Exactly.” She watched an airship lift off from the mountaintop. “Let’s think. Have there been any commonalities between where he’s hidden the Elements?”

“There’s always some kind of trap waiting for us,” Rainbow said. “But I guess that doesn’t count, since we only discover it afterwards.”

“If it weren’t fer the swamp, Ah’d say it’s ponies needin’ our help,” Applejack said.

“But they’re everywhere,” Rarity said. Seeing a look from Vinyl, she blushed. “It’s true, dear. I’m not saying I don’t care.”

“Wait, maybe this isn’t as hard as we think it is,” Rainbow said. “Luna said she has ponies out there searching for these things, right? And we haven’t heard anything, which means they haven’t found it yet. So we need to go where they haven’t searched. That’s probably a smaller area.”

“Ah, good point,” Vinyl said. “Can you write a letter, asking her?”

“I can,” Twilight said. “To be honest, I’d rather talk to her about it. That and some other things.”

“Ah doubt she’ll be available to talk to us right after this battle,” Applejack said.

“She’ll make time for us,” Rainbow said.

“Will she?” Vinyl asked.

“If she can,” Twilight said.

“She usually does,” Fluttershy said. “Not to sound arrogant, of course.”

“I just had another thought,” Rarity said. “Um… well, it’s not exactly kind of me. It involves you, Big Mac.”

“Go ahead,” Big Mac said. “Ah can take it.”

“Do you think there’s a way we could, er, manipulate this glamour of yours? You know, to make you intuit where the last Element is?”

He sighed. “Mm.”

“I don’t think they work that way,” Twilight said. “And especially with him knowing about it, it’ll be hard.”

“They’re not things you can force, from what Ah’ve read,” Applejack said.

Twilight glanced at her. “Exactly. If we tried to force his magic into doing something it isn’t meant to do, it might not work, or it might backfire. We might just accidentally break it.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Big Mac said.

Vinyl looked at him and scooted a little closer.

“No, I think asking Princess Luna is the thing to do,” Twilight said. “But tomorrow. I’ll send a letter tonight, asking for some of her time, but let’s call it there. Applejack, do you want to get us into town?”

“If we stay in town, we’re gonna get mobbed,” Vinyl said. “Even though we had nothing to do with the battle, ponies will assume we did.”

“She’s right,” Rainbow said. “Probably.”

“Well, where do you propose we stay?” Twilight asked.

“There’s a tiny town just outside Canterlot,” Vinyl said. “Can’t see it from here. It’s called Grass Graves.”

“Oh, I know Grass Graves. My parents took me there for a weekend once, when I was young. We had a picnic on the hillside.”

“That sounds lovely,” Fluttershy said.

“It was. I didn’t know it was still around, to be honest.” She slapped Applejack on the back. “Let’s go.”

When they found Grass Graves, they had to land on a flat plain beside a lonesome train station and walk down to the tiny settlement. They crossed through most of the ghost town before finding a miniature hotel, in view of the cheerfully glowing city. From even their scant distance, there was no evidence that a fierce battle had taken place.

Twilight woke, with the sun, to a letter shooting out of her horn: Luna confirming an appointment time. They checked out, Vinyl bought a souvenir, and they got back to their ship. They had skipped the meager breakfast that their hotel offered, and were all irritable with hunger when they got into town. Finding a place to land their ship was difficult. The airship lots near the palace were full, most of them holding uniform rows of Canterlot army ships, and many more filled with large, colorful, personal airships for the wealthy. In the vast distance, they could see occasional specks of returning ships, ponies coming back from their vacations to miss the battle.

As Vinyl had predicted, they were mobbed when they appeared in public, and lunch was a rushed, uncomfortable ordeal, with amazed civilians gawking at them, asking questions, and requesting autographs. For once, Vinyl was the least important pony in the group she traveled with, and she ate her pasta salad with a wry sense of irony, happy that she was being left alone, but also a little jealous.

When it came time to meet the princess, they walked to the palace, across the massive drawbridge, and into the throne room, where a guard led them deeper into the building, up several flights of stairs, and into a soft, blue office. Princess Luna sat behind a desk, pouring over a map, with a cobweb of interconnected sigils glowing dimly in the room behind. She closed that door with a soft snap as she greeted them.

“I am not surprised that you’re here,” she said, “just that you’re here so soon.” She inclined her head a fraction of an inch. “Miss Scratch.”

Vinyl simply bowed, cheeks aflame and horn tipped with ivory light.

“How are you, Applejack?”

“A little world weary, yer highness, but good,” Applejack said. “Ready to see this thing through.”

“We have five of the Elements,” Twilight said, “so we’re not far from that goal. We were hoping to leave today, actually.”

“That is my intent for you as well,” Luna said. “It’s dangerous to have you all here. Discord has been repelled, and soundly; I expect he will be looking to take his revenge, and, to be blunt, I’d rather that not happen in my city.”

“We understand perfectly,” Rarity said. “We simply need to find our friends, and we’ll be off.”

“Octavia and Pinkie are in Lower Canterlot, at the Heraldic Harp Inn, on Third Street and Compassion.”

“That’s right at the edge,” Twilight said.

“Are they okay?” Fluttershy asked. “And what about Whooves?”

“They are both fine,” Luna said, folding a corner of her map back, trying to get it to lie down. “The doctor is not with them.”

Applejack gasped. “Is he—”

“Unharmed, just not with them. He slept in an empty canal off Fifteenth Street and Lullaby.”

“Guess we’ll pick him up too,” Rarity said.

“Your highness, we were hoping you could help us with the last Element,” Rainbow said.

Luna looked at her.

“We were going to go to Snowdrift,” Twilight said. “From Trottingham, but Vanilla Cream moved us. That’s how we ended up here instead.”

“He said it wasn’t in Snowdrift, though,” Fluttershy said.

“I do not know,” Luna said. “I have not heard anything concerning its whereabouts. If I had, you would know.”

“That’s what we figured,” Twilight said. “So we were hoping you could tell us where you have searched, so we could know to go somewhere else.”

“You’ve got ponies in every city, right?” Rainbow asked. “Secret agents? We’ve met a few here and there.”

“Rainbow, tact,” Rarity said, frowning at her.

“It’s fine,” Luna said. “I make no secret of it. Not to you, anyway.” She eyed Vinyl. “I can’t tell you every location I have them posted, but I can tell you where they’ve searched and come up empty.”

“That would be useful,” Twilight said.

Luna beckoned them come around to her desk, where she had the map flattened, the offending corner underneath an empty coffee mug. It was a large, detailed map of the entire Equestrian continent, every city and small village marked with a dot. “Give me one moment, please,” she said, going into the sigil room. “I’m going to contact someone who will be able to answer your questions better than I. One minute.” She closed the door behind her.

“I’m feeling confident,” Vinyl said. “Don’t know about y’all.”

“I’m not going to feel good about this until Discord is encased in stone,” Twilight said. “Close isn’t good enough.”

“I agree,” Rarity said. “There it is.” She pointed to the tiny dot next to Manehattan. “Passage Town, that’s where Fluttershy and I stayed. I wonder how they’re doing.”

“We haven’t spent much time in the corners,” Rainbow said. “Maybe it’s in one of those.”

“Not a bad idea,” Twilight said. “I doubt he’d put it in the northeast, that would be too close to where we got the Element of Honesty. The northwest is just mountains and valleys.” She scrutinized the map. “Oh, wow, they do have a couple towns up there. Look, Point Hope and Rolling Rocks. Can you imagine living there?”

“I’ve never been,” Vinyl said.

“Neither have I, but I’ve read that it’s not hospitable. They get hurricanes sometimes, free ones from way out in the ocean, and the whole area, like I said, is just mountains and valleys.”

“What do they farm, seaweed?” Rainbow asked.

“Could be.”

Applejack made a disgusted noise, and Big Mac nodded in agreement.

“Snowdrift is down there, north of all these little ones,” Rarity said.

“That’s where I was born,” Vinyl said. “Boom town, gold panning.”

“No kidding,” Applejack said. “Wow, Ah never took you fer a southerner.”

“But you did most of yer growin’ in Snowdrift,” Big Mac said.

“Not most, just a lot,” Vinyl said, horn glowing a soft pink.

“There’s Roan,” Rainbow said. “I’d rather avoid them.”

“I as well,” Rarity said. “And Trottingham too.”

“Look, this map isn’t too recent,” Twilight said. “It still shows Trottingham as a big city. No mention of The Mountain Zone.”

“Optimism in map form,” Applejack said. Rainbow looked at her, but didn’t speak.

The door opened, and Luna came out with a bright yellow sigil, aglow on a plank of wood that she set down on the other side of the desk. “They’re all here, yes, except for Octavia, Pinkie, and Whooves.”

The sigil pulsed softly, and a flat, feminine voice came back at them. “Hello, Elements.”

“This is my information handler,” Luna said. “She’s in charge of records and research for me. She’s the one to ask about where on my map our ponies have been, and where they still need to go. Her recall will be better than mine.”

“Where are you now?” Rainbow asked.

“She can’t tell you that.”

“You said you came from Trottingham,” the voice said. “You were moved?”

“We were moved to Ponyville, actually, and we just dropped by,” Twilight said.

“Okay.”

No one spoke, and Luna fluttered her map. “Well, ask what you want to ask.”

“Uh, so you don’t know where the Element of Laughter is,” Rarity said. “We were hoping you could help us know where it isn’t.”

“Well, you were just in Trottingham, so it’s not there,” the voice said. “Fluttershy, what’s the range of your Element-finding spell?”

“Oh, um…” Fluttershy thought. “I’m not actually sure. It’s big enough to check a town like Trottingham in one spell.”

“We’ll assume fifty square miles. From which direction did you approach Trottingham?”

“We came from Roan, same route as Octavia and Pinkie,” Twilight said. “We passed over Applewood as well, nothing there.”

“And we were told that it wasn’t in Snowdrift,” Rarity said.

“It is not.”

“We’d know if it was,” Luna said.

“It’s not in any major towns,” the voice said. “We have ponies searching out in the smaller towns now, and in the wilderness between towns, but progress is slow. It’s not near the glacier outside Snowdrift, and it’s not in any of the boom towns to the south.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Rarity said.

“We haven’t fully swept the mountains above, yet, but there’s nothing in the mines either. You might check south of those.”

“Called it,” Rainbow said. “It’s probably in one of the corners.”

“What about the southeast?” Fluttershy asked. “There’s hardly anything there.”

“There’s Roan on one side and Draught Castle on the north end,” Twilight said. “I don’t know which is worse.”

“The southeast would be a good hiding place,” the voice said. “We checked Moondrop two months ago, and there was nothing, but, as we all know, Elements sometimes move.”

“Is anyone monitoring the area?” Luna asked.

“Great Hardpan is still in charge there. She hasn’t experienced anything out of the ordinary since Discord came to Draught Castle.”

Luna thought. “Who’s stationed in Roan that we can afford to move? I don’t like the idea of her team being the only ponies out there. Discord might get some funny ideas.”

“Ice Cap is due to finish sweeping for displacements in three days. I can send her team to Moondrop.”

“Are there any precogs on the team?”

“No precogs, but they do have a postcog named Banana Bread.”

“Keep Banana Bread in Roan, and send the rest of the team to Moondrop,” Luna said. “Sorry, I don’t mean to monopolize your time. Go on.”

Twilight cleared her throat. “It’s fine, your highness. What about right near the castle? I wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to keep the last Element close to him.”

“Also a possibility,” the voice said.

“If we head south by southeast, we can pass the castle on our way to this Moondrop place,” Applejack said.

“Have you checked the Everfree Forest?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yes. We finished sweeping the western border eight days ago.”

“How far past the border do you go?”

“Twenty miles.”

“That leaves a good little stretch of land between the forest and Manehattan,” Vinyl said.

“We already have ponies searching that area,” the voice said.

“Yes, don’t worry about that,” Luna said. “If we find an Element there, it’ll be quick—before you got there, if you tried.”

“The same goes for the area around Hoofington, probably,” Rarity said. “You are on the coast, too?”

“We don’t have as many ponies on the coast, but there are some, yes,” the voice said. “Right now, they’re sweeping east. They passed the town of Swaying Reeds just yesterday.”
Luna pointed to a dot on the map’s coastline, a town just west of a small chain of hills, not far from Equestria’s eastern border.

“What about everything north of Appleloosa?” Rainbow asked. “There’s nothing up there.”

“We swept the northwest corner three months ago,” the voice said. “There’s work to be done in Manehattan, but once that’s done, we’re going to send a team back to sweep the northwest again.”

“So that may be something,” Luna said.

“I would advise you stick to places where there are larger populations. If there wasn’t an Element three months ago, then it would have to have moved there in the intervening time. Ponies do not do much travel in the northwest section of Equestria.”

“Discord could have moved it himself,” Rarity said.

“He hasn’t been spotted there,” Luna said. “In fact, Canterlot is the farthest north he’s gone.”

“And Vanilla Cream has nothing to do with the Elements’ locations, from what we can tell,” the voice said.

“I think the desert around Moondrop is the most likely location,” Twilight said. “From what I’ve heard, I mean. Do ponies go down there a lot?”

“The ponies in Roan had been talking about building a road into the eastern deserts for a few years, before The Crumbling. Those plans would have been forgotten, but ponies do still go out there from time to time.”

“Discord knows we’re monitoring him,” Luna said, “so he’s not going to go get an Element to move it. If it moves, it’s because someone else found it. Like young Lacey Kisses, with the Element of Loyalty.”

Rarity sighed.

“I say we go south, to the desert,” Fluttershy said. “I think I agree, it sounds like a likely place.”

“I guess we’ll be right next to the castle, if we do find it,” Twilight said. “We can swing back up and knock him out.”

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” Luna said. “Of course, I’ll keep you informed if anything changes.”

“Yeah, who knows?” Rainbow asked. “You might find it tomorrow.”

“Let’s not get stars in our eyes,” Applejack said.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Can I get a smaller version of that map?” Twilight asked. “I don’t know if ours has Moondrop on it.”

“Of course. I’ll talk to you later tonight, my friend,” Luna said.

“Yes, your highness,” the sigil said. “It was good to speak to you all.”

“Thanks for your help,” Twilight said. “And good luck, wherever you are.”

The sigil dimmed, and Luna put the board that carried it back. She grabbed a roll of parchment and gave it to Twilight.

“Get your friends and get moving, Twilight. I’ll send someone to restock your rations and fill your water tanks while you do. I don’t want to waste any time in finding this last Element.”

“Do you really think Discord’s gonna do something?” Rainbow asked. “How badly did you defeat him, anyway?”

Luna smirked. “He’ll be upset. Let’s leave it at that.”

******

The home of prospectors, archaeologists, geologists, and the occasional cartographer or criminal on the run, Moondrop was also overrun with a group of tourists who had been stuck there since The Crumbling, having selected their vacation with disastrous timing. Three families of city ponies had flown out, endured the cataclysm, lost their airships, and had to adapt to life on the frontier. No one in the town, its population ordinarily fluctuating between fifty and seventy ponies, had the resources or inclination to take care of the unfortunate tourists.

Moondrop had been settled on the unforgiving desert plains just southeast of a massive, millennium-old crater, its origins inflated into the myth that it was Nightmare Moon’s work, a parting shot as she was sent to her lunar prison. The story was untrue, but it brought in tourists every year, often in the summer, when the desert temperatures were almost warm. Moondrop was so far south that, in ordinary times, a pony could walk from there into the minotaur lands in the space of a week, if they didn’t freeze to death first.

Around the town, schisms from The Crumbling remained; no one had bothered to travel there and repair the ground. If they had, they would have been rebuffed; the bridges and canals were sturdy, the distances they spanned insignificant. One daring pegasus had strung his laundry line across a gap, he having unfortunately had his house divorced from his front yard in the disaster.

A single mountain broke the flat view from town, an unimpressive peak far to the north and about a hundred miles south of Discord’s castle. On clear days, the blue sky covered the windless plains for miles all around, and the town was as an islet adrift in endless emptiness. The cloud convoy had not yet reached their corner of Equestria, but the ponies there no longer needed it. For the first several months, drought had driven many of them into the desert in a desperate journey to Roan—which none completed—but soon, as the weather came unbound, rain naturally found its way back to the southeast. Rain, and a single tornado that menaced but did not touch the town.

Ramshackle, single-story buildings tilted and leaned with the cacti, their roofs broad and gently sloping to keep the rain well away from the outer walls, and instead falling, when it fell at all, into the shallow, adobe-lined gulleys that snaked all around the area, eventually converging at a wide cistern south of town. A black tarp had been strung over the well like a clam shell, to keep the water from evaporating. From a distance, it appeared as if a droplet of shadow had simply appeared beside an otherwise unassuming village, its only other notable feature that it existed at all.

To the north, then, lay the crater, called simply “the old hole.” A few ponies had made quarters for themselves on the crater’s interior edges, but they were not generally regarded as belonging to the same group that lived in Moondrop.

Onto the tiny town did Discord fall, the day after his catastrophic failure on the Canterlot battlefield. His attempts on the city had been, from least to most recent, genuine, a deliberate waste of time, and genuine. Angrily, he kicked up a dust devil and rode it all the way into the crater, sitting atop its funnel like a gloomy king on a throne, glowering at the world.

He hopped off and, making himself light as a feather, allowed the winds to break apart and blow him where they would. He landed in a patch of prickly pears, which he scattered with a snap of his talons and sent bouncing across the hardpan in a group, where they would, days later, fall all the way down to the planet and skim across the shallow ocean that had leaked in from the far north.

He sat down and took a deep breath of the hot, dry air. Failure had its place, just as victory, and he reminded himself that he had lost nothing he was not prepared to lose, save a great deal of dignity. Only fifty percent of his army had been actual, flesh and blood ponies, either glamoured or truly disloyal to their country. The rest had been magical constructs, slightly more powerful than illusions—powerful enough to harm, and not much else. The device he used to create them was safely in his chamber at Draught Castle.

No ground had been lost to the goddesses either. They owned Canterlot already, and had simply repelled him; he still controlled the south. Though watchful, they knew they must stay in their half of the country, or else present too tempting a target of the capital city.

He grinned falsely and laughed bitterly into the open sky. No one was there to see him pondering his position, to see the large demigod sitting on his rock unadorned, naked of enchantment and caution. The truth was, he had little chance of overtaking Canterlot with his current strategy. Three sieges and three failures, and though the Canterlot Guard was whittled ever thinner each time, other forces appeared to take its place. He had thought that he had effectively scattered Luna’s Datura; it never occurred that they might abandon their posts in other cities to amass such a crushing blow to his army. Even worse, he had no way to track them effectively. He could not stay in Canterlot, not within a thousand miles of it, and it was exactly there that so many of the most important Daturas were going to ground. They would slip out of sight, regroup under his radar, and then be prepared for the next thing, whatever it might be.

Then, the angel. He was not shocked to find that the Elements had organized some sort of counter to his attack—he had been more shocked that they had steered entirely clear of his second one, months ago—but doing so on the ancient, flying siege machine had tormented his thoughts since he saw it. It meant that they were resourceful, and that they were willing to get dirty with everyone else. For the last several months, they had trailed behind his plans, cleaning up and controlling his damage, but now they were getting bolder, and though he had seen to the angel’s destruction, he knew they would just find something else. It was a huge world, after all, and full of magic.

“I must face it,” he said, conjuring a duplicate of himself to stand on the other side of the rock. It paced before him, arms crossed impatiently. “I need to remove one of the princesses. Both, if possible.”

The duplicate scoffed.

“Yes, yes, I know, a fool’s errand. But one wouldn’t be so impossible, would it?”

“You tell me.”

He sneered at himself. “You’re no help, are you?” With a wave of his paw, he banished the illusion. Instead, he leaned over and faced the image of his own face, arranged in the dust. Its pebble eye turned over in a wink.

“Let’s explore the idea, though,” he said. “For giggles, if nothing else. Ah, I could use a good laugh. Which princess must it be? Celestia, right?”

“The night goddess cannot be caught,” the dust said. “Except maybe by herself.”

“And Celestia would turn me inside-out. She may say she doesn’t want to, to keep me complacent, but if I pushed her, she’d roast me. It would take forever, but she’d do it in the end.”

“Painful as it is to admit.”

“Destroying either of them is out of the question. They’re indestructible. Imprisonment, then.” He looked out to the horizon, at the crater’s edge, barely visible. “And that is possible.”

“You don’t have Elements of Harmony,” the dust said.

“Ach!” He swiped the design away and stood up, turning a wide circle and sweeping with his tail, as if to dispel the negativity that clouded his thoughts. “It’s too hot for this kind of madness anyway.” He conjured a rickshaw and lounged back in it, then, with a snap of his fingers, produced an imitation Twilight Sparkle. “Take me into the crater, beast.”

Even the illusion gave him a sour look as she plodded forward.

“Even supposing I was able to trap one of them, the other would have her sister free in no time, and then we’d be right back where we started. Worse, actually, because I’d have dropped the gauntlet.” He thought back to what he had said about Princess Luna catching herself. “Only they have the power to contain one another. Is that anything?”

“You could trick them into fighting each other,” the Twilight illusion said. “Leave yourself nothing at all to rule once the war ended.”

“Oh, yes, a truly delectable option,” Discord said, rolling his head back. “Although… who says the war has to be real?”

“I’m not real.”

He sighed. “I hate it when they say that. Breaks the immersion entirely.” With another wave of his talons, he replaced Twilight with Rarity, who moaned as she realized what she was doing.

“I heard what you two were saying. You know, darling, you’re quite good with illusions.” She cast a smile back at him. “Trick Celestia into fighting a war that doesn’t exist. That’ll keep her occupied, and all you have to do then is keep her contained, keep her from actually destroying the world.”

“Against whom?” he asked.

Rarity laughed. “Who do you think?”

He tapped his one protruding tooth with a claw. “Still leaves me Luna to worry about. How do I keep her from freeing her beloved sister? Oh, cur, stop here.” He got up and banished both illusions, pony and rickshaw, as one, and enjoyed a breeze that welled up from the crater. On the very edge, he spread his arms and leaned forward forty-five degrees, bracing himself on a cushion of magic.

“Roger roger,” he said, producing a colorful cannon around his body. “Ready to fire on your mark, captain.”

A second Discord stood behind, green goggles on his lopsided face and a giant, novelty lighter in his talons. It gave the true Discord a thumbs-up. “Adjusting ten degrees down, and… fire torpedo!”

True Discord shot out with a bang and a cloud of smoke, cackling as he sailed over the eroded, rocky slopes and into the wide expanse almost fifty feet off the ground. The sun and the air surrounded his smooth tumble as if the sky itself were celebrating his spectacular entrance. Ground turned over and under blue sky, and he kept his eyes open until the very end, where he skidded across the parched earth in a long, torn line. He rose, unharmed, and noticed a shack not far from where he had landed. A pair of ponies were ushering their young into the house, not once taking their fearful eyes off him.

“Applause! Applause!” he cried, but no clapping swelled around him. “Aw, heck, who needs it?” He kicked the gravel petulantly. “Who’s the one pony more powerful than Luna? Why, Celestia. Maybe,” he said, looking around. He jumped when he saw, not another image of himself, as he had intended, but Vanilla Cream, his eyes even deeper than the sky that had spiraled over Discord’s head moments before.

“I thought you might need me,” Vanilla said.

“To laugh at my failure, you mean?”

Vanilla only looked at him.

“Well, here I am.”

“I’m beyond pretending not to know what you mean.”

Discord crossed his arms.

Vanilla walked past Discord. “I heard your stream of consciousness, and it gave me an idea. You know, I can show you how to imprison Celestia, if you wish, and make her binding unimpeachable by the other one.”

“Can you?” Discord asked drily.

“All you need is a little of my magic.”

“A little?”

“A lot.”

“Uh huh. How do you know you can do it? How can you defeat the princess?”

“I’m not talking about defeating her, just keeping her trapped for a while.” He let a frown cross his face, the first show of emotion. “You trusted me with the dam, why not this?”

“This is much more complicated than that stupid machine.”

“They are both the implementation of magic that I have mastered.”

Discord snarled, throwing his arms wide and splaying his mismatched wings. “Apples and oranges, and you know it!”

Vanilla sat down. “What’s your idea, then?”

“It’s simple,” Discord said. “We… well, I…”

Vanilla watched.

“Okay, perhaps you’re right,” he said softly. “What’s your idea?”

“So you do want to listen to me.”

“Yes! Fine, yes, speak your piece. My ears,” he conjured a large, red cone and stuck it in one ear, “are wide open.”

“You’ll need to start small.”

“Just me?”

“I’ll show you how to use the magic, but I won’t do it for you, Discord. I fear the princesses just as much as you. Actually, more; I haven’t the claim to immortality that you do.”

“So you’ll keep quiet and let me take all the risk for myself, wonderful.”

“And all the reward. Remember, draconequus, that until you brought me here, I was content to stay in my world.” He tossed his black mane out of his eyes in a gesture that reminded Discord of his illusory Rarity. “I was quite happy to live and let live.”

“Are you still?”

“With your binding on me, of course not.” He gave Discord a flat stare. “Come, trust me. It’s in my best interests to see your task through.”

Discord chuckled. “Suppose I decided to keep you bound after my victory?”

“This inevitable victory of yours.”

He frowned his gloomy frown. “Yes, inevitable.”

“Well, should you choose to keep me bound past my time, there would be trouble. I have friends in Tartarus, Discord. They’d come looking for me sooner or later.”

“I didn’t know the power of friendship extended into the mirror world,” he said sardonically.

“Seems it’s everywhere where you aren’t. Did you have a troubled childhood?”

“Enough. Tell me how to imprison the sun goddess, and begone.”

“The biggest tyrants often have the smallest characters.”

“Vanilla Cream, as the one who summoned you into my service, I command you to tell me what you know of imprisoning the princess.”

Vanilla rolled his eyes. “You don’t need all the pomp, you know that. Any direct command will suffice. And, you didn’t specify when.”

“Do it now, then!”

“Ah, of course.” He bowed. “I should have guessed.”

“Wait. Can you promise me that I’ll be able to grasp the magic you show me? Able to use it, even?”

“If you’re able to bind me, I’m sure you can handle this.” He took a long look around the crater. “You can pick your own spot, of course, but I advise you set this up along the crater’s edge. You’ll have a ring of ponies all around, and if you can get Celestia in the middle, down here, that’ll be perfect. Spacing will be important once she’s added to the mix.”

Discord watched his eyes, trying and failing to imagine what sorcerer’s trick Vanilla Cream intended to teach him, to imprison the goddess.

******

Fleur’s cat greeted Colgate with an indignant meow when Colgate finally made it back. Having no money for a taxi and no friends to call on to give her a ride, she had ended up pleading her way onto a bus and then walking the last five miles, all the time thirsty, hungry, and still dazed. She had spent the night at the watchpoint, going to sleep on a pile of empty body bags as the dawn was beginning to show itself.

She nudged the cat out of the way and went to the kitchen, where she took a long, awkward drink from the kitchen sink. Her horn was sore still, but she could use it for simple tasks, like refilling the cat’s water and food dishes. Colgate watched it run to the spot under the counter as she set the dish down. If Fleur were to not return, she wondered, would she have to take care of her pet?

She had spoken to no one on her return trip, not even the other nurses, those few who remained into the following day. By that time, the tents had all been taken down, the medical supplies shipped away, the bodies sent elsewhere for a mass grave or a mass cremation.

As it had been in rehab, there was nothing to do. Colgate walked to the living room and turned on the TV. Resting her head on the couch cushion, she closed her eyes and flipped randomly, letting herself be soothed in the noise. She was surprised that no stations were out; then, reflecting, she was surprised that she was surprised. The city itself had, after all, not been touched.

She left it on the news and rose, going to the kitchen to find some food. All Fleur had that Colgate could prepare was some cereal and some bread, but there were no clean bowls. Colgate took the loaf of bread and a glass of tap water to the couch. The news was slow; one reporter sat at the desk and spoke with a pony out in the empty battlefield, but there apparently was no camera crew to show any footage. The reporter had to describe everything, and Colgate switched to a different news channel.

“—are told not to worry. Princess Celestia has assured us that the airships have all been captured and decommissioned, the magic holding them together dispelled.” A picture of one of the Datura airships was up on the screen, and Colgate nodded. She had wondered how the princesses would explain the Ponyville caravan, how they would explain the sudden appearance of an entire convoy of airships to come to the city’s aid, all operated by the organization no one was allowed to know about. It had always seemed a strangely overt gesture on the Datura’s part, Colgate thought.

But it seemed the princesses had found a plan. They had labelled the airships as dissenting units of Discord’s, a move that Colgate admired for its cleverness. At once, the excuse pardoned any suspicious air activity and made their enemy look like he was losing his grip. It also allowed for the Datura to break down the airships right in town without raising any fuss.

The stallion at the news desk spoke to someone out of frame for a second, his professional mien, clearly strained already, breaking into a look of true disappointment. “Closer to home, we have just received unfortunate news.” He was replaced by a scene of Fleur’s house. Police tape was strung across the front yard, a pair of flashing cars on the street. “We’ve just received news that local supermodel, Fleur dis Lee, was found dead in her house this morning. Police say they got a call from a neighbor, who wishes to remain anonymous, at seven-thirty this morning.”

Colgate sat up slowly, ears ringing. The police tape flapped on the screen, and ponies were consulting near one car; Fleur’s cat was even visible in the window. She went to the window herself and looked out as the TV kept speaking. There was nothing to see. All the tape had been taken down, the cars gone; no sign of anything.

She went back to the couch and sat down numbly as a police officer told the interviewer that the cause of death was most likely due to severe malnutrition. They had attempted to resuscitate her, but she was pronounced dead on the scene. They could not disclose the location of her body yet.

The cat jumped up on the couch and nuzzled Colgate.

“Okay,” Colgate said, turning off the TV and standing up, her bread forgotten. Her head was spinning, hot with shock and the first faint traces of anger. She had expected to find that Fleur was dead—had thought of little else on her journey home—but not in such a way. The news story was fake, something to convince those who knew Fleur only as a model, not a Datura, but Colgate knew that Fleur must still be dead, or at least unable to show herself. Otherwise, there would be no point in running the story.

She had assumed she would simply come to the conclusion herself, if three or four days passed and her commander did not appear. She had assumed she would get home, relax, lay low, as ceaselessly instructed, and endure a tightening noose of unknowing until finally giving up hope.

Instead, that hope had been wrested away. The last thing she saw before she had turned off the TV was a glossy picture of Fleur, smiling sensually in a cool gray dress. She walked to the kitchen and stood there.

“It might be another test,” she thought. “Would she go that far? Would she convince the whole city that she’s dead, just to put me through another test? Or am I wrong, and she’ll come back tonight, apologize for scaring me, and get on with life?” To Colgate, neither option seemed likely.

She went outside first and walked the front yard’s perimeter. In the street, she thought she could see tire tracks, but wasn’t sure. She had hoped to find a shred of yellow tape, but there was none.

It meant nothing. If Fleur was dead, she would be dead outside the city, in an anonymous pile of corpses. No evidence would be found at home anyway, but Colgate could not help her interest. Little conscious thought predicated her exploration of the house, her close examination of the floors and carpets for any sign of an expired pony. Any sort of fluid leakage, any dislodged or upset furniture that the supposedly malnourished Fleur might have tried to use to pull herself up after a fall—for even a moderate fall could be a death sentence for someone in such poor health. But there was nothing; the house was exactly as they had left it. Neither bed was made, neither laundry hamper empty, neither bathroom particularly or notably clean.

As Colgate sat down beside Fleur’s bed, she realized that it was the lack of evidence that reinforced what she knew all along. A couple Daturas, or unknowing ponies on the Datura payroll, could have staged the news story, but it would not require any actual investigation of the house. The police would go in for a time, then come out, and that would be it. The house appeared untouched because it was untouched.

She opened a drawer on the nightstand and pulled out a stack of checks and receipts. Still shocked, with the newspony’s voice repeating in her head, she looked through the papers without much thought. It was something to do with her hooves and her horn and her eyes. The cat came in and meowed at her again.

She went to the closet and went through the clothes. She had not seen Fleur’s wardrobe before, but something caught her attention. Between two dresses, there hung an empty hanger of sturdier construction than the others, perhaps to hold a heavy coat or a jacket. She went to the laundry and found the coat, thick sable with a broad lapel and a velvet interior. Her interest was piqued once more; it had not yet been cool enough in the day to wear such a coat. Fleur had been out at night, and recently.

Colgate could think of no reasons why Fleur might need to go out, except that whatever reason would need to be a secret, even from her. Colgate pawed through the laundry more, eventually assessing that it had been only a few days before the battle that Fleur had gone out. The coat was well buried under other things, but not on the bottom.

She thought back to the last few nights. Most likely, Fleur had gone out before they had gone into the countryside and used the vacuum glass. Preparations for the battle, she was sure.

“Wait.” She stopped moving and stared at the wall. The skull in the ashes, out on the battlefield. The day before, at the breakfast table, Fleur had told her about some ships that were to come from the suburbs, decoys, to explode when they hit the ground. Colgate remembered asking about them then, but not thinking much about Fleur’s unspecific answer. “Why would there be a skull in a decoy ship?” She looked at the cat on the bed, and the cat responded by licking its paw.

There were ponies aboard the decoy ships, which had come out of the suburbs, five of them, and her commander had mysteriously left a few nights before the battle. Colgate went back to the kitchen, an idea moving on the edge of her thoughts, but she was not willing to accept it. On an impulse, she pulled open the cupboard where they kept their miscellaneous papers: menus, lists of phone numbers, and maps. The papers were undisturbed. So Fleur had not gone somewhere for which she needed a map, Colgate thought. Not the type of pony, so far as she knew, who took night drives to clear her mind, Fleur had gone out for a secret, late-night meeting in a familiar location.

“But why a coat? If it was just a meeting, she wouldn’t need one. She’d be indoors the whole time.” “Okay, so she was outdoors, then,” she said. The idea was falling into place, and Colgate trotted back to the bedroom. If she was right, the evidence should be in Fleur’s shoes and dresses. A quick search through her clothes revealed the exact evidence that Colgate had wanted: grass and stickers, and a little mud on the bottom of her shoes. Fleur had been to the battlefield. She would have parked her car somewhere safe and walked to the meeting point.

She inspected the shoes a second time. The existence of mud on their bottoms allowed Colgate to dismiss the notion that they were simply from their mission in the field. That had been daytime, and dry; mud would only come from a moist lawn, and the nights were cool enough for dew to form.

Then she realized something else. That Fleur had not needed a map to get to the battlefield suggested that her night trip had not been an isolated incident.

The idea asserted itself with a force that made her sit down on, her horn dimly alight. Energy seemed to collect in her head, and the small vapors of anger that had appeared on the revelation of Fleur’s death grew. Fleur had visited the battlefield multiple times to prepare for something. Colgate knew that she had nothing to do with strategizing or predicting the movement of the armies; those jobs would belong to the Datura logistics department, which was another team entirely. The only thing that needed preparation from Fleur, and only Fleur, was the decoy. She had underlings who had prepared the watchpoints, she had told Colgate as much in the car.

And Fleur was married to Fancy Pants, who had been Colgate’s commander back when she was without potential, back when she was left to consort with the other irresponsible Daturas, Powder Rouge and her friends.

The useless Daturas lived in the suburbs. The decoys had come out of the suburbs, with ponies aboard. Fleur had said she would be working on the battlefield, in the thick of it, and had visited the area multiple times before.

“Hm.” It was all she could say. She nodded, filling up with thoughts and realizations. Were it not for Fleur’s intervention, Colgate would have been aboard one of those ships, perhaps gloating with Rouge about their luck at escaping the embattled city, then shot down and burned. The episode in Grass Graves, where she had spotted the trap at the watchpoint, was suddenly cast into a sharper, more sinister relief: a prelude to an eventuality, rather than an incident of strange, isolated intent. She realized that she had been marked for demise long before, back in Ponyville. Her attempt to sabotage their mission in the forest had decided her fate, and it appeared only luck had saved her. And through it all, she was none the wiser. Even up to the very end, she had thought she knew everything, and she was blinded the whole way. Fleur had known still more, and had chosen so well what she did and did not reveal that Colgate knew, even sitting where she was, overtaken with betrayed fury, that she would never have realized that she had been manipulated and controlled. She had been kept complacent and useful, never with enough insight to deduce the grand design she had somehow sidestepped. Only in Fleur’s death had she been able to piece together the shell of an idea.

It was, of course, almost perfect. The useless Daturas would need to be evacuated, and it would be easy to herd them onto ships; they had already proven their cowardice long before. The plan was brutally efficient, and easy to cover as an unfortunate casualty of the battle. Had they used citizens to inflate the numbers on the decoy ships, or were there enough useless Daturas that it was unnecessary?

“And it was almost me,” she thought, walking back to the kitchen. That was the worst of all. She had no idea what had kept her out of the jaws of fiery destruction, whether it was luck, an oversight, or a singular point of mercy, and she knew she would probably never have the answer. Though dead, Fleur still controlled Colgate; she had taken information with her, information no one but she could access.

At once, seeing the cat peacefully curled in a chair, the anger flowered and then wilted, becoming a block of ice instead. Colgate felt, momentarily, lucid and in control, much as she would in her days of pill taking. She opened the door and shooed the cat out, then went back to the kitchen and dug through the cupboards and drawers, searching for a bottle of cleaning solution and finding only a plunger and a packet of new sponges. She slammed the doors and went to the bathroom, where she pulled out a bottle of mouthwash.

Floating it beside her head while she worked, Colgate unplugged a lamp and took a kitchen knife to the cord, slowly untwining the two copper wires and leaving their ends exposed. A small arc of electricity flashed when she plugged it back in, and she left the broken cord on a hardback book pulled from the nearby shelf. It sparked weakly, and she, still holding the mouthwash, went to the kitchen and turned on the gas stove. The pilot light clicked at her, and she walked out, sure to close the door behind her. The cat was sniffing around in a neighbor’s yard.

“This is for you, Rouge,” Colgate said to no one, taking a short swig of the mouthwash. It burned in her throat and stomach, worse than any alcohol she had had, but she held it down, determined to finish the bottle. Where she was going, she did not know.

Colgate had picked up a pair of bits on the sidewalk, and used them both at a pay phone right before the on ramp of the freeway that would take her, eventually, back down to Lower Canterlot. She dialed the police and asked them to pick her up, saying she had escaped her own house and the abusive marefriend within. She needed somewhere to stay.

Then, after she hung up, she gulped down more mouthwash and threw the bottle over the wall, where it spilled the rest of its contents into a bush. Feeling like her insides were melting and her head had been replaced with an over-inflated balloon, she gave herself a black eye and tore a strip of fur off her side, hardly feeling either injury. She was considering rubbing some pebbles into her exposed skin to simulate scratching when the police car pulled up. She had no difficulty acting devastated and in no mood to talk. After all, she was those things.

They took her to the police station, where she first vomited in the bathroom, then drunkenly filled out a report, giving them the minimum of required information, pretending to be still in love with her abuser. No names, addresses, or phone numbers were provided, and, waiting for her paperwork to be processed, she realized where she wanted to go. She didn’t need to ask for a ride; an officer offered to drive her to a shelter. She said she had a different idea, and it was an idea that the officer was clearly heartened to hear.

It was a long drive, and Colgate just stared out the window, still drunk and still queasy, remembering her times with Fleur in a new light. All the training, the couple missions she had been a part of, even meeting the team, had been a façade made to keep her occupied. Until what, she wondered. Would Fleur have eventually found a way to dispose of her as well, or was the position legitimate? Colgate might, she imagined, have simply gone on and lived out her life, never knowing what had so narrowly passed her by. The thought of it frightened her more than the thought of crashing with the useless Daturas.

She thanked the officer and shook his hoof, and he wished her luck. She walked through the glass and wood doors and saw the same tiny, freckled earth pony who had greeted her last time, the same black slab of wall down which slithered a calming skin of water. She wavered where she stood, unsteady under the effects of the mouthwash, and checked herself in. The Solar Maiden Rehabilitation Facility was bustling with afternoon activities, and, as before, Colgate went straight to her room and turned on the TV.

Furnace Creek

Chapter Eighty-six

Furnace Creek

The Elements and their friends put Canterlot behind them just as the sun was going down, but there was no celebration. Only Pinkie was not subdued, though her usual gusto and vim only appeared when she was spoken to, like sparks from stricken flint. She recounted their long, boring flight north, their stop at the dam and the lake it had pulled with it, the many tiny towns they had flown over. She told them how nice it was to stand on a wooden deck again, how the metal of the angel had given them all sore hooves.

No one prompted her to speak of the battle itself, and she volunteered nothing, except to confirm what the princess had told them, that Doctor Whooves was fine, just gone. He slid upriver at some point in the chaos, and that was the end of it.

“We weren’t surprised to hear he was with you,” Rarity said. “There was simply no way he would survive back in Roan, and, at least on my part, I figured it wouldn’t be long before he figured that out for himself.”

“Yup, didn’t take long for him to latch back on,” Pinkie said, and giggled. “He begged us to take him.”

“Ah hope he keeps out of trouble,” Applejack said.

“He’ll be fine.”

“And what about her?” Twilight asked. She didn’t need to specify; there was only one pony not present for the reunion.

“Not my place,” Pinkie said simply.

“So something did happen,” Rainbow said.

“It’s Octavia,” Applejack said. “Of course something happened, even if it didn’t, if you catch my drift.”

“That wasn’t no tea party they went to,” Vinyl said.

“She’ll open up in her time, I’m sure,” Rarity said without conviction.

“But you’re okay, right?” Twilight asked.

“Me? Sure,” Pinkie said, waving a hoof. “I didn’t… I mean, I wasn’t up in front of everything.”

“No surprises there,” Fluttershy said.

“We’re happy to have you back,” Rarity said. “You missed plenty on our end.”

“Two Elements,” Applejack said. “An’ a whole mess of trouble in Trottingham. The Mountain Zone, rather.”

Pinkie tilted her head.

“Let’s start at the start,” Twilight said. “The fairgrounds. Vinyl, you and Big Mac went down there for the Element of Magic.” She tapped the diadem on her head appreciatively.

Pinkie leaned forward, chin on hooves, eyes wide.

******

Colgate woke up for her first morning back in rehab, and no sooner had she began stirring than the hefty, crimson unicorn stallion entered, his cream-and-white mane turning in the alien lights and his smiling, cobalt eyes looking right at her.

“Good morning, good morning! Colgate, right?” He stopped a respectful distance from her bed, and she looked through him. She remembered Drift Dive, his kindly nature so at odds with what she knew was his true intention.

“It’s good to see you again, doc,” she said, hiding the unfurling sense that something was wrong. In her head, instead of the usual warnings and suspicions, there was acceptance. Though that, too, did not cause the concern it ought, so much weaker than the usual emotions that she hardly noticed it.

He chuckled. “I’m flattered, Colgate, and happy that you’re back. Nothing like starting the day with a friendly face, hm?”

She only looked at him, willing him to pose the impolite question: where had she been? Perhaps she only needed his curiosity to spark her into proper thought.

Instead, he crossed the room, parted the curtains a little, and sighed. “You look better.”

“I’ve been here for less than a day, and you’re inviting yourself into my room.”

“Still just as feisty, I see,” he said with a grin, one half illuminated by the morning sun. “I’m afraid it’s not so unjust as you make it sound.” He highlighted his badge briefly with a russet glow of magic. “Counselors’ privileges.”

“Any room at any time?”

Drift Dive only nodded, concealing a smile.

“Huh.”

“Coming to breakfast? We have some eggs left. Cyclone brought them in fresh, from her gramdma's.”

“I’ll take a rain check,” Colgate said, flicking the TV on, staring into it. She immediately felt a spark of fear that she had moved too soon and given away her lack of confidence. Hastening to distract him, she spoke more quickly. “Still not feeling great. Did they tell you I plowed through half a bottle of mouthwash before turning up here?” She changed the channels rapidly, not caring what it landed on, only wanting to add noise to the room, to pad against her ears and blot out the litany of mistakes pouring out of her mouth. She was powerless to stop them.

“They told us you threw up at the police station.”

“Just blood, mostly.”

Without his smile, but with a hint of the lightness still in his youthful voice, he continued. “You sure you’re not hungry?”

“I am positive.”

“Some water, then. I’ll get you a glass. Hydration is important, you know.”

“Of course I know,” she snapped. She closed her eyes, suddenly angry at herself. “I need to use the bathroom. Privacy, please.”

He only smiled and went back outside, calling a soft “see you later.” Colgate shut herself into the tiny shower in the cramped bathroom and sat against the wall under the calcified tap.

“Celestia, I already screwed up. Cole, baby, this is no place to let a little comment like that get the better of you.” The voice in her head was not her own; it was the bastardized version of Rouge’s, the half-sage, half-drunken whinge that Colgate had learned to identify as the closest analogue of her own true self. Not thinking, she turned the shower on and endured a freezing blast, hunched over to let her mane touch the tile.

When she did come to breakfast, the counter had been cleared, the tables vacated. Through the bat wing doors to the kitchen, she saw the overweight earth pony counselor, speaking with a thin dishwasher. Colgate tried to get back to her room before anyone could see her. To do so, she needed to cross through one of two common areas, and kept her eyes fixed directly ahead to deter any unbidden greetings.

“Well hi there!” a short, corn-yellow unicorn called, sauntering over from a stack of magazines on a small corner table. He pumped her hoof and kept shaking it until she retreated, only then collecting herself enough to not simply run. “It’s me, Gold Splatter! My, you look like a new face to me. Have we met? It’s me, I just got here, just a couple, uh, a couple…” He turned a short circle, murmuring, his husky and eager voice reminding Colgate of the farm animals she would sometimes see back in Ponyville. “C’mon, c’mon, over here.” He went back to his magazines, and Colgate, ensnared, followed. When she thought no one was looking, she brought a hoof up to touch her own horn, which, like her new friend’s, was locked in a magical suppression collar.

“Name’s Gold Splatter, that’s me,” he continued, turning a page in the magazine. From the glossy paper, a family smiled and splashed in an inflatable pool.

“Colgate,” Colgate said. She saw no purpose to using a fake name.

“That’s you, huh? Hey, great to meet’cha, Colgate, really great. Listen, listen, I don’t think I saw you at breakfast, huh? I don’t miss a face, and sure not a pretty one like yours! You got a real intense face, that’s it, innnn-tense!” He guffawed loudly, turning a few heads their way. “Aw, heck, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so loud, I really don’t, it’s not me, it’s not the real me, not the real Gold Splatter, that’s me, no ma’am, not me, no ma’am.” He paused, shrugged, turned a page.

“That looks like an interesting article,” Colgate said.

“It’s about the cloud convoy. Isn’t that fascinating? Hey, did you know that Princess Celestia made it all on her own? I read that somewhere, somewhere you know where they do insider info on the royal palace and all the stuff that happens inside it, you know like secret stuff, like what…” He shrugged again. As he shrugged, she noticed, he would twitch his neck in one direction, a gesture to apparently reset his ramble.

“I’m in for drinking mouthwash and torching my friend’s house,” Colgate said. “Before that, I almost killed myself with painkillers and dessert wine.” She didn’t like the unicorn, but was curious what he would do with the new information.

Gold Splatter didn’t look up. “This one’s for lawn tools, like sheers and wheelbarrows and stuff. Look, they’re all green. You know?” He looked at her expectantly, as if he had said something important. “Like, green?” he repeated.

“I don’t get it,” she said, taking a guess that he was going for a joke.

“Well, if you let your grass get too high, then you won’t be able to find the lawn tools in it!” He laughed again, and she leaned away, eyes narrowed at the tongue stud gleaming obnoxiously in his flapping mouth. “Sure wouldn’t want that, then you’d have to buy a whole ‘nother set, and that’ll run you. Yes ma’am, that’ll run you up real good, do you know how much that stuff costs? Look at this, it says right here, forty-nine bits for a wheelbarrow, just a little one too, and that’s just one of them, not a whole set or anything, just one of them.”

She nodded, and he leaned over his magazine.

“Now this here is a better—”

“I have to go. It was great to meet you,” she said.

“Huh? Oh, bye Colgate! Remember me, it’s me, Gold Splatter! Hey, we should eat together.”

“I don’t eat.” She turned away, and he turned back to his magazine, mumbling. She heard him call a greeting to someone else as she repaired to her room, feeling dirty and unsure of herself.

“What in Tartarus am I doing here?” she thought as she lay on the bed. It had felt natural to come the day before, to finagle her way back, but, as before, finding herself actually in the room, actually on the bed, and actually free from the responsibilities that harrowed her on the outside, she didn’t know what to do. She turned on the TV, knowing that it would not be a refuge for her forever.

Sooner or later, she would have to prove herself to the counselors. She would have to demonstrate a need to be where she was, an inability to take care of herself, a dependence on some manner of drug. As she thought about it, she realized that could not. In Fleur’s care, she had been tempted to try to get back on her pills or to find a way to drink, but neither temptation had lasted. In the waves of peril that came with Datura life, those drives had diminished into faceless impulses that crowded in the back of her mind with all the others, all the impulses that came and went too quickly to push her to action, buried underneath the much stronger, more urgent need to stay afloat in a sea of strange magic, deceptive managers, and responsibilities that came out of nowhere. And yet, at the end of all, she was back in rehab. There must be a reason, and she would need to show it.

She thought of the mouthwash she had foolishly thrown over the freeway wall, unfinished. She remembered telling herself, as she left Fleur’s house, that she would drink it all, as a sign of respect for Rouge, and even in that had she failed.
And then, even supposing she could show that she had a place in the rehab facility, what then? She would be forced to face the fact, already creeping up into her conscious mind, that she had gone there with no real need and no real cause. She had obeyed her first impulse, simple as that; and, as usual, the impulse had been wrong.

“Celestia, what next? Where does it end? Where does it end?” She felt weak, and pushed herself into the sheets, willing her body to melt, her face to hide from the overhead light. Too weak to drink all she wanted, and too late to save herself—for it was not her own intervention that saved, but luck. She went to the window and, watching a family of ducks on the pond’s edge, wept bitter tears of rage.

Skipped lunch.
Skipped dinner.

At eight o’ clock, someone knocked on her door, and she grunted. Drift Dive pushed his head in first, smiled at her, then entered, pulling a chair to the bedside.

“Not hungry?”

“Not hungry.” She did not steel herself for the reprimand.

“It’s not healthy to skip meals, you know that.”

“I didn’t skip any meals. Lunch was delicious.”

“Colgate.”

“I’m here.”

“Why are you staying in your room?”

“I’m not, I just said—”

“You need to be honest here, Colgate.” For the first time, she detected more than young earnestness in his voice; there was a firm, professional resolve. “This is a safe place. We don’t judge honesty here. None of us do.”

She looked at him, and he held her eyes in his own.

“What’s going on? You came back for a reason. No one told you to do this, no one dropped you off. You must want something. What is it?”

Her blood ran cold. She had expected him to discipline her, or to gloat at how quickly she was faltering in her new place. She had not expected the incisive, but compassionate question. She had not expected anything but to be ground down and belittled.

“You look surprised.”

“Stop looking at me,” she said. She wanted to say more, but the blunt sentence came out first, and she knew she had, once again, overstepped.

“Is looking over your head okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, looking down as he looked up.

“Why don’t you want me to look at you?”

“I don’t know.”

He only nodded, and she looked up at him. There was no sign of malice on his face, or eagerness, or triumph. He patiently studied the painting above her bed, as if waiting for something.

He sighed and smiled. “I think the evenings here are so beautiful.”

“The crickets are noisy,” Colgate said.

Drift Dive chuckled. “You must be from the city, to mistake those for crickets. They’re frogs.”

“Frogs?” She felt stupid, momentarily ashamed of the mistake.

“They like to hop around in the grass by the pond. Sometimes they’ll come up closer to the facility, like after it’s rained. Little green frogs, or sometimes grayish green.”

“I’m from Manehattan.”

“Ah, the big city doesn’t get much bigger than that. I’m from Trottingham myself, but I’ve been to Manehattan. I thought it was an enchanting place.”

“I enjoyed my time there.”

“What happened?”

She frowned. “I moved out to Ponyville once I got my doctorate, and that’s where I stayed.”

“You’re a doctor?” He grinned. “Imagine that. I never would have guessed.”

“I’m a surgeon, actually. Orthopedics.” “Watch it, Cole. Too much talking.”

Drift Dive whistled. “That’s really something. Did you have your own practice?”

“I worked for the local hospital.” She looked at him, and he was still loyally looking away from her. The warning thoughts were lost in a swirl of piqued surprise at Drift Dive’s obedience. “I never thought about getting my own practice. Seemed like a lot of work.”

“So how’d you come to Canterlot? Uh, if you don’t mind me asking, Colgate.”

“That’s just how it happened.”

“A lot of ponies end up moving here after tiring of village life.” He chuckled again. “And some of ‘em wind up moving right back.”

Colgate didn’t answer.

“How’s your friend?”

Colgate sneered, thinking his question a taunt. “What friend?”

“The lady who brought you in last time, I forgot her name. How is she?”

“Oh, her.” Fleur. “She’s great.”

“That’s good. That’s good.”

Colgate looked at the clock on the bedside table. “Don’t you need to go home soon?”

“I have half an hour still,” Drift Dive said, nodding and smiling, still staring up at the painting. He sighed. “We’re going to get a fresh shipment of cherry tomatoes tomorrow, from just outside town.”

“So there’s that,” Colgate thought hotly, but she kept her face neutral. “For eating?”

He smiled. “They’re delicious.”

“I’ve had cherry tomatoes before.”

“You’ve probably had some of the best fresh fruits and veggies around, spending so much time in Ponyville. I’ve always wanted to visit Sweet Apple Acres.”

“I knew the ponies who ran that place,” Colgate said. It was a partial lie; she had seen them all at one point or another, and exchanged greetings with some of them.

“You’re lucky, then,” Drift Dive said. “Anyone who lives in that town is, I suppose. Being on speaking terms with the Elements of Harmony, now that’s something for the bucket list.”

“They’re good ponies.” Without thinking, she added, “they know what they’re doing.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. Another slip, another piece of information she had not meant to reveal, but to double back would show her true intent, which was, simply, to keep her head above water in the conversation; even that intention was weak. As she spoke, she could feel her wiggle room dwindling even more with a nauseating, numb finality. “Out there in the world, I mean. They’re doing everything they can to set things right.”

He nodded. “I’m sure of it. That’s what the princesses say as well.”

“The princesses are right.” She stopped, an idea flashing through her head. She didn’t catch all of it. “Maybe that’s why I’m here.”

Drift Dive lowered his voice. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s been a long time since anything good happened. Maybe that’s why I’m doing… whatever I’m doing. Hopelessness, you know?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, nodding. “You’re not alone on that front. Plenty of ponies have been letting themselves succumb to hopelessness. But we won another battle; that must count for something? That’s a good thing.”

Colgate remained silent.

“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I was on the field, operating on ponies as they came in.”

Then, Drift Dive fell silent. The two of them sat quietly together, and for one black moment, Colgate felt that that was it, that she had seen the end of her time there. That she had glimpsed the inevitable result of her self-imposed confinement, that she had seen the indelible absence of hope and of movement: two ponies, neither caring to speak, stuck in a room, bound by obligation.

“I’d seen plenty of gore before, and it didn’t bother me,” she said, allowing her words to carry themselves away. She didn’t try to censor herself. “Not then, and not years ago when I was working on my residency. It wasn’t the sun, or the heat, or any of that, though I remember the air being quite thick out there that day. It was like gravy, and sometimes I thought I might pass out simply from being smothered underneath that air.” “Celestia, Cole, you need to cool it,” a thought broke in. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, it wasn’t those things. I had a group of nurses with me, and I was basically their leader, but they weren’t very good. They were okay, I guess. I don’t know why, but a lot of them seemed frazzled that day, and it was affecting their work.”

“Battles will do that.”

“But we were apart from the battle. I had to answer questions that they really should have known, and supervise some basic procedures. In particular, I had to help a lot with the burns. Pulse crystals, you know?”

“I know what they can do.”

“There’s not much time for asking questions in that type of situation, but they needed me anyway. I don’t blame them, exactly; it’s not their fault if they didn’t know how to handle something. But whoever picked them out for me wasn’t very conscientious.” She paused, recalling that it was Fleur who had picked them out. Most likely.

“At least you made it back home in one piece,” Drift Dive offered.

“I can still hear the questions, if I really think about it. I dream of it too, of all those under-qualified nurses asking me things.”

He studied her for a moment, still facing away, but the corners of his eyes on her.

“So I got home and started drinking, and now here I am. The funny thing is I can still hear their questions, so I didn’t actually accomplish anything. That’s a punchline for the ages, in my opinion.”

“You must have nerves of steel to lead an entire team of nurses in a situation like that,” Drift Dive said, his voice hesitantly respectful.

“They can’t be that good, if I’m here.”

“Mm, well, I’m afraid I have to disagree.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Drift Dive stood to see who it was. Colgate could see a small unicorn with a golden shock of mane, parted across her forehead to shadow the ridges of a long, vertical scar. They exchanged hushed words, she glancing at Colgate and raising her voice a fraction.

“Tell him I’m with a patient, and I’ll be here a while still,” Drift Dive said.

She eyed Colgate again, and Colgate heard the words “preferential treatment” in her muffled rejoinder.

Drift Dive just shook his head. “I’ll talk with him tomorrow, if he wants. But I have to do this right now.”

“Fine,” the other unicorn said. She didn’t spare Colgate a look or a word when she left, her hoofsteps heavy.

“Sorry about that,” Drift Dive said. “That was just Nugget, she’s another counselor. Just work stuff. Where were we?”

“My nerves,” Colgate said, her voice soft. At the edges of her mind, as it had when she was realizing the tapestry of deceit Fleur and Fancy Pants had woven around her, an idea welled up, but she let it pass through unheeded.

“Ah, yes, yes. You said that you mustn’t have strong nerves, to wind up with us so soon after the battle, and I said I respectfully disagree. Colgate, just because you can flourish in one situation does not mean you’ll do equally well in another. There are different types of courage. For instance, you seem to do quite well in high-pressure situations. Giving orders and keeping track of wounded soldiers during the battle? I could never do that, not in a million years, and my hat goes off to you for it. But having to go back to your regular life after something like that, that’s different. There’s no high-stakes, high-intensity challenge there, nothing that demands all of your attention at one single time. That, Colgate, is the quieter, more unsung courage of a pony rising to the day, every day, and doing her best with the time she’s been given. And that can be hard with something like what you’ve been through weighing down your mind.”

“I never thought about that,” Colgate said, and it was true. “I always thought of courage as an ideal or an anomaly, like something that only comes out once in a while.”

“No, not at all. It takes immense courage simply to wake up and do what you have to do, day after day. Working a job you might not like to take care of your family? That’s courage right there. Honest, everyday courage.” He sighed. “And coming to this place, on your own and of your own free will, that, too, is courageous. Believe me, not everypony can do that, Colgate.”

“It just seemed like the thing to do,” she said, not sure what else to say.

“That’s twice you’ve said that now. That something just seemed like the right thing to do.”

“It’s true.”

“No, I’m not saying it isn’t. That’s just curious. Do you intuit things?”

“I don’t have any special mental faculties, no. I wish I did.”

He chuckled. “You mean you don’t have any magical mental faculties, I assume? Because I’d hazard a guess that you have some very special regular ones.”

“I’m flattered.”

“I mean it. Even in this first conversation, I can tell you’re no regular mare. You know, we don’t get a lot of doctors here. Nurses, yes, but not many doctors.”

“My job shouldn’t be the thing you use to tell who I am.”

“No no, that’s not what I mean. That’s just the first thing, that kind of started to explain what I’d already noticed. You’re very observant, very quick. I can see that.”

“There are many others just like me.”

Drift Dive frowned. “Why do you say that? Everypony’s unique. We each have something special to bring to the table.”

Colgate sat up, her attention finally narrowed. The stream of thoughts and ideas quieted, and she was able to fix Drift Dive directly in her eyes and mind, at least for a time. “But not all of us do bring those things to this table of yours. If we did, there’d be no need for places like this. If this was a world of special, unique ponies who all did their jobs and got along with themselves so great, then you wouldn’t be here, and neither would I. Why are you telling me what I already know, that I’m smart, and trying to use that as a justification for where I am? I read in a textbook a long time ago that smart ponies have problems like this way more than stupid ones, because it’s uncomfortable processing information at such a high level, so they seek to dull that stress somehow. That, counselor, is old news for me. Seems to me the only thing that makes me unique right now is that I’m the thing keeping you from going home on time.” She shook her head, as much to clear it as to give herself something to do other than look at the patient, crimson unicorn. “She’s right too, you know that? This is preferential treatment, or at least it’ll be seen that way.” She turned the TV up. “You should go.”

“Now Colgate, what purpose is there in—”

“Go home, Drift Dive. I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”

The next day, and the day after that, Colgate didn’t skip any meals, and the counselors took notice. In their board room, the door locked from the outside, they reviewed patient progress.

“Good news on my end,” Drift Dive said, nodding a greeting to Nugget, who was the last to arrive. “Colgate’s eating finally.”

“That is good news,” Soft Spirit said. The dark pegasus with a flame cutie mark, she was the newest counselor in the facility, but not the least experienced. “Is she talking?”

“Some, but…” Drift Dive sighed.

“You’re not sure how much you can believe,” Almond Butter said. She blew on a steaming cup of coffee.

“Yeah, exactly. She seems open, but I just don’t know.”

“Openness is openness, though,” Cyclone said. “If nothing else, it means she’s willing to communicate. Separating the truth from everything else might be a challenge, but it’s a start.”

“I remember you saying you didn’t trust her last time too,” Nugget said. “It’s interesting that that hasn’t changed.”

“Don’t put words in his mouth,” Almond Butter said.

“I didn’t say I don’t trust her, I’m just not sure what I should believe and what I should take seriously,” Drift Dive said.

“Ummmm,” Nugget said. “Am I missing some distinction between those two?”

“I think she’s confused. She’s clearly scared of something, or someone, but I can’t get her to talk about it. I can’t ask too many questions about the same thing, or she gets defensive and nervous.”

“Paranoia,” Cyclone said.

“Let’s not forget what we were told on her first little trip here,” Nugget said. “You know, that she’s a bona fide psycho.”

“Please, that diagnosis is twenty years old,” Almond Butter said.

“She’s not psychopathic,” Drift Dive said. “I can tell.”

“Oh?” She gulped her coffee loudly.

“She’s too honest, too consistent. From what I can see, there’s no web of lies, or blame shifting, or any of the other usual hallmarks.”

“Didn’t you just say you weren’t sure what you could trust and what you couldn’t?” Cyclone asked.

“Well, yes, there are certain things, but the bulk of it seems real to me.” He looked at his co-counselors, reading varying degrees of skepticism: outright disapproval from Nugget, cautious hope from Soft Spirit. “She’s nothing like she was the first time.”

“I’ll point out, Drift, that last time she was here a grand total of two days,” Nugget sad.

“But it’s night and day, the difference. She hasn’t said a single mean thing, hasn’t insulted any of our other patients. Four days in, and nothing.” He sighed. “I just wish I could get her to socialize a little more.”

“Don’t push her,” Soft Spirit said. “All things in their time. She has to want it before you can do anything.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Cyclone mumbled.

“And do you trust that?” Nugget asked.

“What?” Drift Dive asked.

“This lapse in meanness from Colgate. Do you trust it?”

Drift Dive thought. For her jaded nature, Nugget was right: it was an abrupt change for Colgate from her last visit. He had expected a hurricane of ill-will when he had heard she was back. “With this new, nicer self, she’s also more open to dialogue and more at ease in the facility. I said I want her to socialize more, but she’s already out and about more than last time. As I said, she eats on her own now, which I count as a massive improvement in her temperament. So, in light of those things, yes, I’d say I trust her.”

Soft Spirit sucked her teeth. “Be careful, Drift.”

“It’s dangerous to be so quick to trust an upturn,” Almond Butter said. “Of course we all want to believe it when we see it, but that’s rarely how it works out.”

“There’s any number of bad reasons she might be behaving how she is,” Nugget said.

“Have you talked to her?” Drift Dive asked.

“We spoke a day ago, yes. She was… civil.”

“See?”

“You can’t use that as an example, I just said good morning to her for Luna’s sake.”

“To be fair, that’s more than some of us have gotten away with,” Cyclone said with a quiet laugh.

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. I think we should send her off to psych. Let the shrinks poke her for a while, just to make sure we’re not getting stuck with something we can’t deal with.”

“You make it sound like she’s a bomb,” Almond Butter said.

“I mean…” Soft Spirit started.

“First time, she’s aggressive and nasty; second time, she’s pliable and withdrawn,” Nugget said. “We’ve seen this before, girls.”

“She has a point,” Cyclone said. “I’d feel more comfortable if we could at least find out what happened between then and now.”

“I think she just had a bad case of emotional shock from the battle,” Drift Dive said. “She was in it,” he added, quieter.

“Wait, like in it in it?”

“On the sidelines, as a battlefield doctor. Surgeon, sorry.”

“Psych, psych, psych,” Nugget said. “The smart ones are always the most dangerous.”

“And she saw a lot of horrible things, I bet,” Almond Butter. “I can’t imagine. Why, that’s probably what it was that’s got her softened up. She’s shaken from the battle.”

“Unstable,” Cyclone said. “Sounds like, anyway.” She shrugged, and the plastic jewels on her flanged jacket jangled.

“We’re jumping to conclusions,” Drift Dive said. “I, personally, have seen no indications of mental instability.” He looked to Soft Spirit, and she smiled encouragingly. He exhaled. “No indications at all.”

“It’s not our job to determine that conclusively,” Almond Butter said. “That’s for the psychiatrists.”

“Which is what I’m saying,” Nugget said.

“Drift, you seem pretty adamant that she’s no threat,” Cyclone said.

“The first time she was here, yes, I’ll admit, she may have been a loose cannon,” Drift Dive said. “But now, no. Something’s been taken out of her. She would need real provocation before she did something bad, I think.”

“She might be lying in wait,” Almond Butter said.

“For what?” Soft Spirit asked.

“We can’t go just suspecting everyone,” Cyclone said, flicking her eyes to Nugget as well. “Trust has to be a two-way street.”

“I trust her,” Drift Dive said.

“You’re alone on that, buddy,” Nugget said.

“But if trust is a two-way street, then if she doesn’t trust us, we shouldn’t trust her,” Almond Butter said. “That’s what I meant, lying in wait.”

“She trusts me, at least,” Drift Dive said. “Maybe not you all, but you never talk to her.”

“Hey,” Nugget started.

“No, that’s a fair point,” Cyclone said.

“He’s her advocate,” Soft Spirit said, a hint of warmth in her voice. “Drift, you sure you trust this mare?”

“I do,” Drift Dive said.

“I still say we send her to the shrinks,” Nugget said. “My sister just opened an office not far from here, in Dr. Riverbanks’ plaza.”

“Oh, good for her,” Almond Butter said.

“I don’t like it,” Drift Dive said. “Think about it this way. If she doesn’t trust me yet, she’s beginning to. What’ll she think if we send her out?”

“She’ll think ‘yay, now I’m away from these ponies who want to make my life a living Tartarus’,” Cyclone said.

“She’ll feel betrayed,” Drift Dive said. “She’ll think she’s done something wrong, or she’s made some kind of mistake. Trust me, this is a mare who cannot handle change.”

“It’ll be for her own good, and ours too,” Nugget said.

“And what if we get her back and there’s nothing wrong, just the run-of-the-mill mix of small insanities that make up your average druggy?” Cyclone asked. “I dunno, I think Drift makes a good point.”

“Then we explain ourselves, and move forward in the healing process,” Nugget said.

“She wouldn’t take that explanation well, I already know,” Drift Dive said.

“You talk about her like she’s determined to react poorly to anything we do,” Almond Butter said.

“Ehh, she’s touchy.”

“Then send her to the funny farm,” Nugget said.

“That’s disgusting,” Soft Spirit said. “This is a pony we’re talking about, not a… a puzzle or something. We’re supposed to be helping her, and all you can talk about is whether to get rid of her.”

“I want to help her,” Drift Dive said.

“How? ‘Cause I don’t hear you talking about helping her, I just hear you saying why you want to keep her around.” She scrutinized Drift Dive with her large eyes, and he felt a familiar pang of self-conscious excitement, the sensation she always brought forth in him.

“Well, I still need to work on that,” he said sheepishly. “I haven’t spent enough time with her.”

“She’s been here four days, and you don’t have a plan of care?” Cyclone asked.

“She’s complicated.” He could feel himself blushing, and was momentarily happy for his natural red coat.

“Send her to psych,” Nugget said, shaking her head. “How many times do I gotta say it?” She looked at the clock. “Almond, where are you going for lunch today?”

“Shoot, I haven’t even thought about it,” Almond Butter said, looking at her watch. “Lemongrass’? They have a pretty good strawberry pecan salad.”

“Eh, I’m more in the mood for something with a lot of cheese.”

“We can order Tasty Taters,” Soft Spirit said.

“Oooh, oooh, yes! Cyclone, will you order for us?”

Cyclone looked up from a notepad she had brought with her. “Huh?”

“Lunch, Cyclone. Will you order Tasty Taters for us?”

“One second.” She flipped her pad to a new page and poised the pen in her teeth.

“I brought my lunch,” Drift Dive said.

“Get the potato skins,” Almond Butter said. “I could live on their potato skins.”

“I don’t like them,” Soft Spirit said.

“Oh, right, you don’t like chives,” Nugget said. “Cyclone, make it two. And a large orange sparkler.”

“So are we done?” Drift Dive asked.

“Wait, before you run off,” Almond Butter said, holding up an aged hoof. “You’re positive that you want to keep this Colgate around?”

“I’m positive.”

“Drift, if you want, I can help you come up with a plan of care after lunch,” Soft Spirit said.

“That… sounds wonderful, actually,” he said, and rushed out of the meeting room, irrationally afraid that they would see his blush anyway.

******

The airship cut a sharp line past the end of the wide, easterly running arm of the Everfree Forest, where, after a small debate on deck, it stopped to refill its water tanks from a small string of isolated streams that had once formed a delta north of a fetid, stagnant lake just on the edge of the swamps. They did not plan to be over the swamps for more than a day or two, but would not be able to safely land in that time, and wanted to be sure they had water, just in case. Discord, after all, had not been quiet since his defeat. Correspondence from the princess warned them to be wary in Moondrop, where he had erected a shrine or monument of magic, likely with Vanilla Cream’s help, Luna opined. Details were scarce, and would be until she had gone there herself to investigate.

They needed not worry. The swamps moved past them with no hitch and no threat, and they soon found themselves back out over the lonely wastes of uncivilized Equestria, Discord’s castle in very distant sight, little more than an oddly shaped stone on the tan, rumpled desert. Amazing, it seemed to them, that they were only four days out from Canterlot.

“We’ll just scoot right past it,” Applejack said to Rarity, who stood by with a concerned look on her face. She had not voiced her worry, but she didn’t need to. Like the building humidity as they passed through a patch of wild storm clouds, the same anxiety filled the air on their deck: what to do about the castle? They would need to pass quite close to reach Moondrop quickly.

“He’ll be watching for us,” Rarity said.

“Didn’t Luna say he was out an’ about? Ah think there’s a good chance he ain’t even home.”

“That’s even worse. We might run into him at any time.”

“It’ll have to happen some time,” Vinyl said from the other side. Her voice was carried away in the light breeze their flight created, and it did not reach the others’ ears.

“We’ll just hope we bump into him after Moondrop, then,” Pinkie said, trotting over. “Hi Applejack. Hi Rarity.”

“Pinkie,” Applejack said, nodding.

“Big Mac says a storm’s building over our heads.”

“We’ll be fine,” Applejack said. “We ain’t afraid to get wet.”

“Are we forgetting that he can summon storms whenever he wants to?” Rarity asked. “Remember Fillydelphia?”

“You mean the twister!” Pinkie said. “Sure do!”

“Ah remember that part of our adventure, yes,” Applejack said.

Vinyl came over. “Twister? Like a tornado?”

“Not one of our finer moments,” Rarity said.

“Ah beg to differ,” Applejack said. “We broke it apart well enough, Ah’d say.”

“We lost half the town.”

“That was gonna happen anyway, though,” Pinkie said.

“What?” Vinyl asked.

“Er, I mean, there was no way we weren’t going to lose something. It was building right over us.” She looked up pointedly, and Rarity grimaced.

“This is putting me in a bad state of mind,” Rarity said. “Let’s get out from under this garbage before we get hit by lightning.”

“Put up your shield if you’re so worried,” Rainbow said, perched on the gunwale.

“Where’d you come from?” Applejack asked.

“My mamma.” She stuck out her tongue. “I was flying alongside, but I heard you girls talking. Sounded kinda serious, so I figured I’d check in.”

“Rainbow, if lightning were to strike my shield, it would be the last thing that struck it,” Rarity said.

“Really?”

“You held back the river in Applewood,” Vinyl said.

“It’s a surface area thing,” Pinkie said. “Right?”

“Exactly,” Rarity said. “All that energy at once, and in one point, would be bad. I read it in one of Twilight’s books, there’s a couple ponies who’ve had shields hit with lightning in the past.” She looked up again, just as the first few rain drops popped on their balloon. “It’ll split a horn.”

“Sheesh.”

“Hey, you have magic now,” Applejack said, looking at Rainbow. “Ah don’t s’pose you can do anything about it, since we’re all so worried ‘bout this little rain storm.”

“My magic is bogus,” Rainbow said. “I haven’t even used it in forever.”

“Why not?” Pinkie asked.

“‘Cause it’s bogus, she just said,” Vinyl said.

“What am I gonna do, conjure up a little dome of dry air?” Rainbow asked. “It ain’t a shield, it won’t keep the rain out. Most it’ll do is warm up the puddle that forms at our hooves. It’s stupid, useless, sucky magic that doesn’t help anypony.”

“Okay, okay, we get it,” Applejack said. “No need to get mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“It’s okay Dashie, I didn’t even get any magic!” Pinkie said.

“Not yet, you mean,” Rarity said. “He’s come to all of us so far.”

“No, he came to me,” Pinkie said. “No magic, though.”

“Wait, when was that?” Applejack asked.

Pinkie blushed. “Um… ah, eh, in a dream sometime, I think. You know, I really don’t remember.”

Rainbow and Applejack shared a look.

“Ah don’t wanna pry,” Applejack started. “How important is this? Is there some vital thing yer clearly coverin’ up, Pinkie, or is it personal?”

“Does it affect more than you?” Rarity asked.

“Quite personal,” Pinkie said meekly.

“Okay then,” Applejack said. She put a hoof to her head quickly as a gust blew up, almost taking her hat. “RD, you got any advice on this storm? Ah hadn’t thought about lightnin’, but if Rarity’s right, maybe we should touch down for it to pass.”

“Why would I know anything about it?” Rainbow asked.

“Uhhhh, ‘cause yer the resident weatherpony.”

“This isn’t anypony’s storm, this is a wild one. Huge difference, AJ.”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t tell from here if it has any lightning in it, and I’m sure not gonna fly up there and check.”

“You can’t feel the static in the air or anything?” Vinyl asked.

“What am I, a barometer?” Rainbow asked.

“I thought pegasi could feel those kinds of things.”

“Hmm, Vinyl, I don’t know who told you that, but they were full of it.”

Vinyl shrugged.

“Don’t we have a lightning rod?” Pinkie asked. “I thought we did.”

“What’s a lightning rod gonna do on an airship, Pinkie?” Rainbow asked. “The whole point of them is to be grounded.”

“There’s one that we can set up, fer when we’ve landed,” Applejack said. “If we land up on a mountain or somethin’, we can put up a lightnin’ rod an’ stick it in the ground.”

“That must be what I saw,” Pinkie said.

“I think we should land,” Rainbow said. “Storms like this can be unpredictable. It might be a light drizzle one minute and a full-on monsoon next.”

Applejack cranked the wheel and, in a moment of blank-eyed concentration, slowed their propellers and vented the balloon. “All right, we’re on our way down.”

“I thought weatherponies had to be storm experts,” Vinyl said.

“We are,” Rainbow said. “We’re experts at setting them up and tearing them down safely, but that’s different.”

“Think of it like this,” Applejack said. “Just ‘cause a zookeeper might know a lot about the animals she works with, don’t mean you’d send her to hang out with the wild critters. Two different things.”

“I got it,” Vinyl said. “Sorry, Dash.”

Rainbow waved her off and looked up at the clouds. “I see a thunderhead in there, and I at least know what those do.”

“Where are we landing?” Rarity asked.

“Dunno,” Applejack said. “By that little lake, Ah guess.”

“I’ll let the others know,” Vinyl said.

“Tell Twilight to bring her map up,” Rarity said, turning only briefly away from the edge, where she looked off at the approaching ground.

“Ain’t you afraid of heights?” Applejack asked.

“Not so much any more.”

“Rarity’s not afraid of anything!” Pinkie said, patting Rarity on the back.

“Nonsense,” Rainbow said. “We’re all afraid of stuff.”

“Like lightnin’,” Applejack said drily. “An’ Discord.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Rarity said.

“Then you’re a fool,” Rainbow said.

“Are you afraid of Discord, Dashie?” Pinkie asked.

“Of course I am. Why shouldn’t I be? He’s a freaking god.”

“Demigod,” Applejack corrected. “Luna was very insistent on that point, when we were together. He’s a force to be reckoned with, but he ain’t no god. Not like the princesses.”

“Then why all the bull?” Rainbow asked, voice suddenly hot. “Why don’t they just step on him and be done with it?”

“Ask Twilight,” Rarity said.

“Ask me what?” Twilight asked. Her map was folded up in a perfect square, floating by her head like a freakish shadow.

“Why the heck the princesses don’t just team up and smash Discord, instead of having us traipse across the country,” Rainbow said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m in this for the long haul, even if it’s a freaking year still before we get home, but you gotta admit this is ridiculous.”

Twilight smiled humorlessly. “You think I haven’t asked myself that question a thousand times since leaving home.” She looked at Big Mac, who sat and stared moodily into the gray distance, Vinyl at his side. “The unflattering truth, I think, is that Discord outsmarted them, plain and simple. If he had just shown up one day and tried to pull any of the crap he’s pulled lately, you’re right, they’d grab him, call us up, and hold him down while we blasted him with the Elements. But he got the jump on everyone, and he did so only after he had his claw on the trigger for something much larger. That lackey of his, Vanilla Cream, he’s playing a bigger part than we think. He’s from Tartarus; he’s instrumental to some of Discord’s plans, I know it.”

“Like the dam in Applewood,” Fluttershy said.

“Like the dam, like these Tartarus gateways that are supposedly cropping up in places they weren’t before, like this new Moondrop thing, whatever it is. The princesses can’t get at him without us, and if they try to, he’ll just pull the rug out from under everyone’s hooves and sail into the sunset, laughing.”

“But what’ll he do? What’ll he actually do?” Rainbow asked.

“I wish I knew.”

“Take a stab at it,” Applejack said. “Almost there.”

“Hold on,” Twilight said, going to the edge and consulting her map for a minute. “Oh, this is Furnace Creek, I think.”

“Now there’s a name for ya,” Pinkie said.

“This should actually be a nice place to set down. That little wood over there, I think that’s Small Moon. We can find a lot of good food in there, and it’s too small for any monsters to live in it.”

“Small Moon?” Vinyl asked.

“Because it’s so close to the swamps, but still separate from it. There’s a larger one south of here. Guess what it’s called.”

Thunder rumbled overhead, and Rarity finally got away from the edge. “There, it’s a good thing we landed. Twilight, I was telling them about what would happen if I took a lightning bolt on one of my shields.”

“You’re powerful enough that you’d probably survive,” Twilight said, nodding to Rarity and folding up her map. “I should have asked for an atlas with laminated pages, or something.”

“Why’s it called Furnace Creek?” Fluttershy asked.

They came to a bumpy halt in the middle of a large, sweeping field of grass and weeds, and the balloon sighed as Applejack closed the vents again.

“Are we going to stay on the ship tonight?” Octavia asked.

“Ah’ll get the lightnin’ rod up,” Applejack said.

“We probably should,” Twilight said. “I’d like to stretch my legs a little, but we don’t know what’s out there. Besides, lightning. This is an awful place for us during a lightning storm.”

“I’ll get the cards,” Rarity said, heading below.

“Right behind you!” Pinkie said, following.

“Fluttershy, it’s called Furnace Creek because of all the sediment piled up on the riverbanks. Look out there,” Twilight said. “You can see it curving around us, kind of. This is an oxbow lake. It used to be part of that river behind us, but one of the meanders got split off over time. I’m trying…” She craned her neck and looked out into the steady curtain of rain that was covering them. Not far in the misty distance, she could make out a muddy band of whitish gray land between one prong of the lake and the river beyond. There were no animals or birds to be seen. “Yeah, you can see it still. That gray spot out there, that’s all the sediment that came up between these two bodies of water. This river has a particularly high alkalinity factor, so there’s a lot of minerals that got built up over time. It looks kind of like ash, or cinders, so the ponies who found it called it Furnace Creek.”

“Rod’s up, let’s get below,” Applejack said.

“You can set that up from here?” Rarity asked.

“It’s part of the ship, ain’t it?”

“I thought… well, I thought the lightning rod was too simple for you to do anything to.”

“Ah just had to manipulate the hinges and latches that hold it in place a little. Weren’t nothin’.”

“Come on, this doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up soon,” Rainbow said, walking to the hatch.

Below, they sat on or beside the bed, their cards set on Twilight’s largest book, their largest flat surface that wasn’t the floor. Fluttershy shuffled with her magic while Twilight snuggled under the sheets, Rarity beside her. On their right side, Big Mac and Vinyl sat with tails crossed and shoulders touching.

“The game is Anaconda,” Fluttershy said, dealing. “Threes are wild, but the lowest heart splits. Aces high only. Ante up.”

They threw their chips onto the book, and the wind blew outside. The ship rocked gently.

“So this is the last Element,” Pinkie said. “And it’s mine, too. Funny how that works out.”

“We’ll hook right back up and get Discord where he lives,” Twilight said. “Shouldn’t take us more than a week or two to cover the distance left.”

“And if he’s not home?” Rainbow asked.

“We’ll wait there and prepare a surprise for him, if we can. I know it’s not strictly our duty, but I’d like to dismantle whatever he’s done to that castle. It’s probably a nightmare of magic inside.”

“Hold on, though,” Applejack said.

“You in, Octavia?” Pinkie asked.

Octavia looked at them morosely and passed her discarded cards to the left.

“What’s up, AJ?” Rainbow asked.

“Two,” Fluttershy said quietly, putting her chips into the pile.

“Ah recall… it was over the swamps Ah think, actually, the second time, when we got Rarity’s Element. Twilight comes up from below with this big book an’ news concernin’ the Elements of Harmony, an’ we proceed to have a nice, long conversation’ ‘bout ‘em, an’ the possibility of there bein’ more.”

“Not this again,” Rainbow said.

“We said we’d table that discussion fer the time, on account of us havin’ only the three then. Well girls, now it seems we’ve got five, and the sixth well on the way.”

“It does bear a second round of discussion, I agree,” Twilight said. She neatly selected two more discards and passed them to Fluttershy with a smirk.

“What’s to discuss?” Rainbow asked. “We decided we weren’t gonna go for it, right?”

“We didn’t make a decision,” Fluttershy said. She glanced at Vinyl, who watched intently. Her goggles were still on, but the contracture of her brows and the mild glow on her horn gave away the fascination she did not voice.

“There’s somethin’ important you should know,” Big Mac said suddenly. Vinyl rubbed his back.

“Your glamour forces you to try to be an additional Element,” Rarity said. “We know, dear.”

“That ain’t it. That, Ah was hopin’, was a given.” Quieter, he added, “an’ Ah can see it is.”

“Sorry, Big Mac. I should have let you continue.”

“I think minimizing cross-talk for this one might be a good idea,” Fluttershy said. “Just to put in my two bits. This… um…”

“This decision affects the whole country,” Applejack said.

A moment of reverent, worried silence followed.

“As Ah was sayin,” Big Mac said, “it does have to do with the glamour, but it also has to do with Miss Octavia here.”

“Are you with us?” Vinyl asked, turning to face Octavia.

Octavia blinked and looked up from her cards. “This is about the Elements? This is important?”

“Yes to both,” Twilight said.

“Then I am with you. Please, continue.”

“You remember, back in Applewood, how we needed to get our ship out of the impound lot?” Big Mac asked. “Octavia volunteered to go get it, an’ Ah went with her. Upon reflection, Ah saw that that was a product of the glamour. Not my own decision, though it sure felt like it at the time.”

“That was a wild time,” Vinyl said. “Sorry. I’ll just listen.”

“This affects us all, even you,” Twilight said. “Don’t stay quiet just because you’re new to our group.”

Vinyl’s horn glowed brighter for a second, and she smiled at Twilight. “Thanks.”

Twilight nodded at Big Mac.

“My glamour, my purpose on this ship—‘cause we know Ah wouldn’t ever ask to come along for somethin’ like this normally—is to get close enough to all of y’all so Ah might take up the place of another Element.”

“But that wouldn’t work,” Twilight said. “There’s no way we could—”

“Ah know that. Miss Octavia figured it out, back in Applewood. With just me added in to the mix, she thought Discord’s idea was fer us all to wrack our brains tryin’ to modify the Elements to allow a seventh. Buy him some time. A lot of time, most likely. Ah am, ultimately, supposed to be a distraction an’ an obstacle, disguised as a helpful friend.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?” Vinyl asked him.

“It’s harsh, that’s fer sure,” Applejack said. “But it’s genius. It’s perfect.”

“What he didn’t expect,” Big Mac said, “was fer us to pick up more friends on the way. He figured Ah’d be the only one. Now, gettin’ back to Miss Octavia an’ the ship. You’ll recall, at the time, that Miss Dash an’ Fluttershy were off doin’ their own research on the dam. Ah had the opportunity to go with them, an’ didn’t take it. Ah did, however, go with Octavia to get the ship. Again, that was a glamour decision.”

“I think I see where this is going,” Rarity said.

“Why would my glamour make me want to go with Octavia, but not the others? Was it just to get the ship?” He shook his head. “Nope. If it was just about the ship, Ah would’ve told one of y’all to do it. Twilight, most likely, since she’s the most magical. We could’ve done it way easier with a second unicorn.”

“I am no unicorn,” Octavia said.

“Er, you know what Ah mean. Magic user, then.”

“Don’t worry, I think of her as a unicorn now too,” Fluttershy said. Their cards were forgotten, face down on the sheets.

“Ah had to go with her because Ah needed to get closer to her, an’ closer Ah did indeed get.”

“Why would you need to get closer to her, if it’s us you’re supposed to be doing that to?” Fluttershy said.

“Exactly. So…” He gestured at Octavia, who looked back, unimpressed and unshaken. “Ah reckon she’s the linchpin in this whole extra Element business, not me.”

“It’s probably both of you,” Twilight said, and sighed. “Possibly you too, Vinyl, what with you getting closer to Big Mac.”

“I remember, earlier, us saying that an extra Element for one of us would be useless,” Rarity said. “It would just be an empty filter, doing nothing to amplify the magic within. But with three?”

“Three, or even two if Vinyl isn’t close enough, would change things,” Twilight said. “With three—let’s just say three for now—we could conceivably create more, and as long as we kept them as a separate set, not associated with our own, they would actually make a difference in stopping Discord. We’d be drawing from nine sources of magic, rather than just six. And that’s significant.”

“But six is enough already,” Rainbow said. “Right? It has been in the past.”

“Of course, and we’ll keep it at six. I was just talking hypothetically.”

“So what’s the point of this conversation then? Not to sound insensitive, but who cares if Big Mac and Octavia and Vinyl are all friends? That doesn’t affect our Elements. It’s not like it forces us to make more to accommodate them.”

“Ah think Discord was hopin’ we’d not know that,” Applejack said.

“What an idiot.”

“I mean, it does make sense,” Fluttershy said. “In a way. The number of bearers has fluctuated in the past, so there’s precedent.”

“But six was always the limit,” Rarity said. “Now we’re at that limit.”

“I’m not sure what he was thinking,” Twilight said. “But I’m inclined to agree with Rainbow, that it was just a dumb move.”

“He has been known to underestimate before,” Applejack said. “Heck, we don’t need to look far to see that. The battle, fer instance?”

“We whipped him!” Pinkie said. “We tanned his hide!”

“And now he’s taking it out on poor Moondrop,” Vinyl said.

“We should talk about that too,” Rarity said.

“One thing at a time,” Twilight said. “I don’t feel this Element problem is concluded.”

“It is, though,” Rainbow said. “No more Elements, simple as that. These three can be friends, and that’s great, but it shouldn’t interfere with us.”

“Will we need to not participate in the final battle, for your Elements to work?” Octavia asked.

“You can be there, but just not when we’re casting our final spell,” Twilight said. “And that’s mostly for your own safety.”

“It gets hot in there,” Pinkie said.

“And noisy,” Fluttershy said.

“Even though I agree that it was just Discord being stupid, I don’t like that conclusion,” Twilight said. “I want to examine more possibilities before we write him off. This is, after all, a huge mistake to make, and we’d be in hot water indeed if we missed some small implication.”

“Then let’s start here,” Fluttershy said. “Is it possible for the Elements to misfire, if Octavia and Big Mac and Vinyl are with us?”

“If we’re all still ourselves, it should be fine,” Twilight said.

“It should be fine?” Vinyl asked.

“Fair point. It… I’ll double check this, but I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure that close friendships to non-Elements does not affect the status of the Elements that do exist. If it did, we’d have more than six by now, with how many generations of bearers there were before us.”

“Unless any extra Elements simply dissolve once their bearers die,” Rarity said. “The six core ones remain, but any satellites vanish. Is that possible?”

“No. The magic that ties a bearer to her Element wouldn’t simply disappear like that. If it did, then they wouldn’t be extra Elements of Harmony, they’d be something else. Possibly something similar, but still different, and inessential to our goal here.”

“Does that mean there might be groups of friends out there that could count as Elements of Harmony, but only don’t because they don’t have the jewels to back it up?” Rainbow asked.

“Sure, probably,” Twilight said, shrugging. “That would make sense. Remember, though they are enchanted with a powerful, complicated spell, they’re just objects. They were made. If we had the princesses’ designs, we could make more, maybe. With the right designs and the right processes in place, you could crank out an Element for any old character trait you wanted.”

“But they still wouldn’t be tied to the original six,” Fluttershy said.

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“Because the amount of Elements in a complete set is decided beforehoof. That number is part of the magic that binds them together.”

“So is there any other way they might misfire?” Big Mac asked.

“Can they be damaged?” Vinyl asked.

“Not easily, but yes, they can,” Twilight said. “Don’t worry, we’d know it if they were, even a little bit. The magic would stop working, and at such a high magnitude, the effects would be immediate and obvious.”

“What would they be?” Pinkie asked.

“No idea. It’s never happened. Probably never will.”

“Celestia and Luna did put protective magic on them,” Rarity said. “So they’re not likely to be damaged.”

“Not likely at all,” Twilight echoed.

“What else?” Big Mac asked.

“If one of us were to… well, pass on. That would obviously throw a wrench in things.”

“That pony’s Element might simply pass on to one of these three, though,” Rainbow said.

“Did someone get my Element when Ah was dead?” Applejack asked.

“I hate it when you say that,” Rarity said.

“Facts are facts, sugarcube.”

“No, they only move on when the spirit has completely faded,” Twilight said.

“Wait, so how did they move from the princesses to us, then?” Fluttershy asked.

“That’s the only other way they might not work if we use them. If we change as ponies, if we stop embodying our Element for whatever reason.”

“That means the princesses don’t embody the Elements any more?” Vinyl asked.

“Not in a long time, no,” Twilight said. “They’re great ponies, but no, they’re not who they used to be; I think they’ve lived too long for that. Age and experience change someone. I’m sure I don’t need to explain further.”

“Yeah, we got it,” Rainbow said.

“So if any of us have changed in some serious way, that could cause problems.” An unsettling silence filled the room, punctuated only by the wind and rain lashing the deck above them. “So we might want to talk about that too.”

“Must we?” Rarity asked.

“I know it’s uncomfortable, but I think we really should scrutinize each other. With all the stuff that’s been piled on us by now, there’s not going to be nothing wrong. Whether it’s enough to make the Elements not work, I don’t know, but that’s not a risk we should take.”

“What sort of changes are we looking for?” Rainbow asked.

“Should we be present for this?” Vinyl asked, moving her hoof between herself and Big Mac.

“Absolutely,” Fluttershy said. “All three of you. Outside perspectives are going to be important, I think.”

“I agree,” Pinkie said, nodding.

“We’ll go one by one, and say whether we think that pony’s okay,” Applejack said. “Ah’ll go first.”

“AJ, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Rainbow said. “You’re probably the least changed out of all of us.”

Applejack laughed. “Now that is what Ah would call irony.”

“I’m serious.”

“Ah know that.” She sobered. “Dyin’ really wasn’t that bad, lookin’ back. Luna was excellent, takin’ care of me. She answered all my questions.”

“You definitely seem to have changed, for the better, I mean,” Rarity said. “You’re a lot happier, a lot more optimistic.”

“That’s the mark of someone with a lot integrity,” Twilight said. “You’re not afraid to be yourself, to still enjoy life, even after seeing what lies beyond.”

“Ah like to think so too,” Applejack said. “But that’s not what this is all ‘bout. What do y’all think? Do Ah still deserve the Element of Honesty?”

“Definitely,” Vinyl said.

“No question,” Rainbow said. “You’ve shot straight for this whole adventure.”

“And you’re honest with yourself too,” Twilight said. “You don’t pretend to be more than you are, which is important.”

“Coming back from death didn’t make you think you were greater than you are,” Vinyl said. “It definitely would for me. Most ponies I know.”

“Ah agree,” Big Mac said. “You got nothin’ to worry about.”

“All righty then,” Applejack said, looking at them all.

“I’ll go next,” Twilight said. “Element of Magic. Not exactly a friendship trait. Mine is pretty easy, I think.”

“You are just as magical now as you were before,” Octavia said.

“And you’re still our leader, more or less,” Pinkie said.

“What’s ‘more or less’?” Rainbow asked.

“Fluttershy and Rarity have been taking over a lot lately,” Twilight said. “I’ve noticed. But I don’t think leadership is inherent to my Element. I just need to be good at magic, which I am.”

“Easy enough,” Vinyl said. “Next?”

“Rainbow’s still loyal,” Pinkie said.

“She hasn’t done anything traitorous,” Rarity said.

“Rainbow’s would be hard to break,” Twilight said. “It requires the most active intent, I think.”

“I feel just as loyal as ever,” Rainbow said. “Like I said, I’m in this for the long haul. I just hope it’s not that long a haul.”

“Two weeks,” Rarity said. “Hopefully.”

“What about you, Rarity?” Applejack asked. “Ah’m not sure yers is gonna be so cut-and-dry.”

“Generosity,” Vinyl said.

“She helped Twilight embalm me, an’ that counts fer a lot, at least in my book. But…”

“What have I done?” Rarity asked quietly.

“Rare, you know Ah hate to say this ‘bout anyone, but you haven’t been quite right in a long time.”

Rarity’s eyes widened, but she didn’t speak.

“You’re more assertive, which is good,” Twilight said, “but I’ve noticed a streak of… well, meanness, I guess, in you that wasn’t there before.” She fixed a wrinkle in the sheet. “And I’m well aware that there’s a similar streak in me, I won’t say there isn’t.”

“No one’s accusing you of anything,” Vinyl said.

“Rarity is becoming the type of pony I had hoped we all would be in time,” Octavia said. “I have noticed it as well, primarily in Roan. Now that it is here, I wish that it were not.”

“So true,” Rainbow said.

“Wait, wait, what meanness?” Rarity asked. “I’m not mean.”

“You frequently suggest the quickest solution to a problem, without regard to the ponies it might hurt,” Flutteshy asked. “You have an easier time refusing requests, or dismissing ponies who might need help.”

“Yer carryin’ that grudge against Lacey still,” Big Mac said. “Not sayin’ Ah blame ya. Just sayin’ it’s true.”

“I’ll admit to a grudge, but I think you’re taking the rest of these things out of context,” Rarity said.

“You want us to reach our goal as quick as possible,” Vinyl said. “Which is laudable, but the cost is sometimes high.”

“An’ we’ve heard you talk ‘bout how you’d like to do such-an’-such to whoever, some pony who slighted you, or someone you think is tryin’ to get at us,” Applejack said.

“On the other side of this point, though,” Octavia said, “Rarity came close to giving her life to keep the river from escaping, in Applewood. She also risked much to help Twilight embalm Applejack.”

“That’s true,” Rainbow said. “You know, I actually change my mind. She’s still generous. Just not as nice as she was once.”

“I doubt any of us are,” Twilight said. She looked at Fluttershy. “And… yeah, Fluttershy, that includes you.”

Fluttershy looked down. “I know.”

“You do?” Big Mac asked.

“I think a lot, when I’m alone. I think about us, and the way our lives are going, and how we’ve changed. It’s happening in a lot of us, actually. Twilight first, and I know exactly why. You turned harder and stronger early—well, earliest of us all, I guess—and Rarity shortly after you. And I know I’m beginning to as well. I’ve noticed it in myself, how I’m less hesitant to speak my mind, or to give orders around the ship.”

“How is this a bad thing, though?” Rainbow asked.

“Right now, it isn’t.”

“But we know where it leads,” Twilight said. “Do you think you’re risking losing touch with your Element?”

“I personally think you’re not,” Rarity said.

“I don’t think so either,” Fluttershy said. “But I also know, if I am, I might not recognize it. One of the things meanness does is it learns to justify itself. I try to avoid that, but I don’t know how successful I’ve been.”

“We’ve all become more callous,” Rainbow said. “But you’re still kind.”

“Must disagree,” Vinyl said. “Sorry, I know this isn’t my place, not knowing you as long as the others, but I don’t think I’ve seen you do anything that really sets you apart from the others, in terms of kindness.”

Fluttershy nodded. “Valid point.”

“She pulls just as hard as any of us,” Rainbow said.

“But that don’t make her special,” Applejack said. “The point of the Elements is to be special, to be those paragons of whatever thing they represent. We’ve all been kind in our places, but the Element of Kindness ought to be that way in the places where the rest of us aren’t.”

“Those places are few and far between, though,” Rarity said.

“That’s not true,” Vinyl said. “We’ve passed by loads of places and ponies that needed help.”

“In pursuit of this main goal,” Twilight said. “Yes, you’re right, but realistically, we can’t be expected to stop for every little thing that needs attention.”

“The difference between doing the nice thing and doing the right thing,” Fluttershy said.

“Exactly.”

“So which is the right thing in this case?” Vinyl asked. “Should she be going along with us, helping us to defeat Discord, or should she be advocating to stay and help the victims along the way? Can’t be both, not unless she stays behind.”

“I’ve thought about that very thing,” Fluttershy said. “You can see my choice.”

“That’s a very good question,” Rarity said. “What is the proper thing for her to do here?” She looked at Big Mac. “You have the glamour. What’s your take on this?”

Big Mac sighed. “My take is that Fluttershy could be nicer, as we all can, but she hasn’t done anythin’ to go against her Element.” Vinyl looked at him for a minute, a question clearly on her face, but he said no more, and she kept quiet.

“Is it possible for an Element to work, but just not as well?” Rarity asked. “If someone fits it, but not as well as she might have once?”

“Thankfully not,” Twilight said. “The princesses guarded against that in their design. The Elements are an all-or-nothing deal.”

“I think you’re safe,” Pinkie said, reaching up to pat Fluttershy on the back.

“Try to be nicer anyway, though, just in case,” Rainbow said. “Just in case.”

“Yer the last one, Pinkie,” Big Mac said. “What about you?”

“Laughter is another tricky one,” Twilight said.

“To be brutally honest, Pinkie, Ah don’t see it any more,” Applejack said. “You ain’t the same pony you once were, an’ fer yer specific Element, Ah think that’s a problem.”

“Now wait a second,” Rainbow said. “That’s not fair, saying she’s in trouble just ‘cause she’s changed with the rest of us.”

“The Elements weren’t designed with fairness in mind.”

“They were, actually,” Twilight said. “They’re not made to be so sensitive, or so specific, that the pony who owns them has to embody that thing literally all the time. I’m not casting magic all the time, and Rarity’s not donating her energy all the time.”

“Ah’m honest all the time, or Ah try to be.”

“About important things, sure, but you’ll keep quiet in situations that require tact, or sugarcoat sensitive information. Sometimes. No one of us is purely the thing the Element requires, because that’s simply not possible. The point is to be, at the core of our personalities, what the Element needs. For Pinkie, for Laughter, I think that requires an optimistic approach to life, an eagerness to do right, and a lightness of heart that forgives and understands easily.”

“Extroversion too,” Vinyl said.

“Yes, that too. And Pinkie has those things still. She’s cooled off some, we all have, as Rainbow said. That’s natural, and I think the princesses understood that that would happen when they had these Elements first made. Another reason why they deserve the status they have. They thought it out millennia in advance.” She chuckled. “I haven’t even thought out what we’re gonna do at Moondrop yet.”

“Soooo, what do we think?” Pinkie asked.

“What do you think?” Fluttershy asked. “Outside points are fine, but what’s yours?”

“I think I’m… okay. I haven’t been the same laughy, jokey self, but I think I am okay. I feel good, still. I don’t feel blue about our lives.”

“I know a good way to test it,” Rainbow said.

“What’s that?” Big Mac asked.

“This!” She bolted over the bed and tackled Pinkie, who, on the other side, broke out in a gale of laughter as Rainbow tickled her. The sheets stirred into a bundle as Rarity jumped up to watch, and no sooner had she than Applejack, laughing, jumped in to help hold Pinkie down. She bucked and guffawed, kicking and thrashing as the two took turns trying to hold her twisting limbs and tickling her. Tears matted her face, and then Rainbow’s and Applejack’s when Rarity, too, added a soft wand of magic to the mix. Cards scattered and clicked to the ground when Pinkie, one corner of the sheet in her mouth, tried to pull herself away from the trap.

“Okay, okay, I give!” Pinkie squealed, and the trio fell apart, chests heaving. Rarity, laughing alone, picked up the cards and set the sheet back on the bed. Applejack and Rainbow extricated themselves, the latter after a second of panting with her face close to Pinkie’s.

“Well, there you go,” Vinyl said. “Seems conclusive to me.”

“Ah love my life,” Applejack said, settling back in her spot.

“My sides hurt,” Pinkie moaned, wiping away a tear.

“Where were we in the game?” Rainbow asked. “Hey, these aren’t my cards.”

“Reshuffle,” Rarity said, doing just that. “Everypony take their chips back.”

“I don’t remember what dang chips I had.”

“Same as everyone else, Dash,” Applejack said, poking her in the back.

“What’s the game, Rarity?” Twilight asked. She wanted to discuss more, but also did not want to break the rare bubble of levity that had so suddenly surfaced.

“Seven card stud, and we’ll keep the threes wild for now.”

“No splitting the pot this time?”

Rarity batted her lashes. “Did I stutter, darling?”

Twilight stuck out her tongue and accepted her cards. “Well, this is… never mind.”

They played through, Vinyl taking the pot, and Twilight dealt another round.

“So what about Moondrop, though?” Pinkie asked. “What’s the deal?”

“I’m not sure. Uhh, let’s do anaconda again, since we didn’t finish the first one. Fours this time, and the high ace splits.”

“We don’t have much to go on, unfortunately,” Applejack said. “The princess’ll probably beat us there, you think? She said she was gonna investigate.”

“I hope so, but I don’t think we should let that slow us down,” Rarity said.

“I agree,” Twilight said, dealing. “It would be too easy to find a cozy spot and wait for Princess Luna to go there, let us know what to expect, and maybe even bring us the last Element. We’d be sitting targets for Discord.”

“True enough, but I’d point out that he hasn’t had any issue finding us wherever we were in the past.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Here, Fluttershy, enjoy.”

Fluttershy took Twilight’s discards and scowled down at them. “Why would you do that to a pony?”

Rainbow laughed.

“So, what, we meet Luna there?” Applejack asked. “Then what?”

“She might accompany us to Draught Castle,” Pinkie said.

“That would be perfect, but I doubt it,” Twilight said. “She’ll probably want to stay in Moondrop. Besides, if she’s with us, Discord might flip out and do… whatever it is he’s got planned. That last ditch effort, you know?”

“How do we know he actually has something?” Vinyl asked, studying her cards. “I fold.”

“That was fast,” Rarity said.

“We don’t, but we also don’t have the luxury of testing him,” Twilight said. “Because if he does, then it’ll be something we can’t bounce back from, at least not easily. So we have to treat this whole operation like it’s on the edge of a knife.”

“As it very well might be,” Fluttershy said.

“So, basically, we don’t know what we’ll do at Moondrop,” Rainbow said. “We’re just gonna fly in, see what’s up, and try to book it with the Element. Right? ‘Cause every other single time we’ve done that, there’s been a whole mess of trouble for us.”

“We got the Element of Magic pretty cleanly, Ah recall,” Big Mac said.

“Yes, and with just two of us,” Rarity said. “An interesting point.”

“No no no, that doesn’t count,” Twilight said. “Just two of us went underwater for Honesty, and that was a disaster.”

“Let’s send Big Mac in,” Pinkie said.

“What?”

“No, really! Hear me out. Him and Vinyl did Magic, in the fairgrounds, and it was fine. Almost fine. Right? You said it was fine.”

“Relatively painless, yes,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, and he was the one who went in for the Element of Generosity, in the swamps. Both times, relatively painless, as you said.”

“Ah am the most unassumin’ of us all,” he said.

“You’re the only non-celebrity in the room,” Vinyl said. “Whoa, I just blew my own mind. I’d never thought about that before, but it’s true.”

“If there is something happening in Moondrop that requires the attention of one of the princesses, then I do not think sending Big Macintosh in on his own would be wise,” Octavia said.

“Ah like yer thinkin’,” Big Mac said.

“What does the glamour say?” Rainbow asked.

“Says nothin’.”

“Okay, so that means we don’t strictly need him to go alone,” Twilight said. “But it also doesn’t mean that we need to go in all together.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Rarity said. “I know it’ll take us an extra day or two, but I think our best option would be to circle the area first.”

“We will be out in the open for all that time,” Octavia said.

“That’s still better than going in blind,” Rainbow said. “What if it’s some kind of crazy trap? What if there’s a monster there?”

“I remember him gloating that he owned the south,” Fluttershy said, throwing her chips into the pot. “A monster is not out of the question, I think.”

“Probably,” Twilight said with a sigh. “There’s too many unknowns. I think I agree with Rarity, we’ll need to scout it out.”

“I can fly ahead the night before or something,” Rainbow said.

“Way too dangerous,” Rarity said.

“Is there no way to cloak the ship?” Applejack asked.

“Feel like we’d know if there was,” Vinyl said.

“I could do it,” Twilight said, “but it wouldn’t help as much as you think. For one thing, I wouldn’t be able to do it for more than an hour, maybe two hours if I push myself to my last extremity. That’s the ship and us—remember, it’s much harder to do it to living matter.”

“You did it in Manehattan, didn’t you?” Pinkie asked.

“Yeah, that was to myself alone. Huge difference, Pinkie.”

“Can’t you just put down a sigil?” Rarity asked.

“I was getting there. The second thing is, we’d need to be more than invisible. In an airship like this, we’d need to be invisible, and have our sound masked, and find a way to hide any smoke from the propellers and fire from the torch, and hide any of the wind that our movement might produce. Yeah, sure, I could eventually design those sigils, but then it’s an issue of spacing. I’m not going to get all of them on the deck easily, and still leave us room to move around. The one to obfuscate both ship and passengers alone would take up more than half the deck.”

“You couldn’t… I don’t know, condense it?” Rainbow asked.

“You’re forgetting that I don’t have hardly any experience with sigils,” Twilight said, shaking her head disgustedly as Fluttershy scooped her winnings to her chest. “I know that one huge one that the princess taught me, for enhancing Pinkie, but that was forced onto me. I don’t understand how it works, I can’t reverse-engineer it.”

“You summoned Vanilla, that time we were in Thunderhead’s ship,” Applejack said.

Twilight sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you at the time, but that was nothing more than an educated shot in the dark. Besides, remember what he said, it didn’t do what I wanted it to, it just got his attention. He came out of curiosity, not from anything I did to him.”

“Okay, so scrap the sigils,” Rarity said. “What about a remote viewing spell?”

“It needs an object. If I could enchant one of you and send you in ahead of us, that would work, but, again, that’s too dangerous.”

“Is there not magic that can be used with the map to gain insight about a location?” Octavia asked. “I thought I read something like that in one of your books.”

“You’re talking about a realized cartographic spell, and I’ve never done one before. That falls in Princess Luna’s purview, not mine.”

“What about you, Octavia?” Applejack asked. “Have you not been to this Moondrop before?”

“The closest I have been is Roan.”

“Dang.”

“What about divination?” Rarity asked. “That’s a whole class of magic right there that could help us.”

“Divination sucks,” Vinyl said.

Twilight looked at her, eyebrow raised.

“Had to take some magic courses in college.”

“Vinyl’s right, though. Divination does kind of suck. I would need a lot of tools that I don’t have.”

“Like a crystal ball?” Rainbow asked.

“That, a dowsing rod, a plumb bob, a magical battery, those are some of the basics. Girls, I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to do any magic that’ll let us see ahead. That’s never been my specialty. I was taught by Princess Celestia. Ask me again when you need to put out a forest fire or something.”

“Then we’ll have to just be extra prepared when we go in,” Pinkie said. “Rarity, you can shield us?”

“Against anythin’ but lightnin’,” Applejack said, grinning at Rarity.

“I can’t let us see super far ahead, but I can probably enhance Rainbow’s eyesight,” Twilight said. “So that’ll give us an edge too.”

“Can you shuffle for me?” Big Mac asked Vinyl, who smiled and took the cards.

“We’ll come in high and circle lower,” Applejack said. “An’ if anythin’ looks weird, we’ll bolt. Find a different angle of attack.”

“Sounds good to me,” Pinkie said. “Now c’mon, what’s the game, Big Mac-daddy?”

Big Mac looked at Pinkie, thinking.

Close to two in the morning, a pair of ponies crept out of the hold, onto the deck, and out into the sopping, still drizzling grassland in the crook of the oxbow lake, not noticing that another pair was missing as well.

Big Mac and Vinyl walked, side by side, to the edge of the waters on the ashen, bubbly bed of sediment that gave Furnace Creek its name. A hem of twisted, stunted trees separated them from the hissing, black waters, and a large turtle splashed into the shallows, scared off by its sudden visitors. It watched with beady coals of eyes as Big Mac sat down heavily on a small rise in the ground, Vinyl by his side, their tails crossing.

“What’s eating you?” she asked, her voice soft as bird song in the velvet, humid darkness.

“How do you see me?”

She considered the question for a second before raising her goggles to reveal her oft-hidden, crimson eyes. Big Mac stared into them, the calmly emotional eyes in which his own reflection and her natural color were one.

“I see you as someone who didn’t know what he was getting into when he got into it, kinda like me.”

He grunted.

“Sorry. This is about you, not me.”

“Yer fine.”

“I see you as a regular pony, like anyone else, and a friend on top of that.”

He nodded slowly.

“Is this about the glamour?”

After a minute, he proceeded. “Ah’m comin’ to loathe every time someone brings it up, or asks me what it ‘says’.”

“You wish ponies would see beyond it.”

He looked at her. “Can Ah talk?”

She looked down, her tail switching back from his, and mumbled an apology.

“Ah know this is what Ah was put here fer, fer tryin’ to mess up all these folks’ plans, an’ Ah think it’s a good thing we figured that out an’ started usin’ it fer ourselves instead.” Not used to speaking at length, he paused to think of how he wanted to continue. “But it’s got to the point now where Ah think that’s all Ah am to them, just a… mechanism to find the way. Ah think they forget that Ah don’t really want to be here.”

“I thought you did. I thought—forgive me—but I thought you had no choice but to want it.”

“At first, Ah didn’t, yer right, but Ah think knowin’ ‘bout the glamour weakens it. ‘Cause now Ah can tell the difference between my own thoughts an’ the thoughts that appear magically. Ah’d rather be back on the farm, every day. Like you said, Ah ain’t a part of y’all. Ain’t a celebrity, or any of that.”

“That’s not how I meant it.”

“Ah know.” He put a hoof on hers. “Don’t stop it from bein’ true. Ah don’t belong.”

“I think you do.”

He shook his head. “Nope. Does the captain count her compass as part of the crew?”

“She does if it’s alive,” Vinyl said. “No one sees you just as what magic you have, just like no one sees Twilight as a book, or Rarity a shield, or me and Octavia as concerts.”

“Hmmm.” Thunder pealed far off. “Ah don’t see it.”

“No?”

“Ah’m only consulted on matters of the glamour. Maybe they see me as the pony Ah am, maybe not, but Ah’m only consulted… like Ah said. Glamour matters only.”

“Isn’t that kind of an honor, in a way? You’re the only one who can give decisive judgment on important things.”

“An honor Ah never wanted, you mean.”

“Well… it’s all in how you look at it.”

“Eeyup, an’ this is how Ah choose to look at it, Miss Vinyl. All of this adventure, these perils an’ these important, deep questions, Ah wanted nothin’ of it. Never in my life did Ah aspire to be more than the best Ah could be fer my family, an’ that’s what Ah thought Ah was doin’ when Ah left fer Appleloosa.”

She tilted her head.

“Where they picked me up. Thought Ah was findin’ some kind of true callin’, or a destiny or somethin’.” He sighed and bowed his head. “Trickery.”

“Have you told the others this?”

“Nope. Ah know it ain’t bright. Ah know, not the glamour. Ah know my place, after all, an’ this is it, like it or not. Just so happens that Ah’m on the ‘not’ side.”

“Just sharing your feelings wouldn’t hurt, though.”

“But it would complicate things.”

“So?” She leaned in close and lowered her already low voice. “You shouldn’t hold things inside just to keep things simple and safe. I’ve done that before in relationships, and it never works for the best. They’ll keep doing it, Big Mac, and you’ll keep hating it until something snaps. Best to let it out now.”

“Ah’d rather not.”

“Why?”

He blushed, the color in his cheeks hidden in darkness. “It’s hard enough to share it with you.”

She nodded. “No one’ll tell you it’s easy, but it’s for the best. Trust me, letting things fester is never the right option.” Her horn glowed bright pink, and he squinted for a second until it dimmed. “Look at Octavia. She’s been sitting on something so long she hardly lives in the same world as us a lot of the time.”

“Ah ain’t like that.”

“Not now, but do you want to start?”

“Ah’d need to hold onto these feelin’s fer a couple years before anythin’ like that happened to me. Besides, Ah’m sure we’ll be done soon, an’ Ah can go back home. Won’t have to deal with it in another week or two.”

Sternly, Vinyl said, “that’s optimistic guessing on Twilight’s part. From what I’m told, this journey has been fraught with unexpected delays since day one. Why should it end now?”

He bowed his head again, and she crouched to look up into his face. His expression still mild, his eyes neither shimmering nor unsteady, he nonetheless had lost some of the rustic strength that held his muscles and jawline sturdy. Almost sagging, she could feel the defeat coming off him. Offering no further words, she put a hoof on his back and tried not to shiver in the thin rainfall.

From the other side of the oxbow lake, Octavia and Pinkie watched Vinyl and a shape that could only be Big Mac exit the ship.

“It’s a special night for talking,” Pinkie whispered in Octavia’s ear. She was the only one to think to put on a sweater for the night.

“I do not want them to see us,” Octavia said, leading them away from the banks. They walked out into the wet field, tails sticking on long tufts of grass.

“This okay?” Pinkie asked when they reached a shallow pool. Octavia waded through the frigid water to a partially submerged stump, rousing a cloud of fireflies as she pushed apart a drape of grass.

Sitting heavily on the stump, her thinning, black tail drooping lifelessly in the water, she spoke. “I apologize for the battle.”

“Huh?”

Octavia gave a half smile. “You are kind to pretend not to know. I refer to my premature fall. It was stupid of me, a mistake I have made before.”

“Whoa, whoa, sis, hold on,” Pinkie said, wading out to stand beside Octavia, perhaps to offer a consoling touch if needed. “I’ve heard you start in like this before.”

“That is because I have made this exact mistake before.” She shook her head. “When will I learn?”

“Hey, you can’t help it if you passed out out there, you know? That is what you mean, right? That you gave it your all and passed out?”

She bowed her head.

“Octavia, no one ever blames you for that kind of stuff, you know that? Look, look at what you did do. You knocked out those airships and protected doc and me.”

“Two airships in a sky filled with them.”

“Oh, come on,” Pinkie said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “You didn’t seriously expect to cruise in there and sweep the whole army away, did you? Nopony, and I mean nopony would have asked you to try to do that.” Perking up for a second, she continued. “It’s a team effort! Princesses and army and us and all those weird secret agents in there too, all of it together! You should be proud to be part of something like that.” She quieted. “I know I am.”

“I failed.”

Pinkie sighed. She knew what Octavia was thinking, that she had been the most important part of the plan, and not seeing it through to its conclusion was, in some way, a failure; completely forgetting that her friends, Pinkie and Whooves, had hidden in the river, a point of shame that Pinkie dared not bring up, knowing her sister would dismiss or justify it and hoard the pity for herself.

“Why can’t you be happy?” Pinkie had wanted to ask—shout—the question to Octavia for months. The question would do no good, for its answer would simply be a restatement of the original premise, that Octavia had failed them. She had spent enough time, had listened in on enough conversations, to know that it would be the only answer she could wrench from her stoic sibling.

“It is more than that,” Octavia said. “I know that I did my best, and might in time forgive myself for my limitations. I do not know whether you saw from where you were, but when I was still standing, after we had crashed, I took life. I blew them apart with a spell.”

Pinkie only nodded. She had seen it and thought little of it at the time. It was, after all, warfare.

“I suppose I should have expected it, but I honestly did not. On that angel, I felt… remote, I suppose. I felt like nothing truly awful would take place, that… I do not know how to put it into words.”

“Try your best,” Pinkie said, more interested.

“It is foolish.” She sighed, and Pinkie thought she saw a tear drop, but Octavia’s voice did not waver. “I think I thought that I would simply wake up one day and it would be over. We do not comprehend these things for what they are, at least I do not. How enormous, and how foreign, such an experience is. How far from my expectations, how unimaginable.”

“Hey, hey.” She raised her hoof.

“I left my home, my entire life behind so I could chase something on this quest. I still do not know what I was searching for, but it was most certainly not this.”

“You can’t beat yourself up about it, though. You know—”

“Knowing that it had to be done does not help,” Octavia mumbled. “Yes, I acted in self-defense, but that knowledge will not change the fact that I now have blood on my hooves. Just saying it…”

“Well…”

Octavia kicked at the water. “And then, after that, to leave you both to your fates by passing out.”

“That isn’t your fault,” Pinkie said, firmer than she had meant.

Octavia met her eyes for a second, also surprised by the tone. “If not mine, whose?”

“Why does it have to be anyone’s?”

“My actions, my consequences!” Octavia spat, standing up and stumbling in the cold water. “If I cannot hold myself accountable, then there is no purpose to anything I do or have done.” Pinkie stepped back, noticing for the first time a different gleam in her sister’s eyes, something akin to anger, but not quite. “Since I was old enough to comprehend it, I have thought of taking a life as one of only a few truly unforgivable things. You understand that. But now, having done it, I am finding that very little has changed. We are still flying south, still searching for that last Element. We still have fun, sometimes.” Thinking for a moment, she ended with a self-conscious whisper. “Am I the only one who hates what I have done?”

“I mean, it was justified. They were gonna—”

“I cannot accept that. Perhaps you all can. Perhaps, even, you should.” She thought. “I was happy that night because I felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from my back.”

Pinkie dreaded the answer. “And now?”

“A different weight has taken its place.” She looked up at Pinkie, and her eyes were finally shining with tears. “For how long have I lived like this, and for what? No matter…” She choked and wiped her eyes furiously. “No matter what I choose to do, something is wrong. Something is always wrong. I am never not making a mistake.”

“Sis, please, you can’t think like that. You’re the strongest pony I know, honestly.”

“Not so strong as to avoid a scene like this.”

Pinkie frowned. “Octavia, listen to me.” She sat down in the cold water, wishing she hadn’t, but feeling from it a sense of solidarity to the gray mare. “Don’t talk, just listen for a second. I don’t know why you feel this way all the time, but it’s totally inaccurate. No one expects anything from you like what you think, no one holds you to this high standard you seem to be always carrying around. I know because we’ve talked about it, the other Elements and me. We don’t look at you as a catch-all solution or a, or a weapon or something. You’re just Octavia, regular old Octavia. You know, good at music, sophisticated, mysterious? All that normal stuff, not some jumped-up superhero or some kind of idol, or whatever it is you think we think you are.” She licked her lips, debating whether to continue, knowing her words would soon lose their kind edge. “Martyring yourself like this isn’t helping anypony, okay? You’re just tormenting yourself, and none of us… honestly, none of us know what to do with it.”

Octavia nodded. “You are right,” she croaked. “I did not think about it, but you are correct.”

“Um… okay? Good?”

“I should have died in battle.”

Shocked, as if the water’s coldness had simply taken a few minutes to reach her, Pinkie hopped up with a loud splash. “Whoa, whoa, what? No, no you shouldn’t have!”

“These last few days, I have been a burden. I have helped no one, only been a source of depression on the ship. I have clearly outlived my usefulness.”

Pinkie closed her eyes. All she could think was “damn it, damn it, damn it.” “That’s not what I mean, Octavia. No one wants that either.”

“I want that.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“No, come on. I know you better than anypony else, probably, and I know you don’t mean what you just said.”

“How can you know that? You have not done something so horrible as I.”

“Oh yes I have!” Almost. Instead, she just stared at her sister’s silhouette. “The Octavia I know would never wish death on anyone, herself or anyone else. She’s stronger than that.”

Octavia rubbed her face, groaning. “Do not worry. I am not going to kill myself now; I am at least clear enough to avoid that.”

“Well, that’s a relief!” Pinkie said sarcastically. “Gee, that makes me feel soooo much better! How very kind of you to say so!”

Octavia looked at her dolefully.

“Oh, come on,” Pinkie said, the anger evaporating as quickly as it had boiled over. “Look, I know it sucks and all, but war sucks, you know? This situation, right here, all of it, sucks. You think any of us would be here right now if we had a choice? Right here, in the middle of nowhere in freezing water, within shouting distance of some deathtrap castle? Instead of home, in a warm bed, with our other friends and our family. Yeah, you got me, this is the life right here. Hey, maybe tomorrow we’ll get lucky and find another pond to land at, and maybe it won’t be crusted over with scum and mosquito larvae! Maybe the water heater will work long enough for two warm showers, instead of the one that Rarity always hogs.”

Octavia sat back down on her stump.

“Octavia, I get it,” she said, serious again. “Yes, it’s a bad thing to do, and yes, you can’t wash that blood off your hooves, but you can’t let it consume you either. Do you think any of us were talking about giving up when bad stuff happened? When Applejack died, did we throw our hooves in the air, lie down, and let Discord claim us? What about on Thunderhead’s ship, huh? Remember that, trapped in that dumb sigil below the deck? You were the one who saved us from that, if you’d care to recall.”

“I recall.”

“The twister in Fillydelphia? Trottingham, when you grabbed the Astras’ crow? What about all the craziness in Manehattan? Heck, even in Applewood, you gave it your all then too.”

“Please do not bring that up,” Octavia said. “My all was not enough then.”

“Well…” She watched a firefly light on a reed and extinguish itself. “I can tell her, right now, and be done with it.”

“None of that is the same, even Applewood.”

“What happened in Applewood isn’t your fault. There were other things going on.”

“What things?”

“With the dam, when it was sort of looming over us.” A pressure was building inside her chest, and she was shivering, despite the sweater. “I…”

She could unburden herself, admit that she had not moved, not tried, not used a mote of the deep well of magic she knew she had to help, and Octavia, too depressed and wrapped in her own cloak of self-loathing, would accept it with little to no complaint. She could apologize, and admit, both to her sister and herself, that she had let fear take her, that she had no grand idea and no good, if not misguided, reasons for not acting. Fear, bald-faced fear, had been the deciding factor, the blank and powerful shot of emotion that had left the city in flooded ruins.

The pressure constricted, and she imagined the other alternative, of Octavia redirecting that quiet, righteous disdain back to her. Of Octavia getting up and silently walking back to the ship, of there being no more words between them, and then of the other Elements finding out. Frozen out of their lives and probably left to sit on the ship while they dealt with Discord, then dropped off in Ponyville and left to creep back to her old life with no support and no kind words. Exiled, and completely deserving of it.

“You tried your best,” Octavia said. “I know I sound hypocritical when I say so, but it is true. You tried your best. I did not.”

Pinkie breathed out slowly, hating the relief that slowly filled her like expanding, effervescing electricity. Her shivers died away, and she only nodded.

“I wish I had more to offer,” she said.

“As do I,” Octavia said. “You are right, I am being dramatic. I should not be placing these worries on you.”

“No, don’t think like that,” Pinkie said. This time, she was happy to return to Octavia’s old, stale self-pity. “I always have my ears open for this kind of thing, any of us do. Honestly, we wish you talked more.”

“I know.”

“So, are we off that idea of wishing we were dead?”

“Yes. It was momentary melodrama, nothing more. Though I believe I am correct, I will not belabor the point. Life must go on.” Octavia raised her eyes to the distance, where only bare starlight washed across the desert plains. Somewhere beyond, the castle waited, and then Moondrop.

Pinkie followed her gaze, and another firefly drew a tight circle in front of her face.

Faith in Magic

Chapter Eighty-seven

Faith in Magic

Applejack had the airship swinging away from Furnace Creek inside an hour after Pinkie and Rainbow returned from foraging for fresh food in the nearby wood. They returned with saddlebags overflowing with wild berries and mushrooms, and they dried the morning dew off them by placing them in a fat circle around the active torch, like a primitive shrine.

“Bye Furnace Creek! You were good to us!” Pinkie called, leaning over the railing. “So how long ‘til Moondrop?”

“Long,” Twilight said simply. “And between us and it, there’s only a few villages. Girls, I know we’re excited about all this new food, but we still need to be careful. According to this map, the nearest place to restock is four or five days away.”

“Time enough to prepare for the final battle,” Rarity said, brushing her hair as she looked out over the diminishing forest.

“I have a spell to dispel shields now,” Twilight said. “So he won’t be able to just sit there and watch us flounder, like last time.”

“How embarrassing,” Rainbow said.

“Better to learn an’ live than to die magnificently, Ah say,” Applejack said.

“I have a question,” Vinyl said. Her voice was almost lost in the torch’s discharge, and Twilight had to lean in close to hear.

“She wants to know what we’re going to do about Vanilla,” Twilight said.

“Do we think he’s going to be a problem?” Fluttershy asked.

“He will if Discord tells him to,” Rarity said. “And he will, if he has enough time to prepare for us.”

“I personally think we should release him from his binding, if we can.”

“Yer talkin’ crazy. You’d let the likes of him loose?” Applejack asked. “Ah say we send him back to Tartarus, at the very least.”

“He’s no threat to us without Discord’s hold on him.”

“We don’t know that,” Twilight said. “I actually agree with Applejack. We should try to put him back where he came from, if we can do anything at all. And I’m not sure we can.”

“Lemme guess, that kind of magic would be more Luna’s thing, right?” Rainbow asked.

“Well, Dash, since you so kindly asked, it is. But more than that, he’s from Tartarus; banishing him would not be the same as banishing anything from up here.”

“Well, at least you’ve got a couple weeks to read up on it,” Rarity said.

“Or is that too hard too?” Rainbow asked.

“Geez, you’ve got a chip on your shoulder,” Twilight mumbled. “I’ll do it, I’ll study, but I’m not promising anything. We need to have a plan for if Vanilla stays in it until the end.”

“Severing his ties to Discord, then,” Applejack said. “Somehow.”

“Can we silence Discord?” Vinyl asked.

“Silence him?”

“So he can’t give Vanilla any orders.”

“I like that idea better,” Twilight said, looking at Rainbow with a flash of bitterness. “And yeah, I know how to do that.”

Pinkie laughed.

“Shoulda used it on doc back when you had the chance,” Applejack said.

“He was too gentle a soul,” Twilight said. “I feared for his sensibilities.”

“Well, now his sensibilities are in Canterlot,” Rainbow said. “I bet he’s hitting on some rich pony right now.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Applejack said.

It happened right after lunchtime, when the majority of the crew was lounging, napping, or reading. A tiny patch of white cloud coalesced in the shape of a pony and then dissipated, leaving behind the flawless white coat and blue eyes of Discord’s envoy, the friendly ombudspony who walked as if he were welcome, soundless across the deck, around the torch, and down the stairs to rouse those that needed rousing and frighten those alert enough to see his shadow under their doors.

On his ascension of the stairs, he elected to glide and flick his monochrome tail playfully in their faces, pretending a breeze, though none of them had seen one reach him in their months of erratic partnership.

“You sure have a talent for showing up at inopportune times,” Twilight said.

“Which, in our case, is all times,” Applejack said.

“Sure thing,” Vanilla said, coming to rest beside the torch. “I hoped you’d thank me eventually for all this, but I was wrong. Oh well.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rarity asked.

Raising his hooves dramatically, he said, “Meaning I’m done with you all, at least outside my obligatory capacity. I quit. I did what I set out to do, which was empower you. I’ve given you the tools, all I’m willing to give, and now I leave you to it.”

“You’re leaving? Just like that?” Pinkie asked.

“It’s been months, Pinks,” Rainbow said.

“Does that mean it’s harassment only from here on out, and no spells?” Applejack asked. She chuckled. “Not that there’s much of a difference.”

Vanilla flipped his mane prissily and approached Applejack, who stood her ground. He spoke for the entire deck to hear. “I don’t care about you, Applejack.”

“Can we at least talk?” Twilight asked. “We have so many questions.”

“No talking.” He strode back toward the torch. “I’m sure Discord will keep me at your backs just how you suspected I was all along, but that will be all you see of me.” He nodded, his sharp horn pointing right at her face.

“Why?” Twilight asked, stepping forward. “At least tell us that.”

“He didn’t find out about what you were doing, did he?” Fluttershy asked.

“He knows now what he knew from the very beginning, and nothing more,” Vanilla said drily. “I leave because my goal is realized.” He looked into Twilight’s eyes, then Big Mac’s, then Octavia’s. “Why isn’t yours?”

He put his back to them, and through the narrow space between his horn and the torch, those behind saw as the dark smudge that was Draught Castle pulled itself, as if on a conveyor belt, in their direction. The sight was familiar, but not so familiar to not bring a mixture of shocked and frustrated gasps from the ponies. For most, it was more the object of the rushed advance, than the fact of the advance itself; they had seen the castle up close one time, and from far off a few times more, yet knew nothing of what to expect. The single time they had visited, they were repelled outside the first of the three solid walls that kept the structure’s finer shape hidden from outside eyes.

Without noise or ordeal, the ship slowed to its starting speed a quarter mile away from the imposing wall, the tallest of the three concentric stone loops that protected the two-towered castle. No embossment gleamed off the gentle curves, save the evidence of time. It had been a still morning in the skies above Furnace Creek, and that had not changed, but still the castle’s presence seemed to freeze the air, holding all sound out and all breaths in. Birds didn’t fly past, the clouds were still just as the river pieces below. The whole countryside appeared cast in amber, with Draught Castle the giant flaw at its core.

Vanilla, as usual, was nowhere to be seen.

“Back us away, Applejack,” Twilight said quietly. “Nice and slow.”

“Already on it,” Applejack said.

“I am watching for Discord,” Octavia said from the back, where she had stayed for the exchange with Vanilla Cream.

“Me too,” Rainbow said, taking a spot portside.

Applejack, meanwhile, kept her eyes trained on the outer wall’s rim, her concentration split between guiding them away from the castle—a chill ran down her spine as she realized that soon it would be her job to do the precise opposite—and watching for Discord to lope over the top like a guard dog that had jumped its fence.

“Just in case, darling, you said you could dispel shields now?” Rarity asked.

“Yes,” Twilight said.

“Let’s put a mile between us and it, then swing around,” Fluttershy said.

“I see something,” Octavia said. Twilight and Rarity raced to the back and looked. An opaque shadow was scooting across the ground underneath, a simple ovoid chopped up in the long grasses.

“Rarity, get—”

“I know,” Rarity said, crystallizing a shield around their ship.

“If it’s him, Octavia and I will try to chase him off. Applejack, I’ll need you to keep going. Full speed, but only when I say so.” Twilight hated to raise her voice so near the castle.

“Vinyl, come up here,” Fluttershy said, joining the three at the back. Twilight looked at her, but didn’t ask. “You said you were good with lights, right? Do you think you can blind him, if you need to?”

“Umm,” Vinyl murmured. “Never tried to do something like that.”

“But do you think you could?” Rarity asked. “Or a strobe light. You can do that, right?”

“That’ll screw up everything,” Twilight said. “No strobes.”

The shadow angled away and disappeared into a patch of stunted trees.

“He’s going to jump out at us, I know it,” Rarity said.

“I think I can blind him, at least for a little bit,” Vinyl said.

“We should do that after Twilight has dispelled his shield,” Octavia said.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Fluttershy said.

“How’s it going, Applejack?” Twilight asked, not turning around.

“Nervous as anythin’,” Applejack said. “But holdin’ steady.”

“He might just shoot us out of the sky,” Rarity said. “Should we land?”

“We’d be sitting targets,” Twilight said.

“We’re sitting targets right now. We’re moving, what, ten miles per hour? Besides, I don’t want him to hear our engines.”

“Well, based on that shadow down there…” Fluttershy began.

“We can’t jump at every little thing out here,” Twilight said. “Scaring easily can be just as bad as running headlong into danger. Everypony needs to just remain calm. We’ll face each obstacle as it comes.”

“You mean you don’t have a plan?” Fluttershy asked.

“How can I?” she snapped. “Coming here in the first place wasn’t part of any plan any of us had!”

“Hey, I see something,” Rainbow said, her wings braced on the gunwale to let her lean out farther. “I can’t tell if it’s him.”

“Where?” Twilight asked, going to Rainbow’s spot.

“I see it,” Fluttershy said. “It’s glowing.”

Twilight squinted, then saw it, a thread of light weaving in and out of its course parallel to theirs.

“I’m ready,” Rarity said.

“Applejack, we might have company in a second here,” Twilight said. She could hear Big Mac saying “below, below,” and Pinkie’s nervous chatter as the two scurried off the deck.

The thread disappeared in the reflection off a small pond, and Rainbow rushed to the other side while they raked the ground with their eyes.

Twilight studied the land’s topography slowly, focusing on any shadow or shaft of light that seemed unnatural to her—in her state of ready tension, so many were. Her composure, so far, was unbroken, but she didn’t know whether she would be able to hold on to it if Discord were to come out of nowhere. Taking the lead for her friends helped, but the tide of fear inside her did not recede with that fact.

“Are you whistling?” Rarity asked, looking to Octavia.

“Here he comes!” Rainbow yelled, jumping to the deck with her hooves over her head, just as a spear of magic shrieked through the air to slash and clang off Rarity’s shield. It had aimed directly for their balloon.

Above, the spear wheeled and spread, becoming the same brilliant, golden gyre that had attacked Celestia’s shield around the city, until, descending, it landed in the rough form of their enemy on a small cloud that appeared off the ship’s side. There, it reclined and slowly re-formed before Twilight’s eyes.

Discord yawned. “Good to—”

“Shut up!” Twilight cried, taking a quick step forward and igniting her horn in a sudden, intense flash, the magic fueled by adrenaline more than will. Rarity’s shield still rippled, and she stood by the torch with a hoof to her forehead; Discord’s shield, however, crackled and bubbled before evaporating, Twilight’s magenta magic overpowering the gold encasement that kept the draconequus safe and arrogant.

There was a momentary pause, when no one quite knew what to do. “Oh,” Discord said, and let himself fall through the cloud, head before tail like a languid drip of taffy. At the same time, there was a flash below, and a ball of energy zigzagged up at them, exploding in a shower of sparks on Rarity’s shield and wrenching a cry of pain from the white unicorn.

On the other side, Discord shot back upwards, his body a variegated ribbon of brown and yellow, his sides gilded with magic. He stretched longer and longer like a watch chain held from a divine hypnotist’s hooves.

“Twilight, I can’t take much more,” Rarity said, obviously ashamed. She wiped sweat from her brow as Twilight ran to the other side and grabbed Discord’s elongating tail in a ball of magic.

“Full speed, Applejack,” Twilight shouted, trying to yank Discord down. “Get us out of here!”

He strained and wiggled in her grasp, and she had to let him go with a snap and a few more sparks of magic off his tail tip.

Twilight coughed. “He’ll have his shield back up by now. I’ll dispel it again, then hold him for you, Octavia.”

“What about me?” Vinyl asked. Twilight didn’t hear, and Vinyl tapped her. She looked up in time to see Discord curving far off in the opposite band of sky, a huge but slender cedilla under a halo of flashing magic.

Rarity screamed, and with a flash, her shield was broken apart. The magic effervesced as it dissipated, little silver stars lighting on the deck and their heads, simple static electricity. Above, a smaller collection of wan, green stars sizzled and turned over one another, under each a needle-thin tongue of silver flame, only to swiftly scatter and vanish across the deck like mist.

Over Discord’s head, his disc of magic whirred and spun, a catastrophic cartwheel as he sped toward them, closer and closer, faster and faster.

“Applejack!” Octavia shouted, rushing to the gunwale and throwing her first explosion out at him, which, as predicted, glanced off his shield harmlessly. Applejack, dead eyed at the wheel, could not reply.

Twilight, mind racing, turned a quick circle for inspiration to a solution. By sight, she could see that the coming magic attack would put any of their shields under in a single swing. Her eyes stopped on a cable that held the balloon in place, and she sighed. “Sorry about this,” she whispered as she sighted each tether, then the balloon itself.

“Twilight,” Fluttershy said.

“Quiet, and get ready to move.” Her horn, a purple firebrand in her forehead, glowed again, and the tethers untied as one in an air-piercing twang. Outcry filled her numbing ears as she grabbed the bowsprit and rudder—only those, for taking the extreme points on the ship was less magic-intensive than enveloping the entire craft—and then, with a look upward that made her head swim, the balloon, catching it on a sudden rise and tucking it into her magical space, once dedicated only to their luggage. The relief was short-lived. Level, they raced at the ground while Discord’s magic shredded the air over their heads, and Twilight emptied the rest of her will into slowing them down. They had avoided the attack, but were still in free fall.

Applejack’s body slumped and slid against the rails while Rarity screamed and Rainbow, who had instinctively flared her wings at the first sign of falling, raced to catch up to them. Vinyl hunkered, lips moving soundlessly. Twilight’s vision was tunneling, and she could not hear her friends. Keeping the balloon inside her tight magical space, keeping her grip on the points of the airship, and then slowing their fall was all she could handle. They would have to trust that she knew what she was doing.

When they touched down, she fell to the deck and let the balloon expand like an exorcised spirit from her horn, catching it and holding it above them in her telekinesis. Her vision was not returning, but her hearing was, and she could hear her friends slowly realizing what had happened, and then realizing that it had bought them almost no time at all. Discord was diving down on them.

“Off the ship! Off the ship!” Octavia bellowed, racing to put down the ramp.

“We’ll make our stand on the ground,” Rarity said, helping Twilight up and guiding her to the ramp.

Twilight shook her head, even the simple telekinesis hurting her head. “No, not all of us.”

“Darling—”

“Go, go!” Octavia shouted, and Discord bodily slammed into a faint shield, breaking it and flopping off onto the ground like a thrown fish. Rarity’s face was clammy with sweat, and her eyes were unfocused as she helped Twilight down to the grass, where she collapsed.

“Balloon,” Twilight said, letting Vinyl help her back up.

“What about it?” Rainbow gasped, landing beside her.

“I can’t hold on.”

“Reattach the balloon!” Octavia called, her voice echoing faintly in Twilight’s ears. “Applejack!”

“Twilight, let it go,” Applejack called from above. “Fluttershy’s holdin’ on to it fer ya.”

“Twilight,” Discord’s voice mocked from elsewhere. “Twilight?”

“Twilight, can you hear me?” Octavia asked.

Twilight released the last of her magic and let the balloon go, light once again reaching her eyes. She could see many of the others crowding around her, while Fluttershy braced against the gunwale, her eyes fixed upwards, and Applejack once again herself, moving about the deck with quick intent.

“He’s right there,” Rainbow said. “What do we do?”

“Twilight?” Rarity asked.

“I’m out,” Twilight said, weakly shaking her head.

“Me too, mostly.”

“We will head him off,” Octavia said, prodding Vinyl and racing to the ship’s front.

“Can you stand?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m fine,” Twilight said, brushing herself off. Octavia’s explosions rocked through the air a second later, and she heard Applejack shout at her. “Not so close to the ship!”

“I say we lead him away and let them get back into the air, then try to get back on board,” Rarity said.

“That plan sucks,” Rainbow said.

“Better than nothing,” Twilight said, closing her eyes for a second of respite. “Celestia help us.”

“I’m coming too,” Fluttershy said, floating down from the deck. Behind her, Applejack was securing the balloon and checking the torch, and shouted at Big Mac’s head, just visible from where Twilight stood, to get back below. “Rainbow, get back up and spot for them. They’ll need your eyesight to not lose track of us.”

“Heck no, Fluttershy!” Rainbow said. Another blast deafened them, and a flurry of flashes popped form the other side of the ship. Discord cackled.

“No, she’s right,” Twilight said. “This is going to get a lot worse before it gets better, I think. Applejack can’t watch us and guide the ship at the same time.”

Rainbow hesitated, but another explosion prompted her to jump up and arc over the rail.

“Take off, go! Watch for us!” Twilight shouted up at Applejack’s face, momentarily hovering over the gunwale, etched with fear. It vanished without a question.

“I can do maybe one more shield, maybe,” Rarity said. “But—”

With a sharp smack of magic on magic, a body careened out from behind the ship to land in an unhurt but breathless heap in a bush. Vinyl hopped up and raced back, her goggles askew.

“Twilight!” Octavia shouted.

Twilight, Rarity, and Fluttershy ran around to them, chests heaving and backs glistening in the afternoon sun. Octavia, panting, dodged and ducked Discord’s flailing attacks, always backing away but throwing her own explosions at his feet whenever she could. Ball lightning snarled and snapped all around them and from the tips of his talons and horns, little blue sparks that danced and wobbled. In his eyes, there was no glee or playfulness. He moved as if possessed, a mobile come to life, his double and triple-jointed limbs swinging and swiveling at wild, ever-changing angles. Trails of electricity followed the lightning in his fists, larger spheres of energy that strobed and made his mad dance into a mad slideshow. His feet stomped the ground with an off-beat patter.

The ship sighed as it parted from the grass, and Twilight, some of her magic reserves returning, rushed him, her dispel spell already bubbling right behind her horn, achingly conscious and intended, like a response held back. He twirled in place, one arm telescoping out to drag across the ground and catch Octavia, watching from what she thought a safe distance, on the side of the head with a thick, meaty slap. She went down with a breathy cry, and Twilight released her spell, once again breaking his shield apart and leaving him undefended in the fields outside his home.

Twilight jumped to the side, anticipating an attack to come straight for her, and kept hopping toward his unguarded back, trying to conjure something stronger than the bludgeon she had initially planned. She wanted him injured, not insulted.

Rarity cried Twilight’s name as Discord whirled upon her, fire leaping from his paw in a rapid, churning cataract that missed by enough to only singe Twilight’s tail. “Shoot,” she mumbled, her thoughts defaulting back to telekinesis, the magic she most often used. Grabbing his arm, she yanked it back and twisted downward, forcing him to the ground—he had not prepared for that appendage to stretch just then, Twilight thought with a satisfied grin. He skidded across the ground and, with a jerk back, broke free of the spell, but Twilight was ready, catching him with another to pull him forward by the neck. She could see Octavia getting to her hooves with Fluttershy’s help, and the dark anger in Octavia’s eyes. Twilight might be tired, but Octavia was not; she needed to make sure Discord forgot that.

“Twilight, you’re beginning to frustrate me,” Discord growled, breaking free once more with a hair-raising crack, as if each of his many vertebrae were snapping into place. He faced her, and in that instant, Octavia was on him, pummeling him with a chain of explosions that punctuated the air, cushions of sound that seemed to physically press on Twilight’s ear drums as she dashed to the side. Discord was stumbling and stuttering directly to her, shoved rudely by Octavia’s magic, and though he tried to turn back to her, the magic was pouring out too quickly for him to regain his balance. With a final, lower boom that caught him in the middle of his six feet of midsection, Discord’s feet left the grass, pedaling as he hit the ground, the air audibly escaping his lungs.

Octavia did not stop. Everyone watched, frozen, as she jumped onto his chest, hitting him once in the face with a powerful forehoof, then flying back with a cry. Just like him, she landed on her back, her chest fur singed and her nose bleeding. Discord slithered and circled himself quickly, standing up and knocking Twilight back with a quick, expanding shield that she tried and failed to dispel on the spot.

“Okay,” Discord said, breathing hard, looking down at the ground. No taunts twinkled in his eyes.

Straightening and throwing his arms wide, the shield slid back into him, covering his skin for a second like a thin slime. Twilight could only watch, willing her magic to replenish, while Octavia got up and started toward him again at a trot. Vinyl still stood back with Fluttershy, observing, determined, but to do what Twilight couldn’t tell.

Under Discord’s feet, the grass died and smoked, and the air began to shimmer around him. He glowed, at first it appeared only with the golden, autumnal magic that was his sign, but then with heat. Twilight backed away, and Octavia stopped her advance as his weak yellow skin deepened and the heat grew. His arms still open wide, as if to embrace the sunlight that his color so resembled, Discord threw his head back in exultation. Smoke billowed off his shoulders; all down his back; off his wings, spread apart like twin sides of a holy shield; and out of his face. Saw teeth of fire wavered eagerly in the grass where he stood, contributing their darker smoke to his rising column.

“Come closer,” Discord said, his voice a sluggish monotone, a lazy beckon that filled the air. A smaller explosion sent him wheeling back, but he regained his balance easily and looked at Octavia, his eyes bright metal dribbles inside his misshapen skull. He paused, and everyone backed up a step. The wreath of flames fanned outwards for a moment preceding his rejoinder.

With a roar that tore out of his chest and throat and sent smoke streaming out in straight, thin ropes, his yellow body scintillated into near-white, and he ran. The forge-like heat buffeted them in a single wave that washed over immediately and sent them scattering, the beginnings of a prairie fire following at his heels. The sound was almost as bad as the heat; it was as though his voice, too, had been turned to fire and then stoked too high. Twilight thought she could see fire fluttering inside his mouth when she stole a look over her shoulder. No longer flesh and blood, Discord bore down like an escaped train, all of its uncontrolled energy with nowhere to go but out, his alien howl a hollow, metallic reflection of the single-minded inferno inside him.

In the thunder of his footsteps and his breathless, chimneylike bellow, Twilight discerned a question that would stick with her for months to come: “Is this what you came for?”

At the start of the fight, she could have doused him, could have at least cooled his body enough to let someone else get a good shot in. As she was, she could only run, terrified of tripping over her own hooves, knowing it would be her end. She could feel her tail and hindquarters singing and blistering, and expected worse with each passing second, unable to look back without losing speed. She expected a rope of molten metal to drape over her back, or a bonfire to spring up just below her, or a simple cannonball of flame to engulf her. All were plausible.

To her side, Octavia had doubled back and was rocking with the exertion of her magic, hitting him with explosion after explosion to no apparent effect. Discord had deviated to run straight for her, the others meanwhile racing in a wide circle to Twilight, who stopped for a second. Not far off, the airship hovered noisily.

“Let’s have Applejack come in and ram him,” Rarity said, gasping for air. “That’ll give him something to think about.”

“We’re not destroying the ship,” Twilight said. “Just give me a minute, and I can do something else.”

Vinyl said something, but Twilight didn’t hear.

“Octavia can’t stay like that,” Fluttershy said.

“She’s going to kill herself if she doesn’t get out,” Rarity said. Not a moment after the words left her lips, Octavia turned around and tried to gallop away, but she was visibly winded, and did not put much distance between herself and Discord, still unerringly following her, but slower.

“Can you heal from a distance?” Vinyl asked Fluttershy, who shook her head.

Without a word, Twilight took off toward the two, pursuer and pursued, and Rarity gasped. “Do you think she can do anything?”

Fluttershy watched, remembering the first night, powerless to stop herself. While the others ran forward to fight, she had to stay behind, unable to attack meaningfully, or too afraid, but still aching to do something. Through the entire exchange, she had watched for a chance to dive in and offer her magic—a not insignificant amount, she needed to remind herself.

Twilight’s stunt with the airship had reminded her of the way they had fallen from their tiny hot air balloon to the palace balcony, the site she knew would never quit their memories. The soldiers that attacked them right after: that one, defining moment of impulsivity whose implications could in no way have been anticipated or prepared for. She remembered Spike, and his cruel, meaningless death. The failure in Applewood, the Tornado, the crow, and the litany of other near-misses and outright mistakes that had marked their journey.

Leaving Rarity and Vinyl behind with neither word nor significant look, Fluttershy ran and took to the air, moving her wings harder and faster than she had in recent memory. Unlike Twilight, unlike them all, she had a plan; it had appeared like a spark off Discord’s body as she recalled more and more of their faltering, fumbling attempts at heroism, and her own small role of healer throughout. Octavia had been right all along: there really was no excuse.

She had barely used her magic in the fight. Her one act had been to hold the balloon in place while Applejack tied it down: enough to warm her up and no more. She felt an unfamiliar but pleasant welling in her chest as the healing magic, hers and Vanilla’s both, flowed through and out, curtaining her body like a second cushion of air. She was still far enough away to allow one magical misfire without pain, but her magic came to her and took hold across her body correctly the first time.

Discord looked up and noticed Twilight first, who tried to dodge to the side, only to receive a kick in the chest, shielded. Smoke and cinders rolled off his shoulders like a supervillain’s cape, and then he looked at Fluttershy, his sun-bright face a mess of contours and angles, changing and rearranging like shattered glass in a sinkhole.

Fluttershy’s magic was almost a tangible thing, forming in front of her face and flowing back over her in a sharp, vortical cone. The pain that had, up to that point, been growing was washed away then; she felt immersed in water. No heat reached her, and with it no fear as she drew closer and closer to his still incomprehensible face. Perhaps, she thought, he was blinded by his own light and could not see the protective magic that kept her whole. Or perhaps, she thought an instant later, he was waiting until she was upon him to somehow break her healing spell.

It was too late to worry. She closed the distance and was suddenly there, the suggestions of pain finally reaching through her concentrated magic to prick and poke at her flesh, needles that lanced and scratched her skin and left only traces of a chapped, ashen sensation as they swirled away in her radiating magic. Smoke and sound filled her eyes and ears, and she was truly with him, touching the conflagrative heart of chaos and battering its faceless head with hooves and wings. Each strike was akin in feeling to slipping her limbs in and out of boiling water: too quick to hurt, too hot to ignore.

The face rearranged itself back into a semblance of the eyes, mouth, and nose arrangement that she knew, and Discord started backing away, raising his arms to try to grab her or slap her out of the air. She could feel his talons breaking apart and re-forming across her back as she threw her weight around in front of his face, the feeling like enduring a too-hot shower. Either his temperature was still growing, or her magic was diminishing, and she could not tell in that moment which was the case. As when healing a particularly difficult or large wound, her notion of magic potential was eclipsed under the seldom-seen willpower that still had potential to frighten her, so rarely did it appear. She was operating on instinct and emotion, the plan gone, though realized all the same.

Someone was shouting her name, but the towering inferno was too much. Her heavy breathing, her wings pumping far past the point of comfort, and the crackle of burning magic had created a pocket of sensory deprivation, in which all Fluttershy knew was the steadily rising pain all around her body and the smoldering beast that it was her job to fend off.

Something pulled her back, and she struggled, thinking he had finally gotten a hold of her. The pull turned into a swift tug, and she tumbled back and away into a painful drop to the ground, where she was dragged back. Her skin seared and her eyes were useless, coated in multi-hued afterimages that turned her friends’ hustling forms into psychedelic silhouettes behind the smoke she could still see before her. Her ears were ringing.

“Onto the ship, let’s go!” Rarity cried, and Fluttershy stood up and flew, her wings burning as much from overuse as from overexposure, over the rail. A flash of teleportation burst beside her, and Twilight and Vinyl appeared on the deck, the former collapsing again and the latter hastening to pull someone away from the ramp. Engines roared and propellers shook, and they turned up and away, leaving behind a dimming, cooling, confused-looking Discord, his face finally its original shape and wearing a dazed expression. He swayed where he stood, and Rainbow, laughing insanely, spat off the side.

“Fluttershy? Can you hear me?” Rarity asked, her concerned face filling Fluttershy’s eyes. Fluttershy nodded.

“Twilight needs help,” Octavia said, sitting down by the unicorn and trying to examine her. “I think she has lost consciousness.”

“Why the heck did she teleport?” Applejack asked, looking back from the wheel, which she sorely wanted to abandon to help her friends.

“Shit, he’s still moving down there,” Rainbow said, and Fluttershy stumbled to the rail to watch. Discord had regained his composure and was chasing after them, in his lion paw another glowing ball of magic. With a pause, a turn, and a powerful swing, he threw his parting shot up in a tremendous parabola, a rainbow arch, a glinting golden swoop that whistled jauntily as it sped straight for their ship and broke apart like a heated vial on the deck. The magic sputtered and spread like an oil slick, but then sunk into the floorboards and was gone. When they looked back down, Discord was standing where they left him, waving.

By the time they had reached the segmented river that bent around Draught Castle and eventually made its way down toward Moondrop, Twilight had woken up, Fluttershy had recovered her sight, and Rarity was able to perform enough simple magic to help her tend to wounds. Both were mostly unharmed, though Rarity complained of an intermittent headache, and Fluttershy kept having to turn away for coughing fits. Smoke inhalation, she figured.

Though Twilight had shielded Discord’s kick, she had not done so completely, and had sustained a small spray of pinhole burns across her chest. Octavia had the worst of it. She hadn’t noticed anything special during the fight, but safely back on the ship, it didn’t take long for her to find that her ear hurt much worse than it should for having simply been hit on the side of her head. No special insight was needed to tell her what was wrong. She complained of not hearing right, and Rainbow was the one to deliver the diagnosis.

“Uhh, yeah, it’s barely there, Octavia.”

Fluttershy would not be able to cast any healing magic for the rest of the day, at least, so they cleaned what was left of Octavia’s ear with water and a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide that one of them had brought along in a first-aid kit, then bandaged it, all of which Octavia bore silently. On her gray head and beside her darker gray mane, the off-white bandage completed a grisly monochrome tableau that, of them all, seemed to offend Octavia the least.

“We’ll rest at the river and turn back towards Moondrop, takin’ care to avoid that damn fortress of his this time,” Applejack said. “Objections?”

“Take us away, captain,” Pinkie said sadly. She kept looking at Octavia’s ear, as if not believing what she saw.

“What about that magic he hit us with right at the end? Was that a whiff, or should we be worried about some kind of trick?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight, propped up on a pillow they had gotten from the cabin, was leafing through one of her books. “I’m trying to research what it could have been based on how it looked.”

“Can you not do any more magic today?”

“No, I actually can’t, Rainbow Dash.”

“Hey, I’m really asking. Sorry.”

Twilight rubbed her eyes. “Sorry, I’m not feeling right. I guess none of us are.” She looked up at Big Mac, who stood by the torch, looking pensive. “You okay, Big Mac?”

“Ah have somethin’ to say. Well, the glamour does.”

“We’re not going back there,” Rarity said. “If that’s what you’re going to say.”

“How about we just let him talk?” Vinyl said, horn aglow with a mauve light.

“Sorry, dear. Please, what is it?”

Big Mac stepped away from the torch, all eyes on him. “Yer not gonna like hearin’ this, an’ Ah don’t like sayin’ it. Ah would wait, but this can’t wait.” He took a deep breath. “Here goes. Ah don’t know why, before any of ya ask, but we need to go back to Canterlot.”

“What? Why?” Rainbow blurted, and Rarity glared at her.

“Alls Ah know is what my gut’s tellin’ me, and it’s tellin’ me we gotta go back. Not soon, neither, but now. We gotta get there fast as we can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Applejack said. “We just got outta there, an’ we’re one Element away.”

Big Mac shrugged elaborately. “Ah can’t explain it, but it’s what Ah’m feelin’.”

“Well, will we have time to stop for the night, at least?” Twilight asked. “We could use a break.”

Big Mac thought for a long time, his face returning to its pensive, downcast look. “Ah think so.”

Twilight flipped a page with her hoof. “Let’s wait until we’ve landed to talk about this more.” She looked at Octavia as she spoke, contemplating the red bandage on her head. She wanted to be more compassionate; she felt bad for not jumping up and fawning over Octavia’s wound like Fluttershy had, but the energy simply wasn’t there. She looked back down to her book and scanned the page, not really reading, instead mulling over the fight. Her big idea, uncoupling the balloon from the ship for a fast drop, had felt like it came out of nowhere when she had it, but she knew that it hadn’t. It was the same thing she had done to save them on their first night, flying to Canterlot; that was where the idea had come from, and many other things with it. In the noise of the battle, they were lost, but in the calm on the ship, Twilight had time to explore each individual one.

And so she did. Hooves traipsed about before her reclining, but not relaxed eyes, while she relived that night. It had started with the letter, the urgent missive that woke her up and set her running through sleeping Ponyville, waking her reluctant friends.

The interminable wait while the hot air balloon filled up. The attempt to find out what was going on in Canterlot, the weight of ignorance as they rose into the sky, and then the shock that pushed them to go faster when they saw what had come to the capital city. It had started half a year ago, and, in her private thoughts on the ship’s deck, Twilight was still there. She did not feel the fear or urgency that came with a true flashback, only the smoldering regret of memory. That, she knew from her research, would never go away.

Her friends moving along with their senses of duty and of place on the airship: that was not natural. Rainbow watching from the rail, still expecting a surprise attack: that was not normal. Applejack’s brother giving direction, empowered by foreign magic that he did not understand: not normal. And Twilight looking back through the seemingly endless chain of dark nights, of hard decisions, to the cold spark that had shot it all off: not right. One night, one mistake, was all it took. She had known who to blame at one point, but it did not seem to matter to her anymore. She just watched.

She turned a page and lowered her gaze to prolong the illusion of research. She watched out of the tops of her eyes as Vinyl removed Octavia’s bandage and dabbed at the wound with a wet cloth, but no pity stirred inside her heart. She wondered whether she would ever be moved by such a demonstration again, and, if not, when she had lost that part of herself.

Rarity wore her sleeping mask at the dim campfire, beset with a migraine that surprised no one. She sat between Octavia and Applejack, who would occasionally reach behind and rub her back. Rainbow and Twilight faced south, toward the castle, lost in the distance but still too close by their reckoning. Vinyl tended the fire, and Big Mac returned with another mouthful of twigs to keep it alive during the night. They had slacked off in recent times, but there would be a night watch for this one. Octavia volunteered to take the first shift.

They had landed in a shallow dell between two wide, short mountains, a grassy valley that curved and cramped up on a sharp rise to afford them a wide view of the empty plains to the south and the ruffled horizon to the north, the mountains that stood between them and the swamps. The cirrus clouds were stained pomegranate red in the sunset, their fluffy shapes reminding many of the mares of the prairie fire that had sprung up underneath Discord’s burning feet. Blue foxgloves bobbed their heads in a light breeze.

“So, what’s in Canterlot?” Rainbow asked.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Big Mac said.

“Now, I have a concern,” Rarity said. “Simply observing the timing here, you must admit that it’s curious. For all intents and purposes, it appears we bested Discord this time.”

“Escaped him. We only escaped him,” Twilight said.

“In my book, that is bestin’ him, at least until we get that last dang Element,” Applejack said. “But Ah get yer point.”

“Either way,” Rarity continued, blinded face turned to the fire, “we did something he did not want or expect. We have him unbalanced, at the very least.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Vanilla Cream controls the glamour, and Discord controls him. Is it not out of the question that Big Mac could have been given a false impulse, to misdirect us?”

“Twilight, I think this one’s for you,” Rainbow said.

“I’m thinking,” Twilight said. “Sorry, right, the glamour. Um, it would be difficult. Glamours aren’t something you can really change on the fly like that. Vanilla would have to come in and put a second one on Big Mac.”

“Could he have?” Fluttershy asked.

“I’m not going to say ‘no,’ but I’m going to say probably not. Nobody saw him at any point during the fight, did they?”

“I wasn’t exactly paying attention to what was going on on the deck,” Rainbow said.

“He didn’t appear,” Pinkie said. “Big Mac and I were together the whole time, and Vanilla didn’t show up. Not a peep.”

“Coulda been that magic Discord hurled up at us,” Applejack said.

“I think that’s far more likely,” Twilight said. “But we won’t know that until tomorrow, at the least.” She tapped her horn; even that hurt.

“Is there any way we can help you know what it is?” Fluttershy asked Big Mac. “Any sort of questions, or things we can say to sort of… tease it out of you?”

Big Mac simply rolled his eyes.

“He doesn’t know,” Vinyl said. “Can we leave it at that? It’s not like he chooses when to receive these revelations.”

Big Mac put a hoof on hers, and she blushed.

“Hey, we’re cool,” Rainbow said. “But this is important. You get that, right, Big Mac?”

“Sure,” he said.

“What’s in Canterlot right now?” Rarity asked. “Let’s start this way. Maybe we can hack away at the main question a little.”

“The princesses, probably,” Applejack said. “It’s probably them.”

“A reasonable assumption,” Twilight said. “So why would we need to physically go to them, and not, say, write a letter?”

“This is stupid,” Rainbow said. “I already know we’re not gonna get anywhere like this. Canterlot’s a big place. Most likely, Mac’s thinking about something small and random that’s gonna happen to us, or that we’re gonna have to do.”

“You don’t know the nature of the thing, do you?” Pinkie asked Big Mac, who shook his head.

Rarity’s brow furrowed. “I have an idea.”

“Not a good one,” Big Mac grumbled.

“I’ll make it simple for you, dear.” She sighed through her nose. “Tell us what it is we’re flying towards in Canterlot, or else I’ll abandon this quest.”

“What?” Rainbow asked.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Applejack mumbled.

“Threats like that don’t work if you don’t mean ‘em,” Big Mac said.

“Oh?” Rarity simpered. “And who’s to say I don’t mean this one?”

“Ah am, ‘cause Ah know you.” Vinyl, quick to notice the tiny rise in his voice, slapped her tail back over his. “An’ that kinda talk ain’t gonna help any of us, so Ah think you’d better just cut it out right now.”

Rarity looked down. “I figured it was worth a try.”

Big Mac surveyed them. “Ah’m gettin’ tired of this.”

“Oh, Big Mac, I understand,” Fluttershy said.

“Mm-hm. Ya know, the more you try to force it out of me, the less an’ less you’ll get from me.”

“We’ve known that for forever, Rarity,” Rainbow said. “His glamour’s delicate.”

“It’s me, dag-nabbit!” he shouted. Raised, his voice was massive, flattening all of their ears like one of Octavia’s blasts. He stopped for a moment, nostrils flaring. “Ah ain’t yer crystal ball or yer precog or nothin’. Ya got that? Ah ain’t nothin’ to this setup of yers. Yer treatin’ me like one of Twilight’s books, to be opened any old time an’ researched at yer convenience, an’ whenever Ah say that Ah don’t know, that’s what Ah mean. It don’t mean try harder.” He got up abruptly and began to pace behind his stone seat. “If ya keep tryin’ to squeeze information outta me, yer gonna lose me, ‘cause sooner or later it’s gonna get to the point where Ah say glamour be damned, an’ Ah jump ship at the nearest town.”

“Would it let you do that?” Octavia asked.

Big Mac turned to her, and everyone braced themselves for another flare. “Miss Octavia, if Ah ain’t the master of my own self anymore, then Ah may as well walk out right now.” He thought for a second. “Ah ain’t gonna be an empty vessel.”

“Okay, Big Mac,” Twilight said calmly, holding up a hoof. “Let’s settle down. Please take a seat.”

He glared at her, but returned to his rock.

“No one’s going to try to make you do what you can’t do, okay?”

Rarity moved to speak, but Fluttershy put an arresting hoof on her leg.

“You have to understand how scared we all are, and this new thought of yours coming right after a big fight, too.”

“Maybe it’s just a matter of faith,” Pinkie said.

“This isn’t some divine blessing we’re talking about,” Rarity said. “It’s a piece of unwelcome Tartarus magic.”

“That’s only ever put us on the right path.” She crept over to Big Mac, who glowered at the proceedings, turned pointedly away from Vinyl. “Big Mac, I’m sorry. I trust you.” He sighed. “If he didn’t have the old glamour on, why would he still be here? You heard him, he’s thought about calling it quits. Why hasn’t he?”

“I mean…”

“What kind of friendship is this, anyway? We don’t use each other like him, so what’s so special? Huh? Nopony pressured me to use my Pinkie Sense, back when I had it.” No one answered her. “Huh? Huh? Was mine different or something? Some kind of special case? Heck no! Besides, if this glamour is such a bad thing in the end, then why are we fighting about it? Let’s just ignore it.”

“If we let it distract us, then it did its job, huh?” Rainbow said. “Crap, Big Mac.”

“I’m sorry, Big Mac,” Twilight said. “You’re both one hundred percent right. We’ve been insensitive.”

“I trust you, Big Mac,” Pinkie said, patting his back.

“Me too,” Vinyl said, leaning awkwardly to hug him.

“I trust,” Twilight said. “Pinkie makes a strong point.”

Applejack was chewing her lip. In the waning sunset, her eyes were rubicund pools, the same color as her brother’s coat. Evident on her face was the skepticism, the warring mistrust of Vanilla’s glamour and inherent faith in her brother’s judgment. “We’ll cast off fer Canterlot tomorrow, Ah guess.”

“I’d still like us to be prepared for whatever’s going to happen there,” Rarity said. “Er, and I am sorry too, Big Macintosh.” She raised her sleep mask for a second, but lowered it with a grimace. “I was out of line, as usual.”

“It’s understandable,” Big Mac said. “Given what Ah am.”

“Now now, no need for a pity party,” Pinkie said.

He stood up again and raised a hoof. “No one needs to follow me. Ah’m comin’ back, but not fer a while.” He walked out into the fields, south, in the direction of the castle. “Got some thoughts to sort out.”

******

In a circle, with the black pegasus, Soft Spirit, at the head and on a higher seat to see everyone easily, they sat and nodded like a bunch of idlers reaching the same conclusion at the same time. She opened the session with an easy, soft question, to prompt conversation, and then the stories and opinions began flowing.

To Colgate’s immediate left, the snaggle-toothed unicorn that everyone knew as Flame quivered and constantly shifted his weight in his seat, looking anxiously over at the yellow unicorn on her right, Gold Splatter. He talked too loud about how he was always afraid he was hurting his friends’ feelings, and the one time when he actually had, how it had crushed him.

“What happened?” Soft Spirit asked, her eyes large in his, her face welcoming and inquisitive.

“Well, uh, the thing is…” He licked his lips, and Colgate noticed that obnoxious stud again. She wanted to say something, and almost did. “It was like a, like a big thing, you know, like nopony wanted it to happen that way, right? That’s just how it goes, how sometimes things don’t go the way you want ‘em to, that’s how this went, how we were all just trying to pull a prank on him, but it went too far and I said some nasty things, real world-class nasty, you know?”

She nodded as if the interminable rise and fall in his monologue were completely natural.

“Uhhh, but you know, you can’t take that kinda stuff back, no ma’am, none of that, so here I am, and you know I just kinda thought about it after, you know like how crappy a thing that is to do to somebody, and how not meaning it kinda makes it worse ‘cause it means you’re just naturally able to do that kind of crappy thing, like I didn’t even have to try, I just did it and it felt easy and funny and, you know, almost natural, like I didn’t even have to try, you know?”

Flame squirmed on Colgate’s other side, and she wanted to smack him.

“Uh-huh.” Soft Spirit was nodding. “Flame, you look upset. Is there something on your mind?”

“Go ahead, Flame,” Gold Splatter said, eyes wide with realized contrition, voice at a reasonable volume.

“No, it’s just… that kind of reminded me of something,” Flame said, his voice a welcome break from Gold Splatter’s. He spoke low and did not enunciate, but he was almost calm. Colgate could feel herself palpably relaxing as he spoke.

“What’s that?” another patient asked. Her name was Butter Biscuits, an older, overweight pegasus with a sunburn-pink coat and long locks of dirty blonde mane over her very round head. Colgate had seen her a few times in the common area and taken an immediate dislike. Her laugh made Colgate’s fur stand on end.

Flame twisted his hoof on the tile floor, looking down, forming his words. No one pushed him, and he eventually spoke. “I’ve just been in a similar situation, is all.”

“Luna damn it,” Colgate thought, throwing a frown at an innocent earth pony on the other side of the circle. Getting Flame to say something specific was almost as hard as getting Gold Splatter to stop talking. How much patience must the counselors have, she wondered.

“Were you on the giving end, or the receiving end?” Butter Biscuits asked, and Flame bowed his head. He said no more, save an inarticulate mumble. Soft Spirit clearly knew better than to push it, and moved on.

“What about you, Fresh Linens? You’ve been quiet today.”

Everyone thought of Fresh Linens as Rarity’s earth pony counterpart. Her coat was almost the same shade of sparkling white, her mane curled a little too tight but very close to the real article of baroque spirals, royal purple by nature, not dye; it had not faded in her time in the facility. How she was able to maintain her appearance, Colgate didn’t know.

Fresh Linens, however, was no lady. “I guess when I ended up leaving my third wife, that was pretty bad. She told me I’d never amount to anything, that I’d always be some sort of third-rate hussy, and I was like ‘oh yeah, those are some strong words coming from the lady who shoplifted that designer saddlebag’—she did, too, I heard about it from Silk River, she’s a real sneak.” She shook her head. “It got ugly. Not, like, hitting ugly, but we’re not on speaking terms. Not that I’d want to be with her, she’s so clingy.”

“Did she make you feel inadequate?” Soft Spirit asked. “Like you couldn’t be trusted?”

“Well, first of all, she’s the one who can’t be trusted, but she was real clingy, yeah,” Fresh Linens said, shaking her head. Colgate raised a hoof.

“What is it, Colgate?” Soft Spirit asked.

“You said ‘third’ wife. What happened to the first two?” Colgate asked. Of all of participants in the session, Fresh Linens was her favorite.

“First one was a gambler, second one died in a carriage accident,” Fresh Linens said. “You know the story,” she said, nodding to Soft Spirit.

“How soon after the second one did you find your third one?”

“Colgate, is this relevant?” Soft Spirit asked.

Colgate glared at her, but Soft Spirit didn’t flinch.

“I never had a wife or a husband or anything,” Gold Splatter said. “I wish I could sometime, either or, heck, I’m not choosy, I just want—oh! Sorry.” He held a hoof to his mouth.

“It’s fine, darling,” Fresh Linens said, though her tense body in the seat suggested otherwise.

“Let’s get back on topic,” Soft Spirit said. “Who here thinks it’s a good thing to move on from the past?”

A ring of hooves slowly rose into the air, one after the other, all hesitant.

“Let me tell you a story,” Soft Spirit continued. “There was a pony I knew, let’s call her Miss Hooves, a long time ago. We were friends in high school, and then on-and-off in college. Miss Hooves had her whole life ahead of her: straight A’s, varsity polo team, loving, supporting marefriend, the whole thing. As sometimes happens in college, we grew apart a little. Nothing happened, we just didn’t really stay together. That’s natural. We went our separate ways, and then, a year later, I heard she was trying for a foal. I congratulated her— already had one at the time, a colt—and we reconnected briefly. She said to me once that she was jealous of me, and I was shocked. ‘You, jealous of me?’ I asked. Seemed to me, she had everything a pony could ever want.”

Gold Splatter wiggled in his seat, trying to restrain himself from breaking in with his own lengthy insight.

“She got real serious then, way more serious than I’d ever seen her, even for all the time we’d spent together. She told me she was barren, that she couldn’t have any foals, and that she’d known for a long time. Apparently, she’d tried years ago, and hadn’t had any then either, and she was hiding it from her wife.”

“Oh no,” another unicorn said. Her dark, sleepless eyes were wide with empathy.

“I told her she should probably tell her about it, and she said no, she couldn’t. ‘Why?’ I asked. She couldn’t stand to, she couldn’t stand to tell the truth, it was too painful for her. She said she’d been living with that since our first year of college, but couldn’t ever accept it. And when I looked into her eyes then, I saw that misery, that same fear of going on, of acceptance, that we’re talking about today. She had been that way all through college, plus a marriage, six years total, and never told anypony. And she was miserable.”

“That poor mare,” Fresh Linens said.

“What happened to her?” Flame asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Soft Spirit said. “I never heard from her after that, or her wife. I tried to get in touch again a month later, but they were gone.”

“I accept who I am!” Gold Splatter almost yelled, standing up, but quickly sitting back down when Soft Spirit shot a mild glance at him. “Uhhh, I mean, I accept it. Me, I mean. I accept me now, if that mare can accept herself.”

“But she didn’t, that was the point,” Colgate said.

“Let’s say she did, for the sake of this conversation,” Soft Spirit said. “Who can tell me how she would have changed?”

The dark-eyed unicorn raised a hoof. Her name was Dancing Shoes, and Colgate had only ever seen her in the common area. She looked perpetually tired, always deep in thought, rarely present for anything happening in front of her. Her colors were washed out reds and purples, marbled across a compact body that looked like it had never danced a step in its short life.

“Go ahead, Dance.”

“She would have been happier,” Dancing Shoes said.

Soft Spirit nodded for her to continue.

“Uhh, she would have probably been able to work through it with her wife, and they could have gotten through it.”

“Gotten through it together,” Butter Biscuit said. “No one’s an island, right, Soft Spirit?”

“That’s exactly right,” Soft Spirit said, lingering on Colgate for a moment as her eyes scanned the room.

Colgate frowned, both at the unwarranted look and the sound of Gold Splatter panting to her side, the sign that he was preparing to embark on another diatribe.

“What’s that mean?” she asked suddenly. She hadn’t thought about it, just blurted it out, but did not chastise herself. “Dang. Let’s see where this goes,” she thought.

“No pony is meant to be alone in the world,” Butter Biscuit said. “We’re all in this together, you know?”

“Friendship is magic!” Gold Splatter said, almost coming out of his seat again. Whatever he wanted to say, it was big.

“That actually reminds me of something,” Colgate said. “Back when I was in Ponyville, me and some others got together to help rebuild a friend’s house, right after The Crumbling. Like, I’m talking a couple days after, or a week, maybe.”

“I helped ‘em work on a bridge once,” Gold Splatter said.

“Let her speak,” Butter Biscuits said.

“Watch the cross-talk,” Soft Spirit said. “Go on, Colgate. What happened?”

Colgate took a moment to scowl at the room. Her mind, usually alive with too many ideas, was cold and quiet. She felt empty of words and thoughts, and didn’t know that she could continue the story she started. She might simply stand up and walk out, out of the facility, out into the road, off in any direction at all and never turn back, never to speak again.

She almost did just that, but inertia kept her seated.

“What happened?” Soft Spirit asked again, looking Colgate in the eye.

“He was my ex-coltfriend at the time, so I was hesitant to help out, but I decided to anyway, ‘cause it was the decent thing to do. We all got together one day to work on this house, foundation to roof, the whole thing. The Elements of Harmony were there, now that I think about it. We chatted a little. Anyway, we had a lot of magic on our team, so we were able to get a lot of work done quickly. The actual owner of the house, he didn’t do much to help, he was just off to the sides a lot. We hardly spoke.”

“You didn’t part on good terms?” Fresh Linens asked.

“Good enough, I simply didn’t have any interest in him anymore,” Colgate said. “I remember, when we were curing the concrete, somebody had a candy apple with them, and they dropped it in there. No one saw it, and it got covered up, totally entombed in concrete. I remember thinking about it, and the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me, that this speck of organic stuff should be interred forever under a house like that. Concrete is basically sterile, so that candy apple won’t have decomposed much in all these months since it was buried. Just thinking about it, that stupid imperfection down there, it…” She had no idea what she was going to say; none of it was true.

“Why does it bother you?” Soft Spirit asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe… it’s a mistake that can’t be corrected, like ever. I guess someone could go in and dig down and chip through all that concrete, and dig the stupid apple out and then fill in that little hole with fresh concrete, and then the hole you made to get in there in the first place, but I bet the foundation wouldn’t sit right after that, ‘cause I don’t think fresh concrete and old concrete mix properly. There’d always be a little unevenness there after it was complete, so you’d have to tear it all up and put in a fresh batch.”

Soft Spirit nodded along.

“So it’s never going to happen. Who’s going to go to all that work to fish out an old, stale candy apple? No one cares, so it’s going to sit there for all of eternity, and even then, once the house is collapsed and useless, or torn down to make way for something new, that foundation’s going to stay there, underground, and it’s just going to build and build and build.” She looked at the green glowing exit sign, losing touch with what she was saying. “It’s like your story of the barren lady, how one mistake got buried under a whole life of growth, and it got to the point where uncovering it and dealing with it was way too much work, more work than anyone would ever want to do, so she just had to live with it like that. I wish it hadn’t happened, but I can’t do anything about it.”

“But it’s just an apple,” Gold Splatter said.

“A candy apple,” Colgate said, turning to him, squaring his oblivious face in her annoyed eyes.

“Colgate,” Soft Spirit said.

“I’m powerless,” Colgate said, turning back on her. In her mind, finally beginning to move, she was speaking to the counselor only. “I can’t do a single thing to help myself in anything I do, because everything out there is so much bigger than me, and I’m surrounded.”

“Do you feel surrounded a lot? I’ve heard you say things like that before.”

“We all feel that way sometimes,” Dancing Shoes said. “But it is what it is.”

“We’re all surrounded,” Colgate said. “That includes me.”

“I know how you feel,” Butter Biscuit said. Everyone nodded along with her.

“But it’s exactly that little voice in your head that you need to learn to ignore, or better yet, silence,” Soft Spirit said. “That voice that says ‘no, I can’t do it, I’m useless, I can’t do anything right.’ We all know that voice, right?”

Again, everyone nodded, and Colgate watched.

“But what good does that voice do us? What good is it to beat ourselves down, to tell ourselves that we’re no good? I mean, if we keep saying it, it’ll eventually come true. Who wants that?” She looked and noticed that Colgate was not nodding along. “You don’t want that to come true, do you, Colgate?”

Colgate looked at Flame, his head lowered deferentially. “It already has.”

“I beg to differ. The fact that you’re here shows that it hasn’t.”

“I’m not working toward anything here.”

“Sobriety,” Fresh Linens said, her voice drawn, as if personally affronted by Colgate’s suggestion.

“How long has it been since you last drank, Colgate? Four days? Five?”

“One day at a time, Colgate,” Gold Splatter said. “You can’t expect everything to happen at once.”

Colgate sighed. In her head, she was melting away, disappearing through the cracks in the tile, leaving the last vestigial piece of her life—her most recent, old life—behind. She was leaving the facility, the other addicts, the well-meaning counselors to rot in memory.

With eyes glazed and voice thick, she spoke once more. “I’m here because I have nowhere else to go. My family is somewhere else, I don’t know. My friends are dead, and I don’t have a job. I can’t go back where I came from. They took my medical license, probably.” She looked Soft Spirit in the eyes, not hating her, not thinking about her or what she might think about what Colgate had to say. “I pretended to have a drinking problem for the police so they’d take me here instead of some shelter somewhere. I don’t need help.”

The room kept silent while she waited for a response, and eventually decided to continue.

“I can’t go back to anything in my past, because everything in that past is gone. I don’t know.” She stood. “I am going to go watch some TV now.” And so she did.

For thirty minutes, she sat in front of the TV, unthinking, her head buzzing, but not with thought. She had forgotten most of what she said, and had only a vague notion that she had done something strange. To her, it seemed that she had only spoken her mind—a feat in itself, but not a correct one.

The polite knock had to repeat three times, with Drift Dive’s gentle intonation of her name, before Colgate opened the door for him. He glanced at the TV and asked if he could turn it down. She said yes.

“I want you to know that I heard some of what you were saying earlier, in group,” he said.

“Okay.”

He studied her for a long moment, and closed the door with his red magic. “I think it was very brave of you.”

“Okay.”

He smiled. “Tired?”

“I don’t know.”

“Soft Spirit came to see me as soon as she finished. She said you were amazing out there, that you had a real breakthrough.”

Colgate just looked at him. She had no plan, not even a bad one. She wanted to sleep.

“Between you and me, I actually wish more of our patients had the courage to speak up like you, Colgate.” He smiled at her. “Hungry? Lunch in twenty minutes.”

“Not hungry.”

He chuckled. “No surprises there. Me, I’m always hungry.” He patted his side heartily, and sighed. “You amaze me, do you know that?”

“Nope.”

“I wish you could see your progress like I can. It’s remarkable, truly. Almost unbelievable. To think you came in once before, you were a totally different pony then.” He looked down suddenly. “Sorry, I guess it’s not in the best taste to bring it up. Like you said, your old life is done.”

Colgate nodded.

“I don’t know how you can keep your composure so well, I really don’t. I know when I was younger, I couldn’t do it for anything. Heck, I still have trouble sometimes.”

“Happens to everyone.”

“How true, how true.” He leaned against her bed, eyes closed. “I remember when I was younger, I had a drinking problem. Oh, yeah, it started out innocently enough, but it got bad. Bad, Colgate. A twelve-pack a day most days, or a bottle of vodka. I remember my friends chasing a carriage puller away from the house once, when I wanted to go out and get more liquor. I was, well, I’m sure you know.” His voice dropped, and she bent nearer to listen, not interested in the content so much as the cadence. “I was all shouting and hollering, ‘no, no, come back, come back.’ I broke my nose falling on my driveway.” He forced a tiny laugh. “Shame I didn’t know you sooner, maybe you could have set it right for me that night, instead of a week later, when I finally got around to going to the hospital.”

“Noses are something different,” Colgate said quietly.

“Ah.” He sighed. “Thank Luna that’s all in the past now. I don’t ever want anyone to go through what I had to to get clean, I mean that. I’m overjoyed every day I get to come in here and see you. You all.”

“Hard job.”

“Oh, it has its trials, every job does, but it’s worth it.” He opened his eyes. “Although… can I let you in on something?”

She shrugged.

“You’re being real quiet tonight, Colgate. Are you okay?”

“Thinking.” She wasn’t.

He put a hoof on the bed, angling his upper half closer to do so. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I’ve tried all the usual remedies, but nothing seems to work. When I can get to sleep on time, I don’t stay asleep. I keep waking up.”

“Uh-huh.”

He sighed. “I figure, it’s got to be stress. My days haven’t been the best lately.” He looked at her, and must have seen something in her eyes, because he went on. “I’m worried about my place here, is all. I know, I’m sure it looks fine from where you stand, but it’s not. I recently got written up for… well, you don’t need to know why, exactly, but it had to do with a patient here. I’m trying my best out here, but I only hear about it when I mess something up.”

“I know how you feel.”

“Probably better than most,” Drift Dive said quietly. “No offense. I don’t mean to suggest that our problems are equal, or anything like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

His voice dropped even lower, as if he were speaking only to himself. “Though I do sometimes wonder what it would be like to trade positions, just for a day. Me in that bed, you…” He trailed off, and Colgate watched impassively. She could tell that something was on his mind, and that he did not want anyone else to know. She also did not want to know.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You don’t need to hear about this. It’s unprofessional.” He looked at her without speaking for a time, and she looked back.

“What do you want?” she finally asked.

He shook his head, a coy smile forming at his muzzle. “You’re a peach, Colgate. In all the time I’ve known you, you never have a problem speaking your mind. How do you do it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“It’s a hard question,” he said, again to himself. “You know, for the first time, I’m not quite as certain of myself as I was when I joined this team. I still want to help ponies, that hasn’t changed, and I don’t think it ever will, but this place… I’m not sure I fit anymore, Colgate.”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve been losing revenue steadily over the last year. I can—sorry, I know I should have asked this first—I can trust you to keep quiet on this? It’s… kind of privileged.”

“No one would believe anything I say anyway,” Colgate said. “Speak away.” After a second, she added, “I’m listening.” She paused to wonder why, but he spoke away with all embarrassed eagerness.

“We’ve had to make cuts to keep up with expenses, and some of us are feeling a pinch. Pay cuts, mostly, to the junior counselors. Me and Cyclone mostly. I’m not… that is, I understand, I don’t blame them for that. But it doesn’t mean I’m quite as happy here as I was, quite as comfortable. I almost wonder sometimes if they’re trying to pick one of us to let go.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe my write up was a warning, or just a sign of things to come.” He closed his eyes again and put his whole face down on her sheets, only inches from her hooves.

“Might be nothing.”

“It might be, you’re right. But this is my job, Colgate; I can’t afford to lose it. Thank Luna I don’t have any kids like Cyclone does. But I’m still scared.”

Colgate nodded. She could tell that Drift Dive was sad.

“I worry about what’ll happen to you if I have to go, too. I think I worry about that most of all.” He looked back up to her, his eyes watering. He dried them on her sheets. “I really shouldn’t be getting this emotional around you. I’m sorry. You must think I’m… I don’t even know.”

“I don’t care,” she said.

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, right, I figured. You’re… special. I do remember that, I know showing my feelings around you isn’t… well, I know it’s not the quickest way to your heart.”

“Uh-huh.” She turned and lay on her back, reaching for the remote.

“Colgate?”

“Hm?”

“Um…”

She turned back to regard him. On his face weltered two emotions, moving too fast for her to make much of. He appeared ill and afraid at once, but his eyes were set, as if there were something he wanted to do. “What do you want?” she asked.

“You said… uh…” He licked his lips. “You said you just do it?”

“Do what?”

“Whatever’s on your mind? You just… go for it?”

“Sure.”

He nodded, casting his eyes back down for a moment, and she watched him fiddle and fumble with his hooves. At last, he took a single, decisive step to her, and, so slowly as to mesmerize her, leaned in. Her eyes remained on his brow, her lips closed, and when they met, she just sat there. As he got bolder and slid closer, to give himself a better angle, she sat there. When his tongue darted and grew between the narrow space her lips, closed but not tight, afforded, she did nothing.

All Colgate wanted in that moment was to turn the TV back up.

Second Interim

Chapter Eighty-eight

Second Interim

“How’s the ear?”

“Better now, thank you.”

“Fluttershy did a good job, huh?”

“I cannot hear right, but there is no pain. She told me that that is the best she can do. Apparently, the hearing mechanism is too complicated for her to heal properly.”

“Oh no. Is it, like, totally deaf?”

“I can hear a little. It is muffled.”

“Sorry, sis.”

“There is nothing to apologize for.”

A long silence, punctuated by the far-off rumble of thunder over Draught Castle, far behind.

“I never thanked you for what you did on the angel, and I feel that I should.”

“Come again?”

“I apologize if I am overstepping any bounds, but Whooves told me about you and him. I am truly grateful for what you did.”

“Uh… huh. What did he tell you?”

“Not very much. Just that you were able to talk to him, to calm him down during a difficult time. He was considering jumping.”

“Oh.” Pinkie thought for a time. “Yep. Well… I guess it’s all part of the job.”

“You are a better pony than I.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It is true.” Another moment of thought. “I admire you.”

Midnight on the second day for the north-flying airship, still wary after the fight with Discord, sailing back to Canterlot. They could only trust that it was right.

******

In startled anger, Discord commanded Vanilla to his side and flew down to Moondrop, too exhausted to teleport the distance and too distrusting to tell Vanilla to do it. They flew at a blinding one hundred seventy miles per hour to reach the struggling town just as dawn was creeping up, and Discord, still too incensed to concede corporeal weakness, did not rest, but worked at his torturous opus. Under Vanilla Cream’s impersonal direction, he lured ponies out of the town and down to the crater, rimmed with small stone obelisks etched with complicated, magical designs, and with no relish or glee, imprisoned them. Inside the stones, they were free to live out reflections of their own strongest thoughts. For some, the snares were endless fantasies; for others, living hells. It depended on the pony.

When six o’ clock came and Discord had only trapped five unfortunate souls, he finally settled for a sit-down against the largest stone, positioned in the crater’s bottom and reserved for someone very special. Vanilla regarded him with undisguised venom.

Several hundred miles west, in Roan, the Mansel Family had converted their entire business office into a bunker of sorts, where they could hide and cautiously give orders to those who the crown hadn’t yet uprooted. Their city was still cut off from all but the nearest neighbor, Applewood, a source of other problems, and political connections were thin. Many of the family members were only one or two pieces of bad news away from full panic, but grimly kept silent and pretended ignorance when questioned. And there were questions.

Luna’s accountant did not take long to dig up enough evidence to involve the local police and media, and, though most investigations stopped only days or weeks after first starting, the accountant did not. Unlike the other officials, she could not be bought or threatened. She was backed by the goddess of the night, one of the only ponies who could pay her more than an entire corporation, who could guarantee safety from even across a continent. Worse for the Mansels, she knew it; when the empty threats appeared, she didn’t blink. Luna almost came when her car was found demolished out in the desert, but the impulsive Mansel and her goon were found shortly thereafter in little better condition, and the threat of a visit by the princess faded.

So Mr. and Mrs. Mansel had little choice but to comply while they scoured their contacts for solutions. Of their trusted hatchet ponies, only Peaceful Meadows was still free on the surface, but she was watched, and busy dealing with those who dealt with the impatient clients. Neither of the company owners were officially implicated in anything, nor their progeny, but it was known. As Vinyl Scratch had warned the Elements of Harmony, the Mansels were not crossed lightly, even when scrutinized. Those who did not take caution when attempting encroachment onto the family business still found their ways to the middle of nowhere, in time.

The illegally enchanted tools and trinkets that they possessed had to go into a giant landfill ten miles outside the city, a project that their hot headed son, Campari Mansel, oversaw and was nearly arrested for. At the same time, Mrs. Mansel’s plan to sell them off in Canterlot was poised to just begin, their new ambassador, Whippoorwill, set to arrive. He would do so assuming an endless stream of contraband was heading his way; in reality, Mrs. Mansel had only been able to send off one shipment. Moreover, they had no way to contact him, as their communication sigils had been charged with monitoring enchantments. Whippoorwill, it appeared, was to be lost, a final shot into the world that closed its jaws tighter around the family.

Then, from the north, a different set of problems streamed in from Applewood, where once they had controlled the lion’s share of all drug-related transactions. Their manufacturers and dealers had been cut loose by the flood and loss of their money launderer, and the ruined city had reverted to anarchy. The residential areas still clung to order, but The Bright Road had been transformed. Some hotels had been destroyed, some turned into headquarters for ad hoc drug operations or pleasure dens. A loose cartel was forming between the conflicting drug lords, once partners under the Mansels’ umbrella. Keeping the proceedings dissociated from their Roan bank chain was growing more and more difficult as more important pieces of the Mansel machine turned up dead or incarcerated. There were talks to send Peaceful Meadows up to Applewood with her best ponies to smother the mess once and for all.

Even farther north, The Mountian Zone was all but empty. Gold Ribbon had been in his office when the Mansel contractors found him, and there he remained, head turned the other way and eyes covered with sticky notes, the word “traitor” written neatly on both. Without him, the Water Loop fell apart, and all the effort the Elements had taken to help the poor citizens move out to the dam’s artificial lake seemed for naught. Rain kept falling, and there was no one left to stop or divide it. Many went back to the ruin of Trottingham, the rest stayed at the dam. Where once it had generated electricity artificially, some of the unicorns were learning to harness the lightning that unfailingly struck it when a storm passed over.

Second Look, Whippoorwill’s one-time memory therapist, was one of the ponies to remain by the dam. She had no use for her police experience there, so she fell into a group of tinkerers who wanted to devise a way to explore the village that the dam had submerged. They tested a primitive diving helmet and bellows in ten feet of water off the shore, and another youngster, Saturday Sun, splashed up after just a second and laughed loudly with masked disappointment.

“Wow, that didn’t work at all!”

The third night of the Elements’ flight to the capital, and the inexperienced divers went back home, discouraged but determined.

******

But then, farther north still, all seemed well in Canterlot. Over cocktails and crudités, Dr. Whooves regaled some of the most beautiful ponies he’d seen with stories from his adventures with the Elements. He lounged on a second story patio with a dirty martini at one hoof and a ramekin of pearl onions at the other. Traffic crawled below, reflecting light up to him and his new friends, who he had encountered only three days ago.

Violet Astra had remembered him immediately, and his role in helping them recover their crow in Hoofington. She sat opposite Whooves, to her right a pitch-black unicorn who, in his tailored tuxedo, reminded him of a chess piece that had suddenly come alive and developed a taste for expensive scotch. To her left, a bespectacled, gray green unicorn swirled her tall drink until the grenadine float had turned the whole glass to a blushing rose color. Onyx Astra and Laurel Astra, her financier and magical technician: Violet, meanwhile, was the family representative, the only Astra in town with veto power on matters concerning their new crow.

“It’s been through a lot these past months,” she explained to Whooves, who was eager to reminisce about their magical machine. “And who knows what’s to come? Discord’s still out there.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Laurel said. “We’ve just recently come up with a design we can all agree on.”

It was not, however, the new design that brought the four ponies out for cocktails on a balmy Canterlot Thursday. They were celebrating Violet’s engagement, the groom none other than the queer museum curator, Lumb. He was doing well, she said; they had held a second masquerade the week after she accepted his proposal.

Whooves sighed contentedly. “Ah, life. It has its ups and downs, but who wouldn’t trade in everything she owned for a chance to take that ultimate ride? Why, surrounded by good friends, good food and good drink? To me, it just enhances the experience.” He sipped his martini, secretly disliking it.

“Here here,” Onyx Astra said, lifting his tumbler. “Canterlot bounced back quite well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Splendidly,” Whooves said, nodding and gesturing grandly over the railing. “Not a blotch on our fair city’s wondrous face! The fields and rivers outside might be a smidge ruffled, but that just gives the view more charm, does it not? Nothing beats the bonny Canterlot vistas, and now less so with these variations in topographical mien. Lends credibility to the old idea, hm? Each place has a face, a personality.”

“You were there for it, weren’t you?” Laurel Astra asked.

“Why, little ol’ me?” he asked playfully. “Mm, perhaps.”

“Oh, do tell, doctor,” Violet said, her subdued voice and intent expression coaxing a wider smile from his thin simper.

“Hm, hm, well, I suppose I could tell a tale or two.” He made a show of thinking before throwing a hoof up. “Ah, no! ‘Tis not my place, fair ponies.”

“Not even a little one?” Onyx asked, grinning hungrily.

Whooves laughed and drank more martini, chasing it with a pearl onion. “Oh, what the hey? Hmmm, but what to divulge? Why, you Astras might not know it, but yours is not the only great mechanized beastie that traverses the sky.”

“You were on an airship?” Violet asked skeptically. “You?”

“You wound me, my dear. I’ll have you all know that I was in the eminent company of fair Octavia and her charming sister, Pinkie, aboard our very own angel.”

“Angel?” Laurel asked.

“Why, that big, hexi-winged block of masonry with the floodlight eyes, of course.”

“That was you?”

“They said it was one of Discord’s ponies that defected at the last second,” Violet said.

Whooves nodded. “Yes, yes, that washes away any questions quite well. But alas, it is not so. I was there, I rode the ghastly thing, all the way from Roan. A longer trip I’d not want to make!”

“You crashed by the river,” Onyx said. “I saw it on the news, it was quite the spectacle.”

“Were you three okay?” Violet asked.

“In a manner of speaking. You know—or perhaps you don’t—Miss Octavia is hard to hurt.” He finished his martini quickly, suppressing a shudder. Next, he would try the scotch. Cost was no concern of his; he was loving life on the Astras’ bit. A mischievous twinkle lit in his eyes. “But she has some hurt in her, she does. I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.”

“We’ve heard she’s coming into her own out there with the Elements,” Violet said. “No details, unfortunately.”

“Hmmmm.” He flagged down the waitress and asked for the scotch menu.

“You spent a lot of time with them?” Laurel asked.

“Some,” he said. “Forgive me, I’m not so well versed in these matters. Which tipple might go best for someone of my sensibilities? I tend to prefer my oak and ceder flavors, but this vanilla cognac is catching my eye.”

“Don’t exclude us, now,” Violet gently admonished. “What are they like?”

“Who?”

She laughed and poked him with a soft spell. “You know!”

“Why, they’re the most scintillating company you could ever ask for! It pained me to leave them, but the call of the city can only be denied for so long, so I’ve always said. Fluttershy is my favorite, but Applejack has some vim to her you’ll not see matched save for the most garrulous souls on The Bright Road. Whoo, what fun, Applewood. I must return some day.”

“How is Rarity? She seemed… off, when we last met,” Violet said.

Whooves smiled and watched his scotch come closer, but, inside, he sobered. He remembered the theft of Applejack’s body, the dizzying scene of her casket materializing in their hotel room, his fear that they were followed. He had watched Twilight operate on Applejack for a few minutes before running off to the other room, and had known then that his time with them was limited.

“She’s good,” he said, bringing the smoky, brown liquor to his lips. “Graces, but this is wonderful, hm?” He forced a laugh.

“Were they able to take care of their difficulties in Roan? Princess Luna told us you had a scare.” She raised her eyebrows significantly, and Whooves wondered for a second just how much she knew.

“Oh, for the most part. You know, Twilight knows so much magic, she was able to bring Applejack back quite easily. She’s a quick study, that one.”

“Bring her back?” Onyx repeated.

“Oop! Perhaps discretion should be the better part of valor here, hm? I fear I may have said too much.”

“I’ll explain later,” Violet said, patting his foreleg.

“Apologies.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Laurel Astra said. “How was Roan? I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

“Lovely, yes, that word does encapsulate it, I wot. If only the reception were more clement than the weather.”

Laurel’s eyebrow quirked upwards, and Violet arrested her drink as it rose to her lips.

“Some not-so-nice sorts live in that town, we discovered.” He took a sip. “This is marvelous, by the way.”

“Who did you run into?” Violet asked.

“Hm? Oh, uh, nothing important. I’m free of them now.”

“Who, though?”

Whooves made a show of thought, as if unsure whether he would announce who they had encountered. In the quiet that precipitated his response, he was trying to arrange his words around a growing block of intoxication. He wished he hadn’t finished his martini so quickly. “I shall tell you. Why, it was only the most dastardly criminal family in all of Equestria. My lips tremble but to utter their dreaded appellation! The cursed family, the greatest and most despicable creatures known to be dredged up from the sulfurous pits of Tartarus itself, the devils lurking in every belfry and the wicked voices perched upon every milquetoast wither. I speak of none other of…” He lowered his voice dramatically. “The Mansels.”

“We know them,” Onyx said calmly. “We know quite a lot of them.”

Whooves thought. “Yes, you know, I think I recall hearing something of it. Your two families are at odds, is that not so?”

“You might say that,” Violet said, imitating his imitated accent.

“But they are of no concern now, not to blushing bride nor charmed guests. They shall rot in Roan the live-long day, their distance becalming all who live in the great capital.” He mused. “Rot and deliquesce and suck away to earth, the lot of them!” He took a larger drink of his scotch, and almost gagged.

“Don’t be so bold, doctor,” Onyx said, giving him a friendly pat on the back to help the alcohol go down.

“They have friends everywhere,” Laurel said. “Yes, even Canterlot.”

“Oh?” Whooves munched another pearl onion blithely.

“Come, come, must we discuss those ponies on a night like this?” Violet asked. “We have all day tomorrow to worry about them.”

“Must you worry?” Whooves asked.

“Always,” Onyx said. He was the most sober of the four, despite his choice of drink. “I’m sure they know we’re here.”

“Perhaps,” Whooves said, nodding. “But perhaps not? They are, after all, rather distracted right now. At least, I’d assume so.”

“How’s that?” Laurel asked.

“Why, didn’t you hear?”

“Doctor,” Violet said.

“Okay, okay, okay, maybe you didn’t. Maybe they keep this under wraps, hm? ‘Twould be the wise thing to do, I suppose.” The Astras waited for him to proceed, and he smiled for a second, fondly remembering the Elements’ impatience with his rambling tendency. “They’ve lost something of a rather integral piece to their mad machinery of business, those monsters.”

All three leaned in. “Not so loud,” Laurel said. “But what happened?”

“You’re familiar, I trust, with the sorrowful fate of Applewood?”

“Of course.”

“A tragedy,” Violet said.

“With the loss of the dam, there was too a loss of something else, something the Mansels held in quite high regard. Prepare yourselves. The pony who ran that dam, the hydroelectric CEO himself, the top banana, the paramount pony, the—”

“Come on, what happened?”

“He’s no longer with us,” Whooves said simply, leaning back to release the tension that had so quickly coiled around them.

Laurel sighed and sipped at the dregs of her drink. “What does that have to do with them?”

“Who was this character to them?” Violet asked.

“Oh, so you didn’t know! Why, this should be juicy for you then. That CEO, in so high a position in the legal sphere of our world, was also his own counterpart in the illegal side, for he was their main money launderer.”

“How do you know this?” Onyx asked sharply. “How? Tell me.”

“You’re sure?” Violet asked, no tease in her voice.

“I have it on good authority,” Whooves said.

“Whose?”

He almost said “Vanilla Cream,” but stopped himself. He didn’t want to explain to the Astras, the complicated relationship they had with Discord’s envoy. Instead, he said, “Discord himself. Taunting us, as he oftentimes would, he let that piece of information slip.”

Violet thought for a second before breaking into a laugh. “Oh, doctor, you really are a rube.”

“I? A rube, Miss Astra?” His cheeks aflame, he sipped his scotch again. Since leaving his friends by the river, he had quickly made friends with numerous ponies of high regard, his experience with the Elements proving invaluable for garden parties and parlor talk. That one of the most important ponies of all might think him a rube was enough to freeze his unsteady thoughts.

“You don’t take anything Discord says seriously,” Onyx said. “He misguides all the time.”

Whooves thought. It was true that Discord might, but he was not sure about Vanilla. If told to, he supposed the white stallion would. He’d not considered that it may have been the case.

“No,” Whooves eventually said. “Because the Mansels were later known to take great interest in what we knew, we being the Elements of Harmony and,” he gestured affectionately at himself, “yours truly. Their other friends too.” He laughed.

“What sort of interest?” Violet asked.

“Not any strong interest, we can know that,” Laurel said.

“Pray tell, why can we know that?” Whooves asked, though he thought he knew.

Violet dragged an invisible blade across her throat, and Whooves nodded. “That’s if you draw their attention in the wrong way.”

“Well, I did exit town posthaste after that. I didn’t give them much time for such… displays of inquiry.”

“But they did inquire?”

“Quite strongly, from what I’m told. I hadn’t the pleasure of sitting in on that particular conference, though I would have a more personal one not long after, with one of their, er, friends.”

“Who?” Laurel asked.

Whooves shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t recall her name. Charming mare, though, minus the dead look in her eyes. A true harbinger of ill-will, she, but so fair for the eyes. She punched me. I remember that part pretty well.”

“If he’s right, and they lost their money launderer,” Onyx began.

“Up-pup-pup, let’s save that conversation for later,” Violet said. “We’ll get Mama and Papa Astra’s opinions before we do anything.”

“Is there a thing to be done?” Whooves asked.

They all shared a very quick, worried look. “Yes, there is. We must order another round of drinks.”

Laurel cheered, then Onyx, then Whooves, loudest of them all. His voice bounced down to the streets and off the opposing building, with it all concerns of the Mansels and their ubiquitous friends.

The fourth day of the Elements’ flight to Canterlot, crossing the great stretch of swampland and battling a day-long wind storm.

******

While Wings and Jet were out for a rowdy Friday night, Flitter stayed in and waited for someone to knock on their door. When that knock came, the two convened in the dining room, a small, glass table in a nook just by the kitchen, too clean to have been used recently.

The dark purple mare sat down without invitation and dropped her saddlebag heavily on the floor and spread a small stack of papers across the table’s surface, and Flitter sat opposite.

“Alone?” she asked.

“Yeah, for a few hours still, at least,” Flitter said. “They said they’d be out for the better part of the night.”
“This place isn’t watched?”

Flitter frowned. “I’ve only spent a few days here, I don’t think so. Hey, I haven’t been trained in surveillance yet. If you’re really my new commander, you should know that already.”

The pony nodded absentmindedly. “Yes, I’m sure it was mentioned in your report.”

“What’s your name?”

“Mm? Ink Pearl. Sorry.” She extended a hoof, and they shook. “I have like five other ponies to visit tonight.”

“Then let’s get to it,” Flitter said.

“These,” Ink said, drawing an invisible circle around a map of Canterlot, tracing her hoof through a rough loop of dots, freckles on the bare landscape just outside, “are the watchpoints. All of them are deactivated and abandoned right now; we can’t have anyone knowing where they are right now, accidentally finding them. Discord might have ponies around still, or worse.”

“Windy Weathervane told me something like that.”

“Yes, he did.” She brought up a smaller paper and put it on the map. “His recommendation carries some weight. You should be proud.”

Flitter blushed, but didn’t want to show. The mare in front of her was cool, the coolest Flitter had seen. They had not even met eyes, but far from feeling affronted, Flitter was awed. In Ink Pearl, she could see the quiet, coiled readiness that had also been present, in much smaller quantities, in Windy Weathervane and Foxglove back in Ponyville. Her eyes had taken in the house swiftly before entering, and Flitter was sure that Ink had marked and memorized all the exits already. Her ears stood up, not relaxed like her face and voice. Flitter wanted to be cool as well.

“Just doing my job,” she said.

“Mm. I need you to work on sweeping the city for any remaining informants or sleeper aggressors. Ponies can be enchanted or glamoured to wait for certain times or triggers, and we need to make sure there aren’t any ponies in the city like that. We can’t activate our watchpoints until we know we’re secure, so this is very important.”

“Understood. It’s not just me, is it?”

“No, but you won’t have any direct contact with other Daturas for this job, except me. You’ll be working with blind ponies.”

“Blind?”

“Meaning they won’t know you’re a Datura.”

“…Okay.” Questions sprang into her mind, but she held back.

“This is a copy of The Equine Sun.” She slid a thin magazine over to Flitter. “I suggest you get acquainted with the way it’s laid out and written, because you’re interning there now.”

“Uh?”

“Before you ask, I’m not singling you out. Most of us get notice like this for jobs. It’s just something you need to get used to. Your first day’ll be on Monday.”

“Wait, wait, I don’t know anything about magazines.”

Ink Pearl rolled her eyes. “You’re not actually interning. You’re just posing.”

“How’s that work?”

“Please don’t interrupt me. I’ll explain at the end.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“Hm. There are twenty-five reporters working there.” She floated a piece of notebook paper to Flitter, who saw twenty-five names, and then twenty-five addresses, phone numbers, and lists of friends and family members. The need to ask burned on the tip of her tongue.

“These ponies are legitimate reporters who know nothing of the Datura. All they know is that they’ve been assigned to produce various pieces on the battle, ranging in reliability from public opinion to scholarly articles. There’s room for both types of news in the Sun.”

“Okay, with you so far. I guess.”

“Your job is to scan each story for any indications of deviant opinion or seditious intent. The reporters are instructed to be quite specific and personal, where appropriate, when speaking to sources.” She slid over a second piece of notebook paper with a dozen questions scrawled on it, from each question branching several others. “I’m running these through the editor-in-chief tonight, and the reporters will be properly instructed by the time you start. If you find anything suspicious, mark the names down, along with any other information you can get. The reporters are supposed to get some basic things, like age and occupation. You’ll record that information and report it to…” Ink Pearl gave Flitter the final piece of paper with just a phone number and name on it. “This pony.”

“And who is this?”

Ink looked at her. “Bobby Pin runs a PI firm that we use sometimes. She’ll have her ponies chasing after other characters of interest besides the ones you dig up. Investigation only, nothing more. If they find anything strange, you’ll hear back. Oh, they’re blind too. There’s no Datura influence inside the firm.”

“Okay.” Her brows knit. “How do we know they’re safe to use?”

“I checked them out personally. They’re safe.”

“And how do I know you’re safe?” she wondered, but didn’t ask. It would not be in the best taste, she thought.

“What questions do you have?”

“What do I do when they get back to me on someone?”

“You mean someone who does appear to be influenced by Discord.”

“Yeah. You don’t want me to… deal with them, do you?”

“Only if it can’t wait. You’ll probably give those names to me. I have someone set aside for that.”

“Okay. What about this PI firm? Won’t they notice if they keep getting requests to check out random ponies for the same, you know, basic set of reasons?”

“They won’t. Your coworkers are looking for different things. There will be variation in the targets, as well as the ponies investigating them. Bobby Pin is simply yours; the others will be using others. Some of them, anyway.”

“Interesting. So you’ve got… a lot more out there, than me.”

“I’m setting it up tonight.”

“And we’re supposed to start on Monday?” She blurted. “Sorry.”

“You’ve made yourself quite clear in the past how you feel about what you consider to be inadequate preparation time, Flitter.”

“Uhh.”

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing, and so do my logistics managers. Any other questions?”

“Well… what about my job? Am I just reading all day long? And why do I need the personal information on all these girls?”

“Just in case,” Ink said.

“In case of what?” Immediately, the thought came to her, and she pursed her lips. “Geez, really?”

“My pony will take care of them too, if need be, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. Random ponies vanishing can be explained, but reporters are harder.” She looked into Flitter’s eyes for the first time, but then looked away with disinterest a second later. “You’re going to maintain professional distance throughout, since you’re new. As for your job, you’ll be doing more than reading. That is only your primary duty; you’ll find plenty to do in keeping this position.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re already set up to go there. No one will question you when you show up on Monday, no one will wonder where you came from or why you’re there. There are other interns too, not Daturas, real interns. I suggest you get close to them and copy them. Just because you’re set up initially doesn’t mean you’ll be unimpeachable.”

“They might let me go if I don’t do whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing. Is that right?”

“That’s right. You and the editor-in-chief are friends. She knows to agree to it if asked, I already saw to that, but you should only use that once. What we must avoid at all costs, Flitter, is these ponies investigating you.”

“They are reporters, after all,” Flitter said. “So you set it up so that they’ll accept me, but I have to be able to play ball after that, to keep myself in their good graces.”

“Correct.” She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a badge, a mock college transcript, a pair of journalism textbooks. “These are yours. I tried to keep your transcript faithful to your actual education.”

“Statistics?”

“You majored in finance, did you not?”

“Yeah, but… okay, maybe I put off math until the last semester. Sure.”

“The address of their headquarters is written on the back of the transcript.”

Flitter looked at the address and shrugged. “Can I have a map?”

Ink frowned. “I’ll mail you one before Monday.”

“Okay, thanks.” She shuffled the papers together, difficult with just hooves. “Am I paid or unpaid?”

“Unpaid. No paper trail that way.”

“Good thinking.” She thought again. As with her assignment on the caravan, she was only just beginning to grasp her task. “How do I get out? You know, when I need to get out?”

“You’ll quit, like anypony else. Why?”

“I dunno, I thought there might be a special protocol, or something.”

Ink shook her head, lips pursed, eyes wide in a strange, inscrutable expression that at once suggested empathy and disbelief. “No. Special protocols are for internal Datura matters only. Working with blind ponies, you want to bring as little attention to yourself as possible.”

“Just wondering.” She glanced at the magazine again. “Will I need to write anything?”

“I have no way of knowing.”

“I hope not.”

Ink just looked at her and made to get up.

“Well, thanks, ma’am. I… guess I’ll see you around, then. I’ll keep you informed. Oh, phone number?”

“On your list of names. The first is for regular contact, the second is for emergencies. I might not be the one who picks up if you call that number, but it’ll be one of us.”

“What counts as an emergency?”

“Discovery.”

“Only that? What if I’m threatened?”

“You do know how to take care of yourself? In your report, you’re supposed to be good at improvising.”

“I… guess. I did it once.”

“Weekly reports, please,” Ink said, looping the saddlebag’s strap around her neck and down her back. “Even if there’s nothing interesting to report, I want you to tell me that. Same if you have to contact me before the week’s out.” She tapped the table. “I need those reports every week. Okay?”

“You got it.”

“Good. I’ll be in touch, but not a lot.”

“Sure.” She watched Ink let herself out, not feeling right about following her to the door. Ink did not look back at her, and had hardly looked at her at the table. When the house was again filled with silence, she sat on the couch and started reading her new textbook, the other materials in a pile beside.

Then, in a flurry of wings and drunken laughter, her cousin and friend came home, several chapters on the basics of intermediate-level reporting later. Flitter’s eyes were glazed over, and she was happy to throw her book down when her roommates reappeared out of the night. They both talked without pause, their voices blending with laughter and lightning-quick in-jokes that Flitter could only watch impassively, a spectacle that slowly made its way to the couch and relaxed into its two discrete conversers, Wings and Jet.

“So tonight was interesting, cuz,” Wings said, affecting nonchalance while Jet played with her tail.

“A real barn-burner!”

“Ooh, poor taste, Jet.”

“Phooey.”

“What happened?” Flitter asked. Better to establish her voice early in the conversation, she had learned, otherwise she could get steamrolled.

“Drinks and good times, of course,” Jet said. “All good times flow from the city, little buddy.”

“Forgive her, she had about three too many Frozen Apples,” Wings said.

“Heck!”

“Come on, come on, let’s go,” Flitter said.

“You tell her, J, you’re better at this sort of thing,” Wings said.

“Well, Flitterbug, here’s what happened. Lemme set the scene. Wings and me are just fresh off the daily grind, ready to cause some trouble and mess up some cocktails. Typical Friday night stuff, you know.”

“I’m familiar,” Flitter said, thinking ruefully of her textbook. “Friday night, indeed.”

“So we hit the town, and we’re still kinda new to this place, so we don’t know all the best places. We hop in a cab and I’m all ‘where’s a good place for a pegasus to have a drink?’ And the cabby—”

“Real nice fella,” Wings said.

“Real nice, real nice. Smelled like licorice. Anyway, the cabby takes us… I guess you’d call it downtown? Or is this whole, like, thing downtown?”

“There’s certain districts that are more ‘downtown-y’ than others, I think,” Flitter said.

“Well, anyway, not important. So we get dropped off outside some club, and we’re like ‘yeah, sure, let’s give it a try’.”

“Manehattan does it better,” Wings said.

“Way better. Fifteen bits at the door, two drink minimum, and the music was so loud we couldn’t hear each other.” She leaned over to nudge Flitter. “And as you know, we can’t stand not to hear each other.”

“I know it,” Flitter said.

“Sometimes I wonder why ponies think we’re a couple, but not tonight, no ma’am,” Jet continued. “My Luna above, how we get on. I swear, back in high school—anyway, I’m getting off topic, sorry. Uhh…”

“The club,” Wings said.

“The club. So the club sucked, basically. We got our drinks, Wings twirled around on the dance floor a little bit, and that was it. Well, so, not ones to let something like that defeat us, we just went walking down the sidewalk.”

“Must’ve taken a bad turn somewhere along the line.”

“Bad indeed, but you wouldn’t know it to be with us.”

“We just followed the noise.”

“And the crowds.”

“Lots of ponies, Flitter, lots.”

“And lots of clubs,” Jet said, nodding. “We walked ‘til the crowd was a little thinner.”

“A lot thinner.”

“Until we were at the butt end of the neighborhood, just us and some real flashy gals and guys flying around.”

“We figured it was a special occasion, like a neon theme or something.”

“Everyone had neon in their hair. Lots of reds and blues, some purple, some green, some… yeah, you get the picture.”

“Neo-goth?” Flitter asked. A style of dress and accessorizing characterized by its emphasis on contrasting color and extravagant mane styles. She and Cloudchaser had gone through a brief phase of it in college.

“Yeah, neo-goth, that’s it,” Jet said. “Another thing your city has that Manehattan doesn’t. Least, not the parts of Manehattan I ever saw.”

“It was enough to make your eyes bleed, cuz,” Wings said.

“But not enough to make us turn back.”

“‘Why, maybe they have a station or something where we can get colored up too, if that’s the deal,’ we thought. So heck, we went for it.”

“Great club.”

“Great building, you mean.”

“Yeah, great building.”

“Awful club.”

“Really awful.”

“Okay, okay,” Flitter said, holding up a hoof to pause them. “What happened, though? This sounds like a regular night out.”

“Flitter,” Wings said, relaxing only a little against the back of the couch, “do you know about Pegasus Advocates?”

“I’ve never met one, but I’m aware of them, yes.”

“This bar was full of them,” Jet said, flapping her wings. “All of ‘em with their big, shocking manes and their neon jewelry and their ribbons, decked out like a flippin’ parade.”

“It was like some kind of messed up cartoon,” Wings said. “One of those weirdo, ultra-dark cartoons you see at like four a.m.”

“And all of them with their big, black X.” She jabbed herself in the forehead. “Right here, big as life.”

“I’ve never seen a bar go quiet so fast in all my life.”

“It was like someone turned a switch. Everypony just stopped.” Jet’s eyes were wide, her wings tight against her back, her one hoof moving animatedly while the other kept her sitting up.

“They all looked at us, even the bartender stopped and stared,” Wings said.

“Oh my Celestia,” Flitter said. “What happened?”

“We went in,” Jet said, and Wings covered her face with a quiet groan.

“What?”

“We went in,” Wings repeated, muffled.

“Sat right at the bar and ordered ourselves a couple beers,” Jet said. “This bartender, she gave us the nastiest look, just total contempt, like we were dirt. Poured our beers and put ‘em in front of us without saying a dang thing.”

“No one’s talking still while this is happening, remember,” Wings put in. “We were just there, at the bar.”

“I was trying not to look at the X on her head, but—”

“It’s hard not too, I was trying not to myself.”

“So then what happened?” Flitter asked. “I guess you’re okay, but…”

“We got one very tense sip into our drinks, and someone finally pipes up, ‘get outta here.’ Just like that, real abrupt. ‘Hey, get outta here’.”

“The pegasus we were sitting next to, he turns on us then,” Jet said. “He says, uh…”

“‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he asked. Emphasis on the F-word.”

“Not friendly.”

“I’ll be honest, I was hoping Jet here had a good answer, ‘cause I was lost.”

Jet laughed. “You and me both.”

“So we just kinda look at him, you know, deer in the headlights, and he repeats himself. You can tell he’s getting pretty mad, and some of the other pegasi are edging in closer now, some of ‘em murmuring, some of ‘em just quiet.”

Flitter’s mouth hung open.

“We get up, nice and slow.”

“Tell her how you got in and had a last sip of beer,” Jet said, chuckling.

“Oh, come on, really?” Flitter asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I got a last sip of beer, okay. Hey, that wasn’t the trouble, if you’d believe it,” Wings said.

“Yeah, so we were backing away, and we, uh, well I guess she was a bouncer or something,” Jet said.

“She’s blocking the exit, this humongous pegasus, right in our way. I’m trying to be real nice, you know, ‘scuse me, thank you,’ and so on, and she’s not moving an inch.”

“Meanwhile, they’re just all behind us.”

“We forgot to pay for the drinks, you see,” Wings said. “I had to go back and toss a couple bits on the counter.”

“And we figured that would be it, you know, like they’d let us out. I was trying to apologize or whatever, but this big freaking bouncer still won’t budge.”

“And then someone else shouts something, then someone else, then… well, we were able to shove our way out of there.”

“I’ve never flown so fast in my life,” Jet said.

“Thank Celestia no one chased us.”

“We would’ve been fine, there were plenty of witnesses. Once we were out of there, we were okay.”

“Sure didn’t feel that way,” Wings said.

“Geez, did this just happen?” Flitter asked.

“A couple hours ago. No, we found a nicer lounge and calmed down a little.”

“A lot,” Jet said.

“In her case, a lot. In mine, only a little.”

“I can understand why,” Flitter said.

“It’s weird too, ‘cause we’re pegasi,” Jet said. “Like, what did we do wrong? Was it just that they didn’t know us? Could we have stayed in there if we just said like ‘death to all unicorns’ or something?”

“I think it was the color thing,” Wings said. “We were clearly not the usual crowd.”

“Some lady called us T-word lovers as we were leaving.”

“Yikes,” Flitter said.

“Velocity,” Wings said. “That’s the club. So just in case you go out, do not go there. Super Pegasus Advocacy vibe.”

“Guess so. Geez, I’m glad you’re okay. I had no idea there was a PA club so nearby.”

“Not that nearby, but yeah,” Jet said, brushing Wings’ wing. “Rest of the night was great, though.”

“We were just in time for three-bit cocktails at The Rotten Melon.”

“They’ve got a pretty crazy menu, too, lots of stuff I’d never heard of.”

“And these really good fries, with oil and feta on ‘em, a little rosemary.”

“Those were some damn good fries, Flitter.”

“Seriously good,” Wings said.

They both sighed in unison, a quirk that made Flitter crack a smile.

“So how was your night, homebody?”

“Well…” Flitter thought about her meeting with Ink Pearl, and realized that she had not hidden her books and papers. “I think I got a job.”

The sixth night for the Elements on their airship, stargazing and relaxing as well as they were able over the waning north edge of the swamps, and Flitter concocting a fictional job for herself to her drunken cousin and friend.

******

Colgate ate less and watched TV more, and the counselors were taking notice.

“We’re losing her again,” Nugget said. A lance of sun through the window caught her facial scar just right, and Drift Dive had to make himself not stare at it.

“I was beginning to feel good about it,” Almond Butter said, and sighed. “Back to the drawing board, I guess.”

“What do you think, Drift? You look like you’ve got something,” Cyclone said.

“I don’t know,” Drift Dive said.

“Well, what’s she been telling you? Where’s she at right now?”

“She might be still reeling from revealing so much in group,” Soft Spirit said.

“I don’t think it’s that,” Drift Dive said.

“No?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?” Almond Butter asked. “Sorry, I mean, what’s the problem? ‘Cause something you’re doing isn’t working.” She snorted a hollow laugh. “That’s clear, something isn’t working.”

“I can’t get her to talk any more,” Drift Dive said. “I used to, but something changed, and I don’t… I don’t know, like I said.”

“Did you offend her somehow?” Nugget asked. “Hair trigger like her, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“We can dispense with the pejoratives. She hasn’t gone off on anybody in a while now.”

“Hasn’t shown any emotion in a while now,” Soft Spirit said.

“She might be getting ready to burst,” Cyclone said. “Ka-blooie. Oh goddess, not another one of those, puh-lease.”

“Drift? What do you think?” Almond Butter asked.

“She’s hard to read,” Drift Dive said, rubbing his upper lip. “I don’t think I see an explosion in her, though. She doesn’t seem like the kind.”

“Uh, you’re aware that she tried to burn down her old house, right?”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Gold Splatter told me. I think she told him to try to rile him up.”

“Not hard to do,” Nugget said.

“She never told me that,” Drift Dive said. “But…” He had to think. His last few times with Colgate, he had done most of the talking. “That’s not going to happen here. There’s no way.”

“But the fact that she’s capable of that at all worries me,” Cyclone said. “What kind of pony are we dealing with who can be pliable one minute and a total torch-bug the next?”

“It might not be him at all,” Almond Butter said. “She might be upset about one of the other patients.”

“She stays in her room all day,” Nugget said. “Who’s getting to her?”

“She needs to socialize more,” Soft Spirit said. “What are you doing to try to get her to open up, Drift?”

“You know, all the usual stuff. She used to respond to small talk that hinted at the main point,” Drift Dive said.

“She doesn’t like direct questions, we know that,” Cyclone said.

“Too many questions freaks her out. I tried complimenting her on her bravery, sharing during group, but that fell on flat ears too.”

“I wonder if she just doesn’t trust you any more,” Nugget said. “Some patients are like that.”

“Yeah, you could have done something tiny that just got to her somehow,” Almond Butter said. “Celestia knows, that happens often enough, you say one thing, they take it another, and then there goes your whole counseling topic right there.”

“Was there any sort of turning point in her behavior?” Soft Spirit asked, tilting her head. “Anything at all you might have noticed?”

“Only when I noticed that it had changed, but that was after the fact,” Drift Dive said, shaking his head and silently praying thanks again for his natural red coat to hide his blush. Since their first kiss, he had stolen two more, shorter and more chaste than the first, but no less invigorating, and no less frightening. Of course she was having trouble processing his behavior; she was, he knew, a mare not accustomed to adoration, or even friendliness. That someone might feel for her as he did was clearly a shock. He hoped a good one, but could not be sure.

“Drift,” Cyclone said. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to put you on the spot, but I’m not sure I’m following along. I’ve talked to this pony too, and she’s not that complicated. You’ve been spending a ton of time with her.”

“When she is talking, she’s usually talking about herself,” Soft Spirit said.

“That’s just it, she hasn’t been talking,” Drift Dive said. “I’m not a miracle worker, I can’t make someone talk when they don’t want to. I think we should just leave her for now and let her come to her own conclusions. She has to help herself too, right?”

“Yyyyes,” Cyclone said. “At a certain point, but I’m not sure she’s at that point.”

“You still have to tell her to come out and eat sometimes,” Almond Butter said. “Trust me, I’ve been here a lot longer than you, and this mare is not in a spot, mentally, where she can help herself.”

“Have you brought up trying a behavior contract to get her to eat regularly?” Nugget asked.

“Oh, that’ll go well,” Drift Dive said. “She hates being coerced into anything.”

“This isn’t coercion, it’s—”

“That’s how she’ll see it.”

Nugget scoffed.

“So you do know how she’ll react to certain things,” Almond Butter said. “But you can’t dial in on a good way to communicate with her?”

“She probably doesn’t have a consistent way of doing it,” Soft Spirit said.

“She’s being consistently quiet,” Cyclone said.

“Drift, maybe you should take a break for a while.” She smiled her gleaming smile at him, partially melting the block of frightened ice that was freezing around his heart. “She did great in my session, let me take a try.”

“I like that idea,” Almond Butter said. “Maybe familiarity is the enemy here. Maybe she’s getting too comfortable. I mean, I hate to say it, but this is a rehab facility, not a hotel.”

“If we’re not helping her, then we should dismiss her,” Nugget said.

“It’s way too early to be talking about that,” Drift Dive said.

“Now, yes, but not for long.”

“I bet Soft Spirit can get her talking in a couple days,” Cyclone said.

“Can I have your notes?” Soft Spirit asked. “I know she’s touchy, but not all the specifics. I don’t want to lose any ground to her.”

“Also easy to do,” Nugget said, nodding.

“I’ve got them in my office, I’ll have to find them,” Drift Dive said.

Soft Spirit’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, and they moved on to other things.

Colgate, meanwhile, stared into the TV screen. She had muted it for the commercials and never put the sound back on, so the animated family of bunnies hopped and spoke absent the keening voice actresses’ dialogue. She was aware that she needed to use the bathroom, but didn’t move. The toilet was a distance she could not bring herself to complete.

Hoofsteps coursed up and down the halls just outside, a kind of static that served to complete the walls of her isolation, as though she were surrounded by a thick mist. She was alone in her room, and the room was alone in its world, she its sole occupant and only one able to appreciate the empty vastness all around. The others were specters that occasionally drifted into view to perform their minor rites before vanishing back into the interstices of the mist.

She was hungry, too. She thought she was hungry.

Drift Dive had stopped knocking. He simply entered, closed the door gently shut behind him, and sat down beside her bed, his large eyes brimming with youth and un-spilled secrets, all significant in his mind, as if the novelty of her being was inducement enough to overcome the shyness he often bespoke and spill his treasures into her lap. She could only watch his face move with animated speech from the corner of her eye. Her neck did not move; it felt to her that it had ossified in the hour she spent with the TV, and only came alive when his red hoof came up to turn her face to his.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Really. How are you? You look better.”

She blinked at him.

“They want me to stop seeing you,” he continued in his quiet, confidential voice. Before, her ears would perk up courteously, but even that was not possible anymore.

He described the meeting, their impressions of her, his impressions of them. He did so at length, often breaking off to add his own insights to their thoughts.

For a moment, a thought shivered and tried to uncurl in Colgate’s mind, a simple thought. She could ram her hoof through the window, climb out, and extinguish herself in the lake. If she were fast enough, she might get too deep to be fished out in time.

That thought was gone in a flash, just like all the others, muted. Drift Dive talked on.

“—that of course they won’t give me any credit for that, it’s just all what’s not happening, what I’m not doing. Like I don’t know what I’m doing, like I’m still wet behind the ears or something. Well, okay, maybe I am a little, but—”

He was going to kiss her again. She could tell from the way his eyes were dilated, from the nervous pace of his speech. He was not used to it yet.

“I don’t know, Colgate. I might have to do it, but I really hope not. Come on, tell me something, hm? Share one thing?”

She looked at him, the red ghost in her world.

“Please, Colgate, I need this,” he whispered. “I need this right now.” He leaned in, glanced over his shoulder, and kissed her quietly. “Please,” he breathed.

She looked back at the TV. “I always pretended not to notice when someone stole my pens, but I knew every time, even when they put them back. They never put them back in the same position.”

Drift Dive nodded. “That’s… very interesting. When was this?”

She thought again that she had to pee.

“Colgate? Honey?”

Then, she did. Seven days out from Draught Castle, Cloudsdale in sight, and one counselor quietly submitting to the situation and slouching off to find a bundle of rags and new sheets.

******

The Canterlot ponies had a taste for extravagance in dress that Whippoorwill found off-putting at first, but then engaging. He had stowed enough money to buy himself the beginnings of a new wardrobe and rent a cheap apartment in the suburbs, near the foot of the mountain, not far from a grimy park that formed a second shadow to a stately cathedral. He could see its steeples tapering into the sunrise every morning like the fangs of some dark beast.

Lacking the money for a new automobile, he was forced to walk and teleport, limiting his mobility, but it was of little immediate concern. He enjoyed the fresh air, and did not have very far to go to do what he needed.

Days after his arrival, he had gone to the airship lot and helped receive a shipment of enchanted Mansel contraband, mostly pieces of magical jewelry or accessories. He helped the quiet crew move crate after crate into an unmarked truck, in which he rode to a warehouse where they were let in with a curt conversation with the owner. The driver assured Whippoorwill that the owner was trustworthy: a dependable, tight-lipped friend of the Mansel family. Their reach was long indeed.

The warehouse key jingled next to his apartment key on the small, silver ring he wore against his breast inside the ice blue suit jacket, its color complemented by a cool, light gray polo and a simple, white pocket square. Little horseshoe cuff links gleamed from all four sleeves, small golden pieces that echoed his yellow flower boutonniere, which naturally drew the eye upwards to be ensnared by his beret, a frantic salmon color which, with his pink and orange mane, made it appear at first glance as if the top of his head had been shorn away. Sometimes he hated his contrasting fur, but the attention it brought him was a nectar he took in greedily as he strolled down the drizzling Canterlot sidewalk to his destination, sandy shield up in place of an umbrella.

He was to meet his old friend at a small breakfast spot called The Broken Ground. An allusion to fresh coffee beans, or a cruel pun on the state of the country, he wondered. He didn’t mind; it did great business, a safe haven for readers and writers of all skill sets, its dark coffee enlivening dilettantes and professionals alike. When he arrived, his contact was already seated in the back.

“Wow,” he whispered despite himself. In the city’s lower districts, he had seen fashions aplenty, most to his distaste. Ponies flaunted themselves in all the wrong ways, he thought, often letting their natural colors get the better of what they chose to wear, resulting in a dull blend of greens and blues and reds, those being the most common coat colors in his little section of the world.

He was not the only one whose attention had been commandeered by the creamy orange pegasus in the corner booth. From across the room, a single, older earth pony stared from over the top of his book, and no one stopped Whippoorwill as he advanced. He sat down and shook hooves.

The specimen before him was not what he would call attractive. Her cantaloupe coat was cut short, almost bald, leaving a lot of negative space behind a black vest that she wore tight across her chest, its accentuations a black choker, thin and perforated to allow tufts of fur through, and black boots that ran halfway up her legs, fanged with tiny buckles and strips of polyester. Heavy purple eye shadow formed a nearly contiguous monocle across her face, rimmed with crimson, the red coronas broken only by dual eyebrow piercings that hid under flamboyant, two-tone bangs of neon orange and green. A pair of blood red ribbons ran through her voluminous mane, keeping it in a tight bundle that moved as a piece when she moved her head in a curt, greeting nod. Feathered tips of gray and black made her mane resemble a fern as it graduated from the top of her skull to well past her ears.

“How you’ve changed,” Whippoorwill said, seating himself and taking a moment to order a cup of decaf.

“Age changes us,” the mare said. Her voice was husky and deep, not quiet but not loud. She wore tangerine lipstick.

“So true. Ah remember you from high school. A bit more subdued back then.”

“I was scared of a lot of things,” she said, giving him a smile that, for a second, reverted her severe face to the one of his memories, the pale, curious moon face of his first good friend. They had met in study hall and grown close, never romantically, and then apart when life called them elsewhere. Her name had been Peach Cream back then; he didn’t know whether she went by it anymore.

“How’ve you been?”

The pony waited for the waitress to pass them by and for the older stallion to put his eyes back to his book. “I sincerely hope you reached out to me for more than this.”

Whippoorwill kept his face composed, but, inside, he felt a stab of anger—which, after a sip of coffee, softened into hurt.

“I’m a busy mare,” she continued. “Nothing against you personally, I know who you are.”

“You think.”

“I did hurt you.” She looked down for a second. “I’m sorry. If it is just a social call, there’s something about me you need to know.”

“No—Ah mean, don’t bother. Ah can get to the point.”

“Okay.”

He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, unexpectedly rattled from her brusque retort.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Last I heard, you had been sent to Trottingham.”

“Fer a while, Ah was. Let’s say that that part of the country ain’t exactly friendly for me anymore, and leave it at that? Do you still go by Peach?”

“White Wine now,” she said, and he thought he caught a hint of wistfulness in her voice. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

“You don’t miss it?”

“I don’t.” She smiled at the waitress who refilled her cup.

“Right. Well, Ah’m told you’ve got some connections that Ah might find useful.”

“Me specifically? That’s very strange.”

“My employers tell me so. They say you’ve got a part in some of the, er, local hoodlums, let’s call it.”

“Local hoodlums?” she asked, eyebrows raised sardonically. “Whippoorwill, your employers are feeding you some funny lines.”

“They weren’t specific on the whos and the whats, but they said you could be.”

“And what am I supposed to say?”

“Let’s start with who you are. Sure as sugar, Ah can see y’ain’t who you once were.” His hurt was not quite hardened, and he noted the flash of regret in her disguised eyes with bitter satisfaction. He lit his horn to feel for his pulse crystal, a habit from carrying one around in The Mountain Zone, something he could not do as frequently in Canterlot.

“Don’t do that,” White Wine said.

“What?”

“Your horn. Don’t.”

He looked her in the eye.

“Do not.”

He frowned, but kept his voice even. “Okay, fine. No worries, Wine. No magic.”

Her eyes lingered on his flank, where his magic had glowed, recognition in her expression. “I don’t know what you would want to know about who I am,” she said at length. “I’m an average pony making a living in Lower Canterlot. I own a few clubs nearby, but that’s it.”

Whippoorwill whistled. “They definitely failed to mention that little tidbit.”

“It’s not as glamorous as you think. I’ve had to scrub the toilets right there with my employees.”

“Point taken, madam,” he said. “But who are you? That’s what you do, not who you are.”

She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Okay, I’m a grown-up version of the little filly you knew back in high school. I’ve got a life and money, and I earned it the hard way. I’m going to keep earning it the hard way. Is that good? Now what about you? You must be some sort of tough guy, checking for your sidearm like that.”

He frowned and almost lit his horn again, but stopped himself. “Ah’ve earned a few things myself. Perhaps we can talk about that on a different day.”

“So it’s your employers who want me, not you. Right?”

“Hardly,” he said, genuinely hurt. “Ah woulda come lookin’ fer ya either way. Just so happens, Ah come bearing gifts.”

She leaned forward. “And what gifts are these?”

“The kind that can make a pony a lot of money,” he replied, leaning to meet her in the middle of the table. “If that pony were inclined to work fer it.”

“I have money.”

“Numbers?”

Just as quickly, she sat back and brushed her hair out of her face. “Not for you.”

“Fair enough. How ‘bout this? You sit back, and Ah paint you a picture.”

“I’m much obliged,” she said drily.

“Ah guarantee, you’ll find it appealin’.” He sipped his coffee, which he’d let get cold. “A young mare owns a passel of clubs for the hip, young ponies much like herself.” He gestured at her ridiculous getup, and she smirked. “These clubs provide her a steady stream of income, but she’s got a second source, something a little further from home, that involves the sale of certain… consumables, which are in high demand among many other young, hip ponies.” White Wine gave no indication that he was correct, but he continued. “Then, one day, a young, dashing colt comes into town with an offer. He says to her, he says ‘why, missy, Ah’ve got me a whole warehouse full of other useful items that can be sold to certain qualified buyers, and at pretty much any price you should name.’ She’s naturally skeptical.” He flashed a grin, and she rolled her eyes again.

“These items, so to speak, have a certain magical property, and can be quite useful for anyone with the bits to pay for them,” he said, nearly whispering.

“Did you get these from your employers as well?” she asked.

“Them, and thousands more, at my beck and call.”

“Then perhaps I should know who these employers of yours are,” White Wine said. “Ponies with enough imagination to pin me as whatever it is you’re suggesting. I don’t think I like that.”

“You familiar with Roan?”

She shook her head. “My interests don’t go far outside Canterlot.”

“Point well taken, White Wine. You may have heard of my ponies anyway, though.” He winked, the gesture lost on her nonplussed face. “The Mansel family, those are my ponies.”

“I’m not familiar with them.”

“No?”

“I’ve never been farther south than Ponyville,” White Wine said, rising. “Let’s go outside. These abstractions are giving me a migraine.”

Whippoorwill stood up and let her pay. “Ah choose where we go.”

“Am I a threat to you, Whippoorwill?” she asked, smiling sweetly.

“That’s fer you to answer, Miss Wine. Ah don’t like the way you’ve been lookin’ at me fer this little meet an’ greet.”

“If I can promise you I mean you no harm, can I choose where we go?” she asked. “It’s for both our safety. I have friends who would be unhappy to see us together.”

“Jealous coltfriend?”

They paused at the door, and White Wine brought up a hoof to raise her bangs out of the way. On her forehead, black as ash, was a thick, blotchy X. He had seen its feet when he sat down, and thought nothing of it, concealed under the loud mane.

On the sidewalk, he walked a little in front of her, and they turned into an alleyway. “Okay, Ah understand why you didn’t like it when Ah used my horn back there.”

“I’m no fool, Whippoorwill, I know the way of the world. I know to get ahead, you sometimes have to work with those you might not like. This,” she pointed to her forehead, “does not blind me to what you’re proposing, or our history. I still think of you as a friend, of sorts. My other ponies, though, will not see it that way. You’d be torn apart, and so would I for even talking to you.”

Whippoorwill swallowed. He had been told White Wine was a leader of a local gang, and that, if he could persuade her to use her connections, he could set down his own roots in the inner city. He had not expected a Pegasus Advocate.

“Reconsidering?”

“No, just thinking.” He smoothed his mane under his hat. “Ah’m willin’ to look past that little detail of yers, if yer willin’ to look past this here horn of mine.”

“Tell me your business proposal.” She leaned against the brick wall and pulled out a colorful cigarette from somewhere in her vest, using her wings—dyed the same as her mane and tail—to manipulate the tiny object out of its box and into her lips. He was silently impressed at the dexterity.

“Ah’ve got a warehouse full of enchanted objects that are worth at least two or three hundred bits on the street, each, and more behind me, shippin’ in straight from Roan. Nothin’ serious, basic stuff, like weak forcefields, increased virility, resistance to disease, and so on. We’re runnin’ the same operation back there.”

“Then why bring them out here?”

“Ah don’t know, an’ it ain’t my job to. Alls Ah know is Ah could sorely use yer connections with these other… ah, fine flying folk.”

She blew a slender stream of smoke into the air. “So, assuming that I even have these connections, what’s in it for me? Sounds like I’m taking a lot of risk for you to do it, what with all the ponies I’d have to put on street corners.”

“Again, assumin’ you could do that.”

“Of course, always assuming. This is all purely hypothetical, as I’m sure you know.”

“Ah’m aware, quite acutely.”

“So it would seem a bad deal to me, and for less than half I might make if I were to try selling these… what? What is it I’m selling, exactly, Whippoorwill?”

“Various narcotics, ‘swhat I’m told.”

“As good a description as any.” She smiled. “What’s the benefit in teaming up with you if I already have a successful side operation, on top of my legitimate businesses?”

“You’ll have my full cooperation and protection, if you want it, to ensure this new business don’t die on the vine. So there’s that. Maybe a little extra work, but that money is basically free.”

“I assume you’d want a partnership?”

“Sixty-forty? Ah’ll take the forty, as a show of good faith, if you’ll have me.”

“Not so fast, stud. I haven’t even seen your product yet.”

“It’s not far. We could walk there.”

“Which direction?”

“West.”

“You lead, I follow. How’s that?”

He sighed. “Fine, if you gotta. Ah hope yer not usually this jumpy.”

She scoffed. “You twinklers are all the same. Let me follow you and we can get this over with.”

He smiled. “Haven’t been called that in a while, Miss Wine.”

“Go, get moving,” she said, shoving him out of the alley. “No setups, no surprises, just two ponies looking at some product. Okay?”

He nodded slowly, putting his back to her and moving in the direction of the warehouse. It was five blocks away, and he only caught sight of her once on his way over. His mind was racing. The promise of free money had been his ultimate enticement for White Wine, and she had hardly seemed fazed. He quietly cursed Mrs. Mansel for setting him up with someone who was already wealthy, but thought better of his anger; after all, she probably didn’t know any more than he did.

The population of Canterlot seemed at least sixty percent unicorns. How could someone like White Wine, let alone an entire gang of Pegasus Advocates, survive in such a place, he wondered. They must either be very strong or very quiet. Based on the way his connection chose to dress, he was inclined to decide the former. “How much does she trust me?” he wondered. “At least enough to meet. That must say something.”

Outside the warehouse, he exchanged brief words with the guard and went back to his secluded storage unit, where he waited for White Wine to catch up.

“Let’s see it, then. If I don’t like it, I’m out,” she said. Her bright getup was sagging from the rain outside, and some of her makeup ran. She reminded him of a melting birthday cake.

“Like Ah said,” he said, lifting the corrugated door, “most of it’s small stuff. Here, you can try if you like.” He opened a crate and pulled out a watch. “These sharpen your reflexes by some small percent, Ah don’t remember off the top of my head. This puppy,” he grabbed a scarf and draped it around his neck, “protects you from sickness.”

“These are just objects,” White Wine said. “How do I know they work?”

“Test ‘em yourself, then. Here.” He grabbed a plastic bag off the top of a crate. “Take some home, play with ‘em, and you let me know later if you wanna go into business. What say?”

She was silent.

“There’s always the Astras,” he said, holding his aloof, calm expression tight like a second suit, despite only thinking of it a couple minutes before she caught up.

“What about them?” the acid in her voice was not put on.

“If you can sell these fer us, Ah can help you put it on them.” He gave her a cordial smile. “How’s that fer a sweet deal? You can ruin those unicorns’ good name and make some money on the side, an’ all you gotta do is put up with my company.”

“How would you put it on them?”

“Ah’ve got friends in town too, Miss Wine, all it takes is a little bit of information in the right ears to get the whole town talkin’. Do you have any clientele on the mountaintop?”

“Some,” she said guardedly.

“Those ponies talk,” Whippoorwill said. “They share sources with each other, an’ if one of their sources happens to be the well-loved Astras.” He raised his eyebrow and grinned at her. “Ah can see us both benefitin’ from it, that’s all.”

White Wine thought for a long time. Her brow wrinkled slightly, crinkling her black X. “Okay, I’ll try ‘em out. But!” She rushed up to him, putting their faces inches apart. Whippoorwill did not back down, nor did she expect him to. “Only because I know you. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Whippoorwill said, tipping his hat and taking a polite step away from her. “Take as much time as you need to get acquainted with my product, and let the thought of taking down the Astras sink in while you do it. Ah’ll be around.”

“Give me your information. I will set up the next meeting.”

He smiled. “Ah’ve got my information on a slip of paper in my breast pocket. You all right if Ah use my horn to grab it?”

She tossed her head jerkily. “If you must.” Her eyes never left his horn as he reached in and produced the piece of paper. Extending it to her, she edged away. “Hoof it to me.”

He did, and she tucked it away somewhere in her vest. For a moment, they simply stood there, two damp ponies, looking at each other.

“Ah have to ask,” he finally said. “What happened? You weren’t like this before.”

She held him in a cool gaze. “I changed. That simple.”

Eight days away from the castle, one day from Canterlot, and the Elements angling down toward Ponyville for a reminder of what they were fighting for while, forty miles north, two warring families made their quiet, deadly plans.

The Meeting of the Ways

Chapter Eighty-nine

The Meeting of the Ways

Outside Ponyville, ship resting on a bend in the river, Twilight, Big Mac, and Vinyl walked a tactful distance into the meadow. Big Mac sat on the husk of an old cart that had made its way out of town and looked to Sweet Apple Acres, between them and the sunset. Vinyl’s goggles glowed like dark rubies.

“Do you know what the curse actually does?” Twilight asked. “I figure, let’s start with that.”

“No idea,” Big Mac said. “If Ah did, Ah’d tell ya.”

“Unless you thought you shouldn’t. Well, I’ll tell you what it is, because I finally figured it out. Do you know how hard it was, to figure out what we were cursed with without accidentally activating said curse?”

“You’re only coming to us with this information now, so it must have been pretty hard,” Vinyl said.

Twilight smiled at her. “Yeah. Not easy.”

“Go on,” Big Mac said. “You don’t sound happy ‘bout it.”

“Right, so basically, it’s an amplified location-transpositional enchantment,” Twilight said, pacing a circle around them. She wished she had a chalkboard behind her, so tempted she was to brag about the details of how she had isolated and tested the curse. “Different in makeup to that thing Vanilla Cream does to us, but with similar effect. It’s a curse that’s going to rip us away from… well, I have to assume Canterlot, since we’re apparently supposed to go there.”

“That hasn’t changed, right?” Vinyl asked, looking at Big Mac.

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head slowly. In the distance, a couple voices crossed, and a pair of silhouettes took to the air over the barn.

“All we have to do is try to teleport somewhere,” Twilight continued. “Any one of us, just trying to do it, will activate the curse, and we’ll be whisked off to who-knows-where.”

“Do you know where?” Vinyl asked.

Twilight looked at Big Mac. “Do we?”

“Ah’m sorry,” he said simply.

“Big Mac, come on, you can’t honestly—”

“Ah stand by what Ah think. Whatever it is, it’s gotta happen. It’s fer the best.”

“I trust him,” Vinyl said.

“I know you do,” Twilight sighed. “Tomorrow’s not going to be pleasant. Do we at least know where in Canterlot we need to go?”

“Well,” Big Mac started.

“Not that it matters overmuch, because we’re going to upset a lot of ponies no matter where we go, and probably end up bringing some of them with us. It looks like the enchantment has a large area of effect.”

“Ah’ve got no idea where we need to go, specifically.”

“Could mean it doesn’t matter,” Vinyl said.

“Maybe. It also might mean that there’s going to be a concurrent event in Canterlot that isn’t ready to take place quite yet,” Twilight said.

“If it’s important, Ah’ll know tomorrow,” Big Mac said.

“I’m sure you will. I’m going to tell everyone what’s going to happen, you know.”

“That might not be wise,” Vinyl said.

“No?” Of everyone, Twilight was least surprised to hear the objection come from Vinyl.

“It’ll scare ‘em too much. If this is unavoidable and important, best to just get on with it. We might miss our chance with an argument.” Her face was angled at Twilight in what she imagined was an accusation.

“I’m not going to withhold information from our friends to make Big Mac’s faith thing go more smoothly. They can handle it.”

“No objections here,” Big Mac said.

“See? It’s fine,” Twilight said. “Did you know that it would be bad, Big Mac?”

“Ah… had an impression.”

“But you don’t know how bad it’s going to be for us.”

“How can Ah?”

“And you don’t know how bad it’s going to be for Canterlot.”

“No idea.”

“See, this is what I hate about this thing,” Twilight said, resuming her circular pace. “We’re going to fly into Canterlot tomorrow, go wherever Big Mac says, land, and then I’m going to deliberately set off a chain reaction I only barely understand, and we’re all expected to just trust that it’ll work out okay.”

“That’s faith,” Vinyl said. “Simple as that.”

“We’ve been over this an’ over this,” Big Mac said. “Ah’m sorry Ah can’t master it, Miss Twilight, but it ain’t my fault. Ah’m just the messenger.”

“You know, it started with little bits of advice here and there about how to do things a certain way, and I could live with that,” Twilight said. “Pinkie used to do that exact thing when we lived in Ponyville. Here! When we lived here.” She shielded her eyes and looked into the sunset for a moment. “Ridiculous,” she whispered.

“Ah don’t like it any more’n you do.”

“We’re going to have to say no sometime. This thing doesn’t take collateral damage into account from what I’ve seen, and one of these days, you’re going to ask us to do something awful. If we just go by faith, without thought, then we’ll do it, no matter how bad for everyone else.”

“I don’t think it’ll get that far,” Vinyl said.

“Me neither,” Big Mac said. “This is just friendship we’re dealin’ with, Twilight. What wild situation are you thinkin’ of that has us committin’ atrocities to enhance a friendship?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight said. “I’m just thinking out loud.” She conjured a tableau of magical lines that she held in front of them all. “You might be interested to know that I did my extra credit and worked out where we could wind up after we teleport.” The lines converged and formed a rough map of the country, lighting their interested faces as they leaned closer. “By measuring the curse’s strength and the amount of latent, potential energy inside, I was able to convert it to distance and work out a ring of possible landing points for us.” A large, orange circle appeared over the map, its sides and top half spilling over the map’s edge. “As you can see, a large amount of possible landing zones happen to be off the continent, which, let’s make no mistake, would be the end of all of us.”

“That won’t happen,” Big Mac said.

“I know, because you wouldn’t ever advise us to go to something like that. So,” most of the orange circle faded, giving them a band that stretched across the very southernmost portions of Equestria. “This is what’s left. Look here.” She put a hoof to one small, white dot in the southeast corner just on top of the orange line. “This is Moondrop. Depending on where in Canterlot we cast our spell, we’ll either land right on top of it, or a couple miles away.”

“Is that the only town on the line?” Vinyl asked.

“There’s a couple small villages elsewhere that are close, but Moondrop is the only town that lines up perfectly.” She banished the map. “So I think it’s likely we end up there.”

“But that’s a good thing,” Big Mac said. “The Element’s there.”

“So’s whatever trap Discord is setting up,” Vinyl said. “Remember?”

“Ah, I think he does,” Twilight said. “And what a perfect way to spring that kind of trap, to have your unwitting victims accidentally teleport themselves more than halfway across the country to get to it.”

“What are you gettin’ at?” Big Mac asked.

Again, Twilight shielded her eyes. “Just more thinking out loud.”

“Do you want to turn around, Twilight?” Vinyl asked.

Twilight paused. “I think we shouldn’t have come up this far. We should have gone down and gotten that last Element when we had the chance.”

“We still have that chance,” Big Mac said. “If what you said is true, we’ll be there tomorrow.”

“But on his terms.”

“Not necessarily,” Vinyl said. “He’s not choosing what time we go down there. Who knows, we might still get him by surprise.”

“I doubt that.”

“It don’t matter,” Big Mac said. “It’s too late to turn back now, even if it might have been a good idea.”

“He’s right, Twilight, we’re in this for good now,” Vinyl said. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

Twilight looked at her.

“Sorry, Twilight,” Big Mac said.

She walked them back to the ship, told the others what she had discovered, and had just enough sunset left to see her shadow die on the fields west of town. Circumventing Ponyville, passing within sight of her library and of the windmills to the north, Twilight knew where she was going, but still had to use a small globe of light to keep her path straight as she traversed the gentle countryside. Night had fallen by the time Twilight had reached the cemetery.

She moved among the headstones slowly, pausing when she thought she recognized a name. In all her time in Ponyville, save for the very end, she had never had occasion to visit the cemetery, and the location was still largely unfamiliar to her. She stopped for a minute beside a tall, white obelisk that marked the grave of someone who had passed before she had been born and listened to the night sounds. Crickets sang, and the glowing horn of Canterlot Mountain hummed with indistinct life. She thought she heard hoofsteps in the distance.

Finally finding her grave, she stopped and sat, picking a flower from the small tuft growing within magic’s reach and laying it before the headstone. There rested her former assistant, the closest she had ever had, or had ever wanted, to a child. To her surprise, no cool anger twisted in her heart, no setting of resolve to see Discord destroyed.

What had happened, happened, and maybe it wasn’t so bad that he had not lived to see such times, Twilight thought.

“Twi?” someone asked.

Twilight’s horn flashed for a second before she looked, and then extinguished her magic. The pale mare stood a respectful distance away.

“It is you. I thought I saw you walking.”

“Hello, Bon Bon.”

“Uh… I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“We just got in. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Bon Bon came a little closer before seeing who Twilight was visiting. “Ah. Um… Discord got him. A, a while ago.”

“I know.” She stood, and Bon Bon stepped back. “I was there for it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Twilight regarded Bon Bon, remembering vaguely the funeral she had attended for Lyra. Bon Bon had been inconsolable then. They all had.

“Um… you look okay, though, otherwise,” Bon Bon said.

“Go home, Bon Bon,” Twilight said. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

Bon Bon nodded quickly and backed away more. “Yeah, of course, Twilight. I’ll… be on my way.” She spared a backwards glance at Twilight as she retreated into the darkness, and Twilight sat down at Spike’s grave once more, thinking of their coming day in Canterlot.

******

Colgate woke up with a snap of alarm at her dream, and needed a moment to remember where she was. She looked to the TV, which was blank; someone had turned it off while she was asleep.

Breakfast was in three and a half hours, and she could feel hunger like a lead weight. It had been annoying at first, then easy to ignore, and then, finally, impossible to ignore. Her insides howled at her, movement hurt, and thought, once slow and labored, had stopped almost entirely. Her mind was a haze of a haze, and she had to stop and concentrate to turn the TV on.

The only problem: it did not turn on. She pressed at the remote, jiggled it, shook it, but the TV remained resolutely dead. The remote was lighter in her grasp, and she realized with a slow-coming dread her fate. Someone had removed the batteries.

She nodded, miming understanding to herself though it had not yet come. As the first demonstration of light made its way across the duck pond to her drawn curtains, she lit on the first thought that stuck. The TV was her escape, woefully inadequate in recent times with Drift Dive’s infrequent, but potent invasions, and she had thought no one had noticed or cared.

Finding that she was wrong, she began to wonder what other mistakes she might have made. She went to the window and parted the curtains, but shut them a second later. In her mind, an unseen night guard waited outside her door. She crouched behind the bed, anticipating that guard who, seeing the change of light under her door, would rush in, find her awake, and begin whatever machinations they had in store for her, which only her natural sleep had prolonged.

When no one entered, she lay prone on the cold floor and tried to crawl under the bed, but it was too low, and she banged her horn on the metal frame.

Doubtless, she thought, the new day would bring tortures she had not imagined even at the height of her paranoia. The counselors were aware even of her TV viewing, and willing to remove that last haven in the dark of night, without a confrontation or any chance of recourse on her part.

Her wide eyes scanned the floor, searching for what she did not know. It was not yet time for anyone to be awake in the facility, yet she felt she could not move without drawing someone’s attention. Invisible eyes patrolled the corridor outside, invisible ears waited at her window. She could not even climb back in bed without giving away that she had been awake.

Colgate splayed her legs and tilted her head, trying again to jam herself under the bed. No success, and she pulled herself out, ears ringing and breathing shallow.

Still, no one came.

Her mind was finally waking up, and she stood, brushing herself off. The room was lighter, and she could hear shreds of birdsong outside. She took one step to the bed’s corner, trying to recall the building’s layout, ears tense for any hoofstep, any equine voice.

One step became two, then three, then more until she faced the door. She inched it open and, after a long look down both sides of the chilly hallway, crossed it in her sleeping gown and slippers. The fear had dimmed and transformed in her moving mind to urgency. Instead of around her, the imaginary watchers were behind her; they would soon arrive to discover her empty bed, the dust she had stirred up under the bed, the door ajar, everything. She had gone too far; perhaps even waking up early had been too far. The thought gave her comfort, that hers might be an innocent mistake, borne of a faulty circadian rhythm, and not a reaction to the dangerous thoughts that came later. She did not imagine the counselors would make such a distinction.

She passed the receptionist’s desk and went to the sliding doors, which did not slide so early in the morning. With her hooves, she tried to jostle them open, but they did not move, and she spent one defeated moment staring through her gaunt reflection at the street beyond. A large, fancy carriage had parked in the fire lane across from the facility.

And yet, she had no choice but to proceed. If she had not gone too far earlier, she definitely had by touching the doors. No one was there to stop her from returning to the desk and guiding the rolling chair across the empty vestibule, nor did they stop it from pitching like a drunken ballerina through the glass, catching on a piece of door frame, and sticking to twirl monotonously at a slant beside the hole that was large enough to admit her without cuts. The alarm flashed in her ears, but it could not match the silent alarm that had carried her from bedroom to sidewalk.

In the gray light, she blinked and stumbled off into the street. For one, single space of time, she stood in the middle of the road and looked at the sky, mouth hanging open slightly, eyes uncomprehending, mind aflame with too many emotions. Freedom.

“Ma’am? Get in, if you’re getting in,” a voice said.

She slowly looked around, finally recognizing the carriage. Its door stood open, and a white figure beckoned from within, pinning her for a second with its glinting, blue eyes.

“I’d advise haste,” he said. “They’re going to spot you in a couple seconds.”

Colgate walked to the carriage, a brilliant, white purse couched on golden wheels, its spiral spokes thin as spun silk. No heraldry adorned its sides, no lanterns rose from its corners, but it nonetheless struck Colgate as the epitome of class in the dirty street. A pair of rail-thin earth ponies stood in the reins, also white, and they smiled seductively at Colgate as she approached.

“There she is!”

Colgate paused, not looking back, and climbed in, and the carriage lurched to a start as the door closed silently.
The front was open to the air, and she sat directly behind the snow-white driver and his papery mares. She pushed aside a cushion of cream velvet, dimpled with dark blue buttons and trimmed with bound ropes of gold. Her tail brushed a tassel, and she kicked her slippers onto the carpeted floor. Red and blue curtains hung in long, bunched strands beside the oblong windows, also trimmed in gold, affording a side view of the growing chaos surrounding her exit.

“We’re invisible to them,” the conductor said. “They’ll think you vanished into the neighborhood somewhere.” He waited a moment to let the information sink in before asking her name. Sitting up front, he did not look at her, but his voice carried perfectly in the wide carriage space, clear enough to keep her attention. The two mares in the reins nickered and pranced, halting briefly. “Mine’s Vanilla Cream. It’s good to meet you.”

Colgate looked back to the window. “Colgate,” she said.

“It’s a pleasure, Colgate.” The reins snapped, and they moved again. “That was some exit.”

Colgate watched a red traffic light go by.

“Tired?”

Colgate blinked. “I don’t know.”

“Hm.” They drove until the rehab facility was gone from sight, until buildings that had marked Colgate’s occasional looks out her window were gone. Vanilla cleared his throat. “I’ll admit, I was expecting someone a little more lifelike. You don’t seem like the one who’s going to… well, you don’t seem important.”

“Okay.”

Vanilla snorted. “Aren’t you going to ask what’s going on? What all this is?”

The alarm echoed in her mind with the sound of breaking glass. She could still feel the floor against her chest and stomach, and she could feel the invisible eyes watching her escape, taking note of it for later. The flash of freedom was gone, and in Colgate’s mind, she was still in rehab. She had merely woken from one dream to march into a second layer of abstraction, and would soon wake up from that as well.

“It’s no dream, I promise you that,” Vanilla continued. “I’m an expert on this sort of thing. You’re wide awake, Colgate. Well, maybe not wide awake, but you’re living your real life right now.”

Colgate sighed.

“Aren’t you a joy,” he mumbled. “Take a good look at your city, Colgate. Take a nice, long look. You’re not going to be seeing it again in quite some time. Do you have a first name?”

She flinched at a second carriage appearing at their side, its arguing pullers evaporating and reappearing on their other side, the carriage rattling straight through, its clatter sound floating from her right ear to her left. Vanilla did not spare the unharmed carriage a look as they came to a thinner road. “Where are we going?” she finally asked.

“To the palace.”

She glanced at the city outside, actually seeing it for a moment. “Going the wrong way.”

“I know. You’ve got a date with destiny, but the destiny’s not going to be there for another several hours. Any sights you’d like to see while we’re cruising?”

******

Lower Canterlot had never looked so unwelcome. The fields outside were still scarred from battle, though the debris had been cleared to leave an odd void of defoliated flatland, bisected with the snag of broken river, its only defining feature. The country resembled something assembled from dissimilar pieces by someone with only a vague notion of how a country looked. Then, in the middle, there moldered the wide, dirty city, houses little larger than sheds at the exterior rim, the stunted tips to phalanges of dirt road that eventually gained pavement and spread into the beating heart of the city, lifeless from their distance, shrouded in a thin blanket of pollution. Cars and carriages would occasionally meander into view, but, even when the airship was over the city, there was little to see. Strip malls, grocery stores, hospitals, police stations. They had seen too many cities, and Canterlot was just that: another city.

They rose to fly between a pair of parallel contrails to the mountaintop, gliding slowly behind a bloated, lilac airship with tinted windows and the crest of Luna’s royal moon on both sides, and on each propeller blade. The palace looked as it always did, shining in the sun like a regal sculpture on its purple mountain. The thin bridges that connected the towers seemed to drip sunshine, reflected off the minareted spires’ gilt tops, off the decorative ponds around the palace’s exterior walls, where small crowds jostled. Beyond the encircling moat, the city’s wealthy half rose out of the pollution like a pristine abalone shell, cast up onto the rocks to bask in what sun did not serve only to enhance the palace. Larger towers stood, some still under reconstruction, and they could actually see ponies moving in the wider, emptier spaces, making their ways to the music halls, the museums, the fancy restaurants.

“Take us down to that lot,” Twilight directed Applejack. “Before we go to our fates, I’d like to take an hour or so to re-stock, on everything. Personally, I’m going to the bank and taking out a couple thousand bits. We’ve been out of cash for too long.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Vinyl said. “I have a couple things I’d like to do.”

“We’re not at any risk of missin’ our window of opportunity for this… whatever it is?” Applejack asked.

“Don’t feel like it,” Big Mac said. “Course, it could also be that we’re supposed to split up fer some reason.”

“The point is, Big Mac feels fine about it,” Twilight said.

“Are you just going to the bank?” Fluttershy asked.

“No.” She adjusted her saddlebags, though they still had several minutes before they would be on the ground.

“I will stay here for the time,” Octavia said.

“Me too,” Applejack said. “There’s nothin’ in this city fer me right now.”

“That’s fine,” Twilight said.

When they landed, everyone but Applejack and Octavia left and went their separate ways.

“Y’all right?” Big Mac asked, walking beside Vinyl through the pristine Greater Canterlot streets. He had to walk faster than he liked to keep up with Vinyl’s pace, set to give passers-by less time to recognize her. Even so, he had never been in the city, except once on a train, passing through, and the splendid array of ponies and buildings, along with the voices and food smells, was sufficient to keep his head moving in all directions, as if his point of interest were attached to a string in constant orbit.

“Fine,” Vinyl said. “Preoccupied.”

“Anythin’ Ah can do to help?”

“Nope.” She paused to look at him with a smile, but he wasn’t fooled.

“What’s wrong, Miss Vinyl?”

“You know you don’t have to call me that,” she mumbled.

He pushed her playfully, and she gave him a more genuine smile before shoving back.

“Gotta make some calls, that’s all. Meet with someone if I can.” They stopped at a bank and she withdrew a hundred bits, then got in a taxi carriage and were pulled all the way across town to a wide, squat building between an empty sandwich shop and the white arcature of a bustling strip mall, palm trees towering over well-dressed patrons who filled the outdoor food court. Big Mac stared at a young pegasus mare dressed in all black, occupying a table on her own in a shroud of smoke from the pipe hanging surlily from her black lips.

He went into the building behind Vinyl, where she was making friendly with the receptionist. It was clear that they knew each other.

“That’s just my friend,” she said, glancing back at him. “He’s cool.”

He only watched.

“You don’t have to wait around for me,” she said. “I might be a while.”

“Ah’ll be fine,” he said, looking around. “They got some magazines here.”

The receptionist giggled and murmured something into her phone, her face plastered with a wide smile that she flashed at Big Mac as he took his seat. She was cute, he thought, in a big city sort of way.

“I’ll try to be quick,” Vinyl said, reaching up to hug him quickly and then vanishing into the building. He waited a moment before grabbing a magazine and trying to occupy himself, suddenly wishing he had stayed on the ship.

It was not long before he had given up on the magazines, all music related, and not to his interest. From the ponies who passed in and out before him, and what he was able to pick up from the receptionist, Vinyl had dragged him to a recording studio; hers, he figured, the calls to be made in the effort to salvage her career after taking up with the Elements. He had heard about it enough times from Octavia: while noble, nothing could ruin a music career quite like an unplanned tryst with adventure.

He watched what he could see of the mall ponies from his seat. The all-black mare was gone, in her place a pair of business-stallions leaning close together over a steaming box of food. An overweight earth pony tried to control her gamboling children not far from them, her billowing blue dress reminding Big Mac of the tarps they had to sometimes put on the apple trees in the winter, so ill-fitting it was. He laughed quietly to himself as he thought of what Rarity might say to such an observation.

The mother looked up and appeared to shout at a pegasus lying on a small cloud just above her. For a moment, he thought it was Rainbow Dash, but then saw that the pony’s mane was only the single color, a garish orange on her cyan coat. The two conversed for a time, then went their own ways.

When Vinyl came back out, Big Mac went immediately for the door, and only noticed the rims of moisture under her goggles when they were outside.

“Goodness, Miss Vinyl, what happened?”

She looked up at him. In a strained voice, almost inaudible, she said, “fancy a drink?”

Big Mac was not much of a drinker, not anymore, but he indulged a beer while Vinyl worked her way through her time in the studio.

“Just needed to call a couple ponies and let ‘em know I’m still alive,” she said. “My agent, my PR pony, a couple friends.”

“Yer… parents?”

“Don’t know where they are.”

He nodded. “Condolences.”

“Not an issue.” In the dim bar, she was able to wear her goggles up, and Big Mac stared into her eyes. He had never seen someone with such vibrant irises, so close to red as to seem fake. Every time he looked, he found himself drawn inwards.

“They want me back in the recording studio yesterday,” she continued. “Told ‘em I have new material—that was a mistake.”

“Do you?”

“Like twenty pages of ideas on the ship. There’s probably an album on there, yeah.”

“But yer not gonna do anythin’ now, right?”

Vinyl took her eyes off his and studied the empty ashtray on their table. The bar was nothing like the glamorous city without, its interior more resembling the types of saloons Big Mac had seen in Appleloosa. It was polished, of course; there was no dust in the air or on the bar, no peanut shells littering the floor, no rowdy farmers or engineers playing stud in the corner. They even had a cocktail menu, claiming “western authenticity” with its imported whiskies and ciders. Big Mac had stuck to what was on tap.

“Vinyl? What’d you agree to?”

“No music,” she said. “I said I’d do a press conference.”

“Today?”

“Shouldn’t even be drinking.”

“You said you’d do a press conference, today?”

“I had to give ‘em something,” she said.

“No you didn’t.”

She took another drink and wiped her mouth, and then lowered her goggles back to her eyes. “They all thought I was gone. The execs in Applewood apparently told everypony I died in the flood.”

“Mm-hm.”

“They freaked when I called ‘em up. Big Mac, I wish you could have been there, there must have been twenty ponies on the other end of the line.”

“That’s good they’re happy yer alive, but—”

“Can’t just phone them, say ‘I’m alive, don’t worry’ and then disappear again just like that.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause that’s not what you do. It’s… I can’t explain, Big Mac, it’s just not what you do. There’s give and take, you know?”

“Give an’ take.” His gaze was averted for a second as he watched their waitress go by.

“Like on a farm. I’m sure you’ve had to deal with things like that. You know, you have so many bushels of apples and you—”

“Ah’d appreciate it if you didn’t patronize me, Miss Vinyl.”

Her horn glowed for a second, navy blue. “Sorry.”

“Ah ain’t mad, not exactly, but that’s some right poor timin’, an’ you should’ve known it.”

“Well, we have all day, right?”

“Ah can’t know that.”

“We do so far.”

He nodded and finished his beer. “An’ that can change.” He sighed. “When is this, an’ where?”

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.”

“That ain’t what Ah asked.”

The curls of a frown appeared on the corners of her mouth. “At four, in the park behind Studio Three, which isn’t that far from here. We’ve got an hour thirty.”

Glancing at her again and seeing her drink still almost full, he ordered a second one for himself.

******

Vanilla’s carriage stopped at a junction of hoofpaths out in the fields outside Canterlot, where he and Colgate had wound up after an aimless several hours. It was the first time they had stopped, and Colgate took notice.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“Your meeting partners are taking longer than I wanted.”

“Oh.”

The two mares at the front backed up and awkwardly turned them around to face the city.

“No more delays. I have places to be too,” Vanilla said.

“You said they’re not there yet.”

“If I push, they’ll respond.”

**** **

In the audience, anonymous, but not really, Big Mac watched with decreasing interest as Vinyl dodged more questions than she answered. Everyone wanted to know where she had been, and where she was going; she couldn’t say except that she was there of her own volition, and she was okay. They wanted to know whether she had any music on the way; maybe, she said. Whether her disappearance was all a giant publicity stunt; no, she said, but that it also didn’t hurt. That comment raised a laugh from the crowd.

Cameras flashed and microphones moved among the sea of reporters, she at a podium fashioned from a stack of fruit crates with a microphone one of the reporters had brought for her. The press conference was conducted in a large park behind a chain of studios, their view of the opposite street beyond obstructed by towering, tilting oak trees, their trunks thick as doorways, crowded together into a nearly contiguous mass broken only toward the tops, diamond-like slots under the interweaving of branches. Rising behind Vinyl, they appeared as a wave frozen just before crest, poised to fall onto the crowd.

Big Mac was the only one sitting in the grass, and some ponies gave him strange looks, which he ignored. He could feel a familiar sense of anxiety germinating as Vinyl explained her views on the Elements’ work, and tactfully emphasized that her personal politics were not up for open questioning. Filtered through the microphones, her voice had a lilting, breezy quality that he did not like.

“What needs to happen?” he asked himself. It was the first question he used to determine whether the glamour was saying anything.

His immediate urge was to end the conference prematurely. “Then what?” he thought. “Back to the ship?” Suggesting a specific action to himself, he knew, was never wise; it was too easy to distract himself with endless strings of hypotheticals, and miss what the glamour wanted. He had to stop and reorient himself, stopping at “then what?”

Repeating the question quietly in his mind, he watched Vinyl gesturing around her, complimenting Canterlot to a small chorus of applause. He had missed the prompt.

Then, he knew that the circle was closing. The deadline, which he had said had slackened, was constricting again; he knew when he realized he wanted them out of the city before sunset. Limbs weakening, he let himself down into a crouch to collect his wits and breathe in the smell of the grass as faceless anxiety quickened to concrete dread. Knowing what he knew, that they had less time than before, he knew he would need to gather the others. That he felt pushed to end the interview early—a paler desire in his true mind, one easily ignored for the sake of his friend—showed only that their time was short, rather than just shortening.

His singular comfort was familiarity, hard-earned in Applewood with Octavia when they had gone to re-claim their airship. He counted off ten seconds in his head and then stood, immediately aware of the perplexed looks he drew. He pushed his way to the front, mumbling apologies to each pony he moved aside, and Vinyl shot him a look of mingled surprise and courtesy: a harmless, but empty smile that he would remember.

“We gotta go,” he said, the words strangled with discomfort. He cleared his throat and raised his voice, repeating himself. His mind was abuzz with embarrassment, and he stared at the trees behind, trying to focus only on the words he spoke, not the reactions he knew were percolating nearby.

“Excuse me, who are you?” someone asked.

“Gotta go!” he called again, defeating the rising objections around him.

“What do—I’m sorry, what do you mean?” Vinyl asked.

“Miss Pon-three—” someone else said.

“Not now,” she said, waving with a hoof as if to beat back the incoming inquiry. “What is it?”

His cheeks were aflame; he knew his disruptive image was being recorded and broadcasted across the town, and, much later, beyond that. “Something changed,” he simply said, hanging his head and shutting his eyes for one merciful second. He couldn’t even explain it; in his mind, the simple phrase “the circle is closing” repeated, but it meant nothing outside the confines of his skull.

“Now?” Vinyl asked. She wore a sympathetic smile, and cameras flashed relentlessly.

“Someone get this guy out of here!”

“Now,” Big Mac said. He could feel the crowd parting for a pair of security ponies, some of the reporters trying to shove him away themselves. Insults came over the crowd’s noise, demands that he sit down, or that he leave the musician alone. He didn’t wait for tempers to rise further; he cut straight across the front of the crowd, trying to keep Vinyl in the corner of his eye. She hesitated, but separated from the podium.

“Miss Pon-three, wait!”

She caught up to him, and they trotted, but did not run, away from the park, to the trees, where the mass was trying to curve back to pursue her. She looked back, but he did not. His face was burning with mingled shame and worry, growing hotter each time an insult made its way to his ears.

“What the Tartarus, Mac?” she hissed. Behind, the cameras stilled flashed endlessly, and Vinyl paused again to give them a good shot of her face.

“Ah just got the feelin’,” he said, wanting to grab her hoof and drag her along, but he knew what the picture would entail.

“The feeling?”

He bowed his head again as they reached the street, and Vinyl silently hailed a taxi. The crowd was beginning to understand, and only a few determined cameraponies followed them all the way to the street; one waspish, young mare had to dodge out of the taxi’s way as she crouched to get a shot of Vinyl going through the car door. Big Mac directed them back to the airship lot, and Vinyl remained quiet all the way there, goggles fixed on the window.

When they returned, Applejack received them with an energetic wave, and Rarity merely glanced up from where she sat at the back of the deck.

“Now we’re away from all that, you wanna explain?” Vinyl said.

“Ah can’t, Ah just knew,” he said.

“What’s goin’ on?” Applejack asked.

“Apparently we really do have to get to the palace soon,” Vinyl said. “Sure would have liked to know that earlier, Big Mac.”

“Not my choice,” he said.

“Hold up, right now?” Applejack asked.

“Soon. Where’s the others?”

“Twilight’s below, the others ain’t back yet.”

“I’ll get her,” Rarity said.

“Fifteen minutes, twenty, something like that,” Vinyl said. “We couldn’t wait that long?”

“Didn’t know how long you were gonna be,” Big Mac said quietly.

“You couldn’t tell it was getting close to done?”

“Girls, quit it,” Applejack said. “What were you even doin’?”

“She was givin’ an interview fer a bunch of music ponies,” Big Mac said.

“Press conference,” Vinyl said.

“What’s all this about having to bring everyone back?” Twilight asked, walking before Rarity and Octavia. She wore her exasperation on her face and in her voice, and spared some of that in a withering look to Vinyl as she walked by.

“Big Mac says we gotta get to the castle now,” Applejack said.

“I don’t like that I had to split just now for your cruddy glamour,” Vinyl said. “That’s all I have to say about it.”

“I don’t suppose you know how long we have,” Rarity said.

“He has no idea, just less time than before.”

“All right, all right, give me a second,” Twilight said. She lit her horn and frowned, and the light brightened and rose. It shot like a rocket up into the clouds, which scattered, and there hung a stellate gobbet of magenta that bathed the sky and city around them in its lurid glow.

“Ponies aren’t going to like that,” Rarity said, shielding her eyes. “I don’t like it. It makes my coat look like strawberry ice cream.”

“They’ll notice this,” Twilight said.

No one spoke, and Big Mac looked up at the beacon.

It took Pinkie ten minutes to return, Fluttershy fifteen, and Rainbow thirty. Big Mac paced the deck without talking, and Vinyl sulked under the torch while Octavia watched, brooding. Twilight and Rarity talked softly with Applejack, but dispersed when Fluttershy swooped up to the deck, fear in her eyes.

When they were assembled, Twilight extinguished her flare, which had drawn a crowd of nervous, well dressed ponies, all of whom were too scared to get close to the ship, but not too scared to jeer and demand that Twilight turn off her light.

The path from the airship lot to the road that would take them to the palace had been cleared of trees and left to grasses and weeds, whose sparse shadows waved at them in a chilly breeze. The pegasi above were setting up for another rain storm, and they could hear their banter distantly as they made their otherwise quiet way to the towering, white buildings.

When they reached the brick line that separated the hoofpath to the lot and the street that would join the Royal Road, they paused for a car to glide past, the sun symbol on its door. One of the crown’s automobiles, destined for parts unknown. They moved to the sidewalk along the street, though the street was, for the time, empty.

“Just so you all know, I came here earlier,” Rarity said as the drawbridge hove into view. “I got Princess Celestia’s designs for the Elements of Harmony.”

“I have them in my magical space,” Twilight said. “Safe and sound.”

“Your glamour say anything about that?” Vinyl asked, and Big Mac rolled his eyes.

“How the heck did you get those?” Rainbow asked.

“By asking nicely,” Rarity said, “and explaining our situation.”

“We said we were not going to make more,” Octavia said.

“No, we said we might not. I, for one, think we may as well have them with us, just in case, and Princess Celestia happened to agree.”

“No way,” Rainbow said.

They waited a minute for the guards to eye them at the first gate.

“I know it’s not popular,” Rarity continued as they passed through the courtyard. “But the fact is, we may have to face the reality of adding more Elements. Better to be prepared.”

“So you don’t think we can take him down on our own,” Rainbow said.

“That’s not what I said, dear.”

“But that’s what you mean.”

“It’s a precautionary measure, that’s all,” Twilight said.

“It’s unnecessary is what it is.”

“Kind of insulting,” Pinkie said quietly.

“It implies that you think that some of us can compare to you all,” Octavia said. “We cannot.”

“Octavia, can you cool it with the self-pitying routine?” Twilight asked. They stopped outside the decorated entryway to the throne room. “All right, everypony quiet. We’ll talk about this later. Let’s…” She took a deep breath. “Well, right then.”

The doors groaned open to admit them, and Twilight walked at the group’s head, her step not as confident as when she had led them there. Draped in sable folds of thick, furred fabric, Princess Celestia sat on her throne at the back of the grand room, atop the wide staircase under a gleaming row of almond-shaped windows, letting slots of light in to spill across the crimson carpet. Behind the bands of light, the sun goddess gleamed like an ingot of fresh ore, her heavy coat overflowing across the throne’s seat. Of the second goddess, there was no sign. There were no chairs in the room, no other ponies save the usual compliment of guards. There was sometimes a line of ponies out the door with questions or complaints, Twilight knew, but not then. It was four o’ clock on a Wednesday, which she imagined had something to do with it.

“No closer,” Celestia said, not rising. “I don’t mean to alarm you, my friends, but you are cursed.”

“We know,” Twilight said. Looking askance at Applejack, she said, “told you.”

Celestia studied them for a moment, her tired eyes holding each of them for a second before passing to the next. “What do you require of me?”

Twilight looked to Big Mac, in the back, and stepped aside. Suppressing a snide smile, she said, “Go ahead, Big Mac. It’s your situation.” The princess’ uncanny readiness for any spontaneous meeting was something that had unnerved her for years, as she could see it doing to Big Mac.

Big Mac looked back at her, his broad face inscrutable, and stepped forward. “Well, yer highness…” He stopped himself and bowed. “Ah’m not really sure how to begin.”

Celestia looked on.

“Ah guess Ah’m… well, Ah’ve sorta become a… Ah don’t know the word.”

“Your highness,” Vinyl said, going to his side and bowing. “If I may.”

“I’m sorry,” Celestia said. “Can you speak up?”

Vinyl’s horn glimmered for a second, a similar shade as her cheeks. She took a deep breath and spoke louder. Twilight could see her neck tendons standing out as she strained.

“He’s become a conduit for Discord’s will,” Vinyl continued at conversational volume. “He has a glamour that lets him know when there’s something we need to do, something that’ll help the friendship.”

Celestia looked at Twilight, who looked down, shame coloring her face and pounding behind her horn. “Should never have come here,” she thought.

“Bein’ here is important somehow,” Big Mac said. “Ah’m not really sure why.”

“Heightened intuition,” Celestia said. “Does it have to do with this curse of yours? Do you know its function?”

“It’s to move us somewhere,” Pinkie said. “Somewhere far away, Twilight said.”

A guard appeared at Celestia’s side and whispered into her ear, and she frowned. “I’m not expecting anyone else right now.”

The doors opened anyway, and for a second, Celestia’s countenance broke into displeasure, creasing the face that was usually perfectly calm. She did not object, and put on a benedictory smile for the malnourished, blue unicorn, escorted by a pair of guards who kept her well behind the Elements. “You’ll wait your turn,” the guard said to the strange pony.

“We’re not sure where we’ll wind up, but it’ll be important,” Pinkie said, raising her voice and taking a tentative step toward the regal stairs.

“It’s gonna be Discord’s trap,” Rainbow said.

“Rainbow!” Rarity said.

“Hey! It is!”

“That’s enough,” Celestia said, rising. Big Mac was trying to turn around and go to the back again, but Octavia stopped him.

“You dragged us here for a purpose,” she said, pulling him down to speak into his ear. “Fulfill it.”

“Let him go,” Rainbow said.

“Let him speak,” Fluttershy said.

“No,” Twilight said, edging around the tightening knot of friends and facing Celestia. With a quick bow, she said, “we’ll just be going, your highness.”

“Twilight,” Rarity said.

“We’re not doing this!” Twilight snapped.

“Stop,” Celestia said, her voice filling the throne room, though she had hardly raised it. “All of you, get out.”

“We gotta do it,” Big Mac mumbled.

“We’re not doing it,” Twilight said, bowing again to the princess.

“We can’t back out now,” Rarity said.

Twilight didn’t want to put her back to her mentor, but did so to lead their exit. In the turn, she saw Vinyl saying something in Big Mac’s ear, and a chill ran through her blood. Something in Vinyl’s assiduous expression froze her in place.

“Twilight’s right, let’s book,” Rainbow said, too late, for in that half second when Twilight had not her wits about her, Vinyl lit her horn with its natural magic color, not one of the many hues of light she was wont to express. The familiar tug of teleportation began and ended at Twilight’s extremities, her ear tips, horn point, and the bottoms of her hooves. The air was still, and she realized, before it was all whisked away, that sound had been extinguished.

She felt as if she were floating, lifted out of her body and out of the throne room, and then swept adrift in currents so fast that she could not tell where she was in one instant or predict where she would be an instant later. Like the moment of falling before a dream’s abrupt end, she was a displaced meteorite, cannoned through the sky and the earth.

And then…

It was a different experience for them all, she would find. For Twilight Sparkle, it was not pleasant.

She stood in the middle of a rain-lashed dirt road under hanging branches, the eerie light off the full moon turning the weeping limbs into the dead or dying claws of drowned horrors, coldly aflame in a silver glow. In her magical grip, she held a door, freshly torn from the smoking ruin of a once fancy car that lay, hood crenated, against a tree.

She dashed and crouched behind the car, holding her door up to shield her from any possible downward curving attacks. The sound of the rain buried all other noises, and she could not tell whether there was anyone in the brush close to her, or slopping down the street to meet her head on.

Her breath came in short stabs, her eyes wide and frantic as she tried to see everything at once in a world that was shrouded in darkness. She knew her life was at stake, or those of her friends, but she could not tell from which angle the threat would come. It may, she knew, simply come from the car itself, the fire catching on a pocket of gasoline and ending her troubles in a flash.

Deciding to take a chance, she lit her horn and threw the entire crash site into falsely sunlit relief. For one moment, she saw the shocked gleam of eyes watching her from behind a nearby bush, and she didn’t think. As the darkness rushed back, Twilight cocked and spun her car door into the bush, scattering twigs and globes of mud into the air with a heavy grinding sound before an even heavier crash.

Pushing against the warm car, she got to her hooves and scrambled down the road, downhill. In her mind, her friends were behind her, waiting for something to happen, for her to come back and tell them what to do, or that everything was okay. It wasn’t. Slowly, so as not to slip in the mud, she pumped her legs and rent her lungs with exertion, her primary concern to put as much distance between herself and the other pony as she could. Whether she had hit him with the door was of little immediate consequence; if she had, and he was not chasing her, whoever later discovered the body would be.

She was aware, even in the flying colors of varying fears, what she was leaving behind: her friends, her hopes, their hopes; along with more personal things: her integrity, her pride, her name. So frightened she was that the notion to return and simply lay low did not enter her thoughts, certainly not before the more insistent memory of her time on the palace balcony wended its way into her shuffling fears and spread across all, before then converging. Soon, she was running through the dark, empty courtyard under the balcony where it had all begun. The white banister’s shattered teeth littered the topiary.

And then…

She fell face-down into warm dust and pushed herself up, sneezing and shaking her head. The sun beat on her and her alone.

Twilight turned a slow circle, mind resonating with the memories conjured from the dream. It had been lifelike, but, as she slowly overcame the cold sweat that worked its way down her body, brought on by the oneiric flashback, she realized that it was not completely a dream. Too little had faded with consciousness.

She stepped into the only nearby shade and looked up at the imposing pillar of stone, uncarved and unblemished, a perfect cylinder melded with the reddening ground, obdurately incongruous to the uneven, cracked arena that made the pillar its center. She stared at it, and then jumped back as a second pony flashed into being beside her. Applejack kept her balance, but had to stagger against the pillar and rest for a moment before her eyes cleared.

“Twi!”

“Applejack, where were you?”

“Wait, where the hay are we?”

Twilight looked around. The topaz sky told her nothing, the encircling cliff face that she was in an enormous crater, bedecked with remnants of architecture like fossils dropped into a dig site. Their airship listed to one side against a tipped plinth, its top shattered away and draped with a loop of smoking curtain. Shards of glass winked on ugly patches of Celestia’s rich carpet, already patterned with cinders and spun dust. The throne stood perpendicular to its tilting steps, empty, under an archway that slowly leaned away before collapsing into the torus of a broken entryway. A pane of stained glass had landed mostly whole closer to where they stood, dumbfounded, the princesses’ angular visages facing upwards in unflinching determination.

“Ah can’t tell.”

“I’m not sure either,” Twilight said, though she thought she was.

Fluttershy flashed out at them, and she looked around with wide eyes for a long time before speaking.

“Ah’m guessin’ we were different places,” Applejack said. “‘Cause mine was great, an’ you two look like death herself.”

“Direct sunlight makes me look paler,” Fluttershy whispered.

“No, darlin’, Ah mean dead. Yer paler’n milk in a blizzard.”

“I was back in The Mountain Zone, I think,” Twilight said. “I did something bad, and I was running.”

“Did ya, er—”

“Only a little. I think I’m okay now.”

Octavia appeared, and Twilight helped her up. She stared at them all, disappointment quietly arranging itself back into her usual stoicism.

“I was back in Applewood,” Fluttershy said. “The dam.”

Pinkie appeared on the pillar’s opposite side, where she dismounted from a slab of floor and trudged to meet them.

“I was performing for an audience of thousands,” Octavia said. “I thought I would never be able to play my encore, the applause went on so long.”

“Yeesh,” Applejack said. “Ah almost feel bad fer ours, then. Ah was back home havin’ a Hearth’s Warmin’ feast.” She nodded at Octavia. “You were there, d’ya know that? That’s what Ah’d call a tellin’ detail.”

“Was I?” Pinkie asked as Rainbow appeared, wings askew.

“Course you were, Pinkie. Yer my best gal.”

“Does anypony else feel warmer?” Twilight asked.

“A little, now that you mention it,” Pinkie said.

“That’s the desert for ya,” Applejack said.

“No,” Twilight said, scrutinizing the obelisk, running her eyes up its sides to the flat top, where a veil of heat waves ascended. “It’s coming off of this.” She took a step closer and reached a hoof out; she could tell the stone was already too hot to touch, hotter than something simply baked in the daytime sun.

“Let’s back away,” Rainbow said, grabbing on to Octavia, who seemed reluctant to move.

“Twilight?” Fluttershy asked.

Twilight looked down once more, her eyes caught by a flash of pale yellow light, not as solid as Discord’s lustrous gold, not as pure as true sunshine. It had appeared for just a moment, and she could not tell its source. One thing she did know: “That’s Princess Celestia’s magic.”

“What’s it doing down there?” Pinkie asked, coming to Twilight’s side.

There was a final flash seeming from without the obelisk, blinding them for an instant, and all around broke the others, first the blotches of white—Vinyl and Rarity—then the big, red lump—Big Mac—and, lastly, the light blue bookended with gold armor.

“Twilight!” Applejack cried out, backing away.

Twilight looked back and followed Applejack’s eyes down as her vision cleared. Around the pillar’s base, instead of the red desert, there leaked the slender beginning of a tenebrous aureole whose dimensionless, faceless darkness Twilight thought she had seen before, never so close.

“Everyone get away!” Twilight shouted. “We need to get out of here! Applejack, get that ship up and running.”

“What is it, Twilight?” Rarity asked, galloping over, but veering to the side when she saw the shadow, slowly expanding from the pillar’s foot like water emptying onto the arid landscape.

“On the ship, on the ship, let’s go,” Twilight called, gesturing with one hoof and trying to toss away loose debris with her horn. The two guards helped the blue pony stumble in Twilight’s direction.

“It’s growing!” Pinkie shrieked.

“That’s why we need to go, Pinks,” Rainbow said, zipping overhead. For a second, Twilight spared relief that Rainbow was uninjured; she had not looked it at first.

As the airship engine purred to life, and Octavia and Big Mac—she pulling magically, he pushing impotently—righted the vessel, Twilight watched the darkness expand. It was slow, growing only an inch or so in the minute she gave to observe, but she knew that would change.

“Twilight!” Rainbow called, and Twilight trotted to the lowered gangplank, one eye over her shoulder. Behind her, a piece of white masonry fell and rolled a heavy somersault in the dust.

“Come on, come on,” Twilight mumbled, attention divided between the boarding crowd and the growing shadow. It would soon overtake where she had been standing.

“We’re ready,” Applejack said. “Thank Celestia the balloon’s okay.”

“Get us out of here,” Rarity said.

“Twilight, we need to stop that,” Octavia said.

“It’ll stop,” Twilight said, catching her breath.

“What if it doesn’t?” Fluttershy asked.

“It will.” She took a moment to breathe. The remnants of the dream still clung to her mind, and even the short jog to the ship had put her back into her desperate mindset. So torn, she did not concern herself with a preface to the ill news. “That’s a Tartarus gateway opening down there.”

“What?” Vinyl gasped. For her, it was a shout of alarm.

“How?”

“Twilight!”

“Somepony stop it!”

“Quiet!” Twilight shouted. “Everypony just shut up for a second.” Her breathing was shallow and labored, but she could not slow it down. Black flies danced in and out of her eyes.

“We came out of that?” Pinkie asked.

Big Mac parted from Vinyl and walked to look over the rail.

“Where are we?” Octavia asked firmly. “Let us start there.”

“No, let’s start there,” Rarity said. “What is that doing where we just got spit out of some kind of… some kind of group dream?”

“Miss Sparkle, if I may,” one of the guards said.

Twilight jerked her head, the flash of gold armor catching the sun just right, and that was all she needed to take her back.

“Twilight?”

She knew she shouldn’t, but she kept her eyes on the armor, perversely attracted and frightened at the same time, the idea of sinking into another flashback. It had been a long time; the weakness, in her constricting mind, was earned, and she chose to not fight.

“Here we go again,” was her last coherent thought before the scene fell away like water on a shower curtain, her friends and ship a barely visible backdrop to the same, old nightmare. The chasing pegasi, the burst of magic, the flash of broken banister, the smear of blood, everything rendered in exaggerated granularity, certain details replayed and others merely lengthened. Along with fear, Twilight felt shame and loathing. As in the dream, she was abandoning her friends at a crucial time.

“We’re away from it, Twilight,” Applejack said. “Can ya hear?”

“Let her have her moment,” someone said.

“We don’t have time for moments,” someone else said.

The voices waxed and waned in her ears, most lost to her scrambled thoughts.

“Hey!” someone shouted. “I think I know where we are!”

“Hey,” Twilight said. The rest of the sentence did not register, but the “hey” did. Attention, it bespoke.

“Twi?”

“Hey,” Twilight repeated. “Hey.” She said it again. “Okay,” she whispered. Her thoughts were converging on that word, relieved and ashamed.

“Twilight?”

She closed her eyes and opened them again.

“What was that?” Vinyl asked.

“Have we seriously not told her yet?” A jolt of anger jumped across her brain.

“You okay?” Vinyl asked.

“Can you be quiet?”

“Uh—excuse me?”

“Twilight,” Pinkie said.

“I was just asking about you.”

“Vinyl,” Twilight said warningly.

Vinyl shrugged dismissively. “Didn’t even do anything that time,” she mumbled to Big Mac, who only looked at her.

“You did plenty.” She didn’t move her eyes to look at Vinyl.

“Hey—”

“Hey yourself!” Twilight screamed, finally turning away from the edge and advancing on Vinyl.

“Whoa, whoa, Twilight,” Applejack said.

Twilight whirled on Applejack, but her retort died, and she turned back to Vinyl. The white unicorn stared at her blankly, her goggles offering no rejoinder to Twilight’s display.

“Aren’t you the one who teleported us?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight took a deep breath. “Rainbow.”

“No, she’s right,” Vinyl said softly. “It was me. You don’t, ah, have to actually teleport to do it, just try. Twilight told me so earlier.”

“Wait, and just who told you to teleport us?” Rarity asked.

“Twilight was backing out,” Pinkie said.

“I did what I thought was right,” Vinyl said, shrugging again. “Sorry.”

“Can we get back to the part about the missin’ princess?” Applejack asked, rapping on the torch.

“What do you say, Big Mac?” Twilight asked, snapping her attention to him.

“Leave him out of this,” Vinyl said.

“Why, can’t he speak for himself?” Rainbow asked.

“Rainbow, stop it,” Rarity said. “What’s done is done. We should—”

“Why’d you pull the trigger when we were obviously not sure about going through with it?” Twilight asked.

Vinyl stepped back, her mouth partially open, her horn lit with color. “You said we were all gonna go for it.”

“Yeah, before I knew what it was going to do!”

“We weren’t gonna turn back, Twilight.”

“Says who? We hardly talked about it.”

“Who put you in charge, anyway?” Rainbow asked.

“Girls, come on,” Applejack said, trying to tug Twilight back by her tail. Twilight flicked it forcefully and swatted Applejack on the nose.

“You’ve been around for a month now?” Rainbow continued.

“Does it seem right now, Vinyl? Seem okay now?” Twilight asked.

“Princess Celestia is missing,” Octavia said loudly.

“I mean…” Vinyl began.

“You’re the expert on faith, Vinyl. This seem like a good idea now?”

“No, Twilight, it doesn’t.” Her voice was shrill with hurt, but, with the goggles on, Twilight could not see but a shadow of emotion. “You’re right, seems to me that we were all betrayed! Misled, betrayed, and left alone in this—” Her horn flashed a momentarily blinding shot of neon blue. “Stupid desert!”

“Hey, hey,” Pinkie said, putting a hoof on Vinyl’s back.

“Sorry, Twilight. You’re totally right, my fault! Happy?”

Twilight glowered at her. “I told you this was going to happen, and then I told everypony else. What were you thinking?”

“Twi, let’s let it go, huh?” Applejack said.

“Applejack, Princess Celestia is gone!”

“An’ we’re not gonna bring her back by arguin’ like this.”

“I have some good news,” Fluttershy said moodily from the back.

“If we even can bring her back,” Twilight said.

“Come on, if y’all can resurrect me, you can handle this,” Applejack said.

“This isn’t the same.”

“You’re right, it’ll be easier. Celestia’s still alive,” Vinyl said bitterly.

“You don’t talk now.”

“Hey!”

“Nopony asked fer this, Twilight,” Big Mac said from behind the torch. Only his head was visible as he leaned out to address them. “Fightin’ don’t help.”

“I’ll just go,” Vinyl said, shaking her mane and heading for the hatch.

“She did pull the trigger,” Rarity said, sidling up to Twilight. “If it’s any consolation, I agree with you. She had no right.”

“It had to be done, though,” Pinkie said. “I think.”

“Bull,” Rainbow said. “This was a trick, through and through.” She frowned at Twilight. “You told her so too.”

Twilight sighed and closed her eyes, then went to the gunwale. “Fluttershy, you said something. What was it?”

“Oh, are we done arguing now?” Fluttershy asked.

“Don’t be like that.”

“That was some really swell harmony and leadership you just demonstrated, Twilight.”

“Fluttershy, not now.”

“Yes, now. Do you want to know why?”

Twilight didn’t speak.

“Because the last Element is just a couple miles away, and that means Discord’s castle is close too. This isn’t the time to be fighting.”

Twilight had to wait for the information sink in. “I suppose you want us to rejoice.”

“Obviously not,” Fluttershy said. “But we don’t need to alienate our friends.”

“Our friends don’t need to set us up,” Twilight said, glaring back at Big Mac.

“He did not know what he was doing,” Octavia said.

“That true, Mac?” Rainbow asked.

Instead of replying, Big Mac got up and went to join Vinyl below.

“That’s great about the Element,” Twilight said. They were rising out of the crater, though they still had a couple hundred feet to go, and Twilight returned to the gunwale. For her, the gateway was still small, a little hoop of darkness, perhaps a piece of eerie art to pair with its pillar, motionless and afloat in the void. She could see it still growing, and faster. “But first, I think we should… who am I kidding? I think I should go back down there and figure out what’s going on.”

“Miss Sparkle, you cannot,” one guard said, approaching Applejack, who was working on changing their direction.

Twilight didn’t respond.

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Take it back up,” the other guard said. “Take us up!”

“It’s too dangerous to go down there,” the first repeated. “If what you say is true, then that is a gateway to Tartarus. Any manner of—”

“I know that,” Twilight snapped, noting without pleasure that Applejack had not paused in their descent, and the other guard was hesitant to interfere. To the first guard, she kept her tone firm, her expression stony, but she felt faint. The flashback, and the dream below it, rang in her head with the fight, all diminishing the confidence she feigned to a point so thin she could hardly bring herself to turn away and face the creeping shadow.

For Twilight knew that it was either a gateway or something similar, a much less stable magical construction; she could do nothing about it either way. No gateway could she close, no magic that imitated one could she undo in what she imagined would be so short a time as she would have before Discord came to complicate things further. Likely, he was already on his way.

“Miss Sparkle, I must formally protest,” the second guard said. “For the safety of the crew, if nothing else.”

“Your protests are noted,” Twilight whispered to herself. The false confidence, at least, bolstered her enough to order her thoughts. The first, and possibly only, thing to do would be to cast a simple recognition spell, to see what magic was at play below.

“How close?” Applejack asked.

“As close as you can,” Twilight said. “I need to… oh, crap.” She looked into the sky, for a moment losing herself in the endless blue. She would need to be almost within touching distance of the pillar for her spell to accurately tell her what was going on without interference from the magic she could already feel spilling out of Tartarus and into their air. It fizzed invisibly along her horn and hissed in her ears, and she jerked her head involuntarily.

“I feel it too,” Rarity said, hooves clutched to her ears.

“To the rim. The ship won’t get us close enough, unless you want to dip into the gateway.”

“No!” a guard yelled.

“The rim,” Twilight insisted, her eyes on a loose column that had been catapulted far toward the crater’s interior edge, leaving a dark brown trough where it had scored the desert floor. “Rainbow, Fluttershy, I’m going to need you to hover by my sides, in case I need you to pull me back onto the ship.”

“You’re not seriously going down there, are you?” Rainbow asked.

The sound in her ears pressed deeper. She could see the blue unicorn shrinking as well, and the guards standing at attention with pained looks on their faces. “Not into the gateway, just close,” Twilight said, voice raised against the keening in her ears.

“How are you getting closer on your own?” Fluttershy asked.

Twilight shook her head, horn sparking as if on fire.

“Whatever it is, can we get it done with?” Rarity cried out.

“Land us by that pillar,” Twilight said, trying to keep her volume low and her thoughts ordered. “But then follow us out to the middle.”

At that, Applejack paused for only a second before angling them down and away from the obelisk, where they came to rest a foot above a scattering of tiles, bunched like flung shale on a minor rise in the crater’s floor, shining like ice in the bare sun. A long stele, originally meant to stand in the far corner of the throne room, lay heavily beside the wreckage, its yellow fabric loose and undulating in the light breeze. Hairline fractures ran its length, melding with shallow embossments of the princesses’ divine words. Twilight could do no better than grabbing it, and, in straining magic, try to gently roll it about to point toward the growing darkness. It’s unevenly broken base jostled and crashed on the ground, throwing up tufts of dust. Ship and pegasi in tow, she slowly walked the pillar out toward the edge of darkness. From above, it had appeared more than long enough, but, closer, she could see that the darkness would soon reach the pillar’s halfway point.

“This gateway’s not going to be slow for long,” Twilight panted, setting the upright down and reaching indiscriminately for the other, smaller pieces of rubble, the hole all the while fanning out, erasing the ground and allowing debris to simply fall out of sight. “They expand at increasing rates, so it might not be long before this falls in.”

“We’ll be right next to you the whole time,” Rainbow said. Behind her, Fluttershy, catching on to what Twilight was doing, swooped back and forth, depositing smaller stones and pieces of wreckage on the growing pile that smothered the column’s shattered top.

“Good. I don’t know if I’ll be able to teleport, this is taking a lot out of me.” She trotted off to grab a wide curve of ceiling, which she dragged across the rough ground, sparks flying with an awful noise that, for Twilight, hardly registered under the apiarian press of too much ambient magic.

She let the span tumble onto the pile gracelessly and staggered onto the stele, her hooves struggling to find purchase on the stone. From the ground, and certainly in her magical grasp, it had seemed large, but there was scarcely room for her to walk without slipping over one end. She would need to crawl, or else tread a painfully slow, straight line.

“Get on either side of me,” Twilight said, hugging the column and pushing herself forward.

The heat emanating from the magical monument was distinct from the desert heat that filled the crater; it was more direct, and it seemed to come in waves, slapping her in the chest and drying out her nostrils. She was sweating through her coat, and had to pause once to wave her hooves in the air, trying to dry them. In that moment, relying only on the strength of her back legs to keep her secure, she could feel her stomach doing flips in mimicry of her heart. She watched with mute horror when the gateway slid beneath her, an aphotic stain that took away the ground, and her breath, and gave back not one jot of reflection, not one suggestion of depth.

“Someone, keep your eyes on that counterweight,” she mumbled, inching forward.

“You’re fine, Twilight,” Fluttershy said.

“Remember,”

“It’s not even close yet,” Rainbow said.

Twilight nodded, but resisted the urge to look back. Ridiculously, she thought they might be wrong, that neither knew what she had meant by “increasing rates.”

“You’re doing great,” Fluttershy said again. Her voice, too, was strained; she hadn’t looked down once.

When she reached the chipped pedestal, so near to the hot, screaming stone, her ears were lowered and her teeth bared. She felt like she was caught in an electrical storm, and had to move steadily, and with intention. Any sudden movement, she feared, she would inadvertently exaggerate, likely to her demise. Still, when her head jerked without warning, she stared into the abyss for a second, and thought she felt herself sliding off.

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” Rainbow said, putting a hoof to Twilight’s back. “C’mon, you made it, now do what you have to do.”

Twilight dared not close her eyes. She contended with the sickeningly slow tilt of the world back into view, the gateway giving way to visible light once more, where the obelisk stood at the center of her attention.

“Not long, Twilight,” Fluttershy said.

“How many minutes?” Twilight asked. She couldn’t hear herself.

“I don’t know.”

During her crawl, she had tried to put the magic overload out of her mind, to accept the incessant assault on her senses and immerse herself in the feeling, rather than fight it and exhaust herself. To a degree, she had been successful, but conjuring a spell of her own in the environment was different. She could not raise her hoof; she had to blink the sweat out of her eyes.

“Go for it, Twi,” Rainbow said.

Twilight’s eyes were frozen on the obelisk, still blank, its color not changed for the heat it radiated. She felt as though she were approaching a colossal unicorn horn, hot with magic as if to bore a hole straight through the ground, as it must surely bore through her before long.

Her spell was a basic one, and she was eventually able to pull it out of her taxed brain and cast it, much more strongly than she needed to. Magenta light briefly lit the stone face, its spillage giving no more definition to the gateway below. She stared, trying to make sense of what her spell told her. The magic at work was simple, in theory, but its scale was not.

“Let’s go!” Rainbow said, grabbing Twilight by one side, Fluttershy quickly joining on the other, and they pulled her up to the waiting airship. Her unfocused eyes stared straight into the gateway, a dreamlike loss of sight; accompanied by her friends’ pulls on her inert body, she felt as though she were again leaving herself behind. By the time Twilight could move and look back over the rail, there was no trace of the column that had held her.

“Well?” Applejack asked.

“Get us out of here,” Twilight said, stumbling to the back of the ship, where the other unicorns had taken refuge, ears clamped down and eyes shut tight. Octavia watched her impassively, and Twilight wanted to reach out and smack her. “You try being sensitive to magic, Miss Invincible!” she wanted to yell.

The guards were both better off than the other unicorns, and looked at Twilight with tortured faces. “Is it true?” one asked.

Twilight nodded. “It’s a gateway. There’s more, but… we have to get out of here. I’m working on it.”

Fifteen minutes later, just under the crater’s rim, away from the heat and the magic, and barely within view of a settlement, Twilight took her usual lecturing position at the bow, glass of water on the deck next to her.

“It’s a great, big Tartarus gateway, as I’ve said. Now, that big stone in the middle of it, it’s some kind of magical prison.”

“Ah can already see where this is goin’,” Applejack said.

“There’s containment magic at work, as well as illusion magic.” She paused for effect, trying to find a way to properly express the significance of what she had to say next. “It’s no regular illusion, though. That… has to be the biggest or most complicated illusion in all of Equestria, right down there.”

“Inside that pillar?” Rarity asked.

“I’m not sure where it is, physically, but yes. There’s more magic at work there than in most cities, and it explains why there needs to be a gateway beneath. All that Tartarus magic that’s coming through, girls, I think that’s what’s feeding this illusion.”

“That can’t be right,” Pinkie said. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I saw Princess Celestia’s magic flash outside the stone, before the gateway started opening,” Twilight continued. “So I’d be willing to bet that she’s in there.”

“That’s probably what we experienced,” Applejack said. “Our own illusions. Before…”

“Before we got kicked out,” Pinkie said.

“Did the princess knock us out of there?” Rarity asked.

“Here’s how I see it,” Twilight said. She glanced back, just to make sure the gateway had not grown again. By the time they were nearly out of the crater, it was sweeping across the final expanse of ground too fast for any of them to have outrun, and it had finally stopped expanding a couple minutes later. “We were all teleported into that pillar, or wherever, into our own illusions. Princess Celestia either knew, or reacted quickly enough, or something, and was able to push us out of it.”

“But not herself,” Rainbow said.

“Ah bet she only had a few seconds,” Applejack said.

“But what’s holding the gateway open?” Fluttershy asked.

“I need to research,” Twilight said, heading for the back hatch. “I have a theory, but I need to look some things up.” She paused at the stairs. “But I don’t think it matters very much.”

“How can it not matter?” Pinkie asked.

“Because we are screwed, Pinkie,” she intoned. “We don’t have a princess, and we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well…”

“We’re not gonna try to get her outta there?” Applejack asked.

Twilight went to the prow. The shadow was motionless, the obelisk floating and embedded in the center like an auger. There was no trace of the palace pieces, and Twilight could see the slow climb and retreat of a family of ponies on the far cliff edge, running away from the darkness. Rivulets of dirt streamed into the open maw from the crater’s sides, slightly too tight to contain the gateway, and left to hang over its rim in an unbroken, circular promontory. Eventually, time and gravity would take their toll, and the sides would slide down for the crater to widen into the magical sinkhole. For the time, though, it was simply a macabre sight; a chill wind blew across the deck, and then turned to a gust. At the obelisk’s base, Twilight could see the occasional flash of Celestia’s light, a weak pulse through the sea of black.

“Why did it stop?” Rarity asked.

“Even the princess’ magic is finite.”

“So we are not going after the princess?” Octavia asked. “I am understanding this correctly?”

“You know what I think?” Rarity asked. “I think that would be just what Discord wants us to do. He wants us to spend time here, when we could be taking the last Element up to his castle and finishing him off.”

“I don’t like leavin’ the princess behind,” Applejack said.

“I’ll be back,” Twilight said, heading for the hatch. “I’m going to write Princess Luna and tell her what’s happened.”

“If she can deal with what’s down there, we can go get Discord,” Pinkie said. “It’s perfect!”

“Fluttershy, where’d you say this Element is?” Applejack asked.

“Town,” Fluttershy said.

“Twilight knows what she’s talking about, right?” Rainbow asked when the hatch was closed.

“She usually does.”

A few minutes later, they crested the crater’s edge. “Look at those,” Pinkie said, awed.

The crater’s perimeter was surrounded with similar, smaller totems, some glowing and others not, spaced far apart and scarcely shadowed in the noontime sun; they were so far south, and so close to winter, that the sun would reach its apex not quite in the middle of the sky. Unlike Celestia’s pillar, no Tartarus gateways hemmed the smaller obelisks; they seemed placed for artfulness only, or pure malice.

Moondrop was five minutes away, and they landed on a flat expanse of desert not far from what appeared the town’s only general store, alone on its section of earth. Narrow, unpaved bridges crossed the gaps in the ground, and the Elements collectively stopped to stare, having not encountered one for so long. While their chase for the Elements of Harmony had picked up and their reassembly of the broken ground had relaxed, others had taken up the slack, but not in Moondrop.

They crossed in a single file line to the miniature town, Vinyl and Big Mac at the very back, Twilight in the front, and the blue pony and her guards trailing behind as a separate group entirely.

“How you holdin’ up?” Big Mac asked Vinyl, staring straight ahead, back stiff. They were far enough behind the others that they would not be overheard.

“Further along,” Fluttershy said ahead of them. “I think it’s somewhere in the middle of town.”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this after all,” Vinyl said.

Big Mac nodded, but did not speak.

“Twilight hates my guts.”

“She’s a little mad at everyone right now.”

“She’s mad at me ‘cause I moved us. How’d she put it? I ‘pulled the trigger’.”

Big Mac nodded again.

“Nothing changed, right? Like, at the last minute or something. We were supposed to do this? We’re supposed to be here?”

Big Mac sighed. “Ah s’pose so.”

Her expression darkened. “You don’t think so.”

“Ah said Ah do.”

“But you don’t mean it.”

They stopped at another bridge. The ropes were constructed of dried and twined pulp, the planks wide, well-fitting rectangles of wall and signage. At the bridge’s extreme ends, they could see the reinforcements underneath, where they met the edges’ stone faces. In the cold wind, the bridges would sway, but nothing more. Vinyl watched Octavia hurry across, not looking down but clearly nervous.

“Do you believe we did the right thing?” Vinyl asked.

“We?” Big Mac thought. “Ah don’t know. Ah haven’t had enough time to think.”

“What’s your gut instinct?”

“Whatever the glamour tells me. In this case, it says to keep goin’. We’re doin’ good.”

“And yet…”

“What do you think?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not sure.”

“How ‘bout stickin’ with us, then? How do you feel ‘bout that?”

Vinyl moved across the bridge, looking down once and immediately regretting it. Big Mac followed, trying and failing to not copy her.

“Can’t very well stay here,” she said. “Next town, maybe.”

“You wanna leave.”

“Maybe.”

“Not sure?”

Another gust of wind blew, and Vinyl stepped closer, her side brushing against his.

“Mm-hm.”

“What was I supposed to do? Should I really have stood back and let Twilight stop it?”

“Ah dunno.”

“You don’t not have an opinion.”

He shrugged. “Like Ah said, not enough time to think it out.”

They slowed at a small strip of wood and adobe buildings, behind which waited dusty, unpainted carriages and wagons, and one rickshaw. Through a grimy window, a group of elderly diners were laughing over coffee and pie. Through another, chairs stood upside-down on mahogany tables under darkened bar lights. From each building ran large, dull troughs that converged on the ground and emptied into small, smooth canals, flowing southward toward what they did not know. All were dry, and had been for some time.

“This must be the tourist section,” Rainbow said, flapping up to the roof of one building. “There’s more parked on the other side.”

“How close?” Twilight asked Fluttershy.

“One minute,” Fluttershy said, eyes closed.

“Remind you of home, big bro?” Applejack asked.

Big Mac swung his massive head back and forth.

“Me neither.”

“We’ll follow this thing,” Fluttershy said. “Close.”

Big Mac looked back and saw the three strangers still behind, the two guards holding their own counsel and the blue unicorn following with a dazed expression. He paused, pretending to see something on the ground, and, when Vinyl stopped for him, abandoned the pretense and walked to the new unicorn. She regarded him with polite interest, and Big Mac realized that he had seen her before.

“Yer from Ponyville,” he said.

“Colgate,” she said.

“That’s it.” The guards quieted their conversation, but did not stop. “So how’d you end up here, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ya don’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

He studied her as they walked. Her stride didn’t falter, her eyes were steady, yet she carried herself like someone who had not slept in a long while. He had seen the look on his sister plenty of times, during harvest season.

“If the ladies with the map up there are right, we’re in a little town called Moondrop,” he continued. “One of the southernmost towns in Equestria, Ah think Ah heard ‘em say.”

“I forgot your name. You’re one of the Apples.”

“Big Macintosh, but Big Mac is fine. Mac, even.”

“That’s your sister ahead.”

“Applejack, yes ma’am.”

Colgate considered for a time. “I believe I understand what he meant now.”

“Pardon?”

Colgate didn’t reply; her countenance, no more vibrant than the courtesy with which she introduced herself, deadened, and Big Mac knew she was lost in her own head. “Great,” he thought, “Another quiet, brooding type.”

A stone’s throw from the closed down shop that ended the strip of buildings, they passed the hotel, pausing only momentarily to look in on its ice blue pool through the gaps in the walls. No one was visible inside the wide, dusty corridors, but someone was playing music on the second floor, twanging at an acoustic guitar and singing with a voice that was neither pleasant nor objectionable.

Beyond that, across a slight expanse of uneven terrain, they reached the oblong bulk of an upwards sloping mound, a colorful jigsaw of pink adobe and cyclopean, beige brickwork, misshapen windows set deep into the veins of blushing stone that lay over the structure like petrified tree roots. Rainbow shot ahead and curved back on them; it was a museum.

They had to circle the entire building to enter, crossing another dry canal on a thinner bridge of the same construction as those that spanned the gaps. Twilight, after a short argument with the cashier, paid their admission with some of the bits she had newly withdrawn in Canterlot, the guards and Colgate staying outside; for a moment, Big Mac considered staying with them.

Fluttershy resolutely led them past displays of ancient equine artwork and more modern renditions of the same, not once pausing to indulge Twilight’s obvious, but subdued, interest. No one spoke, and Twilight could feel everyone’s eyes on her back, waiting to see if her outburst had truly concluded on the ship. A young couple went quiet as they passed through a room with a wall-covering tapestry of stained, wooden beads.

“It’s here,” Fluttershy said finally as the group spilled into a large, circular room, its concrete floor funneled slightly downwards, a deliberate design choice to accentuate the mass of the museum’s proudest centerpiece. With neither glass nor velvet rope to protect it, an argentine nugget rested on a sandstone block, lit from above through the skylight, sunshine directed by a small cat’s cradle of mirrors.

Fluttershy circled the meteorite, flew up into the rafters, and then landed with a puzzled expression.

“Where is it?” Rarity asked.

“Right here,” Fluttershy said. “I think it’s either underneath or inside that.”

“Twilight, possible?” Rainbow asked.

“Sure, you can stick something like that in a meteorite. It’s just material.”

“We can’t just walk out with that,” Applejack said.

Twilight stared at the meteorite for a minute, thinking. Luna had not replied to her letter, but she hadn’t expected her to. “Get the Element, Twilight. The princess will be fine,” she thought dully. “She’s a goddess for a reason.”

Eventually, she shrugged, reaching her conclusion. “Watch the doors for me? I’ll get it out.” She first encased the meteorite in a small bubble of magic, then, after another moment, selected the spot where she wanted to cut. A shining disc of magic appeared outside and slipped in to the metallic surface. She stood close, using her body to block some of the light as a shower of sparks arced up and out at them like those from a welder’s flame. The sound was muffled inside her magic sphere.

“They’re gonna kill us,” Rainbow said, hovering close to get a good look.

“I’ll leave a note,” Twilight said. Applejack, at the nearby entrance, laughed.

“It is just a meteor,” Octavia said.

“It’s ancient, and it’s museum property. Rainbow’s right, we could get in a lot of trouble for this.”

“But we don’t care about that,” Vinyl said softly.

The only reply was a taller gout of sparks as Twilight ground away at the last Element. The embers left a pattern of ashen freckles on the floor where they faded.

Going Underground

Chapter Ninety-one

Going Underground

Not a mote of light or a suggestion of power leapt forward to entomb Discord's spirit inside his body. Not a sound escaped his lips as he waited, his unwitnessed expression frozen in a moment of undistilled fear. Certain that he had lost at last, he had no ultimate wisecrack to mark his demise.

The coils of his broken body slackened and flopped to the ground, the magic powering them momentarily lost in the clutch of terror, and then he brought them back to carefully assemble under his detached head, watching all the while. The Elements stood in a semicircle, eyes closed, faces calm, stances secure, but their gems were unresponsive.

When he had brought himself up to his full height, the ponies were again backing away. In their eyes, he could see the fear he had felt not seconds before.

He gathered energy in his palm, scattering them, and threw, enough magic to shred a city block.

The ponies vanished.

In the silence that followed, gravel and dust settling in the wake of his blast, Discord looked around. No trace of his foes remained, save the magical residue of their battle, and of the teleportation spell one of them—Twilight, he assumed—had cast just in time.

For a moment, he stood still, taking in the resounding quiet, trying to make his breathing even once more.

Discord walked across his land and through his walls, not bothering to realign the doorways that he had spun away in his exchange with the Elements. Exhausted, his stooped form had to rest against a wall to regain the energy required to move through the next. His shapeshifting trick had been a long shot, a sudden idea to scare and unbalance them, a decision made in haste and with too little thought, for it left him with precious little mental energy. If they chose to double back, he knew he would likely have to retreat.

His footsteps were heavy on the grass, whose cool touch he could never feel. His head was sluggish, his mood soured, his focus dulled. All the triumph he had felt upon capturing and imprisoning Celestia was receding, leaving him only fatigue and cold loathing. Victory was in his grasp, but felt farther away than ever; one problem had been replaced with another, a known factor replaced with an unpredictable one.

By the time he had phased through his final wall, the airship was speeding away from his castle, its only visible sign the torch occasionally spurting in the far, far distance. He felt their magic at the launch site as well, and sat down. When had they gained such power? "Or," he thought, "when did I lose mine?"

Only when they were a sufficient couple miles away from the castle and it was clear they would not be chased or hit with another mysterious parting shot did the crew assemble and the voices begin to rise.

Applejack watched from the wheel as Rainbow landed, fluffed her wings, and looked at Twilight, hurt and confused. "What the heck happened?"

"We had him!" Pinkie said. "At least, I thought we did."

"I don't know," Twilight said.

Rainbow looked at her for a moment, outwardly inscrutable, but seething inside in the face of ignorance. "But you're the magic expert."

Twilight just shook her head.

"Well, what? Was someone not in harmony? Did Discord mess us up somehow? Maybe we didn't stand close enough or, or maybe there were too many others around, or—"

"I said I don't know."

"At least everypony's okay," Big Mac said.

"Everything was as it should have been," Twilight continued slowly, trying to frame her frantic thoughts in a calm reply. "We did everything right."

"Clearly not," Pinkie said.

"I don't know!” she cried. "If I did, I'd be doing something about it—that is, I probably would have done something about it already."

"So someone messed up," Rainbow said. "If we did everything else right, then it's one of us." She looked at Twilight first, then threw her gaze around the rest of the deck. "I know I was feeling pretty loyal out there, I don't know about everypony else."

"You were feeling loyal?"

"Yeah, what?"

Twilight stood up to pace along the gunwale. "Meaning you're not right now."

"Celestia, Twilight, that's not what I meant," Rainbow said, rolling her eyes. "You know what I meant!"

"I was just about as laughter-y as I could've been," Pinkie said. She looked at Rarity, who simply gazed on, eyes unmoving.

"Great, now we've lost Rarity," Rainbow said.

"It wasn't Rarity," Twilight said. She bit her tongue, immediately wishing she hadn't spoken.

"How do you know?" Pinkie asked.

"I mean… it probably wasn't any of us, is what I meant to say."

"Oh, like it just happened accidentally? Like how you said the Elements are specifically designed to never do?" Rainbow shouted.

"Well, what do you think happened, then?"

"I'm not the magic expert, Twilight."

"I don't know how these things work!"

"Liar!" Pinkie shouted.

Twilight lowered her volume, her expression darkening. "Not specifically, I mean."

"Twi, maybe you should back it up a touch," Applejack said. "Cool off a little."

"It was me," Rarity mumbled.

"Great, here come the waterworks," Rainbow said, taking an exaggerated step away from Rarity.

"RD, come on," Applejack said.

"What makes you say that?" Pinkie asked.

"Could Discord have put a spell on us to make the Elements not work?" Octavia asked.

For a second, the argument stopped as Rarity lowered first her head, and then her body to the deck, her face wrinkled in a grimace, lips pulled back and eyes narrowed to crinkled slits as tears squeezed out. A high whistle escaped her mouth, then a pause, and then the sobs. Her whole body shook as she lost even the strength to crouch, and she lay flat against the wooden floor.

"What happened out there?" Pinkie asked. Fluttershy was eyeing her closely.

"It was me," Rarity repeated, her voice, like her cries, thin and tight. "I'm so, so, so sorry." She shook her head, rubbing her wet muzzle on the deck.

"I don't think this was anyone’s fault," Twilight said cautiously.

"You can stop saying that now," Rainbow said. "We get it, Twilight, you don't know what went wrong. For some reason."

"Hey, I did my best."

"It wasn't good enough," Pinkie said.

"You're one to talk," Fluttershy blurted out.

"Huh?"

"Just what are you saying, Rainbow Dash?" Twilight asked, taking a long, deep breath. "For once in your life, can you try to articulate your thoughts?"

"I think they're pretty clear," Rainbow said.

"Fluttershy, what's wrong?" Pinkie asked.

"Stop it, Pinkie," Fluttershy said.

"I want to know."

"Girls," Applejack said, her voice edged.

"I think you know already."

"Go ahead, Dash," Twilight said while Rainbow glared into her eyes. Rarity was still crying, occasionally repeating her apology. Vinyl, creeping at the edge of the slowly closing circle, was searching for a way to reach her.

"I really don't," Pinkie said.

"Of all the ponies in this group, and you are the one to tell someone their best isn't good enough!" Fluttershy shouted. She flinched as Big Mac put a hoof on her wing, but didn't back away.

"Twilight, I don't know what you’re getting at," Rainbow said.

"Just say it!" Twilight yelled, stomping her hoof. Under her, Rarity sobbed. "Say it! You think I'm screwing things up!"

"Twilight, it's not about you!" Pinkie said. Throwing a caustic look at Fluttershy, she added, "But something's clearly about me."

"Well, Twilight, I wasn't gonna say anything, but maybe you are screwing up," Rainbow said. "And while we're at it, I also think you're projecting your insecurities onto us, and me especially. Whoa, insecurities, what's that? A big word coming out of me?"

"Rainbow, shut up," Twilight said, shaking her head.

"You shut up!" Pinkie cried. "You're not the only one here who feels bad, you know!"

"I tried, dammit!"

"You shut yourself in your room the whole way over," Rainbow said. "I bet that's what did it. You got all bitter, alone with your research, and now we can’t go home."

"Where even are we going?" Big Mac asked. Fluttershy shot a glare at him before fixing her eyes back on Pinkie.

"What, are you gonna use The Stare on me?" Pinkie asked, stepping up to face Fluttershy. "Out with it, sister! What’s the deal?"

"You can't have it both ways, Dash. Either I do my research, or I spend time with you," Twilight said.

"That is so beside the point, and you know it!" She flapped her wings, bringing herself half off the deck for a second. "And, and, you didn't even get it right! All that crap about the Elements, and all that talking back at Furnace whatever-it's-called, what did it get us?"

"I'll admit I may have overlooked something, but—"

"Yeah, uh, no duh, Twilight. You've been doing that a lot lately."

"Since when?"

"Since like forever ago." She turned and stepped over Rarity, who had gone quiet, her breathing still ragged.

"Again, I'd like to ask that you do your absolute best to speak in precise terms."

Applejack looked at Octavia pleadingly. Octavia sat on the other end of the argument, Colgate beside her, watching raptly.

"If it was anypony's fault, it was yours," Pinkie said to Fluttershy, who had backed away to look at her askance. The accusation of using The Stare had cowed her somewhat. "Little miss callous over here, learning to be assertive and stuff. You're probably the one who pitched her Element."

"Twilight sure seems to think so," Rainbow said.

Twilight raised her voice. "Again—"

"You can't even… you can't…" Fluttershy spun about with her wings and mane flying, for an instant looking ready to attack something. "I'm going." And so stomping across the deck, she made her exit below to a momentary bout of stunned silence.

"I’m sorry!" Rarity cried out. She flopped onto her back and bared her soaked face to the cool air, breathing in short bursts as her chest rose and fell rapidly. "I promise, I didn't mean anything."

"Rarity, you didn't do anything," Rainbow said, suddenly kind.

"It was me. I've… Celestia, you're right, all of you." She turned and hid her face in another round of sobbing, and Vinyl found her opening to enter and rub Rarity's back. She glared at Twilight, who glared right back.

"Maybe we should stop the fighting for a minute," Vinyl said.

"She'll be fine," Twilight said.

"Twilight, if you're not gonna help, then get off the deck," Rainbow said.

Twilight blinked, her hot retort momentarily cooled. She looked at Rainbow, standing between her and Rarity, knees bent slightly as if to crouch to comfort her friend, but eyes on Twilight. Vinyl was saying something in Rarity's ear, and just beside both of them, Pinkie, shocked at Fluttershy's exit. Big Mac looked on worriedly, and Octavia and Colgate stayed to the back, neither with anything to contribute.

"Get," Rainbow said. "Get your bruised feelings out of here."

Twilight looked back at her. Part of her wanted to leave, to honor the request with as much grace as she might salvage, but her inflamed emotions overshadowed the thought. She narrowed her eyes, searching for an even more hurtful response.

"I'm serious." She looked down at Rarity, still mumbling apologies. "I don't want to look at you right now."

"Please stop apologizing," Vinyl murmured.

Twilight backed away, eyes locked with Rainbow's. She could feel disorderly anger stirring her thoughts, and could see something much cooler behind Rainbow's expression. She walked to the hatch, parted Octavia and Colgate with a gesture of her hoof, and, descending, thought of her parting comment. "You're all nothing without me."

"Go mope, Twilight," Pinkie said to Twilight's back.

When she was gone, the deck was quiet again, and Rarity repeated her apology.

"Why do you think you're responsible?" Vinyl asked.

"I've… I'm so sorry."

"Rarity."

"I've been a bad pony." The confession came out as a whisper, strangled by the strain of another ill-contained sob. "This proves it. I'm bad, or I'm going bad. Celestia, I've thought it for so long now." She sniffled. "I feel like I'm turning to stone from the inside out, like every day I just get worse and worse and worse."

"Rarity, where is this coming from?” Rainbow asked. "You're none of that."

"I feel it, Dash. Back at Moondrop, I… on the way, I didn't help with anything, I didn't do anything. I just sat back and let you all do all the work."

"I mean,"

"And what do I do to repay you all? I just fail." She sobbed once more.

"I don't think it was you," Pinkie said.

"I can't even keep a damn shield up for more than five seconds! We were useless, even with our Elements."

"Rare, Ah gotta agree with Pinkie, Ah don't think you were the problem back there," Applejack said.

"I'm sorry."

"Come on, let's get off the deck," Vinyl said, pulling at her. "C'mon. Breathe, Rarity. You're okay."

"At least nopony got hurt," Rainbow said.

"This time," Pinkie said, glancing at Octavia.

"Dumb luck," Rarity said.

"Better that than intelligent failure," Applejack said. "Even if that ain't what this was."

"What makes you think you've been so horrible?" Rainbow asked.

"Rainbow," Rarity said.

"I'm really asking, I don't see it. You've been totally cool."

"I'm useless."

"Don't say that."

"It's true!"

"Is not! You're not thinking straight."

"Deep breaths," Vinyl said again, and Rarity took one unsteadily.

"I'm the Element of Generosity, but I've hardly given anything."

"Uh, let's see," Rainbow said, "time, energy, encouragement, magic, money, personal safety… Yeah, totally generous. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ever since… I'm not sure, a long time now.” She sighed, and a couple more sobs escaped. "I hate being like this right now."

"You're fine."

Rarity stayed still for a minute, taking in the reassurance. "Okay, for a long time, I'm not sure just how long, I've been just filled with such awful thoughts. I know they don't show—at least, not often—but they're there all the same. 'Why don't we just do it this way?' 'Why don't we just do this, hurt this pony so they can't get us back?' That kind of stuff."

"Everyone thinks those types of thoughts," Vinyl said. "Sometimes."

"I think more than that," Rarity said. "I felt, you know, I felt perfectly fine, and sometimes even happy to be traveling with you, but those dark ideas were always there in the back of my mind. Some generosity, I know."

"I mean, that's more the opposite of Fluttershy's thing," Rainbow said quietly, looking back to the hatch. Many of the others had vanished below as well.

"But I let them get to me. Do you know, I spent the night before the battle wishing that…" Here, she broke into a fresh wave of crying, and it took Vinyl and Rainbow several minutes to calm her down. All the while, Applejack piloted them stoically, pushing them through a soft cloud and out over a downward sloping plain, its face lined with exposed ridges, tall and dark like furrows created by a divine claw across the ground. Ponds and streams winked up at them like broken glass.

"Anyone else's eyes really hurt?" Applejack asked.

"Mine are fine," Vinyl said. "Ironically."

"Can I try?" Rainbow asked, putting out a hoof.

Vinyl turned her head away from the torch and lifted her goggles onto Rainbow's face.

"Wow, these are wild. I thought they were just weird colored."

"Prescription lenses, too."

"And you need these, like, all the time?"

"Anything brighter than a dim evening."

"I spent that morning secretly wishing that something would happen, and we would be forced to continue," Rarity said. "I was so scared of facing him, I wished we wouldn't, that something would get in the way."

"Geez, Rare," Rainbow said.

"I didn't mean it, obviously, but I guess that doesn't matter."

"What were you afraid of?" Vinyl asked.

"The fight, duh," Rainbow said.

"Not necessarily. Could be more there than the battle."

"I don't know," Rarity said. "I think I'm afraid of everything ending. I think I'm afraid that we'll finish this one day, and then that'll be it. Nothing else to do."

"Then we'll go home," Rainbow said.

Rarity shook her head.

"No?"

"I don't know."

"Whenever I went on tour, I would get kind of nervous for my last show," Vinyl said. "There's something weird about knowing you're almost done with something. Like, you can't wait for it to end, but you're also so used to it that it feels wrong to be done. There's this moment when you're up there, doing whatever you're doing, and it occurs to you, 'wait, I've only been here how long?'"

"We've been at this for seven months," Rainbow said. "Something like that." She counted for a second. "Eight. We started in March."

"But it feels like we've been out here for years," Rarity said. "Just tonight feels endless." She draped a hoof over her eyes. "It's like a bad dream that I can't wake up from."

"I hear that." Vinyl looked at the two of them and sat down.

"For what it's worth, even though I don't think you caused it, you're forgiven, Rarity." She patted Rarity's leg.

"What happens next?" Vinyl asked.

"Don't know."

Octavia found Fluttershy alone in one cabin, staring angrily into one of Twilight's books. She shut the door.

"Twilight was in here, but she left when I came in," Fluttershy said, not looking up. "She's sulking after her fight."

Octavia got on the bed and lay down on top of the sheets, chin sunken into them and mane dangling down like a frazzled, dirty shadow. Her eyes were, as usual, bloodshot.

"Not sleeping?"

"I sleep."

Fluttershy looked back at the book, open to a chapter concerning memory wipe spells, and then closed it. With her levitation, she tossed it into the pile of others near Twilight's dismantled divination setup.

"How do you manage to keep going in your state?" Fluttershy asked.

"I do not know what you mean."

Fluttershy frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound offensive. I'm…" She took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm upset right now, but it has nothing to do with you."

Octavia nodded at her. She understood who had angered Fluttershy.

"How do you motivate yourself to keep doing this, when time after time we fail? These last several months have been one step forward, two steps back for us." She paused, but continued. "Frankly, sometimes I wonder if we shouldn't just cut our losses."

Octavia closed her eyes. "Is not your station as Element of Harmony enough motivation to keep going?"

"I know it should be."

Octavia nodded, then paused. She snored for a second before jerking back awake. "I apologize."

"Don't. You…"

"I know."

"Yeah." Fluttershy levitated the book back to her. "I'm tired, is all. I'm tired of everything, of feeling like everything depends on us. Rather, I'm tired of knowing everything depends on us."

"In one small respect, we are fortunate," Octavia said. "We have no access to newspapers up here."

"I don't even look at them when I do see them. I can't bring myself to." She frowned. "But you didn't answer my question. How do you keep going in times like this?"

"How do you know that I am going to keep going?"

"Because I know this isn't the first time everything's seemed hopeless for you."

Octavia's eyes fluttered as her lips curled downwards.

"I'm sorry, but I know it's true. You've known despair before, yet here you are."

Octavia sighed through her nose and turned over. She adjusted her mane to let it fall down the bedside, almost to brush the floor. All of their manes had grown longer, something Fluttershy had not thought of in the beginning, minor as it was. She had no reason to expect they would be gone so long, she supposed.

"I want to know so that I can try it too. If you must know."

"I am simply trying to think of how to begin," Octavia said. "Some of it, perhaps much of it, I learned from a young age. Work, in my family, was the best use of one's time. Allowing yourself to indulge in undue sadness and discouragement is a more selfish form of laziness. I avoid it."

"So you just put everything out of your mind and try to focus on the task at hoof."

"Yes."

Fluttershy thought. She had known Rarity to do the same at times, back when she had her fashion business to occupy her. Familial drama or small tragedies always resulted in extra long nights for the dressmaker, and usually an unexpected gift or two to the friends who stuck with her through it.

"This is not to say that I do not still sometimes feel these things," Octavia continued.

"I think we've all noticed something's bothering you."

"More than usual, you mean?" she asked with a wry smile.

"I… yes, that is what I meant."

Octavia looked to the side at the sound of passing steps outside.

"Something happened during the battle, right? I'm sorry, you can stop me any time. We weren't supposed to be talking about you anyway. Er, not to sound insensitive."

"I know what you mean, and I do not mind. I have been feeling not myself lately." She paused. "That is not true. I have not felt myself since… college, probably. There were a few times in those days when I felt complete."

"Octavia…"

"I took life in the battle, Fluttershy. More than one. I did not count them."

"Of course," Fluttershy thought, hating her cynical reaction even as the weight of the statement made her heart skip a beat. Of course she had; battles ended countless lives. It seemed so obvious, but Fluttershy had not considered it.

"I expected it, in a sense. I told myself that I most likely would, either in self-defense or to stop something awful from happening to another. I knew that from the minute I volunteered to take the angel up to Canterlot." Her voice was as even as if she were speaking about music theory, and Fluttershy tried to listen without tearing up herself. The pristine monotone of Octavia's voice, the conversational speed and cadence, was at once alarming and disheartening. Alarming because she thought perhaps Octavia felt no shame for what she had done; disheartening because, much more likely, she thought Octavia was beyond showing it in any way except speech.

"It was that idea that I was accepting when I took that task, not the danger to myself. That is a risk I have always felt more comfortable taking, I do not know why. But when that moment actually came, and I had done it, I was not prepared. I had no time to reflect or to apologize, because there were more right there. I had to find a spot for myself to hide behind the ship." She glanced back at Fluttershy. "We crashed after maybe ten minutes of flight."

"Ah."

"I turned to my next task, and I saw it through, and when the battle was over, my friends and I were alive. In that regard, and for that reason, I do not regret what I did. This, too, I knew."

"What do you mean?" Fluttershy asked softly.

Octavia cocked her good ear and tilted it toward Fluttershy.

“What do you mean?"

"I knew that if I had to do it, I would do it, and if we survived, then I would consider it the correct decision."

"Mm-hm." She didn't want to speak, to break Octavia's monologue, but the earth pony had a habit of pausing, and Fluttershy felt compelled to fill those spaces, to acknowledge that she was listening. She really had nothing to say.

"As the battle got closer, I lost sight of that knowledge, and when I used my magic to blow someone apart, the surprise was as fresh as if I had done it on any other day. I was not prepared to see the crater where my enemy had stood, not prepared to know, absolutely, that she would not be coming back to hurt me. There is something frightening in that knowledge."

"Yeah."

"Ponies speak of power all the time. I was not ready to face the reality of my own. That I could change something so completely, it was sickening. I remember all my thoughts, for an instant, stopping."

"I think I might get it."

"You probably do. I think you all do to some extent. This solidarity, too, does not help."

"I'm sorry."

Octavia shook her head. "It is no one's fault but my own. I feel filthy, like I have no right to exist after what I did, despite how justified I believe it to be. I simply cannot accept that I did it."

Fluttershy nodded, and Octavia turned back over to look her in the eyes.

"That is what has been bothering me lately."

"You should really talk to Twilight," Fluttershy said, and looked away. She wanted to take it back; it was not the time to suggest advice, it was the time to listen and accept.

"In my time, I may."

"Do you at least feel a little better now? I… um, I imagine you haven't told anyone else."

"I have told my sister."

"What did she say?"

"Essentially, she told me to stop feeling sorry for myself."

"Oh."

"She was correct to say it. I wish that I could obey her, but such is my weakness." She turned over again and hid her eyes. "Not a minute passes when I do not hate myself for what I have done. Then I will ask myself, would I take it back? And I think 'no, never.' For it was right in the end, I must believe that."

"So…"

"Fluttershy?" Finally, her voice had changed; she sounded uncertain.

"I'm right here."

"Please forgive the selfishness of this question. Do you think that I am fated to suffer?"

Fluttershy could not answer at once. She had expected a simpler question: "what do you think?" or "would you have done it, if you were in my position?" For those, she knew her answers, though she prayed she would never have to demonstrate them.

"I don't believe in fate," Fluttershy said at last. "But I do believe we shape our own destinies."

"Where are we?" Colgate asked.

"Celestia knows," Vinyl said. "Sorry. That was kind of tasteless."

"We're far from him, that's all that matters right now," Big Mac said.

"Why?"

"I just want to know," Colgate said.

Vinyl and Big Mac looked at each other. "So you’re a doctor?" she asked. "Noticed Dash kept calling you 'doc'."

"I was a surgeon for the Ponyville hospital. I operated on Rainbow's wings a few times, set bones and stuff."

"Stunt flyer," Big Mac explained. "She was always crashin' into this or that."

"Ahhh, that makes sense," Vinyl said.

"Why am I important to you?" Colgate asked.

"Huh?" She looked at Colgate, whose expressionless face offered no explanation. Eventually, she realized what was being asked. "It's complicated."

"I want to know."

"Yeah, an' Ah reckon you have a right to," Big Mac said. "You know 'bout the glamour?"

"They told me about you, the glamour, Vanilla Cream, and a little about the magic you all have. Fluttershy healing and stuff."

"Wonderful.” He thought. "The way Ah see it, you showed up in the exact place where you'd be stuck with us, an' my glamour told me that we had to go to Canterlot."

"Vanilla controls the glamour, though, right?"

"I don’t think so," Vinyl said.

"Indirectly," Big Mac said.

"What's that mean?"

"Meanin' he had to know that Colgate here would be useful to us before he moved her into position. Ah think."

"How could he know that?” Colgate asked. She stared straight through Big Mac, her blue eyes flat in the dim cabin light. After the fighting above, her unseemly gaze was a relief.

"No idea."

"She was with Celestia too," Vinyl said.

"He put me there because it was the only thing to get you to return to Celestia, sounds like," Colgate said.

"Fucking hell," Vinyl whispered.

Big Mac just looked at her.

Vinyl dragged a hoof down her face, and though her goggles covered her eyes, her displeasure was clear as day. "Twilight warned us about this exact thing. Blindly following the glamour. It doesn't take collateral damage into account, she said, so we'd end up in situations where we sacrifice a lot to gain a little." She gestured loosely at Colgate. "Sorry, shouldn't be talking about you like you're not here."

"Regardless, yer here now," Big Mac said. “Let's make the best of it."

"Am I staying with you?" Colgate asked.

"That's for you to decide," Vinyl said.

"Sounds like it isn't." She looked at a pile of books in the corner, Twilight's; she had books in both cabins. "What's that?"

"Light reading."

"On top."

Vinyl floated The History of the Elements of Harmony to Colgate, who paged through. "Why would Twilight be reading about this after you got the sixth Element?"

"How d'ya know it's her?" Big Mac asked.

"She's the strongest mage here, and this book has a strong magical residue. She didn't read with much finesse."

"That's a good question," Vinyl said. "Why would she be reading that?"

"A justified lack of confidence," Big Mac said.

"Geez."

"Just callin' a spade a spade, Vinyl."

"Why would she not be confident?" Colgate asked. "She had all the tools to succeed."

"Any number of reasons, I'd imagine," Vinyl said, frowning. "She was under tremendous pressure. That can scare a pony. Know it scares me."

Colgate looked at her blankly.

"Come on, you know what that's like, doctor."

"I know my abilities," Colgate said.

"Okay, sorry."

"This is gonna sound ridiculous, but maybe you should've been with us fer that battle," Big Mac said.

"Did your glamour—" Vinyl looked at him. "Sorry. Never mind."

"It didn’t say anythin', an' if it did, Ah wouldn't withhold. Ah don't do that."

"I said I'm sorry."

He rolled his eyes. "Let's talk 'bout somethin' else. We're 'bout to have a nice, long airship ride to go over this an' over this. Colgate, how'd you get to be in yer position?"

"My position?" Colgate asked.

"There's gotta be somethin' special goin' on with you fer you to appear on Vanilla's map like that."

Colgate shrugged. "I'm smart, I work well under pressure. Givens, considering my profession."

"You said you were a surgeon," Vinyl said. "You don't consider yourself one now?"

"I didn't say that."

"So are you one still?"

Colgate blinked. "Yes. I'm not practicing, but I am one. I could still operate if I needed to." She narrowed her eyes. "Does someone need medical attention? Or will someone? If this Vanilla guy can predict the future, I might be here to save your lives."

"We've got Fluttershy for healing, though," Vinyl said.

"Magical healing is rarely as precise as medical healing." She paused. "Your gray friend, for instance. Something's wrong with her head or her ear, and I'm guessing Fluttershy already did some magic to it. But it's clearly not healed properly."

"Point taken," Big Mac said. "Ah'm not sure Ah buy that explanation, though. If we're somewhere where our only option fer surgery is you, an' not a hospital or somethin', then we're probably lost already."

"We'd be out in the wilderness, you mean," Vinyl said. "Hadn't thought about that."

"So what happened in Canterlot?"

Colgate stared at him for a time, apparently deep in thought. "I spent a lot of time helping out around shelters and things. Basic medical care, advice on taking care of yourself, sometimes I counseled victims. Me and this other unicorn named Fleur dis Lee."

“You knew Fleur?" Vinyl asked.

Colgate's eyes widened.

"What am Ah missin'?" Big Mac asked.

"She and I were close," Colgate said after a moment.

"Fleur dis Lee’s a famous supermodel," Vinyl said. "Half the country has a crush on her, seems. How'd you get to know her, Colgate?"

"I ran into her at a convention, and we hit it off."

"D'ya suppose that has anythin' to do with it?" Big Mac asked.

"She doesn't," Colgate said.

"She might," Vinyl said slowly. "I don't see how, though."

"She doesn't, I know that," Colgate said. "She died."

The three of them were silent. "I'm sorry, Colgate," Vinyl said.

"She went down in the battle."

"Wait, she was in the battle?"

"During the battle, I should have said." She turned away, and for a second, a look of pained frustration crossed her face.

"Were you there?" Big Mac asked. He expected her to affirm, and wasn't disappointed.

"I operated on the wounded in an outpost near the city limits, and I only found out…" She paused, thinking again, and appeared to master herself. "It was an accident. She fell down at home, I think. That's what the news said." As she spoke, she lowered her head a fraction and pierced Big Mac with her eyes again, as if willing him to reply. He looked back, undaunted, and for a minute, they simply looked into each other's eyes. She broke the connection.

"So that was some scene up there," she said.

"I've never seen them fight like that," Vinyl said. "Not that I've been with 'em that long, but… it's not common, right?"

“Not at all," Big Mac said.

"But it's no wonder the Elements didn't activate. All this stuff was just below the surface. I wonder how long it's been building."

"What do you mean?" Colgate asked.

"A fight like that doesn't come out of nowhere. Some of 'em, anyway, they were sitting on some pretty deep feelings."

"Twilight an' Rainbow," Big Mac said.

"Pinkie and Fluttershy."

Again, the three were silent.

"I'm not going back to Canterlot," Colgate said. "Or Ponyville, for that matter."

Big Mac nodded at her.

"If you stick with us long enough, you might change your tune," Vinyl said.

"Not those cities," Colgate said.

"Why?" Big Mac asked.

"I'm done with them." A grimace darkened her face as soon as she said it, and she made to stand up, but stopped that too.

"Y'okay?"

"Fine," Colgate said.

He raised his eyebrow.

She looked from him to Vinyl and then, after another pause, made for the exit. When she was gone, Vinyl nudged Big Mac, who recoiled.

"Another odd duck, huh?"

Big Mac sighed.

They penetrated the outer banks of a rolling rainstorm the following day, a flocculent floor of silver obscuring their view of the countryside below, and a particularly severe mass of splits where the ground was already weak. Above, the sun gleamed as it always did, and it was replaced by the moon with hardly any words among the travelers. Fluttershy stayed in one cabin, pouring over books, and Twilight did the same in the other. She did not share the letter she got from Princess Luna, which explained what she had already figured: that Princess Celestia had been trapped in a magical dream, and it was her own godly magic reflected to maintain the prison. There was no way that Luna could find to release Celestia without endangering her, but she would keep trying.

Only the cycle of day and night had not been put on hold. The rest of the country was free to govern itself for the time, a weakness that Twilight did not know Discord was unable to abuse. He, too, had suffered a blow; his near loss at the castle had taken away his momentum and wounded his ego, and while the Elements sped once more into the unknown, he plotted aimlessly, discarding idea after idea after idea, half enraged and half terrified.

The clouds first broke on the next day, and Applejack used the break to land them on the far edge of a forested valley. It was cleft down the middle by a gap in the earth, and they could see shreds of river clinging to both sides like luminous growths between the trees. To the south, it widened across half the horizon, whether naturally or as an effect of the splitting they couldn't tell. She had to sway the ship back and forth gently to push through the tree branches, but had soon set them down atop a wide hill overlooking one end of a rusted bridge, its supports buried in the forest and its graceful arch yawning down into the chasm. Birds roosted in the girders and atop wide pylons, some scattering as the airship made ground.

Out in the bridge's middle, one could see vague unevenness, a shape that did not fit the rest of the bridge, much more obvious in the supporting superstructure than the flat top. From the mismatched, crowded redundancy of beams below this anomaly, they could see that the bridge had been lengthened in the middle to accommodate the valley's new width. They had been so long abroad that ponies saw fit to weld together a patch for their bridge, rather than wait for the ground to be forced back together.

"Somethin' wrong?" Rainbow asked when they touched down.

"Ah don't like how these turbines are runnin'. Figured we'd better do somethin' 'bout it now, before we don't have the time," Applejack said.

Rainbow grunted understanding and looked into the sky.

"Go ahead an' stretch yer wings, Ah can handle it," Applejack said. She tapped her head. "Ah can make repairs with this, if Ah've got enough time."

"You sure?"

"Very."

Rainbow shrugged and spiraled up into the clouds. Seeking a warm updraft and finding none, she had to flap for a minute to reach the altitude she wanted. From just under the clouds, she could see the bridge's entire span in one unbroken line, could see where it met train tracks on either end of the valley. The forest extended east for ten or so miles more, where it gave way to the grassy plains and plateaus that they had all come to recognize surrounding Discord's castle. The the west, the trees thinned until they were replaced with a light brown smear, the plains that would eventually become sheer desert. They were just outside the flatlands, which would steadily rise as they went farther west. Eventually, they would either level off into a vast plexus of hills and rivers, shrouded in a deep pine forest; or they would rise into the Friesian Mountains, where they had already been. Either would be cold, and Rainbow thought of her weather magic. Weak as it was, it would be winter soon, and thinking they might soon find themselves in the frozen west made Rainbow look on her capabilities with something almost like pride. She knew they hadn't packed enough warm clothing, and her magic might soon be able to make a difference.

She landed on an offshoot of cloud and looked down on the ship, the bridge, the land. Her frustration toward Twilight had waned, but the feeling did not appear to be mutual. Since the fight, Twilight had not emerged from her cabin. Rainbow could smell the semi-familiar odor of her divination smoke. Angry, probably more at herself than the others, Twilight had shut herself away and was trying to bury her feelings under more research. If confronted, she would claim not to, or be shocked at Rainbow's insight. She would never hear of how obvious the pattern was to her friend.

Rainbow slipped off the cloud, frowning at the thought. Applejack saw it: while they were all fighting, they were just giving Discord more time to regain his composure, and the country more time to finish unraveling. At least Applejack had the wherewithal to do something about it. No one else had asked, but Rainbow had late that first night.

"Takin' us to the mines to get more Elements. Ah figure that's what did us in."

"Twilight said—"

"Bugger to that. If Ah'm wrong, it'll give us time to work things out."

She finally found a warm air current and let it carry her out over the bridge, where she eventually landed on the ties, slick with condensation. Rain was near, she could tell, and possibly snow. She hopped off and flew to the underside, lying down on a curving metal beam and staring into the blue abyss. "Is it even worth it to fix all this by now?" she wondered, not for the first time. Also not for the first time, she had no answer for herself, and her mind turned to other things.

She thought of Trixie, and of the moment she realized—accepted—what had taken place, that she would never see her again. She would never receive another letter, at once advising caution and teasing her innocuously; she would never storm off, flustered, but secretly reread the letter and savor the giddy warmth that seemed to fill her, bottom to top, thinking of its author. Worst, she had lost the old ones, for they were on another ship.

Motion caught her keen eyes, and she looked up to see a tiny, blue pony stepping gingerly out onto the bridge. For a second, her heart stopped.

"Tr— oh."

It was just Colgate.

"Stupid Dash."

Rainbow flew over, the cold air helping to compose her thoughts so that when she landed, she was able to fall into an easy walk beside the new pony, who looked down at the ties with an assiduous glare.

"How's it going, doc?"

"Fine."

"You lose something?"

"I'm just looking," Colgate said.

"Not much to see," Rainbow said, kicking at a tie. "This place looks dead. I wonder if any trains come by anymore. Probably not."

"I don’t know."

Rainbow looked at her and tried to conjure a small pocket of warm air for them, a gesture of goodwill. "You're probably ready to get back home, huh?"

Colgate shook her head.

"No?"

"Shhhhhh." Colgate kept her eyes down, but another expression passed over her face briefly, a narrowing of the eyes and a flaring of the nostrils. Deep consideration. Rainbow allowed herself to be led by the unicorn's slow meander up the tracks, farther out over the valley. If she was afraid of the height, she didn't show it.

"I don't want to go back there," Colgate said at last. "Neither Canterlot nor Ponyville."

Rainbow did not try to feign surprise. She had spent enough time in the company of cagey characters that it was no shock to her that their newest, cagiest addition had some reason to avoid her past. Instead, she simply asked "why's that?"

Colgate thought again for a second and paused once, her legs tensed, as if contemplating running. Eventually, she continued moving. "I met some ponies there I didn't get along with."

"Like that doctor who kicked you out in Ponyville?"

"Him and others. It was bad in Ponyville after you left, but Ponyville was nothing like Canterlot. Ponyville was sweetness compared to the big city."

"Uhhhh…" She wanted to ask for more, but hesitated.

"If I go back to either place, I'll be remembered, and that won't be good."

"Are you saying they'd want to hurt you or something?" A quick thought flashed through her mind, and she swatted it away. "Please don’t be on the run."

"If they could, I'm sure they would, and that brings me to this point. I don't know where everyone else is going, but I don't want to ever go back to those two cities. Anywhere else, but not Ponyville, and especially not Canterlot. Do you think you can ask them not to take me there?"

"I mean, I doubt we'd go up there anytime soon anyway."

"I don't want to go back," Colgate snapped, still scowling down on the railroad ties. She kicked a piece of gravel off the edge.

"Okay, chill." Rainbow looked at her, but the anger she had heard was not to be seen on Colgate's face. Rainbow studied her for a second longer, lingering on the visible outline of her ribs. "Did you, uh… you're kinda thin."

Colgate looked back at herself. "I'm not hungry."

"Yeah. Okay." Her warm air had dissipated long ago. "I'll tell Applejack not to take us up to Canterlot for you, though. If you don't want to go back, you don't have to. We can drop you off in… I don't know. Wherever else you want, I guess."

"I don't think you're supposed to drop me off. Big Mac says I'm important." She smiled, but still refused to look up. "I think I'm not, but he might be right."

Rainbow sighed quietly. She knew it too; she'd seen it early. She did not want to explain it to Colgate, and was relieved that she wouldn't have to.

"Even after everything, though, I'm not going back."

"Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know."

"Well, think about it. There's lots of stuff out there, plenty of places where you won't be recognized." "Celestia," she thought. "I could be saying this to a couple of the others too."

"Trottingham seems nice," Colgate said. "Somewhere with a lot of open spaces and empty land."

"Wow, so you're hanging up the doctor thing too?"

"What do you mean?"

Rainbow frowned at her. "You don't want to go back to practicing? You don't want to go back to your old life at all?"

"This is my life, Rainbow Dash."

"Uh-huh." They stopped, and Rainbow sat on the tracks' edge. To her surprise, Colgate joined her to look into the torn sky below. She thought of the money Colgate must have made. Even in a small town, a surgeon of even moderate skill stood to earn more bits each year than Rainbow ever would with her job, if she managed to pay off her student loans first. Giving it up in time she could see, but so soon after such an abrupt change in her life, that was strange.

"She's too prepared," Rainbow thought. "That's what it is. Too ready to give her old life up."

"I don't want to pressure you to talk if you're uncomfortable, but what happened back there? Any specifics for me?"

Colgate looked at her.

"How about, any ponies that are after you who might come after us now? That we should know."

"They don't know where I am, unless Vanilla told them. He might have, I suppose."

"What sort of ponies are we talking about? Is it the Mansels?"

"I… it might be. I'm not sure who those are."

"Powerful crime family, Roan, lots of connections, money laundering, yadda yadda yadda."

"No, nothing like that," Colgate said. "It would be more personal than that."

"Oh, great."

"I don't think they'll leave their cities. In all my time in Canterlot, no one from Ponyville came after me."

"Who the heck wants to hurt you in Ponyville? Everyone I knew there was great."

She looked around, as if afraid that the pony in question might spring out at her. Rainbow looked down and saw her legs tensing again, and she tensed her own wings, just in case she would need to dive off and catch Colgate in a fall. The unicorn looked ready to snap.

"Cole?"

At that, Colgate's tension melted away, and she idly tapped a hoof on the rotting wooden tie. Rainbow could smell rain in the air.

"I, uh, don't think anyone else is out here."

"I can say this. I used to have some pretty powerful friends, but they betrayed me, first in Ponyville and then in Canterlot too. I thought I was going to Canterlot for safety, but they set me up and then abandoned me."

Rainbow could feel a chill beginning to constrict on her heart. "Colgate, I feel like I really need to know who you're talking about here. This could be pretty serious."

"I don't think they'll chase me like this."

"But you don't know that for sure. And I don't know you."

Colgate nodded. Her head was turned in Rainbow's general direction, though the eyes were elsewhere, and Rainbow watched her. She appeared placid, her eyes slowly taking the scene in. There was no hint of unrest in her body language, but something still kept Rainbow from being totally at ease. There was a waiting feeling, a suggestion of expectation about her.

"Cole, come on, be straight with me. I know it's scary, but we're pretty scared too."

"You're not scared."

Rainbow coughed. "Uh, yeah, we are."

"You don't act like scared ponies."

"Well… it's different for us, I guess."

"How so?"

"We've been out in the world for a long time now. How do I put it?" She thought of Twilight, shut tight in her room, angry at them all and, Rainbow suspected, herself. "There's not much that's new for us. Like, we've seen a lot already."

"I don't get it."

"Yeah." She lay back on the railroad and stared into the gray sky. "At least for me, it's a kind of quiet fear. I'm scared that that was our last chance to set things right, and we blew it." Her thoughts quieted as Colgate shifted positions next to her, getting more comfortable. If only she had articulated that thought during their fight, she thought. It may have helped get them all on the same page.

"I'm scared that we're gonna go off and do something else now to try to get back to wherever we should be, but it won't be enough, 'cause we tried too early. Next time, he's gonna be ready, if there even is a next time." "Or he might just shoot us out of the sky and dump us down a gap and be done with it." She did not voice the final thought to Colgate; she didn't want to burden her with the idea. "This would be a perfect place for it."

In a fit of fear and anxiety, Colgate smashed a cup against the wall in her cabin until shards of opaque plastic covered the floor. They were about to pass over Applewood, and the mood on the ship was dark. Everyone seemed to be on eggshells, and conversations on the deck were laced with unease.

She had woken that day from a dream of falling from the ship into a pool of clear water, pushed by an unseen pair of hooves. In the dream, she had known they were Rainbow Dash's, and she understood the significance. Jerking off the floor, she had thought she had woken one of the others, a mistake she was certain would cost her her tenuous position. For twenty minutes that night, she had held herself in desperate expectation before falling asleep again.

She had told Rainbow too much on the bridge yesterday. She had revealed her fear of return, her fear of her enemies, an act that had given her a few minutes of relief and then a night of worries. She had spoken to Rainbow because she was a former patient. Colgate knew things about the pegasus that could give her leverage: that Rainbow had seen a counselor on and off through high school, for instance.

Colgate could hold it over her head if she needed, and it had seemed an adequate guard against betrayal at the time.

At the time. All Rainbow had to do was not honor her request, or ask the others specifically to take her back up north, and that would be it. Secrets held against her or no, Rainbow would be the victor. An uncomfortable truth was simply that: uncomfortable. Colgate, meanwhile, would never escape either city again. She had only done it the first time with Vanilla's help, something she knew to not count on.

Even worse, there was no TV on the ship, nothing to drink, no source of distraction, no way to tap into the creative part of her mind that had served so well in her times with Powder Rouge. There were cards, but she didn't know how to play, and could not ask. There was so little she had to her advantage anymore, even revealing that she did not know how to shuffle a deck or play solitaire would be a forfeit she knew she could not endure. "What good are you at all?" they would ask.

She looked down at her broken glass and thought, "There's the only thing on this ship that's weaker than me." She could run, she supposed. Force a landing and then disappear into the countryside, sprinting away to parts unknown. They would have no reason to chase her if she left quietly enough.

She paced to the other side of her bed and sat down. "If Rainbow does what I asked her, what then? I'll be in her debt, and that could be even worse." Scenes of Rainbow extracting a favor from Colgate played through her mind, each one worse than the next. From inopportune to dangerous to plainly vicious, they came one after the other, until her thoughts were, again, flooded.

For a time, she let the thoughts consume her, treading down each bad path for just as long as it took for the next idea to surface.

Someone knocked, and Colgate started. She raced to the broken cup and swept it under the bed before opening the door for Vinyl.

"I think you should see this," Vinyl said.

Colgate hesitated.

"C'mon, it'll be good for you." She cast an unhappy look back down the corridor. "Plus, I think Pinkie wants a turn to spend some alone time."

Colgate stepped out of the door, and for a second, she was stepping out into the cold sun outside the rehab facility. Her stomach rolled over, and she had to stop for a second.

"Okay?"

Colgate couldn't speak, so she nodded her head. She was afraid she would throw up if she opened her mouth.

"C'mon. Fresh air."

Out on the deck, Applejack was at the wheel, Octavia was curled into a tight ball beside the gunwale, Fluttershy opposite her by the torch. Rainbow was behind, wearing her ridiculous sigil hat and speeding them along with a sour expression, and Rarity and Big Mac were speaking in low voices at the back.

"We're just coming out over Applewood," Vinyl said. "You ever been?"

"Briefly, for vacation once," Colgate said. A lie; she had not been farther south than Trottingham.

"It's not quite suited for vacations now. Come over here."

Colgate looked off the edge and into the horizon, still shrouded with clouds. In the middle distance, there was a dark brown patch of city, unremarkable so far away, resembling a lichenous dip in the desert, a nexus point between two halves of immobile river. One end snaked off to their left, narrowing and widening randomly until it disappeared into the frigid desert, and on their right, it stretched straight and true like the railroad tracks on the bridge, shooting north to where she did not know.

"We did that," Vinyl said.

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be seeing."

"You will when we get closer. It was an accident, there was a fight, but it was a fight we lost, and the whole city… you'll see."

"Why are you quiet?" Colgate asked.

"Voice disorder."

"Oh." She squinted, but could make out no details about the supposedly destroyed city. It occurred to her that it could be a ruse. "Closer, closer," Vinyl would say, until the push. She backed away from the railing.

The two unicorns waited until Applewood came into better view, and then Colgate saw what Vinyl had meant. At first, everything looked more or less okay, though she noted the lack of movement in the streets, the lack of light despite it being a cloudy day.

"We had to fight a manifestation of Discord's magic," Vinyl said reverently.

Colgate traced her eyes over the hills and valleys, encrusted with tiny houses and latticed with roads, then looked at the ribbon of desolation that she figured Vinyl wanted her to study. All the city's tallest buildings were clustered into one line, dark and dead, some reduced to charred husks and some uprooted to lie broad across the big street, their destroyed bodies wreathing the feet of other buildings, still standing. The filigrees of old neon tubing and boisterous advertisements had faded, palimpsests upon the city's face.

For Colgate, it was like looking down on the field of battle, examining the wounded and assessing what needed to be addressed most immediately. She looked at a hotel that had partially collapsed, dumping the majority of its façade into the surrounding, green-tinged moat, mooring a small paddlewheel boat that appeared to have been overrun by the newly homeless. She noted the exposed hotel rooms in the building's side, the airship lot bereft of crafts and scored with graffiti and other stains.

She saw the broken spine of a roller coaster barring passage across a bridge, the damaged nubs where giant lamps had once stood on its tall guardrails. Not far off, concentrated burn marks tarnished the image of a pink and orange doughnut, held joyously aloft by a pony who very much resembled Pinkie Pie.

"Everyone had to fend for themselves down there," Vinyl said.

"I see no one." Only a partial lie. She did see the signs of ponies below: small wisps of smoke from cook fires, makeshift attempts at water channels, the occasional fresh tire track.

"They're there." Her horn glowed soft blue, and Colgate flinched back, fearing the push.

"Sorry," Vinyl said, looking at her with furrowed brows.

With her goggles covering her eyes, Colgate could not discern the expression. She backed away another step.

"I'm not gonna do anything," Vinyl said, turning her magic off. "Sorry, I light it sometimes. Force of habit."

Colgate eyed her.

"I won't around you, though. Deal?"

She was pinned, and not in the way she had expected. Vinyl was no Element of Harmony, she was no known quantity, but Colgate had assumed that she would at least show her intent early, believing she could overwhelm. With a simple light spell, though, all Colgate's expectations were blown away, and she was faced with an agonizing decision. Pretend to feel safe, and risk her life for the artifice of trust; or expose her knowledge of Vinyl's ill intent to secure what could be only temporary safety as Vinyl was forced to reshape her plans.

She slowly walked back to the rail and looked over at the city. "Any second now," she thought. She could feel herself sailing off the edge like a bag of flour, see herself broken open among the gaudy, wounded city.

"I think it's important that everyone sees this," Vinyl continued, keeping a respectful distance. "This is what happens when we mess up. This times a thousand if we let this last battle be the end."

Colgate nodded absently. She tried to keep one eye on Vinyl, but knew she had to look at the city as well.

"Thoughts?"

"Why aren't they trying to rebuild the dam?"

"Who's to say they aren't? I can't tell from here."

"The roads to the dam aren't clear. Where the dam used to be, I should say." She paused. "Why is there no dam?"

"It… walked away."

"Huh." In her head, there appeared the cartoonish image of a dam with legs, promenading on the river banks with a parasol balanced over its top.

"You're not disturbed by that?"

Sensing that it was a trick question, but not knowing the solution, Colgate asked, "Should I be?"

"A dam getting up and walking away—I did say walking—is pretty alarming. I should think."

"Were you able to stop it eventually? I see you didn't here, but did you get to it afterwards?"

"Luna did."

"That's good." Her eyes strayed back to the hotels, and she watched a small pair of ponies walk down the street, stepping up onto the cluttered sidewalk to avoid twinkles of broken glass.

"It didn't have to be this way, though," Vinyl said.

Colgate edged back away. "She wants me distracted. Any second now, she's gonna go for it."

"Nothing had to turn out like this, but it did. I know there's nothing to do about it now, we can't bring those ponies back, but we have to remember them."

"Of course," Colgate said, though she had no idea what Vinyl was talking about. Taking a stab, she said, "I can remember it pretty easily, I think."

"Not a test of your memory." Vinyl thought. "Never mind. Good luck, Colgate."

"Are you leaving us?"

Vinyl froze. When she spoke, her voice was even lower. "Been thinking about it. I'm not sure I'm cut for this." She raised a hoof to touch Colgate, but lowered it when Colgate shrunk away. "Maybe you're my replacement. Makes sense to me that you would be."

Colgate shook her head. "I doubt I'm a good replacement."

"Not your decision."

"Yours neither." She took another half step away, suddenly afraid that her quick refutation would be just the impetus needed to trigger Vinyl’s aggression.

Instead, Vinyl nodded and tapped her horn. "You're right. Sorry again, about this. I didn't mean to scare you."

Colgate gave her a hesitant smile.

* * * * * *

On a Tuesday afternoon, there wasn't much business to be done at her other clubs, but Velocity was full of the usual crowd of Pegasus Advocates. White Wine was in her office in the basement, going over next month's budget and wracking her brain for a solution to her newest problem.

The contraband that Whippoorwill had promised her had stopped after his first batch, and then he had gone quiet shortly thereafter. She had considered sending someone to check up on him, to peek through a window and see if he was even at home, but she could think of no one she wanted for the task. There was already enough unrest at the appearance of his magical trinkets, she didn't want to incite any more questions by sending someone to look in on a seemingly unimportant unicorn.

White Wine got up from her uncomfortable chair to stretch. Above, she could hear the heavy sounds of gear being pushed and pulled about, a local band setting up for their gig. Their excited banter brought a smile to her face, and she decided to go up to see the new talent. In her other clubs, she didn’t mind letting mixed races in, as long as she didn’t have to mingle, but in Velocity, all the musicians were pegasi.

She had two hatches on opposite sides of the basement, one to let her out in the lounge area close to the patio exit, and one to let her come up just behind the stage. She took the patio hatch, a trapdoor with no ladder or ramp, and climbed out into the unlit room. Later that night, the room would be alive with color and music and the tantalizing movements of her dancers up on the oval stage, but for the time, all was quiet.

White Wine did not care for the quiet, and did not linger in the empty darkness. Without announcing herself, she joined a small, ratty pegasus who was struggling with a large amp, and the two managed to wrestle it up on stage. She shook hooves, introduced herself, noted with concealed displeasure the shock on his face when he recognized the significance of her garb. She had chosen to wear her hair down that day, the orange and green tiger stripes draping across her back and down her sides like a giant, ridiculous candy wrapper, but tied up in the very front to proudly display the black X she had tattooed into her forehead. Unlike some of her other patrons, she had learned that there was nothing wrong with concealing it in public, but at her home away from home, she had nothing to hide.

"You're, uh… the manager didn't say anything about this being a… this type of bar," the pony said.

"I'm the manager," White Wine said. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Uh, Grubby Greens, ma'am."

"Your band."

"Oh." He gestured loosely at the drum set, where one of them had scrawled the band name on the bass drum. His expression suggested he wanted to be indignant that she hadn't noticed, but was too scared to say anything. "We're The Crossways Fliers. Yeah, hey, we really appreciate this gig, ma'am, even though, uh…"

"I'm sure you'll be fine," she said, pointedly without conviction, as she turned away. It wasn't her problem that they hadn't done their research.

She stepped behind the bar and examined herself in its mirror. Her black lipstick was smeared—she had been chewing her pencil again, going over the budget.

"I left my lipstick down there, can I use yours?" she asked the bartender on duty. Her name was Warm Welcome, an apt name, but not completely truthful, White Wine knew. No one made her fellow Pegasus Advocates feel more comfortable to take a load off at the bar, nor was anyone so adept at making ponies unwelcome when they wandered in by mistake. Warm Welcome's cutie mark was an open door, a symbol that had puzzled White Wine when they first met. Unlike many Pegasus Advocates, Warm Welcome eschewed the elaborate clothing for a simple black studded vest and tattered, checkered cape that she had cut to hang high over her flanks, exposing a pink eraser of a bob-tail in the middle of her shapely backside. On nights where she didn't need to tend bar, she would string her red ribbons between the bun of her mane and her tail, a relaxed bridge over her back.

Through the mirror as she reapplied her lipstick, White Wine watched the band at work, trailing cables through the open door, hefting amps, rolling tables out of the way multiple times. "Just move them out of the room once and be done with it," White Wine thought angrily. She put it out of her mind; it was insignificant.

"Do you think you could get these studs drunk before their set?" White Wine asked.

"Probably," Warm Welcome said.

"Good." She looked at Warm Welcome for a second, straightening her red ribbon. "Nothing dangerous, just enough to make them embarrass themselves."

"Should be no problem. They're all young, hip ponies." She took her lipstick back. "Oh, Wine, a call came for you a little while ago. I wrote down the number."

"Hm?" White Wine accepted the piece of paper. "Name?"

"He just said to call him right back. He sounded nervous."

White Wine rolled her eyes. There was more than one pony in her life who fit that description.

She took the entrance behind the stage back to her office and sat at her desk, cluttered with papers and notes to herself. On the far wall, there hung a myriad of posters, all involving pegasus pride in some iteration or another. One poster, showing the Wonderbolts streaking across an art deco sky, declaimed "Take back your wings" in huge, blocky letters. Another, the same light orange as her coat, showed only the one word, Spirit, surrounded by a stylized pair of wings. She stared at it for a while, reflecting on its message, and picked up the phone, cradling it awkwardly between her head and shoulder. There were mechanisms in place to assist in the holding of phone receivers for the non-magical, but White Wine, like many of her compatriots, took pride in shunning them.

The pony picked up on the first ring. "Wine?"

"Oh. Whippoorwill." Even edging close to panic, his drawl was unmistakeable.

The pony on the other end paused for a long, relieved sigh. "We've got a bit of a situation here. Are you alone?"

"I'm in my office."

"Ah. Alone?"

She looked back at her posters as a bilious response formed in her mind. Former friend or no, she wanted to cut the connection and let him suffer alone. In the first few seconds of their conversation, she could already tell that he wanted something. She just said, "yeah, alone. What's the situation?" Before she could stop herself, she added, "where were you?"

His voice was low and even; he had mastered himself. "Something went wrong with my contacts, Wine. They've all gone dark on me, not a word of warnin' from no one." He waited for her response, and when he didn't get one, continued. "We might not be gettin' another shipment in a bit. Ah'm workin' on securin' alternate resources to bring the operation closer to home, but fer now, we’re gonna need to wait. Ah hope you haven't done anythin' with what Ah gave ya?"

"I'm just sitting on it all, like you said," she said. "Whippoorwill, I'm at work right now. What do you need?"

"Hold on." She could hear him setting down the receiver and pattering around the room for a minute before returning. "Okay, all clear. Look, there ain't a reason to mince words. We need to strike at the Astras, fast and hard."

"Excuse me?"

"They're at the bottom of it, Ah know, an'… Wine, listen, they woulda gotten me too if they knew Ah was here."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just trust me!" he shouted, making her reel her head back. She almost hung up on him right there. "We gotta go at 'em as soon as we can, if not sooner, you an' me." His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "They won't be expectin' the likes of you an' yers."

"Uh-huh." She frowned down at her budget. "I don't know if you've read the papers lately, but the Astra family is the most powerful group of ponies this side of Trottingham, much more powerful than your ponies. At least here, they are."

"But here, they're divided."

"You don't know that." "You've been in hiding for a week," she wanted to add, but didn't, though she was confident that that was what it was.

"They have to be. They wouldn't have the whole family in Canterlot randomly, Wine."

"Perhaps it's not random, Whippoorwill." She smiled wide into the receiver. "Perhaps this is the beginning of the end for, how you say, you an' yers."

"Wine," he sighed. "It will be if I can't count on your help. They're weak, I know it, I just need a couple of your ponies to go after them and run 'em out of town."

"Oh, run them out of town? That's all?"

"In the euphemistic sense."

She snorted derisively. "And what do I stand to gain in return? Don't say the destruction of the Astra family."

"Wine, if we can get 'em out of our way, then you and Ah can return to normal. Ah can reestablish my supply chain, an' then we can get back to business." He paused. "This is a single hiccup in my plan, that's all. Once it's resolved, everythin' will be how we've planned. You can do it easily, an' Ah'll be there to help every step of the way."

Something clattered above her and angry voices broke into argument. Making her voice as flat as she could, she said, "I'll get back to you after work. I have to go now."

"Wine—listen," he said as she hung up.

For a minute, White Wine stared at the orange poster again and ordered her thoughts. She brushed a lock of neon hair out of her face.

Part of her wanted to trust him, to help him. When they were younger, she had trusted him numerous times with the difficulties of growing up, with the family drama and teenage heartbreak that had twisted her to a point she thought unique for its trueness. In turn, he had trusted her with the same, him using her as his council and open ear when relationship after relationship fell apart. All through high school, there had remained at the core of their friendship a grain of optimistic certainty that whatever the future had in store, they would face it together and be the better for it.

Even their parting had been friendly. She had promised to write, he to visit when he could afford the trip up from Trottingham.

Instead, both had gone on to become their worst selves, crafted and mishandled by life and ill fortune until they had nothing more to offer except ugliness. For her, the transformation had taken a year, the longest year of her life, endless rage and self blame as she withdrew further and further into herself while her assailant—a unicorn, naturally—walked free. She had vowed revenge, had practiced every motion and word in her soliloquy before killing him, but had never gotten the chance to put any of it into practice. Until and past the day that pony would leave town and her scope forever, she had been too scared to do more than sit at her window and frown at the world, hating, until her hate had vitrified into a cold, comfortable plate of armor around her heart.

She wondered faintly what had happened to Whippoorwill as she dialed the phone again and waited for a different voice.

"Yes?" the stallion asked.

"Strawberry."

"No one by that name, ma'am. Good day."

"It's White Wine, you flake," she said with a false laugh, enough to put him at ease.

"Ah. Er, yes, what do you need, then?"

"I've got a fly buzzing around our operation that I need chased away."

"Mm. Chased away?"

"Yes, Strawberry, chased, not squished." "Not yet, anyway." "I'm hoping a warning is enough for this one."

"What does he know?"

"He knows who I am and who my ponies are, nothing about you."

"Our partnership?"

"He knows nothing. As far as he's concerned, I'm just a club owner."

"You are just a club owner, White."

"Yes, of course. That's what I meant to say."

"Mm. One minute." When he came back, she recognized the sound of a pencil in his teeth. "Info?"

She gave him Whippoorwill's name and address, reemphasizing that she wanted him scared only.

"But if he decides to try something violent, do what you must."

Strawberry scribbled on a piece of paper, and she thought she heard the pencil scrape in a long line. Underlining her "no violence" stipulation, she thought with a smile.

"When do you want it?" he asked.

"When can you do it?"

"We could do it tonight, if you'd like."

She thought. Whippoorwill had been clearly nervous on the phone, and she was sure he had been in hiding, waiting for the Astras to finish him off as he suspected they had his friends. Someone showing up at his apartment the same night he had peeked out to call White Wine would accomplish nothing. He would just redouble his efforts to convince her to join his foolish cause against the Astras; that, or do something drastic and stupid.

"He's jumpy right now. Let's give it a few days."

"Jumpy in what way?"

"Nothing to do with you," she said again, a hoof to the crease in her brow. "He's trying to get me to help him with something, that's all. Something I don't want to do."

Strawberry was silent.

"He wants us to take on the Astras in town, attract their attention."

Strawberry laughed, and White Wine chuckled as well.

"Now I see why you'd like this guy gone, Wine. Sure, you got it. How about you call me back the day you want it?"

"That's fine. Thank you." She hung up, Strawberry still laughing on the other end, and was just about to get comfortable when another crash shook the ceiling, and she got up. The argument above persisted as she flew up behind the stage, where she could see the arguers gesturing heatedly around a bass guitar on the floor. Warm Welcome looked on with mild amusement, which turned to an outright laugh when one of the usuals decided to start berating the clumsy band members. A burly pegasus with a spiked choker around his neck, White Wine knew he was about as harmless as the PAs in her club came. He wore no red ribbon; he had not earned it yet.

She let them carry on for a minute or two before stepping in with a simple "that's enough," enough reprimand to make the regular slink back to his table. She looked at the hapless pegasus to whom she assumed the bass belonged and shook her head. She remained in the bar for a little while longer, socializing and helping with an early sound check, before resignedly going back below to crunch numbers—all the more complicated now that Whippoorwill had tried to reenter her life.

* * * * * *

At The Equine Sun, Flitter had built up a stack of articles on her desk, which she read whenever she had time between taking calls, which was often. Her job that week was to route calls to the appropriate department, operating a complicated and bulky phone mechanism of levers and buttons. She had a whole cubicle to herself, the job's sole advantage, but the work was monotonous and the scenery dreary. She sat in the middle of the crowded second floor, directly underneath an air vent, her only view to the outside world a constricted look at the street outside through the window at the end of the hall.

One of her fellow interns had managed a spot with one of the copy editors while the other had found himself in the mail room, where Flitter was certain he was complaining to anyone who would listen—barring that, himself. She had been momentarily excited when she found that she would not be in the mail room, but her good cheer evaporated when she saw her giant switchboard. "Still better than the lotus," she told herself, but after the fifth caller complaining about a misattribution on one of their photographs, she wasn't so sure.

Ink's reprimand had stayed with her for the weekend and no longer. She read everything she could get her hooves on, regardless of apparent relevancy, and simply resolved to not report anything that did not fall exactly inside her job specifications. The Pegasus Advocates kept appearing in articles, something she was keeping track of on her own, noting dates and article titles in a small notebook she left in her desk at nights.

The article that had caught her attention that afternoon featured the PAs, as well as the Astras, ponies she was familiar with in name only. The headline ran "Astra Family and Pegasus Advocates on Collision Course?" It was an op-ed by Spring Dance, someone whose straightforward reporting style her peers praised and who Flitter thought needed to find a better mane stylist. The first sentence alone had captured her: "The renowned Astra family may soon find itself in the cross hairs of the most powerful Pegasus Advocacy chapter in Equestria, sources say."

The renowned Astra family may soon find itself in the cross hairs of the most powerful Pegasus Advocacy chapter in Equestria, sources say. They may be staying in Canterlot for a little R and R, but that hasn't stopped them from turning heads. Perhaps this time it's the wrong heads.
Known for their staunch criticism of all things non-pegasus, particularly unicorns, the Pegasus Advocates have been poised to enter into a conflict with the wealthy Astras for a long time coming, if not for the factor of geographical distance. Since moving to the outskirts of Hoofington, though, the Astras may have unwittingly presented a more tempting target to PA chapters across the nation.
Poised, indeed, they are. On Saturday, the unsurprising violence came to a head at a "peaceful" PA rally in Lower Canterlot as pegasi in the crowd broke out their own magical artifacts.
Officer Weed Puller of the Canterlot Police Department had this to say: "We always have trouble with them [the PAs], every time, but this is the first time we've seen magic. We can usually get by with bullhorns and riot shields, but this is the first time we've had to call in magic breakers for a demonstration like this."
So far, there have been two instances of magic use at PA rallies, and no one seems to know where the magic is coming from.
These worrisome displays are not relegated simply to Lower Canterlot. The elite citizens are beginning to fear for their safety as well as PA signs have started to appear on sidewalks and walls.
Local store owner Floral Farms said, "We just finished giving our store a new coat of paint, and those damn PAs made it ugly again." She went on to say that she believes that the PAs are not getting magical artifacts on their own, but from outside sources.
With hardly a peep from the advocacy movement these years past, the timing seems a little too perfect that they should suddenly reappear to the arrival of the Astras, and with magic at their behest. Some even speculate that the Astras are supplying these magical artifacts as part of a political ploy, or even a coup.
No Astras were available for comment, but a friend of theirs, Dr. Whooves, Greater Canterlot native, was. "On one side, we've an unstoppable force—that's the Astras—and on the other, an immovable object—the Pegasus Advocates. Why, it's only a matter of time before they meet, and then we'll hear of nothing else."
With a regretful shake of his head, he added, "It's already begun, I think." Unfortunately, he did not elaborate.
In these uncertain times, one thing, at least, seems clear. In the midst of the war between the gods of our world, Greater Canterlot may soon be embroiled in its own race war.

The phone rang, and Flitter sighed. She enjoyed customer service—her times at the spa with her sister had been some of the happiest in recent memory—but operating a switchboard was not that. She transferred the caller to the advertising department and stretched.

Wings and Jet were no help. She had told them the truth, to a point, about her finding a job doing grunt-work with a magazine, and they had both offered to put in a good word for her at their job, swiftly detecting her discontentment. Flitter was silently envious. She knew them only as air-headed jokers, but with their experience in Manehattan, they had their pick of employment opportunities in the lighting business, apparently to such an extent that they could turn down offers on the condition that they wouldn't be able to work together.

"Just get married already," she thought bitterly, glaring at her cup of tap water. She blew the bendy straw to the cup's opposite side and grabbed another article, but she had no will to read. The thought of her roommates, happy, in love—in her opinion, though they still claimed it was a platonic friendship—and safe filled her with disgust. How easily she could be in their position, she thought. "Why did I even choose this gig, anyway?"

The answer, she knew, was because it had seemed a good idea at the time. She hadn't realized that the door would slide closed behind her when she joined up with the Ponyville Datura.

She pulled off her next article, "Renovation Project for Canterlot Palace." Apparently, the palace had suffered a leak in the throne room, and ponies were being diverted to one of the two antechambers for Royal Court. One construction worker on the royal payroll assured everyone that the issue was minor, and the good citizens of Canterlot would soon be able to see the palace's face again. Flitter set the article aside for a second read when she noticed that no sources were named.

"What"s wrong with me?" she thought, her disgust turning inward. "They're my friends, they're letting me live with them for free. Why am I so mad at them? No, not mad, just annoyed. Okay, why am I so annoyed with them? Simple envy? Maybe." She thought, rerouted a call, thought some more. From her desk, the new headline declared "Dancing Quarter Prepares for Third Annual Puppy Festival." "That could be fun," she thought idly.

She had never known herself to be a jealous mare, nor had Cloudchaser, nor had she ever been given to particularly deep or lasting displeasure. More one to carry on and find a solution instead of getting stuck behind bad feelings, disgust as she felt in the office was new to her. It seemed utterly without cause; no anger precipitated the bitterness, no feeling that she had been slighted. Slowly, as she thought, Flitter's disgust became puzzlement.

"Where's this coming from?" Ink Pearl's voice popped up in her thoughts, urging her to forget it and get back to work, and she read the first paragraph of the puppy article before giving up and staring into space.

She rerouted another call, someone claiming to have information for a potential article. The reporter they wanted was on lunch, so Flitter sent them to the pony's voicemail. She could at least take messages, she thought, pulling a switch. That would be something to do.

Thinking so, she played out the imaginary conversation in her head, a pleasant, momentary distraction.

"I wonder if I could find a way to get those two to work here. That might liven things up, at least. Do they need light technicians at a magazine? I'm sure they do somewhere. Or maybe they can be photographers. It's probably not that much different. Or maybe it is. How good are Wings and Jet, anyway?" She tried to recall a time when they had spoken about work in front of her, and could not, at least nothing specific. She supposed they must be very good at what they did.

"And here I am, sitting at a dang desk like I just got out of college, like I'm waiting to find my real career." Something clicked, but she had to take another call, and when she could get back to thinking ("This year will be leaner for the festival committee, spokesmare Bright Bounce said"), she had already forgotten the main point that had jumped out at her a minute before. Something about her actual career.

"I'm not doing anything with my life? Is that it? I mean, that's not it, obviously, but that's what it feels like right now. Maybe that's it, maybe I'm just mad because I'm not doing anything exciting and dramatic." She quietly hoped that wasn't it, disliking the image it conjured of a Flitter who allowed herself to be pulled by only the brightest chances at glory, but did not form that hope into a sentence in her mind; she was worried she might, in articulating it to herself, seem to be trying too hard to convince herself otherwise. The thought, however, was also not as easily dismissed as Ink's caustic attitude.

She sipped her stale water. She was told that the tap water was clean, that chemists and technicians had worked overtime in the past months to implement purification stations for static river water, but Flitter still avoided tap water when she could.

"Where are they putting all the impurities?" she briefly wondered. "Is there a landfill full of grit and algae they've skimmed out of our water somewhere?" She shuddered and pushed her water back, her thirst no longer so strong. She took a call, and then a second call right after.

"Slow day," she said quietly to herself, and forced herself through the article, a feel-good piece that did not give her the warm, fuzzy feeling she needed. The idea of snuggling up with all the prize puppies from the festival did put a short smile on her face, though.

Only five more hours until it was time to go home.

* * * * * *

Rain turned to sleet as the Friesian Mountains hove into view, and Applejack laid her hat at her hooves. Partially, it was because she didn’t want it to blow away, but more than that, she wanted to feel the weather on her head.

The mood on the deck was thawing, as it was now known that she was taking them to the mines for more Elements, but interactions were still stiff. Twilight still refused to come out of her cabin, even to eat; Pinkie diligently slid plates of food through the space between door and jamb when Twilight allowed it. Rainbow had taken it on herself to speed them along, using Twilight's old magic to let them cover more distance each day than ever before. She, too, did it without being asked. Like Applejack's choice of destination, Rainbow had gone up one day, put on the odd-looking sigil hat, and boosted them through the sky, just like that. No big conversations or indecision, just magic and movement.

For Applejack, it was all so distant drama. Through it all, she was glad for her role as ship's captain, for though she did not strictly need to be by the wheel to steer them, she could choose to remain at the bow whenever she wanted, as impartial an observer as she could manage.

She was sure they had all noticed it to some extent, but Vinyl had been the only one to bring it up in bold terms. "Why are you staying so far from all the conflict?" she had asked one blustery morning just outside of Applewood. "Sure you've got your share of things to say."

Equally frankly, Applejack said, "'Cause after what Ah've been through, dyin' an' comin' back an' all that fun stuff, Ah don't feel Ah have time fer pointless infightin'. Look around, look at everyone. They're sore from the defeat, but they're all still here. Once all the grievances an' petty secrets have been aired out, we'll all come together an' finish this. No one's givin' up, so Ah may as well keep out of it."

"Some are talking about it. Quitting, I mean."

"But they haven't done it."

The freezing ice melted into her fur, and she tried not to shiver. When she was younger, her granny had taught her a trick about the cold. Instead of shivering and tightening up, she said, accept it. Open yourself to that cold, let it fill you up, and you won't be as miserable. Of course, that was in Ponyville, where the only snow they got was from Cloudsdale, and which did not come with wind chill or impenetrable slabs of cloud, or puddles she could lose a leg in.

Applejack did shiver, but still she tried not to. The stinging sleet reminded her where they were, and, more importantly, that she was alive. It seemed too grim a thought to her to voice to the others, but since her momentary departure from the living, she had caught herself unconsciously seeking out sensations to help her remember. Living, breathing, and feeling were important; exchanging hurt words when no one or everyone was at fault was not.

Rarity shambled over and, without asking, threw up a shield in front of Applejack's face.

"'Ppreciate it," Applejack said.

Rarity sighed.

"How ya feelin', sugarcube?"

"Better."

Applejack nodded.

"Not very much better, but better. Yes." She rested her chin on the rail and said something, which was carried away by the wind.

"Yer gonna need to turn towards me."

"Sorry." Rarity sat down and faced Applejack. "These last days, I've been working on seeing things in a more positive light."

"Now's a good time to do it. Only better time's yesterday." She chuckled at Rarity's puzzled expression. "Ah heard the doctor say that once."

"Ah. Him."

"That’s goin' well fer you, then? Changin' yer outlook?"

"It's difficult. I keep finding myself thinking poorly of someone or of something, and I have to stop myself. 'No, Rarity,' I say to myself, 'Positivity, dear.' Sometimes I find my words ring false, but I say them anyway."

"Keep remindin' yerself, you'll get there."

"Indeed." She looked at Applejack, something unspoken plain on her face.

"Go ahead, spit it out." She pointed into the growing chain of mountains. "That's our destination, so, as you can see, we've got time to talk."

"I don't want to bring it up."

"Y'already have." She smiled. "Come on, out with it. If it's about what Ah think it is, Ah can take it."

Rarity hesitated. "When you… left us, did you have any problems with your outlook? I imagine you must have, at least for some time, but you never seemed particularly affected to me. I never noticed any of the things I would expect from someone who'd been through that."

Applejack nodded. "Early mornin's are the worst 'cause Ah don't have anythin' to think 'bout but death. Comin' back is like wakin' up in a lot of ways."

"I hadn't thought about that."

"Ah recall…" She held a hoof to her chin, stalling to say what she wanted. She did not think the timing was right, and said so. "But you asked, so here goes. Ah think 'bout it a lot more'n Ah'd like to. Like you with yer negative thoughts, I try to use it to remind myself of what's still good in the world an' in us—an' there is a lot, Ah firmly believe that."

"We have to believe that," Rarity said.

Applejack looked over Rarity's shoulder at Octavia, huddled in the back. "We don't have to believe that if we don't wanna."

Understanding shone in Rarity's eyes.

"But it still weighs. Useful reminder or no, on the face of it, it's a dark thought attached to a dark memory. Ah s'pose no one could be blamed fer feelin' a little blue every now'n again."

"Certainly not. But you…"

"Like Ah said, only in the early mornin's. Ah'll get up to watch the sunrise sometimes, an' Ah can feel her next to me, Princess Luna. She…" Her words caught. "Yeah. Ah owe a lot to her."

Rarity rubbed Applejack's back. "We all do."

After a minute of silence, Applejack sighed briskly. "Life goes on, Rarity. Like it or not, fight it however you will, life goes on. We can't stop it, an' he can't either."

"Hm."

"Life. It goes on."

Rarity sighed again. "In Furnace Creek, we said you'd hardly changed, but I think that's wrong. You've changed since Ponyville."

"Fer the better, Ah hope."

"For the best. I'll be meeting you there soon."

"Ah know it." She pulled in Rarity for a side hug. "Ah know it."

On the following day, Rainbow had come back from behind the ship. They were close enough to the mountains that they needed to be moving at their regular speed, and everyone except Twilight got out onto the deck to watch their destination approach. The entrance to the mines was close, but going would be painfully slow with the mantle of clouds that had settled over all.

For breakfast, they divided the last of their spinach among a ring of bereft salads. Octavia said she believed they had farms in the mines for things like mushrooms and truffles, but was not positive.

Pinkie knocked on Twilight's cabin door with the pathetic salad on her back. When Twilight shuffled within, Pinkie said, "Twilight, can I please come in?"

Twilight cracked the door and looked out at Pinkie, who looked on her with kindness and gentleness that she felt bad for faking. Her intent was not so soft.

Twilight let her in without a word and closed the door tight behind. The room was full of smoke, its floor littered with books, pieces of paper, half-finished sigils, and instruments that fit Rainbow's description of Twilight's attempts at divination. Twilight returned to her setup, a chalk circle ground into the floorboards underneath a plumb bob, swaying back and forth slowly from the hook she had pounded into the ceiling.

"Just leave it on the bed," Twilight said, staring angrily down at the circle.

Pinkie sat down and waited for Twilight's attention.

Finally looking up, Twilight sneered. "Are you here to tell me everyone misses me up there? I know I've been gone; I've been busy, as you can see."

"Wowee," Pinkie said. She had expected it to be hard, but Twilight's arrogance made the next sentence feel shamefully good in its utterance. "I'm not, actually. No one misses you."

Twilight's expression softened, brows contracting.

"You heard me."

"I did," Twilight said. "I'm a little shocked."

"We've been doing better up there, you know, getting over stuff. Lots of apologies and explanations. You wouldn't believe how many misunderstandings there've been." She paused, thinking of her argument with Fluttershy, still unresolved. "What have you been up to?"

"I'm trying to find a way to spy on Discord." She nudged the plumb bob into a circle that it continued of its own accord along the line she had drawn, but nothing appeared in the floor she stared at so intently.

"How's that working for you?"

"Clearly not well, Pinkie."

"Yeah." She got up and stood right over the circle, but Twilight refused to look up. Not for the first time, she wished she were better at the subtle dance of insinuation and accusation that seemed, of late, Twilight's preferred method of speaking. "So here's the deal, Twilight." She stopped the plumb bob's swing. "We're gonna land in the mountains either today or tomorrow, depending on what the weather's doing. We're gonna go into the mines and get some new Elements."

"The mines."

"Applejack flew us here, without your permission. Rainbow Dash, she went out back and helped speed us along with that funny sigil hat of yours, and that was without your permission too."

"You don't need my permission for anything," Twilight said moodily.

"We know."

Twilight met her eyes, and Pinkie saw impatience—but also anguish. From her sister, she was familiar with its various disguises.

"You gonna come out with us when we land?"

"Probably."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I'll do it." She smacked the plumb bob again. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

Pinkie stopped the bob.

"This is important, Pinkie." She pushed it again, slowly and gently, her eyes fixed to it as if the object had been the disobedient one in the exchange.

"Is it working?"

Twilight gave Pinkie a withering stare.

"I don't have to do this, you know!" Pinkie cried out, backing away. "I don't have to come down here and play the 'who can hide her feelings better' game with you, and I don't have to pretend that I like you very much right now. You know why?"

Twilight corrected the course of her plumb bob.

"Because I don't! You're being a real jerk right now, still, even though that was like a week ago now that Discord got us!"

"It's not like a week, it is a week. Seven days."

"Great! Good, that's straightened out! Mystery solved!" She stopped the bob again, hurting her hoof slightly; it was heavier than it appeared. "What is with you?"

"I'm just trying to figure out what went wrong," Twilight said shortly, her voice small. She looked at her plumb bob again, but let it hang, motionless.

"I know what went wrong."

Twilight frowned. "Educate me."

Pinkie rolled her eyes. "We're not in harmony, duh! Do you remember fighting like we've been back in the day? Last year?" She lowered her voice. "Is any of this at all familiar to you?"

Twilight looked as if she might defiantly avert her eyes to her magic project, but shook her head instead, slightly.

"We're friends, not coworkers."

"Who was out of harmony?"

Pinkie paused. Her response, ready and hot behind her lips, was a single syllable: "you." She wanted to pop it in Twilight's face and watch as the unicorn's defense crumbled, shamed that it was obvious to more than herself.

Twilight knew it too; Pinkie could tell. She recognized despair, and she recognized self-blame. She also realized that destroying Twilight's defenses might not accomplish anything. As well as she might burst into tears and accept the tenderness that Pinkie held back as a reward for contrition, she might also withdraw further into her research, where she would be unreachable.

So instead, Pinkie swallowed her feelings and said, "all of us, a little bit." She recoiled inside as Twilight nodded knowingly, a fresh wave of bile threatening to overtake her.

"That's what I've been thinking too," Twilight said. "And I'm trying to find a way around that."

"You're not gonna find it cooped up in here."

Twilight pointed loosely into the room. "One of these books has something about how friendship magic grows and lessens as ponies change."

"Sure." She looked at one of the other divination implements. "You're gonna need to come up and socialize again."

"I thought I wasn't missed?"

"Yeah, not the older, meaner Twilight. If you can get back to being nice, we'll all be happy to see you."

Twilight snorted. "Meaner. Please."

"What do you call it, then?"

"Same as always, Pinkie," she said, impatience reentering her voice.

"Determination? A good work ethic? Or is this just 'getting serious'? Has our comfort zone shrunk down so bad there's no room for friendship anymore?"

"We're friends."

"Yeah, we're friends," Pinkie said, circling herself and pointing out of the cabin. "We all are getting over it, pulling ourselves back up." She thought for a second. "We're getting ready to go get another batch of Elements of Harmony, for Celestia's sake! Where's that leave you?"

Twilight looked back down into her circle. She croaked something, then repeated herself with a fuller voice. "Nowhere."

"That's right."

The two of them shared silence in the cabin.

"If it makes you feel better, you aren't the one with the biggest mistake under her belt on this ship."

Twilight looked up at her, and Pinkie stared back through the smoke.

"She's different," Twilight said at last.

Pinkie nodded, spine tingling.

She had agonized all night, but Twilight ultimately joined the rest of the crew for the landing outside the mines. She didn't know it, but Pinkie had told everyone to not make a big deal of Twilight’s reappearance. It would wound her pride, which, if she was anything like Octavia, was about all she had left to her.

A wide archway was bored into the icy mountainside, its sides scored with thin cuts as if the whole entryway had been stuck back together after being once shattered. A heavy griffon head, closed beak pointing directly down and eyes wide in an expression of utmost attention, formed the arch’s keystone, and they passed through only after a miserable thirty minutes of securing the airship to a flat bank of rock and deflating the balloon so it would not tear in the sheer winds, which had lessened overnight and then returned with sharp tufts of snow to ruin their visibility and swing the ship back and forth perilously on sharp, icy rocks. More than once, someone had to dodge back to avoid losing a hoof under its immense weight.

"I have performed here once," Octavia said at the entrance, looking up into a forest of icicles. "The Murgese Mines. Excellent acoustics, poor reception."

"Did you go in, or stay out in the, you know, the main area?" Rainbow asked.

"The vestibule, you mean, and I did not. I went deeper inside."

"How far?" Applejack asked.

"Not very. There is a great hall near here where we played."

Setting hoof under the open archway immediately brought about a change in the air, a warmth that took the edge off the storm outside, no more. Something small clicked on the ground, and they all started as light suddenly came alive above their heads, revealing a long, smoothly hewn tunnel, its floor tessellated with flagstones and its walls simple, grainy sandstone. Above, in a cradle of brass threads, there glowed a small crystal, bright yet soft.

"That is new," Octavia said as they pressed forward. "When I performed, the walls were lined with torches."

They ducked into the entrance tunnel, some of them reluctantly and others more than happy to leave the biting wind behind for a time. Vinyl cast a look behind herself, trying to steal a last glance at the airship before following, at a distance, behind Colgate, who still walked with a slightly dazed air. Vinyl didn't blame her; the spectacle had her a little thunderstruck too. In her life, she had heard of mines, but not in the context she saw those into which the other Elements boldly stepped.

As the quiet march slanted downwards, more tiles clicked and more crystals sprung alive, pulling them deeper with their light, illuminating every crevasse and corner. No decorations adorned the walls and no litter cluttered the floor.

Soon, their walk ended at a vast door, which Octavia approached with the fearlessness of experience. Lifting the brass ring, she sent a pair of deep knocks resonating from the stone throat, and was swiftly answered in kind from the other side before the door growled on unseen hinges to admit them.

"Unless this has changed as well, there are five doors," Octavia said as the first slowly widened. "They were described to my bandmates and I as airlocks of sorts."

"They're just letting us in without asking our business?" Rarity asked.

"Ponies probably come in from the cold all the time," Fluttershy said. "I'll bet they'll ask us once we're safe inside."

She was correct. In the first wide room, they met a pair of sparsely armored guards who, after a minute of shock, asked them what they were doing. Applejack spoke for the group, and the guards admitted them without further question.

Through the second, third, and fourth chambers, they passed, surprising each pair of guards with their presence and again with their purpose.

"Why five?" Pinkie asked one guard, whose eyes hardly strayed from her for their entire, brief encounter.

"Just how it was built, Ah reckon," Applejack said, and the other guard nodded along.

They had no way to measure how deep they had gone under the mountain by the fifth chamber. There was no natural light to be seen, neither in vents nor in splits—the mines, a different guard informed them, had been restored months earlier. A small group of magicians from Snowdrift had come down to make repairs, and even help rebuild what smaller details their large spells could not. Where they had gone next was not known.

The group clustered by the wall where the final opening door would allow them their first glimpses of the mines proper, and were at first disappointed. The darkness beyond was complete, a deep and impenetrable lake of shadow that gave no definition or depth to the thick, columnar structures sliding into view in the foreground. As if superimposed upon a black canvass, a colossal stalagmite rose from some distant abyss, but as the entrance widened, they saw the lights. Its sides twinkled with tiny lights like artfully arranged stars, twin spirals crossing each other at even intervals up the structure's body, covered near the middle by the hard edge of a cliff, onto the back of which they spilled like unaccustomed tourists.

The darkened ceiling was visible as a moil of folds and holes in the rock above, some places soft-edged as clouds and others like broken glass, a hanging garden of rock formations, all too distant for clear details. At the front, Rainbow mumbled a minced oath, her jaw slackened as she stared upwards.

Beside the first column, there was a second, which reached even higher to the ceiling, its top wide and offset from the central pillar like a kinked mushroom, its infundibulate stalk encircled in places with rings of lights, between which thinner veins of lit windows formed ribs. It reminded Pinkie of a piece of thick-sliced celery, Colgate of a slightly curved pegasus wing bone.

Eerily, few sounds reached them where they stood. There was no hum or rasp of machinery and no tumult of conversation or panic, nor any wind or snowfall to break the stillness as they slowly approached their precipice. On delicate, white posts, crystals the size of golf balls lit for them as they traversed a hoof path.

"If I recall, the great hall was along this path," Octavia said. "We had to descend a lengthy set of stairs. I believe they were marked fairly obviously."

"Is that where we should start?" Twilight asked.

"It's as good a place as any," Applejack said.

"Is it impolite if one of us puts on a light of our own?" Rarity asked. "I don't want to make like these little crystals aren't sufficient, but… they're not exactly comforting. Especially with that ahead of us," she said, gesturing at the wall of darkness that hung behind the twin columns.

"Do ponies live in those?" Vinyl asked.

"Yes," Octavia said. "I have not been to one, before you ask."

"Okay, Colgate?" Big Mac asked, stepping a little closer to Colgate, who shied at him with a terse "fine."

"There's someone," Rainbow said. "Hey! 'Scuse us, hey! We're looking for…" She turned to Applejack. "What are we looking for, anyway?"

"Directions," Applejack said. "Just directions fer now."

The pony shouldered a broad-bladed hoe and ambled over to them, her lank, ratty mane pulled back in a bun that looked about two good swings away from coming undone. Her patched overalls crinkled as she had to put her hoe down to allow herself to shake hooves with the travelers. Applejack eyed the hoe curiously, but didn't comment.

"You six I recognize. You four I don't." She broke into a gap-toothed smile. "No matter! I guess ol' Lilac was right enough. You look like you lot haven't had a decent meal in a while."

"We are fine," Octavia said. "If you could simply—"

"We're pretty hungry," Rainbow said. "Er, if you can spare a little something—"

"Rainbow, now—"

"Of course," the stranger said, picking up her hoe again and flashing another smile, wide and guileless. "Come, come. I've got this spot to tend to still. Go up the path just ahead there, and I'll catch up."

"We don't want to impose," Fluttershy said weakly.

"It's no trouble, believe you, me." Her lips pursed in thought. "Fluttershy, right? Always wanted to make yer acquaintance."

"Were you expecting us?" Twilight asked, eyes narrowed.

"Ol' Lilac was," she said, and tapped her head with a grimy hoof. "Precog. A little short upstairs nowadays, but generally reliable."

They moved down the path as instructed, Pinkie staying behind to talk more with the stranger, and the two of them soon rejoined, both engaged in a bout of laughter that seemed doubled in size as it echoed off the bare rock.

"Ah gotta ask," Applejack said, laughing a little herself. "What's with the hoe? Ain't no soil down here."

"Scraping dust," the pony said. "Name's Between Rain, by the way. You can just call me Rain; that's what ever'pony else does." Her long, braided tail swished on the flagstones. "So who y'all got with ya? I don't recognize any of these friendly faces."

"Octavia Melody, Vinyl Scratch, Colgate, and Big Macintosh," Octavia said. "It is good to meet you."

"Likewise, Octavia Melody. So what brings you to the mines? Why, it must be months and months since we've had a visitor down these parts."

The sound of wings beat out in the darkness beyond their crystals' light, and some of them stared out as they walked.

"We're here fer a kinda sensitive reason," Applejack said. "Ah'm not sure Ah can divulge too much."

"Fair enough, fair enough," Rain said. She stopped them at a slab of carved stone set into a wide, broken column, and knocked twice on it. "Make no mistake, I'd be suspicious as anyone if just any ol' ponies wandered in without a reason, but since y'all are the Elements of Harmony." She paused a moment as the doorway scraped open, and they passed through the entryway. "I'll give ya the benefit of the doubt. Hey, Anomie! C'mon out here! You'll never believe who I just found wanderin' around the front door!"

They faced a simple staircase of carved stone, but Rain's voice bounced down with perfect clarity, and they descended. Smaller crystals the size of peas came to life as their hooves clicked on floor panels.

"Y'all came at a neat time, what's more," she said.

"Why's that?" Rainbow asked, doubt coloring her voice.

"Got us a procession in a couple days."

"A procession?" Vinyl asked. On the stairs, her voice, too, found its way.

"Ya know, lights and music and ponies walkin' all in a bunch, with streamers and floaters and all such good times?"

"Oh, a parade," Rarity said.

"Sure, if ya like. A puh-raid." She chuckled to herself.

More wings flapped ahead, and they could see the beginning crescent of light at the bottom of their stairs. An aquiline face peeked through the archway and looked up at them, a brown-speckled beak on white feathers, vivid golden eyes glinting in the magic light. The face broke into a tense, griffon's smile, and she vanished back into the main chamber with another beat of wings.

"That's my wife, Anomie," Rain said.

The main chamber, lit from above by a great crystal suspended in a chandelier of beaten metal, was arranged with long piles of hay and rough, wooden furniture around a central point, where stood a statuette of a griffon wielding a lance against an unseen foe, its stone wings extended in a fierce, fanged C around its rude body, the stone carved in great, smooth pieces, as though its subject's gross muscularity had seeped into the stone itself. It was almost too perfect a depiction, and Rainbow couldn't take her eyes off it as the others took in the faded wall hangings, the pilasters inlaid with moss, the trickle of water from the ceiling into a marble basin at the foot of a decorative block of black stone.

Aside from Anomie, there were only two others in the room, another pony and griffon who shared a pile of hay and a hookah pipe, filling the room with the saccharine smell of rose and mint. Anomie stood in another staircase, waiting patiently with Rain, who had crossed to her immediately, as the others took in the room. They descended another level, introducing themselves again for the griffon, and emerged into a wider, more furnished room with no radial arrangement. Most of the room was dedicated to a kitchen, with a small, circular table pushed into the corner, almost as an afterthought. More hay lay scattered in bundles for them to sit and lie on, and Rarity did so with a quiet sigh as Anomie busied herself with the table, moving the simple vase of dried flowers and arranging a spiraling tablecloth.

"Haven't had a visitor in a long time," she said. As with many griffons, her voice was as smooth and pleasant as any pony's, though hers had a cultured edge that immediately placed her in a class above Rain's. "I'm glad it's you all." She leaned in and added quietly, "Lilac said to expect you, but I wasn't so sure." She winked, and Rain was bustling about in the kitchen.

"We do not require but little," Octavia said.

"Nonsense! It's plain to see you've traveled quite far," Rain called out, "Anomie, do we have any biscuits left?"

"They might be in the pantry," Anomie said.

"Bring up some leeks too, hm?"

"We're coming from Moondrop," Twilight said at the first pause in Rain's words. "So yes, anything you can spare would be much appreciated."

"Hmm, can't say as I'm familiar with it. Is that near here?"

"It's east of Roan," Applejack said. "So not exactly."

"My land," Rain said, shaking her head and wrestling a pot out of a cabinet. The kitchen was more modern than they had expected from the floor above, with an electric stove, a toaster oven, and even a coffee machine in the back. From the smell of coffee that still hung in the air, it had been used recently.

"We've been in the air for a while," Vinyl said. "It's just good to have solid ground under my hooves, for one."

"And to be out of the cold," Twilight said.

"Is it snowing up there yet?" Anomie asked, returning.

"Oh yeah it is," Rainbow said.

"That's good." She set a pair of leeks on the counter and went back down.

"Is it?" Pinkie asked. "I don't like the cold myself. Too… well, cold!" She giggled.

"Snow's important 'round these parts," Rain said. "Not really for our pillar, but for the back two, yeah."

"Well, it's good you like it," Twilight said.

"This is a lovely home," Rarity said after a lapse of quiet. "Very charming."

"It's cozy," Fluttershy said.

"Thank you kindly," Anomie said, a sack of biscuits tucked under one wing. "Hon, why don't you go tell Lilac who came? I can take care of our guests."

"Ya sure?" Rain asked.

"Go to him," she said softly, reaching with a wing to caress Rain's shoulder. "I can't offer too much, but I'll give what I can."

"Anything is appreciated," Rarity said, accepting a biscuit as Anomie passed them out. "A home-cooked meal of any sort, really, is great for us."

"Did I hear you say you flew here?"

"We have an airship," Vinyl said. "It's parked outside, in a little cleft between ridges."

Anomie laughed; it was a short, harsh sound. "Ah, my apologies. We don't have much space for airships, I'm afraid."

"Where did you park when you performed here?" Rainbow asked Octavia.

"We were flown on a smaller ship that returned to pick us up," Octavia said.

"You're a performer?" Anomie asked.

Octavia was silent for a minute. "I used to be."

"These are stupendous!" Pinkie cried, spraying Colgate with crumbs. "Is this honey in here? There's no way you got honey in here, right?"

"Not in these, I'm afraid. We can only afford agave nectar," Anomie said. "If you want honey, you'll need to go to the greater pillar."

"How?" Twilight asked, trying to get her biscuit down. "Also, can I get some water?"

"The greater pillar has flowers for its bees," Anomie said. "Right at the top."

"Where it's easiest for the sun to get in," Vinyl said, nodding.

"No sunlight, no." She gave Twilight her water. "We use pressure crystals for everything."

"It's a genius idea," Twilight said. "Are these all piezos?"

Anomie looked at her for a moment.

"Never mind. They really are lovely, though."

"This whole place is lovely," Fluttershy said. "I was expecting something more claustrophobic."

"Something dirty," Rarity said.

"Me too," Applejack said, "but this is incredible. That view ya got out there, it's really somethin'."

The pan sizzled as Anomie threw in some diced leeks and a couple potatoes, and the room was filled with the smell of rustic home cooking. For a while, they sat in silence, listening to the quieting sound of vegetables sauteing and the bump and scrape of their host's wooden spoon in the pan. Muffled voices came from below and above, and though they were far underneath the mountains, they did not feel it. Two crystals ensconced in wire holders gave the room ample light, and, for the first time since leaving Moondrop, Twilight let out some of the ready tension in her chest with a sigh. Between them and Discord, there was not only the air space of an entire country, but uncountable feet of solid stone and ice as well.

The Thing to Do

Act Four

Sunset and Sunrise

I want the ground to give way from underneath me.

Chapter Ninety-two

The Thing to Do

A caller at eleven o’ clock roused Whippoorwill from half-sleep. He slid out of his sleeping bag in the closet and glanced at the bed, bundled with pillows under the sheets to simulate a sleeping pony for any intruders. Since calling White Wine, he had decided to err on the side of caution, abandoning his bed and refusing to look out any windows between the hours of six o’ clock in the morning and eleven at night. He could not believe that she had any part in his contacts’ disappearance and confirmed deaths—confirmed in the obituaries the day after he’d heard of it from his warehouse worker—but that only meant that the culprit was someone he did not know. No comfort there.

Grabbing a small, white pulse crystal and balancing it against the door jamb, tip to floor, he looked through his peep hole. On the opposite side, there waited a patient, uniformed face, cap pulled up to show devilish, green eyes that smiled to themselves as Whippoorwill pulled back the stack of door chains.

“Evenin’,” he said, throwing the door wide enough to show his visitor that he was alone.

“Likewise,” the officer said, gesturing lazily at the badge on his chest. “Officer Just Clarity. I apologize if I woke you.”

“No trouble at all, sir.”

“This won’t take long, not at all, Mr…. sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Whippoorwill. Just Whippoorwill.” He nodded at the officer genially, but his smile did not linger. The policepony’s eyes followed his own as they scanned for weapons.

“Do you mind?”

Whippoorwill cocked his head.

“If I come on in, sorry. I’ve been on my hooves all day, and this is kind of private.”

“My neighbors are all asleep by now,” Whippoorwill said. “Let’s sit out on the stoop.”

The officer smiled again, showing his teeth.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Whippoorwill continued, closing the door behind him and slowly trotting to the stairs. He sat on the top stair and waved a loose foreleg at the street. “Ah assume it’s safe? There’s only one of ya, an’ this place has been quiet all night long. All week long.”

The officer sat down heavily, a distance away. “You could say it’s more of a social call, Whippoorwill.” He nodded and sucked in air through his teeth. “There’s talk of the Astras lining up against the Pegasus Advocacy chapter here.”

“So Ah’ve heard.” Putting a note of worry into his voice, hoping it would mask his confusion, he asked, “Should Ah be concerned?” No one else, that he knew of, wanted the Pegasus Advocates and the Astras to be at odds; yet he had been inactive for a week. Who else was involved?

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” the officer said. He looked at Whippoorwill intently for a moment. “Actually, Whippoorwill, that’s why I’m here. The PAs, they’re not too keen on jumping in with the Astras, that’s what I hear. Not the type of fight they’re interested in.”

“Hmm. Understandable.” He resisted the urge to look back at the front door, the pulse crystal just inside.

“They already have a setup down here, not in this neighborhood but the nearby couple. You may not believe it, but some ponies are more than happy to put up with them for something in return.”

Whippoorwill looked up into the sky, focusing on the sound of the officer’s voice and the darkness of night.

A hoof clapped lightly on the stair step. “So this is a professional courtesy, Whippoorwill.”

Whippoorwill turned his attention to the uniformed pony, still relaxed on the concrete. “Please.”

“The PAs, their leader, their friends, all of it… you have no part in that anymore.”

Donning a svelte smile, slightly exaggerated to make bright and clear the confidence he forwarded, he asked, “And yer sure that it is I to whom you wish to extend this courtesy?”

“If I have the wrong pony, you’re welcome to say that.”

“Then you’ve got the wrong pony.”

The officer let out a single, breathless laugh. “Okay.” His hoof moved to his side, and Whippoorwill’s horn extinguished. “You don’t go near them, cowpony.”

Whippoorwill stood and watched the officer’s body language as he rose as well. No longer reclining on the steps, Whippoorwill could see in the officer much of the same qualities he possessed: unamused confidence; calm, deliberate patience that would only stand briefly before giving way to direct threat or threatening instruction. It gave way as they stood.

“You don’t go near them, you don’t talk to them, you don’t talk to White Wine or anyone associated with her. You don’t write her a letter, you don’t leave a message on her answering machine, you don’t show up at the places where she shows up.”

Whippoorwill stared at him impassively. “Who sent you?”

“An interested party, that’s all you need to know. It wasn’t her.”

Whippoorwill slowly moved his eyes around the officer, taking in the neighboring complex, its darkened windows.

“Eyes, cowpony. I’m the only one talking.”

Whippoorwill looked back at him.

“You hear me?”

“Sure,” he said. “I won’t go near her.”

“Because if you do,” the officer tugged at his cap, “I know some pegasi who’d be very happy to meet you.”

“Of course,” Whippoorwill said, shrugging, giving up his tough pony attempt. He knew he had lost his chance. “I hear ya loud an’ clear, boss.”

The officer narrowed his eyes. “That right?”

Without a weapon, in public, he knew he had no other option; pretending ignorance or attempting a counter-threat would only hinder a dignified retreat back into the apartment. “Scout’s honor, boss.” He flashed a lopsided grin and held up a hoof. “I’m a ghost, she won’t even remember me in a month’s time.”

“Good.” He nodded and raised his voice. “No problems in the neighborhood, I take it? Anything to report?”

“No sir,” Whippoorwill said. “All quiet on this front.”

“Always happy to hear it.” He smiled again. “Could I get a glass of water before I head out?”

Whippoorwill eyed him.

“Long ride over here, and I forgot my bottle.” He shrugged apologetically.

“I’ll get you some.”

The police officer waited outside, confidently looking between apartment buildings, a tiny smile teasing his lips as Whippoorwill filled a glass with tap water. He stopped at the door, contemplating the pulse crystal, within easy reach and quiet enough to use in the crowded space between buildings. “But then what?” he asked himself, sliding open the door. A body to dispose of and a city-wide search for the missing officer, and he already on thin ice with his sole ally.

He floated the water to the officer, who drank it slowly, eyes fixed on Whippoorwill’s the whole time.

“Ahhh, that hit the spot.” He carefully set the glass down on the step. “Thank you kindly, unicorn.”

“Pleasure.” He watched the officer disappear into the night. As soon as he was out of view, Whippoorwill went to the tiny back yard between building and parking lot, and, occupying his horn by levitating the watering can over his begonias, listened for the sound of tires or wheels on the sibilant street outside. When he heard it, he went inside and changed out of his robe.

Whippoorwill spent fifteen minutes choosing between two dark business suits, eventually selecting a mahogany button-up underneath a plain, black vest, its padded shoulders making him bulkier and also hiding his smallest pulse crystal, little more than a shard of amethyst that clung to the bottom of his outstretched hoof like a warped ice skate, its pristine glow in the dim bedroom mirror like a shadow of its deceptively lethal discharge. On his backside, he wore a loose pair of slacks, no belt, underneath a burgundy, pastern-length cloak, trimmed with magenta velvet. Inspecting himself, the cloak did not fit to his satisfaction—they never did, not with his body shape—but it hid the second pulse crystal, the larger white one he had wanted to use earlier. A pair of reading glasses, which he rarely wore out, and a brown derby hat completed his look, and he took a moment to admire himself. A good look led to good thoughts, and good thoughts to good actions.

Slight embarrassment teased the back of his mind that the officer should have seen him in such drab sleepwear.

He riffled through a stack of papers to find White Wine’s address, written in his own cramped hornwriting and told him by one of his associates, long before they had turned up dead. White Wine had no reason to know that he had checked up on her, and he had had no reason to do it—at the time. The reverse was also true.

“Good thoughts,” he whispered to himself, dropping his apartment keys, a loose coil of rope, a roll of tape, and a small pouch of bits into the single saddlebag, pre-stuffed with packing material to drown the sound of anything rattling inside. He slipped it onto his back and called a cab, which picked him up from a spot two blocks north and dropped him off at the library three blocks east of White Wine’s trailer.

Dust kicked up at his hooves as he plodded across an empty quadrangle between roads. An anemic line of lights winked across the road toward which he moved, Canterlot’s dregs caught in a space seemingly of unique origin, nowhere near the city limits where empty space overtook all; a pocket of undeveloped land and perpetually failing businesses that hemmed in nothing save the unpainted roads, the unswept parking lots, the dry and littered field of dirt, as if the neighborhood and its ponies stood only to defy the inward pressure of city life, protecting the barrenness that was its sole identity and aspiring for nothing more.

No one watched as he crossed the road that curved to enclose his field, or as he paced the sagging outer rim of barbed wire that protected the trailer park. He soon found the entrance at the end of a dirt road apposed to a garbage-choked arroyo, and let himself in, gently unwinding the links in the fence until there was space enough to squeeze through without damaging his clothes. He pushed the gate open from the other side and spent several minutes staring into the darkness that surrounded, the faceless streets seeming to stare back at him. He waited for headlights to appear in the distance, and they did not.

It was half past midnight when he stopped outside White Wine’s trailer, an undecorated beast leaning in its own dust, windows dark and tires flat. He took a moment to double check his bag, getting the rope on top, and then tapped politely on the door. Someone had scribbled the rough shape of a tree on its face.

When the lights turned on, he wished he had thought to bring a pair of sunglasses. He called out her name softly and tapped again, trying to brush dust off his sleeves without getting more on them.

The door opened a crack, and her eye swiveled onto his. He could see her neon mane and her pastel orange coat, but the elaborate getup she wore in public was gone in place of a loose pair of pajamas. They had slices of birthday cake on them.

“How do you—”

“Looked you up in the phone book.” He looked behind him, trying to appear nervous. He wanted her confidence up, thinking he needed her. “We need to talk.”

“No we don’t.”

She shut the door, and for a moment, he stood there, contemplating his move. He knew what he had to do, had known it as soon as the policepony had quit his doorstep, but hesitance seized him. She was still his friend, after all. So he tried not to tell himself.

“Wine, I just want to talk,” he said, louder. “I swear, that’s it.”

“You need to go, Whippoorwill.”

“You did send him? To scare me off?”

She did not reply, and it was all he needed to light up his horn and send the door flying back against its hinges with a painful squeal of metal and wood, bringing one hoof back at the same time to grab the larger of his two crystals. The straps accepted his hoof, warm and pliable from his body heat, but firm from the meticulous care he gave them almost every day.

His shield was already up and it blocked her own pair of shots, and, with a reversal of intention that he had practiced to the point of unconscious ease, he slammed it out from himself, catching White Wine against her inflatable couch, the two of them pinned to the wall with the rest of the loose furnishings. A few glasses broke behind him, a few pieces of crockery clattered. He held the pulse crystal to her chest, and he saw in her eyes the same look he had seen so many times before. She knew that she was beaten, and beaten quickly.

He pushed the door closed as far as it would go and gently removed her pulse crystal, then relaxed his magic, letting her slump to the ground. He lifted the couch and stood it up against the wall.

“You sent him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said evenly. The look of defeat had passed, in its place open anger and faint disdain for his hold on her. Her wings were fanned out, her mane draped over her face wetly, her tail lashing back and forth.

“You do, or Ah’ll start sketchin’ my name in yer fur.”

She studied him for a second, and in her eyes, he saw a third emotion, one he recognized in himself: reluctance. She, too, he thought, was recalling their younger days. She had clearly not expected him to come; perhaps she was telling the truth.

“Who did?” He gestured with the pulse crystal, and she flinched. The motion he used was similar to the contraction of muscles which would burn a hole in her outstretched wing.

“It was—someone I know.”

“Wine, Ah can in fact shoot you with this.”

“He’s got nothing to do with you!” she cried. “Nothing at all, he just wants space to operate. He and I—we’re business partners. That’s all. If you just leave—”

“Ah can’t do that, honey.”

She steadied her voice. “If you just leave, you’ll be fine. No one wants to chase you, no one knows you’re here except me and him.”

“And his cop friend.”

“Who has no interest in hurting you either. Whippoorwill, please, listen to me.”

“And then what?” he asked. “Where am Ah to go once Ah ‘just leave’? Ah don’t believe you gave me a name for this sucker, either.”

“That’s not—”

He twitched again, and she recoiled against the wall. “Ah’m afraid it actually is at this juncture, Wine.” He slid his bag off his back and pulled out the rope.

Securely tied and frightened with a few burn holes in the floor around her back hooves, where she could not adequately see where he had fired, White Wine glowered up at him as he snipped a rectangle of tape. When the pulse crystal rested against the side of her jaw, a state of relaxation came over her, and she gave him Strawberry’s phone number.

“So here’s how it’s gonna play out,” he said. “You tell him you need to see him at yer place. Give him the address if he needs it, the correct one. Ah do have it memorized, so no sendin’ him to one of yer neighbors or any funny business like that, okay? An’ you tell him, you tell him you’ve got some sort of emergency, like a rowdy PA makin’ yer operation look foolish, threatenin’ to blow the whole thing. You need to discuss yer options, tonight, an’ together. Not over the phone, are we clear? Nod if we’re clear.”

She nodded.

“An’ if you do anythin’ else, if you try to tell him what’s goin’ on, or slip him some sort of code, or whatever, yer pretty face is gonna get rearranged with this here implement of mine. Is that clear?”

She nodded. He grabbed the phone and dialed for her, then held it to her face, the pulse crystal leveled at her. He watched her as she spoke, flattening his expression, hiding the turmoil he felt. It pained him distantly to coerce her so, they once being so close, but under the weight of experience that had turned him into what he was, the pain amounted to little more than regret: a situation that could have been handled more gracefully. An unpleasant piece of business that could have been averted, but could not be ignored once begun.

In her features, he still saw defiance. She would go along with what he wanted up until he had his back to her, and then all his threats would mean nothing. He knew it, for he had been in her position as well. To survive in the past, he had done what she would have to: turn on him as soon as she was able. In that respect, he knew he had lost, regardless of the night’s outcome, and he respected her for it.

“You don’t understand,” she said levelly. “I can’t just off her. We don’t do that to each other, not for things like this. That’s why I need you to come out here. Yes, I know it’s late, I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.” She sighed, never taking her eyes off Whippoorwill. He could hear a masculine voice on the other end.

Whippoorwill hung up for her when he finally heard the receiver click.

“He expects me to be out there to greet him. He suspects a trap.”

“Sure as sugar,” Whippoorwill said, affixing the tape to her muzzle and lifting the shade off a window. From her trailer, he could see the road that would lead Strawberry to them.

When the white car pulled up, it paused at the gate Whippoorwill had left open, then slowly crept into the trailer park. He went out to receive, pulse crystal tucked back into his clothes.

“Evenin’, mister. You here for White Wine?”

“Who are you?” The voice was ragged, tired, touched with fear. A pulse crystal flashed into sight on Strawberry’s hoof, and Whippoorwill stopped.

“Whoa, pard, hol’ up a sec! Ah’m a friend of hers, she told me to bring you on back.”

He paused. “I need to see her. She said she would meet me here herself.”

“Er, yeah, Ah mighta had somethin’ to do with that.” He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. “We were gettin’ friendly when you showed up. She’s tryin’ to wash up.”

Strawberry raised the pulse crystal, and Whippoorwill threw up his shield. For a second, the two just looked at each other.

“Bring her out. Show her to me.”

Whippoorwill licked his lips, readying himself to call out for White Wine, but his intake of breath was arrested as a pulse crystal shot momentarily blinded him as it hit his shield. He had paused half a second too long, and the pegasus had noticed.

“Buddy!” he shouted, pulling out the smaller pulse crystal and training it on Strawberry as he sidestepped, his loose slacks and cloak giving him the mobility he needed to move all three hooves quickly and without error. “Ah got a shield an’ you most certainly do not!” He stopped ninety degrees from where Strawberry had shot him, and the crystal before him lowered a hair. “Game’s up, huh? Let’s go in an’ talk about it all, then.”

“Where is she?” Strawberry asked.

“Hale an’ hearty, just inside.” He walked a slow, wide circle around the pegasus, not once taking his crystal off his target. “You first, Strawberry.” Strawberry looked back at him, but he simply gestured with the crystal, and they walked to the trailer, captive leading his captor.

“Stop at the door,” Whippoorwill said, closing the distance, his shield never flickering. “Turn around. Let’s see that face.”

Strawberry turned. “Watch me. Watch the crystal. Good, that’s the way. Ease on outta there.” He took Strawberry’s place at the door and nudged it open. Inside, he gestured again. “Back to me. Good. Now walk backwards, Ah’ll tell ya when yer at a step.”

Inside the trailer, Whippoorwill drew the shade over the window and removed White Wine’s tape. “An’ here we are at last,” he said. “Happy family.”

“I’m sorry,” Wine said to Strawberry, who glowered at Whippoorwill with a less intense look than his partner’s. Whippoorwill took his time binding the newcomer’s hooves and wings, appraising his appearance as he did so.

“Is that tailored?” he asked. “It’s a good look fer someone of yer complexion.”

“What do you want?” Strawberry asked.

Whippoorwill doffed his hat. “Ground rules, buddy. Ah speak, you answer my questions. That suit you?” He put his crystal to Wine for just a second before pointing back at Strawberry. “Ah’ve been doin’ this sorta thing long before Ah darkened this particular doorstep, so don’t take me fer spineless, now. Nod if you understand.”

Strawberry nodded.

“Now nod if you understand that all three of us can walk outta here tonight.”

Strawberry nodded, more slowly.

“Well, ain’t we off to a fine start?” He looked at the two of them, tied and leaning together, their manes overlapping, her bright and strange mess covering his more sensible, shorter magenta. “Mr. Berry, Ah’d like ya to tell me, in detail, what exactly you’ve got cookin’ with my partner here.”

White Wine struggled uselessly against her bindings.

“Keepin’ at the forefront of yer mind that any knowledge you got concernin’ the intricacies of this here operation does not give you any power over me,” Whippoorwill continued.

Strawberry took a deep breath, and for a second, Whippoorwill thought he would not talk.

“Mr. Whippoorwill. I’ve—” He hesitated.

“Just Whippoorwill is fine,” Whippoorwill said. “It’s a species of bird. Fitting, yes?”

Strawberry cleared his throat. “This has been a long time in the making. I have friends—yes, I suppose you would call them friends—friends here, in Canterlot, Lower Canterlot mostly. Police officers. I… that is, two months ago, I contacted Wine here—White Wine—and we agreed on this operation. Fairly simple.”

“And the nature of this operation? My ears are simply burning.”

Even at the point of the crystal, Strawberry’s face twitched with the beginnings of a self-satisfied smile. “Her PAs occupy certain neighborhoods, my police collect protection money, we split the difference.”

“Well Ah sure do hope these police of yers are pegasi too, Mr. Berry. You may not know it, but Wine here is what you would call an active Pegasus Advocate.”

“There’s all sorts,” White Wine said. “I said so. None of my ponies would expect us to be working together with the twinklers and the stompers.”

“Strong language, missy,” Whippoorwill said, tapping his horn with the crystal. “So that’s what’s got yer eyes wanderin’? This stud? Seems a funny arrangement to me, keepin’ yer PAs unaware of this little friendship. Why’s that?”

“You assured me this wouldn’t happen,” Strawberry said, glowering at her.

“Now, Ah sure do hope you haven’t forgotten the cardinal rule of this little gatherin’, Mr. Berry,” Whippoorwill said, pointing his crystal back at the dark pegasus. “No speakin’ when yer good buddy Whippoorwill is not addressin’ you. Why—”

“Or what?” He bounced in his bindings. “You can’t hurt me! You need her, and she needs—” He swallowed. “Um.”

“Continue.”

Strawberry looked up at him, and then his head jerked back in a cloud of smoke and bright sparkles, a firecracker shot whose sound did not escape the trailer and whose colorful cinders whizzed joyfully through the air like a dandelion’s head kicked away. White Wine yelped and tipped onto her side, her long mane catching underneath her body like a second blood stain running out.

“That ain’t the outcome Ah wanted,” Whippoorwill said. Looking at White Wine, he said, “You ain’t used to this sorta scene? Missy, you surprise me.”

Her sides pulsed as she caught her breath on the floor. “I’m not usually so close to it.”

“Shame. Well, Ah s’pose our little conversation just got simpler.”

She looked at him, hatred showing in her eyes. He had seen it in the eyes of the workers he had terrorized in Trottingham under Gold Ribbon, and he saw it in her. Cornered, animalistic hatred, the sort that would not be forgotten. Pretending not to see it, or not to comprehend its meaning, he went on, his plan B, thought up on the cab ride over.

“So let’s do this instead. Since my first little idea ain’t amountin’ to much, how’s about we just take over his?”

She didn’t respond.

“Yer nervous, yer afraid Ah’m gonna put one in you next, Ah understand that. Think of this, old friend. Mr. Berry-Brains was right, I do need you, so put that worried look away.” He smiled gravely. “It don’t look good on you.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly.

“You know his operation, Ah take it? Ah think we should be partners. You see to all the operations, let me worry ‘bout population control an’ enforcement. Fifty-fifty, a good team.”

She released the breath she was holding. “Do I have any choice at all?”

He pointed at Strawberry’s body, its head caved in, face blackened and mane expanded on the peeled umbrella of skull. His outfit was ruined.

“That there was yer other choice,” Whippoorwill said.

White Wine looked back at him, struggled feebly, and sighed. “Then I propose we go with your plan.”

Broad Daylight was a large pegasus with a tawny coat, longer than most of her type, and a heavy step, with a wingspan a full two inches wider than average. What she lacked in speed, she made up for in power and the willingness to use it.

She started awake and hastily brushed her green and white mane out of her eyes, its long ropes tickling her and making her sneeze as she reached for the receiver with her mouth. She grunted a greeting, but immediately roused to attention when she recognized the voice.

“I’m sorry to wake you at this hour,” White Wine said, her voice composed, despite being mere minutes free from Whippoorwill’s pulse crystal. “We don’t have time. I need you to get Long Luxury. I have a job for you.”

Broad Daylight knew better than to ask why her leader had chosen the obscure hour to call, but could not erase all the hesitance from her voice, even in a curt “sure thing, boss.”

“I want this twinkler taken care of tonight. Go to his apartment and wait for him.” She gave Broad Daylight the address and the unicorn’s information. “He’s paranoid and skilled with magic, and he’s got at least two crystals on him.”

“Maybe I should get a third too, then,” Broad Daylight said.

“Only if you can do it fast.”

“How fast?”

“He’s on his way home right now.” Broad Daylight frowned, her unremarkable mind wondering why White Wine would know such a thing. Dismissing the concern and rubbing sleep out of her eyes, she simply said, “you got it, ma’am. He alone?”

“He should be. Do watch for neighbors, Broad.”

“Course, ma’am.”

White Wine paused. “Broad?”

“Uh?”

“Take him somewhere secluded. I want his last hours to be very unpleasant.”

“You got it, boss.”

The two Pegasus Advocates, in Long Luxury’s car, barely fit inside their seats. Where Broad Daylight was simply a boulder of a mare, huge and fleshy, her cascading mane like a miniature garden of wilted flowers spilled across her large head, tightly intertwined with the red ribbon she had earned years ago, Long Luxury was a broad-shouldered, thin-winged pegasus whose stretched body appeared the stem to her rigid, tri-colored mane, a wide lily pad over her head that brushed the windows and scratched faintly when it did. Her ribbon was draped in small loops off the back of her hat-like mane, almost disappearing amid the yellow, blue, and red that she had chosen for herself.

Both pegasi wore dark goggles and silver studded chokers, combat boots on all four hooves, and latex half-suits that ended just above the knees and midway up the chest, trimmed with scarlet and flourished with chrome spicules. By Pegasus Advocate standards, the two were only barely under-dressed.

In the back seat was everything they needed for their task: pliers, rope, tape, a burlap sack, several lighters, an angle grinder, all compliments to the two pulse crystals riding up front.

They parked outside the specified apartment complex and turned off their lights, Long Luxury raising her goggles and studying the street.

“Boss say who this twinkler was?” she asked.

“Just someone who pissed her good and off, I guess,” Broad Daylight said.

Coated with a fine skin of dried sweat, Whippoorwill ignored the look of distaste his taxi driver gave him as he tried to calm his nerves and think straight in the back seat. With time to go over what he had done, it seemed fatally apparent to him how he should have known better, how forcing the issue with White Wine could never have led to anything better than the situation he’d given himself. He knew she would turn on him as soon as she could, he had seen it in her eyes. What he did not know was what he could do when she did.

They pulled onto a broadly curving street that took them around a small, artificial lake, its fence posts dividing the lights in the distance as they glided past. In one night, he had turned his only ally against him, and he was not yet sure for exactly what. Jealousy had not blown Strawberry’s face out, but neither had Whippoorwill’s clinical business sense.

Perhaps White Wine constituted a heretofore untested blind spot in his judgment, one thought suggested. Perhaps he cared more for her than he thought, and in his fear of losing everything, he had let impulse become action.

Perhaps it had simply been bad luck or a misreading of character.

“This it on the left?” the driver asked. It was dim inside the cab, for which Whippoorwill was grateful, for he was certain that some blood had made it onto his clothes.

“Yeah, here’s fine,” he said, the words dying in his mouth. On the curb, just outside, was parked a darkened car with two shapes inside. Nothing moved, no lights glinted from within or without, but Whippoorwill knew in that moment that he would not be returning home.

“Actually, keep goin,” he said, trying to sound casual.

“This isn’t it?” A pause. “Yeah it is, there, Regal Apartments.”

“Keep going,” Whippoorwill said again. “Don’t slow down. Just drive right past.”

The taxi driver eyed him. “If you wanna extend this into a road trip, you’d better have some money.”

Whippoorwill dug around in his bag for his coin sack, but found it wanting.

“What’s it gonna be, mister?”

“Take me… end of the block.”

“That’s it?”

He got out, paid, and was on his own. Only a block west was the parked car, and Whippoorwill wasted no time exiting the neighborhood, a nervous eye over his back at every corner and intersection, waiting for that dark car to smoothly pull out and come his way.

When he felt he could safely stop, he did, and put his head against the brickwork of a fast food restaurant. Already, she had turned; she must have called someone as soon as he was out of her trailer. She had probably been talking to them as he walked back through the gate.

He sighed, and the sigh became a moan of frustration, then the beginning of a growl, which he curtailed. Just that easily, his only idea had slipped away. He was again cast adrift in the city, without shelter, money, or friends. Even worse, he was tired; it had been a long day.

“All right, let’s think this out,” he whispered, walking again. “Gotta get somewhere safe first. Where’s that?” He went over the few places he knew in Lower Canterlot where he could conceivably hide, at least for a night. His best idea was a local shelter for abused ponies, but it was only four blocks away from his apartment, and in the opposite direction. Circling around would take a long, dangerous time, and there was no guarantee that he would not be found there the following day anyway. The two PAs at his house might not be the only ones Wine had put on him.

He looked back again, starting as he saw a car pull out, but it turned and drove the other way.

“Gotta get outta town, Whippoorwill. That’s all there is to it.” He looked to the glowing horn of Canterlot Mountain. “Sure ain’t hoofin’ it myself,” he said.

With another furtive look about, he made for the intersection and stopped under a street light, where he waited only ten minutes for a lone car to pull up. He approached, drew his weapon, cordially asked the driver to exit the vehicle, and drove off without fuss.

By four in the morning, he was cruising the streets of Greater Canterlot, bleary eyed and miserable. He had run out of water long ago, and the dual discomforts of thirst and an aching bladder shortened his attention span and his temper. He shared the road with no one, but felt crowded in, bordered by buildings and the encroaching dawn, threatening to break apart his final cover, the dark of night. Everything irritated: a red light—he durst not break any traffic laws, not with his crystals in the back and the blood on his clothes—a pothole, a glare on the windshield; at each, his anger grew, bit by bit, until, when he finally stopped, he was a compact ball of tensed rage.

He got out, checked his parking, and wandered into the church. He drank from a pool of sacred water and curled up under a pew in the back, and slept.

* * * * * *

The Elements and their friends, meanwhile, slept fitfully in a small, stone room, decorated with busts of griffons and crowded with piles of hay, all pushed together to form an uncomfortable continuum of bodies and straw, as if each of them were toys dropped and torn open to spill their stuffing where they lay.

For several hours, they all slept, and then Octavia got up, her stirrings waking Colgate as well. Together, but separate, they made their way up the sets of stairs to the top of the huge pillar where they had been found. Octavia sat on the dry stone and looked into the vaguely lit distance, and Colgate watched her for a time before joining.

“It is a good view,” Octavia said. “I have not seen this. I did not think that it would be much different from earlier, but it is.”

“I see it,” Colgate said, not seeing it at all.

“You have joined us at a very curious time.”

“That’s what they tell me. So is this a regular thing for you?”

“Introspection.”

“Insomnia. Or is it the stress?”

“I have been this way since I can remember.”

Colgate nodded. “Do you understand the health risks involved in that?”

“Fluttershy has reiterated them to me plenty of times.”

“Okay.”

Octavia was quiet, expecting Colgate to give her all the usual warnings and advice anyway, but when she did not, Octavia looked at her. “Tell me about yourself. I know very little; I feel like we have not talked yet. Not really.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you become a doctor?”

“Surgeon.”

“I apologize. How did you become a surgeon?”

Colgate took her time to answer. “I dunno, same way anypony gets to be… whatever. Same way you got to be a musician, same way Pinkie got to be a baker, same way Big Mac got to be a farmer.”

“You believe it was fated?”

“No, do you?”

“I do not know if I believe in fate.”

Colgate looked at her. “I did it because it seemed like the thing to do. I did what I was good at, and that was that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Octavia shook her head. “I understand, to a point. I became a musician because music came naturally to me. That makes perfect sense.”

“Mm-hm.”

“But I see your cutie mark. It is a plain hourglass, an ordinary mark that is shared by many, and which means different things for everyone. How can that lead you into such a difficult specialty?”

Colgate shrugged.

“I am told you were good.”

“I got by in a small town.” She paused and inhaled. “I was never important.”

Octavia was quiet.

“Not then,” Colgate amended. “I know I’m here for a reason, though.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Big Mac believes so.”

“He’s the one in the know.”

“I suppose he is.”

“You sound like you don’t believe me.”

Octavia sighed.

“I’m meant to be here, Octavia.”

“I… do not know if I agree with that, Colgate.”

“Uh-huh. Why’s that?”

Neither of them looked at each other. They stared into the blackness ahead, the incredible space under the mountains.

“From what I see, there is no reason for you to be with us,” Octavia said softly.

“Yeah?”

“I mean no disrespect, please believe that. I think you are a good pony, and I like you as one. But you are quiet, and you have not done anything—that I have seen or heard about, anyway—that would suggest you have any interest in being a part of our adventure. I do not think that you want to be here, and I think the others think that as well.”

“You don’t want to be here.”

“That is not true.”

“Vinyl doesn’t, and neither does Big Mac. I’ve heard them say things to that effect a couple times.”

Octavia thought. “That does not surprise me.”

“And what about you?”

“As for me, I have little choice in the matter. I am here, and I cannot be elsewhere. That is enough for me.”

“Maybe you believe in fate after all,” Colgate said.

Octavia chuckled. “Perhaps.”

“You can go any time you want to.”

“I know that,” she said softly.

Colgate turned to watch her, curious at the change of tone.

“I would be lying if I said that I do not think about it sometimes. Rarely.”

“Leaving.”

“Leaving.”

Colgate reclined on the rock. “This is the place for it.”

“Do you think about going?”

“I said I can’t.” In the darkness, her voice was flat and hard.

“I apologize, I meant no offense. It is not my place to suggest whether you wish to be with us or not. If you do, that is your business.”

“It’s all our business.”

“Do you think that you are meant to be one of the new Elements?”

“Sure,” Colgate said, her momentary anger gone.

“That… seems hasty to me.”

Colgate was quiet.

“To my knowledge, you are not very close with any of us. Closeness is required for an Element to work with its mates.”

“Then I’ll get close with someone, I guess.”

“That is not how it works.”

Colgate was silent, and it took Octavia a minute to realize that she was gone. She had gotten up and walked away.

Twilight had long ago read about, and forgotten, the mines’ construction. Built in the early ages of the princesses’ Equestria, the mines were originally in griffon territory, a vast operation of resource gathering and industry, eventually taken by the ponies in a protracted dispute that left an entire griffon city without support from the homeland. To save themselves, they agreed to a life of indentured servitude in the mines, helping their conquerors transform the area into an underground fortress, which proved too expensive and inefficient to maintain, and which reverted back to its former state a decade later. After generations of peaceful rule and uneasy respect between the two nations, the inter-species conflict underground had cooled off, and ponies and griffons grew to live together in a community of magical agronomy.

There were no hotels, no systems of mass transit, no restaurants or bars or shops. Ponies and griffons most often traded with one another in food, labor, and space; money, as the rest of the country thought about it, was uncommon. For the Elements of Harmony, the pleasure and status of their company was enough inducement for their hosts to make space for them in a room near the top of the pillar.

No sunshine greeted them when they rose into the dry, stale air. Glowing crystals flickered on and off across their constrained horizon, threads of moving light so thin and precise that they all could only stand, lost in the view, while Anomie ushered them out. Voices filled the vault like TV static in a faraway room while hundreds of wings beat nearby and far off, griffons going about their business, carrying messages or goods between the buried domiciles. Out over their pillar’s edge, swarms of griffons mingled into an imperfect whole.

“There are many of us who deal in the workings of magical crystals,” Anomie said, shielding her eyes as a larger lantern came on nearby. “The best of us is in the lesser pillar, across the gap.”

“Figures,” Rainbow said.

“Surely there’s a way for those who can’t fly to get across,” Rarity said.

“There is, there is,” Anomie said. “I’m trying to remember the way. I haven’t used it, you see.”

They walked for half an hour down winding paths that seemed to take them all around their section of mine. Across narrow beams of stone, down smaller bore holes and out into gutters of smooth rock, and around a small but dense forest of stalagmites, they walked quietly behind the griffon. Eventually, she led them to a wide pavilion, draped with bold swathes of fabric that glistened in the crystals’ brilliant light from high above. Fingers of stone rose to head height in a ring around the swept stone, and one unicorn broke from a group to greet them.

“These are teleportation pavilions,” Anomie said. “Every pillar has them, and you can reach any of the others from, er, any of the others. Hello Jewel Box.”

The unicorn embraced Anomie briefly. “Rain wasn’t lying. Here they are.” She shook her head and then their hooves. “Such a pleasure, ladies.”

“Likewise,” Twilight said. “Um, I’m sorry. Is this safe?”

“We’re all certified teleporters, ma’am,” the unicorn, Jewel Box, said, showing an ID. “We take memorization tests every month, you gotta draw the entire target point, every detail.” She smiled proudly. “Where to?”

They looked at Anomie.

“Lesser pillar, metal district,” Anomie said.

“You got it.” She gestured at one of the other unicorns. “Weeping Rocks, you’ve got some ponies.”

They queued up at a stone pillar on the floor’s far side, on its face a lined chalk drawing, a crude depiction of a hammer striking an anvil.

“How we doin’ today, ladies?” the unicorn asked.

“Great, and about to get better!” Pinkie cried. “We’re gonna—oop!” She giggled. “Secret.”

“No problem, no problem.”

“So we just stand still, and you do the rest?” Rarity asked.

“That’s about it. We all teleported before?”

“Oh yeah,” Rainbow said. One by one, they were shot across the mines’ awesome span, landing at a similarly decorated grouping of pillars and crowding in the center, earning confused looks from a couple strangers who had to wait for them to come through. When they were all on the same side, Anomie with them, they waited for her to collect herself.

“Sorry, I haven’t done this in a while,” the griffon said, leaning against a free-standing stone. “Usually fly.”

“Take all the time you need,” Twilight said.

When they were afoot again, Anomie walked with them down an alley incandescent with ponies and griffons bartering and socializing, a vein of spirited life pinched between mounds of smooth, fenestrated stone. From windows hung drying clothes, patches of ivy under personal light crystals. From open doors came the sounds of conversation or work, hammers striking and tools grinding, squeaking, sizzling. Above, a reflection of griffons threw their ghastly shadows onto the muddled cave ceiling, like alien shapes moving ceaselessly at the surface of some great, dark ocean. In the air, the smell of smoke and bodies and food sagged with the wet scent of mildew and wet stone, the galvanic twinge of electricity.

Through a deep slant they entered the pillar, passing a roundabout where ceiling and floor came close, the ceiling growing downwards with a delicate city of soda straws. The cobbled street wound ever downwards, loud with hoof and talon traffic, the occasional cart. They all felt as though they were creeping up to the entrance of something far greater, a city wider and deeper than the one from which they came; in that regard, they were disappointed as the broad streets gradually diminished into more personal tunnels and the sounds of work and play became muted through cave walls.

Ever downwards through the pillar, once or twice stopping for Anomie to greet a friend, they made their way toward the pony who they were told could give them what they needed.

“So now that it’s a little quieter,” Twilight said, “there’s something we need to figure out.”

“I bet I can gueeees!” Pinkie sang.

“You’d probably be right. When we talk to this pony, she’s going to want to know what Elements of Harmony we all are.” She looked back at Octavia, then Big Mac, then Vinyl. “What do you think? Who are you all?”

Pinkie laughed. “I knew it!”

“I vote Big Mac as the Element of Levelheadedness,” Rainbow said.

“Eugh, that’s a mouthful,” Rarity said.

Anomie made no comment from where she walked at the front.

“How ‘bout Simplicity?” Applejack asked. “Can that work?”

“Actually, how does this work?” Fluttershy asked. “I know an Element’s name has some effect on its function, but I don’t know the details.”

“It’s pretty simple,” Twilight said. “And before anypony asks, I’ve been reading up on this the last couple days, so I do know what I’m talking about.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Rainbow said.

“I didn’t say you were going to.”

“You said—”

“All right, that’s good, ladies,” Applejack said, voice raised.

“Whatever.”

“To continue,” Twilight said. “An Element of Harmony, apparently, is a little like a pulse crystal. Which, actually, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get some of those too while we’re at it. Anyway, when it’s first being created, it imposes a little of itself onto the pony who’s there for the creation. This ensures that it does, in fact, go to the pony who’s making it, which makes sense, because back when Princess Celestia and Princess Luna were first making theirs, they couldn’t have the Elements be made only to have them work for some random pony they’d never heard of, who just happened to better exemplify that Element’s trait.”

“So all that about an Element only working for the absolute closest embodiment of its quality, that’s not right?” Vinyl asked.

“It’s mostly right. The Elements get pretty close, but no, it’s not perfect.”

“So we just gotta be standin’ there when this pony makes ‘em?” Big Mac asked.

“When the crystal is enchanted the first time,” Twilight said. “It needs to be whoever it’s for, and only that pony, holding it. That’s holding it in their hooves, not with any magic. Flesh to crystal contact is important.”

“Should be easy enough,” Applejack said. “So, names?”

“I like the Element of Simplicity for Big Mac,” Rarity said. “So the name doesn’t matter so much, just as long as the pony is right there, right?”

“It can be the Element of Apples if we want it to,” Twilight said. “A name’s a name. The only problem would be once it passes on to the next bearer. We want something general enough that the Element has a good pool to select future bearers, and something positive, so future bearers will be generally good ponies. If we have the six of us and, say, the Element of Sorrow, it’s going to be tough for the next batch to get along because one of them would necessarily be a real sad, negative pony.”

“That’s it?” Rarity asked.

“That’s about it,” Twilight said.

“The princesses were pretty secure in the fact that their Elements were gonna become this important, huh?” Pinkie asked.

“Princess Celestia admits to a lot of youthful conceit in those days,” Twilight said. “I forget how it went exactly, she gives a pretty long quote in The Elements and their Creators. ‘We were faced with the decision of more than just our lifetime,’ something something, ‘if we were to create them again, we would use a gentler touch, something that did not resonate throughout all history.’ I mean, that quote is kind of arrogant too, but you get the picture.”

“We got it,” Vinyl said.

“So probably not Simplicity,” Colgate said. “Because you don’t want anyone in the future to be simple.”

“I’d say so,” Twilight said. She did not let her voice show it, but she had forgotten Colgate was with them. “Same reason why none of us should be the Element of Innocence, or the Element of Youth.”

“How about Patience?” Vinyl asked. “I know… I know he’s been quite patient with me.”

Big Mac blushed, and no one saw it.

“Ah like that,” Applejack said. “Seems very appropriate.”

“Ah like it too,” Big Mac said. “Is it a little too close to Kindness, though?”

“I don’t think so,” Fluttershy said. “I haven’t always been patient, I know.”

“Oh, pish posh,” Rainbow said. “You’ve been—well, anyway, Fluttershy, you’re good. But I agree, I think Patience sounds good.”

“It definitely fits,” Twilight said. “Let’s come back to it. What about you, Octavia?”

“Determination,” Rarity said. “No question.”

“I like it,” Fluttershy said.

“I don’t,” Colgate said. “I don’t see determination in her.”

“You haven’t seen her in action,” Rainbow said.

“I’ve heard her talk, I know how she feels about certain things.”

“What do you think, Octavia?” Vinyl asked.

“Yeah, what’s your input?” Colgate’s voice was even, curious.

“I believe…” Octavia sighed. “I do not know. I agree with Colgate, I do not think Determination is correct. To be honest, I am still not completely certain that I should be an Element at all.”

“Octavia, if any of us deserve it, it’s you,” Pinkie said.

“Need we remind you of all you’ve done?” Rarity asked. “You’ve helped us the very most of all the newcomers. Some of that’s just timing, I know, but not all of it.”

“I have also failed you more times than anyone else,” Octavia said.

“You think the princesses haven’t?” Rainbow asked. “Twi, back me up on this.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, some of them large,” Twilight said. “It’s not about that, it’s about persistence. Octavia, you know that, you’ve talked about persistence plenty in the past.”

“Element of Persistence?” Big Mac suggested.

“Patience and Persistence?” Rarity asked. “Too similar. And I don’t like how sing-songy it is.”

“Same goes for Determination,” Colgate said.

“What do you think she should be, Cole?” Rainbow asked.

“Listen to her, she doesn’t even want to be one.”

“I did not say that,” Octavia said.

“You said you weren’t sure if you should be one.”

“That does not mean that I do not want it. I do, I want to be part of this. But I do not deserve it.”

“For Celestia’s sake,” Twilight thought.

“In the interest of honesty,” Applejack said, “Ah’m gettin’ real tired of this ‘woe is me, Ah’m so pathetic’ thing.”

Pinkie cleared her throat, but did not speak.

“I apologize. It is not something I can control,” Octavia said.

“That’s not completely true,” Colgate said. “There are ways to overcome a mindset like that.”

“I would appreciate it if you did not pretend to know me so well.”

“I don’t know you, but I’ve seen patients like you. Just like you.” She paused. “We’ll call her Whipped Cream. That’s just a name I invented for privacy. She was a patient of mine, older pony, she’d been in and out of doctor’s offices all over Canterlot for hip pain. They did all the usual things first, they gave her x-rays, MRIs—magical resonance imaging—they loaded her up on pain meds, but she still had pain. She moved to Ponyville for something, and so I got her. So I did all the usual things too, and none of it worked, again. This took about a year, year and a half, and this mare’s stuck.”

“Where’s this goin’?” Applejack asked.

“That’s every day for a year or whatever, she’s in pain. The meds help, but the pain’s always getting worse too. Turns out, I have to do a hip replacement, right side. Her joint was a little wider than normal, so the bone didn’t always sit right, and as the cartilage wore down, as it does when you get older, she had a hard time keeping her leg in its place. I remember her coming in for the first time with a mean limp, no cane—she was too proud to be seen with one, that’s what the nurse said.”

“What’s this got to do—” Rainbow asked.

“Let the pony speak,” Vinyl said wearily.

“But all this time, the pain’s eating at her,” Colgate said. “So we get her into surgery, procedure goes fine, I put a new joint in for her, everypony’s happy. Physical therapy for a couple months. About a month after she’s discharged, she’s right back in there, complaining of pain again. So we look at her, do an x-ray, MRI, and so on. Turns out, mare hasn’t been doing her exercises at home like she’s supposed to. All the strain she’d been putting on her bum hip, she’s putting it on the new one too, so it’s not healing like it should. I talk to her about it, tell her why it’s important to follow her physical therapist’s advice, and we agree to get her back with the therapist. A month or two later, same exact thing. So what am I supposed to do?”

“What did you do?” Twilight asked.

“Not much,” Colgate said. “She’d lost her motivation, that’s what it came down to. She had all the tools to succeed, but I guess that year or however long of constant pain just wore her down, and when she finally was getting the treatment she needed, she didn’t have the guts to help herself. She went back to the same old habits as soon as no one was paying attention to her, and she never got better. This happens all the time in the big city, where care isn’t as personal. Patients start thinking they can’t do anything to help themselves, and they stop trying.”

“So you are saying that I am like these patients of yours,” Octavia said. “That I have lost my will to try, and for that, I am degrading. Is that what you are saying?”

“Looks that way.”

No one said anything, and after a second, Anomie started walking again. They had paused beside another large griffon sculpture, looming over them on an ivy-wrapped column in the middle of the path.

“The point, I think,” Rarity said, “is even if you get one, you need to think you deserve it, or else you won’t be able to connect with anyone.”

“Fine. Then yes, I agree, I deserve it,” Octavia said.

“This is such bull,” Rainbow said. “We’re right here, Octavia. Don’t start pulling out the self-pity now.”

“Or the creepy, determined martyrdom thing,” Rarity said. “Either you want it or you don’t.”

“If you don’t, you’d better tell us in the next twenty minutes or so,” Twilight said. “Another thing about the Elements, and I’ll say it even though you all know it: once we’ve made one, we can’t come back from it. Once it’s made, that’s it. There’s no backing out without breaking the whole connection, and we can’t un-make an Element. I can’t, anyway.”

“The purpose of these Elements is to resonate with the friendship I feel with each of you, yes?” Octavia asked.

“Yes.”

Octavia took a deep breath. “Then I will accept one. Colgate is correct, I do not feel good about it, but I do feel closer to each of you than I have with anyone else. It is the friendship that counts, not the pony’s personal feelings about the matter. Let me worry about how I feel.”

“We can’t just let you—”

“You can pick apart my brain after the final battle, if you wish. I will allow that. But for now, please, let us just continue.” She thought for a minute. “This I can promise, that I care very much for you all. The kinship I feel, it is not false. I know that I do not express it as often or as well as some of you would like, and for that, I am sorry.”

“We know,” Pinkie said softly. “We care too, sis. That’s why we poke you about it so much.”

“I realize that—now. I do appreciate it, to a point.”

They walked in silence across a short bridge over a dark chasm, the tips of stalagmites peering up at them like ancient, blind faces.

“Forgive me if this is impertinent,” Anomie said, “but would perhaps Courage be suitable for Octavia?”

“Courage,” Twilight said.

“Yes!” Pinkie said. “Aw, that’s perfect! Perfect!”

“I think I agree,” Rarity said. “And it’s nice and general, like Twilight said. A very positive trait.”

“And one Octavia exemplifies well,” Fluttershy said.

“I like how it sounds,” Vinyl said. “Octavia? It’s your Element. What do you think?”

“Courage is fine,” Octavia said.

“Deep in thought?”

“Yes.” She paused. “Yes, I like the Element of Courage. That seems most appropriate. I am ready.”

“I like it a lot,” Twilight said. “Now, Vinyl.”

“I’m not… uh, you’re sure I get one?” Vinyl asked. “I mean, I’m willing to do it. But…”

“Fer a late-comer, Ah think she’s done great,” Applejack said. “Ah know Ah’m biased, but still, that’s my thoughts on the matter. Ah say she gets one.”

“I agree,” Rainbow said. “Element of Music? Tons of ponies do music, so it’s not that specific.”

“I haven’t done music in a while,” Vinyl said.

“It’s better if it’s a character trait,” Twilight said. “It doesn’t strictly have to be, but it makes it a lot easier.”

“Charity?” Fluttershy asked. “Oh, well, that’s pretty much Generosity by a different name.”

“Okay, hear me out on this,” Rarity said. “What about Almsgiving? That has more of a, ah, spiritual connotation to it. Meaning she is more filled with the drive to help others, where I’m simply willing to share.”

“That’s splittin’ hairs,” Big Mac said. “Ah think we can do better’n that.”

“Readiness?” Vinyl offered. “I’m up for anything, I guess.”

“You guess,” Rainbow said.

“Steadiness?” Applejack asked. “She’s seen us through some of the worst. Aw, heck, that’s basically Patience, ain’t it?”

“What about something like Creativity?” Vinyl asked. “Going off Rainbow’s music suggestion.”

“That’s not bad,” Twilight said. “It might be getting a little too general, though. Most ponies are creative.”

“Actually,” Vinyl continued, “Thinking again, I’m no more creative than any other artistic type. I’m not… you know, the one you’re all going to for solutions for your weird problems.”

“What do ponies go to you for?” Colgate asked.

“Fair question.”

“Moral support,” Fluttershy said. “At least, I do.”

“A good listener,” Rarity said.

“Maybe Listening?” Rainbow asked.

“The Element of Listening? That could be anything.”

“Element of Council,” Colgate said. “That sounds strange.”

“I guess the Element of Availability wouldn’t work either,” Twilight said. “Well…”

“That’s kinda going back to Readiness,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah.”

“Does it say anything that we’re having a hard time deciding on mine?” Vinyl asked. “Like, are we sure we want to do this?”

“Are you?” Rarity asked.

“I mean, yes. I do, I do want to be an Element of Harmony. I’m just not sure if it can work out.”

“How ‘bout the Element of Self-Awareness?” Applejack asked.

“Element of Introspection,” Twilight echoed. “Nah, those don’t work either. They don’t sound right. But Vinyl, if you have any doubts at all about this, well…”

“Don’t,” Rainbow said.

“Hold on, Rainbow.”

“I’ve come this far,” Vinyl said.

“That’s the spirit,” Big Mac said.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I feel fine.”

“Now hold on,” Twilight said. “Don’t just agree because you think we want you to.”

“I’m not. I… am ready.”

“You’re sure? You’re positive? Remember, we can’t come back. If yours doesn’t work out, that’s just too bad, and for more than just you.”

For a time, they plodded along in silence. At last, Vinyl spoke. “I’ll be fine. I can handle it.”

“See? No problem,” Rainbow said. “I knew you were good for it, Vinyl.”

“Empathy,” Octavia said. “The Element of Empathy. She is good at listening, she understands others’ moods without much preamble. She feels for the suffering that we encounter.”

“Gosh,” Vinyl said.

“That’s true,” Rarity said. “I think Octavia nailed it.”

“I dunno.”

“I think it fits,” Twilight said slowly.

“Isn’t it a little too close to Kindness?” Pinkie asked.

“I think Empathy is more like feeling for others. Mine is just being nice,” Fluttershy said. “Um, not to diminish myself.”

“Ah got it,” Applejack said. “Empathy, then. Has a nice ring to it too.”

They ascended a minor rise in the ground, the Elements pausing to look into a shallow, wan pool. Tiny pearls of stone littered its floor.

“What about me?” Colgate asked.

“Ah—yes. Well,” Rarity said.

“Ah’m not sure,” Applejack said.

“I see no reason for it,” Octavia said.

“I think Big Mac saw a reason,” Colgate said.

“Don’t put words in his mouth,” Vinyl said. “He didn’t—”

“You don’t know what Ah know,” Big Mac said. “As it stands, Ah know a lot less than any of y’all seem to think.”

“Well, you only get the impulses, right?” Rarity asked.

“An’ the conclusions they eventuate,” Applejack said. She grinned at Rainbow, who glanced at her with raised eyebrows.

“Sure do. Okay, maybe Ah know just what ya think Ah know.”

“This is all semantics,” Twilight said. “Why do we bring Colgate on? She’s been with us, what? A little more than a week? No friendship develops that fast.”

“Not a true one, anyway,” Pinkie said.

“Exactly, not a true one. So it seems like a no-brainer to me.”

“If this isn’t the reason for my being here, what is?” Colgate asked.

“Ah happen to agree,” Big Mac said. “Ah know y’all don’t like it, an’ Ah’m not too fond of it myself, in all honesty, but this definitely seems like the thing to do.”

“Should we really be basing a decision like this on a feeling like that?” Vinyl asked. “‘The thing to do’ doesn’t mean anything.” She paused. “Makes a good song title, though.”

“‘The thing to do’ is just an unspecific way to express intuition,” Colgate said. “You said that Big Mac has powerful intuition. Sooo, the inference seems clear to me.”

“That’s just semantics again, though,” Twilight said.

“Twi, it’s all semantics,” Rainbow said. “That’s the whole point of this, looking at the issue from every side.”

“That’s not what that word means.”

“When did we stop trustin’ my glamour?” Big Mac asked.

“Around the same time it led us to imprisoning—” Twilight stopped herself. “Around the same time it led us to Moondrop. I distinctly recall outlining my objections to you and Vinyl in Ponyville, concerning the lack of regard for collateral damage.”

“I know it,” Vinyl said. “That’s why I actually agree with you.”

“It went too far,” Rarity said.

“Now, to be fair,” Fluttershy said, “just because it went too far once doesn’t necessarily mean it will again.”

“Doesn’t it?” Applejack asked.

“It doesn’t, but there’s a good chance,” Twilight said. “And if we consider the importance of what we’re doing, the wrong move is probably going to be our last.”

“So doesn’t that mean that if I am supposed to get an Element, not getting me one is going to result bad for us all too?” Colgate asked.

“Also, let’s recall that if makin’ Colgate here an Element is the right move,” Big Mac said, “then Moondrop was the right move too, ‘cause they—what was that word, sis?”

“What word?” Applejack asked. “Oh, eventuate? Nifty, ain’t it?”

“You’ve been reading Twilight’s dictionary!” Pinkie cried, flattening the ears of those around her.

“Yeah. All’s well that ends well,” Big Mac said.

“Not true,” Rarity said. “Why couldn’t we just go to Canterlot and pick her up instead?”

“The glamour would have known Colgate would be willing,” Vinyl said. “Because she is. So if we just approached her and explained, then we could have done this a lot cleaner. Is that right?”

“So we definitely did go with the wrong option,” Rainbow said. “Let’s not do it again. I agree with Twilight and Vinyl, and Applejack, and… pretty much everypony.”

“Ah ain’t put my hoof down yet,” Applejack said.

“Well, we don’t have long,” Twilight said.

“Could be that Colgate wouldn’t have been willing if we approached her out of the blue,” Rarity said. “Though this was incredibly out of the blue.”

“But she didn’t have any other options. It was come with us or be stuck in Moondrop,” Vinyl said.

“Yeah, not exactly a fair and unbiased choice,” Twilight said. “Colgate, what do you think?”

“You can defend yourself. You think you deserve one, let us know why,” Fluttershy said.

Colgate thought for a while, looking down at her hooves. “I know I’m here for a reason. I can’t explain it better than that.”

“Do you have intuition?” Twilight asked.

“No, nothing like that.”

“Well…”

“Not much to go on,” Rainbow said. “Sorry, Cole. I like you, but I just don’t see it.”

“For what it’s worth, we might consult the glamour,” Rarity said. “If it has anything to say?”

“It hasn’t said anythin’ in a while,” Big Mac said.

“Should we be worried about that?” Pinkie asked.

“What d’ya mean?”

“I mean, if the glamour isn’t working anymore, or isn’t working like it used to, or whatever, then… I don’t wanna say.”

“Ah’d like to hear it, Pinkie.”

“No, no, I think I see the question,” Vinyl said. “It depends on a lot of things.”

“Then does my friendship with y’all remain the same?” Big Mac asked. “That about it?”

“Maybe,” Pinkie said in a small voice.

“Yeah, Ah wonder ‘bout that a lot.”

“I don’t think any of us can blame you,” Vinyl said.

“Thanks.”

“I mean—”

“Ah know. Ah said thanks.”

For a moment, they were quiet, and the jeweler’s house appeared, its lights widening around a corner as they neared.

“If there’s an issue, then we need to figure it out,” Twilight said. “Now or never, as I said.”

“I consider you a friend,” Rainbow said to Big Mac. “I think you’re really cool.”

“I as well,” Rarity said.

“That’s great,” Big Mac said.

“Do you…”

“Hm?”

“Let’s just move past it,” Vinyl said. “We won’t bring up the glamour anymore, Mac. We’ll just move on.”

“That is a stupid idea,” Octavia said. “In fact, I think all of this is stupid.” Everyone turned to her, some shocked, some annoyed. “Every friendship ends up looking bad if you spend enough time picking it apart. I do not think this is what it is about. If we are friends, then we will know it in our hearts, not if we meet whatever standards appear in Twilight’s book. The fact of the matter is, if Big Mac is upset about something, then it should be addressed.”

“You know, that’s actually a really good point,” Twilight said after a moment. “Maybe we are getting too focused on the details.”

Big Mac shuffled and sat down.

“We need to be careful, though,” Rarity said.

“Yes, to a point.”

“It’s possible to go too far and get stuck on inconsequential stuff, though,” Pinkie said. “You know? You can’t throw a great party if you spend all your time on one silly little detail!”

“This ain’t a party,” Applejack said.

“No reason not to think of it like one!”

“Pinkie.”

“No, seriously! Think about it. A party’s just a bunch of guests trying to accomplish a task, right? Well, here we all are, trying to accomplish something. We’re a bunch of party guests, and this is one great big ‘save Equestria’ party!”

“That’s rather overgeneralizing it,” Rarity said.

“Well excuse me for trying!”

“All right, enough,” Applejack said, stepping in to put a calming hoof on Pinkie’s back. “We’re not doin’ this again. Luna’s wings, no wonder we couldn’t pull it together back there.”

“So what’s your solution?” Vinyl asked.

“Octavia hit it dead on, if y’ask me. We’re obsessin’ ‘bout the mechanics of friendship an’ forgettin’ the real important bits, the heart an’ soul an’ all those other undefinable things. Here, Ah got an idea. Everyone close yer eyes.”

They hesitated, but after a second, nine pairs of eyes closed, and Applejack watched them for a moment.

“Raise yer hoof if ya want out, right now. Raise it high, no one’s gonna see it but me.”

“What if we ain’t sure?” Big Mac asked.

“Then don’t raise it.”

“No, do!” Twilight cried, opening her eyes. “Girls, have you not heard anything I’ve said! We can’t just do these and hope for the best! We have to be sure!”

“It occurs to me that, while we are here right now, there will be time before we actually use these against Discord,” Octavia said, eyes still closed. “Time enough for apologies to be made and friendships to be strengthened.”

“That’s another good point,” Rainbow said.

“I don’t like it,” Twilight said.

“All right, girls, all right, eyes closed again,” Applejack said. “Twilight, that means you. We’ll try a different question. Raise her hooves if yer willin’ to forgive these ponies—myself included—fer anythin’ they done to ya.”

At that, a semicircle of hooves rose unsteadily into the air, some immediately, some after seconds of thought. Big Mac’s came up late, Fluttershy’s last. Applejack put her own hoof into the air and wobbled on three legs.

“Open ‘em up then. Take a look at all the friendship goin’ ‘round.”

Everyone opened their eyes and looked, the pegasi with their wings out to brace themselves and the others nearly overbalancing.

“Well how do you like that?” Rarity asked.

“Here’s our answer,” Applejack said. “All right, let’s put ‘em down before we fall over. Girls, we’ve got a whole airship trip to air out whatever it is that’s gotta be aired out. Ah say, let’s just get in there, get us some Elements, an’ get out.”

“Discord’s waitin’,” Big Mac said.

Twilight chewed her lip, but said nothing.

“What would we do without you, AJ?” Pinkie asked, dashing in for a hug.

“Crumble, just like if we were missing anyone else,” Twilight said, shrugging, not meeting eyes. “Sorry, girls. I know I’ve been kind of a pill lately.”

“We all have our downfalls,” Octavia said. “I forgive you.”

“Me too,” Fluttershy said, a chorus of nods around her.

“What about Colgate?” Vinyl asked.

Colgate simply scowled into the cold stone beneath.

“Sorry, Colgate. Really,” Rarity said.

Colgate looked at Big Mac, who looked down, and then at Octavia, who met her eyes and shook her head.

“Do what you have to do,” Colgate said.

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said. “This is the last time I’ll ask, I swear. You three are sure?”

“Patience, Empathy, Courage,” Big Mac said. “Ah’m ready.”

“I’m ready,” Vinyl said quietly—even for her.

“Let us,” Octavia said.

With Anomie outside, they entered the structure, half house and half smithy, a rude wooden counter propped up on two polished stones, an array of tools unsorted atop it. Behind, a door was ajar to show the outline of a rough anvil and the moving light of a forge, out of view.

“Hello?” Rainbow called.

After a couple repetitions, a smoky gray earth pony strolled out of the back room and rested her front hooves on the counter to look down on them all. She blinked sleepily.

“You’re Silver Sun?” Twilight asked. “Anomie the griffon sent us.”

“If that means anything to you,” Fluttershy said.

“Silver Sun, yeah, I reckon that’s me,” the mare said. “Need somethin’?”

Twilight dug through her personal, magical space until she found what she needed: the sack of bits and the designs for the Elements of Harmony, a tightly folded pamphlet alive with tiny columns of numbers, intricate diagrams, and blocks of notes scattered through the margins. She unfurled it and lay it across the counter and its tools.

“This is going to sound crazy, but we need these.”

“Elements of Harmony,” Silver Sun said, reading the paper’s header. “This a joke?”

“Look at us,” Rainbow said, brandishing her own Element.

Silver Sun leaned out slightly to get a better look at their jewels, nodding to herself. “Mmmm, so it is, so it is. Hmmm.” She studied the paper for some time.

“You can do it, right?” Pinkie asked.

“Well, I reckon I can. Might take me a couple tries.”

“But you can do it?”

“Ultimately, she means,” Rarity added.

“I reckon,” Silver Sun said again. She looked at the bit sack. “That money in there?”

“Yes,” Twilight said.

Silver Sun nodded. “It ain’t a easy thing you’re askin’.”

“We’re told you’re the best jeweler in the mines,” Rarity said.

“Dunno about that.” She studied the instructions for a time, not looking up at the others. “I can do it, but it’ll cost you.” She hefted the bag and poured the bits out onto the counter, letting them roll and pile onto themselves. “More than this.”

“What?” Rainbow asked.

“How many you looking for?”

“Three,” Big Mac said.

“More than this.”

Twilight sighed and pulled out the worn treasury slip. “How much more?”

“Couldn’t say exactly. Maybe one and a half more of those.”

Twilight unfolded the piece of paper and floated it over, and Silver Sun took it and slid it back.

“I don’t take IOUs.”

“It’s a bank note.” A lead weight settled in her stomach. “Do you have banks down here?”

Silver Sun shook her head. “Not familiar with the term, miss.”

“A place where ponies store their money,” Rarity said.

Silver Sun gave Rarity a suspicious glance, but said nothing. “Perhaps we can work out a deal,” Octavia said. “Is there anything we can do to lower the cost?”

“Would tellin’ you that the fate of the whole dang country relies on this sway yer opinion?” Applejack asked.

Silver Sun looked at them for a second. “The original six ain’t enough anymore?”

“Uh.”

“Why is the cost so high?” Twilight asked. “If it’s a time thing, we can—I guess—stay here as long as we need.”

“Not time, materials. I don’t have the crystals you need lyin’ around in my house. If I did, I’d surely charge you less.”

“Okay, so where are the crystals ya need?” Pinkie asked. “Maybe we can help you get ‘em!”

Silver Sun pointed loosely out her door.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rainbow asked.

“Yonder. Back of the cave.”

“You mean back where we came in?” Vinyl asked.

“That’s the front.”

“You mean in all that darkness,” Twilight said.

“That’s the back.”

“Well, go get ‘em, then,” Rainbow said. “What’s the problem?”

“I imagine the darkness is uninhabited for a reason,” Fluttershy said.

“What’s back there?” Colgate asked, taking a step to the front, where she stood between Twilight and Applejack.

“I’m not sure I can put a name to it,” Silver Sun said slowly. “Haven’t seen it myself.”

“Is it a monster? Or is there something strange about the area itself?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”

Silver Sun picked up a chisel in her teeth and set it down on the other side of the counter. “The place, I reckon. You’re not allowed to go out there with torches or any sorta heat-making things. If you’re a unicorn, you get your horn bound.”

“For whatever reason?” Rarity asked.

“You just do. I’ve been there twice, I don’t like it. What you need’s out there, though.”

“How far?” Pinkie asked.

“Four or five miles.”

“What’s so special about our crystals?” Vinyl asked.

“Special properties.”

“So the cost is due to personal danger?” Twilight asked. “Am I getting that right?”

“Mostly.”

“What’s that mean?”

“If you’ll come with me, I’ll take that sack of bits there as payment.”

“What’s the rest of the cost?”

“Operational issues.”

Twilight rolled her eyes, and Pinkie nudged her aside. “How soon can you make them once you have your crystals?”

“Couple days, I reckon.”

“Twilight, we should do it,” Octavia said.

“Yes, we should,” Twilight said with a sigh. “Okay, we’ll go with you. But if we’re going to have our horns bound, how will we protect you? If you need it at all?”

“Extra eyes, extra ears, extra noses,” Silver Sun said. “I’m not takin’ on anything back there, and neither are you if you got a drop of sense in your heads.”

“If there is anything back there,” Rarity said.

“I reckon.”

Imposition

Chapter Ninety-three

Imposition

It felt like a day had passed, but they could not be sure. From the room at the bottom of the pillar, which they shared with a kind but untalkative family of ponies, the Elements set out on a long, winding road with their guide, a new pony who went by Light Tread, up through the honeycombs of residences and workplaces toward Silver Sun’s workshop. Anomie had left them the day before after going with them for a few hours, exploring, suggesting interesting places to eat, showing them her town. They hadn’t any money—theirs had all been left in Silver Sun’s possession, and the treasury note was of no use in the far-removed mines—but their celebrity status was often enough to get them free meals. They had collapsed into rough beds with no notion of the hour, exhausted from telling story after story to an audience that was always changing, always impressed.

Preparing her tools for gathering the crystals was a complicated ordeal, and Silver Sun did not want to spend the rest of her afternoon making the arrangements and be tired when she entered the darkness. She had eventually explained that there were allowed no lights, no unicorn magic, and nothing electrical, precluding many of the processes she used ordinarily. She would need to find other ways to work with the crystals she sought.

“You said you’ve already done this once or twice,” Rainbow had asked. “Why not just do what you did again? Why all the fuss?”

“Last time, I just gathered ‘em. This time, I wanna do as much of the work right out there as I can.” She looked at them levelly. “Better than draggin’ a whole mess of crystals back here only to have to go out again.”

So they waited. Nineteen hours, which felt to them more like thirty in the unchanging nighttime of the mines, passed, and they walked the busy streets with severely depleted interest in the city around them. The cave formations all seemed familiar, the statues all just rude landmarks, the shops and stands and full homes all sources of the unvaried noise that filled the tunnels. The effect was not unpleasant, but it was everywhere.

When they met with Silver Sun, she wore a tall backpack balanced on both sides with bulging saddlebags, a compass dangling by a chain around her neck, and a short-brimmed hat whose band was striped with narrow metal rings. She nodded to them and their guide, and they were on their way. They were tired from the uphill walk, but she was not, and so when they reached their teleportation pavilion, all sat down for the brief respite as she conversed with the teleporter, who eyed them all warily.

“Go through, I’ll meet you on the other side,” she said, gesturing at a small pillar of stone, a dark square etched into its face. The teleporter nodded greetings to them each as he sent them through.

As their senses reconstituted, they were first aware of Vanilla Cream standing just on the steps down, his body emblazoned against the dark gray form of a long, high wall, its face rippling with the wan reflections of multiple, weak crystals off a running moat. He nodded to each and beckoned them over to a small enclosure of stalagmites, each one carved with gentle spirals and tipped with delicate stars of sandstone. The plaque on the balustrade around them read “For those who wander and do not return, may these Stars find them.”

For a minute, they simply glared at him, before Applejack spoke. “So, what’s it gonna be, then?”

He returned a placid expression. “You were supposed to win.”

“Yeah, we sort of figured at that,” Rainbow said.

“I thought you said you were done with us,” Pinkie said.

“I was, when I thought you were going to win. I thought you were going to free me,” Vanilla said. He moved to pace around them, and, for a half second, his body recoiled in air, as if coming unstuck from where he had let it stand. Pale bights of smoke moved off him as he circled them.

“What’s this?” Rarity asked.

“You didn’t see ahead to us losing?” Twilight asked.

“No.” Vanilla shook his head, and black stars glittered from his mane.

“Maybe you did, but you didn’t want to,” Vinyl said. “We mortals do that all the time.”

“I am mortal. Just not in the same way as you all.”

“This is all well an’ good,” Applejack said, “but what’s the point? What do you want from us?”

“If you were going to move us, you would have already,” Fluttershy said. “I assume.”

Vanilla looked at her. His eyes had lost some of their luster. “Discord has prohibited me from telling you what he wants me to do. He has not, however, prohibited me from answering you any question honestly.” He nodded to Twilight. “I assume you can make inferences from there?”

“So…” Twilight said, a small smile growing on her lips.

“Where’s Silver Sun?” Pinkie asked.

“Delayed. I saw to that,” Vanilla said. “She’s just catching up with one of the teleporters. We have time.”

“So,” Twilight said again. “Let’s start here. Are you going to move us?”

“I am.”

“When?” Applejack snapped.

“After the new Elements are created and imposed upon their proper bearers. Not a minute before.”

“I’m already confused,” Vinyl said. “Why let us get that far?”

“You lost that accusatory edge nice and quick after I said I wouldn’t ruin your plans, Empathy.”

“And you found it,” Rainbow said.

“Why not move us earlier?” Twilight asked.

“Discord didn’t specify when to do it. He said to ‘disrupt their plans somehow’.” Vanilla didn’t smile, but there was honey in his voice. “He was, as usual, not thinking at the time.”

“Really?” Rarity asked. Her face, to Pinkie, watching, seemed what Vanilla should have been wearing, speaking ill of his master.

“Hold on, let’s stay on topic,” Fluttershy said. “Okay, Vanilla, are these new Elements going to be moved before we can get back to them from wherever you’re sending us?”

Vanilla nodded. More black stars.

“Figures,” Big Mac said.

“Keep asking questions,” Vanilla said testily.

“Can we stop you?” Applejack asked.

“You would need to destroy Discord or his hold over me. Doing that before I’ve shunted you away, unlikely.”

“Can you, uh, can you show us where the Elements are once they’ve been moved?” Fluttershy asked. “Or if not that, everywhere they aren’t?”

“I can’t tell you, but I can take you to them.”

“Will you, though?” Twilight asked.

“Unless my summoner tells me not to. It hasn’t occurred to him yet.”

“How can we trust you?” Octavia asked.

Vanilla looked at her icily. “Same way you have been, Octavia.”

“That’s not true, though,” Twilight said, tapping a hoof on the cold stone. “You’ve never been this direct with us before.”

“You and Discord aren’t working together very well anymore, are you?” Vinyl asked.

“Trouble in paradise,” Rainbow said to Rarity, who nodded speculatively.

Vanilla was long in answering. For a moment, they thought he was pausing for effect, but after several seconds, it became clear that he was actually thinking. The question had caught him off guard. “You could say I yearn for my freedom,” he said at last, and then, with a less severe tone, added, “I miss my home.”

“Pony hell,” Big Mac said.

“Tartarus. Your Gaia is my version of hell. Did you know that?”

“How’s that?” Colgate asked.

Vanilla shook his head. “See these? It’s no special effect to dazzle you; my form is falling apart because I’m not meant to be here as long as I have been. I could bolster it and hold myself together, but… my mind is elsewhere.” He parted them and walked to their other side, leaving his afterimage in their midst. “Your concern touches me, but that’s the wrong question to ask right now.”

“Okay, okay, back to the Elements,” Twilight said. “Does he have any more surprises for us? Anything serious?”

“Discord sprung his last serious surprise by imprisoning your goddess. Unless you wait another year to destroy him, he’s in no position to show you anything worse than what you’ve seen already.”

“Is he having trouble too, then?” Rarity asked.

“He’s in about as much trouble as you. The problem is, he has time, and you all don’t.” Vanilla looked around. “Speaking of time, yours is up. Silver Sun comes through.” He heaved a contented sigh. “It feels good to get some of this off my chest. Elements, if you don’t mind, I’m going to follow behind you all the way to your crystals, as a reminder of what comes next. I’d advise you to pretend I’m not there; Silver Sun won’t see me, and you will appear insane to her.”

“As a matter of fact, we do mind you followin’ us,” Big Mac said.

Vanilla nodded. “As a matter of fact, you have no say.” He walked a respectful distance away and stopped, his blue sky eyes burning in the darkness. Behind glowed a trail of white dust.

“Yonder,” Silver Sun said, indicating the wall from where she stood in the pavilion.

The wall was a twenty-foot vertical slab of rough, freezing stone blocks mortared with ice and lit with bare, tennis ball-sized crystals every ten feet along its inner face. It stretched from one vanishing point to the other, so gray and faceless that it could have been a sunken monolith form ages past, left to molder and become part of the landscape, and touched only with the merest suggestions of civilization. They had to cross one moat of cold water to reach it, where they walked for a monotonous while along its base toward a laminated, wooden set of crawling stairs, and stood for a few minutes at the top. The darkness beyond curved out at them, a black curtain of solid smoke billowing back in the middle as if repelled by the reticulum of lights so far behind them.

Below, a wider moat hissed between smooth banks annealed with ice. They submitted to inspection; the unicorns had their horns bound, and Silver Sun had her bags checked thoroughly, and then they were sent down an opposite staircase. The pony who bound their horns looked at Twilight and her friends as of someone looking upon friends for the last time. No one accompanied them down the stairs and across the expanse of cold, still air to the second bridge, simply made of creaking timber held up by weathered stone pillars. They paused halfway across as a large block of ice smashed itself apart against one of the struts.

Once they were across, they paused to face the wall again. From the safety across the mines, and even atop the wall, the darkness had appeared a matte impediment, an end of the caves that marked only its own termination, not the beginning of something new. At its edge, the darkness’ apparent finality gave way, and they found themselves staring into shades of gray upon shades of gray, draped over the cave floor like fog, deepening into ultimate blackness even farther beyond. The floor sloped slightly downward, smooth in all directions. The sounds of the city were gone, the constant applause of griffon wings silenced without their noticing. Someone on the wall behind spoke to someone else, and the sound barely reached them.

“How will we know which way we’re going if we can’t see?” Pinkie asked.

“There’s a guide rope we gotta find,” Silver Sun said.

“A guide rope to the crystals?” Rarity said.

“I put it in years ago. Should still be around somewheres.” She set off along the darkness’ inside edge, and they trailed behind, looking around uselessly. Vanilla walked behind, his bright body throwing no light into the mantle of shade, his bright smile doing nothing to lift their spirits.

When they found the rope, tied onto a short staff embedded in a crack in the stone, Silver Sun spared no comment, and they began walking single file along the rope, downhill then up, past unvaried nothingness until the lights of the city were like reflections off a pool, dim and getting dimmer.

“How deep does it go?” Vinyl asked. Her voice carried like a tolling bell, but did not return.

“Dunno,” Silver Sun said. “Never went that far.”

“Has anyone?” Twilight asked.

“Doubt it.”

They walked until the guide rope was only a vague line affixed to their right sides, and the walking slowed.

“If anyone loses touch with the rope, holler,” Applejack said.

“This remind you of anything?” Rarity asked Fluttershy, a couple ponies behind.

“I wish it didn’t,” Fluttershy said.

“How you doing, Cole?” Rainbow asked. “You spooked?”

“I don’t know,” Colgate said.

“I’m spooked,” Fluttershy said.

“How far until we reach your crystals?” Octavia asked.

“We’ll be walkin’ for a bit, ladies,” Silver Sun said.

The darkness always seemed greater before them. Behind, the city gave nothing, and around, the rope and floors were only the barest suggestions of themselves. In silence, they walked across a beam of stone over an abyss without realizing it, their eyes and minds only on the rising and growing shadow. Always, it was darker. As minutes passed, their eyes surprised them by losing smaller and smaller shreds of visibility. What seemed a complete absence of light was only so for a short time before becoming an increment of brightness at their backs. It gave nothing of itself, of the landscape it had claimed, neither sound nor smell nor sense of time spent within. Ancient dust crunched beneath their hooves and settled, undisturbed by wind, untouched by light. Nothing grew, nothing stirred.

Behind, always distant, Vanilla Cream was an empty beacon, a dimensionless spot of white that dispelled no shadows and made no sound as its hooves moved up and down upon the same ground. In the darkness, there was no way to tell how far away he was; he was an image only, a conjuration upon a blank canvass, a canvass in which they had sunk and from which return felt less and less plausible with each step.

Suppose the guide rope should end prematurely, cut by an unseen hoof; what then? Suppose Silver Sun had been in any way wrong, and they were lost without knowing it. Her confidence at the front of the line did not flag or appear to flag, but the march was slow, and words were few. In the Elements’ minds, catastrophes brewed.

Vanilla Cream saw each one. His was the power, among others, to touch thoughts, to see them and sometimes affect them. For him, the darkness was nothing; the vast emptiness under the mountains, carved by magic and time, was no different from the space between trees in a forest. The miles of stone above and the comparatively thin skin of stone below—for they were still suspended off their planet, something it was easy to forget inside the mines—were of a piece.

He had never visited the darkness under the mountains before; he had had no reason to. It had little to offer in the way of diversion or comfort for when he got homesick. In the hundred-fifty acres of vast, stale air, there were the typical cave formations, one lost and hungry creature—a former Tartarus resident, one whose plight stirred pity in Vanilla—and the site of the new Elements. Nothing drew him there, and, following behind the line of ponies, he was already eager to move on.

He could not. The binding upon him, similar to Big Macintosh’s glamour, but stronger, conferred no choice, nor the illusion of one. Vanilla was free to hate his master, was free to question him, but he could not disobey. The thought of it felt contrary to his core, natural as the movement and the intake of breath. The magic had been woven into him upon his summoning into the Gaia, the mirror world, and his first direct order had been not to break his own bindings, which he would have done otherwise. As soon as he had been enchanted, he felt as if he had been made for whatever purpose Discord deigned.

The group stepped around a giant column, which must have felt to them like the cave’s wall, and into a wide valley of slick, lamellated stone which their planet had shrugged up from its depths over centuries. The darkness was complete for them, the guide rope their only help. Even with the light that the non-unicorns could have produced, escape without it was no surety; they were too far in. The city behind was gone from their eyes.

The darkness was no obstacle for Vanilla Cream because he neither saw nor felt, only came to understand. He perceived his world by reaching out various forms of his magic to collect information, which took the place of physical sensation. Like having a perfectly detailed map of the world at all times, in real time, but seeing nothing directly.

In Tartarus, a land steeped in ambient magic, such knowledge came fluidly and in great quantities, not only for Vanilla but for anyone who had the capacity to grasp it. He had been plunged into the Gaia like a newborn, shocked and afraid, ripped from his daily comings and goings and trussed up in a binding spell before he had time to marshal his thoughts. As the days passed in that new era of his life, he had been humbled over and over at how much seemed out of his grasp. Before, he had seen the mirror world as a distant fable, a land of bumbling, misguided creatures who would intend him harm on no basis other than his coming from another land; he had no idea that simply being there could make him feel like an echo of himself.

It was a land bereft of energy, a burned-out husk of the world he knew, a sobering intimation of what lay just beyond the veil. The magic that made his home, and that made him, was present on the Gaia only in cinders, flickers on unicorn horns and larger coals on the goddesses’. He himself had been made but a cinder.

He had been certain that Discord was one of the local gods when he was imprisoned. The draconequus had made it look easy, reaching into Tartarus, pulling Vanilla out like a carnival toy off a rack, and dousing him in enchantments until he was completely beholden to his will. In deference to the new power and the shocking alacrity of its user, Vanilla had given himself over freely after some initial indignation—so he believed.

But then he encountered the true gods. They had never met officially, but they had seen each other’s work, and the gods were aware that he was in their world. Everything that he did that was not in service of Discord’s command was in service of keeping his distance from the goddesses. Celestia, he knew, he could at least puzzle for a time before she got the better of him, for her magic was more physical in nature, and there was nothing physical about Vanilla Cream. Luna, however, could snuff him out without a second thought. In his way of perceiving the world, she had shown brightest, a terrible beacon of power and wisdom that eclipsed all that was near it. For him, Celestia was her lesser double, though most Equestrians seemed to view it the other way around.

Thus, getting closer to the Elements of Harmony had been no arbitrary action.

He poured himself into Discord’s plans, lent his services eagerly to his captor’s wishes, and even helped where it was not required of him. For a foolish few days, he had seen himself sitting next to Discord on some imaginary throne, two rulers of one world, he in Tartarus and Discord on the Gaia, both working in concert and in secret. It did not take long for the idea’s majesty to fade.

The line of ponies before him stopped for a moment, scrambling and hollering as Twilight had accidentally lost touch with the guide rope. Fluttershy almost created a cone of light for them, something that would not have attracted the creature, for it was too far away, but that would have attracted questions. When Twilight got back to the rope, they started forward again.

Discord had slowly turned his back on his own grand aspirations. In the beginning, he had been as eager as Vanilla, expressing at one time that he might release him from his bindings as a show of good faith. He wanted to reform the country, to depose the stale diarchy and impose a new, merit-based government. He wanted to connect cities with magical transit systems, he wanted to widen airship routes, he wanted to turn the desert wastes in the south into fields and forests and lakes.

However, as he encountered resistance, his hopes faded away one by one. He stopped talking about roads and commerce and politics, and started talking about armies and magic and surprises; then, he stopped talking entirely. The goal moved backwards from reforming the country to simply destroying the princesses. “Reform will come,” Discord had said when Vanilla questioned him. That had been shortly before the Elements of Harmony encountered, and then failed to stop, the dam in Applewood. Vanilla had thought the victory over the Elements would buoy Discord’s spirits, but, instead, frustration mounted higher.

Discord began blaming Vanilla for his own failures, laying poor decision upon poor decision at his form’s hooves and heaping on more conditions to his binding, sometimes contradictory. Discord would spend days locked in his room in the stolen castle, leaving Vanilla to his own devices, where Vanilla would come to learn the depth of his homesickness, his degree of unpreparedness when he had been pulled out. He had thought he had seen the full extent already, but without Discord to steer him, even the simplest decisions seemed once again extraordinary. Movement was one of the few things that came with relative ease.

The crux, Vanilla had learned, was that the Gaia was an inherently un-magical place, a place where magic was possible and even easy for many, but where magic was not the natural state of all things. A tree, left to grow with no outside influences, would come up un-magical on the Gaia. A sentient being was not guaranteed access to magic upon birth.

For Vanilla, it was poison. The space he occupied was empty and thin, bereft of life-giving magic except in the barest quantities. He felt stretched and weakened. He felt as though more and more of himself dwindled into that woeful air with each passing day, like a balloon shriveling at the outer edge of the atmosphere. It was a concern that Discord had dismissed with a “so be it” wave of his paw.

Colgate kept looking back at Vanilla, and he touched her mind, understanding then her curiosity. She was one of the Gaia’s Datura, someone familiar with Tartarus and its folk. He gave her a smile that she did not return.

“Not far from here,” Silver Sun said up ahead. “I recognize this hill. Crystals are up a piece.”

Nervous chatter followed.

Vanilla had made his decision after Celestia’s imprisonment. The trap for her had been a feat of ingenuity that had made Vanilla truly proud: an infinite dream that was powered by reflecting Celestia’s magic down into Tartarus and then back out, enhancing it with the mirroring world’s magic, making it strong enough to maintain the bonds necessary to trap a goddess as well as the impermanent gateway between worlds. Even that, he knew, would not last long. She would escape naturally inside of a year; sooner or later, the outpouring of magic would seep back into Tartarus and melt the mechanisms that held her prison in place, or else simply overwhelm the fabric that kept the two worlds apart and allow them to collapse into each other. In such an event, he had chosen to not warn, both Gaia and Tartarus would invert, turning like plastic bags into each other and spewing their contents into the universe of the other. It would be ruination to make the world’s present state a nostalgic memory.

He knew, thus, that his feat had deserved praise, even if he had been only the voice guiding Discord’s unpredictable magic. For it, he received instead a vague compliment and a new set of orders, then nothing as Discord vanished. It had not occurred to Discord that the other goddess would throw down the gauntlet the second her sister disappeared. It had not occurred to him that Luna would go to his castle, surround it with magic, and evaporate every single enchantment he had painstakingly put onto and into its structure. It did not occur to him to warn Vanilla that Luna was right outside when Vanilla did his daily inspection of the castle’s magic.

The moment Vanilla had come face to face with Luna, he thought that he was no more. He was an invisible life, but Luna’s magic had surrounded him with no warning, looked straight through him, and then moved on. It had been his version of waking up at the point of a pulse crystal.

Discord had no plan in place if he should ever be put out of his home, if ever he should be put on the run. In his factoring, in all his attention to minor details and logistics of traps, of magical beings that the local Daturas would spare the Elements having to fight, he had neglected a contingency plan if ever the goddesses should simply give up the pretense and knock down his door. He could survive such an encounter, of course; he, like them, was more than mere flesh and blood. His magic would eventually knit back together, and he with it, and he would be there to terrorize yet another generation of unprepared ponies, but that was not the point. He was too close to victory to allow all his work to be reset. His one remaining advantage was that the lone goddess knew that she could not completely destroy him, and it stayed her most powerful magic.

It still had to be the Elements of Harmony at the end of the day.

They stopped at a split in the guide rope, the beginning of a great circle around the unseen form of a sunken castle. Vanilla did not know how it had come to be so far underground, but he knew it was older than the mines without. The castle had been overrun with magical crystals, slowly growing and expanding across buttress, across wall, across tower and corridor and armament, vitrifying the structure over the course of centuries or more. The process was nearly complete, and, in places, the crystals were expanding into the cave floor.

“Here, here,” Silver Sun said, stopping at a patch of crystals that had encased a fallen flag pole. Its banner had become a rigid arch, its fabric distressed and dried by a fur of fine, needle-like gems. She looked back at the ponies uselessly. “Careful. Some of these are sharp.”

“This is it?” Rainbow asked.

“This is it.”

“We are out in the open,” Octavia said. “How can you tell that they are here?”

“‘Cause they’re here.”

Silver Sun ran her hooves delicately over the crystals before selecting one and gently picking at it, filling the darkness with tiny, metal ticks, before finally prying it loose.

“Get comfortable.”

“How are you going to see what you’re doing?” Twilight asked.

“By feel.”

Silver Sun began her quiet work, chipping at the crystal, feeling it with her hooves, selecting each tool from her bag with care and precision. Ten minutes passed before she had begun to size the so far unchanged crystal shard. The Elements, however, were silent as well. Silver Sun’s confidence was palpable as she moved, made adjustments, picked out her implements. To Vanilla’s touch, her mind was jumbled with orderly information and experience. A pragmatic mare.

Discord was hiding somewhere in the flooded wreckage of Applewood, waiting for Luna to quit his castle and either look elsewhere or return to Canterlot. Despite his advantages vanishing piece by piece, he still had time, more time than anyone else. He could wait, he could hide, he could let things stagnate all around him and lose nothing he had not already lost. It was not his job to keep the country running, and such was the nature of his magic and his reputation that it would implode without a princess at the helm. Both goddess and demigod knew this.

While Discord hid, Vanilla had time to himself, time to help the ponies, a bitter task, for he had lost patience with them as well.

“So… how long’s this gonna be?” Rainbow finally asked.

“As long as it takes,” Applejack said. “Just watch fer that monster.”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“You should have gone before we left,” Rarity said.

“I didn’t have to go then.”

“Just go here,” Pinkie said.

“Do not,” Rarity said.

“You can shuffle to the back and go somewhere back along the rope,” Vinyl said. “Hopefully it’ll dry before we get back to it.”

“I guess,” Rainbow said.

The nature of Vanilla’s binding precluded affection for the Elements or their friends, but, he thought, he probably would not like them even if he had the option. For being such important figures in the country’s culture and defense, they had remarkably little command over their magic. That a scattering of mere objects could render them helpless was a thought both foreign and ridiculous to Vanilla. In his world, magic surrounded all; one’s ability to use it did not rely on tools. For that reason, he had been insulted to find himself imprisoned inside a sigil when Discord had summoned him. In Tartarus, there were no sigils, for there was no need of them.

He would allow them to get their Elements and he would allow the crystals to undergo the process needed to impose upon their new bearers. Then, he would fulfill his order and move them. Discord had stipulated to separate them from their ship, so Vanilla would leave it back at the mines’ entrance and instead move a different airship to their location, fully furnished.

He was tired of living under Discord’s whimsical rule, and tired of watching the Elements flounder at each and every obstacle. Was it that they were truly not equipped to handle magic at the level being demanded, or were they dumb for their species, he wondered. It might not be their fault, but that did not soothe his frustration.

“Yeah, I gotta go,” Rainbow said. “Slide over.”

“How?” Twilight asked. “I’m not letting go of the rope.”

“Me neither.”

Eventually, they were able to get Rainbow to the back of the line, and she shuffled back to relieve herself in peace. She looked up and glared at Vanilla, who watched impassively.

The appearance of passivity, he had found, was the best way to face the Gaia. He could control his form, and thus appear always calm and collected, though he had not felt such in some months. He did not know how long he could persist in the other world before the magic that comprised him would flake away to nothing. The process had begun—for him, the scintillating shards of light that flecked from his surface were a source of merciless worry. Proximity to Tartarus gateways helped the condition, but less with each visit. Soon, he knew, mere geographical closeness would not suffice, and yet he could not reenter his land until Discord released him from his bindings. That Discord had threatened multiple times to never release him rang in him a deep, clear dread that shook his entire self.

Without magic, Vanilla was nothing in a literal sense. He had no body, no true form, nor even substance as defined by conventional thinking. He was the product of a semi-rare combination of magic and intention in Tartarus, a form composed of thought and enchantment which, with enough time to germinate, became able to perpetuate itself. As a body respires, Vanilla drew magic into himself and expelled it in different forms, himself nothing more than a piece of information that had access to common magic. He had once been asked to define his nature to Discord. After close to an hour of thought, he had settled on the imperfect analogy, “autonomous knowledge, sort of like a popular joke or rumor. That can cast spells.”

When Octavia had been enchanted on Thunderhead’s ghost ship, she had not seen Vanilla Cream because there was nothing to see. The magic he used was not the magic that made him, and the magic that made him was nothing but a collection of ambient powers focused upon a particularly strong imposition of disembodied will, an impression that grew weaker the longer it spent away from home.

He had no intention of telling the others of this, but also had no intention of lying to them if they asked.

“Okay, let me back in,” Rainbow said.

“Yer stayin’ in the back,” Applejack said. “Too much fuss bringin’ you up here.”

Rainbow huffed.

“Who wants to go first?” Silver Sun asked.

“What do you mean?” Twilight asked.

“I’ll do it,” Vinyl said.

“What’s your shape?” Silver Sun asked.

“Shape?”

“Cutie mark.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Musical note.”

“Mm-hm.”

“What type of musical note, Vinyl?” Fluttershy asked tiredly.

“Oh, sorry. Beamed quaver.”

“What’s it look like?” Silver Sun asked.

“It’s the one that looks like two little hooves hanging from a horizontal line. It’s filled in.”

Silver Sun replied in chipping gently at the crystal. “That’s a complicated shape.”

“Octavia’s is worse,” Rarity said.

“Mm?”

“Mine is a treble clef,” Octavia said.

“Not an octave clef?” Vinyl asked.

“No.”

“That’s the one looks like a ‘and’ symbol, right?” Silver Sun asked.

“Yes.”

Silver Sun hummed to herself, thinking. “We’ll be here all day if I have to carve these shapes out here.”

“Mine’s just an apple,” Big Mac said.

“I’ll carve ‘em later.” She dug around in her bag.

“So can we go back?” Pinkie asked. “I kinda need to go potty too.”

“We got one crystal prepped.”

“What else do you have to do out here?” Rainbow asked.

“Gotta set ‘em in their casings.”

“But you said you were gonna carve them later,” Colgate said. “Why set them now?”

Silver Sun scraped at the loose crystal with a file.

“These crystals are magical,” Twilight said. “She has to surround them with the gold in such a way that they maintain the important part of their magic but also don’t destroy themselves when we use them the first time.”

“How are you gonna melt gold without heat?” Colgate asked.

“It’s complicated,” Silver Sun mumbled, a ring gauge clasped tightly in her teeth.

“Ain’t gold too soft to hold these things?” Big Mac asked.

“Magic gold.”

Two and a half hours passed in tense semi-quiet as Silver Sun worked. Her method of melting the gold without heat proved to be a complicated system of potions that Twilight explained unbidden to her friends. As the gold was fed through each potion, it grew progressively softer until Silver Sun was left with a combination of weak acid and liquid gold, at which point, using the same potions as before, she fed the solution through, stripping the acid away through a monotonous magical and chemical process. What heat was produced in the sequence of reactions was dissipated across the thick surfaces of the beakers she used.

Colgate was at the back of the line with Rainbow and Pinkie, the two of them talking over her head about their former adventures. Her eyes ceaselessly scanned the darkness, afraid, not of the nameless creature that was said to dwell within, but of losing touch with the rope. Her attempt to ingratiate herself into their group had failed; they had seen no reason to make her an Element. As the decisive conversation had reached its end, she had felt her sense of security recede, but could say nothing for fear of expediting her own doom. If she were to push too hard for an Element, they would redouble, and she would surely lose what little time she had left—she could not fathom why they were waiting so long before cutting her loose in the darkness of the unexplored mines.

“That brownie sandwich with the strawberry ketchup,” Rainbow said abruptly. “That’s my favorite one.”

“Mine too!” Pinkie screeched. “I’ll make us one when we get back home!”

Rainbow laughed. “Make two, Pinks, ‘cause I ain’t sharing.”

“Desserts,” Colgate thought, the usual quick upturn of anxiety coloring her thought. “Celestia, is it really desserts, or is it some kind of code?”

“Cole, favorite dessert, go,” Rainbow said.

She put more of her weight on the post and tightened her foreleg around the guide rope. If they were going to cast her off, she was going to take at least one of them with her.

“Dessert, Cole?”

“Thinking,” Colgate snapped.

“Dang, sorry.”

“No, not like that. I mean…” “That’s it, that’s the end. That’s the last straw.” Her heart raced as sweat broke out on her head, despite the cave’s low temperatures. In her mind, Rainbow was bracing herself with her wings, preparing to shove Colgate off the rope and into the blackness. Her sharp tone had been her undoing in the end.

“Hey, no biggie,” Pinkie said. “My second favorite is that quadruple chocolate marshmallow hurricane sundae! Too bad it’s a seasonal.”

“What the heck is seasonable about that?” Rainbow asked.

“Uh, duh! The whole thing! Who needs a sundae in the winter time?”

Colgate tried to squeeze the rope tighter, but could not for her angle. Her chest hammered, and she could hear her own breathing; it seemed like the loudest thing in the cavern. It seemed inconceivable that Rainbow and Pinkie should gloss over such a misstep on her part, the perfect opportunity to be rid of her once and for all. Yet, they had done nothing.

“Could the Elements of Harmony be capable of stringing a pony along like this?” she wondered. Her immediate, impulsive response was that they were, but logic did not bear it out. Deciding to test the waters, Colgate cleared her throat.

“I like cheesecakes, myself.” She used her bedside voice: warmer, slower, and more enunciative than her speaking voice. “Caramel on top, or some chocolate chips is good.”

“Are you kidding? That’s my third favorite!” Pinkie cried. “Are you a mind reader?”

“I never got the appeal of cheesecakes,” Rainbow said. “If I’m ordering dessert, I want something sweet. Cheesecakes are sour.”

“Where are you ordering sour cheesecakes? They’re supposed to be fluffy and nice. Like me!”

“Hey!” Twilight snapped from the front. “Sorry girls. Fluttershy just spotted something out there.”

“Shit,” Rainbow blurted, and Pinkie giggled. Colgate’s pastern was sore from the grip she had on the rope, but she did not relax it as she turned her eyes outwards. It was not hard to see what it was Fluttershy had spotted. In the distance, too far off to hear, a faint yellow shape wavered. Pale light drifted deeper in its center, a wan core to a spectral, stellate collar of darker lines. It moved and flattened, and behind it extended even thinner, fainter lines of orange light. As a whole, the aspect appeared to pulse with infernal life, a living silhouette framed in dimensionless blackness. For Colgate, it appeared as a lone spirit adrift on the surface of a Tartarus gateway.

“You let me know if that thing gets closer,” Silver Sun said. “We might have to pack up in a bit.”

“How close are you to done with our Elements?” Octavia asked.

“Not.”

“Can you be more specific?” Big Mac asked.

“Mm.” She thought. “After this’n, I’ve got one more gold frame to make. Then we can hoof it.”

“So a while,” Rarity said, dread undisguised in her voice.

“Just watch.”

They watched. The work continued. No other sounds penetrated the darkness, no alien voices or beastly roars, and no other lights joined the first, a lone intruder that watched them watch it. Beside them, closer but not appearing to be so, Vanilla stood at attention, his placid eyes and face betraying none of the foreknowledge he possessed. As the light got neither closer nor farther away, options were weighed. Running, creating distractions, standing and fighting, hunkering down farther up the line and hoping it would pass them by.

“What are we gonna do ‘bout this?” Applejack whispered eventually.

“Don’t talk,” Twilight said. “It might hear us.”

“It can probably hear Silver Sun,” Vinyl said. At that, the tools stopped.

They waited, and soon observed the light nearer, once again shrunken into the dandelion shape of light, brighter and larger. Soft, heavy steps padded out into the endless darkness. The space they occupied was lost and unknowable save for the ground at their hooves, the rope at their sides, and the single mote of light moving closer, the only point of reference they had.

“Does it see us?” Rainbow asked.

“Not in this,” Colgate said.

“Standing here is not doing anything,” Octavia said. Most of them knew exactly what she was going to propose. “I know it is dangerous, but we should try to chase it off, or otherwise defend ourselves.”

“Yer not lettin’ go of this rope,” Applejack said.

“We have light.”

Twilight coughed. “Uhhh, maybe we shouldn’t—”

“We have light.”

“You wanna chase it off yerself?” Big Mac asked. “That what Ah’m hearin’?”

Octavia paused for just a second. “Yes. That is, I think I should be the one to do it, given the unicorns’ conditions.”

“Nope, that’s it, we’re going down the line,” Rainbow said, turning awkwardly and shuffling along the rope. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“It already knows that we are here. It will just follow us down the line; we cannot lose it.”

“We can try,” Pinkie said, butting up against Colgate, who stared at the feverish aspect. “Cole? C’mon, follow Dashie!”

“I should just handle it,” Octavia said.

“Well I say someone needs to make a decision,” Silver Sun said. “I ain’t not comin’ back from this.”

“Fine,” Big Mac said with a sigh. “If you can do it, do it.”

Colgate swiped sweat from her forehead. Her coat was sticky, her skin clammy, her mouth dry. Her heart still palpitated. She could feel them pushing her off the rope, could feel their hooves on her body in the dark. She wanted to lean away to escape the phantom feeling, but she could not release the rope.

Something like the clatter of rocks moved in the middle distance, and the light faltered before righting itself. Closer, thin, red veins of light were visible extending from the brighter core, tapered and faint like cracks wreathing an impact site. A dry, acidic smell met their noses.

In that moment, Colgate loosed her hold on the rope and took two fumbling steps into the darkness. In her mind, she had given up a losing battle of wills with the others; she had lost her own life, surely, but on her own terms. Free, as free as when she had left the clinic in Canterlot, she let the darkness cover her like a new set of clothes, filling her, completing the spaces between shards of joy and relief and terror, all tumbling inside her mind and setting her heart to beating even faster. She breathed deep, then stopped herself, trying instead to steady herself. In her private moment, she did not hear Octavia make her decision.

The set of hoofsteps beside her drew a delayed reaction. Her first thought was that it was one of the others to drag her back, but when she recognized Octavia’s voice, and Fluttershy’s behind, she recognized instead co-conspirators, partners in the terrible freedom she had found.

“This is plumb crazy,” Applejack said from back on the line.

“Light, Fluttershy,” Octavia said.

“Um… I mean…” Fluttershy pattered nervously ahead of Colgate, then activated a soft cone of light around the two of them, blinding after hours of darkness.

“I was looking right at it!” Pinkie cried.

“Well, whose fault is that?” Rainbow asked.

Colgate saw nothing of the approaching creature through Fluttershy’s magic, and trotted to catch up with them.

“Oh, Celesta, Colgate’s with ‘em,” Big Mac said.

“Cole! Get back here!” Rainbow called.

“You cannot help us,” Octavia said, glancing at Colgate. In her face was etched a tired determination, as if her self-appointed task were nothing new. Colgate saw only animosity, and pushed ahead, walking to the edge of the light and trying to spot the creature, seeing only afterimage.

“Dim that light, Fluttershy,” she said. “We’re not gonna see it until it’s on top of us.”

“Sorry,” Fluttershy said, and the light diminished into a dark, straw yellow that gleamed off the slick rocks and gave electric edges to the castle behind. Colgate could hear Twilight gasping at its aspect.

“We need to scare it off,” Octavia said. “I think I know how.”

“You’re not going to hurt it, are you?”

“If I must.”

“Octavia…”

“I know.” She sighed. “I know, Fluttershy.”

The smell of burning pitch grew stronger, and Colgate held out a hoof. “Lights off.”

“No,” Octavia said. “We will be blind again.”

“This light plus it’s natural light are gonna be too much. Turn that light off and let’s let our eyes adjust.”

“I do not like this,” Octavia said, even as the light went down again.

“Don’t blow it up.”

“I said I would not.”

“No, I mean don’t do any explosions in here,” Colgate said. She was reminded briefly of her time on the battlefield outside Canterlot, handling the nurses. For them, too, she had had to explain too much that seemed to her obvious. “We’re underground.”

“The ceiling is far above us. We will be fine.”

“There it is,” Fluttershy said.

“We don’t know how thin the floor is,” Colgate said.

Octavia was silent, and the creature slouched closer. Around its hot center, they could distinguish the outline of a stone maw, circular and rough, as if chiseled by an inexpert hoof. Around it, concentric arrowheads of liquid fire radiated in a sheer, conical arrangement that lost definition far before the lines themselves ended.

“W-well, what do we do?” Fluttershy asked.

“If we get behind it, perhaps we can draw it away,” Octavia said. “It was attracted by our noise.”

Fluttershy looked at Colgate, who studied the creature and its light, to her seeming two separate beings, one immediately behind the other, a perfect counterpart that inhered nothing of its forbear, and vice versa. It was as though the light were casting a shadow on itself, and the shadow, though larger, were not the thing to fear.

Watching with the same apathy as before, Vanilla stood behind.

Octavia, naught but a silhouette, sidestepped away from Colgate, face fixed on the approaching creature, whose stride had slowed. Thin legs hooked out from beneath a wide and widening face, absent eyes or other features, showing only the crude mouth of fire. Colgate looked into it for only a second before having to turn away, and saw nothing but a hot, emotionless void of magical flame. She could feel its heat and hear the soft crackling of fire, static under the percussive footsteps whose number, she noticed, did not match the number of legs she had seen on first inspection.

“Hey!” Octavia shouted.

The beast did not turn, but stopped its advance and wavered slightly on its legs. In the new light, Colgate counted seven, all of them thin and irregular, massed in no particular arrangement underneath a drill-like body. She and Fluttershy faced it head on, and could only see the shattered face, a vortex of ensiform fins fanned back along its body like a lion’s mane, each glowing with arteries of molten stone. It stood at nearly twice their height, its glowing, sulfurous mouth at eye level, its only defining feature.

“Fascinating,” Fluttershy whispered as Octavia tried again, unsuccessfully, to get its attention.

“It can’t hear you,” Colgate said. “I don’t think it hears.”

“I would welcome your suggestion!” Octavia barked.

Colgate licked her lips and walked toward the beast, her eyes revolving around the glowing center of its mouth, trying not to blind herself with a direct look. Fluttershy objected behind her and rushed to catch up, and Colgate shook her head. She felt hypnotized, caught in an amazed fall inward to the creature. Her old Datura training had amounted to nothing but isolation and betrayal, and yet, out in the world, they had found something that demanded her professional attention.

Emboldened, she walked on.

At seven feet away, she was bathed in a pale glow that made her eyes squint and her nostrils burn with each inhale. She could hear the fire rushing inside its body, which it turned to better face her. Some of its legs woodenly curled up and uncurled in a torturous half step that brought it no closer, but that she recognized. Hesitantly curious, the beast was considering meeting her.

“Get away from it!” Octavia shouted. A pair of small pops flattened her ears at the beast’s side as small lights burst, bright but flimsy against the creature’s natural light.

“Let’s just back away and reassess,” Fluttershy said, a note of pleading in her voice.

Colgate stared into the creature’s face, the pattern of layers to its fins, the lava glowing in a spiderweb around the borehole of its mouth. It had made no other moves, but it had not aimed the glowing hole away.

Something warm and insubstantial grabbed her from behind and dragged, and Colgate lost her balance with an outcry as she flailed her front half. The gray magic tugged at her as she kicked uselessly, and the beast was gone from her world so easily. It felt as though her mind and heart were exploding in tandem, the former into a world of bad ideas and desperate counters, the latter into a pool of unmoved blood and viscera in her chest cavity. She had no words to offer the emergency, and only breathed out a faint “no” as her back scraped across the floor.

When Octavia released her, Colgate lay where she was, chest heaving, eyes racing. Both of them were speaking, but Colgate’s ears were full of her own pulse. She shook as she watched Octavia walk past her, and gave no reaction to the sound of a larger explosion in the creature’s direction.

“Am I dead? Was that it?” She could not move. Her body was inert on the floor, her limbs cramping from holding an unusual position, but her breathing was slowing. She no longer felt her body in its space. It was as if, in a deft spell, Octavia had managed to cleave Colgate in two, spirit and body, and the body, deserted, would go on.

“Are you okay?” Fluttershy asked, leaning down.

Colgate froze, held her breath. Fluttershy was checking if she were still alive.

“Do you… did it get you?”

The second she breathed out, Fluttershy would get her. In her mind, she screamed, and her lips trembled as tears came up.

“Let’s get you further away,” Fluttershy said, putting a hoof to Colgate’s foreleg. “Does it hurt?”

Another explosion.

“Get ‘em, Octavia!” Pinkie cried out from afar.

“I’m fine,” Colgate managed to mumble, pushing herself partially up, hoping the ruse would be enough to fool Fluttershy.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“You look like you saw a ghost.”

Colgate blinked the tears back, some of them catching on her lashes and dripping onto her muzzle.

“Okay, come on,” Fluttershy said softly, raising one wing. “May I?”

Colgate looked at her, and Fluttershy retracted the wing.

“Back here, let’s catch our breath.”

They walked a distance away from the beast and Octavia opposed to it, the two staring into each other’s faces. She would occasionally let loose with a smaller explosion, and the beast would start, but neither rushed the other. Both poised, they looked to Colgate like the two halves of a mobile, waiting for something to come along and set them awhirl.

“Here okay?”

Colgate sat without thinking and looked at the ground, and Fluttershy sat near her.

“You’re not hurt?”

“Not hurt,” Colgate said. “I need to think.”

“Of course.”

She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing once more. Her pieces were drawing together. The spirit was closing in on the abandoned body, and the body was pulling itself back into working order. The magic that had taken her was gone, elsewhere occupied, and she was with someone who did not seem to share its goal.

She tried to say something small and innocuous, hoping that its intent be understood, but she could muster only an unsteady whimper.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You can tell me,” Fluttershy said.

Her impulse was to lie, to say that she had slipped and banged a knee, or that the monster was too hot. Holding it back, she asked herself what might the harm be in telling the truth. Fluttershy seemed an honest pony, and her Element, Colgate knew, couldn’t have come out of nowhere.

“She grabbed me,” Colgate said.

“She didn’t like how close you were getting to that thing.”

“Yeah.”

Fluttershy hesitated. “Do you not like to be… handled?”

Her skin crawled at what she was about to say, at the truth she was about to lay bare for Fluttershy’s judgment. If she were feeling the wrong thing, she knew, her only hope would turn on her. Then, she may as well charge out into the darkness and let the land claim her. In her mind’s eye, she could see her body doing exactly that. A blue speck disappearing.

“I don’t like being moved,” she said at last. Her mind was on alert, and she watched Octavia still squared off with the beast, neither of them giving any ground, neither making a move. Octavia was sweating and shaking. “She isn’t doing well.”

Fluttershy looked up at Octavia. “Oh no.” She lifted herself partially up, but stopped. “What do we do?”

Another explosion flared out on the creature’s face to no reaction. Fire licked across the stones’ surfaces, and for a second, a towering haze of dark smoke was visible, shaded into the unaccountable space above them.

“Oh, I get it,” Colgate said. “It likes heat.”

“What’s that? Heat?”

“I bet it found us because of our collective body heat.”

“Octavia!” Fluttershy called. “Stop!”

Octavia wiped sweat off her brow and looked at them impatiently.

That was why they had had to pass through the cold wall, Colgate realized. The twin moats of ice water, the lack of torches, the insistence on not taking along anything electrical or magical: all was in the service of bringing no heat into the back of the cave, and of making the border between back and front as cold as possible, as inhospitable to the beast as possible. No eyes, no ears, and a mouth that generated only fire and sulfur; it seemed obvious to Colgate, for whom it had clicked only suddenly.

“Let’s just make a fire back behind it,” Colgate said. “It’ll go to that and stay away from us.”

“How do you know?” Fluttershy asked.

Colgate explained her thoughts, her observations, while Octavia tried to batter the creature further. She was jerking closer with each blast, grunting and groaning with each exertion. Her eyes were narrowed and her stance was weak.

Octavia felt as trapped as Colgate, facing the stone furnace and assailing it with the only magic she felt confident using. She tempered her blows to not crack the floor, though it felt solid to her hooves.

She had targeted every spot on the beast’s rocky hide that she could imagine, punching her magic onto its scales, between them, into its glowing mouth, at the spots where its legs appeared, to no avail. Sometimes, it would shudder, and she would think she had found something, but it was only moving with the force of the air cushion she released with each will-depleting explosion.

Into its terrible face she stared, mesmerizing herself, trying and failing to conjure a solution. In the condemning spotlight, her shadow thrown behind her like trailing smoke off her slowly burning body, she locked her gaze and endlessly, unfeelingly circled some imaginary point of inevitable meeting. She could hear the fire like a muffled cyclone, smell the vapors that made her nose sting and her head light. Behind the beam through its mouth, Octavia could see a smooth lining of iridescent blue and green and red.

If her weaker magic did nothing at all, she did not believe her stronger magic would be enough to harm the creature; she held her energy still, fought the temptation to release a spasm of blasts, one leading into the other like beads pulled on a string, the weight of one dragging the rest behind. She stopped herself and tried to think.

She could not lift it, as she had Colgate, nor push it back. She could not teleport it or produce an illusion to frighten it. It crossed her mind to try to extinguish the fire within, but she knew no so much magic. Theoretically, she could reverse-engineer her magical explosions to create a spell with the opposite effect, but she knew not how to even begin something like that.

“Get away from it!” Fluttershy called, but Octavia did not look at her. She barely heard, their voices coming in to her ruined ear. She breathed in through her mouth, fighting the urge to cough at the prickle of ash in the back of her throat. Her mind tried to race, but through the combination of exhaustion, heat, and toxic air, she could only return to the same, routine answer, which was not an answer so much as a reminder of her inability. She must try harder.

Her earlier feats were forgotten, burned away in the light from the volcanic bore hole. It occurred to her that she may have reached her end in a slow, inglorious march toward hot doom as she gathered more useless magic.

Another explosion lashed out without her thinking, glancing across the creature’s mane and lighting the rumpled, fusiform backside for an instant. Nothing happened, and sweat dripped into her eyes. She shook a lock of mane out of her face, breathing heavy, legs trembling, heart hammering. Her power and will seemed to drip away with each spot of sweat, leaving her small in incapable, as if in the physical heat she were reverting back to her younger self.

Yet she could neither back away, lest she invite the creature to chase her back to the others, who were less equipped still to protect themselves. She flipped the wet stripe of mane out of her face again and momentarily lost her sight, the blood in her head seeming to evaporate for a second before reforming.

“Octavia, we figured it out,” Fluttershy said, her voice nearer. “Get out of there.”

Octavia shook, her eyes and nose burning.

Fluttershy’s voice was lost under the sound of fire, and she danced a pattern of colorful sparks in front of Octavia’s face. Octavia closed her eyes with a shake of her head, whipping cold sweat against her sides and neck, and glanced to Fluttershy, her one side illuminated to a color much the same as the light that covered it.

“I must do something,” Octavia managed. Her head was cloudy, and she was only partially aware of what she had said.

“Come around,” Fluttershy said, grabbing for her foreleg. “It’s not going to chase you.”

Octavia stumbled and nearly fell to the ground, but Fluttershy caught her. “We need a fire, Octavia. A nice, hot one.”

The creature took a step that put tremors through the floor, its light swinging gently to and fro as it ambled their way. In the flames’ activity inside its body, there was no change in pitch or speed. The engine in its belly purred with relentless ease, neither aggressive nor friendly, as if the creature had no will of its own and was simply a manifestation of something greater, a curse chosen to endlessly follow them.

“I do not know any fire,” Octavia said.

“Yes you do,” Fluttershy said, guiding her away, guiding the creature back toward Colgate, who watched, seated on the stone, with a blank face. Her eyes were dull, her face unimpressed; Vanilla, far behind, mirrored Colgate’s expression.

They turned a wide circle around the creature until it stood between them and the guide rope, and their backs were to the greater darkness from which their opponent had emerged. That there might be more like it out there somewhere was on their minds, but unvoiced.

“Deep breaths,” Fluttershy said, guiding Octavia into a tight crouch. Octavia’s eyes felt like they had been rubbed with sand, her sinuses the same. Her forehead still burned, and the sweat had turned tepid, which felt to her overheating body like ice. She shivered and cried out involuntarily.

“Deep breaths,” Fluttershy repeated. “Fresh air, away from all the smoke.”

Octavia breathed for a minute. “What do you require of me?”

“We need you to make a fire back here. It’s attracted to heat.”

Octavia stared dully at the beast, its advance once again arrested a moderate distance away, as if sizing them up.

“I do not know any fire spells.”

“You—don’t you? Can’t you just make an explosion, but… make it last?”

Octavia took a deep, clearing breath. “I do not know.”

“Rainbow Dash,” Colgate said in the distance. Her small hoofsteps pattered behind the creature, the pony herself unseen with her cohorts. Fluttershy and Octavia stood together in the unaccustomed light. The creature took another step toward them, unbidden. Its light rose and fell, a briefly disembodied star whose heat hit them like a physical blow, making both reel back, shocked. The heat was an affront, a sting that covered their skin and forced eyes shut and ears down. Octavia’s skin felt stretched and torn as she moved back, and the rock under her hooves felt no longer smooth, but sharp and thin, like walking on a hot grate. Fluttershy moaned, and it seemed to Octavia incorrect to join her; she grit her teeth and prepared herself for a larger explosion, seeing no alternative and no further time to find one.

“Don’t do it,” Fluttershy hissed. “You’re going to wear yourself out, you can’t hurt it that way.”

Her muscles relaxed, and the thought of the explosion died away. Colgate’s hoofsteps returned, and her voice, reedy and clipped, commanded but one thing: “Light! Light!”

“What?”

Into the burning glow Colgate stepped, the dullness from earlier replaced by a sharp, calm look that recognized nothing of the creature she put at her back. Octavia thought she could see Colgate’s fur smoking, but was not sure.

“Rainbow’s coming. Put on your light, back there.” She glanced at Octavia. “And you, get out of here.”

“I cannot,” Octavia said.

Colgate walked toward her and, with a firm hoof to her chest, pushed her back into Fluttershy, who stumbled out of the way. “Move it.” She hesitated. “I know what I’m doing.”

Behind her, Octavia slumped to the ground, holding onto one of Fluttershy’s wings. A different set beat through the darkness nearby, and Colgate repeated her request for light to Fluttershy, who cast a dim beam out into the abyss.

“Where?” Rainbow asked, body hidden in the darkness.

“Into Fluttershy’s light. Stay aloft as long as you can.”

“You’re not gonna—”

“We’ll be there, between you and the rope.”

The creature took another step, slightly faster than those before it, and its frontmost legs lifted a second time in preparation to continue its approach.

“Get her out of here,” she said to Fluttershy.

Colgate walked backwards with Rainbow into the light, keeping an eye on the beast, watching it for movement. It appeared torn between possible prey.

“You can keep yourself aloft for a long time?”

“As long as you need,” Rainbow said, unsure of herself. “You’re sure this’ll work?”

“It’ll work. Get your heat on.”

Rainbow landed for a second to ruffle her wings and rose into the ceiling of darkness. Colgate could feel the gentle swell of heat against the top of her skull, and not long after, saw the creature angle its face their way.

“How did you know I can do this?” Rainbow asked.

“I felt you doing it that one day on the bridge. I also heard you talking about it with someone.”

Rainbow didn’t comment, and Colgate walked back toward Octavia and Fluttershy, giving the creature a wide berth; it did not appear to notice, it was fixated on Rainbow’s bubble of warm air, its face drawn upwards inquisitively, pinning Rainbow in a broad beam that made her appear spectral against the velvet blackness behind.

Octavia went into a crouch and put her head down, breathing hard, and when Colgate drew near, she threw up. Fluttershy rushed to pat her back and ask if she was okay, and Colgate watched without reaction. Part of her felt impelled to action, but she did nothing until Octavia was finished, where she simply stopped aside Fluttershy and put her eyes back on the stone creature.

Rainbow had risen, suspended over its back like an ornament, while it slowly rotated, sometimes backing up a step to try to look up. Her wings flapped slowly, but her body was not relaxed; her hooves jutted at strange angles, as though she had forgotten where to put them, and her head was turned down, curling her body behind it as if caught in a somersault.

“It will stay this way?” Octavia asked.

“Should,” Colgate said. Behind, she could hear the others slowly resuming their work.

“I owe you many thanks. I would not have thought of this.”

“Mm.”

“I had no ideas.” She hung her head.

“That’s what friendship is for,” Fluttershy said eventually. “We help each other. Right, Colgate?”

Octavia flopped to the ground and Fluttershy started, but Octavia was only lying down; she did not throw up.

When Silver Sun at last announced that she was content with her work, made easier in the residual light off the creature’s heraldic body, a sigh rippled through the ponies amassed at the line. Under Colgate’s direction, they all spread out, going back up the rope with five minutes of distance between, so that their body heat would be spread too thin for the beast to follow them. She put Octavia toward the front and herself at the back, with Rainbow bringing up the rear, panting. Much farther behind her, Vanilla strolled and replaced the creature’s unholy light with his eerie, shineless brilliance.

Quiet conversation moved in pockets all along the rope, anticipating the return to the mines proper, brightening at the first sign of light. It was so faint that there could have been argument, but no one wanted to. At the first notice, everyone rushed to agree, and soon, laughter and occasional song made its way down to Colgate and Rainbow.

“How did you know about the heat thing?” Rainbow asked. In their distance from the creature—it had eventually slunk off into the darkness—she had edged closer to Colgate.

Colgate told her how she had figured it out. Rainbow’s vocal surprise, in turn, surprised her.

“So you just figured it all out, huh? Just like that?”

“It was not so amazing. All the information was there,” Colgate said.

“I wouldn’t have figured it out, is what I’m saying.”

“Okay.”

Her mind was on Octavia and what she had done, pulling her away from the creature with her magic. Colgate had felt no strong emotion to see Octavia sick not twenty minutes later, but imagined to herself that she would have imposed a punishment of its like, had she the ability.

Octavia’s expression of gratitude was the confusing thing. “Maybe she can’t control her emotions,” Colgate thought. “Aggressive one minute, thankful the next.” She ran through a list of common symptoms in her head. “Flattening of aspect, superficial charm… I wonder if she’s only pretending to be dumb sometimes.” Thinking it unwise to assume otherwise, Colgate asked herself what Octavia had to gain from such an act.

“She may have known she would be a new Element before I arrived. If so, she would have known to act this way from the beginning of my time, as a way to trick me. No, that doesn’t make sense. She chased me away from the rock thing.” She rubbed her flank against the rope; it was raw, where she had stood too close to the infernal creature.

“I wonder if she means me no harm.” Her thoughts stopped there and spun out on other things, and her focus was lost. An idea might coalesce later, or it might not; she did not mind either way, for she knew that she was, at least in the moment, safe. Her value to the group had been demonstrated. She could be their problem solver when Twilight was indisposed.

“When Twilight is indisposed.” Her heart jumped.

“Hey Cole?” Rainbow asked.

“What?”

“This is a total shot in the dark question, but do you know anything about secret agent ponies? Seeing that thing, it kinda reminded me of them.”

“I haven’t heard of anything like that.”

“Eh, no biggie. I’m just glad we’re done with it. What a day.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m glad someone finally found a use for my crummy magic, too.”

“You don’t like your magic?” Genuine interest piqued Colgate’s ears as she said it.

“I hate it.”

Colgate slowed her pace slightly, letting Rainbow draw up closer behind. Feeling she were about to hear something not meant for the others, she asked in a whisper, “Why?”

“I just do. It’s so… wimpy, it’s like a joke.”

“Any magic is stronger than no magic, though. I have none.”

“You have none now, you mean.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Huh. It’s like, when I think of myself, you know, I see pretty much pure awesomness. I’m the best flyer, I’m funny, I’ve got charm to spare, and all that stuff. But now that I’ve got magic, there’s like this one little, crappy, withered part of me, you know, and it’s like I kind of wish I never even had it to begin with, ‘cause then there wouldn’t be anything, you know, glaringly wrong with me.”

“You’re no unicorn.” She frowned. “Meaning that no one should expect you to do magic in the first place.”

“No, and I don’t think they do, but I do, you know?” She chuckled. “I guess I can’t stand to not be the best at something.”

“And this makes you dislike the magic? Why not dislike yourself instead?”

“What? Me? Heck no. I’m not gonna hate myself for something like this. I learned it straight, my magic isn’t worth two bits in a puddle.”

“So?”

“So there’s nothing I can do about it,” Rainbow said. “I wish the magic was gone, but I don’t hate myself for having it. That’s like… I dunno, like hating yourself for being blind or something.”

“That implies you can’t overcome it.”

“Can’t I? If I don’t have it, I don’t have it.”

“Ponies learn to work around things like that all the time,” Colgate said.

“Like how?” She scoffed. “Don’t tell me ponies in wheelchairs. That’s different.”

“There are tons of nurses who are addicted to prescription medications, but they do well enough at their jobs. Some of them.”

“Not for long, I bet.”

“One of the MAs was addicted to antidepressants during my residency,” Colgate said. “She never knew I knew.”

Rainbow was silent.

“Is that different too?”

“No, it’s just not what I was expecting to hear.”

“She had her addiction, but she learned to live around it.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“She had nothing to do with me.”

“Uhhhhh…” She thought for a second. “Yeah, I think it is different. Addiction’s something you choose—at least at first. I didn’t choose this.”

“She didn’t choose her predisposition.”

“Maybe.”

The conversation lapsed for a second, and, in the intervening, pregnant quiet, an idea burst forth inside Colgate and made it to her lips without prior consideration. “Can I tell you something?”

“What’s up?”

Feeling that she had overstepped some boundary, but lacking time to create a lie worthy of the indiscretion, Colgate stumbled into the truth. “Octavia did something that really bugged me today.” Understanding grimly settled over her. She had made a mistake yet again, and would need to own it.

“What happened?”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“She grabbed me with her magic and pulled me back, from the rock monster.”

“That bothers you?”

Colgate snapped her head back, just in case Rainbow were to try using her own weak magic. She couldn’t see anything behind her, certainly not the glow of magic. After a second, she said, “I don’t like being trapped.”

“Heck, who does?”

“It worried me a little.”

“Worried?”

“Scared.”

“You mean she caught you by surprise.”

“No,” Colgate said, getting annoyed. “I mean scared. Never mind.”

“No, hey, I’m sorry. Okay, it scared you. Why?”

“Never mind.”

“Why?”

Colgate trudged ahead. In the thin coming light, she could see the outline of the guide rope again, jostling gently as her companions brushed against it.

“Why, Colgate?”

It was still dark enough for her to disappear in a surprise dash, if she needed to, and Octavia was too far ahead to listen in. She decided to take her chances with the truth.

“I thought she was going to hurt me.”

“Uhhh, why?”

“I just did.”

“No, why would she hurt you?” Rainbow hesitated. “She wouldn’t ever do that to someone, not intentionally, anyway. None of us would.”

“Hm.”

“Least of all you.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I am.”

“Is that why you’re so antsy around us? You’re afraid one of us is gonna pop you or something?” She lowered her voice further, as if realizing the implication of such a fear. “Has that happened before?”

“Attempts,” Colgate said. In a way, she thought to herself, it was not a lie; she had survived so far, after all.

“Uh… huh.” Behind her, Rainbow was realizing that she had accidentally stepped into something she was not prepared to deal with. Colgate waited for the reprimand that did not come. “That really sucks, Cole. I’m sorry to hear it.”

Colgate frowned.

“I won’t ask you to tell me more if you don’t wanna.”

“That’s fine.” Her heart was slowly returning to a normal pace as the conversation drew to its natural close.

“For the record, no one here is like that. We won’t do… whatever, to you. You might tell Octavia you don’t want to be picked up again, though.”

“Yeah.” Her head swam as light grew in her eyes. She resolved to keep an eye on Rainbow in days to come.

At the cold wall, Twilight took the lead, pushing Silver Sun back to speak with the guards herself. They asked whether everyone was okay; they were, Twilight said. They asked about Octavia, who looked like death; something she had eaten, Twilight said.

“Nope, nothing even close,” Twilight said with false brightness when asked whether there had been any monster encounters. “I thought I heard something in the distance once, but nothing happened.”

Silver Sun had her bags inspected again, the unicorns had their horns unbound, and then they walked the short distance to the teleportation pavilion. Vanilla Cream was ever their white shadow, unseen by all to whom he did not intend to disclose himself.

They sat on the cold selvedge of a rock garden in a sparsely populated courtyard near where they had come out, and Silver Sun quietly pulled the new Elements out of her bag and let them look them over.

“They’re safe to touch fer the time,” she said. “Haven’t treated ‘em yet.”

“Does it matter that they’re the wrong colors?” Vinyl asked, turning her opalescent chunk over in her hooves. The nascent Elements were asymmetric, hyaline gouges from some massive parent crystal, each one ringed about the middle with a slender, tight hoop of pure gold.

“The colors’ll change when they impose on their host,” Silver Sun said.

“What ‘bout the shape?” Big Mac asked.

“That’s the rest of yer money. Shapin’ these ain’t easy.” She slapped the stone and rose. “Speakin’ of, let’s back to the shop so I can draw yer marks.” She glanced at Octavia’s clef and sighed.

Back at the shop, they waited awkwardly for Silver Sun to handle another customer who wanted a clasp repaired on a necklace, and then repaired to an anteroom, where they dispersed slowly to lounge on a wide ring of straw at the room’s walls. Silver Sun dragged a tall hookah pipe over to them and, setting it up, asked, “Why’d you lie ‘bout the critter?”

“If they knew we had encountered it, they’d want to know how we dealt with it,” Twilight said. “Us non-unicorns aren’t supposed to have magic.”

Silver Sun nodded and worked quietly for a time, as if that were enough explanation for her. When she had seated herself, hose dangling from the corner of her mouth, she looked to continue speaking, but instead inhaled a full cloud of smoke and passed it on to Vinyl.

“I figgered you’d found a way to smuggle unicorns in, or something. Disguised.”

“That’s an interestin’ thought,” Big Mac said. Vinyl blew a smoke ring at his head.

“So how long will it take to get these things…” Rarity’s eyes strayed to the door, where Vanilla stood. He smiled and held up a hoof, tapping at the imaginary watch. “Er, these Elements made?”

“Couple days, I reckon,” Silver Sun said.

Twilight coughed and passed the pipe on to Applejack, and Vinyl patted her back with a stifled giggle.

“What of the imposing process?” Fluttershy asked. She, too, watched Vanilla closely.

“Mm, couple minutes,” Silver Sun said. “That’s the easy thing.” She shifted in her seat and nodded as Applejack blew out a long plume through her nose. “Good?”

“Minty. Ah like it,” Applejack said. “Never had somethin’ like this before.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Fluttershy said, and Applejack passed it to Rarity.

“How come you need more Elements?” Silver Sun asked.

“Long story,” Vinyl said.

Silver Sun shrugged and got up. She rummaged around in a box for a moment and grabbed a second hose, affixing it to the hookah’s tarnished base and drawing deeply. After another couple plumes, she said, “I got time.”

“We don’t,” Rainbow said.

“Mm?”

“We should be hurrying,” Octavia said weakly.

“You sure yer gonna be okay?” Applejack asked. “That guard was right, you look like the shadow of death.” Her eyes flicked up to Vanilla.

“I am sure that it will pass.” She waved the offered pipe on, and Pinkie took it.

“Whoo, that goes to the head, doesn’t it?” Twilight asked.

“It certainly does,” Rarity said slowly.

“Y’all’s pansies,” Applejack said with a laugh. “It’s relaxin’.”

“Do ponies do this all the time down here?” Twilight asked.

“Some,” Silver Sun said.

“How do you vent the smoke? It has to collect down here sooner or later.”

“Never been a issue.”

Vanilla walked over and took a silent seat between Rarity and Fluttershy, who both shrunk from his intangible form. He looked to each one, smiled again, and looped a foreleg around Fluttershy’s hunched withers.

“I think we should be getting back,” Rarity said. “I… not to suggest that I’m not enjoying this.”

“I’m not,” Rainbow said. “This stuff is funky. It’s like, coating my tongue.”

“Do you drink the water afterwards?” Pinkie asked, blowing a smoke ring and then a smaller ring through it.

“We’ll get to the Elements in a minute,” Silver Sun said. “I need to get off my hooves.”

Colgate stared at Vanilla, who glanced her way.

“So how come you’ve got magic, then? No one told me about that.”

“It’s… Princess Celestia did it,” Twilight said. “I mean, she touched us, long ago. It’s not a common thing, nor is it exactly legal.”

Silver Sun nodded. “Got us out of a bind, you did.”

They smoked until the smoke became hot and harsh, then simply left the hookah in the other room and lined up against the counter, where Silver Sun laid out the three new Elements.

“Any preferences?” she asked.

“I will go first,” Octavia said. She approached and faltered. “What do I do?”

“Hang on.” Silver Sun grabbed the largest of the crystals and brought it to a small, stone basin set into the far wall. With the push of a switch, the basin filled with a strong-smelling liquid. “I’m gonna treat the jewel real quick, and then we’ll impose. Stick your hooves on the counter.” She poised her own forelegs on the counter, joints to the corner, as if ready to receive something that might fall into them. “Like this.”

Octavia did as told as Silver Sun dunked the crystal in the liquid. She pulled it out with a large ladle, which she held in her mouth, and dropped it into Octavia’s waiting hooves. Faint, magical light skittered across its surface, and, as Octavia held it, the magic slowly took on her color. “Just wait,” Silver Sun said. “It’s changin’ colors. Let it do its work.”

“How does it feel?” Pinkie asked.

“It is just like holding a stone,” Octavia said.

“Does it tickle?”

“No.”

When the Element was done, a dull purple shard in its golden ring, Silver Sun gently lifted it away and placed it on a line of paper towels in the back. “Next.”

Vinyl went next, her Element turning the sharp black of her cutie mark, and Big Mac last, his the smallest of the three, a thin chartreuse that Silver Sun held up for them to see through.

“That’ll about do it,” Silver Sun said. “I’m gonna let ‘em sit there for a hour or two, let the magic settle down. Then I’ll get to work. You can hang around, or you can go.”

“Two days, right?” Twilight asked.

“Two or three.”

Vanilla moved behind the counter and surveyed them all.

“Ah think we should get movin’. We’ve got places to be still,” Big Mac said. He shook Silver Sun’s hoof. “Good to meet you, Miss Sun.”

“And you.”

They departed the shop and walked several paces down the road before Vanilla caught up to them. Without speaking, they closed their eyes, and the magic was done. In one moment, they were in the chilly vaults under the ground, and in the next, they stood under the rattling, corrugated cover of a parking lot while a hot, desert wind blew spumes of dust across the macadam and into their tired, momentarily blinded faces.

The Sun Unbound

Chapter Ninety-four

The Sun Unbound

Dust and wind scratched the awning over their heads as they turned in awkward circles, their eyes adjusting to the new light. The electric magic in the mines was a poor imitation to the brown light coming through heavy clouds. The desert was shrouded in soot and dust, through which brighter light penetrated in narrow slashes, like cracks in a dark shellac. Dead trees bent and buildings groaned as their faces were gradually etched off.

The warm blacktop stretched away on both sides, forming a wide oval parking lot that contained no cars and no carriages, but a listing airship, paint chipped off its sides to reveal wooden ribs beneath and a patchwork balloon draped over the poop like a wrapper that had been carried deep into the wilderness on the ceaseless, dry storm. The ship was chained down to a circle of metal pegs embedded in the lot, hammered straight through the blacktop and taking up seven spaces all told. In the dust swirling just behind, it was a formidable aspect, a marooned giant watching over the land that had moved on without it.

They approached it cautiously, eyes squinted to keep out the dust. Droplets of warm rain soothed their coats as they crossed the space, legs tired from walking and minds dulled from encountering the monster in the mines so shortly before.

Completing a circuit around the ship to ascertain that it was abandoned, Rarity was the first to descry the column of smoke that reached above the modest skyline of small buildings into the firmament’s cusp. A toxic, black rope of smoke and ash, it ascended unbroken into the dusty clouds, inosculating with strands of gray cirrus to form a dark wound on the atmosphere. She lowered her head and closed her mouth, which had fallen open, as the others noticed what had drawn her attention so.

For a time, they only watched. The column’s outer surface billowed and changed subtly, a living artery of untold width connecting the heavens and the earth. The occasional flashes of light from earlier, clear through the haze that rested on their level, were not visible inside the column.

“Ah think this is Moondrop,” Big Mac said. “That there’s the saloon we walked past to get yer Element, Pinkie.”

“We should do something,” Vinyl said. “I don’t hear sirens.”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” Twilight said, putting her magic to the first chain and patiently working it away from its peg. “I bet that’s Princess Celestia’s prison that’s coming from.”

“How?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m not sure. Just a feeling.”

They released the ship, Rarity bracing it with a shield so the wind would not tip it, and waited while Applejack dissociated into it. When she was done, she gave her approval, and they boarded.

“We are stealing this, then?” Octavia asked, lying on her back near the splintering rail.

“I just assumed Vanilla left it for us,” Twilight said, Fluttershy nodding along. “He was pretty interested in helping us on our way.”

“We do not know that this is ours to take, though.”

Applejack paused at the cracked, plastic and rubber wheel. “Ladies? What’s the verdict?”

“I don’t wanna steal it if we don’t have to,” Vinyl said.

“No, here, look,” Pinkie said, holding a note in her teeth. “It says ‘all yours, V.’ V for Vanilla?”

“Where’d you find that?” Rainbow asked.

“It was tacked to door, back there.” She pointed to the doors to the captain’s quarters, partially covered by the deflated balloon.

“Let’s get this inflated,” Twilight said, grabbing the balloon and setting to work tying it to the rails. She was pleased to find that the patchwork appearance was in the pattern only, and no actual stitching had taken place. While she worked, Fluttershy righted the torch and bolted it to the deck.

“What do we have right now?” Vinyl asked. “Twilight? In that extra… space of yours?”

“One moment.” Twilight tied the last pair of ropes through a tarnished eye hole and slowly released their bags onto the deck.

“All of our personal supplies still,” Rarity said, picking through hers. “Where’s my brush?”

“Oh, I might have accidentally put it in mine,” Fluttershy said. “Sorry.”

“Enough food fer ‘bout… four, five days?” Big Mac said, looking at them all. “We’ll need to be careful.”

“We can ration fine,” Twilight said. “We’ve come this far. Water?”

“The same.”

“There are rivers and lakes as we go west,” Octavia said, still flat on her back. Her eyes were trained on the black column. “We can get water when we pass them, and even forage for food if we must. Though I would rather we not stop for that long.” Near, the torch hummed to life and then began breathing fire into the balloon.

“Here’s your books, Twilight,” Pinkie said.

“Where’s the treasury slip?” Rarity asked.

“I’ve got it,” Twilight said, flourishing a crumpled piece of paper. “And the map Princess Luna gave us.”

“Not much use now,” Rainbow said.

“Even so.”

“Octavia’s cello?” Applejack asked.

Octavia, hearing her name, rolled over to bring her good ear closer to Applejack.

“Yer cello?”

“Oh, that. That has been lost,” Octavia said. “I lost it on the angel.”

“Shoot, that’s right. Sorry.”

“It was damaged beyond repair before that.”

“Anything else?” Rarity asked. “Didn’t we get some pulse crystals?”

“We only talked about it, we didn’t actually do it,” Twilight said. “We should get some, though.”

“Ah don’t want one,” Big Mac said.

“You might need one,” Rainbow said.

“Ah’ll take my chances.”

“Do we have anything to use as face masks?” Vinyl asked.

“I’ve got some scarves,” Rarity said.

“We’ve all got our scarves,” Rainbow mumbled, earning a small smile from Rarity.

“Here, I’ve got one in my bag,” Fluttershy said, pulling it out. “I can tie it around your muzzle.”

Vinyl submitted to Fluttershy’s ministrations while Twilight pulled out a book.

As the balloon slowly inflated and the ship rocked against Rarity’s glassy shield, the column of smoke rose ever upwards, solid despite the wind that stirred everything else. The desert and town without were a morass of brown and brown-green. Waves of dust washed across flat plains of red earth where ragged patches of tobosa leaned, and beyond, just before the dust claimed the horizon, the outermost structures of Moondrop stood vigil. A lone road from town curved along an unseen contour in the landscape to join their parking lot, fenced on both sides with wire strung between tilting, wooden stakes. While they watched, a spiral of wire came loose and snapped into the wind, skidding and juddering away.

When they rose into the air, pendulous in the arid wind, Rarity released her shield with a quiet, contented sigh. Like the darkness in the back of the mines, the effusive dust seemed to hem them inside itself, and they could only see the entirety of Moondrop when they were right over it. Clapboard buildings and snakelike gutters appeared out of the sepia haze as they crossed the town. No one was outside to fight the wind or the dust, which mingled with smoke as they drew closer to the column.

Without consultation, Rarity raised a shield around their ship and stomped out a stray cinder that had landed at her hooves. The air was warm, but did not get warmer—sign of her prowess with the protective magic. A blackened gust broke across her shield, leaving golden traces of sparks in the air stream behind their propellers.

“Why are we going towards it?” Vinyl asked.

“Curiosity,” Applejack said. “Mostly. Ah don’t reckon we can do anythin’ to help it, but Ah wanna see.”

Octavia pushed herself up. “We should see it. We should see what we have done.”

“We didn’t do this,” Twilight said.

“Through our inaction—”

“He got us fair and square,” Rainbow said. “Laying the blame won’t help anypony.”

Through shimmering air, the airship dragged its own small trails of smoke closer to the crater that gave Moondrop its name. Through the dust, all that was clear was the wicked, black column, thick and seemingly alive, the smoke that appeared inert from a distance seen to boil and plume out of its earthen calyx with the warning sound of high-pressure sizzling, of stone turning to vapor. Closer they floated until they saw the crater’s edge, sloping into itself, red and smooth like exposed flesh. Smoke and steam rose in a gentler mist off its surface.

“Take us higher,” Rarity said. “But not closer.” Her ears were folded down, hers and the other unicorns’.

Applejack turned them parallel to the column and let them rise; she had to use the torch, for the other hot air was kept outside by Rarity’s shield. At a height to reduce Moondrop’s outer visible edges to the likeness of stones and snake tracks, they spotted deep in the column a light almost too dim to discern. A second sun cloaked inside the concentration of its power, reduced to ash and tossed up from the ruined ground to bisect the horizon and stain the sky.

“That’s her,” Twilight said. “That’s her prison.”

“Where’s all this smoke coming from?” Fluttershy asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Vinyl said. “I can feel the magic in my head.”

“Me too,” Rarity said.

“We should watch for a while,” Octavia said. After a second, she added, “I feel it too.”

Applejack took her eyes from the column after a minute more and put their backs to the crater. Twilight went with Octavia to the back and watched the scene gradually shrink. She remembered the ring of smaller crystalline prisons that rimmed the crater, now absent; they had been consumed by Celestia’s divine heat, they and the ground that held them, turned to lava and left to slide through the Tartarus gateway. She imagined what the center of the smoke might be like. The heat, enough to indiscriminately melt stone and flesh alike; the darkness, so unfitting to the intense heat; the pressure and toxicity, cutting off light and life. The sound, something like every fire in the world concentrated and muted into a low, constant pound, itself mingled with the radiating half-sound of magic that could drill down a unicorn’s horn and into her skull, leaving its own burning canal from air to brain, to which, after enough time, she might grow accustomed, long after losing her magic and her capacity to feel. Even from a distance that the crater’s new border was not visible, the magic came at them in a perpetual wave, a subsonic pitch that made Twilight instinctively close her eyes and cover her ears.

“To think, Luna was down in the middle of that,” Octavia said. “Trying to free her sister.”

“For days,” Twilight said. “Like I’ve said, they’re goddesses for a reason.”

“It is easy to forget sometimes.”

“I’m dropping the shield,” Rarity said, and a hot breeze washed over them with the smoke and dust. Their lungs burned with each cough, and many of them retreated to the captain’s quarters.

The ship’s clock read eight in the evening and its speedometer read just under two hundred miles per hour, enough to put them back to the mines in roughly three days or more, depending on Rainbow’s indefatigability. Twilight had spent the last several hours copying and laying down her sigils and enchantments to allow them to speed along on a pillow of wind and twin pockets of enchanted air. The sigil hat that Rainbow had to wear, the charm that allowed her to imprint magic onto the enchanted bubble of air she occupied, was fashioned from a wok, its bottom cut out and smoothed to a comfortable fit around her head, and a tangle of fishing line. Twilight had spent so long enchanting it that she did not register what had the rest of the deck nervously talking as they reached the first stretches of great, empty plain that stood between them and the new Elements.

“Yer sure the clock’s right?” Big Mac asked. “Could be Vanilla’s way of messin’ with us.”

“Ah thought of that,” Applejack said. “Ah dunno. Could be. Ah wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Do we know what time it was when we got out of Moondrop?” Rarity asked.

“No idea,” Vinyl said. “Couldn’t see the sun for all that dust.”

“What’s the problem?” Twilight asked, sitting down beside the wheel and holding a hoof to her eyes. The yellowed ground rolled out underneath them like a sun-baked carpet, cracked at the edges with the suggestions of greater chasms still un-mended. They were too far from anything for ponies to be repairing the wounded earth.

“Clock reads eight,” Pinkie said. “At night. Like eight at night.”

“Well, it must be wrong.”

“My sleep rhythm says different,” Applejack said. “Ah’ve got ‘bout two or three more hours in me, then Ah’m bushed.”

“I can go for another six or twelve,” Pinkie said, nodding thoughtfully. “Maybe just six.”

“I thought I saw the sun through the clouds in Moondrop,” Rarity said. “But I’m really not sure.” She looked back in the direction of the desert village, clearly marked by the bold, graphite divider on the pale brown smear of sky.

“We could always land and check the flowers,” Fluttershy said. “There are some that only open at night.”

“I don’t think it’s that important, if I’m honest,” Twilight said. “Besides, landing right now would be kind of a pain.”

“On that note, we do know we’re going the right way, right?” Vinyl asked.

“Ah’ve got us pointed right at those mountains,” Applejack said. “We’ll get there.”

* * * * * *

For Lacey Kisses, the news of Strawberry’s disappearance was a relief she could not relish. That she garnered no pleasure from the news registered in Reverend Green a flicker of hope, which manifested first on his face and then in his hooves as he crossed them over hers, the four clutched upon the newspaper upon the sticky table.

He nodded and rose, and she too. They were the sole occupants of a wide, gray concrete room, amassed with cheap plastic tables and chairs that scraped terribly whenever anyone moved them. To one side, the salad bar reflected overhead floodlights off its plastic tray covers beside its companion dessert bar, both on stout wheels and fitted with small, uncomfortable harnesses for the non-magical to pull them along. To the room’s other side, a middle aged, depressed looking unicorn rattled open the metal window to the counter. She gave Lacey and the reverend a nod and began lifting back covers on the various steaming things they would be serving that day.

They went behind the counter, and Reverend Green tied her apron for her as the first group of ponies entered. It was six in the morning, the day after the Elements had left Moondrop, and through the metal doors beamed a brilliant noontime sun. The ponies, however, were not speaking of it; it had shown all through the night, and Lacey suspected they, as she, were growing tired of the speculation and the worrying. Perhaps others elsewhere had not, but in the shelter, there were more immediate concerns.

“Mashed potatoes or corn, hon?” the middle-aged mare asked the first mare, who nodded sheepishly and said “corn—no! Potatoes. No, corn.”

Lacey’s job was to give them their rolls. With an extra long pair of tongs gasped in her mouth—the padding on the mouth end tasted of wax fruit—she maneuvered fat lumps of bread onto each passing tray with a smile and sometimes an attempt at a greeting. Many were regulars, but a couple of the ponies were new. She recognized the new ones when they recognized her; her previous profession had given her more repute than she had realized, especially in the Canterlot suburbs.

Cleaning up one evening prior, she had come face to face with her past self in a discarded magazine. She had stared at it for several minutes, trying to remember the particular shoot, the particular stallion she had acted with.

They served until their tins were empty and the scurrying pair of colts in the back had to fetch more, then took five minutes to get some water before going to tables.

“Will you wait until everyone else is finished again, sister?” Reverend Green asked, levitating his glasses into his shirt pocket.

“Probably,” Lacey said.

“If you’re hungry, go ahead and grab a plate now,” the other mare said. “The rev and I can hold it down for now.”

“Thanks, but I’m okay.” She scanned the room, more to not look at her two companions than to see the diners. Some were already nearly done with their breakfasts, and would be lining up at the salad and dessert carts. A pair of regular volunteers had materialized to work at them in the slow chaos.

“What are the cookies today?” Reverend Green asked.

“Chocolate chip raisin,” Lacey said. “Someone made them. Shoot, who was it? New guy.” She tapped her head with a hoof. “Why can’t I remember his name?”

“It will come,” he said, lowering her hoof. He glanced at his watch. “Time flies, hm?”

“Are you teaching today, Rev?” the other mare asked.

“That’s Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’m just on residential today.”

“I’ll bet it’s nice to have a varied schedule. Something different every day.” She shook her head. “This is all I have every week.”

“We’re always happy to have more volunteers,” Reverend Green said. “If you have the time, we have the space for you.”

“I wish I could, hon, I wish I could.” She glanced at Lacey, sipping a plastic cup of watery fruit punch. “Maybe Saturday, if Daffodil gets out of practice early enough.”

“We’ll be here,” Lacey said.

“As will they,” Reverend Green said soberly.

They dispersed amongst the tables, taking trays, picking up dropped cups, pointing out restrooms. Back in the kitchen, all the dirty trays were passed off to the colts, who eagerly set to washing them, jokes and laughter flying between them in the steam of the industrial dishwasher. When the last of the diners had left, Lacey, the reverend, and the middle-aged mare wiped and folded tablecloths, swept the floor, took back table numbers, and disposed of what little food remained. Lacey fixed herself a plate of collard greens, bread, mashed potatoes, and a dish of unspecific-tasting yellow pudding.

The reverend sat at her table, and she averted her eyes, knowing that she could not hide her feelings from him.

“This does not need to change your life,” he said. She wanted him to be talking about the nighttime’s curious absence, but knew he was speaking of something different.

“It won’t,” she said after a moment of thought. “I wasn’t planning on trying at him again. Not that I could have.”

“Do you regret that fact?”

“Maybe a little.”

He nodded.

“But it doesn’t matter. I didn’t, and I couldn’t.”

“And you’re all the better for it.”

She didn’t respond, and his elderly eyes returned to scanning the room. She had first come to the shelter for abuse victims nearly a month ago, mistaking it for a garden-variety soup kitchen and only finding out later how little she belonged with the other ponies, their stories and circumstances so much worse than her own.

Her second night, after a torturous interval of self doubt and indecision of whether to return at all, she had shared her very basic meal with a stallion and his two fillies. They would not look Lacey in the eyes, but he did as he outlined his story: years of belittling sexual routine and a hostage bank account until, one day, he had finally slipped away. His husband, he had added in a voice too low for the children to hear, was hard at work trying to convince the courts to give him the fillies back.

And the stories kept coming. Lacey didn’t have to ask, nor did she, but they came anyway. A friendly face was sometimes enough to get the basics from a new victim, and polite listening enough to get the details that always made Lacey never want to look in a mirror again for how insufficient she felt. The ponies she served were taking their lives back after the most horrendous abuses she could imagine, and she was hiding from a pony who might not even remember her—might not even be alive.

She stayed anyway, and eventually crossed paths with the reverend, her oldest and only friend and mentor. As he had in meetings passed, he had first looked at her and nodded to himself, as if she were the last piece of a puzzle he had kept to himself. He had been at the shelter long enough before she that he was in a position of unofficial management. It was because of him that she too had come to be a permanent fixture at the shelter, managing the dining room one day a week and serving and cleaning the remaining six.

“Will you wish to move on, now that this pony won’t be bothering you?” he asked her.

“I’ve got nowhere to go,” she said, spooning pudding into her mouth.

“You have this.”

“Besides this.”

He looked into her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s still… kind of weird, you know? Being here. Winding up here. What do you think I should do?”

“What do you think you should do?”

“I think…” She sighed. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.”

“Is this your path, Lacey?” Reverend Green asked.

Lacey rolled her eyes and put her chin down on the table. She hated the question; he had posed it multiple times, it seemed always before she was about to make a big mistake. Weeks before taking the job at the “modeling studio,” so she referred to it in those days, he had asked it in a letter to which she had not replied.

Older, she was able to parry his question with her own philosophy. “My path is my path. Whatever path I end up walking, that’s my path.”

“Is it the correct path?”

“It’s just the one I have.”

He adjusted his glasses.

“I imagine you’d like me to stay and help out while I figure out what to do with my life next, huh?”

He smiled at her. “What I like doesn’t matter, my sister. I might point out to you the effect you’ve had on many of our residents, however.”

“There’s no effect.”

“They like you very much. Many of our younger residents have come to see you as a sister figure of sorts, or a mother.”

Lacey shuddered involuntarily. She had played someone’s sister once, long ago.

“You’ve been good to these ponies, Lacey.”

“Just doing my job.”

“What’s wrong with this job?”

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong.”

He nodded, and she froze with a bite of greens poised precariously on her spoon.

“I’ve come to understand that my path is to intersect with yours in your times of greatest need,” he said.

“You got that right.”

He only looked at her, then got up from their table, leaving her to ponder what he had meant. She did so for a moment before turning her head to the opening doors and rising to greet the familiar face.

The red unicorn smiled with false cheer and shook Lacey’s hoof. “Just thought I’d come by and see if you all, uh, needed any more help.”

“We’re always happy for whatever you can give,” she said. “Shoot, I’m really sorry, I know we’ve met, but I can’t remember your name.”

“It’s no trouble,” he laughed. “Drift Dive.”

“Riiiight! Those cookies you made were delicious. We all had one—after the others got a chance at them, of course.”

“I’m glad you liked them.” He averted his eyes politely. “Anything at all that needs doing, you’ve got me. I don’t have anywhere to be today. Any day, really.”

* * * * * *

The ship sped out of the eastern desert and ground to a slower pace over the plateaus and mesas just outside Roan, the flat, arid land giving way to straggling shreds of dry wood and scrub brush. They had not stopped; they had covered nearly half their distance in the space of thirty hours, and Rainbow lay exhausted on the shower floor, letting cool water cover her face and chest. She had been flying on and off for sixteen of those thirty hours, and even at the leisurely pace that her magic required to do its work, she was drained.

Rarity was the silhouette outside the shower’s misted glass door, practicing her magic while Rainbow just breathed. Taking two shields, and then three, Rarity folded them onto each other, forming a tangled, layered pyramid. She held it before her for a minute before dispelling it.

“So how are things with you, Rare?” Rainbow asked.

“Me? I suppose I can’t complain.”

“All right.” She arched her back, letting more of her skull touch the wet floor. “How about a less nothing answer?”

Rarity put a hoof to her chin. “Going is slow, as I sort of thought it might be. It’s quite easy to fall into negative thought patterns, I’ve discovered, and without even noticing you’re doing it. I have to stop myself a couple times a day and think of something else.”

“But it’s working?”

“It works most of the time.”

“That’s good.” She rolled to one side and stuck a wing up into the cold stream. “Twilight tell you anything about the sky?”

“No, why?”

“I just figured you unicorns talked about magic stuff more often. Maybe she has an idea.”

“Sometimes we do. Not so much in this group though. Everyone’s more or less conversant on magic, after all.”

“Just wondering.”

“I’d like her to.”

“Still in her room?”

“Researching away.”

The door opened and Colgate entered. She looked about. “Oh.”

“We’ll be out of here in a couple minutes,” Rarity said.

“I can hold on.”

“Colgate, what do you think of the sky?” Rainbow asked.

Colgate sat down on the floor, a fair distance from Rarity. “I have no idea. The sun’s starting to go down again.”

“Really?”

“About time,” Rarity said. “It could be that our days are just getting longer. Though I guess that’s not great either, is it?”

“It’s probably Vanilla,” Colgate said. “Isn’t he the one behind most of the weird things that happen?”

“Him or Discord,” Rainbow said. “That’s obvious, though. I figured it was one of those two jokers all along.”

“What else do you want to know?”

“Do you have any speculation on what exactly is happening?” Rarity asked. “I think that’s what she’s trying to ask.”

“I’ve got no idea, as I said,” Colgate said. She left, and Rainbow and Rarity exchanged a look through the glass door.

“Can you imagine what Canterlot must be like right now?” Rarity asked. “For once, I’m glad to be so far away from everything. I know that sounds selfish.”

“I hear ya,” Rainbow said.

* * * * * *

Flitter had no car and not enough money to take a taxi, it being the end of her pay period, so the bus had been her ride of choice for the long commute to and from work. That week. Her time at The Equine Sun was growing stale quickly, her reports to Ink Pearl increasingly painful. Ink’s snappish, direct way of speaking grated on Flitter; her all business, all the time attitude making Flitter dread each call. There was too little to report, moreover. Most of the articles she found were benign pieces about city life, opinions on this or that new magical occurrence elsewhere in the world, or dry outlines of how the Equestrian corporations were weathering the new era of uncertainty. Whatever machinations Ink had put in place to find potential threats in the citizenry were either all yielding their fruit to someone else, or simply did not work.

The Pegasus Advocates and the Astras remained the one interesting narrative for Flitter, but she knew she could not tell Ink Pearl of her discoveries without risking another scolding. It was not technically her job to pay attention to those groups of ponies.

A sad-looking earth pony sat next to Flitter and did not make eye contact when she smiled at him. He had a book in his teeth, but he tucked it into his valise after a period of indecision. She turned her face out to the window, so he might not think she were paying attention to him.

The sun’s recent activity had, naturally, given rise to hundreds of articles for her to skim, and in the first day, she had thought it would be just what she needed to reinvigorate her job. It was not. Instead of the droves of interesting research and insight she thought she would unearth, she found the same group of six or seven experts giving the same general quotes. Some believed that it was the ultimate result of the steady weather unbinding that had been taking place out in the wilderness, and others thought that it was a more direct effect of Discord’s strengthening grip on their country. No one opined that either princess had lost even a fraction of their power or poise, nor were the princesses quoted on anything.

It did not surprise her, but she wondered nonetheless. Celestia was off on another diplomatic mission, but she surely was aware of what her sun was doing in her absence. Perhaps. Flitter thought, she was on her way back to set things right. For a second, she wondered how much of the Canterlot media had been put under Datura control for the occasion, if any. For that matter, how much always had been?

As Flitter read on, day after day, she grew more disgusted. It seemed as though every reporter had agreed to spin their stories toward blind optimism, that everything would be okay. One particular line had made her almost cry out in anger in the office: “What magic has done, so too will magic undo. Persist, Equestrians!” She understood—better than many, she liked to believe—how little it would take to push the city into a panic, and that no reporter wanted to be that final straw, but at the same time, a panic might not be so bad. With the sun no longer behaving rationally; the Elements of Harmony adrift somewhere in the huge, empty south; and Tartarus gateways still peppering the floating landscape like worn holes; a panicked march on the palace might be just what the princesses needed to spur them to action.

Beyond the one benignly hopeful note all reports seemed to fall on, everyone seemed singularly concerned about the implications for the surface environments: the cities, forests, lakes, and rivers. No one she had seen was discussing the atmosphere or the historical implications, how Cloudsdale was managing on more than a purely industrial basis or how Celestia’s cloud convoy would adjust.

Flitter tried not to be angry, for she was doing nothing to help, when she knew she might be able to. With scraps of writings in her room already, and intelligence enough to form them into cohesive articles, and even a potential outlet for those articles, she had done no work to counterbalance the glut of uninteresting, repetitive reports on the latest disaster.

Trying and failing to soften her mood with such thoughts, she walked along the warped fence, ignored the barking dog, and turned down the walk to Wings and Jet’s house. “Am I part of the problem, or just not part of the solution?” she thought, thinking alongside how nice it would be to lie down in front of the TV and have a cold one with her roommates.

The door was unlocked for her, and the two were already in the kitchen, squabbling over something in the fridge. Flitter walked past them, lacking the energy to follow their banter, even from the couch, and went to her bed. She grabbed a random piece of paper and read her own thoughts about how better to ration clouds and the ponies needed to produce them, trying to compare them to the articles that she read at work. There was a certain qualitative difference, but she could not define it.

“Well a good howdy-doo to you too, cuz,” Wings said in the threshold. “Long day? You look like a grump.”

“Just tired,” Flitter said.

“Working at a desk job for eight hours? No way,” Jet said, rolling her smiling eyes. “Nothing wakes up the old bones like sitting on your ass all day and doing whatever you do.”

“It’s only six hours a day nowadays,” Flitter said. “I sort mail for my first two hours.”

“Oh, well, never mind,” Jet said.

“Perhaps we should leave her alone,” Wings said.

“I don’t mind,” Flitter said. “Bug me if you want.”

“D’awwww, we’ll leave you,” Jet said.

“Dinner opinions?” Wings asked.

“Huh?”

“I’m asking if she has any thoughts on dinner.”

“Meaning, of course, pizza opinions,” Jet said. “‘Cause it’s pizza night.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Wings said.

“It should be.”

“Well let’s get it from somewhere else, at least. I feel weird when the delivery lady calls me by name.”

“I think it’s fun.”

“I don’t care,” Flitter interjected. “I’m open to whatever.”

“How about Dippy’s Deep Dish?” Jet asked. “I think I got a coupon somewhere.”

“You like deep dish, Flitter?”

“I like it okay,” Flitter said.

“Just as long as there’s no mushrooms on mine, I’ll live,” Wings said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, mushroom this, mushroom that.” She bumped Wings’ flank. “You think I’d forget?”

“Just bein’ safe, little buddy.”

Jet stuck out her tongue.

“Can I get banana peppers with mine?” Flitter asked.

“I dunno if they even have them.”

“If not, regular bell peppers are okay.”

“I might want to get just a salad or something,” Wings said. “Those deep dishes sometimes give me heartburn.”

“Awww,” Jet said. As if obeying some signal only they could see, the pair left Flitter alone, and she soon heard the shower running through her wall.

She frowned at the noise. “Just friends,” she murmured. “Geez.”

The oven clock said seven-thirty, but the sky said midnight. Their curtains were drawn and Wings was bent over the sink, slurping at the tap, trying to recover from eating one of Flitter’s banana peppers. Her head jerked up and her mane sprayed water on the clean towel when the doorbell rang, and Jet got up to get it.

“Solicitor?” she asked innocently, and Flitter looked excitedly; she was told that the two had a routine to deal with unwanted callers. What she saw, instead, made her blood chill.

“I’m actually a friend of Flitter’s,” Ink Pearl said, servicing a limp smile. “May I?”

“Flitter? That right?” Jet asked.

Flitter didn’t answer at first, instead staring at Ink Pearl in a white blouse with dark gray slacks and bulky glasses, looking like she had stepped out of an advertisement for office supplies. “Yeah, I know her,” Flitter said, reaching for her glass of iced tea. “Celestia, what does she want?” Quickly, she scanned the last couple days, trying to think of any mistakes she may have made.

Ink sat at the table without invitation and gestured at Wings, who came over, her entire front soaked. As the two pegasi assembled themselves, Ink looked at Flitter with a grave expression that Flitter read as “let me do the talking.” In the light, Flitter could see her purple fur underneath, and she mentally recoiled; Ink was the last pony she thought of in a sexual context.

“I am sorry to barge in on you like this, but I was hoping to meet you both here. Jet, right?” She shook hooves. “And then you must be wings. Stormy Rays, pleasure. I’m one of Flitter’s contacts at The Equine Sun.”

“Like a reporter?” Wings asked.

“Actually, no,” Ink said, smiling again. “I work for the Equestrian Climate Association.” She produced a business card and let the pegasi look at it. “Simulation coordinator. We usually handle things like cloud formations, wind routing, and those sorts of things, but… well, you’re aware of what’s going on with the sky.”

“Mm, no, hadn’t noticed a thing,” Jet said, and Wings laughed.

“Yes, quite,” Ink said. “My department has been tasked with compensating for the unstable day and night cycle in Canterlot, and it’s actually Flitter here who told me to come find you. We’re currently looking for talented engineers, electricians, light technicians, and so on. She said you both had some credentials I might be interested in.”

Flitter was rooted to her chair, amazed at how smoothly Ink spoke. When Wings and Jet turned to her, she could only smile and shrug.

“Kinda weird you’d be showing up at our doorsteps, rather than having Flits here just call you,” Wings said.

“Yeah, a little notice would have been nice, Flitter,” Jet said.

“I’m afraid I’m to blame for that,” Ink said. “I was in the neighborhood speaking to some other candidates, and I had more time than I thought I would. Some of them weren’t exactly what I had been told to expect, so the interviews were rather short.”

“Sorry,” Flitter said. “It totally slipped my mind.” Her eyes went to Ink’s sheer blouse for just a second, and she felt a blush begin. “Does she not know?”

“Yes, yes, I too,” Ink said. “If you’d like, I can come back later. It’s just—”

“Heck, you may as well stick now,” Jet said. “You’re already here.”

“So you are interested in the project?”

“We’re gonna need some details,” Wings said. “We already have jobs, first off.”

“Ah.” Ink went through her saddlebag and produced a sheaf of paperwork. “Yes, you would need to submit these to your employer. Oops, not this one, that’s the A-sixty. Hold on.” She shuffled through. “Here, this. If you submit it to your boss within fifteen days of accepting the ECA’s offer, they’re obligated to let you work for us, provided we only hold onto girls you for thirty days or two hundred-forty hours, whichever comes first.”

“That’s under the Greater Contractual Act, isn’t it?” Flitter asked. It wasn’t, but she wanted to poke at Ink’s knowledge.

Ink looked at Flitter. “That’s a common mistake; it’s actually under the Ecological Employment Act. Basically, any industry that directly works with the Equestrian climate or environment has the right to select qualified contractors from other jobs for certain periods of time. That’s a good question, though.”

“Thanks,” Flitter mumbled.

“Contractors, huh?” Jet asked.

“You’ll find all the appropriate paperwork right there,” Ink said. “Bank information, recognition of the EEA, yadda yadda yadda.”

“Howzabout a job description?” Wings asked. “You never quite got to that bit.”

“Yeah, what use do the weather ponies have for us?” Jet asked.

“And especially for us and not Flitter here? She actually has weatherpony experience.”

“It’s not weather management we’re doing, exactly,” Ink said, producing another stack of papers. “Which is what makes this so weird for us all. We’re setting up… here.” She shuffled through her forms and pulled out a diagram, depicting Canterlot, mountain and all, underneath a wide dome. The sky and the margins around it were filled with tiny, precise measurements, and the city below was labeled by its neighborhoods, each one numbered. “We’re implementing a magical dome above the city, to simulate the natural day and night cycle.”

“You’re putting up a fake sky?” Wings asked, laughter in her voice.

“I would think efforts would be better spent trying to fix the real one,” Jet said. “Just a suggestion.”

“This is a temporary measure,” Ink said. “I’m not at liberty to go into the specifics of the funding—you understand—but this comes from the throne.” She shrugged and gave an apologetic smile, to which Jet and Wings replied with their own understanding nods. “Bureaucracy, you know? Just doing my job, ladies.”

“What do you need us for?” Wings asked after a second.

“We need teams of experienced technicians to get all our lights working. Not just the sun, but the moonlight and the stars too, among other things that wouldn’t concern you. I’ve only got eighteen days to get it up and running, so I’m trying to be proactive and follow-up on as many leads as I can. As I said, that’s why I’m coming in earlier than I planned.”

“Eighteen days?” Flitter said.

“I know.”

“You don’t say,” Jet said.

“Question,” Wings said.

“Make it two.”

“Can’t the princess just, you know, do this with her magic already? Why do you weatherponies need to break your backs on something Celestia can probably do before her morning coffee?”

“Also, how much?”

“Yeah, how much does it pay?”

“I can’t explain the rationale of our princesses,” Ink said, inflecting the word with just a shade of sarcasm, the correct addition. “But you could be looking at anywhere between fifteen and sixty bits an hour, depending on what you’re doing.”

“I guess this is the bit where we talk credentials and junk,” Wings said, putting a wing around Jet.

“Only if you’re interested,” Ink said.

“What did you tell this lady, cuz?” Wings asked.

“Uh!” Flitter froze for a moment. “Not a whole lot. I mean, I don’t actually know much about your jobs, to be honest. You never talk about them around me. I just said, you know, you’re pretty good.”

“Pretty good,” Jet said.

“Gee, such glowing praise,” Wings said. “I’m amazed there’s only one of you suits busting down our door.”

“During pizza night of all nights.”

“You can call me some other time, if you’d like,” Ink said, getting up.

“Nah, get back here,” Wings said. “I wanna get this over with.”

“I want my pizza,” Jet said.

“I doubt it’ll take long.”

“I can make this very brief,” Ink said. “As you can see—”

“Do you have all the schematics completed on these star positions?” Jet asked.

“Yeah, this map isn’t the most detailed,” Wings said. “If we’re simulating regular nighttime, the stars have to change positions. How are we gonna deal with that without, like, infinite cables?”

“Also, where’s all this electricity coming from?”

“We’re working on that,” Ink said. “Each star has its own separate set of wiring to it.”

“Are we gonna have to hang everything?” Jet asked.

“Hopefully not,” Ink said. “The dome is actually complete, except for any revisions we have to make, which there shouldn’t be any.”

“It doesn’t seem to be in place,” Wings said.

Ink looked at her coolly. “It’s not. That’s the final step.”

“Gonna need a pretty big crane,” Jet mumbled into Wings’ ear.

“So you already had one of these things lying around?” Wings asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t talk about that,” Ink said. “These are good questions. Keep them coming.”

“What’s this?” Jet asked, finding another point in the job description. “‘Maintain sun track’. So you just have a giant rail across this thing?”

“Oh, you won’t be worrying about that. I’m sorry, this description is supposed to encapsulate every job that’s related to yours. Unicorns are going to be taking care of our sun, primarily.”

“So you’ve got unicorns crawling around on top of the dome too?” Wings asked. She shook her head.

“Some heck of an overhead,” Jet said.

“You really must be backed by the throne. Insurance rates for your flightless workers are gonna be sky high.”

“Much like the insured themselves.”

“We have all of that covered,” Ink said. “Look, here,” she indicated a couple pages in the job description, “this is what you’ll need to worry about.”

“Let’s see here,” Wings said, grabbing the papers away from Jet. “Hang, maintain, repair, da da da… light programming? That’s pretty unspecific.”

“You also said they were pre-hung,” Jet said.

“That’s in case a star needs to be moved for any reason,” Ink said.

“Oh.”

“Now, some lights will be on random cycles, to simulate comets and so on. Others will just be moving in pre-mapped patterns. That’s what the light programming is.”

“Okay, we can do that easy enough,” Jet said.

“I’m most worried about how this is all gonna be suspended,” Wings said. “You know, usually, stuff like this goes up in a theater or a concert hall or whatever, not just out over a friggin’ city. What happens if we get a little wind? What happens if we get some lightning and the whole puppy shorts?”

“For that matter, how about weather inside the dome, huh?” Jet asked. “You weatherponies gonna horde however many clouds or something?”

“All of this is taken care of already,” Ink said testily. “All you two need to worry about is programming and setting up the stars. Maybe only setting them up, depending on how long it takes.”

“What’s the pay rate for setter-uppers like us, then?” Wings asked.

“Now hang on, I’d like to discuss your credentials too. That is, if you have no more questions?”

“Plenty,” Jet said.

“Yeah, this whole plan sounds bogus,” Wings said. “How can they expect just one suit to get all this nonsense done in eighteen days? You’re gonna need thousands of workers for this.”

“There’s more than just me,” Ink said, a little defensively, “And we do have thousands of workers on this project.”

“So you actually expect this to all work out?”

“She’s not being sarcastic,” Jet said.

“Yeah, I’m not. You do have a timetable for all this, then?”

“I don’t suppose we can see it.”

“I’d have to ask my superior,” Ink said. “Now.”

“Sure, sure,” Jet said, waving a hoof. “Fine. I’ve got thirteen years—”

“Twelve for me,” Wings said.

“Yeah, twelve for Wings here, thirteen me. That’s practical experience all the way down. We can do live performances, concerts, shows, special occasions, corporate functions, you name it.”

“Films, news, TV,” Wings said. “We were with the Manehattan Observer for a while, that was probably the best job we had.”

“We both know how to train ponies, if you’ve got anyone new on your team.”

“What sort of educations do you have?” Ink asked.

“College, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing related to what we do now,” Wings said with a laugh. “If you must know, I got a bachelor’s in kinesiology, and Jet here has an associate’s in art history.”

“I see,” Ink said. “I don’t suppose you have a résumé I can look over?”

“Why, sure,” Jet said. “Just lemme reach under this cold pizza and grab it. I always keep one near me in case someone decides to offer me a job out of the blue.”

“All right, point taken. Do you have references I can call?”

“I’d like to refer you to the pizza comment,” Wings said.

“We work together, too. I like to get that on the table early.”

“Yeah, it’s both of us or neither of us.”

“We can accommodate that… need,” Ink said.

“Same team and everything?”

“Same team. How do you function under pressure?”

“Well as anyone, I’d say,” Wings said. “We know how to buckle down when the clock’s ticking.”

“If you’d like an example, we once had to tear down all the lights for an event and put up new ones when the director switched venues on us at the last second,” Jet said. “That was in the space of like four hours, something like that.”

“Essentials of Marketing Under New EWC Laws in Response to Ever-Changing Customer Needs, or something like that,” Wings said. “That presenter was a prick.”

“No flash, no zam.”

“We had to haul all our stuff halfway across town to get it to the new conference room, and he wouldn’t comp our gas money.”

“Okay, I get it,” Ink said, looking at them in much the same way Flitter sometimes would when they got on a roll, or were about to. “You clearly have a lot of knowledge and experience. Your questions show me that.”

“Now what are we actually applying for?” Jet asked. “What’s the job title? What duties?”

“In your packet—”

“You said that’s a list of the whole shebang, though,” Wings said. “What about us? Are we just star ponies? Are we doing the moon? Are we setting up dimmers on your night sky?”

“Yeah, what?” Jet echoed. She tapped the job description with a hoof.

“If you’ll just give me a moment, I’ll explain,” Ink Pearl said. Flitter could tell that the pegasi were getting to her. “Here, look these over.” She slid a pair of stapled packets to them. “These are all the essential forms to allow me to hire you.”

“Hire us as what?” Jet asked. “Again, you never said.”

“Maybe she’s evading the question,” Wings said.

“Yeah, maybe this is poorly run.”

“I need to figure out where to put you,” Ink said after a deep breath. “Okay? I have two hundred other new hires these last four days, so if you’ll just be patient, I can answer your questions. Is that okay?”

“Two hundred?” Wings asked.

Ink just shook her head.

“Whoever dumped this on you needs to get fired ASAP,” Jet said, looking through the forms. “Wings, what do you think? This all look okay to you?”

“That little blank space where it says ‘pay rate’ bugs me,” Wings said.

“I mean besides that.”

“Well gimme it and let me look through.”

Jet grabbed a slice of pizza and pointed it at Flitter. “What say you, Flits? This all seem right to you?”

Flitter just looked at her. She tried to recall Ink telling her of her plans, of the Datura’s plans, but nothing came through. The only word she had received when the sun started misbehaving was an impersonal call from Ink, essentially telling her to remain calm, keep doing her job, and that there were plans in place to deal with the problem. She was just as in the dark as her friends, her head filled with news articles, many useless. She wondered whether she had actually missed a comment from her superior, or if Ink were simply operating on her own. She blinked and nodded. “Yeah, seems above board to me.”

She could not rightly tell them the truth, after all.

“We could still use some programmers for our stars, specifically Constellation D13,” Ink said after a while. “I think I’ll start you there. How does forty bits an hour sound?”

“Forty-five,” Wings countered, not looking up from the forms spread out before her.

“I’m afraid I can’t authorize any flexibility on pay,” Ink said. “I would have to ask my superior about that.”

“Forty is fine,” Jet said, nudging Wings. “Fifteen days, you said?”

“Thirty.”

“Or a whole bunch of hours, if we’re pulling longer,” Wings said. “Yeah, forty is okay, I guess.”

“You guess,” Jet said, and Wings rolled her eyes.

After a few more questions, the two pegasi put their names and initials to their own stacks of papers, which Ink arranged, paper clipped together, and slid neatly into her saddlebag. They shook hooves, and Ink asked Flitter to join her outside, which she did with mute, disoriented surprise.

At her car, Ink leaned on the bumper and produced a water bottle. Flitter only watched her, still not sure if she were in trouble. With Ink, it was difficult to tell.

“That was cute in there,” Ink said.

“Huh?”

“Your question about the EEA.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She forced a chuckle.

“I’ve been keeping track of your work at The Equine Sun,” Ink said, and Flitter’s heart stopped for a second before she kept going. “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve found someone to take your place. She’s starting next week with the same job, same duties, all of that.”

“Uh. Oh.”

“You’ve been doing good, but I think I have somewhere better for you,” she continued. She looked straight at Flitter, and Flitter, meanwhile, kept her eyes orbiting Ink’s face, trying to avoid the blouse. “I know you like to be a little more hooves-on with your work, and this opportunity will be perfect for that.”

“Uh, yeah, that sounds good,” Flitter said. Her mind was spinning; she was still processing what had happened to Wings and Jet, the fact that Ink had simply invited herself in and swept her two roommates up into the Datura’s business, right in front of her and easy as anything. Realizing that Ink was waiting for more of an answer, she stumbled into another sentence. “I mean, any sort of opportunities for advancement, I’m open to ‘em. You know.”

“Get in,” Ink said. “We need to talk about this somewhere safer.”

“Uh.”

“Are you okay? I’ll have someone drop you back off.” She opened both doors with her horn. “Go on, say bye to your friends. You won’t be gone an hour.”

Flitter just looked at her for a second before complying. When she was seated in Ink’s car, smelling of stale gum and air freshener, she kept her eyes pinned to the streets in front of them, trying to ignore the stony silence between herself and her employer. “I’m being offered a job opportunity,” she told herself, but Ink’s countenance made it feel like she was being driven to her own execution.

Flitter paused on the walk up to Ink’s house to look at the rusty washing machine in the yard, wondering whether it served some obscure Datura purpose, or whether Ink was just messy.

“Let’s go,” Ink said from the door. “She’s waiting for us.”

“Who?” Flitter asked.

The inside of the house, like the inside of Ink’s car, was dusty and full of stale air. The furniture was sunken and sad looking, paint and varnish chipped away to give the coffee table and baseboards ugly, pocked looks. The TV was on and muted, the picture of a nature documentary moving under a fine layer of dust. The carpet was trodden flat and hard, and Flitter stepped over an ancient red wine stain that reminded her of a birthmark on a shaved patch of skin. She wrinkled her nose as they stepped into the kitchen, where a plastic tray sat, empty, by the sink. The smell of broccoli hung in the air, matching, she thought, the sickly green color of the room’s other tenant.

“This is Chilly Clouds,” Ink Pearl said. “Chilly, Flitter.”

“Good to meet you,” Chilly said, offering a weak hoofshake. Her eyes were pale and rheumy, and her lank mane hung in one thick stem off to one side like an oddly positioned handle. Her horn glowed a ghastly pastel pink as she slid a chair out for Flitter.

“So…” Flitter said.

“The PAs are making more noise than usual,” Ink said. “They’ve been documented using magic now some twenty times in the last weeks. That’s not good.”

Flitter’s mouth went dry. She wanted to blurt out that she knew, that she had been keeping track of exactly that, but she couldn’t.

“We need to figure out what’s going on, where they’re getting their magic, how they’re using it, and, if need be, how we can cut them off.”

“Well, some ponies think they’re getting it off the Astras,” Flitter managed.

“That’s just conjecture. We need to know, Flitter.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that.” Instead, she said, “okay.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have any plants in the PA group right now,” Chilly Clouds said.

“None?”

“Not since after the battle,” Ink said. “They had to disappear, just like everyone else. They’re part of the Datura too.”

“Yeah.”

“I want someone to go into the PA group and poke around a little, do some investigation, and report back to me. I thought you might like the opportunity before I opened it up to someone else.”

Flitter blinked and shook her head. “Huh? Oh, I mean, wow, that’s kind of a big jump from desk work, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure you can do it. Your work so far has been exceptional.”

“It has?”

“I know I probably don’t say it enough, but we all really appreciate what each and every one of you do for the team,” Ink said. “You’ve been a tremendous help, Flitter.”

Flitter looked at her, taken aback. “I… guess I can do it. Isn’t it, like, dangerous, though? They don’t just welcome any old pegasus.”

“That’s where I come in, actually,” Chilly Clouds said.

“We would be able to send you in as is,” Ink said, “but your friends.”

“What about ‘em?” Flitter asked. “Er, actually… never mind, after this. I have a question.”

“Mm. Your friends accidentally met some PAs, right? So they could potentially track you back to them, if they wanted. That’s why we need Chilly here.”

“I’m confused. Why—”

“I’m getting there.”

“Okay.” She privately doubted Ink was getting there; she had been about to ask how Ink knew of the incident at the PA bar.

Ink paused to look at Flitter, who shrunk under her hard eyes.

“If you want to be a part of the PAs, you’ll need a disguise,” Chilly said, reaching below to a small bag and pulling out a vial of brown liquid. She set it deliberately beside her glass of water.

“A disguise, okay,” Flitter said. “Is that it? Do I drink it or something?”

“That’s something else, don’t worry about it,” Ink said.

Flitter frowned.

“For something like this, where you’d be among the subjects for an extended period of time, your disguise needs to be not just more sophisticated, but more permanent,” Chilly said. “For situations like these, we usually give our Daturas new bodies entirely.”

In the silence that followed, Flitter thought she could hear the muted TV in the other room.

“You look like you have a question,” Ink said.

“Yyyyyyeah, maybe. You said a new body? Like… what does that mean? Did I hear that right?”

“You’ll still retain your identity and your personality,” Chilly said. “Everything that makes Flitter, Flitter, will be there. Just wrapped in a new skin.”

“New skin?”

“New body,” Ink repeated. “She means new skin, new organs, new fur, new skeleton, the whole thing.”

Chilly was nodding along.

“Right,” Flitter said. She laughed nervously. “Ummm, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting that, you know? I thought ‘under cover’ was like, new name, funny clothes, maybe some slight face modification—like contacts or nostril dilators or whatever.”

“That’s natural,” Ink said. Her unflinching eyes and hard voice, however, suggested to Flitter that it was not. That by asking questions, Flitter was violating an unspoken requirement, or taking more time than Ink was willing to give to the meeting.

“It’s not a dangerous procedure,” Chilly said after a sip of water. “We’ll have the body prepared for you well in advance, you can even make requests on things like appearance and physical performance, if you’d like.”

“Chilly Clouds has been making bodies for years. She’s one of the most qualified body architects in Canterlot.”

“There’s more than one of you?” Flitter asked.

“Several,” Chilly Clouds said. “I learned from the best this side of the Everfree.”

“That’s… whoa.” Flitter looked back at the brown vial, suddenly realizing what it was for. “So is that a memory wipe? If I decline, am I not authorized to know about this, uh, body thing?”

“You would just go back to your position at The Equine Sun,” Ink said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Take some time to think about it.”

“Yeah. Uh…” She looked between the two unicorns, both intimidating in different ways. Ink looked forward as always, eyes like a statue’s eyes, intent and observant. Chilly leaned back in her chair, eyes on her water, on the memory wipe potion. She looked ill, reduced somehow, but Flitter was certain that it was only a look. Despite her depressed appearance, she managed to radiate her own sort of quiet confidence. Where Ink appeared ready for anything, Chilly appeared as though she had already seen all her options and deemed them satisfactory.

“We’ll leave you to think on your own, if you’d like,” Ink said. “If you have any questions, we’ll be in the other room.” Without a word, Chilly rose to join her in the living room. She left the potion out, and Flitter knew it was not from forgetfulness.

The choice was technically hers, but there was really no choice to make. A refusal would lead to a memory wipe, and likely the closing of other opportunities down the line. True, it might not be her only chance at something different, but she had no way to know that. Easily, and disguised as a benevolent job offer, Ink had boxed her in.

Her thoughts went back to Jet and Wings, taken just as easily and enfolded in Datura business with neither of them the wiser. For that, too, Flitter had been trapped; she could not have contradicted anything Ink offered them, any lie she might give, and so had unwittingly given them her consent, her vote of confidence in a plan that she had not heard of and had no reason to believe was even what Ink described.

“Celestia, what if one of them is gonna give their body to me?” she thought. “Can they do that? Would they?”

She eyed the potion. “She could have floated the idea past me first. ‘Hey, Flitter, how would you feel about doing some undercover work for me?’ That’s it, no other details, and then if I said ‘yeah’, then we get to this… this.” The bottle was small enough to hide in a vest pocket, made of unmarked glass with a metallic blue ribbon around its neck. Among other bottles, it could have been a small vessel of salad dressing.

No questions even came to mind. The job was too far away from anything she had done or heard of before; she had no idea where to start, what sort of question to ask to give herself a starting place. Where would they get the body? How would she infiltrate the PAs? What would she do once she got there? Why was a memory wipe potion even necessary, other than to dissuade her from declining the offer?

“For that matter, why do they need to coerce me into taking this?” She looked up at the sound of one of them moving about on the couch.

“I’ve gotta do it, right? The only other option is going back to the Sun. I guess…” Thoughts of desk work, of routing calls and sorting mail, filled her head. “I know I can’t do that forever. That, or things like it.” Wildly, it crossed her mind that the whole thing had been a setup, that her job at The Equine Sun was there to provide her sufficient reason to take any other option offered, but she dismissed it as paranoid.

“Question,” Flitter said. Both unicorns swept into the dining room and stayed standing by the table. “Uh… I’m interested, but where exactly are these bodies coming from?”

“We make them from templates, mostly,” Chilly said. “I’ve got a couple basic models for you.”

“What does that mean, make them?”

“She makes them from scratch,” Ink said.

“That must be hard.” She tried to imagine the process.

“You said you’re interested.”

“I—yeah, I think so. I’m just not really sure how to go about… well, anything, I guess. I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Chilly said. “I’ll have you over to my place a few times so we can work out the details on your body.”

“I’ll provide all the necessary information and instructions soon,” Ink said. “I need to finalize the sky dome and your replacement, plus there’s some difficulty with one of the watchpoints.” She sighed. “Lots to do, Flitter.”

“I don’t really sympathize with the PA cause,” Flitter said. “Isn’t that gonna be a problem?”

“I can arrange for acting lessons, if you need them.”

“Uh.” She looked back at the bottle. It had not occurred that she would need to act; in the shock, that detail had turned invisible. “What about my body? Where does it go?”

“Standard procedure is to incinerate it after a seven-day waiting period,” Chilly said.

“Incinerate!” She looked back at her wings, the thought of her lilac feathers curling up in a ball of flame.

“Some ponies like to keep pieces of themselves as mementos,” Ink said. “You can have a small bone or an imprint of a feather, if you’d like. No teeth, I’m afraid.”

“Right.”

“I’d like you to just sign this, please.” Ink pulled out a single page and floated it to Flitter. “It’s just proof of your acceptance of the new job.”

“I haven’t agreed!” She looked at Ink, who looked down at her from across the table. Everything, every detail, suddenly seemed pre-planned, even their positions in the room. Flitter felt insignificant, a minor detail that her boss wished were in someone else’s care. The compliment from earlier, even in her ringing ears, had been clearly false; Ink didn’t care.

“Well?”

“I can’t quit, right? Where would I go?”

Ink tapped the paper.

“I never had to sign one of these before,” Flitter finally said, studying its face. The phrase “until death or discharge” popped out at her.

“As jobs get more advanced, we start requiring these,” Ink said. “Liability reasons.”

“Liability?” “I guess I would be infiltrating a group of… nasty ponies.” “I guess that makes sense.” She looked at the bottle once more, its simplicity on the table so implacable, like a talisman in a sordid ritual, its authority and its power above question or reproach.

She stuck the pen in her dry mouth and scribbled out her name on the bottom of the paper, feeling, even in the first seconds, like she had just signed away more than the flesh and blood she had been born with.

* * * * * *

Whooves sat at the table’s head with his coltfriend, Porchlight, to one side and Violet Astra to the other. After numerous invitations, he had finally dropped pretense and begged her to come to one of his parties, to show the others that their friendship was no farce. Two days later, at Porchlight’s house, she shook hooves and smiled, accepted kisses on the cheek and playful flirtations from some of the bolder guests, and pretended with expertise beyond her age that she did not wish she could be anywhere else.

She had told herself that it would be good to get out and do something, to meet new ponies, to attend a party of which she or her family were not the focus, but there was simply too much on her mind for her to let go.

They had been close to finalizing their crow’s design and securing the necessary resources to build it; they had been poised to go back home inside a week’s time. When the Mansels had appeared, she had not thought that having them disappear would create ripples strong enough to bind them to the capital city and its growing power vacuum, despite advice to the contrary. With the Mansels injured in Canterlot and disastrously distracted at home, it had seemed the perfect opportunity to gain some ground in the long, icy conflict between them, but all they had done was wake up every news outlet in the city, and with them, the Pegasus Advocates, appearing out of the woodwork and inserting their name and reputation where they did not belong. She had originally hidden behind the question, “How could I have known?” but knew that it didn’t solve anything.

Violet and her family members now routinely wore disguises when going out, lest they encounter any wandering reporters. That the Astras were the source of the PAs’ newfound magic was untrue, but more and more ponies seemed to find credibility in the idea, and gathering the resources for their crow became more and more difficult as the task itself became more and more secondary to protecting the family name.

There were those who had rushed to defend the Astras, but they were the same ponies as always, known apologists, sycophants, and PR specialists, and only some on the Astra payroll. It was as though the citizens wanted so badly to find someone to blame for the recent PA trouble that they were prepared to blame the first target that came along, and any effort to defend her family’s name simply made them seem more suspicious.

Whooves had warned her before the party—just before, as she sat at the table—that one reporter friend of his was a strong anti-Astra writer, and there was “an outside chance” he might appear at the dinner party. She tried to hide her face with a hoof whenever she talked, unable to disguise herself should the pony in question appear.

As she toyed with the trio of spoons laid out on her napkin, waiting for the first course to be served and waiting for discussion to turn her way, she tried to contemplate her most immediate problem. They had recently taken in a refuge, a disheveled and very paranoid unicorn who claimed to be on the run from the same PAs that her family was said to be aiding in secret. They had put him in up in a hotel for the time, just long enough to figure out what to do with him, and it was Onyx Astra, a cousin of hers, who had pointed out the possible benefit he might be to their cause.

If they spoke to the right ponies, or if they could get him to speak—doubtful, all agreed—it could be just the piece of evidence needed to divorce themselves from the malignant PA association. They simply needed to find enough writers who were still willing to trust them, and this, too, had factored into Violet’s decision to attend Whooves’ dinner party.

Whippoorwill, meanwhile, felt no indecision from his cramped hotel room. The Astras had promised him a more comfortable living situation in a few days, and he had politely assured them that anything they could do would be better than what he could do for himself.

He was not particularly surprised to find his former enmity of the family had faded away as he spent time alone in the room. They had taken him in, helped him in his hour of direst need, and even bought him some more clothes—though few were to his liking. The Mansels, meanwhile, had sent him out to Canterlot with only a vague duty and an even vaguer notion of reward before abandoning him. Whether justified or not, he had been forgotten about.

He picked up the phone and dialed out to White Wine’s number, first her home and then her bar. He sat on the bed, comfortable in a bath robe, and twirled the phone cord with a hoof as the phone rang.

“Velocity,” a gruff voice said.

“Uh, yes, hi. Is White Wine available please?”

“Speaking?”

“My name’s Strawberry. I’m one of her friends. Er, business friends.”

A pause. “Hold on.”

Whippoorwill tried to angle his head to see through the space between the drawn curtains. It was still dark out, and had been all day.

The background noise through the phone cut off, and White Wine spoke with a tired drone. “What do you want?”

“Good evenin’ to you too.”

“What do you want?”

He smiled humorlessly. “How does a truce sound, old friend?”

“Let me think,” she said. “You get none.”

“None? Nothin’ at all? Now Ah’d’ve thought you siccin’ yer buddies on me would have maybe evened that playin’ field, Miss Wine.”

“I can see that it didn’t.”

“Mm, now that is sad to hear.”

“Goodbye, Whippoorwill.”

“Now hold on a sec! Now just you hold on, ‘cause Ah sure ain’t done speakin’ my piece.”

“Shame.”

“Strawberry!” He cried. For a second, he hoped his neighbors hadn’t heard.

She sighed. “What, then?”

“Now, since you didn’t see it in yer heart to cut me in on this little operation you two had cookin’, even after my generous offer, Ah felt it prudent to exercise a little pressure. A negotiatin’ tactic, one might say. Clean out those ears, ‘cause Ah do want you to hear this.”

On the other line, he could hear her breathing. For a second, he just listened, and in that second, he considered hanging up and never calling again.

“Get on with it, you slime ball,” White Wine said.

“Yes. Indeed. The body, Wine. Ah imagine you’ve still got it?”

“You know I don’t.”

“No? Ah did happen to get a good look at yer little trailer park before things went south, Miss Wine; it seemed awfully full. Lots of room fer pryin’ eyes an’ loose lips out there, but not quite so much room fer that Strawberry feller. Ah’m not so sure Ah believe he ain’t just sittin’ there still, turnin’ into soup on yer floor. Maybe under yer floor.”

She was quiet.

“Or maybe Ah’m wrong, an’ you did manage to give him the restin’ place he deserves. Now what, White Wine, what is stopping me from dialing up the police an’ puttin’ a bug in their ear? Ah reckon with some of them sniffin’ dogs they got, that great big trailer park wouldn’t do much good to hide yer buddy.”

“You’re reaching for nothing.”

“That right? Would you like to wager on it?”

Again, she was quiet.

“So this here’s my offer, an’ maybe you should think it over a little bit better this time before sendin’ goons my way. You cut me in, fifty fifty, like the good friends an’ teammates we are, an’ Ah’ll keep my mouth shut on this nasty affair. See, it’ll be very much in my interest to keep quiet about it then. You understand, don’t ya?”

“I understand.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Yer gonna need to speak up, honey.”

“I said I understand.”

“Ah! Lovely, lovely. So how’s this? Ah assume you’ve already got the preliminaries in motion, takin’ over his old operation an’ whatnot. Yer a practical mare, after all.” He paused for effect. “Tell me what you’d have me do to make this run smoother, an’ Ah’ll do it. How sweet is that?” He paused again. “That’s all after yer first payout to me, of course.”

“You expect me to run all this myself?”

“You were gonna do it anyway, were you not?”

“For a hundred percent of the profit, I was.”

“Well now it’s fifty.”

She sighed. “We’ll talk. I have some things to work out.”

“Ah’ve got time. Let’s talk now.”

“I don’t.” She hung up, and he replaced the phone carefully, as if the traces of her hatred might rub off it if he moved too quickly. He smiled to himself, wanting to feel assured, wanting to feel confident that he finally had her, but he could not be certain.

At Velocity, its business improving with the day-long night, White Wine emerged from her basement office with a picture in her teeth. She walked to the back of the club without looking at anyone. Most ponies, patrons and employees alike, followed her, seeing the picture and seeing the purpose in her stride. Through a manipulation of wing and mouth, she pinned the picture on the cork board, covering the happy hour menu.

She waited for the talking to die down.

“His name is Whippoorwill, and he’s currently on the run somewhere in the city. Four-thousand bits to the pony or ponies who bring me his head.”

Creation Lake

Chapter Ninety-five

Creation Lake

It was gloaming, and had been for the last day; their sky had come to seem something apart from that which they knew. Above, the stars turned in dim, egg yolk-yellow light, while a tarnished floor of fog filled the gaps between the hills rolling out west of Roan. In the far distance, the peaks of the Friesian Mountains occasionally beckoned between clouds.

On the deck, Rarity paced back and forth, sometimes stopping to look out at the land, but mostly keeping her eyes on the floorboards. Octavia lay on her back near one gunwale, where she had lain for most of their short trip, looking into the sky, sharing nothing with those who asked. More and more, the others were avoiding her, or speaking about her in the cabins, where she did not go. She slept on the deck, when she slept.

“I’m sure she won’t be much longer,” Fluttershy finally said as Rarity crossed in front of her.

“She’s been in there an hour already,” Rarity said. “The water must be freezing by now.”

“Looks like we’ll have plenty water in a few here,” Vinyl said.

“Ah, yes, well…” She sauntered over to Applejack. “Dear, you’re not thinking of taking us through that, are you?”

Applejack cocked her hat. “Ah assume yer referrin’ to yonder storm front? That what lies between us an’ our destination?”

“Yes, that.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Yes, well. May I ask why?”

“‘Cause we’re in a hurry, an’ you know that. Those Elements ain’t waitin’ fer us to take the scenic route.”

“I thought Vanilla said he was going to move them just as soon as they were made,” Rarity said. “So they won’t be there anyway. We may as well take the safe way around.”

“We’re going that way just in case he was wrong,” Vinyl said. “You know, in case that jeweler took longer to make ‘em or something. We might be able to swoop in and grab ‘em before they go anywhere.”

“An’ barrin’ that, it’s as fine a place to start lookin’ as any other,” Applejack said. She grinned at Rarity. “Here y’are, itchin’ to get in the shower, but a little wet up on deck has you spooked.”

“It’s more the lightning than the rain,” Rarity said.

“Well, those ain’t lightnin’ clouds.”

“How can you tell?”

“‘Cause Ah don’t see any lightnin’ in ‘em.” She chuckled, and Rarity rolled her eyes. “Aw, c’mon, Rare. If it helps, Ah’ll set us down somewhere an’ we can fill our water tanks.”

"Can we stay inside and play cards and stuff?” Pinkie cried, bolting up the stairs from the cabins, spraying water from her mane. “It’ll be just like Furnace Creek!”

“We are not staying anywhere,” Octavia croaked from where she lay.

“Yeah, Pinks, you heard the corpse,” Vinyl mumbled. “We’re in a hurry.”

“We can at least get out and stretch our legs a little,” Rarity said.

“Ah’m all fer that,” Applejack said. “Y’all get to walk around this deck, at least. Ah gotta stay put.”

“You can control it from anywhere, though,” Fluttershy said.

“Sure, but Ah still gotta stay where Ah can see everythin’. Speakin’ of, while Ah do love you girls’ conversation, can you take it somewhere else fer the time? Ah don’t wanna be distracted when we’re goin’ through all this.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” Vinyl said, rising to join the others.

“Ah’ll holler when Ah’ve got us a place to rest.”

Rarity’s voice receded to the back, formulating a mild upbraid to Pinkie for hogging all the warm water, and Applejack doffed her hat, placing it on a peg down by the wheel’s base. She stood and braced her front on the wheel’s spokes, letting its gentle vacillation be hers as well, trying to keep herself upright and the ship straight. Twilight had mentioned it once, a strategy airship helmsponies sometimes used to keep their courses true.

The wind was kicking up, and Applejack leaned into it, letting it pick up her long band of hair. Somewhere along the way, she had lost the tie, and though there was some pleasure in letting her mane blow wildly, it still felt wrong to her. She shook her head with a sneeze when her bangs brushed her muzzle.

All of them looked different, and though to one another the differences were hardly notable, she knew others would remark upon their return. Their manes and tails were longer, unkempt—even Rarity’s, though hers had been the last to become permanently frayed—and their coats shaggier. The clothes they wore, though infrequently, had become worn and frayed as well.

However, the change that Applejack only seldom noticed, and which she found more interesting, was the subtler change in bearing, tone, and personality. From many of them, the brightness had gone from their eyes. Twilight’s once free and warm curiosity had hardened, had become professional and blunt, and Rainbow’s loyalty had lost its vocabulary. When Applejack looked at her, less and less frequently did she see the spark in her friend, the little fire in her heart that tied her to the others. It, too, had become something hard, a resigned shard of trust and devotion, still unbreakable and still as much a part of her as ever, but lost of its spirit. Applejack supposed that her honesty had taken some similar form, grown quiet and serious.

Rain hissed on the balloon and on her head, and she closed her eyes for a second, enough to put her back on the farm. The feeling of fresh tilled earth under her hooves, the smell of compost and young trees, the warmth of the springtime sun on her drowsy face, the smell of her brother’s coffee. It had been replaced by the sound of engines, the feeling of wind, the vague lightheadedness of air travel, and the feeling of processed wood beneath. These, too, had their charm, but they were not for her.

“We’d know if we had,” Fluttershy said from the back. “Like I’ve said, I check every day, and multiple times a day when we’re traveling.”

Fluttershy had lost her quiet streak, but Applejack could not place when or by what impetus. She imagined, as she did with all unaccountable changes, that it had taken place in her brief period of death. She knew that it was not the answer for all, for there were too many things she had not noticed before; the few days she had been gone could not possibly have played host to all her friends’ changes, but she preferred to think that that were the case, rather than admit that these things had transformed before her eyes, unnoticed.

She looked at Octavia, and Colgate standing sentinel nearby, quiet and unmoved by the cold rain that pelted them. Octavia’s chest labored up and down on the deck, her breathing looking like an effort all its own, her ribs visible and her mane a patchy fan of shadow on the floorboards. Colgate, meanwhile, looked hollowed out, her eyes slow and unfocused much of the time, her teeth crooked and lips scarred in one spot. No one had asked about it, and Applejack was sure they would not get the truth if they did.

Not all changes were bad, nor even many of them, she reminded herself as she adjusted their direction into an air current. Where once there was naïveté and fear of the unknown, there had emerged resolve and courage, and something very much like wisdom. In short, they had matured, and Applejack knew that she had too, had likely done it without realizing it, had likely done it even before what she thought had been the turning point for her. Whether they had matured correctly and become the sorts of ponies who might reenter society occurred to her, but she dismissed the concern. There was no point wondering about it—“especially since there’s no guarantee we’re comin’ back from this,” she thought.

According to their map, they were somewhere in the vicinity of Creation Lake, a massive and deep lake not far from the country’s southern border, fed by an offshoot of the same river that ran through Applewood. The lake was within sight of the southernmost mountain in the Friesian chain. They would land nearby and refill their water tanks, Applejack thought, and possibly set in for the night if the storm persisted.

Her thoughts were divided, half watching the world outside, half tending to the world of mechanical pieces inside their ship. In the wind and rain, they were yawing back and forth gently, and Applejack was alert, ready to correct any sudden shifts in the weather. She wondered why Rarity hadn’t raised a shield, as she often did.

A starburst of light moved in the corner of her eye, and she frowned, glancing back at Rarity. “Anyone else see that lightnin’? Rare?”

“I’m sorry?” Rarity asked.

“Shield, Rarity. Ah think we’ve got lightning.”

“Land us!” Pinkie said. “You know what’ll happen if Rarity’s shield gets lightning-ed!”

“Shoot, right,” Applejack said, fumbling with the wheel. The ship bucked to one side, and she corrected them. “All right, Ah’m takin’ us down.”

The lights moved again, farther off, a pattern of speckles that held her gaze for a moment. In the wind, buried, she thought she could discern a lower pitched sound, a wail or cry, ghostly and singular. Not lightning, and not thunder accompanying. She tapped into the ship and slowed the propellers, then up to the balloon to vent some hot air.

“Can you make a shield that’ll stop the wind, but lets the lightning pass through?” Vinyl shouted in Rarity’s ear. Rarity shook her head.

“How close are we to the ground?” Big Mac asked, approaching.

“Not,” Applejack said. “At least, Ah reckon not. This altimeter thing here says we’re up a bit still.”

He peered over the edge. “Fog.”

“Yeah, Ah know. It’ll be touch an’ go fer a while. Uhhhh…” She looked into his eyes. “Ah can do it, Ah’m sure. Maybe no one talk to me fer a while, though.”

He nodded and went over to Octavia and Colgate. Octavia had turned over, showing the sky her bad ear, and Colgate was at the torch, sitting close and trying not to look worried.

Pinkie darted to the back and went into the captain’s quarters, where Twilight had been spending more and more time. They both emerged a moment later, Twilight wearing a face mask and a pair of goggles. She made sure the door was sealed tight before coming out to the deck.

The sound repeated, drawing closer, and Applejack reflexively edged their ship away from it. Again, the speckles glinted, barely visible through a swell of cloud.

She looked out front, searching for a weaker point in the clouds where they might be able to find temporary lee. At her hooves, her hat was flapping on its peg.

Wood splintered with a sound that jerked her head back and a force that sent her body slamming into the turning wheel. The clouds spun around them and her friends cried out, and she could hear the balloon groaning and its tethers grinding in their eyeholes, but she could not see where she was or what had happened. For a second, her hooves quit the deck, and she flailed wildly, thinking that something had cast her overboard. Her body struck the deck and her jaw clacked painfully, and she was scrambling back up before she knew what was happening, dizzied for a second. In her eyes, there was only the wall of spinning clouds, and in her ears, the rush of cold air, all the worse for she could not keep her balance.

It took her a second, stumbling to stay upright, to notice the others. They were all in similar states, regaining their hooves and helping one another up, some looking around in a daze and others looking around in fear. For another second, that was all she saw; then, she saw the smoke.

Then, she heard the rattle and whine.

Then, she felt them pitching to one side, the wind cutting on her face.

“There!” Rainbow cried out, flapping and running madly around the deck, port to starboard and back again, pointing at the thing sharing their sky. Applejack followed her with her eyes for a moment before slowly dissociating back into the ship, though she did not need to know what was wrong.

“It’s that whale thing!” Rarity screeched. Applejack could hear its cry distantly, under the wind, the rain, the malfunctioning propeller and the uproar of her friends. They pitched to the side once more, their ship seeming to jerk and shake, the entire structure shivering inside itself. The engine was rattling too, and Applejack, her thoughts loose inside, could feel it, laboring to move parts that were no longer where they should be.

Something twanged, but no one else heard it.

“Applejack!” Twilight shouted above the din, and Applejack wanted to shove her away. Her thoughts scrambled and collected themselves, rearranging back into her skull as Twilight shouted once more.

“What?” Applejack asked. In a moment of anger, she wanted to yank Twilight’s goggles off and throw them out into the weather. “Ah’m doin’ the best Ah can!”

“We need to land,” Twilight said simply, her voice even. “Rarity’s going to put up a shield, but—”

“Don’t do that.” She looked over Twilight’s head, catching a glimpse of the cetus in the back, moving behind and not particularly close. “Rare! No shield! No shield!”

“Applejack,”

“We’re ridin’ this wind, Twi,” Applejack said, wanting again to push her back, to give herself room to think, to breathe.

“Yes, which is why—”

“Ah said no!” Applejack shouted. They were already in the wind, and she was already accustomed to correcting for it, to using it to move them; if that were to go away suddenly, she would over-correct and send them careening off. She did not have the presence of mind to explain.

Twilight jogged off, horn alight, and Applejack braced her hooves on the decking, again vanishing into the airship’s guts. Two of the port-side propellers had been knocked loose, one almost ripped out of its socket, and she could feel them both overheating as they struggled to turn where they no longer fit. She cut the power to both, knowing that it did not make them safe, that the damage had been done and they could not stay in the air.

“Celestia, the fog,” she thought, coming back into herself.

She looked around and spotted Twilight on the poop, the others watching her, calmer but not at ease. The balloon was rippling and rumbling above them, its cables scratching and shaking, one flapping loose in the wind. The entire ship shuddered again, and one of them ran to the side, putting her face into the smoke for a moment.

“It’s hanging off!” Pinkie cried. “Not supposed to do that!”

“Twilight!” Applejack shouted. Twilight did not look back, but Rarity went to her and touched her shoulder.

“I’m scaring it off again!” Twilight shouted.

Applejack fell to her knees as the ship shook again, turning abruptly to one side, and screams lit the sky as their twenty-degree tilt became thirty. Applejack threw herself back into the ship, collapsing where she stood and sliding down the deck. Someone cried out, and Applejack slammed the rudder into place while slowing the other propellers.

She waited until they were level before pushing herself up again and looking at the others, all of them standing there, Twilight with her magic up and the others watching.

“Hey! Ah need some help, all right? Celestia’s wings.” She ran back to the wheel and checked the altimeter. The fog was coming close, and she smacked the wheel with a growl. “Twilight, get over here!”

“Twilight!” Pinkie echoed.

Twilight jerked her head and galloped back to Applejack, stumbling as another burst of wind moved them in a different direction. Applejack wrenched the wheel to correct their course, fighting it as it tried to spin out of her control. They could not hear the rudder banging in the back, but Applejack felt it in her forelegs, and its echoes in her mind.

“What?” Twilight snapped.

“We’re landin’, an’ Ah need to know where we are under that fog.”

Twilight looked at her, wide-eyed. “I don’t know what that means!”

“The lake!” She frowned, and, lacking something else she could strike for emphasis, hit the wheel again. “We’re near the lake. We gotta land there!”

“Can we not—” She looked around. “Okay, yes, fine, yes.” She got on the prow and lit her horn, creating a cone of light that swept the rapidly ascending floor of fog. “Straighten us out, Applejack, we’re not close enough.”

Applejack frowned at her and dissociated back into the ship. She knew the cetus would probably be returning with Twilight no longer producing the sound to frighten it, and, safe inside the ship, she nonetheless dreaded another impact, dreading that it might hit the balloon, or somewhere in the back to cleave them in two. Much worse, however, was the knowledge that if it did, her passing would be without strain.

“Fire!” someone else hollered, and Applejack looked in at the ruined propellers, seeing whether she might do anything to abate the stunted flames.

“Bring us up!” Twilight cried, shaking Applejack’s body. “There’s a hill right below us.”

For a moment, Applejack’s disembodied mind paused. She was innately aware of their speed, much slower than it felt on the deck, dragged as they were by their balloon, but Twilight’s order made no sense. She could raise them, but not quickly, not immediately. She almost pushed herself back into herself to ask for clarification, but realized she might not have time.

She tilted them instead, moving the uncomplicated ballast system entirely to the starboard, then port a second later, where they already had dead weight with the broken propellers. Above and around her, her friends yelled and scrambled, and Twilight’s voice pounded on her deadened ears.

The altimeter had them barely eighty feet off the ground and descending steadily. If she had use of her eyes, she would have squinted at the sudden rush of freezing fog in their faces, and would have thrown the wheel to the side at the silhouette that hove up from below and solidified.

They struck again, the bottom of their ship clipping a finger of stone on the hill and narrowly avoiding the tops of pine trees. Her entire attention on rudder and functional propellers, Applejack did not know they had hit something else immediately; she thought, more likely, they had been pushed by another blast of wind. With incomplete control, she guided them in the direction she believed to be the lake's.

“Hard port, Applejack,” Twilight said, trying to reassert calm. Somewhere nearby, Big Mac was calling for order and telling everyone to prepare for a water landing.

Forty feet and closing, and Applejack had only to trust. She could not return to her body for even a moment; she would lose control entirely, for even though the winds had slowed close to the ground, the rain had not, and the ship was out of control. It wobbled on its trajectory, and Applejack had to keep the rudder jammed as far as she could to balance their bearing, switching between sides for even slight changes in direction; this, too, was growing difficult. One of the propellers in the very back was beginning to falter as well, and the ship’s parts were beginning to move sluggishly. She could feel metal grinding, belts coming loose or stretching taut on overworked sheaves. She thought she could hear it in her distant way, the ship losing its life.

“Here it comes!” Pinkie shouted, and Applejack felt her body be tossed into something soft and warm. Twilight cursed and picked herself up, and Applejack reluctantly regained her body. She could feel water flooding the smaller spaces of the ship’s mechanics as she pulled her mind out.

The rain could not be immediately distinguished from the spray of chilly water as they had hit the lake, fast but nearly level, scraping their shattered bottom across it but keeping the deck upright. Nervous but relieved chatter began as they slowed, and around it, there was finally the soft hiss of water hitting itself, uncontested as the ship quieted. Applejack blinked slowly, retrieved her hat, and looked over the edge.

“Twi, Ah need to go back an’ see if Ah can’t seal us up. Ah need you to—”

“I’ve got it already, dear,” Rarity said.

Applejack looked at her for a moment before understanding hit her. “Ah. Never mind, then.”

“We have a different problem,” Big Mac said, his long neck arching over the gunwale. “Driftin’ out.”

“What?” She looked again, glaring at the water, the uproar of rainfall on its surface.

“I feel it,” Fluttershy said, wings up against the rain.

“Shoot. Okay.” She looked back at the shore. “First thing first, is everypony okay? Ah know that was a bumpy ride.”

“We clipped something on the way down,” Rainbow said.

“But we’re fine,” Twilight said. “At least, not hurt.”

“Rattled,” Rarity said.

“It was kinda fun,” Pinkie said meekly.

“Ah know what to do. Least, Ah think Ah do,” Applejack said. “Ah’m goin’ back in, an’ Ah’ll get us over to shore with the propellers we got left. Rare, how long on that shield?”

“As long as you need,” Rarity said.

Applejack nodded. “Good. That’s good. Dang, that crash hurt. All right, Ah’ll be back.” She lay down and once more disappeared into the ship.

Twilight crossed the deck and looked at the others, then out at the lake. To their backs, the shore was gray and shrouded in fog, fenced with pines, and itself like a minor cliff face. On both sides, it rose up like no shore they had seen before, a wide rim of wet stone and dark sand that subtly moved with rainwater, even from their distance clearly insurmountable with hooves alone.

“This is that lake,” Vinyl said. “The big one on the map. Creation Lake?”

“That sounds right,” Twilight said.

Colgate made a worried noise in the back of her throat.

“I remember this place,” Octavia said softly. “I have played here.”

“If this is Creation Lake, we shouldn’t be here,” Colgate said.

“Why?” Vinyl asked, not looking at her.

The engine was making an unhealthy sound, chugging and intermittently stopping; after a while, Applejack managed to catch it on something, and their ship fought the hidden current with the bubbling, diseased sound of their propellers spinning underwater.

"Oh, crap!” Twilight said. “I know exactly why we shouldn’t be here!”

“Gateway,” Colgate said.

“A gateway?” Pinkie asked.

“She means a Tartarus gateway.”

“What!” Fluttershy blurted.

“We can’t see it,” Colgate said to Rainbow, racing to the bow for a look. “But the water’s flowing through. That’s why we’re moving.”

“We’re in a draining bathtub,” Rarity said.

“No, no, hold on,” Twilight said. “AJ? Faster, maybe?”

The ship gave no response, and none was truly expected.

“We need a plan, then,” Rainbow said, flapping back to them. “Maybe if we stay here long enough, it’ll all drain out? We can just climb out after that.”

“It won’t empty,” Colgate said. “The gateway will be near the surface. I bet it’s only draining right now ‘cause of all this rain.”

“So then… Well, Twilight can teleport.”

“Can’t we climb out?” Vinyl asked.

“I don’t think we can get close enough to those shores in this,” Twilight said. She looked over the edge again, down into the dark waters. She tried not to think of what might be swimming just below, misplaced from Tartarus; if not that, how many fathoms of freezing, crushing water there were below. She gave Rarity a smile, painfully aware in that moment of the delicate magic keeping them from sinking.

“Twi, you teleport,” Rainbow said. “Then Fluttershy and I can just carry the rest of you out.”

“Geez,” Big Mac mumbled.

“I’m not saying it’s a great idea, but hey, we could do it.”

“Let’s call that plan B,” Fluttershy said.

“It’s foggy out,” Pinkie said. “What about that cloud-walking spell of Twilight’s?”

“This stuff is too thin,” Twilight said, waving a hoof in front of her face as if to prove her point. “It would be like trying to walk on paper.”

“Well…”

“Get the Elements off this ship first,” Octavia said. Her voice was dry and quiet, and she coughed.

“I need to be last, for the shield,” Rarity said.

“Applejack needs to be last to keep us actually at the shore,” Vinyl said.

“You’re Elements now too,” Twilight said. “Don’t forget that. None of us are expendable. Not that any of us were in the first place, but—you know what I mean.”

Pinkie glanced at Colgate, who appeared not to notice.

“Ah’d like to go first, if no one else’ll,” Big Mac said. “Wanna get this over with.”

The shore was creeping closer, and Rainbow stood at the rail to watch. “I guess it is kinda steep, huh?”

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” Pinkie asked.

“As long as we keep calm,” Fluttershy said.

“Exactly,” Twilight said. “We’ve dealt with worse than this. Just thank your stars we had this to land in in the first place.”

“We could bounce across the desert inside Rarity’s shields,” Rainbow said.

“We wouldn’t bounce for long,” Rarity said.

“Well…”

“I like bouncy things,” Pinkie said quietly.

For a time, they simply stood together, watching the lake, the shore, the rain, the clouds. Applejack had settled the ship into a steady pace, but for all their forward motion, the current sucked back at them, and the sound of the engine and propellers did not inspire confidence. Every time they shuddered or stalled, someone gasped.

“Do we have an anchor to drop?” Rainbow asked.

“No,” Twilight said. “No need on an airship.”

“Right.”

The lake was visibly shallower where they were, but the shore’s slope was steep and bleak, its face worn almost smooth by untold years of exposure. Imbricate, rounded stones formed a textured bowl to the lapping lake, mortared with gray sand and mud, slimy with moss and lichen, twigs and leaves and other decomposing materials sticking out in places like hairs. Above them, the pine trees formed an unbroken line, barely moving in the wind. Like Celestia’s crater in the east, they had found their own crater in the frosty west.

“This looks like about it,” Vinyl said, nervousness entering her voice. “I say let’s get going, if we’re going."

"Big Mac? Your call,” Rainbow said.

“We won’t drop you,” Fluttershy said.

“Obviously.”

Fluttershy flicked her eyes at Rainbow.

“But yeah, we won’t,” Rainbow said soberly.

Big Mac looked back at the shore, expanded his chest with a large breath. “All right.”

The pegasi maneuvered around him, wings flared, legs braced, eyes averted politely, and Big Mac kept his face to the sky. Through his fur, no blush was visible, but his clenched jaw and knit brows disclosed his feelings.

When he was aloft, haltingly and with much groaning and grunting from Rainbow and Fluttershy, Pinkie could not repress her laughter at the scene. She wound up on the floor, giggling and rolling about, and had to take a minute to calm down before she could be carried herself when the pegasi returned.

After Pinkie followed Vinyl, then Twilight, teleporting up the banks and coming to rest right between her friends. The ship stalled, and those remaining waited, ears up, for it to come back on, but it did not.

The engine struggled and turned itself over, but yielded only a dead, watery sound. Applejack stirred awake at once, and Rarity helped her up.

“It’s done,” Applejack simply said. “What’s goin’ on? The plan, Ah mean.” She looked at the small crowd. "Looks like ya got one."

Rarity ran to the rail to look down. “Are we sinking?”

“We’ll be driftin' out there soon.”

“C’mon, Rare,” Rainbow said.

“Me?”

“Octavia and Colgate are light enough, Fluttershy and I can take ‘em both.” She looked at Applejack, who looked back, realizing what Rainbow was going to say. “We should probably get AJ last. Since she’s, you know, the captain.”

“You heard her,” Rarity said. “The ship’s done. She can’t do anything.”

“Let’s not argue ‘bout who’s gettin’ saved last,” Applejack said. “Go, Ah’ll be okay.”

Rainbow cast a glance back at the shore, already visibly farther away. “Don’t worry, AJ. We’ll get you.”

“Ah believe you, RD.”

They lifted off with Rarity, and the shield around their ship, already waterlogged, faded. In the resulting quiet, Applejack stood on the slick deck with Colgate and Octavia and looked around. She had been only intermittently feeling the rain, and had not realized exactly how cold it was on her skin.

To hear something besides the rainfall, she said, “You two ladies are goin’ next. You ready?”

“We can’t salvage this ship at all?” Colgate asked.

“Ah sure can’t.”

Octavia sat down and rested against the gunwale.

In the distance, between lake and shore, Rainbow and Fluttershy were struggling with Rarity, their forms slowly sinking toward the shore’s upper lip. The others were cheering them on, and, after a few seconds more, Twilight enveloped Rarity in magic and eased her from the pegasi, who went to the ground and rested. They stayed only a second before taking off and flying back to the downed ship.

Applejack trotted back to the prow, dashing through the curtain of water pouring off their balloon. The ship’s nose was down, its small bowsprit almost parallel to the lake’s surface, and she stood past the wheel to see if she could spot the Tartarus gateway. She had seen the one in Moondrop as it spread, a faceless black spot that reminded her of the tarps they would spread over their apple trees, lain across the ground. The thought of one in water, endlessly drinking away a lake, made her uncomfortable. She poised her front hooves on the balustrade and scanned the water, but only saw a thin line of black, possibly the gateway and possibly a reflection.

She didn’t hear Rainbow and Fluttershy land for the storm, and Rainbow had to yell. Both pegasi were nearly exhausted, lying down, spread winged, letting the rain soak into their fur.

“AJ… this ain’t gonna be easy,” Rainbow said.

Applejack bit her lip as she looked at the receding shore. Her friends were no longer visible there; the lip had risen from their angle to cover them. She quickly estimated the distance between them and the land.

“You can still do it, right?” They were half an orchard’s length away, and as she looked back down at her friends, her blood felt thick and useless, for she knew the answer before Rainbow had even opened her mouth.

“We’re gonna do it,” Rainbow said.

“Yer… gonna have a hard time,” she said at last. She knew they could not do it; their wings would give out before they were close, even close enough for Twilight to lift their burdens away. “It might not be possible.”

“No.”

“She’s right,” Fluttershy said. “We have to do it.” Her wings flexed gently, and she moaned.

“We need an anchor,” Applejack said, turning from them and running her eyes across the deck. “We’ll stall ourselves here, let you get yer wind back up.”

“Twilight said we don’t have one,” Rainbow said.

“Well she’s wrong!”

She pushed through into the captain’s quarters, momentarily disoriented as she walked into a cloud of acrid smoke. She coughed and recoiled, using her hat to fan the air, already dampening. When the room had cleared, she stepped around Twilight’s abandoned setup as she searched for something she could use. Her eyes fixed on the large desk, and in her imaginings, she thought that it would have to do.

“We’re not gonna do that!” Rainbow cried out.

“What other ideas do you have?” Colgate said.

“That’s suicide!”

“I don’t think so.”

“What? Someone got an idea?” Applejack asked, stepping out. Her nose burned from the smoke.

“Colgate wants you to fall through,” Rainbow said.

Colgate looked sullenly at Applejack. “If we go through the gateway, in the ship, then all we have to do is wait for the others to get us. Rainbow and Fluttershy can rest, the rain can stop, whatever. They can even get a proper boat if they want to, and they can haul us back out.”

“Ah ain’t steppin’ hoof in Tartarus,” Applejack said. “Rainbow’s right, that’s suicide.”

“It isn’t,” Colgate said.

“And how do you know?” Rainbow asked.

Colgate only averted her eyes.

“Now ain’t the time to get cagey, Cole,” Applejack said.

“If you know something…” Fluttershy started.

“I’ve got reason to know that it won’t kill us,” Colgate said. “We’ll have to survive the initial fall, that’s it.”

“There’s a fall involved?” Applejack asked.

“Go, go back to the others,” Colgate said. “Tell them we’ll wait for them in Tartarus. We’ll stay just inside.”

“I’m not gonna do it,” Rainbow said.

“You should do it,” Octavia said, again on her back. “It is a good idea.”

“Means so much comin’ from you,” Applejack wanted to say, instead giving her a dirty look.

“You’re not gonna carry us all the way back,” Colgate continued. “Do it, tell the others.”

Fluttershy pushed herself up. “Maybe we should,” she said slowly.

“I…” Rainbow got up and flexed her wings. “Damn it, AJ.”

“If you can’t do it, you can’t do it,” Colgate said. “Don’t push yourself too far.”

Applejack turned and looked back, and the line of black was faintly visible through the twin walls of balloon water. She could feel them sliding back. “Ah don’t like it, but it might be the only thing to do. Ah know y’all ain’t flyin’ the rest of us back.”

“We can do it,” Rainbow said, pushing her wings slowly. “Just gotta find my rhythm again.”

“You need to go,” Colgate said, lifting Rainbow’s tail in her magic and squeezing some water out. “We’ll be okay. Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

All five sets of eyes looked at one another for another moment, and then Rainbow jumped off the edge and took back to the air. Fluttershy struggled over and then followed her, and that was that.

“Get inside and shore up all entry and exit points,” Colgate said, heading for the captain’s quarters.

“You mentioned an initial fall,” Applejack said, helping Octavia up.

“Water’s flowing into the gateway, which means it’s going somewhere on the other side. It’s not just hanging around, it’s not just submerging the other side.”

“What if the other side is a larger lake?” Octavia asked.

“It isn’t.”

“How do you know?” Applejack asked.

Colgate looked at them. “Let’s seal this door.”

Applejack grabbed the desk and wedged it against the door while the others pushed chairs and larger decorations against the walls. Colgate latched the windows and drew the shades, and Octavia, stumbling, upset Twilight’s experiment to release another bowl of smoke into the room. They retreated downstairs to the cabins. Applejack went into a room, and Colgate held the door after her.

“We’re staying in the main hall,” Colgate said. “These cabins are closer to the sides, more dangerous in a crash.” She thought for a second. “Let’s get these mattresses out and push ‘em against the doors.”

Octavia did not wait for consensus. She pushed open the door nearest her and grabbed the mattress inside, trying to yank it through and into the hall.

In the other cabin, Colgate helped Applejack drag the mattress off its wire frame. She tossed the pillows out with her telekinesis, but used her hooves and mouth for the rest.

"Any…” Applejack maneuvered herself under the mattress, to push it against her back. “Reason yer doin’ it the earth pony way?”

“Weak magic.”

They heaved and shoved, and eventually got the mattress out into the corridor with Octavia’s help. The two collapsed in a pile as it was pulled away from them, and Colgate scrambled up quickly, eyes wide and breathing shallow. She stood, frozen, for a moment while Octavia and Applejack positioned it against the doorway.

“Windows,” Colgate said.

“Huh?”

They paused, aware then of a hissing sound, louder than the patter of rain above. Then, a moment of weightlessness, and then all three of them fell and were thrown against the walls, the mattresses, the floor. All around, the sound of crashing and crackling sparked, and the ship rocked back and forth. A mattress fell down to pin Applejack in a corner, where only her head was free to smack up and down against the floor, rattling her teeth. Colgate, nearer the back, was sliding and continually falling down as their ship bucked, smashing through an impediment that they could not see.

When they stopped, with a gut-clenching crack that Applejack could tell immediately had snuffed out any life left in their machine, all three mares simply breathed for a minute. No one moved; they were waiting for the crash to continue, for some unseen parapet to give way and send them plummeting once more, or for some unseen beast to come and savage their wreck. Distantly, the rush of water was audible, but after several minutes, it stopped.

“I hate to say it, but that was probably the best move,” Rarity said. “You wouldn’t have made it.”

“Yeah.” Rainbow lay in the mud and sand.

“I hope they’re okay,” Pinkie said. “I don’t see ‘em out there.”

Twilight was pacing nearby, and Big Mac watched. “What are you thinkin’, Miss Twilight?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Twilight said. “We need a boat, I guess, or another airship.”

“What’s one more, right?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s not that. It’s just discouraging. Just… discouraging.” She walked a space toward the pine trees. “One step forward, two steps back, one step forward, two steps back.”

“As far as setbacks go, this one is pretty minor,” Rarity said. “We’ll have them out in a few hours.”

“If we can find a boat.”

“There’s a river that runs into this lake,” Vinyl said. “I’m sure we can find a boat somewhere. Now, getting it running, and getting its owner to lend it to us…”

“I’m not worried about that.”

Vinyl’s horn glowed soft purple. “I suppose not.”

“We might see if we can find a way to communicate with them as well,” Rarity said. “Just in case.”

“If you gimme like half an hour, I can fly out there and look in on ‘em,” Rainbow said. “Maybe forty minutes, actually.”

“Don’t push yourself, dear. You’ve both already done your part. I think we should focus on getting that boat, as Twilight said.”

“Let me do that,” Twilight said, looking back at them. “I like the idea of establishing communication, though. See if you can think of something while I’m out.”

“Yer not goin’ alone,” Big Mac said.

“I’d like to.”

“You know we can’t let you,” Vinyl said.

Twilight nodded. “I guess so.”

Vinyl trotted up to her, and Twilight, after a moment of thought, turned back to the trees. “We won’t go far. Hopefully.”

“Dear,” Rarity said.

“What?”

Rarity looked at them both. “Don’t do anything reckless.”

Twilight smiled. “I won’t.”

The two walked into the forest as Twilight put up a thin shield for the rain. “I know we’re already wet, but I’d like to maybe dry off today.”

“No objections,” Vinyl said, coming up close so Twilight could hear her. She smelled the air. “This takes me back.”

“You’re from this area, right?”

“Close. My town—if you can call it that—is a stone’s throw north.”

“Hm. Maybe we’ll see it on our way back.”

“It’s fine if we don’t.”

Twilight nodded, and for a time, they walked in silence, Vinyl occasionally pointing the way. When they found the river, they stopped at its banks and watched the water flowing. They watched for several minutes, and then Vinyl spoke up.

“I thought they’re not supposed to flow anymore.”

“I think…” Twilight set off along the bank. “If my geography is correct, this river is fed by the Whitewater Stampede, the one that goes through Applewood, but also glacial runoff from near Snowdrift.”

“The glacier made it up with us?”

“Apparently.” Twilight thought back, far back. “I think it’s hanging partly off the edge.”

“So we must be all unbroken up to Snowdrift, huh? If this is flowing from all the way up there.”

“There are other ponies out there repairing the gaps, yes. I wish we’d known that earlier, it could have maybe saved some time.”

“You did the cities, though.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “You’re right, I suppose. Probably best we did the cities. We did those first.”

There was a muddy trail along the riverbank that they kept, winding between trees and ducking underneath branches. There was no wildlife to be seen, nor any sun from behind the clouds, and Vinyl occasionally gave off a beam of light. The river boiled and flowed, never out of sight, and Twilight paused occasionally to look at the scenery. She felt curiously at peace, though her intellectual side was at work examining why that might be.

“I’m sorry, Twilight.”

“Hm?”

“About the circumstances of my involvement in this mess. I know that was kinda crappy of me.”

“Not kind of, Vinyl.”

“Right.”

“Tell me about these friends you abandoned.” She looked back at Vinyl, her goggles spattered with mud and water droplets. She cast a small spell on their surfaces, clearing them. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound cruel. I guess I’m still a little ticked about it.”

“You’re in your right to feel that way.”

“I am sorry, though.” She sighed. “I’m trying to stop being a nag to you all.”

“You’re doing better.”

“Yeah?” She watched as a clump of leaves made its way down the river. “I don’t see much improvement on my end.”

“Well, we can all see it. You’re less temperamental, you’re isolating yourself less.”

“That’s progress, I guess.”

“It is, absolutely. If you don’t mind me asking, though, why did you want to do this alone? It’s not like you.”

“Honestly, Vinyl,” Twilight said, “I kind of do mind you asking, but I’ll answer anyway. I needed to be alone.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll let you in on something,” Twilight said quietly, and Vinyl moved a step closer. “I presented a confident face back there, but I’m…” She had to clear her mind suddenly, and select the appropriate word. “I said I felt discouraged, but it actually feels more like despair. Plain and simple, I don’t really know how much longer this can go on.”

“We’re so close, though. Three more Elements, which Vanilla said he’d help us find, and then Discord. We’ll be a month? Probably less, ‘cause I wouldn’t be shocked if he just moves us to where we need to go.”

“I don’t know if I can do another month of this.”

“…Really?”

“Vinyl, we’ve been traveling all around this country, dealing with problem after problem after problem, getting into trouble pretty much everywhere we go. It’s to the point now where I’m not even scared of Discord anymore, not really. If we get the Elements, then we’ve got him. Easy.”

“So what are you scared of?”

“Everything else. We’ve made some enemies besides him, and… I don’t know, I just feel like we’ve crossed this line sometimes. Like when we get back to Ponyville, we’ll never truly be back.”

Vinyl nodded. “You’ve been in the air too long.”

“Much too long.”

“Well… I’m sorry, I don’t really know what to say.”

“I don’t expect you to say anything. I know you can’t do anything.”

“Hm.”

They crossed a bare spot of riverbank, and Twilight slowed to watch a dragonfly darting among the reeds. For a second, she had another flash of peace.

“So, your friends?”

“What do you want to know?”

“What were they like? Just tell me about them,” Twilight said.

Vinyl thought. “They were all musicians, like me. Not surprising. Doggy was a psychedelic musician, she was my first new friend in Applewood.”

“I assume that’s a stage name?”

“Yes. I don’t know her real name; I’m not sure I ever knew it. It doesn’t matter. She was… actually, quite opposed to my decision. You would have liked her.”

Twilight nodded.

“She was real serious, but real smart. You’d be amazed at how much theory and detail went into her music, given how it all turned out sounding. She always had at least one wall in her flat, just dedicated to ideas. She’d put ‘em on note cards and pin ‘em on the wall, just blanketing it. She loved to talk about her ideas for new music, but I couldn’t follow a lot of it. Very visual, that mare. Every type of sound ‘looked’ a certain way, or at least called to mind a certain image.”

“Synesthesia,” Twilight said. “That’s a rare mental disorder.”

“No, it wasn’t that. I asked her that too, but it’s not that. She just has a visual mind, is all.” She thought. “She spent a lot of time looking at wave-forms, or playing with old tape recordings.”

“She sounds interesting.”

“Like I said, you two probably would have got along. She was a heavy drinker, that was the only problem. Like, really heavy, and very privately.”

“Oh.”

“No one really talked about it,” Vinyl continued. “You know, we were all wrapped up with our own things. It occurs to me now, I’m not sure if I ever saw her completely sober. Some ponies are like that, you know, always chasing something. I was like that once.”

“Really?”

“When I was younger. Nothing serious, but I’ve woken up in a few strange beds.”

“That sounds serious.”

Vinyl only smiled. “Not if you make your living in Applewood. Hard drinking is the least of it, count on that. You ever drink?”

“I had a drink in Applewood. One. Or was it two? I think just one.”

“You’re not missing much, if you ask me.”

“No, I expect not.”

Vinyl kicked a pine cone off the path.

“She was pretty upset about you leaving, then?”

“Promised to never talk to me again,” Vinyl said. “Which was a lie. She was there for my last show. We, uh, didn’t talk about it then, though.”

“I hope she’s okay.”

“She’ll make it. She’s probably got my face on a dart board, but she’ll be fine.”

“I see.”

“As for other friends, there was Frozen Front; he went by ‘Ursa Major’ on stage. I met him in Snowdrift, but we traveled to Applewood together. He was the opposite of Doggy in a lot of ways. Very eager to go out and do things, loved drinking and dancing, but in moderation. He had a day job, or at least he always said he did.”

“What kind of music did Ursa Major produce?”

“Nothing you’d hear on the radio. He was mostly into ambient music. He did a lot of work with static and distortion.”

“Like elevator music?”

“No, more like.... It’s hard to describe. I’d have to play some for you.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’s not for everyone. His shows were always real low-key affairs. He liked to dress up in street clothes and have ponies arrange flowers on stage while he made his music.”

“Was it digital?”

“Some of it was, some was analogue. He had a bunch of busted machines, like tape recorders and stuff, that he could use to get a lot of the sounds he wanted. Sometimes he let Doggy warp one for him, if he needed a certain sound but didn’t have time to get it himself. Ursa and I were real close.”

Twilight looked at her.

“At least, I felt close to him.” Vinyl paused. “I don’t know how he felt about me. He didn’t get angry like Doggy did, when I told him I was gonna leave. He seemed upset, but more like in an inconvenienced way, you know?”

“Do you wish he had been more upset?”

“I do, yes.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry, I don’t want this to turn into a therapy session for me. I made my own bed.”

“We all make choices.” They came to a small clearing, and on the other side of the river, they could see a weathered shack beside a small pier. “Let’s check that out. Can you teleport?”

“No, never.”

“Here, take my hoof. I’ll do it.”

On the other side, Twilight crouched behind a stump, and Vinyl stood to the side under a large, drooping branch.

“What’s the plan?” Vinyl asked.

“I’m trying to see if there’s even anyone in there for now. Then we search for a boat.”

“What if there is?”

Twilight just shook her head, and after several minutes, she slowly but confidently approached the shed. Lighting her horn dimly, she paused in an overgrown tangle of grass, then called to Vinyl.

“No one here.” She gestured to her horn.

“You have a spell for that?”

Twilight shrugged, and they walked the shed’s short perimeter. On one end, by a miniature side room, a metal door was held ajar by a cylinder of chicken wire. They could smell wet dust and mildew within, but amid the clutter of shadows, Twilight could only see silver drapes of old cobweb. They walked to the pier, where Vinyl sat and looked out at the water while Twilight regarded the tall grass. She cast a magenta wave of magic to flatten the lawn, but nothing hid in the tall grass. She thought for a second, then checked the side room again, piercing its filthy darkness with a beam of light.

“Here we go,” she said, grabbing the shape within. “Should have checked this first.” With a little maneuvering of door and wire, Twilight was able to drag a small, plaster boat out into the open, its motor tumbling on the floor, dirtying itself in a wobbling pool of muddy water. Twilight removed the motor, dumped the boat out, and set it gently on the river’s surface, holding her breath. It floated.

“So far so good,” Vinyl said. “We’re just gonna take it?”

Twilight didn’t answer as she busied herself with the motor, eventually affixing it to the boat’s back. She gestured for Vinyl to climb in, and she followed.

“Do you know how to drive one of these?” Vinyl asked.

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“Let me. I used to go boating a lot when I was a filly, I bet I can get us going.” She switched places with Twilight and studied the motor. After a second of fiddling, she shook her head. “No gas.”

“Mm.” Twilight climbed out onto the pier. “Should’ve guessed.” She searched the side room again and came out with a sloshing gas can, its cap rusted on. It took a couple moments of magical exertion for Twilight to snap it open, tearing a small line down the thinner metal side as well.

“Geez, be careful with that,” Vinyl said, unheard, as Twilight handled the gas can.

They got the boat moving with a sound that reminded both of their own airship in the lake, and they moved scarcely faster than it had. Vinyl kept looking back, waiting for someone to return home and find their boat stolen. She knew she could not voice her concerns to Twilight between the rain and the motor, so had to settle for aiming her skeptical look at the back of the unicorn’s head.

The river ran on a steady course southward through flat, forested land. The pine branches were bowed and defeated in the downpour, and the river seemed equal parts water and mud. At a bend, they saw another pier, blackened and covered in moss, almost claimed by the land.

When the water slowed, Vinyl knew they were approaching the lake, and Twilight directed her to stop. They let the river carry them to a clearing in the trees, and Twilight teleported out and grabbed the boat in her telekinesis, holding it within view of the edge, where river met lake and briefly became a thin tumble over exposed rocks. Vinyl looked at her.

“I’m going to gently lower you into the lake,” Twilight said, “then teleport down myself. It’s easier on me to not have to lower myself too.”

Vinyl raised an eyebrow, but did not object.

“Crouch down. Ground yourself.” Twilight took the boat again and lifted it, sure in her magical strength. It floated over the lake’s gray rim before pausing above its angry waters, and Vinyl peeked out to look. Twilight envied her the view, and gave her a second to take it in before bringing her down, slowly again. When the boat was jostling on the surface, she teleported down into it.

Vinyl tapped her, and Twilight leaned in close. “That was amazing!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Twilight said, servicing a smile. “Let’s go.”

They puttered forward again, and after a minute, Twilight realized that something was amiss. She looked back at Vinyl. “Where’s the current?”

Vinyl looked around.

“This lake had a current before; that’s what pulled the airship back.”

Vinyl shook her head.

“Faster,” Twilight said, looking forward. “I don’t like this.”

It was not long that, in the fog and the rain, the high shores disappeared from them entirely, and they had only their little boat and the cold waters. The clouds gave no sign of the sun’s position.

Vinyl, at the motor, wished again that she could speak normally. She had never before seen a body of water so vast, and never so intimately. She was reminded of the night sky, which was, for her, often a dark and smudgy aspect with only the faintest hints of stars. Others, rhapsodizing about the night and its majesty, spoke often of the stars, those markers of infinity, those unknowable but beautiful symbols; for her, the night was an inscrutable wall, always changing subtly but, ultimately, foreign and cold. She gained no comfort from it, no encouragement or validation. No romantic feeling had spoken to her that she had a place in the world, or that her destiny was outlined if she could find it in the stars, as it seemed to have for so many others. These feelings, instead, she had found in music and in the natural rhythms of life.

On the surface of Creation Lake, bobbing up and down and looking into the deep, freezing waters, was like floating on the night sky. She was close to that inscrutable wall, and, so close, found that it did not disclose its details to those who simply brought their eyes nearer. What might be taken for detail was instead the constant shift of water striking itself, meaningless and dangerous. Only the sound, the roar of moving water, suggested deeper meaning to her.

She fixed her eyes on the lake and gently eased her goggles up, holding them up for a couple seconds before acceding to the pain already starting to throb behind her eyes. With no purple tint, the lake reminded her of a graphite rendition of itself. The sky, the rain, and the water, all were gray and gloomy, as if the sky were staining the earth with more than precipitation.

Already, a song was forming in her mind, and she suddenly wished she had not come with Twilight.

“This isn’t right,” Twilight said. “This is too far.”

Vinyl looked at her and popped a color on her horn, hoping Twilight would get its meaning.

“Too far, I said.”

Vinyl got to her ear. “Are you sure?”

“I mean, not completely, but look at it. We’ve been out here for almost twenty minutes now, and nothing. No current, no gateway, nothing.”

“We should keep going.”

“I’m sorry?"

Vinyl jabbed toward the far bank, not visible.

“Oh, yeah. We will, we will. I don’t feel good about it, though.”

Vinyl lit another circle of color on her horn.

Twilight looked at her. “I don’t know what you’re saying when you do that.”

Vinyl waved her off and looked back at the motor. She was too old to get angry when ponies didn’t understand her, but she still sometimes found herself frustrated. She had wanted to ask what they would do if there were, inexplicably, no gateway. She supposed it would be a pointless question; she doubted Twilight would have any ideas.

“Maybe it moves,” Twilight said suddenly. “They can do that, sometimes. Well, it’s rare.”

Vinyl looked at her, acknowledging that she had heard.

“If we just had the airship, this would be a cinch. Ugh, I hope they’re okay. Tartarus isn’t a place ponies can just go.”

Vinyl put a hoof to her back, and Twilight started. Vinyl lit another color. “Sorry.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, Vinyl. None of this.”

She nodded.

Twilight sighed. “Nothing. I don’t see anything out here, just water. How big is this lake anyway?”

Vinyl spread her forelegs, balancing on her haunches, to indicate its size.

“Yeah, I know that.” She thought for a second. “When we have time, we should work out a color code or something for your lights. Simple stuff, like ‘I agree’ or ‘I have something to say’. Did you do that with your other friends?”

Vinyl shook her head. She had had the idea before, but never truly needed it. The only places where she could never be heard had also never required it.

“We should do that sometime. Or heck, just get you a little notebook or something.”

Vinyl shrugged.

“Think it over.” Twilight looked back out at the lake.

Vinyl leaned in. “I’m worried too.”

“I know.” She pushed her mane out of her eyes. “I had a divination setup in the captain’s room when we crashed. I’m trying to find a way to spy on Discord without his knowing it, but it’s hard, way harder than I expected it to be.”

Vinyl nodded, not interested, but aware that Twilight was speaking to keep her mind off the worry growing in them both.

“I think I need to find a way to keep everything steady. The ship is pretty steady, but it’s not perfect, and I guess a lot of this magic requires a perfectly level surface. I also need to pick up a gas mask.”

Vinyl tilted her head.

“For the smoke. I wear a regular cloth mask right now, but it’s not enough.” She paused and, after a second, brought herself higher on the boat’s prow, forehooves balanced and trembling on the front. The boat leaned down slightly, and Vinyl looked at the water level.

“There!”

Vinyl stirred.

“Shit, this is not good.” Twilight got back down. “The other side.”

Leaning in, Vinyl said, “You’re sure it’s the other side? Not the gateway’s edge?”

“I can see the trees.” She flared her horn, but extinguished it. “Damn it! Now what?”

Vinyl had no thoughts, and simply looked at Twilight.

“I need to think.”

They cruised, and soon, Vinyl could see the trees as well, pushing through the fog and through the dimness of her goggles.

“It either moved, or it’s closed,” Twilight finally said. “I doubt it moved, but I don’t see how it could have closed either.”

“So what do we do?” Her voice was carried away, and Twilight did not hear.

“Well… shit. Just shit.” She wiped her mane out of her eyes again. “All right, let’s go back. We need to get out of this, figure out what to do next.”

Vinyl nodded and turned them in a slow circle, putting the visible shore behind them and the massive expanse of water back before them. Neither spoke as their boat moved across the featureless lake, bearing yet more dread news.

Night Traveling

Chapter Ninety-six

Night Traveling

For fifteen minutes, the rain stopped, just long enough for Rarity to poke her head out of their makeshift shelter. They had retreated into the pines, dragging their motorboat with them and letting it sit aslant in a shallow gully, and built a rough lean-to from branches and underbrush. All of their equipment was on the airship, unpacked and in their cabins. Among the seven of them, they had only a few scarves, a sweater, and Twilight’s goggles and face mask.

No one could reckon the hour of day. Through the heavy clouds, the last days’ evening appeared to have turned to full night, but they could not be certain. Lacking a timepiece or a plan, they eventually decided that the best course of action would be to stay where they were, establish communication with the others, and see what could be worked out. While everyone else chewed on the problem, Big Mac volunteered to go out and forage.

“Can you feel their Elements, at least?” Rarity asked Fluttershy, who sat with hunched wings and a bowed head.

“No,” Fluttershy said.

“You shouldn’t be able to,” Twilight said. “For my part, I like to think I’d know if the Elements were lost.”

“So they’re alive,” Vinyl said.

“Most likely.” She shivered as a gust of wind ran up her back. “We’re gonna need a fire.”

“All the wood’s wet,” Fluttershy said.

Twilight nodded and glanced in the direction of their boat, thinking she could use its gasoline if she had to.

“Why can’t we just open the gateway up again?” Rainbow asked. “Or find some way to summon Vanilla, and get him to do it?”

“I’m pretty sure only the princesses can do that,” Twilight said. “And before you ask, no, I can’t write the princess. I don’t have any paper, or ink.”

“Vanilla?”

“No sigil drawing supplies.”

“You can scrape something into the mud,” Rarity said. “Or does that not work?”

Twilight shook her head.

“Let’s start simpler,” Vinyl said. “Is there a way to just look in on them? To make sure they’re okay?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, crap,” Rainbow said.

Twilight looked at her.

“Great,” Rarity said as the sound of rain resumed, lashing the trees above. Thunder purred.

“Maybe there’s something in that shed you found,” Fluttershy said.

“I’m not going back there now, not in this, and not with the light so low.”

“No, I’m not suggesting you do.”

“Vinyl can provide the light,” Rarity said. “And I can keep the rain out while we walk.”

“We don’t know that place was uninhabited,” Vinyl said. “It was empty when we found it, that’s all.”

“For all we know, it’s a trap,” Twilight said.

“Isn’t that a little paranoid?” Pinkie asked.

“It’s cautious,” Fluttershy said. “I agree. Let’s stay here for now.”

“Who knows? Maybe the gateway’ll open again on its own,” Vinyl said. “Can they do that?”

“This one closed on its own, so sure, maybe,” Twilight said.

Big Mac appeared in the small entryway and awkwardly dumped a pile of mushrooms and withered wildflowers off his back. In Vinyl’s dim unicorn light, he looked like a grim specter, his angular muzzle and dark fur casting most of his face in shadow. Uttering the single word, “firewood,” he went back outside.

“Should someone go talk to him?” Fluttershy asked. “He just lost his sister. Again.”

“Let him have his privacy,” Vinyl said. “If we bother him before he’s ready, he’ll resent us.”

Without speaking, they picked at his findings. Occasionally, Fluttershy would stop one of them from eating a poisonous flower.

Big Mac returned briefly with a dull clatter of branches and twigs, but did not look in on them.

“We might be able to send them a simple message with a magical impulse,” Twilight said after a while. “It would have to be a lot of magic, and very concentrated, but I could theoretically do it.”

“What kind of message?” Rainbow asked.

“That’s the problem; it wouldn’t be anything very helpful. I wouldn’t be able to get words through or anything like that, just a series of pulses. I could send them through in some kind of pattern, just to let them know that we’re up here, that we’re trying to get through.”

“That’s assuming they recognize it,” Rarity said.

“Yes, always assuming.”

“That’s kind of a… I hate to say it, Twi,” Rainbow started.

“I know, it’s not very good. It’s all I’ve got right now.”

“Suppose we found something to write on that surgical mask you’ve got,” Rarity said. “Could you send them a crude note?”

Twilight chewed a mushroom thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

“Where would we get any ink?” Vinyl asked.

“Mud?” Pinkie offered.

“If nothing else, I can try that,” Twilight said. “Some mud, a twig, time to let it dry by the fire. Yeah, that can work.”

They ate in silence again, and Big Mac dropped off another pile of firewood.

“That kinda sucks too,” Rainbow said at last.

“I don’t hear any ideas coming out of you,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, well…” She looked down at her flower.

“Dried blood will work better than dried mud,” Fluttershy said.

Twilight sighed.

“I know that’s true, dear,” Rarity said, “and it’s a valid point, but please let’s not entertain that idea.”

“What if we mixed ash with water?” Pinkie asked. “Is that a thing?”

“I don’t think so,” Vinyl said.

For an instant, their faces were brightened with a flash of lightning, its thunder too distant to be heard.

“While we’re talking gloom and doom,” Twilight said, “I hope it’s not escaped anyone here that we’re camping in a whole forest of lightning rods.”

“Yeah, we know,” Rainbow said. “Thanks.”

“Just another factor to hold in mind.” She looked at Pinkie, her face scrunched up in a mixture of pain and concentration. For a moment, she thought they might be witnessing a resurgence of the Pinkie Sense, but Pinkie relaxed after a couple seconds more, a sliver of smoke curling off the top of her head.

“Pinkie?” Rainbow asked.

Pinkie shook her head. “Still not right.”

The smoke curled tighter, forming into a small fiddle head and then solidifying, until, after a minute of silent, slow spectacle, it fell to the floor, a light but very tangible thing. Pinkie’s hooves trembled in mingled cold and amazement as she unrolled the paper. In the moment, they missed the pen that fell out from inside.

“We are fine,” she read. “Gateway closed, not sure why. No way through. Girls, this is amazing, they’re okay!”

“It’s from them?” Rainbow asked.

“It is! Octy wrote it!” She flourished the letter, shaking it too fast to be read. “It says so right here!”

“Well, what else does it say?” Rarity asked.

“Oh, sorry. No way through. Safe for the time, crashed ship is good shelter. Await further instruction, Octavia.” She stared at them. “Girls! They’re okay! They’re okay!”

Big Mac rammed his head through the entrance in time to receive a wing to the face as Pinkie knocked Fluttershy over in a bear hug. For a moment, Pinkie repeated the words, and then Fluttershy joined in, and then Rarity and Rainbow. Twilight scooted closer to Vinyl as the four rolled, laughing and soaking wet. Vinyl nudged her and gave a small smile, which Twilight returned after a moment of calculation.

“Hoo wee,” Big Mac finally said as the laughter died down. “Bless my…” He shook his head. “Thank Celestia, is all. Just thank Celestia.”

“And look at this!” Pinkie said, plucking up the pen. “They even gave us something to write back with! Talk about nice!”

Twilight’s lingering smile became genuine.

“Write back, tell ‘em we’re okay too,” Rainbow said. “Tell ‘em we’ll get ‘em out of there.”

“And to send more paper,” Rarity said.

“Hang on,” Twilight said. “Let’s think this through. We don’t know how hard it was for them to send that from their side. For all we know, this little note drained their magic. We can’t be frivolous about it.”

“Make every letter count,” Vinyl said, nodding.

“Fine, fair enough,” Rainbow said. “Can we get that fire going, or what?”

“Not nearly enough wood fer the night,” Big Mac said. He pulled himself into their shelter and sat between Rainbow and Fluttershy, shivering. “But we could start a little fire now, Ah think.”

“I say so,” Rarity said, leaning to get a look outside. “There’s enough protection from the rain.”

“Fine,” Twilight said. “But we need to think of how to proceed from here. If the gateway is closed, then where does that leave us?”

They crawled outside, shivering and bundling together. It was cold inside the lean-to, but colder still outside; the wind surrounded them, gentle but sharp, and the forest dripping on them was a physical shock, tensing skin and forcing muscles into quivering spasms. Rarity got a shield around them on her second attempt, her first cut short by a burst of shivers.

“You said there’s no way we can open it back up again?” Pinkie asked.

“No way. I’d need about fifty or sixty ponies with my magical strength, all working in the same place at the same time, and even then I’ve got no idea what sort of magic to actually use, or how. No, girls, I’m afraid just opening the door for them is not going to work.”

“We’ve got paper now,” Big Mac said. “Send Luna a letter. See if she can do it fer us.”

“Let’s establish our presence to the others first,” Vinyl said. “We can get more paper.”

“What if the princess can’t do it?” Fluttershy asked.

“I don’t see why she couldn’t,” Twilight said, lighting a small fire in the heart of the wood pile. Smoke much like that which had come off of Pinkie’s head drifted through the humid, freezing air.

“Laws an' stuff, maybe,” Big Mac said.

Rainbow snorted.

“Ah just mean maybe.”

“If she brought Applejack back to life, she can do this.” Pinkie paused. “Did anyone ask her who that mare was, by the way?”

“The one in Roan?” Twilight asked.

“The one who had Applejack’s spirit inside.”

“I would never.”

“Hm. Maybe you’re right.”

“My worry is that she’ll say 'yes',” Rarity said.

“Uhh…”

“We’re down by the southern border; it would take her forever to get here, and that’s a lot of time for the country to be left unattended.”

Pinkie shuddered, but no one regarded her until she grabbed the next letter out of the air, flipping off her head like the first.

“Guess writing us letters from there isn’t that hard after all,” Vinyl said.

“We can meet you at the Snowdrift gateway, if we can find our way,” Pinkie read. “Await instructions. Octavia.” She placed the note on a dry branch far from the fire. “How far is Snowdrift?”

“Pretty far, right?” Fluttershy asked.

“It’s a ways north of here,” Twilight said. “Other side of the mountains.” She sighed. “That did occur to me, but I hate the idea.”

“Call the princess,” Rainbow said.

“She’d probably come,” Vinyl said.

Twilight looked at Rarity, who only shook her head.

“The worst that’ll happen is she says ‘no’,” Big Mac said.

“No, the worst that’ll happen is she takes the time to do it,” Rarity said. “Discord could very well be waiting for exactly this opportunity, to distract the remaining princess.” In a smaller voice, she added, “I’d jump at the chance if I were in his place.”

“We can’t send them marching through Tartarus,” Vinyl said.

“They volunteered,” Pinkie said. “So there’s that.”

“I can’t believe this,” Rainbow said. “How is this even a debate? They’re dead if they try that, you realize that?”

“They might be dead already,” Twilight said.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” She yawned. “What I meant to say is, it might already be too late. I agree with Rarity—sorry, girls, but she makes a good point—and it’s clear we can’t do anything from out here.”

“There’s always something!”

“Yes, and we’re doing it,” Rarity said. “Remember who’s down there, also. Octavia and Applejack have been through worse than this; they’re not going to panic, or let themselves be beaten down by anything in there. Even Colgate seems like she can do okay; she’s smart.”

“They’ll have someone to take care of ‘em if they get hurt,” Big Mac said.

“Yes, that too.”

“We should at least let the princess know,” Pinkie said.

“She might be able to help in another way,” Vinyl said. “Not sure what, though.”

“She’ll just come,” Twilight said. “I’m quite sure of that. And like it or not, Rainbow, Rarity’s right. We can’t get her away from the throne, not for a minute. Not with that maniac out there.” She gestured up at the trees, as if the weather, too, were a product of his rampant magic.

When they woke, the rain had stopped and the night had not; they shivered around the guttered ashes of their meager fire, making their ways back to consciousness. It was Pinkie who had prompted the mass awakening, rolling over and crying out softly in her makeshift bedroll of leaves. She managed to get to her hooves before another letter came out.

“Does that hurt or something?” Rainbow asked, stifling a yawn.

Pinkie only rubbed her head in response, and Rarity grabbed the letter.

“Oh, wow, this one’s long.” She cleared her throat. “We can’t simply go north to the Snowdrift gateway ‘cause we don’t know if north is the same way for us. Sun might rise in the south and set in north, et cetera. But Octy can feel your letters coming in advance, so if you can make some kind of automatic letter-sending spell and place them on your way to Snowdrift, we can follow that way.”

“Like a trail of breadcrumbs,” Twilight said, rubbing her eyes.

“I guess.” She read on. “AJ says she can’t get the ship to fly anymore, so we’re on hoof. Go a distance from where you are and set down a letter spell, and we’ll write back if we can feel it right. And there’s her signature, I’m guessing it’s Colgate’s.”

“Pretty good idea,” Pinkie said.

“Twilight, you don’t look good,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, I barely slept,” Twilight said. “But I’m up now. Let me see that letter.” She yawned as she read it. “I can lay down a sigil or something, I think. I’m not exactly sure how it’ll look, but I can figure it out.” She grabbed a twig and started scribbling in the ashes. “If some of you could gather food and some more firewood, that would be great.”

“Is there a spell to tell you what time it is?” Rainbow asked.

“Not in a situation like this.”

“Really?”

“Rather, no spell I know. A time-telling spell would just refer to the nearest celestial body and give a result based on that, but since the whole sky’s out of whack, it wouldn’t help.”

“Pfft.”

“We’ll just find a clock somewhere,” Rarity said from behind a small bush.

“Let’s put that on the back burner,” Fluttershy said, brushing a twig out of Big Mac’s fur. “I’d like to find some food, though.”

Twilight nodded, mind waking up and eyes already blinded to everything outside her scrawls of sigil designs.

A light drizzle covered them as they moved up the river, the seven of them stuffed tightly into the motorboat. Side by side, their heads and backs were exposed to the cold rain, and they could only shiver unhappily as Vinyl piloted them slowly. The night before, following the river down to the lake had been easy, but going the opposite direction presented different problems, and she had to go easy.

By a mossy, sunken pier, Twilight got out and placed her sigil under a rock on the riverbank. It was small, drawn onto the back of one of their letters. On the back of another, she wrote to alert the others that it was in place, and Pinkie sent it.

“You’re sending those to Octavia?” Vinyl asked.

“Yup!” Pinkie said.

“That’s good. I guess it’s lucky she’s down there.”

“Siblings can often send each other letters like that,” Twilight said. “They’re born with it.”

“I didn’t even know I could until Octavia sent that one last night,” Pinkie said.

“I hope they’re okay,” Fluttershy said.

“They’ll be fine,” Rainbow said. She didn’t go on, and no one spoke. The rain turned the river into a green and brown furred band, a shaking carpet under the arcature of trees. Occasionally, wind would moan through their branches, but it was the forest’s only voice.

Eventually, Rarity put up a weak shield to keep the worst of the wind out, and the shivering paused. Still no one spoke, and when the letter came, Fluttershy grabbed it in her telekinesis—so rarely used, some had forgotten she had it—before it could flutter into the water.

“We got the letter. Full steam ahead, and we’ll meet in Snowdrift.” Fluttershy gave the letter to Twilight, who tucked it into her magical space.

“No ‘good luck’ or anything?” Pinkie asked.

“They’re the ones who need luck, not us,” Vinyl said, starting them up again.

“We’re stopping at that cabin again,” Twilight said. “We need supplies.”

“What if someone’s home?” Rainbow asked.

“We’ll tell them the truth, I’m sure they’ll understand,” Rarity said.

“If they don’t?” Big Mac asked. “Fer that matter, what if it’s a trap?”

Twilight, awkwardly perched toward the front and leaning half off the boat, as they all were, squinted her eyes against the misty wind. Her thoughts were not on what the others had to say, and though they spoke for some time, Twilight could only think of what she wanted to do to Discord. She imagined him powerless and cowering before their Elements—nine, not six, she reminded herself—and she delivering all manner of dramatic monologues, laying out his crimes and passing her judgement. She paced, she gesticulated, and the others cheered her or put in their own grievances; sometimes, he leapt up, and she had the privilege of swatting him down. Entertaining the fantasy, she almost missed the cabin she wanted to search.

They stopped again and everyone got out, some going into the woods and some coming with her to the front door. She knocked, waited, knocked, and let herself in. The cabin was clearly abandoned on the inside, so they picked through and took what they could. There was no blank paper, but Pinkie found a brush and inkwell that Twilight could use for more sigils. The closet was full of moth-eaten clothing, perforated sweaters and formerly waterproof jackets, all of which they took, putting on the best outfits they could. Rainbow found a bottle of grain alcohol in the cupboard, which they took for campfires, and Twilight folded a couple jars of mixed nuts into her space.

“I wonder whether that was just their summer home,” Fluttershy said when they were back on the river.

“Could be,” Rainbow said.

“Hope not,” Vinyl said, unheard by all but Rarity. Soon, their cabin had disappeared behind a bend in the river, and they were alone in the uncharted forest. Occasionally, birdsong would materialize and fade; the creatures of the forest did not know what to do with the sun missing. The boat would tilt as Fluttershy rose in her seat, trying to see them, but they were too high above, all huddled against the storm. No lightning or thunder broke the motor’s monotony, and no conversation colored the tired hours.

The forest was tightening around them, so gradually that they only noticed when they had to stop and get out for Twilight to lift the boat over a fallen log. The river had narrowed to a capillary, shallow and slow, freckled with leaves that seemed to blow from all directions, caught in a numb wind. There, with a cold view of the waxing moonlight through a gap in the trees, they took a lunch of wild mushrooms and stale nuts from the cabin. Little was said, and many of them spent their time studying the woods around them or the river just in sight. The sigh of wind, far outside them as though excluded by the walls of a room; the towering trees that led one’s eyes up to an even vaster canopy of storm clouds webbed with branches. The smell of pine was heavy and saccharine, and they could taste it in the river water they drank.

When they were again underway, an hour had passed, though they did not know it. The moon had become a frozen puff of misty light behind clouds.

In the woods and the static night, time was reduced to an idea. Perhaps that had been Discord’s plan all along, Fluttershy supposed, seated in the back with the motor’s cacophony unwelcome in her ears. He had limited precognition, either of his own or through Vanilla, so he could have seen the separation coming, the trek upriver through the wide, southern woods. Freezing everything as he had, perhaps it was an attempt to drive them mad.

The faceless lines of trees formed a singular, dark cell wall around them, circling and changing, but never breaking. The forest was so vast, the river so long, at times it seemed as if it truly were rotating around them, a nested sequence of zoetropes through which all she could see was the next larger one, slots of deep shadow and faint light to form no pattern. The rain on the river and on their cold bodies, cold despite how uncomfortably they were confined to the boat, was the sole chorus of their journey, and Fluttershy had as little notion of time passing as any of them. She tried to count the seconds before a particular tree went out of sight, but there were hundred of trees like it, and as soon as she blinked, she would lose the one she had been watching. A prison of uncountable acreage, with neither geographical variance nor passing of daylight to indicate their progress.

The longer they floated, the more she found herself staring into the waters. Sometimes she would see fish, their long, silver bodies like submerged ingots. Sometimes, the river would lose its bottom and become a more perfect reflection of the sky, its blank darkness only broken by the constant ripple and splash of falling rain in conjunction with their own intrusive presence.

Her comfort, which she knew the others had not, was that she had little to no thoughts of home. The nostalgia of purer times in Ponyville was a soothing balm to her taxed brain, but no intoxicant, and no painful reminder. What she had had there, she could also find in the forest, or most anywhere: conference with nature, manifold animal companions, time alone to pursue her interests or to give freely to others. In a sense, she thought, what she was currently doing was not so different from what she might anyway. The wanton charity—now obfuscated, and rightly so, if she silenced her sentimental side with practicality—was one of her favored ways of conduct anyway, and while the risks involved were great, at least she was aware of them.

It was that which most consistently surprised her when they encountered trials and kinks in the path: the shock; the insult; the dumbfounded awe; and, most importantly, the disillusionment. That some of her friends had still retained capacity enough to be disillusioned by the obstacles hurled their way amazed Fluttershy, as though some of them still expected him to one day sashay into their camp, stand with arms wide open, and allow them to sweep him back into the history books, his final act a benevolent snap of the fingers to set the rest of their land right. It shocked and, though she disdained to admit it to herself, occasionally appalled her that some of their number still expected anything less than what they got, had gotten since day one.

“Trees’re thinnin’,” Big Mac mumbled, and everyone looked around obligingly.

Fluttershy knew that it was she who was responsible for the Elements misfiring, and probably Twilight too. She had not forgiven Pinkie for refusing to act in Applewood. She had tried; in their long flights and long nights over the countryside, chasing the angel north and then doubling around to chase Big Mac’s suggestion, she had lost hours of sleep, replaying the scene in her mind, searching for reasons why her friend’s weakness might be justified. Vinyl had presented the most compelling argument, that Pinkie had simply frozen up; under the sudden pressure to perform, she had lost her ground and quietly panicked.

No matter how she turned it in her head, though, the argument did not hold water, for she had seen Pinkie refuse simpler tasks as well, outright lie about having the power she was said to have. Had Fluttershy not such vivid memories of earlier days, standing on rooftops and watching the world mend itself with Pinkie as a glowing focal point, she might choose to believe that Celestia was mistaken, that Pinkie had no more power than any of them; even, that in the strange and terrified moments under the palace, before things had gone wrong, she had somehow lent Pinkie the power to do what she had done that day and in days following. Perhaps the loan had simply expired without their noticing, the divine magic fading, leaving Pinkie as confused and hurt as Fluttershy had been.

That explanation did not satisfy her either, though. What she knew of magic did not allow such a loan of power, and what she knew of the princess precluded a tactic of that nature. It left her with the conclusion she knew, in her heart of hearts, was the truth: Pinkie had simply been weak. She had been frightened, which was itself forgivable, but she had let fear overtake her in her friends’ time of need, and instead of rising to that fear, she allowed herself to be buried. She had stood her ground and firmly asserted her inability, choosing, Fluttershy knew Pinkie had to have known even then, death over life. That Vanilla would save them seconds later was of no relevance, for Pinkie had no reason to expect it.

“Unless she did?” Fluttershy thought. “She does have that Pinkie Sense.” She trailed her hoof in the water, studying its path, doubting herself. They hadn’t seen Pinkie’s precognition in some months, and Pinkie had openly admitted to thinking she had lost it. Her reasons were unclear.

The consequence of this truth was as frightening as the truth itself, and the implications thereof. Thinking that her friend—that any of them—might be so repelled by the idea of their talents as to choose defeat and death instead, was to her too much to accept. The unreasoning impulse was so great, the thought of it swept away her anger, her disgust, and her pity. Like Discord himself, and the impediments he ceaselessly constructed for them, Fluttershy felt that she had no choice but to face Pinkie’s action, the reasons for its being, and shake her head. “Well, there it is,” she could only say. “Now what do we do about it?”

Forgiveness, it was clear to her, was not an option. She still considered Pinkie a friend, but at the same time, not. They had known each other for years, and there was an entire bank of good memories behind their relationship, but as Fluttershy thought of them—as she had for many nights, hoping some shining memory would offer itself as counterbalance to Pinkie’s inaction—she found them lacking, diminished with what she considered to be a truth of Pinkie’s character that she had simply never before seen. She did not doubt that, if they returned home, she would be comfortable, if not happy, to live out the rest of her life without seeing or hearing from Pinkie again.

This thought, as well familiar to her, never failed to chill her, to strike a disharmonious chord of self-reflection. She was the Element of Kindness, yet somehow had grown enough ice around her heart that dismissing someone from her friendship was not only possible but likely. Fluttershy wondered still whether it was her, whether Pinkie’s failure were, in fact, forgivable, and that she had simply lost some core component that the others shared. Perhaps, she thought, doubt still quiet under all, that she had lost her perspective, and everyone else would welcome Pinkie back with a hug if she were to confess her mistake.

It was, after all, a mistake. Just a mistake, borne neither of malice nor misguided ignorance. Somewhere in their time together, fear had found Pinkie, and she had buried it deep enough that it had become a part of her.

Fluttershy wondered whether not forgiving someone a character flaw was itself the bigger disgrace. Maybe her kindness had dried up, and she was too blind to acknowledge it, instead laying the blame for her bitterness at Pinkie’s hooves.

After all, she was not being forced to not forgive; that choice, as Pinkie’s, was hers alone.

Regardless, the conclusion was always the same. Irrespective of who was right and who was wrong, whether Fluttershy had become the poison in their friendship on her own or whether she had been prompted by another, they were Elements of Harmony, and they had a job to do. Finding more Elements had bought her time, but would not solve the problem on its own, and since Pinkie could not go back and correct her mistake, or make up for it with a different act of heroism, Fluttershy could see only one thing she could change: herself.

She had browsed Twilight’s books briefly, too frightened to do any serious research, on the topic of memory wiping. If she could forget what Pinkie had done, then they would return to their old friendship. The notion made Fluttershy’s skin crawl.

They had had their memories blocked temporarily in the first battle for Canterlot. After defending themselves on the balcony, managing to take life in the chaos, they had all of them been too stunned and revolted by themselves to be of any use. Finding them so, Princess Celestia had removed the memory from their minds, just long enough for them to do their task, and then gave it back afterwards.

It was in that moment, receiving the vile memory, that Fluttershy had first thought to question the princess, to wonder how pure her intentions were. It was a pragmatic decision, one she would make in a second in her current state, but at the time, it had frightened her that such deception was even possible. How many others had had their memories wiped, she sometimes wondered; at darker times, she wondered whether any of them had had memories taken, whether there was any lost time in their lives.

On its face, returning the offending memory, no matter how bad, seemed to her to be an easy decision. Of course the memory should be returned, for the accumulation of memories and experiences made the pony. If, however, the memory of Applewood and Pinkie could be removed, and the knowledge of the removal itself also expunged, then what would she actually be missing? She would be none the wiser; she would not mourn its loss, or notice its absence in her character makeup. A cancerous black spot on her heart would be burned away, and she could return to normal, or at least a hardened version of normal that she knew was inescapable. There was no harm in it, not that she could see.

Still, the thought did not sit well with her. She knew now, and, so knowing, could not imagine not knowing. Like robbing someone without their knowledge, it still seemed wrong to her. Like stealing the motorboat from its unattended shed.

Yet she did not see other options. Natural forgiveness was closed off, probably forever, and she could not seek counsel from the others. Vinyl and Big Mac knew, and it did not escape her that perhaps they would need to have their memories altered as well, but in the meantime, she did not see either of them helping her reach some point of absolution that she had yet to reach in her own rumination.

She looked at Twilight, shivering at the front, and envied her. The unicorn was beset with demons of her own, but at least those demons did not doom the entire group to failure. A selfish thought, and one she did not follow.

“Let’s stop here and put down a sigil,” Twilight said. “I can see a clearing up ahead.”

The river broadened as they floated through a final, patchy grove of trees, leading to a wide and windswept plain. Smaller pines swayed amid soaked willows, their leaves dark and depressed in the storm. The clouds were without end, miles and miles of gray callous over the night, turning the flatland into a marsh and blurring the line between river and ground. Grass grew right up to the edge, leaning out with the wind to meet cat tails and overshadowing patches of wildflowers, and they slowed to navigate the calmer, but less certain waters. The Friesian mountains stood not ten miles northwest, their tops lost in the clouds, their steely faces marbled with gray snow that occasionally turned white with distant lightning.

“I see a spot for us,” Rarity said, and Vinyl took them to a relatively clear shoulder of mud. Everyone got out to stretch their legs while Twilight worked on her next sigil, only Pinkie staying with her to confer about the others, wondering about their progress.

Fluttershy walked a distance into the plain, seeing that Rarity and Big Mac were doing the same in their own directions. She wanted to gesture Big Mac and Vinyl over so that they might speak of Pinkie’s mistake, but stopped herself, knowing the time was wrong. Likely, they were thinking of their own affairs. Big Mac had a sister in Tartarus, which was not much better than being dead, Fluttershy thought. He would not be open to much discussion of anything. Vinyl, too, had her own thoughts; it was clear on her face, even covered with the goggles. She was probably getting a second dose of the reality of their adventure, bereft of its grandiosity. Yes, ponies would sing their praises, and yes, books would be written to herald their journey, but there were no plaudits coming for a wet, freezing boat ride to Snowdrift. For the daily frustration of rationing food and water, for the countless tiny conflicts that seemed impossible to avoid when they were a week out from anywhere and cooped up on an airship.

“I sure am cheerless today,” Fluttershy thought suddenly. “I suppose I have the right to be.”

“Hey Shy,” Rainbow said, appearing at her side. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Fine.”

“There’s a town over there.” She pointed, and Fluttershy saw it, a small line of shapes before a continuing curve of forest.

“That’s good.”

“It is, actually,” Rainbow said.

Fluttershy looked again, hearing in Rainbow’s tone that she was missing something. She shook her head.

“You see those train tracks? That means we can catch a train north. No more of this dang boat.”

“How do we know the trains are running out here?”

Rainbow only shrugged, and Fluttershy chose not to press the question.

“Let’s go!” Twilight shouted.

They crowded back into the boat and fishtailed into the middle of the river, sliding up the waters, covered in a gentle drizzle. Muted echoes of thunder spread from the north with occasional flashes to precede them, but the going was no less miserable, for what cold had abated with the weakening of the rain was replaced with icy wind that furrowed the grass and seemed to cut through flesh. Pinkie buried her head in her hooves, mumbling about her freezing eyes.

Rainbow did not need to point out the town, for the river took them straight to it, bending on a wide angle into a cleft between two forested hills, one swelling and lifting into a broad curve that stretched out to meet the low clouds, the other flattened to more stubbled field. Just under the hill’s brow was nestled their next town, a sulking collection of wood and brick cabins arranged like pieces spattered from a fallen collective, at the epicenter a solitary church, its tower belled out with dark shingles that made it’s edges indistinguishable from the darkness around, as if the building were the source from which the endless night had flown, up through the belfry and into the virgin sky.

Vinyl guided them to a sagging wooden pier where they climbed out, limbs stiff and ears and noses raw, while she struggled to tie the boat in. A lone stallion stood at the pier’s end and gave them a wave, which they returned without enthusiasm.

They crossed the slippery riverbank and headed toward the church, soon crossing onto a firmer layer of flagstones that afforded them little better traction. White smoke rose from some of the chimneys, dampened in the rain, which was beginning to fall harder once more. They passed an inn, a darkened grocery store, and several anonymous houses, each seeming partially sunken into the earth under the weight of the rain. All around them, streams of water gurgled down spouts or ran onto the street, collecting in the sulci between stones, creating the effect of a town sinking into the swamp without. From inside their homes, ponies did not disguise their wonder and distrust as they watched. For them, the sight of the Elements of Harmony, plus some and minus some others, bedraggled and beaten, was no joyous occasion.

Under the church’s spire, they looked up at the silver glass of the clock face, its hands declaiming eight-thirty at night. They didn’t need to speak; it was too early for how they felt, too drained to contemplate another hour on the river. Big Mac suggested they go inside, to get out of the rain, and they did.

Many of the pews were empty, and very few parishioners turned their heads at the doors swinging open. The reverend paused with the faintest look up from the altar, where she was bowed, deep into a sermon. They took seats in the back, went through the motions as best they could follow along, and waited until the service was over before approaching the mare.

“We’re really sorry,” Twilight said. “We just got into town. Is there somewhere we can stay?”

“We need to get a train up to Snowdrift,” Big Mac said. “But somewhere to stay ‘til the next one rolls through would be… we’d be grateful.”

The reverend regarded them with pastel pink eyes, set deep and too far apart in an almond colored face. She shrugged off a woolly robe and, snatching a long match from a holder under the altar, lit a candle that had gone out. She was much younger than her habit had made her look, and she idly pulled a thin lock of silky mane away from the candle she lit. “The Drop has rooms upstairs, if you don’t mind a little noise.”

“Is that the pub we passed?” Rainbow asked.

“You saw it. Yes, that’s the place.”

“A little noise is fine,” Fluttershy said. “As long as it’s dry.”

“Dry it is, and you can get a hot meal for a few bits extra if you need.” She looked at them again, her eyes serious but not yet absent a certain youthful wildness, like she might crack a smile at any second. “If it’s not too forward, it looks like you do.”

“We’ve been traveling for a long time,” Rarity said.

“Thanks for the recommendation,” Twilight said. “Er… it was a lovely sermon.”

The reverend gave them a smile, offered to listen if any of them wished to talk, and they went back into the storm. Rarity conjured a shield that was too weak to keep out all the wind as they walked to the pub, still lit and already beginning to fill. The smell of potatoes and onions pooled at the door, and Pinkie took a moment to savor it.

They were met with the same vague, deferential looks as they had received in the church, passing by the early patrons without comment or acknowledgement, and to the bartender, who watched them approach from behind a pair of smudged half moon glasses. He nodded to each, and if he was surprised to see them in his bar, he didn’t show it.

“Can we get a room?” Twilight asked.

“Fifteen bits a night.” His tone was guarded.

“Sure.” Twilight made to reach into her pocket space, but froze. Everything was back on the airship, including Celestia’s treasury note.

“Uhh, Twi?” Rainbow asked.

“I’ve got it,” Pinkie said, approaching and dropping a small sack of bits onto the counter. The bartender hefted it, glanced inside, and nodded. “We’d like some dinner too, please,” she said.

“Sit anywhere you like,” the bartender said. “I’ll send Wild Celery over to you in a minute.”

They selected a wide C-shaped both in the corner by a rain-smeared window, and after a second, Twilight lit the tallow candle in the middle, planting a tiny globule of light to cast their faces in shifting shadow.

“Spare bits, Pinkie?” Rarity asked.

Pinkie only shrugged.

“We ‘ppreciate it,” Big Mac said, and Fluttershy got up from their booth.

A young, quiet stallion shuffled to their table with a bare serving tray on his back, took their orders, and left them.

“I’m going to put a sigil in our room,” Twilight said. “Pinkie? If I write a note for a status update, can you send it?”

“Sure,” Pinkie said.

Sliding back in next to Rainbow, Fluttershy said, “I asked the bartender, and a train runs through here fairly regularly. He said the next one is scheduled for tomorrow, around ten.”

“That’s in the morning?” Twilight asked.

“That’s right.”

“We should be there by nine,” Vinyl said.

“I can set us an alarm spell,” Twilight said. Her horn glowed for a second. “There. I’ll wake up at eight tomorrow.” She leaned, trying to see out the window. “I can’t see the church clock from here.”

“‘Bout ten hours,” Big Mac said.

Their food arrived just as the bar was getting crowded, and the rain hammered on their window obtrusively, punctuated sometimes with a flash of nearby lightning. For the most part, they had stopped noticing it, but some of the other patrons seemed agitated. It did not stop ponies from entering, soaked and shivering, adding to a pile of umbrellas overflowing in the corner. They ate and spoke of plans, though there was not much to go over; for the most part, they were quieted by the relief of being able to sleep indoors, of having food that was prepared instead of foraged. After an hour, and when the bar was at peak activity, many of them were preparing to head up to their room.

“I’m not really tired,” Rainbow said. “I know it sounds crazy, but I dunno.” She slid to one side to admit Rarity.

“I can stay up with you, Dashie,” Pinkie said.

“You two go ahead,” Twilight said. “Just remember we have to be up early tomorrow to catch that train.”

“Eight o’ clock, I know,” Rainbow said.

“We won’t be up crazy late,” Pinkie said.

“Well, have fun,” Twilight said. “We’re in room nineteen. Here.” She dropped a key on the table, and that was that. Rainbow and Pinkie looked at each other, then got up and went to the bar.

“I can take tonight,” Pinkie said, producing anther bag of bits. She waved the bartender over and ordered for herself and Rainbow, who did not object. She kept their tabs open.

“You’re not just staying up for my sake, are you?” Rainbow asked.

“Maybe a little,” Pinkie said. “But I’m okay. I know what you mean; we traveled so much today, but I’m hardly tired at all.”

“I guess a lot of it was just sitting in the boat.” She took a quarter of her beer off in one draft. “What the heck is this?”

“Tap.”

“Tastes like sweat socks.”

Pinkie giggled and had a sip herself, making a show of licking at her foam mustache. After a second, she said, “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“Yeah. Me too.” She fiddled with a peanut, trying to crack it with her hoof.

“Really.”

Rainbow frowned at the peanut.

“Applejack is smart, and so’s Colgate, and Octy’s… well, she’s Octy. They’ll be okay.”

“I’m not the only one who noticed how bad she was looking before the crash, right?”

“Octy? Colgate?”

“What? Octavia. Colgate looks fine.”

Pinkie raised a corner of her lip.

“Eh, she probably just got that in a scrap.”

“Could be.”

Rainbow had a smaller drink of her beer. “Did I ever tell you what she asked me once? We were flying to the mines, everyone was still sulking after that big fight we had. It was just me and her.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar, no,” Pinkie said.

“She asked me to make sure that we didn’t take her back to Canterlot or Ponyville. It was weird, she was really insistent.”

“Why?”

“I tried to get it out of her, but all she’d say was that there were ponies there who didn’t like her, who might hurt her if she came back. She also said she didn’t think they’d follow her out of the cities, though; she was pretty sure of that. She thought we were safe where we were.”

“That is weird,” Pinkie said. “Maybe not that weird, though. I guess we all have our problems. Maybe hers are all back there.”

“You could tell she was scared.”

“She’s scared now.”

“Well, yeah.” She sipped her beer again. “Ugh. Let’s not get this again.”

“I mean before Tartarus, Dashie. Before that, she was scared then too.”

“How d’ya figure?”

“Just a feeling. She was way different in Ponyville.”

“That’s true.”

“There’s something she’s not sharing about her time apart from us. Probably a lot, something that changed her like this.” She pointed to the corner of her mouth again. “Maybe the same thing that did this.”

“I hope it’s not that bad.”

Pinkie finished her beer.

“Maybe it’s debt. Doctors have a lot of that, I know. Maybe her finances weren’t as good as they should have been, and she lost a bunch of stuff.”

“My sister worries about that all the time. I told her once she could just get a blank check from the princess after all this, but she didn’t seem to think that was a valid answer.”

“Octy? Not accepting charity? You must be pulling my leg.”

Pinkie laughed, and the bartender asked to top them off. Pinkie got another of the tap, and Rainbow took a red ale.

“Well, cheers, I guess,” Pinkie said, tapping her glass. “Yours is really pretty.”

Rainbow sipped, nodding. “It’s a lot better, yeah.”

“In a weird way, I think this might be a good thing for Octy,” Pinkie said.

“You’re drunk, Pinks.”

“No, really!” Pinkie said, giggling. She sobered. “Really. You said she hasn’t been looking herself, and that’s true. She’s depressed, the most depressed I’ve ever seen her, or anyone. Even Twilight didn’t get that bad after her thing.” She mimed slashing her throat, and Rainbow nodded.

“Yeah, I know what thing you mean.”

“She’d stopped eating when we crashed, did you notice?”

“Really?”

Pinkie lowered her lips to the glass. “Sure looked like it, unless she was sneaking food when we were all asleep.”

“Huh.” She drank. “Why didn’t you say anything to her? Or did you?”

Pinkie drank again, and Rainbow watched, but she didn’t answer. After a while, Rainbow returned to her own drink. She had trodden on something delicate, and while part of her wanted to intrude, she knew it was difficult. Wrestling with the decision, she took several more small sips. She could feel the beer getting to her head.

“C’mon, did you bring it up to her?” Rainbow asked. “I won’t be, you know, freaked if you say ‘no’.”

“I didn’t, but you’re gonna ask why, and I want to have an answer ready for you.”

“You don’t have to.” She didn’t mean it, but the impulse to put her friend at ease got to her tongue first.

“I’m not really sure.”

For a while, they sat in silence, stealing looks at each other over their beers. The bartender asked if they were okay, and Rainbow said they were.

“The timing never seemed right,” Pinkie said at last. “I knew I should say something, but it never felt like the right context. She was just laying out there on the deck, and I didn’t know what to say. Right? Like, I couldn’t very well bring it up when everyone else was there. You know how that would go.”

“‘Hey, sis of mine, I noticed you seem to be shedding pounds like bad habits, what’s up with that?’ Yeah, I don’t see that going over well,” Rainbow said.

“And every time it was night, well, I was sleeping. I have to sleep just like anypony else!” she added, heat in her voice. “I don’t know what she’s trying to prove! She has to know she’s killing herself! I don’t see how someone couldn’t.” She retreated back to her beer.

“She might be too wrapped up in whatever it is to notice.”

“She knows,” Pinkie said. “She might play dumb, but she notices things. One thing, for sure, Octavia knows when she’s in trouble. She might not say anything, but she knows.”

“I guess if she’s been in so much…”

“Exactly. She has a nose for it.”

Rainbow nodded and hid a smile. “Her nose knows.”

Pinkie snorted into her beer, and Rainbow regretted her joke. She was supposed to be serious, but her mind was elsewhere. After a moment, she said as much.

“It’s okay, Dashie. I’m sorry, I don’t want to be a little rain cloud tonight. We’ve got enough of that already.” She looked around the bar. “Metaphorically and for realsies.”

“Cheers to that,” Rainbow said, tapping her glass again and finishing it. “I could go for another one of those. How you doing?”

“Let’s keep on,” Pinkie said. “I like this.”

They ordered another round, same as the last, and Pinkie put down more bits.

“So where are you getting those?” Rainbow asked. “Random Pinkie magic?”

Pinkie widened her eyes in an exaggerated display of thought. “If you wanna put a word to it, sure.”

“We can talk about something else, if you’d like.”

Pinkie shook her head tightly. “Never mind, we’re talking. Yeah, it’s magic. I thought… I didn’t know what I was thinking. But here it is!” She giggled, but Rainbow recognized the forced tone she used.

“I don’t want to press.”

Pinkie smiled. “So you learned some tact, hm?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She stopped herself, took a deep breath, remembered that they had both been drinking. “Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. Twilight taught me.”

Pinkie slashed her throat again.

“Can you stop that? It creeps me out. And yes, that’s what did it. If you must know, she and I talked about it. Quite a lot, actually.”

“I’m glad.”

“Hm.”

“No, I mean it,” Pinkie said, leaning and putting a hoof to Rainbow’s back. “Sorry, Dashie. I didn’t mean to sound mean. I didn’t mean to be a meanie Pinkie.” Quietly, to herself, she mumbled, “didn’t meanie to be a meanie Pinkie.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.” She sipped her beer. “Tell me something.”

“Shoot.”

“You think we got any hope at all?”

“Course.”

“Think about it.”

“I am thinking.”

Rainbow thought. “I’m starting to think it doesn’t matter,” she said at last. “Not whether we have hope or not, I mean if we… You know, if we make it.”

“Hm?”

“I mean… I don’t know.”

“If we survive?” Pinkie asked. “Sure, it matters.”

“Does it really? I mean, really, in terms of the whole country, in terms of the princesses, the whole thing. I’m starting to think maybe enough damage has been done, like it kinda doesn’t even matter anymore.”

“You know,” Pinkie said, sipping, “it’s funny in a really dark way, ‘cause what you’re saying, Rarity once confided those feelings in me too.”

“Really?”

“She’s real fatalistic. Is that the word? She’s not convinced that our work here is gonna affect the outcome, is what I mean.”

“I mean, I don’t think it definitely won’t, but—”

“You’re also not sure,” Pinkie finished. “I get that.”

“I try not to think about it, honestly.”

“Here’s to that.” They tapped their glasses. “Don’t be like my sister, Dashie. If you start thinking things won’t get better, then they won’t. It’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy, you know?” She pointed at the bottom of her chest. “Goodness is like a flower, okay? You take a little hope, that’s the seed, and you plant it in a nice fresh soil of good thoughts, right down here.” She indicated her diaphragm and took another long drink. “And you water those good thoughts with good deeds, and expose it to good friends—that’s the sunshine. That’s all of you!”

Rainbow smiled in spite of herself.

“And before you know it, you’ve got yourself a bona-fide sunflower, or foxglove, or orchid, or whatever kind of flower you want! I’m a poppy!”

“What kind of flower do you think I am, Pinks?”

“I dunno.” She sipped and giggled at some private thought.

“What?”

“Just thinking.”

“Yeah… And?”

Pinkie leaned in and whispered. “The mare next to me just said something funny, is all.”

“Mm.”

They sat and drank for a time, got another round, and observed the bar. It had grown quieter, but was still active with night life. A group of young ponies had taken their booth and were laughing loudly and talking over one another. A pair of older ponies flirted on one side of the bar, and on the other, a solitary guest was chatting with the bartender. The sound of pressurized water hissed in the kitchen behind the bar, and an acoustic guitar twanged from the jukebox. For them both, the scenery had blurred into a uniformly warm, dim bubble of disorganized details: the uneaten olives in someone’s martini glass, the bar stool that a patron pushed back into place on her way past, the flash of lightning that made the tap into a menacing club sticking up from the bar.

Pinkie looked at Rainbow. She could tell her friend was distracted, and didn’t blame her.

“Now let me ask you something,” Pinkie said.

“Go for it.”

“Do you have a thing for Colgate?”

Rainbow brought herself up from the beer glass. “Pinkie, no offense, but what in Celestia’s name would make you think that?”

Pinkie shrugged. “Looks a little like Trixie. Same colors, kinda.”

“Pinkie.” She waited for Pinkie to finish her sip and look back up. “I would never, ever, ever be interested in her. That you would compare her to Trixie in the first place is so ridiculous, I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just asking.”

Rainbow sighed. “Why do you ask? Do you have a thing for her?”

“Too serious for me. No, I was just wondering.”

“Hm.” She drank again. “But no, Colgate and me, no. I wouldn’t, and I hope she doesn’t try either.”

“Yeesh.”

“Yeesh is right. She’s weird.”

“So did you and Trixie go all the way?”

Rainbow paused, not prepared for the question, or its candor. “I’m not really sure. If we didn’t, we at least got close. I think.”

“Yeah? You think?”

“It was the Manehattan after-party. Her show, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right! That was fun. You got pretty drunkie, Dashie.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“Not that I’m judging,” Pinkie added.

“Yeah, I don’t think we did anything too serious. We made out, and I think that was it. Maybe some, you know, petting.”

“She was pretty into you.”

“Eh.”

“I saw it in her eyes. You can tell, you know? If you look into a pony’s eyes.” Pinkie sat up quickly. “Dashie, I’m so sorry!”

“What?”

“If you wanna stop talking about it, we can. I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t realize… Well, I—”

“You’re fine, Pinks. I’m over it.”

“You sure?” Pinkie asked quietly.

Rainbow drank more of her beer; it was losing its flavor. “As Rarity might say, I cried my tears. We move on.”

“We move on,” Pinkie said. “I’ll drink to that!”

They both drank.

“Trixie would have been my first,” Rainbow said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh. First mare, or first, like, in general?”

“In general.”

Pinkie nodded happily. “I remember my first. She was the cutest thing, you’d have never guessed she was older than me. We were dating for a month before anything too wild happened, but when it did… pow.” She gestured loosely with her hoof. “We didn’t last long after that. She said it was her, but honestly, sometimes I wonder if it was me. You know, maybe I wasn’t experienced enough?”

“No one can blame you for that, though. This was in Ponyville?”

“Yuppers. Good ol’ Ponyville.” She thought for a moment. “I dropped the L bomb on her after our second time.”

“Uhhh… Yeah, I heard that’s not great.”

“I was young and stupid. I really hope that wasn’t it. You know, that wasn’t the thing that drove her away.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Rainbow said, not sure what to say. She hardly had a well of experience from which to draw.

Pinkie giggled. “Thanks, Dashie. It’s fine, it is. Sometimes I get sentimental when I drink. Past is past, I just gotta remember that is all.”

“True enough, there.” She finished her beer. “So, uh, you got your eyes on anyone nowadays?”

“Not in this group. Most of you are like sisters to me. One of you is a sister to me."

“But somepony outside the group?”

“Remember that pony we found in Trottingham? Her name was Vintage, or Vintner, or something.”

“The wine pony.”

“Yeah, her!” Pinkie looked up for a second. “Yeah, her. What a mare!”

“Good luck with that.”

Pinkie giggled. “I know, right? Like I’m ever gonna see her again. Hey, a pony can dream!”

“To dreaming,” Rainbow said, tapping her glass.

“To keeping the dream alive,” Pinkie said.

Twilight woke at precisely eight o’ clock, her horn pulsing in her head and scattering her dream, and she roused the others. The clouds over town had blown away sometime in the night, but to the north, they remained, heavy and cold as ever. As they walked through the town, itself already awake with ponies sweeping the streets and tending to minor damage, Rainbow flew above and reported that the train would take them straight through the new storm, straight to the mountains. They stopped briefly in a general store, and Pinkie again summoned the money to buy them food and water for the trip.

The train station was positioned diagonal to the church, across a series of narrow, one-way roads that led to and from huddled clumps of houses, scores down the gentle hillside that began the larger rises of trees through which their river cut. They were the only ones at the station, and Rarity consulted the notice by the tracks, confirming that their train was truly scheduled for ten. The tracks were gray, soggy stripes across the grassland, their ties dark with water, the interstices like tide pools of gravel and sedge. No sun shone, but the moon was up, and it lent enough light by which to see larger details. None of the unicorns needed to light their horns.

“So I’m noticing that this doesn’t look like it’s going to be a passenger train,” Twilight said. “There’s the platform, and I can see pallets and dollies by that shed there.” She sighed.

“What’s the problem?” Rainbow asked. “We can just ask, I’m sure they’ll let us on.”

“That’s not how it works,” Vinyl said. “Trains like this don’t have room for ponies, really. It’s all cargo.”

“We’ll have to sneak aboard,” Twilight said. “Add transiency to our list of crimes, I guess.”

“You’re not criminals.”

Twilight nodded.

“There, let’s go there,” Fluttershy said, pointing at the rim of woods on the other side of the tracks. “We’ll hide there and board when the train stops to unload, or load, or whatever it does.”

“Good thought,” Twilight said, crossing. She splashed in a puddle, and Rarity made a small noise in the back of her throat.

“Any word from the others?” Big Mac asked.

“Pinkie? Anything?” Twilight asked.

Pinkie shook her head, and they found a spot behind the trees. Dew dripped onto their backs, and Rarity put up a thin shield. She was still tired from so much shield use the day before.

“Dash, we’re going to need your eyes,” Twilight said. “I just realized, not all the cars are going to be able to hold us. We need an open one, with space.”

“You want me to scout ahead?” Rainbow asked, stifling a yawn.

“Yes. It’ll be slowing down to approach us, so hopefully you can get back here and tell us where we need to be in time.”

Rainbow flapped her wings twice. “Sure, I can handle that. What time is it?”

No one spoke.

“Right. I don’t suppose we have time to go shopping for a watch?”

“We don’t know,” Big Mac said.

“Yeah, cool.” She nodded. “Just awesome.”

“We’ll pick one up in Snowdrift,” Rarity said.

“You might want to get in the air now,” Fluttershy mumbled. “Um… ‘cause if we wait to hear the train in the distance, it might be too late to react.”

“Yeah, sure,” Rainbow said.

“I can come with you if you’d like.”

“Nah.” She stepped out of Rarity’s shield, gave them a look of disinterest, and took off.

“Someone spit in her coffee?” Rarity asked.

“We were up late,” Pinkie said.

“How late did you stay—oh, right,” Twilight said. “Forget it.”

“We stayed up for five or six drinks.”

“Forgive me my jealousy, but I’m actually rather unhappy that I didn’t stay with you last night,” Rarity said. “I thought about it, but I was tired.”

“Nothing like alcohol to keep you awake,” Twilight said, rolling her eyes.

“You might be surprised,” Vinyl said, horn popping a small, pink light.

“We’d have loved to have you,” Pinkie said. “Dashie and I talked about all sorts of stuff.”

“I can imagine.”

“That’s one thing I miss,” Twilight said. “Sitting down at a table, having a coffee or something, and just talking. Not about what we have to do next, or how to get out of trouble, or how to save someone, but just chatting.”

“I miss laughter,” Pinkie said.

“You laugh plenty,” Vinyl said.

“Not the same.”

Rarity cleared her throat. “Let’s discuss something else, shall we? It’s too early—or late, or… confound all this. It’s too…”

“Sleepy,” Fluttershy said.

“Yes, thank you. Too sleepy to depress ourselves like this.” She flipped her mane back, a tangle of curls and strays that the rain and wind had eroded away from her usual coif. She had tried to return it to a semblance of its former self before they left the inn, but hadn’t the time or product to do more than flatten it into a weak, wide curl. “Think of it like this. Here we are, freezing our flanks off, in the middle of what I would say is some of the most beautiful, if not unfriendly, wilderness we’ve seen, getting ready to take a train straight through that.” She gestured in the direction of the Friesian Mountains. “Through the worst obstacles to face without an airship, straight to Snowdrift, straight to our friends.”

“And after that, we just swing by the mines,” Pinkie said, nodding along.

“They’re not in the mines anymore, remember?” Fluttershy asked.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“We’ll hear from Vanilla, I’m sure of it,” Twilight said. “He’s probably waiting for us to sort this out. But then, once we have, he’ll show us the Elements, and then that’s it.”

“Discord’s castle,” Big Mac said, shivering. Pinkie wordlessly put a foreleg around him.

“We’ll get him this time,” Vinyl said. “No doubt about it.”

“And that’ll be that,” Pinkie said a little louder. “We’re looking at a month?”

“Considering how quickly we can get around the country now,” Twilight said, “I’d like to shoot for a little less. A month would still be…” She sighed. “I’m so sick of this, girls.”

“We know,” Rarity said.

Twilight shrugged. “That’s it. That’s all. Just… I’m sick of this.” She looked up at the rumble of thunder. “It’s only going to get colder.”

“What’s today?” Vinyl asked.

“The…” Fluttershy did some quick calculation. “Sixth. Of November. Or at least in that area.”

“So say we get to Snowdrift on the fifteenth.” She looked up, her goggles reflecting black, jagged saw teeth from the pine boughs. “We’re gonna be getting there right as the weather’s getting serious.”

“Serious how?” Big Mac asked.

“They don’t call it ‘Snowdrift’ for nothing.”

“We’re going to need some heavy-duty clothing, you’re saying,” Rarity said.

“Jackets, parkas are even better,” Vinyl said. “Hats, mufflers, boots, all of it. We can pick all that up when we get there.”

“You said that the ponies there are pretty nice, though?” Fluttershy asked.

“They remind me a lot of Ponyville, when I was there.” She looked at Rarity. “Never expected to be gallivanting around with your lot after that show. If you can call it that.”

“You were in Ponyville?” Big Mac asked.

“Remember my… er, fashion show?” Rarity asked. “I was under a bit of a time crunch, so I had to call in a favor with the spa twins.”

“Friends of mine,” Vinyl said. “I was in Canterlot at the time, so it wasn’t much trouble to swing down and throw something together.”

“How do you know them?” Twilight asked.

“Met ‘em in Snowdrift when I was a pup.”

“Really?” Pinkie asked.

“Hold it,” Rarity said, ears up. They all listened, but only the wind moved. “Never mind. I thought I heard the train.”

“I think we’ve got some time still,” Twilight said. “Anyway, Snowdrift? I would never have guessed.”

“They lived there,” Vinyl said. “I roomed with ‘em for a little while, until I was on my hooves. Me and Ursa—another old friend. Musician.”

“Suppose that’s where they are now?” Pinkie asked.

“I do recall, in Ponyville, them acting rather jumpy,” Rarity said. “Talk of ‘going home’.”

“Snowdrift was home before Ponyville, I know that,” Vinyl said. “Born there, I think.”

“They never said anything about that.”

Vinyl shrugged.

“I hope they’re there,” Fluttershy said.

“I’d give just about anything for one of their massages,” Rarity said.

“I can massage you!” Pinkie said.

“Ah, well, thank you, Pinkie, but I’m okay for now.”

“Dash is coming back,” Twilight said. She stepped out of the shield and met Rainbow ahead, leaning back to regard her from her perch at the top of a tree. The others moved to join.

“We’ll have time,” Rainbow said. “That train’s rolling to a stop already.”

“That’s good news,” Pinkie said, and Fluttershy shushed her.

“It’s a bunch of tankards up front, and a couple in the back, but around the, like, the two-thirds point, I guess, there’s some boxcars we can climb in.”

“So where does that leave us?” Rarity asked.

“Where’s it gonna stop?” Vinyl asked.

“Let’s move back some,” Twilight said.

“You stay up there, darling,” Rarity called. “In case we need to adjust, it’ll be better to have you up there to tell us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rainbow said. “Hey! It’s freaking cold up here! Even for me!”

“Use your weather thing,” Pinkie said.

“Uh, duh, I’m trying. It’s not taking.”

“It’s because you keep flying out of your own air bubble,” Twilight said. “If you’d like, I can—”

“Don’t worry about it, Twilight,” Rainbow said. “Let’s just get this done.”

They pushed through the trees, pausing for a moment to watch as workers appeared from the town. They grabbed pallets, hauled barrels and crates, wheeled carts and dollies. A thin unicorn walked with an umbrella, though it was still clear, and they could see the tiny glow of a cigarette bobbing where she moved. The long, plangent train whistle approached, preceding the train by fifteen minutes of anticipation.

From where they stood, close enough to see shreds of nighttime backdrop from between the creaking cars, they felt invisible and vaguely nefarious, as though the darkness gave their plans a vile edge. When the machine came to a stop, the chatter of unhurried voices rose up from the station, soon followed by the jostling of chains and the sliding of doors.

“Let’s just grab this one,” Rarity said, looking around only briefly before approaching.

“Wait,” Twilight said. “We’re waiting until after the workers have finished. So they don’t discover us.”

“Oh, right.”

Rainbow landed beside them and entered Rarity’s shield. “Well?” she asked.

“It’s gonna roll along as they do their work, I think,” Twilight said. “We’ll follow it.”

For a time, the train did not move, and they stood by in the trees, close and impatient. When it finally inched forward, they shot ahead, Rainbow again taking to the air to watch the workers.

It took nearly an hour for their selected car to roll up to the station, and as soon as the workers had checked its cargo, they dashed out into the clearing by the track and helped one another aboard. They could hear the workers’ conversations muffled from within the car, joyless routine of checking, re-checking, loading, unloading. Sounds of work, occasional distant thunder, and their own worried breathing.

“It stinks in here,” Pinkie whispered.

“It’s the cargo,” Twilight said. “This is a chemical car.”

“Can we pick a different one?” Rarity asked.

“I’d rather not risk it,” Rainbow said.

They had to satisfy themselves with pushing all the crates to one side, then sitting on the other. The heady smell of formalin filled the car, and, though the others protested, Fluttershy closed and latched the door. Vinyl provided their light.

“We can open it a crack when we’re moving,” Twilight said.

“Maybe we can push this crap out then too,” Rainbow groused.

“Bad idea,” Vinyl said.

“If it bothers you that much, I can stick some of these in my magic storage,” Twilight said. “Not all, but some.”

“Nope,” Big Mac said. “They weigh these cars sometimes. If yer holdin’ their cargo when that happens, there’ll be trouble.”

“I thought that was only if they think something’s wrong in the first place,” Twilight said.

“Not fer goin’ between cities. Train robbers got all this space to do their dirty, they have weigh stations all over the place to discourage it.”

“That’s interesting” Vinyl said.

“Back in Appleloosa, Ah got earfuls of it from Braeburn. That was all he talked about, seemed like. He wanted to get a railroad between there an’ Snowdrift.”

“I’m amazed there isn’t one already,” Twilight said.

“The land between ain’t good for it, what Ah’m told.”

“Quiet,” Pinkie hissed, and they stopped talking to hear the sounds of hoofsteps crunching closer on the gravel outside. They paused at their door, and Fluttershy gasped when the door rattled. The latch jumped in its place, but after a second, the pony smacked the door and moved on. Everyone breathed out at once.

After what felt like hours, the train groaned to life once more, and they felt its wheels move under them, a curious weightless glide as they rolled forward, the sounds of the outside dying away to be replaced by a repetitive hum and grumble of metal on rail. Occasionally, the train whistled far ahead.

Rarity dropped her head to the floor to look under the door, and, satisfied by what she saw, unlatched it and let it slide back a few inches.

The shrouded land rose above them, its face furred with the distant aspect of another pine forest, a dark mantle that separated them from the vast desert miles beyond. They faced east, away from the mountains, but when Twilight peeked her head out, she could see the very top of the chain above the train’s roof, clouds around the snow caps.

“How are we gonna drop sigils now?” Pinkie asked.

“I was worried about that at first,” Twilight said. She grabbed a crate and prized its lid off. “I’ll draw them on these lids and toss them out every hour or so. Should be okay.”

“Heck, toss the whole things,” Rainbow said. “This stuff is rank.”

“We’ll get used to it,” Fluttershy said.

“You might. You probably already are.”

“Not really.”

“Me, personally, it reminds me of Roan,” Rarity said. “I needn’t elucidate.”

“No, you needn’t,” Twilight said.

“Let’s see if we can keep this open like this,” Fluttershy said. “Air circulation will help the smell.”

“I can just hold it,” Twilight said, grabbing the latch in her magic.

"You’re sure?” Rarity asked.

“It’s nothing.”

Where Twilight threw out her first sigil, a thick, circular design scratched onto the lid’s underside, they were cruising through a smaller, windswept wood. Trees whipped past, occasional branches scratching the car and filling their space with an edged, gritty sound that gave Vinyl shivers. The lid tumbled and bounced into a gully, and was gone.

“What happens if it breaks when you throw it out?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m being careful,” Twilight said.

They took their lunch as the wood ended and watched the scenery march past, changing gradually back to flatland. They were near the mountains, but could not tell how near. When they were finished, and, after a brief debate, the trash had been swept out the open door, rain began to tap softly on the roof. Dry and safe, though only partially from the wind, their spirits were lifted, and talk fell once more to home. They went around stating what they most looked forward to, what they would do first when they got back. In Vinyl’s case, they lingered and talked about where she could go, balking when the topic reached her music career.

Pinkie received a note as Twilight pushed out her next sigil. Octavia, Applejack, and Colgate were keeping up, but their conditions were not detailed; they were simply “doing fine.” Stowing the note with the others in her space, Twilight curled up and tried to find a comfortable spot on the rattling, bumpy floor.

Grassland thinned to become cold, black desert, an extending sliver of arid land that served as a way-point between the wide forests that filled southwestern Equestria. Their river had split, its greater part curving out of sight long ago, meandering east toward Applewood and eventually up to Trottingham, its lesser offshoot following the train tracks north. Soon, they would part; the river would run along the mountains’ eastern rim, broken apart into a sequence of waterfalls and ponds, while the train would thread its way underneath.

Sleep claimed the transients one by one, each lulled or kept awake in their ways by the endless click and hum of spinning wheels. The train slithered into a wall of rain and sleet shortly before midnight, stoic in its rudimentary purpose. The engineer dozed in her chair as rain drummed the roof and the desert around was turned to a swamp, the raised ridge of track a temporary causeway across the cold land.

Under bloated clouds they slept and dreamt fitfully, their train a metal slug, vaguely shiny and slick in the faded moonlight. Nearer Snowdrift, where the clouds hung low but had not yet broken, light reflected back onto the town, but in the middle of nowhere, a thousand miles from the nearest electrical outlet, the only light reflecting was that of the train’s headlamp, cutting through swathes of water to show nothing but more and more uncivilized, unattended wilderness. Eventually, rain turned to hail, and they passed into what would have been the southernmost mountain’s shadow. Train and river diverged at last at the foot of an upturned swale, the river finding its course between the frigid stone teeth of the mountainside, hailstones jumping off its banks like electric sparks.

The transients woke in their time the following day, and their car’s open door gave them only greater darkness and the sheer echo of booming metal sliding down the subterranean tunnel. In unicorn light, they could see the passing wall of solid rock, broken only by yellow mile markers, or the ceaseless shuffling track below. They had no way to know how far through the mountain chain they were, only that they were just beginning a leg of their journey more monotonous and uncomfortable than the river. Even when the absolute darkness broke in favor of overcast nighttime as they turned a perilous curve over a gap they did not know had existed, there was no sign of their progress. They saw mountains above, before, and behind, while below was only the dark, strange face of their orphaned planet. For ten minutes, rain lashed them before they had again bored back into the mountain.

They had no cards or books to read, no food to spare, no other supplies. They talked, and then they didn’t, and then they slept. Under snow-capped peaks and impassable slopes, they sped day and night, stopping once between mountains for their train to be weighed. The machine crept forward, car by car, for an hour, until all the weights and measures had been recorded and they were able to move again. More and more, they kept the door latched for fear of accidentally opening it in too narrow a passage.

In the days, talk grew rare and strange, and their crates were broken down for diversion. Lids used for sigils, splintered boards and nails for miniature art projects. A container of formalin was spilled, and Twilight had to push the entire mess out into the racing tunnel before making everyone hold their breath and expelling the car’s air afterwards, popping ears and bursting capillaries, not that there was light enough for them to notice the latter.

In the nights, sleep eluded many, and hushed conversations were held in the corners. It seemed that everything had already been said, that every dream and fear had been given audience—which was untrue for many, but to each it was her own secret. When they dreamt, the transients felt the familiar but long-forgotten pull of intangible fear. For some, the claustrophobic conditions manifested, and for others, isolation; they worried that they had stepped into some final, giant trap, that they had fallen into a magical fantasy with their princess.

Still they rattled north, through interminable darkness and sheer, breathtaking cold. It seemed the rocks themselves were sucking away all heat, absorbing winter’s overture from above and wicking away the warmth stored underground in one double-sided act of nature. They turned on their lights less and less, spoke more, their voices and conversations gradually losing their edge. Far above their heads, the clouds were again breaking apart to let the freezing air fall still over the barren land, spumes of snow seeming to crystallize in starlight and anneal to the boulders and crags. They had put the first set of forests behind them, and it would be a while still before the next set had come; in the interim, and in the spaces of the Freisian Mountains, once beautiful and serene to them as they traversed the clear, summertime peaks, there was but ice and stone.

To the vagaries of the weather they were blinded, and their sole companion was the eternal echo of their train. They stopped once more, closer to the northern end of the chain, five days after they had left from Creation Lake. No new notes came to them.

When the final mountain spat them out onto the freezing, dry landscape, they did not notice it for several hours, so numb to the sound of their travel that its subtle change did not register. When Pinkie slid the door open, she could only stare in awe. They sped on the skirt of a small lake, a veil of fog lifting off its surface to meet the weak glow of sunrise. A frayed edge of trees stood guard on the lake’s other side, tipping a barren hillside like moss on an arrowhead. Wind riffled the lake, its waters showing the wan sun like a pool of gold coins, bright counterparts to the lamellae of cloud that still threatened rain.

The transients sat side by side at the open door, letting their eyes adjust to the new scene, their nostrils to the smell of fresh air. The lake passed and was gone before their eyes, the trees shortly behind, and bounding folds of field replaced them. Light rain touched the roof, and no one objected.

Eventually, the tracks turned them northeast, and as the mountain peaks shrunk, they realized that they would need to get off. If they stayed, the train would curve them away from Snowdrift, through steadily warming desert until they reached Applewood. With no weighing station within view, they had to debark while the train was moving. The pegasi simply jumped out and flew away, but Twilight had to take the others, and herself, in telekinesis and float them out entirely. The train shot past with a nightmare noise of power and metal, and they settled on the hard, cold ground, ears ringing. Twilight’s magic for the day was spent; self-levitation was no easy feat, even less so with four others in the cloud of magic.

“Well,” Rarity said. “Thank you, darling. Will you be all right?”

“I’m dropping a sigil,” Twilight said. “Oh, fine, fine, thank you. I could do with a rest, but let’s not do it out here.”

“Where the heck are we?” Rainbow asked.

“Closer,” Vinyl said. She pointed at the mountains, then swiveled her body to point the other foreleg at a graceful, white mass in the distance. “That’s the glacier over there. Snowdrift is right at its foot.”

“Charming,” Rarity said. “Can we get a move on?”

“One second,” Twilight said, grabbing a stone and trapping the sigil’s paper underneath. “Let’s go.”

On hoof, they traversed the chilly countryside, enjoying the breeze, the occasional spats of rain, and the sunlight that did not quit the horizon. Fluttershy would occasionally flap her wings as she walked, studying her own shadow; she hadn’t seen it in so long. They talked little, each one simply relieved to be off the train, to be that much closer to the gateway.

It did not take long for the pleasure to wear off, however. After a couple hours of walking over nothing but wet stone and thin topsoil, navigating patches of dead trees and icy pools, and tilting their heads away from the wind that seemed always to come back a little stronger, the mood had darkened. They stopped for a short bite to eat in a clump of stunted pines, and Rainbow commented that it looked like the sun was on its way down again.

They laid down their next sigil at a pond only barely frozen over, dead blades of tall grass sticking out of the ice like antennae, and then waited for a round of rain to pass, as Rainbow assured them it would. The rain took the sun with it, and they walked away from the pond in darkness once more, marching with sore hooves and frozen eyes toward the next grove of black trees, where they would sleep.

The countryside was clear enough to afford a steady pace, but hazardous enough to keep their progression slower than they would have liked. Sharp stones appeared frequently from under tufts of grass, or else revealed themselves in the loose, windblown soil that seemed scattered throughout the spaces between woods. Rain turned to hail, and Rarity had to put up a shield, though she wanted to save as much of her magic as she could for their campsite. They reached the trees finally alongside a narrow creek, its waters clear enough to see the moonlight off the smooth stones on its bottom. In the crotch of a large tree, they rested, erecting a flimsy shelter from pine branches. Fluttershy’s experience with nature was invaluable, but ultimately incomplete, and without magic, they would have gone without fire.

In what they assumed was morning, they scattered cold ashes, had a breakfast of wildflowers and water so cold it hurt to drink, and moved on. They kept to the trees’ border when they could, not wanting to get lost in the darkness. The glacier was a gray marker, a lone tooth protruding out of the horizon. At times, they thought they could see the lights of Snowdrift reflecting off its face.

Pines gave way to spruces and firs, ice clinging to their needles and melting into frigid dribbles of water when brushed. The wood grew dense and unwelcoming to their northeast as they moved, going behind trees when they could to shield themselves from the wind that carried on it hints of moisture and flecks of dirt and pine needles. The air smelled cold and fresh, faintly earthen, but they hardly smelled it anymore.

The sound of falling water led them to a small monocline in the rough ground, the white of its waterfall speckled with yellowed leaves. Affixed to one side was a spindly, wooden cabin, its forward half supported by a ribbed tower of stairs that ran the length of the rise, and its back resting not feet from the stream, plants growing around it as though the structure had been carved from the earth. A single, slender tree grew out of a small skylight, spreading its branches in a sylvan umbrella.

For a time, they stared, some of them awed and others assessing whether anyone lived there or whether they were about to walk into a trap. Rainbow flew up to peer into the windows, and, seeing no one within, directed them up the shaft of stairs. On higher ground, they were able to follow the stream through a break in the trees and out to a smaller clearing, from which they could see the glacier on one side and a rim of outlying houses on another.

“I know what some us are thinking,” Twilight said. “Let’s just keep moving. We’re almost there.”

With regretful looks at the village, they put the last of the trees behind them and walked out into the cold, empty plains once more. Dead grass poked and splintered on their hooves, whispering against loose rocks in the wind that they knew would bring more rain.

Just cresting the first hill and more out of breath than she would have thought from it, Twilight paused and stared at a dim light, alone, two hills away.

“Something wrong?” Vinyl asked.

“Just looking.”

They descended, laid down a sigil, and started up the next hill, the stream gone and replaced by the steady outpouring of rain. They trudged uphill, cold but tired, heads bowed and manes lank, sometimes long enough to be tripped over. They were hungry, but no one suggested they stop.

“I feel like I’m never gonna be dry again,” Rainbow said.

“I feel like I won’t ever be comfortable again,” Rarity said.

“It’s just the rain,” Twilight said, knowing exactly what they meant but not wishing to encourage a poor mood. “Let’s see if we can stop at that thing up there, that light.”

“Shoulda gone to town,” Vinyl said. The wind carried her voice away, and only Fluttershy heard.

At the top of the next hill, Big Mac stepped to the front and looked with Twilight. “Looks like one of those telescope buildin’s.”

“An observatory?” Twilight asked.

“Eeyup.”

“You love those,” Fluttershy said.

“Let’s just see,” Twilight sighed.

The observatory was an unimpressive redoubt of painted wood set atop an ugly, square building, its windows smudged and smeared, its bricks chipped and, in some places, missing. A chest-high wire fence ran around its perimeter, and they stepped over without pausing, following Twilight’s quiet lead. Before they found the door, they heard a voice calling out. Rainbow answered, and the two parties met near a pile of rocks, where the caller set his lantern and regarded the travelers.

“Well I’ll be,” he whispered to himself, taking in the seven bedraggled ponies before him. He looked little better than they, an aged stallion with half-moon glasses perched on a balding muzzle, a lopsided mane of tight curls on his head already furrowed with frown lines. Shrugging inside a cardigan that was too large, he grabbed the lantern in his mouth and beckoned them to follow.

“Don’t get much visiting folk here, least of all you lot,” he said when they reached the warmly lit vestibule. He set the lantern on a table, pushing a stack of brochures off to make room. The room was of wood, its floor dirty and eroded from having hooves stamped and scraped on them, as the Elements did. A small fire threw cheer from the far wall, where it crackled before a wooden desk and under a wide, rain-streaked window. Above creaked a chandelier of shed antlers, tea candles glowing from the fossae like sprites in an ancient forest. Compared to the technological marvel Twilight knew was above, the living room was a gross incongruity, and as much as she felt compelled to rest, or at least sit down, she did not feel it proper.

“Excuse me,” Vinyl said. “But are we near Little Snowdrift?”

“Pardon, missy?”

Vinyl repeated herself closer to him, and he laughed. “Sure enough, Little Snowdrift it is! Have you been?”

“Have you?” Rarity asked.

“When I was younger, I stopped here for a day,” Vinyl said. “On my way to Snowdrift.”

“Most of our folk are right from there,” the stallion explained. “If ya like, you can go down and shake some hooves. We’re a friendly lot, us.”

“I’m afraid it’ll have to wait,” Fluttershy said. “We’re just passing through.”

“It is curious,” the stallion said. “What brings you lot here? Oh!” He lightly smacked himself on the head. “Where are my manners? Do sit down, make yourselves comfortable. I’ve got tea, if you like.”

“That would be heavenly,” Rarity said, walking to a tatty chair and sitting after a moment of discreet inspection.

“Flora! Can you put some tea on, honey? We’ve got visitors.” He cleared his throat. “My daughter. She’d love to meet you.”

“Awwww,” Fluttershy cooed. “How old?”

“Nine coming in a couple months.” He lowered his voice. “She still doesn’t have her cutie mark.”

“It’ll come,” Twilight said.

He nodded and took a seat on the floor near Rarity, and they arranged themselves similarly, filling the room and its surfaces.

“We’re on our way to Snowdrift,” Twilight said. “We’re meeting some friends there.”

“Quite the time of year to do it,” the stallion said. “Is one of you not well? You seem to be missing Applejack.”

“She’s the one we’re meeting in Snowdrift,” Pinkie said. “And a couple others. They—”

“They ran ahead to take care of something for us,” Rarity said. “I’m afraid we can’t say much more than that.”

“Fair, fair.” He stood. “Flora, honey, look who came to call.” He led a small earth pony out into room. On her face, there was first shock, then disbelief, then elation, and then polite friendliness, all in the space of a confused second. She inclined her head, her smile not completely smothered, and greeted them shyly.

“Tea’s almost ready, daddy,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Just bring it on out when it is, dear,” he said, flicking her with his tail. She flicked back and, with another quick look at the Elements, disappeared into the next room.

“Oh, she already loves you,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Rainbow said. “Did we get your name, bud?”

“Didn’t you?” He slapped his head again. “Oh! You’ll have to pardon my memory sometimes. I’m Sparkling Spyglass. Most ponies just call me Spy.”

“Hmmm.”

“It’s good to meet you, Spy,” Rarity said. “I take it you know us, then.”

“Not to sound impolite,” Fluttershy added.

“Oh yes, you all I know. Most folks do.” He eyed Big Mac and Vinyl. “Not you two, though. Friends, I take it?”

“Big Mac and Vinyl Scratch,” Vinyl said, rising to shake his hoof. “Pleasure.”

“And you said you’ve been here before?”

“When I was young; I don’t remember much.”

“Well, I expect it hasn’t changed much since then,” he said with a chuckle.

An awkward interval of silence passed, in which they could hear Flora’s quiet ministrations with the tea.

“So, an observatory,” Twilight said. “Do you live here?”

“Of late we have,” Spy said. “I’ve got to go to town tomorrow to pick up a few things.” He smiled, his weary face lighting up and losing its years for a moment. “With the sky what it is…” He waved a hoof in the air, as if to say “I won’t ask you, I’m sure you get it all the time,” and continued. “It’s been rather hectic around town. But this… this place is a dream. My dream.”

“I never thought of that,” Rarity said. “It must be nice to have constant access to the night sky.”

“Weather permitting, of course,” he said, nodding. Flora entered the room with a tray of saucers and teacups on her back, and they each took one, thanking her politely. She repaired to the kitchen, and Spy didn’t stop her.

“She can sit with us,” Twilight said. “I don’t mind.”

“She’ll come,” Spy said.

“Hm. Have you discovered anything with the sky? Anything strange?” She paused, as if contemplating further discourse, but stopped where she had.

“Less than I expected.” He sipped his tea. “Sugar, anypony?”

“Five lumps for me, please!” Pinkie said.

“Ah’ll take one,” Big Mac said.

“But some things,” Twilight pressed. “Some things odd about the sky.”

“I can show you later, if you’d like,” Spy said. “I couldn’t really explain it to you. I’m not much of a… wordsmith, I suppose. Never was.”

Without asking permission from her father, and without him granting it, Flora reentered the room and sat at a distance from them, her eyes fixed on Vinyl.

“Flora, honey, you recognize these ponies, don’t you?” Spy asked.

“Yes, daddy,” she said, and listed their names off, even Vinyl’s and Big Mac’s.

“Smarter than a bee sting, my little Flora.” He sighed contentedly. “Do we have any mint leaves left, honey?”

Flora scampered up and raced to the kitchen, coming back with a reckless grin, and recited the amounts of their various ingredients. She placed emphasis on the mint leaves with a bright smile. Spy sat through the process as if it were common to him.

“It’s strange,” Twilight said. “And a lovely surprise, too—but strange—to find an observatory all the way out here.”

“Not so strange,” Spy said. “We’re quite far from… well, most anything.” He laughed. “There’s next to no light pollution, and except for the dreaded winter weather, the skies are usually clear. There’s hardly any dust out here.” He gestured loosely with his hoof. “They keep all the dust out there, in the big cities. Where it belongs, if you ask me.”

“Have you been to the big city, Elements of Harmony?” Flora asked, leaning forward on her knees, eyes wide.

“Why, yes, darling,” Rarity said. “We’ve been all over the country.”

The filly’s mouth morphed to an amazed O, and they could fairly see the jumble of questions just behind her eyes.

“Not long ago, we saw the mines south of here,” Big Mac said.

“Under the mountains?” Spy asked.

“Eeyup.”

“I didn’t know there were mines under the mountains, daddy,” Flora said.

“I’d plum forgotten,” Spy sad. “Don’t hear much about that part of the country.”

“What were the mines like?”

“Dark,” Pinkie said. “Darker than the inside of a flour sack!” She giggled, and Flora did too.

As the time passed, the travelers were able to partially unwind, more than in several days. Sparkling Spyglass added another log to the fire and Flora produced more tea, and they eventually moved to the smaller dining area, where they ate of fresh greens and mushrooms. After the meal, Spy revealed that he had used a portion of truffle oil in all their meals, and it was for the better he said so after, for they would have insisted he not incur the loss at their behest. Flora’s questions kept flowing, mostly pertaining to Applewood and Canterlot, and they answered as best they could, always at pains to keep their stories light and appropriate for young ears.

When it was ten o’ clock by Spy’s timepiece, Flora went to bed, and the others began to express their fatigue as well. Spy insisted they sleep in the living room, and they accepted.

In the fire’s dying light, spilled across their reposing forms, Rarity remained wide awake. She tried to lull herself by staring at the play of light on the ceiling, but no sleep came, and when she heard someone rise, she was quick to see who it was. Big Mac stood for a moment, as if debating whether to move or just lie back down, and padded to the door. Rarity rose and followed him.

He did not notice her when he walked outside, his great shoulders shivering as they met the cold air. He walked until he was at the hill’s descending edge, and Rarity stood beside a small tree, watching, feeling silly. She had followed him on an impulse, moved to action only because she herself could not sleep. If he wanted some time to himself, he was entitled to it, and she made to go back to the observatory. She did not complete the first step, though; something kept her rooted to the spot.

“Perhaps I should talk to him,” she thought. It was no secret, at least to her, that he was unhappy. Bottling it up was no solution—but interrupting his privacy seemed no solution either.

She coughed politely, and his head whipped around.

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I just… well, I saw you leave, and I thought I’d…”

"Check up on me?” he completed.

“No, not exactly. Honestly, I’m not sure. I’m sorry, Big Macintosh, I just followed you. If you’d like, I’ll leave.”

“Stay if you want,” he said. “Ah just needed to get out of there.”

“I understand.” She thought she did.

For several minutes, he looked off the hill, into the darkness, and she writhed internally. She had announced herself, so leaving was no longer a polite option, but he did not appear to have anything to say. She shifted her weight, and after a moment, shifted it a second time.

“We were close as anythin’, growin’ up. Ah know she expected that to change when we got a little older—told me as much—but it never happened.”

“Applejack.”

He looked at her as if it were obvious who he was speaking of. Rarity supposed it was.

“Ah know she’ll be okay.” His face darkened. “An’ before y’ask, it ain’t a glamour thing. Ah just know it, in my heart.”

“Okay.”

“You might call it sentimental, but Ah know it, deep down. They’ll all be okay.”

“I hope so.”

He nodded, as if it were decided. As if them agreeing had made it so, had ensured that their friends would survive the ordeal.

“So… this has been a pleasant surprise, has it not? This hospitality. I know I, personally, expected another campfire tonight. Or today. Whatever.”

Big Mac sat down and looked at her.

“That Spyglass is the nicest pony I’ve met in a long, long time, and that little Flora, so sweet. He’s right, she is smart. She’s going places, that filly.” She forced a chuckle. “I know I wasn’t half as bright at her age.”

Big Mac nodded, and Rarity noticed he had stopped shivering.

“We’ll get some warmer clothes in Snowdrift, and then we’ll be off again. I just hope we miss these supposed blizzards that it gets. The last thing we need is to be snowed in in demon town.”

“Ah made a mistake,” Big Mac said.

“I’m sorry? A mistake, dear?”

“Ah’m a fool.” His voice was so quiet, so strained, it took Rarity a moment to realize that he was holding back tears. His back was gently curved, and as he looked down at his hooves, she remembered him from Ponyville: polite but brief encounters on the farm or at the stalls, both of them going about their lives with no more than passing interest in each other. A lingering gaze, she on his broad back and haunches, he on her trimmer, softer curves. Neither expected to get to know the other, to see each other at their worst and most private.

She did not know what to do when he sniffed back tears. He was ugly then, his face pulled back in the wrong places, showing too much tooth, his neck grotesquely veined, his shoulders shaking and twitching as though electrified.

“Dear,” she said. “Whatever do you mean?”

He shook his head.

“Let’s get this cold air out of here.” She approached him, but still kept her distance, and put up a shield against the air. It did not work particularly well. “What do you mean, a mistake? Tell me.”

He sniffed again, and she held herself from cringing as a line of snot dripped to the grass. “Ah let myself get caught up in y’all’s business, an’ now we’re gonna mess it up ‘cause of me.”

“Um… well…”

He wiped his face and took a deep breath, and didn’t speak until he had composed himself. “Ah’m sorry you had to see that. Ah don’t usually…”

“You’re fine.”

He sighed. “If Ah had to be honest with myself, an’ with you, Ah’d say Ah ain’t feelin’ the love with these Elements.”

“I see.”

“Ah wanted to, real bad. You believe that, Rarity?”

“Of course I believe you.”

“‘Cause Ah did. Well, Ah still do, but it ain’t workin’.”

“Why not? Is it anything specific?”

He shrugged.

“Dear.”

“It’s stupid.”

“I doubt that very much,” Rarity said. “I know you fairly well, and I seriously doubt something small and stupid would make you feel this way.”

“Maybe.”

“What is it?”

He hesitated. “The glamour.”

“Ah.” She nodded, understanding. A small part of her mind crowed that she had already made her apologies for taking advantage of his glamour, of forgetting the pony besides the magic, that she should not have to be holding this conversation with him.

“It’s gone dead. Ah haven’t felt anythin’ since… before the mines, Ah believe.”

She licked her lips, aware that she was on touchy ground. “Why is that?”

“Dunno. Ah figure it’s done its damage, an’ it weren’t needed anymore.”

She looked at him, not sure what to say.

“An’ now here Ah am, followin’ along with y’all, goin’ through all the motions, hatin’ it all the way. Ah’ve got an Element to my name, so Ah can’t back out, but… Ah’d give a lot to. Just to go back home, be done with all this.”

“You and me both.”

“Hm.”

“No, seriously. I don’t think any one of us has been feeling right for a while now. Celestia knows, if I had the option, I wouldn’t be out here. I wouldn’t be even close enough to see that cursed city. In this atrocious weather, subsisting on grass and weeds. Who would want this?”

“At least yer friends with everypony.”

“Well…” She thought for a moment, momentarily caught off guard by his melodramatic turn. “What about us? You can’t say this isn’t friendship, you telling me these things here, me listening. You trust me. Would you tell Twilight, or Pinkie? Vinyl, even?”

“Not her.”

“Not Vinyl.”

“Nope.”

“But the others…”

“Probably, if they caught me at a weak moment.”

Rarity rubbed his back. “One thing I’ve learned about friendship, Big Mac, is that it’s not always pretty. Contrary to what one might think, it doesn’t even require you to like each other all the time. There’s been more times than I can count that I’ve wanted to slap each and every one of these mares right in their faces, and I expect they’ve felt the same about me. That’s just how it is. But… Friendship is there when it counts. Times like this, or when one of us is in danger, that’s when the true friendship appears.”

“You might not like each other all the time, but ya love each other,” Big Mac said.

“Precisely. It’s the deeper connection that matters, not the superficial trappings. They’re both important, but the core of it is the deeper, unspoken things. Like with you and Applejack.”

“That don’t count.”

“Doesn’t it? Siblings count just as much as anyone else.”

He thought.

“You’re saying you feel out of place with us, is that it?”

He nodded.

“Why is that?”

“‘Cause Ah can’t do anythin’. Ah ain’t helpin’ the cause anymore, not without my glamour.” Above, rain tinkled on Rarity’s shield. “That was my one thing, my one contribution, an’ without it, Ah’m just an average… just average.”

“That’s not true.”

“Anythin’ Ah can do, one of y’all can do better.”

“Now that’s not true either,” Rarity said sternly. “Honestly, Big Mac, you can’t be so self-defeating.” “And here comes the part where he asks me what I see in him, and I lavish him with encouragement.” She looked down at him again and felt her nose wrinkle. Pity and tenderness were the expected feelings, but she did not feel those for him. They had all come so far, it seemed wrong that he should require such a softhearted display, and wrong for her to offer one. Bowed under the weight of his own discouragement, ugly from crying and lost in the world, he was like an animal to her, and she felt only reproach.

Rarity took a deep breath, releasing her shield. The cold rain stung her skull, but the effect clarified her. She selected her words.

“I’m not going to pour out encouragement for you,” she said slowly. “I’m not your mother. What I will do, Big Mac, is tell you that we all genuinely value your friendship and your presence on this team, glamour or no. Do the others know about this?”

“Ah don’t wanna bring it up with ‘em.”

“You should.” She left it at that; she trusted he didn’t need it explained.

“Yer right,” he said. “Ah get caught up thinkin’ things over so much, sometimes, Ah ferget why Ah started thinkin’ in the first place. Ah’ll tell everyone tomorrow.”

“Good. Do.” She flinched internally, despising how cold she sounded.

“Trust buildin’,” he whispered to himself, and she sensed that the conversation was over. Slowly edging away, giving him every chance to turn and reel her back in, Rarity took her leave to the observatory.

On the upper floor, behind the telescope’s polished view piece, Twilight drank in the night sky. When she was younger, she had studied the constellations and their movement in the Canterlot observatory, its unrivaled power and glory lost on her young sensibilities, its manifold uses taken for granted and assumed common. What the royal observatory never had, though, and which Sparkling Spyglass did, was the deep and unending darkness that came from the near total absence of ambient light. Even as clouds swept past to cut short her session, Twilight could not speak for the dormant marvel the sky’s aspect had awoken.

She stepped away from the telescope and let herself stare at the far wall. She didn’t want to break the moment, to cut the feeling short, to take even a fraction of her mind away from remembering the sky. Spy gave her a minute.

“I’m afraid it’s been rather stop and go for a while now,” he said finally. “Usually is this time of year.”

“It was perfect,” Twilight said.

“Yes, I agree. A shame about the circumstances, though.”

“Yes.” She was aware that he was probing for information.

He coughed. “Yes, well, I’m quite proud of it.”

“How long did it take to build this? That’s a pretty small town down there; you can’t have had much help.”

“A year, maybe more. This place was actually contracted by Princess Celestia—I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

“No, I didn’t,” Twilight said, covering her shock, disguising it as mild interest. Her overworked mind immediately turned on the question, wondering what the princess might want with an observatory in this particular part of the world. Its placement was surely no accident. “Does that mean you were too?”

Spy only smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, even to you.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“I would expect so.” Their eyes met, and for a second, she brought her guard up.

“Are you in contact with any of the ponies in Snowdrift?” she asked.

“I never go there, no, but I have one or two friends that live up there. We write.”

She looked at his face again, making her tone nonchalant. “So some ponies might be expecting us when we get there.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said. There was a fraction of a pause before his rejoinder; she was not sure whether she had imagined it.

“That’s fine.” She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I don’t really understand why the sky has become how it is. Discord, obviously. But I don’t know anything specific.”

“You mean you haven’t heard from the princesses?”

Noting his use of the plural, she was able to relax a little. He did not know what had happened to Celestia. “They’re both busy with their own affairs.”

“Trying to set the sky to rights, I suppose.”

“I suppose.” Rain began on the roof, and Twilight yawned. “You said you had discovered some things. What were they?”

Sparkling Spyglass hummed to himself, filling the silence for a second as he shuffled through a stack of scrolls. “These charts,” he said. “These are star charts.” He unrolled one scroll and set it on a desk at the wall, holding the paper open with a book and an hourglass. “This is the predicted night sky for this month, and this,” he unrolled a second scroll on top of it, “is the sky as it is. I’ve circled the greatest discrepancies.”

Twilight frowned down at the scroll, examining the differences he had indicated. All across the sky, constellations were not where they should be, while others had simply rotated. She tried to see the month printed on the bottom scroll’s header, just in case Spy had been looking at the charts for two different months.

“I have my theories,” Spy said. “I’d love to hear yours, though. They’re probably much more refined.”

“Not exactly.” She thought back to her classes, the sections on astronomy, and her individual research that would come in spats later. It had been a long time since she had read about the specifics of the princesses’ connection to the stars. Their ties with the sun and moon were much more obvious, but the constellations played their part as well, a part Twilight only understood in basic terms.

“Look at this.” Spy pointed at the space between two constellations. “Here and elsewhere, you can see the distance between the stars on one end is greater than the distance between the other end. I haven’t looked deep enough into it, so I don’t know if they’re traveling on a curve or just rotating against each other, but… you see it, don’t you?”

“I see it,” Twilight said, chewing her lip. “I almost wonder…”

“Wonder what?” He leaned in eagerly.

“I wonder if what we’re seeing isn’t the true night sky. That maybe Discord has put up an illusion.”

“Now I had not thought of that,” Sparkling Spyglass said softly. “That would explain the apparent curvature, if we’re under a dome-like illusion.”

“That would make a lot of sense to me.”

“I’ll have to look closer at the discrepancies, see if the curves are consistent with a dome shape.” He thought for a moment, and Twilight recognized his look, the look of a pony already beginning to work out the steps to untangling a scientific problem. In that moment, she ached to have more time, to be able to wake up the following day and begin working out the physics and geometry her idea presented. “But how have the princesses not torn something like that down?” Spy asked.

Twilight shook her head, clearing it of her yearning. A few ideas came for why the illusion might be allowed to stand, but she did not want to go over them with the stranger, not without time to think about them herself.

“Curious, curious.”

Against her better judgment, she asked, “Have you found anything else? Anything strange about the moon?” She could feel the subject pulling at her, and she knew that leaving the observatory would be all the more painful if she kept him talking, but her eyes were wide as she drank in his words.

“Nothing yet, but I’m monitoring its rotation. I figure, if there’s trouble with the princesses, we might see it there.”

“I suppose,” Twilight said, knowing what he suggested: that Luna, under duress, might be flinging her moon too slowly or too fast. She doubted it, and was bitterly gladdened that he entertained the idea, that she might lower her esteem but slightly and so soften the separation.

“Obviously, I can’t pay the same attention to the sun. I wish I could.”

“You don’t have any solar filters?”

“I do, but the sun hasn’t been out much lately.”

“Oh, right.” She chuckled at her mistake. “I’m so used to this darkness, I don’t find myself thinking about it very much.”

“That’s fair,” he said. “Where did you set out from?”

She smiled. “I’m sorry, Spy. I don’t think I can talk about it.”

He shrugged, and she yawned again. She wanted to sleep, but she didn’t, and he pulled out more scrolls. They stayed up another hour, talking of constellations, of the moon, of the sun’s reflection off it and how that reflection might be made to change to accommodate a dome-shaped illusion. They spoke of reflections off the Snowdrift glacier, of comets and their paths. When at last Twilight could not keep her eyes open, they went to their rooms, and she fell asleep with her head full.

Sparkling Spyglass and Flora saw the group off with a pair of saddlebags loaded with food from their larder and a watch, neatly fastened around Rainbow’s foreleg with all the reverence of a ceremonial vestment. It was one in the afternoon, the sky an ocean of ink spangled with traces of cloud. They walked in a line down the hill, dropped a sigil, and then climbed the next. It was around five when they could clearly see the lights of Snowdrift, all the brighter under another ceiling of heavy clouds.

They set upon a gravel road that took them along a mild rise, the dark and crowded forest sloping away from them, deep into the southwest, where the trees would begin climbing into the mountains. They had skirted the forest on the train, hooking east instead, missing the densest woods and the best cover for the wind that ceaselessly moved.

Fine mist filled the air around the trees, their bristly shapes shrouded and brooding, almost as dark as the sky and just as immense. They walked above all, alone on the road, quietly waiting for their first good look at the next town. After so long off their airship—though not that long, for they had crashed in the lake a mere seven days ago—the sight of a real town felt strange and unreal.

When the town finally did appear, however, there was no shock. The ice water feeling of finding something new and anticipated didn’t come, the fear many of them had felt did not grow into panic or wither into despair. Together, they saw the same dull, brick and mortar building break over the horizon, then its neighbors, lined and lit like candles. As they drew closer, no magical lightning ripped the sky apart, no disembodied threat heralded their coming, no overwhelming sense of dread filled their tired hearts.

They stopped near the border, dropped a sigil, and decided to circle around to the gateway, not wishing to attract attention in the town. So they walked, over train tracks, under trees, circling the town and shivering in the rain that seemed as much a part of the land as the woods it veiled. Occasional voices found their way on gusts of wind, reaching the traveling friends and sounding no different from the voices they might hear anywhere else.

Together, they had heard of Snowdrift’s dangers, the threat of otherworldly magic hanging over the town like a pendulum. ‘Eccentric,’ it had been called, or nightmarish. To them, as they marched through more pines, splashed through more puddles, wiped more mud off their coats, and looked up into the same night sky as ever before, Snowdrift was but another town. A small hamlet, compact and busy, filled with ponies living their lives.

The shock of Snowdrift never came, but the shock of the gateway, a mile outside town and almost too wide to see across, its ambient magic a buzz saw in the unicorns’ heads and a cicada’s chirrup in the others’, left them breathless.

Following Twilight's Trail

Chapter Ninety-seven

Following Twilight’s Trail

The rush of water slowed and stopped, and they breathed as one. Very slowly, Applejack extricated herself from under the mattress, and Colgate helped Octavia up. Like prisoners released by an unseen power, they crept toward the stairs, afraid to move too fast.

The captain’s quarters had been tossed, the window broken, the desk upended against the wall in a storm of books and scrolls. Twilight’s experiment had spilled across the floor, leaving a sticky stain that still faintly smoked as it seeped into the boards. Outside, they could see a roseate sunrise.

The deck leaned but slightly, and they each took in the sky as it expanded before them, serrated with russet clouds and lit dimly with nascent stars, an upturned bowl to contain a wide view of rough desert. Towers of stone characterized the distance, throwing oblong shadows into the world.

Applejack followed the balloon’s cables up and back, turning around to see what they had crashed into, and what had stopped them from meeting the desert head-on. Under a blank disc of faint shadow, they had landed on the broad side of a great pillar, a twisted, pointed structure. Gateway to ground, the pile rose nearly thirty feet, tipped with intricate conglomerations of bone: ribs and spines, twined through greater spaces like sutures and threads, while longer and sturdier bones crisscrossed like buttresses and balustrades, a design that Applejack, who had helped build a few barns in her time, recognized as deliberate. Deeper in the mesh, like burs in cotton, she could see skulls and whole exoskeletons. Spines and other curves met to form supports, encased in finer nets of pin bones or delicate webs of what she could not identify. Lower her eyes traveled, taking her to the gunwale where she saw the tower thicken at the bottom, its materials crushed under the weight of their burden, shrouded with mud and windblown grit, and eventually, at the foundation, turning to etched stone, its irregularities glimmering with water. She sniffed the air experimentally and found it, to her surprise, an improvement; gone was the wet, suffocating smell of the lake, of the rain, of the Equestrian south in general, and its cloying notes of pine. She smelled instead the clean, warm desert, the rustic smell of wet dust and naked rock. No decay of bone or flesh, no wicked tang of preservation, touched the air.

“That’s fortunate,” Colgate said.

Applejack looked back up, where she saw what Colgate meant. Their balloon had caught on an outcrop of bone, arresting their crash prematurely, leaving them as a promontory over the land. A dry breeze ruffled the balloon’s skin.

“At least it’s sturdy,” Colgate continued. “Some crash. Everyone okay?”

“Ah’m… fine,” Applejack said, not believing it as she said it. It had been the sort of crash, and the sort of crash site, that demanded some sort of corporeal harm, she thought. The edifice of death that had saved them theirs, the lurid sky, the sheer terrifying knowledge that they were in the long-feared Tartarus—it needed a sacrifice, surely. All the morbid lore she had heard required it.

“I am fine,” Octavia mumbled.

“But look,” Colgate said. She gestured at the tower’s top, and Applejack looked obediently. Water dripped from a radial arrangement of long bones into the hilum of a wider piece, and she was entranced. She followed the water’s path, up a crooked spine that was much too long to have belonged to anything she had seen, through one large eye hole in the center of a blocky skull, where it tapered as a spine should. She gradually made her way to the very top, tipped with no triumphant pendant or symbolic relic, no grand gesture or sinister shape, and then looked higher, where she saw just sky.

Just sky. No gateway.

“Oh,” she said at last. “Didn’t we just come out of there?”

“We did,” Colgate said. She glanced at Octavia, once more on her side, her ribs showing as they rose with the labor of her breath. “Something’s wrong with it.”

“Wrong?” Applejack pulled herself away from the tower and focused on Colgate, who averted her eyes as soon as Applejack did. “What do you mean, wrong? Fer that matter, where are we?”

“This is Tartarus.”

“Yeah, we know that.”

“I want it established,” Colgate said firmly. “No unclear terms.” She took a minute before going on, her face showing the process of thought, of deduction. She paced the deck once, going uphill to the wheel and then back.

“Can we open it again?” Octavia asked.

“The gateway was above these bones here,” Colgate said. “It’s closed behind us for some reason—we can see that from the lack of water.”

“Obviously,” Applejack wanted to say.

“It’s possible that it’ll open again in a while. Maybe the gateway is on a cycle, and we were unlucky. Maybe our passage through screwed something up.”

“Either way, it’s not good.”

“We shouldn’t stay up here. I don’t know how strong our balloon is, and we don’t want it tearing away.” She looked over the rail. “Getting down there won’t be pleasant.”

“We can slide on this ship,” Applejack said. “It wouldn’t be that bad, since we’d be doin’ it from a stand-still.”

“Someone would have to stay on the deck to untie the cables, and it would be dangerous for them.”

“Right.”

“Inside first,” Colgate said. “Everyone’s things are in here. We might need them.”

The two of them went inside, and Octavia eventually pushed herself up to follow. They gathered paper and pens, a couple books, Twilight’s treasury note—buried under a pile of sigil designs, all crossed out and annotated in a tight, frustrated script—and all the food they could find, stuffing it in a pair of saddlebags that Applejack wore. They had water still, but in heavy gallon jugs and smaller canteens, scattered. When they were back on the deck, light had dispelled the stars, and it was morning in Tartarus.

Colgate looked back up at the space of the absent gateway. “We do need to find a way to get the ship down, though. We need water.”

“Uhh, what are you thinkin’?” Applejack asked. The logic connecting Colgate’s twin statements was not apparent to her.

Colgate looked at her, and Applejack saw suspicion in her eyes. “We might be traveling on hoof.” For a second, it appeared she would stop there. “Actually, we need to contact the others first. Octavia, come here.”

“Colgate, can you please slow down? Yer hoppin’ from one subject to another, yer not makin’ any sense.” She rubbed her eyes. “Can we start with just gettin’ off this bone tower?”

Colgate went to Octavia and helped her up again, placing a piece of paper and a pen in front of her.

“Ah get that yer thinkin’ things through, but we need more’n what yer givin’ us, is all. Maybe some explanation?”

“Right,” Colgate said. She looked back up at the top of the tower and narrowed her eyes, and Applejack looked back. “If that’s closed behind us, then we might need to find a different way out. The nearest gateway is the one north of Snowdrift, and the others are probably thinking that too. They haven’t contacted us yet because they can’t; they’ve got no paper. Actually,” she paused for a second, “they have that face mask Twilight was wearing. It was raining, so they might try to send some dried mud scrawled on her mask, or a big leaf if they can find one. Anyway, we need to move, probably on hoof.”

“Okay, so that’s why we’re gettin’ off this thing. Where’s the paper an’ the water comin’ in?”

“Just hold on,” Colgate snapped. “I’m getting to it.” She walked the deck again, favoring the other side, and even leaned out over the prow for a minute. “We can send a letter to them, so we’re going to.”

“I do not know how to do that,” Octavia said.

"What?” Applejack asked.

“Settle,” Colgate said. “It’s easy, Octavia. You just—no, this isn’t right.” She walked a tight circle and shook her head, as if to clear it. “We’ll write first.”

“Shouldn’t we get down first?”

“I’m thinking about that. We’ll write first.” She grabbed the paper and pen away from Octavia and looked at it.

“Somethin’ simple, just lettin’ ‘em know we’re okay,” Applejack said.

“Yes.” Colgate grabbed a spare pen and set it beside the paper. “We’ll send this as well, so they can write back. They won’t have anything on their end.” She scratched out a hasty message, her mouth-writing fast and practiced from scribbling out years of prescriptions and office visit notes. She read it back to them, and they approved.

“How will you send it?” Octavia asked.

“I can’t, I don’t know any of their magical signatures. You gotta.”

Octavia was quiet for a moment. “I do not know them either, and I do not know how to send a letter.”

“You do.” She paused, thinking back. “Applejack, get the balloon torch disconnected and see if you can empty the fuel. Just off the side will do.”

“Ah’m sorry?” Applejack said.

“Empty the torch. We need it. Send the fuel off the side.”

Applejack looked at her, baffled, but did as she was told. Colgate’s tone—her doctor tone—brooked no argument, and Applejack had no better ideas anyway. She couldn’t imagine them needing the fuel for anything else.

“Imagine your sister as you always would, naturally, not in her present condition,” Colgate recited. “Think of her magic, and then of your own. You two are alike, perhaps more than you realize.”

“I do not understand,” Octavia said.

“Just do it.” She rolled the note around the spare pen, and Octavia took it in a small cloud of telekinesis. “Envision her and envision yourself. Are you?”

“I am.”

“Sending a letter is like thinking one specific idea for a brief, powerful moment. Imagine that letter and see it in her possession, see it in your mind’s eye.”

While Octavia stared down at the scroll, Applejack loosened the bolts that held the torch to the deck. She had no idea what Colgate was thinking, and looked up with shock as the letter fizzled and flamed, then turned to a halo of smoke, which dissipated around Octavia’s inclined head.

“See? Easy,” Colgate said.

Applejack shook her head and loosened the last of the bolts, then stood herself against the torch, not sure how to proceed with emptying it safely.

“How do you know that I could have done that?” Octavia asked.

“Sometimes, if a patient is in a coma, we see if they’re still alive by sending a letter. If the letter goes through, then their mind is still active. We have to use siblings sometimes; siblings have the letter connection born into them. It’s genetic.”

“That is amazing.”

“It's a standard procedure.” She looked at Applejack and went below, coming back with a jug of water. “Help me get more of these,” she told Octavia.

Applejack eventually tipped the torch over and rolled it to the gunwale. She was some minutes working at the too-small latches that kept the fuel contained and pressurized; she had to use her hooves, for she was tired from keeping them in place in the lake for so long. When she released the seal, strong-smelling fuel dripped to her hooves as she struggled to get it poised over the edge, where it ran in a slow stream to mix with the water at the tower’s base.

“Got it?” Colgate asked.

“Ah got it.”

“When that’s empty, we need to take it below, to the shower.”

Applejack shook her head, but did not verbally question Colgate. When she had wrangled it downstairs, Colgate had the shower door open, and Octavia leaned against the sink.

“Can you get that top part off?” Colgate asked. “We’re cleaning this out.”

“Might Ah ask why?” Applejack asked, turning the torch on the floor and looking down its coiled barrel for how she might do what she was asked.

“These things hold more stuff than they look like, so I thought we’d put all our water in it and carry that instead.”

“That is a good idea,” Octavia said. “But I do not like the idea of walking. Where will we go?”

“I’m thinking about that.”

Her tone, again, invited no argument, and Applejack did not offer her commentary, for she had none. As she twisted the torch apart, small piece by small piece, and trying her best to remember where each went for reassembly, she was able at last to appreciate how lost they were. One thing that she knew, they could not just head north, for there was no way to know whether north in Tartarus were the same direction as on the Gaia.

The accomplishment of a small task was enough for her. Colgate turned on the water and aimed the shower head into the angled torch, and Applejack watched her. Her movements and her face were placid, as if the crash did not worry her, or its significance had not landed. Despite Applejack’s uncertainty, it had enabled Colgate to take charge and assess the situation first, something for which Applejack was grateful.

“You’ve filled the water tanks on this ship before?” Colgate asked.

“Me? Uh, yeah.”

“When we’re done with this, I’ll want you to empty them into the torch as well.”

“How will we get off this tower?” Octavia asked.

Colgate glanced at her, her mane dripping from where it had caught in the shower. Slowly, she said, “I’m thinking about that.”

“We should at least let ‘em know what we’re thinkin’. Meetin’ ‘em at Snowdrift an’ all,” Applejack said.

“Yes, fine.”

Octavia wrote the second letter and Applejack found a brush that Colgate used to clean out the inside of the torch. When it had been rid of all traces of fuel, they hauled it back up to the deck and poured their water reserves inside. Applejack screwed it back together, Octavia lay on her side, Colgate paced, and the sun rose higher.

“Wait, duh,” Applejack said. “Ah know how we get off this thing. Everybody below.” Savoring the feeling of being in charge, if for only briefly, she rolled the torch back through the captain’s room, down the stairs, and down the corridor. “Let’s get these mattresses set up again, fer the next crash.”

“I do not want another crash,” Octavia said.

“This one’ll be better. Uh, not better, but less bad, Ah mean to say.” She looked at them, side by side for just a moment: emaciated, quiet mares. When they were ready, the walls inexpertly padded, she closed her eyes and ran her magic across the ship’s corpse, touching all the inert pieces of machinery and, only after she had done so, settling on the balloon cables and their pegs. Though simple, they still counted as part of the whole machine, and with a little work on her part, Applejack was able to untie them remotely. The small exertion throbbed in her forehead.

With a sickening chorus of snaps below, muffled under their hull, they pitched forward and to the side, and though Applejack knew they were only a couple stories off the ground, the second of weightlessness came with a rush of bile in her throat. The tower ground and grated against their ears as they fell, and the final collision rocked them forward with an ugly sound of shattered wood and inscrutable stone. Octavia was struggling to her hooves, only to fall again as they tilted to rest on their side turbine.

“That should be the last of it,” Applejack said.

“You were right, that was not so bad,” Colgate said softly.

Her first steps on Tartarus soil reminded her of the desert outside Roan. While Colgate and Octavia stared into the distance nearby, Applejack recalled her first minutes of second life. She had described it to the others as a sense of new birth, and kept it at that, but in her private mind, the feeling had been more detailed than that, and eerily similar to how she felt now. The destroyed shadow of the ship’s prow glistened on the muddy moat around their pillar.

The sky and the ground were not so different from the Gaia’s versions. Besides the slight variance in palette, she could have believed they were still on the Gaia—yet all around, in every detail she took in, she sensed that she was not where she should be. The dirt seemed wrong, the air that she breathed, even where pebbles and gravel appeared on the ground. Each aspect of her new world, it seemed to her, was a replacement for some more correct, more true thing that she might find on the Gaia.

The sense that she ought not to have come back was the feeling she did not bring up when her friends asked her about her resurrection, and the feeling that gently settled on her once more as she looked at the desert.

“We’re going to get our bearings first,” Colgate said. “That’s today.”

“All day?” Octavia asked. “That is one more day before we get to Snowdrift.”

“Where’s that?”

Octavia looked at her. “North of here.”

“And where’s north?”

Octavia pointed behind them.

Colgate scratched a little face in the dust.

“We don’t know if the cardinal directions are the same here as there,” Applejack said. “We gotta find some way of figurin’ that out first.”

“Bingo. We also need to make sure we have everything we need for the trip, and a way to carry it all,” Colgate said. “We won’t want to come back to this ship. I assume you can’t repair it, Applejack?”

“Not a chance.”

“Perhaps we should get away from the tower, then,” Octavia said. “It is not natural, so someone might come by later to find us.”

“Smart,” Colgate said. “I don’t see how we can move, though. We’re not moving the ship.”

“We are not, right?” She looked at Applejack.

“Ah couldn’t get this thing runnin’, not in a day, not in a week,” Applejack said.

“We can hunker down inside,” Colgate said. Then, to Octavia, “You like to stay up late. You watch when night comes.”

In the cabin aslant, curled up on the mattress they had wrestled back inside, Octavia and Applejack dug through Twilight’s books for anything and everything about Tartarus. Colgate watched them and thought.

She knew two things immediately and absolutely: that the others did not have any knowledge of Tartarus, and that they must not know that she did. Though her education on the subject was basic and entirely theoretical in nature, she felt vaguely at ease, the holder of a distant advantage. They would soon feel the effects of the new world, the effects of being immersed in foreign, ambient magic. They would likely encounter natives, either wildlife or sentient beings. The knowledge itself gave her less comfort than the fact that the others did not possess it.

What she did not know, and what stopped her from trusting the others, was by whose intention they had crashed into Creation Lake in the first place. It could be the long reach of the Datura, a plan formed long ago and set into motion by her deceased commander; it could be Discord, disguised as a puff of cloud or a leaf on the wind; it could be one of the Elements, seeing no better way to dispose of Colgate and intending to pluck the others out later—it would explain Octavia’s insistence that they find the Snowdrift gateway so quickly. If that were the case, she knew, then Applejack and Octavia would be looking for ways of casting her into the wilderness.

Her sole advantage was her familiarity with the terrain, vague though it may be. Where Octavia had taken in all with the same resignation as ever, and Applejack was enchanted by details, Colgate had had time to work through her own small panic; by the time the others had any attention to pay her, she had ordered herself. It was a slight advantage, one that would not last, and she could give away nothing of her knowledge, for it was all she had to keep herself attached to the Elements. Like the balloon they had left on the bone pillar, she could feel her tethers pulling tighter and tighter, soon to come undone and leave her twisting in the wind as the Elements pushed on without her.

“If they could just include a map in one of these books, we’d be all right,” Applejack said.

“I do not believe ponies come here very often,” Octavia said.

“D’ya think we might be the first?”

“I do not know.”

Colgate held her peace. She had to be careful when she spoke, lest she give away her position. She feared she may have already with how she had handled the aftermath of the crash, though she could credit her professional training for that. She was good to have in a crisis, she had been told, and they certainly were in one.

“Gotta assume it’s one of these two,” she thought. “Which one?” She looked between Applejack and Octavia. Neither looked back at her, but she was not fooled; she could feel their intentions, their shared attention to her movements, her mood. The desert would be a good place to leave her marooned, but they might wait until they were farther from the ship, so she could not return and find a way to scavenge survival.

“Hold it,” she thought, the command splitting her running stream of worry. “It’s simpler than I think. Octy isn’t strong enough to do anything. She can’t have much magic in her condition, and Applejack’s just an earth pony.” She didn’t smile, though she wanted to.

Feeling electric, she forced herself to stay stationary as the others kept leafing through their books. She wanted to move, to pace the deck or trot circles around their crash site. She looked at the walls and breathed deeper, trying to keep them from swelling inwards. She could feel the air inside the cabin, stale and empty, and her head felt suddenly empty as well.

“You okay, Colgate?” Applejack asked.

Colgate froze, rudely aware of how loudly she was breathing. Her head was swimming, and she could feel her shoulders shaking with excited fear. She was caught, and so easily.

“Colgate?”

“Get some air,” Octavia said. “Get some water.”

She licked her lips with a tongue that tasted of iron. She remembered the sensation, the feeling of control dissipating without warning, the shadow of confidence flashing to nothing. She knew it was harmless; she knew that Applejack meant her nothing worse than a pleasant day. But she did not really know it.

Her mind called for her to turn and run. The charade was up as fast as it had begun, she had been found out, there was nothing left to do but disappear. However, she forced herself to turn her back to the mares and walk out of the cabin, imitating a calm pace, dignified to the end, or perhaps simply cowed under the ineffable pull of decorum. She ascended the stairs and got out to the deck, and, finding it not spacious enough, descended to the desert.

Looking back at the ship, she expected to see one or both of them there at the edge, watching her, perhaps training pulse crystals on her. Twilight had mentioned getting some in the mines, and Colgate knew who they were for. Seeing nothing of the sort, she still watched until sweat formed under her mane, and she sat down. Her strength ebbed away, seeping into the ground; thinking of it in that way, she began to silently weep.

Her tears were without drama or duration. One or two minutes, and then she was done, her flash of emotion spent, her thoughts slowed but not stopped. The life-and-death fear had been reduced to suspicion once more.

When she saw Applejack appear and head toward her, she didn’t run. She stood up and faced the Element of Honesty, who wore the look of someone concerned. It was a look she had seen on countless patients in her days, and she understood its implications: Octavia must be in trouble.

Something in her mind snapped back into place, and she straightened up. She was a doctor once more, a mare of higher education and specialized expertise. A professional.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” she asked, walking back toward the ship.

“Ah was gonna ask you,” Applejack said.

“Me?” She thought. “I don’t know anything. She looked fine when I was there. Is she conscious?”

“What?”

“Octavia!” Colgate snapped. “Is she conscious?”

“Wha—yes, of course. No, Ah’m not out here ‘bout her. Is that what you thought?”

Colgate stopped walking, momentarily angry. “What do you want, then?”

“What happened in there? To you, Ah mean. You looked like you were ready to pass out.”

“Me. She’s asking about me.” She frowned, piecing it together. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t look fine. Yer pale.”

“I’m pale.”

“Paler’n usual.”

Colgate looked around, keeping Applejack in her peripheral vision. An idea was trying to surface through her wild emotions. When it did, Applejack was looking at her like she had in the ship’s cabin. She steadied herself, looked again into the distance, gauging how far she could run before she dropped.

“So you’re the Element of Honesty,” she began. In her mind, she was pulling at a thread that Applejack did not want pulled. Exposing a weakness, perhaps; she felt clever, but also filthy.

“That’s me.” Applejack sat down and fanned herself with her hat. “An’ to be honest, you’ve got us both pretty worried already. What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Colgate said. “You’re bound to be honest about stuff, right? If I ask a question, you gotta be honest.”

“Ah don’t haveta, but yeah, it’s in my nature.”

Colgate sucked air between her teeth. “What would make you lie?”

“Colgate, what the heck is this about?”

Colgate shook her head and spun a half circle in the dust, very nearly getting up and taking off then and there. She made it a couple paces before turning back. The sun was hot, but the cold sweats were returning. The particular thought that got her attention simply repeated “this isn’t happening” in a soft voice, very much like Powder Rouge’s.

“Hey.”

Colgate looked at her, seeing a hoof upraised. Her heart shot again, her mind completing the picture and placing a gleaming pulse crystal square on the end of Applejack’s foreleg. She blurted out what she was certain were her final words: “don’t kill me.”

Applejack paused, her hat halfway back to her head, and replaced it. “O-kay, that answers one question, but introduces ‘bout a million more.”

Colgate looked at her, chest heaving.

“So…” Applejack paused for a long time, and Colgate gradually calmed. “All right, we can do this. Colgate, look at me. My eyes, look at ‘em.”

Colgate reluctantly did.

“Ah… this is really weird. Okay, as the Element of Honesty, Ah promise you that Ah ain’t gonna hurt you, or kill you, or even anything close to that.”

“Octavia.”

“No, she won’t do anythin’ like that either. Ah promise that.”

Colgate, not sure what else to do, sat again. “Can you… the hat?”

“Huh?” Then, understanding, Applejack doffed her hat and repeated the promises.

Colgate exhaled. In her mind, Applejack with the hat and Applejack without were two ideas, the former a crude attempt to copy the latter, for which she blamed her reaction. She could only stare, dumbfounded, amazed at the promise rendered. She decided to push her luck.

“Have you ever thought about hurting me in the past? You or… or anyone?”

“Ah know Ah haven’t. Ah can’t speak fer the others, not bein’ a mind reader, but Ah’d put the farm on it that they haven’t.”

“Haven’t?”

“Have not.”

“I see.” She breathed in and then she breathed out, breaking out in gooseflesh as her thoughts stopped. Applejack filled her eyes, the ship and desert beyond becoming a smudged backdrop. “Don’t move,” she thought, not aware that the words had made it to her lips, soft, and Applejack did not move. One conclusion burned bright and wide across her head, and she grasped at it: they meant her no harm. They meant her no harm.

It was obvious. It was beyond obvious, it was intrinsically correct. Holding the thought closer to analyze it, she could feel that it had been present in the storm of fears and doubts and impulses the whole time. It was a nugget of truth waiting to be excavated, to tumble out of the debris and dazzle her with its simplicity, its humility, the basic certainty of its being. It hid nothing, it implied nothing more than itself; it was so whole, so impossibly clear that she felt unable to accept it. Perhaps, she thought distantly, she had only passed through another layer of deception, and had found that she was the worse liar the whole time. That everyone, not even the ponies that knew her, but every one in the world, had an advantage over her, could see through the most complicated of ploys as though they were tissue paper, and she were only finally grasping their abilities.

The thought withered; it made no sense to her. She felt blinded, stunned, and disarmed, and in the face of her weakness, Applejack made no moves to harm her, to hurry her along. Applejack waited, perplexed, but unassuming.

“Means no harm,” Colgate thought again.

“You gonna be okay there?” Applejack asked.

“I can’t…” She could not take her eyes off Applejack, irrationally afraid that breaking eye contact would break the truth she had found.

“Ah mean ya no harm, Colgate. None of us do. None of us did.”

“That’s…” She did not know what it was. She did not have the words to describe her feelings, the feeling of fear releasing its clutch on her. It was the feeling other ponies described as like having a weight lifted off their backs, but for Colgate, it was the end. She could only stand there, uncomprehending, her every experience adding up to naught in the face of one moment. She didn’t need the experience anyway—astonishing for her to realize.

“I don’t really know what to say,” she finally said. “I’m just kinda shocked.”

“You look like you just got yer whole world turned upside-down, if ya don’t mind my sayin’ so,” Applejack said. “Do you wanna get back to the ship? Maybe get a glass of water?”

“We can get water.” Saying it so, it made her feel more in control, and they went back to the ship.

“She’ll be fine below. She’s just readin’.” Applejack tipped some water out of the torch into a cup, and Colgate placed it on the deck where she sat. Applejack took one for herself and studied Colgate. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”

Colgate drank.

“Why are you afraid of us?”

Colgate thought. It had never occurred to her to wonder where her fear came from. She looked at Applejack, her expression free of judgment or impatience. They could have been on a routine flight to the next city, for how Applejack looked at her.

“I don’t know why I’m afraid,” Colgate said. “I just am. It’s—in the interest of honesty, since we’re doing that—it’s… not just you. Not just you, I mean. It’s a problem I’ve had with everyone.”

“Why is that?”

“That's just how it is, I don’t know.”

“Fair enough, Ah guess. If you were born with somethin’, it might not seem strange to you.” She frowned. “You thought Ah was gonna kill you.”

“For just a moment,” she lied.

“Why?”

Colgate looked back to the desert. It called to her still, an escape from the interrogation. Still looking out, she said, “To be rid of me.” Speaking it to the emptiness was better.

“Uh-huh. Ah don’t think Ah quite get it. Why would we wanna be rid of ya?”

“Because…” She did not know why. Like the fear that shaped her, she had never questioned why those around her sought to harm her—did not seek to, she reminded herself again. The thought still felt strange, too perfect to be real, and too obvious to be essential truth.

“‘Cause none of us do. Yer one of the crew.”

Colgate only looked at the deck under Applejack’s hooves. She was aware that Applejack expected a reply, but she had nothing.

“I don’t know what to say, about any of this.” Thinking of something she had heard Octavia say, she added, “and for that, I am sorry.”

“Let’s back up a little, then. Do you believe me when Ah say we mean ya no harm?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t got a gut feelin’?”

“My gut feeling—my intuition—says you’re telling the truth. I suppose you must be, since you’re the Element of Honesty.”

“That Ah am.”

Saying it herself, she felt more confident. She thought again to herself, “they mean me no harm.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“Well, Ah reckon you should take some time to calm down a little, an’ then we find a way to figure out what north is in this dang hellscape, saddle up, an’ take a walk. What do you think?”

“I don’t know what I think.”

Applejack only looked at her.

“I think I’m hunted,” she said quickly. She had to say it quickly, else she would have looked away, gotten up, and walked off, perhaps never to come back. The possibility of dying in the desert still pulled at her.

“Hunted? By who?”

“Ponies.” She cleared her throat. “In Canterlot mostly, but maybe in Ponyville. There are ponies who want to see me dead.”

“Why’s that?”

“Not sure.” She glanced at Applejack. “That’s not true. I’m in trouble with them, is all. I’ve been in trouble for a while.”

“Ah’ll say.”

Colgate frowned.

“Sorry. Keep goin’, Ah’m listenin’.”

Colgate was not sure what to tell, how much was relevant. Her time spent with Rouge, the drugs and alcohol, the aimless plunge through life that had left her lost and alone in the rehab facility; the Datura, the things she had seen and done; her time on the battlefield, mentally unprepared to order the triage nurses around and make clinical decisions. It seemed to her, as it so often did when she looked back, that her life was a multi-faceted organism, a racemose collective of incidents that did not communicate with one another.

“When I was back in Ponyville, and I was still working for the hospital, I would often feel like I was being crushed underneath a wall of stone, inches at a time. I didn’t have a way out, you see, so I had to just sit there and let my life change.”

“You weren’t in control of the things you did.”

“No,” Colgate said, confident in her response for the first time. “That’s not what it was, Applejack. Don’t take me for a head case.”

“My apologies.”

“That is where it went, though. Things went bad in Ponyville, and they moved me to Canterlot.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“My employers. They moved me to Canterlot, and then… drugs and alcohol, for a while.”

“Ohhh.” Her tone quieted, and Colgate glanced at the back to make sure Octavia had not come out.

“I don’t remember a lot of it. I let someone’s dog out into the alley once. I…” “Alley, dog. Dog?”

“Are the police after you?”

“I just figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

Colgate stood, kicking over her water. Thinking of the dog had led her to think of leashes. Suppose the ponies on the Gaia side could create a leash of sorts for their Tartarus counterparts?

“We need to test it, but if Octavia can feel a letter coming before it actually gets sent to her, before the connection completes, then we can have the others set down a relay of automatic letter sigils on their side, and we’ll head north by feel.”

Applejack looked at her blankly—another expression Colgate was able to identify. It meant she had said something difficult.

“I’ll explain it to Octavia.”

“Wait, hang on, Colgate.”

Colgate waited.

“Are you a wanted mare?”

“Not by the police.” She thought of her new revelation; it was beginning to turn into another facet, and she had to think harder to remind herself of its significance. “Maybe not by anyone. I don’t know. I… kind of feel like this is the first day of my life, in a way.”

“Ah understand that feelin’.”

Colgate had no reason not to believe her, and said so. Applejack only smiled.

It was midday when they sent their third letter, explaining Colgate’s plan to the others. They ate, conducted a final check of their supplies, confirmed the theory of the letter-sending sigil, and were off. Applejack had fastened the water torch into a harness and put it on wheels, so she could drag it behind her on even terrain and carry it in rougher places.

Of the three, only Octavia did not turn back to look at the ship. Her hooves were sore and cracked, and planting them on the desert ground was a tiny torture, but still her pride whelmed up inside when she saw Applejack and Colgate cast sentimental looks behind. She was the strong one, the stoic one, and would not be swayed to nostalgia by a crashed airship.

She bowed her head, her dark mane lank and hot across her skull. She would need shade, but there was none nearby. Pillars of stone segmented the distance, singular all, tapering toward the ends but tipped in imperfect globes of stone. They reminded her of pins stuck in the ground and left there, petrified over centuries.

“Walk next to Octavia,” Colgate said. “Give her some shade.”

Octavia shook her head imperceptibly, her eyes fixed to the ground. She could not speak for a painful dryness that had settled in her mouth, but she wanted to object. “No pity. No charity. Walk, just walk.”

Applejack came up beside her. “Y’all right, Octavia?”

“Fine,” she croaked.

“Get the mare some water,” Colgate mumbled, and again, Octavia shook her head.

“Land sakes, Octavia, we’ve got plenty,” Applejack said. “If you need some, holler.”

Octavia shook her head.

“If you say so.”

They walked against the alien sun, their only tracks the grooves of their water torch traced on hard ground. For Octavia, who had grown up on the rock farm, the difference in dirt stood out most. On the Gaia, it could be thick, it could clump together, it could get stuck in fur, but the Tartarus desert offered no such qualities. The dust, when she noticed it, blew away at her steps, thin shockwaves with each step. It dissipated, but did not settle, and it did not stick to things. When she finally sat down, head swimming and heart hurting, and accepted water, she noticed no dirt on her hooves or tail.

“Ah think Ah can still see it back there,” Applejack said, closing the torch up again.

Octavia only stared at the ground, hating her weakness, and they walked on.

Relief was short-lived as clouds skirted the sky, which had turned to an off-blue color with the sun. A little too pale, a little washed out. There was no wind, but the sound of wind occasionally forced a pause or a raised ear. Applejack was on the lookout for others—for Tartarus was populated, one detail that Octavia recalled but did not care to consider very much—and Colgate kept her own council, walking a few paces away from the two of them. That she had seen Octavia’s need for shade and for water was an unwelcome relief, and for that, too, she despised herself.

“For what purpose?” she kept thinking. The thought never completed beyond that, but she did not need it to, for the harsh questions it asked had been long since ingrained. They made her up, serving as both foundation for her life and etching on her personality. Why must she walk? Why must she survive? Because she must, a truth that had grown threadbare over the months.

Her part in the Canterlot battle was the agent of her change, but acknowledging it had given no comfort, not to herself and not even when she admitted it to Pinkie, or Fluttershy later. Acknowledgement did not give back the lives she had taken, did not comfort those grieved, but the bitter resolve, and the knowledge that she would do it again if she had to, sharpened her guilt to a fine point.

Each step in Tartarus, what some called “pony hell,” was penance in her mind, the punishment of a broken body stacked atop the punishment of leaden guilt, stacked atop the punishment of prior exhaustion, stacked atop the first punishment of willful and endless consignment, so many years ago.

At bottom, it had been her choice all along. She could have said “no, thank you,” that day when Rarity approached her in the train station. When the prospect of adventure lay bright and interesting in front of her, she could have thought better of it; she could have politely declined and gone back to debt, paranoia, and depression. She could have gone back to life.

Octavia had not eaten for three days, and not slept for two. The familiar scenes that replayed in her head when she closed her eyes had been replaced of late: a lone silhouette sinking to the ground had become a flash of light and a crater, a head lolling on its shoulders in the reeds. Her own head felt lifeless, her eyes like coffee grounds, her skin like paper, her abdomen like a gutted pumpkin.

The flame in her heart had grown dim and tired over the months, and, for the first time since her youth, she felt it had finally gone out. She did not mind, and that feeling was the worst of them all—a despicable sense of emptiness, not deserving of acknowledgement and yet demanding every attention, every moment of thought; a selfish cancer of the spirit that left her useless, overtaken, and very small.

They stopped for lunch in a shallow valley, setting their supplies down by a dirty gutter. Water trickled from a hole bored in the stone, and from the puddle grew a stunted, denuded tree, its bark pale yellow and its branches angular and sharp. Where roots might grow from a Gaia tree, it instead offered a single extension of its trunk, tapered and twisted like a braid of rope. Applejack produced some bread and greens, and they had sandwiches. The water and food cleared Octavia’s head somewhat.

“You think it’s gonna get chilly at night?” Applejack asked.

“Might,” Colgate said.

“Hm.” Applejack climbed the valley’s gentle side and stood for a moment, the sun penetrating her blonde mane. She came back down. “We’re not far from those rock towers out there. We can get there before sundown, an’ then Ah say we find a place to hole up.”

“Did you see any trees or things?”

“Nothin’ bigger’n this, but a little bit, yeah.” She put her hoof to the tree. “Ah reckon we can fashion some kinda shelter out there. We’ll have fuel fer a fire, at least.”

“That’s good.” Colgate looked into the puddle, and after a bit, dipped her hoof into it. A small insect skated away from her. “I was taking prescription painkillers back in Canterlot, and I was drinking too. I was mixing them.”

“Oh.” Applejack was clearly not expecting the conversation, but, after a second to change gears, spoke. “Ah’m sorry to hear that. Ah take it… well, yer here now, so you must’ve gotten past it.”

“It wasn’t my choice, but yeah, I made it out. They put me in rehab.”

“Probably fer the best.”

Colgate didn’t respond, and they sat for a while as the shadows lengthened. When they got up again, Octavia veered from the path, feeling the tingle of a coming letter. She nodded and forced a smile when Applejack asked whether they were still on the right path.

Her thoughts clarified from food and water, she was able to bring her self-loathing into sharper focus. Made aware, from the clarity, of what she was doing to herself, she felt the familiar accusation of cowardice rise in her thoughts. She was afraid of life, of facing the results of her actions, and worse, she was afraid to admit that fear. Instead of pushing through her feelings, as her friends had, she allowed herself to wither and languish in her own depression.

“Pathetic,” she thought. “Apparently, even this is not beneath me. To slowly kill myself, instead of… pathetic. I deserve this.” She closed her eyes and forced herself to see the familiar image. “No, this is the easy way out.” She clenched her jaw until shoots of pain moved through her teeth, hating. That even at the depths of sadness she should choose fear over a fate she knew she deserved, it appalled her. She saw herself standing before her friends, and they, one by one, leveling her failures to her face. She saw them looking her in the eyes and laying bare her every fault and weakness, not the smallest glanced over. Each of them, in turn, would look upon her and say that word: guilty. She was guilty of cowardice, of weakness, of simple lack of ability. Was it a crime to lack something? In her dark fantasy, she knew that it was.

The clouds had all blown away, and the sky was again turning to burnished evening. Stars appeared, but no moon, and the stone towers drew nearer. From afar, the tops and towers had appeared as one, but the closer they came to the one that would be their shelter that night, Octavia could see that there was no connection. The sphere floated above the stone finger, calmly poised, motionless and silent. She did not doubt that it would remain there, that the magic that held it in place had nothing at all to do with them, that their camp would disturb nothing and leave no trace but ashes.

“Cole, you seem to be up on things ‘round here,” Applejack said. “You reckon that’ll fall on us?”

“I don’t reckon,” Colgate said.

“Let’s set our camp a little further away anyway.” Applejack shrugged out of her harness and dropped her saddlebags, and Octavia watched dispassionately, thinking that she should have carried them.

How selfish she was, she thought, allowing her private suffering to stop her from easing a friend’s burden. This crime, too, would be revealed in her fantasy, and she would accept it with the others.

“You okay, Octavia?” Applejack asked. “Don’t worry, we’ll have a fire soon, an’ then we can…” She sighed. “Rest. Finally.”

“I can help,” Octavia said.

“That’d be great. Here, help me get this set up.”

The two of them, with some hesitation, chopped the spindly trees and broke them into kindling, while Colgate gathered smaller tinder from the dry grasses and weeds from along the stone tower’s base. The sun had turned the color of caramel in the distance, and the night above a dark umber, not as dark as back home. Without the benefit of moonlight, they could still see everything clearly.

Over a small fire, they ate more greens and bread, and Colgate used weak magic to slice one of their lemons into cups of water.

“Ah wish we had yer cello still,” Applejack said. “Ah don’t know ‘bout y’all, but Ah can go fer a campfire song or two or ten right ‘bout now.”

“Why?” Colgate asked.

“Just sounds nice.” Applejack rested on her haunches. “Ah dunno, maybe Ah’m crazy, but this really ain’t so bad.”

“Perhaps we are lucky,” Octavia said. “We may have landed in a good place.”

“That’s entirely possible. Still, as Ah said, this ain’t so bad. Sore hooves aside, it’s been an okay time so far.”

“I know what you mean,” Colgate said, but did not elaborate.

“Or some marshmallows. Yeah, that’d be perfect.”

“It is because she is not afraid,” Octavia thought, quietly jealous. “She has already seen worse than this.”

“How’re you two holdin’ up, though? Sore legs?”

“I am sore,” Octavia said.

“Fine,” Colgate said, shrugging.

Applejack chuckled. “Couple more days of this, you won’t even mind it, Ah can tell you that.”

They added more wood to the fire, and Applejack turned in. The temperature had not dropped but slightly, and with no weather to speak of, they had decided that shelter was not necessary. With her hat over her face, Applejack snored gently on the ground, a picture of peace and contentment that Colgate found baffling and Octavia found accusatory.

As was her custom, Octavia soon forced herself up and walked from the campfire to be alone with her thoughts. The dark distance enticed her, and she wondered how far she might walk before dropping. She would not try it, of course.

“So,” Colgate said. Octavia had seen her rise to join, and did not begrudge the company. Yet another mote of weakness, she thought: the need for company to dull her contrition.

“You should sleep,” Octavia said.

“You too.”

“I am fine.”

“Right.” She thought. “So… I’m not sure how to begin. This is different.”

“Just begin.”

Colgate nodded. “Octavia, over the past two weeks, how often would you say you’ve felt little interest or pleasure in doing things?”

“I do not know.”

“You can be general. Like, a lot, a little, not at all. You know, general terms.”

“I would say that I feel that way every day.”

“What about feeling down, depressed, or hopeless? Same thing, past two weeks.”

“Every day.”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“How about trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, or sleeping too much? I guess we already know the answer to that one. Every day, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Feeling tired or having little energy?”

“I have energy.”

“You kept up with us this whole way today.”

“I did.”

“Can you do it again tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Colgate nodded. “Let’s skip to the end. Have you had any thoughts that you would be better off dead or hurting yourself in some way?”

Octavia did not look at her. “That is difficult to say. I know that I should not do those things.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I suppose I have those thoughts sometimes. But they are always distant, and I know that I will never act upon them. All my life, I have known that I will never.”

“That’s good.”

“Why are you asking me this? You think that I am depressed.”

“You are.”

“That does not matter.”

Colgate shook her head. “I can’t not address it. I’m a medical professional, remember?”

“If it makes you feel better, then by all means, ask me these things. Know that I will not kill myself, however.” So stated, she allowed herself to feel more assured. The weight on her back lightened by degrees.

“You’re killing yourself now. I’m aware of how little you eat, you know.”

“I have not been hungry.”

“Uh-huh. You don’t need a doctor to tell you that’s unhealthy.”

“You are right.”

“I’m gonna tell you anyway. Not eating is unhealthy, Octavia. Your hooves are cracking—I saw it by the firelight, but I also saw it earlier in the way you walk. You’re favoring the right instep on your foreleg. It’s ‘cause you don’t have enough nutrients, so your body is leeching what it needs out of its less important parts. Hooves and fur and all that. Is your fur getting thinner?”

“I have not checked.”

“It is. The insomnia doesn’t help that either. You’re probably dehydrated to boot.”

Octavia sighed. Colgate was right, and for a minute, Octavia was afraid. If the stranger could diagnose her so easily, the others may also have, or at least have come close.

Colgate sat down.

“I have not been happy in a long time.”

“That’s the impression I get.”

Octavia nodded, not sure how to go on, or whether she should. She looked up at the sound of wind, in time to see a curlicue of dust cross the sky. “You mentioned that you have a history of drug usage earlier.”

“Yup.”

“Forgive me if I am intruding, but I would like to know more about that.”

Colgate eyed her. “Oh yeah?”

“You do not seem the sort to me. You seem very together, every time I interact with you.”

“Yeah.”

“If I have offended you—”

“Stop.”

Octavia stopped and tried to see, in the darkness, the emotions on Colgate’s face. The unicorn disclosed little; she was in thought, but her eyes were frozen in place, her brow smooth. After a minute, she saw that Colgate was mumbling something; her lips formed the words “no harm.”

“I got involved with drugs—painkillers, and I prescribed them myself—because it seemed to be the thing to do.”

Octavia frowned.

“What I did in Ponyville seemed the thing to do. Taking drugs and drinking, the thing to do. Leaving rehab, the thing to do, and then going back later.” She put a hoof to her head.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do not know why you did it?”

“I did it because I did it,” Colgate said.

“That is interesting. I cannot say that I understand, but that is interesting.”

“And this is the thing to do, too.” She paused. “Ears up.”

Octavia perked her ears, looking around for the source of the sound she was only just noticing. It was the swirling of wind far off, the sweep of dust.

“Just a storm,” Colgate said at last.

“Would you say that you are impulsive?” Octavia asked.

“I am measured and precise,” Colgate said. “Because that’s my job.”

With no knowledge on which to base an objection, Octavia nodded respectfully. One thing, however, she did notice. “You speak to me as if you are expecting me to lash out at you. Why is that?”

“…That’s not true.”

Octavia looked at her, and Colgate looked right back.

“I will not,” Octavia said. “Forgive me if I seem cold. I have been having a difficult time of late, and I sometimes forget that not everyone is used to my demeanor.”

“Fine.”

“I mean it.” She bowed her head. “I do not wish to give you the wrong impression of my intentions, or my character, least of all here.”

“Fine.”

Octavia watched another signature of dust move on the wind. In the not-quite-night, it shone faintly like unicorn magic. It curled and turned, first a spiral and then a long loop, an articulated thread that seemed to point back the way they had come. She looked around but saw no others of its like.

They went back to their fire and added more kindling. For Octavia, the conversation was not over, and she did not think it was for Colgate either. Both were sensitive about their lives, and Octavia chided herself for her inquiries, knowing that she would not have the courage to answer honestly if Colgate returned them.

“Do you feel the magic out here?” Colgate asked.

“No.”

“You will.”

“Is there a lot of it?”

“Not much right now, but that’ll change, depending on where we go. We might walk through a hot spot, and all of us’ll feel it, even AJ. It’s like a… kind of a headache, but with sound.”

“Like over the Moondrop crater.”

“Yeah, like that. That was worse, though.”

“Is it so bad for unicorns?”

“I don’t feel it particularly strongly.”

Octavia fed a twig to the flames.

“You once said that you became a surgeon because it was the thing to do. That is in addition to all the other things you have done?” She looked up. “What is that?”

Colgate looked up and stood without a word. Not far off, but not near either, Octavia could see two ragged silhouettes moving, large and slow, with hunched, domed backs and flat heads. They seemed to glide across the ground, legs and feet hidden below trailing capes.

The firelight fluttered and faded, Colgate suddenly dashing dust onto it, and before Octavia could turn her attention back, Colgate had closed the distance to kick the logs apart. She hissed, but still did not speak, and Octavia could only stare in astonishment as Colgate danced among the hot coals, scattering flames and throwing shreds of smoke all about. She coughed and stumbled, and Octavia rose to pull her out. With a grunt of exertion, Colgate punted the largest log out of the camp, where it rolled to an ungainly stop, smoldering in the dirt.

Panting, Colgate said, “put that out, Octavia.”

She could do nothing but comply. Lifting a pile of dust in her telekinesis, she watched Colgate out of the corner of her eye. The unicorn was frozen where she stood, as if shocked by her own actions, no brighter than the shadowy figures.

“Get down,” Colgate whispered, crouching. Octavia got to her knees and coughed as she inhaled an errant feather of smoke, her eyes stinging and her chest seizing up as she tried to hold in further sound. The ground was warm, and she could feel the heat off the pulsing coals.

Wind blew again, and the travelers’ cloaks billowed about the ground. Their movement was slow and, she noticed after a moment, pained; the larger of the two limped, and sometimes appeared to lean on the smaller. Their flat faces pointed stoically forward, their course with the wind. Octavia knew they were destined for the bone pile, the same strange certainty that had told her they would not be crushed by the suspended boulders.

Without warning, a greater gust came up, throwing their cloaks before them, long and tattered like waning projections of the bodies they concealed. Coals tumbled and dust scattered across her back, and she closed her eyes as another trail of smoke drifted into her face. One of the larger logs had caught again, its crenated body furry with tiny tongues of light, dipping and rising with its own lifelike rhythm. She wordlessly poured more dust onto it, even the simple spell making her head hurt with the effort.

She turned back to see that one of the shapes had stopped, sunken to the ground. Its friend had stopped too, watching, but offering no assistance to rise, and Octavia held her breath. For a minute, the picture was perfect; she was young again, a warm and impressionable filly, crouched on the hillside just off her parents’ farm. The curve of Colgate’s body was the neighboring hill.

The picture changed back. The memory was just that once more, and she put it aside—though never fully. The figure got back to its feet and their shamble resumed, and then they were past, and then they were out of sight.

Colgate stood up, then sat back down, and Octavia finally looked at her. Both forehooves were burned; she could see the shine of broken blisters on the pasterns and, on one, a little higher up as well.

“Why did you do that?” Octavia asked.

“Hm?”

“That was extremely stupid of you, kicking the fire apart.”

“Hey, I saw a problem, and I dealt with it.”

“By practically jumping onto hot coals?” She wanted to be angry, but she was too tired. “You could have asked me to extinguish them.”

“This was faster,” Colgate mumbled.

“Please.” Octavia sat down beside her. “That is the sort of excuse I would make.” She leaned in. “How bad does it hurt?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“I don’t know,” Colgate repeated. “A couple second-degrees, a couple one and a half higher up.” She lay on her back and put her hooves in the air. Octavia looked at her. “Elevating the wounds. It’s basic medicine,” she said.

“I know that, Colgate.” “Be kind, Octavia. She is wounded,” she thought, and for the moment, she was too distracted to hate herself for the lapse of temper. “We need to wrap those with something.”

“If there’s gauze in the first-aid kit, that’ll do,” Colgate said.

It took Octavia a minute to find the kit and the gauze within, and Colgate watched her spool out a strand.

“I can wrap myself.”

“I am not completely inexperienced,” Octavia said. “Give me your hoof. No, the worse one first.”

“Make sure it’s dry.”

“I am, I am.” Octavia patted it with a cotton swab and began to wrap it. “Seriously, why did you jump on the fire?”

“I told you,” Colgate snapped. Her head jerked to the side, and Octavia had to pause her wrapping as the hoof jerked as well. “I guess I just did. I don’t know.”

“Was it the thing to do?”

Colgate smiled. “I suppose.”

The wind sighed, and smoke drifted over their heads.

“Other hoof now, please.”

As Colgate allowed her other foreleg to be wrapped, she examined the first one. “It hurts, but I’ll be fine.”

“We might have some painkillers too.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I do not want you to be in pain.”

“I said don’t worry about it.” She sighed as Octavia finished with the gauze. “It was the first idea I had, so I did it. That’s all. Better I didn’t, I guess.”

“You should be more careful,” Octavia said after a pause.

“Yeah.”

“What I mean is… I do not know. Just be careful.” She hung her head, ashamed. How many times, she wondered, had she been in Colgate’s position and received advice from the others? How many unnecessary risks had she taken, how many unnecessary injuries had she incurred, simply because she had gone with the first wild thought to spring up? For how many times she had been on the receiving end of such advice, she was woefully unequal to giving it to another.

“Sure,” Colgate said, getting to her hooves. She looked back into the distance, where the figures had gone.

“What do you suppose they were?”

“Indigents. They didn’t see us.”

“We hope.”

Colgate said nothing more, and after a time, Octavia fell asleep. Colgate studied her for several minutes, measuring her breathing, and, finding it to be genuine, allowed herself to drift off as well.

“Rise an’ shine, ladies,” Applejack said, poking Colgate awake. “We got a big day ahead of us.”

“I believe the nights here are shorter,” Octavia said softly.

“They are,” Colgate said. She had no reason to say it, but to hear her own voice.

Applejack prepared breakfast and Colgate told her of the encounter in the night, and her injury. With Octavia’s help, they changed her dressings.

The water torch squeaked on its wheels as they walked, gradually downhill into a wide, grassy depression. On the opposite side, the stone pillars grew in greater numbers, and smoke colored the horizon. It reminded Colgate of the burning watchpoint just outside Grass Graves, and she remembered that it had been she who set it to flame—the natural course of action.

They rested in short grass, in the shade of an oblate boulder, and Applejack dispensed water. A warm breeze rippled the field, turning flowers’ faces up to them. Colgate plucked one and examined it, an overlarge bulb draped with a single, loose petal. She thought of the travelers’ capes, and, obeying an impulse, tucked the flower into her mane. Applejack gave her a smile.

The crossing took them to a wider stretch of clay-colored desert, and they passed under the pillars’ shadows, a soft border that marked their way without ceremony. As the sun turned over them and the clouds slid around and away, they planted their hoofprints in the thin dust, hoofprints and narrow wheel tracks.

Applejack paused only to fan herself with her hat. Unlike the deserts of Equestria, the Tartarus desert did not fatigue her. Sweat dripped down her neck and haunches, but it was the inoffensive sweat of steady work. They only occasionally stopped for water, and as she walked, always heading their little group, she did not think of much. The earthen spires that decorated the boundless horizons; the dark patches of forest or nude rock splayed across distant mountains; and, closer to her eyes, the same queerness of natural arrangement left no impression. She plodded along, took her water, stopped once for Colgate’s injured legs, and peacefully let the world scroll around her.

For her, raised on work and the quiet self confidence so often twined with it, the silence of her thoughts was as an early morning haze. Times were, she would wake up with the sun, take a cup of coffee or a cold apple from the larder, and set hoof out on the still and dew-crisp earth, taking up her daily tasks without audience. Toiling quietly until the day lightened, until the morning chill had again receded into the stubborn ground that made their livelihood, she would work with single-mindedness that could be mistaken for simplicity or inattentiveness. Sleep to work, work to sleep, unbroken hours of silent, content labor—rare with the size of her family, and all the more precious for it.

Stones stood free and warm in the tawny air, backs flat as mirrors and carved with only what designs the dust left in its movement. She did not mark them. They were the same for her as the dried creek bed they jumped; the thorny trees whose roots spread far but near the surface, posing tripping hazards; the floating boulders on their pillars. Someone else’s work, someone else’s life writ upon the land, and not for her to judge. She hummed a song from an obscure part of her youth as they walked beside the vitelline sun.

When they stopped for dinner, the first of the world’s stars were showing themselves, and she leaned their supplies against a fat, sandy boulder, its top touched with short grass. She sat and thought little as Octavia and Colgate vanished and came back with firewood. She stirred when the fire appeared, thinking for a moment how nice it would be to be with the others, but as her eyes settled on the coals, the orange and yellow tongues lapping the shimmering air, all was still once more.

“Bit for your thoughts, Applejack?” Octavia asked.

Applejack blinked and regarded her. She could talk, she knew, but to do so seemed in some way profane. She shook her head then. “Wow. Can you repeat that? Ah must be really out of it, Ah’m sorry.”

“I only asked you what was on your mind.”

“Ahh. Ahh.” She nodded and returned her gaze to the fire. Octavia, like that, was gone. Applejack sighed and adjusted herself where she sat against the stone, moving her tail to a more comfortable position, alone and whole in the warm nighttime. It was similar to death, an immense and ablutionary grace that filled her until she felt she must have been born with it. She was not happy; there was no need for happiness, for there was no sadness, no bitterness.

This she knew, and so knowing, she slept.

Octavia didn’t mind that Applejack had fallen asleep, only that she might have to wait until morning to speak her mind, to share what had happened. She could share with Colgate, she knew, but Colgate did not know her as well, and she did not wish to presume closeness.

She lay on her back and stared at the night sky, eyes bloodshot and sore, stomach stinging, muscles aching, ears ringing, and smiled to herself. Her heart felt alive in her chest, like a baby bird fluttering its pitiful wings, a joy that had no voice but that she knew must express itself before long. It had come over her as they walked, slow and unstoppable—which was best, for she knew her old, twisted self would fight the coming with every terrible thought and memory it could.

She closed her eyes and saw no images from the past, and sighed to herself. She had been doing it all day, each time less surprised and also more. Her old feelings had been sapped from her body, cleaned away by the dust or blown on the wind, or perhaps shriveled under the stoic glares of the floating boulders and the diminished sunshine they reflected. She had been afraid at first, noticing the change.

Under the blanket of night, though, the only fear was that she might not be able to adequately express her feelings when morning came. She was light, but she was also empty. For every second of the day’s quiet walk, little pieces of herself had chipped off. Guilt had softened back into kindness, anger had spiraled back and collected itself into a pearl of assured patience, and fear had simply faded.

Her memories remained, but as still images. Life was not created from a collective of important moments, or a collage of the great and small; it simply was, different for everyone but essentially the same, and it was no different for her. She had done what she had done, and life went on.

“Still awake?” Colgate mumbled.

“Very.”

“Just checking.”

Octavia forced herself up. She was still exhausted, her already truncated sleep the night before beset with the usual nightmares, but her excitement moved her to stand, to pace a circle around the campfire, to smile and warm her chest against the flames.

“Something has happened to me today,” she said.

“Mm?”

“I…” Her one fear dropped into her thoughts like a pebble into a pail of water. She was, in fact, not sure how to express herself. Had she her cello, she would have instead painted the night with its music. She smiled to herself, the small fear turning over and becoming an eager challenge. “I feel like a new pony. I feel reborn, like I…” She shook her head, amused at her inadequacy, and laughed.

Colgate looked up from the fire. It was not the polite laugh that Octavia used to signal that she was paying attention.

She wiped tears from her eyes when she stopped, the peals of her high-pitched laugh leaving a wide silence in their wake, a bell rang once and no more.

“This is different,” Colgate finally said.

“I feel beautiful,” Octavia said, trotting over. “I do not know why or how, and I do not care. Something… I see now, in a way I never knew one could see. I see myself, and I see you!”

Colgate looked at her.

“I apologize, I realize that I am not making much sense. I am just… I feel better.”

“Yeah?”

“I feel like I own my life now. Does that make sense? Your face suggests that it does not. Let me think here. I feel like…” She scrunched her face in thought, wishing harder that she had her cello, and eventually found the right words. “I have made mistakes in my life, and there is nothing wrong with that.”

“Happy for you.”

Octavia offered her hoof, and, after a moment of surprise, Colgate shook it.

“Thank you for listening to me. I am not a poet, I cannot express myself with language how I would like, but I thank you nonetheless. I… I…” She looked into the uneven waves of dark desert all around, and knew what she needed to do. “I am very, very tired, but I must take a walk. I cannot sleep when this is all so new to me. Watch, would you? That I do not stray out of sight. Call me back if you think I have been gone too long.”

Colgate only nodded, herself coming to terms with a change, and stunned by the one in Octavia.

“Thank you again.” Octavia smiled a true smile, her lined face a stranger’s for just a second, and merged with the darkness.

A procession of night strolls had come before, some bored, some hopeful, the majority tenaciously and desperately contrite. Octavia walked over the hard ground, kicking up dust and tapping across plates of rock, her mouth and nose wide to accept the night’s delicate sweetness. How much, she wondered, had she missed in her well of sorrow? No matter, she thought, for life was long; more opportunities would come. She knelt and sniffed the dirt, amused to think how she might look to Colgate.

“I have made mistakes,” she said aloud. “And that is okay.” Saying it did not make it so; it was true independent of her words, but she felt better for it, as though happiness were inflating her to leave no space for the agonizing thoughts that she knew it was her way to entertain. A universal pardon had come to her, she thought, and it could not be more real if it had come from the mouths of those she had wronged. She kicked a cloud of dust and let it dissipate around her head. She wanted to smell like the earth, to return to her friends cleansed of her old self.

“This is most certainly it,” she said to herself. The turning point, the very instant that they had won against evil—or she had, at least.

For a time, she stood still and smiled at nothing, breathing in life. The feelings had slowed, but not stopped growing, and as she calmed down, she was able to better examine herself. She was nothing more complicated than happy, and touched with disappointment that it had taken her so long to realize it. She tried to imagine when and where it had taken root, from what memory it had come. Her mind returned again to the night, the sky’s vast face, the cold starlight and the comforting emptiness. She let herself get lost in a pattern of stars, but they told her nothing.

“Not the sky, but the solitude,” Octavia thought. “That is not right either. They are both a part of it. Is it this? Is it being out in the world?” Her night walks blended together in her mind, a thin layer around her true self, the true self she was still getting to know.

“Maybe I just enjoy being out in nature.” The idea seemed to ring true to her, and why should it not, she thought. The feelings were simple, merely awesome in scale, and there was no need for grandiosity in their origins or even completeness in their designs. Life was a collection of incomplete pieces fit together in the narrow frame of the individual experience, and that, too, was not bad. If the reason for her change were to be best explained with a guess, then so be it.

She yawned and snapped her head back up, lulled by her contemplation, and she giggled to herself as she turned back toward the camp, her joy spent in a flash and replaced with the silken feeling of fast coming sleep. Colgate’s bright eyes watched her reenter the fire’s pale circle, and she let herself fall on her side. In her head, the demonstration was her one and only tribute to the grim, lifeless Octavia, part joke and part acknowledgement.

“I was like that then, but I do not need to be like that now.”

Applejack hardly spoke in the morning, and Octavia spoke much, and Colgate listened and replied accordingly as she helped prepare breakfast. It was more of the same from her: inarticulate expressions of happiness or relief, apologies for not being clear, occasional laughter. Colgate finally saw how Octavia and Pinkie could be related as the gray mare rambled and interrupted herself.

She knew what the other two did not suspect, that it was the magic of the land that had crept into them all and forced a change. What sort of magic it was, she had no idea, but she had known to expect something, and also that it would not last. Her particular reaction allowed her to dread that knowledge with clarity that was frightening in and of itself, for it was clarity that had descended upon her. The stream of bad ideas, incomplete thoughts, and momentary desires had been quelled, like a TV channel set to static and finally switched off.

What she was left with, she did not immediately trust, for she could not know that the thoughts were correct. True cognizance and passing pieces of thought had so often mingled that she was only sure she would be okay that morning, when she remembered an idea she had had the night previous. The wheels on the torch needed inspection, for she had noticed them squeaking; in the new Tartarus dawn, the idea seemed sound still.

So they checked the wheels, changed her dressings, and were off. A bushy mound of forested land had appeared in their path, and by Octavia’s reckoning, they were on track to walk right through it. As if satisfied with her simple report, Octavia wasted no time in charging ahead to scout the desert scrub.

In its middle, the forest appeared as a Gaia forest, a fluffy canopy that was green and alive, as it should be, and a small relief after the mild desert; but it fanned out on both sides to become dense and pale, like moth wings claimed by the dust, weighed down and wed to the land. The trees crowded tight as they shrunk back into the ground, losing their shape and color until Colgate found her eyes following the unbroken contour of a blanched hillside, which, followed farther along the horizon, became the indistinct shape of far off mountains, themselves patched with forests. She thought of Twilight in Tartarus, the opportunities for exploration, and wondered whether there might be time later to return.

The morning sun warmed the top of her head and her horn tingled not unpleasantly from magic exposure. She thought it odd that all three of them could feel the magic’s effects, though only one was a unicorn, but did not worry the question. Better to ask Twilight later, she thought, and let her mind wander in the present. It had plenty of places to go.

During her blurry days with Powder Rouge, she had experienced a feeling very similar, and it was for that reason that she was not concerned, for she knew the change was temporary. Alcohol and painkillers had allowed her a smudgy window through which to glimpse the world with her present eyes, an imperfect imitation of clarity that she had mistaken for the real article. What she had gained in singleness of mind, she had lost in impulse control, but it was only as she strode along the others’ tracks, trying not to breathe too much of their dust, that she realized what it meant for her past actions.

She thought about herself, tentatively asking herself questions and drawing out answers, always afraid of uncovering something she would bring along after the white noise reasserted itself, as she knew it would when they left the cloud of magic. For a peaceful time, the notion of herself bore no weight; it was a thought experiment, a feat of theoretical acrobatics, like contemplating a paradox. Always before, she could dismiss the question when it came, but with the noise shut off, she didn’t, and by the time they were stopping for their first water break, she had placed herself back in Canterlot—specifically, at a candlelit table, surrounded by jovial ponies and the smoldering ends of cigars.

The reaction that she remembered was of rushed anger and, later, worried disappointment. She hadn’t known why she had burned the pony then, she had just done it. Her reason at the time was that it was her attempt at a joke.

“Because it’s not a joke,” she thought. “They didn’t see it that way because it wasn’t that thing. I was hurting someone.” Her thoughts faltered, her conception of the self turned in on itself, and Octavia nudged her along. Applejack stood at the head of the group, the same placid look on her face from the day before.

“Hang back, Octavia,” Colgate said. “I’d like to run some things past you.”

“Please do,” Octavia said. “Anything at all.”

“What do you see when you look at me?”

Octavia looked her up and down, her head bobbing freely with her loose gait. “I see a middle-aged unicorn with not a lot of weight on her, kind of like me.”

“I’m seriously asking you.”

“I know, that was my answer. That is what I see.”

Colgate frowned. No unwelcome suspicions crowded in to smother her reaction, no expectations for some cruel punchline—which, always in the past, might not come immediately, but days or even weeks down the line. She merely thought, “how can that be all?” She asked it.

“Because, if you want the truth, that is all I feel comfortable saying about you. I do not know you well enough to guess at anything deeper.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I do not. Only what I have heard.”

“What’s that?” She didn’t care to hear; she was stuck on the first reply. Octavia did not know her, had no way of knowing what she had done or what had been done to her. She wondered whether that might be the same reason it was so easy for Applejack to assert that they meant Colgate no harm.

“Very little. I know you are educated, that you took care of yourself for a long time. I know you had difficulties with addiction—for which I am sorry to hear. I can assume that you are a good mare, dedicating your life to medicine as you have.”

“No harm,” Colgate said to herself.

“Do no harm, yes, I have heard that phrase.”

Colgate glanced at her. “So my being here, my being… with everyone, that doesn’t bug you?”

“Why would it?”

She searched Octavia’s face for guile, but found none. In the past, all clarity had come with acute knowledge of the danger that surrounded her. Under the influence, she had been able to react to it preemptively, and in the more clinical mindset of her professional life, she had been able to set it aside. Now, from two separate ponies, she was faced with the likelihood that her fears had been for nothing.

“I’m used to expecting the worst from folks,” Colgate said. “That’s why I’m surprised.”

“Why is that?”

“Reasons. I don’t know. I might not figure it out in time.”

“What does that mean?”

They stopped, Octavia nearly running into Applejack. She stood, hat balanced on an outstretched hoof, looking into a muddy stream at the bottom of a shallow gully. Thinking it was the stream that had stopped them, Octavia strode forward and jumped it.

“Ladies,” Applejack finally said, and shook her head. “How long have we been walking?”

“Since sunrise today,” Octavia said.

“Whaaaat?” Her voice was quiet and strained with thought, as if she were just waking up from a deep slumber.

“Come on,” Colgate said, her doctor’s voice coming out. “We’re gonna cross this and then walk some more, and you’ll feel better soon.”

“Ah…”

“Come on, you can do it.” She hopped the gully and beckoned Applejack to follow. The earth pony hopped weakly and splashed in the mud, and Octavia helped her clamor out.

“What the hay is all this?” Applejack whispered.

“You’ll be fine, just walk with us,” Colgate said. Applejack followed her reluctantly, and Colgate looked around, searching for signs of the waning magic, whether it would be manifest in the world. She could see the pale reflection of sunlight off blades of grass, not far off.

“This coming field. The grass eats the magic away. Does that make sense?” she thought. “Who cares?” She paused, catching the first invasive thought immediately. The magic would slip out of her soon as well.

“All right, all right,” Applejack said. “Ah’m comin’ along, Ah think.”

“Further,” Colgate said. Already, the testiness had come back to her voice, and she was only distantly concerned, and only for a minute.

Yet, as they crossed into the field, as the flowers tilted their heads to mark the ponies’ passing, one thought did remain unobstructed: “they mean me no harm.” If only one truth were to stick from her brief period of clarity, Colgate thought, it was a good one.

“I cannot believe it,” Octavia said.

“All right, this is far enough,” Colgate said. “Let’s take a break, I’ll explain what happened.”

“You know?” Applejack asked.

“I’ve had a little education about Tartarus.” She paused, realizing what she had said, and sighed. Her imagined advantage was gone. “Basically, we all walked through a field of magic, and it affected our brains.” She shrugged, not sure what else to say. She had no interest in sharing her personal experience; that interest had dried up with the clarity, and dull fear had replaced it.

“How long were we in that field?”

“Couple days.”

“Couple days?”

“Do you not recall sleeping?” Octavia asked.

“No!” She took off her hat and wiped her brow. “Ah coulda sworn… So the day before yesterday, that really happened. Where we found that little dip in the ground an’ rested by those three boulders?”

“That happened,” Colgate said.

“Shoot. Ah thought that was a dream.” She wiped her brow again. “At least it was a good dream.”

“Does it not bother you?” Octavia asked. “I, personally, am bothered.”

“Of course you are,” Colgate said.

Octavia gave her a dark look.

“Hey, hey,” Applejack said. “Now how come you two ain’t all discombobulated?”

“It affected us differently,” Colgate said. “That’s what I assume. You felt like you were asleep, Octavia and I felt other things.”

“What did you two feel?”

“I cannot describe it,” Octavia said.

“I felt fine,” Colgate lied.

Applejack replaced her hat, sighed. “Well, Ah dunno what to say ‘bout all this, except thank Celestia an’ Luna both we’re outta there.” She laughed uneasily. “Ah’m a mite hungry now, but Ah reckon we’d like to put some more distance between us’n that magic, right?”

“Let’s get closer to the forest,” Colgate said.

“My thoughts exactly.”

So it was that, as the grass thickened under their hooves and the last traces of magic swept clean from their minds, the ground rose and the trees with it, short but getting taller with each minute. They selected a covered spot beside a still pond for their camp, and all three mares helped raise the fire.

While Octavia brooded in the shade of a nearby tree, back to her old self, Colgate watched Applejack tend the fire.

“You’ve been dead,” she finally blurted out. “Was it a lot like walking under all that magic?”

Applejack considered for a time. Eventually, she said, “This time it came up on me slower, but yeah, they were ‘bout the same.”

The Hanging House on the Hill

Chapter Ninety-eight

The Hanging House on the Hill

At the forest’s edge, they took a moment for Octavia to orient herself to the nearest letter sigil. From afar, it had struck Applejack how abruptly the trees appeared out of the desert, with apparently no intervening grassland between; in the forest’s first shadows, she was struck more, for the trees they had seen were but a shell. Out of the white desert ground, as the stone spires behind them, extensions of earth grew and spread, bleached and chalky spines that turned to wood near their tops, smooth bark lined with small, broad leaves. Only behind did she see the trees more to her expectation, things with clear delineation between ground and organism.

The smell of water drew them inwards, their torch swaying and creaking in its harness. The stone trees shrunk and turned to bushes, then weeds, then pale stains of imitation moss as they entered the wood proper, heads bowed under a soft drizzle that came from the canopy, and not the sky.

“Would you just look at that?” Applejack said to herself. In the space of a few minutes, they had crossed into a misty world of running water and green life. Grass rose to their knees and wild mushrooms bobbed under silver strands of water, which ran from spherical bubbles of delicate greenery articulated around needle-thin branches, balanced on—and, this time, connected to—kinked trunks that rose everywhere from soft soil. No lower branches reached from the bent trees; they grew as tall, twisted hairs from the earth, blooming only at their terminus. As Applejack stretched her back, using a tree to balance herself, she observed the shimmer of water inside the sphere of branches, the source of the false rainfall.

They traveled along a thin trail between the trees, never losing the sun. The air was gently tinged chartreuse, a sunset color that gave pools of water a golden cast and the mud a foundry dullness. Of everything, the rain trees were the tallest, their wild shadows twisting across smaller versions of more familiar trees. They took water—still from the torch, for there was no trusting the false rain—at the edge of a wide pond, on the opposite side sagging the aspect of a tiny maple, its trunk ringed with gray toadstools.

As she looked into the water, Applejack considered her earlier position, her sleepwalking grace. She had expected one of the others to bring it up, but they hadn’t.

“Ah’m feelin’ a lot better now,” she said. “The change of scenery’s part of it, Ah expect.”

“Not for long,” Colgate said, joining her to look into the water. A floating flower closed as her shadow touched it. “If we stay here much longer, we’ll start to feel the effects.” She paused, as if considering. “I’m already feeling them, a little bit.”

“Unicorn sensitivity?”

“Yeah, that.”

“How’s it feel?”

“Garden variety headache, but it’s not gonna get better, or even let up. It’ll just get worse and worse.”

“How much worse will it get?” Octavia asked.

“How should I know?”

“We’d better not stop fer long, then,” Applejack said. “Ah’m ready to keep movin’ when you girls are.”

“Any time,” Octavia said.

“We’ll keep off the path, though. Ah dunno ‘bout y’all, but Ah’m a little scared of meetin’ someone here. Might not be a friendly face.”

They returned to the path for long enough to find a convenient way of leaving it without aimlessly walking into the underbrush, and at the edge between trail and wilderness, they stopped to get Applejack’s torch strapped to her back. Octavia took the wheels.

“Nothing dampens your spirits, does it?” Octavia asked.

“Me?” Applejack asked, doffing her hat to let a stream of water anoint her. “Ah try not to let it.”

“Someone has to,” Colgate said.

“You are braver than I,” Octavia said.

“Oh, pish posh,” Applejack said. “Ah ain’t braver’n any one of y’all. We’re all here, ain’t we? We’re all walkin’.”

“Yes, but…”

“But bupkiss, Octavia.” They crossed a second trail, taking a moment to examine a sign marked in unfamiliar lettering. She continued as they negotiated a particularly thick tangle of grass. “If you must know, dyin’ really did a number on me.”

“As it would for us all,” Octavia said.

“Exactly. Ah’m not one of those tough as nails sorts who’ll tell ya it ain’t a big deal. Ah don’t got that… Shoot, what’s the word? Ah read it in one of Twilight’s books, Ah’ve been waitin’ to use it. Anyway, Ah ain’t that. Dyin’ affected me in a lot of ways, an’ Ah know it ain’t the same fer everypony. Luna actually told me this, she said you basically got two options if you come back. You can let it get to you, an’ spend the rest of yer life wonderin’ if you deserve it—the reprieve, Ah mean—or feelin’ bad fer yerself, or livin’ in fear of the thing that’s gonna get ya fer good; basically, you can make yerself miserable. Or you can embrace the opportunity an’ live life how it’s meant to be lived, how you wanna do it. You can guess which path Ah’m workin’ on.”

“It is fortunate that she was there to show you that.”

“Yeah, well, Ah like to believe that Ah’d’ve figured it out fer myself in time.”

“So you don’t mind being here?” Colgate asked.

“Ah didn’t say that. Ah mind bein’ in Tartarus, course Ah do. It ain’t the pony hell like what Ah expected, but Ah don’t like it, an’ that little comment of yers ‘bout the headaches comin’, that Ah like even less. But am Ah gonna let that ruin my day? Heck no. Am Ah gonna come crawlin’ outta that Snowdrift gateway a broken mare? Absolutely not.”

“Like I said,” Octavia said, “braver than I.”

“Now, you can’t look at it that way. Yer just beatin’ yerself down like that.”

“Why not go back to yesterday?” Colgate asked her, but Octavia only hung her head.

“Anypony can do it, you don’t have to die fer it. Just so happens that Ah did.” She shrugged and laughed softly to herself. “That’s the way it goes sometimes. No use cryin’ over spilled… life, Ah suppose. Ah guess that sounds pretty bad, but you know what Ah mean.”

“Is that not a rather selfish mindset, though?” Octavia asked. “If you spend the rest of your life enjoying the time you have been granted, then you will be blind to the suffering of others, to some degree or another. How can you abide that?”

“Ah hadn’t thought ‘bout it. Ah guess it’s important to keep that in perspective.”

“You cannot just turn away from the misery of the world because you were fortunate. Others are not, and you must remember that.”

“Happiness ain’t selfishness,” Colgate said.

“No, I am not saying that.”

“But too much ain’t good either,” Applejack said. “Right?”

“You just need to keep things in perspective, as you said.”

The sound of running water was coming closer, and through the weeping trees, they could see the flinty reflections of a moving stream.

“I am feeling that headache,” Octavia said.

“Shoot,” Applejack said. “That means Ah’m next.” Using a sapling rain tree to hang her hat for a minute, Applejack smoothed back her mane and looked on the creek they had reached. Part of her wanted to forge straight through, but she stopped herself.

“Can you teleport?” Octavia asked Colgate.

“Never tried, but I doubt it. You?”

“I have done so once or twice. I do not like it.”

“But I bet you will now, huh?”

“If I must.”

“Right, always.” They contemplated the creek, too wide to jump but only just, its mossy banks gleaming with the same strange light that seemed to effuse from the trees themselves. Fish swayed on the bottom, long and thin, holding with the current. Colgate grabbed a rock and skipped it downstream.

“This Tartarus knowledge of yers, Cole—got anythin’ on the waters?” Applejack asked.

“My knowledge starts and ends with the fact that the magic here is seeping into us. Yes, as I speak, it does so.”

“If it seeps into us, then does it also go into the water an’ stuff?”

“I dunno.”

Applejack crept to the bank and leaned out, her golden mane falling to catch the eerie light. She looked both ways, and, unsatisfied, returned to her hat.

“Did anyone see a log on the way? Perhaps we could drag that over and use it as a bridge,” Octavia said.

“Y’ever haul timber before, Octavia?” Applejack asked. “Even fer two earth ponies in good health, that’s a tough ask.”

“I have telekinesis.”

“Logs’re heavy, Ah’m just sayin’.”

“Have you hauled timber?”

Applejack picked at a blade of grass that had caught in her tail. “No.”

Colgate watched the two of them, and the water moving behind. She sighed and pushed past them, and, without giving herself time to think about it, dove in. She splayed her legs out and let herself land chest first, soaking her fur and chilling her skin. Behind her, Applejack called out, not completely disappointed—for she was actually glad that someone had taken the initiative, and done what she had wanted to.

Sputtering and struggling, Colgate’s hooves wheeled and scraped the bottom, her hooves clicking off stones and brushing grass. The water was deeper than it appeared, and she brought her head down to see, even though she was already sinking. A splash behind drove her head back up, and Applejack dog-paddled past, a grin on her face. She was the first to climb out, and Colgate followed reluctantly, reaching the shallower banks opposite and staying immersed.

“I cannot swim,” Octavia said.

“Jump out, Ah’ll meet ya halfway!” Applejack called. “This water, Ah tell ya, it’s brisk!”

Octavia looked disdainfully at the water, as if she might not jump, and then launched herself into the water with a pitiful splash that bespoke the weight she had lost. Applejack went back out to help her, and Colgate put her head below again. The fish had all scattered, but the dark green strands of grass remained below, moving independently of the current around them. On the opposite bank, a muddy brown shape undulated, resembling a snake from the Gaia. Colgate remembered that certain dangerous snakes hunted in rivers and streams, and wondered how close they may have come to meeting one.

With a sequence of splashes and gasps for air, Applejack and Octavia emerged as one, the former clutching her charge and still flashing her vivacious smile. For Applejack, it was all sport, he face seemed to say.

“Get on out of there, Cole,” she said. “You don’t wanna catch a cold out here.”

“You’re not my mom,” Colgate said, dunking her head again. She remembered, in Ponyville, flailing uselessly in the river not far from her hospital. She would soon join the Datura again, and the invasive thoughts of doing so, which she had not the ability to recognize, had terrified her. Splashing about in the water had given her a sense of calm that did not last, and, months later, resting in the Tartarus creek did the same. The invasive thoughts had become routine; the paranoia that drove her with relentless fire in the past had faded to background anxiety. It crossed her mind that she might drown herself, but the idea disappeared in an instant, as such thoughts often did.

“Remember that they mean you no harm, Cole buddy,” she said to herself, her words lost underwater.

“C’mon, Cole,” Applejack said. “We gotta get goin’. Octavia thought she heard somethin’.”

Colgate pushed herself out and trudged up the banks. Her gauze had loosened around her pasterns, and she took a moment to remove it. Balling it up, she held it for a few minutes, then cast it into the underbrush as they walked.

“I’m not sure I’ve heard the whole story on this death thing,” Colgate said. She wanted to get her mind off herself. “I just keep hearing references to it.”

“Shoot, all ya gotta do is ask,” Applejack said. “How do Ah start?”

“We should find a place to dry off,” Octavia said.

“Hard to do, under all these trees.”

“Perhaps we should cut some.”

“Ah don’t like that idea. Look at ‘em.”

“They are just trees.”

“We don’t know that,” Colgate said.

“Ah know one thing, Ah sure ain’t gonna complain ‘bout that piddly little airship shower no more,” Applejack said. “Heck, you know what Ah just realized? Snowdrift is gonna be cold when we get outta here. Ah hope they’ve got sweaters fer us when we meet ‘em.”

“If we meet them,” Octavia amended.

“No, Ah mean when. Anyway, sorry, Colgate, didn’t mean to blow you off like that. Yeah, my death. Hmmm, now where to begin?”

As Applejack told her story, starting with the dam in Applewood and backtracking to the curse that had led them to it, and had led to her infusing it with her spirit, they worked deeper into the forest. Ceaseless streams of water wet their backs and heads, and clouds of insects irritated their eyes and muzzles. The mingled smells of mud, algae, and trees filled their noses as they crossed misty expanses of blooming earth. Colgate grabbed another flower along the way and replaced the withered one in her mane, dripping dirty water onto her face.

The air turned greener as the sun went down, and the forest was cast in an oddly magical light, trees and water taking on emerald sheens as shadows lengthened. They paused at a bend of the earlier stream, weighing their chances for safety at the prospect of shelter, which appeared in the form of an overgrown mill.

Curtained by falling water from the bent trees that rose high above its roof, the mill’s jade walls leaned inward with the weight of time, a waterwheel rusted in place on its side. The windows were spread with grime and ivy, a small well burst open to admit a massive tree. No chimney or gutters were visible, but on the side opposite the wheel, a wide pipe connected the building to the ground, its sides split and corroded.

“Abandoned,” Applejack said. “You think?”

“I think,” Colgate said.

They approached the mill carefully, but by the time they were looking through the front doors, all were convinced that they were alone. Broken shafts of light from a hole in the roof penetrated musty shadow, and Octavia’s gray light revealed nothing strange. A table, taller than the sorts they were accustomed to, and a rough counter indicated that they had entered an ancient dining room. Plates had affixed to the far wall by the slow encroachment of moss and lichen.

“Sun’s going down,” Colgate said. “I say we stay here. Good?”

“Fine by me,” Applejack said. “You s’pose we got a bedroom here?”

They found the bedroom at the far end of the mill, right next to the wheel’s gear house, rusted and inert and showing through a broken pane of wall. The mattress was gray and infested, a soft slab for insects and fungi, smelling of decay.

“We’ll just stay out here,” Applejack said when they returned to the kitchen. “It’s by the door anyway, in case we need to make a hasty exit. Ah hope we don’t.”

Colgate scanned the walls, and noticing one of the windows was much larger than the others, approached it. She took up a hooked wooden carving, what she thought might have been a bookend, and, at a distance, smashed it repeatedly into the overgrown glass.

“What are you doing?” Octavia asked tiredly.

“This is my thinking,” Colgate said. She remembered Applejack’s request from earlier, that she explain herself better, and it was a few moments before she had ordered herself. In her head, the ideas fit perfectly, and did not need examination.

“Whoever lived here probably didn’t have ears, or wasn’t sensitive to sound. I got that from the fact that the bedroom was right next to the waterwheel. The gears and all that, they didn’t keep the pony—whatever—awake. Right?” A corner of the window gave way, the glass shattering and collecting in a tangle of vines. “Lots of windows though, so they had eyes. I figure…” She grunted as she hit the window some more, punching a hole in the middle and letting the dying light in. “I figure these windows were placed for a good reason, and this one, being the biggest, it was more than decorative.”

“How’s that?” Applejack asked, searching the walls for a fireplace.

“It faces a dense section of forest, I noticed walking up. If some wild beast or whatever might appear, that’s a good place for it to appear from. That’s why I wanna smash this, so we can see it too.”

“Ain’t you sharp?” Applejack asked. “Yer a bona fide detective, Cole.”

“Here, let me,” Octavia said, and with a forceful shove of gray magic, kicked the window out of the wall. Tatters of vine and leaf dangled around the edges, and warm, moist air entered.

“Cool, good,” Colgate said, tossing her bookend out as well.

“All of that from a window an’ a bedroom,” Applejack said to herself. “If that’s what they teach you in college, Ah’d’ve maybe went.”

“College is what you make of it,” Octavia said.

“What’s for dinner?” Colgate asked.

After a brief debate, they set up a small fire under the hole in the roof, and were finally able to dry off. They re-wrapped Colgate’s injured legs; in the creek, some of the blisters had ruptured, but Colgate didn’t complain.

“I was only teasing you earlier, when I said you should teleport across the river,” Colgate said. “I don’t know if you got that.”

“I did not,” Octavia said. “It was not a very funny joke.”

“Yeah.” Colgate looked at her wrappings, her legs stinging underneath. “I didn’t mean any harm by it.”

“You know, you do have that way ‘bout you, Colgate,” Applejack said. “Sort of a flatness—no offense—that it makes ya kinda hard to read. You know, if yer jokin’ an’ whatnot.”

“Yeah.”

“So, if ya don’t mind my askin’, have you given any thought to our discussion earlier?”

“Which?”

“From the crash, when you…” She looked at Octavia.

“She can hear about it,” Colgate said. “It won’t come as a surprise; we had similar words earlier as well.”

“I do not wish to intrude,” Octavia said.

“Ask your question, Applejack.”

“No, Ah was just wonderin’ if you’d thought it over anymore. You were pretty shaken up, so Ah was hopin’ that would change if Ah gave it some time.”

Colgate thought. Part of her asserted that Applejack was testing her defenses, seeing whether Colgate were willing to trust her, to make herself vulnerable. “Suppose she is,” she thought. “So what? We’re all dying sometime.” She cleared her throat. “I’m growing more accustomed to the thought, but it’s kinda hard. You, uh… It’s hard to accept.”

“What’s hard about it?”

“I don’t know.” Her default response, spoken before she had actually thought about the question. “What I mean is, I’m not used to not looking behind my back all the time, so it’s just a habit.”

“You always feel like you gotta be on guard.”

“That sounds right.”

“I do not recall you speaking about that earlier,” Octavia said.

Colgate licked her lips, suddenly alert and nervous.

“What d’ya think it means fer you, not havin’ to worry so much anymore?” Applejack asked. “If ya don’t mind—Ah’m sayin’ that a lot lately, ain’t Ah? You strike me as the type who has certain difficulties makin’ friends.”

“It’s the keeping, not the making,” Colgate said, thinking of Rouge and Fleur.

“Fair enough.”

“In answer to your question, I can only imagine that I’m… I don’t really know, because I don’t know who I’m gonna run into later. If I get lucky, then I’ll be safe. If not, then this is for nothing.”

“But if it makes you a better mare, then it’ll be worth it, won’t it?”

“Better than what? I am who I am already, that’s not gonna change.”

“There is always potential for a pony to better herself,” Octavia said. “If you can do it by learning to be less defensive, then you must do it.”

Colgate narrowed her eyes at Octavia.

“You’ll be happier, that Ah can tell ya right now,” Applejack said. “You sure don’t seem happy now, or when we first met either.”

Colgate shrugged.

“Ah’m just sayin’. But hey, it’s good yer thinkin’ ‘bout it, at least. As you said, yer gettin’ used to the idea. No one can expect more’n that at this point.”

“Right.”

“But… in my experience, anyway, an’ definitely if you intend to go along with us to the end, yer gonna need to get past that, past this.”

“Friendship is magic,” Colgate said.

“That exactly. Where there’s fear, there ain’t no friendship.”

Colgate nodded, wanting to think more clearly on Applejack’s words—advice, she realized, meant for her and given in goodwill—but her mind was stuck on Octavia’s assertion that she must change if she could. It seemed out of place to her, something uttered for no purpose but to trip her up.

“Celestia, Cole, no harm. No harm.”

“If you’d like—”

“I gotta think about it,” Colgate said. “It’s a difficult topic for me to chew on, okay?”

“All right, no problem.”

Her thoughts faltered; she had expected Applejack to resist.

Talk returned to more mundane things, and Colgate simply listened, losing herself in her fears and pulling herself out each time—she was never more prepared for the next onslaught of worry for it. Applejack thought that she was feeling the beginnings of the impending headache, and Octavia, after much coaxing, admitted to pain all across her body. Malnutrition.

Like the desert, the forest was unseemly lit of its own virtue, everything of a green hue that made sickly and dreamlike their motions in tourmaline firelight. Applejack and Octavia swam in Colgate’s eyes, their talk thick and distant.

“Colgate? What d’ya make of this?” Applejack asked, poking Colgate in the side. Colgate stiffened and scrambled up from the floor, aware in a terrified flash that she had been asleep. In the immediacy of her revelation, she felt only fear and disgust at letting her guard down, and she had to force calm back onto herself.

“That clicking,” Octavia said. “Do you hear it? Is it another effect of the magic?”

“Quiet,” Colgate said, ears up. She had grown used to the trickle of water all around, and found it initially difficult to hear past it, but when she did, she could distinguish a soft, mandibular clicking, like darning needles, relaxed and consistent. It came from above and about, but she could not tell whether it surrounded them, or was simply far off.

“Is it the trees?” Applejack asked.

“Let’s look,” Colgate said, going to the broken window. Seeing nothing, she pushed open the front door and stepped into the chilly, damp air. “Octy, your ears are more sensitive than mine, get out here.”

Octavia joined her. “Do not call me that. Also, only one of my ears is sensitive, thank you very much.”

“Right.”

Octavia stood with her head tilted for a minute. “There is more than one source.”

“We’re not alone,” Applejack mumbled from the sagging doorway.

“I don’t see anything,” Colgate said, taking a tentative step toward the dripping trees. The sound was vaguely familiar to her, but she could not place from where or when. Applejack exited and walked the other way, eyes to the canopy.

“Above us!” Octavia said, dashing for the door. “I saw a shadow pass above."

“Whoa nelly,” Applejack said. “Ladies…” She stood by the wheel, and they hastened to join her, where they could see a clearer spot in the treetops, though not as clear as earlier. Dark, spherical shapes hovered just above the upper branches, turning around one another, not touching, aimless but clearly alive, or guided intelligently.

Octavia looked directly up, shielding her eyes as best she could. “They are all around us.”

“Let’s go then,” Colgate said, ducking around the corner and reappearing a moment later, dragging their supplies behind her in an unkempt pile. “C’mon, grab your stuff, we can’t be here.”

“Have you seen these?” Applejack asked, strapping the torch to her back.

“Let’s just go. Octavia! Get!”

Octavia tore her eyes from the treetops and grabbed her saddlebags, and Colgate ran inside again. Their little campfire spat and crackled in the middle of the floor, and she almost jumped on it a second time. Stopping herself, she took up a piece of scaffolding from the fire’s heart and swept it across the blaze, throwing cinders to the walls in a quick, dazzling clap of wood. Tossing her scaffolding carelessly, she dashed outside to the others.

“This way,” Octavia said weakly. “I feel a sigil in this direction.” Tired and burdened, they ran into the forest, the water cold and the underbrush treacherous in green nighttime. The clicking disappeared under their uneven hoofsteps and ragged breathing.

“Stop,” Applejack said, pausing by a circle of mossy stones. She wiped her brow. “Let’s just hold on an’ examine our options.”

“Onwards,” Colgate simply said, slowing to a trot.

“No, we’re stoppin’. Pausin’, at least.” She caught her breath, a small part of her wondering what had Colgate so nervous; the odd shadows had not seemed to notice them.

“Is that the house?” Octavia asked between breaths.

Colgate didn’t look back, but Applejack did, smelling the smoke and seeing the orange glow between trees. At first glance, it seemed almost natural, her earlier associations with Tartarus snapping back into place to remind her that fire was no surprise. “The campfire!” she yelped, understanding. “Ponyfeathers! We left it in there!”

“The forest will put it out, will it not?” Octavia asked.

“We should be moving,” Colgate said.

“Hold on.”

“Fire spreads, c’mon.”

“She’s right,” Applejack said, shouldering her torch again, almost knocking herself off balance with its shifting weight. She thought it likely the fire would not catch them, not with so much water falling, but Colgate’s energy—her pacing, her disturbed glances all around—put her, too, on edge.

“We’re getting out,” Colgate said suddenly, beginning at a trot and quickly diving into a gallop that they struggled to follow, under a line of streams and across a glowing carpet of flowers.

“Colgate!” Applejack called.

“Fire’s comin’!”

They raced through the flowers and over a thin offshoot from the nearby creek, Applejack nearly slipping in the mud, conscious of the sound of Colgate not far ahead of her, but also growing more distant as she flung herself through bushes and low branches, heedless and light without cargo. Octavia stumbled and wheezed behind, and Applejack bent forward under the weight of their water, shoulders and haunches burning in protest.

They met her in a wide clearing, the forest curving around them on all sides but one to give a narrow view of the desert. Fur damp with sweat, chest glistening, Colgate mashed her forehooves into the grass, soaking her gauze with the evening dew, and Applejack unceremoniously dumped the torch onto the ground. Its wheel setup was forgotten in the burning mill.

Octavia joined them and collapsed, and Applejack regarded her, noticing how thin the mare had become. The points of her spine stuck out above slender ribs, and her cheeks, like her sides, was sunken. Her lips were chapped and her mane was thinning, and when her wild eyes met Applejack’s for a sickening moment, she knew that Octavia would not be going on—and what it meant for them all.

“If you’ll just look up…” Colgate said.

Applejack raised her eyes as bidden, and filling the sky, as if cast from a net, a tide of the circular shadows turned languidly. Farther off, shards of orange light formed like iceblinks on those wreathing the smoke.

“Can she run?”

“I can do nothing,” Octavia whispered.

“No no, don’t talk like that,” Applejack said, offering a hoof to help her up.

“I am useless.”

Colgate turned a quick circle in the grass.

“Octavia, don’t,” Applejack said. “We gotta keep goin’. Ah know you can do it, Ah know.”

Their eyes met once more, Applejack’s firm and calm despite the fear slowly eating away her resolve. Another quick glance to the sky, and she descried yet more shadows, appearing from seemingly nowhere and blanketing the forest, a second layer of nighttime to blot out the brightness that lingered after sunset. Octavia let her head drop, her face in the grass, her eyes open, her body shaking.

“We gotta go,” Colgate said softly, and from a distance.

“All right, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Applejack said. “Colgate, get over here an’ grab the torch.”

Colgate stepped back toward them, eyes to the sky.

“Yer carryin’ this, an’ Ah’m carryin’ her.” Gingerly, so as to not injure her, Applejack removed Octavia’s saddlebags and put them on, then gently turned Octavia and maneuvered her onto her back. Octavia’s muscles contracted slightly, and she was able to wrap her forelegs more securely around Applejack’s neck.

Colgate gave her an inquisitive look, braced awkwardly under the torch’s weight.

“Go.”

They staggered to the other side of the clearing, back into the forest, into a sea of white noise. The infinite trickle of water and the clicking, closer and no longer hidden by the sound of their travel, mixed with the light sound of hidden wildlife into an ill-fitting simulacrum of peace, as though the forest knew their tension and wished to give it space to flourish. Octavia’s weight did not slow Applejack but a little, but she tried not to think about it.

They passed through a cluster of smaller trees and into a low, shallow basin of slimy water. Their ripples broke apart a pair of imperfect shadows on the water’s surface.

“Here’s the good news,” Applejack managed between breaths. “Looks like the fire’s not spreadin’.”

“Further,” was Colgate’s only reply.

They splashed out onto a bank crowded with mushrooms, which turned slightly to face them as they walked, and pushed into deeper darkness. The trees were growing closer together, their queer angles causing them to cross in places, or form barriers of opposing points. Sometimes, ropes of hanging, fruiting ivy spanned the spaces between trees, and sometimes, Applejack or Colgate would stumble over an unnoticed sapling. Progression slowed and faltered, and they found themselves backtracking more, defeated by thick braids of trees or spaces too small for passage.

Applejack wound up ahead as they followed a dense ridge of knotted trunks to another clearing, a grassy vista that opened into a star-washed horn of desert far beyond. She stopped to catch her breath and adjust Octavia, who had been quiet.

A lone hill rose in the middle of the field, dark and wide. She could see minute scratches of uneven stairs dug into its sides, and at the top, empty space under another sphere, strangely still amidst its neighbors, which swiveled and swooped loosely, rising and falling over the hillside like massive birds of prey, or ornaments jostling on long strings.

Directly overhead, still more of the same circular shadows were encroaching, some of them low enough to brush the treetops, some lower than that. Her head throbbing, her muscles aching, Applejack felt as though she were running in a dream, and the racing of her heart and breath were outside her body.

“We’ll go there,” Colgate said, coming up behind, struggling under the torch’s weight, but not putting it down. Her shoulders shook and twitched.

“Where?”

“Uphill.” She paused. “That’s no ball there, not the same shape.”

Applejack squinted at the floating circle above the hill, seeing what Colgate meant. “What is it?” She flinched at the sound of a strike, something hard meeting a tree trunk. The shadows were sinking, and from the underside of one, she saw an indistinct trail of ropes or vines, swaying like anglers’ lines and tipped with small, hooked cudgels. A couple were caught on a tree, and Colgate forced herself forward, stumbling. Applejack followed suit.

There was no time to think, even as the balls descended onto the field and the ponies moved into range. The short grass and flowers waved and nodded as all before, and more snaring lines draped onto the field, some swinging loosely and others lying in the grass. The clicking was faster and nearer, joined by a weak, floral wind.

Octavia bounced on Applejack’s back as they outstripped Colgate, racing under the quickening shadows and the indifferent sky. The grass was lightly serrated, and it pulled at her tail and at the short fur around her hooves, and the hill was still far away. To Applejack’s eyes, it was a final push to safety, though she knew she should not see it that way, for she did not know.

In the tops of her eyes, the sky was shredded and thick with darting shadows, but she could not look up and keep her pace.

“Stop—go back,” Octavia gasped.

Not stopping, but throwing a fast and frightened look back, Applejack nearly toppled over herself. Colgate was trying to get up, her body hidden behind grass so that it appeared the torch alone was jittering in place. At the sound of wind in her ears, Applejack cringed away, thinking a line had nearly missed her head, and she dashed back, again knowing what she would need to do, and again trying not to think about it.

“Let’s go,” Colgate said, barely standing under the torch.

“Drop it, we’re tradin’,” Applejack said, trying to let Octavia down gently, bobbing her head up and down, fighting the fear of the moving shadows and their swinging hooks. Any minute, she expected one to collide with her, ending their race.

Colgate let herself fall out of the torch’s straps and lay on her back for a moment, staring into the moving sky.

“I can run now,” Octavia said atop shaking legs. “I think.”

“Then run,” Colgate said.

“Come on,” Applejack growled, grabbing the unicorn’s foreleg in hers and dragging her up. Octavia was shambling forward, her wind not fully back but her determination pushing her nonetheless.

Colgate, standing, looked about wildly for a second before darting past to meet Octavia, and Applejack was left to put the torch back on. The water inside pushed and pulled her as she got into the harness, the wind harrying her at the same time, and she fell. A hook on its line swung past, thick and dull, of the same dark wood as the kinked trees. Her mane was tangled in the grass, and she let out an involuntary shout as she tried and failed to get up.

A pair of hooves fell onto her, and she shouted again, kicking out and hitting nothing. It was Colgate, her haggard, blue face blocking the sky for a moment as she tried to undo the torch’s straps, her eyes skittering, her frantic breath in Applejack’s face. The magic tingled and burned under her shoulders as Colgate put a hoof to her chest, wordlessly telling her to hold still.

She could feel the torch sinking off her, and with the sureness that fear makes from uncertainty, felt the sudden emptiness as Colgate could be lifted off her, caught with a hook and reeled into the sky.

“Go, c’mon,” Colgate said, slapping Applejack’s hindquarters as she ran back. Applejack got to her hooves and followed, again trusting, and jumped a taller tuft of grass. Octavia had not stopped, and was ahead of them all, beginning the climb while a pair of shadows converged to intercept her. Colgate trampled over flowers, and Applejack noticed, for a half-second in her whirling view, a spark as she did it.

Wind and the sound of hooks raced around her ever-turning head. She saw nothing clearly; the hill was a blob, her friends sprites of pastel shadow, the balls above textures in her peripheries. Her ears rang and her legs burned, their saddlebags slapping at her sides. Her hat was gone, but she would not notice until later.

An explosion rocked her head and pushed her ears flat as a ball of fire expanded at the hillside. Flaming branches rained, clattering and breaking into cinders to lie, half buried, in the grass. A grin appeared on Applejack’s face as a second one broke the white noise of pursuit.

“Steady!” Colgate cried, and Applejack let herself call out as well. She could feel the ground beginning to rise under her hooves, she could feel it all the way up her legs. The first stair smoked with a small, red and black coal, and Applejack stumbled to avoid stepping on it. Octavia stood a few steps up, her lank mane covering her face, her tail switching back and forth, while Colgate scrambled ahead.

“Ya good, Octavia?” Applejack asked breathlessly.

Octavia gave no reply, but turned when Applejack passed her.

The stairs were narrow and poorly spaced, and Applejack could see, or thought she could see, shadows flitting across the incline. She did not look back to see the field, covered as though with a new canopy bereft of trees. She had eyes only for the top of the hill, its stationary shadow an indistinct sign of hope.

Sparks flew as Colgate crushed more flowers on the stairs, and Applejack half expected to hear another explosion behind her, as if the sparks were preludes to Octavia’s magic.

She was aware of rain hitting her head as they neared the top, and was grateful for the tiny respite. Her head felt aflame, a headache swelling, and she could only collapse at the top of the hill under the lightly swaying shadow of her safety. Colgate stood by, panting, and helped Octavia up the last few steps, who collapsed as well.

“Welcome home,” Colgate said, apparently to herself, as she slowly walked around them. They were safe for the time, for no shadows had yet made it up to them, though a flock was ascending over the stairs. No one noticed that they avoided the remaining smoke from Octavia’s attacks.

“Not long, and then we gotta get in this,” Colgate said, and Applejack looked at her, brow knit and mouth open partially, as if to reprimand her. In her scattered mind, Colgate’s words found no purchase; she was aware only that she had time to rest. The unicorn’s slower pace showed that clearly enough.

“Shelter,” Octavia managed. “Thank Celestia.”

Applejack looked up, and she thought her eyes were wrong. In the starlight, finally free of shadows, she could see the shape of a door, of windows, of a small fence around a flowerbed below. The sphere they had seen, which she had mistaken for another ball, manifested instead as a house, its walls curved and smooth and showing no seams save for around the entryways. At its apex, thick ropes rose almost parallel into the clouds. She could see where the grass under the house was dry, where the rain had not landed.

“We’ll go back for our water,” Colgate said, offering a hoof to help Applejack up and nearly falling herself when Applejack accepted it. “But we’re gonna wait these things out inside this.”

“What if there is someone inside already?” Octavia asked.

Colgate shook her head as she stared at the door.

“Never mind that, she’s right, this is our chance,” Applejack said. “Hopefully we can explain when we get in there.”

“Not long,” Colgate said, looking back at the approaching shadows. Their clicking was becoming audible once more.

From where the house hung, it gave close to five feet of clearance to the hilltop, and the three of them approached, watching the door and trying to conjure a way inside.

“We’re just wastin’ time,” Applejack finally said, reaching up to adjust her hat, and, finding it gone, wiping rain off her brow instead. “Let’s just climb in. Colgate, Octavia, one of you use yer telekinesis an’ open it. Ah’ll boost y’all up.”

Both mares hesitated, but a blue cloud of magic appeared at the door’s handle, and, resting for a second, turned it to open the door. It creaked on hidden hinges, but no other sounds greeted them, and Applejack edged back to see inside.

“Looks empty.” She glanced at the balls; the first in the swarm were showing their crowns at the top of the hill. With lightness she did not feel, she asked, “who’s first, then?”

She first boosted Octavia into the house, then Colgate, and then awkwardly climbed in herself, half assisted by pulling magic. The air inside was damp as well, but warmer, and Applejack felt momentarily lost as she closed the door behind them. They stood on a curved floor of dark brown wood, veined with raised, burgundy lines, which felt to Applejack’s hooves a part of the material, and not decoration.

They naturally clustered in the house’s small nadir, and each mare followed her eyes up its walls. A table and stool were affixed midway up, on the table a bowl of unidentifiable vegetables and a carafe of water, both resting where they had been placed and showing no strain of gravity. On the other side by a window, a bedroll lay flat, and nearer the ceiling, what resembled a work desk, sized appropriately for pony proportions and mostly clear of paper. A long sack of what looked like fishing rods—which Applejack had heard of, but never once used—rested against the desk, under the strange vector of more hanging vegetables, which, from their perspective, seemed to point on rigid strings from midway up the house’s side, like the lines of a cross section.

“I do not like this,” Octavia said at last as Colgate took an experimental step up the wall. Her hooves held, and she stepped more, and before Applejack could believe her eyes, Colgate was walking up the wall and looking down through the window.

“Welcome to Tartarus,” Colgate murmured to herself, cautiously making her way to the ceiling. When she looked down on them, standing experimentally to brace on the work desk, she finally smiled. “Try it.”

There was no trick; Applejack put one hoof after the other, and she ascended the sloping wall. It was as easy as traversing flat ground, and though her eyes rebelled to see it, the house and its occupants rolled underneath her. She pulled out the chair, adjusted the carafe, and Octavia watched her suspiciously. From Applejack’s perspective, Octavia was nestled in a pocket on the nearby wall, and Colgate the opposite side, both mares tenuously stuck and she the only one safely on the floor. She looked through a window, which afforded a sheer drop into deep green sky on one side and the unclear tufts of forest on the other, a split vision, no different from before, save that it was all under her hooves, separated by a thin wall and a pane of glass.

She joined Octavia back at the bottom while Colgate poked through the desk.

“Are we just assuming that they cannot get us inside?” Octavia asked at last.

“We’ll be fine,” Colgate said. “I remember something like this. We had one in Ponyville a while ago, after your party left.”

“One of these made it to Ponyville?” Applejack asked.

“That’s what I said.” She frowned and took out a tablet with writing on it. “They call ‘em bush balls, I think.”

“‘They’?” Octavia asked.

“Yer employers again?” Applejack offered.

“They lit it on fire and drew it away from the forest, and that was pretty much it.” She trotted to the window and looked down—out—through it again. “Granted, that was one, and these are many.”

“You have not explained why you think we are safe,” Octavia said.

“We’re safe ‘cause we’re indoors!” Colgate snapped. She shook her head and threw the tablet against the desk. It bounced and landed with a slap on the ceiling.

“Ah understand yer concerns,” Applejack said slowly, “but they’ve only got those hooks, looks like. So we should be okay. Maybe stay away from the windows?”

“Not much room,” Colgate said sullenly. She pulled open another desk drawer and rattled its contents with a hoof. Applejack flinched away, expecting the contents to rain down onto her—which, of course, they did not.

Octavia took a single step up the wall, extending her neck to barely see out the window. The bush balls were appearing in a mass outside, a flocculent cloud of clicks, micro-sound from inside the hanging house, and almost more threatening for it.

“They’re right on top of us,” Colgate said quietly at first, and then more loudly. Applejack watched her turn a short circle on the ceiling, rip another drawer from the desk and drop it carelessly beside her. Her eyes were wide and her breathing was shallow, her movements jerky.

“Steady, Cole,” Applejack said. “We’re fine right here. They’re just bouncin’ harmlessly outside. Think of ‘em like clouds.”

“Not clouds,” Colgate said, leaving only that for Applejack to divine the precise cause of her agitation.

They all froze at the same moment to the sound of branches scraping outside, louder than the rain and absent the sound of assisting wind. Octavia chanced another look out the window, but saw only dry foliage. Up close, the bush balls were no more than their namesake, masses of twigs and sticks with no visible core, alive with gentle, repetitive movement deep inside. Octavia stared for a moment before turning away with a dry heave.

“Get some water,” Colgate said, taking the carafe in her magic and floating it, first toward her, then into the empty middle, and finally finding the correct vector and sending it to Octavia, who looked at it skeptically.

Octavia took it in her hooves, balanced on her haunches, and tried to turn it. Her hooves still shook.

Colgate and Applejack yelled as one when the house jumped. On their respective floors, mirrored, they crouched and looked around, and Octavia let the water spill and pool on the window. A dry snap sounded above them as the house jumped again, and as Applejack was realizing what was happening, it happened.

Branches rustled and crashed against the walls as they hit the ground, and for a perilous, pregnant second, all was still but the pounding of rain. Then, the grass and the ground slipped away, and the wild, dark land sped to receive them. As a fuselage falling through the sky, all within was subject to the same spin, the same velocity, and to each pony, hers was the floor around which the dark lands of Tartarus cycled. They kept to their hooves, the windows depicting a whirling, untamed wilderness, spinning on an invisible axis around them, magnified and brought to noisy life when one window shattered, and its neighbor just after.

Though all inside the house had been still, when they hit the first uneven patch of ground, the world quit them entirely for a blood chilling few seconds, and then returned with a resounding crash that sent each mare falling toward the same spot and then boomeranging back to her place, not to rest or reclaim her balance but to be shaken again, torn from their floors as the spherical house rampaged down the hill and out into a pale, faceless desert.

Like popcorn kernels on a hot skillet, they jumped and landed, sometimes crossing the neutral middle and sometimes colliding with one another, banging skulls and shoulders and unable to control themselves. Each one cried out, threw her hooves, tried to access her weak or weakened magic to no effect.

With a crash that buckled something outside and sent them caroming through a patch of shrubs, the desk joined the fray, its opened drawers spitting paper and writing tools like a threatened animal, pinging off walls and catching broken glass, perforating the bedroll’s fabric as it leapt up to entangle with the rest of the furniture. Water scattered across the air, and hanging vegetables flapped like ribbons in the wind, some breaking open to throw seeds and spicy aromas into the mix.

The walls shuddered and banged, and a writing tablet whisked itself out a window. The fishing rods clattered out of their bag, bouncing off bodies, snapping on walls. The carafe dented itself on a windowsill before whipping through Colgate’s tail as she spun in place. The roar of rainfall had become the gritty, tough sound of momentum tearing across land, a roller coaster’s thunder and rattle.

Gradually, the destroyed windows showed a world slowing, and the mares were able to stand once more as the furniture calmed around them. Applejack held a hoof to her eyebrow, where a desk drawer had caught her and opened a vein, and Colgate lay in a tight ball, shaking, her tail curled around to cover her injured forelegs.

The land had become desert again, and it came to a stop on a final, weak jolt that put the ground just outside their door. No one spoke or moved for several minutes; as they had crashed through Creation Lake, they took their time to come to their senses, to assess that the chaos’ aftermath.

Applejack broke the silence. “Ah don’t wanna panic, but Ah think… Ah might be in trouble.” Thoughts of her mortality rushed in, and she could scarcely keep her voice steady as she went on, “Ah don’t know if it’s broken.”

“We need to get out of here,” Octavia whispered.

“Shut up,” Colgate said, crawling across the littered floor toward Applejack. She glanced out the window. “We’re getting out first. No bush balls, c’mon.”

“Ah dunno if Ah can,” Applejack said.

“Lemme look at it. Octy, scamper, make sure it’s clear.”

With a glare, Octavia disappeared out a window. They could hear her light hoofsteps in the white dust outside.

“Take your hoof away,” Colgate said. She was bleeding as well, her right side shot with glass, her fur taking a crimson stain.

Applejack gently removed her hoof, and Colgate looked at her brow.

“You’ll be okay, you’re not bleeding out or anything. That’ll need stitches.”

Applejack swallowed, not sure whether to be relieved.

“Outside, c’mon. We can do it out there.”

On shaking hooves, Applejack climbed through the opposite window and out to the desert. She could see their hill at the end of a broken trail of dust and flattened grass, the bush balls swarming just as before, but coming no closer. They had finally stopped in the horn of desert, a narrow crescent of wasteland that bit into their forest, and were not far from the other side. An hour’s walk, or less, would see them back among the trees.

“All righty, girls, we’ve got a situation,” Colgate said in her doctor’s voice. “Octy, get Applejack’s saddlebags out of the house. We need first aide.”

“Can you not call me that?” Octavia asked, complying.

“Later. Applejack, you’re gonna be okay. Do you know who I am?”

Applejack frowned at her. “Yer Colgate, the pony who’s been travelin’ with us.”

“How many ponies in your family?”

“This is about my broken eyebrow?”

“How many?” She grabbed the first aide kit that Octavia proffered and fished out the isopropyl alcohol. “Immediate family, all those folks on the farm, how many? C’mon, we’re losing blood.”

“Four of us, dangit! What the hay are you playin’ at?”

“I’m checking,” she said archly, applying a cotton pad to Applejack’s wound, “if you’ve got a concussion. You don’t. Happy?”

Applejack huffed.

“Shaver.”

“Me?” Octavia asked.

“Shaver,” Colgate repeated. One floated to her magical grasp, and she deftly shaved Applejack’s eyebrow. Orange fur drifted to the wan desert ground. Colgate took the cotton pad and let it soak up some alcohol.

“Colgate, you are wounded too,” Octavia said.

“I’ll do me later. Applejack’s bleeding worse right now.”

“You said Ah’d be all right, though?” Applejack asked.

“Keep your head still.” She dabbed the wound, wiping grit and blood away. “Good. Now take this and hold it.” She gave Applejack a second, clean pad. “We’re gonna wait for that blood to slow down before I go in and close you up.”

“…Okay.”

“I need sutures, though.”

When the sun’s first light was turning the desert into a nacreous expanse, and the forest back to a peaceful, green fimbria, the last of the three fell deeply asleep in the shade their wanton house afforded, stuck in a ditch and hemmed on one side by an aged, dead tree. Applejack had taken several painkillers, her brow held closed by the strongest string Colgate could find in Rarity’s sewing kit, which had seen little use up to that point. An immeasurable distance away, on the other side, Twilight and her crew were booming along under the Friesian Mountains.

It was Tartarus’ version of noon when they rose, looked around, and realized that they had no water. Their torch was still somewhere in the field around the hill. Applejack tentatively touched her face, and Colgate told her to find a mirror instead. She used the compact in Rarity’s makeup kit.

“Looks pretty good, considerin’,” she said.

“Taking those out’s gonna be a pain,” Colgate said. “We’ll also need to watch for infection.”

“Speakin’ of which, how ‘bout you? You feelin’ okay? Yer hooves all right?”

“Fine.” She twitched her shoulders, residual nervous energy finding its way out. “You still mean what you said earlier, about… what you said?”

“Sorry?”

“Never mind.”

Applejack thought, her mind still cloudy. Too much had happened the day before.

“I hate to say it, but we may have to take our chances with the water in the forest,” Octavia said. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, onwards, whatever,” Colgate said, casting a wrapped hoof in the forest’s direction. The bush balls had all gone.

They walked in a line across the strip of dry land, Colgate limping, Octavia in the lead with head bowed. A dark web of cracks had spread on the house’s outer shell, and it was the image Applejack held in her mind as she marched, thinking against her better judgment of all that could have gone wrong the night before. The house could have split and flung them across the hillside, or the furniture could have shredded them. With her brow stinging—they had had no anesthetic, forcing Colgate and Applejack to make do with a hot needle and a rag between the teeth—Applejack found it difficult to remind herself that she was lucky. They all could have incurred worse injuries, though it didn’t seem it.

The forest’s inner edge was a raised ridge of calcified tree trunks, tangled like vipers in a dense, helical rope that merged with the ground and became one wall of a narrow canyon. A thin stem of smoke stood stationary at what appeared the canyon’s far end.

They were able to climb over the ridge, picking their way steadily down tree trunks that resembled PVC piping in an intricate sewer system, until they were back into the familiar, all-surrounding trickle of water. In a crowded grove of flowers and mushrooms, they each sat and drank of the trees, each one hoping they were not making the same fatal error.

“Don’t run your head under this,” Colgate said. “You might open the wound up again.”

“Ah know,” Applejack said.

“Do we have any possible way of carrying water with us?” Octavia asked. “I believe we left our water bottles on the ship.”

“We can empty out the rubbing alcohol bottle, Ah guess. That’s somethin’.”

“We’ll be wanting that for later,” Colgate said. “The hydrogen peroxide too.”

“Can we… It’s silly, but can we uproot one of these an’ bring it with us?”

“I see no harm in trying it,” Octavia said.

“Bush balls,” Colgate said.

“That is not what attracted them last night.” She rose to stand against a tree, looking into its plumed halo, as if contemplating how best to apply her magic.

Applejack rubbed the spot above her eyebrow, relieving the itching but a little.

“I do not want to cut this one,” Octavia said. “I feel like cutting one will break whatever this magic is. I will uproot a smaller one, when we find one.”

“Fair enough,” Colgate said. “We ready?”

“Are you?” Applejack asked.

By way of response, Colgate trudged into the underbrush.

Sunset was again creeping into the canopy when they found their sapling, and Octavia roughly tore it out of the ground. Its small stream of water did not falter, and, satisfied, they moved on.

“Does it really bother you that I call you Octy?” Colgate asked.

“It does,” Octavia said.

“Why?”

“It just does.”

“Why?”

“Because it is not my name.”

“Hm.” Colgate snorted. Her heart was fluttering, memories of her hours of clarity swirling and diluting with all the usual fears and impulses. She still held onto the crucial fact, that they meant her no harm, but it had lost its import; it seemed as though it were something told her that she had once trusted, and to remind herself of it, she had to constantly renew her trust.

“She means me no harm,” Colgate thought to herself. “Do I mean her harm?” The response flashed up quickly, not exactly surprising her: “No.” The gray mare might be a patient, Colgate thought.

“So that magic that hit you in the desert, what made you feel so happy.”

“I do not wish to speak of it.”

“I bet not. You seemed pretty sad when it left.”

“I was merely disappointed.”

“Did you think it would last?”

Octavia sighed.

“Well?”

“You are without your precious clarity, Colgate. How do I know that you will not make some joke about it?”

“‘Cause I—” She shook her head rapidly, banishing her initial thought, to ram her shoulder into a tree and shake water onto them.

“I said I do not wish to discuss this, and that is final.”

“You are such a pain in the ass, do you know that?”

Octavia did not respond at first, but then said, “Likewise.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m just asking questions.”

“I do not like these questions.”

“What do you like?”

Again, a sigh.

Colgate sidled up closer, allowing for a lowering of voices. Applejack, behind, courteously did not catch up.

“I’m curious,” Colgate said. “Why are you bent on destroying yourself?”

“I have told you time and again, I—”

“Not eating, not sleeping, staring into space, yadda yadda yadda. I’m no psychologist, but I’m also not stupid.”

“Your bedside manner is terrible.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The conversation halted for several minutes as they crossed another small stream. The forest’s edge was coming into view again, and the canyon’s mouth with it.

“I was disappointed when the magic left because I thought that I had finally discovered something,” Octavia said quickly. “I thought I had found happiness, but it was a lie. Do your worst.”

“My worst is nothing,” Colgate said, not really sure why. Re-ordering her thoughts, she asked, “how can an emotion be a lie?”

“It was false. It came from something outside myself, as you explained.”

“So?”

“I had no right to feel the way I did.”

Colgate opened her mouth to reply, but had nothing. In a way, she thought, Octavia’s feelings mirrored her own. Where one had felt joy without cause, the other had felt fear.

“It felt like I was lying to myself,” Octavia went on. “And that sort of thing has always bothered me.”

“Do you want to go back to that happiness?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked.” She smacked a tree as she passed, sending a lance of pain down her leg.

“Of course I do. If I could, I would.”

“What stops you?”

Octavia fell silent.

“Well?”

“I do not wish to talk about this.”

“We already—”

“No, that was earlier, when I was not certain that you were asking me these things in good faith. I am more secure now, but still, I wish to stop this conversation.”

“Hm.”

“It is very personal for me,” Octavia said softly. “And to be perfectly honest, I do not have an answer for you, for what stops me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Perhaps I will in time. I will need to think about it.”

“You do that.”

Octavia looked at her, and Colgate looked back and allowed herself to fall behind.

In a starlit glade, where the water dripped into natural basins of stone, they stopped for food and rest. Octavia was silent, but hers was a silence of contemplation, rather than sorrow, and it showed on her face. Applejack sat against a whitened stump, trying not to touch her brow, trying to imagine without feeling how it looked. She thought of Rainbow Dash on the other side, seeing her and commenting. “Wow, AJ! That’s one heck of a shiner you got there!” She smiled.

Colgate fussed with her wrappings nearby, and Applejack let herself stare at the burn wounds that covered her legs. Her flesh was spongy and tufted with black and blue fur, and Colgate turned her hooves over dispassionately, inspecting them, thinking thoughts Applejack had no interest in guessing at. She wanted to keep walking, despite her fatigue, but did not think the others would be willing to push themselves.

Speckles of rain pattered on the grass, and a sound like slithering leaves moved at the glade’s edge. Applejack looked up, seeing but not, telling more by instinct than sense that they were suddenly not alone. She leaned over and tapped Colgate, pointing at where she had heard the sound. She could distinguish among the trees and shrubberies a dark shape, but could not recall whether she had noticed it before. It bore resemblance to a stump, and as she stared at it, it blended in with the shadows until she was no longer able to tell where she thought she had spotted it.

“I see nothin’,” Colgate grumbled. “Trees and stuff.” She returned to her wounds.

Applejack looked at the sky. She had marveled in the first days how bright the nights were, how the stars were stronger. She wondered whether they were the same stars that hung over the Gaia, rearranged. Perhaps the Gaia was somewhere on the other side, separated by those stars; an astral gulf.

She nodded her chin to her chest, but jerked awake. In the forest, she saw two points of light, like opals or dew drops. The other two were asleep, and Applejack closed her eyes to slits to feign sleep. It took all her weakened, tired will to not panic when the shadow moved, hesitated, and slid into the open.

Undeveloped eyes glinted from deep pockets in a wide face, dark skin glistening under a uniform coat of small, translucent spines. Thin arms dragged on the ground, webbed hands clutching baskets of fruit, which it dropped when Applejack raised her head. Berries spilled amidst tumid root structures that seemed, to Applejack, grossly incongruous with the rigid loops of bone that grew at acute angles from its hip joints.

For a second, it took her in, its head rotating slowly on a body with no neck. A trickle of water appeared at its crown to run down a shallow lumen to the roots.

“Let’s just all calm down,” Colgate said evenly, her voice showing signs of the sleep Applejack had seen not minutes before. She did not look at her.

The creature—something between a cactus and a frog, Applejack thought—righted a basket, raised an arm, and wrapped one amphibious hand around a pole strapped to its back. Slowly, it held the pole out, pointed with a thin, shining blade, and then let it fall. A light whistle came from spiracles on the bone loops.

“What does it want?” Colgate asked.

“Ah think it’s sayin’ it ain’t a threat,” Applejack said. She cast around, searching for something to use in kind. Settling for a large rock, she held it between her hooves, and, as the new creature had, let it fall before her. “I can hurt you, but I don’t intend it,” the gesture said.

The whistle lowered to a hum, then went out, and still they stared.

Applejack looked long into the mostly featureless face, trying to discern an emotion in the creature’s teardrop eyes. “Here’s a long shot. You speak Equestrian?”

It whistled.

“Maybe we’re in its territory,” Colgate said.

The roots at its base shifted slowly, pushing grass and weeds back and planting themselves in the topsoil before them. The creature’s arms were relaxed through the bone hoops, and it ran one sticky finger along the inside of one. It began to replace the berries in its baskets as another skin of water ran down its body, and Applejack saw the brief mist of magic at some of its points. For a moment, magic reflected off sliding water, giving its black body an oily sheen.

Everything in its bearing suggested to Applejack that it was not aggressive, but she could not think of a suitable reason it should approach them. There was curiosity, but she knew their kind must be as foreign to the creature as it was to them. Why not watch them from a safe distance, if watching was its sole intention?

She took up a stick from their firewood bundle, and though the creature did not turn its eyes upon her, its movement stopped.

“This won’t hold,” Colgate said.

“Ah got an idea.” She looked around and walked to a patch of mud under a rain tree. She beckoned, and after a few moments, the creature went to her, its fat roots rolling and turning over the grass and one another, conveying the short, barrel body across a wash of firelight. It circled widely around Octavia’s sleeping body.

Where it stopped, Applejack had drawn a simple map. On one end, she had made the gateway to the Gaia, which she indicated with a heavy spiral, from which led a wide cone of blank space spotted with her attempts at the stone towers they had seen. She drew the forest, a dark line of rough tree shapes, and stopped.

The creature hummed, and pale magic shimmered on its eyeballs as it leveraged itself up to look down on the map. The hum became a higher mewl, but it gave no further reaction that she could tell.

“Let’s try again,” she mumbled, fearfully conscious of how close it had come to see her work. If she leaned too far into her map, she would bump her head on its spines; up close, they resembled cactus spikes, and she could see the faint ripple of water at their bases. It smelled vaguely of the brine, not unpleasantly.

Applejack wiped away the mud forest and started again, making her trees clearer, and adding a stream where she best remembered it. Near a bend in the line, she placed a small mill, complete with water wheel. At this, the creature, still looking down, pointed to her and then the gateway spiral. “You come from there?”

She nodded, then settled for tapping the gateway with her stick.

The creature took up a berry and placed it on the gateway.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Colgate asked, edging closer.

“Maybe,” Applejack said, wiping another section of mud clear and drawing a second spiral in the middle, isolated from any land features. She put the stick down.

Still without regarding her, it took the stick and began to complete the picture. Around the spiral, there appeared clear indications of fire, crowding into a zigzag at a narrow passage that opened into a longer corridor, ending at the edge of their forest. With the other arm, and a trilling whistle accompanying, it gestured toward the canyon they had seen, tapping with the stick where its drawing met Applejack’s.

“Look at this,” Applejack said evenly. “Ah think we’re on the same page. So we’re here.” Colgate looked over Applejack’s wither, and Applejack scooted away. “This here’s the valley we’ve been seein’, an’ through that, we’ve got the gateway. But now look at these.” She pointed at the crude drawings of fire, little claws in the mud, smearing as water fell from its tree.

“More trees.”

“Ah think fire. Well, Ah can see how it might be trees.” She faced the creature and looked back down at her drawing. She had more questions, but no way to pose them.

The creature sat near the fire with Applejack and Colgate while they ate, and when they woke Octavia and showed her what had joined them, she only blinked and said “okay.”

It had no mouth that they could see, digging its roots back into the topsoil instead while they ate their rations. In the firelight, its perpetually moist body gleamed like fresh ore, its wicked-looking spines rigid and opaque, its arms like lifeless vestiges, its loops oddly delicate. Applejack traded the stick back and forth with it, exchanging simple pictures with no obvious meaning. Her head hurt, inside and out, and the small gesture of camaraderie—so she chose to take it, fully realizing it might not be such for the other—eased her spirit.

Occasionally, it would hoot or trill from its loops, a thin, reedy sound that made Octavia recall her instruments back home. She had not touched a musical instrument in more than a month, and not seriously played one for much longer than that. She did not meet the creature’s milky eyes through their time together.

Before they had to face the possibility of sleeping in its presence, the creature, as if sensing the lowering energy around their camp, retracted its roots and swayed back toward the forest. It stopped, its spines still alight, and rolled a berry their way. They kept still and listened as it shuffled away, waiting for the underbrush to be quiet once more, before Applejack went to the berry and scooped it from the grass. In the firelight, it was similar in color to a cranberry, but longer and wrinkled.

“I wouldn’t trust it,” Colgate said. “Might be poison for us.”

“Ah know that.” She tucked it into her saddlebag.

“I did not like that thing,” Octavia said.

“Weren’t hurtin’ nobody.”

They made their beds in the tall, damp grass and slept without interruption, their dreams filled with black, spiny creatures that stared without expression.

Their roll of gauze was nearly used up after they changed Colgate’s dressings in the morning, but the tree Octavia had pulled still produced water. They bathed in a nearby pond, breakfasted on dehydrated rations, and put the last shred of forest behind them.

Octavia felt the gentle pull of one of Twilight’s sigils far off, she said, but it did not appear that the sigils would lead them into the canyon. The choice, nonetheless, was clear: to follow Twilight’s path, they would need to cut across more forest and find a way up a challenging incline, that they might traverse the canyon’s rim. Going straight through seemed the less difficult option, and would funnel them straight to the gateway.

Another small rain storm touched them on their final approach, sloshing through a field and fording a wide, but shallow gully that had formed naturally where the trees began to ossify. As at the desert ridge, the trunks gradually grew smaller and paler, tangling with one another tighter and tighter until the mares trod upon white, sandy platforms of stone. The canyon’s walls rose up steadily, an opposing pair of perforated, beige cliff faces from which more trails of water fell. The sound of rain surrounded them as they entered, pellucid columns disappearing into black tunnels in the ground.

The smoke in the distance was no longer visible for the canyon walls.

The Rain, At Last, Stops Falling

Chapter Ninety-nine

The Rain, At Last, Stops Falling

“Before we go too far, we should make sure that we can actually get all the way through,” Octavia said.

Applejack looked at the canyon’s side, where the trees from before had twisted into a wall of off-white, vaguely intestinal formations, their shapes hidden under dirt and rock, as if the wall had risen first and then the ground around to reclaim it. She cleared her throat. “Ah dunno if we can get up there to look. Least, not without some serious backtrackin’.”

“We’ll watch for a way to get up,” Colgate said, rubbing the spot under her horn. “But let’s go through for now.”

Octavia looked back at the forest, but gave no objection as they walked forward. The ground was hard and warm, its unmarked stone different from the walls for its flatness of aspect. No soft soil kicked up at their hoofsteps, and there were no cracks or creases to step over. There was no stratification in the canyon walls, further evincing that the canyon had grown from the ground, and not been cut by moving water—a detail none of the travelers noted.

Colgate’s head hurt as it had after a night of heavy drinking. She was tired, though it was morning, and her side hurt from where she had been peppered with glass. She knew she had not gotten it all out, and she knew that she would regret it, but still, after stitching Applejack’s face, her own wound had seemed less important than sleep. Placing her trust in the indeterminate future, she had removed the easiest pieces and crunched painkillers in her teeth.

The rain let up to a fine drizzle as they moved deeper between the two massive, stone edifices, losing the morning sun. Shapes of buildings and walkways cluttered the canyon walls in the distance, emerging out of the mist, their supports long and imprecise, reaching down and across the textured stone like roots. On the canyon’s upper rims, there appeared smoke.

“Eyes open, y’all,” Applejack said; she needed not say more.

“No one can say I haven’t done my job here,” Colgate thought. In her mind, she imagined speaking to a higher-ranking Datura. In the inevitable post-Tartarus questioning, her interlocutor would weigh Colgate’s answers and thoughts, and judgment would be made in due course—perhaps without warning, and perhaps even after several years. Such was the fear that gripped her, and made her choose carefully the words she used, even in her private thoughts.

“Take Applejack for instance, the Element of Honesty. She had an open wound on her eyebrow, and I was there to stitch it up. I had limited resources, yet still did my job. No, my duty.” She tossed a loose stone into a smooth bore hole as they passed, where it clattered loudly into the shadows. “What comes first, Datura stuff or doctor stuff? No matter, I can do both. Right?”

The imaginary interviewer fixed her with an unreadable look. “Can you do both?”

“In this instance, I can, because I happen to be—no, we’re getting off track. C’mon, Cole. No harm, no harm.”

She stopped with the others to watch a spindly gantry swing over a wooden walkway. It appeared held together by just rope, more likely magic that they could not see.

“What about infection? I did heat up that needle, so there’s that, but there’s no way that thread is sterile. Also, how much crap is in the air around these parts? There might be no avoiding infection. Right, but I can’t predict that, so I did my job still. Good job, right?”

She looked at Applejack and tried to place her in the Ponyville Hospital. Imagining the orange mare standing in line, filling out check-in paperwork, glancing through magazines or brochures as she waited in her room, she found that she could not complete the picture. Trying instead to put Applejack in a hospital gown, unconscious on the operating table, was similarly impossible.

Finally, Applejack became a name on a list, an anonymous patient. Some routine operation, some easy fix, some procedure that had scared Colgate when she was just beginning and which now was second nature. She remembered the feeling of responsibility, the trust conferred on her by so many who had never met her or known her.

“Am I so far away from that?” she wondered.

They rested for a moment beneath a high promontory of stone, its tip erupting in a mass of foliage that matched nothing else in the canyon. The drizzle had become steady rainfall once more, and they huddled in the high outcropping’s incomplete shelter. Sounds of work and life came from deeper in the canyon, and they could occasionally see bodies on the walkways. They moved like ghosts across sheer cuts of stone, all shapes and sizes, some holding crude implements and others walking unadorned. The tap of metal on stone reminded them of the bush balls, a quiet and deliberate sound that did not fit the theater of motion developing on the ramshackle walls.

Applejack sniffed and sneezed, angling her head to a puddle. “Ah know what yer gonna say, Octavia, but Ah’m gonna put this out there anyway. We met one Tartarus critter already, an’ she was perfectly harmless.”

“To us,” Colgate said.

“Yeah, to us. Who’s to say those folks won’t be more of the same?”

“We cannot assume that,” Octavia said.

“Ah know.”

“Still… I do not know if we can get around them. There are so many, they will surely see us.”

“What if they’re so used to seeing different types of each other that they don’t recognize us?” Colgate asked. “They might just assume we’re more Tartarus-folk passing through.”

“I doubt that.”

“Well, think about it. They’re obviously working, like—and they’ve obviously been at it for a while, right? Since they’ve got their whole little setup thing going on.”

“You are eloquent today.”

Colgate sneered at her as the rest of her idea was blown apart. She stammered.

“Ah think what Cole’s tryin’ to say is that these seem like civilized ponies. Tartarus-folk, whatever. You know what Ah mean,” Applejack said.

“If we…” Colgate began. “Assume that these folks are like us, in that they form societies and do work and generally concern themselves with their own lives, and all that, then we can also assume that… You know, they won’t just form a mob if we show up.” Obeying her first thought, she stood and walked into the harder rain. The sharp crack of an explosion was on her mind, the fear as acute as ever. Her ears were preemptively ringing with it, her back fur standing on end, awaiting the scorch of hot magic. She saw herself splayed across the far wall.

“Y’okay there?” Applejack asked.

“Fine, fine.” She shook her head violently and raised her eyes to the rain. The silver clouds calmed her somewhat, and she savored the cool water on her aching horn. She recalled the swimming pool where she had mixed red wine and painkillers, and in her memory, the water had turned to the cold of a Tartarus downpour. Shivering, she would turn to Powder Rouge and say “ain’t this the life?” And Rouge would say “sure is, Cole buddy.”

“She didn’t mean anythin’ by it,” Applejack said softly, coming up close. “We’re all a little irritable, Ah guess. Ah know Ah’m feelin’ that headache you talked about.” She sneezed. “An’ a cold, looks like.”

Colgate regarded Applejack, trying to arrange her face into an expression of cold appraisal, but succeeding only in looking confused. She wiped rain out of her eyes, her heart slowing back down. Applejack was safe. As a patient of hers, Applejack could not be a threat—so the thought went.

“Octy neither, remember that,” she thought, but the thought did not ring true.

“Ah say we get a little closer, scope the place out some,” Applejack continued. “There might be a way through that we can’t see from here. Heck, ya know, we might scare ‘em all into hidin’. If we’re that alien, they might just avoid us.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Colgate said.

Not long after resuming the walk, their rain tree bobbing in weak telekinesis and adding its own precipitation to the soaked world, they realized there would be no choice in ascending the canyon’s sides. About a half mile farther down, the floor and walls narrowed into a sharp V of smooth stone, a channel of rushing water that flooded into a choppy lot of mud and gravel and emptied into the dark holes that ran along the edges. Between them and it, a coiled snake of planks and poles led into the shantytown, itself unoccupied but spitting them out directly into what looked like a common area. They could see the hunched shoulders of some chitinous beast sitting at a rude table with another of its like, two domed heads moving with gesturing arms in speech.

Colgate glared at Octavia’s back. Her taunt echoed in Colgate’s head, taking on greater import with each repetition, growing—as things did—from joke, to warning, to promise. “Watch your back, for I have found you out,” the subtext seemed to Colgate, who then looked at Applejack and saw nothing of the ill will that had come out of Octavia. Had death inured her of such evil, Colgate wondered, or was the difference in the way she saw the two mares? Perhaps, she thought, her perception was not correct.

“Ah see nothin’ fer it,” Applejack said. “We can wait fer night, but that’s no guarantee either. This might be a twenty-four-hour thing.”

“I hate this,” Octavia said, sitting and running a hoof through her mane. “I…” The rain tree fell out of her magic, and she looked up at their path. She shook her head.

“We’ll be all right. Think of how close we are—halfway. Ah think that’s grand.” Her voice, thicker with the onset of illness, conveyed no such enthusiasm.

“If I may, I would like to stay here for a time. Go ahead if you wish.”

“Octavia.”

Octavia slowly ran her eyes down the twisting ramps.

“We’ll take five minutes, and then we’re gonna walk again,” Colgate said.

“Walking,” Octavia said.

“This is just a dumb ramp, Octavia. You can take it, I know you can. Step by step, right?”

Octavia looked at her questioningly.

“Step by step,” Colgate repeated. “We can take it slow, but we’re gonna get there.” She paced back and forth and stumbled into a cold puddle. Her pastern flamed up, the burn wound shocked and aggravated. Both stung, and she feared infection, but the sharper pain made her cry out.

“Ooooh, yer legs,” Applejack said, going to help her as she nearly fell to the ground. “There’s gotta be somethin’ we can do ‘bout those. How much gauze do we have?”

“In this rain, it doesn’t matter,” Colgate said. “It’ll just get wet anyway.” She looked at Octavia, contemplating the ramps, and saw her for a moment in a brighter light. She was a patient too, of a different sort. In a way, Colgate realized, helping Octavia to walk was not too far from her old job description.

“You are right,” Octavia said at last. “Forgive me. It has been a long few days for me, as I imagine it has been for us all. I am not at my best right now.”

“You’ll make it,” Applejack said, giving her tail an affectionate tug. “Let’s do this before the rain washes us away.”

At the top, where the canyon fell away to become a narrow passage of moving water and cold rock, a large riverbed through which ran a trickle, they stopped behind a rail and watched the workers at their table. If they were noticed, no action was taken, and after several minutes, they felt safe enough to take their eyes off the creatures and take in the rest of the simple town.

Wooden beams ran in parallel bunches to the canyon walls like ribs, from which smaller pikes supported the platforms and walkways, many slanting or asymmetrical, some piled with tools and supplies, some empty, some furnished with tables or chairs or wooden steles that glinted when light broke through the clouds. On the canyon’s far side, a small train of wheels turned like gears over the mouths of dim mines, and small dots hovered and drifted between and behind. Whether small creatures or magic manifested, they could not tell.

The rain fell through slats in the wood and ran down narrow channels, drumming off stacks of uncovered parapets. Near where they stood, rain dripped from an isolated beam onto a flat, metal plate, fast and soft.

“We’ll just walk out like we belong,” Applejack said, “an' pass ‘em by. If we don’t act like we’re scared, they’ll think nothin’ of it, ‘cept maybe ‘hey, new gals.’ That okay?”

“New gals, got it,” Colgate said, not walking.

“I will go,” Octavia said, taking a step away from the rail and hesitating.

Applejack sat back down, waiting to see whether Octavia would go.

“Perhaps we should wait,” Octavia finally whispered, taking a step back.

“The days are shorter here,” Colgate said.

“Right,” Applejack said. She stood and peeked over the rail, and Colgate thought that she would march out into the open, more endless confidence. “Yeah, Ah’m rethinkin’ it myself.”

“We will wait,” Octavia said, going back to the ramps and starting down.

They trotted back to the canyon’s floor, trying not to go too fast as gravity dragged their steps downwards. Vague shame clouded around them, apparent in their looks, each mare demurring when eye contact was threatened.

“We’re not gonna waste this time,” Applejack said as they reached the safety of the ground. “We’re gonna stick to the shadows an’ crevasses, an’ scout this place out. Cole’s right, the days are shorter here, but so’s the nights. We might have to run this whole thing in a night, an’ if we do, we’re gonna need to be prepared.”

“There is a lot to look at,” Octavia said.

“It’s fine,” Colgate said, avoiding a puddle.

“How is this fine?”

Colgate looked at her.

“Let’s wait ‘til these two get off their lunch break,” Applejack said, looking up.

“They weren’t eating,” Colgate said.

“Coffee break, then. You know what Ah mean.”

Colgate shrugged and walked into the spider web shadow of the ramps they had ascended. The water was colder as it dripped from the crossties and supports, and she could see straight into a hole in the wall, its edges smooth and sloping. She half expected a long creature to emerge from within or appear from behind and burrow inwards, an earthworm or snake, huge and not interested in her. She shivered and walked on, leaving Octavia and Applejack to consult with each other.

What first stood out to her was the lack of bridges spanning the canyon’s middle. Both walls were overgrown with sagging, open-faced buildings and platforms, bristling with paths and jutting with poles and signage, but the sky between was unobstructed. She wondered what the significance was as she watched the path of a particular creature, its eyes like spotlights protruding from a plated, bat-wing head. Those in its path gave clearance, though its eyes did not waver.

“See anythin’?” Applejack asked from behind.

“Sure,” Colgate said. She returned to them. “Absence of bridges, means we’ll have to stick to the one side, or else find some weird way of crossing. Lots of stuff up there.”

“Yeah, that’s what Octavia was sayin’. It’s lookin’ to me like once we get up there, we’ll have a pretty okay time of movin’. It’s a solid-lookin’ setup. Kinda rickety, but if it holds them, it’ll hold us.”

“We will need to worry about guards at night,” Octavia said. “Maybe. Or enchantments.”

“Us unicorns can feel those,” Colgate said. “Put me out front, we’ll be fine.”

“You are sure? Will not the ambient magic here interfere?”

“Nope.” Colgate didn’t know.

“Ah’d like to know how far we gotta get,” Applejack said. “Any way we can do that?”

“I do not believe so,” Octavia said.

“Cole, yer good with random flashes of insight. Any way we can figure how far this canyon runs?”

“Yeah, by walking it later tonight,” Colgate said, and Applejack laughed into a sneeze.

“It was a serious question,” Octavia said.

“I don’t know, that was the meaning of my answer.” She frowned. “Why should I know that sort of thing?”

“It’s fine, Ah was just askin’,” Applejack said.

“Those two are leaving,” Octavia said.

Without a word, Colgate went back to the space under the ramps and studied the canyon from a different angle, seeing nothing new. All was uniformly ramshackle, as though one strong gale could tear the canyon’s sides away, and she saw no details that seemed significant. She sat in a puddle and slid her gauze down to examine her wounds. They were wet and raw, the skin around them inflamed and red where it pulled away under blue fur. Once, in a swimming pool in Canterlot, a rat had been sucked into the filter while getting a drink; Colgate had watched a friend take it out and hurl it into the grass. Her pasterns reminded her of its limp body.

They ate in a dry spot under the ramps, and Applejack used the last of the gauze on Colgate’s legs, against Colgate’s objections. Secure for the time, she frowned down on her injuries, knowing already that she was in trouble. They were infected, and though she had alcohol and hydrogen peroxide amongst their supplies, they would do no good in the ceaseless rain.

With a saddlebag over her face, Applejack lay back for a nap, and Octavia stared restively out into the canyon.

“Applejack tells me that I got to you earlier today,” she said at last. She did not turn to Colgate to address her.

“Applejack has been known to say things,” Colgate said.

“It was not my intention to hurt you. For my friends, that is never my intention.”

Colgate sneered for her own benefit, for Octavia still was not looking, and said the first thing that came to mind. “We ain’t friends.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Sure.” She paused and tried to quiet her thoughts. “No, it’s not. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Regardless, I am sorry.”

“Yeah.” She watched Octavia’s tail curl around her back hooves and her bad ear flatten as a drip of rain hit it. “I don’t really know when I have friends, and from what I can tell from you all, that’s uncommon. Right?”

“Most ponies are generally secure in that respect.”

“You think I’m a friend.”

“Why should I not?”

“‘Cause we don’t know each other.”

“We do.” Octavia turned at last, showing her sunken face, her sad eyes. “I know that you are capable of much, and yet are hindered by fear and uncertainty. You know that I am trapped in… something of my own making, I am coming to realize.”

“That doesn’t count,” Colgate said, her heart beginning to race.

“It counts a good deal more than the superficial things I shared with the others, when we were first getting to know each other.”

“Hm.”

“If you like—”

“Hush.” Colgate looked down at a grimy puddle, her thoughts shuffling, the old fear stirring inside her. Octavia was circling in on her, probing her defenses, preparing a surprise. The thought to wake Applejack zipped across her mind.

“No harm, Cole,” she thought. It was mindless habit, a phrase repeated at signs of distress with no benefit, but she repeated it again anyway. “She’s my burden here.”

Colgate took a deep breath and counted five seconds to herself, afraid to look at Octavia, afraid of what she would see: a fireball expanding into her face, or a pair of emaciated hooves too fast and too close to stop, or just that depressed mare who thought they were friends.

“All righty,” she said, looking at Octavia, seeing what she saw. “We can continue now.”

“Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Why do you need to stop sometimes?”

“Talking?”

“Yes.”

“I’m gathering myself,” Colgate said. “Making plans, figuring stuff out, you know. Nothing unusual.”

“I do not think I understand.”

Colgate looked at the patient before her, her worry already dying down, smothering itself under the filter of professionalism. It did not occur to her that it was the same way she looked at Applejack.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. If it’s—you know, if it bothers you—you’re absolved from freaking me out earlier.”

“That means a lot,” Octavia said, bowing her head. “That is something else that friends do. They forgive each other.”

“I… Yeah, that’s true.” Not knowing what else to say, she serviced with a smile.

“I have thought some about your questions from yesterday.”

“Ah, yes.” Relief slowed her pulse as she mentally switched gears. “What have these thoughts yielded?”

Octavia turned back to the rain without comment, the muscles in her back twitching. “I wish that I were happy. I want to go back to that feeling, in the desert.”

“You already said that yesterday.”

“I know. But it is all I can think about. When I ask myself why I am doing all this, all I can think is how much I wish I had not begun, and that I did not continue doing it.”

“Define what you did.”

“Just the way I live. The way I take everything onto my back, the stress I put myself through.”

“Artist types are often perfectionists, or have perfectionist traits,” Colgate said.

“Yes, I thought that that was what it was for a long time. Somewhere along the line, that streak of self-criticism became much more serious than I intended it to.”

“Keep her talking,” Colgate thought to herself. As a patient, Octavia presented only challenges, no threats; and as such, also would earn her high marks if Colgate could see her through Tartarus safely. She could feel the invisible eye of the Datura turned on her even crouched under the leaking stairs. She nodded, trying to encourage.

“I thought that I was doing the right thing. Of course I did, that is why I did it,” Octavia continued. “Yet it has taken me to this point, and I do not see any relief. I do not know.”

“Right,” Colgate said. She realized after a second that a response was expected. “Things get out of control sometimes. Like a situation, it can get bigger than you.”

“We have all discovered that in our ways.”

“Yup.” She angled her head to cool her horn in the water. “You’re certain of that, but not your own situation. Cool, great.”

“I am sorry?”

Colgate shrugged.

“I did not mean to rebuff you, if that is what you think.”

“I don’t think.”

Octavia rolled her eyes, though Colgate didn’t see, looking hotly at the ground.

“Tell me more about this clarity you experienced in the desert,” Octavia said. “You seemed to welcome it then. What has changed?”

“It left.”

“Specifically, I mean.”

Colgate thought of times she had told patients of operations she had undergone, to put them at ease. All had been fabrications, for she had been lucky to not need surgery in her life.

“Well. I guess what it means is that I can think right.”

“You can focus your attention?”

“Kinda.” “No harm, Cole.” “It’s like if my mind is a TV, right? And every thought is a different channel. There’s the news, the cartoons, the celebrity channel, those channels that play music all day, and on and on. Right? But the channel changer’s busted, so everything is all mixed up. Something like that.”

“So when we were in the desert, it was like you stayed on one particular channel?”

“I guess.” She considered how to go on for a time. “I haven’t thought about it much. It never occurred to me that someone wouldn’t just figure it out on the spot.”

Octavia frowned. “I do not understand.”

“‘Cause it’s obvious.” Her heart was speeding up again, intimations of danger again pressing into her thoughts. “If someone sees me having a bad day or something, or being frustrated with a patient, they’ll just figure my channels are changing.”

“Why would they think that?”

“Because—” She stopped herself. Two possibilities outlined themselves before her: that Octavia was preparing the barbed question, the line of dialogue that would turn against Colgate; or that Octavia did not share her difficulties with thought control. Colgate liked the implications of neither.

“What is wrong?”

“Walk with me,” Colgate said, hopping up and limping into the cool, but momentarily dry, air. Her hooves screamed up her legs, the gauze like broken glass on her wounds, and her headache a frail echo of that pain.

“Not in the open,” Octavia said.

“I know that.”

They followed a curve of stone to where it overhung an oblate pool of water, a sash of smoke reflected off its surface.

Without thinking, Colgate threw herself in. Her wounds were quiet for a moment, then only throbbed weakly. The last of the gauze was ruined, and she knew that the temperature change would hurt her, but those thoughts came too late. She dog-paddled a small circuit and dipped her head to see the bottom not three feet below.

“You enjoy the water, I have noticed,” Octavia said.

“Yeah!” She flipped her mane back and scattered droplets.

“I do not. I cannot swim.”

“No?” She made her way back to the rim. “I’m not great, but I can tread water. Back in Canterlot, we swam a lot. My friends, I mean. And me—my friends and me.”

“That sounds enjoyable.”

“Some of the best times in life. Their pools are warmer than this one, though—one disadvantage of Tartarus. Also no room service.”

Octavia popped an eyebrow, but did not comment.

“Do your channels not change like that?” Colgate asked. She felt safer in the water, and had even before Octavia reminded her that she couldn’t swim.

“I cannot say that they do. If anything, I would say that my problem is that mine change too infrequently. When I think about one thing, I find it difficult to think of others.”

“Huh. So…” She dunked herself again, the flash of cold in her eyes and nostrils steadying her emotions for a second. She was not certain that she could trust Octavia’s words.

“Every time you do that, I worry that you will not come back up,” Octavia said.

“Yeah.”

“There are other ponies that share your problem, but it is not common—at least, that I know of.”

“So it’s not obvious.”

“It is quite the opposite of obvious, Colgate.”

“Am I hidden or not?” she thought. “Seems I am. But the Datura…” “All right, Octavia, I’ll buy that.”

“I hope so. It is true.”

“Right.”

“I believe I see why clarity is so important to you,” Octavia said. “It is because you do not feel it often. Correct?”

“Yeah, correct.”

“Meanwhile, I might argue that I feel it too acutely at times.”

Colgate put her muzzle in the water for a moment. “Well aren’t we two peas in a pod?”

Octavia began a rejoinder, but stopped, thinking instead that it had been an attempt at humor. She gave Colgate a tired smile. “You should get out. That cannot be comfortable.”

“I’ll live.”

“Come. I might be able to help dry you off.” Thunder rumbled overhead, and Octavia sighed. “Perhaps not.”

“Go on,” Colgate said. “I wanna stay here for a couple minutes. I have to think some things over.”

“It will rain any second.”

“I’m already soaked.”

“If you say so. Do return soon, though. I think the sun is going down; we will need to move in the next few hours.”

Colgate waved her off, and Octavia walked away. The stairs were still visible, and Applejack’s sleeping form underneath, but to Colgate, the space between was too great to cross without an orderly mind. She dunked herself again, thinking of what Octavia had said—worried that Colgate might not come back up—and raised her head to the gentle fall of more rain.

The invisible eye of the Datura had not wavered, she realized. It probably never had; there had just been times where she was too occupied to think of it. She did not know what could be done about that.

Octavia was the key to her survival. Saving Applejack was good, but in the eyes of her adjudicators, as well as the other Elements of Harmony, it would not be enough.

“It’s my final test,” Colgate thought. “Save ‘em both or… Celestia knows what. But I gotta get ‘em both.” Thinking so, she paddled to the other side of the pool, barely making it before her head slipped underwater. Her chest was frozen, her limbs stiff, her head cloudy and thrumming with pain. She crawled out and rolled on the slick stone, letting the rainfall caress her. She could not feel it for how cold she already was, but the thought of all the rain comforted her.

“She doesn’t mean me any harm,” she said to the clouds. The ragged canyon walls cut her view of the sky, and she closed her eyes, but opened them immediately as a frigid breeze touched her fur. Completely soaked and limping, she returned to the others.

They were gratified to see the strange beings shuffle away as the light faded. No torches were lit, no lanterns swung on hooks, and when it was just them and the bright clouds, they ascended the rickety staircase a second time. Colgate had wrapped her hooves with torn pieces off one of Rarity’s dresses.

“Y’all are sure you can make it tonight?” Applejack asked. “Not that it matters, so much, but still.”

“I will be fine,” Octavia said. “Will you?”

“Ah’m actually more refreshed than Ah expected. Back’s a little stiff, but—” she sneezed. “If we got the fuel fer it, Ah’ll boil some water fer myself after this.”

Colgate said nothing and trotted out to the table that had stopped them earlier in the day. Sitting at it for a moment, she contemplated the canyon. All she could think of was how many stairs and ramps there were to see, and dismissed the thought as useless.

“Let’s put some pep in our steps,” Applejack said. “This might be a long one.”

The boards creaked and groaned as they traversed the canyon walls, and when the rain let up and the clouds parted, they were able to see a clear path over the V of rock that had prompted their ascent. Most of the larger buildings were above them, either perched on the rim by thin legs of wood and thatching or crouching farther off, only their rooftops visible from where the ponies walked.

The walls were scored and marked without design, sometimes inelegantly pitted. White dust stuck to their hooves from the walkways and platforms, and one of them would occasionally cough when it rose too high. Like the dust in the desert, the stone dust was lighter, more prone to fly when touched. The object of the labor was clearly excavation, but there were no deposits of ore, no mine carts or baskets.

They stopped for a minute at one of the steles they had seen from below, taking water from their captive rain tree. It was of bare wood, knotted and bent, its bark sanded off to expose pale, otherwise untouched wood, sticking out of its platform with obvious purpose, though nothing the mares could guess. Applejack used it to brace herself and get a better look at the canyon below, which had narrowed into a gully of sharp rocks and winking pools of rainwater.

“How are you feeling, Applejack?” Colgate asked.

“Me? Ah’m stuffed up pretty good, but it’s this headache that’s gettin’ me. You were right ‘bout it.”

“And your eyebrow?”

“Painful, but nothin’ crazy.”

“I’ll look at it again tomorrow morning.”

“That might be good. Ah know Fluttershy can heal me up once we get out, but all the same, Ah’d rather not trifle with infection. Same fer yer poor hooves.”

“Can her magic dispel infections?”

“Ah don’t see why not.”

They continued along the next walkway, which was tilted away and ran such for a quarter mile before joining an awkward stack of twisting stairs and asymmetrical walls.

“Who wants to hear a joke?” Applejack asked suddenly.

“Fine,” Octavia said.

“Jokes are funny,” Colgate said; her mind was elsewhere.

“They sure are, Cole,” Applejack said. “Okay, so there’s two cowponies, a mare an’ a stallion, and they’re in love. The stallion, he’s got plenty of experience, you know, with love-makin’, but she’s still innocent. A vestal virgin, you could say. So they get married an’ go off to their honeymoon.”

“Where do they go?” Octavia asked.

“It don’t matter, they just go. So off they go to their honeymoon, an’ things are gettin’ hot an’ heavy, and they’re explorin’ each other, an’ it’s all goin’ great until the mare goes downstairs an’ finds the stallion’s, er, equipment.”

“His penis,” Colgate said.

“Yeah. An’ she says ‘oh my, what’s this?’ An’ he says ‘that there’s my rope, honey.’ An’ then she finds the balls an’ says ‘now what’s them?’ an’ he says ‘them’s the knots’. So they start makin’ love, an’ after a couple minutes, the mare stops him. ‘Stop, honey, stop,’ she says. ‘What’s wrong, am Ah hurtin’ ya?’ he asks. ‘No’, she says.” Applejack chuckled to herself, and the boards below them creaked. “She says, ‘Just undo them dang knots, Ah need more rope’.”

Octavia laughed once and stopped herself, and Colgate grinned.

“Ah got a million of ‘em.”

“That was amusing,” Octavia said.

“Either of you got any?”

“There is one that I remember from college,” Octavia said. “What happened to the musician who stole note stands from the concert hall? She got in treble.”

“Aww, that’s silly,” Applejack said, laughing. “Cole, you got one? Make it to three?”

“I can’t think of anything,” Colgate said.

“Here, Ah’ve got another. This one’s a little mean. What do you call it when a pegasus tries to fly an’ talk at the same time? Fallin’.”

Octavia laughed again, and Colgate chuckled too; the contrast between the joke and Applejack’s friendly nature was funnier to her than the punchline.

“Do not say that in front of Rainbow Dash,” Octavia said.

“You kiddin’? She’s the one who taught it to me. RD loves jokes like that—s’long as they’re not serious, obviously.”

“I did not know she found racism funny.”

“Oh fer Celestia’s sake, it’s a harmless joke. How ‘bout this? A wife asks her earth pony husband to go to the store. She says ‘pick up some bread, an’ if there’s eggs, get a dozen.’ So the husband comes back in a couple minutes with a dozen loaves of bread.”

At that, Colgate laughed.

“You can just interchange whichever type of pony you want for these jokes, it seems,” Octavia said.

“So?” Applejack asked, still chuckling.

“We don’t have to suck the fun out of everything,” Colgate said. “I remembered one. A mare walks into the doctor’s office for her yearly, and when she comes in, she’s got a banana in her left ear, a radish up her nose, and a bunch of grapes smashed in her right ear. She asks the doctor what’s wrong with her.”

“Ah think Ah’ve heard this one before. Go on, go on.”

“The doctor says ‘you’re not eating properly’.”

“Hah! Ah knew it!” She paused while Octavia finished laughing.

“That’s a nice, clean joke for you, Octy.”

“That one was my favorite,” Octavia said. They stopped at a misshapen door in the structure they had seen from afar, a spindly cage of imperfect walls that afforded a view of the floors from outside, clinging to the canyon wall on uneven struts. It groaned when they stepped in, the floor above dripping on them. After a minute, Octavia lit them a dim light, showing nothing but empty space around a sagging staircase.

“Ah say we stay on this bottom level,” Applejack said. “Just in case.”

“I wish to go higher, to get a better view,” Octavia said, starting for the stairs. They joined her up three flights to exit onto another walkway, no different from the one they had quit. The canyon wall was still too tall to admit a view out, but Octavia trotted ahead, the walkway taking them on a gentle incline. At a wide, circular parapet, they rested, and Octavia stood atop a broad, flat block in the middle, briefly rising to her shaking hind legs.

“There sure ain’t much here, is there?” Applejack asked.

“There’s more than what we see, I’m sure,” Colgate said, going to the block and partially bracing herself, should Octavia lose her balance. “Magic is the way of life here, remember, so these folks don’t need to rely on tools and stuff like we do. I bet this whole platform is enchanted fifteen ways from Sunday.”

“You said you could feel enchantments,” Octavia said.

“I can, and I do. I feel it all.”

“You can’t tell what any of ‘em are, right?” Applejack asked.

“My magic sense isn’t that sophisticated.” She crouched to look through a gap in the floorboards. “Now lookee here, though.”

“What’s this?” Applejack joined her in pressing her face against the floor. “Yep, no doubt ‘bout it, that’s a shadow.”

Colgate moved out of the way.

“Looks like a burlap sack. It’s hangin’ from a pole.”

“A primitive security system, perhaps?” Octavia asked.

“We’d know if it was by now,” Colgate said. “I guess you didn’t notice, we walked over a bunch of ‘em earlier.” She went back to the block.

“You gonna put that college education to work again?” Applejack asked.

“It’s just an interesting thing to note. Who needs sacks in a place like this?”

Applejack snorted back laughter, and Colgate looked at her blankly.

“Sorry, my mind’s in the gutter. Yeah, Ah guess it is kinda weird, ain’t it?”

“I don’t know what they are. Let’s go.” She gave the stairs a last look as Octavia led them, but it was not long before they had to stop. Octavia crouched at a point of stone and gestured for them to be quiet, unnecessarily indicating the foreign lights across the canyon. Like headlights, bright white dots floated along their own walkway on a lower level, not straying from their path but wide enough to touch both the wall and the walkway’s outer edge not far before their bearer. As it came parallel, they could see its glassy body, streaming with tiny strands of multicolored light, like something from the bottom of the ocean.

It passed a tilting shack and paused but a second before putting its glowing eyes to one of the wooden poles, and then was gone.

The light flared up behind them in the same instant that Applejack ran, her hooves slipping and clattering noisily and shocking the others to follow. Not a sound was heard behind them, but the lights swung onto their backs, warm even at a distance and exposing the naked fear in their uncoordinated gallops.

The wooden path rattled and bent under them, water splashing from their hooves and coming off their rain tree in juddering mists that appeared as imitations of the cloud-obscured stars in the piercing light.

“Here, down,” Octavia said, dodging to the side to a narrow ramp and throwing her shoulder against a latched gate. In a line, they endured momentary darkness to reach a lower level, but the light was again on them as they spilled onto the next walkway and onto the next disc. Pausing for a second at the central bole, Applejack looked back, eyes lowered to not blind herself. She heard no footsteps and saw no feet, seeing instead a rapid dance of colorful lights on the boardwalk—she was momentarily reminded of the gaudy lights of Applewood.

“C’mon, farmer,” Colgate said, pulling at Applejack’s tail.

As Applejack turned to run, she thought she could see the edge of a new light in her peripheries. Ahead, Octavia made to duck into a hole in the wall, and Colgate bit at her tail. The verbal exchange was lost on Applejack, who had given them a small head start for her curiosity, but Octavia emerged with a dark look, which turned darker as she turned all the way around. Applejack’s heart leapt up another notch, her legs almost skittering out from under her in the snap of fear.

Then Octavia looked up, and Applejack raced under a more familiar flash of orange light, a clap of fire that was strangely comforting against the silent pursuer. Rafters and joists came down in a disjointed avalanche behind her, shooting freckles of fire out into the canyon’s mouth, and Applejack scrambled on a wet beam, nearly losing her balance.

“Who told you to do that?” Colgate asked.

“I do not answer to you,” Octavia said, glaring first at Applejack and then at the creature behind. Through the flames, already dying down from the rain and the soaked wood, they could see a dark body behind the bright eyes, a chest that was smooth and semitransparent; a head that was wide enough to sweep the walkway, bowed upwards on two points like a crescent moon. When it turned in retreat, they could see the conflagration of little lights on its back, racing up and down, and then only an afterimage. It had jumped to the other side again.

“Move,” Applejack said, pushing to the front at a gallop, but stopping after only a few steps when the creature materialized in front of them. “All right, don’t move.”

“We’re going back,” Colgate said. “I know what it’s doing.”

“I will hit it if it gets close,” Octavia said.

“Not smart.” She ran for the extinguished debris and urged them to follow, saying, as she ran back the way they’d come, “we can do it too.”

She nearly flung herself into the erect pole on the platform, spraying a puddle around herself. “Let there be light, Octy.”

“What?” Octavia cried.

“Put a light on this thing. No! Like—move it. Like this.” Colgate shoved Octavia out of the way and summoned her own, weaker light, which she set to the stele. The creature glided closer, parting the dark smoke they had left behind. “Touch it.”

Applejack looked at Octavia, but did not question. In her mind, though Colgate had said she was not, Colgate was the Tartarus expert. She felt her hoof on the post for a split-second before falling off, out of the light and away from her friends. She jumped up and spun around just as Octavia careened into her, seemingly out of thin air. Both lights were on the other side of the canyon, and then just one as Colgate joined them, also falling.

“I will not even ask how you knew that,” Octavia said, picking herself up.

“College education,” Colgate said. They were not far ahead before the creature was behind them again, but were able to shoot to the other side from another post, wedged awkwardly against a shed and gritty with wet sawdust.

“Let’s start blastin’ the path behind us,” Applejack said, panting, as they came to another tower of stairs.

“Blow this thing,” Colgate said, running into the first room and heading back up—for they had only been able to go lower or directly across, never higher. Her body was caught on the stairs for a moment as the creature’s light flashed them from outside, its misshapen corpus sliding through the air like a tiny, evil airship, incapable of fatigue.

At the tower’s apex, Octavia turned and delivered another explosion to the supports holding it to the canyon’s side. From below, the spotlights cut through her magical fire, scissoring lights that threw the falling architecture into a more hectic sort of chaos. For a second, the torrent of rubble obscured their watcher, but it was still there when the last of the debris had fallen away. Unlike before, it did not turn back to find another pole. Its unblinking eyes penetrated and divided them, holding them in place while another light slowly blossomed from behind.

“We’re still runnin’,” Colgate said, taking off. Applejack followed shortly, and Octavia remained behind just long enough to witness the completion of its movement, the second light’s graduation into a wide, shimmering set of wings that turned the canyon to daylight and her fire to a pale candle’s flame. She ran.

Still without sound, but with presence and light enough that they needn’t turn, the creature quit the platform and followed, borne on sunlit wings, vast and growing vaster as they caught the current of invisible magic that had made the canyon. Their own panicked shadows on the bulbous walls, the three mares galloped across platform and walkway, not looking down at the drowned canyon floor. Occasionally, they used a magical pole to jump forward, but the creature did not fall behind—but also did it not rush. Like a physical sign of the dawn, it came down the canyon with neither haste nor mercy, its black body lost in the twin slabs of light that it had grown, lightly brushing their steps as they put more of the same, ramshackle monotony behind them.

They panted and groaned, Octavia wheezed; the saddlebags clapped Applejack’s sides while the rain tree sprinkled her face, she in the back. She was not sure whether the warmth creeping up her tail was from the Tartarus light or her own imagination, and it did not much matter to her. She was focused on Octavia and Colgate, one sometimes ahead of the other, both sometimes together—Colgate always on the far edge, one stumble away from twisting down to the water and rock that did not look so far away, but was.

Her head spun when she took another teleportation pole, and Octavia helped her to her hooves with a sharp pull and a harried stare into the light. Colgate was already scrambling down the broken edge of their perforated platform, trying to crawl onto a support that would let her drop to the path below.

“Come,” Octavia simply said, racing to the edge and, after a pained second, casting herself over. Applejack had no choice to follow, momentarily breathless in the freezing, falling air, and then deflated with the landing. Her chest felt petrified, and she had to lie on the planks for a few seconds before gaining her hooves. Behind, still, the light drifted their way. Where it had run out of room on the sides, it had gained height, a pair of slender towers that had nearly converged.

“Legs!” Colgate cried, stumbling before a gouged work table.

“It’s still behind us,” Applejack said.

“I know that!” She pushed herself up, and Applejack could see its light in her squinted, watering eyes.

“Here,” Octavia said, pulling Colgate’s tail along and trotting to a wide hole in the rock. They retreated into the smooth tunnel, breath held, until they could not see in front of their own faces. The tunnel had taken them on a gentle slope down, not narrowing—as Colgate feared—or splitting into multiple paths, as Applejack feared. Like a wormhole in a rotten fruit, the tunnel followed a straight path into the land, its floors and walls a smooth but uneven ring, gilt with the coming light. They could see little of the constricted entrance when they stopped, so deep had they run, and when the strange being came upon their hiding place, it was not immediately clear that it had stopped as well. They saw only light, and when that light slowly faded and divested itself of its earlier form, leaving the dreaded twin spotlights of old, they were still not sure.

The composure broke when those spotlights turned their way.

Colgate simply ran, her shrinking body painfully visible as it retreated down the tube; and Applejack froze, her heart threatening to burst and her mind reeling and reaching blindly for ideas. All she could think of was her friends, and that they would never know what had happened.

Like an image from a dream, the creature, its smaller strips of light turning the tunnel walls to scattering wings of dull jewels, glided in their direction. Every texture on the wormhole was visible, shot with physically intense light, and Applejack felt like a pinned insect under the collector’s headlamp.

She turned to follow Colgate—still visible, just—but turned back. “Come on, then,” she said, ears ringing with the collective panic.

She didn’t register the tunnel collapsing, or the sound of crashing rock and roaring flame, but the pressure wave punched her breath out and cut off her final thoughts. Without comprehending, she waited for death to take her again, watching fire leap away from them and boulders the size of headstones fill the space, blocking much of the light. It wavered behind the rubble.

Octavia took a breath and sat down, and Applejack did the same. “This ain’t what it feels like,” she thought.

Neither mare spoke for a time as the tattered light shifted behind the collapse. Once, it brightened again, and they had to close their eyes, but nothing came of it. When the light died away, they were left with complete dark, their eyes singed and sore, their tunnel a smear of color. Applejack was conscious of Colgate returning, her hoofsteps on the stone.

She tried to force a chuckle. “Guess we gave it what fer, huh?” With no reply, Applejack lay down, her chest and forelegs against the warm stone. Whether warm from the light or from its own accord, she could not say.

When eyesight returned, Octavia approached the rubble. “Before you say anything, this was the only solution I saw. I did not want to attack it directly—I do not think I could have done much.”

“This is more than fine, darlin’,” Applejack said. “More than fine.” Colgate only glowered at the impediment.

“Stand back, please,” Octavia said.

From farther back in the tunnel, Colgate and Applejack watched Octavia labor to remove the stones she had loosed through a mixture of telekinesis, smaller explosions, and main force.

“I think that was a night watchpony,” Colgate said.

“It weren’t no pony,” Applejack said.

“You reckon it’s still out there?”

“Ah reckon it is. You think it can turn off its eyes? If so, then we could be in trouble still. Might just be waitin’ right outside.”

“I’ll just go back in here if it is. I recommend you do too.”

“Ah’d rather not, all things considered.”

Colgate tapped the floor with a nervous hoof. “It’s warm down there. Hot, even. I got far.”

“Yeah?”

“Gets hotter the deeper you go.”

“Swell.”

“Makes me worry about the future.”

“Ah try not to think ‘bout that as much nowadays.”

“Yeah.”

When the last rock tumbled out of their hole, they waited for the lights to reappear. Colgate kept looking over her shoulder at the black pit of the tunnel, and Applejack looked with her.

“Let us move,” Octavia said. Her voice carried from near the entrance as though she were beside them, and Colgate shivered as they crept back to the open air. Where the rain tree had been dropped, there was a puddle of water that they both almost slipped in. No sentinel waited for them, just drooping platforms and a sky painted with breaking clouds.

Gone were the stacks of stairs and the oddly positioned sheds, the hanging sacks and the magical poles. They stood atop a slanting boardwalk that smelled of rot and soot, running down to the frame of a half-destroyed platform. Applejack hefted a sledgehammer—very much alike to what she could find on the Gaia—and revealed a ring of rust where its head had been in contact with the flooring.

“Eyes up,” Colgate said. “Observe the distance.” Fear was not in her voice, but in the others’ heads as they snapped to attention. The canyon glowed, not with the white light of their enemy, but with the unmistakable warmth of fire.

“At least we’ll be dry,” Applejack said.

“Think of this,” Colgate said as they began their descent. “It was raining heavily not long ago, and yet there’s enough fire down there to light up this whole end of the canyon.” She paused for effect. “That ain’t natural.”

“Perhaps we should have gone around the side after all,” Octavia said.

“Do you still have contact with Twilight’s letter things?” Applejack asked.

Octavia was silent for a few seconds as she chose how to approach the climb down. “The last one I felt was some time before we ran, and it was faint.”

“Could it be we outstripped ‘em?”

“That is possible, yes. The distances here seem to be less than back home.”

“It’s a more compact world,” Colgate said.

“All right, Cole, now that we’re not runnin’ fer our lives anymore, how’d you figure that teleportin’ pole trick? That was genius. Octavia, blowin’ our tunnel too, that was… Ah’d’ve never thought of it. Ah’m glad you did.”

“Thank you,” Octavia said. She had made her way to the end of a beam, and was perched there, trying to lower one hoof to the platform below.

“I just saw the light guy do it,” Colgate said. “It hit the pole with its eyes, and that activated ‘em. That’s all. The shadow pointed you where you’d land.”

“Higher learnin’,” Applejack said, shaking her head.

“Did you not go to college?” Colgate asked, following Octavia with a graceless fall and thump onto the shaky boards.

“High school was it fer me. Ah knew Ah was gonna be on the farm fer my adult life, we all knew that up front. Heck, when my cutie mark showed, it was pretty much guaranteed.” She scrambled down to the platform. A mold-eaten walkway stuck out not far below, and it would take them back to the canyon floor, shimmering with water.

“If you do not mind my saying so, you sound somewhat jealous whenever you mention college,” Octavia said.

“Ah mean… All right, maybe Ah am a little envious of you girls. Ah don’t regret bein’ on the farm, even if it was kinda out of my control, but it does sound like Ah’m missin’ a lot.”

“You’re not,” Colgate said, mirroring Octavia’s “you are.” The two glanced at each other.

“For me, college was about experimentation and creativity,” Octavia said. “It was an arts institute, so how could it not be? I enjoyed a lot of time there.”

“Really?” Applejack asked.

“Believe it or not, I did.”

“What did you enjoy?”

“I found the social aspect to be quite invigorating. It was a large school, but the classes got smaller the longer you were there, and I was able to become friends with some of my professors. Many of the students were very friendly and open, which I liked at the time, though I did not capitalize on that very much. I do not know, I just liked how open and free everything felt there. The work did not feel like work to me.”

“That’s a sign that you were in the right place,” Applejack said.

“Yes.” She did not continue, but Applejack knew the story’s outline. She would graduate, get a steady job, buy a house outside her means, and then be claimed by the mystery that haunted her.

“How ‘bout you, Cole? College not so fun?”

They paused before hopping off the platform, angling their heads to make sure the pool of water below was as shallow as it appeared. Octavia, with Colgate's consent, floated her down in a gentle fog of telekinesis.

“The workload sucks,” Colgate said. “You gotta take a ton of classes on stuff you’re gonna wind up not using in your specialty, plus all the general education stuff. There’s tests and certifications and all that. Lots of writing, too. I hate writing.”

“I as well,” Octavia said.

“I went to school with a lot of boring ponies. Passionate, but boring. All they did was study and complain, and have sex.”

“Whoa, what?” Applejack asked, laughing. “Wasn’t expectin’ that.”

“Everybody’s blowing off steam from all the work, and sexual release is an easy way to do that.”

“Did you partake?”

“Once or twice,” Colgate said guardedly. “I was shy, so I didn’t try a lot of that stuff.”

They rounded a ridge in the canyon walls, where rose up another ramshackle arrangement of platforms and ramps, at the top of which sloped away a burgundy hill that blocked their view of what created the smoke above. They had seen it from afar, and finally, they were upon it. The ground emanated warmth, and the air was dry and pleasant. Grit and gravel shifted against their hooves as they trudged toward the first ramp.

Point of Flame

Chapter One hundred

Point of Flame

Cinders, some aglow and others dead inside their ashen pinholes, marked the top platform, where walkway met hill and sloped down into the glaring heat of mingled flame and stone. The hazy air shimmered over a ground black with ash, sagging between narrowing walls that opened up into a wide, dark plain, far off but within sight. In the heat, the canyon seemed to have lost its vitality; once white and fat, the petrified trunks of endlessly long and serpentine trees had shriveled and blackened to tangled, brittle-looking hairs.

Applejack likened them to burnt spaghetti.

“We must rest here,” Octavia said. “It does not look like there will be another good spot for quite some time."

“Ah hear that,” Applejack said as Colgate removed the vestiges of her hoof wrappings, loosened from the run.

Without fuel for a fire, save what little they had brought with them from the downed airship, they gathered around a meager mound of salvaged embers that Applejack scraped off the platform, and which occasionally drifted down on them. With Octavia’s help, she boiled a pot of water, which she drank with a few sprigs of dried mint she found among their rations.

“Let me look at your face,” Colgate said.

Applejack obligingly tilted her head toward the weak light, and Colgate inspected her brow. The thread she had used was frayed, broken in a few places, and the wound looked ready to open again near the middle, where it had not yet completely cicatrized.

“I’d feel better if I could stitch it again.”

“How bad is it?” Applejack asked after a pregnant pause.

“It could be worse, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you start bleeding again. And, uh, it’s probably gonna get infected.”

“If Ah start bleedin’, how bad would that be?”

“You’d be bleeding.”

Applejack frowned and sat back. “Honestly, Ah’d rather take my chances. Once is quite enough with you stitchin’ me up. No offense or anythin’, just, that hot needle wasn’t exactly what Ah’d call a walk in the park.”

Colgate nodded and studied the flaming trench that lay before them. The canyon’s sides were sheer and afforded no avenues of skirting the path; they would have to go straight through, or else turn back. She looked back into the canyon, where she could see their hunter’s deadly lights reflecting off a wall of overhanging rock, far away.

She stayed at the hill’s edge for a long time, alternately thinking and taking in the scenery, and when she looked back, her two companions were asleep. She made a spot for herself in the gravel and curled up.

The palace vestibule had shrunken, the throne wedged at a strange angle between pillars, the grand carpet kinked and folded where it ran against pews and columns. Colgate was alone, but knew she was not.

Octavia entered from outside, so Colgate knew, but manifested as an indeterminate presence to her side, liquid and warm, a gray mass out of the corner of the eye. She wasn’t sure what she was to do.

“It is okay,” Octavia said in her monotone, sitting beside Colgate.

And like that, without awkward prelude or hesitant transition, they were together. The dream sharpened and brightened, and though the walls around her still constricted, Colgate felt at peace. The liquid of her new friend had solid1ified into what Colgate imagined Octavia had looked like before: a short, sturdy statue of a mare, her raven mane falling into Colgate’s face and her downy fur comforting Colgate’s weary hooves as they caressed the body.

For a time, they remained so, neither body doing very much, but the warmth increasing all the same, trading back and forth of its own accord. Octavia got up and turned around, and Colgate rose and mechanically went to her, accepting the proposition and climbing onto Octavia’s back. It had grown to a more appropriate size to allow Colgate a more comfortable position, her limbs to not drape over Octavia, but clutch her chest and barrel. Nothing more was needed; Octavia drew from the same knowledge and interests as Colgate, and she took them for a lap around the palace interior. The space between Colgate’s legs burned and stung as the palace blurred—and then the space hurt very badly.

Colgate twisted awake with a yelped “dammit!” and gravel slithered at her side. Her head was swimming, her nether region pulsing. She lay for a moment as the pain washed away, breathing in the dirty air, trying to hold the shreds of the dream as they faded.

“Some sleep, huh?” she thought, getting to her hooves and immediately falling to a crouch. She had carved a deeper rut in the ground where she had involuntarily moved in the throes of her sleep, and she examined the shallow, dusty cuts on her midsection and pubic area. They were not as bad as the injuries on her side, which itched and burned, or even the headache that seemed to have gained strength in her sleep and which now felt like a cage of thorns around her skull, but she had to sit still for several minutes and collect herself before standing. Even taken together, though, all was of little account compared to her forelegs.

“Gotta do something about these things,” she mumbled, looking toward Applejack and Octavia to make sure they were still asleep. She half-crawled to them and dragged Applejack’s saddlebags over to her groove, and, rifling through them, pulled out the rubbing alcohol and the hydrogen peroxide. After a moment of hesitation, she dug deeper and found a slip of paper.

It was the princesses’ designs for the Elements of Harmony. She had come across it when they were picking salvage from the airship, and, without much thought but with the skeleton of a plan, folded it and crammed it into one of their bags. She replaced it there.

Red lines were spreading from both her wounds and up her legs, faint under the fur but painful and warm to the touch, and a cloudy liquid like tree sap had beaded at the edges. She examined herself carefully, the dream entirely out of mind, her professional side taking over and allowing an assessment free of fear and confusion. Still, with her extremely limited tools, there was not much to be done. She could not wrap herself properly, and could not rest her legs. There were no wheelchairs in their canyon.

Her course of action appeared all at once, but she was long in preparing, selecting another dress and carefully tearing it into strips to wrap herself, laying them out on the saddlebags and using books to hold them down should a breeze spring up. She did not want them dragging through the gravel and picking up any particulate matter. She brought the rain tree over and let it sit, slowly wetting the ground at her side.

With another hurried look at her companions, Colgate scraped a pile of gravel together and magically lifted it. On her haunches, she brought up first one hoof, then the other, and with silent speed and grit teeth, scoured. The new skin peeled away like wet paper, and the more it hurt, the faster and harder she scrubbed, defiant. It was a matter of a couple minutes, and it was another couple minutes before she had mastered her breathing.

She wet the rest of the ruined dress on the rain tree and, holding its dripping form by her head, applied first the alcohol and then the peroxide. Her flesh stung and foamed, as it was supposed to, and she let the chemicals do their work until all that remained was a sticky residue. Then she gently washed herself with the dress, dried herself with another, and doused the wounds again.

She wrapped herself after several minutes of close inspection, searching with both eyes and tentative hooves for any tiny piece of stone or ash, all the while swelling with opposed pride and horror. She had stemmed the infections, but it was a gruesome process; a part of her thought that she should have found a more elegant way to do it. A different part glowed at her creativity and stoicism.

“Okay,” she said to herself, easing back into a crouch. Her legs hurt worse than ever, but the pain was different to her mind, less diffuse. She closed her eyes, but sleep did not come, and she was wide awake when the others got up. She feigned dozing as they set up breakfast.

“Were you playing with the tree last night?” Octavia asked, startling Colgate into breaking her façade. The flight response kicked in first, and Colgate made it to a half-lurch before her injuries stopped her, and she had a second to calm down. Octavia looked at her indifferently, but kept a tactful distance as Colgate composed herself.

“Girls, we’re runnin’ low on foodstuffs,” Applejack said. “Want any turnips? We got those.”

“Are we out of carrots?” Octavia asked.

“Sure are.”

“Turnips will suffice.”

“How’s the cold, AJ?” Colgate asked. Octavia’s look had left her trembling; she could feel it in her chest, a quiet fibrillation.

“Crummy, thanks. Face hurts, head hurts, throat hurts… You get it.”

“Boil more water.”

“It takes so long to get enough outta this little tree, Ah’d just as soon get a move on.”

“We are in the fire part,” Octavia said. “On that creature’s map, this was the last stretch before the gateway. I agree with Applejack.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her head. “This is quite uncomfortable.”

“Yeah.” She scooted over to Applejack’s setup and took a turnip, peeling it clumsily with a chip of gravel.

“How’s the hooves?” Applejack asked. “Any better? You looked kinda rough yesterday.”

“I’ve handled them.” She glanced at her sleeping place, wondering whether there existed any signs of what she had done.

“‘Handled ‘em.’ Hm.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Now you are sounding like me,” Octavia said.

Colgate shrugged.

“Well, Ah trust you. Yer the doctor.” She put a hoof to her snout. “We got any painkillers left?”

“Ate ‘em all up,” Colgate said.

“Figures.”

“Perhaps we can take our minds off the headaches,” Octavia said. “Do you have any more jokes, Applejack?”

“Sure. Whattaya call this place we’re in?”

“I… do not know.”

“A bunch of bull. Ah don’t think Ah can eat.”

The hill was unstable with loose sand and cinder, and their descent to the hardpan slow and precarious. Above, the blue sky was stained, enclosed by the heat-darkened canyon walls, their curled forms appearing as coarse hedges growing from the ground, packed so tight that only the occasional burst of firelight deep within showed, blush-like. They had to walk slowly for Colgate, and no one spoke of it.

“Stop,” Octavia said, doffing their saddlebags. The sweat was a visible sheen on her body, and Colgate stared.

“Ah’d rather not stop, if it’s all the same to you,” Applejack said.

“I am looking for shoes. I could have sworn I saw some in here.” She pulled out a quarter, tied together in an ugly knot.

“Who’s the lucky mare?” Colgate asked.

“You are,” Applejack said. “Yer hooves are already hurt bad enough.”

Colgate tried them on, but the cuffs brushed her wounds, and she passed them on to Octavia. The walk resumed.

Larger boulders began to appear at the trench’s sides, forcing the travelers closer and closer to the middle. From the ground itself, the walls, and the new boulders, dry heat radiated and occasionally manifested as yellow feathers of fire. The smell of ash had grown thick, and they walked with lowered heads and bent backs, eyes to the dead ground. Sometimes, dirt shifted and fell through minute lacunae, revealing to the quick eye more of the same black wires that formed the cliffs on either side. It seemed to Applejack, who could think of little else as she forced herself onward, that the flaming trench, the canyon, and the bizarre forest were all of a piece; that they had first seen the living canopy, passed through the main trunk structure, and were finally reaching the roots.

Octavia had taken the lead, and she doubled back at a bend, where they stopped at a sizzling boulder, trying to look around it without burning themselves. Spotlights like those that had chased them in the canyon moved lazily along a bottleneck, piercing the smoke and making spare silhouettes of the loose rocks along the bottom.

“We might be okay,” Colgate said, stumbling over to a sandy swale. She took a moment to make sure of her balance before pointing. “It’s coming from that building.”

“There’s a buildin’ out here?” Applejack asked, joining her. It resembled just another piece of flaming scenery, so much that she thought at first that Colgate was making it up. After a second of scrutiny, though, the architecture stood out as its enshrouding flames shifted; the shack appeared intact, and though fire ate at it from all sides, turning its walls and roof to solid, moving light, no pieces fell away.

“They’re posted up in there, and they’re facing into that… all that stuff. Not out of it.”

“You think they’re watchin’ that somethin’ don’t come out?” Applejack asked. “An’ they consequently won’t care if we go walkin’ in?”

“That’s what I think.” She began to move, and Octavia and Applejack followed, reluctant but without counterpoint. They only had the one path.

Still, they paused once more at the shack’s side, where it hung above them, its foundation carved into the stone hairs that occasionally gleamed from within the conflagration’s bosom. The spotlights circled, illuminating nothing that the fire did not.

“Colgate,” Octavia said. “We will want to move faster here. Will you permit me to carry you in my magic?”

Colgate looked at her, expression inscrutable even as her face paled. In a small voice, she said, “Sure, no problem.”

Octavia nodded and took her up, and Colgate froze, limbs stiff and jaw tight and trembling.

“Just run, don’t let the heat slow ya down,” Applejack said. “Three, two, one!” She took off with a splash of sand, galloping down the thin crevasse, dodging away from stones, hind legs kicking up spastically and head whipping back and forth. Octavia, with a sigh and a look up at the crack of sky, followed just as a light passed over her back. Unlike in the canyon, she did not feel it for the heat that pressed in from all other sides. On her left and right, each rock was a self-contained bonfire, and below, under pounding hooves, warm sand gave way to hot wires. Sweating and scrambling, the two ponies danced down the gap. Octavia was reminded of the ponies who walked across hot coals, and the time she had refused to try when once asked—spring break, long ago.

Applejack was slowly hopping back and forth between two larger monoliths where the trench widened again, and Octavia reached her after a minute, her entire body stinging and raw. Colgate, floating beside her like an apparition, still had not moved, and Octavia set her down. She expected Colgate to tear away, or pace a sequence of agitated circles, or otherwise give vent to her evident anxiety, but the unicorn only sat down and looked back.

“Are you okay?” Octavia asked after a moment. “Both of you?”

“Ah wouldn’t mind takin’ a spin on those shoes, if you can spare ‘em,” Applejack said. Octavia removed her shoes without comment.

“They’re not comin’,” Colgate said. “We did good. Thanks for carrying me.”

“Of course.” She looked to the sky again, then the distance. “I can see where this ends. We are close.”

“Then let’s go,” Applejack said. The sand was deeper, and their movement became labored. The smoke still rose from the stones, sometimes also from spaces under the sand that they noticed, but did not mention. Each was aware that she was walking on top of the fire’s source, and not around it, as they had once surmised.

A veil of smoke lifted on hot wind, and they raised their heads instinctively to see into the distance, which, up to that time, had been blotted and obscured. The sky was blue above, but ran through green into a jaundiced dusk at the horizon, dentiled with towers of smoke that were as stitches, binding the sky to an equally vast plain of mingled black and red, swirling around clumps of charred land that coalesced not far from where they stood to become the frayed edge of their ground. On the shore stood the source of the smoke they had seen earlier: a wide, stout tower of beaten metal, its top open to declaim a perilous glow, its face perforated for the same effect.

Colgate had only taken a few lunging steps before sand was in her wrappings, and she had to stop. The others didn’t say anything as she fussed with the fabric, but writ on their faces was displeasure that even she recognized. When the sand had been shaken to a less sensitive area of the wound, they continued. Applejack plowed ahead, looking back every few seconds.

“If you wish it, I can carry you,” Octavia said.

“I’ll let you know,” Colgate said, not looking at her. Fresh sand, already, was irritating her, but she forced her legs to work. At each step, she stifled a moan of pain.

“This may not be the best time to mention it,” Octavia began, “but it may also be the best time we will have in a while. I do not know—all I know is that I would prefer this stay here, with us.”

“Mm?”

“I do not know how to go about it, but I would very much like to change. I have been unhappy for some time.”

“You keep saying that.”

“That is because it is true. More than that, I have said it because I did not know what else to say. I have believed—chosen to believe—that the misery I put myself through is earned and deserved.”

“Hard life.” She lowered her face with a series of choked coughs, accidentally breathing in a plume of smoke. Octavia patted her back.

“I know that this had nothing to do with your specialty, but do you… know anything about psychology?”

Colgate coughed again. “I know what everyone knows, pretty much. Congrats on admitting you need help, obliquely though you did it.”

“Hm. Thank you.”

The two followed Applejack in silence for a time, and the sand became gravel: easier to walk on, but sharper. Movement was careful, and missteps were painful on their burned, tired hooves. A few times, Octavia breathed in as if to speak, but did not. She had rehearsed her declaration in her head since that morning, and Colgate’s reception, though similar to what she imagined, stopped her from pursuing the topic further.

“Please, Colgate, let me carry you,” Octavia finally said.

“I carry me,” Colgate said bitterly, unable to ignore the pain and finishing her sentence with a weak cry.

“Let her carry you,” Applejack said.

“Hey!” She cast a look at Octavia, expecting a cloud of magic to envelop her. Octavia only returned the look with sad, unimpressed eyes.

In the soft purr of flames all around, a rock clattered. Colgate flinched and the others looked in its direction. The trench’s wall was an indeterminate coil of stone wires and dark flames, and movement behind it sparked no suspicion for several minutes, as it crept closer on camouflaged legs. For a moment, Colgate thought she saw a single, bright circle pan their way, but it was gone, lost in a shroud of fire. She followed the flames’ path, disturbed, and was drawing her conclusion when Octavia spoke.

“Freeze,” she said softly. “From the mines. It is one of them.”

“Ah see it now,” Applejack said.

The creature struggled through a space in the wall, its face like a collage of arrowheads ringed around the flaming bore hole that served—Colgate guessed—as a sensory organ. Its legs scrambled against the wires, and it slowly extruded out to them. A few scraps flaked off its back as it emerged, its lumpen body a boulder of volcanic rock, black and sharp. Smoke poured out of holes on a stunted back ridge and off the glowing fringes that formed its featureless, conical face. They looked up at it, shrinking from the light it radiated, and it pawed at the cliff side before selecting a path and slowly lowering itself.

“It’s comin’ our way,” Applejack said.

“I do not think so,” Octavia said.

“Ah do.” She backed away, shying from a patch of sparking shale.

“They feel heat, do they not? It cannot feel us amidst all this fire.”

Applejack shook her head, and Colgate watched her. Applejack’s face was drawn, her eyes dilated, her tail switching. She was ready to sprint, and the motion of Octavia’s tail suggested the same, belying her tone.

Colgate walked past Applejack, facing the stone beast. Its head rose and the glowing hole hit Colgate square in the eyes, and for a second, she was reminded of the spotlights from before. At her side, gravel flew, and she fell over herself to join in Applejack’s retreat. Her hooves felt ready to burst, and she yelled in pain and self reproach. She whipped her head around at the sound of an avalanche, then back as she was lifted off the ground.

It was Octavia, she knew, but her first thought was that she had been captured or thrown, that the betrayal she had feared had come at last, and Octavia had tossed her back to the creature as a diversion while she and Applejack escaped. Colgate twisted and squeaked in the magic, her heart hammering, her eyes adjusting as the spotlight left them and became a galumphing hammer of stone on stone, a bobbing sun as the beast gave chase.

The flames and stones whipped by for all, and Colgate held her breath as Octavia indiscriminately pulled her through spirals of smoke and cinders. The creature behind them pounded the ground with its clastic feet, stepping where they could not, scattering hot coals and tossing gouts of fire up in a trail behind. Its porous body glowed, and against the hellish backdrop, it was like a part of the fire trench had come alive to ward them off. They had seen the same creature in the deep chill under the Friesian Mountains, but there, it had been diminished, weakened, its fire paler and its bearing less sure. In its home, it charged like a battering ram, mouth and back growling with white and blue fire. It left deep prints in the gravel, and for Octavia and Applejack, it felt as though the entire canyon were shaking with its weight as it gained on them.

Colgate almost fell out of Octavia’s magic as it weakened suddenly. Applejack ran on, unaware that they had stopped, and Octavia turned to face the beast and lowered her head a fraction. The ground erupted upwards, a geyser of stone and grit, big enough to obfuscate the beast for a second before it charged through, a terrible aspect looming through dust. Octavia did not flinch, and threw a second explosion into its face. The sound clapped throughout the canyon, stopping Applejack several yards ahead, and shook the wires that supported them. On both sides, sand sifted down, and the stunned creature turned to the blast, pausing for enough time to receive another attack that jolted it back.

Colgate thought she saw the bead of gray light between Octavia and her enemy, a light-fast drupelet, flickering once and then gone. Rock and fire exploded outwards, and the creature bucked and shook, its side torn away in twin flashes and a torrent of sparks. Liquid sulfur poured out, frothy and stinking, and it wheeled away from them on fewer legs than it had started with, dragging itself to a crevasse in the walls. It produced no sound, save the guttural motions of escaping fire and the grind of moving stone.

From far behind, Applejack screamed. “Hoooooo-weeee! Now that’s what Ah call a butt whoopin’!”

“I must put you down,” Octavia whispered, crouching as well and releasing Colgate. Applejack galloped to join them.

“Octavia, yer a terror! Ah thought we were done fer!”

“Thank you.” Her eyes were closed and her breathing was fast.

“Walk,” Colgate said.

“Huh?” Applejack asked.

“Not you, her. Octavia, open your eyes and walk. Pace around.”

Octavia shook her head.

“Help her up, walk her around.” She looked at the destroyed fragment that had landed nearby, a dead leg protruding off the rocky shell. On the canyon floor, it seemed at home, a natural rock formation that might be likened to something alive, but not alive itself. Colgate coughed. “If you just sit there and breathe like that, you’re gonna hyperventilate. Walk it off, slow your heart rate normally.”

When Octavia was ready, they walked, slowly again. Colgate insisted she not be carried, but moaned with each step. Only the sight of the ever nearer tower buoyed her.

“So what’s so bad ‘bout bein’ carried?” Applejack asked. “Is it a pride thing? ‘Cause if it is, let me tell ya, we don’t care ‘bout that.”

“It’s not,” Colgate said. “Unless it is?” she thought. She frowned at the side of Applejack’s head. “I just don’t like it.”

“You have a nervous disposition,” Octavia said. “I am not completely surprised, to be honest. I do not like it much myself. But in here, and under these circumstances, we must put those feelings aside. You understand, do you not?”

“Oh sure, it’s great.”

Applejack glanced at her.

“I know not to just grab you out of the blue,” Octavia continued. “I will ask permission always, or warn you if permission is irrelevant.”

“Yep.”

“Ah remember Twilight used to pull little Spike around all the time,” Applejack said. “He didn’t seem to mind, least Ah never heard him complain ‘bout it. Ah think it’s a tad rude, personally.”

“She ever grab one of you?”

“It’s happened, but Ah don’t remember any specific instances. Ah know Rainbow chewed her out over it pretty good once, a long time ago.”

“That sounds like her,” Octavia said.

“Ah miss her. Ah miss ‘em all, but… You know what Ah mean.”

“I miss them as well.”

Colgate, to fill the gap where she assumed her response was expected, said, “Me too.”

The rain tree was shriveled and limp, but still produced a trickle of water, which they stopped at a rise to take. They had to angle their heads and almost suck at the needle-thin branches to get anything. From where they rested, they saw that the trench ended suddenly, its walls sloping down sharply and flattening into an elliptical plain, at the center of which burned their tower. The smoke was higher, and they could see more clearly the volcanic sea laid out beyond, the land’s perforated edge as it reached and weakened across lava. To the east—what they considered east—the lurid red and orange of the melted world seemed to go on indefinitely, stained with smoke under the same yellow sky, turning to a phlegmy brown in long coming sunset. To what they thought of as west, a sheer wall of rock enclosed the sea and rose past the smoke and the few clouds. Soon, it would cast its shadow on their path.

The tower in the middle, meanwhile, burned eerily, its top open to spit endless sparks, sometimes adjoined by shards of fire, dim and dirty and gone in a flash. At its base, a circular door stood open to reveal the fire’s body, a golden pool of light shimmering on the black ground outside. On both sides ran a wire fence, studded with signs in the unreadable Tartarus language.

“Ah don’t see the gateway,” Applejack said.

“Perhaps…” Octavia began.

“It might be on the other side.”

Their heads rose back up and their nostrils opened to the fresher air as they exited the trench. They could not help it; as the flaming world widened around them, the heat became less stifling, the smoke less daunting. They paused again where the ground changed.

It had seemed a shadow from a distance, a subtle ring around the tower where dark brown ground became black, but a shadow it was not. Where the canyon walls, the slender but tough wires—to eventually become living trees, miles and miles hence—dipped and joined the ground, they stood abreast of a divide, an inch or less wide, but complete as far down as they could see. The sand and gravel were gone, fallen through widened interstices, poured through a great and intricate filter that had no visible bottom. Filling a natural well of telluric light, the wires twisted, knotted, met one another and branched away, forming a rigid plug of coarse, thin stone hairs, dense enough to walk on, seemingly suspended by the magic that formed it. At the edge, they could look all the way down, as Applejack did, and see no point at which wire met ground. The three of them stood and looked down at the endless loops and angles, and Applejack contemplated their origin, wondering again whence the wires came, and whether they originated from one source or many. The thought of how many miles long each wire must be, and how many of those miles were packed like vasculature into the pit, awed and worried her.

Octavia put her hoof on the exposed wire and tested it; it held her weight, and did not move when she tried to shake it. They walked on, carefully lest they slip through and twist a pastern.

“I am reminded of the pillar of bones,” Octavia said. “In the desert.”

“Ah remember,” Applejack said, looking down, quietly mesmerized. Under the headache, she regretted that she would not be able to properly describe it to her friends, but in the moment, she felt only lightheaded unease. There was no visible bottom; for all she knew, an unthinkable fall would take them to the core of the world, if such a thing existed. Maybe, she thought randomly, the trees would bloom again at the bottom as well, and the core was not of fire but of soft greenery and gentle breezes.

Colgate looked over her shoulder, a habit that did not fade with her slowly germinating trust, and froze. As if sensing her fear, the others paused and turned as well. Out of the trench, a chipped coal, the beast shambled, its face white and dripping. Its movement was slow and pained, the wound Octavia had opened black and empty.

“Fight or flight?” Colgate asked.

“My energy was expended the first time,” Octavia said.

“Then let’s go,” Applejack said. “Slowly. To the fence.”

They crossed the wires, and it was clear, even when they did not look back, that the creature had joined them on their ground. Under its weight, the entire frame trembled; they could feel the wires shivering under their pained hooves, could hear the delicate ticking of stone like chandeliered strands. Each step behind them resonated through the ground and up their legs. The creature had not noticed them, or was ignoring them, but none trusted it. They had seen how fast it could move in the trench, and such a charge might shake their platform apart.

The heat stopped them farther from the tower than they had expected, a wall of pain that bit their chests and faces, driving them back in uncoordinated revulsion. They began to follow the invisible line in a wide circle to the fence, and the creature slouched along, heading toward the tower, its face low and swinging in its injured amble.

“You got a name fer this thing?” Applejack asked quietly.

“Me?” Colgate asked.

“We’ve got rain trees an’ bush balls. Got one fer this fella?”

“Hm. Rock dog? Fire thing?”

“Let us just walk,” Octavia said.

“Now… am Ah to assume that you’ve got at least enough magic to let us through this?” Applejack asked.

“Assuming that the fence is not enchanted in some way, I should be able to.”

“Oh, shoot.”

“Did you forget about enchantments?” Colgate asked. In all the haste of the day, she had forgotten too.

“Sure enough.” She winced and scrunched her eyes closed, the headache pushing at her skull.

At the fence, Colgate examined a sign that she could not read while Octavia teased the chain links apart. They gave way slowly, uncoiling like waking vines, glowing dull red where her magic concentrated.

Applejack looked at the small ring of red tips, expanding as Octavia gradually undid the magic that held the fence together. “Those must be hot,” she thought, and her eyes sprung open. She whipped her head around to descry the approaching rock dog, attracted from across the wire field to their tiny buds of heat. Her lips trembled, her tongue darted against the backs of her teeth, and she smacked the fence with a hoof.

“What?” Octavia snapped, glaring up at her, then back. “Oh, hell.”

“Can you—Ah mean, Ah know you said—”

“This is hard enough. Be quiet and let me concentrate.”

“It’s comin’, is all.”

“Then do something about it!”

Applejack’s jaw dropped, and she swallowed her response. She looked at Colgate, who looked ready to run again, injuries or no, and at Octavia, who scowled down on the fence as it untwined, slow and vaguely beautiful.

“How…” she began, her mind working to unstick itself. She was used to Octavia or Colgate saving them with flashes of power or insight. For that matter, she was used to Twilight or Rarity stepping up with their magic and their poise, so much more useful in a tight spot than she.

“How…” she repeated, inching away from the fence, positioning herself in what she supposed was a good stance to enact her plan, when she had it. “It likes heat. Is that anythin’?” she thought. She looked to the rain tree, a crusty dandelion carelessly thrown on the ground, its shape and color alike with the wires.

The rock dog’s pace moved from a walk to an uneven trot; they felt it in the ground. Applejack dodged to the rain tree and, with a mumbled apology, took it up in her mouth, then ran. Neither mare paid her any attention as she took off across the tangled plain, the tree’s dying weight pulling at her face and concentrating in her brow. She thought she could feel the string that bound her coming apart, and imagined as she ran the feeling of blood seeping into her fur, her eye. “Just what Ah need,” she thought, looking around as she moved past the rock dog. She needed a source of fire, and realized as she ran and stumbled that there were none nearby. The heat came from everywhere, from the ground and air itself, but the only fire she could see was from the tower, which she could not approach, and the rock dog. She could not run all the way back to the canyon, not with the tree and perhaps not even without it. Her head pounded, seeming to swell as she breathed harder and harder. Her sweat was drying up.

She dropped the tree and fell to her knees, closing her eyes and catching her breath. “No, walk,” she murmured to herself, recalling Colgate’s advice. She picked up the tree again and paced, forcing herself to breathe evenly, in through the nose and out through the mouth. She walked toward the rock dog, its lumbering steps shaking her ground. Colgate trembled, frozen, beside Octavia, who still bent over her work.

The dog leaked from its face, either from the wound or as an indication of hunger—“Do they get hungry?” she thought—and its trail was marked by glowing stipples on the wires. At a jog, Applejack came to the sulfurous path and lowered the tree to it, its weight hurting her jaw and forcing her to drop it again. She took a few more breaths before lowering her face. “Like a campfire,” she said to herself, blowing at the leaves where they met the smear of gilt liquid. The wires were not hot, not like the canyon’s floor, and her mane draped down into a space as she encouraged the fire. She could not blow too fast or hard, else she would extinguish the blaze before it could start, but with the rock dog’s footsteps, away from her and closer to her friends, she had to remind herself constantly. “Campfire, not a candle. Campfire, not a candle.”

The first weak curls of singed leaves bent away, and Applejack brought her face closer. Her eyebrow burned, a brand that made her reel back no matter how she tried to ignore it, as with the smoke she could not completely avoid inhaling. She blew too far away, then pushed herself back for another attempt, her balance unsure, her hooves catching in spaces and on the thin cords that made them. With a moan of frustration, she prostrated herself and angled her muzzle, pushing to the cradle of fire, and blew. Small crackles rewarded her, then the first orange slit of flame. She paused to let it catch, and then gave another gentle gust. The fire grew, and in only a few brief moments, the rain tree’s center was alight. She grabbed it and ran, having to wrestle it out of the wires’ grasp, where the slim trunk had slipped down.

Under her shod hooves, the wires twanged and ticked as she tried to gallop, the flaming tree unnatural at her head. Under her tired eyes, it appeared to her that she raced across an artful manifestation of the smoke that had tormented them earlier, the whorls of an artist’s practicing pen in febrile limbo, scrawled between the inscrutable cliff and a shimmering expanse of lava. The fire to her side shredded itself with her speed, a dragging sound of ruffled fabric in the wind, white noise to color the sound of her breath in her ears.

Colgate finally ran, a blue shadow along the fence, and Octavia did not look up. Applejack wanted to call out, to announce herself to the rock dog and to her friends, but could not. She did not think it could hear her anyway, but the thought was no help, and she pushed herself to a more reckless speed, heart rattling and lungs burning. She felt that if she were to cough, her body would fly apart with released tension, her limbs and ribs as taut as the wires that supported them all.

The dog turned to face Applejack, and she ran on, heart and chest burning, lungs thinned, throat dry. The glowing hole of its head filled her and blinded her to the rest of the world, and she thought again of death. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, as many supposed, just the murky cold of confusion and emptiness. No loved ones had appeared to greet her or show her the way, and her life had not flashed before her eyes as it did as she charged the flaming, hulking beast.

She veered and fell on a misstep. The tree spun away and her knees were bit open, her mane flopping lightly against her side, which was cushioned by the saddlebags she had forgotten she carried. The ground shook under her as she struggled back up, sight smothered under the rock dog’s image and skin tingling with heat and fear, and the after-burn of adrenaline.

“I see it! Get over here!” Octavia shouted. “Colgate! Come back!”

Applejack did not look back at her tree. She pushed herself across the wires, stumbled, kicked, lost a shoe. The fence was open, and she and Colgate converged upon it like freed spirits in flight to meet their savior, who shook her tail wildly to dislodge a cinder. The rock dog was momentarily forgotten.

Colgate slipped through the fence first, her thin frame allowing quick and painless passage that was not so for Applejack. She got a look at her cut knees as she wriggled through the hole, fur matted and scarlet, looking much worse than they likely were.

The dimensionless gateway stood aslant and embedded in the wires, a shard of darkness caught through its middle. Colgate struggled and fell, and Applejack took a moment to heft her onto her back as Octavia raced ahead. Behind, the rock dog shuffled and pounded its legs, and Applejack was distantly aware that it was chasing them down. A minute later, less, the fence broke apart, metal pinging off rock and heavy paws slamming in a torrent.

It cast no shadow, but they could feel the heat draining away as the gateway consumed their view. As big as a house, as thin as a sheaf of paper, as black as death and cold as the ocean, the gateway hove up, loomed, consumed. Applejack did not see her pained face slacken and lift with hope, for the physical shadow disclosed no reflection.

They flew out into sheer cold, their world and its gravity re-orienting itself and then meeting them with a breathtaking splash of melted snow.

Third Interim

Chapter One hundred-one

Third Interim

In a tumbledown cabin in the woods just off Snowdrift’s edge, the Elements made do with what they could forage and what Vinyl could bring back from town—she going alone, to spare them recognition. They had arrived but one day before Applejack, Colgate, and Octavia emerged from the gateway, flipping out of the black disc to skid through ice and slush, battered and disheveled, and very much alive. In the darkness, which had lifted for a few minutes the day before, they stumbled halfway to town before Rainbow spotted them. She guided them back to the cabin, scared to leave them so she might rush ahead and bring Fluttershy out. Snow was falling, and the three mares refused Rainbow’s offer of a bubble of warm air, furtively looking back to the gateway as they walked.

Colgate’s forelegs received Fluttershy’s magical ministrations first. The two sat, hunched and quiet, in the living room while the others restlessly occupied the kitchen, making tea and coffee, exchanging stories, all alert despite only half a night’s sleep. Vinyl revealed a bottle of local wine she had purchased in secret, an optimistic gesture to be opened upon their reunion.

With a box of tissues at her side and a steaming mug of tea, Applejack sneezed and coughed her way through their Tartarus journey, giving special emphasis to the light creature that chased them through the canyon. She took note of the envy on Twilight’s face, as though the experience’s novelty somehow outweighed its horror.

Octavia slept on the floor in the anteroom, and Colgate paced excitedly when Fluttershy was finished with her. Her side would need extra attention, and Rarity volunteered to help pick the bits of glass out, an offer that Colgate accepted without a second thought.

“Us, I’m afraid our experience was much less interesting than yours,” Twilight said at last, sipping at a glass of wine. “We rode a supply train most of the way here, under the mountains.”

“A stinky train!” Pinkie said.

“We were in a chemical car.” She sighed and stifled a laugh. “I am just so happy to see you three again. I know it’s been said.”

“Twi, you can’t be happier than we are to get outta there,” Applejack said, and sneezed. “Ah already feel better.”

“How bad was it? The headache, I mean,” Rainbow asked.

“Worst headache Ah ever had, Ah dunno. Can’t really compare it to anythin’.”

“Was it like your head was about to split open?” Pinkie asked.

“We can go with that if ya like.”

“It might be a good idea to let me pass over your heads,” Fluttershy said. “Just in case there’s lasting damage. Um, maybe, but also later.”

“Like Ah said, it’s already fadin’,” Applejack said. She sighed and looked around the cabin.

“Moving forward,” Colgate said slowly, as if unsure.

“We’ve got warm clothes for you three already, and we’ve re-stocked on food and water, all that,” Twilight said.

“My dress!” Rarity cried, poking through the discarded saddlebags. “What happened?”

“I used it to dress my wounds,” Colgate said.

Rarity sighed.

“We’ve also got another airship lined up,” Twilight said. “Vinyl here saw to that.”

“That right?” Applejack asked.

“You’ve got no money,” Colgate said. “The treasury note was with us. It’s in the saddlebag, by the way. You should find it.”

“Paid out of pocket,” Vinyl said, blushing.

“Just thank goodness there’s an actual bank in this town,” Rarity grumbled. “And this one has ash all over it. Ugh, ruined.”

“We’ll get ya a new wardrobe,” Big Mac said, and Rarity gave him a smile.

“Now what about the Elements?” Applejack asked, her body shaking with a chain of coughs a moment after. She wiped her nose.

“Oh, right!” Twilight said. “Where did I put it?”

“Here,” Fluttershy said, grabbing a piece of paper.

“Thank you. Girls, this is from Vanilla, it came yesterday. It just says to look in Celestia’s Eye for ‘that which we seek.’ Obviously, that’s going to be one of our Elements.”

“Celestia’s Eye?” Applejack scoffed. “Typical. Speakin’ in riddles.”

“That’s what I thought at first, but actually, Celestia’s Eye is a real place name. It’s in the mountains, it’s a natural crystal formation.” She floated a map over from across the room and showed it to Applejack. “See? Right here on the northern tip, right here.”

“Well Ah’ll be darned.”

“I’d heard of it before, but completely forgotten,” Twilight said. “So that’s where we’re going next. The airship should be ready tomorrow, and we can get out of here.”

“And maybe we won’t crash this one,” Rainbow said. “What is this now? Like our seventh airship?”

“Something like that,” Pinkie said, and giggled. “Airships ain’t cheap, Dashie!”

At the time that should have been the crack of dawn, Twilight woke Vinyl and then went back to sleep herself, and Vinyl got ready. The outdoor shower consisted of a perforated bucket suspended over a small enclosure, and she washed as quickly as she could, awakened wide from the freezing water. Her mane had lost all but the last traces of product that gave her her signature look, and she had to lift it out of the way to clasp her goggles, something she was not used to. It hung over her back, cold and limp, blue as a summer sky and streaked with off-white. She spent fifteen minutes with the blow dryer, fifteen more struggling into her winter clothes, and then took up her saddlebags and hiked into Snowdrift.

Hours before their friends had returned from Tartarus, Big Mac had confessed to the group that he thought his glamour was dead, its purpose served, and that he felt useless without it. He had said he felt like an imposter in the group, a hanger-on, someone they appreciated but from whom they had no expectations. Everyone jumped to contradict him then, telling him that they valued his friendship, that he was an integral part of the team, and so on, and Vinyl had been right there with them, pretending that she did not feel exactly the same as he.

Vinyl was caught in the current of the Elements’ affairs, swept up in their adventure, and she had let it happen despite her every second thought. She had questioned herself about joining them, and been questioned, but, as she was finally realizing in the cold of Snowdrift, she had not heeded the questions, the doubts that underlay them. She had assumed that she would rise to the challenge, as she had all her life: the challenge of stardom, the challenge of donating money to charity, the challenge of giving a light to rescue workers, the challenge of changing Applejack’s ice in the hotel room.

Even in the mines, even on the jeweler’s doorstep, she had not thought—not seriously, not correctly—of the line she was crossing in agreeing to her new Element. Despite Twilight’s numerous warnings, Vinyl had assumed that she would meet the new challenge in time.

“Not ready yet, but ready in time,” she thought, and a smaller part of her mind, noting the phrase for its artfulness, set it aside as a starting point for a song. “Now we’re just about out of time. We’re rushing for the Elements, and I’m no closer to ready for mine.” She passed the first house at the Snowdrift border, its wide gutters fat with snow, its chimney smoking.

For most of the night before, the problem had felt further away, diminished in the joy of her friends and the heady punch of a wine bottle. In the clarifying air, though, it was just Vinyl and the truth: she wasn’t ready.

She had agreed because she thought she should, because it was the outcome everyone, including herself, expected. When she had joined up with them in Applewood, when she had burned her bridges and poised herself for throwing in with the destiny of the country, she had known she was setting herself up for greatness. She knew she was preparing for a long journey, and an arduous one; she had known there would be unexpected difficulties, and plenty of mundane ones as well. She had prepared herself for those eventualities by telling herself that she would not be angry or disillusioned when the romance of grand adventure faded, as she knew it must.

The challenge had turned out to not be in those things, but in the more fundamental truth that she thought she should have seen earlier: she simply did not fit. It was no one’s fault, it just was the way of things. She could be friends, and she could come to represent the group’s conscience in time, but such thoughts did not encourage her. They felt empty, deliberate and therefore done out of necessity rather than grace. It was a choice she had made for the wrong reason, because she thought she could help, never once considering the possibility that she was not needed. Overcoming the challenges she had anticipated was not the same thing as sharing the mantles her new friends had assumed, and to think so was to oversimplify the Elements’ place in the world. In the sobering morning, the truth seemed as bright and obvious as the moon, yet she had looked past it so many times, deferring judgment and deeper thought for when she was closer to ready, and always assuming that “closer to ready” would come—again—in time. She had taken the first step and assumed that everything else would fall into place, and it hadn’t.

“Can’t turn back, though. This I know,” she thought. She passed a dark tavern, and wished that it were open. She decided she would pop in for a quick one on her way back.

Snowdrift had not changed much from when she was younger. The roads, all white, were yet untouched by hoofsteps, fresh snow crunching underneath her. The houses leaned in like canyon walls, windows dark and faces lined with snow-caught sills and frames. In a few hours, the town would be alive with roadside stalls, carts and carriages rolling ruts into the snow, the occasional car rattling with cold. The Tartarus gateway just outside was not the evil stain that many imagined it was, and Vinyl knew that the majority of Snowdrift citizens hardly thought about it.

She passed Umbrella Park, where she had had her first kiss. The looming evergreens were frosted with ice, the paths slick and starlit, the palisades tipped with snow like birthday candles. She stopped just outside, remembering the way the trees had reached over the main entryway and nearly intertwined their branches, remembering the three-tier fountain and hoping it was still there. It would be frozen, but there would be a few bits on the surface of the ice anyway, waiting for their time to touch bottom.

The airship dealership was on the other side of the park, and she circled it quickly, cold despite her sweaters. A pastor was brushing snow off the stairs to his church, and they greeted each other.

“Darn it, Twilight,” Vinyl mumbled when she arrived. The dealership was still closed for another fifteen minutes. “Told you I didn’t need to get up so early.” She shivered and hid her muzzle in the neck of her sweater, leaning against the building’s side. She lifted her goggles and immediately replaced them, the reflective snow enough to hurt her eyes.

And there, in those fifteen minutes of idleness, the truth appeared again.

An overweight stallion nodded curtly to her when he came to open the building, fumbling with his keys. He held the door for her and flicked on the lights, then went to the thermostat and frowned as he adjusted the temperature.

“Gimme one moment, miss,” he said.

“You’re fine,” she said. She took a seat on the cushion by the water dispenser.

He grumbled to himself and pulled out a stack of papers, and Vinyl politely watched the space just next to him.

“All right, you’re the lady interested in the Sun Seeker, right?” he asked.

“That’s me.”

“Great.” He pulled out a fascicle of forms and brought it to a desk, yawning. “Sorry. Still early.”

She smiled, understanding, but not in the mood for small talk. They went over each document, she signing them all with her practiced celebrity’s signature, until it was light out and the building was humming softly with business. Ponies filing papers, chatting, beginning the day.

Vinyl gave him a check for twenty-five thousand bits and he sealed it in an envelope with copies of the papers she had signed. Then she waited, and he came back with a key.

“Key for an airship?” she asked. All of theirs had not required one.

“Well, it’s ‘cause it’s a newer model,” he said. “Added security.”

“Interesting.” She took it, thinking that they had no use for it; Applejack would just tap into the airship with her magic.

“Congratulations, ma’am. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

She blinked in the light outdoors, realizing with a start that she had not even noticed when the sun came out. It had crept up the horizon during their final transaction and turned the airship lot into a glittering plane of frost, the airships into dripping titans.

Vinyl had to concede to herself that she could have spent less money on an airship of equal utility. Theirs came fully prepared for world travel: waterproof deck, heavy duty balloon, enchanted torch, six monster propellers. The catalogue boasted that the Sun Seeker, a name Vinyl found fitting, could get them from Snowdrift to Roan in five days. It had headlights and fog lights, and a state of the art force field generator for inclement weather. It had three bedrooms and two bathrooms, a small dining room and even a kitchen nestled beneath the captain’s quarters, where they could look through magical, streak-proof glass as the world unfolded.

That was fifteen thousand bits. The other ten thousand went into the glossy paint; the sweet-smelling wood paneling; the extra vents to diffuse smoke behind them; the decorated gunwales; and the figurehead made in the image of a cantering Celestia, which was made of plaster so as not to unbalance the ship. The extra money went into the tasseled carpets inside, the brass light fixtures, the extra strong water heater for comfortable showers, and the tub in the other bathroom. It went to the extra space on the poop deck for them to hang laundry, and for the tiny balcony over the rudder where they could use a telescope. It went to the ostentatious words, Sun Seeker, in gold on both sides, each painted letter coiled with painted olive branches.

It also went into the four-year warranty she let the salespony talk her into.

On her hind legs, she leaned against the ship’s ramp and gave a wide smile to the camera’s flash. They shook hooves, he congratulated her again—using her stage name—and she left the lot, feeling a little better about herself.

She stopped into the tavern on her way back, open and empty save a pair of waitresses.

“Bartender’s not in yet, hon, but I can get you something if you’d like,” one said, rag on her back as she met Vinyl across the bar.

Vinyl perused the menu for a moment before ordering a boulevardier. It was early, but the waitress didn’t blink as she mixed Vinyl’s cocktail.

“Keep your tab open?”

“Nah, close it out,” Vinyl said. “I’m leaving town today, I can’t really relax much.”

“Hope the weather’s with you,” the waitress said. “Are you here for business?”

“You can say that. I’m meeting some friends here, but there’s business to be done too. I dunno, it’s complicated.”

“Yep.” She busied herself for a moment, wiping the bar and closing Vinyl’s tab. “It is what it is. I didn’t figure you were here for vacation, not at this time of year.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t,” Vinyl said. “It’s funny, we’re actually gonna head south, into the Friesians.”

“Be careful, hon.”

“I know it. Our pilot’s pretty good, so I’m not worried. Not about that, anyway.”

“I’m just glad the sun’s finally up. Did you hear what Princess Luna said about it the other day?”

Vinyl raised her eyebrows, sipping at her drink. “No, must’ve missed it.”

“She said that it’s all an illusion, that Discord conjured it to scare us, and we shouldn’t worry. Princess Celestia’s hard at work breaking the illusion as we speak.”

“Yeah?”

“I think they might as well wait for those Elements to put him down first, before worrying about some illusion. Who’s saying he won’t just toss out another one right after, right?”

“Yeah, totally. I get you.”

“Anyway. Well, let me know if you need anything.”

Vinyl took another sip and stared into her drink, regretting her decision to come in. There was indignity in being the first pony at the bar, especially in the morning, and with her friends waiting at the cabin. She frowned and finished, and it crossed her mind to order another. “What’s one more?” she thought. “I’m already here. I’m already in it.”

“Actually,” she started. “I think I can do with something else.” The waitress returned to her, face passive. “Something fast, something quick.” She scanned the bar. “Uhhh, just a shot of the Metallurgist, please.” At this, the waitress raised her eyebrow, but poured out a shot of the trusted brand. Vinyl downed it.

“Anything else?”

“Let’s make it… No, that’s fine, thanks. How much?”

She paid and stepped back into the soft snowfall, trudging back toward the cabin, head fuzzy. She could see the gateway in the distance, a black smear on the ground.

The group walked through town to the dealership, ignoring as best they could the recognition, the calls, the attempts at conversation. Vinyl led them, burning with guilt at her detour, but no one mentioned it.

They boarded, they marveled at the decorations and the furnishings, they walked through rooms and sniffed the natural paneling. Rainbow commented that it would be a shame when they crashed it, too, and Pinkie laughed with her.

Then they took off.

* * * * * *

Flitter had signed Ink Pearl’s document ten days prior, releasing the Datura of any liability in the event of her injury or death in the line of duty—which, Ink Pearl was fast to point out, were more than possible with her new assignment.

The Pegasus Advocates, meanwhile, appeared more and more in the news: explosive demonstrations, vandalism, even an organized attack on an earth pony fruit stand. Many of them used magic in the form of amulets, watches, or articles of clothing, and these Flitter tracked in her growing notebook, dense with notes on PA culture.

She went to Chilly Clouds’ house every night, and on the very first visit, they went over her new body. Still stunned by her decision, too afraid to be angry at Ink, she let Chilly Clouds walk her through her options. She was to be another pegasus of similar stature, age, and physiognomy. Flitter looked through a booklet of sample bodies, disguised as a fashion magazine for the passing eye, and they spent the entire evening weighing choices and making decisions. By the end, she felt little better.

Her new name was April Showers—not her choice—and that was what her peers called her. She would be a royal blue pegasus with an amethyst mane, straight and heavy; her periwinkle eyes were to be drawn inwards slightly to a narrower muzzle, and Chilly said they would give her imperfect sinuses. “Imperfections are key, April,” she had said. Flitter selected a generic sunshine and cloud cutie mark, and, when given the option, chose to be on the taller side.

“That’ll make it harder to re-adjust to flight. Are you sure?” Chilly had asked.

“I’d like to be able to see over ponies’ heads.”

“Fair enough.” Chilly marked a note in her book.

The next day, she quit her job at The Equine Sun. She had fantasized about a grand walk-out, a denouncement of everything she had come to loathe at the magazine while her coworkers applauded her, but when it came to it, she meekly gave her resignation to her boss and gathered up her things. No one seemed put off to see her leave.

Acting lessons came next, six hours a day and followed by two hours of backstory rehearsal and general PA education. How Chilly had the time to invent the story of April Showers’ new life, Flitter did not know, but the level of detail exhausted her. After a day of improvising as her character, the quick change to rote memorization always left her in a poor mood by the time she got home. For that entire week, she went home to Wings and Jet as tired as when she had interned for the magazine. She had not told them of her resignation, and they appeared to notice no difference; they were busy working on Ink’s sky dome.

What no one had yet broached with her, but what she had foreseen on her own, was severing ties with the two pegasi. Once Flitter was gone, April Showers could not conveniently take her place.

“Evening, April,” Chilly said, admitting Flitter to her small house.

“Evening.” Flitter went to the recliner and examined the notes spread on Chilly’s coffee table, looking longingly at the cup of coffee by Chilly’s seat.

“Before we get started tonight, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”

Flitter frowned, and Chilly took a seat.

“If I may. April?”

“Go on, do it,” Flitter said.

Chilly smiled. “You don’t have to be in character for this.”

“Right—sorry. Yeah, I’m still kind of in it.”

“That’s good, it’s getting easier.”

“In a sense.”

“Mm. So, how did you become first interested in the PA movement?”

Without blinking, Flitter began. “I grew up in a rough part of town—”

“What part?”

“Uh, the Manehattan ghetto. There’s lots of, uh…”

Chilly watched her.

“Farm Kings there. My family was poor, so we didn’t have a choice. I was able to make friends with a pegasus gang there, me and my brother.”

“What was his name?”

“Icicle, uh, Icicle Rain. Why is that important? No one’s gonna know who that is anyway, or care.”

“Consistency, April. It has to be natural, every part.”

“Ugh.” She frowned, remembering her story. “And, uh, one day they attacked us, yadda yadda yadda, fight, then brother dies. Stabbed, right?”

“How’s an earth pony going to stab a pegasus?”

“Right, my bad. They shot him, one of those sneaky little pulse crystals. One of ‘em kicked me in the—” She glanced at the coffee again. “The ribs. Cracked ribs. Right, ‘cause then I was in the hospital for however long—”

“A couple weeks.”

“A couple weeks, and then I got out and started getting more active with the pegasus gang. Ever since then,” she shook her head, “Just hated those non-pegasi. Hated ‘em, I say.”

“Convince me,” Chilly said humorlessly.

“I thought you said I didn’t have to be in character?”

“Just tell me how April feels about non-pegasi.”

“Geez. Well, I know I’m real mad. It’s kind of a reactionary thing whenever I see someone else now, one of those S-words or T-words nearby, even if they’re not looking at me or talking to me.”

“You can say it here, I won’t mind.”

Flitter nodded. “Those, uh, those stompers and… twinklers.” She glanced at Chilly Clouds, her horn, but the epithet did not faze the unicorn.

“Is April afraid of these ponies?”

“Heck no!”

“Yeah?”

“That is, she’ll never admit it. Her brother was everything to her, and now that he’s gone, it’s like those dirty stompers took a piece of her heart with them.”

“What’s she got against the twinklers?”

“Uhh… Non-pegasi?”

“Because—”

“No, ‘cause the unicorn policeponies didn’t help that night! They could have, but they didn’t even show.”

“There you go.”

“And she did cruddy in school, didn’t make many friends until she fell in with another gang of pegasi here in Canterlot, and now… here she is. Here I am, rather.”

Chilly Clouds looked at her for a moment, and Flitter’s smile dimmed. She could never tell when she had offended or disappointed Chilly.

“What are you looking to get out of the PAs?”

“I’m looking for—” She paused. Not solidarity, or unity, or racial pride; she was a confused and angry mare, adrift and unsure of herself. She wanted revenge, but her private fear held her back from chasing it. Those two points had been impressed upon her multiple times, that too cogent a goal in joining the PAs would seem suspicious. New recruits were not often given to self-analysis; they were frequently driven by their emotions, which they could not often label with any great granularity. “I don’t really know. I just know, when I heard about them, it seemed like a good fit.”

“Wonderful. Criminal record?”

“Nothing stuck.” They were getting to the part Flitter remembered better.

“But you got up to some stuff, did you?”

“Petty theft, vandalism, an assault or two back in the Manehattan days.”

“Are you looking for revenge?”

“I’m not dedicating my life to it, but if the opportunity came, I’d jump on it.”

“I thought you said they killed your brother.”

“Right.” She rubbed her eyes. “You’re right, I’m angrier and stupider than that. Uh, ask me again.”

“Are you looking for revenge?”

“More than anything.”

Chilly nodded. “You ever seen a dead body?”

“I—huh?"

“A corpse.”

Flitter made a face. “I’m not gonna encounter that, am I? I’m just gonna be there a week or two.”

“Who told you a week or two?”

“Ink.” Her heart sank. “Right?”

Chilly thought for a moment. “Let’s just say that Ink Pearl has some… optimistic expectations. April, I wouldn’t count on a week with the PAs.”

“Well what the hell? Why not?”

“I’m just saying not to assume that time frame. Things can go wrong.”

“Wrong how?”

“That would mostly depend on you. Remember, we’re going to be at a considerable distance from you the second you step into that new body. You’re not gonna have backup.”

“Yeah, that she keeps reminding me of.”

“Because it’s true. Now, a few more questions, and we’ll get to work.”

“What’s the topic today, anyway?”

“Style of dress, personal hygiene, and the infamous red ribbons.”

“Oh joy.”

“Where does April stay?”

“April—ugh, I’ve got a flat on the west side. I do, right?”

“It’ll be ready by the time you change over.”

“Yeah, that. I live alone, and that’s how I like it.”

“What brought you to Canterlot?”

“Same as everyone else. Manehattan turned into a lemon, and I emigrated. We emigrated, I mean. Parents came too.”

“Are they still in the picture?”

“Psh.”

“Nice. How are you with a pulse crystal?”

Flitter rolled her eyes. “Gee, that’s gonna depend on how much target practice I get in before I change.”

“Fair enough. I’ll take you… sometime. I’ll find time.”

“Sure.”

Chilly looked at her.

“I mean fine. Fine, I mean, that’s fine. Whenever you have time, that’s… That’s fine.” She lowered her eyes. “Ma’am.”

“I would just say you need to watch out for how quick you recall some things. It almost sounds rehearsed in a couple places, which, of course, it is. It can’t sound that way when you get out there.”

“I doubt they’d notice.”

“No no no, April, you can’t assume something like that. Remember not to underestimate these ponies. Some of them, I’m sure, are quite bright.”

“I wish you had some case studies for me to go over, or some dossiers or something.”

“You and me both. All right, let’s get to it. So you know the PAs like to dress flashy. Don’t worry about that, they’ll be more than happy to set you up with an outfit once you get yourself recruited. I’ve seen ‘em at the mall tons of times, shopping in little packs.”

* * * * * *

In Ponyville, a small group of varying size convened every few days for talk, snacks, and cards. They called the gatherings “Candles for the Elements,” and for the first few minutes of each, they would stand respectful vigil over a circle of lit candles, each pony imagining her or his support filling the room and somehow helping the Elements of Harmony on their quest.

Then, the electric lights came up, the cards were shuffled, and the bowls and glasses were spread out.

Allie Way shuffled the cards with her hooves, a difficult trick but a sign of good faith. It was harder to cheat with a non-magical shuffle—not that they worried about that in their circle. She was joined by Cloudchaser, Berry Punch, Derpy Hooves, and Limestone Pie, absent a usual member in Carrot Top and plus an extra in Limestone. They played in Derpy’s cottage, from where they could see the dark schoolhouse.

“Did yesterday let up at all, Cloud?” Berry asked.

“Not really,” Cloudchaser said. “Today was a lot better, though. No one’s really interested in the spa on a Monday.” She gave Limestone a smile. “Lime’s been a huge help lately, too.”

“I do my best,” Limestone said shyly.

“I’ve always thought you girls look so dashing in those little uniforms,” Allie said, passing out the cards. “Seven card stud, and, uhh, deuces. That’s all.”

Each mare examined her cards for a moment, and Berry chewed a pretzel. Limestone threw a single bit into the middle.

“I’m all in,” Derpy said on her turn, and everyone looked at her. “Kidding.” She threw a bit into the pot.

“So any news on the Elements lately? Last I heard, they were down south,” Berry asked. “Near that mountain chain, the Friesians. I can’t imagine being there at this time of year!”

“I heard they were headed up to Snowdrift,” Cloudchaser said.

“That evil place?”

“It’s not so evil,” Allie said. “Not that I’ve been. But, you know.”

“I have not heard of this place,” Limestone said, checking as the bet came to her.

“All the better,” Derpy said. “What about Discord? Any news there?”

“Same as usual,” Cloudchaser said. “Radio silence. I asked my sister if she knew anything, but I haven’t heard back.”

“She’s in Canterlot, right?” Berry asked as Derpy uttered a quiet “yeeeees,” taking the pot. Allie shuffled the cards for Limestone and gave them to her to pass out.

“Yep.”

“I’m jealous,” Allie said, sharing a moment of eye contact with Cloudchaser. “Lots of interesting things happen in the big city.”

“Imagine the shopping!” Berry said.

“Five card draw is the one where we discard and get new ones?” Limestone asked.

“You got it.”

“Okay.” She clumsily dealt. “Five card draw, nothing wild.”

“Oooooh.”

“What’s she doing nowadays?” Derpy asked.

“Oh, you know, just fulfilling her dreams, showing up her big sister like always,” Cloudchaser said with mock bitterness. “She got herself an internship with The Equine Sun up there. It’s not a, like a serious magazine, but it’s a start.” She chuckled. “I believe she referred to it as a ‘rag’ in her last note to me.”

“What is that?” Limestone asked. Berry discarded three cards, and the betting went around.

“It’s a term for any disreputable magazine,” Derpy said.

“Or newspaper,” Allie said.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know your sister was into writing,” Berry said.

“I think it’s more the publication side of things,” Cloudchaser said. “You know how she’s always got an opinion on important stuff.”

“I miss getting her take on politics with my hooficure,” Allie said. “She always seemed quite sensible to me.”

“Well, best of luck to her,” Derpy said, folding.

“Get this,” Cloudchaser said. “Straight, Allie. What say you?”

Allie laid down her cards with a smirk, and took the pot. Berry Punch laughed and got up.

“You think it’s too early for a little wine?” she asked from the kitchen.

“On a Monday?” Limestone asked.

“I can have some,” Cloudchaser said. “Just a glass or two.”

Berry returned from the kitchen and placed her bottle on the table. “I was considering bringing my decanter, but I didn’t want to lug it all the way out here. This here, girls, comes to us all the way from a little vineyard north of Applewood; not one of those big, popular ones inside the city, but right outside.” She turned the bottle so each mare could see the label. “From a little village called Torch Hill. They’ve been living off the land there for almost fifty years, and this little beauty’s been aging in their barrels for… ten or so years now? Twelve, thirteen, something like that. Where’s my corkscrew?”

Allie passed her the corkscrew, and Berry opened the wine. Without benefit of a horn, it was usually an awkward process, but Berry made it look easy. She poured a goblet for herself and sniffed it.

“They’ve got blackberry wine in Torch Hill too, but I haven’t tried it yet. I can’t find it anywhere. But, now this is interesting, ladies, they did take a little bit of the pomace from their blackberries and let it ferment with this batch. That’s going to be that heady, almost overripe note towards the back.”

“I think I taste it,” Cloudchaser said. She actually did not, but hated to stifle Berry’s enthusiasm.

“This is… interesting,” Allie said. “I feel like I’ve had something like this before.”

“If you’ve had anything from Fillydelphia, you may have,” Berry said. “Their wines tend to be a little on the sweeter side too.” She took a long sip of her wine, her face serious and contemplative as she analyzed it, savored it. “I wish Torch Hill had a white.”

“You should make your own sometime,” Derpy said.

“Not in this climate. Here, gimme those cards.” She shuffled. “For that matter, not with my know-how.”

“You just drink it, you can’t make it,” Cloudchaser said.

Berry laughed. “Essentially, yes. All right, girls, I think… Yeah, let’s go for low guts.”

“Guts!” Allie repeated in a funny voice.

“Guts!” Derpy mimicked.

The cards were dealt, and Cloudchaser drank more wine. “What do you think of the wine, Limestone?” she asked.

Limestone thought for some time. “It is less bitter than some I have had.”

Berry laughed. “Well, that’s good, at least.”

“Did you hear that they’re rolling out a batch of Element wine up in Canterlot?” Allie asked. “Six different varieties.”

“I did hear that! Isn’t that crazy?”

“If that’s not the most cynical thing I’ve heard all month, I don’t know what,” Derpy said. “I bet ponies are just eating it up, too.”

“Probably,” Allie said.

Play continued for several rounds, and the pot grew, and as it did, the tension thickened. The mares played with real money, and there was always a fair amount on the line with guts. Outside, a bird shook inside one of Derpy’s many shrubs.

“I’m out,” Cloudchaser finally said. “I’m cutting my losses.”

“I wish I was as smart as you,” Allie said, showing her card and, with a cry of delight, inching closer to the pot.

“I can’t believe you got that one on a six,” Derpy said.

The losers put their money into the pot, and the next round was dealt. Cloudchaser watched, relieved to be out. Gambling did not draw her in as it did some of the others—Allie and Berry, notably. She enjoyed it, just not as much.

She had spoken with Allie briefly before heading over to Derpy’s about Datura business, of which there was little in Ponyville. A mare from Canterlot had come down to recruit weatherponies for the sky dome, which, Cloudchaser had gotten out of Flitter, was already in place and scheduled to turn on in eight days. She and Allie had concluded that the Datura must have possessed such a dome already, because creating it from scratch would take years, not weeks. The thought gave Cloudchaser a weird feeling that she could not name.

She assumed that Flitter was at work with the dome, and would soon receive a letter full of complaints and opinions: inefficiency this, mindless labor that. Then the dome would flick on, and the ponies of Canterlot would be fooled and encouraged, and Flitter would privately concede that the work had been worth it after all, for false hope was still hope at the end of the day. Cloudchaser had not the patience for political or philosophical debates, as Flitter did, but had found herself missing them of late. She tried to engage Limestone in such talk, but Limestone seemed to have no opinion on anything save work: a product of her sheltered upbringing.

“Guts!” Derpy yelled, throwing her final card in the air and claiming the pot, and a chorus of groans and congratulations floated off the table.

“I don’t think my heart can take another round of that,” Berry said. “Good one, Derpy. You nag.”

Derpy laughed and accepted the cards, which she clumsily shuffled.

Cloudchaser was joking when she said that Flitter was off showing her up in the big city, but there was truth to it. While she managed the spa and did odd jobs for Foxglove, the Ponyville Datura team leader, Flitter was making a difference in the capital. The lack of detail in some of her letters did not fool Cloudchaser; there was more on Flitter’s plate than she could allude to, and, from the sound of things, even more on the way. It was difficult not to be jealous.

They played until the bottle of wine was finished, and then an hour longer, and then each mare went home. For Cloudchaser, home was a little cottage she shared with the resident florist, Rose Luck. For Limestone, home was a shed that the abutting house’s tenant did not mind she used.

Rose was already asleep when Cloudchaser returned, and the pegasus tried to be quiet as she crept to her room. When she heard Rose’s hooves in the hall, she sighed, and Rose poked her head into Cloudchaser’s room a moment later.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Cloudchaser said. Rose was a light sleeper, and Cloudchaser always felt guilty for waking her.

“Have fun with the girls?” Rose asked.

“Great time, as always.”

Rose smiled and yawned. “That’s good. You mind if I’m up and about for a while?”

“I won’t hear you.”

“Awesome. Night.” Rose closed Cloudchaser’s door, and it was not long after that she heard her roommate rustling in the kitchen. Once woken, Rose was long to get back to sleep, something Cloudchaser had taken a while to get used to. Sometimes, she would go on walks around the town, or read, or watch TV with the volume down low. Less frequently, she would pull out her cookbook and bake something for the next day. Cloudchaser listened to the dull sound of a knife chopping apples through the wall, and fell asleep with the smell of cinnamon and cardamom seeping in under her door.

* * * * * *

The Sun Seeker was the fastest airship they had been on, and the landscape skated past them under a broken skin of dark clouds. North on a train and then south on an airship; it seemed to Rainbow, as Twilight set up her elaborate chain of sigils on the poop, that they were going in circles. Fluttershy was fast to remind her that they were heading toward a known Element location, but Rainbow did not quite believe it. Until she held it in her hooves, she did not trust Vanilla’s direction.

“I’ve done the math,” Twilight said. “You girls will be happy to learn that, once we get Dash in place here, we’ll be reaching the Friesian Mountains by tomorrow morning.”

The sun was up again, caught in a back-and-forth loop between the ten and eleven o’ clock position. That morning, Pinkie had raced into the cabins to alert everyone when the sun matched their timepiece’s position.

“Yer sure of that?” Applejack asked.

Twilight looked at her back. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Sorry. Don’t know why Ah asked that. Ah trust yer math, Ah do.”

A silver vein of river guided them south, parallel with the thinner capillary of train track. They floated over a thin patchwork of villages around a wide bend in the river, and Vinyl pointed them out. That was where she had been born, a village of gold panners and prospectors. The walk to Snowdrift, she explained, had been trying, especially for one as young as she had been, but not uncommon. If they flew lower, she would be able to point out the trail ponies used to travel between towns, she said.

The villages were there and gone in the space of a half hour, and when Rainbow was finally ready behind the ship, speeding them along in a mire of Twilight’s recursive magic, it was as if an unspoken trigger had been pulled, and tension no one acknowledged was released. They were on their way again.

Applejack and Fluttershy shared a cabin, both reading, comfortably silent with each other. They had lost many of their texts to Tartarus, but some essentials had been saved. Applejack perused an encyclopedia, turning to various topics on spirituality and religion, reading indiscriminately and not trying to order her thoughts too much as they circled on the stationary axis, which had revealed itself to her the same day she had come out of Tartarus: what was it like to be a goddess? Right beside that thought: what were the implications of divinity sharing the world with mortals? She had taken these things as givens her whole life, but the questions suddenly seemed interesting, perhaps even important.

Fluttershy perused one of Twilight’s spell books, reading and rereading the paragraphs on memory-altering magic. She fought the urge to grab a pen and paper, knowing the small action would draw attention, and, worse, leave tangible evidence of her intentions.

She would need to act soon. Vanilla had directed them to the first new Element in a matter of days, and with their new ship moving as fast as it did, she was coming to think of their quest in terms of weeks rather than months. Equestria was large, but also familiar to them, and they would not be stopped easily. In the past, local trouble or inessential tasks had distracted, but she knew they would no longer—certainly not with Twilight leading, as she did without objection or question from the rest of them.

In another cabin, Octavia and Colgate spoke, the former practicing shield magic on a pillow, the latter pacing restively.

“It is true, I have made life harder for myself,” Octavia said slowly, and Colgate nodded. “I associate difficulty with labor, and labor with virtue. I believe that is why I do that.”

“Idle hooves are the devil’s playthings?” Colgate asked. “That the point?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Fair.” She sat, then got back up after a second. “I can see where that makes sense. I’ve gotten into trouble for being unsupervised before. That happened in Canterlot.”

“You have mentioned that before. There was alcohol involved, was there not?”

“And painkillers. Messy times.”

“I have never understood the need to take drugs.”

“Good for you.”

Octavia looked over her pillow. “Not to suggest that I judge those who do. We all have our demons. I simply meant that those particular ones do not come easily to me.”

“Right.” She faced the wall for a moment, contemplating a charcoal hanging of a forested mountain. “For me, it’s impulsivity. Forethought is not my strongest suit.”

“I see.”

“That and trust. You probably figured that out already.”

“That you have issues with trust?”

Colgate looked at her for a time. “Yeah. It’s, uh, not pleasant.”

Octavia thought. It was her intention to weave a tactful response, but she was tired and weak, and though Colgate’s words demanded attention, most of her mind was filled with definite fear. She sighed. “I will not pretend that I did not notice that there was something off about you. You act like you are suspicious of everyone, guarded.”

“Yeah.” She paced again. “It’s ‘cause I am.”

“Why is that?”

“Various reasons, but nothing strange.”

“Yes?”

“You want details.”

“Of course I want details,” she thought. “I will not push you if you are uncomfortable. I loathe when ponies do that to me, and I would not do it to another.”

“Just betrayal,” Colgate said. “Manipulation, betrayal, coercion, and so on and so forth. I felt it in Ponyville first. No, lies—Manehattan first. That’s where I was born.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got some employers who don’t treat me right, and that has affected me. There.”

“I do not understand, but I will not push you.”

“It’s fine.”

Octavia tried to tighten her shield around the pillow, but it collapsed instead. With a sigh, she started again, but it came out frail and gossamer. “I am sorry? What did you say?”

“I said it’s fine.”

“Hm.” She thought of the deck, her friends gathered there, and the fear tightened. She could not shrink from it. “Do you trust me and Applejack?”

“What a question.”

“Do you?”

“Sure don’t.” She paused and shook her head. “That’s the impulse response. I actually don’t know. Lemme think.”

Octavia nodded.

“You both got me out of Tartarus okay,” Colgate said at last. “Which, uh, yeah. So, I wasn’t super sure of that down in there.”

“That we would make it out?”

“That we…” She edged toward the door. “That I would make it out of there. I thought it was possible you two would, but I wouldn’t.”

“We would not have left you, if that is what you are suggesting.”

“It crossed my mind, is all.”

“You ran from us once or twice. Were you afraid that one of us would do something?”

Colgate sat down, her tail waving back and forth.

“I will not be angry or insulted if the answer is ‘yes’.”

“Sure. Yeah, then, I was a little worried about that. You, uh, you more than AJ, to give full disclosure on it.”

“I understand.” Her shield flickered and went out. She was slightly insulted, but did not show it.

“But you didn’t do anything. Tartarus is a perfect place for it, you had to know that. That big desert, or the river, or that fire trench, any of it really, you could’ve just kicked me off and ran. You got some explosive magic, you could’ve just tossed me. I’d have…” She began pacing again. “Right, yeah, okay. Anyway, you could’ve done all that, or AJ could have dropped a rock on my head or something while I was sleeping. No, she’s the Element of Honesty, she said she meant me no harm. I gotta trust that.”

“It sounds to me like you are still not certain.”

“Okay.”

“In a way, I understand. I did not trust my friends for some time after meeting them.”

“Right.”

“I thought that they were… Not out to get me, or anything, but that they would shun me if I did not work out with them. There were a few times when that did come to pass, but they forgave me each time.” She dropped the pillow and swept it off the bed, moving quickly to mask her trembling.

“They forgive a lot.”

“I intend to learn to do the same,” Octavia said.

“Talk to Vinyl. She seems good about that.”

“That is a good idea. Thank you.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Colgate answered. “Brunch and a card game, girls?” Pinkie asked. “Sun’s still up! C’mon, come see it while the seeing’s good!”

Octavia sat where she was, staring at the wall.

“We’ll be up in a few,” Colgate said, and Pinkie skipped off. “What’s the deal, Octavia?”

“I do not wish to discuss it,” Octavia whispered. In her head, she was already discussing it.

“You look upset.”

She looked at Colgate with a ghost of a smile. “That is because I am.”

“Huh.” She straightened the pillowcase and replaced it on the bed. “Why are you upset?”

“Because… of something I am thinking about doing. Something I am considering.”

“You consider things an awful lot.” She paused for a second, the sign Octavia recognized as her ordering her thoughts. “I envy that a little.”

“It is not worthy of envy. One spends too much time worrying and thinking things over, and it hinders progress.”

“Eh, maybe. But if you’re safe already, then what’s wrong with hindering progress?”

Octavia looked at her.

“C’mon, fresh air. Maybe that’ll make you calm down.”

Octavia shakily quit the bed and followed behind Colgate, who doubled back to close the door to their cabin.

On the deck, Rarity had conjured a simple shield to keep the wind from blowing their cards away. Vinyl had thought to pick up a deck in Snowdrift, to everyone’s relief and pleasure. The cards were griffin-designed, the face cards depicting griffin nobility, the ace a speckled egg.

“Go fish okay with everyone?” Applejack asked as Fluttershy shuffled.

“Anything,” Octavia said. “Vinyl, before I forget, I would like to speak with you at some point, when you have time.”

“Anytime, Octavia,” Vinyl said.

“You three came out pretty close buddies, huh?” Pinkie asked, looking from Octavia to Colgate to Applejack.

“Ah’d say so,” Applejack said.

“Yes, I as well,” Octavia said.

“You look better,” Pinkie said.

Octavia looked at her for a minute before lowering her eyes and saying, “yes.”

“Really.”

“Yes.” She sighed.

“How’s the sleeping?” Rarity asked suddenly.

“My sleeping. It has not changed much. I do not expect it to at this point.” Her heart was beating faster, and her breaths were growing short. Noticing, Vinyl put a hoof to her back.

“I wish it would.” Rarity held up a hoof. “And that’s all I’m saying about it. I won’t pry anymore.”

“Why do you have trouble sleeping, anyway?” Colgate asked. “Has it always been that way?”

Octavia looked at the deck, cold sweat in a line on her brow. An idea that had germinated in Tartarus and that had fermented in Snowdrift had again showed itself that morning. She had awoken with the thought, “today is the day,” and she had been unable to dispel it since. Neither a cold shower nor an enlightening talk with Colgate had swayed her from her revelation, terrible and inevitable—so it felt to her. The weight of confession had already settled across her chest, squeezing her spirit and blotting out everything else.

In the suddenness of the moment, she realized again that she could not speak. She could smile and play cards, and the day would pass, and others like it, and she could go on having not owned her fear. Likely, her friends would never know what they had missed. Her heart felt like a hummingbird, fast and small, as she examined the moment. The passing of air and cloud was a rush of cold water. The sun, a spotlight on her. She gently removed Vinyl’s hoof from her back, still undecided, but rushing forward anyway.

“Sorry,” Vinyl said.

“I have difficulties because of my past, as I am sure you know.” She paused and looked at them, taking the group as one but not really seeing any of them. “This is what happened.”

Octavia's Story

Chapter One hundred-two

Octavia’s Story

Through an unwise, but legitimate, purchase—“I suppose those run in the family as well,” Octavia said with a humorless smile—Igneous Rock, her father, and Cloudy Quartz, her mother, acquired the tract of land that would become the Pie family rock farm. Their story was nothing special: they had graduated from the same college, gotten married, invested well, and purchased terribly. For majoring in agronomy and agribusiness, respectively, they could scarcely have picked a worse place to settle down, though they were not to know until it was too late. The land seemed promising.

Hemmed on three sides by a stream and the wood that it fed, and open to the wide Equestrian southwest, the brown and gray fields looked like they had produced crops in the past, but gone to waste in recent years. The plot sat like an oil stain just behind the forest’s south fringe, but it was their very own oil stain, bought with their own money, and they were eager to take it on and bring their land back to life. The staunch pair had stood on the edge of the farm, she with forehooves supported on a stump to affect a more grandiose and destined mien, and thought of the crops they would sow, the children they would rear, and the life of dignified, simple labor that seemed to unfurl before them like a banner in the vale’s dry air.

The problems were the wind, and the fact that the land had already gone fallow. No matter the good rain, the back-breaking toil, or the quality of soil they used, the farm would not yield. Potatoes the size of pearl onions and twig-like carrots were their rewards for months of stubborn work and defeated trips to the local town for their food. The soil was thin and rocky, and dust would blow frail sprouts away and lift hats off heads while gravel spawned everywhere: pebbles would crowd underhoof through thin soil while chunks the size of a pony’s head would remain hidden until they had cleft a plow. The story, so it was told when there were children to tell it to, was that Igneous had one day sat down to dinner, despondent, and set a rock on his plate. “About all this place is good for,” he would say, and then the spark of imagination hit, and that banner of destiny unfurled in a more unexpected way.

That was before they had children. Maud came first, a soft-spoken and introspective child who did exactly as she was told, but for her reticence worried the pair anyway. They thought she was touched in the head for a time, but did not say so. Limestone Pie came second, a rowdy and choleric filly who nonetheless fell in line with what had become, by her time, the Family Business. After that came Marble Pie, who would become Octavia, and then Pinkamena Pie at the last.

As Marble understood at the time, she was the luckiest filly in the world, for she had been born and, Celestia willing, would be raised on a magical farm. It produced no crops, but, rather, gave up history and mysticism in the rocks that scarred and pitted its surface. Each rock had a story to tell, Igneous would explain to her, carrying her around on his back through the gray lands. He dusted off a fleck of gneiss and turned it on its side, and told her that it had once been the tip of a moil used in the excavation of one of the tunnels through Canterlot Mountain. A great hero had used it in his humble duties, but then taken it up to defend the mining operation from a nest of subterranean monsters.

“Where is Canterlot, papa?” she had asked. “And how did it go here if it was there?”

“That is the mystery of this place,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I will explain it when you are older.”

By the time Marble Pie was of age to help with the work, the Family Business was already established. Through the luck of her birth, she had avoided the worst of the lean times. Unlike Maud and Limestone, she would not know what it was to go to bed without food, but her sisters did not hold that against her.

While Limestone and Igneous would work the fields, with Maud and Pinkamena sometimes helping, Marble and Cloudy worked indoors with the harvested stones, polishing, shaping, chiseling, painting. Rude and unimpressive they would be dragged into the house, shaken of their dirt on the mat, and then at the kitchen table, they were transformed into gaudy treasures. When they had enough, and when Igneous had invented a story for each one to increase their sale value, the whole family would pack up into a fat, awkward trailer and roll into town.

Octavia’s earliest memory was of the gneiss her father told her was an old moil tip, but her most vivid memory from early youth was her first trip to Ponyville. To her young eyes, the scraggly wire fence that played companion to their rattling trailer was a strange and mystical artifact, endlessly suspended over sere wheat like a guide rail. The blue sky and the green trees and the yellow fields were more beautiful than anything she had seen, and she could pass hours just watching it all roll by, dappling through treetops and refracting off duck-scattered ponds.

When they reached Ponyville, she was shocked afresh, overpowered by the colors, the voices, the smells of food and foliage. The streets seemed to stretch on forever, the thatched houses an infinite cavalcade of wonder and secrets out of which marched even more wonderful strangers, smiling and multicolored, yelling greetings and talking so fast her head spun. The town square, which she could see from where they set up their shop—simply unfolding panels from the trailer and setting up a couple hoof-painted signs—appeared as the absolute center of life and purpose: the place where serious ponies did serious things, and where Big Decisions were made. She wanted to see it, as much as she was afraid to look too long.

Other ponies would set up stands alongside the road and hawk their wares with the Pies. To their left, a mother and her daughter sold roses, and to their right, a jovial pair of brothers sold toys and party favors. These the Pie family considered their neighbors, and the fillies were allowed to socialize and play while the parents transacted business.

As they got older, they would help to sell the artifacts they unearthed, each believing the stories they told to varying degrees. Pinkamena swallowed every tale about every stone like it was gospel, where Limestone doubted but followed along, showing an apt memory for details but little skill at improvising when a story was challenged. For these, Marble was better consulted; she had the creativity to allay most customers’ concerns about this stone’s origin in a far away land, or whether that stone truly conferred good luck on the pony who purchased it.

They would spend three nights in Ponyville, and sundown fast became Marble’s favorite time of day. She remembered a giddy feeling every time she saw ponies packing up for the day, saying their goodbyes and taking their lives back to their homes. She remembered long shadows on cobbled roads, unctuous light reflecting off windows, muted conversations in the distance and her mother’s voice nearer as she spoke with the neighbors.

The Pie family would close the shutter on their little shop, throw the tarpaulin over it, and sleep on the floor in their bedrolls. Octavia remembered crickets and owl song, and would later associate the sounds of night with familial comfort.

Though her parents did not allow anyone to sleep in, Marble would take the habit of staying up late anyway. With her sisters asleep or mumbling to one another before sleep, she would toss and turn, enamored of the night and the suggestion of sky she could see through the tarpaulin. Sometimes, she would remain awake long enough to go out without being caught, and on such occasions, she would have to make herself go back after losing track of time. The second she left the shop, it seemed, all fatigue left her, and she would trot the empty streets with awed, eager respect.

For Marble, there was nothing more serene and mysterious than a sleeping town. She would spend minutes at a time staring at closed doors and shutters, wondering at the flowers in gardens and flower boxes that knew to close during the night and open in the day, and she would think young, magical thoughts. She had once heard Maud refer to the town as boring, but to Marble, each building was a new personality frozen in time, subtleties in decoration and architecture blossoming in the night for her amazed eyes only. When it was midnight, or near midnight, her favorite building was a winsome single-story house on the town square’s outer edge. The grass had grown up around its base, but the residents had kept it from reaching over the path to the front door, a straight and narrow isthmus of sandy soil and wooden ties. The rafters hung out longer than many of the houses she had seen, giving the roof a vaguely taloned appearance, the chimney a crooked calcar that Marble always looked to first, hoping to see smoke wafting out. When it was sunset, her favorite building was the austere barn on the other side of town, which she could just see if she stood outside the correct alley. So aloof and grand, it seemed to her like the representative of another world entirely, and she would later beg her parents to take her there.

It was on one such night of wandering that Marble encountered a pony named Joyful Weaver. She had circumvented the town square, still nervous to enter the hallowed space, to reach the north side of town, where she could see the odd windmill, the nubs of headstones that populated the small Ponyville cemetery, and then Canterlot Mountain not too far off.

“One might think that I would be changed, or at least amazed, by seeing Canterlot for the first time,” Octavia said. “I was not. It was so much that it did not really register with me, if that makes sense.”

She heard hoofsteps and loud conversation across a line of houses, and hastened to see to whom they belonged. Night wanderers were rare in Ponyville, and the prospect of suddenly finding more was at once a bolt of excitement and a shred of worry. Were these ponies like her, she wondered, or were they the sorts that her parents had warned her about? She circled around the block and watched them from behind and afar, two forms strolling casually in dim unicorn light—something she still found novel, her family being all earth ponies. One leaned on the other, and she thought that perhaps he was injured or tired, but as the pair strutted out of view, she decided it must be a gesture of kinship.

Creeping after them, she at last came to a sunken staircase partially hidden behind a hedge, its wrought iron railing wrapped in cat claw, exploding with tangled shadows in a dim porch light. Soft but merry voices came from within, and Marble stood on the top step for some time, ears up and breathing stiff. She willed herself to listen harder, to make out what the ponies were talking about, but could only discern the frequent bouts of laughter.

Back in her bedroll, she thought about the voices and their ponies, and the following day, told Pinkamena all about it—in the strictest confidence that their parents not hear of her adventure. Pinkamena asked to come along next time, and Marble agreed, though the next time did not come until the following month.

At the rock farm, life went on, seeming to Marble and Pinkamena to be the normal way of things, and not remarkable; for Maud and Limestone, it was an upturn in luck that had not yet lost all its sweetness, or its uncertainty. An early life of destitution had made them cautious.

For the next month, each filly received her own trinket to sell. Igneous did not say as much, and Marble would only figure it out later, that he was seeing whether any of them had what it took to be salesponies. Pinkamena sold hers on the first day, a black teardrop with the shape of a snowflake chiseled into its face. The story was that it had fallen out of the sky mere hours before a blizzard, a warning to the original owners to seek shelter. Pinkamena sold it for one hundred-twenty bits, double the price her father had told her, and Limestone later told Marble that she could not believe the Ponyville rube had purchased it. Neither she nor Marble sold their pieces.

For that trip, one of the toy maker brothers acquainted himself, sliding between their stall and his, chatting and laughing and making himself an interesting nuisance. Tumble Tower was his name; as a tower of blocks collapses with a sort of devil-may-care garrulousness, he explained, so he moved through life. He was a short, middle-aged stallion with an unkempt coat and big teeth, and he laughed with his entire body, shaking and pulling back his upturned face, it seemed, with every other sentence. Marble had been off to fetch water at the nearby well one afternoon, and then he was simply there, chatting with her parents like he had arrived with them. She remembered being struck by the softness of his amethyst fur when they shook hooves, and the delight just after when he found a bit behind her ear. An earth pony himself, the trick required extreme dexterity, which made sense, she thought, given his profession. He was used to working with tiny tools and delicate materials.

She tried to pay him no special attention in days following, but it was difficult. He was loud and full of laughter and wit, seeming always to be moving about or applying himself wholly to some task she did not understand, whether at their stall or his it did not matter. He moved quickly, but methodically, rarely revisiting a step, as Pinkamena might, and yet kept up a light patter of conversation, as Maud never did. He moved with his own laughter, incorporating the shaking mirth into his movements; it was almost like dancing, and Marble found herself staring more than was polite. A few times, she met eyes with the other brother, who kept a tactful distance, whether shy or unfriendly Marble never knew.

On the second night of their Ponyville visit, Marble and Pinkamena snuck out to find the secret stairs, as they called them. Tumble Tower had run into town earlier, and Marble privately hoped they would chance to meet him. The thought of seeing someone familiar, but outside the close context of the family business, felt mildly mischievous.

It took Pinkamena’s encouragement for them to enter the moonlit town square. Where Marble sat at the foot of the stairs and looked up at the podium from which the mayor gave her speeches, trying to imagine what grand edicts might deserve such position at the town’s center, Pinkamena ran circles in one of the grass quadrangles. Where Marble felt as though she were stepping on sacred ground, Pinkamena rolled and gamboled on the damp lawn.

Feeling strangely at odds with her sister, Marble led them to the north side of town, where it took some walking and doubling back before Marble found the stairs again. At the road’s end, when she knew they were close, she told Pinkamena to stop and be serious; it seemed that a modicum of respect was required, and Pinkamena complied with some difficulty.

With no voices to guide them, Marble nearly took them past the secret stairs, but recognized the porch light and its overgrown banister at the last second. The two fillies stood at the top and listened to the voices within, amazed, Marble glowing with pride at having found it all by herself, and pleased as well that its occupants were there again.

Octavia paused and looked at her friends, who listened politely but without any of the anxiety that had lengthened her story. Vinyl had gotten her a glass of water, which she drank slowly.

Joyful Weaver was the town lush. Marble had no way to know, and would not know until years later, when, her final time in Ponyville, she would ask about him, by which time he was gone. Quick with a joke or an anecdote when he was sober, he was a mainstay at pretty much any dry party; but, with just a few drinks in him, his fuse shortened dangerously. He was the sort of pony bartenders dreaded serving, and what was worse, he knew it. He drank defensively, waiting for the first sidelong look or the first comment so he could feel momentarily justified for flying off the handle. It was a former friend that would tell Marble this, and in her words, “some ponies have thick skin, some ponies have thin skin. Weaver got no skin at all.”

He and his crew gathered often to gamble in a friend’s basement, and it was there that Marble and Pinkamena heard them. On that night, galvanized by her sister’s presence, Marble put her ear to the door and heard her first curse words amid a tide of adult laughter. Then she switched places with Pinkamena, who giggled along with them, and then they ran all the way back to their stall, trying to not laugh too loudly at their own bravery at glimpsing a secret part of adult life. Did mother and father do those sorts of things too, they asked each other.

For a long time thereafter, Joyful Weaver and his friends would be nothing to Marble or Pinkamena, for life on the farm was changing, drawing the sisters’ attention back inward and away from the secret stairs. It started when Tumble Tower came to call, apparently invited, possibly just acting like it. The four sisters watched him and their parents in the living room, talking in low tones and enjoying one another’s company in very mature ways—that was, without too much uproar or animation. Tumble Tower himself was much subdued when the fillies were not there, coming alive only briefly to pack and then light a pipe. They did not get close enough to hear what the adults discussed, but it was clear when the topic had turned serious: all three of them hunched over, voices tense—Igneous Rock’s almost angry. Octavia specifically remembered Maud chewing her own mane beside her, an anxious habit that set Marble’s teeth on edge.

However, the mood lightened after a few minutes. Tumble Tower held up his hooves and cracked a joke, and Cloudy Quartz laughed. Igneous asked him a few questions and then they shook hooves, and the room palpably relaxed. The adults took tea, and Tumble Tower went on his way after a while. The second he was out the door, all four sisters scrambled to their rooms to pretend to be asleep.

He would reappear a few days later with a valise of papers, which he and the parents spread across the dining table and looked over for hours. Limestone and Pinkamena went out to collect rocks, and Marble and Maud stayed inside to decorate. Most of the extra money had gone into improved tools for that task: clasps, chains, and the like to create more delicate, more detailed pieces of jewelry.

While Maud worked with an electric sander on an oblong, off-white piece, Marble fussed with the tiny, square links of a necklace. Maud did not speak often, even at home, and Marble respected it, but both fillies found themselves speaking at length that afternoon in the kitchen. In Octavia’s memory, that afternoon would become the example of ideal, pastoral peace, tranquil almost to the point of quixotism, coloring the memories around it as if she had preternaturally felt the day’s coming and passing. Of the static images, she recalled the faucet hissing and glistening stones sunning themselves on a folded dish towel, a bowl of pecans on the counter with their shells strewn about. In soft daylight, the quiet work of family created an atmosphere that Octavia had never found anywhere again, not even recreated in her music: calm, lazy nostalgia; the sound of hooves on wood floor, the smell of warm fur and dust. Though it was the last day where things felt right, if not a little strange, at home, it would remain untainted by that association in her mind.

“Do you know what happened to Maud?” Pinkie asked.

“Please do not interrupt me.”

“Sorry.”

Octavia closed her eyes. “No, I am sorry. I should not have been curt. No, I do not know what happened to her. For that matter, I do not know what happened to any of them.”

“Oh.”

Marble mentioned the story attributed to the stone Maud was polishing, that it was supposed to help attract members of the bearer’s preferred sex, and Maud said that she could not believe Marble still believed such things. Marble had no response, but Maud had tipped herself over into a more talkative mood, and no response was necessary to keep her going.

To look back on that day, and days to come, Octavia would wonder what was it about their upbringing that had produced such quiet, thoughtful mares. The three of them—she, Limestone, and Maud—could spend hours together in a room and not speak a word, and leave that room content to have shared the time. Pinkamena was the exception, but before her cutie mark, even she could fall into silence for short intervals. More often, she was the spark of color in the sisters’ serious interactions, the contrast by which they could see their mutual stoicism.

They had grown up on a dead farm with no neighbors, which was part of it; self-reliance was the first virtue that had manifested in their young lives, followed just after by labor and personal integrity. Their world was dirt and stone, their livelihood in transforming hard things into decorations, never mind that many of these decorations were beautiful or that the work was genuine. The beauty was beside the point, as was the irony that their living was made on selling their father’s lies. The work was real, the quality verifiable. However, none of this explained to Octavia why they had turned out how they had. Perhaps it was mutual acknowledgement of that lie, and knowledge that uncovering it among themselves bore no outcome on the course of their lives. Living under the subtle shade of deception had left its mark, but she was not sure whether that mark was all of what she saw when she looked at herself, or whether she could blame her parents for who she and her sisters were.

The simpler, and less satisfying, explanation was that there was no deep-seated origin to their serious natures, and that they had just come out that way naturally. Some ponies were naturally funny, some naturally shy, some naturally romantic, and Marble and her kin were naturally quiet.

The last Marble would see of Maud, she would not even remember clearly for how little significance the scene garnered. The family stood on the doorstep, dust at their hooves, giving awkward goodbyes and hugs, no longer surprised. Cloudy Quartz asked Maud if she was sure, and Maud said she was, and then she walked away.

Limestone would show her grief in short bouts of frustration, taken out on walls or furniture, lasting no more than a couple seconds before she was back to her usual self. Pinkamena overcompensated with positive energy, not that Marble recognized it at the time; Marble had thought that Pinkamena, as she did, had taken Maud’s leaving as an impersonal matter of course. For Marble, the connection did not feel frayed; there was no affront in her sister’s departure, nor did she believe that she, or the family at large, had pushed Maud in any way. Whether she was right or wrong to think in that way, Octavia never knew for sure, though Pinkamena’s later departure made her think that she had been in the wrong, that she should have been more outwardly sensitive, asked more questions, gotten to know her sisters better.

These thoughts, especially, frightened her. To think that she might grow up with someone and never really know her, it made Octavia question how many other friends she had missed out on in exactly the same way.

On that sunny day in the kitchen, though, Marble knew only that she was content, comfortable with her sister and with her tiny world. Let the adults speak of adult things if they wanted, for the sisters had their space to themselves.

Maud told Marble that she had been thinking about the outside world, of towns like Ponyville that she might one day visit. Marble had never thought about it, and asked Maud which towns she liked; Maud said that she did not know, but would like to find out. Through her interactions in Ponyville, she had learned that she was of the age where she should be in school. The knowledge that she was missing out on something essential to so many ponies’ lives rankled, and she said so.

Marble asked what school she wanted to go to, but Maud did not know that either. “Rock school,” she eventually said, which made sense. Trying to add to the conversation, Marble told Maud she thought she was smart, which was true. Everyone in the family looked to Maud for help with the most difficult tasks, and Maud was also the only one who had boldly expressed disbelief at their father’s stories, which earned Marble’s respect. Maud’s skepticism, more than her age, made her feel to Marble like the most adult of the sisters.

As their conversation continued, starting and stopping with the polishing and rinsing of stone, the twining and clipping of wires, the wiping of the counter, Maud wondered aloud whether she would live on the rock farm forever, which caused Marble to wonder the same. It had never occurred to Marble that she could leave the farm, and the fact that it had occurred to Maud burned, as though Maud had made some discovery and chosen not to share. She wondered what was wrong that made Maud want to leave. Then, Maud asked Marble to keep her thoughts from the others, and the hairline fracture between them closed. Marble eagerly agreed to keep the secret, and life went on.

The following month, on the trail to Ponyville, Cloudy Quartz told the sisters that Tumble Tower—“your father’s friend,” in her words—would be around a lot more at home, but not so much in town. The way she explained it at the time, Marble did not fully understand, but when she grew older, it was simple. Tumble Tower had found out their secret, and in exchange for a cut of the profits, agreed to vouch for the Pie family and its wares, and recommend them when he could. Back then, though, Marble only thought that Tumble Tower had found another job, and her parents were helping him with it. Friends, after all, helped one another.

That month in Ponyville was the best they’d had, and the family ate out on their third day, the sisters’ first time at a restaurant. Igneous Rock kept stopping Limestone from getting up to give the waiter her dishes, laughing and shaking his head whenever she started up from the table.

That night, Marble went out into the town, braver and stronger, and all alone. She walked north to the windmills, but instead of finding the secret stairs again, she ventured into the cemetery. There was not much to see; many ponies who had the option chose to take the train a final time and die in Canterlot, in the city of the goddesses. Marble looked at the headstones and found their craftsponyship excellent, though drab. She read the names, getting nothing from them.

“Please do not take that detail as any indication of future difficulties,” Octavia said. “I was not fascinated with death, or anything like that.”

“I don’t think we were, uh…” Rainbow said, looking to her friends.

“We believe ya,” Applejack said.

Marble saw no one on her way back to the stall, and then after an unprecedented fourth night in town, they were on the farm for another month.

Igneous spoke of upgrading their operation, and the sisters universally encouraged it, putting in lists of their requests for new tools and accessories. With Tumble Tower as an intermediary to purchase supplies, they were able to buy a set of drills and burs, a new wheelbarrow, and some solvent. Marble most strongly remembered Limestone jumping for joy and running through the house when her father showed them the latter. Removing misapplied glue was a tedious, precise task, one about which Limestone constantly complained. Her hooves were not gentle, and she spent as much time buffing out scratches in her stones as she did at chipping glue off with a chisel.

Of her sisters, Marble spent the least amount time with Limestone, despite what they had in common. Pinkamena was often too much for Marble to take in, and Maud too little, but Limestone seemed just right. Obedient and as diligent a worker as any of them, she radiated a certain sense that Marble always found attractive, and a little repellent for how attractive it was: a quiet vivacity whose origin could not be traced to the bland, obdurate earth. Limestone’s laughter could light up a room, but more often it was her sour moods that dimmed it.

Work was her comfort and her pleasure. Outdoors, behind a plow or with a spade, Limestone could be heard singing to herself or reciting descriptions of what she saw, seemingly speaking just to hear her own voice. She was happiest to come inside last, sit at the dinner table with a coat of dust and sweat, and race through her food before jumping into the cistern to bathe. Often, she would shake flecks of stone out of her mane or tail, and every surface of her bedroom had been dusted with the grit she carried with her everywhere.

Even the sort of work she found disagreeable, she would apply herself to at various times, using her indelicate hooves and mouth to make figures of the bits of stone that were unsuitable for sale. On her dresser, she had once shown Marble, she had little statuettes of each of them, made of gravel and dried twigs wired together. On the parent-figures, she had even painted minuscule cutie marks. Sometimes, Marble would go to a section of field Limestone had plowed to find it alive with pictures scratched into the dust, some small and contained, some too big to be seen up close; these Marble would follow, trying to figure out what image Limestone had intended, trying to picture how it might look if she could see it from above. Limestone never mentioned them, and Marble never asked about them.

Contrarily, idleness was her sister’s greatest frustration, boredom anathema. The journeys to and from Ponyville were restless, and her time at the counter with buyers hurried and intense. She had no patience for haggling or small talk, and while she could at least put on a smile and a happy voice, few believed it. The incongruity of her manner and appearance in those situations made Marble uncomfortable.

Ignorant as she was of the family dynamic where it did not impact her, Marble did not know until late how close Maud and Limestone were. She had assumed that she was Maud’s primary confidante, but when Limestone later brought up Maud’s secret, Marble realized that she was not, in fact, the only one who knew. She was ashamed to be more concerned about who had known the secret first than the secret itself, which Limestone said had been eating at Maud for some time. That was during one of their Ponyville nights.

“I believe this is about when things began picking up,” Octavia said. “I was still fairly young, so I do not remember everything clearly. That… has bothered me a good deal as well.”

“Right,” Applejack said. “Hang on.” She dissolved into the ship briefly, and the group watched the veil of cloud move around them, dampening their fur. Pinkie opened her mouth for condensation.

“So when did you find all this out?” Fluttershy asked. “About your parents’ business, that it was a sham?”

“There was no specific point,” Octavia said. “I just looked back one day and everything was clear to me. The pieces fell into place, I guess you could say.”

“All right, Ah’m back,” Applejack said. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“It is fine.” She took more water.

Limestone was clearly not tired, and Marble was not either, so she asked if Limestone wanted to explore the town. Both fillies snuck into the darkness and headed southwest, toward the farm, following the smell of apples and apple blossoms. Marble asked Limestone what Maud had told her, and she said that Maud wanted to go somewhere else and study rocks.

Marble asked how Maud would do that, and Limestone said she did not know, that she had tried to dissuade Maud of the notion. Her stance was that they were family and they each had an important job at home, and Marble agreed.

The problem, Limestone said, was that Maud was not happy on the farm anymore. She did not enjoy the work or the results, and they stopped at a dirt road to look at the Ponyville clock tower and a belt of stars behind it.

Limestone said she did not know how much longer Maud would hold on. She lowered her voice and asked if Marble could keep a secret, and Marble said she could. Limestone asked if she would, and Marble laughed and said that she would do that too. They found a spot under an outlying apple tree and sat, and Limestone confessed that she was angry with Maud for wanting to leave, but afraid to push too hard lest she hurt Maud’s feelings. She thought that the family business should come first, and that Maud’s wanting to leave was a betrayal in itself, even if the want never became action. The implication was enough, and it had shaken Limestone to the point where she could not look at Maud the same way. Sometimes, she said, she tried to think of Maud as having already left, and her anger would cool into sadness.

Marble had no helpful advice, for she had not thought about Maud’s secret much since hearing it. The mere fact of being told something personal was enough to galvanize Marble, and she realized, hearing Limestone speak about these things as though they were her problems—as though Maud’s waxing desire to leave tore Limestone as well—that she had been selfish without realizing it. Choosing not to think deeply about her sister’s situation, or her feelings, Marble had unknowingly closed herself off from further confidence.

These thoughts hit her as Limestone elucidated some point, and Marble burst into tears, and Limestone stopped talking to comfort her. She probably thought that Marble was sad for Maud’s plight, and Marble was in no place to correct the thought. She wept, was held, hushed, and conversation resumed.

Limestone went on to say that she realized she was powerless to stop Maud if she chose to leave. She could be angry or sad, and she could beg, and she could invoke family obligations, but if Maud truly wanted to leave, she would leave. The powerlessness was the worst, she said. With this, Marble agreed, understanding the pain of which Limestone spoke, for she had felt powerless all her young life.

“No, that is not true,” Octavia said. “I am exaggerating, forgive me. I mean to say that I felt that my fate was not up to me. I had agency in the things I did on a day-to-day basis, but ultimately, I believed that I would live and die by the farm. That is more accurate.”

Marble asked if Maud planned on telling their parents, and Limestone said she did not know. She thought that Cloudy Quartz could tell something was bothering her eldest daughter, but beyond that, she could not say. It was her belief that Maud should announce her intentions, if intentions they were, before long, and give her parents the chance to talk her out of it.

The two sat under the tree for some time after that, each one considering Maud’s problem, and then bolted when a lantern light came into view at the other end of the farm.

Back home, Marble helped her mother peel potatoes while Igneous counted out bits on the table. As he reached certain figures, he would make tiny exclamations and blurt out numbers, to which Cloudy would respond with gasps or small cheers of her own. The words “phlogiston license” stuck out to Marble, who did not know what that was.

Tumble Tower came for dinner that evening and congratulated the Pies on their success. He was as comfortable as a member of the family, moving about the house without leave or directions, joking and talking with everyone, telling his own stories and using his deft toy maker’s hooves for all manner of tricks that impressed the sisters, and even their parents a few times. He helped Cloudy Quartz cook, though she later said he was mostly in the way, and he helped clean up later, filling the kitchen with song and the sound of scrubbing brushes.

Over dinner, he said the Ponyville ponies were quite convinced of the Pies’ legitimacy, that he was a trusted voice in the public discourse, and that he had even gone so far as to engineer a few simple scenarios to prove their trinkets’ supposed utility. A female friend of his had agreed to feign attraction to a lonely stallion who purchased a virility amulet. With a wink, Tumble Tower told the sisters that they’d understand when they were a little older.

After cleaning up, the sisters went to their own affairs while the adults talked more business, and the next week, Igneous received a stack of paperwork for his phlogiston license.

As Tumble Tower would explain a few nights later to Limestone, who showed the most interest, phlogiston was special and required a specific license for private use. Where other explosives could be purchased at specialty stores and with a more general license for mining or excavation, phlogiston was inherently magical, and more difficult to use safely. He did not understand the mechanics, but it was not as stable as other compounds; the trade-off was that it was much more versatile, and better for fine-tuning if the pony knew what she was doing. Tumble Tower chuckled and said that the phlogiston license was for miners, or rock farmers, what a liquor license was for restaurants.

That same day, right before her bedtime, Maud came into the living room and confessed her desire to leave the farm. She didn’t wait for attention, she didn’t announce that she had something to say; she just walked in, visibly shaken, and said “Mother, father, I wish to leave this place.”

Marble had been in the cistern and came in dripping wet when Pinkamena found her and said that Maud was doing something big in the house. She did not believe it when she entered, missing the first half of the conversation. The momentary confusion turned to denial, and she only looked back and forth, sister to parents, parents to sister, feeling like an intruder and conscious of the puddle forming at her hooves.

Of specific dialogue, she would carry little with her:

“Why?” Her mother, a fast but compassionate syllable, uttered with knit brows and total eye contact.

“I do not want to miss out on the rest of the world.” Maud, somewhere in the middle of the conversation, after a long silence and a frustrated exclamation from Igneous. She was defending her point.

“Difficulties.” Shaking his head, not looking at his daughter, Igneous sighed. Marble backed up a step toward the kitchen then, afraid of paternal anger.

They spoke for what felt like hours, until the water on her coat began to evaporate, and Maud impressed upon them that she had no concrete plans, that it was just an interest. After the initial shock and objection, the three of them talked of what Maud might find if she left. Acknowledging the issues her absence would cause for the family business, both parents also knew what Limestone had, that it was not really their decision.

It was by listening to this conversation that Marble learned that her parents had been somewhat worldly when they were younger. Both had graduated from a small college in Applewood, where they had met, and both had traveled north to Canterlot first and then down to the farm. They knew of the wide world, and were able to offer Maud pieces of advice on travel, to which Maud shook her head and repeated that she had no plans, only interests. Marble would wonder later whether their intent had been to dissuade Maud by overwhelming her with advice.

Limestone eventually brought Marble a towel and told her to dry off, and clean the floor while she was at it. She kept her ears up and her head down, and by the time she was done, so were the interlocutors. Maud went to her room, and Cloudy and Igneous returned to their work, their hearts utterly removed from the task.

In the month between Maud’s announcement and her preparations to go, a pall settled over the breakfast table. Talk was often stunted anyway, but in the slow mornings, it all but disappeared. Limestone showed her feelings in her every action, and it became the family’s job for a time to keep the peace. All eyes were on Limestone, and she did not show whether she knew it. When she slammed drawers shut, no one said a thing; when she threw silverware into the sink, no one batted an eye. It was as though she had become a ghost. She did not speak to Marble or—as far as Marble knew—Pinkamena, and certainly not Maud, who bore her sister’s mood quietly, knowing better than to let outbursts become confrontations.

It was Octavia’s belief that this was the final push Maud needed to get out the door. The love of her family had kept her there against her will for so long, but as Limestone soured, the love curdled. Her sister’s lack of grace had allowed her to steal the attention, to diminish Maud’s real conflict, and filial love became grudging and martyrly.

Through it all, work proceeded as usual. Rocks were excavated, polished, turned to decorations. Maud worked as hard as ever, but fooled no one. She lingered in rooms, looked away from faces, and went to bed early.

For one day, like a spark off a chip of flint, the entire family—and Tumble Tower, who was there for one reason or another—joined to celebrate Limestone’s cutie mark. She had solved a puzzle with the explosives to unearth, but not damage, a group of valuable stones, and a flash of her old self appeared as she did a circuit around the farm, hooting and hollering for joy. Igneous beamed and told her they would have a special dinner in Ponyville on their next visit, and Maud looked away when he glanced at her.

The phlogiston license came shortly thereafter, and Tumble Tower recommended a supplier. Limestone, clearly meant to handle the magical explosive, was granted equal say in its acquisition and usage, and that was how she came to be involved with the family finances.

Maud’s final trip to Ponyville came and went with no drama. Limestone was able to keep up a professional front for the customers, and Marble still went out walking at nights. They celebrated Limestone’s cutie mark over an inexpensive dinner out, and pretended to not be sitting on opposite sides of a widening chasm. In her heart, Marble felt that she should be spending more time with Maud, but doing what? Maud did not enjoy staying up late, and Marble was discovering how little she actually knew about her sister.

How things could have been different, Marble would spend many sleepless nights wondering. Her other sisters might trace later events to different origins, but Marble chose to believe that it was Maud who started it all.

“Let me be very clear on this point,” Octavia said, noticing Pinkie’s falling expression. “I do not blame her for anything. Not one thing. She did right by herself, which is the correct thing to do. I only mean to say that I think her actions caused everything else, or at least allowed things to play out the way they did.”

“She was causally responsible, but not morally culpable,” Twilight said.

“In as many words.”

She thought that if she had been more attentive to Maud, Marble might have been able to soften the blow to the family and help her sister find a less shocking way to voice her feelings. On a bumpy ride back to the rock farm, their cart heavy with bits, Marble chewed on the one thought and its implications, blaming herself and wondering whether it was too late to fix the gulf that had appeared in the family.

Six days later, they stood on the sunlit doorstep and said their goodbyes. Maud had packed what she could, which was not much, in secret and hid it away in her room. By this, Marble could tell that she had always intended to go to Ponyville the last time. She appreciated the consideration, but did not say so. By the time she was shaking Maud’s hoof, her earlier fears had shrunk, and she was resigned to her silence, and to reflecting Maud’s. She could tell that her parents felt similarly. Pinkamena hugged Maud long and hard, and Limestone shook her hoof once, maintaining eye contact and a straight, severe face, a face that said, “You have made your decision. Do not back out on it for my sake.”

Marble didn’t know what happened to her sister after that.

Octavia stopped talking and thought how best to continue, and Pinkie, mistaking her pause as a surge of emotion, rubbed her back. Octavia leaned away.

“Come on, sis,” Pinkie said.

“It ain’t that bad so far,” Applejack said.

“That is true,” Octavia said. “Things will go downhill much faster now that Maud has left. Pinkie, you may stop me at any time, if you wish. I will be talking about you more in the next few minutes.”

“Are you getting to the part where the money dried up?” Pinkie asked.

“Uh-oh,” Rainbow whispered.

“Yes,” Octavia said.

“Go ahead,” Pinkie said. “It’s fine.”

Octavia looked at her for several seconds.

Tumble Tower’s tricks and jokes disappeared as he came over in following days, and his visits lengthened. Marble did not know what they were about at the time, but would soon hear the truth. In Ponyville, through some flaw in his plan, or by mere accident, Tumble Tower’s work with the Pie family had been called into question. Their claims’ authenticity had been tested and had come up wanting.

He came to their house with a battered briefcase and stacks of papers, the odd bit sack, and spent whole evenings discussing strategies with Igneous and Cloudy. Limestone joined the conversations and reported things to Pinkamena, who reported to Marble. She informed them that their next trip to Ponyville would be humble and contrite, their wares purely decorative and divorced from the fantastical origins their family was known for reciting. In that regard, the secret was out, and Limestone thought it was about time.

Changing the family’s face in the course of half a month was no small task, however. They had to reinvent most of their finished products, turning charms and talismans into wall hangings and necklaces, burnishing away “mystical” engravings, and touching up duller pieces that no longer had the luxury of a flashy origin. They re-decorated their entire cart and learned as much as they could about the technical aspects of their work, which had always been less important than the stories surrounding it.

The second problem, which Limestone revealed on their way to Ponyville, was that the phlogiston license was not cheap, and if they did not find some way to keep up their profits, they would lose it. To Marble, it seemed of secondary concern, but Limestone spoke about it gravely. Maintaining and practicing with the phlogiston had become a pet project of hers, obvious considering her cutie mark, but it was one more thing Marble had not really seen until it was explained to her.

Because they were not chased out of Ponyville, Igneous proclaimed that their business was not finished and that they still had a good chance. No one believed him, but the sisters worked hard anyway, and sold a fraction of their wares. In shame, but with faint hope, they returned to the farm, dipped into a shallow savings account, and kept their phlogiston license for another month.

That month was leaner, the one following leaner still. When the time came that they sold nothing, that the only one who showed his face at their stall was the similarly distrusted Tumble Tower, they knew something else had to be done. The thought of it had percolated long before, hanging over the family’s heads at every breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the reminders on their plates, in the shed with the tools they could no longer afford to maintain and the empty shelves, but it struck at last when the third day in Ponyville passed and Cloudy Quartz, dejected, slung the empty bit sack into the trailer before putting on her harness.

Tumble Tower came to call every other night, and for the first time, Cloudy Quartz did not participate in the meetings; taking her place was Limestone, as serious and adult as any of the others. To Marble, it was inexplicable, when she still felt so young herself, and she wondered how many other changes had taken place under her nose.

Cloudy Quartz met Marble in the fields one afternoon while Pinkamena ran about on the farm’s edge and the other three talked in the dining room. The blinds were open and Marble could see the table, where the ponies looked over something Tumble Tower had brought. Limestone was speaking animatedly, and Tumble Tower nodded while Igneous frowned at them both. It was in the field, on that day, that Marble abandoned her fear of the truth and asked her mother what was happening to the family.

They walked to the farm’s opposite border, where a grove of trees struggled by a shallow, dirty pond. Marble had gone there a few times on her own, mostly in the evenings, where she could see the sun setting behind branches. She enjoyed the play of color and shadow on the surface of the water, the dragonflies on lily pads, their wings yellowed in sunset. In the afternoon, she could see the algae and the spider webs, but found these equally pleasing. Like the scene from the kitchen, standing astride the pond that day felt correct to her, as if she and her mother had stepped into an invisible frame and could play out their dialogue properly for it.

Cloudy Quartz confessed much, but not all: they were losing money at a rate that would leave them bankrupt inside a year, and Igneous planned to give up the phlogiston license, but had not yet told Limestone. That would give them an extra few months, but it would crush Limestone, and possibly only prolong the inevitable. Cloudy wanted to accept their fate, cut their losses, and take what little they had left elsewhere, but Igneous, Limestone, and Tumble Tower thought they could hang on.

Igneous’ idea was to use his daughters for public relations, turning them loose in Ponyville to spread good cheer and hopefully beautify the family’s face so they might grow into a legitimate jewelry business. Tumble Tower’s idea was to find the money in an altogether different way, unspecified by him in Cloudy’s presence, but referencing the use of “dirt.” She used the term in front of Marble as if it were filthy.

Marble could not comfort her mother when she began crying, not the way she wanted to. She held her and patted her back, as one would with an acquaintance, but Marble had no secret trick to bring a smile back to her mother’s face, no soothing combination of words that would stem the tears. In that moment, she realized that she knew equally little about her father, and in the copse with the dragonflies, the sunshine on her dark mane making her head swim, she again felt pangs of self-rebuke. She was being selfish once more.

“Isn’t it more selfish to be worried about that kind of thing when someone else needs help?” Rainbow asked.

“I realize that,” Octavia said. “Thank you.”

“Uh, I mean… Sorry. I didn’t think before I said that.”

She recalled her mother saying she blamed herself for Limestone’s upbringing, that she had never wanted Limestone to become who she was, and that she was ashamed and baffled that her own daughter could twist out of reach. Marble did not understand, and Cloudy Quartz explained that while she and her husband were appalled by what Tumble Tower appeared to suggest, Limestone encouraged it. That was what they were talking about that afternoon, and why Cloudy had begun recusing herself from the conversations. Whatever it was, it would hurt other ponies. Marble did not ask her mother why Tumble Tower’s idea was so bad, when she had made a living with Igneous selling lies. The opportunity would not come, and that, too, had a place in Octavia’s growing library of doubts and questions. Was her mother a good pony at heart, or did her reluctance to be tempted simply come from a fear of change, or of risk?

Marble left that meeting by the trees determined to confront her sister, who, in her mind, had made her mother cry—as straightforward as that. She walked across the fallow earth, past piles of stones they were too late into the month to make into decorations, and barged into the house. So what if Tumble Tower was there, she thought. She would confront her sister in front of them all, come what may.

Instead, Limestone invited her to sit with them. “Glad you came,” Limestone said, looking up with a warm, almost relieved, smile, and gestured Marble to join. She said that she and Tumble Tower had a plan to boost their business in the short term, while Igneous would work with Pinkamena to help them longer-term. The idea with Pinkamena was exactly as Cloudy had described, and Limestone said she had already floated the idea past her to positive reception.

Igneous objected more loudly then and told Marble to not pay them any attention, that there was another way. Limestone sighed and turned her eyes on her father, a pleading and tired look that made him falter. They had discussed it up and down already, her eyes said, and there was no point to drag the conversation back.

Marble was not used to seeing Tumble Tower in the way he presented himself that day. She knew he could be serious and adult, but had never been in the same room when he did it. All she had seen of that side of him was the occasional flash before a punchline, or in unremarkable conversation. To her, it seemed inappropriate for someone she saw as a joker at heart to drop the amused and amusing face, and it furthered her impression that all was not well. If her mother’s outburst in the field was an isolated incident of heightened emotion, Tumble Tower’s odd calm was too upsetting to question.

His plan was simple in theory, and so seemed simple to her then, for she was young and inexperienced—as was Limestone, something Marble would not consider until after. In his papers, he had a few names and occupations, schedules, lists of loved ones, and details of that sort. He walked Marble through each item, step by step, and it was all so orderly, it was easy for her to see why Limestone was interested. Everyone had dirt, Tumble Tower said. “I do, my brother does, even your dear old pappy,” he said, winking. “Ponies can be convinced to part with a lot of money if you find that dirt. Think of it like buried treasure, if you like.”

Her father’s word for it was less attractive: blackmail.

The three of them went around and around that day, Marble at the table taking it all in and saying little, tempers flaming up and cooling off like flashes of lightning. Cloudy Quartz stayed outside throughout, and those that noticed did not comment. They drank all the iced tea and ate what was left of their biscuits, and Tumble Tower showed the sisters a trick where he spun a bit on the tip of his nose before catching it between his teeth.

They discussed the proposition until the lengthening shadows met the ceiling and their water glasses became amber, and Tumble Tower made a show of leaving. He took his hat, his papers, a last glass of water, and left a bit on the table. The three Pies, and Cloudy after Tumble Tower had gone, stared down on it. In the morning, the bit was gone, and no one spoke of it. Marble did not know who had taken it; it wasn’t her.

They prepared as best they could for Ponyville, and when it came time to go, they did so with only half of their wares. The trailer was easier to pull that way.

Octavia stopped for a minute. “I am just trying to remember how this next part went.”

Limestone had not brought up the blackmail plan to Marble or Igneous since the day Tumble Tower had come, but Marble knew they would discuss it the second they were alone. Her sister had not forgotten and would not allow her to forget it either. She even knew what Limestone would say, that family came first and there really was no argument after that fact.

So she stayed up and let Limestone catch her awake, and the two of them walked to the apple orchard again. It was getting cold at night, and they both shivered under a denuded tree, neither thinking to bring a blanket or coat from the stall. Limestone shocked Marble by apologizing and saying that she knew Marble was in an awkward position. She knew she should not ask her own sister to help her in the way Tumble Tower proposed, but—Marble had been right—family came first. They had to do something.

Marble said that she did not want Igneous to be angry with them, and Limestone nodded and thought about that for a long time. She eventually said they could do it if they just lied about how they got the money. They could say they had begged for it, or Tumble Tower had come into money and decided to be charitable, or they had found it in a suitcase on the side of the road. Igneous would believe anything if he wanted to, Limestone explained, if it meant he did not have to accept what his beloved daughters were doing.

Limestone asked her to look at it a different way, and explained the idea in the same way Tumble Tower had to her, one of many: that they were not hurting anyone. They would not actually release any of the dirt they found, she assured, but no one needed to know that; it was fear, but empty fear. Marble found herself agreeing as Limestone impressed the point that no harm would be done. Without her father there, the idea seemed more rational, and spoken with Limestone’s familiar, trustworthy voice, it seemed safe. She said she had thought it through multiple times, and though she still felt vaguely filthy about the whole thing, she had concluded that it was their best chance. That was the final point that convinced Marble: her sister felt bad about it too, so, in Marble’s mind, nothing bad could come of it because it was done with pure intentions. Marble apologized for being so difficult, and Limestone forgave her.

They went out the second night too, Tumble Tower’s papers in Limestone’s saddlebag, and they discussed whose dirt they wanted to find on their way to the town’s border. Marble, puzzled, did not ask where they were going, and saw soon enough their destination. Tumble Tower waited on a bench in a darkened gazebo, surrounded by sleeping flowers, his pipe burnishing the lower half of his face with the red of glowing tobacco.

He didn’t congratulate Marble or ask what had made up her mind. He just nodded at her, puffed on his pipe, and asked Limestone who their pony was. They talked it out a little more in the perfumed dark before Limestone finally chose. She thought that the most potential was in a pony named Joyful Weaver, the local drunk, who Tumble Tower said was a veritable warehouse of unsavory secrets.

“That is why I mentioned him earlier,” Octavia said.

“We trusted you had a reason,” Fluttershy said.

Tumble Tower visibly relaxed after they made their selection, and said that the next part would be easy. He said he had actually hoped they would pick Joyful Weaver, because he was an easier target. Tumble Tower would go about his business, talk to Joyful’s acquaintances and coworkers, snoop and probe and compile the dirt they needed, and by their next visit to Ponyville, he would have enough details for them. He laughed and looked at Limestone, and said, “then it’s all up to you, little miss. You sure you can do it?”

Limestone did not hesitate, and Marble nodded along with her, wondering why Tumble Tower needed them at all. After a moment of uneasy silence, she asked the question. He replied that it was not in his nature to do the sorts of things Marble and Limestone were preparing to do. He was just a humble toymaker, he said, as if that proved anything.

On the walk back, Limestone explained that Tumble Tower was only a consultant, and that he had drawn that line very early and very clearly to their father. He would help in whatever way he could, up to the point where he needed to do anything that would put him in harm’s way. He wanted to keep his nose clean, but not too clean, and Limestone said she respected that.

Two weeks later, he came to call with a couple papers in a sealed envelope, which he gave to Limestone on the doorstep. He did not stay for dinner.

She asked Marble to come with her to Ponyville a few nights later, and Marble agreed. They talked in Limestone’s bedroom, which had been stripped of its stone figurines and swept of its ubiquitous grit. They discussed the walk to Ponyville for nearly an hour, trying to recall the path and the obstacles they would encounter, and drawing a crude map. They went over what they would say to Joyful Weaver and how to convince him that they were serious—even though they were not, Marble reminded Limestone.

They decided they would leave the following day, and Marble agreed, and fell asleep with scared excitement whirling in her young heart. At last, she would be doing something to help the family, she kept telling herself.

In the morning light, however, she woke to find her excitement diminished, in its place the decidedly un-romantic reality that she was planning to poison someone’s life for her own gain. She was quiet all morning, wrestling with the thought; Limestone’s assuredness only made it worse, and when she realized that, she realized right after that she didn’t know whether her sister was good anymore. She was not yet used to thinking in those terms, and it paralyzed her, as if she had woken up to find her sister replaced with someone who just looked like her. Across the morning, she put in only an hour’s work, constantly turning in on herself and examining her dilemma, trying to find a different angle from which to approach it. She remembered snapping at Pinkamena.

Just before noon, Limestone approached her, and Marble told her that she was having second thoughts. Limestone, clearly upset, responded that it was Marble’s decision, and after pretending to consider for longer than she needed, Marble told her she was sorry, but had to back out. Limestone said, “that is fine,” and turned into the house to tell her parents that she was going to Ponyville. Her story: she was going to meet a possible explosives wholesaler, someone who could supply them with much more affordable batches of ammonium nitrate. It was clear that no one believed her when she left, but no one stopped her either. When Cloudy Quartz looked at her husband, he hung his head.

Limestone had returned with the dawn on the day of the sonic rainboom, saddlebags heavy with bits, and she slept most of the morning. Octavia remembered glaring at her bedroom door for a time, jealous of the privilege, but also the pride she knew Limestone felt. Perhaps she should have gone after all, she thought, for there was no pride in staying behind.

That was the day that Pinkamena got her cutie mark. The sonic rainboom over Ponyville had inspired her first party, and that, mixed with the elation of finally having a little buffer of money, allowed for the final happy day on the farm.

Octavia paused, and Pinkie smiled. “I remember that day like it was yesterday,” Pinkie said.

“I remember it fondly,” Octavia said. “It is just that everything around it was unpleasant.”

Where Pinkamena produced the supplies for a full party inside the silo was not asked, but thought about much; Octavia would find out years later, when she no longer cared.

She remembered being pulled from her task with the others and dragged into the silo, her sister marching in cheerful lockstep and singing a made-up song all the way there. It was a day like any other, which made the surprise all the stranger and more welcome. It was like stepping into someone else’s dream. Confetti and streamers caught dusty light like colorful flies and spider webs over piles of food on bright tablecloths. Marble remembered the towering cakes, sagging under their own weight, and the odd decoration or speck of dust that had landed in the frosting. She remembered the golden flowers Pinkamena had spaced on the door jambs and each plain pilaster, cords of red streamer connecting each one, ringing the structure’s wooden walls. At once, she felt insulted, and reeled back with her parents and with Limestone, caught off guard by the refutation of that almost tangible austerity their silo embodied in its quiet, its dust, its unpretentious walls and crossbeams. The indecorous gesture called for retaliation, but of what sort? To tear it down would be awful, to walk away worse; to their serious and, moreover, stressed and miserable selves, it was a sight hardly more welcome than the silo aflame.

Yet, on that day, whether by some muted charm in the air, the electric hope of new money, the sheer audacity of the shock, or something else entire, inaction transformed into a new feeling. First, the smiles came, and the picture changed. Balloons and desserts glowed with the same light that had made them at first garish insults, the punch bowl reflected pleasure instead of selfishness, and the dirt floor suddenly seemed to be the one out of place. After the smiles, there were the snickers, the tentative steps into the waiting party, the guarded inspection of what Pinkamena had to offer—and she herself, quite anxious to see their reactions. She asked them if they liked it, and told them what it was.

The sun seemed fixed in place that day. They danced and shook, ate well of the food Pinkamena had mysteriously procured, talked and laughed. As in a dream, amends felt unnecessary. In the party space, there was no talk of work or of money, and for a time, Marble felt what it was like to be out from under life’s weight. She knew that they were family, but in those hours, she felt it as well: sisters and parents she understood, and who understood her, so well that self-consciousness did not exist, and embarrassment could be laughed off or blinked away. In Pinkamena’s new light, everything was new and easy, as if they had all come up for air at the same time.

Then, sundown, and the party ended. They helped clean up, which amounted to piling everything in a corner and taking the food inside. Pinkamena said she would take care of the remains, and they trusted her. Marble remembered walking back to the house, feeling her giddy smile flatten. The house was business, sacrifice, unrest, and the want of money. It was guilt for helping her sister, and a different sort of guilt for not helping very much. In her mind, Marble distinguished this as “reality,” and the party as “fantasy.”

The family had pretended to be surprised at Pinkamena’s cutie mark, but no one really was. The party had been such a success, they all knew the second the dancing caught on: a collective “this is it” thought, expressed through the wide smiles and the gracious thanks to their host. They had started enjoying the party through other impulses, but the knowledge of what it represented had kept them going.

The following week, Marble was awake to hear her father scramble out of bed and out the front door. She watched him streak across their land after a pair of shadowy figures, lantern swinging in his jaws. There was a loud argument, the meaning of which she missed through her closed window, and a warning shot from her father’s pulse crystal. She did not know that he owned one, and this detail, more than anything else, kept her up the rest of that night, up to hear Igneous and Tumble Tower speaking in low voices in the main room.

He was still there the following morning, face bruised and patches of fur missing from his neck and chest. With a self-deprecating grin, he greeted each sister with a nod and a small joke. “Like my new look?” he asked Marble, who only stared.

He and Limestone disappeared into the fields while everyone else worked, and when they came back, Limestone was calm, Tumble Tower apprehensive. Joyful Weaver, she later told Marble in private, had followed Tumble Tower the night before, and, seeing him approaching the farm, cornered him in a shoulder of the wood and gave him his bruises. Tumble Tower had told her that he was to consider it a warning, and that if he and his friend—meaning Limestone—did not back off, there was plenty more.

Limestone didn’t say it, but Marble took her meaning, or thought she did: perhaps if Marble had joined her, and Joyful Weaver had seen there were two of them against him, he might not be so bold. She went on to say that the beating only gave them more material to use against him to extract money.

Marble asked Limestone to go out into the fields with her later that night, and they did. It was a little past midnight, which did not bother Marble, but clearly put Limestone on edge. After a deep breath of cold air, Marble yelled one word at her sister: “fool!”

She almost yelled it again, almost fell into a chain of invectives and long-held judgments, but did not. The anger in her one word struck Limestone and left her astonished, and momentarily cracked Marble’s determination. By the time she had composed herself, so had Limestone, and they spoke as though the word had not been uttered.

Tumble Tower was a friend of the family, a trusted one; he had known them through good times and bad, and, Marble reminded Limestone, had become a friend before becoming a business partner. Treating his injuries as simple material for future blackmail was as plainly wrong to Marble as the party had at first seemed. She brought up all the usual facts: that he was a living pony, with his own feelings and troubles, separate from theirs; that using him in such a way disregarded these things, made him into a tool; and so on. Limestone agreed with all her points and apologized, and Marble trusted the apology.

The family conference came next. Mother, father, Limestone, Marble, and even Pinkamena sat down at the dining table the following day. Five pairs of eyes darting across a barren tabletop, searching for answers and offering none of their own. Marble felt in that exact moment the depth of the family silence, heavy and sincere, each one of them filled with and buried by their feelings. With eye contact alone, Marble felt that the room could explode, but the moment passed as quickly as it came on, and the tension relaxed when Cloudy Quartz sighed and asked Limestone what was really going on.

Marble could tell that she had really gotten to Limestone when her sister told the truth. The blackmail, the revenge exacted on Tumble Tower, the corrected thought to use that revenge as new material against Joyful Weaver. She walked them through it, detached and precise, the voice of business, of what Marble saw as adulthood.

Pinkamena cried, and Marble comforted her as best she could. Cloudy Quartz looked at her daughter for some time before excusing herself from the table. Igneous thought for a very long time, not speaking. When their mother returned, she hugged Limestone tight and said she loved her, and Limestone cried too, though she tried not to. In the bright, warm day, she admitted that she was lost, and knew that the only solution she saw would bring them nothing but pain in the end. She asked what alternatives there were, continuously emphasizing that she saw none, and she was sorry.

“Sounds like someone I know,” Vinyl said, and smiled weakly. “Sorry.”

“You are correct to point it out,” Octavia said. “Where do you think I first learned such restrictive thinking?” She cleared her throat. “To continue. This is… easier than I expected.”

Igneous pointed out that they could always pull up the roots and make their way to Canterlot. If they took everything they had left and sold off everything they didn’t need, they might be able to afford an apartment, and the fillies were old enough to find jobs.

“I do not want to leave this place,” Limestone said quietly, face damp with spent tears. She looked at her cutie mark.

“There might not be a choice, honey,” Cloudy Quartz said. Her tender, wounded voice would remain in Octavia’s memories for the rest of her life.

At that, Limestone cried again, and Pinkamena cried with her. Marble and Igneous exchanged weary looks across the table. The discussion went on into the night, and no one moved to go to bed. Talk of business turned to talk of feelings and of failings, and then fears, regrets, and secrets. At this, Marble offered little, Pinkamena much. They had run out of napkins by morning, and Limestone and Cloudy Quartz were asleep at the table when everyone else came in for breakfast.

And yet, despite all, in the day following the event, everything went back to normal. It was a reflection of the family’s grim luck, Marble thought, that it was so easy to consign an entire night of confession and deep conversation to isolated memory. It was as though the day had occurred just to be the party’s antithesis, and, its purpose so fulfilled, could be regarded with the same perplexed, guarded nostalgia.

“What a night that was,” they might say, and leave it at that.

So they went to Ponyville and sold next to nothing, and Marble wandered the town and lost herself in the stars, and Limestone withdrew, and Pinkamena became thin and diminished in a family that could not support her newfound passion. Talk between siblings was cyclical and self-serving, and secrets were told without intention, ideas voiced without regard for other ideas. They got back home, dug up rocks, and fell into their patterns. Sometimes, Ingeous would point out a listing for an affordable apartment in the Canterlot suburbs, but nothing came of it. At the beginning of the first week of winter, Pinkamena was gone. She left a note, the exact contents of which Octavia did not recall, but which basically said that she was sorry, but had to go. Her cutie mark demanded it, her life was calling, and she could not let herself wither on the rock farm. There was no one to blame. Life went on.

Tumble Tower came over, and he, Limestone, and Marble stayed up. He expressed his regrets that Pinkamena had left them, but said he wished her the best and was glad she had found her calling. He regaled them with a halfhearted tale of his own cutie mark, which he had found in a similar way. Earth pony toymakers were not common, and he went on that one of his fondest memories was his neighbors throwing him a huge surprise party the week after he got his mark. It was one of those neighborhoods, he said, where everyone was friends with everyone else. He teared up a little, remembering it, and Marble patted his back.

The conversation should have been heated, but wasn’t. The three of them spoke as adults, going over their options, accepting or appearing to accept counterpoints when they came. Limestone suggested revenge against Joyful Weaver, Marble preached a withdrawal to Canterlot, and Tumble Tower landed somewhere in the middle. Since it was his face on the line, they deferred to his choice. He said he would go into Ponyville, find Joyful Weaver, and apologize and promise that the blackmail would stop. Then they would find someone less volatile and try again.

Octavia stopped speaking for a minute. “Okay, now it is getting difficult.” She looked down at her hooves. “You will forgive me if I take this part a bit slower. We are nearing the point when it happened.”

“This has all been setup?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes. The actual event would not mean so much if I did not give you the full context.”

“No, I get it. I was just asking.”

“Keep going, darling. You’re doing great,” Rarity said.

Tumble Tower went to Ponyville that night, where he said he would go to bed, and then find Joyful Weaver the following day, hopefully when he was sober.

So. A few afternoons later, out in the fields, Marble was poking around a pile of loose rocks, not really working. She could see the road to Ponyville from where she stood, and thought of Pinkamena, as she often did. She wondered where her sister was, and how she was doing, whether that cutie mark had gotten her a job or some friends.

She walked a little father out until she reached the warped roadside fence, the same fence that had been so fascinating when she was younger. She did not remember whether it was a quiet day, or whether birds were singing. It must have been quiet, else she would not have heard the pony in the woods.

She approached the sound of slow movement through underbrush, thinking at first that it was a deer or rabbit. Instead, she found Tumble Tower, his clothes streaked with blood and dirt, his face strangely unharmed as he crawled through the wood. She froze and hid behind a tree; she could tell that he had not seen her, and she watched, instantly shocked out of herself.

He would try to gain his hooves, and would succeed for seconds before collapsing with a breathless moan. When he did manage to stand, she could see the dark stain on his midsection, almost black, a flat and tacky patch on his wrinkled suit. She must have looked for twenty minutes before finally approaching.

On his belly, forelegs splayed before him as though in worship, he rolled his head back and forth in the dry soil. When he noticed her, he stared for several seconds, as if trying to remember where he had seen her before, then broke into a smile. He said something benign, which frightened her, and, noticing her fright, he became serious. “Get your father,” he said.

His chin rested in the dirt, and she backed away slowly, head spinning. She went through the trees, met the road, and stopped at the rail again to catch her breath. The sun was hotter suddenly, her head was pounding, her ears were rushing. She put a hoof to her heart, which felt like it could pop out of her chest at any second. Her mouth was dry, and she turned back into the wood instead.

She watched, and when he moved, she backed away as quietly as she could. What stopped her from getting Igneous? She never really knew, but had come to assume that it was just another permutation of the feeling that had overtaken her at the party and the family conference. She was too afraid to act, too shocked to move or think; she felt like she had discovered a dead body, not a living one, and could not shake the petrifying fear that kept her rooted to the side of the road. The wrongness of it shut down her thoughts. A body on the ground like that was enough to remove from her that sense of agency. Like coming home to a burning farmhouse, she could only stare, fear and disbelief rendering her motionless.

A cloud passed across the sun and went on its way, and she retreated to a depression in the land, shaking. The blood was part of it; she had never seen so much, certainly did not think of ponies as things that could bleed like that and go on. With the blood came the reminder of mortality, hers and her family’s, and then the fact that her friend was facing his in that exact moment.

Also, it was a spectacle. Over the course of hours, the vision of mortality would drag itself out of the woods and force itself into a final gasp of life, a droning play from which she could not turn her attention. Under the horror, small and ashamed and very, very quiet, there thrummed that fascinated thread.

Tumble Tower got to his hooves at the road and slipped through the rail, made it to a rise in the field. Marble watched him struggle, and then lower himsef to the ground, knees bending and head bowing in concession, in which position he remained when she finally went to him.

Eyes open, breathing shallow, Tumble Tower looked at her as best he could. She could smell the blood and chlorophyll on his clothes. He grunted softly, intonation rising as if in question, and she could only stare. She had been fixed to his vicinity when he had been moving, and now, she was fixed to the spot. He frowned and tried to raise his head to meet her eyes, and she stood there. The spectacle had all but ended, but she could still not move. From a distance, his movement had been dramatic in its simplicity, a wounded hero’s return, but up close, he was just a pony. His fur was mussed, his mane was flared out around his head, his eyes fluttered, his head bobbed, his nostrils quickened with his breath. The blood was not moving much anymore. His shoulders quivered, and his tail was still. Marble watched Tumble Tower lean to one side, his upturned eye showing the orange sun, and his breathing slowed further. His lips parted a fraction.

And when night came, and the stars and moon had frosted his body with silver light, and when she could not control her shivering anymore, Marble stumbled to her sleeping hooves and walked back home.

Cloudy Quartz found him the following day, and the news ran through the house with quiet anger. Igneous got his pulse crystal again and stormed out the door, but was back an hour later. Cloudy remained quiet and attended to the duties of home, afraid to say anything. It was a tragedy, but she had warned them that they might come to it. Limestone wore her hurt plainly, and her eyes were fixed on her mother for just such a mistake. Anything she might say, Limestone was prepared to take it the wrong way.

Marble stayed in her room and watched the sunlight move. She had given a morning’s work and retreated to her bed, and no one stopped her, and there she remained until the next afternoon. The image of him was burned into her mind, and she cried freely for it for hours, face pressed down into her pillow.

When she had cried herself dry, Marble joined the family in time to help with the funerary preparations. Igneous had gone ahead to town—leaving his pulse crystal behind—to deliver the news, and Cloudy Quartz and the fillies worked on assembling a coffin. She possessed limited carpentry knowledge, and by the time he was back, they had a rough box for Tumble Tower, solid but not varnished, and poorly decorated. With him in it, they rode to Ponyville, met his brother on the border, and gave his body over. They did not attend his funeral; Igneous said it wasn’t proper, and Marble supposed she knew why.

With each passing day, the image of his face and his voice telling her to get father, too calm for someone dying, remained with her. She began to wonder what had gone through his head in those last moments, what he thought of her, standing over him instead of helping. Did he realize that she was afraid to help, beset with some new curse she did not know she had? Did he think ill of her at the last, thinking her stupid or malicious? He might have thought nothing of it, and died in peace. He might have thought that it did not matter that she had not gotten Igneous, because his time was up already and there was nothing more to be done; and he might have been right to think so. He might have not thought at all, she told herself, and simply died with a cloudy head and the sound of muffled wind in his ears. It might not have hurt, and it might have hurt very much.

This thought led her down its own path, which troubled her only in the nights, when she walked to the road’s edge and looked at where they had found him, and where she had found him. She did not know whether he had suffered in his last seconds. Surely he had suffered before that, but how much did it really matter?

She shied from asking herself that question, but each time it came, she shied a little less. At last, one night under a crescent moon, with a winter wind in the trees and on her damp face, she allowed herself to freely wonder.

How much did his suffering matter? In the case of Tumble Tower’s death, he had died alone and without ordeal that she could see. Her presence might have meant a lot to him, or it might have meant very little, but that, too, she could not imagine amounted to much in the scheme of things. The fact was that he was dead, and he was not suffering anymore. She wondered whether that fact eased the pain he had felt before finally dying, whether the inevitability of his death had given some pale comfort in the end.

Then, pulling at that thought more, she made the disquieting realization that his death did not affect her in any physical, measurable way. She was sad and frightened, but she was not harmed; she had not been made to suffer on his behalf, only by what she thought of it and of herself, and these thoughts were separate too. She had been his only witness, and, she wondered, if she had instead walked away and forgotten about him, then what? His suffering would be brief and empty, without witness and without empathy, with no way to ramify. In such a case, did it matter? Did one, single life, destined to end from the moment it crawled out of the woods, matter in any measurable way?

She did not know, and the thought terrified her. She cried until her chest and throat hurt, thinking she was evil, asking herself what kind of pony thought things like that. What did she lack that allowed her to brutishly question the significance of a friend’s death? She thought of Limestone, whom she considered the darker of the two, and who grieved openly for Tumble Tower, and Marble wondered what that made her.

On each subsequent night, she went to the road and went further down the path of thoughts, starting from the same point and always ending up comparing herself to Limestone, or to her parents, or to one of the departed sisters. She called herself selfish, stupid, and inconsiderate; she told herself that she did not understand anything, and from that premise drew the conclusion that what she felt was foundationally incorrect, and that she was, herself, fundamentally wrong. This made her cry harder, which reinforced her beliefs. If she were a better filly, she would confess to her sister and her parents, and ask for help. She would go to Ponyville and confess to Tumble Tower’s brother, and accept the punishment she deserved, for beside the fact that he was dead stood the fact that she had done nothing to help. Whether there was hope for him was immaterial; she did not know, and it had not crossed her mind to wonder about it at that time. She had no good reason to let him die, just the same base fear that kept her by the road, weeping for her own selfish heart, hating and relishing every second.

On a night in the middle of December, she lay by a fence post and stared at the soft clouds, filled with hatred. She had not hated before, but she recognized the feeling at once. She thought that if she could encounter herself somehow, she would hate that miserable-looking gray filly on sight. She saw weakness, selfishness, and the cowardly desire to hide from punishment. In every session by the road, she saw flagrant, self-centered fear, deferring the admission she deserved to make and her family deserved to hear.

Thinking these thoughts, she slowly raised her head to the sound of creaking wheels. A small halo of light appeared in the distance, illuminating a cart and an equine figure as it rounded a bend, and Marble watched it come. Perhaps she could confess to this stranger, she thought, but knew she lacked the strength even for that.

The cart stopped, and Marble took in brilliant white and purple stars adorning a base coat of blue, speckled with sprays of silver and gold, like a stylized map of the night sky. The wheels groaned as it halted, the canvas top rippled, and the lantern swung gently, a pair of moths in orbit. A young, blue unicorn with a long, argent mane was strapped into the oiled harness, and she greeted Marble with a wave and a high, haughty voice. “You’re the first pony I’ve seen ‘round these parts. Trixie, glad to meet’cha.”

She was headed to Ponyville, and asked Marble whether she was lost. Marble looked back toward the farm and thought of Pinkamena and Maud, the memory of each colored by despair. She thought of her family’s next time in Ponyville, which would come soon—unless it didn’t. From where she stood, bathed in the yellow lantern light and filled with cooling hatred, she was not in her right mind when she said that she was on her way to town. Trixie asked if Marble could help pull the cart, and Marble said she could, but did not immediately get into position, instead taking another minute to look homeward.

They walked together for an hour before pulling off into a thinner patch in the woods and preparing to sleep in the trailer. Dousing the lights and winding her harness up, Trixie told Marble a little about herself: that she was a traveling performer, a runaway from Trottingham who wanted to make it big in the great, wide world. She practiced illusionism of both magical and practical varieties, and fancied herself an actress as well, and she was proud to say that she had made it all the way up from Trottingham on her own, earning her daily bread with her shows or by foraging in wilder parts of the land.

Marble asked how far Trottingham was, and Trixie thought for a time before saying that she had been on the road for a couple years. “Years?” Marble repeated. She had not known how huge Equestria was, and that night, she found herself revisiting the thought, wondering what was out there and how to get to it.

In their time approaching Ponyville, conversation was largely one-sided, Trixie telling Marble stories of her journey and the life that had led her to it. She was born in Trottingham and had spent her formative years in a cottage near one of the smaller vineyards, alternating summer jobs between grape picking and unloading cargo for the airships that passed through the city. Her conservative parents pushed her to make something of herself in oenology, a subject in which she had shown a jot of promise before finding her cutie mark.

As they did, though, her cutie mark wound up having nothing to do with her upbringing, and when she found it, she, like Pinkamena, was drawn into the world. This she skipped over, the drama of her departure and the sorrow of parents left behind. Marble said she understood, but did not elaborate. It was clear that Trixie knew Marble was withholding information about herself, but had tact enough not to press, and Marble was grateful.

Like a traitor entering her former enemies’ camp for the first time, Marble felt as though every eye in Ponyville was on her the day she showed herself, outside her parents’ company. Her parents and sister had been through two runaways, and Marble could imagine the quickly dawning feelings as they realized that they were one more short. The family business had been sinking already; minus another worker, how could they possibly survive? The question reared up at the end of a long day of walking, the two of them camping in Trixie’s trailer just off the farm, where the family had graciously parted with some of their crop to feed the wayfarers. If they recognized Marble, they didn’t show it. Marble sat up, staring out the grimy port hole, letting realization after realization stack atop her, slowly internalizing the toxic feeling of what she had done.

She was not sure which was worse, that she had left her parents and sister to their fates on the dying farm, or that she had no intention of returning. In that night, crying and then trying not to cry, she felt despicable, soiled, and small, but also free.

Trixie performed for money while Marble stayed in the trailer, helping to clean and mend props. One afternoon, after a show, both mares were relaxing and counting Trixie’s money, and Trixie said, out of the blue, “I know a runaway when I see one, Marble.”

Marble did not know what to say to that, and Trixie explained that she had seen plenty of ponies just like Marble on her journey north, and traveled with a few. If Marble did not want to share her past, fine, but she was not fooling Trixie. Marble said that was okay.

They stayed in Ponyville for six days and did four shows. For the final one, performed on the northern end, Trixie talked Marble into playing her assistant. No words or tricks or anything, Trixie explained, just looking pretty and following stage directions. She coached Marble on smiling, which Marble found humiliating, but also vaguely comical.

Where Trixie moved about her stage with practiced ease and charisma, flourishing her cape and keeping up a rhythmic patter in time with the ceaseless stream of colorful, benign magic from her horn, Marble stood and wore her smile, following directions stiffly and awkwardly. She kept her eyes off the audience as much as she could, terrified that she would look up and see her parents among them, or Limestone, or even Pinkamena, whom she would not meet in Ponyville. She was an earth pony surrounded by unicorn magic, but it was Trixie’s confidence that made her feel strangest of all, as if Trixie were making a mistake sharing her world with Marble, and it was somehow Marble’s job to point it out. She wondered whether Trixie asking for her help had been an act of charity, and would wonder that for some time after leaving town.

They made enough money off that show for two days’ worth of food, if they were careful, which meant nothing to Marble, who did not know where they were going. They spoke of it over a foraged dinner, what Marble would do. She had initially said she was headed to Ponyville, and now she had arrived. Trixie, meanwhile, meant to keep going north. When Marble asked her where, Trixie responded with a shrug and a smile, and said something about heeding the call of adventure without worrying about the details. She had used that phrase in one of her stage tales as well.

What Marble told Trixie was that she might want to set down roots in Ponyville because the town seemed nice; what she felt was that she might still be able to redeem herself if she walked back to the farm. Her family would not be able to trust her for a long time, which was correct and deserved, but at least they would have a chance of survival. If they decided to move to Canterlot, Marble’s being there would make a world of difference. She said she would decide in the morning, and Trixie shrugged. She said that if Marble did wind up joining, she would need to get used to being an assistant, or perhaps something more, and Marble agreed that that was only fair.

Marble actually decided three hours later, on her evening walk about town. She talked to a couple strangers, learned Joyful Weaver’s fate, heard about Tumble Tower’s demise, and when the interaction got to be too much, she moved out to the countryside east of town. She smelled the air, thick with unshed rain, and watched the lights of distant Cloudsdale. The Pies would pass by, or sometimes under, the city on their way to Ponyville every month, but Marble had never given it much thought. Her experience with pegasi had been mostly relegated to seeing them from a distance and selling to them. To her, they were just earth ponies that flew, the floating city just something to look at.

She weighed her options, lying in a damp field, seeing herself in both positions. In the first, she was with Trixie, walking the wilderness to parts unknown, likely becoming friends and joining in the grand adventures Trixie described. In the second, she groveled and wept for her family, and promised to never raise her eyes to the horizon again, and was put to work. Simplifying it to herself: in the first, she was happy; and in the second, she got what she deserved.

Fear of rebuke was the deciding factor in the end, and the following morning, she got in the harness with Trixie, and the two of them marched out of town without a word between them.

They followed the train tracks north to Canterlot and skirted the mountain, stopping in neighborhoods off the suburbs’ fringes or in tiny hamlets farther out. They performed for small crowds and made enough to get by, and it took them a month to traverse Canterlot’s outer ring. There, Marble tried different routines for Trixie’s performances, but showed no real promise in anything. She could not use her hooves well enough for practical illusionism, had no sense of humor, and her singing voice was unremarkable. She got by as an assistant, but could tell that Trixie was getting weary of the routine.

Toward the end of their suburban circuit, they ventured deeper into the city and came to a strip mall, where they were able to afford some new clothes, supplies to renovate the trailer, a new deck of cards, and lunch in a hectic food court, where Marble saw a unicorn playing an acoustic guitar. She remembered him with one foreleg on a pedestal with the guitar leaning into his wither, little plugs of magic moving on the strings. Noticing, Trixie remarked, “Couldn’t hurt to try.”

Marble thought she had meant for their next show, but Trixie got up then and walked over to the stallion, bold as anything, and asked to borrow his instrument. He turned out to be happy to let someone else take a turn, and cheerfully showed Marble how to play, fumbling some to describe it to an earth pony.

Octavia spared a thin smile. “So you see, I even had an audience for my very first performance.”

She wasn’t able to do much with her hooves, which felt like rubber on the guitar strings, so close together and so thin, but when she felt she had taken enough of the stallion’s time, she discovered that everyone around was much impressed. When she asked about it later, Trixie told her that as a beginner, and an earth pony, she had shown obvious aptitude. Marble didn’t see it, which seemed to bolster Trixie’s stance more.

They were on the road north of Canterlot for several days before the next village, a homey little nook of a town called The Bend, carved directly into a hillside. Trixie picked up a gift shop guitar and a pack of spare strings and gave them to Marble. They sat up and messed with it into the night, their only company a cheap radio in the corner, and before they had gone to bed, Marble had figured how to imitate the first twenty seconds of one of the pop songs that kept coming on. Trixie didn’t say much, and it didn’t occur to Marble that she had discovered something, not until much later.

By the time they were in sight of their next village, a smoky clump of buildings in the middle of a sagging, chilly forest, Marble could play with competency that belied her inexperience, and Trixie asked her if she was comfortable playing for a show. Marble said she didn’t know any songs, and Trixie told her to try to make one. That, too, had not occurred, but on the following day, Marble had done it. The song was short and precise, but full of feeling, and Trixie, moved, insisted that she perform.

So they got Marble an empty crate and plopped it down on the stage for her, and she played her music while Trixie changed costumes for the second half of her show. She did not see the audience, not from fear of looking at them, but from her focus on the music. In privacy, the guitar had come to feel like a plaything to her, absent the pressure to perform, but on that night, for her audience of thirty, she felt again the weight of life on her back. Their money, their livelihood, felt to rest solely on Marble’s ability to perform. When she ran out of prefabricated material, and Trixie had not yet come back, she stumbled and slowed, and time ran on ahead of her like a frozen river while one hoof strummed the same note over and over.

It was the look of eager expectation in one audience member’s face, she later decided, that moved her. She realized in an instant that they were waiting, not for her to fail or go away, but for her to do something amazing. So, taking that one note she monotonously strummed, Marble constructed a simple tune of variations and good-seeming ideas, and she lost herself in the music a second time. She could not think of home then, nor did she think of it for many days after.

That particular night, Octavia wished she could remember better, for it was the night she got her cutie mark. She remembered applause, and whistles, and Trixie patting her on the back and then stepping away for Marble to bow a second time, alone. Money showered the stage loudly, and the ponies all dispersed, talking amongst themselves, a cloud of noise breaking apart among the trees. She remembered Trixie jumping up and down and pointing at her flank, and she remembered being thunderstruck, and she remembered flinching at the sound of a cork exploding out of a bottle and the fleshy slap of foaming liquid on wooden floor.

And talking. She remembered talking, talking more than she ever had, about all sorts of things that seemed massive at the time but would not be remembered. Plans for the future, inspiration for songs, sentiment. This was all new to her, and as she took more sparkling wine, the sense of triumph seemed to lift her ever higher.

“Now that I think about it, it was quite similar to how I felt in Tartarus.” She looked at Colgate, who looked back with polite curiosity.

After that, life was easy for quite some time. They steadily moved north as winter gave way to spring, and by the time they reached the midpoint to the closest big city, the warmth had driven ponies out of their homes and into Trixie’s audience, and they found themselves with more money than they knew what to do with. Marble was pulling in viewers on her own, but still insisted that they perform together; she did not like the idea of a show all to herself, though she had enough music in her head to do it.

For about a week after her cutie mark, Marble did not think of home or family. She thought of where she had come from, which was south of where she was, but such thoughts only served to heighten her experience far away. She walked and performed, inexplicable friends with the wanderer from farther south than she, and lived from show to show. They had enough money to be comfortable, though she never was comfortable, for she was always on the move. Each village was only good for two or three shows before the ponies grew tired of them, and they had to move on, so she never set down roots. She did not ask Trixie about it because, as it seemed to her, Trixie had been traveling alone for so much longer, and she was fine. Marble frequently reminded herself that she was in no hurry, and that there was nothing wrong. She was alive and she was content, and no one relied upon her for anything.

Such thoughts did not last. As the novelty of her cutie mark wore off, and in its place developed a sense of obligation, she turned her thoughts back south. Her night walks resumed, and at those times, she let herself be horrified afresh by what she saw when she reflected. She had been blinded by success and had tricked herself into happiness she did not deserve. What use was a cutie mark for someone like her, she asked herself. Talent was all well and good, and it earned them money, but it did not erase the self-centered cowardice that stigmatized her heart, nor could it ever. She could not bear to think of her family without her, and her unconscious mind spun the three of them into miserable storylines that she would occasionally review to torture herself. Thinking them destitute, bankrupt, crouching in some filthy apartment or a debtor’s prison, or on some street corner somewhere, she invariably convinced herself that she was not worthy of her talents or of the livelihood they afforded.

Beside the family was Tumble Tower’s dead face and heavy body, the body she had let expire. In her more philosophical moods, she compared her family and Tumble Tower and found them quite similar as they related to her. The comparison brought her down on herself, and she wondered which was the greater crime, abandoning her family or letting her friend die. Yet, guilt for both was not enough, for all the contrition in the world would not undo what she had done, and, when she looked at it realistically, she knew that no action she could do would reverse her choices. She reasoned that the best she could do was wear her shame, learn from it, and show her sorrow to anyone who chose to look.

None of this did she share with Trixie, who was so used to her tacit nature that she did not ask when Marble was silent or moody. And why should she? She had never known Marble when she was young. She had no reason to expect anything different.

In September, they followed a sequence of small lakes between a maze of wooded valleys and scrubby peaks, and Trixie taught Marble how to forage for mushrooms. There was no one to perform for in the lake chain, and the two were alone but for each other for close to a week. On these nights, particularly painful, Marble took her guitar to the lakes’ edges and composed music. She had a talent for dirges and elegies, which were sometimes good for audiences, but Trixie kept urging her to learn some happier tunes as well, things that could be played to the rhythm of swinging flagons.

It was the beginning of autumn when they reached Hoofington, and Marble had turned into Octavia. Never exposed to musical notation, she had simply heard “octave” in an audience once, liked the sound of it, its roundness in her mouth, and changed it a little to suit as a name. She played as The Gorgeous and Magnificent Octavia, and she had her own hat and cape, much more subdued in color and pattern than Trixie’s. She let her mane grow out and Trixie helped her style it. Her stage persona was that of Trixie’s foil: a brooding, mature artist-type who used her music to touch the hidden wells of emotion that Trixie could not. She experimented with not speaking on stage, but it did not fit her personality.

Octavia hadn’t seen it, but Trixie had, and Octavia later decided she owed a deep debt of gratitude to the unicorn for pushing her. She was content to keep traveling and living show-to-show, but Trixie told her, flat out, that it was a bad idea. She said that Octavia had a lot more to offer than just cheap music for a traveling show. In their months together, she had grown into a proficient musician, the best Trixie had seen—not that she had encountered very many in her time, but still. She told Octavia that she should find something better, and, a few days later, walked her to the local college.

Grace Notes Artistic University was Hoofington’s premiere college for music and dance, with courses offered in other focuses as well. Its old-styled, pillared courtyard opened wide on a quad busy with young ponies, welcoming the eyes and drawing attention to the three buildings, arranged like prongs on a trident and connected with bulky, engraved bridges, which Octavia would learn on her orientation the students had decorated themselves. Chestnut and cedar trees grew off the buildings’ sides like billowing skirts, and on their tops too, Octavia could make out fuzzy tips of gardens. She was so amazed and intimidated, standing on the cobbled walk with her friend, that she refused Trixie’s suggestions for days afterwards.

But, in the end, Trixie implored and beseeched her enough, and Octavia crossed the sunny quad and knocked on the admission officer’s door. For her, admission was an awkward and overlong affair, for she had no formal education, no GED, and yet possessed a music cutie mark. Papers were signed, officials were consulted, demonstrations were made with her guitar and her singing voice, and in the end, she took a test just to make sure she had enough sense to fit in with a college environment. The test was a formality for cases like hers, her advisor assured; the school saw ponies with art cutie marks all the time, and if they were going to turn her away, they would have done so already.

Trixie stayed in town the whole time, and Octavia kept performing. For her final show, Trixie ceded the stage to her for longer than usual, and Octavia skipped the prepared songs and chose to improvise. It was a perfectly average show, not memorable except that it was her last, and Octavia and Trixie finished their night talking and reminiscing, dry-eyed both.

Bright and early the following day, Octavia took her textbooks and her guitar up to Grace Notes and disappeared from Trixie’s life. There, for six years and a semester, she learned, changed majors, and festered. Her creativity stagnated; what had seemed profound in Trixie’s shows turned out to be moderate skill in one particular style of songwriting. Her peers seemed to outshine her in all things, developing their music and making it their own, while she plodded forward, doing exactly what was asked of her and no more. With sheet music in front of her, she could play most anything, but without, she fell into the same sad pigeonhole.

Her friends were acquaintances, mostly other reserved ponies who enjoyed complaining of how they had been cheated in life, or how they looked around them and saw only pedestrian minds. It started as good-humored sarcasm in her first year, and by the third, those that remained had turned to bitter, morose artists who, like her, played in dingy nightclubs and constantly critiqued their own art. Not enough meaning, they would decry of themselves, or sophomoric, or lacking subtlety. Octavia did not particularly like these ponies, but she knew that she belonged with them. While they dwelt on their failings, so too did she, and she began to see Tumble Tower in crowds and in her dreams. In the latter, he joined her smiling family, standing on the doorstep or chatting in the fields, motionless as though posing for a portrait. The dreams gave her endless fear and loathing, and her music grew all the darker for it. Her professors were nonplussed while her peers used words like “genius” and “underappreciated.” She performed in smoke-filled dorms, and in those same dorms discovered her sexuality with an oboe player two years her junior, a dark little pegasus mare who came from a rich family.

She graduated with no honors and a presentable GPA, enough credentials and connections to get her a job in television or radio, and recorded a few jingles just out of college. She scored one of her friend’s film projects, which went nowhere. She kept her dark attitude and moody music, but cleaned up her appearance, and in two years’ time, rode a different friend’s coattails into the local orchestra, where she thrived.

Where she had felt crushed and stunted in college, she felt enlivened in the orchestra. Following the conductor and letting her music meld into a greater whole, the sense of teamwork gave her happiness and lightness of heart that she had not felt in a very long time. She excelled where others slowed down, happy to follow directions, her creative side long since beaten flat. Where many of her acquaintances were already jaded, or thought they had reached the peaks of their abilities, Octavia felt liberated. More skilled with the technical aspects of musicianship, she quickly became the mare to rely on in her orchestra, and her name grew. Hoofington contained her for a time, but when she received an offer to join the Manehattan Philharmonic, she realized that she had “made it.”

From there, the cycle repeated. She was blinded by her success, and thoughts of family and Tumble Tower quit her mind for a few happy and prosperous months when she became a sensation. Her severe aspect, her commanding presence on stage, her raw skill, and her mysterious origins made her into an almost mythic figure in the music world, an image she was savvy enough to encourage. Raven hair, black tuxedoes, a dour expression, and her unadorned cello made her an imposing figure for the magazine covers.

Crowds of hundreds became crowds of thousands, and her net worth skyrocketed while her self-esteem plummeted. She imagined that her family would recognize her—her face was everywhere, it seemed—and she thought of the seething and just anger they would feel. She imagined all the usual terrible things and made herself miserable even as her wealth grew.

“You know the rest,” Octavia said with a small shrug.

“Uhh,” Applejack said. “Pardon me, but Ah think you’d better finish the story, Octavia.”

“She’s right,” Fluttershy said. “You’ve come this far.”

She purchased a mansion in Hoofington and began a collection of musical instruments, and it was in that mansion that the most beloved classical musician of the time began the painful process of unraveling herself, bit by bit, dream by dream.

The problem, which she did not grasp then, was that she could come home. After months away on the biggest stages, in the most expensive company, supping on the most exquisite food and getting drunk on the most overpriced spirits, and then drying out over the most luxurious airship rides money could buy, Octavia could come back to her mansion, maintained by an army of servants, and collapse into her own bed, where her thoughts would rush back in on an exhausted, burned out heart. In the absence of work, she could only turn to herself, and the dreams that had germinated through college began to bear fruit.

Dark silhouettes sank to the ground and lay still, and disembodied voices questioned and berated her. Later, black faces would appear in cupboards and in the throats of brass instruments, or manifested and curled up on her pillows and bundled sheets. She would wake up drenched in sweat, then pace the mansion and its grounds at odd times of the night. Sometimes, she would practice her music with the stars.

Staying awake helped for a time, but as the dreams slowly folded outwards, Octavia could only look on herself with detached horror, seeing without understanding, feeling without thinking. She heard doors close through the walls, and heard shouts of alarm or sorrow in the dead of night. Sometimes, she would doze in her chair and come out shaking, not entirely certain whether the nightmare had been real or a fiction. Afterimages flashed at her from blank spaces on furniture, and servants’ voices took on mocking tones.

Octavia cleared her throat. “Obviously, a lot of this was due to the fact that there was a Tartarus gateway in my attic.”

“The pinhole,” Twilight said.

“Yes. I did not know that then. I simply thought that I was coming unhinged.” She sighed. “I know the servants thought the same. I wish I could apologize to them.”

“But if all these things were actually happening,” Rarity said, “wouldn’t a servant tell you she noticed it too? Wouldn’t that mean it wasn’t all in your head?”

“I do not really know, to be honest. I think many of them blamed me, as though I were at fault somehow. Like I was haunted, perhaps.”

“In a literal sense, you mean,” Twilight said.

“That is correct.”

The house groaned and soughed, and hoofsteps echoed in the drywall, and the dreams became heavier and longer, their memories sticking to her conscious mind like molasses. The blank figures she saw turned aggressive, pouncing on her in bed and screaming into her mouth, or locking her in shrinking rooms. She would flinch from shadows, and would not dine after the sun went down, though she stayed up with her instruments more and more, banging her piano and grinding out piece after piece on her viola. Plates and vases began to break, and she would only realize much later that she was the culprit, frenzied and sleepless, terrifying her servants and herself with lengthening fits of rage and panic.

Her career could not go on with her in such a state, and her stardom faltered with her performance. The torrent of money became a trickle, photo shoots became less frequent, and she eventually resigned from the Manehattan Philharmonic. Looking back, she thought it was a dumb thing to do, but it made sense at the time. It fit the tragic story she believed it was her fate to soon conclude.

Fame and fortune took on the ugly aspects anyone could have expected, but for which she was not prepared. A perfectionist amongst perfectionists, with a guilty conscious and a sense of self-worth warped by years of isolation followed by years of worship, she was incapable of approaching her problems except through her music, which grew darker and more experimental, and temporarily bolstered her income when she found a producer. She went to one therapy session before dismissing the practice, and buried herself in work and assiduous self-loathing. Sleep came less frequently, and the dreams got worse still, and while she knew she was slipping, she had no idea how to help herself. Meanwhile, she had begun to see her sister—at first she did not believe it—in the newspaper, the new Element of Laughter, right there for Princess Luna’s exorcism with a team of friends Octavia had never heard of. She vainly combed the papers for any mention of herself in her sister’s articles.

Her label dropped her some time after, her manager claiming as delicately as he could that she was too unreliable and too temperamental, and Octavia swallowed this without a word of objection. She slunk back to her mansion, where she remained for several more months, alternatively working quietly on one opus or another and restlessly pacing rooms or practicing her instruments.

The cycle would refresh from time to time if a project was finished or a new instrument was added to the collection, and she would take on a small job or two with each new renewal. As it always did, she circled back upwards in her time, and began to take temporary work when she found it. The money resumed its influx, but the servants started falling off, and Octavia searched for a new place to live; she was beginning to see the faces in more than just her house.

When she found a cheap apartment in Lower Canterlot, she packed two bags and her cello case and left, leaving the house key to the head servant. She took the train from Hoofington to Canterlot and stared glassily at the passing countryside the whole way down, uplifted but hardly realizing it. The mansion was behind her at last, the symbol of her stupidity, her years of excess and blind greed, left to rot with her accumulated but lessened wealth. Though she did not really think she could ever return to her family, and knew she could not bring Tumble Tower back to life, she could at least offer her sacrifice as a gesture of contrition. Somewhere, maybe her parents would find out what had happened to their daughter, and could be comforted by her acceptance of the life she deserved—or something a lot like it, anyway.

She had performed in the Canterlot suburbs hundreds of times, but never alone, and when she took the taxi from the train station to her new home, she cried without shame. It was strange homesickness that made the tacky faces of stores and cookie-cutter houses seem friendly: time-worn companions ready to accept and soothe, bland familiarity dressed up as old-world dignity or modern class; so much nondescript, domestic routine, straight from a time and a place where Everything Was Alright. Was this the life she had forsaken, or was it the life she had stumbled into at last? Was it a life she would simply view from behind burning, sleep-deprived eyes?

Musing on her new stage of life, she nonetheless felt better in the weeks after the move, her mind and life free of its former clutter. She kept to herself and did her work, took fewer jobs, watched dispassionately as money disappeared again. Rent, utilities, groceries, the occasional debauched night, and the occasional attempt to recapture some or another lost memory added up, and she hardly worked. By that time a year later, she was considering taking up a day job at a nearby gardening center.

The Grand Galloping Gala was coming up, and an old college associate apparently put in a good word for her, because Octavia received the gilt invitation in her mailbox without any advances on her part. She took the job and took the train up to Greater Canterlot, and rehearsed with three others for a plain performance in the royal hall, little more than background music for socialites and dignitaries as they mingled and fawned over the princesses. She thought nothing of it, and on the night of, awake for her thirty-ninth hour and head a stew of vague pain and fevered thoughts, she was sure she was hallucinating when she saw Pinkamena in the crowd.

“And now you truly do know the rest,” Octavia said.

“You can do it,” Vinyl said.

Glaring at her, Octavia continued.

Her sister rushed on stage, reeking of fruit punch and sweat, scraped out some tuneless jingle on her cello, and dove into what looked like, from the band’s point of view, a developing riot. If Pinkamena recognized her sister, she gave no indication, and Octavia was in no condition to chase her down.

So the night went to pieces, the band griped and got drunk at a classy bar that Octavia could neither afford nor turn down, and she went back to her apartment feeling curiously violated. So long had she envisioned the two circles of her life intersecting, and now that they had finally touched tangents, she had no idea what to do.

A few months later, she stood in the queue at the train station, seeing whether there was a way out of town so soon after the battle with Discord, and was there approached by the Element of Generosity, who had provided one of her outfits for a magazine shoot. She met the Elements of Harmony, and later her sister, and made the life-changing offer.

Warehouse Hazard

Chapter One hundred-four

Warehouse Hazard

With only four days until Flitter was slated to change bodies, she was in character all the time. Ink Pearl had found her a cheap apartment near the base of the mountain, not far from the suburbs where Colgate had flamed out, and helped her move one early morning while Wings and Jet were at work. Flitter had been nearly useless in the move. It was as though her head had space only for the shrinking countdown on her new body, and the veneer of fear and perverse anticipation that came with it. To see her life, first reduced to a couple boxes full of possessions, then unceremoniously trucked to her smaller, dirtier, lonelier apartment, touched her in a way she had not expected. She almost cried as the penultimate box was squeezed through the doorway.

“What’ll I tell Wings and Jet?” she had asked.

“Whatever you like,” Ink Pearl had said, “just not the truth, and not where you’ll be.” She fished around in an accordion folder of papers for a minute and gave Flitter a form with contact information on it—not Flitter’s actual contact information. “They can write to this address, and you can write back through an intermediary if you want, but—ah!” She pulled back as Flitter reached for it. “All new bodies are required to sever contact with old friends and loved ones sooner or later. You’ll get ninety days to do it with this. Do you want to prolong that process?”

She had considered for several minutes while Ink masked her impatience. “I’ll just go. It’ll be like ripping off a bandage,” Flitter finally said, and Ink drove her to her new apartment.

That had been two days prior; now, she and Chilly Clouds walked down a quiet promenade in the fixed predawn, mingling with the few shoppers and retirees who were out and about on a Thursday morning. Flitter, in April Showers’ character, spoke little and used passers-by to practice her dead-eyed stare. With every non-pegasus she saw, she tagged them with a racial slur in her head, trying to loathe them, her feelings drawn from a very limited repository of bitterness. That anger, Chilly had told her time and time again, would be the most important trait to learn. Pegasus Advocates did not exclusively hate non-pegasi; they had room to hate those who were too tolerant.

They crossed a wide intersection and hooked sharply west to a record store. Chilly held the door for Flitter, who mumbled thanks with her best surly voice. There, they made a show of browsing the selections while the other customers filtered out, and then Chilly went to the clerk. Flitter paid them no attention, and after a short exchange, Chilly beckoned her into the back room, where they passed a few awkward minutes examining the promotional posters on the walls. When someone knocked on their door, they followed a Datura in street wear down a stone hallway, from which they emerged into a large, wood-paneled room, filled by three ponies and a maze of desks and countertops, piled with papers and chemistry equipment. Flitter’s eyes went immediately to the centerpiece at the back.

Chilly stayed to greet the workers by name, but Flitter approached the narrow table with heart hammering and mouth dry. Under the glass cloche, there was no question of who the pale, hairless pony-shape was.

“Here, ma’am,” one Datura said, floating a clipboard over to her. “These are mock-ups of how you’ll look when you’re done.”

Flitter took the clipboard and held it, enamored and horrified at herself. She was used to ponies with fur; seeing her new skin, weak and pink, stippled by countless follicles and freckled in places that would never, ever matter to any observer, she felt like an observer at a crash site. She was disgusted, but mesmerized. The eyes were closed, the lips and jaw relaxed to reveal a corner of molar. She wondered whether April Showers had fillings already.

Mutely, Flitter turned through the pages given her, taking in sketch after sketch of her pending body, her face, her wings, her mane and tail, herself naked, herself clothed. Taking her eyes off the blank body, she examined the rows of vials and pipettes arranged on an adjoining table, a glass gradient of browns and yellows, labeled different bodily fluids. On a modified coat rack, hanging limp inside a glass case, was her new mane, its amethyst cast weathered and sun-faded.

“She looks great,” Chilly said.

“How can you tell?” Flitter asked.

“From experience. April Showers is gonna be a fine specimen. You’re getting your heart today.”

“Neat…” She traced her eyes across the room, searching for the organ. “This is common practice, you said.”

“Relatively common.”

Flitter looked at her new self again, gaze coming to rest on the nude pinna of her wing, ugly and pathetic without its feathers, smaller than it felt to be attached to her. She looked back at her own wing, amazed and aghast, and flexed it.

“So bright and early Monday, we’re going to come back here, and you’ll transfer,” Chilly said gently. “No dinner for you on Sunday, remember.”

“How? How will I… how?”

“There’s a room.” What she said after was lost on Flitter, who knew already. Chilly’s placid tone told her everything. She would go into a room, be put to sleep, and somehow wake up behind a new pair of eyes. Of the details, as Chilly went on, she found she cared not at all. That she would have magical guide points to help her spirit move to the new vessel was immaterial. That she would spend the next few hours as helpless as an infant, subsisting on milk and vitamin drips, was immaterial. Her ears buzzed and her pulse squirmed, and she finally felt clear-headed only after they had left the bunker and exited the record store façade.

“I know it’s scary,” Chilly said. “We do this all the time, though. You couldn’t be in better hooves."

“It’s not even that,” Flitter said, a partial lie. “What I’m doing afterwards, too.”

Chilly nodded slowly. “Ink wouldn’t have chosen you if she thought you couldn’t handle it.”

* * * * * *

Established in a slightly more comfortable hotel room than where he had started, Whippoorwill sat on the bed in his day-wear and read the morning paper. The PAs were stirring up trouble everywhere, it seemed, and more and more did the Astras’ name pop up in those same articles. Someone was probably profiting from the tension between the two groups, he imagined, and the fact that he did not know who it was worried him. He could tell that Violet Astra, the only one he had met, was getting tired of him, and he knew that White Wine and her PA group felt the same. She had grudgingly given him a list of duties, all over the phone, to help bring Strawberry’s old plan to life, and they talked for a bit after. In those few minutes, he had thought he detected in her voice a hint of his old friend, with it the suggestion of forgiveness.

The list, however, suggested no such thing. It suggested a vicious mare, a poisoned and cruel pony in whom anger had taken root too long ago. His was the job to blackmail, to slander, and to intimidate key players in White Wine’s plan, most of which she did not allow him to know. That did not bother him—he had spent most of his career working for ponies who considered themselves, rightly or not, puppet masters. What bothered him was the base hatred, the undistilled will to cause harm, on display in her intentions and her words. His previous employers had all been calculating and clinical to various degrees, and it was under them that he had learned to be the same; White Wine operated inside the inefficient confines of prejudice. They had once known each other, but he wondered whether she remembered it as clearly and fondly as he did.

In the agony of reminiscence, Whippoorwill had placed his list in a drawer and let it collect dust beside a brochure the concierge had given him. He wanted to trust White Wine, and he wanted to believe that she trusted him. If they could just go back to the good old days, he often thought, then everything… He wasn’t sure. A practical stallion, he never let himself spend too much time with romantic thinking, but distractions were harder and harder to come by, and he knew soon he would have to begin working on the plan.

He had not gone farther than the hotel lobby since arriving, sometimes taking his breakfast in the small cafeteria and other times meeting the Astras’ intermediary. Such meetings were the only bright moments for him, and he had considered many times requesting things he did not need just so he could see the chipper, talkative stallion; it was on this day, while Flitter grappled with her own private horror half a city away, that he finally did.

At three-thirty, he went down to the lobby and waited by the family fun zone, taking his favorite chair that put a potted fern between him and the front door. There, he waited for his contact, and there, ten minutes later, he met him. The brown stallion shook his hoof and eyed him up and down, smiling under the weight of what Whippoorwill had requested. Whippoorwill used his horn to relieve the pony, and the two went up to his floor—but not his room—where the stallion knew to deposit Whippoorwill’s things. At the elevators, they shared a moment of silence, and then Whippoorwill asked him if he wanted to come inside.

“Do I?” was the brown stallion’s rejoinder.

So they repaired to Whippoorwill’s room, stale and sunless, and the pony never stopped talking. How the Astras had shown him immense kindness, how their friendship had opened doors to even greater friendships, and how his future could not be brighter, he spoke like a waterfall of persiflage. Whippoorwill unpacked all his new clothing, basking in the monologue, uplifted by the sound of someone else’s voice. No one else in town was happy to see him, but this pony sounded like their brief meeting was the keystone of his day.

Pinching the shoulders of a tartan jacket in twin dots of magic, he stepped into it and did a slow turn for the tall mirror he had requested on day one of his new residency.

“Sharp look, dear boy,” the stallion said.

“Needs tailored,” Whippoorwill said. “Ah’m not sure Ah wanna go fer it.”

“Well, you can’t rightly get it tailored anyway, you silly thing. Not from here.”

“Ah can write my measurements down for ya.” He replaced the jacket with a green-gray suit and a bola tie, its jacinth center like a dying coal at his throat. He topped himself with a dark brown stetson and let the stallion take him in.

“Dashing! Just marvelous!”

Whippoorwill smiled and began to strip off his suit.

“A taste like yours should not be cloistered away like this,” the stallion said, trotting to the curtained window. “You belong out in the world, astonishing dinner parties.”

“Hey. Curtains.”

The pony stepped away.

“Ah’ve got my place in the world,” Whippoorwill continued, brushing an invisible speck off the sleeve.

“Not so good a place, if I may be so bold. Do you know what part of town you’re in? Do you, I ask?”

“Mm, can’t say as Ah do.” He grabbed a black and white hound's-tooth pocket square and searched for something it could conceivably pair with.

“My friend, this is the very center of the Plowshare District. The Plowshare District!”

Whippoorwill looked at him blankly.

“Greater Canterlot is not all garden parties and ballrooms, no indeed! On the outer lip of this glorious promontory, there lies a decrepit orphrey of average businesses and upper middle-class houses, the very face of gentrification, a corona of unremarkability that creeps ever inward on our beloved palace.” He twirled and threw himself onto Whippoorwill’s bed, regarding him upside-down as the unicorn donned a soft, black ulster. “This is the place where the ambitious and the lucky find themselves pulled to from the miasma of the ‘burbs, only to swirl among the endless, coursing masses of ponies just like themselves, all cheap ephemera, too good for the town below and not quite good enough for the town above. A frail existence of unasked-for, competent tradesponies and well-to-do homemakers, torn between living the wealth they thought they had and retreating to their pitiable nests far below. Ahh, there is some romance to it, is there not? The romance of the real, of the raw!” He hopped off the bed and put a hoof to Whippoorwill’s outfit.

“Fabric’s nice, ain’t it?”

“A delight to the senses, and a balm to this weary mind,” the stallion said. “Alas, I seem to have rather worked myself up in all this talk of your section of town. Of course, you are free to live as you see fit, but I do not think it just that one such as you should waste away in this limbo. There are finer things well within your grasp, should you simply reach.”

“Like Ah said, Ah’ve got my place,” Whippoorwill said, shrugging off the ulster.

“And I mine,” the pony said. “It would be a crime for me not to make the offer to you.”

Whippoorwill did another turn in a pair of black stove pipe trousers and a lilac polo shirt, partially shellacked by a black and purple jacquard vest.

“Ah can’t leave this room. Ah believe that was made clear.”

“As glass, my dear boy! That was not my suggestion at all.” The pony joined him at the mirror and made a funny face. “My day is free, save a rather dull engagement with the papers later tonight. I meant merely to quit the hotel and then return, bringing with me a little something we might share. A fragment of my world, which I would graciously bring to you, that we may share in its wonder.”

“Mm-hm. An’ what might that fragment be, doctor?”

The stallion winked. “Something much better than what your room service can provide, that I promise!”

Whippoorwill began trying on a new outfit, watching the stallion through the reflection, searching him for guile and finding only attraction. “Sure, Ah won’t decline ya. Ah could do with some comp’ny.”

“Then I sha’n’t tarry! You’ll find me shading your doorstep and crowding your embrasure again before the evening, Mr. Whippoorwill!”

By seven, Whooves had returned with a strange bottle and a picnic basket filled with small foodstuffs that he claimed had come to him from “a grateful, but anonymous, benefactor.” They cleared the work desk, and as Whooves arranged it, Whippoorwill showered. When he emerged, damp and wrapped in his bath robe, he could only stare and make plain his amazement.

Cordial glasses with feathered designs around their sides glowed in the weak light from outside, inverted bells of liquid brass over a spread so deliberately arranged that it could have been on the cover of a magazine, which lost only some of its luster when he snapped shut the curtains.

He sat and plucked a fat grape from its stem, one cluster under a second and atop a plate lively with designs of phlox and heather. Beads of moisture turned the room’s white light into a dash of salt across the grapes’ skins. Whooves took up a triangular cheese and pimento sandwich—no crust—and examined it, his smirk poorly restrained, before putting it down and selecting a gherkin from a long tray inlaid with jade arabesques efferent from a golden sun. On either side, a crescent moon of bread slices, rye and wheat, and a counterpart sun-shaped plate for the cheese, each slice separated from its neighbors by squares of champagne-pink film. A short spreading knife rested in a shallow ramekin beside a jar of stone-ground mustard, its silver handle wrapped with the shapes of the Equestrian continent.

“Whoops! Can’t forget the most important piece!” He reached into his picnic basket and produced a short, blue candle, its top frozen with ripples from much use. “Care to do the honors?”

With his horn, Whippoorwill lit the candle and let the scent of lilac unfurl over their table. He looked at his cordial glass.

“The finest aquavit money can buy, I’m told,” Whooves said. “Taste.”

Whippoorwill hesitantly raised the glass to his lips, unsure what to expect, and shot it back. He grimaced and gagged, and Whooves laughed.

“Aha! Looks like you’re a little overeager there, heavy hitter! Let’s top that off, hmm?”

Whippoorwill raised his other hoof, his first at his mouth as he leaned partially out of his chair. Whooves laughed again.

“Just water, then. Tsk, more for me.” He made a show of getting Whippoorwill a glass from the bathroom and filling it with tap. “Well, it’s not so special, I suppose. They use dye in this, did you know? True aquavit is clear, so I hear—something to do with the barrels, or some such nonsense. But let us not let this little setback mar our camaraderie.” Nodding to himself, he began eating in earnest, and Whippoorwill took a few gherkins to get the taste of alcohol out of his mouth.

“Ah trust ya ‘bout the outside world,” Whippoorwill finally said. “And Ah ‘ppreciate the gesture. It ain’t easy bein’ cooped up in this here hotel.”

“No, I should think not. Actually, I know not, if you’d believe it. Did you know—Ah, silly doctor, of course he’d not have reason to—but did you know, I traveled with the Elements of Harmony for a piece?”

“No kiddin’.”

“They’ve got this big fancy airship, they do, and let me tell you.” He bit into his second triangle of sandwich. “Looong are the days riding that beast from town to town. So maybe you and I are not so different in that regard.”

Whippoorwill opened his mouth to add that he, too, had met the Elements, but instead took water.

“A lovely bunch, they. Ah, ‘tis a shame we had to part ways.”

“How’d you lose ‘em?”

Whooves drained the brown liquid and refilled his tiny glass. “Rather an unpleasant story, but I should not mind to share it with a friend. How to put it, though? Let us just say that the Elements are not so perfect as society makes them to be. One of them—I dare not put a name to her, for the sake of discretion—had a failing at rather an important juncture. Applewood, the flood, the power outage. Ring a bell?”

“Course.”

Whooves winked. “Ah, the picture I could paint of that loathsome night. A cacophony of concrete, a miasma of machinery… such a tumultuous ride across the dimmed and dying heart of a brave and brash Equestria, the former city of lights and wealth, into the gnashing maw of evil itself! That selfsame airship did not seem so cramped that night, no no! For hither and thither we ran, witless and terrified.” He shot back another glass. “Grandiosity does not even approach the scene! For hours, we toiled, wrestling with Discord’s hydroelectric colossus, magic turned against magic, pure force against pure force, like fencers or philosophers squared up in an arena of their own making. It was like an epic poem, something made to grace lips far more skilled than mine.”

“You always talk like this?”

Whooves grinned. “The soul of the artist knows not when to look inward, nor should it.”

“You said you were a doctor.”

“Oh, don’t be so exact. It dulls the senses. Now, where was I?” He stood up and pirouetted around the room, his food forgotten, his capped bottle tipping onto the carpet as he made his way to the open space by the window. “At last, we were about to deliver the finishing blow, but hope and vim were spent, save for one. One of us, yet, had power to crush our opponent. But what did fly from her, I ask? What magical spell touched the night, like a coruscating cannonball, shot stern to bow, its holy light the only warning to a world that would soon see deliverance from Discord’s prized possession? Nothing.” He looked into Whippoorwill’s eyes and repeated the word.

“So they failed. Yeah, Ah know that. It was in the news a while ago.”

“Bah! You’re no fun.” He cleared his throat. “For the want of an effort, the battle was lost. No? Perhaps the news puts it differently. But I was there, I saw it with my own two eyeballs. The others were distracted, and it was to keep quiet this secret shame that I was put to pasture.”

“That’s very interestin’,” Whippoorwill said. He wasn’t sure how much to believe, but seeing the other pony prance about was entertaining in its own way.

“The stories I could tell, the stories I could tell,” Whooves said, taking his seat. “Ah, before I forget, my friend, I meant to indicate a few places near the hotel, should you ever see fit to go wandering. There’s this lovely bodega—”

A skin of magic paused his hoof as it reached for the dresser drawer. Whippoorwill smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Ah’ve got a couple personal affects in that drawer. It’s nor fer pryin’ eyes, if ya take my meanin’.”

“Nothing so scandalous, I wot.” He clapped his free hoof over his muzzle.

“Pardon?”

“Ah! That is, I would assume, by your dashing self, the radiant figure you cut in the nascent sunlight, that anything unsavory would be most far outside your realm of experience. Is it not so?”

“You were snoopin’ while Ah was in the shower. What did you see?”

“As I said—”

“What did you see?” He rose to lean on the table, jostling the grapes, and Whooves quailed.

“N-nothing to incriminate, I swear upon my life,” Whooves managed. “Seemed just a rather odd checklist, ‘twas all I gathered.” As Whippoorwill sat down, Whooves seemed to grow back into himself, and bounced in his seat. “Might it be the source of your exile to this dreary enclave? If so, Mr. Whippoorwill, perhaps—”

“Shut up.” Horn still idly alight, he looked pointedly in the direction of his valise, unassuming in the corner. Behind it, he had hidden one of his pulse crystals.

“Consider me shut,” Whooves whispered.

Whippoorwill picked at another grape. Whooves was lying; the checklist was red with incrimination, written by one who had not expected anyone to see it. His mistake, letting the strange pony into his room, but it was done. If it had been anyone else who discovered the list, it might only be a matter of destroying the pony. He was sure he could convince the doctor to take him to his house, where it would be easier, but he knew that the stallion seated before him—wiggling with nervous energy, mumbling what he clearly wanted to blurt out—would be missed, and by the Astras.

“Might be you could help me,” Whippoorwill said at length. He looked at the spread of food, much more than either of them could eat, and resisted the urge to spit on the table. Hot loathing reared up in him at the simpering, empty-headed pony, whom he guessed meant well, even if was in an obtuse way.

“Helpful, that’s me! Ooop! I assume I can talk now?”

“You know ponies in the press? Ah’ve seen yer name a couple times.”

“Oh, you flatter me, dear sir.”

“Do ya or don’t ya?”

Whooves straightened. “Why, yes, I suppose I do.”

“Then you can probably help me set a few things straight, regardin’ the PAs an’ yer buddies.”

“The war between Astras and Pegasus Advocates? Such heavy news. One does not—”

“Right, great. Without goin’ into too much detail, let’s just say it’s in my best interest if the tension between those two was to slacken, ya hear?”

“Ah.” He slouched in his chair and moodily took up a rye cracker. He pointed at the mustard with a pout, and Whippoorwill spread it for him. “Well, that is rather a tough spot, is it not?”

“Explain.”

“No, it’s just that I, well, rather have done well for myself in this climate. The push and pull, it does wonders for a soul not so heavily invested in either side. Oh, dear, I am making myself sound rather like a monster, hm? It’s not like that. I swear to you—”

“It’s you!” He stood again, and Whooves flinched, and in that moment, Whippoorwill went to his valise, revealing the pulse crystal but stopping short of grabbing it.

Whooves, shaking, managed to get a candied praline in his mouth. “However, peace benefits us all.”

“The PAs never wanted nothin’ to do with the Astras, an’ only got involved with ‘em ‘cause of the rumors. Your rumors, turns out. Oooh, Ah’d sorely like to talk to you ‘bout that.”

“Talk would be lovely,” Whooves said. “Provided we keep that delightful crystal safely tucked away, mm? A mighty conversation piece, I’ll own, but rather too contextual.”

“No, Ah think Ah’d like to keep it out fer now,” Whippoorwill said, floating it over and taking his seat at the table again.

“Please don’t hurt me, sir.”

“Not at this hour of day, an’ in a hotel room no less.” He tapped it. “Ah’ll tell you what Ah told my last… interlocutor. Understand that both of us can walk away from this today, unharmed. That appeal to you?”

“Oh, most certainly!”

“Then let’s talk ‘bout yer relationship with the Astras an’ PAs some.”

“It’s like this.” He leaned back, as if to gesticulate, but thought better of it and grabbed another triangle of sandwich. “The Astras are my friends, and their friends too are my friends. You might say I’m rather a pony of high society nowadays. Ha, to think! Me on the coast, so long ago, a hardscrabble existence—”

“Back to the point, you flower.”

“Yes, well, anyway, I just thought it prudent to turn the Astras’ collective gaze on this little black spot of Canterlot culture. So backwards, your Pegasus Advocates. And might I add, odd that you, a unicorn, should associate with them. I’d surely like to ask you…” He trailed off as Whippoorwill nudged the pulse crystal. “Perhaps another time, though. You sure you don’t want any more aquavit?”

“My patience ain’t infinite, doc.”

“Quite.” He shot back another glass of aquavit and made a face. “Ugh, brutish stuff. But do not make me out to be the source of evil in your life, dear friend! My intentions were pure. Who better to cleanse the iniquities of the Pegasus Advocates than my friends, with their power and wealth?”

“You just took it on yourself to set this up, then? Outta the goodness of yer heart, you decided Canterlot could use with losin’ the PAs.”

Whooves forced a chuckle. “Well, the publicity doesn’t hurt.”

Whippoorwill studied him for a long time then, first forming a response, then just enjoying the way Whooves squirmed and sweated under the scrutiny.

At last, he couldn’t take it anymore, and shouted, “I’ll do anything you want, as long as you take that dreadful thing away from me!”

“Yer gonna keep yer voice down.”

Whooves clapped a hoof on his muzzle, eyes wide, irises shrunken.

“Whatever you’ve been tellin’ ponies ‘bout the PAs an’ the Astras bein’ at odds, that stops today. Find somethin’ else fer yer publicity, but this particular story is over.”

“But good sir!”

“Over.”

Whooves licked his lips, took another bite of sandwich, and shuddered with another shot of liquor. “If I may, I’d like to ask why you care so. The PAs surely don’t like you, being a unicorn. Why should you not want to side with the Astras?”

“‘Cause that ship has sailed too.”

* * * * * *

The days were hard, and the nights harder, for Lotus, on whom the pressure of her office was finally taking a visible toll. She was already short tempered and inattentive, prone to leave the cabin she shared with Aloe for walks in Umbrella Park or to moodily sip hot cocoa under The Leaf’s checkered awning, but in recent days, she had become frazzled and empty looking. The sleepless rings under her eyes, the uncombed mane, and the forgotten showers were all signs of the turmoil most ponies in Snowdrift had figured out for themselves.

Aloe tried to comfort her when she could, but her advances were rarely appreciated, never asked for. She knew it wasn’t her fault, that it wasn’t personal, but she nonetheless felt more than a twinge of resentment as she walked the icy promenade with her sister. Snow swirled around their chests and faces on a gentle breeze that penetrated their layers. It had been beautiful earlier in the day, when the unadorned wind swept pine needles and chimney smoke across the clear sky, but the clouds had rolled in an hour ago, with them the weather that gave the town its name, and their routine patrol had become brooding and impatient.

Lotus looked without speaking, taking in each building and street corner, a job that had only recently been added to her list of daily tasks. Aloe had asked her if she needed her to come, hoping Lotus would decline, but expecting her not to.

It was a big day, and many of the Snowdrift Daturas had been told to clear their schedules. They knew to expect the Elements of Harmony; several of the local precogs had confirmed it a month in advance, and debate had raged narrowing it down to the precise day. The Elements would arrive to reconvene outside the gateway, then take a quick jaunt south, then loop back up and take the second of three new Elements. More, their arrival would herald a few days of contained chaos, then a wide wake of aftershock, the specifics of which Lotus had not chosen to share. How exact the precogs’ stories were, and how well they all coincided, Aloe did not want to know; it was her sister’s duty to sift through all of that, a duty they both hated.

“That’s them,” Lotus said, angling her muzzle toward the approaching airship. “Should we say hi?”

“Uhh.” Aloe adjusted her scarf. “Do you think it’s necessary?”

“I hope not.” Lotus sighed. “They’ve got Colgate, though, and she’s not what I’d call a closed book. There’s a fair chance we have to explain some stuff to them.”

“I can explain things, if you need.”

Lotus didn’t look at her, and Aloe swallowed an invective that flashed in her thoughts. “They’re too low,” Lotus said, holding a hoof to the horizon and squinting.

“Too low?”

“For the airship lot.”

“Oh. Well—”

“Quiet.” Lotus thought for a second, her eyes closing and her mouth furrowing in a frown. “Crap. Follow me.”

“What’s wrong?” Aloe coughed, startled by her sister’s sprint down the snowy road.

“They’re gonna land right on it. Stupid! Should’ve thought about it earlier.”

Aloe ignored the questions she wanted to ask, the clarification she wished her sister would offer. What Lotus thought often went unspoken, up to the point of one or two distilled commands, and Aloe was never used to it.

Ponies parted in the streets as the pastel sisters kicked up spumes of snow, breathing evenly for the exertion. In Snowdrift, they were known for living quietly, except when they weren’t; when trouble arose, the twins were invariably involved. They had not day jobs, but seemed always at work.

Snowdrift was only a couple miles across, and the spa twins arrived, panting lightly, on the south end just in time to see the new airship narrowly miss brushing its hull on the warehouse’s lightning rod. They stood just outside a wide ring of warning tape, yellow and black and flapping in the ubiquitous Snowdrift wind, as the ship made to touch the empty parking lot’s black ice.

“Lo-lo?” Aloe asked.

Lotus held up a hoof and ran her eyes over the tableau, steady despite the beating of her heart and the frustration with herself for not imagining the scenario earlier. Drawing from her cloud of thoughts and shuffling through everything it knew about the warehouse and what it newly contained, and the airship’s landing trajectory, a course of action crystallized.

Still not looking at her sister, Lotus spoke. “Evacuate the southern tip of the city, everything south of Box Poppies’ Diner. Have Morning Serenade get his team together and meet me in the cabin at noon.”

The uncertainty in her sister’s voice as she said “you got it” rankled with Lotus, and the two separated, one back to the town and the other under the warning tape. The snow was not hard, and she took a buried trio of stairs up to the lot instead of the uneven, slippery selvedge. Eyes scanning the asphalt for ice, her cloud of thoughts constructed an ideal path from airship to safety, a route with fewest chances for slipping, at the same time calculating how long she would expect to stay with the Elements, explaining everything. The hazard in the warehouse would be moving, she knew, but she didn’t see any signs of it when the airship touched down. Applejack and Fluttershy looked down at her with shock on their faces as she closed the distance, shouting to get off as quickly as possible and leave everything they could.

The gangplank extended and the pegasi exploded off the deck as voices rose and questions filled the air, but Lotus just repeated her instructions: leave the ship and get off the parking lot. She ran to the ship’s side to see the warehouse, its doors shoved open and filled with the hazard’s opalescent form, oozing across the walkway and ramp, pushing tufts of snow and gaining a light sheen from the snow that still fell. Behind, the ceaseless babble of panicking voices flowed into her, meeting the cloud of thoughts and magically unraveling from one another, ten sequences of questions and expressions of fear, more useless noise.

The hazard, as they termed it until it could be positively identified, had only shown up six days ago, taking several warehouse workers and scaring the rest of them into disorderly flight, drawing the local Datura’s divided attention. A team of Daturas and policeponies had rushed onto the scene to help evacuate, clear away knots of bottle-necked cars, and assess the threat. Now, the Elements had gone and landed right on top of it, and Lotus’ cloud was already at work reformulating a plan to deal with the hazard. The electric tumult of thought ordering itself, independent of her own input, still distracted her, and it seemed an infuriating lapse of time before the Elements were on the move with her, dodging and falling on ice, throwing up snow, yammering questions and complaints about the weather. One of them had seen what was behind, and had gone quiet.

On the other side of the warning tape, Lotus let them stop for a minute to catch their breath, and, revealing her face, told them two more essentials: the warehouse was infested with something dangerous, and their ship might soon be its new nest. She read each puzzled and frightened expression, not one untouched from the darkness of impatience and disenchantment with which she clinically empathized. Moving slower and closer together, they walked in Rainbow Dash’s dome of warmer air until they got to town, where Aloe was at work rounding up ponies and evacuating buildings.

“It is you two!” Rarity cried.

Lotus didn’t look back at her. Annoyance, guilt, anger, and plain tiredness were all mixed inside her; she knew she had a lot of explaining ahead, and was not looking forward to it. Her cloud of thoughts began working on the most efficient way to explain everything to the Elements, but she ignored it—she could not stop it—for she had long ago learned that there were too many unknowns to ever calculate a conversation’s length, even a simple one. Where other ponies’ actions were concerned, her cloud could rarely predict with certainty.

“It’s the hazard, right?” Aloe asked.

“They landed the ship. Possible new center for its area of effect.”

“Got it.”

“Need help?”

“Morning Serenade is helping.”

Lotus nodded. Aloe looked at her for a second, as if expecting some final acknowledgement, then ran back to her operation. Behind her, she could hear Rainbow and Rarity talking. Rainbow kept saying “it’s them, it’s them too.”

Big Mac had remarked from the ship’s telescope balcony that the building had seemed like an art installation, but the tall, thick corkscrew that seemed buried in the choppy hillside had a door, windows, and a trio of steaming vents on its roof. Only Twilight did not go immediately for the square of love seats in the lobby or hearken to the big, friendly boom of brass music pounding out from behind the glass doors to the bar.

Lotus nodded curtly at the mauve mare at the desk and ordered three rooms to be put on her tab, and the mare did so without blinking. Twilight, like her friends behind, could only look in awe at the walls and ceiling: straight and sensible, like any building’s should be; conservatively decorated with prints of fruit and musical instruments; sparely occupied by other ponies moving between the brunch nook and elevators across black marble tile.

“It’s just an illusion, Twilight,” Lotus said, and thanked the mare for the room keys. “Come on, everyone.” She sighed. “You have questions.”

“Ya don’t say?” Rainbow said, jumping up with a flap of her wings. “I’ve got the first question, if you don’t mind.”

“Once we get to our rooms,” Octavia said. “We will speak there.”

They endured a silent elevator ride to the fourth floor and a long walk to the back of the building, and Lotus let them into their room. The ponies spilled in, some going directly for the beds, some for the window, one for the bathroom. Twilight stayed with Lotus and just looked at her as she removed her coats, but edged away as Lotus’ frown deepened.

“So it is you two,” Rarity said, calmed down from the run. “You said something about going home when we saw you in Ponyville. Was this it?” Beside her, Colgate stared at Lotus with unabashed distrust.

“What about that thing in the warehouse?” Rainbow asked.

“What about this hotel?” Twilight asked.

“Why did we—”

“Enough! One at a time.” Lotus backed to the door and pointed at Rarity. “You first. Yes, we’re the same ponies. I’m sorry if we hurt you by not saying anything; it didn’t seem important at the time, and we were very distracted.”

“You seem preoccupied now,” Vinyl said.

Lotus waved her off, but then thought better of it, and turned around to take several deep breaths. She was overstimulated, clear to many of them, and was not much better when she faced them again. She looked at Colgate for a second before putting her eyes on Rainbow instead. “You suspect ‘secret agent ponies’.”

“I knew it!” Rainbow cried.

“It’s not suspicion,” Rarity said.

“I know Cloud Line confirmed it to you and Fluttershy in Passage Town. She was spoken to,” Lotus said. “I’m not confirming or denying anything about myself.”

“That’s code for ‘yes,’ and you and I know it,” Rainbow said.

Ignoring her, Lotus turned to Applejack. “Fast question: Applejack, I know Twilight sometimes imprints the airship on you, so it’ll follow in the case of separation. Did she do that this time?”

“I did,” Twilight said. “On the flight to the mountains, I did it.”

“Okay. Applejack, you can’t go farther into town than this hotel.”

“What?” Applejack asked.

“So you don’t accidentally move the hazard if it attaches to the ship,” Lotus said. “If you do, you could drag it with you wherever you go.” She saw a question forming on Applejack’s face, but charged ahead. “Now, to begin, the warehouse was operational up until just recently. Vanilla Cream had been spending a lot of time in the forest just west of Snowdrift, and his leaving coincided with the hazard’s appearance.”

“What is it?” Fluttershy asked.

“What is what?”

“Sorry. The hazard, what is it?”

“Wait, I have some questions,” Twilight said.

“One at a time,” Lotus growled. In her voice and accent, the anger came off as lesser frustration, and Pinkie stifled a smirk.

“Who are you?” Twilight asked. “I’d like to know that. You’re not the masseuse we knew.”

“Were you ever?” Fluttershy asked.

“One at a time!” Lotus snapped. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I get irritable.” She surveyed them, those who had known her shocked and hurt, those who did not glaring. “Sorry. Please, let’s keep the questions one at a time, and be as specific as possible if you can. Twilight, you asked me who I was. What do you mean by that?”

“Uhhh…”

“My name is Lotus, I’m thirty years old, female, part-time beautician with my sister, Aloe, twenty-nine and also female—”

“I mean why are you here in Snowdrift? What is your job?”

“Much better. I can’t tell you everything, but you can say that I’m in charge of logistics and organization for operations in the city and elsewhere.”

“Logistics?” Rarity asked. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s what it sounds like,” Colgate said. “Details behind the scenes, so other ponies can focus on their jobs without having to worry about unrelated stuff.”

“Legal procedures, transportation, and supplies, for example,” Lotus said. “I supply and catalogue information as well.” She looked at Colgate, noticing that only Rarity did not seem surprised at her knowledge. The detail was filed away.

“Anyone for room service?” Pinkie asked, flourishing the binder of special events, local attractions, and amenities. “You want anything, spa buddy? Double-chocolate cake? Lemon meringue pie? Caramel hurricane sundae? Jackfruit and sesame sorbet?”

“A stiff drink and a long smoke,” Lotus said without smiling. “Joking. Maybe later.”

“Coffee?” Applejack offered.

She paused. “You mean to ask if I want coffee. I hate it, but thank you.”

“Do ya mind the smell?”

“You can have it.”

“So was your job in Ponyville just a cover?” Twilight asked as Applejack began fiddling with the coffee machine. Since hearing that they had tried to contact her spirit through their coffee machine in Roan, she had taken a stronger liking to the drink.

“Yes and no,” Lotus said. “To answer your question most completely, it would require explaining something very large about myself, but also not immediately relevant.” She thought for a second, eyes rolled up. “My sister can fill you in later. For the sake of expediency, can we all agree to just trust me as I answer your questions, and not worry about how I know what I know?”

“I trust now,” Colgate said.

“You?” Pinkie asked.

“If Colgate trusts you, then I do as well,” Octavia said, Applejack nodding along as she tried to unwrap a package of dried coffee.

“I’d like to know details,” Twilight said. “But they can wait if you’d like.”

“I would prefer not to explain at all,” Lotus said. “I tire of it.”

Twilight sighed.

“My job at the Ponyville spa was more like a day job. From there, I conducted my business of logistics management, a job which wears on me the more I do it. My spa work, however, brought me real pleasure, which is why I chose it in the first place.” She showed them her cutie mark, the blooming lotus. “The mark is no lie; my first talent is making ponies feel beautiful. However, ever since The Crumbling, I’ve had hardly any time to do what I love. We were called down to Snowdrift first thing, and here we’ve stayed.”

“Sure you don’t want anything?” Pinkie asked, phone to her ear.

“I’m sure.” She spared a blank look at Pinkie. “Next question.”

“Does Aloe have the same job as you?” Vinyl asked.

“It’s related. You’ve noticed that I’m being short with you.”

“We have,” Rarity said.

Lotus glanced at her. “It wasn’t a question. Aloe, she acts as my handler. Again, to fully answer, I’d have to explain that large thing I alluded to earlier.”

“Now I definitely want to know,” Twilight said.

“Like I said, talk to her.”

“So what about the monster in the warehouse, then?” Rainbow asked. “I’d like to talk about that now.”

“What about it?”

“What do you mean, what about it? What about it?”

“No open-ended questions,” Fluttershy said.

“What is it?” Big Mac asked.

Lotus sighed again and moved away from the coffee machine as it hummed to life. “If we’re going to discuss what it is, it would make the most sense for us to also discuss how to handle it at the same time.” She ran her eyes over the room and went out the door with their room keys. They could hear her opening the door across the hall.

“What’s her problem?” Rainbow asked.

“There was something big going on on the south side,” Colgate said. “That room’s window faces south. She’s checking on her sister.”

“So you’re one of them, then,” Pinkie said. “Secret agents?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She’s fine,” Rarity said. “She’s still one of us.”

“I’m not the only one who doesn’t trust this, right?” Rainbow asked.

“There’s obviously more going on than what she’s saying, but I trust her so far, I think,” Twilight said. “I can feel her magic, first and foremost.” Vinyl nodded along.

“What kind of magic?” Fluttershy asked. “Like our magic?”

“No, it’s not active. She’s got an enchantment attached to her, a big one.”

“That’s probably what’s got her on pins and needles,” Vinyl said.

“Is it a curse?” Rarity asked. “Perhaps a curse of bitchiness?”

Applejack laughed.

“It’s dark magic, not a curse.” Twilight nodded at Rainbow. “Princess Luna’s type of magic.”

“Magic that deals in wisdom!” Pinkie said. “Food in five, girlies.”

“What’d you order?” Big Mac asked.

Lotus popped her head back in, not far enough to look at them. “I have to run and deal with some things. Fast details: the hazard requires a central point to anchor itself from strong winds, and it feeds on organic materials like carbon and keratin. You understand? I’ll be back, not sure when, and we’ll discuss how to deal with it.” She was gone down the hallway at a gallop before they could respond, and the door swung closed with a clunk.

“Just gimme a minute,” Colgate said to something Rarity whispered in her ear. “I think I like her style. Sooo, let’s start by agreeing to shut up about the secret agent thing, yes?”

“Psh, cat’s already out of the bag,” Rainbow said with a shrug, accepting a cup from Applejack.

“I don’t like that, and I want us to drop it.”

“Fine,” Octavia said. “We know what we know, and that can be it. I am comfortable with that.”

They paused to accept their food; Pinkie had called up a veritable buffet, also putting it on Lotus’ tab, and they spent several minutes arranging it inside the overcrowded hotel room, balancing plates and bowls on the TV stand, the windowsill, the bed. Vinyl uncorked a bottle of red wine and looked about for something to pour it in.

“She reminds me a little of you,” Octavia said, looking at Colgate, hunched over a salad of pickled onions and cucumbers. “She is very quick-thinking.”

“Quick,” Colgate said, nodding to herself, as if she had said something more meaningful.

“I am beginning to feel self-conscious, surrounded by all these smart mares.”

Vinyl looked at her with a smile. “Attempt at humor?”

“Yes.”

“If her business is in information and logistics, I wonder if it could be an intelligence-enhancing spell,” Twilight said.

“Ain’t those illegal?” Applejack asked.

“Yo, can we please talk about the monster?” Rainbow cried. “We could be in danger, and you’re talking about the stupid law!”

“If we were in danger, she’d have told us,” Colgate said.

“Unless she doesn’t know we’re in danger.”

“She knew exactly what to do with her sister and exactly where to take us, and those two facts she spat at us before leaving were good enough for us to figure out the main points of this monster on our own. She probably knows exactly what we’re up against.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“Ah’m not so pleased myself,” Applejack said. “Ah’m gonna go stir crazy if Ah have to stay in this hotel the whole time.”

“She kept looking at me,” Colgate said, jabbing her plate with a fork. “I’m pretty sure I know who she is. I’ve heard ponies refer to an Information Handler in my line of work, a couple times. If she’s that, then she knows who I am, and she knows…” She stood up and went to the bathroom, shutting the door and turning on the faucet.

“She’s scared of telling us,” Rarity whispered.

“Thanks, couldn’t tell,” Rainbow said.

Colgate came back, face wet and mane dripping. “I keep getting told I’m good at figuring stuff out, so she probably wanted me to do that with her hazard facts. What were they?”

“It feeds on flesh, that’s big number one. Let’s start there.”

“She said it feeds on ‘organic material,’ Rainbow. Carbon and keratin and things,” Twilight said. “Seems self-explanatory.”

“There were plants peeking through the snow when we were leaving,” Colgate said. “So we can guess it doesn’t like plant material, or it would’ve gotten them already.”

“The other bit was that it needs a solid anchor,” Big Mac said. “So it don’t blow away. That part’s confusin’.”

“Hang on, I’m not done.” Colgate paused as everyone looked at her. Her eyes darted around the room and settled on the TV remote. For a moment, it appeared that she would run for the bathroom again, but she simply floated the remote over and turned on the local news. Turning it down, she continued after a minute. “Carbon is easy, but carbon and keratin, that’s more. Our fur is made of keratin. It can eat our fur too.”

“So?” Pinkie asked. “Fur balls? Is that it?”

“That’s nothing,” Vinyl said.

“It can eat us from the outside in,” Colgate said. “What’s more, she said it feeds on those things. I think the implication is that it can draw energy from any kind of organic material commonly found in us ponies. You know, rather than just gobbling us down like a manticore. Might be some kind of mold or membrane, or a parasite or something.” She nodded to herself. “Probably why we were told to run, rather than just whip up a firestorm. Monster’s too small or too delicate for that; it needs a gentle touch, or a gentler touch.”

“Maybe that ties into how it can blow away?” Vinyl asked.

“Maybe. Could be it’s light. If it’s light and dangerous, and we had to travel so far to be safe, then it’s probably pretty quick. What did you say it looked like, Pinkie?”

“Like a blob of egg white,” Pinkie said, spooning rice into her mouth.

“Well, that’s not much to go on,” Twilight said.

“Maybe it stretches,” Rarity said. “You said it was kind of oozing?”

“Like bad frosting,” Pinkie said.

“A stretchy, lightweight hazard,” Colgate said. “It envelopes you if you get too close, I bet.”

“If it stretches, that also explains how it can blow away,” Fluttershy said. “It can stretch out to catch the wind, like a sail.”

“She said it needs an anchor,” Applejack said. “Needs.”

“Implying that whatever force is keeping it together isn’t as strong as the wind,” Twilight said.

“This just occurred to me,” Vinyl said, lighting her horn for attention. “Element’s probably in there. Did you check, Fluttershy?”

“I hadn’t checked yet, no,” Fluttershy said.

“Knowing Discord,” Octavia said, “I would believe it. But why did we not feel it on the way out?”

“Maybe Fluttershy missed it,” Applejack said. “No offense.”

“Thanks,” Fluttershy said.

“Elements move,” Twilight said with a shrug. “Maybe he hadn’t found a good place for this one yet, so he gave it to the egg white to guard.”

“Lazy. We were just here,” Vinyl said. She was drinking wine from one of the toothbrush glasses, and met their eyes as she took a long draft. Fluttershy looked back, expression challenging, and Vinyl smiled.

“Princess Luna said he’s on the run,” Twilight said. “In a letter, a while ago. His options are thinning.”

“As are ours,” Octavia said.

Rarity nodded. “That’s worth keeping in mind.”

“I just cast the Element spell,” Fluttershy said. She picked at a cherry tomato, and it rolled off the plate and onto the carpet. “Vinyl’s right, it’s here. South of us.”

“Well, that’s just ducky,” Colgate said. “You got any monster-fightin’ experience we should know ‘bout, Cole?” Applejack asked.

“Nothing interesting.” She recalled the time in Canterlot with Fleur, dispelling a rogue teleportation spell. She had run around blindfolded and overwhelmed for some time, not the picture of confidence that Applejack saw. In an instant, she realized that the others had no reason to know of her near failure on that afternoon, and the pall of fear lightened. She looked at Octavia, then Applejack, then Rarity.

The snow had paused, leaving the spa sisters with the easy visibility that they needed to keep the evacuation organized. There were only seven buildings that needed emptied: the diner, a coffee shop, two houses, the town’s little radio station, a gas station, and a hardware store. Lotus had gone to help Aloe evacuate the radio station, which involved queuing up a sequence of automated tapes and prerecorded material; they didn’t want the radio to simply go dark, for that would surely cause undue worry in the town.

It was on the top floor where Lotus was in her least favorite, but necessary, position. Surrounded by workers, it was her job to answer all of their questions as quickly and clearly as possible so they could proceed with the evacuation efficiently, and not keep Aloe stuck running back and forth. Lotus’ cloud of thoughts enabled her to process information and create solutions faster than her mouth could move, and, emotionally drained and overworked, she had to struggle to keep hostility out of her answers to the frightened workers. Aloe was outside, keeping lines orderly and maintaining a head count, and it wasn’t for the first time that Lotus’ envy burned to something akin to rage. She hadn’t been able to relax for months, and the work only got harder.

An hour later, she was free to wander the abandoned radio station, its tapes spinning with best-of compilations and standard music mixes. She closed her eyes and let the sound of machines soothe her mind, trying to relax her body. She knew she was needed back on the ground, and wanted at the hotel later, and could not loosen her dread for yet more explanation, yet more information running out of the cloud and forced through her small mind.

She went to a wide window and looked at the last groups of ponies dispersing across the imaginary line she had calculated to mark the hazard’s potential new area of affect. The Snowdrift Datura had originally had indefinite time to deal with the hazard, its anchor point being too far from anything else for it to potentially move into town. With the airship, though, it could creep closer, and reach one of the outlying buildings. Lotus knew that changing anchor points was strenuous for it, and that once it switched to the airship, they would have a few days before any building was under threat of occupation, but there was no comfort in the time they had. She was supposed to be working on a schematic for Discord’s castle and the magic it embodied, and had received a report of unrest in Hoofington the day before; now, the hazard. With disgust, she left the radio station and joined her sister, did a quick count of the evacuees, and assured them that the situation was under control. Her cloud of thoughts, in the background, whirred on to create a solution for the new problem.

She met with Morning Serenade’s team and outlined her plan for handling the hazard, emphasizing that no one take action until she had gotten the Elements on the same page, and then ran off into the pine forest without a word of explanation. She was still gone when Aloe got back to the hotel, nine in the evening and dawn’s trace in the east, to explain the finer points of what the Elements had mostly figured out for themselves. The hazard was something Discord had pulled out of Tartarus and dropped onto the warehouse, a membranous mix of magic and simple vitreous substances, best compared to a giant amoeba. It stretched and segmented itself to go after prey that wandered into its territory, and, as Fluttershy had surmised, it could expand itself to catch the wind in case of danger. She didn’t know whether Lotus had any ideas for how to handle it yet, but assumed she did, and simply hadn’t yet chosen to share.

As apology for Lotus’ abrupt departure, Aloe treated them to dinner and drinks in hotel bar, sitting between Twilight and Vinyl at the very end while the others carried on beyond. The bar had been cleared of its live music, and only a few patrons remained, chattering around a game of checkers in one of the corner booths. The bow-tied bartender greeted them all by name, which Twilight found refreshing for the lack of pretense. Most ponies pretended to be pleasantly surprised when they found out they were serving the Elements of Harmony.

“Before you tell me about her, I’d like to take a guess,” Twilight said.

“Go for it,” Aloe said.

“I did a little reading. Actually, a lot. She either has a direct mental link to a divine library somewhere, or a cloud of thoughts.”

“Nice.” Aloe ordered the death by chocolate martini, Twilight a soda. “That’s how they tried it in the beginning, a direct link. It turned out to be too unwieldy for our purposes. I wish that was the case still. It sure would be easier.” She accepted her drink, a muddy glass overflowing with chocolate syrup around a spiral mound of cocoa-sprinkled whipped cream, a trio of brownie bites speared on a toothpick. Across the bar, Pinkie eyed it enviously and hollered for the bartender.

“I never studied clouds of thoughts,” Twilight said. “That’s actually where I chose to go into light magic instead. You could say the cloud scared me away.”

“Nopony likes the cloud,” Aloe said. “Least of all Lo-lo. Princess Luna gave it to her when she was younger. Can’t say how young, I’m afraid. It was actually passed down. Information ponies…” She took a long drink. “The cloud’s been around longer than any of them, and Luna keeps attaching it to the next information pony.”

“But what actually is it?” Vinyl asked.

“I’ll tell you what it’s supposed to be.” She paused for Vinyl to receive her drink, a flute of bubbling sunshine liquid that smelled strongly of hibiscus. “Imagine that she’s a walking video recorder, instead of a pony, and everything she takes in, every sensation, is recorded. That’s the cloud’s job, to hold and catalogue all that stuff, in addition to all her thoughts and feelings regarding all those things she records. She herself doesn’t remember anything that a normal pony wouldn’t, because nothing extraordinary is stored in her mind. That’s how we get around madness.”

“The burden of genius,” Twilight said. “Fair enough.”

“However, that’s only the first part of what the cloud does. It also sorts and processes all this information, faster than a pony can. Since it’s all magical, and doesn’t rely on a pony’s brain, which is finite, she—sorry, the cloud—can comb through entire years, entire decades even, of sensation in a couple seconds. Most of the information is absolutely useless.”

“Like what she had for breakfast seven years ago,” Vinyl said.

“Exactly. Useless day-to-day stuff that no one cares about, but the cloud holds that information all the same,” Aloe said.

“Does it have a limit? It must,” Twilight said.

“Lo-lo did the math once, I forget what she came up with. There is a limit, but it’s way out there.”

“When you say Lotus, you mean her cloud?”

“Pretty much. Uh, but try not to make that distinction around her.” She lowered her voice. “Sis is touchy about the cloud.”

“No, we get that,” Vinyl said. “Magical identity is weird.”

Aloe managed to slide one of her brownie bites off its pick. “Naturally, the cloud’s used mostly for recalling facts about various events, various ponies, various creatures, and so forth, and also for problem solving or troubleshooting. Our hazard, like I said. I’m sure she’s got something cooking.”

“That’s why she ran off?” Twilight asked.

“Who knows with her? I think it was to get away from ponies. All I know is, thank Celestia she did.” Aloe took several small, quiet sips.

“You get tired of her,” Vinyl said.

“Uh, yeah.” Her voice was slightly louder, shrill with her accent. “I love her, she’s blood, but babysitting her is a unique hell sometimes, let me tell you. She reminds me of those crackpot geniuses you read in books, with their short tempers and their annoying foibles. My job is keeping her from knocking ponies’ hats off in the street.”

“I’ve had a friend or two I felt like that towards,” Vinyl said, Twilight nodding along.

“I’m sure of it. Especially you, Vinyl, being an artist. It gets exhausting after a while.”

“Does she get worked up?” Twilight asked. “I know she looked like she was ready to blow a cog in our room earlier.”

“She probably was. She doesn’t do anything that remarkable when she’s stressed, either, that’s the thing. She just complains. Seems like she can go on for hours, just bitching, if you don’t stop her. She’s a walking headache.”

“Have you told her how you feel?” Vinyl asked.

“Oh, she’s aware,” Aloe said, nodding emphatically. “She knows when she’s doing it. She tells me to tune her out and let her go, and I do. It’s just, you’re still aware of it. It’s still a negative atmosphere.” She gestured at her glass. “Want a sip, by the way?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Twilight said as Vinyl placed her second order.

“So basically, the cloud does all the thinking, and it’s Lo-lo’s job to collect the base information and then tell everyone the answers. That’s why she’s in information and logistics. I feel bad for her, honestly.”

“It sounds miserable, when you think about it,” Vinyl said. “I’ll bet she gets backed up all the time. Can’t talk fast enough for the brain.”

Aloe nodded. “It gets to her. Well, you know. She was nothing like this in Ponyville, never.”

Twilight stirred the ice in her glass. “Yes, so how long did you say you’ve been doing this?”

“Since before we met you all, at least.”

“Huh. And I’m guessing there are others in Ponyville too. Ponies like you.”

Aloe tilted her head.

“I know you know what I mean.”

“I hope you don’t take it the wrong way, Twilight. Lotus and I never intended to hurt anyone. We were quite content to stay in Ponyville with everyone else, you know that. You do?”

“You’d have wanted to come home eventually.” She waved a hoof. “That’s beside the point, though.” She sighed. “It’s a lot to take in. I do get it, that it’s your job to keep your information work a secret. I get that it’s not personal.”

“Still, you think you know a pony,” Vinyl completed.

“Exactly. Out of everyone in Ponyville, I wouldn’t have expected it to be you two.”

Aloe only smiled. “You know I can’t talk about this with you.”

“I know.” She leaned back to see what the others were doing; it sounded like they were having more fun than she. Rainbow and Pinkie were engaged in lively debate, broken by bouts of laughter, while Rarity looked on with a face red from mirth.

“Is your Element in the warehouse?” Aloe asked.

“Yup,” Vinyl said. “Hazard’s got it.” She looked at Twilight. “In a way, I’m kind of excited. I’ve heard about your monster fights, but not had one myself.”

“Does the dam not count?” Twilight asked.

“I feel like I barely participated in that.”

“Well, I’m sure we can change that if you’d really like.” She glowered for a second, but broke into a smile, and Vinyl laughed too.

“We’ll work on a plan tomorrow,” Aloe said. “If Lo-lo isn’t back, I’ll still help you, Twilight.”

“I’ll take all the help I can get,” Twilight said. “I don’t even know where to start with this one. We know what it is, but that’s it.”

“You were only on the lot for a few minutes. You couldn’t have figured out anything in that time. I’ve got a pretty good idea what we can do, though. Doing it, that’s different, but… Well, tomorrow.”

The bartender returned to take Aloe’s empty glass and take Vinyl’s next order. “You ladies here for the Contraction?”

“I’m sorry?” Twilight asked.

“The Contraction!” Vinyl cried, slapping the bar. “Wow, I’d completely forgotten. We’ve got one coming up? Twilight, this was made for you.”

“What is it?”

“We have ‘em every now and again,” the bartender said. “Everypony gathers in Umbrella Park and plays games, socializes, gets to know each other. There’s music and food and art.”

“Like a fair?”

“If you like.” He turned to greet a new customer.

“The Contraction is awesome, Twilight,” Vinyl said. “We had one when I lived here. This town is the unofficial capital of experimental magic.”

“Yes, that I know,” Twilight said.

“Basically, a long time ago, some schmuck cast a spell on the whole village, making it teleport.”

“Teleport?”

“All the buildings and the plot of land they stood on,” Aloe said. “It was an experiment in mass transit gone wrong.” Seeing the look on Twilight’s face, she giggled. “Don’t worry, we don’t teleport anymore, at least not in the way you’re thinking.”

“They used to, though,” Vinyl said. “There’s records of it in the library, I’m sure you can ask someone to help you find ‘em. The spell wasn’t stable, see.”

“The whole town could zip off anywhere, at any time,” Aloe said. “We were in the Everfree forest for a couple days, near where Fillydelphia is now for a month, even underground for a while. That was the longest one, I think, the underground. Ponies actually managed to tunnel out of the city before it moved again.”

“You’re right, I do need to read about this,” Twilight said, turning an idea over in her head.

“They couldn’t break the spell,” Vinyl went on, but Twilight was only half listening. “So they did the next best thing: contain it. Now, whenever Snowdrift teleports, it just blinks into its original spot each time. That’s why it’s the Contraction, ‘cause it goes in real quick, then expands back to normal. Blink of an eye.”

“We’ve got the highest percentage of precogs right here,” Aloe said, “so we know a Contraction is coming pretty far in advance. Like he said, everyone gathers in the park and makes a festival of it.”

“That sounds awesome!” Pinkie shrieked on the other side. Aloe wasn’t sure whether she had overheard, or was responding to someone else.

“You unicorns have it easy,” Aloe teased. “You’re used to the feeling. Us earth ponies have to prepare.”

“Fasting often helps with that,” Twilight said.

“Er, yes, I know. So that’s the Contraction.”

“Top you off, miss?” the bartender asked.

Twilight blinked. “Hm? Oh, yes, please.”

“Twilight’s got an idea,” Vinyl said to Aloe.

“I recognize the look,” Aloe said.

“Suppose you would.”

The Significance of Knowledge

Chapter One hundred-five

The Significance of Knowledge

For their first night in Snowdrift, packed into their hotel rooms with bags unceremoniously strewn about, not sorted or picked through, the snow fell throughout. Sometimes, it was thick enough to hide their neighboring building’s lights, and sometimes it diffused in the air like fog rolling off the glacier just west of town. Twilight said she was not tired, and took the time to set up her divination station in the bathroom, where her roommates would be safe from the worst of the acrid smell or the occasional flashes of light. On even ground, free from the pitch and yaw of the airship, she was able to see more, but still not precisely what she wanted. Discord’s whereabouts were still a mystery; she assumed that if the princess could not find him, then she stood no chance, but had to try anyway. His castle she could only see from a great distance, rendering it into a stony point on the sere, winter-touched landscape of the east. Its appearance disclosed nothing, but just seeing it at a safe distance gave her heart.

She checked in on Ponyville after half an hour of fussing and recalculation. A mare she didn’t recognize had taken up residence in the library, and kept it in good condition from what Twilight could tell. The only major change she noticed was a large, silver birdcage on the first floor, taking up the central table that had once held some of her favorite books, or the ones she wanted to get rid of.

The farm slept, all its trees eerily still in the dawn light, and for a while as she looked over the orchard, Twilight thought that it was abandoned at last. Dusty tarps were stacked in open spaces for the apple trees and carts leaned against walls or sacks of flour in the barn, but then she saw an apple pie on the counter through a window, and she knew all was well. She had not the memories of the farmhouse that she did for her library, and could not see inside, but made herself smile at the thought of the remaining Apple siblings tucked in their beds, with a few temporary workers downstairs or in houses just on the farm’s edge.

She went to Fluttershy’s cottage, still abandoned and slowly returning to nature. The walls were painted in ivy and cat claw, the windows opaque with grime and water spots, the stoop reclaimed by flowers, Fluttershy’s mailbox peeking its head out of a sea of tall grass that bent under its own weight, the illusion of wind to Twilight’s eyes. She wondered what had come of the animals that lived there, and decided it was better not to think about it too much.

Sugarcube Corner looked the same as it always had, perhaps a little better, Twilight thought. She could see a light-coated pony skulking outside, making no attempt at concealing herself; after a minute, Twilight saw her take up a trash bag and hurl it into the bin behind the shop. Pinkie had been replaced.

Twilight checked on the place where Rarity’s boutique had once stood. A pair of houses had sprung up in its stead, thatched and squat and utterly unremarkable, turned from the town at an odd angle and connected to the main road by a winding, dirt path. Whoever lived in the houses, they had left their stalls out overnight, and Twilight peeked in on what they were selling: she saw vials and jars of sauce and jelly in one; and hanging, covered squares in the other, what she assumed were drawings or paintings. Finally, she checked the spa, shocked first to see it not boarded up, and shocked a second time to see a pegasus furtively enter. Her lilac coat and spiky mane looked familiar to Twilight, but she could not place the mare’s name.

“Twilight? Don’t tell me you’re still in there,” Rainbow said through the door.

“Just researching,” Twilight said softly, not realizing that she had entirely doubled over to fairly press her face against the water’s magical surface. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

“No, it’s just a social call. Of course I have to!”

“All right, all right, hang on.” She gingerly lifted an apparatus from the toilet seat and set it in the tub, and admitted Rainbow.

“Get some sleep, Twilight,” she said, trotting in. “It’ll all be here tomorrow.”

From the café downstairs, Twilight and Fluttershy sat over twin cups of coffee, waiting for their breakfasts. Aloe had indicated that she would be around later that afternoon, and until then, the ponies were free to do what they liked. So far, everyone else was in bed, even Octavia.

Fluttershy blew on her coffee and nodded to a surprised onlooker. Outside, they could see the street paved in white, gilt from the dawn that had persisted, and in the greater distance, an activity of lights and propellers hovering over the airship lot. Twilight tried to get a better look, but could not.

“What’s wrong?” Fluttershy asked.

“Nothing, I’m just trying to see.” She sighed and thanked the waitress who brought their food. “I’ve got this idea, and I’d like to know what you think.”

“Mm.”

“I told you about the Contraction last night, right?”

“I don’t remember everything you said.”

“But I told you the basics, at least?”

Fluttershy nodded and picked at her dish. Twilight thought it strange, that Fluttershy had skipped the breakfast options and only gotten a slice of lemon cream cake. Part of her wanted to bring it up, but she saw no point.

“I was thinking, if we could somehow tie the ship into the magic that controls this Contraction, we could use it to get around a lot faster than we do now.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure, that’s why I really want to find a library today. I don’t know how the Contraction works. All I know is, if it’s just a large-scale teleportation enchantment, then with the right magic, we can use it as a… It’s kind of like a giant slingshot, maybe. We can use it to jump us to any point on the country. Kind of like how Vanilla does it. Actually, maybe exactly how he does it.” She paused. “What if instances of the Contraction coincide with him moving us around?”

“Does it matter?” Fluttershy asked.

Surprised at her candor, Twilight blinked and took a bite of her hash. “Not really, I suppose.”

“No, I mean using the Contraction at all. You said the Contraction’s going to happen in a couple days. Do you think we’re going to get this newest Element by then? Also, we don’t know where we need to go next.”

“I think we can,” Twilight said. “In fact, I’m going to see to it that we do.” She swiveled in her seat and smiled at the concierge, who was beaming at her from across the hall. “If only those spa sisters would cooperate.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Calling it a plan is being charitable at this point, but I think our first step has to be marking the new area of affect for this hazard thing. While we’re doing that, we can get a better look at the warehouse, the parking lot, and the fields behind it. If it’s a membrane we’re dealing with, like Colgate thinks, then I’m thinking we’ll need some acid.” She chuckled. “Imagine if the solution to our problem is just as far as the nearest pool supply store.”

“That would be something,” Fluttershy said.

“I know, it’s not much. I’ll have something better after I talk to Aloe today.”

“I know that. What about knowing where to go afterwards, though?”

“Vanilla’s been letting us know in pretty good time. If we get this next one, we’ll probably get a note from him inside the day.”

Fluttershy nibbled a curl of lemon peel, and Twilight thought she could read the doubt on her face. Instead of responding, Fluttershy took another bite, and Twilight turned to her own food.

By noon, the group had scattered into the neighborhood, all keeping close to the hotel so as to return quickly when Aloe finally showed; Twilight stayed closest and said she would throw up a magical flare to mark the occasion. Only Applejack remained behind, chained to the hotel by the imprinting enchantment Twilight had cast on her and the airship. She made their beds, tidied the rooms, tried to clean a stain off the bathroom floor where Twilight had been divining the previous night. She ordered room service, and, telling herself that there was nothing wrong with getting room service alone, felt the smallness of the action all the same when it came up to her. At the work desk, with a book before her, she ate and looked out the window, watching the snow’s progress as it veiled the town.

From her north-facing room on the fourth floor, she had a good view of the streets, alive with hoof traffic but still gloomy under the rolling cloud sea. Though the sun was up, the snowstorm had cast the town in milky gray light. In that light, and from her elevation, Applejack was reminded of a photograph she had once seen of Ponyville. Years ago, before the Element of Honesty had passed to her, a photojournalist had come to town to work on an article for some magazine in Canterlot. Everyone was happy to oblige him, but the memory that stuck out to Applejack was on his fourth day in town, when a team of local pegasi came together with a net and carried the photographer up into the sky, where he took close to a hundred pictures of Ponyville from on high.

They had been told once that Snowdrift was similar to Ponyville, and Applejack had doubted it, but looking down, she saw what that pony had meant. Vendors had set up along one of the main roads with their stalls, signs and pennants moving in the cold wind, scarves and tails flapping. Single-story houses appeared in the distance, sometimes alongside taller buildings, of which Ponyville had few, and which Applejack could not stop studying. The sounds of city life were a constant white noise, easy to ignore in spite of all their recent time in the silence of wilderness travel.

She reminded herself that they were still in the middle of nowhere. On a map, Snowdrift was one of the remotest towns, tucked into the Equestrian southwest, a hidden village between the Friesian Mountains to the south, the glacier to the west, and the seemingly infinite forest to the east and northeast. The closest city of any import was the system of mines under the mountains, where they had commissioned their new Elements. The thought of that had haunted Applejack of late, putting to her the question of whether it was right that they had done what they did. Further, she wondered whether it mattered anymore whether it was right or wrong, for it had been done, and could not be reversed.

She laughed when she saw Pinkie racing down the street, Rainbow just behind her, clearly enjoying themselves. Snow was nothing new to them, but they still acted like it was, standing in wonderment at the falling tufts and resisting the urge to dive into banks.

“After this is done, we’re probably gonna look back and talk about which city’s everyone’s favorite,” she thought suddenly. “Like it was some kind of vacation. Weird. And here I am, cooped up in this room to keep the ship from moving. Why can’t Twilight just break the spell on me?” She knew the answer; it was too much of an ordeal to imprint an entire airship on its captain, and Twilight did not want to have to do it a second time when they were done, which she insisted would be in just a couple days. Before everyone else left, she had talked of using the Contraction as a slingshot to get to their next city, and Applejack just nodded, pretending not to see the doubt on most of the others’ faces.

Pushing her refuse into the too-small wastebasket, she saw Vinyl’s bottle of wine from the night before, empty, and nodded. It was no surprise, but she decided she would keep an eye on the unicorn nonetheless.

It took just fifteen minutes of reading for her to get restless, and she paced the room, searched for more things to clean, and finally went downstairs. She hadn’t ordered dessert, and really did not have room for it, but thought she could find a little something in the café anyway. It would be something to do.

The hotel lobby was dead, and she took a seat instead on one of the settees, then got a cup of citrus water from the counter, and sat again. She drank and looked at an arrangement of wiry, colorful stems in a fat, stained glass vase. She thought of the future, as she often did, and didn’t notice the concierge addressing her at first.

“You’re Applejack, right?”

She blinked. “Oh? Yeah, that’s me.” She went to the counter, where the same pony who had checked them in the night previous was making busy with some papers and envelopes. Her coat was soft mauve, her mane and tail dark and swirled with blue and gray. It shone with styling product, and did not move with the pony. In a pressed, white blouse and a muted blue tie, she reminded Applejack of a waitress in a fancy restaurant. Her face was gently elongated with wide nostrils on a short muzzle, and eyes a little too close together, but when she smiled, her entire face lifted and became more natural. Her eyes sparkled and her body slouched behind the counter; she was at ease, and not afraid to show it.

“You probably get that all the time.” She tipped an imaginary hat. “You’re missing your trademark, partner.”

“Yeah, I left it in hell,” she wanted to say, but instead smiled and said, “Ah know it. Ah was hopin’ to get a new one in town.”

The pony smiled with long, white teeth. “Best do it soon. Weather’s only going to get worse, that’s what they say.”

“The precogs?”

The pony laughed, a full and not entirely pleasant sound that filled the lobby. “No, the weatherponies! Hey, I can be a weatherpony too.” She leaned to look out the lobby doors. “Evening everyone, today’s weather is: snow. Light chance of more snow. Now for sports!” She laughed with Applejack. “Versus, good to make your acquaintance.”

“Versus?”

“My parents told me once it’s ‘cause I was always fighting with my twin sister. Nowadays, I just like the sound of it, so I kept it. Besides.” She showed her cutie mark, a piece of paper with black scrawls on it. “Writing-talent names are dull. Golden Words, or Pale Parchment, or whatever, none of that’s got any jazz to it.”

“Writin’, huh? An’ here you are checkin’ ponies in to… This hotel don’t got a name, Ah just realized.”

Versus laughed. “Corkscrew? Ol’ Twisty? It’s the building that looks like a macaroni, that’s what ponies need to know.”

“Some illusion.”

“Some mistake! Ol’ Twisty used to be called… Clover Something-or-other. But then one day, a family of unicorns nested here, did some magic that they really shouldn’t have been doing, and one two three, here we are!”

“Some story,” Applejack said with a light laugh.

“Some lawsuit for those unicorns.” They shared another laugh, Versus’ voice rising into a honk, which only made Applejack laugh harder. After a minute, they calmed. “There’s not much work for a writer in Snowdrift, so I just do this. It pays the bills.”

“What do ya like to write?”

“Articles, I guess, like for magazines. It’s fluff, like about sports and public events and stuff. I’ve got a couple published back home, you can dig ‘em up if you really wanna, but that’s all. I used to live in Fillydelphia.”

“What brings a pony all the way down here from a city like that?” Applejack asked.

Versus ran a hoof over her mane, eyes widened and mouth taut.

“Got it, personal. Pretend Ah didn’t ask.”

“Oh, you’re fine.” She spoke briefly with another pony at the counter, giving him her recommendation for a good brunch spot nearby. “Your friends have caused quite the stir in town, Applejack.”

“Ah wouldn’t expect any less.”

“A good stir. Not a nasty, stinky stir, but a good one, like sugar in water.” She chuckled at her phrasing. “You do autographs?”

Applejack sighed, and Versus laughed before sobering.

“Just curious, I don’t need one. My grandfather’s obsessed with you all, particularly Pinkie.”

“We get that a lot.”

“Obsessive gran-grans?”

Applejack laughed. “All of it. You ever been to Applewood?”

“Nope ma’am.”

The lobby remained dead for the early afternoon, and Applejack stayed with Versus, telling her about Applewood and the other places they’d seen. She wondered whether she was getting Versus in trouble for distracting her from her job, but Versus gave no indication that she was out of line, easily moving from her conversation with Applejack to the phone or the occasional pony needing assistance. She was bright and cheery, and laughed easily, sometimes at herself. Many ponies would laugh when the Elements said things, a wide but innocuous sycophantic streak, but Applejack did not get that impression from Versus. As they talked, the concierge grew more and more bold, interrupting or correcting Applejack in places. She acted familiar and friendly, and did not at all let on whether she was intimidated by the mare on the other side of the counter. Applejack tried to never come off as more than how she saw herself, but also knew it was futile; ponies who did not know them placed them on a pedestal automatically, before word one was exchanged.

“You here all day?” Versus asked eventually.

“All day, every day,” Applejack said. “It’s complicated.”

“I get off at seven, and I’m not doing anything. Wanna hit the bar with me and a friend? You’ll love her, she works in the kitchen.”

Applejack thought for a second, figuring whether she would be needed for whatever machinations Twilight and the spa twins were sure to have hatched by that time, but said she’d be there.

Octavia, Rarity, and Colgate explored the stalls and stores just north of their hotel, a remarkable and unmistakable landmark no matter how far they strayed. Snowdrift, famed abroad for its bounty of experimental magic, was not so very strange up close. The ponies and griffons smiled and waved, called out prices for their wares, haggled and argued about where to park their carriages or cars. The ground was uneven and slippery, and they had to duck into a clothing store for three sets of overpriced snow shoes.

Icicles trailed from street signs and the large, industrial clocks that had been set up atop them, and at these corners, there was always a crowd to push through. The streets were filled with pedestrians, and the air was filled with laughter and music and the smell of food. Colgate purchased a funnel cake from a grouchy-looking stallion in a cramped stall, and at Octavia’s prompting, they stopped by a bank and withdrew a couple hundred bits; up to that point, they had been using their treasury slip only, and in the smaller towns, it was not always welcome.

The first instance of strange magic, outside their hotel, they saw was in their waitress when they stopped for lunch. As she led them upstairs, they were free to stare at her mane, cropped short but for strands of bright green ribbon that flowed out of it as though underwater, unaffected by gravity. As she took their orders, the ribbons floated up behind her head like languid seaweed.

Their table was right before a wide window overlooking a freezing pond, where a few loons remained yet, their calls mixing with the restaurant’s soft, ambient music into a sonic pastiche that did not fit with the clatter of crockery and the conversation of ponies and griffons all around. Halfway through their meals, Colgate noticed a griffon that kept looking their way, and they were prepared when she approached their table and sat down, unbidden.

They made small talk, Rarity signed an autograph, and then the griffon produced a pair of envelopes from within a baggy jacket. Asked what they were for, she only smiled and repeated that she wasn’t completely sure, just that a friend of hers was interested in meeting the friends of the Elements.

“All four of you, but less than that number in other guests,” she said. “He prefers intimate gatherings, and,” she chuckled, “he’d be kicking himself if he passed up an opportunity like this.” She glanced at Rarity, her aquiline face drooping slightly in polite disappointment. “Unfortunately, it’s just for the four friends. He has enough sense to know the Elements are busy, and cannot be disturbed.”

Rarity smiled and agreed that, yes, they were very busy. The griffon made more small talk with them, offered to buy them drinks, and then went back to her table, still looking at them up until they left.

“Let’s just see what these are,” Rarity said, floating the letters to herself when they stepped outside. “If you don’t mind.”

“Please,” Octavia said.

She unfolded both and read them side by side. “Cordially invited, dinner party, candlelight, lots of praise for you all. I don’t know, but I think I recognize this street name. It might not be far away.”

“I am immediately suspicious.”

Colgate grunted.

“Ooh, but it’s this coming Thursday. And today’s Friday… Will we be here that long?”

“I would rather we not be,” Octavia said. “It is cold.”

“We’ll see what the others say,” Rarity said. “Speaking of which, I think it’s about time to head back. I’m getting tired of keeping this snow off of us, anyway.”

Colgate stayed in the hotel room long enough to turn a couple quick circles, hear about everyone else’s days, and look over the strange invitations before going back to the lobby and plunging into thinning snowfall. She said she would be back before it was too late, and no one tried to stop her. It was not said, but mutually understood that she was likely not instrumental in dealing with the hazard in the warehouse.

It was to escape the crowded room that she left, but as soon as she was loose on the street, she was overwhelmed, not by fear, but by something that felt very much like it to her. On their approach, she had known Snowdrift had the highest concentration of Daturas; out wandering with Rarity and Octavia, she was aware she had probably met a few without knowing it, and had futilely watched for them. Only alone, though, did she take the time to explore the implications of what she knew, which came to her in disjointed bursts.

On a street corner, with a clear view of the recently evacuated radio station, its antennae blinking softly in the pale light, she let her hooves sink into snow, and then lay down and rolled until she had reached the asphalt beneath. A pair of onlookers watched and laughed to each other.

Aloe and Lotus were Daturas: that was point one. Point two was that they were comfortable revealing that fact, unofficially, to her and the Elements, which meant to Colgate two possible things: the situation in Equestria was bad enough that maintaining Datura secrecy was more trouble than it was worth, or the twins knew that the Elements had figured the Datura out. If Lotus was the Information Handler, then the latter seemed to her more plausible, and if that were the case, then the Datura had a way of keeping tabs on them wherever they went.

She thought back to Tartarus and her imaginings of the invisible Datura eye, peering in on her to assess her relations with the others, cataloguing where and when she slipped up. She wondered whether she was still under the microscope, and realized with a sickening feeling that she probably was, and it was probably Lotus’ clear eye that looked down on her. Perhaps even in the snow, her mane frizzy with moisture and her body shivering, her actions were going into the cloud of thoughts. Twilight had been happy to lecture them all about the cloud the previous night, but Colgate did not understand the finer points.

Thus, she was at a crossroads, and a familiar one at that. In Canterlot, she had been studied without her knowledge or consent, and it had carried through toward a lethal end. She still held that luck alone had saved her from sharing Powder Rouge’s fate, slapped out of the sky to perish in flaming wreckage, nothing more than a calculated distraction.

“Not this time,” she mumbled, throwing herself out of the snow and gracelessly gaining her hooves. This time, she knew she was being watched, likely manipulated. She raced back to the hotel and sat at the bar, put a couple shots on the room’s tab, and went back outside, chasing the old feeling of unstoppable, destined courage and feeling it all the way to the forest’s edge. She fairly skipped into the brooding pines, following an obvious set of hoofprints along, but not on, a glistening hiking path.

As her head cleared and the fog of courage dissipated, she could think more of what she would do when she found Lotus, what she would ask her, and her walk slowed.

She could not get away from the events in Canterlot, from thoughts of Fleur and Rouge, and the whirlwind of alcohol, pills, and seemingly infinite disheveled rooms in their wake. They had a hotel back in town; perhaps it was that simple fact that had set her to wandering. She had been reminded of the past, and, not able to face it, chose instead to emulate it. The insight, to her, came and went like the snowflakes alighting and melting on her muzzle. If she had been asked to explain her thoughts, she would have frozen at the first sentence, but inside her head, the impressions spoke for themselves.

“If this is Canterlot, then who’s Fleur? Who’s Rouge? Who’s Fancy Pants?” she thought, stopping by a towering fir and studying the pattern of snow in the runnels of its bark. She walked on, reaching a large clearing from which she could see a wide, west-facing slope. A gap in the trees halfway up told her that there was a second clearing, and further observation revealed that the taller trees between it and Snowdrift were spaced to afford a good view of the town. Panting with the exertion, ignoring the advice she had given earlier about not sweating in cold temperatures, Colgate began to ascend the hill, all the while bearing down once more on her time in Canterlot, the ponies she had known there, and the trouble that had found her.

Thoughts quickly turned to alcohol and pills, and to open water where she could heedlessly consume and be surrounded by friends. There was no pool at their hotel, nor fountain large enough to act as one.

It was never with nostalgia that she looked back at Canterlot, but with a nervous longing that would occasionally turn to outright fear: a sudden, absolute knowledge that someone, somewhere, was looking for her; or the heart-freezing realization that she had made one mistake too many by a simple gesture or glance at the wrong time. These fears had become familiar to her, but in the context of the new city, one which still reminded her so acutely of Canterlot despite the large and manifold differences, she felt as though her ability to cope had been stripped away, that everything she had learned in Tartarus had been boiled off. By the time she reached the clearing and its abandoned-looking shed, she felt emaciated and naked, as though the simple fact of her fear were visible on her face or under her skin. Someone might see right through her, and seeing only fear, decide to squash her—or they might squash her without intending it, simply by saying “hello” when she was not ready to hear it.

“Should’ve done five more,” she thought, looking around without seeing, hoping to spot something to validate her journey uphill. Mist blanketed a depression in the forest northeast of town, and the radio tower’s lights blinked still on the opposite side. In the dawn, the forest was a tableau of pristine snow and black branches, like a picture rendered in charcoal. There, she could feel the distance between her and the capital, and she looked north anyway, just in case. There was nothing to see except more forest, a thick carpet of black treetops yielding in the eventual distance to a brownish line of flatland, an arm of desert that hung between them and Appleloosa.

She breathed of the clean air, the smell of cold pine, and for a minute, she couldn’t stop herself from crying. She sat down and watched the mist change shape with wind that did not rise to her, and the tears stung in her soft fur. She wasn’t lost, but she felt lost, and worse, alone. She told herself that she had friends, but the same distance that emancipated her from her past was as a pane of glass between her and Octavia, her and Applejack. For a while, she sat and let herself cry, not questioning her emotions or their expression. After a few minutes, she felt better, though the tears kept coming; a laugh escaped her between gasps of chill air.

As she got a grip on herself, she placed characters in the image of the pool, then replaced them: Rouge with Octavia, and the friends whose names she never knew with Vinyl, Applejack, and Rarity.

“What are you doing up here?” a voice asked, and Colgate fell back into the snow with a sigh.

The pony approached and helped her up, then glanced at the shed. Without speaking, she led them inside and turned on a gas lantern. She let Colgate calm down, which did not take long, and asked again what she was doing.

After a second, Colgate knew who had found her, and she said, “Looking for you.”

Lotus sighed and unwrapped a scarf around her muzzle. “Are you okay? I saw you crying.”

Colgate looked around, suddenly self-conscious. She was reminded of Octavia after telling her story, expending so much energy on so much emotion, and left feeling only that she had made a fool of herself. She said, “I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know that either.”

Lotus looked at her, and Colgate turned away. Her wide eyes were blotted from a bad night’s sleep, sunken into the soft, feminine face, and she attempted a smile. Colgate looked back at her, nervous, and stared a little longer at the face, the only visible feature under layers of coats and scarves.

“That’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but why did you come for me? Is it important?”

“I don’t know,” she wanted to say again, but could not. Even though her reasons for seeking out Lotus seemed empty to her, she knew she had to say more.

Lotus went to a window, fiddling with the blinds to trigger the latent magic therein, and from there she looked in on Snowdrift. She scanned the town in quick rows, with all the attentiveness of routine. “You don’t mind if I do this, do you? I’m supposed to have a complete picture of the town every day, and I haven’t done it yet.”

“I don’t mind.”

She zoomed in as she passed over Umbrella Park. Ponies were setting up for the Contraction there, arranging tables and hanging decorations, watched by many more as they promenaded on the frosty grass. A pair of mares argued in front of an empty bandstand. “Did you just follow an impulse out here, Minuette?”

“Maybe I’m just stupid,” Colgate said, trying to think.

“Nope.” She glanced back at her, and Colgate felt pinned.

“I’m a—”

“I can’t stand ponies who talk bad about themselves. It’s a filthy habit.” Apparently noticing her own tone, she softened. “If you were stupid, you’d be dead. You had a few chances in Canterlot, to kill yourself by doing something stupid, and I can assume you had a few in Tartarus as well.”

“You know what happened in Canterlot.”

“You mean I know what happened to you? I know what the reports said, and they said plenty.” She forced a laugh. “Shall I enumerate their contents?”

“You shall not,” Colgate said, edging closer and drawing another look from Lotus. The two met each other’s eyes for a minute, each one sizing up the other. Lotus’ cloud had already recalled and sorted everything it knew on Colgate, and Colgate groped to untangle her own feelings. Among everything else, the echo of sadness, the liquor from the hotel, and the constant fear, there glowed a feeling of immediate attraction.

“It is because you are not stupid that Fleur dis Lee took you in.”

“I thought I was lucky.”

“She was the lucky one.”

Colgate smiled, not taking Lotus’ meaning, assuming it was a joke. “Why is she dead?”

Lotus surprised her by laughing. She laughed loudly and reverted the window to its natural state, tossing her head back, letting her soft, pink mane spill across her back; for a moment, against the light, she reminded Colgate of one possessed, before gathering her mane and blinking rapidly. The moment of mirth made Colgate feel diminished, as though she had intruded, as though at any second, Lotus would notice her and put her guard up.

“She died because she got shot in the head by a pulse crystal. Right here.” Lotus leaned down to tap the spot just under the corner of her jaw. “She burned up too fast to be saved.”

“And why did she get shot?” Colgate asked slowly. “And from what angle was she hit?”

“Minuette,” Lotus mumbled, beginning to circle. “She got shot because she was in a battle. That’s what happens.”

“Hey.”

“You asked.” Her heavy clothes shifted with a shrug. “So you came after me to talk about your old commander? Was there something unresolved between you that you needed help with?”

The question froze Colgate. Lotus’ guileless concern was like a stiff wind, driving her response away, leaving her defenseless. The voice, the earnestness of the question, and the sheer physical beauty of the pony before her were all too much.

“She spoke highly of you. She and I talked sometimes; she had affairs down here too, and more than a few ponies she cared about that she asked me to keep an eye on—which I was happy to do. I’d have kept an eye on you too if I were in town.”

“Not that I’d have known,” Colgate said.

“That’s the point.”

“What did she say?”

“About what?”

“About me.”

“When she was speaking highly of you, I assume you mean.” Lotus cleared her throat. “She said you were fast and adaptable, and the sort of mare a pony can’t underestimate. She praised your problem solving and your eye for detail. It’s been noted in your file, her compliments.”

“Goody.”

“Does that help?”

“I don’t know.” There was comfort in the old refrain, as if with it she had rebutted Lotus’ disarming presence.

“I get the feeling that’s not all. Am I right?” She went to a water cooler and poured a paper cup for herself and a second for Colgate.

Sipping, Colgate said, “The red’s worn off your warm water tab.”

Lotus rubbed the water cooler affectionately. “Two months now. No one replaced it.”

Colgate set the paper cup down.

“Seriously, what’s on your mind?”

“You’re busy.”

“I’m always busy, this is fine. I…” With a sigh, she continued, “I try to keep an open-door policy when I can, which hasn’t been much lately. But I can talk. The cloud thinks separately from me, if that’s your concern. I assume Twilight told you about it?”

“There was no stopping her.”

“Good. I hate talking about it, personally.”

“Why?”

“I get tired of it. I get tired of… everything. That’s why I retreat to the forests.”

Colgate took up the cup and studied the drops of water yet clinging to its interior. “I think I get that.”

“You’ve exhibited similar behavior,” Lotus said gently. “You shouldn’t have come up here, though. Ponies freeze to death in these forests sometimes. It’s lucky I was nearby.”

“Yeah.”

“You can be honest with me, Minuette. If you wanted to be alone, you would have stayed in the trees, so I know there’s something eating at you.”

“Mm.” She could not decide whether she was being tested, and if so, if it were to her advantage to go along with it. She imagined the Datura Information Handler exercised a lot of authority that could be used against her should she make a mistake.

“Enough to follow me to Canterlot,” she thought then, eyes widening. Lotus had the cloud, though, which Colgate did not well understand. She could probably detect a trap further in advance than Colgate. For a moment, she did not look so attractive.

“I was the one who pushed the TV,” Colgate said at last.

Lotus looked at her and shook her head. “There are so many possible things you can mean by that.”

“In the hotel in Grass Graves, I pushed the TV off its stand and woke up Rouge. I told her she did it, or something. I think she believed me.”

“Thanks. I won’t ever forget that.”

“You didn’t know it before?"

“Was I supposed to?” She paused. “Minuette, if you think I’m watching you so I can punish you for tiny mistakes, that’s a sorry misconception. I assume that’s what the TV comment was, seeing if I would be surprised by a small detail like that, and thereby show you just how much scrutiny you’ve been under.” She grinned. “Am I right?”

“You… I don’t know,” she said, hanging her head.

“That makes you the fourteenth pony this year who’s tried that trick on me.”

“Well aren’t I special?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Lotus said, edging closer, not taking a full step. “You’ve made your feelings known to Fleur. Your doubts.”

“And therefore to you.”

“Not in as much detail, I’m sure, but essentially. Ahh, did you not get to air this out with her before she passed on? If so—sorry, I’ll let you respond.”

“Yeah, thanks.” She thought frantically, afraid but aware she probably shouldn’t be. She could think of only one thing in the moment, and said it. “If you wanted to, you could have had me indisposed long ago, I assume.”

“Uhhh… The most complete answer is that decisions like that are handled locally, at least for ponies of your level. But the point of your question is that if I wanted to, I could have sought you out at any time, yes?”

“Sure.”

“Then the answer is yes.” She shook her mane again and smiled, reverting for a second to the pony Colgate had been acquainted with in Ponyville. Always then, she had seen Lotus and her sister as perfectly nice, if not slightly dumb, mares with easy jobs and carefree lives, but nothing of that remained in the Snowdrift watchpoint. She reminded Colgate of an office manager, full of calculated friendliness and cheer; she had known plenty of the sort in Manehattan. “And look at you, still kicking. So you can see that I mean you no harm. Yes?”

She did not want to agree so quickly, afraid as she was of falling into a trap, but nodded anyway.

Adjusting her scarf and revealing a slit of light blue neck, Lotus went on, “I know what you did in Canterlot because I know what everyone did in Canterlot, every day.” She thumped her forehead. “Some way or another, every single report makes its way up to me, from the most mundane garbage to the wackiest capers you can imagine.”

“Example?” She bit her tongue; the word slipped out.

“Oh, you want an example? Sure.” She frowned, her hat wiggling with rising ears, her tail switching as she paced before Colgate. “A Datura by the name of Pristine Paints had his first mission in Hoofington twelve days ago. His commander took him out of town and they spent the next six and a half hours inspecting railroad ties. Why? Because they got a tip that one of the ties, maybe, had moved on its own. Fascinating, I know! But the Datura has to follow up on that, because just in case it did move on its own, then that could be curtains for the whole railroad. Six and a half hours, these ponies were on their knees, looking at every single railroad tie.”

Colgate stared.

“Shall I go into greater detail for you?” She turned a quick circle and swiped her paper cup with her tail. “They had to take a fifteen-minute break between the times of eight fifty-two and nine oh-seven when Pristine Paints’ commander accidentally stepped on an anthill. She has a mild allergy to ant bites. It was hidden underneath a particularly large tuft of grass. How about this? She was bitten seven times altogether, once—”

“I think I get it,” Colgate said.

“Do you think so? Do you think so?” She lowered her voice and smiled again. “I’m sorry, I just don’t appreciate being tested. I know you have no reason to know that.” She smiled even wider, falsely, a change which Colgate did not distinguish. “But now you do! So don’t do it again, okey-doke?”

“Right.”

“I read this stuff all the time, and I’d just as soon forget it or put it in a book somewhere, stick it in one of Luna’s libraries. She’s got enough of them, she wouldn’t even notice.”

“I… believe we were talking about my time in Canterlot.”

“Yes.” Lotus sighed and picked up her cup. “Forgive me if I’m irritable. You’d think the other Daturas would be used to me by now, but they test me all the time. I’m like a novelty to them.”

“A novelty,” Colgate said, thinking about the word.

“Back to Canterlot,” Lotus said. “And please be specific with your questions.”

“Okay…” She thought, the old phrase popping up in her head. “No harm, Cole buddy. No harm here.” “Why did the Canterlot Datura exterminate its useless members, instead of exiling them or something?”

At this, Lotus sat down and put a hoof to her brow. She opened her mouth, and Colgate watched, amazed. She had expected an immediate response; she was surprised that Lotus was surprised.

“You need to tell me how you know that,” Lotus finally said. “I mean it.”

“I figured it out.”

“Yes, I can see that, but I need to know how. Did someone tell you something? If so, who?”

Colgate thought back. She could not recall how exactly she had figured it out, only that she had. The impression of disgust remained with her, and had stuck like a brand all the way through the second round of rehab. “I think Fleur mentioned something. Like the ships coming out over the battlefield.”

“The escape convoy, yes, she would have mentioned that. Anything else?”

“They crashed.”

“Yes, I know that.” She looked at Colgate, and, with an effort, softened her tone. “Sorry. Please, continue.”

“I don’t know! I saw that they had crashed, I saw some bones or something in the wreckage, so I put two and two together. I figured if you had tried to kill me off once when I was a reject, you’d probably do it to the others.”

“And what makes you think it was deliberate, this crash?”

“I dunno.”

“Try to remember. Please.”

“Ugh.” She got more water, poured it over her head, and drank her second cup. “Oh, right, ‘cause they were all facing the same way, like they’d crashed together. Like as one unit. Plus, Fleur had been there before, practicing.” Too late, she realized she had said too much again as Lotus’ face darkened further. She looked at the door, half expecting it to lock on its own.

“And how do we know that detail?” Lotus asked. “Do not tell me that you ‘figured it out’ again.”

“It was her shoes,” Colgate said at length. “Muddy shoes, and her coat in the hamper. It was cold at nights, but still warm in the afternoons, so I knew she had gone out at night. No map in the drawer, either, so it was somewhere familiar and outdoors, at night. No meetings, ‘cause those are indoors usually. That plus what I figured about the crash, I dunno, it made sense.”

Lotus took a long, slow breath, in which she looked into Colgate’s eyes.

“Was I not supposed to know these things?”

“You can say that,” Lotus said. “Stop right there. We’re not done.”

Colgate stopped, one hoof on the area rug and three on the floor, a sprint away from the door. Behind her, she saw death, not even looking at her, apparently working over some insoluble conflict in her head, or out of it. She wanted to be quiet and let her fate take her, hoping that a gentle submission would prompt mercy, but the door was so close.

“If you run, you won’t leave me a choice,” Lotus said, back to the calculated kindness. “I can tell you’re thinking about it.”

“I’m not thinking.”

“Can you relax for me?”

Colgate shook her head.

“Can you try? You’re not in trouble, I just want to keep talking about what you know.”

“I don’t know anything. I was making everything up, I was faking it. You don’t trust me.”

“Enough. You’re not in trouble,” she repeated. “Shall we sit?”

“I don’t sit.”

Lotus smiled. “Certainly. I will. Is that okay?” She sat on a cushion at the other end of the room and looked placidly at Colgate, who slowly lowered her ears. “This is a security concern, a hole in the cover, that’s all, and it seems you detected it. You’re helping me, Minuette.”

“Sure am.”

“Helping us all, I should say. If you can figure out something like that, then who’s to say someone else hasn’t? Fleur needs to be more mindful of her laundry, that’s for sure.”

Noting Lotus’ use of the present tense, Colgate nonetheless held her tongue.

“Would you like something to drink, at least? I can get you something from the mini fridge. I think we’ve got a couple bottles of pop left. You like tangerine?”

“Poison,” Colgate thought, and then, right after, “how bad could it be?” She shook her head with a gracious smile.

Lotus smiled back, and Colgate looked at her face, seeing the severity of her infraction writ in the stress lines and serious pull at Lotus’ mouth.

“This is the only thing I’ve figured out from you all,” Colgate said.

“But that’s not true, is it? There was an attempt on you and Rouge earlier in Grass Graves. The watchpoint, the fire? Yes? You’ve mentioned it already; you know what that was.”

“I remember. That’s why Fleur took me in, ‘cause I impressed her by slipping the fire trap.”

Lotus just continued to look at her, her smile growing, reaching up to her eyes and widening her face into something more akin to the natural friendliness Colgate remembered. To Colgate, it was not a face at all, but a warning sign, telling her to get out of town as fast as possible. “We’ve got Ponyville and Canterlot. Why not Snowdrift? What’s a third?”

After a while, Lotus sighed, her expression conflicted and unsure, but to Colgate’s eyes simply sad. “Minuette, I think you’re free to go.”

Colgate blinked, and the face reverted to haggard impatience.

“You’ve got nothing to fear from me.”

“I bet I do,” she blurted. “That is, uh, not really. That was a lie.”

“Settle down.” She patted the cushion with a hoof, and for a second, Colgate believed her.

“I’m settled.”

“A security breach like this would normally be treated with a memory wipe after a full interrogation.”

“That was the soda.”

“That was just to knock you out.” She laughed to herself. “I don’t want to conduct a whole wipe interview on my own! Can you imagine how miserable that would be for both of us? I suppose you can’t.”

“She’s gonna turn and get me as soon as I get back to town.” Something must have shown in her eyes, because Lotus straightened her face. “That was my first idea, but I don’t think it applies to you. You’ve had opportunity after opportunity to talk about what you know, and you haven’t.”

“I haven’t?”

“I would know, believe that.” She flicked her ears under her hat. “I think I can trust you.”

Colgate frowned at her.

“Plus, I hate wiping ponies’ memories.”

“You killed Rouge and them, though.”

“I did not,” Lotus said softly.

“Authorized it.”

“Minuette.” She forced a laugh. “Just because I’m not going to wipe you for knowing what you know, doesn’t mean we can talk about this more. Frankly, I could do with some more alone time now. This is still a security breach, and I need to assess the risk involved.”

Colgate took a step toward her, licking her lips, a barrier like paper between what she wanted to say and her petrified tongue. Lotus looked at her, her expression tired, but expectant. “I don’t like that you killed my friend,” Colgate managed.

“Again—”

“I get that they were a cancer to the Datura. Why not wipe them all, though?”

With closed eyes, Lotus said, “because that’s not how it works.”

“That’s no answer.”

“I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Shall I ask Aloe?”

Lotus just glared at her, curled on her cushion, like a dog that had been whipped. “Ask her anything you want.”

Colgate nodded and went to the magic window, conscious of the Information Handler’s eyes on her the whole time. Recalling what she saw Lotus do, she activated the magic and, with some fiddling, found their corkscrew hotel. She rotated the view until she had found their floor, and, zooming in on a window, was able to see Aloe and Twilight conversing in the room.

Lotus watched her exit the cabin, sick to her stomach.

By the time she had gotten back, she had lost her reason for wanting to speak to Aloe. The talk with Lotus took shape in her head as she walked downhill, growing subtexts and implications that had passed her by the first time, as so often conversations did. She saw why Lotus trusted her: not only had she not betrayed any Datura secrets so far, but she was too afraid of retribution ever to do so. That she knew Lotus relied on this fear did not incite in her feelings of any sort, for she knew that Lotus was correct, and knew that proving her wrong would only hurt her.

Slowly, she realized that more and more things she had taken as mistakes from Lotus had probably been on purpose. Her use of the present tense when speaking of Fleur, her recollection of the phrase “no harm,” the few tacit admissions to events she did not strictly need to acknowledge, they formed an idea of someone whose ability to handle employee complaints and concerns were inveterate, and beyond mere confidence. She had manipulated Colgate and left her with no recourse. To whom could Colgate appeal, and for what reason? Recognizing those thoughts, she then wondered whether she was right to place Lotus on such a lofty, dispassionate pedestal, or whether Lotus had instead just been right, and wanted her employee to feel better.

Her attraction did not help matters. In Ponyville, flattened under medication, Colgate had not looked on anyone with more than passing interest, one of many reasons why her longest running relationship had failed. Was it that Lotus had always been interesting, and it had taken Colgate so long to notice it, or was it a reflection of the power dynamic she had discovered? The thought of someone so far above her, looking down with benevolence—or the courtesy of feigning benevolence—was appealing in a sense. Perhaps Colgate had found another friend. “A pretty friend,” she thought, shaking her head, at the same time wishing to have seen Lotus under the coats.

What she had never properly understood, and which she slowly came to realize on the return trip, was that she had earned her freedom, and her life. Luck had placed her in Fleur’s path in the first place, but it was her intelligence that had let her turn the opportunity into something. Her higher education, as she thought of it, borrowing Applejack’s term. Before, she had seen her actions as outside herself, as if she had stumbled into them quite by accident—that was how it so often felt. Hearing herself talk it over with Lotus, however, she realized that she had thought things through in the past as well, and had made her choices. Ponies made choices, and so did she.

Among thinning trees, she looked around, then up at the snowing sky. “Choices, Rouge buddy,” she said aloud. She wondered which choices Rouge had made, and which had been made for her.

“I choose to lie in the snow now.” She carved out a small place for herself on the ground and sunk to her muzzle in soft ice, the closest she could get to immersion in water. When her nose was numb and her legs had fallen asleep, she struggled to her hooves and gradually made it into town. On certain street corners, there had appeared large clocks to hang from light poles, and it was from one that Colgate saw that it was getting close to dinner time. At the hotel, she put a few more shots on the room tab and then went up to her friends. Aloe was gone, and Twilight was hunched over a map of Snowdrift and the surrounding forests when she walked into the room.

“Ah, you are just in time,” Octavia said. “Rainbow and I were going to go out to find some dinner. Shall you come along?”

“Dinner,” Colgate said, nodding to herself. She turned and walked right back out with them.

The following day, Fluttershy and Rarity walked the afternoon streets of Snowdrift, straying north in search of something to do after brunch. Twilight was back at the hotel with Lotus, working out details on the hazard problem, and Applejack was intermittently between the room and the lobby, where she had made a friend in their concierge.

Snow had turned to rain, and Rarity kept them dry with an effortless shield as they put the larger buildings behind them and entered a residential area, one of two pockets of compact houses that made up the densest parts of town, parallel wings on the east and west ends, cleft by the main road as it widened and split around a long, thin park. There were fewer street vendors up north, and more proper businesses: record stores, boutiques, coffee shops, and the like appeared here and there in clusters not far from the thick sets of houses.

“I wish we had a camera,” Fluttershy said, pausing to look up at a tall, slender house, sleet gray with rain, its upper-story windows open a crack to let the cool air circulate. A ladder leaned against the wall by a lighter patch of paint, and a clapboard doghouse dripped behind a chain-link fence in the tiny yard between it and its neighbor. “This,” she said, “this is perfect. I love serene things like this.”

“It’s certainly that,” Rarity said.

“We’ll just have to hold it in our memories, moments like this, I mean. Where it almost doesn’t feel like we’re on the clock.”

“That’s ironic, coming from you.”

“I said almost.” They both laughed.

“I know what you mean, dear. I kid. We’re all entitled to relax a little bit, even if it is just like this. Oh!” She pointed to a clothing store on the opposite side of the intersection.

“You know how I feel about shopping right now.”

“I do, I so do, but darling, look at it! Well, actually, looking at it now, it is rather drab, but… Oh, I don’t care! To be surrounded by fashion again, even for a minute. I’m tired of my clothes being simply functional.” She plucked the final word out like a pony spitting out a cherry seed.

Thunder rumbled as they entered the shop, and an elderly mare in a sagging, black frock greeted them. Rarity went straight to the jewelry, while Fluttershy simply took in the shop. There was nothing there for her among the doilies and chairs, the morose umbrellas leaning in the corner, and the gossamer dresses that clung to their stands more like shadows than clothing, but Rarity was happy. In a large room in the back, Rarity changed behind an accordion wall while Fluttershy looked disinterestedly at racks of fabric.

They left without purchasing anything, walking past a quiet bar and its neighboring bookstore, of which Fluttershy made a mental note to tell Twilight later.

“Oh no,” Rarity murmured. She tapped Fluttershy on the wing and pointed across the street. Behind colorful houses, leaning slightly apart on uneven ground, she saw the beginning of a familiar name on an imposing, concrete building. She flew up into a tree to see it better for a second.

“It’s them all right,” Fluttershy said, resuming their walk.

“I thought they were only in Roan.”

“I think I remember Twilight saying they were here too, a smaller branch.”

Rarity only sighed.

“We’ll just keep our heads down.”

“Ah, yes, us Elements of Harmony. What could be easier?”

Fluttershy gave her a thin smile and pulled at her hoof when she stopped on the corner, looking on the Mansel bank with resentful awe. They turned down a street rough with potholes and watched as a decorated carriage rumbled by, cloaked in its own delicate shield that sparkled and jumped with each raindrop. Its drivers’ hooves clicked on the wet asphalt, and a tired looking stallion lay in the seat, frowning into a mirror with pursed lips. They walked toward a corner café and, to give Rarity a rest, got coffee and took it on the patio.

“I don’t know if I want Aloe and Lotus to come back to Ponyville,” Fluttershy said suddenly. She had been thinking it all morning.

“I agree,” Rarity said, and Fluttershy could tell that she had been thinking the same. “I don’t care what they say, they aren’t the mares we know. Well, maybe Aloe, since she’s just a… What was her term? Handler? Ugh. Not Lotus.”

“I feel bad for her, in a way.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Rarity said. They could see the long park, and across it, they could see the short tower of a church.

“She doesn’t like her cloud,” Fluttershy said.

“Me neither.” They received their coffee. “She’s just a nag now. It pains me to say it, because—well, you know her as well as I do, or the old her anyway—but it’s true. Twilight says she’s overworked. That’s fine. So are us all!” Fluttershy flinched at the sudden shout. “Sorry. What gives her the right to give us the cold shoulder when we’ve come all this way?”

“At least she’s helping us,” Fluttershy wanted to say, but knew that Rarity would take it the wrong way. Instead, she studied the foam on her latte.

“I get hiding it from us when we were in Ponyville. If I came to you and revealed something like that, you’d be agog. You wouldn’t know what to do with me. So I get that they hid it.”

“It’s a shock to find out, though.”

“Don’t think me morbid for saying it, dear, but I’ve been likening it to cancer in my mind. You know, like we just found out one of them has it.”

“This would be the opposite, though, since it’s a good thing.”

“I’m not sure I’d call it that.”

“It’s letting her do good things.”

“Hmph. I’m just angry with her,” Rarity continued after the waitress had gone. “I’m angry because it’s a big shock, as I said, and I’m sure I’ll get over it. That’s all well and good, but it doesn’t… Well, to be perfectly blunt, knowing I’ll get over it later doesn’t help me now.”

“To your point, it would be a lot easier to take if Lotus actually had the decency to sit us down and explain, instead of leaving it for her sister.”

“I’m starting to welcome her being gone so much. Oh, dear, I am sounding like a witch, aren’t I?”

“Well…”

“It’s fine. She can have her cloud. I just… Like I said, I don’t want to see her anymore. That’s all.”

Knowing Rarity was exaggerating, Fluttershy nodded.

“Not just the cloud, actually,” Rarity said. “The secret agent thing too.”

“She said she was genuinely happy doing what she did as a, er, cover.”

“Yes, she says that. How do we even know her cutie mark is real? It might have been… tattooed on, or something, when she was inducted. We don’t know!”

“I think we do.”

Rarity looked at her sourly, but she knew Fluttershy was right. For them to be fooled for years, never for any of their weekly spa trips suspecting that there was more to the chattering, slightly silly duo, it was more than just a good cover.

“Perhaps that is so,” Rarity said slowly into her coffee. “Why a double life, though? It can’t have been easy.”

“Maybe it was,” Fluttershy ventured. “She’s just information. All she had to do was answer questions, and Aloe said that back before the Crumbling, there wasn’t that much. Compared to now, I mean.”

“Well, she was obviously handling it somehow, because she was there every weekend.”

“It makes me wonder how many others there are in Ponyville, and the towns we’ve been to.”

“Well, Colgate’s one,” Rarity said. “She practically announced it to me when I was helping her with her side. I imagine that explains the trouble she doesn’t want to talk about, and why she doesn’t want to go back home. I believe her term was ‘reject,’ that’s what she called herself.”

“She didn’t perform well?”

“Something like that. I didn’t interrogate her, she’s so skittish.”

Fluttershy nodded.

“Then there’s that mare in Passage Town, Cloud Line I think her name was.”

“Oh, with the pump. I remember her.”

“The cops in Cloudsdale, probably. The snow tube.”

Fluttershy kept nodding, not particularly interested, turning in her seat to watch the streets. It was a Saturday, and the pedestrians seemed hardly fazed by the weather, dressed in colorful outfits, some alive with enchantments and some dark with rain.

“I wonder if that creepy reverend was one,” Rarity said. “In Appleloosa, remember?”

“Reverend Green.”

“That’s him! I knew it was a color.”

“I’ll bet that’s not his real name,” Fluttershy said. “Reverend Green, Dr. Whooves…”

“Don’t remind me of him.”

“I liked him okay.”

Rarity made a gagging face, which made Fluttershy giggle, and they paid and left. Thinking their private thoughts, they entered the long park from the side, stopping to watch a pair of younger ponies playing chess at a bench, seemingly unaware of the rain as it seeped into their clothes, which were not inexpensive. The park was only twenty meters wide, but a couple hundred long, and sunk down gently with the land as it reached up into the northernmost section of Snowdrift, where the gateway waited, as yet unseen. They started down one of the snaking paths, pausing at a fountain where a griffon couple was taking a picture. With a little hesitation, they let themselves be photographed as well.

On the far side, they paused at the chapel they had seen from the café, rain coursing down its sheer walls like reflections of living stone, its one window spattered and foggy. Dribbles of snow still appeared in the rectangular cuts in the earth on both sides of the entryway, places where flowers would bloom in the spring and summer, but dark and watery now.

“I’ve been noticing these around,” Fluttershy said. “And holy symbols here and there too. I didn’t know this was a religious town.”

“I’ll bet I can guess which princess they worship here,” Rarity mumbled.

The church they had seen from afar was a short walk away, and they cut through the wet lawn to view it. From the church, they could see the first clipping of gateway past a short wall, and Rarity thought she could make out heat waves moving over its surface. They did not linger on the church’s stoop, though they wanted to, for a service was going on inside. The morose, dignified organ put them both in mind of the typical funerary crowd, and they saw they were not far off when, heading back toward the chapel, they turned to watch parishioners file out into the storm. The priestess—a griffon, to their mild surprise—shook hooves and gave hugs and blessings, and when she was alone, looked about for a minute before flapping up to the belfry and disappearing into a hood of shadow.

“We’ve probably met so many by now, and we’ll never know,” Fluttershy said. “In my opinion, the sooner we learn to live with that, the better.” She glanced at Rarity. “Secret agents, I mean.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“You don’t like the deception, though.”

Rarity looked at her. “You say that as though you do.”

“No, no, not like that. I just mean it doesn’t bother me as much.”

“Since when?”

“Since…” Since she had begun reading about memory wiping spells, she knew, but couldn’t say. “I’m not sure. I guess I just changed my mind somewhere.”

“Eh, fair.”

Fluttershy looked up at a prolonged sequence of lightning flashes in time to see the final bolt touch the forest to the south, and she flattened her ears for the rolling thunder, which was not loud, but still bothered her. She had resolved, the day before, to tell Vinyl to start practicing memory alteration magic. For all her indecision, her desire to forgive Pinkie naturally for her failings, and all her reflection on whether she, Fluttershy, were the one at fault for not having forgiveness in her heart, she had finally cast all of it aside. She could spend a lifetime worrying the problem, but a lifetime she did not have. Time was getting shorter, and she did not know how long it would take Vinyl to learn. Best to just get it over with.

Besides, she thought, after the memory was gone, all her agonizing would be meaningless anyway. That was what she had to keep reminding herself.

“I get it in a way,” Rarity said, “not minding being deceived, if it’s for good. But I can’t be comfortable if I’m letting someone else decide what’s good and bad for me to know. That just doesn’t feel right.”

Not wanting a conversation about it, Fluttershy just smiled and said, “that makes sense.”

Cutting Trees

Chapter One hundred-six

Cutting Trees

When they were sleeping, the sun had climbed into the noon position, turning the Snowdrift cloud cover into a leisurely, white and gray whirlpool. It had broken apart by seven in the morning, and the night’s snowfall had reduced to sludge in the gutters as they walked together down a crooked street, following the sounds of music and conversation toward Umbrella Park. Fluttershy had chosen to stay behind and keep Applejack company, grateful for the excuse to avoid the crowd that gathered for the Contraction.

Twilight, in the middle of the pack, explained her plan.

“So as we know, the hazard is sort of like a giant amoeba; it sucks nutrients out of organic materials, usually enveloping them first. It didn’t get anypony when it showed up, thank Celestia, but it’s only a matter of time at this point.”

“Well, ‘cause it can just use our ship as a stepping stone to the rest of the town now, right?” Rainbow asked.

“That’s right. It can’t do it immediately, but it probably will soon-ish, so we need to be fast. I haven’t gone over the precise details with Lotus yet—Aloe told me she’d be by later today for that.”

“Joy for all,” Rarity said.

“But this is what I’ve got. The hazard is actually a really simple organism, when you think about it. It’s big, and it’s magical—comes from Tartarus, that’s why—but it’s pretty dumb.”

“How dumb are we talkin’?” Big Mac asked.

“About as smart as a spider. I mean, it doesn’t have what we think of as a brain, so…”

“Why exactly can we not just blow it up?” Vinyl asked. She looked at Octavia, who pretended not to notice.

“The main reason is because it lives in the warehouse,” Twilight said. “And we can’t destroy that. I mean, we could, but—”

“We’re not savages,” Pinkie said.

“Exactly. We could also light the warehouse on fire, but we’re not going to. Also, think of it this way: because it’s such a simple organism, because it’s basically water, a membrane, and some connective tissue, blowing it up wouldn’t do as much as you might think. It might reassemble.”

“It might?” Big Mac asked.

“Aloe doesn’t know. There hasn’t been a lot of testing done on these—they don’t even have a proper name—but she says it seems like a reasonable precaution. Blowing it up might be like trying to blow up a swimming pool.”

“How do you fight a pool?” Pinkie asked.

“Exactly.” Twilight smiled for a split second, then frowned. “We’re going to dry it out.”

At this, Rainbow laughed, and Pinkie joined in; Twilight glared at them both.

“Sorry, just wasn’t what I was expecting to hear,” Rainbow said, wiping a tear. “You’re gonna evaporate this monster?”

“Did I say evaporate? I said dry it out, Dash.” She cleared her throat and gestured the group to come in closer. “You might be wondering how to dry out something that big, what possible materials I might need. I…” Suddenly glad that Fluttershy was not with them, she said, “look around you. We’re surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of square miles of forest.”

“Sawdust,” Vinyl said. “Like when you barf at school.”

“I hate that idea,” Rainbow said. “Sorry, Twi.”

“I don’t like it either,” Twilight said. “I live in a tree, if you’ll remember. Lived, I mean. Aloe and I discussed that too, and we’re going to use as much dead stuff as we can find first. Then, there’s a lumber yard in Little Snowdrift, and Aloe said we could use them too.”

“Little Snowdrift?” Pinkie asked.

“That’s where we found the ponies in the observatory,” Big Mac said.

“Ooh, yeah.”

“Only after we’ve used that up, will we start cutting live trees. So it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“Okay, that is better,” Rainbow said. “I guess. But what about delivering it? We’re not just gonna march in with saddlebags full of sawdust and dump ‘em.”

“That’s what Lotus and I are going to discuss later today. We need a delivery system, and we’re probably going to need to get the roof off the warehouse, so it can’t just hide in there. We’ll need a team of decoys as well, to lure it out.”

“Dashie’s fast, she can do that!” Pinkie said.

“Uh, no,” Rainbow said.

“Can any of this be done quickly?” Octavia asked.

“Again,” Twilight said, “depends on Lotus. Aloe assures me she’s got resources, but I don’t know what specifically. I’m sure I’ll have help getting sawdust, and I’m reasonably sure we can set up a way to get the roof off without too much trouble, but the rest… Yeah, I’m a little foggy. I think if we can get three or four wood chippers, like the huge, industrial ones, we can find a way to rig them up to spray our sawdust.”

“You’re gonna need to suspend those,” Colgate said. “They won’t reach from the perimeter, not unless your nasty is right there.”

“I know that. In a perfect world, I’d just get a system of wires strung up over the warehouse area.”

“Like the cables we used to secure those towers in Manehattan,” Pinkie said. “Gee, where’s that cable pony when we need him?”

“Rotting in Tartarus, I hope,” Rarity said. Everyone looked at her, and she shrugged.

“Cables or cranes, something like that,” Twilight said. “If worse comes to worst, I can just get in a balloon and carry the whole thing out over the fields, and dump it that way.”

“See, now that sounds way easier,” Rainbow said.

“She’d rather be on the ground, overseeing things,” Vinyl said.

“That’s exactly right,” Twilight said.

“Kitty litter!” Pinkie cried, and Big Mac leaned away, ear flattened.

“What about kitty litter, darling?” Rarity simpered. “Oh, wow, look at that!” The first details of Umbrella Park came into view, its entrance a curving bowery resplendent with glistening, dripping magic, as if the sun had not touched the ice there. Each tree was bedecked with magical icicles, each shrub with twinkling scales, the path between frosty white. Strands of magic broke into finer strings across the ground, like braided jellyfish tentacles, while others pooled in the stiff grass. Casting a glare, it did not allow a good view of the claustrophobic mass in the park, but with the stellar light at either side, they could see the ebbing crowd of black and brown-clad ponies in an open space just down the way, shifting before a group of food stands. The smells of salted pretzels and grilled vegetables hit them in a wave, and they all paused, for a second transported back home. The cold air gave a peculiar edge to the county fair scents, sweetened by the smell of so many brooding trees, not dampened but sharpened, bitter with salt and oil.

Mingling with the food smells so long forgotten and the hiss of steam, the ponies and griffons struck them as comically out of place. Everyone in the park was dressed as though for church, subdued in color and shape with dark layers that fattened and softened bodies, widened movements. It was on their heads and, less commonly, their backs that the certain partygoers showed their personalities: long, black ribbons flowed out behind bobbing tails; or wicker ornaments balanced stiffly on heads. Some chose not to adorn themselves at all, and to appear in tuxedos, bulky suit jackets, or false fur coats. Some appeared sunken into their high-collared vestments, while others showed off leg wrappings or high boots with bracelet-sleeve jackets. The Elements exchanged silent, self-conscious looks.

“Kitty litter dries stuff out,” Pinkie said at last. “Duh! It dries out kitties’ wee-wee all the time. Maybe Twilight can throw that on the monster instead of sawdust.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Twilight said, taking a tentative step toward the crowd. “The problem is… Well, I have to talk to Lotus about it later. I don’t know how much of whatever material I’m going to need. The hazard’s pretty big, so it would have to be super-absorbent kitty litter.”

“Morning, gang!” a loud voice said from the side, and up trotted a grinning, manic-eyed pony; it took them a second to recognize her.

“Versus, right?” Pinkie asked. “Applejack told us about you!”

“Ah, little ol’ me? I’m touched,” Versus said, putting a hoof to her heart. “Did you just get here?”

“Sure did,” Rainbow said. “Is that a sack race back there?”

“We got sack racing, corn hole—I just came from there—ring toss, throw-balling, food, music, you name it!” She dug inside a pocket and produced a stuffed blue fish. “See? She’s going right on my headboard.”

“Twilight, are we done for now?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight smiled faintly. “Go have fun, girls.”

Rainbow and Pinkie shot off into the park, their flopping manes out of their hoods and marking them immediately in the sea of covered partygoers. Versus herself was dressed in a trim, brown pea coat with silver buttons and a floor-length godet skirt, black with gold pinstripes, and her entire body rustled as she moved among them, shaking hooves and paying polite compliments.

“It appears we missed something important when dressing this morning,” Rarity said.

“It’s okay,” Versus said with a smile, exposing her long teeth and brightening her eyes. “It’s tradition to dress up for the Contraction, that’s all. I don’t think anyone’s gonna get on your cases.”

“Not much color variance, I’m seeing,” Rarity continued, scanning the crowd. “Lots of… earth tones.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Big Mac said. He had not taken his eyes off Versus the whole time, and she did not appear to notice. Under her single coat, she vibrated and trotted in place to keep the blood flowing.

“We’ve got an hour or two ‘til the Contraction,” Versus said, and, casually looping a foreleg over Vinyl’s back, pointed to a grove of trees blocking their view. “That’s what they’re saying. Past there’s the music, I dunno if you can hear it yet. We got three groups to play this time, which is pretty good. We only had a couple days’ notice on this one.” She shook her head. “Those precogs are slacking, I tell ya.”

“Who sets all this up?” Twilight asked.

“Everyone! As soon as word gets out that a Contraction is coming, everypony pitches in. Oh! Twilight, you gotta get one of Baker’s Dozen’s stuffed funnel cakes!”

“Pinkie’s sorry she ran off so early,” Vinyl said with a laugh.

In the semicircle of food stands, they waited in the longest line for what Versus described as “the tastiest, guiltiest thing you’ve ever eaten,” and watched the party expand around them. The trees’ magic lights steadily grew more numerous, and were joined by an occasional ornament of orange fire, wobbling in place like ball lightning when untouched and zipping away with a mean sizzling sound when a curious pony got too close. Fillies and colts played in the grass and begged parents for treats, all of them unfailingly swathed in black or brown, occasionally gray or white. More and more, the Elements felt uncomfortable in their department store sweaters, though no one looked at them with the remotest surprise. Twice, Vinyl was singled out and asked for an autograph, which she happily provided.

From the funnel cake counter, Versus led them between two tinkling fountains and across a parquet of grass and clover to the bandstand, where Pinkie joined them, panting from a run and grinning ear to ear under an overlarge black and purple top hat that kept slipping over her eyes. The air was filled with the gentle motion of bells and airy woodwinds, performed by a somber sextet of elderly stallions, all wrapped so tightly in oaken coats and huge, furry hats as to resemble a family of giant groundhogs that had come up between the bandstand’s tiers. Under their auspices, a thin group of dancers moved languidly and close together, silent and seeming to have only eyes for one another.

At front, a seventh, younger stallion stood inside the spacious coils of a free standing, metal horn, his forelegs on the outer surface to manage a panel of valves and slides while he blew into the mouthpiece. The instrument’s mouth was angled up to the sky, wide enough to admit its minstrel if he were to jump in, and from it emitted an almost subsonic hum that they felt more than heard, a deep-sea tone that filled their chests and the backs of their eyes.

“And that, ladies—and gent—is a groan horn,” Versus said, smiling at their puzzled looks. “We got ‘em nowhere else but here.”

“I have seen these,” Octavia said. “I have always wanted one, but I do not think I could play.”

“You need lungs of iron to play them.” She hooted a compliment and pitched a bit into a bucket beside the groan horn, and the stallion nodded absently. She craned her neck. “I’m trying to see the other band. I saw ‘em a couple minutes ago.”

“I’m not seein’ the appeal of this one,” Big Mac said. “That horn’s impressive enough, Ah s’pose.”

“No, they must have run off already,” Versus said. “Maybe they’re getting snacks.” She poked Pinkie’s hat. “How many tickets did that cost you, Pinks?”

“None! The pony gave it to me for a kiss!” She giggled at Rarity’s frown. “Just kidding. Sixty! No, sixty-five.”

They edged away from the bandstand as more dancers filled the lawn, twirling silently in swaying cloth. In the eerie music, it was not hard to imagine them as ghosts summoned up by some necromancer’s magical tune, or as nobility that did not yet know it had been stolen from its ballroom. For a time, Versus watched, a fixed smile on her face, but when she noticed Big Mac’s expression, her smile became animated as she grabbed him and entered into the dancing, a laugh in her eyes. The two moved awkwardly for his bulk and shyness, out of step with everyone else, but her radiant expression did not flag, and the mares clapped for them when the song was over and Big Mac was released. Seeing how it was done, Pinkie jumped in next, at first spinning on her own and then dragging Rarity into the mix. The band struck up a less somber tune, and one of the dancers on the other side of impromptu floor let loose with a hearty laugh at something her partner said.

When the band had paused, the Elements found a place at one of the long picnic tables on the far side, nearer the park’s edge, and rested while Twilight got them more food. When she got back, Rainbow had returned and Colgate had left.

“She said she saw Lotus in the crowd,” Octavia said. “I do not know what she wants with her.”

“I do,” Rarity said. Nodding thanks to Twilight for her vegetable skewer, she said, “shop talk.”

“That makes sense.”

“What is this music they’re playing?” Rainbow asked.

“Dancin’ music, Dashie!” Pinkie said, swaying next to Versus.

“Pfft. As if.”

“Try it,” Big Mac said, his red color hiding his blush. “It’s not that bad.”

Versus laughed and looked at him.

They ate and watched the crowds shift, the dancers clear off, the musicians confer and rest. The groan horn player removed his scarf and climbed out of his instrument, revealing himself to be a young stallion, not even as old as the youngest Element, overweight and puffing with the exertion. He sucked greedily at a water bottle for several seconds before getting back into the horn and fiddling with the valves until he had the setting he wanted. A pair of griffons landed in front of him and tossed a pair of bits in his bucket, and he smiled at them.

On the other side of the park, through a copse of trees, they could see more magical lights and hear the sounds of growing revelry, then a shout of gleeful alarm as a lone firework shrieked into the sky and turned the clouds’ bellies a royal purple. More laughter rolled over the grass and frost.

They got up after a time and went to an uneven patch of tuffets and miniature fountains, frozen over, their concrete rings frosty and brittle-looking, and watched the fair games. A griffon with too-long coattails, wavering with the effort to keep himself standing on his back legs, hefted a sledge hammer and attempted to ring the bell, falling several feet short. In the severe clothing of the occasion, it was odd to see ponies and griffons at play, throwing balls and bean bags, jumping with legs tied together, laughing and eating, wiping condiments off lapels with napkins. Pinkie and Versus ran up to a stallion in a fat, black trench coat and signed up for the sack race, on the other side of the park.

Colgate caught up to Lotus in the middle of the glowing trees, just past a quieter picnic table, farther from the band. Lotus smiled emptily at her, and Colgate matched her expression. They looked at each other for a minute.

“Yes?” Lotus finally asked. “Do you need something?”

“I just wanted to say that I figured out why you…” She looked around and lowered her voice. “What we talked about yesterday, the thing that happened in Canterlot, the thing I shouldn’t know about.”

“Yes, I know. What about it?”

“I know why it had to be that way.”

“Okay.” She resumed her walk, in the direction of a pair of outhouses.

“Ponies with memory problems don’t show up frequently, so a glut of them like that—even if you spread it out across the country, which would be a pain to do—would be easily noticed. You could take a couple years to do it, but then even those rejects would notice something weird going on. I get that now, you had to make it look like a tragedy, ‘cause that’s way more believable than a bunch of randomly appearing memory ponies. Right?”

Without looking at her, Lotus smiled and said, “congrats.”

Colgate’s heart quickened, and she pressed on. “I’m still working on why it had to be Fleur there, to knock it out of the sky, instead of some bombs.”

“Aw, Minuette, that’s the easy part.”

“Is it ‘cause the marks might notice something squirrely with the way the ships flew or looked?”

“Think simpler,” Lotus said, shaking her head. She had stopped under a string of jade lights, all slowly following one another in an analemma several feet off the ground and casting its awed watchers in a sickly green. She gave Colgate a smile, a little more of her face showing than the day before, and Colgate tried to think even as she locked onto a strand of pink mane that had come out from under Lotus’ hat to brush her eye.

“I… I can’t just turn it on and off.” She knew she made no sense, but nothing else came to mind.

Lotus shrugged. “The ships would have been too heavy with all the extra materials for a bomb.”

“Oh. Yes, that follows.”

“Minuette, I must ask, why are you doing this? I would think, after yesterday, you’d want to stay as far away from me as possible.” She brushed the pink hair back into place.

“I wanted you to know I’d figured it out.”

She shrugged elaborately. “Okay.”

Colgate looked around. “Where’s Aloe?”

“Checking the safety zone around the hazard. She’ll be back soon, I’m sure. You need her?”

“No, just asking. She and Twilight have a plan.”

“I know, she briefed me on it. Twilight and I are gonna talk after the Contraction.”

“What do you think?”

Lotus closed her eyes and breathed through her nose.

“Of their plan I mean, sorry.” She forced a laugh, her heart racing, her cheeks aflame.

“Mm. From what I hear, it sounds solid. I can outfit Twilight with the resources she needs to get it done quickly, which I know is more important to her right now than anything else.”

“She actually wanted to be done by today.”

After a second of cloud thinking, Lotus said, “She learned about how ponies use the Contraction to shoot across the country, and wanted to catch a ride on this one. Yes?”

Colgate smiled. “Congrats.”

Lotus laughed, and for a second, Colgate warmed.

“How powerful is the cloud?”

“Ugh.”

“I’m not gonna test you,” Colgate said. “That’s not my way.”

“Forgive me,” Lotus said, “if I decline to talk about it. I’ve heard that line before; seventy-eight times this year, if you want to know. Yours is seventy-nine.”

“Oh.”

Lotus sighed. “I don’t mean to be abrupt with you, I’m sorry. I’m not a morning pony, and I… You know how I feel about the cloud.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No one does.” They walked to the other tree inside the analemma of lights, and Lotus chatted with an acquaintance while Colgate stood by, shuffling through her own thoughts. Lotus carried herself like many of the doctors Colgate used to work with, relaxed and assured, used to being the biggest pony in the room. For some, it allowed for unselfconscious friendliness, and for others, aloofness or coldness. How Lotus moved between the two, formal for Colgate and warm and open to the acquaintance, Colgate could not fathom. She tried to read Lotus’ body language, noticing only that she shifted her weight twice as she spoke, and, learning nothing from it, looked behind her, thinking of escape.

“Sorry about that,” Lotus said. “That was Spinning Ribbons, he’s the son of one of the event coordinators in charge of all this. He’s a nice boy.” Leaving it at that, she looked at Colgate expectantly, as if she had not been the one to break off their conversation.

“Uhh. Wanna hear about Tartarus? You probably should, it being… your business.”

“Sure, but not out here. We can do that at the hotel, if you’d like, after I’m done with Twilight.”

“Yeah, great.” She raised a hoof to catch a spiraling leaf.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think to ask earlier. How are you today?”

“I’m fine.”

Lotus paused. “I’m happy to hear it. I am, Minuette.”

In a flash, Colgate realized what she meant. “My crying from yesterday, right. Uh, that’s better too. I don’t know what that was.”

“Everything okay with your friends?” Lotus had drawn closer, and Colgate shifted nervously.

“They’re fine too.”

“What’s going on? All I know is what Twilight’s been up to, with her plan.”

“She’s probing for information,” Colgate thought rapidly. “Spying is good, but this is better.” Conscious, as well, that Lotus might just be asking as a gesture of concern, Colgate took several seconds to respond.

“We’ve got a new friend in the mix. Her name is Versus, she’s the concierge at the corkscrew hotel.”

“I like Versus. You all have nothing to fear from her.”

“Thanks.”

Reading her sarcasm, Lotus said, “I know that’s a common worry among you, and rightly so. Versus is fine. A little friendly advice, though, don’t ask her about her time in Fillydelphia. She had to move out here for work reasons, and she’s sensitive about it.”

“Sensitive,” Colgate said, unexpectedly derailed by Lotus’ use of the word “friendly.” Were they friends? The thought set her heart to hammering again, and she edged away.

“I like Versus,” Lotus said to herself, nodding. “She’s not one of us, though. Anything else? Sorry, you can tell me if I’m asking too much, I won’t mind.”

“You’re fine,” Colgate said automatically. She shook her head and reached for another leaf. By the tiny action, she was able to focus her mind somewhat, to fool herself that catching the leaf was the primary object of her being there with Lotus, and the thought calmed her. Lotus waited patiently, seeing that Colgate was nervous, respecting that feeling—which Colgate did not notice, and would only wonder about later.

“We got an invitation to a dinner party,” she said at length. “Just us non-Elements.”

“I take it you mean you, Octavia, Vinyl, and Big Mac?”

Colgate’s mouth went dry.

“We know about the new Elements, Minuette. Rather, I know, and a few other ponies. Luna knows, and she… Has opinions.”

“What are those opinions?”

“I can’t disclose that to you, I’m afraid.”

“Fantastic.”

“A dinner party, though, that sounds nice. Fan wanting to meet the Elements, but knowing she can’t, invited the next best thing?”

“Something like that.”

Lotus looked at her, and Colgate felt small under her gaze. “You’ll want to get some new clothes for that, probably. This is a party, this is fine, but dinners in Snowdrift are a lot stricter with their dress code.” She held a hoof to her forehead, and, smiling, said, “I see… I see… suit jackets in your future!”

Colgate shivered in a breeze between trees.

“Bring Rarity, it’d make her week.” As if remembering something—Colgate did not know how someone like Lotus could forget something in the first place—she said, “How’s Rarity, anyway? Aloe tells me she’s not happy with us. Understandable, if true.”

“I really don’t know. She doesn’t tell me about those things.”

“Shame.” She sighed again. “I’ll have to talk to her too. Twilight first, then you, then Rarity.” She gave a smile. “Busy life, Minuette!”

“You do a lot,” Colgate said, nodding, not sure what else to say.

“Sure do.” They spent a minute looking at each other, looking at the lights, feigning interest in the festivities they could barely see from among so many trees. Finally, Colgate said “seeya later, then,” and took her leave, feeling like she had wasted an unforgivable amount of Lotus’ time.

“Bye, Minuette,” Lotus called, and Colgate shuddered.

When she got back to the Elements, Versus was still there, and another pony as well, who stood up to shake Colgate’s hoof without missing a beat in the conversation. She was a small, snowy unicorn, her face lightly peppered with darker gray spots of fur, her mane darker still. To Colgate, she resembled an illustration who had stepped off the page before her creator could color her in. Her head and neck were uncovered, but Colgate counted three layers on her body and legs.

“Partial Thoughts, Colgate. Colgate, Partial Thoughts,” Versus said.

“What do you think, Colgate?” Pinkie asked. “Partial Thoughts loves this music, we all aren’t really into it.”

“I like the ambience,” Partial Thoughts said in a sibilant monotone. She licked her top teeth slowly, as if preparing further words, but eventually closed her mouth.

From the hotel room, Applejack and Fluttershy could see an arc of the Contraction party, lurid but small with the magical lights; to them, the lights could have been torches or electric lanterns on loose wires. It was eleven o’ clock when they heard the beginnings of music from the party. A trumpet’s thin wail sounded in the cold air, and then the clatter of drums, and then the rest of the brass band.

Applejack smiled to herself, wishing she could be closer, imagining the girls’ surprise at the music, how loud it must be to them, and the dancing she knew she was missing. She had already thanked Fluttershy for staying behind to keep her company, but did so again.

“I’m happy to do it,” Fluttershy said. She was flipping through the channels, but there wasn’t much to see. Some cross-country power lines were up, but none had yet made it down to Snowdrift, so she only had five channels of local TV from which to choose. For a while, she had left it on a game show where contestants vied to throw pumpkins the farthest without busting them, but when that ended, there was nothing of interest.

Not wanting to talk of home again, Applejack was at a loss. She would travel between window and TV, sometimes going through the brochure or the room service menu, though neither were hungry.

“We can play cards,” she said, though she wasn’t interested in that either. “Ah think they’re in the other room.”

Fluttershy shrugged.

“We can explore the hotel. That lobby’s pretty neat.”

“We could.” She got up, looked at the door, and sat back down. Applejack went back to the window.

“So, how you been?” she finally asked.

“Good,” Fluttershy said.

“Yer distracted too.”

“I’m preparing to do something I don’t want to do.”

“Ah.” Reflecting for a second at the fact that the statement did not faze her, Applejack pressed on. “Anythin’ you wanna talk about?”

“Not really. I have to talk to Vinyl about it later, though.”

“Gotcha.”

“It’s not crucial to what we’re doing. It’s… Well, it’s not crucial. It’s personal. I hope you understand.”

“You don’t need to worry ‘bout me, sugar. We got our secrets, Ah respect that.”

“Do you? I mean, being the Element of Honesty. I’ve never understood that. Can you have secrets?”

“Sure Ah can. It’s just, bein’ the Element of Honesty, as you said, Ah have to be ready to tell ‘em if somepony asks. Which means the secrets Ah choose to keep, they can’t be too serious, ‘cause Ah have to be able to sleep at night not afraid of revealin’ everythin’ to someone. It keeps me honest, not that Ah need help with that, Ah like to think.”

“That’s interesting,” Fluttershy said.

“It’s the Element that feeds itself. In a way, they all do, but mine is a lot more internal than the others.” Seeing Fluttershy’s blank look, she said, “Rainbow’s an’ Rarity’s, fer instance, those rely on other ponies’ reactions. Those two can be loyal an’ generous if they want, but it’s when other ponies respond positively that they’re encouraged to keep doin’ what they’re doin’. Kindness fer you, same thing, Laughter fer Pinkie, same there too. Mine, it’s like Ah keep honest in anticipation of bein’ called on it.”

Fluttershy frowned.

“Ah ain’t sayin’ that’s what keeps me honest, Ah’m sayin’ that’s what it looks like, if you look at it on paper.” She looked through the window again. “Just interestin’, is all.”

“What about Twilight, the Element of Magic?”

“That one’s weird. Ah don’t really know what to make of it. Part of me wonders if the princesses just ran out of ideas for Element number six. That ain’t the nicest thing, but it’s what Ah think.”

“What about tact?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“Where does the Element of Honesty end and tact begin?”

“Oh, like if Rarity asks if she looks okay in a dress, an’ Ah think it looks like butt, do Ah have to tell her so?”

Giggling, Fluttershy nodded.

“Ah can sugarcoat it if Ah want to, or Ah can just do that thing—‘hmm, Ah dunno, maybe, Ah gotta see it from more sides’—you know that trick.”

“Oh yeah.”

“But no, Ah can’t just tell her Ah like it, not without feelin’ like a bum later.”

“Have you ever lied?”

“Course. Have you ever been unkind? Has Pinkie ever been sad?”

“I guess I see your point.”

“No one’s one thing all the time, that’s not how life works. Ah wish ponies realized that more. We’re just like them, end of the day.”

“Do you think so?”

“Ah do think so. What’s that?” She stopped Fluttershy on channel four, where a griffon was gesturing wildly at something she had found under a rock in a dry stream bed. The camera zoomed in on a mound of lichen.

“It’s just mold,” Fluttershy said. “I don’t see why she’s so excited.”

“Maybe it’s the color,” Applejack said, laughing, jumping on the bed with Fluttershy. “That nice, egg yolk yellow. Mm-mm, good eatin’.”

“And we can hope to find many more samples all along this area,” the griffon said before Fluttershy changed the channel. It was an infomercial for a pasta maker, and they watched it for a few minutes.

“Ponies are paid to fill out the crowds for these,” Fluttershy said. “They’re paid to go crazy for whatever product’s up there.”

“It’s kinda mesmerizin’, how they got it spinnin’ like that.”

“That’s how they fool you,” Fluttershy said, nudging Applejack.

“Ah can feel myself bein’ drawn in,” Applejack said, adopting a faraway voice and leaning toward the TV. Fluttershy changed the channel, and Applejack flopped back. “Ah, you saved me. Ah was gonna pick up the phone in a couple seconds an’ order some.”

“We can just put them on the room tab,” Fluttershy said, and Applejack laughed. “You want to hear something kind of weird? You might actually be interested in this.”

“Shoot.”

“I think Snowdrift is a religious town. Rarity and I saw some churches yesterday, on the gateway side.”

“That is interestin’. What denomination are they?”

“Oh, I have no idea. We didn’t go in any. We both assume Luna is the main focus, though.”

“Is that ‘cause of all the dark magic associations?”

“I think so.” Fluttershy could tell from the way Applejack had straightened in bed, and from her tone, that she had said something of more than passing interest, and regretted it, for she did not share in her friend’s enthusiasm.

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Applejack said. “Then again, this is a very Celestial region. Lots of weather fluctuation, geographic variation, that stuff.”

“Ummm…”

Smiling, Applejack began to tell her of the two classifications theologians used to describe the world in terms of its relations to the princesses, and Fluttershy tried to keep her eyes from going empty. Why harsher climates or more geographically unstable areas were more like Celestia, and why safer and more predictable places were more like Luna, she did not care to know, but Applejack was not hindered. Fluttershy just smiled and nodded, and Applejack paused.

“With me so far?”

“Oh, um, sure.”

“This is where it gets fun, ‘cause there’s different schools of thought on whether it’s the ponies placin’ value on the land, callin’ it Celestial or Lunar, or whether the land has its own inherent magical properties that we don’t understand yet. Personally, Ah think…” So she went on, for twenty minutes unbroken, describing the differing opinions of religious figures whose names Fluttershy remembered very distantly from her grade school days. At first, Fluttershy didn’t notice the queer sensation of teleportation, and when she did finally feel her body sucking away, she flared her wings and almost fell off the bed in fright. The Contraction was over before she could untangle herself from the sheets, and Applejack helped her, laughing all the while.

“I’d forgotten that was going to happen,” she breathed.

“Listen to that, Fluttershy. The park’s goin’ absolutely crazy!”

Fluttershy settled her fur back into place indignantly. “I was right to stay behind.”

More than half the partygoers stayed behind to enjoy the afternoon in the park, but the Elements, with Aloe and Lotus, started back toward the hotel. Versus and Partial Thoughts said goodbye, the former with a quick hug and a wink to Big Mac.

At the instant of teleportation, a cheer of physical volume rippled through the park, and everypony stopped what they were doing to let the moment pass. The band faltered noisily, and everyone laughed and joked good-naturedly as they got themselves back together. A convoy of airships, hovering in the distance, shot off in a web of smoke as the Contraction, working with the magic the ships’ captains had placed, squeezed them out of Snowdrift and off to the rest of the world. As the friends were leaving, they saw ponies with bits of paper queuing up at a pair of booths. Betting slips, Aloe explained; ponies could bet on the hour, or even quarter hour, of the Contraction. Precogs, naturally, were not allowed to join in the gambling.

“How often do Contractions happen, roughly?” Twilight asked.

“They’re erratic,” Lotus said. “We had two last February, but before that, there was nineteen months of nothing. You never know.”

“What causes them?”

“Changes in Tartarus. It’s pretty complicated. I can recommend some reading, if you’d like.”

“I want to hit the library this evening,” Twilight said. “If you could just write down a couple titles, that’ll be great.”

They walked past a bakery, which was just beginning to fill up with hungry partiers, and at the intersection, they saw down one road a crash site. A carriage had rammed into one of the corner clocks, bending one of its axles at an odd angle, its wheel drooping off pathetically.

“If this is the precog capital of Equestria, how come stuff like that happens?” Rainbow asked. “Can’t they just tell the driver to take it easy on…” She looked around for a street sign. “Whatever street this is?”

“You’d think so,” Lotus said, shaking her head. “That’s not how it works, though.”

“I can explain,” Aloe said, and Lotus gave her a quick look, nonverbally thanking her. “It’s kinda counterintuitive.”

“We’re used to that,” Rainbow said, giving Twilight a look, at which Twilight smirked.

“This is how I was taught, long ago. Let’s take one, single precog and put her in a town. Say she’s the only precog in Snowdrift for now, okay? One day, she has a premonition that Rainbow here—”

“Hey.”

“That Rainbow here is gonna, I don’t know, go to the grocery store and buy a big sack of candy. So she has that premonition, and that’s that. She’s free to act however she chooses with that information. Simple enough.”

“But we don’t have just one precog here.”

“Right. So now let’s put two precogs in our city. They both have that premonition, but while one doesn’t care about you getting candy, the other one does. ‘No, I can’t let Rainbow Dash eat so much candy in one sitting,’ he says to himself. ‘However will she keep that tight, flyer’s body?’ So he tries to intervene and keep you from going to the store. What does the first precog see? Well, depending on how accurate her premonitions are, she might see you trying to go to the store, she might see you being stopped, or whatever. Still okay?”

“Still pretty simple,” Pinkie said.

“Let’s get three precogs. First precog stays out of it, she doesn’t care either way. Second precog, he doesn’t want you to go to the store. Third precog, why, she wants you to go to the store. ‘Miss Dash is a grown mare with her own money, and if she wants to buy an unhealthy amount of candy, then that’s her right,’ she says. So what does the first precog see?”

“Well, she either sees me getting to the store or not,” Rainbow said.

“Those are two options. She might see you going to the store later, foiled the first time but going on a different day.”

“Which,” Lotus broke in, “depending on if she can discern sequences of events from her premonition, might look identical to seeing you getting to the store the first time.”

“She might see you noticing two strangers seemingly at odds about whether you should go to the store, and getting sidetracked by them, and never making it. She might see the third precog buying you the candy and giving it to you as a way to undercut the precog who wants to stop you. But then, what if the second precog sees that, and tries to stop the third one from buying the candy? Maybe they just see themselves reacting to what the other one does. What then?”

“Well, now we’ve got an infinite loop,” Twilight said. “If they each see what the other one’s going to do, then they can react to it prematurely, and they’ll just keep recursively reacting. Nothing gets done ultimately. It’s the chess problem.”

“That’s where it leads in a classroom, but this is a little more complicated in practice.”

“Chess problem?” Big Mac asked.

“Back to my candy example,” Aloe said, “how does this look to the first precog, the one who’s seeing without acting? Does she even see anything anymore? Is there even anything to see?”

“A similar thought experiment, which Twilight mentioned,” Lotus said. “Two precogs of equal seeing ability sit down to a chess game. Who wins?”

“Isn’t it a draw?” Rarity asked.

“Not necessarily.”

“If they can each see the other’s move in advance, though,” Pinkie said.

“They can see what their opponent will do, but only so far in advance. Since each move is a response to a previous move, unless one player starts the game with every move of hers planned out in advance, neither of them can trace the game perfectly. One might know who’ll win, maybe with an idea of how, but the path to that victory is clouded because of the sheer number of possible moves involved. It’s in that fog that the outcome can change, the players can take each other by surprise.”

“But if they just go step by step, and only pay attention to the very next move and nothing else, then won’t it always end in a draw?” Rarity asked.

“That would cancel out their precognitive powers,” Twilight said. “At that point, it just becomes a question of who’s the better chess player.”

“That’s basically right,” Aloe said. “The chess problem is used to illustrate how precognition breaks down in sufficiently complicated situations. Now let’s take my candy example again, but instead of three precogs, try sixty-five.”

“There’s sixty-five precogs in this place?” Rainbow asked.

“Sixty-five registered precogs, I should say. There’s also a smattering of postcogs and intuiters. You can see, though, with so many ponies with foreknowledge, how things can get stalled. That’s not even factoring in the fact that no one has perfect precognition, that everyone sees different things, and so on.”

“Five precogs can see the same event, but in different contexts,” Lotus said, “and not know it’s the same event until after it happens. That’s the problem with having so many seers in a city. I’m sure someone did see that crash before it happened, but that doesn’t mean anything if she didn’t know when it was gonna happen, or on what intersection, or whatever.”

“You all seemed to agree on when the Contraction was happening, though,” Vinyl said. “What’s up with that?”

“The Contraction’s different,” Aloe said. “Ponies can’t change when it happens, so there’s none of that cross-talk of different reactions muddling the waters of foreknowledge, so to speak.”

“Are there any precogs that can just see through all that confusion and get to the end result?” Pinkie asked.

“Intuiters,” she said with a shrug. “But they only have access to single events in time; they never get the context for what they see.”

“Intuiters are good for getting a sense of which precog is most on target,” Lotus said. “I’d be reluctant to rely on one alone, though.”

“Another thing, a precog has to at least know about whatever subject she’s seeing,” Aloe said. “‘You have to be cognizant to be precognizant’.” She smiled. “And since they all live in good ol’ Snowdrift, it’s pretty easy for all of them to see a Contraction when it’s coming.”

They arrived at their hotel and, entering, Big Mac looked to the check-in counter, though Versus was still back at Umbrella Park. They went to their rooms, freshened up, and then Lotus took the floor. They discussed the finer details of sawdust accumulation and delivery, assigned deadlines, and wrote down names of helpful contacts. Lotus’ cloud was invaluable, calculating the amount of lumber and trees they would need to process, the amount of kitty litter Pinkie would need to find, the likely ratio of the two. Aloe said she could get them their wood chippers and wood cutters, and then the whole crew was able to see Lotus’ cloud in much more impressive action. After several minutes of intense thought, eyes closed, Lotus grabbed a sheet of paper and drew a diagram, with exact measurements, of the warehouse and parking lot around it. She added in little pony figures on the fringes, where decoys would stand to draw the hazard into the open, and then, on a second sheet, indicated where cables or balloons would need to be to support their wood chippers. On a third sheet, she drew the same diagram, but with the cranes and cables moved to allow them to remove the warehouse roof. With another several minutes of thought, she was able to list and itemize the endeavor’s price—which was no sweat for their treasury slip—and the number of ponies they would need to carry off the plan in a safe time frame. They ended the conversation with a sheaf of papers listing every single step, every contact associated with the steps, and the materials required.

Looking through the lists, Twilight smiled and nodded to herself, as though she had done more than watch in envious amazement. “Where have you been all my life, Lotus?”

“I need a break,” Lotus said. “That was a lot to think about.”

“I hope you factored in equine error to all this,” Rarity said.

“I did.” She got up and stretched her legs. Below, another live band was starting up in the hotel bar. “One last thing I’d like to do, I want to see the fields on the south side of the warehouse. It’s been a while since I’ve scoped them out, and they might be helpful for our approach.”

“Better than the nice, flat parking lot?” Colgate asked.

“It’s more to make sure there aren’t any sufficiently sized weeds or saplings for the hazard to latch on to out there. Plus, I need to compare how the field looks this time of year to how it did the last five years—unrelated project, boring stuff. I’ve been putting it off.”

“Can you give me about half an hour?” Twilight asked.

“By all means, rest, all of you. I can keep busy.” She glanced at her sister, then at Colgate. “Minuette, do you want to come with us now?”

“Huh?” Colgate asked. “Oh. Tartarus.”

“Tellin’ ‘em yer story?” Big Mac asked.

Aloe just smiled as Lotus walked Colgate out, and then left herself.

“It is their business to know about Tartarus,” Octavia said. “I accept that.”

With a quick glance around the room, Rainbow turned on the TV, and, flipping through all five channels, left it on the griffon documentarian. She had moved down the riverbed and was exclaiming about a stunted grouping of mushrooms near the stain of the former waterline.

“Did anybody else totally not understand her example about the precogs?” Vinyl asked.

“I was not paying much attention, I am sorry,” Octavia said.

“I think I get it,” Pinkie said.

“It’s simple when you break it down,” Twilight said. “You know how you can get a bunch of ponies together, and it gets harder and harder to reach a common decision? It’s the same with precogs; the more there are, the harder it is to figure out the future, because there’s conflicting visions, and ponies reacting to their visions. It’s too confusing.”

“You coulda summarized all that, and you didn’t?” Rainbow asked. “What is wrong with you?”

“It ain’t that simple,” Big Mac said. “She’s just boilin’ it down.”

“Thank you,” Twilight said. “Besides, I need to know as much about precognition as I can, particularly how it fails. That’s why I asked Lotus for those book recommendations. Which…” She flipped through her checklist. “Oh, she did put them in here. Ugh, no line break though.”

Vinyl’s horn squirted a dot of color. “Sounds like you have a plan. Share?”

“Later. I need to do some reading. Actually, I’m going to be busy later. If one of you could go to the library and get these for me, that would really help a lot.”

“I can do it!” Pinkie said. “I’m going out tonight for kitty litter anyway!”

“I’ll go with you,” Vinyl said.

They watched TV and made small talk until the sisters returned with Colgate, who went directly to the bathroom and switched on the shower.

“We’re ready to go when you are,” Aloe said. “We’ll head to the fields and just look around. Twilight, I got in touch with a friend, she’s gonna put her logging team to work for you. They’ll be ready later tonight.”

“You girls work fast,” Vinyl said.

Aloe smiled.

When Colgate was done, they got their things, put on some extra layers, and walked into an arctic wind outside. Above, through the hotel’s spiraling contours, the wind howeled and rattled sun screens, and their clothes flapped noisily. Rarity grumbled as she tried to smooth her lapels, and accepted help from Octavia.

In the space of only an hour, the sky had become almost black with weather, bloated clouds like ropes bunching up over them, breaking on the glacier in the west and slowly churning to the south, where they would reach the fields.

“Now this is Snowdrift weather,” Lotus said with false cheer. “Ladies, let’s pick up the pace. I don’t want to get caught in this when it cuts loose.”

“We’re not going to delay our wood cutting for this, are we?” Twilight asked, and Rarity looked at her, horrified.

“It’ll be fine,” Aloe said.

“Applejack, what are you doing?” Octavia asked.

“Ah wanna feel the wind,” Applejack said, opening her coat and letting it fly apart at her chest, her mane released and her head up to feel it all.

“Bracing!” Pinkie said. “I wanna try!”

“You’re gonna get sick,” Colgate said.

With a smile, Applejack said, “You ain’t my mom,” and Colgate laughed, and let it be.

They walked a slow, broad circle around the southern part of town, catching occasional looks from passers-by hurrying to shelter, not stopping to answer questions or take succor when the wind was blocked. Behind a recently evacuated house, Vinyl paused to inspect a battered carriage, but Lotus urged her onwards.

“Don’t get it into your heads we can use transportation for this,” she said. “The object is for ponies to not notice what we’re doing.”

“Is this so bad? We are only looking at the field,” Octavia said.

“Anything that can lead to questions is best avoided, if possible,” Aloe said.

“That’s your way, is it?” Applejack asked.

“Yep.”

“How come we’re allowed to know about this?” Fluttershy asked. “We’re not one of you.”

Aloe sighed, and Lotus said, “Because you all figured it out on your own. I mean, being the princesses’ friends, you get some special privilege anyway, but this is really beyond that, I think.” She turned away at a dusty gust as they crossed into the tall grass. The warehouse was in sight, and their ship close by, tipped over at some point by the wind, balloon deflated.

“So if we didn’t know what we know, would you have even met us here?” Rarity asked.

“We might have said hi,” Aloe said. “But as tourists, or unlucky travelers.”

“How nice.”

They quietly picked their way over ridges in the field, waiting always for the first peal of thunder or the onslaught of hail, but neither came. Ceaseless wind bent the dark grass, and Applejack quietly zipped her coat back up, and the warehouse circled always on their left sides. The ground was uneven and soft, and they unconsciously got lower to the ground to better traverse the rises and dips. Lotus looked from side to side with each step, murmuring to herself, occasionally stopping to check something in the grass or on the ground, and Aloe just smiled at them as if to say “you get used to it.”

Rarity kept to the back, where she could glower and feel sorry for herself without interference from her friends. She knew she was being petty, but couldn’t help it; the fact that no one else shared her anger at the twins’ secret lives only hardened her feelings. Affronted, insulted, and scared too of what there was in her world that required ponies such as the twins, she tried to justify herself in her mind. The only thing she could conclude was that, at times, she could be just as small and irascible as the next pony, a confession that stung when she made it alone.

She shook her head angrily as the wind plucked at her mane, and she raised a hoof to her ear to pin it there for a second as they paused. Her glare lingered on Applejack, standing near the front with her tail billowing behind her, a soft grin on her face like it was nothing more than a midafternoon stroll to her. Pinkie imitated her, and Fluttershy stood to the side with her own sour expression. It was not the first time Rarity had noticed Fluttershy apparently put off by Pinkie’s good mood.

When the warehouse stood directly between and town, and all they saw of Snowdrift was its silhouette behind a thin sheet of fog, they stopped again for Lotus to survey the area.

“I had the craziest dream last night!” Pinkie said.

“Do we all need to be here?” Octavia asked.

“I dreamed I was a giant, and all the buildings in town were made of cake! All the ponies were like little plastic toys, but I didn’t eat them. You were in it, AJ!”

“What an honor,” Applejack said, laughing. “Was Ah big too?”

“I don’t know.”

Rarity scowled harder, taking minute pleasure in the pressure on her face as the frown lines etched themselves deeper, imagining from her dark mood a sort of determined energy. No one was looking at her, and she was free to indulge the feeling, but Pinkie’s story had caught her ear. Pinkie rambled about how one cake building seemed more like fudge than cake, and Applejack engaged her in the differences between the two. Aloe looked on, and Lotus’ expression, when Rarity saw it, had grown tired.

Thinking of dreams, Rarity remembered how, months ago, their dreams had slowly converged upon the image of the white stallion, Vanilla Cream. It had seemed to them for a time that Discord communicated primarily through their dreams, but he had long ago stopped, neither noticed nor remarked upon.

“Dreams can be funny things, can’t they?” Vinyl said, and Twilight glanced at her, not hearing.

They had all had strange dreams in their time, some prophetic, some strongly referential, some intimidating, some confusing. One particular night stood out in Rarity’s head, something that had never seemed quite right, had never been fully addressed before being dismissed. One of their first nights back in Ponyville, someone had had a nightmare, complete with melodramatic screaming and a tired, but compassionate session of tea and solicitous questions from concerned friends.

“Was it Fluttershy?” She looked at Fluttershy, who had moved the subject of her glare to the warehouse itself, a black cube under black sky. “She doesn’t scream, she cries. I remember screaming for sure.” She looked at Pinkie, and the memory snapped into place, and she looked around. Of details, she recalled next to none. Pinkie had insisted it was cold in the dream, and they had been in a large group, and they had been approaching something.

“Let’s get closer,” Lotus said. “I need to see more.”

“We’re not getting too close?” Twilight asked.

“See that warning tape up there? That’s too close; this isn’t.”

“Just asking.”

Rarity advanced with the rest of them, all eleven others: six earth ponies, three unicorns, two pegasi.

“I don’t remember how the dream ended, but then I woke up and I had just the biggest hankering for cake, you wouldn’t believe it!” Pinkie said, the wind carrying her voice all the way back to Rarity like she was standing next to her.

“Comin’ from you, Pinks, Ah would believe it,” Applejack said.

“Grass is moving,” Colgate said from the middle of the crowd.

“Yep, wind does that,” Lotus said.

Colgate mumbled something, and Rarity looked at her, then back to Pinkie, who was gesticulating energetically as if to indicate the size of the cakes she had dreamt.

She thought of the dream, and of cake, and the feeling that night in Ponyville. Everyone had woken up thinking that Discord was in the library with them, the way Pinkie had panicked. That a nightmare could elicit such a response seemed to them all strange, but when talk turned to her Pinkie Sense, the feeling had gone from puzzlement to dread—then, to nothing, as months passed and nothing came of it. More than likely, whatever Pinkie had foreseen had already taken place. Thinking of the cold, Rarity immediately went to the incident in Cloudsdale.

“Closer, ladies,” Lotus said, pushing through a clump of grass stalks. Damp burrs stuck to her coat and her hooves squished moist earth. The fog had come on gradually so thin that its only trace was the delicate moisture imparted on their clothes and the swaying blades of grass.

“I think we should stop here,” Rarity said. “I really think so.”

“As I said, the warning tape—”

“I said I think we should stop.” She stomped the soft ground once.

“I only need to approach by twenty more feet. We’re fine.”

“Nooooo, I’m not sure of that.” Her eyes went to the sky, its thick clouds appearing to fray over the warehouse, covering the sun and rendering the country in varying shades of gray and green. Around her, the eleven others, and before them, the warehouse, and inside her, fear that had taken hold and urged her backwards.

“I am sure, hon.”

“What’s wrong, Rarity?” Vinyl asked, sidling up to her. “Scared of the dark?”

Rarity looked at herself in Vinyl’s goggles, the sight of her own face disquieting. Letting the frown set back in, she said, “Pinkie, remember that dream you had in Ponyville? Think back, darling.”

“I had lotsa dreams in Ponyville!” Pinkie cried.

“This one was a nightmare. You woke up screaming. Does that ring a bell?” Part of her hoped Pinkie would scream afresh; she was standing close to Lotus.

“Oh, crap!” Twilight shouted. “Girls, she’s right! Everypony back, right now. Lotus, that’s you too!” She stumbled in the grass and came up panting, trying to push through, hindered by the weight of her clothes and the wet grass clinging to her.

“What is with you all?” Lotus shouted. “There’s nothing—” She nearly fell back, would have were it not for Aloe there to catch her, as a wave of magic expanded from Twilight’s horn. The field flattened as one, then a second passed in which all eyes searched the ground, and then the panic started, with Colgate leading.

Her hooves flew up from underneath her, her face drawn under lit animal eyes, and she crashed into Big Mac, who started just after. Not five feet from where Aloe and Lotus stood, and from where Rainbow hovered, a glistening mass covered the ground like varnish, tiger-striped with flattened grass and lurid with Twilight’s spell, an eerie stain stretched all the way from the warehouse. Wind rippled its surface, though none of them saw it as they bolted from the spot, a disorganized mob of hooves and clothes, and Applejack’s coat that she had unzipped again and now caught her off balance on the springy grass.

Like a tide, the mass crept after them, and Rarity was in the back again, frozen longer than the others. It oozed and expanded, covering grass. Rarity thought she could hear a faint slopping sound as she turned to run, like a monster licking its lips, and looked back despite herself to see it keeping up. Ahead of her, voices were urging one another on, and Rainbow was complaining, and Pinkie was hollering something.

“How far?” Rarity called, but she was behind them, and in the wind and sound of twelve sets of hooves, her voice was lost. She conjured a shield behind them, but it was weak without her taking the time to look at where she was placing it, and she was not surprised to feel the static electricity sizzle on her horn as the shield was eaten away.

From the town, they had seen the warehouse framed over light, and with her back to it, Rarity was amazed at the contrast: the Equestrian south was dipped in shadow, coniferous teeth on the ground and sweeping, black clouds around that, with a sliver of glacier reaching into view like displaced sheet metal. The field beyond, in the wind and the hail that had finally begun to thunder down on them, was like the bottom of the ocean, endless and wild.

Twilight released her spell on the grass and Rarity brought up another shield for the hail, but it did not last, and she was frozen for a second, the shock of another shield lost driving a spike of confusion into her head, a microscopic headache that made it impossible for her to see the peril of her situation, but which Lotus did. “Faster in the back there!” she shouted. “Let’s go!”

When the grass tugged at her hooves, she jumped up and scrambled her legs, as if dancing on a hot plate, fearing with each landing that she would feel the cold goo weigh down her fetlocks. She ducked and fell as a black shape flew past her head, and for a second, saw only the close-up forest of grass: lines of shadow between dark green briers, speckled with dirt, waving with wind, and seeming to close in on her as she tried and failed to gain her hooves. When Fluttershy’s magic grabbed her, she screamed and flailed, thinking the egg white hazard had leapt over her.

Another black shape whipped past her as she was borne up and away from the grass, and she recognized it as one of their coats. Applejack ran ahead of them, bright orange and free in the wind and the hail, nearly dancing across the field so as to not get bogged down in the tall grass. Aloe was struggling to remove her own coat and run at the same time, but eventually got it, and with an angry flick of her head, gave it to the wind, where it settled on the grass four feet away.

When they stopped, half were undressed and shivering, and the others were unzipping their coats, overheated. Twilight flattened the grass again to confirm what Lotus had called out, that the hazard was receding back toward the warehouse. Lotus herself was busy looking at the field, committing to the cloud the precise distances where they were safe from the hazard, that she could establish a new ring of warning tape.

“We need to get rid of this as fast as we can,” she shouted at last when they were able to walk, heads bent under hail. “With its new range, there are six or seven potential anchors for it to find in the countryside, a couple of which can lead it into the forest. If that happens…”

“So no explanation for it coming at us before the warning tape, then?” Rainbow jeered.

“I was getting to that,” Lotus said. “How many ponies can you spare from Twilight’s sawdust project?”

“A couple, I guess,” Aloe said.

“A couple?”

“I’m thinking, hang on!”

“Anyone willing to part with their coat?” Lotus asked, glancing at Rarity.

“Take it,” Rarity said bitterly, shuffling out of her coat and laying it on the grass. “It’s ruined anyway.”

“I appreciate it,” Lotus said, looking back at the field. “We’re gonna cut those trees first and make sure it doesn’t get to the forest. Take as many ponies as you can off Twilight’s operation for that.”

“Sure,” Aloe said.

Lotus got into Rarity’s coat, a little big for her, and frowned at the line of forest to their east, pausing to hold a hoof to her eyes, wincing from the hail.

“Are we all okay?” Octavia asked.

“Just tired,” Pinkie said.

Rarity only shook her head. She had been in the back, so she had been the closest to being caught, but did feel like mentioning it. She, too, turned to frown at the forest. She was conscious enough of her mood that she did not want anyone to catch her glaring at a specific, equine target.

“It was that night in Ponyville that Pinkie woke up screaming,” Twilight said. “She dreamed of this place. I remember researching it the morning after, figuring it was probably Snowdrift.”

“My Pinkie Sense,” Pinkie said reverently. “How come it didn’t come up now, though?”

“Didn’t you say it was broken?” Big Mac asked.

“We can talk about that later,” Lotus said. “How much food did you have on the airship?”

“Food?” Fluttershy asked.

“And how was it contained? Did you have it in bags, cans, what? Was it loose?” She was still not looking at them, and Rarity resisted the urge to lob a rock at her. “We just nearly died, and you want to talk about food?”

“I don’t remember exactly what we had,” Twilight said, and Lotus rolled her eyes. “I know we were planning on stocking up here, so not a whole lot.”

“There were five packages of dried salad,” Colgate said. “Only one had the blueberry vinaigrette left. That one’s my favorite.”

“We had a couple apples,” Vinyl said. “They were kinda going bad, though.”

“You had to have more than that,” Lotus said.

“We don’t remember,” Rainbow said. “We don’t have a freakin’ cloud of thoughts, you know.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She softened visibly when Aloe went to her and put a hoof on her back. “I’m fine,” she whispered.

“Oh, ‘cause the hazard probably got on our ship and ate our food,” Colgate said. “That’s how it got bigger.”

“Gold star,” Lotus said.

Rarity turned from her, breathing through her nose, and counted to ten.

“Did you at least get what you needed?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yes, but now I have to formulate a whole new plan of attack, taking into account its new size. Just great.”

“We can take a break,” Aloe said. “Actually, I think we should. How about some time in the steam room back at the hotel?”

Lotus stood, shivering, for several seconds before answering. “Got it. Twilight, I’ll draw you up a new checklist later tonight. Let’s get back.”

They trudged through the field back toward Snowdrift, heads down as the hail grew. Rarity was too tired to raise a shield, but no one appeared to mind. Applejack took the lead again, from her gait clearly not under the same pall as the rest of them. Rarity watched her hips sashaying through grass, her head swinging to take in the dark world around them, and she occasionally caught her face in profile, where she could see Applejack’s eyes glinting and her mouth drawn up in a satisfied smile. With her own mane lank and too long, filthy and tangled with grass, dirt, and prickles, Rarity silently cursed Applejack. She cursed Applejack’s good mood, her newfound spiritual fascination, her apparent peace of mind. She looked inwards and saw her own dour heart throbbing with anger and self pity, and, forgetting that only a day before she had been happy to explore the town with her friends, envisioned herself in all manner of vindicating positions. By the time they were entering the hotel, she wanted only to crawl into bed and hate the world on her own, and, after a steaming shower, that was what she did.

Though the twins elected to stay in the steam room the whole time, the others moved to the sauna, where, alone, they were able to finally unwind. No one said it, but Lotus’ irritable presence made relaxation impossible.

Octavia lay on her back on the floor, her dark mane stretched toward the drain, and Colgate kept looking at it with a strange expression. Of them all, her mane was the shortest, and she kept trying to arrange it to a more comfortable position between her shoulders.

“So do you think the hazard has a big yolk in the middle?” Pinkie asked suddenly.

Applejack guffawed, and when she didn’t stop, the others joined in, until even Octavia was chuckling to herself.

When they quieted, Rainbow, remaining where she had fallen from the laughter, said, “good on you remembering that Pinkie Sense, Twi.”

“Did you see how close it was?” Pinkie asked.

“It was Rarity who made me think of it,” Twilight said.

“What’s with her today?” Vinyl said.

“She gets moody sometimes,” Rainbow said. “Lotus is getting on her nerves.”

“Gee, can’t imagine why. That cloud really changed her.”

“Wouldn’t it change anyone?” Twilight asked. “I don’t blame her.”

“We’ve all got hardships,” Applejack said. “How we deal with ‘em, that’s what shows yer character. Maybe Lotus just ain’t made of the same stern stuff as some of us.”

“Too true,” Fluttershy said, looking at Octavia, who looked at her at the same time. Fluttershy blushed.

“That’s why they stayed in the steam room,” Colgate said. “They can’t see as much, so there’s less for Lotus to have to take in.”

“That makes sense,” Twilight said.

“So walk me through this plan of yours for dealin’ with the egg white,” Big Mac said. “Is there anythin’ we need to do to help?”

“The plan is, I’m going to meet up with Aloe’s ponies later tonight and start gathering sawdust. We’re going to find the dead trees first and use the lumber yard in Little Snowdrift, and we’re going to process it all down to dust.”

“Where are you going to store all of that sawdust?” Octavia asked.

“I’ll have to pick up some bags or something on the way down there. I can store the bags in my magical space for now, until we find something better. I just don’t want them to possibly leak, not in the weather we’ve been having.”

“And I’m gonna get the kitty litter,” Pinkie said. “Right?”

“That would be great. If you and someone else can go into town tonight and buy up all the cat litter you can find, that would really help. I don’t remember the exact number, but Lotus did the math and found out I’d need something like nine thousand boxes.”

“Nine thousand?” Big Mac asked.

“That’s one big kitty,” Pinkie said.

“That’s just if we used kitty litter on its own. With the sawdust, it’s less than that.”

“So we can pretty much take as much cat litter as we can, and still be nowhere near the target,” Rainbow said. “That makes our job easier, anyway.”

“Let’s leave some for the others,” Vinyl said. “I’m sure there’s plenty of cats in town that actually use the stuff.”

“I have a question,” Fluttershy said. “Why can’t you use a magical drying spell on the hazard? I know you know one.”

“Lotus said we shouldn’t be using magic on it because we don’t understand it properly. It came from Tartarus, which means its magic is entirely different from our own, and we don’t know how they’ll interact.”

“If it’s anythin’ like how ours did when we were down there, would it be so bad?” Applejack asked.

“You were immersed in it, though,” Twilight said. “I think that makes a difference.”

“Well, plus, this is alive,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, that too. That’s why we can’t use potions, like some magical desiccants or something.”

“Those are expensive,” Colgate said. “They might not have enough here.”

“Also possible.”

Everyone looked at Colgate, who sat back into the wall. “What?”

“Nothin’,” Big Mac said. “You bein’ a secret agent makes these interactions a little more interestin’.”

“Are you on duty here?” Rainbow asked.

“I got no duties,” Colgate said. “Not here, not anywhere.”

“Are you on vacation or something?” Vinyl asked.

“I don’t know. I was, uh, I was in a confusing spot in Canterlot. I don’t remember a lot of it.” Octavia nodded, knowing what Colgate meant, but neither of them divulged more.

“What did you tell ‘em about Tartarus, Cole?” Applejack asked. “Just outta curiosity.”

“I told ‘em some things,” Colgate said. “They were pretty interested in the gateway closing behind us.”

“Did Lotus have an explanation for that?” Twilight asked.

“Actually, she did.” She fell silent for a minute, lost in thought. “Let’s get out of this room.”

“Feeling okay?” Vinyl asked.

Colgate got up and went to the door, and they followed her out, down a tile hall and around a corner, where those that knew her better saw immediately the object of her interest. Before anyone could make a joking comment, Colgate had launched herself into the pool, legs splayed and mane and tail flying out behind her in a perfect picture of released inhibition. The hot tub bubbled cheerfully nearby, but the pool was freezing, and Colgate splashed and tumbled for a moment before reaching the surface, treading water finally with a look of total, dissociative pleasure on her face.

“Me next!” Applejack cried, jumping in after her with a whoop of delight.

“Is it cold?” Fluttershy asked.

“You get over it,” Colgate said, face composed again, and ducked and laughed when Applejack splashed her.

“I will take the hot tub,” Octavia said, and Vinyl joined her and a griffon who obligingly made room for them in the little well of warm water to the side.

“Anyhoo,” Colgate said, flopping halfway up onto the dividing line between pool and hot tub, splashing Octavia a little as she did so, “The gateway. Lotus said it’s ‘cause we accidentally broke the thing holding it open. That big bone tower was like a magical doorstop for the gateway, and since we smashed it, the gateway was able to slam shut behind us.”

“How does that work?” Twilight asked.

“The way she says it, a gateway can be opened from either side, you just need a concentration of the right stuff.”

“Well, that clears that up,” Vinyl said, grinning.

“On Gaia side, magic is scarce.”

“No it ain’t,” Applejack said.

“Compared to Tartarus?” Octavia said. “Yes it is.”

“Right,” Colgate said. “Too much magic in one spot will put a hole in the barrier between us and Tartarus.” She looked at the griffon, who did not look back, but was obviously uncomfortable. After a moment, the griffon got out and slunk away. “That’s why there’s a big ol’ hole in Moondrop now,” she continued in a murmur. “Celestia’s magic. That’s a lot to put in a small space.”

Twilight nodded.

“In Tartarus, it’s the opposite. Lots of magic, not so much order, or technology. You girls remember. Down there, we didn’t see many tools or things. Their buildings all looked crappy and amateur-ish.”

“The ramps on the canyon walls spring to mind,” Octavia said.

“Yep. That big bone tower, on the other hoof, was apparently a pretty intricate design.”

“Sure was,” Applejack said, nodding appreciatively. “Ah don’t mean to be morbid, but it was quite a sight. In a way, it was beautiful.”

“You, morbid,” Vinyl said with a chuckle. “Now I’ve heard it all.”

“Now that I think about it, that’s where the Snowdrift gateway comes from too, I bet,” Colgate said. “You remember that wire stuff we were standing on?”

Applejack smacked the surface of the water. “Sorry. Ah just got it. All those wires were arranged so tightly, an’ Ah remember ‘em goin’ down fer miles.” She paused. “That’s all it takes to open a gateway? A design bein’ too orderly?”

“On their side, I guess so.”

“Where did the bone tower come from, though?” Fluttershy asked. “The wires, I can understand.”

“You described ‘em as the forest’s roots,” Vinyl said.

“They grew that way,” Colgate said. “Which is why this gateway is so old. Those roots came up and made the gateway, then they grew and became the canyon, then eventually the forest where we found the sphere house.”

“I wish I could see it,” Fluttershy said. “Safely, I mean.”

“I remember someone walking toward the tower when we were in the desert,” Colgate said. “Maybe they were gonna die there and add their bones to the pile. Could be a magical beacon or something, like they couldn’t help being attracted to it.”

“Now yer the morbid one,” Applejack said, and Colgate shrugged.

They looked back at hoofsteps, and the mood subtly changed when they saw the sisters. Aloe and Lotus, both looking hardly more relaxed then when they had come in, stopped at the pool’s edge. “Let’s go. Forestry team should be ready for you, Twilight,” Aloe said.

Reluctantly, Twilight left the spa and went back out into the weakened hail. She grabbed a package of bags for the sawdust and met Aloe’s team at the forest’s edge on the east side of town. In the distance, she could see a spare few others working on isolated trees, those too close to the warehouse. Aloe introduced the team leader, who would take orders from Twilight and relay them to the loggers, the truck drivers, and someone from the lumber yard in the next town over. She gave Twilight a map of the forest that Lotus had drawn up, showing the parts where they would find more dead wood, and when she had gone, a pair of workers showed Twilight how the wood chippers worked.

With thunder crackling in the distance and three magical shields over their heads to protect against lightning, they started into the vast pine forest outside Snowdrift. Safe from the hail, but never the cold, Twilight restlessly walked between logging teams to keep her blood flowing, though they did not need much help. Professionals, and not interested in Twilight’s designs or her need for so much sawdust, they were happy to go to work on whichever spot Twilight pointed them to. She had no one to talk to when not giving directions, and could only go over her checklist so many times before she was bored, yet she did not feel she could leave them so early in the project. She was their manager, she thought, and it did not speak well of her to abandon the site. In time, it would be a sign of faith in her workers, but so soon, it would just indicate disinterest. She sighed and tried to look attentive to the small group of ponies stacking branches and logs onto palettes, which were slowly being dragged by magic or muscle to the forest’s edge, where the wood chippers buzzed like cicadas.

By hour two, they had cleared the area of its dead wood, and Twilight, more interested in getting done quickly, gave permission for them to cut the living trees as well, rather than move the operation to another spot.

At a safe distance, she watched the first mighty cedar fall before its time. Chainsaws snarled and workers bantered, clapboard palettes slapped, and the forest creaked and crashed. In her time, Twilight had seen buildings collapse, and she was surprised at how much the falling tree reminded her of it; the branches rising briefly in free fall, the explosion of needles and mud, the twang of chains. She watched how the workers cleared debris, how they efficiently removed branches and sectioned tree trunks into workable sizes, reducing the forest before her eyes. Knowing what they were doing, she could faintly imagine her friends’ objections, and the objections of her past self with them.

“Why are we taking time to clear out all this brush?” Twilight asked a nearby worker, who leaned in and tapped his ear at her. Chainsaw deaf, Twilight realized, and repeated herself.

“Gotta clear this stuff,” was his response. “All this, you see? It dries out in the summertime, and we can have forest fires.”

She nodded. “Continue, then.”

The New Body

Chapter One hundred-seven

The New Body

Peaceful Meadows was bundled up on the love seat in a friend’s home, the same home to which four semi-distinguished ponies had been invited for a dinner party on the coming Thursday, three days hence. Her friend, the griffon bookmaker for one of the larger gambling rings in town, was at work tidying the house and digging out the good china. Three cookbooks lay open on the coffee table, shaded by a long, midnight blue overcoat hanging in the window to dry.

Peaceful Meadows had come to Snowdrift in furious disgrace, weeks ago, kicked out of Roan when the first of the core Mansel family was taken away. Hotheaded Campari Mansel had buried the family’s stash of illegally-enchanted items, but not well enough; rain and wind had partially exhumed the trove, and after several hours of questioning, one lucky underling had traded her freedom for Campari’s. With Mansel and Company dissolving before their eyes, along with escape options, the heads of business urged Peaceful Meadows to take flight for Snowdrift, which she did, pretending she hadn’t decided to do so long before the Mansels went under.

The Snowdrift branch, she knew, had always been a peripheral attachment, something between a last resort and a scapegoat to the Roan branch’s reckoning. Its business was clean, save a pair of gambling rings, and its manager a limp-willed and well-meaning daughter of the company. Ginseng Mansel was her name, and it was to her that Peaceful Meadows appealed for employment the first day she arrived in the blustery town.

Her references, it turned out, were not of much value to a legitimate business, but she was taken on as a consultant as a show of good faith, which Peaceful Meadows returned by canvassing her coworkers for anyone with whom she might form a new venture. To her mind, she was not to be blamed, for crime was all she knew, and when the Elements came to town and the red light of revenge flashed through her, she applied herself to its action without remorse or long contemplation. She still had some of her equipment from Roan, and two bags packed and waiting, one under her bed and one in a locker at the train station.

“Pumpkin Spice or Winter Starlight?” the griffon asked from the dining room. Clutching a pair of tall candles, wings splayed for balance, he cut a ridiculous figure to Peaceful Meadows, who grunted in response.

The griffon fussed about and came into the living room with a feather duster.

“You can quit glowering at me anytime,” he said to Peaceful Meadows.

“I’m just watching you.”

“Right.” Something in his tone made Peaceful Meadows think he could detect her envy, and he brushed the frame of a hanging picture with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his beak. His tail moved languidly, and Peaceful Meadows turned her frown to it.

“It sounds like Partial Thoughts is slow-walking you, if you want my opinion,” the griffon said.

“I didn’t ask,” Peaceful Meadows said, which was untrue; she had no other object in coming to the griffon’s house. Partial Thoughts was her immediate supervisor, not a Mansel, merely trusted middle management, and it was plain to Peaceful Meadows that she did not approve of her revenge plan.

“I get it,” the griffon continued. “I’ve been there. Authorization this, compliance that, it goes on and on and on. Seriously, Pumpkin Spice or Winter Starlight?”

“Pumpkin Spice.”

“You didn’t even try,” he said with a prissy twitch of his head, and brought the candles out. “Sniff them.”

Peaceful Meadows sighed and looked at the griffon, holding the candles out expectantly, until he retracted his talons and placed them on the end table, grumbling.

“You’re just giving yourself more to clean up after the party,” Peaceful Meadows said.

“I thought you were cleaning?”

“I’m handling the bodies, not your fancy dishes.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine.” He hummed to himself and checked to see whether the overcoat was dry. “Just remember our agreement. You wait for me to leave before things get messy.”

“You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

At the corkscrew hotel, Vinyl drew back the curtains to let the noontime sun wake her roommates. She had plenty on her mind; Fluttershy had told her the evening before to go ahead and start working on learning magic to remove memories. They had stayed up and talked about Fluttershy’s research, and who Vinyl might contact to practice magic of that sort. Snowdrift was the right town for it, but she still imagined she would be out most of the day finding someone who could help her.

Twilight barged into the room, waking the others with a start, already talking rapidly. She threw a sealed letter onto the TV stand and frowned at where it landed for a second, pausing her stream of thoughts.

“You girls need to clean in here,” she said. “Whose soda can is this?” She jiggled it. “It’s still half-full!”

“Good morning to you too,” Octavia said, sitting up and yawning.

“Mine, thanks,” Colgate said, grabbing the can and drinking from it. “Flat.”

“So what’s this, then?” Vinyl asked. “You seem fired up today, Miss Twilight.”

“I’m supposed to meet the loggers fifteen minutes ago, I overslept, but I want to share this first. We all awake? Ready to listen?”

“Should we not get the others?” Octavia asked.

“She already told ‘em,” Colgate said. “I heard her making the rounds before this room.”

“I stayed up half the night reading about the Contractions,” Twilight said. “Everypony uses them to slingshot their airships to places, it’s tied into the teleportation magic that makes the Contraction possible. We’re going to do that too.”

“Is another Contraction coming?” Vinyl asked.

“I’m going to make one happen,” Twilight said. “Which,” she held up a hoof to stay their questions, “I am already aware is illegal. It’s a felony, in fact. Frankly, I’m willing to roll the dice on it.”

“We might not be,” Octavia said.

“You can meet us at the next Element location, then.”

“You okay, Twilight?” Vinyl asked.

“Look,” Twilight said, smoothing her mane with a groan. “We can argue about the morals and all that later. Rainbow had plenty to say, you can talk with her if you like. The point is, I’m doing this, and I need you all to be ready for it. I need to do more research, but I think I can put together something that’ll concentrate the magic that radiates out of the gateway. If I can do that, then it’s a simple matter of putting it through a wire into the town sigil, which is—anyway, later. I really have to go, girls.”

“When do you mean to do this?” Octavia asked.

“Not sure yet,” she said, halfway out the door. “We’ll talk later.” They could hear her galloping down the hall, and the door had been closed not a minute before the others came in.

“She gone?” Rainbow asked. “Did she tell you?”

“Rather briefly,” Vinyl said, picking up the letter Twilight had left. “This is addressed to us.”

“She’s talkin’ ‘bout stealin’ Tartarus magic and using it to make a Contraction happen unnaturally,” Big Mac said. “Ah don’t like it.”

“I see why she would want to do it,” Rarity said.

“I get it too,” Rainbow said, “but that doesn’t make it not the stupidest idea she’s ever had.”

Vinyl tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter, opened her mouth to speak, but passed it to Big Mac. He read it slowly before putting it on the table.

“Well?” Colgate asked.

“We got a problem,” he mumbled.

“Read it out loud, dear,” Rarity said, lifting the letter up. “If you have received an invitation recently, don’t be fooled,” she read. “It’s a trap. You have enemies in Snowdrift.”

“Gimme that,” Vinyl said, taking it back, horn alive with flaxen light. With her goggles, it looked like she was simply frowning at the letter, willing it to do something. “No signature, nothing. Nothing on the back. Gee, nice way to start a morning, right?” She nodded thanks to Applejack, who was setting up a pot of coffee.

“The dinner party,” Octavia said. “I told you I was suspicious.”

“So don’t go,” Rarity said.

“Ah, yes, how simple,” Vinyl said. “Where did she get this?”

A couple eyes turned to Colgate, who noticed. “What? Don’t look at me.”

“We cannot just not go, not with so much time left in town,” Octavia said, sitting heavily on the bed. “The griffon who invited us was able to find us easily enough. Most likely, half the town knows where we are staying.”

“Can we change hotels?” Rainbow asked.

“Couldn’t hurt,” Big Mac said.

“If it was me, I would try to find out who sent this letter,” Fluttershy said, rubbing her eyes.

“I agree,” Colgate said, snatching it and holding it to the light. “No watermark either. Who’s working check-in today? Is it Versus again?”

Fluttershy shrugged.

“This might be nothing. It might be Discord freaking us out, which you’ve told me happens sometimes.”

“He signs his letters,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, Discord ain’t the subtlest when it comes to scare tactics,” Applejack said.

“Twilight’s in a rush, she wouldn’t have gone farther than the lobby, I bet. C’mon ladies,” Colgate said. They all made to exit, but Colgate stopped. “Vinyl, Big Mac, and Octavia only, thanks.” She pointed at her forehead, trying to indicate that they were the only ones who had targets on them, but the gesture was lost on the others.

“We’ll be right back,” Vinyl said, going out the door.

When they were gone, Rarity turned to them all. “If we have someone looking to hurt us in this town—or them, anyway—then that’s even more reason to help Twilight with her Contraction. A quick escape might prove vital.”

“She seems to ferget that this is the precog and secret agent capital of Equestria,” Applejack said. “How’s she expect to get away with somethin’ like that?”

“She said she had a plan in our room,” Pinkie said. “And that she might rely on me to carry it off!”

“You?” Rainbow asked.

“Funny, right?”

“First the mortuary, now this,” Applejack said, shaking her head. “She really is somethin’.”

“You can’t approve of this, can you?” Rainbow asked.

“Not fer a second, but like Rarity, Ah see the reasonin’. We get this Element, slingshot instantly to the last one, then kick down Discord’s door. It’s got an appeal.”

“And it’s not like she can ask the secret agents for permission,” Pinkie said. “That’s how she made it sound, anyway.”

“It’ll save time, sure,” Rainbow said, “but she’s not… I don’t like it.”

“It was Versus,” Colgate said, reentering. “She said she didn’t know what it was, just forked it over when she saw Twilight.”

“Guess where she got it,” Vinyl said. “That pony we met at the Contraction party yesterday, the pale one, Partial Thoughts.”

“The paper pony!” Pinkie exclaimed. “She was nice!”

“Nice enough to give us a warnin’,” Big Mac said, searching for his coat.

“Going out now?” Fluttershy asked. She stood to the side for Colgate to exit.

“We’re gonna find her.”

“We need to know more about this warning,” Vinyl said, putting on a pair of earmuffs. “I’ll actually be gone most of the day, probably. I have somewhere to be after this.” Behind her goggles, she looked at Fluttershy’s eyes, seeing the recognition there.

“Anything we can do?” Rarity asked.

“Here,” Colgate said, coming back in with a mass of bits floating before her face. “If you can find somewhere that sells pulse crystals, I’d be obliged if you’d pick one up for me.”

Rarity made a face. “Charmed to.”

* * * * * *

Whooves was playing croquet in the garden with Porchlight, his coltfriend, and a few mutual acquaintances, and he waited for his turn by studying his mallet, stylized to resemble a flamingo on one leg. The Canterlot sun beamed down with too much intensity for late autumn, but he didn’t mind; the palace gave them enough shade for their game.

“Doctor, do tell, how was Aquamarine’s social last night?” a pony asked. Her name was Burgundy Briefcase, and she was dressed in a buttery-yellow sun dress with pastel pink trim; the association with the Element of Kindness was no coincidence. A magazine model, she moved slowly and gently, as though she always had a photographer’s eyes on her, and smiled like she knew she was the most beautiful pony in the room—though many thought she had gotten too thin of late. A coil of silver smoke faded over her head as she puffed on the black stem of a cigarette holder.

“Quite charming, actually,” Whooves said. “Did you know, he has window shades up all across his house, that he might simulate the eventide? We dined by candlelight and exchanged the drollest conversation.”

“Aquamarine is many things, but droll I’d not expect to hear,” a different pony said. Whooves had forgotten his name, but he was the brother of a local artist.

“Oh, why, it was more the other company that left such an impression on me. Purest Lily was there, and—shocked, I, to see her in the same room as he—Choral Dreams. Why! The conversation betwixt those two… If one could harness energy from animosity, I reckon the power company would be out of business by those two alone.”

At this, Porchlight laughed, and Whooves put a hoof on his flank, sharing in the moment.

“And what news of the Astras?” Burgundy Briefcase asked, politely declining a servant who approached with a tray of appetizers.

“Ah!” With feigned offense, Whooves held a hoof to his heart. “Is that what I am? A mere conduit to hear news of the glorious Astra family?”

“Among others,” Porchlight said, and they all laughed.

“Yes, well, be that as it may,” Whooves said, lining up his shot, “The interest of the day is no longer with the fair Astras, but with their nefarious rivals, the Pegasus Advocates. I dare say, but we’ve seen them in the papers enough?” He shot wide of the wicket and tittered to himself.

“Meddlesome as ever,” the artist’s brother said. “Lettuce Patch’s son-in-law recently had a run in with them, it would seem. Shady business, from what I’ve heard.”

“Yes, I heard that,” Porchlight said. “He had a bit of a scrape, did he not?”

“Hospitalized, I heard,” Burgundy Briefcase said.

“Oh, pish posh,” Whooves said. “Sensationalism at its finest. I heard he merely received a strong upbraiding by showing his face in the meaner neighborhood.”

“Now, I’d trust you over Lady Coil on that.” She grinned at him. “Ears to the streets as ever, doctor? You simply must tell me who your friends are.”

“They say a good pony has friends he can only speak well of, but an interesting pony has friends he can’t mention at all,” Porchlight said, and Whooves tugged his tail playfully.

“Not even a hint, darling?”

“I’m afraid not, madame,” Whooves said. “I’m rather sworn to secrecy.” He beckoned them closer, smiling over their heads at the servant who watched. “But this I can say. The pony to whom I have sworn this oath is at the center of all. He is the very axis on which this little feud spins, a… Well, I’ve said too much already.”

“Yes, the good doctor claims to know the most important pony to both parties, but can disclose no more,” the brother said.

“Please, spare me your wit. I hold my tongue for his benefit as much as my own.”

“Do you mean to say that you are in some sort of danger, doctor?” Burgundy Briefcase asked.

“Perish the thought, dear lady,” he said, laughing. “I am nothing to them, nothing at all. A face, that’s it.” He gestured a servant over and accepted a flute of sparkling wine on an outstretched wing. “And might I say, rather a handsome one.”

“Do tell,” Porchlight said.

“His wandering eyes did all the telling, not me.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” the brother said. “If such a pony existed, we would know.”

“Unless he was in hiding,” Burgundy Briefcase said.

“Like a spy movie! Yes, very quaint. I suppose he’s sequestered in his hideout with the shades drawn, brooding over some revenge scheme? You are too much, Burg, simply too much.”

Glancing down at herself with the mallet leaning on her shoulder, Burgundy Briefcase adjusted her dress. “When you put it that way…”

“Okay, you rascals,” Whooves said. His flamingo mallet lay forgotten in the grass. “Pegasus Advocacy and Astra talk, it’s all old hat anyway, is it not? Why, the conflict has become so dull, one can predict the newspaper articles days in advance. So-and-so threatened by violence, this-and-that important pony speaks out against racial supremacy. We’ve no need of it.”

“But I suppose you have something grand in store, hm?” the brother said.

“You might know, you might not. I did travel with the Elements of Harmony for a piece. Ah! By your face, I see you did not know that.” He smiled and shook his mane, too short to achieve much effect. “No surprise. I did tell only a select few. Well, rejoice now, my friend! Yours are the ears, selected discretely and in only the best faith bestowed with my disclosures.”

“Let’s hear it,” Burgundy Briefcase said, idly resting one hoof on a wicket. Porchlight shooed her away in order to send his ball rolling.

“But what to tell? So many choices.”

“He apes indecision because he has to invent something,” the brother mumbled, audibly, to Porchlight, who gave no indication that he had heard.

“Try this, good sir,” Whooves said, at odds to keep his tone polite. “A maelstrom of noise and terror, a night beset with darkness, a dam enchanted to haunt the dreams of all who beheld it. Familiar scene? We’ve read it up and down, I’m certain.”

“Applewood,” Porchlight said eagerly. “You were there?”

“In the thick of it, my love! Yes, now I see that skepticism wiped clean from your face, dear boy. All the better, it mars your visage.” He clapped the brother on the back. “Magic scarring the night sky on one end, and the cool gray, falcate slab of river held aloft on the other. That’s right, aloft. You do know they’re the most powerful ponies in the world, do you not?” He chuckled. “But no goddesses, they, for only failure was on the menu that night, with a harrowing escape for dessert. By one poor mare’s failings, all was lost, and the greatest tragedy since The Crumbling was ushered, bawling with the voice of torrential water, into our world. One could not say that this tragedy was ever a slink in the coffin of Discord’s heart; nay, an event of this magnitude came at us complete and grotesquely fat, gorged on the evil that was its maker’s whim to imbue.” His voice rose, his excitement overtaking his sense of judgement. “A vermiform noose around one Element of Laughter’s neck! The living river, reflected in her eyes in that moment, was as an abyss of despair.”

“Such rot,” the brother said, shaking his head and grabbing his mallet hotly. “Who would believe it?”

“How did the Element of Laughter affect the outcome? Could she have helped in some way?” Burgundy Briefcase asked.

Catching his breath from his speech, Whooves turned away and smiled at himself, even as his excitement slowly cooled off and he could think about what he had said. “But who are they? Three among thousands in the city. Besides, the others knew as well, some of them. Vinyl, Fluttershy, that large specimen.”

“The dam did behave rather, well, incredibly,” she continued. “Discord’s magic is no parlor trick.”

“No indeed, my dear. And if the Elements were there at the time—and we can all agree they were? They—that is, that’s just what I heard.”

“Oh, you only heard it now?” the brother asked.

“You said you were there,” Porchlight said.

“Hmmm, well,” Whooves said, making a show of hunting through the grass for his mallet, though it was plainly visible not five feet away. “We’re all entitled to a spot of yarn-spinning, are we not?”

“It’s a charming story,” Burgundy Briefcase said. “I’d have never thought to portray young Pinkamena in such a light. The lone hero, crushed by overwhelming odds, the unwilling cause of tragedy. Yes, I do think I rather like the thought of that.”

“A story and nothing more,” Whooves said, smiling weakly. “It is hot out here, is it not? Shall we retire indoors for the day?”

* * * * * *

Far from the garden parties, the luncheons, and the swarms of wealthy elite in Greater Canterlot, Flitter looked longingly at a passing pizza shop in the passenger seat of Ink Pearl’s car. She had been fasting since noon the day before, that the sedative would kill her quickly and at the correct dosage.

Flitter had spent the night at Chilly Clouds’ place with all of her things at the new apartment. For diversion, she had television and a couple books—Chilly was no reader, but had picked up a pair at an impulse buy section, in case Flitter was. After Chilly had gone to bed, with bath towels hung over her windows to keep out the persistent sun, Flitter had stayed up and stewed, hungry and bored, too nervous to do anything but take in whatever the TV had for her. She fell asleep on the couch thinking alternately of escape and duty, reminding herself that she had signed up for exactly what she was getting.

That morning, Chilly Clouds had gone ahead to the room where it would happen and Ink picked Flitter up five minutes late and impatient to get moving. In the car, she softened but a little; she asked Flitter how her mandatory pre-death counseling session had gone, told her a little of what she already knew concerning the details of her new job and new life, and even tried to make a joke about the fasting process. Flitter gave one-word answers when she could.

“I’m actually a little jealous of you, April,” Ink said at a red light. “I haven’t switched bodies. You should be proud of yourself.”

Flitter grunted in response.

She was told that Wings and Jet were getting on fine without her. They were shocked and a little hurt that she had left them so abruptly, but did not seem seriously affected, and they had work enough to keep distracted anyway—the dome over Canterlot was to switch on the next day, and they could once again enjoy the natural cycle of day and night. Cloudchaser had been told that her sister was simply going to be away for an extended period of time, and that communication would be restricted, and her parents had been informed similarly. To them, Flitter was leaving for Applewood, to assist in the festering husk of the Bright Road. Flitter was not allowed to reach out to them until her task was complete, a point she had protested initially; but, Ink was fast to point out, she had signed the applicable document in the end.

As before, when they reached the record store, they went to the back, waited for the knock on the door, and entered the bunker to which they had covertly teleported. Head in a daze, Flitter scarcely noticed the individual faces that greeted her and told her she would be fine. She declined to see her new self before she was put down, and they sat her at a desk with a stack of papers. She was told to look through for any last-minute wishes, any adjustments to her cover story—not that she was authorized to change much—and the sort. She took a quill in her mouth and scribbled the last signatures of her natural life.

The peaceful room, as the technicians termed it, was composed of four white walls, a work counter, and an exam table. Chilly was there, and she gave Flitter a smile that Flitter could not return. The nurse laid her down, checked her vitals—“Why?” Flitter wanted to scream—and showed Flitter the syringe before administering its contents.

The process was routine and painless, exactly as Flitter had been told, despite her natural fears. Ten minutes passed between the lilac body expiring on the table and the royal blue body struggling to take its first breaths in the room adjacent. Doctors assessed her vitals again and hooked her up to life support, where she would spend her first several hours transitioning, dead tissue animating with a strengthening, involuntary scream as the lungs inflated. The body had already been injected with a mild opiate, so April Showers did not panic when she finally gained consciousness, though she did have several questions.

Ink and Chilly were both there, and her dry eyes looked at them for several minutes before she could get her tongue and throat to produce words. The two of them were speaking to each other, both with an eye on April, and about what she did not know. At last, she asked, “Am I okay?”

“You’re fine, honey,” Ink said, coming to her and looking over her body. It was as though the old body’s death had released in Ink some switch, allowing her to minister to April with all the kindness and patience of a mother. She got her water and a mirror, straightened her pillow, and talked slowly of how the procedure had gone, though there was not much to discuss in that regard. Everything had been set up in advance, and all Flitter had done was let her spirit be magically shunted into the next vessel. Ink made it sound commonplace and easy, but with soft eyes and none of that impatience that had made Flitter dislike her so. Ink Pearl treated her like she was a special case, which April grudgingly appreciated.

April asked what was to become of Flitter, and they replied that she would be cremated in a special Datura facility, and her ashes then stored for thirty days before being scattered. The thirty days, Chilly explained, was to give the appropriate Datura functionaries time to file all the paperwork pertaining to Flitter’s death and get it to the Information Handler.

After a while, Ink had to leave, and she told April she would be in touch before her assignment began. Chilly stayed with her a little longer, telling her about her new body. She had been warned it would feel wrong for a while, that it was a natural reaction, but no one had been able to go into specifics. April, supine in bed, with her wings a little wider and her legs a little longer, with her eyes a little closer together and her teeth a little more crowded, felt like an imposter. Every tiny movement the new body made, voluntary or not, felt big and obvious. The sounds of her bowels coming to grips with sudden life seemed to her an endless, imprudent cacophony, even though Chilly tactfully told her that it was something all new bodies went through. When her wings twitched under her, she felt like someone was wrenching them away, and when her nose began to drain to the back of her throat, it felt like someone had intubated her.

To all functions of the body, her mind objected, as if she had in death’s transit abandoned the power of her will and surfaced again embedded in the flesh of someone else, which she just happened to be able to control. That it was her body, and that it was her, had been impressed by the counselor, but it did not sink in as she lay in the bed. She felt like she had been given a thrall, rather than a new self, and that she might reveal her true self to persistent scrutiny. This, too, they had touched upon, and she had been told that April Showers was now her true self. The body and spirit were one, a fact that was inalienable and undeniable; April was as fundamentally correct and real as if she had been born via the passage of a womb instead of the invisible magic that a Datura mage was already scrubbing from the air. The advice, it seemed to her, had been given to another, and she had simply been listening in at the time.

Not feeling well, and still attached to the IV that kept her calm, April didn’t express any thought so complex. She told Chilly that she felt weird and wrong, and Chilly told her it was natural and gave a wan smile. Her face was not made for smiling, April thought, and she waxed quiet as she studied the pale mare who had helped her. Her drawn, sickly green face reminded April of something that would leer out from behind a tree in the Everfree Forest. With an edge of unconscious aversion, April made her goodbyes and assurances to Chilly when she said she too must leave for other business.

By five in the afternoon, April was out of bed and free to walk around the facility with the doctors, nurses, and technicians. She saw no trace of her old body, and was glad for it. She spent close to an hour in a room made entirely of mirrors, inspecting her new self and trying on the sample outfits they had for her. April settled on a simple, lime green cape and bonnet; she liked how they went with her royal blue coat and deep purple mane, and in a strange moment of intense self awareness, she realized that she thought that April Showers’ body was more attractive than Flitter’s. Where Flitter’s pastel hue and small, soft body were easy to overlook, April’s bold colors and extra one and a half inches made her into an eye-catching, athletic young mare. She pictured herself in the sky with old friends, leading a triangle of pegasi on an adventure, then back at the spa with a fond client. Then, she pictured herself at the seedy bar that Wings and Jet had described, wither to wither with Pegasus Advocates, herself dressed in one of their ridiculous costumes, complaining about the earth ponies or the unicorns, or the pegasi who chose to associate with them.

Not feeling as attractive after that final thought, she followed the signage to a small food court and ate for the first time. Her mouth felt ungainly and mechanical to her, as Chilly and Ink had both warned her it would. Her first meal was mashed potatoes with a generous amount of butter melted over top, easy to eat and difficult to choke on.

She spent the night there and submitted to a physical exam in the morning, to confirm that her vitals were stable and her body was in working order, and then they released her. She went back up to the record store and was momentarily lost, forgetting that the Datura bunker did not simply release her onto the street. The cashier told her that there was a driver already waiting for her outside, and April walked into the natural light feeling like a stranger to the world. Apparently aware of her feelings, or aware of the feelings that new bodies experienced in general, the driver said not a word about the operation. He lowered his sunglasses and grinned at her, complimented her looks, introduced himself, and then took off.

He was not just a driver, as she thought; he was her intermediary between the Pegasus Advocates and Ink Pearl. Ink would still be by to talk to her, he assured, but after that, he was her only thread to the Datura. A lemon-yellow pegasus with a drawling, casual voice and a ladder of piercings in both ears, he explained that his job was to help other Daturas stay hidden until Luna told them it was safe. He had helped Ink get in touch with her skeleton crew right after the battle, and had also whisked away those who had known Fleur dis Lee and Fancy Pants.

His talk did not dwindle, and as they entered the visibly poorer section of Lower Canterlot, he moved his topic closer to business.

“Now, April Showers, I don’t want you mistaking me for a friend.” He lowered his glasses. “Not that I’m not here to help you, but we can’t, well, you know we can’t really be seen together very much.”

“I get that,” April said. Her voice was a little huskier, and the distance between the tip of her tongue and the back of her front teeth was still strange to her; she pronounced “that” as “zat.”

“This neighborhood, well, you see it, it’s not in the best shape. Look, there, that place was a successful flower shop just a few weeks ago. Celestia, this place is going to Tartarus.” He shook his head and smiled. “Which makes it ideal for you. Your apartment is about fifteen minutes away from the big PA club here, Velocity.”

“Velocity,” April repeated.

“There’s a couple cafés nearby, and a library—you’ll see them hang out at the library sometimes too, so don’t be surprised—and a grocery store, the usual stuff. Rough neighborhood, to be sure, but you’ll be okay.”

“Will I?”

He clicked his tongue. “Yeeeeeeeah.” Glancing at her, he said, “there’s a pulse crystal waiting at your apartment too.”

“Yeah, Chilly told me they’d bring me one.” She and Chilly had taken a couple days, earlier, to go to a firing range and practice with their pulse crystals. Flitter, like many younger ponies of her type, abhorred the idea of them. Chilly had told her she would need to get over that feeling quickly once she got her new body.

“Here we go,” the driver said, pulling into a parking lot. “This is where you’ll be meeting me. This whole complex is for victims of domestic abuse. How you choose to present yourself here, that’s up to you. Volunteer or victim, choice is yours really.”

“Will they take a PA?”

“You should probably downplay that part when you come around. Look, there, that’s the dining room, and over there’s one of the teaching centers, I think.”

“I just wander in and wait around until I see you, is that it?”

“You got it.” They pulled out of the parking lot. “I’ll be volunteering there on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and I’ll send you a note with my hours once I know them.” He talked on about the shelter, how the ponies there all seemed like genuinely good-hearted folks, how the victims were strong and brave, how April would fit in fine as long as she pretended to be Flitter. The phrase caught in April’s mind, and she was repeating it to herself even after the driver was long gone and she was alone in her cramped apartment. How calculated was the phrase, she wondered, but didn’t have time to frighten herself with it, as she received Ink Pearl fifteen minutes later.

The dark unicorn walked in before April could invite her, and April sat sullenly on the couch while Ink got them both glasses of lemonade from the pre-stocked fridge.

“Sunburst told you about the shelter, the schedule, and all that?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Oh, here.” She got up and went to a compartment behind a small writing desk, and produced April’s pulse crystal. “This is for you. Emergencies only, clear?”

“Yes, clear,” April said, reaching for it. She had grown used to the body enough that she could think to be in character, and chose to begin with Ink. She took the pulse crystal, pretended that the sensation of it affixing to her foreleg still did not make her insides squirm, and pointed it around the apartment room.

“Hey, easy with that thing,” Ink said, ducking a little, then making her movement look intentional by grabbing something out of her saddlebag. “Here’s a map of the area. Velocity’s the big X there, the shelter’s the other X, you get the idea. Your apartment’s the circle. These,” she tapped the map insistently, though April was looking right at it. “These smaller triangles are places where Pegasus Advocates are known to hang out. That there’s the library, that’s the underpass, that’s Bean Pole Park.”

“So I’ll go make some friends, easy,” April said.

“Not easy, not easy,” Ink said, eyes wide and frowning, shaking her head rapidly. “You’ll get beaten senseless if you just show up and try to talk to them. You need to get recruited. Any one of these places you can ask about it, but…” She grabbed a different sheet of paper and spread it over the map. “The carnival’s in town, and the PAs like to recruit there. It’s here.” She lifted a corner of the paper to show the map again, and indicated a small star in the northwestern section of the neighborhood. “I’d go here and wander around some. You’ll see them if they’re there.”

“I bet I will.” She wanted to sound threatening, but Ink did not even lift her eyes.

“They’ve got brochures, and you just go up and ask one. ‘Hey, I was interested in joining your group, are you taking new members?’ For the love of Celestia, do not call it a gang or something like that.”

“Got it.”

“From there, it’s all you.” She stood up, then thought better of it and sat down again. “Tell me your assignment.”

April sighed, affecting impatience. “I’ve gotta get into the PAs—easy, as I said—and find out where they got their magical artifacts.”

“And?”

April glared at her. “As I was saying, after that, I’m gonna find out if they have any more magical things hidden away, if they’ve got a supplier, if they have any plans with them. If I can—”

“Nope, that’s it,” Ink said. “Just find that stuff out and report it to me, and I’ll take care of any follow up. You are not, are not, to try to stop the supply or destroy the artifacts. Clear?”

“I know that. I was going to say, if I can, I’m gonna learn about any other plans they have in the city. You know, just in case the want to do something besides work with magic. Any sort of organized crime, that sort of thing.”

“Nope, that’s not your job. You can inform the police if you want, but we are not to interfere with any aspect of PA life except this weird magic.”

“Seriously?”

“Uhh, yeah. You were taught that.”

April sighed. Flitter had been taught it earlier, in Ponyville. Foxglove had explained to her that, as soon as the topic strayed from magic or anything extranormal, the Datura’s ability to interfere ended. It was to keep Equestria from becoming a nation beholden to secret police.

“It might ruin my cover anyway,” April said.

“Good girl.” Ink rose and clapped her on the back. “Any questions? Ask now or forever hold your peace, this is the last time you’re gonna see me in a long time.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“You’ll be fine.”

“No, really, what if something goes wrong? Like they don’t take me, or they don’t like me or something?”

Ink huffed and shook her mane off her forehead, donning her saddlebags again. “Just don’t let things go bad, April Showers. I won’t be there.”

“No, I get that.”

“Then don’t let things go bad. I won’t be there, and neither will anyone else. Sunburst can’t help you if you need it, he’s just a relay for you.”

“All right, what about when I get your information? What happens then?”

“Then we’ll talk exit strategies. That’ll be a liiiitle dicey, probably, best not to think about it now.” She went back to the table and tapped the papers. “Carnival, tonight or tomorrow, April.”

“I know, I’ll do it.”

Ink nodded and, after a second of eye contact, went to the door. “Good luck, April. I know you can do it. I really appreciate the risk you’re taking, we all do.”

How strongly April wanted to rejoin with a caustic remark, like “I’m so sure.” Instead, she went to the door, accepted Ink’s hoofshake with thanks, and watched her commander descend the stairs and get in her car. Only after she was gone did April turn back to the apartment and take in her new quarters. “Lousy twinkler,” she muttered.

Every TV channel and radio station was interrupted with the message that the sky dome would be activated in two hours. April was pacing circles in her living room as a way to get accustomed to her longer legs, and she thought of Wings and Jet, how excited they would be at finishing with the project. They would probably get off in time for happy hour somewhere, and for once, April wished she could be with them for it. Not a drinker or enjoyer of noisy bars, going out that night seemed preferable to staying in.

She heated up a TV dinner and drank more lemonade, and then sat by the window for the last half hour. Her apartment was close to the city’s edge, where suburbs were less dense and pieces of countryside occasionally reached them in the forms of dirt roads or expansive, empty lots, and April could see the faint lines of the sky dome. They called it a dome; it was a network of lights and cables, collapsible but sturdy, another intermingling of magic and technology that the Datura had seemed able to simply pull out when it was needed. April fell to wondering when they had first constructed it, and for what, and how many more there might be stored underground.

Many of her neighbors had stepped outside or onto balconies to watch the sky change from glaring afternoon to somber evening. Some cheered quietly to themselves, some just gawked. To them, the work had come from Princess Luna herself, unaided and unseen, a modern miracle. Her knowledge of its true nature did nothing to tarnish April’s amazement as she searched the sky for imperfections. The stars were faint, the constellations appeared accurate to her, and the moon was right where it should have been. She wondered whether they had placed reflectors on the dome’s other side, to keep Discord’s sunshine from heating up their nights. The princess had already released a statement that the unpredictable sun was just a powerful illusion, and as far as April knew, it was true, but the heat was real enough. How Celestia allowed such a flagrant move on his part, April could not fathom.

She went to bed with a headache, which she had been told to expect in the first days, and tossed and turned for hours with the image of the pulse crystal in her head. She had left it on the coffee table, a stumpy shard of blackberry-dark glass, innocent to appearances save for the straps.

Years ago, when they still lived in Cloudsdale, Cloudchaser had purchased a pulse crystal. She had always been casually interested in shooting, and tried to teach Flitter what she had learned, but Flitter did not take to it. Even target shooting seemed in poor taste to her. The pulse crystal hadn’t made it with them to Ponyville, but Cloudchaser would occasionally mention going to an exhibition or watching a competition.

“What if I’m asked to use it? What if I have to defend myself?” Frightening scenarios appeared in her drowsy head, of herself cornered by PAs who inexplicably knew she was a spy, or of herself forced to shoot an innocent unicorn as a way to be initiated into the gang. “Group,” she corrected herself. “They’re a group. They won’t make me kill someone, will they?” Alone in the darkness, it was easy to think they would, and her thoughts grew more and more ridiculous as she faded into sleep. They might ask her to rob someone, or attack a rival gang member, or do all manner of cold-blooded things.

With the morning light, April made a breakfast of toast and instant coffee. Her apartment had been stocked with standard foodstuffs, not many of which were to her taste. She began a grocery list while she woke up, then called the bank and checked her account. With her assignment, a legitimate job would be only a temporary necessity, perhaps not even that. Ideally, Chilly had told her one evening, April would find a place within the PAs’ operations. When asked what sort of “operations” she meant, Chilly had said she didn’t know, but that they would be illegal. Like the notion of using the pulse crystal, that was something April would need to get over quickly.

She had five hundred bits in the bank, enough for about a month of groceries if she was responsible, plus the second month of rent. The first month was already taken care of.

With the TV on but not watched, April set about arranging her apartment, making it more her own. A little stack of books and movies she placed on the carpet beside the TV stand, her cleaning supplies she placed in the closet beside the ironing board. She rearranged her clothes, and found among them a blouse that had belonged to Jet. Thinking how funny it would be to somehow sneak the blouse back to its owner, April tried it on, found it too small, and replaced it. Overhanging all, impossible to ignore, was her task. Like a throbbing tooth that asserts itself no matter whether it was in use, thoughts of the carnival and the Pegasus Advocate recruitment in her future came from everything she saw and did, and she struggled to find more reasons not to go out as the hours dragged on. The apartment was clean, the furniture moved to her liking, the dishes done, the grocery list complete, the bank called a second time to confirm her balance, the scraggly spider fern watered. She was comfortable enough in her body that she could move without feeling dumb, and she could talk easily enough if she did so a little slower than she liked. By two o’ clock, she was out of busywork, and, heart pounding, she sat on the couch and turned the TV up.

She told herself she would relax a little first, that she would be no good if she went out in her state, but she did not relax. She found the most vacuous show she could and turned it up, making herself laugh at every little thing the actors did, but the frightening shape of her job did not quit her mind. She was conscious of each minute wasted, and she knew that waiting would not make it easier, but wait she did. At the end of the first episode, she got up, then sat back down and told herself she would head out after the next one: a nice, round hour. At the end of the next one, she hesitated at an interesting commercial, then told herself she would leave if the next commercial was boring. She watched that one too, then the next episode, and her anxiety did not soften or fade, nor did it harden into determination or self-reproach. She sat, changed positions until no position was comfortable to her, slowly stopped forcing laughter, and marked the lengthening shadows on her carpet. April watched a fourth episode, thinking herself pathetic, imagining what Ink would say if she could see her. Her thoughts turned to quitting the Datura, to writing up a resignation letter and marching down to the shelter and telling Sunburst to shove it under Ink’s door. She even went so far as to search her apartment, in case somewhere she had a booklet with the train schedules. She could get to Ponyville before anyone noticed she was gone, and from there, perhaps she could vanish into the forest, or, she thought wildly, just follow the river south until there were no more cities and no more Datura managers to shove her around.

Standing in the kitchen, junk drawer emptied, April Showers looked at her glassware. Those glasses with water spots she cleaned again, and was able to lose herself in the labor for minutes at a time. For a pegasus, it was precarious to maneuver the glasses under the faucet. When the task was done, and it was four thirty, she made a late lunch, which she ate in silent, tight fear. She put her glasses back, did the dishes from lunch, and watched another episode to let her food settle. It was six ‘o clock when April was at the front door, looking out onto the darkening parking lot and the street beyond.

“I started too late,” she thought. “I’d better just do it tomorrow. I’ll do it for sure tomorrow.” She went back inside and sat down, justifying herself to herself. The day of leisure was necessary to get her mind in order, and to get comfortable in the new body, and learn her surroundings a little as well. That she should be expected to go out on such a day was preposterous, and she thought of Ink and her expectations, and by six thirty, April was staring with glazed eyes at the stack of movies she had placed on the floor. She went to them, thinking she should rearrange them, but when she had the stack spread out on the carpet, she changed her mind and put them back. Looking down on the replaced stack, she then looked at her hooves and wings, quietly disgusted with herself. Head buzzing, she went to the door, grabbed her keys and saddlebags, and walked out. The apartment complex was going quiet for the coming night, though a few voices were still to be heard, or the crunch of wheels and gravel as late workers got home.

Fear caught up to her as she came into view of the gate, and she took a moment to check her empty mailbox. April was aware that it was a fluke that had pushed her out the door, that some odd combination of boredom and self-consciousness had flipped her mind off for a second, the only second her body apparently needed to embark on its ill-starred journey. Once begun, she could not turn back, and she found as she reached the sidewalk that she did not really want to. Like any disagreeable job, putting it off was always worse, and she felt stupid for wasting so much of the day to re-learn that lesson.

April could hear the sounds of the carnival in the distance, see the colored lights awash in the coming evening, and she set off resolutely down the sidewalk, drawing a jacket tighter around herself as a cold breeze rattled overhanging leaves. A few ponies in the area had put up decorations already, a practice April had always thought silly. Hearth’s Warming was still three months away.

By seven-fifteen, she was standing in line for admission to the carnival, craning her neck for any sight of the Pegasus Advocates without really expecting to see them until she got inside. She paid for her ticket and wandered in, feeling lost as soon as she took her first step. A carnival was no place to be on one’s own, she thought, and she looked back at the banners and pennants hanging at the entryway. Soft dirt and peanut shells crunched underhoof, and a sea of voices and machinery cushioned her ears, unconsciously held upright in nervous energy.

A passing earth pony looked at her but did not stop to talk, and she looked back at him, trying with no heart to summon loathing. He might be her neighbor, she thought, and resolved with empty pride to introduce herself around the apartment. One task accomplished, a notch further into her character: April Showers, legitimate apartment tenant.

“Where do I even begin?”

She walked deeper into the swirl of lights and cheer. Canterlot’s sky dome cast them in a perfect simulacrum of yellowed evening, dimming everyone she saw, softening all edges and making more amenable all chatter. The sun’s likeness was yet above Canterlot Mountain’s north side, and April watched an airship land on a floodlit platform, just sticking out from a mass of treetops. She felt guarded in public, torn between the need to watch everyone and appear at ease in the crowd, and she caught herself scowling at a young colt who had paused to look at her.

“It’s like having a secret,” she reminded herself. Her counselor had told her, in times of anxiety, to remember that there were ponies all around her who had secrets just as big, or at least big to them. Watching one passing stranger, she pinned an imaginary secret on her. “That lady’s having an affair with one of her employees, and she’s doing okay here.” She let the mare pass out of mind, comforted somewhat, inaccurate though the thought may be. The point was not in uncovering real secrets, just remembering that everyone else had them.

She stood thus for several minutes, labelling ponies with troubled pasts and illicit hobbies until her mood had darkened, and she was able to walk on without thinking of herself. She watched a stallion with ice cream in his goatee clean his glasses, leaning against the painted side of a game booth. A pair of pegasi flew above him and came dangerously close to the moving arm of a screaming ride, laughing and gesturing with forelegs and wings.

As though behind glass, April walked among them again, untouched and touching no one, her private fear mounting despite momentary distractions. She might engage her senses, but she could not, she felt, keep anything with her. The spark of empathy for a mare who dropped her bag of popcorn was gone in an instant when April walked by her, as distant as the treetops that moved with the autumn breeze.

She knew she was already at fault, for she did not think of herself as a budding Pegasus Advocate, but as a stranger looking for trouble. Wondering where she would go if she were one of them, then correcting herself and wondering where her future sisters would most likely post up, she idly walked between games and food stands, affecting a casual stroll. She stopped for a cup of shaved ice and chatted with a middle-aged mare and her friend, journalists from the mountaintop who had come down to report on the effects of the sky dome on Lower Canterlot. One was an earth pony, the other a pegasus, and April used them to practice her prejudices until they moved on, and she pitched the last half of her ice onto the mound of trash rising out of the waste bin and followed her hooves to a hollering mass by the spinning teacups. Directly in line with the setting sun’s image, the moving crowd looked inequine until she got close, like a clump of legs and stretched necks dissolved in dust and shadow and overlapping laughter. In her fear and frustration, and the pull she ignored to put an analytical eye to her situation, she felt mordantly intrigued at the crowd, thinking it must be a fight or an orgy she was about to breach; she was disappointed that it was just a large group of friends getting rowdy.

A pea-green teacup, the color of moss in the sunset, spun by her, its occupant calling out something to his friend, and she tried to see him going around, thinking impulsively that he had meant to call to her. She backed away and mumbled an apology to the unicorn she cut off, then doubled back, thinking she should call him a name, but he was already gone—and she knew she could never do such a thing anyway.

“Who am I kidding?” she asked herself, wishing someone would answer her, even Ink Pearl. She could imagine her commander sternly telling her to get over her reservations and find the PAs, unnecessarily reminding her of the goals of her mission, and particularly that she was alone. Ink had told her she would be alone so many times, she had stopped hearing it at the end.

“Stupid bitch,” April murmured, picturing Ink’s matter-of-fact disappointment, and then carried the image with her down a particularly wide lane toward the prize booth. At times, Ink would suddenly gain the sheer blouse she had worn the night she had barged in on Wings and Jet, and April would angrily and ineffectually send it away.

At each open space, she would pause and look around, and she almost walked into someone when she finally spotted them, so plainly apart from the crowd that she half expected them to beckon her all the way down to them, as if the grounds were as empty of ponies to their eyes as they seemed to hers.

There were two, a mare and a stallion, standing in the middle of a crossroads under a clattering ride’s whirling shadow. In thick, black combat boots, they stood only a couple inches taller than April, but she could not have guessed it with their manes, his wrapped in a tight beehive of neon green and purple, hers an electric blue half-coin fanned out at the back of her otherwise bare skull. Silver studs formed raised lines on their black latex body suits, stretched tight to reveal surprisingly delicate stitching as she approached them. The stallion closed the distance with a hearty hoofshake and a warm smile, and the mare asked if April would take a brochure. April said she would like to, and she turned through it on the spot, reading what she had already been taught in overview by Chilly Clouds.

“Yeah, most ponies just take ‘em and throw ‘em in the trash as soon as we’re out of sight,” the mare said. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

The stallion approached a different pegasus and was told to fuck off.

“What are you… I mean,” April started, suddenly aware that she had not rehearsed anything she might say. The thought of actually doing it had remained at a distance in her dazed walk. She looked at the frequently asked questions section of the brochure: “Do Pegasus Advocates encourage violence against non-pegasi? No! Pegasus Advocacy is…” She looked up. “Sorry, I’m just interested, is all.”

“We can tell,” the stallion said. “I’m Summer Breeze, and this is Tomato Trellis.”

“April Showers,” April said, shaking hooves again. The feeling of distance was again asserting itself around her, only briefly broken by her interaction.

“What has you interested in Pegasus Advocacy?” the mare asked, and she smiled at a passing pony.

A question she had practiced both with Chilly and on her own, April recalled her answer, complete with awkward pauses to simulate trying to find the right words. “I’m not completely sure, to be honest. I think… I think I just always liked the idea of a big, like, group of similar ponies. It’s kinda like a family, I guess is how I see it.”

“That is such an important word you just said there, April Showers,” Summer Breeze said. “Family. That’s what it comes down to.”

“Absolutely, all the way,” Tomato Trellis said, nodding. Her mane did not wiggle with the motion, and she caught April staring. “Like it?”

“It’s pretty wild,” April said, not having to fake a partial laugh. “Uh, but yeah, I like it. I’ve tried to do that with my mane, but,” she caught a strand in her hoof and let it fall, limp. “I’m doing something wrong. I can never get it to behave.”

“Psh, manes and outfits,” Summer Breeze said. “The only important part is the heart.” He flashed his satchel of brochures. “You can keep that if you like, we’ve got plenty more.”

Conscious that they were done talking to her, April decided to declare what she had hoped would just be offered her. “I’m actually interested in joining you all. Do you have any meet-ups nearby?” With a self-conscious laugh that she hoped didn’t sound forced, she said, “I wasn’t taking the brochure to be polite.”

Summer Breeze and Tomato Trellis exchanged a flicker of eye contact, and she pointed to a spot at the bottom of the brochure. “We meet up every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at this spot. If you’re interested, you should drop by sometime. We’d be happy to have you, April.”

“Excuse me, miss, can I have a second of your time?” Summer Breeze asked to a passing pegasus.

“I think I will,” April said, looking into Tomato Trellis’ eyes. Recruiters like them had probably heard April’s line a thousand times before, she thought; there was no way they’d seriously invite her in based on a few minutes’ conversation. Knowing she would gain nothing more by staying with them, she thanked them, tucked the brochure under her wing, and started away.

“Hey!” She turned back, but Tomato Trellis was not yelling at her, but at a pair of ponies that had walked by, a pegasus and a unicorn.

“Just keep walking,” April thought, silently imploring the pair. Without thinking, she had stopped to watch, she and several others who all seemed aware of the sudden tension in the air.

“Hey yourself,” the unicorn said, stopping to face them. The pegasus by his side put a wing around his back, and he took a purposeful step forward, bold against the pegasi’s naked loathing. “You got a problem?”

Tomato Trellis held her head high, her improbable mane throwing a giant shadow onto the stained ground. “Why don’t you stick to your own kind, twinkler?”

“You better watch it,” he said, approaching. April flinched despite herself as Tomato Trellis jumped at him, and the crowd reeled back. Someone was yelling “hey, hey, hey!” at them, but no one intervened as the two went to the ground. The pegasus screamed and ran at the tussling pair, but Summer Breeze rushed in and she wheeled off, spraying invectives. He added his combat boots to the fray, kicking the fetal unicorn, trying to gets his hooves between raised forelegs to the unicorn’s face. It lasted only a few seconds before security ran in, and at their touch, the Pegasus Advocates flung themselves away from the scene.

“He just came at her out of nowhere!” Summer Breeze shouted to the security guard who shouted right back.

“It was self-defense,” Tomato Trellis spat. “I told you it was a bad idea to come here, Summer!”

The objections did not stop, and each time a guard shouted one down, the other would get louder still until it seemed both parties would come to blows. Tomato Trellis tired of shouting after several minutes, but Summer Breeze only worked himself up more, kicking dust, bellowing epithets, shaking lather from his muzzle when they finally zip tied his wings and hooves. Chest to the ground, his latex creaking, Summer Breeze argued his rights as the police arrived, the EMTs right behind for the unicorn they had left in the dust. His face was disfigured, eyes swollen shut and muzzle cracked in a perverse half-smile, and his marefriend howled inconsolably the whole time.

When Summer Breeze had exhausted himself, Tomato Trellis took up where he left off, more calmly trying to explain how the unicorn had jumped on them from behind, how he had savagely ripped at Summer Breeze’s mane, and how they were just passing out information. She gave an officer a brochure, and he spared a second to look at the inside flap before giving it back, in a cloud of unicorn magic.

Some of the crowd had dispersed, but April remained until the PAs were taken away, and she received a single unrecognizing look from Summer Breeze as he ducked into the police car. The blood in the dirt had taken on the anonymous, brown color of spilled soda, and the electricity in the air had dissipated. A new crowd was forming, asking what had happened, why there were police officers cleaning up and interviewing the stall workers nearby. April had the presence of mind to leave before the police could get information from her.

All the way home, April saw even less than when she had set off. The way they had lashed out at the unicorn made her sick, as unpredictable as a lightning bolt and over just as quickly. She had known to expect displays of the sort, but had not supposed she would see one her first meeting.

Sickness, however, was not the only feeling she walked away with. She deviated from the main road to rest by a green fountain, ignoring the curious eyes of a different, lone wanderer as she sat beside the short bridge over a gully. Her heart had slowed but her skin still tingled with anticipation and shock, and sitting, head bowed and mind free to recall all the details she had noticed, she felt a muted version of the emotion that had filled her minutes after the crime. The image of the dust stuck out to her, varied in color and texture, darkened by shadow or lightened by the shrieking carnival ride as it passed its lights through the raised cloud. The bodies moving in the dirt, scratching and cursing at each other, spittle and feathers flying amid the steady tempo of a pounding hoof, the ruffle of stressed clothing and the bright-sounding attempts at unicorn magic, savagely stifled each time; all of it had affected her, and she only realized in the peace of the fountain’s noise that it was not quite sickness, but excited disapprobation that possessed her. Such baseness she had never seen, such immediate surrender to impulse, and she could not help but respect it. With her head bowed and her eyes on a caterpillar that was inching its way toward the grass, she felt that she could no more blame a wild fox for sneaking into a henhouse than she could hold the Pegasus Advocates accountable for their actions. The violence did not come from a place of intelligence, but pure and uncaring emotion, which her disgust or fear could never change. The hatred that she had put into her words and her thoughts, practiced but forever unnatural, had exploded out of them with neither permission nor provocation, vulgar and appealing for that vulgarity. Loathsome, but uninhibited, the action seemed impossible for her to absorb without a sense of grudging awe.

Feeling like she had just cast herself off a cliff, April flew home on faltering wings.

* * * * * *

With Applejack in the lobby with Versus and Big Mac out on an errand for Twilight, everyone else gathered in Twilight’s room with the bags of sawdust for which she had not yet found a better storage place. On the work desk, she had an array of crystals, ranging from the size of blueberries to bananas, and several bags of arts and crafts materials. Of the larger crystals, two were single and wrapped in wire, and one was also afloat in a strangely glowing glass of water; the others were twined together in a rough wreath, ends almost touching, forming a circle that could fit around a pony’s neck. With the tiny crystals, Twilight was engaged in the tedious task of unscrewing Hearth’s Warming lights, putting the crystals in, and screwing them back together, one by one by one, hundreds.

When the last of them had gotten comfortable, Twilight began. “I sent Big Mac out because I don’t want him to tell his sister anything, and I don’t want Applejack to know anything because she can ruin the whole plan.”

“This is the Contraction plan,” Octavia said. “You are telling us now?”

“I doubt she’d ruin it,” Vinyl said.

“If anyone thinks to ask her point-blank, she’ll have no choice, and Lotus will think of that. So this plan doesn’t leave this room, clear?” Twilight asked.

“You already told her you were gonna force a Contraction,” Rainbow said. “Days ago, remember?”

“We’ve got five days to get it ready,” Twilight said, ignoring her. “I’ve been mulling it over these last few days, and I know what needs to happen now. Lotus’ timetable has us ready to take on the hazard on Sunday, and I’d like to zip out of here the Monday after.”

“How’s that coming along, by the way?” Colgate asked.

“Hazard preparations? Fine.”

“Just fine?” Vinyl asked.

“It’s not really my biggest concern right now,” Twilight said, frowning at a reluctant light bulb. “The loggers are pulling in all the sawdust I need, Pinkie’s doing fine on the cat litter. You are?”

“Got a hundred boxes so far!” Pinkie said.

“A hundred and change,” Rainbow said.

“Perfect. As for the rest, Aloe’s got a group of ponies to help lure the hazard when it’s time to do a test run, and Lotus called in a favor to bring in some cherry picker cranes. We’re taking the roof off tomorrow with their help, and I need to see if I can repurpose the ventilation system to work as our sawdust delivery piece. Lotus says she thinks I can, but she’s not sure of the details.”

“Say what you will, those two work fast,” Octavia said.

“Some of it was already in the works before we showed up, like the cherry pickers. Anyway, that’s all well and good; this is my problem. I can’t do this with their knowledge, or their consent. I say ‘them,’ what I mean is any secret agent in this city.”

“What about the precogs?” Rarity asked.

“Getting there. It’s a four-piece device that I’m going to use to siphon Tartarus magic off the gateway.”

“The gateway is monitored,” Colgate said.

“Thank you, doctor, I know that.” Taking a second to correct her tone, Twilight continued. “I’m not going down there. One of the loggers is on my behalf, and he’s going to string these up in all the trees near the gateway. These tiny, stupid crystals,” she struggled to get one into its light, “are all going to vibrate with the magic, very slightly and at a very low frequency. That’s why I need so many.”

“I think they pay attention to the amount of magic that comes out, though,” Colgate said. “They’ll notice if some of it’s being sucked away.”

“Yes, that was in one of the books Vinyl got for me. I’m not sure exactly what I’ll do if they take down my Hearth’s Warming lights—make new ones, I suppose. But if these get taken, it’s okay, because these,” she gestured at the wreath of larger crystals, “are designed to resonate with the little crystals, and store the magical energy. These little ones are just pulling the magic away, the big ones store it, and I’m going to keep those on me. The rest is just a simple spell to give them a release, so I can dump all the magic at once, and then a third crystal that I’ll plug into the town sigil just before, so the magic feeds down into the city’s foundation.”

“Easy, yes,” Fluttershy said.

Twilight smiled without looking at her. “It is easy, actually. Without going into too much detail, basically, some pony a long time ago scraped a pair of sigils into the bedrock of the city—no, I don’t know why, probably something to do with the griffon battles at the time—and those sigils are why we get the teleportation. They respond to surges of magic that come out of the gateway. Sooo, if I can take all that Tartarus magic and build it up, I can simulate a surge. Simple, right?”

“Simple!” Pinkie said.

“But you said this is illegal,” Octavia said.

“It’s so ponies don’t just go skimming off the top of the magic Tartarus leaks out. The problem is, Tartarus magic isn’t easy to use like the stuff we’re used to; just because you were able to take some, doesn’t mean you can do anything good with it.” She shrugged. “It’s a safety measure more than anything.”

“Not for you, apparently,” Rainbow said.

“Well, I’m not casting magic with it,” Twilight said. “I’m just releasing it as-is. I just hope that it doesn’t change forms too drastically while it’s inside my crystals.”

“That can happen?” Vinyl asked.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“You never answered my question about AJ,” Rainbow said. “You already told her your plan. Why keep her in the dark now? Isn’t it a little late?”

“She only knows that I’m going to do it, she doesn’t know any details. If she asks me for more, I have a different plan to tell, so if she gets asked, she’ll misdirect Lotus.”

Fluttershy just shook her head, but Twilight ignored it.

“And what about the precogs?” Rarity asked. “They’ll see you setting this up, surely they will.”

“I don’t think so,” Twilight said. “More likely, they’re going to see another Contraction.”

“That’s just as bad,” Vinyl said. “Worse.”

“Not necessarily,” Fluttershy said quietly. “They’ll see the Contraction, not the context surrounding it.”

“Exactly,” Twilight said. “Real or fake, it’s still a Contraction. They’ll see another one in the future and start getting ready for the next party. The timing will be funny, but that’s happened before. Actually, Pinkie, that’s where I need you.”

“Me?” Pinkie asked. “Little ol’ Pinkie Pie? Me?”

“Do you think you can set up another party in the park? A lot of the time, precogs see the parties instead of the actual Contractions, so if we can get one of those in place, it’ll really legitimize what I’m doing.”

“Uhhh… Gosh, Twilight.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” She squinted at her light; a chip in the glass was making it difficult to fit the crystal in.

“Darling, let me take a turn,” Rarity said, shooing Twilight out of her seat. “Just stick them in, like so? No specific position?”

“Just jam them in,” Twilight said. “Thank you.”

“So you thought Pinkie wouldn’t be able to do it,” Fluttershy said, earning a glance from Vinyl.

“We only saw one party, and most of our time in this town has been with the twins, of course Pinkie can’t set up a full Contraction party on her own. Don’t worry, I’ll get Versus to help you.”

“So she’s in on all this too?” Rainbow asked.

“She just thinks Pinkie picked up the next Contraction with her Pinkie Sense,” Colgate said. “Right?”

“That’s what she’s going to think,” Twilight said. “I’ll tell her tonight. I’ll say you had a dream about it, Pinkie.”

“Well…” Pinkie said. “I guess with Versus there, I can help.”

“Wouldn’t there be some precogs there helping to set up tomorrow as well?” Rarity asked. “You know, since they can, well, see into the future, won’t they see this?”

“That would make things go smoother,” Twilight said.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Good. The rest of you, all you need to do is not talk about it. For you all, it’s a treat that there’s another Contraction coming up so soon after the last one, and you hope you’re still in town for the party.” For the first time, she scanned the room. “Okay, my speech is over. I know some of you have strong opinions; let’s get it all out now.”

“So businesslike,” Fluttershy said with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, me first,” Rainbow said, raising a hoof. “I just gotta say, I get why you’re doing this, and I’m not gonna try to stop you, but I don’t like it. You’re playing fast and loose with the law, Twilight, and if you keep doing it, we’re all gonna get bit in the butts.”

“Not our butts!” Pinkie cried.

“Not now, Pinks.” She stared at Twilight for a moment, searching her.

“I agree with Rainbow Dash,” Octavia said. “If I had a better idea, I would offer it instead of this. As it is…”

“Full steam ahead?” Colgate completed.

“If we are going to do this, I would like for us to do it properly. What can I do to help?”

“Handle your death threat,” Twilight said. “I don’t want someone popping out of the woodwork on you all.”

“I take it you haven’t found Partial Thoughts yet?” Rarity asked.

Octavia shook her head.

“We think she skipped town,” Vinyl said. “Which is good, and bad.”

“It gives credence to her warning,” Octavia said. “But…”

“Right,” Twilight said, and looked at Colgate, who had pulled out the pulse crystal Rarity had purchased for her. “You’re not going out waving that thing around, are you?”

“She’s not stupid,” Vinyl said, and Colgate just met Twilight’s look.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I just meant… Rainbow, can I count on you to help with my plan?”

“I said I wasn’t gonna stop you,” Rainbow said.

“Yes, but,” Octavia started.

“I don’t want this to come between us,” Twilight said.

“Tell that to Applejack,” Pinkie said.

“I’ll tell her everything after we’re out of this city. I already feel horrible about it.”

“We can tell,” Fluttershy said.

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “I know what I’m doing, Fluttershy.”

“I didn’t say you don’t.”

For half a minute, the only sound in the room was the gentle scrape as Rarity attended to the Hearth’s Warming lights. Twilight looked across them all, resting on Fluttershy, making her face unimpressed.

“If anypony has something constructive to say, I’m all ears.” She waited a second. “What I’m doing is not good, and I would never have considered it a year ago. We’ve known that since Roan, and I recognized it then too, just as strongly as I do here in the snow and the wind. I… how to put this? Girls, I don’t need to hear about my iniquities right now.”

“You’ve said this before,” Rainbow said.

“And I’m saying it again, Rainbow Dash. I’m saying it because it’s true. I know, and I do care, but at the same time, I don’t. At this point, I only care about finishing what we started. Is that clear to everyone?”

“We get that,” Fluttershy said, softening. “I just want to be sure—”

“That I’m conscious of my choices, yes, well, I am.” She paused, not sure how to continue, disarmed by the look of hurt that passed Fluttershy’s face at being interrupted so curtly. “Every time I lie to Lotus’ face now, it’ll be a reminder of what this is, and when I confess all this to Applejack later. Actually, not even Lotus, her forgiveness doesn’t mean much to me. It’s mostly Applejack.”

“How much weight does that statement really have?” Rainbow said. “You know AJ’ll forgive you.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” She picked up a book and then threw it back down on the bed. “What do I do to make me seem okay in your eyes? I’m talking about apologizing and going back to my old ways, and you act like you don’t believe it. What, am I just a wicked mare now, and that’s it? Have I been consigned to that role in your minds?”

“Your, uh, redemption, so to speak, might seem more real if it wasn’t pre-planned,” Vinyl said. “That’s all.”

“Ah, would we all prefer it if I did not have a plan? Okay, I’ll just pitch all this and we’ll take a week or two to fly to the last Element, and then however long after that to get to Draught Castle.”

“Twilight,” Rarity said.

“It’s fine, because our consciences will be clear. That’s what matters.”

“If I may,” Octavia said, raising a hoof. “I feel I have some experience in this sort of thing.”

“Let’s hear this,” Rainbow said, trying to meet Fluttershy’s eyes as she turned away.

“I have spent my life dwelling on mistakes I have made, and I do not want to see you start down that path, Twilight. I am not saying do not be contrite, but just remember that life goes on.”

“And us with it,” Pinkie added quietly.

“Conditions change. When we are back home, you will not feel the need to do these things, because you will not have the pressure of saving a country on your back. In those times, we will all settle down, but we cannot do that now. I still do not like this particular plan, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but I think it is the best thing to do.”

Twilight nodded at her. “I appreciate your words. Anyone else? Come on, I don’t want to have to go back to this after today.”

“I just think it’s risky,” Colgate said. “You’ll wanna be careful.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“No, she’s got a point,” Rarity said. “You’re being somewhat cavalier about all this.”

“If it was me, I’d do that just to not show that I’m scared,” Vinyl said. “That’s what I do before big shows.”

“Still?” Colgate asked.

“Yep. Not ashamed of it.”

“I’m not pretending to not be scared,” Twilight said, reddening slightly, for Vinyl had stated perfectly what she was doing. Vinyl nodded with a hint of a smile, her eyes crinkling at the goggles’ edges, and Twilight knew that Vinyl saw through her.

“Twilight’s the Element of Magic, not Kindness or Generosity,” Pinkie said. “And especially not Honesty, thank Celestia. It’s not exaaaaactly required for her to be as clean-hearted as the rest of us.”

“That is technically true,” Twilight said. “I’d be lying if I haven’t used that truth from time to time, to justify certain things.”

“That’s disgusting,” Rainbow said.

Twilight just looked at her, and Rainbow looked back, defiant. “You’re right, it is disgusting.”

Peace of Mind

Chapter One hundred-eight

Peace of Mind

Whether Twilight had slept was unclear to them, for she had been out when they went to bed and up when they awoke. In that time, she told them joylessly, she had ironed out the finer details of her magic heist, and one of her loggers had placed the Hearth’s Warming lights in the trees near the Tartarus gateway. She had had to draw tiny sigils on each light, echo sigils, so that if the lights themselves were removed from the area, their enchantments would remain. Brandishing the wreath of larger crystals, she explained that the foreign magic was already filtering into them at a rate that was slow, but fast enough for her purposes. She had done the math to verify, she said, not that anyone questioned her.

The shower was hissing and Applejack had the coffee machine humming, and snowfall tapped the windows. Vinyl was in the corner with a book while Octavia and Colgate shared the bed, combing each other’s manes. Pinkie was downstairs with Versus, who was not working that day, but had agreed to meet her in the lobby to talk about the next Contraction party. Rarity’s guess had been correct: Versus, on her way to the meeting, had spotted a known precog in Umbrella Park, looking at the snowy trees and paths with queer interest. Apparently, in merely intending for the party to take place, it had been set in stone for those who could see, and this thought comforted Pinkie; for if precogs saw the party, then surely she and Versus would not fail to pull it off.

“So what’s the plan today?” Applejack asked.

“We’re taking the roof off today,” Twilight said. “Aloe said I needed to be ready to meet the team at ten o’ clock.”

“That should be fun.”

“I’m not looking forward to it. The way she talked about it, it’s going to be slow, precise work, time better spent… on other things.”

“You like precision, though,” Rainbow said.

“But I’m not still not looking forward to this.”

“Loggin’ comin’ along okay? You gotta go down there again?” Applejack asked.

“No, I think they know the routine by now. I do need to take the rest of these bags to storage, though; we rented a couple units right on the edge of the danger zone. Oh, I need to remember to bring Pinkie’s litter too.”

“As for us, we are going to search for Partial Thoughts one more time,” Octavia said.

“And we need to get clothes for our dinner tonight,” Vinyl said.

“That’s tonight?” Applejack asked. She checked the calendar on the desk. “Ah’ll be.”

“Yeah, we’re still not sure if we’re actually gonna attend,” Colgate said. “I feel like a lot of that depends on if we can find Partial Thoughts.”

“What makes you so sure she skipped town?” Rarity asked.

“The fact that one of her friends told us she skipped town.”

“Seems like a pretty good clue,” Twilight said, accepting a mug of coffee. “But you’re going to try to find her again anyway?”

Colgate shrugged.

“If you like, I can pick out outfits for you while you’re searching,” Rarity said.

“We might not need ‘em,” Big Mac said.

“So you can use them later. I insist.”

The door slammed open on the other side of the hall, and they could hear Pinkie’s voice.

“Other room, Pinks,” Rainbow yelled.

Pinkie barged in with a grin. “We’re go for Operation Legitimate Party, Twilight! Versus said she’ll meet me there in thirty!”

“What’s this?” Applejack asked.

“Oh, you haven’t told her yet,” Rainbow said.

“Twi?”

Sparing Rainbow a withering look, Twilight said, “How about I explain it over breakfast, Applejack? My treat.”

Rainbow waved the treasury slip before laying it on the bed. “Equestria’s treat.”

“Breakfast either way,” Applejack said. “Lemme wake up a bit more first.”

The four non-Elements left first, while Twilight and Applejack were still talking in the hotel café. With three layers, they shivered in the morning sleet, softened from the perpetual noon. Those who were out mostly jogged, chins tucked into upturned collars, and many of these also under umbrellas that either floated in unicorn magic or juddered along as headpieces. In their section of town, the tall buildings offered lee against a tide of fog that could be seen over the fields to the south and the rooftops to the north, to which they turned.

“In addition to scoping out Partial Thoughts’ place, I want to see the site of our dinner party tonight,” Colgate said. “If it’s an ambush, then we should be prepared. Yes?”

“Here’s what Ah don’t understand,” Big Mac said.

“We have to go because—” Vinyl started.

“Nope, Ah got that. What Ah don’t get is, what are we gonna do when we get there? We ain’t gonna kill whoever it is who’s springin’ the trap.” For a few seconds, there was only the sound of their shuffling coats. “Right?”

“If we are left no other choice,” Octavia said, “then we will.”

“Meaning no offense,” Vinyl said, “but that’s a little easier for you to say than us. You know, ‘cause of the battle.”

“And my past too, right? Thank you.”

“Not what I meant, but okay.”

“I’ve never killed someone,” Colgate said. “Not on purpose, I mean.”

“Patients?” Big Mac asked after a moment.

“It happens.”

“This ain’t a patient,” Vinyl said, noticing but not commenting on the look Octavia gave Colgate when she said it.

“Twilight wiped someone’s memory in Trottingham,” Big Mac said, “an’ that worked fine as paint. Any of you ladies know magic like that?”

“I can barely lift a bowling ball,” Colgate said.

“I do not have much skill at magic more delicate than blowing things up,” Octavia said.

“I haven’t tried,” Vinyl said, quietly as though to herself.

“There are potions for memory-play,” Colgate said. “We can pick up some basic ones at a pharmacy.”

“Then we will use a potion,” Octavia said. “Wait, stop. Colgate, do you know where we are going?”

Colgate, at the front, turned and kicked a flurry of snow into the street. “This is a shortcut to Partial Thoughts’. Look, we’ll cut through that parking lot and go down the alley there, and we won’t have to cross those two busy streets.”

“Just checking.”

They crossed the street into the creeping fog, low and heavy and cold, and they could not see where the alley terminated when they entered. Spiny weeds poked out of the slush by cinder block walls, high enough to steal the city from them if the fog had not done so already. Clearly agitated, Colgate took the remaining half of the alley at a near-gallop, and nearly fell on her face when she skidded in an icy puddle where sidewalk met ground. Big Mac steadied her, and she shrugged away from him, looking dimly at the surrounding cloud.

“Do you remember the way?” Vinyl asked.

“Thinking,” Colgate mumbled. The same pony who had told them that Partial Thoughts had left had also told them what street she lived on, and Colgate tried to remember where they had met that pony, that she might compare the direction they went on that day to the direction they had gone today. In her mind, she had a loose and incomplete idea of the city’s layout.

“Where did you leave the pulse crystal?” Octavia asked.

“Hotel. I don’t need it this morning.”

“Will you bring it tonight?”

“I dunno.” She waved a hoof in front of her face. “This-a way. I think we had to go through a little copse of trees.”

“And the trees were this way?” Vinyl asked.

“I think.”

An hour later, they were at Partial Thoughts’ house, overshooting it the first time and then circling too far back, until finally the fog lifted enough that they could get a landmark. Big Mac hesitated at the gate with Vinyl, looking around in vain for anyone to notice them through the fog, and they meandered at the front door, which Octavia tried.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Vinyl said.

“I want inside,” Colgate said. “What’s she hiding from us?”

“Ponies lock their doors when they leave.”

Colgate walked around to the back, where the fog had not quite settled the same, leaving a thin plain of clear air just over the grass. She walked around the yard, and on the other side, her shape hefted something to carry back.

“We’re not breakin’ in,” Big Mac said.

“I’m not,” Colgate said, setting down a decorative stone and putting both forehooves on it, her eyes going to the back door.

“Let us just go,” Octavia said. “We are not going to learn anything inside her house.”

“Her current whereabouts.”

“So what?” Vinyl asked.

“We will go the other house, then work on our memory potion,” Octavia said. She wanted to put a comforting hoof on Colgate, but knew it would not be appreciated. The unicorn had told her of breaking into a house in Canterlot, leaving out details but mentioning that it had been messy, and had ended with her in rehab.

Colgate nodded at Octavia’s words, not paying attention, imagining the ill will Partial Thoughts could easily harbor toward them, and the evidence for it she would find in the house.

“Colgate,” Octavia said, a step closer. “We are going to leave now.”

She frowned at the door, then gradually shifted her expression to neutral compliance. “Yeah, great, let’s get out then.” She rolled the stone to a bare patch and joined her friends, and they walked back to the driveway sheepishly. Halfway down, Colgate raced ahead and searched the mailbox.

“Come on,” Vinyl murmured.

“Let her have her fun,” Octavia said. “She might come up with something useful.”

“Nearby towns, gals?” Colgate asked. “What’s close?”

“There’s Little Snowdrift,” Vinyl said.

“Can you get there by car?”

“There’s a road that goes straight down to it. Why? What’s wrong?”

Colgate leafed through the built-up mail, pausing for a moment on a swimsuit catalogue. “No one’s collecting her mail.”

“You are,” Big Mac said.

“Oh, funny,” she said, stuffing it back in its box. “She left suddenly.”

“Or she planned to be away for only a couple days,” Octavia said.

“Same deal, she’s somewhere close. And since the car’s gone… Yeah, I bet she’s in Little Snowdrift.”

“There is also a small village closer to the glacier,” Vinyl said.

“Is that still there?” Octavia asked. “Last I heard, they had evacuated, in case the glacier fell off the edge.”

“You know what, maybe, I remember hearing that too.”

“You wanna try Little Snowdrift?” Big Mac asked.

“If we can get a car, yeah, we need to get down there,” Colgate said. “Dinner house first.”

A half hour and a stop for brunch later, they looked across Conifer Road at the house, a sedate building a full six inches higher than its mates, built atop a knoll that afforded from the roof a clear view of two churches, one on a hill and looking down on the other. This house was visibly occupied, its stoop and front walk swept of snow, its flower beds protected with blue tarp, its windows alight, and fresh carriage tracks slowly filling in the driveway. They stood on the opposite sidewalk and looked, at a loss, Vinyl twitching her ears with the snowflakes that landed on her.

“Thoughts, Colgate?” Big Mac finally asked.

“I’m not gonna take their mail,” Colgate said.

He nodded, not sure how to respond.

“He means, what do you notice about their house?” Vinyl asked.

“Looks lived in.”

Vinyl rolled her eyes.

“What are we even lookin’ fer?” Big Mac asked. “Exits? There’s a nice, big window up front there.”

“I’m not jumping through a window,” Vinyl said. “That’s dangerous.”

“He said it was us four, but not that many in strangers,” Colgate said. “So that’s a maximum of seven guests. That driveway isn’t gonna hold seven carriages.”

“Well, we’re not all takin’ individual carriages,” Big Mac said. “We might just walk.”

“Right, duh. Three carriages, then, or two maybe. That’s the driveway. Uhh…”

“If we could just go inside, that would make things easier,” Octavia said. “I would like to know the house’s layout so we do not get caught off guard.”

“I’m working on that,” Colgate said. “The living room’s on the right side there, where the chimney is, so the front door’s gonna open up directly into that. No hallway at first, probably.”

“All right,” Vinyl said.

“It might open on the other side into an anteroom. If so, that big window’s out; if we want to bust through it, we’re crossing a lot of the house to get there. If we do the front door, we’ll be by the carriages, and if this is a trap, they’ll have a plan for an escape that direct.”

“They might just lock the front,” Vinyl said.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What do you think the trap’s gonna be?” Big Mac asked.

“Poisoned food makes sense to me.”

“What if we show up ‘fashionably’ early?” Vinyl asked.

“I like that idea,” Octavia said. “One of us can watch while the food is being prepared, and make sure that they do not taint it.”

A sudden gust howled down the street and kicked up their manes, what strands were not covered, and they all turned away as one.

“And unless there is anything else, I propose we leave,” Octavia said. “We have seen the house.”

Colgate grunted, and they set off down the path from where they came.

“What about your friends, Colgate?” Vinyl asked. “Can you get them to, I don’t know, watch over us or something?”

“Not likely,” Colgate said. “They’re not supposed to interfere in normal stuff like this. It’s only if it’s of a magical nature. More to the point, I don’t have friends here.”

“Aloe and Lotus,” Octavia said.

“Mm, they can’t really be friends, though, ‘cause they’re my bosses.”

“Those two outrank ya?” Big Mac asked.

“I guess. Hey, where to?”

“We should go back to the hotel and regroup,” Octavia said. “They can tell us where to find a rental car. Oh—but I do not know how to drive.”

“Really?” Vinyl asked.

“I have always been driven.”

Vinyl let out a blustery laugh. “I can drive us, it’s fine. I do need to be back here for the afternoon, though.”

The cold was getting to Twilight, despite her layers, and she felt awash in a sea of fatigue and bitterness. Self-aware enough to realize that she was not in the mood to be helpful or charitable that morning, she still could not overcome the feeling, petty though the cause had been to bring it on. On her walk to the danger zone around the warehouse, a passer-by had yelled her name, only that, but she had been deep in thought. Feeling singed, she scowled at the workers and the cranes, the fleet of pegasi moving about with cables and hooks, mere shadows in the fog. She was half tempted to conjure a mighty wind to clear the air, but knew she should save her magic in case something went wrong, and she was needed to grab the roof or some equally huge piece of structure or machinery.

The danger zone’s perimeter was defined with the hazard’s center still in the warehouse, and thus, was imperfect, for enough time had elapsed that it could move to a different center. It might have taken up residence on their downed airship, in which case, they and the southern sliver of occupied town were in the new danger zone. Aloe told Twilight not to think about it, but simply be aware, and Twilight did her best to comply.

“Let’s go, keep those cables close together!” she cried. The pegasi passively struggled to bring their cables, each one a metal rope of about four inches in diameter, closer and tighter inwards, like teeth of a loose comb dragging across the sky. On the other end, a separate team labored to keep them from scraping the parking lot below.

The warehouse itself had always appeared peaceful to Twilight, a slumbering box in a blanket of snow, smoothly wrought to the ground, divorced from its shadow by the sun that bled through the clouds; in the fog, it was but a weak shape, disclosed more from the red lights her workers affixed to each hook and each corner, and the blue lights to indicate places of separation. Pegasi attached cables and hooks to these joints in the roof, running them all the way out to the lifeless cranes at the perimeter, that they could eventually extend to raise the roof off its supports and scaffolding, which were being revealed and severed bit by bit by a second and third team of electric saws. Twilight expected to be there all day, overseeing—which meant, in practical terms, doing very little at all. Everyone there was more knowledgeable than she on the specifics of their jobs, be they the use of the cranes, the uncovering of weak spots in the warehouse, or the management of heavy cables, and that fact was not lost on her. She was there in case of an emergency, but what sort of emergency she couldn’t imagine. As long as no one landed on the ground, or dropped anything, the hazard would not detect them.

She thought of her friends and the looks of disgust or resignation at her plan to fake a Contraction, not sure which hurt more. Was it worse that she was capable of rousing such undisguised displeasure in her closest friends, or that some of them were not fully surprised at her anymore? In those terms, Twilight knew immediately which was worse, and she stood on her platform and brooded about it.

When had thoughts of home become mere abstractions, she wondered. In her head, Ponyville seemed like home no more than the airship deck, or one of their many hotels. She wondered whether that would change when they actually did get back home, or whether they had crossed some invisible line. Platitudes about growing up, about losing one’s innocence, and so on sprung to her mind in the voices of her parents and her friends.

“There are plenty of ponies who grow up and aren’t like this, though,” she thought. A team of pegasi landed on the neck of a crane, and she could hear their chatter borne on a northwesterly wind. “What makes me so special? Is it just my Element? It can’t be, right?”

She could talk to Applejack about it, she supposed, but did not like the idea. Applejack was beginning to remind her distastefully of Vinyl—rather, of who Vinyl liked to pretend she was. It was only a matter of time, Twilight thought in her mercilessly bad mood, before Applejack became another sanctimonious bore, full of well-meaning advice and bereft of perspective. She had given Twilight a lecture that morning about theft, and how she believed that theft of a natural resource was equally bad because of the precedent it set, among other reasons that had gone straight out of Twilight’s head. After everything, though, she agreed that it was probably better than taking the slow way around the country.

Twilight looked up at the shrouded sun, and with eyes watering, she tried to think of happier things.

Vinyl drove them to an overlook above one of the serpentine streams that fed Little Snowdrift, parked on the gravel wash, and everyone got out. It was only an hour drive, but for half of their number, the cramped quarters of the car were not easy to adjust to. Octavia and Big Mac stretched their legs and complained mildly about the car, how noisy it was, and how they could not find adequate room, and the like. Colgate stood on the edge with Vinyl, not afraid of being pushed, but aware that it might still happen.

“There’s the observatory,” Vinyl said, pointing to a nearby hill. “Where we stopped on our way to Snowdrift.”

“Twilight liked that,” Colgate said.

“You could say so.” She turned as the other two crunched up to them. “Octavia, you’ve been on a road trip before, you had to have.”

“I have commuted to venues,” Octavia said. “No, I am much more comfortable on an airship.” She looked at her hooves. “Though not by much.”

Downhill to Little Snowdrift, their coats and tails were dampened with dew and covered in grass by the time they reached the village. There was no town square that they could tell, no hotel, but a pair of restaurants, a few shops, and a communication station protruding out from the trees on the hillside. A damaged road curved around to the east, disappearing into the flat forest. They had missed it by a few miles on their journey from Creation Lake.

“This city is to Snowdrift what Ponyville is to Canterlot,” Vinyl said, “just to put it in perspective.”

“Easy to search,” Colgate said.

“Please no breakin’ in,” Big Mac said.

“I’m not cruel.” She looked at him and offered a smile. “But how do we find her? We should have checked the cars up top first, seen which one seemed to be there for a long time.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Octavia asked, approaching a stallion at work with the shutters on his window. They spoke in low tones while Colgate tried to think how she would find Partial Thoughts. The notion of being pushed from the ledge clung to her, and several times, she had to stop to tell herself that no one wished her harm, slowing progress.

“Ah could see livin’ in a place like this,” Big Mac said.

“Really?” Vinyl asked.

“This weather’d take some adjustin’, but Ah can see it. Ah’m a small-town pony through an’ through, Miss Vinyl. This journey’s taught me that.”

“Mm, give me the bright lights and the traffic any day of the week.”

“Don’t you find it charmingly rustic?” Colgate asked.

“Backwater, I’d say.” She looked around, smelling the air. “I’ve no interest in who can grow the biggest pumpkin, or who can catch the greased pig, or whatever. No offense, Mac.”

“An’ Ah’ve no interest in who can dress the fanciest or who can spend the most on a tiny meal.”

She laughed and waved at Octavia, returning. “You’ve got me there, I reckon.”

“A paper-white mare was staying at ‘the house with the big pumpkin patch,’ he says.”

“Speakin’ of,” Big Mac said with a small smile.

“Good on you, Octavia,” Colgate said, reaching up to pat her back but thinking better of it. “Let’s get some pumpkins.”

The house was not hard to find in the quiet town. Though the fog had not reached Little Snowdrift, the cloud cover cast everything in a morose, gray shadow, and from halfway across town, the vibrant, orange field was the only shock of color to be beheld. Their road was no more than the worn ruts of cartwheels, and it deviated from a small wire fence around the low house’s property. After a second of hesitation, they walked through the pumpkin patch, eyes trained for movement, not sure whether they were trespassing; the fence had seemed more to indicate property lines than to deter visitors.

“Imagine how many pies you could make out of these,” Colgate said.

“Imagine harvestin’ ‘em,” Big Mac said.

“Now imagine trotting over to the grocery store and grabbing a pre-made one,” Vinyl said.

“I do not like them,” Octavia said. “Their color bothers me.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with orange,” Big Mac said.

“I also do not like jack o’ lanterns. I do not see the pleasure in them. First you clean them, then you carve them, then you throw them away two days later. What fun.”

“AJ an’ Ah useta throw the guts at each other when we were younger.”

Colgate laughed.

“You’d like pumpkin carving, I bet,” Vinyl said. “Being a surgeon and all.”

“That’s like saying I’d like lumberjacking. Night and day, Vinyl.”

“That’s her,” Big Mac said, and they halted. The sight of Partial Thoughts, standing out like a ghost against the dark wood of the house, reminded them all of Vanilla Cream, and felt fitting for the atmosphere.

“Stop that,” Octavia mumbled to Big Mac, who had sat on his haunches to put his hooves up. “She is no threat to us.”

“Just bein’ cautious.”

“I should have known you’d come looking for me,” Partial Thoughts called, closing the distance and smiling insincerely. “I locked the door and killed the phone the same day I sent that be-damned warning, but here you are anyway.” She met them, gave perfunctory hoofshakes, and sat on a pumpkin.

"Did you think we would not?” Octavia asked.

“I don’t know.” She sighed and leaned back, looking into the sky. “Go ahead then, I’m sure you have questions.”

“Are you being watched right now?” Colgate asked.

“Why did you—” Vinyl started.

“Let me.” She tugged Vinyl’s coat, and Vinyl sat. “Let me. Are you being watched right now?”

“I hope not,” Partial Thoughts said. “Are you?”

Colgate took the note, which Vinyl pulled out of her saddlebag, and gave it to Partial Thoughts. “This is yours, right?” Partial Thoughts nodded. “Let’s start with who you are first, and then move on to who our enemy might be.”

“In the park, you said you work for the bank,” Octavia said.

“Yes, yes,” Partial Thoughts said. “I’m not one of them, but I work for the Mansels.”

“They followed us here?” Vinyl asked.

“I am sure they have been here longer than we,” Octavia said. “Which one of them is after us?”

“Hold it,” Colgate said, eyes closed in frustration. She wanted to kick a pumpkin, but held back her impulse, not wanting to send the wrong signal to Partial Thoughts. “You work for the Mansels, but you send us a warning, but you also disappear right after. So…”

“She doesn’t want anyone to know she’s helping us,” Vinyl said. “Obviously.”

“Does the name Peaceful Meadows ring a bell?” Partial Thoughts asked. “That’s who it is.”

“Vaguely,” Octavia said.

“It may shock you to hear it,” she continued, “but our branch doesn’t have the same interests as the Roan branch. For the most part, we’re clean.”

“Sure,” Vinyl said.

“Peaceful Meadows turned up about a month ago, I guess she was exiled from Roan or something.”

“Why?” Big Mac asked.

Partial Thoughts studied them for a time, taking in their uncomprehending expressions. “Roan’s gone under.”

“No way,” Colgate said. “The whole city?”

“She means the Mansel branch, smarty,” Vinyl said.

“They reached too far, got the princesses’ eyes, and then down they went. That’s not important, what is important is that Peaceful Meadows came by, talking about setting up an operation down here. To be blunt, none of us were interested. I mean, can you imagine how stupid it sounded? The Roan Mansels just got the book thrown at them, and now she wants to get the Snowdrift branch into it too. Gee, what could go wrong?”

“Why us, though?” Big Mac asked.

“I don’t know. You’re friends of the Elements, it’s probably some kind of revenge thing.”

“That would make sense,” Octavia said.

“So what do you know?” Colgate asked.

“I guess she thought she could just pick up here where she left off in Roan. My boss dumped Peaceful Meadows into my department and told me to keep her busy while we work on some ‘more permanent’ solution to the problem, as if we all don’t know what that really means.”

“You were fine with that?”

“I hadn’t met her personally up to that point, but I wasn’t… uncomfortable with the idea. For a legit business—which we are, remember—Peaceful Meadows was like a disease. Imagine some thug trying to team up with your lot just to get their own ends, that’s what she was to us. I mean, we have no use for her, and we’re still not even sure if she doesn’t have someone watching her.” Partial Thoughts shifted her weight, and, dissatisfied, switched to a different pumpkin.

“But you’ve got nothin’ to hide, you said so yerself,” Big Mac said. “Why should you care if she makes a fool of herself near y’all?”

“They still knew about Roan,” Octavia said.

“Yeah, I said ‘mostly’ clean,” Partial Thoughts said. “We knew about Roan, and—anyway, so yes, I was fine with finding a ‘permanent’ solution for her. My job was pretty easy, I thought: I just had to slow-walk her with forms and red tape and write-ups and probationary periods and blah blah blah until my boss stepped in. I guess Peaceful Meadows saw through it pretty quick, but instead of just going ahead and trying to do something without me, she tells me one day that she knows what’s going on, and it won’t stop her.” She kicked her pumpkin, and Colgate, noticing, took it as a sign that she too could start kicking. “These hatchet ponies, they’re all the same. They’re the reason I moved out of Roan in the first place.”

“How did you know to warn us about the invitation specifically?” Colgate asked.

“Peaceful Meadows was pretty clear on what she wanted to do.”

“Is it poisoned food, then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, she wasn’t that detailed. She just said she’d invite you all over to a dinner party, and then ‘spring the trap.’ She thinks she’s so clever and so… intimidating, she just assumed I’d keep quiet about everything if she put on the tough-girl act. I know if her plan goes bad, though, she’ll suspect me of blowing it up—she’s at least not that dense.”

“You could not be more detailed in your warning? If you were leaving anyway, why give us such vague information?” Octavia asked.

“I scribbled that thing out while I was making emergency preparations, I didn’t have time to think of some long, winding explanation.”

“We wouldn’t have believed it anyway,” Vinyl said to Octavia, who shrugged in assent.

“Who else is going to be at the party?” Colgate asked.

“I don’t have any details concerning the party itself,” Partial Thoughts said. She mounded up some soil with her paper-white hoof.

“How long are you planning on staying away from home?” Colgate asked. “Not as long as you’d like, I’ll bet.”

“I realized that not long ago, yes.”

“We’re not killing Peaceful Meadows, which means she’ll still be there when we leave, on high alert. You can’t go back to that, she’ll have eyes on your house.”

“She doesn’t know where I live.”

“Not hard to figure out.” Big Mac gave Colgate a look.

Among the pumpkins and the damp soil, the five of them thought quietly. Looking at the faces, Colgate read mutual suspicion, and edged closer to Octavia.

“I can’t ask you to kill her,” Partial Thoughts said. “But it would make things easier. I don’t know my boss’ plan, but I’m sure it doesn’t involve Peaceful Meadows taking up arms later on. I guess she might leave for Applewood, that would work.”

“We were hoping to use a memory potion on her,” Vinyl said.

“It might incapacitate her long enough for you to step in,” Colgate said.

“I can’t do that!” Partial Thoughts said. “I hate pulse crystals, that weird way they cling to your hoof. Look, you found me all right, maybe you can find my boss and tell him to fast-track his plan.”

“The party is at seven tonight,” Vinyl said in Colgate’s ear. “Not much time.”

“All righty, here’s my idea,” Colgate said, finally kicking her pumpkin with a satisfying thump. “You Mansels are wealthy. Do you have an airship?”

“I have access to the company airship, but it’s limited,” Partial Thoughts said.

“You should consider using it.” She looked at her friends. “We can’t predict what happens tonight, so… you know, just think about it. Are we good here? Any other questions?”

“Peaceful Meadows is real, right?” Big Mac asked.

“As in flesh and blood? Yeah, ‘sfar as I know,” Partial Thoughts said.

“Real dangerous, Ah mean.”

“In Roan, she made a living silencing ponies, cleaning up messes, and, uh, making evidence disappear. Yes, Big Macaroon, she’s ‘real’.”

“Let us get back,” Octavia said.

“Let me know what happens, all right?” Partial Thoughts said, rising and shaking hooves again.

“If we have time. We are rather caught up in other things right now.”

Visibly discouraged, Partial Thoughts simply said, “sure.”

On the way back to the car, Colgate stopped them for the sound of hoofsteps in the woods. Vinyl walked on to wait at a sign, and out from behind the fence came Aloe and Lotus, the former covered in pine needles. The two parties looked at each other for a minute.

“We didn’t follow you,” Colgate said.

“We know,” Lotus said. “Well, it was good to catch up. I’m sure we’ll see each other in town.”

“Are you goin’ back now?” Big Mac asked.

Vinyl was waving from the sign, and Colgate interpreted her motions as an offer. “You can ride with us if you’re going back now.”

The twins looked at each other, and Aloe smiled and nodded. “Can you wait five minutes?”

“We’ll meet you at the car.” They watched the duo disappear into the woods on the other side of the road.

“They’re comin’ with,” Big Mac said to Vinyl, who smiled to mirror Colgate. “We got room?”

“Uhh, you were complaining about room when it was us four, I believe,” Vinyl said.

“You offered,” Colgate said.

“Oh, is that what you thought my waving was? I was waving ‘hi’.”

“I am sure we can fit them,” Octavia said. “We will just put up with a little discomfort. What are they doing here, though?”

“Private stuff, I bet,” Colgate said.

Vinyl looked at her, eyebrow raised.

“Lotus was out of breath and had one less layer; Aloe was fine and covered in forest.” She looked at them. “I dunno, quit looking at me like I know things.”

“Maybe they were fightin’ a forest monster,” Big Mac said.

“Coats not weighed down with potions or weapons, I doubt it.” Vinyl shoved her playfully, and Colgate shoved back, not quite as. They speculated on what the twins were up to until the pair showed up, and Aloe spent a minute shaking out her coat as best she could before squeezing into the car between Octavia and Lotus, with Colgate on the other end, pinned between the headrest and seatbelt housing.

“Will you be okay, Colgate?” Octavia asked.

Not meaning it, Colgate said, “Fine as a spring rain.”

The hour between Little Snowdrift and Snowdrift felt twice as long. Despite the freezing air outside, six bodies in a car had them all sweating and struggling to remove layers before long. Vinyl tried to keep things light with a running commentary on the music they picked up, but only Big Mac, up front, seemed interested. The twins were lost in their own thoughts, Octavia hers, and Colgate just focused on breathing. Lotus was practically lying on her, their back legs jostling for space behind Big Mac’s seat, their tails brushing each other in the stale air between leg and floor, their sides and heads pressed intimately together. Lotus had managed to get her coat off, and tried for several minutes to help Colgate with hers, but Colgate’s position simply did not allow it, nor her inability to hold still for long. There was a moment, nearing the top of a foggy hill, where the entire car held its breath as the struggle reached its climax.

“Can you not hold still for one second?” Lotus snapped, to which Colgate simply replied, “You got it, boss!”

Looking through the window was no help, nor was closing her eyes and just feeling their momentum. Colgate squirmed inside her clothes, terrified on top of everything else that she would provoke another shout from Lotus. Her muscles were tight, her skin hurt, and she was sweating through her first layer; her heartbeat rose incrementally as they drove, as more and more things seemed to go wrong with her body next to Lotus’. For some time, her only comfort was in silence, but when she began to long for Lotus to say something, to erase the awkward situation, comfort shriveled into expectation.

Finally, only a couple miles away from Snowdrift, Vinyl pulled over for Colgate to throw up on the side of the road. She only agreed to take the rest of the trip in the car when Octavia offered to switch places with Lotus.

Colgate immediately flopped out of the car when they reached the corkscrew hotel, lying first on the ground and then crawling over to rest her head against a frosty planter’s stone rim. Her friends went inside for a few minutes, and Aloe and Lotus separated after making sure Colgate would be okay. She sat there with her eyes on the hotel lights, distorted by the illusion, and let calm overtake her again. Some ponies entering would duck their heads for the appearance of the doors’ abrupt curve, others didn’t even pause. She followed the hotel’s not-so-gentle spiral with her eyes until she was at the top, and the balconies and windowsills all resembled stubby antennae, not quite even in their distribution, and the ponies she could see through the windows were equally strange smears.

“Let’s get,” Big Mac said. “We need that potion now, Octavia says.”

“Back in the car?” Colgate asked.

“Yeah, get in, we’ve got it all day,” Vinyl said. “Okay, Cole?”

Colgate climbed into the back with Octavia, and they pulled into the street that would take them past Umbrella Park.

“You said we could pick up basic memory potions at a pharmacy,” Octavia said. “What do we need?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if it’s gonna be that easy,” Colgate said. “We’ll check. Unless things are different in Snowdrift, the only stuff you can get without a prescription are like memory softeners or memory enhancers, weak ones.”

“How many memory softeners would we need to incapacitate Peaceful Meadows?”

“I dunno, I don’t know her. She’s a big tough lady, so assuming she’s like Big Mac’s size, that’s like… Three bottles of memory softener.” She looked at Octavia. “The bottles aren’t small.”

“So we’ll just get a prescription,” Vinyl said. “Any idea how we can do that, doctor Colgate?”

“She is not licensed in this city,” Octavia said.

“I’m not licensed anywhere. All my credentials got turned to dust in Canterlot,” Colgate said. “I could try to write you something, but it won’t work.”

“An’ we can’t learn any memory spells real quick?” Big Mac asked.

“Not in five hours,” Vinyl said. “Oh, Cole, Rarity dropped off our clothes in our room. You’re gonna like how you look, I think.”

“We can try to make our own,” Colgate said.

“Oh, I don’t like the sound of that at all.”

“Why not?”

“Dangerous,” Big Mac said.

“Not for us.”

The two up front just sat quietly for a while, and they passed the park. A small team had somewhat lazily joined Pinkie and Versus in setting up the next Contraction Party; the two mares in question were busy maneuvering a table when they glided past, in animated conversation.

“At some point, we need to be okay with takin’ a risk,” Big Mac said at last. “Maybe this is that point.”

“It could be her life or ours,” Octavia said.

“That’s why I’m bringing my crystal,” Colgate said.

“All right, tell us about making memory potions,” Vinyl said at last. “Safely, that won’t poison her, please.”

“Now I’ve never made one of these myself, I’m no pharmaceutical pony. But basically, we need something that’s gonna stun the hippocampus, which is the part of the brain that does memory stuff. If that’s too hard, we can just zap the whole limbic system, but that could lead to trouble. We’ll start with a bottle of memory softener, and… Gimme a minute. Don’t talk.”

She was still thinking when they reached the pharmacy, and Vinyl turned around to look at her. “Any luck?”

“Thinking.”

“We’re here, is all,” Big Mac said.

Colgate blinked rapidly and looked around. “Oh, great.”

“Do you know what to do?” Octavia asked.

Hesitantly, Colgate said, “it’s dangerous to mix memory softeners and enhancers, so we can start there.”

“If you don’t know how to do it, just say so,” Vinyl said. “We don’t—I don’t—want be guessing with this.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she snapped, and, blushing, said, “no I don’t.” She frowned out the window, and Octavia patted her back.

“Well,” Vinyl said, opening the door, “we can see what they’ve got, at least. Maybe we can catch Twilight if this doesn’t work.”

Soft snow dusted their windshield on the way back, but the noontime sun did now allow it to accrete, and Vinyl had to drive slowly to keep them from skidding on the wet roads. In the southern section of town, the roads were narrower and less even, and full of jaywalkers. At the corner of Eighth and St. Padouk, they paused for a second to watch a street performer jumping and twirling on a clapboard stage, red and green tiger-striped smoke pouring out of a device on his back. They could hear the crowd and his music even from the hotel entrance, where Vinyl stopped Colgate from swerving into the bar.

It was still just Applejack in the room, and they chatted with her for a few minutes before heading out again. Aloe and Lotus were standing by the car, looking like they had just finished an argument.

“Sorry, no more rides,” Colgate said.

“We were gonna ask if you wanted to come with us,” Lotus said sullenly. “We need to head up to the glacier for an hour or two, and thought you might like it.”

Colgate looked in the glacier’s direction, seeing only their distorted reflections in the hotel doors. “I can’t drive.”

“We’ll drive,” Aloe said. “You’ll like it there, Minuette.”

“You’ll be back in time for your dinner,” Lotus said humorlessly.

Colgate looked at her friends.

“Go ahead,” Vinyl said. “We’re gonna find Twilight and figure this out. Just don’t forget, we have to meet up here first to get changed.”

“Right,” Colgate said, unsure. “You don’t need me?”

“We will be fine,” Octavia said. Hearing her say it made it a little easier for Colgate to take.

“Okay, I can do the glacier.”

The sextet split, and Colgate walked with the twins back into the swirling snow. She stood a distance away, but still felt the tingle of anticipation at being so close, and alone. In the car, it had overwhelmed her, but she felt that if she could just walk without interruption, she might find peace with Lotus. Lotus, for her part, swung her head side to side, always looking, always taking in information, not acknowledging that Colgate was with them—which, unpleasant as it was for her to see, also eased her paranoia.

“What’s at the glacier?” she asked. “I know there’s a tiny town.”

“It’s a little tourist junction,” Aloe said, perfectly happy to walk backwards and meet Colgate’s eyes. “We have to check some things up there, like we said.” She glanced pointedly at Lotus and rolled her eyes, and Colgate nodded, aware that something had been communicated to her, not sure what it was. Her first thought was that Lotus was in trouble, but that did not make sense to her.

It was a twenty-minute walk to their house, where they climbed into the twins’ small car, Aloe driving. Colgate stretched out in the back seat and watched Lotus watching her sister adjust the mirrors.

“You have a car,” Colgate said at last. “Good car.” She took a deep breath, feeling already that she had crossed a line, that her surface-level observation would be taken the wrong way, that Lotus would lay into her. She tried to shrink into the seats, closing her eyes.

“You okay back there?” Aloe asked.

“Let’s just go,” Lotus said. With the car rumbling under her, Colgate was able to calm down a little bit, and they left town by the same road that took them to Little Snowdrift, but heading the opposite way.

“It’s this teeny little resort at the glacier’s foot,” Aloe said, “that’s where we’re going. It’s routine Datura stuff, nothing to be worried about.”

“You girls don’t do routine stuff.”

“We do when all of our ponies are out in the field,” Lotus said.

“Yes, of course.”

They drove in uncomfortable silence through a barren patch of field before the trees overtook them again, and the day turned to pale dusk for a time.

“Are you feeling better?” Lotus asked.

“I don’t feel,” Colgate said automatically. “I mean ‘yes.’ I feel better.”

“What happened?” Aloe asked. “Something you ate?” She smiled. “Did you try griffon food?”

“I just…” She did not want to admit to a Datura superior that she had panicked. “I had too much to drink.”

The two looked at each other, and Lotus shook her head, making no effort to hide it.

Imagining them pulling over and booting her out for her obvious lie, Colgate tensed up; the familiar feeling of anxiety pulling at her insides came back, making her skin tingle and her tongue tie up.

“Honestly,” she started, “I… got scared. Scared.”

“It looked like a panic attack to me,” Lotus said, and glancing at her with the rear-view mirror, said, “similar to how you look now. There’s a lever for the window if you want to let some air in.”

Colgate groped for the crank and stuck her head out the window, taking the scent of pine forest and freezing air in the face, in her flared nostrils, onto her closed eyes. Her breathing was steadier when she pulled herself back into the car.

“Go ahead and keep it down if you like,” Lotus said.

Colgate nodded, confused. In her mind, Lotus had first passed cataclysmic judgment on her, but now she had saved her by telling her about the window. Distantly, the old phrase no harm played through her stream of thoughts.

“So you have a car, but we had to drive you back to town from Little Snowdrift,” Colgate said.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay first?” Aloe asked. “You’re pale as a sheet.”

“It’s better if I don’t think about it.” Octavia had told her that, one night, something she had observed.

“We weren’t expecting to see you there,” Lotus said, “as you probably figured. We move around differently when we’re not with common ponies.”

“Am I authorized to know how?”

“We put on magic shoes that let us take big steps,” Aloe said. “About a city block per step, and we’ve got little invisibility amulets too.”

Lotus turned in her seat and showed Colgate a small, silver pendant around her neck, a simple butterfly of beaten metal; it could have been a trinket from a corner stall. “Standard issue,” she said simply.

“We don’t mind driving, though,” Aloe said. “I don’t, at least.”

“Yep,” Colgate said, lost in thought. To show the pendant, Lotus had unzipped her jacket, and Colgate had seen a deep triangle of blue fur. She looked down at herself, so close in hue, and tried to process her emotions on the fact.

“Tell her,” Aloe said, and Colgate looked up again. They were out of the trees and driving up a gentle, wide road toward the glacier’s indomitable face. It loomed over them, a tremendous, glistening mirror to the sun. She could see the bald white of snow-capped peaks on either side, dwarfed by the sheet of ice, sectioned by the black wires of ski lifts. At their elevation, trees were thin and smaller, and Colgate could even see the tree line a quarter of the way up the glacier’s side. The top was inscrutable and blue-gray, glassy and without clouds, like a marker for the edge of the world—which, in a way, it was. She had been caught up with her own thoughts for much of the drive.

“I’ll tell her when we get out,” Lotus said, and glanced at the mirror. “Oh.”

“What’s wrong?” Colgate asked.

“You can’t see it yet, but there’s a ski lodge at the base of one of these hills, and they have a big, heated pool. Aloe mentioned it earlier, and I thought of you.”

“That’s funny.”

Aloe nudged Lotus forcefully.

“I wanted to make it up to you for before.” She turned and, with some effort, looked Colgate in the eyes. “I felt bad. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“Oh, that. No problem,” Colgate said, at odds to keep her face straight for the warmth spreading and overtaking her suspicion. “I just—you caught me at a bad time, we’ll say.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lotus said, and her voice sounded genuine. “So anyway, I wanted to show this to you. I know you like the water.”

“I’ve been known to partake.”

Lotus smiled, and Colgate smiled back, and they drove quietly to the resort, the air in the car relaxed for the first time since Colgate had stepped in.

A light drizzle crackled on their coats when they walked across the parking lot, half empty, deep black with water and tiny under the glacier. Below, at the end of the twisted ribbon of road that had not felt so erratic to drive up, Snowdrift was a tiny crater of white and brown buildings. She could see their hotel, and Twilight’s operation at the warehouse, and a half-wreath of churches studding the northern section by a tangle of crouching houses. Umbrella park was a green peanut tinseled with snow and frost, and the forest behind it was a heavy, dark carpet, the desert beyond only visible as an indistinct sepia line, very far away.

“Beautiful, right?” Aloe asked.

Turning her eyes to the lodge instead, Colgate took a second to pass her eyes from one side of the glacier to the other, then rest them on the wee building set in a space in their hill. Compared to the wall of ice, they were nothing, and she had to take a couple seconds to let that sink in while the twins walked on. Twilight had mentioned concerns a few times, that the glacier, balanced on the floating border, would eventually slide off and down to the ocean below. Colgate did not know anything about ecology, but she envisioned for a moment a colossal tidal wave hitting the griffons, reaching up to yank them from their nests in the inland crags of their home country. That power sat before her, inert, impassable, permanently frozen; vaguely awed and a little worried, she nonetheless felt also that she had been right to join the twins for the trip.

“We’re gonna drop you off here for a little,” Aloe said. “Lo-lo and I have places to be.” She angled her head at the ice sheet, and Colgate nodded, envious. “But we’ll be back to take you home. You just get comfortable here.”

In the lodge’s softly lit embrasure, Colgate let herself drip for a minute and looked for details that jumped out at her: a pair of heavy axes crossed over the dark hearth, the imitation gas lanterns on the walls, the tile mosaic of a bear and skunk apparently convening at a blue blob of lake, the glass walls of a tiny humidor bending overhead light, the quiet TV showing the news to a single mare on a couch. The twins greeted the stallion at the counter and asked about the heated pool, and Lotus paid for Colgate’s pass.

“Back in an hour,” Aloe said cheerily, giving her tail a playful swish as she left back through the front. Colgate turned to the stallion and he pointed her in the direction of the pool, gave her the code she would need to get inside, and told her to enjoy her day.

“Is that a cigar room back there?” she asked.

“Yep, just bring anything up here.” He indicated the ashtray on the counter, a plastic cigar cutter chained to it.

Colgate nodded and walked toward it, but veered to the pool room at the last second. Her one and only experience with cigars had led to fear and humiliation, the night she had burned one of Rouge’s friends—as a joke, she thought at the time. Thinking about her Canterlot days, she missed the code the first time, and had to key it in again before she was allowed entry.

“Whoa,” she said aloud, stunned. Self-consciously, she took a few steps into the humid air and let the door swing closed behind her. Frequently in her mind, the idea of the pool was one of fevered comfort, of long grass and sultry sunset, splashing bodies and empty flirting and too much wine. She sometimes felt like she could wake up one day back in the Canterlot suburbs, grab a bottle of alcohol with Rouge and jump into someone’s pool for the day. Low point though it had been in real life, in her fantasies it represented an ideal of happiness.

Through a combination of the elevation and the sanguine memories of cigars and alcohol and warm water, Colgate crossed the wet tile in a daze, looking around for something to feel right and familiar, and seeing nothing of the sort. A massive skylight let the gray sky in, but not the rain; the blue water’s surface steamed of its own accord, warm from an internal mechanism and not because they were in a warm part of the country; the pool stairs were wide and short, unexpectedly awkward to use for someone who had only ever hoisted herself in and out by foreleg and core strength. They were still inside the building, but the room was thirty feet long and fifteen wide, softly lit and reverberant enough to imitate the outdoors if she closed her eyes, which she did to step in a cold puddle. No grass at her fetlocks, no birdsong, no cars to pass by or neighbors to holler greetings to.

A mixed group of ponies and griffons occupied the pool’s far corner, griffon wings turning lazy circles in the water, talons dipping occasionally to grab a floating feather and toss it onto the tile. Colgate stared as if she had walked in on a crime scene, so unprepared she was for the vast difference between memory and reality. Such a difference had not hit her in the spa with her friends, and she thought she knew why, in small part.

The water was perfect on her sore skin, still tingling from the car ride, and she submerged herself for a moment, first in Canterlot and then in the river in Tartarus, finally in the pool at the Snowdrift spa. Eyes wide and stinging, she watched hooves and tails moving in the shallows.

Finally, she surfaced, went to the stairs, and let herself lie down, head and ears underwater but muzzle above. She closed her eyes, the muted sounds of the other swimmers little more than comforting white noise, the ebb of water around the corners of her mouth a gentle caress that she did not know she had needed.

“It’s a pool for friends,” she thought, “but not the same friends.” She realized in that instant that she would need to have a cigar afterwards; if she could complete that circle, and have a cigar safely when she belonged to a different friend group, that would prove something.

Water lapping and friends laughing, she was free to feel shame spread its wings in her heart, but it did not take flight as it would have if there were anyone there to see her. “Let’s see this professionally,” she thought of herself. “Patient thought she had a solution to the big problem, but she didn’t. That happens, that’s fine. Her friends are mad at her, but…” Distracted for a second as the water wiggled more violently; someone was moving in her direction. “But because they’re friends, and they mean her no harm, they’re not gonna hurt her for failing them like that. Question is, can they find a solution, or is it still the patient’s problem?” To this, she had no answer, and imagined them pestering Twilight for a memory potion. Twilight, caught up with taking the roof off the warehouse, would not have time for that, and her friends would leave disappointed and disciplined.

“Why did we trust Colgate again?” Vinyl asks, and Big Mac shakes his head.

“She does fail us an awful lot,” Octavia says reluctantly, as friends are supposed to be reluctant to admit flaws in each other.

She opened her eyes and looked back, where the group had shifted more toward the middle of the pool. Their conversation had grown quieter and more serious, and one of the griffons looked to Colgate like she was sad.

Moving her thoughts to Aloe and Lotus, she submerged again and let water run up her nose. The twins seemed to her a seesaw of emotions and reactions, sometimes stern and almost angry, sometimes friendly. Lotus had said she wanted to make up for snapping at Colgate earlier, but she had said it at Aloe’s prompting only. Colgate wanted to believe it, wanted to believe that it was from a font of kindness buried behind Lotus’ heart that had moved her to take Colgate to the lodge. The notion of someone like that, powerful yet kind, was at once enchanting and frightening to her. After a second, she drew the parallel between her idea of Lotus and her idea of Octavia, two mares who could destroy her if they wanted, one through intellect alone and one through main force. The significance of that connection, however, was immaterial to her; she pondered further.

She had not felt for anyone in Canterlot, whether due to the inadequacy of the company or the distraction of substances she was not sure. In Ponyville before, there had only been Dr. Whooves, long ago, and he was more to prove a point to her parents, at least toward the relationship’s end. She was glad that their paths with the Elements had not intersected, for she believed he still had feelings for her, and she did not know what her own feelings were.

It was hard to imagine Lotus as she had known her in Ponyville, even though she had seen that Lotus much more frequently. As a spa worker, she was open, friendly, and quick with a compliment or to soothe embarrassment, but in Snowdrift, that mare was buried under the macadam of professional duty. Colgate knew what it meant to be constantly at work, knew that it affected ponies’ personalities. Residency was the scariest barrier to becoming a doctor, and she had seen many associates break down in her time, crushed under the endless need to study and keep up with hospital life. Based on what she knew of it, she imagined that Datura life was similar, and imagined that it had happened to Lotus.

“Lotus doesn’t have time for my affection,” Colgate thought. “And she can’t see me that way anyway. I wonder if she sees anyone that way.” Then, putting doubt aside, she indulged in baseless fantasy: Lotus approaching her, bringing her around to some distant watchpoint, peeling off her coats and day clothes beneath, and taking Colgate there without any complicated words.

“Then she slipped poison into my mouth,” Colgate thought, and the fantasy ground to a halt. She rose and sat on the steps, watching the group still talking. She caught the words “she doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she thinks she does.”

Colgate climbed out, dried off, and went to the humidor. She knew nothing of cigars, and picked one with a label that she liked. The stallion at the counter lit it for her, and she went to the couch by the TV, the first mare replaced by a younger lady in a thick coat and ski mask, breathing heavily with a mug of hot cocoa.

The TV showed a faint whisper of smoke against blue sky to the east of Snowdrift, and the reporters were talking about a distant prairie fire. Colgate watched without interest and tried to smoke, but coughed with each pull, and put her cigar out almost whole. The mare on the couch gave her a look, but Colgate did not notice. She reclined and let herself get lost in the TV for a while, quietly mulling over the dinner scheduled later that night, occasionally looping back to self-blame for not creating the saving memory potion as she had promised.

“The soda,” she said suddenly, sitting up, shocked and lightened. She looked at the mare, who looked back curiously, and, smiling, she said, “I’m thirsty for a soda.”

Back in the car, the first thing Colgate did was thank Lotus for bringing her up to the lodge. She ended her thanks with the phrase, “you’re a real pal.” Testing the waters.

“Happy to do it,” Lotus said. “We good? All right, let’s go.” Colgate turned in her seat to watch the lodge fade away behind the mist of steady rainfall.

“So, I have a question,” Colgate said. “When we were talking in Umbrella Park, about Fleur and the battle and all that—remember?”

“Yes, I remember it.”

“Right. You used…” She looked at Aloe for a second, worrying that she might be saying too much. “You used the present tense. You said Fleur needs to pay more attention to her laundry or something like that.”

Lotus was nodding, and Colgate could discern a smile from her angle in the back.

“Was that calculated?”

“I was wondering if you would notice it.”

“I thought it was weird.”

Aloe looked at Lotus, and Lotus only shrugged in response. “Take it for what you will, Minuette, but if you have any other questions, we’re not the mares. You don’t have authorization to talk about this openly.”

“Sure.”

“But if you are wondering about what happened to Fleur, and all that, I would say…” She smiled. “Think of your friend, Applejack.”

“Is it common? The thing you’re getting at, I mean,” Colgate asked, not sure exactly what “it” was, but thinking she had a good idea.

“Reasonably so.”

“Cool.” She looked out the back again, back at the glacier. She wanted to ask if Aloe and Lotus had ever been resurrected, but knew that it would be in poor taste. Instead, she made herself more comfortable and able to see Lotus’ reflection in the side mirror, her face in repose, serious but disarmed of sharp words and hard feelings.

Fifteen minutes before Colgate got back, Vinyl, Big Mac, and Octavia returned to the hotel to drop off a page of notes Twilight had scribbled for them, her best idea for a quick and dirty memory potion, loaded with warnings and qualifiers. Vinyl was in a hurry to make an appointment, and Octavia and Big Mac assured her that they could handle Twilight’s recipe, and the three of them split.

Since Vinyl was the only one who could drive, she took the car all the way to the other end of town, and, in view of the gateway and of Twilight’s innocent-looking Hearth’s Warming lights, she rang a stranger’s doorbell.

An inoffensive brick-and-mortar house with cheerful chimney smoke and a tiny dog barking in the window, Vinyl could not help but feel at home the second she stepped in. Her host hugged her in greeting and told the dog to stop jumping at Vinyl’s knees, and Vinyl said it was fine, and she spent some minutes lavishing it with attention.

The living room was already set up, and the stallion settled into a cozy beanbag chair and gestured for Vinyl to do the same. They sat by an open window, and she could see one of the town’s many churches letting out its congregation, hear their compliments to the preacher on the cold breeze.

Soulful Song was his name, and she had called him the day before, in private, to schedule a consultation.

“So, Miss Scratch, you said you were interested in memory therapy? What seems to be the trouble?”

For her lunch, Versus went back to the hotel and called Applejack’s room, and the two of them dined in the café. A live band was setting up, and they stayed long enough to hear the first song, played for a small crowd. Versus had nowhere to go for another half hour, and Applejack invited her up to her room, where they could hear each other better.

“I really hope you can see the next Contraction,” Versus said, throwing her sweater on the back of a chair.

“Ah’m not scheduled to,” Applejack said.

“Yeah you are. I mean, maybe.” Laughing, she said, “don’t be mad at me now if you do miss it! There’s a range of dates for this one.”

“Ahh,” Applejack said, pretending to know what Versus meant.

“I guess no one’s sure when it’s gonna go off, but it might be after you all are finished with your egg white problem. I hope so, you’d love it.”

“It looked like a real hootenanny from here.”

Versus laughed, her voice particularly loud in the smaller room. “Hootenanny? What’s that?”

“It’s like a good time.” She smiled, but Versus saw through it.

“What’s wrong, AJ? Are you going stir crazy? Are you scared?”

“Not fer myself.” She looked at the pile of books on the desk, impressive but with waning material to offer her. She had begun re-reading on more difficult topics that morning, after everyone left her, but none of Twilight’s texts went into much detail about religion and philosophy. Deciding to abandon caution, Applejack asked Versus outright: “are you religious at all, Versus?”

“Whoa, steady, mate,” Versus said, laughing a little. “Where’s this coming from? I mean, yes, I am. Sorry, you kinda caught me off guard there.” Seeing the look in Applejack’s eyes, she continued. “Uhh, I think they’re both divine, if you want to know. It’s not the most popular view in this town, but… AJ, why are you asking me this?”

“Just curious. Ah, no, that’s not the full truth. Ah’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout it a lot, religion. Findin’ myself. It’s easy to catch yerself at it, cooped up in a hotel like this, or on an airship fer days at a time.” She sighed. “The glories of adventurin’, right? Downtime, travel time, waitin’ fer yer friends to do the heavy liftin’. Hoo boy, sign me up.”

Versus nodded slowly, a ghost of a smile fighting with her lips. “I’m detecting some bitterness.”

“Some, yeah.” She waved her hoof, as if to dispel smoke in front of her face. “Nothin’ special ‘bout my bitterness, Ah’m just tired. You’ll get it off of any of us, Ah imagine.”

“Mmm, not Pinkie, not that I’ve seen,” Versus said.

“Is she still the same old Pinkie? That’s good.”

“She’s a scream! You know how you meet somepony and you’re just like ‘yeah, you are exactly who you’re supposed to be’? Pinkie was made for the Element of Laughter, AJ. Psh, I’m saying it like you don’t already know.”

“Now hang on with that, ‘cause we haven’t seen a whole lot of the old Pinkie lately. She’s been more subdued with us. Since… gosh, Ah can’t remember.”

“Well, I’m sure she can’t be at a hundred all the time.”

Applejack thought about that. “Yer probably right. She frolics with Rainbow Dash plenty still. Ah guess some of us worry.”

“Are you one of the ones that worry?”

“Not ‘bout her.”

Versus inched closer. “But someone else?”

“Ehhh, Ah’m not exactly comfortable sayin’. Ah hope you understand.”

“No, I get it,” Versus said, raising her hooves, tone and expression light and unhurt. Applejack was relieved. “So you wanna find a religion, huh? Maybe you should come to church with me sometime.”

“You serious?”

“Huh?”

“If we’re still here when we get rid of that hazard, an’ Ah ain’t needed fer anythin’, Ah’ll gladly take you up on that.”

Versus smiled even wider and nodded her head many times before speaking. “Yeah, let’s do it. Let’s do it.”

“Now Rarity said Snowdrift is a pretty dressy town—do Ah need to have some fancy duds to go to church? Anythin’ Ah need to know beforehoof, like any special customs or things not to do? If there’s singin’, Ah’ll need to practice up. Oh, an’ Ah know—what? What’s wrong?”

Versus heaved a sigh, and her smile fell away. “Uhh, yeah, you’re gonna think I’m awful for this.”

“Ah don’t think yer awful.”

“You’re gonna. I… Well, maybe another time, we can go. I’m not exactly, how do you say? Practicing.”

“Oh.” Applejack just nodded, but didn’t try to erase the hurt from her face or the offense from her tone. “Lots of folks are lapsed, there’s no shame in it, not in my opinion.”

“I shouldn’t’ve asked you to go with me,” she mumbled. “I wanted to seem good, I didn’t think you’d agree like that.”

“At least you owned up to it,” Applejack said. The two of them endured each other’s silence for a time. Versus seemed to Applejack the sort who would beat herself up about a mistake like that later, and though Applejack did not want her to, she did not know how to broach the subject. At length, she asked, “you got a pastor?”

“I guess so.”

She took a long breath. “You mind doin’ a favor fer me? Ah can’t leave this place, as you know; do you think you can phone her an’ see if she’s busy?” She indicated the books, feeling suddenly self-conscious, though she knew not why. “These ain’t really doin’ it fer me anymore, so Ah figured a live pony to talk to would be the way forward.”

“Yeah, sure.” Clearly relieved that her friend’s scrutiny was off her, Versus got up and began fussing about the room, giving her hooves and body something to do. “Right up to the room?”

“Whenever she’s got time, Ah’d surely appreciate it.”

Smiling, she said, “You know, I’m surprised you and Twilight don’t talk more about this. She seems like she’s got a head for it.”

“Oh, she does.” When Versus looked at her to continue, she just smiled.

Vinyl, Big Mac, Colgate, and Octavia passed the Snowdrift reverend in the hall, thought nothing of it, and went to their rooms to get dressed for the dinner. They were due in forty minutes, and the time pressure showed in their hurried speech, their jerky movements, and their inattention to detail of dress that cost them minutes more. Applejack helped, not speaking much and clearly thinking about something else, but came to just in time to bid them good luck and to be cautious.

In the hall, Big Mac stopped them. “Show me. Show me now, please.”

She dug around in her saddlebag and produced the neon orange soda bottle that she had filched from the Datura watchpoint outside town. “It’s no memory wipe, but it’ll knock her out, and we can scramble after that. I assume it acts pretty quickly ‘cause she almost used it on me, and I think she was in a hurry too. Usually is.” Also inside her saddlebag, which she chose not to disclose, was close to a thousand bits and a horn-drawn copy of the Elements of Harmony designs, what she thought of as “just in case” items.

“Where did you get this?” Octavia asked. “Never mind, I do not care. As long as you know that this is correct, then let us not waste any more time.”

“What about yours?”

“Our potion is… iffy,” Vinyl said. “We put it together as best we could from what Twilight said.” She pulled out a jar of sludgy, moss-green liquid that smelled of peat and a touch of ammonia. Colgate held it to the light, pretending to know what she was looking at.

“Her directions weren’t the clearest,” Big Mac said, “but we figure if we absolutely have to, we can bean her in the head with the jar.”

“Fine by me,” Colgate said. “Car’s outside?”

“Ah’ve been worryin’ ‘bout this all day,” Big Mac said as they went to the elevators, and Vinyl patted his shoulder.

To the car, skinned in brilliant, tumbling snow, they walked, and Vinyl drove them north.

“We get in, we add this to whatever she’s eating or drinking, and then we go,” Colgate said. “Octavia, you’re no unicorn, she won’t expect you to do anything funny. You do it.”

“Me? Since when is it me?” Octavia asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I assumed that you would be doing it.”

“Hell no!” She unbuttoned her overcoat and shook inside it, suddenly feverish, as if a trap had closed around her.

“Let’s keep it together back there,” Vinyl said.

“I have never done something like this,” Octavia said. “You have.”

“No, not really I haven’t,” Colgate said. In her wiggling, the glint of the pulse crystal moved in a sunbeam, and Octavia caught it.

“You really did bring that horrible thing along.”

“What if they search us at the door?” Big Mac asked weakly.

“They won’t,” Colgate said.

“You don’t know that,” Vinyl said in tandem with Octavia’s “You cannot know that.”

“Well…” The first thought was to drink the soda herself, and force the night to a conclusion.

“Fine, give me the potion,” Octavia said, grabbing it with her magic. “I will figure something out. But listen to me. Do not—Colgate, do not—pull out that pulse crystal unless you need to.”

“I don’t know why you think I would otherwise.”

“I am just saying.”

They pulled up to the curb outside the house, its gate invitingly open and its windows spotless, magically rippling as snow was deflected away. There were no other cars there.

“Button your coat again,” Vinyl said to Colgate at the front door. “Unbutton when you sit, but button when you’re up and about.” She rang the doorbell a second time.

Someone inside called a merry “just a second!”

“Be ready,” Colgate said.

“They’re not gonna go at us immediately,” Vinyl said, looking at Colgate, trying to see if she could spot the pulse crystal.

“Ah. Hello,” the griffon said, the same griffon who had approached them in the restaurant. He looked at them, smiling cordially but apologetically. “I’m sorry? Is something the matter?”

“We’re here for the dinner party?” Vinyl asked, and re-asked when the griffon leaned closer.

“Ahhhhh, oooooh, uhhh, yes, the party,” he said. “Terribly sorry, I hoped she would catch you. Something came up, it had to be cancelled.”

“What happened?” Colgate asked.

The griffon looked her in the eyes. “Family emergency.”

“That’s a shame,” Big Mac said, shaking his head and looking at the ground. “A right shame, no two ways ‘bout it. Shame, shame, shame.”

“My friend went to let you know,” the griffon continued. “You must have crossed each other and not known it. She went down to the hotel, the twisted hotel, to tell you all about it.”

“Did she?” Octavia asked.

“Guess she won’t find you there.” He stepped back into the door. “But she will find your friend, I’d bet. Versus, the dark pink mare. She’s a very happy pony.” He swung the door closed, but stopped just before it hit the jamb, then reopened. “Actually, no. I was wrong. She would be at the park, setting up the next party. Ah, I’m sure our friend is already there.” He nodded politely. “Buh-bye.”

In their haste to get back to the car, Big Mac lost a button on his overcoat when he was pushed against a frozen bush. Vinyl fumbled with the steering wheel, and Octavia looked at the knock-out soda as if it were the cause of their woes.

“Now I think is an okay time to get out that crystal, Cole,” Vinyl said as they spun out onto the snowy road.

“What if she already got Versus?” Big Mac asked.

“Do not say that,” Octavia said quietly.

“It’s broad daylight, she won’t have done anything crazy,” Colgate said.

“She might have.”

“Well…” It seemed as eloquent a counterargument as any to Colgate, who did not really know. “Maybe.”

On icy roads and chained tires, with the constant pressure of pedestrians to slow traffic, driving in Snowdrift had never been fast, and least of all on the dying Thursday evening. Carriages and motorized cars chugged along with increasing leisure as they approached Umbrella Park, and magical or simply heavily layered ponies covered the sidewalks and intersections like ants, some flashy and some misshapen and dark. Music and laughter were everywhere, along with the trash of nightlife, piled into snowbanks or strewn in the gutters. The house they had quit was only two miles behind them, yet the city had transformed from snow-globe tranquility to raucous fun over those two miles. Walking in it, when they occasionally had, did not show the same as having to drive through it. When a piece of Umbrella Park came into sight, then disappeared behind another sports bar, they let out a simultaneous sigh.

Vinyl honked at a pair of overweight stallions in the road, and they scampered away, laughing, not even looking at her. Colgate, meanwhile, dug out her crystal and fastened it to her forehoof, letting it dangle to the floor.

“Is it too late to call the police?” Big Mac asked.

“No police,” Colgate said.

“You sound pretty sure of that,” Vinyl said, waiting to turn.

“We’ve got a pulse crystal and a powerful knock-out potion. What do you think they’ll think?”

“That we’re out of our depth?”

“We are not out of our depth, we just gotta get through this last bit.” She tapped the crystal’s point on the floor. “You do this in every city, and you’re just thinking of the cops now? How come you never used them before?”

“Because in every other city, it was your ponies that we needed,” Octavia said. “Sometimes, we got them.”

“Quiet, let’s focus,” Vinyl said, taking them finally astride the park. A skeleton of lights and wires had been set up in the distant trees, and a few tables were already heaped with snow. Some ponies still strolled the outer regions of the park, but it had visibly cleared for the day. They parked just before a ditch of dead grass beside a public bathroom and water station, and Colgate and Octavia took a second to conceal their respective items.

“Calmly,” Octavia said. “We will keep this just to talking if at all possible.”

They entered from the long side of the park, through a bare patch of grass and gentle rises, between a pair of tall, brick processes with bronze plaques. They could see a large part of the park from their entrance point, the tree-flanked entrances of the southwest and the copse of conifers directly opposite, the withered and covered flower gardens and the oddly-shaped statues, the beginning of a black oak bridge on the northernmost extremity. No sign of Versus or of Peaceful Meadows—until the wind changed, and then they heard her voice almost clearly. All four froze and tried to look around calmly, four sets of eyes too on edge to grasp more than the most apparent.

“By the bridge, sillies!”

“There,” Octavia said, indicating. Versus’ pink face seemed bright and obvious when she pointed it out, looking at them expectantly from behind a strut.

“I have to show you something awesome! Come on over here!”

“Get ready,” Vinyl said.

“I’ve got it,” Colgate said. The crystal was ready in her inside breast pocket, straps half hanging out against her underclothes, point digging a growing hole in the suit jacket’s interior. She had only to reach a hoof inside, withdraw, and fire off a couple pulses, a matter of seconds. It was simple, but it wasn’t. Without the benefit of alcohol or painkillers in her system, she did not feel right about the crystal, and quietly hoped that the adrenaline rush she imagined was inevitable would provide enough of a substitute.

“It’s in here,” Versus said, face pale, smile wavering, eyes darting. “C’mon.” She walked backward into the imperfect shadow under the bridge, and the four paused there. There was less than ten feet of space, and they could see the metal peg in the ground, the silver wire that ran from it to Versus’ back hoof. They could see the beige car parked on the other side by a track that went straight to the woods.

The four of them watched her, and she watched them, before falling to her knees with a sharp yelp. Octavia started forward, and Versus lay on one side, panting, face wet with sweat.

“It’s electric,” Peaceful Meadows said. She rocked back and forth with speech, wrapped in dark coats, and lowered a hood off her orange sherbet face and a close-cut mane. A white ribbon of snow reflected in her large sunglasses. “You know, like zap-zap. Come closer so we can chat.”

Big Mac and Vinyl looked at Octavia, who, without looking at them, approached.

Peaceful Meadows’ pulse crystal appeared out of the folds of her coats as she rose, trailing her own thin wire to the electric peg that had felled Versus. She yanked it, and Versus’ snare tightened cruelly, forcing the pink mare to struggle across the ground, rolling and tumbling to keep up. With the crystal on Versus, Peaceful Meadows simply said, “undress.”

“It’s cold out,” Colgate complained.

Peaceful Meadows shook her head, and the four reluctantly began peeling off jackets. As they did so, she produced a pair of tiny, metal rings, which Colgate recognized immediately and Vinyl did not.

“You first, shifty blue. Come up and put this on.” She waggled her pulse crystal against Versus temple. “And you, let’s lose the goggles.”

“She needs them,” Octavia said.

“I need them gone.” She watched Colgate put on the magic suppression collar, made sure she gave it the quarter turn required to lock it into place on her horn, and then gently pushed her back. “Snow-white, your turn. You can leave the goggles right here at my hooves.”

“She has sensitive eyes. The light will hurt her,” Octavia said.

“I have blindfolds. Let’s go!” She ground the crystal’s point into Versus’ temple, and their concierge squealed and tried to twist away, and Vinyl haltingly came forward, first putting on her collar, then lifting off her goggles; she had to get on her knees to use her hooves, a crying form that made Big Mac jerk forward and then freeze when the pulse crystal turned to him. Peaceful Meadows sighed and nodded understandingly when Vinyl, muttering a curse, laid her goggles in the grass.

“Back up, big hero.”

“Over here,” Octavia said, holding out a hoof for Vinyl to find them.

They went then, one by one, to Peaceful Meadows, who took her time in blindfolding them and in zip-tying their front legs together. Her voice and her pulse crystal were steady, but her eyes were constantly searching the distance, as if expecting someone to appear and break up their scene any second. Big Mac cried when he received his bindings, and Vinyl begged and offered money, and to them both, Peaceful Meadows said to be quiet, that any hysteria or funny moves would lead to one big mess under the bridge. It kept them quiet and compliant long enough to get them into the car, Versus in the driver’s seat, she the only one not bound or blinded. Their clothes and saddlebags were stuffed in the trunk, and Peaceful Meadows directed her to slowly drive them out of the park by the forest path.

“Our friends will come looking for us,” Octavia said.

“They’ll find you.”

“We have money,” Vinyl said. “We have connections.” She tried to grope for Big Mac, who was still sniffling, to comfort him.

“Not interested,” Peaceful Meadows said. “Versus, honey, let’s stay inside the trees for now. Skirt this new evacuation zone and take us out into the big foggy yonder.” She poked Vinyl, who flinched. “Hooves to yourself, pop star.”

“I do not think you realize how much money we have,” Octavia said in the front. To her friends, it was obvious she was straining to keep her voice even, but to Versus, she seemed hardly fazed by her condition, and it calmed her by degrees.

“Godly connections,” Peaceful Meadows said, and left it at that. They rounded the line of warning tape around the hazard’s area of effect. The warehouse roof lay in three pieces in the sere field between retracting cranes, and Twilight could be seen moving amongst workers and clouds of pegasi, directing them with hooves and arrowheads of magic. She did not notice the car hissing past on the opposite side.

“I’m gonna puke,” Colgate said.

After a moment, Peaceful Meadows told Versus to pull over, and Colgate was let out for a minute. She vomited with the pulse crystal pointed square at her backside the whole time, and after cleaning her mouth as best she could with a few bites of snow, Peaceful Meadows shoved her back into her seat. They drove off again.

“Please,” Big Mac said, trying to give Colgate room. “We won’t say anythin’ if you just let us go. We’ll walk back to town, you can drive off.”

“Can you be quiet?” Versus snapped. Her eyes were wide and manic, and Peaceful Meadows, noticing, trained the crystal on her instead. “You could have said something to me, something like ‘Hey, Versus, just to let you know, we’re being hunted by some lunatic.’ You know, like a warning? So I could keep my distance?” She laughed wildly. “I would have appreciated that.”

“Let’s keep calm, Versus,” Peaceful Meadows said.

“Nuts to that! How am I supposed to be calm when I’ve got a—”

“Because I said so!” She jabbed her in the side, and the car swerved as Versus cringed away. “Now shut up and drive. I don’t like your voice.”

“I hate yours too.”

“Versus, please don’t give her any reason to hurt you,” Vinyl said. “It’s us she wants, not you. You can make it out still.”

At this, Big Mac let out a louder wail, and they stopped again for Peaceful Meadows to put a gag on him.

“Why us?” Octavia asked when they were moving again. Her blindfolded face was turned to the window, and she shivered in her seat.

“That’s my business,” Peaceful Meadows said.

“Common Mansel scum.”

Peaceful Meadows laughed quietly. “You got me there.”

“Let’s not antagonize the pony with the crystal,” Colgate said. “Sound okay?”

“It’s all gonna end the same,” Versus said sullenly. “I say let’s antagonize her as much as we can.”

“No, you keep driving.” She looked around dumbly, not aware that Peaceful Meadows had pointed the crystal at her. With some effort, she asked where they were going.

“Far enough that the precogs won’t have seen us,” Peaceful Meadows said.

Inside the car, the engine’s hum the only constant amid Big Mac’s sniffles and snorts and the occasional mewl from Vinyl or insult from Versus, tension relaxed but a little. It became clear through some unspoken, mutual understanding that they were safe when they were moving. Peaceful Meadows did not want to dirty the car and did not want to upset Versus, who could—though most likely would not—send them skidding off the road and into a tree or ditch. Dreading the coming silence and the cessation of motion, senses duller in the cold that Peaceful Meadows refused to dispel, the four hostages had only to wait and let their situation sink in. They were driving to their deaths, wherever that was, far from Snowdrift and farther from home.

“This is fine,” Peaceful Meadows said, and Big Mac struggled afresh, shouting against his gag, flinging cold sweat onto the mares at his sides. The car came to a slow halt, sliding on black ice and crunching out onto the gravel shoulder. Versus did not know where they were, only that they had followed the road south for close to fifty miles; Snowdrift was long gone behind snow, fog, and trees. Car doors clicked open and bodies shuffled and stumbled out. Versus did not help them, was not allowed to, and they moved in a laborious line to the motionless trees, bound hoofsteps revealing flecks of orange and red under a coat of snow, and black branches indistinguishable from the lifeless telephone wires above.

Peaceful Meadows hummed a tuneless thing behind them, occasionally poking one just to show that she still had her weapon, or complaining under her breath when one of them fell.

“Thanks for killing me,” Versus said. “You girls are really good friends. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough for this. I really hoped to move to Snowdrift and get slaughtered by—”

“Will you shut up?” Colgate asked. “We’ll be fine.”

“How? How is this gonna end good for us?” She yelped when Peaceful Meadows jabbed her again, and fell quiet.

“Keep moving, Octavia,” Peaceful Meadows said. “Deeper into the trees. Don’t turn that miserable face to me again.”

“Name a price, seriously,” Vinyl said. “We’ll double it. Triple it.” Her tail swished from side to side, catching on low bushes, and she stumbled again, landing on her unprotected face and chest.

“You saw us scoping out the house this morning and decided to call off the party,” Colgate said. She was shivering with the cold, but not entirely; her heart was hammering, her mind racing. She felt like she had in Canterlot, on the verge of something great, but also ready to throw up on her own hooves.

“Mhm.”

“You watched us, you knew we had a car, ‘cause if we were on hoof you wouldn’t have given us such a distance to travel to find Versus. You didn’t like that bridge either.”

“Colgate, you are seriously freaking me out right now!” Versus cried, laughing nervously again. For a second, she stopped, but then laughed louder and harder, until she was honking like a goose in the empty woods.

“Everypony on her knees,” Peaceful Meadows said, and there was the sound of one of their number being pushed to the ground. “I’ll make it fast for some of you.” She kicked Versus. “I find no joy in this, but it’s got to be done.”

In the distance, something crashed, a cannon shot that expanded through the trees like an angry fire, and the shivering stopped. Peaceful Meadows lowered her weapon, though they didn’t know.

“Discord’s coming,” Colgate said, voicing her first thought. Beside her, Big Mac wailed again and fell onto his side, his hooves kicking uselessly. “We’re out of the city and in his wilderness.”

The crash repeated, not closer, but from another direction, and his kicking grew in intensity.

“Or maybe it’s our friends! That Twilight, she’s no one to mess with, you Mansel scum!”

“That’s enough,” Peaceful Meadows said under a third crash, and the pulse crystal pressed on Colgate’s back, then jerked across harshly as Peaceful Meadows yelled in surprise. In that exact moment, something flew past her head and connected with the body to her side, and the surprise turned to pained anger. Big Mac was writhing in the dirt, and Colgate tipped over to join him, hearing only a faceless struggle as Octavia and Versus wrestled with their captor—a struggle that did not last long with Octavia’s magic in the mix. As soon as Colgate heard the tinkle of the pulse crystal landing against a tree, she knew it was over, and Peaceful Meadows seemed to as well, for soon after, the movement stopped, and there was only heavy breathing.

Blindfolds lifted, except Vinyl’s, for her eyes, and zip ties were cut when Octavia found the scissors in Peaceful Meadows’ coat pocket. Colgate went at once to the pulse crystal and clumsily hefted it on a sleeping hoof. The orange mare looked up at them, panting, smiling defiantly with cornered-animal eyes at her own crystal, leveled at her.

“Thanks,” Colgate said, swishing her tail against Octavia’s.

“You psycho!” Versus screamed, hobbling over and slamming a river rock onto Peaceful Meadows’ mouth. Her expression changed as her head snapped back into the snow with a grunt, blood leaking between loosened teeth, and she attempted to crawl closer to the tree she had been pinned against. Her visible breath came out in short, sharp gasps. Versus herself looked ready to explode, fur and mane puffed outwards with the cold, eyes racing, a red ring around her hoof where the snare had tightened.

“Keep her there,” Colgate said, using her own delicate but weak magic to remove Peaceful Meadows’ clothes. Behind her, Vinyl was trying ineffectually to comfort Big Mac, weeping openly and of help to no one. When she had been relieved of her clothes, Peaceful Meadows was left to shiver and twitch in the snow, blood pooling around her mouth, eyes clear and full of hate.

“Now what do we do with her?” Octavia asked. “I do not want to kill this mare.”

“Are you kidding?” Versus shouted. “She’d of done us in a second or two!”

“We are not like that, and neither are you.”

“Like Tartarus!”

Peaceful Meadows struggled to smile. “I can offer you money.”

“We just want to be left alone,” Vinyl said. “Is that so much to ask?”

“She’s not gonna leave us alone after this,” Colgate said, aiming the crystal at Peaceful Meadows’ midsection.

“Colgate, please do not,” Octavia said.

“Let me leave Snowdrift,” Peaceful Meadows said, and spat blood. “I have a go bag at the train station. I’ll leave for good, and you won’t see me again.”

“How likely,” Versus said. “We trust her, I assume? I mean, how could we not?”

“If you haven’t shot me yet, you’re not gonna. It’s not in you.”

“Try me,” Colgate said.

She coughed. “I am.”

“I’m gonna find another rock,” Versus said.

That gave her pause, during which it looked like she might try to make a run for the car. “I can help you take down the Mansels. I know where they live.”

“Their operation is finished,” Colgate said.

“Mmm.” Her eye swiveled around to see Versus approaching, and with no shell of clothing, her tightening muscles and curling tail showed gratifying fear. She spat blood again. “You must have talked to Partial Thoughts. That how you knew about dinner?”

“We’re psychic.”

Versus came to rest beside Colgate, teetering on three legs, a larger rock shaking on the one, ready to fall on Peaceful Meadows’ face. Everyone watched to see whether she would let it.

“Quit looking at me!” Versus shouted. She panted, and, after a pained second, let the rock fall into the snow behind her. Crying and snorting, she ran out to the road and, crouched by the wheel, wept bitterly.

“Kill me or let me go,” Peaceful Meadows said. “You can’t stay out here forever.”

“We sure we don’t know any memory magic?” Vinyl asked.

“I’ll get the soda. We’ll discuss what to do with her after that,” Colgate said. She went to the car, giving Octavia the pulse crystal, and ignored Versus’ breakdown as she rooted around the trunk. She grabbed the soda and her own pulse crystal, not bothering with their clothes, and returned.

“Welcome back,” Peaceful Meadows said.

“Shut up.” She tried to twist the cap off and cursed. “Anyone got a bottle opener?”

“You have to be kidding me,” Octavia said. She grabbed it and opened it on a branch.

“Sit her up and help her drink this down.” She traded soda for crystal and watched Peaceful Meadows slowly swallow the disguised potion. The orange drink with the blood in her mouth created a sunset stain the snow. “Do you like tangerine?”

Peaceful Meadows looked at her with unimpressed eyes when she was finished. “What are you gonna do? Knock me out? I’ll wake up. You’re not killers. It’ll be this same shitty situation, but in town instead of out of it.”

“We will let the police handle that,” Octavia said.

“Mmmmm, with knockout potion in my veins and…” She yawned, showing off her destroyed mouth for a second. “This nice, visible wound, you’re not gonna…” Her eyes drooped. “Gonna… police.” She fell asleep, mumbling at first, and then was silent.

At the car, they replaced Vinyl’s goggles and found the zip ties for Peaceful Meadows’ hooves, in case the potion was not as strong as they thought.

“Are you okay to drive?” Octavia asked Vinyl.

“Not really,” Vinyl said, holding up a hoof to show her shaking. “Not at all.”

“I can do it,” Versus said quietly. “Get in.”

There were no other cars on the road as they drove back toward Snowdrift, and they moved in silence. Big Mac had finally calmed down, and he and Vinyl simply snuggled in the back, Octavia sitting apart. Her eyes kept slipping closed, and she dozed intermittently.

“There wasn’t a shovel in the trunk,” Colgate said. “She wasn’t gonna kill us. I don’t know what she was gonna do. Maybe just scare us.”

“Let the snow bury us,” Versus said. “No one goes out into those woods anyway.”

“I can see why. Monsters.”

“That was me,” Octavia said. “I was trying to distract her with some distant explosions.”

“Ah. Smart.”

“Reckless, but it was all I could think of.”

“We can’t take her to the police,” Versus said. “She’s right.”

“I know that,” Colgate said. “We’ll probably go off into the woods somewhere else and dispose of her.”

“I do not want to kill her,” Octavia said.

“What other options? None of us are memory ponies.”

“We’ll get Twilight,” Vinyl said. “She did it to that Trottingham pony. Whip-something.”

Versus glanced back at Vinyl, and something she saw touched her, for in a second, they were on the side of the road again, and she was weeping. It took her several minutes to regain control and keep driving them back. It seemed to her both terrifying and unholy that, through it all, the sun had not budged from its spot. To Versus, who had lapsed in her religion years before, it felt obscurely like punishment.

Twilight was in the shower when Octavia went to their room. Despite her efforts to fix her face and tone, her friends knew instantly that something was wrong, and she found herself slowly—for she could not speak steadily otherwise—explaining what had happened, how close they had been, and what they needed Twilight for. When the unicorn in question came out, she received a condensed version and, similarly shaken, threw on a jacket and went out to their car.

“What took so long?” Versus asked.

“I was in the shower,” Twilight said. “Where is she?”

“We put her in the trunk,” Colgate said. “Buckle up.”

Twilight didn’t ask any questions as they drove back south, skirting the evacuation zone again, and took a tiny path deep into the trees. There, they pulled Peaceful Meadows out, still asleep, cut her bindings, dressed her so she would not freeze to death, and lay her at the base of a tree.

“It’s quick and dirty, but it’s the best I can do,” Twilight said. “Versus, if you’d like, I can wipe you too. You seem pretty freaked out still.”

“Thanks, but I’ll take a hard pass,” Versus said.

“I can only do it if it’s recent, so if you change your mind tomorrow, I can’t help you. At least, not without destroying tomorrow too.”

“Just her, thanks.”

“You got it.” Twilight looked down at Peaceful Meadows, cracked her neck, and cast the spell. Peaceful Meadows’ body glowed for a full minute, lifted slightly, magic sizzling like hot oil, then slumped against the snow and leaves. “I wiped the entire last week. She won’t remember that we’re here in Snowdrift, and she won’t remember tonight, but since she knew of us before this, we still need to be careful. If she finds out we’re here a second time, she might reach all the same conclusions as before and try something again.”

“Does this hurt her in any way?” Vinyl asked. “It has to, right?”

“Not physically, but ponies really shouldn’t lose as much as I just took from her, not in one piece anyway.” They got back into the car.

“So what’s gonna happen to her?” Versus asked.

“She’ll probably think she lost her mind, which, to be fair, she did. A good portion.” She sighed. “I’m glad you’re all okay. What happened to her face?”

“She fell when we were fighting,” Octavia said. “Caught a tree branch.”

“She deserves it.”

Vinyl agreed to drive them back to the hotel from Versus’ house, and when it was just the five of them, Twilight spoke again.

“The warehouse roof is taken care of. Tomorrow, we’re doing a test run, seeing if we can lure the hazard out of its hole.”

“Do you need any volunteers for that?” Octavia asked.

“No, thank you, enough of the locals signed up already. I guess working on a project for the famous Twilight Sparkle is more important than danger. What you can do, though, is deal with this car. I assume it’s hers?”

“It seems to be.”

“Yeah, we don’t want to be seen with this.”

At the hotel, they answered their friends’ numerous questions, assured them that they would be fine and that Peaceful Meadows had been taken care of. Big Mac and Vinyl took the bed and spoke little, and Octavia fell asleep in the space between bed and wall.

Rainbow had kept her distance, but, after hearing their story, trotted up and gave Twilight a quick hug. “You had a long day, sounds like. Do we wanna go down and have a drink? Or some dinner, or something? I haven’t really eaten yet either.”

“That… sounds fine, yes,” Twilight said.

Those that hadn’t fallen asleep went down to the hotel restaurant, quiet and unsure, moving more like a funeral procession than a group of friends.

By the River

Chapter One hundred-nine

By the River

None of them feeling like they had gotten a proper night’s sleep, the Elements got to work. For Twilight, there was overseeing the warehouse test run, and one hundred volunteers she had to make sure did not get themselves hurt inside the evacuation zone. For Pinkie, there was meeting Versus at the park to keep setting up the Contraction party; and for Rainbow, there was gathering more kitty litter, the job Pinkie had abandoned for the party. For Vinyl, Colgate, Octavia, and Big Mac, there was the disposal of Peaceful Meadows’ car, which they had left at the hotel. For the others, it was the mundane but important labor of keeping the team afloat: buying food and supplies, moving hotel rooms to accommodate a prior reservation, consulting maps and books.

“Am Ah on my own again today?” Applejack asked as the room was emptying.

“Sorry, Applejack,” Vinyl said. “I’ll come back later today, I promise.”

“If you got places to be, don’t let me keep ya. Ah get it.” She sobered. “Yer dealin’ with that car now, huh?”

“Trying to.”

Nodding, Applejack said, “Ah’m sorry that had to happen last night, but you did the right thing, not killin’ her. Please be careful today.”

“We will be looking at our backs all day long, I am sure,” Octavia said.

After a few pleasantries, they went out to the lobby, and Colgate again veered toward the bar, again stopped when Vinyl tugged at her jacket. They went out into the brilliant not-dawn, blustery and gray with sleet. The attendant asked them if they needed anything, and they said they did not. Deciding to talk in private, they walked under a weak magical shield out to Peaceful Meadows’ car.

“Don’t just sit here, it’s suspicious,” Colgate said. “Let’s have us a drive.”

“Sure thing, boss, where to?” Vinyl asked, starting them.

“Little Snowdrift?” Big Mac asked. “We can tell Partial Thoughts what happened. Maybe she can help us.”

“We don’t need help,” Colgate said, picking at a stitch in the seat.

“What a novel thought,” Octavia said. “Let us go to Little Snowdrift.”

The ice on the roads made driving even slower, but there were fewer pedestrians out, for the time. It was Friday, and they knew that the streets would be tortuous with ponies once six or seven o’ clock rolled around. They slowly made their way to the road that would take them to the tiny, forested village.

“Peaceful Meadows will be awake by now, I’m sure,” Colgate said. “What does that mean for us?”

“She’s terrified,” Vinyl said, not unkindly. “Imagine it. You wake up in the freezing cold, in a forest, with your mouth bloodied and your stuff gone, missing the last week of memory.”

“We did not have a choice,” Octavia said.

“That’s not what I mean; we did what we had to do. I’m just saying…” She sighed. “Peaceful Meadows is gonna be freaked out. Now, since this is a… I think Partial Thoughts called her a ‘hatchet pony.’ She’s not gonna want to go to the police, or a hospital, anywhere that’s gonna ask questions. She probably assumes she was up to no good last night, and it backfired.”

“How do you know?” Colgate asked.

“I’m just putting myself in her place.”

“Huh.”

“I’d crawl home, honestly. Just get home, make sure I’m safe in the immediate, and try to figure out what’s going on.”

“So we probably do not have to worry about her coming after us again,” Octavia said. “Would you say so?”

“She might have a diary,” Big Mac said.

“Criminals don’t keep diaries,” Colgate said.

“Smart criminals don’t keep diaries,” Vinyl said. She had to raise her voice to match the sleet pounding on their car. They were just leaving Snowdrift, and in the open hills before the pine forest claimed their path, it fell with savage insistence, coming off the asphalt in misty waves that turned a pair of oncoming headlights into diffuse halos.

“Maybe we should just involve the police,” Big Mac said. “If she won’t like that, then we would like it.”

“When they test her for drugs and find she was knocked out, it’s over,” Colgate said.

“But if she does not remember, she will not know who gave her the soda,” Octavia said.

“They do memory therapy for that. Hey, Mac, look in the glove box, see if there’s anything good in there.”

Big Mac shuffled through the papers, the car’s manual, and Peaceful Meadows’ sundries. “Rental car,” he said.

“Great, we can return this one too,” Vinyl said. “More driving. Yippee.”

They drove quietly for several minutes into the trees, passing a pair of hikers on the side of the road, backs bent to the wind. Octavia shook her head at them.

“No returning the car,” Colgate said suddenly, smacking Big Mac’s head rest. “Meadows will have the rental paperwork at her house. She’ll see it, see she doesn’t have the car, and go looking for it. If she finds that it’s been returned, she can find out by who—us. Why would we have her car, unless we weren’t involved with her memory thing?”

“Fine, we’ll drop it off anonymously,” Vinyl said.

Before she did anything else, Twilight counted waivers. Aloe and Lotus had been called out of town for an unspecified reason late at night, which was all their note to her had said. Mood fouled again, Twilight scrutinized a signature, thinking for a minute that it did not match the printed name, then decided that it did not matter. A few stragglers were still coming in, filling out a crowd of onlookers and admirers that talked and speculated ceaselessly just by her.

When she was done, she did a quick head count, found three missing, and stood on a fruit crate to address them. Instructing her friends for so long had spoiled her, she soon found; they paid attention, thought about their situations, knew how to ask questions. The volunteers just stared at her, some more concerned with the cold, and some still starstruck that Twilight Sparkle, the Element of Magic, complete with the bejeweled tiara, was giving them direction. She had to repeat herself, and point out that the warning tape marked the line where it was no longer safe to stand around, and emphasize that the hazard posed a real and physical threat. This last point in particular seemed difficult for them, and Twilight grew more frustrated as she reiterated the danger it posed, and cited that it had almost gotten her and her friends in an earlier incident.

Then, she took questions, many of which she had already answered in her first speech. While the volunteers processed and talked among one another, Twilight turned to keep their leaning airship in view against the warehouse, where she could see a gleaming shape of white ooze under a tangle of pipes. She did not know whether the hazard slept, but it was not moving. It would not be long, she imagined, before it made their airship its permanent nest.

“Last questions? We’re about to start,” she said. Aloe had forgotten to get her a megaphone, so she had to use magic to amplify herself. A chorus of “let’s do it” and “ready as I’ll ever be” came off the crowd, and Twilight pointed to the warehouse. “That’s it right there, under those pipes. See it? The white thing. Everypony line up along the warning tape, but don’t take even a single step past it ‘til I say so.”

Even this took longer than she had wanted. The crowd needed to be directed which way to go along the line, and arguments needed to be sorted out for which pony had claim to which particular piece of ground that they found favorable. One mare complained that she was cold and that she couldn’t stand for so long on an incline, and they had to move to the other side of the parking lot where it was flatter. Some simply complained that it was taking too long. Some pegasi took to the air to try to direct the crowd, but wound up spreading ponies too thin, and Twilight had to re-gather them. Many others, who had found spots for themselves without issue, had stopped paying attention to their surroundings, and Twilight had to not-so-gently remind everyone that the hazard could hurt them, and that she could not protect everyone if something happened. Wondering what exactly Aloe had said to bring them in, Twilight finally walked up and down the line an hour later, making sure no one was in a bad position.

“Okay,” she said, back on her fruit box, “ponies on the west side, you’re going to go first.” She unrolled a long stream of magenta magic over the ponies to her right. “Think of it like a traffic light. When the magic is green,” she turned her magic green, “I want you to walk into the danger zone, slowly. I’ll make it yellow,” she turned it yellow, “for a few seconds, then red means stop.” She turned her magic bright, unmistakable red. “Blue means ‘go back’. If you see blue, go back towards the warning tape, just as slow. East side ponies, same thing. If there’s no magic over your side, don’t do anything. I’ll be here in the middle, watching the hazard move. No one goes too far into the zone. Is that clear?”

Hoping that her instructions were actually understood, and that the ponies weren’t simply hurrying to get back home, she directed the western crowd to advance. Ten feet into the danger zone, she stopped them and watched the hazard, with her naked eyes and also with binoculars. It stirred and undulated like a caterpillar, pressing against its pipes, but not—interestingly to Twilight—flowing between them. It spread out onto a wet loading ramp, some of it still back under the pipes, giving away its sheer size. Lotus had calculated its size and volume earlier, based on the danger zone’s circumference, and found the hazard to be about the volume of a commercial swimming pool, something Twilight had accepted without really envisioning it.

Clinging to the warehouse for support, the hazard could cover around a third of its zone if it spread evenly, and reach the very edge if it extended just one thin process. The amount of material in such a creature, or device, seemed ridiculous to her, more so as she watched it ooze out of the warehouse like a science experiment. It just kept coming, thick and dumb, vaguely beautiful but also distinctly out of place. Pinkie’s comparison to egg white was apt, Twilight kept thinking, and she had her ponies back away as the hazard reached the first dead light pole. She directed the other side to walk seven feet into the danger zone, and the hazard turned, so to speak, in their direction. Tentative, bulky feelers groped the icy ground, and the hazard gradually spread their way, behind it still the shimmering snail trail of itself, presumably coupled with a piece of foundation or equally stable fixture in the warehouse.

She sent her volunteers in, brought them out, led the hazard back and forth and increasingly close to the danger zone’s edge, timing how long it took to register when something new entered its territory, how long it took to change directions, how long it took before receding back to the warehouse. To appearances, it was slow and profoundly unintelligent, which kept with what the twins had told them earlier, and Twilight distantly wondered how they could have almost been caught off guard, given how slowly the hazard moved.

It was close to two o’ clock when she thanked the volunteers and sent them home, sending several autographs with them. The irony did not escape her as she signed “keep friendship in your hearts! Your friend, Twilight Sparkle” on scraps of paper, sometimes pictures of herself or of the six of them. She wondered whether she could invent or find a spell to stamp her signature on a stack of papers, and save herself the trouble of manually signing each one.

Vinyl met with Soulful Song, the memory therapist, for lunch. She had just finished with the rental cars, first dropping off theirs, then walking back to the hotel to drive Peaceful Meadows’, which they simply left in the corner of the lot for an attendant to stumble upon—all this after the back and forth to Little Snowdrift. She had vowed to Octavia that she would teach her how to drive after they got home.

She was distracted as Soulful Song set up their lunch of curried vegetables and rice on the veranda. Partial Thoughts had told them she would let her employer know that Peaceful Meadows was vulnerable, and had asked whether she had any accomplices, something they had not thought about the night before. Colgate said that she and Octavia would handle the griffon, and Vinyl was nervous. She did not think of Colgate and Octavia as particularly level-headed, but that was not the sort of thing she could tell them.

“Would you care to remind me where we left off yesterday, Vinyl?” Soulful Song asked through the open porch door. The sleet had turned to strong rain, and his little dog frolicked in the grass, chasing leaves when they tumbled into the yard.

She waited until they were seated outside before speaking. “We were talking about the difference between blocking a memory and wiping it, I think. You asked me to think about which one I wanted to do.”

He nodded understandingly. “And? What conclusion have you reached?”

“Wipe. You said that’s easier.”

“It is, it is.” He spooned curry around his rice, ears up, glasses almost to the end of his muzzle. With his cardigan and gentle manner of speaking, he looked every bit like the therapists she had encountered during her younger, more troubled, years. She knew it was a calculated look, but tried not to let it bother her.

“The actual technique of wiping a memory is quite easy. Simple, I should say. It’s hitting the right memories that’s tricky. How well do you know this pony?”

“Pretty good. We’re not best friends, but we’re… regular friends.” She looked up at the sound of nearby thunder, and was reminded of Octavia’s explosions in the forest. Apparently, she took too long looking into the distance.

“Is something the matter?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Mm?” He inclined his head and put down his silverware. “You sure?”

She had agreed to go out bar hopping with Colgate that night, just the two of them. For her, the idea was relaxing, a comfortable thing to do with a friend to release the day’s tension; she did not know how Colgate viewed it. She guessed that they would be speaking about the incident with Peaceful Meadows.

“I’d rather stay on topic, honestly. We all have our issues, mine are nothing special.”

“My ears are always open, if you change your mind. I’d only charge half price, since you’re here anyway.”

She chuckled. “Thanks, but I’m fine. My friend, though… So, what do I have to do to wipe her memory? What spell do I cast? And how do I practice something like that?”

“Slow down, Vinyl. You asked a mouthful. The spell itself, as I said, is easy. Well, relatively easy. Think of a pony’s mind like a roadmap of memories. Each memory is a destination or a road, most are both. Some memories lead to others, you see. You don’t just think of one thing and that’s it, right?”

“Sure.”

“Think about yesterday. You don’t just have this big, single memory called ‘yesterday’ in your head, it’s broken into all these little pieces, and they lead to each other. If you think about what you were doing last night, it’ll take you to what you were doing before that, and that will take you back further, and so on and so forth. So wiping a memory…” He took a bite, his food finally cool enough, and appeared to savor it for several seconds. “Is seldom about removing a single point from the pony’s mind. You have to remove it, and all the associated memories too.”

“Like when you know you’ve forgotten something, but you can’t place it, and it drives you crazy,” Vinyl said.

“It’s that feeling that we wish to avoid above all else. How significant is the memory?”

Vinyl thought. She knew she could not tell him the nature of the memory without incriminating Pinkie, but was not sure how best to go about it. She had expected an uncomfortable session of dodging and generalizing, and she was getting one.

Surrounded by teams of joking, singing workers as they set up the next Contraction party, Versus was obviously out of sorts. Pinkie tried to compensate the only way she knew how, and Versus tried to respond in kind, but the laughter was not there, and after ninety minutes of forced interactions and flat-landing jokes, she finally gave up and went home, apologizing profusely and promising to be there the next day, back to her bright and sunny self.

Work moved more slowly after she was gone, but it wasn’t of much concern to Pinkie. She had wisely realized that putting the Contraction on a single day was too risky, given how frequently the Elements’ plans did not go smoothly, and instead had asserted a range of a few days on which the Contraction could occur. She had been surprised and a little worried when a few precogs—real precogs—had approached her about it as though it were known already. Weird that no one could nail down when the contraction was scheduled to happen, they said, and she agreed and asked if that sort of vagueness bothered them often. “Every now and again,” the precog had said.

Without Big Mac or Vinyl to stop them, Colgate and Octavia let themselves into the griffon’s house that afternoon, after much sneaking and looking about for potential witnesses. They were able to find a spare key, and save the mess of a broken window, for which Octavia was grateful.

Inside, the house showed signs of a very hasty exit. Clothes were thrown on the bed, drawers and cupboards were left open, lights were left on. Where Partial Thoughts had left with some amount of premeditation, it appeared that the griffon had run only hours after directing them to Umbrella Park.

“Perhaps there was a signal he was supposed to receive that we were taken care of,” Octavia said, looking through the griffon’s junk drawer. “And he did not receive it. He may have guessed that we would come for him.”

“Well, we came,” Colgate said from the pantry. “Lots of different glasses in here.”

“If he is gone, perhaps he will stay gone. I wish we could know that for certain, though.”

“The car’s gone and the luggage isn’t,” Colgate said. “So he didn’t take a train out of here. Maybe we need to go to Little Snowdrift again.”

“For what? We are not going to do anything to him. We are not going to tie him up and bring him to Twilight too.”

“I mean, we could.”

“We are not.”

“Well, seems to me if he goes looking for Peaceful Meadows, then we’re screwed. He doesn’t know what we did, but he knows she was last seen with us. Easy conclusion, one two three.”

“Yes, that is the problem.”

“Here we go,” Colgate said, a few ornate glasses floating around her as she walked to the main room. Before Octavia could stop her or ask what she was doing, she smashed them against the wall. After a second, she looked to her friend. “Watch your hooves.”

“What was that for, exactly?”

“He likes glasses, so I say, let’s break some and leave a note.”

“A note?”

“Take a letter, Octavia,” Colgate said, going back for more glasses. “Something simple, like ‘don’t talk to Peaceful Meadows’, or something. No signature.”

“This is to intimidate him into silence?”

By way of response, Colgate broke more glasses, their shards tinkling on a growing pile. “I’ll sweep all this up and put it on the table with the note. Oooh, hang on.” She trotted to the bathroom and emerged a second later with a bottle of rubbing alcohol, which she placed on the table with a book of matches. “There, in case the glasses don’t get him, this should send a pretty clear message.”

“‘See how easily we could have burned your house down’? I do not like that message. What if he comes for us?”

“Hey, if he skedaddled last night, he sure isn’t gonna come hunting for us after this.”

“You are right. He might ask Peaceful Meadows to do it instead, or the police. Then we are back to square one.”

“Uhhh…” She deposited the broken glass on the table. “I doubt it. He’s too scared. Probably just waits for us to leave on our own.”

“I do not know about this.”

Colgate swept up more bits of glass and arranged them in a neat heap beside the alcohol and note. “We could also just burn the house now and get it over with.”

“Absolutely not!” She flicked a piece of glass off the table’s edge. “The entire purpose of this is to ensure silence, not escalate matters further.”

“It’s just a message.”

“It is destroying someone’s life.”

Colgate looked at her, then looked back and forth, wall to wall. “He’s got neighbors. He can get help so easily in a town like this, I guarantee you, Octavia, he’d be on his hooves in a month at the worst.”

“That is not for us to assume, and it would not absolve us of burning his house even if he did bounce back so easily. Come, we left our note, let us just leave.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Colgate said, trotting to the back door. “It’s an option, though.”

“Everything is an option. I am saying that it is not a good option.” The door slammed with a gust, and they had to wait for the sidewalk to clear before leaving through the side fence. Voice lowered, she said, “if the police come to us after this, it goes without my saying that we do not know anything. We have not met this griffon before.”

“It’s fine,” Colgate said.

* * * * * *

She had second-guessed herself for the entire taxi ride up the mountain, but when April Showers finally reached the end of the secluded, wooded path, she was glad that she had left her weapon at home. Armed guards stood at both sides of the shaded gate, a tall chain-link mechanism erected between two hollow trees. Warning signs of various sorts adorned the gate, and a single security camera that openly followed her movement toward the guards, who did not raise their pulse crystals, but made no attempt to conceal them either.

They looked at her imperiously when she stopped, and, finding her voice after a minute, she identified herself and told them she had been invited. She showed the brochure the Pegasus Advocates had given her at the fair two days ago, wrinkled and sticky with dust. Their countenances only changed when she named Summer Breeze and Tomato Trellis; then, she was able to submit to a pat-down and an unwelcome-sounding “come on in.”

The PA camp was a lightly forested hollow in the mountainside, concealed by trees on all sides, by the mingled shadows of office buildings and jutting boulders from above, and by sheer distance from the suburbs from below. A waterfall rattled nearby, muffling the rising babble of city life. Those who met her inside the camp gave her nods of greeting or simple remarks. In sight of the entrance and the path, there was not much to see, but just inside the inner border of trees, it was like a tiny village. Myriads of picnic tables and bathroom facilities, grills, fire pits, covered recreation and meeting centers, and log cabins were scattered across the grass and shrubbery. Above, but hidden still under the treetops, were patches of white and gray clouds, from which she could hear more voices emanating, and sometimes see curious faces peeping. Many, but not all, of the ponies were dressed in the same ludicrous style she had seen at the fair. Latex was predominant, but several had chosen to wear flashy sweaters over their tighter clothes, obscuring the look.

Unsure, but with a composed face, she pretended that she knew what she was doing, and sat down to consult her brochure. She had checked it obsessively in the day leading up to her meeting, but she checked it again, verifying the time, and that she had shown a healthy twenty minutes early.

“Morning, sisters,” a passing pony called out. Like April, she had not the elaborate mane and clothing combination, but she did have a brochure.

“Hey! You! Are you new here too?” April asked, rising. One aspect of her character, which she did not need to practice, was her outgoing nature. Among her own, she was free to be as friendly as Flitter had been.

“Oh, Luna, finally,” the pony said, trotting up and shaking hooves. “Everyone’s been looking at me hairy-eyed,” she said under her breath. “I thought I was alone.”

“I just came in,” April said. “What’s your name?”

“Chocolate Indulgence.” She patted April on the back. “You know where they’re gathering?”

Together, the new cohorts found and followed a forming crowd to one of the long log cabins, homey on the outside but generically dispassionate within, plastic chairs and a wheeled podium and water coolers on either side of the room. April was glad to have Chocolate Indulgence by her side; the latter trotted without hesitation to a seat in the middle, sparing April the decision, which she knew she was liable to overthink.

Towering, intrusive manes filled the spaces around them, and the cabin was filled with light chatter about ordinary things like day jobs and gripes about traffic. April could hear the occasional slur, spoken without the veneer of hatred that she had heard on the fairgrounds. She looked around, searching for other visibly new pegasi, and someone rapped on the podium, drawing eyes and silencing tongues.

He was a beefy pegasus in alternating shingles of acid green and white latex that ran all the way from his chin to his fetlocks, adorned with miniature buckles in lines along the stitching. He jingled gently as he shifted his weight and waited for the crowd to come to full attention, nodding greetings to ponies he recognized, his starburst mane rigid and strange; it reminded April of a bit of pollen she had once seen under a microscope.

“I’d like to open our meeting, as always, with a welcome to all my sisters and brothers, and particularly any newcomers. If this is your first time meeting with the Pegasus Advocates, stand up, please.”

Warily, April stood up next to Chocolate Indulgence, who shot to her hooves. A few others stood in different parts of the room, but they were few.

“Welcome, sisters,” the crowd said as one, some politely applauding.

“And again, welcome,” the stallion said. “Please be seated. My name is Majestic Clouds, and I’ve been a Pegasus Advocate for four and a half years. By far, my favorite thing about this community is the ability it grants us to teach each other, to learn from each other, free of judgment.”

April forced herself to not roll her eyes.

“Dandelion Winds teaches us that the three races are bound to their domains, and it is there they should remain. The unicorn, she has the unseen, the magical; the earth pony, she has the ground, the land, the labor that weds her to it; and the pegasus has the endless sky.” He paused for the crowd to mumble words of assent. “Consider the noble birds of the sky. Birds are not reviled, they are not spat on, they are not mistrusted or infringed upon. They are marveled, loved, they are symbols of freedom and potential. Even when they are caged by the cruel and idiotic, it is but to steal the beauty they bring to our world. They mean the bird no harm.” He flexed his wings and barked, “Then why are we any different?”

“Yeah!” someone shouted.

“Yet society seeks to imprison the pegasus, to tie her to the ground with the rest of the walkers, through prejudicial laws and ideas society would have found ridiculous and backward even a decade ago. The practice of racial mixing, while long accepted during Luna’s absence, has led us down a dark path, inch by inch. Height limits in public spaces, an invisible border to contain the drift of our floating city, insane regulations on cloud homes… and the subtler toxin of racial supremacy by way of attribute exclusion. Eighty-one percent of base labor jobs are taken by earth ponies, and they excel in these positions for their superior physical strength and an upbringing that discourages the aspirations that are, in unicorn families, drilled into ponies’ heads at a young age.

“This is no mistake! Earth ponies are culled for labor from birth, leaving room for unicorns to take on management and thus secure their supremacy, justifying their lust for power with circular logic and vague truisms. The stereotype that magical power is related to intelligence, this too is no mistake. But what happens to the pegasus? She is left to compete with both races, one with access to magic, the other to gross physical strength. Only in the niche professions offered in Cloudsdale is the pegasus worker welcome, not as a competitor against the earth ponies or as a means to signal an employer’s accepting nature, but as herself. Everywhere else, she is pitted against the strong or the magical, denied the use of her inherent qualities, disadvantaged from the start.

“The unicorn is sneaky. She lives in deception and trickery, glorifies in intimidation, and abhors the truth. She seeks to bring low all around her so that she alone can stand tall on a pillar of her own creation. Rather than using magic to elevate her brothers and sisters, the unicorn seeks to enlarge her own power so she may rule over them.”

Many ponies around the room were nodding in sour agreement, some whispering their own insights to neighbors.

“The earth pony has little chance to resist save for direct conflict; what advantage does she have over the unicorn? Strength is meaningless against magic, a fact both races know well. Well, let the earth pony subordinate to the unicorn, but the pegasus—the pegasus—cannot be chained in such a way. How can you cage a falcon?”

“Yes!” someone cried.

He took a drink of water. “Autumn Whirlwind has written extensively on the topic of racial purity. Of the pegasus, she says, ‘The ability to fly confers on the pegasus a unique set of traits that cannot be discounted or dismissed as mere phenotypical attributes, like an earth pony’s more developed shoulders or a unicorn’s access to the magical spaces of the brain.’ She is writing about our souls: made for flight, made for everything the unicorn and earth pony cannot do, and they seek at every turn to equalize this, seen as an injustice.

“The princesses’ fetishisation of social equality is at greatest fault here, and, as I said, it all starts with racial mixing. What need is there for equality of such a drastic sort among our own company? One pegasus may fly higher, fly faster, arrange his clouds more expertly in the construction of his property, but these differences are all born of the same inviolable right, the right to fly and to live in accordance with our bodies, our birthrights. Only in mixed society must we stoop to accommodate the walkers, where they work ceaselessly to take more from us every day! Where are the pegasi in government, in science, let alone magical studies? Our government representation is left to the buffoons in Cloudsdale, parodies whose suffering city is used as an excuse for increasing regulation from the throne. The Wonderbolts, pure entertainment.”

At the Wonderbolts’ mention, dark murmurs spread in the audience, and April made a mental note of it: a reaction she had not expected.

The speech went on another twenty minutes, elucidating the dangers of complacency, of working for unicorns, and of trusting the news that came out of Canterlot. A couple other speakers got up after he was done and gave personal anecdotes to waves of applause and almost tangible sympathy—and for these, April too felt. One mare had been excluded and marginalized in a primarily unicorn neighborhood, to the point where she had been beaten and robbed one night outside her house. The rhetoric was as ludicrous to her as she had expected, but the personal stories held her rapt attention. She was seeing how the disenfranchised could be drawn to a community like the Pegasus Advocates.

“Last, I’d like to ask our newcomers to tell us a little bit about themselves, what attracted them to the PAs.”

April looked around, blood cold, scrambling in her mind to remember the finer points of her story. Chocolate Indulgence stood up first and told her story, too candid and full of racial slurs for her to be truly comfortable talking to a room full of strangers, and everyone clapped and welcomed her. April went last, kept a cool head, remembered her story, embellished a few things and thanked them all for their support.

Then, lunchtime. Many pegasi took off for other parts of the camp or mountainside, some stayed back in the cabin to set up the next function, a few of the more imposing specimens disappeared into other buildings. April and Chocolate sat at a picnic table and realized a second too late that they should have brought their lunches, that they would not be served. Neither had expected to be there that long, but leaving directly after such a comprehensive discussion seemed uncouth. They both shared a nervous laugh about it.

“I think that was Weeping Willow,” she said, as if the name were supposed to mean something to April. She smiled. “You’ve heard of him. He’s really outspoken, especially below.”

“Ooh, right.” She looked around, wondering just how to start, who to try to make friends with.

“Sprouts,” a pair of pegasi said, taking a seat at their sides. April’s pegasus put a wing over her back, her feathers jangling with small piercings. Her mane was a short, tight mop of ice-white curls, her fur dyed canary yellow, her lipstick and eye shadow beet purple, and April could see the beginning of an elaborate pendant nestled in her plunging neckline.

“Greetings, sisters,” Chocolate Indulgence said.

“‘Greetings’? That’s very fancy of you, miss,” the other pegasus said. “I say, greetings to you too, and a very good morrow indeed!” She cackled, and April’s pegasus simply scooted closer.

“Is there something you need?” April asked.

“Last I checked, there was no crime to being friendly,” her pegasus said. “What my sister here means is that we wanna say hi, get to know you.”

“Well, it’s great to meet you,” Chocolate said, inching away from hers as April tried to do the same. “That was some speech, huh? Really opened my eyes.”

“Who doesn’t love a good speech?” Chocolate’s pegasus asked. “Forget your lunches, sisters? First day?”

“Oh, we weren’t hungry,” April said.

“You can have some of ours,” her pegasus said. “Us, we like to eat indoors. You see that building back there? No, you gotta sit up—there you go, between those trees.”

“Me, I’m hungry now,” the other pegasus said, stretching her wings dramatically, and the two got up, prompting April and Chocolate to follow.

“We’re good, really,” April said.

“No, don’t give me that shit, look at you,” her pegasus, still with a wing around her, said. “That food’s gonna get cold, we better get.” With Chocolate’s pegasus behind them, they started toward the far side of the camp. April’s mind was flying with panicked ideas. She felt stupid for allowing herself to be so easily disarmed, but the alternative seemed worse. “Maybe I should just punch her and run.”

The Pegasus Advocates that they passed paid them no mind save to greet the senior Advocates or smile benignly at April and Chocolate. At the trees, Chocolate Indulgence made another attempt to get away from them, but her pegasus grabbed her wing and pulled: not hard, but enough to show her intentions. A few more PAs sat at tables or on low clouds over the deeper encampment, and they, too, did not show any interest in the new mares.

Save one. On the edge of a cloud, a strangely shaped head peeked over for a second before a long body slithered off and landed a distance in front of them. The pegasus around April tensed for just a second as the new mare slunk forward.

“Hey, we’re actually gonna leave you here,” one said, releasing Chocolate.

“It was really great to meet you both,” the other said, taking her wing off April and taking flight in the same motion. The two looked at each other, shaken.

The new mare looked at them inscrutably for a second before breaking into a warm smile. “They were gonna beat the stuffing out of you.” She was a head and a half taller than April, and her wings were abnormally long even for the larger body, curling up like feathered scythes to stick out on opposite sides. Her mane was a broad lily pad of primary colors, from which dangled crimson loops of ribbon. She was dressed tamely compared to many of her companions, sporting a neon pink cardigan with silver spikes on the cuffs and wing holes, and a pair of light gray slacks with no embellishment that April could see. She looked like a businesspony who had hastily tried to change into a PA costume, but ran out of time, and April felt a touch more at ease.

“Uhh, we got that impression,” April said. “Are… you?”

“No,” she said. “We don’t hurt our sisters here. Do you wanna sit down?” She went toward a table, which had vacated by the time they reached it. “But you didn’t want to make any waves on your first visit, so you didn’t do anything to defend yourselves.” She watched them through a particularly deep ring of ribbon in front of her face. “Right?”

“Right,” Chocolate said quickly. April had wanted to find a less direct way to admit it.

“That’s what they rely on. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. Every group has its bad apples.”

“Even the PAs,” April muttered. “Talk about a warm reception. Thanks for chasing them off.”

“It’s the least I could do for a potential sister.” She shook their hooves. “My name’s Long Luxury, I’ve been with us for fifteen years this January.”

“Oh, wow, that’s a long time,” Chocolate said.

“Your stories today were amazing. Wait… Chocolate Indulgence and April Showers?” She pointed at them, and they nodded. “Okay. Yours especially, it really spoke to me, April Showers.”

“Yeah?” April asked. She needed to be in awe of the mare’s seniority, but all she could think was a slightly queasy “fifteen years?”

“It reminded me a lot of myself. I lost both my sisters to stomper gangs, two different ones actually.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” “That’s the past.” She flapped her wings once to readjust them. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

“Uh…”

Long Luxury laughed. “I mean we can go get something. There’s a diner just up the road that doesn’t mind us eating there.” She smiled at them. “Let’s go, it’s a quick flight away.”

They found a clearer space in the camp and took to the air, one flying lope over a shoulder of trees and a stretch along the river, and touched down outside a roadside diner. Long Luxury kept her wings out as they walked to the entrance, and April could not help admiring them; she could see that Chocolate was doing the same. The second she had heard “fifteen years,” she had known she had found her starting place. The mare was clearly feared or respected in the camp, and the red ribbon—bestowed only to those who had killed in the name of the Pegasus Advocates—bespoke a level of legitimacy that April imagined she could take advantage of. It depended on how tight the group leader kept her operations.

In a booth in the back, the three looked over their menus and made small talk. Long Luxury took up half her booth, and her wide, flat mane cast an oblong shadow on their table, like a sombrero she had chosen not to take off indoors. Occasionally, it hit the overhead light, and Luxury would jerk her head to one side.

“It’s hard to find a place like this in the inner city,” April said.

“I gave up on it,” Luxury said. “There’s only a couple places I go nowadays. I usually just eat in.”

“Here’s to that.” She thought of what she might best say to keep the topic light, but relevant. Thoughts of a unicorn neighbor sprang to mind.

“If they were gonna beat us up, how come you let them stay in the camp?” Chocolate asked.

“I don’t let them stay, that would imply I have the ability but not the will to make them leave. It’s group politics,” Luxury said. “It’s all tangled up, it’s complicated. Those two are in the smallest minority, though. Pretty much everyone here is happy to meet new recruits.” She nodded to the waitress who brought their orange juice, another pegasus who had barely spoken to them, and who looked at them like they were escaped convicts. “If it was up to me, I’d have them on the streets in no time, but… Like I said, we don’t hurt our sisters.”

“But they…” She looked at April, who shook her head. “Don’t argue with the mare who just saved you.”

“It’s complicated. Since you haven’t been inducted yet, though, you could hurt someone. You could fight each other, if you wanted, and I couldn’t do anything to stop you.”

“Right,” April said, frowning down at her menu, avoiding Luxury’s look.

“Hey, that’s actually a good idea.”

“Wait,” Chocolate said. “You don’t—”

“Go ahead,” Luxury said.

“Huh?”

“Do it.” Her tone was still light, but there was finality there, and April looked up. Long Luxury smiled at her and jiggled her mane. “Right here.”

Part of April wanted to tell Luxury to go to Tartarus and let that end the conversation, but when Chocolate flinched toward her drink, April flinched too. Luxury just watched as the two sized each other up. Chocolate Indulgence looked weaker, a little doughy, and she had lagged behind on the flight over; but April was new to her body, and had never had a heart for combat. Even sparring with the Datura in Ponyville, she would just as soon apologize for something she didn’t do than get in a physical fight.

“I don’t wanna fight her,” Chocolate said.

Towering over her in the booth, Long Luxury played with the straw in her drink. “I want you to.”

“Is this a joke? Some initiation thing?” Without time to think, April, wings tensed, slid out and stood by the table, and Chocolate leaned to the side as if to kick out at her. For a second, nobody moved, then Long Luxury laughed loudly.

“I’m just kidding, I’m just kidding! You can sit back down, April.” She shook with laughter, her wing coming out a little to brush Chocolate, who scooted away, and April sat, angry inside but only annoyed to appearances.

“I wasn’t gonna make the first move,” Chocolate said.

“You almost did it!” Luxury said. “You almost did it.”

“I would’ve,” April lied. “Careful next time you say that, ‘cause I would’ve done it.”

“Hooh, I see that. Okay, I’m better now.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Don’t put that mean little face on for me, sprout; it was a joke.”

Chocolate looked across the table at April, eyes wide and hurt, as if to ask if April really had been serious.

“Just saying, I would have done it,” April said.

“Yeah yeah, got it. You’re a little firebrand, aren’t you? The young ones usually are.”

“Psh.”

“Finally,” Chocolate whispered when their food came, and for some time, no one spoke. Long Luxury ate with her hooves, completely ignoring the non-unicorn-friendly silverware that had been laid out for them.

“What happened to Summer Breeze and his friend?” April eventually asked. “I met them at the fair, they told me about you girls. I was hoping to see them here.”

“They’re young too,” Luxury said. “Young and fiery, maybe a little too much. Got arrested.”

“No!” Feigning shock was easier than awe, or aggression.

“It’s all part of our wonderful city. You’ve probably already seen, April. You go down into the city and you get crap from all sides just for being yourself.”

“They were just passing out brochures.”

“That’s all it takes sometimes. A pegasus in a unicorn’s world, you tell me how long she’s gonna last. Now, granted, I’ve known those two for a while, and they are a little quick on the draw, but they’re good ponies.”

“Was there a fight?” Chocolate asked.

“Someone tried to stop them from expressing themselves at the fair. It’s disgusting, and you see it all the time too. Someone says something about the pegasus, she stands up for herself, and the police take her away. You know sixty-five percent of police are unicorns, April?”

“Figures,” April said. She had been warned that PAs would outright lie about statistics to support their own views, secure that very few members would actually follow up and verify the research themselves.

“I don’t know when they’re getting out. They put their bail at something ridiculous, of course. Our leader’s looking into it, but I don’t know.”

“Who is your leader? Was she at the meeting today?” Chocolate asked. “I’d love to see her sometime.”

Luxury chuckled. “Sprouts like you don’t get to meet the leader, no offense. She’s usually by in the nights, but you’re not allowed in then.”

“We have to be inducted first?” April asked.

“Three months with the PAs, then you can spend the nights with us.”

“Can you at least tell us her name?” Chocolate asked.

“You might have seen her in the papers, actually,” Luxury said. “Her name’s White Wine, she owns a couple bars around town.”

“She’s the one who’s involved with the Astras,” April said. “I’ve read about it.”

“That’s her.”

“I thought the Astras were keeping their distance?” Chocolate asked.

“They say they want to, but they keep running into PAs,” April said. “They say it’s ‘accidental’, that they don’t want anything to do with us. I say, ‘yeah right’.” To her knowledge, the reverse was actually true; that was how the news had spun it, at least.

“Yeah, I’ve got a bridge to sell you if the Astras are keeping out of our shit.” She sipped her orange juice, a curiously delicate motion for such an imposing mare. One loop of ribbon came dangerously close to dipping in her salad dressing, but she had tilted her head just so to keep it dry.

“I heard they were behind some…” She lowered her voice, not quite sure if she was making a mistake to mention it so soon. “Magic in the PAs. Like magical jewelry and stuff.”

Long Luxury grunted, and April took it as a sign to shut up. She changed the topic to sports.

They flew back to the camp and landed on a bank of clouds just at the treetops overlooking a pair of buildings. If April scraped a hole in the cloud, she could touch the tips of the pines with an outstretched hoof. Long Luxury reclined with her lily-pad mane hanging off the edge, and April and Chocolate just sat there, waiting for something to happen, not sure how much longer to stay in order to be polite.

“Young ponies don’t have enough peace in their hearts nowadays,” Long Luxury said at last. “When I was young, you only got pushed around in the really crappy parts of town. Everywhere else, ponies stopped to help each other on the street, they looked out for each other.”

Recognizing the conversation’s direction immediately, April thought back to her times working for the magazine, her numerous pessimistic musings, and tapped into that frustrated, unkind part of her mind. “It was like that for a few months in Manehattan,” she said. “You’d see some stallion drop his wallet or whatever, someone lets him know. Not today.”

“Nope, that’s gone now. It’s ridiculous.”

“What do you think’s wrong with the world today?” She was sure she could guess, but she also guessed—correctly—that Long Luxury had a speech for the topic. April nodded and sympathized in all the right places as Long Luxury explained how the earth ponies had gotten too prideful, had started competing with the unicorns for power, and the push and pull between them was offset onto the pegasus, who could not compete against either in their own arenas. Many of her own points had been elucidated in the morning’s speeches as well, the idea of the pegasus as a marginalized race, something April found ludicrous. Pegasi were the only ponies who had an entire city to themselves, in Cloudsdale. She didn’t say that.

“The last thing I want is for you to go home today thinking of us as violent ponies,” Long Luxury said. “Because we’re not. Plain and simple, violence isn’t a part of our creed. We just want equality.”

“Pegasus Advocates,” Chocolate said. She had been quiet for a long time, and April looked at her, wishing she would go away now that she had no more use for her.

“Exactly. But those aren’t the times, are they?”

“You want peace, but at what cost?” April asked. An open-ended question that she knew would let Long Luxury explain more of why the world was so bad.

“That’s just it, April. If the earth ponies and unicorns wanted peace for everyone, I’d be the first one there to put aside the past. But they don’t, not without their price. They keep taking, taking, taking, trying to push us into a corner, tie us down. I’m not about to stand for that.”

“There’s lots of pegasi who do,” April said sadly.

“And a lot of PAs don’t take kindly to them. The pegasi who make their beds with the unicorns are just as bad as the unicorns themselves. I get that, but I think it’s just sad. You know, lots of ponies don’t get the opportunity you and I had. They never get to meet pegasus groups, or they grow up in unicorn communities from the start and never know any better. That’s not their fault.”

“They just need to have their eyes opened, is all.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Some of us don’t see it that way, and they’re not wrong. A lot of twinkler lovers think we’re evil, and want to see us get taken down. That’s the unicorn media for you.”

“I always take what I read with a grain of salt,” Chocolate said. “Or a mountain. There’s no way the PAs are that bad, just no way.”

“They like to take things out of context a lot,” April said. She almost went on to explain more, but stopped herself. Flitter would have brought up the very real, but much subtler racism of lowered expectations that she sometimes saw in the papers. Stories praising an earth pony for something commonplace, or featuring a pegasus for overcoming odds that were really not that confounding. April, however, was not well-read, and did not think about things very much. “I don’t know why they do it,” she said, feeling dirty and stupid.

“The princesses have a hoof in it,” Chocolate said.

“Not everything is the princesses’ fault!” April wanted to shout. “The government’s more complicated than that!” She said, “they are part-unicorn, so that makes sense.”

Another pegasus flew up to their cloud and stomped at the edge until Long Luxury looked up at him. He glanced at April and Chocolate, then she did. “You two run along now. I have to do something.”

“Can I come back tomorrow?” April asked. “I’d like to learn more.” Under Long Luxury’s penetrating gaze, she fluffed her wings and took on a stronger expression. “Maybe help out around the grounds, get to know some more ponies.”

Luxury softened slightly. “If you’re serious, you can come back any morning you want.”

“I was hoping we could talk more, you and me.”

Luxury gestured for the stallion to move along. “You can find me if you get here early.” She dove off their cloud, and April gave Chocolate a smile. “New friend, I guess,” she said nervously.

“She’s huge,” Chocolate said. “I can’t believe she wanted us to fight.”

“Just a joke,” April said, going to the cloud’s edge.

“You weren’t really gonna hit me, were you? April? I wouldn’t have hit you.”

“Not first.” She gave what she meant for an insincere smile and made for the camp exit, fully fed up with Pegasus Advocacy and buzzing with excited fear. She flew down the mountain until the camp was well behind her, not wanting any stray PAs to see her using her hooves—she didn’t know how they generally felt about pegasi walking unnecessarily, but assumed it was looked down on, at least faintly. Her wings were beginning to feel more natural to her, as with the character, and she was able to glide down most of the mountain to the suburbs, catching the smooth wind more easily than Flitter ever had; her widened wings made it almost effortless, and she thought again of Long Luxury, and her own freakish wings. The mare was built like she was made of wire cleaners, April thought, her body and limbs too long and too thin. When she walked, her head would dip low and her back would arch, like a cat on the prowl, but April got the sense that Luxury did not move that way for effect. She landed on a rooftop and sat in the shade of an air conditioning unit to order her thoughts.

Pegasus Advocates saw themselves as persecuted by the other groups, primarily the unicorns; they saw earth ponies as a lesser evil, puppets for the unicorn elites or fodder for the media machine. April would have to get used to thinking of herself as a victim if she wanted to fit in. While the speeches and conversation with Luxury had explained a lot, and given her access to the rhetoric, she still felt none of the essential, base hatred, nor any feeling like it that she could blow out of proportion. She thought back once more for any real experiences of racial discrimination she could use to bolster herself, but came up wanting. Chilly Clouds had told her over and over again that zeal was key, but neither Flitter nor April had been able to conjure any.

“Maybe I should think of Ink Pearl every time,” she thought, taking flight again toward her apartment. “She’s the worst unicorn I’ve ever met.” She thought in circles about how Ink had treated her, and had built up a bad mood by the time she was flying over the apartment complex. Instead of landing, she turned around and headed for the shelter where her one and only Datura contact would be found. Remembering Ink had reminded her that she needed to establish her presence there.

Inside, she presented herself as a prospective volunteer, and before she could invent plans for the evening and promise to come back tomorrow, they had her in an apron and mane net, ladling out mashed potatoes to the dinner crowd. Fine, she told herself, the mindless work would help her unwind, and it did to a point. The sketchy-looking ponies who came to her were moving at first, but it had been a long day, and she had less good cheer left than she would have thought. Before even twenty minutes were up, she felt worn down. Only once, and from a distance, she saw Sunburst, the pony who had driven her from the Datura clinic. He showed no recognition.

She worked absentmindedly, thinking alternately of Ink Pearl and Long Luxury, wondering who was worse. She wondered whether the Datura had a plan in place if the unthinkable happened, and April went native with the PAs. Maybe Sunburst would step in and deal with her then.

“Long day?” the stallion next to her asked pleasantly. He was a unicorn.

“Long day,” April repeated with a sigh. “You?”

“Better now.” He dropped a bread roll on the passing tray. “Thank you so much for volunteering. Dinner’s a bear here. Ponies like to go home around this time—which is fine, we all have our own lives. Still…”

“I get it,” April said. “April Showers. Good to meet you.”

“I’m Drift Dive.” He paused to chat with a regular in line for a second. “Do you go to school, April?”

“Yeah, but I took the year off. Tuition is getting to me, so I thought I’d get a job for a bit and put a dent in it before going back.”

“That’s a good plan. What do you do?”

“Oh, nothing yet, I’m still looking.” After the Pegasus Advocates, where everything was someone’s fault, and everything was the component of some master plan, she was happy to talk about nothing with the unicorn in the soup kitchen. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m actually between jobs. I was a counselor, but… I’m not sure I can go back to that.”

“What happened? Uh, if you don’t mind.” The last pony in line was a thin, gray mare with a light pink mane, and she gave April a dazzling smile.

“Lacey, this is April,” Drift Dive said. “This is Lacey, she’s the boss-mare here.”

“Only when the rev isn’t,” Lacey said. “April, great to meet you.”

Feeling like she had heard the name somewhere before, but not remembering where, April just smiled and shook her hoof across the counter.

She had not intended to stay past dinner service, but Lacey talked her into helping clean up, and after that, she, Drift Dive, and April wound up alone in the dining room with trays of what was left over. It was dark out, as it should have been, and the lights around the complex were shutting off to leave them cocooned in night just outside the open double doors. Emptied of patrons, the dining room was too vast and lifeless, as though they had each taken a piece of it with them on leaving. Between the rolls of plaid tablecloth on the beaten cart to the sagging, colorful banner from a local high school, there was only gray floor, plastic tables and chairs, and the colorless glare of electric light off the same.

April told them she was going to school for law, seeing no reason to lie about it, and they were all suitably impressed. Drift Dive confided that he had lost his job due to a patient case gone wrong, and Lacey told them that she was another Manehattan emigrant, that the city had only gotten worse with Celestia’s prolonged absence. They turned to the topic of the city, much of which April had read for herself. Small-time crooks had carved off neighborhoods for themselves, gang violence was ever increasing, and the economy had been drastically destabilized as a result. Strawberry, the white-collar criminal who had kicked it all off, had disappeared from the public eye, and in the resultant power vacuum, Manehattan’s middle class was divvying itself up between the wealthy and the disenfranchised.

Somewhere in Lacey’s explanations, April made the connection. It was Lacey Kisses, the actress her cousin had worked with. Wings and Jet had only ever had bad things to say about her, but April had never met her. For a few minutes, she looked at Lacey and tried to notice signs of the horrible details of her personality, but nothing showed. Lacey was attentive, articulate, and a little withdrawn, sympathy in her voice and eyes when speaking of their work. At one point, she accidentally bumped Drift Dive, and though he gave no reaction, she apologized; April could not imagine such a pony doing anything to earn the reputation she carried with Wings and Jet. Still, a little more warily, she carried on with the two of them into the deep evening.

April Showers still had to stop by the grocery store for a few things, and it was ten o’ clock when she finally got home. The pulse crystal was on the floor next to her stack of movies, and she looked at it disdainfully. She had left her blinds open all day, not expecting to be gone so long, and went around the apartment closing them before sitting on the couch and letting the TV distract her. She wanted to put in a movie, but knew she should get to bed early so she could get to the PA camp in the morning. Long Luxury did not strike her as the type to look kindly upon lateness.

She compromised. She popped some popcorn, threw in an old favorite, and lay on the couch, figuring she would fall asleep when she fell asleep, and that would be that. Ingratiating herself to Luxury had been easy once they were acquainted, but still, April did not know what to make of the incident in the diner. Had Luxury really wanted them to fight, or had it been a joke from the start? Perhaps it was a test, to see if they would respect a senior Pegasus Advocate’s wishes, and perhaps it was a test of the reverse, to see if they would blindly follow orders for the sake of making it in the group. In her head, the scene played out over and over, sometimes fizzling as it had, and sometimes erupting in a fight. She fell asleep during the movie’s credits, dreamed of PAs in the shelter, and woke up the next morning to a hot VCR.

* * * * * *

Whooves, meanwhile, woke up in Whippoorwill’s bed at the hotel. He snuck to the shower, made himself decent, and decided to surprise the unicorn with breakfast and a paper from the café across the street. Whippoorwill was a late riser, and was only just waking up when Whooves got back.

“It’s a beautiful morning for all,” Whooves sang, depositing his gift on the end table. “Did you rest well, sunshine?”

“Mm.” Whippoorwill stretched. “Ah needed that, an’ Ah ain’t lyin’.”

“You…” He climbed onto the bed and whispered into Whippoorwill’s ear, “are a rocket.” He went to the curtained window, stopped himself, and turned on the lights instead. “A night such as last shall surely be embossed on my memory for all my life.”

“Yer a wild one all right,” Whippoorwill said, opening the drawer to look over one of his many checklists. The pulse crystal rolled gently inside, but Whooves had learned to ignore its presence there.

“So what’s on the docket today? More calls to those of esteem in the great city?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Whippoorwill had finally begun with White Wine’s plan, that which he could do from the safety of his hotel room. All day, he had been making calls to pry for information, to barter secrets to others, and to blackmail. For a few days, it was sufficient, but he knew he would soon need to go out and physically face many of the ponies he called. He went over his list slowly, ignoring a running monologue from Whooves, trying to figure how he could spend another day without going outside.

“—which is, of course, unthinkable considering last night’s ghastly weather. Wind that could pluck a chicken. But perhaps today nature will smile upon us, and I can go out in my prize scarf. What say you, handsome?”

Whippoorwill looked at him, prancing and turning in the full-length mirror.

“Ah, he was not paying me a lick of attention! Tsk, such is the nature of work, I suppose. I was merely proposing that I go about and pick us up a few things this morning. Essentials, one might say.”

“If you got the money, sure.”

“The money! My dear, money is like air for me! My friends are lavish.”

“Ah know it.”

“Only I am tied up this afternoon and evening. Social calls, nothing of especial import.”

“You do get around.” He looked up from his paper. “What’re you tellin’ folks nowadays?”

“Ah, by that tone, I take you to mean ‘you’re not talking about me, are you?’ Is it not so? Let me allay that fear, then: not a whit, not a whisper, nor suggestion nor hint nor trivial implication have made their way into the world via these lips. Count on it, dear sir.”

Whippoorwill shook his head. “Ah trust ya.” He thumped the drawer. “You ain’t dumb.”

“Many things have I been, but dumb, never,” Whooves said. “As it is, I’ve been rather wrapped up with tales of the great, neon infection in our country’s heart, Applewood. Word gets out I was there for the dam incident, and suddenly I can’t beat them off with a stick.”

“You must like that.”

“It has its perks.” He lay on the bed. “But, for this perfect morning, I am all yours. Your wish is my command. Shall I pick up some groceries? More clothing? Perhaps an amusement? There’s a cute little bodega I’ve been meaning to acquaint myself with.”

Whippoorwill shook his head in thought.

“Or perhaps something a bit more heroic is in order. Have you anything greater to request of me? Tasks, activities, trouble in its many forms? Think of me as oil to your hinge.”

“Mmm, you can’t get involved in that stuff.”

“Am I too delicate?”

Whippoorwill laughed. “You could say that.”

“Pish posh, delicacy is just a disguise for me. I can rough-and-tumble with the meanest of brutes if I’ve a mind to.”

“All right, you can make some threats for me if you want. Grab one of my crystals and some spray paint and head downtown.”

“Ah, yes. Well, as it stands—”

“That’s what Ah thought.”

Whooves looked at him, cheeks rosy. “So, shopping, then?”

“Gimme a sec, Ah need to look at my boots. Ah think one of ‘em needs some work on the heel.”

* * * * * *

To save the cab fare, April decided to fly back to the Pegasus Advocate camp. She got up at six, showered, barely ate, and then set off first on hoof and then on wing when she reached the mountain’s steeper slopes. She flew up through the trees and over the snaking highway, and practiced her hatred in solitude. In her mind, she lashed out at the vehicles below, particularly any pegasi who might be driving. Why drive when you can fly? She set the question aside for a conversation starter.

In artificial morning, the mountainside reminded her of the Everfree Forest’s outer edge. The trees were different, but the spaces were not; both were impenetrable with shadow and foliage, save the occasional cut of path or river; and both rose up in defiance of the civilization at their borders. From her apartment, the mountainside looked dark and faceless, like a forest in a painting, as had the Everfree from her house in Ponyville, but to fly over it, she could see more personality. The mountain’s slopes were not rocky or paved on all sides, as they appeared from certain directions, but fertile, gentle in many places, and scarred with small waterfalls or pitted with caves. Where just above was the glamour of Greater Canterlot and below was the gentrification of Lower Canterlot, between lay a protected shard of wilderness that April had never seen before. She landed at the Pegasus Advocate camp in a better mood than she had intended.

The guards let her in, laughing when she said she was supposed to meet Long Luxury, and she walked with more purpose than she felt to the back, where they had met the first time. Luxury had not specified where to find her, and April was nervous to ask too much.

She didn’t have to. Long Luxury swooped down at her from a cloud and nearly knocked her off her hooves in the gust. A pair of pegasi followed, sticking to her sides like bodyguards, one in plain clothes and the other dressed in a conservative red and black corset with knee-length gloves and crimson dreadlocks. Next to her, Long Luxury was a firework of clashing colors and textures. Her mane and ribbon were the same from yesterday, but she wore a slender tartan dress of black and arctic blue, tucked into heavy boots that went halfway up her legs—April counted seven blocky buckles—and cinched closed at the back like a corset to let out her tied tail in a controlled, thin whip. Black pearls hung in three places from her ears and and also off a choker around her neck, artificially darkened by a fishnet body stocking that extended up from under the dress, and her eye shadow and lips were sulfur yellow, difficult to see at first on her pastel cranberry fur. She jingled and creaked when she moved, and the three looked at April for a long second before Long Luxury spoke.

“I didn’t think you’d show.”

“Uhh…” She tore her eyes off the large mare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Long Luxury nudged her, not gently. “I don’t see your friend today.”

“Right, Chocolate.” She looked around as if to evince the point. “Yeah, I guess she didn’t make it.”

“We can’t socialize much today.” She moved to a table, and the four of them sat around a large scroll one pegasus unrolled. “Something big’s happening.”

“Big?” Inside, she withered; it was not a very incisive question.

“As in four-thousand bits big,” one pegasus said.

“I’m listening,” April said.

“No you aren’t,” Long Luxury said. “Put that away.”

“Hey, hold it. If I—if it’s a question of loyalty—”

“No sprouts allowed, end of discussion.”

April fluffed her wings. “I know how to handle myself.”

One pegasus snorted, and Luxury smacked him with a wing.

“And I know how to be discrete.”

“Yeah, you know what you know?” Luxury asked, spreading her forehooves, indicating zero. “I like your ambition, but don’t talk to me like you know shit.”

“She’s got gumption,” the first pegasus said to Luxury.

“We don’t need more of that.”

“What do you need?” April asked.

Luxury sighed and straightened in her seat, and fixed April with an unamused expression. “How about this, little buddy? If you want to prove your loyalty, you can start in there.” She pointed to the bathrooms. “Or,” she angled her hoof to where the gate was, “you can leave us be.”

April rose haughtily, aware she was on a delicate line. She didn’t want to ruin her chances, but also couldn’t just comply right away; it would be out of character. “I don’t remember cleaning the shitters being a rule.”

“As I said, the gate’s back where you came from.”

She paused long enough to make them look up and see her glare. “All right, fine, fine, I get it. If you’re still here when I’m done—”

“I’ll think about it,” Luxury said unconvincingly.

At the bathroom entrance, April turned back to see them with their heads together in conversation. Suspecting she was the topic made it all the harder to begin, and she spent the next fifteen minutes searching for the cleaning supplies. Everyone she asked looked at her like she was the butt of some joke, but she pretended not to mind.

She wryly thought it appropriate that, even in her new life, she should still do her more intense reflection in the bathroom. On her knees with a sponge on one hoof and a rag on the other, grinding away at mildewed grout, she had the time to realize the small differences between her two days. She had not encountered any open hostility, and she had, in turn, not been as intimidated by the wild-looking PAs in their camp. From her experience in the Ponyville spa, she knew that the PAs like Long Luxury would have to get up hours early in order to get their appearances right, yet the outrageous colors and mane shapes were already losing their novelty. More encouraging to her, a couple faces besides Long Luxury’s were familiar. It didn’t feel like progress, but she told herself that it was.

“How long do I have to stay here until they’ll talk to me?” she wondered. There was no way she was going to clean the entire bathroom herself, it would take half the day, so she decided, somewhat arbitrarily, to seek out Long Luxury again once the floor was cleaner. The grout was hopeless, but she could at least get a shine on the tile, and she assiduously worked at it until she was numb to the pain in her knees and to the concoction of smells that had turned her away on first entrance.

“All righty, good enough,” she said to herself forty minutes later, throwing the blackened rag into its pail. She dumped the water in the woods outside and, deciding that the rag would never be returned to its original state, flung it into the trees as well, where it landed under a bush and was gone from her mind.

She met Long Luxury in the common area closer to the gate, where she was still with her companions and the map. Acting most unlike her former self, April sat down without a word and looked at them. Long Luxury gave her a slow appraisal, which did not outwardly faze her.

“There’s other bathrooms, you know,” the male pegasus said.

“Shut up. You are a persistent sprout, April.”

“A weed.”

“Shut up. I think I changed my mind. I like you, kind of.”

“Well okay then,” April said, working to control her tone. “What’s the plan?”

Luxury laughed. “The plan is, you can ride along with us.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure why she was disappointed; they weren’t going to just serve up the information she wanted on day two.

“Since I’m such a nice lady, you can watch us do our work, and you can keep quiet, and do exactly as you’re told, and stay out of our way. Does that sound right to you two?”

The female pegasus just sighed.

“Well, I like her, so we’re gonna do that. April? Hey.” She smacked the table in front of April’s face, snapping a momentary thought. “Can you do that? Keep quiet, do what you’re told, and stay out of our way? You haven’t been doing it very well this morning.”

“I’ll be fine,” April said, not sure how to sound confident but deferential as well. She had what she wanted; there was no need to assert herself further.

“Hear that?” the male pegasus asked. “She said she’ll be fine.”

“I did hear that,” Luxury said. “It’s wonderful.”

“So what happens now?” April asked after a second of respectful quiet.

“Lunch, then we go.” She looked at April. “Forgot your lunch again, I see. You know where the diner is.”

“It’s okay.” She wasn’t about to let them out of her sight.

After a quiet lunch, full of mistrustful looks and cryptic exchanges among the three PAs, they flew across and down the road to a small parking lot and got into a well-kept black car, roomy enough for six and ice cold when Long Luxury turned the air on. She could hear things rattling in the trunk, and tried to put it out of her mind as they started up the mountain.

“I know you want me to be quiet, but can you at least tell me where we’re going?” April asked. Luxury’s mane made it impossible for her to see clearly out the windshield, so she watched the side window, searching for any sign of what they were doing.

“Greater Canterlot,” Long Luxury said. “We’re looking for someone.”

“In a car, for some reason,” the male pegasus said.

“When you’re looking for walkers, you move like walkers,” she recited.

“Twinkler or stomper?” April asked as naturally as she could.

“Both, hopefully,” the mare said.

“The stomper’s a friend of our real target,” Luxury said.

“Who are they?” April asked.

Luxury shook her head, and no one spoke. April settled back in her seat and waited for the drive to be over. It was a long way up the mountain, and no one was talkative; though she felt bad about it afterwards, she wound up falling asleep with her head against the window. When she woke, they were cruising in the outer neighborhoods of Greater Canterlot, the palace a reduced shape in the distance. Luxury and her companions were speaking about something quietly, but did not stop when they saw April had awoken.

“I told you, it’s one street down,” the stallion said.

“I thought this one went through,” Luxury said. “Look at that.” She honked her horn, and the unicorn pedestrian jumped out of the crosswalk. They drove a lengthy circle around a gated community before finding the main road again, and Luxury took them along a circuitous route to the grocery store. There, they parked, and the pegasus mare got out without a word.

“Our source was a little vague about this guy’s haunts,” Luxury said. “But once we find him, we’re going to tail him until night.”

“And he’ll lead you to the other target,” April said, nodding. “Smart.”

“Yep.” She adjusted the rear-view mirror. “Having fun so far? I saw you napping.”

Ignoring the comment, April said, “It’s okay, but I thought there was gonna be some action. That’s how it sounded.”

“That’s what you thought,” the stallion said. “This isn’t a movie.”

“Yeah, thanks, couldn’t tell.”

“PAs who run in somewhere, crystals blazing,” Luxury said. “That’s pathetic. The kind of shit you do when you think you’ve got something to prove.”

“But it gets results,” April said with a smile. She was supposed to be dumb and impulsive, and was trying to keep with that.

“Heh, yeah, it makes the group look bad and puts the dumb PA who did it in prison. Some results.”

“Summer Breeze,” the stallion mumbled.

“I thought he had potential, but then he started running around with that Trellis mare.”

“What happened?” April asked, genuinely curious.

“What’d I just say? He thought he had something to prove. He tried to show off and instead he got put in the clink.”

“He didn’t have a chance to make bail or anything?” “Careful, April. You don’t know shit about the law.”

“The chance, sure, but who’s gonna scrape together that much to let him out?”

“But he’s your brother. Right?”

“He dirtied the entire PA face that night, him and Trellis. They get what they get, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Let ‘em rot,” the stallion said. “That was quick.”

The mare got back in. “Haven’t seen him today. She said to check the mall.”

“That’s not far,” Luxury said, starting them up. “April, you can go with Winter Leaves.”

April had only seen the Lower Canterlot malls: great, dirty, tall buildings with tinted windows and wide parking lots, where the masses gathered for bargains and for weekend outings, and nothing was made attractive because nothing needed to be. The Greater Canterlot mall looked like something entirely different, a place someone might visit for the sheer pleasure of it, might travel to see. White arches and pillars formed a tall pergola around a low pancake of a building, encompassing the outdoor food court, a small garden, and the shaded walkway to a neighboring movie theater. The ponies themselves were clearly of a status above as well, many of them dressed conservatively or with some high fashion that April could recognize but not identify. There were tourists too, but few of these, and a fair amount of weary parents. They got out, and April was conscious of how they would stick out. She pretended to adjust something in her outfit, back to the PAs, as she composed herself.

“Half an hour?” Luxury asked.

“Sounds fine,” the stallion said, fiddling with the laces on one of his long gloves. He fished out a photograph as the two mares went ahead. “Here, April, this is who we’re looking for.” She took the picture and studied it, though there was not much to see. After spending the afternoon looking at Pegasus Advocates, the grinning stallion in the photograph struck her as laughably plain. Brown coat with a short, darker brown mane, he posed in a simple vest and slacks for the invisible photographer, with no distinguishing features save an easy and practiced-looking smile that April immediately decided was insincere.

“He’s got a generic hourglass for a cutie mark, so no help there either,” the stallion said. “All we’ve got is he loves talking, and he goes around calling himself the doctor.”

Under the arches they passed, and April paused as something clicked into place. “Doctor? Doctor Whooves?”

The stallion eyed her.

“I’ve read that name in the papers a few times.” Lowering her voice, pretending to have read significantly less than she did, she said, “he’s like a big name in town.”

He shrugged and held the door for her, and she thanked him. Everyone around them had stopped what they were doing, some staring openly and others being more polite, but he did not seem to mind. She tried to follow suit.

“I don’t know anything about him, care less,” he said.

“Huh.” They entered the mall’s vestibule, where skylights showed off its various booths: a jewelry repair booth, a stall dedicated to oxygen therapy, a used record booth, and on and on they went into the body of the structure, where around a roaring fountain shoppers walked on clicking hooves. She looked around, not expecting to see anything, and secretly hoping they would miss him entirely. She didn’t know what they were doing, but he was an earth pony; she didn’t imagine it would be good if they found him.

“You said your name is Winter Leaves?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

She nodded. “Oh, and my name’s April Showers. I know we haven’t been formally introduced, so please, let me. Great to make your acquaintance. I’m sure we’ll be best of fricking friends.”

“He could have been any other color,” Winter Leaves groused. “There are browns everywhere, I have to squint at every pony I see.” April made a larger circle in her search, to show that she was engaged in the same way; on the other side, she saw a pair of unicorns speaking and pointing at them, expressions dark.

They turned into the scented candle shop, and while Winter Leaves quizzed the visibly nervous cashier, April browsed, happy for a moment to be away from his stigmatizing presence. Her ears stood up when she heard him wish the cashier a nice day, and she had to get a second look just to make sure.

“You were nice to him even though he was a stomper,” she said when they were walking again.

“Sure, why not?”

“Uh, well, I can think of a couple reasons.”

He sighed. “Let me let you in on a secret, April, and you can take it or throw it in the trash. That inspirational speech you heard the other day isn’t supposed to be just blowing smoke.”

“I never said it was.”

“We live in a society, and you gotta separate the dream from reality if you wanna be successful. Sure, we’d all love to live in a world where we’re equal to the unicorn and the earth pony, that would be great, but it ain’t gonna happen. Least, not in my lifetime. So you make do.”

“Make do?” She knew what he was going to say, the same pearl of wisdom every freshly disillusioned pony heard sooner or later.

“You can’t change the world out here, ‘cause out here, there’s a hundred of them for every one of us, so you just make do. You get along and you don’t start anything stupid with ponies. Look at what happened to Summer Breeze if you wonder why not. We can change the world from where we are, as a team, but alone out here, there’s no chance.”

“So why dress up like a PA then, if you’re not gonna do anything?”

“‘Cause I’m not afraid of who I am. Let’s check in here.” They entered a novelty shop and went to the back, with the lewd shot glasses and overpriced party light sets. A middle-aged mare glared at them and moved away.

“I guess it’s nice that you’re peaceful,” April said. “Sometimes.”

“If you’re smart, you figure it out pretty quick,” he said. “There’s no point in starting anything, least of all in a place like this. I wouldn’t let him near my kids, but he’s not hurting anyone by talking to me. A lot of the younger sisters will tell you that’s bull, but it’s just smart.”

“You can’t be on a crusade every minute of every day,” April said.

“Exactly.” He spotted the employee he was looking for and quizzed her similarly, and April looked at a shelf of spoof comics. “Daring Don’t’s Erotic Adventures, Volume 6!!” She couldn’t believe they had produced that many comics on such a stupid idea—then again, she thought, yes she could.

“Great, well, thanks anyway,” Winter Leaves said. “Let’s get.”

“No luck?”

He grunted.

They met back up at the car, Long Luxury with a cinnamon bun and a large coffee, which hung like a cowbell off her neck, its plastic straw waggling back and forth as she walked. April stared at her bun enviously, but did not say anything. “Home and garden center next,” the pegasus mare said, and they drove off.

It was four o’ clock when they finally spotted him coming out of a trendy tea shop, saddlebags weighed down with the day’s purchases, mostly clothes. He wore a pair of rose-colored glasses and a pinstriped vest, and as they watched, he paused to admire himself in a shop window.

“Look at him,” Winter Leaves said, disgust unmistakable.

“What do we do?” April asked.

“This is the fun part,” Long Luxury said. “We tail this stupid stomper until he leads us to our twinkler. If anyone needs to go to the bathroom, too bad.”

They let him prance to the intersection before rolling behind, waited for him to get into a taxi carriage, and let it lead them to an art museum. “Well, this’ll be easy, at least,” the mare said. They parked in view of the doors, rolled down the windows a crack, and waited.

Their target was a unicorn named Whippoorwill, Long Luxury explained to April. The unicorn had been harassing their group, and more specifically, White Wine, who had tried to brush him off herself but eventually got tired and put a bounty on his head. The PAs had been searching for a while, but only recently had Long Luxury found anything.

“This Whooves character is his friend, you said?” April asked. “How do you know?”

“He likes to talk about us,” Luxury said. “He has to be a friend of the Astras too, because he talks for them just as much.”

“Twinklers hiding behind their mouthpiece,” Winter Leaves said.

“Typical,” April put in.

“If you read the papers, you’ll see his name. He’s always talking about this shit between us and the Astras. Except—this is the interesting thing, April, what caught my eye—only recently, he dropped a hint about a unicorn on the run from the PAs. How did he put it?”

The mare rooted around in the glove compartment and pulled out a newspaper. She read off, “‘Local artist and confidante of the noble Astra family’—noble, can you believe that? ‘Dr. Whooves had this to say: ‘Their glory knows no bounds. Only the other day did they offer asylum to a poor unicorn, hunted by the savage Pegasus Advocates.’ He went on to say…’ Blah blah blah. This article was only a couple days after White Wine put the price on his head.”

“Wow,” April said, not sure what else to say. “What if it’s not Whippoorwill, though?”

“We’ll keep looking,” Long Luxury said. “If he is hiding out with the Astras, it would explain why he’s been such a pain in the neck to find. They probably put him up somewhere out of the way.”

“I see.” April knew a fair amount about the Astras, and their southern counterparts, the Mansels. Both names had come up a lot in college; they were the only private entities, outside the princesses, with enough political clout to significantly shape the country’s laws and infrastructure. She had written a fourteen-page report on the effects if the Astras were to gain supremacy in Canterlot legislation: in brief, privatization and monetization of specialized magic; the integration of magic and industry; marginalization of unskilled magicians; a complete restructuring of the education system based on evaluations of skill level; and many other things which, in her view and the views of her professors, would be awful for most ponies but really good for some.

Instead of saying any of this, she said, “I heard the Astras wanted to take over Equestria.” She had to bite her tongue to keep a straight face.

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” Long Luxury said, “but you’re basically right.”

“That’s why we’re at war with them?”

“It’s not a war,” the mare said, eyeing April angrily.

“Shouldn’t it be?”

Long Luxury sighed. “One of the reasons I love White Wine. She’s not blinded by idealism.”

“Oh, this again.”

“I talked to her about separating the dream from reality,” Winter Leaves said.

“Ah. You get that, right, April? The PAs are strong, and we’re strongest here in Canterlot.”

“Something the media will never admit,” the mare said.

“But the Astras are strong too. Running up directly against them would be suicide.”

“Wait, so why are we doing it, then?” April asked.

“We’re not,” Winter Leaves said.

“It’s a media ploy to destabilize us,” Luxury said. “Every few years, they do something like this. They take a couple isolated incidents and blow them waaay out of proportion.”

“Then everyone gets freaked out,” the mare said, “and then they report on that instead. That’s how they keep everyone down, they divide and distract us with fake wars like this. Not just pegasi, but everyone.”

“The unicorns in the palace who own the papers and the news companies,” Long Luxury said. “You should look it up, nine out of ten ponies up there are unicorns. It’s ridiculous, and the princesses don’t do a damn thing about it.”

“So we’re not fighting the Astras,” April said.

“There’s been a few scuffles,” Winter Leaves said. “Now that the media’s got everyone believing it. Some of our sisters have gone after the Astras on their own—found out why we don’t fuck with them too.”

“Are we doing anything about that? I can’t believe that we’d just let a family like them have so much power.”

“It’s difficult,” Luxury said. “A lot of it’s above you, too, so let’s just say that we have our ways.”

“Magical ways, perhaps?” Sensing that she was close to the actual point of her mission, she thought for a second how best to press the issue. “I’d think if we could subvert them somehow and get ponies to lose faith in them, that would be a good start.”

“That’s what the Mansels are for. Heard of them?”

“Oh yeah.”

“The longer those two stay at each other’s throats, the better for us,” the mare said.

“So you want to encourage the fighting between those two,” April said, smiling and nodding, as if impressed by how clever they all were.

“That’s right.”

“How many of you are in Roan?”

“Conducting a census?” Long Luxury asked. April laughed, but Luxury just looked at her, eyes level and unimpressed under her huge mane. “You sure ask a lot of big questions for a sprout.”

“I’m curious, sue me.”

“You wanna be careful with that,” Winter Leaves said.

“Shut up, Leaves. Listen to me.” Luxury turned around with some effort and leaned toward April, and April lost the residue of her smile. Long Luxury was intimidating at the best of times, with her weird body and massive disc of hair looped with red; in the car’s close quarters, bearing down on April with all frank scorn and impatience, she looked like a monster in a pony’s skin. She got close enough to breathe on April’s muzzle. “Keep your nose out of our business.” Her small eyes penetrated April’s, and they sat there, one pinning the other, until April couldn’t stand it anymore and flinched away.

“I’m just curious,” she mumbled.

No one responded, and they watched the museum steps for their earth pony.

After the museum, they followed Whooves to a neighborhood near the palace, where he spent an hour at one house, an hour and a half on the private golf course at another, and then forty minutes taking tea and biscuits on the front porch of one more with a pair of young mares who fawned on him the entire time, laughing at everything he said and kissing him on the cheek when he rose to go. Then, he got in another taxi and headed for the city’s edge.

“This has to be it,” Luxury said when Whooves got out at a Crystal Star, a popular chain of affordable hotels. Still with his overloaded saddlebags, but with a visible spring in his step, he disappeared into the lobby. It was eleven o’ clock, and a few of the windows were still lit, but no one was outside to see them do a circuit around the building. Luxury pulled into the parking lot near the back, putting them behind a spotted dogwood tree, and pulled out a pair of binoculars. The mare got out and strolled to the hotel, and April realized then why she had not dressed like the rest of them. She was their scout.

“This is the part where you shut up and do as you’re told, April,” Luxury said. “And slide over. You might have company in the back.”

April slid as told, scared to ask what was going to happen. In the light of day, the Pegasus Advocates could look a little silly, but with binoculars and heavy things in the trunk, and their proud red ribbons strung through both manes, there was nothing remotely funny anymore.

The mare came back and spoke through the opened window. “We need the northeast side of the building. They’re in three-oh-nine.”

“Together?” Luxury asked.

“Sounds like they’ll be in there a while.”

“Okay. Get a room near them and wait for my signal.” They quietly moved to the hotel’s corner, parked close to an exit to the main road, and waited, idling.

A window flicked on, and the blinds shifted up and then down. Luxury flashed her brights, and the blinds shifted again.

“Stay right where you are, April.” No friendliness or anger in her voice, just business. She got out and Winter Leaves got behind the wheel, keeping the car on. The trunk opened and things shifted inside, and Luxury approached the hotel wearing a pair of innocuous saddlebags.

“What’s she gonna do?” April asked.

“Quiet,” Winter Leaves said.

It was a still, calm night, but April Showers felt like she had drank an entire pot of coffee. She kept her eyes dead set on the signal window, watching for any movement, any shadow, heart beating and hooves tingling with a soft skin of sweat. She had been included in their scheme on a lark, that was clear, so the intent could not possibly be too serious, she told herself. They were not collecting the bounty on Whippoorwill, they were just setting up to do it later. Long Luxury was there to talk to him, convince him that the PAs had nothing against him, lure him out so they could catch him on a different day. They would not drag April along for more than that.

Winter Leaves turned the car off, and they sat in darkness, eyes adjusting, waiting for something to happen. There was a lot of traffic out still, more evidence that they had nothing serious planned for the night.

Two rooms down from the signal window, glass exploded outwards and rained softly onto the asphalt, and April jumped. Lights popped inside, silhouettes tumbled, and unicorn magic made the curtains billow out into the cold night. The fracas, the pulse crystals, the screaming and babbling that was cut short in a few flashes of blue magic, all sounded fake with distance, a violent play being rehearsed. April gasped as a final blast of magic tore one curtain off and almost rattled the window frame out of the wall, a sandy yellow light that looked for an instant like a petal of golden flame. More flashes, then the shapes inside stopped jumping around, and all was still. Winter Leaves turned the car back on and popped the trunk.

“That would’ve been called in,” he said to himself.

Ten minutes of interminable quiet passed, waiting for something to happen. Police sirens appeared in the distance, and two minutes later, the fire alarm cut the night rudely. Winter Leaves stopped fidgeting and looked back, searching for the red and blue lights. Two burdened shapes were running their way, and April froze in her seat, her vision tunneling, her heart skipping. “No way, no way, no way, no way.”

One, they slung into the trunk, wrapped in a stained blanket, and the other they threw in the back against April, who shrunk into the corner with a whimper. The mare was screaming at Winter Leaves to drive before they had even gotten in the car, and Luxury shoved her out of the way to let herself in first. Tires squealed, the door slammed, and Luxury looked back in her seat with naked fear on her face. Horns blared when they pulled into the street, and Winter Leaves gunned it away from the city lights, and in the seat next to April, the pony with the pillow case on his head thrashed violently against his bindings.

“Lower your speed, idiot,” Luxury barked, even while the other mare was calling for him to drive faster, run the red light, get them to the river. April recoiled when the pony brushed her with his head, and after a pause, he screamed something around his gag, struggling to get closer, to hit her with his horn. Lights washed over the car as it yawed across two lanes, and April lurched and kicked with desperation, mind emptied of pity or thought, in their place the primal throb of revulsion. All around her, noise: Luxury giving orders, the mare refusing to be quiet, the screeching and honking of traffic disrupted by their erratic movements, the growing sirens that seemed just behind, the body thumping loosely in the trunk, the pony struggling and ramming his head uselessly into the seats. It was all April could do to hold her mouth closed, clenching her bared teeth painfully, breathing rapidly through her nose, wings utterly out of control and splayed behind her, back hooves trying to withdraw even more so the bound pony could not touch her again. Dim yellow light flashed onto them as they turned onto the freeway that would take them back down the mountain, and then the light became a slow strobe as they left the city behind and hissed down the black road.

The river was four miles downhill, and they turned off the freeway and drove, at a sensible speed, through a small industrial neighborhood until they had passed from the sickly glare of street lights and signage and into the freezing midnight of the forest. Slowly on a dirt road, they bumped and rumbled until the starlight vanished above the trees, then came back to illume an empty overpass in the middle distance. They crawled up a rise to a small lookout point, killed the lights, and waited for fifteen minutes. When no one had appeared, Winter Leaves turned off the car and got out with the others.

He and the mare took the dead weight out of the trunk, leaving Long Luxury alone to handle the freshly struggling pony. With wings and hooves, she got him onto her back and walked, her huge wings in place to keep him from knocking her over. April followed behind, numbly repeating the same thought, “no way, there’s no way.” They took a hoofpath up to the overpass, crossed a short bridge over a dry gully, and came to a crook in the river. On three sides, the forest kept it veiled, and on the other was the overpass’ thick, concrete abutment. Luxury set down the pony against the rough wall, then smoothly removed his pillow case and looked down at him. For a second, April thought he was missing the top of his skull, but it was just his mane, short and curly and flesh-colored in the starlight, parted around a horn that gleamed at the base with a magic suppression collar. He said something against his ball gag, and Luxury turned to the body with a pent-up sigh.

“That was too close.”

“Everything’s too close these days,” the mare said.

“How long do we have?” Winter Leaves asked.

“Not long,” Luxury said. “I saw a service phone up the path back there. Go call the warehouse, tell them plans have changed, and to let White Wine know.”

“You got it.”

Luxury unrolled the blanket and let the body be revealed, then dragged it over to where their hostage fruitlessly struggled. “How’s that make you feel?” she asked. He glared up at her. “That’s okay,” she continued, and produced a nail file from her saddlebags. “Dump the stomper.”

“Teeth?” the mare asked, dragging him back to where the river lapped against the path.

“No teeth.”

The mare looked at April, and her heart stopped again. “Grab that loose brick over there, bring it over.”

April looked where she indicated. “Uh.”

“Tonight, please,” Luxury said around the nail file in her mouth.

April grabbed the brick in shaking hooves and hobbled over to the body, where the mare took it. She had angled the stallion’s head and opened his mouth. His pinstriped vest was charred away from deep, black pits where the pulse crystal had hit him, and his rosy sunglasses were flattened in a fold of blanket. Behind them, the hostage struggled and screamed as best he could as Luxury worked, and the brick came down.

“You can help,” the mare said, but April could not even look. She turned her head until her eyes were forced to follow, and there he was, jaw askew, a couple white teeth gleaming in torn gums. April could not feel her body as it took the brick that was offered her, and, out of sight, Luxury was speaking slowly.

“We don’t have much time, Whippoorwill, but we have enough. I’m going to introduce you to Mrs. Angle Grinder now. How’s that horn feeling?”

Sawdust

Chapter One hundred-ten

Sawdust

When six a.m. rolled around and Colgate still hadn’t slept, she decided to climb out of bed, get dressed, grab her pulse crystal, throw on her saddlebags, and trudge out into the overcast morning-noon. Heavy weather had been threatening since the night before, and some of the other early risers were setting up protection over their stalls and vehicles. At a stoplight, she watched a griffon place jars of dark liquid at the four corners of his carriage, wave his wings a little over the final one, and then stand back for the shadowy shield that expanded. It reminded her of something a Datura might do.

She was on her way to Partial Thoughts’ house. In their talk two days ago, she had alluded to coming back home, despite the fact that Peaceful Meadows was still alive, and the more Colgate thought about it, the more it bothered her. They didn’t know either mare, really, and the fact that one had been out of town just in time for Peaceful Meadows’ attack seemed to her more than coincidence. The idea that stuck, in a night full of fevered thoughts, was that both mares would team up for the second attempt, and simply barge into the hotel one morning with their crystals and electric shock collars. Not wanting an argument with Octavia, Colgate did not voice her fear.

“Don’t worry, Octy, I’ll be home in time for dinner,” she thought, and her heart warmed a little. She didn’t have a plan, but Partial Thoughts had been accommodating both times they visited her in Little Snowdrift.

A savage wind was coming in from the south, carrying her up into the tangled residential streets with a gentle rain on her back. The churches and corner shops were coming to life, more ponies and griffons were putting up protection for their buildings, trees were shaking, leaves were flying. She passed Umbrella Park, where the party preparations were at a stand-still, half erect and sad-looking. Pinkie had told her that Versus was still missing, and Vinyl had said that it was no surprise, but Colgate wasn’t so sure. Everyone else of her number was out and about, they had not shirked their duties, so what gave Versus that license? Colgate veered into Umbrella Park and sat for several minutes at a freezing bench, letting the soft rain wet her outermost coat, contemplating the flags hanging between trees, the icy fountains, the frosty statues. There was a statue near the park’s center that depicted a pony’s hoof and griffon’s claw, both disembodied, pressed together in a show of friendship, and Colgate went to it and thought about what it was trying to say.

When she found Partial Thoughts’ house, mailbox empty this time, it was seven-thirty and Partial Thoughts was outside latching the shutters down on her windows. Colgate cut through the front lawn and hollered at her, and Partial Thoughts whipped around as though frightened. Like in Little Snowdrift, Partial Thoughts looked at her for a few seconds before deciding to engage with her; it was in those few seconds that Colgate was able to figure out something to tell her, rather than the customary and ineffective “I don’t know.”

Peaceful Meadows had a similar plan. Since waking up in the woods with no money, no car, and wounds she could not account for, she had locked herself in her house and brooded. The first night she spent by the door with her pulse crystals—she thanked Luna that no one had robbed her house in all her missing time—and waited for someone to come and finish her off. When that never happened, she took stock of her situation, the most important detail of which was that she had been allowed to keep her clothes. Whoever had dumped her in the woods could have let her freeze to death, but they hadn’t. So she was not dealing with killers, necessarily.

She remembered Snowdrift and why she had come there, and she remembered trying with limited success to make herself part of the Mansel business, but she could recall no friends or trusted coworkers. There was nothing in her house, and she searched it top to bottom, that told her what she had been up to before losing her memory. The list of phone numbers she found yielded nothing special: just her boss, a few other important-seeming employees at the Mansel bank, and a bookkeeper who never answered his phone.

Piecing together her memories had taken the entirety of the following day. There was an invoice for a rental car, but when she called the dealership, they told her it had been anonymously dropped off. There was a pulse crystal receipt, which said nothing special, and receipts for various clothing stores and eateries, from which she got a vague idea of the neighborhoods she had been frequenting in the lost week. Her eventual conclusion was that she had, whether on purpose or not, uncovered something of the Mansels’ that they did not want her to know, and they had taken umbrage. What she did not know, and which worried her all the way to Partial Thoughts’ house, was whether they had wiped her memory as a warning, or whether she had escaped something worse.

Coming from the other side of town, Peaceful Meadows had the luxury of a car to keep out the inclement weather. That she had chosen to rent a car, when she already owned one, said to her that she had been up to something illegal. She could only hope that she had not blown any cover, and that there was not a warrant out for her. She drove cautiously, avoiding the larger roads when she could, with the radio turned down and the heating turned up. Her stomach felt like a ball of wire, and her head was fuzzy, and like Colgate, she carried a pulse crystal under her heavy coat, and a coil of wire.

She parked on the curb, watched the neighbors’ windows for a minute, and walked up the driveway toward voices coming around from the back porch.

Over breakfast in the hotel café, Twilight looked around moodily and asked whether anyone had seen Colgate. No one had, and they argued a little before deciding to go forward with the day’s plan and search for their wayward friend later. The day had come for them to face the warehouse hazard, and it showed in Twilight’s speech and manner.

“They’ve already got cameras and reporters set up outside the evacuation zone,” she said. “And the sheriff’s there too, I guess, to watch and congratulate us when we get it. There’s probably some secret agents scattered in there too, but I don’t know if they’ll help.”

“You haven’t heard from Aloe an’ Lotus, have you?” Applejack asked.

“Not since their note.”

“I thought the media was not supposed to bother us,” Octavia said. “Has that changed?”

“Snowdrift’s too far from Canterlot for the princesses to do anything,” Twilight said. “Laws like that are looser here.”

“Talk to the sheriff,” Big Mac said.

“I already did, she promised they’d stay out of our way. Right.” She glanced at Rainbow and mumbled, “if one of them comes at me with a camera, I’m decking her, I don’t care.”

“Where did Aloe and Lotus go?” Vinyl asked, and Rarity scoffed.

“They didn’t say. Colgate said they’re important in their whole… thing, so it’s probably big, whatever they’re doing.”

“We don’t need them, do we?” Pinkie asked.

“I’d have loved Lotus to be there, but no, I think I can do this on my own. At least… Well, we’re set up pretty well.”

“So what is the plan, then?” Rainbow asked.

“First, I need to get the rest of the cat litter down to the site.”

“‘Bout time we get that outta the room,” Applejack said.

“We’ve got the roof off and our wood chippers out and ready with the cranes. I told the operators to get out there early, so hopefully they’ll have everything suspended when we get there.”

“They’re just picking up those big tree-shredders?” Applejack asked.

“Basically. We had a dry run yesterday, it went great. Rarity, with you diverting the wind, we should be golden.”

“The wind,” Rarity said, picking at her grilled vegetables. “Wind has never been my strongest suit, dear.”

“I don’t need it entirely blocked out, just do what you can,” Twilight said. “We need to minimize sway, as well as make sure the sawdust doesn’t disperse too much over the parking lot. That’s all.”

“What can I do?” Rainbow asked.

“I want you above, watching the hazard. I’ll give you a voice enchantment, don’t let me forget.”

“I assume I’m there for medical emergencies,” Fluttershy said.

“Yep. The rest of you aren’t vital to the operation. Applejack, you should be there just in case we need to do anything weird with the ship. You can reach it from a pretty good distance, right?”

“Not from outside the zone, Ah can’t,” Applejack said.

“That’s what I thought. Rarity, can you protect Applejack?”

“And keep the weather out?” Rarity asked.

“I can give her a shield,” Octavia said. “Not as good as Rarity’s, but I can do it.”

“Hopefully we won’t need you to.” She nodded to Pinkie. “You and Big Mac, I’d actually like in the park today, working on our party.”

“A perfect day fer it,” Big Mac said.

“Some of the precogs are talking like it’s gonna happen later than you planned,” Pinkie said. “Should we be worried about that?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight said. “What the precogs think is pretty low on my list of priorities, if I’m honest. As long as they’re distracted, I’m happy.”

“So the Contraction plan is still in place?” Rainbow asked.

“They took down my lights yesterday, and I think they might be working on removing my echo enchantments as well. Magic has been coming in slower than usual.”

“So they’re onto you,” Rarity said quietly.

“They know something’s up, but I don’t think we’ll be here long enough for them to figure out who’s behind it. That wreath of crystals I showed you, the thing storing all the magic, I’ve got that tucked away in my magical space. They won’t be finding that any time soon.”

“Will you have enough?” Fluttershy asked.

“I think so. Barely. If not, I can send another logger out there with some fresh crystals and skim the rest. Oh, actually, Vinyl, if you could go into town and pick up some more crystals for me, that would be great. Big ones this time, as big as you can get. Get like five.”

“Sure thing.” Vinyl sipped at her mimosa, her third. “How long do you think this’ll all take?”

“No clue, but we’re trying to leave tomorrow. If you’ve still got business here, go ahead and take care of it.”

“I don’t want to not help with the hazard, if you need me.”

“We’ll be fine,” Twilight said, not unkindly. After a moment of thought, she added, “in my mind, you’ve already made it as an Element.”

Vinyl reddened.

She had time for a fourth mimosa while Twilight got the cat litter out of their rooms, and they stepped into the blustery outdoors. She said she would drop the crystals off in the hotel and then meet them at the warehouse, then disappeared into the meandering crowd with Pinkie and Big Mac, hoods pulled up and cinched tight around their faces. The remaining Elements got a taxi to the evacuation zone.

The driver only took them as far as the radio station, and they walked the rest of the way through freshly abandoned town, following the sound of the crowd that had accreted on the parking lot’s edge.

“One thing I forgot to mention,” Twilight said, happy to speak at full volume in the emptied neighborhood. “I’ve been doing some more divination lately. That’s how I knew we’ve got all these reporters waiting for us.”

“What have you seen?” Fluttershy asked.

“A fair amount.” She let them wonder what she meant for a moment, thinking what was worth divulging. “I’ve peeked in on all the major cities. Most of them up north are doing okay, except Manehattan. From what I can tell, and from what I’ve heard from the princess, Manehattan’s really fallen off lately. That, uh, I forget his name. The businesspony we met, the cable guy, helped us secure those two towers.”

“Strawberry,” Rarity said.

“Thank you. Him, I guess he’s out of the picture, or soon to be, I’m not sure. He did a number on that city.”

“What happened?” Rainbow asked.

“Looks like the economy's on the downturn. I saw this giant picture of him on the side of a building with the words ‘know your enemy’ underneath. Seems he got in trouble after we left.”

“Serves him right,” Rarity said. “Did you… have you seen anything—I doubt you have, actually—that awful mare we found in Trottingham?”

“Oh, Lacey…”

“Kisses.”

“Yes, her. No, I haven’t seen anything, though I haven’t really gone looking for her. I still can’t see anything in Canterlot, they’ve still got their anti-divination enchantments in place. Remember running into that? The first night?”

“Vaguely.”

“Ponyville seems fine. I think they’ve turned the spa into a secret agent headquarters or something, there’s some ponies coming and going there at weird hours.”

“Who? Who?” Rainbow asked.

“Oh, I didn’t recognize anyone. Applewood is Applewood. It looks like Tartarus. The Bright Road is utterly demolished. The river swept it away.”

“Good Celestia,” Rarity said.

“What really scared me, though, was Moondrop.”

“Well, duh,” Rainbow said.

“No, not for what you think. They’ve got it completely blacked out, like Canterlot. I can’t get within a hundred miles of the town or the crater.”

“Like you can’t see anything?”

“It’s just darkness. If I try to look at it from afar, there’s just a black pillar, all the way up. I can see the smoke up top, where it spreads out past the pillar’s edge, and I can see the barriers they’ve set up in the desert.”

“They’ve got barriers?” Rarity asked. “For what?”

“What do you think? They’re sparse, but they’re there. Last night, I watched an airship land at one for a few minutes and then go into the dark zone. I’ll bet you they’re pulling secret agents in to work on getting Princess Celestia out of there.”

“That’s probably where Aloe and Lotus had to go,” Fluttershy said.

“That’s my guess too. Oh, this is just super.” They turned at an intersection and came face-to-lens with a crowd of reporters and photographers, bunched up in jackets and windbreakers, under umbrellas and tight, magical shields. They stood still for a couple seconds, letting them take pictures, and then Twilight parted the crowd and approached the parking lot.

Partial Thoughts sat with her back to the driveway, so when Peaceful Meadows came around, crystal already out, and Colgate dove out of her chair for the lawn, she didn’t know what was happening at first.

Colgate raced for a small gardening shed and squeezed behind it, fumbling for her crystal under all the layers of clothing, ears up and breathing already heavy. She wasn’t sure precisely what she had seen, impulse had pushed her out of the chair so fast, but she saw the glint of crystal and the shape of a stranger; it was enough.

Peaceful Meadows was speaking calmly to Partial Thoughts, who did not sound calm at all, and for a minute, their voices were taken away by the wind. Fog was rolling in through the distant pines, and water was trickling down her tail where it had escaped her cloak.

“You come on out now, lady,” Peaceful Meadows called. “I’ve got no quarrel with you.”

To Colgate, though, it was part of the trap. Peaceful Meadows and Partial Thoughts were in league with each other, and this was an act to lure her into the open, where they could dispose of her easily. Aloe and Lotus leaving, that was to make her feel safe. “Celestia, Lotus had this planned from the second I overstepped,” she thought. Still, she scrambled to get out from behind the shed, falling sideways into a brittle bush growing up through a space in the fence.

From the porch, she knew neither of them had a good angle on her, and to keep the shed between her and them, she would need to run deeper into the backyard, find her way into the neighbor’s yard, and to the street from there.

She was too slow in getting out of the bush. Despite her clothes, the cold made her stiff, and the crystal had fastened to her hoof at an awkward angle. Peaceful Meadows rounded the shed’s other side, flashed her crystal at Colgate, and led her back, where Partial Thoughts waited with hooves bound. The three went inside.

Versus was back, but still shaken; she had spirit enough to pretend that she was feeling better. Whether Pinkie recognized it was unclear, but to Big Mac, the forced banter between them was painful, almost insulting. She could not force her naturally expressive face to match her loud laughter at every little quip Pinkie made. Her eyes moved ceaselessly when she laughed, occasionally landing on Big Mac’s, not long enough for him to convey what he felt, and though he tried to stay near her, nothing came of it.

Soon enough, the three of them split up naturally, and he was able to get his mind off her. With a pair of black griffons, he worked to scrape wet rime off tables and chairs. “Least we don’t have the bandstand up yet,” one griffon said, and Big Mac only smiled. Their work was cut out for them, as only one single precog had come out to help. Pinkie said it was probably the cold that had kept everyone away from the park that day, and Big Mac supposed that was reasonable.

Sometimes, he would see Versus tugging at tent canvasses or trimming dead growth from shrubs, and he would watch her for signs of her mood. He wanted an excuse to leave his work to help her, but Pinkie was right there; she would notice, and probably say something tactless. Worse, Versus herself might rebuff him.

Platonic though his intentions would appear, they did not feel that way, and knowledge of her recent trauma kept him back when Pinkie’s presence did not. For himself, he could already tell that he would recover without much ordeal. The blindfolded drive out of town had terrified, but the memory did not stick with him as it appeared to for Versus or Vinyl. The pain had seeped away with a good night’s sleep, and he did not read into it more than that.

Still, it would have been nice if Versus had asked him how he was doing. They had bonded in Peaceful Meadows’ car, he felt, and he wanted her to feel the same. This, too, he searched for in her body language.

Pinkie trotted past with a lawnmower rolling behind and yelled out at him. “What’s shaking, Mac-a-doodle-doo?” She didn’t stop until she was on the other side of the clearing, where she labored with the mower’s rip cord on a checkered lawn.

The moment that had caught in his memory, stronger than the standoff under the bridge or the interminable drive, more wrenching than the trip back and the tacit disposal of their unconscious body, was the abrupt and bloody sight of Versus launching a rock onto Peaceful Meadows’ unprotected face. He hadn’t seen her eyes then, but he could imagine how they had looked: wide, wild, rolling blue irises behind fluttering lashes, manic and detached; animal’s eyes. That was the final reason he wanted to meet her eyes in the park, to see whether that cornered look had been sealed back away.

The hazard appeared to be coupling with their airship when Twilight finally got past the reporters and onlookers. She stood on the parking lot’s edge and trained her binoculars on the scene. From a distance, it appeared to have affixed itself like a melted marshmallow to a twig, but closer, she could see the individual strands lashing it to their ship and to the lot’s surface. It had wrapped around their rudder and sent vitreous tendrils, like a pea plant, through the eye holes of their collapsed balloon. The ship had been pulled off its center of gravity, and Twilight could only see its bottom, but the hazard’s shape and position told her what she needed to know. From the warehouse, there stretched an improbably thin extension of the white substance, the hazard’s only connection to its former anchoring spot.

Rainbow got into the sky while Fluttershy and Rarity remained at the flapping warning tape, marking the old danger zone’s edge. The wood chippers were rising on all sides, groaning and wrapped in thick, taut cables, their shapes awkward and unnatural. When everything was off the ground, Rarity produced their shield around lot and the closer onlookers. Ponies gasped and cheered when the rain ceased and the wind slowed to a gentle breeze, and Rainbow yelled for quiet from atop a light pole. All around the parking lot, Rarity’s magic sparked with raindrops and the natural scintillation of static magic. Twilight was not the only one reminded of the river in Applewood.

“You know what yer doin’, Twilight?” Applejack asked. It was her first time seeing the operation, and she was not hiding her incredulity. The wood chippers hanging openly over the parking lot, the crude loading systems for sawdust and cat litter, and Twilight on the edge and plainly meaning to go inside the danger zone; Twilight did not begrudge Applejack her uncertainty.

With a cocky smile—she felt entitled to it, after all—Twilight dipped under the warning tape and tromped up the slick concrete steps onto the lot proper. The rain had made miniature swamps of the lot’s selvedge, tide pools of its potholes. Rainbow glided above her, not too close, and the crowd chattered behind. Cameras flashed, video recorders ran, a few ponies shrieked Twilight’s name in adoration or concern. She ignored them all, her eyes and mind on the hazard.

Though herding her volunteers to test the hazard’s movement patterns had been uniquely frustrating, she was glad she had done it, for she had learned more than what Lotus could have told her. Toward the end of her test run, she had dangled an illusory pony just in front of the hazard, and been shocked to watch it lash out like a rattlesnake, dissipating her illusion with a barbed extension of itself before deflating a second later. Roughly, she had calculated its speed to be about fifty miles per hour. It had not crossed the parking lot, or even come close, with such speed, but Twilight had to assume that it could. If so, it could be upon her in a matter of seconds where she stood.

The ship rocked gently with the hazard’s suction, but halted, and Twilight did too, magenta shield at the ready. Whether it had noticed her, she could not be sure, and she stood still for a minute, watching for movement and listening for the scrape of hull on concrete.

“Good, Twilight?” Rainbow asked.

“What’s it doing?”

“Just sittin’ there.”

Without looking up at Rainbow, Twilight walked around a wide, shallow puddle until she could see the airship’s broad side and the hazard attached. It had not disconnected, but it had reached out to feel the ground around it, a few exploratory feelers twisting up a light pole. Behind the ship, she could see the edges of forest where she had had it cut down.

“Get the chippers ready,” she said up to Rainbow, who repeated the order at a yell that her voice amplification enchantment made into a startling boom across the neighborhood, its reverberant aftershock cut short with the snarl of encircling machines. The hazard had no ears, but Twilight believed it could feel sound waves at certain frequencies.

She grunted as she put her mukluk into a smaller puddle, but didn’t take her eyes off the moving hazard. It gave no indication that it wanted her, but it undulated in place, gliding its huge body across blacktop, turning, expanding and contracting, appearing to breathe with the gentle wind. She was close enough to see faint striations in the semitransparent mass, and stood still for another minute to study it. She could not deny that she was fascinated with the hazard: its inscrutable, organic wildness; its unsophisticated hunting instinct, and the danger it could pose despite that; its sheer incongruity with the land, a pollutant spat out of Tartarus.

“They can’t really reach it, Twilight,” Rainbow said, swooping down too close and blasting Twilight’s ears. “Sorry.”

“Get back up there!” She spared the second to look up at the bleak sky. “I’ll try to draw it to an edge.” She backed away, tracking again through her puddle, soaking her shoes, until she felt she could safely look back and decide where she wanted to lead the hazard. In the back of her mind, she thought it was possible that it could not move at all until it had finished coupling with the airship, and she did not know how long that would take.

“Let’s just try this,” she mumbled, conjuring a bead of light on her horn to hurl at the hazard. It exploded in a whorl of sparkles off its glassy exterior, for a second lending the hazard an opaline sheen, but Twilight saw no reaction. Its pea-plant extensions clung weakly to the gunwale, the balloon cables, and the propellers, while the mass of it lay like a melting scoop of ice cream on the pavement. The wood chippers buzzed in the background, and the crowd still went on, nervous but impressed.

She stole a look Rarity’s way, but could not clearly see her friend, could not tell how she was doing with the shield. Underneath, it appeared strong and healthy; she could see the rush of rainwater coursing down its sides.

Her heart was finally starting to beat faster when she walked back toward the ship. She had assumed it would come after her, as it had during practice, and she could simply keep a safe distance and let the wood chippers do their work. She would bring up a shield of her own on the hazard’s back, to contain it, and the rest would be easy. She had not much entertained the idea of actually getting close to it. A few seconds’ reaction time was acceptable, but her time got shorter with each step, and with no measuring instruments, she could only guess whether she was at the fatal point.

Commotion was all around her, but under the shield and well inside the lot, she could hear her softened hoofsteps, her breath, the rustle of her clothes, and the gentle creaking of the airship as it shifted imperceptibly. Soon, the hazard would notice her, and she slowed her advance in anticipation of that, shield up and strengthened for a sudden strike. Cold was creeping up her legs from her damp shoes, but she did not cast any magic to warm up, not wanting to expend power that could be better used differently.

“How we doing, Twilight?” Rainbow asked.

“How does it look?” she wanted to respond, but just said, “fine so far.”

Following the curve of a concrete median downwards to a wide drain, she was able to see a portion of the ship’s deck, where the hazard had affixed part of itself like glue on a wall. She could see the subtle movement of light across its surface with each motion, and could see a pale version of the ship’s deck through its body. She tried another bead of light, with no effect.

Though she did not believe the hazard was clever enough to lure her in, she approached with that sense of knowing dread. If it were a trap—and it probably wasn’t, she told herself—it would be her magical skills and shortening reflexes that would save her, not the strength of her planning. Thinking thus, she changed her mind and gave herself a small coat of magical warmth.

She was close enough to see the individual ropes that held the balloon in place, deflated and looping across the ground. The hazard’s trailing extension was a thin strand of unbroken white goo all the way back to the warehouse, and in it, she could see the same striations she had seen from afar, like glass hairs embedded in the vitreum. The ship’s bowsprit wiggled back and forth and she heard the smooth slide of flesh across wood and concrete. The smell of brine tingled in her nose.

No closer would she step. The warehouse strand lay harmless-looking to one side, the hazard’s bulk before her, and she would have only a fraction of a second to react if it should lunge at her. Yet it still appeared not to care about her presence, and the wood chippers ran on, waiting for her signal to begin conveying up their payloads.

She threw one last ball of light, which vanished with the same effect as the first two, and told Rainbow to get higher up.

Twilight spent a minute walking around the ship’s safer side, just studying its details, paying special attention to its size and dimensions until she could picture it in her mind. She summoned up her magic, and the magic that Vanilla Cream had grafted onto hers, into a weighty telekinesis spell. Wrapping the side without the hazard first, she meant to lift the ship off the lot and peel the hazard with it, like gum stuck to a shoe, but as soon as it shifted, the hazard pulled into itself, tensed up, and became more transparent. The warehouse strand quivered like a bow string, taut and straight, and the pea-plant tendrils lost their pliability to become tight, annealed coils. She had lifted one corner up, and the hazard had felt it, and now, in the awkward place between holding and not holding her prize, she had to decide whether she thought it would stay with the ship or snap back into the warehouse, where chasing it would be a logistical nightmare, even with the missing roof.

She did not have time to think with the ship’s strain already hitting her horn. With a grunted “get ready,” she lurched backwards and heaved the ship with her as one giant piece, balloon and all, up into the air. The poop deck swung high, pieces of forgotten luggage tumbling off and hitting the lot noisily, popping like ornaments, and the hazard stretched with it, for a moment catching the light like a trail of harp strings before twisting and bulging with a slithering noise that only Twilight was close enough to hear. The warehouse strand waved and bounced on the lot’s surface, kicking up splashes of freezing water, and at the ship’s base, white goo spread and pooled into a loose udder that was still connected by the gunwales. Twilight raised her head as she pulled the ship higher off the lot.

With only the strength of the one connecting strand, the hazard could offer no resistance as Twilight dragged it through the air toward the edge. Above her, Rainbow flew in rapid circles, assuring her that it was all still there, that she hadn’t left any pieces of the hazard behind—which Twilight did not think was possible anyway.

“Have them wait until I put it down,” Twilight yelled up to Rainbow, who repeated her orders.

She doffed her magical warmth spell and gasped involuntarily at the cold air that penetrated her coat. Above her, rain still hammered Rarity’s shield, which had collapsed into a flat dome while Twilight was approaching the ship, and which she now was in danger of scraping as she lugged it back. Her own magic was receding as well, which she had expected. It was why she had been so concerned with being able to picture the entire ship, so she could hold up key places on the structure without wrapping the entire thing. If she could hold the corners and a few other places aloft, then the rest would follow just the same, and it was from the inessential places that she could see her own magic fizzling away.

Her heartbeat was in her head, and she was distantly aware that she was probably on the TV news in that exact instant, but her breathing was ragged and her vision was tunneling as her horn burned hotter and brighter, like a match she had let go too long. The sizzle of her own magic filled her ears, and she was losing track of her steps—“No good, Twilight, you gotta wake up.” She shook her head to clear it.

Wrong move. She knew it the second she took her eyes off the ship, the sickening, freeing feeling of something huge giving way. Her mind cleared in an instant, the spell forgotten, its exertion slowing her and rendering her reaction down to a surprised, distraught squeal when the ship crashed back down right in front of her. Pitching and rolling, it hit the lot like an avalanche of noise and small pieces as she backed away. Wood clattered and shuddered, bits of metal tinkled off the macadam, cables hissed, turbines juddered in housings, upset water roared and recollected itself. Twilight fell back with the rush of air, not hearing the shouts of alarm from Rainbow or from without, pedaling frantically to get out of the ship’s way as it scraped toward her.

“Get it!” Rainbow yelled, and the fuzzy whir of sawdust streaming at her filled the empty space where the ship’s noise had just been. The hazard was not in sight, and Twilight pulled herself to a median and sat down to wait for her nerves to unclench. Sawdust coated the ship’s exposed side, and Twilight waited a second before realizing that they were wasting it. She screamed for them to stop, and several seconds later, they did.

“Where’s the hazard?” she asked, as much of herself as of Rainbow.

“I think it tucked inside,” Rainbow said.

Twilight got to her hooves and trotted around to see the ship’s deck, the cold and magical fatigue gone from her mind, in their place base anger. By her own stupidity, she could have crushed herself under the ship; it was enough to release everything else.

With a lance of magic that hurt her to cast, the ship’s deck split open to reveal the egg-white hazard shrunken within, a cornered beast. “Here!” she yelled, ripping the ship forward with more force than was necessary, dancing to the side to avoid getting run over. She was emboldened by rage, and she distantly knew it, and even more distantly thought she could use it to her advantage. “Hit it now, and don’t miss!” The sawdust came out in a collected stream from two wood chippers, a scant fifteen horizontal feet away, and much of it made its way into the hole she had punched.

At last, she got a reaction. The hazard bubbled and tensed in its space, trying to escape first and then to corner itself, but it was tight in their cabins and had nowhere good to go. Twilight grabbed the ship’s starboard gunwale and yanked it down toward the lot, to angle the hole in the deck upwards at the falling spray of sawdust. Rainbow hung just over them both, watching the hazard, ready to call should it find a way out.

The problem with giving each wood chipper a supply of sawdust was that no one chipper had very much, and when the stream stopped, Rainbow had to race around hollering for them to hurry up and bring over the rest from the others. Twilight’s anger had cooled, and she watched their ship, coated with sodden sawdust and cat litter, disheveled in the tiny crash and broken open by her own horn, with disdain. When the hazard oozed out of its hiding place, furred with sawdust in places, she quietly erected a magical wall over the hole in the deck and then called for sawdust from a different angle. They were close enough to the edge that she had a few more wood chippers to call on before Rainbow had gotten the rest of their desiccants over.

When the sawdust came down, the hazard flattened itself against Twilight’s barrier, then climbed and stretched over the ship to the other side, which she had expected. With a blunt smack of magic, she spun it back around into the stream of dust, and, frustrated with the hazard’s movements, grabbed it in depleted magic. It squirmed and wriggled, fast as a bird in flight, and Twilight’s horn stuttered to activate and reactivate her magic to keep a hold as protrusions of hazard shot out to leave her magic grasping air. It flattened in places, bulged in others, writhed and turned over, sometimes stretching and sometimes contracting or looping under itself as sawdust showered on, and somewhere in the mess Rainbow yelled that more dust was ready.

Then, too fast for her to think, the hazard broke free of her weakened magic and slid like a flashlight beam across the lot, back to the ship. She backed up quickly as it unfurled itself and flew like a sheet in the wind the last ten feet, hitting the ship with enough force to pivot it around on its crushed rudder. It swung her way with a guttural grinding noise, tipped, leaned down as she was backing up. Her eyes were on the hazard, not fully registering the ship’s movements, or the fact that she was too close. A metal peg, one of the fasteners for a balloon cable, came dislodged and spun down, connecting and bouncing off. Light flashed behind her eyes, and the pain came a second later, dulled by cold and adrenaline, an indistinct sting on her cheek. She did not pause for that, but when she saw the blood, her spell faded and she stared down at it. All sound became an atonal drone, and time seemed to slow, and she narrowed her eyes as if not completely sure that the blood was her own. After a few seconds, she was newly aware of Rainbow above, calling for Fluttershy and Octavia, flapping in a frenzy right over her head under the fan of sawdust.

When she tried to speak, fear turned to panic as the pain turned white hot under her skin, and she let out a soft, long moan through clenched teeth. She knew she needed to keep her eyes on the hazard and her magic on the ship, but all she could see was the blood on her collar.

“Where’s Fluttershy? Where is she?” Rainbow was booming across the lot.

Octavia stopped beside her, panting, looking down and trying to see where the hazard had gone at the same time. “Versus took off with her. Colgate is in trouble. I think she said she has been shot.”

Peaceful Meadows screamed down the narrow street, swerving into the wrong lane when oncoming traffic was light, blowing through stop signs, honking when pedestrians got too close to the curb. She knew she was past the point of no return, and she could only pray that somewhere in the week of lost time, she had stashed an emergency go bag at the train station.

Partial Thoughts’ house was not the place she wanted to conduct her interview, but there was no way she was driving both her and the blue unicorn back to her house, not with the long, exposed walk down Partial Thoughts’ driveway.

The problem was, she had only brought one magic suppressor, not expecting to encounter a second unicorn, and though she held her pulse crystal on the blue stranger the whole time, she could not hold her focus the same way. There was always a moment when her eyes would slip away or her attention would flag, and the unicorn spotted the moment sure enough, throwing a weak spell straight into Peaceful Meadows’ eyes and giving them time to break apart. She had been tackled and bludgeoned with the coffee table book, and in that time, Partial Thoughts had stumbled to the kitchen, cut her bindings, and driven off—not before Peaceful Meadows had winged the blue unicorn with her crystal, point blank on a back hoof, stopping her in her tracks and filling the room with the smell of burnt flesh.

Peaceful Meadows was only a couple minutes behind: the time it took to get her wits back, set the wounded unicorn on the couch, cut the phone line, and race down the driveway to her own car.

Her first thought was that Partial Thoughts was running to the bank, but her car wasn’t there. She cursed her broken memory, thinking that Partial Thoughts must have a secret hiding place that she had known at one point. In her mind, the only priority was stopping the white unicorn. The blue one, she did not care about, but the white unicorn was with the Mansels, and she could not have the family on her tail. Their reach was farther than any train could take her.

With the windshield wipers on their highest setting, visibility was still poor as the rain was turning to hail, sweeping in from the north and soon to rattle the warehouse district as well. Ponies and griffons ran down the sidewalks to escape the ice, and cars drove cautiously, but Peaceful Meadows did not. She was wound up, scared, angry, bitter with hatred and with disgust for how it had all unraveled so fast. It had been years since a target had gotten under her skin, and this too angered her.

She skidded onto the circular road around Umbrella Park and forced a covered carriage to screech to a stop, its pullers—shielded with personal forcefields blooming out of crystalline top hats—yelling obscenities at her. The park whipped by, and she watched for Partial Thoughts’ car, a deep black Roan model to oppose its driver’s white coat. She almost passed it, she was so caught up, and had to turn abruptly or else miss the nearest park entrance. She ran up onto the curb, her car clunking loudly as something that she hoped was not important hit the pavement.

One hoof on the wheel, one on the seat beside her to reach for the pulse crystal, she lost traction on wet grass, spun around, and almost hit a tree. Those who were still there to set up the Contraction Party gawked at her, and a few dropped what they were doing and ran, among them the paper-white Partial Thoughts. Peaceful Meadows gunned her car, got it going again with an unhealthy chugging sound, and rolled toward the onlookers, carving deep ruts in the grass and flowerbeds, horn blaring. She knew she was finished in Snowdrift the second she had shot the blue unicorn, so there was no point in subtlety anymore.

In Versus’ car, Fluttershy had managed to calm down after a quick cry. It had happened only minutes ago, Versus said: they were setting up in the park when a black car raced in, parked askew and halfway on the sidewalk, and Partial Thoughts cannoned out in only a bathrobe and slippers. Peaceful Meadows had found her at her house, thought she was the one who had taken her memory, and was after her. She had shot their blue friend just as Partial Thoughts was grabbing her car keys. Versus was the only one in their group with a car, so she dropped her bundle of lights and drove as fast as she could to the warehouse, looking for Twilight and getting Fluttershy instead. The gray mare had told her Fluttershy could help, but no one had explained how.

Fluttershy herself had nothing to say after receiving Versus’ account. She just sat there, staring intently out the window, sniffling occasionally but holding herself together. Versus didn’t say anything, but thought to herself that they should have let Peaceful Meadows freeze in the woods when they had the chance. Some of the old anger from the kidnapping remained, but Fluttershy, vulnerable and upset beside her, softened her mood.

When they got to Partial Thoughts’ house, they found Colgate on the couch, her back leg raised and wrapped with a wet dishtowel. She had rolled her pant leg up, frayed and charred, to expose a black and red wound beneath, just its edges visible around the towel. She did not appear to recognize Fluttershy or Versus at first, but when she finally did, she said only, “oh.”

“How bad is it?” Fluttershy asked. Versus noticed for the first time that Fluttershy had no first aid kit with her.

“See.” She removed the towel and winced at the air touching her blistered flesh, her exposed muscle. A chunk of her hoof was missing, and the rest was black and cracked, like a rotten tooth around the exposed, reddened frog. Fluttershy moaned and looked at Versus, who just stood there.

“I… I can help,” she said.

“Don’t tell anyone what you’re about to see,” was all Fluttershy said, and then she got to work healing her friend.

Partial Thoughts was shivering uncontrollably as she tried to climb out of her soaked bathrobe. She had taken shelter under the bridge with Pinkie and Big Mac, but only long enough to get their bearings, for the bridge was the only obvious hiding place in the park. They could hear Peaceful Meadows’ car trundling closer, see its headlights peeking through the trees. To get back to Partial Thoughts’ car, they would have to circle around the south side of the park, for which the only cover was a jagged row of trees and a few rain-blackened picnic tables.

For Big Mac, it was everything terrible about Snowdrift come at him all at once. The rain was even colder under the bridge, in the draft, and the car’s approach set his teeth on edge and his heart fluttering. Having survived the mare once, he did not feel he could do it a second time; he could already feel the same helpless tears germinating quietly. He looked at Pinkie, but saw no solutions there, and she looked at him with an expression that suggested she felt much the same.

“I don’t s-s-s-suppose either of you have a pulse crystal?” Partial Thoughts asked, winding up her robe to stow it under a rock.

“Just Colgate,” Pinkie said.

“You don’t?” Big Mac asked.

Partial Thoughts just looked at him and went for the other side of the tunnel. The grass sloped up gently, and they could see across the expanse to the beginnings of the vast pine forest.

“Can we hide in there?” Pinkie asked.

“Not with my color.” She hunched her shoulders and rattled her teeth, and Big Mac, hesitatingly, drew up beside her. “In another month, I could disappear anywhere.”

Nearby, the car honked long and abrasively, and Pinkie almost bolted; Big Mac was able to grab her coattail and yank her back. She inched up to the slope and poked her head into the weeds.

“It’s coming down the trail,” she said.

“Which way?”

“Around, to our backs.”

“She’s gonna flush us out,” Partial Thoughts said, looking back at their tunnel, withers and shoulders quivering.

“Can we run now?” Pinkie asked.

“We can’t stay here.”

They could hear the engine idling by the bridge, the squeak of windshield wipers, and when Partial Thoughts stumbled out into the pelting rain, the engine raced up to a powerful roar. They knew what was about to happen, and Partial Thoughts skidded to a halt and tried to dodge away. Tires clunked past them, deep and distant through the earthen slope that still protected Big Mac and Pinkie, and for a second, the white unicorn’s angry face was caught in the swerving headlights as she jumped aside.

Pinkie ripped free of Big Mac’s grip, and he followed her at a lope. The car had just missed, skidded off the grass into a loose circle on the muddy path at the park’s perimeter, and was revving with Peaceful Meadows’ attempt to correct her course. Pinkie stopped at Peaceful Meadows to help her up, and Big Mac meant to do the same, but something forced him past them, straight toward the car and the dead-eyed mare within. Her pulse crystal was out, but he could see her fumbling with it, out of sorts after missing her target and not paying him as much attention as she should have.

Not about almost mowing down Partial Thoughts, or about scaring them, or her connections to the Mansels, but purely in bitter hatred for tying him up and bringing him out to the woods, Big Mac ran to the car, ignoring the wind and rain that stung his face and made his eyelids feel like they would stick open. He ran across grass, across mud, across magical flowers that could be killed by only the most savage winter, all the way to the turning car. Peaceful Meadows noticed him too late, and as she was bringing up her crystal, he reared up, turned around, and with his years of experience on the farm, put both crimson hooves through the window. Glass snapped—did not shatter—and he was thrown forward by his own strength.

Mud and water spumed up as the car tried to gain traction, and finally did, and he got back to his hooves and charged again. He was already behind, and in the slop, he could not catch up until Peaceful Meadows stopped and let him. Without turning off the car, she kicked open the door, fired a warning shot, and then got out, but he was too close to stop, so he plowed into her. A hot flash of magic went over his head, and the two of them scrambled as one. Her forelegs were pinned back and her legs kicked and wheeled to hit him in the groin. Mud and grass were in his eyes and wind was in his ears, and her snarling face came to him in moving fragments.

“Mac! Car!” Pinkie shrieked.

“Off!” Peaceful Meadows growled, her knee finally finding its target and sending Big Mac sprawling off her with a shout of sudden pain. At the top of his eyes, he saw her shape tangle with Pinkie’s at the car door, and a third shape jumped in just as Pinkie was thrown out. More noise, the tinkle of glass pieces falling away, the clang of hooves and crystal on metal, the thick tumble of entwined bodies on the lawn. He rose slowly and fell to the side with the hot coil of pain running up through his stomach and pelvis.

On the other side of the park, the first police sirens were emerging, and Big Mac, breathing heavily, could only gesture in their direction as Pinkie again joined the fray, grabbing hold of Peaceful Meadows’ crystal and trying to yank it away. Magical lights tore black streaks in the ground with the crystal’s discharge, and Peaceful Meadows caught Pinkie in the nose as she flailed to free herself. All four of them were breathing heavily, and for a second, they looked at one another.

“Cops,” Partial Thoughts said, her tone making clear her feeling. Like a shot for racers, her word was a signal for them all to make for the car, Pinkie and Peaceful Meadows meeting at the door and battering each other with hooves and crystal. They were too close for Peaceful Meadows to shoot her, and her shots rose only to shade the clouds. Across the field and through the trees, police were galloping their way with crystals of their own. A line of red magic ran like a leash from one to another, tied at their collars, giving all their uniforms and faces the same eerie cast.

Finally shoving Pinkie aside, Peaceful Meadows dove into the car and twisted into position, and without looking back at her friends, Partial Thoughts threw open the back door and did the same. The car was rolling unevenly toward the bridge when Pinkie and Big Mac caught on and hastened to join them. They were enemies in the park, but neither wanted to involve the police; in the car, an icy truce silenced all as Peaceful Meadows guided them under the bridge and up the path into the forest’s edge, the same path she had forced Versus to drive. She killed the lights, and when they were close to where the path diverged from Umbrella Park’s perimeter, she floored it. The angry sound of a protesting engine filled the space and sent the police scattering back to their cars, but she slowed as soon as they were around a bend and deeper into the woods. Big Mac recognized the area; if they kept on course, they would merge with the road to Little Snowdrift.

“You sure you want to go out of town?” Partial Thoughts asked.

Peaceful Meadows did not respond.

“I’m just saying, there’s three of us.”

Peaceful Meadows wiped a mixture of blood and rainwater off her muzzle, then turned on the air conditioning. She smiled, angling the vents toward the back of the car.

“Is this the part where we negotiate, maybe?” Pinkie asked. She was between Big Mac and Partial Thoughts in the back, and her voluminous mane clung in freezing strands to her back, her tail to Big Mac’s legs.

Peaceful Meadows sighed.

“Safe passage to Roan? That sounds nice, right? I bet it’s warmer there.”

“Shut up.”

She looked down, and Big Mac looked around her at Partial Thoughts. Her wet fur lay down in patches on her skin, making her look partially bald. She flicked her eyes up at Peaceful Meadows, and her lips parted just a fraction. She blinked deliberately long.

Big Mac exhaled through his nose. He thought he knew what she was suggesting, insanity to him, but he was the only one who could do it. As a unicorn, Partial Thoughts could not do anything without Peaceful Meadows’ notice, and Pinkie was too far from the front seat.

Driving was slow on the curved road, with lots of brush to rumble over, capillaries of water to loosen the already loose ground. Worse, they were entering a bank of fog, and Big Mac did not know the road well enough to be sure they would ever see the rail again if they lost the way to Little Snowdrift. If they deviated in the fog, they might not come back.

“Gotta be now,” he thought, twitching, but hesitating. Peaceful Meadows snapped her eyes to him in the rear-view mirror, and he barked as he lurched forward, shocked into action. She was ready for something, but she only put a hole in her windshield as her body and the seat were roughly pushed back, him straining awkwardly to put his entire one hundred-forty-one pounds into slamming forward, reaching the wheel, and wrenching it violently to one side.

They caromed off the road into a narrow swale of river rock, bouncing noisily off to get stuck where the rock gave way to a rise between two spruces. Peaceful Meadows was twisting back, trying to angle her crystal at them, but Big Mac did not let go the wheel, and instead pressed his weight into her further, crushing her against the seat, where she could only impotently hit his muscled side with weakened forehooves. Behind, the mares hurried to escape, and Partial Thoughts circled around to open the driver’s side door and let them fall out. As soon as she was on the ground, Partial Thoughts set to her sides and ribs, kicking and stomping and yelling for her to release the crystal. Big Mac, caught on the gearshift and leaning uncomfortably onto the seat, could only watch as the beating got quieter, more furious, and then stopped. Panting, he crawled over Peaceful Meadows’ body on the wet ground.

She breathed still, eyes slits, crystal divorced from her hoof, muddy hoofprints dashing her clothes and exposed fur. Big Mac took the crystal gingerly and set it on the ground by Partial Thoughts, who looked at it and shook her head.

Another quiet moment passed, when no one knew exactly what to do or say. They had lost the sounds of police and almost the sounds of the city, and they could see the fog rolling, shrouding the trees they had almost hit. Big Mac limped to the car and removed the keys.

“You gonna kill me?” Peaceful Meadows groaned.

“We don’t want to,” Pinkie said.

She lay her head back on the ground with a thump. “So you’re gonna let me go.”

“We can’t do that either,” Partial Thoughts said.

“No way,” Pinkie echoed.

Under fog, he saw the pull of a smile. “You can’t stay with me forever, out here. Let me freeze? That’s worse than the crystal.”

Partial Thoughts turned away and disappeared into the fog, and Big Mac took her place beside Pinkie, looking down on their attacker. He could not help his heart from going out to her, twinging with guilt at the beaten mare. She was no threat anymore; could they not just walk away, give her her car back, and tell her to stay away from them?

“Obviously can’t do that,” he thought. He kicked a twig her way.

Pinkie, meanwhile, only stared, stupefied.

“What’s it gonna be?” Peaceful Meadows asked, voice dry and soft.

“There’s no way you can get Twilight, right?” Partial Thoughts asked from within fog.

“She’s at the warehouse,” Big Mac said. He looked at the pulse crystal, secretly hoping, in small part, that Peaceful Meadows had somehow gotten a hold of it. If she could give them a reason, then things might go more easily.

“Talk it over in private if you want,” Peaceful Meadows said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Let’s bring her back to town, let the cops sort it out,” Pinkie said. “That’s what they’re there for.”

“No police,” Partial Thoughts said.

“But—”

“No.” She stomped over and took up the pulse crystal, looked closely at its design, and brought it level with Peaceful Meadows’ face. She shook her head.

“No wonder they kicked you out of Roan,” Peaceful Meadows said.

“Sit her up.” Big Mac and Pinkie were both frozen, so Partial Thoughts went behind Peaceful Meadows herself, labored to get the injured hatchet pony into a sitting position, and pointed the crystal at the back of her neck. “Last words?”

“I said my piece.”

She took a deep breath, then another, and flinched back with the noise. The crystal shot came as a rapid, pressurized suction sound, and fog parted in a ring around the hot magic as Peaceful Meadows slouched forward unnaturally. Behind her, Partial Thoughts stood, wide-eyed and trembling, before passing out.

Applejack ran into the danger zone to help Twilight hobble out, her face split and running blood across the cheekbone, her horn intermittently flashing with weak magic. Rainbow remained above, Octavia took Twilight’s place at the ship, and Rarity heard without seeing just inside her own shield. She had to keep her eyes closed, she had held it up for so long.

Twilight was insisting that she was fine, and Applejack was telling her that Octavia had the matter well under control. Rarity was not so sure; she could hear Octavia popping off smaller magical explosions on the lot, their flat cracks resounding like artillery over the wood chippers’ buzz. From what Twilight had told of the hazard, Rarity was not sure why explosions were necessary.

“There you are,” Applejack said. She and Twilight were just nearby, and Rarity thought she heard the suggestion of a voice in response. Vinyl.

“I’m fine,” Twilight repeated slowly, not sounding fine.

“We’ve got Octavia out there now, keepin’ the hazard down. Shouldn’t be long now, but—listen, that ain’t really the biggest problem. You don’t got a car right now, do ya? Off chance?”

Rarity pricked up her ears.

“‘Cause Fluttershy had to run off across town, emergency. Somethin’ happened to Colgate.” She paused, and lightning lit the insides of Rarity’s eyelids. “No, Versus told us. She was in a state.”

“Here we go!” Octavia yelled, and Rainbow repeated her, and a crash of fire and wind expanded toward her. Rarity flinched, but the shield held.

Somewhere out by the shield’s perimeter, strange voices were cheering, and these were joined by more before they made it back to Rarity’s side. Applejack’s premature “yeehaw!” came first, then Rainbow asking whether Octavia was sure, then a triumphant “yeah!” coming out of the sky as Rainbow dipped and weaved in excitement.

“Can I drop my shields now?” Rarity shouted. Under the cheers, which had spread to the crowd of witnesses and reporters well behind, she thought she could hear the cranes coming back to life, hauling down their wood chippers.

“I have to see,” Twilight mumbled close by.

“In your face, Discord!” Rainbow yelled, her amplified voice overtaking all as it rose. Rarity could imagine her, shooting as high as she could to yell her triumph at the top of the storm, and not long after, Rainbow did exactly that. Slipping into the clouds, her war cry was muffled like the purr of thunder, guttural and hearty. Exultation rolling from above, it brought a smile to Rarity’s face, and she risked opening her eyes.

For a moment, she thought that Octavia had destroyed the airship, for her eyes went right to the smoking craters in the parking lot. Mounds of sawdust connected the ship, merely pushed aside, to her shield’s edge in a dotted line, and Octavia stood in the middle of it all, looking ready to collapse. With the wind that made it through Rarity’s shield, her long mane swirled on the lot’s surface, filthy and tangled with wet sawdust.

“Twilight,” Rarity called. “How much longer do I need to hold this?”

Twilight’s head bobbed where Applejack had rested her against an abandoned carriage, and she looked at Rarity blankly, her face soaked in blood, her lips pale.

“You can take it down, Rare,” Applejack said. “We have to get her to a hospital.”

“Right, a hospital.” She looked around, yelled as loudly as she could that she was dropping the shield, and let the weather slam back onto the lot with a heavy roar. The water that had condensed on her shield came down loudly with the hail and the wind, no longer diverted. She could hear the black pines whistling far away.

“Or bring Fluttershy. She went to… Partial Thoughts’ house, Ah think? You know where that is?”

“I’ll get the others,” Rarity said, not sure what else to do. “Get everyone on the ship, there’s still first aid there. I’ll be back.”

Applejack saluted, the gesture almost comical were her face not so serious, and helped Twilight up with Vinyl. Rainbow and Octavia were coming back, and Rarity, not wanting to get caught up answering their questions, galloped down the sidewalk and through the crowd, parting them with the magic she had left.

Colgate said not a word as Versus drove them back to the park. She felt sick again, nauseous from being healed. The pain lingered as diffuse prickles around her hoof, and her fur was still gone, but it was the raw fact of the healing itself that made her so uncomfortable. It was for the same reason that she had been uncomfortable with Octavia picking her up in the mines, or with riding on the airship with Applejack as captain. To see Fluttershy come into the house, focus her eyes on the wound, and go to work, Colgate had felt the same old fear for nothing.

“Leave me there,” Colgate said suddenly, surprising herself a little. “The big park.”

“That’s the plan,” she expected Fluttershy to say. Fluttershy instead looked at her with a sad smile. “You sure?”

“I have friends there. I’ll meet you at the hotel later.”

“Not me,” Versus said. “As soon as I’ve dropped you both off, I’m going home.”

“I think you should,” Fluttershy said.

They pulled up to the curb by Umbrella Park’s entrance, let Colgate out, and then slid into the lessening hail. Colgate put her newly-healed hoof in a puddle between cobblestones and let the frigid water sting her skin. All was quiet in the park, and she walked to a set of tables. The Contraction was supposed to happen that day, perhaps the day after, by Twilight’s schedule, but the party was nowhere near complete. Dead lights were hung in some places, but no other decorations; tables were out, and chairs, but not enough; the bandstand was nowhere to be seen. Tents were rolled into huge tubes, carnival games packed into weather-beaten crates on the grass. The precogs, it seemed, expected the Contraction to come later than Twilight wanted.

Colgate followed tire treads to the site of Peaceful Meadows’ encounter with Big Mac and his friends on the grass. She saw the ruined flowers, the broken glass from his mighty kick, the scorch of pulse crystal fire, the scores on the tree Peaceful Meadows had rammed earlier. In her head, the events were jumbled, and she envisioned a sequence of car stunts. Perhaps Peaceful Meadows had arrived to find Partial Thoughts already gone, and had torn around the park to let off some steam.

She was resting and contemplating one of the fountains when Rarity arrived, panting and soaked from sweat and weather. Her mane and tail were lank, and she kept jerking her head violently to keep her mane from tripping her up. She hailed Colgate at a distance, startling her.

“I heard you got hurt,” Rarity said.

“The Mansel scum-pony shot me with a crystal. Fluttershy fixed it.”

“Oh. Okay—you’re okay, then? She did a good job?”

“Fine.” She showed Rarity the hoof in question.

“Where is she?"

"Just passed. Versus is driving her back to the warehouse."

Rarity sighed in relief, and Colgate, thinking it a queer thing to do, only nodded in agreement. She asked how the work with the hazard was going.

“Twilight’s hurt too, but they got it. I guess now they’re going to clean up and grab the Element. One to go.”

“That’s good. Why did Twilight get hurt?”

“I’m not sure. I just hope Fluttershy can help her too.” She craned her neck and started toward the forest. “I'm sure she can.”

They walked under no shield to the forest’s edge, by the bridge, where the tire tracks led and which Colgate had not bothered to follow. After a minute, they recognized the others: Big Mac, Pinkie, and Partial Thoughts, just as soaked and unhappy as Colgate and Rarity. Partial Thoughts was the worst, in just her short fur; the soaked, white coat had become semitransparent, and she could not stop shivering. Big Mac and Pinkie were little better, their outer clothes dark with rain and hanging heavily off their frames, streaming water. The groups retreated to a Ramada to get out of the hail, but the wind slanted across to them still, and there, they shared what had happened. Pinkie cried, and Partial Thoughts relayed her experience impersonally and at length, explaining how it felt to use Peaceful Meadows’ pulse crystal. The act of taking a life had temporarily shocked the feeling out of her, which many of them understood.

Inside the evacuation zone, there were too many ponies and too many abandoned vehicles for an ambulance to safely navigate, and with Fluttershy not yet back, they made do with the medical supplies on the ship. Applejack had inexpertly stemmed Twilight’s bleeding with cotton pads, swabbed in antibiotic ointment and wrapped around her face with gauze. Meanwhile, in grinding lines, the cherry pickers and wood chippers made their ways back to the garages and facilities from which Twilight had called them. Many of the operators and drivers wanted to speak with her personally, and Twilight insisted that she meet them. She sat on the gangplank, on a pile of sawdust, and shook hooves and gave thanks. Her color was returning, just, but Applejack did not feel good about it.

While she worked to clean the ship and get it back in working order, flashing between the waking world and the dissociative world of magic through which she controlled their machine, Octavia and Vinyl scraped sawdust off the lot and Rainbow hunted for the Element in the emptied warehouse.

Reporters and bystanders flocked and dispersed soon after, a very few remaining to help clean the lot. The hazard had been absorbed and dried out, much of its mass sucked into the dust, hardening it. In places, small husks of the hazard’s processes could be found, like spun sugar, beaten flat by hail.

Versus arrived as the last of the crowd was turning back, and she drove straight up through the lot to the airship and climbed out, having donned a smile for the sake of her friends’ triumph. She fawned over Twilight, and Fluttershy tried without success to heal her, and then the two joined with the cleanup effort.

“We’ll get you stitched up if Fluttershy can’t help after this,” Applejack said. “There’s a hospital just a hop an’ a skip away from the hotel.”

“I don’t want to waste our time,” Twilight said, but she knew Applejack was right, and Applejack knew it too. There was no argument.

“So,” Applejack said, trotting down the plank, “you gotta feel good ‘bout it, though. You kicked that thing’s butt, if it’s got a butt.”

“I got hurt.”

“Like anypony coulda, Twilight. And that wasn’t the hazard got ya, that was this dang ship. That was just bad luck, but other than that, you made it look easy.”

Twilight smiled in spite of herself. “It’s just good planning.”

“An’ it shows.” She sat down and put a leg around her friend. “One more. Based on the last few, we’ll be off straight to the final one in no time, too.”

“About time.”

Applejack took a deep breath. “It feels good, my friend.”

Rainbow took the hole in the roof and sped across the lot, the Element dangling from her hoof. She landed, did a little jig, and presented the Element to Applejack: it was Big Mac’s, two pale green gems fused, one around the other, to form his single apple cutie mark. The jeweler had even added flecks of onyx for the apple seeds.

“Ooooh, let’s see,” Versus said, trotting over. Applejack hesitated, but after a confirming look from Twilight, let Versus look.

The questions and explanations came next, and by the time they were done, Octavia and Vinyl had finished with the lot. They had merely pushed the sawdust off into the bushes at the periphery, assuming it would decompose and feed the bushes.

For her part, Versus accepted the idea of new Elements without reservations, and she did not ask any of the big questions Twilight was afraid of: how would three new Elements affect the future? Would the princesses accept the change? Might there be another, unknown, reason why it had to be six Elements; and adding more had only destroyed them all? For these, Twilight had no good answers, but she was not tested. For a moment, it appeared that Applejack was about to engage Versus in another philosophical conversation, and bring up the implications of new Elements herself, but Octavia reminded them that they had not the time. Twilight drew Versus the tiny sigil that would enable them to send letters back and forth, and Applejack promised to write once they were in a better place.

Versus watched from the lot’s edge as Applejack put them in the air for a few minutes. The hole Twilight had punched in the deck had not damaged any machinery, just the floor and cabins, but her friends kept tactful silence about Twilight’s momentary surge of emotion.

“Let’s get this to an actual airship lot and get back,” Rainbow said. “Fluttershy, how you doing? Ready to heal?”

Fluttershy shook her head.

“Right. Twilight, you’re going to a hospital as soon as we land. We’ll find the others. They should be still at Umbrella Park, right?”

“That’s where we left ‘em,” Applejack said, taking off her Element and hefting her brother’s. “Just fer fun, let’s see.” She donned the heavier Element, where it rested just as naturally on her chest. “How do Ah look, girls?”

“Patient,” Octavia said, and it took them a second to realize she was making a small joke.

“You’re glowing,” Vinyl said.

“Ah like it too,” Applejack said.

“No, you—look.” She tapped the green apple, warm to the touch, and Applejack yanked the necklace off and lay it on the deck. It glowed from within, and after a second, thin tendrils of smoke were seen seeping from around the gem’s edge. The smoke coalesced above, tightened, solidified, and out came a curled note.

“Uhh, that’s not s’posed to happen,” Applejack said.

“Just great,” Rainbow said, taking it and reading.

* * * * * *

Evening was coming on the clock, and not the sky, in Hoofington as for the world. In the guts of the Astra fortress on town’s edge, Lumb was engaged with light reading. His preferred room was a small parlor with a ship’s porthole as a window, part of an entire wing fashioned from a decommissioned airship fleet, recovered and butchered into squished little rooms and bracing for the fortress’ higher reaches.

He had woken that day with a sense of impending action, which had not quit him for one second as the day wound up. Over his life, he had learned to trust such feelings implicitly, no matter how obscure, and he went first to his museum to close it for the next few days. His second step was to go to the Astras, who were not yet his family—he was waiting for Violet Astra to return from Canterlot before marrying her—to warn them, of what he could not say. They understood that he intuited things sometimes, and the family stayed closer to home that day. Third, he went to his mansion, formerly Octavia’s, and with the servants’ help, purged it of valuables and locked down what could not be easily removed. He called up every mover who could help on short notice and had the paintings, the silverware, the china, the vases and flowers, the rugs and aged wine, and the smaller instruments conveyed back to the museum for safe keeping. The library and instrument room, he had locked away and boarded up, and the servants he discharged home on the spot, every single one, not laid off but temporarily suspended. With urgency that bloomed into frantic energy, Lumb moved, gave orders, handled details, argued with ponies who questioned his intuition. In the space of a day, he turned his life upside-down, and never once did he stop to question himself.

At five o’ clock, with his instinct running hot to tell him that time was direly short, he got in his limousine and drove it from the mansion to the Astras’, just to check in, and there waited for the next impulse, if there was a next impulse. He sensed that he had completed his task in enough time, barely, but could not be comfortable until he saw for what he had done everything. The Astras left him alone, for they knew he did not like to be bothered in this state.

Finally, like fog lifting off a field, knowledge emerged inside his brain. He put down the book and went out to his car, driving it as carefully as he could to the middle of the park. The statues of the Elements of Harmony were behind him as he parked too close to the gate, and waited. Passers-by gave him strange looks, which he did not heed. His intuition told him he was complete, and that the next steps would be easy and clear.

Only twenty minutes later, magic flashed on the lawn, upsetting a pair of stallions on a picnic blanket, and out tumbled some old friends. The ponies came first, rubbing their heads and eyes, obviously surprised, and a globe of light came second, rising into the sky and exploding like a dandelion to leave behind an image that solidified into a damaged airship. It hovered noisily, and the ponies looked around and cried out in disorientation but not anger, and Lumb waited for them to come to their senses before stepping out and approaching them.

Twilight, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Octavia, and a pale mare he did not recognize, were scattered across the lawn, trying to figure out what had happened. One of them waved a letter and told the others to be quiet, that it was obvious if they’d just listen. Lumb noted Twilight’s pallor, her wound, the fact that she lay on the grass while the others stood, and he knew then why he had needed to bring the car, and not simply show up on hoof.

“Long time no see,” he shouted, snapping their attention back to him. “Help me get her in the car, I’ll take you to a hospital.”

“You!”

“Who is this?”

“How did you—never mind.”

“This is Hoofington, then.”

“What are you doing here?”

They babbled questions as they got into the limousine, and then were underway, Twilight up front and dripping blood through her bandages on Lumb’s upholstery. When they were quieter, Lumb spoke again.

“I’ve been up since seven this morning, laboring under large feelings.” He paused for half a minute, as was his wont. “Much of it, I still fail to understand, but this is clear. I was to meet you all.”

“You’re a friend,” the pale mare said softly.

“We’re all friends here."

“You’re an intuiter,” Twilight mumbled. “We were just surrounded by precogs, and now you.”

“Don’t talk, Twilight,” Rainbow said.

“Is that the word?” Lumb asked. “An intuiter. I prefer ‘artist’.”

The Hoofington hospital was five minutes away, and before Lumb’s dinnertime, Twilight was checked in and waiting to receive stitches. When the doctor said Twilight would need a blood transfusion, Rainbow cut her off to volunteer.

By eight, Twilight and Rainbow were stable but weak, Applejack had found a place for their ship, and Lumb had gone back home. He bade them a formal goodbye, as if he believed he would not see them again.

“The others are still in Snowdrift,” Applejack said, at the same time as a coil of smoke was coming off Octavia’s head. Their friends had figured it out too, and the letter, in Pinkie’s long script, asked where they were and whether they were okay. While Octavia formulated a response, Rainbow read the letter that had come off the Element of Patience.

“He watches me now, so this is the final time you shall hear from me. I cannot meet you, so instead, I’ve put the magic in this note. Hope you’re all together when you read it. V.C.” Rainbow balled the note up and threw it in the wastebasket. “But this is where we need to be, right? Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy nodded solemnly. “It’s on the other side of the river. It’s maybe… two miles away.”

Locked Out

Chapter One hundred-eleven

Locked Out

Many Canterlot ponies were out on a Saturday night, letting loose from the work week and enjoying their one day of total freedom. Bars were full, restaurants were slammed, concerts played, parties roared, and on and on did the city breathe with night life, while April Showers rode in a quiet car down the mountain, shaking to keep her composure. They were on the freeway, curving around a series of canals and reservoirs that the river fed, the river where they had disposed of two bodies just a half hour ago.

The pegasi volunteered no comforting words for her. In the passing streetlights, their faces were indistinct and jaundiced, but April could not stop looking when they turned her way.

When at last one of them spoke, it was Long Luxury, to offer to drop her off at home. April said okay, and guided them through the suburbs with some difficulty, her addled mind making it difficult to give good directions. She got out of the car outside her apartment complex and watched the car disappear into the night, like nothing had happened.

It was two o’ clock in the morning, and there was but one light on in the complex, no noise. She sat on the sidewalk and stared, at nothing in particular, breathing. It felt like it was all she could do. After a minute, she went to the brick wall and found a spot behind a bush, where she lay down. With ringing ears and closed eyes, her entire body shaking and her mind in disarray, she did nothing else, just lay there. She couldn’t think to order the events in her mind. She could not begin processing them.

When she brought a hoof to her face, she found that she was soaked with sweat and tears, and she looked around with a jolt to see whether anyone might have noticed her. Self-consciousness flooded back in, and she stopped crying and sat back up. The bush tickled her as a gust vibrated it, and there she remained, quiet and more composed, still shaking, occasionally letting off a single sob or spitting snot into the grass. Her wings were sore from constant tension, but she could not relax them; every time she tried, her body revolted, and the shaking would intensify, running up her legs and through her shoulders, all the way to the base of her neck. Her head would go still, and her mouth would slacken, and her eyes would fixate on whatever was before her until the shaking passed and she could move again. Anything more than a shallow breath made her stomach quiver and her throat constrict, and a few times, she doubled over to dry heave.

April had no idea how long she had stayed outside the apartment in such a state, but it was still dark when she reached the abuse shelter. Nothing rational had brought her there; she simply stood up and walked. She could not imagine going back home, or sleeping, or doing anything at all, so her shaking legs led her to the only other safe place she knew. She walked into the complex slowly, lost, looking for nothing. She went around the dining room to a sand pit, where ponies could play volleyball or walk around the encompassing track, and then came to a stop where the shelter was fenced off. Behind, she could see the living quarters and the administration building, square shadows against the darker shadow of the mountain behind. She went to the gate and stared through its chain links, resting her head against cold, rough metal.

Green unicorn light showed first in a window, then in the open doorway to a building close by, and April backed away from the fence as its bearer approached.

“Do you require something?” he asked. His voice was commanding without being harsh, but on April’s frazzled nerves, it was too much, and she only looked back at him, still shaking, trying to find a response. When he got closer to see her through the fence, he adjusted his tone. “Are you in danger?”

April tensed her wings and willed her body to be still as she formed her words. “I… I don’t… I gotta…”

“Come in,” he said, unlatching the gate. “Are you in danger? Do you need the police?”

She shook her head and entered the complex, eyes down, and followed alongside him. They walked for a long time, long enough for April to respond to his calming presence. She could feel her muscles loosening, her shaking lessen, and by the time they were indoors, she could distinguish the sounds around her more clearly. Her heart had slowed and her mind with it, and she was able to look around and see that he had taken her into a small chapel. He knelt for a second before the symbol of the crescent moon and led her to an office.

Seated, with a cup of water before her, she finally spoke. “I apologize for waking you, sir.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said. He had made his voice gentle and slow for her. “Though I would caution against loitering outside the gates like that. Makes ponies nervous. My name is Reverend Green. Can you tell me yours?”

“Flitter,” she said, aware immediately of her mistake. “Oh. It’s actually April Showers. Flitter’s a nickname.”

“Do you need help?”

She still could not look up at him, so with her eyes frozen on the reflection in the wooden floor, she nodded.

“We can give you a place to sleep, a place to live temporarily.”

“I have a place.”

His shape nodded in the corner of her eye. “Tell me what you do need. We can help you.”

April did not respond, and the reverend did not press for a time.

“We can offer counseling, employment assistance, legal consultation, temporary child care, anything at all that you need.”

“I think I just want to talk,” she said at last, and took several drinks of water. The reverend was an elderly stallion, thin, balding in places; in his plain, blue pajamas, he looked somehow empty, out of place in the office, almost unsuitable for April’s problem.

“My ears are open, sister.” He yawned. “I apologize, I haven’t gotten much sleep tonight. Do you mind if I brew a cup? You can have some if you like.”

“Sure.”

With the coffee machine bubbling, the reverend scrutinized her again. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know how to say it.”

“I find,” he rose and got out two mugs, “when I have difficulty telling someone something, that starting at the beginning is most helpful.”

“The beginning. I guess that would be…” “Meeting Ink Pearl, right?” She blinked, her eyes dry. Emboldened by the discovery, she began. “I think I joined up with the wrong crowd, and I don’t know if I can get out.”

“What sort of crowd?”

She looked at him and wished that he weren’t a unicorn. “I don’t know how you’re going to take this, but I fell in recently—like really recently—with the Pegasus Advocates.”

The slightest pause. “Okay.”

“But I think that was a mistake.”

He poured their coffee.

“We…”

“Has anyone been hurt?”

April swallowed. “I didn’t hurt anyone, but… Not directly, I mean. But yeah, two ponies got hurt pretty bad.”

“How bad?” he asked quietly.

April remained silent.

“Have you told anyone?”

She shook her head.

“It sounds like you might get more help from the police, April.” He glanced at the phone on his wall, and her heart beat faster.

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“They accept anonymous tips.”

“No, I mean… They’ll know it was me ‘cause I was the only other one who saw them.”

Reverend Green blew on his coffee and stirred a cube of sugar into it. “They wouldn’t find you here.”

She just shook her head.

“I can make the call for you.”

Her head was buzzing again. She had been thinking of the Pegasus Advocates, but now, with the tension eased off a little and the coffee warming her, she thought instead of the Datura. In the dark of predawn, her assignment seemed ludicrous to her, bordering on abusive. Her commander’s expectations were simply too high, and the training she’d received insufficient. She had been told to expect incidents like that night’s, but no one had helped her prepare for one. No trips to the morgue, or roll playing, or even violent films to get her used to the idea.

And now, instead of a resource she could go to for counseling, someone to whom she could speak openly, she had to wander the streets until chancing to find a charitable soul.

“I think I’m trapped no matter what I do,” she said at last. She could not reveal her work with the Datura on her own, but thought she might be able to if the reverend pried.

“You’re here,” he said. “You’re safe here, April. There are options for you.”

“Maybe.” He hadn’t asked the right question, and the way to telling him her true problem was shut. She felt clear enough to stand and thank him, and apologize for wasting his time.

She woke up in her own bed, skipped breakfast, and went straight to the sidewalk, where she stood and watched the simulated clouds break apart for a nine o’ clock sun. It was Sunday morning, and on the other side of the country, Twilight and crew were preparing for an ordeal of their own.

Sleep had brought no clarity to April, as she had hoped. She still feared for her safety from the PAs, and she still feared for her safety from the Datura—the latter, for she knew with queasy certainty what she must do. She went back into the apartment and penned a resignation letter.

Ink Pearl and Chilly Clouds both had made it clear that April was the only Datura working at her job, and that there was no one in reserve if things should go wrong. She had been given sensitive information, a delicate assignment, and an expensive procedure to carry it out. She knew that Ink would not take her resignation well, and that the consequences could be permanent.

To save money, for she did not know how much she would need to get out of town, April walked and flew to the nearest train station. Out of Canterlot, only a few trains were running: one to Ponyville, five all the way out to Manehattan, and a few to stations on the eastern edge of the Everfree Forest. She jotted down the departure times for the day and walked back.

It was noon when she was back in her apartment, and she had cherry tomatoes and fruit juice for lunch while rereading her letter, trying to build up her resolve, and thinking how best to deliver it. She did not know how to get into the lab where they had built her new body, and going to the shelter was out of the question, it seemed to her, for her Datura connection would not be volunteering that day—and she did not want to risk running into the reverend there either.

The only other place she knew was Ink Pearl’s house, way out in the southern fringes of the city. She could not remember Chilly Clouds’ location, but Ink’s was remote enough that she thought she could find it. She checked the time, did some calculation, and then packed her saddlebags. Water, the few loose bits she had left, her letter, a coat in case it got cold, and a city map. Everything else she left in the apartment, not wanting to waste time packing. It was going to be a long walk.

“Like, what am I gonna tell her?” she thought, imagining a taxi driver. “I need you to take me to my boss’ house. It’s way out in the boonies, on the edge of the city. I’ll just shout it out when I think you’re close. No way.” Besides, she was in no big hurry. As long as she was underway, she felt secure, safe in the space between decision and consequence.

Her apartment complex was in the northwest quadrant of the city, close to the mountainside, and Ink Pearl’s house was at the southern edge. She set off down the street, the mountain to her left side, and walked. It was still warm, except when the wind stirred the leaves and grass, of which there was not much in her immediate surroundings. Across an intersection, she was already past the reaches of the mountain’s influence. The sharp corners and flat walls of a granite and tile company passed her by, granite and limestone, etched with simple designs. Beyond that, a rental car facility. Beyond that, the rich foliage and dirt inroad to a wholesale grower, its shining metal arches dripping water on rows of fat-leaved soybeans.

A bus ran past, and she thought about trying to catch it, but she had not the money for a round trip. Moreover, getting to Ink Pearl’s house quicker would bring her no pleasure, and she gave a small wave as the bus pulled away. The pony it let off thought she was waving at him, and gave a hesitant wave in return.

Before Canterlot, April had never been in what she thought of as a large city. Cloudsdale was only a little larger than Ponyville, and much denser, but it did not have the same qualities of Lower Canterlot. She remembered being abashed at the wide roads and the huge parking lots, the signs and billboards, the concrete everywhere. Ponyville was mostly dirt roads and wooden fences, and Cloudsdale’s roads were of hardened cloud. Asphalt and cement had been foreign to her, and as she passed a pool supply store, a family negotiating a stack of boxes into their small carriage, she reflected on her experience in the city, faceless up close but charming to her nonetheless.

She could still see her apartment complex if she turned around; it looked like she had barely covered any ground, though she was twenty minutes out. She got into the air for a few minutes and touched down outside a convention center, its low, white arches offering shade in a space without trees. A young mare was outside one of the glass doors with a book, and April tried to see the cover as she passed.

When she was out in the sun again, she stopped, realizing then the extent of the journey she had started. In her apartment, a six-hour walk sounded interesting, and good exercise that she did not strictly need, but cutting through the parking lot of a small bank, stopping to let a car back out in front of her, she saw how large the city was. No village, no town, Lower Canterlot was a full city, and she was crossing it on hoof. Still, the thought to take her time held. She had written her letter with the idea, had accepted it by the time she was out the door. Another bus whizzed by as if to prove to her that she did not want it.

She had worked as a bank teller for a few months in college, just to take the edge off her tuition. She had not remotely enjoyed the work, though she was fair with numbers. April smiled to herself, crossing the street, and remembered how Cloudchaser—employed as a grocer at the time—would come in every weekend and wait for her sister to cash her paychecks. A fond gesture, and from it, April thought about Cloudchaser for the next few miles. The farthest apart they had ever been was when Flitter was in college and Cloudchaser was working, and it had seemed for a while that they would drift off into their respective professions, but it was not so. For want of money, the two wound up becoming roommates in Cloudsdale, and had never really moved past that, even after moving to Ponyville.

April spied the top of a hotel over the squashed roof of a coffee shop tucked into the corner of a shopping complex. Equinox was its name, and though she had never stayed, she had heard Wings and Jet talk about it. She had circled it as a landmark on her map, which she consulted in the mist under a flower shop’s awning. Behind the wide window, vases and knickknacks were arranged on brittle-looking shelves, hanging over a wide basket of white peonies and dahlias, brushed with artificial snow. The doorbell jingled as someone entered beside her, and she watched them for a minute, browsing through greeting cards and stuffed animals before finally seeking out a florist and losing April’s interest. She flapped to the other side of the road, where an airship whacked steadily for takeoff on a wide tarmac.

She was entering a better part of town, closer to a natural offshoot from a mountain stream. She had not been there herself, but had passed through the area a few times; at night, the hotels and malls would don gaudy lights, and certain streets would close to allow for increased pedestrian traffic. Several roads narrowed and spun off in different directions as one neared the neighborhood, but April’s shot straight through, splitting off farther south to join another freeway up the mountain.

She angled her head away as she passed a pair of delinquent-looking fillies, smoking on the wall between a convenience store and a tire shop. She was reminded again of Flitter and Cloudchaser, though neither of them had ever touched a cigarette. Their wild hairstyles and youthful faces had earned them more than a few cautious looks.

Waiting for the light to change, she stretched her wings and watched a pair of ponies stringing Hearth’s Warming lights between the trees outside a massive care center. The front was all glass, two wide wings expanding outward in welcome under a huge, plaster sign for the center’s name. Above that, an airship pad for those who had to be rescued from the mountain—there was at least one every month, it seemed.

“Do they let Daturas go to regular hospitals?” she wondered. Then, she realized she had never even heard of a Datura going to a hospital; they usually just disappeared for a while and came back unaccountably well again. There were healing potions, she knew, and magic as well, but those were difficult to mass produce, so conventional techniques had to remain predominant.

“There’s gotta be special Datura hospitals,” she thought to herself, pausing for a minute to look enviously in on a busy doughnut shop. “‘Cause we get hurt in unique ways, or we can. How do you explain to a non-Datura how you got some kinda crazy magical wound or something?” Perhaps that was one of Chilly Clouds’ jobs, she thought, to bring injured Daturas to the special Datura hospital, wherever it was. By the time the care center was out of sight, April had convinced herself that there was a Datura hospital somewhere in the city, perhaps underground, with all their other secrets.

“Here we go,” she said to herself. Another way point she had marked on her map, Sand’s Weight Consulting and Law. The only pony name she had read with a possessive in the title, it was one of the places she had fantasized about working for when she was in college. Canterlot was, not so surprisingly, known for its top-notch lawyers. In the last century, there had been more than thirty landmark cases decided in the city’s courts, only a few of them making it up to the palace, and all of them subject to intense study in schools around the country. Flitter had known them all by heart, and April still remembered the majority.

Bitterly, April watched the suits moving outside, flowing through the building’s front doors, all of them busy and successful. She had dreamed big at first, and then that dream had shrunk all through her final year of college—shrunk, but not died. She always imagined herself as having a place in one of those hallowed Canterlot courtrooms. The view from the sidewalk, on her way to resign from a different career, held her attention far after she left it behind.

It was easy to get caught up pitying herself, as April did as she put the law firm farther behind her and approached an apartment complex on the other side of the street, much nicer than her own. How did other Daturas do it? She knew for a fact that she was not the only one who had given up her original identity, nor the only one who had experienced trauma, nor who had been unjustly treated by a superior. Yet ponies carried on; they got up in the morning and tried again. “And here I am, quitting. After all the crap I’ve done, I’m quitting.”

She sat and contemplated, for just a second, going back home and trying to continue with the Pegasus Advocates. Putting the idea aside once more, and rising to make her way to a noisy overpass, she thought instead of where she would go after resigning. She had thought but a little earlier, more concerned with what all her options were, and whether she could afford to spend any money in the intervening time; she had not seriously considered what her actual move would be. Ponyville was easiest and most obvious, and therefore where the Datura would look for her first—if they looked for her at all. Ink Pearl did not seem the sort to just let her go, so she assumed there would be a search. Manehattan was still a mess, and that left one of the random trains east, to tiny towns and stations she had not heard of.

“If I do go back home, Cloudchaser could help me.” She was not sure whether that was true, though. A string of pessimistic thoughts played through her head, wherein Cloudchaser did not believe her, or turned her in before she could properly explain herself, or left her to own devices out of angry hurt. Then the Ponyville Datura would take her, and then the thoughts became more and more cruel, more and more self-pitying.

The street was roped off from traffic to let her get around a construction zone at one of the overpass’ abutments. Soft grit filled the air with the scrape of earth movers, matching the fuzzy sound of unicorn magic as a tired-looking stallion unpacked traffic cones. It was midafternoon, but the sun was mild on her head and wings as she stepped back onto the sidewalk; soon, she would need to find something to eat.

She had traveled four or five miles from her apartment, and Ink Pearl’s house was still far away. She crossed the street to a wide park where a group of young stallions hustled with a colorful ball, and she snuck a couple bites of grass, which would have to do. She could see that she was passing into another residential stretch of town, having only clipped the corner of the glitzy, downtown-esque oasis. Thoughts of grilled vegetables and ice cold fruit punch filled her head as she moved deeper into the brown-roofed, green-lawned pocket of suburbs, into a section of town she had never seen.

Only one pony was outside on her walk, a retiree trimming her bushes. She gave April a wave from across the street, and April said “hello.” It was peaceful out, but inside, as if revolting against the suggestion that she be calm, April could feel her insides coiling tightly with refreshed anxiety. She was thinking about her task again. Each step brought her closer to Ink’s house, and she knew that as she got closer still, it would be harder to think of anything else.

The temptation to simply run without giving her resignation had come up several times in the morning, before she had committed to her long march. The only thing she could think of was that, perhaps, giving an official resignation would spare her even graver consequences than simply vanishing. She had not heard of the Datura hunting down its defectors before, but it required no stretch of the imagination.

“Good Celestia, it’s just like the mob,” she thought. She laughed a little to herself, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought she might have accidentally gotten it dead right.

A high, brick wall emerged from the ground, cutting off her view of the houses, leaving the tops of trees and the poles of trampoline nets or tetherballs. She could fly over much of it, she knew, but she was walking a fairly direct route to Ink’s house anyway, and was not comfortable using her wings—still relatively new to her—for so long. She wondered what would happen if a Pegasus Advocate spotted her then, not using those special wings. Probably an admonition, nothing more.

That was the one silver lining she could see from the night before: with the stroke of falling stone, she was no longer afraid of verbal confrontation. She was not inured, but numb, her capacity for ordinary fear blasted apart. Passing a section of wall behind which a large dog barked frantically, she wondered what it meant for her in the long term. Therapy and lingering scars were givens, and she supposed she would probably grow into some particular hatred against Pegasus Advocates, but she could not imagine it further. She was too clouded with everything else, and dropped the line of inquiry. The irony that she was more afraid of Ink’s reaction than the Pegasus Advocates’ did not escape her. “One thing at a time, I suppose.”

At a stop sign, she told a mare in a car that she didn’t know the neighborhood and couldn’t help her, and after the mare drove away, April thought wildly to catch up and ask for a ride. She didn’t, and it was a little after four o’ clock when she was out of the neighborhood and to a wide, low library. She entered the shady breezeway to see whether there were any vending machines, but found only rows of tiny lockers for ponies to place their backpacks and saddlebags. From the cool darkness, she looked out at the sidewalk and the city spaced out behind, so vast, so monotonous. The novelty of journey was gone, and with tired legs and eyes dull to interesting details, she went back out into the world.

Fifteen minutes and two intersections later, she came to a specialty grocery store, and without thinking, she turned in. With a start—and the sudden, dusty smell of concentrated feathers, which she tried not to let show on her face—she realized she was in Griffontown. She had never been, but finding it randomly brought a little of her old spirit back as she browsed the aisles. One or two griffons looked at her sideways, but the neighborhood, she assumed, attracted enough tourists that she would not cause any major stirs. She knew there was an even smaller neighborhood for minotaurs somewhere, and wondered whether she would find that too.

Only six bits rattled in her saddlebag, bits left over from a recent trip to the grocery store. She grabbed a little basket to hang around her neck and wandered to the meat section, not realizing that was what it was until she was there. The sight of it made her stomach turn, pink and red mounds of flesh in the freezer case, artfully winged with lettuce and cherry tomatoes, with little signs saying from what beast they had all come. She watched the butcher stack and wrap up some blood-red patties for a young griffon in a frumpy set of scrubs, amazed and aware that she should stop staring. No one said anything, but she could tell the butcher had noticed as she passed by, eyes averted.

The produce section was more comfortable, and she settled on six plums, which were out of season and on sale. A griffon, with her talons, helped April place them in her bag.

She ate one immediately outside the store and set off again, passing another apartment complex and a liquor store nearby. Momentarily sated, and a little less sorry for herself, she was nearly content as she found the other end of Griffontown and walked into the wide, empty spaces of undeveloped land. A few houses dotted the flat, rocky expanse, and she could see more far off in a broken line, but for the next mile, there was nothing nearby. The freeway up the mountain was a thin, black thread, and she was silently amazed at how small it had gotten without her notice. She consulted her map for a few minutes and eventually decided that she was not lost, and that following the road was still the correct thing to do.

There was so much of Lower Canterlot that she had not seen, and so much she was realizing did not need to be seen. The mountain, and the palace, and the city around it were what ponies thought of when they thought of Canterlot, and she had thought of it too. She still did; it was like the two areas, though technically the same city, were separated by more than just class and a bit of vertical distance. Seeing how many ponies and griffons, and minotaurs too, made their livings in the unremarkable spread of houses and shops, it drove home the old and none-too-impressive awareness of her own smallness in the scheme of things. It was an easy conclusion to reach in a place like Canterlot, and in her opinion, it did not usually lead to interesting talk. She had had the conversation with Cloudchaser a few times, and there were always the same surface-level observations: everyone was tiny compared to the world, and very few of them would leave lasting impressions, and so forth. Even in the Datura, she thought, there was some huge percentage that would never be remembered for their deeds. For every hero, there were legions of functionaries, for whom working for the Datura meant nothing special. There were ponies whose jobs it was to book flights all day, or to organize car rentals and hotel rooms, or to research populations and events, so that the big operations could go smoothly. Perhaps, she thought, she could ask to be demoted to one of those.

Reality reasserted itself as she trudged past a construction site and found the rest of the town. A carriage with “#1 smoke” painted on its side rested outside a tatty smoke shop. “They’re not gonna take me back,” April thought. “They’re gonna kick me out at best. I’m a deserter—will be. About to be. How long have I been out here, anyway?” She had another plum and made her way through another tract of undeveloped land, pausing for a moment beside a fenced-off enclosure of humming pipes and electrical boxes, connected to nothing apparent.

Class was over by the time she passed a high school, but its field was alive with athletes for track and field. The sun was on its way down, and the bleachers were tinged with gold. April wanted to stop and watch, but she did not allow herself to do so. She still had to get home, and she wanted to do so by midnight. She thought for a sentimental moment she could feel the town tightening around her, getting ready for work the next day, but knew it was just her, beginning another wave of nerves.

She would be lonely once she left. Shortly after she dropped off her letter, probably the following day, there would be all the action and tension of her exit. She would race to the train station and spend the rest of the day looking out the window as she thundered out of the capital and into the spacious Equestrian countryside. Then, she would find somewhere to sleep, and then she could apply herself to finding a new job, a real job, something that paid money and did not endanger her or swear her to secrecy from loved ones. She would have to find her own place to live, something the Datura took care of for its members, but that was only one disadvantage in a sea of positives.

A mare was dragging an animal carrier to the front doors of an animal hospital, and April could hear a cat crying inside. She had never owned a cat, but had wanted to, and the sound as it disappeared into the building dampened her mood further. In a way, she was already as lonely as she would be in the coming months, but far from comforting her, the thought made her feel worse. There were a few points in her time with the Datura that she had thought she had crossed some invisible line, and she wondered which of these had been the worst, which had been the one to lead her to the Pegasus Advocates and to the fatal underpass by the river. More probably, there had been no single point, but it was easier to think in terms of distinctions like that.

The road curved, the first time since leaving home that she had taken any direction other than straight south, around a large hill. A few massive houses waited at the top, at the ends of serpentine paths buried in groves of fruit trees. She knew that this was the point at which she was officially more than halfway to Ink’s house. In the next forty minutes, she would be arriving at a canal, and she would take that path the rest of the way to the city’s edge, where she would then have to hunt for familiar scenery. The one image she recalled about Ink’s house was that it had a battered washing machine in the front yard, a telling detail and one that she had not before thought might be deliberate, a way to mark her house for anyone looking for her. As a team leader, April supposed she must occasionally interact with Daturas in trouble, seeking asylum or council. A shame that the mare herself was such a bitch, April thought.

How much of that, though, was the real Ink Pearl? April could not remember how long she said she had been in the Datura, but it had been a while. The mare was probably jaded and embittered, her ability to sympathize with newer Daturas atrophied. Or it could be something about April that Ink simply found disagreeable on a personal level. Or, it could be that she was just a cold, impatient mare, and nothing more. April entertained herself for a minute imagining Ink’s reaction to her note, and on the other side of the hill, she passed an empty church with a low roof, denomination unclear from the outside. She thought of Reverend Green and their awkward encounter the night before.

It was the first church of several in a row, after which she passed by a dinky pawn shop, closed for the day, its front door chained and gated, its windows shuttered. It was getting chilly, and she threw on her coat. Very few ponies were out, and the sense of loneliness reasserted itself. She had assumed at the start that she would fairly float back home on a cushion of relief, but was no longer sure. Coming night was making her more pessimistic, and she had not the strength of will to stop it.

She bowed her head and crossed the street to a hardware store that marked the end of the tiny business area of the newest neighborhood. Closer to the mountain, the suburbs were packed and well-kept, with bustling shopping centers and parks, restaurants and bars, places for the middle and upper-middle class. Those were gone to her eyes as she kept moving, a little quicker than before. Dogs barked behind chain-link fences, weeds grew up in gutters, trash choked storm drains, trees were larger and more wild. Seed pods crunched underhoof, and she could smell smoke, the source of which she soon observed in the front yard of a tract home. Its residents had pushed their furniture outside, where they lounged with beer and soda bottles covering a cooler’s top and a little fire pit throwing brown smoke into the darkening sky.

On her map, she had marked The Smoking Bowl as the point where she needed to turn off her street and take the canal path, and she was relieved to spot it from a distance. The only building of its kind in the area, the saloon was stylized as a log cabin, with a huge, plaster badger lying like an ugly throw pillow on its roof over the entrance. She had heard the live music before she had seen the sign, and stood on the little walkway around its perimeter, listening and not enjoying what she heard.

The canal ran under her hooves, some machinery buried in the overpass thrumming up her legs like the tremble of distant traffic. There was no gate and no wall, so she was able to quietly walk onto the thin road, absent a curb or rail to keep ponies from falling into the green water. The way the canal curved, gently southeast for a couple miles before diverting sharply east and then south again, she could see no more of Lower Canterlot, and had to trust her map that she was going the right way, and was not simply leaving town completely.

No joggers passed her by, no water technicians, no hikers or homeless. April Showers felt like a trespasser as she followed the curve and left familiar civilization behind her. Between trees on the other side, she saw a junkyard and the front of a destroyed truck, an enclave of savage-looking shadows from the setting sun. She had another thirty minutes of good light left, and she did not like the idea of wandering the canal path at night, but there was nothing for it. She was beyond feeling foolish, and walked on, scuffing tired hooves on dusty pavement.

The sound of water was not preferable to that of the city, and as light slipped away little by little, April found herself walking closer to the path’s outside edge. She could smell the algae and the trash churned up against weirs, the pungent air of decomposition and stagnation. She shook her head at clouds of gnats and kept her ears up for any noise other than the gurgle of water. It was easy to forget she was still in the city from such a position, blocked out by the trees. Once, she was able to make out the back of a house through a gap, its wall strung with wire, a shopping cart askew in a ditch running behind.

When the pavement ran out and the path thinned, April had to walk more slowly to not slip in odd patches of mud. The lights of an overpass broke through the trees as the path straightened, and she sighed with relief. The familiar, beckoning glow of streetlights buoyed her spirit, and she even jogged the last few minutes to the overpass. She looked into the black tunnel, splattered with poorly-covered graffiti, and flew over instead, for a moment enjoying her height over the cars, few of them out at this time of day, so far from anything. She did a quick circle over the road to confirm what she already knew: she was in the middle of nowhere, and would be for yet a while.

It was after nine o’ clock when the path gained surface again, and she met the first of a little cove of houses. Her canal was lower, and she could only see the glares of lit windows over the trees, the triangles of rooftops. When the path curled inwards, she flapped over to the other side and trotted through an opening where, briefly, she could reach the sidewalk. The concrete stairs were slick with mud, and she flew the last half, shaking off her hooves on a patch of gravel before an alley. No one was out, but she could imagine the sorts of ponies in the neighborhood. Somewhere, she had moved from a poor section of town to a gentrified, safe one. These were the houses of stay-at-home parents, businessponies, middle managers, and other above-average working folk. Square lawns, matte paint jobs, clean cars in clean driveways; April even spotted a tire swing hanging from a tree, a dog sleeping in its house right beside.

The street would rejoin the canal path toward the neighborhood’s end, and there she would have to venture back into wet darkness; excuse enough to stop at a low, brick wall and enjoy the third of her plums. The houses grew the farther she went, and she could see the fronts and sides of even larger ones built onto a slope nearby, where the land sunk down into a shallow valley: the valley where Discord had clashed with the Canterlot army months ago. She could see a solitary windmill far out on a tiny hill, but it was not connected to anything that she could see.

Phone lines bent over her head as she crossed a wide, empty intersection. The towers ran all the way up the mountain’s south side, down the north, and out into the plains and meadows until splitting off for Hoofington and Fillydelphia, and eventually Manehattan. These cities were still sheared off from the Crumbling, and the phone lines at the edges would just stand, disconnected and useless. April’s mind wandered with the lines, and it was not the first time that she wondered how they would get back down to the rest of the world after Discord was handled. She had distantly supposed she might somehow have work there, but no more.

Another apartment complex marked the spot where she went over the fence and got back on the canal trail. The antiquarian-style lanterns outside winked away behind trees and scrub brush, and April’s path was clear only by starlight and what little light pollution could be found on the city’s edge. Greater Canterlot was still patchily aglow with electricity and traffic.

She flew over another overpass, seeing even less than before. The nice neighborhood was a reduced stain of semi-light from flying height, and south of that, a new angle on the valley. She could see where it narrowed around a river and then vanished into the Everfree Forest. The forest was only fifty or so miles away, but in the dark and flat grassland between, it appeared twice that, a huge expanse of nothing. She thought of crossing it in a train, and her heart sank a little deeper.

Where she landed, there was the canal on one side and a utility staircase into a field of grass and piled lumber, absent signs of construction or digging. This she passed until her trail had curved away and she was again in the constricting corridor of trees and water. On the city’s side, the wall had grown to hide even the rooftops, and there were no more gates. She could see where the wall grew taller and thicker to meet with another overpass, quiet and imposing, a narrow tunnel bored through the concrete to its side. When she reached it, she looked up and looked through, seeing the path continue clearly on the other side. To give her wings a break, she ducked her head and trotted into the metal-lined tunnel, mind racing to not think about what she might be stepping on. Multiple times, something crunched under her shoes, and she told herself that it was broken glass.

On the other side, after climbing uphill and leaving the canal below to flow out of sight and mind into the southern wilderness, April spotted another tiny extension of town, the white dome of a church and a couple houses nearby. Before trees and wall had overtaken the view, she was astride a second canal, flowing the other way but to the same point she had passed. She tried to consult her map, but had not thought to bring a flashlight, and had to wait until the moon had risen higher. Her trail had brought her to the shoulder of a steep drop-off, and she could see only the tops of the trees on her side, the same side as the valley. No light came from that direction, and it was on a softly humming generator and leaning against a chain-link fence that she was finally able to figure out where she had wound up.

Ink Pearl lived in a neighborhood called Elm Heights, which covered a kidney-shaped section of Lower Canterlot’s south edge, a large and sparsely-populated blob of land. From what April remembered, Ink had driven her there by one of the main roads, which tapered off into a dirt trail and then curved without obvious offshoot into a little bulb of houses. Once April got there, she reasoned she could just look around for the distinctive washing machine.

In a wide field of wild trees and waving grass stalks, broken intermittently by small houses, April abandoned the canal trail and began her search for the road. On her map, she had indicated the one she thought most likely, cross referencing it against Wings and Jet’s house, from where Ink had driven her. On her map, the location had seemed easy, but in the fringes of the city, where every road seemed significant for the empty space surrounding it, her confidence dwindled. At each crossing, she had to stop, think about what she had just seen and what she could see from there, and decide whether it was the road she wanted. If it was, and she passed it, she would be set to wandering for the rest of the night.

“Landmarks? What landmarks were there?” She remembered a house with too many pink flamingos in the front yard, nothing helpful. There was a water tower in the distance beside another little hill, and April, thinking for a moment, decided that she could assume she had gone too far if it got close.

At the next road, she took to the air and counted the street lights. Ink’s road had gone south for a while before losing its pavement, and April thought she remembered that it was one of only a few that made it so far. She flew low and slowly over the dark patchwork of houses and black fields, sagging porches and square yards that expanded into emptiness. A lone car was making its way toward the city, its headlights flat, yellow feathers on the road.

She could see Ponyville from her height, just barely, a couple out-of-place lights nestled in a crook of the Everfree. She wondered whether her sister were still up, and what she was doing. She thought of Limestone, the runaway from the rock farm, and Allie Way—and then Colgate, who she hoped was far away.

One road looked likely to her, so she passed it to see whether the next one felt the same, and then circled back and landed under a street light. She felt like she had been out all day, not just the afternoon, and had to take a minute to herself when she remembered that she still had the entire return trip to make. Thoughts of collapsing into bed filled her mind, and she looked back at the city, where her own little apartment light was not even visible from her spot. Walking had been a stupid idea, but it was too late now. The buses would be done by the time she got back from the city’s edge, not that she had any money on her anyway.

She sighed and set off down the road, even farther from home, into the frayed edge of suburban Canterlot. It was another miserable forty minutes before she had found the house. She had found a cul-de-sac earlier and wasted time looking nearby, when Ink’s house was across a lot on the other side, at the end of a tiny road that April had missed every time she reached it.

Ink Pearl’s lights were off, her cramped house surrounded by tall grass and an overhanging tree. The washing machine was still there, its shattered eye pointed up at the lone street light on the corner, and April rustled around her saddlebags for her resignation letter. She read it under the streetlight twice more, and, heart racing, walked up the overgrown path to Ink’s front door. She partially expected the door to spring open, for Ink to look down at her with indignity, having somehow been awoken by April’s approach, and waited for a second for just that, frightened to move but more frightened to shove the note under the door.

No one moved, not a sound came to her in the darkness, and April folded her letter and slid it through the crack between door and front step. Then she sighed, looked up at the little house again, and half-ran to the dark street.

It was over. She had officially resigned from the Datura, and she could not be brought back. Whatever the future had in store, she thought distantly and excitedly, it was fine. She would take it one step at a time, and she would keep on. Giddily, she flew back up and away, remembering the direction to the canal trail and covering the distance much faster the second time.

By eleven-thirty, April’s legs and wings were sore and slow to respond, and she left the canal behind and set off down the long road that would take her home. The difficult part of her journey was over, she thought, but she knew how much longer there was to walk. By twelve-thirty, she was too tired to worry about appearing suspicious as she went through Griffontown, and by one, she could make out her first familiar buildings. She walked with single-minded purpose, her sore legs and hunger forgotten, her goal to simply get home as soon as possible. All other needs could wait.

By one-forty, she saw someone walking from the other direction, both of them approaching the wholesale growers she had passed in the early afternoon. Their gates had long ago slid shut, the trucks gone, the vegetables shaded for the night. April nodded courteously to the mare, but stopped, recognizing the face.

“April Showers?”

“You’re…” The gray mare with the pink and black mane, from the shelter. “I’m sorry.”

“Lacey.”

“Right, Lacey.” She looked around. “Um. Good to see you. Nice out, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” The two looked around for a few seconds. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, then.”

“Yeah, good night.” They separated, but before Lacey had reached the intersection, April was running back to her. “Hey! Hey, hold on!” She stopped before Lacey, legs crying out in protest from the short run. “Hey, you live at the shelter, right?”

“I… suppose I do, yes.”

“Do you…” She felt dirty, sanctimonious, but she did not want to back out of the interaction. She flipped open her saddlebag. “I’ve got some fruit, if you’d like.”

Lacey peered into the bag and shook her head. “I couldn’t, but thank you.”

“You sure?”

“I really appreciate it, April.” She closed the saddlebag with a hoof. “If you had a warm bed in there, I might take you up on it, though.”

April laughed politely, and so did Lacey. When the mare was turning again, April blurted out, “I have an apartment.”

Her step faltered.

“If you want. I mean—” She hastened to catch up with Lacey’s long-legged stride. “If that’s not weird. I can crash on the couch tonight.”

“Oh, April.”

“I mean it.” She didn’t, and she hadn’t, but saying so made her feel bolder. “I really do mean it. If you want, I mean. My apartment’s just up the road.”

Lacey looked at her, sighed, and then laughed. “Sure? Yeah, let’s go. You’re—I’m not imposing or anything?”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“Okay.” She laughed nervously and fell into line beside April, and the two of them were back at the apartment by two. April collapsed onto the couch and let her wings lie limp, and Lacey just stood in the entryway. “This is really kind of you, April.”

“Just being a good neighbor.” The sudden collapse had left her lightheaded, and with it came giddiness as she remembered all the good that was sure to come of her resignation—all the good, and none of the bad. She felt completely free, and an insane idea whipped through her brain, borne on the tide of floating joy, which she struggled to hold back. “Say Lacey, I’m leaving tomorrow, never coming back, how about you just live here for a while? No strings, I promise.” She had to laugh at herself, and Lacey chuckled too.

“Something the matter?”

“I just…” She sighed again. It felt so good to breathe, to lie on a couch, and April smiled stupidly at the ceiling for a minute.

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, sorry. Lost in my head. Uh, I’ve got food in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Shower’s in the bathroom, bedroom’s right there.”

“I’d love something to eat,” Lacey said. “I don’t mind saying now, I turned down your fruit to be polite.” She went into the kitchen. “Wow, look at this place. I thought you said you were a student.”

April froze. “It’s, uh, complicated.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine,” Lacey said, emerging with half a sandwich. “Thank you so much, seriously.”

“It’s all good, Lacey. Really.” She sat up, and her eyes went to the pulse crystal behind her pile of movies. She had not hidden it well, not expecting company, and wondered whether Lacey had noticed it. “What were you doing out there?”

Lacey sat, and April scooted over. Up close, she could see a lot of makeup on her new friend’s face, and she smelled a strong perfume. “Just living my life,” Lacey said.

The two of them looked at the blank TV, and April finally turned it on.

“What about you?” Lacey asked.

“Evening stroll.”

Lacey nodded, and they watched TV for a while in silence. After a while, Lacey asked, “why do you have a crystal?”

April just looked at her, then to the crystal, unambiguously visible from the couch. Her entire mind felt frozen up, stalled, defeated with the day and overloaded with emotion. She could not even begin to form a plausible lie, so she just said, “it’s part of my job.”

“…As a student?”

April turned away slowly. In her head, she was yelling at herself to focus, to wake up and figure something out, but she couldn’t. It simply didn’t matter anymore, but now, rather than freeing, it was frightening. She felt trapped, but she was incapable of reacting how she knew she should, and only gave Lacey a bland look and a shrug. Whatever Lacey might suggest, she would just agree to it and let that be the conversation.

But Lacey did not say anything, and when April looked away again, she had her words. “It doesn’t matter, because I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Moving out?”

“Sort of.” “Am I really doing this?” she thought quietly. “I’m leaving town, probably forever.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I guess that’s why I don’t feel nervous having you around, ‘cause I’m gone tomorrow anyway. You can stay here as long as you need, honestly. I’ll give you the key.”

“Whoa, whoa, April, let’s slow down,” Lacey said, holding up her hooves as April made to stand. “You better tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t.” She said it innocently, not meaning to sound affected.

“Let’s just sit back down.” She put a hoof on April’s shoulder, and April sat, feeling curiously accused, like she was about to be interrogated. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She took a deep breath. “It’s not like I’m on the run or anything like that. I’m blacklisted. I just pissed off some powerful ponies, and they’re not going to want me getting away from it.”

Lacey glanced at the crystal again as she rose. “Then let’s pack you up now, April. Celestia above, if I knew you were—”

“Tomorrow. They’re asleep. That is, I left a note, they’ll see it tomorrow, I’ll be blacklisted tomorrow. Tonight’s okay.”

“You should get a head start.” She did not sit down, and April looked up at her, feeling foolish.

“If I get up early—”

“Tonight is better. Trust me, if you’re running from someone powerful, you need as much time as you can get.”

Noticing her confidence and wondering about it, April nonetheless said, “tomorrow is fine, I know it.” She was so tired.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely sure.” To prove it, she lay back on the couch and closed her eyes, miming confidence. “I know what I have to do, it’s just doing it.”

“If you’re sure you know what you’re doing.”

“You can take the bed tonight. If I’m gone by the time you wake up, then…” She waved a hoof lazily. “I don’t expect to be back.”

Lacey sighed and sat back down, and April opened an eye. After a while, Lacey asked, “where are you going?”

“East somewhere, I guess. As far as the train can take me.”

“You don’t know.”

“If you mean specifically, no. Should I?”

“It helps,” Lacey said. “It’s not necessary, though.”

April sat back up and faced her. Tired though she was, she could not relax. “Have you had to run before?”

“Manehattan to Applewood, then Applewood to Trottingham, then Trottingham back here.”

“From who?”

“Various ponies.” She flipped her mane back. “A little bit from myself. You learn a lot about yourself when you’re running from something. The journey shows you things—you know how it goes.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“It’s true.”

“So,” April moved a pillow behind her back. “How’d you get from Trottingham to Canterlot, but without any money? That’s a long way.”

“You might not believe me, but I actually ran into the Elements of Harmony in Trottingham. We’ve interacted before, long before.”

April widened her eyes.

“It’s never been good with us. They don’t really like me, let’s say. But in Trottingham, they took pity—some of them did, anyway, enough of them—and had me hitch a ride with someone else who was coming up here. They gave me a little money too, but it didn’t go far. Now… I’ve got the shelter.”

“At least it’s something.”

Taking her meaning, Lacey did not pursue a complaint about her living situation. Instead, she said, “they’ve been good to me, better than I’ve been. That’s for sure.”

“The reverend really likes you.”

“I like him.” She looked sidelong at April. “Not like that. I’ve known him all my life, actually. He’s a family friend.”

April nodded, envious suddenly. To her, it seemed that she and Lacey were passing each other on their own life tracks, both going in the direction the other had come from. Lacking anything truly thoughtful to say, she asked whether Lacey liked it at the shelter.

“I get three meals a day, somewhere to sleep, a roof over my head. I can’t complain, but… I know there’s something better for me. I mean—that’s not really right, everyone there thinks that, and they should—what I mean is I don’t think I’m cut out for working there either.”

“What are you cut out for?”

“That’s the big question. I thought I had it a few times now.”

April nodded encouragingly.

“I wanted to be an actress for a while, but that didn’t work. Modeling, can’t do that, and I hate office work. I don’t know. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt this way, but it’s like I’ve spent all this time looking for something to do, and I still haven’t found it, and now it feels like I’ve wasted the best years of my life.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t want to say, but Lacey was touching her own thoughts with alarming alacrity.

“I’ve been saving up money for an airship so I can leave town. I don’t know where, maybe Fillydelphia—I don’t know if they’re recovered from their tornado, I haven’t heard.”

“How close are you?”

“Not even. A down payment on a crappy airship costs around a thousand bits, and I have two hundred-some.”

April tried to remember how much money she had left. After a few grocery store trips, and no income, she was down to fewer than five hundred bits. “There goes that idea.”

“Who knows, maybe by the time I’ve gotten the money to get out, I won’t want to leave anymore.”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t know,” Lacey said. “I don’t want to disappoint Reverend Green, that’s another thing. He’s glad to have me working at the shelter now.”

“That makes sense.” She yawned twice in a row, and Lacey got up.

“Thanks again for this. If you end up staying in town, I’ll find a way to repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” April said, turning over.

“I mean it.”

April was already asleep, and Lacey turned off the light and went to bed.

* * * * * *

At the Pegasus Advocate encampment, safe and secluded in the forest and under cover of night, the pegasi gathered around a massive bier in the cleared common area for one of their private rituals.

Starting in the afternoon, they had pushed the tables off to the trees, swept the area of trash and debris, and piled logs and tinder. It was inglorious, communal work, and over each of them hung the respect of that work, making them serious. Understanding one another in the space of that work, the Pegasus Advocates moved with strange cohesion; not a one jostled the other, no arguments arose, no misunderstandings or mistakes broke into more than respectful exchanges. White Wine had closed her bar early that day to be there with her brothers and sisters, laboring alongside them to build what would become a massive bonfire.

Once night fell and the pyre was ready, White Wine was the first to take up her torch, which she did slowly and reverently, the silence ringing around her as she began. With the torch lit in her mouth, she set flame to tinder, then returned to the circle and passed it to the next pegasus. When it was clear of her mouth, she said, “Do you accept this fire of our life and our spirit, sister?” To this, the pegasus nodded gravely, and on down the line it would go until the bonfire towered and every pegasus in attendance had added their piece. Those who went later would symbolically bow at the fire’s edge, it being too hot to reach.

They called it “The Night of Reason,” when the most devoted Pegasus Advocates would meet every month to reinforce core values, renew their faith in the organization and its cause, and to simply get to know each other better. The only formalities conferred by tradition were the time of day—best to hide the giant tail of smoke—and the general shroud of solemnity that usually held for the first half of the night. As the Pegasus Advocates shared their stories and encouraged one another in prejudice and hatred, books and speeches would gradually be replaced with liquor and games; the fire would explode upwards with wanton hoots and the smells of gasoline and overproof alcohol, and the forest would ring with unbridled, furious fun. It would not do for White Wine to say so, but she much preferred the latter half of the ritual to the former. Rarely did she get to cut loose with her sisters, and even more rarely could she do so without them feeling awkward around her.

It was just when the festivities were beginning that Long Luxury drew White Wine aside and showed her what she had brought to the gathering. She had kept her car parked right outside the camp’s entrance, and as the first bottle of bourbon was making its way around a little group seated on old tires, voices rising with laughter, White Wine went with Luxury out to the dark road to see what her minion had to show.

In the back seat, in a sack, unadorned and horrible, was Whippoorwill’s head, which Long Luxury rolled out for White Wine to better see. Its unicorn horn was shaved to an abnormally sharp point, and its teeth had been knocked out, but White Wine knew the face right away.

“Good. Who was with you?”

“Me, Winter Leaves, and Passionate Promise.”

White Wine looked at her; she could tell that Long Luxury was leaving something out.

“We brought a sprout too, just to see.”

“Oh yeah?” She saw fear cross Long Luxury’s eyes.

“We wanted to see if she could hang with us, if she was right. She talked a big game, so we had to see.”

“‘Had to’? ‘We’?” White Wine led Long Luxury back to the fire, glowing like the mouth of Tartarus behind the trees. Whistling shrilly, she silenced the fun. “Winter, Promise, can I borrow you for a second?”

The two pegasi slunk over, abashed. A cigarette drooped from Winter Leaves’ lip.

“This will be quick.” She ushered them inside one of the empty cabins. “Hopefully. We’re talking business. The sprout who went with you to get Whippoorwill.”

Long Luxury knew better than to speak out of turn, but she sorely wanted to. White Wine gave her an insincere smile.

“Her name was April Showers,” Passionate Promise said. “Weedy little thing. She almost wet herself during the getaway.”

“Whose idea was it to bring her?”

No one spoke at first.

“All of yours?”

“It was mine,” Long Luxury said. “I wanted to.” Beside her, Winter Leaves exhaled, relieved.

White Wine nodded. “It was her idea, and no one else’s? We agree?” Silence from all three pegasi. “Well all righty-o then. You two, you can go. Save me a spot for charades if it’s happening tonight.”

“You got it, ma’am,” they said at once, scampering back out to the crowd.

When the doors had bumped closed, White Wine turned her gaze on Long Luxury. The slinky pegasus looked back with attempted steel, but White Wine knew what feelings hid behind those eyes. “Luxury, you know I don’t like sprouts going on jobs.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You wanted to test her? Explain that, please.” She went back to the doors. “We can talk on the way to your car.”

Long Luxury, head low in deference, said, “She’d been hanging around, and we—”

“You mean you.”

“Yes. I wanted to see if she could handle it. Either she’d be spooked, and we wouldn’t see her anymore, or she’d be real.”

White Wine said nothing until they were back at the car, where she fixed her eyes on the black X on Long Luxury’s forehead, the mark of a true Pegasus Advocate. Silent eye contact, White Wine had learned, could be the most persuasive thing in a pony’s repertoire.

“She spooked, ma’am, she wasn’t back today—which we kind of expected, but I had hoped not. I… had a feeling about her, had it the first day.”

“You thought she could be one of us.”

Long Luxury nodded. “We went to her apartment earlier to talk to her. Or silence her, one or the other. Passionate Promise wanted her dead; I hoped if we caught her, we could bring her back in. Maybe she was just a little shaken up.”

“Well, that was your intent, wasn’t it? You brought her for this.” She nudged the sack with a hoof. “You certainly didn’t expect a happy reaction from this sprout.”

“You’re right, I did want her shaken.”

“You’re holding out on me, sister,” White Wine said softly, gently. “I’m not upset, just confused. Why not kill her with him? If it was clear she wouldn’t do, then there’s no reason to keep her alive.”

“…Passionate Promise was exaggerating a little, ma’am. The sprout did okay. She didn’t freak out, she followed orders. I didn’t want to snuff her in case she could come around.”

White Wine nodded. “I respect your judgment on a lot of things, Luxury, you know that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She didn’t show at all today?”

“Not at all, and we didn’t see her at the apartment either.”

“I’d like you to go back tomorrow morning and see if she’s there. If not, ask the neighbors, make some calls, see if you can find her. I don’t like that someone’s out there with your names and descriptions.”

“You got it, ma’am.”

“Bring Winter Leaves and Broad Daylight, and keep it between you three.”

“Not Passionate Promise?”

“I want to see how she acts if she doesn’t know you’ve tied this loose end up.”

“Is something the matter?”

White Wine looked at her.

“Yes, ma’am. We can leave tonight, if you prefer.”

“You can stay here tonight.” She paused to let relief spread on Long Luxury’s face. “We need someone to clean up.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” She looked at her as if to ask whether there was anything else, and then went to the sack.

“I’ll put it back. You go to your friends.”

Luxury gave her a single questioning look, which she contained just as fast as it had come out, and went back to the trees.

“Bright and early, Luxury,” White Wine said, following behind. “As soon as the first rays of sunshine are on the road, so are you!” Her voice echoed in the mountainside woods, and Long Luxury replied with a strong “yes, ma’am!”

When she was alone, she went to Whippoorwill’s head and kicked it back into its sack. She had had to look at it sufficiently long when Luxury had shown her, long enough for the dead eyes to reach out to her. She had been a fool to trust him, and worse than that, she had known it even then. She should not have met him when he reached out the first time, but their former friendship had swayed her. She had not imagined that it could be tainted, but there it was, and all the evidence she needed in a stinking bag at her hooves, a humbling lesson.

What no one knew, not even her most trusted brothers and sisters, was that she still sometimes harbored kind feelings for her fellows. It was one of those feelings that had brought her back together with Whippoorwill, and which had slowed her in seeking his destruction after he had turned on her. Not sympathy, and not pity, but occasionally a splinter of kindness would find her and stay her wilder decisions. She claimed it to be good business sense or a realistic outlook, and it frequently was, but she was always aware when a thread of kindness had inextricably woven itself into her reasoning. Aware, and frightened that someone else might recognize it.

Why it should happen with Whippoorwill, she could not say, for he had been just as toxic as she, as aware and unrepentant. Most of her foes were not really hers, not personally, but enemies of the Pegasus Advocates; Whippoorwill had been different, close enough to her to make her question just how securely she held her core beliefs. If she could be shaken by kindness for something as simple as an old friend, then was she strong enough to lead her brothers and sisters?

She imagined someone like Long Luxury asking her that question, and her measured response. Whippoorwill had been like an animal beaten into unthinking aggression, and did not such a beast deserve at least a little mercy? Did White Wine owe him more than a speedy death—which she had specifically ordered be withheld? Was he owed anything by anyone, or was she? Such questions, given voice, would have her hanging over that roaring bonfire by the very ponies who now jumped at her presence.

She kicked the head, inside its bag, and slung it back into Long Luxury’s car. Always before, her kinder side would disappear the minute she stopped thinking about it, but she could not stem the simmering feeling of hidden guilt as she walked back through the trees.

White Wine came to a group of burly mares, all in matching black and pink latex body suits, playing pinochle and passing a bottle of cheap vodka around. “Room for one more?” she asked, and the mares happily made space for her. She drank of the alcohol offered her, and thus the unwelcome feeling was dulled.

* * * * * *

April forced herself off the couch at the crack of dawn, smacking her alarm clock rudely and staggering to the bathroom. Lacey was still in bed, snoring lightly, and April packed as quietly as she could. She did not know how much time she had, but Ink Pearl seemed like an early riser to her. She had to assume that a Datura was already on the way to her apartment, perhaps Ink herself. Throwing toiletries, as few clothes as she thought she could get away with, and as much food as possible into her bags, she scrawled a note for Lacey, left her key on the table with it, and trotted with gritty eyes into a beautiful November morning.

She had loose bits enough to get a train ticket and a taxi to the bank. Her legs felt like wood as she stood on the curb and waited, and she silently cursed herself for her fanciful idea the day before.

There was no line at the bank, and it was with a small smile of triumph that she told the teller what she needed—a smile that died as soon as the teller frowned at April’s identification.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the teller said. “But it appears this account has been frozen. As of… let me see… four thirty-two this morning.”

“Frozen?” Her lips dried in an instant, and she heard herself ask, as if through a tunnel, “do I have any money?”

“Oh, the money’s there, it’s just that you’re no longer authorized to access it. It’s a corporate account, perhaps you can call your employer and ask for a release. Some companies automatically freeze accounts if there’s been an overdraft. Although… I don’t see anything like that here.”

“It’s okay,” April said, her voice thin as ice. “Thanks. Have a great day.” She went back outside in a daze, and without the money for a second cab ride. With the sickening feeling that she was too late, she looked down at her hooves and started running. Four thirty-two. Ink had known of her desertion for two hours already.

Her only consolation was that she was within earshot of the train station. A whistle sounded off as she got to a painful jog down the sidewalk.

The land around Ink Pearl’s house was enchanted in various ways, some for surveillance, some for defense, some for emergency evacuation or storage. Of all her enchantments, the most frequently used were the enchantments to let her know when someone entered her yard. If the approaching party, or anything they carried, had the magical potential greater than or equal to that of a pulse crystal, a light would flash inside her house and a little chime would go off. If the approaching party did not possess any sufficiently strong magic, just the light would go off, something which Ink could sleep through if she had had a long day.

When she woke herself up, dreaming of her work, and saw the approach light, Ink Pearl went straight to the door, where she stepped on April’s note. It was a little after four, and April was fast asleep, when Ink received the news. At first, she didn’t fully believe it, but as her head cleared of sleep, she took in the resignation, slowly and painfully, feeling her world drop out from beneath.

The Canterlot Datura operatives were still mostly in hiding, with Ink was the de facto leader until the mare who was Fleur dis Lee could come back in a new body. She had four operatives she could reach out to directly, and five more she could only access through dead drops or radio signals: nine total, not counting any functionaries, like office plants or medical technicians.

First, she called the bank and froze April’s account. Then she called her three other peers and told them to be on the lookout. She called her connections at the nearby train stations next, and then she rooted around in her attic for her potions and recording equipment, infrequently used. Then, sitting at the telephone with a thermos of coffee, she began writing April Showers’ life story.

April caught the eight-oh-four train to the tiny town of Stringburg, a freckle of civilization on the northeast corner of the Everfree Forest. The train station was a shell of girders and skylights, with no personality or decoration, only weary travelers, among whom she felt as one as she looked around. No one had time in the morning, and while she was waiting for her train, she watched. Most ponies were heading out to the big cities to the north, and when her train pulled up, only a few boarded with her. She had most of the train to herself, and selected an empty cabin in the very back from which to stare out at the city.

At eight-sixteen, they were rattling out of the trainyard, and April covered in thirty minutes the distance she had covered on hoof the previous day. Lower Canterlot swam past her, still pale in the young light. Tall, wooden fences covered in graffiti slid past next to dreary, concrete stanchions, bases damp with overgrowth. The canal was a broken, mossy cord in the middle distance, eventually turning away and going underground where their train took them around the southeastern rim of the city. As they were stopping for another station, April pressed her face against the glass to see whether she could spot Ink’s house inside the scattered neighborhood that touched tangents with their tracks.

The city was awake by the time they were reaching the eastern border, and it was nine twenty-one when they had officially reached the countryside. Only then did April let herself relax.

Among the standard Datura equipment were Ink’s invisibility amulet, a simple light-bending article, and the Quick Boots, which allowed for accelerated walking. With these packed into saddlebags light with ampules of potion, a pulse crystal, and her ID, she slipped out of her house and drove to the train station. She would put on her boots there, where she could walk along the tracks without having to worry as much about slamming into pedestrians.

She had gotten the call at seven-fifty that a mare matching April Showers’ description was begging for money for a train ticket. Ink made a quick call to Chilly Clouds, and then she was away, her hoof burning to punch the accelerator.

It had been shaping up to be a long week already, and her plans had not room for a sudden Datura termination. Sunburst, the intermediary at the shelter, had his own information-gathering assignments, with which Ink had been needing more and more to help. It seemed that she had spent nearly all of her last week following up on ponies he thought were suspicious, meeting him for false alarms, and once posing as his older sister for what turned out to be a fruitless lead. There was him, and then there was the sky dome; Ink had given that project over to one of the team leaders helping with its setup, but she was still in charge of its operation at the highest level. She had to fund the electricity it required, the constant maintenance, and technicians’ wages, and her Datura bank account was not infinite. Figuring out where next to pull money from to keep the sky dome aloft was a daily juggling act for Ink, and the primary reason why she could not move ahead with bringing more Daturas back into the fold; if she did, she wouldn’t be able to send them on assignments, so there was no point. Only April and Sunburst were excepted, partially because they had been with her before the sky dome, and partially because their jobs were some of the cheapest. Adding to that the stacks of medical forms from Chilly Clouds that she had to sign, as well as an ever-changing pattern of dead drop locations and ciphers, she had no time for weak links in her tenuous operation.

Slamming on the brakes for a red light she thought she could beat, Ink snarled to herself and cranked the radio off. April had been infuriatingly vague in her note, saying only that she couldn’t take the work anymore, and was out. There had probably been some unpleasantness with the PAs, but she had to remind herself that the cause was unimportant, that the only thing to do was contain April and hopefully finish with enough time to make some of her evening calls. She had a conference with one of her contacts in the police, someone who thought she was a security consultant, and it had taken her weeks to schedule.

The mare who had been Fleur dis Lee was somewhere in town, but that was all she knew; it was not enough to bring any comfort. She did not know whether the mare would eventually turn up and want her leadership position back, or whether she, Ink, would receive an official promotion one day and stay where she was. Communication between her and the mare who had been Fleur was reduced to matters of strictest necessity. She would have to contact her regarding April’s fate, and that presented its own frustrations.

“I’m gonna have to strip her apartment too, shit,” Ink thought. That would be another ninety minutes, at least. She sighed as the last of her pity for her frightened operative drained off.

The train paused at a station in far view of the Everfree Forest, from which April could see a single dirt road snaking toward the trees, a little line of carts jostling with bales of tall grass. The train was quiet, and her mind too. She could still see Canterlot if she twisted in her seat and put her face to the window’s corner.

Someone tapped on her cabin door, and she bade them enter, not for a moment imagining who it could be.

In Quick Boots, Ink had kept pace with the train at a healthy trot, and with her invisibility amulet, she had boarded without difficulty once it stopped. She waited for them to be well between stopping points before wandering, still invisible, until she found April’s cabin, where she doffed her amulet and rapped lightly on the door.

“Come in.”

April’s reaction was like a rabbit in headlights, a speechless gawk that would have turned to babbling fear if Ink had not preemptively drawn her crystal, closing the cabin door in the same motion.

“This is just to get your attention, April,” she said. “Here.” She fished around in her bag and withdrew her ID card. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“How… what? Where?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She took a seat and replaced her ID on the table with a vial of opaque, green liquid. That the procedure would be so much easier for April than for Ink and Chilly made her seethe quietly, and she pushed the bottle toward her former employee a little aggressively. “Drink this, please.”

“Uh, no thanks.”

Not looking away, Ink tapped her crystal. “Voices down, please.”

April took a deep breath, not taking her eyes off the crystal, and let it out slowly. On her face, the clear lines of hatred and fear screwed themselves up. “At least tell me what it is,” April said sullenly. “Why are you even here?”

“Well, April, since you chose not to submit your resignation through the proper channels, I had no choice but to come to you.”

“I wasn’t gonna do anything. I want to live my life, that’s all. As far away from you as possible.”

“I can respect that,” Ink said, not trying to sound convincing. “These are the regulations, though. Drink up, we’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

“Tell me what it is.”

Ink pulled the crystal closer to herself when she saw April’s eyes flash to it. Ink sighed. “I don’t like doing this either, April. All right? It’s a medium-strength sedative to make you compliant for the termination process.”

“Psh. Great.”

“You’re going to drink this, then we’re going to take the train back home, then I’m gonna wipe your memory.”

April batted the vial off the table, where it landed, unharmed, on the floor. Ink picked it up with her horn and put her hoof to the crystal.

“You’re not gonna use that in here.”

“I hope not!” One thing she had admired about Flitter and April was the speed with which she could go from meekness to defiance under pressure. It was a quality that made for quick-thinking, proactive Daturas, and in the field, those were indispensable. In the train, however, Ink only found it frustrating. She felt like she was on her last nerve, and did not have the patience to admit respect for her foes. She just wanted the day to end, and it was still morning.

April looked at the vial, and Ink read the understanding in her eyes. She could fight it all she wanted, but she was cornered, and when her hotter emotions dimmed, she would realize it fully. Ink waited for just that, one hoof on the crystal, not speaking, going over what she would tell April once they had her back in town.

“What about Cloudchaser? What about my parents?”

“They’ll be informed of Flitter’s unfortunate demise in Applewood.”

April glared at her.

“You won’t be harmed in this process. You’re losing your memories of our relationship only.”

“What about Flitter?”

“She was involved with us before you came along, April.”

“So I’m just gonna get kicked out in this form, and that’s it? I don't get a say?”

“You chose to resign. If you’d like to change your mind, I can see if—”

“Screw you.” She exhaled and looked down at the tabletop, murmuring to herself, eyes shimmering. “They’ll be okay, though?”

“They’ll be sad for Flitter’s death, but otherwise, everything will be normal. You can go back home, I’ll release your bank account, and then you get on with your life. I’ll have to put a note in your file to make you ineligible for future recruitment.”

“Cloudchaser’s a Datura too, I don’t know if you know that. I want her to know the truth.”

“Nope, nope,” Ink said, shaking her head. One thing about Flitter and April for which she had no patience was her tendency to lose sight of the facts when beset with trying emotions. “We can’t have her tempted to come looking for you.”

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s against regulations.” She inched the vial closer. “I know this is hard for you, but it only gets easier after this. Drink this, and you’re done. You’ll coast through the termination after that.”

“Can I get last words?” April asked gruffly. Ink thought she sounded defeated, but kept a hoof on the crystal.

“If you can make them quick.”

April closed her eyes. “Fine. I just… You…” She shook in her seat, silently crying. A twinge of guilt hit Ink—she had never been in charge of a termination before, only assisted with them. She let April cry for a minute, expecting a torrent of insults and accusations, but April said nothing. When she had dried her eyes, she looked at Ink, cornered and sad, and grabbed the vial.

“Let me,” Ink said, magically uncapping it.

“I wish we’d never met,” April said, tipping up the glass and swallowing the liquid.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” She was, but she knew April wouldn’t believe it. She took back her vial and waited a couple minutes, watching while April visibly relaxed.

“I don’t feel any different.”

“Can you stand for me, April?”

April shrugged and slid out of her seat to stand before Ink.

“Give me a little dance.”

April did a little jig in the wobbling cabin.

“That’s good, you can sit now.”

“You’re the boss,” April said. “So what next? I’m going back to get my memory wiped?”

Ink sighed. “That’s right. We’ll get out at the next station and catch a train back. I’ve got enough sedative to keep you in line for the return journey.”

“That’s smart of you.”

She clicked her tongue, dreading the boring ride home, realizing she should have brought a book. “Yup. Get comfortable for now.”

April slumped over in her seat.

It was a little after four when they got back to Ink’s house. They had reached Canterlot before three, but Ink had to stop to sweep April’s apartment for any possible reminders of her former life. The pulse crystal, anything with Flitter’s name on it, any possible recording material, any receipts or marked maps, it all went away. With April still soft and compliant, Ink needed only ask her where to find the hidden personal affects. April had few, and then Ink brought her to her house. She let April in and left her on the couch, then went to the kitchen to talk with Chilly Clouds.

“What are we gonna do about the PAs now?” Chilly Clouds asked.

“It sucks, but we’ll just have to ignore them,” Ink Pearl said. “I can’t spare anyone else now.”

“Their neighborhoods are doing worse every week.”

“Yep. I know it.”

Chilly shook her head.

“Let’s get this over with. I’ve got the script right here, and we can use my recorder. Unless you brought one? Mine crackles a lot.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“We’ll use mine.”

The two Daturas sat around the coffee table on low seats and faced April, who looked back with infuriating placidity. Ink brought out her papers and slid one to April, who signed before Ink had even said what it was for.

She got out her recorder and placed it on the table in plain view, turned it on. “The date is Monday, November twenty-eighth, thirty-three fifteen. The time is…” She checked her mantlepiece clock. “Four twenty-four p.m. Interview conducted by junior team leader Ink Pearl, assisted by medical team director Chilly Clouds. Subject: termination of junior operative, April Showers, formerly junior operative Flitter via standard body-replacement procedure. Interview conducted at Ink Pearl’s residence in Canterlot, under no significant duress or emergent circumstances. Please confirm your identities, ladies.”

Chilly leaned in. “Chilly Clouds, medical team director.”

April cleared her throat. “Uh, April Showers, junior operative.”

“Thank you,” Ink said. “Subject attempted to desert the organization during a covert assignment, leaving a note of resignation under interviewer’s door at some point in the middle of the night on Sunday, November twenty-seventh. Interviewer later apprehended subject on a southeast-bound train out of the city. After administration of standard compliance potion, subject voluntarily returned for termination. Her apartment has been scrubbed, and here follows…” She heaved a long sigh directly into the recorder. “Standard deep memory wipe procedure. Chilly? The potion, please. Let’s try to get done by dinner.”

Chilly gave April the innocuous-looking memory wipe potion, and April drank without any hesitation. She gagged, and Chilly got up to get her a soda from Ink’s fridge.

After a few minutes, the interview resumed.

“Subject has consumed standard memory-wipe potion.” Ink shuffled her papers, on which was written the condensed story of April Showers’ life. “Your name is April Showers, that is how you were born. Your cutie mark pertains to your skills with the operation and usage of rain clouds, hence your name. You were born in Canterlot, and you live there now, on your own, in an apartment on the northwest side of town. You are an only child, and you lost both of your parents after moving out of their house. Your father died in a carriage crash, and your mother died two years later, bereaved, having seemingly given up on life. You were at college in Cloudsdale at the time, where you focused on your studies at the expense of making lasting friendships.

“You moved to Ponyville for a few months, where you got a job at the local spa. You enjoyed the work, but it didn’t pay well, and it was not long before the small-town atmosphere began to suffocate you. You would occasionally venture to the edge of the Everfree Forest in search of stimulation, and once, you ventured too deep and got lost. Fortunately, one of the locals was nearby and helped you find your way out, and since then, you never went into the forest. Your memories of the forest are hazy at best.

“You had a brief romantic relationship with Spike the dragon, of Ponyville, but it didn’t work out. You remember him fondly, and his demise was one of the things that ultimately made you move back to Canterlot.”

She turned her page, and April looked at her with blank eyes, taking in everything she was told, her brain quietly rewriting itself.

“There was a mare named Minuette Colgate in Ponyville, a surgeon at the Ponyville hospital. You two were friends for a while, but you grew to distrust and even fear her when she revealed herself to harbor psychopathic or sociopathic tendencies. You remember an incident in which she bloodied her own mouth in order to convince the town that she had been in a fight with someone else. You were happy when you heard she left Ponyville, and you hope that you never meet her again. While you disliked her, she did not bear any ill will toward you, that you know of. You do not fear her seeking you out in the future.

“You were in an airship heading toward Canterlot when you witnessed the third battle, on the plains. You saw an armada of airships from Discord turn and betray their master, and by this, the battle was won. You feel pride and optimism for your country and your rulers, and while you are sad that the battle had to happen, you feel honored that you were able to witness it.

“Upon landing in Canterlot, you met up with two mares you met through the spa, names Wings and Jet, not related to you. You roomed with them for a few weeks before finding a job at The Equine Sun, which you did not enjoy, but which paid well. You rented an apartment shortly after and moved out of Wings’ and Jet’s house. You separated from them on good terms, but you were not friends. You have no desire to seek them out in the future.”

She turned a page.

“Once you moved into your new apartment, a group of Pegasus Advocates attempted to recruit you, and you went to a meeting in their camp out of curiosity. You thought they might be a good fit at first, but quickly realized that you did not like their methods or beliefs, and stopped attending their meetings. You are not sure whether they will try to contact you again, and you worry that they might.”

She turned to Chilly Clouds, who nodded with a soft, tired smile.

“Now for the shitty part,” Ink mumbled. “April, please give me the names of every pony who you remember well, and a brief description of your relationship with them. Start with your earliest memories.”

The script that Ink had read was only the beginning of the interview, the recitation of which primed the pony’s mind for a more precise, intensive reworking. Properly wiping a memory was not just providing a story to substitute the pony’s actual life. Any loose detail, any piece of memory that didn’t make sense or didn’t fit with the given narrative could unravel the false memory, or else lead to permanent psychological damage. Ink and Chilly spent the next few hours going over everyone April and Flitter had known, how they had known each other, what April best remembered doing with them, how she felt, and what memories of them she had carried. For all of these, Ink and Chilly had to choose whether to change them, whether they could possibly lead to a rediscovery of April’s true past. As a consequence of her recent body change, and the covert nature of her former assignment, she concluded the interview with only two friends: Lacey Kisses and Reverend Green, of the abuse victim shelter.

By eight o’ clock, Ink said the words she had been aching to say all day. “April Showers, you have been at my house on a social call. We met at the shelter, and I offered to have you over for lunch. You accepted, and we stayed here, chatting. The encounter was pleasant, but you do not have any interest in pursuing a friendship. Chilly Clouds is my friend, who I have over occasionally, and you have no interest in her either. I am offering to drive you back home tonight. Do you accept?”

April looked at her and Chilly, eyes glazed, and nodded.

“This concludes the interview.” Ink nodded at Chilly, who gave April another potion. After drinking, April got in Ink’s car, and her fugue had cleared before they were out of the neighborhood.

April looked out the window with a grin, pleasantly amazed with the time she had spent with Ink Pearl. She had only met her that day, yet the two had hit it off like old friends.

“Thanks for driving me back, Ink,” she said.

“It’s no problem, no problem at all.”

The two made small talk all the way back to April’s apartment, and then Ink shook her hoof and drove away. April walked to the couch and flopped down, nodding along to a song stuck in her head. “What to do now?” she asked herself. She would need to get to bed early because she was volunteering at the shelter the next day, and she needed to work on finding a new job. Still, it was only nine o’ clock.

April Showers popped in a movie and relaxed.

Forms of Courage

Chapter One hundred-twelve

Forms of Courage

Big Mac, Rarity, Pinkie, and Colgate spent the night in their corkscrew hotel exchanging letters with Octavia on the other side of the country. When morning came, they went down to meet Versus, and the five of them discussed the facts over yet another hotel breakfast.

Everyone else was in Hoofington. They had been taken there by an enchanted letter, sent by Vanilla Cream, and which said that it was his final interference. Whether he was to be trusted was up for debate. The airship had been teleported with them, and Applejack and Rainbow Dash were seeing to its repairs that day. Twilight was still in the hospital with a minor concussion, which the doctor there predicted should not leave any lasting damage. Finally, the last Element of Harmony was in town as well, the Element of Courage.

“Great, so they can snag the last Element, then zip down here and pick us up, and we’ll go get Discord,” Pinkie said. “Easy!”

“That’ll take forever,” Rarity said. “Hoofington to Snowdrift is something like two weeks of distance, and from here to Discord’s stupid castle isn’t much faster.”

“Can we meet them halfway?” Colgate asked. “Partial Thoughts said she had a company airship, we can take that.”

“Ah don’t wanna get her tied up in this,” Big Mac said.

“It’s an option, though,” Rarity said.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Versus asked.

“I doubt it, but thank you.”

“What about the Contraction party?” Pinkie asked.

“Ponies are still talking about it,” Versus said.

“Let ‘em,” Big Mac said. “That ain’t our concern anymore.”

“Wait, how can ponies still be talking about it when Twilight isn’t here anymore?” Rarity asked. “These are precogs, still talking about the Contraction like it’s going to happen?”

“All the precogs are acting like the Contraction’s right on schedule,” Versus said. “This Sunday, sometime late.”

“Sunday? Today’s Monday. They’re not going to get back here in six days.”

“I’m just telling you what everypony’s saying. Why? The Contraction’s gonna go whether Twilight’s here or not.”

“Uhhhh…” Pinkie rolled her eyes. “Well, about that…”

“Not here,” Rarity said, shooting Pinkie a sharp look. “Upstairs. We’ll talk there.”

“What are you hiding?” Versus teased, a coy smile on her lips. “You naughty mares. And Big Mac.”

Rarity shook her head, and everyone took her cue. Talk went to milder topics until they were done eating, and Versus went back to work at the front. Upstairs, Colgate rooted around in her saddlebags while the others talked. She had checked the night before too, but until she had put her hooves to the coveted items, some primal part of her feared that they had disappeared. The bits she had withdrawn, which no one had asked about, and her copy of the princesses’ design for the Elements of Harmony. The parchment crinkled under her hoof, and she felt only slightly better.

“She doesn’t know about Twilight forcing the Contraction,” Rarity said, “and I think we should keep it that way.” She looked at Big Mac. “I know we like her, but we don’t know her all that well. She might ruin it.”

“Why does the Contraction party matter at all?” Colgate asked, withdrawing her pulse crystal to examine it in the light.

“If the precogs are talking about the party like it’s still happening, then that means Twilight is somehow going to set off all that magic she skimmed off the gateway.” She thought for some time, and eventually grabbed a pen and paper. “Pinkie, if you could send this to Octavia, we need more answers.”

“What’s the deal?” Pinkie asked.

“I think I have an idea, but I need to know a few things. Ladies, I assume none of us remember how Twilight was setting up her Contraction? I know I don’t.”

“Not a clue!”

Colgate shook her head. The fact that Rarity had an idea was enough for her, and she put her mind to the conversation fast approaching. When they had discovered their division the previous night, Colgate had known that it was time for her to leave as well. She had been half-searching for an opportunity since emerging from Tartarus, a chance to slip away and fulfill what she considered her private destiny. Big Mac had illuminated it deep underground, the answer—and the only one she could imagine—that forced her life to cohere to those of her new friends. She needed her own Element of Harmony whether the others thought so or not. If she was not already safe, it would save her, and if they were not already complete, it would complete them.

“That’s what I thought,” Rarity said. “Which means it is Twilight setting off the Contraction, and not us. I’m asking her if it’s possible for her to make it happen from where she is now.”

“If it isn’t, then she needs to be in Snowdrift by this Sunday,” Pinkie said, fiddling with the room service menu and dropping it onto the carpet. “Right?”

“Right, and that’s incredibly fast.” Tapping her chin with the quill, she continued, “There has to be some way for them to get from Hoofington to Snowdrift in six days, maybe less if we allow time for her to set everything up. Hold on.” She finished her note and gave it to Pinkie, who sent it off in a sizzling cloud of smoke.

“Going somewhere, Colgate?” Pinkie asked.

“Just checking stuff, all’s good here,” Colgate said, snapping her bag shut. Pinkie had caught her thinking thoughts of escape, must have seen it on her face somehow, and Colgate looked down at the carpet to hide the damning expression.

“Do we have a map of the country?” Rarity asked.

“Ah can go down and ask fer another,” Big Mac said.

“Do.”

As soon as he was gone, Colgate breathed easier. He was her guiding light, his knowledge the key to the rest of her life, but he could not know any sooner than the others her design. She had no doubt that the plan would be her death despite what feeble defense he may forward, all unless she could carry it off to its end, to their end, as Big Mac had suggested long ago. She had no way to guess what he knew or had foreseen before losing the glamour, or if the glamour truly was lost, but he had said there was a good reason for her to be with them. She could imagine no other purpose, no other calling that she alone could fulfill, no other empty space into which she could step except perhaps a grand, sacrificial grave.

If he knew yet, and had neither forgotten nor stopped her, what then? She wondered whether she would be allowed her private destiny or have it stripped away at the last second by some unstoppable magic of Twilight’s. Twilight could do it. In Colgate’s rampaging imagination, the sky was blackened and she was frozen as a scythe of superheated magic came upon her, a dot on the horizon that expanded to a crushing mantle. Like the image of the lone soldier on a hill, she stood and watched death from above in the midst of all, the martyred center of her world at last. It was not such a terrible image to her, but powerful, and she missed Big Mac coming back, so engrossed was she. When Pinkie got her attention again, her heart was racing just as it had been minutes ago.

Best to just do it, she thought. “Twilight can’t scythe me if her friends are in the same room.”

“Unless she can?”

“You took your time, dear,” Rarity said. “Forgive me. You weren’t telling Versus anything, were you?”

“Just sayin’ goodbye,” Big Mac said. “You know, in case.”

Her face broke into a sympathetic smile for a second as Twilight’s note came back. “It says there’s no way she can activate the Contraction remotely, and she’ll think about any ways to get down here faster. This business of the Contraction on Sunday has her curious as well.” She folded the note up. “Now, who’s good at math?”

Big Mac raised a tentative hoof.

“How fast would they have to go to get from Hoofington to Snowdrift in six days? Rainbow Dash can make them go pretty fast with Twilight’s… whatever it is, that recursive magical wind-thing she has at the back of the ship. But is it fast enough, I wonder.”

While the three of them puzzled over their map, Colgate had a bottle of wine brought up to calm her nerves. Everything was still on Aloe and Lotus’ tab, though the twins themselves had apparently left the city.

“Anypony want any?” Colgate asked, yanking the cork with a triumphant pop of magic and pressure.

“It’s ten in the morning, dear,” Rarity said, and Pinkie resolutely shook her head.

With Big Mac’s help, they worked out that, even with magic, flying from Hoofington to Snowdrift in six days was not plausible. Vanilla Cream had said he would interfere no more, so him pulling their friends back south was not an option. All that was left was for them to somehow cross the country in one huge teleport, or a sequence of smaller ones. Perhaps they would write Princess Luna and ask her to shoot them down to Snowdrift, Pinkie suggested, but Rarity did not think it likely—that they would write her, or that the princess, written, would accede.

Meanwhile, Colgate sat on the bed, periodically checked her saddlebags, and drank wine. At one point, she ran to the shower, turned it on for a couple minutes, and emerged wrapped in a towel and smiling goofily to herself. Her chance was missed, but no anticipatory scythe had flown out to them, and under the influence of wine and shower water, and with the familiar surroundings of the uncaring hotel room, a second chance felt more realistic.

“Feelin’ okay?” Big Mac asked.

“Feelin’ weird,” was her response.

A little more calculation and a few more slugs of wine, and they determined that in four days or more, depending on how long it took them to get their Element, Twilight and crew could get as far as Manehattan, perhaps a little farther west, or just north of Canterlot. In other directions, there lay the northern coast, which was no help, and the mountains and mesas of eastern Equestria.

“So does this mean that there’s some way to teleport from here?” Pinkie asked.

“Twilight can’t teleport like that on her own,” Rarity said slowly, trying to fit the logic together. “And I don’t think she can manage a sigil to do it either. If she could, we’d have been doing that long ago. There’s got to be something there already, some sort of weird… teleportation enchantment, or a magical doorway, or something weird like that.”

“Equestria is full of weird nonsense,” Colgate said, thinking of the watchpoints outside Canterlot. “So you might not be far off with your idea.”

“You don’t happen to know of anything, do you?” Pinkie asked.

“They don’t let me see stuff like that.” She took another drink of wine; her bottle was approaching the halfway point.

“Are you sure you don’t want to save some of that for later?” Rarity asked, wrinkling her nose.

Colgate shrugged.

Rarity wrote Twilight another note explaining what they had figured out and asking whether she knew of any ways to travel instantly across the country; Twilight replied that she did not.

“So there’s some sorta fast-traveling magic out there,” Big Mac said. “Ah reckon it makes some sense to have it connect here.”

“I’m thinking,” Rarity mumbled. “I feel like I’ve seen something before, but I can’t place where from.”

They sat, and Colgate jostled her wine bottle, and Big Mac adjusted the curtains. A light snow was coming down over the town and the clouds threatened worse for later, a later that they each hoped not to see. The visible piece of Snowdrift from their window looked large and cold to them, no more the semi-familiar backyard of adventure. All the powerful mares were in Hoofington, and what was left behind was simply the rest of them; so it seemed in the harsh, snowy sun in the creaking corkscrew hotel. The powerless ones caught in the middle, with clouds gathering above and the crowd of hotel-goers ebbing below, mass and motion, life spinning on. It was easy to feel the sickening pull from their isolated hotel room, the sure and slow unsticking sensation as that life threatened to spin past them, and it silently urged them to their own ideas of correct action, to stop the thinking and planning and just get out and make something happen. In Hoofington, surely, things were happening. What would Twilight do?

“So how you doing, Cole?” Pinkie asked, her nerves confined to a rut she was pacing in the carpet between beds.

“I miss friends,” Colgate said. She went to the closet and pulled out a scarf. “Look at this. Octavia and I went shopping earlier and she picked this out for me.”

“Awww, cute! Put it on!”

Colgate stumbled a little and donned her woolen scarf, muted gray and blue, and pranced about for Pinkie, who cheered.

“But I’m not sure about this city anymore,” Colgate said, lying down on the floor.

“What’s that mean?”

Colgate’s eyebrows contracted in realization that she had begun. The excuse she had imagined for leaving seemed suddenly paper-thin, and she got to her hooves once more to check the window for the umbra of Twilight’s scythe.

“Ah’m good an’ ready to get out of the cold,” said Big Mac, who had felt that way since day one. “Ah dunno Ah can take six more days here.”

“Here, here,” Pinkie said, and jumped aside when Colgate ran for the bathroom. They could hear her throwing up, and when she came out, her face was pale.

“Too much wine?” Rarity asked, not looking up.

“There’s something I have to do,” Colgate said.

“You just did it,” Pinkie said.

“I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“What’s wrong? Do you have secret agent work here?”

Colgate rubbed her head and reached for the wine. “It’s important for us all, and I’m not… Six days you said?” “Celestia, I can feel it coming.”

“Well, they’ve got to be here on Sunday,” Rarity said. “So say the precogs, and they know.”

Colgate looked at the map on the bed, not seeing it. “Tight schedule. Okay.”

“Are you going somewhere?” Pinkie asked.

“Not far, and I’ll be back.” She began throwing on coats and tucked her pulse crystal into a breast pocket—as if that would be any protection.

“But we need you here!”

“Run! Get out and hide yourself!” “No harm, damn it.” She rubbed her eyes. “No you don’t. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, it would’ve fed into what the precogs saw. Me being gone either doesn’t matter or somehow helps.”

“Stop it,” Rarity said. “What is this? You always do this, you run off and do something weird, and then it comes back to all of us.”

Colgate grabbed the wine bottle, splashing a drop onto the bed sheets, and drank. “I’m sorry about that.”

“You can be straight with us,” Big Mac said. “We’re not gonna be mad at’cha.”

Colgate eyed him over the top of her bottle, and Rarity moved into her field of view, glowering.

“I’m just going to check on something,” Colgate said, fighting to keep her voice steady. In her head, she had already set off Twilight’s curse; it was shrieking her way in that exact moment, ripping the sky open and raining deliquesced magic onto the earth in frothy torrents. That this was not only unlikely, but completely out of Twilight’s character, occurred to her only very distantly. “I’ve gotta run south for a little bit, but I’ll circle around and come back up here in time for the Contraction party. We can go to Discord’s together.”

“You’re not running?” Pinkie asked.

“I can’t run.” She went back to the window. “But I’m no Element, so even if I do, you’ll be fine without me.”

“We like you,” Big Mac said.

Colgate nodded sharply. Not looking at them made it easier to keep a grip on her emotions. “Yep. I’m aware of that. But you don’t need me. Right now, this is all on Twilight, pulling off this Contraction. I’m nothing here.” She scooted across the room to the door, swaying on her hooves. “Don’t nobody worry about me.”

For a second, they looked at one another, until Rarity said, “Go then. Take care of it if it can’t wait.”

“I’ll come back.”

“Fine.”

Big Mac went to her and they exchanged softer words, and then Colgate was gone. He sat down heavily and put her wine bottle on the nightstand.

“So there goes Colgate,” Pinkie said. “Was it something I said?”

“Sketchy mare,” Rarity said.

“Ah think the division freaked her out. She had some vague plans ‘bout this fer a while, she said, but losin’ half our group scared her into actually doin’ it.”

“Freaked out, you don’t say? I thought she was perfectly at ease.”

“Are you kidding? She looked like she’d had a dozen pots o’ coffee!” Pinkie cried.

“Sarcasm, darling.” She fixed a stray lock of her hair. “Anyone else want to abandon the group while we’re at it?”

“Quit it, Rarity.”

“Ah trust she’ll come back,” Big Mac said.

“Yes, and bringing what problems along?” Rarity asked. “She has been more trouble than she’s worth since day one, if you ask me.”

“You don’t believe that.”

Rarity sighed through her nose and picked at a pillow case. “Perhaps a walk will jog my memory. I swear there’s something that can help us, I swear.”

“It’s pretty cold out there.”

“Thank you, Big Macintosh.” She zipped up three jackets and left in a huff. When they were alone, Pinkie grabbed the wine and took a small sip, replacing it on its stand with a crinkled frown.

Colgate got a taxi to the Mansel bank, mind spinning. She had the designs for the Elements of Harmony and enough bits to buy one in her bags, and she had enough time to get to the mines if she left that day. The thought of it had appeared first in Tartarus, nascent and impulsive, and had popped up periodically since then.

The timing was perfect, she was seeing in the clarifying distance from her friends, provided she survived. Twilight and friends would get the Element of Courage in Hoofington, Colgate could scrounge up a personal one for herself, and the others could hold on in Snowdrift. They would meet up in one grand reunion six days later, fire off into the castle, and make history. Better yet, if she survived the final Element, it would prove her friends’ veracity; they would not tolerate her idea unless they truly did mean her no harm. Some, like Octavia and Applejack, did not need proving, and for this she felt brief periods of gratefulness between cycles of fading panic.

At the bank, the teller told her that Partial Thoughts was gone, so Colgate took a cab to her house, where she spied on her through the window. The white mare moved with calm, persistent energy, trying to pack what appeared to be the entire contents of her house into only four pieces of luggage. At first, she thought about getting Partial Thoughts’ attention by tapping the glass, but then opted for the doorbell, rung several times before she finally answered with a flat “oh, it’s just you.”

Colgate looked at her, not sure what to make of the greeting, but obeyed her hurried beckon and trotted in.

“Who’s in danger now?” Partial Thoughts asked. “Is it me? Is it you?”

“It’s cold out there.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She went back to her luggage, and Colgate went to the fridge and poured herself some orange juice. “Seriously, what’s the problem now?”

“This is good juice.” Trying to get a grip still.

“Hey!” She slammed the fridge door shut. “Tell me what’s going on. In case you can’t tell, I’m in the middle of something.”

“Sorry,” Colgate said. “I need passage south.”

“Okay, great. There’s an airship dealership on the other end of town with great rates.”

“You have a ship.”

Partial Thoughts swallowed a laugh. “Right.”

“Aaaaand…” Colgate hiccuped. “Can I ride along?”

“I’m not going south.”

“You’re going somewhere.”

“I’m going north, somewhere warmer. Appleloosa maybe, that sounds nice.”

Colgate set down her glass as the room wobbled. “I just need a quick trip south and back.”

“And back? Who do you think I am?”

“Rich Mansel pony, that’s who. And you’ve got your own airship.”

“It’s the company ship.”

“Same difference.”

“Not after today. I’m…” She stopped moving and looked at Colgate straight on. “Have you not seen the news? I thought that was why you were here, to warn me or something.”

“Huh?”

Partial Thoughts shoved a notebook against a pile of sweaters, trying to fit it into her overstuffed bag. “The police are looking into Peaceful Meadows’ death. They’re saying homicide, and they’re looking for suspects. In other words, I’m out of here, and your lot should be too.”

“New life?”

She glanced askance at Colgate. “Not that extreme.”

“All right, take me with you, then. I can help you pack.”

“What, aren’t you with the Elements anymore?” She slid a smaller bag toward Colgate. “You can help by folding my shirts, that would be great.”

“Temporarily,” Colgate said, getting to her knees. “That’s why I need to go south, to pick something up, and then I’ll meet them later.”

“Mmmm, and where is it you’re going?” she asked, fiddling with a stubborn zipper. She finally got it, spilling a makeup bag on the carpet.

A glance out Partial Thoughts’ kitchen window confirmed no vengeful magic yet; she sighed out some of her tension. “The mines, please. Six days round trip if we leave today.” Taking Partial Thoughts’ silence as reluctance, she added, “it’s harmless.”

“All right, all right, all right.” She replaced her makeup quietly, frowning at the bags. “You can help me more by getting rid of my car, if you want to know. Tell you what. If you do that, I’ll get you where you need to go. But it’s gotta be soon, because once my boss figures out I’m not coming back to work, I won’t be able to access the ship.”

“You won’t take off without me?”

“No, blue pony, I wouldn’t do that. I owe you… something.” She threw off a top layer of pants and shuffled with the clothes underneath, mumbling to herself. “Where the hell did I—in the laundry basket, I bet.” She got up and returned with a polka-dotted coat. Colgate gave it a strange look as Partial Thoughts stuffed it in her already full bag.

“Where’s the ship?”

“Company ship lot, off-site. You know how to drive a car, I assume?”

“Sure,” Colgate lied. She had seen it done.

“Meet me… You know what? Just come back here, I’ll wait for you, and we’ll get a taxi together.” She floated her keys over to Colgate, who looked at them like they were electrified.

“Soo, I’ll just be going then?”

“I don’t care what you do with it, just get it out of here. Destroy it if you can, I don’t care.” She shook her head and mumbled more to herself as Colgate stepped into the cold of the morning. A thin layer of frost covered the windshield, and as she waited in the running car for it to slough off, she could feel the interior shrinking around her. With no view and no idea how to operate the vehicle, she just sat there for several minutes, getting colder and not knowing it for how much wine she had drank before coming over.

She fumbled the key into the ignition, figured out how to turn on the heat, and idled in the driveway with shallow breaths as the ice and fog slowly cleared from her windshield. Of driving, she knew that she had to be in the correct gear, and she knew the brake and accelerator pedals; it didn’t take long to figure out which was which, and she was soon stuttering down the driveway. She had more than enough loose money in her bags to get another taxi back to Partial Thoughts’ house, but she was wary of spending.

The neighborhood, once large enough for a luxurious walk, had shrunken with her in the car, and she found herself lost before she had collected her thoughts. She turned onto a busy street at a comfortable fifteen miles per hour, cranking the wheel to combat ice and wind, and did not register that the blaring of horns behind was for her. At a red light, she watched the traffic streaming before her, her mind divided between driving and destroying. She curbed the car on a right turn and then, over-correcting, swung halfway into an oncoming lane on a patch of ice. It happened fast, then: a car coming towards her slowly, but not slowly enough, slammed on its brakes; Colgate jammed the wrong pedal, then, angrily, floored the correct one; Partial Thoughts’ car bucked and rattled at an angle into the other oncoming lanes, turning lazily across more drivers’ paths to curve up to the next corner, where she curbed it again and finally got speed to a chorus of horns and screeching tires, with a jarring bump on the behind. With heart racing and eyes everywhere but on the road, she flew toward a gentle curve and almost sent herself sailing out onto a frozen duck pond. Tires squealed and the engine roared, and she fumbled for the brakes, which she hit too hard and in the wrong place, sending herself forward into the steering column. Behind, someone let out a long blast of the horn before moving around her and pealing off. She decided to turn the car off then, right there in the road.

Her eyes were blurry with cold and nerves, and she stumbled to the front of the car and put her ear to the hood, where something inside ticked hotly. A car whizzed by, pulling her mane and tail rudely with its wind. She almost followed them, her legs like rubber from the eventful morning, and an oncoming car swerved purposefully as if seeing her uncertainty.

Then the light turned red, and the traffic on her side slowed. She got behind the car and pushed uselessly before locating the gas cap and removing it to stare down the shiny tube to the fuel tank.

“Gotta get cones for safety,” she thought then, and stepped off the road to look at the duck pond. There were no traffic cones, but plenty of flat river rocks. She began hauling them up to the side of the road and laying them down in a pile behind Partial Thoughts’ car, and when she thought she had enough, began setting them out in a line across the street. Cars honked at her, some slowed to do it, but she kept her buzzing head down and focused on keeping her rocks straight. There was no high thought going on, no real planning; it was the sense for public safety that had been ingrained by years and years of medical school that had made her improvise a roadblock, the action of habit without the will.

By the time she had reached the other side, the police were at a farther intersection and approaching fast, and she looked at their cruisers blankly, at once admonishing herself for not realizing they might come for her rocks and wondering what crime she had actually broken. She could think of none, and put her back to them to dig around in the car, coming out with a stack of Partial Thoughts’ insurance paperwork, which she rolled up and stuck into the gas tank. She set it afire with her rudimentary magic, and when she was sure it wouldn’t go out, she ran for the pond just as the police were getting out of their cars. She made it as far as the other side when a thunderous boom rocked the world out from under her hooves—Twilight’s scythe at last, and a miss at that!—and she crawled the rest of the way to a drainage pipe sticking out on the other side of an earthen rise, partially hidden by a skeleton of brush.

For only a few minutes did her shot nerves allow her to hide in the freezing filth. The police were swarming the car and blocking the road properly, and Colgate crawled on her belly all the way down a mossy, smelly rut to the next road, where she emerged in diminished triumph and raced to the neighborhood next to Partial Thoughts’, from where she affected a casual walk back to the house, ignoring as best she could the savage shivering from soaked clothes and fur. The cold that had seeped in only lent her small clarity, clarity enough to knock on Partial Thoughts’ door rather than simply barge in.

The white pony, out of her pajamas and stiff in a business suit, jacket, and tie, looked at her distastefully. “I heard that from here.”

“Sorry.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing, but it seemed appropriate.

“Change clothes. I’m calling a cab right now.”

“Can I have a shower?”

“No you can’t! Here!” She threw a bundle of unpacked clothes in Colgate’s face. “Who knows how many cops followed you back here, you…” She sighed. “Hurry up, and grab as much spare stuff as you can when you’re done.”

Colgate, struggling out of her soaked coat, nodded her head awkwardly while Partial Thoughts summoned their carriage. Most of her house had been packed, but the floor was strewn with the leftovers: books, board games, throw pillows, a card table folded up and smeared with hastily-wiped dust, desk organizers, pens and pen holders, a stapler but not a staple remover, a few rolled up posters with corners chewed by years of being hung and re-hung, all such scattered piles of domestic bric-a-brac. Partial Thoughts was a very average mare away from the office, with average interests and middling but orderly intellect: this Colgate determined from the supplies spread about, and from how they were distributed; items that bore common association lay together to show that Partial Thoughts had systematically turned her house upside-down and given everything its proper place before packing; and the lack of free space on the floor indicated she had gotten her bags out only after getting all her things out. A period of indecision, but all begun—this, too, she guessed at from the sheer volume of stuff she had seen—early in the morning. News of the police searching for Peaceful Meadows’ killers had to be recent, for her death was less than a day old, meaning Partial Thoughts had decided to leave town on the spot, immediately on hearing the news. An impulsive mare, but not given to such impulse as easily accommodated Colgate’s need to travel south. Wondering what about her request had turned Partial Thoughts off, Colgate watched her hang up the phone and, after considering, unplug it.

“Ten minutes, blue pony.”

“What about food?” Colgate asked, naked and shivering in the living room. Partial Thoughts had lobbed a pair of slacks and a suit jacket at her, both too big, and she donned them uncomfortably.

“We’ll pick something up in one of the villages on the river.” She raised her ear and ran for the front door, but came back. “Come on, they’ll be here soon.”

“Hey, c’mon.” She looked for a place to set her ruined clothes, and settled on the tile floor. “Are we leaving the house as it is?”

“Yes, we’re leaving the damn house. Stop that.”

Colgate stepped away from the stove, returning its knob to “off.” Partial Thoughts had all four bags, leaving Colgate with a pair of slippers and a pillow, all she could carry telekinetically. Partial Thoughts looked at her as they stood outside, on her face mixed fascination and disquiet. She had not not expected company on her sudden exodus from town, and while she was grateful for it, her blue companion had her a little on edge: the obvious intoxication, the scattered thoughts, the slapdash rapidity with which she had dispensed with the car, it all added up to a tight little ball of energy that Partial Thoughts was not sure she wanted to share an airship with.

“Something’s better than nothing,” she thought, her expression meanwhile saying to Colgate, “I wish I hadn’t given her my suit jacket.” The two got in the carriage, Partial Thoughts casually and Colgate imitating a casual demeanor.

“Keep your head back,” she mumbled to Colgate as they set off down the frosty street, in the opposite direction of the smoking ruin only a neighborhood away.

The company airship lot was a fenced-off square of tiered concrete, stairs cut into the walls like etchings on a monolith, the ships themselves resting atop under thick, fluttering, black tarps. There were close to a dozen that Colgate counted, each of them stacked in one another’s shadows, motionless and ready for use.

Partial Thoughts thanked the driver, tipped him poorly, and flashed her badge for the guards outside. For them, Colgate was an intern, and Partial Thoughts wanted to show her a few things the managers were responsible for. They let them in without a question or sideways look.

“Which one’s yours?”

“Number six. Right up front.”

“They believed you right off, huh?”

“No reason not to,” Partial Thoughts said. “Not yet. These are my working hours.”

The wind had slowed to a short, cutting breeze as they took the stairs up the monolith’s frosted sides. The height was doing Colgate’s drunken head no favors, and she could not keep herself from peering off the edge every time they turned a corner. Even at the first airship, they were high enough to make the guards look like play miniatures, the road encircling the lot a black stream, its reflecting ice speckles of whitewater. The corkscrew hotel reared its sinuous body over squat neighbors in the distance, and on the other side, just visible through a fine shroud of fog, were the spicules of church steeples rising from the hilly north.

“Why don’t they put the stairs inside?” Colgate asked.

“That’s just how it is,” Partial Thoughts said tightly. She was shivering too, but Colgate thought she had taken offense, and decided to be quiet until they were in the air.

Which they soon were. Number six, close to the top and on the corner facing the indomitable glacier, hauled itself to life when Partial Thoughts inserted her key—a replica, she explained, for they were supposed to keep their airship keys at work. Everyone with a brain between their ears, she said, had found a way around that rule.

Getting the ice off the torch, the balloon cables, the wheel, and the rudder took them another half hour, and in that time, they had the balloon nearly inflated, swelling up where Partial Thoughts had rolled the tarp back. Following her instructions, Colgate tied the balloon down and manipulated a sliding scale of metal plates belowdecks, their ballast. They rose slowly at first, and then they were underway, and the lot drifted off below, and the two travelers stood at the wheel and watched Snowdrift follow it. The smoke from Partial Thoughts’ car had not quite cleared, a last little mark on the city.

“That town Fluttershy and I visited while you were in Manehattan,” Rarity said over a calming cup of tea in one of the nearby breakfast spots. “Passage Town, they had something under their… water pump? It was some sort of pipe or pump outside town, and it led to this huge underground vault.”

“You told us,” Big Mac said.

“There was this big, magical thing down there, like a portal. I didn’t know what I was seeing at the time, but I realize it now. Look out there, see?” She pointed at the serrated shape of the forest to the east. “I was seeing this place. I think the view was over the trees out there, because I remember seeing them too, and the mountains in the distance.”

“Was it a teleporter?” Pinkie asked.

“I think so. One of the mares there made it sound like that.” She spooned another lump of sugar into her cup. “Which means if we can find it on this side, we can go through to Passage Town, and Twilight can go through to get back here.”

“Easy!”

“Yes, except that we have no idea where it is on this side, how to use it, or how to even make it accessible for our friends. In Passage Town, as I said, it’s underground.”

“They ain’t flyin’ that ship underground,” Big Mac said, nibbling an apricot scone.

“No. No, they are not.” The three shared a sigh. “Maybe we should see if we can borrow Partial Thoughts’ airship after all.”

In the distance, something exploded, and everyone inside went quiet and looked around for a minute. Sirens followed, and calm prevailed.

“Why not just ask around?” Pinkie asked. “If it’s a secret agent thingy, then all we gotta do is find a secret agent. Duh!”

“What’ll we tell ‘em?” Big Mac asked.

“Aloe and Lotus sent us,” Rarity said. “And I know the pony on the other side, too, Cloud Line. She led us down there herself.” She looked around, as if to spot a Datura in the crowd. “How do we find someone to take us there?”

“Did Aloe and Lotus have any friends?” Big Mac asked.

“Just employees, I would have to imagine.”

“The gateway!” Pinkie yipped. “They said it’s monitored. We’ll just go there!”

“Oh, what a lovely idea. The gateway to hell, just where I was hoping to wind up today.”

“Better than fallin’ though it,” Big Mac said with a heavy shrug.

They paid, grabbed a taxi, and rolled into oncoming fog all the way to the Snowdrift city limit, where they had to hike through frozen weeds on choppy ground to the Tartarus gateway. Waiting for their friends to emerge—only two weeks ago, Rarity realized and kept to herself—they had not noticed the heat that poured out, but walking back to it as winter gripped the rest of Snowdrift, they were shocked at the temperance in the moist air. Big Mac shed his outermost coat, and Pinkie her scarf and hat, on the walk over to the black, dimensionless disc.

Dark furrows, partially filled in by mud and tufts of newborn grass, marked a wide path that looped off the gateway and cut a corner off the forest. Rarity’s horn tingled with ambient magic, and she lowered her ears to the phantom sound that it made in her head, a high-pitched drone that most unicorns could not ignore.

Pinkie was right. They had not gotten nearly so close as two weeks before when a trio of Daturas dressed as park rangers approached and called for them to halt.

“Sorry, folks, you’re not allowed to come this far up here. Gateway’s dangerous.”

“Danger’s our middle names!” Pinkie said. “All of ours!”

“Ignore her,” Rarity said. “My apologies, but Aloe and Lotus sent us. We were hoping you could help us.”

The three rangers looked at her blankly, and Rarity looked right back, undaunted.

“We need to get up north, but we don’t have time to fly. They said we could find one of you, er, your type of professionals, and you could help us. There’s a teleporter nearby, but they didn’t say where exactly.”

“What were their names again?” one of the rangers asked.

“Aloe and Lotus,” Rarity enunciated. “The information pony and her sister. Please. We’re trying to get to Passage Town, it’s a little village just west of Manehattan. We know Cloud Line there, and she’s expecting us.”

One of the rangers whispered something to another and said, “if you’d come with us, we can show you where you need to go. This is the gateway, you need to be out in the woods.”

“That would be wonderful, if you could take us there.” She batted her eyelashes, and one of the rangers gave her a quick smile before turning on booted hoof and jutting his chin purposefully. The other two rangers went back to where they had appeared and the one who had smiled at Rarity took them to the forest’s edge.

“Down that path, see it there? Down there, there’s a clearing with a big, rotten stump. More rangers will stop you past that, and you just tell them what you told us, they’ll help you out.”

“Thank you so much, dear,” Rarity said, giving him another bat of her eyelashes and puckering her lips gently. Blushing, he shook her hoof, and not the others’, and went back to the gateway.

“Imagine workin’ right by that thing,” Big Mac said when they were among the trees. “Every day, right outside Tartarus.”

“I bet their benefits are through the roof,” Pinkie said.

“Did you have benefits, working for the bakery?” Rarity asked.

“Junky ones, yeah. That’s probably why we never hired anyone else. Not that we needed anyone else, but yeesh! Thank Celestia I never needed glasses.”

They reached the clearing with the stump just as a slow, but heavy, rainfall was beginning to rattle the firs and pines over their heads, shaking cold water down onto them in small but shocking sprays. Just past, as promised, they met more rangers, and Rarity gave them the same explanation, and just as the previous ones had, their demeanors changed when she named Cloud Line.

“Have you used the window before?” one asked. She was short, heavyset, with a mane of dirty brown and black that just peeked out under the hood of a brown jacket.

“This’ll be our first time,” Rarity said. “Is there any trick to it? Can’t we just step through?”

“The window’s for spirits only,” the other mare said, an elderly blonde with a sharp voice and fastidious, blue eyes. “Its job is to siphon them off the gateway so’s we don’t have ghosts filling up Snowdrift.”

“Makes sense,” Rarity said, not sure whether it did to her.

“We’re not ghosts,” Pinkie pointed out.

“Heh, yeah, that’s the problem,” the first Datura said.

“Now surely that’s not set in stone,” Rarity said. “You ponies are all over the country. Surely there’s a way to use this window to transport, er, flesh. There must be, yes?”

“It’s kinda inconvenient.”

“C’mon, we’ll show you,” the blonde mare said. They went to a smaller, more secluded clearing, dominated by a conspicuously large tree growing aslant out of a dry ravine. She grabbed at one of the branches and pulled down sharply, thrice, and let it snap back up. When it had stopped swaying, a ramp of transparent light coruscated to life off the ravine’s edge, curling tightly around to bring them to the top of the tree, where, having appeared just as suddenly as the ramp, there shimmered a tall oval of light. Big Mac pawed the ramp’s beginning uncertainly.

“To use the window for transporting material—you know, like a body—we have to really load it up with magic. We’re expanding it, you see?”

“Think of it like a hair tie. On your mane, it’s tight, like a little circle, but if you have it around your hoof, it’s wide open. We gotta do that to this window.”

“Like I said, inconvenient.”

“Where do you get the magic?” Pinkie asked.

“We just take it off the gateway,” the blonde mare said. “Here, come with me. Mirror Bell, you wanna get the magic ready?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the heavy mare said, dropping down into the ravine and climbing up the other side with surprising agility. She tugged at more branches, seemingly at random, while the rest of them trudged up the ramp. The rain passed right through, but it felt as solid as any bridge to their hooves.

“That doesn’t look right,” Pinkie said, looking up at the window. “You said it was underground, Rarity?”

“Where did you say you were going? Passage Town?”

“That’s right,” Rarity said.

“Mirror, Passage Town!” the blonde mare cried. “She’s setting it up. Have you all teleported before?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Big Mac said.

“She’s gonna increase the magic around the window’s edges, and when you step through—I’ll tell you when—it’ll take you where you need to go.”

“What’s so inconvenient about that?” Pinkie asked. “Seems pretty dang convenient to me.”

“Course it does,” Mirror Bell said from below, plucking on individual pine needles with a look of great apathy. Before them, the window’s aspect shifted from a bright, sunny desert plain somewhere outside Roan to the cold blackness of the Passage Town vault.

“Oh, it’s fine for you all, but she means everything afterward. When we send ponies through this, it looks like a fireworks show from the outside. Not great for secrecy.”

“Don’t bore them with details, Amber,” Mirror Bell said. “They’re fine, they’re fine. All right, let it build up a little, then you’re okay to go through.”

“Do you wanna—”

“I’m gonna get the paperwork now, yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll shut it off when they’re through. Pop your heads up on the other side, would you? Let us know you made it through okay.”

Rarity nodded, all the while watching the window anxiously. At first, it was as placid as any glass pane in any building, but when Mirror Bell had finally found that one crucial branch on their tree, the window began to shimmer all across its face, flame-like magic trailing up its sides and sizzling at the apex. Clusters of sparks soon appeared from that intersection, first hissing gently and quickly rising to a whir that matched the ringing in her head and horn, insistent and tuneless. Pinkie and Big Mac were showing signs of feeling the magic as well, but the blonde mare just looked on, waiting for some sign yet to appear.

“You get used to it,” she said at one point, but no one acknowledged her. The window was shaking, its edges white hot contrails, thin vines of magic swirling off to grab the air and pull it inwards in an unsettling mirage, as if the forest itself were being sucked down the black hole. Still, they could not go, nor could they go when the window had begun screeching like a saw and spinning like a loose tire on its axle, nor could they go when the rain began flying off its edges like shaken ball bearings and the trees were made plain in what seemed the light of a second sun.

The blonde mare smacked Pinkie on the flank and indicated they should hop through when the window was beginning to rotate in place, its edges shining and rattling so violently as to no longer appear whole. Pinkie and Big Mac looked back in horror, but Rarity took a bold step forward, balked, and was pushed. The three of them fell off the ramp, though the window, and into a cacophony of light and magic that zapped through their brains and left them feeling like their organs had been pounded to jelly. In approximately two seconds, they had flashed along an invisible line of magic from Snowdrift to Passage Town: a little more than two thirds of the country’s total length.

In semidarkness, before anyone had collected their thoughts, there was the grotesque and unsurprising sound of Big Mac losing his breakfast, an experience made all the stranger for the light show on the window’s other side. The Snowdrift sky was awash in spinning, colliding, colorful lights, with no associated sound coming through. When these calmed down, and Big Mac had finished, Pinkie put her face to the window’s edge and gave the Datura technicians a tired smile, which they returned with waves and the mouthed words “good luck.”

Several minutes later, the window dimmed, the aspect shifted, and they were treated to a peaceful view of the eroded northern coastline. Pinkie flopped onto her back and let off a series of moans and choking sounds, and Big Mac helped her up, an unseen grimace on his clenched face. His entire abdomen felt like it had been emptied and re-stuffed with lesser versions of what it contained. He was weak in the knees, his muscles sore and shaking, his breathing deep but insufficient with each breath.

“We’ll just stay here,” Rarity muttered, lying on the ground, and Big Mac let himself and Pinkie back down. They lay in the grand vault under Passage Town, staring up at the unseen ceiling of stone, letting the earth suck away their body heat by degrees until, finally, with a resigned groan, Pinkie got back to her hooves.

They shuffled out of the cemetery before the window and into the central chamber, where Rarity brought up a soft light to find the stairs. They were fifty feet underground, but it looked much deeper when they looked up at the distant glow of the vault’s one lantern, a pale star showing ribbed sides of the spiraling well. In darkness so near absolute, it was difficult to tell whether she was looking up or down, and Pinkie had to make herself keep her eyes forward, not up, to keep her balance.

The going was slow and delicate, and they stopped several times on identical landings to get their strength back. Of possessions, they had only the clothes on their backs and a few sundries from the hotel, stuffed in a saddlebag that Pinkie had gotten from reception.

“Cloud Line is the secret agent who lives here and monitors this area,” Rarity said. “We’re underneath a broken water pump that lifts up, like a trap door, and the rest of Passage Town is right there.”

“What are we gonna say?” Big Mac asked.

“I’ll do the talking. I’m sure she remembers me.”

“All right.” He breathed out heavily. “An’ what are you gonna say?”

“I guess the truth, more or less. I might abridge some things.”

They continued their climb, dizzying monotony, so slow that even the lantern above seemed to only come closer in large increments, only when noticed anew. Two flights from the top, resting again, they heard hoofsteps that weren’t theirs.

“Who goes there?” a voice shouted out at the same time as Rarity’s. The other pony’s pace picked up, and the walls at the top of the shaft glowed softly with swinging lantern light. She repeated herself firmly.

“That’s her,” Rarity said, “I think. Cloud Line?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s me. Rarity! From Ponyville, I visited with a friend in the summer.”

A second of quiet when Cloud Line put the lantern down. A dark face appeared at the banister above them, and Rarity brightened her light around them.

“What in—how the hell are you—Where did you come from?” The figure jumped over the rail, and Rarity’s heart pounded for a second before she remembered that Cloud Line was a pegasus. She glided down to them and perched on the rail, her long mane pulled back in a tight bun, her eyes magnified behind huge glasses. “I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?”

Getting up and preparing for the next set of stairs, Rarity said, “We came from Snowdrift. A couple secret agents helped us operate the window there.”

“Just now? What’s going on? I haven’t heard anything.”

“They’re fine, dear.” She took a deep breath; it was starting to be less painful to do so, and the feeling of her chest expanding was strangely satisfying.

“We needed to get up north real quick,” Pinkie said. “Our friends are in Hoofington, and Big Mac did the math, and there’s only six days to get to Snowdrift again or else the precogs’ll be wrong, and then we can’t—hey!” Big Mac had pulled her tail.

“Let’s take this back to your house, if we may,” Rarity said. “I’m sure there’s a lot you’d like to know.”

Cloud Line walked ahead of them, her light making easier the way up through the rest of the stone well, into the tunnel of packed dirt, and to the pump. She put her eye to a recessed hole in the earth, a peep hole to the outside Rarity assumed, and tipped the trap door up to let the warm, river-scented air in. While their eyes adjusted, Cloud Line walked around the pump, and then escorted them back to her hut, where they were seated at a too-small table. The hut smelled overpoweringly of fresh spices and peppers, with little jars of powder in uneven, colorful rows underneath hanging husks of dried chilies. Big Mac brought his muzzle to a mortar and pestle, tawny with ground coriander, set beside a checkered mat of thin, wrinkled tomato slices sun drying under the window.

“You’re not supposed to know about using the window,” Cloud Line said. “And you’re also not supposed to be separated from your friends.”

“Something went bad in Snowdrift—where we came from,” Rarity said. “As Pinkie said, our friends are in Hoofington right now.”

Cloud Line closed her eyes in clear exasperation, but only asked, “What for?”

“The last Element’s there,” Big Mac said.

“Mmm, the new Elements.” She held up a hoof. “We all know about them, us… Whatever you’re calling us. Secret agents.”

“But we need to be back in Snowdrift,” Pinkie said. “That’s why we had to be here, to meet ‘em halfway! We figured we’d come out over here, then everypony can just fly right on through the window and flash back south. Then, Contraction!”

“You expect them to fly their entire airship through the window.”

“We were hoping we could figure out a way, yes,” Rarity said hastily, cutting Pinkie off.

“What with it being underground, I don’t suppose you had any other ideas?”

“Well…”

“We hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Big Mac said. “We’re in a time crunch, an’ this was our only option, that’s how we saw it.”

“So…” Cloud Line got up and drew a shade over the window that faced town. “All right, monstrous breach of protocol aside for now, what is so pressing about this final Element? My job would require me to send you back through the window and prep you for memory wiping, but I’m willing to hear you out.”

“It’s complicated,” Rarity said, able to keep her voice even. Cloud Line’s threat, which she did not fully believe, she had nonetheless anticipated. “The short version is, we have an event in Snowdrift that we’re relying on to get us where we need to go, and the precogs there are saying it’s in six days, which isn’t enough time to get from Hoofington to Snowdrift naturally.”

“Thus, borrowing my window. What happens if you miss your six-day mark?”

“We’ll have to fly over to Discord’s castle on our own,” Pinkie said. “That’s on the other side of the country from Snowdrift.”

“So even more time would be lost.” No one responded, but they felt the jab in her statement. “I might be willing to help you get your friends through, but there’s a few problems. One, how do we dig up the window?”

“That’s one of the things we assumed we’d get to when we got to it,” Big Mac said.

“And then, what are ponies gonna say when you show up out of nowhere? No ship, no friends within a hundred miles, practically no supplies—and what you do have is all for the freezing cold. And the Elements of Harmony, no less, showing up like this? It’ll be insanity, and Eggshell and I won’t be able to explain it away.”

“Who’s Eggshell?” Pinkie asked.

“Her partner,” Rarity said.

“Well, we can’t go back. Unless there’s windows in other cities? Maybe we can try a different one.”

“Ah don’t wanna go through that thing again,” Big Mac said.

“They’d never let you out of the reception chamber somewhere else,” Cloud Line said. “No, it was smart of you to come here, at least kind of.”

“What if everypony left town?” Big Mac asked. “Could you help us then?”

“I don’t see how we’d get everyone to leave.”

“There’s only a dozen or so ponies here, what Rarity said. Couldn’t we come up with somethin’ to make ‘em go upriver fer a few days? Maybe set up a farmer’s market, or a travelin’ show.”

“Long enough to dig up the window and then fill in the hole again, all without being seen,” Pinkie said. “I think he’s got something.”

“Could we perhaps let the ship get most of the way here, then teleport it below? That way, we’d only have to widen the actual room where the window is, if that,” Rarity said.

Cloud Line set about preparing a kettle of herbal tea. “Do you know how to teleport something that big? Does Twilight?”

“She might, but I think she’s hurt again.”

“Classic Twilight,” Pinkie said.

“The problem is, whatever you do, with the exception of just teleporting them straight into it from out of the air, we’re gonna wind up with a giant crater where the pump used to be,” Cloud Line said. “There’s no explaining that for when they come back—I do like that idea, Big Mac, I just don’t see how we would execute it.”

“What if—oh!” Pinkie bounced up and down. “How about this? What if we do it fast, like a magic trick?” She waited for a response, but received only questioning looks. “I mean, if we blow up the whole area really quick, and the ship—” With her hooves, she demonstrated, waving them in the air and making sound effects. “The ship, it looks like its crashes into the ground, like booooom! But really, it’s just going into the window. The window makes all sorts of colors, but so does a crashing airship.”

“Let’s not blow up the area right next to my house, please.”

“Pinkie passes as a precog,” Rarity said. “It’s rather unethical, but we can claim there’s a natural disaster coming, like an earthquake or a freak storm.”

“I’m a precog!” Pinkie cried. “Well, I was.”

“Eugh. That is an option, you’re right,” Cloud Line said.

“But the excavation,” Big Mac said.

“The only digging tools we have here are shovels and picks, and none of our unicorns have enough magic to uncover the window, not that they’d be here to help anyway.”

“Perhaps we can bring some help over from Snowdrift,” Rarity said.

“Not likely.”

“Yeah, I thought all the secret agents left Snowdrift to go east,” Pinkie said.

Cloud Line coughed into her tea. “Say that again?”

“They’re headed east, all of ‘em, or pretty much all of ‘em. Aloe and Lotus are gone—”

“The twins are gone?”

“Not gone gone, just out of town. Not sure where. Why?”

“So they aren’t paying attention to what’s going in Snowdrift right now? They’re not there to watch?”

Rarity glanced at Big Mac, who she trusted to detect the change in tone more than she did Pinkie.

“Gone-a-rooney!”

“The twins are gone…”

“Do you not like them?”

“No, it’s… How do you know this?”

“They told us.”

“In a note,” Rarity completed. “They left us a note the morning they headed out, to let us know they wouldn’t be back anytime soon. Not the best for advanced notice, those two.”

“All right,” Cloud Line chirped. “You stay here, I think I’m going to go get Eggshell. He needs to know this.”

“So you’re gonna help us, then?” Pinkie asked.

Cloud Line gave her a look before dashing out the door, and as soon as she was gone, Rarity was up and poking through the hut. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, if anything, but it gave her something to do, seemed to confer some vague advantage in the verbal exchange, if she could find something Cloud Line didn’t mean to be revealed, even if it were harmless or common. By the time the pegasus was walking back with Eggshell, Rarity had found a box of cherry cordials behind a leaning recipe book, which she replaced carefully.

“Because they’re wicked mares,” Eggshell was saying as he barged in. “Greetings, you all. She already told me, it’s fine, I’m not going to do anything to silence you.”

“Glad to meeth’cha!” Pinkie said, springing up to grab his hoof off the ground and pump it. “Pinkie Pie, Element of Laughter.”

“Eggshell, pleased.” He took a seat across from Cloud Line, who looked into her tea. “The twins are gone east. Do you know why?”

“Something about—”

“We don’t know,” Rarity interrupted. Their purpose, Twilight had surmised, was to help with Princess Celestia’s imprisonment in the crater; whether the two ponies in Passage Town were authorized to know about that, she did not know. “You could say we’re not authorized to tell you about it.”

“This is unbelievable,” Eggshell said to Cloud Line. “Un-be-lievable. The twins aren’t doing anything with them, but…” He made an angry noise in the back of his throat. A cream-colored earth pony with vibrant, pink eyes, he looked like a denuded beast as he tucked his chin in and glowered at the floor.

“It’s fine,” Cloud Line said. “The fact that they’re gone—anyway, that changes things, let’s say.”

“So you can help us,” Rarity pressed.

“Oh, we’ll help,” Eggshell said, brows raised as if to indicate reference to something. “But we’re gone after that.”

“We only need you the one time.”

“Good, ‘cause that’s all you’re getting.”

“Why?” Big Mac asked. “Out of curiosity.”

“They can’t tell us,” Pinkie said.

“I’ll tell you,” Eggshell said. His eyes widened and he looked at Rarity. “You’re the mare who came here in the summer, with your yellow friend. I knew I recognized you. Right, sorry, here’s your story. Lotus is our boss.”

“Isn’t she everypony’s boss?” Pinkie asked.

Eggshell grunted. “Great, you know that too. We were assigned here to monitor the window and handle communications six years ago. We were originally contracted for only two. Then, when we only had a couple months to go, they renewed our contract without letting us know, for another year. When that year was almost up, they did it again.”

“We appealed it three times,” Cloud Line said. “That’s the maximum amount of times you can appeal a decision like that.”

“Get the appeals, show them,” Eggshell said. “Sorry, but your friends down in Snowdrift are stone bitches. They pretend to be nice to you, but if it doesn’t have to do with workflow of efficiency, they don’t care. That Lotus, she can’t manage anything. Whatever they did to make her the information pony, they should’ve made her a better leader. All she ever does is shuffle us around, she—”

“Egg, they’re not with us.”

Eggshell stopped and cleared his throat, and Cloud Line showed them the paperwork, wrinkled and stained with dust ground into the creases. On the line explaining why their appeals for exfiltration from Passage Town were denied, the box was checked for “other,” and written was the terse phrase “insufficient replacement personnel.” On all three request forms, the same, with an absentminded squiggle of a signature floating close to its line the bottom.

“Basically, they locked us down here because they couldn’t find ponies to replace us,” Cloud Line said.

“Which is bull,” Eggshell said. “In all of Manehattan, they can’t find two idiots to take our place?”

“Lotus is too lazy to get off her butt and figure out where to send us, is what it comes down to. We tried to appeal, like I said, and we tried to talk to her directly, but she would always blow us off.”

“Bunch of crap every time. ‘Oh, well, we’re not really in a place right now where we can spare the resources necessary to back-fill your positions,’ and stuff like that. And getting a hold of her is almost impossible in the first place, we usually had to talk to one of her lackeys, who told us even less.”

“Why didn’t you just quit?” Big Mac asked, and Eggshell gave a sharp stab of bitter laughter.

“Quitting is worse than working for them,” Cloud Line said. “If you quit, you’ve got two options. I guess three, if you do something stupid and piss them off. You’ll either get your memory wiped of your employment—”

“Fuck that,” Eggshell broke in.

“Or you get moved to a retirement neighborhood, which is basically a little community somewhere safe, where you can live your life under constant surveillance. You can’t leave without a handler, they monitor who you send letters to…”

“If they don’t like a new friend you’ve made, they can tell you to stop seeing them,” Eggshell said.

“What’s the third option?” Pinkie asked.

“The swift embrace of government-sanctioned death.”

“That’s only if you do something that hurts the organization,” Cloud Line said.

"Like we might,” Eggshell mumbled.

“Hush, it’ll be fine.” She looked at Rarity. “Like I said, we can help with the window, but we’re gonna go through right after your friends.”

“And we’re not coming back.”

“Where ya going?” Pinkie asked.

“Changeling islands.”

“We haven’t decided yet,” Cloud Line said, frowning at Eggshell. “I’d rather go somewhere closer to home.”

“They’ll catch us if we stay in Equestria.”

She just waved him off, clearly a conversation they had had multiple times, and which she had no interest in repeating for her guests. “We’ll help, but I’d feel a lot better if we could move the others out of Passage Town for it.”

“Well, Pinkie Pie is a precog, you said?”

“She says she can pass for one.”

Eggshell shrugged. “That works.”

“I’d rather… Yeah, you’re probably right. Here, let me find my design specs on the window, I have to figure out how we can do this.”

Cloud Line vanished into a corner of the hut for a moment, paper rustling, and came back with a booklet of blueprints and graph paper. To the heady aroma of herbs and spices and dried vegetables, she added the smell of old paper as she flipped the book open to reveal an uneven block of figures and design notes, dated some fifty years back in the top right corner.

* * * * * *

In Hoofington, Twilight lay in her hospital bed and exchanged notes with the rest of her friends, estranged in Snowdrift without a ride and without an idea on what to do. Why they were focused on the Contraction still, she was not completely sure, but she entertained their questions with the hope that they had a plan. An ugly bandage covered half her face, and she felt dried out and depleted but completely confident in their abilities. One Element to go, and they on its doorstep, and enough magic and determination among them all to batter down Discord’s walls and drag him wriggling into the dust where he belonged.
The airship was parked in a giant garage somewhere in town with Applejack and Rainbow, killing time while technicians and mechanics fawned and cleared schedules and lowered prices for the famous Elements of Harmony; Twilight was in the hospital with Octavia’s gloomy company, one feeling better than she looked and the other feeling just as poorly; and Fluttershy and Vinyl enjoyed the reduced northern chill as they walked the mile and a half from the infirmary to Octavia’s former mansion. Hunched over a map with closed eyes and a brain full of strange, old magic, Fluttershy had pinpointed the Element to somewhere near there, and everyone agreed that it was appropriate, even Octavia, who refused to go and see for herself.

Autumn leaves decomposed in gutters, muted orange turning brown on rough, black stone underneath the green and rain-dripping bowers that indicated their passage from the commercial district to the wealthy side of town. Like stitches, broad bridges ran over a river—still motionless, for some split far north of town precluded water flow even now—toward rows of mansions set into the grassy plains that evened out as they stretched west to Fillydelphia and Manehattan past that. Over one such bridge, Vinyl and Fluttershy trotted and talked as they had wanted since Snowdrift.

“He had me practicing on a cloud of thoughts. Not like Lotus’, but a tiny one,” Vinyl said.

“That’s… weird,” Fluttershy said.

“Said they had ‘em in the magical psychology department at the university. It was crazy, Fluttershy. He just took it out of a jar one time, and there it was, ready to practice on. When it was all done, he cast some little spell, and then it went back in.”

“Did it look like anything?”

“Air.”

Fluttershy shook her head. She had known, when Vinyl was the only volunteer to go with her to the Element, that they would speak of her memory wipe, and of course the aberrant memory that necessitated it. It was a conversation they needed to have, and she knew it, but bitterly did she exit Twilight’s hospital with the white unicorn; restlessly did she wait for Vinyl to speak first.

“But I think I’m getting it. I was able to wipe out some deeper memories in the cloud recently.”

“Good.” She flew off the top of the bridge to the sidewalk.

“I for sure want to practice more before I wipe you, but I think I can do it. It’s not actually hard, just needs a lot of precision.”

Fluttershy looked ahead in thought.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, the usual. Second thoughts, self-doubt, blah blah blah.” She gave Vinyl a smile. “You don’t need to hear it.”

“Hm. I’d like to.”

“Oh, Fluttershy, please tell me your problems, I’m dying to have it out with you,” she thought mockingly to herself. “I can’t be up-front, I have to have Vinyl beg me to share. Great. What a victim I am. What a victim I’m making myself.” “It just scares me. Not the process itself, I trust you to do a good job. I just hate that you have to do it.” Insufficient words for how she felt, but she hoped Vinyl would take them at face value and drop it there.

“What else?” Vinyl asked.

She said she trusted Vinyl to do a good job wiping her memory, but it was also true that she was tired of thinking about it at all. Every night they were her only companions, the black thoughts of Pinkie’s failure, their failures as a group, the injustice and the lies and the shifting of responsibility; truer still, and flat with repetition, was that she was tired of the adventure. That she wanted to go home was not worth mentioning, and that she still felt that ache so acutely, could not shrug it off like Twilight or Applejack did or seemed to do, made her question herself in the same way as did her feelings toward Pinkie. She was Kindness, not the most complicated concept in their sextet. Did that preclude a certain depth of emotion or insight? Pinkie’s Laughter certainly appeared to have, and Rarity’s Generosity the reverse, and between these two she felt unable to fully trust herself. In anger and action and good company, the hot rectitude of moral outrage filled her, and in calm and isolation and the introspective half-hour before sleep, she was left the residue of self-doubt. Both had eroded her, she could recognize, so that any discourse on Pinkie’s grand betrayal was painful: generative or not, talk on the subject—and so infrequently indulged outside her own mind, what further annoyed—served only to frustrate her, to make her want to just shake her head and spread her wings and get out. Either get out or get the worst of it over with, like a failing marriage.

Her trust in Vinyl’s abilities was secondary to this need to simply be done, but she knew she couldn’t say that without inviting a barrage of questions and well-meant advice. Vinyl obviously could not perform her memory wipe spell without first hearing from Fluttershy, so the pegasus bottled her feelings and chose instead to shift the topic off herself.

“I hate that she’s not going to be held accountable.”

“There it is. That’s what I thought you were gonna say.”

“Does that make me a bad pony? I don’t hate her, but she needs… Some sort of justice needs to be done.” She sighed. “I’m glad she’s not here right now.”

“You were angry in Snowdrift.”

“And I’m angry now.” “I’m just tired of her. She’s constantly—I shouldn’t complain about her. She’s my friend.”

Vinyl remained silent, not wishing to pass judgment on whether Fluttershy was right to use the word.

“It’s like she doesn’t even know what she did! It’s like she’s blind to how she affects everypony else, and she just bounces along with us, and she’s always just a little bit more than useless, so no one else gets mad at her.”

Vinyl nodded. They had a while before the mansion still, and she knew Fluttershy had been aching to let out her thoughts.

“And it’s like, okay, so am I a bad pony for not wanting to put up with her… her shit—sorry for the language—um, or am I the only one who remembers how she used to be, how she was supposed to be? She has magic, Vinyl, Celestia confirmed that ages ago.”

“She’s scared to use it because of the responsibility.”

“Yeah, I know. You know what I say to that? Screw you. Oh, not you, I mean screw her. Oh—”

“I know what you mean.”

“Screw her! What gives her the right to duck responsibility when the rest of us don’t? Does she think she’s the only one who’s scared, or does she think her fear is special? It’s not. She’s not special, I don’t know why we’ve all decided we’re going to pretend she is, like her situation is somehow more important than us. Rarity and Twilight, those two are basically different mares at this point. Applejack frick—um, she died, you don’t see her trying to play off her part in all this. Octavia, she’s got her thing. Even Big Mac contributes more than Pinkie, and he didn’t even want to be here for most of it.”

“I don’t know, Fluttershy. Fear can stop ponies from just about anything. Not saying it’s a good excuse, but…”

“Sure, but that’s why she’s the way she is. You’re probably right. And what do we do about that?”

Vinyl nodded.

“I’m really asking. What can you do then? If your friend’s too scared to do something important, what’s the best way to help her? I mean, if encouragement hasn’t helped…”

“Support, encouragement, like you said. You know the answer to your own question, though.”

Fluttershy kicked a pebble off the sidewalk.

“How come those things haven’t worked on Pinkie?” Vinyl asked for her. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

“It didn’t sound as nice in my head.”

“Say it anyway, no one else’ll hear.”

“Um… ‘So why is she even here, if she can’t handle it? Isn’t she just a waste of space at this point?’ That was what I wanted to say. I know it’s not kind.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Don’t do that to me,” she thought. “This stupid ‘all-forgiving, all-accepting, I’ve-done-things-you-can’t-believe’ Vinyl act that you like. Your forgiveness isn’t anything. Celestia, Fluttershy, pull it together, she’s just trying to help.” Lacking an appropriate response, she serviced another smile.

“I don’t know with Pinkie, to be honest.”

“If she’s so scared, why is she even with us anymore? She could’ve done like Dr. Whooves and run off when we weren’t paying attention. We’d be screwed, but what would she care?”

“You know she wouldn’t ever do that.”

Fluttershy frowned and kicked another pebble. She knew Vinyl was right, but could not admit it without ceding ground to the counterargument that Pinkie was, in fact, worthy of forgiveness. As a living, breathing pony, an individual life in the thresher of circumstances unearned and unprepared for, she was as worthy of forgiveness as any stranger might be, inviolably worthy, for what did Fluttershy know of her true heart? In the private pain of failure and the secret regret she could not voice for fear of turning her friends away, Pinkie could be clutching at some desperate germ of plausible deniability, just as easily as she could have forgotten the whole affair that landed her in such an uncomfortable position in the first place. Fluttershy could never know for sure, and yet this too did not matter for the emotional impact Pinkie’s inaction had caused, too wide to be overcome, the severity of the trespass eclipsing the ambiguity of where culpability lay. Fluttershy had no foothold for justifying forgiveness, unable to give her the benefit of the doubt as Vinyl had; and what did that mean? She didn’t like to think about it.

The two walked in quiet for some time, each stewing in her own thoughts, trying to guess what the other was thinking. They ascended a wide staircase cut into the brick wall where they met a hill and turned a sharp corner down a narrow alley behind a row of tall houses. Curtains billowed in an open window, and Fluttershy frowned at those too.

“Can you forgive Octavia, do you think?”

“She hasn’t done anything.”

“Her story? Tumble Tower.”

“Oh.” Recognizing immediately the trap she was in, she looked away. “I can, I think, but that’s different.”

“How’s it different?”

“It didn’t happen to me.” It sounded selfish, but it was the truth. Octavia’s story was complete, its events played out long before she had met any of them. Not wanting to admit what she saw as a hypocritical opinion, she said, “Maybe it’s a matter of scale.”

“Fair enough.”

“Why can I forgive Octavia?” she thought. It was not even forgiveness, for Fluttershy had not felt that Octavia deserved recompense for her own youthful inaction. The scale was smaller, but Fluttershy knew that was beside the point. Someone had died in her story too, but in the telling, it hadn’t seemed as severe. Octavia’s guilt, she imagined, had eliminated the need for justice—but that just brought her back to the problem of Pinkie’s heart, how deeply-hidden Pinkie’s own guilt might be. Perhaps Fluttershy required a display of gratuitous emotion before she could bestow forgiveness, she thought.

“I’m just sick of her, that’s all,” she finally said, disgusted with herself. “Trust me, I’ve thought about how to get around this a thousand times, and I haven’t gotten anywhere. I know I can’t forgive her—at least I do know that now, I can stop pretending.”

“You can’t?”

“I have tried on multiple occasions, Vinyl.”

“Okay, okay. Well… I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t badmouth Pinkie with you, though.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. I know you like her.”

Ignoring the attempt at a sting, Vinyl said, “once we get back to Snowdrift, I’ll do another practice session, and then I can wipe your memory. I should be okay by then.”

“It’s for the best.”

“Is it really?”

“It’ll be good for her.” She fluffed her wings against the breeze that blew a little too hard, and this, too, made her want to lash out. “Look at me, the demure Fluttershy sacrificing a piece of her own mind for the benefit of all. If only she hadn’t turned venomous, then maybe the Elements wouldn’t have misfired the first time. Woe to us all, but at least she made the heroic choice in the end.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” She sighed angrily. “It means I’m tired of myself too.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Right.” They first spotted Octavia’s mansion wearing a sash of shadow from where it kept the sun off some of the sprawling lawn. Its half-moon windows, like a creature’s black and lidless eyes, peeked over top of another house’s roof and were gone. Silent, Fluttershy and Vinyl reached the mansion and confirmed that the Element was there, not simply nearby.

Fluttershy rang the doorbell, Vinyl looked through windows, and the two of them tried the servants’ quarters to no avail. There was no one to admit them, no sign of life, only shreds of packing tape on the huge driveway. Vinyl beamed a splinter of unicorn light through a window and reported that there was nothing on inside. Emboldened, Fluttershy tried the doors, and was shocked when they opened. Unlocked, the great double doors swung inwards on powerful, quiet hinges, exhaling the mansion’s stale breath. They stood at the foyer’s entrance, both feeling suddenly watched, set up, manipulated. Having not known it would serve them, Lumb had neglected to tell the others of his emptying the mansion, and Fluttershy and Vinyl were thus unprepared for the magnificent, patient silence that seemed to push out at them from within the largest house in Hoofington. Darkness shredded by tall combs of light through austere windows, deep blue carpeting to offset the red and cream wallpaper, the delicate and dusty lustre just visibly perched from the ceiling, the slick banisters like black pythons on staircases freighted with rivers of trampled carpet, Octavia’s mansion imposed itself on them and steadied their hooves, slowed their breathing, made respectfully slow their wandering eyes.

“Holy shit,” Vinyl said.

“I know,” Fluttershy said. “I’d forgotten how big it was. Come on, the Element’s back here.”

Upstairs and through a smaller set of double doors, they shuffled down a long corridor and into a dismally lifeless ballroom. Chairs were wrangled behind plastic cords against the walls, dust had filled the spaces in the checkered floor, the piano stood on its stand in the corner behind a table where one might place a gramophone or DJ set. Vinyl filled the room with lilac light and spun a little circle on one of the tiles. Fluttershy did not oblige a smile, and together, they followed her senses to a cozy parlor.

“Stop,” Fluttershy said, ears up, as Vinyl pushed ahead to inspect a large glass case, empty but for the patchy dust that bespoke the room’s recent vacation.

She had known it would not be as easy as walking in and snatching the Element, for it was never that easy. She had expected the house to burst into flames, or lightning to strike at them, or Discord himself to pop out and dance a jig on the weathervane. When she saw that the mansion was abandoned, she had assumed they would be somehow locked in or set to endless wandering; that taking the final Element might spring a magical trap to shuffle the rooms inside, or drop the floor out from beneath to inter them in the foundation, or simply rip them away to a new city like the last one had. The forceful slump of an unseen mass on the third floor, rattling dust down in thin streams and echoing from the back of the house, had not been anything Fluttershy was expecting, and for a second, she froze, waiting for it to sound again and hearing instead the creak of plaster and the occasional sough of what she thought were footfalls.

The crash that followed was much more noticeable, the pronounced shudder of old timber and the shake of lights in their brackets betraying obvious cause. Vinyl only looked at Fluttershy, horn aglow, mouth drawn.

“Fine,” Fluttershy said. “It sounds like a monster, I’m sure it was set to appear once we came around. Who knows how long that’s been waiting for us.”

Vinyl followed meekly behind as Fluttershy retraced their short steps out of the parlor, down the corridor toward the oncoming sound, and back to the foyer. The second floor trembled with each heavy step, but besides the initial crash, not a further sound was made. They had made it to the entrance and were looking back with puzzlement, expecting more than a scary noise and an unseen beast, when a second and third crash snapped inside and above, quick in succession, dins of glass and wood and furniture as something threw itself about in its room. A lower sound, like a couch scraping the ground, trumpeted and cut into an abrupt, wall-shaking smack; both mares stepped back outside, heads angled to see whether it would appear in the great overlooking windows.

“We can’t leave this,” Vinyl said.

“Go find some secret agents, tell them there’s a monster in the house.”

“‘Find some secret agents’? How do I do that?”

“Go make a panic in the streets. They’ll find you.”

The quick sound of breaking supports rang through to the mansion’s intact front, followed by the rude scrape of a shingle coming loose to fall onto the walk far from where they stood. “I can’t raise my voice,” Vinyl said. “How do I—”

“Then stay here and watch the house!” Fluttershy snapped, looking at Vinyl. “Keep the monster under control or find help, Vinyl, pick one.”

“You’re not gonna—”

“I am too gonna.” She looked back at the window, where she could see a dark shadow sliding back and forth with unnatural speed and steadiness. The light from Vinyl’s horn flashed away as the unicorn turned and ran off the property, and no sooner had she gone than a hole punched itself through the window, giving volume to the uncanny shuffle of talons on varnished wood floor. It was on the second level of the foyer, overlooking the grounds and presumably Fluttershy herself, though she did not believe it knew what it saw. The mad scramble of claws and feet, churning carpet to shreds and gouging the floor, did not sound like they belonged to a creature of intelligence.

Rising on tense wings, she had to divert and nearly hit the ground in a fall as the window broke outwards to admit a black, shiny, indeterminate body that slammed the ground with a weighty flop. A flock of doves scattered from the yard nearby, and Fluttershy with them to get an aerial view that did not last long.

In the few seconds she did have, before the creature gained its balance and rocketed into the air with a mighty, light-footed jump that forced Fluttershy into an ungainly barrel-roll, she descried a being of oily, black skin that shone like polished onyx, eight limbs affixed to a spheroid body without facial features or orifices; falcate claws retracting into wide, hairless paws, four sets on one hemisphere of the body and the other four splayed across the ground on trunks of legs. It flew toward her—not at her, merely near her, apparently trying to catch something else—with force enough to push her the distance she wanted to cover but hadn’t the energy in her wings to gain, landing by a smaller fountain near the servants’ quarters before curling two of its arms into cudgels and breaking into a lope toward the building.

In a few seconds, Fluttershy observed this through the tumble of disrupted flight, and righting herself, took off after it. Without stopping, it hit the quarters’ outer wall and bounced off, leaving a cracked dent behind, and when Fluttershy was closer, she saw more. What she had thought in her hasty first look was sunlight reflecting was, in fact, a thin coating of white froth coming off its veined, lumpen corpus, dribbling down the quartet of legs as it rested and then flinging off as it turned and ran under her toward the road.

“Damn it!” she cried unthinking, and by a similar instinct, borne of seeing it done so much by the others, she reached out with her unpracticed but strong telekinesis and gave a tug. One of the meaty arms hauled back and broke free, but not without sending the creature sprawling onto the cobbled walk, a different arm pinned underneath at a strange angle that, from what Fluttershy could tell, did not bother it. It paused again for her to catch up, halfway to the street, where an onlooker raced in the other direction, and then started again to advance haltingly.

She took another arm in her magic and pulled harder, and the creature whirled around and jumped again, flying over her this time and landing in a wiggling heap at Octavia’s doorstep. Where it had stood and dripped its bleeding, white foam, there was a colorless outline on the grass.

It got to its feet and, turning, brushed an arm on the door frame, and then in another wild whirl pivoted and slashed into the house, dislocating wood and stone and mortar with its fat paw, a flash of dark motion and noise, mindless aggression. She flew at it as it slashed again, repetitive motions that accomplished nothing but to widen an ugly hole in the house’s wall. There was no thought there—but in Fluttershy, observing with her kinder side calling for observation and study and rehabilitation, and the rest of her recoiling with disgust, there was the singular thought that here before her was some failure of a creature set against them, too stupid to be of any use except as an obstacle. A life with no value, no utility but for demolition, dredged up from Celestia-knew-where and plopped down in their paths. One of many.

“Sound familiar?” she asked herself. A gout of broken stone collapsed off the entryway for the creature to stand on, its great feet stumbling on the sliding debris and trying to find purchase in the same place. “Hey!” she yelled, grabbing another arm and jerking it upwards, arresting its movement. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The other three arms, meanwhile, flailed limply with their claws extending and retracting uncertainly. It pulled away from her magic and stood there, then turned and brushed the wall, and the whole thing started up again.

“No, that’s why I pulled you back,” she thought angrily, “so you would stop that.” This time, she took up a loose brick and hurled it at the huge ball of flesh. It bounced off without response, and Fluttershy tossed another one, then two at once.

“There you go, big guy,” she thought as it lurched back and threw its arms out in an attempt to catch its assailant. The legs tensed and Fluttershy got out of the way, magic ready to take it out of the air, but it took off running instead, freeing itself from its mess with an awful grind of stone and concrete. She followed it into the foyer, going up through the broken window and alighting on the banister over a torn patchwork of carpet. She hunched over to watch the beast’s mindless progress to the stairs, beginning with her distance to lose the anger that had driven her to throw bricks.

On the first step, it faltered and wrenched one arm back, the other three hanging uselessly at its sides, shredding the banister with a crunch. For a moment, the fragments were visible in the sunlight that streamed in, then another spray of splinters as it flung its arm more, claws out again, the same dumb repetition, the same inability to change, the same wastefulness. Then, a speck of dust floated into her eye.

Not even from the giant claws or the stubborn insistence on using them in the absence of appropriate flesh, not from anything the creature had done besides perhaps existing, the speck of dust in Fluttershy’s eye and that made her get off her banister, bring up her wings for balance, and rub and blink and tear up, the whole time thinking “great, just what I need,” brought back up through her entire body the spring-tight bolt of anger that had never found release. She looked up, blinked experimentally, found her eye still stinging, and leaned over to see the creature at work now on the other side of the stairs, scraping at the hole it had already cleared as if expecting something new each time. The noise, the stuffy heat of the mansion, the physical discomfort, the frustration, the fatigue, the indignity, the injustice, the insultingly impersonal nature of the newest threat, the tiny memories that had accreted and finally came up like dry tinder to fuel that expanding plume of rage—Fluttershy was on the cusp of release, as sublime and stupid as the creature below.

With an invective clenched between her teeth, she dove to the entresol and took up a dislocated baluster in her magic, swinging it overhead to shatter on the creature’s sloping mass. It froze, but she didn’t, taking another and swinging it at an available elbow. Each shock of broken wood sent an echo of pain into her brain, numbed by adrenaline and the delight of letting go. If Vinyl could see her, she would see two beasts at work or at monstrous play, and this spark of thought too added a layer of disgust that manifested in a concentrated spear of telekinesis to shove the black creature off the foot of the stairs and out into the main hall.

She was like a broken dam, grabbing pieces of wrecked house and throwing them with too much force to be accurate, every hit and every miss contributing in equal measure to the rage spilling forth. When the creature had at last realized that it was under attack, and that the house was not simply falling down upon it, it reared up its pointless, sexless body, the white acid foam still transuding to bleach Octavia’s beautiful carpet, and Fluttershy struck it across the middle with a section of rail that did not break at first and allowed for a second, weaker hit.

Flying up over its charge, she preemptively lowered her ears for the crash of a destroyed wall. Powerful legs carried it like a wanton cannonball down the short hall into a home office, where it stumbled on an empty desk and slammed its paws down furiously, as if the desk had somehow stopped it where the walls did not. Fluttershy flew right after it, another spear of magic ready, blunted but strong and wide enough to invert the room’s contents against its walls. A shawl of lit dust mingled with shattered glass for a second, for which the only sound was her ragged breathing before the creature resumed its attack on the desk.

It was that which she picked up next, and she, amazed by the fact that she was not amazed at her own magical strength, ducked her head and swung it in a sideways circle that knocked the creature off its front legs for a couple seconds. The recoil was worse than the exertion, and Fluttershy dropped the desk long enough for the creature to flail in another burst of anger or self-defense, slamming the desk up to the ceiling with two of its arms and finding the next wall with the other two. Unthreatened, it would attack any inanimate object that it stumbled upon, but when attacked, it had enough mind to push past the walls and fences and find safety for itself. A rational response, but Fluttershy did not feel rational; she chased it down through the next hole into a spacious bathroom. Not waiting for her quarry, she pulled the shower curtain rod off with a crinkle of old paint and brittle drywall and thrust it like a javelin into the massive body. It turned and grabbed at her, glass raining onto them from the overhead light its claws broke incidentally, and she hit it again. The sink came off next in a shower of water and an unhealthy gulp of broken plumbing, then the medicine cabinet in a crash of mirror shards and tiny, plastic shelves. The tile was scraped and scarred under its clawed feet, water sprayed from the sink and then the shower as she grabbed its telescoping head and flung it. “Water’s out, what the heck?” she thought, not caring, reveling in not caring. If Discord could do it, why not she?

Their only light came through a small window at the top of the shower stall, light that broke apart on the twin cascades of water and lent an alien sheen to the monster she dueled, double her size but feeling like more in the cramped room. Its feet scratched and slammed heedlessly on the floor of broken glass and loose water, kicking the snapped curtain rod against the toilet and chipping porcelain off with the force, and Fluttershy had to keep to the threshold.

When the sink was at last decimated and the marble counter reduced to heavy blocks under its heavier tread, the monster broke through the shower doors and punched an arm, with muscles thick as ropes, through the tiny window, scattering empty shampoo bottles and a porcelain soap tray among another clatter of tile. It wriggled its arm in the hole, spreading deep cracks through the shower’s slick wall and up to the ceiling, and Fluttershy pushed it straight forward to stumble out into the fresh air. Through smoke and dust she flew after it and took a swinging leg to the midsection as it got up, so much faster than she expected despite seeing it do just that a few times already. Her body tensed up, the wrong thing to do, and she tumbled across the lawn as cold grass scraped her fur away. Her head rattled and her wing joints were instantly numb with pain, and she pushed herself up much more slowly as the creature careened in her direction. A mushroom of magic hit it square in the front and diverted it past her and around the mansion’s corner, and it disappeared from view with a pair of arms scraping through the walls with an evil sound, the golden frames of Octavia’s shower doors jostling loose to lie on the lawn.

She caught it on the back of the house, she winded and battered, it still stupid and powerful. Another dull shot of magic to its middle to push it through a bay window and she was in the library with it, shelves cracking and crumpling with its rapid movements, but the books safe and sound somewhere in Lumb’s storage. “Twilight would appreciate this,” she thought wildly as she selected a shelf and grabbed at its top. The library was the largest room in the mansion, occupying two of the three floors, a great tank of stale air at the property’s corner, emptied of goods and of things to throw. She backed away and tugged at a bookshelf, only the top piece breaking off to hit the creature’s head area ineffectually, the rest of the shelf bolted to the wall. Then the idea reached her, and she flew up to the second floor.

“How do you stop a mad monster? Destroy its house!” she thought, a frantic joke in her mind. She spat out the imitation of a laugh at her own idea as she put the creature behind her, charged down the next corridor, and blasted the door off its hinges to emerge into Octavia’s music room. Behind, the creature clattered through its own doorway, apparently recognizing that its attacker had moved. The sound of its brutish advance, displacing walls and light fixtures with its girth, put her in mind of a giant termite.

Hovering with some difficulty, she hammered and cut at the floor’s underside, but it was of solid construction. When the first of the beast’s claws punched through the door below, she brought a sledge of magic down on the floor, flying out from underneath at the same time. Dust rippled off with the sparkles of magic diffusing on impact, rippling multiple times as the balcony shook more with each strike as the creature passed unharmed below, where it dropped into the pit where Octavia had once kept her collection of instruments, and which now contained only empty racks, chairs, and stands—and the huge, restored organ in one corner, which Lumb had not been able to transport safely on the short notice that his intuition had allowed.

“It’s fine,” Fluttershy said, flying up toward the ceiling and around the giant, bowing set of strings that they had been shown on their first time visiting the mansion. Octavia’s whale cello, too large to be practical, had been left strung across the ceiling for the same reason they had left the organ. Another waste, she thought, closing her eyes to the spray of glass as she blew a skylight apart. She landed, panting, on a separate pane over the music room, and there she recovered some of her strength in a pool of sweat on the water-spotted glass. The third floor rose around her to give the illusion of being near the ground, the meandering creature far beneath as of something freshly exhumed and left in its mausoleum. It whirled and slashed without her, throwing music stands against the walls, bending and ripping up decorative golden banisters, ruining the marble that had been cut and colored into the motif of a heraldic crescent moon amid the stars.

Distance renewed, her flare of anger was receding back into self-consciousness, and she thought rationally once more. Vinyl would be coming back with secret agents eventually, but Fluttershy could not let the monster out of her sight until then, nor could she chase it indefinitely. Her magic was strong and ran deep, but not as deeply as Twilight’s or Rarity’s, and she could feel her limit fast approaching. Physically aching and mentally tired, she sat up and, with a minute of difficult concentration, cleared her mind and sharpened her telekinesis to apply like a chisel to the cartwheel of masonry that formed the music room’s roof. The windows between each spoke shattered as she shook the building, her ears deafened to her own work and her legs soon inured to the rattle underneath them. There were six spokes to the wheel, and when she had mostly destroyed one, she went to the next, one eye on the monster below and one to the roads and houses she could see from her elevation, not where Vinyl had run off too but the only ones she could see.

That even a process such as this, of breaking loose an entire section of ceiling, could become unfeeling work, put Fluttershy in a state of bitter bafflement. The creature never thought to jump up at her, sufficiently distracted by what it could find in the pit. When the whale cello fell from the incessant shaking, its strings snapped and coiled up on itself like a dead spider, emitting a guttural twang when it landed and that neither Fluttershy nor her monster heard. Shortly after that, she got into the air again and assess her work, noted the black puffs of smoke rising too close to be anyone else’s house, and gathered her will for what she hoped and intended to be the final push. The project had left her sweating and determined, her mind taxed to a duller and less reactive anger, and from this she fed a blunt but effective spell that she brought down onto the roof’s center with a bang. It fell and shattered around the edges where masonry caught the overhanging second floor, glass and cement and ceramic shingles a frenetic noise that she had heard several times before, but not by her own agency. The black form vanished under smoke and rubble, with it the destroyed whale cello and the priceless organ it had somehow missed. She flapped over her handiwork, sinking slowly as her exhausted wings labored, and found a spot to rest on a second-floor balcony off the library’s outer wall. After a moment, she came to her senses and located the Element, tucked away behind a shrub at the mansion’s side, Octavia’s elegant amethyst clef. She had run right past it in flight against the monster.

She hefted the Element and put it around her neck as the common sensations came back: cold sweat, a racing heart, muscles aflame and mind blank with vague self-disapprobation; lungs prickling with dust and smoke, ears ringing; and, of course, sirens in the distance. For Fluttershy, for them all, sirens in the distance meant only that they must hurry. It was nice to sit and regain some semblance of herself for once, instead of scrambling to finish a task or flee from the scene of a task completed. The house fire to her back was immaterial; she could smell the smoke and hear the blaze, both distant and coming closer slowly enough for her to escape when she wanted, which was several minutes later. She glided from the balcony to land near a gazebo, which had survived the struggle in a pristine patch of grass and flowers surrounded by a little ring of water. There she sat, flat on her back on a frigid, stone bench, watching the mansion’s front get eaten away by a towering wall of flame. Firefighters were rounding corners in their squealing trucks, neighbors were lining fences, a reporting airship was coming closer with a frame of warning lights bristling off its body, and Fluttershy just lay there. Empty, released, she heaved a contented sigh and listened to the roar of water and propellers. “See, Pinkie? This is what it’s like.”

The fire got hotter, though, and the firefighters found her and escorted her off the property, and there she met Vinyl in the small crowd of onlookers. For Fluttershy, it was a trivial crisis: no lives were lost, nothing more valuable than an antique organ destroyed; and the house itself would not be missed, certainly not by its rightful owner. For the citizens of Hoofington, though, it was devastation. The greatest house in the city mysteriously lit up like a funeral pyre one sunny Monday morning, out of the blue but coincident with the Elements’ arrival. She looked around and saw faces aghast and sickened, Vinyl’s among them, but did not share in their reactions.

“See, Fluttershy?” a voice like Twilight’s intoned in her mind. “This is what it’s like.”

“Are you okay?” Vinyl asked into her ear.

“Better now, thank you.”

They watched the firefighters work until they were chased from the scene, and Fluttershy saw what she knew must be the secret agents who had found Vinyl moving along the ground’s edges. “In the back!” she called at them. “I left it in the back, under the collapsed roof! Thank you!” One acknowledged her, raising a hoof and smiling behind a pair of ostentatious sunglasses.

Only when they were back to a bridge did Fluttershy stop to rest her legs, and Vinyl sat with her. “What happened?”

“I handled it,” Fluttershy said. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be cryptic. It chased me, I chased it, the mansion—you saw—and we made it to the music room, at the back of the house. I dropped the roof on it. I don’t know if it died, but I didn’t see it after that.”

“You dropped the roof on it?”

“I guess I did.”

Vinyl helped her up and they walked on. Fluttershy expected her to say something obvious, something to point out how ironic it was that the Element of Kindness could wreak such havoc, but she said instead, “I’m sorry I missed it. Sounds like a time.”

Fluttershy laughed. “I think I know how Twilight feels now. You know, I have a lot of magic power too. Maybe you didn’t know that, but that’s what Celestia said.”

“I’ll say. Fluttershy, it looks like you did great.”

“Thanks.” They left it at that. Compliment and gratitude, tension eased, anger vented at last. The city was alive with ponies reacting to the fire, but Fluttershy and Vinyl were relaxed as they walked back to the hospital where they found their friends gathered, not too concerned from the news. Octavia had found somewhere to be alone with her thoughts, probably the roof, Rainbow said. Fluttershy showed them the Element of Courage, which they passed around in demure silence.

“So that’s the last one,” Applejack said. “Girls? We’ve actually done it.”

“Just gotta find our friends now,” Rainbow said.

“Yes, and they have a plan already,” Twilight said, grabbing the letters on the bedstand. “Or some of a plan. It’s weird, but I think it’ll work.” She told them their next steps, starting with leaving town and speeding toward Manehattan. While they were in transit, Rarity’s group would work to evacuate tiny Passage Town, and then, the groups rejoined, Twilight and Octavia would blow open the ceiling on what Rarity described as “an instant teleporting gateway between here and Snowdrift.”

“I think it can work,” Twilight said. “She’s not very clear on how this gateway works, but if they were able to get through it the one time, we should be able to go back. I’m not sure about the ship, though, that’s pretty big.”

“How is the ship, by the way? Did you get it fixed?” Fluttershy asked.

“Ready tomorrow, that’s what the grease ponies said,” Rainbow said. “Nothing too important was damaged.”

Twilight reached with a hoof, her horn still injured. “Can I get another piece of paper? I’m going to write Versus and tell her to keep the Contraction party from fizzling out before we get back.”

The TV turned up of its own accord, and Fluttershy looked between it and Applejack, who winked at her. On the news, the husk of Octavia’s mansion still flamed weakly, reduced to a great plot of smoking charcoal that they could also see from their room. A clip played of Fluttershy and Vinyl calmly walking away from the scene, and the reporter stated that the Elements’ location was not yet confirmed. Cornering them for interviews had been made verboten at the start of their quest, but if they could find the elusive Vinyl Scratch, the reporter speculated, all would be made clear. At this, Vinyl moaned and softly banged her head against the wall.

“We’ll be gone tomorrow, they won’t get us,” Applejack said.

“Even stranger, though, was the charm spotted around Miss Scratch’s neck as she left the site this afternoon,” the reporter said beside a blown-up image of Vinyl’s Element, the black quaver fuzzy but clear enough to look like what it was.

“Now we had to figure this’d get out soon enough, marchin’ around with our fancy new Elements as we do.”

“They didn’t bat an eye in Snowdrift,” Vinyl said.

Applejack shrugged and cracked open a bottle of water, and another letter fizzled out of Twilight’s horn.

Dearest Twilight Sparkle,

I just heard that you got the Element of Courage. You have my deepest thanks and relief, girls. Before you blame Discord for the thing you had to face in that preposterous mansion of hers, know that it was not his. He borrowed it from someone just as mad as him. Spare some pity for your uncle Discord, yes? Or perhaps not? Perhaps your hearts are just as dry and threadbare as mine.

If pity be gone from your little hearts, then I ask only this one thing: that you destroy me and mine with as much prejudice as you can muster. Remember everything I’ve done, the direct and indirect injuries suffered at my poor little paws. Write a list, Twilight, you like those.

Grind me down under boot and heel, rub me from history! Crush my skull under the ruins of my castle, flay me and salt the earth where I fall! If I am the thing you hate, then let me be petrified without dignity. Snuff me out as I would have snuffed you if the tables were reversed. I will wait in my castle, and I will open the doors if you knock. Your friend for now and forever, Discord.

Twilight folded the letter and put it with the others. “Discord’s taunting us, but I think he knows he’s lost. He wants to rattle us.”

“A little late for that,” Rainbow said.

Fire Under the Ashes

Chapter One hundred-thirteen

Fire Under the Ashes

Octavia watched her mansion’s unperturbed ruins from the hospital rooftop. The fire had gone out long ago, the firefighters cleared out, the secret agents gone with the creature Fluttershy had faced. She had gone below once for a dinner of cold greens and broth, and there received Fluttershy’s account of the battle. She said it was the monster from the attic, contained when they had been there the first time and then loosed upon them later, and Twilight agreed that it was likely. Nonplussed, Octavia had gone back to the roof to sleep.

Sleep, however, did not come. She stayed up all night in the shade of the air conditioning unit while Discord’s sun moved not a whit. The city was still for seven hours, and Octavia sat, not really thinking, but observing: the clouds burnt away for as far as she could see, the dying lawns and the sprinklers that some kept going at all hours to combat the persistent heat, the trees withering in spite of it. There was color still, but the shades of autumn were diminished. She recalled sanguine maples, deep veined yellow leaves, bark that felt alive to the touch, the gentle smell of rotting foliage and the nostalgic bitterness of the same as it burned in a neighbor’s fire pit.

It was five in the morning when she went down to the street and walked, alone, to her house, head down and Element safely tucked away in Twilight’s bedstand. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, and she could not deny the spark of joy she felt as she clasped it around her neck over dinner, but this was not the place to display herself. Keeping to the shade as much as she could for her long, heavy mane, she passed the cobbled streets and proud belvederes to what had been the greatest mansion of them all.

Under the police tape, across the cinder-strewn grounds, past the fountain muddied by ash, she was home. Standing on the curving walk, she angled her good ear to hear the ticking of tiny flames still deep in the heart of the wreckage. Heat unlike the day’s wafted against her chest as she stepped closer and began a slow circuit around the black and collapsed figure. Not all of her house was destroyed, but most. The shell of a dining room stood in the southeast corner, charcoal timbers enclosing it where the floor had fallen through to spill pieces of the second-floor art gallery and the third-floor attic. In places, she recognized sections of wall or tiers of stairs that had been saved, their deep blue carpet ruined but not erased. Black hairs of wiring ran through everything, tangled in beams and the scattered pieces of plumbing.

She stepped onto a soft, splintery pad of ash with her bare hooves, taking care not to touch anything that was still hot. Nails and screws and staples were everywhere with the smell of smoke she could not see rising from spears of former floorboard. She picked around shattered glass and the hot, metal frames of her light fixtures. It was into the laundry room she had stepped, the washers and dryers all arranged together still, clogged with debris and warped by heat, unusable. A flattened, green shell of plastic stuck out when she stepped on it, what used to be a laundry basket, and beside it, fallen from above, a ruined bed frame.

Over the entire property such black ruination was spread. In a few years’ time, there would be no signs to show what had once stood there, and something new would appear, and she would not see it or hear of it.

For all she had endured in her house, she had not thought once of destroying it. She could imagine herself leaving it behind forever, or dying in any number of ways, but never destroying the house itself. Octavia had imagined it outliving her.

She stretched to see her music room, to see whether anything had survived, but it was at the back of the property, and all she could make out was the cartwheel of her ceiling poking aslant out of rubble. She turned and went back to the scorched lawn, paused for a minute, and then put her back to the house. She reached the sidewalk feeling exactly as she had felt before leaving the hospital: not angry, not sad, not relieved that the symbol of her suffering was gone, not frightened of the future, not contrite for the past. There was no urge to tell her friends where she had been; she would lie and say she slept on the roof. There was no urge to cry; she did not feel that she had lost anything, or gained anything. There was no urge to look back; she had done that already.

Not wanting to be seen in public, the Elements took breakfast in the hospital cafeteria. The doctor on staff wanted to discharge Twilight the following day, but there was no debate that they would leave before that. Applejack had the treasury note and was settling up with the airship technicians, and once that was done, they would take off for Passage Town. Instead of eating, Twilight drew on her napkin, remembering the array of sigils she had used in conjunction with Rainbow’s weak magic to speed their flight.

To inquiries of whether she was okay, Octavia lied that she felt relieved the house was gone. She explained that it was a symbol of all that was wrong in her world, and to see it purged from existence was, though painful, a beautiful cleansing thing. It was the expected response, and she said it.

Then they put their Elements together and spoke of how Discord would be sorry, joking of various terrible things they would do to him, as if he was entirely powerless. Twilight said she would put a spike through his heart, Vinyl said she would dizzy him with her magical lights, and on they went until excitement overtook black humor and they turned to discuss how they would celebrate once they got home. Fluttershy wanted to go into the woods and spend a few days alone with nature, and Rainbow wanted to go with Pinkie to Sugarcube Corner and buy up all the sweets they could.

Applejack brought the airship back at nine-forty, and they left the hospital without a backward glance. Twilight had noted somewhere to send them the money she owed for her visit, but it was not high on her list of priorities—so she explained to the receptionist who tried to stop them.

“West, you said, Twi?” Applejack asked.

“Full engines, west, yes,” Twilight said absentmindedly. She was already on the poop deck with her inkwell and brushes, designing the sigils for Rainbow to use. By eleven o’ clock, they were speeding along over the plains of northern Equestria while Hoofington shrunk to nothing.

“And when we get there, we are going through this window of Rarity’s?” Octavia asked.

“You and me, we’re going to blow the top off its chamber, I guess. Rarity says it’s like a big crypt. They’ll have the town emptied out by that time, so no one will interfere.”

“Are there secret agents there to help us operate it?”

“That’s what she said. They’re going through it too, after us. She wasn’t detailed, but Aloe and Lotus being gone apparently was what it took to get them to let us through. I’m not complaining.”

“And what happens when we get to Snowdrift?” Fluttershy asked.

“I’ve got my crystals right here,” Twilight said, summoning the ring of icy crystals and letting it sit on the deck. It glowed faintly with the magic she had fed into it, and Fluttershy could feel soft vibrations when she touched it. “So we’ll land in Snowdrift and I’ll do the final preparations to release all this magic in one big burst, and then it’s Discord. I still need to work out how to make sure we land in the right place, I’m going to figure that out this afternoon. As for the party, I’m in touch with Versus, and she said she’s doing her best to keep it simmering.”

“What about Colgate?” Octavia asked. “Rarity said that she was not with them, that she had insisted on going south for some reason, but that she would be back in time to come with us.”

“Right, that. If she’s back in time for the Contraction, then we’ll take her, but I’m not waiting. If she’s late, too bad.”

“Maybe we can find her after Discord,” Fluttershy said.

“I’m not flying all the way back to Snowdrift after this,” Rainbow hollered from behind. “Sorry, but it’s gonna be winter. We’re going back to Ponyville, full stop, no arguments.”

“No, Rainbow’s right,” Twilight said. “She made her choice, I’m sure she knew the risks. If she’s not there when we are, then that’s it. She’s resourceful, she’ll make it.”

“I understand,” Octavia said.

“Sorry, Octavia.”

“I said I understand.”

* * * * * *

Cloud Line’s house was not suited for four, but Rarity, Big Mac, and Pinkie could not go out into the town. They took the floor, one sleeping under a pile of dirty clothes in the corner. The following day, Pinkie received a letter from Octavia that they were on their way with the Element, that they should be arriving in three days. Three days to clear the town and prepare the window did not seem so very daunting to them, but, as Cloud Line pointed out, keeping their presence a secret was the most important thing; if Cork, the only other one who knew of the window, were to be drawn in, there was no telling how she would complicate matters.

“Here, Rarity, write me a letter,” Cloud Line said after breakfast. “Tell me that Pinkie predicted some sort of disaster here, and I’ll say I just got it. No, wait, address it to Eggshell, he’s the unicorn, that makes more sense.”

“What sort of disaster?” Rarity asked.

“Giant thunderstorm!” Pinkie shrieked, jumping up in her seat and upsetting her empty bowl. “Kabooooom!”

“We get those all the time,” Cloud Line said.

“Why not just say Discord’s on his way?” Rarity asked. “That’ll explain the… demolition to come, too.”

“Sounds good enough to me,” Big Mac said, yawning.

“What happens to the window after you two go through it?” Pinkie asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Cloud Line said.

“You should care,” Rarity said, looking up from her letter impatiently. “Isn’t it your job to care?”

“It is, but…” Cloud Line shrugged. “What are we supposed to do? We’re not gonna let them keep screwing us. Our job was two years, two. We had no say in being stuck here longer than that.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Pinkie said. “I can’t believe Aloe and Lotus would do that.”

“They seemed like okay ponies to me,” Big Mac said, at which Rarity scoffed.

“They could be worse, but that can be said of anyone,” Cloud Line said. “I never asked, how did you wind up finding out about them?”

“You might not believe me, but they told us outright in Snowdrift,” Rarity said. “We have a history, I guess they felt obligated to let us know at some point.”

“A platonic history,” Big Mac clarified.

“That’s ridiculous,” Cloud Line said. “Did they already know you knew about us?”

“Yes, I think they didn’t see any reason for hiding it,” Rarity said. “And there wasn’t.”

“The privileges of Element-hood.”

“It has its perks!” Pinkie cried. She watched Rarity write her letter, and Rarity had to pause and shoo her away. Big Mac walked to the window and looked out at the tiny town. Someone was doing laundry among the reeds, beating at a pair of trousers with a flat rock, and he watched her at this task for some time, thinking of Versus.

“You said you were planning on going to the changeling lands?” Rarity asked.

“Eggshell wants to, really bad,” Cloud Line said. “I want to stay inside Equestria if I can, but I don’t think that’s likely. They’ll be looking for us for sure.”

“What’s changeling-land like?” Pinkie asked.

“It’s beautiful if you can stand the humidity, the bugs, and the tropical storms. They’ve got a bunch of little islands up at the equator. It’s certainly warmer, though after we’ve put Equestria back together, I’ll be happy to never see the sun again.”

“Snowdrift is okay fer that,” Big Mac said. “Lots of clouds, lots of weather.”

“I was thinking something further south, something in minotaur country.”

“Way too cold fer me.”

“I’d rather see the changelings than the minotaurs,” Pinkie said.

“It is a gorgeous part of the world,” Cloud Line said. “Blue ocean waters, lush jungles, all that tropical stuff. Imagine bananas not costing half a leg. The tropical fruit, that’s one thing I would love if I lived there. Oh, and the flowers, the beaches…” She sighed. “There are some good things, but I still wouldn’t want to live there. The first time a hurricane rolled in, I’d be like ‘see you later, Egg.’ They don’t control their weather up there.”

“They don’t?” Rarity asked. “Here, take a look at this, sound okay?”

Cloud Line read the letter, describing how Pinkie had suffered a violent premonition of fire and brimstone spewing from a portal Discord would open. “This is fine, very scary. I’ll go wave it in front of their faces and see if we can get everyone to run off to Manehattan for the week.”

“What do they do ‘bout storms?” Big Mac asked.

“The changelings? No idea. Live with it, I would have to imagine.” She set the letter on the breakfast table and cleared the dishes. “They don’t have the same magic we do.”

“Maybe they all transform into seagulls and fly away with the storm,” Pinkie suggested. “Then they migrate back.”

“Why not?” Cloud Line chuckled. “Look, I’m gonna step out and see if I can get everyone together so I can warn them all at once. Just, stay here, and don’t answer the door if someone knocks. I have a key, I’ll come in. Mac, you might not spend so much time at that window, hm?”

Big Mac drew the curtain and curled up on the floor beside the table.

“I know it’s not ideal, but… Whatever. It’s only a couple days. Stay here, okay?”

“We’ll be good,” Pinkie said, batting her eyelashes with a moue.

* * * * * *

The cold wilderness between Snowdrift and the Friesian mountains was no comfort to Colgate, who watched and waited for disaster to strike, never sure that she was far enough from the eye she imagined Twilight used to spy on her. With magic that Colgate did not understand, Twilight could run such an eye over any place in the country, could see who was talking with whom, where ponies hid, could get close enough to read someone’s book as they lounged on their patio. The invisible eye in the sky, Colgate thought, it had to be on her, for Rarity would have told them that she had left on her own mysterious mission. Her only defense was good acting. If she could pretend that her errand was innocuous until the moment she had her new Element, she might be safe. That meant no looking at the Element designs, no counting her money, no speaking of her intentions to Partial Thoughts.

Gray pine forest covered the land, occasionally thin enough to reveal a set of train tracks running through. A cold river forked off to the east, hidden under mist and woods, but Colgate knew it was there. It was the river her friends had traveled to get from Creation Lake to Snowdrift, though the section closer to her they had never seen.

She knew nothing of airship maintenance, and was disheartened to hear from Partial Thoughts all her duties as they journeyed south. Flying with Applejack at the helm had spoiled her into thinking that airship travel took care of itself, but with only two on board, she hadn’t much time to worry about her doom. Perched at the gunwale, looking down on the cold woods, she had just finished checking their torch for a leak that Partial Thoughts believed existed, a difficult process of wrestling it to the ground, unscrewing pressure valves, inserting dip sticks in various tiny orifices, listening for gas leakage over the din of propellers, and then standing the huge torch up again and screwing it back to the deck. The high-altitude breeze made her sweat freeze to her skin, and she shivered under a too-thin suit jacket, waiting for Partial Thoughts to find a place to land for them to find some food. They would need to scrape ice off the rudder before long, and Colgate would need to clean the port holes later, which involved her awkwardly sticking a hoof with a wet rag tied to it out into the frigid air to wipe the glass.

They finally touched down outside a village built perilously close to the edge of a cliff overlooking a stretch of rapids. A group of windmills turned industriously by the riverbank a little farther south, backlit by the bright snow of the mountains. They landed in a bare patch of soil a courteous distance from town, and were able to enjoy the sun’s feeble warmth under a flocculent roof of dark clouds, the clouds they had been flying inside since taking off from Snowdrift.

Colgate wanted to get to the mines as quickly as possible, but also wanted to get out of the cold, so when an older mare from the village invited them inside, she accepted before Partial Thoughts could say anything, and they left the ship to frost over among the trees.

They shuffled out of their jackets and hung them on the backs of chairs in a cozy dining room where their host insisted they sit while she heated something up. Two colts ran in from playing in the snow, and she scolded them for being noisy before sending them back outside, for which Partial Thoughts and Colgate were grateful. They exchanged looks of mutual uncertainty across the table, but remained silent, and the mare brought in a steaming pot of pumpkin soup, a rough board of cheese and bread, and a bowl of green olives in pungent oil, all floating on her horn. While they ate, she welcomed them to town and introduced herself as its most treasured weaver and seamstress, and after mutual pleasantries, began regaling them about her children. To this they listened politely until she saw that they were done eating, then she cleared the dishes, put a battered samovar on the heat, and invited them to tea and biscuits, or something a little stronger if they preferred—which Colgate did.

Her sitting room was a simple extension of the dining room, half hidden behind a hoof-made bookshelf and furnished with stiff cushions and a cut disc of tree balanced on a pile of stones wound in baling wire. She poured Partial Thoughts’ tea and Colgate’s elderberry liquor in identical mugs who had seen so many years of washing that the fluffy cat faces on their sides were ghostly and incomplete, and she laid out the biscuits on a bronze tray with the words “THE MOON SAVES US ALL” inscribed on vermeil borders.

And finally, when the three were seated, she stopped talking long enough for Partial Thoughts to thank her for her hospitality.

“We’re always happy to have visitors,” she said. “My wife, she’ll love you, I can tell. If you’d stay for dinner?”

“Oh, we couldn’t,” Partial Thoughts said. “We need to get going.”

“But I insist! My heart, you won’t put me out, I can tell we’re going to be friends already.”

“We got business,” Colgate said, nose in her mug, savoring the smell of the liquor and trying to lap at it without drawing attention to herself.

“Business, they say. We’s all got business. But tell me, where d’you come from?”

“Appleloosa,” Partial Thoughts said hastily. “We’ve been traveling for some time now.”

“Well, you must be close by now. Not much of Equestria left!”

“The mines. We need to get to the mines.”

“Ooooh, ooooh.” She produced a slim cigar and lit it off the tip of her horn, and Colgate stared at it as the smoke uncurled and filled the room with a bitter, grassy scent. Like that, she was back in Canterlot, and asked for a refill on her liquor, which the mare provided happily.

“You have a lovely home,” Partial Thoughts said for lack of anything else.

“We make do with what we’s got here, that’s the truth. Them up in Snowdrift, they’ve got a pretty little town. I like to go up there in the summers if I can. Haven’t been this year, but maybe next year. You know, with the state of things.” She spun a hoof in the air lazily.

“Snowdrift’s nice,” Colgate said.

“I’ve never been,” Partial Thoughts said before Colgate could say anything more.

“Yeah, not her, but me, I’ve been. Chilly world.”

“Under that glacier,” the mare said. “Keeps the western wind off you, at least.” As her cigar jogged up and down with her speech, Colgate kept her eyes on its tip, wary and fascinated. She wondered whether she could get away with borrowing the cigar to burn herself and somehow fuse with her old life in Canterlot, but the more she thought about it, the less appealing it was. The alcohol, however, was its own temptation, and she got another refill while Partial Thoughts talked as vaguely as possible about what they were doing down south.

“No, we’re just work friends,” she said of Colgate, who nodded in assent. “We’re on official business, actually.”

“Cataloguing crystals,” Colgate said.

The mare formed an interested O with her lips, and Partial Thoughts gave Colgate a dark look.

Undaunted, Colgate went on, the liquor loosening her tongue enough to give voice to the old, fiery Canterlot bullshit that was wound up in her memories as an integral part of who she thought she was. She told the mare that the mines had hidden crystal deposits all over the place, and it was her and Partial Thoughts’ job to fly down and obtain records of which crystals had emerged naturally and which had been dug up, for tax purposes. The miners could only be taxed for crystals they actually sought after; anything that appeared as a result of natural shifts in the earth was extra, to be written off by the Canterlot Treasury. This she improvised, and their host listened with intense interest until Colgate ran out of steam, finished her cup of liquor, and asked for a smoke, which Partial Thoughts interrupted. The white mare made excuses for them, got directions to a place where they could purchase supplies, and ushered Colgate out the door with false geniality. They got to the end of the mud road, where they were sure to be out of sight of the house, before she dropped the act and spun Colgate around, pushing them both against a low wall. Colgate broke off and lashed her tail, but remained where Partial Thoughts had stopped her.

“With the drinking, that story about the crystals. You need to cool it.”

Colgate stared up at her, shame warming her face. In her pursuit of the past, she had forgotten the disgrace that followed her there.

“You’re done for the day, you hear me? You need to be sober to work on my ship anyway. You think I can fly it by myself?”

“You were gonna before I turned up.”

“And that would have been stupid of me. See? We both made a mistake, and we both learned our lesson. Great, let’s get some food and get out of here.”

Colgate trotted after her, alarmed at the admonition’s brevity. Partial Thoughts was not a friend, not even a work friend, yet she had refrained from punishment. This, and not the warning’s content, sobered Colgate’s mind, and the walk to the local farm sobered her body.

A young, muscular stallion in a straw hat and thermals met them halfway up the trail to the barn and invited them into his house, where he, a wife, a pair of servants, three children, and a pair of grandparents all insisted they stay for at least a few minutes. Again, they agreed, and again, they were given too much to eat. Here, Colgate kept dutifully silent, and Partial Thoughts kept the conversation light with talk of the crops, the weather, whether they thought the sun would ever go down. After salads, rye bread with smoked cheese, dried dates and candied apricots, sandwiches of cottage cheese and diced pimentos, tea, coffee, and a drop of gin for the elders, they were taken out back and shown the farm’s stock under the soft shade of a hunched willow.

As penance, Colgate took the cost of their supplies on herself, and the young stallion and his eldest daughter heaped sacks of food into the wheelbarrow which he drug back to their ship with them, talking all the while of the farm, upkeep on the land and the buildings, preparations for winter—“This ain’t anything yet, just wait for December. So cold you can freeze a pail of water before you’ve drawn it from the well. By rights, the sun should have something to say about that, but who rightly knows? Could be a cold sun for all we know, that’s what they’re saying at the chapel.”

He stuck around to admire their ship, blind to Partial Thoughts’ discomfort at showing it off to him, and only headed back home when she had started up the engines. She and Colgate watched him amble back into town while their balloon reinflated.

“You didn’t have to pay for everything. I brought money.”

Colgate looked to the sky. “I drink, I pay.”

“Ah. Okay.” She paused. “I’m not mad at you, I just want you to be careful from now on. Not everyone is gonna be as nice as those folks. I don’t want us to get in trouble.”

“That wasn’t trouble.”

“I know. I want us to avoid it in the future.”

Colgate looked at her blankly.

* * * * * *

It was early morning the day after April’s memory had been scrubbed from her mind, and she awoke sprawled on the couch with her VCR humming quietly. That, however, was not what had driven her out of sleep. For a second, while her head cleared, she thought that she had imagined the knocks on the door, but then they came again, insistent and short.

Three possibilities scrambled in her mind as she untangled herself from the throw blanket and staggered to the door: a neighbor with some favor to request, Ink Pearl to return something she had forgotten at her house the day before, or a Pegasus Advocate. The day before was a haze of activity, dulled from too many wine coolers at her new friend’s house. They had met in the day and hit it off, out of the blue, so much that April had gone back to the stranger’s house for board games and TV. This was the memory she had been given; of the walks across town, the resignation note, and the train ride, she had nothing.

Of the PAs, however, she had everything. It was why her meeting with Ink Pearl had been so welcome when it was, that she was still reeling from her encounter with the pegasi under the bridge, the shootout at the hotel, the drive, and all the blood and shouting; a pleasant afternoon with a stranger was perfect to restore her will to go on, to remind her that all the world was not hatred or betrayal. Ink was an honest, caring mare, and though April had not told her of her recent, life-changing experiences, she had no doubt that Ink would understand if she did. Odd that she felt no compulsion to return to Ink’s company, but, she figured, there was a lot else on her mind.

For instance, the pair of blue eyes staring back at her through the peep hole, eyes under a jagged black X stained into a forehead and half-curtained by a wild garden of acid-green braids, festooned with plastic flowers and tightly twined with the wicked, red ribbon that April had come to fear in her short time with them.

“Shadows under the door,” said a voice to the side, and she backed up with a jump as the door banged against its jamb. “One or two more good ones, Broad. Get that crystal ready.”

“I should run. I need to get out.” She was frozen, standing in the middle of the entryway, gawking as the door shuddered and began to give as one of them put a battering ram to it. “They’ll wake the neighbors, and the neighbors’ll call the cops, and the cops’ll…” Something cracked, and one of the PAs outside laughed while another broke away to chase off a roused neighbor.

No time! Not quite believing it, April dashed across the room as the door cracked again, shoved at the balcony door uselessly until coming enough to her senses to unlatch it, and with one hoof on the heavy clay plant pot, sent herself spread-eagled out into the dim, fake sunshine. She dove to the ground in an uncontrolled fall, her wings catching a gust of wind at the last second to send her gliding and then flapping up to the balcony across the way, where she paused to look back before taking off again. The PAs were in her home, she could see their shadows roving around, and she burst into the air. She knew they would see her flying away, and knowing, she was afraid of their speed. She wasn’t a fast flyer, and expected they would be. She angled down again and slipped between two other apartment buildings, her shadow gliding over the uncovered common area where a worker was calmly hosing off the benches.

“Because I didn’t come back,” she realized over the street. She had ridden along, witnessed two murders, and then not shown the next day. “Obviously they were gonna come after me.” Even flying for her life, to where she knew not, she had presence of mind to reprimand herself for the lapse of judgement. She knew what these ponies were capable of, and yet in the crisp morning air and at least temporarily free, the rational but primitive urge to escape was numbed for the thoughts that assumed she would be around long enough to learn better.

“I’m not away from them,” she reminded herself. “They fly too.” She chanced a look back over her wings where three dark shapes were gaining quietly. One flew lopsided, on a hoof the glint of a pulse crystal.

She dipped suddenly, her wings caught off their rhythm by the sight of the weapon and then a second time by the empty streets coming up fast. Throwing her wings wide, she skidded on the warm air surfacing the asphalt and let herself land, almost losing her balance, in a dirt driveway. Slick with sweat, heart pounding, wing joints aching and stomach empty, she pushed herself up to the building and tried the locked gate.

“There she is, let’s clean this up,” a voice said from afar. The three pegasi materialized out from behind a thin cloud and converged on her position, and April, forehooves on the chain links, vaulted the fence with spent wings. A magical alarm chirruped the instant her body crossed the fence’s top, and she hit the ground with a knee-crumpling force, the recovery from which took another couple seconds for the PAs to catch up. They were descending on the fence when she galloped into the garden complex and ducked behind a row of broad-leafed plants. The alarm’s sound did not carry, and she could hear the pegasi walking, the jangle of their bedazzled outfits and the clink of the pulse crystal in its net of straps. The familiar howl of police sirens in the distance came next.

Wings flapped and air moved above, and April half-shoved and half-fell into a planter of crocuses, soil and bees going up in a firework of commotion. The entire row shivered as April scrambled to push through the collapsed planter and under the metal frames as the other pegasus flailed after her, hooves finding no grip. Her wings had flared out naturally, banging on joints and locked wheels as she rolled and struggled, covered in dirt and flowers, the wooden planter caught just above her head for her to smack into whenever she tried to get new purchase with her forehooves. She kicked out and connected with something just as the other two pegasi landed in front of her and stooped to grab her legs.

Her ears were deafened, her sense of pain momentarily switched off, her eyes dead to the dust and sweat running into them. She stood, crunching one knee and then the other on the ground to get them under her, and pushed, fast and unstopping, against the burden on her back. Metal dug in, she twisted, the planter box scraped down off a bent wing, something pulled her tail savagely, and she was in the air. The mister system and a sun shade blocked her from the sky, and at a pole, squirming and squeezing, she got herself through the gap where the tarp pulled away. A knot of mane came out on an eyehole and her hooves burned on the tarp’s hot surface before she was flying unsteadily to the street.

She hit the sidewalk and began running in the same step, almost falling over, racing to the nearest intersection and dashing heedlessly into the path of an oncoming car, its screeching tires and blaring horn startling her into a tiny jump of injured wings that carried her a few feet to the sidewalk before leaving her to her hooves once more. Behind, the PAs scattered from the driveway as the police drew near, and one—April ascertained with another fearful look back—in her direction still. The long body, wide wings, and lily-pad mane became a terrible silhouette for a second as Long Luxury, the one April knew and feared the most, swooped up to catch the wind and speed her way.

When she looked forward, though, Long Luxury was gone from her overburdened mind. It was her hooves, which were beginning to feel funny; her knees, which throbbed from her effort to stand; her back, tight and getting tighter around the wings; and the morning-pale sidewalk that went on and on, slab after slab of concrete hypnotically passing under her fixed and stinging eyes.

She turned down a side street and cut across a roundabout to a different apartment complex, where she ran against the fence and failed to get into the air. Long Luxury was out of sight for the moment, so April skirted the walls in search of something to hide behind, finding it in a noisy cluster of pipes by a water meter. Curling up as tightly as she could, she pressed herself between the cinder block wall and the cool pipes, resting her chin on one and watching the street ahead. Sensation ebbed back as Long Luxury raced into view, panting and pulling out her crystal. She had worn full Pegasus Advocate regalia, her mane looped with red ribbon; piercings catching light on her ears, eyebrows, lips, and nose; a black and purple latex vest with silver clasps and green spikes on the collars and a rose design stitched onto the breast; a skull-and-crossbones belt on black and red pinstriped pants that flared out like bells over high boots. No attempt had been made at subtlety, and this Long Luxury evinced further by strutting the sidewalk, calling out April’s name at the top of her lungs, spreading her huge wings and standing up with them.

“You can’t have gone far, pretty girl,” she hollered. “Why not come out? We just want to chat.” She walked out of view and came back a minute later with her composure loosened. “I’m sorry about scaring you! I come on strong to ponies all the time! I’m not gonna hurt you, promise!” April held her breath when Long Luxury took off and flew right overhead into the complex, where she called some more among the parked cars.

“You better not leave me!” Long Luxury shouted. She was on the other side of the wall, and her voice was loud and shrill coming through to April. “We have to talk! We have to… We have to talk!” She was screaming, coming back over the wall, and landed in a tree too close to where April’s legs were cramping behind the pipes. She stayed there for several minutes, quiet, before screaming again. “You bitch! How can you leave me like this? We were friends!” She was shaking the boughs as she cried out, but stopped abruptly, looking down the sidewalk at something April could not see. Without another word, she took off and disappeared for good.

Only after the security ponies had come and gone did April examine as much of herself as she could without moving. Her knees and chest were black with blood and soil, and her right wing was missing feathers and bleeding from where she had scraped her pollex. She wiped her face, careful to make as few movements as possible.

“Okay, let’s figure this out,” she thought. “Number one, I need to get out. There were… three?” She was alarmed that she could not remember even this; in the frantic struggle, there had seemed to be many more. “I’m safe for the moment. Luxury got chased off, she won’t be back. The bitch. Okay, okay, what’s nearby? Where even am I?” Her view of the street afforded an all-night diner, an urgent care center, and a cluster of drab offices. Going back to her apartment was out of the question, and she had no money for a room somewhere or a ride across town. In the moment, her only possessions were the clothes she had fallen asleep in the night before.

“Who can I call?” Of her friends, only Lacey Kisses and Reverend Green had escaped the memory-expunging process, but she had a foggy idea of where the abuse shelter was from where she had wound up. “I’m gonna have to leave my hidey-hole sooner or later.” Her knees and wings were aching, stiff from where she had balled herself up, and she wondered for the first time whether she had broken any bones.

She waited until the pain drove her out into a weak heap on the grass, and there, pushed herself to an unsteady walk back to the apartment gates. There she stood for several minutes, looking at the unoccupied road and the cars sleeping in their covered spots, before turning back and locating the urgent care center. If she were in Long Luxury’s place, she would check the medical facilities first, but pain overrode reason, and she hobbled across the street and into the lobby filled with the unwell.

She was in an ambulance inside fifteen minutes, no longer bleeding, but her entire body feeling like a toothache as she answered the EMTs’ questions as calmly and clearly as she could. No concussion, no loss of consciousness, plenty of abdominal pain, minor head pain, and all of this she attributed to a carriage crash. They lay her on a gurney and wheeled her, alert but lightheaded, into the bright hospital, where she was questioned, x-rayed, locally anesthetized, stitched up, given fluids, bandaged, given steroids for the swelling and Ibuprofen for pain, and at last left alone in an uncomfortable bed. It was four in the afternoon when the doctor came in again, checked her over, and said she could be discharged in a couple more hours. She asked to make a call.

A phone representative connected her to Reverend Green, and after a hushed conversation, he promised to pick her up and bring her to the shelter. So it was that, after being discharged and told her bill would come in the mail, she limped to the sidewalk, loitered close to the doors, and then got a ride to the first place where she felt safe that whole day. In his chapel, though, there was no coffee, no gentle words.

“These ponies won’t leave you alone, my sister. You’re fortunate to lose them for the time, but that fortune will not last.”

She stared at the floor. “Yes.”

“You don’t have to tell me the details if you don’t want to, but I need to know how to help you.”

“I need to get out of the city,” she said immediately. In the hospital, she had had nothing else to think about. She had weighed the possibilities of a new city, a new apartment across town, finding a roommate in Greater Canterlot and depleting her bank account in the process; she had considered more drastic options, such that would be granted with the purchase of her own pulse crystal or confessing what she had seen to the police and begging to be placed in a witness protection program. Ultimately, it was her lack of money that governed all: her bank account had been released, not that she remembered it had been frozen in the first place, but her ID and all her information was back at the apartment. If she could beg for enough money for a train ticket, though, she had a chance to start over somewhere else.

“Do you have any money? Anything at all?”

She shook her head.

Reverend Green sighed and slid a phone across his desk. “The police, April. You declined calling them last time you were here, but I think it’s imperative you do so now. We can give you a place to stay for the time, but we need their attention if you’re being hunted.”

“And tell them what? I was there too, I helped. Well, kind of. I was there.” “I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“You need to tell them what’s going on. I’ll step out of the room, if you’d prefer to speak to them alone.”

“Can I…” She looked at him, his expression more stern than concerned, and looked back down. “I have to be honest here, the thought of… anything, doing anything, I don’t know. I think I have to throw up.” She went to the bathroom, knelt awkwardly on wounded knees, and looked at her reflection in the toilet. Reverend Green asked whether she was okay through the door, and she said she’d be okay if she could just get a hotel somewhere. “Just for one night, I’ll figure this out from there. I can’t…” “Can’t what?” she thought.

She had to ask several more times before he agreed and summoned Lacey Kisses from the dining room, where she was serving. In his office, the three stood around his desk, April in wrinkled bedclothes, Reverend Green in a blazer and short-sleeve button-up, and Lacey in a tee and apron.

“Take my car, get her out of here. Somewhere far, as far as you can, a hotel. Please.”

Lacey nodded, concern gravely etched on her face. The look of April and the reverend’s serious tone curtailed any questions from her.

“You can use my card to pay for a room. As many nights as she needs.”

“If you say so,” Lacey said softly, looking at April. “Get your stuff, I guess. I’ll tell Drift Dive he’ll have to close by himself tonight.”

“I’ll help him close. You just go.”

At this, Lacey gave April another look, hurt and confusion in her eyes, and walked her to the reverend’s car. April sat in the back, where she could more easily duck if she saw a PA on the road. For the first several minutes, Lacey didn’t speak, and April was momentarily sure that it would be a quiet ride to wherever they were going.

“All right, I’m sorry, April, but what is going on?” Lacey asked at a red light. “I gather you’re in danger?”

“Pegasus Advocates,” April croaked.

“Well.” She drove them in silence until the dying sun had peeked around the mountainside and they were pulling up under the shriveled palms of a cheap, tropically themed hotel. Lacey checked April into a room on the ground floor, and when they were inside, April on the bed and Lacey just watching from the door, she spoke again.

“Nice of you to offer your apartment to me, April. Really swell!”

April looked at her, knowing what she was going to say, with no energy to argue.

“What with the Pegasus Advocates after you and all, and me being a stomper, that’s just excellent. What a nice thing to do. You know, I should have known it too; you were so sketched out that night, I figured you were on the run or worse. Well hell, you said as much, but seriously, from the Celestia-fucking Pegasus Advocates? Could have included that little detail. I guess it slipped your mind, right? That what happened?”

April blinked. “Ah, here come the tears,” she thought numbly. She murmured an apology.

“Yeah, I bet you are. Look at this now. And what’s this about not wanting to go to the cops, huh? Green said you were hiding something there too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Now I gotta drive all the way back to the shelter wondering if I’ve been seen with you. Every time someone new comes up in the food line, I’m gonna wonder if they’re there to question me about your whereabouts. Am I an accomplice to something?” She was pacing, her long mane flying as she jerked her head back and forth. “Am I aiding and abetting a criminal? Am I in the same shit you are now? Green doesn’t know, he’s just trying to be nice. I swear, if you’ve got him in this too, whatever the hell this all is, I’ll turn you in so fast your head’ll spin.”

April shook her head, crying.

“Yeah, you didn’t think about any of that. I know. Hey, you know what, whatever you did, don’t tell me. I’m done. I got you two nights, because I am just that nice, but that’s the end of it.” She went for the door, and April slumped off the bed. Choked with tears, she uttered a drowning “please” as Lacey’s tail disappeared out of the room. A minute later, a car drove away.

Climbing from the floor to the bed was too much, and April stopped with a knot of comforter loosely clutched between her hooves, halfway onto the mattress, and there she stayed, damaged knees on the carpet and aching face breathing in dust and lint as she cried. When the blanket was soaked with tears and snot, and her fur was damp from resting in it, she rolled off and stared up at the ceiling. A new view of her tiny room afforded enough novelty to stem her outpouring for a soft second before becoming a mute reminder of where she was, and she cried again.

She crawled to the bathroom, peed, and looked at herself in the mirror, her royal blue fur matted and stained, her eyes red and rheumy. The only thought that cohered was a simple “oh, shit,” which, by the time she was out of the bathroom and under the sheets, had become a repeating “it really is all over.” She slept.

She woke. The sun was down and she fumbled against the nightstand for the lamp. The hour was ten thirty-eight, and she stared at the kitschy alarm clock, its hands formed to resemble long-tailed macaws in flight, beaks open in joyful song. This was the object of her attention as the day’s memories excruciatingly returned. So it had not been a dream. Even in the worst of it, she had not sincerely entertained that it might be, but waking up confirmed it anyway. April Showers was in a strange hotel in a strange part of the city, wounded but not gravely so, with a bank full of money and no way to get at it. For leaving town, she saw no recourse strong enough to make her want to go outside, but she could not stay indoors indefinitely.

Her life had been shredded too quickly for her to feel it. What she felt was not the exquisite rip and tear of loss after loss or the helpless unbelief as momentum gathered while she fell to the bottom of the world, but the queer absence of what she knew; its passing had been clean and complete while she was occupied. Hunched in bed, pushing a feather with her breath, the lack of recourse that had earlier distanced her from her own tragedy was settling at last. “It really is all over,” she had repeated as she fell asleep, and, awake, she saw the truth of it. A refreshing sleep solved nothing. Figuring out where exactly she had gone wrong accomplished nothing. She had woken up exactly the same as how she had fallen asleep, and would continue to do so unless she did something about it. Consequence and action had become one for a brief moment that day, and now she had the empty, unnavigable aftermath all to herself. Freezing up and doing nothing would be her eventual death, but anything else was out of reach. She could breathe, and she could stand, and to April, that seemed the limit.

She was out of bed and attacking the room before anger consciously hit her, and when it did, she had already exhausted herself and opened a stitch, and could only lie apart from her minor destruction. She listened to herself catching her breath, flat on her back on the stiff carpet, and imagined what would have happened if the PAs had finished her off in the garden center, or if they had plucked her out of the sky with their pulse crystals.

A car rolled into the lot, its headlights combing her inside wall. The door shut, hooves walked outside, then all was quiet. If it was Long Luxury or one of her associates, April thought, she may as well open the door for them.

She flinched, sending jolts of pain up through her wounds, as the phone rang, and she struggled to answer. Her voice was dry and tired.

“Oh. Yeah, tell her I’m here.” She hung up and opened the door, standing just inside to admit her visitor.

Lacey Kisses looked at her sourly as she came in and found a flat surface on which to empty her saddlebag. Without looking up, she said, “brought some food. The rev told me you wouldn’t be likely to go out and get it yourself. Fruit, veggies, water. Okay, ‘bye.”

“Wait.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Lacey said, stopping at the door.

April switched the lamplight for the room lights. “Please, I’m only asking for a few minutes. Some advice. Anything, Lacey, please, I’m…”

“I see it.” Pitiless.

“I’m sorry for getting you caught up in this.”

“Me too.” She sighed. “All right, I’ll listen. Go ahead, eat, I didn’t do anything to it.”

April sat on the bed, pretending that the comforter wasn’t balled up on the floor with the TV stand’s dislodged cupboard door; Lacey tactfully pretended the same as she installed herself in the easy chair. April ate two oranges, not bothering to be careful with their juice, before speaking.

“I’m not a PA, that’s number one. I went to one of their meetings to see what it was about.”

“Right.”

“I thought they made sense, or a kind of sense, that’s the only reason I went back. They… uh, that is, we, went driving a couple nights ago. You know those two ponies that went missing?”

“I don’t keep up with the news, but I think I heard something. One of them was a doctor?”

“Dr. Whooves and some guy named Whippoorwill. Whooves was a friend of the Astras, and they’re getting ready to leave town now because of it. We… that is, the PAs, a couple of them, and me, I was along for the ride but I didn’t actually do anything. They got them. Took… took care of them.”

Lacey was nodding. “And then?”

“I ran. Well, they dropped me off, and I didn’t come back. Just as bad.”

“All right, you’re a witness. You couldn’t tell Reverend Green why?”

April shook her head.

“Was this the night we went to your apartment?”

“Night before. I was trying to clear my mind still, and night walks sometimes help.” She bit into a pear. “That one didn’t. So now, here I am.” Talking about it gave her the strength to look Lacey in the eyes. As long as the strange mare was in the room with her, not everything was lost. She spoke with frail confidence, knowing all the while that she would grovel for even a modicum of recompense. Feeling so, but with enough pride left to conceal the severity, she said, “I’m rather desperate.”

“Do you have a plan?”

She shook her head again, and Lacey regarded her, not without sympathy. She looked up from the mess of fruit juices on her sheets. “You said you’ve been on the run before? Do you have any advice?”

“Yeah, I’ve been. Not from anything as bad as you are, but pretty close. Advice? I don’t know, get out of town. That’s a good start. They’ll find you here sooner or later.”

“All my stuff’s back at the apartment.”

Lacey thought she knew what April would ask next, but did not offer it herself. Her conscience protested, but she still stung from not being told about the PAs earlier. But then, why should April have told her, she thought. They weren’t friends; she wasn’t entitled to hear April’s secrets if April didn’t want to vent them.

“I don’t know how to start over in a new city anyway,” April continued.

“It’s never easy. No matter what you bring with you, it doesn’t feel like enough, you never feel prepared. At least, that’s how it was for me. The reverend helped me get set up in Applewood initially. If he hadn’t, I’d have… I don’t know. But you just keep your head down, find a job, and take any help that you can get. I guess the biggest piece of advice I’d have for you, April, is to put away your pride and take what you can get. It probably won’t be much.”

“Great.”

“It’s the truth.”

“What about a place to live?”

“You might be homeless for a while,” Lacey said. “But there’s shelters sometimes, bus stops, underpasses. You can sleep in the woods too, if there’s some nearby. Fountains are good for bathing, public restrooms too if you can get time in one.”

“And there are nice ponies out there that’ll help too, I bet,” April said.

“It’s great when it happens, but don’t expect it.”

“No, I know.” She fumbled with an apple. “I have to get my stuff first, at least some of it. I don’t have any clean clothes, for starters. I want my toothbrush and my comb.”

“I can take you down there tomorrow, if you want,” Lacey heard herself saying.

“Tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t go back tonight. The PAs are probably watching for that. Tomorrow’s just as risky, frankly, but… We don’t have a lot of time, April. You’re not gonna cruise on Reverend Green’s card forever.”

“I know. I know I should be grateful for even this. He didn’t have to do anything, and neither did you.”

“Trust me, I am aware.”

It took a moment for her rejoinder to sink in. “I really appreciate it, Lacey.”

“Please.” She looked away, feeling like a heel.

“What happened to you?” April asked. “If you don’t mind.”

“What happened? I went back to the shelter and Green told me I should have been more compassionate with your situation, not be malicious.”

“I mean when you were younger, when you were on the run. What happened?”

The dreaded question, which she knew April would ask if she stayed long enough. Lacey had been cagey about her past to everyone, but most ponies who inquired were those whom she served in the line: some recognized her from her acting days and wanted a picture or more, and others just wanted validation. These were ponies she did not know well or personally care about, who she did not interact with outside her place in the shelter; April should not be much different, she told herself. They had served together once, and then April’s life had apparently crumbled outside Lacey’s notice. “Does this mare not have any other friends? Why am I doing this?”

She could be cruel and ask April that question outright, but feared the answer would be that April did not have other friends; then, Lacey knew, she would be trapped into helping more than was comfortable. She was only just beginning to rebuild her life, and though it was not the life she wanted, giving that up for someone barely more than a stranger was not appealing—and she knew that she would give up plenty if asked. She had saved up two hundred-sixty bits for an airship, which she had told April at their apartment; if April remembered, Lacey would surrender it, for she could not live with herself otherwise.

“You don’t have to answer,” April said flatly. “I get it. I wouldn’t—”

“I made some bad enemies, and I’m not proud of it. One was in Manehattan. Both were, I guess.”

April slid over to the cleaner side of the bed and lay attentively, and it looked for a second as though she were offering for Lacey to join her.

“I was wealthy for several years when I was a lot younger, white-collar crime. Me and a partner, but something came between us, as it always does. We lost our jobs, and while he went on to get a big position with another corporation, I… didn’t.”

“That’s when you were homeless.”

“No, that’s when I started my modeling career. Adult entertainment.”

April nodded respectfully, but Lacey could see the usual flash of silent judgment in her eyes, or thought she could see it.

“That paid good too, and I was smart with my money, but, like you, I knew too much. He had it out for me, and I kind of had it out for him, and we tangled like this for a while. Anyway, to make a long story short, this is about when the Elements of Harmony came to the big city, and they fell in with him. He got them out of a jam, I guess, and I tried to get in on the action too when I found out about it.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not comfortable saying. Let’s just say I exploited one of them in a time of weakness and indecision. They naturally turned against me, there was retaliation, and soon after, my business started hemorrhaging money. Soooo, they left, and I had a huge mess to clean up, which I tried to do for a while. It didn’t work, and he was still after me, but I didn’t have the money anymore to fight back. I was either gonna have to go down a really dark path to see things through, or just give up the ghost and leave. If Reverend Green hadn’t have shown up when he did, I’d probably be on that dark path now, or dead.”

“Oh my goodness.” She felt slow for not knowing what else to say. “Who is he to you? The reverend.”

“Reverend Green was a good friend of my mom’s when they were younger, like a spiritual counselor. He found the clergy early, and she had a big set of issues, so he was always giving her advice. He saw her through a lot before I was born, basically helped her get her life on track. I don’t know many details, he doesn’t talk about her in front of me. I know he did her marriage, and he buried her when I was… fifteen or sixteen, I think. We were close by then, him and I, and he helped me too. Still does.”

“He helped you out of Manehattan.”

“He’s always known when one of his friends is in trouble. It’s that crazy unicorn magic. So yeah, he showed up in Manehattan, heard me out, and told me basically what I’m telling you, to get out and never look back. I went to Applewood after that, did a little work, got spooked, and flew up to Trottingham. Ran into the Elements there too, and you know, April, I think it was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

“You said they didn’t like you much.”

“Oh, they hated me, and they deserve to. But Trottingham, I was slipping into my old ways there. The Elements came in, stirred everything up—as they do—and of course we ran into each other. They gave me a little money and got one of the Trottingham ponies to fly me up here, and now here I am. Green never made it down to Trottingham, but I guess he knew I’d come back to Canterlot soon enough, because when I landed, he was already in charge of the victim shelter, he already had a place for me.”

“Is that pony in Manehattan still after you?”

“He’s dead.” Lacey held up her hooves. “Not by me. Someone else got him, I don’t know who. I won’t lie, him being gone makes this a lot easier. I can live without fear of him sneaking up on me.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how I’d get to that position with the PAs.”

“You won’t, not here.”

April chewed her lip. “You said you didn’t really like living in Canterlot either. At the apartment, you said that.”

“It’s not the life I’d imagined for myself, but… I don’t know, show me someone who is living the life she imagined, I guess. It’s okay.”

April averted her eyes. “I’ve never run away from anyone before.”

“Don’t you have parents to live with? Or a sibling or something?”

She shook her head. “I’m an only child, and my parents are both dead. Died when I was in college.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. The last thing I’d want is them getting caught up in this with me.”

Lacey nodded. Awful as it was to say, she was glad her mom hadn’t been around to see what she would later make of herself. Her father had, and made it clear that she was no daughter of his when he found out. A wild part of her imaginings urged her to tell April this, establish a kernel of empathy between them.

“And I don’t really have anyone else in Canterlot. I haven’t been here that long.” She blinked back some more tears. “I had sort of hoped I’d find a friend or two in the PAs. Talk about stupid.”

“We all make mistakes,” Lacey said weakly. It was stupid, she thought, but could say nothing to April’s face, screwed up in an attempt to keep from bawling.

April took a deep breath and wiped her nose on a pillowcase. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I was really screwed up that night, I wasn’t thinking.”

Lacey shook her head. The part of her that had seen her through Manehattan demanded she clasp her anger and let April spin off as she would, but to look at her, Lacey could muster only an icy expression. April was a college kid in the big city; she’d never seen the horrors life could serve up, and there was something endearing in the innocence to Lacey. She could teach April a lot, she thought, but maintained her cold exterior even as her heart softened. “It’s fine, I understand. I’m sorry for turning on you and leaving like that. I was angry, but Green is right, I should have considered your position more. I didn’t have the right to take out my frustration on you. You have enough on your plate right now.”

“If it makes you feel better, you being mad at me was kind of the last of my worries.” Not entirely true, but pride was seeping back into April’s thoughts. Lacey was warming to her; hope was in sight.

“That’s good,” Lacey chuckled. “I’ve caused a lot of trouble in my youth, and I still have the habits from it. I’m working on them, but…”

“I get it.” Quietly, the pride slipped back away and solidified into certainty—at least of tomorrow. Part of her hoped that Lacey would start unloading details of her past, that they might accelerate into a close friendship, but April did not have the mental energy for it. “Ask her anyway. You’ve already had the worst day of your life. What’s a little more? Exhaust yourself,” she thought.

“Anyway.” Lacey got up. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. What’s a good time to come by? You wanna sleep in a little?”

Lying back on the pillow, April thought. “As early as possible. Six is good. What time is it now?” She glanced at the clock. “Six is fine. Five-thirty. I don’t care, any time. We’ll get my stuff, I’ll withdraw everything I have, and then… A train out of here? An airship?”

“Train. There’s some small towns not far from here. We can even stop in Ponyville, that’s really close.”

April just nodded. The idea of a new town felt implausible in her mind, and the space yet to travel to reach that town became insurmountable to her the second Lacey was gone and the lights were off. She listened to the car pull away and scratched at her bandages, and the clock ticked, and traffic hummed, and water moved through pipes in the walls, and the thermostat’s yellow light blinked, and life went on even as she stared up into sleepless darkness.

Air

Chapter One hundred-fourteen

Air

Unsupervised in Passage Town.

In the relentless noontime sun, Cloud Line went out with Rarity’s note, called a town meeting, and delivered unto them the false news: Discord was on his way, a horde of indescribably wicked things in his thrall, intent on crushing the tiny town. Why, Rarity had not said, but Cloud Line pretended to speculate that it was a first step to taking Manehattan for his own. The citizens argued and scared one another with even wilder theories than Cloud Line had provided, and a few inveighed against abandoning their fair village, saying they would stay and fight Discord off tooth and hoof if they needed to. It was Eggshell, thinking quickly, who explained that Discord would most likely not be present for the attack, but perched on a cloud somewhere miles away and watch like the coward he was, and the matter was eventually decided. They packed up their lives and started upriver.

Wheat, rye, barley, potatoes, squash, a couple bags of hops, tomatoes, pumpkins, flour, bread, dried seeds, beans, and lentils were stacked and lashed to clapboard palettes, to which the local architect, Arch Carrier, fashioned wheels; ponies donned half their wardrobes and spun the rest of their clothes around tree branches or table legs; cookware and flatware and silverware were dumped unceremoniously into satchels and chests with the odd flower vase, looking glass, or centerpiece; toiletries were stuffed into boxes or wastebaskets or laundry hampers, and in one pony’s case, the inside of a pumpkin she had hollowed out for pie; books and board games were folded and tied together into flat parcels to lie underneath stacks of towels; rakes, scythes, trowels, spades, watering cans, hummingbird feeders, loose bricks, hammers and nails, screwdrivers, long-unused torches, bags of soil, paving stones, and piles of river rock were loaded into wheelbarrows and laboriously taken to the starting point at the riverside; sheets and pillows were rolled up and tied down to mattresses and balanced on top of anything that could hold them. When everything was together in one ambiguous, wandering heap, with clouds of items floating outside with unicorn magic, it lumbered as a piece away from town and settled about a mile north, where Rarity’s group could see the campfires and hear the conversation as clearly as though they had not moved at all.

Cloud Line and Eggshell were with them. She had told the group that they would come back once Twilight and crew were there, but not before, so as to not raise suspicion. Rarity agreed readily, enthusiasm spurred at the prospect of sleeping in a bed, which Cloud Line had left behind for that purpose.

With the Passage Town ponies still so near, Big Mac chose to go wandering in the plains to the south, putting the town between him and any eyes. It was eleven o’ clock in the night cycle, and the sun slanted down on his broad back with satisfying intensity after so much time in Snowdrift. He was not tired, but wanted to be, for it would only be a few days until he would be expected to join the crew and get back on Twilight’s schedule. He sat in the shade of a dried and rotted hayrick, took off his Element, and polished the tourmaline apple. Each facet threw his inquisitive face back up at him, tinged green.

He had wanted to get his sister’s thoughts on the new Elements, but hadn’t the chance. He imagined she would have a lot to say about the implications of their bold choice, about the morality of it all, and other things he had never considered. Satisfied, he replaced the Element on his neck and watched a lone cloud disappear over the rim of a western plateau. Northwest Equestria was his favorite part of the country, he could say to himself from experience now: plateaus and mesas and monoclines, slabs of colorful rock, red sunsets and pink sunrises, the smell of machinery and processed stone, and, of course, the lonesome cry of a train streaking across the midnight-blue desert. He was reminded of Applejack’s description of Tartarus, the desert they had crossed initially, and which the three of them had agreed was not so bad, considering. In his thoughts of home, Sweet Apple Acres had taken on a western cast, the little boutiques and flower stalls of Ponyville replaced with the saloons and repair stores of Appleloosa, the grassy plains and edge of the Everfree replaced with desert hardpan and dust devils.

If the other Elements chose to stay in Ponyville, though, then he would need to as well. He tried not to entertain thoughts of living in Appleloosa for that reason.

He rose and continued walking, parting tall, withered grass and shaking his head at the gnats that bothered. When the sounds of civilization had faded behind, he stopped and turned a slow circle. To all directions save one, the expansive country was untouched, brown and yellow and green, mostly flat. The dark gray monolith forest of Manehattan marked his way back, its skyscrapers diminished with distance, towering bridge supports skirting either side.

Around midnight, he headed back to Passage Town and met Pinkie, who was on her way out to look for him, and the two of them walked back together in mutual silence.

* * * * * *

Thundering westward over the plains, Twilight’s airship was due to land in Passage Town on the third day. She had worked out the math and magic to slingshot them to Discord’s castle from Snowdrift, and was confident she had enough magic stored in her crystals to pull off the Contraction. The secret agents had taken down her siphons again, she said, but they were a little too late. Meanwhile, Pinkie had written Octavia that afternoon that the Passage Town ponies were packing up their things and should be gone in time.

Applejack drove the ship from the front, Rainbow from behind with her magical wind, and the remaining four sat down to a game of hearts on the deck. With Rarity gone, Twilight had had to design a sigil to maintain a light shield around their ship, just to keep the increased wind speed from damaging their balloon, and it was between that sigil and a thin book on magical counter-surveillance that she sat and cut the deck.

“Do we have any coffee?” Vinyl asked.

“We’ve got water and fruit juice,” Twilight said, passing the cards for Octavia to deal.

“Damn.” She looked over her cards. “All right, ladies: things you miss least about being away from home. Go.”

“That’s a good one,” Fluttershy said, hoof to chin. “I need a minute.”

“Everything,” Octavia said, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Reorganizing the library,” Twilight said. “It’s easy here, I’ve only got twenty-one books.”

“Didn’t you leave Ponyville with something like five?” Fluttershy asked, examining her cards and trying to keep a straight face.

“I like to pick up a few in each town, if I can. I got this one in Snowdrift. It’s about knowing how someone is spying on you, and what to do about it. And yes, girls, I’ve already checked and re-checked the ship; Discord’s not watching us, or Vanilla Cream. Or Princess Luna, for that matter.”

“How comforting,” Octavia said, passing her discards and taking up Vinyl’s. “I can work with these, Vinyl. Thank you.”

Vinyl stuck out her tongue at Octavia.

“In all seriousness, my least missed thing about being away from home would have to be the grocery shopping.”

“You did your own shopping?”

“Yes, Vinyl, I did.”

“You didn’t?” Fluttershy asked.

“Us superstars have ponies to do that for us. I didn’t have to leave my house at all if I didn’t want to.”

“Must be nice,” Twilight said.

“That’s what everypony says.”

They played for a while, and Twilight played the queen of spades on Fluttershy’s trick, for which Fluttershy gave her a sour smile. Occasionally, Twilight would get up to check on Rainbow or Applejack, and once, she sat out a hand to check on the chain of enchantments she had in her cabin. When she came back, she said simply, “all clear. Just a little hiccup.” No one asked her what had happened; no one wanted to sit through the explanation.

“Favorite city?” Fluttershy asked as she shuffled.

“Not taking into account what happened, just thinking about the city on its own merits, I would say Roan,” Octavia said. “It was by far the most beautiful, I think, and I loved the weather there. I think it is interesting that they have an underground section as well; I wish we could have explored it more.”

“I hate going underground,” Vinyl said with a pop of rosy light on her horn.

“I much prefer going underground to flying. These airships… I get anxious sometimes, if I think about it too much.” Fluttershy patted her back and passed her cards.

“Do you think I should keep an airship moored somewhere in Ponyville?” Twilight asked.

“What, just in case we need to pack up and leave again?” Vinyl asked.

“Don’t even say that,” Fluttershy moaned.

“It is a realistic possibility,” Octavia said. “Are we going back to Ponyville after Discord?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I ask because Vinyl, Big Mac, and I will need to live there too, and Vinyl and I do not have any ties there.”

“Not to sound too direct, Octavia, but you don’t really have strong ties anywhere,” Vinyl said.

“Fair enough.”

“Me, I wanna go back to Canterlot. Well, that’s just a couple miles up the road from Ponyville anyway, so it should be okay. You’re talking about us, like, needing to assemble quickly, right?”

“In case of emergencies,” Twilight said.

“If it is something sudden, we will want you closer than Canterlot,” Octavia said.

“What if she’s on tour?” Fluttershy asked.

“You can tour with me,” Vinyl said. “I’m being half-serious. If you wanted, you could just come with. I’m sure my manager would be happy to put up with you, being saviors of Equestria and all.”

“Nuts to that!” Applejack shouted from the bow.

“Yeah, we’re not going to be traveling anytime soon after all this,” Twilight said.

“She can’t give her Element to someone else, can she?” Fluttershy asked.

“I’d be willing to,” Vinyl said, “if it’d make your lives easier.”

“The only way for a pony to give away her Element is if she loses it, and then someone else can take over,” Twilight said. “So in Vinyl’s case, you’re Empathy, so you’d have to…”

“She would have to do something contrary to Empathy,” Octavia said.

“No, no,” Vinyl said. “If I’m gonna have to do something nasty just to transfer Elements, I’d rather just figure out a way to keep it and live with y’all.”

“I wouldn’t mind living in Canterlot, if I can get a little cabin somewhere on the mountainside,” Fluttershy said.

“Twilight, you’re gonna hate me,” Vinyl said, and took the last trick, stopping Twilight from shooting the moon. Twilight just stared at her cards and sighed.

“Princess Celestia will be indebted to us for life,” Octavia said, inexpertly shuffling. “I do not mean to sound bold, but I think it is true. We can ask for a few houses on the mountainside, and if there is space, she will give them to us.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Twilight said. “But living in Canterlot, I don’t know.”

“What is wrong with it?”

“I’d rather not be that close to the palace.”

“You don’t want Celestia and Luna paying you any social calls,” Vinyl said. “That it?”

“So to say. Just, after this, I think some time alone wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

“I hear that,” Fluttershy said.

Toward nine o’ clock, the chartreuse fields became yellow as parchment and then lush and green as they neared Fillydelphia. They flew over a pair of small towns east of the big city, white and gray rooftops shining between arbors, and then over Fillydelphia itself. Where the tornado had torn through months ago, the city was dirty and imperfect with construction projects, a gash down the middle. By the time everyone was settling down for sleep, Fillydelphia was gone from sight, and Rainbow had come aboard. They were flying at a safe pace, and Applejack’s job at the helm was simplified to making sure they were still on course. She leaned against the wheel, her long mane flying in the breeze, and nodded an unenthused greeting to Vinyl, who approached with a look of tribulation clear on her face. She had received a letter from Versus that afternoon, the contents of which worried her greatly, and which she was putting off sharing with Twilight.

“We need to get you a new hat,” Vinyl said with a weak smile.

“Ah’ve been considerin’ goin’ in fer one of those ten-gallons, like what the real cowponies wear.”

“There’s a look for ya.”

“Boots up to my knees, bola ties, one of those vests with the cow spots on it, all of that.”

“You’d look good in it.”

Applejack regarded Vinyl for a time to see whether she would speak first, fixing her face to appear less impatient. “What’s on yer mind, Vinyl?”

“Wanted to get something off my chest. It’s not a huge thing, but I’d feel better if I talked about it with someone.”

“Ah’m all ears. Should we get some coffee?”

“Twilight said we don’t have any.”

“Never mind, then. Go on, let’s have it.”

“I’ve been wondering if I fit with this group a lot. Lately, I’m finally starting to think I do, but it’s been a journey. When you first found out you were an Element, was it hard to fit in with the others? Do you know what I mean? Like, I’m wondering if it’s a bad sign or something that it was so difficult for me to find a place here.”

“Now that is an interestin’ query.” And like that, she was happy she had invited Vinyl to speak; a good question like hers was just what Applejack needed to take her mind off their latest coming troubles. “Ah guess it comes back to the identity an Element confers on its bearer. At least, it’s related. Like would Ah be as honest if Ah didn’t have the Element, right? How can you be sure you fit in right if there’s an Element of Harmony on the outside, pressurin’ you to conform? An’ if you do fit in, is it ‘cause you do naturally, or ‘cause yer tryin’ extra hard, an’ what does that say ‘bout yer personality, or ‘bout yer true nature? Hoowee, Vinyl, that’s a head-scratcher.”

Vinyl just nodded; she had not thought about it at all like how Applejack described, and was not completely sure they were talking about the same thing.

“What makes you think you fit in now, but not earlier? What’s changed?”

“Just… time, I suppose. I’ve been with you long enough, I’ve gotten used to everyone. I think helping Fluttershy was a big part of it. Even though I didn’t help much.”

“It’s important to feel useful in a group. You gotta if you wanna feel validated. Could it be, earlier, you didn’t feel you had a place, or like you weren’t necessary?”

“Unnecessary, for sure. The only thing I brought to the table was money, and you all had that already. No special skills.”

“Ah got no special skills.” Vinyl gestured at the ship’s wheel, and Applejack chuckled. “The girls took turns drivin’ this thing before Ah got good at it. My magic’s dispensable.”

“Your honesty, then. You’re useful as the voice of reason.”

“That would be Twilight more than me. She’s the cold reason in this group; Ah’m just good fer cuttin’ through the bull. Which is important, yer right. Ah hadn’t thought of myself that way. But gettin’ back to you, Ah’d venture to say yer the group’s heart, or a piece of the heart at least. Empathy? You don’t get that title fer nothin’.”

Vinyl shook her head. “I thought of that, but my empathy hasn’t seemed to come in useful all that much. Gets ignored a lot.”

“When are you ignored?”

“Like when I say we should help someone out, like someone we meet in town, and I get vetoed. I get it’s because we’re trying to wrap up Discord, but…” She waited for Applejack to complete her thought, but Applejack did not. “I don’t think it’s right to bypass those in need for a loftier goal. We’re out here to help at the end of the day, right?”

“So you understand the need, but still think it’s wrong to do. That’s just life.”

Mouth turned down and brows together, as if insulted, Vinyl said, “I can’t accept that.”

“Everypony has to in their time. Life ain’t fair; you can’t do everythin’, an’ Ah’d say more importantly, you can’t expect yerself to do everythin’.”

“I’m not talking about doing everything, but would it kill us to help on a more local scale? Instead of shopping for books or clothes, or going out on walks, we could be helping. There’s still homeless out there, or sick, or whatever.”

“An’ there always will be. The problem is, if we go out an’ try to minister to those in need, we’ll get sucked in. Gettin’ out is much harder if you’ve developed ties to the city.” She smiled to herself. “Trixie taught us that.”

“Who?”

“Former friend. She’s not with us anymore.”

“You mean like…”

Applejack drew a curt line across her throat.

“I’m so sorry.”

“She had a good life, an’ who knows? Ah made it back okay.”

It was apparent that Applejack’s cavalier approach to the topic had thrown Vinyl off, but Applejack felt no guilt. Death was the great inevitability; no reason to be squeamish about it, she reckoned.

“So… Sorry if this is an ugly question, but was there anything we could have done to help her? You said she taught you how hard it is to leave someone behind. Is that what you mean?” She knew she had made a mistake as the words were being spoken, and it took a while for Applejack to reply.

“She was in another city at the time. Short of draggin’ her along with us, no, there was no way to save her.”

“Okay.”

“An’ Ah don’t appreciate that question, Miss Vinyl. You ask folks if they coulda saved ponies a lot? That’s a heavy thing to lay at someone’s hooves. An’ quick, too, you jumped straight to that question after yer condolences.”

“I should have rethought my words.”

“It makes me wonder if you trust our intentions. Fer a stranger to ask somethin’ like that, Ah can understand; that’s just tactless. But you ain’t a stranger, you know better.”

Vinyl looked down at her hooves, her horn glowing in humiliation, for Applejack had grasped at the root of her question and pulled at it without hesitation. “Maybe I don’t fit in as well as I thought.”

Applejack startled her by laughing, throwing her head back into the wind with a brassy guffaw. “You are talkin’ to the wrong mare fer this, girl. Ah’ve seen so much martyr-talk ‘round this group, an’ Ah know when someone’s bein’ disingenuous. Ah should; Ah’m the Element of Honesty, ain’t Ah? Just ‘cause Ah caught you bein’ insensitive one time don’t mean yer a bad fit in general, an’ Ah’d bet diamonds to doughnuts you know it.”

Vinyl smiled nervously.

“Just say yer sorry an’ move on, don’t try to make it all about you. You don’t use yer biggest, gravest problem to justify a slip up like that.”

“I’m not justifying anything. I just misspoke, Applejack.”

“Then don’t make out like it’s bigger than it is. You’ve got yer doubts, that’s fine, but Ah don’t believe it’s related to whether you fit in or not. Ah think you suggested that ‘cause you wanted me to relent an’ go into encouragement-mode with you.” She rearranged her mane loosely. “If that’s all you want, Ah’m sure Octavia’s still awake.”

Vinyl blushed furiously, but did not back down. “Fine. You caught me. There, happy? I don’t like to be scolded, like most ponies.”

“That’s tough, ain’t it? Now are we gonna keep talkin’? If you can be honest, Ah can jaw all night.”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t take it personal now, ‘cause it ain’t. Ah’d’ve called out any one of these ladies on the same thing.”

Her horn glowed. “I don’t want to accidentally misspeak again.”

“Thoughtful mare like you, shouldn’t be that hard.” She imagined Vinyl wanted an apology, and part of her was tempted to give one just to smooth things over, but Applejack made herself be silent.

“My major worry is whether I fit in,” Vinyl said at last. “You called me out for not trusting your intentions on this trip, and I got defensive.” She held her hooves apart. “Looks like I got my answer.”

“So what are we gonna do ‘bout it?”

“Guess I gotta work on it.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, but yer just ‘bout out of time fer that. Ah’d prefer somethin’ more concrete if you can manage it.”

“What am I supposed to do? Personal growth isn’t immediate.”

Applejack winked. “Defensive again.”

Vinyl sighed.

“Go ahead an’ gimme the ugly truth, if you feel that’s a good start. You don’t trust we’re doin’ things the right way. That’s okay. Elucidate.”

“I don’t want to make things worse.”

“That ship has sailed, Vinyl, an’ probably fer more than me. Ah know how you an’ Twilight got on fer a while.”

“Yeah, on that point. Does she hate me?”

“Ah don’t believe so, Ah think she’s just impatient. Twilight’s very focused on the ultimate goal with all this, she reckons anything secondary to that is a waste of time, so you comin’ in talkin’ ‘bout all this immediate stuff, it ain’t her bag. However, Ah can tell she respects you, yer viewpoint on things.”

“We’re not friends, I know that much.”

“She cares ‘bout you like any other of us.”

“More than the ponies who really need it. That’s interesting.” She held up a hoof. “I’m not trying to be bull-headed, I get where she’s coming from, and I know she must be exhausted by now. But for me, that kind of hyper-focus on something, to where everyone else falls by the wayside, that doesn’t sit right.”

“An’ it shouldn’t, but here we are nonetheless. It’s a dirty business. Ah say, better to get it over an’ done quick as we can. We can ladle soup an’ rebuild houses all we want back home, an’ remember as well, there’s thousands of ponies out there right now who can help the needy, but only a few of us who can stop Discord.”

“That doesn’t make it right for us to ignore ponies, though.”

“Ah’m not sayin’ it does, but… Well, maybe Ah am. There’s nothin’ in this life that’s absolutely right or wrong. Can one thing justify another like that, if they’re so different?” She lifted up a saddlebag and brought out a paper scrawled with notes.

“What’s that?”

“Ah’m compilin’ a letter to Versus, an’ Ah wanna get her thoughts on what Ah just said, things justifyin’ other things. More, Ah wanna get the church’s teachin’s on it.”

“I didn’t know you were religious.”

“Ah’m not, just curious. No, ‘interested’ is the better word.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense.”

“Sure, sure. ‘Cause of the death.”

“You’re tired of ponies bringing it up.”

“A little. Mostly, Ah’m tired of folks attributin’ any change to it. Any time Ah say somethin’ spiritual or anythin’, the thought is it’s ‘cause Ah died. Ah ain’t pretendin’ that didn’t change me, but it also didn’t render me incapable of changin’ fer other reasons. Ah can still self-reflect, Ah do it every day, an’ Ah’d say that’s the bigger factor in my recent changes. Death was just what started it all.”

“Sorry.”

“Not lookin’ fer an apology, it’s a reasonable thing fer you to think.” She winked again. “Ah ain’t mad atcha fer that one, Vinyl.”

“Just the Trixie thing.”

“Ah know it was a mistake. You might not realize this, but you ain’t the most graceful mare in town.”

Vinyl’s face reddened and her horn glowed umber. “Uh… I don’t really know what to say to that. I think I disagree.”

“You can. It’s just what Ah’ve noticed, you tend to say somethin’ before thinkin’ it all the way through. That can be good, but you gotta be careful.”

“I prefer to think of it as being direct.”

“If you like. There’s a difference between the two, but Ah’m not gonna lecture you on it. Semantics.” She waved a hoof, and Vinyl nodded, happy to drop the point there.

“So are you gonna join a church when we get home?”

“Now hang on, we ain’t done with you yet, missy. What are we gonna do ‘bout yer feelin’ out of sorts with us?”

“Right. That.” Wishing Applejack had forgotten, she nonetheless plunged forward. “I have always thought of myself as a good pony. I give to charity, I helped with disaster relief, I’m nice to my fans, I even tip well when I go out. I thought that was what good ponies did. Then I met you all, and…” She licked her lips. “Being with you all makes me feel unnecessary, and I hate that. I hate feeling like I’m, like I’m just along for the ride.”

“That thing ‘round yer neck, is that not enough fer ya?”

“I—” Humility, sudden and freezing, cracked in her chest and evaporated her response. She sat down and looked at her Element, really looked at it, the gleaming black music note, the golden frame, the delicate links in its broad chain.

“Friendship ain’t bought, it ain’t even earned all the time, it sure ain’t always deserved. But it is, in every one of us, an’ in those little trinkets we wear. Remember—we all need to remember this, now that Ah think ‘bout it—friendship is the thing that’s gonna put Discord away, not Twilight’s brains or Octavia’s anger or my attempts at wisdom, or any of that stuff.”

Vinyl nodded, her bitterness muted, her horn aglow.

“Ah’m not sayin’ you can’t disagree, but don’t mistake it fer us not bein’ friends.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

Applejack nodded, not quite able to hide her triumphant smile. “That’s a part of life too.”

* * * * * *

After a quick lesson on navigation, Colgate was allowed to bring their ship up to the mountains’ edge, where Partial Thoughts took over again to fly them to the mines’ entrance. Neither of them was capable of bringing up a shield to keep the heavy sleet off, and Partial Thoughts had left her umbrella at home. The two of them shivered under layers of wet business clothing, achingly conscious of the damage too much sleet could do to their balloon. The airship was meant to endure harsh climates, but it had not been tested, and early winter in the southern mountains was not trivial. They had changed the balloon cables the day before, and the new ones were already looking brittle and ready to fray. Colgate kept one eye on them as their ship yawed with the howling wind, rocking high above the brown and white mountain chain that looked so peaceful and orderly from a distance.

“Not long now, blue pony,” Partial Thoughts said. “How long are we gonna be here?”

“In and out, easy procedure,” Colgate said, though she was not sure. “These Mansel ships are pretty quick, huh?”

“They spare no expense.”

“All the better for hunting down ponies you don’t like.”

“It’s for outrunning the competition. We can shake your hoof in Applewood by the time the other pony’s sending you a letter.”

“Ah, that too.”

A long, unsure silence. “So why did Peaceful Meadows have it out for you all, anyway?”

Colgate looked around slowly, not sure what the question meant, whether it was a prelude to something bad. Her eyes settled on the steely sky, from which she still half-expected a crescent of purple magic to shriek down on her one day, and decided then that Partial Thoughts was not a threat, or at least not the threat.

“She said the Elements had ruined her job.”

“Something like that. They were there when an important pony went down, and the Mansels blamed them. Not sure why we had to die for it.”

“Probably just revenge, then.”

“I’m glad she’s dead.”

Partial Thoughts worked the wheel without response, and Colgate, thinking she hadn’t heard, repeated herself. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“It is?”

“You didn’t do it.”

“We all had a part in killing her off.”

“Luna’s shit, how dense are you? You didn’t shoot her in the head.” She turned to glower at Colgate, who looked on, neutral still, imagining Partial Thoughts as a prospective patient and thereby keeping herself calm.

“You did a fine job shooting her, though.”

“Can you…” She turned away and shook her head. “Can you stop saying that please?”

“Is something wrong?” She edged closer, knowing that a physical presence was frequently good for helping a patient in distress.

“I don’t like to think about it. I’ve never done something like that before. I’ve never had blood on my hooves.”

“Lots of ponies have that problem.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Colgate trotted to the other side of the deck and inspected the balloon cables there. “I’ve lost patients before.” A lie, but, Colgate thought to herself, one that would have become truth eventually if she had simply practiced longer.

“They don’t send the cops after you if that happens, though.”

“There’s legal issues.”

“Right. Well, so how do you cope, then?”

“Any self-respecting hospital has lawyers on retainer for malpractice cases. You just gotta sign all the right forms and keep your head down.”

“I mean how do you cope with the act itself.”

“Oh, that. I dunno, you just move on.”

Partial Thoughts rolled her eyes and faced the mountains again. “Just move on. Great advice.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Don’t say anything, then. It’s fine.” She smacked a hoof on the wheel, but that was her last word on the subject, and eventually, Colgate let her be. When they were touching down at the mines, sleet had become a torrent of snow, and they parked the ship halfway under an outcropping of rock. Both mares shivered and snapped at each other as they deflated and stowed away the balloon, and they entered the mines both feeling unkind toward the other. At each new gateway to the mines, Colgate gave the same basic story: that they were wayfarers from Snowdrift looking for council on a magical problem, and had heard tell that the expert they needed was in the mines. She used the name of Silver Sun, which the guards recognized, and they were allowed in with directions to Silver Sun’s place of business, a good place for lodging and food, and to a pair of griffons who could help Partial Thoughts with the airship.

“So you have been here before,” Partial Thoughts said. “Who’s Silver Sun?”

“Business associate,” Colgate mumbled, frowning into the spangled darkness. As before, they had entered onto a wide, gentle cliff to face the back of the mines, to the two giant columns that housed ponies and griffons and all manner of home-run businesses.

“Do you need me to come with you? If not—hey, can you look at me when I talk to you? You put me on edge.”

Colgate turned to stare into her eyes. In the cold, magical light, Partial Thoughts looked like solid smoke, and she swam before Colgate’s eyes like an aspect underwater.

“Sorry about earlier. Look, do you need me to come with you on this? I was hoping to get some rest before heading back out, which, if we want to get back to Snowdrift in time for your thing, we’d better do in the next couple days. Is it gonna take that long?”

Colgate thought for a moment, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of having Partial Thoughts along as a companion, and told her she could stay behind, that it shouldn’t take too long. The two split, Colgate for the nearest teleportation pavilion, Partial Thoughts down a twisted corridor into a vein of rock. Following the crude map a guard had given her, she found that she remembered a lot of the way. Things like clusters of lights, sculpted cave formations, and forks in the road felt familiar to her, sparking memories of her disappointing walk with the Elements.

Was she destined for an Element of Harmony, or was she not: that was the guiding question, and, as she realized as the first teleportation pavilion came into view, she still had time to change her mind. She and Big Mac had believed that it was so, but with no proof stronger than a deep feeling, their beliefs were easily dismissed. It didn’t help that she had not been present for most of Twilight’s lectures on how the Elements actually worked. Simply adding an extra seemed agreeable to Colgate, but the Elements were complicated. Her efforts might amount to a benign shot in the dark, the idea of which bothered her; for what other reason had she been plucked out of Canterlot?

Standing in the queue to be teleported, shifting under the weight of her saddlebags, she tried and failed to approach the idea clinically. Comparing the Elements to bones in the body, to muscles, and to surgical techniques made no sense to her. She went through the teleportation process trying to connect an Element of Harmony to a subacromial retractor, stepped off the concrete floor feeling dizzy and watched, and dismissed the entire line of thought.

Vanilla Cream had picked her up in Canterlot, had personally driven her to the palace, where she had been whisked away; he had referred to it as a date with destiny. She had already altered the course of her friends’ adventure in small ways, and had perhaps already fulfilled her destiny by that, but it did not seem likely to her. She, like the rest of them, had grander aspirations; and she, like the rest of them, thought hers were the most plausible.

Above, in the iceberg of continental stone that protected her from Twilight’s ire, something shifted and sent a tremendous bolt of sound down through the mines’ stuffy air, freezing Colgate outside the perfumed door of a pink painted burrow. A young pony inside asked if she was interested in seeing their wares, and Colgate said she was, allowing herself to be guided through a small shop of purses, bags, woven baskets, wallets, carrying cases, traveling bags, and more. She took a liking to a brown and white haversack with silver, mushroom-shaped buckles and a thick shoulder strap, and bought it on the spot. By the time she was out of the shop, her worries about the new Element were distanced, and she followed her map and memory to Silver Sun’s with renewed confidence.

“What will be, will be. If my destiny is to die, then let Twilight punch through the mountain and get me.” She whistled to herself, smiled manically at strangers, and realized at her second teleportation station that she could stow the new Element in her new bag. Destiny at work!

* * * * * *

April Showers woke up, rolled over, checked the time, fell back asleep despite the pain. Every couple hours, the same, all night, until it was six a.m. and Lacey was calling. It was a half hour for Lacey to cross town to pick her up, so April had time to shower, clean herself, force down some breakfast and then throw up. Her head was empty, her stomach tight, her eyes like blown sockets, her legs and wings like jelly. Despair and desperation had hollowed her the night before, so that when she saw blood in her vomit, she hadn’t the heart to worry about it. She didn’t cry in the shower, but stared listlessly at the beige walls with the blue fish designs. When Lacey picked her up, she mumbled thanks and no more until it was time to direct her toward the apartment.

One half of the complex was taped off, the red and blue of police lights fluttering off the cinder block walls. April told them it was her apartment—for what else could it possibly be—and they let her through, Lacey meekly behind. The damage was evident but not defined from the ground floor, from which April could see investigators humming around her open door, and with the same assurances that it was her place of residence, they allowed her to come close enough to look inside. What hit her first was that the couch was not where it should be, and second, that the TV was destroyed and her collection of movies gone. The carpet was torn up in the corners, singed in places; her potted plants were shredded, the balcony door left open from her escape the day before. At a sharp angle, she could just see the corner of the kitchen, and it took her a second to realize that the empty space on the wall was where her refrigerator had used to be. The lights were on and reflecting broken glass on the tile, and what looked like some spilled liquid. The bedroom door was ajar, and the mattress was torn and askew, piles of clothes in a ruined heap on the top sheet, a gutted pillow just beside. She brought her eyes back to the living room and noticed her own name, APRIL SHOWERS in beetle black spray paint on the wall, festooned with little X’s, as if there were any doubt who had been there and why.

“Have you found anything yet?” Lacey asked an officer.

“We have multiple witnesses claiming Pegasus Advocate involvement, but nothing else yet. We’re still investigating.”

“When did this happen?” April asked.

“We got the call about an hour ago, ma’am.”

“I left my stuff in there.”

“What do you need?” Hesitating, the officer added, “there wasn’t much left.”

“My stuff. My ID. My clothes, my toothbrush.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the bold APRIL SHOWERS on the wall. “Personal items, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, we haven’t found anything like that.”

“They might have taken your ID,” Lacey said.

“Do you have any idea why they might do something like this?” the officer asked.

April’s head was buzzing, her ears ringing, when she said she did. Dazed, she was taken to the station, gave a statement, drank some water and threw up again, and spent an hour in a slightly more comfortable office until she lied and said she was feeling better. She called Lacey again and got a ride to the hotel.

“What did you tell them?” Lacey asked.

“I said I was unlucky, that I’d said something off-color to one of them on the street and she followed me home.”

Lacey shook her head. “They’re not gonna throw you in jail for being a witness.”

April had no response, and Lacey didn’t pursue one. They just drove until she was back at the hotel, where she could sit on the edge of her bed and stare at the vent above the door.

“Drink,” Lacey said, holding a glass of water to her lips. April drank and gagged, drank more, kept it down. “You need out. If you can hang on for the rest of today, I can get you out of here. Do you understand?”

April looked at her and blinked slowly.

“Just wait, and I’ll get you out. I’ll call you tonight. Do you need anything?”

She shook her head, mute.

“Okay. Hang in there. I just need to talk to Reverend Green, we’ll get something going. Okay? Tonight, I’ll call tonight. You have my number if you need me? The shelter’s number?”

“I can call you.”

“All right.” She patted April’s back lightly. “We’ll make it, I promise. I’ll call you. I’m going now, though. You sure you don’t need anything?”

April shook her head again.

At the shelter, Reverend Green met Lacey in his office, tea already prepared for them, hers freshly steaming on the other side of the desk. She sat down and sipped it, experience letting her take for granted the precision of his predictive ability and see instead what it meant: that he knew a long talk was ahead. The gesture was his way of telling her not to try to evade it, that he already knew something had to be discussed, and that he was ready to do so.

“How is she?” he opened.

“She’s in total shock. They tossed her apartment and took her stuff this morning. No ID, no nothing. All that money she says she’s got in the bank, it’s useless now.”

“We’re all she has left, then.”

“I know.” She swallowed. “What do you know already? If you know anything, I’d like to… Well, I’d like to know too. I feel pretty lost right now, to tell you the truth.”

He shook his head. “Listen to your heart. I think you know what to do.”

“I mean, I can buy a train ticket for her and see her off. I have enough scraped up for that.”

“Is that what you can do to help her?”

“Yes.”

He bowed his head in thought. She looked at his graying mane, the glasses perched on his wrinkled muzzle, the tops of flinty eyes that had pierced her more times than she could count, and what she saw in them amazed her: trust. The reverend trusted her judgment, that if she said she could only do so much, that it was the truth. He would not question her. If she could get April on a train and send her off, that was enough.

And she could do it. It was easy, it could be done in an hour: a drive to the hotel, a drive to the train station, one ticket and a farewell hoofshake, and the unfortunate pegasus would be out of their lives. It was easy—but she had seen April, and other ponies reduced to her state.

“You like to ask me what I want to do with my life,” Lacey said, and Reverend Green looked up at her, expression mild, curious.

“That is true, and you usually tell me what you don’t want to do, which is usually what you’re doing. I know that’s the case here too, that you don’t see yourself at the shelter for the long-term.”

Unbalanced as always by his candor, she was slow in responding, taking her time rolling a sip of tea around her mouth. “No, I can’t say that I do, or that I ever did.”

“I wanted to make it available in case you chose it for that.”

“I know.” She blinked a speck of mascara off her lashes. Talking to Reverend Green was not easy, not even with how long she’d known him. Always preferring to keep her inner feelings private, Lacey felt at once ashamed for every time the reverend had to draw her into voicing those feelings, and relieved for every time he, with evenness of tone or tranquility of posture, left unexplored her reluctance. She could tell him anything, and it had never stopped frightening her.

“Every… job I’ve tried, every career path or what-have-you, hasn’t really worked in my favor. I can’t seem to get my life going, no matter how many times I re-start it.”

“Such things take patience.”

“But I…”

He inclined his head at her, waiting for her response.

Laughing unhappily, she asked, “How do I say it? I guess I’m not a patient mare. I don’t… want to wait for things to get better. I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life as it is.”

He nodded along, not interrupting, not questioning. Trusting.

“I… So when I said I didn’t really see myself staying here, what I mean is… I’ve been saving up money. I wanted to get an airship at some point, I don’t know when. Not for a while.”

“Yes.” His nodding stopped, his face souring a shade.

“I would have told you before I left. I just wanted… Maybe I wouldn’t have even left, but the option was… I wanted the option. I only have two hundred, two hundred-sixty bits. I don’t—I would have said something.”

She saw the response in his eyes, she knew him so. If she needed money, if she had wanted out that badly, he would have given her everything he could. He only wanted her to be happy, and she had hidden her actions and their intentions to keep him content. Misguidedly kind, she had traded her own happiness for a sham, and she had known it, not at the beginning but close to it. She had done it anyway, and in his eyes, in the fine wrinkles of his face that showed through thinning fur, the price became clear as she had even then known it someday must. Experienced, semidetached, unselfish hurt, the pain of an open heart slighted again. It would not close to her, it would not be angry; if Lacey wished it, Reverend Green would take her then and there in his embrace, drive her to a dealership himself, help her go, and in the wake of her departure, nurse a silent ache of disappointment and immense love. In that one moment, in his eyes, she saw forgiveness and weary understanding. Secrecy was just her way, and he should not be hurt by it, but he was; this he knew, and she knew he knew, and it did nothing to efface the damage. She didn’t fully trust him, yet he wanted only the best for her. This last he said, leaning to put a comforting hoof on her shaking wither as she cried at the desk.

Still, he did not ask what she would do with April. Still, he trusted that she would do what she felt was right. If not for him, then for someone else.

“Give me the rest of today to put everything in order,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’ve got some calls to make, and some things to do here. I’ll talk to Drift Dive and see if he can fill in for me after I leave.”

“You are leaving,” he said. Not a question.

“She needs someone, wherever she’s going.” She took a minute to compose herself, to put to words the nameless feeling urging her onwards. “You were there for me my whole life. The best way I can repay you would be to do, for her, what you did for me.”

“You don’t need to repay me for anything.”

“That’s my choice, reverend.”

“You are right. It is, you’re right.”

“I’m going to get settled here, get my money, pack my things, and we’ll leave tomorrow morning. She and I. I’ll take her… somewhere.”

He stood. “That is as you decide, my sister. As you decide.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

“There’s no apology necessary. I see Princess Luna’s design in what you’ve done, and it is good.” He held the door for her. “I’ll sort out everything here with you.”

“Oh, no, reverend. I’m not asking you to come with me. I would never.”

“I know. I’m not going anywhere.” They stepped into the illusory sun, his soutane swishing on the lawn, and he sighed. To himself, he said, “Princess Luna is good. She has brought me here to help you, and now you are here to help April.”

She stood by, letting him think, watching for a sign of his emotions on his face and receiving none but the false briskness of someone with too much to do in too little time. He sighed again. “Let’s go, we’re wasting daylight.”

On the floor before the bed, April ate through a small bag of chips from a rack in the lobby. She wanted to throw up, but forced herself to stay put, and when the worst of it had passed, she finally cried. Enough feeling had come back, and so she curled into a little ball, empty chip bag crunched between her chest and foreleg, and wept very bitter tears, her stomach stinging. When she woke up, the sun was lowering, and her fur was sticky with sweat, and she was empty again. Empty, but clear. Looking out the window, she thought about her situation.

In the setting sun, the orange and yellow light on the parking lot, the lonely palm trees swaying against golden cityscape, and she sitting solitary in her room, the air of finality was fast to drape across her. With a deliberately long breath through her nose, she embraced the feeling, silently saying goodbye to the past. Her ordeal had quieted, but was not over; she had to help herself.

First, she recalled what little she could of the gutted apartment. She remembered her name painted on the wall and the fact that the couch had been shoved aside, and beyond that, the general look of destruction.

“Burn marks on the carpet,” she thought. “Pulse crystals? Were they shooting randomly inside? Why?” Switching tracks, she imagined what Long Luxury would do next. If she was out for blood, and had lost April the first time, then how would she find her again?

She drew back behind the window frame as the answer came into focus. If Long Luxury wanted to find her, a good idea would be to scout out April’s apartment and then follow from there, probably from a neighboring roof or treetop. She eyed the closed doors across the lot, watching for open blinds, then turned her gaze skyward. They hadn’t watched for anyone following on the drive back.

She had half of the shelter’s number dialed before she hung up with a quiet curse on herself. If Lacey picked her up, then Long Luxury could just follow them again; more likely, just tell someone to watch for their car. April didn’t know how many Pegasus Advocates were on her tail, how many more than the day before. The whole city might have eyes on her, or maybe just a couple lowlifes on the slopes. Long Luxury might be in a room twenty feet away, waiting for nightfall; or she might be sucking up punishment from her boss, angry for not putting April underground the first time.

“I know if it was me, I’d stay on the job ‘til it was done,” she said to herself, pacing about the room, searching for the solution. She tested her wings, still injured, still useless. “All right, April, it’s game time. No more moping around, you’ve used up your moping for the year. Let’s say Luxury’s waiting for night, ‘cause that’s worst-case scenario. Let’s say she’s waiting. So when night falls, I’ll be ready.” She stopped her pace. “Yeah, ready for what? I can’t take her. I don’t have any weapons, for one thing.”

She thought again of calling Lacey, but shook the thought away. “Lacey’s done enough, we’re not putting her in danger too. I can handle this on my own, I’m sure I can.” She watched a carriage slowly pull out of the lot and merge with the dying traffic. “I’ve seen ‘em in the hotel setting. Well, kind of. They just bust in like cowponies, crystals blazing. Like cowponies. Like cowponies.” Distracted for a second, she pictured Long Luxury in a cowpony outfit.

“That Luxury’s gonna smash in here at some weird time of night, blast me in the face, and fly. She probably thinks I’m scared shitless. Well, I am. I am scared, and that’s okay, I just gotta—focus, April. Focus. Anyway, she’s gonna blast in here expecting me to be unprepared. Soooooo, I’ll prepare. Great. What do I prepare? A trap. What kind of trap?”

By the feared nightfall, April had only a rudimentary setup, in her mind the best she could muster. Leaving the lights off but the bedside lamp on, she shaped her pillows and sheets into a compact lump under the comforter and then retreated to the bathroom, where she had wrapped a pen from the lobby in bandages and tape, that she could grip it more effectively in her mouth. There she stayed, crouched, pen in her mouth, for ten minutes before turning off the lamp.

Hardly a minute had passed before the phone rang. “Shit,” she mumbled, getting to her hooves and creeping out to the bedroom.

“It’s me,” Lacey said.

“Hey.”

“Look, I’ve got some stuff I’m taking care of up here. I can get you out of town tomorrow morning, okay? I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning.”

“Good. Great.” Her ears stood up at a sound outside.

“Do you need anything?”

She was silent, waiting for the noise to repeat, but it didn’t.

“April?”

“I’m fine. Lacey, listen, can you stay near the phone?”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m fine at the moment. I—hang on.” Ears up again. “Just stay where I can reach you.”

“April, what are you doing? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine.” Heart quickening and eyes adjusted to the darkness, she hung up and hid once more. The pen was not where she had left it, and it took her several panicky seconds to find where it had rolled onto the floor, its grip slick with her saliva. She crouched, wings stiffly out for balance, and held it to her chest while the city hummed outside her door.

In the darkness, on tight legs that she was too scared to rest by sitting down, time was lost to her. Fifteen minutes passed as an hour, each painful increment noticed and anticipated as final. “Any second,” she kept thinking, which became “now, it has to be now. What is she waiting for?” Before long, she began to fear that Long Luxury would not come, and she would be stuck in the bathroom until morning.

“Well, if I have to, I will,” she thought, but she wasn’t sure. She would get tired, was already on her way. She rested a wing against the glass shower door to alert herself with the cold, which did not last.

“Can I look out the window?” She knew she could not. Long Luxury, if she were there, would be waiting for signs that April was still awake. “Unless she’s not. How patient is she?”

She held her breath at what she thought were hoofsteps, and outside, Long Luxury held an ear to the door. Both mares waited, listening to the silent, still atmosphere of April’s bedroom, checking their weapons. Of the two, Long Luxury had the greater, and she used it with a single step away from the door, which blew open in a whirl of hot air and the shriek of the building’s alarm.

April was not prepared for the sound. She had not thought about it, that the alarm would go off, or that it would shorten her time further. Gagging on the pen guard, she was biting down so hard, she scrambled out into the room that seemed too bright, glazed with starlight without and gilt with firelight around the door’s hole. Long Luxury’s freakish shape had its back mostly to her, the pulse crystal flashing as it rendered April’s bed to fluffy ashes, a sound lost in the alarm with the clatter of hooves and wings, and then the two grunting bodies colliding. April swung her head at Long Luxury’s writhing shoulder, falling forward to the corner of the bed; something snapped in her jaw and she tasted blood and ink as smoke filled her nose and Long Luxury yelled out, backing away from April’s kicking hooves, rising on back legs to bring her pulse crystal to the right angle. Magic whizzed past April’s head as she rolled across the charred bed, injured wing burning with the motion, and she landed awkwardly by the nightstand. The alarm clock tipped off to the carpet next to her.

To April’s senses, the most important second of her life was a mosaic of soft firelight, city light spilling in from beyond, the matte darkness of old carpet, the smell of smoke and singed fabric, the dusty scent of feathers, the whisper of a pulse crystal seeking its target, the alarm’s scream muffled by adrenaline, and the slim silhouette of Long Luxury turning and preparing another ball of magic off the amulet chained to her chest. In that second, with mouth askew and dripping blood and spit and ink, April hefted the alarm clock and threw with both hooves. The figure shook its stunned head to give April time to scurry out of the way and to her legs. She was at the door, but turned back and took up the lamp, pulling it from the wall in a wide-winged pirouette and bashing it across Long Luxury’s head. The pegasus stumbled and discharged her pulse crystal into the floor, illuminating the room for a second. April hesitated despite herself, watched as Long Luxury slouched and sat to quietly stare forward, head bent at an unhealthy angle, and then she was gone. Out the door to cut across the lot and dodge into a ditch, April fled the hotel as quickly as her tired, overwrought body would convey her.

“No,” she whispered to herself, her throat parched and sore. She could not stay where she was. Spitting a gob of blood into the grass, she lurched over a rise in the ground to a wide arroyo and followed it until she could climb out, using a drainage pipe to support her forelegs. She blinked in the sodium lights’ glare and walked unmindfully toward them.

April was not aware of the spectacle she made; her mind was shut off once more. In haste, she had stabbed Long Luxury poorly and broken the pen in her mouth, cutting her gums and forming the muddy trail from lips to chin that so frightened those who saw her shambling toward them. She still wore the bandages and stitches of her encounter the day before, dirtied and loosened, as though she had not had twenty-four hours to adjust to them. In her eyes, though, was the true mark of what had transpired. The dead stare from before, but set in an animated body and left to wander a grocery store parking lot unimpeded: she seemed to all who saw her possessed of a fell magic, as if her soul had been pushed aside to make room for the force that moved her. Unvarying, unwavering, she looked through everything and everyone, not feeling when she stepped badly and faltered. When someone stopped her and told her to get in their car, she complied.

She was back in the hospital. A doctor extracted shards of plastic from the back of her mouth, injected local anesthetic right into the gums, put a quick stitch in, reapplied her dressings, and put her under watch. When Lacey came for her, April was wide awake. When Lacey asked what happened, said that she had seen the breaking news and not wasted a second in speeding over, April said, “I think I hurt her really bad.” That, to her mind, was sufficient, and she said no more until the following morning, when pale sunshine, a hot meal, a kind nurse, and the news that Long Luxury was alive but hospitalized galvanized her. She called Lacey, told her that she would be released that morning, and left with a second medical bill under her wing.

“Okay?” Lacey asked. April shut the taxi door and sighed.

“Where are we going?”

“Ponyville, just to start. We’ll see what trains they have there.”

April remembered Ponyville, what little of it she had been permitted to recall. No friendly faces there, but a few familiar buildings, positive experiences.

“I’ve got everything I need. I said my goodbyes to the rev, and someone’s able to take over for me at the shelter. You okay? I hope you didn’t leave anything at the hotel?”

“Get me out of here.”

Lacey tapped the back seat, and the taxi driver took them to the train station. April stood to one side, trying to make herself inconspicuous, while Lacey handled the tickets, and they waited in a corner away from the main entrance. Neither said it, but a PA could still walk in and spot them; they weren’t safe until they were out of town.

Nonetheless, the 9:22 to Ponyville rolled in on a plume of steam, its little engine chugging and chuffing happily, its wheels clicking, its crowd departing in a tide of conversation and hugs on the platform. April and Lacey found their spot near the caboose and shut the door, and neither mare said much on the ride out to Ponyville.

When they got out onto the platform, a single bag between the two of them, April limped to a bench and sat, taking in the fresh air, waiting still for her mind to clear. Canterlot Mountain looked huge, but did not loom; the roads on the mountainside were visible, and the palace was a pristine decoration on the abalone shelf hewn into the peak, but the mad city below was gone from sight. Lacey stood beside her until she got up.

“We need to get you some clothes,” Lacey said.

“How much do you have?”

“Two hundred forty-some. We’ll be fine if we’re smart. Clothes and food, then we’ll get a move on. Come on.”

The pair walked into town, and April was shocked at how she remembered it. There were no paved roads in Ponyville, one detail that had passed her by, but the roadside stalls she remembered, the pegasi flying at low altitudes with clouds and the sound of their ceaseless chatter, the trees that grew too close to buildings, the little circular windows and thatched roofs, the cobblestone garden paths, the flowerbeds, the smell of the local bakery and apple orchard, the clear line of sight from one end of town to another. Ponies waved to them and some introduced themselves, and they were shown the way to the local clothing store.

“Didn’t the Element of Generosity have a boutique here?” April asked.

“She did,” a pale orange mare said. “It fell off in the Crumbling.”

“That’s rough,” Lacey said. “At least she wasn’t inside at the time.”

“Thank Celestia for that, right?” She eyed April for a few seconds before taking her leave, and Lacey purchased a couple cheap outfits for them. April wore hers out of the store, a rose-colored pelisse and a wide-brimmed hat.

“Why the hats?” she asked, crossing the street to a little café.

“To keep the sun out of our eyes. If we can’t find somewhere good to stay, you’ll be happy you have that.”

They got a seat inside and looked over their menus, and April, staring past hers, tried to remember the last time she had been inside a restaurant. It had been the diner with Long Luxury and the other PA aspirant, she supposed, but that didn’t count in her mind.

“Order what you want,” Lacey said. “If you have an appetite. We can afford to do this once.”

April nodded. It felt wrong that relief was settling into her heart already, that she should begin feeling safe with Canterlot still in sight. The steam and hiss of the kitchen, the motion of waiters and waitresses, the other diners minding their own business, everything before her appeared whole and correct, when not long ago everything was warped beyond recognition. The two worlds coexisting, and not far apart, amazed and shook her. She excused herself for the bathroom and, in the chilly stall, cried for several minutes, careful to not open the stitch in her mouth. A life that had fallen apart in a matter of days was falling together again, but too quickly. She cried for herself and for Canterlot, for the dark and impersonal image of the city, and equally for Lacey and for Ponyville, for the good in her life. The good was too sweet too soon; the ordinary niceness of sitting down somewhere to eat, being served, paying, was too much. She gasped for air, overwhelmed, and blew her nose on a bundle of toilet paper.

When she returned to Lacey, there was a pair of cherry colas on the table, and April had to sit quietly for a moment, ignoring her companion, to stem a fresh round of tears. At last, she took a drink, sighed, and looking Lacey in the eyes, thanked her.

“We’ll be okay,” was the mare’s rejoinder. “Think about what you want.”

Her mood, the pain that rippled through her body, and particularly in her mouth where the stitch still prickled, overrode the hunger howling inside her, and she settled on a cup of the soup of the day. When it reached her, she watched the steam rising and realized that it did not look good to her anymore.

“We’ll ask around to see what other towns there are,” Lacey said. “I know, on the map, there’s a lot of tiny villages, smaller than this one, southeast of here. Like on the forest’s border, or farther out in the plains. We’ll see what trains are leaving today.”

“What are we gonna do for jobs?”

“Whatever we can find. Labor, probably. I haven’t done this in a small town yet, but I’d hazard to guess we’ll end up on a farm. I’d like to have an indoor job if I can, but that might be off the table.”

“Maybe I can get on with a weather team. I don’t know, though. Outside the main cities, a lot of the weather’s wild. They might not need me.”

“Wild?”

“Not controlled by ponies.”

“Huh. Weird. Didn’t know that.”

“Some of the smaller villages have weather teams,” a stranger said from the next table over. “Sorry, I wasn’t eaves dropping. I just overheard.”

“You’re fine,” Lacey said. “Maybe you can help us. We just arrived, and we’re looking to move on from here, but we don’t know the area.”

“Where you from?”

“Canterlot.”

“Huh.” The mare smiled and glanced at her friend, a pastel purple earth pony who looked on with serious, thoughtful eyes. “Ponies move from small towns to big ones all the time, but the other way around, that’s kinda rare.”

“There’s been a lot of unpleasantness,” April said. “That’s how I got like this.”

“Oh, wow, I’m sorry. Well, you’re up and around, at least.”

“We left this morning. Not going back.”

“Hey, I get it,” the mare said. “It can be nasty out there. My name’s Cloudchaser, this is Limestone.” The mare got up to shake hooves so April wouldn’t have to move. “So you’re looking for a small town that’s far away?”

“Not super far,” Lacey said. “I’d like to get there today still, if we can.”

“What do you think?” she asked Limestone, who had her eyes half-lidded in thought.

“There are towns past the farm,” she murmured. “I have not seen them, but I know of them.”

“Yeah, I was trying to think if there are any others. I know Celeryville is down there a ways, right?” Turning back to April, she held up her hooves. “It’s by like this part where the forest pokes out, like sixty or seventy miles down from us. I’ve been there once, it’s okay.”

“Sloe Hill,” Limestone said.

“Yeah, Sloe Hill. They get crazy rainstorms in the summer, I don’t know if that makes a difference for you all. Oh, if you go more east than south, there’s Redpoint, they’re right next to the lake.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” April said. “It all sounds okay to me.”

“Do you know how friendly any of these towns are?” Lacey asked.

“Not really, I’ve only been to Celeryville.” Cloudchaser swirled her pasta in garlic sauce. “They were pretty nice, but I was only there for a night.”

“If you want a very small town, there is one by the train tracks going east,” Limestone said.

“That’s hardly more than a loading station, they don’t want to live there.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you do?”

“As long as it’s safe,” April said. She had not touched her soup yet.

“Well, one place is as safe as any other. These are all small towns, you know, very tight-knit. The ponies all know each other. If you’re not… bringing… anything with you, I don’t see any reason for there to be a problem.”

Lacey looked at April significantly.

“I don’t think they’ll follow us out of Canterlot.”

“You said Long Luxury was…”

“That’s why I don’t think they’ll follow us. She was, like, their leader. Not really the leader, I guess, but one of the big pegasi.”

Cloudchaser listened, not disguising the interest on her face or in her pointed ears.

“They won’t know how to find us anyway.”

“I’d still like to get farther away than not,” Lacey said. “What was the lake town you said?”

“Redpoint,” Cloudchaser said. “I hear it’s nice. Uh, but if you’re dodging someone, then you should know Redpoint gets a lot of tourists in the spring and summer.”

“You don’t know how many pegasi they have, do you?” April asked.

“No clue, why?”

“It’s complicated.” She tried a bite of her soup; eating with the stitch in her mouth was awkward, but she managed.

“What are you running from?” Cloudchaser asked. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, I’m just curious. Professionally curious.”

“What do you do?” Lacey asked.

“I work for the government. If there’s something going on in Canterlot, I like to know about it.”

“I don’t know if we can say.”

“Pegasus Advocates,” April said, surprising herself. She had not thought about whether she would tell anyone; it had slipped out, but she was not very bothered by it.

“Oh, wow, geez. I’m really sorry about that. I do know about the PA problems going on up there. I’ve got a sister in Canterlot, actually, working for one of the magazines.”

“That’s funny. I was with The Equine Sun for a little bit, that’s how I first heard about them.”

“No way, that’s the same magazine she’s with.”

“Small world?” Limestone offered.

“Yeah, small world indeed. You two might have met. Her name’s Flitter, she’s got the same colors as me, long mane, dragonflies. No?”

April was shaking her head slowly, trying to recall someone by that name. “No, I don’t think I met her.”

“Still, that’s crazy.”

“Would I have read anything by her?”

“No, she didn’t do any writing, she’s like an office worker. I’m actually really excited, we’re supposed to hear from her today. She’s been super busy lately, so we’ve been kind of out of touch.”

“You’re close?”

“Super close, yeah. I hope she’s doing all right.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m sure she’s fine, she’s smart. Anyway, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. Uh, yeah, if you’re really worried about someone finding you, you might try Sloe Hill or… What’s it called? Limestone, the little town in the middle of all those corn fields. Allie had to go there recently. Do you remember what it was? Started with a W, I wanna say.”

“Hmmmm… Weaver,” Limestone said.

“That’s it. Weaver’s, like, minuscule, but there’s a lot of land around it.”

“And trains go to all of them?” Lacey asked.

“I think so. You might have to walk a bit for some. Weaver, you’ll probably have to walk. Redpoint, I’m sure that’ll be right there when you get off.”

“It’s all the same to me,” April said to Lacey’s questioning look, and the two ate. Cloudchaser resumed her business with Limestone, who occasionally looked Lacey’s way, but kept quiet. When they were done, they shook hooves again.

“It was good to meet you, Cloudchaser,” April said. “And—sorry, I’m really bad with names. What did you say your name was?”

“Limestone,” the purple mare said. “It was good to see you too.”

“Limestone, sorry. Limestone and Cloudchaser. It was good to meet you both. Good luck with your sister, tell her I said hi from The Equine Sun.”

“She’ll get a kick out of that,” Cloudchaser said. “And good luck yourself. If the other places don’t work out, we’d be happy to have you in Ponyville. I understand if you don’t want to, though.”

“You’re very kind, Cloudchaser,” Lacey said, shaking her hoof. “Truly. Bless you.”

“Oh.” She giggled self-consciously. “Well, thank you.”

At the station, the only small-town train leaving that day was for Redpoint in two hours, so they turned back into town. They saw Cloudchaser through the window at the spa, but did not go in to her. They walked past where the Element of Generosity’s boutique had once stood and curved west around the schoolhouse and the library, set inside a great, living tree.

“I remember this,” April said. “I remember checking out books from here all the time. The Element of Magic used to run it; I don’t know who does now.”

“Did you live here long?” Lacey asked.

“Not long, no. I got a job here after college, but then I moved to Canterlot. I don’t have any friends here or anything. That’d be nice, but I don’t.”

“I’ve never been in such a small town before.”

“There’s a period of adjustment, but I think I prefer the smaller towns.”

“I can see why. What is that?” She pointed at a drifting construction of clouds.

“That’s a cloudhome. Pegasi here make houses sometimes out of spare clouds. It’s normal.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Not in small cities. I think the number is fifteen-hundred citizens. It’s just to manage air traffic. You can’t have a lot of airships if there’s a bunch of cloudhomes floating around, you know?”

“That makes sense.”

“Why did you bless her, anyway? I haven’t heard you say that.”

“Cloudchaser? I wanted to try it out, that’s all. The reverend blesses ponies all the time, so I figured, why not me?”

“Did it feel right?”

“Not really, but I’m gonna keep trying it.”

They crossed a bridge over the small, encircling stream and looped southeast, between Sweet Apple Acres and the rest of town. The smell of cinnamon and apple cider hung thick in the air, and Lacey looked longingly at the farmhouse in the distance. A trio of young ponies was working to haul a cart of supplies out into the trees, and one paused to wave at the two onlookers, stalling her friends and prompting a small argument. They walked near the hospital, which April recalled fondly for the good-hearted souls who worked there—Colgate, after some debate, was expunged from her memory too—and then drew nearer the Everfree Forest. Farther east, they passed a dilapidated cottage, its walls overgrown and its stoop covered in dried ivy, cat claw, and withering dandelions.

“I think this is the Element of Kindness’ house,” April said. “She took care of lots of animals here. She was like the local veterinarian, sort of. I never met her.”

“Have you met any of them?”

“I’ve said ‘hi’ once or twice, that was it. I never had any serious interactions.”

Lacey grunted, and April recalled that she had her own views of the Elements, not positive ones. They circled back up to the train station, walked up and down the tracks a piece, and then waited for their train to roll in. Redpoint was a bit more than six hours away, east of the forest and just before a wide swath of small mountains that separated it from the yellowed grassland of eastern Equestria. Lacey and April got comfortable in their car and watched Ponyville disappear.

“You seem like you’re feeling better,” Lacey said.

“I’m starting to come to terms with it.”

“There’s no rush, you know that. These things take time.”

“I realize that.” They swayed on the train, each mare looking out the window at the chartreuse forest. Outside of Canterlot, the sun was still secure in the noon position, and its effects were clear on the landscape. Leaves were shriveling, flowers drying up, clouds thinning and washing away on hot wind; if they were to go outside, they would hear the strained calls of birds thrown off their circadian rhythms, or see the confused and agitated movement of beasts that did not know when to sleep.

“I feel bad for hitting Long Luxury.”

“Mm?”

“I just wanted to get away, I didn’t want to hurt her, at least not seriously. I smacked her with a lamp, and when I did, she like, she sat down all weird. She just dropped what she was doing and sat down, and she didn’t say anything.”

“Sounds like she got what she deserved, if you ask me.”

“I know, but I still don’t… I wish I didn’t hit her. Or like, that I didn’t have to, maybe. But, Celestia, she was an evil mare. I met her before she was out to get me, and I could tell right from the start. You know how some ponies, you just know that they’re bad news? Long Luxury was like that.”

“I’ve known those ponies,” Lacey said, not saying that she had also worked alongside them. “It’s something in the way they look at you, I find. It’s like you can see it in their eyes, they’re thinking ‘how can I use this pony?’”

“Exactly, like that. If she was just a regular PA, I’m glad I never met their leader. Did you know she owns a chain of bars in Canterlot? Just right in the middle of the city, can you believe that?”

“Every good criminal needs a legitimate business to cover for them.”

“I guess. It just seems so messed up that someone so bad can be successful like that.”

“But that’s the way of the world, isn’t it?”

“It’s a sucky way. I hope they get what’s coming to them.”

“Ponies usually do. I know I got what was coming to me.”

“Yeah, I guess you did.” She looked out the window again, not wanting to see any changes on Lacey’s face when she asked her next question. “What made you decide to leave with me?”

“I couldn’t have let you go off on your own.”

“You could have.”

“I’d never forgive myself. Reverend Green helped me out when I was like you, you know.”

“Is this your way of repaying him?”

“In a sense. Nothing I’ve done has worked out for me so far, and I got to thinking, maybe the big city’s not for me. Maybe I should just scale it all down, live in a small town, do small things. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

April nodded, not feeling the same attraction that Lacey expressed. She had never felt a higher calling, save for that of a good career, but the loss of that prospect had been painless in the tumult of the last week. Escape, as Lacey saw it, had never felt strange to April, who had less to lose.

“So what exactly happened at the hotel?”

“She came in with some magical amulet, it let her blow open the door.”

“I heard about that from Green. The whole group somehow got its hooves on a bunch of illegal magic.”

“Yeah, they think it had something to do with that other pony who died; not Dr. Whooves, but the other one. Luxury came in with one of those and shot the bed with a crystal. I was in the bathroom.”

“That’s some coincidence.”

“No, no, I was hiding. I thought there was a chance she had followed us to the hotel, since we’d gone from my apartment directly there. I figured, if she was smart, she’d wait for us and follow so she could jump on me in the night. Wouldn’t you know it, that’s just what she did.”

Lacey shook her head. “I’m glad you thought about that. I’ll be honest, April, that didn’t occur to me at all. I was thinking about the shelter the whole time, the reverend. I was thinking about how I was gonna break it to him.”

“That you were leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“I hope they’ll be okay with you gone.”

“They should be. There was this other volunteer there, Drift Dive is his name. He used to be a counselor at a rehab place. The rev said he’d be able to take over for a lot of my duties. Frankly, I don’t think I’ll miss it.”

“No?”

“I didn’t like working there. I mean, I liked it, but it wasn’t for me. It’s good to help ponies, but… it’s so sad, just every day, everyone’s depressed.”

“Well, it was a victim shelter, right? Like abuse or something?”

“Domestic abuse. Not a lot of smiles to go around. It drains you.”

“I can imagine.”

When the trolley came around, they had a pair of bottled iced teas, and April fell asleep in her seat. It was the first good sleep she had had since leaving Ink Pearl’s house, and she felt it when she woke up. Her pain had shrunk and her mind had cleared somewhat, and when they reached their first and only stop before their destination, she stepped out for a quick hobble around the station.

Two hours later, the lake was in sight, on its other side the tiny village of Redpoint, nestled in a wooded valley and at the edge of a grassy dell that ran down to the shore. A white sailboat glided over the lake’s surface with a pair of pegasi darting around above and a unicorn shooting colorful magic into the air for them to fly through. The train circled through stunted forest, over the muddy backwash of a creek that emptied into the lake, and came to rest at the small, picket-fenced station where a single earth pony began unloading bags. April, Lacey, and two others were the only ones to get off, and they stood on the wooden sidewalk to watch the train trundle into the forest and out of sight.

Without a backwards glance, the two others strolled into town, knocked on a door, and were admitted. Lacey and April looked around. The hills to either side afforded some succor from the sun, and the lake breathed cool air onto the town, its surface riffled with breezes and the sailboat’s lazy motion. A wide boardwalk ran from one end of town to another, and under it, there grew rich green grass speckled with flowers. A ragged line of gray mud and flat rocks between grass and water marked where the lake rose with rain. The town itself could be seen all as one piece from the train station: ridges of houses built into the forest on the hillsides, a couple general stores closer to the middle and sharing the valley’s nadir with other businesses. The smell of bread and grass filled the air, and April inhaled deeply as Lacey began walking, her bag swinging on her hip.

A few ponies greeted them, and one pointed them to a signboard with job postings, where only a few notices were tacked up: seamstress’ apprentice, for no money but free room and board; a good-paying but labor-intensive job at the sawmill farther into the woods; and a low-paying position at the brewery.

“You should take the seamstress’ apprentice job,” Lacey said. “You’ll have somewhere to sleep.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll manage. I’ve done this before.” She pondered the board. “I might try the brewery position. I’ve never done something like that.”

April nodded, unsure. She had envisioned Lacey working with her, the two of them side-by-side wherever they wound up. The thought of splitting so soon, even from someone still more stranger than friend, resounded in her heart.

Lacey turned to her and reached out a hoof, which April looked at before rejecting it and taking the larger mare in a hug instead. Dry-eyed, she whispered her thanks, and Lacey nodded solemnly. Then, they separated.

“You’ll be fine. We both will. I think that’s the clothing store, right down there. You see it? The brown sign?”

“Yeah, I see it.” She took an uncertain step uphill, toward her new life. Lacey had turned and was walking to the boardwalk, the notice in her mouth, and April watched her go, waiting for her to turn back and wave, which she did not do.

Twilight Goes to Church

Chapter One hundred-fifteen

Twilight Goes to Church

Only hours away from landing in Passage Town, on a steady curve west by southwest to keep out of sight of the village’s evacuees, the deck was astir with activity, all of it Twilight’s. With her books stacked to one side, places marked by bookmarks and feathers or held open by stones or other books, she scurried among six different sigils and two enchanted setups that swung erratically on chains off the gunwales. One kept their ship hidden behind a veil of darkness similar to what Princess Luna had used to hide Moondrop and the horrors it contained; one would react if any outside eyes tried to pierce that veil; one was dormant and waiting for Versus to open her letter in Snowdrift, so Twilight may speak with her directly; and the other five were divination sigils of varying strength, to let her spy on key places in the freezing city. It had taken her all of the day previous to set up the network of magic, working with minimal breaks, moved to action once again by the contents of a letter.

Applejack’s latest note from Versus had been been the culprit. She showed it to Twilight after her conversation with Vinyl, knowing it was bad and that it would probably lead to a flurry of magic and books, to the noise and frustration of a plan forced to form at the last second.

Snowdrift was on alert, police and—Twilight assumed, for Versus didn’t know to identify them—Datura. Those whose job it was to monitor the Tartarus gateway had reported a high volume of missing magic, and with the siphoning crystals they had recently taken down for a second time, it was clear that someone had hoarded the magic for themselves. Versus did not know that it was Twilight, but by the fact that she had written a letter about it, her thoughts were obvious; naturally, the rest of the town suspected Discord, and was watching for an attack.

Twilight jogged up the deck to the sigil from which she could see Versus, the hardest by far to create; a spell that followed someone, instead of keeping to a fixed location, introduced complexities and problems that had taken Twilight several hours to untangle. In the sigil’s glassy surface, Versus was settling down on what Twilight assumed was her front porch, two large wedges of snowbank visible at the edges of the frame. She had Twilight’s most recent letter, set aside while she sorted the rest of mail and drank hot tea, Twilight impatiently willing her to pick it up. When she unrolled it to reveal a diadem of similar design to the dormant sigil on the deck, both glowed faint blue, and Twilight spoke up.

“Versus? It’s me, Twilight Sparkle.” The Versus in the sigil jumped back in her chair and dropped the letter. “Sorry about this, but I had to talk to you. I’m using the sigil on the letter you opened.”

Panting, a hoof to her chest, Versus composed herself and grabbed the scroll. “You… You’re in the letter?”

“That’s great, I can hear you perfectly just like that.”

“Where are you?”

“We’re near Manehattan right now. Oh, wait, hold on.” She cast a quick sound-dampening spell over the area, to muffle the airship’s noise. “Is that better?”

“You’re near Manehattan, you said?”

“On our way to the window to Snowdrift. We’ll be arriving later this afternoon, all of us.”

“Is that Versus?” Applejack asked, climbing up off the deck as she re-associated into herself. “You got her?”

“She’s right here.”

“Howdy pard!” Applejack sprang over to the sigil and waved at Versus, who continued looking at the letter as if it might bite her.

“She can’t see us,” Twilight said.

“Wait, AJ’s there too?” Versus asked, laughing nervously. “What is going on?”

“I’m talking to you from the deck of the airship.”

“Versus, you know in my letter, Ah said that Ah was thinkin’ ‘bout how weird it is that totally unrelated actions can justify each other. Well, Ah totally fergot—”

“Applejack, later?” Twilight pressed.

“Right, sorry. Versus, we’ll talk when we get back into town. Ah think Twilight here wants ya fer somethin’.”

Versus, faced fixed in a drawn frown of bemused worry, cracked a smile. “Whatever you say. I guess… Yeah, well, here I am, Twilight. Pretending this isn’t super creepy or weird, talking to a letter on my front porch.”

“How’s the weather there?” Applejack asked.

“Uhhh, not great.”

“Versus, listen, I need your help. You said that Snowdrift was looking for whoever took all that Tartarus magic. How bad is it there?”

“How bad? Like, it’s all over the news, they said they’ve got ponies on the lookout twenty-four seven for the magic. Everyone thinks it’s Discord, but no one knows where he is—”

“You mean he’s not in his castle?”

“His what?”

“Crap,” Twilight whispered, making a mental note to check Discord’s castle next. “Okay, look—”

“It’s not him, right? It’s you?” Not aware that Twilight was watching her, Versus was picking assiduously at her teeth. “Your friends said something about forcing a Contraction, and the magic, and… Well, whatever, I didn’t understand, something-something magic this, Twilight’s plan that, Sunday, and all that. They didn’t want to share with me.”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Twilight! What the hell?”

“It’s to get the next Contraction going, that’s all. We need to get somewhere fast, and this is the only way to do it.”

“All right, hold on.” She got out of her seat, gathered her mail, and went inside. Twilight smiled at Versus’ integrity, moving into a private place without knowing she was being watched. Installed at her dining room table, she continued. “I’m inside now. So what is this for exactly? Forcing a Contraction? Twilight,” she laughed again, “that’s really bad.”

“I already know it’s illegal, you don’t have to tell me. I’m doing this so we don’t have to spend a week flying out to Discord’s castle, we can just go straight there. Basically, we’re landing in Snowdrift today, having the Contraction on Sunday, and then it’s over.”

“What is?”

“Everything, Versus. Everything.”

Versus stood and put the kettle on for more tea, digesting Twilight’s words. When she sat back down, she fiddled with the teabag in her mug, digging it out, still not aware Twilight could see her as she gave up and used her teeth, squeezed it out on a stained tablecloth. “Luna, everything? If you say so. So this, and that monster in the warehouse, and that Peaceful Meadows pony, and… you’re really in some shit, Twilight!”

“Thank you, yes, I know. Hold on.” She ran over to a different sigil where she had seen movement out of the corner of her eye. A contingency of forest rangers, wrapped head to hoof against the growing blizzard, was meeting outside the point where she could not see the Tartarus gateway, amassed at the wall of shadow, some peeking their heads out like ghosts. She could not hear them, and went back to Versus.

“The ponies in Snowdrift, I’m sure, will know I have the Tartarus magic the second I show up there. They can detect that sort of thing, and I don’t know how to hide it.”

“Are you gonna ask me to do something weird?”

“It’ll be easy, I’ll help you build it.”

“Build?”

“Are you working today?”

She smiled nervously to herself. “…No, I’m off. Today and tomorrow.”

“Great. Take the letter with you, let’s get in your car. You’ll need…” She floated over one of her books. “We need some crystals, some resonating wires, a couple notebooks, some good-quality ink… We can get all this at an arts and crafts store.”

“Twilight, what am I building, and what am I doing with it?”

“It’s a signal. There’s… When we show up, there’s going to be some ponies who’ll want to detain me for my magic, and I can’t let them. This signal will get them away from where we’re going to land.” None of it was true, but the truth would only frighten Versus. Reluctantly, for the snow outside was only getting worse, she got into her car and drove where Twilight directed, purchased what Twilight told her to, and brought it back home. As Versus was spreading all her acquisitions out on the table, Twilight took a moment to go below and check on the others. They had found occupation in the cabin with a board game Twilight didn’t know Vinyl had purchased, and Twilight looked at them enviously before heading back to the deck. For the next few hours, as Manehattan came into view and Passage Town appeared beside the broken hairline of river, Twilight directed Versus in the monotonous creation of her device. For every enchantment, no matter how minor, Versus had to draw a sigil; she could not enchant things on her own. Some sigils she had to draw multiple times, and Twilight was gratified with the speed at which Versus learned them.

What Twilight was having built was a dummy bomb. With sigils repeated on pieces of paper then pressed and bound to a wired contortion of crystals, Twilight was simulating a process by which magic could grow exponentially, a dangerous construction that she knew the Snowdrift secret agents would recognize immediately. When that was done, and they had landed just outside Passage Town, and the others were getting reacquainted, Twilight moved Versus on to a more palatable part of the task. Through a different combination of sigils taped and stapled to strips of fabric wrapped around the crystals, she cobbled together a spell to broadcast through teleportation stations—like the window from Snowdrift to Passage Town—and, at the last and hanging off the whole ugly ball of art supplies, a wide and simple sigil to grab any loose magical spell and feed it through the entire system. None of it would work properly, Twilight had made certain in her design, but it looked like it could. At first glance, its function was to take a spell, like one crafted from the stolen Tartarus magic, increase its intensity exponentially, and then finally release it through the secret agents’ windows around the country.

“I don’t know if I like this,” Versus said when the project was done, a heap of crystals, staples, notebook paper, and felt on her table.

“You did great,” Twilight said, mind drained, wanting nothing more than to go down and catch up with her friends. She could hear Octavia’s voice and the sound of powerful magic, where they were beginning to work on the ground over the window’s crypt. “Get some water, and then we’re going to drive this thing into the forest.”

“Uhhhh…” Versus walked to the window and gestured at it, having by that point figured out that Twilight could see her. It looked like evening there, so heavy were the storm clouds and the torrent of gray snow.

“Get your quill and a battery, I’ve got two more sigils for you.”

“Twilight, my hoof is killing me.”

“These’ll be the last. Please, Versus, we’re almost there. I just need you to drop this off in the forest somewhere. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Grumbling, Versus got a fresh sheet of paper and drew out Twilight’s sigils, which Twilight knew by heart and which she explained while writing, in huge capital letters, a note for the Datura.

“How’s it going, Twilight?” Rainbow asked, flying up to the rail.

“We’re almost there. I’m setting the diversion, then I’ll come down. How are things with you?”

“We could really use your help getting this lid off. There’s a lot of concrete to saw through.”

“Give me thirty minutes, okay? What time is it?”

“About four.”

Twilight nodded, and Rainbow flew back to the congregation of friends, talking and laughing around a crude cut in the ground. Pinkie had found a spray bottle somewhere in town and was using it to cool off Octavia, panting and complaining in the ceaseless sun.

“Okay, got it. Do I just put this on the roof or something?” Versus asked.

“Wrap them around the battery. Tighter. There, and you can just put it in your cup holder. Now take that signal and put it in the car. Hey! Take the letter too, Versus.”

“Sorry.” She struggled to get the weird, sizzling pile of magic onto her back, and then into the car, which took a minute to get going.

“We’re driving out into the woods, not too far. Take us past Umbrella Park, I think there’s a trail out there.”

Versus pulled onto the empty street, Twilight’s first sigil wiping snow away in a wide bubble to give her immediate visibility but nothing else, and the second coating her tires in a thin layer of magic so they would leave no tracks. She crawled through Snowdrift, occasionally passing a car with its own shield bubble, hunched over the wheel, clearly tired, aware that there was something she hadn’t been told.

“You want some music?” she asked, switching on the radio.

“Contemporary,” Twilight said. The music sounded tinny and flat through her communication sigil, but it was nice to hear; on the ship, they had no such convenience.

“Am I gonna have to worry about the cops busting down my door?” Versus asked as Umbrella Park came into view.

“I will, but you shouldn’t.” Twilight’s mind was on her own magic; how, in the space of a few hours, she had guided an unskilled earth pony in the creation of what was almost a weapon of mass destruction. The interconnections of magic across Equestria allowed for too much to someone who knew how it all worked, and Twilight was glad that Discord was no such person.

“So you’re gonna have me place this, then what?”

“Then it’ll draw the right ponies away from where we’re coming through. They won’t see us, and we can hide in the forest until it’s time for the Contraction. How’s the party, by the way? Applejack said it was still going?”

“It’s simmering. All the stuff is up, like the booths and games and stuff, and they’ve got a weather shield over it all. It’s like a town fair right now, ponies are just waiting for the big day.”

“Good.”

“Setting it up wasn’t easy, you know.”

“You didn’t do everything on your own, did you?”

“I organized it. I was down there on my lunch break every day, and before and after work too, keeping things going. Just keepin’ the fun rolling, Twilight.”

“Yeesh.” To imagine the logistics of such a thing, Twilight was amazed. Magic and the machinery thereof was easy for her, but the chemistry of a party, and one so giant as the Contraction party in the park, was alien to her. Pinkie’s parties of old had seemed intense enough, and those just lasted a single evening and took place in a single building. “That’s incredible that you were able to keep all this going, Versus.”

“Thanks.” She had to slam on the brakes to avoid swerving into a tree, and Twilight’s sigil swung violently with the sudden movement. When they were on the forest trail, Twilight directed Versus out of the car, down the path a ways, and had her wedge the fake bomb underneath a web of frozen tree roots. She looked over her back the whole time, feeling correctly like she would be in trouble if she were caught, and when she was done, Twilight stayed with her until she was back home.

“That should be it for you. You did great.”

“Yeah, I gotta say, I feel weirdly taken advantage of, Twilight.”

“No, seriously, you just helped me tremendously. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” She sighed, looked out at her friends again, wishing it were already over. She still had one more step. “Keep this letter out and available. If you need to contact me, you can press the sigil with a hoof, I designed it to work for earth ponies.”

“You can do that?”

“Sure, it’s easy. I’ll leave mine up too, so I can contact you if I need to. If you see your letter glowing blue, that’s me trying to talk to you.”

“Oooookay.”

“You’ll be fine. I’m going to go now, I have to take care of a few things on my end. We’ll be in Snowdrift in a few, but you won’t see us, hopefully. I’m going to try to keep us out of sight.”

“Great, that’s not suspicious at all.”

“You’ll be fine, I promise. And thank you.” Before Versus could delay her, Twilight cut the connection and trotted down to meet her friends, leaving the final step of her plan behind for the time.

“All good?” Rainbow asked.

“For now. I still have to scramble the agents at the window, but I’ll do it later, when we’re almost through the ground.”

“Say again?”

“Diversion. So we can go through to Snowdrift and not be caught instantly by whoever’s on the other side.”

“Are they after you?” Rarity asked.

“For the magic, they will be. Octavia, take a break, I’ll go from here. Where am I cutting?”

“Right here, Twilight!” Pinkie crowed, prancing in a line through the dusty grass just outside town. “Let’s lift the lid off this pumpkin already!”

“Twilight, we can’t just go back into Snowdrift if they’re after you,” Rarity said, following her at a distance as Twilight lanced a beam of magic into the earth.

“As I was telling Rainbow,” Twilight said testily, “I’ve already set up a diversion for the agents there. We’ll go through this window and find a hiding place in the forest, let Colgate back if she’s there, and then it’s off to the castle. I know what I have to do to plug us into the Contraction magic, I just need to work out the precise direction we’ll be flying.”

“And what are we going to do in the forest until Sunday?”

“We’re not waiting for Sunday; that’s two days away.”

“We are waitin’ fer Sunday, though,” Big Mac said, joining up with them. “All the precogs are geared up to have their Contraction then.”

“Then we—seriously?”

“Sunday,” Rarity echoed.

Twilight paused, her magic fading for a moment as she thought. She shook her head. “No, I can’t worry about that now. Something will hold us up until Sunday, fine, but we’ll get through it.” To Rarity’s questioning look, she said, “if the precogs know it’s Sunday, then we know whatever we do until then is the right thing. It’s foreseen.”

“That doesn’t mean it’ll be pleasant.”

“I’ll worry about it later!” Rarity flattened her ears and looked at Big Mac, who looked back.

“I’m sorry. You can probably tell, I’m a little stressed right now.” She faltered where her spell appeared to stick in the ground, and with a grunt of exertion and a sudden flare of sparking magic, yanked her beam back up, drawing with it a horrible sound of rent stone.

“Is there an easier way to do this?” Octavia asked.

“I could set up a system of enchantments, but I’d have to research a bunch of things first, and I just got done with a project like that. I need a break. I need mindless labor.”

“Want a squirt, Twilight?” Pinkie asked, running up with her spray bottle and misting Twilight’s hindquarters.

“Who are they?” Twilight asked, nodding thanks to Pinkie, who then ran off to join Rainbow in a patch of taller grass and reeds where the river bent southwest.

“Eggshell and Cloud Line, the local agents here,” Octavia said. “They agreed to help us when Rarity told them that Aloe and Lotus are no longer in Snowdrift.”

“I take it they’re not supposed to be doing this, then.”

“No, I believe they said they will be on the run after this. The organization does not take kindly to this sort of behavior.”

“As they shouldn’t.” She sawed away at the ground, walking a mild pace and applying her tired mind at the monotonous task of cutting concrete. By eight o’ clock, Twilight was taking her first break for Octavia to finish the job. The ground sagged visibly in a few places at the edges, but they had cut at an inward angle, obviating the risk of it falling in and burying the window. Twilight sat with Eggshell and Cloud Line, leaning back on a lawn chair Eggshell had taken from someone’s backyard.

“I’m sorry they did that to you,” she said, shading her eyes from the sun. “We used to think they were nice mares, but we saw the truth in Snowdrift. For Lotus, anyway. Aloe still seems fine.”

“Aloe’s useless,” Eggshell said. “She doesn’t know anything about her ponies. No help whatever.”

“Oh. That’s a shame.”

He snorted. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“What can you tell me about the agents in Snowdrift? Are they good? Are they experienced?”

“The best get sent to Snowdrift,” Cloud Line said. “The best, but also beginners they want to throw in the deep end. Why?”

“I just want to know what we’re, uh… up against.”

“Curious choice of words.”

“One of you said you’d be hiding in the forest,” Eggshell said. “On the run from the Snowdrift agency, it doesn’t bode well for the Element of Magic.”

“Hence my question,” Twilight said.

He sneered. “Why hide at all?”

“No reason.”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell us anything.” He sighed and slid down in his chair. “We’ll be on the run too. Once we’re through that window, we are done.”

“Yeah, it’s job abandonment,” Cloud Line said. “We won’t be able to come back. That was made clear to you, right? You can’t go back through here, at least not with our help.”

“We won’t need to,” Twilight said and got up. “I reckon it’s about time.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” She looked in on Octavia’s progress and went back up to the ship, where one of her sigils still displayed the woods northeast of Snowdrift, where Rarity had told her was the window’s other side. A column of black hid the window itself, as well as the gateway, two pillars of shadow rising off Snowdrift, curious and sinister to any wandering eyes. Watching the area outside did not alert anyone, but if Twilight tried to see inside, the secret agent would know immediately. More, she had learned from her book on counter-surveillance, they would most likely be able to invert her divination spell and see who it was that was trying to spy.

It was that inversion that Twilight relied on, pushing her sigil’s focus into the black veil and holding up her sign. If they caught her spell and looked back through it, they would first see the warning she had written for them: “MAGICAL THREAT IN THE WOODS EAST OF THE PARK, EVACUATE WINDOW.” It would mobilize them away from the window and buy Twilight and crew enough time to get through and find a hiding place.

The sigil displayed only foaming black before, not even a minute in, it shimmered and became a mirror to the top of their airship. Twilight peeked her face into frame for a moment, letting them see her, and then held out her sign. A few more seconds, and the spell shattered; the sigil died and reverted to a complex design on the ship’s deck. She tossed her sign away and raced to the next sigil, from which she could see a pair of agents, dressed in the standard park ranger uniforms, bolting through the woods toward town.

“Okay, everypony, the window’s clear,” she said, voice magically amplified—but not too much, not enough to let the Passage Town ponies hear her upriver. “We should have an hour or more to get through and find a place for the ship. Eggshell and Cloud Line, get ready to set up the window. Everyone but Octavia, on the ship and get ready to go through.” She stood at the top of the gangplank for a second, gratified at the flurry of motion before her, all the ponies running about and organizing themselves at her command. Twilight breathed deep of the dry, winter air, touched with dead grass and river water, rejoiced in the base pleasure of her own body functioning as it should, and got back to work.

She and Octavia finished cutting the ground together, and, taking either side of the wide wedge of earth, lifted. Twilight’s magic was far stronger, and after a brief argument, Twilight directed Octavia to drop her end so that she could simply drag the plug out into the plains herself. At the very end, aware she was being watched, she closed her eyes and summoned the strength of will to tip the disc on its side and send it rolling for a few clumsy feet before it settled on its side, a great cylinder of concrete and soil—the equivalent force to kick an apartment building across its street. She and Octavia boarded the ship and waited, and from aloft, they could see into the well of stone, the graveyard that had never seen the sun before that day. Applejack nudged them into position just above, that they may slowly lower to the window by deflating their balloon, and below, Eggshell and Cloud Line hastened along the cemetery path toward the inscribed plinth.

Rarity had described traveling from Snowdrift, how the window had come alive with harsh magic until it appeared it would set the entire forest aflame. Hanging over Passage Town, Twilight saw it for herself, and more as the window expanded and entirely loosed itself from its stanchion, a sleet gray disc of Snowdrift entrapped in the blinding white of a magical corona, spinning and shrieking, throwing gouts of crimson fire into the air and across the stone floor; and then, with a deafening cry of pure energy entombed and the frantic flashing of a monsoon coming up from the ground, the window became a torus of light with the speed of its spin, impossible to look at. Big Mac was not heard bellowing fearful epithets from where he hugged the torch.

Yet through all, the airship held steady, the savage-looking magic neither singing nor pushing it in the air, simply passing through or diffusing harmlessly upon the hull. The sound became too high to hear, but not to feel, putting all their insides to shivering when Cloud Line, finally, appeared again at the surface and gave them the signal to go through. No one could look directly at it as they went through, but Applejack’s aim was true, and the window’s suction sure; they were thrust rudely into the freezing cold after another head-splitting second, and it was all they could do for several minutes afterward just to lie on the deck and catch their breath as the window quieted and the Passage Town Daturas went through themselves, to parts unknown and not to be seen by the Elements again.

The black forest shellacked with snow and torn by wind, the roiling clouds, the freezing air, all was broken then by the window’s discharge from the other side. Lesser than what was demonstrated in Passage Town, still the aftershock ripped through them with the force of a cannon shot, bending trees and dying the clouds neon purple for a lurid second before shriveling to a small fountain of sparks out of the window’s middle. Its face showed the echo of Passage Town, a sunlit crater where once had been only concrete, before shifting to a view of placid, rain-speckled sea. This Rainbow watched, trying to figure where they had been that looked like what the window showed.

Ten minutes later, they were up and assessing damages, of which there were none. For the window’s spectacular display, it commanded no destructive powers, a fact of which the Daturas had reminded the Elements before, and which was forgotten almost immediately.

“Get us in the air, Applejack,” Twilight said, breathing still heavy. “And hurry. We don’t know how much time we’ve got.”

“Wh-wh-where… Where do w-we? Oh, th-thank you, darlin’,” Applejack shivered, donning a one of the jackets Rarity brought up from below. She ignited the torch and spun the wheel, and when she could speak, asked, “where are we gonna have space to land in the forest, Twi?”

“I’ll clear a spot for us if I have to, just go. Keep us low, though.” Frowning, she stood at the gunwale, wrapped in a coat of her own warming magic, and ran her eyes over the trees. “They’ll be looking.”

“So I take it you don’t need me at the back anymore,” Rainbow said.

“Thank you, no.” She glanced at Rainbow and gave a smile, and Rainbow slunk away.

“Colgate will never find us if we are hiding in the f-f-f-f… in the forest,” Octavia said, shaking and clutching at herself inside her jacket.

Twilight tapped her chin as if thinking, but Colgate was far from her mind. The fact that the Snowdrift precogs held so fast to the Contraction taking place on Sunday, though they had arrived the Friday before, did not sit well with Twilight. “Maybe the delay is us waiting for Colgate. That’s not horrible.” She drew away from the gunwale as pine branches scraped down their ship, casting flurries of snow onto the deck and sapping what little warmth they had managed to gain for themselves in ascent. Wordlessly, Rarity shoved the snow off with a plow of shield magic.

“Here, stop here,” Twilight said, joining Applejack at the wheel. She studied the compass. “Head that way. Rarity, can you bend these trees back with a shield?” Rarity, shivering and miserable looking, became a third at the front, and still silently, conjured a wedge of gossamer magic to push the treetops away from their bow. The forest groaned around them and snow fell to either side as Applejack slowly broke through, the balloon the only piece of their ship showing above the treetops, still too close to be visible from town. They set down at a frozen brook where the trees were older and easier for Twilight to slash out of the way. There, on packed snow on the slope’s shoulder, they landed and tied cables around a massive tree, and everyone disembarked to feel the snow under their hooves. For many, it was a relieving sign that they were back on track.

“We’re not gonna stay hidden here ‘til Sunday, Twi,” Applejack said quietly, so as not to let the others hear. “You said it yerself, they’ll be lookin’ fer ya.”

“I know.”

“Another thing, an’ Ah hope you thought of this already, but this is the precog city. If they’ve got precogs—”

“I did think of that. One of these sigils lets us know if anyone gets close to the ship.” She paused for a second, shivering. “Since I know if I’m landing near someone, any precogs that might foresee us out here will have to wait until after we’ve landed to approach; otherwise I would have just moved away from wherever they foresaw, you understand? And if they come out here after we’ve landed, it’s just a matter of running, or chasing them off. That being said, I know it’s uncomfortable out here, but I want us to stay close to the ship if we possibly can.”

“How are you gonna pull off the Contraction?”

“I just need to access the city’s foundation.”

“Oh, is that all?”

Twilight smiled. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Anythin’ Ah can do to help, just name it.”

Walking back to her cluster of sigils, Twilight said, “I know, I know.” She frowned down at one. “Actually, I do have something. Help Octavia find Colgate, so she’ll stop…” “Bugging me about it,” she thought. “So she can be at ease.”

“Now that, that Ah can do.” She dissolved into the ship’s inner workings while Twilight studied her magic. Many of the sigils had gone dead in the teleportation, and some of them she wiped away, pondering what she would need in the coming days. One book, open to a chapter on dampening the passive effects of magic, she had gone over multiple times to find a way of reducing the obviousness of her purloined Tartarus magic. She went to the chapter’s beginning and started to read again, though she was certain she had not missed anything.

* * * * * *

That same night cycle, eleven o’ clock and the sun not a whit lower, Colgate and Partial Thoughts lifted off the icy parapet and took to the jagged, mountain skies. The procedure had been the same as before: she placed her order with the jeweler, Silver Sun; she went into the dark back of the mines with her, mastering her fear and repulsion from the memories that came with it; gave every bit she had left, which was enough not only to fund the Element but to expedite its creation; and then left with head low and Element squirreled away in the bag she had purchased. She did not try it on underground for fear of being seen, and did not try it on in the air for the same reason. The notion that Twilight could conjure death from above still weighed heavily on her mind, and as they flew north back up the mountain chain, she became increasingly convinced that Partial Thoughts was a threat after all, that she had been placed there to spy. In her mind, the all-knowing Twilight Sparkle had recognized Colgate’s innate need to break away, and had given Partial Thoughts instructions to keep tabs. Twilight was always ten steps ahead, and as Colgate thought, sitting on the cot belowdecks and trying not to be sick with the pitch and yaw of their flight, the surest sign that Twilight had outsmarted you was that you thought you had outsmarted her. As was her wont, the thoughts grew bigger and more elaborate, until the sound of thunder over their heads made her jump up with a squeal and race for the bathroom to try to cram herself under the wooden toilet, where Partial Thoughts found her ten minutes later. She retreated to the deck, pacing, wearing her haversack as tightly as she could, ignoring the hail that hammered her face when she stepped out from under the balloon’s lee.

“Sorry, I really had to go,” Partial Thoughts said, startling Colgate again. “What is with you?”

“I’m just… hungry.”

“Hungry. Uh-huh. Listen, blue, if we’re on the run again—”

“We’re not on the run.”

“Now how come I’m not sure you’re telling me the truth there?”

“Dunno.” She ran to the rail as lightning forked the sky between a pair of snowcapped peaks. “What if this is it? What if she summoned a storm for me?” “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Do it below.” It was too late; Partial Thoughts could only flatten her ears to the sound of Colgate throwing up over the side. “You really are a piece of work, you know that?”

Colgate stared down at the churning gray slopes, her mane whipping back and forth violently across her face.

“Listen, we’re not gonna just coast out of here. Get below and check our antifreeze levels.”

“Sure thing, boss.” She slunk belowdecks again, to the clattering engine room, where the sound of the weather was drowned in the furious work of machinery and fire. In a metal locker on the far side of the room, she found the antifreeze, snugly shoved beside jugs of oil, cleaning fluid, and the like. She uncapped it and held it to her nose, and then the oil, and then a bottle of industrial decalcifier, which she contemplated the longest. Thoughts of Powder Rouge inevitably entered her mind, and were enough to snap her out of her reverie and do the work she had been sent below to do.

By twelve-thirty, they had reached a hole in the clouds, and Partial Thoughts was debating whether to stay beneath them or try to go above. Colgate, feeling better with the knowledge that there was an easy way out if she incurred Twilight’s ire, stood beside her, offering little but thinking her presence was welcome.

“We’ll stay below,” Partial Thoughts finally said. “I can’t see how long these go, we might need to land before we get past ‘em.” She glanced at Colgate. “Feeling better, then?”

“I think so.”

“Well that’s good.” She checked the dials on either side of the wheel. “Once we’re out of the mountains, I’m gonna put everything I can into the engines, and hopefully we can get back to Snowdrift tomorrow night, or maybe the morning after.”

“Fast ship,” Colgate said, not really paying attention.

“Best of the best, except for what the princesses have.” The two stared at the sunlit mountains below, rapidly giving way to more of the stormy gray monotony. “So how did you get tied up with the Elements anyway? You don’t seem like them.”

“I’m not them, no.” Partial Thoughts gave her a look. “They picked me up in Canterlot and—I’m being honest, by the way. You can trust me, a doctor never lies.”

“If you say so.”

“There was an accident in Canterlot, and I got stuck aboard their airship. By the time they could drop me off at the next town, we were friends, and they didn’t want to. Ta-dah.”

“An ‘accident’, huh?”

“There was magic and fate involved.”

“Fate?”

“My fate. My destiny. I guess I’ve got a job to do before this is all over.”

“Was… going down here part of that job?”

“For better or worse, uh-huh.”

Partial Thoughts held back her retort and looked at the dials again, wondering whether she could possibly get them to Snowdrift sooner than the next day.

* * * * * *

The Elements spent their first night in the Snowdrift woods huddled in the airship’s cabin while Twilight worked out her latest plan. The magic was ready in her wreath of crystals, which she released from her magical space and placed in the bathroom, where its frightening appearance would be least disruptive—for, out of sight, the crystals had steeped and changed, turning a diseased yellow and developing thin strands of limestone around their bodies, as if wrapped in hardened spider silk. To touch them, as Twilight discovered as she placed them on the counter, was to receive a painless but numbing discharge of magic.

“They should still work fine,” she had said, “they’re just a little… ripe.” That was the last she had spoken until she worked out her next step, an hour and a half later, and by which time only Vinyl and Big Mac were still awake.

“You got that look in your eye like you’ve just solved it,” Vinyl said.

“I have. I’d like to find somewhere with a deep cellar if I can. What time is it?”

“Twelve thirty-six.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow morning, then. I need a deep cellar so I can reach the town’s foundation easier. That’s where the ancient sigils are that allowed the town to teleport back in the day.” She smiled thinly at Big Mac’s inscrutable face, with which she was familiar enough to read confusion. “They’re still active, and if I want to get that,” she pointed to the bathroom, “to do its job, I need a link to the foundation. I’ve already made the wire—that’s what we call it—but I need to place it still.”

“So you’re gonna go into town?” Vinyl asked.

“I’m going in tomorrow to set the wire, yes. Once it’s ready, I can activate the Contraction remotely, so we’ll just have to make sure the ship is ready. I’m almost done calculating our position for that, by the way.”

“So you can do everythin’ tomorrow,” Big Mac said. “But we’ll be a day early.”

“I’m doing everything I can to make sure our delay is just waiting for Colgate, and not from any interference from the secret agents. That’s why I’ve got all those sigils on the deck, to let me know if someone’s coming for us, and also why I’m going to leave the Tartarus magic here when I go into town tomorrow.”

“Are you gonna be disguised?”

“Yes.”

He looked at Vinyl, who patted his back. “You got it all figured out.”

“I’ve been thinking about it since we left Hoofington.” She heaved a sigh, and, more to herself than the others, said, “we’re almost there. One more step.”

“So we’re leaving Sunday,” Vinyl said, “and then it’s Discord? We’re gonna fight him the same day?”

“We’re going to destroy him, yes. Two days.”

“So… Okay. Two days. Got it.”

“Yeah, both of you, if you’ve got anything, and I mean anything, unresolved, you’ve got tomorrow to do it. Actually, that’s a good point, I’ll tell everyone that before I head out tomorrow.” She rubbed her eyes.

“Get some sleep, Twilight.”

“I really should.” She turned back to her books and kept reading into the small hours, when she finally dozed off with her cheek pressed against a diagram of geologic morphology in the Equestrian southwest.

At seven o’ clock, she woke to the smell of coffee. Octavia had not slept that night, and instead walked into town, braving the snow and wind, to buy supplies. Red-eyed and shivering, she sat under a blanket between Fluttershy and Rainbow, the latter of which had a dome of warm air around them from her unpracticed magic, while Applejack and Pinkie attended to breakfast. Twilight, in the other cabin, conferred with Versus on various places around town that might have the deep cellar she needed.

“All right, girls, I’ll be going into town after breakfast,” Twilight said, entering. “Versus found me a place to set my wire, I’m going directly there, and then we’ll just wait and deal with whatever it is that’s going to hold us up.” She gratefully took a bowl of oatmeal from Pinkie and stirred it until the lump of butter was dissolved. “I told Vinyl and Big Mac last night, but I want to repeat it here. If there’s anything we still need to address, friendship-wise, today’s the day. We’re leaving on the Contraction tomorrow, and it’s going to take us straight to Draught Castle, and Discord. No more time, hear me?”

“You’re a bitch, Twilight,” Rainbow said. Everyone stopped to look at her. “That’s all I wanted to say. You’re still my friend and I still love you, but I have to say it: you are a bitch.”

Twilight nodded, unfazed. “I accept that. Thank you for your candor, and for the record, I’m sorry it had to be this way. When we get home, I’ll find some way to make it up to you all.”

“You don’t have to make it up to me. Like I said, I still love you; I get why things are the way they are. I just had to get it off my chest.”

“I want to make it up to you all,” she said, smiling. “And you won’t stop me.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Rarity said. “There’s a dress I was seriously considering buying before we had to leave.”

“It’s yours.”

“Ah just want the farm,” Applejack said. The conversation rolled around the nine of them until breakfast was over, and tiny grievances were aired. Rarity told Applejack that her newfound peace of mind and burgeoning spirituality grated on her nerves, and Applejack apologized and said it was not her intent. Pinkie told Big Mac she thought he was handsome, but didn’t want to complicate anything, and Big Mac, blushing, said he had his eyes on Versus anyway—no surprise to most of them. Octavia apologized for her general harshness once again, and received all the usual assurances that they were used to it from her. Between Pinkie and Fluttershy, there were no words.

With snowfall crinkling in the pine boughs and wind whistling, Twilight magically disguised herself as a transient and then donned as many layers of clothing as she could, stepping out into the coming blizzard that made the day look like evening. She waved goodbye to her friends, though they did not come up to the deck to see her off; it was a gesture more for her own sensibilities, to assure herself that there was still some sentimentality inside her. There was no trail out of the forest, and at a frozen pond, she paused to make sure she could detect the Tartarus magic on the ship, to use as a beacon on her return trip.

At Snowdrift’s edge, Twilight spent several minutes just looking. Through the snow, there was not much to see, but she stood anyway, her senses attuning to the storm, letting the cold become an impersonal sensation where it penetrated her clothes. The church she needed was in the middle of town, within shouting distance of the Tartarus gateway; more importantly, it was long vacant, its priest having disappeared many years prior. Versus had told Twilight the only thing she would need to worry about there would be homeless looking for shelter or hoodlums looking for privacy, and maybe a groundskeeper or custodian.

She walked to the first icy road and crossed into a neighborhood of blanketed brick houses, many adding tufts of smoke from their chimneys, and shuffled past to an empty intersection where she watched the city for another minute before heading in the church’s direction, cutting across a long park, leaving a thin line of hoofprints that were filled in only minutes later.

No one accosted her on the way to the church, and there was no one inside. She wanted to barge straight in, but made herself stop to check for enchantments on the door and embrasure; there was one, to dissolve her disguise upon entrance, and this she left active. Thin, silver light came through ensiform windows in slats all the way up to the altar, behind which a baroque rendition of Luna’s cutie mark imposed itself. There was no dust on the pews or carpet, but a thick layer on the altar. She stood behind it for a minute, smelling the dust and the musty odor of old books, and rested her forehooves on the altar as if to address a crowd of parishioners. She had never been religious, and had no interest in learning about it, but before the rows of ascetic pews, under a gray skylight, behind the bare altar, and beside the cobwebbed organ, she did feel a twinge of reverence. She quelled it and located the stairs down to the cellar.

Supplying her own dim light, she followed the cellar’s walls, cluttered with boxes and shelves of religious articles, before stopping with a tiny gasp at the naked tunnel that lit itself with her approach. She took her hoof off the pressure plate, extinguishing the pea-sized crystal wedged into a notch in the wall. She had seen crystals of the sort in the mines, and stepped back, trying to remember the specifics involved in casting an invisibility spell—much harder than a disguise spell, but, to her eyes, suddenly necessary. By the time she could hear steps coming her way, she had made herself transparent, which was close enough to what she wanted. She pressed herself against the brickwork, a cone of lantern light swinging into view on a griffon’s tail not seconds later. Golden eagle eyes raked the empty cellar as a second griffon appeared, wings shuffling quietly as she joined the first to stalk slowly around.

“Rats,” she said.

“Probably.” The second griffon passed within inches of Twilight, her chest straining with the effort to breathe as slowly and quietly as possible. When the griffons were gone, she gasped and lay down for a moment, letting herself manifest in the darkness. She debated leaving to find a new place for some time, but the one thing she could not get around, which impelled her into the strange tunnel, was that she did not know how deep below the city the sigils were. She could be digging for hours or she could be digging for days, to say nothing of what geological obstacles she might encounter. She first went back up to the church to search for books on magic, finding nothing helpful, but remembering how to make herself properly invisible in the interim. Invisible and also soundless, Twilight stepped back into the cellar—but she was not weightless, and the tunnel was alight again as she hit the pressure plates. She was able to squeeze into a corner while the same griffons passed her by again, muttering to each other about the church’s apparent vermin problem.

Stone stairs wound in a long curl, the walls and roof tan, porous stone and reflecting oily crystal-light with the voices of workers. She stopped at a bold, black line on the floor, uniformly solid and perfectly edged, following its tunnel with so slight a curve that the circle it formed would go around the entire city, and more. Smaller lines branched off and met in open areas, sometimes crawling up the cavern’s supporting columns like vines, sometimes terminating at seemingly random, but all of them onyx-black and wire-straight. Crystals lined the walls to make the chamber almost as bright as the afternoon on the surface, and Twilight could see the suggestions of a second floor in the distance, where a great hole showed decussate ramps and, to her straining eyes, what appeared more black lines arranged in a similar manner to those above. She took it in as she walked, following a gentle downhill path on the main curve before stopping to listen to a cluster of workers sitting around a column and taking tea.

“Did you get what Frozen Flurry was saying about Q4?”

“Oh, he just wants us to touch up the first and seventh lines again, there’s a little dust in the ink.”

One mare spat ungraciously on the ground. “I hate line seven so much.”

“I know! It’s always got something wrong with it! Luna, tell me about it.”

“Job security, ladies.” They all laughed politely.

Twilight breathed out through her nose, her magic diffusing even that soft sound, and crept deeper into the foundation sigil. She took note of the signage near where she had entered, found a comfortable spot where she could watch the workers but not be in the way, and waited for their shift to end. In her head, she thanked Celestia for her magical capacity, that she would not drop the wire out of exhaustion.

There was nothing for it; Vinyl and Fluttershy wrapped up and hiked through the howling woods to Snowdrift, where they flagged down a carriage after ten minutes of agonized waiting on the snowy curb. Mukluks on their hooves were enough to keep them dry, but they only had two layers of clothing between them, and it was not sufficient for the wind; with each turn the carriage made, with each whisper of air, heat was sapped from their cores, and it was with numb faces, stinging eyes, throbbing ears, and shallow breaths that they reached their destination. Soulful Song, the memory therapist, gladly ceded the guest room to them, solicitously offering hot beverages and snacks while getting a fire going.

“He’s not going to interfere?” Fluttershy asked when he was gone.

“He’s fine. Knew to expect me for this at some point. We worked it out before I left.”

“If you say so.” She took a blanket from the ottoman and stuffed it as a thick rope under the door, to block their sound. She looked at Vinyl, standing by the fire, and sighed to herself. “Let’s get this over with.”

Vinyl looked through her notes. “Get comfortable. We might be here a while.”

“Should I lie down?”

“Whatever’s best for you.” While Fluttershy arranged herself, Vinyl piled pillows to sit on. “I’m gonna talk to Pinkie after this, tell her what I know.”

Fluttershy opened one eye to look at her.

“I owe her the truth. I won’t mention you, there’s no point, but I’ll tell her about Mac and me.”

“Don’t do that, Vinyl.”

“She deserves to know.”

Fluttershy sat up, her wings on end. “Don’t, seriously. You think that’s a good idea? She’ll freak out, it’ll ruin everything.”

Vinyl crossed her forelegs and sat on her haunches.

“She’ll either totally deflate and be unsuitable as the Element of Laughter, or worse, she’ll break down and confess to the whole ship.”

“I just thought… Yeah, guess you’re right. After, though.”

“Um, actually—”

“She needs to know sometime, Fluttershy.”

“I was going to say, I’d appreciate it if you let me tell her. After, I mean.”

“Uhhhh…” She scratched her head, gestured at Fluttershy.

“I’ve been forming it in my head for a while now. I, um, I wrote a letter to myself, to be opened only after we beat Discord. I gave it to Big Mac.”

Vinyl nodded, impressed and a little dismayed by the idea. She had done a lot to learn how to wipe Fluttershy’s memory, and it rankled that her friend planned to undo the work just as soon as she was able.

“I might not have the heart to do anything about it then, but I owe it to… myself. Someone. Can we please get started?”

“Are you relaxed?”

Fluttershy closed her eyes and got more comfortable on the couch, and Vinyl activated her horn, the soft magic at its base humming just behind her eyes, which she had also closed the better to focus on her task. The magic to wipe a memory was related to that of reading a mind, and to do the one, she had to partially do the other. Skimming the surface of her consciousness, Vinyl was astonished at the complexity of the equine mind, the depth, and the prickly feeling of anger and doubt that were specific to Fluttershy; it was different from practicing on a cloud of thoughts.

Taking time to acclimate to contact with Fluttershy’s mind, Vinyl went over the steps to herself. She needed to gather Fluttershy’s collective consciousness in an envelope of the gentlest sort and then hold it there while she explored the memories. To a practiced magician, it could be done mostly by feel, but Vinyl would have to do it verbally. When she was ready, she spoke.

“You’re doing great. Now, we talk about your memories of Pinkie. You need to remember each thing as strongly as you can, and I can eliminate it. We’ll go through one by one. Are you okay?”

Fluttershy hummed, smiling weakly, and Vinyl could feel the ripples of anticipation across her magical seal. She knew the feeling well; like the moments before an unpleasant but necessary surgery, Fluttershy was at peace, ready for discomfort she knew was to come.

“What do you remember about the night we fought the dam?”

“I remember Pinkie Pie being a filthy coward.” A spike of memory, but too vague.

“What did she do?”

Fluttershy frowned. “She denied that she had the power to help us.”

“Okay.” The slightest squeeze of magic, and the memory, like a withered bud on a shrub, was clipped free. Fluttershy’s face evinced no feeling. “What did we want Pinkie to do?”

“We wanted her to stop the dam somehow.”

“Did you have any specific ideas on how she could do that?”

“Maybe…” A ripple of quick thought. “Pick it up and set it back down in its place. Break its main engines.”

“All right.” She removed the memories of what Fluttershy had wanted Pinkie to do. “What did the others want her to do?”

“The same thing.” More memories gone, these a little closer to the surface, a little harder to remove safely. Vinyl tried not to think of what extra she might accidentally erase.

“What did you feel when she refused to help?”

“I didn’t believe it.”

“What else?”

“I was mad. Then we were teleported, and I woke up outside Roan with you all.”

Vinyl snipped the memories of Fluttershy’s emotions; those would need to be replaced afterwards.

And on they went, going through the scary times in Roan, the tension of Trottingham, the battle for Canterlot, the anger in Furnace Creek and the fight after Discord, the anxious armistice in the mines, the cold and introspective days on the river north to Snowdrift, and the bitter times thereafter, recalling every conversation about Pinkie and about memory wiping, every bad feeling that had kept her awake, every time she had been tempted to declare Pinkie’s failure to the whole group and let the chips fall where they may, finally culminating in the letter Fluttershy had written for herself and the beginning of the memory spell itself. They talked for hours, and at the end, Vinyl asked, “now, what were we talking about?”

Fluttershy’s mind squirmed with thought, its surface patchy with everything Vinyl had removed, like a pruned tree. If she had missed anything big enough to undermine the spell, Fluttershy would remember it in time.

“I don’t know. What were we talking about?”

“Good.” Time to fill in the gaps. “We were talking about Applewood. The night we fought the dam, Pinkie was suffering from a headache, and could barely do any magic. She did try, but she only hit it with a couple shots of telekinesis, not helpful. In Roan, we were all too concerned about Applejack to talk about much more than that. Your temper was particularly short then, understandably, but you got over it when Applejack came back.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“That’s right. We flew north, where we met Lacey Kisses, and though she irritated you at first, you argued in favor of helping her. You were worried about Pinkie, who was with Octavia and Dr. Whooves at the time. In Furnace Creek, we discussed adding Elements of Harmony, and then we picked up Colgate. Pinkie helped keep everyone’s spirits high when that was happening, but it wasn’t enough to stop us from fighting after failing to stop Discord.”

“I remember that fight.”

“Pinkie said something that insulted you then, and you snapped at her. Tempers were running high, and you currently wish you hadn’t lost yours with her.”

Fluttershy nodded, her brain coruscating with the thoughts that Vinyl fed her.

“When we were separated and had to travel upriver, you were depressed and worried about your friends, specifically Applejack, who you had lost once already. Seeing them safe and sound in Snowdrift helped you, gave you the strength and courage to fight off the beast from Octavia’s mansion. I remember you came out of that fight oddly energized, maybe a little triumphant.”

“I remember.”

“Yes you do,” Vinyl thought. “And that’s it. We came into town today to pick up some warm clothes, and I saw my friend here and we came in to say hi.”

Fluttershy nodded along, and Vinyl, no longer narrating what she was doing, carefully released the spell. Fluttershy would be dazed for a few minutes, but after that, all Vinyl would have to do was remember her own excuses for why they were out and about, and not back on the ship.

She let Fluttershy come to her senses.

“Why am I here?”

“Shit. Forgot to tell her why she was on the couch.” “Uhh, you were just tired, that’s all.”

Fluttershy blinked and looked around slowly, as if not fully convinced, but said, “I feel better now. Is there a shop nearby?”

“I think so.” Her heart was palpitating, just waiting for Fluttershy to ask something that would unravel the whole farce. No one memory was discrete from any other, had no distinct shape, so she had no choice but to trust that she had gotten everything.

They bid their goodbyes and thanks to Soulful Song and trudged out into the mounting blizzard once more.

At ten o’ clock, Twilight, fuming and shivering, got back to the ship. She didn’t speak before she had a shield sigil down, relieving Rarity of the job of blocking the snow that by then was coming down fast and thick, covering their forest and the ship’s shield. Vinyl kept them in a soft, evening light, her horn like a tea candle.

“All right, Twilight?” Applejack asked.

“There were already ponies down there,” Twilight said with a strained imitation of cheer. “Workers underground, who keep the city’s sigils maintained. I got to wait for their entire eight-hour shift, not eating, not going to the bathroom, not anything. Just… waiting!” She punched a beam of magic through the shield and threw the snow off, which was quickly replaced.

“But no trouble?” Pinkie asked.

“Oh no, no trouble. Yeah, it was easy when I was finally alone. Why?” She cleared the snow again with a loud spell. “Why is there so much snow? I knew there was a delay, obviously I had to know, and of all the stupid, insignificant… Waiting for the drones to clear the way!”

“We saved some dinner for you,” Fluttershy said.

“Great! Just…” She closed her eyes and breathed. “All right. Thank you, Fluttershy. I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.”

“I have had days like that,” Octavia said. “On the farm.”

“It sucks. All right, I’m better now. The delay’s done, we can leave tomorrow.”

“Wait, but you’ve got the thing in place now?” Rainbow asked. “Why not leave now?”

“We still need to wait for Colgate,” Octavia said.

“That,” Twilight said, “but also, I realized we need to be somewhere better before we head to the castle. All these trees around us, we’ll break to pieces if we try to go.”

“Aren’t we just teleporting? How’s this different from every other time we do it?” Rarity asked.

“It’s different.” She took several bites of food. “I can explain it in detail if you really want me to. Basically, in this, we’re not getting immediately compressed like in a real teleportation spell. We’ll still be able to crash into stuff in the first few microseconds.”

“Are we taking off from the park, then?” Rainbow asked.

“Somewhere like that. The park is fine, or I think there’s an airship lot near there. We’ll go tomorrow, and hopefully this stupid blizzard will be done then too.”

“When will we leave tomorrow?” Octavia asked.

“I don’t know. I want us all to get a good night’s sleep for once—that means you too—so probably not that early. We’ll get up, eat, fuel ourselves for Discord, talk over anything that needs talked over, and then go. I’ll need to get us aimed right too, that could take a few minutes, or more if this wind doesn’t slow down.”

“So what are we doing tonight?” Rarity asked. “Is there anything?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve done everything I can do beforehoof.”

“Cards?” Pinkie asked, met with silence.

“Ah think Ah’ll be turnin’ in early,” Applejack said.

“I can play,” Rainbow shrugged.

The two played while everyone gradually filtered belowdecks, save Octavia, who stood at the gunwale and watched the shifting patterns of snow collecting and sliding on their shield. When Rainbow and Pinkie retired, Octavia went below with them and lay down until she was sure they were asleep, and then got up and piled on as many coats as she could, and walked out into the blistering cold.

* * * * * *

Between Colgate and Partial Thoughts, little was said; neither much liked or trusted the other, and both breathed a sigh of relief when Snowdrift came into view, even beset with torrential snow. Colgate was realizing that she had no idea where the Elements would have wound up, though most likely not at their former hotel, and she was not dressed to search for them.

The thought appeared that the blizzard could be from Twilight, who wanted to snuff Colgate out at the last conceivable second, but she did not entertain the notion enough to frighten herself. In her mind, Twilight as the enemy had shed any subtlety; her eyes were open to direct attacks only.

“After I drop you off, I’m gone. I don’t want to find out if they’re still looking for me, that clear?”

“Clear as clear can be.”

“So we’re square. You and me, we’re done. You don’t owe me anything, I don’t owe you anything.”

“Yep.” Colgate shook her offered hoof. “Good doing business with you.”

“Yeah, something like that.” She raised herself up a little to see the edge of town. “Is someone out there?”

Colgate froze to the rail, muscles tense suddenly. “It’s her! She’s gonna shoot us out of the sky.” The previous calm blown apart just that easily, she raced down to the engine room and grabbed the decalcifying solution, uncapped it, sniffed, then hauled it up to the deck.

“Now what in the name of Celestia are you doing?” Partial Thoughts asked irritably. “Put that shit away.”

Colgate didn’t hear, and leaned out over the rail to better see Twilight and the magenta death lance that would surely head her way. She had to see it, had to feel the sinking certainty in the pit of her stomach. It almost hit her when the snow rose up and doused an orange explosion on the ground, and the ship lurched with Partial Thoughts’ reaction. Two smaller pops of fire lit the air far before them, and that was when Colgate knew.

“Land us! It’s her! Land us here!”

“Hell no!” Partial Thoughts shouted, wrenching them around.

“That’s Octavia, she’s one of us.” She ran to the other side and called out Octavia’s name, lost amid the airship noise. “That’s my friend.”

Partial Thoughts looked at her, then angrily turned the wheel back around, snapping at Colgate to vent the balloon.

Only the dark gray shreds of mane around muddy, purple eyes identified Octavia, who managed to convey deathly seriousness even with her face covered. She stood and let the snow build around her fetlocks as Colgate drifted down to her, and when she was on the ground, the two looked at each other for a second before both going for a hug. Colgate leaned into Octavia’s body, her neck to the fabricated mole fur of Octavia’s outermost jacket, eyes closed, breathing out all her accumulated tension.

“It is very good to have you back. Did you accomplish what you needed to do?”

Colgate squeezed her tighter and then released. “All’s good here. Can we—here, let’s get back on.” They got on the ship and back into the air, cruising low to the top of the city, where Partial Thoughts landed at an airship lot and saw them off with the scantest pleasantries. Octavia and Colgate did not wait for her to take off before heading to the street, where they broke into a gallop north, freezing, tired, and content. Colgate didn’t question it when they went into the woods, and when they were back on their own ship, Octavia went below and brewed tea for them both. Colgate warmed her hooves over a hot plate, stained with use.

“Hiding in the forest,” she said when Octavia came up and sat down.

Octavia shook her head. “The Snowdrift secret agents are looking for the magic that Twilight stole, apparently.”

“Is it here?”

“In the bathroom, slowly corrupting the countertop.”

“Why no night watch?”

“One of these sigils is for that.”

Colgate raised her eyebrows.

“We are leaving tomorrow afternoon. Everything is in place.”

“I was just in time. Good.”

“What did you do?”

“Soul searching,” Colgate said.

“I see. What did you find?”

“Found my soul.” Octavia chuckled, and Colgate smiled. She had not meant it as a joke, but she had not meant it as truth either; it was just something to say.

“We are fighting Discord tomorrow, if all goes well.” The news did not shock Colgate, but her silence gave that impression. “We are all prepared. I am certain that we are in harmony this time, and Twilight is sure of it as well. We need only find him.”

“What about Vanilla?”

“Twilight has not said anything about him.”

“He might just run off when Discord is stone. That’s what happens, right?”

“The Elements turn him to stone, yes.”

“They don’t kill him?”

“I do not believe he can be killed in any conventional sense.”

“All right. Tomorrow.” She drank her tea, already cold on the deck, though she felt warm and almost comfortable under the shield. “Tomorrow.”

“Then we go home.”

“Great.”

It was understood between them that home was not what it was for everyone else, nothing symbolic or rewarding, no physical place. Neither had to explain that their old lives were gone, and neither had to deflect pity that it was so. When they landed in Canterlot or Ponyville or wherever, everyone would disperse to their houses, greet loved ones, collapse onto beds and sleep, eat home-cooked meals, tidy up, sit down and stare out the window and repeat to themselves that it was finally over, blot unpleasant details from their minds, comfort themselves with drink or good company, shed tears of joy or anguish; and Octavia and Colgate would wait around for something else to happen. Their home was the unstable combination of airships and hotels, their life the journey, their comfort the small pleasures between work and disaster. Mutually known, acknowledged through the significance of their silence and their comfort with each other, there was no solution in sight to either. As time passed and they sat together, not speaking, their thoughts converged upon death, a constant and near option in Colgate’s mind, a basic eventuality in Octavia’s. Sacrificing themselves in the battle with Discord was plausible, and really, what was there to lose? Why survive the final meaningful moments in a life destined for obsolescence the second those moments had passed?

“Good night, Octavia.”

“Good night, Colgate.”

They took breakfast to a close imitation of morning light, the snow hardened to ice over their shield during the night cycle and making pale and thin the light that made it through the cloud cover. Colgate described her “soul searching” adventure down south, telling them of the tiny town where they had stopped for supplies and explaining how they had roomed with the farm family the whole time. Nothing had happened, and it was just how Colgate had wanted it; she wanted to get close to the land, take some time for herself, figure a few things out. The clarifying relief she felt at being with her friends was mistaken for the deeper peace she purported to have found in the country, and no one questioned her, not even Twilight.

When breakfast was over and Colgate had heard the story of how they had all found Octavia’s Element and then one another, Twilight shattered the ice off their shield and Applejack got them aloft. Her magic allowed her to clean out frozen sludge in the engine without help from the others, a fact lost on all but Colgate, who did not miss it from flying with Partial Thoughts.

“To the nearest airship lot, and then I’ll get us set up to go,” Twilight said. “I’ve got the figures right here in front of me.”

“Any chance Ah’ll have time to say goodbye to Versus?” Applejack asked.

“I don’t know.” They rose out of the pines and into a weakened echo of the blizzard from the day before, drifting between leaden clouds and pristine, white rooftops, Umbrella Park a loud and lit spectacle they could see from across town. Shadows lengthened and Snowdrift turned creamy gray before their eyes as the party gained details: tents with tartan pennants flying, food stands under columns of steam and smoke, trees bejeweled with flowers and glass ornaments, tuxedoes and cloaks and gowns on partygoers, a pair of jugglers on stilts standing taller than the tallest firs, and stardust clouds of helical streamers and confetti in a suspension of snow-blocking magic over all. Jovial, scraping music ebbed in and out, fiddles and trumpets and the plangent groan horn bringing a smile to most of their faces. By the time they were passing over the Contraction party, it was sundown, and the crowd had fallen nervously quiet with heads upturned.

“Twi?” Rainbow asked.

“I don’t know why Discord does what he does.”

They hovered over the airship lot, a difficult task with the wind blowing snow sideways, and Twilight set upon her figures, guiding Applejack in degrees one way or the other, constantly pausing to test their orientation and correct it for the wind. The Tartarus magic was once again in her space, and she could feel it fizzing in a pocket of her mind.

The moon was sinking and she was still working when Pinkie trotted back from the edge. “There’s some ponies coming, Twilight!”

Twilight let her breath out slowly, knowing who it probably was, and went to the plank to meet them. No one she recognized, dressed in ordinary winter-wear with innocuous saddlebags, they waved at her from the ground. “Twilight Sparkle?”

“That’s me.”

“Can you come down here?”

“I’m busy right now, thanks.”

“We need to talk to you, Miss Sparkle,” the other said, less friendly.

Twilight looked down on them and back at her friends, who could tell something was happening and watched her anxiously. “Can we talk in a few minutes?”

The first agent nodded to the other, and in a flash, they had teleported onto the deck right in front of her. “Miss Sparkle—”

“No. Get off my ship.” She straightened up, not lighting her horn, not giving them a reason to pull the pulse crystals she knew they must be carrying.

“We just want to talk. It seems you’re holding something very important.”

“Something that belongs to the city,” the other said, nodding along, encouraging Twilight to behave.

“Off.” She paced around them, to the side, where she could clearly see the ground. “Both of you, off my ship, right now.”

“Twilight.” As one moved to cut her off, she teleported down into the snow, breaking out of her spell at a run and shortly followed. There was no time to look back at the ship as she scrambled into the storm, and the wind drowned her friends’ reactions as well as those of the Daturas behind. Against wind and blinding snow she forced herself, across an angular lawn of dead grass and to the pallid light of a street-side bar. The frosted glass doors flew open on a plume of magic and Twilight, heedless of the patrons gawking at her, barreled through to the back, out into an alley and around the corner to a perpendicular-running street. She stopped to catch her breath, leaning on a newspaper stand, and cast a simple spell on her shoes to lighten them, that she may leave no hoofprints—the same spell she had used on Versus’ tires.

A peal of thunder brought her head up and her eyes around, searching for the Daturas, the awareness coming distantly that hoofprints did not matter, that they would find her by the Tartarus magic she carried—for that was how they would have found her in the first place. With no plan cohering, she tore open the newspaper stand and, on the broad white stroke of snow in a photograph, burned the quick message: “stay where u r.” This she sent to Octavia before galloping over a snowbank and across the next street.

The first suggestions of dawn were easing onto the city as Twilight bent the bars of a gate apart, admitting herself to the sudden and incongruous lucidity of a private golf course, all one hundred-twenty acres protected by a deep, upturned bowl of aquamarine magic that rendered the snow to warm rain that coursed down her body and upset her balance on squishy, healthy grass. At a trot, looking behind as often as she could spare it, she ran for the nearest water feature. Her first idea was to summon the magic crystals and ditch them in the water, but when she was there, one irrational idea gave way to another, and she teleported herself out to the middle, threw out a small forcefield, and sank to the silty bottom where she sat, put her head to her hoof, and barely stopped herself from wasting the little oxygen she had brought down in a scream of frustration.

Not in a frenetic battle with Discord, or an argument with Vanilla Cream, or a match of wits against one of her friends did Twilight find herself, and it took her the few seconds to catalogue her situation thus to realize how underprepared she was. They didn’t want to hurt her, obviously, they only wanted the magic she had taken; could she not let them have it and then devise some way to grab it back at the last second? But then they would probably release the magic back into Tartarus before she could enact any plans, and then…

“No. Focus, Twilight.” They would appear at the water’s edge soon, most likely more than what had come initially, and she would be back where she started, except colder and more tired.

Her eyes landed on a mossy golf ball.

“That’s it! Is it?”

The first shadowy figure took shape and appeared to look out over the water as Twilight put a hoof through her shield to roll the ball her way, wracking her brain, trying to remember the spells required to transfer magic from one vessel to another. It wouldn’t matter; she would need thousands of golf balls to hold the magic in her crystals, and there was no time left. A boat was skating her way, its glossy trail cutting up her vision of the shore, and she was running out of air besides.

She teleported once more, ball bobbing behind in a nub of telekinesis, and took off across the course to the nearest hole. She had to hide the Tartarus magic, and the only way that she knew of was to disperse it.

“Or!” she thought, so suddenly she stopped mid-stride, jerked, and ran again, “plain sight!” If she could reach the Tartarus gateway, she would have a chance.

At a copse of trees jutting out into the middle of the green, she stopped for breath again, ignoring the golfers’ shouts of protest. She shook her head back and forth, frantic to see the pony from the water’s edge.

“Fore!” someone yelled cruelly.

Eyes pressed closed, head aching, she put her mind to the church from the day before, the altar, and with only hazy memories she teleported again: unsafe, but desperate. Her legs bent and gave way as her chin struck something hard and warm liquid filled her mouth, freezing stone on her cheek and thick cloth against her pounding head. She had materialized several feet above the altar and clipped it on her fall.

She dashed out into the snow in a daze, spitting crimson blood onto the stoop in a lurid gout that got on her jacket too.

“Twilight! Stupid! They’ll never let me get close to the gateway with this thing.” She retreated into the church, her old idea rematerializing. She could never transfer the magic to a thousand golf balls, but to storage sigils on paper, she might. She twisted the antiquated lock on its chest of drawers until it sprung open to reveal a dusty missal. A simple sigil to store raw magical energy, copied and copied and copied, could hold the magic she had taken; then it would just be a matter of disseminating the pages so there appeared no concentration of magic to those who searched. “Easy. Sounds easy.” She looked to the front doors, imagining the Daturas barging in with battering rams and pulse crystals, coming to detain her, wipe her memory, remove her from herself. That they might think she had been taken by Discord never occurred; she was simply in the right and they were trying to stop her. She ripped open the missal and massaged it with a spell she used all the time in revising her letters, a spell to remove markings from paper. Then she tore the pages from the binding and wasted precious time racing into a back office to find a pen.

The first sigils she had to write on her own, but the second she copied by placing the first page on a blank one and touching it with another, equally simple, spell. The two she copied into four, the four into eight, then sixteen, thirty-two, and sixty-four, at which point she had had to move into the center of the church, shove pews aside, and surround herself with a broad ring of pages. When the first book was complete, she wasn’t satisfied, and copied her sigils into a song book from one of the pews, another three hundred pages. She summoned her crystals, found a focal point in her golf ball, and as quickly as she dared, fed the magic through the tiny, weak sphere and into her designs: one sigil to hold a shred of magic, a second to keep the pages from being easily destroyed—a lesson learned the hard way when she was in school. The heavy oaken doors opened as she was finishing, and without time enough to confirm her work, she scooped up pages and crystals and all and ran to the back of the church in a cloud of visibly enchanted detritus.

They were ordering her to stop, the sound of magic under their voices as they prepared a spell to make her do just that. She blew open an unassuming side door to a rickety wooden staircase and funneled the mass of paper before her before running, too distracted for fear, into the belfry. On a turn in the stairs, she paused and confirmed her work.

Success. It had sapped her will and eroded her ability to focus, and the ache of magic overuse was inflating behind her forehead, but she had moved the Tartarus magic from the crystals to the quire of enchanted papers in her grasp—and as she reached the top of the tower, from which she could see the gateway’s black horizon behind snowfall, the tree-tufted hillocks of northern Snowdrift and the smoking cottages between them, the fringe of the central district, the galaxy of loud magic and decoration over the Contraction party, and the dark tide of evergreens swelling on hilly land to the north and northeast, she thanked Princess Celestia again for the lesson on protecting enchanted paper. The storm overhead would pose minimal threat to her designs. She wadded them up, save for one page which she held onto, encased them in a ball of magic, and cannoned them up into the rolling clouds. The corrupted crystals, no longer active, she dropped on the parapet for the trio of Daturas close behind.

Twilight put her back to the windy sky and faced three new plainclothes agents, tucking the last page of her magic into her space as they backed off from the crystals. She looked at them with undisguised resentment as one went back downstairs and the other set about securing the crystals. The third stepped around to speak with her.

“You know who we are.”

“I might.” She stole a quick look behind to see how far the fall was, if the snow looked deep enough to save her the pain of another teleportation spell.

The Datura’s horn glowed and Twilight was gone in another flash of magic that left her dizzy down in the hard snow. She stumbled around to the church’s dead garden, static in her eyes and the black hole of unconsciousness waxing threateningly with each breath, the Daturas scrambling behind. She reached the creaking door of the wood shed in time to miss the flash of more teleportation as they came down to chase her. They crowded her landing site, confused, looking for the hoofprints she had not left.

“So now they can’t find me by my magic. Let’s get back to the ship and leave this Celestia-forsaken town.” Not that easy, though; on her last teleport, Twilight had exhausted the majority of her magic, severely depleted from the work in copying all those sigils, enchanting the pages, and throwing them into the storm. In the drafty shed, tiny fangs of ice growing from exposed plumbing below the sink, her breath coming in too-fast puffs of fog and her sweat stinging the base of her horn as it froze, she knew she was only a few minutes away from being discovered again.

“Below,” she thought, standing to rifle through a sagging cupboard. She had overheard hundreds of useless trivia from the sigil technicians, and among it, the very useful detail that the underground caverns were empty on Contraction days: a matter of safety.

They had locked the doors behind them, but Twilight had not; provided no one had come down in the early morning for last-minute maintenance, she would be able to walk right in. The Daturas did not know she knew of the underground spaces—unless they did.

“Focus, Twilight. Get to the church.” Two were out of sight, the third speaking to what looked like a pea-green amulet around her neck.

“Okay. Shit. Out of time soon. Diversion.” She ran to the back of the shed, looking over a rectangle of snow enclosed by icy black fence posts, iron fleurs de lis casting muted shadows under a rising sun. Beyond, a path to the church’s back, the raised cellar entrance between stained-glass windows; she would need to run right across their line of sight to get there.

A pale veil of magic swept over the church entire, as fast and singular as a swung blade, what Twilight assumed was a spell to detect life within. The Datura from whom it came was still talking to her amulet, sitting in the snow under a little black umbrella of magic that extruded and expanded from slits in her upturned collar. She nodded and looked up at the belfry, horn aglow for a second and then extinguished. She got up, Twilight tensed, but neither moved.

“We’ll bring it in anyway,” Twilight heard her call, and the Datura sat back down. Her wreath of crystals; they were going to confiscate it for study.

“It’s nothing now! No magic, just a stupid arts and crafts project. You don’t need to study it,” Twilight thought bitterly, surprised at her own indignity. “Focus, Twilight. Get to the church.” The selfsame veil of magic sliced through the shed then, dousing her in wan light for just a second before going through the floor. She didn’t hear what the Datura said, but it was obvious. She threw open the back door, no plan in her head, while the available Daturas converged.

Twilight remembered Roan, the mortuary, where she and Rarity had gone to embalm Applejack’s corpse. They had been caught then, too, but managed to buy time with a convenient fire alarm.

“This is a wood shed,” she said to herself, and turned back, spurred by urgency rather than logic, to find a way to bring her half-plan about. A gas heater, a stove, something flammable, anything that she could use other than her own magic to construct a distraction. The door shut out no sound; she could hear them stomping through the snow, their chatter. At least one would circle around to cut her off, and Twilight stopped where she stood as the realization hit her.

“Time up, Twilight! Time up, Twilight! Time up, Twilight!” Her only thought. She could not focus.

She whirled on the cupboard of goods and put her magic to it, her horn searing her to blurry tears and weakened knees, stopping itself and restarting as she forced herself further, unable to ignore the pain but unwilling to stop. It was physical, as though her horn were in a vice, squeezed and twisted until something gave, either her skull or the horn itself. She cried out despite herself, hit her head with a hoof, and extracted magic from the matter of her mind to summon a hot coal and place it in the bosom of a cobwebbed cereal box. Before she could smell smoke, she was out the door in too much of a hurry to dunk her head in the snow, throwing herself against the garden gate and squeezing between it and the fence, stumbling into a partial crouch and waiting for something to hit her, someone to announce they had her, something more substantial than the oily light of spreading fire.

On her belly, in the snow, crawling and clenching her teeth against the pain that was not subsiding, she could not hear the Daturas contending with her distraction. She only heard the churr of burning beams and the ticking of rapidly heating metal, the tin roof which she had hoped would collapse. The mixture of their voices meant nothing to her, save that she had been successful, that yet another group of ponies was upset by something. The particular cadences of panic were too familiar and too easy to tune out, and when she looked back, it was not to ascertain their safety but hers, to make sure no one would see her as she slipped into the dark stairs under the church, down into sudden stuffy warmth and the tang of metal and oil. Incapable of even a bead of light, Twilight found her way by feel, navigating the cluttered room below the organ. She ran headlong into the bellows, cursed, and eventually sat with an ear to the door for several minutes before venturing out into a wide hallway she had missed on her first trip, and which led to an adjoining section of the cellar.

The crackle of fire was lost, and her ears rang with stifling silence, tingling painfully as they warmed. When she found the pressure plate at the tunnel’s entrance, she waited in the open, hating it, letting her eyes adjust to the semidarkness that seemed bright after her brief time without any light. Fearing another pass of magic from overhead, she trotted into the echoing chamber, its huge emptiness yawning before her even before she had reached the vestibule. The small click of lights overhead was all she heard, the pinhole flares each time she stepped on a plate all she saw, for the darkness always just in front of her face was absolute. Before, alive with employee banter and the audibly unremarkable routines thereof, the fact that she was beneath the city lost its edge easily.

At the first black line of the foundation’s sigil, she found a red-outlined pressure plate and a large stone beside it. Rolling it onto the switch, the entire cavern came alive with light, and Twilight let a whispered “yessss” escape her. She looked around, still hearing nothing. “Now to find my way to the other side.” She could not simply cross the sigil’s diameter in a straight line, for that was not how it was designed. The complexities of a sigil of its size and function were manifold, and where there were gaps in the design, there were columns and walls to hold up the ground above. She was sure she had seen maps on the walls, but could not remember where, nor even where she had gone to retrace her steps from the day before. Twilight picked a direction she thought might be toward where she had left the airship and walked, quickly swallowed up in the twists and turns in the catacombs beneath Snowdrift.

* * * * * *

Discord kicked open the door to the castle’s throne room and crossed the tattered carpet, waving his arms to create moth wings of neon light that expanded and contracted where he left them like breathing flowers, and sat on the throne to gloomily look over the empty hall. In Draught Castle, dust and the echoes of magic reigned, for Luna had undone every enchantment he had placed on the structure. He had meant for the Elements’ journey through his castle to be something between a torturous ordeal and a carnival ride, filling his rooms with funhouse tricks as well as truly deadly traps: a poisoned snare here, a tacky jumping skeleton there. All of it was gone, and he had neither the time nor the inclination to replace it. He simply sat, chin on fist, and imagined his hall filled with the members of a day court. Imaginary supplicants came to kneel and ask his wisdom, imaginary guards stood on alert at either side of the wing-back throne, even an imaginary janitor cleaned the dirt-caked windows.

He summoned Vanilla Cream, who appeared as a wiry outline of himself, his magic faded to a pathetic palimpsest that Discord found intriguing and repellant at the same time.

“Dance, spirit.”

Vanilla looked at him, his blue eyes reduced to emotionless marbles suspended over the white ovoid of his body.

“Dance now.”

Vanilla danced a lifeless jig, which Discord ignored, not cheered.

“They’re coming for you,” Vanilla said, his voice a suggestion of its former self.

“Let them.”

“I am.”

“Stop dancing.”

Vanilla raised his marble eyes again, putting in them as much hatred as his limited form allowed.

“Stop dancing now.”

The image of Vanilla Cream stopped and strode to the throne’s side, where he appeared to sit. “Cold hooves? But this is what you wanted for so long, master.”

Discord said nothing. In the whirlwind of magic and thought that was his mind, there held the poles of regret and relief, and fear as well, all for Vanilla to perceive.

“How plans do change,” Vanilla droned. “You thought you were a real mastermind, my lord. Puppet master Discord.”

“Shut up.”

“Now he’s afraid of getting the beating he so rightly deserves. Perhaps he’ll die.”

“Shut up now.”

Vanilla stopped talking.

“I can’t die,” Discord mumbled. “But that doesn’t make this any easier.”

Over Equestria, the sun was heading toward evening again, and Discord took the time to speed it along a little more. It was all an illusion, one that would vanish the second he was encased in stone, or the second Celestia escaped from her bindings, but until then, it gave him hollow pleasure to operate. It was one of the few things he had left to control.

The Elements of Harmony were on their way, as he had intended from the beginning, and which now he dreaded with such intensity that he had to force himself to stay on the throne, where he meant to meet them.

Nothing had gone right. From his stone entombment, he had worked it all out down to the finest detail, but released, he had failed on the very first step. He would take Canterlot by surprise, banish the Elements in search of their jewels, put agents of chaos in every major city, and begin rebuilding the country to his liking; he had not expected total and literal destruction. That Celestia had lent one of the Elements power equivalent to her own, and then enhanced it further, was a move he would have only expected from one as mad as he; but over the months, over the arduous and frustrating process of juggling the pieces of his failed plans, comparing Celestia’s choices to his own had lost its fun. With a ruined country and the goddesses on alert, there was no point in assuming rule, even if he could manage it, so he had been forced to change everything, to make it look like a decimated Equestrian continent was his plan all along and thereby justify his appearance in the first place—for they would never grow complacent if he had vanished as quickly as he had appeared. To that end, he had to stick around, he had to cause trouble where he could and make all appearances of meaning to take over a shattered country instead of a whole one.

Discord had charged Vanilla with helping the Elements where he could, giving them parts of himself in the form of helpful magic, so that they could face him at the end of their journey, subdue him, put the Elements to him, and win the battle without ever suspecting a grand design. Order would be restored, the country would mend, and Discord would be able to try again in a century or two when the princesses had gotten comfortable.

He had envisioned his plan taking three or four months, not eight, and he had not been prepared to deal with that much chaos, that much push and pull against his enemies. As with the Elements and princesses, Discord had time enough to get used to things how they were, so that by the time the Elements were closing in with what looked like the final blow, he no longer wanted them to win.

It was two months ago when he realized he had changed his mind, and on the eve of the final day, uncertainty still ate at him. In one second, he wanted nothing more than to lie down and let them have their victory, and in another, he imagined himself rising to the challenge and smiting them at the last. He could find another one like Vanilla, he was confident, and in time, he could rebuild the foundations of his empire. They could put Equestria back together too, and in one unformed idea, he saw himself helping with the effort, ingratiating himself to the goddesses. Would it be worth the effort? Would anything? He wasn’t sure.

He banished Vanilla and sat on his throne, staring out the open doors into the orange of coming sunset, breathing the stale castle air, drumming the fingers of his lion paw on his knee, hating the world as well as himself.

* * * * * *

When Twilight found a map of the underground, she had walked from the church all the way to an offshoot of the commercial district, no closer to her destination. She was miles away from the airship lot, and hunger was beginning to take the place of magical exhaustion. There were drinking fountains and bathrooms, but nothing to eat, and she durst not go above, not knowing whether the Snowdrift Daturas were still looking for her. Her only comfort was that no one was guarding the airship; Octavia had sent her a note saying so, that Colgate had convinced them that the ship was connected to Twilight and would move with or without her being there, and that it was safer to not be nearby in the event of a sudden flight.

According to the map, etched on a wall and poorly illuminated, there was an entrance to the tunnels in the woods to the east of Umbrella Park, and it was between that and one under the southern warehouse that she had to choose.

Walking, there was nothing to do but think. There were twelve entrances to the catacombs all around Snowdrift, and one long emergency exit that purported to lead all the way to the mines under the Friesian Mountains. She looked back on their time traveling from Creation Lake, one party on the Gaia and one in Tartarus, and imagined how much worse it would have been if they had had to use what she was sure was a slow, energy-efficient rail system connecting mines to caverns. The train ride had been hellish; crawling down some claustrophobic tunnel all the way to Snowdrift, she could not imagine.

Even the best of friends get tired of one another. Twilight had not spent a single day of the last eight months on her own, none of the core group had. On reflection, it was a wonder to her that they had not argued more. Vinyl’s sanctimoniousness and high-flown ideals, Rainbow’s directness and insensitivity, Rarity’s obsession with appearance and the weird streak of anger she had kept buried since Manehattan, Octavia’s abyssal sorrow, Pinkie’s jubilation that waxed and waned with no apparent pattern but always seemed inappropriate, Applejack’s steadiness that made the others insecure, Fluttershy’s quiet hardness of spirit that surprised them no matter how many times she revealed it, Colgate’s alternating helpfulness and unreliability, and the hurt and discomfort Big Mac plainly wore and patiently waited for to subside. And of course, Twilight’s own reckless tunnel vision, her headlong plunge into what the others shied from, the actions that so clearly showed the mare she had become, what she at first called strength and only now could acknowledge was the beginning of wickedness. The accusation had come many times, and she had admitted it, but at those times, she had not truly felt it; she had felt like an actress in a play, miming feelings, going through the motions of confession and apology and personal growth. When she stopped blaming her friends for their failure at Discord’s castle, she could not say for certain that it was true, or that she had truly blamed them in the first place. Her feelings had become depersonalized from months of self-reflection, life pounding away at her. No emotion, however strong or unexpected, was free from analysis or from recognition as it came up. When she cried, she knew it; when she was excited, she knew it; always, there was some part of her that paid attention, that catalogued her feelings for inspection and explanation later on. Whether she was ever truly happy, or upset, or affectionate, or anything she did not know, just as she did not know whether her problem was unique, whether everyone in the world dealt with some form of emotional distancing in themselves and agonized over what it meant. Knowing her feelings in the moment, not giving herself over to them in whole, conferred a sense of control over them, made her feel like she could stop them or change them at any time if she so chose—and it was just that she never did choose to. The explanation for this, too, had come in time: not changing her emotions was easiest and led to the fewest questions, did not threaten the sanctity of her façade, if a façade it truly was. She was left to believe that there was always some deeper emotion to be found, some extreme she had not touched, and from that premise it was easy to want to find those extremes, to keep digging until she truly and honestly felt something in whole, until she lost that little, impartial part of her mind that rendered invalid everything she had felt before. It had to be possible, even easy, for ponies did it all the time; there was despair everywhere, incomprehensible joy, irrational love, blinding rage, and even the oblivion of ego death. If Twilight could achieve an extreme of any emotion, any absoluteness, she could be whole: so she thought. Why, then, not go out and force it upon herself? Why not purposely develop a life-ruining habit so she may feel total desolation, perhaps total disembodied pleasure as well? If it was what she wanted, then why be afraid?

This, too, was a conversation she had had with herself several times. Fear stopped her from pursuing the absolutes, even the pleasurable ones, but admitting it to herself brought no enlightenment. Whether she was numb, she did not know, for she did not know what it was to feel; she could define neither term in a way that was satisfactory, could find nothing to compare to anything else for a clue. She thought she felt, but if her senses were deficient, she would never know. She could ask a million ponies and get no closer to the truth, for their definitions would be individual to them, and bear no relation to Twilight’s. Every path brought her to the useless conclusion to keep digging, keep hoping to find something new inside herself, some platonic ideal that could not be mistaken or refuted. “Yes, this is it, this is absolute whatever,” she would think, and her doubts would be washed away, and she would have the key to find herself. She would know herself, and at last, the frightening question could be answered whether she was ultimately good or bad. Good ponies did bad things all the time, and bad ponies did good things. If she knew which she was, she could go about her life with that certainty, repair her soul if it needed it, and stop wondering.

In the catacombs’ dim light, however, she had arrived at one very simple thought only: “I forgot to wash this sweater last night.” She sniffed herself, found that her worries were unfounded, and trudged on.

Back at the airship, everyone tentatively sat down for a late lunch. It was five o’ clock, and all they had heard from Twilight was a repeat of her instructions to stay where they were, burned onto the note they had sent her earlier.

“She’s gonna come out of nowhere and tell us we have to leave immediately,” Rainbow said. “You know she will.”

“She probably has a plan,” Colgate said.

“Twilight needs hours to plan something. This happened suddenly, she’s flying by the seat of her saddle out there.”

“Versus!” Pinkie cried, hastening to let down the plank. Versus trotted up to them, teeth gleaming in a wide but tired smile, mane frazzled under two hoods.

“You’ve been here all day?” Versus asked. “You should have come down to the party, sillies. You had time.”

“We did not know,” Octavia said.

“Ah wanted to,” Big Mac said, smiling weakly at Versus, who looked back with the same happy expression she wore for everyone, and in which he saw the significant look he wanted to.

“Yeah, well, it’s too late now.” Versus pranced about the deck and dropped her saddlebags. “Everyone’s getting ready. I guess it’s going in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Ten or—” Applejack jumped up and ran for the wheel.

“Yeah. So…” She sobered. “I guess this is goodbye for real. I got you all something.”

“Aw, Versus, you didn’t have to do that,” Fluttershy cooed.

“I’m gonna miss you girls. Here, Fluttershy, this is for you.” She gave Fluttershy a small, glass paperweight, in which was suspended a brilliant pink flower. There wasn’t time for elaborate thanks or explanations for what inspired which gift, so a group hug sufficed.

“Where’s Twilight?” Versus asked.

“She’s not well,” Colgate said. “Downstairs. Ate a bad peach.”

“I just wanted to tell her that I’m not mad at her. I know you’re all up to some funky stuff, and I wanted her to know I didn’t hold anything against her.”

“We’ll tell her for ya,” Big Mac said.

She smiled at him again, and he blushed. “All right, I gotta get off. I can’t have you taking me along. Although, maybe… No, I’m kidding!” She bounded down to the ground and waved at them. “Good luck, and thanks for everything!”

“It was great to meet you!” Pinkie shrieked next to Vinyl, who conjured a little heart of pink light.

“Ah’ll write as soon as Ah can,” Applejack said.

“Can’t wait.” She raised an ear; the park was getting louder, the music swelling. “Oooh, it’s about to happen. Bye girls! Bye Big Mac!” She galloped into the snow and was gone, and a minute later, Twilight emerged from the other side, panting, pale, jacket stuck with pine needles and snow. She raced up the plank and, exactly as predicted, commanded them to get ready to go.

“They’re still out there, they’re coming. Applejack, that way.” She pointed. “No time to get it precise. We’ll make up the distance later. Everyone else, get ready.” She flattened her lone page on the deck.

“What’s that?” Pinkie asked.

“Oooooh, they comin’!” Colgate hollered from the gunwale. “Let’s go, ladies! Shake a leg!”

“This okay, Twi?” Applejack asked.

Twilight didn’t answer. She looked at the freezing, gray expanse of cloud and far-off forest, bent her head to the page, and activated a chain reaction of magic that started on the airship and branched out like a web of lightning to hundreds of points in the sky and on the ground, to every other page the snowstorm had taken, and which converged on the church, attracted to the wire she had planted, and fed the sigil below the city. A thousand voices cheered as Snowdrift was sucked down to a microscopic point and released to its full glory an instant later, and the airship, and all those like it, was gone.

Spiral's End

Chapter One hundred-sixteen

Spiral’s End

Had it not been for the wind, Twilight complained to herself. Had it not been for the wind, they might have landed neatly on the fields outside Draught Castle, sauntered in, put an end to the nightmare, and been in the air in time for dinner. She was sure her coordinates were correct and Applejack’s aim was true, but that damned Snowdrift wind had messed their course—and her own haste, she admitted to herself at the end of her internal tirade.

They had landed on top of a peaceful streambed somewhere between the castle and Furnace Creek. Twilight and Applejack frowned over a map and compass to figure out where they had to fly while the others took advantage of the moment, their excitement burgeoning out in a frolicsome display of laughter and splashing in the cool, rolling waters. Coats and jackets were doffed, shoes were kicked into a pile, and scarves were left to flutter on the deck. Octavia stayed in the shallowest part, wearing a hint of a smile as Colgate sought the muddy banks and rolled around, soaking herself. Rainbow, Pinkie, and Fluttershy joked and laughed under a hissing white sheet of water coming off the flat of a small stone rise. Twilight let them enjoy themselves for a minute before calling everyone back aboard.

“This is going to be a blessing in disguise, actually,” she said after everyone had dried off and quieted down. “We’ve got about twenty hours from here to the castle, that’s with Rainbow at the back. Not yet, Dash.” Rainbow halted and turned back to her. “I don’t know about you all, but I’m going to need that time to recharge. I used all my magic in Snowdrift.”

“You’re going to tell us what happened, right?” Fluttershy asked.

“How you somehow traded those scary crystals for a book page?” Pinkie offered.

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” Twilight continued. “For now, we need to head southeast. East by southeast, actually.”

“What are we going to do about Vanilla Cream?” Octavia asked.

“You said you could silence Discord,” Vinyl said. “You had a spell for that.”

“I do.” Twilight walked to the back of the ship to look out toward the Everfree Forest, which they could barely see as a black fringe on the horizon; several wide splits stood at its foot, beautiful from afar. “That’s the next spell I’m going to use after I dispel whatever sort of shield he has.”

“Won’t Vanilla be released once Discord’s entombed?” Fluttershy asked.

“He’ll go back home then,” Vinyl said. “I’m sure of it. He’s suffering here.”

“I think Vinyl’s right,” Rarity said.

“I feel sorry for him.”

“I would feel sorry for him,” Twilight said. “But, you know. All right, Rainbow, let’s get you set up, and then we’ll go.”

“We should all get some sleep if we can,” Big Mac said. He turned his head to the sky, where the sun was hitting noon for the fifth time in twenty-four hours.

“I’m going to sleep as soon as we’re all set here.” Twilight helped Rainbow install herself behind the ship in her cradle of magic and wind, and they were soon speeding along at twice what their engines allowed on their own, racing the sun over the grasses and plains, the speckles of forest and veins of creeks running through them, the patches of isolated farm land. Fields of wheat and barley yellowed in sunset, and the air turned cool once more. At eleven o’ clock, they crossed paths with a confused flock of geese, and Fluttershy, resting against the rail, reached a hoof out to them.

When Twilight woke, no one else was tired, and around midnight, with the image of dawn again whitening the pastoral wilderness, she knew there was no point in encouraging them to go to bed. Restless minds refused to settle.

Vinyl brought out her board game, and she, Twilight, Big Mac, and Rarity played in the middle of the deck while Twilight described what had happened in Snowdrift. Applejack kept her place at the front, Colgate with her, chatting and frequently laughing, while Octavia kept Rainbow company in the back. Pinkie joined Fluttershy at the gunwale, where she had watched the world speed by all day.

“Are you still mad at me?” Pinkie asked.

Fluttershy blinked back tears. Nothing specific had brought them on, only the world’s enormity and the bittersweet knowledge that her journey was almost over. She faced Pinkie with a guileless grin, slightly embarrassed at being caught in the middle of an emotional moment. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Oh! No reason!” Pinkie laughed, but quieted when Fluttershy did not join her. “I thought you were. You’ve been, I don’t know, distant.”

“We’ve all been having a hard time,” Fluttershy said.

“That’s oblique.”

“It’s nothing, really. You’re a bit, um, much, sometimes. That’s all.”

Pinkie giggled. “It’s not like I’m the Element of Laughter or anything!”

She serviced another smile. “I know, and no, I’m not mad. I’m sorry if I was ever rude to you, Pinkie.”

“All’s forgiven!” She wrapped a foreleg around Fluttershy and leaned on the rail with her. “You prefer the quiet, I get that. Hoo, I’m just glad it wasn’t something serious!”

“Were you worried about that?”

“Maybe a little.” Pinkie disconnected and raced over to the board game, where Twilight and Vinyl were laughing together, and added her voice to theirs. She came back to Fluttershy a minute later. “Maybe a lot, actually. My magic. I worry I haven’t used it as much as I should.”

Fluttershy thought about it. True, she had not seen Pinkie employ her magic outside of the occasional, conveniently summoned money, but it did not seem to her that Pinkie was under any greater obligation. They did not need it, for they had Twilight and Rarity for most of the strenuous tasks, Octavia for brutish demolition, Applejack for airship management, Rainbow for speed, and herself for healing. “I guess it depends on who you ask,” she settled on replying.

“It’s just scary.”

“Your magic?”

“The responsibility. I don’t want to be seen as a powerful pony.”

“I know what you mean.”

Pinkie looked at her. She didn’t need to explain, for Fluttershy saw it in her expression. She knew she had the greatest power of their group, and that she used hers the least; Fluttershy’s claiming to empathize appeared an empty gesture.

“I think it was on our way to Trottingham, or maybe we were leaving, Twilight explained my magic to me. My magic isn’t insignificant either,” Fluttershy said.

“I know. I remember Celestia saying that. But you just heal, so what’s the problem?”

“That’s what I asked Twilight. I thought my power was just outright good, but it’s actually really dangerous. What I didn’t realize, what she explained to me, was that no one has healing magic, per se. They have…” She shivered. The term bothered her. “Flesh magic. Healing magic doesn’t exist like how we think of it, because the magic doesn’t know the difference between healing someone or hurting them. Magic like mine can control, um, flesh, or influence it anyway, but it’s up to me how it gets applied.”

“Healing’s easier for you, though.”

“It’s easier for everyone, that’s because a body tends to heal itself naturally, so the magic is really just accelerating the process. But with enough power—and Twilight wasn’t sure if I had enough—you can overcome that tendency and start doing other things.”

“Nasty things,” Pinkie completed.

“She didn’t go into detail, and I wasn’t about to ask.”

“I get it now.” Pinkie nodded and put a hoof to her chin. “That’s why you don’t have to know how the body works to be a healer, ‘cause you’re just speeding up something the body would do anyway. That makes sense.”

“I told myself I wouldn’t ever try to use my magic for bad, and I haven’t.”

“But you know you could.”

“I could try. Maybe I’m lucky, maybe I don’t have the power for it. I’d rather never find out.”

“Responsibility,” Pinkie repeated, gently pulling one of Fluttershy’s wings. “It sure is a bugbear, huh?”

“If everyone keeps thinking that healing is all I can do, I’ll be happy. Is that sort of how you feel about yourself?”

“Except everyone already knows I have big power, so I can’t hide from it like you.”

Resenting her use of the word “hide,” Fluttershy gave Pinkie a tired smile. The two stood in silence as a dry forest came into view underneath a mantle of clouds. Lightning flickered inside, and Pinkie drew closer to Fluttershy. “I’m glad we’re friends, Fluttershy.”

She wrapped a wing around Pinkie. “Me too.”

The night came and went, the storm passed, the fields rolled ever onward. When they were four hours from the castle, they could see a diffuse smear of smoke in the far, far southeast: Moondrop, the site of Celestia’s imprisonment.

At the first wall, they landed in a smooth depression of dust and dry grass, tied the airship down, and assembled in its shadow. The sun and moon had sped up: the world was bathed in the eerie, silent pulse of day and night, fifty seconds each, both bodies’ movement visible to the eye. As it had been each other time they visited, the countryside was utterly still, the castle deathly quiet. Whether by design or coincidence, the immense and unbroken silence touched them all.

No surprises caught them at any of the three walls, nor any strange darkening, nor gloating letters or whispering voices of magic on the dry breeze. Twilight led the way to the throne room’s marble doors, her Element gleaming on her head, her friends’ on their chests, each an emblem of its bearer, to each a talisman of strength. Colgate scuttled in the back, her haversack tightly strung across her chest, her own Element loose inside.

“Last call,” Twilight said, stopping at the doors. “We won’t have time to talk inside, most likely. If you’ve got something to say…”

“Ah’m hungry,” Applejack said, and Pinkie laughed nervously. Twilight pushed open the doors and waited, but nothing met them. Just the cool, dry air; the quiet, pulsing sky; and ten sets of hooves on stone floor.

A grand oval, Draught Castle’s center was devoted to the royal courtyard, a massive window to which stood at the throne room’s back, situated between the armory and guard house, with a small vestibule occupying a nook where the armory tapered. Towers to the north and south rose proudly over all, serving as storage, as music halls, theaters, and sanctuaries for the princesses; these they could see through the window, their silent shapes in the flashing day, presiding over a threadlike bridge between and suspended four stories off the ground. There were no flags or crests visible on the walls, no tapestries.

Twilight’s horn was ready before Discord danced into sight, bells tinkling on an oversized jester’s hat and a wide cape of brocaded polka dots swishing at his back. He twirled into range at the end of the throne room, bowed, took a seat, and spread his paw and talon in benediction. “Welcome to Chaos Court,” he said. “What seems to be troubling you today, my citizens?”

No one broke stride to rush to him, and Twilight’s approach was measured up to the first pillar, where she stopped and cycled through her first spell, dissolving his shield.

“I didn’t want that anyway,” Discord said, standing and stretching. “Ready?”

“Are you?” Rarity asked.

“Then catch!” In a motion, he loped over the step to the throne while the heavy chair hurtled to bounce off Rarity’s shield. The carpet rose in a wave and the pillars cracked at their bases, the windows shattered, and the air was filled with a horrid skirl as he disappeared through the wall and into the royal vestibule, coming suddenly alive with the scrape and scrabble of thrown furniture. The Elements dashed apart, ears down, eyes rolling, and only regrouped when Twilight had extinguished the sound. The royal carpet sat in a ball at the entryway, motionless, and they could hear Discord’s feet pattering in the vestibule.

“What’s the move, Twilight?” Rainbow asked, catching her breath.

Twilight looked at her and trotted to the arched doorway, ajar to give them a look at the cracked marble floor and its master playing at balancing on one of the benches against the wall. In one swift move, Twilight barged through and splattered Discord’s face with a spell to silence him, so he could not call Vanilla Cream to his aid. Shaking his head, Discord gave them a wink and a grin before his feet went up under him with the bench, suddenly rising and upending him with a crack, chin to floor. Fluttershy brought the bench in a short arc to slam it into the back of his head, where it stayed, impaled on his horns, and burst into flames a second later with another spell from Twilight.

His body shook with laughter, and they had time enough to scatter again as he lunged across at them, the bench a fireball dragging a trail of soot across the sapphire-studded ceiling. Flames whirled and spat in a great, circular swing where they had stood not a second ago, his head wheeling around until the bench flew off to hit the wall and explode in sparks and black smoke, falling as a bed of cinders that popped and skipped on the reflective floor. Colorful plumes of magic flew and missed as Discord cartwheeled into their midst, mismatched limbs flopping on dislocated joints, teeth snapping and tongue lolling, eyes spinning, laughter seeming to boom out of his chest with the audible beating of his heart. For a few seconds, he and Rarity danced alone, she dodging out from under his stamping feet and he throwing his extremities at her, claws elongated like bola cords, hissing on the floor. A spell clanged off her shield as she bashed into Pinkie and Colgate, the three of them falling as the coals flew back at Discord’s face, mistimed and breaking on a pilaster instead.

He gave a second of peace when Twilight shoved him from Rarity, along with half the room behind him; and then he was dancing again, wiggling and sashaying in the dusty rubble until Octavia’s explosion tossed him like a doll, his wings fanning out as he was flipped out of sight. They followed, Vinyl’s horn alive with white light that she beamed into his face as soon as she spotted him, wagging his paw at a suit of armor. In the wild western sun flickering in from the room’s short, even windows, the armor rent asunder by his suddenly slamming paw was as a set of amber pieces, shattering on the floor, gaining wicked white teeth in the reflection of Vinyl’s spotlight. He was unbalanced for a moment, but then turned, clapped, sparked his heels, and spread his limbs wide as if to embrace the engulfing light that bloomed in answer.

Someone yelled a stream of curses, and Octavia threw a panicked explosion into the corner: a momentary blush of yellow coupled with the sound of falling rock and more magic, and Discord’s heart hammering overhead as he escaped into the second-floor crawl space. Fluttershy was bawling for everyone to settle, and some of them did. She ministered to Twilight’s eyes and then Pinkie’s, by which time the others were recovering on their own, enough to see that Discord was gone, slithered up through the pipes and out of sight.

Catching their breath, Rainbow set with back hunched to dragging armaments across the floor to lay them at Twilight’s hooves. Colgate stared through the hole at the bench’s glowing remnants, and Big Mac stumbled into her.

“You’re fine,” she said quickly, before he had completed his apology.

“Let’s get out of here,” Twilight said, waving a hoof at Rainbow to stop bringing her weaponry. She folded most of it into her magical space, leaving only a tower shield with a flaming, red horseshoe emblazoned on its face, pristine like all the rest of it.

“Above!” Rarity yelped, dashing back into the vestibule as the beating heart drew down. They followed her just as Discord crashed through the ceiling, dust and water spraying at their backs, and he was with them a second later, wriggling across the chipped marble floor, his ill-fitting Equestrian armor gouging a trail of dirty sulci. Twilight hurled a spear, which turned away from his chest on a diverting point of magic, and then tried to grab him. His heartbeat quickened, but he still just smiled, writhing on the floor, the sky and the sound of scraping armor a clash of sensations, the embers at the wall cooled to a dull red and casting all in a fevered light.

When Twilight tried to encase his armor in a coat of heating magic, and Fluttershy tried to shove him against the ground, and Octavia tried to blow him up through the ceiling, Discord wiggled and smiled still; and when one of their spells finally connected and sent him sprawling in the corner, his fur smoking under the scalding armor, he simply shrugged, threw his arms in the air dramatically, and doffed his pyramidal helmet. Pausing, he was thrown once more by an explosion and let himself roll off the shock wave to lie, toying still with the helmet. His eyes were bright as he flicked away another thrown spear.

The castle’s outer walls were of brick and mortar, tightly joined and twice as thick as those between rooms, and did not yield at once to Octavia’s magic, which she released in a frantic and uncontrolled burst when she saw how innocently Discord blew into the upturned helmet, how brazenly unconcerned was he with their attempts to harm him. Tinged blue, the magical wind of his breath filled its metal cup in overflowing, baroque swirls, which he then poured out with a flourish. Smiling contentedly, he rode the wind up and around from the corner out to the rest of the room, picking up chairs, throwing tables, smashing decorative sets of china in glass cases, tearing paintings off the walls, and rattling chandeliers. He was buoyed up to the broken ceiling and swung himself over to the Elements, bracing themselves at a crouch behind a disc of protective magic. Discord rode the gale in circles, one with the slamming furniture and the swirling embers, a Stetson on his head and a soundless “yee-haw” in his lungs, around and around while Twilight tried to break the spell. Something banged into Rarity’s shield and caromed into the chandelier behind, broken crystals and golden links of chain showering those in the back. Applejack ran for the armory, Vinyl at her heels, just as Discord came around again, his armor red hot and his eyes electric blue. Octavia’s next spell only spun him into the pillow of wind, and he flew forward to rake a fiery claw of magic over their backs.

Colgate yanked Twilight’s tail before taking off, and when Twilight followed, the others took her cue. Fluttershy was the last, her long tail catching as a portrait whirled past her, but they had no time. Discord was already upon them again, his winds unattended in the vestibule, and he advancing, vibrating with magic, the armor glowing white, smoking, sagging off him. Behind them was the wall to the courtyard, to the right the wall to the throne room, and to the left the armory’s other half, where waited a latched and chained door to the south tower.

Both parties jumped apart as a flash of dark magic hit the ceiling, Discord along the room’s curve toward the tower, the Elements stumbling back into the corner. Octavia, however, did not break her spell; she had a hold of something. Grunting and jerking her head back, she released it with a heavy crack of timber deep in the castle’s frame, letting fall a giant, decorated arch, arrises spiny with celestial ornamentation and architrave embossed with the royal sisters bowing to each other. Miniature suns and crescent moons flecked off as it slid through the hole she had created, dancing across the floor and spraying up at Discord’s back with a wave of telekinesis from Fluttershy. The vestibule wind stopped at a snap of his claws, and Discord put an arm up on the leaning arch for a second as if to catch his breath. This time, they were ready for his trick, and Twilight returned his spell with one of equal power, pushing back, splitting the arch in twain when he tried to smack it across the room at them; and the half she still held, she swung like a cudgel, a gilt brown blur that tore at the wall and caught him in the chest, pinning him for as long as it took him to teleport to the floor above. Rainbow, following, was the only one to see him jump out the window and into the central courtyard.

With the way clear, Octavia rent open the tower door, cast aside crates and sacks of goods, and let them into the courtyard, where Rainbow hovered, pointing though Discord made no effort to hide himself. He had coiled into a spring, bouncing gently on the clay tennis court, a racket in his paw and a tennis ball balanced on the crook of one wing. He had even summoned seats and filled them with illusory spectators, all of whom watched the Elements impassively as they trampled through a row of azaleas and up onto a walkway. Discord bobbed up and down patiently as they navigated the curving path, the dry fountains, the stout hedges that snaked all around between flower gardens alive with bees and butterflies; he was the tallest figure in the courtyard by far.

“Fancy a match, ladies?” one of the spectators called. Discord, still silent, leered with eyes half lidded.

“Enough,” Twilight said to herself, not quite angry, but tired, and put a lance of purple magic over a ring of stone benches and through the net into Discord’s nacreous shield.

“Foul!” one of the spectators called. “That’s a point for the champ!”

“You shut up!” she yelled, throwing another beam and scattering the illusion, dapper mares and stallions flying in a huff, spilling cups of tea and dropping spectacles on the flagstones. Discord shook in laughter all the while, his racket wielding a smaller shield to return the spell Octavia threw at him, coming back as winking orbs of energy to detonate over the court and on the bushes against Rarity’s barrier. Smoke rose where it landed, burning their noses as they closed the distance to come abreast of the court. Its clay surface was darkened with scorch marks, its net hung in tatters, the illusions gone but the chairs still scattered on the lawn. In a slow sweep to one side, Fluttershy picked them up and sent them Discord’s way, where they dispersed with a flick of his wrist. On the other side, Twilight forged into the gardens and waited for something to distract him; thinking something had, she grabbed at the back of his neck, only for the tennis ball to jump out of his grasp and shoot straight at her, bouncing off her shield and arresting her attack, popping into a fizzing pile of streamers a moment later.

Rounding on Twilight, Discord did not see what she did, Applejack and Big Mac laboring to push up a slab of clay, risen where a spell had cracked the ground. She locked her attention back on him, and his on her. Through bushes and clouds of insects, she dodged and jumped away from his burning magic while he twisted and turned from hers. He spun around suddenly, bringing up his lion’s paw, and this Twilight yanked back with the shivering sound of flesh turned out of place. His head pivoted, eyes dilated, mouth turned down, as the slab met his back with a righteous slap. For a second, he was planted in the warm earth, and Twilight had shouted the first word to bring her friends in to use the Elements before the slab broke apart on a tail of orange magic. In a motion too rapid for her to follow, he rolled and flew away, borne on the grass-green whorl of more conjured wind. The dust devil only carried him to the courtyard’s far side, where Rainbow was already waiting with a kick that left her stumbling in air and then pirouetting backwards from a taloned backhand. Pushing a statuette over, he shook his head, his eyes spinning comically in their sockets—still playing.

“He’s trying to tire us out,” Twilight said, galloping back to her friends, hastening to regroup, though Discord made no attempt to attack from where he stood. They stared at one another across the ruined tiers of walkway and manicured land, the thrumming sun sharpening shadows and making irresolute the paths. Their first break, allowing nerves at last to calm, breaths to slow, heads to regain composure. Discord wiped sweat off his brow, his tail waving lazily as he posed in front of a rectangular red and green window that marked the castle’s other side. He had crossed to the side that held the guest quarters and game rooms.

“So what do we do?” Vinyl asked. “Can’t we just blast him?”

“He needs to hold still,” Rarity said.

“Trap him under something heavy?” Colgate offered.

“That’s what we were tryin’ to do with that bit of court,” Applejack said, looking appreciatively at Fluttershy, who smiled to herself, dripping sweat with the exertion of throwing their load at him.

Discord summoned a pair of semaphore flags and waved them in great pinwheels, pausing only to blow raspberries.

“Go ahead, try us!” Rainbow barked.

Discord appeared to laugh to himself and banished the flags, smoky blue magic appearing in his lion’s paw and spreading in rapid vines as he pressed it against the wall. No forceful press, his, but a casual resting of paw to ashlar.

No one said anything, but Octavia darted ahead, throwing an explosion his way and briefly revealing his shield and burning off a bush of closed angel’s trumpets.

“Twilight! Shield!” she yelled, and Twilight stepped forward tentatively, mind not fully on her spell. The shape of Discord’s magic was beginning to follow the outline of a room in the castle, and her attention was caught, wondering what he had in store.

His talon came down on the wall with speed and purpose that belied his funny face, his cheeks puffed out and eyes crossed as he faced them still, head turned entirely around. The magic coalesced, and as Twilight broke free of her curiosity and marshaled another shield breaking spell, the walls shuddered in a wide curtain of dust. He stepped back, his shield sizzling away and he not sparing it a thought, the room sliding out slowly with him, cut from the castle. His steps were heavy—for with such a spell, his weight and the room’s were combined—and the pathway cracked under him. Coming out, the room was alive with flickering shadow, darkness touching contours of wall and brickwork, varnished countertop, brass rail, midnight-blue magic smoking evilly where it scarred the masonry, and then snarled pipes below, shattered floor, tilted shelves and cascading bottles of all colors and shapes falling and disgorging themselves at his feet as the room jostled free; everything slowly circling their way until Discord was hidden, an entire saloon gaping between them with the dark smoke rising thicker and thicker, as if the room might take off on a plume of rocket fire any second—which, roaring, it did, sailing like something out of a dream, a preposterous, bulky projectile, spilling itself as it came. They had scattered, seeing what he planned far before he actually did anything, save Octavia, who planted herself on the tennis court with the look of steadfast self-importance they knew so well. Those who saw her there saw too what she was going to do, and ducked in time to avoid being knocked off their hooves, while those who didn’t fell forward with the shock wave and scrambled to get under Rarity’s umbrella as the remnants of Octavia’s display rained back down. She had blown the saloon upwards, not outwards, and for one ringing moment, she could look up to see the mindless confetti of liquor bottles raining down from the strobing sky: sunset reds, forest greens, saffron yellows, rich browns, oily black tinctures and shining silvers discs of salts and garnishes in their cans, along with with paper and splinters, the disembodied husks of seats rocking in Discord’s dust devil where it wove around a square of charred marble floor. The field was strewn below a smoking sky, hers and his mingling in an acidic cloud.

Discord charged, clearing the smoke with a wave of his hands and receiving a bolt of lightning to his unguarded chest for the effort, throwing him back into the hole he had created. He lay for a second before jumping up with an expression of guarded nervousness as Rainbow took off in his direction, cutting her own way through the smoke. When she reached the saloon’s space, she looked around and then returned.

“Out of the open, come on,” Applejack yelled to Rainbow. They retreated to a row of trimmed oleanders behind a fat spiraling walk, leading up to a pair of ornate chairs bolted to the stone. The princesses’ chairs.

“He could be regrouping,” Twilight said. “We should do the same. Everypony okay?”

“Little winded,” Vinyl said. “But good to go.”

“My ears are still ringing from that last explosion,” Rarity shouted.

“It was a good one, though,” Colgate said.

“Yes, yes, but a little notice would have been nice.” She patted Octavia’s shoulder to show there were no hard feelings, and Octavia shied from it.

“Twi? How are you?” Big Mac asked.

Twilight tapped her horn to see whether any pain would travel down to its root. “Okay so far.”

“He doesn’t like us getting close,” Colgate said, hugging her haversack to her chest. “Everything he does, notice, it’s to keep us away.”

“So we’ll rush him next time,” Rainbow said, peeking over an oleander. “Where is he?”

“Twilight?”

“I can’t see him remotely without my sigils, and they’re on the ship,” Twilight said.

“Let’s just chase him, then,” Rainbow said.

Octavia sat and put her head against the cool stone. “Give me a minute.”

“If we can spare it,” Applejack said, closing her eyes. She opened them a minute later. “Lookin’ fer machines to grab. Nothin’ close by.”

“Good idea, though,” Big Mac mumbled, and she gave him a smile.

“He’s gonna have a trap ready for us,” Colgate said.

“I know,” Twilight said. “I’d like to have something too.”

“Something to keep him from using wind might be nice. My mane can’t—” Rarity jumped when glass shattered nearby, and Rainbow looked again.

“Tower,” she said. “Second floor. He’s… Oh, crap, run.” She took off to the sound of crashing water on the court, and a second later, the spray’s edge misted the tops of their heads. They ran after Rainbow, a straight line over scarred grounds and shards of clay, then over the nails and splinters and bottles from the destroyed bar, into the dirty stone hole from where it had been pulled. Water dripped from exposed pipes and ancient staples poked up from dirty baseboards. They crossed to a stairwell, which Vinyl lit for them in place of the extinguished torches on the walls, and they spiraled up to the second floor while more water hit the courtyard.

They slowly filed into a wide corridor, mercifully hidden from the sun’s race, and took a minute to let their eyes adjust while Discord’s noise continued outside. Through the nearest door was the royal library, liberally furnished and fenestrated; the straight lines and hard angles of countless tiers of shelves and ladders, and the perpendicular lines of books piled on tables, in the harsh black-white of a mad sky was a difficult aspect to take in, and several of them turned away in the open door. Twilight, however, made herself look on, her mind suddenly quiet. To her, it was a hallowed space. Never mind that the princesses’ books had been relocated centuries ago and those that she saw were of no value, placed by Discord for his own obscure purpose; and never mind that she had been in the superior library of Canterlot Palace more times than she could count or appreciate. Under the vaults swept with light, between towering shelves and busts of ancient scholars, her confused eyes found a statue of Princess Luna as centerpiece to a ring of reading tables. She was not in the powerful canter or regally overbearing stance in which most statues depicted the royalty, but in repose, curled on a fat stone cushion with a thick tome in the crook of one hoof. Draught Castle had been constructed after Nightmare Moon’s banishment, but built for two princesses anyway, Celestia’s way of showing that she still loved her sister and still wished to rule by her side. Even down to the facilities, the bathrooms and dressing rooms, the closets, the cloak rooms, the wings in the library tailored to each princess’ taste, the instructions in the kitchens for what they liked to eat, all had been made with two in mind, not one; and exactly half of the facilities had gone untouched for the time Celestia occupied the castle.

This Twilight knew, but the statue had caught her off guard. The sculptor had put perfect contentment on Luna’s face, the unamused but unhurried concentration of someone comfortable in her own space, simple and honest. Twilight approached, transfixed, blind to her friends dispersing through the library and deaf to the fact that Discord still had not found them. Her own suffering was nothing, she realized then, compared to her princesses’, but the thought brought her only anger. When she reached the statue, she put a hoof to Luna’s unshorn leg and stood there, looking up; Discord had marked googly eyes and a flopping tongue on the time-worn face.

Before she knew what she was doing, Twilight brought a guillotine of magic down on Luna’s midsection, grabbing the head and withers and averting her head to the spray of dust and stone. She wielded it around and faced her friends, who looked at her from all sides of the library’s main aisle.

“Y’okay?” Applejack asked.

Twilight turned back to the sound of water, still crashing outside. It had been going too long, surely Discord knew they were no longer there, she thought, running to a window and shading her eyes to look down on their former field of battle. A globe of water, summoned from where she knew not, fired down onto a circular garden, flinging a bird bath and destroying the flowers in a geyser of mud. The grass waved lazily, submerged in low places, pieces of the saloon floating on top. Her eyes ran the courtyard’s perimeter, where she saw the wall of golden magic that kept the water from escaping into the castle. She could not see Discord, but another ball of water fired out from not far off; she saw the twinkling pieces of glass under where he had broken the window with his first shot.

“He’s just a room or two away,” Twilight said, rejoining her friends. “He’s got magic around the courtyard and he’s filling it with water.”

“What’s with the head?” Colgate asked.

“Is everyone feeling okay? I want to find the door and rush in, hit him with everything we’ve got.” She indicated the floating statuary. “This is for him.”

“We saw a door over there,” Rarity said, and Rainbow flew to the section she meant. They cautiously crept between the shelves, waiting for a trap: the library to burst into flames, or the books to come alive and bludgeon them, or the shelves to domino down onto them. Nothing happened, and they stood abreast of the door, listening for anything besides thrown water.

Pinkie thrust open the door, but it only led them to another corridor, which they crossed before lining up against the next door and waiting a second time. This, too, she slammed open, and as soon as she did, Discord’s eyes were on them, shining with the same golden light as his magic, flashing from atop an unlit stage: they had found their way to the castle’s grand theater, the north tower’s second floor.

His paw shot up to catch Rainbow as she flew over the crowded seats, his talon fixed to the broken window as he created another sphere of water, which held for a second before shooting out into the growing lake, not a drop wasted on the wooden stage where he stood.

“Son of a,” Twilight mumbled, shuffling through her magic space and bringing out a full set of armor. It jangled against the stone head she had not bothered to tuck away before flying in a concentrated beam across the theater floor and into Discord’s midsection. He stumbled, looked her way, and batted Rainbow off his shoulder. Fluttershy was running, not flying, down the aisle, calling for Rainbow to be careful and to aim for his face in the same breath, and Pinkie trailed after her. No one stopped them, and when the stage lights switched on of their own accord and swiveled onto Discord, no one wondered whether it was his or Applejack’s doing.

“No explosions up here,” Colgate said to Octavia, who had positioned herself with her forehooves on the back of a seat, her dark mane trailing down to almost brush the floor, her Element dull against her chest.

Discord moved at the last second, just dodging an attack from Fluttershy, her magic flashing past his neck to fling the floorboards into velvet curtains at stage right. Where the curtains billowed, Rainbow darted and grabbed them to pull around Discord’s body, his arms flung out and waving comically as she covered his face; Pinkie dashed behind, grabbing his tail in a seldom-seen ball of magic, and yanked him off his feet. Water exploded behind the curtain, ballooning it out for a moment before soaking them and buying him enough time to rip the cloth from his body, its gantry snapping from the ceiling and taking a floodlight with it, swinging down and sharply banging the stage.

Twilight ran then, heedless down the aisle, hitting chairs and stumbling on steps, horn alight again and eyes on the thrashing tangle of limbs. The pegasi dipped and wove around him as Pinkie danced away from his swinging tail, trying to get in close to his head. Of the three of them, only Fluttershy was using her magic to hit him, but this she did only occasionally and without much effect; a pink barb would zap his chest or shoulder, and he would bring his claws up to it as if slapping at a fly. Unhindered, they distracted him until Twilight clamored onto the stage, then they ran apart just as she sent the statue’s top half tumbling through air right into Discord’s chest, where he caught it with a sickening crack. He struggled for a second as Twilight pushed down, twisting it to grind him into the stage, her magic fueled by the same anger that had possessed her in the library. He was vermin, he was cancer, he deserved to rot for eternity—and she didn’t notice when he teleported out from under her attack.

“He’s gone, Twilight!” Pinkie shrieked, and Twilight jumped, momentarily alarmed, thinking that Discord had adopted her voice before delivering an attack of his own.

“Out the window and across the pool!” Colgate called, racing down the aisle with the rest of them.

Twilight brought the statue’s head back and placed it in her magical space, dropping a few pieces of armor to give herself room.

“Look.” Colgate, still with her haversack clutched tightly, went to the wide theater window and pointed at a cataract of blue-green water. “Big stream now.”

“That lake!” Vinyl said. “He’s emptying it into the courtyard!”

“He’s summoning the water,” Twilight said to herself. “But that has to be draining his magic really fast. Unless he has… Look for a sigil.” She whipped around and ran across the stage, head swinging, eyes not really seeing anything. She was too frazzled, as were they all; the sun was getting to them, the noise, the endless magic, the sawing hum in the air from the same. In all of them, an electric sensation had taken hold and was slowly constricting even as adrenaline receded.

“Applejack, please shine those lights again,” Octavia said.

Applejack closed her eyes and brought the stage lights to life, and Octavia studied them. She saw it at the same time as Colgate, who trotted over and brushed the stage with her tail, the diffuse outline of a design inked onto one of the overhead lights.

“That clever boy,” Pinkie said, looking up, squinting against the light but not angling her head away.

“I’m bringing it down,” Twilight said, twisting the light off its rail with a shower of sparks.

Applejack shook her head violently. “You wanna give me a second to get back into myself before doin’ that, Twilight?”

“Sorry.” She dragged the light over and inspected it, its bulb hot behind the web of a sigil whose design she recognized. “That’s a summoning sigil, all right. He’s got it decked out with chaos magic, but the function is essentially the same. There’ll be another one at the bottom of the lake we passed.”

“You should see this,” Big Mac called from the window. Twilight went to him and followed his hoof where it pointed upwards, to the tops of the towers and beyond, disappearing: the golden shield that kept his water in, and a second one outside the castle walls.

“He’s filling this whole place with water,” Twilight said, thinking of all the books that would be ruined. “First the courtyard, then he’s going to let it flood into the castle itself.”

“Swimmin’,” Colgate said, receiving a stern look from Vinyl. As they collected themselves at the window, a second and third stream joined from higher up, adding hundreds of gallons every second to the drowning courtyard. The saloon was half underwater, its jewel-like bottles bobbing on the surface, scintillating with the flashing sky. The tennis court and lower gardens were placidly lifeless.

“Do be careful,” Rarity moaned as Rainbow flapped out of the window, hanging close to the wall.

“He’s on the ledge over there, but he didn’t see me,” Rainbow said, perching on the iron balconette.

“We need to immobilize him,” Vinyl said.

“Twilight’s got her Luna head for that!” Pinkie cried.

“Can you stop him from teleporting?”

“I can…” Twilight stopped herself, realizing what she had to do. “Don’t hate me for this. I bet I can find something in the library.”

“Research?” Rainbow yelled. “Now?”

Twilight gave her a dirty look.

“We can distract him,” Octavia said. “How long will you be, Twilight?”

“I can move pretty quick. I have a good idea what to do, I just need to figure out a few details. If you girls… I’m sorry about this.”

“We’ll keep him busy for ya, Twi! You got this!” Pinkie jumped up and hugged her, and Twilight hugged her back, unsure, assuming Pinkie was simply resonating with her Element. “Even here, even now,” she thought distantly, seeing herself outside herself.

“I won’t be long,” Twilight said, backing away, disgusted but trying not to show it. “Please be careful.”

Rainbow saluted, and they separated, Pinkie and Colgate at the head of the new group, charging for the corridor at the theater’s back with newfound energy. At last, a plan! The kicking of their back hooves in excited movement and the relieved smiles on some of their faces signed the renewed determination that erased fatigue and made hard points of magic in the minds of those who used it.

They ran through the staff dining room, faintly redolent with the smells of dinner but bearing no other signs that it had been recently inhabited, to the kitchen where Applejack insisted they pause for her to check for traps in the stoves, ovens, and grills around the circular room. It would take just one exploding at the right time to put them out of the fight, and Applejack took the time to inspect each one for irregularities while Colgate and Rainbow fidgeted and grumbled. When she felt they were safe, they followed the sound of water to dinnerware storage, a cramped room off the kitchen’s left side and affording but a tiny view to the courtyard. Day and night shimmied through a thick window over a huge, industrial sink, and falling water shook the room: metal racks held down under the weight of plates, saucers, bowls, ramekins, cocottes, terrines, cake stands, carafes, decanters, glasses, jugs, gravy boats, tea cups, coffee mugs, demitasses, copitas, snifters, chalices, goblets, tumblers, and more, everything rattling inescapably. They ran to the window with ears low, and from there could see Discord on a lounge chair under an umbrella, a coup glass of hot pink liquid resting precariously on the arm while the river poured loudly over his head from a sigil inscribed on the brickwork. The other two, and a fourth that had joined while they were in the kitchen, came from other places on the castle’s inner walls, spouting powerfully and fanning out white and green over the growing lake, no longer tranquil but boiling with rushing water.

“He’s not doin’ anything,” Applejack said. “Can we wait fer Twilight? Do we have to, uh, engage him?”

“If we can hurt him at all, then we must,” Octavia said, nudging Colgate aside to let her stand at the sink and look out.

“Cole said he doesn’t like to be approached,” Rainbow said. “How about me and Fluttershy go out and distract him again, and Big Mac can run out from the room behind him and give him a good kick?”

“Ah don’t like that plan,” Big Mac said.

“Ah’ll kick him,” Applejack said. “You reckon Ah can reach his crotch?” Though there was nothing between his legs that Applejack had ever seen, she had fantasized for longer than she cared to admit about bucking him there.

“Go for the reptile leg, just below the knee,” Colgate said. “He favors that side. Fluttershy, can you knit bones back together without setting them first?”

“I’m sorry?” Fluttershy asked.

“Ah’m ready,” Applejack said, back at the door. “Just say when.”

“If Applejack snaps his knee, can you heal him back so that his leg is bent wrong?” Colgate asked.

“I’ve… I’ve never tried,” Fluttershy said, hating the thought; even on Discord, she could not imagine inflicting something so ghoulish.

“Try it. Who besides Octy can’t swim?”

“He’s moving!” Rainbow called. “Okay, never mind. Just grabbing his drink.”

“He’s nice and relaxed,” Vinyl said, crowding the window, shoulder to shoulder with Octavia, who was the only one to hear her under the rattling room. “Should we be worried about that?”

“You should be worried already,” Octavia said.

“Who can swim?” Colgate asked again. “Come on, ladies, it ain’t a hard question.”

“I can tread water,” Rarity said.

“Same,” Vinyl said, horn glowing pale blue.

“Big Mac? A big hunk of stallion like you, I bet you sink, huh?” Colgate said.

“Ah can swim a little,” he said shyly.

“Pegasi, out the window and buzz him. Applejack’ll run through and break his leg, Fluttershy heals it out of place, and then if he does anything weird, we’ll have Octy bust the wall so we can follow him into the water if he falls.”

“We’re not jumping out there!” Rarity cried. “It’s way too far!”

“In case we have to, though,” Colgate said, grabbing a fluted schnapps glass off a rack and looking into it. “More likely, he’ll run for the other tower or scrabble up the wall. I saw the rooms on the roof, he might go for one of those. He likes going up, we see that, right?”

“I hear you, Cole,” Rainbow said, putting a hoof to the window. “Fluttershy, you can blow this for us?”

“Ah’m ready when y’all are,” Applejack repeated.

“One second,” Fluttershy said, readying herself. She counted down, and on two, Applejack was out the door, thundering through the kitchen and down the next hallway, her steps disappearing as the glass blasted outwards, too thick to shatter, disappearing as a whole pane into whitewater. Rarity shielded the pegasi as they went into the flashing air, and Discord jumped up at the same time, his umbrella pushed aside, his drink spilled on the balcony floor, his fists up. He was never faster than Rainbow, but after a couple failed swings, he connected with Fluttershy, grabbing one wing and holding her, kicking and twisting, at arm’s length.

“Come on, AJ,” Pinkie breathed, watching at an awkward angle, not able to see what Rainbow was doing, only Fluttershy snarling and trying to break free as Discord ducked and dodged. The pink barbs of magic resumed, and again, Discord slapped at them where they connected, simply not harmed by what Fluttershy chose to throw at him. A second later, his body crumpled and his jaws opened in a silent scream, and Applejack scrambled onto the balcony, kicked the glass into the water, and aimed a second kick for his mouth, which connected with an impact they could almost feel for themselves. The lion’s paw waved in a heavy glove of magic, striking the balcony with an impact that they did feel, knocking dinnerware off the racks and sending Applejack through the banister, the pegasi up over it. Balusters flew and Fluttershy, one wing useless, spiraled into a waterfall and disappeared.

“Wall,” Colgate said, slapping Octavia’s behind. They backed away and the wall burst outwards, the sink with it, the twisted pipes spraying yet more water onto the floor and into the courtyard. They could hear Rainbow yelling for help while Discord swung at her with his umbrella, which he finally just threw before turning and crawling out of sight.

“Up to the next floor, keep on him,” Colgate said, not looking back, running after Pinkie to fall fast and free into freezing, slimy water. Applejack was paddling toward a wall, Fluttershy dipping down helplessly on one wing and a pair of tired hooves, crying out and choking as Pinkie swam to her. Rainbow was down with them a second later, pushing a large piece of the saloon’s counter for Fluttershy to grab.

Above, Rarity took the lead out through the kitchen, down Applejack’s corridor, through the royal dining hall, all the way across the castle’s front rooms until they were above the vestibule where the roof had been caved in. On the other side, they found their staircase, and the four had to move slowly across sagging floor, all of them waiting for the sound of another attack. They had seen Discord’s pain and shock, and the true desire to get away as he scrambled up the walls; there was no taunting anymore, no cheek in his movement or bearing. He knew it was a proper fight at last.

Up the stairs, flinching as a fifth spout of water started up just outside their wall, they ran for the third floor. The castle’s main structure was only two stories tall, with the towers that bookended it rising to five and a few cupolas forming what passed as the third floor: a parlor, a meeting room, a salon, the breakfast room, and the solarium where they found themselves, looking around frantically for Discord and finding him in the sky over the lake, floating on a reflective cloud of magic as he wrapped his leg, frowning down at his work and leaving it when he spotted them.

He spun once, still under Twilight’s silence enchantment, and threw a small spell into the air to trace the words “brace yourselves” in gilt magic that sparked and crackled loudly when he sped toward them. Rarity renewed her shield as a mushroom of magic shot out and disintegrated the glass that formed their room’s walls and ceiling, and Discord landed, his broken leg hanging uselessly to one side and his face puffy where Applejack had kicked him, the one protrudent fang that distinguished his visage knocked askew. He did not hesitate; on the tips of his claws, beads of ball lightning snarled as he swung their way, flashing icy blue, moving as if in a flipbook as the sun and moon flew overhead, faster still, day and night blurring into eye-burning TV snow. Rarity’s shield spat like hot grease as he met her, his talon pressing down on her magic, their faces bitterly mirrored. He did not take notice when Vinyl put a spotlight onto his eyes, nor when Big Mac suddenly jumped from behind and charged his way. Only when those solid red hooves met his other knee did he break from staring at Rarity, and he fell, his tail lashing furiously and another explosion of repellent magic washing over their shield, only knocking Big Mac away, he who had ventured outside its protection to strike.

A potted fern flew to break over his snout, and then Octavia was on him too, hooves to face, battering once before his talons snapped with dancing electricity and thrust upwards to catch her under the flank as she tried to disengage. She seized up and rolled off, the smell of burnt fur filling the room, and before Rarity could grab a potted plant of her own, he was gone again, his teleportation spell leaving a faint outline of a frowning face in the floor.

“Someone get Fluttershy,” Octavia gasped, struggling on her back, leg up, muscle quivering, showing the ragged burn Discord had left. Dark blood oozed from the red flesh where her fur was singed away, a long gash that ran almost the length from her pelvis to her knee. Her chest heaved and she banged the back of her head against the floor, determined not to cry out.

“Do it. We’ll wait here,” Rarity said to Vinyl, who hesitated before taking off downstairs. The greenhouse was in shambles, soil and leaves everywhere with broken glass, the smell of acrid smoke and living plants mixing into a heady aroma which, with the eye-searing sky to which they had no recourse, threatened to push the overwrought ponies over into panic. Rarity’s head was pounding with magic overuse, but she was not about to say so; as in Applewood, as in Fillydelphia, she had told herself already that she was ready to see the end, even if it meant permanently damaging her horn. Big Mac sat still and tried to focus on breathing, heart racing, eyes burning and body aching from being tossed; he had landed back-first against a trellis of flowering peas. Octavia, prone and writhing in pain she refused to voice save for the occasional moan or shudder, had been sure that it was the death she unconsciously sought. Yet live they did, and their friends on floors below, they lived too. A few more minutes, and the fight would be back on, both parties tired and unwilling to stop.

Discord reappeared a floor above, floating on the bridge that connected the towers and watching them, glowering. Rarity brought up a preemptive shield, but he did not throw any magic at them, just turned and began moving across the bridge, his legs tucked up under his tail. Two by two, sigils appeared on the bridge’s sides and released more water into the rising courtyard lake, which had already overtaken the first floor. Octavia, Rarity, and Big Mac waited, their only option watching the water come faster and harder with each new pair of sigils, gradually rising to lap against the broken theater window, the golden shield keeping it from flooding in where Twilight studied and where Fluttershy worked to heal her wing. Discord brushed the bridge’s silver rails, almost affectionately, his head turned resolutely away from them, as if daring them to attack again with their team halved.

When the door opened, they were whole again, Twilight with a book floating by her head and talking breathlessly about the mechanics of her magic while Fluttershy raced to Octavia and began administering what energy she had not spent on herself.

“Everyone okay?” Rainbow asked. “We got back in through the theater window. Thank Celestia it’s so wide.”

“We broke his other leg,” Vinyl said. “Didn’t really stop him.”

“Did you manage to heal it wrong before you fell?” Colgate asked.

“I’m not going to do that, Colgate,” Fluttershy said a minute later, when Octavia’s wound had cicatrized. It was the best she could do without completely depleting herself.

“How’s everyone’s magic?” Twilight asked.

“Exhausted,” Rarity said, “and ready for more.” She seemed to speak for them all, and without a second look, Twilight took them back down to another set of stairs in the tower and up again to the fourth floor.

“This is Princess Luna’s tower,” Twilight said. They had come up through the floor into a room of gears, pipes, lenses, and carefully labeled shelves stacked with jars and weights. “I’ve read about this room. Princess Luna’s bedchamber is above us, the top of the tower, and across this bridge is Princess Celestia’s room. You can see the telescope above it, that’s the observatory.” Her voice quieted. “She looked in on her sister every day from that tower. Every single day.”

“An’ this room?” Applejack asked, looking curiously through a teardrop of glass at the magnified engraving behind it.

“This is the science room. Princess Celestia liked to experiment with machinery back in the day. It was nothing like today’s technology, but…” She went to the bridge’s foot and looked out at Discord, who had turned and was floating back their way. “Get ready.”

“When are we gonna hit him with the Elements?” Pinkie asked.

“When he’s immobile,” Twilight said. “As I have said. Not yet. And I need to take away his ability to teleport too.”

“Anything we can use in here?” Rainbow asked.

“Any resonating crystals would be great, and some magnifying lenses if there’s no crystals. Something to hang them on, too.”

“There’s a whole drawer of crystals over here,” Applejack said. “How do Ah tell if they’re resonatin’?”

“Keep him busy if he comes at us.” Twilight ran to the drawer and dug through it, grabbing up a gear and a bundle of copper wire and floating them over her head with the book.

“These brass shapes,” Colgate said, grabbing a long rib off the floor. “You can put these together in the shape of one of Twilight’s sigils.”

“What?” Octavia asked.

“These and those over there, look.” She went and grabbed another one. “Curvy and branching, see? Sigil.”

“What good is that?” Rainbow asked, eyes on the bridge, on Discord’s leisurely approach.

“Those are copper, not brass,” Twilight said without looking up. “Copper conducts electricity. She was trying to see if electricity can be used in place of magic if you run it through a sigil.”

“Ah take it that it can’t?” Applejack asked.

“It can at like ten percent the output. You’d need—what’s the number? I read it not too long ago.”

“Concentrate on this, darling,” Rarity said. “He’s coming. Not fast, but he’s coming.”

“I can talk and work at the same time.” She paused, wrapping a gear in the wire and coating it with a bright skin of magenta magic. “Anyway, no, you’d need close to two miles of copper wire or something ludicrous like that, packed into a sigil shape, in order to get enough magic power to lift a book. It’s just not efficient, but she didn’t know that at the time, obviously.”

“He’s waving,” Pinkie said. “Can I throw something at him?”

“Do you need to ask?” Rainbow grumbled.

Pinkie hefted an empty urn, the paint on its side faded, and threw it Discord’s way on a small arc of magic. He flicked it off and into the tumbling waters, his advance not hesitating until he was close enough for them to make out the contours of his miserable frown.

“Now would be a good time to use that magic, Twilight,” Rainbow said, looking defiantly at Discord even as she shrunk against Big Mac.

Twilight looked up, and Discord looked back at her. For a second, it appeared he would do nothing, that the fight had gone from him.

He clapped twice, the sound of even that muted from Twilight’s old spell, and the noise outside doubled, deafening, a ceaseless roar of water as the entire courtyard wall opened in a stripe of sigils, letting the lake go in a monstrous torrent. He shrugged, turned, and floated back down the bridge toward the north tower.

“Water’s coming up good!” Colgate shouted. “Five minutes, I’d reckon, ‘til we’re drinking!”

“Okay,” Twilight said, coiling her wire tighter around the gear, a few crystals hooked in and dangling. She caressed it with more magic until every inch of exposed wire glowed perilously, enchanted and hot. When she was done, she sighed and smiled lightly to herself, and nodded to her friends. “This will keep him from running away.” There was no need for her to shout; she could make her voice as loud as she needed with a simple spell that tickled at the base of her throat.

“Then let’s go!” Applejack cried, galloping away from the ormolu scales she had been ogling and taking off across the bridge. Over the castle courtyard, over the wings of falling water and the terrific sound of intussuscepting lake, they ran, Applejack at the head, ten friends tantivy under the sky’s throes. Cool wind touched their fur, and the countryside seemed to sigh with it outside the castle walls. The world beyond had become a gray image.

Through Princess Celestia’s hallowed bedchamber, up the silk-curtained stairs to the top of the north tower, they ran single-file to the observatory, where Discord was already at work making as much wreckage as he could. Star charts were shredded, metal plates depicting star positions were thrown out into the water, looking glasses were smashed, measuring implements bent and snapped into pieces; he stopped and gave the Elements a strained grin.

“Didn’t see why you wanted to silence me for the longest time, Twilight!” he yelled.

“Then be silent again,” she snapped, repeating the same spell and catching him mid-retort. An explosion rocked him on his cushion of magic as Rainbow rushed him again, diving away from a scythe of searing magic and landing awkwardly on the floor under his crossed legs, then rolling and crawling for shelter under the telescope’s platform, a heavy disc suspended from the walls that it may rotate independently.

A ball of fire plumed against Rarity’s shield, and they finally heard her cry out, the sound they had heard plenty of times before, of her resolve buckling and her magic going out. Their protection was gone before the fire, and they jumped and skittered back as tongues of flame found the floor and caught. Over one, Twilight jumped, swinging first the statue’s head and then the armory’s contents in a comet tail of metal and sound that overturned Discord off his magic cloud for a moment—a moment too long, for as he struggled, Fluttershy was on him, dragging him with savage force under the telescope’s platform as she squeezed in and Rainbow squeezed out, and as Twilight cast the spell to let her enchanted wires do their job. The room hummed, numbing their ears to the water, and where Discord flashed under the platform, he lay in the remnants of a dissolved teleportation spell.

When Fluttershy was out and Discord could only crawl by his arms, Pinkie cut the web of cables to let the platform fall, pinning him to the floor. The roof creaked and shingles slid outside, and delicate glass broke within the telescope’s white body, and Discord coughed, his voice back again.

“Vanilla!”

The Elements gathered in a line, side by side, jewels aglow and ready for release, and Discord’s eagle claw elongated in a tube of magic, grabbing at them.

“Hey!” Vinyl stumbled back, the claw groping her chest, Discord’s face disfigured and enraged, neck lengthening and vertebrae popping, diminished magic snapping in points off his horns.

“Kill them! Kill them all!”

The Element of Empathy came off, its golden chain flying apart as Vinyl stumbled forward, and in a heart-freezing second, the little black jewel was over the floor and through a window.

Yet the magic remained.

Vinyl backed away, the only one to see what happened next, the only one not caught in the Elements’ tempest. Colgate withdrew her hoof from her bag, slid something around her neck, and took Vinyl’s place between Octavia and Rainbow Dash, and then a light brighter than the insane sky, a sound greater than the hurricane of water threatening to overtake them, a heat like the sun fallen to earth, and a stridor of ambient magic in full cry consumed the observatory. All the colors of the rainbow fired up, around, filled the room, reflected and refracted off glass and metal, burst through the windows, made the top of the tower into a firebrand. She screamed, unheard, and Discord did too.

* * * * * *

Everyone was gathered in Umbrella Park, Versus and a few priests standing atop picnic tables, watching the sky flicker through the thick clouds of a Snowdrift blizzard. They were too far away to see anything, but years later, the story would be that Versus descried a pinprick of light in the east, where the Elements ended eight months of strife and put Discord to rest.

* * * * * *

On a couch in suburban Canterlot, Wings and Jet held each other and watched the news. Canterlot’s false sky still declaimed late afternoon, but outside, they were getting a half second of day and a half second of night, as though the planet were hurtling through space. They didn’t speak, just watched.

* * * * * *

“They’ll be okay,” Granny Smith said. She stood on the orchard’s edge with the Cutie Mark Crusaders and half the farm’s workers, watching, not sure where the Elements were and so defaulting to face Canterlot, the divine seat of the diarchy.

* * * * * *

In the dust and heat of Appleloosa, Braeburn did much the same, sitting on the tracks, resting against a motionless train car, fiddling nervously with his hat. He was alone, and he sent up a whispered prayer to Celestia to deliver his cousins to safety.

* * * * * *

In the nuclear noise of Moondrop’s crater, working without avail to free her sister, Princess Luna was not aware of the world outside, nor of the Elements’ work, nor of the breathtaking immediacy with which appearances returned to normal. The second Discord was stone, the illusory sky blew away and the true sun emerged, right where it was supposed to be, moving as it ought. Luna’s unseen work in her sister’s stead was at last vindicated, but she would not be there to see it until hours later, when Celestia finally overwhelmed her prison and broke free in a volcanic outpouring of magic, enough to melt a hole clean through the floating continent.

* * * * * *

When the Elements had cooled off, and their bearers had regained their senses, they could only look around. The sky was still, the water rushing down and out through the castle in the absence of its containing spell. Discord was a contorted figure of dull granite under the telescope platform, which no one had the strength to push off him. His arm stuck out, frozen where it had grabbed Vinyl’s Element off her chest.

They looked at each other, and Pinkie, naturally, was the first to laugh. It started with a demure giggle before escalating to a scream, and then moved back down to a torrent of guffaws that soon saw everyone else joining in, legs linked in a group hug, nervously triumphant chatter entangled with gales of feckless joy. Colgate kissed Octavia on the lips, Applejack shook her mane back and forth wildly, Rainbow burst into song and flew out the window.

“The water’s flooding through the castle,” she said when she at last flew back to them.

“Let it,” Twilight said, dropping the rest of the materials she had been holding.

“So…” Vinyl began.

“I want to wait here a minute. First, I need to do this.” She put a spell to Discord’s statue and held it for several seconds. “Good. Checking that he’s actually petrified, and it’s not some sort of trick.”

“We know it can’t be, the Elements went off,” Rainbow said.

“It doesn’t hurt to be sure.” She walked around the destroyed telescope, looked through the eyepiece experimentally, stood in the sunlight through the tower window. It was time to go, yet to Twilight it felt wrong to turn and leave so abruptly, and she thought she could see the same feeling in some of the others. Pacing nervously, not sure what to do with themselves, her friends shared the reverent silence which was not silent at all, but felt that way.

It was over. To think it, let alone say it aloud, felt foolish, as if giving the feeling voice would invite another trick. They could only stand around and look at the statue, the bared fangs and wild eyes, the horns whose tips were scarred from his final discharge of magic. He was still alive in there, and they knew it. He could be made to die, but not by them.

The water shut off on its own after close to an hour, his chaotic sigils fading, and only then did the friends go across the bridge. The courtyard was a sea-green marsh, the room he had ripped out of its frame as bedraggled and anonymous as a sunken ship, the tennis court washed away, the flowers limp where they had been scattered and gleaming where they had held to their gardens. Down through the tower they walked, their energy and excitement spent; they had barely slept the night before, a fact which caught up with most of them by the time they had reached the ground floor. They went back around to the armory, where Vinyl held them up, looking through to the courtyard.

“What’s wrong, Vinyl?” Applejack asked.

She patted her chest. “I didn’t—I mean, he yanked it off me at the last second. Threw it out the window I think.”

“Out here,” Fluttershy said, walking to a nude slope and poking through the begonias that had washed down to its base. The Element of Empathy had landed in them, its chain shattered, the black gem shining dully on crimson petals.

“He pulled it off of you?” Octavia asked.

Vinyl shrugged. She didn’t know what to make of it, except that whatever it was, whatever the implications were, it could wait.

They marched through the front doors, many of them turning back to give Draught Castle a final close look, and squished over the grass between the outer walls. On the airship, leaning dangerously in the newly-formed mud plain, they stood under the balloon and at the gunwales, looking at the world, while Applejack got them running and Rarity read the letter waiting for them on the deck.

“It’s Vanilla,” she said. “He’s gone back to Tartarus, and he thanks us for destroying Discord. He says it took us long enough.”

“He’s not wrong,” Rainbow said.

“Discord told him to kill us,” Pinkie chirped, skipping to Rarity’s side. “It say anything about that?”

Rarity turned the page over. “‘In answer to the question Pinkie will ask, Discord never said when to kill you, or for that matter, who. He said to kill them all. Kill whom? He had no time to clarify.’”

“Gotta love technicalities,” Applejack laughed, shaking her head. “Hoo-wee, an’ we’re off. Take one last look, girls.”

The cold breeze of waxing winter, the golden sun secure in the west, the smell of grass, the chug of their engines, their hoofsteps on the deck, the light and unbelieving banter, the birdsong: some of them cried, some just watched the great and ruined castle recede into memory.

Fireworks

Act Five

Overflow

Pounding my head once more against the palace walls.

Chapter One hundred-seventeen

Fireworks

Whether crying tears of joy or pain, whether beset with confusion or relief, everyone was on the deck to witness Princess Celestia roaring across the sky on a spear of flame that shook the air long before and after she had passed from sight. At the time, they did not know it was her; a letter from Princess Luna, an hour later, clarified the matter. The entanglement of spells that had kept Celestia trapped had to be maintained every couple hours, and with Discord gone, it had taken her hardly any time to break through. Luna spared the details, to Twilight’s chagrin.

“I’ll add this one to the pile,” Twilight said, taking the letter and stowing it in one of her bags. Everything she had been carrying in her magical space, she had released to the cabin shortly after they took off. A sigh of unburdening had escaped her unconsciously, and she took a minute to stand among all the stuff, hers and theirs, relishing the newly empty space in her mind. “And then…” She looked at her friends. “I don’t know. I guess we’re going home.” She laughed to herself. “We’re going home.”

“We’re going to Canterlot,” Rarity said. “Surely we are, right?”

“We can decide when we get closer,” Applejack said. “Fer now, Ah know we’re all excited, but it’s ‘round five days before we get anywhere.”

“Is that with me giving us wind, or without?” Rainbow asked.

“With.”

Grumbling, Rainbow got up from where she sat next to Big Mac and headed for the poop, but Twilight stopped her.

“Stay, Dash. Take a break for today.”

Rainbow vacillated, but, smiling, returned to the group. “Yeah. Okay.”

And they talked. They talked into the night, repeating every moment of the fight, every crucial choice, every small mistake, unpacking each individual surprise, tension, and triumph over the course of their struggle. From the castle, they talked then of Snowdrift, and, moving backward, reminisced over everything else. They described their time in Roan to Colgate, and Applejack recounted to her what death was like. They spoke of Hoofington, of Octavia’s mansion, of the Astras and their crow, of Thunderhead and the way in which Octavia had bested him.

As night fell, and joy overtook exhaustion, they got out the cards and chips and sat on the deck to play. Pinkie sang a song and produced a bag of coffee for Applejack to brew, and Vinyl joked to uneasy laughter that she should have produced a bottle or two of wine.

“I feel like celebrating,” Rarity said expansively, and they chuckled. “Let’s start with anaconda, threes are wild.”

“What is an anaconda, anyway?” Octavia asked. Her inner thigh was red and ugly and wrinkled with scar tissue, its hair burned away, and her movement was stiff; she gave no indication that it pained her.

“We don’t have them in Equestria,” Fluttershy said. “They’re a type of big snake that lives up close to the equator.”

“I hate snakes,” Vinyl said. “Close to the equator. That’s where the changelings are, right?”

“That’s right,” Twilight said, passing her cards. “I’ve never met one that I know of. I’d like to.”

“There was a girl in med school who we thought might have been one,” Colgate said. “Never confirmed.”

They were quiet for a moment, concentrating on their cards, before Octavia broke the silence. “Colgate, why do you have an Element of Harmony?”

“Okay,” Rainbow broke in. “I didn’t wanna say anything ‘cause no one else was, so I was like ‘maybe this is something Twilight and Cole worked out earlier and forgot to tell me.’ Colgate.” She faced Colgate, who, her hourglass Element catching the faintly growing starlight, made herself not shrink into the deck. “Why in Tartarus do you have your own Element of Harmony?”

“It wasn’t something she cleared with me,” Twilight said. “I just… I didn’t say anything because… I don’t know.”

“No one wants to start something like this so soon after victory,” Vinyl said.

“Well, now it’s started,” Applejack said, passing her cards to Pinkie.

“It was when you went south, wasn’t it?” Rarity asked, an edge in her voice that Applejack caught immediately.

“All right, before we get riled up, Ah wanna say somethin’.” She stamped her hoof once on the deck to get their attention, fragmenting already as questions sprung to everyone’s minds. “We beat Discord, ya hear? Whatever it was that happened out there, the result is the same. So obviously Cole havin’ her new Element either helped us, or at least didn’t hurt. So let’s try to keep things nice, all right?”

“I wasn’t going to be mean,” Twilight said, and, after a moment of thought, added, “but I can understand thinking I might be. I’m actually just, I don’t know, kind of shocked.”

“I think we owe Big Mac an apology,” Fluttershy said. She passed her final card and threw a chip into the middle.

“Please, don’t,” Big Mac mumbled.

“The glamour!” Pinkie cried. “Oh my gosh! That’s right!”

“You don’t gotta say anythin’.”

Pinkie clapped Colgate on the back, and Colgate flinched. “You’re with us for a reason after all, little buddy! Fancy that!”

“And no one believed him,” Vinyl said, horn aglow turquoise.

“Yeah, including you,” Rainbow said.

Vinyl’s horn dimmed. “Point made.”

“We don’t have to talk ‘bout this,” Big Mac said louder. “Ah was right in the long run. Good fer me. Ah’d like to just ferget the whole thing ever happened.”

“I think that’s fair,” Twilight said, looking over her cards. She frowned at Rarity, from whom she had received the discards. “Whether Big Mac was right or not is irrelevant now. That being said, and for what it’s worth, Big Mac, I’m sorry for doubting you.”

He raised a hoof, eyes rolled back, his sign of discomfort.

“And that’s all I have to say about it. I’d rather talk about Colgate.”

“How long had you been planning this?” Octavia asked.

Colgate looked from Octavia to Twilight, trembling. No one had made any threats yet, but that meant nothing. Everyone was happy that Discord was defeated; revenge was probably not on their minds. There was always later.

“We’re not mad at you,” Rarity repeated.

“It came to me first in Tartarus,” Colgate said, not trusting in the power of dishonesty to protect her. “We had your stuff, right? Like your papers and things, and the Element designs were in there. I looked at ‘em, remembered what Big Mac thought about me being with you all in the mines, and I thought—I don’t know, I didn’t think I guess. But I decided that was my purpose. Splitting up in Snowdrift, that was the time.”

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t have some kind of intuitive power?” Twilight asked.

“I’m just lucky.”

“Gutsy, more like,” Rarity said. “Dear, what did you call your Element?”

Colgate looked down at her Element again, glassy crystal shot with gold and blue, much more distinctive than the cutie mark it imitated. “Element of Adventure,” she mumbled.

“You know what?” Twilight asked, nodding. “That’s not half bad. To be honest, I was afraid you were going to say something like ‘the Element of Medicine’. No, good choice, Colgate. That’s… quite workable.”

“I like it too.”

“I’m confused,” Rarity broke in. “I know nothing bad happened, but isn’t this a big deal? Bigger than we’re treating it? If I’m understanding this right, did she not stand to ruin our entire setup by suddenly including a fourth Element?”

“I didn’t,” Colgate blurted, though it was the possibility of exactly what Rarity suggested that had terrified her—rather, the retribution for doing so.

“No, the worst she could have done is nothing,” Twilight said. “Hang on.” She considered her cards for a minute, threw a defiant look at Vinyl across form her, and raised. “An individual Element is no better than a pulse crystal; their power is in how they combine, not what they can do on their own.”

“So no harm, no foul,” Applejack said.

“I wouldn’t exactly say that. There’s still a lot of implications for this down the line.”

“Having four is no worse than having three,” Octavia said.

“That’s true.” She looked again at Vinyl, staring assiduously down at her cards, her face failing to hide the dread she felt. “I actually think the more interesting thing is what happened to Vinyl. We found her Element on the grounds, detached.”

“Discord grabbed it off me,” Vinyl whispered.

“And threw it out the window. So…” She rubbed her eyes and folded. “Applejack, I think I’d like some coffee after all. Thank you.” She sipped gratefully at the cup passed to her. Her mind was exhausted, her magic drained, and analyzing the implications and mechanics of the Elements of Harmony felt beyond her capabilities. She was tempted to throw her cards down and go to bed, but knew that it would not be fair to leave her friends in suspense.

“Everything worked even though Vinyl wasn’t wearing her Element at the time,” Fluttershy said. “Can they fire if you’re not wearing them? Maybe it was close enough anyway.”

“No, you have to be in contact with the jewel for it to work.”

“An’ Vinyl wasn’t,” Big Mac said. “Does that mean hers was broke?” She frowned at him, but he didn’t look at her.

“Let me think for a minute.” She took a long sip of coffee and again pushed back the temptation to call it a night.“Vinyl’s Element doesn’t fire because she wasn’t wearing it. That means that the Elements don’t work at all. But they did, so something replaced hers. Did Colgate replace Vinyl? Or maybe only the six of us fired and the other three didn’t. They’re separate from us, they might not have been necessary in the first place. That would be good, we could just find a way to destroy theirs and go back to six Elements. That’s one big headache we’d save.”

Pinkie stuck her tongue out at Rainbow, who had raised yet again, and who grinned behind her cards.

“Octavia, Big Mac, did your Elements actually go off?”

“I cannot imagine what else could have happened,” Octavia said.

“You’d know it if they did.”

“Then I would say so. It was quite an unmistakable feeling.”

“So yours worked anyway. So that means…” She took up the cards to shuffle them. “If Vinyl’s Element was gone, you three wouldn’t have been able to use yours, even if Colgate was there with an extra.”

“Why not?” Big Mac asked.

“Colgate added one, but Vinyl’s was still missing. All that would have changed was you had three out of four, instead of two out of three. See? It would have been the same problem. But, your three worked without Vinyl’s.”

“I replaced Vinyl,” Colgate said.

“You can’t just replace one Element with another, unless the one Element wouldn’t have worked anyway.” She averted her eyes tactfully, waiting for the others to understand her conclusion. She beat back the cruel temptation to state the obvious to Vinyl’s face: “See? You weren’t one of us after all. You were never good enough friends to be an Element of Harmony.”

“Does it mean what Ah think it does?” Applejack asked. “Ah don’t wanna say it.”

“It means I wasn’t in harmony with you,” Vinyl said. “That’s right, Twilight? I can tell by your face that you want to announce it.”

Twilight took a deep breath, but said nothing, eyes still on the night sky.

“Darling, how can that be?” Rarity asked. “I always thought you were a part of us. Twilight, is it possible the jeweler made a mistake with Vinyl’s Element?”

“That’s always possible,” Twilight said, not believing it.

“Yeah, she just so happened to do three perfectly, and mess up mine,” Vinyl said.

“Think of it this way, Vinyl. Now you can go chase your music career without worrying if it’ll break apart the Elements!” Pinkie cried. “See? Everypony’s happy after all!”

“You’re the only one that’s happy, Pinkie.”

“Oh, okay!” Her tone had darkened. “Sorry! My bad! I didn’t know we were supposed to be miserable again!”

“We’re not doin’ this!” Applejack snapped. “Again, it’s done, it’s over. Discord’s a statue, it worked. How it worked, an’ why, it’s complicated, but the fact is it’s done. Vinyl’s Element didn’t work fer some reason, an’ Colgate’s did. None of that changes the fact that Vinyl’s been a good friend of ours fer a fair piece of this journey.”

“Not as good as we all thought, obviously,” Vinyl murmured.

“An’ while Ah do think yer entitled to feel sorry fer yerself a little bit, Ah’d respectfully ask that you reign it in some.”

“Why?” She tossed a look at Octavia. “Is there room for only one moping mare on this ship?”

“I would appreciate it if you did not drag me into this,” Octavia said.

“Well you’re an Element of Harmony now, aren’t you? Seems to me we’re all in this already. No? Do you want to get out now? Trade ya!”

“Do you hear yourself, Vinyl?” Twilight asked. Something in her tone brought the deck’s attention straight to her. “When you talk, I mean. Do you hear what you say sometimes?”

“Rainbow was right, Twilight, you are a bitch.”

Twilight smiled thinly. “That has been well established, thank you. Do you want to know what you are?”

“Go right ahead, I can tell you’d love to.”

“Why are you so defensive?” Fluttershy asked.

“Ah said we’re not doin’ this!” Applejack yelled. “Twilight, you know she’s eggin’ you on, an’ Vinyl, yer better than that!”

“Apparently not!” Vinyl barked; in her voice, it was a fragile objection, difficult to take seriously despite the rich brown light that bathed the circle from her horn.

“Can you shut the hell up?” Rainbow moaned. “It’s no wonder your Element didn’t go off, you lash out the second something goes wrong.”

“Well!” Vinyl stood up and threw her cards down. “I…” She sniffed, and they realized then that she was crying behind her goggles. “Yes. Fine.” With that, she retreated below the deck.

It was several minutes before anyone spoke, some of them waiting for her to reappear and resume the conversation. Twilight cleared her throat. “I couldn’t have said why her Element didn’t work back there, but I think Vinyl just provided us with a pretty convincing demonstration.”

“She’s insecure,” Fluttershy said. “She’s too worried about whether she fits in to actually try to do it.”

“I’ll say.”

“Reminds me some of you fer a while there, Twilight,” Applejack said. “No offense, you understand.”

“None taken; you’re absolutely right. Right before the mines, and shortly after, that was all I could think of. But for me, I overcame those fears. She, obviously, did not.”

“I do not like talking about her like this,” Octavia said.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She dealt the cards. “I’ve never really… No, you’re right, I’ll stop talking about her behind her back. It’s nothing we don’t already know anyway.”

“I still like her,” Pinkie said.

“She’s hurting,” Rarity said. “That’s clear.”

“Ah’ll talk with her when she’s cooled off some,” Applejack said, straightening her mane. “We’ve been over this, she an’ me. What’s the game, Twilight?”

“Seven card, deuces, low heart splits,” Twilight sighed. “There is more that we need to discuss before we get home. Or get to Canterlot, I mean.”

“How do we break it to Equestria that there are three or four new Elements of Harmony?” Rarity asked. “I feel that we should devote some thought to that.”

“That is one thing. I also wouldn’t be surprised if we’re involved in the rest of the reparations that need to be made.”

Rainbow smacked her forehead with a hoof, and Applejack laughed. “You fergot, didn’t you?”

“Hey, we haven’t had to do one of those ground-moving spells in ages,” Rainbow returned.

“They have everythin’ lookin’ mighty fine down south, Ah’ll give ya that.”

“For all we know, the north might be looking the same by now,” Twilight said. “At least around Canterlot, it probably is. If it’s the job of Colgate’s secret agent friends to repair the country, then I’m sure there are plenty at work in and around the capital.”

“Still, we should prepare to be involved,” Rarity said. “I agree.”

“What can we do?” Pinkie asked. “I mean, besides what we already did.”

Twilight scratched her chin. “I don’t know exactly. We’ll have to bring Equestria back down and reattach it somehow, and that’s not going to be easy. Remember, we have an ocean to the north of us, and that all spilled in when we lifted up. It’s underneath us now.”

“I’ll bet the changelings didn’t like that,” Fluttershy said.

“Why should they care?” Octavia asked.

“Their hives are on an archipelago up there.”

“We’ll probably be hearing about the princesses working with the changeling government to coordinate moving the oceans back to where they were,” Twilight said.

“That’s their problem, though, not ours,” Applejack said. “Not to sound flippant, but ain’t that true?”

“It is… I just want us to be prepared for it.”

“Speaking of preparations, I think we should all be practicing answering interview questions,” Rarity said. “The press is going to be all over us.”

“That is no problem for me,” Octavia said. “I am surprised that it would be for you all. You have done this before, have you not?”

“Those incidents were smaller,” Rainbow said. “Right, Twilight?”

“Nightmare Moon was pretty big, but most of the publicity was directed at the princesses, not us.” Twilight folded once more, her chips dwindling. “It happened a lot faster than this, too, and we did our work away from prying eyes.”

“Let’s try,” Pinkie chirped, and held her hoof to Big Mac’s face like it was a microphone. “So, Big Mac, big buddy, big ol’ little buddy, how do you feel about saving the world?”

Rainbow and Pinkie laughed. “That question sucks, Pinkie.”

“That’s the kind we’re gonna get! They call it ‘soft-balling’, Dashie!”

“Ah feel, uh…” He struggled. “They’re not really gonna want my take on this, are they?”

“All of ours,” Rarity said. “It’s interesting.”

He groaned.

“I’m sure we won’t be in Canterlot for long, dear. The princesses will understand that we want to get back home first and foremost.”

“What’s gonna happen to you, Octy?” Pinkie asked.

“To be honest, it is something that I have put off thinking about for a very long time,” Octavia said.

“You can always live with me if you need.”

“At the bakery?”

“I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Cake would be happy to have you!”

“In Ponyville.” She was not sure why, but the thought of it held no appeal. With her sister smiling at her, though, she said, “I will keep that in mind as a possibility.”

“I don’t wanna go to Ponyville,” Colgate said. “Not that or Canterlot either, none of ‘em.”

“This just occurred to me,” Rarity said. “No one else knows you have an Element, Colgate. If you want, we can pretend that Vinyl’s worked, and you can go about your business. What?”

Twilight was shaking her head. “The Elements need to stay together. If we’re needed again, we can’t waste time searching for the one of us who went off on her own.”

“Yer stuck with us,” Applejack said.

Colgate rose and trotted to the rail. So obvious, she thought, yet it had missed her on her trip to the mines. She had never stopped to think that she would be expected to keep in touch with the others—not that they would cast her out, she had trust in that civility at least.

“And you’re going to Canterlot and Ponyville,” she said.

“We have to,” Twilight said.

“And you’re gonna live there, ‘cause that’s your home.”

“…Yes.”

“I see.” To her, the solution shone bright and clear. By her own oversight, she had sealed herself into a future in the place she wanted most to avoid. There would be much to escape there, but she was a mare of means. Two months, three, of work, and she could get her medical licenses back; on a surgeon’s salary, there would be no want of alcohol and painkillers.

She stared at the passing clouds, recalling the layout of Ponyville Hospital, the drug cabinets and those who had access to them; which wings were more active at which times, which pharmaceuticals were purchased when, and from whom, and for what price. She had never tried it, but she imagined stealing from the hospital would not be too difficult for her.

“Come back to us, Cole,” Rainbow said. “Hey!”

“My sincerest apologies,” Colgate said, blinking rapidly, smothering her fear with a fantasy of success. The cold hospital tile on her back as she drifted to sleep under an unaware patient’s bed, hazy eyes, thirst turning her tongue to glue, an endless headache endlessly deferred with water and alcohol, and money rolling in all the while. The comfort of familiarity soothed her quivering nerves as she returned to them. “Yes, Ponyville. I can make do there after all.”

“That was fast,” Fluttershy said.

“You know me. Fastest mare in the world.”

“Where will you live?” Octavia asked.

“You two can be roommates,” Rarity offered, and on her face was the merest suggestion of a smile. “That makes the most sense to me.”

“Or if yer not afraid of farm work, you’ve always got a place to stay with my lot,” Applejack said.

“You will understand if I do not want to go back to work on a farm,” Octavia said, and it took them a moment to realize that she was making a joke.

Rainbow craned her neck and shot off the deck for a second, and they watched her circle around them, first over and then disappearing under before almost overshooting the gunwale in a graceless landing. “There’s a little spit of farmland down there. They’re out there, the farmers, they waved at me.”

Pinkie was at the rail in a flash, shrieking enthusiastically that they had done it, that life was on the mend—not Equestria, she hollered, but life. Their response went unheard, but Pinkie let off a burst of confetti a second later, laughing.

“Yes, get used to that,” Octavia said.

“I already love it!”

Vinyl eventually brought a moody vigil back to the game, and by three in the morning, all but Octavia and Colgate had gone below to sleep. The two avoided looking at each other for a minute before Octavia took her place at the port side, from where she could see the ridges of lush hills and rolling rivers that guarded Trottingham from a westerly view. Colgate sidled up next to her and put both hooves on the rail, and without needing told, switched to the other side for Octavia’s good ear.

“Was it serious, or were you just excited?” Octavia asked.

“I don’t know.” Octavia knew it was one of Colgate’s generic answers, something she would say to buy herself time while she tried to figure out what she actually wanted to communicate. She waited for the follow-up. “I get excited easily, you know that about me.”

“I do. Were you excited then?”

“Yeah.”

Octavia nodded, silently disagreeing. Discord languishing in stone, everyone else losing their minds, the jumps for joy and the cheers and all, it was the perfect time for a kiss. Colgate’s, however, had felt to Octavia like more than a flight of fancy. She was not sure whether she should say so, whether Colgate would spook at having her kiss interpreted.

“I will tell you,” Octavia said, “while I was not prepared for it, I did not find it objectionable.”

“I like you, Octavia.”

“There it is.” She had suspected it in Snowdrift, but it was never a great concern.

“Sorry.”

“Do not apologize. You have done no wrong.” Realizing then that she had not yet looked at Colgate, she met the unicorn’s shifty eyes, trying to put kindness and gentleness into her own and succeeding in making herself appear as tired as she was—not that any of it landed with Colgate anyway, who interpreted Octavia’s expression as one of curiosity and appraisal, as an antiquarian would evaluate a piece of history. It was her knowledge of Octavia’s personality, rather than her recognition of the body language, that kept the fear-response from jumping up.

“You might say that I’ve got a thing for you,” Colgate said, and Octavia stifled a grin at the odd phrasing.

“I…” She rubbed her face and looked into the sky, excitement and self-loathing circling each other in her mind. Shame and desire, revulsion and pride, the chorus of advice she knew she would hear if she voiced her problems before her friends—and, she stopped herself, thinking then with a shot of clarity through her exhausted brain, “Colgate is a friend too. I can tell her how I feel.”

“Go ahead, you’re fine,” Colgate urged.

“I am afraid of this. This conversation, right now, I am afraid.”

“No fear.” She smiled. “I mean you no harm.”

“Thank you.” The echo of what Octavia had told her in Tartarus, the phrase that had affected Colgate more profoundly than she had expected; there was no way to know how much Colgate meant when she spoke, but Octavia had faith that she would be honest. “What I mean to say is that I do not think I am fit for anything more than friendship with someone. Perhaps not even that, I have my doubts.” She jingled the Element around her neck. “I suppose I should not at this point. Even so.”

“What makes you unfit?”

“I am too focused on myself, and concerning my past, the difficulties it has caused me and that I have allowed it to cause me, I am too far gone.” How much easier to simply say that she did not share Colgate’s feelings and let her down that way. The thought of it was only just entering her mind, so devoted was she to reflection, to finding the imperfections, to torturing herself in an attempt to exorcise them. She sighed, and in it, her voice caught, but a breath of the perfumed night air gave her temporary strength. “I hate myself. That is the truth. I hate that I cannot look past myself, I hate that even my small mistakes seem to be greater than my biggest achievements. I know that I am too critical of myself, and I cannot change that, and I hate that I am that way. I hate…” She paused, for a rare moment wishing that Colgate would reach out to her, offer a soothing touch, interrupt her. “I hate that every good thing I do seems worthless to me, and I hate that I cannot accept the fact that I have friends. I ask myself what I have done to earn anyone’s friendship, and here I stand wearing an Element of Harmony. I hate that I am numb to the good that I know exists in me.” Recalling the point of her outpouring, she added, “and that is why I feel unfit for a romantic relationship. I would be a burden to you, or to anyone.”

Colgate nodded patiently, her face changed to the kindly quizzical look she would wear for patients. “Octavia, over the past two weeks, how often would you say you’ve felt little interest or pleasure in doing things?”

“You have asked me this before.”

“I remember it. So?”

“I am not going to kill myself, Colgate.”

“I know you won’t, that ain’t the point. I’d like to see you well again.”

“I will be fine.”

“You always say that. Hey, I’ve got an idea. Once we hit Canterlot, I’ll bet the princess can get you a good psychiatrist.”

“I have already tried that.”

Colgate’s tone was sharp. “You said you tried it once and gave up.”

Octavia blushed. Scolded by a doctor; it felt worse than being scolded by a friend.

“Here’s the deal,” Colgate continued. “Psychology wasn’t my specialty, but I remember a little from college. You’re a clear depression case, and I’d wager it’s a sort of post-traumatic stress kinda thing.”

“I have been told this already.”

“Not by a medical professional, you ain’t been. I’ll give you a referral, if you want. Comes free with another kiss.”

Octavia smiled ruefully. “You do not want to be involved with me like that.”

“Maybe I do.”

“I am no good for you.”

Colgate frowned and her tail switched. “What is good for me, then?”

“I do not know.”

“Right, so don’t shut me out like that. It’s hurtful.”

Octavia tapped her chin with a hoof. “I do not want to hurt anyone.”

“Well, you hurt me.”

To hear it from Colgate, Octavia had to pause and look at her. She did not appear nervous, and she did not have the glazed look in her eyes that indicated wandering thoughts. She looked the unicorn up and down. Colgate was not unattractive; her build was pleasing to Octavia’s eye, the colors agreeable, the fur too coarse but the mane and tail long and wavy, as she preferred. The crazy eyes occasionally troubled Octavia, but she had not noticed them in a while.

“How about this?” Colgate asked. “Canterlot, you and me, we’ll do dinner. Huh?”

“Did I truly hurt you just now?”

“What? Yes, yeah, whatever. I’m not gonna hold it against you, I know how you get.”

Octavia bowed her head.

“Octy, please get some help, or some sleep at least.”

“I do not think I can.”

“Then look at me. Hey, look into the eyes of forgiveness, dammit.”

Octavia looked at her obediently.

“I’m not mad at you. Mistakes happen, right? I’ve made mistakes too. You forgave me for those, so I can return the favor. Isn’t that right?”

“You are too good to me.”

“Gimme a break. Remember what you told me in Tartarus? Remember that magic we walked through, what gave us the clarity?”

“I remember being happy then.”

“That’s in your grasp, you know.”

“It does not feel that way.”

“Trust me that it is. I had my clarity then, and sometimes I get it back, so you can do it too.” She shook her head violently, and Octavia knew then that the conversation was over. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, I really don’t. I wanna—okay, look. I… No harm. Okay, great. Canterlot, dinner?”

Left defenseless from the quick change, Octavia could only take Colgate’s question at face value. She thought about it, finding no immediate problem and no instinctual resistance to the notion. Still, she was in no mood to accept something pleasant; and still, she was in no mood to make an obstacle of her feelings. “That sounds lovely, Colgate. I know a few places that are very nice; we will see whether they are still there when we get back.”

“It’s a date.” Colgate edged closer, and Octavia did not move to stop her, but Colgate hesitated before turning away with a yawn. “The psychiatry, Octavia. It helps.”

“I will consider it.”

“All right. Thanks.” She paced away, and, not sure what to do with her hooves, waved. “Good night.”

“Good night, Colgate.” She waited before crossing the deck, head thrumming, wound hot and painful. She stepped on her injured side without thinking about it, ingrained penitence.

For a time, she was alone with her muddy thoughts, but then she imagined one of the others coming up to find her, as had happened so many times before. “Aren’t you gonna sleep tonight?” they would ask, and Octavia would reply, “I do not think I can.” But no one did come up to find her. She paced from bow to stern and watched the clouds, the steady drift of lights on the ground as they passed over a plateau of isolated farms. These she watched, wondering whether anyone below took note of their passing, whether anyone recognized their airship.

Too unclear from all that had come before, she could not decide whether she reciprocated Colgate’s feelings. She had lived without romance for so long that the idea of it seemed artificial, as though having a partner somehow detracted from her identity. “Regardless, I have until Canterlot to worry about that,” she thought, and the trouble was shelved.

She imagined herself as she would appear to the hypothetical friend who caught her on deck. “Is this not a familiar scene?” she would ask. “All I am missing is my cello, so I can serenade the ship with sad, generic melodies.” And they would say all manner of comforting things, or perhaps rebuke her for being yet stuck in the circle of depression; and this much worse than usual, for she was freshly victorious over the master foe, and should therefore be happy. She might disclose to them Colgate’s recommendation, and they would congratulate her and tell her it was a grand idea, and she would feel pandered to; and not admitting it, she would instead turn colder to them.

“I do not need anyone to talk to tonight,” she concluded, not without a note of pride. “What could I say? This is a surprise to no one, least of all to myself. So why can I not overcome it, if that is so?” Here, her thoughts stifled, and she moved with a gusty sigh to the topic of her future. She knew that nothing she wanted was within reach, but always before, the immediacy of work overtook her before she could imagine a solution or lose too much hope for finding one.

“Now my purpose is fulfilled, and I have no more use,” she imagined saying to the friend who had not taken a clear identity in her mind. “As a musician, I have lost whatever edge I once had, and with it my desire to play. There is nothing there for me. My only other skills are in adventuring, yet I will not be able to stray from my friends.” She yawned, her mind clouded, and she forced herself to keep pacing. For two more hours, Octavia walked the deck and thought about her plight, not one thing occurring to her that had not occurred several times over. The cycle that had started before she was grown repeated still, rote and numbing, her darkest thoughts feeling as shallow as her occasional sparks of optimism. “Tomorrow is another day,” she would think, and just after, “Perhaps I can die in my sleep tonight.” Nothing stuck, neither to alarm nor comfort, no attractive topics for indulgent fantasy; and when she saw the truth of her apathy, as she had many times before, that too did not reach her. Her nights alone had become routine, and Octavia, worn down to nothing, simply walked through the motions over and over and over.

In the gleaming of following morning, when she started awake to her friends laughing and hopping about the deck, her first thought was a silent invective so strong and sudden that she was momentarily afraid she had uttered it aloud. Four days left, and what waited on the other side? A date with Colgate. She rolled onto her back and stared into the smooth morning sky, eyes and head dry, lips chapped, body vibrating with the ship as it took her ever nigh to the rest of her life.

The second, and more serious, dam broke on day three. They were over the swampland that marked the Everfree Forest’s southeastern foot, flying once more at the pace which Rainbow’s and Twilight’s magic afforded, carefree but quiet, too tired for celebration. Luna sent them a letter on day two asking them to return to Canterlot to share their stories and receive all the accolades that were coming their way. Of Celestia’s state, she said little, but Twilight did not press her, not in a letter. She worked out her worries, instead, on marking the remaining continental lacunae on a map. While the cities and the countrysides immediately surrounding them had all been repaired, either by the Elements or industrious secret agents, most of the intervening lands were still fractured.

While she moved about the deck, maps and books floating by her head and a pair of sigils making passage difficult for everyone else, Fluttershy was simply enjoying her own company in one of the cabins. She could hear Pinkie and Applejack playing a word game through the walls, and every time one of them burst out laughing, she snapped her ears down. She reacted the same when someone knocked on the door.

“Enter,” she said. “Oh, sorry, Big Mac. I didn’t mean to be curt with you.”

He nodded and lay an envelope on the corner of the bed. After looking at it for several seconds, he said, “it’s fer you.”

“I can see that.” What puzzled her more, as she reached, was her own writing on the front.

“You asked me to give this to you after we beat Discord.”

She stared down at it, then at him. “Um, I’m really sorry Big Mac, I know it’s not your fault, but I’m not really in the mood for jokes right now.”

“No joke.” He tugged at a wrinkle in the blanket. “You approached me in Snowdrift an’ said to give this to you, after we beat Discord. You said not to look inside, an’ you said not to ask you what it was after you’d given it to me. You made me promise.”

She held her tired smile, but her heart had slowed, her stomach suddenly nauseous. “Did I say anything else?”

“You said it was important.”

“I’ll bet I did.” She slowly slid the envelope over and dug out the tightly folded note. She looked up at him. “It might be private.”

He nodded and took his leave, feeling little better than she. Fluttershy had told him, in general, the letter’s contents, and he retreated to the other cabin for what he knew would be their last few minutes of peace.

With trembling hooves, she opened the missive and read what she had written to herself.

Dear Fluttershy,

First, let me share a secret that only I know so I can prove this is my own writing and no trick. I enjoy the taste of Angel Bunny’s alfalfa pellets, but I dislike how dry they are.

Second, if I am reading this in the presence of others, I should find somewhere private (and I may want to sit down).

I am writing this letter one day before consenting to a memory wipe spell. Vinyl has agreed to administer the spell to me, but I had to pester her a lot for it. I trust she will have done a good job. I hope so. The incident she’s going to wipe is not pleasant.

The incident is this. In Applewood, on the last day, we had to fight Discord’s animated dam. I may remember this, I may not, if not ask the others, they all remember it. The dam proved to be too much for us, so much that we barely escaped with our lives, and even then due to Vanilla Cream’s intercession and no skill of ours. The airship was down over the river, in front of the dam. Applejack was on the banks, Rarity and Rainbow Dash above holding the river back as the dam came unstuck. Everyone else was on the ship. Because of our division, and some of us passing out from exhaustion, there were few to see what Pinkie did. Vinyl was one, and Big Mac too, and me.

We were spent, all of us but Pinkie, but when we asked her to use her magic and help out, she said she had none. The magical power we KNOW exists, which we have SEEN, which Celestia has VERIFIED, she refused to use. Vinyl believes it was out of fear, that she froze up, and Big Mac too.

As a result, the dam broke free, Applewood was flooded, and we were caught in the river as well. Again, only Vanilla Cream’s assistance (which Pinkie did not foresee) saved us.

Fluttershy paused, trembling all the harder. It had to be a trick, she thought. The secret at the top, that was something that could be lifted from her mind by sufficient magic. It had to be a disgusting trick from Discord, an attempt to break them apart even after he was petrified. If she had lost her memory, then the incident would be a blank, and she clearly recalled Pinkie passing out with the others after expending her magic.

“What spells did she use? Do I remember?” She did not, but it had been a frantic night; anyone could forget a detail like that. She read on.

After speaking about it in private, I learned that Vinyl and Big Mac were able to forgive Pinkie naturally, how I don’t know. I, however, did not. I was furious, I was bitter, and even hateful. Her cowardice condemned us to death. And yet, we were Elements of Harmony. We had to be friends, or the Elements would not work and we would not defeat Discord.

After months of soul searching, I was running out of time and no closer to forgiving Pinkie. That is why I begged Vinyl to wipe my memory and replace it with a false version of the Applewood fight. I may remember Pinkie tiring herself out alongside us, but that is just to make it so there isn’t a big black hole in my mind.

I chose to write this letter to myself so that Pinkie would be brought to justice, but after we no longer needed to be in Harmony. Again, Vinyl and Big Mac have forgiven her on their own, and no one else knows what she did. If we didn’t have the threat of disharmony stopping us from beating Discord, I would have confronted her long ago.

Regretfully, Fluttershy (December 8, 3315).

She read it a second time, not fully believing, but no longer convinced by the end that it was a trick. Out on the deck, Pinkie laughed shrilly and broke into a fragment of song.

The letter had described anger and hatred, but neither of these did she feel, sitting up on the bed and listening to her friends above and around. For forty minutes, she sat that way, silent with the page by her side, mind stuck on what to do. Partially, she waited for the feelings the letter indicated to come to her, but more, she waited for fear of the question—and that fear, after a while, she acknowledged to herself, and without a sound got up and went for the deck. Pinkie was napping beside the torch, and Fluttershy woke her and brought her down to the cabin.

Not showing the letter, she flatly asked, “What happened in Applewood?”

Pinkie froze, and in that moment, Fluttershy knew it was true. “It could be anything, lots happened there,” she told herself, but it was for naught. In her heart, she had needed only the slightest sign to jump to the suggested conclusion.

Again, more sternly, she asked. “What happened in Applewood?”

“What do you mean?” Pinkie finally rejoined. “Lots happened, silly! Are you okay? You look a little green around the gills, Flutterbutter!”

“Stop that.” She composed herself. “I’m sorry. I think.” She glanced at the letter with a stab of impatience for herself, not strong enough to look Pinkie in the eyes the whole time.

“It’s okay, Fluttershy.” She patted Fluttershy’s leg, and Fluttershy let her, breathing in, breathing out, the accusation at her lips.

“When…” She swallowed, her mouth and throat dry. “When we were fighting the dam, did anything happen?”

“Yeah, it got us.” Her voice had shrunk, and she sat, eyes wide and worried. “Why?”

“Just say it,” she thought weakly, but stuttered on her words once more. The letter had incited nothing but disbelief; none of the cruel feelings it had attested were there to spur Fluttershy to laying the truth—if truth it was—at Pinkie’s hooves.

“You’re acting weird, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Did you help us?” It came out a mumble, and she repeated herself to Pinkie’s lifted ear.

Pinkie stared at her before getting up and latching the door, and when she turned back, her face was unreadable. “Okay, look, it was a looooong night, Fluttershy. We were all tired and cranky, and no one was at a hundred percent that night. Okay?”

At last, a spark of anger. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I hate your question.”

“Yeah, me too.” She almost left it at that. Fluttershy had not the strength to follow if Pinkie chose to leave the cabin in that moment, and with her eyes, she tried to implore it.

Instead, Pinkie just sat, staring at her, face still blank, eyes wide, as if to say “well what now?”

“You have magic.”

“I know that! I know it, okay?” She whirled away with a shout. “You know how I know? ‘Cause ponies like you keep telling me!”

“So you did use it in Applewood.”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“At the dam, Pinkie. The night we fought. The night…” She lowered her voice. “The night Applejack died.”

“Yes! Well, maybe just a little. Look—”

“You either helped us or you didn’t.”

Pinkie frowned at her from the door, which she kicked once in response to Rarity asking whether they were okay.

“Here.” Giving up, angry but not in a way that helped her, she floated the letter to Pinkie. “Apparently I wrote this to myself six days ago.”

Pinkie scanned it before flipping it to the floor. For a second, she appeared defiant, but then deflated.

“Tell me it’s a trick. Tell me and I’ll believe it. I want to—you know I don’t want to think you actually did that. Tell me it’s a trick.”

Pinkie nodded, eyes shining. She swiped a hoof across her muzzle. “It’s no trick.”

“Right then.” She took the letter off the floor and placed it on the bed. “Why?”

Pinkie’s lips were twitching, her nose wrinkling, her eyes fixedly on the floor. “I just did.”

“You have to know why.”

“I. Just. Did!” Again, Rarity knocked, and Pinkie screamed. A moment of pregnant silence followed before Rarity’s hoofsteps disappeared.

“I want—”

“Shut up! Just stop talking! Oh, what are you gonna say, I had no right, I was a bad pony?”

“Yes! Exactly that!”

“Thanks for telling me what I already know!”

“What’s that mean?”

“Obviously I’m sorry, Fluttershy.” She whipped to the door and then faced Fluttershy again. She was panting, her ears and tail were tight and alert, and Fluttershy’s too. Eyes met as the room fell away, but only for a second before falling back together, and the connection was broken.

Fluttershy took an agitated breath. “You cowardly—”

Pinkie slammed the door open. “I’m done. Goodbye, Fluttershy! Thanks for letting me know what happened! I’ll be sure to make a note of it for the future, for next time we’re in a situation like that!” Out of sight, she shouted at someone to get out of her way, and Twilight appeared in the doorway.

“What is going on?” Twilight asked impatiently. “What happened?”

Grabbing up her letter, Fluttershy made for the deck. “Get everyone together, and I’ll tell you.” Above, Pinkie was shouting for a ship meeting, and Fluttershy hastened.

“Yeah, bring ol’ Dashie back in from the wind, don’t let her sit it out,” Pinkie yelled. “Here she is, everyone! Look, it’s Fluttershy! Say hi to Fluttershy, everypony!” A ring had gathered around her, all mares looking nervously at one another, and Fluttershy stepped forward. She stared at Pinkie, who, with eyes still shining with tears, turned away and cast herself to the deck with a howl.

“What the blue hell is goin’ on here?” Applejack finally asked. “Come on, Pinkie, out with it, girl.”

“She let us die in Applewood,” Fluttershy said. Somewhere in the cabin, the anger she felt had transformed and turned itself out at Pinkie. Her reaction to Fluttershy’s questions had been ridiculous and immature, and that, more than the truth of what she had and had not done, stoked a small but hot fire in Fluttershy’s breast. Knowledge of the crime was lesser to actual memory of it, but Pinkie’s character had shone out clearly in those few minutes in the cabin, and when the stirrings of remorse appeared again, Fluttershy had only to look at Pinkie’s sobbing tantrum to give herself strength.

“What?” “How do you mean?” “Pinkie?” “What’s that mean?” After the questions, Fluttershy took a breath, waited for Pinkie to quiet a little, and proceeded.

“When we were fighting the dam, and everyone else was finished, Pinkie was left, with all her magic. I don’t know if it was fear or what, or freezing up under pressure, but she didn’t use it. She was asked, and she refused.” Pausing for effect, she added again, “she let us die there.”

“Fluttershy’s been enchanted,” Rainbow blurted. “Discord hit her with some sleeper spell, Twilight.”

Twilight took her eyes off Pinkie for a second. “I could check, but I don’t think… Fluttershy, how do you know this?”

She explained the letter, but there was no use; before she was done, the cross-talk was too loud, the questions too many, the momentum too great. Rainbow yelled about enchantments for a while longer, Twilight attacked Fluttershy with questions she could not answer, Rarity did the same to Pinkie even as she bawled and pounded her hooves on the deck. Applejack chewed her lip, face red and green eyes narrowed, holding her peace; Big Mac and Vinyl backed out of the group and watched; Colgate sat in the middle and looked at everyone, her face clearly showing how unprepared she was for such a scene; and Octavia did not once take her eyes off her sister.

“I had assumed you were down there with the others, throwing magic at that dread thing,” Rarity said. When Pinkie had composed herself enough to sit up, she faced Rarity only, as if the two were holding private council amid the argument.

“She was right with us,” Twilight said, and, turning on Pinkie, “But I don’t actually remember seeing much magic from you. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“She killed Applejack!” Rainbow yelled at Big Mac, whose comment was buried. Next to him, Vinyl was popping lights off her horn and calling, unheard, for order. Fluttershy watched her swivel her head around, reflective goggles on over the mouth that opened and closed insistently, impotently, stupid and repetitive. At last, she stopped and put her magic forth in a brilliant flash, and they all looked to her.

“Let’s all just keep calm,” Vinyl said.

“Craven idiot,” Octavia growled, and Pinkie wiped her nose.

“Why didn’t you help?” Applejack asked. Echoes of the same filled the deck while Big Mac repeated that it didn’t matter, that it was over, that Discord was finished, that it wasn’t the end of the world.

Then Rarity took to questioning Pinkie directly again, and Octavia ground out more curses between her teeth, and Pinkie’s only reply, which she shouted over and over until everyone stopped and watched her, was, “I’m pure evil! I’m pure evil! Look at me, worst pony in Equestria!” More weeping, more screaming, more pounding on the deck, and Pinkie curled into a reduced ball of tears and snot and fur by the rail.

“We’re not going to get anything out of her this way,” Rarity said, turning, eyes dry.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Twilight asked.

“Why do you think? ‘Cause she knew this would happen,” Rainbow snapped.

“We talked it over and decided this was better,” Fluttershy said. Beside her, Big Mac was shaking his head.

“Who’s ‘we’?” Applejack asked.

“I’m evil!” Pinkie shrieked. “Worse than Discord!”

“Can you put that silence spell on her, Twilight?” Rainbow asked. Pinkie reeled and, for a moment, showed her broken face to the others, her cries cut abruptly as Twilight touched her with the spell. At that, Pinkie flailed on the deck, and the sounds of her hooves and body hitting the floorboards were extinguished as well.

“While we’re at it, can we lock her in a cabin for now?”

“Let’s not be cruel, Rainbow,” Rarity said.

Rainbow spat over the rail.

“Again, who is ‘we’?” Applejack repeated. “Fluttershy? Some explanation, if you may.”

“Big Mac, Vinyl, and me,” Fluttershy said. “We talked it over and decided this was better. We—”

“Wow, so you two knew too, huh? Big bro?”

“For what it’s worth, I thought it would be better to air this out back then,” Vinyl said.

“Back when?” Twilight asked.

“It was in Roan. You had the whole, er, Applejack thing to worry about,” Fluttershy said. “We didn’t want to add this.”

“Ah think Ah’m gonna be sick,” Applejack said, looking down at Pinkie, who still rolled and flopped on the deck, eerily silent.

“Throw up on her,” Rainbow offered.

“Not helpful, Dash.”

“I’m serious! She betrayed us!”

“It was you!” Rarity cried. “We misfired the first time because of you, not me! You never forgave her, so we weren’t in harmony!”

“I—” Fluttershy balked. No thought had entered her mind that they would correlate her news to the Elements’ miss.

Rainbow slowly lifted her gaze away from Pinkie. “She’s right. Yeah, you were pissed at Pinkie, so we had an extra four months of travel. Nice one, Fluttershy!”

“Keeping silent really served us well, didn’t it?” Rarity asked.

Pinkie rolled over and gestured at Fluttershy, and Twilight released her silence spell.

“You realize you can just break that spell on your own, you know,” Fluttershy said. “You have magic.”

“I was right! You were mad at me! You, you just put a bandage on it for the final fight!”

“Anything useful to say, dear?” Rarity asked.

Twilight smothered Pinkie’s scream of rage and shame before facing Fluttershy, the silence of the crew behind her.

“It was necessary,” Fluttershy murmured, the wind gone from her argument.

“We could’ve overcome,” Applejack said. “That’s what Ah think. Well, not you, Ah s’pose. Element of Kindness, huh?”

“Look at her. You think she could’ve handled it back then?” Rainbow demanded.

“Ah think we’d have had more time to fix the damage it would do to our friendship.”

“She would not have handled it,” Octavia said. “She would have made things worse in an attempt to apologize.”

At this, Pinkie gestured frantically at Octavia, but Twilight did not let her be heard.

“I wanted to wait just in case we were unable to recover,” Fluttershy repeated.

“Oh, we waited all right,” Applejack said.

“What do you want her to say?” Vinyl snapped. “She tried to forgive Pinkie naturally.”

“You’re the one who wiped her memory, right?” Twilight asked.

“Yes, and it’s done. Over.”

“Vinyl, shut up,” Rainbow groaned. “We get it, we’re done, yeah, everyone’s happy. That doesn’t make this less shitty.”

“Could you have forgiven her?” Octavia asked.

“For Applewood?” She stared down at Pinkie.

“She’s the Element of Loyalty, of course she would have,” Vinyl said.

“Get out.” Rainbow rose up and threw out her wings. “Get away from me right now, Vinyl.”

Vinyl’s horn glowed bright red, but she did not back down when Rainbow neared; not when their faces were an inch apart, angry breath puffing out of flared nostrils. Rainbow smacked her with her tail as she turned.

“I’m going flying. All of you can—you all, I… As far as I’m concerned, all three of you suck.” With a flash of wings and rainbow mane, she was off the edge and out of sight.

“How much farther to Canterlot?” Rarity asked.

“Two days,” Applejack grumbled.

“Two days too long.”

The group slowly came apart, ponies going below to the cabins or the bathrooms, separating to take in the events on their own. Twilight released Pinkie’s silence, and Pinkie cried loudly for some time after the fight was concluded, her mingled apologies and lashes at Fluttershy falling on deaf ears. Applejack went back to the wheel and dissociated into the ship, Twilight applied herself to another sigil, Octavia retreated to storage. Fluttershy remained on the deck, occasionally seeing Rainbow keeping pace in the far distance, but paying more attention to Pinkie, who eventually gave up and lay on her back to stare into the sky.

After swallowing her anger and loathing for months, Fluttershy had finally let the truth be known. She had never felt more alone.

Twilight called a meeting on the final day, when Canterlot’s outline was visible in the distance, imposed on the lone mountain. Everyone gathered quietly, icily respectful, ready for a conversation of business and nothing more. The hottest and harshest feelings had been given vent, and though some of them felt that more were due, no one was willing to bring it to the airship’s deck a second time. Pinkie’s mane had lost its bounce, and she had cried off and on the entire day prior, but no one had gone to her. She sat beside Big Mac, who pretended to be comfortable with her proximity, while Twilight took the circle’s center and began her lecture.

“Like it or not, we’re due in Canterlot later today, and the princesses are going to expect us all to be friends still. Everyone in Equestria is going to expect that, and—I think we can all agree—it would be more harm than good to bring our recent difficulties to the public light.”

“Fine,” Rainbow said. “Agreed.”

“Especially so soon after Discord has been stopped, there’s going to be a lot of fear that he’s not truly gone, and a long period where ponies idolize us. More than they do already, I mean. We have to present a united front.”

“I said I agree.”

“I’m just explaining fully,” Twilight said sweetly. “I’ve been in touch with Princess Celestia, and she confirmed that they will be holding a parade in our honor, as well as several press conferences, some dinners at the palace, and I don’t know what else. We’re going to be in Canterlot for a little while, not doing anything particularly interesting, but just being places. Equestria needs to see us, they need to see that we’re alive and well.”

“We’re not well,” Colgate said. Twilight paused and glanced at her. So far, Colgate had said next to nothing about Pinkie or the fight.

“But we’re going to pretend to be,” Rarity said. “Am I the only one who sees a painfully obvious solution? Why not let Vinyl wipe all of our memories?”

“We’re not doin’ that,” Applejack said flatly, and the suggestion died there.

“I think it would be in the country’s best interest if we pretended, yes,” Twilight continued. “We won’t have to do it for long, and when everyone’s eye is off us, we can work this out in private.”

“We’re hiding this from the princesses too?” Vinyl asked.

“As much as we can. I think that would be wise.”

“Twi, you know Ah can’t abide this,” Applejack said.

“All I would ask, in your case, is to not volunteer any information.”

Applejack frowned at her. “That ain’t much better.”

“Don’t do what I did,” Fluttershy mumbled. “Just keep it quiet, please, and we’ll work it out later, like Twilight said.”

“It will make things much… smoother,” Rarity said.

“I will not say anything about it,” Octavia said. “This is not for others to know.”

“Ah can’t,” Applejack said. “Ah can’t an’ Ah won’t. There’s a few things Ah’ve swept under the rug to make passage to Discord easier, but like we’ve been sayin’, that’s done.”

“Applejack, you can’t ruin our image to the country,” Twilight said.

“Ruin, hell. Friends fight, even us. We’d be stupid to try to live up to some ideal image.”

“They need something to believe in,” Octavia said.

“So ain’t it better if they believe in somethin’ real?”

“Do it for Pinkie’s sake, then,” Big Mac said.

Applejack laughed. “What Pinkie gets as a result of all this is none of my concern. Ah’m washin’ my hooves of that entirely.”

“You’re kidding,” Pinkie breathed.

“Sugar, the second we’re free to go our separate ways, Ah don’t wanna see you ever again.”

Pinkie lowered her chin to the deck and closed her eyes, pain seeping across her face.

“AJ, if you tell everyone what happened, she’s gonna get lynched,” Rainbow said.

“Celestia will protect her,” Octavia said bitterly.

“It’ll be a giant mess,” Twilight said, “not just for us, but for the princesses. What will they say? They’re going to have enough trouble dealing with four new Elements, let’s not add this.”

Applejack just chuckled. “Again, Ah hate to sound nasty ‘bout it, but none of that is my problem, an’ it shouldn’t be yers either.”

Rarity made an uncomfortable sound in the back of her throat. “You’re still a part of us, Applejack. I know you no longer care about our petty, mortal concerns, but you still live in the real world with us. You should care about real-world things too.”

“Like getting a new hat,” Pinkie offered. Everyone stared at her, the attempt at levity garnering only sour looks.

Applejack regarded Rarity for some moments before wiping her brow. “You’ve got a point.” She sighed. “Ah’m not the clearest right now, you understand. Ah need to chew on that some.”

“We’re landing in a couple hours,” Rainbow said. “I think we’d all like to be sure you aren’t going to go running to the nearest news reporter and spill Pinkie’s pathetic—” Here she glared at Pinkie. “Failure.”

“How ‘bout this? Ah won’t say anythin’ ‘til Ah’ve better figured out how Ah feel ‘bout the situation. It ain’t as simple as Ah thought, turns out.”

“Thank you, Applejack.” Twilight touched her shoulder. “I won’t ask you to do any more than that.”

“What do I do?” Pinkie asked.

“You do nothing, what you are best at,” Octavia said.

“Pinkie, you’ve kept up a happy face since Applewood,” Twilight said, “so you can just keep doing that in Canterlot. We’ll pretend nothing’s wrong, and you do the same.”

“What about after that?”

“That’s for her to decide.”

“I’m sorry,” Pinkie said.

“We know.”

“We don’t care,” Rainbow said.

“Some of us do,” Big Mac grumbled.

“Later,” Twilight said. “Please, later. If we open this up for discussion again, we’re going to be in tears when we land, and that isn’t an option.”

“Don’t front, Twilight, you haven’t cried once,” Rainbow said.

“Let’s keep it on topic, ladies,” Applejack said.

“What do we do about Vinyl?” Rarity asked.

“Ah yes, me,” Vinyl said. “I was wondering when we’d get to that again.”

“I think it’s a simple matter. Darling, would you rather stay with us for the time, or do you want to get back to work making music? If the latter, then we might as well drop you off somewhere on the way to the palace.”

Rainbow cleared her throat. “I get that it’s ultimately Vinyl’s decision, but I’m not gonna pretend I’m impartial here. I want her to stay with us.”

“Yes, I agree,” Octavia said. “We have our differences, but I enjoy having you around, Vinyl.” Colgate was nodding in agreement where she sat next to Octavia, their tails intertwined.

“For what it’s worth, I like her too,” Pinkie said.

“That’s worth nothing,” Rainbow said.

“How about we practice our pretending, Dash?” Rarity asked. “Pinkie, dear, I value your input still, and trust you implicitly. See? It’s not that hard.”

“Can we cool it with the cheap shots?” Big Mac asked.

Vinyl’s horn lit up purple. “I’ll stay on with you. Even if it didn’t work out that way, I like being an Element of Harmony. I like you all, too.”

Twilight nodded. “Good. So, as far as the public knowledge is concerned, though, you never got your own Element. Ponies know we’re supposed to stick together, so when you do want to pursue your career in the future, we’ll avoid a lot of confusion if we don’t have to explain why it’s okay for you to be separated from us.”

“Fair enough.” She held out her Element, detached from its necklace. “What do I do with this?”

“I’m not really sure, to be honest. We’ll have to see if Princess Celestia can destroy it.”

“So we are going to tell the princesses about her Element not working,” Rarity said.

“I think so. They know we only made three initially, so the truth is better than inventing some weird reason for Colgate’s fourth.”

“Yeah, so, what about Colgate’s extra?” Big Mac asked.

“Just say you gave it to me at the same time you did the others,” Colgate said.

“Basically,” Twilight said. “Not difficult.”

They dispersed, Pinkie and Big Mac together to the back of the ship and Applejack and Rarity to the front.

“Ah ‘ppreciate you callin’ me out like that,” Applejack said. “Ah had my head in the clouds, an’ we don’t need that right now.”

“Oh, um… You’re welcome?”

Applejack smiled. “We’re all upset right now. It don’t help no one fer me to threaten to go public with what Ah know.”

“It’s just for right now. Once things smooth out, I don’t see any problem with you revealing this.” She lowered her voice. “She deserves everything she gets, that’s what I think.”

“Ah agree, but Ah don’t. It was a mistake still, an’ it bein’ a massive one don’t make it any less innocent.”

“Innocent?”

“Meanin’, she had no malicious intent.” Applejack thought for a moment. “She was cowardly, that’s all.”

“I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

“Not sure. What Ah do know, the thing itself ain’t even what bothers me the most, it’s how easy she made it that she didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Everyone who knew, too. That bothers me a lot.”

“In a way, you have to wonder what would happen if Fluttershy had never told us. If she had let the memory spell stick, and everyone was allowed to go on without ever knowing the truth.”

“Obviously, as the Element of Honesty, Ah hate that idea, but you’ve got a point. A lot of misery could have been saved if Fluttershy had just kept a lid on it. That ain’t to say Pinkie wouldn’t confess on her own eventually, but that’s beside the point here.”

“How so?”

“No reason to speculate what she would or wouldn’t have done, both options are closed now.” She stood to look at Canterlot; they were close enough to see the faint curve of the sky dome over the mountain and surrounding city. “From what Ah understand, Fluttershy read her letter an’ ran up to tell us straight away.”

“Let me guess. You wouldn’t have?” Rarity asked.

“Ah’d have sat on it fer a day at least. An’ she bein’ the Element of Kindness, fer her to turn an’ deliver that news to us so fast, it makes you wonder. We’ve all turned in our ways, but Ah never knew hers was so drastic.”

“It had been festering in her for a while.”

“Reason again fer her to bring it up earlier, so we could deal with it in time. Instead we have to all pretend, fer our image. You can tell she didn’t think ‘bout that, ‘cause if she had, she’d have burned that letter an’ let sleepin’ dogs lie. Just my opinion.”

“I think she should have saved it for after Canterlot. Pinkie does deserve justice, just maybe with better timing.”

“What is justice in this case?”

As soon as Applejack said it, Rarity knew she was in for a round of largely one-sided pontification, and she braced herself as Applejack got started.

“Pinkie can’t do anythin’ to fix her mistake. She can’t turn back time, she can’t give everyone their lives back, she can’t realistically rebuild the city. She’s clearly contrite, though. So really, what more can be done here?”

“Punishment, I guess,” Rarity said with a shrug.

“Punishment is empty without a restorative action, an’ there ain’t no action to be done here. Yellin’ at her don’t fix none, turnin’ our backs on her won’t undo what she did.”

“You said you don’t ever want to see her again.”

“Ah still have personal feelin’s. Don’t misunderstand, Rarity, Ah don’t fault any one of us fer feelin’ the way we do. Ah just wanna make the point that there’s nothin’ we can do about it, nothin’ positive, anyway. What’s done is done, it’s in the past, we have to move on—but knowin’ what we gotta do don’t make the doin’ any easier. Ah s’pose the very best we can do is make sure she never has an opportunity to do somethin’ like this again. Which, by the looks of it, she won’t.”

“Once we’re done with Canterlot, do you think Twilight will run her off?”

“If Octavia an’ Rainbow don’t do it first.” She sighed. “The way Ah’m startin’ to see it, more harm than good has come of Fluttershy tellin’ us this, which puts me in the uncomfortable position of askin’ myself to what degree Ah value honesty.”

“But this is all in the immediate. We don’t know what good will come down the line.”

“True enough. That’s gonna lead me to speculatin’ on what Pinkie might have done again, though; we can skip all that.”

“So let me ask you this, dear. You obviously have the clearest head of all of us right now. Do you think she deserves forgiveness?”

“Ah think everypony deserves forgiveness, if they truly want it. An’ Ah think Pinkie does want it.”

“She needs to earn it.”

“Earnin’ forgiveness is just the same as demonstratin’ that you truly want it. In my view, she’s done that well enough. You don’t fake crocodile tears like that.”

“See, and here I’m confused. You’re talking like you’ve already forgiven her, and I can quite tell you haven’t.”

“Ahh, that would be the equinity in me, wouldn’t it? We’re all beholden to our base passions, Rare.” She grinned when Rarity rolled her eyes. “Not my phrase, Ah got it from a book. Anyway, Ah can talk all day ‘bout forgiveness, an’ how this pony an’ that deserves it, but at the end of the day, if Ah don’t feel it in my heart to do said forgivin’, there’s nothin’ to be done. Ah reckon that makes me a hypocrite, but name one pony who ain’t at one point or another. We don’t live within our ideals a hundred percent of the time, an’ it’s a fool who thinks they can.”

“So why bother?”

“You know why. If we stop tryin’, we’ll never get anywhere. Failin’ to be perfect means you’ll still be good more often than not. Heck, maybe in time Ah will forgive Pinkie. Ah reckon it’ll take a few years of not seein’ her, but all things are possible. Ah’m surely gonna try.”

“You’re probably right.” She sat down with a huff. “I don’t think that I can.”

“Ah wouldn’t expect you to, an’ Ah won’t badger you ‘bout it. Hang on.” She disappeared into the ship to guide them into a wind current, and they were soon curving languidly toward the mountaintop. Talk ceased and anticipation mounted as they passed through the sky dome’s reticulum, and the palace grew, hanging over the suburbs on its white shell. The news reporters and TV cameras were arrayed below in the web of closed streets, and as the ship loomed, all lenses pointed upward. Cameras flashed and microphones and magically amplified voices vied for control, while outside, on the roads’ shoulders and in the woods just nearby, citizens raised a cheer, threw off celebratory fireworks, raced and gamboled all in a flurry. Colorful clothes flashed as those below the airship danced and jumped, and pegasi flitted around them, some coming close enough to scream words of congratulations or thanks at the Elements. As they got closer, the pegasi grew thick, but were cut suddenly as the great white form of Princess Celestia glided through them. She alighted on the deck and waited patiently for them to bow or shake hooves, and to their questions on her condition, replied with the oft-heard and seldom-sufficient “Just fine.”

She directed them to the back of the palace, where a space had been made for them to land on one of the royal lawns. Princess Luna waited inside a colonnade, mane and tail shimmering with excess magic, semitransparent and billowing over top a heavy, royal blue gown that draped to the stone. She leaned on a column, eyes ringed with fatigue but her smile no less genuine for it. She greeted them each with a hug, and the twelve of them entered the palace, leaving behind the noisy attentions of the outside world for the time.

“Long has your road been,” Celestia declared loudly, leading them up a short staircase to one of the palace’s many sitting rooms. “Forgive me for any inadequacies you might find in your reception at this place. My time here has been rather… foreshortened.”

“Yer highness, this is plenty sufficient fer my needs,” Applejack said, sitting heavily on a sunshine-yellow cushion and leaning back until she was staring at the ceiling. She let out a long breath and cracked her neck and knees. “Ah don’t gotta fly that ship anymore.”

“Your time as the saviors of Equestria is over,” Luna said. “All that is expected of you is to rest, relax, and—if you can—recuperate.”

“To that end, if there is anything at all that you need, please do not hesitate to bring it to either of our attention,” Celestia added. She looked at them all with a fixed smile, which broke when she saw Octavia. “My dear! You are injured!”

Octavia turned to conceal her leg. “It is of no consequence, your highness. Discord got me, that is all.”

“I’ll send for the royal physician,” Luna said.

“No, do not.” She blushed. “I mean to say, please, your highness, do not trouble yourself. It will heal in its own time. If it is all the same, I would prefer that.”

Luna nodded in feigned understanding.

“Have you eaten? Are you tired? What do you require?” Celestia asked, and cracked a real smile. “Don’t be bashful; you’ve earned it, my little ponies.”

“I don’t know about you all, but I’d love to eat something besides dried greens and hotel food,” Rainbow said, and everyone laughed politely. She needed not say more; Celestia’s horn tip lit for a second as she relayed a command to somewhere in the palace.

“While our kitchen is preparing your victory feast, you may avail yourselves of the facilities however you see fit,” Luna said. “The washroom is just down that hall, second door on the left. Anything at all that you wish to use, you may.” She chuckled at Rarity, craning her neck to see where she remained rooted to the floor, waiting for the conversation to end.

“What about all them?” Twilight asked, looking toward the wall.

“There will be certain obligations for the coming weeks, but you needn’t trouble yourselves about them right now. Today is yours. Rest, eat, relax, play, anything; the palace is yours. There will be no one to hassle you for anything, we will see to that.”

They made polite conversation and were shown how to contact the servants if they required anything, and then the princesses left them to their own company. Rarity was the first to use the washroom, and she was gone for an hour while everyone else sat, took in the palace sounds, and waited to be summoned for lunch. The sitting room’s ornamentation and luxuries allowed pretense enough for them to eschew talk for preoccupation, which fit the room’s mood; no one, in the bosom of royalty, had much to say.

On the flight back, it had not truly felt like it was over, not when there were still things to do. Food still had to be rationed, Applejack still had to pay attention to where she steered them, Rainbow still had to keep the wind at their backs, Twilight still fussed with sigils and spells, and the rest of the crew still had to keep themselves busy. Sinking into velvet cushions in the warm palace air, drowsed by a stick of thyme incense that Fluttershy had lit, they could breathe easy, close their eyes, and rest.

But not really. They were near to home, but not home; they were nearly done, but not done. There were still reporters to answer, stories to give, pictures to be taken, citizens to speak to, medals to accept, applause to graciously bow to, smiles and assurances to give, explanations to be simplified, families to call. Then, there would be homes to return to, jobs to reacquire, livings to be made. Perfect peace did not exist save in the short, contented sighs that filled the room, hard-won and nothing like what they imagined, for those who had tried to imagine. For some, there was no intervening time between journey’s conclusion and the return to life, just a period of lessened activity, and for them, the perfumed air was restless, thick, too warm, too quiet. Some who had been wound up were just beginning to find that they were not yet ready to unwind.

“I’ll be outside,” Pinkie said as she got up, and Applejack gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

When Rarity returned, Colgate took her place, and a servant came fifteen minutes later to lead them to the royal banquet hall, where Celestia and Luna were already waiting, still and regal amid a retinue of wait staff and chefs who were just beginning to bring out the first course. Celestia had changed into a gown similar to Luna’s, glossy white instead of deep blue and shot with slivers of gold that caught the soft lights, as though she radiated magic with each movement. Her mane flowed infinitely off her head and down under the table, where it brushed the maroon carpet and, as Vinyl saw when she stooped to pick something up, spread and interwove with the shag like liquid.

The Elements sat across from the princesses, each to her own smaller wing-back chair and watching with uncertainty that bordered on discomfort as the first-course dishes were unveiled. By way of example, Celestia assured them that there was no shame to digging in, and for a few of them, no more prompting was needed to abandon decorum. Pinkie, true to her expected nature, forwent silverware and ate directly from the plate, and Octavia did not bother with the pretense when she could easily grab whatever she wanted in the magic Twilight had bestowed so long ago. Still, most of them kept to stiffened dignity and polite parlor-talk, the atmosphere and the quality of the food seeming to demand it. Fruit salads glistened with honey from the palace apiary, which too provided the mead that Rarity accepted; fat cherry tomatoes rolled on plates with wedges of tangelo and slivers of red onion; shaved almonds sprinkled the tablecloth where those without magic tried to take some; mixed olives marinated in herbed oil next to dishes of diced pimentos, pearl onions, pickled mozzarella balls, medallions of zucchini and cucumber; oregano and bay leaves shone like flint as they were stirred into steaming bowls of spicy corn chowder, golden beet soup, and cream of artichoke and celeriac. They were served frothing glasses of milk, sweating jars of iced tea, flutes of white wine, and simple water according to their tastes. Conversation was stifled, but not out of awkwardness, and as the first course was concluding, Luna drew them into more earnest talk.

“So, how was it? I want to hear everything, my friends.”

With reluctance only at first, they recounted their adventure as best they could recall, the narrative rolling around the table as one stepped in to correct another, or as one remembered something interesting or important that had been missed or glossed over. When Pinkie spoke, they paid her the same respect as to one another, and the second course was appearing just as they were reaching Manehattan for the first time. Rarity took the lead, omitting much of her interactions with Lacey Kisses as she spooned thin, brown gravy over her plate of sliced potatoes and parsnips.

“Wonder what happened to her,” Applejack said, breaking a corner off a braid of three-grain bread and reaching for the mint jam. Beside her, Fluttershy took slices of portobello mushroom studded with capers and layered them onto rye crostini with paper-thin slivers of radish.

When they got to Fillydelphia, Celestia explained how Discord had unbound the weather in places, that he could take up the sword of wind and rain against certain cities, Fillydelphia worst-hit among them. They talked of the tornado, and were just finishing in Appleloosa when the final course was ready. Colgate and Vinyl took glasses of deep port wine as dessert assembled before them: candied pecans and wilted spinach in cold peach and cream puree, strawberry and blackcurrant mousse, orange marmalade thick between layers of yellow cake trimmed with edible gold, pale yellow ice cream with threads of saffron still visible in its silken swirls. Talk stalled again as the Elements took to their desserts, and when the dishes were being cleared for coffee and digestifs, Twilight resumed their story, taking the princesses down to the mountains, the angel they had found wedged in a crack there, and their short trip on Thunderhead’s vessel. With a tulip glass of aquavit floating before her lips, Octavia described how Vanilla had allowed her to defeat Thunderhead, how they had crashed in Ponyville, and how Spike had been squeezed out of existence before their eyes. Twilight hastened them on to Hoofington, and some of them took refills on their drinks. Luna excused herself for a moment to set the moon on its way.

They repaired to a parlor and concluded the story there, a few hours later, by a crackling fire and with mugs of hot apple cider, several of them with an additional drop or two of brandy.

When Discord was felled, Celestia bowed her head in thought for a minute. “It is quite the tale. You will want to get used to condensing it.”

“All that, and her first response is that we should condense it,” Rarity thought indignantly, but she swallowed her objection.

“What of the additional Elements? What are we to say of those?” Octavia asked.

“Tomorrow, tomorrow, my dear. My, you’ve been back only a day, and already you want to talk business.”

“That’s Octavia for you,” Rainbow said weakly.

Celestia laughed politely. “We will talk about your futures here tomorrow. What do you say to breakfast in the royal hall? It won’t be as fancy as this, just a little thing, but I have some friends I’d like you to meet.”

“Anything, your highness,” Twilight said.

“Good.” She rose and spread her wings for a second, brushing the wall with her feathers. “Please forgive me, but I must retire for the night.” She nodded to Twilight and teleported out of the room, leaving behind a fizzing aura of magic that Luna dispelled with a soft pop of her horn.

“Will she be okay?” Fluttershy asked quietly.

“In time,” Luna said. “She has not told me what happened. I gather that she was stuck in a very long, very unpleasant dream of Discord’s making.”

“We all have bad dreams sometimes,” Pinkie said. “Was hers extra bad?”

“I don’t know how much time she perceived to have passed, that is the thing that worries me the most.”

“I thought she seemed okay,” Rarity said. “A tad stiff, perhaps, but aside from Twilight, she’s not particularly familiar with us.”

“She’s acting like how I feel like we all are,” Twilight said.

“It’s understandable,” Luna said. “The ‘friends’ she mentioned are some of our representatives and assistants. We need to all be on the same page concerning these new Elements, as well as your stories, before anything reaches the public.”

“Is that to say we’re not gonna be able to just tell ponies what happened to us?” Applejack asked.

Luna rested her hot cider on an end table beside a small globe, the silver lines of its continents milky in the firelight. “Certain events, let’s say, will need to be left out. Your temporary death, for instance, Applejack, and the dirty business surrounding it.”

“Ah assume we’ll be avoidin’ everythin’ Twilight did in Snowdrift as well,” Big Mac said, ignoring the look Twilight gave him.

“Most of that, yes. Your run-in with the Mansels, and Peaceful Meadows specifically, we’ll need to change that.”

“Respectfully, yer highness,” Applejack broke in, “Ah’m not comfortable lyin’ to the public ‘bout what happened out there.”

“It’s… We just need to make sure our stories are straight, and that we present a sequence of events that won’t paint you in a bad light.” She grinned slyly. “Respectfully, you lot haven’t kept your noses very clean. We just want to protect your image.”

“There’s that word again,” Big Mac said. “Image.”

“Like it or not, it’s important,” Vinyl said. “Your image is what makes or breaks you. Doesn’t matter what you’ve done, sorry to say.”

“Ah don’t have to like it.”

“No you don’t.” She patted him on the back.

“We’ll also want to talk about your rewards,” Luna said.

“Just the farm is good fer me,” Applejack said, and Luna held up her hooves.

“Not here, not now. Think it over tonight, and you’ll have time after tomorrow to think about it more.”

“What about restoring the country?” Rainbow asked. “Last I checked, we’re still floating, and still, uh, you know, busted apart.”

“My sister and I need to discuss how we want to approach that problem. I’m afraid I have nothing concrete to tell you; as I’m sure you realize, it’s an incredibly complicated task. When we have something, we’ll inform you immediately.” She gave them a second, just in case anyone wanted to volunteer their services—no one did—and talk went to other things. They discussed how Canterlot and Ponyville were getting on and what was happening outside Equestria, and then the dinner, the weather, the palace’s furnishings. Safe and benign, they ended their first night away from adventure and retired to their bedrooms just before midnight, and for all that was on their minds, they fell asleep as soundly as if in their own homes.

Vinyl was the first to wake, and she rolled over to a mild searing in her eyes. She had pulled the shade the night before, but enough dawn still made it through to hurt her. Groping for her goggles, she knocked over a glass of water, and spent several minutes searching the room for something to clean the mess. She eventually gave up and went to the washroom, meaning to experience a shower in the palace. She had wanted to the night before, but dinner and conversation talk had waylaid her.

Having toured the country, Vinyl had stayed in countless luxury hotels, and after her shower, after washing her face in the opaline sink and striking silly poses in the wall-length mirror, she concluded that the very best facilities were somewhere else. The palace had everything she could want, but some of the highest-end hotels in Applewood did too, and many of those were not decorated so conservatively.

She found the others in a reception room upstairs, some cleaned up like she was, some fresh out of bed. Big Mac wore a flowing, pink bathrobe and a furry hat that matched his slippers, and still he shivered in the drafty room, while Rainbow beside him wore only her fur. Neither princess was present, and a butler escorted them to the royal dining room, where Celestia was ready and waiting with a group of five smartly-dressed unicorns. Introductions were given, hooves shaken, thanks rendered, and they were all seated as breakfast was levitated out. Luna met them just after the final cloche came off its mound of cranberry and pumpkin scones, and she grabbed one before taking a seat. Celestia smiled wearily, but the other officials pretended to take no notice.

When they were settled, Celestia said, “Applejack, I hear you have concerns about our intentions with your story.”

Applejack paused before a bite of oatmeal. “That ain’t what Ah said last night, yer highness.”

“You’re worried about honesty, and if it’s okay for us to omit certain unsavory details from your official story.”

“Official story?” Octavia asked.

“You must know, accounts are already being made. This is history, girls; the words we set forth will be taught in schools. It’ll be immortalized in film, in literature, in art—and in the royal archives.”

“All the more reason fer it to be complete, warts an’ all,” Applejack said.

“While you do have a certain amount of leeway with how you choose to conduct yourselves,” Luna said, “the crown can’t protect you from everything.”

“Wait, since when do we need protection?” Rainbow objected. Twilight glanced at her, and Rainbow did not follow up on her question.

“These good ponies have been told what to expect already,” Celestia said. “You can be open around them. Their jobs are to represent you to the public where you cannot represent yourselves.”

“Let’s just get into it,” Twilight said. “What events, specifically, are you looking to leave out? All the Mansel stuff, you said earlier, but what else?”

“Let’s start with the Mansels,” Luna said. “Cherry Sundae, would you cover what needs to be done?”

A pastel red mare with large, square glasses straightened in her seat and clapped a few papers on the table. In the brief introduction, she had gone through an entire stack of steaming pancakes. “The Mansels have lost significant ground in the political arena, but they still have a voice in Canterlot. It is known that they blame you all for what happened to Pure Waterfall, one of their most important shareholders.”

“He was their money launderer,” Applejack said.

Cherry Sundae didn’t bat an eye. “But to the public, he was just a shareholder. Like you, the Mansels have an image to protect, and he was a big part of that.”

“Hold it,” Rarity said. “Are we helping them too? Why should we care if Equestria knows what the Mansels were really up to?”

“Let ‘em burn,” Rainbow grunted. “It has nothing to do with us.”

“Allow me,” Celestia said, raising a hoof to stay Cherry Sundae’s response. “Like she said, they still have a strong voice in Canterlot. It would not be mutually beneficial if they were to come to any more harm.”

“Running the country is a business, Applejack,” said Cherry Sundae, smiling kindly. “And the Mansels are an important part of that business.”

“So you’re working together,” Rainbow said. “They…” She paused, both princesses’ eyes on her, stern and understanding. The purpose of the morning’s meeting was to secure the Elements’ stories, not discuss the throne’s business model. “Makes sense, I guess,” she mumbled.

Applejack was shaking her head.

“Officially, Pure Waterfall died in an industrial accident when his dam… lifted off,” Cherry Sundae continued. “Do we like that phrase?” A series of solemn nods from her coworkers. “Lifted off, then. You were there, but you didn’t see it happen, and only found out after the fact.”

“That’s the truth anyway,” Twilight said. “We didn’t have anything to do with whatever happened to him. The stupid Mansels keep saying otherwise, and that’s why we got caught up with them in the first place, because they refused to believe us.”

Luna whispered something into Cherry Sundae’s ear, and the mare nodded before straightening her papers a second time. “The Mansels’ report details an interaction between you and one of their employees, a mare by the name of Peaceful Meadows.”

“She tried to take our lives in Snowdrift,” Octavia said. “Myself, Big Mac, Colgate, and Vinyl. A mare by the name of Partial Thoughts was also involved, but she was incidental to Peaceful Meadows’ plan.”

“The report states that there was a fear response when Peaceful Meadows was transferred to the Snowdrift branch, and that some of you and Partial Thoughts conspired to harm her.”

“Yeah, in self-defense!” Rainbow said.

“She had us bound and gagged and driving into the woods,” Colgate said. “Go down there and see, the tire tracks might still be there.”

Cherry Sundae hesitated and looked at Celestia, who leaned forward.

“We believe your stories, my friends,” Celestia said gently. “We’re not questioning anything you say.”

“We understand that Peaceful Meadows was more than what they say,” Luna said.

“Yes indeed. And you won’t be punished for defending yourselves against her. We just want you to be aware of what the Mansels are saying about you, how it will look to the public eye. The official report, from them, is that you overreacted to someone you thought was hostile in Snowdrift.”

“And we can’t tell the truth about this because it’ll hurt their name?” Twilight asked. “Meanwhile, it’s going to look like we had her killed for no good reason.”

“She passed away of hypothermia,” Cherry Sundae chirped, a prim smile raising her glasses and scrunching her muzzle. “After you met, there was a scuffle that made its way into the forest, and there she fell and crawled away somewhere. You weren’t able to find her, but you did try.”

“So what did we actually do?” Rarity sighed.

“Misses Octavia, Colgate, Vinyl, and Mr. Big Mac accosted Peaceful Meadows in her residence when she was outside.” She cleared her throat. “Did any of you have a pulse crystal at the time?”

“Partial Thoughts did,” Colgate lied.

“But none of you.”

“That’s right.”

Cherry Sundae nodded to an orange unicorn sitting next to her. “That makes our jobs easier. Me and Mango Syrup are in charge of softening the reports as much as possible.”

“While still keeping the Mansels in the clear,” Twilight added.

“Recent events have made them more vulnerable than in past,” Luna said. “You’ve been abroad, but relations between the Astras and Mansels have gotten much worse.”

“Take a look at these,” a different mare said, floating a pair of newspapers over to the Elements. “You can keep them if you want.”

“There’s been a rash of racially-charged incidents in Canterlot,” Celestia said, “when there was a connection made between the Mansels and the Pegasus Advocate group here.”

“What are the Pegasus Advocates?” Big Mac whispered.

“Pegasus supremacy group,” Rainbow said. “They’re scum.”

“So the Mansels cozy up to the PAs in Canterlot, the Astras clash with both of ‘em, and now the Mansels are in the doghouse,” Colgate said. “Why not the Astras? Or have we not gotten to them yet?”

“They were just the victims, not directly involved,” Twilight mumbled, reading through the top article.

“The PAs got out of control,” Luna said. “Some ponies wound up dead, one a known Mansel operative.”

“Hey! That’s him!” Rarity cried, pointing to a place on the newspaper. “Whippoorwill, he’s the guy we met in Trottingham.”

“Huh. Good riddance,” Twilight said. “I hate the PAs as much as the next mare, but they couldn’t have picked a better pony to get rid of.” She glanced up at the princesses. “He was one of the worst that we ran into.”

“Oh my… er, goodness,” Fluttershy gasped. “Twilight?”

Twilight read, her friends beside her all gasping or murmuring to themselves as they read it too.

“Dr. Whooves,” Octavia said. “How in the world did he get involved?”

“He was allegedly with Whippoorwill at the time of death,” Big Mac read. “Ah agree. How does that happen?”

“No one knows,” Cherry Sundae said. “Was he a friend of yours?”

“He was their traveling companion for a time,” Luna said.

“Ah. My apologies, I’ll make a note of that.”

“Let me get this straight,” Twilight said, sliding the papers over to Rainbow. “The Mansels are taking the blame for what the PAs did here, and that, plus all the crap they did in Roan and Snowdrift, is making it so that their influence here is weakened… but we don’t want them to lose everything, because we still benefit from their support.”

“That’s correct, Miss Sparkle.”

“So we’re expected to say we made a mistake in Snowdrift to cover up the fact that they sent their thug after us?” Rainbow asked.

“Our good names are more robust than theirs at the moment,” Vinyl said, “so I can see the logic to it.”

“If you agree with the Mansels’ report, then there would be no further action on their part,” Cherry Sundae said.

“Do you have that in writing?” Twilight asked.

“We’re working on it.” She pinched a paper out of her stack and floated it across the table. “This is for you. If Mansel and Company sees that you’ve signed this, they should agree to sign their portion, which attests that they will pursue no further legal action.”

“‘Further legal action’?” Applejack snorted. “You just told us, they’re hangin’ by a thread. What are they gonna do, sue? Fer what? We didn’t—”

“Applejack,” Twilight said, gently touching her friend on the back. “We can discuss this in private.”

“We will not sign this now,” Octavia said, reading the contract.

“Take as much time as you need,” Cherry Sundae said quickly, looking again at Celestia, who smiled warmly to no one in particular.

“The next order of business is the affair with you, Applejack,” Luna said. “Your period of incapacity.”

“My death,” Applejack said. She looked the princess in the eyes, noticing how the other politicians recoiled slightly at the word. In the meeting, she did not have much power, it was becoming clear to her, but what strength she did wield was in her ability to state candidly what happened to her, the scary and ugly events that everyone else wanted to address euphemistically.

“We’re referring to it as a period of incapacity.”

“I was actually thinking about this last night,” Twilight said. “Can we just say she was badly injured in Roan, and leave it at that? We didn’t want to put her up in a hospital for publicity reasons, so we tended to her in the hotel. Is that okay?”

“Even better, it’s remotely close to the truth,” Applejack said. “Ah’ll take it if it means we can get this over with faster.”

“We’re working with Roan to bury your involvement with their mortuary services, Miss Sparkle,” a different unicorn said. His chair creaked as he adjusted in it.

“That,” Twilight groaned, rolling her eyes. “Is that seriously going to come back to me?”

“You were seen visiting a morgue. As an Element of Harmony, it raised questions, questions which were left un-answered.”

“Tell them I was friends with a worker there, I was going to socialize. I’ll sign something that says that.”

The stallion looked at Luna, who nodded. “I’ll draw up a contract this afternoon. Fortunately, no one saw Miss Applejack’s…”

“Dead, rottin’ flesh?” Applejack offered.

“Temporary remains.” He looked away from her, and she bent in her chair to stare more directly at him. “No one can attest that you had actually passed on, only that you were absent for the period of time that you all occupied Roan. Saying you were recovering in the hotel, yes, I think that can work.”

“As Ah said, Ah’ll sign it if it gets me outta here faster. Throw that contract in with Twilight’s morgue friend, an’ you’ve got me.”

“There’s still the matter of covering up the rumors in Roan.”

“They don’t need to concern themselves with that,” Celestia said. “What some citizens of Roan say about the Elements of Harmony is of little importance here.”

“Yeah, they’re not on the bankroll,” Rainbow whispered to Big Mac.

The unicorn bowed, his horn almost tapping his coffee mug. “Yes, your highness. My apologies. The, uh, the final point would be…” He looked awkwardly at Octavia. “New Elements of Harmony.”

“The palace already knows about it,” Colgate said. “Certain ponies all around the country too.”

“We’ll talk about that aspect in private,” Luna said, and Colgate nodded, hiding the fear the princess’ easy manner had put into her.

“A technical explanation is out of the question, yes?” Vinyl asked.

“The mechanics of the Elements of Harmony are not widely known, you are correct,” Celestia sighed, resting her chin on her hooves. “I think the explanation I want to present is that the extra four appeared out of thin air, at the last second, with Discord. Your friendship was so strong that new Elements spontaneously manifested.”

“How romantic of us,” Rarity said with a sidelong look at Vinyl.

“It’s the easiest explanation to swallow.”

“What about the Elements misfiring the first time?” Twilight asked. “We assumed that since we’d made new friends along the way, the six was no longer a complete set.”

Celestia shook her head. “The six was always a complete set. They didn’t work because you weren’t in true harmony.” Some of them glanced at Fluttershy, and Celestia pretended not to notice.

“But for the sake of the public knowledge, we can say six was no longer complete, or that we simply don’t know why they didn’t work,” Luna said. “The Elements work in mysterious ways.”

“So we have to pretend that we are surprised and delighted that we got three new Elements,” Octavia said, “and that none of this was premeditated.”

“Four new Elements,” Celestia corrected.

“Ah. Well…” She looked at Vinyl, whose horn glowed a sustained orange, embarrassed.

“I’ll explain,” Twilight said.

“Please,” Vinyl mumbled, looking down.

“Something wasn’t quite right with Vinyl’s Element, the Element of Empathy. It didn’t go off in Discord’s face like all the others. We did only intend to have three, but Colgate…” She tried to think of a way to say it that would not make Colgate sound untrustworthy.

“You know ‘bout Big Mac’s glamour?” Applejack asked. “Vanilla put it on him some time ago, it made him join up with us in the first place.”

“We are aware of this,” Celestia said.

“The glamour had us come up to Canterlot, Ah ferget which time, like the third or fourth, an’ that’s when we got Colgate. The big teleport inside the throne room.”

“I remember it well, Applejack.”

“Yeah. Big Mac assumed Colgate had a good reason fer bein’ with us, otherwise the glamour wouldn’t have had us come up fer her, but we didn’t believe it. But that’s why she went an’ got her own Element, ‘cause she did believe in the glamour. An’ wouldn’t you know it, she was right all along. Vinyl’s failed, but Colgate was there with an extra to step in an’ take her place.”

“The wonders of friendship never cease,” Luna said. She gestured at Colgate’s Element. “May I?”

Colgate passed it to her without a word. No one noticed that she had grown pale; to hear someone else recount her story for her, and to the goddesses themselves, she felt like she was being evaluated for whether she may continue living.

“What Element is this?”

She flinched, licked her lips, and looked at Octavia, who answered for her. “The Element of Adventure. I think it is a good fit, myself.”

“You did this of your own volition, without consulting the others first.”

“She had the glamour on her side,” Big Mac said. “It had been right ‘bout everythin’ else.”

Luna floated the Element to Celestia, who inspected it with a close eye.

“And Miss Scratch’s failed at the last second,” a third politician said. “Does anyone know that she had attempted to carry one?”

“Some of my ponies,” Luna said, “but no one in the public sphere.”

“Oh, um, actually, I think someone does know,” Fluttershy interjected. “In Hoofington, the final time we were there, she was seen carrying her Element.”

“That’s right,” Vinyl groaned, leaning back as she remembered. “We saw it on the TV in the hospital. Shit, I’d forgotten about that.”

“I bet we can contain it,” Luna said, and turned to a burgundy mare at the table’s end. “The Hoofington press, any mention of Vinyl Scratch with her own Element of Harmony, I want it scrubbed.” The mare saluted without a word.

“Your highness, if I may,” Vinyl said, at last finding courage to speak. “Even though my Element didn’t work, my friendship with these ponies is real. I would like to stay on with them a little longer.”

“Can she participate in the celebrations?” Cherry Sundae asked.

“She’s a friend of the Elements,” Celestia said. “Friendship is more than this jewel, and I’m sure Miss Vinyl has helped in her own ways.”

“She’s helped us plenty,” Rainbow said.

“And she has endured much hardship. Miss Vinyl here is entitled to the same benefits and treatment as the actual Elements of Harmony—but we will identify her as a friend, nothing more. She will not be acknowledged as an Element of Harmony, or an aspirant thereto.”

“You have my thanks, your highness,” Vinyl said, her magic color going from orange to scarlet.

“What about the Element itself?” Twilight asked. “Can we dispose of it somehow?”

Celestia looked at Vinyl, who dug the Element out of her bag and passed it over.

“We’ll look at it,” Luna said. “We’ve never had to destroy an Element of Harmony before.”

“Do I need to sign anything?” Vinyl asked.

“For this? No dear, nothing.” She gave Vinyl a smile that Vinyl could scarcely return for her embarrassment. The failed Element of Harmony; it did not have such a nice ring to it.

“What sorts of publicity events will we be expected to attend?” Octavia asked.

“Caramel will be handling all your public relations locally,” Celestia said, rubbing the politician’s back and matching his toothy grin.

“Thanks, your highness.” He was a tall, wide unicorn in a deep black vest that swelled to contain him, with a close-cropped mane and heavy jowls that bounced when he talked. “You ladies are gonna have a press conference tomorrow at six. We were trying to keep ‘em off you for a little longer, but you can’t say no to the press forever, you know how it is. It’s just a little thing anyway. You know, it’s gonna be soft questions.”

“Like how we feel now that Discord is defeated?” Rainbow offered.

“You got it, girl. There’s not gonna be any hard stuff so soon after you get back. Uhh, press conference tomorrow, six, and then of course the parade, that’s gonna be at seven.”

“You already have a parade set up?” Colgate asked.

Luna shrugged. “We knew we’d have one when you won, it was just a matter of telling the palace to go ahead and start working on it. They wanted to start having them earlier, but I put my hoof down. I couldn’t have us celebrating before our time.”

“What about this parade?” Rainbow asked.

Caramel laughed a little and smiled at her. “You just sit there and wave at ponies. There’s gonna be—well, we’ll look at the floats tomorrow, I don’t have ‘em in front of me.”

“Will there be any speeches?” Octavia asked.

“I am making a speech after the parade,” Celestia said, “and you can say some words if you’d like.”

“Ah’ll pass, thanks,” Applejack said.

“You’ll probably be asked to make speeches from time to time,” Caramel said, “but we don’t have anything scheduled yet. If I was you, I’d have a speech or two in my back pocket, just in case anyone catches you by surprise. They’ll do that, you know how it is. Other than that, uh, you’ve been invited to a fancy dinner tonight, but I left you the option to decline, since it’s so sudden.”

“What kind of dinner?” Pinkie asked.

“You heard him, a fancy one,” Rarity said.

“Some of the movers and shakers of Greater Canterlot wanna shake your hooves,” Caramel said. “It’ll be nothing to you, you just have to eat and look good, tell ‘em you’re happy to be in the country’s service. Between you and me,” he chuckled, “they’ve got more money than brains, they won’t get on your case about anything. Now, there’s a breakfast on the schedule for a couple days later, that one’s gonna be a little tricky, it’s with like the scientists and writers of the city.”

“The intelligentsia,” Luna said.

“What she said. You know those smart ponies, they’re gonna have all sorts of questions for you. We’ll go over that when it gets closer.”

“If all we have to do is look good, I say we do dinner tonight,” Vinyl said.

“Ah can eat,” Big Mac said.

“Go ahead,” Applejack said. “Ah still have to think ‘bout it.”

“I’ll pencil you in for tonight at seven,” Caramel said.

“What about TV appearances and book deals and all that kind of thing?” Twilight asked.

“That all goes through me. If anyone approaches you directly, tell ‘em to give me a ring. Oh, here.” He dug around in a saddlebag and produced a brick of business cards. “Got all my information on it. You can just give ‘em this, and if they keep bothering you, you can tell ‘em to go away.”

“I remember these days,” Vinyl said. “Good to be back.”

“Photo shoots, graduation speeches, there’s gonna be that too. You might be asked to cut ribbons for grand openings and stuff.”

“What about paparazzi?”

“They’re a fact of life.”

“Ignore them as best you can,” Vinyl said to the others. “Don’t engage with them. It makes things worse.”

“Thank you, Caramel.” Celestia rose, and her retinue of politicians did the same. “He lives in the palace, so he’ll be in touch whenever you need him. For now, I know we’ve given you a lot to think about, and the morning’s almost over. I’d like to speak with you all in private before you start your afternoons.”

“And I need to speak with Colgate,” Luna said.

“Excellent. Thank you all for coming. Cherry, give me those contracts as soon as they’re ready, and I’ll have the Elements sign them this afternoon.”

Cherry Sundae bowed to the floor before exiting with the rest of them.

When the princesses were seated again, Twilight spoke first. “Princess Luna, we know about Colgate and the secret agents.”

“Our title is the Datura,” Luna said. “Don’t worry, no one is going to try to take that knowledge from you.”

“Caramel’s one of us,” Colgate said.

Luna looked at her, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “Why do you say that?”

Colgate squirmed in her seat, but was clearly—to some of them—energized by the question. “He was dressed wrong. Everyone was wearing the same stuff: tie, slacks, collared shirt. His wasn’t ironed, he had dressed hastily, and he kept looking out the window. Look, see? The window looks down onto a main courtyard, I think he was watching for someone.”

“And?”

“Each time he looked, he straightened in his seat a little, like he was watching something farther away, probably the exit. I also noticed that while his shoes were tied kind of loose, the strings on the front of his vest were tied precisely, and also differently than the shoes.”

Luna’s smile grew. “Keep going, keep going.”

“Uhh…” She glanced at Octavia, who listened, intrigued. “Well, the shoe laces were done in the bunny ear style, but the same ear was bigger on each one, like he prefers his right side. The vest strings were more symmetrical. I, uh, I know we Daturas sometimes communicate to each other by the way we tie our shoes or our vests. Nonverbal signals, you know? He was probably watching someone in the palace before he had to come talk to us.”

Luna grinned at Celestia, who looked on placidly, as if barely paying attention. “I’m impressed, but you’re not quite right. He’s no Datura, but he is watching someone. I’ll let him know to be more careful, that you spotted him. How long did it take you to figure all that out?”

“Most of the meeting,” Colgate said. “I couldn’t see the window very good, and I didn’t want to look every time he did, ‘cause then he’d catch on to what I was doing.”

Luna was nodding. “You’ve got raw talent, I’ll give you that. We’ll talk after this.”

“What I wanted to talk about,” Celestia broke in, “was your rewards.”

“Ah just wanna go home,” Applejack said, and Celestia laughed.

“I know, dear, I know. We’ll get you home as soon as possible.”

“Honestly, I think that’s what we all want,” Twilight said. “Nothing fancy, just to go back to Ponyville.”

“If I can request something?” Rarity said. “My boutique fell over the edge when we were there. I would appreciate help acquiring a new home and place of business.”

“I’ll see to it that you get a boutique wherever you want,” Celestia said, “no strings attached.” She smiled. “Anyone else? Octavia, if you would like, I can help you find a place in an orchestra. Any you choose.”

Octavia blushed. “I… will think about it, your highness. For now, please do not trouble yourself.”

“Colgate? How about free schooling for you to get your medical licenses back?”

Colgate shuffled in her seat.

“She and I will discuss that in private,” Luna said.

Celestia nodded. “Rainbow Dash? A spot on the Wonderbolts, perhaps?”

Rainbow laughed good-naturedly. “I’d rather earn my place with them, thanks.”

“Really, your highness, I think just peace and quiet is what we need right now,” Twilight said.

“We have to give you at least something,” Luna said. “It’ll reflect poorly on us if we don’t. We’ll look ungrateful.”

“Money is fine, then,” Applejack said. “Ah’ll take a few thousand bits fer the farm. Couldn’t hurt.”

“You can just give my money to charity,” Fluttershy said.

“How about a national park in your name?” Celestia asked.

“I don’t—well…” She smiled in spite of herself. “Maybe.”

“You can give my money to charity too,” Pinkie said. “Maybe it can help the ponies in Applewood.”

“What about them, anyway?” Twilight asked.

“We’re doing everything we can right now,” Celestia said, and left it at that. After a bit more discussion on the exact sum of money they would receive, they made their goodbyes, and Colgate stayed behind with Princess Luna.

“Shall we take a walk?” Luna asked.

Colgate looked down, heart pounding, but for what she did not know. She trusted Luna, or so she thought, and she was so wrapped up in the question of it that she didn’t notice the route they took to the gallery. When they were there, among paintings and vases and occasional suits of dusty armor, Colgate scanned the area, trying to find something smart to say about it.

“You have an interesting decision to make, Minuette.”

“I reckon I do.”

“Your service with the Datura has been checkered, but you also have some strong recommendations.”

“Mm?”

“Fleur dis Lee spoke highly of you. She said you worked very well under pressure, and she complimented your mind. I can see why.”

“I’m a clever girl.”

“You might be surprised, but the other recommendation came to me from Lotus.”

“Cloud of thoughts!” Her head snapped up. With distance had come a lessening of the paranoia that Colgate felt for Lotus, as well as the affection, but by the mere mention of her name, a flame of emotion lit inside her: first fear, and then the same tingling warmth that had pushed her to kiss Octavia. “She liked me?”

“She said you had a lot of talent that could be refined.” She giggled. “From Lotus, that’s high praise. She said you impressed her in Snowdrift, for the same reasons you impressed Fleur, and me just now.”

“Clever girl,” Colgate repeated. What neither Fleur nor Lotus seemed to realize, and which Colgate was afraid to admit, was that her moments of insight were unpredictable. In her mind, she was not smart or particularly observant, but simply prone to lucky shots in the dark. When something made sense, it did so quickly, but when it did not, she was just as likely to panic, lash out, or find the nearest bottle of toxic liquid.

“I know also that there are trust issues, between you and the Datura. They are reasonable.”

“My team was earmarked for big, fiery death.”

Luna averted her gaze. “It was a complicated time for us.”

“Lotus explained it to me.”

“And you figured out the rest for yourself, I assume?”

“She’s flattering me, I think.” Colgate smiled.

“If you still want a position in the Datura, I can give you one. I don’t think fieldwork is right for you, but I can see you in reconnaissance or counterintelligence.”

“Those involve me traveling. Twilight said I have to stay with the Elements in case we need to blow someone up.”

“We can keep your work local to where the other Elements live, it’s no problem. Or, if you prefer, you can opt out of Datura work and have a more down-to-earth life. I’ll put a note in your file that you are not to be approached for future recruitment, and that would be that.”

Colgate did not answer immediately, but studied the painting they had stopped at, still searching for something insightful to say and coming up blank. The painting, in rich and thick oils, depicted a ship somewhere on the southern ocean coming abreast to an iceberg. No ponies worked on the ship, but minotaurs, their bipedal forms strange to her eye, awkward and hunched where they had quit the ship and boarded rowboats among the smaller ice floes.

“You would have an opportunity to do great things in the Datura,” Luna went on. “And your future would be secure. No more, uh, ‘big, fiery death’.”

“I just thought of something for my reward,” Colgate said. “Can you pay off the rest of my student loans?”

“Consider it done.” She waited, and when Colgate did not speak further, she continued. “I don’t expect you to decide right now. Just know that the option is open to you. If you have any questions, you can ask me directly. Or ask one of the palace Daturas you notice wandering around.”

Colgate, not realizing it was a joke, nodded and took her eyes from the painting. The sight of the water, rendered in lustrous, fat strokes, had softened her fear. She decided to say something that Octavia would say. “You have my gratitude, your highness.”

“And you mine.” She shook Colgate’s hoof. “Your faith in Big Mac’s glamour was remarkable, Minuette. A little cavalier for my liking, but remarkable nonetheless.”

“Applejack taught me a lot about faith.” An utter lie, but the first thing to spring to mind.

“Has she? Interesting.” She flapped her wings lazily. “I’ll leave you alone now, if you wish it. Do you want to stay here?”

“When will I be needed to get ready for dinner?”

“It’ll be some hours yet.”

“Yes.” She nodded, and, after a moment, decided that there was no harm in asking. “Does this palace have a pool?”

Some of the Elements retreated to their rooms, some to various places on the grounds, but Applejack and Rainbow went for the game room. On the ground level, in the northwest corner just beside one of the guard houses, was a group of rooms strictly for entertainment—among them, a bar. They arrived as two, but it wasn’t long before Vinyl found them and made it three, and they moved to the far corner, away from curious eyes.

“No one’s gonna feel weird if I drink with you?” Vinyl asked.

“Weird?” Rainbow repeated.

“Come off it, you know I drink more than I need.”

“Uhhhh…”

“When we needed you fer savin’ the world, it was a little iffy,” Applejack said. “Not anymore. Drink yerself blind fer all Ah care.”

“Huh.” She seated herself and ordered a gin martini, extra olives.

“Sorry.” Applejack pulled her mane back. “Ah wasn’t tryin’ to sound mean. That meetin’ left me in a powerfully bad mood, is all.”

“I’m with you,” Rainbow said. “They seriously expect us to take the blame for all the shit that happened in Snowdrift ‘cause the Mansels can’t take it. I mean, whose side are they on?”

“The side with the money.” She looked down the menu for a minute and settled on a hard cider. “Which makes sense. Heck, Luna’s right, runnin’ a country ain’t free. It’s a business like any other, Ah get that, but… Thank you.” She took several gulps of her cider. “It’s a mighty shock to find out the vaunted princesses rely on filthy money to keep things goin’.”

“Stupid Mansels,” Rainbow groused. “I hope lightning strikes ‘em all.”

“A toast to that.”

Vinyl chewed an olive quietly. The shock that Applejack and Rainbow felt was nothing to her, but, she reminded herself, she had spent her life in and out of record deals. The ugliness of big business was, to her, a part of life, but, recalling an old admonishment of gracelessness, she did not want to point out her greater experience to them.

“So are you gonna sign the contract?” Rainbow asked.

“Ah’m weighin’ my options.”

“You’re trying to imagine how much damage you’ll do if you be totally honest.”

“You got me.” They sat quietly for a minute.

“Everyone would believe you,” Vinyl said after a while.

“Sure, but is that we want?” She brushed her mane back again as billiards balls clacked and the off-duty guards hooted. “Ah don’t know how much the princesses truly rely on ‘em, that’s the thing, an’ it’s not somethin’ Ah can learn easily. Ah know they won’t give me the full truth if Ah ask fer it, an’ Ah’m no businesspony, Ah can’t figure it myself.”

“So you can be safe and assume they need the Mansels as much as they say, or you can take a risk that your honesty won’t hurt things as bad as the princesses tell you,” Rainbow said.

“That does seem to be where Ah’m at,” Applejack grumbled. “In the meantime, just keepin’ mum like this is buggin’ me. Dishonesty don’t lead to good ends.”

“It’s not the kind of lie you can walk away from, either,” Vinyl said. She was already halfway through her martini, where Rainbow had barely touched her aperol spritz. Feeling the buzz, but not enjoying it, she contemplated the selection of bottles and thought more inside her comfort zone of what to order next.

“An’ it’s not the kind of thing Ah’d be willin’ to hold to forever.”

“What if you told the truth, but in a context where no one believed you?”

“That don’t do no good. Ah couldn’t just shrug an’ say ‘Well, Ah tried’.”

“That’s like Fluttershy’s memory-wipe trick,” Rainbow said. “Surface-level bullshit, not actually helpful.”

All three gazes met one another, and Vinyl was the first to speak, tentatively. “When I erased her memory, I didn’t know things would be so explosive later.”

“No way you could’ve. I mean, it’s Fluttershy. No one would have seen that coming in a million years.”

“It does make sense, lookin’ back,” Applejack said. “Witnessin’ Pinkie like that, Ah can understand it poisonin’ ya. Frankly, Ah blame her fer my death now. Not directly, you understand, but…” She drank. “Maybe a little. Aw, there’s nothin’ to be done now, Ah’m just gettin’ myself worked up.”

“What’s done is done,” Vinyl said. She looked at her martini and finished it with a shudder.

“We can’t just write it off, though,” Rainbow said. “She needs to be held accountable.”

“She has been, an’ she knows it,” Applejack said. “Ah reckon she knows her time with us is over. What happens next, Ah couldn’t tell ya, but…” She shook her head. “This is too much fer me. Ah don’t know Equestrian politics or Element mechanics or any of that high-flung stuff Twilight talks about so easy. Ah know Pinkie’s situation is more complicated on account of her bein’ one of us, an’ it affects the whole country, but past that, Ah dunno. Ah can’t wrap my head around it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Rainbow said, tapping her glass. Vinyl, meanwhile, ordered a shot of melon liquor. Applejack eyed the circular bottle as it floated off the top shelf, its stopper a tight nautilus shell, its liquid a delicate jade that filled Vinyl’s lilac shot glass and turned it to a disappointing brown. “This is what I think. I actually like what you said, Vinyl. What’s done is done. Pinkie’s finished, we just need to see how. Maybe she’ll go back to the rock farm, I don’t know. But anyway…” She trailed off, looking down at her glass.

“You don’t want her to just disappear,” Vinyl suggested.

Rainbow shook her head.

“The crazy thing is, Ah bet none of us actually want that,” Applejack said. “Mistake aside, this mare has been a core friend fer some time, an’ she stuck this last year out with us the whole way. That’s worth somethin’ too.”

“It’s not enough,” Rainbow said.

“It might not be.”

“I think how she acts in these coming days is gonna tell us,” Vinyl said. “I’m trying to keep an open heart for her, at least.”

Rainbow gave her a dirty look, but said nothing.

As dinnertime approached, each Element found themselves, in pairs, invited to the royal salon. Eight months abroad had taken its toll on their appearances, and in fifty-minute segments, they were attended to by the princesses’ personal beauticians. Manes, tails, and coats were washed, trimmed, and brushed; hooves were filed, cleaned, and polished; skin was oiled and massaged; makeup was applied; and for Octavia, her scar wrapped and bandaged tactfully. Then they were off to the fitting rooms, each with his or her own tailor. Some sat through the process, others luxuriated, but by six-thirty, all were shuffled into the royal dining room once more to wait for their guests, looking as regal and stately as the princesses themselves.

While the ten Elements waited for eight of the wealthiest and most influential ponies in Greater Canterlot, Celestia explained who each guest was and what they had done to earn their spot in the dinner. Hardly a word or glimmer of eye contact moved among the friends as they went over them: the business tycoon with a spotless past, the landowner who wanted to develop a chain of hotels on her property, the supermodel and consort to a select few of lesser elite. They all stared at their princess, half-listening, pressed and formal; but to the fawning aristocrats who entered twenty minutes later, their flat smiles and polite enthusiasm showed nothing to suspect.

“Amazing! A story for the ages!”

“Just doin’ our jobs.”

“It was pretty rough out there, sometimes.”

“You simply must attend my gallery opening next weekend. It’s opening in your honor.”

“Is Discord as scary in person as he is in books?”

“How did you do it?”

“You must be exhausted.”

“It’s just good to be back.”

“The food is great.”

And on and on, ninety minutes of banality, small questions and smaller answers, food and drink, civil laughter; no controversial opinion was voiced and no challenging statement uttered under the benedictory smile of their ruler, she at the table’s head and quietest of them all. When the dishes were cleared and everyone had gone back into the city, the Elements looked at Celestia as though she had something to say.

She spread her wings dramatically. “And tomorrow, my little ponies, the true festivities begin!” In a flash, she was gone, leaving them to find their own ways. More questioning looks, a few awkward goodbyes, and they separated. Pinkie left, once more, alone.

Out into the simulated moonlight that covered them from the true moonlight, Rarity walked with Twilight by her side. From the royal dining room, there was a short passage to the north-facing loggia, the length of which they paced back and forth, safe on one side from the coming winter that rose with the yellow lights off of Lower Canterlot. The countryside was all shadow beyond, and the occasional shimmer of starlight-touched water under steel clouds. Rarity rested against a pillar and sighed.

“I really shouldn’t be bothered by this,” Rarity said.

“Mm?”

“These insipid celebrations. You warned us.”

“We just have to hope they’ll end soon. Once we’re back in Ponyville, things’ll slow down. They won’t stop completely, though—you realize that, right?”

“That ponies will travel to see us? Yes, I suppose I do. Perhaps I should have a stack of autographed pictures ready.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” She let Rarity keep to her own thoughts for a minute. “Princess Celestia thinks we’re enjoying ourselves here.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You heard how she said that. ‘The festivities are just beginning!’ Like, ohhh, wow, I can’t wait to spend more time watching rich ponies pretend us being back affects them in any way, shape, or form. Yeah, just what I want.”

“Bee in your bonnet, Twilight?”

“You’ve got one too.”

“I’ll have you know I’m quite calm this evening.”

Twilight watched her silhouette from one pillar back, and it did look as calm as she claimed. She could not place why, but the image annoyed Twilight to a bitter turning away.

“Princess Celestia wants to reward us for our work, and this is the best way she knows. Darling, if I were in her position, I would feel the same way. I wouldn’t feel right sending us all home with my words of thanks and nothing else, it would feel like I had cheated us in some way.”

“So what was breakfast?”

“It was business first.”

Twilight nodded.

“You know that. Come, dear, don’t be upset.” She turned back to Twilight with a smile, and Twilight thought for a second that Rarity was going to hug her. The gesture didn’t feel right, and when Rarity took a step forward, Twilight took one back.

“I’m not upset. I… Actually, yes, I am upset. Same reason as everyone else.”

Rarity nodded. “Of course.”

Twilight resumed her pace up the walkway. “I’ve never felt so betrayed, or so manipulated. I recognize the logic in Fluttershy not telling us what she knew, but to have it work… I don’t know, to have our victory be founded on a lie like that, it makes me feel sick. Do you wonder if there’s anything else that happened, that we lost? Any other issues one of us is waiting to spring?”

“It hadn’t crossed my mind,” Rarity lied.

“It has mine. Many times.” She turned at the way’s end and faced the long, empty corridor, Rarity’s figure watching her patiently. “I could force it out of us. I could detect if there’s any other memory tampering in the group.”

“And you would subject us all to this so as to satisfy your own burning curiosity.”

“I don’t want to.”

“That’s no answer.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Not that, dear. I don’t know.” She sighed. “Can’t we just be at peace?”

“You’re asking the wrong pony, Rarity. I haven’t felt at peace for a while now.”

“I’m aware. I haven’t either, but I’m trying to get back to it.”

“And we can expect not to be for some time after this. When it’s not one thing, it’s another. Celestia, and from Pinkie, too. How are we supposed to move past that?”

Rarity’s voice was strained. “Perhaps we should ask her.”

“I’m sure that would go over just great.”

“No, I mean—ugh, hello, Pinkie.”

Twilight whipped around to see her, her mane flat and lank, the well-known sign that her spirits had been damaged. She stopped a ways from Rarity, and the three of them stood in a row, just looking at one another. A leaf scuttled across the ground with the breeze that moaned down the loggia, and Twilight put up a spell to muffle them to potential outside listeners.

“Is this a bad time?” Pinkie asked.

“You’re here, it doesn’t matter.” Twilight went between them. “We can have it out now if you want.”

“There’s nothing to ‘have out’, I just wanna talk.”

“Perhaps it would be better to wait until after all the festivities,” Rarity said. “You don’t want to accidentally make it worse.”

“Oh, gee, does it get worse? Do tell, Rarity, ‘cause I thought this was bad enough. Now you’re telling me it gets worse? Whoopee.”

“You have no position to complain, darling.”

“I…” She walked a short circle. “This is gonna sound weird from me, ‘cause I know I’m not really the smart or insightful one in your group, but try to follow along anyway, okay? I know everyone’s mad at me for what I did in Applewood, and you all have the right to be, I know it. Sorry again, by the way.”

“Sorry doesn’t—”

“Cut it, I know. You’d be even madder if I didn’t say it, though. This is what I want. I want you two to consider my position for a second.”

Twilight scoffed.

“Hey! I’m still a pony, aren’t I? Don’t I at least have the right to be heard out? Don’t I at least get that?”

“Fine.”

“Put yourselves in my shoes. Huge power, huge responsibility, and all that hullabaloo. I got scared and I froze up, I couldn’t think, I panicked. I know that doesn’t justify it, but that is why I did what I did. Imagine it, screwing something up that bad. Imagine being singly responsible for something that totally screwed your whole group, and you know if you admit to it, they’ll all freak out and it’ll ruin everything. All right, now imagine that no one approaches you about it, and you think ‘whew, that was close, but nobody else knows.’ It puts me in a crappy position, though, doesn’t it? Now I have to pretend everything’s hunkey-dory.”

“Which you did alarmingly well,” Rarity said.

“And then a half a year later, one of your best friends throws it in your face. Not only does she throw it in your face, but she admits that she’s wanted to forever, but couldn’t risk upsetting everyone. Talk about a stab in the back!”

She looked at them, their expressions stony in the dark.

“Okay, guess I’ll continue since you don’t have anything. You were my best friends, and the second Fluttershy said ‘go,’ you all turned against me. Can you imagine how much that hurts?”

“Quite terribly, I’d imagine,” Twilight said.

“Thanks, Twilight, I can always count on you for kind words.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see the point of this. We know all this already. Pinkie, we know it sucks for you, and frankly, we don’t care. You reap what you sow.”

“So do you, Twilight.” She turned from them. “Well, I tried. I made the same speech to Dashie earlier, and Applejack and Vinyl and everyone, even Colgate. She shrugged and told me she wasn’t there for it. Octy, she shut the door in my face. Heck of a sister, huh? So… yeah, right, okay, whooooo.” She let out a long breath, a trill of laughter on the tail end. “You two were my last today, actually.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I’m not asking for your pity or sympathy, ‘cause I know I’m not gonna get it. I did want to get it off my chest, though.”

“Good. Your message has been received.”

“And I guess it’s also to say that I’m game to pretend we’re all friends to keep the country happy.”

“And when that’s over?” Twilight asked.

“Who cares? Maybe I’ll go jump in a lake. Sorry for interrupting your evening.”

“For what it’s worth, Pinkie, I do wish that things could be different.”

“Twilight, you don’t know what that would be like. You’re rotten on the inside.”

“I…” Twilight looked at Rarity, who looked back, unperturbed. Deep down, Twilight thought that Pinkie might be right, and she carried it with her to bed.

Brother and sister occupied opposite seats on the patio overlooking the royal gardens. From three stories above, the flowerbeds and spiraling topiary formed a dazzling pastiche of color and shadow vaguely resembling the contours of a blooming rose. A quirk of palace life, they had discovered, was that Celestia never asked them what they wanted to eat; they simply announced their hunger, and then would be directed to the nearest dining area and served up whatever in her fancy the princess had dictated to the chef. It was Wednesday, one week before Hearth’s Warming, and as if in total rebellion to the season, they were served iced tea with a corn, mushroom, leek, and carrot aspic. Having never tried it before, Big Mac found that he enjoyed it; Applejack did not.

“So you signed their contract?” he asked.

“After makin’ very clear my stance on the issue, yes, Ah signed,” she said. “Couple reasons.”

“Too much trouble not to.”

“That’s reason one. Ah hate to admit it, but Ah think they’re right—fer the wrong reasons, mind. We all wanna get out of here, an’ Ah don’t wanna be the thing holdin’ us back from that. Let the Mansels have their secret, Ah reckon Ah can tell the truth to every normal citizen who asks, an’ we’ll get there that way. Might take some patience, but there we are.”

He scooped out another helping of aspic, and Applejack watched, disgusted but fascinated, as he dug in.

“Reason two,” she continued. “It’s a little perverse. We ain’t all one thing all the time, Ah’ve lectured a few of y’all on that exact point. Little did Ah mind, that applies to me too. Ah’ve said so before, but not really thought it out to a satisfyin’ conclusion, an’ that was a mistake. Element of Honesty, sure, but Ah’ll omit things from time to time, sugarcoat somethin’ a little more’n necessary. This, Ah s’pose at the end of the day, it’ll teach me a lot ‘bout myself. How do Ah take it? Can Ah hold out an’ play along with the royal records, or whatever they are? You got a little, uh,” she scratched her muzzle.

“Hm?”

“Other side. There you go. Seems to me, thinkin’ ‘bout dishonesty is one thing, but actually doin’ it, that’s a lot more enlightenin'. Can be, anyway.”

“You never done somethin’ this big before, an’ you wanna try it out.”

She laughed nervously. “That’s the less pretty way of puttin’ it, yeah.”

“Just be careful.”

“Ah know it. You know, some folks say that experiencin’ somethin’ fer its own sake is a folly, that you gotta take a measured approach, act with wisdom.”

He nodded. “You got an opinion on that?”

“Not yet. That’s another thing this’ll be good fer, Ah can explore the other side of that question. Versus an’ Ah talked a little on it. She’s got some interestin’ points.”

“Mm.”

“Usually when somepony says they wanna try everythin’ once, what they mean is they wanna try everythin’ that’s good or fun once. That’s what she told me—but wisdom an’ experience can come from the good an’ the bad both, so… Ah dunno, Ah don’t like this conclusion, Ah don’t think it’s right, but Ah got to thinkin’ maybe the ponies who try to have everythin’ good in their lives are just bein’ selfish an’ disguisin’ it as the pursuit of knowledge.”

“Nothin’ wrong with goin’ after what makes you happy,” he grunted.

“Ah know that. Like this, lyin’ ‘bout the Mansels, it don’t make me happy, but Ah’ve already confessed my interest. An’ that bein’ said, then what am Ah doin’ it fer exactly?”

He looked at her for a minute. “You’ve lost me. What’s the issue here?”

She laughed. “Nothin’. Ah’m just gettin’ lost in my head again.”

“Mmm. Y’ever worry that that stops you from certain things?”

“All the time. You gotta be spontaneous too, Pinkie of all ponies taught me that. Ugh, Pinkie.”

He rolled his eyes.

“If you don’t wanna talk ‘bout it, you can say so. Ah won’t be mad.”

“Ah don’t wanna talk ‘bout it.”

“All right. All right.” She nodded and looked out onto the grounds again, where a team of workers was beginning on the lawn and one of the statues at its perimeter.

After lunch, they met Caramel in one of the royal conference rooms in the back of the palace and went over their press conference and the parade after. The conference, he explained again, would be all easy questions, and he advised them to not volunteer any information. Details were for the one-on-one interviews and biographies, he said, but this was neither. The reporters would be glib and easily satisfied, and all the Elements had to do was tell them what they wanted to hear, or a shade of it.

“So lots of ‘We are honored to serve Equestria in these trying times,’ and that sort of thing?” Rarity asked.

“Look at that, you’re a natural already,” he said, flipping his clipboard with a little spurt of magic. “Make sure you keep smiling, that’s important. Octavia, you look like you ate a lemon.”

“She was hungry,” Vinyl said.

“I apologize. Hold on.” Octavia took a second to set herself straight, and when she smiled, Caramel let out a whoop of delight.

“Octavia, you’ve got a beautiful smile,” Applejack said. “Ah can’t believe you never showed us that.”

“I do not like how my face stretches when I do this.” She cleared her throat and made her voice softer and sweeter. “Sorry, hon. I mean, I love traveling with my friends across the wastelands and fighting horrors and criminals. What a fun time!”

Caramel was laughing loudly, and Twilight spared a smile as well. “All the ice in Cloudsdale was my favorite.”

“Ooh yeah, that was good. Hey! Exorcising that lady in Appleloosa?” Rainbow asked. “Remember that crazy reverend who thought I was possessed at first? Good times.”

“The dust storm outside Applewood was my personal favorite,” Vinyl said.

Caramel banged the table in laughter. “You girls got spirit! I love it! That, right there, ponies eat that. Keep it there, and you’ll do great.”

“What are we gonna say ‘bout Vinyl?” Applejack asked.

“I’ll say you saved me from a tough situation in Applewood,” Vinyl said, “and then I just fell in with you.”

“Like we were gonna drop you off somewhere, but you decided to stay on before that?” Big Mac asked.

“Right here,” Colgate said.

“You girls are something else,” Caramel said. “So, uh, we’ll get you dressed up and everything, do your makeup—how did you like how they dressed you for dinner last night?”

“I thought my makeup was too heavy,” Fluttershy said.

“You hardly had any on,” Rarity said. “She just needs to get used to it, Caramel. Me, I liked how I looked well enough, but if I could get a little more blue in my wardrobe, that would be just great. It’s my best color.”

“More blue for Rarity, got it,” he said, making a scribbled note.

“Can I get one of those big ballroom gowns?” Pinkie asked.

He laughed again. “Those are a little ostentatious, don’t you think?”

“I’ll trade her for what I was wearing,” Colgate said, and Pinkie made a face.

“Ah thought you looked sharp as a tack last night, Cole,” Applejack said.

“I didn’t like the high collar.”

“It suits you, though,” Rarity said. “We can work this out later. What about the parade, darling?”

Caramel looked at her with mock surprise. “Oh? All right, let’s get to it.” He shuffled more papers and brought out pictures of the main parade floats, six in number, one for each Element. The palace did not have enough time for four more, so, he said, they could choose to each stay on their own float and send the four extras to a different one, or all occupy one big float. There was not much deliberation over the pictures, and when it was settled, it was off to the dressing rooms.

Makeup, formal clothing, more combs and brushes and scissors, a little coaching on how to smile or hold themselves, and the Elements of Harmony, and Vinyl, were ready to face the press.

For some, it was no challenge, and these ponies took the lead on answering questions naturally enough that those who preferred silence were able to hold back inconspicuously. Applejack sat to one side and got by with smiles and nods, and only had to speak once when a reporter asked, “From the Element of Honesty, how would you say the quest turned out overall?” To which she replied, “it sure was a magical experience, an’ that’s the truth.” She smiled, cameras flashed, the crowd babbled.

Before they knew it, before it seemed the reporters there had even come close to running out of variations of the same few questions, they were ushered back into the palace for a quick change of clothes and trip to the bathrooms. At a press conference, they wore suits, ties some, and slacks or pencil skirts according to her preference; in a parade, their options were more open. Pinkie asked again for her ball gown, and it was allowed, and so with her boisterous attire taking up half the float’s platform, they were underway fifteen minutes late. The palace courtyard had been cleared of even the trees and hedges—which, later, Celestia would reveal she had tucked away in her magical space, root structures and all—and filled with floats, flag-wavers, and a pair of marching bands. A band went first, a giant brass jubilee heralding the opening palace gates and rising portcullis, receiving a wild crowd jumping and screaming behind the barricades.

Night was falling meanwhile, and Lower Canterlot was turning itself on. Thousands of ponies from below had come up for the parade, and many more were on rooftops to try to catch at least a little of the celebration for themselves without the trek up the mountain. In darkness, the sight of it still a relief to all and to the Elements particularly, the extending ribbon of marching performers rising on the bridge over the river and then diminishing into gaudy Greater Canterlot was at once amazing and disheartening. Formal dinners, stiff clothing, and inane questions from journalists were one sort of reminder, but they were not so severe as the parade and its audience, a vulgar display of happiness and joyful release that was off limits as well—for while representing Equestria abroad had been trying, now they had to represent it locally.

Their stage came to life and readied itself to drive out into the line as a generic sun-and-moon float quit the drawbridge and the first Element float, the Element of Magic, rolled into mass view.

Each had been overdesigned in the motifs of their bearers, Twilight’s a magenta and lilac research table with giant spellbooks sitting open under filaments of sparkling, purple ribbon to symbolize magic rising from the pages; these lay beside a towering pair of flasks atop thick paper fires that actually flapped and fanned as the float moved. Her starburst cutie mark was adorned with whorls and spirals on all sides as a monument in the float’s middle, behind Twilight’s own grinning face at the head and over top twin bouquets of flowers and hearts, some spraying off more purple magic. The little stage where Twilight had been intended to sit and wave at the crowd was occupied, instead, by a volunteer from the palace’s alchemy lab. Pinkie had felt awkward when they decided to take one float, and it was revealed that Caramel had no one to stand in for them. During their press conference, he had raced through the palace for six ponies to fill their spaces last-minute.

“You ready, girls?” Twilight asked, and Pinkie nodded without a word. They had applied an entire tube of hair product to her mane and tail to return them to their characteristic, frizzy poofs, and, like her smile, they felt stiff and unnatural whenever she moved. It was not difficult, though; she would sit and smile and wave, and that was all. No questions, no autographs, no anecdotes, and she didn’t even have to look at her friends if she didn’t want to. There was enough outside for her to focus on.

Themselves, they had chosen to group up on a massive float celebrating the unity of unicorns, earth ponies, and pegasi. A great spire of a horn rose up through the arcade of a huge horseshoe, both in the wide embrasure of fluffy pegasus wings, with a scattered mess of various racial symbols all around the stage. An upturned apple cart partially vanished in a bank of swirling clouds, which swept across the float’s back over more magical sparkles and a stack of books, and over top these, a mechanism of spinning wheels, fog machines, and flashing lights built into the base from which rose three sexless, generic pony heads, and the ugly word bubble attached to them declaiming the powerful but obvious “UNITY!” Like all the other floats, flowers and stylized hearts flowed from every crevasse, so that the final product looked like an overburdened and unsorted mound of party themes to Pinkie’s eye.

Rainbow Dash’s float of clouds, columns, statues, rainbows, disembodied pegasus wings, and yellow stripes that were meant to indicate speed rolled out next, with one of the Wonderbolts hopping around and doing little somersaults in place for the adoring, but audibly confused, revelers. Then Applejack’s platform of apple trees, apple carts, a giant farmhouse with horseshoes cascading heavily off either side of the gambrel roof, and a Stetson rakishly a-tilt on Applejack’s beaming orange mug at the front. Caramel had found some spokespony for the Equestrian Food and Labor Association to take Applejack’s place.

Between each was a lesser float dedicated to the various workers in the world: a teachers’ float, a firefighters’ float, a restauranteurs’ float, and so on. Rarity’s was a conical tower of brilliant fabrics draping over one another and looping around, tiny lights wired to the insides to create a diffuse firefly-display of veiled sparkles over a spread of sewing machines, balls of yarn, pincushions, and an open basket with contents deliquescing into a floor of blue diamonds on which waved Rarity’s stand-in, an apprentice to the tailor who had helped them get fitted that evening. Fluttershy’s, which elevated a spokespony for one of the wildlife charities—who didn’t even live at the palace, but had happened to be there at the time—was a rolling meadow of hares, foxes, mice, and groundhogs, with fish jumping out of a blue brook and colorful birds on wires in a vague sphere all around the display, each one with a light buried in its breast, and some even fitted with a microphone to repeatedly chirp.

“Almost our turn,” Octavia said.

Rarity glanced at her. “Yes, it is.”

Pinkie warmed inside, just a little, to Rarity. Her chilly rejoinder felt like it could be Pinkie’s, had she the courage.

“How paltry of me,” she thought. “Well, screw it. I get to be paltry tonight.”

Her own float completed the six, one of the royal chefs bowing and blowing kisses on a gingerbread floor between two titanic cupcakes, candles exclaiming real fire into the night sky. A rolling pin lay against a mountain of dough, which, like a sandcastle, gained color and form and became a monstrous lemon-chiffon cake in the top half, whipped cream fringes glossy and decorated with speckles of her cutie mark, which also crowned the likeness of her head in a strangely inappropriate tiara. Then the second marching band went, bellowing brass instruments with lofty woodwinds and crashing cymbals that hurt Pinkie’s ears, and then they rolled at last over the flattened lawn to the drawbridge.

“Smiles on, girls,” Fluttershy said.

“Oh, go to Tartarus,” Pinkie thought, donning her toothy grin and sitting resolutely back on her chair. The noise was overwhelming when they hove into view, the bridge fairly rattling with the cries and stamping hooves, the sky bright as day with the palace lights up to full and the constant flashing of unicorn celebration above. They waved, they smiled, some screamed thanks back into the crowd, but mostly they sat and waited for the city to come.

Her head still buzzed with the speech she had delivered the night before. She had practiced in her room before finding everyone, down to anticipating various caustic reactions and preparing equally barbed responses. To them all, save Octavia, she felt she had emerged victorious in a sense. There was no true victory, for that would be forgiveness, but she had at least made her point and given herself a shred of bitter dignity.

How much did she truly believe? She had asked herself that in the morning over a lonely breakfast in her room. That Rainbow was the next one to fall out of harmony, which she had boldly asserted earlier, she did not believe one whit; that Twilight was rotten on the inside, she had not believed at the time but was coming around to. She knew how little it mattered, that compared to her own failure as a friend, any other mistake would be overshadowed. All she could rightly call hers was the sting of betrayal, so hot in her heart, and the sickening knowledge that Fluttershy had been plotting it for months. The logic behind her decision was, to Pinkie’s mind, iron, and that made it all the worse.

She targeted each of her friends with her eyes, individually thinking the phrase “I hate you” to them, seeing how it fit—and when she found that it fit for none, not even Octavia, who had slammed the door in her face without a word, she turned her phrase inward. The closest buildings to the palace were sliding out of range as their float turned onto Wave Crest Drive, where they would curve lazily around the city for most of their journey before turning back and circling through a district of boutiques, party stores, and haberdasheries.

“I hate me.” But that thought did not feel right either. She looked at her friends again and appended their names to the phrase, to no avail, and turned it again on herself to the same. Pain was there, glaring and strident, but no malice. Some ponies, she realized then, would see it as weakness, but she thought it was more like strength. Hatred was bad, but contrition was not, so perhaps she was not so far gone as they had led her to believe.

“All righty, Pinkie, let’s try something else.” She stood up and went to the front to better see the crowd, and, standing on her back legs, threw herself wide in a cheering embrace of the night air, squealing and twirling to a hurricane of applause, laughter, cheers, her own name reaching her from a thousand throats. A unicorn with more finesse than most, somewhere deep in the crowds, was conjuring enormous magical images of their cutie marks, and as Octavia’s cycled past, Pinkie tried again. “I hate that! Hmmm. Ha! No I don’t!” She jumped up and cheered again, and almost lost her balance when she noticed that Colgate had joined her. The two linked forelegs and skipped circles, and when Pinkie tired, Rainbow took her place with a strained expression.

So she didn’t hate them, and she didn’t hate herself, but when she asked herself whether she deserved their treatment, she decided that she did. Supposing she had indeed sullied her soul those months prior, she reasoned, any good pony would want to distance themselves from her. A better pony might forgive her, but then, she was not certain she deserved that. She could surely do nothing to earn it, for, as had been repeated several times in closed discussions, what’s done was done. No repentance made a tangible difference, so what point was there?

“If you can’t go back, then you’d better go forward,” she thought to herself. “That’s all well and good, but how do I go forward with no friends?” She giggled to herself, earning a black look from Fluttershy. “Silly me! I just answered my own question. Without friends! These are done, but that won’t stop me from making new ones!”

“Ooooooooh.” Another look from Fluttershy, but Pinkie didn’t care. In the lights, the noise, the screaming multitude, the palace dressed up and aglow like a wedding cake, the attractive conclusion that she did not need her former friends hit her like a pie to the face. The coming weeks might be hard, but then she would move on, and if that involved going a separate way, she would only be losing those who had turned on her.

How delightfully simple! She stood again and joined Colgate, who had not stopped dancing, and with each turn back at the Elements, she flashed a wide smile. Theirs were false, as hers had been for a while, but inside the glare of city lights and whirling unicorn magic, she felt more like herself than in several months. Her steps were as of one flowing out of herself. They were cheering for her, only her, as layer after layer peeled off and the real Pinkie Pie emerged, her first new breaths snagged in song, her first impulses setting her hooves to dancing.

Even denied the friendship she had taken for granted, life went on, and Pinkie went with it.

Holiday Season

Chapter One hundred-eighteen

Holiday Season

Celestia gave a flowery speech before what looked like the whole city, thanking each individual Element for their service, enumerating some of the more family-friendly trials they had gone through, and publicly bestowing them with their gifts. She, dressed in damask finery and draped with golden peacock feathers that shone with enchanted light, closed the speech and parade by bowing to the Elements of Harmony, and as every soul in the audience did the same, it was easy to feel strong.

Not so easy the morning after. Pinkie woke at eight and went about her routine, window open and a song on her lips but not in her heart. She had fallen asleep so assured, the phrase Vanilla had given her brilliant to her eyes. Life goes on, and we go with it. Under fireworks and the endless stars, surrounded by the cheers and jubilation, she had effortlessly slipped into the joy of satori; now she had to actually do the thing that had seemed so obvious the night before.

They met for croquet in a garden on the palace’s east side, the hedges trimmed low to afford a view of the expansive plains between the city and the country’s border. A storm was rolling nearby, but Celestia assured them that Canterlot’s pegasi would not allow it to dampen the mountain, that they had enough weather planned for the coming weeks. It was winter, after all, she explained as though they did not realize it, and Hearth’s Warming was not far away.

“Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that you’re all home in time. Personally, if I have to.” Most of them thanked her, and those who had no one to return to kept silent. Play was stiff and inexperienced, and when Luna alighted on the lawn and almost tripped over Big Mac’s ball, Celestia went to her immediately. Hushed words, a sharp apology, and then Celestia was gone. The day carried on.

Brunch with a pair of politicians, tea with the exchequer, and the afternoon free to explore the grounds and relax indoors. Twilight went to Applejack’s room, where she drew out a sigil for Applejack to contact Versus, and the two of them were still talking three hours later when Twilight came back to check on her.

Rarity spent most of her afternoon going over specifics on her new boutique with one of the princess’ architects, who would be traveling down to Ponyville specifically for the job. Once, she saw Rainbow go by through the arched window and sighed to herself, hoping the others were having more fun than she. Pinkie, meanwhile, went in search for Princess Celestia, fruitless for several hours; in the end, Celestia found her nervously exploring the gardens, floating leaves on the tiny brooks that ran through them and skipping stones across the grand, central fountain. The princess looked tired and bedraggled, her traveling cloak scuffed and her fur rough where it was exposed.

“You gonna be okay, princess?”

Celestia sighed and indicated a balcony overlooking Pinkie’s spot. “Fine as rain, dear. I had to be somewhere rather urgently. My sister tells me you wish to speak with me?” They wound up through the palace, passing through the art gallery where Pinkie pretended not to notice Octavia glowering at her, and out onto the overlook. Pinkie pawed the black marble floor, embossed with gold swirls of olive branches and segmented by rays of a rising sun from the balustrade; it had not been cleaned recently, the muddy residue of recent rainfall scuffing where she pulled out her chair. Celestia mumbled an order with horn aglow, and not ten minutes later, a servant whisked a tray of biscuits and a carafe of sangria out to them. Pinkie, not in the mood to drink, took some to be polite.

“I didn’t mean for this to be a formal meeting,” Pinkie began.

“Formal? This is a snack between friends, dear.”

“Er… No, you’re right, I’m being silly.” She forced a giggle. “I’m still not used to this yet.”

“All things in due course.”

Pinkie looked at her, not sure how to begin. The princess sat apart from the table, nursing her sangria and occasionally nibbling a twist of grapefruit peel floating in her glass. When she saw that Pinkie was regarding her, Celestia fixed her hawk eyes back on her, a smile toying with her lips for a second when Pinkie shrunk.

With a laugh, Celestia asked what it was that Pinkie wished to talk about.

Hours before, as she had run around the palace, Pinkie had nearly convinced herself that she should bear all to the princess. If anyone would have council for a problem such as hers, it would be the princess; she had heard Twilight say on multiple occasions that Celestia and Luna undoubtedly had blood on their hooves, that you didn’t get to be the unquestioned rulers of a country without it. “Oh Celestia, my lord and goddess, what have you to say to this poor pony about her first atrocity?” The phrase “first atrocity” had come up unexpectedly in Pinkie’s long-running stream of consciousness, and it would not be purged.

Celestia did not break eye contact as Pinkie debated how to begin, and under that dignified glare, she decided that Luna would be the better one to speak with about her problem. Getting directly to the point instead, she averted her gaze and took an additional biscuit, giving her hooves something to do. “Your highness—”

“Celestia, please.”

“Can you just let me speak?” She frowned at her plate. “Celestia, I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help out around the country.”

“Help?”

“Yeah.” She looked around, her gesture evincing nothing from where they sat at the top of the world. “There’s a lot of trouble out there still, and I wouldn’t feel right if I just went home without doing something about it.”

“Hmmm.”

“The flood in Applewood, for instance, and I bet Fillydelphia could use some work still, not to mention all those poor ponies still displaced by The Crumbling. Plus, the cloud convoy, has that reached everyone yet? Snowdrift was making do with wild weather when we were there. Plus Roan, they’ve got that underground portion too, remember? Plus Moondrop—” She cut her practiced patter, remembering too late that bringing up Moondrop to Celestia was not wise. A shadow passed over the princess’ face, which both of them pretended did not show in her voice when she replied.

“You are too kind, Pinkamena.”

“Just trying to do my part.”

“Let me ask you this, my dear, and forgive me if I am out of line. Did any of your friends put you up to this?”

“Put me up to it? No, never. They…” “They hate me. Do I say it? Imagine her face!” “Have their own affairs, but I’m sure they’ll help where they can, in their own ways. When Rarity gets her business back, I’m sure she can donate to charity, and Twilight’ll probably—” She stopped herself; she had no idea what her friends would do.

“What will she do?” Celestia asked gravely.

“No, never mind. I don’t want to put them in a weird position, your highness. I’m sure they’ll help somehow. Er, anyway, but me, I want to help now. More than just giving money to places—it’s not even my money, you know, it’s the palace’s funds.” She giggled, this time not forced. “I don’t think I have more than fifty bits to my name! I don’t think I own anything myself.” She paused, realizing that it was true, not just of her but of all of them.

Celestia considered her words for some time, and Pinkie grew nervous. She had wanted a casual conversation, but between the princess’ lengthy, piercing gazes and the iron tone she used for even simple replies, it felt more like an interrogation. “‘Hey princess, anything I can do to help out around here?’ ‘Sure, Pinkie, you can trim the hedges, scrub the grout in the kitchen, tweeze Caramel’s eyebrows, and shine my crown.’ ‘Can you erase my sins and turn back time?’ ‘I’m a goddess, Pinkie, of course I can!’” She supposed she had been foolish to expect more than what she got from the princess.

“There is much work to be done still, though I confess some reluctance to letting you help so soon after returning. Do you not wish to relax with your friends and family? I would think yes.”

“Yyyyyyeah, well, about that.” “One more chance, Pinkie. Tell her?” “I just wouldn’t feel right,” she repeated. Better to appear noble than repentant.

“These are hard times, my friend. You mention Applewood. I have already placed that city in the capable hooves of my assistant.” She winked. “I believe you met in Snowdrift? You may know her from the spa in Ponyville.”

“Lotus is in charge of Applewood too?”

“She is brilliant, isn’t she?”

Pinkie was quiet for a second, imagining Lotus’ reaction to the task. She had complained of being overworked in Snowdrift; what additional weight did an entire ruined city bring to the shoulders of one such as she?

“If I can help her out, I’d be more than willing to,” Pinkie said.

“I don’t see the need.” Celestia lifted an ice cube out of her glass, examined it, and replaced it. “Lotus can call on whomever she needs as a resource. Her position on my sister’s team gives her that authority.”

“All righty, so not Applewood. How about the cloud convoy?”

“You don’t fly.”

“I…” That was true, but Pinkie had expected at least an opening. As complex as the convoy was, surely there was something an earth pony could do to help, but Celestia looked at her as though she had, in haste, suggested something completely and obviously impossible.

“How about Manehattan? They’re not doing so hot.”

“If you’ll permit me, I have an idea.”

“Please, go ahead.” “Since none of mine are landing, you go ahead and give me yours, princess.”

“Affairs at home are serious, but I have the utmost faith in my ponies, and the Equestrian spirit, to restore what we have lost. Cities will rebuild, lives will return, all in their appropriate time.” She smiled grimly to herself, but Pinkie recognized the sentences, recited verbatim from her speech the night before. “Outside our borders, however, things are more difficult.”

“What’s wrong?” A note of worry touched Pinkie’s voice. She had not given any thought to the international effects of what had happened to their country. Twilight had mentioned it a few times, but always, as soon as she was done, those considerations were out of Pinkie’s head.

“Discord has been returned to oblivion, and now pressure mounts to bring Equestria back down to the world. Our neighbors have been patient and understanding, but I fear they will stop once news reaches the planet that we have been victorious.”

“How are we gonna get reattached, anyway?”

“My sister and I are working tirelessly on that very problem. In the meantime, we must maintain communication and good faith with our neighbors, particularly the changelings to the north. They have been most directly affected.”

“‘Cause the oceans drained out when we lifted off.”

“That is so.”

“…And? Is there something I can do to help with that?”

“Our relationship with the changelings has been my least favorite for quite some time. Anything to lighten the mood would be most welcome.”

Pinkie could not believe what she was about to say. “Like a party?”

Celestia laughed, bright and genuine, and for that second, Pinkie saw through the aloof formality to a matronly ruler who had not, after all the centuries, lost her spirit and goodwill, who had not let atrophy the empathy for those she led. “Not exactly a party, but something like it. Let’s say, friendlier relations. If we’re to work together to restore our continent and their oceans, we should be friends, is it not so?”

“Sure, princess. Am I gonna talk to the changelings? Is that where this is going?”

Celestia winked again, as though it were some secret between them.

“Do I need to talk to them for you?”

With a mischievous smile, Celestia said, “You say it as though I am a filly who’s afraid of her teacher.”

“I wouldn’t mind, your highness.”

“The griffons and I have been exchanging missives as well. Their country is protected somewhat by an atoll; they still have a lagoon for their needs. It’s actually quite beautiful, Pinkie.”

“You’ve been?”

“I had the pleasure of raising the sun while sailing with some of the griffon diplomats.”

“That sounds very nice, your highness.”

“Even better was watching the moon rise from atop their royal aerie. Pinkie, I flew to the roof of the highest tower and saw the moon come up over the oceans. I don’t fly as much as I would like, you know. I’ve always loved high places.”

“So do I need to go talk to the griffons too?”

Celestia blinked and let shine the hawk eyes for a moment. “No, I apologize. The changelings are the… problem children, we’ll say. I have a team of diplomats ready to coordinate our restoration efforts with them. But,” she nodded to herself, agreeing with her own insight, “someone like you, to ease off the tension in our meetings, that would be just the ticket.”

“Are you sure?”

“The Element of Laughter herself! Who could do it better, my dear? You know it would be more than just talk, though. My diplomats are currently in the stages of preparing a voyage out. Out and down.”

“Down. Like to the planet?”

“And across the seas, to meet the changelings in their own territory.”

“Huh.” Visions sprang to mind of her sitting at a long table and shaking hooves with the chitinous, alien changelings, looking into their acid-green eyes and returning sparkling blue laughter from her own. The other diplomats would not know her, and the changelings neither, and somewhere else would persist her friends, their own lives going on in their ways.

“It’s an opportunity, that’s all,” Celestia said. “Think about it.”

“I don’t have any diplomatic experience, your—Celestia.”

“No, you have something better. All the laughter in the world is inside you, Pinkie. Their world has been swept away; I recognize the need to restore order as much as any head of state, if not more, but we need fun too.”

“So I’m the freaking comic relief in your diplomacy mission.” It took much of her restraint to not show her distaste for the idea, more so as Celestia picked up a biscuit and gingerly bit into it, her eyes full on Pinkie’s; whether they were innocent to the bad idea or just trying to appear that way, Pinkie could not tell.

“I’m just in a bad mood. Besides, what am I leaving behind?” Pinkie shook her head, leaning forward before doubt could cloud her. “No need, your highness. I’d be happy to do it.” She forced a smile. “Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll give ‘em more good vibes than they can shake a stick at!”

The days saw them settling into a routine of a different sort, and some began traveling outside the palace, but only for important matters. Only Twilight, forever prescient, avoided the crowds by magically disguising herself and taking a circuitous route to her destinations, often stopping near them and walking the rest of the distance. She did this to visit her parents first, and a few days later, some old classmates who had reached out after years of silence.

Hearth’s Warming crept closer, and Caramel cleared their schedules for a few days so they could go back to Ponyville. In a stroke of generosity, he was able to produce vouchers for the train between cities, that they may travel for free whenever they needed to—which, he made clear, would be frequently.

It was a snowy Friday afternoon, and they were scheduled to return to town on Monday or Sunday night, depending on how late their press conference ran. They would be busy all day Saturday, and not all of their number would be present that night; it was their last opportunity to dine as a group, all ten of them, free of professional obligations. Rather than put the palace’s kitchen to the trouble, and also to avoid potential intrusions from the princesses, they ate lunch in the city. Vinyl had called two days ahead to reserve the entire restaurant, Twilight disguised them all and their royal carriage, and Rarity worked with the princess’ tailor to dress them up for the occasion. As a final meal of sorts, fancy dress was assumed even by those less accustomed to it. They met their long carriage just outside one of the palace’s inner porticoes, where Twilight could apply an illusion to it away from prying eyes, and it conveyed them with all speed to the northern rim of Greater Canterlot where they found their restaurant, White Pepper, faintly lit from within and professing to be closed until Twilight dropped their disguises.

The central table set with crystal and porcelain, the gold-trimmed boudoir grand piano on the pedestal, the cut glass carafes of water, the ice bucket and the city’s very best wine frosted within, velvet curtains in candlelit embrasures, soft lilac light haloed around shaded lanterns, metallic silver lines in an ogee carpet, the hostess bowing and welcoming them in by name, the snow hurrying past the windows: all of it was for them. They sat in a ring, their waiter poured the wine and brought the bread, and for a silent minute everyone was possessed of the same sense of peace: quiet, urbane, gentle. Ten good friends out to dinner.

Vinyl lifted her goggles, found the soft light to be still too much for her eyes, and replaced them.

“Two more days,” Rarity said bracingly.

Twilight poked her silverware. “We can make it. I assume everypony’s doing okay?”

“Fine as paint,” Pinkie mumbled, and though they looked at her, no one said anything. The points had already been made and the emotions had already been vented.

Vinyl lit her horn and put them in a short pool of yellow light. “Thank you for having me, Twilight.”

Twilight nodded. “Welcome.”

“I feel better about not making it as an Element. Maybe a little lighter.”

“You get to walk away from everything,” Pinkie said.

“No point in denying it, I guess. You’re right, Pinkie. I do get to leave this… mess… behind. Thank you.” She gave her celebrity smile to the bartender who personally brought her cocktail, a burgundy and gold-swirled thing in a hurricane glass, a tiny magical replica of a constellation floating above its straw. Everyone watched as she stirred it, the stars blinking and rearranging with excitement. “I feel bad, though, in a selfish way.”

“What is it?” Applejack asked.

“I thought me missing my Element was a really big deal, and when the… other thing was revealed, we lost sight of me.” Preemptively holding up defensive hooves, she continued. “I understand why, but just… Like I said, selfish.”

“That’s a very equine reaction,” Big Mac said, Applejack nodding along. “Can’t fault ya fer it.”

“I feel that way sometimes,” Twilight said. “Every now and then, I get moments where I see myself objectively, and I see through all the crap that’s happened.” She drank of her wine, unable to stifle the shudder that accompanied it. “I think of the princesses, or, heck, even you, Rarity. You’ve gone through much worse than me, and yet here I am escalating, making trouble for everyone, bullying the world into doing things my way. What’s so great about my problems that I have to do that?”

“Yeah, it’s almost like you should stop doing those things,” Rainbow said.

“I have said this before,” Octavia said, “but I am willing to overlook much of your questionable actions, Twilight, for the context in which you did them. Fighting one such as Discord, and with our resources and time so limited, it makes sense to me that one of us would turn out that way. If we are confessing selfish feelings, I confess that I am happy I was not the one to take up your mantle.”

“Ah’ll confess somethin’,” Big Mac said, and waited for everyone to look at him. It was not the first time he was relieved that his coat color hid his blush. “Ah’d about lost faith when we were in Snowdrift, those last days. Ah didn’t wanna say it.”

“Faith is a tricky thing,” Applejack murmured, and did not elucidate.

When the food came, they mostly ate in silence, trying without success to recapture the jewel of peace they found on their entrance. Eye contact was truncated and uncomfortable, comments on the food stilted, smiles subdued. One of the wait staff came out to play the piano, and they listened respectfully and laughed politely when someone offered for Octavia to take a turn on it.

“I have one,” Fluttershy said when the plates were clearing. She had ordered a drink as well, her first to Vinyl’s fifth. “A confession, I mean. It’s not pretty.”

“Do tell,” Pinkie said.

She took a breath, steadying her nerves. “I can’t wait to go home and not see any of you for a long time.”

After a long pause, Rainbow spoke. “Me too, actually.”

“I have to agree,” Twilight said. “No offense to anyone—and Pinkie, I’ve felt this way before I knew what happened with you—but I want to… I’ve been so bitter lately, I just want to be alone. Not hear your voices, not have to explain anything to anyone, not have to share the stupid airship bathroom, not have to share a bed.”

“Ah’m sick of drivin’ y’all around,” Applejack said. “Ah’m sick an’ tired of havin’ to be responsible fer that damn airship.”

“I’m sick of seeing the same four or five outfits,” Rarity said. “Oh, and I don’t know who got blood on my shawl and tried to wash it off, but that cost me sixty-five bits. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“That was one of the ones we pulled into Tartarus, I think,” Colgate said. “Sorry. I’ll pay you back.”

Rarity just rolled her eyes.

“What are you gonna do while you’re waiting for your new boutique?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m sure I can find occupation here.” She frowned at Pinkie, who averted her eyes in the same second. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She pulled uncomfortably at her mane. “I’ll be here too, that’s all. I’ll stay out of your way.”

“You’re not staying in Ponyville?” Twilight asked.

Pinkie straightened in her seat. “Why, no, Twilight, I’m not! I decided…” She slouched and her voice lost its arch tone. “I’m coming back to help Celestia with the changelings up north. They’re gonna need help coordinating the oceans, or something like that, for getting us back down. They wanna take me down to the planet for it.”

“She thinks the Element of Laughter will ease diplomatic tension,” Vinyl strained to say clearly, starting on yet another cocktail. “That’s a really good idea, actually.”

“It’s fine,” Twilight said with a frown.

Not unkindly, Rainbow tapped her fork for attention. “On Twilight’s bed point, I can’t wait to sleep without someone snoring in my ear all night long.”

“Dash, you snore,” Applejack said.

“But I can’t hear me.”

“The stupid, endless banter,” Fluttershy said. “I know it’s in good fun most of the time, but I’m so tired of this back-and-forth.”

“You’re absolutely right on that,” Vinyl hiccuped.

“Frankly, Ah get a little tired of it too,” Applejack said. “Sometimes Ah just go through the motions with y’all.”

“I do that sometimes,” Rainbow said.

They paused while a second bottle of wine came out—no one noticed who had requested it, but it was easy to guess—and when their glasses were filled again, Twilight raised hers.

“It’s decided, then. A toast—to being sick of each other.” The unicorns raised their glasses and the others tapped them in time, repeating the toast without venom.

“Best friends, but let’s give it a couple weeks,” Rarity added.

Octavia wrestled with the cord for her iron, trying to plug it in before finally pulling the bed a foot off the wall with a frustrated impulse of magic. From her window, she could see teams of pegasi sweeping across the sky, dispersing at a great height she could not determine and not coming back; they did not hold her attention for long. She wanted to look good for her date with Colgate, and more importantly, she wanted to feel good. She had vowed to keep the gloom to a minimum, not for her own sake, she told herself, but for the pleasure of her friend.

Holding a coquettish smile that she thought looked ridiculous in the boudoir mirror, she tried on every garment in her closet and subjected herself to uncomfortable self-scrutiny, the like of which she had never tried on the airship. She supposed, if all else failed, she could borrow a tuxedo and rely on the intimidating handsomeness for which she had been praised in her halcyon celebrity days.

“Face it, Octavia,” she told herself, twenty minutes before she had to be ready. “You do not know how to make yourself beautiful. Interesting is as good as it gets.” The gloom settled on her mind as she tried on more outfits, and when Colgate came for her, she left in what she happened to be wearing, not wanting to hold them up. It was small comfort that Colgate was dressed worse than she; the unicorn had chosen a polka-dotted pencil skirt and the top half of a business suit, which she left partially unbuttoned. Octavia felt like a grandmother in her dress of periwinkle boucle, but at least she looked like something, so she thought.

They stood in the royal entryway for a time, looking around, unsure, when finally Octavia asked what was wrong.

“I thought we just grabbed a taxi when we got out here.”

“This is not a hotel, Colgate.” Remembering then to keep it light, she smiled and even forced a chuckle. “Perhaps we can ask for a ride inside? I do not know if it is too short of notice.”

For the Elements of Harmony, even the new ones, it was not. They were seated in a spare limousine, the royal sun symbol painted garishly on its hood, and slithering out into the city within half an hour. The driver obeyed Octavia’s every direction with a stiff “yes ma’am,” just as she liked it, and brought them to a stop within view of the forested mountainside just as the moon was waxing over the horizon. With instructions to pick them up in two hours, he left them.

“Whenever we performed in Canterlot, we would dine here,” Octavia said, taking the lead into a peach-colored structure that partially overhung the woods and the river running through them. Colgate hesitated behind, her eyes caught on the ornamentation to make their restaurant resemble a windmill, its blades turning lazily with little decorative gears showing in places through the patchwork walls. She caught up to Octavia in time to wait for the hostess, and, standing uncertainly behind her friend, put her eyes to the bar. Her fantasy of fresh employment and squandered money in Ponyville still rang true when she remembered it, which she had not done very much in the past days.

At their table, Octavia asked whether Colgate wanted wine, or whether she had had enough during lunch. Not thinking, she blurted out that she wanted some, that she was in a celebratory mood. “Oh, hell, what am I celebrating?” She had as long as it took for the waitress to bring a bottle to invent some reason for Octavia, who she was sure would ask. “Celebrate what, Colgate?” “Homecoming, I guess.” “Ah, yes, just like all of us. How unique of you.” When she noticed Octavia looking at her with an unfocused smile, she almost let out a little cry of worry.

“Your glass, madam.” Colgate gave the waitress her glass and watched the wine pour out with hungry eyes.

“So this is it,” Octavia sighed. “Home sweet home, no?” She tapped her glass, and Colgate followed suit.

“It’ll be weird not having the others around.”

“I look forward to it. I did not want to say much during lunch today, but I agree, they get on my nerves after a while. Anyone will.”

“Right.” Colgate didn’t know what to say to that, and Octavia had no continuation in mind, so they lapsed into silence until the waitress came back to take their orders. Octavia watched the other diners, denying eye contact when someone appeared to recognize her, and Colgate watched the workers in hopes of finding something clever to observe.

“What do you enjoy doing in your spare time?” Octavia asked after a time.

Colgate nodded, truly not sure. “Haven’t had spare time in a while.”

“You like the water, I know.”

“It’s not a hobby.”

“Well…”

They picked at their food and drank their wine. Colgate thought of all the untruths she could say, deciding that silence was better and hoping Octavia could hear her heart instead; and Octavia wondered what was wrong with her as she struggled to find a topic that would stick. Colgate could not hold still, and when she offered her own attempts at conversation, she would stop herself or shoot off into a stream of consciousness that Octavia had no interest in interrogating.

By dessert, it was clear to both that there was nothing worth pursuing. They exchanged smiles and complimented the food, and Colgate kept looking around for something clever to notice, a habit Octavia was beginning to grow weary of.

“Luna told me I could have a job with my ponies again if I wanted it.”

“I thought you were not interested?”

“It’s hard. I should be safe, that’s what she said anyway. Maybe counterintelligence or surveillance. No field-stuff, though, nothing crazy. I dunno.”

“It sounds like it could be stable employment.”

“I might do it just for that, really.”

Octavia leaned forward. “Is it okay for us to talk about this here?”

“We could be talking about anything, it’s fine. As long as there’s no names, we’re okay. Now that I think about it, I bet there’s code-talking to be learned for this sort of thing.” She perked up her ears, as if hearing some just then, but shook her head.

“What does it take to get a position with… your ponies?”

Colgate shrugged. “They have to approach you about it, I think. That’s how they did for me and Spike.”

Octavia hesitated. “Spike. Twilight’s Spike?”

“He didn’t make it.”

“I know, I was there.”

“I liked him okay. He liked to watch me operate on folks back in the day.”

“Wait, I am confused. How did he wind up as a part of you? Was he not just a child?”

“Dunno. Our team leader saw something in him, a use or something. See, that’s the problem, you can’t tell if you’re there because they need you or if you’re there so they can get to someone else. You don’t know how disposable you are until you’ve been disposed of.”

“I believe you have mentioned that.”

“It’s a big cloak-and-dagger thing. Luna said I got the recommendation because I figured them out before I got gotten.”

“Hence the counterintelligence offer.”

“You betcha.” She poked at her melting ice cream without taking a bite. “So I might take the offer, I dunno. Might just go be a surgeon again.”

Octavia scowled down at her Pumpkin Passion Cake. “Both of those options are open to you.”

“Surgery’s a backup, maybe less than that. Going back to it after so long would suck. I need to get re-certified and everything, and I dunno, I feel like I wouldn’t be cut out for it nowadays.”

“Pun intended?”

“Mm?”

“Never mind. Continue.”

“When I was actually doing it, I was on medication, which makes ponies flat. It was easy to stay focused then. I don’t know about now, I might get nervous during a procedure, and you can’t have a doctor getting weird like that. Yeah, maybe the Luna thing is my only option, now that you say it.”

“But you said you do not trust them.”

“If you’re smart, they won’t get you.”

“How… exactly do you know that they tried to harm you?”

“Lotus admitting it was a big indicator. Before that, I just noticed the signs.” She gestured with her fork. “The pumpkins in your dessert were grown in Roan.”

“How…”

“I’m messin’, I have no clue. Can I have a bite?”

Octavia pushed her plate across the table to Colgate, who did not object, and set to both desserts eagerly. For her part, Octavia disguised her newfound idea as more of the serious thoughtfulness that was her way.

Finding Princess Celestia in the evening was an affair of close to an hour for Twilight, chasing her through the palace, asking guards and attendants where she had been last, always finding she had moved on or mysteriously vanished before Twilight could reach the next waypoint. Forty minutes in, she saw how Celestia kept giving ponies the slip; sometimes she used the doors, but at others, she would simply fizzle through the walls or floors. There was always a heavy aura of magic in those rooms, and Twilight had a headache when she finally found Celestia in the alchemy tower, a little vestigial calcar off the palace’s west wall.

“What can I do for you, my pupil?” Celestia asked, staring into a flask of bright red coils that tinkled when she pushed it aside.

“I wanted to talk with you.”

“You always have my ear, my prize student.”

Pinkie had driven her to it, of that she was certain, and the rich well of spite that too many thoughts of Pinkie set to overflowing. Part of her knew, too, how immature she was being.

“I had no idea there was still so much work to be done in restoring the country,” Twilight said, keeping a polite demeanor. “I mean, I know there was still some, but not… I thought there were plans already in motion.”

Celestia smiled warmly, but offered no explanation, so Twilight kept on.

“Pinkie said she was staying behind to help with the changelings.”

“The country has an invaluable friend in Miss Pie, as I’m sure you know.”

“Sure, sure. I just thought, well I didn’t know you still needed help. If I did, I would have offered earlier.” That was the point she wanted to drive home, that she would have given herself to the cause of restoration had she simply known she was still required—which was completely false.

Celestia nodded and walked farther into the chamber, and Twilight followed, waiting for a sententious speech or at least an axiom about teamwork. Instead, Celestia said, “You are so tired, my dear. I can see it in your heart.” She tipped a clay bowl up to the light, revealing the slither of mercury in its bottom, and Twilight cursed her in her mind. Not only was she volunteering to do something she did not want to do, but now she had to fight for it—yet backing away was the weak option in her mind. Simply, she refused to let Pinkie get the last word on self-sacrifice.

“On the contrary, your highness, these past few days have energized me more than I expected.” She chuckled to show how good-natured her interest was. “As long as I don’t have to fight any criminals or monsters, I’d love to take part in… whatever you need me for, really.”

“Pinkie volunteered her services this morning, and now you tonight.” She winked. “It’s not a contest, Twilight Sparkle. You can go home if you truly want to.”

“I—”

“But if you mean it,” Celestia intoned, voice lowering a degree, “I would have great use for you.”

Twilight looked at her, willing herself not to blink.

“I don’t want you offering your services just because Pinkie did, that’s all.”

“I understand, your highness, but you needn’t worry. I want this.”

Monday morning, the day before Hearth’s Warming, they met at a train station and made their goodbyes. Octavia, Vinyl, and Colgate were to stay behind indefinitely, and Rarity with them while her new boutique was under construction. Expecting her parents and sister to meet her later that afternoon, she was in considerably higher spirits than her friends, who shuffled onto the train with heavy hearts and dour faces. There was no energetic waving from the windows, no half-gallop down the tracks after the train.

Their journey took them down through the frosty woods on the mountainside and across a sere plain of weeds and battle scars before following the river southeast to Ponyville. Each had her own thoughts as company, and no one was in the mood for talking.

Pinkie, alone in her cabin, repeated to herself that she didn’t need her former friends, that they had revealed their true natures and she would be better off severing ties. It was a sentiment that sounded good to her in the middle of the night, but when she was close enough to barge in on them and spill her guts, the self-assurances felt hollow and rote, no matter how well she had rehearsed them to herself. The gulf between knowledge and action made her want to curl up and sleep until everyone else was off the train, and she could face Ponyville on her own.

“Once I get back to Canterlot, it’ll be better. They won’t be there then.” The eternal hope: things will be better in the future. One more step, one more obstacle, one more trial, and then that golden bridge to paradise. She knew its folly as well as anyone; and like anyone else might, she clutched it as her surest chance.

Fluttershy, in the cabin opposite, could only think of the forest and the river, whether they would be too cold to go exploring when she had the time. Hers was the final trip, and she felt it with more strength than what mere knowledge could grant. The bile she had not even noticed in past months needed vent, and lacking it, she chose instead to withdraw. Emptied of her worst and her best both, to the point that she dreaded even the smallest of pleasantries from her friends, she debated not even showing up for the holiday celebrations. She had contacted her family already, but they had understood when she—as cagily as she could, without admitting much—suggested that they celebrate Hearth’s Warming a little later than the rest of the world. Their celebrations were quiet and personal affairs anyway, and no one else had to know. Love had threatened to overtake her to tears when they acceded so easily to her wishes. No questions, no arguments, no accursed logic. “Well, Fluttershy, it would make the most sense if we celebrated Hearth’s Warming on the twenty-fifth, like everypony else, because…” Invariably in Twilight’s voice, such thoughts had become easy and indulgent targets of late, all to the purpose of righteous debate, heart triumphing over head.

Applejack, beside her, had eyes only for the grass. Not content but pretending to be, she was steeling herself for the reunion. Her extended family had not time enough to travel from Appleloosa to meet them for Hearth’s Warming, but in the week following, they would trickle in, and she needed to be ready to receive them. Being up-front about her changes, and the catalyst for them, was not part of that plan, though she knew someone would ask her about it sooner or later. She was no good at pretending to be who she wasn’t, and the family would fast learn that she was not the same mare who had hugged them goodbye that warm spring day.

But that was obvious. None of them were the same, and to point it out to herself felt like dodging the real issue, if there even was an issue to be dodged. There might not be, she thought; she might simply expect something difficult because her time adventuring had conditioned her to, and if that were the case, then she needed as much time home as she could get. She wondered whether she would get along with everyone still.

“What if they’re not all there?” she asked herself suddenly. Some of her relatives were much older, and not in the best health. The thought stalled her, brought her around to mortality and the processes of death, and in that comfort zone she remained for the rest of the trip.

In the third cabin with Twilight and Rainbow, Big Mac slept. Twilight radiated restlessness in a way that no one could ignore, and Big Mac’s only way to handle it was to turn away. He dreamt, not of home, but of the Snowdrift hotel, of standing outside and studying its magically twisted contours, Versus beside him and intermittently trading places with Vinyl. He was glad that Applejack kept in touch with the Snowdrift mare, and though he had not yet spoken to her directly, he wanted to. It was just a matter of getting up his nerve and finding a chance at her without Applejack breaking in with religion and philosophy—which he pretended didn’t exhaust him, and which he suspected she knew anyway.

He rolled and nuzzled against the seam in his seat, eyes flickering behind their lids, as the hotel faded in the thick Snowdrift fog and left him wandering a rainy pine forest. Heart rate climbing, lips twitching, eyes speeding, and he was dancing with Peaceful Meadows’ car in the woods. He would trip over roots and slip on ice, and the car would slide between black trees to always narrowly miss him, its driver a disembodied voice that said nothing coherent but that always threatened in his dream world.

Twilight poked him awake and asked whether he was okay, and instead of answering, he wiped the sweat off his face and sighed.

She nodded. “I get them too.”

“Still?” Rainbow asked.

“Every now and again.”

Deciding it was sufficient, Twilight turned back to her newspaper, one from the pile that occupied the seat next to her. Like Fluttershy, she had deferred a proper Hearth’s Warming celebration with family. They had already visited and caught up to Twilight’s satisfaction, which, it alarmed her to find, was shallow. She had been away from her parents for a long time before, she told herself, and her friends were more relevant to her immediate life. That was why she had decided to go with them to Ponyville, though she had nothing to do there. Her library had passed to someone else and Spike was no more. Still, it felt wrong to not go, to stay in Canterlot and avoid her parents there instead. At least, in Ponyville, there was a pretense.

Of primary concern was how she would tell her friends that she was not staying. Everyone had assumed she would, that their homecoming was hers as well, and she had assumed the same for a while. That was before she had volunteered her services for the throne, pushed by spite and nothing more; galled, but at the same time, comforted. After Hearth’s Warming, she knew what she had to do.

“I’m not just scared of going back to real life, am I?” She frowned at the thought, but decided that fear was not the leading impulse, that she was too intelligent to succumb to it. Unwillingness to see Pinkie favored over her, she could admit; that was a feeling she could potentially control, making the decision her own. It was a base feeling, but one she could get a handle on if she needed to, so she consoled herself in thinking. To her friends, she would simply cite the unimpeachable notion that duty called her yet.

Rainbow thought about her cloud house, and how long it would take to rebuild. She entertained no fantasies that it was still around somewhere, perhaps carried on an air current into the middle of the forest. With the princess’ reward, she could simply have a new house made for her, but the idea of it did not sit well. One of the things she missed most was uninhibited flying, being able to take an afternoon or an evening and live in the sky, resting on clouds whenever it was her pleasure to do. Molding clouds, stacking clouds, and finding the right ones for construction and decoration was a process she had initially shied from with her first house, but had grown to relish. Positioning her rooms and windows, figuring what part of Ponyville she would want to tether it to, or whether she wanted to tie it down at all, was enough to blind her to the tension Twilight’s moody sighs brought to the cabin, so that when they stepped onto the platform and caught the eye of every single citizen, only she was ready with a genuine smile.

Hoofshakes and hugs and congratulations and all the usual things detained them for close to an hour, and then they were free to go into town, where it all happened again, those who had not rushed out to meet them at the platform abandoning their street-side stalls or flooding out of thatched houses. The mayor thanked them personally and invited them to make a speech, which they graciously declined.

Then came the photographs. Amateurs, reporters, magazine workers, tourists, cheap and expensive cameras, candid and posed, each of them had to smile beside what felt like every pony in town. Applejack got sick of being asked where her hat was, and Twilight got sick of telling them where the rest of their friends were. She gave out Caramel’s business cards and settled into generic answers for the common questions, and when the crowd had dispersed but not taken its eye off them, they were able to move at last, and just in time for the wind to pick up. Apple Bloom galloped up to them then from across town, Scootaloo just behind, and the six of them headed to the farm while Fluttershy receded into the distance and Pinkie made for Sugarcube Corner, neither of them with a goodbye.

Applejack laughed quietly to herself at the sight of the fillies. Neither had their cutie marks yet, something she had occasionally wondered in times of homesickness, but there was something different in their eyes.

“Ah know you two don’t got nowhere to stay tonight,” Applejack said. “The farm’s available if you like.”

Twilight clapped her on the back.

“I’m sleeping in the clouds tonight,” Rainbow said. “No offense, AJ, but I miss the sky.”

“None taken, Rainbow. You’ll stay fer dinner, at least?”

“You couldn’t pay me to miss it.”

“Are you gonna come tomorrow?” Apple Bloom squealed. “You are, right?”

“We’ll be there with bells on.”

“Bells?” Scootaloo made a face, and they laughed.

Granny Smith met them at the orchard’s main gate, gingham cloak flapping noisily in the wind, and told them to hurry inside, that they didn’t want to catch cold. Rainbow fluffed her wings and told them about the savage cold of Snowdrift, and when they were sitting down to yet another sumptuous dinner, she expanded upon every point that Twilight curtly made. Talking with the Apple family clearly energized her, and Twilight and Applejack were both glad for it, tired as they were of the telling. When the youngsters were in bed and Granny was pretending not to want to be, they repaired to the expansive living room, got a fire going, and talked more soberly.

Applejack, for her part, did not speak for some minutes. Granny had ceded her rocking chair to Applejack, a gesture the siblings noticed and did not argue, and there Applejack reclined before the fire and breathed in the scent of home. The floorboards creaked, a lightened wind soughed outside, the fire cracked cheerily, her friends and family shuffled around her, and with eyes closed, Applejack had her peace. It only lasted a minute, but it was all she needed. She looked around afresh, saw her home and her land, and nodded to herself. “Here it is. Here we go. This is what it was for.” She smiled contentedly, and no one asked her about it.

“Granny, how did you do while we were gone?”

“A bit shaky, if ya want the truth.” Granny Smith slowly moved back and forth in her straight-back chair, the motion of rocking in her bones, and held her hooves to the fire. “Yer sister had to take the lead on a lot of it. Bless her, she was our savior, Applejack.”

“She musta had a good teacher,” Big Mac said, grinning.

“Those other two young’ins helped out in their time, came to live here practically, even young Sweetie Belle.”

“I can’t imagine her pulling apple carts,” Rainbow said.

“She took on the business side of things,” Granny said slowly. “Like her sister, Ah reckon, that girl has a good head fer money. When the pegasi came out of Cloudsdale, Sweetie Belle helped me set up the payroll fer all of ‘em. Thank Celestia fer the young.” She sighed to herself.

“Ah was more askin’ how you got on while we were gone,” Applejack said.

“What, me?” She waved a hoof. “These old bones ain’t ready to quit yet. Ah knew what you had to do, both of ya. Everyone in Ponyville did. It was you everypony was pullin’ fer.”

Big Mac bowed his head solemnly.

“What else could we do? There were tough days, but nothin’ we couldn’t handle.” She cracked a wizened smile. “Ah’m happy yer all gonna be home fer Hearth’s Warmin’. Wasn’t sure, once December came an’ we hadn’t heard where you were.”

“We were just gettin’ started in Snowdrift,” Big Mac said.

Granny nodded. “Sounded mighty fine in the dinin’ room.”

Applejack looked at her friends before answering. “A lot happened out there. Ah’ll tell ya details if you really wanna know, but Ah’d rather say that we’ll all be okay, in time, an’ leave it there fer now.”

“Is that the truth, that yer all okay?”

“We will be.”

Granny nodded again and stood up, and Applejack stood as well to hug her. “Ah respect that. If y’ever need to talk, Ah can’t promise Ah’ll understand everythin’, but my ears are always open.”

She had her back to them, but they heard Applejack sniff, and they knew that it was the end of the night. Rainbow made her goodbyes and promises to be back the next day, and then vanished into the darkness, and Twilight went up to one of the guest rooms. She remembered the way.

Without a house to call their own, Rarity and family took a couple guest rooms in the palace, where they were treated with the same royal graces as the other Elements. To their credit, it was not long before they came to treat the largess with dignity, and stopped bringing it up in conversation. They caught up and heard Rarity’s story the night before, and on Hearth’s Warming day, they joined the princesses and a select few others of importance for the royal holiday feast. On Celestia’s side sat Rarity and her family, and on Luna’s sat Octavia, Colgate, and Vinyl, with the rest of the table seating a smattering of dignitaries, politicians, businessponies, and community leaders. Rarity had warned her family that it would probably be a formal affair, and she was not disappointed in that respect. Talk around the table was all business after the introductory toast—“To the health and harmony of Equestria.” A few of them thanked the Elements for their work against Discord, but most had already done so.

In the discussions of business and politics, the Elements had nearly nothing to say, and traded uncomfortable looks with one another over their delicious, but no longer novel, feast. Rarity’s parents and sister had even less reason to be there, a fact not lost on them; when Sweetie Belle became antsy, Rarity was not sure whether to chide her or go with her somewhere else. Apparently recognizing the awkward position she was making, Sweetie Belle eventually asked to go to the bathroom, and was not seen for a long time after.

“Really, Canterlot is the figurehead for restorative activities,” one stuffed suit said, “but it’s cities like Roan and Manehattan that are taking the first steps. Four teams of geomorphologists and magicians have been formed in Manehattan to start piecing their section of the country back together, working independently.”

“Under our supervision,” Celestia said tersely. “They’re using their own resources, but they still answer to Canterlot.”

“And it’s from our purse that they draw their funds,” Luna completed.

“The same command structure was used when Snowdrift and the Friesian Mountains were restored, if I recall,” another suit said.

“Those areas forget to credit the throne with their success, I’ve found,” a younger mare said. “Will Manehattan and Roan have the same lapse of memory?”

“Are you concerned about ponies overlooking Canterlot?” Luna asked, spooning cranberry sauce over her mashed potatoes instead of gravy—preference, not a mistake.

“Not at all, your highness! It’s just that, in these unprecedented times, if you’re not at the head of the solution, ponies might see you as part of the problem.”

“Why does there need to be a problem at all?” Rarity cut in. “Who cares who leads us, as long as the job gets done?” She sensed immediately that she had said something disagreeable, and when the princesses did not try to back her up, she looked sullenly into her stuffing.

“If Manehattan wants to pitch in, let it,” Celestia said. “They were hardest hit by the initial disaster, it’ll be great for morale if they’re seen overcoming their obstacles and helping restore the country. As for Roan, they’ve always taken charge in the south, I don’t see why that’s a problem now.”

“It’s just their name isn’t as clean as it once was,” one politician said to another.

“So this can be their redemption,” Luna said.

“They might chafe under the princesses’ authority if they choose to openly declare it, too,” a businesspony chimed in. “We don’t want Roan appearing to help only because the throne told them to, like as some sort of repentance for what the Mansels did.”

“The Mansels have made their apologies,” Celestia said. “They have withdrawn their complaints against the Elements of Harmony.”

“It would be in Roan’s best interest if they could lead their own restorative efforts locally,” a larger stallion said.

“To save face,” Luna said. “I suppose you have a point.” She looked at Celestia, who was smiling suddenly. “Sister, you have a look in your eyes.”

Celestia tapped her glass for their attention and stood, her huge wings spread under the heavy folds of a crimson cape that draped, rich and deep as blood, to the floor. “It appears that our worries are smaller than we may have conceived, my friends.” She gave Rarity a smile and wink, and Rarity blushed, not sure what she had to do with anything. “For we have been working tirelessly to form a committee for this very purpose. The public announcement is slated for sometime before January, or early January at the latest, but essentially what we’ll be doing is overseeing nationwide restoration, coordinating with city leaders and top researchers to bring our glorious country back home, under one unified lead. The difference is, Luna and I will not be at the head of this committee, but five experts that we have personally selected for the job.” She grinned proudly, obviously relishing the moment. “Among them will be the very Element of Magic herself.”

“Twilight?” Colgate blurted to some quiet laughter down the table.

“Is she aware of this?” Rarity wanted to ask. She could not imagine Twilight volunteering for such a thing, but, burned from her earlier question, she kept quiet while the room chattered. Many of them praised Twilight, saying that her genius was unmatched and her skill for organizing projects would get Equestria back to the planet in record time—“record time,” as though any time at all would not be a record.

“When she returns from Ponyville, young Miss Sparkle will personally oversee the groundwork of restoration, and working in concert with the Element of Laughter, who I recently appointed to travel to the changeling islands.”

“Does her goodness know no limits?” one suit asked another, and it went around the table, culminating in another toast to Twilight, to Pinkie, and to the infallible ruler who had put them in such power as befitted their abilities. Celestia glowed with pride at their words, drained her glass of black sambuca, and cheerily toasted a second time for the health and harmony of Equestria.

Through all, and to dinner’s concluding remarks about hope and honor and a brighter future for all, Rarity remained in a stupor. After the guests filed out, she was free to share her reaction with Octavia and Vinyl, cut short when a massive wing fell over her.

“Merry Hearth’s Warming, my dear,” Celestia hummed, and to her other side, she brought in the other three. Luna was holding quiet council with a stranger at the door.

“That sure was a… great party,” offered Sweetie Belle, who had returned during the second round of toasts.

“Darling,” Rarity asked, “would you like to see some more of the palace? You know, we have several beautiful gardens and courtyards that I think you would love.”

Celestia nodded her approval, and the two of them hastened from the room. Rarity’s father smiled at Celestia. “So young Twilight’s gonna be in charge, huh? Good for her. She always seemed like a good egg to me.”

“I was much taken aback when she offered her services,” Celestia said, “but her interest is genuine. Frankly, I was hoping for it.”

“Your surprise is ours as well,” Octavia said. “I suppose it will be good to have her around the palace, though.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind her,” Colgate said.

Rarity’s parents caught up with their children on the grounds where they were playing under a proud statue of Princess Celestia in battle armor, both of them laughing their heads off and pitching snowballs; Vinyl crept back to the bar, where Colgate found her shortly after and spent the rest of the afternoon; and Octavia went to her room, where waited a package. She recognized her sister’s writing on the tag.

The card read simply, “I’ve been planning this since August, exchanging letters with your old college until it was perfect. I still love you. Pinkie.”

She peeled back the pink wrapping paper, untied the box, and lifted her new cello into the thin winter light. Her hooves did not tremble and her face did not break into a smile, or a frown; the surprise did not register. It was amazing, it could have overwhelmed her or anyone, but it did not. She turned it gently and examined the neck, the body stained port red, the strings, the F holes. She smelled the maple and spruce of its wood, ran a hoof across the purfling, thumped it gently with her good ear to its surface. Standing and levitating the bow to her unpracticed hoof, Octavia tested a note, sour but quickly sweetened after she had properly tuned it. In the window’s light, it shone proud and perfectly austere against her body, the tension across the bridge seeming to call for experienced hooves, the strings golden and crisp. She played a short piece, faltering once, and then played it again, faltering not at all.

Then, she put it down and read the letter once more. They had first arrived in Hoofington in August. How, with all else that was going on, Pinkie had found the time to work out a custom-made instrument for her, Octavia had no interest in knowing. Elation was just opening its wings in her fluttering heart, up until the point where she stood to take up the instrument a second time. She played her final notes on it, not even finishing as pleasure faded and turned to the self-effacing thought that she should be feeling pleasure.

Pinkie did not have to do anything; she could have returned the cello or donated it to the school, or any number of things, and Octavia would have never known. Moreover, she would not have cared if she had received nothing for Hearth’s Warming; she had certainly given nothing. Surely Pinkie knew her sister would not have felt slighted if she were overlooked, for that was what she was, the pony who wanted nothing. Rather, the pony who said she wanted nothing. Pinkie had known, too, that she would not be forgiven her mistake in Applewood, and in their time at the palace, she could have cancelled the request. She knew Octavia too well to hope the gesture would earn her redemption in her sister’s eyes, so why then go through with the gift?

“Pathetic,” Octavia thought, looking at her cello, “that is what this is.” It was either a weak attempt at apologizing or a try for the moral high ground. Simple generosity, or blind filial love, Octavia was in too dark a temper to entertain. She looked the instrument up and down, the package it came in, finding it superficially beautiful and outside herself, like a flower or a comet: the most she would permit herself to feel. It did not seem that she had claim to it. It was an object that had crossed her path, and which she could do with what she chose. She replaced it in its box and took it upstairs to one of the studies, where she asked politely that she be left alone.

When the door was softly shut, she went to the fireplace and turned on the gas. First the empty box, then the card.

Then the bow. Its hairs curled into tight, black knots in the fire.

She turned the pegs back until the cello’s strings jangled loose and the bridge fell away from the body. The tiny image of her cutie mark had been carved into its top, that she may look down and see it as she played, and this she threw next. Into the fire and gone for good.

There was no feeling in the gesture, nor did any come when the bridge caught. She waggled the tailpiece until it snapped off, and with a little more force, pulled the strings from it until they spilled across her hooves, their tips hissing on the floor. Of ebony, the piece was lost in the firewood before it had burned away. She unscrewed the end pin and used it to poke at the coals before laying it behind the largest log.

She removed one curved side with a snap and fed it to the fire, the treated wood aglow with yellow and orange for a moment before the varnish bubbled and blackened and turned to ash across its face, and the same happened to the instrument’s back, which she had to break into pieces. The smoke was becoming sweet, its fuel of the highest quality. The sorts of wood that were commonly used in the instrument were not readily available in Hoofington; they would have had to ship it in from farther south. No matter; the cello’s other side went next, into the fire and gone for good. Next, she removed the metal screw mechanism for retracting the end pin, placing it beside her without a second look.

Elaborate spirals had been inked to either end of the F holes, with hard linear designs of leaves and branches spreading from them to cover the instrument’s face, cracks from a distance and a forest motif up close. On a thick branch midway up the neck, a tiny squirrel sat with a tinier acorn in its paws, each leaf around it drawn with painful precision; higher up, a bird’s nest with a flying silhouette returning, a single hash through its beak where it held a twig. Had Pinkie designed it herself, or had she left that to the artists at her old college?

Octavia tugged the strings out next, laying them to her side with the screw mechanism, and then removed the rosewood pegbox to hold in her hoof. The scroll was carved to resemble a blooming carnation, its edges tipped with white but not smelling of paint. The flower, she cast next into flames, and the white edges that must have been so hard to get correct darkened and were lost.

She grabbed a metal poker and stirred the fire, growing weak with too much material. She wanted to cry for how fitting it would be to do so, but her mind turned instead to her death. Momentarily disengaged, it went immediately to the morbid topic, a fact which no longer surprised or frightened her.

“If there is an appropriate time for me to die, this is it. I can reach the observatory and cast myself out of a window, and that will be that. I would not mind being found face-down among the flowers and grass.” As matter-of-fact as anything else, she thought of the various high places in the palace that she could see for a last time. They all seemed equally attractive—that was, not attractive at all. As she had earlier felt that she should feel pleasure from her gift, she now felt that she should feel sad for it, but there was no true sadness there either.

“Pathetic,” she thought, this time of herself. “It is a stupid gift, and it has me thinking of suicide.” That her sister should have that power over her, and not even know it, brought a silent snarl to her lips.

They were both pathetic, she and Pinkie. Her sister was weak and craven, but Octavia was no better for her reckless displays of courage. She poked a glowing fist of embers off the main log and shuffled them about the bricks. Where her sister failed and denied accountability, Octavia would push herself too far and then admit the same weakness every time to appease anyone who asked. Admission, after all, was the first step toward recovery; she had been on that step for months.

“Pathetic,” she mumbled. “I should not be like her.” She began splitting the cello’s front into manageable pieces, cleaving the forest. Only that and the neck remained.

Finally, anger. With the first piece, a gentle curve of F hole eating into its side, hissing in the fire, Octavia thought again of her sister. She had not expressed how she felt save for the initial outburst on the deck, thinking cold silence was the most profound reaction she could give, but in the study and possibly too late, she found she wished she had said something more.

“You left us, you made something of yourself, and you came back. For what?” she asked the empty air. “To parade across the country, pretending valor? You shrink at everything, deny responsibility at every possible turn, and everyone tells you that it is okay, that it is in your nature.” Her face was contracted, rage mounting without her notice. “And then you kill us. You chose death, not just for yourself, but for us all.” She split the front with her hooves and shoved a piece into the fire.

“And if I die, I am just like her. I have been like her this whole time. I have been dead.” She pushed more cinders with the cello’s neck before sliding it into a space between the log and a crumbling S, what had been the instrument’s side. All of it then, into the fire and gone for good. Pinkie too, out of her life and gone for good—she would be sure of it. All that was left was herself, and what was that worth?

She stared into the fire and thought of it, her self-hatred turned hot and uncomfortable in the clarity of dawning truth. Her friends were gone or leaving, and she would soon have only herself as audience for the cycle of self-imposed misery. Stripped of utility and even the pretense thereto, she could see her own self: an alluringly tragic figure, at one point perhaps, but rendered unremarkable through her own insistence on refusing change. She had indiscriminately soaked up pity and disdain and everything else ponies felt for her over the years, becoming her own idea of herself. Every setback was a triumph, a new opportunity to better become that sad image, and at long last, smelling the sweet cello smoke and breathing the hot air, she had her reward.

“For what.” She wandered the room in search of a mirror, finding it in the thin steel of a letter opener, and stared into her smeared reflection. The terrific stupidity of it all, the uselessness, the dishonesty, the blindness, all in smoke and ash were becoming clear, and what she had not felt for Discord as she stared him down, what she had only felt a shadow of when she confessed it to Colgate on the way back, found her there: hatred. Dispassionate loathing was familiar, but the hatred flaring inside her was new and frightening as she stabbed the letter opener into a book, as she then turned on herself, hooves to forehead, mane spread on the rug as she pressed her head down and bloodied her lips with a stifled scream.

“For what! For what!” She pounded her head against the soft rug, shouts diminishing until she whispered to herself. “For what. All this for what?” The humiliating answer was, simply, nothing, and she knew it. She had known it, it had come to her more times than she could count, and it had always gone ignored.

She closed her eyes, the feeling passing, leaving her trembling with the aftershock. She removed the letter opener and returned it to its desk, succor in the mundane, thinking inarticulately but no less surely what her choice was. As it felt to her, she could choose death, like Pinkie had, or she could choose life. Back to the fire she turned and examined the remnants of her cello, her conscience shouting at her to choose life, the petrified slab of habit making her hesitate until the clock struck seven and roused her.

The act of standing, of getting the blood back in her limbs, was the final piece of mundane activity needed to sift her thoughts into their proper places, and she quit the study and ascended the nearest staircase.

“I am not her. I have been, but I do not need to be anymore.” It was the same feeling, which she had felt in Tartarus, initiated then from magic without and forgotten just as easily. “I have been that mare in the past, but that is behind me.” She made her way to the observatory bridge, stood, and put her hooves on the balustrade.

In her mind’s eye, a skeleton of a pony leapt up and over and tumbled gracelessly to the earth, though her back hooves remained firmly planted on the stones. She replayed the scene once more and then closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and looked down again. Despite the season, the gardens were enchanted to bloom, the trees and topiary to flourish. Under snowfall, the palace grounds were as of the carnation on her cello, tipped with white, alive, beautiful, and stoic. She sat and rested her head against the cold stone banister.

“I am not her.” No simple recitation, the phrase rang out clear and honest as a bell through her body. She took in freezing air and repeated it, not until it was numb, but until it filled her.

Vinyl knew how to hold her liquor where Colgate only pretended to, but she was good company in the palace bar anyway. They stayed until evening, nursing cocktails and going over nothing new, occasionally falling into uncomfortable quietude when one asked something too personal of the other. When it was eight o’ clock and the snow was thick, they woozily made their exits and repaired to their rooms to freshen up. No one had seen Octavia, so the two, in loose sweaters and snow shoes and nothing else, inured from drink and their time in Snowdrift, left the main gate and marched unsteadily into the city, toward what they had no plan. It was Hearth’s Warming, there would be nothing open. When Vinyl reminded Colgate of the fact, Colgate nodded happily and moved with a spring in her step.

Scads of pegasi drifted and coordinated high above their heads, and when Vinyl turned to watch one group’s movement, she could just see the blinking radio towers on the mountain’s peak, where tiny dark shapes conglomerated. In their own reflective vests, the pegasus workers reminded her of fireflies, which she pointed out to Colgate.

“That’s so other pegasi can see ‘em at night,” Colgate said.

“Yeah. I know that.”

The same circuit they had run in their parade was the path Colgate and Vinyl took at first, past the dressmakers and accessory shops, the home furnishing stores and the specialty baker shop, where Pinkie had caught a bouquet of roses tossed from the wide-flung door. All were closed and dark for the holiday, picturesque big-city wintertime, sleeping carriages and jolly lights in thick strands across eaves, giving way to wreaths on doors and icicles rimming dormers as they reached the residences. Candlelight, song, chestnuts and holly in the air. Colgate threw a foreleg over Vinyl and the two stumbled, laughing, into a hedge, quickly running off when the house’s owner peeked out the window at them.

“Maybe you were right, V,” Colgate slurred. “No bars open nowhere on Hearth’s Warming. Aw, shoulda—what’s that?”

Vinyl smiled innocently and offered the silver flask to Colgate, who drank without a second thought.

“Licorice-y! Weird.”

“A lady never leaves her room without one,” Vinyl said, her quiet voice further insulated against Colgate’s ears from the fuzz of intoxication. Colgate nodded eagerly, “leaves” the only word she made out.

They crossed through an empty park, their hooves occasionally jigging where the slippery sidewalk permitted, and skirted a duck pond. Colgate stopped to look at it, recalling the fountain into which she had pushed one of her friends long ago, and before Vinyl could stop her, she was in full dash, her sweater and shoes kicked carelessly aside and her tail disappearing headlong into dark water. At the shore, Vinyl laughed and pulled from her flask before doffing her winter wear and joining. They guffawed and splashed each other, traded the flask, drank it dry, and then climbed out, shaking and smiling nervously at each other before falling in a heap and rolling across the lawn.

“What is it with you and water?” Vinyl asked.

Colgate, shivering, twirled a hoof in the air.

“C’mon, we’re gonna freeze, ya goombah.”

“You ain’t my doctor,” Colgate shivered, accepting a hoof to stand. They gathered up their clothes, which were quickly wet from the water in their fur, and resumed their aimless adventure, galvanized from the cold that was already gaining more than an edge.

“Lookee there,” Colgate said, pointing to a nearby hotel.

“I’ve had enough hotels for now, thanks.”

“The roof, dangit. Lights and stuff, see?”

Vinyl, struggling to stand up straight, took a minute to see the strings of Hearth’s Warming lights, the carousing shadows on a tarp’s underside, and the row of vehicles parked conspicuously at the hotel’s front.

“Come, noble squire! To war!” Colgate cheered, and they were off, across the street, bounding over the gently sloped selvedge, composing themselves hastily for the pony just inside.

“Can I help you ladies?”

“Sorry we’re late. DJ Pon-three, entertainment. We had to step out, got a little lost.”

Vinyl, vaguely following Colgate’s lead, flashed a smile and lowered her head just a fraction to let her goggles reflect the hotel’s dangling chandelier, an effect diminished by the wide puddle dripping off her.

“The entertainment has already arrived.”

“We’re the second act.”

“My equipment’s already up there, we just had to step out to move the car,” Vinyl said, and smirked. “Got a little wet too.”

“Did you get lost?” the pony asked.

“The construction on Cucumber Lane had traffic backed up all the way down to Eighteenth,” Colgate said, leaning around and raising a hoof. “We had to go around the far block, what’s it, up to Princess’ Loop?”

“Oh, the Loop has been awful lately.”

“Yeah, we noticed. Anyway—” She pricked up an ear. “Aw, geez, sounds like we barely got in, c’mon V.”

The two ran for the elevators before the guard could object, and on the ride up, Vinyl let out a long, relaxed sigh. “That was good, Cole.”

Colgate was frowning at the floor and shivering inside her sweater, and did not reply until they were at the roof, where she let out a solitary cry of excitement.

At least forty ponies, a hundred to their eyes, swirled and sashayed with one another, flowing gowns catching lights from every angle, manes and tails decorated with glittering butterflies and diamonds and snowflakes, eyelashes thick and lipstick gaudy, cocktails floating or balanced neatly on hooves, heavy music shoving back against their chests as they entered, dazed and unnoticed. Not looking at each other, the two went in different directions and would not meet up for near to an hour later. Colgate found a heat lamp and basked there, making her way through a dry martini and inventing stories for the pair of young stallions who tried to flirt with her. She told them of her time as a reporter in Fillydelphia, and how, disgraced through no fault of her own, she had to move down to Snowdrift, where she became a humble concierge. She described the corkscrew hotel, embellishing that those who stepped inside were subjected to the same warping magic, perception and all so they could not observe themselves stretched. Vinyl went straight for the bar and bought a pitcher of beer for the group who invited her over, recognizing her instantly. She gave them a halting light show, she too drunk to do much more than flash some colors and make a little dancing display of shapes, which nonetheless dazzled the revelers. By the time the party’s host noticed them, the two friends were integrated and welcome, and she cornered them both individually to tell them all about herself, what she was celebrating, why the party’s cost was no worry for her, who her parents were, and so on. Of the two, only Colgate’s feigned interest became more, and when they found each other again, Colgate emerged with the host at her hip, a feather boa over both their necks and a smear of aubergine lipstick like a bruise on her cheek.

Games clattered loudly, cards riffled at candlelit tables, and the band played fervently. Smartly-dressed servers cycled through the crowds with silver trays of snacks and drinks, and Colgate never saw Vinyl miss one. Every color of the rainbow passed through the white unicorn’s hooves, every type of glass, and she took them all with the same grinning gusto, pounding back glasses of water whenever she had a hoof free and disappearing for the bathrooms so frequently that her intermittence became background patter to Colgate, who was drawn further and further into the host’s voice, her wild tangerine eyes.

Once, by chance only, Colgate and Vinyl were in the bathroom concurrently, and Colgate, after washing her hooves, pushed open the ajar stall door to find a watered down cocktail abandoned on the toilet tank. She was nursing it when Vinyl came back out.

“Cole, you’re a, lemme tell you, you are sooo smart, with this party like this.”

“This drink is awful! Why am I doing this?”

“Are they still doing amaretto shots out there?”

“I can tell they are.”

“You can?” Vinyl’s eyebrows rose up past her goggles, affording a narrow sliver of eye white.

“College education,” Colgate lied, having no idea what Vinyl had asked her.

“You’re… you’re sober!” She laughed. “Clever mare!”

Colgate smiled and made to leave the bathroom, content with herself, for it was apparently without Vinyl’s notice that she had thrown up in the duck pond.

They went back to the party and went their separate ways again, Colgate to a quieter place with the host and Vinyl to the loudest group, dancing and dropping clothes left and right in front of the band. Shots flowed into the crowd without end, and Vinyl would recall later the indeterminate memory of racing one of the mares in a drinking contest of some sort, though what they were drinking and what spoils went to the victor were lost to time. She threw more lights off her horn, at one point rushing to the guardrail and treating Canterlot to what she thought then was a master performance of color and technique. Vodka burned her throat, beer cooled it, and the endless cycle of soft bathroom lights stabilized her for long enough to continuously throw herself back into the mess. She threw up at one point, effortless and cold from the lager she had finished just a minute before, and in so doing gave herself another hour of drinking stamina. That particular session in the bathroom, she came out with a flourish and a little dance, into which she incorporated drinking the shot someone pushed on her.

As the party quieted and guests made their ways downstairs, and the band packed up and said their goodbyes, Colgate stumbled up to Vinyl with a glazed look in her eyes, said “shhhhwhoaaa, Vinyl, huh,” and disappeared until morning. Dead tired and without a ride, Vinyl trailed after one of the guests who had demonstrated an interest in her, shared a room, and woke up the following morning still drunk and feeling like her insides had been desiccated. She inspected herself and the room, determined that nothing unexpected had taken place the night before, and shambled down to the hotel lobby, where she drank a pot of coffee and three carafes of water before Colgate finally showed up, not from upstairs but from the street, stumbling and grinning like an idiot.

“Over here, buddy,” Vinyl mumbled, and Colgate flopped down in the seat opposite. She wore entirely different clothes, and her mane was a mess, her eyes red and manic. “Where’ve you been?”

“I just got back from Lower Canterlot. I’m glad the taxis are running this early.”

“It’s eleven.”

“Right.”

“Speaking of cabs, do you…” Vinyl lowered her head to the table’s cold surface. “Please tell me we have money to get a ride back to the palace.”

“I got money.”

Vinyl grabbed another cup of coffee and another glass of water, and when the taxi was outside, she was squirming with a full bladder that she hadn’t time to relieve. Colgate hopped into the carriage and patted the seat beside her, and they jostled away.

“Me and the party host went back to her place.”

“How was that?”

Colgate blinked awkwardly and looked out at the passing city. She had helped herself to a sandwich bag of bits hidden in the back of her host’s closet as well as a sampling of her medicine cabinet before heading out, leaving a “thank you” note and a kiss on the still sleeping mare’s forehead. She deposited the pills in a trash can before flagging her taxi, vague guilt darkening her mood but gone by the time she was at the hotel. To Vinyl’s question, she said simply, “It was good. I think she was a dancer, had that kind of body.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” She moaned as they stopped for a light. “Glad you had a good time, though.”

“Yourself?”

“Yeah, it was okay.”

Vinyl couldn’t wait. As soon as they stopped, still a fair piece from the palace’s entrance, she ran off into a row of bushes to pee while Colgate diligently stood guard.

“You drank a lot last night, huh?”

“Gee, how’d you guess?” Vinyl snorted.

“We’ll tell ‘em we found a nice corporate party, two drink maximum. They told everyone how bright they think the future is, and how their new partnership with Whatever, Incorporated is really going to open a lot of doors for the market.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Her voice was strained and tired, quieter than usual, and she had to repeat herself twice.

“Well we’re not gonna ‘fess up what really happened, with the booze and the pills and stuff.”

“There weren’t any pills, Colgate.”

“See? How easy was that?”

“I can tell when you’re bullshitting me, you know.”

“Uhh.”

“You’re not as sneaky as you think.” She nodded tersely to the guards outside, who looked at them with knowing smiles.

“I’m not sneakin’.”

“Cole, can you come back to me? I need you here, now, in the moment.” She led them to a side room off the main court, where Celestia was in her station on the throne, hearing out a citizen with a grievance. She did not spare the returning friends a look, which suited them fine.

“How drunk are you?” Vinyl asked.

“Not as drunk as you.”

“I’m not—okay, did you take those pills already?”

“Street.”

Vinyl put a hoof to her face. “I don’t know what ‘street’ is supposed to mean.”

“I tossed ‘em, I didn’t want ‘em after all. It didn’t feel right.”

Vinyl looked at her for a minute before shaking her head. “Yeah, okay, I’ll trust you. But! In the future, we need to… Look, Cole, nights like last night, those are rare. Say it with me.” She nodded slowly with Colgate. “Raaaaare. Yeah? We’re not gonna do that every night, or even every week. Couple times a year, that’s it for us.”

“I said I didn’t take ‘em.”

“No more parties for a while!” she cried, throwing her hoof in the air with a little spot of color wobbling on her horn. “No more booze—for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“C’mon.”

They went up to Colgate’s room, where she lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling while Vinyl flagged down a servant for yet more coffee and water.

“I slept with one of them last night,” Vinyl said.

“That’s pretty cool.”

“No! No! It is not cool, Colgate.” She hopped up and, lacking something to actually do, sat back down moodily. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do it anymore. Long time ago.”

It took a second for the point to dawn on Colgate, who nodded against the pillow.

“He’s gonna be telling his friends that he got in bed with the famous Vinyl Scratch now for the rest of his life.”

“Well, you agreed to go with him, right?”

“I offered.”

“Well…”

Vinyl grunted and brought in her tray of liquids, and as Colgate fell asleep, she drank through both, slowly coming back to sobriety and all the shame that came therewith. It had been a long time since she had had a night like last, long enough that she thought they were behind her for good. Looking back, to see how easy it was to slip into old habits disquieted her further. She knew better than to seek to dull the pain of self-reproach, that was a hard-learned lesson from the deep past, so she left half the coffee for Colgate and crept to her own room to sleep off the worst of it.

That same night, with her sister enjoying her own company in the solitude of her bedroom and the drinkers out crashing a party, Pinkie took the midnight train back up to Canterlot. She and Celestia had discussed her schedule in very brief before leaving. With the hollow sympathies of a monarch, Celestia had told Pinkie how tight her schedule was, and that she would be needed the day after Hearth’s Warming—so sorry. Pinkie had thought she would mind, but her goodbyes were few and uncomfortable. Her former employers had hired a replacement, so there was no room for her at Sugarcube Corner anymore; and her more superficial friends in town, while eager to lend an ear and a hug, were not so quick to volunteer a home. She did not bother saying goodbye to the other Elements. They knew where to find her.

Next to no one was traveling between towns on Hearth’s Warming, least of all at the hour Pinkie had chosen. There had been earlier trains, but she had wanted the melancholy, and as she settled into her seat and listened to the station sounds as her train readied to pull away, she knew she had chosen correctly. The image was perfect. As Applejack had gotten her minute of pure peace in the rocking chair by the fire, so Pinkie was getting hers in the dim cabin as ponies thumped about with luggage and stoked the engines. The cool starlight on the snow, the glowing horn of Canterlot Mountain reduced to a familiar but yet indistinct destination, the weight of pending responsibility to keep her mind from wandering to more painful things, the one bag she had brought sitting by the door, and every other tiny detail that seemed to jump out at her with a significance all its own.

As Ponyville slid out of sight, she closed her eyes, not willing to see it go. She still saw them as her friends, had given up on telling herself to amend the title. So sweet and solemn was the night, her gentle departure, and the mute acceptance with which she shouldered it.

Let them be angry. They had every right to be.

She started awake when the train began its ascent to Greater Canterlot, and from her seat, had the pleasure of watching the palace’s lights grow and separate from the glow thrown forth from the city in main. The stars disappeared and the snow was dirty and disheveled once more. She debarked, thanked the porter, and marched alone up to the drawbridge, where a guard let her in with a tired “Happy Hearth’s Warming, Miss Pie.”

At the farmhouse the following morning, Twilight was preparing to head back as well. She still had to tell her friends what she was doing, and for that purpose, she had requested they all meet for breakfast. Rainbow was there already, trying to help in the kitchen, and Twilight heard Fluttershy’s arrival from upstairs, where she was teaching Applejack how to set up her own communication sigils with Versus.

When they went down, the pegasi were seated already while Big Mac set the table. From Fluttershy’s clipped greeting and brusque demeanor, it was clear to them that she had debated not coming at all. Her own bitterness fueled Twilight’s, and Twilight took the head of the table with a no-nonsense expression that her friends all recognized.

“What’s wrong, Twi?” Applejack asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” She accepted a mug of hot tea from Big Mac. “I figured I should let you all know, I’m heading back to Canterlot today. I’ll be there for a while, I’d guess.”

The stunned silence that met her was exactly what she had expected, and the first spoken response, the same.

“I’m sorry, you’re what?” Rainbow asked. Her tone was angry, but her voice was small. Twilight had hoped there would not be pain in the exchange.

“They need me way more up there than down here, so I’m going back. As you know, we’re still floating and still in pieces. Princess Celestia needs someone to take a leadership position with country restoration.”

“An’ that’s you?” Applejack asked. “Not one of her legions of scientists or magicians?”

“There’s them too, but I have the advantage of having traveled more. I’ve seen the country, I know what parts need more help than others, and so on.” Their expressions did not change, and weakly, Twilight added, “She could really use me.”

Fluttershy just shook her head and turned away, and Rainbow set aside her tea. “Coming home and being done with this was what you wanted most. Why… Why go back on that? Why not tell her you can’t help right now, that you need your own time? She’ll understand.”

“Actually, I’m the one who approached her about it.”

“Yer kiddin,” Big Mac mumbled.

Twilight flashed him a dark look. “I already told her I’d do it, my train is booked for this afternoon. Girls, I’m doing this, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Then I’m going with you,” Rainbow said.

“If you—” She faltered and covered it with a sip of tea. “I’m not asking anyone to come with me, I understand my decision.”

“And I’m not asking your permission, Twilight. I’m going too.”

Twilight shook her head. “You don’t—”

“No, it’s not up for debate. Today, you said? What time? I’ll make sure I’m packed and ready.”

“It’s… The train leaves at two.”

“Great. That’s plenty of time.”

“Don’t do it, Rainbow,” Fluttershy murmured.

Rainbow shrugged. “Not up for debate.”

Twilight sighed.

“Unless you specifically don’t want me to be with you, Twilight, I’m going. I can’t let you take this on alone.”

“No, no, I don’t… I don’t not want you. I just thought it would be better if I didn’t involve anyone else.”

“Ahh, so you could suffer alone, that it?” Applejack asked.

“What are you getting at? And don’t give me that pseudo-intellectual crap you’ve been boning up on. Give it to me straight, Applejack.”

Applejack laughed humorlessly. “Well, since y’asked. Tell me, did you volunteer fer this job before, or after, you found out Pinkie was stayin’ behind?”

“I don’t need this right now.”

“So that’s after, Ah presume.”

“What does it matter?”

“You want my honest opinion or not? Yer not gonna like it.”

“Save it, then. I’m sure it’s very well thought-out.”

“You are such a piece. One little question to get you all riled up. What do you think that says ‘bout you?”

“The same thing it said last time you girls brought it up, Applejack. But I’m sure you’d love to spell it out for me again. Or maybe you, Dash?”

“How about not taking your frustration out on me?” Rainbow asked. “Just a thought I had.”

Twilight stood from the table and fixed her eyes on Big Mac, who quailed. “Big Mac? Anything?”

“You leave him out of it,” Applejack said, and Twilight met her eyes before sitting back down.

“Right. You’re right. We can talk like adults.”

“Can we?” Rainbow sneered.

“Why I’m choosing to go back is my business,” Twilight continued, temper under control and face toward the tabletop, hooves up to guard her from eye contact. “I’m not looking for pity or congratulations or anything, I’m just telling you how it is. I have no idea how long I’ll be there.” She glanced up at Rainbow. “I won’t hold you to anything. You can leave anytime.”

“You know I won’t.”

“Right. Right.” She spread her hooves. “So, uh… Goodbye, I guess. I’ll visit when I can. If not, I’ll write.”

“Don’t put yourself out for our sake,” Fluttershy said.

“Nice, Fluttershy. I’ll be sure to write you last, then.”

“As I said.”

“Okay okay okay, let’s cut it off there,” Rainbow said, standing with Twilight. Fluttershy did the same, and her motion signaled the mutual agreement to say no more. Twilight shook Applejack’s hoof and thanked her for the food and housing, and Applejack told her she was welcome anytime. She turned upstairs to finish packing while Rainbow darted out to find the beginnings of her cloud house, so she could do the same.

Fluttershy caught Applejack’s eyes across the table while Big Mac cleared the dishes. “You have something to say?” Fluttershy asked.

“Let’s step outside.”

The crisp morning air did not soften either of their moods, and Applejack had to lead Fluttershy on three circles around the barn before she felt sufficiently level-headed to begin her point.

“Ah’ve been puttin’ this off an’ off, Fluttershy. Sit down, if ya please.”

Fluttershy looked at Applejack accusingly before sitting in the snow, as if Applejack had deliberately chosen a place where there was no convenient seating.

“This ain’t gonna be pleasant, just warnin’ ya.”

“Let’s do it fast, then,” Fluttershy sighed.

Applejack looked away from her, but it did not help. She bit her tongue, dreading, not sure what sort of reaction she would get. “Ah think yer in danger of losin’ yer Element, if ya haven’t lost it already.”

She did not look, but heard the sound of Fluttershy nodding, the long mane brushing against her coat. Finally, Fluttershy returned in a tiny voice, “explain.”

“With Pinkie, how you handled it. Ah get that it was justified, that she deserved some sorta punishment fer what she did. But the way you did it, with the letter an’ all, an’ in the middle of the deck like that. That was cruel, Fluttershy.”

“Cruel.”

“Premeditated, malicious, an’ excessive. Ah mean, you saw her, the mare was cryin’ harder’n anyone Ah ever seen.”

Fluttershy did not stop nodding, and Applejack chanced a look at her to see her face cut in a deep, thoughtful frown.

“Cruel to more than her, too. Dumpin’ that news on us all at once, well, Ah can’t speak fer the others, but fer me, it really took the wind out of the whole thing.”

“You’re saying I should have found a way to break the news more gently.”

“Ah am sayin’ that, yes. You didn’t have to do it in such a way that made us all freak out an’ start fightin’, an’ you also didn’t have to do it when we were still celebratin’ our victory.”

“How are your responses my fault?”

“You, knowin’ us, knowin’ how we react to things. That was an informed decision an’ you know it. An’ informed decision rashly made, Ah forward.”

Fluttershy heaved another sigh.

“Ah think anger made you weak, but Ah also think you relished it when it happened. Yer face when Pinkie was rollin’ on the deck, screamin’ her head off… It wasn’t the face of sympathy.”

“I should be sympathetic to the pony who practically killed us?”

“If yer claimin’ to be the Element of Kindness, yes, you should be.”

She closed her eyes for a long time, and Applejack faced her fully. At first, it appeared that Fluttershy shivered from the cold, but then the tears squeezed out between tight eyelids and the lips pulled back. Applejack debated quickly whether to offer comfort, and then did so. Her hoof stroking Fluttershy’s back earned a tiny flinch and then a gentler outflow of sorrow, and in time, Fluttershy managed a diminished “I don’t know what to do. I know it was wrong.”

“Did it seem like a good idea at the time?”

Fluttershy nodded.

“Yeah, they usually do. What Ah think should be done ain’t easy neither. Are ya listenin’? Do ya need a minute?”

“Please.”

Applejack stood with her, rubbing her back, looking at her land and wishing she could be back inside with another cup of tea, very barely loathing the fact that it was hers to help with the adventure’s emotional fallout. For Applejack’s part, Pinkie was a low and sad thing, but nothing she could do much about save forget. If the others made moving on difficult, she didn’t know what she would do, but to look down on Fluttershy’s broken form, she at least knew that she did not want to share her burden.

“Okay, go ahead, Applejack. What do you think I should do? I’m ready.”

“My opinion: you need to take a long, hard look at yerself. Not with one of us, but alone. Go home, think it through, figure out just what you got in yer heart. Ah don’t know how the Elements work exactly, but a meanness like that can’t be good fer it. If you think you still have it in you to be the Element of Kindness, then yer gonna have to change fer it, an’… if you think y’already lost it, then you need to know that a hundred percent, an’ then tell us. Not wishin’ to sound callous, but we need to know too so we can get on an’ find the next bearer.”

“I really hope not.”

“Believe me, Ah’ve been prayin’ fer the same.”

“You’ve been praying for me?”

“Or meditatin’, if you like.”

Fluttershy dried her face on a wing and stood up as if to go, but stayed still.

“Ah still believe in you, Fluttershy. Yer a good pony, you just need time to heal.”

“Maybe.” She let drop a couple new tears before walking to the orchard’s edge, where between them and the Everfree Forest stretched an expanse of rocky land, and Applejack followed her unsurely. When Fluttershy looked back and saw her there, she said, “I’ll do it. You’re right, as usual. I’ll have an answer for you next time we meet, Applejack.”

“Take as much time as you need; you don’t have to hurry on my account.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’ll be…” She sighed and gave a trembling smile. “Bye for now.”

Applejack watched her go and returned to the farmhouse, where Big Mac was still at the table, Apple Bloom moving around in the kitchen. Applejack sat down heavily and looked her brother in the eyes. Neither of them held to any pretense; he had read the tension in the room perfectly, and had prepared to hear his sister out when she got back.

“She just left. Ah told her what Ah thought ‘bout the Element.”

“‘Bout her losin’ it?” Big Mac asked.

“Yup.”

“Who’s losin’ what now?” Apple Bloom chirped, spinning into the dining room with a saucer balanced on her back. She almost dropped it, but managed to get it to the table and then ran off to grab the cups.

“Fluttershy’s been havin’ a tough time, that’s all,” Applejack said.

“Well yeah.” She drifted out with the cups and went back for the kettle. “Y’all were away all year. Yer probably tired of each other.”

“That’s part of it.”

“What did she do?” Big Mac asked.

“She heard me out, cried a little, an’ then walked off into the forest.”

“The forest?” Apple Bloom sat down finally and poured out her tea. “Ain’t she scared?”

“Nah, not anymore. She got a lot… braver when we were away.”

“She’s gonna reflect out there,” Big Mac said. “That’s a good idea. Her an’ the nature, no one else out there. Eeyup, a good idea.”

“Where did Twilight go?” Apple Bloom asked.

Applejack put her face down in her hooves, already spent for the day.

At the train station, Twilight stole a restive look at Rainbow Dash. “Last chance, Dash.”

“Twilight, I’m not leaving you.” She smiled. “That’s final.”

She hated to admit it, but having Rainbow by her side had already taken its effect. The moment of her departure back to Canterlot had weighed on her since before reaching Ponyville, for she had seen it in her mind’s eye as a scene of bitterness at best and, at worst, another notch of separation from her friends. She knew the gulf between her and them, as well as she did not know how to go about fixing it, and yet there was Rainbow, steadfastly linking them still. Her heart warmed in spite of her selfish will to embody what she thought she was becoming—no attraction to wickedness, but the desire to be right, and not only that, but right all along.

“Why are you subjecting yourself to this?” Twilight asked as the train whistle cut through the cold air, followed shortly after by a little feather of steam on the horizon.

“Because you’re my friend and I love you.”

Twilight hesitated.

“After all the other crap we’ve been through, you think I can just sit back now?”

“You’re leaving everyone else for me.”

“They’re home, they don’t need me. And Pinkie, she made her bed.” Rainbow was silent until they got on the train and were underway. “Remember when you freaked out in Appleloosa, like you had a flashback? We were… somewhere.”

“It was the hoedown. Pinkie was calling a square dance, and we were outside by the fire pit.”

“That’s it. I told you I was gonna stick with you then, and I meant it. I mean it still.”

Twilight shook her head. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She stretched in her seat, throwing her wings out. “I think you’re making a mistake to go back to Canterlot, but I know I can’t make you change your mind. So, you know what? I’ll be there to help you when it gets tough.”

“It will get tough, too, I can already see that.” She did not want to admit the truth she knew Rainbow already suspected, that she was going back to not let Pinkie be the only one to win Celestia’s favor. She was like a jealous sibling, but more than that, the notion of retreating to a little house in Ponyville had taken a sour tinge without her notice. Up to the point of their return, going back and doing nothing seemed the ideal reward, but on the precipice of actually doing it, the impression had become a disillusioned “is that all?” in her mind.

“So what do you actually need to do?”

“Princess Celestia hasn’t told me yet. I just know I’m going to be organizing restorative efforts. Probably helping ponies with magic and stuff.”

“Do you still remember that sigil we used in the beginning?”

“I’m literally unable to forget it. Princess Celestia imposed it into my mind, remember? I believe the term she used was ‘burn.’ She burned it into me.”

“That was probably the worst night of my life.”

“Mine too.” She didn’t continue, but they both knew the subject just below. “So Big Mac was having bad dreams.”

“That shit in Snowdrift, it’s no wonder,” Rainbow said. “How about you?”

“Yeah, I have them still. I haven’t had any flashbacks, but sometimes the nightmares are just as bad.”

“You should see a psychiatrist.”

“We all should. I’ll probably go looking for one once I’m settled in Canterlot.” She smiled to herself. “We’re going to have to get used to this train ride. I don’t suppose you brought any cards?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither. Uhh, maybe the guy with the trolley has some. I’ll be back.”

Big Mac was in his room gathering dirty laundry when he heard Applejack talking, and at first he thought she was pontificating aloud to herself, but then heard Versus’ voice join in. It gave him a start; she had not said that Twilight had installed a new communication sigil at the farmhouse. The sound of her voice drew him as though on a cable to Applejack’s room, where he knocked without his usual nervous hesitation.

“Yeah?”

“Is that Versus in there?”

“Big Mac!” Versus cried, and his heart leaped. He was smiling nervously when Applejack let him in. “Is that him? AJ, you gotta clue me in on this stuff, I can’t see you.”

“It’s him. Mac, say somethin’, don’t just stand there.”

He stuttered. “Uh, hi Versus.”

“Oh, you two are naturals,” Applejack laughed. “Verse, can you really not see us?”

“You kidding? I can’t do my own magic.”

“Ah shoulda asked Twilight to set up some sorta remote viewin’ thing fer us.”

“Like what she used to spy on the whole country?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Divination,” Big Mac said.

“I’ll pass on the spying, I think,” Versus said. “You two don’t need to see me here. I’m not doing anything.”

“Ah wouldn’t mind seein’ ya,” Big Mac thought, but he did not have the courage to say it.

“So how’s Snowdrift doin’?” Applejack asked. To Big Mac, she said, “We left it in a pretty state, apparently.”

Versus laughed again. “Well, a lot of ponies are getting worked up about the latest Contraction. Some of the brain ponies are predicting the Snowdrift Gateway Commission making a stink about it, you know, what with Twilight’s meddling. No one really knows anything yet, least I don’t think so, but if the precogs are saying it… You know how it goes.”

“She did what she had to,” Big Mac said. “They’re not gonna try to do anythin’ to her, are they?”

“‘Do anything?’ What, like whack her? Hell no. Well, and she’s got the princesses behind her now too, she’s untouchable. Canterlot politics, blah blah blah. But you get the precogs stirred up, they’ll make anything a big deal.”

Big Mac sat on the other side of the bed and tuned out the two mares’ conversation. They talked like old friends, laughing and completing each other’s sentences, sometimes imitating each other’s accents; Applejack shortening her drawl into the sharper Snowdrift form was an ugly thing that made him chuckle. Before long, he was paying attention to Versus’ voice only. When it was high and fast with happiness, it made him smile, and when it became even and warm as she joined Applejack in their usual spiritual cogitations, it made him yearn to be in his sister’s place. Seeing himself in her spot on the bed and speaking with Versus alone brought a faint ache to his heart, which he did not quite want to dispel. Applejack poured out her heart to her, exposed her innermost thoughts to the mare across the country, and Big Mac found himself losing the conversation’s thread and wishing more and more that he could do the same.

“Ah wish none of this had happened,” he wanted to say. It was not strictly true, but it would be an effective way to grab her attention, and she might say something like “Oh no! Big Mac, what’s wrong? You can tell me.” She would ask him to go into detail about his feelings, and he would be able to with the confidence he needed, knowing someone else wanted it and he was not imposing on her.

He got up and left without a word, retreating to his room and following the thread of his fantasy conversation, circling and meandering and full of encouragement from Versus until she was practically begging him to share his pain with her. He felt dirty doing it, but could not master himself, always returning to the warm sound of her voice and imagining it addressing him, telling him that whatever the problem was, it was okay. Whenever she got to actually asking him what the problem was, his thoughts unraveled. What did have him down? All he had witnessed and taken part in, sure, but that seemed like the obvious answer, and saying it to the hypothetical Versus made him feel like he was missing the mark in some way.

He collected his laundry and took it down to the washing machine, glad for the way his family saw him still. Apple Bloom gave him a look but didn’t ask what was on his mind, for to her, he was still the same, quiet, peaceful stallion.

Settling In

Chapter One hundred-nineteen

Settling In

The wonder that surrounded Applejack and Big Mac annealed as the days passed and the rest of the family arrived, Hearth’s Warming celebrated on the farm beyond its one given day. Hardly any work was done in that tender time of reminiscing, a burden that the town was willing to take on with all good cheer. When groceries were needed, they were procured without charge; when something needed fixing, there was always a volunteer to put themselves to it; when word got out that so-and-so on the farm wasn’t feeling well, someone would surely come by with a platter of brownies or a jug of spiced cider. For as long as the snow covered the ground and smoke spread from the farmhouse’s chimney, it was as though the orchard were sanctified, and when that smoke stopped and the Apple family shed its outer layers to leave only the core behind, life seeped back into the hallowed space.

Big Mac returned to the land with nary a word, asserting his tendency toward silence with the calm dignity for which he was known, and as Applejack spent most of her time indoors, the two did not speak much. It was not so different from before their adventure, and yet it was, at least to her eyes. Questioning whether it was her alone or both of them, Applejack reflected on her brother’s silence, at first in the safety of her mind and then aloud to Versus, who checked in a few times a week. For Applejack, news of the farm was always cagey and vague, for she did not know how much was hers to tell a non-immediate friend; the same was not true of Versus, who filled the time with news of the southern town and of her own life. Since the Elements’ departure, she had been more and more occupied with Snowdrift news, and it her. Most recently, she had revealed to Applejack—and Big Mac, shamefully listening through the wall—that her boss had been questioning her about her relationship with the Elements, and in what capacity she had helped them. Applejack, seeing no danger in it, advised Versus that such inquiries were natural, that she was the closest thing her interrogators had to the Elements.

Applejack had Versus, her thoughts and writings, and a room to pace; but it was to the cold earth that Big Mac did consign his thoughts and feelings. Versus’ smile, he stamped into the snow; her voice, he folded among the tarpaulins and stacked in the shed next to dusty carts and spades; the dance they shared at the first Contraction party, he sighed out under frosty branches. They seemed to be of similar ages, but thoughts of her, her youthful step and the open-hearted inflection to her every word, made him feel twenty years her senior. At times, often as he marched back to the farmhouse in falling dusk, he would turn to their shared trauma and wonder how she was handling it. Applejack never asked, and when Versus mentioned it of her own will, she did so obliquely and to no follow-up. In his fantasies, she and he would share the living room and comfort each other, free of judgment—even that to which they held themselves.

Selfishly, he would at times envision her in great distress at the loss of a friend or from some other generic tragedy, and he would be there to hold her tight. At other times, and these which he struggled to never think about afterwards, the positions would be reversed; and in those darker, more personal scenarios, it was never one of the Elements, but Versus. He had had feelings for Rarity for a long time before adventuring with her, and the occasional infatuation with Rainbow Dash and Pinkie, and most of them he now counted as his best friends, yet still it was always Versus to whom he turned in his mind, drunk with indulgent, impossible fantasy, beset with misfortune that was never strong enough to survive a warm hug and an admission of long-hidden, mutual affection.

It was clearest in the early mornings, when the air was still and it stung to breathe, when the frost crackled under his tread, when brown leaves were damp and fragrant under the dreaming apple trees. He would face the mountain and see his friends there, and the distance between them was only then what it was, not decorated with fantastical trappings or poetic exaggerations. Exactly as they had said they would: they had gone on, found their lives and started living them again, as natural as anything in the world; but, like he himself and Applejack, indelibly different. The pain of the final goodbye had never come, and for him, its recognition was a symptom of lovesickness.

For Applejack it was a symptom of spiritual dissolution, the same which she had seen and turned from time and again in the course of their journey. The inosculation of life-tracks such as theirs should not have come undone so easily, yet it had; and there it was, her hardest lesson yet to learn, the most painful and also the most beautiful: nothing in life is guaranteed. In a note for her to bring up in her next talk with Versus, she wrote, “life don’t care how good you done up to the point of a mistake. Bad is bad, and it’s easy to forget that.” Under that, circled, “Why do things happen? Because they happen.”

She would go outside to work as the holiday season closed, and it was not long before she discerned the lost spark. Physical labor gratified her as always, but times were she would get back in after a long day, too spent for more than a good meal and some family time; now she would go out, think, get back, think some more, restlessly pacing inside her own mind, carving arguments and debates for herself, puzzles to examine, quandaries to tease. When the last of the family had gone, it was routine for her to stay up one or two hours past her usual bedtime and ponder something, a nuance that had come to her that she might have previously overlooked or someone’s point that she had once dismissed. She checked out some light reading from Twilight’s former library, and a couple days later, checked out some heavier reading—and these books she would later offer to purchase, the start of her own collection of teachings and writings.

None of it escaped Granny’s notice, or Apple Bloom’s, and when they asked her about it, she told them the truth, that “something” had changed in her over the adventure, and she was exploring that change in a healthy, constructive way. No, it was not a sign of something wrong, she assured Granny, and no, she was not planning on leaving the farm, she promised to Apple Bloom. It was no more than a newfound hobby, and they were content to leave it at that. Fewer questions came than Applejack expected, and whenever she returned to the farmhouse with a stack of books, she would only see hints of how they felt about it in the sidelong glances.

* * * * * *

Rainbow had only to suggest to Celestia that she stay with Twilight, and she was made Twilight’s personal assistant, given a badge and a uniform, and put on the royal payroll. No interview necessary, no résumé; the process took about twenty minutes to finalize. Twilight told her that her own job title was being pulled out of thin air, so it was no challenge for Celestia to insert Rainbow wherever she pleased.

Twilight knew her job would be more complicated than she expected when Celestia invited her to lunch the day after returning. With no small amount of trepidation, she met the princess and four lackeys in one of the palace’s conference rooms; of them, she recognized only Caramel, their PR pony. They introduced one another and made small talk, and Twilight, shaking her new coworkers’ hooves, was hit for the first time with the horrible idea that she had, perhaps, not made a mistake after all, and that work was all she had come to know.

“Let the meeting of the Grand Restoration Committee now commence,” Celestia announced, smiling wide. “First, let me just thank you all. It will be through your efforts that Equestria sees itself returned to its rightful place; the country is—forgive me, will be—in your debt. Eternally.” This final word she punctuated with a look into each of their eyes, and of them all, only Twilight looked away.

“Our first team member needs no introduction. Twilight Sparkle will be my resource for coordinating all ground-restoration operations. She’s in charge of maintaining a map of all the fault lines and their bridges, fault spacing, alignment, and later, reconnection to the planet. Here, Twilight.” She slid Twilight a map of the continent. “After this meeting, you and me will talk.”

Twilight looked down at the map, its face cracked with a maze of red lines that she supposed were the gaps. By the look of the ink, it had been drawn in a rush just before the meeting.

“Leaf Blower is our population coordination manager.” Celestia waved her hoof at an older mare in a loose, moss-green cardigan, whose platinum blonde mane fell in a thin, long rope to one side of her head, its end somewhere under the table’s edge. “Twilight, you and Leaf will be best friends by the time this is done. Where she’s in charge of the ground and the gaps, Leaf will make sure no one gets hurt when our geomancers do their valuable work. She’ll be evacuating villages, securing at-risk buildings, decommissioning bridges, just generally making sure we aren’t doing more harm than good in these coming months.”

Leaf Blower appeared about to say something, but Caramel interrupted. “Princess, you said there was lunch coming?”

“Fifteen minutes, Caramel,” Celestia said, unfazed.

“Sorry, Leaf.”

“You’re good, Caramel,” Leaf Blower chuckled. “I was just gonna say that I can’t wait to work with you all.”

“Twilight don’t know it, but this is the real dream-team,” Caramel continued, stretching, his tight vest straining against his chest.

“Caramel here is the face of the GRC,” Celestia said. “And the voice.” She indicated a short, freckled stallion with a gray mane and thick glasses, who sat up self-importantly. “Curlicue is legal and financial. Any paperwork that needs handled, any hoops you have to jump through, he’s here to navigate those with you all.”

With a voice as smooth as silk and louder than seemed appropriate for his small body, he told them all what a privilege it was to work with them, and Twilight specifically.

“And last, but not least, this lovely lady is Summer Joy.” An aqua pegasus with a shocking two-tone mane of crimson and yellow raised a limp hoof at the end of the table. Twilight’s immediate thought was that she looked like a beach ball. “She will be in charge of all of our scientific endeavors. She’s currently preparing teams of geologists, zoologists, microbiologists… am I forgetting anyone?”

“Forest specialists,” Summer Joy said.

“Yes, and forest specialists, to travel the country and collect as much data about our restoration efforts as they can.”

“Basically, we’re studying the environmental impact of The Crumbling and its repair, so we can prepare for any complications down the line. Once we get down to the planet, you know, there’s going to be all sorts of unforeseen problems to deal with. My job is to anticipate as many of these as I can, and hopefully let us deal with them now rather than later.”

“So, your highness,” Twilight began, “do we answer directly to you?”

“You answer to yourselves, my student,” Celestia said. “This project, I leave in your capable hooves.”

“What kind of funding do we have?”

“The palace has set aside a restoration fund of one and a half-million bits every month,” Curlicue said.

“That’s subject to review, my dear,” Celestia simpered. “For now, one and a half million is fine, but we’ll have to see what the next few months bring us in terms of tax revenue. A lot of cities are struggling.”

“Just let the Mansels fund the whole thing,” Twilight thought, bitter still about the contract she had signed. The Mansels had supposedly withdrawn their complaints about the Elements, but she didn’t trust it.

Her thoughts hadn’t time to germinate further, as lunch arrived just then, steaming silver trays of roasted vegetables, glazed fruits, and colorful soups. Twilight took a bowl of chilled and spiced pear soup, which she did not much enjoy, and obligingly pulled out a chair for Leaf Blower, who had gotten up and walked around the table to sit beside her.

“You and me, Twilight,” she snapped happily, shaking Twilight’s hoof again. “I can’t wait, for one. When I heard you were gonna be the fifth team lead, I was so excited, I about jumped up and cheered, which would have looked really weird to everyone else in the office.”

“Have you done something like this before?” Twilight asked.

“I was project manager for the northwest quadrant of the cloud convoy, R and D.”

“Rainbow and Dash,” Twilight thought stupidly, and a little smile escaped her.

“This is my first national project. I’m excited, but a little nervous too. Hey, working alongside you, though, wow, I couldn’t ask for better.”

“How many ponies are going to be under us?”

“Couple thousand, if you break it down to like the brick-and-mortar workers. But if it’s anything like my other projects, you’ll probably have like two or three ponies that report directly to you, and they’ll have two or three that report to them, and on and on down the line.”

“A couple thousand.” She nodded, keeping her face composed as the number rattled in her head. “Yeah, well, you were responsible for a lot more than that not a month ago, Twilight,” she reminded herself.

After lunch, she found Rainbow Dash in a corner of the palace gallery, studying a pair of paintings of the throne room, one in resplendent daylight and one in somber moonlight.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Twilight asked.

“I guess they’re okay. Your meeting go all right?”

“I have to verify that this map the princess gave me is accurate. She has all the splits drawn on, and I have to make sure she got it right before we can start formulating a plan to restore everything.”

They walked to a stairwell and went up to the library, the attic of which Celestia was having converted to an office. Twilight had already been up to look at it, and despite her reservations about the job ahead of her, the sight of her new space filled her with a sense of power. Her room was the third-highest in the city, and glass on all sides to afford a lofty view of the entire palace and its grounds, as well as a good portion of Greater Canterlot; of more interest was that she would have immediate access to anything in the library below or in the alchemy tower half a palace away. A narrow staircase would take her up to a small cupola, where the princess was having prepared a storage room for the magical supplies that Twilight had assured her she would require.

When they arrived, the attic was empty, and they helped the servants drag in Twilight’s new furniture.

“So what do you need me to do?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m not really sure yet. I just… I need to take all this in first, and I need to figure out my first step.” She lowered her voice for the servant who was still in the room. “Princess Celestia wasn’t very clear. She just told me that she had faith in me.”

“Faith well-placed,” Rainbow said with a shrug.

“Maybe so, but I wish I had more specific directions. Oh, thank you, I can set that up,” Twilight said, levitating a box of divination supplies away from the servant. “I think I have an idea how to survey the country, but I’m not sure if it’s even plausible. Actually, here, Rainbow, you can help me by finding these books.”

“Books. Why am I not surprised?”

“Here.” She grabbed a piece of paper and stood at the box for her desk, not even put together yet, and penned a list. “Get these and bring them back to me.”

“You got it.” She looked over the list. “Twilight, what is ‘book about lumen transcription’? You know I don’t know what that word means.”

“If I can sweep sections of the country with a spell that automatically detects linear patterns, then I might be able to modify that spell to only return me images of the gaps between our pieces of land. Just ask the librarian, she’ll help you.”

Rainbow grunted and went downstairs, and Twilight had her office chair built by the time she got back, the unicorn attendant floating the requested books behind in a blocky cloud. Twilight spread them before her in an arc and began flipping through, hopping from one book to the other with rapidity that put Rainbow on edge, and when she found something she wanted, she would conjure a tiny quill of light to adhere to the page. After a few minutes of watching her, Rainbow took the initiative to start building Twilight’s desk.

For Rainbow, it was not so bad, working for Twilight. As when she had been on the weather team in Ponyville, she woke up at seven-thirty, clocked in at eight, and put in her hours. Instead of moving clouds, she moved books; instead of coordinating wind patterns, she helped test magic; instead of taking her lunch on a lonely cloud, she ate on the roof. Twilight, too, seemed content with her position. Since hearing of her plan to return and work for the princess, Rainbow had worried that Twilight would embitter herself still further, but after she had settled in, an unexpected peace fell over her—a peace that Rainbow trusted until Rarity cautioned her not to. They met every couple days for lunch or an early dinner, depending on schedules, and it was for one such meeting that Rarity told Rainbow her opinion.

“Twilight is a ticking bomb, dear, or so it seems to me.”

“Explain.”

“Do you really need me to?”

“Don’t do that. Obviously I think something’s wrong, but a ticking bomb? I think she’s better now. Maybe she needed steady work instead of relaxation. I get that, sometimes you don’t want all the time to yourself. And Twilight’s smart, she probably spends too much time in her own head anyway.”

“She’s running away from her problems. She’s forgotten what real life is like, so she’s replacing it with this. And what happens when this is complete, or heaven forbid, if it turns out to be more than she can handle? It’ll be like Snowdrift but a hundred times worse.”

“I don’t think she’s like that.”

“I don’t think you know for sure.”

“Oh, psh, like you do.”

Rarity took a dainty sip of her tea, looking Rainbow in the eyes over a new pair of sunglasses to make sure she noticed the affectation. “What does she have you doing up in that tower all day?”

Rainbow took a deep breath before sighing. “If I’m not helping her observe magic, I’m marking page numbers.”

“Page numbers?”

“She’s supposed to get a map of Equestria with all its gaps and bridges and things, and like phone lines too, and where the rivers are split, and all sorts of crap. But she needs to know how the country looked before it got split up so she can make sure it gets put back together right, and for that, she needs documentation of… basically everything.”

“Is an atlas not enough?”

“Not detailed enough. She needs every tiny stream, both above ground and below, and train tracks, and phone lines like I said.”

“Below the ground too?”

“I haven’t started that yet, I’m already dreading it. We need to make sure… Celestia, I can’t even remember what all she said, she talks about so much stuff all day long, you’d think her voice would give out. What is it? Underground streams, oil deposits, water tables, like lava tubes or something, caves, and on and on. Rarity, this mare is making a giant map of Equestria from the bottom of its bedrock to the top of its trees.”

“There’s not enough paper in the world for that.”

Rainbow laughed. “She has some magic system for all this. I haven’t asked her how it works, I’m scared she’ll talk about it the rest of the day.”

“But it sounds very interesting, at least.”

“Trust me, it’s not interesting if you’re in the room with her. Monotony, Rare, plain and simple.” Recalling the original point, Rainbow started. “But she’s not gonna blow up on me, okay? Like I said, she seems content.”

“For now.”

“Once her stupid map’s done, she gets to order ponies around, tell ‘em where they have to fly.”

“Ahhh, so she does have ponies under her.”

“Couple thousand, that’s what she said.”

Rarity dropped her croissant. “A couple thousand?”

“I know, it’s weird to think about.”

“How long until the map is complete?”

“I have no idea.”

Rarity shook her head. “Incredible. Well, I have my opinions, and you have yours, so I won’t belabor the point.”

“Mm. So, how’s the boutique coming along?”

“Early February. Until then, it’s the royal treatment for me.” She sighed dramatically. “I suppose it could be worse.”

“Have you thought about just staying here? I’m sure they’d let you.”

“And rot away in luxury for the rest of my life? I can’t let that happen. As it stands, I’m more than happy to take this month for myself, but after that, I’m sure I’ll be ready to get back to work. I already have an idea for the spring line, but I don’t know if I can have anything ready in time.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re holding up.”

She smiled, clearly thrown off. “Thank you, Rainbow Dash. And I you.”

Rainbow waved her off. “I’ll make it. If Twilight doesn’t work me to death, that is.” She shared a polite laugh, and the two went their separate ways. Sometimes they would see each other in the palace on one errand or another, and sometimes Rainbow would see Pinkie; to the latter, she would give a stern nod that was always returned with a cheery greeting.

Fresh from one such discouraging encounter, Rainbow found herself, days later, following Vinyl down to the bar. It was two in the afternoon and Twilight had given her the day off while she attended to some small issue with her magical map. The bartender greeted Vinyl and Rainbow with a professional smile, showing no inkling of the hour or frequency of her patron’s visits. While Rainbow looked around, wondering whether Colgate would show up as she so often did when Vinyl was drinking, she espied Celestia through one of the windows, apparently speaking to no one, her horn lit with a tight ball of sunlight. When she looked again, the princess was gone.

With a hurricane glass in the crook of her hoof, Vinyl popped a plum light off her horn. “Had to tell someone. Everyone! Dash, this is it for little ol’ Vinyl. I’m back!”

“Oh my gosh! Congratulations! Back to what?” She waved her hoof at the bartender, who left her with her glass of soda.

“Music, buddy. I’m in the studio the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh. Oh! That is awesome! You already have new material?”

“I’ve been coming up with material the whole time I was with you. This new album, I want it to be a double, I’ve got the material for it I know. I’m thinking the last song has to be a representation of our fight with Discord—like, obviously, right?”

“Sure, sure, obviously.”

“And I’m gonna get Octavia to guest-star on a track or two. Get some real classical samples in there, make it not such a straightforward piece, you know? You play any instruments?”

“I…” She pretended not to be put off as Vinyl gulped at her colorful drink. “I messed around with choir when I was in high school, if that counts.”

Vinyl shrugged. “Might as well. Wanna do some vocal samples for me? How do you sing?”

“As good as anypony else, I guess.”

“I’ll take vocal samples whenever I can get ‘em. I’d do more myself, but my voice, you know.”

Rainbow grinned. “You can’t just hold the microphone closer?”

“Makes it sound weird. Ah! Bartender.” She ordered something else and offered, again, to buy something for Rainbow, who kept to her soda.

“Colgate’s gonna give me some saxophone,” Vinyl continued.

“She plays?”

“I doubt it, but she offered. It’ll be neat to see her try, if nothing else.”

“How’re they doing? I haven’t seen either of them lately.”

Vinyl rolled her eyes, which, with the goggles, looked like an awkward head shake. “I haven’t seen Octy since Hearth’s Warming, which honestly doesn’t surprise me. Cole says she’s in one of her moods.”

“I hope everything’s okay.”

“I’m sure she’s just peachy. You know her, ray of sunshine.” She took a hearty sip out of her next drink and smacked her lips. “Now that is some good rum.”

“You’re pounding down rum?” Rainbow grabbed a menu and looked through it, and Vinyl wiggled a dot of light on the most expensive rum on offer. Five hundred bits for a snifter, and Rainbow could smell it from where she sat, cinnamon and cardamom and banana, with the burn of alcohol just at the tail end. Vinyl took another swig like it was nothing.

“If Cole isn’t worried, I’m not worried either. We figure Octy’ll pop up sometime and pretend nothing happened, and it’ll be back to normal.”

“Are you gonna pretend too?”

“She likes her space, so yeah. I mean, as long as there’s nothing obviously wrong.”

Rainbow looked away, frustration poorly concealed in her response. “There’s been something obviously wrong for forever.”

“I mean, like worse than it is.”

Rainbow shook her head.

“I’m not her guardian. Am I sad she’s sad? Obviously.” She drank. “Am I gonna help if she needs it? Absolutely. But she’s gotta want it, Dash, she’s gotta make the first move. Hey, howzabout Pinkie?”

“Ugh.”

The single syllable gave Vinyl pause, and when she picked up her thread of thought, she was mollified. “How’ve you been doing with her? I know you wanted time away in Ponyville, but now you’re here.”

“I passed her in the hall earlier today.”

Vinyl nodded as Rainbow thought, debated telling Vinyl her feelings.

“Maybe I will have something. Something!” She grabbed Vinyl’s hoof, which shot up to signal the bartender. “Something small, Vinyl. I don’t want to get drunk.”

“I gotcha, I gotcha. Barkeep! Yes, for my friend here, uhh, how about the Captain’s Chair? Thanks. Dash, you’ll love this, it’s got, uhhh…”

“Yeah, I can read, thanks,” Rainbow said, finding Vinyl’s order in the menu. The only ingredient she recognized was sparkling wine, and she knew she didn’t like that.

“So you and the pink menace.”

Rainbow barked out a single, surprised laugh at the appellation. “Yeah. Whenever I see her, I get this… Like it’s this sudden anxiety in my chest.”

“Sounds natural to me.”

“Really? I think it sounds ridiculous. Isn’t she dead to us?”

“That’s what you’ve been saying, but it’s not true.”

“It’s true for me.”

Vinyl watched her try her drink and wince at the taste. After a few seconds, she asked, “is it?”

“Yeah,” Rainbow mumbled. “Supposed to be.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I still think about her a lot, like a lot a lot, like when we were friends. I wonder how she’s doing and if she’ll ever be happy again, and when I see her, it’s not like ‘ugh, there goes that Pinkie Pie who I hate,’ it’s ‘oh, here comes Pinkie, I hope we don’t have to talk’. Like I’m nervous around her now.”

“If she did try to talk to you, what would you say?” She gestured at Rainbow’s drink. “I can finish that if you don’t like it.”

“If she tried to talk to me… Good question.” She slid the drink over. “I’m not sure. Not like how we used to talk, that’s for sure.”

“Do you see her as a stranger? Or are you trying to?”

“Trying to, and failing.” She lost herself in the countertop, not wanting to look at Vinyl and her daft goggles as she unburdened herself. “I thought I’d given up on her, but now that things have quieted down, I obviously haven’t. I don’t want to see her as a friend still, but I do, and I don’t know how to stop.”

“She betrayed you, but you can’t let go.”

“I can’t leave her like everyone else, like what she… Hell, I’ll say it, Vinyl, like what she deserves. She does deserve this.” She nodded to herself. “I forget that a lot, that Pinkie’s getting exactly what was coming to her. I guess it happened so long ago, it’s easy to write it off as an innocent mistake.”

“Isn’t that what it was?”

“Not if you ask me. Putting your shirt on backwards is a mistake. Getting tricked by a fake letter from Discord is a mistake. What Pinkie did… I can’t forgive it, and I don’t think I should. I don’t think anyone should.”

“But thinking that way is clearly causing you distress.” She grabbed the bartender and ordered a shot for herself. Rainbow couldn’t hear it in her voice yet, but she knew it would be fast coming. “You think you should feel one way, but you feel the opposite. Do I have it?”

“That’s basically it, I guess.”

“I feel you.” Vinyl rubbed the rim of her empty glass contemplatively, as though she had just given voice to the key to Rainbow’s problems, and Rainbow waited for the rest of the insight to make its way past her lips. Eventually, it did. “The duality of emotion is something we all contend with.”

“Okay, Applejack.” For a second, as Vinyl laughed with her unseemly, strangled voice, Rainbow only watched with bemusement, but then she joined in as the unicorn rocked back and forth in her seat. It really wasn’t that funny, and the fact that Vinyl thought it was soon had Rainbow cackling as well. The pair laughed for a good minute, and then the jokes came quicker, the laughter louder, the talk more animated. They circled back to Vinyl’s music ideas, Rainbow much more engaged than at first, and took turns spitballing song titles. Colgate showed up in time to join the latest chorus of laughter, and by the time Rainbow noticed her, she was seated with a foaming beer and a shot of whiskey for sipping. They moved to a booth, to better hear one another, and passed into early evening talking, joking, and enjoying one another’s company. Ironically, Vinyl would tell Colgate in a moment of partial clarity much later on, it was laughter and fun among friends that had staved off the dour specter of Pinkie’s failure.

* * * * * *

Aloe and Lotus had spent their Hearth’s Warming on a Datura airship in the bleak, windy skies over the Everfree Forest. They were scheduled to land in Canterlot on the first of January, just in time to miss what their many sources bragged would be the New Year’s celebration of a century. Just in time to miss the fun, and just in time to get to work solving the country’s latest crises, of which there were three.

The first and most vital was Moondrop, which had been more than destroyed. The power and heat of Celestia’s prison, as well as her escape therefrom, had reduced civilization and the few hundred square miles it was built on to smoke and glass, and the lingering hum of expended magic was intense enough for a unicorn to feel up to seven hundred miles away. The ash was thick enough to coat a window in seconds, and it spread across the sky in great mantles over the Equestrian south, as well as the borders, filtering down to the planet in dirty precipitation or in freak dust storms, combining with the extant pollution raining from their country’s underside. Where once had been the crater that gave Moondrop its name, there was left a hole all the way through the ground, its sides smooth and still too hot to approach, weeks later.

Roan, Moondrop’s closest neighbor, was beginning to feel the effects of the drifting smoke, and they had certainly seen it. Those who took note with their eyes or with spyglasses were of little concern, but those few who saw the smoke with divination magic were not; for in addition to the incus smearing itself southward, there were the acres of glass and fire over which Luna had cast an impermeable pillar of darkness. She knew that hiding the southeast corner of Equestria from magical viewing was no solution, that it only invited more worry from those who observed it, but she hadn’t the time to find something less suspect, and Lotus didn’t blame her. However, it didn’t stop her from hating that the huge, mysterious problem was now hers to work out before too much of the country started investigating.

That was one. The second problem was the drowned city of Applewood. There was nothing covert for her to worry about, just a million common issues to juggle. Electricity shortages, rising crime rates, hospitals and shelters overwhelmed, millions of bits in lost businesses, the media stink surrounding the dam and its owner, the water that had stagnated and was beginning to turn the city into a vermin-infested ruin; and on and on, thousands of items: names of officials, dates and timetables for projects, possible sources of relief funding, priority areas, architectural and civil engineering concerns, police and Datura resources, unions. Each concern she had copied into a notebook for Aloe and for Luna, along with a detailed map; and in her cloud of thoughts, accompanying the list, were dossiers on every single business owner and government official in or significantly related to the city.

That was two. The final problem, which felt like the smallest but which could easily become the worst for her, was what to do with Passage Town. While she and Aloe had been in Moondrop, the two Daturas tasked with monitoring Passage Town’s window had not only abandoned their posts, but left a giant sinkhole where the window was hidden. A team had already been dispatched from Manehattan to contain fallout, but one pony from Passage Town could not be accounted for; Lotus had had to face the possibility of news spreading into Manehattan, and from there… She did not permit herself to catastrophize beyond that point. Containing compromising knowledge in a metropolitan city like Manehattan was possible, but posed enough challenges to keep her cloud of thoughts active for another several months.

The two Daturas in question had used the window in their escape into the changelings’ archipelago, where they had disappeared. Princess Luna was certain they would not stay that way for long, but all Lotus cared about was that the task of hunting them down had not yet fallen on her as well. In her frequent moments of self-doubt, she would wonder whether it was her conduct as an employer that had been the catalyst to drive them away, but Aloe assured her that it was not so.

Lotus had not slept much since packing up and taking off from the safe zone around Moondrop, which was some hundred miles away from Celestia’s prison and still had required extensive magical shielding, hazard suits, respiration equipment, and mandatory breaks in magically-reinforced “quiet rooms,” which served as refuges from the head-filling whir of ambient magic, and which had to be replaced every day. Everything she saw and oversaw, everything she did and that was reported to her, had to be catalogued and made ready to deliver to the top magicians and magic theorists in Canterlot—and though Lotus understood why the princess had prioritized the task, it felt like busywork after the harrowing weeks of heat and radiation.

Applied so, her cloud still had space to mull over the other problems, as well as what precisely had happened in the Moondrop crater, details of which Luna had been reluctant to provide. An unsolved puzzle was anathema to Lotus’ cloud, and every second her mind was off its immediate task, she was filled with the buzz of calculations and the shuffling of facts. When she slept, it intruded on her dreams, and when she conversed, she had to keep a tight hold on her conscious mind to stop the cloud’s output from leaking into her sentences. Aloe bore it as best she could, but her patience wasn’t infinite, and Lotus found herself less and less giving voice to what was bothering her, which was—and not easy to admit—everything.

* * * * * *

On December thirty-first, at eight o’ clock, the onion-shaped top of Canterlot Palace’s solarium became a lurid eye of fizzing sunshine to pierce the royal ballroom’s skylights, where guards, attendants, a few hundred select visitors from the city, and those Elements who remained congregated to celebrate the passing of the year.

At quarter past eight, Vinyl and Colgate found Rarity still agonizing over what to wear, and at half past, Octavia joined them in the room. Not wanting to put her on the spot, Rarity made no comment on her reappearance, nor on the fact that she was missing all but the first half-inch of her raven mane; but Colgate did, and Octavia made promises to explain it all later, that she did not want to engage in such talk on a night such as theirs. To look past the dramatically shortened mane, Rarity saw what had made Octavia such an imposing figure in the days of her fame. Not a hair was out of place in her mane or tail, both a shade darker than their natural color and fairly bleeding into her flawless black tuxedo. The only spot of color was in her pocket square, not purple to match her eyes, but the pastel blue of Colgate’s coat. Colgate herself wore a loose, brown vest with turquoise beads hanging from its tassels and a pair of tan slacks, and she spent a few minutes rooting around in Rarity’s closet, looking for a cowpony hat, Rarity was sure. Vinyl wore a baggy, gray coat over denim overalls, and since last Rarity had seen her, had changed her mane color from electric blue to springtime yellow.

The four talked and caught up while Rarity dressed herself, and at ten to nine, they went as one upstairs to the ballroom, where Rarity saw with dismay that she had not come at all close to overdressing for the affair. In her ocean-blue charmeuse gown with flared sleeves and copper cedillas stitched onto the breast, a plum-colored beret and golden, honeycomb-embossed caps on her hooves, she had expected to be grabbing suitors’ eyes all night long, but most of the stallions themselves were more elaborately dressed than she. Imitating Princess Celestia’s idea on the night of the parade, many attendees had incorporated golden or jeweled peacock feathers into their outfits. One lanky stallion twirled in the middle of the dance floor with a train of cascading feathers off his back, which would stand up as a firework of gold and emerald at the activation of a hidden mechanism in his clothes. Others had chosen Octavia’s route, appearing in stiff black and white, looking more like servants than revelers in the colorful crowd.

Vinyl directed them to the wall and turned her back to the party, where she and Colgate each took a nip from the flask that appeared and disappeared from her coat so fast that Rarity only identified it when she was offered a drink, which she declined.

“I must confess, I have been really looking forward to this,” Octavia said in Rarity’s ear. “I am glad that you all are with me.”

“Dear, I’m happy to have you with us! I haven’t seen you around lately.”

“There is a reason for that.” Octavia left it there, and Rarity did not pry. The two faded into the ballroom while Vinyl and Colgate stayed by the wall, taking wine and hors d’oeuvres when they came, pulls from the flask when it pleased them. The first band was already halfway into their set, and Rarity and Octavia hadn’t long to wait before accepting dances, Octavia with a young stallion who hid his nervousness well when she took his hoof, and Rarity with a mare in a chartreuse cocktail dress and a laurel of rosemary sprigs on her head. They danced slow and close through the piece, and though Rarity knew it was the Element of Generosity that her partner wanted to dance with, and not Rarity herself, she separated from the mare eager for more—and was not left wanting. There was always someone who wanted to dance with the saviors of Equestria, and they found themselves happy to oblige.

Vinyl and Colgate had fortified themselves by nine-thirty, and Vinyl left Colgate by one of the food tables to dance with a tall mare in a dress of too many sequins, whose shimmering form cut through the crowd like a goldfish and which looked about as attractive. It was while Rarity was resting that Octavia sidled up to her, pointed out the mare, and said, “she wiggles her rump very seductively, would you not say?”

Rarity closed her jaw, looked at Octavia, saw that it was not a joke, and then giggled anyway. “Go ask her for the next dance, dear.”

“I will.” She sipped from a goblet of red wine. “Have you danced with anyone of note?”

“The undersecretary of the Equestrian Forestry Division said I have the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen.”

“You do have beautiful eyes.” Again, Rarity glanced at Octavia, who gave her a tiny smile. “I danced with a most charming stallion who hummed along with every note. Oh, that is him, there.” She indicated a portly stallion in a pink and green suit jacket, a golden watch chain dangling dangerously close to his trotting hooves, and a trio of lilacs in a blossoming boutonniere. As Octavia pointed him out, he spun around to face the band, saying something to the group of laughing mares he had arrived with, and hopped a little jig with sparks shooting out of his horn.

The band played their last song, for which Octavia got her dance with the sequined mare and which Rarity sat out, wishing to pace herself. Colgate joined her with a glass of wine floating by her head, which she finished and replaced before speaking.

“It’s a hot night, huh?”

Rarity did not know what to say to that, and gave Colgate a smile.

“I gotta tell ya, Rare, something’s up with Octy, and I really like it. She’s acting like a happy pony. Look at that, she’s dancing and everything.”

“Well, it is a dance, dear.”

“Sure is. Sure is.” She nodded and plucked a disc of dried bread with garlic butter and capers from a passing server’s tray.

“What were you and Vinyl drinking earlier?”

“Wine.”

“From the flask?”

“Oh, the flask. That was peppermint schnapps. She’s a nice lady, huh?”

“She drinks a lot.”

Colgate shrugged and took a seat next to Rarity, and the two of them watched the dance without talking, not from awkwardness, but from having nothing to say. Colgate’s tail swished against the legs of Rarity’s chair and her eyes raced around the ballroom, and Rarity watched Octavia and the sequined mare. They were dancing with each other’s chins on each other’s withers by the song’s end, and Rarity was faintly surprised not to see a hug when they separated. Vinyl was farther off in a louder part of the crowd, only her yellow mane giving her away whenever it bobbed up into sight.

The clock struck eleven and the band changed, stately strings and woodwinds trading places with brass, drums, a standing bass, and a small piano. Beside her, Colgate whispered, “aw, hell yeah.” She hopped up and gestured for Rarity to do the same, and the two of them were dancing as the first notes shrieked out overhead, at first just next to each other and then together. Both were reminded of the live music in Snowdrift, the ripping trombones, the jangling piano, the swing and the shanty. All around them, gowns swirled and shoes clapped on the floor, and they were lost for two more songs, Rarity and Colgate hopping and bopping and laughing, and sometimes grabbing someone else’s hooves to swing them around or be dipped to the floor in a charade of mistimed elegance; and when it was over, both slick with sweat, Colgate folded herself into another group and Rarity turned around to see Caramel swaggering her way.

“Girl, I been looking for you! I knew you had to be around somewhere!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Rare, I was gonna ask for a dance,” he laughed, holding out his hoof daintily.

So Rarity and her PR manager danced their way into a circle of laughing guards, jived for a minute or two, and retreated to the periphery when two more replaced them in the middle. Caramel patted her on the back and told her she was a great dancer, and she reciprocated politely, though she had found him clumsy. Before the circle dissipated, Vinyl joined them and performed a disorganized dance and light show, after which she ran for the bathrooms and more wine, and Rarity joined Octavia and the sequined mare closer to the band. They danced until midnight, when the solarium exploded with silver scythes of light and the brass band bleated with scalding vim, the ballroom raising a cheer out of the recently opened roof and into the black sky, where fireworks burst next to oscillating unicorn magic and pegasi in scintillating jumpsuits careened in formation. The princesses appeared in vestments alive with symbols of each other’s celestial body, Luna beaming in a white and gold ball gown with dangling earrings of actual fire jingling in chains of transparent pearls, a decorative baldric of gold and copper dividing her gown into blazing chevron below and brilliant paisley above, with circlets of smoke perpetually rising from her back and coalescing into a pair of secondary wings, which glowed like the sun and imitated her movements; and Celestia in a multi-layered dress of black and blue that shimmered with stars and swirls of galactic dust whenever she moved, her long horn festooned with topaz and onyx rings, her mane split into long strands that orbited her head like spokes of a wheel and from whose ends black halos of magic winked in and out. Naturally, both princesses requested a dance with the Elements, and Octavia had the opportunity to feel humbled underneath Celestia’s towering, strange form. From below, the princess’ wild mane reminded her of the wicked spikes of a morning star.

When the princesses had quit the Elements, the four friends made their way to the refreshment tables. There, no longer worried about making a fool of herself on the dance floor, Rarity took a glass of wine, and Colgate and Vinyl passed the refilled flask back and forth, no longer attempting subtlety. The sequined mare came by briefly and shared some words with Octavia, and when she was gone, Octavia remained smiling.

“She likes you, Octy,” Colgate called over the music.

“And I her.” There was a quick shuffle as Colgate took Vinyl’s place between Octavia and Rarity. Vinyl, prompted by the act of standing, returned to the dance floor with a little streamer of lights flowing out of her horn.

“Will she be okay?” Rarity asked.

“Vinyl knows how to put ‘em away,” Colgate said, running a hoof over her head. “Octy, c’mon, I gotta know.”

“If she doesn’t want to go into it—”

“I can explain,” Octavia interrupted. “I did not want to earlier because we were about to dance. Now, we are resting. The mood is right.” She sighed shakily and took a flute of sparkling wine from Colgate’s magical cloud. “I will not go into the details, but I have recently discovered the truth of something that you all have been telling me since we met—to wit, that I stand to gain nothing by my persistent self-blame. It is something I have understood for some time now, but I never really believed it for some reason.”

“But you do now?” Colgate asked.

“I have decided to stop being that way. I… have chosen life, and I will do so every day from here on out. I am sick of the constant sorrow that should not be mine to bear. I am sick… I am sick of taking everything so deadly seriously.” She lowered her voice. “I have asked Princess Luna for a position in her… Uh.”

“Colgate’s organization,” Rarity said. “Yes?”

“She told me to ask her again after a month to unwind. I told her that my decision would not change, but she insisted. I also asked her for a recommendation on a psychiatrist. There are a few in the palace that she said were excellent, and I have my first appointment next week.”

“Octavia! That’s wonderful news, dear!”

“Please.” She frowned into her glass, holding it up to the streaming solarium light. “It is difficult to feel proud of this decision when I have had it shoved in my face for months.”

“It means you’re finally ready for change,” Rarity said. “And that’s marvelous, truly. Is that why you…” She ran a hoof through her mane.

“I am thinking of it as a way of paying farewell to my past self. For that, I am also considering changing my name.”

“You are? But to what, darling? Surely not back to Marble?”

“I am not certain, but I do not feel that ‘Octavia’ suits me. That mare was a terribly dismal pony, and I do not wish to honor her.”

“Let’s not forget, though, that’s the mare we all made friends with.”

“More than she deserved.”

“Hey, with the negative self-talk,” Colgate blurted. “C’mon.”

“Yes, you are right.” Octavia shook her head. “This is all terribly unfamiliar to me, and if I am honest, I would rather we stop the conversation here. I do not wish to get caught up criticizing myself, even if it is my old, dead self. Suffice it to say, I am going to be a better mare.”

“Starting tonight!”

“Starting several nights ago.” She nodded and squirmed, clearly uncomfortable, as Colgate patted her on the back. “Vinyl does not know yet. If she is still sober when I have a chance to speak with her, I will inform her of this recent change as well.”

“She won’t be,” Colgate said. “See those lights in the middle of the crowd? That’s not a pattern she does when she’s sober.”

“You’re making that up,” Rarity giggled, accepting another glass of wine from a passing server.

“Nuh-uh. She likes her pastels normally, probably ‘cause they’re easier on her eyes. That’s all garish orange and purple she’s blowing right now.”

“Psh, that’s just random colors.”

“All right, smarty, how about this?” She stole a glance at Octavia, who was watching them with a grin. “Vinyl does a lot of geometric shapes, like squares and triangles, because they require more skill. Those shapes there, though, they’ve got rounded edges, so you can tell her focus is lapsing.”

Rarity squinted at the light display, and she thought she saw what Colgate meant, but before she could be sure, the lights dimmed and Vinyl was gone from sight.

“Oh, thank you so much,” Octavia said, taking a glass of water from the sequined mare, who sat down beside her for just a moment before hopping up again and going after one of her friends.

“Was Dash gonna be here tonight?” Colgate asked. “Did she say?”

“I think she’s skipping it. Work with Twilight has left her rather drained,” Rarity replied.

“Go figure,” Octavia grunted. “Ladies, I am going to go mingle some more. Thank you for listening to me, and for… Everything.” She nodded stiffly and headed into the crowd, in the direction of the sequined mare, and Rarity and Colgate shared a knowing look.

“Why would the palace have psychiatrists?” Colgate asked.

Rarity took a sip. “Why not?”

Colgate stared, her mind working away at something. “You suppose the princesses use ‘em? I suppose they must, huh?”

“Immortality is not all sunshine and rainbows, after all. I’m sure they both see someone.” She reflected, watching a nervous stallion pace to and fro behind the mare he wanted to ask for a dance. “Do you ever wonder what immortality would be like?”

“Not really.”

“I do. I’m quite convinced I would despise it, eternal beauty aside, but I’d still like to try it. A year or so, maybe more.”

“Twilight can help with that.”

Rarity laughed. “I’m not so sure, dear.”

“Ask her.”

“Mm, yes, after restoration. She’d love it.”

Colgate gave her a look of veiled worry. “Just a suggestion.”

Laughing again to put her at ease, Rarity said, “I know. No, immortality is best left to those who earn it, I think. I’d go mad before the century was over.”

“Maybe that’s what the palace psychiatrists are for. Y’know, for immortality-madness.”

“Now there’s a thought.” Rarity adjusted her right sleeve, which had been bothering her all night. “Ponies start to go… soft, shall we say, in the twilight years of their natural lives. I can only imagine living as long as the princesses.”

“Yeah, pretty wild,” Colgate said, eyes on the crowd, and Rarity thought of Celestia, the princess ringing in another new year. She had danced with a pony who was born more than three thousand years ago, who carried herself as if not a day beyond sprightly middle-age, who smiled and laughed with as much gusto as she ate and drank. To everyone else, Celestia was celebrating with the famed Elements of Harmony, but from the princess’ perspective, she was just with the most recent batch of them. How much, Rarity wondered, was for show.

“Colgate, my friend, I think I am ready for more dancing,” Rarity said, rising and draining her glass.

* * * * * *

The sequined mare did not tell Octavia, but it was her last night in Canterlot, for she was one of Celestia’s diplomats tasked with working with the changelings. Her name was Sweet Impression, and she rose with the sun the following morning, triple-checked her luggage, and made sure their airship was ready for takeoff. Sleek as a chip of flint and as quiet as the midwinter wind, it was their honor to ride HMS Mirdath across Equestria, over the edge, down to the ocean, and to the southernmost island in the changelings’ territory. The other four showed up as Sweet Impression was finishing preparing the ship for its journey, and Pinkie with them, red-eyed but still holding to her insipid, forced smile.

She had been with the diplomats for five days, enough time to learn the basics of changeling politics and etiquette. That had been her time in the palace: reading at a desk, occasionally asking one of them a question that they felt they should not have to answer. If there had been any doubt before, it was effaced the second Pinkie tried to speak with them on their terms. She had not one iota of experience in diplomacy, and the others, not enough time to teach her anything useful.

That had been a private discussion, days earlier. Did Celestia seriously expect them to drag the Element of Laughter down with them to the planet? There was no ambiguity in the princess’ orders, but the idea was so sudden and so ludicrous that they had exhausted two hours to search for a way around it anyway. When they failed, Sweet Impression decided then and there to try to warm to Pinkie, whom she was sure was just as uncomfortable as they.

So on the first day of January, the first of a brand-new year, in the frosty dawn that breathed through the airship lot’s open ceiling, Pinkie climbed aboard with a satchel of books on top of her other luggage, which she stowed below in her tiny cabin. Sweet Impression explained their route a final time, and when they had dispersed and the balloon was inflating, up strode their expert in maritime trade agreements, Stricken Chord. He spoke out of the side of his mouth.

“Last chance to ditch her.”

“Nope.” Sweet shook her head resolutely.

“Celestia won’t be able to do anything about it. We’ll be gone.”

“That isn’t the point, bub.” She knew he hated it when she called him that.

“Begging your pardon, but I think it’s a good enough point to…” He stole a look back at the stairs, where Pinkie had come back up. “Last chance, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I trust our princess.”

“You weren’t saying that yesterday.”

She hmphed, lacking a real retort.

Celestia’s idea hinged on Pinkie’s supposed ability to ease tension and lighten moods, a power conferred by her Element, and it was agreed that such a thing would be invaluable if she could actually do it. They had asked Pinkie to demonstrate her talent on the first day, just as soon as Princess Celestia had finished introducing her to the team, and Pinkie had given them a listless song-and-dance routine followed by a few jokes—which had been hilarious, but would not be down below. They had expected someone smooth and slick, who talked calmly and persuasively, and perhaps even had a touch of unicorn magic at her disposal to soften things further; what they got was a comedienne out of practice.

“Chord, where’d you put the sigil design?” The sharp-voiced mare trotted over and put herself between them, waving her tail obliviously in Sweet Impression’s face as she turned to get a better look over the gunwale; they were still on the ground.

“They’re in my bag, I told you.”

“You want me to check?”

“I—sure, yes, go ahead.” He gave her back a frown as she ran for his bags. “It’s gonna be on the bottom.”

“On the bottom?”

“You heard me.”

The mare groaned. Her name was Hyacinth, and Sweet Impression couldn’t help but let her expression turn sour as she rifled through her coltfriend’s bags.

“Pinkie!” Hyacinth snapped. “Get over here. Please. Here’s that sigil, you know how to draw it for yourself? Did Twilight show you?”

“We talked a little,” Pinkie said with her fake smile, hopping over.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I can draw it for her if she needs,” said the other mare, Soft Breeze. Where Hyacinth looked like something between a punk rocker and an art student with her pierced eyebrows and ears, her shock of blonde mane running down only one side of her head, and her carefully tattered clothing, Soft Breeze looked like the sort of pony who only left home when it was absolutely necessary. Her dark green mane and yellow coat gave her the nickname “Squash,” and in the flannel and pajama pants that comprised her usual wardrobe, she was easy to dismiss, if not to forget; though she cleaned up as well as any of them for official business. Soft Breeze was who Sweet Impression considered the team pushover. Swift and clever in the boardroom, her negotiating prowess never seemed to manifest when one of her coworkers wanted to shove an unpleasant task onto someone else, a discourtesy that Sweet Impression was as guilty of as the rest of them.

“Twilight showed me how!” Pinkie chirped. “Just gotta… Where’s my marker?”

“Did you not pack a marker?” Soft Breeze asked, eyes widened as though in serious concern.

“She can use a pen and paper,” Hyacinth said, trotting back to the rail next to Stricken Chord. “Girls, we’re lifting off!” Chord whooped beside her, and she echoed him faintly, their tails twisted together.

“Bye Canterlot!” Pinkie cried, leaning out to wave both hooves before they were even off the lot.

“Oh, wait, can we go back? I think I left the stove on,” the last of them called breathlessly, racing up from belowdecks. Butter Blossom was his name, the male counterpart to Soft Breeze. He was short and heavy, with a stub of a tail and muscular legs that he never showed off, his goldenrod fur silken in the premature sunlight. He was the only one who had dressed formally for liftoff, and in his snug suit jacket, he reminded Sweet Impression of an overstuffed doll, his crimson tie a spare thread from the yarn of his beard, which became one with his mane on either side of his face, a deep brick red that would be intimidating if it were not always smiling or laughing.

“You better not!” Hyacinth shrieked. Stricken Chord was giggling, and she looked at him after a second when Butter Blossom’s laughter pitched upwards, his body jiggling with the effect. “Ohhhh, psh, never mind. You scared me!”

“Last chance to look at the palace, everypony,” Soft Breeze called.

“Bye princesses! We’ll make you proud!” Butter yelled into the gathering wind, and they were properly underway.

The Mirdath, while not the fastest airship in the princess’ possession, still boasted the speed to get them to the country’s border in ten days with fair weather. Without realizing it, Twilight had copied its design with her pile of sigils and enchantments on their own airship, but instead of a pegasus flying behind to generate the necessary wind, the Mirdath’s three propellers alternated between sucking and blowing air, a delicate bellows system that respired like a living organism, and on whose breath they could sail under the power of only a few small engines. Hearing Sweet Impression describe it and speak casually with the others made Pinkie feel small, for she was so used to Applejack inexplicably handling the machinery of flight on her own.

They were off the mountain inside the hour and rotating slowly over the sprawling suburbs of Lower Canterlot, turning until their bow pointed resolutely north, the great red compass needle in the wheel waggling as the high-altitude winds rocked them. On this and this alone did Pinkie feel she had an advantage over the diplomats, for they were not as seasoned to airship travel. Where their steps faltered and balked awkwardly every time a stray breeze nudged them, Pinkie kept her balance without having to think about it, even when they caught the air current they wanted and shot into motion. She could hear the propellers gathering wind at the stern, and went back with Hyacinth to watch.

“Where are you in your reading?” Hyacinth asked.

“Middle of chapter twenty-one. Shapeshifting and its effects on commerce.”

“You’re retaining it all?”

“As much as I can,” Pinkie started.

“I don’t—we don’t expect you to memorize everything, that would be stupid. Just, y’know, get an idea. You…” She glanced back at Soft Breeze, who was struggling to open an energy bar with her hooves. “We just took off, she’s eating already. Anyway, Pinkie, none of us expect you to commit everything to memory.”

“I know. You just don’t want me to face-plant down there. I get it.” She sighed. “I get it.”

Hyacinth nodded and said no more. She got it too, Pinkie thought, but it was not in Hyacinth’s nature to repeat herself; and Pinkie, aware of her unpopularity, did not wish to push it.

“Aw, look at that!” Stricken Chord gasped, turning heads just in time for them to see the diffuse flash of gold as Princess Celestia took wing and shot off to parts unknown.

“Do you think she’s preparing the way for us?” Soft Breeze asked.

“You got it backwards, Squash,” Butter Blossom said, sashaying over to join her by the starboard gunwale. “We’re preparing the way for her.”

They stopped on the third day, ninety minutes for Sweet Impression to check the ship and for everyone else to stretch their legs, another luxury that felt strangely superfluous to Pinkie. She nonetheless debarked with them into the wooded countryside, following Butter Blossom’s lead down a small trail into the trees. While he, ahead, remarked on the scenery and joked with Soft Breeze, Pinkie kept quietly to the rear and pretended not to notice whenever Stricken Chord looked back at her.

“Hey, Chord! Check it out!” Hyacinth gestured to a clearing, and Chord, looking at it for a moment, nodded and told the others not to wait up. The two trotted down an overgrown path to a sagging, dilapidated shack, standing on thick, mossy poles in the middle of a motionless brook. It being winter, there were no insects to cloud the air, but Pinkie could smell the algae and fungi from where she stood at the clearing’s edge and wondered how the two could stand getting any closer.

“They’ll be a half hour at least,” Butter Blossom said to Pinkie, and sighed, a contented smile covering his large face.

“Can we forage for these?” Soft Breeze asked, eyeing an oblong, crimson-capped mushroom.

“I wouldn’t.”

“We might be able to find some berries,” Pinkie said, trotting to where the ground sloped away from the brook and down into a dry gully. “If we can get down there.” She looked at her coworkers, neither of them pegasi. “Does anyone see a path?”

“I dunno,” Butter Blossom mumbled, inching toward the slope.

“I’ll do it,” Soft Breeze said with a sneaky grin. “I’m not afraid.”

“I’m not afraid, I just don’t wanna go down there.”

Pinkie followed Soft Breeze without a word, and when she glanced back and noticed, she didn’t say anything. Feeling safer, Pinkie let go of the breath she was holding, and the two traversed slippery mud slopes and rough patches of underbrush until they were sunken in the forest’s shadow and the shack was only visible as a splintered corner between branches.

“So how’s it goin’, Pinkie?”

Pinkie paused to consider her question, assess it for guile, and after a second of this, she laughed. Soft Breeze added her own nervous laugh, skittering her eyes back and forth as if looking for the punchline.

“No, it’s not you,” Pinkie said, adjusting the collar of her fleece sweater. “I was reminded of my old friends, that’s all.”

“Awwww, you miss your friends?” Again, Pinkie paused to consider, and decided that no sarcasm was intended, that it was Soft Breeze’s natural tone of voice.

“Not as much as you might think,” Pinkie admitted, putting her muzzle to the ground to search for berries.

“What happened?” No “if you don’t mind,” no “I hope I’m not being invasive.” Just the question, heedless of the fact that they had hardly spoken to each other up to that point. “Is she being nice, or is she trying to play me? No, Pinkie, listen to yourself, you’re being ridiculous.” She really had spent too long with the Elements.

“We had a fight before we split up, that’s all,” Pinkie said. “It was pretty serious.”

“Awwww.”

“So nope!” She perked up, did a little hop in place. “I don’t really miss ‘em at all! Well, I miss how they used to be, but they aren’t those ponies anymore!” Soft Breeze was nodding as though the explanation were enough for her, and Pinkie realized that it probably was. The mare was willing to take Pinkie’s words at face value.

“Is that why you volunteered to come with us?”

“I didn’t—” She stopped, noticing Soft Breeze’s expression. “Does everyone know I volunteered?”

Soft Breeze tilted her head imperiously. “Stricken Chord knows.”

“Ugh.”

“I don’t think he told Hyacinth, if you’re worried about that.”

“I’d rather she knew than him.”

“Yep.” She nodded long and slow, lips pursed. “I get that.”

Pinkie foraged for a time, Soft Breeze trailing behind her unhelpfully. When she was satisfied that there was nothing edible to be found in the gully, she turned back and caught Soft Breeze staring at her. The yellow unicorn didn’t try to play it off, but just lifted her big, brown eyes slowly and turned them back to the path upwards.

“I didn’t have a lot of options,” Pinkie said.

“Uh-huh.” Totally placid, Soft Breeze sounded neither surprised nor put-out by the conversation’s resumption.

“I didn’t wanna go home to Ponyville. Didn’t really have a home anymore, they found someone to take my place there. And I didn’t wanna stay in Canterlot like my sister.”

“I’m not mad at you for coming with us.”

Pinkie snorted.

“No, really. I’m mad at Princess Celestia for forcing us to bring you along.” She held up a hoof to stifle a nervous giggle. “That came out really nasty, I’m sorry, that’s not what I wanted to say.”

“That’s all well.” Pinkie had heard Applejack employ the phrase before and had taken a liking for it. “But whoever everyone’s mad at, I’m here and Celestia isn’t, so what does it matter?”

“It matters a ton! I guess.” She thought. “Maybe not.”

“Squash!” Butter Blossom called from overhead. “You missed it! There were these squirrels playing on the other side of the river! They were so cute!” Soft Breeze hastened past Pinkie to her friend.

On the fifth day, they were in Fillydelphia, and it was the first time Pinkie had seen it since visiting with the Elements in late May. Pristine and whole once more, the city wore evidence of Discord’s tornado in a sash of newly constructed buildings down its length, from downtown through the suburbs and even into the wealthy gated communities on the other side. They landed in the city center at four and a deluxe carriage brought them to their hotel, where they were to stay just for the night. While Sweet Impression checked them in, Pinkie explored the reception room, admiring the fingers of stone with backlit water slithering down into a rectangular pool of river rocks, watching the harried travelers coming and going, smelling the overpriced coffee and pastries from the lobby bakery, and drinking appreciatively of the cucumber and mint-infused water by the elevators. She had not expected to be, but Pinkie was excited to be somewhere new.

They got settled, she got out her books and answered a volley of questions from Stricken Chord on her progress, and then they went for an early dinner at the hotel restaurant. No one ordered excessive drinks or silenced the table for a round of planning, no one stared into space with the burden of their troubles, and no one argued. Hyacinth proposed a toast to the general wellness of the country, and Butter Blossom cracked a joke, and Sweet Impression laughed a little too loud and embarrassed herself.

“Pinkie, have you been in contact with Twilight yet?” Stricken Chord asked. He had graciously waited for the first course to arrive before pinning her with his disarming blue eyes, aglow with friendliness and a touch of condescension.

“Just to confirm that the sigil worked,” Pinkie said, tapping her hooves together. “It, uh, it does.”

“Well that’s good news,” Butter Blossom said cheerily.

“I don’t get it, she’s supposed to be feeding us information by now,” Stricken Chord said.

“She clearly doesn’t have any yet,” Hyacinth returned.

“She’s a busy mare,” Soft Breeze said, taking a tiny sip from her rosé. She was the only one who had ordered alcohol.

“I can ask her,” Pinkie offered.

“No, don’t bother her,” Chord said. “Actually, let’s say if we don’t have anything by the time we’re over the edge, then you can bug her.”

“If we don’t have the map, we don’t have it,” Sweet Impression said with a shrug. “Chrysalis is gonna have to deal.”

“Yeah, you go ahead and tell her that.”

“Chrysalis?” Pinkie asked. To her knowledge, they had not yet heard who they were actually meeting, just “the changelings” in general.

“Did I not tell you?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Soft Breeze echoed.

“It’s Queen Chrysalis,” Hyacinth said. “Ruler of the changeling nation.” She slapped Chord playfully, but her voice was serious. “You didn’t tell her?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Butter Blossom repeated in an attempt at levity.

“We’re meeting the queen? Not, like, one of her representatives, but the actual queen?” Pinkie asked. “Gee, thanks for letting me know so early!”

“See?”

“I thought you knew!” Chord cried, then cleared his throat. “We’ve been exchanging letters with her representatives for months, since before Discord went down, and the princess was down there for a while too.” At this, Pinkie widened her eyes; Celestia had been imprisoned in Discord’s dream, not with the changelings. “My Celestia, do I tell them?”

“It’s not as serious as it sounds,” Hyacinth said.

“It sounds pretty serious,” Pinkie said.

“Chrysalis is a sweetie,” Soft Breeze sighed.

“She scares me,” Butter Blossom said, twirling his pasta in tomato sauce.

“No, Butter, she’s a sweetie, didn’t you hear me?”

Hyacinth tapped the table, regaining Pinkie’s attention. “Chrysalis is just impatient to get things rolling, which, I think, is fair.”

Chord shrugged in agreement.

“It’s just a surprise,” Pinkie said, and, after a moment, continued, “but I’m not scared to meet her. I’m on first-name basis with the princesses, what’s one more ruler?”

“That kind of talk’ll get you thrown right off the island,” Chord said. “You better watch it.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, in this line of work, you don’t just say anything.” He threw a hoof up, blowing out air. “Five days. Five days, and you—”

“Hey, let’s cool it?” Hyacinth whispered in his hear, putting a hoof on his back.

“I’m just—yeah, okay, okay.”

“I think what Chord’s trying to say is that you want to be careful with how you, uh, phrase things,” Sweet Impression said.

“Am I a diplomat now?” Pinkie asked. She did not want to ask it, but before she could stop herself, the question was out, the nervous buzzing in her head drowning out the more rational-feeling thought to accept Chord’s admonishment and make no fuss.

“Apparently,” Chord blustered, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s this?” Butter Blossom asked. “We’re just havin’ a good time.”

“Yeah, last I checked, I was here to bring the smiles,” Pinkie went on. “And since I’m not stupid, I know that means ‘just stay in the corner and let the real diplomats do their work.’ Do I have it?” She shook her head. “Apparently not, since you’ve got me reading up on these changelings. So you expect me to do something when I’m down there.”

“Let’s, uh, let’s just—”

“Pinkie, I don’t blame you,” Chord huffed. “It’s not about you at all.”

Hyacinth whispered something in his ear, and he softened a fraction. Pinkie didn’t let up from her stare, though, the same expression she had seen Twilight use so many times in their final months: bitter disinterest, haughty impatience.

“Personally, I think of you as an apprentice of sorts,” Sweet Impression said. “That’s all, honest.”

“Yeah. See, I like that,” Soft Breeze said, nodding along.

“To apprentices!” Butter Blossom announced, floating his glass of apple juice.

“Butter, shut up,” Chord said, and Hyacinth rubbed his back. The entire table went silent, and the waitress, who had been hovering for some time, took the opportunity to clear some dishes.

At length, Pinkie spoke once more. “All righty. Cards on the table. I don’t know what I’m doing here, and I think it’s stupid that Celestia sent me along, but I gather it’s too late for me to back out or for you to drop me off somewhere on the way, ‘cause they’re expecting me down there.”

“That’s right,” Hyacinth said after a moment of hesitation.

“So instead of fighting, let’s make the best of this,” Sweet Impression broke in. “Pinkie, you can just… be an attendant or something, when you’re with us.”

“You can get our chairs and refill our waters,” Soft Breeze completed. “That kind of thing.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t have to be glamorous,” Hyacinth said. “And it looks like you’re not looking for something glamorous anyway, right?”

“That’s fine, yes.” Pinkie took her gaze off Chord for a second before refocusing it on him. “What do you say? That sound okay to you?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Chord said sullenly.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that,” Butter Blossom said. “Your opinion matters too, you know that. C’mon.”

“Okay. Fine.” He refused to meet Pinkie’s eyes, and for the rest of the evening, he barely said anything.

Stricken Chord sulkily apologized to Pinkie on the sixth day, and she accepted it to be polite, and they made nice without trying to be friends. She suspected that he had only come to her to appease Hyacinth, which was good enough.

They were passing into the coastal lands on the eighth day, losing the woods and grasslands to rocky hills and cliffs, fragmented still, hyaline veins of river and lake pressed onto their savage shapes. They landed for one last time at a way station on the chipped tooth of a mountain, from which they could take in the view of tattered clouds, gray arrowheads of suspended stone, and the smoking chain of airships and cloud production plants that made up the root of Celestia’s cloud convoy. The pillar of seawater that fed it did not become visible until sunset, when they crested a ridge of rain-lashed granite and rode an air current over a basin of shattered valley.

Not half an hour later, Pinkie’s sigil glowed blue and emitted a tea kettle shriek that drew her from the deck to speak with Twilight, and after fifteen minutes with her, she returned to the diplomats with the news.

“We’re gonna have to wait a couple weeks for that map still, but once it’s done, we’ll be in business.”

“So what the heck are we gonna tell Chrysalis?” Butter Blossom asked.

“Well, that’s what I asked, and Twilight said… She said she didn’t know, it wasn’t her problem.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Hyacinth said.

“She’s trying her best to get a plan going, but she has to wait on her fault line map, that’s all.”

“What happens after the map’s complete?” Chord asked.

“She’s gonna work with one of the other mares on her team and start rounding up ponies, to get them out of the way for restoration. Then she’s gonna send teams of magicians out to start actually bringing things together.”

“At least we have a head start on that,” Soft Breeze said. “Most of the cities are already together. It’s all just countryside, right?”

“That’s what Twilight said.”

“It’ll still take a while, though, huh?” Butter Blossom asked. “Well girls, looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

“What is taking Twilight so long?” Hyacinth asked. “Isn’t she doing this in Celestia’s name? Can’t she just pull palace resources and get it done quick?”

“You want me to ask her?” Pinkie asked dully.

“Don’t pressure her,” Soft Breeze said.

“Pressure?” Chord yelped. “We’re the ones under pressure, not her! She doesn’t have to talk to the changeling queen. She doesn’t have to travel twelve days just to tell Chrysalis that we’re sorry, we’ve got nothing yet, please wait more.”

“Didn’t Celestia say she’d been in talks with Chrysalis already?” Sweet Impression asked.

“Yeah, this feels like the first step still,” Hyacinth said. “Why are we being sent down here before we have something to show for it?”

“Maybe Celestia assumed we would by now,” Pinkie offered.

“I hope not,” Butter Blossom said.

“She might have, though,” Hyacinth said, tapping her chin. “She puts a lot of faith in Twilight.”

“And so do we,” Soft Breeze said. “We’ll just tell her we have our best and brightest working on the problem. Maybe if we can give her details on what Twilight’s doing, that’ll be good enough.” She looked at Pinkie.

“Uhh, I can call her back and get details on the map,” Pinkie said, withering inside at the prospect. Twilight had been short with her the first time.

“Go do that,” Chord said, and after a moment of hesitation, Pinkie vanished belowdecks.

“Ladies, this one’s gonna bite,” Sweet Impression said when Pinkie was gone.

“I still don’t get why we’re even out here if we have nothing new,” Hyacinth said.

“What if Celestia knew we wouldn’t have anything in time and sent us to diffuse a potential situation?” Chord asked. “Like, she knew Chrysalis would be pissed, so she sent us early so we could get in, get settled, and like… You know, we could be disappointed together. We can just blame Twilight.”

“We could,” Soft Breeze started. “It’s gonna make Canterlot look disorganized.”

“We’re fresh off the greatest crisis in pony history, though,” Butter Blossom said. “We can tell her that Celestia wanted to send us down as a show of good faith.”

“Isn’t that why she said we were going down anyway?”

“No, we’re supposed to be facilitating restoration,” Hyacinth said. “Which, I agree with Chord, only works if we have a plan for restoration in the first place. This, we’re just apologizing for being slow.”

“Better to do that face-to-face than in a letter,” Sweet Impression said.

“Better still to not have to do it at all,” Butter Blossom chuckled.

The Mirdath turned to give a mile of clearance to the cyclone of water rising into the cloud city. They had to slow for a couple hours, sharing the sky with fleets of convoy airships, and on the other side, the ocean opened up below them, expanding and darkening as they began their descent. It was one o’ clock on the tenth day, and the waveless water filled their horizons, the only sign of anything amiss in the too-flat line at the end.

Hyacinth was locked in her cabin with a pile of paperwork and research materials, and had been since the night before, which Sweet Impression told Pinkie was not out of the ordinary. Pinkie told her that it was fine, that Twilight did the same exact thing, and usually when she came out, she did so with a complicated solution to some problem that had been nettling her. Sweet Impression nodded and smiled, saying that Hyacinth and Twilight could probably be friends.

Then, prompted by Butter Blossom and Soft Breeze, Pinkie recounted their time on the ocean, the salt blocks and the perilous journey to the bottom for the Element of Honesty, embellishing little. As she was finishing her story, she looked to one side and jumped up with a squeal at the wall of water rising over them.

Butter Blossom laughed and patted her back. It was just the ocean; they were moving down at last.

“Yeah, Pinkie, it’s just the entire ocean,” Soft Breeze said.

Pinkie laughed nervously and said nothing of it, though the dark, rippling monocline too much reminded her of the river in Applewood. All it was missing was the sheer veil of magic to hold it back—and recalling the image of it, Rarity’s solitary figure on the hillside, her magic alone keeping them safe for the battle, a surge of love pounded in her chest. “Still don’t hate ‘em. Just done with ‘em. Good.”

“Look at that,” Sweet Impression said, awe in her voice, twisted around from the wheel to look off their port side. “There isn’t even a bottom anymore. It’s water all the way down, then air. How does that work?”

“I don’t think anyone knows,” Soft Breeze said.

“If anyone does, it’d be Twilight,” Butter Blossom said. “Sweet, have you met Twilight before? I thought you said you did once.”

“I saw her at one of Celestia’s receptions, but she didn’t say anything to me.”

“She looks like a nice lady.”

“When I saw her, she looked like the kind of pony to bite your head off,” Soft Breeze said, leveling her eyes at Pinkie, knowing she didn’t need to ask.

“She, uh, she has her positives,” Pinkie said.

“Story time!” Butter Blossom cried. “Positives first, then the negatives.”

“Don’t pressure her,” Soft Breeze said.

“She doesn’t have to talk if she doesn’t want to, I’m just curious.”

“Twilight’s a great mare,” Pinkie said. “Truly, genuinely, she is a great pony. She led us through our adventure. Discord threw so many curve balls our way, and Twilight found a solution every time. She…” Pinkie stopped, surprised to feel the love swelling for Twilight as well. She had been so maligned, and the Twilight she described was a much prettier version of the real mare, but the love that threatened to break into her voice was no less real.

“That’s what I heard, that she’s a magical genius,” Soft Breeze said.

“I think… Well, genius is a part of that, sure, absolutely, but she also has some really big willpower. We got to see it a lot later on, in Roan and Snowdrift.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s a ‘but’ coming up?” Sweet Impression asked.

“She’s not very nice,” Pinkie said simply. “Which I get. She had to do some really nasty things—no details, sorry, that’s not my place—and it, uh.”

“That’ll change a pony.”

“That’s sort of the impression I got,” Soft Breeze said.

“Like I said, she is great,” Pinkie said. “I trust her to find a solution for restoring our country. If it can be solved with magic, Twilight can solve it, that’s what I learned.”

“I don’t suppose you have a story you can tell for that?” Butter Blossom asked.

“She said she doesn’t want to give details,” Soft Breeze said.

“No, not for us. I mean, yeah, for us, but I’m just thinking, if you can make an appeal for Twilight’s genius to Chrysalis, that might actually help, and if you have a story to back it up, that’s even better.”

“I can tell you this one,” Pinkie said, glancing up to see Chord approaching them.

“What are we talking about?” he asked brusquely, sitting down in their circle.

“Pinkie was gonna tell us a story about Twilight,” Butter Blossom said.

“Heck yeah, Twilight’s awesome. What’s the story?”

“Ladies, sorry to interrupt,” Sweet Impression said. “Just to let you know, we’re gonna be crossing into thinner air here in a minute.”

“I’ll go tell Hyacinth,” Butter Blossom said, hopping up and running belowdecks.

With the others, Pinkie took a deep breath of the salty air, then several shallower ones. When the country had initially lifted off, in addition to taking its piece of ocean with it, it had taken its atmosphere: one of the reasons their new elevation was not so difficult to forget in places where the gaps were closed. Outside the invisible wall of magic that held Equestrian air in place, though, they would be suddenly exposed to a thin and dangerous sky; it was why they had to descend right at the ocean’s outer edge, so they would be as low as possible when the pressures changed.

No one spoke much when the transition came, and Butter Blossom only came back up after an hour was past, when everyone’s bodies had adjusted and they were beyond the danger of passing out. There was a supply of oxygen tanks for that possibility.

“No landing until we reach the changeling islands,” Sweet Impression said. “Hope no one’s too antsy.”

Beholding Equestria from below for the first time, Pinkie felt like she had stepped into a dream. Not her time with the Elements, their fights with Discord, or the shocks and emergencies of Snowdrift and Applewood could match the view from the back of the Mirdath. By its sheer scope, Equestria’s hanging presence made their past achievements feel distant and imagined, and coming tasks impossible.

Equestria’s slice of ocean was huge, but it clearly terminated somewhere; its edge was flat and sharp, and as they had come closer and the sea floor had thinned to nothing, the water’s finality became more obvious. Equestria, the continent, curved gently across the sky, filling it like a demonic wing, its gaps only visible from the dust of moonlight that fell through in lines like imitations of the austral lights. One could follow the shape of the land to the southern horizon and see where black ground tucked down and out of sight, meeting the spots of shallow sea that had spilled in from the north. From there, one could see the alternating shimmer of water and brutal ridges of mountains and valleys. Liftoff, after all, had been no clean break from the planet, and the hole they left was not uniform.

“That’s gonna be a problem,” Stricken Chord mumbled, looking down at the black pit to the starboard. At its outer rim stood a circle of cliffs, keeping lakes of salt water from emptying into the earth, its interior too deep for them to see any details. To the south of the pit there ran a furrowed wedge of broken hills that eventually vanished under a sickle of dark sea that opened and deepened the farther west they looked, where it eventually became the ocean that separated Equestria from the griffon lands. In that direction, there was nothing to see but the wink of moonlight and the heavy anvils of storm clouds.

As Equestria loomed away from them, the ocean smoothed, gained visible swells, and became more itself. They turned into a stronger air current over a sharp island peak, which Sweet Impression said should be underwater. Pinkie made a mental note of it to tell Twilight later.

On the eleventh day, they passed into changeling territory, the border marked by a line of pylons, their painted tips yellowed and the exposed bases black from long-dried algae. The ocean had been sucked away to a giant lake in the seafloor, the exposed sand and coral eroded by tide and swept away by wind, sun-bleached whale bones lying like misplaced museum pieces on the rocks. Where the pylons had been completely exposed, they could see the huge, concrete bases drilled into gray bedrock, pipes snaking around beneath, emergency ladders ending a perilous two hundred feet higher. In both directions, the seafloor eventually rose and allowed for ocean to lap against the border.

When they were across, they slowed down and met a changeling airship, which kept a respectful distance for the rest of the journey, and on the twelfth day, overshot them to return to its home island. Not an hour later, they saw the beginnings of their meeting place, the slopes of the island nude but for a sheer four feet of ocean; and the glassy water, still beautiful, had erected a thin attempt at a beach atop the husk of a coral reef. Less than a mile farther north, they flew over the thick shoulder of a levee, and then over a sapphire lagoon toward the gray, rocky face of their island. Hyacinth and Sweet Impression were on the radio with the changeling meeting party, and the rest of them watched the desolate ocean move out of sight and be replaced by the changelings’ halcyon imitation. Perfect waters, palm trees, white-gold grains of sand, and the smell of tropical fruit and salty air as they were landing, the sound of sea birds, the hiss of wind through palm fronds and of the breakers.

After saying goodbye to Canterlot palace only twelve days hence, Pinkie and her coworkers set hoof on the foreign beach, manes touched by a tropical breeze. Pinkie couldn’t help it; she raised her eyes and opened wide her nostrils to the scent of the ocean, the trees and flowers.

“An honor,” Hyacinth announced, drawing Pinkie’s attention back to the approaching changelings. The delegates made no attempt at disguising themselves, and stepped directly to Hyacinth and shook her outstretched hoof. Their shells were beetle black and shiny, crinkled and imbricate at the joints. Pinkie was reminded of the grape leaves that had wrapped a dish of long-grain rice in Roan.

The changelings clicked when they walked, their legs articulating less smoothly than a pony’s as the sand sifted through the holes in their hooves. For them, traversing the beach was not as easy, and the Equestrian representatives walked more slowly to keep the changelings in the lead.

From behind, Pinkie could look at them without fear of being rude. Her books had contained numerous pictures, so the changelings’ appearance was no shock, but there was only so much that a picture could convey. She had been prepared for the diseased seaweed appearance of their tattered tails, but not for their thickness; she had assumed the tails were of hair, like hers, but what swished and juddered before them was two groups of hanging flaps, like strips of rubber or animal hide. She had noted the glassy wings that looked hardly able to support their own weight, but had not expected to see in those wings the branching reticulum of veins and arteries, sickly white like milk. Of their eyes, she had expected twin holes of glaucous, unblinking film; but when they turned back around to make sure the ponies were keeping with them, Pinkie caught a closer look and saw a soft, radial gradation of white to pastel blue, like robins’ eggs in the sun. One of them flapped its wings languidly, a show of common courtesy, to which Sweet Impression inclined her head.

Their goal was not located on the pristine beach, which they all realized as their path took them farther inland, up a small rise in the rocks, and to a road. There was nothing special about the road; it was a paved street on top of nature’s beauty, as black and impersonal as those that Pinkie didn’t even register in Equestria, but an affront to her senses in the new country. As if the tropical changelings somehow got by with walking and flying, sometimes taking to the sea with their quaint tribal canoes, and otherwise left their land undeveloped. Pinkie nervously shifted her weight back and forth next to Stricken Chord as they waited for their car.

When it came, it was like any other car Pinkie had ridden in, and this too disappointed her quietly. She had expected outlandish and obvious differences between the two races, but all she got was the gross disparity in appearance, and even that was not so insurmountable; the changelings walked similarly to the ponies, they climbed into the car the same, one of them mumbled and complained when it banged a knee getting up into the driver’s seat. Then they were off, trundling downhill into the jungle and then uphill out of it a few minutes later, hooking east in the direction of a tall, gray arch of stone. When they had parked, Soft Breeze stopped Pinkie from getting out, reminding her in a quick whisper that it was polite to let their hosts get the doors for them. Pinkie blushed and waited to climb out, her tail brushing the leg of one of her changeling companions, and reminded herself that they did not know her problems, did not care; to them, she was just another diplomat.

The arch oversaw another lagoon, much less picturesque than the one where they had landed, and where waited the hotel where they would be put up. A few of them gasped and complimented the building’s beauty, and Pinkie did as well to fit in, but in her heart, she was disappointed. Say what she would about Twilight, the unicorn had spoiled them with luxury suites as often as she could. Even from afar, she could see that the hotel would not have impressed her at all if it had been in her homeland. Two stories, artificial stone walls painted with tacky flower murals, plain light fixtures, and a seaside view blocked by the rising growth of more knotted jungle: she could practically hear Rarity struggling to find nice things to say about it.

To the front lobby they were led, and while the changelings handled check-in with Hyacinth hovering just behind, Butter Blossom took Pinkie aside.

“Not quite what I was expecting, but it looks good, don’t you think?”

“It, uh.” Pinkie saw no point in sugarcoating it. “I’m used to finer things than this.”

“Three rooms,” Hyacinth said, trotting over and bringing them to the group. “There’s a radio in each one. Here’s our room keys. Don’t lose ‘em.”

Hyacinth and Stricken Chord shared one room, it was no question; and Pinkie took a room with Soft Breeze, leaving Sweet Impression and Butter Blossom for the third. In their room, while Soft Breeze unpacked, Pinkie went straight for the window to see what she would be looking at for the next weeks. They were next to an extension of the jungle, but it was no flattering image: from their room’s angle, they could see gnarled trees overgrown with ferns and moss, broad leaves that sagged under the humidity, and pieces of gray beach on one side with a sidewalk cutting through the middle of all. Of exotic flowers, colorful birds, or delectable fruits, there was nothing to be seen, and to be heard, there was the ocean, the wind, and her neighbors.

“You can take the window bed if you want it,” Soft Breeze said.

Pinkie just shrugged, upending her suitcase onto the bed and leaving it for sorting later. They met in Hyacinth’s room and discussed the rest of the day. Chrysalis was scheduled to arrive at six that evening, giving them four hours to eat, get settled, and prepare their statements. For Pinkie, it was four hours to brush up on changeling etiquette and to pester Twilight for any last-second developments on restoration.

“So while we go down and take a load off, you get to be alone in your room and work,” Chord said with a grin, to which Butter Blossom laughed—the only indication to Pinkie that he was joking.

“Let her come down with us,” Sweet Impression said, “at least for a little while. I say she’s earned it.”

“Aww, fine,” Chord fake-grumbled, and in this Pinkie saw the playfulness. She shared a conspiratorial smile with Sweet Impression and went down to the lobby, curious to see what sort of food they could put on Queen Chrysalis’ account.

Of all the major races, a term Pinkie found needlessly belittling, the changelings were the least different from the ponies in terms of their socioeconomic structure and their hierarchy. Instead of two princesses, there was the one queen, and under her served the dukes and duchesses of their respective islands and the marquises and marquesses therein. Queen Chrysalis ruled from the capital island, her palace deep underground in the hollow chamber of a dead volcano, which was fabled to contain near a thousand outlets into her island, its closest neighbors, and even the seafloor, where lived a splinter principality.

Though the outermost islands made billions a year in tourism, the changelings also enjoyed a lucrative trading system with Equestria and the griffon lands, receiving magical items from the former and electronics from the latter in exchange for their tropical produce: a business that had been destroyed since The Crumbling. Relying more on the griffons to support their nation and cut off from the ocean that made their tourist hot-spots so lucrative, they had had to gut the interior jungles and what waters had not drained off in order to meet the demand in exports. Pinkie had not yet gotten to the environmental impacts, but from what she understood, the islands’ tropical beauty was being reduced to a thinner and thinner veneer with industrialization. This and so much more affected the international politics, which she did not even understand on a basic level anyway.

At least she grasped the main points of etiquette, she thought to herself; that was something. She knew, for instance, to expect to partake in what the changelings dubbed a “revelation,” a simple ritual in which meeting parties imbibed a potion that revealed their true physical forms. For Pinkie and her coworkers, sharing the potion was a matter of politesse only, but for Chrysalis, it was proof that she was who she presented as. Butter Blossom had brewed a gallon of the potion before leaving Canterlot, enough to sustain a week or so of meetings.

She knew not to address Chrysalis by her name, but by a generic “your highness” or “your excellence.” Names, to the changelings, were informal, where titles were not. It had seemed backwards to Pinkie until Sweet Impression explained one day, the practice resulting from a culture where practical identity was better expressed in one’s position and employment status, rather than one’s appearance or behavior, which might change ten times in a day. When dining, Pinkie was not to order anything the same as the queen, nor she they—“that’s just how it is,” Soft Breeze had said at one point.

And so on.

So when Queen Chrysalis whooshed into the hotel in the form of a tall, hot pink unicorn with a heart cutie mark and a prim golden tiara on her head, everyone at the table breathed a sigh of relief. The shape a changeling took for formal affairs was meant to be a reflection of their mindset; for her to come in the guise of a pony, and a regal one at that, indicated optimism, a sense of kinship.

She sat down, pressed their hooves, looked into each of their eyes individually, and then they shared in Butter Blossom’s revelation potion. The oily yellow liquid was sweet and grassy, with a hint of anise just at the tail end, and Pinkie was relieved that it did not make her gag. They waited the requisite ninety seconds, and Chrysalis’ pink fur melted away, her tiara sucked itself back into her skull, her face and body elongated, and her color turned to the shiny, grape leaf-black of a proper exoskeleton. With the disguise gone, she no longer smiled, but her lifeless green eyes did crinkle just at the corners—the changeling equivalent. The motion was almost lost behind her flowing, aquamarine mane, which resembled the material of her wings but did not run with white blood. Like the drones that had taken them to their hotel, Chrysalis’ hooves were perforated and her horn was jagged, and where the light touched their interior curves, Pinkie saw smooth continuations of her shell. Again, it was just confirmation of what she had already been told to expect, that changelings’ holes were cosmetic in nature and no indication of injury or incompleteness in their bodily formation.

The queen gestured with a wave and summoned the waitress, who appeared in the same aspect as the queen, but in miniature—another show of respect. When she had received her order, the other diplomats placed theirs, and when all the food and drink was on the table, talk began.

“The Hive sends its regards,” she intoned coolly, wafting a slow wing to the side.

“Equestria sends its regards, your excellence,” Hyacinth said, nodding her head.

“We are they,” Stricken Chord added.

Chrysalis slurped a mussel from its half shell and tossed her mane, clicking in the back of her throat: an indication of impatience.

“We’re happy to report that Princess Celestia has a team of the very best and brightest researchers and magicians together to coordinate restoration efforts,” Sweet Impression said. “At the forefront of them is our very own Element of Magic, Twilight Sparkle.”

“The firebrand in the north,” Chrysalis said. “We so are aware of the Element of Magic. It’s no surprise to me that she would be in charge of restoring your land; I’m told her grasp of magic is without mortal peer. What progress has been made?”

Pinkie withered inside when Stricken Chord gave her a quick, impersonal look. “Your highness, the team is completely formed, and is currently doing its very best to formulate a plan.”

“Formulate a plan?” More clicking, faster and in a higher key. “Her royal highness of the sun did lead me to believe that a plan was ready now, and you were so coming down to coordinate on your first steps. That was why I wanted to meet personally, that I could expedite our work. Are you telling me now that you aren’t even ready to begin restoring your own land?”

“It’s complicated,” Soft Breeze said, tapping her hooves together demurely.

“I know that.”

“What I mean, we need time to make sure everything will work properly. We have cities to consider, and villages on the edges, and, oh, what else?”

“Aligning rivers and mountains,” Pinkie said, earning a filthy look from Hyacinth. “We’ve also gotta make sure everything lines up underground too, like water tables and oil deposits and stuff. Otherwise—how did Twilight put it?” She found momentary refuge from Chrysalis’ intent gaze in her papaya and pineapple smoothie. “Uhh, if we’re not careful, the country’s surface might be okay, but it’ll all be a mess underground. Water can erode fault lines and oil can seep into places it’s not supposed to if we don’t fit everything together exactly right.”

“What she’s trying to say, your highness, is that it’s not like putting together a jigsaw puzzle,” Hyacinth said.

“I know that, royal diplomat, you said that already.” Chrysalis showed her fangs in what resembled an Equestrian smile, a sign of disrespect in changeling society. Hyacinth did not let its effect show on her face. “If the Element of Laughter can provide more details on what is causing this holdup, I’d be appreciative.”

“Go on, Pinkie,” Soft Breeze said, drawing a nasty look from Stricken Chord, who shifted in his seat with the pain of not interjecting.

She froze, but only for a second, the queen’s glare less penetrating than Celestia’s. “Well, there’s all that underground stuff, and making sure no one gets hurt when any land masses get smashed back together. We have to secure tall buildings, give ponies time to evacuate danger zones, and all that.”

“This is foundational work,” Chrysalis said. “Your princess did tell me that it was nearing completion.”

Pinkie held her gaze, but around her, she could just see her coworkers sharing a dark look.

“Your befuddled face expressions tell me that this is news to you. Tell, under what pretenses were you sent to me?”

Stricken Chord spoke up before Pinkie had the chance. “We were sent to negotiate for time, to inform you that our best efforts are underway, and to facilitate communication between Equestria and the Hive when time comes to begin actualizing restoration.”

Chrysalis studied them in much the same way as she had when she introduced herself, and Pinkie silently prided herself for not flinching when the monarch’s unflinching eyes hit her. Thin ladders of wrinkles appeared in the soft skin around her eyes, gleaming emeralds that held perfectly still, almost clear enough for Pinkie to see through them to the gray of the queen’s brain.

“You keep contact with the Element of Magic?”

It was a second before Pinkie realized Chrysalis was addressing her, and nodded nervously.

“Ask her for an update today. Ask her for any details on the Equestrian plan that she can provide. Concrete details, things that have been done, not plans for the future.”

“Sure—sure thing, your highness.”

“I’ll meet you again on the fourteenth.”

Chrysalis rose, the other diplomats with her, and they walked through the parting ceremony. Chrysalis flapped a wing, though without the vim of before, and then glided out the door.

Pinkie looked to her coworkers, thinking that the meeting had gone well, but seeing the opposite writ on their faces.

* * * * * *

Not that Applejack was aware of either, but two days after Pinkie’s departure from Canterlot and Aloe and Lotus’ return to the same, Fluttershy wandered out of the Everfree Forest and forced her way into her overgrown cottage, where she spent the rest of the day clearing it of ivy, of invading flowers, of cobwebs, of dirt, of water spots, of ants and cockroaches, of mushrooms and lichens, of rotting baseboards and the area rug thick with mold and beetles and maggots. She distinctly recalled that her house had not survived the disaster, and the clear fact that someone had rebuilt it in her absence warmed her not at all. Rather than reflect on the fact and make herself bitter for the emotion lost, she put herself harder to work, and when she failed to open the windows in their warped sills, she broke them.

With the ruined furniture and baseboards tossed out onto the field outside and sprinkled with glass, she turned her attention to the floorboards, to the windowsills, to the yellowed and leaking roof, and to the peeling wallpaper, which by one in the morning that following day, she had stripped from the skeleton of her house and piled in the grass. Her quiet activity attracted one of the hospital’s nurses out for a stroll after her shift, and the two of them worked to turn off the water and disconnect her plumbing, which had rusted and clogged with scum and tree roots.

By six-thirty that morning, two others had joined them, and the four stood together on the uneven foundation of Fluttershy’s rebuilt and then re-destroyed house. She thanked them, got their names, and asked that they kindly keep the secret of she, a pegasus, using magic like a unicorn. Then, after a dip in the river, she strolled to the farm, where Big Mac was up and hard at work. She could have watched him from the treetops, but did not, announcing herself with a cough and lamely explaining that she was back from her furlough and ready to reenter society.

He did not have many questions for her, whether out of understanding or the lack thereof she could not tell, but his stoic acceptance was enough for her. His was perhaps the most appropriate Element, she thought. Patient, accepting, immovable, reliable. She was glad she found him first, though his sister had been the object of her return to the farm. Fluttershy found her back at the house, where she was in the larder with the jams and jellies, labeling jars, testing them for leaks, checking inventory, rotating the stock.

To Applejack, Fluttershy must have appeared as an emissary from heaven, she reflected afterwards. The sun had been at her back as she perched at the window, and Applejack’s jaw had dropped when she announced herself, her eyes momentarily flashing with reverence and fear.

Fluttershy alighted on the cool dirt floor, embracing and being embraced, dry-eyed.

“How’ve you been?” Applejack asked gravely. “Are you okay?” It was a just question; Fluttershy had been alone in the forest for eight days.

“I’m ready to be back. I, uh—I’m sorry, are you busy? I don’t want to distract you.”

“These jellies been waitin’ fer months, Ah reckon they can wait a few minutes longer. What’s on yer mind, sugarcube?”

“I thought about what you told me. It, um, it wasn’t difficult to see that you were right.”

“Mm?”

“Being alone opened my eyes. On the first night, even, I saw what you told me. Accepting it, that took a little longer.”

“Always does.”

“I was cruel to Pinkie, and I was selfish with everyone. The fact that what she did is worse doesn’t make what I did less awful to you.” Still not crying, she looked Applejack in the eyes. “I’m sorry, and I’m ready to be better.”

Applejack nodded. “Are you gonna tell her that?”

“I haven’t forgiven her, and I don’t think I will, not soon anyway. I’m not going to do anything to her, though. If we have to meet for publicity functions or what-have-you, then I’ll do it, I’ll be professional. Other than that, I want nothing to do with that mare. I hope… I hope she assumes that of us, that she knows forgiveness is off the table.” In a small voice, she added, “and I hope she’s at peace with it. I’m still not. I miss her—the pony I used to know, I mean. I miss the old Pinkie.”

“Don’t we all?” Applejack clapped Fluttershy on the back and led her up into the house, into the warmth, and cut her a slice of pecan pie from the day before. “I’m proud of you, Fluttershy.”

“Thank… you.”

“Not meanin’ to come off as pretentious. Is that the word?”

“Sanctimonious?”

“Thank you. Not meanin’ to come off sanctimonious to you, Ah am proud. It’s a very mature thing fer someone to admit their flaws like that.”

“You would know.”

“Ah practice it every chance Ah get, an’ believe you me, Ah get a lot of ‘em. Still get butterflies, too.”

“I know for me, my heart was pounding when I was coming up to the house. You’re my best friend, and I was still shaking like a filly. I still am a little.”

“Ah constantly thank Celestia fer the chance to learn from it,” Applejack said, getting herself a smaller slice and a glass of milk.

“So…” Fluttershy began, not wishing to continue down the road Applejack presented. Self improvement was one thing, but she had no interest in bringing the goddess into it. “What did I miss?”

“Mmm, not too much. Twilight an’ Rainbow are hard at work settin’ up restoration. Ah got a sigil fer Rainbow now too, she an’ Ah try to talk every day. Says Twilight was born to boss ponies ‘round.”

“We knew that already,” Fluttershy chuckled.

“Too true. But they’re doin’ fine, Twilight seems happier. Goes to show, some ponies don’t need time to relax, they need steady employment. Ah get it to a point.” She waved a hoof, as if dismissing an old point she didn’t want to repeat. “Rarity’s boutique’s comin’ along, Vinyl’s gettin’ ready to start puttin’ out music again.”

“Oh, good for her.”

“Colgate an’ Octavia are fine, Ah guess, whatever passes fer ‘fine’ with them. Octavia wants to be a Datura now.”

“Surprise of the century.”

Applejack laughed. “Yeah, Ah guess yer right. Ah never really saw it myself. Cole might join back up, but that’s a whole can of worms on its own, an’ Ah don’t really have much in the way of details. Versus ain’t doin’ so hot.”

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re puttin’ the squeeze on her down at the corkscrew.” Her voice darkened and became more solemn. “Legal troubles.”

“What happened?”

Applejack shook her head. “Her associatin’ with us, it looks like some ponies have taken offense. She hasn’t told me much, doesn’t like talkin’ ‘bout it, which Ah don’t blame her. But it looks bad.”

“How bad?”

Another head shake.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope we didn’t do anything to… I mean, with the Mansels, and Peaceful Meadows, and then Twilight…”

“It ain’t good, that’s fer sure. Ah told her to lay low. ‘Bout all Ah can do in this position.”

“I hope she’ll be okay. I liked her.”

Applejack studied her empty plate. “You got a place to stay? Ah went ‘round yer cottage a couple days ago, saw it wasn’t in the, uh, best condition.”

Her first impulse was to politely decline, but she stopped herself. “That would be wonderful. You’re right, my house has seen better days.”

Falling Apart

Chapter One hundred twenty-one

Falling Apart

When Celestia exploded out of the sky sometime in the deep night and, without greeting a single pony she passed, thundered to her boardroom, Twilight was already there, red-eyed and waiting on the summons that had woken her an hour before. The princess wasted no time, speaking before the door had even swung closed, yanking out her chair and then changing her mind to pace the table’s length.

“Storms, my pupil.” She tightened her wings against her back and adjusted her cloak, shaking condensation onto the floor. “You’re aware of storm magic?”

“Yes, your highness, and that it’s forbidden.”

“In most circumstances, it is, but if Chrysalis wants to leave her ships just outside our waters… Twilight, you’ve shown great promise as a magician. I have all confidence that you will not fail me.”

With a sinking feeling, Twilight asked her what it was she wanted.

“Let us.” She turned and, without waiting for Twilight, teleported them both into the royal library. In the dead of night, there was no one to see them pad across the carpeted span except the librarian, paging through a book with a cup of coffee at her hoof. She barely glanced up at the princess and her student as they went to the northwest corner, to a nook of arcane reference materials half hidden behind the eyeless granite statuette of a young magician, horn tip a cut emerald. First looking around in a rapid, almost careless motion, Celestia cast a spell that Twilight could not identify, and the shelves and their books shifted and swam, remaining perfectly in place but changing in title and binding before re-forming into references of another sort.

Twilight knew that there were books of forbidden magic hidden in the library, but had never gone looking for them. Having an entire set suddenly presented to her, she couldn’t help the gleam that awoke in her eye as she took in the subjects. There were books on the soul and the magic needed to replicate it, on overcoming death, on changing one’s shape and composition; books to help one recreate the vacuum of outer space in a jar, books to help one navigate the abysses of Tartarus, books to help one trade identities with another; recipes for irreversible love potions, maps to locations from which there was no return, charts of the heavens and directions for their upkeep.

Celestia selected a tome and held it out to Twilight: The Strongest Wind that Blows. Twilight did a double-take.

“Discord wrote this?”

“It’s a compendium of his teachings on the subject.” Without ceremony, Celestia cast her spell and whisked the books back to their ordinary, safe topics. “He was very erudite, you know, a visionary. Before he lost his mind.”

“He was overcome with his own magic, right?” A dizzying flash, and they were back in the boardroom. “I believe you told me that once.”

“The mechanics of managing chaos will destroy even the most steadfast mind if proper steps are not taken. Discord’s mistake, one of many, was lack of caution. Had he given himself a surrogate consciousness, he may have stayed sane long enough to discover a wiser way of conducting his… research.” Celestia shook dust from the book and flipped through it, taking a seat at last. “This will tell you everything you need to know about the summoning of a storm, how to shape and direct it, and most importantly, how to dispel it when you’re done.” She smiled. “Have no fear for its author; these teachings are tested and verified already. Discord knew what he was talking about, at least here.”

“And…” Twilight did not reach out to accept the book as it slid to her. “Why do I need to summon a storm?”

“If the changelings think they can menace us in our waters, then we shall answer in kind. I think a hurricane should show them that we are not to be toyed with.”

“A hurricane.”

Celestia nodded slowly, eyes closed for a moment to evince her sorrow; but whether it was genuinely felt or simulated to put Twilight at ease, there was no telling. “These are the times. Rest assured, I wholly authorize you to exercise your abilities to this task. I can give you that in writing if you’d like.”

“You want me to summon this near—”

“In the middle of their fleet. On top of them.”

“Your highness.” She looked at the book, its simple blue cover, its vague title, its dangerous parent. Evil was not a force that could be isolated or imbued into objects, but to look at the book’s stately face, innocent save for the secretive hour at which it was shown, Twilight felt her skin crawl. “Your highness, I don’t know.”

Celestia bowed her head, still wearing her thin smile, horn tip arcing down to point directly at Twilight’s face. “I don’t like it either, but…” She tapped a hoof on the table.

“Do you know something I don’t? Are they—are they trying to invade us? Are they headed for the coast? Last I heard, they were just going to occupy neutral waters.”

“And you trust them? You know what Queen Chrysalis told you.” She held Twilight’s eyes for a second, the mute accusation in her pronunciation of Chrysalis’ name. “You two have been talking so much, but you dare to question me?” A second of frightened confusion passed in which Twilight realized that the imaginary thought she ascribed to her princess could have, in fact, been projected into her mind. For Celestia did have that power.

“Have you looked at the fleet yourself? Have you verified the queen’s claim?”

“Not yet, no.” And like that, she knew she had lost. Whatever point she might make, the princess could say that Twilight didn’t truly know.

“I, for one, am not willing to take her on her word,” Celestia said. “You can give them twenty-four hours of warning, if you like.”

“That wouldn’t be enough time to get everyone out of danger.”

Celestia sighed.

“I just don’t know, your highness. This feels wrong.”

“My dear, I love you like a daughter.” Celestia stretched to take Twilight’s hooves in her own, and in her eyes, Twilight saw the residue of feeling—sadness and fidelity and love, beaten flat by millennia of responsibilities, of victories and losses, of lessons painfully learned, of family and friends and prized students gradually feeding the grave. “Please don’t make me order you to do this.”

“I can’t—” She forced herself to break eye contact with the goddess. “I can summon the hurricane close to them, close enough to scare them, show them that we mean business.”

“A meaningless gesture.”

“But we—”

“It’s not an argument, Twilight.” Her voice became disappointed. “If I have to command you to do this, I will. I don’t want to.”

“We—I mean.” She looked back down at the book. “We’ll be at war. Or maybe not, maybe it really will scare them into backing off.”

“Do this for me, and I won’t ask you to do anything else,” Celestia said. “Your final task. I promise it.” She tilted her head to the dark window, the white spidering of Lower Canterlot and the pale yellow smudge of Ponyville lost somewhere past it. “You’ve been here so long, my student. Instead of resting, you have given your services to the throne—all I ask is this last favor. Your home awaits you, one step away, so close. You and Rainbow Dash both. This can be all that’s left.”

A drizzly Wednesday morning, pumpkins and squash glistening in the palace gardens under their knotted vines, crowns of heather nodding beside the white walkway, steam rising from a pair of teacups on the balcony three stories up. Six-thirty, time enough for a leisurely breakfast before heading to the office, though what work remained for them was threadbare and unsure. The threat of war was heavy on their minds, both of them inadequate to stop or divert it, but established in the halls of power to see its advance, not in leaps as the citizenry would but in the minute-to-minute, a turn of phrase here, a look in royal eyes at the mention of a name or date there.

“I did some preliminary reading this morning.”

Rainbow knew that Twilight had met with the princess prior. “Did you get any sleep?”

She shook her head. “Princess Celestia wants me to conjure a hurricane for the changeling fleet. She doesn’t want it to scare them, she wants me to summon it in the middle of their ships and tear them apart.”

In Twilight’s employ, she had heard many a shocking thing, and this was just one more; so when Rainbow asked why, she did so without the theater of revulsion.

“Because she wants to send them a message.”

“Some message. Won’t that start a war?”

“If I were Queen Chrysalis, I would want to go to war for it.”

Rainbow stirred another sugar cube into her saucer. “That’s stupid.”

“The princess ordered me. Royal decree.” She shuffled through her magical space, empty for so long after carrying their luggage, their sundries, their personal treasures, and produced the signed orders. “Under penalty of immediate termination and discommendation from Her Majesty, Princess Celestia. I don’t have much choice, Dash.”

“You ever see a hurricane, Twilight?”

“On nature documentaries.”

“You learn about ‘em if you spend enough time on a weather team, even in little ol’ Ponyville, not sure why. Regulation, I suppose. Let me tell you, those changelings are dead if you summon one.” She rolled the decree up and shoved it back. “Why is Celestia making you do her dirty work?”

Twilight looked into the glassy distance and shook her head. After the meeting, walking back to her room with the damned book, she had been frightened. The fear was of nothing specific: not her royal teacher, not the ghost of Discord, not the scorned changeling queen, not telling Rainbow the latest fell news. Then, reading on the mechanics of building a storm, of starting with a gust of air and feeding it until it had grown to a cyclone with its own life, and realizing as she read that it was within her grasp, fear was replaced with disgust. In the prideful daytime, with work to be done and ponies to lead, endless coming chances to prove herself smarter and more capable than her superiors, a hurricane is not so difficult to create and release; alone at five in the morning, reading by lamplight and then waxing dawn, a hurricane is a monstrous weapon that should never be wielded against someone. Blue waters shredded by wind, waves heaved tall enough to pluck an airship from the sky, lightning forking black clouds: all that power should not be contained inside a glass bottle or in a sprawling sigil painted on a ballroom floor.

The rain had cleared in time for her lunch break, and Twilight met with Celestia once again. Her cloud of thoughts was churning, disquieted by an idle question Rainbow had asked, an open-ended query on how she thought the ponies in Hoofington were doing—the Astras, Lumb, Octavia’s former servants, the nice doctor and her nurse at the hospital, and more as the cloud recalled increasingly obscure strangers, faces seen and never met. While the cloud analyzed everything it knew about the city, filling Twilight’s conscious mind with information for which she had no use, she trudged to the meeting room and tried to go over what she wanted to say.

“You needed to see me.” Celestia offered no smile, and neither did Twilight.

“About the hurricane.”

“Please.” She signed for them to lower their voices.

“Sorry. I just had a question, something I didn’t think to ask last night.”

“Proceed.”

“I was wondering why you had selected me to perform the magic. That’s all.”

A small smile, patient and joyless. “Because you are my most capable student, my dear.”

“But I—”

“And because a princess cannot be seen to cast such magic herself. I trust you understand that?”

Twilight looked at her.

“Consider the political side of this, Twilight. I have a war council, but they are slow and unwieldy—a sentiment I’m sure you appreciate.”

Fearing to say the wrong thing, Twilight only nodded.

“An act made by that council, or by any other agency under my rule, carries certain political implications. To the queen of the changelings, it would seem an open declaration of war. What I am looking for is not an open declaration, but a statement of intent. Such a statement is best, well, made by a free agent.”

“But I’m under orders. Not free.”

“The queen doesn’t know that.”

Twilight thought, her cloud still running on its own, distracting. “Queen Chrysalis will think I’m acting on my own?”

“If one single pony can rain destruction on her navy, what might an entire nation do? You and I both know that you’re the most powerful mortal in the country, but she does not—don’t hide your face, dear, you know it to be true. Come.” She gently touched Twilight’s hoof. “Look at me. There’s no shame in power.”

“She’ll be so disheartened from the storm, she won’t want to see what else we can do to her,” Twilight finished. “But that still… But why do I have to be the one to do it?”

“We all must make difficult decisions in our lives, my student.”

“But…” “But I’m not the one deciding, you’re forcing me,” she wanted to say. In Celestia’s eyes, solemn with matriarchal pride, Twilight felt her objections wither away as before.

“My student, I would not ask you to do this if we were not in the deepest need. I truly fear that a display of power is the only thing to keep their hordes away from our borders.”

“I just don’t think it’s that bad,” Twilight said, shaking her head.

A subtle darkening in the room told her that she had said too much. The walls groaned and the air grew chill, and Celestia, as calm as ever, averted her eyes only for a second before pinning Twilight again. “What do you know about it?”

“I’m sorry, your highness. That was out of line.”

Celestia rested her chin on a hoof, her great wings draping to the floor. “You’ve impressed both of us, Luna and me. Your work restoring our nation has been incredible, to say nothing of your struggle with Discord. Before that, even. I was your age once, Twilight Sparkle, and I had not accomplished half as much—and I see greater things within you still. Under my guidance… I have sired more Elements of Magic than I can count, and of them all, you are the closest to becoming the new godhead. You realize this?”

“I don’t know what to say, your highness.”

“What you lack most terribly is wisdom. Do you know what wisdom is?”

Twilight recognized the tone of voice, the contracture of brow, the slight tilt of ear: a lesson being offered. She shook her head, knowing that whatever conventional definition she may recite would not impress the princess.

“Wisdom cannot be given, taught, or gotten for free. Wisdom is more than life; there are those who are young, but find wisdom in everything they do. There are those who die without once knowing wisdom. Wisdom comes to those who are ready, but you cannot prepare yourself. One does not go searching for wisdom, and one does not anticipate its coming, notice its arrival, or remark on its passage.”

“And you’re saying that I lack this, your highness?”

“Yes.”

“O-okay.” She endured a minute of eye contact with the princess before clearing her throat and looking to the window. “I’ll try to be better.”

“There is no trying. It will find you or it won’t, that is the truth. In four thousand years, that is the truth as I have discovered it. The great mystery of life, which scholars have pondered all their lives, which has baffled the brilliant and the dull alike, which your friend Applejack will pursue until her permanent death, and which I now give you freely, one pathetic sentence. Wisdom will find you, or it will not. It is without definition, for it comes in more guises than there are stars in the sky, its mark instantly recognizable but never predictable and never repeatable. Four thousand years, and this is what I offer you.” She rapped a hoof on the table. “This wisdom you must accumulate, or you will be left behind. I have been asked a million times and more, what is the most fundamental difference between a goddess and a mortal? Why, in the history of the world, are there but two of us? Wisdom, of course—this is what I will tell them. Wisdom! And here I sit, facing my most worthy student, my most capable successor, this mortal—here I sit, and I question myself, Twilight. Five thousand years have passed, and I sit here in doubt and confusion as if I had wandered into this palace off the street.”

“…Five thousand?”

Celestia blinked. “Four. Excuse me.”

“Your highness, what happened when Discord trapped you?”

“Would you like me to show you?”

“Not—could I handle it?” She had not expected the offer, or a straight answer at all. “Can my mortal brain comprehend it?”

The princess smiled humorlessly. “You got me, Twilight. Very well. I believe you’ve already gathered that it was a dream. For the first century, I was able to hold that in mind; I tried to fight it in those terms. You know, when we were teleported from the throne room, it was his intention to trap all of us in the dream. I spared you that.”

“Thank you.” Feeling wildly insufficient, Twilight blushed and looked down.

“In the dream, the Elements had been scrubbed from existence. They were a memory, which he used to taunt me. Discord, he was in the dream, and more powerful than in life. He had achieved godhood, had moved past the half-baked status of demigod that he forever exaggerates. For the first century, I ignored him and tried only to escape. As it went on, I lost that wisdom, and we began to fight in earnest. I tried to rule the country and only engage him in secret, in desolate places where we would not harm anyone. My sister would rule for decades on her own while I fought Discord around the world. We exchanged blows like prize fighters, Twilight, in the skies over mountaintops, in the trenches of the arctic oceans, in underground oil deposits. For a year or more, I chased him through a sea of sludge and rock, no vision, crushed under the earth’s pressure, not even enough oxygen to burn the oil away and reveal my foe. And I couldn’t drain it, he held it in place by some mechanism. I never discovered how.” She stopped for a minute, eyes glistening, but did not turn from Twilight. “Eventually, he came for my cities, and I would face him there, outside. Innocent ponies watching in horror as their peaceful ruler breaks an entire mountain over her enemy’s head. Yes, Twilight, a mountain; I mean what I say. Nothing was enough, he always came back. I… by the seventh century, the cities were gone.” She had grown deathly quiet, but still held Twilight in her eyes, locking her to her seat. “The forests were burned or ripped out of the ground, the lakes and rivers were boiled off. Worse. The seas were sucked into the sky for an unending downpour. In the ninth century, Luna and I dissolved the atmosphere, and every particle of air was effaced. Still he remained.” She sighed with a self-conscious grimace, breaking her gaze and coming back to herself. “I woke up at some point after that. Re-adjusting to this life has not been very pleasant.”

Twilight could only regard her, not sure what to say or what was expected of her. Eventually, she asked who else her princess had told.

“My sister knows the details, of course. I couldn’t hide them from her if I wanted to.” She tapped her skull. “Some of my psychiatrists. Yes, we goddesses have them too.”

“I know.”

“And you. You know, Twilight, it was not an easy thousand years in that dream. One might think it cathartic in a way, being able to expend all one’s strength and power like that. A safe little cage in the middle of the desert.”

“I don’t think that, your highness.”

“You are afraid. You have faced the storm in your book, and you have found that it is within your power to manage, and it frightens you.”

A second passed before Twilight realized that Celestia was asking for confirmation. She nodded silently.

“It should. I tell you what I experienced, not to discourage you, but to inform you. In restoring our lands, you have tasted true power for the first time.” Gone was the motherly softness in her eyes, the recognition; Celestia looked at Twilight with blunt fascination, intrigue clouded with intent. “Magic doesn’t become easier with experience, quite the opposite.”

* * * * * *

Big Mac did not think much of Versus anymore; when he did, his mood would darken and frost over, and he was no good to anyone, least of all himself. A mere thought of her, remembrance of her voice or her smile, or worse, the dance they had shared, would take his purpose from him, and he would be left in the middle of whatever he was doing, indecisive and overcome with the feeling for which he had no articulate name.

To actually hear her voice, her laugh mingled with Applejack’s in the room next to his, was a pain so exquisite that he longed for its return the instant it had faded. When he chanced to hear her through the walls, he would lose himself to the saccharine feeling; if she casually asked how he was doing, he would feel as though he could implode on the spot.

Not one to speak of it, he quietly changed his routine, staying out late and finding household occupation when he could, trying always to avoid his room and its thin walls. For the first months of summer, it had seemed that Versus was determined to follow him into the trees, but he put his head down and ignored her sweet memory until it lost its edge, then its shape, and finally became a patina of longing that he chose to acknowledge instead as a sign of having grown older. He had gone into the world one way and he had come back another, simple as that.

It was no shock that her suffering plied at his heart. As her life unfolded through Applejack’s narration, powerless anger would stir in him; thoughts of heroic action would inflame his imagination and stoke his memories until he had worked them back into the ground, until he had returned the best and most indulgent of himself to the soil in broad strokes of the shovel or in the thick ruts of a wagon wheel. His Element he kept wrapped in tissue paper and hidden in his bedstand, safely tucked under a frilly hat that he liked to wear when no one was around to see.

On that same drizzly Wednesday morning, he skipped breakfast and went to the orchard’s edge to watch Ponyville wake up. The mayor waved to him on her morning walk, the graveyard shifters at the hospital trudged back to their homes while the early workers trudged past them in the opposite direction; then the roadside stalls came up, one by one, ponies appearing with baskets of fruit, bolts of fabric, bouquets of flowers, bottles of tea or honey or perfume; and then the school bell rang, and the weather workers thickened in the sky to pull Ponyville’s rain closer to the forest; and without noticing when they had first come, he wiped tears from his eyes.

Fluttershy and Rarity waved at him too, but the angle was wrong and he did not see them. Rarity was due in Canterlot later that evening, dinner with a fashion executive and then an appearance on the daytime news the following afternoon. She planned to be in the big city until next Monday, relaxing in the palace and catching up with the others. For this, she and Fluttershy had moved their weekly spa visit up.

First thing in the morning on a Wednesday, they were the only ones there when the spa opened. Aloe and Lotus were still in Canterlot, with no word on when they would be coming back to what many still considered their rightful place. Instead, Ponyville was attended by Cloudchaser and Limestone Pie, who had taken Flitter’s place in the spa’s management. On the massage tables, Cloudchaser worked with Rarity and Limestone with Fluttershy—for one was surprisingly gentle with wings, and the other was surprisingly not.

They had heard Cloudchaser refer to Limestone as “Lime” for most of their visits, and only very recently the full “Limestone.” Neither had yet made the connection that it was Octavia’s final sister who poured water on the hot rocks in the steam room, who scrubbed mud from the baths, who sliced the cucumbers for their eyes, who quietly worked at the grime and matted fur at their hooves. They would eventually, but, like the telling of Octavia’s story itself, time would have rendered it immaterial by then.

Settling in, the two exchanged contented sighs and made small talk with their masseuses. Limestone was never much for conversation, and Cloudchaser only sometimes.

“We got our invitations today,” Fluttershy said. “For the reception.”

Cloudchaser hummed assent. “I got mine.”

“Do you know what day it’s on?”

“Thursday, I think.”

“Thursday,” Limestone affirmed. Thursday, November eleventh, a reception over Greater Canterlot, a formal celebration for Equestria’s restoration. Invitation only. How Cloudchaser had secured a place on the guest list, Fluttershy was too polite to ask.

“I’m already stressing on what to wear,” Rarity chuckled.

“I’m sure you’ll be gorgeous whatever you choose,” Cloudchaser said.

“I like to think so. Oh, dear, a little lower, please. Perfect.”

Cloudchaser worked in silence for a time before speaking again, her voice hesitant as though she were not sure it was proper to tell a client. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it, if I’m honest.”

“The reception?”

“Mm.”

“Why ever not? I hope there’s nothing wrong?”

“Not exactly. I’m, well, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be in Ponyville.”

“You’re leaving?” Fluttershy sighed, eyes closed.

“I don’t know when, it depends on a couple things. Sooner rather than later, I hope.” More crisply, she said, “I’ll be moving to Fillydelphia. There’s a position there for me already, and all I need to do still is find an apartment.”

“Fillydelphia, oh, how exciting. Do you have family there?”

“I’ll be on my own, which is how I want it. I don’t know, Ponyville isn’t the same anymore. Not since Flitter.” It was known that Flitter had passed away suddenly; and in a sense, it was true. Cloudchaser had gone up to Canterlot for the funeral and not come back some days after, pretending to have shed her grief and fooling no one.

“I understand,” Rarity said.

“Thank you.”

“Truly. If moving to another place is what you need, then I’m behind you all the way. Will you—I’m sorry, I don’t mean to put you on the spot—if you need anything, you need only ask.”

Cloudchaser didn’t respond.

“You’ve been good to us,” Fluttershy said. “What, um, what’s going to happen to the spa?”

“That’s the other thing it depends on. I’m trying to find someone to replace me. No luck yet. But yeah, if I’m still here by the eleventh, then I’ll be at the reception. Probably wearing one of your pieces, Rarity.”

“Stop by anytime, darling. She’s right, you have been good to us.”

It was an unexpected blessing that Apple Bloom and her friends had learned so much in the farm’s management; it freed Applejack for her avocation, which had grown around her like moss coating a stone, slow and apparent to all but herself. It had started in the early summer with her books and her studies, her conversations with Versus, but had escaped the confines of her bedroom as her curiosity grew more potent. What were, at first, friendly questions to passers-by became full and vested interests; and her unique status in town made it so that very few were unwilling to divulge themselves to her. She was no gossip, but Applejack came to know ponies’ secrets and trials just as intimately as one, and before long, found herself wiling away the sleepless evening hours worrying problems and questions that were not her own.

Thus, in the afternoon, while Ponyville’s eaves dripped with the morning’s rain and the wind blew with the fresh scent of clover and wet stone, Applejack walked among the headstones with her second confidante of the day, the second of four that were scheduled. If the other pony had no specific place they wanted to talk, Applejack usually took them to the cemetery or to the fields west of town; the emptiness of those spaces made them feel farther from civilization, and it helped her keep a respectful distance from those who sought her.

“I don’t want anyone to think I’m a bad pony,” Rose Luck said. “But I can’t kid myself anymore, you know? I don’t care about their birthdays. I want to, it would make my life a lot easier, but I can’t make myself care. You know?” She was speaking of her nieces and nephews, and her fear that her family would be angry if she failed to display an appropriate level of excitement at their numerous functions.

“Had anythin’ specific happened lately that makes you bring this up?” Applejack asked. She rested a hoof on a weathered gravestone, as serious as if Rose had told her she had an inoperable disease.

“I mean, my nephew’s birthday is coming up in a few weeks, and I’m supposed to help put it together. I just can’t bring myself to care about it.”

They had talked about the problem a couple times before. From what Applejack could tell, Rose lived in constant fear of being found lacking. If she was good, she was not good enough; if she went out of her way for someone, she did not go far enough; if she said something impolite, that pony would never want to speak to her again. Applejack had already tried telling her to trust herself, that goodness was immaterial and could not be measured, and that fear was a poison she could do without, but Rose came back the next week with the same problem, and a third time days later. Applejack believed that she did not seek any permanent solution to her problems, and only wanted immediate encouragement to get through the latest crisis.

She had reflected on it for three nights, lost sleep and forced herself to till earth until she was too exhausted to even cover herself with the sheets, whether it was just to provide temporary relief for what was obviously a deeper problem. Ultimately, Applejack decided that it was: for it was not her place to dictate how quickly, or in what fashion, someone fought their demons. If Rose Luck wanted less substantial council, then Applejack had to have faith that it was for good reason, and that she would seek greater wisdom when she was ready. Thoughts like these buoyed her while Rose re-stated, for the third time, what she was afraid of and under which very specific circumstances it had almost come to pass years ago.

“I know,” Applejack wanted to say. “You can move past it, you’ve told me this story enough times I could tell it back to you.” But that would be hurtful, so Applejack just listened quietly, waiting, savoring the cool, fresh air and the feeling of hewn stone.

Rose’s problem humbled her, for it was airtight, too simple to be solved by any combination of lofty insights. “Just lighten up, dammit,” that was the true extent of her advice, and finding ways to dress it up, knowing nothing would get through until Rose changed first, was the exact sort of fruitless task that Applejack grudgingly welcomed—a petty reminder that she lived in the real world, not her own mind. Still, her patience was finite, and when Rose had been discharged back into town, saying she felt much lighter, Applejack could only press her head against a mausoleum’s brickwork and gradually breathe out her frustration.

She had a meeting in half an hour with someone new, and he had not been forthcoming with what he needed help with; whatever it was, she only hoped the need was genuine.

Later that evening, instead of talking with Versus, Applejack spoke to the blue sigil from which Twilight’s anxious voice came in rapid bursts. Big Mac was in the other room, ear pressed to the wall, as the most eminent mortal in Equestria poured out her problem.

“She’s a totally different mare, Applejack! Totally different! You’d see it in a second if you were here with me. Small wonder—you know what she told me today?”

“You know Ah don’t, darlin’. Are you in yer room, or are you in that darned office?”

“My office.”

“Are you workin’?”

A huff. “No, not at the moment.”

“Get off this sigil, go to yer room, drink some water, an’ call me back. You been stressin’ all day, Ah can hear it.”

“Applejack.”

“Ah mean it. You’ll feel better, Ah promise. Then call me back, from yer room, an’ we’ll hash this out.”

Applejack had surrendered to temptation in August and gotten a personal coffee machine for her room. It saw nearly as much use as the family one downstairs, seeing her through late nights with difficult texts, long conversations with Versus, exhausting sessions with Twilight or Rainbow Dash. She began brewing a cup from across the room, enjoying the secret twinge of magic, and when it was ready, Twilight was back.

“Okay, I’m relaxed.”

“Ah can tell you ain’t, but Ah have faith you will be if you take my advice. Drink water, Twilight.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Drink water. Gives you somethin’ to do with yer horn, if nothin’ else.”

Twilight sighed in acceptance.

“So the princess has changed, fer the worse by what yer sayin’.”

“She told me what happened when she was in Moondrop today.”

Applejack pursed her lips. “Now my ears are standin’ up. Was this told to you in confidence, or can you tell me?”

“I’ll tell you. She was dreaming, or trapped in Discord’s dream, I’m not sure which. The point is, she thought a thousand years had passed for her; by the time she got out, she felt like she was a millennium ahead of us.”

“That ain’t good.”

“In those thousand years, she was fighting Discord the whole time, wound up destroying the planet in the process. She doesn’t see it, or she didn’t tell me anyway, but it’s left her in a bad way. It makes sense, doesn’t it? She spent a thousand years fighting a battle she couldn’t win, and that’s why she seems so intent on starting something with Queen Chrysalis. She’s stuck in that mindset, that ‘at war’ feeling.”

“An’ we’re payin’ the price.”

“She wants me to conjure a hurricane and dump it on their ships. Not near them, right on top of them.” Twilight gave off a hysterical laugh. “A hurricane! Applejack, she ordered me to do it! There’s a royal decree!” Paper rustled behind her voice. “I thought I could do it at first, but I can’t. I mean, I can, but I—I can do it, Applejack, hell, you wanna know the worst thing? I can do it easy. After everything else I’ve done, summoning this hurricane, I can do it and make it look like nothing.”

“But yer not gonna.”

“Oh, Celestia.” There was something between a laugh and a sob, and her voice became meek on the other side. “I can’t. Those changelings out there, I can’t do this to them.”

“Then don’t.” In that second, Applejack was thankful for her friendship with Twilight, that she could say something so terse and have it be understood, not have to worry about bruising Twilight’s feelings.

“Ah, yes, how simple. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“What Ah mean, Twilight, is that you don’t have to do it if you don’t wanna. What does that royal decree say if you disobey it?”

“That I’ll be fired, basically, and discommended by the throne.”

“All right. Well, yer basically done with yer job anyway, an’ you’ve hated it fer some time. Bein’ fired, that ain’t so bad, is it? ‘Discommended by the throne,’ Ah don’t know exactly what that means, but if this is a throne that orders you to summon a natural disaster on another country, then you probably wanna distance yerself from that anyway.”

“Princess Celestia said this would be the last thing she asks of me. Rainbow and I could go home if I just do this one thing.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I… don’t know.”

Applejack contemplated her response while blowing on her coffee. She could point out the evil of using a storm against an unsuspecting target, she could pressure Twilight to quit and retreat to Ponyville, but she knew that Twilight had come to her for more than that. With some ponies it was not the case, but Twilight would have come to the obvious conclusions long before reaching out to Applejack.

“What else did Celestia tell you?”

“She went on this weird rant about wisdom and being a goddess. She said I’m her most worthy successor.”

“Say that again?”

“She said that I am her most worthy successor, Applejack.”

“Fer bein’ a goddess?”

“I would imagine she meant ruler of Equestria. She wasn’t clear. She did praise my power a lot.”

“As well she should.” Applejack sat back and thought on it. Power: not simply one’s ability to throw a spell or bludgeon an obstacle away, but one’s will to do what others would not. The smartest pony in the world might not restore Equestria so well as Twilight, and the pony with the strongest will might bend backwards in the face of such a challenge if they could not invent a good solution.

“You’ve achieved greatness,” Applejack continued, thinking out loud. “Undeniable.”

“Yeah.”

“Most worthy successor. Hm. You reckon she’s groomin’ ya?”

“Grooming me for princess-hood?”

“Bein’ a ruler is all ‘bout makin’ hard decisions, decisions that affect more lives than you can count. You’ve done it once, bringin’ us down, an’ that was a positive thing. You fixed a lot of wrong in the world by doin’ that. Now she’s givin’ ya the chance to do the opposite. She’s givin’ you free reign to hurt on a greater scale than most anyone ever could.”

“She wants me to refuse.”

“That… Ah’m not so sure. Could be. Could be too, she wants to see if you’ve got it in ya to take all those lives. Don’t delude yerself, you know rulin’ fer as long as she has, she’s had to do some unspeakable things. If you succeed her, you’ll have to do ‘em too. Maybe this is yer first one.”

Twilight shuffled in her room and did not speak for a long time, and Applejack was able to drink her coffee. From the sounds coming out of her sigil, she was making her bed, hiding from the statement she was not prepared to receive. When the bed was finally made, comforter fluffed and patted down and fluffed again, pillows arranged to her liking, Twilight spoke in a small voice. “I don’t want to rule. I never wanted to.”

“What is it ya do want?”

“You know what I want.”

“Say it.”

Twilight got up and adjusted something else. “I want to go home, that’s all. I want to turn my back on everything I’ve done, let it stay in the past, and start fresh.”

“All right.” She considered herself. “You may not like what Ah’m ‘bout to say. Ah think you need to get out of Canterlot as fast as you can, get away from the princess. Fer the sake of yer soul, Twilight, you need to get out of that city an’ find a way back to yer old life.”

* * * * * *

That same evening, Twilight crept back to her office with the intention of reading more on the storm and looking at the patch of ocean where she was expected to summon it. The library below was quiet, lit softly from electric braziers, and the offices she had passed on her way were all dark. In the nighttime, the work spaces clustered around the library regained some of their former function, reverting to parlors and storage rooms, desks and filing cabinets and rolling chairs at odds with their plush surroundings with no workers inside to draw attention to the transformation. Then she would look away from the dark offices and see the gentle play of starlight across gilt designs in the marble floor, luxury again. On her way up, Twilight lingered by a pilaster and watched a sliver of night through an arched window, nothing to see but always pulling her attention when she found herself wandering the sleeping palace offices.

She sat with her book, but instead of opening it, she was drawn to another window. The sky had cleared but for a little group of blinking airships flying north, their balloons blushing with torchlight, their backs and sides aglow with red beacons. It had been just over three hundred days since the Elements got home, and a year and a half since being called away. The retreating airships in her window reminded Twilight of the wonder she had shared with her friends at first. How it had all slipped away then, from rakish adventure to anxious furlough to grueling duty, and finally back around to adventure, though of a much crueler sort.

She checked her divination spells, looked at a few places of import, and went to the roof, where her sticking sigils allowed her to walk without fear on the underside of the tower’s lip. She could look down the sheer wall at the inner courtyard and at the mass of palatial turrets and dormers that formed an uneven checkerboard in the moonlight, hung pennants shuddering nearer the ground and batters embossed with curling streaks of gold flake toward the palace’s main roof. Looking to the sky, she saw the bridge connecting the solarium and observatory on the palace’s other side, that slender walkway she had run across too many times to recall. She watched the palace, as much of it as she could from her dizzy vantage, and like Big Mac that morning, and for reasons not so dissimilar, she found herself crying, tears running the wrong way out of her eyes and spilling all the way, five stories, to the ground.

None of it did she reveal to Rainbow Dash the following morning, when she, strong and stable with a fresh plan in mind, clocked in and went straight to the attic. Rainbow asked whether she was needed and was dismissed for the hour.

Then, seated at a wide, shallow pan of golden oil, Twilight began weaving her magic for the day. A spell to give herself true sight, that she could divine multiple locations at once without having to deactivate those that she was not using immediately; an enchantment on the walls to continuously cycle the air, so she would not pass out from smoke inhalation when the oil got too hot; a spell to connect all of her viewing implements, so she could switch aspects from one to another whenever she wanted; and then the spells to show her the locations she wished to see. Every day she re-cast her web of magic, not wishing to let it stagnate and risk anything breaking down at a crucial moment.

When she had one magic eye on the changeling fleet, one eye on the swath of ocean between it and The Hive, and one eye on a sanctioned location outside Chrysalis’ palace, she activated the old communication sigil for the queen and waited. An attendant answered and told Twilight to wait, that the queen would be summoned urgently. Twenty minutes later, wrapped in a monogrammed jade bathrobe and with duck slippers loose on her hooves, Chrysalis stepped into frame and greeted Twilight with a chilly “hello.” Simply meeting over a communication sigil, there was no need for the queen to take on a respectful shape.

“Your highness, thank you for your time. I’m reaching out to you on a matter of grave importance.”

“Let’s see,” the queen said, sitting on a bench of cut coral in one of the palace’s outermost courtyards.

“And I’m not quite sure what’s going to happen to me after this. I may not be able to speak with you again.”

The differences in changeling intonation were more subtle than in ponies, but Twilight thought that Chrysalis sounded concerned when she asked what was wrong.

“The royal princess of the sun has…” She lowered her voice, though there was no need. “I am under orders from the princess herself to use deadly magic against your naval fleet, your excellence.”

Queen Chrysalis shifted inside her robe, unseen limbs and pieces of shell melding and twisting in agitation. “This is a warning? A threat?”

“I don’t want to do it at all, and I’m not going to, I think it’s ridiculous. If I don’t, though, her royal highness of the sun might.”

“What sort of deadly magic?”

“She wants me to conjure a hurricane on top of your fleet.”

The queen looked thoughtfully out at the crashing waves, which Twilight could hear but not see, and the magic in her spell rippled. It had never happened before, but she knew what it portended.

“Ah! Your excellence, I think someone’s listening in.”

Celestia spoke. “I am, Twilight Sparkle. You can wipe your communication sigils from the floor now.”

“Your highness, uh.” She was saved the indignity of struggling for a response, for all at once her divination went blank and the sigils died. In an instant, the room was emptied of its humming power, the oil began to cool, the pendulums that swung in magical arcs were coming to a slow halt where they hung over empty designs. The noise from outside became a presence again, subtle breezes and birdsong, the sound of Lower Canterlot seeping in and asserting itself.

Twilight was shaking when she quit the attic and shuffled to the bathroom, where she stared at herself in the mirror and tried with splashes of cold water to get a grip. Being caught was not part of her plan, though losing her job was. She had envisioned a few days between her speaking with Chrysalis and Celestia finding out, days during which she could tell Rainbow what she had done, pack their bags, and get ready for the disgraced march out of the palace.

When she returned to the attic, every sigil was burned away, every device was inert. The bowls of oil and chalk outlines that let her see the world responded to no magic she knew, and up on the roof, the same—not even her sticking sigils remained.

There was no time to mourn them, however, for back in her office, Celestia filled the doorway with Rainbow confused and frightened beside her, likely teleported from wherever she had been without a word of explanation. The princess crossed to face Twilight in three great strides, looking her in the eyes the whole way and then standing over her, intimidating and knowing it.

“Your highness—”

“You are done. Both of you.” She closed her dry eyes. “How could you betray me? My most precious student.”

“I… I…”

“Forewarning our greatest enemy behind my back, in my own palace. Is it your intention to wound me? Because you have.”

“Maybe she doesn’t wanna commit atrocities in your name,” Rainbow said. “Ya think? Maybe, instead of escalating with this Chrysalis lady, you two should sit down and work something out.”

“That time has passed,” Celestia sighed. “That I should have to do this… Twilight Sparkle, for revealing confidential information to our enemy, you are hereby relieved from your duty to the throne. You too, Rainbow.”

Twilight nodded solemnly, but Rainbow’s face was spreading with a grin. “I guess it’s back to Ponyville, then.”

“You’re not going to Ponyville. You’re not going anywhere.” Celestia shook her head. “You’ve committed treason, my student. No, you’re both staying in this palace until I can figure out what I want to do with you.”

“Wait, are we under arrest?” Rainbow asked.

Celestia gave Rainbow a pitying look. “No. Go to your… Do not… You will stay inside the palace until you hear from me.”

She was gone before they could respond, head curled in under a wing and body tense with the feelings she only barely expressed to their faces. The two looked at each other, Rainbow dumbfounded and Twilight angry.

“What do we do?”

“Such an idiot,” Twilight murmured through her teeth, turning to pace around her office, still stacked with books and materials. “How could I have not seen this coming?”

Rainbow watched, holding her tongue, aware that it was not the time to ask Twilight what exactly she had done.

“How?” With her hoof, she kicked a beaker into the window. “Yes, Twilight, it’s obvious that your plan constitutes treason! Good going, now you’re—”

“Hey,” Rainbow snapped. “Enough. We’re in this together.”

“You shouldn’t even be with me. You had nothing to do with it.” She went to her desk and slouched there. “I bet I can get you out of here, at least.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Twilight looked up at her and looked away a second later, sighing.

“I take it you told Chrysalis about the hurricane?”

“Yeah. I warned her, told her I wasn’t going to do it, but that Princess Celestia might. That’s when she shut me down.”

“All right. All right.” She was nodding, looking around the office for some clue, some recourse to their sudden problem, and, finding nothing, settled her eyes on Twilight once more. She knew Twilight would take it poorly, interpret it as though the onus of escape were entirely on her, but Rainbow did not know where else to look. “Maybe we should figure out exactly what kind of trouble we’re in first?”

“Sounds about right. Go down and grab as many books as you can find on the Canterlot judicial system. I’m going to see if there’s anything to salvage from upstairs.”

Even as a perpetrator of treason and her accomplice, the privileges for the Elements of Harmony were generous; neither of them was locked in their rooms or assigned a guard, and they were promised that no news would reach the public. However, they were not allowed outside the palace walls without Celestia’s personal accompaniment, and Twilight was barred from all further divination.

It took her until the following afternoon to invent a way around her magic restriction. While Celestia had destroyed all of her work in the attic and on the roof, she had not erased Twilight’s cloud of thoughts, and it was in that magical construct that all the details of her setups lingered. Recreating them would take work, but it would be rote, and not as much trouble as concealing them.

She sat in her office with a pile of books open on her desk and a snow globe on the corner, the innocent object her selection to become a conduit of her far-reaching sight. Twilight was too intent on her research to notice Luna’s entrance—through the door, not rudely appearing out of thin air—and the princess observed Twilight for a minute before clearing her throat and making Twilight nearly jump out of her chair.

“Your highness! I was—”

“I’m not here to pry or to pass judgment, Twilight. Is Rainbow in?”

“She’s flying.”

Princess Luna folded her dark wings and cleared a space for herself on the floor. “Celestia told me what happened, of course.”

“Did she tell you what she asked me to do?”

“What she ordered you to do,” Luna corrected. “It’s one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you in private.” She smiled sympathetically. “Don’t worry, my sister’s not eaves dropping. She’s attending to much more mundane duties at the moment.”

Relaxed, but only slightly, Twilight asked, “What do you think about the hurricane?”

“I think it’s a good idea that was approached poorly. The changelings, and Queen Chrysalis in particular, are not friendly with us right now; having a tropical storm up our sleeves would even the playing field, if not give us the advantage for any potential conflicts. That’s just the problem, though, this is a potential conflict. Ordering you to summon the hurricane straight away was foolish, as you have shown by your refusal to comply. She should have told you to research them only, eased you into the idea.”

“I like to think I would have figured out why I was reading up on storm magic.”

“I’m positive you would,” Luna said. “But you might not have acted so rashly.”

“Then again, I might.”

Luna laughed. “I admire your backbone. No matter what happens, you did what you thought was right, and no one can take that from you.”

She had not said whether she thought Twilight was in the right, and Twilight was reluctant to ask. “It might not do me any good in the next days. I don’t know what she’s going to do with me.”

“Neither does she. This isn’t a problem either of us have seen very much, you understand. I only wanted to come up and let you know before she did, so it wouldn’t be such an impersonal shock: you and Miss Dash are going to take a trip to The Hive soon.”

“We—” Fear, and a touch of exhilaration, colored her cheeks. “Are we being exiled?”

More laughter from the night princess, loud and good-natured. “Nooo, not at all! You’re traveling with Celestia to meet Queen Chrysalis, there’s going to be some final negotiation to get them to withdraw their ships. She requested you specifically.”

“The queen?”

“You left a very interesting impression on her, and she wants to meet you. Celestia, less so.”

“Great, so Princess Celestia can keep a close eye on us while we’re flying up to their islands,” Twilight said. “That’s fantastic.”

Luna stood and went to look at Twilight’s reading, which Twilight instinctively moved to block.

“Relax, I already have an idea what you’re doing. I’d do it too.” She glanced at the titles and the snow globe. “You’re going to transfer your divination magic to the glass’ inside surface and use that to keep an eye on the country without her noticing.”

Twilight could only blush, sour that Luna should discover her intent after but a few seconds of casual investigation.

“While I agree that it was needlessly punitive for her to take away your divination, are you sure you want to get straight back to it? If she sees you with that, it won’t be long until she figures out what you’re doing with it.” Luna thought. “Why do you even want it back? Your work around the country is done.”

“There’s a few ponies I’m watching over, friends in other cities. That mare, Versus, she’s the most important one.”

“That’s the only reason? There’s no need to prove that my sister can’t force you to do something you don’t want to?”

Twilight’s blush darkened.

“Be careful, Twilight. This kind of magic can lead a pony to some very difficult places.”

“I know, your highness.”

“No you don’t.” Her mirth, suddenly, was gone. “I know what you’ve done because I was doing it too, when I was mortal. I know what you’ve seen, and I know where your studies have taken you; I’ve seen it as well.”

“Some believe you saw it first,” Twilight added, hoping a bit of flattery would curtail Luna’s speech. Her mind was on her books, her cloud on the divination designs it had absorbed, and she was in no mood to be lectured.

“And I know what stops you, what problems you haven’t yet overcome, which tantalize you, for they were once my problems. Divination starts with the senses, with seeing and listening, and as you’ve discovered, you can project yourself wherever you want. You can project falsehoods too—ah, but that leads us to the magic of illusion, doesn’t it? Follow that thread, you run the risk of finding where the metaphysical and the tangible begin to overlap. A pony can lose herself there. Lose her corporeal form. Never come back.” Luna paused, thinking, smiling. “How many have lost themselves? Can you encounter them still? What would they tell you? What can they show you?”

“And you start to question the fundamental nature of reality,” Twilight said. “I know. I’ve read your essays on it.”

“Would you say you have understood them?”

“I’ve… tried my best.”

Luna shook her head knowingly. “Caution, Twilight. All I advise is caution. Too much divination—too much of any school of magic, really—can be dangerous. You get to a point where the power involved is not so easily contained, and the knowledge becomes frightening. I believe my sister advised you in much the same way not long ago.”

“She told me magic gets harder, not easier, with experience.”

“She was right to say so.” Luna nodded to herself and gave Twilight a wink. “Caution, that’s all.”

“I appreciate it, your highness.”

Luna chuckled. “Your tone. You’re going to pursue your divination anyway?”

For a second, Twilight considered lying, but she knew there was no point. “Probably.”

“Then at least let me help you streamline your process. Your enchantments are inefficient in a lot of places, I’ve noticed. I bet I can help you hide it from my sister too.”

Toward day’s end, Celestia entered Twilight’s office to tell her the news, that she and Rainbow Dash were to fly with her to meet Queen Chrysalis, departure in three days’ time. Pinkie and the diplomats would be there as well—news she added as an afterthought before zapping herself out of the room, leaving Twilight and Rainbow to debate what to pack, what to expect from the meeting, what to say to Pinkie or whether to contact her at all.

The first step, they agreed, was to move Twilight’s project to her bedroom, where she felt more sure that Celestia would not spy on her. Luna had helped her inscribe her magic on the snow globe’s inner surface and given some pointers on keeping the magic obfuscated from Celestia, but Twilight still needed to figure out how to move among the spells in such a tiny space, as well as one thing that she did not share with Luna, and which she could only hope the night princess had not pulled from her mind.

“Rainbow, do you know where Vinyl is? She’s in town, right?”

Rainbow was rustling in Twilight’s closet. She had an engagement that evening, but Twilight had insisted on her help before leaving, so Rainbow made the best of it by searching for an outfit in Twilight’s room. “Saw her for drinks a couple days ago. Why?”

“Do you think you can get her to meet me tomorrow?”

“I can ask.” She poked her head out and eyed Twilight’s spread. “What’s the plan?”

Twilight had the bed covered with empty mason jars and plastic-wrapped ingredients from the palace apothecary, and as she studied them, Rainbow dipped into the closet momentarily before emerging with a cream and magenta peacoat, its buttons the shape of Celestia’s sun emblem.

“I want to keep an eye on Canterlot while we’re away, and the palace if I possibly can.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“A safety net.” She sniffed at a pouch of dried tarot root. “Princess Luna said it won’t happen, but just in case Princess Celestia decides to leave us with the changelings, I want to have vision in the capital.”

“You don’t think you’re being a little paranoid? She’s not gonna ditch us up there. Not us.”

Twilight was shaking her head. “Just in case. It seems to me, if we can have our movements and magic use restricted, we can be left in another country.”

“I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Me neither, but if I can keep some magic in Canterlot, that’ll go a long way toward securing our passage back.”

“Nah, you’ve got it reversed.” She twirled once in her peacoat, shrugged, and started sorting through the trousers. “She’ll think you’re planning something nasty, which… you aren’t, right?”

“Nothing as bad as what I’m supposed to be doing.” The pair lapsed into silence as Twilight began unwrapping her powders and tablets, sorting them into jars and onto glass plates, pushing and coloring them with her magic, sometimes rewarding herself with a tuft of smoke or a bright flash as something combusted. Rainbow paused to watch, rapt, unable to follow the movement of magic across glass and through dusty air. She looked away when Twilight told her to, and through her eyelids saw a brilliant afterimage of raspberry light that was accompanied by the smell of cordite.

“I think that’ll work,” Twilight said, “if I can get the concentrations correct.”

“So you’re okay now?”

“Go, have fun. Call Vinyl.”

“I’ll take care of that first.”

“Awesome. Good. Thank you, Rainbow Dash.” She paused while Rainbow laced her boots. “I’ll get us out of this. I’ll get us home.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Oh, one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Tell Vinyl to be sober tomorrow.”

Rainbow snorted and took her leave, going to her room first to give Vinyl a quick call and then heading to the ground floor, where she waited uncomfortably for Leaf Blower to appear. When she did, the two waited another ten minutes in awkward quiet before Rarity showed. Together, the three walked out into the palace courtyard and traversed the grassy pathways and hedged corridors, making small talk about the night, the moon’s beauty, the quality of the air, how Rarity’s time in Canterlot had been so far. Stopping at a phiale and seating herself on the fountain’s concrete rim, Rainbow held out a wing. What she had been looking for in their walk and what she finally found under the moon-frosted arcade was not clear, but the two pretended it was no trouble, that the worry mounting in them both was of no consequence, that their dinner date had been hastily canceled for no serious reason and they now found themselves walking the palace grounds simply for the pleasure of the clean night air, the cold starlight, the liquid voice of water falling in a shallow basin, and the smell of damp grass.

“Sorry, first of all,” Rainbow said, and Rarity and Leaf Blower assured her all was well, that they understood. “I can’t really think of a good way to say this, so I’m just gonna say it flat-out. Twilight got us arrested.”

“She what?”

“We’re not allowed to leave the palace without Celestia there to watch us, and Twilight’s had her magic use heavily restricted—which, she’s already broken that rule, she’s trying to use her magic sneakily now.”

“Let’s back up,” Leaf Blower said. “How did this happen?” She shivered and looked at Rarity as if to ask “how are you not cold?”

“I don’t know how much I can tell you. Ugh, let’s see. Celestia ordered Twilight to do something kind of… objectionable, and instead of doing the thing, Twilight went behind Celestia’s back and warned the pony she was supposed to do the thing to. With me? Celestia caught her in the act, and now we’re under… palace-arrest, I guess you’d call it. Treason.”

“Why both of you?” Rarity asked.

“I’m an accomplice,” Rainbow said with a mild shrug. Before Rarity could respond, she added, “I would have stayed anyway. If it was just Twilight, I’d have stayed in the palace until she was free.”

“Good friend,” Leaf Blower mumbled, and Rainbow nodded at her appreciatively.

“And like hell I was gonna ask Celestia if she could join us tonight. So, again, sorry for the change of plans.”

“Forget that. What’s gonna happen to you? And is there anything I can do to help?”

“Twilight says she has a plan.” Noticing Rarity roll her eyes, she said, “Yeah, I know. It’s better than nothing.”

“Is it?” Rarity asked.

“This whole thing happened ‘cause Twilight was trying to get us fired. She’s fed up with working for the princess, and she figured this would be our ticket out.”

“Question,” Leaf Blower said. “Why not just quit? If she wants out that bad, why not just, you know, resign?”

“No way Celestia would just let her quit, is the thing. I actually agree with Twilight on that, Celestia would never let her go quietly. She’d guilt Twilight into staying on with the palace.” She glanced at Rarity. “And you know how Twilight is.”

“She can’t say ‘no’ to Princess Celestia,” Rarity said to Leaf.

“So she tries to get you both fired instead, and ends up being charged with treason,” Leaf Blower said. “That’s rather overshooting the mark. How did it get to be such a big catastrophe? Couldn’t she get caught stealing pens or something?”

“Ask Twilight,” Rainbow said. “Personally, I think she was stupid, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.”

“Well, if she was desperate to get out, maybe she wasn’t thinking.”

“I think you hit the nail on the head. Look.” She lowered her voice and threw a furtive look at the palace, though of all the lit windows, she could not tell which was Twilight’s. The sick fantasy ran through her, of Twilight watching them through a magical circle on the bedroom floor. “Well, if so, this is stuff Twilight should hear anyway,” she thought. “Twilight’s wanted out for a while, and you can see it in the way she acts. She doesn’t care anymore. She’s become, I don’t know, more brazen. It’s like ever since she learned how to start doing stuff without leaving her tower, she thinks she’s queen shit of turd mountain.”

“Eww.”

“She doesn’t act this way to me, but you can tell she thinks she’s above ponies. Well, maybe she is, but that doesn’t entitle her to act like it. Look at Vinyl, Twilight orders her around like a chambermaid. She’s got ponies in Hoofington and Roan, all over the place, like big government ponies, that she can just call on and boss around.”

“That magic can be a real bitch, huh,” Leaf Blower said. Rubbing her temple nervously, she added, “Maybe it’s turned Twilight into one too.”

“That’s the only explanation I can think of. She hasn’t been acting like herself, not for a long time.”

“So she gains power and insight, but hates her job,” Rarity said, “and so she decides one day to scrap the whole thing, get you both fired, and just go back to Ponyville.”

“Except it doesn’t occur to her that losing our jobs might not be the worst thing that can happen,” Rainbow said.

“Just think, this could have been averted if Twilight just stole a bunch of pens,” Leaf Blower said.

Rainbow gave a smile, haunted-looking in the dark. “Now I’m stuck in the middle, waiting for her to figure something out.”

“You said she had a plan?” Rarity asked.

“Twilight doesn’t even go to the bathroom without a plan. Ladies, I’ll be honest, I don’t have much faith in her right now. Case in point: she’s trying to get some more magic set up in the city.”

“The same magic that got you into trouble in the first place?”

“Yes! It’s like the only thing she can think of. In trouble with Princess Celestia? Better get more magic! She’s completely focused on this one thing, and it’s like, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to get us out of this mess, so I’m totally reliant on her.”

“Have you told her that?” Leaf Blower asked, shifting over to rub Rainbow’s back.

“She’ll just get mad, it won’t do anything. I don’t know if there even is a solution, if it can be solved. We might just have to wait for Celestia. We’ll have plenty of time to talk to her about it—that’s the other thing I wanted to say tonight.”

Leaf stretched her neck to sneak a kiss on Rainbow’s cheek.

“She’s taking us with her to The Hive in a couple days.”

“Both of you?”

“Queen Chrysalis wants to meet Twilight specifically. I don’t know why I’m going, I assume it’s just ‘cause I’m her assistant.”

“When are you leaving?” Rarity asked.

“The tenth. This Monday.” She rubbed her eyes with a plaintive groan. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do on an airship with Celestia all that time. Twilight has some damn project, I don’t know what, something magical. I don’t know how she expects to hide magic from the freaking princess, but there we are.”

“Maybe she wants to be caught,” Leaf Blower suggested.

“That would be so stupid. Oh, I shouldn’t say anything, maybe that is the plan. Who knows with Twilight anymore?”

“It’s so strange, because last time I was here, you both seemed fine,” Rarity said. “Did I simply not notice the changes?”

“Aw, she’s been festering for forever.”

“I assumed she was kind of a nasty pony all the time,” Leaf Blower said. “No offense.”

“She’s not nasty,” Rainbow said, covering the vehemence in her voice, for Leaf Blower had never known Twilight before. “She’s a good mare, just in over her head right now.”

“So are you, but you’re not turning,” Rarity pointed out.

“All right, hey, let’s not go there.” She glanced at Leaf Blower, who looked back innocently. Rainbow was not fooled; Leaf was incisive enough to see that there was history in what Rarity said.

“But you’re not gonna be arrested or anything?” Leaf Blower asked. “You’re not gonna get put in jail?”

“No, nothing like that. Still Elements of Harmony, after all.” She puffed out her chest, though her Element was back in the palace, hanging from a hook in her closet. “But we’ll be in the palace indefinitely. No going out unless it’s with a princess. I’m sure Twilight will try something ridiculous, maybe even before we head for The Hive. If so…” She sighed.

“Hang in there, dear,” Rarity said.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, you just gotta let me know,” Leaf Blower said, rubbing her back again.

“Ugh.” Rainbow stood up from the fountain. “We’ll see. I haven’t felt this powerless in a long time.” She shook her head at Rarity, who was about to respond. “Whatever happens, right now, I’ve said what I needed to say. Can we just enjoy the fresh air?”

From the phiale they moved back into the night, onto slick grass and among the statues and the topiary. Small talk resumed, mostly Rarity and Leaf Blower getting to know each other, their jobs and their experiences with the princesses. In Rarity’s speech, buried in her inquiries and polite laughter, was a constant point of scrutiny, the veiled concern of a protective friend, which Rainbow picked up on eventually and which she was sure Leaf Blower had noticed as well. As they turned from the garden to an inner courtyard, where the moon and stars made bird baths into icy coins suspended over fragrant earth and where the statue of a renowned scholar prevailed with a time-scarred, paternal air, talk went to Rarity’s side, and she described for Leaf Blower her own experiences in the world of fashion and business, her grievances at how infrequently she was able to practice the one for need of managing the other.

Rainbow listened to their voices, not caring about the topic, trying to take her own advice and simply enjoy the night. Bats caromed in and out under the palace’s lit eaves, too far off for her to see clearly.

“This is nice, though,” Leaf Blower said, and Rarity agreed heartily, and Rainbow felt a pang of self-consciousness. Neither would say she was disappointed that their outing had been ruined. That morning, Rainbow had canceled their reservation at an exclusive restaurant and then given their tickets to the opera to a lucky guard, but neither mare was willing to concede that the change was any inconvenience. The politesse was too much for Rainbow, who was tempted to stop them both and force the issue. “Hey, this sucks, and I’m sorry. Can you just be honest for a second and agree with me?” But they would hasten to defend her from shame, all assurances and gracious understanding. She stung with imagined condescension even as they went on without her input, Leaf Blower telling Rarity how she had come by her name and what she thought her cutie mark, a generic hourglass, meant. It was a problem the more obscurely-marked all faced, never knowing for sure what their ordained talent was. Worse still for Leaf Blower, whose inglorious distinction was being an earth pony in a place mostly populated by unicorns.

Another fountain met them at the end of a white marble peristyle, glassy water spouting from the princesses’ crossed horns and falling six vast feet into an ornamented disc where it was lit from below in ghostly cobalt blue. Columns of pallid stone and black ivy guarded the floor, their inner faces a weaker shade of blue from the fountain’s bottom, rising tall and blank to spandrels hung with sleeping flowers. Beyond, the shapes of walls and colonnettes, posts around gardens, shoulders of walkways shrugged up like bent pages over the next layer of inscrutable night. The three of them waited there in the unaccustomed light, all silent as if stricken at once by the scene: the fountain’s vigil, the clean-swept marble, the columns; all of a piece, hardly different from the phiale where their walk seemed to have begun. In the daytime, these architectural flourishes were living sites, secluded areas for sitting, for dalliances, for workers to relax and breathe of the restorative mountaintop air; for Rainbow’s group, themselves displaced and anxious, the sites seemed to belong to another palace, one long abandoned and left to molder over with the spreading gardens it once oversaw. No one to tend the land anymore, no one to clean the floors, no one to weed the spaces between stair and flagstone; and this impression in opposition to the flawless white marble, the cobalt light, the black ivy. Alone and strange, but obviously not really, obviously just a product of an overwrought imagination. What Rainbow saw, doubtless it was different from what Rarity and Leaf Blower saw, what their content expressions declared that they saw. Peace free of colorful strangeness, free of the details that gave her such anxiety, and she then seeing her folly and wondering whence it came—for it was not her way to make more of a thing than there was, so what was all this? A fountain surrounded by columns. She looked to her friend and her marefriend, said she would be back and not to follow her, and took wing into the chilly night where she could be alone with her anxiety, where she could sort herself out without fear of overbearing questions or embarrassing offers of comfort.

Those who lived and worked at the palace were used to seeing Twilight with all manner of projects and supplies floating in bulky clouds around her head as she hurried about. When she barged past a group of servants with what looked like half the kitchen’s glassware jangling over her, long cables of dried chiles trailing behind and packets of metallic powders shimmering like fish scales, no one gave it a second thought—and no one reported it to Celestia, who was certain she had not quashed her student’s drive to experiment with magic and who was clinically curious to see the depths of Twilight’s disloyalty. If she truly wanted Twilight to stop using magic, she could strip those faculties from her, and it had been a temptation at first; but the object quickly transformed to seeing what Twilight would do when opposed by her own mentor. If she refused to rise against a foreign enemy, then perhaps a domestic one would suit her better.

Twilight met Vinyl in the boardroom and set up a row of jars while Vinyl watched, her distaste not hidden.

“That I even agreed to meet you for this—”

“Shows your quality,” Twilight interrupted. “You’ll be in town for at least the next week?”

“Sure, but I’ll be too busy to run errands. I’m working on an EP and doing promo stuff with the radio stations in Lower Canterlot.”

“That works, I need you in Lower Canterlot too.”

“I don’t think you heard me.”

“It’s easy, Vinyl. Let me show you. This jar here,” she shook a small jar of gray and red shavings, “I need these placed in certain, key locations all around the city. I’ve got a bunch of them. You’ll place them, add this liquid.” She produced a smaller jar of strident, orange fluid. “And that’s all. The potions are easy, but it’s the timing that’ll be a challenge. I need these all done at very specific times in the day.”

“What are they gonna do?” Vinyl asked slowly.

“Canterlot is protected from remote viewing, but these potions, when activated, will temporarily blow a hole in those defenses, and I can slip a spell in. Once it’s in, it won’t be easy for them to kick me out, not if I have a ton of these in place by the time they discover me. By my calculations, you can place all forty-eight in—”

“Forty-eight? All over town?”

“And in Greater Canterlot too. If you start when I specify, you can get them all done in approximately twenty-six hours. I’ve already researched the local traffic patterns, and I’ll draw you a map tonight to go with your checklist.”

“All right, let’s stop there,” Vinyl said, horn alight in the same garish orange as Twilight’s magical liquid. “Twilight, I said I don’t have time.”

“It’s just twenty-six hours, that’s nothing.” Her color was rising, as it always did when Vinyl tried to back out of a project. “Do you have any idea how important this is? I’m leaving the day after tomorrow, I won’t be here for… I don’t know how long. It’s imperative that I get these placed so I can keep an eye on the city.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“Yes, Vinyl, it is! Excellent observation!”

“And I told you a long time ago I wasn’t gonna run errands for you anymore.”

“And if I remember correctly, I told you that you were done when I said so, not the other way around.” She pushed a row of jars toward Vinyl. “Please. I need you to use your head and work with me on this. If we can get my vision set up in Canterlot—”

“Just how legal is this, Twilight?”

“You won’t get caught.”

“Not what I asked.” She slid the jars back to Twilight. “Find someone else, ‘cause I’m not doing it.”

Twilight scoffed. “Yes, you are.”

“No I’m not! What do you even need this for?” She batted a jar away as Twilight shoved it at her. “You’re done with restoration! What more—why are you even here? Can’t you just go home?”

“Go home,” she hissed, slamming a jar on the table. She took a moment to master herself, glaring at Vinyl’s face, which Twilight had always thought her goggles made look clueless more than anything else. “That is not an option right now,” Twilight said with exaggerated sweetness.

“Then I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not doing this.”

“You can’t—” A pin prick of magic flashed on her horn tip, anger finding its way into the room. “A stupid, blanket refusal, Vinyl? Really?”

“Twilight, I hate doing magic chores for you.”

“And I ask so little of you…”

“Little? You have me running all over town in the middle of the night.” She glared at Twilight, knowing what Twilight would say, that if only Vinyl knew what Twilight put herself through for her magic, she would never complain, she would fairly jump at the chance to help, for Twilight’s burden was so great, and Vinyl’s so small. “Selfish” was the word Twilight liked most to use, which she had used like a charm all those times when Vinyl was on tour, calling her away from her hotel when she was trying to sleep, sending her out into the rain to carve some repetitive glyph into the base of a tree on the other side of town, ordering her out into the darkness to find a taxi already waiting, sometimes inexplicably paid for. Vinyl would always fold then, resenting herself for allowing Twilight to command her from the other side of the country; and here, from the other side of the boardroom, she could see Twilight’s lips parting on that hateful S, selfish.

“Stop it, I know what you’re gonna say,” Vinyl snapped. “You’re not gonna bully me into this one, Twilight. I quit.”

“You quit,” Twilight said, rolling her eyes. “Who do you think you are? This is the easiest thing I’ve ever asked you to do, and you’re talking like it’s—”

“I’m not breaking the law for you!”

“I wrote you a list!” Twilight flourished her parchment, threw it across the table. “I was going to have a map ready, and your stupid list, and everything, it was going to be easy!”

“Make Rainbow Dash do it.” She grabbed her things and made for the door, freezing at the sound of shattering glass. Twilight, clutching a jar in her magic, had unconsciously crushed it in a vice of telekinesis, and Vinyl watched as she realized what she had done and gently deposited the shards on the tabletop.

Looking from the broken glass to Vinyl, Twilight sneered. “No wonder your Element never took with us. You can’t even—”

“Yeah, insult me, that’ll do the trick,” Vinyl breathed, turning haughtily and flinging open the door. “Never contact me again.”

“What?”

Vinyl paused, debating whether Twilight truly had not heard her. She turned again and faced the Element of Magic, staring her down as best she could with eyes obscured, and repeated herself. “Never reach out to me again. Poisonous… nag.” This last, muttered to herself as she went into the hall and tried to remember the way out of the palace.

* * * * * *

Half a world away, Pinkie and the diplomats received a variant of the truth that called them from their hotel on the capital island, Closed Eye of the Ocean, to a rocky islet in neutral waters that they knew as Open Ear of the Ocean. There was no word on the hurricane or on Twilight’s personal contact with the queen, or even the fact that Twilight would be in attendance, but of the fact that it was to be both countries’ final attempt at negotiating peace there was unending emphasis. Pinkie was not worried, and in that respect she was alone.

Having less distance to cover than the princess, they were still packing and preparing while Celestia, Twilight, and Rainbow boarded one of her personal airships and experienced once again the steely light of cold dawn on a tarmac, blurry eyes and scratchy throats still waking up while engines thrummed and torches chuffed. No comfort there, and not on the ship itself: for all its commodities and regal decorations still just an airship, for all its sumptuous food pre-packed and the multitude of diversions available for the long empty hours still taking off at the weary hour of four in the morning.

These, the final-feeling days of nerves and nostalgia that marked Pinkie’s tenth month abroad. In the hotel where Queen Chrysalis had put them up, they were allowed anything that could be brought into and enjoyed within the building’s walls, but were not permitted to leave. For its air of the iconic tropical paradise, for the salty wind and gorgeous ocean view, for the exotic food and colorful music and beautiful clothing, the cultural oddities that could not be gleaned from their books but that filtered in from hotel patrons, The Hive was never able to unfurl into a real country for them. They were restricted to the best views, the best impressions, the most courteous service. They dined on the best food every day, prepared by stiff professionals for whom the wonder in a lustrous mango syrup over roasted red peppers and imported cheese was work and only that; for whom the coral light of sunrise over whispering ocean was nothing but an enhancement to the wide-windowed lobby restaurant’s atmosphere, no cause to gasp or wonder at the world’s beauty even amid dark times at home.

Closed Eye of the Ocean was a towering volcanic mound that could be seen from most islands in The Hive, developed and mastered until its natural beauty had been sapped and replaced with the imitation of beauty, and their hotel was nestled in the center of the pearl that was the tourist quarter, set between beaches of searing white sand and perched on the lip of a postcard-ready tropical rainforest. Only twenty miles away at the greatest, they could find the fisheries, the canneries, the tract homes, the disenfranchised and dispossessed; then the suburbs farther away, the shopping malls, the offices, the gray cement bridges over canals, the jewelry shops with nary a coconut or palm frond in their displays; then, farther still, the slopes of the volcano where they steepened to reveal that one may have climbed above half the city without realizing it; and the walls, the wires, the gates, the guard towers, and then the inner walls, the courtyards and gazebos, the belvederes overlooking that same rainforest and those same beaches that from a greater height become platinum cavettos to the ocean’s mass; and then into the volcano, the queen’s palace, nothing tropical there save the oil paintings of the outside world as it once was, sagging huts and wooden piers crusted with barnacles, racks of fish drying in the failing afternoon sun, a bleached canoe sleeping in a patch of sedge. Theirs was an illusion of perfection, worn thin and mundane with their time spent at the hotel, and which was their only impression of The Hive: hardly an impression at all, but an isolated piece of land with a foreign aesthetic and inequine visitors. But for these most basic of signs, they could have been staying anywhere in the world.

On the eleventh of October, under a sky of perfect photo blue reflected in their infinity pool, Pinkie and Sweet Impression were able to enjoy the result of having packed early. While the other diplomats scrambled and bickered, and while Celestia’s ship streaked, invisible, over the yellowed plains of northern Equestria, the two of them lounged in the top floor pool of their luxury hotel. Where palm trees terminated in dark fireworks off the pool’s sill and the deep end’s glass bottom revealed the hazy impression of an oblate grass walk turned pink and orange by the mix of sunset and wicker torches, where water licked itself up against smooth white walls, where deck chairs reclined atop their domino shadows and the day’s last vacationers folded towels, stowed water bottles, squeezed out bathing suits, and made to repair either to their rooms or to the waking city below, Pinkie floated on her back with eyes closed and Sweet Impression lay on a rock formation with her tail draped and lazily swaying before an underwater floodlight.

“What was the humidity today?” Pinkie asked suddenly.

“Only seventy.”

Pinkie giggled. “You coulda never told me I’d be so used to it.”

“I don’t know, it got to like fifty in some parts of Equestria.”

“I never saw it.”

“Ah. So you looking forward to it?”

Pinkie knew she was asking about going home, and part of her was excited, but she could not say for what. She had no friends waiting for her there, no family to speak of. She didn’t even know whether her parents on the rock farm knew what had happened to their daughters; for her part, she had not contacted them on returning home. She could not imagine that Octavia had either.

Sweet Impression patted the water with her hoof. “I know I am. I haven’t been on a long trip like this in a while. It’s nice in a way, but it’ll be nicer to get back. Maybe I’ll transfer to another department.”

“I think you should.”

Sweet Impression gave her a smile, which she did not see, for she had drifted the other way.

Life in the hotel had not been so bad for Pinkie. Yes, she had grown tired of the same couple restaurants and bars every day; and the views, no matter how stunning, had lost their charm in a few months; and they had all swam in the infinity pool, walked the flower-strewn paths, admired the wild macaws that sometimes landed on a wall or the back of a chair on the restaurant’s patio; and they had all sighed and dreamed on the balconies while waves crashed under a watercolor sky. They had tried everything on offer in the waking illusion, every elaborate cocktail, every delicious meal, every celebration that turned rooms into crypts and the conference hall into a gleaming ballroom suffused in the chittering changeling tongue. They had known temporary friends in the hotel workers, in repeat guests, in Chrysalis’ attendants. They had all of them been surprised and frightened by the emotional toll prolonged changeling company took, the sensation of one’s feelings leaving the heart and knowing where they were going: being able to look at the drone sharing the elevator, those glaucous insect eyes, and knowing that one’s trepidation or one’s elation was being taken and transmuted to the magic that fed their queer power, not maliciously or even intentionally, but simply because that was the way of changeling life. There had been fights in those months of adjustment, out-of-nowhere crying sessions, aggression and passion that would flame up for a night and be gone the next. It was natural, and as they felt themselves becoming inured, their interactions lost meaning, became as real as the totemic margarita glasses that grinned with offset wooden teeth and lolling mahogany tongues, as flat as the spiraling vines and crimson birds of paradise painted on the conference room ceiling. One loud, humid night, Pinkie and Soft Breeze stumbled away from the thumping hotel bar, drunk on rum and kombucha, up to their room where they exchanged increasingly forceful slaps to the face, first laughing at the brutal physicality made numb from too many Jungle Slam-Bams, but then weeping openly in each other’s embraces and retreating to the bed to confess old doubts, reopen old scars, relive healed tragedies, both of them snot-faced and blubbering into each other’s fur until the first morning’s light crept through the blinds and reminded them to go to sleep. Neither mentioned it after; it was understood that they all had experienced aberrations and could expect more to come, that nothing meant anything and an hour’s unburdening might come undone by its exhausted speaker dropping the whole thing in a gust of laughter. Most surprisingly, it had been Queen Chrysalis herself who sat them down and explained it in clear terms, told them that shapeshifting magic depended on the siphoning of emotions, and that this siphoning was no more hateful or aggressive than the tropical winds that swelled the tides.

It had taken three months, but Chrysalis was proven right in the end: their reactions did diminish. The last feeling to vanish was the nameless worry, ennui that at all times threatened to overtake them and call forth a torrent of the irrational behaviors they had since put to rest. No more the fear of wild and unpredictable explosions of emotion, but the fear that any one of them could at any time give in, just a little bit, and choose something horrible or untoward—for a conscious choice was much worse, it bespoke things that a random interaction, no matter how outlandish, never could.

Illusion on top of illusion, Pinkie’s world had shrunk tighter until her only recourse seemed to be to turn her back on herself, or else face the well of deep thought and personal philosophy which she had found unrewarding at a young age. With the ponies who were not really her friends, but who had by that time seen her worst and most intimate, she resigned herself to a life of meaningless function and empty rewards. Each day the same as the last, the pursuit of something interesting to divide her new life of colorful monotony, or at least to mark the days. Where the diplomats had an endless stream of problems flowing from Canterlot, Pinkie had chairs to set, glasses of water to fill, jokes to crack, a team-building exercise to conduct only once; and at all other times, while they worked or argued politics and the nuances of etiquette, she had the ocean to stare at, the pool to luxuriate in, the sun to toast her fur, the food and drink to distract her from the passage of time—but no matter how many strange combinations of activities she tried, ten months was still ten months. In those final days, in the haste and worry of packing and last-minute preparations, in the calm water bobbing up and down and watching the sky turn to deep plum as the first stars appeared and the moon made the horizon into a thin line of robin’s egg-blue, Pinkie could not muster the urgency that drove her companions and that made Sweet Impression, lounging on the rock formation and dangling her tail in front of the floodlight, resonate with ready excitement.

As she could feel their dread, she too could feel it wash over her, and thoughts of return with it. Her time in The Hive had become empty, completely wasted, and in the depth of her wilting spirit, she recognized that she did not, but should, feel shame—unless she should not, unless it didn’t matter. After all, she had nowhere else to be.

Pinkie Comes Through

Chapter One hundred twenty-two

Pinkie Comes Through

Cork was already at Colgate’s apartment when Octavia and Vinyl showed up, one gift and card between them, which they deposited next to the other on Colgate’s kitchen counter beside a knife and halved bell pepper. Colgate herself was in the bedroom with a box of wine, unopened but ready beside an empty cup, and curlers in her mane, where she lay on the floor with head propped up on a stack of pillows.

Vinyl stayed in the entryway with Cork, but Octavia went back and nudged Colgate until she opened her eyes.

“Happy birthday, Minuette.”

“Octy.” Colgate grinned and pushed herself up with a groan. “Is that Vinyl in the other room?”

“We came together.”

By way of response, Colgate opened the wine and filled her plastic cup. “Want any?”

Octavia shook her head, and the two went into the kitchen, where Vinyl was playfully shaking Cork’s present and asking what it was, open flask floating next to her lips for easy access.

“Wanna straw? What is that?” Colgate grabbed the flask and sampled it.

“Cheap whiskey. Ten bits for the bottle, Cole.”

“Remember what you told me,” Octavia said.

“I know, I know.”

“You,” Colgate said, setting the flask down on the counter. “I’m keeping my eye on this. This is a good one.” As if noticing them for the first time, she looked at her presents. “Hey. Look at that.”

“Are we the only ones coming?” Cork asked.

“It’s a small affair, yeah.”

“Cole, I hate to say it, but this place doesn’t really scream ‘party’ to me, you know? No decorations, for starters.”

“No cake, either, I am noticing,” Octavia said.

“I’ve got ice cream in the freezer,” Colgate said, opening it and rummaging through. “Ah, well, ice lollies. You ladies like coconut cream?”

“I’ll take one,” Vinyl said.

“What did you have in mind for today?” Octavia asked. She had been initially hesitant when Colgate invited them to a birthday party, half expecting a debauched blowout with too many strangers and half expecting a shoddy attempt at something more conventional, and in a way, she was relieved that it was much less than either.

Colgate shut the freezer and squeezed between them to get out into the living room, where she paused for a second before relaxing. “I dunno. Thought we’d pal around, go nuts, whatever.”

“Got any music?” Cork asked. “We can… dance, I guess.”

“Let’s get her damn cake,” Vinyl tried, horn flashing for emphasis. “There any groceries nearby?”

Octavia said nothing, but held the door for them as they filed out, Cork trying to inject excitement with a hollow chant, “road trip!” until they made it to the street.

They were in the same neighborhood where April Showers had spent her brief tenure as an agent; it was where the Datura had seen fit to place Colgate after significant testing and review from her peers. Her past being so checkered and an apartment being no financial burden to take lightly, it had taken more scrutiny and deliberation than usual. Ultimately, though, Colgate was not much use shut away in the palace, and that factor was large enough to decide it.

Colgate took off at a trot down the sidewalk, ignoring a taxi carriage whizzing past, and Vinyl hastened to catch up with her.

“Where to, hoss?”

“Groceries on the other side of that… you see it, there.” She gestured at a neighboring set of apartments and Vinyl nodded loosely. Colgate had left her wine at the apartment, but Vinyl let her pull from the flask, and by the time they were across the complex, the parking lot behind it, the street, and the next block, they had emptied the flask and entered the store in a cloud of noisy banter. It was three in the afternoon.

From the bakery section, they were able to snatch the last cheesecake of its kind, quartered for their convenience with a plain piece, one with a heavy caramel drizzle, one covered in chocolate chips, and the final shining with congealed raspberry sauce. Colgate wandered off to find a gallon of milk, and Vinyl met them at the checkout counter last and lugging a twenty-four pack of cheap beer.

“Who is paying for this?” Octavia asked as Vinyl shoved her beer up next to their two other items.

“Vinyl’s booze,” Colgate said. “Plus she’s rich.” She had meant to say it in a stage whisper, but it came out at full volume.

“I don’t carry my wealth on me, dummy,” Vinyl said. “Lemme see, I’ve got… Ah, ten bits.”

“I have nothing,” Octavia said, shuffling to the back of their group.

“Hold on,” Colgate said. The cashier was sliding her milk across the counter, and Colgate felt the familiar prick of sweat under her horn as she struggled with the clasps on her nearly empty saddlebag. She had drank too much on the walk over, the clasps only jangling and faltering under her hoof. Cork said something, missed to Colgate’s buzzing ears, and she stood to lean against the other counter for balance, trying to employ both hooves on the stubborn saddlebag clasps.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” someone hollered as her vision whirled up and she met the floor. The overhead lights had turned the tile to an expanse of shining, indistinct, colorless surface, and for a merciful few seconds, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the coolness on her cheek.

“C’mon, good buddy, let’s be more careful, yeah?” Vinyl said cheerily, dragging her up while Cork apologized to the cashier. Colgate, steadying herself, looked back at Octavia first and then to the exit. “Now you’ve done it, dummy, they’re never gonna let you back here. You’ve blown it, and Octy too, you’ve embarrassed her. Oh, Celestia, and Cork too, now she’ll never show up in…” Her line of thought, tattered from the whiskey and the tonic of too much stimulation, stopped on that point, and she put her eyes on Cork, who had stepped up with enough money for their meager purchase.

“You all right, Cole?” Cork asked when the transaction was done. The clerk bagged their groceries and bid them a frosty good day, and they hustled out into the sun, where Colgate scurried to the shopping carts and sat against the wall.

“Are you hurt?” Octavia asked, and Colgate edged away from her, then edged back, fearing that her initial response would insult her friend.

“She just took a little whoopsie, all’s good here,” Vinyl said, helping her up again. “C’mon, the apartment awaits!”

Octavia and Cork shared a moment of eye contact, and one of them whispered something to the other as Colgate and Vinyl took the lead again and moved across the parking lot. If she didn’t look to either side, Colgate could put her friends out of her mind and pretend she was walking alone, just a routine trip to the store. Her mind spun with thoughts and fragments of suspicion, but the first one to land and reach her unprepared lips was “shoulda bought some cough syrup while I had the chance.”

“Say again?” Vinyl asked.

“Or some cough drops maybe.”

“Are you not feeling good?”

Colgate hesitated. In her mind, the meaning was clear enough: she would crush up the cough drops, melt them into a syrup, and drink it when it was cool enough. Realizing she was taking too long to respond, she faltered out a rapid “fine, just fine and dandy, fine and dandy like sour candy.”

“Uh-huh.”

She was calmer when they got back to her apartment, and once inside, she went straight to the wine, the inexpensive, room-temperature tonic for raw nerves.

Octavia, just behind and knowing exactly what Colgate would do first, put a gentle hoof on her back. “Maybe we should take it easy for a little while.”

“Uh.” She looked at the stained cup, then at Octavia. “Great. Yes. Let’s do what you suggested.” She went to the living room, where Cork was working her way through the TV channels and Vinyl stood at the window with her tail switching.

“The cake is in the refrigerator with the milk,” Octavia said, and Colgate flopped onto the couch next to Cork. “Vinyl, your beer is still on the counter; there was not room.”

Vinyl trotted out to the kitchen and came out with an open bottle floating on her lips.

“Bingo, yes!” Cork cried. “Anypony here watch Pumpkin Commanders? They get all these expert pumpkin carvers and run ‘em through a gauntlet of pumpkin-related challenges.”

“Mm! Mm!” Vinyl trotted over and sat down between them, pointing at the TV. “Everyone always does crap during the trivia rounds.”

“Oooh, this. I was in the audience once,” Colgate lied. “Back when I lived in Manehattan.”

“I didn’t know they filmed this there.”

“Sure do.” She didn’t know.

The party, such as it was, reached a lull, and everyone was able to relax in front of the TV. Vinyl was never without a beer, and Colgate eventually went back to her wine with a guilty look at Octavia, who did not return any subsequent worried glances; she and Cork, meanwhile, abstained, despite Vinyl’s numerous offers otherwise. Then they broke out the cheesecake and each took a quarter. Colgate didn’t have any candles, so they pretended, and Cork jumped up to turn off the lights for a moment to simulate the candles being blown out: a lame move that garnered immense laughter from Colgate and Vinyl anyway, and then Octavia, who could not help but laugh at their unfitting mirth.

When Pumpkin Commanders was over, Cork flipped to an all-music station, and Colgate and Vinyl got up to dance on the carpet. Wine sloshed out of Colgate’s cup every time she dipped to the floor, and Vinyl would laugh and slap at her flanks every time. It was six-thirty when Colgate went back to the kitchen for her presents, which she opened with the pepper knife. The first, from Cork, Colgate did not exaggerate her response for. Colgate raced out to the living room with the thick quilt wrapped around her and trailing behind, knocking empty bottles over as she twirled and eventually fell down, swaddled in downy squares of yellow ducks and pale green lily pads, laughing and smelling the clean fabric. “It’s perfect!” she finally yelled, rolling over and knocking into the coffee table.

“A blanket?” Octavia asked, incredulous.

“I had no idea,” Cork said, laughing with relief. “I barely know this pony.”

“It is for children.”

“She loves it,” Vinyl slurred.

“I was shopping for my little cousin and figured ‘hey, screw it. Two birds with one stone’,” Cork said.

When Colgate settled down, it was not for long, for Vinyl and Octavia’s gift excited her even more. Sixty bits between them had purchased a medium-quality camera, which Colgate took up with a shriek and clutched while racing around the apartment, pointing it at various things that caught her interest.

“You gotta set it up first, dummy,” Vinyl laughed. “Look at you, the lens cap’s still on.”

“You two are the best!” Colgate cried, hugging Vinyl tight and Octavia tighter. “The best, you hear me?”

“I am glad you like it,” Octavia said, and they went back to the living room to set up the camera. Octavia did not know anything about them, and Colgate was too drunk to be of any use, and after thirty minutes of distracted struggling, Cork did it for them. She and Octavia stuck around long enough for Colgate to use up half the roll of film, and then, with shadows merging into full sundown, made their excuses and took their leave. Vinyl told Octavia at the door that she would be careful.

“You are a grown mare, you do not have to answer to me,” she replied, a look in her eyes that said she knew Vinyl would not be careful at all.

They walked them outside, and as their cab was pulling up, Colgate raced back inside, well into her first beer when Vinyl got back. They clinked their bottles and snapped a few more pictures of nothing special, and Colgate sagged onto the couch.

“So whattaya wanna do?” Vinyl asked.

“Night’s young. Hey, wait, you don’t have money.”

“We can run down to the bank if we need to. Why, you wanna go out?”

“Maybe.” She looked into her bottle’s deep green neck. “Maybe not. This town is weird, Vinyl.”

“Tell me about it.”

Vinyl sat next to her, and Colgate’s head swam with memories of her time in the suburbs with Powder Rouge. The orange haze of balmy afternoons and sweating nights, the music, the oily shine of sunset on residential pavement, the pools and fountains, the laughing faces, wrestling matches on a front lawn and a car slowing as it passed, and the blacked-out nights on the floor or in Rouge’s bed… the morning showers with an eye-opener of lemon vodka, dry cereal for breakfast, dragging the shears out of the shed and forgetting them on the stoop, slumping in the back of a friend’s car on the way to the mall and sharing a tiny bottle of something that burned going down.

Colgate looked at Vinyl blankly, and Vinyl looked back with her bottle hanging dumbly from her teeth. “Aw, hell,” Colgate groaned. It wasn’t the same, no matter how close it may come. Vinyl was not Powder Rouge, even if the two would have gotten along famously; her apartment was not their house in the suburbs, no matter how yellow the dying sun turned the carpet; and her own personality was not the same as it was back then, even if she yearned for it, even if nostalgia ached in her heart and made her want to jump up and smash something just to prove that she still had it in her.

“Looks like somepony’s running a little low,” Vinyl crooned, wiggling a fresh bottle in front of Colgate’s face.

“Gimme that.” She finished her one and took the new, not tasting it, and stood up. She looked around the apartment for something to spark her imagination, to divert her, but there was nothing. There were coasters, glasses, empty bottles, her new camera, and all of these she could throw through a window or through the TV’s face, but she saw no point to it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, let’s do. Let’s go out. I don’t wanna be here right now.”

“Hey-o!” Vinyl jumped up and grabbed her bags, and the two finished their beers before running out into the early evening and grabbing a taxi to the bank, where Vinyl withdrew four hundred bits and heaped them into a designer saddlebag on top of a glasses cleaning kit and a tube of lip balm. Then another taxi ride, Colgate giving directions almost soberly, sending them toward the mountain’s base and into one of the commercial districts. It was not the same area she knew from her suburban days, but it was familiar enough: the movie theaters, the mall, the grocery stores, the fast food joints, everything she knew and missed was there, just rearranged. None of it was the object of their outing, though; it only formed the atmosphere Colgate loved, the gentrified noise and anonymity, the part of town no one thought about, where one could be herself or someone else with impunity. Self-aware enough to have a partial idea of how they would conclude their night, and all the more excited for it, Colgate walked confidently up to the bar and held the door for Vinyl, who bowed and thanked her grandly.

She felt immediately better seated and wobbling at the bar, where pink and orange neon lights blazed above them like coils in an oven and marked bent reflections on every bottle and glass in sight. The black floor clicked with the movement of a bartender passing behind, her latex outfit like a frame of glowing wires when she went behind the bar and leaned in to get their orders, and Colgate and Vinyl both watched with varying degrees of attention as she fixed their drinks, bending and stretching for bottles, smiling with pristine white teeth as she balanced against the bar to shake their cocktails, moving her head with the barest fuzz of a cropped mane to momentarily catch a shock of pink light and show them her batting eyelashes. Dropping a cherry into Vinyl’s glass, she gave a wink and asked whether they wanted to open a tab, which, of course, they did.

“This is the life, Cole buddy,” Vinyl said in a toast.

“Friends forever!” Colgate exclaimed, not thinking of Vinyl, but of Rouge, who had said something similar a long time ago. She sighed, content for the moment. “So how ya been?”

“Been better, honestly,” Vinyl said. They had to speak with their horns almost touching, for the bar’s music had not yet been turned up for the night crowd, but was still enough to overpower Vinyl’s voice. Once it was louder inside, there would be no chance.

“Do tell.”

“It’s that Twilight, mostly. I met her at the palace on Saturday.”

“Right before she left.”

“You know about that?”

“I do. Didn’t know you did.”

“Dash told me afterwards. They’re flying up to The Hive, right now, them and the princess. Good riddance—aw, I love this song.” She broke off for a moment to nod her head with the music and nurse her drink, and Colgate watched the bartender chatting with a group of younger customers.

“That bitch!” Vinyl returned.

“Huh?”

“Twilight. Anyway—right, her. Twilight tried to get me to do more crap for her on Saturday, but I told her no, screw it, no, I’m not gonna do it anymore. Cole, she was maaaaad.”

“I can’t believe she’s still bugging you to do stuff for her. Or that she’s even still in Canterlot, for that matter.”

“She had this damn plan about… oh, potions and magic and, something with her divination, I don’t know, I didn’t take notes. She can talk forever if you don’t stop her, I dunno how Rainbow Dash hasn’t cut her own ears off by now. My Celestia, Twilight is such a… such a…” She lapsed into silence and consulted her drink, and Colgate turned her eyes once more to the bartender, who had mounted a ladder in order to reach a tall, slender bottle of something that shimmered when it moved.

“So I broke it off with her, that’s what I did.”

“You and Twilight broke up?” Colgate asked.

“We—huh? Broke up? What are you—we’re not dating. We weren’t—I’m not—I told her to fuck off, Colgate. Fuck off and thank you very much, and to never talk to me again.”

“Ooooooooh.” Her eyes wandered for the bartender, and not seeing her, snapped back to Vinyl’s goggles.

“I gotta be honest, though, it’s kinda messing with me.”

“Mmm.”

“She used to be so nice, you know? Uh, maybe you don’t, you came later. But anyway, she used to be nice, like she was pleasant to be around and didn’t, didn’t push me around or call me names. Now she’s all bitter and nasty.”

“She’s always been good to me,” Colgate said, studying the menu, trying to sound attentive. She could tell that Vinyl was unhappy, but she felt pulled in two other directions, the feverish nostalgia that was ebbing back with greater strength than before and the need to leer at their bartender.

“Guess I’m the lucky one. She’s never really liked me, though. I dunno, Cole, I wanted to be friends, but it’s like there was always something in the way of that.”

“I’m not saying she isn’t a bitch sometimes,” Colgate started, but didn’t know how to complete her thought. Vinyl seemed to understand, and the two finished their drinks and requested the next. For the entire time their bartender was making hers, Colgate had nothing to say, and when she flashed another smile, Colgate’s heart leapt and doubled over.

“I say, screw it,” Vinyl continued. “You know what? I had a good run, but it’s dead, dead and gone, Cole. I’ll still hang out with the others if they’ll have me, if Twilight doesn’t poison ‘em against me.” She rested her head on the bar and jerked back up when Colgate poked her. The bartender was giving her a look, and Colgate didn’t want them to be kicked out.

“Why didn’t she like you?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever find out. We didn’t get along, that’s what I know for sure. Hey, I’m free, though! I keep tellin’ myself I don’t have to be with this pony if I don’t want to—and I don’t want to—I so do not, Cole.” She shook her head and lifted the straws from her drink, and Colgate did the same with hers, not knowing what else to do, feeling tensely electric, ready to run and equally ready to move to a quiet table and drink herself into oblivion out of sight. Vinyl kept on about Twilight, the invectives spilling with increasing bitterness and emphasis, never able to express how angry she was, how disillusioned she was over the Elements in general. They had seemed ideals to her, as with so many others who moved in and out of their lives, and the shock of discovering that they were not had been so painfully not anticipated, not even dreamt of, that first seeing the truth had felt like the punchline of a cruel joke set up years before. Rarity could be petty, and Fluttershy could hold a grudge, and Applejack could omit a key detail, and those who came before her, Octavia and Big Mac, were already used to it; they had no moment of empathic surprise with Vinyl, they could offer only the coldest of comforts, that what Vinyl saw was real and nothing out of the ordinary.

“And what should I’ve… I should’ve… What should I, I mean…” She slouched on the bar and picked herself up, finished her drink and slumped off to find the bathroom. Colgate took up Vinyl’s empty glass and put a melting ice cube in her mouth, the suggestion of its cocktail’s flavor mixing badly with her own. At the bar’s entrance, the first of the night crowd was appearing, college students laughing and fighting to be heard over one another in varsity jackets, turtleneck sweaters, and two in nothing but a breezy pair of shorts and loose shirts to prove that they were comfortable in the cold.

Vinyl got back and flagged down their bartender for their next round while Colgate was trying to notice details from the student seated next to her, a quiet mare in a fleece sweater and whose backpack revealed disappointingly little.

“Wanna get a table?” Vinyl asked in Colgate’s ear, and she nodded without looking back. They retreated to a corner booth where they could see the street and a wedge of mountain, a freeway winding upwards awash with headlights and, in their own lanes, the swinging orange light thrown off by the lanterns that swung from carriages. The ponies who had to drag carriages up and down the mountain all day, the unsung heroes of the road, the ponies whom it was customary to tip a little extra because of the sheer exhaustive distance and incline, they crawled upwards in their own ragged line barely in view from the bar. Colgate remembered her time on the freeway, passing out beside a frontage road with a head full of painkillers. Strange times, wanton and attractive from the comfort of her padded seat and controlled temperature, and the sound of Vinyl continuing on about the Elements across the table.

“Shoulda expected… I don’t know what, really, but that Twilight, she sure ain’t a friend,” Vinyl went on. How the Element of Magic was nothing related to friendship, how one could be the best magician in the world and also be evil, and how those two qualifiers so frequently went together—then, stopping herself, getting back on track, how Twilight was under no real obligation to be a nice pony, but how Vinyl had expected it anyway because she was the unofficial leader, the one who wore a tiara instead of a necklace, and how that should confer onto her the duty of embodying friendship most perfectly.

And maybe, at another time or under another set of circumstances, it was true, but Twilight and her crew had lost themselves somewhere in the south. It was no great insight to Colgate, who had heard Applejack point it out so often that it became part of the background of airship chatter, but Vinyl stuck to that point until their next drinks arrived, a double shot of bourbon for her and the light and fruity Stellar Maiden for Colgate.

As the bourbon drained in frequent, rapid sips, Vinyl wondered aloud whether she had made a mistake after all, whether she should not have helped Twilight with her latest plan. She had turned her back at what Twilight said was a crucial time, and doubt ate at her, so she asserted.

“I think Twilight’s in her own world,” Colgate finally said, anything to get Vinyl to shut up. The lights inching up the freeway were thickening and a cool breeze was moving the trees and hanging signs, drawing her attention outside. The bar was stuffy, loud, full of jostling bodies, too many voices and too many smells, music getting louder and the air getting warmer, and her drink getting thinner and the bartender reduced to a blur of reflected light and the smile that flashed still, in and out, like a turning lighthouse beam through the surging mob.

“Sunken into sin,” Vinyl said, her voice quiet and respectful of the profound phrase she thought she had uttered. She tipped back the rest of her bourbon then, and before she had the chance to order something else, Colgate suggested they move on. It was only eight o’ clock, she said, and the neighborhood was full of places that would be perfect for them—a hopeful guess, said to get them out of the booth and Colgate not concerned beyond that point.

Outside was not much better, though. The chilly wind did nothing to evoke Colgate’s treasured summer midafternoons; it prickled through the fur on her face, sent litter scuttling across the walkway, flapped scarves and hoods on the ponies they passed, aimless. Her eyes were squinted against it as she searched for that unknowable impulse, the right hook to grab her and reel her into fantasy.

Vinyl’s exclamation was lost in the wind, but her horn popped neon purple and she tugged Colgate’s tail, pointing at a glowing sign not far off, what looked like a bar from where they walked. Part of her, as she followed Vinyl’s wobbly trot, wanted to turn and race down a side street, force herself to swim in the city’s deep end with no money and no idea how to get home, see what sort of adventure that would turn into; but her nerve failed too many times, and she stepped into another hustling bar with greyhound racing on the TVs and bowls of hard candy spaced out on the counter. Not many customers in sight, but a party thudded on the floor above theirs and they sat at the bar’s corner. Two imperial stouts for Colgate, more shots for Vinyl, some money won in a race and lost in the next one, a quick conversation with the bartender for recommendations on where to go next. They stepped back into the wind and the additional purr of distant thunder and stumbled west, four blocks and an overpass leaving them tired and, in Colgate’s case, nauseous by the time they reached the next one.

The conversation was dead, and Vinyl figured that out somewhere on their walk, realizing that she was too drunk to string a sentence together and that she would not be heard anyway. Her communication came in gestures and brief clouds of color off her horn, which was enough. Their third destination was a club they could hear from the overpass, and where they were both stopped at the door and told to drink a bottle of water before they could go in. Colgate was nothing remarkable to look at, and when she wasn’t wearing her Element, usually blended into any crowd, but most ponies in line at least glanced at Vinyl, who did not look so successful leaning against the brick wall, water bottle scrunched in her frail magic, goggles lifted up to show her eerie red eyes which, under her yolk-yellow mane, gave her an unseemly aspect that was not helped by her slack jaw, heavy breathing, and tail hanging limp and lifeless onto the water meter.

Even so, after their water, they were allowed in, where Vinyl paid for hoof stamps and Colgate froze at the crowd’s edge. Vinyl just gave her a lopsided smile and pushed through, and two shots later, they were dancing in the middle of a dark floor with ponies who the spotlights only showed flashes of, fast and brutish, mouths wide open in shouts of laughter or to hail a friend, wild manes flying, collars and jacket strings whipping up and back, pegasus wings swaying like branches overhead. She barely heard the music, and for a minute, she closed her eyes and trusted her hooves to keep her moving, bumping into other dancers indiscriminately, not caring to look when a hoof found its way to caress her mane—and through it all, still, it was not right. Claustrophobic nights of sweat and loud music were not hers to enjoy. She danced and pushed her way to the bar, got a shot, spotted Vinyl, and dove back into the crowd to wrestle her friend away.

“Gonna kill me,” she thought, imagining Vinyl’s indignation at being taken from the club. She wanted to keep dancing just to avoid an argument, and turned for five minutes into a gyrating pocket of earth ponies for just that reason before, concluding her tenure in their circle with a kiss for the stallion who had not taken his eyes off her the whole time, she resumed her path to find Vinyl, who was, as usual, not hard to spot for her light tricks. The light moved with her, toward the floor’s edge, and Colgate knew then that she had lost her friend. Vinyl had already inferred what Colgate wanted to do, and chose to preemptively hide deeper in the dance; if Colgate wanted to leave on her own, so be it, but she would not take Vinyl out with her. She fancied she could hear the wind howling outside, and so turned to shove her way back and make for the door, catching a flash of pale fur racing for the bathrooms as she did so. She doubled back in time to see Vinyl’s shadow flit under the closing door.

Not thinking, Colgate followed her, barging into the slick tile room and freezing, the emptiness and quiet too much after the living club. Her eyes burned and shriveled, her nose puckered at the antiseptic smell that lay like a too-thin fog over the smell of a day’s waste sucked away, and her ears stood on end at the sound coming from Vinyl’s stall. The other occupant gave her a numb, happy look and patted her on the back before leaving, and Colgate was alone then, alone with the coughing, the flooding sound of vomit, and the clogged snorts and barely audible invocations. The toilet flushed and Vinyl was sobbing, baby-bird sniffles and sharp little breaths, and she was throwing up again before the toilet had gurgled the last of its water back into the bowl. The stall door was ajar, and Colgate crept in, latching it behind, and knelt beside Vinyl. She had nothing to say, was too out of her mind to even comprehend what was happening, so she just watched, watery sick swirling brown and orange against the porcelain sides, the unicorn spitting and honking snot into wads of toilet paper, most of them landing in the water but one rolling off and coming to rest on the sticky tile next to an unopened plastic packet. Vinyl struggled to remove her goggles, eventually giving up and ripping them violently, dropping them onto the floor, straps snarled around a swatch of yellow mane. She closed her eyes and struggled to breathe evenly.

“Everything okay in here?” a voice asked outside.

“All good, chief. Save the next dance for me, hey?” Colgate called.

Vinyl’s ear moved, and Colgate noticed; so she did not have to announce herself, Vinyl was present enough to know her friend was by her side. Colgate did not know whether she was welcome.

After some minutes, Vinyl slumped away from the toilet and lay on the floor, chest heaving, head lolling, too drunk to feel the eye pain that would leave her incapacitated with a migraine the following day.

“Maybe you wanna go home?” Colgate offered.

“I just need a minute,” Vinyl managed. She sighed and shuddered, wiped her mouth, blew her nose on more toilet paper, replaced her goggles, and pushed herself to the sink to wash her face. Colgate hovered behind, watching the mare transform back into her friend, and when Vinyl had gone back to the stall to retrieve her goggles, she was wearing a self-conscious smile.

“Home?”

“I feel great, Cole.”

“Are you…” She was afraid to ask.

“If you wanna go somewhere else, actually, I think I could handle that.”

Trying not to sound relieved, lest she reveal her original desire, Colgate nodded and guided her out of the club.

“Hooooo-wee,” Vinyl moaned, making for the sidewalk at an unsteady trot. “Some night, Cole. This is great.”

“You were sad.”

“It’s that… it’s that…” She hailed a carriage and they got in, Vinyl naming their next destination somewhere in Greater Canterlot. As soon as they got to the freeway, Colgate’s heart jumped, for they were about to join the strand of lantern-lights she had seen earlier; it seemed to her that whatever she was looking for, they had found the right path for it. Even in cold darkness, the freeway felt more like home to her, the gentle curve of the on-ramp under yellow lights and the pounding machines thick in the lanes beside them. Huge, scraggly bushes choked the selvedge before disappearing behind a thick, tan wall, and then they were rising, sloping up onto the mountain and leaving the deafening city behind.

There was a short-wave radio in the rattling carriage, and a song of Vinyl’s came on. Vinyl smiled and pointed it out to Colgate, who did not take her eyes off the window, the floral rings of light through water spots.

“That Twilight, she gets to me,” Vinyl murmured. “I’m just so glad I’m out of there, that’s all. And I mean, suppose for a minute I didn’t, like I did in fact get my Element to work with yours’s. Oooh, then I’d be stuck, good and trapped with the almighty bitch. Can’t say no to her, she’s got my number, we have to stay together. Cole, I think I really dodged something here.”

They trundled uphill, Vinyl eventually falling asleep, and Colgate too though she did not think she had when the driver woke them. She slid out of sleep as softly as she had given herself over, rising with a jangling of muscles that pulled her to Vinyl’s side and left her flopping half out of the carriage door, face to concrete and back hooves tumbling over while her sweater grit underneath, and then lying on her back and facing the clouds, undersides slushy gray and white from the city lights reflected upwards. Vinyl came around the front and checked her saddlebags, singing to herself, and helped Colgate up with a laugh and a hug, turned her around, dusted her back and sides.

“Hark! To the next bar!” she cried gregariously, leading Colgate at a sprightly trot toward a slamming ragtime ruckus on the street corner, clapboard sign streaked and unreadable in feathered lantern light, ten-gallon hats coming and going next to ponies in semi-formal day wear, smoke belching out from behind and carrying huge, masculine voices with it, the smell of roasted vegetables, corn bread, vinegar, mustard, peppers, beer, sweat, dust, and the brittle touch of coming rain. Warm light and a crowd roaring around the pool table as someone sunk a difficult shot, shuffling to the wood-grain bar, forelegs leaned into soft-varnished creases and two frosted glasses filled from the tap, crisp amber cider and tiny bubbles rising behind the chipped image of an orange cowpony jumping through her own lasso over top the bold black text, THE JUNCTION, and below, smaller, 50 CIDERS ON TAP.

“Cheers,” Colgate said, unheard, and drank. Vinyl turned from signing an autograph and looked at her, smiled, tapped her glass, looked at it without drinking.

Closer, but still not quite. The atmosphere felt more familiar, the thumping hooves on wood floor, peanut shells trampled to sawdust, live music raging and bombastic, rope on the walls curling around road signs in fat bights; but also unfamiliar, the bola ties and mid-price watches, boots of imitation rattlesnake skin next to sneakers, sweaters and jackets and vests too, unshaven mustaches, mares and stallions who looked like they had just gotten off work, two worlds stuck together under the red face of the beaten metal apple over the door. She wanted heat and discomfort, and Vinyl had led her to a tacky watering hole—not the tackiness of Lower Canterlot, where she could steal someone’s drink and dash into the night with a hoot of triumph, but the flimsy, unthinking tackiness where staff had to adopt western affectations and every menu item had its own pun. She looked at the clock, eleven-ten: time enough for mischief still, if she could only find it.

Vinyl got her attention, leaning in to talk, and Colgate listened without hearing, something about her upcoming music project, Twilight’s name slipping in once or twice like a new curse she was trying on her tongue. Colgate paid her no attention, was past the point of wanting to. For her, the time of hanging out with friends was over. She had had her fun, even a pale version of the weirdness she yearned for in the club bathroom, but the night marched on and she had a whole city ready for her. The traffic, the rolling notes of thunder and standing bass, honking trombone, the singer with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down a coarse-furred, brown chest: nightlife swelling around her, aggressive and sensual, and there at her side, Vinyl still talking about a particular four-note phrase that she just couldn’t get quite right.

She could fall back into her afternoon mindset for short stretches, called to speak animatedly with Vinyl when something hit her right, or chatting with the bartender, or hopping up to shake and shuffle in front of the stage with a rugged stallion who caught her eye, but she was mostly restless, waiting for Vinyl to say something conclusive, for the invisible tension to break. By twelve-thirty, they were outside in the chilly wind that was all that remained, waiting for a cab to take Vinyl home, she who had dozed off at the counter and been asked to leave. She took a pouch of bits for the fare and left the rest with Colgate, nodding and grinning, patting her on the shoulder, then becoming one with the dwindling traffic.

Colgate went back into the cowpony bar and walked among its tables and booths, looking for something to complete her night, finding it in a close group of older mares, shrieking and laughing at their table with such volume that she recognized their sort instantly. Unremarkable day jobs, exes or affairs, kids, debt from college on top of house payments, drinking in the afternoon, yelling at cashiers: pathetic lives under a pleasant surface stretched thin. Pulling up a chair to join them, Colgate felt a flash of kinship as she introduced herself—“Cobalt Cutie, good to meetcha, sorry, I just saw you were having a good time and wanted to see if I could raise one with ya.” They were all as drunk as she, and when she bought the next round, their dispositions flipped and she was one of them.

She talked without thinking, inventing a job for herself, giving herself a rocky divorce to complain about, soaking up the attention and pushing down rising gorge of loathing toward the mare who kept interrupting her to talk about herself. They were all friendly, loud, irreverent, and brash, touching one another freely and talking over one another about the details of their marriages, their sex lives, their children, their families, full volume and all confidence, better life a-comin’ but not quite yet, and Colgate fit right in. She hated the correct daily inconveniences, blamed her imaginary workplace for her problems, felt nostalgic about her younger days, joked or laughed at every word that might be construed with gravity. The mare who kept interrupting fell quiet at mention of someone’s rough upbringing, and Colgate noticed her, fumbling with her napkin, looking behind herself, smiling and engaging only when called on; she had lost her looseness, so Colgate got her attention and moved around to sit next to her, hoping to uncover something filthy and desperate.

Last call came at one-thirty, and the group concluded their night with shots of whiskey all around before effusing into the dark morning, Colgate with the mare to her car, which she drove a harrowing three blocks to her apartment in the city’s high-rise heart. Of the trip, Colgate would later only recall them speeding toward a pile of gravel blocking the side of a residential street, herself crying out the mare’s name and the mare brusquely saying she saw it before swerving. Exiting the car, Colgate walked outside of herself at long last, spirit scorched from its body through a cocktail of disgust, desire, fear, and way too much alcohol. She followed the mare, the world spinning so fast she could see none of it, hocking snot onto the pavement, singing into the wind, tripping over the curb and cursing the goddesses for it.

At the door, with blood damp on her nose, Colgate backed into the corner for the mare to bring her aged face in, pickled breath fuming and tongue sliding around unsubtly. They made it to the bed, teeth knocking together and clothes coming off disjointedly, and of this too, Colgate would recall little. City light through the window revealed to her only flashes of her partner: her salt-and-pepper mane that was too long and got in the way every time one of them tried to move, her tacky skin where the fur was thin, a bloated stomach, unfocused green eyes that declaimed no feeling in response to anything Colgate did, which was just as well for Colgate was too far gone to do much but writhe her legs with her partner’s and suck impotently on dun nipples before falling into churning sleep.

Colgate snapped awake at three in the afternoon, alone, the electric sensation that woke her slowly fading and localizing into the foreleg she had slept on. In a dream, she had been standing at a sink, washing dishes, ducking her head in to gulp from the running tap. Her mouth felt like glue, her head pulsed thickly, and when she tried to leave bed, she fell to the floor and crawled to the window, still drunk.

Wednesday afternoon traffic hummed outside, and, balanced poorly at the window, she finally felt that she had found it. The glaring sun off faceless apartment walls, the city drone, and she so far removed from herself that when she fell over again, it was all she could do to savor the carpet scratching her nose, the dry crunch of fibers under her ear, cold coming in from somewhere but her body too numb to know it. She woke up again fifteen minutes later, eyes opening to land on a dark shape under the bed. She knew what it was before she had grabbed it, and with the bottle leaning on the carpet, she checked the night table for more secrets. A smaller bottle of hundred-proof cherry schnapps, which she dropped into her saddlebag and buried with the bits that remained, still around two hundred by her reckoning. She opened the larger bottle and sniffed it, then, ignoring protest from all the way down, her shriveled mouth and convulsing throat, drank it into a cotton-dry stomach that sprang like a knot of wire suddenly released, wide open, loose and empty as she raced to the bathroom and hunched over the toilet, alcohol burning worse on the way up and sizzling against the black ring of crust on the toilet’s waterline.

Her head dipped, a strand of mane lankly falling into the mess, and she caught her breath, coughed, tried to discharge through sinuses that bled after a few snorts. She thought for a second of Vinyl kneeling before the porcelain throne just the night before, and how unprepared she had felt taking care of the sick mare. One thought led to another, Vinyl to the club, the club to the line of trees outside, and on into the usual haze of self-pity and paranoia. She had embarrassed her friends, she had said something she shouldn’t have, the invisible eye of the Datura had watched and judged her for her behavior, every second a new worry until she pushed herself up and, sitting against the bathtub, lifted the bottle to her lips again. Much better; she pounded her head, grit her teeth, sucked air through her clogged nose and out through her mouth, and kept the cinnamon whiskey down, burping and gagging, shaking, sniveling, and then placing it next to her before lying the other way, head resting between toilet and tub, eyes on an empty shampoo bottle that had missed the wastebasket and was never picked up. Bitter, confused tears stung, and she pulled herself inward as much as she could, horn tip resting on the toilet’s base, spine cold against the tub, side quivering on freezing tile and stained grout. A back hoof kicked out, knocked the bottle away, spilled its contents, and she stretched out to cry more, to roll in her tiny space, head pressing against the yellowed wall and calcified pipework, desperate weeping, unrestrained, childlike, without target.

Urged by the same need that had brought her to the apartment in the first place, she pushed out of the space and pulled herself to the puddle under the bottle’s neck. Some liquid still jostled inside, but Colgate lowered her muzzle and sucked at the floor, still crying, tasting her own tears, dried filth against her tongue in the second before its feeling was burned away. Maybe she should bite her tongue off, she thought blearily, that would show them. Oh, Celestia, help me.

Rising for the toilet joggled her into something resembling clarity, and when she was done, she realized two things: she was not at home, and the home owner was not present. The mare last night had mentioned having work in the morning, Colgate thought, an accountant or a clerk, something along those lines. That she had been left alone did not register as strange at the time; it was more like a lucky break. Her fun had come and gone, and she had an empty apartment to recollect herself and figure her next move. She was free of the unremitting, flustered noise that surrounded her in the suburbs, the noise that had started out good, gotten better, and then sent her to the rehab clinic. There was no one to bother her or to suggest diversion, not this time.

From her days with Rouge, as reliable as the sky’s turning, a shower was the only good way to begin the day. Colgate retracted the curtain and turned on the water, a pitiful trickle around knuckles of calcium deposits, cold no matter how far she turned the knob and pooling on the clogged drain. Jagged lines of dirt striped the tub’s length, slowly diffused as the water met each one, and Colgate stepped in with a quiet moan, body shivering uncontrollably at the sudden temperature drop. A forest of upside-down bottles grew from the seashell-pink frills of an unraveling scrub puff, jammed into the corner and toppling into the water when Colgate’s tail brushed it. Her crying, at least, had stopped with the gasp-inducing cold, and when the level was right, she dunked her face in the dirty water, shampoo bottles bobbing against her head; and when she opened her eyes to let the water sting them, she began to feel better. She crouched and rolled then, anointed in freezing water, relishing her filth and the filth that she had found, mixing them, rubbing herself on the slick floor, banging her knees, closing her eyes and opening her mouth under the shower head, sneezing when water went up her nose, laughing at herself and the mess. She grabbed the bottles and opened them, snapping them at the necks when their caps were stuck, throwing them across the bathroom when they were emptied, until the cloudy water bubbled with old soap and she had forgotten her sorrow.

When she was acclimated to the temperature, someone in the floor above flushed a toilet and the shower turned even colder. Yawping, Colgate flailed up and out of the tub to slip on what she had spilled over, and she rolled with water streaming into her eyes to suck more whiskey off the floor. Then she dried off, brushed her teeth with the mare’s toothbrush, and made for the kitchen, where her breakfast was a quarter bottle of sour apple mix and a tortilla. Then she staggered to the bedroom, took up her saddlebags, turned off the shower that she had left running, and forced herself into the braindead afternoon. She had no idea where she was, and when she found her way out of the complex a half hour later, she was not close enough to the edge to tell in which direction Lower Canterlot lay. Rather than try to figure it out, she grabbed a cab and told the driver to take her to the palace.

Incredulously, he complied, and she throbbed through classier and classier parts of town to the white battlements and austere turrets, toward a royal spa and a decent shower, food, a quiet place to rest.

* * * * * *

Both princesses owned at least one personal airship, and though Twilight had never seen Luna’s, she liked to imagine it as the polar opposite of Celestia’s. The Via Luna it was called, named in the same spirit that had put two of every facility in their old castle, though the ship had been commissioned several centuries later.

The princess of the sun, who favored tangible delights, whose school of magic focused on force and form, everything that could be touched or felt, had her airship exquisitely decorated and furbished top to bottom. There was no mistaking it when it was visible: the bowsprit stylized into a helical unicorn horn crowning a gold-plated aspect of her sister mid-canter; the dragonfly wings of silk and damask that ruffled and glittered, folded down the ship’s sides most times but able to spread out for displays; plaster masts rising with sails of enchanted smoke to hide the ship’s balloon, a lilac organ covered in swirling ink depictions of ponies at work in a rolling field, hayricks and hooks and streams under faceless heads lowered in labor; propellers that spewed gold and silver-sparkling smoke and whose chugging was made to sound like a male or female-voice choir, depending on Celestia’s preference. When the ship was invisible, as it was for most of its journey to The Hive, it stirred nary a breath of wind in its passing, its choirs made no sound save to those aboard, its smoke did not darken the sky, and the balloon’s torch did not warm the air. This it accomplished, not by a confused labyrinth of sigils, as Twilight had assumed, but through Princess Celestia’s continuous attention.

“I guess if someone ever stole it, they wouldn’t be able to go invisible,” Rainbow had suggested on their first day.

While keeping their vessel invisible, Celestia also steered them and maintained the ship’s mechanical components with the same magic Applejack had used when they were out in the world. She would disassociate into the airship for hours at a time, the only times during which Twilight and Rainbow felt safe to talk, though they did not do so as much as Rainbow wanted, for Twilight often used the time to go into her snow globe and check in on Equestria.

Her inability to see in Canterlot stung every time she shuffled through the tiny divination sigils carved into the snow globe’s glass. Every other city, and a few small villages, she had at her immediate disposal, save for Canterlot. She could cast her eye into Roan and watch what was left of the Mansel family consolidating its wealth and power, and then flip over to see how Lumb was adjusting to married life with Violet Astra, stopping for a moment in Ponyville to sneak a look at Rarity’s latest project, but Canterlot remained a pillar of steadfast shadow.

For Rainbow, the problem was utterly ridiculous, but Twilight refused her appeals for reason. Watching the country gave her knowledge, and knowledge was power; Princess Celestia was hiding something, she was convinced, so her only recourse was to gain as much knowledge as she could in hopes that something, somewhere, could be used as leverage when need came. “And when is that gonna happen?” Rainbow had asked. Twilight rejoined, all the more sinister for her certitude, “When the princess tries to double-cross us.”

Over the northern plains between Canterlot and Fillydelphia, Twilight devised a simple spell to tell her whether Celestia was in her own body or in the ship. With a few tweaks, the spell became an alarm; for the princess did not need to sleep, and would disassociate into the ship at odd hours. From a small but intense jolt of invasive thought, Twilight would wake up at two or three in the morning and sleepily go to her snow globe, knowledge more important to her than rest. When told of the development, Rainbow asked that she be woken up too, and Twilight understood; there was no practical value in it, but Rainbow could give nothing but solidarity.

The Via Luna had much to offer for a crowd of nobles and dignitaries—it was the ship that would be hosting the November reception for the Elements and their friends—but for only two travelers, it was too much. The cavernous central ballroom tempted Twilight with its open floors, perfect for sigils, home only to tinkling chandeliers on its secretive passage. The upper floor, twenty bedrooms and fifteen bathrooms, was interesting to explore for a day, but each exquisite room was the same as the last, and Rainbow could not explain to Twilight what interest she found in them, so similar to the hollow anxiety she had felt in the palace gardens. The kitchen and pantry were stuffed with ingredients and tools to make any regal feast they could ask for, but neither pony was any good at preparing meals, and Celestia herself did not strictly need to eat. It led to the limp scene of Twilight and Rainbow, across from each other at the dining room’s massive U-shaped table, pushing through bowls of cereal or peanut butter toast in the triple-tiered candelabra’s wobbling light that, with light stained from the dragonfly wings outside, turned the perse curtains into molasses and their golden rods into warm filaments of liquid sunshine, finialed with grouse feathers that brushed spiral-engraved pilasters. The game rooms on the bottom deck provided diversion for a few days, but, again, they were only two, and there wasn’t much fun in games of croquet, mini golf, bowling, chess, billiards, cribbage, horseshoes, or darts when at any second the laughter could hesitate and leave both players facing the huge, creaking silence.

They were in sight of Fillydelphia, and Twilight and Rainbow were discussing without much conviction what they wanted for lunch when Celestia’s hooves tromped nearby, freezing them. Celestia seeped partially through the wall, only her head and chest sticking out, and asked to join them with a tender smile.

She found some packets of instant mashed potatoes and made those, then, with a tiny afterthought of a spell, summoned the silken music of a string quartet.

“Can you show me how to do that?” Twilight asked a little more sharply than she meant. Sitting across from someone, with nothing to listen to but the sound of their chewing, was a particular sort of hell that Twilight had rediscovered on the Via Luna.

“Gladly, my student.” She smiled again but did not follow up, and Twilight cleared her throat.

“So, Fillydelphia,” Rainbow started. “Nice city. Twi, did Rarity tell you that Cloudchaser’s moving there soon?”

“Is that right?” Twilight knew of Cloudchaser, having spied on the spa a few times between more vital endeavors, but the last time she had spoken with Rarity, it was a hurried and informal meeting in the palace corridor, both of them on their way elsewhere, and Rarity had only been able to tell her that she understood her trials and to stay strong.

“Yeah, Ponyville’s not doing it for her anymore. She lost her sister, you know, that’s probably it. Rarity thinks so anyway.”

“What was her name? Started with an F, all I can think of is Fluffer, I know that’s not it.”

“Flitter,” Celestia said. “Her name was Flitter.”

“Those two were important in some way, weren’t they?”

“Daturas.”

“Ahhhh.”

“Those two?” Rainbow scoffed.

“Does that surprise you?” Celestia asked.

“I don’t know. A little.”

For a few minutes, they let the string quartet excuse them from talking. Celestia ate mechanically, her eyes all over the room as if assessing the décor. Twilight had stopped guessing at her thoughts long ago, but the oppressive silence and the princess’ obvious preoccupation all but demanded it. For one desperate afternoon weeks ago, Twilight had read about the magic involved in mind reading, but it was nothing like the magic with which she was familiar, and even the introductory spells seemed out of her grasp; she had learned enough to see how completely futile it would be to try to read Celestia’s mind. Even so, at the table, in that moment, she wished she had applied herself to the subject with more determination.

“Both of you will still be more than welcome at the reception,” Celestia said. “And in my palace. I have decided that.”

Twilight nodded. “We appreciate it, your highness.”

“As for the rest, I still do not know.”

“If it helps, I never told anyone anything else. I never talked about the Datura or anything.”

“I am aware of that, thank you.”

“Oh.”

“There are magical fail-safes in place, alerts if too many ponies learn about the Datura. Whenever the name is spoken aloud, a pip appears in one of Luna’s charts.”

Twilight paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “That’s possible?”

“It is her design. I confess, her network of magic surrounding the Datura’s… presence, I suppose, is one of the few things I still don’t fully understand. Maybe I’ll ask her to sit me down and explain it one day.”

“Exactly how powerful are you two?” Rainbow asked.

Celestia smiled. “Sufficiently.” She moved what remained of her potatoes around on her plate and rested her eyes on Twilight once again. “You’re being very quiet today, my student.”

“I guess I am,” Twilight said, looking away.

“I’m not angry with you, dear. Saddened, yes, I am saddened, and wounded too, but not angry. I hope you know you have nothing to fear from me.”

“What’s going to happen when we get back from The Hive?”

“That is yet to be decided.”

The string quartet swelled in crescendo, and Twilight weighed her words. “I just want to go home, your highness. Me and Dash.”

Celestia nodded in understanding. “I wish it could be that easy. You know why it cannot.”

“I realize the scope of my mistake, yes, your highness.”

“Forgive yourself, Twilight.” She scraped the last of her food onto Rainbow’s plate. “We must do this again. I delight in your company.”

From the hours of four forty-five to six, Celestia’s spirit was loose in the ship’s mechanics, and Twilight fretted over her snow globe.

Not suspecting that her student had found a way to carry over her spiderweb of divination magic, Celestia had not placed a veil of darkness around her personal quarters, and these Twilight inspected first, surprised to see only a lone communication sigil, she assumed for talking with Luna.

“All right, Rainbow, stand over there,” Twilight directed. They were in the ballroom, where Twilight liked to conduct her experiments. “I’m just going to watch you for a bit, and when I say so, do something else, like do a little dance or something.” She frowned into her snow globe, a sewing needle telekinetically poised on the glass and a lit candle by her side to keep the tip hot. Luna had showed her how to translate heat into magical energy, and how, through precise application of a hot needle, Twilight could expand an active sigil into her cloud of thoughts and see through it in her mind’s eye.

“Go ahead.” Rainbow flapped her wings wildly for a second and made a silly face. “Good. Let’s see.” She poked the glass and closed her eyes, then sighed. “That’s not it.”

“What are you trying to do?”

“I need to learn what the princesses are talking about when they’re alone, but there’s no way I’ll risk spying on them when Princess Celestia is awake in there. I need an enchantment that’ll record her and play back to me later.”

“You don’t think she’ll notice foreign magic in her room? Twilight, just leave it.”

“She hasn’t felt my globe yet. I’ll just disguise this the same way.”

“Wrong. She hasn’t said anything about feeling your globe. Twilight, you don’t know how much she knows. She just told us they have a way of tracking every time someone says the word ‘Datura,’ she could know anything, probably does. How do we know she hasn’t been spying on you this entire time?”

“I have nightmares about that, but…” She sighed and studied the glass. “It’s a risk I have to take. I mean, what’s the alternative? Do nothing, talk to Queen Chrysalis, and then face my punishment blind? I’m not letting that happen.”

“And what about this alternative? We do nothing, don’t piss her off any more than we already have, get back, serve our time, and go home?” Rainbow flew over to Twilight and looked at the snow globe with her. “She’s a reasonable mare, Twilight, and she cares about you. If you keep your head down, you can probably get out of this with a slap on the hoof.” Twilight was shaking her head. “Oh, come on. You say Celestia’s paranoid, but look at you.”

Twilight looked at her out of the tops of her eyes. “I’m being prepared.”

“You’re so full of it.”

“Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll still… I’m here, aren’t I? What do you need?”

“Get back over there, same thing, do something silly when I say so.”

By five-fifty, Twilight had the magic she wanted, but had to wait until night to place it. Celestia dissolved back into the ship for only ten minutes, barely enough time for Twilight to enchant a fleck of paint, mask her magic, and leave it wedged in the floorboards outside Celestia’s door—for she durst not cross the threshold, certain that her passage would be noted in a security enchantment. She was trying to keep a casual pace down the first deck corridor when the alarm came that Celestia was back, and she had to pause for her racing heart, take a seat on the eiderdown comforter and wait for her princess to come raging down on her, which she never did. Twilight stayed in that room until night, then crept back to her own bed to stare sleepless at the canopy, ears sensitive to every sound, listening for Celestia’s hoofsteps and for the princess to disclose herself through another wall and hold aloft the offending paint chip, knocking aside the still-life of a cracked clay pitcher and kicking Twilight’s spare clothes out of the dresser.

Morning came to find her safe but with nerves frayed, and when she got the alert that Celestia had disembodied herself over breakfast, she nearly upset her bowl of oatmeal, her magic faltering most uncharacteristically. Rainbow glanced up at her, saw what was the matter, and waited to hear the report while Twilight’s eyes rolled back and she submerged herself in the cloud of thoughts.

There was nothing to see from where Twilight had placed the paint chip, but its magic picked up the conversation. Pushing aside her conscious mind in favor of what the cloud contained was never pleasant, and she was already nervous; as she listened to Celestia and Luna exchanging pleasantries in the night, her stomach quivered and her nose wrinkled. For several minutes, Luna complained about someone Twilight had met in passing, and Celestia heard her out patiently. At one point in the mundane conversation following, Celestia cracked a joke that had Luna laughing uncontrollably, and Twilight, without knowing it, laughed quietly along; and to Rainbow, it was a horrible picture, Twilight with lip drooping, white eyes blinking too slowly and too infrequently, chuckling at what only she could perceive.

The princesses eventually circled around to a more germane topic. “So, I’ve decided what to do with Twilight. I’m going to keep her in the palace.”

“For how long?” Luna asked.

“The rest of her life.” Ice flooded Twilight’s veins at the word. “Rainbow can go home, though I doubt she will. She’ll cling to Twilight until forced otherwise, I’m convinced.”

“Sister, I must protest.”

“I expect you must.”

A second of chilly silence. “I know Twilight well. She did what she thought she had to, but has no intention of any further disruption. If you send her home, she would be happy to stay out of our affairs in the future, I’m certain of it.”

“I know her too, dear sister. You speak of Twilight as she once was, but she has gained much since then. Power, knowledge, but I think the worst of it is her ambition. I have no proof, but I’m quite sure she has not given up her studies into divination. That cloud of thoughts… I never dispelled it, and who knows what she has in there?”

“You haven’t probed it?”

“She would know.” Celestia sighed with audible frustration. “She mistrusts me fearfully now, and that puts me in the position of having to mistrust her equally. I expect she’ll try something when we get back to Canterlot, if she doesn’t have something in the works there already.”

“I haven’t noticed anything strange.”

“Good.”

“And she won’t have reason to try anything if you let her go home.”

“She already believes the worst of me. If I send her home, who’s to say what she’ll do next? She already betrayed us to the changelings once, Luna.”

“Because you pushed her to commit an atrocity. Let’s not leave that part out, hm?”

“I fully expected her to refuse. If she did, that would have been it, I’d have sent her home and conjured the hurricane myself. I was hoping she would go along with it, but I didn’t think it likely. What I didn’t expect was her to stab me in the back.”

“What does Chrysalis think of all this?”

“Oh, she knows the threat was real, she withdrew her ships to her own waters. Twilight, though? Chrysalis doesn’t trust her any more than I do.”

“Trust not the pony who betrays her own ruler, lest she betray you next,” Luna said.

“Exactly. No, keeping her in the palace is the best option. I’ll give her a light administrative position, keep her out of anything serious, and wait for her to die of old age. It’s not the outcome that I want, but at least this way I’ll be able to keep an eye on her.”

“Why not just wipe her memory and send her on her way?”

“I could wipe the specific events, but the roots of disloyalty are spread deep and wide. There’s no telling how much I would have to efface to be completely safe from her. Besides, I’d have to wipe the whole group.”

“Listen to yourself.” A note of anger was creeping into Luna’s voice, and at the table, Twilight’s lip twitched in a smile: at least one princess was on her side. Kind of. “What do you have to fear from her? What can she possibly do?”

“Do not underestimate my student.”

“What can she do? Tell me. Actually, no, here’s a better question. What would she do? You’re her mentor, it’s not like she’s going to try to hurt you.”

“She has the power to undermine my rule, and I think she knows it.”

“If teeny-weeny Twilight Sparkle has the power to undermine our rule, then I would say that points to a problem with our way of running the country. Perhaps we should examine that instead of imprisoning her.”

“Again, you underestimate her.”

“You’re talking like this is an enemy of the state. Celestia, all she did was try to get out of the position you put her in. A really shitty position, might I add. I told you—”

“I know, you wanted me to test her more softly at first. The situation presented itself, Luna, it was perfect.”

“Clearly not.”

“Regardless.”

“Yes, regardless,” Luna echoed. “My point stands. You can’t reward Twilight’s hard work with life imprisonment, even if it is in the palace. And I guarantee, if you’re afraid of her now, you won’t rest any easier with her in your home. She’ll fight you, sister.”

“I know. Better she fights me in the palace than from Ponyville.”

“She’s not going to fight you from Ponyville! You—how many times do I have to say it? Just let her go. Just let her go! I’ll watch her if it makes you feel better. I’ll check in with her every week, or month, whatever. You can wash your hooves of the whole affair.”

“You trust her too much. You…”

“Oh, so I would be fooled? Is that what you wanted to say?” The spark of anger was catching, and Luna was raising her voice. “Dear sister, you can’t fool me. What chance does Twilight have?”

“Have you read her mind recently?”

“Have you?”

“I lack your subtle touch. I fear she would catch me.”

“No kidding.”

“Have you?” Celestia repeated. “You have, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have. I’ve read them all.”

“And?”

“You know I don’t disclose that type of thing. If it’ll help you sleep, none of them are a threat to national security. Happy?”

“Not a threat yet.”

“You expect Twilight’s convictions to deepen on this trip.”

“And blossom into something ill when we return, yes, I expect that.”

“You’re being ridiculous, sister.”

“I do not see it that way.” Both goddesses paused for a moment, and Celestia continued. “So this is our impasse. I see her as trouble, you do not. Fine.”

“I have to go. I have a meeting in ten.”

“Very well. We’ll talk later.”

“Is there a point? You’ve made your decision, and I disagree.”

“I don’t want you to be angry with me,” Celestia said in a smaller voice.

“By your logic, I’d think you should worry more about Twilight being angry with you. Good night, Celestia.”

“Good night.”

The conversation ended, Celestia opened the door and her hoofsteps passed by the paint chip, and Twilight rolled her eyes back into position and looked at Rainbow, watching with open concern.

She let out a long breath, taking in what she had heard. “We are more screwed than we thought, Dash.”

The following day, heading for the coast, Rainbow was still stunned from Twilight’s news, no small part of which was the note that Luna had read all of their minds. If Twilight had not heard it said, Rainbow would never have known her mind had been penetrated, and the knowledge that Luna had such ability stirred the anxiety that the upper deck’s empty bedrooms had only wakened. In one of those bedrooms, standing in the doorway and looking down the long, curving corridor, breathing dry air and smelling the clean sheets and varnished floorboards, Rainbow allowed her heart to beat faster than it needed and her mind to wander.

Twilight had immediately started experimenting with ways to guard her mind and her cloud of thoughts, promising to enchant Rainbow as well once she had figured out how to do it. As the propellers’ angelic choir on the other side of the ship, hope seemed to her something distant but not altogether gone. Twilight had tested her faith and her power to forgive in the past, but Celestia’s plan catalyzed them back together at the breakfast table, differences mended even before they started in on what to do. A look in the eyes, a shared resolve: “us versus her now, Twilight.”

She moved one bedroom down the corridor, one dead room to the next identical one. Celestia’s decision was not cruel, and with some effort, Rainbow could appreciate the logic behind it. She had lived for more than four-thousand years, had seen innumerable Elements of Magic come and go, had mentored countless magicians; her top priority was her country and her citizens, and if Twilight threatened that, even with the best intentions, then the consequences did follow. Celestia’s immortality allowed for a degree of mercy they might not see elsewhere, the ability to keep them comfortable in the palace until natural death. Rainbow could imagine no other system that would offer it in response to a crime such as Twilight’s. And yet…

Her life would no longer be hers on the day they stepped off the Via Luna and back onto the palace’s pristine, white airship platform. Twilight wanted to go home, and that would be denied her, and part of Rainbow understood the need. The desires of the self were surely outweighed by the needs of the state—but then, did Celestia know what Equestria needed? She had millennia of statecraft behind her, but she had also been slipping since her escape from Discord’s dream, and it was not Rainbow’s to discern the truth there. For her, acknowledging the greater philosophical conflict was as far as it went, for she was primarily focused on her own life, and on Twilight’s; and should they not have a claim to freedom, despite what the goddess thought?

Twilight’s single-mindedness bolstered Rainbow. Where it had gotten them in trouble first, the truth cast it in a more comforting light, and there Rainbow glimpsed faith. Twilight would invent a solution, pull a rabbit out of her hat, outwit the princess at the last. Though, walking in the corridor, not looking at the bedrooms, faith did not come as easily as when Twilight’s eerie, white eyes pointed to the back of her skull, mouth and muzzle twitching with a flow of knowledge that would overwhelm ten of Rainbow.

She could fairly hear her own anxiety trailing behind in the empty clicking of her hooves on the floor, strangely attractive, sweet and sickening, not bad enough to drive her out to the deck or to her cabin. It was interesting in a way, sensation divorced from stimulus, distanced enough to not hit as hard as it seemed like it should. Fear of life imprisonment, even in a palace, should be enough to send her raving to the princess, begging or bargaining, and, failing that, flying off the ship’s backside and hoping to make it to civilization before Celestia took off after her. Perhaps she had experienced too much already, for in the corridor’s calm monotony, there was a reserve of unbelief deep inside her that insisted things were not as bad as they appeared.

Two decks below, meanwhile, Twilight sat at a chess board and moved the pieces around, creating patterns and giving herself puzzles. She had enchanted herself against attempts to read her mind or the cloud of thoughts, an hour before sunup with Celestia somewhere in the wiring and fuse boxes. If the princess wanted to invade Twilight’s mind, she still could, but Twilight would at least know it.

She too wrestled with anxiety’s weight, but unlike Rainbow, chose distraction over embrace. Idle gameplay, an ebony knight tapping an opaline pawn, or fluted cribbage pegs marching down a spiraling board, riffling cards with horn-drawn ivy leaves, snail shells, patches of clover, a yawning tiger’s jaw, the princesses themselves crossing jeweled scepters; hanging lanterns whose soft light swung over baize before dazzling off in every direction when Twilight smacked the cue ball. She paced, sat, stood up, checked her enchantments, wiped a smudge off one of the marble checkerboards, thought and tried to make herself stop thinking, all the while afraid to let her face reflect anything but unwitting repose, convinced that Celestia watched, an invisible eye in the game room swiveling like the eight ball bumping against the table’s edge.

Dinner saw all three of them at the U-shaped table with sub sandwiches and iced tea, the princess full of cheer. To Twilight, it was gloating: “My student, you’ve been worn to nothing in a matter of days, and I haven’t even done anything yet. What hope do you think there is for you?” With her swanlike wings under the folds of an emerald tunic, outstretched in welcome as the two entered, it surely felt to Twilight that her fate was sealed.

They were seated, a disembodied group of woodwinds and tribal drums started up, and Celestia turned the candlelight to a pale rose. “The Hive approaches,” she said. “Are you excited?”

“Do we know why Queen Chrysalis wants to see me?” Twilight asked.

“I suspect she means to probe us for weakness. She took your threat quite seriously, Twilight, and she may now see you as a possible friend.”

“We’re gonna want to show that we’re not, I assume,” Rainbow offered.

“We will present a united front, correct.”

“Except you don’t trust me to go along with that.” Twilight frowned. “What if she wants to speak with me alone? I might not know what to say.”

“She won’t be given that opportunity.”

“Right. Of course.” She licked mayonnaise from a corner of her sandwich, her cloud of thoughts racing through possible conversation paths. “Does she think I’m a double-agent? I know I’d wonder that if I was in her position.”

“That I staged you contacting her to make you seem like a potential asset to The Hive?” She shook her head. “Credit to the queen, she doesn’t believe that our relationship has degenerated to that point.”

“You filthy, filthy liar,” Twilight thought, and almost let it show on her face. Celestia’s eyelids twitched, and for a second, Twilight was sure she had picked up on it anyway.

“Do you believe that?” Rainbow asked.

“I do,” Celestia said without pause. “Rather, I believe it best to act as though it is true. That is safer than underestimating them.”

“We don’t want to underestimate anyone,” Twilight said, looking down just as Celestia looked at her.

“No, we don’t.” She smiled. “I spoke with Pinkie today. She was happy to hear that you two are coming to the meeting.”

“I doubt that.”

Celestia giggled. “But what if she is? It’s been so long, Twilight. Have you not forgiveness in your heart? As I understand it, hers was an innocent mistake. Grand, but innocent nonetheless.”

“Frankly, your highness, that ship sailed long ago.” Twilight rejoined her own smile. “I’m at peace with losing Pinkie, and from speaking with her, she’s at peace as well. We have different lives now.”

“Such a tragedy, though. The loss of a close friend like that. I know it well, my student.”

“My student.” Bitter, bitter words, and Twilight had no doubt they were spoken in irony. “She spent so much time in The Hive, in this luxury hotel, did you know? The changelings catered to them, treated them as honored guests. I can’t imagine spending so much time living like that, honestly. Seems like it would get boring.”

“Every day, the same luxuries, nothing to break the monotony,” Celestia said. “You find ways of coping. My sister has been quite useful for that.”

Celestia wasn’t letting her in, not one iota, so Twilight chose to try to unbalance her instead. “What’s immortality like?”

The princess sighed. “The first few centuries are exciting, and also a hell I would not wish on anyone. They are the centuries of losing everyone you were ever close to. After that…” She shrugged her wings. “The truth is, you become numb. That was Discord’s demise, I know.”

“I thought it was madness,” Rainbow said.

“And what can cause madness? The danger is in losing all touch with the world, Rainbow Dash. If you can learn to feel, to find joy in the small things, to love despite the tragedy of mortality, then you can make it.”

“Easier said than done,” Twilight said. “But I would imagine there’s magic to help with that, right? You can enchant yourself, wipe your memories after they get too old, things like that. I know you can store old memories or unresolved feelings in a cloud of thoughts, and if you—”

“Your insight impresses me, Twilight Sparkle. Almost as though you’ve experienced this.” She grinned, but Twilight could tell she had hit a nerve. “Oh hell, what if she just wants me to think I have? She could be fifty moves ahead and I’d never know it.”

“Just a lot of reading.”

“Have you read about it lately? How are your studies progressing?”

“They’re fine.”

Celestia sipped daintily from her tea. “That’s good.”

“Fluttershy and Rarity were asking me when I can come back to Ponyville.”

“What did you tell them?” Twilight thought she heard a sharpness in the question, but it was well buried, made soft and curious.

“That I wasn’t sure, but I hoped it would be soon.” “You know they know. You have to know.” Celestia would not tell her she would be confined for her life, not yet, but perhaps she could find other insight in the princess’ response.

“A just answer, Twilight.”

“Ah. Er, what might I tell them, more specifically? They’re both tired of hearing ‘I don’t know’ from me.”

“That’s a good question, but it’s more complicated than you make it sound.”

“So you haven’t decided what to do with us yet,” Rainbow broke in. Twilight did not shoot her a look, though she badly wanted to; she could not reveal that it was anything more than a casual, if not awkward, conversation.

“You caught me.” She smiled and winked at Rainbow. “Even us goddesses don’t have all the answers. I’m still puzzling over you, if you want the truth. Much to consider.”

“Does Princess Luna have anything to say about all this?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, my sister. She is beset from all sides by issues with her Datura. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Discord’s antics gave them a real kick in the teeth.”

“Antics?” Twilight thought. “That’s what you call it? Antics?”

“I apologize that I don’t have as much to tell you as you might want. It’s a very delicate situation, and I simply…” She held out her hooves. “It’s difficult. And I confess, I’ve been primarily worried about maintaining our relationship, Twilight.” Her tone darkened to deeper seriousness, divine gravity, as she put her intense eyes on Twilight’s. “I don’t ever want you to feel that you can’t trust me. I understand that you may be angry with me, and I accept that, but please, never think that you can’t come to me for anything. I am still your mentor, and you are still my student. Rainbow Dash, the same goes for you. I know why you did what you did, and I forgive you for it. I understand.” Even with the record of her conversation with Luna adrift in the cloud of thoughts, Twilight wanted to believe her. Her words did not once falter, her eyes shone clear and unmoving: the perfect blend of maternal severity and grace.

“That means a lot, your highness,” Rainbow said. “I’ll admit, I’m pretty mad still.”

“I would be alarmed if you were not, my friend. All I ask is that you remember that I have always, and do still now, hold your best interests closest to my heart.”

Twilight, having no reply for Celestia’s appeal, bowed her head and let the princess direct them to safer conversation.

Once they were over the ocean and only a couple days from their meeting place, Celestia allowed the Via Luna to become visible again. They were not to know, but their passing out to the waters was remarked in a coastal village, where one lucky stallion had aimed his telescope in the right place at the right time and saw the ship uncloak and billow its colorful wings out in the dust of gold and silver that made its smoke. Not immediately recognizable as an airship, it seemed to him, and the ponies he ran to with the news, an exotic creature in flight to its magical lair somewhere in the far-off, wild world. For two days, they filled the cold, Equestrian beach with tents and bonfires, hoping for it to return and show them its wings a second time.

As they got closer to the island, Celestia’s disassociations into the ship became fewer, and the latest Twilight was able to tell Rainbow was that she had no firm plan, but knew where to start when they got back to Canterlot and the hammer was dropped.

Celestia had kept a civil distance from them both, once more joining for a meal but saying nothing of import, questioning them only on the most neutral topics. If Celestia suspected that Twilight knew her plan, she did not let on, and if she was aware of the continued divination, she gave no sign. Twilight’s enchanted paint chip had recorded a few more conversations between the divine sisters, but her future in Canterlot never came up. They spoke of the Datura, of the upcoming reception and what to wear, of the royal budget, and gossip about the politicians who worked for them. Nothing of value jumped out at Twilight, but she listened back to the conversations whenever she could, digging always for a detail she had missed.

Celestia diffused into the ship at three in the morning and Twilight sat up reflexively, reaching for her glass of water before her eyes had cleared. Rising early had always been easy for her, but there was something in getting up in the small hours that empowered her, made her feel like she was ready to do something important. She lit her candle and placed the sewing needle, stuck into a cork for easier handling, on a book to heat its tip, then went and woke Rainbow. She felt guilty every time, but Rainbow had made her promise.

“Nothing particularly exciting tonight, I’m afraid,” Twilight said as Rainbow emerged from her room, yawning and struggling with her slippers.

They went back to Twilight’s room and, in the candle’s halo, examined the globe. Rainbow would see nothing, but she sat at the ready anyway, watching Twilight tap the glass and bring her sigils to life, crimson circles of hair-thin lines waking up like magical flowers at her hot needle’s touch, overlapping occasionally with solid-looking bolts of zigzagging threads, the geometry of which Twilight had once explained and which had gone entirely over Rainbow’s head. Then Twilight sat on her pillow, rolled her eyes back, and went still. It was not the same as when Applejack would put her spirit in their airships, for Twilight could be shaken out of her trance more easily, but the effect and appearance were similar.

She was gone to Snowdrift, her magical eye flying over countryside black as charcoal, drifting around the iron sheet of glacier and zooming down onto the village. Twin pillars of shadow divided the sky where lay the Tartarus gateway and the window to Passage Town, and Twilight moved between them and over roofs blanketed with nighttime snow. One of the residents, Twilight assumed a Datura but knew for sure was at least a precog, had gone to the trouble of digging the words “good morning Twilight” into the snow on her roof; the first time Twilight had seen such a message, she had dropped what she was doing to frantically comb the house, but the pony had proven harmless in a later confrontation. She was simply a fan, thought what Twilight was doing with divination was the coolest, and wanted to reach out. Were Twilight not in a rush, she would have taken the time to carve a response into the roof snow.

Down the main street to Umbrella Park she glided, where the trees sagged with icicles and the flowers bloomed anyway under a magical mist, the checkerboard of two-tone grass turned to hoary blue and black ice, the bandstand long and chattering as frozen wind ran through its tiers. From there, Twilight swept under the overpass where her friends had faced Peaceful Meadows and swung out to the warehouse, its parking lot white and unbroken but for one trail of hoofsteps that connected the dark doors and the sloping selvedge back toward town. She followed the hoofsteps to a home, looked around out of curiosity, and moved to the corkscrew hotel, its illusion so advanced that snow appeared to rest on its inside curves and slide off diagonally-running windowsills. She entered the lobby and listened to a pair of workers, feeling suddenly abashed and exhilarated when one mentioned, in a confidential tone, that he hadn’t had any suicidal thoughts lately. Clearly something they had talked about before, and Twilight left them to it, floating up through the floors, popping into rooms here and there, nothing strange to see this time, nothing more erotic than a couple lazily spooning while their humidifier buzzed. Finally, she quit the hotel, sparing another second to see how the front workers were doing, and flew toward Versus’ house, a couple miles from the hotel and less than a second by her eye’s flight.

The bedroom window was aglow with familiar, blue light, thin through the curtains and tinting the icicles outside. Twilight slid through the wall and listened in, not surprised to hear Applejack’s voice on the other end of Versus’ sigil. The mare in question sat on her bed, listening to Applejack’s speech, with no appearance of fatigue despite the hour.

“At least, that’s been my experience,” Applejack concluded. “But now, you said somethin’ Ah wanted to get back to, if ya don’t mind.”

“I reckon I’ve said a lot of things,” Versus giggled.

“The Mansels.”

“Oh, it was nothing, just an observation.”

“But it made me think. Well, it’s got me thinkin’ now, Ah mean.”

In the airship, Twilight’s ear stood up, and Rainbow wanted badly to ask her what she was experiencing. The Mansels had been trouble for a while, but were quelled easily; after so much time cowering under their threat, dodging their ponies, worrying about what they could do next, it was exquisitely satisfying for Twilight to finally appeal to the palace’s legal system and excise the Mansels from her life. The Elements had secured their safety in that way, but Versus was not free from their harassment, and every now and again Twilight had had to intervene. She was friendly with the Snowdrift courts and most of the sheriff’s office for that precise reason.

“Here’s a question,” Applejack said eventually. “Sufferin’ can lead to strength an’ beauty an’ wisdom, all that good stuff. Do we therefore owe thanks to those that make us suffer, like the Mansels? Or even Discord?”

“Hell no,” Versus said with a laugh. “It ain’t theirs to administer suffering. You can learn as much about mercy and junk from commonplace things. I broke my leg once when I was young, climbing a tree I think—”

“Well, fallin’, Ah’d reckon.”

“And my doctor at the hospital was a real piece of shit. No, I shouldn’t say that, maybe he was in a bad place in his life, I don’t know. Point is, I was young and scared and in pain, and he did the bare minimum to make me feel better. I would forward that you could learn as much from something like that as you can from the Mansels chasing you. Difference being, the Mansels are actively bad where the doctor was just benign—he didn’t want me to feel worse, he just failed to make me feel better.”

“So no thanks is owed ‘cause the situation coulda come ‘bout some other way.” There was a long pause, Applejack working with her coffee machine, Twilight was sure. “Ah always find that kind of argument annoyin’. It’s like, sure, things coulda been different, but they weren’t, so what point is there speculatin’?”

“If you don’t speculate, you’ll just go through life with your head down, fixed to your one path.”

“What’s wrong with that? Life’s complicated enough already. An’ what’s that mean, ‘one path’? There ain’t paths in life, that implies predetermined directions.”

“Antideterminism again, AJ?”

“Determinism’s fer escapin’ accountability, it’s the biggest load of garbage Ah’ve ever seen. An’ it’s such a shame ‘cause that ain’t how it started, but ponies like—”

“I know, I know.” Versus was twirling her hoof, silently urging Applejack to get to a fresh point. “I still hold that it has value if you care to look for it, if you look past the gumbos who use it poorly. And you’re not gonna sway me on that, Applejack.”

“You can have it.”

“I’m pretty well shut of the Mansels anyway, they haven’t bothered me since July.”

“That’s only a few months.”

“Yeah, it used to be more frequent than that.”

“Was it really? You never told me they bugged you that often.”

Versus shrugged nonchalantly, but Twilight could see on her dim face a twinge of guilt. “I didn’t wanna worry you.”

“Did you go to Twilight?”

“Only when I absolutely had to.” On the sigil’s other side, Applejack made a frustrated noise. Curious, Twilight flipped across Equestria to the farmhouse, where Applejack was frowning down at her steaming cup. “She’s not the nicest pony in the world,” Versus’ voice came through.

Applejack went to take another sip and thought better of it. “She’s in a bad, bad place right now, an’ has been fer a long time. Ah worry fer her every day.”

“Me too. Well, not every day, but every now and again I’ll think about her. She… yeah, I don’t know, I can’t speak to it, I don’t know what she’s been through.”

“More’n she deserves, but a lot of it’s her own fault too. You know what they say ‘bout good intentions; Twilight’s livin’ proof.”

“What ever happened to Pinkie? Is she still in The Hive?”

“Far as Ah know.” Twilight flew back to Snowdrift, preferring the snowy aspect over the pastoral. “An’ Ah don’t honestly care to know if she’ll be comin’ home anytime soon.”

“So you haven’t forgiven her.”

“It’s funny, you know, Ah expected Ah would by now, but nope. Every time Ah think ‘bout it, Ah just can’t bring myself to absolve her.”

“Well, if anyone has that right, it’d be you.” Twilight smiled faintly in her cabin: so Applejack had told Versus about her death. Twilight had wondered whether she would.

“No one has that right.”

“Huh. Maybe.” She thought some, and Applejack allowed her, her sip of coffee barely audible through the sigil.

“Ah worry that Twilight won’t be able to come back.”

“Home?”

“To how she was before. She might be too far gone.”

“Would that be bad? You’re still friends now.”

“Fair enough. Maybe it’s nostalgia talkin’, Ah miss how she used to be. She’s not all bad right now.” Applejack laughed. “Listen to me. One of my best friends, an’ Ah’m here like ‘she’s not all bad,’ like she’s an iffy batch of cider.”

“You gotta laugh at yourself,” Versus said. “I’m not thankful to the Mansels for this, but they pushed me into a great lesson. Peaceful Meadows.”

“Ah ain’t glad that she’s dead, but… Ah dunno.”

“Gonna need to think about that?”

“Yes. Sorry, go on.”

“I was just gonna say, they taught me just how powerful a positive outlook can be. I’ve got my friends, I’ve got my health, and that’s all you need at the end of the day. Anything else, you know, it’s not important.”

“It’s important in the immediate.”

“I’ve been working on that, actually. I try not to take it too seriously.”

“How’s that been goin’?”

“You know me, laughing-est lady south of Ponyville. It’s not easy, but it’s easier than when I started, if you’re following me. I ask myself, ‘what does it matter?’ Does something suck? Sure, but it doesn’t really matter, not when I’ve got my friends and my health, as I said. How about this? Darkness can never last for too long if you just laugh at it. That’s the quotable version.”

“Life goes on, an’ us with it,” Applejack returned. “We had one too. Pinkie thought of it, actually, came back from the Canterlot battle with it.”

“Exactly. We’re on the same page. But with the—” Twilight did not hear the rest, for just then, her alarm went off, and she jumped awake, eyes aching and mouth dry, head cloudy as the magic was flushed away.

“She back?” Rainbow asked.

“Yeah, that’s the end. I was looking in on Versus. She’s up with Applejack still.”

“What the hell are they thinking? It’s gonna be sunrise soon.” She shook her head. “Speaking of, I’m going back to bed. I’ll see you for breakfast, Twi.”

Twilight grunted and put back her magical tools, faintly worried as always that Celestia had caught the tail end of retreating magic and would soon be manifesting in Twilight’s room to interrogate her about it. She fell asleep with visions of the princess’ white corpus looming out of a dark corner and turning eyes as bright and hot as stars on the bed, horn sizzling angrily and mouth downturned in disgust, her goddess finally pushed beyond disguising her feelings and ready to wipe Twilight’s life away. But when she woke up and listened to the choral propellers, she was alive and well, and when she made it to breakfast, there Celestia was, smiling and bidding them a good morning.

* * * * * *

Someone from Chrysalis’ retinue had flown the Mirdath from its original landing place to the neutral island, Open Ear of the Ocean, where it waited, tied and posted to the sand with its balloon deflated and hanging in a thick tongue on the port side gunwale. Even Pinkie did not need it explained, the gesture of finality, Chrysalis’ way of saying it was their last day in her world regardless of the meeting’s outcome.

An awning, an ebony table, and two stone steps down to the sand: the only sign of civilization that had not landed on the beach from elsewhere. Wide sweeps of sand broken by struggling bushes and tails of grass made the immediate surroundings, a beach that drove too far inland for them to see more than the waving tops of palm trees. For the diplomats and Pinkie, no wind came; it was heat rising around pasterns that sunk with each step, ocean white noise, gulls, with the lone table and their old airship in a broken line from where they debarked. They had arrived first, Celestia’s ship only visible through binoculars, a black speck in the deep blue sky. There was no sign of Queen Chrysalis either, but that was less of a surprise to them; and with the attendants who had accompanied them staying back with the ship and preparing to return it to the capital, desolation was the feeling settling over every tired, anxious heart.

“Don’t go too far,” Hyacinth snapped, seating herself at the table with a notebook. Stricken Chord sat beside her and looked over at what she was studying, inching his face closer, eyes wide and innocent, trying to get a laugh out of her; she shoved him away gently.

It was Pinkie to whom she had spoken, Pinkie standing at the gazebo’s edge and looking around with obvious intent. Her only task was to keep their water glasses full, and before that, she was free to wander the island. With a few backward glances, disguised, Pinkie set off without a stopping point in mind. Solitude would be scarcely come by soon, and it hit her as the others went out of earshot that she was building her final memory of The Hive. After the luxury and the boredom, her coworkers’ justified but insufferable single-mindedness on the negotiation, and the turmoil that had led them to it, Pinkie’s time away from Equestria was to be concluded by empty beach, picturesque ocean, and her hoofprints in a dark line away from the others.

It was hard not to see the parallel between her present with the diplomats and her past with the Elements: walking away again. The Element of Laughter she had carried from Canterlot, down out of the sky and across the ocean, into foreign lands, an emblem of herself as scarcely used in The Hive as anywhere else. She had tried to recall, at various points when she thought about it at all, the last time her Element had been required for a task. Petrifying Discord, she supposed, though it was not the Element of Laughter that they needed specifically, but the aggregate of all. Hers had been the last found, and they had gotten on okay without it—“but that’s true of all of them, ain’t it, Pinkie?” They were just jewels, nothing but expensive paperweights without ponies to use them. And hers… She removed it and looked at it, really looked at it, the gold links worn faintly at the edges, strong wires around deep jewels, the sun’s white glare in a larimar balloon. Should a bearer die or lose the part of herself that resonated with an Element, then it would pass over to another, an invisible process whose governance even Twilight was not able to fully explain.

Pinkie had to laugh; it was only right, and she cast the Element down, the paperweight that had caused them so much trouble thumping into the sand and looking up at her. Her laughing body was reflected in each facet, then her hoof outstretched to reclaim it, then the water and the sunshine when she replaced it around her neck: and how obvious, then, was her satori? How much earlier might she have realized that the Element of Laughter was no longer hers? She could have saved herself the time and given it to Celestia, probably, slid it across the boardroom table in front of the stuffed suits and walked out with a dramatic “seeya never, girls!” Or perhaps her months in The Hive had eroded the last of the connection; perhaps if she had tried to rescind in Canterlot, the princess would have wheeled out some magical apparatus to prove that Pinkie was still the Element of Laughter, some wild-looking thing with arcs of electricity pulsing on antenna tips or a stupid bowl of shining liquid like Twilight’s divination setups; and then she would have been the fool, Pinkie jumping at nothing and making another problem of herself.

Throwing it down again was nothing, she could have been throwing a conch shell. Clouds did not magically appear and break overhead to let a shaft of light and the accompanying booming voice announce the truth. No giant fish flopped out of the waves to tell her in an erudite accent that she was no longer the Element. But when she clasped it around her neck again, she knew. The punchline had at last made it through to her, a lifetime of windup and then cracked off when she wasn’t paying attention, maybe a few months ago in the hotel, maybe that magical night of the parade when she embraced her loss, maybe even when Fluttershy ripped her secret open on the return home.

A sound thicker than the sea’s chorus jarred her, and she looked up in time to see a piebald pink form fighting a wave, dragged under for a second and pushing itself onto the sand, its mane flying and its mouth a wide O, eyes squinted. Pinkie stumbled back, shocked to unbelief, so caught up that the emerging stallion seemed to her an apparition brought on by the heat, even as he crossed the sand with ocean streaming from his white mane and tail, leaving real hoofprints and real trails of water. She waved, but he only said her name in response, and when he reached her, he looked down the beach and said “let us go further.”

The stallion kept to her side, quietly nonthreatening, and she decided after a minute that he was neither hallucination nor Vanilla Cream popping in to see how she was carrying on. When he stopped, she could see the gazebo only as a peppercorn in the distance, and her coworkers colorful flakes ducking in and out of it.

“I have wanted to meet you alone for a while now.” He looked at her quizzically. “No? You so do not have a guess who I am yet?” Something in his diction stirred Pinkie’s brain, but still she hesitated.

“Your… your highness?”

“The same.” A flap of furred skin lashed slowly away from his ribcage and annealed into a changeling wing, then the same on the other side while the barbed horn emerged like a totem of black magic, pushing his eyes down his face and a tuft of mane up where it evaporated like a spent dandelion. Muzzle elongating, hooves blackening and opening their spiracles, mane and tail turning to their natural pallor, fangs extending to rest against slight grooves on her lower lip, Queen Chrysalis’ dramatic appearance was tainted by the water that still dripped down her body. Soaked and absent any royal garb, the changeling queen looked to Pinkie like a creature someone would haul up from the bottom of the ocean and pitch right back in with a yelp. Sharp, green eyes fixed on hers mirthlessly from behind a strand of wet mane. “You don’t happen to have any revelation potion on you?”

Pinkie could only gesture toward the gazebo.

“Do you trust that I am who I present to be? You can ask me questions, if you like.”

“Okaaaaaay.” Nothing came to mind. Like being asked to tell a joke, there were hundreds of questions she had wanted to ask the queen during her stay at the hotel, but being put on the spot, it all dried up. She looked her up and down, most drones a little smaller than an average pony but the queen towering over her, nearly as tall as Celestia and Luna. “How come you’re so much bigger than me?”

“Um.”

“Sorry! That just slipped out, your highness. Oh!” She hastened to prostrate herself in the sand, and the queen nodded slightly in recognition. “Uh, I’ve got one. Who was it that explained the changeling emotion-suck thing to us all?”

“That was myself.”

“All right.” She smiled weakly. “Good enough for me.”

“How have you been doing with that, incidentally?”

“Peachy keen. It’s still weird, but, you know, you get used to it.”

“You are looking forward to going home?”

“Not really. Your highness, why are you asking me these things?” To Celestia, she wouldn’t dare pose so direct a question, but Chrysalis did not stymie her in the same way, despite her appearance.

“Yes, let us cut out the chase. I wanted to speak to you alone because you confuse me, Element of Laughter. I was not so very amazed to see you for our first meeting, thinking you the entertainment. Her royal highness of the sun likes to send entertainers for royal meetings.” The queen’s voice was dry and abrupt, and her L’s and semivowels were poorly voiced; “her royal highness” came out sounding like “her roe-ah highness.”

“That is why she sent me.”

“Yet you remained with the true diplomats.”

“Uhh. I wasn’t exactly given the option to leave.”

“You never asked.”

“Come on,” Pinkie thought bitterly; it was the same obtuse reasoning she was sick of fighting whenever she had to ask Twilight for a favor. “So if I did ask, you’d have just let me go, happy as a clam? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“I only think it interesting that you did not try to leave. You obviously know you have no place here, but you went along to the capital. I thought you a spy then, but you so never did anything strange. Hence, puzzle.”

“Huh.” It had been a puzzle to her too, why Celestia had made no attempt to reclaim her after it became clear her time in The Hive would be extended. But she couldn’t say that. “I stayed ‘cause I don’t have anywhere else to go. And I didn’t wanna disappoint Cele—uh, her royal highness of the sun, by showing up prematurely.”

“She would be angry with you? Does she believe you serve a purpose here?”

Her words stung, though Pinkie knew the question was fair. “I suppose she does. We haven’t spoken much.”

“She does not keep in a touch with you?”

“Mostly I talk to the Element of Magic.”

“Yesss, I do so anticipate speaking with her.”

Pinkie nudged the Element on her chest. “I don’t.”

“She is your friend, though? My knowledge was the Elements had to be friends.”

“I… yeah, that’s true.” Her stomach felt withered and she looked away, pulse rising suddenly, wondering for a second whether it was wise to tell the queen; but she was already doing it. “I don’t think I’m an Element anymore.”

Chrysalis made a chain of low, rapid clicks, and Pinkie looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “You puzzle me more, pink one. Does an Element not stay with its pony until death?”

Just like that, her nerves were washed away. It had been one dreadful point of fear, and then freeing, falling uncertainty. Whether she should have told the queen her secret was immaterial, for she had done so. She had penetrated the moment, and there was no going back. “You can lose ‘em,” she explained, lighter, relieved almost, the queen even less scary, even when she put the fullness of her jade eyes to Pinkie and sat in the sand, sifting it through the holes in her hooves.

“How does one ‘lose ‘em’?”

“Just changing your personality. ‘Element of Laughter’ doesn’t fit me anymore, so somewhere along the line, it switched. I don’t know when exactly, or who it’ll respond to now, but…” She flicked the Element again. “Not me.”

“Do your friends know this? It sounds like important news.”

“No, but they will sooner or later. They’ll have to go out and find the new one. Which means… Wait.” She took off her necklace and studied it. The gems shone just as brightly as ever, the gold warm in her hooves. “They’ll need this for whoever gets it next.”

“It is interesting, but I will not have this meeting waylaid by politics of who is and is not an Element of Harmony,” the queen said. “Whatever you so have to do, wait until after our business is done.”

“Yeah.” She saw it, the confession to Twilight afterwards, the Element disappearing into a saddlebag and jostled up onto the princess’ airship. Would Twilight be surprised? Would the others, when the news reached them? “I should get back, your highness. It’s almost time to meet.”

“Do, pink one. Good luck with your life; it sounds like you have much troubles ahead of you.”

“Thanks.” She turned to run down the beach, following the line of her hoofsteps, but paused a few paces away. “One more question, actually! Why were you in the ocean?”

“It relaxes me.”

Pinkie smiled at her before breaking into a gallop across the sand.

When the appointed time came, the diplomats stood and walked out to the beach to receive the approaching ships, Celestia’s like a heraldic butterfly spreading its fabric wings—purely for dramatic effect, which would have been greater if the changeling queen were on the beach to see it—and Chrysalis’ a serrated frigate of what appeared the same material that made her chitinous body, and which shone with the same oily quality that made even the groaning masts and billowing sails appear to be freshly emerged from the sea. Side by side, airship and frigate sped to the beach, light and dark, friend and foe, two majestic machines bearing their rulers down to their final meeting place. Chrysalis’ ship alighted first, surging up in a wave of wet sand and resting to one side, ropes and pegs jumping out of cannon holes and looping over the gunwales of their own accord, fixing themselves deep into the sand and securing themselves to the ship while its rigging slithered and spiraled until every black sail was raised. Chrysalis herself slowly lowered on black ropes from where the bowsprit split open, a cocoon opening to admit its charge. Next to her, Celestia’s entrance was tame, a simple display of flashy magic while the airship’s lowest deck opened and allowed the dogged procession to walk into the too-bright sun while the ship’s fabric wings folded back into place.

Face to face after nearly a year apart, Pinkie gave Twilight and Rainbow a friendly smile and a light “how’s it going?”

“Let’s just get this done,” Twilight said, walking right past her. Rainbow hesitated, looked at Pinkie, and trotted behind her to the gazebo.

“I’m great, thanks for asking,” Pinkie mumbled to herself, the last of anyone to enter the shade, where she was met with an impatient look from Hyacinth, holding her water glass out expectantly.

“Good to have everyone together,” Butter Blossom said, forever the cheerful voice in their group. Pinkie moved around them silently, pouring iced water from a pewter carafe, and then took a seat at the back.

“Revelation first,” Stricken Chord said, and Butter Blossom took out the requisite potions. When everyone had drank and was satisfied that they were with the true changeling queen, Soft Breeze began with opening remarks. She stated each nation’s position and demands for the other, and when the rulers agreed that it was accurate, Chrysalis tapped her hoof on the table.

“Element of Magic. Element of… forgive me, Honesty?”

“Loyalty,” Rainbow said.

“A thousand apologies. You are her assistant? I am glad to finally meet you both. Element of Magic, I had to speak with you so many times, never knowing what you looked like.”

“Surely you have pictures,” Celestia said.

Chrysalis looked at her darkly before turning back to Twilight with her crinkled changeling smile. “It is good to put a face to the voice. You have been much help in these trying times.”

“Twilight was instrumental in our restoration.”

“Not only of her own country, but ours. By the Element of Magic’s help, our seas were pulled back into place, refilled, and salted. I don’t know if your official duties extended to helping us, but regardless, we owe you our thanks.” She adjusted in her seat and clicked twice to the drone standing a distance away, the sound much like wooden blocks being smacked together. The drone hastened over, producing a small drawstring bag, which the queen took. “On behalf of The Hive, and my own self, I present you with this.”

Twilight was aware of the rest of the table watching her when she took the bag and removed the medal within. It was heavy in her telekinesis, black iron glinting with onyx chips pressed into its mold, a vaguely stellate design on its face with white dots of the changeling lettering on the back.

“It means ‘for honorable service’.” The queen watched her, ever smiling, as Twilight examined it and failed to locate the pin so she could affix it to her lapel. Chirruping like a cricket—changeling laughter—she said, “it is not for wearing. You place it on your mantle, or in a frame, or wherever you like.”

“We are honored, your highness,” Celestia said, inclining her head and taking the medal from Twilight, tucking it in a pocket. Everyone at the table saw, but no one commented, and Celestia continued after the barest pause. “Very few ponies have been commended by The Hive. Twilight’s services cannot be praised more highly. But, alas, we are here for more than displays of gratitude.”

“Yes, yes, princess, you are correct.”

“Equestria’s position maintains,” Hyacinth said. “It is prepared to take up arms if The Hive does not disband its presence in neutral territory.”

“You have no claim to that territory,” Chrysalis said.

“Nor you,” Celestia rejoined. “Nor the right to occupy it against us.”

“There are no arms being held against either nation at this time,” Stricken Chord cut in. “And the purpose of this meeting is not to disband anyone’s defenses, but to diffuse hostilities. The Hive is within its right.”

“Then Equestria is within its right to occupy neutral waters as well,” Celestia said. “I’ll send the royal fleet in and establish a patrol route.”

“That sounds like an attempt at colonization to me,” Chrysalis said.

“And according to the Treaty of Clerrh, 2998, neither Equestria nor The Hive will attempt to colonize waters between sixteen and five degrees south, fifty-six and thirty-one degrees west, so dubbed ‘neutral waters’,” Soft Breeze added. Twilight looked at her with a faintness of respect in her cold eyes. She knew none of the diplomats, and, from her experience with the princess, had not entirely expected them to know what they were doing.

“I have no intention of colonizing anything,” Celestia said, “but if there is a changeling presence in those waters, should there not be an Equestrian one?”

“Sunny Capers’ Agreement of 3000,” Chrysalis mumbled, looking again to Soft Breeze.

“Ah! Yes, in Sunny Capers’ Agreement, 3000, it was established that the neutral waters may be used by either nation or representatives thereof for travel, both commercial and private, for fishing, for holding meetings when neither nation wishes to host in their own territory, for emergency weather management, and for scientific research.”

“No patrol routes in that list,” Rainbow said, earning a black look from the princess. “Hey! I’m just saying. Why can’t we just… you know, stop?”

“You speak when spoken too,” Celestia hissed, stretching her neck over to stare down on Rainbow, a thick trunk of ivory fur collared in scarlet silk and darkening with sweat.

“Emergency weather management,” Chrysalis echoed. “I believe that clause was so added for your sake, princess. In case of any tropical storms trying to make their way to your shores.” Twilight, Celestia, and Rainbow knew immediately where she was going, but Pinkie and the diplomats watched with professional passivity, never informed, unprepared for the queen’s coming statement. “A hurricane, perhaps? Our islands have weathered hurricanes before, they come with the changing of the seasons. They can be prepared for.”

Celestia raised her head to look down on the queen, trying to be imperious. On Twilight, the trick worked every time, but Chrysalis didn’t blink.

“The crux is, princess, I don’t trust your words anymore. With one voice you so preached peace and friendship to me, and with another you threatened to summon a hurricane on my navy. How am I to proceed after such a threat?”

“Wait, what?” Butter Blossom coughed. “A—” He flinched when Sweet Impression kicked him. Behind them, facing Twilight, Pinkie’s eyes widened a fraction, and Chrysalis turned directly to the diplomats. Against the sun, her face in profile became an eyeless draconic shadow, her mane throwing a ribbon of aquamarine light onto the table.

“Does that surprise you? Is this yet another thing your princess has not informed you?” She turned back, regained her face. “Royal Equestrian diplomats, it is true, your princess threatened—”

“I will not abide these lies,” Celestia said. “Never once have I made any attempt, or threat, concerning The Hive or its queen.” Full and forward in Twilight’s mind, Celestia’s voice demanded: “keep silent.” It came without any feeling or disorientation, and a queer look on Rainbow’s face confirmed that the same order had been projected into her mind.

“You threatened to summon a hurricane on my ships as they approached your borders—with intention only to remain there, never to so cross,” Chrysalis said. “Do you deny that?”

Bitterly, Celestia said, “I so deny it.”

“If either ruler has any serious accusations for the other, it must be settled in a court of law, not here,” Hyacinth said with an attempt at authority that died instantly.

“There is no accusation, only the truth,” Chrysalis said. “And I did withdraw my ships, deeper into neutral waters, in good faith that no further threats would be made.”

“If you withdraw into your own waters, there will be none,” Celestia said.

“And you will so push me deeper into my own territory until I am unable to send any of my vessels into neutral waters.”

“Are your waters insufficient for your needs? Perhaps we should reexamine your borders.”

“Indirect threatening,” Pinkie said from behind.

“Pinkie, my dear.” Celestia rose and, as if seeing her for the first time, walked over and shook her hoof heartily. “My dearest, I nearly forgot you were there!” She laughed. “So quiet today. It’s this heat, it’s enough to stifle anyone. Dear, how about some more water?”

“Yes, your highness.” Pinkie attended to their waters.

“Heard any good jokes lately, Pinkie?”

“Oh. Um.” Her hoof shook as she refilled Chrysalis’ glass, the queen tapping a hoof on the tabletop by way of thanks. “What did the cuckoo clock say to the—”

“No, no, no cheap parlor jokes,” Celestia said, shaking her head and creasing her face as though holding back laughter—though she clearly was not. “Something funny, something interesting.”

“I propose a fifteen minute recess,” Hyacinth said weakly.

“Agreed,” Chrysalis snapped, rising and clicking once to her drones.

On the sand, under the sun’s fearsome heat, Sweet Impression was the first to address the princess. “Did you really threaten her with a hurricane?”

“As a test of her resolve, nothing more,” Celestia whispered. “I would never truly unleash something like that on them.”

“You could have told us!” Hyacinth hissed. “Are you—now we have to—Butter, what do we—”

“Hey, hey, Hyacinth, deep breaths.” Butter Blossom patted her foreleg awkwardly. “All right? Come on, let’s breathe. One… two… that’s right, three…”

“We have to stay the course,” Soft Breeze said. “If we can.”

“Do you want to face her in a court of law, your highness?” Sweet Impression asked.

“Absolutely not. What I want…” Celestia kicked the sand and shook her hoof angrily, irritated by the grit that had gotten into her golden shoes. Suddenly, Twilight understood why the changelings had holes in their hooves. “I want her out of neutral waters, and I want our trade routes reopened. That’s all. It’s not hard, but if she insists on being stubborn—”

“Well, if you’re not allowed to push them out of neutral waters, why not just drop it?” Rainbow asked.

“Yeah, it seems like—” Twilight quailed at the princess’ look.

“She won’t withdraw from neutral waters, she has as much a right to them as you do,” Soft Breeze said.

“Yeah, we can’t command her to do anything,” Stricken Chord added. He had taken over for Butter Blossom, rubbing Hyacinth’s leg and trying to calm her down.

“And we’re not exactly in a position to enforce anything,” Sweet Impression said. “Equestria isn’t suited for warfare right now, especially naval warfare.”

“We can destroy them from a distance,” Celestia said.

“Hurricanes?” Pinkie asked. “They can travel underwater, you know.”

“Pinkie, perhaps you should be rehearsing your joke for when we reconvene.”

“You know, princess, I don’t…” She stammered and pawed the sand before stalking back to the table.

“These are my terms,” Celestia continued. “Withdraw all ships from the neutral waters, or Equestria will make those waters uninhabitable.”

“Princess—” Twilight started.

“They can change their shapes. We can command the weather itself. She knows she has to concede.”

“Your highness, I must protest,” Hyacinth said, getting her wind back. “Her royal highness is prideful, she will not simply lay down and let you bully her like this. And Equestria can’t risk open war.”

“What risk?” She grinned down at Twilight. “None of my ponies will set hoof on a ship. We can conjure any disaster we need from the palace, and we can throw it to whatever latitude or longitude you want.”

“You’re sick!” Rainbow blurted.

“Enough! You, to the ship!” She pointed, flinging sand.

“She’s ready for us,” Soft Breeze said, heart audibly sinking.

“I’m not joking, Rainbow Dash. Use those wings of yours, fly up, there you go, over the rail and back on the ship. Wait there.” She waited until Rainbow was perched on the gunwale, glowering down on them like a stone gargoyle.

“Come, princess, let us discuss this like adults,” Chrysalis called from the table.

Seated again, and waters topped off, Celestia pulled Pinkie to her side. “So, Pinkie, a joke? These are difficult times, and I am in much need of some levity.”

“I… Sorry, princess. I got nothing,” Pinkie said.

“Nothing?” She laughed and looked to Twilight, who looked into her water. “The Element of Laughter can’t think of a joke! These are interesting times. Why, Pinkie, I believe I had asked you to rehearse something for me. Nay, I believe I sent you here for but one purpose, did I not?”

“That is enough!” Chrysalis snapped. “Do you think belittling your ponies makes you look more important to me, Celestia?”

The princess narrowed her eyes, the queen’s disrespect not lost on her. “State my new terms, Hyacinth.”

“Me?” A note of panic ran through Hyacinth’s voice as she lowered her eyes and tried to disguise the look on her face. “Uhh, your highness—I mean, the royal princess of the sun has stated that she…” She straightened in her seat and mastered her fear. “The princess demands that you withdraw all ships from the neutral waters at once, under threat of open war.”

Chrysalis looked at Celestia, who looked back, both pairs of eyes fixed on each other with venom and failing respect. “Withdraw or fight, Celestia? With what would you fight?”

“With every ounce of Equestria’s fiery heart.”

“Newly recovered and better than ever, I am sure.”

“You know nothing of our power.”

“I so can say the same to you. You wish to test it?”

“I wish not to, Chrysalis. Withdraw. Cede the neutral waters.”

“Your highness, this is ridiculous,” Twilight whispered, flinching as the single word, silence, rang through her brain like a bell tolling overhead.

“Listen to your student,” Chrysalis said. “You don’t scare me. Your hurricanes don’t scare me.”

For a minute, no one spoke; both rulers contemplated their courses while the diplomats squirmed and worried, feeling their worlds falling out from beneath their hooves, and Twilight looked out to the sea.

“I’ve got one,” Pinkie said, and everyone turned to her. “Why did the princess cross the ocean? To get to the other side. Haw haw, that was great. Hey, your highness, I have an idea.”

“You will be—”

“Silence, despot,” Chrysalis said. “Element of Laughter, you have the floor.”

“It is not her place to speak at this meeting.”

“She will speak when spoken to.” Chrysalis gave Pinkie a weary smile. “What is your idea?”

“How about we both back up, disband whatever arms we have ready, and call it a day? I know you don’t trust her, your highness, and that’s why I’m willing to go with you, under your guard, back to Closed Eye of the Ocean. As collateral.”

“Idiocy,” Celestia said, shaking her head. “A joke in poor taste, Pinkie.”

“You can take me back, and if Celestia doesn’t hold up her end of the bargain, then you’ve got me to do with what you will. Then when everything’s normal again, I can go home.”

“I will not let The Hive hold one of the Elements of Harmony prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” Pinkie asked. “I’m volunteering. Your highness, what do you think? Does that sound fair?”

“The Element of Laughter in exchange for disarming,” Chrysalis said.

“I will not allow it,” Celestia said.

“I will.” Chrysalis licked her fang, holding her gray tongue between front teeth as if to bite off the tip. Undulating and shapeless, it was like a slug in her mouth, and then it curled back and vanished entirely for a second, reappearing to let her speak the language that she wanted. “For fairness, let me send one single ship near to your border. If I fail to disarm my fleet, you may destroy that ship however you see fit.”

Celestia considered the offer, her face stone, eyes unreadable. “Make it a cruiser with a full complement.”

“Very well. And I will not retaliate if you can demonstrate that it was destroyed for appropriate reason.” She stood up, Pinkie edging over to her without her notice. The diplomats watched, breathless. “Do we have an accord?”

Celestia did not stand, but looked at her with a triumphant bearing. “Draw up the paperwork, queen.”

The blood sun was melting over golden ocean swells by the time all was agreed. The queen and her drones produced the basic paperwork, promising to provide something more official once they were back in the capital and had access to her legal team. She and Celestia argued terms and conditions while sunset came on, and Twilight relayed the events to Rainbow, who refused to leave the ship out of a juvenile sense of defiance. The diplomats quarreled in their own space, and Pinkie walked the sand, never straying out of sight.

When they gathered back at the table, Celestia spoke. “All is in accord. Pinkie shall leave with the queen tonight, to be held until Equestria has disarmed and its changelings have been released from surveillance. In exchange, a changeling cruiser with a full complement and full weapons will be left on our border with orders not to move.”

“What about trade routes?” Pinkie asked.

“One thing at a time,” Chrysalis said. “We will discuss reopening trade during peaceful days.”

“Yes,” Celestia said. “We have much to benefit from friendly trade between Equestria and The Hive.”

“Oh, stuff it. Just prove your word, princess. That is what I want right now.”

“And it shall be proven.” At that, Celestia turned and beckoned Twilight to follow, Chrysalis with Pinkie and her drones. Both ponies remained, a last look across the black table.

“So, Twilight,” Pinkie said. “Guess this is it.”

“Guess so.” She looked at the hoof offered her.

“You can at least give me the dignity of a hoofshake.”

“You’re right.” They shook once, formally. “That was a good idea.”

“I like to think so.”

They parted, each to her ship, no further words between.

* * * * * *

A film of sunlight was all that was left on the ocean when Pinkie and Chrysalis set out. Her ship bucked and rocked, pushing itself into the tide by an unseen mechanism. The rigging whipped and snapped into place, knots formed and came apart, sails caught wind, and small, green lights came on all over the deck. Chrysalis stood at the wheel, her legs rooted to the deck by mounds of fat, black tendrils, and held a spyglass to her eye. Only when they were in deeper waters, Celestia’s airship shrinking into the night sky, did Chrysalis speak.

“I have no intention of harming you, pink one.” She was motionless at the wheel, back to Pinkie, and her voice was thin under the slap of waves and the grumble of sails above.

“What are you gonna do?”

“You are coming back to my palace. You will be placed under watch, but I will not restrict your movements in my home. Not very much, anyway.”

“The palace,” Pinkie said, not enthused. More luxuries with too much time to enjoy them.

“Should not be more than a few months, then you can go home.” The queen came unstuck from the deck and walked about. In darkness, her body still shone eerily in starlight, her eyes lucid and glowing softly. She clicked and clacked across the deck, her hooves hard like volcanic rock on dark wood that felt similar. Yet there was gentleness too, ease and confidence in her stride and her voice, the steady way she looked across the empty ship and the wide, featureless ocean. “Come below with me.”

Pinkie followed her belowdecks, into the susurrus of moving water, to a friendlier-lit room. On the walls, where Pinkie was accustomed to seeing torches or lamps, double rows of intaglio lenses of frosted glass emitted soft green light onto an oblong table that appeared to grow out of the floor, held in place by neither bolt nor its own weight, of a piece with the ship. As Pinkie stepped around, taking in the simple room, a pair of fat, black shapes grew from spaces in the floorboards, giant drops of oil that expanded and hardened into bean bag chairs.

“Relax, pink one.” She went to a rattling cupboard and produced a pair of green-tinged china cups. “Tea?”

“Uh. Sure, your highness.”

Chrysalis sat and appeared to do nothing, but after a minute, she got up again to answer a squeal from somewhere in the walls, pulling at a light and opening a nook where waited, steaming and ready, a tea kettle.

While their tea cooled, Chrysalis directed Pinkie’s attention to a spot on the floor, where, as she spoke, the boards softened and pulled apart to leave only a glass bottom. Pinkie nervously looked into her own reflection suspended over deep, black ocean. “How far does it go?”

“We test that,” Chrysalis said, and a spotlight clicked on below them, so powerful that Pinkie felt it activate through her hooves. A slender cord slithered down through the hazy column of light and disappeared behind them, and they watched it for several minutes, waiting for Pinkie knew not what. When Chrysalis was satisfied, the hole in the floor closed and she took her seat; more strands of ship-material came up to fasten around her body.

“For checking the depth. We are nearly there.”

“…Yeah?”

Chrysalis looked at her with surprise—represented on the changeling face by a dilation of the nostrils and a tightening of the corners of the mouth. “You said it yourself, we can go underwater. I so mean to take us there now.”

“Uhhh.” She looked around. “Maybe I’m missing something. This is… a regular ship?”

“You are aboard the best of the best of changeling magic and technology. How do we get anywhere with no crew? I am it.” Pinkie shook her head, not taking the queen’s meaning. “The ship changes its form in accordance with my needs. Ah, let us go back above, I will demonstrate.”

Taking her tea up to the deck, Chrysalis gave no time before pressing herself into a mast and becoming one with the black material as the ship flapped and fluttered with the heavy movements of rigging again coming alive. Pinkie looked up, the night sky coming in and out in shards, coldly bright and then snuffed where the sails whipped themselves up, unknotting to fly loose like birds all at once lifting from the water’s edge; and beginning behind her, Pinkie turned with surprise at the sound, a gnarled rumble of sailcloth rolling up, first the towering mizzen sail shrinking into a bundle under the looping ropes at the mizzenmast’s base, where settling down like heat-withered leaves came the mizzen topsail and topgallant, the staysails, coiling ropes thick and slithering under folds and out of sight. The mizzenmast was pulling itself down, its base tapering away as the deck claimed it without a ripple of visible magic, and the mainsails and main staysails came next, rolling in the same way, gleaming eyeholes snapping, wind that Pinkie hadn’t known to expect rollicking onto the denuded deck and pushing her down as she tried to hold her balance atop the swelling ocean. Giving up, lying on the deck, she flinched back as the main topgallant staysail soared from the ship’s front and joined the mainsails in a black knot at the last second before melting into the deck where the mainmast was beginning to wilt as well, the crow’s nest far above curling in on itself and becoming an annular streak down the mast’s lofty, black body. Then the foresail, the fore topsail, and the fore topgallant, coming together across the deck like a conference of enormous bats swooping down to the rocking bow, the ropes hung in silhouette against a vermeil of starlight cast up from the water’s surface; and the staysails then, huge triangular sails that crackled savagely with the wind’s force undivided upon them, shooting off their rigging like eager kites and catching the wind much higher above, for a moment yanking them to a near stop and then turning the ship off course while the rigging strained and groaned to reel them back in; and while Pinkie watched these three massive sails spinning and pirouetting like scraps of black silk in a cyclone, the jib was the last to come unstuck, catching much earlier and wrapping itself around the sinking foremast before vanishing one and all.

Wind swept cold and wet across the bare deck as Chrysalis climbed out and reassembled herself, and the final staysails were brought in to be consumed by the greedy ship, and the bowsprit curled like a fiddlehead to disappear beneath them. The queen gestured for Pinkie to come back below, where she found that the ship’s interior had changed as well: instead of a claustrophobic corridor lit with the changelings’ unaccustomed lenses, they descended into a single, cavernous room, hollow as a barrel and inside which the sea’s pounding was an echoing roar on thick timber ribs. Pinkie rocked side to side while Chrysalis’ hooves melted into the floor and the staircase flattened against the ceiling to seal them in.

She clicked once to get Pinkie’s attention. “Pressurizing now. What do you think?”

“It’s, uh, great.” She forced a smile, less the raw magical power on display that bothered her than the prospect of diving.

Air hissed all around through vents she could not see while the ship writhed and changed below the floor, all the rigging material forced down through the walls to weigh them and serve as ballast. Pinkie let out a squeak of fear when the walls split upwards to reveal ebbing black water just outside, water that sprayed up against green-tinged glass forming in place of the wood that receded into curved beams across their arching chamber. Cold water crept up the glass until its pale blue edges converged on the submarine’s apex, a shutter winking the night sky away and replacing it with whirling, starless blue, then imperfect black, then dimensionless nothing that seemed to Pinkie to go by for an hour or more as she walked the inside deck slowly, pressing her face to the freezing glass, looking out for any mote of light.

Chrysalis had established herself at a newly-risen helm, its wheel turning lazy degrees of its own accord as they followed the open ocean currents. When Pinkie walked over to her and sat, shivering, Chrysalis said, “I will turn on the lights when we reach correct depth.”

“And what depth is that?” Her ears hadn’t stopped popping for nearly the entire time, and her jaw was growing sore from constantly working it.

“Five hundred fathoms.” She tapped a glass meter in the middle of the wheel. “Not long now. How are you adjusting? Have you been underwater before?”

Pinkie shook her head.

“It is something that I so enjoy to do whenever I get the chance. The ocean gives me peace. Up above, all this turmoil and fighting, and stupid drones going about things stupidly, and the noise worst of all. Under the water, though, that all goes away.”

“I guess I can see that,” Pinkie said. “Does it have to be so cold?”

“Nn?” She chittered something, and Pinkie thought she saw motion in the back of the queen’s eyes. “I can create a heat source for you in one moment. Apologies, I don’t know very much about Equestrian folk outside of their politics. You have warm blood?”

It had never once come to Pinkie that such a basic fact could be unknown, and she was momentarily stunned before answering. “Yes, warm blood.”

“No insult meant.” The queen looked out through the vessel’s flat, circular nose, and Pinkie jumped back when something soft brushed against her hooves. The floor heaved up a luxurious ermine coat, which Pinkie draped around herself without a thought for the beast whose fur had been forfeit, too cold to care.

“Ready your eyeballs,” Chrysalis said, and light exploded all around them a moment later, banishing the immediate darkness but not the emptiness; when her eyes had adjusted and she could stand at the glass, there was nothing to see but the gradation of white to dim yellow to murky green to black. Doubtless, she figured, any sea life near them had sped away the second the submarine’s lights came on.

She looked down, tentatively resting her body weight on the window’s convexity, but saw nothing resembling a bottom. Asking Chrysalis about it, the queen said, “no, we are nowhere near the bottom.” Then she bared her fangs in an imitation of a pony smile. “I could take you there if you like. Only two thousand more fathoms.”

“No no, there’s no need for that! This is great how it is.” She looked back to the window, feigning interest.

“This is the path I take sometimes back to Closed Eye of the Ocean.”

“How often do you go all the way to the bottom?”

“Not as I would like, honestly. Usually I only appear there when business calls me.”

“Business?”

Chrysalis’ nostrils dilated in surprise again. “I thought you so knew. Changeling cities on the seafloor?”

“Well, sure, I knew that, but—really? This deep? How? I thought they were just on the…” She tilted and gesticulated with her hooves, trying to think of the word. “You know, where the beach slants down before it really starts going down?”

“You refer to the continental shelf. Yes, there are changeling cities there too. Oh, those would be the ones your friends told you about. Perhaps they don’t know about deep cities.” She sighed. “Now I am thinking about it. I wish I had time to visit, Sleeping Claw of the Ocean is somewhere beneath us. Actually, we may have passed it already. I much enjoy my time in that town.”

“Right.” Pinkie was curious, but did not want her curiosity to be construed as a desire to visit. “So every changeling breathes underwater, not just you?”

“Any changeling who can give itself gills. Those who prefer the form wind up seeking out our undersea communities. We have several, and from last I heard, the real estate market is exploding, especially in the abyssal plain.”

“That’s good.” She looked down again, imagining it, a splotch of spectral green lights below, tiny buildings and tiny underwater cars pulling out of tiny driveways to cruise tiny streets, little changelings squashed unrecognizable by the pressure playing out ordinary lives in an extraordinary location. Changeling schools and grocery stores and amusement parks sixteen thousand feet below the white-gold beaches and lush jungles that she and everyone associated with The Hive, front lawns of cultivated kelp, walls decorated with furry algae and spotted with tube worms, windows of thick glass for most and windows of thin, beautiful glass kept intact by magic for those who could afford it; parabolic phone lines whose nadirs dipped into the green city glow and which splayed out to blinking towers lashed to cliffs like the feelers of a giant, compartmentalized organism; hot water pumped in from natural vents and cold water drawn from without, sewage flowing into whatever trench was nearest—and what if? Pinkie almost asked, but felt it would be going too far. Could there be changelings in the trenches? Halfway to the very bottom got them to the abyssal plains, and half again to the bottom of the deepest trenches, where life was either microbial or stretched into huge, delicate nets of hyaline membrane. Might they venture there and find a little burg of balloon-like changelings drifting among volcanic vents, who, after a gracious invitation from their queen, would make the trek to the surface, drag themselves into a form that could withstand lower pressures, and walk up to the beach, to the nearest boutique, grab a bold suit and tie and join a quadrille on a gently rotating ballroom floor later that night?

“What did you do with your Element jewel?” Chrysalis asked.

“I snuck it aboard the Mirdath when everyone was doing paperwork. It’s in the storage with their old stuff, so they’ll find it when they land.”

“And then they search for your replacement?”

“Yup. Hopefully that’s the last I hear of them.” She looked away abruptly. It had slipped out, something she had not planned to say, was not thinking at the time.

“Is that so?”

“I guess it is, yeah. Huh. So, uh, what did you think of Twilight? Er, the Element of Magic, sorry.”

“That is a pony whose talents are being neglected, and I think she knows it. Clearly no great love between her and the princess of the sun, the Element of Loyalty less so.”

“She’s just an assistant.”

“Those are important. I have many assistants at the palace; you will see.” She said it with what Pinkie thought was pride, but, as with all expression, a changeling’s was foreign to her.

“Can you tell me about the palace?”

“Oooh.” She flapped her wings languidly. “You came to us from the capital city palace. Mine is not so different. Wealth is wealth.”

“But yours is in the volcano.”

“Yours is on a mountainside.”

Pinkie shrugged and put her face again to the glass. “Fair enough.” Her breath fogged around her muzzle and she drew a smile. Through the dot eyes and upturned C mouth, she saw still no break in the gloom, no strange lights, no monsters, no skeletal hulks of shipwrecks. She was still cold, but did not want to trouble the queen for anything more, for, she reminded herself, she had made herself a hostage, at least in name. Casual conversation with the queen about changeling cities and cruising depths made it easy to forget, made her coat feel like more than a basic courtesy. Not one to worry overmuch, still she wondered whether the queen could be trusted, whether instead of the palace she was humming toward an icy tomb.

Daybreak proved her fears unfounded, its faintest edge reaching down to color their dark journey—the queen had turned the lights off at some point after Pinkie fell asleep on the floor—giving them a ceiling of leaden ocean as bright as twilight’s final extremity. The queen grew a latrine and some walls from the floor for Pinkie, explaining that they would be ascending gradually throughout the day. On a map, their course had taken them beyond the islands’ easternmost point into what the changelings called Lobe of Calm Ocean, some five hundred miles of water that separated The Hive and a thin extension of inhospitable ridges, active volcanos, and wind-shorn cliffs that made the north point of dragon country. They were due to turn almost completely around, heading west-by-northwest after clearing an undersea mountain range, which Chrysalis said they would be able to see during the turn. Then ascending through the twilight zone and into tropical waters near Closed Eye of the Ocean, they would reach dry land before dinnertime.

Until the appointed time of passing the mountains, Pinkie had nothing to occupy herself; the queen had summoned no entertainment, and Pinkie did not want to talk with her the whole time, so she made herself as small a burden as she could and sat by the glass, watching for anything, seeing nothing but an occasional dark shape in the far distance.

“Come to the other side, the mountains approach,” Chrysalis said after what felt like hours, their waters brightened a hair with sunrise proper. Pinkie shuffled over and planted herself against the glass, watching the bottom. The gray peaks processed in a ragged line like monks hooded in silt and ocean debris, soft tops and jagged tops, stone black and then shimmering dully with dark green and red when the queen ticked the spotlights on. Gliding away from one, Pinkie saw the gentle bottle shape of a whale, its tail down for a second to show the diminishing shadow of enormous, scarred flukes, and then, a few mountains later, the spinal form of a sunken tower clinging to a jagged promontory and blinking slowly, taut wires diving down and out of sight.

“Do changelings live in these?” she asked.

“No, these mountains are no good for everyday life. All we can find here is work stations and, as you so see, telephonic towers.”

“How do you have telephones underwater? How does that work?” Pinkie wanted to ask, but stopped herself; she didn’t even know how above-water telephones worked.

They cruised for several minutes after the final mountain before swinging slowly back around and passing on the opposite side, the tower blinking on and the whale long gone. After the range was out of sight, she could see more than feel their ascent, the gradual lightening of ambient waters and the occasional need to pop her ears. The queen turned her lights off again and fish began appearing outside, and Pinkie could see without having to try. A flourishing tornado of tuna caught her eye on the submarine’s starboard side, and she watched, amazed at the size of it, the uncountable mass of life swimming in perfect formation before fading and giving way to the rich colors that Pinkie had expected from the voyage’s start. Mounds of rough-edged coral spotted the appearing bottom, still far below, multicolored poppies to Pinkie’s eyes and dashed with confetti fish which filled the blue waters minutes later, suddenly as if to make up for her time in the abyss. A blue shark slid over and kept pace with them for a moment before breaking away, pink and yellow dottybacks flitted past amid brilliant firefish and dozy gobies, waving through reaching seaweed, poking driftwood and coral below as the seafloor came to meet their submarine; before long, Pinkie could see the clownfish, the starfish at the end of faint trails in the sand, the anemones, the harsh-looking lionfish, crabs marching and empty black eyes surveying from under rocky things buried in the sand, a mossy yellow eel flashing out of sight before she could get a good look, tangs aglow like thrown coins among soft-looking triggerfish, the great silhouette of a sunfish drifting farther off, and then finally the trash of a civilization not as distant: overgrown nets, lobster cages, milky plastic wrappers which she initially mistook for oddly-shaped jellyfish. They rose through the detritus, her ears popping much more frequently, scattering fish and blowing through kelp, until they finally broke the surface and the pale midmorning sun glittered on water receding over glass, a sight more beautiful than any colorful dawn or anxious dusk, rebirth through crushing darkness, flurrying fish in celebration below, the submarine gasping with a re-pressurizing interior and floundering as it regrew its masts and re-strung its rigging, water roaring down a mansard pyramid deck and throwing itself back into the lapping ocean before the submarine deepened in the bottom, flattened on the top, shuffled its interior into discrete rooms and belched forth furnishings for those rooms, and finally let the tropical air in through a fresh hatch and a staircase that slithered like an angular vine down the descending newel. Pinkie raced up to catch the queen crawling without grace through a knot in the deck, but gave her no heed as she ran to the bow to hang halfway over the gunwale while the bowsprit uncoiled to point dramatically at the still distant capital island, gray under a looming bonnet of storm clouds that stretched but did not yet meet them.

“It’s still pretty far off, huh?”

Chrysalis took her place at the sprouted wheel and tapped an excited rhythm on its spokes. “Couple hours, pink one. Are you okay? Did you enjoy underwater travel? It is much faster than sailing.”

“I liked the last bit, anyway.” She took a deep breath of damp air, closing her eyes and savoring the warmth returning to her fur, and, emboldened by the surface, asked the question she had deferred earlier. “So are there changeling cities on the very bottom too? Like the trenches?”

“Nn, life in the trenches is not easy.”

“No, I’d bet not!” She giggled, not willing to push for a more direct answer, deciding instead to assume that there were a few scattered, eldritch villages all the way at the bottom, the changeling answer to Equestria’s Snowdrift. It was a more interesting fantasy, anyway.

With rain lashing the deck and snarling against the sails, warm wind pulling up monstrous waves, and Chrysalis in statuesque concentration at the helm as she maneuvered them safely through, Pinkie hid under a staysail’s insufficient lee and thought of the hurricane Celestia had threatened. Her knowledge of what happened in Canterlot had been spotty at best, as Twilight was always slow to divulge any information that was not immediately relevant to her needs. Pinkie never knew that Celestia had adopted an aggressive stance or had been slowly crushing Twilight under a neglectful heel, had only assumed that Twilight was doing it to herself, sickening from too much magic and too much badness from before.

Closed Eye of the Ocean showed them a different face from that which Pinkie and her diplomats had seen approaching the hotel. Seagulls and flying changeling drones filled the air above a harbor bristling with sails, all white instead of the queen’s dignified black. The island extended a peninsula knobbed with houses and shops and ending in a wide airship lot on its own artificial island, connected at the tip by a rust-red suspension bridge. From the harbor, moving her eyes up the littered beach and past the usual rind of palm trees, piers, and huts, Pinkie descried a dark cliff of volcanic rock threaded almost invisibly with a road’s perilous switchbacks, and on top of which was built a blocky tiara of pastel buildings, each one the foundation for those above it, flat and faceless homes seeming to radiate out of some central point deep in the cliff’s bosom, a few aglow against stormy darkness, most shrouded in white rain. These terminated as flat molars against foggy sky and the sloping volcanic cone to overlook a fat stone bridge some sixty feet over the inlet toward which Queen Chrysalis turned them, and across which buzzed the rest of the city, snaking streets and patches of trees and streams of water flowing out of hidden gutters and spouts to collect as a single silver veil running off a cliff behind an oval of walkway where changelings could gather and watch the rushing testament to their own ingenuity, perhaps pay a small fee to shine a powerful spotlight and try to shoot a rainbow through the mist at the bottom. Scarcer and larger did the buildings become as they climbed the volcano slopes proper, but all pastel painted and indistinct from what Pinkie could tell, a massive collective stubbornly waiting out the rain like a rash of barnacles.

Passing under the bridge, away from the deafening waterfall, deeper into the island, Chrysalis finally turned her head and looked around, giving Pinkie a smile. “Home is sweet home, pink one!”

“Sure is!” she returned, tired of being wet, tired of being cold again after so much time underwater, tired of the pitch and yaw, tired of the ruffling sails and of running across the deck to see a new sight. As the island cliffs grew around them and trees caught rain far above, she was more comfortable for a teasing moment before they rounded a bend and emerged into a wide brackish sound, more city on one side and a spit of rainforest on the other. Chrysalis sunk the sails and mast back into the deck, shrunk the vessel down to a more modest size, erected a black awning, and grew a cluster of giant, screaming motors to push them the final stretch through a gap in the trees, up a shallow river and a canal whose walls were alive with an elaborate mural: changelings in outriggers working with nets that flowed down into an azure sea of jewellike fish and bursting blossoms of coral, a hammerhead shark curling around and casting a shadow that became the depths, glowing obelisks of underwater buildings towering over green domes, angler fish and exotic jellyfish in cavalcade above, then the green starburst off a columned town hall that became a green-tinged sky flocked with parrots whose shadows thickened into smoke and cinder, then the mushroom-cloud output of the queen’s volcano with crimson slopes prickled with palm trees and slender watchtowers, finally sloping down the other way to the mural’s final quarter, a florid jungle of monkeys and lines of ants and broad, fusiform leaves dripping water to the bottom that became finally the ocean once more, where the mural ended and the gates claimed their boat with a crunch of chains.

Chrysalis climbed out first to help Pinkie over onto the wooden pier, and a team of drones emerged from a back door to tend to the boat, drag it back into the deep places of the palace to be cleaned, stored, repaired if necessary, some hidden channel for the employees and mechanics, for grease and heavy tools, but not for Chrysalis and her charge. They ascended a wide staircase cut into the wall, no door, lit with more changeling lenses that made the purple carpet, when they reached it, a sickly eggplant color.

“You will need to stay in one location for the first few hours while I make the palace appropriate for you,” Chrysalis said. “I will have a room made ready for you immediately. Do you require anything more?”

“Uhhhh… some food would be nice.” There hadn’t been a single crust of bread on the ship, a choice which she was not sure was deliberate. The changelings were content to eat every few days, she knew, but had not really thought about it; there should be something on the queen’s ship, she figured, for emergencies at least.

“I will so instruct the kitchen to prepare something suitable for a pony.” She pushed open a plain door and walked them into the bottom of an echoing, stone well, cold with wind flowing down from a vent in the ceiling and through a fine grate in the floor, through which Pinkie could hear the babble of shallow water.

“Ah, you don’t fly,” Chrysalis said, thinking for a moment and planting herself by the wall. Black scum oozed out of the queen’s pores and, more alarmingly to Pinkie, who thought she had already seen it all, her mouth and nostrils, collecting at her hooves and never dripping through the grating. When there was a rising bubble about knee height, it wobbled and extended, building itself into a shining staircase that coiled up to the well’s top; more than that, though, Chrysalis embellished it, gave the stairs jellyfish-shaped posts, spiraling balusters that reminded Pinkie of the kelp they had pushed apart, and a soft carpet as black as caviar. Not waiting, accustomed to the changeling need to politely allow a guest first passage, Pinkie trotted up the walls. Her mane, loose and in need of a wash, tickled her muzzle where the wind blew it straight down her forehead, and she was shivering when she reached the top, no longer damp from her boat trip. She waved to Chrysalis from the overhanging, wooden walkway, and the black stairs snapped back into the queen like a flicked whip.

Humming up on her insect wings, solid and unscarred, Chrysalis gave Pinkie a self-conscious smile, and Pinkie then first wondered whether the queen could do with her palace what she did with her ship. The image of her highness’ home growing crab legs and crawling out of the volcano’s mouth before twisting into a godlike ship or a barbed wyvern made her smile; and spitefully, she imagined Celestia dropping a hurricane on their waters, the look of smug rectitude on her face washing away when, you’ll never believe it princess, here comes the entire palace, alive and furious, a beast as black as true death whooshing out of the sky like a sledgehammer.

“We will go through here,” Chrysalis said, pushing open a door marked in the changeling script and taking them into a warehouse of chugging machines and hunched drones behind carts of laundry. At the hotel, where Pinkie would see all manner of dress, strange shapes, or exaggerated physical features, it was easy to overlook the fact that changeling drones were all identical at rest. Uniformed in plain white cloth, damp from humidity but not sweat, wrinkled from the sweltering heat that not only rose from the floor but billowed out of every machine, there was no telling the drones apart. Sexless, black insect shapes filled the floor with their clicking steps and chittering, churring speech, parting for the queen, bodies shimmering with ripples of light magical discharge: a show of respect without actually changing one’s shape, as they would for something more official. Chrysalis addressed no one, walking with her head up and Pinkie trailing behind, and got the door for her into the storage room first, then backtracking and finding the corridor to a stairwell.

Cooler on the second floor, better ventilated, Pinkie tried to wipe her sweat away without leaving an unsightly puddle on the tile floor. She looked to the queen, who was incapable of sweating, and Chrysalis looked back and smiled.

“That was the laundry room.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” She forced a giggle. “Hot in there, huh?”

“Was it hot for you?”

“Right, duh.” The queen hadn’t responded to the cold of the ocean either. “Yeah, for a pony, that’s waaaay too hot to work in.”

“Interesting.” They walked through a sitting room, its glass wall aglow, sunbeams slanting through a hole in the ceiling onto the conservatory on the other side. Chrysalis strode right past, but Pinkie slowed for an awed moment, a tan walkway snaking out of sight under young palm fronds and tiger-striped canna lily leaves, little orchid heads nestled closer to the ground in shades of cream and butter, and lazily waving butterfly wings perched on the lip of a bowl below those at the path’s edge.

Pinkie would have license to explore the conservatory whenever she wanted, Chrysalis told her, putting it to their backs and walking down more hall toward the hollow pit of a theater. The palace boasted more than two hundred species of tropical plant and more than fifty species of butterfly, maintained by one of the largest teams of drones on site, the best in botany, gardening, lepidoptery, plumbing, structural engineering, electronics, and filtration. In order to flourish indoors, and inside a volcano at that, there was a clever system of adjustable mirrors to simulate a natural day-night cycle: a gift from the griffons, she explained proudly, and the palace’s technological crown jewel.

She stopped a servant sweeping the stairs and told it, so she told Pinkie when the servant hustled away, to have a room prepared. Then they circled around the theater’s upper rim, down another branching hallway and past elaborately decorated but uniform doors, past windows to a crowded ballroom, and to another sitting room with another view of the conservatory. This time they rested, and Pinkie asked Chrysalis about the flowers, mildly surprised when the queen demonstrated that she knew them all. Pinkie would merely point and Chrysalis had the flower’s name, after the first few adding its symbolic significance in art and literature, and even running through their taxonomies, pointing out which flowers were cousins and which were total strangers. Not a leaf did she misidentify, not a genus conflate, though she could have been making it all up as far as Pinkie knew, and that would have been skillful in its own respect, the chain of details narrated with the surety only formal education could instill.

Chrysalis apologized and transuded through a wall to check on her room, leaving Pinkie to study the toothsome edges of an ostrich fern for a few minutes before growing bored and curling up on a divan to rest her eyes. She started awake at the familiar sound, the squelch of the queen’s passage, head fuzzy with afternoon dozing. They went past a vaulted dining room and through more bends of corridor to Pinkie’s bedchambers.

Ducking under the queen’s outstretched hoof, Pinkie entered and turned a slow circle, making like she was impressed though it bore significant resemblance to the chambers in Canterlot. The only major difference was the window, which gave a view, not of any well-kept courtyard or palace wall, but of the rough volcano interior, porous rock shaped not by time or by the ancient flow of magma but by the labor of changeling artisans. Great ribbed fish with blank, rhyolite eyes curled and bit their own tails with the obsidian eels like black and green veins running between, too long to see entirely, and the lithe shape of a dolerite shark with a chevron border of jade set against dalmatian diorite. Smaller, there were squares and rectangles of flat-scraped stone, lit to show faint texturing and the shapes of walkways below them, murals or reliefs too far away for Pinkie to make out details. Looking down, there was the lower palace spreading into the ground and the channel they had traveled to get inside, and looking up, she could just see the blue and white sky through the volcano’s top, the tiny outline of a fence around it.

Instructed to stay there until told otherwise, and assured that lunch would be brought up as soon as possible, Pinkie was left alone. She looked around, tested the sheets, checked the empty closet, had a steaming shower, and ate the exotic, but not really, food that was waiting outside her door when she got out. Mane and tail wrapped in plush towels, she sat at the window and watched a tiny changeling shape flying around the high scaffolds that held the volcano’s topmost rim from crumbling inward.

“Guess I’m here now,” she said to herself. She wanted to say more, even if just to hear more of her voice; she wanted to say something conclusive and profound, a grand monologue perhaps, to remind herself of the immensity of her choice. A sacrifice it would be deemed by the ponies in Equestria, heroic Pinkie giving herself to the wicked changelings to ensure peace for both nations; the cynical may see it as an attempt to make up for her failure in Applewood, and it might do just that, but the question was too far away. Equestria was done with her, and she it, and if she needed any proof beyond the insect royalty that tended to her, the trip under the ocean, the dead volcano and its heart of tropical flowers, then she had only to touch the soft fur on her chest where once rested her Element.

Grand Deception

Chapter One hundred twenty-three

Grand Deception

Not waiting for them to reach Canterlot, not wishing to darken the occasion, Celestia told Twilight and Rainbow her decision the night before. She poured them mead and summoned beautiful harp music in the dining room and told them that they would never be going back to Ponyville, that they simply could not be allowed out of her sight, and her deepest apologies that it must be so. Twilight had coached herself on crying for when the news came, but did not need to fake it, and Celestia draped her wings over them both and assured that all would be well: no news of their treachery would get out, they would just take up less serious jobs in the palace and be comfortable there, all their wants would be cared for. In her glowing rhetoric, it did not sound so bad, but that didn’t last either; Twilight knew it when the palace’s first white turrets poked their heads through sleepless morning fog. She was on the deck at the time, thinking inside her cloud of thoughts, contemplating useful permutations of her magic, and had to stop for the sudden onset of nostalgia.

Youth, streets glistening with snow and golden light, the drawbridge and portcullis rising and lowering in amazing tandem, guards flanking the entryways and filling the throne room in ceremonial armor, the crimson carpet, the lofty towers and threadlike bridge, everything fantastical to young eyes; then, more accustomed, these became the comforts of a well-established home, efficient and beautiful; and returning for the final time, beauty reserved for another, cold and close. Where, Twilight wondered, would the restrictions end, for she knew they would not end where the princess said. It may be years or more, but there would come a day when she would not be allowed admittance to such-and-such room, would not be allowed conference with so-and-so guard or administrator. Celestia’s suspicions would not shrink, and—“Well, neither will mine, if I’m honest,” she thought. Knowing to expect it, she was locked in, and in the final hours approaching the palace, she followed the idea further, wondering how long in advance the decisions had been made. There existed precogs in the palace, and both princesses could read minds, and she was sure there was more that she did not know about, magic whose tip she had touched and withdrawn from as from a candle’s flame. How far in advance had Celestia known to expect Twilight’s mistake, she wondered, and for that, how far into the next years did she already see?

Then there was Applejack’s idea, which had stuck with Twilight, the tantalizing notion that Celestia had attempted to groom her for godhood. The possibility that her imprisonment, too, was a test did not escape her mind, but she could not imagine a correct refutation.

On the blustery airship lot, cringing under the downdraft of a different ship taking off, Twilight adjusted her cardigan and followed Celestia into the palace.

The Mirdath came a few days later, disgorging its passengers onto the tarmac and into dusty offices and the embraces of waiting friends and loved ones. Twilight was in her room with a book, not of magic but of poetry, when one of the diplomats knocked and said, in hushed tones, that they needed to speak.

She admitted the stallion, Stricken Chord, telling him to be silent while she, using her cloud of thoughts as medium, ran through a chain of counter-surveillance spells. If Celestia wanted to spy on her, she was certain that her measly bank of spells would not stop it, but she had gotten by so far: an old thought already, more of a tired mantra than anything else, playing in a loop disregarded in the corner of her cloud.

“All right,” she said, swiveling her eyes back and catching, as she always did, the look of horror reverting to polite curiosity on her interlocutor’s face. “Proceed.”

“Are you okay, your highness?”

“I’m—your highness? Do I… never mind. We’re fine for the moment, now speak.”

“This was found on the Mirdath, in storage. It’s addressed to you. And it says, well you can read it.” He laughed nervously as Twilight took the package, semi-familiar writing on discreet brown paper.

“Don’t tell Celestia,” Twilight read aloud, cloud exploding with possibilities as she undid the twine knot. An ally in the changeling queen, perhaps, or maybe the diplomats pledging themselves to her cause having inferred it on the long trip back. “Ahhhhh, I wondered about this.” She lifted the Element of Laughter out of its velvet cradle, still in the shape of Pinkie’s cutie mark, Stricken Chord following it with his eyes and wearing a look of horror.

“W-what do we do?”

“First, we don’t tell the princess. That was good of her to write that. If Princess Celestia finds out that Pinkie’s no longer the Element, or finds out too early I mean, she might try to start something with Queen Chrysalis again. I wonder if she knows?” Twilight bounced the Element in her hooves, for a fond moment recalling the meteorite she had drilled through to retrieve it, the stale museum air and the breathless feeling of conclusion that they did not then know would be denied.

“Uhhh…”

“She knew it the whole time, else she wouldn’t have sent this with you. Pinkie…” She shook her head, laughed. “You fooled us good.”

“Miss Sparkle?”

“Tell Princess Luna that I need to speak with her urgently, and in private. The first thing is making sure Princess Celestia can’t go back on her armistice.”

“Yes, your highness. Will Pinkie be okay?”

“I’m sure she’s fine. Go, get Princess Luna immediately.” As he hustled out of her room, she called behind him, “and you don’t need to call me ‘your highness’!”

She placed the Element in its package and under her bed, taking it out an hour later when Luna appeared at her door.

“Apologies, Twilight, I’ve been in meetings all morning. Datura business, cleaning up the area around Moondrop.”

“That’s still going on?”

“You haven’t—” She chuckled, and Twilight resurfaced from her cloud. “You needn’t cast those spells, we’re in private.”

“How can you tell what magic I’m casting without me doing anything?”

“Me goddess, you mortal. Twilight, tell me what’s so urgent, I’ve got the mayor of Fillydelphia waiting for me.”

Twilight showed Luna the Element and Pinkie’s note, and the night princess appraised them for a minute. “Clever pony. Celestia told me she sacrificed herself for the good of the nation. She’s quite set on getting Pinkie back eventually.”

“I can imagine.”

“Will be interesting to see how set she is after we find the Element of Laughter’s replacement.”

“Shouldn’t we make sure our relationship with The Hive won’t go bad first?”

“I’ll have to consult my legal team. You’re right, we need to lock down our peace processes as soon as possible, before Celestia finds out she’s been tricked. I can only imagine.” She rolled her eyes. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Has she given you the news yet?”

“That Dash and I are here for life, yeah.”

Luna looked down on her for a moment, softened but not dull. “What will you do?”

“I guess that depends, your highness. Princess Celestia doesn’t want to underestimate me. Maybe I should keep quiet for the time.”

The smile crept back to her lips. “Ah. I see now. Very good, Twilight.”

Three days later, Wednesday, the other Elements took the train up to Canterlot for a ball. In the spirit of autumn and darkened by the trappings of solemn victory, they gathered at the palace and danced under a ceiling enchanted to resemble the tea-stained fall sky, colorful leaves drifting down and fading where they landed on the floor, on serving trays, in martinis. Rainbow danced all night with Leaf Blower, who was happy when she returned but had acted cold since, and the others with dates they had secured, but Twilight kept to the fringes with Octavia and Colgate, the only others with gloom to match her own.

Octavia scratched nervously at her mane all night, a quarter-inch shell the color of a cannonball, and told Twilight of her troubles. The stress of Datura life was reaching her in ways she said she should have expected, but did not; she was losing weight and sleep again, her night walks once more spiraling back on her, and she was tabulating her failures. Any minor mistake took on grand consequences in her mind: a misfiled document became an information leak, a mistaken location became crucial time lost. “I will shake myself out of this, I will,” she insisted over and over, looking into Twilight’s eyes intensely, as though it were Twilight herself who challenged her progress. Colgate stood by, fidgeting all throughout and offering barely any commentary, running into the dance floor once in a feeble attempt to draw herself out of the funk that had visibly gotten its wings around her, but slunk back a minute later, grumbling and reaching for a goblet of wine.

When it was over, when the princesses had led the ceremonial dance and given the toasts, and the revelers were swept back into the city or to their chambers in the palace to dream away the last of their nights, Octavia retreated to her room and Twilight followed Colgate onto the grounds. No surprise, Colgate led her to one of the huge fountains and dunked herself, noticing Twilight with a frenzied splash and a reflexive smile.

“Are you back at the palace?” Twilight asked.

“For now. I’m finding myself.” Crystal strings of dribbling water broke on her head, thin extensions of the pegasus feathers in flared display above, undersides stony cups to catch the reflected light.

“What does that mean?”

“It means…” She heaved herself onto the stone ledge and shivered, declining Twilight’s offer to dry her off. “I dunno what it means.”

“C’mon, Cole, you can trust me after all the time we’ve spent together.” Twilight wasn’t sure when she had picked up that calling her that put her at ease.

“Right, cool, yeah. I had a big night last week, that’s all, and now I need to take it easy.”

“Are you okay?”

“There you are! Twilight!” Rarity and Fluttershy galloped over to her, sliding out of the palace lights and into the softness of night, dark grass and the gentle perfume of flowering hedges.

“Great, big ball of fun. Aw, hell, I dunno,” Colgate mumbled to herself, and looked longingly into the fountain’s bottom.

“What’s going on?” Fluttershy asked. “Rainbow Dash just told us. Are you really stuck here?”

“I don’t know why I didn’t say anything,” Twilight whispered, looking at their hooves.

“You are,” Rarity said. “She can’t do this! Is she insane?” She came in to hold Twilight, crying again.

“She can’t keep you if you don’t want to stay,” Fluttershy said.

“She can do anything,” Colgate said. “Goddess of our lives. She controls the things we want.”

“If I leave…” Twilight began. “If what, actually? If I sneak out, what would she do? Chain me up? Or maybe I simply wouldn’t wake up the next day.” She shook her head, more tears leaking out onto Rarity’s dress.

“We’ll get you home,” Fluttershy said. “We’ll march right up to her and demand that you be released. What is she thinking, trying to force you to stay here?”

“She thinks I’m a threat.” Mumbling it against Rarity’s collar, she tasted the word on her lips, held it, drew resolve. She backed up and wiped her nose. “Which I am.”

“A threat to what?” Rarity asked.

“Her authority. If…” Part of her wanted to stop there, but she was on a roll, and not thinking clearly. “She made her move, holding me here, and now it’s my turn. If she wants to imprison me, I’ll give her a good reason to.”

“Dear, have you been drinking?”

“No!” A final sob escaped her lungs. “I’m just saying, Princess Celestia made her decision, and now I have to see this through. I’m not going to give up without a fight.”

“And neither will we,” Fluttershy added, touching her wither. “Have you talked to Princess Luna about this? She might be more understanding.”

“I’m not entirely sure where she and I stand right now.”

“These princesses,” Rarity spat. “I wish you never came back to Canterlot, dear.”

“Believe it, I wish that too.” They all turned with a start as Colgate rolled into the fountain.

“Should we fish her out?” Fluttershy asked as the blue unicorn floundered about, casting frigid droplets up onto them.

Twilight was awoken at five-thirty the following morning after ninety minutes of sleep, to walk half dead and shivering down white halls still ashen from night’s last extremity. Tall windows glowing softly, stairs thumping with heavy hooves, then the boardroom door opening for Twilight and the attendant bidding her good morning, and Celestia was already there, wrapped in a jade shawl that shrugged tiny sparkles from its folds whenever she moved.

“Your highness,” Twilight mumbled, slumping into her seat.

“And a cheery good morning to you too, my student!” She chuckled. “I spoke with your friends last night.”

“Oh.” She yawned.

“They were curious as to why I had chosen to keep you here under my care.”

“Rainbow too, you’re keeping her.”

“She’s free to go whenever she wants. I know she won’t leave you, but that option is nonetheless available to her. You have a true friend in her, Twilight.”

Twilight could only blink at Celestia. If there was a point, it had sailed over her head.

“It seems your friends, especially little Fluttershy, were concerned for you, a thing I can appreciate. They were not quite as well informed on why I’m doing this, however.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It pains me to say, they did not seem receptive to my logic. They—dear, did you not sleep well?”

“Is it obvious?”

“Hm.” Celestia shook a peppering of sparkles, her mane billowing out to the side. “I’m telling you this because I want to impress upon you the importance of your punishment, and to implore you not to cause your friends undue worry.”

“Why would I do that?”

“My dear, you and Rainbow both will be completely taken care of. You’ll want for nothing that is in my power to provide, and not just this year, but for the rest of your days. Think of it as your reward for all the work you’ve put in.” She shook her head sadly, seeing Twilight’s expression. “When you got back, what reward was there? A parade, a nice dinner, publicity events, and then you nobly put yourself right back to it with fixing our country. That is no just recompense for everything you have done for me, for Equestria. You carried us for so long, Twilight. Will you not let me carry you now?”

It was all of her will to keep from openly crying, and she knew Celestia saw it. The heavy silence after her question, the princess was allowing her student time to process her emotions; but she did not look away, did not give the dignity of privacy. If Twilight was to weep, she would do so in plain view, and if she were to accept comfort, it would be from only one other.

Which, she did; she was not made of stone. And Celestia embraced her tenderly and whispered that it would be all right, and Twilight cried a second time in eight hours; and in the enclosure of those warm angel wings, the soft-scented fabric with its dancing lights, the princess’ giant heartbeat and gently humming throat, Twilight did for a time give up.

“You will live as my favorite daughter,” Celestia murmured, and she smiled when she felt even breaths on her chest. Twilight had fallen asleep.

She woke up again, back in her bed, at eight o’ clock, and spent the first half hour staring into the showerhead and trying to remember the meeting. She was certain that Celestia had chosen the horrible hour to unbalance her, and she was sickened at the thought of herself crying on the princess. “Favored daughter, yeah right. Captivity with love is still captivity.” But by the power of warm water on tense muscles, Twilight’s heart softened, and when she was drying off, she asked herself how bad life in the palace truly would be. It would be trying at first, but if she could prove that she meant no further harm—and with Luna’s mind-reading abilities, proof might not be difficult to furnish—then surely restrictions would relax.

A good first sign of Celestia’s trust: she had taught Twilight the spell she used on the Via Luna to summon music in the dining room, and Twilight cast it as she stepped out of the steaming bathroom, conjuring up a pop love ballad whose snare drum she was folding her clothes in time to by the end.

The thought of rewards stayed with her, and when she was dry and day-ready, she checked her planner—dinner with the parents at seven, nothing before—and made for the palace spa. “If this is a reward, then we’re gonna make it feel like one.”

As Celestia’s favorite daughter, she did not need to pay the six hundred bits for the de-stress package, but she did need to wait in the lobby. There she tried to occupy herself with the magazines, one article in particular absorbing her more than she thought it should: Pinkie’s Departure, Heroic Sacrifice or Guilty Conscience? The article was full of quotes from no-names in the palace as well as a stallion who styled himself as the premier Element of Harmony historian. Twilight remembered him, she and her friends had all spent hours talking into his recorder at various points after coming home. Not attempting to hide bias, the article’s picture was a gray photo of Pinkie looking over her back, and this playing opposite a page-length advertisement for shampoo made with real coconut oil, Twilight slapped the magazine down with wry distaste after she was done reading.

The cloud of thoughts, meanwhile, turned over and over by itself, white noise in the back of her mind that she could usually ignore, but which came over strident and unremitting when she began to relax. Hot stones on her back, scented candles, soft music, oil and the sound of gently falling water, all flustered and broken-up by the cloud’s ceaseless work. Her brain ran with endless conclusions and ideas, things that were unreasonable but technically possible, solutions to problems long obsolete, potential answers to questions she had no time to pursue; after the first treatment, walking with her masseuse to the next room and watching her prepare, then donning a face mask and listening to that same preparation, Twilight had turned her attention to the problem of turning the cloud off—then, correcting herself, how to turn it off temporarily.

One thing led to another, and after a point, she gave up trying to relax. The masseuse scrubbed her mane and tail with a lather of pink salt and scented oil, rinsing her with warm water and undoing knots with expert unicorn magic, then sent her to a forty-minute segment in the minotaur pool, so named for their love of hot springs: steaming water all around her body, but her head exposed to arctic cold. After that, a facial exfoliation and a deep tissue massage from a different masseuse who praised Twilight a bit too much for her liking.

The cloud stopped being a nuisance after Twilight accepted that true relaxation was not in her grasp, and she waited out the final treatment in a strange imitation of peace, thinking and worrying at a lower level than usual, which was good enough by her reckoning. The final piece in her package was a half hour in one of the eleven serenity rooms, where she could sit either in silence or with relaxing music and take in the gorgeous view, absorbing natural sunlight in a seat under a wall of salt. Her room faced a shallow, outdoor pool, magenta lounge chairs and yellow umbrellas, their colors dimmed under the shade of a developing storm. There was only one pony in view, a middle-aged stallion basking on a deep red towel that bore Big Mac’s cutie mark on each corner, not such a surprise to see, for they had all allowed some commercialization after the heroic return. Twilight’s colors were on a brand of socket protectors, and Applejack had sold her face to a line of sports equipment; somewhere out there, ponies were scuffing the serene farmer’s smile as they bashed one another in knee pads and helmets.

An audible “huh” jumped out of her when Colgate trotted out onto the deck, doffed her fluffy spa robe, and hopped into the water. As was her way, she splashed around for a time, dunked her head, and then calmed down and let herself move with the water, and she was still there when Twilight was done, head lolling and mane fanned out behind her, eyes to the clouds, for all appearances totally untethered from her surroundings.

She was in a foul mood when dinner came, having spent the last hour in conference with both princesses concerning the Element of Laughter. She had told all she knew about it inside the first ten minutes, but Celestia would not be easily convinced that she did not know more, that she had not foreseen the Element’s transference in the changing tones of personal conversations which Twilight had to insist never took place. “I’m sorry, your highness, but Pinkie and I simply weren’t close at the end,” she had repeated, hating each time the fact that she was apologizing for it, as though the natural dissolution of their connection were some crime.

If Luna had not been there to proctor, Twilight was not sure that Celestia would have kept to the peace agreement. As soon as she believed that Twilight was not responsible, she accused Chrysalis of tricking her—“Tricking us into a peaceful relationship,” Luna said, “yes, how nefarious.” Like pulling teeth, they got Celestia to draw up and sign a stack of revised nonaggression agreements, and then the princesses argued over who would go in search of the Element of Laughter’s new bearer.

Frustrated, exhausted, and plain tired of talking, Twilight greeted her parents and led them to the guest dining room, dreading. They had not yet been told that their beloved daughter was never going home.

* * * * * *

Planting season on Sweet Apple Acres was becoming Big Mac’s worst season, for when the temperatures dropped and first frost appeared on dead leaves, his heart returned to Snowdrift. At first there was only Versus, her gleaming smile and the knowing look in her eyes like she was perpetually in on the joke, but that was not all Snowdrift was; there was also the tire tracks in desolate pine forest and the sound of pulse crystals, mud ruts, fire and electrical collars. Magic he did not understand, illusion, gaudy music and funerary dress, as dangerous as it was seductive, and here he stands, looking down into a mound of dirt and an apple seed dark as deep stone, stolid Big Mac yearning for something he cannot name, a feeling long-buried and whose shape has changed over time into sheer impossible fantasy.

And that night, after dinner, his heart fit to explode, he crept up to Applejack’s room where she showed him how to work the communication sigil. Twilight had designed it to work for earth ponies, he had only to press his hooves on certain clearly-indicated parts to adjust voice volume, muffle background noise, or sever the connection when he was done.

Applejack also showed him how to work the coffee machine in case he needed it, and then left for a late appointment in town. With the sigil glowing blue, waiting for Versus to activate on her end, he could not sit still, and when she answered, he had to try twice before he got a word out.

She laughed. “Relax, Big Mac. You’re not used to this, I take it?”

“Can’t say as Ah am,” he sighed. “Sorry.”

“You’re good, buddy. AJ told me you’ve got something on your mind?”

“Mm.” He was not sure what it was that he wanted to say when he asked Applejack to set up the talk, but he did not want it to be with the other Elements—nor, really, with Versus, but as much as he did not wish to inflame himself against her, he wished it more than anything else.

“So…” She giggled again. “What’s on your mind? My ears are open.”

“Ah guess Ah’ve been feelin’ homesick, which is weird considerin’ that Ah am home.”

“Oooooh, that’s a head-scratcher. Anything specific you’re pining for?”

“It’s more like what Ah wanted to find when Ah got back, but didn’t.”

“What was it you wanted to find?” So kind, so generous, her voice made him feel foolish for denying himself its sound for so long. He could see her in his head, relaxed in her living room with a cup of hot cocoa, brown rings on a gingham doily, Versus kicking a leg up to rest on the davenport’s arm and closing her eyes, offering herself in all kindness for his problems—just the slightest twinge of a smile on her lips, conscious that she was going above and beyond for someone she did not know well, proud of herself for it: a perfectly tiny vice to ground his fantasy, balancing the saintly picture she otherwise presented.

“Peace, Ah think, but Ah’ve got that. Ah’ve got it but Ah don’t, if that makes sense.”

“You feel like you should be at peace because everything that used to bring it is still there.”

“Yeah, but now Ah only feel restless.” He looked away from the sigil, noticing for the first time the shelves of books that filled his sister’s walls.

“AJ’s felt that a lot too. It’s natural.”

“But to go on as long as it has? Shouldn’t Ah be back to normal by now?”

“Well… I can’t really say.” Her voice had softened, and he could imagine her face, blurred and vague from the wear of memory, eyes limpid and imploring. Not a voice, but a real pony, a friendly near-stranger taking time out of her evening to talk him through something he hadn’t the courage to admit to anyone else.

“Ah never had this problem before.”

“Could it be that you haven’t gotten over your adventure completely? I-I don’t mean to belittle it, but maybe there’s some unresolved feelings. You know, I’m only beginning to put it behind me, the, uh, our time in the forest. And you’ve been through so much more than me, I can’t imagine it’s been easy.”

“That’s right, you stroke my ego,” he thought with a blush of self-effacement. He did not know what he was looking for, if not comfort.

“Do you feel like you still need to be ready for something?”

“Ah don’t think so. Maybe, actually.”

“Or that something bad is always just around the corner? I feel that way a lot.”

“Not that bad. Ah’m secure here, Ah know.”

“You know it, but do you actually feel that way? Do you get scared?”

“Scared?” He was not sure how to take her question. “Ah don’t know how to put it, Ver—Ah’m not scared.”

“Or anxious, maybe?”

He completed her name silently, lips pursed then opening, even the private motion enough to scatter his thoughts. He rubbed his eyes aggressively, self-conscious. “Ah don’t mean to waste yer time, Ah’m just not good at analyzin’ things like this.”

“You’re not wasting my time! You sound just like your sister, my word, she apologizes too, whenever she changes her mind halfway through a discussion. I give my time freely, Big Mac.”

He sighed.

“You said you were looking for peace, but you didn’t find it at home. Maybe… Oh, wait, I know. Big Mac, what’s your idea of peace? Maybe it’s changed since you left, and that’s why going back to the old life isn’t doing it for you anymore.”

“Hmmm, peace. Ah’ve not thought of peace as somethin’ personal.”

“What is it, then?”

“Ah dunno, normal things, like a blue sky, clean air, tall trees, fresh apples. A good home to come back to, family that loves ya. Ah’ve got all that already.”

“Family,” Versus repeated. “Family, you remind me of something AJ and I talked about a long time ago. Family ain’t just the ponies you grew up with.”

“Sure, Ah get that. You think the other Elements are my family too, an’ Ah’m missin’ ‘em?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Not at first,” he started, not sure where he was going with it. “They were there fer the most important part of my life, most of ‘em. Ah guess by that metric Ah should miss ‘em. An’ Ah do to a certain extent.”

“But?”

“Maybe that’s it.” He looked around the room quietly, avoiding the sigil, aware that Versus was waiting for him to go on; but he had expended his thoughts on the matter. They had only been talking for five minutes, and his final word was a lukewarm “maybe”; uncertainty became discomfort as he tried to think of something more to say. She was not going to reach into his brain and weed the problem out, but he had hoped for more than questions that he did not know how to answer. It was true that she didn’t know him, but in his time thinking about her, the countless imaginary conversations, he had lost sight of that fact, had come to the conversation unprepared and would be leaving it no better off.

“You still there?”

“Ah’m here. It was good to talk to ya, Versus—” He had to pause, shock running up his chest for a second.

“Yeah, it was great to hear from you.”

“But Ah’ve gotta go now. Ah think yer onto somethin’, but Ah gotta think ‘bout it some.”

A slight, confused pause. “Oh, yeah! Definitely do. I’m always here if you need me, if you wanna bounce any ideas off me or anything.”

“Ah just might,” he said, knowing he would not likely have the courage to reach out again. “Thanks fer… this. You want me to leave you on fer Applejack?”

“Yes, please do.” She was quiet, and he got up, not sure whether a final word was needed. At the door, he mumbled a swift “goodbye,” and, ashamed, went to find his sister.

“That was quick,” she commented, and it stung him all the way out into the moonlit orchard. It had not started as a waste of time, but that was where it wound up, he unable to commit to any insight and she unable to offer more. He kicked a withered apple at a fence post, sending it rolling awkwardly into a patch of crab grass.

What about the past, he wondered, had ensnared him so. Versus was part of it, but if he took her out of Snowdrift, faint nostalgia remained; and moving backward, he found it in the yellowed clouds, in the crowded lights of Applewood and the columns of Roan. Certain scenes popped up: helping Octavia reclaim their airship in the middle of the cursed blackout, watching dust swirl on hot wind from under the ticking metal awning in Moondrop, frogs moaning in the reeds of Furnace Creek, strings of dried peppers and herbs in Cloud Line’s house, the overgrown pumpkin patch where they found Partial Thoughts. He walked the fence line, recalling more details, more images that had stuck with him, as mundane as the pattern in the blankets in a hotel room and as severe as the dehydrated march with his sister’s corpse stuffed in a cello case. He vaulted the fence and went to the forest’s edge, peering between trees, darkness multiplying before his eyes.

If anyone were to ask him, he would say that his life was defined by peace and patience, that those were the virtues to which all else was secondary in his world. Certainly Ponyville, even awake, embodied those values, but the rest of the country did not. He distantly saw the answer, but was slow to admit it, that even he had lost a bit of himself in the great wide world. He had been as excited as everyone else when the end was nigh, but when he got there, he found that Ponyville had not changed with him. Stability at last, he had thought, but, as he rested his head against a low sycamore branch, he saw that stability was not entirely what he wanted anymore.

“Can it be?” he asked himself, the sound of his own voice bothering him. “Big Mac, taste fer adventure. Hm.” He stepped into the forest and watched the darkness for a minute, wondering how much was actually hidden in the deep unexplored woods. “Say AJ or Rarity, or any of ‘em approaches me tomorrow. ‘Big Mac, you need to come with us on another trip. Might not be easy.’ Would I do it?” Even before the scenario was constructed, he could feel the answer, a bright red “yes,” and more surprising than that, the notion was backlit by that strange nostalgia. Even tonight, even going back to the farmhouse to find a distressed friend on the stoop, hurrying through his things, packing the essentials and racing across the cold earth with heavy saddlebags and clamoring onto a rumbling airship, rising over sleepy Ponyville, house lights turning to fireflies and then gone as the nose pointed them off toward a clouded horizon, the good land unrolling again… He could see it, he could feel it in his hooves, the air in his lungs, a shot of life catching him unawares, more powerful than the fantasy that begat it.

No time to lose! Big Mac galloped back to the fence, fell trying to jump it, snorted grass out of his nose, and thundered back to his room. He listened to Applejack’s and Versus’ conversation for a moment: the Snowdrift precogs were setting up a party for Versus, but could not agree on a reason more specific than soon-coming farewell. Digging through his closet for his luggage, stuffing sweaters and shoes and socks in great unsightly bundles, donning his Element, throwing toiletries into a shoe’s open mouth, he tried to put her out of his mind, but stopped when self-awareness crashed back in. Of course he wasn’t leaving, even with an airship ready outside it would be impractical and inconsiderate to the farm. He sat down, deflating, and caught the sound of Versus’ laughter.

In morning clarity, wide-eyed and nervous, he went down to breakfast and told them what was on his mind. Granny Smith understood, Applejack pretended to, and Apple Bloom cried, but his mind was made up. What he had packed in strange haste the night before he had unpacked, sorted, and packed more thoughtfully that morning, and the rest of the day, toiling in the orchard, he narrowed down his choices.

* * * * * *

As far as Pinkie was concerned, no news was good news. Enough time had passed for the princesses to find that she had lost her Element, but the truce held, the tension cooled to an even current of mutual dislike, and Chrysalis kept her word. Pinkie was free to roam the palace with only a few areas marked off from her, and some strictly inaccessible, she not able to squeeze through cracks in the walls. While the changeling queen battled with difficult bureaucracies and demanding news outlets, Pinkie walked the sweltering greenhouse paths and lounged in geothermal springs. She attended a play in the queen’s grand theater, gnarled set pieces and props changing into actors and back again in time with languid music, itself a part of the show too, a violin player transforming into her own instrument and then played by another, who became a clarinet to be played by the harpist, who flattened and widened into a clavichord played by the conductor, and so forth in a huge clockwork circle around a cast of frolicking drones; she tried sushi for the first and last time under the labyrinth of gears and rods that supported the palace’s mirror system, seated in a wide patio of shallow walls and binoculars for the curious to look up and observe with a glint of golden sunshine the details on each cog, changelings and griffons dancing in sequence like images in a zoetrope, coming alive when the machine cranked into motion; she took rest in the palace library, nursing a sore in her heart for the memories it brought up, reading what little she could find written in her language.

After the first week of waiting for more bad news, she asked the queen for a tutor in changeling culture and society. Not that she expected to stay more than the predicted few months, she said, but it would give her something to do.

Pinkie was much alarmed at their first meeting, when the teacher appeared as an exact simulacrum of her: a show of respect in changeling society, and which Pinkie had forgotten about. But no harm. Her days were full thereafter, lessons on etiquette, history, native art, politics—she’d thought she’d heard the end of that already—and on and on. These she absorbed eagerly, questioning everything, exploring with a tutor who matched her vim; they could start a lesson with a brief history of the changeling monarchs and end it on the societal consequences for a drone who never found a preferred physical appearance.

The changeling language fast became the most difficult topic for her: the Chnau, pronounced “nie” and with a faint glottal stop preceding, which Pinkie could not get her mouth to produce correctly. It was a language of clicks, buzzes, sub-vocalizations, and snorts, for which the changelings used winding nasal passages and a sub-laryngeal chamber that ponies did not possess. The closest Pinkie could come, that most ponies could come, to imitating it sounded like something between choking and sneezing, which was good enough to mangle simple phrases like “how are you?” and “good morning.” Magical solutions existed to bridge the lingual gap, but for the time, Pinkie focused only on reading and comprehension, and these posed their own problems, for the natural changeling voice was quieter than a pony’s, less suited for tonal range due to harder, more reedlike membranes, and therefore, differences in intonation that were obvious to a changeling were lost to Pinkie’s ears. They wrote vertically in what Pinkie thought of as bird scratch, as though the writer had dipped a sparrow’s feet in ink and set it to hop down the page. The Chnau was not much fun to learn, but by day eight, she was stumbling through a nursery rhyme, squinting at the swirls and dots, upward-tending swishes and hollow middles, closed shapes versus open ones, letters connected by thin bars and tapering streaks.

Her reward came when she ventured to one of the queen’s clothing rooms, and she read on a sign the changeling word for “party.” How hilarious it would be, she thought, to walk in and speak to the attendants in their own language. She did still have her magic, she could probably figure a way to do it, but she dismissed the thought as quickly as she had it. No one in The Hive knew she could perform magic, and she meant to keep it that way.

She had breakfasted under the mirror apparatus as usual, attended her class, and then gone straight to the palace beautician to have her mane and fur shortened. Changelings did not have barbers, their equivalent to a pony’s mane being living membrane more like leaf than hair, and Pinkie’s request had posed the drone some difficulty at first, as she had to go in search of scissors and a razor. Much like her sister, though she did not know it, Pinkie had her mane cut to a frizzy half inch and her fur trimmed to a sheer quarter inch; The Hive was too humid for it to be otherwise. The clothes she had brought from Equestria were similarly ill-fitted for the climate, and while walking in just one’s fur was acceptable back home, it did not feel proper in a world of black carapaces draped in loose raiments.

Thinking of Rarity the whole time, and of Rainbow who most notably avoided such things, Pinkie crafted a new wardrobe. Her assistant was the attendant to Chrysalis’ attendant, a drone who spoke in solicitous pidgin as she skittered around the room, flying up to lofty shelves and sprouting pegs out of her elongating neck to hang the articles Pinkie liked best. “You enjoy this? Very very good, pretty color for pink fur,” she said, holding a loose gown of blue gradient to Pinkie’s chest. They spent near to two hours picking through fabrics smooth as water, patterns that shone like fish scales or burst like splattered fruit, some of the most expensive woven with threads of the changelings’ special material to allow shapes and colors to move on their own. Pinkie very nearly selected a skirt of fractalizing tartan crescents, whose wild motion caught her eye from across the room.

More conservatively dressed than that in a sea green pelisse, navy skirt, and black snood whose sole decoration meandered around her head, Pinkie attended the night’s entertainment as Chrysalis’ guest of honor. After lessons, decreasingly amusing failures to absorb the changeling language, and a week of anxiety that the Equestrian royalty would extend their magic to The Hive and lay a storm on their beaches, the grandiosity of royal life was regaining its titillating edge. She tried to wish the queen good evening in her own tongue, close enough that Chrysalis figured out what she was trying to say, and then the two went through a dried lava tube to a stage carved into the volcano’s outside slopes, front-row seats for a pop star who had been raging through The Hive recently. Aside from the use of shapeshifting in the performance, the concert was hardly different from those she had seen in Equestria, the music itself just as energetic and head-bopping, the crowd just as frenzied and carefree. The spirit of fun stayed with her after the encore, like the taste of a forgotten favorite dish, weird memories surfacing in time to be stifled as they sat down to a royal feast in the central dining room.

Her duties had been fulfilled, her connection to those who persisted in their suffering severed; why not have fun, she thought then. The world had no use for the pony she used to be, and where it was once depressing, she found in the first bite of a toast point slathered with brie and quince jam that she was, simply, free. Rum, so expensive in Equestria, came out in a rumbling cask and spilled for them, decadent cocktails of fruit juice and smoked honey, dainty tulip glasses of liquid blonde or brown or black, glazes and syrups for charred vegetables and the sweating ham Chrysalis cut, dark blotches on the purple tablecloth, as much of anything as Pinkie in her freedom could want. She dined next to Chrysalis, a row of palace staff on her side and the dukes and duchesses from nearby islands on the queen’s, a few minutes of discomfort as everyone fed on her expanding joy and then calm and good company; voices in the Chnau and Equestrian filled the vaulted chamber, Pinkie’s loud laughter and the softer cricket-chirping that was the changelings’. There was talk of politics, in which she did not partake, her quiet neither reprimanded nor questioned.

With her earth pony constitution, Pinkie was only a little buzzed by the time the changelings around her were cutting themselves off. Dessert came out on the backs of drones in yellow charmeuse gowns, bronze platters weaving along the table and deposited on liquid extensions of the drones’ bodies, tendrils reaching and curling back into slits in their clothing. The servants poured lighter drinks for everyone, tall crystal flutes of sparkling wine imported from the griffon country to the west, the smell of lemon peel and cardamom subtle beneath those of powdered sugar, fruit puree, molasses, and dough. Cookies with sheens of frosting were piled next to steaming tarts, mango and pineapple and cherry glistening in their own juices; crisp wafers decorated like butterfly wings and so thin Pinkie could see the light through hers when she held it up; glass dishes of chilled kiwi cream, black seeds on their surfaces like sprinklings of pepper, and beside smooth, white panna cottas; and the largest dish, a mango and passion fruit pavlova with ice-white coconut shavings blending with the meringue in stiff waves. Pinkie took a slice eagerly, commenting to Chrysalis that she hadn’t had a dessert of its like in years.

“I did not know you ponies enjoyed these where you live,” Chrysalis said brightly.

“Oh, yeah! Well…” She had only made one once during her tenure at Sugarcube Corner, a special and very expensive order for some wealthy pony’s wedding in Canterlot. It had been a joint effort, Mr. and Mrs. Cake—here she paused in her narrative, missing them for a second, wondering whether they also had turned their backs on her for Applewood—creating and shaping the meringue layers and whipping the cream while Pinkie candied chunks of pineapple and star fruit, the latter of which had to be shipped in all the way from Manehattan; she had had to use her lunch break to run to the train station, sign for the parcel of fresh fruit, and then run back to the bakery. She had spun so much demerara sugar that, by the end, when the three-tier pavlova looked like someone had shaved their mane right on top of it, she was ready to throw her rolling pin out the window; in fact, she had had to soak it in hot water for the rest of the day to remove the hardened sugar.

“They gave us a great review, though,” Pinkie finished. “Really helped business.”

“You were a baker before anything else?” Chrysalis asked, twirling her spoon around an empty dish. “That is very interesting.”

* * * * * *

November first, ten days before they were due to smile and make nice at the royal reception, Twilight, Rainbow Dash, and Colgate boarded the other divine airship, Princess Luna’s Matta, named for a close friend some three-thousand years dead. Luna had insisted it be she who went in search of the new Element of Laughter, and promised Celestia she would keep a close eye on Twilight and Rainbow. For Colgate, it was an uncomplicated matter of being in the right place at the right time; she asked to come along and the princess said “sure.”

They took off in the middle of the night and headed south, skirting under a rainstorm and finally coming clear a half hour later out over the damp, dark fields, Ponyville too far to the east to be more than a distant bubble of light and gone quickly behind the Everfree Forest’s bulging northern border. Rainbow and Colgate were asleep before they had quit the rain, but Twilight stayed up on the deck where she could feel sorry for herself. The Matta had not the level of decoration as the Via Luna, elegant instead of garish, no fake masts and sails, no fabric wings, no singing turbines. They cut through the darkness fast and quiet as a silverfish, visible but still difficult to see, always below the clouds, their driver hunched over a deep basin of light where lay the Element of Laughter. Twilight watched her for some time, the black-winged princess divining their path silently, feather tips softly aglow where the light touched them.

“You can go to sleep, Twilight. I won’t let you miss anything interesting,” Luna said without turning around. They were listing westward to cross over a thinner portion of forest.

Twilight went to her without a word.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Sleep doesn’t help it, your highness.”

“I see. You’re welcome to stay up and keep me company, if you prefer.”

“Sure.” She sat down with a sigh. “Do you get lonely? Can you feel loneliness anymore?”

“Celestia and I are the loneliest creatures in this world, but no, I don’t think we feel it the same way you or your friends do.” Luna said it simply, no regret, no pregnant pause for Twilight to jump in and offer her mortal condolences. Whatever emotions Luna had simplified in her reply, she was long at peace with them.

“You don’t mind me asking, do you?”

“Not you, no.”

“Okay, because I have another one. How did you survive losing sight of yourself? When you were transitioning to immortality, or getting accustomed to it.”

Luna cleared her throat. “You’re in a poor mood right now, my dear. Questions like that… my answers won’t help you.”

“That’s fine.” She shrugged. “I can take it. When you’re wet, you might as well go swimming, right?”

“As you wish. I lost myself long before I was fully immortal. How? There’s no single point, but a lot of decisions that seem small at the time. Learning self-healing was one of the more obvious ones—I knew what I was doing when I made that choice. But other things, saying goodbye to certain ponies, participating in certain events, those you only see after the fact. Immortality was never the ultimate goal, because it’s just that, an ultimate goal, something too far down the line to seriously plan for. There will always be more immediate problems, and if you go far enough into… all of that… and you develop ways to protect yourself, sooner or later, you have too many. And like you said, once you’re wet, you might as well go swimming. By the time I realized I could not be killed by any physical means, it was not such a stretch to remove the aging process, and then reverse myself down to the vain aspect of youth.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“Ah? No, I suppose it doesn’t. I lost myself in dribs and drabs, lots of firsts of things I thought I’d never do. First time betraying someone’s trust for my own gain, first time saving a life, first time taking one. There’s ponies who lose themselves all the time, and they aren’t divine; it’s a matter of ambition, Twilight. Do you think that Mansel pony in Snowdrift lost herself before reaching you? Or perhaps Dr. Whooves, I’m sure he didn’t know what he was heading for when he was gabbing with the upper crust in Canterlot.”

“I’m sure you can guess why I’m asking.”

“Yes, and I’d like to send the question right back to you. Do you think you’ve lost yourself?”

“I think I’m well on my way.”

“I think so too.”

Twilight looked at her incredulously. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me that hope still remains? That there’s light at the end of the tunnel?”

A minute shake of the head. “You’re tangling with a goddess now, Twilight; there’s only light if you make it yourself. The question becomes, will you give up what’s left of the old Twilight, or will you try to reclaim her? Both options are open to you—and that, I am sorry to say, is something that passed my sister and me. We had not the foresight you do, nor indeed a close friend to tell us to watch out for it.”

“How do you know that?”

Luna tucked a strand of mane behind her ear and looked at Twilight with a patient smile. “You know how.”

“I had that conversation with Applejack just before leaving for The Hive, so unless you can read my mind from across the ocean, you had to have done it either before or after my trip.”

“The day you got back, when I met you about this.” She tapped the bowl, jostling the lights inside. “I take it the defenses you had in place were to warn you if Celestia tried anything?”

“I put them up after I…”

“Listened in on our conversation, you can say it.” She laughed. “I know everything, Twilight. I didn’t know it at the time, else I would’ve put on a bit of a show for you.”

“Huh.”

“I’m not mad at you; in fact, I commend you. You knew something was wrong, and you took steps to figure out what it was. The old Twilight wouldn’t have spied on her princess.”

“I’m aware of that, your highness. One of the reasons I think I’m slipping away.”

“Well, as I said, you have a choice. You can submit to life in the palace—and if you do, Celestia will show you all the mercy and love that I’m sure she’s promised. I can tell by your face you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t think she trusts me anymore, is all.”

“In fairness, my dear, you have done quite a lot to erode the trust between you two.”

“What’s the other option?”

“Oh, you continue resisting her for the rest of your life.”

“Great choice.”

“You’ll go through hell, but if you come out the other side, you’ll be a lot closer to divinity.” She chuckled. “Imagine Celestia’s face the day you prove your immortality to her.”

“If I come out the other side?” She had to turn away, tears threatening again to come forth and ruin her front. “How the hell did it come to this? I just want to go home, can’t I just do that?”

“Celestia wouldn’t like it, Twilight,” Luna said gently. “That’ll force you down on the second option.”

“And you can’t make her let me go.”

“For the fighting it would cause… I care for you, Twilight, but you’re not a hill I’m willing to die on.”

“No, no I’m not. ‘Cause who knows, maybe in a couple centuries, someone just like me will come along and grow up to be the goddess you’re looking for. That’s not so bad compared to an eternity. This Element of Magic isn’t working out, so you wait for the next one!” She stomped across the deck, unable to look at the princess, unwilling to stop her thoughts. “What’s one more wasted life, princess? One more on top of the millions I’m sure you’ve already outlived? In… inconsequential mortal suffering! You don’t have to say it, I know, I’m just a mortal! A blink of the eye in your great, eternal dream! Give it a couple hundred years and you’ll forget about me, and, and it’s not like you feel my pain anyway.” Whirling back, she caught Luna’s expression, stony, watchful. “I’m an ant! You’re just waiting for it to be over at this point, aren’t you? Like Princess Celestia’s waiting for my life to end, you’re waiting for this little… tirade to end. I’m not nearly the worst you’ve seen. You’ve probably heard this speech before. Or maybe you saw it coming, maybe you’ve got the perfect answer already thought out, the perfect combination of words and gestures to get me to shut up and finally… finally…” She was breathing harder, and she fell to her knees, eyes moist with unspent rage. “How am I supposed to be anything? I can’t even handle being alone with one of you.”

“Would it help if I told you you’re one of the only ponies I know who’s honest with me? That you’re one of the few who feels comfortable enough with me to give voice to your concerns like that?”

“That must be very nice for you, your highness.”

“Unfortunately, Twilight, you’re correct on all points; but that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you.”

“Really? It sure feels like it.”

Luna chewed her lip. “Have you had enough hard truths for the night? Or can you handle more?”

Twilight glared at her. “May as well give it to me straight, princess. What’s one more?”

“The tender, motherly love that you want from me will never come; that’s a part that I lost. Immortality hardens the heart, you know.”

“Obviously.”

“I can fake it for you, if you’d like.”

“Does Princess Celestia fake hers?”

“I… am not sure exactly how she feels about you. Yes, she fakes it with everyone, but you are special to her.”

“So you two care for us in the same way I would care about some fish in a tank. Distantly.”

“With occasional exceptions, yes. To use your metaphor, Twilight, you yourself are a fish I want very much to see flourish in her tank. You are particularly brilliant.”

“But a fish nonetheless.”

“That’s the painful truth.”

“Great.” She wiped drying tears from her face, bitterly grateful for Luna’s clinical conversation, not letting her indulge her sorrow. “Is this why you wanted to be with us on this trip, so you could tell me the nasty truths? I think I knew, in my heart of hearts, that this was how it was.”

“Many ponies do. It makes sense. And look at yourself, look at your heart. How hard is it compared to a couple years ago?” She shook her head. “You’ve made great progress, Twilight.”

“The wrong type.”

“Well, there’s the answer to your question. You don’t want this. You don’t want to continue down the path you’ve stumbled onto.”

“So I just have to submit to life in the palace,” Twilight said, and as she did, she felt her heart close up a little more. Tighter and tighter, new increments, emotions ossifying into brute determination. Her angry display was for Celestia, not Luna, and she was realizing it. “I can’t do that either.”

“Can you not?”

“I thought of another question for you, princess.”

“Then ask it.”

“If I continue resisting Princess Celestia, whose side will you take?”

“That is a dangerous question, my friend.”

“Are we friends?”

Luna smiled humorlessly. “If your success begins coming at my sister’s detriment, I will be forced to reexamine my part in it.”

“Sounds like you’re on my side at the moment, at least.”

“I would be happiest if you and she could live in harmony, but yes, right now, I feel my sister is being unjust to you. I want you to make your choice, Twilight, so I can know how to help you. If you submit, then I will do my best to make my sister accept that fact; and if you resist, I will assist you.”

“Up to the point where it starts hurting her.”

“At which point, I would have to make my own difficult choice. I will not entertain that discussion with you now.”

“I was going to ask.”

“Don’t.”

Twilight found temporary relief in talk of magic, the two of them drifting to the topic as the night wore on and grew thin, and at morning’s first caress, Twilight was still awake. The forest’s edge pale blonde, treetops exploding out of shadow, distant hills rising flaxen over shaded dells, the sky cold and silver with a thin morning breeze: familiar images, a wide world welcoming but impersonal, places to go, places to hide, problems to solve. Twilight went to the port gunwale and watched her world come to her, so much more real than skating over it with magical eyes.

“You’re up early,” Colgate said, emerging from the maze of rooms and corridors in the Matta’s interior.

“Up still.”

“Neat. C’mon, Dash and me are getting breakfast going. You like oatmeal?” Twilight pulled herself from her contemplations. “Princess! Breakfast?”

“Twilight?” Luna asked. “Shall I join you for breakfast?”

“Oh.” Twilight’s heart warmed at the courtesy. “Yes, please. I know what I’d like to ask of you.”

“Very well.” She guided them through a low cloud and went downstairs to the dining room, where Rainbow was struggling to set up their serveware at a circular table, much smaller than the one on the Via Luna, softly lit under an abstract hanging of glowing wires. Rainbow gave her a significant look when she saw that Luna was with them, but said nothing, and they were seated.

“The princess and I spoke last night,” Twilight opened. “She’s on my side in this. And Rainbow, she already knows everything.”

“What’s everything?” Colgate asked.

“Are you not aware of what’s happening?”

“I assume you’re stuck in the palace for an extended period of time. Not only did you not prepare to leave, but you were settling in. I saw you at the spa the other day. You should’ve said hi.”

“I had a lot on my mind.”

“Do tell, Miss Twilight.”

Twilight glanced at her. “The short version is this. Rainbow and I are being held in the palace until we die. Our two choices are to let it happen, and live in peace and comfort but with no freedom, or to resist and wind up deeper in trouble with Princess Celestia. I’ve been thinking all night long, and I’ve made my decision.”

“Hold up,” Rainbow said around a mouthful of oatmeal. “Before you finish, I just want you to know, I’m with you regardless of which choice you make.”

Twilight sighed. “I don’t deserve you, Rainbow, I really don’t. Thank you.”

“What have you chosen, my dear?” Luna asked.

“I’m going to submit. I… I don’t like myself right now. To tell the truth, I think if I try to fight this, I’m going to wind up alienating everyone I know, and that isn’t worth any outcome I can think of. I’m going to buckle down, swallow my pride, and accept what’s coming to me.” She glanced at Luna. “You know I’m telling the truth.”

Luna smiled, and in Twilight’s head, the message: “Please be careful. Not all of us are to know I read minds.”

“Then I’m submitting with you,” Rainbow said. “It’s probably for the best. I didn’t wanna say anything before you, but…”

“All I’ve ever wanted is to go home. If I can’t get that, then I’ll make the palace my home, as close to it as I can get. It’s either that or go out on my own terms.”

“Whoa, okay, none of that talk. Twi, it’ll be okay, I’m sure.”

“I will make certain that my sister realizes your intentions,” Luna said.

“Now let’s hold on a sec,” Colgate said. “Twi, old buddy, you just gave me an idea.” She looked at Luna with nervous eyes. “Maybe you can get a new life and sneak off to Ponyville that way.”

“There’s a thought.”

“New life?” Twilight asked, vaguely unsettled at Luna’s reaction.

Colgate squirmed in her seat. “Daturas do it sometimes. New life, new body, all that jazz.”

“I’m no Datura, Colgate.”

“You got Datura friends. Princess? What do you think?”

“Wouldn’t I have to die to get a new body?”

“…It’s an option,” Luna eventually said. “When I brought Applejack to you in Roan, remember that her spirit was in another pony’s body.”

“But I would have to die to make the switch.”

“Yes, death would be required. But,” she cut Colgate off, “it’s possible.”

“You’re considering it, aren’t you?” Rainbow asked.

“I am.” She frowned as Rainbow recoiled. “Well, what do you think? Applejack died and she came out fine. Why not me? Colgate, how do I get a new body?”

“They make ‘em,” Colgate said.

“This sounds really stupid,” Rainbow said. “You’re talking about suicide. How do we know they won’t, I don’t know, lose the soul somewhere before it hits the new body? How do we know the new body will even work right?”

“Temporary suicide, Rainbow,” Luna said. “The Datura’s not banging rocks together, they know how to re-body a pony. Been doing it for a while now. And you know, Colgate, I don’t believe you’re authorized to know about it yet.”

“Uh!” Colgate froze mid-fidget, wide eyes on a corner of the room. “Lotus told me in Snowdrift, ma’am. A-and I’d guessed at most of it already, she actually just confirmed my suspicions. I asked her and she was like ‘yup’.”

“I’ll talk to her. You too.”

“If I die and get a new body,” Twilight began, “there’s no way Princess Celestia would know, right?”

“There’s always a way,” Luna said. “But yes, I could expunge the records of your procedure.”

“What about Lotus’ cloud of thoughts? I assume she would know about it eventually.”

“I can remove that knowledge from her. I can even remove it from myself.”

“What about your parents?” Rainbow asked. “Or the rest of us, for that matter? I don’t think I like that conversation one bit. ‘Hey mom, dad, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I’ve decided to kill myself.’ Sounds great, huh?”

“I would tell them the truth, Rainbow,” Twilight said.

“No you wouldn’t,” Colgate interjected. “They can’t keep that secret. Maybe they won’t tell anyone that you’re not really gone, but they’ll wanna keep in touch with you. They won’t be quite as devastated for your funeral. There’ll be signs, and those, old buddy, old pal, will lead the princess straight back to you.”

“That’s assuming my sister thinks to investigate,” Luna said. “If you did it right, she wouldn’t have a reason.”

“Accidents happen,” Colgate said with an intense frown. “Oops. Just so.”

“An accident,” Twilight repeated. Looking at Rainbow, who had returned her eyes to her bowl and was spooning oatmeal around with a doleful, resigned face, she continued. “I’m not deciding anything about this yet. I just think, the way it sounds right now, the idea might have some merit. Princess, tell me this, what would happen to the Element of Magic?”

“It would transfer to your new body with your spirit,” Luna said.

“Well that’s no good, then. Princess Celestia won’t believe it, a new Element just popping up. I’d have to pose as an old friend, and we don’t have any friends who could pass as the next Element of Magic. Trixie maybe, but—uh, she’s the only one.” Too late she realized the mistake of invoking Trixie’s name in front of Rainbow, but the pegasus gave no reply.

“She doesn’t know every single pony you met on the way,” Colgate said. “Just make it up. What’s she gonna say, ‘no, that’s not really your friend’?”

“You realize it won’t be easy,” Luna said. “Not only will your life be a lie, but a secret you’re asking your closest friends to keep. Parents too, if you tell them the truth, which I would advise.”

“Applejack,” Twilight said. “She’ll never go for it. I’ll have to…” She put her face in her hooves. “That’s even worse. Letting her believe I’m dead, asking you all to keep the secret from her. I might as well cut her heart out myself.”

“We shouldn’t even be talking about this here,” Rainbow said. “Not—I don’t mean we shouldn’t entertain the idea, as disgusting as it is, but we shouldn’t be talking about this, just us. Let’s get everyone together in a sigil. Even Applejack.”

“She won’t agree.”

“Then we’re back to spending life in the palace. Until Colgate suggested killing yourself—”

“Can we call it something else?”

“Until Colgate suggested suicide, life in the palace didn’t sound that bad. Let’s just slow down, get everyone together, and work this out as friends.”

“I agree,” Luna said. “Twilight, gather the Elements in a big sigil.”

“Shouldn’t we wait to see who the new Element of Laughter is?” Twilight asked.

“Doesn’t give us time to plan,” Colgate said. “I say, hash this out with the Elements we’ve got and we’ll tell Laughter later, once our ducks are in a row.”

“What about Vinyl?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m comfortable letting her think I’m dead,” Twilight said.

“Least surprising opinion I’ve ever heard.”

“Can you get Octavia for me, princess? I can’t access Canterlot with my divination magic.”

“No?” Luna chuckled. “I’m shocked, Twilight.”

“I was trying before we left for The Hive, but things didn’t work out.”

Schedules, complications, troubles with setting up sigils for those of her friends who did not already have one; the eight known Elements and Luna were gathered by a deep blue design on the deck, with smaller sigils ringing it for everyone to see one another’s faces, by three in the afternoon. They had had to wait the longest for Octavia, who they could not risk letting their conversation out into the palace; she had rushed out, grabbed a train to Ponyville, and was sharing a sigil with Rarity in the boutique’s attic.

When they were together, and when Luna had again assured them that Celestia was not listening or watching, Twilight took the lead, refreshing them on her imprisonment first and then bringing out the unsavory idea of switching bodies. The first twenty minutes of that conversation were spent diffusing the immediate objections, clarifying to a couple tearful friends that her death would be temporary—a matter of seconds between the first body expiring and the next one waking up.

“What will your parents say?” Fluttershy asked eventually.

“I’m going to tell them—if I do it, remember this is just speculation right now—but I’m going to tell them it’s part of an assignment I’m doing for the princess. No, wait, they already know I’m prisoner, that wouldn’t make sense.” The night she had told her parents that she was no longer allowed to leave the palace, substituting the specific reason for a vague “mistake” she made on her trip to The Hive, had been less dramatic than the avalanche of tears and recriminations she had expected, quietly terrible. The daughter forced to explain the rules and consequences of her punishment, dodging where she could the well-meant questions, circling always the crucial fact that her life had come so awesomely off-track that all good solutions were gone; the point none of them ceded, looming like the shivering palace lights, that something was wrong and no one knew what to do. Twilight had floated out of their reach some time ago, but they could still watch, and she could call to them for all the good it did, plead for a solution to a problem they had not seen arrive. Stoic, feigned confidence, then, had been the order of the night, but what she could not quite admit to them then would be ten times worsened if she had to disclose her newest plan: a year of tormenting anxiety, a spirit overworked into a cruel shadow of itself, a black hole opening up underneath her wherever she went. Finally it seemed to Twilight that she was done dancing on the edge, buying time in days and weeks: her only option was to go straight down.

“Ah’m not seein’ how this is in any way better than just livin’ in the palace,” Applejack said. “You’ll have everythin’. We’ll visit ya all the time.”

“It’s the principle,” she wanted to say, an argument that felt paper-thin when held against the light of death. Instead, she said, “I won’t have freedom, and I won’t have the magic that I want. More than anything else, I want to just… to be able to learn without having to watch my back. I don’t want to be on guard from the second I wake up to the second I go to sleep.”

“And you won’t be on guard if you get re-bodied? You won’t be constantly worried about someone finding out what you did?” Rarity asked.

“After some time, the fear will wear off,” Twilight said, not entirely sure she believed it. “I’ll get used to it, and so will you all.”

“And then, three or four years down the line, when we’re so used to it that we aren’t thinking about it, one of us accidentally calls you Twilight again.”

“Well… it won’t be easy,” she replied lamely.

“What is the possibility of the procedure going wrong?” Octavia asked.

“Hardly any,” Colgate said. “I told Twilight, it’s a common procedure. A kinda common procedure. Datura knows what it’s doing.”

“Where would you get the body?” Fluttershy asked.

“We’re gettin’ ahead of ourselves,” Big Mac mumbled. “Ah, fer one, can’t see how death is better than life in the palace.”

“Not that Ah agree—or disagree, mind, Ah’m still chewin’ on it—but to play Discord’s advocate fer a second, death ain’t scary when yer in it. Very peaceful, very still,” Applejack said.

“A lot of it depends on the manner of passing,” Luna said. “Applejack, yours was quite sudden, which helped.”

“I mean, we can make mine sudden too,” Twilight said. “I’d think, right?” She held a hoof to her head, and Fluttershy flinched. “Like, pulse crystal, bam, done.”

“I would appreciate it if you were not so casual about this,” Octavia said softly.

Twilight looked at her for a second, recessed in the dusty shadows of midday, a shipwreck of mannequins shoved into a corner behind them. “Sorry. What I mean is, it would be easy. Could be easy.” She laughed nervously. “You’re not exactly doing a good job of talking me out of this, girls.”

“If it will grant you the freedom you deserve, then I support you. I just worry.”

“I don’t think it will be easy,” Fluttershy said, looking up at a starling landing on her head. “Hello there.”

“Fluttershy, tell me you don’t support the idea,” Rarity broke in.

“Twilight shouldn’t even be in this situation to begin with.”

“Suppose you walked out one day,” Applejack said. “Grabbed the train to Ponyville an’ came to one of our places, an’ then just laid low. Would Celestia really chase you down?”

“She might,” Luna said. “I don’t like saying this, but since her time in Moondrop, she hasn’t been the same. I think… Yes, I think there is a very real chance that she would hunt down Twilight to bring her back, and there’s no telling what she would do then.”

“She would see Twilight’s escape as a, what, an act of aggression?” Colgate asked.

“Defiance. Which, based on what I heard about your time in The Hive, the line between defiance and aggression has become blurred in her mind.”

“Would it become a matter of physical safety at that point?” Applejack asked.

“Is that relevant?” Big Mac mumbled.

“We gotta establish what the threat is, otherwise we’re just jumpin’ at ideas. Rarity, don’t give me that look, you know Ah’m right.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rarity huffed. “And I find the idea simply reprehensible. Temporary or not, the thought of taking your own life… How can you even consider it?”

“I’m not really thinking of it in those terms, if you must know,” Twilight said. “It’s more like a staged accident, or a stunt.”

“Yes, much prettier, dear.”

“Here’s where Ah come down on it,” Applejack said. “Two parts. First, if Twilight wants to kill herself, bein’ that it’s temporary an’ safe, that’s her right. Ah think we can all agree that the stigma is horrible, but if she can live with it, then there’s no problem in any practical sense.”

“Setting it up would be hell,” Rainbow said.

“We ain’t there yet. Now, the second point is that it would force all of us to lie ‘bout it, an’ fer the rest of our lives too. That… you know Ah ain’t comfortable with that.”

“Now I’m the opposite,” Rarity said. “Lying about it afterwards doesn’t scare me nearly as much as the act itself.”

“Because you would be lying for your friend’s freedom,” Octavia said. “I agree. The way things are right now, Princess Celestia is like an enemy to Twilight, and therefore to us.”

“That’s a mite reductive, don’t you think?” Applejack asked.

“She behaves like an enemy,” Twilight said.

“Nicer than anything on the surface,” Rainbow said.

“‘Enemy’ is going too far,” Luna scoffed, “but—we can quibble over terms later.”

“Your highness, I don’t believe we got your opinion,” Fluttershy said. “Should she do it?”

“Yeah Princess, you never told me,” Twilight said, genuinely curious.

Luna scowled in thought. “I have been in positions similar to yours before, Twilight, and I have escaped some of them by this means. It will not be easy, but if you can manage your life afterwards, it will be permanent.”

“That is a good point,” Octavia said. “You will not be able to go back to your old body after this, Twilight.”

“Given the alternative, I think I can make that sacrifice,” Twilight said.

“Rainbow, you’ve been quiet,” Rarity said. “You disagree with her, don’t you?”

“I do,” Rainbow said, “but I’m thinking less and less that there’s anything we can do about it. And that brings me to this conclusion, which sucks. If Twilight’s gonna re-body herself, I should too, ‘cause if—hey, hey!” She had to flap her wings and shout for order. “I’ve been tied up with Twilight since before restoration, okay? If she dies, Celestia’s gonna go for me next.”

“She’ll probe you for information,” Colgate said. “Picture this: Twilight leaves Rainbow with instructions on some diabolical thing in the event of her death. Celestia would suspect that, I’d think, and then you would be in hot water, Dashie.”

“Why not just wipe us all out in one fell swoop, then?” Rarity asked. “Rainbow, seriously, this is ridiculous!”

“Colgate might be right, actually,” Rainbow said. “I haven’t been innocent through all this crap, and when Celestia remembers that, I won’t stand a chance.”

“The point Ah make fer one of ya stands just fine fer the two of ya,” Applejack said. “The lyin’ Ah can’t abide. Frankly, Ah’m amazed you invited me to this conversation.”

“You trust me so little?” Twilight asked.

“On matters like this? Ah’m afraid so, Twilight. It would be very clearly to yer advantage if you kept me in the dark fer this whole plan.”

“I would never let you believe I was dead, Applejack.”

Applejack crossed her hooves and sat on the bed.

“I can keep your secret, Twilight,” Fluttershy said. “Um, yours too, Rainbow. If you do it. I see why you’d want to.”

“I suppose I can if I must,” Rarity said, and, grumbling, “I’ve done it for one resurrection.”

“You would be able to rely on me as well,” Octavia said. “You know that I can keep a secret.”

“Big Mac? Colgate?” Rainbow asked. The life had been sucked out of her voice, and she hung her head, not even looking at the flat faces in the sigils.

“I’d be helping you get it rolling, I assume,” Colgate said. “Yeah, I can keep that secret. Easy.”

“Ah don’t talk to nobody anyway,” Big Mac said. “Fer the record, Ah do disagree, but Ah won’t tell the princess.”

“Uh-huh, an’ now it’s all on ol’ Applejack again,” Applejack said. “Last one to the party, last pony to agree on the latest dumb idea, an’ each one dumber’n the one that came before. Ah thought yer slingshot stunt in Snowdrift was takin’ it too far, Twilight, but it seems that was nothin’.”

“It worked,” Twilight said, cheeks burning.

“An’ so will this, Ah’m positive. You’ve proven yerself capable of great things. So… how do Ah wanna ask this? You know the choice you’d be forcin’ me to make. Is doin’ that worth it to you?”

“Let me counter your question with this: if I re-body myself, will you rat me out to Princess Celestia?”

Applejack was long in answering, and everyone’s eyes were on her sigil, waiting. “Ah can’t answer that.”

“Why not?” Rarity asked.

“Because Ah don’t know! Live a lie or turn in my best friend? Who could make a choice like that? You all, apparently, but Ah ain’t you all! This whole… everythin’, Ah’m so sick of it.” As fast as she lost her temper, she contained herself, and she spoke from where she had stomped out of frame. “Why is this a choice Ah have to make at all? Why can’t you just let go of yer pride an’ live in the damn palace?”

“I think you’re the only one who’s ever been willing to choose principle over helping her friends,” Rainbow said.

“Ah—excuse me?”

“It is always you, isn’t it? Always telling us we can’t do something, never suggesting something better.”

“Ah just did, Rainbow.”

“She’s not staying in the palace! Haven’t you heard a thing Twilight said? She hates it there, she wants to go home and she can’t. You want her to live out the rest of her life in misery so you can sleep better at night?”

“Ah can’t help my convictions.”

“You know, I’m suddenly realizing, what exactly have you done? What have you sacrificed for this group?”

“Uhhhh, let’s see, how ‘bout my life?”

“That was taken from you,” Luna said, “not given freely.” She looked at Twilight, her expression neutral, seeing the argument coming and prepared to let it play out.

“You flew the ship, Applejack,” Rainbow said. “And you kept us honest, tried to anyway. We don’t need that kind of honesty right now.”

“You’ve been sayin’ that fer some time, look where it’s got you,” Applejack said.

“Could you quit it with the holier-than-thou shit?” Fluttershy snapped, startling the bird from her head.

“Fluttershy!” Rarity cried.

“You heard me. Maybe if you got off your fucking—that’s right, fucking—soapbox and tried to help once in a while! We’re trying to figure this out, and you’re going to act like it’s a, like some kind of teaching moment? We are past that.”

“We need action,” Rainbow said.

“Oh, sure, action,” Applejack returned. “No time to think it through, we gotta work as fast as we can! Heard that before?”

“What exactly do you expect me to do, Applejack?” Twilight asked. “Going back to the palace would be hell for me.”

“Ah get that.”

“I feel like you don’t. I feel like you’re thinking of it as like a permanent vacation, like retirement or something; maybe when I’m a lot older, but right now, I want to live, I want to…” Lacking a more nuanced thought, she put as much emphasis into her next words as she could, emotion cracking in her voice. “I just want to go home. The palace isn’t home, and it never can be.”

Applejack sighed. “Ah just think there’s a better way, that’s all Ah’ve been tryin’ to say. Fluttershy.”

“I don’t apologize,” Fluttershy said.

“What better way do you see?” Octavia asked.

“Ah don’t have to be the only one tryin’ to see alternatives here,” Applejack said. “Ain’t that a team effort?”

“So you do not see one.”

“Keep in mind,” Luna started, “that we are hiding this from Celestia. If it were anyone else, it would be easier, but this is someone who can call upon the entire country’s resources, to say nothing of her own power. Twilight would never be able to escape her for long in any normal way.”

“Celestia knows about re-bodying too,” Colgate said. “Any chance she’d suspect this? What happens then?”

“She doesn’t know Twilight is aware of the option; nor does she realize that I’m helping. We’re going to keep it that way.”

“She’d be mad, huh?” Rainbow asked.

“As long as it looks like a natural, believable death, she won’t investigate it. That will be the challenge.”

“So Ah’m just plum outvoted, then?” Applejack asked. “Honesty loses again?”

“Go ahead and tell the princess, Applejack,” Twilight said. “See to it that I never escape her watch, make sure I get what I deserve. You can visit me in the palace whenever you want and remind me that it’s for the best.”

Applejack stared, steely-eyed, into the sigil’s surface for a moment before shifting off to turn on the coffee machine.

Twilight continued. “Take the train back with Octavia and tell the princess, take away my last bit of hope. Do it today. When I’ve had my ability to practice magic forcibly reversed, and I’m spending every day going through the motions with her scrutinizing me, I can at least rest easy knowing that you were right.”

“That’s enough,” Applejack snapped from out of sight. “Point made. Ah won’t tell no one ‘bout yer suicide, ‘cause yer right, it ain’t worth ruinin’ a life over. But Ah wanna make somethin’ very clear here.” She stepped back into frame. “Ah hate what yer makin’ me do, an’ a part of me hates you specifically. Holdin’ onto a lie this big is torture fer me.”

“Perhaps a memory wipe is in order,” Fluttershy said.

“Ah will never submit to that.” She sighed and tried to collect herself. “Ah dunno if Ah’ll fergive you fer this, Twilight. Know that.”

“Has it occurred to you that blaming Twilight might be missing the point?” Rarity asked. “The more I think about it, it seems that Celestia has caused all this. From what I understand, she has done nothing but push Twilight into tight corners. You’ve told her what you told us, right dear? That you want to go home?”

“And that I have no intention of messing with her politics,” Twilight said.

“It is not like she is doing this to escape something trivial,” Octavia said.

“I was seriously considering trying to beat her at her own game, but Princess Luna… gave me some advice.”

“Yeah, Celestia gets a fair bit of my resentment too,” Applejack said. “That don’t exonerate you, Twilight. The pony who robs a bank didn’t not commit a crime if it turns out she was starvin’.”

“Now who’s bein’ reductive?” Big Mac asked.

“Evil is evil. If circumstance fergave us, we’d none of us be responsible fer anythin’.”

“Is Twilight evil?” Fluttershy asked.

“She—Fluttershy, that’s a complicated question.”

“If Twilight is granted the mercy of a second chance at life, I am sure she can atone for the trouble she has caused you,” Octavia said.

“Yeah Applejack, am I evil?” Twilight asked. “I’ve been called a bunch of things by you girls over the years. Shall we add ‘evil’ to the list?”

“Maybe you think Twilight being trapped in Canterlot is justice,” Colgate said.

“Since when did you become her arbiter, anyway?” Fluttershy asked.

“If y’all could stop badgerin’ me real quick!” Applejack hollered. “Ah’m not tryin’ to suggest yer evil, Twi, Ah know you ain’t yet, but… You sure ain’t good.”

“Ponies looking for second chances are seldom good,” Luna said. “That’s why they’re second chances. The first chance was ruined.”

“Well that makes me feel great,” Twilight mumbled.

“You wouldn’t be enduring your lie so she can merely escape a terrible situation, you’re doing it so she can have the opportunity for a better life. Octavia’s right, there’s atonement there, and who-knows-how much more. Is it right for you to deny her that for your peace of mind?”

Applejack adjusted a strand of mane—since returning from the adventure, Twilight had not ever seen her with a hat on. Those that she received as gifts, appreciated for the spirit behind them, were heaped in a closet somewhere in the farmhouse, and Applejack continued to let her blonde locks fly where they may. Working and sweating among the trees, leaning over a frothing sink of dishes, patrolling the fruit cellar with a clipboard, her long, coarse mane followed her unadorned. Somewhere in Tartarus, the real article remained, kicked into a pancake by the wind and rain, or trampled or chewed by some monster, or found and used for its intended purpose by one of the sapient denizens; any number of possibilities. Without it, Applejack’s face in slanting sunshine, her green eyes dark with loathing, freckled cheeks squished in a judgmental moue, she looked to Twilight every bit the adjudicator that she wanted to be, an ideal called forth and given a stern face so it may better reflect iniquities to those who challenged it.

“Let me answer for you,” Rainbow said. “Nnnnnn—”

“Ah don’t need it!” Applejack cried. “Ah’ve got no rebuttal, princess. Denyin’ Twilight that second chance—one, Ah’ll agree, she desperately needs—wouldn’t be right. An’ Ah know it wouldn’t sit right with me in the long run.”

Octavia took a deep breath. “We must all do things we do not like. We must all make sacrifices at some time or another. Sometimes they are material, and sometimes they are spiritual. I sacrificed several months’ worth of peace, what passed for it in my life, to protect my friends during the last battle for Canterlot. We have all sacrificed our comfort, our time, our happiness, for this country.”

“Ah get it, Ah get it, Ah get it. It ain’t easy. The…”

“You can still hate me if you want, Applejack,” Twilight said.

“Don’t push it.” The bedsprings creaked as she sat back down. “Actually,” she stood up, “if we’re done here, Ah need to get some air.”

“I’d like to get your official stance, please, before you go.”

“Yeah yeah, my official stance. Ah’ll go along with it ‘cause that second chance is important, an’ Ah have to believe you’ll make the most of it. Call it faith in defiance of experience.”

“Very well. That’s all I can ask of you. We’ll be in touch, I’m sure, to discuss logistics.”

Applejack left in a swish of her tail without a word, and they slowly reached their own ends, wishing Twilight good luck and good health until the appointed time; until it was just the four on the airship, and Twilight, taking a quick snapshot of the sigils for her cloud of thoughts, banished the magic and sunk to the deck, drained, bitter, a fresh black mudslide of fear and nausea settling into the groove where the latest one had evaporated, friendship for a second rendering all better before it crashed down again.

Dinner was a mordant affair broken in two when Celestia’s vision swept out and lingered over them until Luna appeased her, followed by drifting sleep in a cerulean cloud of sheets and pillows, feverish with dreams of the ireful princess which, toward daybreak, became dreams of rage and argument, Applejack taking bold stances in the hayloft and Twilight screaming at her, decking her, begging and cursing in the same breaths; she woke up at four in the morning, heart pounding, horn tingling softly with unconscious discharge, and went to the bathroom, where she took a shower. In a moment of desperation, she cranked the knob one way and then the other, putting a cramp in her throat for the scream withheld when ice water bathed her, then a long sigh when it turned to its scalding counterpart, neither sensation so different from the other at her chosen intensity.

She went up to the deck, wet fur and a towel, and let the frigid air dry her. It was late autumn and they were southbound over the impenetrable matte of forest, a few hours from Equestria’s middle, crisp wind and a spotless sky turning an approaching lake into a lens of gray ice. The Applewood dam was visible beside it, a scattered splash of lights at its foot and reflected in the reservoir it had dragged north in its lumbering journey from the country’s electric heart up through desert wastes, over fields, down into a yawning valley where it followed the earth’s shape straight to Trottingham.

“Morning, Twilight.”

“Your highness.” She hunched by the torch, faintly warm from use a few hours ago, and tried to remember her dreams, what about them had left her so scared. Before long, she was asleep again, back bent uncomfortably and shivering, and when dawn came, when her friends made their way up to the deck, she woke up sore and irritable, the day’s task central to her mind the second she was conscious.

They took breakfast in the great dining hall, soft click and scrape of silverware, a little summoned music, and Twilight could not stop shivering; she went below in search for something to put on, and Rainbow had the opportunity then to ask Luna what she thought of Twilight’s obvious decline, but chose not to take it. Then, they went about their days. They would land in Heronston or New Trottingham—depending on which the ponies in the dam zone could agree upon—for lunch, and until then, it was the usual airship routine: walking from room to room, seeking diversion, everything great and small taking on heightened interest in an enclosed vessel. Rainbow and Twilight went to one of the entertainment rooms and tried some of the board games, but neither’s heart was in it.

“How do you think we’re gonna do it?” Rainbow asked.

Not looking up, “No point in worrying just yet. We’ll talk with everyone later.”

“But I am worried.”

“Yeah.” Fear had taken root and spread its branches in Twilight, no worse than the heart-stopping tattoo of magical concussions on castle walls or the too-thin breaths of freezing air between hotel and car when her friends had burst in on her with an unconscious body in the trunk—a dead body she thought she had heard at first, my Celestia, they don’t actually expect me to dispose of it do they? It was what Luna had talked about, always having a more immediate concern, always being on the edge of something new. Twilight’s was a perfect example: they were on their way to find the new Element of Laughter, a new friend whose life would change in a matter of days, not at the indeterminate “sometime” but in actual days, and it had become the secondary problem behind Twilight’s death.

And Rainbow’s. They hadn’t discussed it, though there was nothing but time until lunch, why Rainbow had volunteered to die as well. It changed little, for two was just as bad as one, but still Twilight wondered, supposing it came down to Loyalty in the end. Not willing to see her friend go and face the possibility of being forced to stay in the palace alone, Rainbow had jumped on the only way out they all saw. Was that loyalty or fear of abandonment? And did it matter?

Toward eleven o’ clock they found themselves back on the deck, watching the last smudges of the Everfree Forest fade into sunny green hills, dark trees on one side and dark shadows on the other, the land rising and rumpling underneath, hills to mountains, the valley where slumbered the old city of Trottingham, rustic and disheveled, fields overgrown and retaking houses and barns, silos robed in creeping vines and morning glory woven through wheel spokes, collapsed tin roofs and snarled beams supporting bird nests and pads of moldy insulation. Entire fields of melons gone to seed, ripe and rotten, melting back into the rich earth, wasps feeding inside some, others trampled or wind-blown into gutters. The vineyards wild and mazelike, pressing machinery seized with rust or chewed away by time and termite where it was simply too big to carry into the dam zone, barrels overturned and trellises turned to fat wedges of greenery leaning against sulking cottages, smoke from the dam zone coming over in faint streaks sometimes, copper thorns of old pipework snagged and sun-cracked where The Water Loop had labored. The ancient aqueducts, some yet defiantly standing, most collapsed in black and gray marbled wrecks that led the eye all the way back, Rainbow traversing the deck for this very purpose, looking down at the valley and then climbing the mountain, up and around, the walkways and their columns, chunky reservoirs broken open and bone-dry, zigzagging and branching into the mountain’s face, the deep carved interior where friezes and statues waited for the centuries to inter them properly, where stanchions and plinths grew slick and putrid, cast into the depths of unfiltered groundwater.

And not that far off, close enough that they could see the ponies crowding the high places with winking flares of telescope or binocular lenses to mark the Matta’s approach, there was the dam zone, official name pending. The old dam itself was, naturally, the town centerpiece, hollowed and repurposed into living areas and shops, a canyon dug out around its base to allow traffic through the penstock and to the back, where the turbine had been dismantled and cannibalized, its chamber made first into a chapel and, a couple months later, into a restaurant. The generators and transformers had been similarly destroyed for their component pieces, silly it might seem, but to a town of country folk, there was no need of great whirring engines and gnashing pumps, not when there was moonlight and torch oil, which had always suited them fine. The straggling power lines that survived the dam’s crawl had been left on the valley slopes to the east, scaffolding and wire lying like giant avian skeletons in the grass. The dam’s reservoir and the village it had drowned were undisturbed, the ponies never able to reliably venture below and explore the submerged ruins; they had to use salvaged cables and winches to fish for treasure, mostly bringing up waterlogged pieces of thatching.

The Matta hummed quietly down to land on an airship lot, uneven and creaky, made of clapboard and old timber lashed together and riveted to hunks of the dam’s face, chiseled off. They were received with all accustomed bowing and respectful applause, and Luna bid them relax, rise, and go about their business. “Although, if you could point us toward a good place to eat, that would be much appreciated,” she said to a pair of scrawny ponies in straw hats and patched overalls, who were joyed to hop and trot down the crooked hoofpaths into the dam.

“I thought ponies were trying to get Trottingham back up and running,” Rainbow said quietly. “Looked totally empty when we were flying over.”

“They gave up,” Twilight said simply. “By the time The Water Loop was finished and that pony, I don’t remember his name, that Mansel guy who was running it—after all that was cleared up, they tried, but they just couldn’t get anything going with the aqueducts as they were. Ironically, they needed The Water Loop, because the natural rainfall wasn’t enough. They needed a system for parceling it out and directing its flow, and why set all that up when this is just next-door?”

“I love what they’ve done with the place,” Luna said.

At the end of the dam’s down-sloping penstock they came to the bustling restaurant, Farmer’s Delight, its title in almost illegible cursive on the white cardstock menus, its echoing ceiling hung with plaster vegetables and braided electrical wires, their original purpose lost. Princess Luna told the amazed host that they would wait for a table to open up, and by the time they were seated, everyone in the restaurant had gone through the stage of awed quiet and made it back to a demure imitation of previous casualness. Only Colgate responded to the patrons’ wandering looks, nervously squirming in her booth, calming down a little after putting her lips to her first mimosa. They placed their orders while a fiddler took the tiny corner stage and started in on a rambling folk song, by the end of which the entire restaurant was stomping in time and more than a few diners were singing along.

“How are you liking things so far, Colgate?” Luna asked. “The town, I mean.”

“Me likey,” Colgate said. “I could get used to little places like this. There’s less bullshit.”

“Bullshit? Yes, I know what you mean, Canterlot is rather full of that.”

“No offense.”

“I just live there, I didn’t build it. Tell me, is that why you came back to the palace? Were you escaping the bullshit?”

Colgate moaned, messing with a bread roll, trying to butter it without using her horn. When she had succeeded, she said, “yeah, I was getting a little reprieve from city life. Had a big night, but it got too big.” She held eye contact with Rainbow. “I think I scared myself.”

Luna chuckled. “Canterlot is a good city for that.”

“You’d have hated Applewood, Colgate,” Rainbow said.

“Do you think you’ll be okay to work there still? After our business with Twilight and Rainbow, there’s a job coming down for you.”

“Whazzat?” Colgate asked.

“You need to be a contact point for some of my ponies in the art scene. Their current point is acting flaky and they’re starting to get nervous.”

“I can… try that.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, let me know.” She looked at Twilight as if recalling suddenly that she was sitting there, just in time for their appetizers to arrive. “We can talk more later, in private. Right now, I’d like to get on with this.”

“In the middle of the crowd?” Twilight asked.

Luna smiled and released a puff of magic from her horn tip, magic expanding into a blue palimpsest around their table. “There, now no one can eaves drop.”

“Lip reading?” Colgate offered.

Another puff of magic, and the dome around them opaqued.

“Well, this isn’t suspicious at all,” Rainbow said.

“Before we begin, are you two still set on switching bodies?” Luna asked.

“Unfortunately,” Twilight said, Rainbow nodding beside her.

“I’ll contact Lotus and ask her if there’s any bodies available for your souls. There should be, but it’ll be good to know where they are. I’ll reserve them for you.”

“They won’t be in Canterlot?” Colgate asked.

“They might be, but I’d rather not. The way it’s going to work, you see, is after you two die and the country is mourning your loss, I’ll have to go out into the world to locate the ponies your Elements pass to—your new selves. Just like what we’re doing right now with Pinkie’s Element.”

“And having both new Elements pop up in Canterlot might be suspicious,” Twilight said.

“It would be strangely convenient. I’m not sure how badly Celestia will take your deaths, she might be too distraught to see something like that, but it’s better to be cautious. For that reason, I’ll also want you two to wake up in separate locations.”

“Just show up somewhere? That’s weird too,” Rainbow said.

“Lotus will take care of that for you. The local Datura can give you proper identification, origin stories, all that stuff, everything you’ll need to legitimize your, well, existence.”

“We do it all the time,” Colgate added.

“How long will we have to stay in whatever place we end up?” Twilight asked.

“As long as it takes me to get to you,” Luna said. “Considering the mourning, the immense funerary preparations the palace is going to have to undertake, as well as whatever I’m going to have to do to keep my sister from flipping her lid, it might be a while. You’ll want to get comfortable.”

“I guess going straight back to Ponyville would be too much to hope for, huh,” Rainbow said.

“It’s a process.”

“As for how we relate to the other Elements, we can just say we’re friends that we—they—whatever—met at some point during the adventure,” Twilight said.

“Our waitress approaches,” Luna said, dropping her magical shield for a moment and allowing the nervous waitress to refill their drinks and tell them their food would be right out. “Yes,” she continued once they were secure again. “Just say you’re friends from the adventure. Whoever the new Element of Laughter is, they’re an adventure friend. I have a guess who it is, but we’ll see.”

“So what about the death itself?” Twilight asked. “It has to look accidental, so Princess Celestia doesn’t want to investigate it, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“Can’t we just, pardon the expression, blow our brains out? That’s the simplest.”

“I can lend you my pulse crystal,” Colgate said.

“You’d let the whole country think you committed suicide?” Luna asked. “You’d let Celestia believe she caused that?”

“I mean, we are, and she did,” Rainbow said.

“No, I suppose not,” Twilight said. “That would be needlessly cruel. Also, I don’t want that to be Twilight Sparkle’s legacy, the pony who fixed the world and then killed herself. The troubled genius, ugh.”

“I just don’t want my family to think I offed myself,” Rainbow said. “Speaking of… I know it sucks, but we need to figure out what we’re gonna tell them.”

“Later, please. Let’s just figure out how we’re… killing ourselves.” She sighed. “Can’t believe this is what it’s come to.”

“The most beautiful, and most horrible, things happen when you spend too much time in the company of divinity,” Luna said. “If it makes you feel better, this isn’t the first time I’ve helped someone in your position. I have a little experience under my saddle.”

“Who?” Colgate asked.

“You wouldn’t know them. Ancient friend.”

“Are there ponies who just jump from body to body every time they die?”

“A few. We keep a close eye on them.”

“Have you had to permanently kill any off?”

“Colgate, come on,” Rainbow said.

“You mean kill one and then strangle the loose soul before it could grab another vessel. Yes, that’s happened.” Luna looked straight at her, and Colgate dropped her eyes immediately to her next mimosa. “And that leads me to this, you two. Death is supposed to be inescapable. What you’ll be doing is nothing short of a miracle, and you will find, I’m sure, that there is much pleasure to be had in getting a fresh start. I would urge you not to take the miracle for granted, and when the time comes to die again, hopefully of old age, you allow it. I can’t stop you from trying to get third lives—rather, I’m not inclined to stop you—but if you choose to defer death again, you’ll be entering into a very difficult state of being.”

“Don’t worry, Princess, I’ll be going out nice and peaceful after this,” Rainbow said.

“I’m not going to make any promises,” Twilight said.

“No, I didn’t think you would,” Luna said with a grin. “If you haven’t changed your mind in fifty or so years, we can talk about it some more.”

“Uh, so back on topic?” Rainbow pressed.

They paused for their food to arrive, and the discussion sagged. Gesturing with a spinach and parmesan-stuffed mushroom stuck on her fork, Luna started again. “An accident.”

“You’re cooped up in the palace all the time,” Colgate said, “and that place is safe. You’d have to be getting into some stuff to hurt yourselves. Twi, you said she won’t let you experiment with magic anymore?”

“She’s trying to stop me,” Twilight said.

“So no potion experiments blowing up in your face.”

“I feel like you’d want to be away from the palace,” Luna said. “Which I could manage, but there has to be a good reason for it.”

“There’s the reception on the eleventh.”

“Yeah, and both princesses will be right there,” Rainbow said. “There’s no way we’re doing anything with Celestia nearby. She… Twilight, how are we even going to get away from her? Actually, we need to get away from you too, your highness, ‘cause if we die under your watch, Celestia’d kill you.”

“She can try,” Luna mumbled. “But it’s a good point, it’ll be easiest if you’re unsupervised.”

“The reception,” Colgate repeated. “Both princesses will be doing the royal dance, or something.”

“Maybe if we can cause enough of a disturbance,” Twilight said, tapping her chin, getting a little sauce on it. “If both princesses are distracted helping ponies in an emergency of some sort, Rainbow and I can slip away and…”

“Unless Celestia goes straight for you,” Colgate said. “If she’s so fixated on you both, she might do just that.”

“Ugh, you’re probably right.”

“I cannot distract her myself,” Luna said. “I’m sorry. I will not have her blaming me for the rest of eternity, keeping her from being there to save you.”

“How do we distract the princess at her own reception?” Colgate asked. “Could we get someone to seduce her?”

Luna choked laughing and had to use a dot of magic to clear her throat.

“So could we?”

“I’m sure Big Mac would be game to try,” Rainbow said.

“Can you imagine?” Luna asked, still laughing. “She would change his life. Ponies have written books about it.”

“Really?” Twilight asked. She had read some of them, and multiple times: a fact she hoped Luna had not picked up when reading her mind.

The distraction was where they stopped, no good ideas presented, and they finished their meals in a queer mood between anxiety and excitement, not quite strong enough for anyone to bring them back into the conversation when they began drifting away, expecting someone else to instead. Luna paid for their meals, even though the restaurant manager insisted that they dine for free, and they traveled back through the dam and up into the zone, into another mass of excited ponies who wanted them to stay a while longer, who wanted to present their problems to the goddess, who wanted to ask Twilight and Rainbow about the old restoration efforts or tell Colgate that she was their favorite of the newer Elements.

Luna did not let them be detained and they were soon aloft again, waving goodbye to the village, streaking out into the fields and angling southwest, diverging from the dam’s path and shooting for the desert. They were flying low over a range of hills with bases silvery in serried ponds, black causeways connecting them and villages as nodes in the web, a windmill whirling and the shiny eye of a telescope protruding awkwardly from a hole in its roof. Twilight could not recall it, though she had seen them all, passing vision over the world and using magic remotely, magic in spaces outside every town and its caster never to be seen by anyone there—true power, as the goddess had pointed out to her.

She apathetically redrew the chain of sigils on the Matta’s deck and summoned the other Elements, and they began again, the mechanics of the accident. They bounced ideas too simple and too complicated to be practical, Applejack complained, there was a debate on whether Twilight could get away with using a pulse crystal and making it look like she was simply being irresponsible: “uncharacteristic,” Fluttershy said, perfectly natural given her current desperation, Rarity countered. No matter, getting a pulse crystal into the palace would not be easy. Colgate brought up the reception again, to be held on the Via Luna, and at first, it seemed a preposterous idea.

“It would make for a good accident, though,” Octavia said. “As well as a good distraction. If the ship experiences some sort of malfunction, the princesses will both be busy helping to land it, as well as evacuating the other passengers. You two would have time to slip away and do… whatever it is you will do.”

“I don’t want to endanger everyone,” Fluttershy said. “Our families will be there. Um, not that everyone else isn’t important too.”

“What will the airship actually be doing, your highness?” Rarity asked.

Luna grinned and created a model of the airship in deep blue magic, swooping it around over the sigils for all to see; not the first time Twilight wondered whether, for how seriously she took the issue, it was not also in small part a divine parlor game. Let’s see if I can sneak this past my sister, tee-hee.

“The Via Luna will take off from just outside the palace, we’ve reserved one of the airship lots; there’ll be a pre-reception party, nothing serious, there. That’s at six o’ clock.”

“Catered?” Colgate asked.

“Appetizers, no alcohol until we get on the ship. Once we’re in the air, we go out over Lower Canterlot and do three clockwise trips around the mountain, starting in the southeast. My sister will want to make a speech or a toast, and I’m sure I’ll be expected to do the same, and of course dancing, we have to at least make an appearance on the dance floor. After our third round, we’ll land back on the lot, and that’s all. Anyone who wants to stay can, the ship’s services will be open until midnight.”

“There any way we can get Celestia off the ship fer a time?” Applejack asked. Fluttershy looked at her with exaggerated surprise. “Well, if Ah’m helpin’, then Ah’m helpin’. Twilight’ll get what she deserves in time.”

“Good to have you on my side, Applejack,” Twilight said darkly.

“Anytime, pard.”

“Okay, this is gonna sound awful, but hear me out,” Rainbow said. “Can Celestia get sick? Like if we somehow give her something, can she miss the reception from that?”

“There’s no conventional disease or poison that can affect my sister,” Luna said.

“And I assume anything that could is beyond my power to create?” Twilight asked.

“With how much time you have, yes, far beyond. Besides,” she huffed, “who in the world has access to that kind of magic besides me? She’d never forgive it.”

“Hypnotize her to lose track of time?” Big Mac offered.

“You’d have better luck hypnotizing a tree. And before you ask, any memory shenanigans are off the table too. She’s played with her memory enough to know, she’d catch you before you got a chance to start.”

“An emergency somewhere else, perhaps?” Rarity asked. “Mmm, that’s two emergencies. Never mind, I take it back.”

“The threat of an emergency, though,” Twilight said, “I wonder. You know, she’s so obsessed with me… If she thinks I’m up to something remote, she might go chasing after that.”

“A decoy,” Big Mac said. “What would you do?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I could do what I did in Snowdrift and make a kind of potential chain reaction.”

“She would send a Datura after it, not go herself,” Luna said.

“Vinyl hates you,” Colgate said.

Twilight gave her a thin smile. “Thanks for pointing it out. I don’t like her much either.”

“What I mean is, Vinyl could fake-snitch on you. She can go to Celestia and tell her she needs to speak in private, urgently, whatever, and it’s about that nasty Twilight Sparkle. Celestia takes her back to the palace and asks her what’s up, and Vinyl just bends her ear for a while, anything you want her to say. It won’t matter what it actually is, the point is to keep Celestia’s attention focused while the ship has its accident.”

“I’d rather if Vinyl wasn’t involved in this at all,” Rainbow said.

“She doesn’t have to know the real plan,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, I can make her go to Celestia for a different reason,” Colgate said. “It’ll work out better that way too, ‘cause she’ll be happier if she thinks you’re gone.”

“Well that’s great to know,” Twilight said. “I like this idea, actually, in theory. I’ll have to make sure she’s giving the right fake information, nothing that’ll make Princess Celestia think of the real object.” She thought, smiling a little, her cloud of thoughts coming to a boil with ideas. “I think I can make that work.”

“What about the accident itself?” Fluttershy asked. “If Vinyl has Celestia occupied in the palace, that gives you the time you need. But how do you do it?”

“Something innocent seeming,” Rainbow said. “So no bombs, no crazy ponies with crystals, none of that.”

“If you could pin this on the Mansels, that would be ideal,” Octavia said.

“They haven’t tried anything with me in a while,” Twilight said. “What about a simple mechanical problem? An engine blows or something. Applejack—”

“Ah ain’t usin’ my magic to take yer life, Twilight,” Applejack said tiredly.

“Noted. Princess, is there any way we could get below and, I don’t know, muck around with the mechanics?”

“Do you know anything about how airships work?” Luna asked.

“Not a good idea,” Rarity said. “You don’t want to risk taking too long messing with that stuff. I can just see it, you and Rainbow use up all of Vinyl’s time merely getting the engine open.”

“Then we throw ourselves into the machinery,” Rainbow said.

“Please do not,” Octavia whispered.

“Sorry.”

“Lightning,” Twilight said. Part of her was thinking back to the dam and its lake, the cluster of lightning rods at its crown and the flowering scorch marks where they were jammed into concrete; another part was thinking back to the hurricane Celestia had requested, the magic of storms, untried and terrible, suddenly enticing with herself as target. The thought of it, so poetic, the Via Luna done up in her most disgusting, garish finery, wings and lanterns and hoop skirts swaying and billowing, a band thumping, alcohol flowing, the best food and the best company, those damn singing propellers, afloat and then snap! Fire and panic, wind howling through overheating turbines, chandeliers scattering jewels into a crowd gone to pieces.

“I doubt they’ll be willing to conjure a lightning storm that night,” Fluttershy said.

“I can do it.” She looked at Luna for a split-second, guilty, as though volunteering to use restricted magic would turn the princess from her cause where all the talk of death and deception did not.

Luna didn’t blink. “Storm magic is untraceable, if done correctly.”

“Big ‘if’,” Rainbow said. “Also, how do we explain an unscheduled storm? The weather team’ll be in knots about it.”

“I can request a rain storm for that night. There might even be one scheduled already, I don’t remember off the top of my head.”

“Will the Via Luna not be shielded against lightning?” Octavia asked.

“Good point. Colgate, have Vinyl request an audience with both of us. Neither princess aboard, no shield. I can stall the meeting too, if I need to.”

“Well this is lookin’ great so far,” Applejack said. “An’ how are we gonna make sure this lightnin’ strike kills only the ponies it’s s’posed to?”

“That would depend on Twilight’s aim, would it not?” Rarity asked.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to aim it,” Twilight said. “From what I read, storms are… Well, they’re chaotic, and controlling chaos is one of the most difficult things a magician can try to do. That’s what Discord tried to do for centuries, and it swallowed him whole. In…” She trailed off, descending into her cloud of thoughts, rifling through everything she had read on the subject; the cloud had absorbed it all, but Twilight did not consciously understand everything that had been taken in.

“At a guess, she could make the storm discharge lightning on command, but there would be no aiming involved,” Luna said. “There might not need to be. A lightning strike’ll crash the Via Luna pretty reliably.”

“Twilight and Rainbow can wear suits of armor,” Colgate said with a shrug.

“I heard that,” Twilight said, coming back to herself. “Less ridiculous idea: Rarity, could you make our outfits and just, I don’t know, include a lot of metal shavings in the weave?”

“They would be the most hideous, most uncomfortable dresses in the universe, but I suppose I could,” Rarity said.

“That won’t work,” Rainbow said.

“They wouldn’t be wearing them for that long.”

“No, I mean it’s too risky. If lightning hits either one of us directly, anyone nearby is gonna get blasted too. And,” she insisted, stopping Twilight, “just because you’ll be choosing the time lightning hits us doesn’t mean we’re guaranteed to be safe from it the rest of the night. Ya know, it’s still a lightning storm, and if we’re twirling around in metal dresses, we could get hit naturally just as easy, when we’re not prepared.”

“It sounds like they need to hit the ship, and not themselves,” Fluttershy said.

“So she will have to learn to aim it,” Octavia said.

“I’m sure I can draw a sigil on the ship somewhere, or enchant a piece of it to attract electricity,” Twilight said. “Or just carry an anvil up with me.”

“What ever happened to Rainbow Dash’s magic?” Fluttershy asked. “You still have it, right? What Vanilla gave you?”

“Oh.” Rainbow looked at her hooves, abashed; that she had never done much with her magic, only squeezed some utility out of it with the help of Twilight’s brilliance, bothered her in a way she could not easily describe. “I could try to help, but no way am I good enough for a storm.”

“Multiple casters would make the storm impossible for me anyway,” Twilight said. “One is chaotic enough. Two? Forget it.”

“Timing this will not be easy,” Luna cut in. “It can’t be a full storm when either of us are aboard, otherwise one will have to stay behind and shield the ship.”

“Okay. So I’ll time it. Light drizzle when you and Princess Celestia are getting settled, and once Vinyl comes on to pull you off, I’ll have it build up to a proper maelstrom.”

“And again, that won’t be easy to do quickly.”

“Will you be able to get her that book on storm magic again?” Rainbow asked.

“No problem.”

“What ‘bout the rest of us?” Applejack asked. “Let’s say lightnin’ strikes the ship an’ we start goin’ down. You two run belowdecks, Ah’d assume, where you can die in private.”

“And the rest of us help keep ponies safe,” Fluttershy said. “It’ll be chaos.”

“How many guests are supposed to be there?” Colgate asked.

“Last time, hmm, last time I checked…” Luna thought, tapping her hoof on the deck. “Between forty and fifty. Most of them are your ponies, but a few of mine will be there too.”

“They’ll help us maintain order,” Colgate said.

“Precogs,” Big Mac said suddenly. “Twilight, there’s precogs in Canterlot, right?”

“Oh, shit,” Twilight breathed, looking at Luna, eyes wide. “I didn’t even think of that.”

Luna did not respond for a time, then turned around and closed her eyes. “One second, don’t panic just yet.” They watched her, those through the sigils having to suffice with the back of her head, its velvet mane flowing over her shoulder.

“Are there any precogs in Ponyville that we can send up to muddy the… whatever you call it, foresight?” Rainbow asked. “Or is there any chance they’ll cancel each other out?”

“Like how they did in Snowdrift,” Fluttershy said.

“We’ll be okay,” Luna said. “There’s only two in the palace, exactly for that reason, Rainbow, so they don’t mess each other up. Here’s the good news: they don’t have any ideas yet. I just looked in on the palace to see if anyone was scrambling about a disaster, and no one is.”

“But that can change at any moment.”

“I’ll find a place to send them for the month. Just let me think… Somewhere that could use some precogs, hmm.”

“Hoofington?” Colgate offered.

“What’s in Hoofington?”

“I dunno.”

“I’ll find an assignment for them. Ooh, hold on, I want to see something.” She turned again, a toothy smile spreading on her face as she looked at the palace once more. “They just split and ran to their rooms, they’re packing now. Good, that was fast.”

“But they have no idea what we’re planning?” Rainbow asked. “How’s that work? Not that I’m complaining.”

“It’s because our idea isn’t fully formed yet,” Twilight said, “and there’s still time to back out.”

“That, and it’s so left-field, they might not have gotten it anyway. These precogs are sensitive to my decisions, not you lot’s.” She broke out of her vision, Twilight noting that the princess did not have to roll her eyes back like she did. “Good catch, Big Mac.”

He bowed in his sigil, blushing, not that any of them could see it.

“Twilight, we’ll get you that book, and you can start learning how to weave the weather. Looks like you’re not escaping that after all.”

“I do not know if it is too much to ask, but it would be good if we could hit the ship when it is close to the mountain, so it can land sooner,” Octavia said.

“It’s all going to depend on how quickly I can make the storm respond,” Twilight said. “I’ll do what I can.” It seemed the magical phrase; everyone stared at one another uncomfortably as if an unseen proctor had declared the meeting adjourned. The plan had fallen together more easily than they had expected, clinically easy, and this fact more surprising than it should have been, for the clinical approach had marked their final days of adventuring for better and worse, ingrained in some so deeply as to wholly supplant the old way. Distancing herself from her own life, Twilight gave the impression of her former self, the scientist looking down on this or that compound and testing without fear or remorse, the surgeon examining her own wound out of mute fascination. She kept her composure during the grisly dialogue with no outward sign of duress, and after the communication sigils were swept away, she kept it still; Rainbow holding her own by virtue of Twilight’s calm, but ready to burst the second there appeared a crack in the façade.

But Twilight knew better, and did not allow herself the luxury of feeling until well after dark, when Rainbow was pretending to be asleep and Colgate was pacing the Matta’s lower decks, caught up in her own world. She did not go to the princess this time, instead wrapping up in a monogrammed robe—not her name, but the ship’s—and locking herself in the bathroom. Soft electric lights, wall-length gilt sink sloping into a grate in the floor, oak and cedar commode with heated seat and a selection of a dozen different air fresheners; Twilight drew a hot bath and lathered the water with cinnamon bun-scented soap, sinking into the tub with a sigh of contentment that was all theater, no true reflection of her feelings.

Closing her eyes, she tried to relax as she had tried in the palace spa, annoyed with herself in her microscopic world of expert touches, the smells of wet stone and warm cotton, the gentle and industrious hiss of steam. She sighed again, “aaaaaahhhhh… no, no.” Wrong, still keyed up, unnecessary anxiety that twisted in her head and her guts, the worst of it that she was used to it; she could lie perfectly still and perform the correct actions, a slight lowering into the water here, a fluttering of open eyes before they closed again there, aaaaahhhhh. All on her own, she pretended to find a shred of luxuriant peace.

Rainbow in the deck above tossed herself from her bed and went to the neighboring cabin, which had a porthole. Leaning her chin on the rim, she tried to determine where in the desert they were, speeding through a sky as clear and dark as the sea. Ridges scraped by like sidewinder tracks, spotted with cacti and acacia, reduced to dark imperfections. Her parents had taken the news of her imprisonment better than she had expected, but she had not hope for them to gracefully accept her coming death. The reception was not far off, and would most likely be nearly upon them when they returned to Canterlot. She might be telling her parents the day before, or even the day of—the semi-familiar anxiety came then, realizing it with a cold drop of the heart. “How many hours before the reception do they find out? A dozen? Ten? What if they can’t get to the palace any sooner, and they have to find out… What if I never get the chance?”

Just like that, dear heroic Rainbow Dash, dead and gone in a tragic blaze, end of story, and she would be left to carry out a new life under the knowledge that she had failed to assure those closest to her that all was not lost. Hers was not the rational approach, not when she was alone: she didn’t think of the cruel advantages of their ignorance, the safety it would ensure her guise, the daily fear of being discovered that she would dodge and Twilight would not. No, her mind leapt straight to the funeral, the juicy melodrama and self-reproach, the rain and the black umbrellas, the hearse idling behind wrought-iron gates, giant flower arrangements and bouquets tossed onto a cherry wood casket, kerchiefs dabbing eyes and veils fluttering in the chill wind, parents hopeless with grief next to aunts and uncles and cousins standing silently by, eulogy broken off by a tearful dash to the seat, the music, the salutes, the priest’s blessing, the wet earth sprinkling, and her own self watching from a distance and, a twisted permutation of the grief gripping her family taking hold, wishing she could throw herself into the hole as well, embrace the casket with legs and wings and sink below the lush grass in a final act of penitence for her crime. And then—“I’m just fantasizing, so why the hell not?” Adjusting herself to look through the top of the porthole, catching the snare-wire shine of a thin river below, Rainbow sighing to herself—and then Trixie there, inexplicably alive, all unaddressed worries magically resolved before the end, her blue coat and silver mane wracked from sleeplessness and that oh-so-fitting cold rain, love stolen away, perfect unselfconscious misery, maybe she can throw herself onto the casket too—“No, that’s too much, dial it back.” Trixie just standing there, makeup running, slowly, slowly becoming someone else in Rainbow’s mind as she adjusted again and went to the empty corridor, seeking once more the foreign feeling of minor anxiety from a strange place, a thin layer of more bearable fear on top of the pit yawning wider every day… Straight down, yes, she would jump too, and tonight she was taking her first deep breath. The vibrating overhead lights, the silver pattern in the carpet, the smell of dust and stale wood, distracting for long enough that, when she returned to her fantasy, Trixie had changed to Leaf Blower, the same sorrow transplanted into its contemporary, Leaf Blower weeping behind her thick glasses and honking into a snot-stained cardigan sleeve.

“Do I tell her?” With her parents it was no option, but with Leaf Blower, there was good reason to tell her and to not. Rainbow listened to her own hoofsteps and circled the question, starting first with what she felt was the more central issue, whether Leaf Blower was someone she wanted to keep in her life.

Trusting that Leaf Blower would keep her secret made an easier picture, but Rainbow did not know for sure; she had worked in the palace for most of her adult career, and frequently consulted with both princesses. It was not too much to imagine her as a spy for Celestia, in fact—Twilight’s scolding voice taking over for a snap of internal monologue—it was a good idea. There could be any number of spies in the palace.

Leaf Blower, though, was not a very subtle mare; it was the small point that Rainbow could not put aside. It was one of the qualities that most attracted her, Leaf’s inability to hide her true feelings. “Unless the whole thing’s been an act,” Twilight crooned in Rainbow’s mind, and Rainbow shook her head. “Celestia, I’ve been with Twilight too long.”

The following morning reached them over sere desert ridges and tufts of wild cloud, white as the sun and scooting under their ship, the black line of a pine forest bristling on the land’s farthest curve. Luna summoned the book and they flew all through the day reading and practicing, and by five o’ clock, it was obvious where they were going: their flight from Trottingham was an unbroken line southwest, past the waste of Applewood, into the deep variegated shadows of storm clouds and mountains, where wind and rain appeared with the coming of late evening and rivers branched like spider silk under them. They were headed for Snowdrift, or else the mines, though none of them could imagine someone from there taking up the Element.

For that night, the three of them convinced Twilight to leave her magic and settle down for cards and wine. The details of her demise were set as well as they could be from a distance, there was nothing more to discuss, and it would do her well to relax a little, if she could; so Luna insisted to her, and Twilight accepted the offer, wrapping herself in blankets and hugging a pillow, drinking mulberry wine from a diamond-studded chalice and playing hearts with Princess Luna’s deck, Elements of Harmony edition. Her own smug face stared up at her from the four of clubs next to Fluttershy’s demure smile on the jack of diamonds, a squirrel peeking out from a loop in her mane. Colgate laughed and showed them the eight of hearts, which depicted Octavia standing stiffly on two legs and blowing into a trombone, a look of acute discomfort on her face.

Twilight had glimpsed what she thought of as the bottom of her hole the night before, pretending to feel in the bathtub, eventually spurring herself to a single angry sob followed by several minutes of dry, feigned tears, complete with disgraced face in hooves, unstable rictus, sharp little gasps, all of it a hollow attempt to make herself actually cry, actually feel more than the unceasing background noise of dread; and between two warm bodies, cards floating in front of her face, sweet wine and gentle music summoned into the lantern-touched air, she was finding them at last, the softer feelings she feared had dried up.

When they had played through and the wine was gone, Luna summoned another and shuffled, and they played on, falling to joking and reminiscing, fear put aside for camaraderie. Luna laughed and talked too, not apart from them, not too good to tease and be teased, not too remote to play truth or dare when the second bottle was getting low and the hour was growing long. It crossed Twilight’s mind that the princess had millennia of practice in situations just like theirs, had perfected being part of a crowd and did not truly share in the experience; but then, she so numb had found herself overtaken by the friendship and the fun too, so why not the princess? Twilight tested her once, donning a wry smile when only Luna was looking, an invitation to share a moment of honesty, but Luna volleyed it back with a genuine grin and a riotous laugh as Rainbow lost her balance and hit the floor, a dare getting the better of her wine-addled wings.

In her bed, much later than she had intended to be, Twilight had enough time to wonder whether it had been her last moment of pleasure; pessimistic, poisoned thoughts crowding in around her as she expected them to, and she fell asleep thinking again of her black hole, of looking into the apathetic darkness of death, plugging her nose, and swan-diving down.

Snowdrift was no help to her confused mood, landing as they did the following midmorning in front of what looked like a funeral procession that had gotten lost on its way to its cemetery and melded with a block party. Black-clad ponies in moon-motif shawls and cloaks jockeyed to see Luna and her companions, some shivering alone and others huddled next to friends with glowing orbs of heat balanced on the tips of witch hats or dangling from beards. Many bowed, some cheered, Luna greeted them all and, flapping to see over the crowd, asked what the occasion was—for beyond the wall of staring eyes a section of street had been cordoned off, snow showering onto a flock of hovering paper lanterns and a giant wood sculpture of a cantering pony, her legs and belly aflame with pink and purple fire and from whose ears puffed smoke rings wide as tree trunks; food stands and a church choir set up on frosted bleachers, reedy feminine voices in the wind and a crimson boudoir piano that had been dragged out of someone’s home, whose player sat under a celery-green halo of magic that whipped the snow away in powdery discs when too much collected above his head; revelers in tuxedoes, peacoats, ball gowns, vests and ties, one mare in a wedding dress, a few masks wild-looking with shimmering magpie feathers, knee-high boots and weathered brogans, stovepipe trousers and top hats, every shade in the monochrome spectrum and only offset by faint golden lines of watch chains and the sunset hues flung from the effigy; jugglers carousing on one side, spilling with dancers and plate spinners into the parking lot out front of a nearby church, pulling a crowd of stone-faced ponies while a griffon preacher shivered at her lectern and spoke to her own group, brown stole lifting and shaking snow onto the ground whenever she gestured with her wings; the smell of pretzels, of spun sugar, of maple and whiskey, popcorn, caramel, grilled vegetables, cardamom and aniseed, melted cheese, and the sound of a hundred hooves and talons crunching snow, voices raised in jubilation and circles of heads bowed reverently, prayers, tears, songs, laughter, the beating of tambourines and the plangent cry of a pipe organ somewhere far away; and the parting of the crowd when Luna and her friends approached, cheers, money clattering on wood counters, bean bags arcing through the air, pumpkins leering on plinths or from behind bushes, a name propagating through the milieu, scattered but gaining steam, Versus, Versus, Versus. Like a reluctant partner in a duel, she appeared in her own gap in the crowd, saw the night goddess, and looked around nervously.

Bits changed hooves, ponies gloated for winning bets or cried Versus’ name in congratulations, wishing her well before she had even met the princess in the middle, where a space had cleared. The snow dusted up at their hooves and Versus shuffled uncomfortably, looking up at Luna with wide, worried eyes. “Are you here for me?”

Luna, just as confused, looked to Twilight, who shrugged. “Maybe I am. Let me… try something.” She withdrew the Element of Laughter from a fold in her gray overcoat and held it out to Versus. “Can you hold this for me?”

Versus took the necklace, not putting it on, not even looking at it. “All the precogs in town went nuts last weekend. They started telling me goodbye, and to pack my bags and get all my affairs in order, like I was—okay, hold up.” She took her eyes off the pressing fringes of crowd and looked to the Element, glowing faintly from the middle of its central jewel, the gold turning white and the gemstones turning glassy before merging into a single, empty chunk; at which point she dropped it in the snow, where it steamed gently and melted down into a misshapen puddle, cooling slowly, the gold realigning around a rectilinear shape of milky opal shot with shards of black spinel. Twilight did not recognize it for Versus’ cutie mark, but the implication was obvious enough, and as soon as she had picked it up and held it to her chest, a mighty roar came up around them and ponies pushed in, keeping their distance from the princess but trying to squeeze in and get at Versus. Cameras appeared, flash bulbs added to the clutch of lights, and from somewhere, a brass band overtook the female voice choir. Ribbons flew into the air and caught the wind, pegasi whipped themselves into a flurry overhead, some of them throwing glitter, others firecrackers that spat and shrieked before leaving spirals of smoke. Ponies were pumping her hoof, embracing her, or simply yelling her name over and over again, and for the first few minutes, she endured, smiling nervously and thanking everyone, though she clearly knew the least of them what was actually going on. Luna had to step in and ask that they have some space, promising that she would return Versus in a while, and the new Element of Laughter followed meekly behind them back to the Matta.

“They told me I was gonna die,” Versus half-laughed, half-yelled, trotting up the gangplank. “Either that or I was gonna leave town forever, gee, what a choice! They did—you see it, all of that, they set it up for me. Part going-away party, part funeral, ‘cause the stupid precogs couldn’t agree on which it needed to be. And me, I’m just like ‘great, what do I do?’ So I packed my bags and… basically I prayed that I was only leaving, not, you know, dying.”

“Well…” Twilight began.

“They’ve made it easy for us,” Luna said. “Versus, it seems that you are the next in line to become the Element of Laughter.”

Versus chewed her lip. “Riiiight, ‘cause Pinkie ditched hers. Applejack told me. Sorry to hear that, by the way.”

“We weren’t,” Twilight said.

“Real nice, Twi,” Rainbow grumbled.

“They were right to encourage you to pack your bags,” Luna said. “I apologize that they scared you like that.”

“Not your fault,” Versus said guardedly. “Not theirs either, really. So… Well I mean, I have all my stuff ready, I guess. I told my landlord what was going on, said my goodbyes already—well the other way around, actually, everyone said goodbye to me. Geez, talk about unnerving, everyone in town suddenly saying goodbye to you and you don’t know why.”

Luna nodded gracefully, deeply. “As soon as you are able, you need to return to Canterlot. Princess Celestia will meet you first, and then we can find a place for you in Ponyville.”

“With everyone else. Yessss, yessss.” She brightened then. “How’d it decide to come to me?”

“I’ll explain everything on the flight over.”

“Ah! So when you said as soon as I’m able, you meant like, now.”

“As soon as you are able; not necessarily this minute.”

The party, its outcome decided, was undergoing a change visible even from the ship: music growing louder and more fevered, ponies jumping up and down on snowbanks, snowballs pelting flanks and magical shields, a line of pallbearers beetling out from one of the churches carrying, in place of the coffin, a blazing cake.

“I’d like to say goodbye to some ponies,” Versus said. “Properly.”

“Go, do what you need to do.” The princess paused for a second and stopped Versus halfway down to the ground. “Enjoy the party! It’s for you, after all. We’ll collect you later.”

Versus beamed and galloped back into the breaking cheers, diving onto a pony at the front, smiling and crying, and the two of them tumbled before getting up and disappearing from view. Twilight looked to the princess.

“If any of you want to celebrate, be my guests,” Luna said. “I’ll wait here.”

“No party, princess?” Colgate asked, leaning over the rail, eyes narrowed in consternation.

“Not today.”

Twilight resisted at first, but Colgate and Rainbow dragged her into the fun. She had watched Snowdrift most of all in the past year, but had not really detected the celebrity that Versus enjoyed after her brush with the Elements. Her name had come up in conversations occasionally, but Twilight had not seen Versus go anywhere and be met with the adoration on display that morning.

A flock of playful griffons had formed around the effigy’s smoking head, taking turns to swoop in and touch the hot wood with a claw or dip their tail feathers and slap the pony’s muzzle. Their downy chests absorbed the colorful firelight so that they appeared to glow from within, hearts burning for their peer, an entire town aflame with pride to match. It was in every note and every look, personal affection for the pony who had all of a sudden stepped into the pages of history, or broader town pride, an Element of Harmony from little Snowdrift! Brawny stallions swinging flagons in jostling song, slapping thick-furred backs and clapping snow in one another’s faces with rolling laughs; beer foam coloring trampled snow, wrinkled flakes of confetti, stray pegasus and griffon feathers, empty nacho cheese containers. Nearer the band, those who had begun the day in mourning danced, black veils billowing in a mazurka’s quick steps; the priest had quit her lectern to skip with a circle of younger ponies, her prayer book shut and tucked away from the snow. Twilight espied Versus with a group of uniformed ponies, passing around her new Element and throwing her head back with laughter each time she shrugged to their questions.

“I thought it was gonna be Photo Finish for a little,” Rainbow said, “when it looked like we were going that way.”

“Good ol’ Photo Finish,” said Colgate, who had never met her.

“I guess this makes sense,” Twilight said, “but I don’t think of Versus as laughter that much, you know? The way she’s always going on with Applejack, you’d think she’d be more… I don’t know, something else.”

“Okay, I didn’t want to say this in front of Luna,” Rainbow began, “but AJ really pissed me off earlier.”

“Why?” Colgate asked.

“She made me instantly regret telling her our plan,” Twilight said. “Not the first time that’s happened.”

They broke apart for a few minutes, Colgate’s sense for the foul reeling her away and then back in with a pitcher of beer, black as molasses, which she suckled on in a junpier tree’s cold shade.

“Why are you doing this with me, Dash?” Twilight asked, declining Colgate’s pitcher and passing it to Rainbow, who drank deeply and spat it out into a bush.

“I told you—Colgate, how can you drink this?—I told you I’d stick by you until the end.”

“But you don’t have to… you know. Princess Celestia would let you leave the palace, she said it herself.”

“Talk is cheap,” Colgate said.

“Yeah, that’s the secondary reason,” Rainbow said. “With you gone, I can’t—I mean, I don’t know if Celestia would let me go after that. I have no idea how she’ll react, she might clamp down on me.”

“What’s the main reason, then?” Twilight asked.

“Because…” Because she had already said she would, and it wasn’t the sort of promise she could back out on. Because she had volunteered in too much fidelity, haste borne of the unflinching habit of always being by Twilight’s side, the decision made and its justification discovered only after the fact. “I’m not completely sure.”

“The thing to do,” Colgate said. “I get that. It governs us all. You gotta make sure it doesn’t govern you too much, though.”

“Is that how you wound up with us? How you ended up in the palace at the right time?”

“I think that was just luck,” Twilight said.

“I go where I please,” Colgate said, frowning into her stout.

“How are we gonna break it to Versus?”

“Same way we broke it to our actual friends,” Rainbow said. “Twi, our families. What are we—”

“I might not tell mine.”

Rainbow lowered her voice. “Twilight, you have to.”

“I do not have to.”

“Yeah you do,” Colgate said. “Rainbow’s gonna tell hers, and they’ll tell Twilight’s, probably all of yours, you know, to stem the grieving process.”

“Aw, shit, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Rainbow said, running a hoof through her mane. “They are gonna tell everyone else’s parents, huh?”

“Unless they don’t.”

“Thanks, Colgate.”

“We’ll have to emphasize the importance of secrecy,” Twilight murmured, a fresh wave of despair rolling onto her. She didn’t believe it for a second, that all of their parents would keep the secret from the others; one might, but not everyone, not against such a whirlwind of grief as her and Rainbow’s passing would incite.

“What if Celestia speaks to them to give her condolences?” Rainbow asked. “We could lose it right there.”

“What if she reads their minds?” Twilight wondered. “We can’t wipe their memories of us, can we?”

“It’s horrible that you’d even consider that.”

“It wouldn’t be easy, but it’s doable,” Colgate said.

“No, I’d rather not,” Twilight said. The easiest answer was staring her in the face: just don’t tell them. Let their families think they were truly dead, let them grieve, let the nation make them into figures of sorrow and sacrifice, and take their guilt to their second graves. She felt ghoulish even admitting it to herself, but, she asked herself, which was worse, the guilt or the possibility of being dragged back into Celestia’s watch? Guilt could be overcome or smothered, even atoned for, but if their parents knew, there was no telling who else would find out in time. Years, even decades into her new life, she might wake up one day and meet a royal emissary at her door, else the princess herself, and find herself taken away in the time it took to plumb her unprepared mind, placed in irons, and left to rot.

“You gotta tell ‘em, Twi,” Rainbow said.

“I think Octavia was right. We should think…” Oh, no. She looked at Rainbow, a sudden, black thought jumping out at her, another way out. “We should think of Princess Celestia as the enemy here,” she continued delicately, scrambling in her cloud of thoughts to piece together an alternate talking point to the one she had initially meant to pursue. “Which makes us enemies of the state.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Maybe we take that angle when we tell our folks. Demonstrate to them what we’re up against, discourage them from telling anyone else.”

Rainbow nodded and got up, posing for a quick photograph, wing slung over a young stallion and flashing a sunny grin. Twilight reluctantly took her place, and then Colgate, and they chatted for a minute, drawing a crowd, eventually Versus and her friends, talking and laughing politely before sinking back into the party proper, where Twilight lost her friends and went back to the Matta.

“Your highness?” Luna’s eyes snapped open and she regarded Twilight with a tired smile. “Can we talk real quick? I need your advice again.”

“This is private?”

“Extremely. I didn’t tell Dash or Colgate, and I’m not going to.”

Luna nodded and they went below, out of the cold and, more importantly, away from prying eyes.

“Your highness, how does a goddess view the concepts of good and evil?”

Luna laughed. “What a question! Twilight, why don’t you just tell me your latest plan?”

“I’d prefer it if you answered me, princess.”

“As you wish,” she sighed. “At a divine level, good and evil get tied up in the mechanics of self-interest, as well as whatever you’re ruling and controlling. You get accustomed to taking the longest view possible on everything you do.”

“So you end up avoiding things that seem good in the moment because they might lead to worse things in the future, and vice-versa,” Twilight said.

“You speculate on that and then try your best to make the right decision each time.”

“Huh.”

“Disappointed?”

“I guess I expected more.”

“There is no secret ‘second morality’ that applies only to us goddesses, Twilight. I can’t validate your wickedness. Now come,” she smiled sweetly, “tell me what filthy thing you’ve got in your head now. You can’t disgust me.”

“Dash and I were talking about what to tell our families. She wants to tell them, and I don’t, I think it would be too great a risk. So I thought, what if I wipe Rainbow’s memory and make her think she told her family? I’ll save her the guilt of not saying anything, and we can be safe from future discovery.”

“And now I see why you led with the good and evil question.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Everything Rainbow Dash would suffer for not telling her parents, you would be displacing onto yourself, and that’s not usually a safe idea. However, the reason why you absolutely should not do that is more concrete. What will you do when Dash writes a cryptic letter to her parents however many years later, when all the hubbub about your deaths has died down?”

“Oh.” Simultaneously defeated and relieved, she asked, “couldn’t I make it so she never feels the need to reach out to them?”

“No. The mind is too complex to fine-tune like that. You’d need to constantly watch her and find ways to sustain the beliefs you gave her, and that’s not easy.”

“…Speaking from experience?”

“Sadly, yes. Ongoing.”

“Geez. I’m sorry, your highness.”

“I would point out to you, Twilight, that if you want to find a way back to your old self, it is not by manipulating your friend’s memories.” Twilight bowed her head, again looking at the confession she could not defer, momentarily excited by the prospect of sidestepping it. “The best I can do is be with you when you tell them, to assure them that this is real and to impress the importance of secrecy. But you have to tell them.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Not an option.” She shook her head, watching Twilight’s face change subtly. Quietly, she continued. “You’re seeing now what the real sacrifice is: not your life, but the hell you’re going to force onto everyone around you.”

“I’m not getting back to the way I used to be, am I? That’s a fool’s hope. If I’m willing to do this to everyone I love, then I’m already past the point of no return.”

“Now you see it.”

“You knew.”

“And you would never have believed me if I told you.”

“I’d have thought you were trying to trick me. I wouldn’t have accepted your help.”

“Do you accept it still, or was that one too much for you?”

“No, I accept your help. I need it—because I am going to change lives, evil or not.” She shuddered.

“The first time is always the worst,” Luna said, touching her shoulder.

The party was dissolving toward evening, the pony effigy reduced to a roaring pyre that occasionally snarled when a firework was thrown in, the jugglers and acrobats retired to their homes or to the nearby pub, the cake demolished into traces of fondant and frosting. Colgate was drunk when she made it back to the ship and staggered straight to bed, but Rainbow and Twilight stayed up with the princess and talked with Versus. They were awake into the small hours, when Snowdrift was lost in a veil of storm clouds and freezing rain hammered the Matta’s shield. There, deep in the night sky and feeling the separation from her home, Versus cried and voiced her fears before sobering and talking herself out of greater sorrow. An opportunity, not a tragedy, she said. “Funny how these things work out, huh? I’d have never expected it in a million years.” Princess Luna agreed with her.

The following morning, Twilight resumed her studies under Luna’s guidance, adjusting humidity and forming condensation, and within the second hour, she had accumulated enough moisture to create a small cloud, which she released off the ship’s stern to melt into gray fog. Versus watched without their knowledge, and for the rest of the afternoon, they went below to catch her up on their plan.

“I guess AJ wasn’t exaggerating,” she said after Twilight was done with her explanation, as short a version as she could make it. The timing did not feel right, and she suspected it never would have.

Twilight looked at her blankly, her head drawn into a thick imitation fur collar, white fuzz tips dampened from her work with humidity; and under that, her body tacky with dried sweat. They talked in the small chart room, yellowed pages curling under Twilight’s influence, an antiquarian lantern’s glass face hazing over.

“She’s worried about you, she tells me all the time.”

“Oh, that. I’m aware of her concerns.”

“You don’t sound interested in it.”

“Hey.” She glanced at Rainbow, who looked up from a map of the northern coast. “My soul, my business, okay? If I’m evil, then—” She stopped. “My Celestia, what am I saying? Twilight, get it together.” “What I mean is, I’ve thought this over a hundred times, and I don’t see a better solution.”

“No, I get it,” Versus pressed. “My neighbor—my former neighbor—got re-bodied. He had a nasty disease, and instead of dangerous surgery, they offered to give him a whole new go at life. Ponies do that sometimes.” She smiled nervously at Luna, who looked at her, bemused. “Maaaaybe not in the other cities though?”

“Snowdrift is unique in that respect,” Luna said. “I hadn’t realized it was that common of knowledge there.”

“I get it, Twilight. It sounds like you’ve really got yourself stuck.” She giggled awkwardly. “Some of it I’ve already heard, but AJ was a little skimpy on some of the details. If I was you, I’d… Yeah, I can see it, I’m basically saying. I’m not a fan of having to lie, but there we are, you’re not exactly hiding from Miss Average down the block.”

“You couldn’t share a little of that understanding with Applejack, could you?” Rainbow asked.

“I could try, but she’ll know you put me up to it. I take it she was mad?”

“Lying about our identities… bothers her.”

“Yeah, that sounds accurate.” She rose. “Tell you what, I’ll give it my best shot anyway, okay? And I’ll be there for your funerals. Oh! I just thought of that!” She scrunched her face up in curious distaste. “Will you be at your own funerals?”

“No,” Luna said. “They’ll be elsewhere. We’re still finalizing the details.”

What more to be said? Twilight and Rainbow returned to the deck, Twilight unzipping her coat and letting the frigid air pierce her chest, wind at the bow grabbing her mane and tail and forcing her eyes to a bleary squint, the misty forest below turned to a black quilt humped in the hilled distance. She had seen Applejack do the same thing on their travels, only after her time in Tartarus, eyes closed and nostrils flared to take in the thin air and whatever weather was their fortune to fly through, rain, snow, sun, it didn’t seem to matter to her. “Love of life,” Twilight thought emptily.

“Are you ready for more, Twilight?” Luna asked softly. “I apologize, I know it’s a lot.”

“Yeah, I feel like an additional week would be… really ideal,” Twilight sighed. “Let’s get back to it. Has she looked in on us?”

“We spoke earlier this morning.”

Twilight looked at her princess, the question in her eyes, flatly unhappy. If Celestia knew anything, Twilight would have found out already, been shown the error of her ways; the usual image of a fiery scythe rocketing out of the north and screaming, hurtling, shredding the clouds in a cyclone of heat down on her, an almighty “how dare you.” More likely, she would simply try to levitate something and find that her horn had gone permanently numb, its root severed or iced to nothing like a tooth ready for extraction. Neither of these had happened, yet she had to ask.

“My sister knows nothing. In fact, she’s rather preoccupied with the changelings again. Nothing serious.”

“Ah. That’s good. I think.”

Twilight liked to think, in the moments not occupied by storm magic, that Luna had no comfort to give her; it was better than thinking that she could comfort Twilight and chose not to. To this she held for their trip back to Canterlot, not stopping, a straight arrow fired from the blizzards of Snowdrift to the capital’s white palace, and her grip only slipped at the last, landing, dragging her bags down to the tarmac, when Luna asked her and Rainbow whether they were ready to meet their parents.

“Together, yes,” Luna said. “I apologize, I didn’t want to risk my sister’s attention with more than one meeting.”

Twilight’s heart sank, leaden, to her hooves, taking with it her blood, her air. Luna had not given them the chance to renege, had scheduled the meeting behind their backs. Sometime in the clouds, in the circling talk of storms, the recursive magic that had to be touched just so, never grabbed too firmly, always ready to explode out of its caster’s control, Luna had quietly sealed their fates.

“Now?” Rainbow echoed, her sharp voice breaking through Twilight’s ringing ears. “Now?”

“Like a bandage. Twilight, are you still with me?”

“Your highness,” Twilight wheezed. “I’m not—”

“Time is not a luxury either of you can afford anymore,” Luna said sternly, scooping them along under her wings. “You said you wanted this, and you’re getting it. Colgate, take Versus to Celestia, and then get with Lotus. I told her you would be at her disposal for coordinating with Twilight and Rainbow.”

Behind, Colgate was frozen, the scene seeming to her an intimation of the private fear she had so often nursed, nary a chance given to take in the new city’s air before being whisked away by one deity or the other. She found Rainbow’s beseeching eyes next to Twilight’s dead ones as they marched briskly off the airship lot, and croaked a shaken “you got it, princess” to Luna’s back.

The Strongest Wind that Blows

Chapter One hundred twenty-four

The Strongest Wind that Blows

Twilight’s parents had interacted with Rainbow’s some, but were not close, and when their daughters entered the boardroom with Princess Luna gliding behind, an invisible wall of tension broke. While Rainbow embraced her father and Twilight was embraced by hers, face empty, Luna closed the windows and drew the curtains. Bathing the room in dark magic, she took the table’s head and waited for everyone to settle. It was the same boardroom where the Elements had convened after their adventure, signed paperwork concerning their official stories, reviewed plans for Rarity’s boutique, discussed publicity, and taken hundreds of other meetings private and professional. Both goddesses, everyone important in the country it seemed had taken those worn seats.

“What’s today’s date?” Twilight asked.

“The ninth,” her mother said. “Two days, Twily. Are you excited?”

“Unfortunately, we are not coming together to discuss the reception,” Luna said. “I have enchanted this room to let no sound escape, and I am maintaining my most powerful spells to block Celestia from spying on us, if she tries. And if she does, we will have not much warning.”

“Haven’t our children suffered enough under you two?” Rainbow’s mother, Windy Whistles, stood and placed her forehooves on the table, a small but steadfast mare who left no question of where Rainbow had gotten her fierce streak.

“I agree.” Windy paused and stuttered, and Luna gave her a patient smile, a smile reserved for ponies who were not close to her. “Rainbow and Twilight need to go home now, and my sister is making that impossible. I have stepped in to assist them.”

“We asked her to,” Rainbow clarified. “But it’s not gonna be pretty. Just letting you know now.”

“And it’s not reversible.”

Twilight’s parents were already looking at her, they could see that Twilight was not well, and Luna began her preamble that death could be overcome under certain miraculous circumstances—not a commodity for the magically-endowed that Twilight and Rainbow knew it to be, but a marvelous, one-in-a-million feat, stars aligning and a secret wish granted, a goddess reaching down to breathe new life into clay. Twilight Velvet slowly turned her shocked gaze to the princess, but Night Light had eyes only for Twilight, who could not speak or even look up from the table. Even if it worked, and Twilight had to consider the possibility that it would not, she was throwing away too much. It had been a good idea at the time, but she could feel the hurt spreading through the room and knew that her heart wasn’t as hard as she liked to think. Just look up at them, Twilight, face them, she thought, tell them. Tell them you’re stealing yourself, diving down that scary black hole with no possibility of return, leaving only—yep, there they go, there, out in the midafternoon sun, caroming over the palace walls and the suburbs, out into the fields, up and away, over the clouds, gone, wheeling like seagulls, her soul and Rainbow’s, Luna speaking them away softly as she emphasized once more that neither daughter would be gone save for in flesh.

“It’ll be like they’re wearing perfect disguises, that’s all. Personalities one hundred percent intact, all memories, everything that makes them, them, will remain.” Dash’s parents were crying, her mother trying to hold it in for Rainbow’s sake, Rainbow with her head in her hooves and snuffling a reflective pool onto the table, and the father bawling. Twilight’s parents kept their composure, looking between Luna and Twilight as if expecting her to cut the princess off and say “that’s enough, I think we scared them. Here’s what we’re really doing.”

“You’ll still be alive,” Twilight Velvet eventually said, wincing as she interrupted Luna. “Just different. I understand it right?”

“Completely. Please know that we would never even consider doing this if it weren’t for Miss Sparkle’s unique situation.”

“If it was the Mansels, or something,” Rainbow cut in, face still hidden. “A mortal threat. Then we could deal with it in a less extreme way. But this is…”

Twilight shook her head sharply when her father touched her hoof. A stronger mare than she would put aside her feelings and help explain it to her parents; she would come clean and describe what had happened, not only in the palace with her irresponsible divination, but before that, the lies and the violence, the remorse whose sting had grown softer over time, at least so they would not have to guess. Twilight’s tongue was frozen, though, her mind foggy, her cloud of thoughts running on its own on a problem of no consequence, how much the party in Snowdrift must have cost to set up. She could not bring herself to speak, only cry, to rise and release herself into her mother’s coat, and what an image it was to them, Twilight who always had something to say, speechless while the princess talked of death and resurrection. That was the true sign, confirmation of what they feared, that their child had been swept away and returned to them harmed.

On the very first night, when the Elements flew in Twilight’s hot air balloon from Ponyville to Canterlot, babbling and worried, Twilight had found solace in the thought that perhaps it was all a dream. When daybreak came, she would open her crusty eyes and reach for a glass of water on the nightstand, and Spike would be snoring in his basket, and she would mumble and curse the sun while going downstairs in her robe and slippers, send a letter, reorganize some books, and then only later, over iced tea or on the way to Pinkie’s latest party, recount her nightmare. “It’s gone on a little long, hasn’t it, Twily?” her own voice mocked while she sobbed. But that’s how dreams always feel, a day can pass in the space of ten minutes behind closed eyelids.

“I wanna wake up,” she whispered, and her mother rubbed her back. Luna gave them the time they needed.

“We can’t tell you when we’re going to do it,” Rainbow said. She had recovered first, her face a mess but her voice strong. “But it’ll be fast and painless, I promise. Then we’ll just, well I don’t know how it works exactly, but we’ll wake up somewhere else, as someone else, and then that’s it. Princess Luna picks us up and takes us to Ponyville as the new Elements.”

“Who else knows?” Night Light asked softly. He had denied everything, though he worried it was too late when he saw Twilight after she got home. It was in her eyes then, small enough to wish away.

“The other Elements,” Luna said, “but not their parents. No one else. We’re minimizing the risk of my sister learning about it.”

“Is she that angry?” Rainbow’s father asked. “She can’t at least let Dash go?”

“I’m not abandoning Twilight, dad,” Rainbow mumbled.

“Princess Celestia doesn’t see these two the way you or I do,” Luna said. “I say this with deep regret, but to her, Twilight and Rainbow Dash are threats to her authority.”

“Me more than Rainbow,” Twilight managed. “You don’t know this, mom, dad, but I’ve learned a lot more about magic. Enough to challenge the princess on certain things.”

“Twilight scared her,” Rainbow said, a hint of pride in her voice.

“No small feat,” Luna agreed.

“That’s why my girl has to die,” Twilight Velvet said, and Twilight heard the note of anger buried in her voice, anger from a mare used to holding her feelings back. “Why a mother buries her daughter, because… you scared the princess? This is—this is the ruler of our nation, and you’re telling me she’s going after our daughter because she learned too much? What kind of a princess is she?”

“I…” Twilight had expended herself already, and father and mother looked at her for several expectant seconds.

“I have no adequate response for you, Mrs. Velvet,” Luna said, drawing their attention back. “My sister is far from perfect, particularly now, and in this, Twilight got too close at the wrong time.”

“What does that mean, ‘the wrong time’?” Night Light demanded. Twilight Velvet shook her head next to him, the rest of her body statue-still.

“Twilight challenged Celestia’s authority, and this is how she has chosen to respond, by forcing Twilight to live in the palace for the rest of her life, to give up her freedom. Please let me impress that if Celestia discovers what we are doing, I have no doubt in my mind that both of these incredible ponies will suffer greatly, and perhaps their friends as well.”

“She has no right!” Twilight Velvet yelled.

“She’s the goddess,” Rainbow said. “We can’t stop her. This is it, the best we can do.”

“We have to pretend to not know you,” Windy Whistles said. “Right?”

“Ludicrous!” Twilight Velvet slammed her hoof on the table. “I don’t care what it takes, your highness, but this can’t happen! You go,” here she stood up, facing Luna, who did not try to stop her. “Tell your mad sister to release these mares at once! Where is she, I’ll tell her myself if you won’t.”

Rainbow looked across at Twilight, who was slumped in her chair.

“I have told her multiple times that she is being unjust,” Luna said slowly. “She refuses to listen to reason, and I would implore that you not approach her. She won’t take kindly to it.”

“And we don’t take kindly to her trying to make our Dashie throw away her life,” Rainbow’s father said, standing as well. “I agree, where’s Princess Celestia?”

“Dad, please,” Rainbow moaned, looking at Twilight again, pleading for support. “You don’t want to get her attention.”

“Yes I do, Rainbow Dash. We’re not gonna stand by and lose you like this, that’s crazy!”

“We can stay in touch, just… you know, carefully.”

“Pen pals?” Windy Whistles asked angrily.

“So we have to pretend you’re what, the next Elements of Harmony?” Twilight Velvet asked, her temper spent already, standing beside her husband who had not stopped shaking his head for several minutes. “We can be friendly with you, that’s all? Twilight, honey… I’m your mother. Princess Celestia can’t do this to us.”

Twilight, addressed, took a deep breath that did not help. “It’s already happening, mom. The plan is in place, ponies are working… It’s happening. If Princess Celestia thinks—I don’t know.” She couldn’t look anyone in the eye.

“Please trust me, you don’t want her paying attention to you right now,” Rainbow repeated. “It won’t end well.”

“It’s ending bad right now,” Windy Whistles said.

“It can always get worse,” Twilight said.

“The first year will be difficult,” Luna said gently, “but after that, when Celestia has mourned and recovered, you will find that you can return to something much like normal. The names and shapes will be different, but these extraordinary ponies will still be your children. Behind closed doors, you can treat them that way.”

Daylight was already failing, and it would soon be the tenth of November, the day before their demise. Rainbow and Luna gradually calmed the parents, and Twilight stared on, and when Luna got up, she did not register what the princess said until she had left them. Privacy for the families, last words, reassurances and words of advice, all things Twilight had not given any thought to when they were speeding toward Canterlot. She wanted to remain silent, to stay inside her cocoon of self-reproach and let her parents break upon it, perhaps pass her by in time. For that, a momentary temptation appeared to tell them something horrible, invented or otherwise, to speed the process along, to cut them off completely and so quicken their loss. Rainbow wept between her mother and father, three pairs of drooping wings and colorful manes limp and long, a perversely gaudy display, counterpoint to Twilight and the parents who mirrored their daughter’s stunned silence. Returning to the dream, Twilight could only think in those terms, resistant to reason: “Any minute now, I’ll wake up, and when I do, I’ll take the train to Canterlot and tell my folks how much I love them.”

“So this really is goodbye?” Twilight Velvet asked at last.

“I don’t know what to say,” Twilight croaked.

“Not a thing?”

“Why me?” she thought, recognizing her mother’s scolding tone.

Night Light’s eyes cleared as he placed a steadying hoof on his wife’s foreleg. “I blame myself, Twily. I should have been there for you.”

“Why didn’t you come to us?” Twilight Velvet asked. “If we…” She looked away, angry at her own weakness. Like her daughter, Twilight Velvet had little use for excessive displays of emotion when there was a problem to be solved. She mastered herself after a few breathy sobs. “If either of us ever made you feel like you couldn’t come to us with anything, just know—” Her voice broke, and Twilight nodded.

“It’s not like that. I trust you completely, I love you, but…” But what? She wasn’t sure. It had never seemed right. “I don’t think I realized the trouble I was in until it was too late.”

“How can that be?”

“These things creep up on you. I felt like I was in control until, one day, I wasn’t, and there was no going back by that point.” She looked to Rainbow, who was explaining a similar thing to her parents, quietly, in a corner. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Night Light stared at her patiently.

“I know I am now, and I know there’s no forgiving it, but at the same time…” The cavalier tone, more than the words, was her undoing. “This is what’s happening.”

“It’s too late to stop you.” He sighed. “Let me guess, because there’s already a mechanism in place, plans that you laid that can’t be undone. You always made sure, whatever you did, that it couldn’t be stopped before you told anyone. We don’t get a say? Your own parents don’t a vote on your ‘temporary’ death, Twilight?”

She hung her head, knowing he had her. Even as a filly, that had been her way, asking forgiveness before permission.

“I don’t even want to look at you,” Twilight Velvet hissed. “Your entire life is still before you. Have you thought of that, of what you’re throwing away?”

Rainbow glanced over, and Twilight glowered at her.

“What life?” Twilight asked emptily, emotion thickening her voice. “I hate the palace, and I hate… I no longer trust Princess Celestia. She has us under guard.”

“Under guard?” Night Light repeated.

“She stations a guard at our doors each night, she’s been meeting me every day to interrogate me about my day. She asks me everything, what I did in the morning, the afternoon, what I ate, who I talked to, she has this, this notebook she records it all in.”

Her parents shared a dark look.

“Has she…”

“She hasn’t threatened me yet—yet. But she gets angry sometimes, if I seem like I’m not enjoying my time here. I remember…” Her cloud of thoughts was racing, finally off its tangent, feeding her conscious mind plausible details. “I sighed once and she accused me of being ungrateful, for the lodging and for my monthly stipend. I can’t practice magic, I can’t do any research, neither of us can go outside without a guard, and she expects us to treat it like early retirement.”

“That monster,” Twilight Velvet growled, Night Light nodding again, visibly overwhelmed. He knew his daughter’s will, and had never been able to fight it, even when she was young; for him, the argument had been over the minute it started. His wife understood, but Twilight did not, and took his silence for reluctance to believe her.

“Princess Celestia is constantly looking back, expecting me to cause trouble, and I can’t do anything without her knowing. Only with Princess Luna’s help, and if she hadn’t come along, I don’t know, I’d be… I don’t know.” On the other side of the room, she heard Rainbow’s father say “a fresh start.” Windy Whistles was nodding with a hint of a smile, and Twilight felt suddenly sick with envy.

“And she can’t be stopped,” Twilight Velvet said. “You and Princess Luna both believe that?”

“We know it.”

When night had fallen and Luna returned to check on them, everything had been said. Rainbow and her parents had cried themselves empty, but to Twilight, it felt like the feelings had simply gone away. It had taken her an hour, but she turned them to her side in the end, giving anecdotes of Celestia’s unfairness, her multiple attempts to intimidate and gaslight them, and by that time, the very real emotions she had started with had blended with the darker narrative she invented, and she was crying for a false version of herself. It was a relief when Luna told them that they must leave, promising that she would stay in touch to help with the grieving process, and when Twilight’s parents hugged and kissed her, she offered no more than a rote “I love you so much.” Profound in its simplicity, or an echo from within a hollowed heart? Twilight didn’t know, and she had no time to examine it.

For they did not go to sleep that night. They went to the bathroom to splash some water on their faces, then to the empty banquet hall to meet with Lotus. Twilight lit a single candle, then snuffed it and replaced the light with her magic; no melted wax to give their presence away.

“You okay?” Rainbow asked.

“Absolutely not.”

“Yep, me too.” There was an edge in her voice. “I’m surprised it took them so long to come around, with how you were exaggerating everything. Guards at our doors?”

Twilight looked Rainbow in the eyes, hating her in that moment. “The quicker they saw it my way, the better. That’s all I’m saying about it.” She turned her head to a far-off sound, just missing Rainbow’s swift reach to the tabletop, the empty teacup pelting through the air and breaking across her back.

“You—”

Rainbow was upon her and they went to the floor, Twilight banging her head against a chair leg, both of them growling and wrestling, kicking at the floor and at each other’s hooves. “It’s your fault! You stupid—” Rainbow whipped away, and Twilight stood up, a bead of sweat under her lit horn. She could feel where the teacup had hit, a tender welt that felt large enough to see from a distance. “You ruined my life, Twilight, and your parents’, and my parents’.” She paced a moment before grabbing a spoon and throwing it, and Twilight, too shocked from the attack, did nothing to stop it flying past her and clattering across the table.

“You’re right, Dash, and you have every right—”

“Shut up! You always say that, you always turn all humble the second I get mad at you! You’re just patronizing me so I’ll go along with you. I-I should have let you come up here alone.” She took a shuddering breath, calming.

Twilight kept looking at her, in no small part wishing that the outburst would end soon so they could get back on track. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, Twilight, ‘cause I won’t believe it.”

“Fine, but someone’s coming.” She extinguished her spell and rubbed at her back, and Lotus pushed open the doors, a little orb of light bobbing by her head where it hung from a tall hat.

She looked around and said, “I hope you got it out of your systems. Let’s get to work, I don’t have much time.” She set down a diagram of the Via Luna and a thermos of citrus tea. Colgate, she explained, was aboard the ship searching for the best death locations.

“Death locations?” Rainbow asked.

Lotus sighed. “Please be specific in your inquiries, ladies. The cloud doesn’t like open-ended questions, remember.”

“I feel your pain,” Twilight said.

“Yes, you have one now too. I’m aware of that, Miss Sparkle.” She unrolled the diagram on the table, shoving a white and pink saucer out of the way. “How are you dying? What precisely are you going to do to take your own lives?”

“I haven’t done it yet, but I’m going to enchant a pair of amulets to drive a magical beam through our hearts. I’ll be able to activate them with a simple spell.”

“Through your hearts, or through whatever part of your body the amulet is facing at the moment?”

“Our hearts specifically.” She ran her hoof through her mane, wishing that she did not have to explain, for the answer was not pleasant. “Am I bleeding?”

“You’ll be fine,” Rainbow said, not looking at her.

“The amulets will be enchanted to point toward the area of greatest blood volume. Uh, Dash, I was going to tell you, I’m going to need a little of your blood to set these up.”

“Whatever.”

“Do you know the dimensions of this magical beam?” Lotus asked. “What will it look like to a medical examiner?”

“I don’t know, Lotus, probably like a pulse crystal shot, or maybe smaller than that,” Twilight said.

“You’re doing this because you can’t sneak a pulse crystal on board the Via Luna, I assume?”

“I also don’t want anyone to find a pulse crystal with our bodies.”

“When will lightning strike the ship?”

“I’m not sure, it depends on how quickly I can take control of the storm. I’m going to hit us as soon as I possibly can, though.”

“And where on the ship will you both be?”

“I’m going to fake not feeling well, and I’ll be in a bedroom—unless Colgate finds something better. Rainbow, what about you?”

“I’ll stay in the ballroom, near the doors so I can run out,” Rainbow said. They studied the diagram, Rainbow occasionally looking up to frown at Twilight, and Lotus explained that dying in or near the aft cabins would be best. The closer to the ship’s engines, the more plausible their injuries.

“Colgate’s job will be to chase after you and help facilitate. Once you’re both dead, she will move your bodies, if needed, and possibly mutilate them.” Rainbow gave her a horrified look. “Death in a crashing airship is not as clean as Twilight’s making it.”

“She’ll be putting that surgical experience to use,” Twilight said, an attempt at levity that Rainbow did not favor with a response.

By midnight, they had swept the banquet hall and gone their separate ways, both mares mature enough to leave the scuffle behind them for the time.

The rain storm was scheduled for the eleventh, the palace precogs were flying out to Manehattan, and Twilight understood what she needed to do to summon a lightning bolt. They had told their parents, felt the pain of separation, and had extracted promises of silence from all relevant parties, and the rest of the night saw them wandering aimlessly, Twilight through the hallowed halls and Rainbow on the grounds. On the tenth, Versus went down to Ponyville to meet the rest of the Elements and Colgate took Twilight and Rainbow aboard the Via Luna to go over where they wanted to die.

“Lotus told us you had to ‘fix’ our bodies once we’d done the deed,” Twilight said. They were in the ballroom, looking at exits and windows, Colgate trying to determine how the crowd of partygoers would disperse once panic set in.

“It really depends on where we are at the time,” she replied. “What direction we’re turning around the mountain, that’ll determine which way the ship tilts. Ponies freaking out, lots of ‘em are gonna run downhill, so that might be that-a-way, and it might be this-a-way.”

“Does it matter?” Rainbow asked.

“How are you gonna find Twilight fast?”

“I know where to go.”

“Show me. Here, let’s run through it, okay?” She rattled a chair. “Oh no, thunder! Engine failure! We’re going down, uh-oh! Run, Dashie, get to Twilight!”

Rainbow gave her a sour look, but Twilight took off, and Rainbow had to follow. Behind them at a sporting trot, Colgate turned her head wildly and tried to take in as much of the ship as she could, eyes open for details, herself not feeling much urgency or dread in the moment; for her, it was entirely reserved for the following night.

They made the run from the ballroom to the aft cabins in four minutes, pounding up carpeted stairs and down the empty corridor, around a corner that Colgate noted was near one of the lesser kitchens, a threat for Rainbow to crash into a server running the opposite way.

“I’ll say that I saw you take off looking for Twilight,” she said, bouncing on a mattress and looking up at the ceiling. “I went after, like ‘hey, can I help?’ That’s what I’ll say.”

“Whatever works, Colgate,” Twilight said. “I never thanked you for helping us with this.”

“That’s all right.” She looked at Rainbow, who looked like she expected more of an answer.

“What else do we need to watch out for?” Rainbow asked after an awkward pause.

“Depends on—”

“Stop.” Twilight stood up and closed her eyes for a moment. “She’s on the ship. She’s nearby.”

“Celestia?”

“Time to go, girls.” Once more it was Twilight, then Rainbow, then Colgate hastening into the hall, downstairs to the dining room, stopping at their foot for Twilight to locate Celestia again and then turn, dashing, back up and into a parallel hall, along the rest of the airship’s length to a staircase to the deck. A prodding impulse in her brain was the warning of Celestia’s proximity, not diminishing as they ran; the princess was following them, whether intentionally or not Twilight wished she could tell. In the hall, there was nowhere useful to go, the bending along the ship too gentle to hide one end from the other, and for their charge down its length Twilight feared her former mentor appearing at the other end and calling to her. They emerged, panting, before a team of chattering unicorns and one earth pony giving directions. The decoration of the Via Luna had begun; Twilight spotted crates of supplies coming in a line onto the lot where they were stationed, a tiny personal plinth in the corner of one of the palace’s many gardens. From the height that the deck afforded, she could see over the walls to the shadowy top of a pine grove and the houses beyond.

“Sorry ‘bout that, ladies, thought I left my toothbrush here,” Colgate said confidently, pushing between Twilight and Rainbow. “Must be somewhere on the northern coast, wedged between a couple rocks. Don’t you hate it when that happens?”

“Miss Sparkle, I’m glad you’re here, what do you think—”

“Sorry, really,” Twilight said, following behind Colgate. “I can’t stay, I’m already late for an appointment.” She ran off the Via Luna, cheeks burning and heart racing, and they followed Colgate to her room, not sure whether she wanted them to until she rummaged through a drawer and produced two sheets of paper, speaking as though no time had intervened.

“We were pretty close to all the engine stuff, so I think we can…” She lowered her voice. “You make your little amulets go, and then I can do the rest.”

“Do I want to know what you’re gonna do?” Rainbow asked.

“Burn marks. There’s gonna be fire, so I figure that’s easiest.”

“Gross.”

“Check it out,” Colgate said, flapping the papers. “These are you.”

“Shouldn’t Lotus be here?” Twilight asked.

“She’s not available, so sorry. Don’t worry, she told me what to say.” She gave Twilight an insincere smile that Twilight took to be placating. “Dashie, you’re gonna wake up in Fillydelphia, they’ve got a temporary spot on the local weather team already lined up. Couple days to get used to your new body, recuperate, all that, you’ll be starting on the… fourteenth, I think?”

“Are there gonna be… Geez, hang on.” Rainbow’s photograph displayed a lemon-yellow pegasus mare supine on a surgical table, yellow and white mane splayed out long and loose over the sides, a lean body that looked tense even at rest, closed eyes that looked ready to snap open and highlight the self-conscious smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Sunlit Gables, all right,” she mumbled, turning the photo over and reading the basic details. “Female, pegasus, sun-and-clouds cutie mark, yep, all right. Meet the new me.”

“There’s gonna be a Datura there to fill you in when you wake up. They’ll give you your ID, birth certificate, all your legal and financial stuff, and they’ll talk you through getting started in the big city.”

“Colgate, have you done this before?” Twilight asked.

“I’m repeating what Lotus told me.”

“Comforting. And my name is Aureole.” Twilight turned over her paper, not wishing to look at the pale blue unicorn on her table, the bloodless lips drawn to reveal neat little teeth, the short mane of rod-straight hair in a smooth cap on her skull, the baby weight soft and smooth around her joints and chest.

“You’re gonna wake up on an airship heading north from Applewood, they’re gonna drop you off in Trottingham, or New Trottingham, whatever. Not much going in terms of jobs there, it’ll be a lot more like Ponyville than what Dashie has to deal with. It’s you and a bunch of other Applewood homeless. Hey, who knows? Maybe there’ll be another re-body in there. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

“A gas,” Rainbow said. “And we just have to wait there until Luna comes for us?”

“Yep, you’ll be wanting to make yourselves at home. Uh, I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but don’t try to reach out to anyone before the princess grabs you, okay?”

“Some time away from everyone will be good,” Twilight said, passing her paper back to Colgate.

“Are we totally sure the Elements will stick with us?” Rainbow asked. “I know Luna said, but…”

“I trust her. Colgate, what about my cloud of thoughts?”

Colgate’s eyes were on a stain in the wall. “No idea if that’ll transfer.”

“And if someone tries to send Twilight Sparkle a letter, will it still come out of Aureole? Oh, and what about all the other enchantments I have myself under?”

“How else have you enchanted yourself?” Rainbow asked, exasperated.

“You gotta ask the princess, Twi, I don’t know how any of that stuff works,” Colgate said. “I just know the basics. Now we’re clear on how tomorrow’s gonna go?”

Twilight sighed as Rainbow spoke up. “We get on the Via Luna, hob-nob until Vinyl pulls both princesses off, and then Twi’s gonna strengthen the storm—the storm that should already be in full swing by then.”

“I need to make our death amulets, I’m going to do that next, and then I want to see if I can think of a better way to hit the ship. It’ll be the only thing in the air, so there’s a good chance I won’t have to aim my lightning at all, but still, I want to be sure.”

“You said something about bringing an anvil up,” Colgate said.

“That was a joke.” She pondered it. “Unless you have one readily available.”

“Cole, is Vinyl ready to do her part?” Rainbow asked. “I don’t like relying on her as our distraction, if I’m honest.”

“She’ll be there, and she’ll be ready,” Colgate said. “I told her that us Elements are on the hunt for an imposter, and we’re trying to sniff ‘em out without the princesses knowing. Gave her a good reason to do what you need.”

“What’s she going to tell Princess Celestia?” Twilight asked. “Does she actually have something in mind, or will she try to drunkenly improvise?”

“Hmmmm.”

“Okay, you tell her this. Tell her to use the time I tried to get her to place potions around Greater and Lower Canterlot, she should remember that, it was right before Dash and I left for The Hive. If she needs, I can give her a refresher.”

“Will do, Twilight.”

“Call me Aureole. Might as well start practicing now.”

“Aureole and Sunlit Gables,” Rainbow said. “What’s a gable?”

The two repaired to Twilight’s room while Colgate went in search of Vinyl, and Rainbow stared out the window while Twilight assembled their amulets from materials scrounged out of the bathroom. Rainbow had told Leaf Blower that they needed to talk later that afternoon, and it was in anticipation of the meeting that she fidgeted while Twilight cast her magic over a pair of cotton pads strung through with dental floss. Without Luna to watch over them, Twilight didn’t have sufficient warning against Celestia’s wandering eye, which made designing a chain of sigils too risky; so, with one simple design on the floor and repeating spell clusters cast inside her cloud of thoughts, Twilight enchanted the makeshift devices, eyes rolling back and forth as she jumped from spell to spell, pale whites flashing in her sockets and her mouth drooping.

“This’ll hurt,” she slurred, hoof poised with a pair of tweezers. With no knives or razors nearby, it was the best Twilight could do on short notice to let the necessary blood.

“Go ahead,” Rainbow said softly. She hissed when Twilight poked her, pushing apart her fur and squeezing a few drops into the pad, and then Twilight wiped the tweezers and bled as well. She enchanted them at the same time: a spell of attraction first, so that the amulets would face always their wearers’ chests; then, a complication wherein Twilight thought she would have to make a new batch, solved when she enchanted the cotton edges where blood had not seeped, allowing the amulets to grow hot and discharge their concentrations of magic, straight through flesh but not wall or ceiling behind—a several-minute ordeal of dialing in on the precise intensity that she needed, impossible without her cloud of thoughts, calculating in a few minutes the densities of skin, fur, muscle, bone, and organ tissue; and with adrenaline flowing through their veins, the chest muscles contracting and the hearts beating faster, that too changed things a little. Even better, and what Twilight hadn’t considered, was that the spells would burn their amulets to nothing, leaving no evidence.

She wiped their cuts with rubbing alcohol and a wash cloth, and Rainbow didn’t complain.

“We’ll tuck these under our clothes, and when I activate them, they’ll drive a lance of hot magic straight through our hearts. It’ll hurt, but not for long.”

“Super, Twilight.” Rainbow touched her chest. “Are we done?”

“You can be. Are you gonna talk to Leaf Blower?”

“Yeah.” She got up, a knee popping, and flexed her wings. “I’m gonna break it off with her. Not tell her about tomorrow.”

Twilight sighed and gave Rainbow her amulet. “That’s for the best.”

“You don’t need to tell me.” She closed the door, and Twilight placed her own amulet in a shoe under the bed. Versus would be back the following morning with Applejack and Big Mac, and the others would be by later in the afternoon with Octavia, who had elected to stay in Ponyville for the few days.

Tomorrow. Twilight checked the clock. Twenty-five hours until liftoff into the Canterlot sky, maybe twenty-six until spiraling back out of it. Her loose ends were tied up as well as they could be, so she lay on the bed and went over her knowledge of the storm again, everything Luna had shown her. Chaotic as the magic was, storms were not without constants and fundamentals.

“Think in terms of a value that is always changing,” Luna had said one gusty night over the desert. “Never static, always changing inside a set of ranges. If you can control those ranges, you can control the storm, at least in a basic sense.”

Temperature and humidity came first, and changing those factors gave her air flow; add in pressure for more precise control, and those three things alone, compounded correctly and with proper timing, could eventually lead to a full storm. It was why the hurricane would not have been beyond her, for, aside from its scale, it was relatively simple and required no finesse.

A deliberate bolt of lightning needed more, and with the time Twilight had to study, she had not learned to change a cloud’s charge, and would have to manually shift its shape instead. She, down in one of the airship’s bedrooms, trying to ignore the sounds of a party over her head, would have to sculpt the rain clouds into a great incus, taking wind and rain in huge clumps and spreading them across the cloud, mixing with graupel and tossing all like the world’s biggest, coldest salad until nature took its course and a bolt came on its own. A messy and inexpert approach, but the best she had learned. A more experienced storm mage, Luna had told her, would simply reach in and charge the appropriate thunderhead halves with their own magical electricity, positive on top and negative below, a flick of the switch, lightning every time; and aiming it, why, that required either a second cloud under the caster’s control or an ability to manipulate the target’s charge concurrently.

Her sight would be useless except to know when the storm was ready, and she would have to manage it by feel and theory alone up to that point. Though Twilight could run through the steps in her head backwards and forwards, and knew what to do if she encountered the more common problems, she could not give herself any confidence. Where she wanted to see the thunderhead in her mind’s eye, she saw her parents’ uncomprehending faces. Father’s doubt, a breakdown in his face reserved for later, and mother’s wounded regret as she closed the door.

Well, fine, if I’m to die, she would think, at least I’ll leave my mark. But that was bravado just as bad as the stoic optimism she had shown the world initially, and alone in her bed, its repetition left her just as cold. Simply, she was afraid, and no proud or lofty rhetoric would change that.

Rainbow met Twilight for breakfast, which neither of them was in the mood for, at seven in the morning, when cruciform bands of sunlight came through low eaves on the eastern terrace. They first looked at each other’s faces for signs of the fight earlier, and seeing none, sat down uneasily.

Twilight told Rainbow of her dream, gliding on invisible wings out to Ponyville and crashing through the wall of her old library to find all her friends, even Pinkie, gathered in celebration of Saint Silver’s Day—“Whatever in the world that is,” she said with a shrug—and the noisy peace of homecoming, which she said without embarrassment had woken her and kept her weeping in the bed until sunup. Rainbow had relived her breakup with Leaf Blower in her dreams, nothing as tearful as Twilight’s, but bitter and full of betrayal. Leaf Blower had taken it poorly, not said more than a clipped “fine” when Rainbow tried to explain why she was ending the relationship, citing a fear of commitment that she was sure Leaf Blower could tell was a lie. It was difficult to feel bad for her on the dawn of their final day, but Rainbow and Twilight shared a moment of quiet reflection for Leaf Blower’s bad luck.

They met Versus, Applejack, and Big Mac in the palace vestibule just after eight, and Applejack spared a sardonic smile for Twilight. “Evildoer,” she whispered, winking, not pausing as she crossed through, explaining to Versus everything she had already seen on her first appearance.

“If she screws this up—”

“She said she won’t,” Rainbow said. Then, looking between Twilight and the others, she ran to catch up.

As morning lengthened to overcast afternoon and the wide toll of finality had dulled for a time in Twilight’s mind, she met Celestia to go over her new job for the palace, something soft and easy to give the pretense for staying.

“Have you told your family that you will remain in the palace?” Celestia asked early on, and Twilight replied that she had, loathing every second, the princess’ smile and hollow praise of Twilight’s wisdom. “I hope this breaks your heart,” she thought angrily. She was sure Celestia detected it, for the meeting ended stiffly and cordially after nearly an hour of paperwork and financial talk, with just enough time for Twilight to get dressed, don her amulet, and head to the reception.

It was thirty minutes until the Via Luna was to take off when she stepped onto the airship lot, fine rain breaking upon a crystalline shield with Rarity at the epicenter, a serene look on her face as she held off the weather and socialized with the other guests. The Elements by unspoken rule were the most dressed up for the occasion, and Twilight was no exception. She had been tempted to wear something loose and minimal, but decided it was out of her character, she like all her friends used to wearing whatever it pleased Rarity to make for them. She adjusted her lilac overcoat’s high, thick collar, into which Rarity had at the last second woven a pair of copper wires. There had been a note tucked under the collar when she removed her garment from its box, “just in case,” and touching them as she stepped into the shield warmed her heart.

Twilight met her parents with a solemn hug but no significant words. Her father’s eyes danced with forced joviality, but her mother rubbed her back and told her that she loved her, and Twilight said she loved them too and moved on. Most of the guests were family, but a few she recognized from the palace: Pinkie’s former diplomat coworkers, laughing loudly in a tight knot near no one else; everyone from the old restoration team, save for Leaf Blower; a couple high-ranking guards, the treasurer, a spokespony for the National Park Administration, the directress of the obsolete cloud convoy; and several that she assumed were Daturas. Fluttershy’s parents talked amiably with Cloudchaser about life in Fillydelphia while Rarity’s father chatted with a server, a bald stallion who seemed more interested in poking toothpicks through cheese cubes than talking. The airship stood ready, its balloon swollen behind the smokey illusion of naval rigging that Celestia so enjoyed, shifting gently in the gray weather, the thick columnar mainmast covering the downstairs hatch to the dining room; Twilight had walked through that heady smoke plenty of times, strong enough to irritate the eyes and sting the nostrils. Rarity’s shield reached high enough to protect the crow’s nest, but once they were aloft, the smoke would mix with rain into acrid soot that panicking ponies would skid on and catch in the face when the ship was making its first wide twirl through an air current into scissoring white spotlights. Where Big Mac stood talking with someone Twilight didn’t recognize, trying to keep his eyes off Versus, who had come in a candy-striped gown with collar and sleeves flared out like shallow mushroom caps, there would in ninety minutes stand a team of reporters getting the first salvo of pictures, CANTERLOT TRAGEDY for the papers the following day.

The other Elements gathered and greeted Twilight, everyone cold and courteous, Rainbow with them already and pretending for the time she had left that she was there for other reasons. When Versus wished Twilight good luck, Octavia kicked her lightly, and Applejack didn’t take her eyes of Twilight’s face the whole time. Twilight didn’t know what to say, so decided that a sigh and a cold look were enough before walking over to Vinyl, who was slipping a flask back into her breast pocket when Twilight greeted her.

“How many is that today?” Twilight asked. “Four? Five?”

“Bite me,” Vinyl whispered, adjusting her goggles. When Twilight didn’t move, she said, “Oh, you’re worried I won’t be able to distract the princesses tonight. Cole gave me what I need, I’ll be fine.”

“Just making sure.”

“Reasonable.” She reached again for her pocket, and Twilight put a gentle hoof on her foreleg.

“May I?”

Vinyl hesitated before floating the flask over to her. “Thought you didn’t imbibe.”

Twilight licked her lips and, bending her head down a fraction, dribbled a glob of spit into its mouth. “That’s for you.” She walked away.

Princess Luna made the opening remarks from atop the quarterdeck, under which were Celestia’s personal chambers, where Twilight had once raced to hide her enchanted paint chip and behind which her lightning bolt would slam, gilt wood trim flying apart and the double doors flapping like frantic claws in pounding hail. From those doors then strode Celestia in three layers of silk, cinnabar on top of malachite on top of amethyst, veined with black thread that, like the deck of her ship, smoked gently from under the wings that she spread in massive greeting, each feather tipped with enchanted, lightweight gold to match a coronet that glimmered like a candle’s flame. She raised a glass and toasted the country, the ponies present and elsewhere, the health of the nation, and began the reception proper by knocking back her drink and spitting a delicate fountain of sparkles into the air where they were lost with the drizzle.

“Why must there be a storm tonight, dear sister?” Twilight heard Celestia ask as she walked with Versus to the bow, where the helm had been replaced with a brass and steel bandstand, which would scrape along for a minute until giving up on a violent swing and leaving ugly black striations in the deck where it pitched over, taking a piece of the unicorn horn bowsprit with it, tumbling onto the mountain and rolling off trees like a pinball until coming to rest with a honking splash in a stream, where it would not be found until some weeks later when a forest ranger would decide to investigate the metallic wailing that had been frightening hikers—for thick-soled boots stomped in coordination on the hollow pipes that made its tiers, adding percussion to the music: ponies bowing fiddles and cellos and violins and double basses, one mare on the top tier’s end to play, with a partner on the bottom, an octobass that was mostly there for show; sharp-dressed unicorns with clarinets and flutes and oboes in front of trumpeters and tuba players, a bassoon too, and a flinty-eyed stallion with a fiery mane who clutched his saxophone as if he could not wait for his time to jump in; someone with a stand of chimes that they ran their hoof through on occasion, exchanging smiles with the harpist who also waited for her time to join; four tiers of musicians, playing or waiting to play, on the hollow stand which made no music at the moment but was connected to an enormous system of bellows and gears half-sunken into the deck beside an empty seat, where eventually the organ player would come along and amaze the princesses’ guests by playing through the bandstand itself.

“I was offered a spot on this,” Octavia said beside Twilight, holding a silver flask in her hoof. “I declined.”

“How much would it have paid?” Versus asked.

“Four-thousand bits for the night.” She took a swig.

“Is that Colgate’s?” Twilight asked.

“She asked me to hold it for her, since she is so nervous about tonight.” Octavia looked back to the princesses, who were talking with Rarity’s parents. Rarity’s mother was visible from anywhere on deck, coming in a giant, heavy headdress of artificial peacock feathers; that ostentatious thing would peel off her head as she ran for an exit, and be trampled. “When are you doing it?”

“At the moment, we’re waiting to get farther out, and for the storm to build a little more steam. I’ll tell Colgate when I’m ready, and then she’ll tell Vinyl.”

“Anything we can do to help?” Versus asked.

“I don’t think so. How’s Applejack?”

“Pissed, but committed. You really hurt her, Twilight.”

“She will come around once she sees how much better off you will be,” Octavia said, looking around again and shaking Fluttershy’s hoof when she came up.

“Doing okay, Twilight?”

Twilight shook her head. “The more I talk about it, the worse it gets. Can we…” She gestured with her hoof, shooing Fluttershy away, and Fluttershy nodded and went to Cloudchaser and Rainbow’s parents, none of whom looked happy to be there.

“This might be the last time I see you,” Octavia began, “and if so, then let me say, thank you for everything. I do not care what anyone else says, to me, you are a great pony, and you deserve happiness.”

Twilight looked around before replying. “I’ll come back eventually.”

“But I might be gone. Princess Luna is talking about sending Colgate and I to Appleloosa.”

“Oh.” The information hit harder than she would have expected for her state of mind. Then again, Octavia had come to be as close a friend as the others, and it was with some relief that she felt the emotion sink in.

“We found out this afternoon. I think it will be good for Colgate to get away from this city, but personally, I will miss it.”

“Yeah. Oh, damn.” Twilight sighed and offered a smile, gave Octavia a faltering hug, and Octavia nodded and joined a small group toward the middle deck. “Neither of us like long goodbyes. She’s sparing me that.” Still, it hurt.

Versus followed Twilight down a set of stairs to the Via Luna’s bar and lounge. She and Rainbow had spent nearly no time there on their flight to The Hive, no bartender to serve them and no real reason to use the lounge’s facilities when their bedrooms served just as well.

“Good idea,” Versus said as they crossed into the room and she saw where Twilight had taken her. Most of the guests were divided between the deck and the ballroom, both near enough to the lounge that Twilight and Versus could hear dueling strains of music, softer strings and a piano to ease ponies into intimate slow dances below and the jazzy and bombastic affair above, where a small stampede of dancing hooves tickled the lounge’s lights. Twilight and Versus shared a lime green sofa and ordered a pair of non-alcoholic cocktails, and for a moment sat in the diminished sound of the saxophone pony’s beginning solo, neither mare sure what to say to the other. Versus saw the reception in a poetical way, where Twilight was too focused on her plight and the mechanics thereof to see it as anything more than what was to literally take place. They were ships passing in the night, as true a representation of the idea as Versus had ever seen, one going off to sudden and sharp death and the other orbiting just close enough to offer a farewell. It felt like they had shared much, but most of that was between Versus and the Elements in general; between her and Twilight, there was little save frosty, distanced encounters, back when Twilight would help with her legal problems. Twilight brooding over her Cranberry Drop and water seemed to Versus the only appropriate image, yet she was told that it was not the real Twilight, that that mare had gone away some time ago and, with luck, would be coming back soon.

Fluttershy’s father stood up from the bar and, spotting Twilight and Versus, asked to join. He clenched a lit cigar in his teeth and puffed thick, white smoke as he sat down, and the waitress was right there with a tumbler, an ounce and a half of deep brown bourbon over one perfectly transparent ice sphere. Twilight had met him a few times, a gentler soul than Fluttershy had ever been; how the Element of Kindness had passed him up for his daughter, she was not sure.

“I just want to say—” The rest was lost on Twilight, who thought with horror that he knew of her plan. “They told him already?” blaring in her head, her heart cranking up painfully with rage and despair, cloud of thoughts exploding, “I’ve gotta do it now, now or never, where’s my storm? Shit, no time, can I just jump off and make like I slipped on a spilled drink? What about Dash?” But Versus touched her hoof, feeling Twilight’s panic, and brought her back. Mr. Shy was going on about the ship and its accommodations. He leaned into the sofa and his voice was lost, his body in the blue lamplight appearing dark and sickly, the mane that he ordinarily kept up loose and marcelled down his back and shoulders, bubblegum-pink on a navy blue suit jacket with silver butterfly cuff links and a pearl necklace. Where smoke would pour in from the vents after the airship had landed, floated gently to the ground in Celestia’s iron grip, Mr. Shy blew a preemptive stream, the scents of cedar and hazelnut blossoming in a dim swirl.

“I’m not much of a cigar pony,” Versus was saying to him, “but a lot of folks in Snowdrift, where I’m from, like ‘em. I know like, the hardcore cigar-heads come down there if they can make it.”

“That sounds heavenly,” he said. Twilight didn’t know him, but it seemed to be a favorite word of his; she had heard him describe things as heavenly a couple times before.

He and Versus went on, sparing Twilight, who turned away to compose herself. Haze was building in the lounge’s corded ogives as a small group of ponies filtered in and sparked one of the tall, bejeweled hookahs built into the tables. Narrow slits were cut in the ceiling near small, metal pumps, which sucked out smoke and mixed it with Celestia’s masts and sails; soon, they would be smelling of grass and spices instead of the usual, bitter ash. The bar gleamed, ebony inlaid with silver and brass, mighty black horseshoe that would survive mostly intact but damaged on one end where the wide, circular light advertising the room’s function would buck off its fixture and shatter its cathode tubes, a minor electrical fire that the bartender would put out, cool-headed as they went down, his faith in the princess implacable and his experience serving him, for he had been in a crash once before. The only thing that he would lose that night was his toupee, which would fly off and land in the ice with a few broken glasses and the jigger, a popping of shattered bottles behind him when the ship would lurch, and then the screams, for those in the lounge particularly terrible for they would come from above and below; and ponies then streaming in from fore and aft, racing up from the game room and ballroom, bottlenecking at the stairs to the deck, tripping over ashtrays, kicking hookah coals onto deep blue carpet, upturning drinks. The lights would flicker and some would die to leave the lounge half-shadowed and indistinct, sweet smoke with cologne and perfume turning foul with the smell of burning airship, but too far from the strike point to smell the ozone, the galvanic twitch in the air that only Applejack would be close enough to detect in the moment before disaster hit.

“And my mom said, ‘well you better be paying for that yourself, honey’!” Versus said, laughing with Mr. Shy, who snorted into his bourbon and had to be patted on the back. Twilight mimed amusement as well, having not heard the joke, but Mr. Shy noticed and asked whether she was feeling okay.

“Not really, actually,” Twilight said, committing. “I think it’s something I ate.” She stood and looked at Versus, not sure whether the mare knew what was happening, and made her excuses to leave. First, to find Colgate, who—Twilight was surprised—was not at the bar, and Vinyl neither.

The game room was in the deck beneath her, where no one had yet come. They would soon, once more ponies had gotten a few drinks in them and the Via Luna was into its first pass over Lower Canterlot, ponies with beer and wine coming together to shoot pool and play board games, or just jostle with the music streaming through vents from the deck. She and Rainbow had wiled away the hours with the games, trying not to worry. Twilight had taught her chess and backgammon, and Rainbow had taught Twilight the one trick shot she knew on a billiards table, lining up four balls right next to the side pocket and hitting them dead center, all four sunken symmetrically. Rainbow could even shoot with the cue behind her back, though she had to lean halfway onto the table and splay both wings out for balance, not the cool picture it was supposed to be.

Someone, though, had been in the game room recently; Twilight felt the residue of a spell by one of the chess boards. She knew it could not be her own, weeks old, but that was her first thought, uncomfortably nostalgic. The boards were of a piece with their tables, but the checkers and chess pieces would scatter and become unaccountable. They were still at the ship’s front, so no real damage would be done, though one unfortunate mare would step wrong on a white queen and twist a pastern falling down while her guest would run headlong and hysterical into a chair and plow through the whole setup, velvet bag scattering its pieces across the floor and someone’s smoldering cigar skipping sparks where it would bounce along the wall and land under a dartboard, which would fall when they landed with a dart still sticking out near the bullseye. From there to the ballroom, Twilight walked against the future stream of evacuees into the place where she had experimented with her divination, where she had puzzled out how to eaves drop on Celestia and Luna, and where Rarity danced with Applejack, both of them in exquisite gowns, Rarity’s a pattern of pastel blue and green on white, semicircular like broken ripples and segmented by darker green and blue godets that flared near the hem, cinched in a golden band and gathered up into striped periwinkle and cerulean on tight sleeves, these complimenting her mane, which she had combed out, straightened, and adorned with blue streaks that shone when she spun under a lustre’s warm light; and Applejack in red and black tartan with jacquard roses in the larger black squares, tighter and stiffer than Rarity’s, dragging with her movements like an extension of her tail. She had kept her mane loose, and it fell long and untamed onto her shoulders, adorned with little apple sequins that also surrounded a needlepoint design of Sweet Apple Acres on her breast, only visible for a second as she turned in Twilight’s direction, the burgundy barn and the green trees dotted with knots of red thread under streaky blue sky. She gave Twilight a knowing smile and mouthed that word once more, “evildoer,” and Twilight hastened past her, pretending not to hear Rarity’s greeting, trotting past the other dancers who spun on luminous tile floor, skirts and coattails, headbands and ties. She nodded to Rainbow’s parents who swayed side to side with their chins on each other’s withers, who would take to the air in surprise and then join everyone else in frantic egress, Windy Whistles who would bite her tongue missing a stair and leave a worrisome but harmless trail of blood all the way up to the deck.

Rainbow was in the back, exactly as she said she would be, and asked Twilight whether it was time. Colgate, she said, was still on the deck, and Twilight told her to be ready, but not quite yet. “Maybe you should come up too, so you can see how things are… going,” she said.

They rose up through the dining room where white-clad attendants were setting the table, creasing napkins to fit like tulips in tall flute glasses, giving last-minute shines to silverware, making sure that the blue and cream checkered patterns on the plates’ edges lined up with the soup bowls on top. Of all the rooms on the airship, the dining room would be worst damaged, for in addition to the overhead lights and those on the walls, there would be candelabras to knock off balance. Hot wax would drip into smears of sauce and half-finished heaps of roasted vegetables, candles would come loose and roll onto the floor, the tablecloth would catch; drinks would spill, a swan-shaped boat would tip off and someone would slip in its gravy, kicking the porcelain bird as they did so and snapping its wingtip on a table leg; forks and knives would tinkle and soup would slosh, and the unlucky waitress levitating a fresh basket of sun-dried tomato rolls would have them dropped, steaming and bouncing, on her head when her magic failed her in shock. From the ballroom, those who did not run through the game room and lounge would race up as well and make the mess even worse, the tablecloth burning rapidly by that point and pouring stinging smoke into the cramped air, the chandeliers above swinging in wide circles like groups of corposants. Food would be everywhere, cooling on the floor and in muddy balls on ponies’ cuffs or tails, broken glass invisible and only felt when everyone had calmed down, blood streaking the stairs and the deck, some ponies going to their knees with pain or sheer amazed terror; and by the time they were safely on the ground with the fires put out, the dining room would resemble the charred hollow of a fallen tree, food and table and chairs unsalvageable husks, the candelabras that started it all ashen membranes—fragile when whole, symbols of the diarchy’s wealth and status, massive scrimshaw arms stretching from spruce bases carved and wound with pale blue thread, and then webbed and articulated with needle-thin bridges of whale bone, each candelabra painstakingly individual, hand-made in the subarctic regions of the minotaur lands and gifted to the goddesses decades ago. They were just coming out, floating one at a time before unicorns who received a wide berth from their peers, and Twilight stopped to look at one for a moment before Rainbow jabbed her in the flank.

Colgate was easy to find on the deck, for she was the only one in a solid color: white suit jacket with white buttons over a white blouse, and a white bow tie tight around her neck; she had even put on white eye shadow, which, against her pale blue fur, looked more like an accident with cake frosting than makeup applied deliberately. She was hopping back and forth with the music, restless next to Vinyl, who made polite conversation with a pair of pegasi neither Twilight nor Rainbow knew. As soon as she spotted them, Colgate raced over, her eyes asking the question before her lips did. “Ready?”

Twilight looked into the clouds, calculating as best she could how much time she would need. They were out over the mountainside in a lazy spiral toward Lower Canterlot and the first fireworks were appearing like posies over the city, coloring the clouds with their displays, far enough away for Twilight to count a second between the sight of them and their audible reports.

“Might as well get on with it,” Rainbow said.

“Yes,” Twilight muttered. “I can get us the rest of the way. Dash, go below again and wait to come find me. You remember where I’ll be?”

“Back section, room two-oh-two. I’ve got it.”

“I’ll stay and make sure they’re gone, then I’ll go below, and then, uh… Yeah, do it, Colgate, tell her to go.”

Colgate rejoined Vinyl and whispered in her ear, and Vinyl nodded, and Twilight went to the middle deck to watch the princesses through mizzenmast smoke. Vinyl was some minutes with her conversation partners before approaching Celestia, who was narrating something loudly behind a magical display before a small, impressed crowd. Of Luna there was no sign, but Twilight had faith that she was watching all the same.

Where Vinyl made her request unto the princess; where wind gusted over the port gunwale and ruffled the pale brown lapels that Rarity had insisted went perfectly with her yellow-dyed mane; and where wait staff circulated with pewter trays bearing sparkling wine, focaccias with sliced olives and fire-roasted red pepper, and mixed nuts; at the back of the deck whose acoustics were supposed to funnel the music as clearly as if one were standing at the helm, there would in less than an hour be only wet cinder and party debris. The cabins immediately behind would be blown apart when the engines failed, the sound that would alert Celestia and send her flying back to her flagship in a frenzy, and by which time most ponies would be driven to the lower decks. At the moment, though, there was only Vinyl and Celestia, and Twilight did not miss the fast, predatory look the princess gave her when Vinyl leaned in to be heard over the reception.

Luna, meanwhile, had moved into the ballroom just as Twilight was exiting it, and had to be summoned away from a waltz with Big Mac, who was embarrassed to feel relief. His dark gray suit felt tight and itchy, and he was already sweating, and while the goddesses exchanged words on top, he turned away with a blush when Versus entered, twirling, face alight, teeth gleaming, excessive collar bouncing.

The diarchy argued, Celestia imperious and annoyed, Luna worried, and Vinyl visibly uncomfortable between them before the three disappeared in a flash of white light.

“What was that?” someone asked.

“Princesses just went poof.”

“They put me on edge.”

Twilight looked at the ponies by her side, recognizing the diplomats who had been sent to The Hive, whose names she didn’t recall.

“Care to shake it with me, your highness?” The mare who addressed Twilight bobbed and jived in a stallion’s tuxedo and carnation boutonniere, which clashed noisily with her comb-over blonde mane and ladders of ear and eyebrow piercings.

“I can’t stay long,” Twilight said, letting the mare take the lead in a fast dance that Twilight did not know the steps to. The others were laughing and cheering her on—“Hyacinth, that’s it. Do I like her?”—and Twilight forced her own laughter, eye nervously out for the princesses’ unexpected return. Five minutes, she had told herself, but when she had counted up to three, she could take it no longer and politely disengaged.

She could hear the diplomats yammering as she made for the stairs to the cabins, and it crossed her mind that Hyacinth would be able to claim to have danced with the legendary Twilight Sparkle on the night of her death.

The halls were not empty enough for Twilight’s comfort, but quieter, and she felt again the sense of commitment, stepping into the final place. A few who had drank too much or had tired themselves prematurely were there, lying in beds or dashing into bathrooms. She heard someone groaning weightily behind a closed door as she passed, and sent up a silent apology to anyone who would be on the latrine when lightning struck—there would be a couple, and one of them would still take the time to wash his hooves before running out to see what the commotion was.

Twilight was gratified to hear that the turbines’ singing had been turned off for the occasion, though once hit, they would start up, gentle and melodious at first but quickly reaching a shrill fever pitch as magic and machine were bent out of order. The airship’s engines labored below thick, carpeted floors, white noise colored by the band on the deck, the low crackle of conversation. The dining room was set and the kitchen was coming alive, chefs preparing soup and salad for the four-course feast that would not have time to start, and in the ballroom, Big Mac gathered his courage to approach Versus and ask for a dance. When she turned those bewitching, laughing eyes to him, he forgot everything he had read about ballroom dancing the day before.

Twilight shut the door to her appointed room and sat on the bed, closing her eyes at first but then rolling them back in full magic submersion. She could not build up the storm too fast, else she would lose control or even shake it apart; too much wind, too little pressure, any number of things could begin breaking the clouds apart, and she had not the skill to re-gather them if that happened. Beginning with locating the high and low-pressure zones, Twilight burned her horn steadily to increase the humidity and produce more rain. Out on the deck, they soon noticed her efforts, ponies collecting under the balloon or putting up whatever small shields they could conjure. The band played on, guarded for a time by one of the oboists, who had to release her shield when it was her time to rejoin the song; rain beaded on laminated music pages and drummed the bandstand, sluicing into its brass pipes and flooding out through holes onto the deck, where dancers were clearing away, complaining. Twilight could scarcely hear it from where she lay, her death amulet resting soft and light under her clothes, so close to her heart.

Wind came next, blustering in from the east, swept under a growing thunderhead, Twilight’s magic pulsing somewhere in the woolen mass. She cast her magic out to the cloud’s edge, meaning to gather it in and create a more condensed storm, but gave up when she felt the ship shudder around her. In a mere couple seconds of inattention, the wind had gotten too cold and blown angrily down on them, and meanwhile, in a chamber in the palace, Luna feigned grave seriousness to Vinyl’s claims. She had taken the window-facing seat so that Celestia might not, and through it, she could see the pennants snapping on their poles, but all darkness save for the continuing fireworks.

“I can’t see.” Twilight’s spells, her cloud of thoughts, her running monologue of bullet points ground to a halt, and the storm was unleashed above and around the Via Luna, loud and cold. There were signs she had to wait for to know whether she was ready for the strike, the most important being the natural presence of heat lightning. She had not given it any consideration, knowing she would see it through her eyelids—if she were not indoors. There were portholes in only some of the cabins, too small to get a good look at the sky anyway; and Twilight did not know any magic to detect electrical discharges remotely. Yet above, the revelers danced, three factions appearing out of the confusion: the bedraggled and miserable, ponies with more rain in their martini glasses than gin, with limp manes and feathered headdresses weighed into soggy cushions down their shoulders; the curious and dimly delighted, who had heard the first rumblings of thunder—which Twilight was too close to the ship’s engines to hear herself—and come up to take a look, to raise a hoof to the rain and remark to their partners; and the few whose wetness energized them more, of which Colgate was a member, dancing harder in the rain and lunging out to catch wind in their mouths, soaked clothes be damned, ponies laughing and hugging and jumping around in small rebellion against adversity. Then there were those sheltered below, the wind softly sighing for them, Big Mac and Versus still dancing. She had finally realized his feelings, and liked him well enough to go along, accepting a second dance with a gracious bow and a coy smile, something quicker, memories of Snowdrift for them both. While Twilight fretted with the storm, pausing too long while her cloud of thoughts ran through all the mathematics, science, and magic in order to give her an accurate picture of how it had been when her calculation started, constantly trying to catch up with herself and panicking all the while, Big Mac resisted the temptation to grab a kiss on the cheek, and Versus thought she could see it in his eyes, and Rarity silently urged them to just go for it from where she danced with a Datura.

If she were constructing the hurricane of old, Twilight would not have worried, for letting the storm go and develop on its own was an integral step. She went to the cabin door and threw it open, praying for a glimpse of a window, her fraught memory falsely placing them at both corridor ends. She could not let the Canterlot storm go too far, which it was beginning to do while her cloud of thoughts sizzled with estimations of its progress, precise numbers and percentages that she had read but since forgotten the use of. Twilight was witnessing the primary reason storm magic was outlawed, and she knew it: the easiest spells led to the worst weather, and once begun, it would not stop on its own.

The heat lightning she wanted flickered and flared overhead while rain poured and she ran down the hall, checking in bedrooms for larger windows and doubling back when she nearly barged in on a couple in bed; and her frightened thoughts turned inward and became self-blaming as she went back to her room with a simpler solution in mind. Fluttershy and Rainbow’s parents passed Octavia on the stairs, and Octavia entered the ballroom to see Rainbow waiting pensively in the back, Big Mac and Versus a half pace apart and talking seriously. Meanwhile, Vinyl was running out of things to say to the princesses, and Luna was beginning to run low on follow-up questions for her, trying to buy Twilight as much time as she could, Celestia still unaware of the weather worsening faster than it should be, of the pegasi flying around in disarray trying to figure out what had gone wrong, the weather office near the palace with phones ringing nonstop and analysts in crisis mode. To them, either one of the cloud arrangers had made a grievous mistake or someone was introducing magic into the storm, and as the winds howled and the rain battered the windows more and more ferociously, the second option was concluded and the Director of Storms pounded his phone in anger as he reached Princess Celestia’s personal answering machine for the third time in as many minutes.

Luna saw it all, but there was nothing she could do without making a suspect of herself. Twilight simply needed to hurry.

Wishing she had Rarity’s skill with shield magic, Twilight erected a barrier and patched it over the wall, sawing with a beam of energy through the wood and making a crude hole to look through. She could have cut through with a chainsaw for all the attention it drew, the wind alone sheer and freezing, sending a shiver through her horn as it hit her shield, up on the deck blowing ponies’ manes out of hair ties and forcing the band into clumsy retreat downstairs to the lounge, where those who just wanted to relax the whole night first noticed that something was amiss. The royal treasurer had taken Versus’ place with Fluttershy’s father as well as Rarity’s parents, who sulked on the couch and complained about the cigar smoke. Twilight’s parents were socializing with the diplomats in the ballroom, the ship’s rocking felt as a soothing sway where they were, chandeliers chittering as if in imitation of the bell choir that had come down to replace the classical quartet for a half hour. Rainbow had not specified to them when she and Twilight were to meet their ends, so they had no reason to dread the evening, and had also not yet seen the storm’s severity, only a momentary flash of the lightning that Twilight had missed through a lacquered porthole. Applejack and Rarity meanwhile had gone to the thinning deck, Applejack unbuttoning her dress a fraction for the savage weather, her mane flying and her eyes closed in disconcerting peace as she stood, struggling to keep her balance, against the alette at Princess Celestia’s quarterdeck doors. She knew it was coming, and in the weather, she was searching one last time for the grace to accept Twilight’s decision.

Twilight barged back into the corridor and to the opposite room, for the one she had selected, room two hundred-two, was on the starboard side, tilting down to face Lower Canterlot as they hooked along the northwest arc of their first circle. Air banged and shrieked behind her as she released her shield to create a second, and that too made too little noise to attract attention, for in the thirty seconds it took her to get another hole to look through, the rain was falling sideways, fast and hard, beads of water that would become hail before Twilight had grasped the storm again.

“Wait! There is something else,” Vinyl said, waving a hoof at Celestia. “I just remembered. Don’t know if it’s important, but it might be.”

“Proceed,” Celestia sighed. “But can we make it quick?”

“Sister, please,” Luna said, sounding irritated, inwardly relieved.

“Twilight mentioned it as she was chasing me off, that she would just get Rainbow to do it if I didn’t wanna play ball.”

“Rainbow Dash, I knew Twilight would get to her,” Celestia spat. “You’re doing great, Vinyl. Please continue.”

Rarity gave up and went below when the hail began, but Applejack refused, her dress ruined, her fur and mane soaked to the skin, her entire body shivering but strong. If she could not stop Twilight, she could at least stand defiant until the end and endure whatever her friend created. To the few who peeked up at her from the hatches downstairs, she seemed crazy.

The wind slacked off first, Twilight adjusting the pressurized zones after finally seeing her heat lightning and preparing to conjure up a proper bolt. She had not learned how to evaluate or influence a cloud’s natural charge, and could only shift the pressure closer to the airship and wait for lightning to reach out on its own. The thunderhead felt like it was ready to explode, with it her heart, and Rainbow’s in the ballroom as she declined dance after dance.

Applejack was shouting at the black clouds and the hail, eyes closed as she let the ship’s pitch and yaw determine her placement on the deck: nothing she understood, and would look back on as an incident of temporary madness brought on by stress and self-doubt. In the moment, though, she felt full of life, combatively determined, at one with the storm that she knew did not like her. She smelled the ozone, thought nothing of it; felt the split-second hum of electricity in the air; and then her eyes were blind and her ears were snuffed dumb.

For those who could hear, the first thing they heard was everyone else screaming, and for those who could not, it was like a ringing movie image, huddled crowds flying apart, glasses spilling, colorful clothes ruffling in frantic motion. Luna saw the flash and held her countenance, and Celestia leaned forward with a tiny smile. “Wow, that was a loud one! I think it rattled the windows.” She turned to look, but the Via Luna was out of view.

Rainbow took off, not quite believing, breathless, pushing ahead of one of the diplomats who raced for the same door. She needed to go upstairs, through the back of the dining room and then all the way down to the aft end to Twilight’s room. Her parents were already at the table with Fluttershy and a few Daturas, and when lightning had hit and the lights flinched, one had spilled hot corn chowder all down his front; it was to his howling that Rainbow ran, and her own name called below it, under the hubbub beneath and the engines chugging and rattling, her parents seeking her. She could imagine their thoughts for a moment before she slipped on a butter knife and skidded into a larger mare running her way, dazzling herself on the floor and hurting a wing.

“Not now!” her mother cried in the mess, Rainbow getting to her hooves and bolting for the back, fire licking at the tablecloth, food smells mixing with smoke. Twilight’s parents, meanwhile, had gone to the game room, and they simply hunkered behind one of the chess tables, far enough from the stern that the lightning did not sound as catastrophic as it was—until half the ballroom spilled in, the mare who had taken Twilight’s last dance screaming her head off with tears streaming down her face, looking around without seeing, pushed from behind as everyone else followed her. Then up to the lounge, most of them, a few hiding in the corners but startled into fresh motion when one of the engines blew, punching the ship into a quarter-spin and throwing flaming debris onto Lower Canterlot, a hunk of keel that would roar down and ruin a few late workers’ nights at a legal office. That sound was no loud thunderclap, it grabbed the princesses’ attention right away, and before Vinyl knew what was happening, she was alone in the boardroom while Celestia and Luna streaked out the window toward their burning airship. The Via Luna’s backside had been blown apart, fire creeping at its tattered edges and weakened by the torrent of hail, machinery wobbling and tussive in bent housings, bars of exposed piston, burning fluid dripping off and extinguished before it could reach the ground, the turbines singing in strained triumph, and a smoking hole in the cabin wall.

Twilight, as soon as she had heard the lightning hit, set the outer wall on fire for a minute that any approaching divinity would not think it out of place, a clean hole in an otherwise disorderly crashing airship. When the engine failed and exploded below her, soft to her ringing ears, she stumbled and mouthed a quiet “yes” to herself, crossing over to the agreed-upon room once more where wind and ice filled the air, where the pillows had been sucked from her bed and the comforter was wrapped around a post. She checked her amulet and pushed the dresser out the hole, watched it tumble through orange-tinted night to the city lights below. What must Lower Canterlot think, she wondered. How many ponies, right now, are watching this happen in their very own sky? How many are watching it on TV?

Then the hail stopped and the wind ceased, the ship lurched and was corrected, and a voice boomed through the noise louder than anything yet telling everyone to remain calm, advice too late. Even the other Elements, who knew to expect it, had succumbed: Fluttershy in the dining room with Rainbow’s parents, doing what she could to help without revealing the magic that had been imposed into her so long ago, crouched behind a chair while smoke filled the room and frightened dancers rushed through and up to the deck, falling on food and one another, fire catching a hoop skirt and sending its wearer wailing onto the deck where she would not be immediately quenched, for Celestia had enveloped the ship from the weather; Octavia trying to urge those in the ballroom to calm down too, herself not sure what to do and Big Mac next to her shaking his head and pressing his forehead into the wall; Rarity who had taken off for the cabins behind Rainbow, no plan in mind, simply running, in that moment realizing how little she could do on her own and eventually taking refuge in an empty room until it was over; Versus galloping upstairs through the lounge and nearly knocking over Applejack, who stumbled along with a distant expression. Both princesses presided, Luna swooping up and down and summoning water for the fire eating at the ship’s stern, Celestia calling for order and slowly lowering them to the mountainside.

Rainbow pelted down the thrumming corridor, running in her mind straight into the mouth of madness, the turbines squealing like pigs, ears flat, nostrils prickling, wing throbbing, Fluttershy’s mother clinging to a doorknob in a catatonic panic attack that Rainbow tried to ease for a second before, hating herself, she continued on. Door numbers flashed by, ninety-eight, one hundred, one hundred-two, and the turbines louder than the frightened mass behind her, Celestia’s voice, the smell of smoke, her heart beating its final few hundred times. Daturas on deck corralling ponies and tending to wounded, the diplomats in a huddle near the empty bandstand trying to comfort one another, debris still falling, smaller fires going out and springing up, bloody hooves, glass, alcohol and food, smoke from the decorative masts and sails confused for the real article, the ship’s fabric wings burned into fluttering curls of ash that would break apart long before reaching the ground; below, ponies with binoculars seeing the details, the racing costumes and princesses trying to maintain a sense of order, the individual tongues of fire diminishing at Luna’s touch, and then the naked eye seeing only a ball of light and sound floating, dipping as if weighed by the storm that had come on so lethally fast and which was beginning to taper off. The weather office had dispatched emergency storm-breakers up into the thunderhead, but they had been unable to do anything, and would be lauded anyway because their presence coincided with Twilight’s concluding magic. Around the country, ponies were switching channels to hear the breaking news. Somewhere near the south pole, the minotaur elite made a note of it; in the dragon lands, a laugh was shared at equine foolishness, trying to control the weather, serves ‘em right; in The Hive, Pinkie was touring the palace’s kitchens and would not be told until the day after; and at the top of the highest mountain range on the planet from which ruled the griffon royal family, someone commented that the ponies really were amazingly unprepared to deal with rogue weather.

Enter Colgate, rushing through the game room slick with spilled water and vodka, bug-eyed and frightened, stopping to put a comforting hoof on Twilight’s father and then dashing through the ballroom, up through the smoke and stink of the dining room, following the jog of Rainbow’s colorful tail. The ship no longer swayed or leaned, and Celestia was yelling to prepare for an emergency landing.

Then, “Luna, take over for me!” All three knew what that meant, it went straight into their hearts. Twilight jerked out of her forced relaxation on the bare bed and looked out the hole again, wondering whether she would have the strength to jump if it came down to that. She heard her own name bellowed in Celestia’s frightened voice.

Rainbow looked back for Colgate and tripped over a discarded bowl, slashing melted ice cream across the wall. With the engines’ thunder, it took her a second to hear Celestia’s, but it came fast and hard, wings beating overhead colossal and protective, screaming for Twilight. Not Twilight and Rainbow, just Twilight.

“Not today,” Rainbow growled, abandoning the ground and flying for a few feet before her hurt wing gave out and she landed again, rug burn on a knee and a cheek, the sound of a stitch popping somewhere in her dress. She scrambled up and ran, Colgate twenty rooms behind her, galloping and soaked with sweat and rain, one hundred fifty-two, one hundred fifty-four. Twilight crouched, momentarily paralyzed, behind the bed, waiting for Celestia to spot the hole in the wall and come to it, eyes glowing like floodlights, great wings shoving through broken hull, the terrific image growing in her mind to a princess four times her regular size, massive boulder head foaming and pastel mane crackling with electricity, eyes like hot coals and teeth sharp and bright as polished metal, snarling her name, embracing her greedily. It wasn’t much different for Colgate, who could feel the familiar anxiety barreling down the hall behind her, carpet rippling up, lights popping, brackets dwindling like singed vines into their sconces, then oblivion as her body burst apart to admit the hysterical princess. One hundred seventy-eight, one hundred eighty. Celestia was in flight and Twilight scrambled for the bedroom door as thunder growled outside, and she galloped to meet Rainbow just as the ship swung to the sound of splitting timber.

“My student!” Celestia broke through on the port side, one bedroom away, hooves pounding floorboards before a whirlwind took the furnishings and threw them in a crushed stream out over Lower Canterlot. “You can’t leave me!”

“Downstairs!” Colgate hollered, turning to run the other way, Twilight catching up to her while Celestia scrambled and broke through the door, six bedrooms away as the three of them slammed through to another bedroom. They could hear the goddess crying out, throwing open doors at random, and Twilight fumbled her dress open at the neck.

“Don’t you leave me here with your stupid corpses!” Colgate yelped, grabbing her hoof away.

“She’s just outside,” Rainbow wheezed, slumping to the ground and looking at her back hoof, which had picked up a chip of glass at some point and had left dark red prints on the carpet, prints that led right to their room. Another door shattered as Celestia continued her search, voice frantic.

“You stumbled, you can’t fly anymore,” Colgate said, poking Rainbow.

“So?”

“She’s right,” Twilight said, taking a breath and focusing her magic into her body’s penultimate spell, cutting through the outer wall one more time, praying Celestia wouldn’t feel its discharge and come running.

“Where is my student? Twilight!”

“You got here too late to save us, Colgate. Thank you.”

“I can’t jump!” Rainbow shrieked. “Do the amulet thing, Twilight, I can’t, I-I—stop!”

Twilight did stop, one hoof off the edge, no longer thinking, and Celestia crashing on the other side of the wall. She looked into Rainbow’s eyes, grabbed her own amulet and let it go out the hole, one effortless spark as Rainbow gasped her last breath. Colgate slid the body out and Twilight sidestepped, heart racing, into the cold night that instantly called her from her numb reverie.

Nothing romantic in jumping to her death, nothing darkly beautiful, nothing poetic, certainly nothing heroic, and no dignity either, for Twilight went down crying and voiding her bladder. All her strength of will, her indomitability both real and pretended, meant nothing in the final seconds. Lower Canterlot’s lights were as of reflections on a pond, and when she fell through the princess’ shield into the rain and the wind, all she could do was pray for someone to fly down and catch her. The black city whirled beneath and the gutted airship turned above, and Celestia’s voice was a dwindling tremor behind the wind in her ears. The ultimate memory of that life, powerless, a dark square of buildings that gained definition and then raced out of her blurred sight, not directly below but a few blocks away, Twilight falling final and free into an empty intersection, her last impression on the world a smear of viscera on asphalt. She woke up with new eyes less than a second later.

Quiet

Chapter One hundred twenty-five

Quiet

Though it felt like much longer than that. A fledgling spirit between bodies, time and distance were as meaningless to her as sight and speech, and Aureole had no reference for when she woke up, which she did with a painful scream. The Datura couple in the room looked up and witnessed her messy re-entrance into the world, the inflation of new lungs and the churning of new guts, expulsion of fluids, muscles twitching as consciousness grew into them and became accustomed.

“Can you hear me?” the mare asked after a while. “My name is Deepest Blue, you’re safe.”

Aureole looked around and nearly flailed onto the floor. They were on an airship, and she thought for a moment that it had gone wrong. “I fluh-fluh-fell,” she managed.

“Okay,” Deepest Blue said. “Keep talking, that’s a good start.”

“Nuh, I…” She looked around again, mind clearing slowly, memories falling back into order. The airship was different, and her room was like nothing on the Via Luna. The engines didn’t sing, and there was no chaos above.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Saliva was pooling in her mouth and it dribbled out when she tried to sit up, her throat sore and stiff. “Twi—my name.” She swallowed several times. “Aureole is my name.” She slid off the table and fell into a crouch, her legs too weak. Her stomach and intestines groaned and slithered inside her, and her heart was palpitating. “Good to meet you?”

“And my name is Crafted Cask,” the stallion said, setting down his book and going to shake her hoof. “You’re in good hooves here, Aureole.”

“You…” She didn’t know how to ask. “You know what—”

“Lotus told us in exhaustive detail,” Deepest Blue said, rolling her eyes at her partner. “Who you were, where you’re coming from, everything. Our job, in addition to helping you integrate properly, is to stand as your parents.”

* * * * * *

Sunlit Gables, meanwhile, awoke in a basement in Fillydelphia and endured the same uncomfortable processes of coming to life, the same awkward conversation with her stand-in parents, the same flash of fear that something had gone wrong and she was still Rainbow Dash. She thought for a second that Celestia had caught them at the last second and charged into the afterlife to drag their souls back.

She stood, tested her wings, talked a little, stumbled to the bathroom, and when she was back out, she noticed the mirror.

“Go on, get acquainted with yourself,” her new father said. “We’ll both be with you until you start your new job, and we can answer any questions you have.”

“Freaky,” Gables whispered to herself, leaning into the mirror and pulling down an eyelid. No tricks. She was entirely new, built from scratch by Datura magicians and scientists, apparently one of thousands, something routine, another body removed from storage and prepared for someone’s soul. “Why is my fur sticky?”

“We spray the bodies with pesticides and antifungal agents, just so they don’t start to turn before we’re ready to use them,” the Datura mare said. “Do you want to wash up? There’s a shower upstairs. I can help if you’re not comfortable with your balance yet.”

“I’ll do it myself, I think.” They went upstairs and her Datura mother showed her the bathroom, got the water going, and said she would be outside if Gables needed anything. She tried to stand under the warm water, but after slumping into the wall and banging her chin on the faucet, relented and sat. It was still dark out, which felt wrong to Gables; like Aureole, her mind had defaulted to treating the transition as a night’s sleep. She had expected soothing morning light and the chirping of birds, her Datura helpers to be there with orange juice and a hearty breakfast, and for the emergency in Canterlot to be already past. She had expected the world to shout “hello!” but there was none of that, no fanfare.

The following morning, she would eat some buttered toast and keep it down, and, more comfortable in her skin, sit down in front of the TV and watch the aftermath of their escape.

* * * * * *

The Via Luna touched down on a spot on the mountainside where Celestia, as a ball of living fire, cleared the trees and rocks away in a single hot shock wave. The guests filed off onto ground that steamed softly under rainfall that had once again become gentle, and ambulances cried out in the distance, siren lights painting the city below. Dresses were ruined with rainfall, food, soot, blood, and vomit; some of the passengers cried hysterically, some withdrew into nonverbal calm; ponies soaked injured limbs in dirty puddles or tried to get Celestia’s attention while Luna took the worst injured herself, holding them in telekinetic bubbles and flying down to the nearest hospital.

Colgate shivered, too afraid to run into the forest, in the back of the crowd with Versus and Big Mac. A few more seconds would have been too late; Celestia had smashed through the wall before Colgate could step away from Twilight’s edge, and there, her tongue failed her. The mad goddess teleported Colgate to the deck and continued barrelling through the cabins, screaming Twilight’s name and finding nothing; and when they landed and she had gutted the ship, she saw the team of pegasi flying up the mountain to meet her, for Twilight and Rainbow had been found.

And the whole country knew it then.

Everyone present felt the air change and backed away as though fearing another lightning bolt, the princess’ fire cooling for a moment as she drew tight, injured breaths. Luna, returning, had enough time to flick a shield over the crowd.

Celestia’s finery burned away and her fur shone perfect white, her neck bending backwards, and then a spear of light came forth to pierce the clouds and turn night to day, thickening to a pillar and polluted by coals and fireballs that flew up snarling and crimson, gaining height, vibrating with the trees and the windows far below, houses in the deep suburbs shaking with the strength of her anguish. Her wings folded and crumpled tight, the earth shook, but Celestia cried louder and harder. The cinders above her mingled with ash and became lost but for winking red freckles amid volcanic lightning, and those who could were running downhill, and Celestia began to smoke from more than her face. Plumes thick and black as ink billowed off her skin and raced downhill on hot wind, and she was too bright to look at; from a distance, it appeared that Canterlot was erupting, and that was how it felt to those few who were there to witness it up close.

Luna stood beside her sister in fire and swirling ash, eyes closed and face peaceful, trying to reach into Celestia’s mind with calming thoughts. Everyone in Lower Canterlot watched with ears clamped tight and eyes squinted, then turned away and sought something to muffle the sound as Celestia’s rage grew yet more; and in Ponyville, frightened observers filled the roads and climbed onto roofs to watch, many reminded of The Crumbling in all its fearsome abruptness; and in Fillydelphia, where Sunlit Gables sat in the shower, the sound came like rolling thunder, for which she mistook it in the first seconds; and down in Snowdrift, where Versus’ old friends were enjoying a late dinner, it seemed morning had come early and from within the earth, a needle of light out to space so intense and solid that to look directly at it hurt their eyes; and in The Hive, where Queen Chrysalis happened to be outside her fortress to see, Celestia’s light appeared as a white thread in the middle of a broad, yellowing feather of day across the ocean, the cry following ten hours later and so soft that she would not catch it amid palace noise.

Yet the princess became calm before Luna’s shield was overwhelmed and anyone was permanently harmed. Luna stood through sound waves that sanded bark and leaves from the surviving trees and through heat that turned the slopes to creeping black glass and the nearby river to steam in a glowing earthen groove, and she did not remit with the peace she projected into her sister’s brain. Neither of them thought of the ponies trying to get away, many of whom thought that Celestia was possessed and sure that the world was coming to an end, final thoughts of loved ones and of things left undone. When the torrent of smoke stopped and the fire died down, and Celestia reverted to flesh and bone, she bowed her head in shame and tightened to a point of light, which then disappeared so that the goddess could grieve deep in the bowels of the world.

* * * * * *

The fourteenth of November came and Sunlit Gables, mostly comfortable in her new body, flew into a breezy Fillydelphia dawn for her first day on the local weather team. She and her standing parents lived in the house where she had woken up, and she was set up with a bank account and enough money to get started, a birth certificate, all the licensure required to work with weather, and supplies to last her a month.

The news was calling the Via Luna’s crash a national tragedy, and when Gables saw her former face on the TV that night, she had burst into unaccountable tears, which threatened to overtake if she thought too much about what had happened—a mere four days ago. Four days of questions, of adjusting to fine movement in a body slightly different from the one she knew, of needing help with basic things. She left the house for her first workday timidly, not completely back to normal and afraid that ponies would notice.

When afternoon came around and she had finished orientation—one awful moment where she almost signed “Rainbow Dash” as natural as anything—she was feeling better, and went to work pushing and pulling clouds with a small team of pegasi, arranging an overcast day for those downtown and a little drizzle later. They chatted about the crash in Canterlot, the freak squall that had taken down Celestia’s personal airship. For them, it was distant misfortune, and Sunlit Gables had nothing to say about it; she remembered the glazed look in Twilight’s eyes as she activated her amulet, the scalding pain as her former heart was destroyed, and she found herself touching her chest unconsciously as if making sure everything was still there. Those vacant eyes stuck with her longer, after her shift, a glimpse of Twilight she told herself she understood but which she truly did not.

Aureole landed in the dam zone with twenty others from Applewood, most of them displaced from the flood, and went with her new parents to a little hovel between the lake and a hill on the east side. She had neighbors that tried to make friends with her on the first day and insisted on giving her a tour of the village, and she was only able to get alone toward evening after being shown the dam, the dwellings carved like honeycomb into its interior, and the lake that had come with it where huts and cabins were arranged sloppily. She consented to a light dinner with her new parents in a little log cabin on a different hill, and then made her excuses before crossing the grassy dell and walking to an abandoned power line, its dead cables long, black curves disappearing on the hillside. Aureole stood inside the cage of scaffolding with the flowers and the night’s first fireflies, waiting as sunset turned the lake to amber and the grass to sweet-smelling, dark gold.

There was only radio in the dam zone, so Aureole was spared images of her handiwork, though her memories smoldered in every waking and sleeping hour since. She looked into the funnel of twisted beams and insulators and put her hoof on one, thinking of the electricity that had once fed the city, and cast a small spell to jiggle it. Her cloud of thoughts was lost in death, as well as the power that Vanilla Cream had given her long ago. Twilight had lived with both for so long that when, as Aureole, she noticed their absence, she felt empty and weak. The quiet in her mind was not yet comfortable, less so under the power line, where she stood until a waxing moon made soft and cold the cloudless sky. Aureole was still waiting for something terrible to happen, and she was waiting four days later, when, in Canterlot, Celestia returned to the palace and took a seat on her throne, where she dispensed wisdom and condolences to the endless-seeming train of frightened mourners.

While the palace prepared a royal funeral, Luna personally went with a team of doctors and magical healers into Lower Canterlot to repair ponies’ ears and eyes, as well as offer counsel. Celestia formally apologized for her outburst and assured the country that she would not lose control of herself again, and spoke to Twilight’s and Rainbow’s parents later that day, privately sharing in their grief. She produced a glass vial and caught some of her tears, which she gave to Rainbow’s father, who had been uncomfortable asking for it.

Time passed for delegates from around the world to fly into Canterlot, and finally on the twenty-second of December, more than a month later, the city donned black and climbed to the palace. The princesses had commanded a pure, sunny day for the funeral, and cold morning light touched a sea of darkness: in Greater Canterlot, closed stores wore black veils on their faces, banners hung from poles and trees with the deceased ponies’ cutie marks, flags hung at half-mast and bells tolled. Under Celestia’s magic, all white had been effaced from the palace for the day, the royal guards’ armor turned to dull gray along with the stained glass windows and the carpets.

Mourners filled the palace courtyards and spilled across the lowered drawbridge, down the road, half down the mountain and across Greater Canterlot, filling freeways and promenades and parks, no clouds for the pegasi to sit on but every roof that was high enough to get a view of the palace. The most eminent guests seated themselves in Celestia’s small, private garden, where two graves had been dug between magical, never-withering bushes of white hydrangea. The remaining Elements sat in the front, family just behind, and the remaining rows were for visiting royalty. A dragon prince in fuchsia scales sat with head bowed and a silk tie around his mouth, their custom for mourning the dead, no sound to be voiced. Next to him, two minotaur baronesses talked softly behind paper fans, their horns painted and clicking with carved wood passementerie, thick fur robes catching grass and dirt at the hems. With a retinue of six others from their capital mountain, a silver and white griffon chancellor blinked quiet tears onto the grass and rubbed his assistant’s back, an elderly pony who had not been in Equestria for nearly twenty years and had never met the Elements. In the forms of ponies, so as not to cause duress among the citizens, a small group of changeling diplomats looked stoically on through the crowd, their form of grieving, honoring the dead by witnessing them one last time. Not present were Pinkie, who had angrily rejected the funeral invitation and regretted it shortly after, and Vinyl, who could not face the world and instead stayed in bed with a bottle of bourbon.

“We gather today to bid farewell to Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic, and Rainbow Dash, the Element of Loyalty.” Celestia in a simple black gown presided between the graves, tall flower arrangements on either side and behind floating wreaths of unlit candles. The garden was located in a corner behind the alchemy tower, and from a second-floor balcony played a quintet of the palace’s most skilled musicians in a repeating dirge which softened the moment Celestia began speaking.

It had taken an hour for the pallbearers to walk the caskets up the road and through the palace, and they rested finally on the grass, closed, dense bouquets of carnation and rose propped on deep cherry finish, and so many other flowers thrown from sidewalks or open windows, silk ribbons drifting, ponies young and old weeping and rending their manes when the caskets passed them by. The roads were thick with it, petals and stems and paper of all colors, messages written on many or spelled out in somber lettering of flowers or card stock in the parks and selvedge. Elderly ponies sat outside their homes and watched the proceedings, fillies and colts were struck still and nervous by the gravity; to anyone who had interacted with Twilight or Rainbow, even in passing, it felt like a piece of the world had been taken away, and to many others it was an almost natural conclusion. “Every time there’s been trouble, that Twilight was involved somehow,” some said, and to these ponies the funeral was a lavish, wasteful display.

“Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash gave their lives for the Gaia, and their passing has affected us all. It is a tragedy from which the world will not soon recover.” Celestia’s voice was steady, enchanted to reach everyone at equal volume, and her eyes were dry. Of the raving grief that had left a hole in the mountain, there was no sign. “I thank you all for joining me today.”

She stepped aside for Luna. “Lives like Twilight Sparkle’s and Rainbow Dash’s do not grace the world but once in a millennium. They were Elements of Harmony, and that is how they will be known in the pages of history, but they rose above that station before the end. They have touched all of our lives in some way, be it as great as repairing a broken country or as small as giving us encouraging words on a bad day. I call to mind now the words of poet Golden Slumbers. ‘Be still, gentle heart, for your toil is at an end. Be not afraid, for you are welcomed home. Be still, trembling heart, for your toil is at an end. Be not unglad, for you now find peace’.” She waited a moment before continuing, and Versus and Colgate joined with Rarity’s sobbing. “These words speak a great truth, which may comfort us now. Twilight and Rainbow are in a place of rest, where we all must go in time. Their work is done, their trials finished.” Both princesses bowed their heads in reflection, and then Luna joined Celestia under the balcony’s shade to allow Octavia a place at the podium.

For the first minute, she looked out at everyone with stony composure, simply taking in the spectacle of everyone gathered, the bereaved eyes that stared back at her, black and gray clothes in a line out the garden gate and on into the city. “Twilight Sparkle was the greatest pony I have ever had the honor to call my friend. From my comparatively brief time with her, I have learned more about friendship than I ever thought possible. Under her leadership, I have seen ponies healed, myself among them, and I have seen strength beyond measure. Twilight Sparkle showed me that friendship and love can move mountains. We have all heard it, but she was one of the rare few who showed it. In our best times, she led us to victory and harmony, and in our worst, she held us together and kept us safe. We relied on her absolutely.”

She adjusted her note cards, not close to tears. “I recall first meeting her here, in Canterlot. I was at the train station, trying to see if I could get home. I felt her strength even then, before I had seen it tested. She looked me in the eyes and I remember thinking, ‘this is someone who will leave her mark on history.’ I had no idea it would be so profound, or so early. Though she was still young, she has done more good than I will if I reach a hundred years. Yes.” She nodded. “A great pony and a great friend. I will miss her and love her every day.”

Octavia bowed and switched with Fluttershy, who looked to Rainbow’s casket and dabbed her eyes.

Voice quivering as much from nervousness as from sorrow, Fluttershy began. “She was my best friend. Rainbow. She was all of ours. Her spirit kept us going when things got tough; when it seemed like hope had faded, Rainbow was there to remind us who we were, to en-encourage us. Sorry.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. Rainbow Dash had the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. She had love for everyone, and not just a little. To each one of us, it felt like Rainbow was there with us, personally, that, um, everything she had to give she was ready to do. I don’t think there was a sacrifice too big for her, if it was for her friends. She stayed with us through the worst days of any of our lives. There were multiple times when it seemed we were walking straight into death, and Rainbow Dash never flinched.” She sighed and dried her eyes again. “And I know, if she was here right now, she’d be embarrassed, she’d probably say this, all this is too sappy for her. I’m sure she would be the first to remind us that life goes on, and that’s certainly something she taught me. Thank you.” She nodded and returned to her seat, and more came up: parents, extended family, Leaf Blower who barely made it through hers, Lumb who had flown in from Hoofington and took ten minutes extolling the virtues of both mares, political and religious figures neither of the deceased had ever met.

Celestia lowered the caskets after the twenty-sixth eulogy and a lengthy nocturne, Rainbow’s and then Twilight’s, and kicked dirt onto their lids. She sobbed at last when the quintet swelled, and attendees all down the mountain broke into wailing, seeing and hearing through magical projection the same as those in the garden. On the other side of the wall, cannoneers fired blanks in salute, and Luna draped banners over the graves once they were filled in.

Into late evening did the reception drag, the throne room refitted as an open dining hall, servers and chefs providing those who remained the very best the palace had to offer. For the first few hours, the Elements kept to the vestibule and thanked everyone who came to them with condolences, but as the crowd thinned and night came on, they were able to get a table and speak in privacy.

“You were great up there, Octavia,” Applejack said. “A born speaker.”

“I wish I could have said more,” Octavia said. She was seated next to Colgate, who had remained pale and silent after mastering her tears at the ceremony.

“Does anyone know…” Rarity began.

“Luna said she’d talk with us later,” Versus said, watching one of the griffons walk past through the corner of her eye. “She’s got the pictures, so we’ll know who to expect.”

“When will that be?” Octavia asked. “Because we might not be there for it. The princess is moving Colgate and I out west. She wants us in a smaller town.”

“Soon?” Fluttershy asked.

“Possibly. I believe so.”

“Won’t that break up the Elements?”

“That is what I asked. She said that ours were made separately from yours.” She made a round gesture with her hooves. “An independent system. There should be no problem in them activating without yours. We are going to test that next week.”

“You’ll need Big Mac,” Rarity said, looking at him, morosely picking at a pimento and celery aspic. He had not met any of their eyes all night, and she realized why in a flash. “Are you… What’s going to happen to you?”

He took a deep drink of iced water. “It was my idea. Ah wrote her an’ asked if we could move.”

“You’re leaving?” Fluttershy gasped, and Applejack nodded sadly at her side.

“Eeyup. Been thinkin’ ‘bout it a while, decided that Ponyville ain’t right fer me no more.” He sniffed and lowered his eyes, and Versus got up to hug him. “Seems Ah’ve come down with a case of the travel bug.”

“You’ll… but…” Rarity’s eyes glistened, and she said in a small voice, “We’ll miss you.”

He looked down at the table and shook his head.

Applejack and Versus stayed in Canterlot for Big Mac to test his Element with Octavia’s and Colgate’s one afternoon in an underground vault, down a trap door in the palace and through a tunnel into the mountain. There, the three friends stood together and rang with light and heat that rattled dust from the vaulted ceiling. He then returned to Ponyville to prepare for departure, ten days had Luna given the three of them.

Winter was dry and cold in Ponyville, and Applejack, who had started looking for a replacement when Big Mac first announced his intentions, found it in Limestone Pie. The other spa pony, Cloudchaser, was preparing to leave as well, and so the spa was closed once more, some citizens still hoping without expectation for Aloe and Lotus to return. After Twilight and Rainbow’s deaths, they had not been seen save by Princess Luna, who—with their consent—erased and replaced their memories of the job.

Big Mac had packed on the day of his decision, but there was still plenty for him to do in his final days. He taught Sweetie Belle everything he knew about the farm’s finances, most of which she had figured out or learned to work around in her time before his return, and he repaired every cart and tool he had been putting off. He went around Ponyville and said goodbye to everyone, endured a speech in his honor, and the final day he spent with his family. They gathered in the dining room after work, and Granny Smith brought out the last apple pie he would have in a while, which she had stuck a couple birthday candles into for ceremony’s sake. They passed the evening with hot apple cider and marshmallows in the fireplace, laughing and playing games, and everyone went to bed early so they could see him off the next morning.

Big Mac hugged his family and the other Elements while the porter packed his luggage, morning frost glistening on the platform’s steel edge. Apple Bloom had made a macaroni replica of the Element of Patience, which he wore onto the train, smiling proudly at the funny looks the other passengers gave him. He got a window seat and waved as they rolled away, and when they were out in the fields toward Lower Canterlot, he lay his head back with a sigh, guiltily excited for the beginning of his next adventure. In his bags, in a book on home medicine that Applejack had given him, pressed between two dog-eared pages along with a leaf from the orchard, was the design for a communication sigil and instructions for its use and maintenance. Once established in Appleloosa, he would set it to his floor and so keep contact with the others—and a second one, separate, for him and Versus, who had made him promise to reach out to her and not let distance defeat him.

They had all come to see Canterlot differently, he reflected as they stopped at another large station in the middle of a sprawling chunk of commercial district. For him, it had always seemed an aloof and fanciful city, but it had gained a touch of home in the last year. He watched through the foggy window, a harried stallion in a chef’s jacket stepping out of line in a coughing fit, a stranger reaching over to pat his back, and smiled.

He got off after a forty-minute crawl up the mountain, his station two blocks from the palace, a walk they had all made so many times that it was second nature. He no longer fancied the pretty mare who sometimes waved to him from the bookstore window or remarked on the circle of friends who frequented the patisserie, sitting outside with coffee and bear claws, always smelling so good. He lugged his bags over the bridge from which he always saw college students studying and playing, past the antique shop with plaster castle walls and a display of vases in the front window, past the park and up the final curving slope to the palace drawbridge.

A tonsured acolyte met Big Mac at the gate and took him through a narrow, high-walled courtyard all the way around to the palace’s north side, where Colgate and Octavia appeared a few minutes later. The airship crew was preparing to take off, the balloon inflating against its ropes, and the young captain came down to greet them all, his gorgeous blue eyes lingering on Big Mac’s well past the initial hoofshake. Neither princess was available to bid them farewell, and he had been told to express their sincerest regrets.

“They picked you up in Appleloosa, right, Mac?” Colgate asked when they were aboard and unpacking. There were only two rooms, so someone had to share, and he hoped he didn’t show his discomfort at the idea of rooming with her.

“Ah was the second one, after Octavia,” he said. “Eeyup, Appleloosa. Ah was there fer family reasons. More’n that, probably.” Saying it, he realized he had never really thought about it, whether the family death that had brought him to Appleloosa in the first place had been designed to guide him into the Elements’ path. “No use worryin’ ‘bout it now,” he said, and Colgate smiled, not sure what he was getting at.

They spent that evening reminiscing, which, with Octavia moody and Colgate restless, did nothing to ease his mind; but the following morning over pale green fields and a meandering river, he could at least look out over the land and feel that he had done right by himself.

In Fillydelphia later that same morning, Sunlit Gables took advantage of the slow workday and flew to a nearby museum, where she met an acquaintance and chatted next to a dark, metal sculpture. “Yeah, boss said we didn’t have anything until three”; “they’re doing great, thanks. No, my littlest still hasn’t found her cutie mark. It’s normal to take this long, right?” And so on. It was nice to talk about nothing, to smile and nod and not have someone demand a meaningful response, to conclude a conversation without having gained an extra problem. Gables walked between triangles of scalped lawn and saw an elevator slide up a groove in the museum’s exterior, and when she went inside and saw that they were featuring an exhibit on the Elements of Harmony and their adventures, she couldn’t resist.

What ponies had gotten from them astonished her. Pieces of their wrecked airships—she couldn’t even remember how many they had gone through—candid photographs, a few shreds of torn clothing or preserved food, along with paintings, drawings, sculptures, a short animation condensing their final fight with Discord in the adjunct room. Their fight with the tornado had been rendered in tapestry and dominated the south wall, an airship angled up to meet the whirling dark cyclone that reached out from a cloud bank like a sinister tentacle, Twilight and Rarity on the prow with twin horns ablaze and Octavia sejant amidships with a look of dour concentration on her face. A row of black marble stands ran from the exhibit’s entrance, each one supporting a little figurine of each of them made from trash, cleaned and wired into shape: “Those Who Fought Him” was the title, and a little sign had been hung on Pinkie’s, “please do not deface.” Many exhibits had accompanying recordings, some of them with the Elements’ own voices lifted from interviews and hearings. Gables pressed a button and heard Rainbow speaking about their efforts in Manehattan, the cable pony and the madness of securing the city’s skyscrapers, and from there turned and walked out. She sat in the food court and reminded herself that she was no longer Rainbow Dash, and that there was no way anyone could connect the two.

That feeling of safety was hard coming for Aureole as well, who, in a town with no real banking system or money-based commerce, found herself less and less sure as her time went on. The ponies there just lived, and it baffled her. She got up whenever she wanted, descended the hill into town, and then could make conversation at the shops that lined up along the main road like targets, maybe barter for some fruit or paper; she could walk where the main road deviated and go through the dam’s echoing penstock to the restaurant where they had developed their deaths, where she could eat for either bits or a day’s labor; she could go the other way, around the lake, and see what the shore ponies were tinkering with; or she could simply go back home and put her head under a pillow, waiting for Celestia to come get her.

It was from that exact nightmare, the same each night, that she had awoken on that day. She stared at herself in the mirror, and, finding no solution there, set off for the shore, where a raggedy team of ponies bickered about air flow and pressure in the ugly contraption wallowing in the icy mud, their latest attempt at a diving vessel. Among them was Vintage, the pony whose vineyard they had stayed at for their time in Trottingham. Aureole thought she looked familiar, but didn’t place the name until that night, settling into bed with a book and then sitting up and smacking her forehead. “Right, her! Duh!”

She had breakfast with her Datura parents the following day and went to the lake shore again, where the team of ponies had shuffled to include a few others that she, as Twilight, had met before—these much more briefly, and whom she did not register as familiar. They argued and drew designs in the mud with sticks, and Aureole dared to use a little more of her magic to help them visualize more complicated concepts, and on the next day, they ventured into the dam to see what mechanical components they could find. Much of the dam had been hollowed and repurposed into something between a shanty town and an apartment complex, but the machines were still there, defunct and jumbled behind walls or heaped into unused or unsafe rooms, which grew more numerous as they went up. Aureole wondered why so few ponies lived in the top half of the dam, and a few days later, searching for a specific and elusive type of valve, she found out.

It took nearly half an hour to calm her down, something she hadn’t thought to expect, an embarrassment that her fellow scavengers told her was no big deal. Lightning had stricken the monstrous tangle of antennae and gantries at the dam’s crown, and it brought Aureole straight back to the Via Luna and Celestia. She apologized profusely to the kindhearted mare who had ushered her into her tiny dining room, brewed tea, and explained that it happened all the time.

They didn’t find the valve that day, but Aureole went back home with a sense of purpose that had been missing since death. It wasn’t anything she could name, but its pull was unquestionable, and after a few more days of inclement weather, the sky cleared and she asked to go to the top, to the strike zone. She said it was about facing her fears when she was questioned, but that wasn’t it; something about the lightning simply attracted her.

For Sunlit Gables, it was the opposite, a new thing she discovered about herself setting up for a thunderstorm in one of the wealthy sections of town. Flying with a team of five others, it was her job to string warning cables between clouds before technicians started building the thunderhead, and she felt revulsion to watch them in their reflective vests. The power and danger that had caught Aureole’s attention seemed gross and excessive to Gables, who understood the necessity but was repelled and not a little afraid.

While the two of them worked back into routine, Ponyville adjusted as it always did, as it had when the Elements had gone and as it had when they returned. They erected a memorial for Twilight and Rainbow in the cemetery, friends got together, businesses moved slowly, and life went on as sadness faded. Ponies began wondering who the new Elements would be, and Rarity and Fluttershy mentioned Aureole and Sunlit Gables, gave them vague pasts with the group, speculated a few other candidates as well to cover their precision. Applejack refused to speak about it, and everyone assumed she was still grieving, which was just as well.

February came around and Princess Luna flew her ship, the Matta, down to Ponyville to tell the Elements that she was going to bring their friends back home. They spoke in Fluttershy’s cottage, the four remaining Elements and a sigil with Octavia, Colgate, and Big Mac drawn on a dinner plate—one of the few in her house without an animal design on it. Due to Gables’ and Aureole’s geographic separation, Luna would collect them one at a time, Gables first. She had not communicated with either, nor had she looked in on them, not wishing to risk being caught acting on information she should not yet have. Celestia, she said, was sorrowing terribly, but also shrewdly.

“How ‘bout their folks?” Applejack asked. “They doin’ okay? Ah haven’t heard from ‘em, an’ Ah don’t wanna pry if they’re not ready.”

“They are recovering,” Luna said. “I believe they think the storm was an accident; they can’t conceive of Twilight causing such a thing deliberately.”

“There’s an unexpected mercy,” Versus said.

“Ah still think she’s a monster,” Applejack said. “Call it a necessary evil, but that don’t take away the ugliness.”

“That is the nature of power,” Luna said, not interested in talking ethics. “I will bring them both back to Ponyville to get acquainted with you and to catch up on whatever stories you’ve told about them. After that, all of you will be invited to Canterlot to welcome the new Elements. Pure ceremony, shouldn’t be more than a few days.”

“Will you want us there as well?” Octavia asked.

“Hm. You’ll receive invitations, but given how long it’ll take you… How long was your airship time, anyway? I regret that I couldn’t accompany you.”

“Around two weeks, princess,” Colgate said. “If we’re gonna be to the welcome party in time, we’d better leave, uh…”

“You would want to leave in a few days.”

“Would it be too much for you to grab us in your speedy Matta?” Octavia hissed at Colgate to be less blunt.

“Or is there a magic window nearby that you can go through?” Fluttershy asked. “Like the one from Snowdrift to Passage Town?”

“You’re not supposed to use those,” Luna said sternly, “or even know about them. Ladies, I will order a ride for you. Appleloosa is too far for me to fly to and delay the ceremony.”

“Anything you can do at all is appreciated, your highness,” Octavia said, bowing even though the sigil only captured her voice.

“I’ll do that. Lastly, does anyone here wish to come with me to find our two wayward Elements?”

Fluttershy volunteered, and later that evening, she and Luna were on their way northwest to Fillydelphia.

The journey took them four days on the Matta, as uncomfortable for Luna as they were for Fluttershy. She had spent so long with Twilight in the palace, always underhoof, researching and causing trouble, asking big questions and pretending to be ready for the answers, but with demure Fluttershy on the ship, Luna had no one to puzzle or amuse her.

When they were zooming over a crooked lake on the third day, their draft pushing a chain of telephone lines below, Fluttershy asked Luna what Twilight had been like at the end, and after several minutes pondering the answer, the princess chose to favor Fluttershy with the plain truth.

“She was dangerous and unrepentant, actually. The pressures of laboring under my sister, and against her, allowed those traits to surface.”

“I had hoped the palace would change her,” Fluttershy sighed. “For the better, I mean. We all thought—most of us thought steady work would let her return to normal.”

“Perhaps it would have. I would not describe Twilight’s employment under my sister as ‘steady’.”

“I miss her, that’s all.”

“Yes.” Luna was in no mood to discuss the impermanence of self and the possibility that pressure had not changed Twilight, but revealed some of her true qualities—that, after all, her friends had only known her a couple years before she changed, and perhaps it was the mollifying effects of friendship in a town that posed no challenges that had made her seem like the mare Fluttershy missed. Or the fact that Twilight’s actions did not nullify her former self, the fact that most likely both versions of her were the true version, and ponies were more complicated than what could be represented in dialogue; there was room in everyone for good and bad and both in astounding measure, and to say that either of those was the “true” face of that pony was reductive. “Look at yourself,” she could have said, “You ruined Pinkie Pie’s life and you’re still the kind one. Don’t be fast to judge.”

They hit Fillydelphia the next afternoon. Sunlit Gables was fresh from a business meeting and heading to lunch with a coworker when the Matta landed on the other side of town. Luna was telling Fluttershy about the precog party in Snowdrift while Gables told her coworker her views on the latest Wonderbolts news. It was too cold to sit outside, so they got a table near a window where they were able to watch pedestrians. In Canterlot, she had grown used to a certain ostentatious fashion, as though everyone wanted to emulate Celestia’s natural flashiness or outdo it in their own way, but very few ponies in Fillydelphia stood out. She still looked at herself in fear that she somehow did, that Rainbow Dash was a curse that could return under the right conditions. Her bright citrus fur felt alien on her skin, like a second outfit that could not be removed, and in every mirror there was a disconnect between self and appearance: normal problems, which her Datura parents told her would vanish with time and experience.

With that peculiar sense of being an imposter came the sense, much happier, that she had won the ultimate lottery. Palace life had been bad, but only in the trials of daily routine had it become manifest to her just how bad, and how bad her relationship with Twilight had become. She blamed herself in part, but realized there was no stopping Twilight when she had set herself to something, and blame often became lamentation.

“But that’s behind me now,” she would think, and so thought in the diner with her coworker. It was easy to forget how good life could be. Months ago, she had been preparing to jump down a yawning black hole with Twilight, and everything had felt at an end, but coming out the other side was more than rebirth.

There was nothing wrong with being ordinary; she could say that having been on the other side of it. A classic diner with no fancy tableware, no expensive drinks, no live music, no intricate architecture, just dirty checkers in the carpet and old coffee, rowdy kids a few tables over, workers who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else, greasy food, warm lighting, tacky prints of still lifes on the walls, and gray winter weather outside with the slither of traffic, a bored city plodding through the motions of nothing special; work for the daily weather and no life-changing thing after that, flying or walking home, her house that looked much nicer next to the neighbor’s with a young cedar pushing up the sidewalk outside, fireflies over the lawn, water-spotted patio furniture, the screen door that stuck and had to be slammed closed every morning when it was still dark enough to see the stars.

Luna knew exactly who she was looking for, but, committed to the farce that she did not, drug Fluttershy around with the Element of Loyalty in a ceramic bowl pointing like a compass to its bearer. After lunch, Gables’ team leader called everyone down for a sudden meeting on the ground, and there Luna stood, not even looking at her. She walked down the line of workers until the Element reacted to Gables, glowed and heated up and melted into the shape of her sun and clouds cutie mark. Everyone cheered and congratulated her, and Fluttershy kept behind the princess, a momentary recognition between her and Gables, who pretended to be amazed.

There was nothing in the employee manual that addressed what happened when a worker was ordained to succeed an Element of Harmony, but Luna wanted Gables to come with her as soon as possible, and there wasn’t much to do about it. Gables went home early, told her false parents that it was time to go, and started packing. How tempting it had been to pack prematurely, that she could just walk out when the time was right, but her parents told her it was foolish; if anyone else saw that she was planning on leaving, it would raise questions. After she got her possessions together, purposefully meager, Luna treated them to an early dinner at the nicest restaurant in town, and under another dome of silence, she told Gables the plan.

“I have to go back to stupid Canterlot?” Gables objected. “For how long?”

“Not long. It’ll be like a smaller version of returning from your quest. Celestia and I will make speeches, you’ll have your names officially entered into the archives, everyone’ll want to shake your hooves. After that, though, you’ll go back to Ponyville… provided no one volunteers to stick around this time.”

“If… can I say her name?”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Gotcha. And how’s Celestia been?” Gables asked.

“Better,” Luna said. “Not completely, but she’s better. I think losing Twilight will be good for her in the long run.”

“What did she see in Twilight?”

“I don't know,” Luna lied. “I suppose she responded to Twilight’s ambition. A pony like her can do extraordinary things.”

Gables hesitated to ask, not sure how close was too close to showing she knew the truth. “Do you think she might still?” She could tell that the question caught Luna off guard, and Fluttershy gave the princess a worried look.

“There’s a few likely outcomes I envision, and one of them is that, yes. We’ll see when we find her.”

“And after we’re done in Canterlot, we can stay home?”

“After the welcome ceremony.”

“Huh. We didn’t get a ceremony when we… There wasn’t a ceremony when Dash and her friends all got their Elements.”

“Mm, things change.” She sipped her hot tea. “Sorry, that was rude. Celestia wants a ceremony this time because the new Element is replacing someone so close to her. It’s special for her.”

“I feel sorry for Princess Celestia,” Fluttershy said. “Is that crazy?”

“Of all of us, I would be alarmed if you didn’t feel sorry for her. Me, I have no empathy for my sister; she brought this upon herself, and she knew it wouldn’t have ended well.” Luna shook her head and mumbled to herself.

They took off at ten that night, Gables and Fluttershy going down to sleep not long after and leaving Luna to spend the night alone. Another thing she missed about Twilight, the sleepless nights talking through the young mare’s troubles. They had been Luna’s troubles millennia ago, and it was fun for the princess to revisit them in another, as well as a good way of assessing her own wisdom. Part of her hoped that Aureole would arrogantly take up where Twilight had left off, and the power would grow and become interesting again in a few decades.

In Ponyville, the Elements enjoyed a small celebration at Rarity’s when they got notice that Loyalty was on her way, and Applejack spread the word through town. No one there matched Pinkie’s skill, but a few talked about putting together a village-wide party anyway, and Gables landed days later to a haphazard mix of games and food tables spread over the town square, a pair of gramophones blowing conflicting music and everyone having a blast anyway.

For four more days Luna and Fluttershy flew to the dam zone, across the Everfree and south into the cold where the lake grew banks of white ice in the mornings. Aureole, like Gables, did not know that Luna was on her way, and continued working with lightning and diving machinery to pass the time. Though the cloud of thoughts was gone, she was able to piece together information based on what she remembered of her storm magic and set it to paper. On the day the Matta cleared the Everfree’s southern edge, Aureole hoisted herself into a lightweight diving bell that she had helped complete, and, in the middle of the lake with some rowers and a team of operators, prepared to go to the bottom and explore the underwater village. She did not share her diving partner’s nervousness, for if something went wrong, she would simply teleport them out to the hills near her house; none of them knew that her magic was that powerful.

Then, on the fourth day, with the Matta again in ponies’ binoculars, Aureole was on top of the dam watching black clouds float in from the west. No one ever came up with her, so it was there that she conducted research with sigils, testing the properties of electricity and summoning small doses of wind. With her back to the approaching airship, she tried to create a localized cyclone of cold air under a gantry’s arm, and when she failed and turned to go over her notes, she noticed it.

She almost raced down to meet the princess, but realized in the dirty concrete stairwell that Aureole, herself, had no specific reason to be excited about Luna’s arrival, and went back up to her weather and research. The clouds were nearing and she sat on an iron beam, too excited to think, shivering. From the dam’s lofty vantage, she could see Trottingham come under shadow, first the ancient aqueducts crumbling in their mountain cradle, the vineyards and farms, bleached silos, the decaying villa where they had first met the Astra family, its hedge maze turned to wild bowers. So far below her, tiny ponies ran to the airship and received the goddess, and one of them offered to show her the diving bell and the small pile of useless salvage Aureole and her teammate had pulled out of the lakebed.

“I bet you, I bet you I know exactly who it is!” one of the rowers said to Luna when she stated her business in their town.

“Oh yeah, that Aureole, she’s something,” another chimed in, tipping her straw hat. “That’s who you meant, right?”

“It’s gotta be.” The rower lowered his voice. “Strange mare, though. She goes up to the top of the dam a lot. ‘Research’ is all she says. Weird magic, says I.”

“I’d love to meet her,” Luna chuckled, and they both pointed at the dam, so she took wing.

Aureole was removing her sigils and collecting her supplies when Luna flapped up and threw a shield over the superstructure.

“No one should be up here when the sky looks as it does,” Luna reprimanded. “Do you have a death wish, young lady?”

Aureole turned. “I was just packing up my stuff to go below, your highness.” In her mind, she concentrated on the phrase, “not a second one,” and Luna, who curiously peeked in, read it and laughed.

“It’s good to see you again,” Luna whispered, closing for a hug. “Shall we, then?”

“You shielded us from lightning?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to stay for a minute more, if I could. I want to see.”

“As you wish.” Luna sat with her on a concrete pylon, grateful for the opportunity to be alone with Aureole. “Here, take your Element, remember to act surprised and humble when we go down.”

The Element of Magic coruscated and transformed, and heavy rain slammed onto the shield as thunder broke.

“Your friends below tell me you’ve been busy, diving and playing with electricity up here.”

Aureole donned the Element, its shape not so dissimilar from what Twilight’s had been. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful when I get back to Ponyville. I’m developing a code right now so I can write my, uh, more iffy research in that. No threat of someone else casting it.”

“If someone sees you writing in code, they’ll think you’re up to no good.”

“I’ll keep it locked away.”

“Uh-huh. So, tell me, Aureole.” The princess was happy to see her, but Aureole saw something more as well when she turned to face her. “Truly, who is it underneath your skin? Who have I found on this gloomy afternoon?”

Aureole looked into the immortal eyes and then, when she could no longer take it, into the clouds. “I’m still figuring that out.”

“I know a group of ponies that can help you there.” She stood up and lifted a wing, halting them. A second later, lightning reached down and planted a white explosion on her shield, the sound of thunder dampened courteously as well, and Luna’s face contorted in pain. The shield held, and she said after a second, “come on, you’ve had enough. I wouldn’t take a bolt like that for just anyone.”

As they walked to the dam’s edge, Aureole asked Luna whether she felt pain the same way mortals did.

“Why would I not?” Luna returned, and teleported them down to the airship, where Fluttershy was talking with some of the diving team.

They went through the theater of amazement and honor for Aureole’s new Element, and Luna put on her regal face and helped the town congratulate her. As with Gables, the three of them dined lavishly before leaving, Aureole’s possessions on the ship and her goodbyes made, and the storm had passed by the time they were done.

That night, Fluttershy stayed up with Aureole and told her about Ponyville, how it had changed and how it had not, how her friends were doing and how the Appleloosa trio was settling in. She described the royal funeral and the uncomfortable weeks following, then the disquieted return to normal life. That was the first night, and for the other three, Aureole slept as a normal mare would, anxious for meeting Celestia. Gables had not thought to wonder, but Aureole did: suppose Celestia reached in and read either of their minds deeply enough to find the truth. Luna told her that it was not in Celestia’s nature to go that far into a pony’s mind, but Aureole still worried.

“Your highness,” Aureole said on the final night. They were to land in Ponyville in around forty minutes, near quarter after eleven.

Luna didn’t take her eyes from their course, but with a wing gestured for Aureole to speak.

“This might sound silly, but I was wondering if you could drop me off near here. I want to walk the last of it on my own.”

“What a strange request.”

“Look into my mind, see if I’m hiding anything.”

At this, Luna turned and faced her. “Mind reading isn’t something to be spoken of lightly, less so actually done. It is a power used for ill much more easily than for good, and it bothers me that you seem not to respect that. Also, Aureole, dear.” Her horn did not glow, but a chill crept onto the deck and the starlight dimmed. Luna continued, voice tired and face creased suddenly with humorless age. “You do not order me to do anything.”

“I-I wasn’t ordering—”

“You do not order me to do anything,” she repeated patiently, and the cold grew; Aureole could not look away from Luna’s eyes, not that time, but she could see rinds of frost forming on the bow gunwales.

“You’re right, your highness. My apologies.” Her visible breath rose in fast puffs.

“Repeat what I said.” The frost was thickening to milky ice and the air stung, and the starlight was reduced to nothing, and Luna’s eyes were new moons staring at her.

“I… I-I do not order you to do anything, ever, your highness.”

“You have been given something that very few in this world have. Do not squander it stupidly.”

The shivering was too much, and Aureole fell to her knees with head bowed to the deck’s icy surface—and then, in a moment, it was lifted, the light and warmth returned.

Luna favored her with a smile then. “Just so you don’t get cocky, dear.” She spun the wheel dramatically. “I can set you down early if you like. You wish to walk a path of solitude to your home, yes? Something meditative?”

“Something like that, yes please, your highness.”

“No problem, my mortal friend.”

She landed the Matta in a clearing by the river and looked Aureole over as she lowered the way to the ground. Fluttershy came up, thinking they had reached Ponyville. “Is something wrong?”

“I asked to land early,” Aureole said, “that’s all. I wanted to walk the rest of the way.”

“Oh. Let me get my stuff, I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Aureole didn’t hear her response as she disappeared into the cavernous ship, and five minutes later, Fluttershy was by her side on the moist grass, and the two of them bowed to Luna.

“Thank you, princess,” Aureole said as the engines quickened, and the Matta’s black balloon soughed against tree branches.

“I’ll see you in Canterlot. Good luck.” She waved and they bowed again, and the long, dark airship merged with the night and was gone.

“You don’t want to make a scene of getting back?” Fluttershy asked.

“That too,” Aureole said, taking a step to the river, smelling the moss and wet leaves, hearing the unnatural silence near them and frogs singing on the farther bank. In her time, seeing a river’s water stagnant and filthy had become normal, but when the land was mended, she had not taken the time to appreciate what had been returned. The flow of cool water over smooth stone was enough to bring her nearly to tears, and she sat on a mound of earth to watch for a time, her friend standing quietly by. The frogs started again, one by one, and the river caught shards of moonlight, and Aureole did not feel proud then for her previous life’s work, but very small.

“Let’s go,” she sighed, standing. They passed through thinning trees onto a dirt path beaten by hoof and wheel, grass and clover abundant on the sides and between ruts. Ponyville’s wan light shone not far off, past a depression and around a bend where the river split to feed a small pond.

“Maybe also,” Aureole continued, stopping to put an affectionate hoof on a post looped with baling wire. “Maybe also because I want one last little… thing, little bit of work, of effort, between me and home.”

Fluttershy fluffed her wings and shivered. “You hate not having a challenge to overcome, don’t you?”

“Yes. I thought I might welcome the peace when… at first. After everything.”

“Hmm.”

She lowered her voice further, afraid even in the dark and damp that someone might be listening. “I thought I went back to Canterlot out of bitterness toward Pinkie—that was part of it, a large part maybe. To spit in her face, you know, show her she couldn’t get the moral high ground on me. I didn’t have to stay there.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe we should just enjoy this walk, then.” She perked up her ears. “Can you hear that? I think there’s bats nearby.”

They followed the path around a large, open field, across which glowed the sheer light of a tiny train station, and Aureole paused. Memories of the train stations up to Snowdrift, huddled in a car stinking of chemicals and howling through the mountains, the black pine forest ripping by outside. A worker’s shape blinked through the white light and they walked on, through another copse of trees, through a wooden gate and past the dusty river rock that held it open.

“I remember we thought, for a few days there, that we’d go to Canterlot and talk to Princess Celestia, and everything would be sorted out. Maybe we’d have to do some traveling, for like a month,” Fluttershy said. “We helped build that house for Dr. Whooves and he skipped town before we finished. Everyone was so mad.”

“I remember that,” Aureole chuckled. “Aloe and Lotus were there then, they were pissed. And then they left too. How weird that all was.”

“Flying to Manehattan.”

“Landing in Manehattan. The bridge, remember that? And dumb, stubborn Octavia.”

“That’s right! She hurt herself and didn’t tell us. Oh, I could’ve kicked her,” Fluttershy said. “I think Manehattan was about when we started to realize.”

“That sounds accurate.” They turned from the path and pushed through a line of shrubs to the pond, and there sat again, putting down their saddlebags and watching the water ripple with the wind and with the gentle touch of life.

“Remember the coast?” Fluttershy asked. “We got to see the cloud factory, that was really neat.”

“That was pretty cool,” Aureole said. “The rest of the coast was awful, but that part was nice.”

“You—when Twilight dispelled that illusion of Discord. Do you… um, how… did we tell you about that?”

Aureole laughed. “I didn’t hear about that. What happened?”

Blushing at her mistaken phrasing, Fluttershy explained what Aureole remembered well. “She was a great pony,” she concluded. “Every time we fought with Discord, she would take the lead. It was second nature to her. Um, I always thought that was amazing.”

“She sounds like something else,” Aureole said softly, willing her voice not to catch. “I hope I can emulate her.”

“I believe in you.” Aureole supposed she should look over and acknowledge the warm smile she knew Fluttershy would be wearing, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Her chest was tight when they started uphill, and before long, they were crossing the tiny, stone bridge immediately south of town. No one had their lights on save for the hospital, and by that she could make out the schoolhouse and the library on one side, the dark sea of denuded branches in the orchard opposite. Between those the pair walked the hoofpath and stopped at an intersection.

Six hundred seventy-nine days ago, and at about the same time of night, they had been summoned to Canterlot on urgent business. Aureole remembered the feeling of nervous curiosity when she read Celestia’s curt letter, running into the streets while Spike set up her hot air balloon, waking her friends and explaining the same thing over and over, that she didn’t know what was wrong but they were needed. Thatched roofs diminishing and Spike waving goodbye, sleep rubbed out of eyes. That warm, spring night when one page turned over and they were given new lives. Not the wisest of them could have prepared.

“You can stay with me if you want,” Fluttershy said. “Or if anyone else wants you to stay over, I won’t be offended.”

Aureole glanced at her. “Yours is fine. It’s just weird.”

“I know.” She trotted past toward the middle of town.

“Your cottage is the other way, Fluttershy.”

“We’re getting everyone together.” No argument in her voice. “We agreed before Luna got you, we wanted to meet you, no matter the time.”

“Oh. Well…” She followed Fluttershy, heart warming a touch. They got Versus first, her stumpy house in the middle of the field west of the town square, tapping her bedroom window so as not to wake her roommate. Her mauve face flashed up angrily but brightened when she saw who it was, and she climbed through the window and flopped into a bare rectangle of soil where, come spring, she would attempt a patch of sunflowers. The three mares chatted softly and strolled to Rarity’s, north along one of the wider roads, past a small sign that Rarity had made herself: “here is where Carousel Boutique The First dove off the edge of the world, don’t forget!” Rarity was alert when she answered the door, and she ducked inside to turn off her bedside lamp before joining them to walk for near a half hour before finding Sunlit Gables, who had not yet built a proper home in the clouds, and who Fluttershy found drifting over the former site of Ponyville’s windmill on the south side of town. Applejack was last, the only one Aureole did not want to see.

Limestone Pie got to the door first and looked at them incuriously before Applejack came and dismissed her. She looked Aureole up and down and said, “Good to see ya.”

“And you,” Aureole said. They crossed the orchard and the rolling field to Fluttershy’s and crowded into the living room, Applejack hooking herself into the lights and playing with them until finding a brightness level she liked, Fluttershy putting on a kettle of tea and Gables rooting around her mini fridge.

“Welcome home, dear,” Rarity said, touching Aureole’s shoulder. “How are you?” The solemn effect was lessened somewhat when she accepted a bottle of cherry soda and snapped it open, popping her lips around it quickly to catch the fizz.

They stayed in the cottage until midmorning, talking about everything, drinking soda and tea and coffee when Applejack hiked back to the farm and got her machine. Aureole apologized around three, and face-to-face, no one could throw it back at her, despite the suspicious perfection of her timing. The apologies went around and spoken forgiveness flowed, the mood became jolly and then serious again, and the dark, intimate hours moved without interruption or emergency; Aureole did not have to worry about someone appearing at the door, or suddenly realizing a flaw in her latest plan and rushing off to research something obscure. Her magic rested, she was under no enchantments and not burdened by any self-analyzing information. Nothing relied on her anymore, and she was herself at last, mortal flesh and blood on Fluttershy’s wooly carpet, weeping here and laughing there, remembering and praising, triumphant and safe.

-three months later-

Upstairs in the failing afternoon light, Celestia contemplated her own ageless reflection in the window that spanned the room’s perimeter. Her untoward reaction on the mountainside had put fear into her, calling into question what else might incite such a destructive response. It reminded her of Discord’s dream, the heedless outflow of magic and the shame that followed.

Luna appeared in the reflection and waited for Celestia to turn around. “You shouldn’t torture yourself up here.”

“I’m not. I’m not, sister. What’s done is done. I’ve moved on.”

“You’ve been moping since the funeral.” She crossed the empty office and melted through the glass, and Celestia joined her, flying alongside Luna into pink and orange clouds, up into the sheer sky until the palace was an ornamental candle on the mountain, until the air was thin and ice formed on their fur and wingtips. Such flights always cheered Celestia up; sometimes she and Luna would race to the atmosphere’s outer limit, see who could make a bigger fire tail upon reentry, or sometimes they would hang over the world and bask in its enormity.

“I wish I hadn’t crushed Twilight,” Celestia said, resting on a cushion of her own magic.

“There will be another sooner or later,” Luna returned. “Why did you feel so strongly for her?”

“I think she genuinely had a shot at divinity. But…” Celestia looked askance at her sister. “I didn’t like the path she was choosing, so I intervened.” Luna didn’t look away, and Celestia eventually said, “She slighted me and I clamped down on her in anger. I know, it’s foolish. I let her get to me.”

“She wouldn’t have done anything to you.”

“In time I think she would have. But, as I said, what’s done is done. The new ones are here, but it doesn’t look like we’ll need them anytime soon.” She slid back into the air and the two princesses flew in silence, Luna circling the sky over to nighttime mid-flight somewhere over the Everfree Forest.

Octavia had been putting it off since landing in Appleloosa, but she was finally out of excuses. She lived with another Datura, the two of them working on logistics for the smattering of operatives in town. Hers was no glamorous job: she purchased train tickets, set up lodging, contacted professionals and covered fees, figured out schedules and maps, anything to streamline other Daturas’ jobs. In the western town, she was told that nothing became too complicated, that there were only so many ponies to work with, only so much red tape.

It suited her perfectly, and she lived in her pink and white house with ugly magenta columns under the pretense of retirement, the musician who had flashed in the pan and then retreated to solitude. Sometimes she would play piano at the saloon, but otherwise, she did not touch her given talent. When asked, which she was frequently, she would reply that she possessed technical skill but no creativity, and that was usually sufficient. More completely, the truth was that her music was one of many pieces she had left behind, one of many fragments of an old, diseased character she had let go into the depths of the Equestrian wilderness.

In the middle of the afternoon near the end of May, when flowers had appeared once more on dark graves and the sky became sere, limitless blue, she went alone to the Appleloosa cemetery and walked among the headstones, where she eventually found Trixie, and there she crouched and scratched a hoof through the dry earth.

Doubt and sorrow had made it easy to prolong checking, but to see her there at last, Octavia had no tears to shed. Trixie, too, was part of that old life, consigned to dust and blown away. They had been in Hoofington when the news came, and it was then that Rainbow took it worse than them all, but when the city was behind them and Octavia had bottled the worst of herself once more, Trixie had gone in with it. She became a memory to pull out whenever Octavia was feeling sorry for herself or a name to invoke when she wanted to pity her youth.

From what she understood, Trixie had not been long in town before passing away, but her headstone suggested otherwise. It brought a smile to Octavia’s face, thinking that her old friend had left such an impression on ponies in so short a time: dark and light granite marbled together, a rough and asymmetrical top and the bold image of a prancing deer cut into the stone, bob tail with slits of fur texture, tiny eyes sharp and wild, the shape of a forest behind as though the deer were escaping the name and dates chiseled into the trees’ uniform mass.

She bowed her head and smelled the ground, then lay down with her face in the headstone’s shadow. “Good,” she thought simply, and it was good; she had friends in town, time to herself, a therapist whose advice she was coming to trust, and steady work. Seeing Trixie’s grave stirred her melancholy only a little, for the wound had closed long ago. She fell asleep in the hot sun and then woke up with a snort a few hours later, face dirty and sticky with sweat, ants itching in her fur. She rose and shook herself and looked to town, then to Trixie, then to town again; and bidding her goodbye thus with a halfhearted salute and a yawn, Octavia returned to the living.

Colgate’s work took place in the night most often, or the very early morning. She was one of the Daturas that Octavia supported, her job to go wherever her superior, the drawling, pipe smoking mare who ran the hardware store, sent her, investigating magical curiosities. Much of her work was not in the town itself, but out in the vast desert surrounding it.

She took the midnight train with a couple other ponies who had gotten on earlier and were still there when she got off, rolling north into the huge and silent land. The stallion at the station window wished her a good evening as she dragged her bag over and fished through it for the paper she was to show him, which he examined for a minute before telling her to head up the tracks for about a mile and turn east when she saw the jacarandas. She thanked him and hopped onto the railroad ties, inhaling the diesel smell and the dust.

Appleloosa had seemed a reluctant home at first, but once she had her house and bank account set up, things fell into place. Her new coworkers had her and Octavia over for tea and jam cake, and after that, a tour of the town; she saw the sheriff’s office, the tobacco store, the farms, the train stations, the monument to the Elements, the chapel. Octavia had asked whether someone named Reverend Green was in town, and the Datura told her that he had not been there for a very long time.

Colgate could walk across Appleloosa in a couple hours and circle it in a day, and this more than the hospitality of its citizens eased her anxious mind. She might join a pair of orchard workers for a picnic on the flat rock overlooking a set of southward-bending tracks, but for the casual laughter and easy lounging, collard greens and zucchini fritters and candied pear from the sweet shop down the road, the sprig of hay clenched in his teeth or the straw hat his friend couldn’t keep from sliding down over his eyes, the frayed overalls and the smell of fresh earth and fertilizer, Colgate took comfort most from simply being able to see everything in a look or two. Of underground Datura bunkers, she was certain there were a few, and she knew there would always be someone in Canterlot who could look at her on a whim, but Appleloosa nonetheless felt safer. She was on the western edge of civilization, a couple days’ train ride from anything: the battered cliffs and hills to the north, where the coast crumbled into serried fjords and inlets; Manehattan to the east, and its prized passage north which was finally coming alive once more with trade ships from The Hive; and faceless desert to the south and the west, with Snowdrift eventually at the end of one and the griffon lands eventually at the other.

From the tracks Colgate could see a row of sheds huddled on a down-sloping canal shoulder, dry grass pushed up at their bases and light as the wind that had amassed it. She had been told that they were abandoned, but Colgate went to them anyway, twenty minutes from the tracks, twenty minutes just her and the thorny weeds and the brittlebush. When she reached the first shed and poked her head through the opening, resting one hoof against the corrugated metal wall, she let out a contented sigh.

There was nothing to see but the opening on the other side, through that the shape of a collapsed lean-to and a rusted metal barrel. She kicked the dead grass and a floor of leftover hay, walked through the shed, and circled back to her train tracks, north to her night’s labor.

Cousin Braeburn had been busy while the Elements were out and about, and much to Big Mac’s surprise, was able to offer him a job the same day he arrived. Two jobs, in fact: Big Mac could work the apple orchards if he wanted, or he could work on one of the trains that had come under his cousin’s management. “Might as well try somethin’ new,” he said, shaking Braeburn’s hoof.

He started with a team of brakeponies and learned how to throw switches, couple and uncouple cars, and work the hoof brakes, riding the tar black Iron Thunder from the heat and dust of Appleloosa all the way down through desert and pine forest to Snowdrift with swaying loads of apples and lumber. He helped unload giant palettes in the snow, made sure the appropriate train cars were disconnected and switched for new ones, checked car identification numbers on a clipboard. It was in the middle of February when he made his first trip, when Snowdrift was beset with a blizzard; the engineer joked and told him he was going to freeze his teeth off, and Big Mac laughed and said he wasn’t scared of the cold.

Though he missed his friends and enjoyed talking with them through his sigil, he came also to appreciate the time on the train with the other brakeponies. They had known him by reputation, of course, but it hadn’t taken long for that to wear off, for him to become a simple worker in their eyes. He liked his uniform of black and white striped trousers and shirt, with the maroon overcoat and gray ushanka when they got into the southern weather; he liked the constant noise of the locomotive, not at all similar to the airship; he liked the changing views and being able to stand at the caboose and lean out to watch mountains and villages go by with the wind in his mane, his thick, circular goggles sticking to his face and leaving racoon rings around his eyes when he took them off; he enjoyed learning train slang and the talk of mechanical things, and also the company of other ponies for whom wandering had become a way of life. It was nice to get a list of what they were hauling to Snowdrift on the first of every month and to know that he would soon be taking off again. Pleasant anticipation would build in him and show in his voice, which Versus pointed out one evening, laughing with him. She always told him to give her old friends her greetings when he went south, though he never had the time to go off and find them.

For Vinyl it was a scary night not long after the royal funeral, when she tried to take the garbage out and fell down her apartment stairs. It was ten-thirty and no one saw her tumble and crawl back up, head spinning and knees raw, a tooth chipped and throbbing weirdly with a swollen, bleeding tongue. She got herself a glass of tap water and tried to eat some chips to sober up, the salt burning her wounds, and there she fell asleep on the couch to wake up ten hours later with a mouth dry and tacky with blood, eyes gummy, mane bent and caught in her goggles’ straps, and muscles tight and cramped. She fell to the floor and drank the water she had poured the night before, then threw up, then drank more water and threw up again.

Colgate and Octavia were still in town at that time, but she could not face them, and so did what she considered the next best thing: she took a gulp of whiskey to steady her nerves and poured the rest out, then the wine, then the imported gin that she had received as a gift from the princess—over the sink she stood, smelling juniper and mint vapors rising from the drain, and in weakness bent to lick the stainless steel after the bottle was empty.

The rest of that day she spent on the couch attempting to write music in her notebook, mind too foggy with anger and self-reproach. How, she asked herself, had she backslid so badly? She blamed Twilight for most of the day, but when night fell and she had thrown her notebook across the room in powerless rage, she knew there was only one culprit. She called up her producer to let him know she would be taking time off, then called a drinking buddy and asked for a ride to the hospital.

By May, she was able to celebrate a whole month sober, which did not feel like much of an accomplishment to her, not when she still battled temptation every day. In that time she had faced Twilight and Rainbow’s deaths and the disgrace of not making their funeral, but was left with the pent up frustration. Her counselor told her there was nothing wrong with admitting she didn’t like someone, but that didn’t help either; she felt manipulated and used up, like she had been part of someone’s greater plan the whole time, and those feelings that she could not drink away became a part of her music instead, which did help.

A couple of the Elements had reached out to her while she was starting rehab, and one afternoon she sat down and looked their letters over, debating whether to reply. Recalling her time with them brought more bitterness than joy, shame that she had come so far only to fail and shame for her Element, the beetle-black quaver that Celestia had destroyed in a disappointingly tame burst of molten magic.

However, after an hour of staring at the letters, Vinyl decided that the Elements were still her friends, and at the very least she owed them an explanation and an apology for her silence. She put the quill to the paper and scratched out her salutation, and her fur was warm in the sun, and a happy song played on the radio in the corner.

Pinkie ran with her floral-patterned apron covered in flour and powdered sugar to the throne room, where Chrysalis showed her the official letter stating that she was welcome to return to Equestria immediately. When Pinkie read and reread it, her only response was a milquetoast “huh.”

“I shall prepare an airship for you, pink one, and assign my best captain to escort you home. I so would go myself, but I do not think your princesses would appreciate me visiting their waters so soon after our agreement.”

Pinkie read the letter a third time, asking herself what was in Equestria for her. No friends, no family, no prospects, but in The Hive, she had gotten a job in the queen’s kitchen. She had made friends with a team of drones there and was slowly learning their language, though she lacked the physical attributes required to speak it; and most of all, she was, quite simply, happy.

She thought back, already knowing what she would tell the queen who waited patiently for a response, and affirmed to herself that her months in The Hive had been the best in recent memory. Free from the diplomats and their hotel, she was able to fall in love with the colorful culture, the food and the music, the clothing that seemed to breathe with life in every movement, the heat and the smell of flowers, the ocean that she could see from a balcony on the volcano’s rim and the blood red sunsets that came with it.

“Do I have to go back?” she asked.

Chrysalis clicked in thought. “I would imagine the ultimate choice is yours.”

“If it’s all the same to everyone, I think I’d like to stay here. Oh! That is, if you’ll have me, your highness.”

“I will,” Chrysalis said, hiding her pleasure at the idea. Pinkie had fit into the royal kitchen perfectly, showing the drones how to make native Equestrian desserts and learning the changelings’; and what was more, her infectious personality could be felt all throughout the palace. At last, Chrysalis saw why Celestia had seen fit to send Pinkie up to them, for once she was feeling herself again, the kitchens rang with song and the desserts were extra delicious, not to mention the wellspring of positive emotions for them to feed on.

“Mmm, yup, I think I’ll just stay with you all,” Pinkie giggled. “Little Pinkie in The Hive! Who’d’ve thunk? Do I need to sign anything to let ‘em know not to expect me?”

Rarity was in one of the nicer sections of Lower Canterlot as a celebrity judge on Baker’s Dozen, a popular competition show. For days she sampled sweets and tried to make intelligent commentary with the other, actually qualified, judges, and she got to reveal who had been eliminated a few times, feeling terrible when one mare cried.

She was heading back to her hotel after a tiring day of filming when a familiar voice called her name from across the street. Lotus was there, waving and wearing a smile that Rarity did not trust, but pretended to as she jaywalked over to meet her. Lotus simpered and bowed and asked Rarity to come with her, if she was free, to catch up, and Rarity agreed to after a moment of indecision. The two caught a cab to a different hotel, picked up Aloe, and then went a quarter of the way up the mountain to a teahouse between the road’s shoulder and the dense forest.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here,” Rarity said when they were seated at their small, low table. Through a circular window she could see the shiny edge of Celestia’s crater, glass that had been eroded to razor sharpness at the fringes, strictly off limits to the public.

“It’s my treat today,” Lotus said.

Rarity tried to hide her misgiving, thanking her and looking intently at the menu.

“I’ve been thinking about our time in Snowdrift, Rarity; it’s been bothering me lately. I don’t feel we separated on very good terms.”

“Oh, hm. Whatever do you mean?”

“I’ve been allowed to let my cloud lie dormant again,” Lotus said, “for the first time since The Crumbling. I feel like a new mare, frankly, like I’ve come up for air after years underwater.”

“And me too,” Aloe said, patting Lotus on the shoulder. “You spent some time with Twilight, you know how a cloud weighs on the spirit. My condolences, by the way.”

Rarity examined the small teacup on its saucer, the white porcelain with a blue crane taking flight on one side, on the other a tree with roots spiraling outwards. “I’m afraid I wasn’t witness to much cloud activity, myself. I heard things, though.”

“Regardless, I apologize,” Lotus said. “For being short with everyone, particularly you.” She sighed. “Yes, that’s bothered me for some time now. I genuinely valued your friendship, Rarity, when I had it.”

The waiter came and served their teas, and everyone sipped slowly and politely, and Aloe first broke the silence to talk about hers. Lotus joined in, then Rarity, stiff but warming as their cups were refilled, the scents of hibiscus and dandelion and chamomile unfolding, a guslar’s song muffled in a private room, golden sunset behind trees. There was not much to forgive, when she looked back on it, just some rudeness—“And living a lie, well, now I know what it’s like,” she thought.

They talked about other teas they had had, and the twins said they planned to return to Ponyville and reopen the spa sometime in the summer, and Rarity told them about the managers it had passed through in their absence. They laughed and joked about the industry, the foibles of Limestone and Cloudchaser, one who liked to eat the cucumber slices when they were removed from a pony’s face, one who breathed strangely loudly when giving massages, the erratic hours and inconsistent prices.

They didn’t circle back to Lotus’ apology, but it did not seem to Rarity that she needed to announce her forgiveness when they left the teahouse, laughing and planning their next outing.

Fluttershy ventured into the Everfree Forest from time to time to clear her head and realign her soul, Applejack’s denunciation of her cruelty having shaken her more permanently than it had at first seemed. She would walk into the trees with only the most meager of excuses and goodbyes, no promise of when she would be back, and try to find someplace unfamiliar.

Being close to nature gave her the strength to face her friends, something that occasionally became difficult. She took succor from the gnarled trees, loamy ground, clutching roots, leaves that swirled and birds that chattered, reeds growing at water’s edge, pollen in the air that turned to spun gold in the mornings and evenings. When night came, she would scratch a trough in the ground and curl up for sleep, never worried about beasts or wild magic, though she had encountered and run from both.

She focused on the smallest things she could find, an ant’s labor with a seed or the texture of a rock in her hooves, her mind clearing in those times. To watch a dragonfly sun its wings on a cattail or spot an ibis through a clearing, her ego would wash away temporarily, and when it came back, she could examine herself. Then, when the same feeling that had sent her into the forest told her to leave, she would clear whatever evidence of herself she could find and hike back to Ponyville. She would go to her cottage and thank the pony who watched her animals, pay him and send him on his way, and then she would clean up before visiting whoever was free at the moment.

That was the best part of going into the forest, coming back to friends who were happy to see her. Everyone knew, generally, why Fluttershy disappeared, and they knew not to ask her too much about it, usually a casual “how was it?” over food, and this Fluttershy was happy to oblige with an equally casual “just fine.” No more was asked and no more was offered.

Versus tallied her cards, her score inching closer to losing her the game and thirty bits, and tried to figure out her mistake. She and three other players—of a loose group of nine—were gathered in Allie Way’s house, which was across the road from Versus’, at the dining room table. In the living room, placed prominently, Versus could see her bowling trophies, over them a picture of Allie and her teammates posed around a giant, novelty bowling pin, grinning madly with medals around their necks.

Allie reminded Versus a little of her sister, who had flown from Manehattan for a week after the funeral. The first few days were nice, but a week was too long for both of them, neither sister having gone to any particular effort to keep in touch in their adult lives. It was nice to be near someone similar but absent the familial baggage, and it seemed that Allie liked Versus just as well. They had gotten along from the first, and when Allie invited Versus to join their game nights, she was happy to oblige.

Berry Punch and Carrot Top were the others, colorful mares who had told Versus everything she could possibly want to know about Ponyville in exchange for everything Versus could say about Snowdrift. She was amazed to discover that most folks in Ponyville thought of Snowdrift as a cursed place, and was happy to dispel the myth.

“They say monsters come out of the gateway there,” Carrot Top had said once, eyes questioning. “Huh?”

“Once or twice,” Versus had replied. “I never got to see any, unfortunately. They’ve got ponies who know how to deal with that down there.”

“Must be a tough town. Can you imagine, Allie?”

“Tough indeed,” Allie had replied, feeling strange, knowing Versus was aware of the Datura and wondering whether there was anything to telling her that she was one of them.

On that beautiful spring day, though, such concerns were far from her mind. The mood was light and the snacks were plentiful, and Berry had brought a bottle of elderberry wine from Canterlot, which she promised was much better than what its tacky label suggested. “Twilight Mysteries,” it was called, the words “forbidden indulgence” in florid cursive underneath Twilight Sparkle’s face, half in shadow with a knowing, almost unkind gleam in its eye. When they finally opened it, Berry proposed a toast to Twilight’s memory.

“You knew her only a little bit, Vee?” Carrot Top asked.

“Heh, that’s debatable,” Versus said. “Her friends told me she was different before I found ‘em. Guess I’ll never know.”

“She was always nice when I interacted with her.”

“Do you want me to shuffle, Carrot?” Allie asked, taking the cards from Carrot Top’s fumbling hooves.

Even her voice was similar, Versus thought. “Guess family’s where you find it.” She had been nervous about leaving Snowdrift up to the point of landing in Ponyville, and then she had met her friends and found that there were several others just like them in town. Ponyville was a place of simple pleasures and little victories, where a new face was about as exciting as it got and where she could spend all day walking from one end of town to the other, stopping to talk with pretty much anyone.

Doubt came and went for months after the lightning strike, and Applejack always thought that she had arrived at her true conclusion, and every time she would decide she was wrong. One of Princess Luna’s questions refused answering, constantly popping up and nettling her: “Is it right for you to deny her that for your peace of mind?” Twilight’s death and Aureole’s life, a terrible tragedy but orchestrated for very good reasons—right?

Her council to the grief-stricken citizens of Ponyville was that life went on and it was silly to waste it on undue sadness, no matter how dear the loss may feel in the moment. She kept her advice at that level, not deep and not particularly helpful for those who had been more seriously affected, those who thought of Twilight as a distant friend or a role model. For them, Applejack was ashamed with herself, and she wondered what she had done to deserve her burden, which she would contemplate out in the fields. Like Big Mac before her, she kept her worries and doubts inside, only feeling free to explore them in the solitude of the outdoors.

What she deserved, what anyone deserved, had nothing to do with it, she kept telling herself. What was done was done, and her personal goodness or badness would not have changed the facts a whit: the solid reality was that someone she used to call her best friend had committed a horrible act and then come back home better off for it.

In those times of self-doubt, though, Applejack could not bring herself to hate Aureole. She had wanted to confront her when she got back, right outside the farmhouse without even the chance for a welcome hug; she had wanted to poke the new pony right in the chest and announce that she did not, and would not, and should not, forgive her. Yet she was not sure, and the longer she went without saying anything, the more time she spent in the blustery orchard with the fresh ground underneath her and the smell of flowers in the air, and the drone of bees, and the stiff resistance of the cart, and the slither of a garden hose through her wet hooves, and the musty cellar smell, and the sunlight that made their jams and jellies glow from within, and the life that persisted in the farmhouse in the face of heartbreak both national and personal, she simply could not tap into the righteous anger that had once come like water through a faucet.

Whether Applejack liked it or not, the land was healing her, and the time came that when she doubted her old reaction, she did not fight it, but searched her heart for forgiveness and for faith in her friend’s goodness, goodness she knew still existed but had been bruised and hidden away; and forgiveness crept closer each time, pushing back bitter feelings and high-flown questions of justice and divine right.

“Seems to me,” she told Versus, who knew more than anyone else how Applejack had felt through it all, “Ah’m bein’ humbled by my own self. Ah can accept that, but Ah don’t have to like it.”

Building her house from cast off pieces of cloud and furnishing it with locally-purchased Ponyville goods was, for Sunlit Gables, the missing piece that allowed her to breathe easy. She went back to her roots of smashing clouds together and fighting the wind to keep her project where she wanted, long hours toiling with the floor and walls, trying to hammer corners into shape and sanding edges, molding baseboards on her knees with an emery board in her mouth. She borrowed a shovel from Applejack to dig windows out of the walls and pressed the displaced cloud material into the shape of a decorative chimney.

Then when her royal stipend started up and she could spend more liberally, she took pleasure in procuring her dishware, furniture, decorations, sheets, clothing, knick-knacks. Fluttershy would visit from time to time, but she was the only one Gables was comfortable admitting into her home before it was finished, and they would spend all afternoon pounding cupboards into the walls and stacking them with plastic plates and bowls, then go down for dinner with the others.

Sometimes when they were gathered, Gables would become quiet and withdrawn, and she knew they saw it. Invisible threads of tension still existed between some of them, and though Gables loved her friends, there was nothing quite like sinking into a downy bed at the end of a long day, alone.

Aureole got a house on the edge of town, which she shared with no one, and secured a job with the mayor’s office a month later. Faced at last with nothing to do but live, with no responsibility but that to herself, she feared at first that she would drift and disappear into the countryside one day. She would wake up from a nightmare about Celestia bearing down on her, as big as an office building and crackling with flame, and go shaking to the door to look out at the meadow and bounding stream beyond, the faint mountains so far away, thinking with fear and anger that it all had been in her grasp, once.

But those times faded, and with the spring, as her friends gradually found their places, Aureole found hers. It was no longer her mantle to worry about problems that affected the entire country, but she could solve disputes in town, direct teams of contractors for infrastructure repairs, and put in her opinion on matters of policy.

Sometimes she visited the library, but did not want to lead anyone to compare her to Twilight Sparkle. Aureole studied magic in private, and in public, science; her work in New Trottingham had given her a taste for electricity and machines, which the citizens of Ponyville discovered soon enough.

On a windy Sunday night, Aureole fell asleep reading and woke up to the sound of thunder in the far distance. She lit a candle and peered through her window, setting aside the book she left on the blanket, and listened to the rain for a minute, black shadow on the fields, whispering, cold and pure. She went to the back door to feel the cold mist on her fur, watching the world.

She returned to bed after the storm, looked out the window to see the pale blue coming of dawn, and got up again, walking in slippers and a thin robe out into the wet field. The grass was pale gray under her hooves, and, contemplating her day, Aureole sat and watched the light break through tatters of cloud.

Good morning.

Suddenly Summoned

The Center is Missing

“That was too close.”

“Everything’s too close these days.”

–two pegasi

Act One

Bang

All things premeditated when Discord is king!

Chapter One

Suddenly Summoned

Canterlot was split. At the base of the mountain, surrounding it like a wreath, was the majority of the city: the apartments, the grocery stores, the libraries and hospitals. Lower Canterlot. Perched on the mountain’s edge was the artificial promontory on which was built Canterlot Palace and the small collection of high-class mansions, private businesses, and museums. Greater Canterlot. The seat of the diarchy.

On the mountain’s slopes, just a mile from the palace walls, a sole equine figure slowly trotted, pulling a ramshackle cart along with it. He was cloaked, hiding his body from the cold, still, nighttime air. He carried no light; the moon was waxing enough by which to half-see the world. The cart’s wheels creaked and stuck in an occasional imperfection in the ground, but there was no one to notice. The figure stopped on a grassy hillock just on the banks of a tiny pond and surveyed the landscape. Magic was in the air, and it was his.

He smiled as he removed the tarpaulin from the cart’s back, revealing a pile of assorted fireworks, each gaudily painted with sparkling spirals and arabesques. With a deft thought—as simple as recalling a fresh memory—all became shiningly manifest around him: the magical lines and symbols that flowed across the ground and all around the palace, the colossal sigil that had taken months of careful surreptitiousness to lay, all glowing a vibrant, eager crimson. He had to hurry; the princesses would be alerted to his designs within the minute. He wasted no time in activating the spell he had set before.

* * * * * *

The moon was high and calm over the spring night, and the majority of Ponyville was asleep. The few windows that were still lit had their curtains drawn, subduing the otherwise bold light. There was no sound, no activity.

Spike lay safe and snug in his basket, dreaming of Rarity. A small smile was fixed on his face like a kiss as he lived his fantasy. He occasionally turned over or mumbled something in response to her.

He had been helping Twilight put some books away when Rarity had arrived, knocking in her usual, polite way. He answered the door, somehow already knowing who it would be; still, her appearance was enough to set his heart into joyful little flutters.

“Uh, hi Rarity.” He idly reached up to scratch his head, trying to keep his composure. Twilight had not come down yet, though the sounds from upstairs had fallen curiously quiet; he would notice it in memory only. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if you’d like to take a walk with me,” she said nonchalantly. His heart leapt, and his claws tightened on the doorframe in an effort to keep himself under control.

“Oh, uh, y-yeah, sure.” He looked around nervously. “I-if you want to. Uh, let me just ask Twilight, and I’ll, uh, be right there.”

He made to turn back into the library, and then, without transition, he was walking with Rarity near the gardens on the west side of town. His heart was pounding still, harder than before, and he was afraid that with each whu-whump! Rarity would hear him, and chide him for his childish anxiety. It was just a pleasant stroll among friends, after all. He nervously brushed his spines, and, out the corner of his eye, saw her looking at him queerly. He looked back, but she turned, her own eyes fixed directly ahead. “She probably doesn’t want to be with me now,” he thought. “I’m probably making her feel weird.”

“Spike.”

His heart skipped a beat, and in the best calm voice he could muster, he responded. “Yes, Rarity?”

“Are you all right? You seem jumpy. Is something bothering you?” He wanted to deny her, but said nothing, favoring instead a casual “I dunno” shrug. “It’s just, I’ve known you for a while now,” she began, “and I’ve always thought of you as—”

Nothing. He saw only the dark brown, almost black arch of the wooden roof above him, and his ears rang with the phrase Rarity had spoken to him. He tried to hold on to her words, but his thoughts were cut short; his flame glands were coming to life, acrid and burning. A letter was coming. He was seized by a moment of irrational panic, but it slipped off to be replaced with annoyance. Why did Celestia see fit to wake him in the middle of the night? He belched up the parchment and read it himself, not wanting to wake Twilight in case it was some sort of accident—it wouldn’t be the first time. As he read the single, hastily scrawled line, his heart sank and his pulse quickened.

“Twilight! Twilight, wake up!” he urged, prodding her side with a claw.

She stirred and looked at him, her eyes bleary. “Spike, what is it?” There was no anger in her voice for being woken up, only concern. He showed her the letter wordlessly.

“Twilight, I need you and your friends here immediately. Immediately. Celestia.”

She knit her brow, perplexed. “Did you get this just now?” Spike nodded as she reread it, her frown deepening. “Well… but…” She got out of bed and went downstairs, not quite running; her face was dazed.

“What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know, but it’s obviously important. Princess Celestia isn’t usually that brief in her letters, and she never sends them at night.” The front room light flicked on, and she stopped to think for a moment as Spike entered behind her. Her eyes were still murky from sleep. “Spike, get the balloon ready. As fast as you can.”

“Yes ma’am!” He made a smart salute, and she opened the front door.

“I’ll be back.” She ran outside without looking back, leaving Spike to stare after her uncertainly. What happened? Just three or four minutes ago, he was dreaming happily, and now he was alone in the lit library. Weighty dread was beginning to settle onto his mind, and he went down to the basement to start the laborious task of dragging the balloon up and out onto the yard.

Twilight jogged down the chilly street toward Sugarcube Corner. She was trying not to let panic get the best of her, but no matter what she thought, what set of rationalizations she came up with to explain the odd hour and brevity of the letter, she could only reach one nonspecific conclusion: something was very wrong in Canterlot.

She pounded on the bakery door, calling Pinkie’s name as loudly as she dared. She quickly heard hoofsteps inside, and the door swung unceremoniously open, revealing a perky, but clearly tired, Pinkie. Her expression was quizzical.

“Hey Twilight! What’s going on? It’s still nighttime.”

“Pinkie, I just got a letter from Princess Celestia. It says we need to be in Canterlot immediately.”

“Immediately?”

“She stressed that. Immediately.”

“But—”

“No time! Get whatever you need and follow me!” She turned and headed back down the street, and Pinkie, recognizing the urgency in her voice, followed, not bothering to lock the door. She caught up quickly, and Twilight didn’t even look at her as she spoke: “Pinkie, I need you to go wake up Rarity and bring her to Fluttershy’s cottage; that’s where I’ll be waiting for you. Okay?”

“Okey-dokey-lokey!” Pinkie split from her and dashed off towards the boutique, a spring still in her step. Twilight watched her for a moment, to be sure that she didn’t get distracted, and continued toward the edge of the town, where Fluttershy lived, just outside the Everfree Forest.

She knocked on the door, taking a moment to catch her breath, and then called out, not bothering to keep her voice down in the clearing. “Fluttershy! Fluttershy, come out!” The lights winked on inside, and soon, but more slowly than Pinkie, Fluttershy cracked the door open to peer outside.

“Oh, Twilight. What’s—”

“There’s no time. I just got a letter from Princess Celestia, saying she needs us in Canterlot right now.”

“W-what?”

“Celestia, Canterlot, right now.”

“Oh, um, right now?”

“Yes, right now!” Her eyes widened desperately, and she took a moment to calm down. She spoke clearly and deliberately. “I need you to go get Rainbow Dash and bring her here, okay? Rarity and Pinkie Pie should be here by the time you get back.”

“Right now?”

“Right now! Come on, Fluttershy, we can’t waste any time.”

“Oh, um, sorry, it’s just—”

“Go!”

“Oh,” Fluttershy winced, and then took off. Twilight watched her vanish into the dark, cloudless air, hoping that Rainbow’s cloud house hadn’t drifted too far from where it usually floated.

As she stood, her heart pounding, she tried to collect itself. Her mind, steeped in panic and unrest, babbled relentlessly at possible scenarios calling for her immediate arrival. Perhaps Luna was revolting again. Perhaps Celestia was injured and needed help. Perhaps, she told herself unbelievingly, it was a hyper-realistic dream, and she would wake up soon to her warm bed and fibrillating heart.

But no, this was too real even for one of those dreams; the cold, damper-than-it-looked grass on her hooves proved that. The stars, and their faded shine in the navy blue night proved that. The cutting, cool air in her panting lungs and throat proved that.

“At least Pinkie is quick,” she thought. She looked northeast, where Canterlot, just forty miles away, perched on its mountainside like a sculpted, turreted clamshell. Her eyes had adjusted to the night, and she could see dark streams of smoke hazing around the mountain’s midpoint, shrouding the palace. Her first thought, immediately, like a heavy bolt through her stomach, was that there was a fire, but she saw no such sign.

Just then, a small, brilliant, beautiful flash of light bloomed up above the greater city walls: a firework. It was followed by a pair more, blue and red, and more smoke.

“What if it’s just a celebration?” she thought, but shook her head. That left no reason for the urgency in Celestia’s letter. But, then, why fireworks? “I suppose I’ll see what’s going on in a couple hours.”

She let herself be distracted, watching the smoke slowly drift. In time, she noticed something odd; it wasn’t dissipating. It flowed along the mountainside in waves, swirling together over the city edges, but never rising away and never clearing. Magic smoke, perhaps? But to what end?

“Twilight, what in Celestia’s name is going on?” Rarity’s insistent voice cut off Twilight’s thoughts, and she turned to her friends.

“I don’t know. Princess Celestia sent me a letter maybe twenty minutes ago, saying we need to be in Canterlot immediately.” She suspected Pinkie had already explained this, but didn’t begrudge Rarity for asking again.

“Where are the others?” Pinkie asked.

“Fluttershy is finding Rainbow Dash,” Twilight said, “and I’m going to have Rainbow round up Applejack and bring her over to us. It’s too far to walk, and Canterlot’s in the opposite direction anyway.”

“Oh, but surely we’re not walking to Canterlot, are we?” Rarity said, a whine creeping into her voice.

“No no no, we’re taking the balloon. Hopefully Spike will have it set up by the time we get back.”

“Is he coming with us?” Pinkie asked.

“I don’t think so. Whatever this is, it’s serious, and I don’t want him to be in any danger.” “Or get in the way,” she thought to herself.

Rarity nodded slowly, and Pinkie looked to Canterlot.

“Look, Twilight! They’re having a party! Maybe Celestia invited us for some late night boogie-woogie!” She hopped up and down excitedly.

“I don’t think so, Pinkie.”

“What kind of princess holds a party at this hour of the night? And for that matter, what kind of lady goes to one?” Rarity asked, flipping her hair back indignantly. “I should hope I’m not sacrificing my rest for something so trivial.”

“Maybe it’s Luna that’s holding it?” Pinkie said, still holding onto the idea.

“Maybe,” Twilight agreed slowly, not wanting to pursue the issue. Pinkie was, mercifully, quiet, either respectful of the time of night or still tired herself.

“Twilight, dear, there’s something strange about those fireworks,” Rarity said.

“Hm?” Twilight knew what she would say, but didn’t feel like speaking.

“The smoke they’re producing isn’t going away. It’s just… lingering.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a party,” Pinkie said. “Who wants to go to a party if the whole town is smothered in smoke?”

“I noticed it too, Rarity,” Twilight said, ignoring Pinkie. She appreciated her friends’ poise in handling the situation, but what she needed most was a long time of quiet, to sort out her thoughts. “I get the feeling I’m not getting it any time soon,” she thought, looking into the sky, hoping for some distraction from the weight of her friends’ anxious stares. She thought she saw a dark figure in the distance, but it drew no closer.

“You know, now that I think about it,” she said, “it’s pointless for me to have you two here with me. We’re all going to meet up back at the library anyway, because that’s where the balloon is.”

“Balloon? Twilight, you didn’t say we were taking the balloon! I love balloons!” Pinkie cried, moved in to press her grinning face against Twilight’s serious one.

“It’s how we’re getting to Canterlot,” she said, moving away a little.

Rarity, catching on to Twilight’s discomfort, said, “Twilight, if you like, we can go back to the library and help Spike set it up.”

“Would you girls mind?” Her voice was graver than she had intended.

“But of course,” Rarity said.

“I love balloons! This one time—”

“Are you quite sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” Rarity asked, placing her hoof over Pinkie’s still-running mouth.

“I’ll be fine,” Twilight said, smiling warmly at Rarity’s concern. “I’m just going to wait for the others. We’ll meet you as quick as we can.”

“All right,” Rarity said simply, taking her hoof off Pinkie’s face.

“—and a whole basket of cashews! I mean, who needs that many cashews, anyway?”

“Come along, Pinkie,” Rarity said, trotting off. Pinkie followed, still talking, and they soon faded away. Twilight could hear occasional peals of Pinkie’s laughter behind buildings.

Twilight remained still, eyes trained on the sky for any sign of either pegasus. Rainbow should be fairly easy to spot, she figured; she would likely come speeding in. In the sudden stillness, her mind turned back to Canterlot. What could possibly be going on there? If there was an emergency, why were there fireworks? Perhaps, she thought, the party was a mere cover—a distraction to keep the other ponies from panicking.

She brushed a hoof impatiently against the soft grass outside Fluttershy’s cottage. None of it made sense, and in the dark of the small hours, worry was free to take any dreadful shape her traitorous mind conceived. A breeze blew, and she suddenly wished she had had the forethought to grab a scarf, like Rarity.

She was so distracted in her mix of thoughts, serious and banal, that she only noticed the streak of colors, muted by darkness, approaching with its usual alarming speed when it turned quickly and streaked towards her. She watched passively as Rainbow Dash got closer, slowed abruptly, and landed next to her, strangely careful.

“Twilight, what the hay is going on? What is this about Celestia and Canterlot and emergencies and being there immediately?”

“It’s this letter I got from Princess Celestia; it said to come to Canterlot immediately,” Twilight said shortly. She was getting tired of explaining it, and Rainbow’s sour mood didn’t help.

Rainbow groaned. “Fluttershy already said that!”

“Well, that’s all I can tell you. Princess Celestia wasn’t very detailed in her letter.”

“Ugh, why can’t it wait ‘til morning? I was really asleep when Fluttershy arrived.”

“Dash, this is an emergency,” Twilight said firmly. “We need to be there tonight.”

Rainbow groaned again and plopped down impatiently, and Twilight watched as Fluttershy alighted next to her.

“Don’t get comfortable, Rainbow. I need you to go get Applejack,” Twilight said, readying herself for her friend’s objection.

“Go get her? Like, wake her up and tell her to come here?”

“Well, um, mostly,” Twilight said. “I also need you to, eh, bring her here. Like, carry her.”

“What? What the hay, Twilight?” She sounded genuinely insulted. “Why can’t she just run?”

Twilight’s voice took on a pleading tone. “Because Sweet Apple Acres is really really far away, and Canterlot is in the opposite direction. We simply don’t have enough time!”

“Come on, Twilight!” Her eyes rolled as far back as she could get them, and she stomped a hoof petulantly.

“Rainbow, there is a crisis in Canterlot, and all you can think about is yourself?”

Rainbow let out an even more agonized, annoyed groan, and looked up at the sky for a moment, as if beseeching it. Twilight almost began pressing her again, but before she could: “Fine, I’ll go.” Then, perking up a bit, Rainbow said, “It’ll be a neat challenge.”

“I’m sure Applejack will enjoy the ride,” Fluttershy said, nervously looking away from the two arguing ponies.

“I’m sure Applejack will enjoy the ride,” Rainbow sneered. “If she can hold on.”

“Rainbow, we really don’t have time for this,” Twilight said, trying to soften her tone. “Tell her Celestia needs us all in Canterlot immediately. Emphasize that. Immediately. She’s flying with you because it’s faster.”

“Fine, fine,” Rainbow said dismissively, and then took off, her bad mood having no ill effect on her speed. Twilight and Fluttershy stood in her wake, the former nervously pawing at the ground and the latter slowly tightening her wings.

“It’s going to be a long night, Fluttershy,” Twilight said, and Fluttershy moaned in agreement.

Back at the library, Spike had managed to drag the balloon outside on his own, and had begun the lengthy process of filling it with hot air. With the sandbags already down, he had nothing to do but watch as the torch burned, endless, monotonous. It was a fun ride, but all the preparation almost made it not worth it, especially with no unicorn magic to help.

When Rarity and Pinkie showed up, asking if they could help, he only shook his head. The only part that required more than one set of hands—or hooves—was done, and now it was just the long wait for it to fill up. Rarity and Pinkie went inside, and Spike remained on the cool doorstep, watching dutifully should anything happen to halt the balloon’s progress. “Number One Assistant by day, Premier Balloon Guardian by night,” he thought to himself, puffing up a bit.

He could hear the mares’ voices through the crack under the door. Pinkie’s was loud and clear, as always, but Rarity’s was just a muffled ghost. He had hoped that she would stay outside and keep him company, but he knew better, and was too afraid to ask for it himself. If it were daytime, perhaps, but at night, and under the current, urgent circumstances, his bravado had left him.

Rainbow Dash returned with Applejack clinging to her back, forelegs clasped around her neck in a vice grip and a sour look on her face. As soon as they were on the ground, Twilight started trotting back towards the library, Fluttershy and Rainbow hovering overhead, and Applejack beside her.

“So, you wanna tell me just what’s goin’ on here, Twilight? All Rainbow said was somthin’ ‘bout an ‘emergency in Canterlot’.”

“I got a letter about forty minutes ago from Princess Celestia saying that we need to get to Canterlot immediately,” Twilight said, trying not to show her annoyance at having to repeat herself so much. “There wasn’t an explanation.”

“Sounds like the princess was in quite a hurry if that’s all she wrote ya,” Applejack said, her annoyance immediately replaced with concern.

“Yeah, and that’s what worries me the most.” She continued moving in silence for a second, and said, “Sorry I had to have Rainbow carry you like that; it’s just that we don’t have a whole lot of time, and for you to travel on hoof would have been too slow.”

“Aw, don’t worry ‘bout it, sugarcube. It ain’t the first time Ah’ve ridden on Rainbow’s back before.” She thought for a moment. “Though it is the first time Ah’ve done it so… suddenly.”

“I told her to explain; did she?”

“I explained myself perfectly fine, Twilight,” Rainbow Dash groused from overhead.

“You didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout nothin’,” Applejack said. “You just rambled somethin’ ‘bout Canterlot an’ needin’ to be there right away an’ not bein’ able to run fast enough.”

“I was half asleep!”

“Ah was completely asleep!”

“Girls! Now is not the time! We have a crisis on our hooves.”

“Ah know, Ah know. Ah just wish Rainbow here would slow down fer the rest of us sometimes.”

“Slow down? I’m the fastest pony in Equestria! You can’t ask me to just slow down; that’s like asking me to stop having wings.”

“Anyway,” Twilight said loudly, diverting their attention, “we’re almost there.”

“We know where the library is, Twilight,” Rainbow said quietly; Twilight ignored her.

When they reached the gnarled tree, Twilight’s face fell. The balloon lay on the ground outside, still half deflated, the torch blasting hot air into it steadily. Spike sat on the curb outside, watching with drooping eyes.

“Ugh, I’d forgotten how long it takes to get this thing off the ground,” Twilight said. “Have we gotten any more letters from the princess?” Spike shook his head. “Where are Rarity and Pinkie Pie?” Spike cocked a thumb and pointed inside.

Twilight stepped through the door, hoping Pinkie hadn’t destroyed anything. She tended to do that when Twilight wasn’t there to supervise. They were both there, Rarity lying on the couch, looking bored, and Pinkie bouncing around on the carpet, still talking in her usual, mile-a-minute way.

“Oh, Twilight, darling, there you are. How is everypony?”

“Fine, Rarity. How are things here?”

“Slow. Spike said the balloon should be ready in about an hour.”

“Oh.” She looked around awkwardly. “Okay.” She moved toward the stairs.

“Where ya going Twilight?” Pinkie said, still bouncing.

“I need to do some research. I want to see if there really is a celebration tonight. If there isn’t, I’d bet those fireworks we saw have something to do with the problem.”

“It could be Trixie getting up to no good,” Rarity suggested.

“I guess. She doesn’t strike me as the type to do anything as… outrageous as this, though.”

Rarity shrugged and yawned. “What ever happened to her, anyway?”

“I don't know,” Twilight said.

“I heard that she’s somewhere up north,” Fluttershy said from overhead.

“Who told you that?”

“Oh, um, a friend.”

“The north?” Applejack questioned. “Why not stay in Canterlot?”

“Maybe she wanted to be somewhere bigger,” Twilight said.

“Wait a minute," Pinkie said. "I always thought Canterlot was the biggest city in Equestria.”

Twilight chuckled, and Pinkie smiled. “Sorry, Pinkie. Canterlot is the capital, but it’s not all that big. The biggest cities are actually in the southern half of Equestria.”

Pinkie thought for a minute before breaking into a giggle. "I didn’t even know there were cities down there!”

“Have you never looked at a map?” Twilight said; her mind was still on the mysterious letter, but she was grateful for the momentary diversion.

“Nope!" Twilight looked at her incredulously. “I’ve never needed to know anything outside Ponyville,” she said with a small grin. “Why would I? I’ve never left!"

Twilight eyed her for a second. “Well, if you had, you’d see that there are plenty of cities out there. Equestria is a pretty big place.”

“I thought a lot of it was wilderness,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, me too,” Applejack said.

“What did you think was out there, Pinks?” Rainbow asked, floating to the ground.

“Oh, you know, I thought it was just kind of empty beyond the Everfree Forest,” Pinkie said.

“If I remember correctly, about eighty percent of Equestria is wilderness,” Twilight said. “But there are some huge cities south of here. They make Canterlot look like Ponyville. It’s quite fascinating.”

“Now, I thought Canterlot was labeled as the biggest city in Equestria,” Rarity said.

“It is on the older maps; that’s when mapmakers showed the town’s importance by its size. On those same maps, Ponyville is barely a speck, if it’s there at all.”

“What about the newer maps?”

“What about them?”

“Have they changed to be more accurate?” Rarity asked.

“Oh, absolutely. Size is pretty downplayed, though. All the cities are just dots on those.”

“What’re those big, fancy cities like, Twilight?” Pinkie asked.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to any of them. I don’t think any of us have.”

“What ‘bout Rarity?” Applejack asked.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid I’ve only ever been to Manehattan,” she said. “And even then, it was only for a couple days. That was before I settled in Ponyville.”

“Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy looked away with a blush. “Oh, I’ve been a few places,” she said timidly.

“Really?” Twilight asked, knitting her brows.

“Are you surprised?”

“Well, yeah, Fluttershy. You don’t seem like the type to travel much.”

“Oh yes,” Fluttershy said, “I traveled a lot when I was younger.”

“Where’d ya go?” Applejack asked.

“Well, when I left Cloudsdale, I stayed here for a little while, and then I flew north.”

“Why?” Twilight asked.

“Unfortunately, there weren’t any towns there that felt right for me,” Fluttershy continued quietly. “So I went south and tracked down an old, um… friend, and lived with him for a little while.”

“A stallion?” Rainbow blurted, a mischievous smile on her face. “Fluttershy, I didn’t know you had a coltfriend.”

Fluttershy blushed and shook her head rapidly, trying to shrink into herself. “Oh, no no. Um, he’s not my coltfriend. He’s just a… friend.”

“How come we’ve never heard of him?” Applejack asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry.”

“We’re not mad, Fluttershy. We’re just curious,” Twilight said.

“Oh, well, um, you never really asked. And, um, he’s not all that important. At least, not in Ponyville.”

“That makes it sound like he is important elsewhere,” Rarity said, her eyes alight with curiosity.

Fluttershy’s body tightened further, her wings wrapped at her sides like arms of a straitjacket. “Oh, um… no. I mean, he owns a small business somewhere, but he’s not famous or anything.”

“What kind of business does he own?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, it’s a, um, plumbing company. Yes, he owns a small plumbing business. It’s family-run.”

“Interesting,” Twilight said, placated.

“Fluttershy, how come you never told us? We should go meet him!” Pinkie cried, jumping up.

“Wait, what town is he in?” Rainbow asked.

“Yeah, Fluttershy, where is he?” Twilight asked. “I’d love to get to know him.” She gasped. “Oh, maybe we can be pen pals!”

“Ah thought Celestia was yer pen pal,” Applejack said.

“You can have more than one pen pal, Applejack. Besides, she’s my teacher. You can’t be ‘pals’ with your teacher.”

“Never pals with the princess? Twilight, that’s awful!” Pinkie said.

Twilight chuckled. “No Pinkie, I mean we’ve never been familiar like that. She’s one of my best friends, but we’re not, you know, buddies, or anything.”

“Oh, okay! You had me worried there!” She thought for a second. “I guess it’s hard for a princess to be buddies with anypony ‘cause she’s always so busy. She should really take a break once in a while.” She gasped, and Twilight braced herself for what she knew came next. “I should throw her a party! Not a royal party like the Grand Galloping Gala, but a regular party so she can kick back and have some regular fun like a regular pony!”

“Yeah, Pinkie, I’m sure the Royal Guard would really be into that,” Rainbow said sarcastically.

“You’re right, Dashie! I should invite them too! Oh, so many invitations to make, and so little time! I have to get to work right away!”

“Pinkie, Ah don’t think this is the time fer celebratin’,” Applejack said, her stern tone arresting Pinkie’s dash to the door.

Pinkie sat down bashfully. “Oh, right. Emergency and all that. Sorry.” She fell silent, and everyone waited a moment to see whether she would erupt again.

“Fluttershy, you simply must tell us what the big city is like,” Rarity said, and Fluttershy flinched; with the attention suddenly back on her, what little composure she had gained from Pinkie’s interlude was gone.

“Oh, it’s… nice. There are a lot more ponies there, but everyone seems to be in a hurry all the time.”

“Sounds just like Manehattan,” Rarity said. “It was like everypony was running late, all the time. Rush rush, no time to stop and smell the flowers, as it were. That’s partly why I ended up moving here.”

“Why did you pick Ponyville, anyway? I mean, I’m sure there were other towns closer to Manehattan where you could live,” Twilight said.

“The closest town then was Fillydelphia, but it was much too large for me. I wanted somewhere where I could live a nice, quiet life.”

“What about Hoofington? That’s only a few thousand miles from here, and much smaller.”

“I thought about that, but it was rather too exclusive for me. It lacks the warmth and friendliness of Ponyville. Plus, have you read about its past? Absolutely dreadful!”

“I don’t think I have read about it, actually,” Twilight said.

“Well you definitely should sometime. Preferably not right before you go to bed. I would save you the trouble and tell you some of it myself, but just thinking about it gives me the shivers.” As if to prove her point, she shivered then.

“Oh please,” Rainbow interjected. “You don’t actually believe any of it, do you? They’re just campfire stories.”

“They’re much more than just stories, Rainbow dear.”

Rainbow laughed. “Come on, Rarity. Seriously? ‘The gray mare of the mansion’? ‘The undead butterflies’?” Pinkie burst into laughter at the title. “They’re all phony.”

“Even if they are, there must be some frightful things there for ponies to make up those stories.”

“I guess,” Rainbow conceded. “But I’m not afraid. Nopony can beat Rainbow Dash!” Rarity scoffed.

“Here we go,” thought Twilight. Deciding to save herself the inevitable argument between Rainbow and Rarity, she stepped outside to check the balloon; Applejack followed her, apparently having the same idea. The balloon was still filling steadily, its fabric an amorphous spread of lumps and dips over the front lawn. Spike had dozed off on the curb, but Twilight didn’t wake him.

“Say, Twi,” Applejack began. “Where d’ya get all the fuel fer that there torch, anyway?”

Twilight shrugged. “I took a couple canisters with me when I moved here.”

“How d’ya pay for it?”

“Princess Celestia pays for it.”

“You got the princess payin’ yer fuel bill?” Applejack looked at her with a quirked eyebrow.

“It’s her balloon still, technically. She doesn’t ever need it, though, so she lets me take care of it.”

Applejack nodded. “You think Fluttershy seemed a little too uncomfortable talkin’ ‘bout herself back there? Like, more than usual?”

“She did seem awfully reluctant to talk.”

“She said she’d traveled in the past. Maybe that’s got somethin’ to do with it.”

Twilight nodded absentmindedly; her eyes strayed back to the balloon, her mind back to Canterlot. An occasional firework still popped over the mountain’s shoulder.

“Ah wonder what she’s seen. Where she’s been.” Applejack sat down. “Ah get the feelin’ that ‘friend’ of hers is a little more’n just a friend.”

“She’s probably just embarrassed to talk about it,” Twilight said. “After all, it was a period of uncertainty in her life. She probably doesn’t like reliving it, especially in front of other ponies.”

“Maybe.”

Twilight waited a few seconds, then turned back inside. “Well, I should probably get to studying.”

She made for the stairs, stopping only long enough to survey her friends. Rarity had fallen asleep on the couch, and Rainbow was lying on a bookcase, making no effort to conceal her boredom. Pinkie was curled up on the carpet, reading, and Fluttershy stared into the fireplace. Only Pinkie looked up briefly as Twilight entered, but said nothing as she ascended the stairs to her study.

As she closed the door, her horn lit up and grabbed a few books from a nearby shelf.

“Compendium of Equestrian Holidays,” she said quietly to herself, setting the book on her desk and opening it. Soon, she heard Pinkie and Rainbow Dash talking and laughing below, with Applejack’s voice sometimes mixing in. She tried to ignore them as she focused on her reading. After several minutes, she stopped, suddenly aware of a more rationed, less raucous tone.

“Ah don’t think that’s a very good idea, Rainbow,” Applejack said, her eyes narrowed pensively.

“Aw, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like I’ll get lost or anything, and I can be back here in five minutes.” Applejack looked at her incredulously.

“Um, Twilight said we should all stick together,” Fluttershy said.

“No she didn’t,” Rainbow retorted.

“It’s still a good idea,” Applejack said.

“No it isn’t! What if this whole thing is a false alarm? We’ll have gone through all this trouble for nothing.”

“Oh, but what if it isn’t a false alarm? What if there’s actually something bad happening?” Fluttershy asked. “You could get hurt.”

“I’m the fastest flier in Equestria, Fluttershy. Nopony’s going to catch me.”

“I’ve caught you!” Pinkie chirped, jumping over and bowling her over. She giggled. “I just caught you again Dashie!”

“Pinkie, get off me,” Rainbow growled, pushing Pinkie away unceremoniously.

“She’s got a point, Rainbow,” Applejack said. “Even Fluttershy caught you once. Remember?”

“That was different.”

“Why? ‘Cause Discord enchanted you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“You were just as fast then as you are now,” Fluttershy murmured.

“Are you calling me slow?”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it that way, Rainbow Dash, really, I—”

“Ah still say it’s a bad idea,” Applejack interrupted.

“Ugh, you ponies are killing me,” she groaned, flying back up to her bookcase.

“Dashie, come down from there, you silly filly!” Pinkie said, looking up at her hungrily. Rainbow tried to wave her off. “We shouldn’t be fighting tonight! Celestia’s gonna need a lot of teamwork from us!”

“Wait, what? Nopony said anything about any of that,” Rainbow said, looking down on Pinkie with concern-narrowed eyes.

“Um, hello? Pinkie sense!”

The whole room went quiet for a moment of consideration; above, Twilight was bracing herself for an explosion of sound, thinking Pinkie had crossed some sort of line.

“Pinkie, just how precise is this sense of yours?” Rarity asked from the couch.

“Oh, Rarity, you’re awake!” Pinkie said with renewed cheer.

“I have been for a while.” She looked at Pinkie, who returned her expression of calm inquisition with a vacuous stare of her own. “Aren’t you going to answer my question?”

“Oh, my Pinkie Sense question? Well, there’s not a lot to say about it.”

“Come on, Pinkie,” Rainbow said.

“How accurately can you predict the future?” Rarity asked.

“Pretty accurately.”

Rarity looked at her expectantly, twirling a hoof. “And?”

“Aaaaaaand consistently? Why are you guys are acting so weird all of a sudden?”

“Why must you be so obtuse?” Rarity mumbled to herself.

“Ah think Rarity’s tryin’ to ask if you can tell us anythin’ ‘bout tonight,” Applejack said. “Like why you said Celestia’s gonna need our teamwork.”

“I dunno!”

“Come on, Pinkie, you didn’t even try to think about that answer. This is important,” Rainbow said.

“Sorry, Dashie.”

“Could you try to focus a little more, dear?” Rarity asked.

“I guess I could try,” Pinkie said. “But I don’t know if I’m gonna get much. My Pinkie Sense can’t be controlled; it just comes whenever it wants!”

“Please, darling.”

Pinkie shrugged loosely, and everypony quieted down. She closed her eyes, and her face grew serious; it was a sight that they had seldom seen. Her lips moved soundlessly, and she appeared to zone out. She sat, in apparent meditation, for only a couple minutes, and when she opened her eyes, her usual smile stretched across her face.

“Nope! Notta! Nothing!” Everypony sighed, and Pinkie giggled. “Aw, don’t be sad! There’s a party in Canterlot! Nopony should ever be sad when there’s a party going on!”

“Yer still on about that?” Applejack said.

“Fireworks in Canterlot! Woo!” She started hopping up and down, her moment of seriousness absolutely forgotten.

“I must say, I really don’t like this,” Rarity said.

“Me neither, sugarcube,” Applejack said. “But what else can we do?”

“Oh, um, sorry for interrupting, but aren’t there spells that let someone see what’s going on somewhere else?” Fluttershy asked. “Maybe we can use one of those.”

Rarity thought. “There are,” she said slowly. “But I don’t think we should cast one here.”

“Why not?” Rainbow asked.

“Do you know how to, Rarity?” Fluttershy asked.

“Not off the top of my head, I’m afraid. But I’ve learned enough magic theory from Twilight to know that a spell like that would be quite difficult to cast, at least for me.”

“Well, we are in a library,” Rainbow said.

“Yes, I suppose so. But I’m not sure. It’s rather unsafe.”

“How unsafe?”

“Didn’t you hear her, Dashie? ‘Rather’ unsafe! That doesn’t sound so bad!”

“Pinkie, darling, I’d be casting the spell on you,” Rarity said.

“Okey-dokey-lokey!”

Rarity stared at her. “You’re not even remotely worried, are you?”

“Nope! I think we should do it!” The whole group was quiet again, while Rarity thought. It was difficult for her under Pinkie’s insistent smile.

“Shouldn’t we tell Twilight first?” Applejack asked.

“She’ll just tell us not to,” Rainbow said. “Or offer to cast it herself.”

“Yeah, but who knows how long she’ll be up there?” Pinkie said. “Come on, Rarity! You can be quick, I know it!”

“It just seems silly with Twilight right there,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, but she’ll insist on doing a whole lot of research and stuff first,” Rainbow said. “Or she’ll say we don’t have time, and have us fly up there blind.”

Rarity thought for a few seconds, then got up from the couch. “I’ll need to look up how to do it first.”

“So we’re not tellin’ Twi?” Applejack asked.

“I guess not,” Fluttershy said.

Applejack appeared to wrestle with her thoughts for a second, then said, “fine. Whatever. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Everypony look for a book of spells that can help me with this,” Rarity said, scanning a bookshelf. “It should be about… oh, Celestia, what is it called? Clairvoyance, I think.”

“Here Rarity!” A book flew across the room and smacked into Rarity’s flank. “Page eighty-four!”

“Pinkie, how did you do that?”

“It was on the bookshelf.”

“Yes, but how did you find it so fast?”

“I dunno! Lucky guess?”

“I’m sure it was,” Rarity mumbled as she studied the page. The spell looked intimidating, and she had to read the instructions twice before looking up at her audience. “Okay, Pinkie, go ahead and stand in the middle of the room.”

“Okey-dokey-lokey!”

“Now, darling, it’s imperative you stay still for this. I’m going to draw a sigil around you, but it’ll only work if you stay where you are.”

“What’s a sigil?” Fluttershy asked.

“A sigil is a magical symbol that’s meant to take the place of a spell,” Rarity said. “Twilight never uses them because she’s already so powerful, but I need one.”

“How big is this gonna be?” Applejack asked.

“Not that big.” Rarity propped the book up on the couch and grabbed a quill and inkwell from a nearby desk. “Pinkie, stop moving.”

“Awwww, really? I thought you were joking.”

“No, I wasn’t. Now hold still.” Pinkie obediently stopped moving. “I would appreciate it if everyone else was quiet while I draw this. I need to concentrate.”

The whole room fell quiet once more, and everyone watched Rarity telekinetically pick up the quill and dip it lightly into the ink; no one saw Fluttershy creep up to watch from the stairs’ midpoint.

Rarity took a breath to still her thoughts and focus them on the spell’s objective, then touched the quill’s tip to the wooden floor. The book had said that the sigil would do the majority of the work for her, but she still needed to pour her own force of will into it to activate it; otherwise, it was just an inert design.

Rarity glided the quill across the floor, first forming a nearly perfect circle around Pinkie, then swishing and swaying around within it, surrounding Pinkie with a series of loops, swirls, knots and streaks. No one noticed as Twilight stepped down next to Fluttershy and watched, her expression a mixture of dismay and respect.

Putting the quill back in its place, Rarity’s horn glowed as she closed her eyes, blotting out the library and leaving just herself and her sigil. At first, the ink remained an unresponsive black, but with a breathy gasp from its caster, suddenly shimmered into a lively forest green, and was again still.

Pinkie’s eyes rolled up and her lids drooped down, and she wobbled in place. No one spoke and no one rushed to her side; the only sound was Pinkie’s breathing and the steady shhhhhh of the torch outside, comforting in the strange moment. No one noticed as the sigil sloughed away, leaving the floor stainless.

One minute passed, then two; Applejack started to inch forward, but was stilled by a yellow hoof on her back. She looked back at Fluttershy, who wordlessly shook her head. They waited, and Pinkie remained standing, her knee bent inward. The room’s eyes flicked between Pinkie and Rarity, the latter visibly tense with uncertainty.

After three minutes, sweat was moistening Rarity’s brow; she dared not wipe it away, for fear that any sudden movement might ruin Pinkie’s trance. Pinkie wobbled once more, and, again, Fluttershy held Applejack back. Rarity could see Pinkie’s eyes moving frantically beneath her lids, as if caught in a dream, but the rest of her face was passive.

Anxious, Rarity turned and looked back at the book, just to make sure she didn’t have to wake Pinkie up—she didn’t. Another minute passed, and finally Pinkie opened her eyes; the whole room breathed a collective sigh of relief. She looked around the room blearily before shifting her weight uncertainly.

“Well Pinkie? What did you see?” Rarity asked nervously. “Did it work?”

Pinkie’s face was unhappy, and it worried Rarity. Her relief, though transient, was great, when all Pinkie said was, “nothing.”

The Ponies Prepare Themselves

Chapter Five

The Ponies Prepare Themselves

They followed Celestia into the courtyard, tensions refreshed. There was no more waiting around and talking; now began the spellcasting. As soon as they crossed over, Rarity looked up at the ceiling, just a uniform slab of unbroken dirt and roots, off which the sourceless moonlight reflected just the same as it did the walls. The grass was cool and alive, and she momentarily reveled in the feeling, relief from the packed, pebbly soil in the anteroom. The structures on the yard’s side were only very vaguely equine in height and construction: four supporting parts, a barrel-shaped body, and a featureless head, all dry, dull wood strapped together with twine.

“This is the repel spell. Pick a structure that you like,” Celestia instructed. There was no difference between the statues, and they dispersed to the ones nearest them. Celestia paced behind them. “Now that we’ve found our magic, it is time for us to use it. Take a moment to call your magic to mind now.”

They did so, Rarity and Twilight easily. Rarity looked over at Rainbow, who had her eyes closed again. “When you have found your magic, simply concentrate on the object before you. Bring it into focus and make it yours. When you have it—and you should know when you do—it’s a matter of concentrating that willpower into a pushing force. It’s like the mental equivalent of shoving somepony out of your way.” She gave them a moment to process her instructions, and then told them to begin.

Immediately, Twilight’s and Pinkie’s statues burst away, individual boards and bundles of stuffing coming undone from the comparatively weak twine, rent by the force of their push. Just a second after, Rarity’s followed, though less energetically. Celestia nodded approvingly, and within the minute, Rainbow’s slowly tipped over. Fluttershy’s, however, merely creaked, and Applejack’s remained completely still.

The statues restored themselves, and they all tried once more. Again, Twilight and Pinkie were the first to succeed, and Rarity followed their spells with her own, smaller version, to be appended with Rainbow’s modest push.

After a few more tries, Rarity looked back at Celestia, then at Fluttershy, and Celestia nodded. Rarity went to the struggling pegasus, who looked at her with a pathetic, worried expression.

“Oh, Rarity, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Try again, darling, and let me see.”

Fluttershy visibly tensed, facing the statue as though it might attack her; though Rarity could see a haze of light pink around it, it hardly moved.

“It’s all about willpower, dear. How hard are you willing for your spell to work?”

“Oh, Rarity, I’m willing it as hard as I can.”

Rarity remembered her own experiences with magic, the hopelessness of casting as hard as she could and achieving nothing. She had been young and undeveloped then. “Here, Fluttershy, try this. When you want to push the statue away, try saying something as you cast the spell. That helped me keep my focus when I was just learning.”

“Um, but what should I say?”

“It doesn’t really matter. Something simple. ‘Go’ or ‘now’ or something like that. The point is for it to focus your concentration, without getting in the way.”

“Um, well, okay. I’ll try.” She looked at the statue again, her expression uncertain, and quietly said “go.” The twine swelled back a little, and a board creaked.

“Put some force behind it, Fluttershy. Be firm. Like this: go!” She snapped at the statue, which bowed outwards with a swirl of dust and soft splinters. Fluttershy cringed away. “Like that, dear. Try it.”

Fluttershy pawed at the ground, and looked at her statue—reset—again. “Um, go!” she said, a little louder, and it warped outward, one of its legs bending awkwardly.

“Better,” Rarity said, “but it needs more.”

“I’m trying as hard as I can.”

“Fluttershy, I’ve seen you be firmer than that. Address your statue the same way you addressed the dragon.” Fluttershy winced at the memory, and Rarity softened her expression. She didn’t want to seem admonishing.

“I don’t know, Rarity.”

“Just try it. Gather up all your strength, and tell it to back off. Don’t ask it, tell it. Remember, dear: willpower. In your mind, you’re not asking for it to get back, nor are you hoping it does, nor are you wanting it to—you’re telling it, commanding it.”

“But I’m not,” Fluttershy said quietly, cringing away from an expected reproach. “I don’t want to hurt it.”

Rarity sighed. “Fluttershy, how are you going to cast this spell when you’re out there?”

“Oh, but why do I need to? I’m just there to help other ponies.”

“But you still need to be able to defend yourself.” She turned to see Celestia walking over to them.

“How’s it going, girls?”

Fluttershy tried to hide her face. “Oh, your highness, I’m really sorry, but I just don’t think I’m cut out for this type of spell.”

“Let me see what you have so far.”

Fluttershy shrank slightly, but faced her statue and cast the spell once more, letting out an airy “go!” As before, it bowed outwards slightly from the middle, but remained standing firmly.

Celestia nodded. “Rarity, go with Twilight and begin work on your teleportation.” She smiled at Fluttershy. “I will help Fluttershy.”

“Yes, your highness.” She gave Fluttershy a small smile of encouragement and walked over to Twilight; Pinkie was with Rainbow and Applejack, coaching them exuberantly.

Twilight was happy to help Rarity, though she didn’t show it; she was still upset about Celestia’s callousness.

Teleportation was a difficult topic to approach. For her, it had been a part of her life since she was a filly, and breaking the process down into its constituent steps was like trying to explain how to write, or eat. It was so simple to her, she had to think a while before she could begin to direct Rarity. Even then, Rarity was slow to learn.

“Just focus on your destination, Rarity. Don’t think about anything else.” She had lost count of Rarity’s attempts, and they weren’t getting much better.

“I am, darling, but it just won’t work.”

“Are you visualizing it?”

“With perfect clarity.”

Twilight sighed. It was the same every time: Rarity could get the picture of her destination in mind, but she couldn’t put the magic into it. “Then just… imagine that place snapping over to you. Kind of like… how can I put it? Think of it kind of like a treadmill.”

Rarity looked at her with an uncertain frown. “I’m sorry?”

“Imagine your destination is on a treadmill underneath you, and your spell is making the treadmill move. You’re not moving, the world is. Do you know what I mean?”

“But the world isn’t moving! I am.”

“I know that, but just try imagining it the way I just described. It’s always worked for me.”

Rarity sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, and then tried once more; her body flickered briefly, and Twilight thought for a moment that the spell had worked, but Rarity remained where she stood. She let out a frustrated sigh and sat down, discouraged. “I can’t do it. I simply can’t do it.” She thought. “Maybe I just don’t have enough magic,” she said quietly.

“I don’t see how you can’t, though. I’ve seen you do some amazing things with your magic.”

“That’s different, though. What I do is really quite simple. It only looks complex because of how intricately it’s done.”

“I still think you can do it.”

Rarity shook her head. “I’m trying my absolute hardest, dear, and it isn’t working.” Twilight took a deep breath, trying to think of another different way to explain the spell, but Rarity held up a hoof. “Regardless, I need a break. All this… failure is exhausting.”

Twilight sighed; she didn’t like it, but Rarity had a point.

“How’s the teleportation?” Celestia asked, walking over to them. Behind her, Fluttershy was staring intently at her statue.

“Not good, I’m afraid,” Rarity said. “Your highness, different ponies have different amounts of magical power in them, yes?”

“That’s right, Rarity.” She smiled knowingly. “Are you wondering if you have enough magic to teleport?”

Rarity paused, caught off guard, and nodded. Twilight frowned and looked away.

“A question I’m asked all the time when I’m teaching young magicians. While some ponies truly don’t have enough magic for it, teleportation doesn’t require as much as you might think. Most ponies have enough.”

“But I’m not even close to getting it,” Rarity moaned.

“Let me help you. Twilight, I trust you are fine?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Good. I will assist Rarity with her spell casting.” Celestia began asking Rarity about her previous attempts, and Twilight stayed for a moment. When it was clear that Celestia didn’t need her, she walked over to Applejack and Rainbow, at the end of the courtyard. They were conversing softly; Applejack looked annoyed, Rainbow deflated.

“Hey girls. How’s it going?” She tried to make her voice friendlier, but the princess’ dismissive attitude made her feel worn and impatient, and her cheer was very clearly falsified.

“Terrible,” Rainbow said, echoing Applejack’s “awful.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We barely have any magic,” Rainbow said sourly.

“How are we s’posed to survive out there if we can hardly even push somepony away?”

Twilight had no answer, and she regretted going over to them. It wasn’t helping her mood.

“Hey girls! What’s going on?” Pinkie’s sudden voice from behind made them all jump.

“Pinkie, you gotta stop sneakin’ up on ponies like that,” Applejack said, clutching her chest.

“You just about made me have a heart attack,” Rainbow complained. Pinkie only laughed.

“Your magic’s coming along pretty well, huh Pinkie?” Twilight asked.

“Yeah, super well! Super-duper well! I mean, I guess I’ve been doing it all my life, so it should come easy, right?” She laughed again, a little quieter.

“Ah know you don’t really like it, Pinkie, but Ah envy you right now,” Applejack said. She looked around Twilight and nodded a greeting to Fluttershy, approaching.

“Hey Fluttershy. What’s going on?” Rainbow asked.

“Oh, um, nothing really. Princess Celestia’s helping Rarity with her teleportation, but she didn’t leave me with anything else to do.”

“Aw, I feel so sorry for her,” Pinkie said. “It must be so humiliating for her to not be able to do magic as well as us.”

“Yeah, must be,” Applejack said bitterly.

“What’s wrong, Applejack?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Pinkie. Ah’m just a little annoyed.”

“Why?”

“It ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” she repeated, an edge of irritation tinging her voice. Pinkie narrowed her eyes very slightly, but accepted Applejack’s denial with no complaint.

“Uh, great,” Rainbow said, looking at Pinkie with a frown. “So, how long do you suppose Celestia’s going to be helping Rarity.”

“I doubt she’ll be much longer. Even if Rarity can’t learn the spell herself, I know Princess Celestia can give her the magic she needs for it,” Twilight said. In response to her friends’ quizzical expressions, she explained. “There are lots of spells that allow one unicorn to impart her magic to another. A lot like what I’m supposed to do to Pinkie Pie.”

“Yeah, about that,” Applejack broke in. “Ah’m not sure Ah got this whole thing straight. So, if the battle starts getting out of hoof, we’re s’posed to form some sort of protective barrier ‘round you an’ Pinkie so you can cast yer spell. Do Ah got that right?”

Twilight nodded.

“An’ that spell will give Pinkie even more magical power than she already has, which should somehow end the battle.”

“Right.”

“But we don’t know how Pinkie’s gonna do it, ‘cause Princess Celestia don’t know.”

Twilight nodded again, no longer looking at Applejack. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“Oh, but isn’t that way too dangerous?” Fluttershy asked, concern in her voice.

Twilight’s voice lowered some. “Yes. I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

Fluttershy winced. “Oh, Twilight, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Oh, I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.”

Twilight didn’t respond. She was lost in thought, and only partially returned when Pinkie moved closer to gently nuzzle her.

“Pinkie, just how much power do you have, anyway?” Rainbow asked, eying them all uncomfortably. “I know Celestia said you have a lot, but how much is that?”

“I don’t know. Probably about as much as Twilight has.”

“Actually,” Twilight said, brightening a little, “that’s a great idea, Rainbow.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“While the princess is off helping Rarity, why don’t Pinkie and I do some practicing?”

Rainbow snorted. “You unicorns and your magic. What are we supposed to do?”

“You can judge,” Pinkie said.

“Judge what? How good y’are at castin’ spells?” Applejack asked.

Pinkie laughed. “No, silly! How would you even do that? You don’t have any magic!”

“Ah got a little!”

“I was actually thinking we could have a mock battle or something!” She looked expectantly at Twilight.

Twilight paused, surprised by the suggestion. “Er, I guess we could. Nothing serious, though. Just something to gauge our abilities.” She looked at Rainbow and Applejack for a moment. “You two can make sure nothing gets out of hoof.” She looked around. “I don’t think this courtyard is big enough, though.”

“I’ll ask,” Rainbow said, flying over to the princess. Twilight watched her converse with Celestia, who nodded once and smiled, horn glowing.

Light bloomed suddenly behind them, and Twilight turned to see the entire back portion of the courtyard gone, fallen away into an empty field where a sourceless, gray sunlight illuminated a sepia carpet of soft grass. She narrowed her eyes; the whole area looked washed out, like an old photograph.

Rainbow sped up to join them as they stepped into the field. At first, Twilight thought there was an opening in the ground; she couldn’t see the ceiling. After her eyes had a moment to adjust, she saw the earth curving upwards into a giant, stadium-like dome, from which resonated the odd, smokey light.

“So, what is all this?” Applejack asked, mirroring Twilight’s thoughts.

“I’d have thought you of all ponies would recognize a field,” Rainbow said. “The princess said you three can fight here all you want.”

“What about you and Applejack?” Twilight asked.

“We need to get back to practicing our repel spell.”

“More? Ah thought Ah had it okay,” Applejack said.

Rainbow shrugged. “It’s just what Celestia said.”

“Aw, heck. Ah guess we’ll be seein’ ya, Twilight. Pinkie. Fluttershy.”

“Have fun!” Pinkie cried as Rainbow took off, Applejack behind her.

The remaining three stood in the grass, looking at each other and the openness of the field—so great that the fact that they were still underground could be easily lost.

“So how were you thinking of doing this?” Twilight asked.

“Well, let’s keep it between you and me for starters,” Pinkie said, walking a circle around them. “You and I are probably about even, but Fluttershy doesn’t have quite as much magic as us. Sorry, Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy whimpered, crouching and coiling her tail around her body.

“I’m not sure if that’s completely fair. While you may have as much magic as I, Pinkie, you don’t know any spells.”

“So?”

“Your magic is useless if you don’t know any ways to express it.”

“But I can express it, silly. The princess said so.” She flashed Twilight a wide smile.

Twilight thought. Ordinarily, she would insist they practice first, but Celestia’s insensitivity in such a stressful situation had evaporated a lot of her usual respect for procedure. “If you say so.”

“Yay!” Pinkie bounced in place.

“Fluttershy, you can mediate and make sure things don’t get too dangerous,” Twilight said, giving her a smile.

Fluttershy gave a sigh of relief and took to the air, hovering a few feet above them.

“How do you want to do this, Pinkie?” She looked around, but Pinkie was already gone. “Oh geez, she wants to start already. Pinkie Pie! I’m not ready yet. We need to discuss the rules first, so we don’t hurt each other.”

Pinkie gave no answer, and Twilight shrugged, again yielding to carelessness. “Okay, fine. If this is how you want to do it, then this is how we’ll do it.”

She surveyed the field warily, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “She’s probably invisible,” Twilight thought, eyes narrowed. Her horn glowed for a moment, and the strange light faded out. A corona of moonlight filtered in from behind, from the courtyard, but it hardly reached the first tufts of grass at its edge. Fluttershy gave a small moan of fright, but Twilight resisted comforting her. She didn’t want to give away her position. Considering her options, she cast a spell to point her toward any form of magical discharge—a simple spell, but one she had rarely used.

She slowly walked through the meadow, moving by the feel of the grass and consciously resisting the urge to light up her horn. “Come on, Pinkie, I know you’re out here somewhere.” She padded through the grass, her ears ready to pick out the smallest sound, her eyes ready to spot the smallest movement.

What she wasn’t ready for was the sudden burst of white all around her, followed by a massive weight knocking her off her hooves. She cried out, panic taking hold at first; by the time she had focused her magic into a defensive barrier, her vision was back. Pinkie stood above her, grinning her unfocused grin at the grounded unicorn.

“Ugh, Pinkie,” Twilight groaned, “that wasn’t fair. I wasn’t ready.”

“You seemed ready,” Pinkie said cheerily.

“I didn’t have any time to come up with a strategy, though.”

“Neither did I.” She helped Twilight up. “Wanna go again?”

“Sure, but let’s establish a few rules this time, okay?”

Pinkie giggled. “Rules? Twilight, there aren’t rules in war.”

The brevity of the statement startled her. “I guess that’s true. But right now, we need to have some sort of order. We have to know what our relative strengths and weaknesses are.”

“But we already know our strengths.”

“Do we?”

“Magic!”

Twilight closed her eyes for a second and rubbed her forehead. “Pinkie, I think you’re oversimplifying this.”

“Well, duh! I mean, it’s war, Twilight. Of course it’s simple!”

“But that’s wrong. There’s nothing simple about war.”

“Our part of it is. Rarity and Fluttershy have the hard parts, but we just run around and destroy stuff! What’s more simple than that?”

Twilight was at a loss for words. “I still think we should do some sort of controlled demonstration of power. So we know what kinds of magic we each excel at.”

“But—”

“I know, I know, we both excel at magic in general, but what about specific spells? We need to know these things if we’re going to be a good team.”

Pinkie shrugged elaborately. “If you say so.”

Twilight looked back at Celestia and Rarity, watching curiously as the princess took Rarity under her wing and teleported a few paces ahead, Rarity cringing. She leaned down and said something with a kind smile, and Rarity nodded slowly.

“Wanna play with us, Fluttershy?” Pinkie asked innocently.

“Oh, no, thank you. I hate fighting, even if it’s just pretend.”

“She doesn’t know any spells anyway,” Twilight said. Fluttershy looked down with a blush. “Sorry, Fluttershy.”

“Oh, um… don’t worry about it,” she said quietly.

Twilight looked back at Pinkie, who gave her an eager, menacing smile. “Okay, Pinkie, we need to make a few changes. I don’t want another game of cat-and-mouse. It’s a waste of time.”

“You’re not being a sore loser, are you Twilight?” Pinkie asked with a smile. Twilight found it obnoxious.

“No, Pinkie. It’s a waste of time because it’s not going to be anything like that out there. We need to find a different way to practice.”

“Well, okay. How about a simple, raw show of magic? That way we can see whose is stronger!”

“That’s… okay, I guess. But I don’t want us to hurt each other.” She thought for a minute. “How about this? Instead of casting spells on each other, we take turns trying to undo each other’s magic. So I’ll cast a spell, just out here, in the open, and you undo it if you can. Then we switch. Sound fair?”

Pinkie bobbed her head up and down.

“Okay, I’ll go first. Let’s start with something fairly easy.” Focusing her magic around her, she called to mind one of the older spells in her repertoire. A translucent, purple bubble glittered to life around her: a shield spell. Pinkie narrowed her eyes at it for a second, and it vanished. Twilight felt a slight prickle along her horn as it did so.

“Not surprising,” Twilight said, nodding at Pinkie to go ahead with her spell.

Pinkie thought for a second, then giggled. A weird, scratching, stretching sound filled the air, and the grass slowly reached up around their legs, tickling Twilight’s pasterns. Pinkie only laughed as the grass continued growing upwards, coiling and bending until the blades were too tall to support themselves, and began leaning over sleepily. Before long, they stood in a tangled mess of the light brown grass, covering their legs and chests, sticking in their tails.

Twilight struggled out of the floppy, cool strands; she hadn’t appreciated how dewy they were before. “That’s one heck of a growth spell, Pinkie.” She gathered her magic to cast the counter-spell; it didn’t take much, but she felt herself straining a little to revert the grass back to normal. “Of course,” she thought, “I’m still tired from steering our balloon. No big surprise.”

The grass slowly sank back down and returned to its original half-inch length. “Nice one, Pinkie. Now try this,” Twilight said, collecting her will into a more powerful, more elaborate spell—one she had used only in experimentation, to see her own limits.

With a low, rumbling, ripping sound, a patch of ground to their sides shook and jostled. Slowly, with a heavy, heart-pounding sound of earth rent against its will, it began to rise up into a small column. Bits of loose soil and clumps of grass fell from its sides, and she released it, allowing it to stand without the benefit of magic. Fluttershy cringed away, and Twilight allowed herself a smug smile.

“Ooooooh,” Pinkie awed at Twilight’s creation. Her face twitched once, and the earthen pillar crumbled into powder, like a heavy sandcastle. “My turn!” Pinkie looked excited, and she shook her head a little, as if to dispel an itch.

Twilight was immediately hit with a soft, powerful force that cushioned and impressed upon her body, like a pillow striking her chest and face. She tried to inhale, but it was labored and slow; she tried to move, but the air itself seemed to resist her, as though she were underwater. Fluttershy was slowly drifting to the ground, her face alarmed and terrified, her body twisting in an elegant dance of panic.

“What the heck did she do?” Twilight thought worriedly. She tried to breathe once more, and, again, the air came slowly and thickly; she barely got anything. She did not know precisely what Pinkie had done, and so gathered her magic into a general counter-spell—weaker, but with a broad scope of effect. For several suffocating, fear-stricken moments, she concentrated on her spell, her head going fuzzy with lack of oxygen. Eventually, the air loosened around them, lifting off like a wet coat, and she and Fluttershy gasped, the latter falling to the ground with a yelp.

She caught her breath and looked at Pinkie angrily. “Pinkie, what in the world did you do? That felt like that could have killed us!”

“Don’t worry Twilight, I wouldn’t have let it kill you! All I did was thicken the air.”

Twilight rolled her eyes and looked at Fluttershy, who had picked herself up. “Are you okay, Fluttershy?”

“I… I think so. Pinkie, why didn’t you warn us?”

“Sorry, Fluttershy.” Fluttershy looked down, and Pinkie avoided her gaze when she looked back up. “I think I’m going to go and see how Rarity’s doing now,” she said almost inaudibly, walking away.

When she was back in the courtyard, Twilight turned to Pinkie indignantly. “I think she’s really upset.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You should have warned us.”

“You handled it just fine.”

“Yeah, but it really scared me for a second.”

“Sorry, Twilight.”

Twilight shook her head, a little violently. “I should just drop it. It won’t do for us to fight right now.” She sighed in annoyance. “I still don’t understand how you can do all this stuff without learning the spells first.”

“Like I said, it just happens for me.”

“I know, but I can’t even imagine that. It seems wrong to me.”

Pinkie giggled and sniffed the air. “Oh! Here comes Rarity!”

“What?”

There was a loud crack and a flash of magic, and Rarity stood a few paces away from them both, breathless. “I, I did it! I did it!”

Twilight smiled, happy to have someone to distract her from Pinkie. “Nice job, Rarity! Princess Celestia finally got through to you, huh?”

“She did indeed, Twilight. It turns out, I was just thinking about it the wrong way.”

“Way to go, Rarity!” Pinkie chirped.

“Thank you, darling.”

“So what’s going on now?” Twilight asked.

“Well, she’s with Fluttershy at the moment. She came over just as I was finishing up. She seemed upset; is everything okay over here?”

Twilight’s voice darkened again. “We’re fine. Pinkie just scared her with a spell.”

“Oh, Pinkie, darling, you really should be more careful.”

“That’s what Twilight told me!” She narrowed her eyes conspiratorially. “Did you two set this up?”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “The princess told me to come over here to practice my defensive spell.” She looked at them: the bits of grass in Twilight’s mane, the earthen debris by her side, her frazzled expression. “What have you been doing?”

“Just some practice fighting,” Pinkie said. “Wanna join?”

“No, no, Pinkie, darling. That… that sounds just awful. No offense.”

“None taken!”

“Although, if you two are casting spells on each other, it would give me the perfect opportunity to practice my shield.”

“Let’s do it!” Pinkie cried, hopping into the air again.

“Wait, hang on,” Rarity said, backing up a little. She seemed disturbed by Pinkie’s excitement, and Twilight could see why.

Pinkie stopped jumping and just stared at her.

“How do we want to proceed?”

“If you want to practice shielding us, I think it would be best if we took turns throwing reasonable—” here Twilight glared at Pinkie— “attacks at one another. That way you can practice defending them without having to be attacked yourself.”

“That sounds fine.” Rarity looked at them both and lit her horn preemptively. “Um… well, who first?”

“Twilight’s still shaken up about my spell, so she can attack me!” Pinkie said, her tone betraying none of the surreality of the situation.

“I guess that makes sense,” Twilight said casually. “You’ll be protecting her more anyway.” Rarity eyed her with a mixture of dismay and concern, but said nothing about it.

“Okay. So… just throw whatever you want at her, I suppose, and… I’ll do my best to deflect it.”

“That seems a little dangerous.”

“I can have a backup shield in case Rarity’s breaks!” Pinkie said.

“Yes, good idea, darling,” Rarity said, nodding at her. Her horn, already shining lightly, glowed brighter, slowly bringing a light purple, watery shield up tight around Pinkie. It was a perfect bubble, and Twilight was quietly impressed. For having never formally studied, Rarity’s attempt was solid. “Are you both ready?” she asked shortly, her voice cut with the strain of maintaining the spell.

“Ready, Rarity! Hit me, Twilight!” Pinkie cried.

Twilight thought for a second, combing through her catalog of spells—of which relatively few could be used for attacking—and settled on the repulsion spell Celestia had just shown them. Her horn glowed momentarily, and the shield bent inward with a shower of twinkles. For a bit, Twilight thought that she had felled it already, but it held, and quickly bulged back out to its original shape.

Pinkie giggled, her voice glassy inside the shield. “That looked funny, Twilight! Do something else!”

Twilight looked at Rarity momentarily, who nodded. With a brief shuffle through her spells and a small, but not insignificant amount of focus, she conjured a beam of hot, white light, balanced on the tip of her horn like a feather. She cut the air with it experimentally, and then arced it down like a sword, swinging it onto Pinkie. It felt strangely satisfying. She crashed it into the amethyst barrier, and Rarity gasped lightly as it shattered into a shower of beautiful shards before dissipating on the grass like embers. The shield was gone.

“Wow, Rarity. That’s pretty good, considering it’s your first time,” Twilight said, receiving a tired smile. “You really are talented.”

“It’s almost entirely natural, too. At least, that’s what Princess Celestia said.”

“What happens when it breaks?” Pinkie asked. “Does that mean you’re out of magic?

“Oh, goodness, no. I can bring up another one if I need to.”

“Unicorns can control how much magic they want in a shield,” Twilight said. “Rarity can make a shield that’s easy to overwhelm, and replace it instantly, or put all her magic into one or two really strong ones.”

“Princess Celestia said it would be a good idea if I kept you both protected with a lot of weaker shields. It’s less magic-intensive,” Rarity said.

“How many shields do you think you can make?”

“Oh, dear. I’m not really certain. I have a fair amount of magic. I’d say… fifty? Sixty?”

“That much? Rarity, I’m impressed.” She laughed, a little relieved. “I suddenly feel a lot better about having you defending us.”

“Yeah, you go, Rarity!” Pinkie shrieked.

“Thank you, Pinkie Pie. I just hope I can use them as well in battle; it’ll be much more hectic out there than it is in here, after all.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, Rarity,” Twilight said. “You seem competent enough.”

“That’s just it, though; this is practice. Ugh, the thought of actually going out there where all those ruffians are fighting and… and participating is simply repulsive.”

“At least you probably won’t die.”

“Twilight, dear, that’s no way to talk.”

“Sorry.” She looked at Rarity for a moment, debating whether to keep talking. “I’m just… I always thought of Princess Celestia as my teacher and my friend, but tonight she basically told me that it wasn’t worth the effort to keep me alive.”

“But that’s not true,” Pinkie said. “She wants Rarity to protect us both, ‘cause we’re both valuable. It’s just, you know… I’m more valuable.”

“Thanks, Pinkie, that means a lot.”

“She can’t afford to look at us as friends right now,” Rarity said. “I know it sounds harsh, but it really is for the best; it’s what a good strategist does.”

“I just hate how devaluing it all is. We’re not her faithful students anymore. No, we’re just pieces in this chess game she’s playing with Discord.”

“Don’t think of it that way,” Pinkie said.

“Yes, Twilight. We’re not pieces, we’re assistants. She called on us specifically to help her with this battle. It’s an honor. In a way.” Rarity seemed uncomfortable taking the stance, and she cringed a little under Twilight’s unhappy gaze.

“Why are you telling me what an honor it is to fight, Rarity? That’s not like you.”

“And it’s not like you to talk about your own mortality in such a depressing way.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Fair enough.” She cleared her throat nervously. “While I personally am mortified that we will soon be thrown into the… war outside, I also consider it an honor that the princess thinks so highly of us as to call on us in a time of such need.”

Twilight thought for a while. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and the battle will be over by the time we get out,” she said with no real conviction.

“Come on, Twilight, be confident!” Pinkie urged. “It’s not so bad! Rarity knows what she’s doing, and so do you, and I think I do. Everything’s gonna be fine!”

“How can you know that, Pinkie?”

“I don’t know. But I do.”

Twilight sighed and shook her head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s not working.”

“Stop paying so much attention to the bad!” Pinkie said, moving around again. “That’s what I’m doing! You just gotta smile it away, Twilight! Remember what Granny Pie said! Wheeeeeen I was—”

“Pinkie!” Twilight shouted, annoyed.

Pinkie dropped her tune and looked at her sadly.

Twilight softened her voice. “I know you’re just trying to help, but you’re wasting your time. There’s nothing good about tonight, Pinkie. Even you should recognize that.”

“But there is good in this, Twilight. What about getting to spend time together? Getting to help Celestia with something she can’t handle herself? Saving Canterlot? All of that’s good.”

“That’s only if we win, Pinkie.”

“Well, even if we don’t, it won’t be all bad. ‘Cause if we lose, then we die, and if we’re dead, then it won’t matter anymore!” Twilight was taken aback at her friend’s words.

“Pinkie! How can you say that?” Rarity asked, aghast. “Death is a tragic thing. There certainly isn’t anything good about it.”

“It’s not tragic for the pony who’s dying. For them it’s peaceful.”

“Not when they’re at war, like we are. About to be,” Twilight said.

“I guess it depends on how they die, then,” Pinkie said with a tiny, nonchalant shrug. Her words were beginning to make Twilight uncomfortable. It wasn’t the first time she had wondered how Pinkie looked at the world; that she talked about matters, both serious and not, in the same way made it unclear.

“Girls, can we please stop talking about this now?” Twilight asked. “I’m already depressed, and this isn’t helping.”

“We’re sorry, darling, we are,” Rarity said. “It’s just that when we aren’t talking about it, you seem to steer the conversation towards it.”

“I’m not steering the conversation anywhere.”

“Maybe you’re mad because you think Celestia betrayed you,” Pinkie suggested.

“Wouldn’t you be? Let’s say we all said to you, ‘oh, Pinkie, we’d love to keep you as our friend, but you’re just not doing enough to be useful to us, so we don’t need you anymore.’ Wouldn’t you be upset?”

“Of course I would, but your example is completely different from this.”

“No it isn’t!”

“Yes, it is,” Rarity cut in. “Twilight, dear, thousands of lives are depending on us tonight. I… can’t really believe I’m saying that. But it’s true. An entire city depends on the outcome of this battle, and Celestia has to make decisions rationally.”

“So what’s so bad about me? What can Pinkie Pie can do that I can’t?”

“Ask Celestia.”

“She’s busy with Fluttershy.”

“Ugh, I know that, dear; it was a rhetorical question.”

Twilight huffed.

“Let’s just stop talking for now,” Rarity said, tired. “Give ourselves some time to collect our thoughts and relax, and maybe we’ll see things from a different perspective.”

“Good idea,” Twilight said angrily. “I don’t want to wind up saying something I’d regret.”

She retreated a few feet from them both and crouched down in the grass, moodily staring at her hooves, which she crossed in front of herself. Pinkie only watched, and Rarity sat down where she stood, looking around but never settling her eyes on any one thing.

After a few minutes of quiet sulking, Pinkie walked over to Twilight and looked at her, worried. Twilight ignored her for as long as she could, but Pinkie refused to turn away.

With a sigh, she looked up. “What do you want, Pinkie?”

“I want you to stop being a Mrs. Grumpy-Pants and start looking on the bright side of things again.”

“Pinkie, do you know what it’s like for the pony you’ve revered all your life to tell you that you’re not worth the trouble to keep alive?”

“Nope. But Twilight, Celestia didn’t say that. Like, at all. She just told Rarity to protect me more than you.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“But it isn’t! You’re blowing it waaaaaaaaay out of proportion.” She smiled suddenly and let out another giggle, her personality instantly flipped back to the cloying exuberance that Twilight had shouted at earlier. “Like a balloon!” She began bouncing. “Oh! Speaking of which, what ever happened to the balloon? Is it gone? Are we ever gonna get it back? How are we gonna get back home? Will Celestia give you another one? Won’t she be mad that you destroyed this one? Will—”

“Pinkie Pie, please be quiet!” She put her head down. “I’m trying to get my thoughts together, and it’s really hard with you standing next to me and talking like this.”

“Sorry, Twilight. I just thought if I talked more, it would distract you and make you feel better. ‘Cause I know when I’m feeling down talking always makes me feel better because I get distracted so easily. Like just now! I’m already distracted and I don’t even—”

“Pinkie!” Twilight looked at the pink pony urgently. “Please be quiet! I really need this time to myself.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry, Twilight,” she said, a little hurt. She gave Twilight another disappointed look and walked back into the field. Rarity glared at her from across the small space between them.

Heaving a sigh, Twilight looked back to the main room, where Celestia and Fluttershy were working together. Despite her anger, she had to admire Celestia’s devotion to teaching Fluttershy; having no experimental subjects, was forced to use her own body as a canvass for Fluttershy’s burgeoning magic. She could just make out the rosy splotch of a small wound on Celestia’s side, angled toward Fluttershy, who stared at it intensely. Twilight knew that alicorns couldn’t be killed easily, and that any injuries they sustained healed more quickly than with other ponies, but did they feel pain in the same way? She assumed so, but Celestia’s distance-blurred face showed nothing.

She looked back at Pinkie, who was bouncing up and down the space between the courtyard and field, smiling and singing a cheery tune to herself.

“Confound her,” Twilight thought bitterly. “Confound all of them. Celestia, Pinkie, Rarity, all of them.” There was a pause in her thoughts. “Why Rarity? For that matter, why Pinkie? I shouldn’t be mad at them. They only want to help.” She looked down and sighed quietly to herself. “I’m probably scaring them with all this negativity.”

She looked around, but Rarity and Pinkie were the only interesting things in the field; all else was sepia grass and artificial light. Her eyes alighted on Rarity for a moment; she noticed and looked back, her own face offering no sign of emotion. Twilight looked away as Rarity stood.

She came a few paces closer to Twilight. “I’m going back into the main room. There’s no reason to stay here.” She walked down the large corridor, and Twilight, after a momentary, internal debate, got up and followed her. Pinkie was there as well, gamboling around the wooden statues, and she trailed after Rarity as she passed.

They congregated in the main room, where Celestia was lying on the ground, at first appearing to be resting. Twilight looked closer and then reeled back with a shocked gasp; her hoof was mangled into a crimson, tattered mess, partially hidden by the golden shoes she always wore.

Celestia smiled gently. “Worry not, Twilight Sparkle. This is just a test of Fluttershy’s skill.” Her expression betrayed none of the pain she must have felt.

Fluttershy looked intently at the wound, her eyes unblinking and her lips moving wordlessly. They all watched, and slowly, the red ribbons of Celestia’s ruined hoof began to knit together, flesh moving with a life outside its host, rising and reconnecting in invisible tear lines; blood faded back in, like ink; veins burrowed back down into swelling muscle, then smoothed over again with pink, then very light sand skin, and finally short, imperfectly-regrown hair in the clear stripe bordering a hard, cornified hoof. It was a silent affair, and before a minute had passed, she was completely healed.

“How does it feel, your highness?” Fluttershy asked quietly.

Celestia moved her hoof experimentally, twisting and bending; Twilight could hear her joint. “Perfect. No pain, no mobility issues.” She stood up and looked down on Fluttershy, who cowered meekly. “You are becoming a fine medic, Fluttershy. Your magic is superb, as is your form. All you lack is confidence.”

“Oh, um, thank you, your highness.”

Celestia’s gaze swept the room. “You all have improved vastly. Would you believe that only twenty minutes have passed above ground?”

“Twenty minutes?” Applejack repeated.

“That’s right.” They all looked at each other, baffled. “Only a couple things remain. Twilight, Pinkie, if you would follow me back out into the field.” She gave them a calm smile, but her tone had lost a lot of its softness. “The rest of you need not come along just yet. I will tell you when we need you.”

The three of them walked down the corridor again, and Twilight watched Pinkie out the corner of her eye; she occasionally stole quick glances at Twilight. “Trying to assess my mood, I suppose,” she thought.

They moved out into the center of the artificial meadow, a fair distance from the courtyard. “I just need to teach you a pair of advanced spells for the battle.” She paused. “And then, unfortunately, the final spell. Should we need it.” Twilight’s steps faltered. In all the practicing and socializing, she had forgotten it.

“How long until we get out there?” Pinkie asked.

“Maybe half an hour. That is, half an hour for us.”

“That’s… not very long,” Twilight said.

“I have every confidence in your abilities. Still, we must not dawdle. Luna cannot handle things indefinitely.”

“We’ll do our best, Princess,” Pinkie said.

Twilight nodded seriously, a little insulted at Pinkie’s reverence. “Why are you taking it seriously now of all times?”

“Excellent. I would expect nothing less.” With a single flash of her horn, a pair of earthen mounds, similar to the one Twilight had erected, grew up slowly before them. “First, explosions. These are quite similar to the repulsion spells from earlier, except, instead of a pushing force, you want to concentrate on a rupturing force.”

“Like this?” Pinkie chirped, flicking her eyes at one of the mounds. It erupted up and back in a sudden, sharp crackle of dust and smoke. Twilight was amazed at how quickly and decisively it had happened; one moment, the mound was there, and then it was swept away.

The smoke cleared with another pulse of Celestia’s horn. “Yes, Pinkie, but not until I say so.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t do it again.” She looked at Twilight. “Push your magic into the object, then expand outwards. Twilight, I know you tend to prefer moderation, but this is not the spell for that. Be as visceral as you can.”

“I’ll try, your highness.”

“Don’t spend too much time building up your energy. Just push and release.”

Twilight nodded, trying to work out the steps in her head, and moved before her mound. Pinkie backed away.

“Now,” Celestia said firmly. Twilight hesitated, but forced her magic forward and then outward, as Celestia had said. It felt unlike any spell she had cast before. Usually, her magic would surround an object, something she wanted to manipulate. Here, it pierced the mound and welled up within, like a gout of water suddenly released. The mound burst upward, and small chunks rolled off its top, though it was distinctly whole next to the black scar where Pinkie’s had been.

“You delayed,” Celestia said. The remains of both mounds vanished, and new ones replaced them. “Again. Do not spend all your time on pushing the magic in. Once you get the first part of the spell going, the rest of the magic will follow.”

“Think of it like kicking a pile of leaves, Twilight!” Pinkie said.

“No,” Celestia said. “That’s sloppy spellcasting, Pinkie. Ideally, Twilight, your spell will place the explosion’s epicenter, lock it in, and then pour magic in to burst outwards. Do you understand?”

“Let me try again,” Twilight said. She focused her mind again, as Celestia directed, and faced her mound. “Place the epicenter,” she told herself, trying to envision the center of the earthen dome. “Place, and release.” Her horn tingled with the effort, and the mound tore upwards into small pieces, until the top had been dislodged. She felt her magic stutter and shut down inside, and the bottom of the mound still remained.

“No moderation, remember,” Celestia said.

“Right, right.”

“Oh, Princess, can I go?” Pinkie asked, raising her hoof and waving it around.

“You may.”

Twilight stepped aside for Pinkie, and Celestia restored her mound. Pinkie wiggled as she locked in on it.

“Now,” Celestia’s humorless voice commanded. There was a shattering, shuddering, staccato ripping as the mound, and a few feet of the ground surrounding it, disappeared in the sudden explosion, slower than Twilight’s. Twilight was astounded at the blast, but Celestia’s expression didn’t change one iota as she nodded simply, surveying the damage.

“Very good, Pinkie, but keep in mind that bigger is not always better. A controlled explosion in the right place can be just as powerful as a large blast.” She cleared the debris away. “Twilight, give me another. Remember, no moderation.”

“Yes, your highness.” Twilight faced her mound and placed the spell’s center.

“Go,” Celestia said, and she jumped, releasing her magic into the small space she had created. The air shook with the sharp sound of her blast, and the mound was gone, its pieces sprayed across the grass and on the back walls. She cringed away, chest pounding, and Celestia chuckled.

“Perhaps I was wrong. A little moderation might not be the worst thing.”

“Sorry, Princess.”

“It is fine, Twilight. Just try to be careful.”

Twilight frowned at her. How could she be so dismissive?

“I would like to practice this with you more, but we really do not have time. Simply being able to cast the spell will have to do—refinement can come later.”

Twilight looked at her uncertainly. She had never known Celestia to be so slapdash in teaching someone a new spell. She was justified in her urgency, Twilight knew, but it still seemed weird. Only a few minutes had passed.

“Now, the other spell I want you to learn is a small, localized earthquake spell.”

Twilight’s eyes widened at its mention. “Is—isn’t that forbidden magic, your highness?”

“Not forbidden, my student. Just discouraged.”

“Are we gonna learn any forbidden magic?” Pinkie asked, and Twilight looked at her, shocked.

Celestia only laughed. “Goodness, no, Pinkie. I will not be showing you any forbidden magic, now or ever. It’s forbidden for a reason, you know.” She smiled and winked mysteriously, and Twilight wondered how much forbidden magic Celestia actually knew.

“As I said, this spell is not for causing full-scale earthquakes. The largest radius I’d like you to cover is a couple meters.” She looked at Pinkie. “That means no collateral damage, Pinkie. I know you tend to overdo your spells.”

Pinkie smiled guiltily.

“And that is something that I feel I need to impress.” She looked at both of them severely. “This kind of spell, overdone, can split the ground at your hooves, deep. And putting it back together is not nearly as easy as breaking it apart.”

“Um, are you sure it’s a good idea to teach it to us, Princess?” Twilight asked. “It sounds incredibly dangerous.”

“Not at the scale you’ll be using it. You can actually cast it over much wider an area before worrying too much. But I’m not taking any chances, not with how excitable you both can be.”

Twilight frowned. “I’m not that excitable.”

“I’m sure you’ll both find it quite easy to cast. Like the explosion spell, you must first place an epicenter, but instead of bursting outwards, keep the magic under control. You want motion, but contained and oscillating. Intensity, but not a totally static release of power. Do you understand?”

“I got it!” Pinkie cried.

“I think I do,” Twilight said.

“Then you may go first, Twilight. On my word.”

Twilight looked down at the ground, trying to gather her magic together. Just a few minutes ago, her eyes had been drooping, but the act of casting gave her energy. She knew it wouldn’t last; the boost was an ephemeral thing, and she would begin to crash as soon as she had a few minutes to herself. How were she supposed to fight in her condition?

“Now,” Celestia said, and Twilight shook her head to clear it. Lost in thought, she hadn’t gotten her magic where she wanted it in her conscious mind. Still, her horn glowed, and a patch of ground in the distance rumbled slightly for a minute, before quieting down.

“Not bad. You can afford to be a little more forceful, though,” Celestia said, nodding. “Pinkie, your turn.”

Pinkie looked out at the field with a look of put-on determination. Twilight couldn’t tell whether she was taking any of it seriously. On the princess’ word, the same plot of ground shuddered and vibrated, and Twilight could feel the earth trembling and rippling with the tiny quake’s intensity. When it ended, Celestia smiled, and Twilight was jealous. She hadn’t gotten a smile.

“Very good, Pinkie. I would tell you you can go bigger, but… no. You need to be extremely careful with this spell.”

“Don’t worry, Princess! You can count on me!”

“I am.” She looked away for a moment, calculating. “Not much longer. Twilight, I will trust your abilities in regards to the earthquake spell.”

“Wait, are we only practicing once?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well that’s… ugh, never mind.” She sighed. “What next, your highness?”

“Now, Twilight, this is your spell. The spell to enhance Pinkie’s power.”

“For a spell she doesn’t know,” Twilight said dully. She knew she might face an admonishment for her tone, but her fatigue dulled her caution, and her bitterness at the princess gave her confidence.

Celestia sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. If I could teach her something, I would—trust me on that. But this kind of power is reserved only for alicorns.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“Remember, Twilight Sparkle, this is a last resort. This is the spell you will cast only when all other options have dried up. I simply can’t trust that I will be in a position to do it for you, should the time come. When either Luna or I is on the battlefield, every pony that can see us is devoted to stopping us. I’m powerful, but I’m still limited by the laws of time and space. I can’t cast a spell this complex and powerful at an instant’s notice.”

“Neither can I!”

“You’re not expected to. That is where Rarity comes in. She will erect a shield around you and the sigil, and the others will protect it.”

Twilight thought. “How much time does that give me?”

“I cannot say.”

Twilight sighed and looked at Pinkie. Suddenly, the resentment she felt toward her was gone, and she was a friend again. “You’re okay with all this, Pinkie?”

“I sure am! I mean, I guess it’s not like I have much of a choice, but that’s okay ‘cause figuring stuff out on the fly is easy for me! Oh! Maybe I’ll just turn it all into a big party! Can I do that, princess?”

Celestia smiled. “Knowing you, Pinkie, yes. You probably could.”

Twilight took a moment to envision it. She had to smile at the thought. Two armies, hell-bent on destroying each other, suddenly reverted to a mountain-covering party. She closed her eyes and tried to force her mind back on topic. “Princess, how am I supposed to practice this magic-enhancing spell if I can only do it once?”

“Ah, but there is a difference, my student. Unlike Pinkie’s spell, yours is something you can practice on a smaller scale.”

“Is it a difficult sigil?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. First, you need flat ground. Clear some grass for Pinkie, please.”

Twilight had to think for a moment; she had only cast a defoliation spell a few times in her life. Her horn glowed briefly, and a circle of grass, only a meter across, shriveled up and vanished beneath the ground. Pinkie stepped in.

“Now,” Celestia said, “this is the sigil that you’ll be drawing around her.” A bright, white circle appeared in the air before her, and Twilight studied it, frowning. She had never seen one so complicated, not even in her advanced magic books. It was filled with wicked, angular lines and barbs that either branched off to connect to one another or exploded into swirling flowers of disjointed dots and dashes. It had a loose radial symmetry, but, at first glance, it was difficult to see the harmony in the thin, sinister lines. She could identify the key parts of the sigil, but some details baffled her, seemingly there for no other reason than to add to an already difficult design.

“But… I’ve seen enhancement sigils before. They’re nothing like this,” Twilight said, trying to wrap her mind around the monster Celestia projected.

“Those would be sigils for enhancing extant, natural attributes, I suspect.”

“I think so.”

“Because Pinkie here is such an anomaly, you need something a bit more complicated. This sigil not only enhances the power she has, but it also has to bring it to an energy level more commonly associated with creatures of her power level.”

“Like an alicorn?”

“Like an alicorn. Like me.”

“It sounds like a sigil you’d use to enhance your own power, but modified to fit an earth pony.”

Celestia thought for a moment. “Yes, that’s right. You know, now that I think about it, I don’t think there’s something like this in the archives. I’ll have to record it.”

Twilight knew she should be excited about the birth of a new spell, but all she could think about was the dread task it represented. “And I need to memorize it? It’s… crazy.”

“It is a bit much to take in, I know,” Celestia said. “There is an alternative to memorization, but you won’t like it.”

“What’s that?”

“I can brand this sigil on your mind, so that you are incapable of forgetting it naturally.” Twilight swallowed hard; she had read about mind-branding. It was a painful, invasive process by which information was permanently affixed to a pony’s brain. At best, it was as painful as being physically burned, but done improperly, it could lead to insanity—not from any magical cause, but from relentless, unstoppable migraines, nightmares, or other aberrations.

Celestia’s voice had softened for the topic. “I have done it before, and know what I am doing. I can brand it quickly and with very intense pain, or slowly, with less.”

“Or I could memorize it.”

“Or you could memorize it.”

Twilight studied the floating sigil for many minutes, closed her eyes and tried to visualize it. “Let me try.”

Celestia summoned a brush and inkwell. “For this part, you are only drawing the design. Put no magic into it.”

“I understand,” Twilight said, grabbing the brush and beginning the drawing. Already, the details were fading from her memory. She had to close her eyes several times, and ended up fudging most of the circle’s interior. Her rendition ended up nothing like the real thing.

Celestia banished the ink wordlessly as Twilight studied her example again, noting the big errors she had made and paying no attention to the smaller details, much as she wanted to. She reminded herself that there was no way she would get it right in one shot, but still, her confidence suffered.

She tried again, producing a severely cut-down, but mostly accurate, copy. She tried a third time, incorporating a few details but also messing up a few parts she had gotten the second time. Through it all, Pinkie watched silently, but with a small, excited smile that stirred up Twilight’s frustration anew—why should Pinkie get to merely watch while she went to so much trouble?

At the sigil’s end, Twilight shook her head, discouraged. She recognized her errors, but couldn’t remember how they were supposed to be. “Am I taking too long, your highness?”

Celestia appeared to deliberate. “I… would not be averse to speeding up the process.”

“How bad will it be?”

Celestia made a tiny grimace, but forced an encouraging smile. “I will be as gentle as I possibly can.”

“Well… all right. Can you do it quickly?” Twilight instantly regretted her decision, and she thought that Celestia could see it in her eyes.

“You are certain?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s for the best, right? I… don’t know if I can memorize this thing.”

Celestia nodded. “Then I will need to warn the others. You will make quite a scene when I do this.”

“O—oh. Okay.” Twilight tried to hide the fear in her voice, but could not. Celestia smiled sympathetically and flashed out of the field, and Twilight strained her ears to hear what she was telling her friends; she heard nothing.

“Are you sure about this, Twilight?” Pinkie asked, her tone worried. “It sounds really nasty.”

“I wish I didn’t ask, but it’s too late. Even if it wasn’t before, it is now.”

“The others have been warned,” Celestia said as she popped back into range. “Are you ready, my student?”

“Um… I don’t know.”

“I understand.” She nodded and closed her eyes. Her tone was suddenly businesslike, and it made Twilight’s heart shake. “I will not stop until it is finished. Prepare yourself. It will be best if you aren’t tense.”

Twilight took a few deep breaths, trying to force herself into relaxation. Despite Celestia’s advice, despite her own sleepiness, and despite her exhaustion from all the magic, movement, and worry, her muscles were tight in anxiety, and her mind raced.

“Here we go,” Celestia said calmly, and Twilight’s mind flew into the beginnings of a panic.

She didn’t get far; all her thoughts were immediately and completely cut off by a pain that was exquisite beyond words. Her vision went white and her ears roared, and her brain was a pincushion, each nerve a white-hot needle tip. All other sensations were gone, forgotten; she didn’t feel her body hit the floor, or hear herself screaming. Coherent thought was gone, not even a memory; it was replaced with a sensation she knew was pain through instinct alone, separate and above any possible associations with memory or intellect. She wanted it to stop, but again only instinctively—she was a body in distress that sought relief. The pain simply was, with neither implication nor context to rationalize or quantify it. She was so enthralled that she didn’t notice as it lessened, until it was gone entirely.

Her eyes accepted light again, and her vision swam back shakily. She saw the earthen vault above her, the sigil’s afterimage hanging like a spirit. It was perfectly clear to her, small, but without the fuzziness or ambiguity of a memory. She rolled over and uneasily stood, facing a concerned Celestia; the afterimage followed her, dimming quickly.

Her friends were crowded behind the princess, and Twilight moved to get a better look at them. She was regaining her other senses, and suddenly became aware of a searing, tearing pain in her throat.

“I am afraid that Fluttershy has fainted,” Celestia said. “But she’ll be okay. She was merely upset by what was happening to you. I don’t blame her.”

“Y—” Twilight coughed and retched, the pain stopping her short.

“You don’t remember any of it, do you? Except the pain.”

Twilight nodded. The memory of the experience was already fading, but her heart was fibrillating, her hooves trembling, and tears sat behind her eyes.

“As soon as I began the spell, you collapsed, screaming. You screamed until you were out of breath.”

Twilight nodded, and coughed again. Celestia turned, bent down, and touched her horn to Fluttershy’s head. Her eyes opened, and Rainbow Dash helped her up. She shook her head once to clear it, and then, spotting Twilight, raced over to her.

“Oh my goodness! Twilight, are you okay? I was so scared! Princess Celestia said not to worry, but you were just in so much pain, how could I not? How are you feeling? Are you hurt? I mean, are you still hurt?”

Twilight motioned at her throat, shaking her head.

“Oh, you can’t talk because of all the… screaming. Here. Um, if you don’t mind, I can help you,” Fluttershy said, edging closer. “If you don’t mind.”

Twilight nodded enthusiastically, and Fluttershy motioned for her to hold still. She narrowed her eyes and mumbled something to herself; despite being accustomed to picking out the quiet pegasus’ words, Twilight couldn’t discern it. She felt her throat tingle momentarily, and then the pain lapsed away. She coughed again, and Fluttershy cringed away.

“Ugh. Sorry, Fluttershy. Hey! It worked!” She hugged Fluttershy tightly. “Oh, that feels so much better! Thank you so much.”

Fluttershy blushed. “Oh, it was nothing, really.”

“Twilight! Pardon my language, but what the hell happened?” Rainbow interjected, indignant.

“Didn’t Princess Celestia tell you?”

“All she said was that she was going to enchant you, and you’d make a really big scene. But I didn’t think it’d be that big.”

“How bad was it?” Twilight asked hesitantly. “All I remember is pain.”

“Sugarcube, you were rollin’ ‘round an’ screamin’ like yer life depended on it,” Applejack said.

“If Princess Celestia hadn’t told us, we would have thought you were dying,” Rarity said.

“It certainly felt like I was,” Twilight said, rubbing her head. “How long was I… out?”

“Less than a minute,” Celestia said.

“Well, that’s good, I guess.”

“Yes. Are you feeling all right now?”

“Yes, I think I am.”

“Good. Twilight, I truly am sorry for this. I hate to rush you, but we have to continue practicing. You girls may as well stay here. It won’t be much longer before we need you.” Celestia flared her massive wings, and they all stood back behind them. She gestured to the blank patch of ground that Twilight had created, and Pinkie entered it again. “Go ahead, Twilight.”

“Huh?”

“The sigil.”

“Oh. Right.” Twilight nodded dumbly, still recovering, not from the pain, but from the knowledge of it. Just a few minutes ago, she was experiencing the most intense agony she ever had, or ever would, know; now, with nothing by which to remember it except vastly insufficient recognizance, she was left only with the implication. That such a powerful, life-changing thing should come and go so quickly and so completely, leaving only a single image behind, made her head spin. She closed her eyes.

“Twilight?” Celestia said.

Her eyes flung open. “Sorry, your highness.” She grabbed the nearby brush with her horn and dipped it in the ink. “I was just thinking.” The image of the sigil was perfect in her mind, and she drew it just as accurately, though with some effort. The picture had transferred, but not the muscle memory; it was difficult for her to translate it to the ground, and she found herself backtracking often to reorient herself.

When she was done, she looked at the princess expectantly; Celestia nodded in approval, and the sigil vanished. “That’s it? After all that work and pain, I get a nod?”

“Very good. You know how to put your own magic into the sigil, I trust.”

“Yes, your highness.” She had to try to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Then we need not practice the actual enchantment portion.” She smiled, and her horn glowed for a second; the ring of bare ground around Pinkie expanded outwards. “However, you should practice this at scale.”

“This is how big you want it on the battlefield?” Twilight asked, turning to see the whole space.

“Yes, Twilight. The circle is twenty feet across.”

“Twenty feet,” Twilight repeated to herself. The figure sounded impossible. “That might kill me.”

“I do not believe so.”

“Well, it certainly won’t be healthy.”

“Unfortunately, no, it won’t.”

“But it’s a risk we need to take, I assume.”

“You assume correctly, my star student.” Twilight sighed quietly, not caring whether Celestia heard the exasperation in it. At this point, she felt entitled to a little frustration with the princess.

“After this, we will have one more practice session.” She turned to the crowd behind her. “In which you will all be involved.”

They started chattering to themselves, and Celestia cleared her throat, quieting them. “Twilight, you will be expected to summon your own brush and ink on the battlefield.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Now draw, my pupil.”

Twilight squared her shoulders and set to work; the sigil was much more difficult to keep track of this time, and she frequently had to review her previous work so as not to get lost in the maze of lines and angles. Despite this, the picture in her mind never faded, though she had to stop and concentrate a few times to study it. It was stuck in her mind, but not actually memorized; she couldn’t know intrinsically whether she was getting it right. She had to study it, like a map. When she finally finished, she turned to look at Celestia, who was on the other side of the circular patch of ground, watching impassively. Her face did not yet say whether she was satisfied with Twilight’s work. She traversed the giant magical symbol once more, a little proud of herself; despite its size, some of the lines were only half a pace apart from one another.

“Well done, Twilight. Now,” Celestia said, whisking the sigil away, “is the last practice session. Everypony gather before me.”

They all did, quiet and nervous. The last session before reentering the chaos on the mountainside.

“In the interest of preparing you as thoroughly as possible, I’m going to summon a fake battle to cover the field.”

“Whoa, hold on,” Rainbow said. “A fake battle?”

“I apologize, Rainbow Dash, but we are running out of time. I cannot stop to allay all your concerns anymore.” She paused, and Rainbow snorted indignantly. “Twilight, once we have begun, I want you to clear a spot for your sigil. Full size. Pinkie, you simply need to stay in the middle and not move. I expect the rest of you to protect the area. Rarity, shields. Rainbow, Applejack, and Fluttershy: you must deter anypony who approaches the shield. If anyone steps onto the sigil at any time, it will likely fail. Definitely, if Twilight’s in the middle of casting. Only probably if she’s not.”

“Why only probably?” Rarity asked.

“If anypony steps onto the sigil, they are very likely to scuff it up.”

“Can’t Twilight just draw that part in again, though?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes, but the spell won’t work as well if she does. Besides, we can’t have her running to fix her sigil all the time. The goal is to get it drawn and the spell cast as quickly as possible. I do not know if Discord is out there yet, but I have no doubt that if he catches on to what we’re doing, he’ll do everything in his power to stop it. He’s not one to take chances.”

“The god of chaos, not one to take chances?” Applejack said. “Ah feel like Ah’m missin’ somethin’ there.”

“Do not be fooled by his silly outer appearance.” She frowned. “You don’t organize a surprise attack on Equestria’s capital city by being as daffy as he likes ponies to believe.”

“What do we do if he does show up?” Rarity asked. “There’s no way we could defend Twilight from him.”

“Luna and I will be there, along with any nearby Canterlot Guards. If Discord comes, we will do everything in our power to stop him.”

“So you’ll be down there with us,” Twilight said.

“Yes, but only if the spell is being cast. Until then, we’ll be busy with other parts of the battle.”

“When will I know if I need to cast it?” “Luna and I will be keeping track of the way things are going. If we see that the spell is necessary, we will draw everyone to you.”

“And the army will know what to do?” Rarity asked.

“I will disseminate the information when I get out there.”

“And we’ll be right there, right?” Rainbow asked.

“You all will stay near Twilight, yes.”

“Okay,” Rainbow said hesitantly; Twilight could tell that she was unsure of the plan.

“If there are no further questions, I’m going to summon the battle now,” Celestia said.

“Wait,” Fluttershy squeaked.

“Yes, Fluttershy?”

“Can it actually hurt us?”

“Not severely. You might get bruised if someone hits you. But I do not expect much trouble.” She let her words sink in for a second. “Rarity, shields?”

“Oh, sorry.” Rarity’s horn came to life, and a purple shield enveloped Twilight and Pinkie.

“I trust you all know your places?” At first, no one responded, but then they all slowly nodded. “Then here we go,” Celestia said, her horn lighting up brightly—much more brightly than it had before.

Suddenly, and all around them, there was a tumult of crashing armor and frantic shouting. The noise hit Twilight first, and she jumped at the intensity of it. The walls and ceiling were gone, and Twilight could only stand, stunned; it was so real, at first she thought something had gone wrong, and they were back on the mountainside. Fluttershy and Rainbow were in the air, while Applejack ran towards Twilight, deviating every time she came near a black-armored pony. For the most part, they were being ignored; fighting surrounded them, but the soldiers seemed too distracted to pay them much attention.

Twilight shook her head to orient herself, just in time to see a large pony in black armor turn around and aim its back hooves—shod with wickedly long, thin blades, like ice skates—at her. She yelped and dodged to the side, throwing a flare of magic to knock the pony away. Pinkie was no longer by her side; she was racing around, several meters away, tossing ponies every which way. Frustrated, Twilight ran toward her, yelling to get her attention. As she did so, the others following frantically, Celestia’s voice reverberated across the field.

“Ponies! To Twilight, to Twilight!” Her voice boomed, louder than Twilight had ever heard it, snapping her back from the shock of the situation. They caught up with Pinkie, who still wore her smile even as she pushed ponies bodily away. Rarity came up from behind, eyes terrified. From her peripherals, Twilight saw Rainbow and Applejack stepping closer to the protective, white unicorn.

“Watch out!” Twilight shouted, casting a spell to clear a giant circle in the battlefield; it was a blast of energy, directed straight outwards, scattering both attackers and defenders. As soon as the circle was clear, a transparent, purple dome glistened to life above it, and Pinkie jogged into the center.

Twilight summoned her brush and ink and immediately began drawing, laying the outermost circle first. She had to be careful not to tread on any of the lines herself, lest she accidentally ruin them. It was difficult; the uproar outside the shield constantly drew her to look up. Clatters of metal on metal, yells of triumph and pain, occasional shouts for reinforcements, and the electric shiver of displaced magic whenever something struck the shield. She could see Rarity blasting away ponies left and right, Celestia holding an entire side of the circle at bay by herself, and Rainbow and Fluttershy circling above her, occasionally diverting a pegasus that got too close.

Twilight smiled as she worked; she had to give her friends some credit. As timid as some of them were, they could hold their own when the situation truly demanded it. “Even though this isn’t actually the real thing.” She shook her head and refocused on the sigil, drawing as quickly as she could, but it was slow work; the image in her mind was almost too intricate to be seen properly at the size she was viewing it.

“Twilight, hurry it up! We can’t hold this shield forever!” Rainbow’s voice shook her out of her partial reverie, and she resumed drawing with a renewed fervor. It was several minutes later that she had finished the sigil, standing next to Pinkie in the middle, sweating and trembling with the exertion.

The battle continued for a couple dreadful seconds more, and then, quiet. Her ears rang. Everything was gone, as seamless and traceless as a candle being snuffed out. The sigil remained, but disappeared a few seconds later, followed by Rarity’s shield. Celestia stood nearby and beckoned them to her. It took them a few moments to regain their senses and go to her.

“That was a very good performance from all of you,” Celestia prefaced. “Rarity, try not to stay in one place. If anyone figures out that you’re the source of Twilight’s shield, they will immediately try to harm you.”

“Yes, your highness,” she said, a little cowed.

“And Pinkie, do not go running off like that. You must stick close to Twilight at all times, unless directed otherwise by me. Or Princess Luna.”

“Sure thing, princess!” Celestia narrowed her eyes, as if determining how serious Pinkie took her admonishment.

“Twilight, next time, I’m sure all of your friends would appreciate it if you would try to draw your sigil a little faster. Protecting such a large space is very tiring work.”

“Yes, your highness,” Twilight said, a little annoyed with both herself and Celestia. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

“And Fluttershy,” Celestia said; Fluttershy looked at her with a vacant look in her eyes. “You did an admiral job of protecting the area above Twilight, but you will need to focus more. I know your primary job is to administer treatment to injured ponies, but when we’re all protecting Twilight, your job is only to make sure the spell is cast. Injured ponies will have to wait.”

Fluttershy nodded dumbly; Twilight had seen the expression before, and knew that she hadn’t heard a word of what the princess said. Celestia regarded them, letting them take in what she had said.

After a while, she addressed them again. “Your training has to stop here. I apologize that I can’t afford you more time, but we are needed—desperately, I’m sure—outside.”

They followed her into the main room, each a little dazed; only Twilight looked back and saw the meadow, and then the courtyard, close off behind them, replaced, again, with bare wall.

“I will leave first. I must find my sister, and it would be better if you did not appear with me. Your primary advantage will be that no one suspects you.” She paused for a moment. “Stick together. Twilight, Pinkie, Rarity, come here.”

They approached her, and she bowed her head, horn aglow. Twilight flinched a little, but the only sensation was a light tingling all across her skin.

“This is the magical tether. Use it like you would use any teleportation spell. It can cross the entire battlefield if it has to, though I do not want that to be the case. Stay together as much as you possibly can.”

“Yes, your highness,” Twilight said. All the bad feelings she had for the princess, in that moment, evaporated; she were too close to the battle, too close to possible annihilation, to hold onto a grudge.

“You all will be disguised as soldiers, nothing more; we don’t want the enemy taking notice of you. Do you understand?”

They all nodded.

“Fluttershy, don’t stay in one place for too long. I doubt medics are particularly welcome out there.” She heaved a sigh. “And Rarity, you must only protect yourself, Twilight and Pinkie Pie. Should they separate, follow Pinkie. Use your magical tether.”

“Yes, your highness.” The fear in Rarity’s voice was obvious, and it unnerved Twilight.

“Twilight, Pinkie Pie, this is primarily your battle. Be careful, and pay attention to Rainbow Dash and Applejack. You two,” she looked at Rainbow and Applejack, “pay attention to your surroundings, and communicate. Do not let Twilight and Pinkie go blind.”

“You can count on us,” Rainbow rasped. She sounded like she was trying to capture her usual bravado, but she only sounded sick.

“Twilight, this is no time to be merciful, and it is no time to be indecisive. Destroy what you can of the enemy, and don’t stop until it’s over. Pinkie, for you, this is no time to be impulsive, and it is no time to be scatterbrained. Pay attention to your surroundings, and don’t get lost.” She paused again, her horn glowed, and six sets of armor appeared before them, more complete than the decorative, ceremonial suits the Canterlot Guard usually wore. “Put these on.”

They looked at the armor hesitantly as they approached it. Twilight and Rarity managed to get theirs on without help, but Celestia had to assist the others. The armor was thin, but sturdy; light, but impossibly hard. Form-fitting, but not restrictive. The helmets covered all but their eyes and horns, and long, bladed skewers were affixed to the tips of their hooves, jutting out awkwardly like compass needles.

“This armor is weakest at the neck and flanks,” Celestia said. “So be careful not to let anyone get too close. The enemy wears black armor, so there should be no problem differentiating between sides. There were no machines when I was there last, but that may have changed. I pray that it is not simply a matter of strength in numbers, for if it is, we may have already lost.”

They were all silent, and Celestia activated her horn again. “This replenishes your energy, and your magic.”

Twilight looked around at the others; their faces mirrored her own: shock and pleasure, mixed together in a dreamlike blend of invigorating, soft courage. She felt strong—not aggressive or dangerous, but simply capable, ready, and aware.

When the spell was over, Celestia hesitated a moment, then began another. A sextet of thin force fields appeared momentarily around each of them, then thinned to invisibility. “And these are your shields.”

She walked to the dark entryway. “My blessing is on all of you. I chose you all for a reason. Go through the courtyard and engage them where you can.” She sighed. “I wish you so much more than luck.” She disappeared into the darkness, and they were suddenly alone.

They could hear nothing, not even her hoofsteps. The underground vault suddenly felt huge and empty, and they looked around, uncertain and afraid. Even Rainbow had given up on the appearance of bravery, and trembled next to Fluttershy.

“Come on, girls,” Twilight said, trying, and failing, to sound encouraging. She began walking down the corridor, and they followed reluctantly. Its darkness and warmth seemed to press in on them, the last vestige of protection from the nightmare outside.

When they reached the gardens, the hole closed behind them, and Twilight led them back to the main courtyard. It was still empty, still calm, and still dark.

Six Hundred Bits

Chapter Twenty-two

Six Hundred Bits

“The city,” Rarity thought ruefully. “My parents warned me about this. It changes ponies, they said. Now look at us. Rainbow Dash, behaving like the most horrible brute. Twilight, buying drugs. And me, losing my temper. Oh, that poor waiter. Poor us. And in front of our new friend, too. What must she think of us?”

“Yo! Rarity? You awake?” Rainbow snapped.

Rarity looked at her coldly. “What is it, Rainbow Dash?”

“I said we’re stopping for Pinkie to get her fireworks.”

“Oh, forgive me. I must not have been paying attention.”

“I’ll say.”

Rarity glared at her and exhaled slowly, and Rainbow turned away to go into the colorful shop. “Now, now, Rarity. Deep breaths.”

They waited around the store entrance for ten minutes, and Pinkie emerged from deeper within with a bulging bag around her neck. “Let’s goooooooo!”

Octavia was propped up in her bed, back to a pillow, eyes straight ahead, staring at the wall. It was eight o’ clock, and she could hear the others approaching from down the hall. Pinkie sounded excited, and she took a deep breath to prepare herself. She recognized the tone of voice; her sister had something planned.

Six sets of hooves stopped outside her door, and she waited. She could almost feel Pinkie’s energy on the other side.

“Surprise!” An explosion of confetti burst from the door, flung open violently, and Pinkie jumped forward, wearing a party hat and carrying a noisemaker in her mouth. She blew it in Octavia’s face, then began singing. “Get well, get well soon, we want you to get well! Get well, get well soon, we want you to get well!”

“Pinkie!” she barked. She had expected something as soon as she had heard her, but the ferocity of the entrance was enough to startle a more hostile response out of her than she had intended.

“All right, that’s enough singing,” Rainbow said, putting a hoof in Pinkie’s mouth. “You scared her half to death.”

Pinkie only smiled daftly. “I didn’t have enough time to make a cake or find decorations or invite other ponies since we were walking all day long so instead I got you these!” She bent awkwardly and dropped a bag at the bedside, then reached inside and grabbed a mouthful of colorful fireworks. “I fot oo would ungoy vem!”

Octavia took a moment to take in the scene. Behind the small sack of fireworks, laid before her like an offering, Pinkie stood with an eager grin plastered to her face; and behind her, the others stood with uncertain, but genuine smiles. “I appreciate the sentiment, but what am I supposed to do with these?”

“Set ‘em off, of course! Like this!” Pinkie produced a match and lit a fuse.

“Not in here!” Twilight cried, snuffing it. She shot Pinkie a dirty look. “We can do it outside, later.”

“Thank you, Pinkie.” Octavia thought for a moment, selecting her words carefully. “Your attempt to cheer me up was not wasted.”

“Yippee!” Pinkie bounced over and hugged her, and she bore it patiently.

“Ah guess that’s ‘bout the best we could expect from you, eh?” Applejack said.

“Yes.”

They shuffled uncomfortably at the door, then came the rest of the way in. Twilight released their bags and piled them into a corner.

“So, how ya feeling?” Pinkie asked.

“I am fine, thank you.”

“Yer not hurtin’ at all?” Applejack sounded skeptical, and Octavia looked at her passively.

“Not much.”

“But you are hurting a little bit,” Rainbow pressed, eying her.

“Yes.”

Rarity sighed loudly. “Octavia.”

“Okay,” Octavia said quickly. “Say no more.” She averted her eyes for a moment, then bit her lip and looked at them. “What I did, I did out of petty arrogance. Nothing more. I wanted to prove that I did not need you to help me, but all I did was undo what little friendship there was between us. I feel like an idiot, and I am sorry.”

They looked at her, some stunned, some smiling. “Do you really mean that?” Twilight asked.

“Yes. Sitting here, alone and in pain, all day long has shown me my error. In my selfishness, I have caused only suffering.” She finally looked away, hating herself, and hating the twinge of hurt pride that came with the knowledge of her next words. “I ask only that you can forgive me.”

“Of course!” Pinkie cried.

“That’s all I wanted,” Twilight said, going over to her. She looked about to hug her, but, at Octavia’s hard glare, shook her hoof instead. “All is forgiven.”

“Good. Thank you. And… if it is not too forward, I would like to ask something more.” Octavia looked down, blushing. She felt stupid and vulnerable, and a flash of petulant anger pulsed through her mind. “Could you please heal me? Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy smiled warmly. “Oh, Octavia. I’d love to.”

“Um, maybe not now, though,” Twilight said. She looked at the door. “We should wait until later. So a doctor doesn’t walk in on us.”

Octavia nodded. “Fine.”

There was a moment of silence, and no one met eyes. For them, it was the first show of genuine emotion from her; and for her, it was a symbol of yet another lapse in good judgment. They were happy, but she could not dispel the shame coloring her cheeks.

Applejack cleared her throat. “So, uh, what’s new ‘round here?”

“Nothing whatsoever. I spent all day sitting in this bed, staring at that section of the wall.” Octavia pointed to a blank spot directly in front of her. “Doctors and nurses visited me, and said that I was well on my way to recovery. Oh, and one brought a newspaper. Other than that, I have done nothing.”

“That sounds horrible,” Rarity said.

Octavia didn’t respond, and after a few moments, Pinkie spoke up. “We made a new friend today!”

“Oh?”

“We met in the tower—Rose Tower, I mean,” Twilight said.

“Ah, that is where you went. How was it?”

“Awesome!” Rainbow said, over the top of Rarity’s “dreadful.” She sighed. “Ugh, Rarity tried to make us go out for a fancy dinner.”

“You keep sayin’ that, RD, but it was you that picked the restaurant,” Applejack said.

“Eh, details.”

“Rainbow tried to start a food fight in the middle of dinner,” Twilight said, giggling. “It was actually kind of funny.”

“More like mortifying,” Rarity said.

“Lacey started it,” Rainbow said.

“Who?” Octavia asked.

“Our new buddy, Lacey Kisses,” Applejack said. “Heck of a name.”

“Kissy Kisses! Kissy Kisses!” Pinkie cried, then laughed. “I love her name! And she was super-duper nice! Maybe a little sycophantic, but still nice!”

“She sounds like a stripper, or a prostitute,” Octavia said.

“Actually, she said she was an actress,” Rarity said.

“Oh, was that when you were shopping together?” Rainbow asked.

Rarity looked at her coldly. “Yes, Rainbow Dash.”

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “Are you still mad about dinner?”

“You didn’t even try to apologize.”

“For being myself? Nuts to that.”

“For embarrassing me!” Rarity snapped suddenly.

Rainbow leaned back in offended shock. “Hey, I’m not gonna cover up the real me just ‘cause everyone else wants to be fancy. With Rainbow Dash, you get what you pay for.”

“You don’t even care that you ruined my fancy dinner!” Rarity cried. Her eyes were glistening, and she turned away quickly and went to the door. “I’m going for a walk before I say something I’ll regret.” She slammed the door on her way out.

“Good going, Rainbow,” Twilight said.

“Hey, she’s just being oversensitive. You know how she is,” Rainbow said.

“So yer not gonna ‘pologize?” Applejack asked.

“Like I said, for being myself?”

“Whatever. Ah’m not gettin’ involved.”

“She’ll get over herself,” Rainbow said, sitting down. “Besides, we should be concerned about Octavia right now, not ourselves.”

“I assure you, there is nothing here worth your concern,” Octavia said, uncomfortable to be back in the conversation.

“That brute. That pig-headed, ill-mannered brute,” Rarity hissed under her breath. She traversed the hospital halls angrily, throwing a glare at anyone who passed. “I mean, the gall,” she mumbled to herself. “She is either completely ignorant, or just plain inconsiderate. Ugh, I don’t know which is worse.”

She stepped through two swinging doors, out of the bright hallway and into the food court. Only a few ponies were out, most of them silent and miserable, shambling around or sitting in quiet pairs, waiting. She looked around, her sudden entrance drawing a few subdued glances; she was too angry to care. A brilliant white stallion sat in the back, his ice-blue eyes watching emptily from under a sharply tapered horn. He smiled at her, and she forced a smile back.

He looked away, and she turned and left, pushing the doors open as quietly as she could. “Idiotic pegasus,” she thought bitterly. “Impertinent, stupid, brutish… nag.” Immediately, she felt bad. “And some friend you are, Rarity, thinking such things about her. Seething in your self-righteous anger instead of trying to help her understand her error.”

She went into the nearest stairwell and slowly climbed the bare, stone steps, stopping on the mezzanine. She rested her head against the cool of the wall and counted to ten, listening to the sound of the hospital settling down for the night: hooves above her, the squeak of wheels in the distance, light voices. “Three, four, five…”

A doctor came in to check on Octavia, and as soon as she was gone, Fluttershy climbed up to the bed and healed her leg. It was a simple, painless, unspectacular affair, taking only a few minutes of her concentration. No blood, no raw flesh, no one’s face screwed up in mighty concentration or blistering pain—just two serious, quiet mares, and a cast between.

When Fluttershy was done, Octavia stood, paced, and supported herself on her hind legs. She didn’t smile, but said she felt no pain. Rarity returned soon after, exchanged no words with Rainbow, and took a seat.

They talked very lightly, and before long, there were more yawns than words. Twilight unrolled a few sleeping bags, and soon, everyone was asleep, except for Octavia, who lay motionless in her bed, and Twilight, who tossed and turned in her bag just below.

Octavia looked carefully down at her. “Are you not tired?” she asked quietly.

Twilight sighed. “I am, but I can’t get comfortable. Why? Do you want to talk?” she sounded hopeful.

“Yes, but it can wait.”

“No, go ahead.” She paused. “We don’t get to talk much.”

“I have been doing a lot of thinking. A while ago, your friends told me that all ponies can use magical powers. Not just unicorns.”

“That’s right.”

“I have given the idea consideration, and have decided that I would like you to help me unlock my power. If you are able.”

Twilight was a minute in answering, and Octavia thought she had fallen asleep. “I should be able to,” she said slowly. “With some research. Did any of them tell you what it’s like?”

“They did not.”

“You might want to know that first.”

“Was the experience unpleasant?”

“It’s different for everypony. Rainbow had it really bad, I remember.”

“Bad in what way?”

“Really painful.”

Octavia sat back in her bed. “Pain is of little concern for me.”

Twilight paused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that physical pain does not bother me as it does for many others. I can concede a certain amount of arrogance in that regard.”

“Oh. Um… I don’t really know what to say.”

“It was a simple comment; it does not need a response.” She paused; she didn’t want to change topics too abruptly. “Is there a way for you to know how the spell will go for me, before I undergo it?”

“I don’t think so,” Twilight said apologetically.

“I understand.” She thought for a moment. “Is it possible to reverse it?”

“Again, not so far as I know.”

Octavia nodded to herself. “I see. I will need to think about this a little more.”

It was one in the morning, and Octavia heard a shuffling at the side of the bed. She kept her eyes closed and her breathing slow and even, mimicking sleep. The shuffling stopped, and there were hoofsteps in her direction, followed by a pressure on the bed. Someone was leaning over to look at her.

“Octavia? You awake?” Pinkie.

She didn’t move.

“I know you’re awake. I saw your jaw clench when I said your name.”

Octavia snapped her eyes open and fixed Pinkie with a cold stare. “What do you want? Why are you awake at this hour?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“Bad dreams,” she said, a little sadly.

“Again?”

“What do you mean, again?”

“You are not the only pony to experience nightmares lately,” Octavia said. “I have heard the others speak of having them as well.”

“That’s pretty weird.”

“Yes. It is. Why are you speaking with me?”

Pinkie recoiled a little. “I just want to talk. How are you feeling?”

“I am completely fine.”

“That’s good,” Pinkie said slowly; it was clear to Octavia that she was unsure how to address what she wanted to say.

“What do you need to tell me?”

Pinkie thought for a moment, her ears flat against her head. When she spoke, her voice was soft and serious. “I just wanted to tell you that what’s going on right now, with you not communicating with us, or letting us help you, is a really, really bad idea. You may think you’re staying out of our way and not being a problem, but when you don’t tell us about the important stuff—stuff like your leg—that’s not good.”

“I have already made my apology.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes.” Octavia did not hide the offense in her voice.

Pinkie hesitated. “Why don’t you like to talk to us? Are you scared? Are you shy, like Fluttershy?”

“I am not shy. I simply do not give others my trust as easily as you seem to think that I should.”

“Communicating with us isn’t the same as giving us your trust, sis.” Pinkie perked up. “But it is the first step!”

Octavia was silent.

She sobered again. “Are you hiding something?”

“Everypony is hiding something,” Octavia said simply. She looked over at the others, to be sure they were still asleep.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. Is yours really that big, though? So big that you can’t talk to your friends?”

“Some would say so.”

“Is it about home?”

Octavia sighed.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Partially,” she said at last. It was difficult to push the word past her lips.

“What’s the other part?”

“I will not say. It is not your concern, though, I assure you.”

“That’s not true!” She leaned in. “I’m your sister and your friend, and I love you. If you’re unhappy, then so am I.”

“I am not unhappy. I am simply… it is difficult to say precisely what it is.”

Pinkie frowned, scrutinizing her. “Why do you have to be so hidden, sis?”

“Hidden from what?”

“From me.” She backed away. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

Octavia nodded, her face still perfectly straight.

“Well, okay then,” Pinkie said. “Think about what I said, though. No matter how cold and scared a pony is, they always want to make friends. Try not to let this chance slip by.”

Octavia nodded again, looking away when Pinkie tried to meet her eyes.

“Nighty-night, Octavia. And try to get some sleep, okay?” Pinkie came up quickly to hug her, then returned to her sleeping bag on the floor.

When Octavia heard her sister snoring, she settled back into her bed. She didn’t sleep.

They left the hospital early the next morning, before any doctors could come in and see Octavia’s impossible progress. The morning was dreary and gray, and a fine drizzle fell on the Manehattanites crowding the sidewalk, all with colorful umbrellas.

“So, where are we going?” Rainbow asked, looking down the street inquisitively.

“The mayor’s office,” Octavia said. She and Rainbow hailed a pair of taxis, and they were soon on their way.

Twilight sat to the side, leaning and looking out the window, and occasionally looking over at Octavia. She thought of her comment the night before; it puzzled her in a way she wasn’t accustomed to.

They wove through the city’s long, straight streets, across more makeshift bridges, and through a large, grassy park, mostly empty. Before long, Twilight could see a large, domed building rolling up from the horizon, its metal crown dull and dark in the gloomy weather.

“We are in Manehattan proper now,” Octavia said, noticing Twilight’s inquisitive expression.

They stopped outside a massive, wet, rectangular lawn, green and glistening in the rain, just before the dignified capital building; the other half of their party came up just behind. They crossed the soggy lawn together, hooves squelching and Rainbow’s wings beating tiny sprays of water onto their backs as she flew beside them.

When they reached the wide, concrete courtyard at the building’s front, they walked along a row of windows into a dull corridor, lined with portraits of well-dressed, dour ponies—former politicians, Octavia said. When the corridor ended, they passed a vestibule of ponies at desks, then a blank, concrete face, in the concave middle of which sat a door, its glass spotted with rain. They shook off as much water as they could on the threshold.

They entered into a vast, tall room, its shining stone floor open and its walls filled with doors to different parts of the capital building. A large, circular desk sat in the middle of the room, varnished and clear, like a centerpiece. Inside it, tall and austere, a minotaur was vested in a gray dress, her horns decorated with small spangles. She regarded them with a courteous smile, and they all faltered, except Octavia, who strode confidently to the desk.

While she made their appointment, they stood back. “Ah didn’t know they had other species livin’ here,” Applejack whispered.

“This is the city, I suppose,” Rarity said.

“I’ve never seen a female minotaur,” Twilight said.

Octavia turned around to them. “Four o’ clock, tomorrow.”

“Can it be any earlier?” Rarity asked.

“No.”

“Go for it, then,” Twilight said.

“Hey, do ya s’pose they got a, a… blast, what d’ya call it? A directory?” Applejack asked.

“For what?”

“Fer findin’ other ponies.”

“A white pages, darling?” Rarity suggested.

“That’s it!” She walked to the desk, imitating Octavia’s calm demeanor under the minotaur’s passive gaze, and asked for one.

She took it back to them, and Octavia helped her turn through it; they were searching for her aunt and uncle, the Oranges. They found their address on the southeast side of town, not far from Rose Tower. Twilight wrote it down, and they went back into the rain.

When they got another pair of taxis, they were soaked and freezing, and Rainbow and Pinkie huddled together opposite Twilight and Octavia. The driver lowered a large pair of headphones only long enough to hear their destination, and took off with a noisy tail of flying water. The rain drummed on the roof, and Twilight sat back, looking intermittently out the windows and at Octavia. “So, have you thought any more about your magic?”

Octavia thought for a moment. “I have, but I have not yet made my decision. I know that the spell is life-changing, and I am not certain whether I want to experience a change that drastic.”

“Well, take your time. There’s no rush.”

“I am curious about something, though.” She looked at the driver, to make sure they were still unheard, then at Rainbow and Pinkie. “You all claim to have magic, and yet I very seldom see you using it. Except Fluttershy.”

“Well, to be honest, my magic isn’t that impressive, or useful,” Rainbow said. “I can levitate stuff for about a minute, but that’s about it. Anything I can do, Rarity and Twilight can do better.”

“The same goes for Applejack,” Twilight said.

Pinkie watched from the opposite corner, but didn’t speak, and Rainbow nudged her. “What about you, Pinks?”

“Yeah, you have the most of all of us,” Twilight said.

Pinkie took some time before answering, then smiled and shrugged. “I don’t like it.”

“Why not?” Rainbow asked.

She giggled. “Because it’s silly!”

“Uh… you wanna be more specific?”

“Sorry, Dashie! It’s just weird, you know? Kinda hard to explain.” She leaned over and looked out the back of the taxi, and said no more.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” She stretched and looked out the window. “How much longer?”

It took them half an hour to reach the address Applejack had found, a tall, square building sandwiched between identical apartments. A rough, black metal fire escape crawled up its warm, brick face, dulled in the rain, and windows decorated the front in a grid pattern, resting above sills populated with dripping flowers. A bare, unwelcoming yellow alcove was bored into the building’s bottom, from which they could access either side of the complex.

When they got out of the cab, the drizzle had turned into a full rainstorm, just a little short of a downpour. The rain had turned the building’s brownish red bricks a rough, wooden color, the central alcove a dim yellow mouth between two bleary windows, through which they could see quiet front rooms. They got out and paid, then hastily made their way into the hall. It was open on both ends, and though it shielded them from the rain, the wind carried a gentle spray in after them, fanning out in the mouths. It smelled of wet dust.

While they shivered in the exposed, concrete tunnel, Octavia operated the call button for Applejack, who asked—after much apologizing for the abruptness of the request—to see the Oranges. They waited for a minute, then were rewarded with the metallic swink of the door unlocking.

“I thought you said they lived in the fancy part of town,” Rarity said, hurrying inside.

“This was the fancy part of town when Ah was here last,” Applejack said.

“Well, it sure isn’t fancy now. I mean, apartments? Seriously?” Rainbow said.

“There are fancy apartments,” Octavia said. “Especially in big cities, where the city planners need to save space. That does not mean that they do not live in luxury.”

“Ah s’pose we’ll see just how fancy they are in a minute or two,” Applejack said, looking at the door numbers casually as she walked to the elevator. “We need to go up a floor.”

They took an elevator up and walked quietly down the corridor, walled in soft yellow and carpeted in thin, green shag. Only three lights were lit in the entire hallway, and the windows at both ends were uncovered, bathing the area in a dim, stormy light that reminded them more of a prison than an apartment.

“It’s the room with the picture of oranges on it. Number twenty-six, Ah think,” Applejack said.

The rooms they passed each had their own insignia on the front, and a small, silver number just above the door-frame; they passed cherries, an hourglass, a musical note, a pair of shoes, and finally the oranges. The door showed signs of wear, bearing scuff marks on its front and a dirty knob; someone had scrawled a ragged 1 in front of the room number in a lame attempt to confuse passers-by.

“Fancy, dear?” Rarity asked.

“Ah’m startin’ to think not,” Applejack said quietly. “It was when Ah was younger.” She knocked politely, and the door swung open. A pair of pale orange ponies stood within, postures and faces fixed in a calm dignity that broke when they saw Applejack.

“Applejack,” Mr. Orange said, pulling his niece into a hug. “It’s so good to see you again. What in the world brings you to Manehattan?”

“We’re really sorry to barge in on ya like this, but it’s kind of important.”

“Please, come in,” Mrs. Orange said, stepping back to admit them.

“I suspect it’s more than a trip for pleasure, if you brought all your friends along,” Mr. Orange said. He eyed Octavia. “And someone else. I’m sorry, you are…”

“Octavia Melody, sir,” she said, inclining her head. “I am their guide.”

“A guide?” Mrs. Orange echoed. “But shouldn’t you be performing?”

Octavia merely shook her head, and Mrs. Orange frowned in puzzlement.

“Come into the dining room,” Mr. Orange said, leading them through the apartment to a pristine dinner table, surrounded by shining counter-tops and lit by soft light through the rain-streaked window. Applejack sat at the table’s head, and the others stood around, Octavia leaning against her cello case.

Applejack took a moment to survey her audience. “This’ll take a while.” She started talking.

While Applejack spoke, Twilight looked around the apartment. The dining room was a large, pristine tile box, with vases of flowers near the windows and on the table, set for two. An immaculate window stood, guarded with sheer, white curtains, in the room’s back, and the rain drummed on it peacefully. A formal, minimally-colored painting hung over Applejack’s head: a small ship, its prow a swooping swish of tapering line-work. Elegant.

Twilight looked at her friends, each one looking around the room with the same disinterested expression as she. No one met her eyes, and she studied their faces. Rarity: pensive. Rainbow: bored. Fluttershy: comfortable. Octavia: exhausted. And Pinkie, whose expression bothered her most of all: anxious. She thought back to the hushed conversation in the taxi, and Pinkie’s nonchalant dismissal of their concerns.

“But she’s Pinkie,” Twilight thought. “She’s just being her usual self. Things like this don’t faze her.” A tiny voice spoke up in her head. “She seems pretty fazed right now.”

Half an hour later, Applejack finished her story.

“Well, that’s quite a... an adventure,” Mr. Orange said.

“And you say you’re already cast your healing spell on Ponyville and Canterlot?” Mrs. Orange asked, to which Applejack nodded.

“Well, I’m certainly glad you’ve come to Manehattan so early.”

“It looks like the ponies here are getting by okay with things the way they are,” Twilight said.

“Oh, they are. But it can’t ever really be the same,” Mrs. Orange said. “The lights, for instance.”

“Yeah, how are y’all dealin’ with that?” Applejack asked.

“And the water?” Twilight added.

Mr. Orange sighed. “We keep our windows open all day long, unless it’s raining. The apartment had a backup generator, but it’s only enough to light a couple hundred bulbs in the entire complex.”

“We’ve gone through more candles in these last few weeks than we have in our entire lives,” Mrs. Orange said.

“Yes, indeed. And the water… the situation is actually quite grim.” Mr. Orange adjusted in his seat. “I’m sure you saw Starlight Lake on your way over.”

“It’s almost empty,” Twilight said.

“The city is trying to circulate it as much as possible,” Mrs. Orange said. “That’s why there’s so much rain.”

“But it’s simply not enough,” Mr. Orange said. “We can’t purify it as quickly as we use it.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Rainbow asked.

“Princess Celestia’s working on that cloud convoy,” Twilight said. “The last I heard, she has the first distribution plant almost ready. It’s between Canterlot and Hoofington.”

“A lot of good that does us,” Mr. Orange said.

“Yyyyyyeah, I’m… I don’t really know what to say. I’m sorry.”

They looked at her, and she looked away. “So, what exactly do you need us for?” Mrs. Orange asked. Her voice was light, but Twilight could hear the intelligence behind it. She already knew.

Pinkie didn’t hesitate. “We need a place to stay!”

There was a palpable silence, and everyone looked at Pinkie. Rarity scoffed. “Tact, darling.” She looked at the Oranges. “I’m afraid she’s correct, though. We were hoping you could offer us a place to stay, for just a few days. Until we figure out how to approach our spells here.”

“Do you think there’s enough space?” Mr. Orange asked, looking at his wife.

“We are comfortable sleeping on the floor,” Octavia said.

“We have a spare room, but there’s only one bed,” Mrs. Orange said. She thought for a moment. “If you can make the space work, it’s all yours. But…”

“We’ll only stay a few days,” Twilight said. “We just need to figure things out. It’s a… very difficult problem.”

“Of course. Take as much time as you need. Dear, would you?”

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Orange said, standing. “Let me show you the room.”

They passed through the rest of the apartment, as fabulous and uncluttered as the dining room, to enter a guest room near the back. It was vast, dominated by a great, orange-blanketed bed on a large, circular rug, a dusty set of drawers on one side. There was another large window pressed into the wall, from which they could see the fractured Manehattan skyline, obscured and overshadowed by fat, dense clouds.

“It’s a little small for seven ponies, but if you can manage, it’s yours,” Mr. Orange said. “And if you need anything, we’ll be out here. My wife will be preparing lunch soon.”

“We can’t thank you enough,” Twilight said earnestly, and Mr. Orange waved her off.

“Friends of my niece are friends of ours.”

He left, and Twilight summoned their bags, dumping them on the floor and pushing them into the corner. Octavia leaned her cello against the pile; she had been carrying it since the hospital, and Twilight thought she could see the suggestions of relief on her stony face.

“I think he was right. This is going to be much too cramped,” Rarity said with dismay.

“You see any better options?” Applejack asked sourly, and Rarity blushed. “Right. Ah reckon the bed can take two of us, three if we’re not worried ‘bout personal space. The others can take the floor, Ah guess.”

“I call the bed!” Rainbow said, jumping into it with a grunt. “Ah, yes! This is the life!”

“Yeah, yeah, Rainbow. Yer sharin’ that with me.” Applejack climbed in alongside her, and she moved aside deferentially. “Right. Anyone else want in?”

“Oh! Me! Me! I love slumber parties!” Pinkie said, jumping in between them.

“Um, I think Octavia should have the bed,” Fluttershy said uncomfortably. “Since she’s recovering and all.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Fluttershy, but I am perfectly fine. The floor is good enough for me,” Octavia said.

“It’s not like she sleeps anyway,” Rainbow said, earning a dirty look from Rarity.

“Again, tact,” Rarity said. “Is it so hard?”

Octavia walked to the window and looked out. “Rainbow has a point,” she mumbled into the glass.

“See, she’s fine! No need to kick me out,” Rainbow said, snuggling under the sheets.

“Get up, ya lazy lump. It’s not even sundown yet,” Applejack said, prodding Rainbow.

“Yeah yeah. So what now?” She slid out of the bed with ruffled feathers.

“We find somethin’ to do before lunch. Ah don’t know ‘bout y’all, but Ah’m gonna go visit my family.” She trotted out of the bedroom.

“I have some reading I need to do,” Twilight said, fishing a large volume out of one of her bags and climbing onto the bed. “I hope nopony minds if I settle down here.”

“I think I’ll go help Mrs. Orange with the housework,” Rarity said, leaving; Fluttershy, after a moment of indecision, followed her.

The remaining four looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, before Rainbow and Pinkie left with a dismissive “see ya.”

Octavia remained where she stood, looking out the window. When she turned around, she looked uncomfortable.

“Something the matter, Octavia?” Twilight asked conversationally. She wanted to get some reading done, but the opportunity to speak to the mysterious mare was too much for her to resist.

She looked at Twilight evenly. “No. I am just thinking. I am trying to come up with a solution to the problem of Rose Tower.”

“Looks like you’re the only one.” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice, but saying it forced her to realize it: no one else had even tried to help her so far.

“I think that our only choice is to find a way to hold it manually. I know that it will be difficult, but the other option—to use magic—seems out of the question. And I see no other way.”

Twilight looked down at her book, open to a random page. “She’s right. But…” She tried to envision the logistics of holding the tower, but could not. “I really can’t imagine how to do that.”

“Neither can I. I am trying to think of any ponies I know, who can help us.”

Twilight nodded and turned a page in her book. She read for a moment, and looked back at Octavia. “I appreciate you trying to help.”

“I would be selfish not to.”

“Well, thanks.” She looked over at their bags, then Octavia, and thought of her acquisition from the previous day. It had been a constant, itching pearl in the back of her mind, drawing her thoughts to its intended recipient—now sitting, alone, not ten feet away. “The salespony said it’ll open someone up.” She looked at Octavia, who noticed her staring, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Is something wrong?” she asked mildly.

Twilight looked away quickly. “I should do it now. I can learn so much about her. And if I offer to smoke some with her, she’ll probably agree. At least to be polite.” “Octavia, do you ever, uh…” “But what if someone walks in on us? What if she refuses?” She looked back down at the book. “What if it’s more than just her being private?” She sighed. “Never mind.”

Octavia nodded and went back to the window, and Twilight turned a page, blushing in shame.

Rarity and Fluttershy found Mrs. Orange reluctant to accept their offers for help at first, but she soon warmed up to them and put them to work cleaning the living room, while she prepared lunch. Mr. Orange was in the next room, a large office, doing some sort of paperwork, leaving Rarity and Fluttershy to the relative quiet of their duties.

Fluttershy was finishing dusting the bookshelves when Rarity called for her attention. She turned around to see the white unicorn holding a newspaper in her telekinetic grasp. “What is it, Rarity?”

“Listen to this,” Rarity said. “It’s the top story. ‘Mysterious Prowler Terrorizing Manehattan Residents’.”

Fluttershy gasped. “Mysterious prowler? Is it… the train pony?”

Rarity cleared her throat and read. “In a string of recent sightings, the strange pony, dubbed ‘Spring-hoof Jack’ by local police, struck once again in the Unity Plaza, police say.” She looked over the paper. “I don’t know where that is. In his third appearance in three days, he appeared suddenly in the plaza, jumping and grabbing at ponies. No one was seriously harmed. Ooh, a quote.” She paused. “A witness to the attack, who wished not to be named, said, ‘he just bounded over the wall like a crazy pony, jumping and gibbering. His eyes were bright red, like fire.’ That’s what Rainbow Dash said he looked like.”

“Is there a, um, better description of him?” Fluttershy asked.

“Let me look.” Rarity flipped through the paper for a moment. “Here we are. At the bottom of the article, it says what he looks like. Around five feet tall, very thin, pale fur, light brown mane of long, coarse hair. His eyes alternate between blue and bright red, and—why, I can’t believe it—he’s been seen breathing blue fire. So Rainbow was right.”

“What about the jumping?”

“Yes, higher up, it said something about that. Ah, here we go. ‘He escaped by jumping over a nine-foot wall and then onto a roof, police said’.” She put the paper down on a chair. “Spring-hoof Jack.”

“Discord’s… pony,” Fluttershy said unhappily. “Did they mention him in the story?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“But we know he’s the one who brought him here.”

“We suspect it, yes,” Rarity said.

They looked at each other unhappily, both thinking about the story, about Discord. Housework didn’t sound very relaxing anymore.

After lunch, the seven retired to the guest room. Rainbow had grabbed a deck of playing cards and brought it in with her, and they sat in a rough circle playing Hearts; spirits were high, voices were raised in merriment, and even Octavia was heard to laugh a couple times during the proceedings.

“So tomorrow, we’re seein’ the mayor. Right?” Applejack said, examining her cards.

“That’s right.” Twilight laid down her card—the four of clubs—and thought for a moment. “Should we call ahead first?”

“It might be a good idea,” Fluttershy said.

Twilight grinned. “This’ll be the first time in a long time that I use a phone.”

“Really?” Octavia asked, laying down the king of spades.

“Not many of us have phones in Ponyville.”

“The town is so itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny that we don’t even need ‘em!” Pinkie said, throwing her card into the pile.

Applejack took them. “Ah know the mayor has one, of course, an’ Ah think Rarity has one, but Ah can’t think of anyone else.”

“The spa,” Twilight said.

“Oh, right. Why do they need a phone, anyway? It’s not like they take a lot of out-of-town clients.”

“I have no idea,” Rarity said. “But I’ve seen them use it a few times. It’s usually Lotus who does the talking.”

“You should call tomorrow,” Octavia said. “Phones are very common in the rest of the country. It would be good for you to get some practice using them.” She set down the nine of diamonds, and Pinkie covered it with the queen of spades. “Damn.”

They played cards until nightfall, alternating between Hearts, Bullshit, and a few rounds of poker, played with chips that Applejack was able to borrow from the Oranges. After a short walk about the apartment and a smaller dinner from Mrs. Orange, everyone was settling in for bed.

Twilight and Octavia found their own spots on the floor, not nearly as cramped as the hospital room, while Pinkie and Applejack climbed into the bed with Rainbow. Soon, they were all asleep; only once did Octavia awake, in the very early morning, to the sound of muffled sobbing on the other side of the bed. She couldn’t identify the pony by the voice, and she didn’t get up to look.

The next morning, after they had roused themselves, eaten, and cleaned up for the day, they found themselves standing around the Oranges’ phone, trading uncertain looks at the foreign device. Even Rarity, who had owned a phone back home, looked uncomfortable.

“So, who shall it be?” Octavia asked.

“Let me have a crack at it,” Rainbow said, stepping forward. “I never back down from a challenge.”

“Do you have any idea what to do?”

“Let me try to figure it out,” she said, picking up the receiver and staring blankly at the rotary device. “Um, gimme a sec.” She leaned in close to the rotary pad. “Um, hello? Yeah, can I talk to the mayor? It’s important.”

Nothing happened, and Rarity giggled.

“Hey! At least I’m trying,” Rainbow said defensively.

“Oh, no, don’t mind me, darling. It’s just that that was a perfectly silly thing you did just there,” Rarity said. Her eyes glinted with satisfaction.

“Whatever. So, what, do I talk into this thing then?” Rainbow asked, indicating the receiver.

“Yes, that is part of it,” Octavia said.

“You have to dial the number first, dear,” Rarity said with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

“Dial… right. I know how to do that. Um, his number is… what is it?”

Twilight pulled out a business card they had received the day before and recited the number, which Rainbow repeated into the receiver.

Rarity laughed again, and Rainbow shot her an acidic look.

“Do you see the black circle, with the numbers in it? Rotate that so that it lands on each number, and then speak into the receiver,” Octavia said patiently.

Rainbow did as she was bidden while Twilight repeated the number again, and was rewarded with a ring. “Oh, oh, I got it! I got it!” She paused. “What do I do?”

“Tell them we want to confirm an appointment with the mayor today,” Octavia prompted.

“Make sure you tell them who we are,” Twilight said.

There was a muffled voice on the other end, and Rainbow stared at it blankly. “I… I… hello? Um,” she stuttered and said nothing.

Octavia sighed. “Give me that.” She took the phone from her. “Hello? My apologies; I do not believe that this line is connected quite properly. I am calling to confirm an appointment with the mayor. We are the ponies who visited you yesterday, on a mission from Princess Celestia.” She waited. “Yes, that is correct. We are the spell-casters.” Pause. “Excellent. Thank you very much.” She hung up and looked at Rainbow.

“Was that really as difficult as you made it?” Rarity asked.

“I guess I kinda froze up,” Rainbow said, face turning red.

“Don’t worry, Dashie, we all get a little scared sometimes!” Pinkie said.

“I wasn’t scared. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Of course, darling,” Rarity said, giving her a smile.

“Our appointment is at four o’ clock, sharp,” Octavia said.

Twilight looked at the clock in the kitchen; they had five hours. “Well, until our appointment, we should stay busy.”

“We need to think about how to keep Rose Tower steady for our spell.”

“Ugh, that,” Rarity said. “You’re right, of course. But… ugh.”

“Twilight and I discussed it yesterday. We believe that our only option is to find a way to hold it manually, with cables or ropes.”

“Uh… but that’s impossible,” Rainbow said.

“The task itself is impossible,” Applejack said, walking to the kitchen and passing Mrs. Orange, walking out.

“You don’t know anyone who can help us, Octavia?” Fluttershy asked.

“I do not,” Octavia said, shaking her head.

“Help with what?” Mrs. Orange asked.

“We need a way to hold Rose Tower for our spell,” Twilight said. “We need a lot of cables, or wires, or something. To stabilize it.”

Mrs. Orange thought for a moment. “You can buy cables here, if you have enough money. The biggest wire and cable company in Equestria has its headquarters on the other side of town. Tethers, Incorporated.”

“I did not know that they were based in Manehattan,” Octavia said.

“Oh, yes.”

“That must cost a fortune,” Rarity said.

“I’m sure it would.”

“And we would not know how to use them ourselves,” Octavia said.

“Maybe if we got someone from the company to help us,” Twilight said.

“A CEO or something,” Rainbow said.

Mrs. Orange pursed her lips. “I don’t know if he’s a CEO, but there’s a high-level employee on the floor below ours. He might be able to help.”

“Seriously?” Rarity said.

“We’ve had him over for dinner a few times,” Mr. Orange said from the other room. “Nice pony. A little shy.”

“Strawberry, I think his name is,” Mrs. Orange said.

“‘Strawberry’? Not something more relevant?” Rainbow asked.

“Like Ropey McGee!” Pinkie added.

“Ponies’ names do not have to match their talent,” Octavia said. She looked back at Mrs. Orange. “What more can you tell us about him?”

“Not a lot. Like my husband said, he’s quite shy.”

“But he’s got a good position in this Tethers business,” Rainbow said.

“He’s an executive of some kind, yes.”

“It’s worth a try,” Twilight said. “Which room is he in?”

“Oh, I don’t know, not off the top of my head. It’s the one with the money cutie mark, though. The floor just below.”

“Well, what’re we waiting for? Let’s go check ‘em out,” Rainbow said, heading for the door.

“Thank you for the suggestion,” Rarity said, and Mrs. Orange nodded with a smile.

They went downstairs in the small elevator and traipsed up and down the lower corridor, finding the door with the money cutie mark at the hall’s end. Like the Oranges’, it was scuffed, with chipping paint in a few places. Twilight knocked and faced the door with her best friendly expression, not certain what to expect.

They waited a minute, and the door opened slowly, catching on a chain by the top corner. A narrowed, green eye looked out at them, and a wary voice spoke. “What do you want?”

“Um, hi. I’m Twilight Sparkle, and these are my friends. Are you Strawberry?”

The door snapped shut.

Pinkie scoffed dramatically. “Well that was rude!”

Twilight knocked again. “Excuse me! We just want to talk to you!”

“Why are you here?” the voice asked through the door.

“We need your help,” Rarity said. “We are Princess Celestia’s spell-casters, and we need assistance stabilizing Rose Tower. We can’t cast our spell otherwise.”

“I can’t help you.”

“You’re the pony at Tethers Incorporated, though. Right?” Twilight asked.

There was a long silence. “Who wants to know?”

“The Elements of Harmony,” Rainbow said. “What the heck is wrong with you?”

“What do you need me for?”

“Cables,” Twilight said patiently. “And a lot of them. To hold the tower in place while we cast our spell.”

The door cracked open again, and the eye studied them, lingering on each one of them individually. “I do recognize you all.” The eye settled on Octavia. “Octavia Melody. Why are you with the Elements of Harmony?”

“I am their guide,” Octavia said.

“Interesting. You say you need cables. A lot of cables.”

“Yes. Can you help us?” Twilight asked.

The eye looked inside the room, and they could briefly see a dark, undecorated interior. “No. I’m indisposed.”

“What? How?” Rainbow asked, moving up to look through the crack.

The door inched shut again. “Leave me be.”

“Are you okay in there?” Fluttershy asked. “Do you need help?”

“We’ll do anything we can,” Twilight said, putting on a smile.

The door clicked shut again, and they let out a collective sigh. “Aunt Orange wasn’t kiddin’,” Applejack said. “Even Fluttershy ain’t this bad.”

Fluttershy cringed and blushed, and Rarity rubbed her back.

The door opened again, and something heavy hit the floor on the other side. “I can help you, but you have to help me first.”

“Oh, here we go,” Rainbow said quietly.

A hefty sack of bits appeared in the crack. “I need you to deliver this for me.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Applejack said, backing up. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious.”

“Why can you not deliver it yourself?” Octavia asked.

The eye shifted. “I can’t be seen. Not where you need to go.”

“Oh, and you think we can?” Rainbow said.

“In this situation, it won’t matter if someone identifies you. They know you’re not me. That’s enough.”

“What is it for?” Rarity asked.

“Rarity! Yer not considerin’ this, are ya?” Applejack asked.

“We need his help. I think we should,” Twilight said.

“How do we even know this is the guy?” Rainbow asked. “He could be anyone.”

“The Oranges said it’s him,” Rarity said. “What is this money for?”

The eye fixed itself on her. “I can’t go into specifics. I got into a little trouble, and I need this money to pay someone off. Six hundred bits.”

“No deal,” Rainbow said. “We’re not into illegal stuff.”

“You won’t be in any danger,” he insisted. “The pony knows I’m delivering the money through an intermediary, and there won’t be anything after this. It’s a simple, single-step transaction.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Just take the money where I say and pass it off. You can walk away after that, and I’ll help you.”

“We don’t want to commit yer crimes for you,” Applejack said.

The eye closed for a moment, and he sighed. “I hate to do this. I don’t want us to be on bad terms with one another.” His voice turned firmer. “But you’re forcing my hoof here. You need me more than I need you. I can have this delivered by someone else—albeit at greater personal risk—but it looks like you don’t have anyone else who can help you with your tower.”

“I told you,” Rarity whispered to Rainbow, who rolled her eyes.

“Let’s not make this uglier than it already is. It’s a very simple, very safe job. You can travel in a group, if you’re worried about being attacked. Not that anyone would have the audacity to try to harm you. Element bearers.”

“Ah don’t wanna get involved in somethin’ illegal, even if it is safe,” Applejack said. “It’s a slippery slope.”

Pinkie giggled, and they looked at her.

“What’s your alternative?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?” Rainbow asked, indignant.

“What’s your alternative,” he repeated, enunciating sharply. “How do you cast your spell without my assistance?”

No one responded, and Twilight cleared her throat. “Is there, perhaps, another way we can help?”

“This is the easiest task I can give you.”

“Twilight, we should walk outta here,” Applejack said. “This can’t end well.”

“We can’t walk away from the best chance at completing our spell, Applejack,” Rarity said.

“She’s right.” Twilight took a moment to clear her mind. “We’ll do it.”

The eye closed. “Thank you, Twilight Sparkle. There’s a bar on sixtieth and fifth. ‘The Shot Apple,’ it’s called. Go there and wait for a pony to approach you about the money; he should know my name.”

“What’s he look like?” Rainbow asked. There was resignation in her voice.

“I’ve never seen him. Just be sure he knows my name.”

“And when do we need to be there?” Rarity asked.

“If you leave now, I can call ahead and tell him to be ready. It’s not far.”

“And you’ll help us with Rose Tower after this. Right?” Rainbow asked.

“Of course. You have my word.”

“We’ve got the word of a criminal. Great,” Applejack said.

“How can you help us?” Octavia asked. She approached the door to look into the eye. “How do we know that it is worth it to do this for you?”

“Are you kidding? I don’t even know you ponies, or your mission. You’re the ones who keep saying you need me.”

“You have access to heavy duty cables, though,” Twilight said.

“…That’s right.”

“And you can use them,” Octavia pressed.

“Yes.”

“Let’s just do this,” Rarity said. “It’s just a small chore, really. A bit… uncomfortable, but small.”

He slid the bag of bits out into the hall. “You have my thanks.” He made to close the door.

“How do you know we won’t steal this money?” Rainbow asked.

“Because that’s not in your nature. And I’ll know if the money doesn’t reach the pony it’s supposed to.” He regarded her sternly, his eye hard. “The Shot Apple, sixtieth and fifth. Make sure he knows my name. Strawberry.”

Twilight grabbed the bag of bits, and the door closed with a sharp snap. She floated it out in front of her as they walked down the hall, and, reaching the door, stowed it away in her pocket dimension.

“Ah don’t like this,” Applejack said. “Ah really, really don’t like this.”

“We can get into some really serious trouble,” Fluttershy said quietly.

“You heard him, though. What choice do we have?” Twilight asked. “But you’re right. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“We’ll have to be careful,” Rarity said.

“You ever been to the bar he was talkin’ about, Octavia?” Rainbow asked.

“I do not frequent bars, in any city,” Octavia said.

“Yeah, figures.”

They walked out to the curb and hailed a pair of taxis. The rainstorm from the day before had mostly vanished, leaving only a few shards of dark cloud to mark the sky. Puddles stood in the gutters and a chilly wind blew, and they grouped closer together inside the cabs.

“Who could he need to pay off? That’s what I wanna know,” Rainbow said.

“I think that it would be better if we did not find out,” Octavia said.

“Octavia’s right,” Twilight said. “Let’s just get in, give this money to whoever wants it, and get out.” She looked out the window. “And if they ask us to do anything else, we say no. We’re not about to get involved in something we shouldn’t.”

The First Step Into Vanilla Cream's Confidence

Chapter Thirty-six

The First Step Into Vanilla Cream’s Confidence

Pinkie knew something was wrong. Ordinarily, when Twilight completed her giant sigil, she was infused with a rush of power and knowledge, almost disorienting in its intensity. At first, she thought it was just the strange location; the villa was full of powerfully enchanted objects. As she reached out to touch the separate pieces of countryside—so few, in comparison to the other locations they had seen—her discomfort lessened, before coming back with an acute snap. Something nearby was not as it was supposed to be, but also, worryingly, very easy to pass over. So she did. She took the giant slabs of earth and stone and brought them together as she always did, mindful as always of any creatures near the edges, that they not be caught: something the others only asked her about once, and she dismissed. She knew what she was doing.

When it was over, the last glimpse of power she had was of that same distinct wrongness, before it all slipped away, and she plummeted back into her own body, before sagging, spent, to the ground. Everyone cheered.

As soon as Octavia felt the spell taking place, she rose and went to the window, facing the back of the villa, where there was nothing but empty plains for her to watch move. When the commotion was over, she took a moment to admire the restored scenery. In her mind, they were finished. Trottingham was complete, and in less than a week. She smiled, and Mama Astra laughed at her own window.

When the large, dark ship sped into view, as fast and deliberate as an arrow, it was a moment before she reacted. Her pulse jumped and her heart danced anxiously, but she only mustered a sigh. It was the same ship they had seen in Manehattan, its dark, wooden body a shadow over the villa’s grounds.

“What is that?” Mama Astra asked.

Octavia went to the door. She knew what had to happen. “Evacuate everyone, and get the crow ready.”

When the heavy, loud suit of armor clattered into the room, Twilight squealed in delight, and Violet gasped.

“Girls, follow me,” she said seriously. “There’s an emergency.”

“Emergency? What? Now?” Rainbow cried, helping Pinkie to her hooves.

“I don’t know,” Violet said. “But the suits of armor only do this when something’s wrong.”

They followed her out of the room hastily, down the hall, to a staircase. “What about Octavia?” Pinkie asked.

“She’ll be fine.” Something crashed in the distance, huge and visceral, and Violet paused. She looked back at them with a sick expression.

“Where are we going?” Rarity asked.

“Probably outside,” she said. Her voice was weak.

Octavia made it outside first, her friends right after her. Suits of armor led groups of confused and alarmed ponies out the front doors in steady streams, while the dark ship rotated above. It had sent an initial cannonball down into the villa’s south wing, and when she looked up at it, she could see the impression of a second cannon hanging off its side, ready.

Before it fired again, there was a crash of broken glass, and a dark form emerged from within the house, accompanied by a small hive of glowing shards coming up over the courtyard: discharge from the central fountain. The Astra crow rose on flaming, black wings and sped straight at the ship. As they watched, fascinated, suspended between fear and excitement, a jet of flame leapt from its beak to flow across the ship’s hull while the fountain’s spells exploded against its bottom. Some ponies cheered, but most stayed silent.

The crow was only a fraction of the ship’s size, and swooped up to the masts in a long arc, its wings shearing the air with a thunderous sound. As it ascended, the ship fired another cannon, and the villa’s roof caved in near the front door. Ponies cried out angrily, and the suits of armor stayed with their charges.

Octavia looked quickly at Twilight, who looked back emptily. There was nothing to do but watch as the two flying machines fought. Their own airship was on the other side of the maze, and the enemy ship was out of range of their magic.

Another cannon fired, and the crow stuttered in flight, one wing flapping back awkwardly at a spray of sparks, and it released another comet of flame, catching the sails. Below, the hull had gone out, and where the fire was, there was only a fuzzy, black circle. The crow flew back and around, and Octavia looked back to the ship. She clenched her jaw involuntarily: the single cannon had been replaced with an entire row, lining the ship’s side like tiny teeth.

As she drew in air to steady herself, the volley fired, and the villa responded with a crunch of destroyed beams and walls. Mama Astra cried out beside her, and the crow turned quickly to ram its body into the ship. Flame spewed as it glanced off the dark wood, and the cannons fired again, some crashing off the crow’s body, but most hitting their target.

The villa was sinking into itself as the ship turned around, pointing its bowsprit at the house. The crow still attacked, fast and frenzied: the family pet defending its masters. It moved like a real bird, flapping its incredible wings to steady itself as it squawked shots of fire at the aggressor, moving in occasionally to dig its talons into the hull. The fountain gave off another round of glowing missiles.

“Oh, crap,” Twilight said quietly.

Octavia looked at her, but didn’t have to wait for the answer to her questioning expression. With a low roar, a gout of flame flew from the ship’s front, from a hatch under the figurehead. In one instant, the small hope that remained in the crow’s abilities to stop the ship was gone, flashed away in a sizzling rush as flame embraced plaster. The crow responded with a burst of flame of its own, but it barely brushed the ship as it turned again.

She watched, frozen, as the house before her burned. The fire had met it around the middle, and from her perspective, it was a couple seconds before the first orange tongues of flame were visible, flickering above the roof under a darkening mist of smoke. The suits of armor stood their ground, but from within, the suit servants came running, some aflame, some not. Mama Astra wept by her side, and Violet stared with wet eyes. Octavia could only stand still.

The ship turned, the crow rushed it once more, and a swarm of small, blue orbs glinted overhead before bursting on the house, dampening some of the flames. Before the crow could attack again, the ship had turned away from the villa and sped away, coming to rest in the distance on the other side of town. The crow stopped momentarily, confused, and then took off after it.

“Wait. The vineyard.” Octavia looked at Violet, whose eyes lingered on the burning house. Her friends watched as well, transfixed. “The villa is lost, but the vineyard is not.” At the thought, even despite her fatigue from traversing the aqueducts that morning, a solution formed. It was too dangerous, but she could do nothing else.

“Violet,” she commanded. “Bring it back.”

“W-what? No! She’s—”

“Bring the crow back and give her to me. I need to evacuate the vineyard.”

Violet trembled for a moment, then raised her head slightly. “Come back, crow.” Her voice was hardly audible, but the crow, a black curtain of metal and flame suspended against the blue sky, turned immediately to speed back to them.

“Have the crow follow my orders,” Octavia said. She was breathless with fear, doubtful, but her voice wavered only slightly. “No one else will do anything.”

Violet looked up at the coming crow, and it landed beside them. Heat radiated off its body, and Octavia approached carefully. “Crow, follow Octavia’s orders,” she breathed.

“Thank you.” Octavia faced the crow: glowing, smoking eyes atop a swelling, black body, hot enough to shrivel the grass at its feet, and folded, smoldering wings grouped together like scissors. “Crow, let me ride you.”

It turned swiftly and knelt, its legs flipping up underneath as it lowered itself. A small fold of metal appeared and unfurled along its side, and she went to it quickly, putting her concentration into a rudimentary shield spell, to block out some of the heat. As she approached, sweat stood out on her head, and she was aware of the others protesting behind her. Rarity screamed that it was crazy.

“Yes, this is crazy,” she thought, ascending the thin stairs. They were warm under her hooves, and as she climbed the black mound, she thought briefly of what would happen if she were to lose her balance. The stairs were not too hot, but she could feel the impossible heat coming off the rest of its body; to fall onto it would leave her immobile and helpless, even with her shield.

The saddle was a small, leather seat, fixed in a metal cradle that was bolted to the crow’s back. Machinery churned below, and smoke escaped in fine streams out of a pair of pinholes by two straps. She quickly wrapped them around her forelegs, giving a look toward the vineyard. The ship hovered over it, but she heard no cannons.

“Crow, go to the vineyard,” she said. Dread sank in her mind as it stood up, and she was suddenly ten feet off the ground, secured only by two thin loops of leather. With a nightmarish shearing sound, its wings came out, and before she could process the fear that tightened in her chest, they were off the ground with a powerful flap. Metal cut the air with a heavy, ripping sound, and smoke rolled down into her face as they rose.

She could hear the others shouting at her from below, but their voices were nothing to her against the shrieking metal and flame. They moved upwards unevenly, wildly, fast enough to force her back; she held the straps tighter, ignoring them as they bit into her legs. Tilted up at the endless sky, the wind and smoke in her face, her heart was petrified; she didn’t look to the sides, where she would see the massive, twenty-foot curves of burning iron, nor did she look down, where she would see the small houses and barns of Trottingham fading under thin clouds. At her back, there was only empty air and the horrid, high whistle of its perforated tail, a fan of rigid, black razors. She fixed her eyes on the rapidly rotating gears on the crow’s neck, where smoke flew in savage puffs, and tried to focus on coming task. She could not.

When the flapping stopped, she breathed out, momentarily relieved as they coasted and leveled out. They were eye level with the mountaintops, and as the ship moved closer into view, she took her eyes off the crow’s gears to study it. Her nerves were too taut to give reaction to what she saw: the sail had returned, and the blackened marks on its hull were gone. She knew she was where she needed to be, but still could not look down. “Crow, land me near the main house.”

They pitched to the side at her words, and her heart clenched as she gripped the straps tighter. Even with her eyes on its gears, its angle let her see the ground, and she was frozen. She was at least a hundred feet off the striated ground, as free and uncovered as the machine she rode, and descending fast. She could see Vintage’s house, and a few employee houses away from it, and let out an agonizing, quivering breath as they grew from toys to buildings.

Despite their speed, they landed gently, and Octavia climbed off the crow with her nerves in tatters. Her walk down the stairs was slow and shaking, and she jumped the last two, landing on the warm ground with a loud gasp of joy. She stood where she landed for only a few seconds, ignorant to the heat at her back, before reorienting herself. She ran to Vintage’s door, and turned back to the crow quickly, remembering its reliance on her orders. “Crow, attack that ship.”

With a rush of air that almost made her fall over, it took back to the sky, and she threw Vintage’s door open, calling for her. Back on the ground, she could think clearly, and the enormity of her job came to her—too enormous for one pony. “Still, I must try.”

Vintage came out of her room, her face a mask of terror, which lightened only slightly at Octavia’s appearance. “What’s going on?”

“There is an emergency. Help me evacuate the employees.”

“What?”

“Help me evacuate everyone!” Octavia barked, turning and running back outside. The crow and ship were again engaged in battle, and though no cannonballs fired, she knew it would not be long before they did. She looked back quickly; Vintage was by her side, looking fixedly forward. “Where are the employee houses?”

“Head that way,” Vintage said, pointing north. “I’ll go a different way.”

Above, something cracked, and they split apart. Octavia jumped ungracefully over a ridge of dead grapevines, and for the first time, she thought of the villa, all the way across town, and only a few minutes away.

With one final spray of blue orbs, the last tongues of flame were doused, and the villa was out. Even charred and shattered, a shred of its glory remained; the imposing frame stood strongly against the crumbling plaster, a proud skeleton.

Still, the house was destroyed. The entire family was stunned; some cried, some yelled, some stared in disbelief. The suit servants that had survived came to their masters, slow and respectful, to wait by them; some gave sleeves or lapels to wipe tears and noses. The suits of armor were as still as ever, and from behind, statues and topiary ponies stepped forward, heads bowed. Twilight watched the crow and the ship in the distance.

“Is everypony okay?” Applejack asked finally. “Anyone hurt?”

“We’re all here,” an elderly stallion said. Papa Astra.

“Where is your friend?” Mama Astra asked.

“Octavia took the crow across town,” Violet said. “She needed to evacuate the vineyard.”

“She’s gonna kill herself over there,” Applejack said. “We need to go after her.”

“No, don’t,” Twilight said. “We’re needed here.”

“Let Octavia do her thing,” Pinkie said. “I think she knows what she’s doing.”

“What can we do?” Twilight asked.

Papa Astra looked at the ruined villa. “I don’t know.”

As Octavia approached the first employee house, the massive ship, minus one mast and with a spreading forest of flames on its back, turned and shot away. The crow made to pursue it, and Octavia ordered it back. It landed outside the house, and she pondered her next move. The evacuation was no longer necessary, but she could not simply leave everyone to wonder what had happened. “Crow, return to the Astras. Help them however you can.” It jumped into the air and soared away, and an employee cracked the door open.

“We’ve seen it before, yes,” Rarity said. “But never this close.”

“Will it come back?” Papa Astra asked. The family was still stuck in the courtyard, processing the situation, while the servants picked through the house’s wreckage.

“I don’t think so. It looks like your crow chased it off.”

“But I don’t think it’s gone,” Twilight said. “Based on what I’ve seen, I think it can repair itself.”

“But why did it come here? Why now?” Applejack asked. “Right after a spell.”

“Um… there was something,” Pinkie said. “Something strange about this one.”

“Strange how?” Twilight asked.

“I dunno. It kind of felt like there was something underneath your spell.”

“The sigil outside the house,” Papa Astra said.

“There’s a sigil somewhere?” Twilight said.

“We found it after your friends left, the first time. Half of a summoning sigil, and the other half on the other side of a gap. For what, we couldn’t tell.”

“I bet it was to summon that ship,” Rarity said.

Twilight sighed. “And when we brought the ground back together, it joined the sigil halves, activating it. Yes, probably.” She wanted to be angry, but could only sigh again, drained. “Damn Discord. If we had known, I could have erased it, or something.”

“We told Octavia. Did she not tell you?” Papa Astra asked.

“What? No, she didn’t say anything.” She looked up at the crow, returning to land nearby.

“Crow, take a rest,” Papa Astra said without looking.

“So what are you gonna do?” Applejack asked.

“We will have to rebuild. But… I do not think any of us are experienced with construction.” He thought. “We will discuss it. And praise the princesses. Our money and important texts are in a vault outside the house. Those should be undamaged.”

“And what can we do to help?” Rarity asked.

“I don’t think there’s anything. No one is hurt—thank Celestia. I am sure your friend would appreciate it if you returned to her.”

“Are you sure?” Twilight asked.

“We can send for someone, or something,” Rainbow said.

“Actually, you are in contact with the princesses, are you not, Twilight Sparkle?” Papa Astra asked.

“Um, yes. What do you need?” Twilight asked.

“If you could ask Princess Luna to send us some airships, we would be grateful. Three should do.” He looked over the remains of the villa and sighed. “I quite doubt we’ll be staying in Trottingham.”

“Of course,” Twilight said. “I’ll write the letter as soon as I get back to the ship. Oh… uh, sorry. Can we get a guide through your maze?”

He nodded and turned to a nearby maid outfit. “Take these ponies through the maze, and return to me.”

They followed behind the maid suit reluctantly, leaving the Astra family behind with its destroyed house.

As soon as they were on the ship, Twilight sent a letter to Princess Luna, asking for a trio of airships, not going into too much detail regarding the villa’s destruction. When they returned to the vineyard, Octavia was addressing a crowd of workers, at the front of which stood Vintage. She looked back briefly at them, and they stayed on board while she spoke to them. She did so with authority and calm, and they were silently impressed at her ability to hold the crowd’s attention.

After they dispersed, Vintage waited below, and Octavia went to them; for a moment, the fight was forgotten. “Are the Astras okay?”

“The villa’s destroyed,” Rarity said. “But no one is hurt.”

“Do they need help still?”

“Papa Astra said not,” Twilight said. “They just need to calm down, get their money and texts out of some vault and… well, rebuild I guess. But I have no idea how they’re going to do that.”

“Ah say we get out of here before anythin’ else happens,” Applejack said.

“Yes, I agree,” Octavia said, and Applejack frowned at her.

“What about the mountains?” Rainbow asked.

“What about them?”

“Well, think about it. If we fix up the mountains, at least some of them, it’ll be a lot easier to get the aqueducts back in working order.”

“That’s not a bad point,” Twilight said.

“Sandoz and her friends are going to run out of water soon,” Rarity said, nodding. “But if we can get those mountains back together, it’ll make their jobs much easier.”

“Yeah, you got a point there, Rainbow,” Applejack said.

“One more night in Trottingham?” Pinkie asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Twilight said. She looked around. “I hope Vintage is okay with us staying again.”

“I get the feeling she will be,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, she seems to really like you,” Applejack said.

“We’ve gotten to be pretty good friends,” Twilight said.

“No, Twilight, she means really like you,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, we’re… wait, hold on. You mean…” She looked back at Vintage, still waiting, and lowered her voice. “Do you really think she thinks that about me?”

“You’re the only one she ever hugs!” Pinkie said.

“And she spent an awful lot of time with you when you were recovering,” Rarity said.

“Ah wouldn’t be surprised if she has a crush on you, Twi,” Applejack said.

“Darling, if that’s the case, you need to let her know that you’re not into mares right away, so you don’t accidentally lead her on.”

“But we’ll be leaving tomorrow anyway,” Twilight said. She blushed and quieted. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“If I may interject here,” Octavia said, ignoring a sour look from Rarity. “Based on personal experience, it is always better to be honest about your sexual persuasion very soon in a relationship, even if you do not think that it will go anywhere. Things like that tend to return to you unexpectedly.”

“I know, I know,” Twilight said. “But I’m… well, I’m afraid. I’ve never had somepony be interested in me before, and Vintage really helped me a lot. The thought of hurting her like that… I don’t know.”

“You will hurt her more by allowing her to think that she has a chance with you.”

“Yeah.”

“What persuasion are you, Octavia?” Rainbow asked.

“I prefer mares,” Octavia said.

“Really?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yes.”

Pinkie laughed merrily. “Octavia, I didn’t know you were gay!”

“I discovered my sexual identity long after I had left.”

“That’s so cool! I’m bisexual, personally, ‘cause, I mean, why limit yourself with one half of the population when there’s an entirely different other half out there to—”

“Pinkie, please,” Applejack said. “None of us wanna hear this.”

“Whatever, AJ; you’re just jealous.”

“Jealous, sure.”

“Oh!” Twilight cried. Her horn was alight, and a piece of paper flew out. “I got a letter.” Before she could open it, another appeared. “Uh oh. Two at once; I bet I know who they’re from.” She unrolled the first one. “Howdy everypony. Glad to see you’re enjoying yourselves in Trottingham; I took the liberty of preparing your reception. Did you have fun with it?”

“The barrel golem and that ship,” Rainbow said.

“Yeah, I guess so. Anyway. Na-na-na-na-na, did you have fun with it? My congratulations to Fluttershy on being the first to find her Element—oh, he didn’t capitalize ‘Element’ here. Uh, good luck with the others; I’ve hidden them quite well, as I’m sure you know by now. Give my regards to Vanilla Cream when you see him; it’ll be soon. Then he wrote ‘hahaha’ a bunch, again, and signed his name.”

“Twi, we really need to do somethin’ ‘bout him watchin’ us. It’s unnervin’,” Applejack said.

“I know, but I don’t know what we can do.” She unfurled the next scroll and read it. “Dearest Twilight Sparkle—oh yeah, this is Princess Luna all right—I am pleased beyond measure that you have already found one of the Elements. See, she knows to capitalize ‘Element’.”

“Keep readin’, egghead,” Rainbow said.

“Right. I am concerned, and, I confess, angered that the Astra family has lost its villa; at least no one was harmed. I am commissioning three airships as I write this, to pick up the family. Do not worry about payment; consider it a royal favor.” Twilight smiled. “Well that’s nice. I have been watching your progress in Equestria as closely as I am able, and I must commend you all on your work thus far, especially in these past few days. Still, I must impress upon you the importance of haste; as I’m sure you can see, Discord has been spreading his influence across the country. As time passes, he only grows stronger, and I believe he will be ready to mobilize his army again very soon. Perhaps before next month is out. Oh goodness, before next month! That’s only a few weeks!”

“Keep going.”

“Right. Perhaps before next month is out. I have taken the necessary precautions, but I still fear the worst. My eternal blessing upon all of you. In love and friendship, Princess Luna. Here’s a P.S. P.S.: My sister is still away on diplomatic duties with the griffons, but she should return in a few days. Your correspondence will continue with her at that time.” She set the letter down. “And that’s it.”

“We need to hurry,” Applejack said.

Octavia opened her mouth to object, but did not. Instead, they walked back down the gangplank. Vintage, smiling, joined them, leaning over briefly to give Twilight a quick hug.

They went into her house and sat around the living room, and Rarity filled her in on what happened at the villa.

“So that’s where that thing came from,” Vintage said. “I was just doing some light reading, and this horrible, monster bird came flying in like a bat out of Tartarus. Next thing I know, Octavia’s yelling for me.”

They all looked at Octavia, some hostilely. “I saw that the ship was over the vineyard. The workers needed evacuation, and the crow was the fastest way to get here.”

“Wasn’t that scary?” Fluttershy asked. “Um… riding it like that?”

“Incredibly so. It is an experience that I would not care to repeat; however, I did what I had to do.”

“As it turns out, that ship flew away before we needed to get out,” Vintage said, giving Octavia an affectionate smile that she did not return.

“Yes, thankfully.”

“So you decided to ride that giant machine-monster just like that?” Applejack asked.

“No one else was doing anything. I had to act.”

“So dangerous,” Rarity said softly, shaking her head.

“Our ship was too far away, and too slow besides.”

“No, you did the right thing,” Twilight said. “And it’s good that you did. We were all too distracted.”

“Even if it wasn’t necessary,” Rainbow said.

Octavia nodded and looked at them. Her gaze was impenetrable, her lips tight. Her purple eyes were flat and joyless in the yellowing light.

“Soooo… what do we do now? We gotta wait ‘til tomorrow,” Applejack said.

“I am going for a walk,” Octavia said, rising. She went to the door without looking back.

“Anypony up for some cards?” Rarity asked.

Octavia went to the border between the vineyard and the tent area outside, passing the embedded remains of the bridge as she went. She sat down at a fence post and looked to the mountains, their next target. It was strange for her to think that only earlier that day she had been deep inside one of them.

She frowned and picked up a twig in her magic. She crushed it and let it drop. “Ungrateful nags. Twice today I have taken action when they did not, and I am the outcast. I should have known something like this would happen.” She remembered Manehattan—her separation from them, after a similar fight—and Canterlot before that.

“I could have stayed home. I could have told them to go on without me, and tried to find a way to pay my bills.” She lay on her back and stared into the sky. The post put a narrow shadow over her chest. “And then wait. I would wait, months, a year, longer, until the trains were running again. And I would return. Not Octavia the Guide and Savior, or even the Gorgeous and Magnificent. Back to that house.” She closed her eyes, and the scene from her dreams filled her mind. “And so I would remain, until I died.”

She opened her eyes and grabbed the post in her magic. Giving an easy tug, she ripped it from the ground to let it float above her face. “Or… I could not have done that. I could have offered to join these strangers on their journey. I could have shown them what I am capable of—what I have always been capable of. I could help them, and lead them when they cannot lead themselves.” She let her magic course up and down the post, feeling it; she applied a little pressure, and it snapped in half. Easy. “And instead of running away when I am upset, I can be proud of my accomplishments, and not let them tarnish them with their closed-mindedness.”

She flung the pieces of post away and looked back at the mountains. “Or I could leave them behind and find my own way.” She turned at the sound of hoofsteps nearby; it was Fluttershy, slinking toward her. She didn’t speak until Fluttershy was standing right in front of her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her eyes glistened, and her wings were tight and trembling across her sides.

“You have done no wrong by me.”

“I know. I’m apologizing for Applejack and Rarity.”

“They can apologize themselves.”

“Um… no, they can’t. Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re still afraid.”

Octavia looked long at her, and sat down. “I do not understand.”

“They’re afraid of the future. They’re afraid of what’s coming. They’re… well, they’re afraid they can’t handle it. You were right, you know.”

“Was I?”

“What you said, about us running out of excuses. About… um, if we can’t step up to the task… that we might as well go home and wait for Discord to take over. That was all right.”

“And this scares them.”

“Doesn’t it scare you?”

Octavia thought. “I could have stayed home.” “Yes.”

“And that’s why they’re so mad. You make it look so easy… too easy. They’re still adjusting.”

“What am I supposed to do? I cannot make the changes softer.”

“Oh, no, I’m not saying that at all.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Fluttershy cringed away, but kept her eye contact. “I’m just letting you know why they’re so upset.”

“I see.” She sighed and grabbed a pebble in her magic. She toyed with it as she spoke. “There is nothing that I can do about that. I cannot make them understand their position; they must come to that conclusion on their own.” She looked at Fluttershy. “Must I endure their displeasure until they realize what is truly expected of them?”

“Um… maybe you can try… um, that is, if you want to… um, you can try to be a little nicer.”

Her mind clenched and darkened, and she suddenly threw the pebble away with an angry sneer. “I knew it. I knew that my personality would come up. I am sure I am expected to talk about my past as well.”

“Um… well, we’d like to help…”

“Never.” She approached Fluttershy, who backed away. “With the way I have been treated, they are lucky that I am not leaving them behind.”

“Octavia, please. We just want you to be happy.”

“No, what you want is for me to smile and laugh. You want another brainless companion, to offer jokes and directions.”

“No, that’s not it.”

She turned away with a snarl and ripped another post from its spot. “Then what is it? What am I expected to do?” She snapped it in half and threw the pieces into the distance. They landed with dusty clicks, and when she continued, her voice was an indignant shout. “Shall I stand by and let others get hurt, because you are too scared to act? Shall I pretend that all is right in the world, so Twilight does not cry at night?”

“Please, stop.”

She looked back at Fluttershy, who met her eyes with tears in her own.

“We don’t want any of that, Octavia. We know how bad things are, we really do. Princess Luna says so in her letters. I don’t know about Applejack and Rarity—maybe they do want you to change. Maybe you’re just not compatible. But the rest of us just want you to stay how you are.” She sniffled, but her voice was not as feeble as it was when she approached. “I know you’re right. I know you did what you had to do, and I respect that. So does Rainbow Dash, and Twilight, and even Pinkie.”

She breathed deeply, returning to calm. “It is not Fluttershy’s fault. It is no one’s fault. We are all suffering.” “I do not want them to take their discomfort out on me.”

“I’m sure they won’t anymore. You just have to tell them how you feel.”

“They will not believe me. They do not think me capable of feeling.”

“Octavia, I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy paused, debating whether to continue. “Yes?”

“I do not want to talk to them right now. Please understand. I will tell them how I feel… later.”

“Oh… okay. Do you… do you want me to leave you alone?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Okay.” She turned to walk away, and Octavia watched her go.

“Thank you for coming to talk to me, though.”

Fluttershy whipped around, her tears replaced by a nervous smile. She slowly walked back. “I just wanted to help. You said you did what you had to do for those ponies. Well, I did what I had to do for a friend in need.” She took a tentative step forward, then closed the distance and wrapped Octavia in a soft hug. “You do know we consider you a friend, right?”

“Yes. I suppose I do.”

Octavia stayed outside until nighttime, ignoring her hunger, thirst, and fatigue. She watched the sun fade behind the edge of the world, and watched the moon rise. She practiced her magic, tossing stones and creating small shields to catch them. She listened to the crickets and birds, and lay in the grass beside an empty tent. Many had been taken down, but not all.

When she heard her friends’ voices in the distance, she stood and looked for them. Their silhouettes appeared near the ship, which they boarded, one by one.

“This ship is beautiful,” Vintage said. “You got it in Manehattan, you said?”

“Yup!” Pinkie cried. “The city that never sleeps!”

“How did you afford it? It must have been a fortune.”

“It’s… complicated,” Rarity said, and they all nodded.

“Manehattan is a complicated city,” Vintage said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Rainbow said under her breath.

“Vintage, darling, I’m terribly sorry, but can you excuse us?” Rarity asked. “We need to go below for something.”

“All of us?” Applejack asked.

“Yes, dear. All of us. Except you, Twilight; you’re still recovering, I know.”

“I can go with you,” Twilight said. “I feel fine, really.”

“No, darling, I insist.”

“Uh, yeah, Twilight; we can handle this,” Rainbow said, getting up.

“Wait, I wanna stay up here,” Pinkie said.

“No ya don’t,” Applejack said, making to move to the hatch with the others.

When they had gone, Vintage turned to Twilight. “That was weird.”

“They can be a little strange,” Twilight said. “But I like them.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Twilight looked at her, uncertain. She could usually get along with Vintage just fine, but in the artificial silence that her friends had created, she felt awkward. “Maybe it’s just the night.”

“Are you okay, Twilight? You seem a little out-of-it right now.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said with a reassuring smile. “How about you? Are you okay?”

Vintage gave a halfhearted smile, locking eyes with Twilight. “I wish you weren’t going so soon. I’m… really going to miss you.”

“Aw, Vintage, I’m going to miss you too. You’ve been a great friend this entire time.”

“You too, Twilight. It… it gets lonely on the vineyard. I don’t have many friends out here.”

“What about that green stallion? Loose Threads.”

“Oh, he’s not a friend, just an employee. A good employee, but… that’s it. You know, I haven’t had anyone to just talk to in a long time. No one I can share my feelings with, no one who seems to understand me. Do you know what I’m saying?”

“I… do, Vintage.”

“And I had thought that was changing when you came along.”

“We can still be friends, though. It’ll just be over a distance.”

“I know, I know. But it’s different. You’ll be so far away, and… no amount of letters will take away the loneliness of the nights out here.”

“I’m sorry, Vintage.”

“Twilight?” Her voice had softened, and Twilight followed her example.

“Yes?”

She waited, as if choosing her next words carefully. “I know I’ve only known you for a short time now. So maybe this is inappropriate—but I don’t think so. At least, um, not after what you and I shared. I feel like I could tell you anything.”

“Of course.” She looked away, blushing. “What do you want to say?”

“It’s… difficult. I don’t really know how to say it. It’s just… I feel different with you. I feel like a different pony. Before you showed up, I was just trudging through the days with no real sense of hope or accomplishment. But then you came along and… fixed everything. You healed the city, you healed the earth, and, well, you healed me a little too.” She scooted a little closer to Twilight. “I don’t know. I guess I’m rambling, but… you’re one of the best things that’s happened to me, Twilight. I think… well, I think… I might be in love with you.”

Twilight blinked, and Vintage looked up at her hopefully. “I… I… I don’t know what to say.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I felt I should be honest with you. I-if you’re not ready for a relationship, I understand. But I wanted you to know.”

Twilight could see her eyes shining in the moonlight, and tried to think of a response. Instead, she just moved closer and allowed Vintage to hug her. “Vintage,” she said after a while, “I’m so sorry, but I… I’m not ready to take that kind of step with you. With anyone. Especially with the job that I have to do.”

Vintage surprised her by laughing quietly. “It’s okay, Twilight. I knew you might not be in the same place as me emotionally. Besides, it’s what you said; you have to keep traveling, and I can’t stop you from that.”

Twilight smiled, and Vintage smiled back; she felt guilty at her relief from telling the truth. “Thank you for understanding.”

“You’re welcome… Twilight. Um, would you mind if I… um, if you don’t, that’s fine, but… could I… um… here.” Before Twilight could react, she leaned over and pecked her on the lips; Twilight flinched, and immediately regretted it. Vintage looked at her with shame. “I’m sorry, Twilight. I just had to… I’m sorry.” She buried her face in her hooves. “I’m so mixed up right now.”

Twilight draped a comforting hoof over her withers. “It’s okay, Vintage. It’s okay.”

“Please don’t think badly of me.”

“I don’t, I promise,” Twilight said kindly. She rubbed Vintage’s back, and the earth pony leaned in, crying. She held her close, and Vintage shook with a deep breath. Only two days ago, their positions had been reversed. “Did she feel this awkward about comforting me?”

She mumbled into Twilight’s coat. “Thank you for being so supportive, Twilight.”

“Any time, Vintage. You’re… you’re a special pony.”

Vintage broke away, beaming, and Twilight weakly returned the expression. “Did you… um, like it though?”

Twilight froze. She could hear Rarity in her head. “Tell her, Twilight. Don’t let this go.” She smiled, her words sticking in her throat. “I did.”

Vintage laughed, her face breaking into a relieved, joyful grin. “Good. Oh, that’s very good. I’m sorry for being so forward; I had to know, though.”

“It’s okay, Vintage. I really did like it.”

Vintage smiled, and leaned in a second time. Their lips met, longer and softer, and Twilight closed her eyes in spite of herself. When they broke apart, Vintage tilted awkwardly away. “Um, I should probably get back home. I have some work to do still.”

“Okay, Vintage.” Her voice sounded wrong in her ears, the weight of the secret compressing it. “We both have some things to think about anyway.”

Vintage nodded and hesitated. “Well, see you later.” She hugged Twilight once more before leaving the airship.

When she was gone, Twilight stayed where she was. Relief and frustration tangled inside her, fighting, each one surfacing for just a second before turning over for the other. She could still feel Vintage’s lips on her own, wet—too wet. She rubbed them with a hoof and went to the hatch. She pushed a cabin door open, at first meeting resistance and then seeing Rainbow backing up hastily; Rarity sat on the bed, tending to her hooves. “Uh, we’re done.”

“How’d it go, darling? Did you tell her?” Rarity asked quietly.

Twilight looked down, shame coloring her face. “No.”

Rarity sighed. “Why not, dear?”

“I was scared.”

“Scared to admit your sexuality? Geez, Twilight, I didn’t think you were that prudish,” Rainbow said.

“I just didn’t want to hurt her.”

Rarity shook her head. “I hope that we never run into her again, for her sake.”

Behind them, a door creaked open, and the others came out into the hall. “Well?” Applejack said.

“She didn’t tell her,” Rarity said, and the group collectively sighed.

When Octavia returned to the ship, everyone was settling in for the night, except Twilight, who took the first half of the night watch. They met on the deck without speaking, and Twilight shook her hoof. She didn’t know why she did it. Octavia felt foreign in the darkness.

While Twilight leaned against the gunwale to watch the empty mountains, Octavia hauled her cello out onto the deck.

“I haven’t seen you play that in a while,” Twilight said.

“I have been distracted.” She played a scale and sighed, putting her bow down. “Very distracted.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Yes. How have you been holding up?”

“Oh, okay.” She didn’t say it, but she was actually relieved that Octavia asked. “Better. Vintage helped me a lot, as I said.”

“That is good.”

“I’m just worried.”

“About?”

Twilight sighed. “Same old stuff. The future, Discord, all of us.”

“If it helps, I too am worried. If today is an indication of how things will be going for us, then we are in greater trouble than I originally thought.”

“Yeah.” She felt exposed and weak on the deck with Octavia, nothing to say. “Uh, that was a really cool thing you did earlier today.”

“I only did what I had to do.”

“Still.” She turned to face the mountain slopes, where Sandoz lived. “Will you play me something?”

“What would you like to hear?”

“Whatever you feel like. Whatever’s in your heart.”

“Sure.” Octavia ran her bow over the cello, and began a slow, mournful song.

They woke the next morning, a little earlier than they wanted, at Rainbow’s noisome prodding. “About time,” she said glumly. “I was getting lonely.”

“Sorry, Rainbow, but that’s how the watch is,” Applejack said.

They had a light breakfast and took off; Twilight watched the vineyard shrink, feeling bad for Vintage, who would wake up with them gone for good. Before long, the vineyard was out of sight and they were floating over the mess of broken aqueducts, and Applejack was searching for a spot to touch down.

“Look at these mountains. Twi, do you think you an’ Pinkie can handle this all in one spell?”

“In one?” Twilight chuckled in spite of herself. “Goodness, no. We’re only going to tackle the first couple.”

“Oh, good.” She leaned out a little, and then turned the wheel abruptly, bringing them partially about. “Whoops! Almost missed it.” They descended slowly into a crevasse between the mountains, just in view of the aqueducts. A large, flat, circular covering stared up at them, its surface reflecting the dull morning light.

As they floated between the mountains, the last remains of Trottingham slipped out of sight. They were already away. A cold breeze picked up, and they drifted gently away from the covering, toward a large stack of fallen boulders. “Let’s just thank Celestia he didn’t hide any Elements up in here,” Rainbow said. “He didn’t, did he?”

“I seriously doubt he would put two together like that,” Rarity said, but activated her spell anyway.

They landed in a small depression by the covering’s side, and while Twilight and Pinkie trotted out to its center, everyone else stayed behind on the ship.

“So, Octavia…” Applejack started.

Octavia looked at her disinterestedly. “Yes?”

“Ah… uh, that is… how d’ya feel ‘bout goin’ to Appleloosa next?”

“That is fine.”

“Good.” She looked ahead, but quickly shook her head, growling. “No, no, Ah can’t do it. Ah’m sorry, Ah gotta talk ‘bout this. Octavia, why’d you have to do that?”

“Do what?” she asked innocently.

“You know exactly what, missy. Crushin’ that critter like you did.”

“I saw no other way to dispatch it as easily.”

Applejack sighed and looked at Rarity for support. When she spoke, her voice was softer. “Ah just… ya freak me out a little, is all. First yer givin’ us this warnin’ ‘bout things to come, then ya turn ‘round an’ stomp a monster like it ain’t nothin’. Meanwhile we’re all shakin’ in our horseshoes. An’ ya make it look so easy.”

“That’s the part that gets me, dear,” Rarity said. “It’s how effortless you make this all look. Riding that crow… thing yesterday was just the icing on the cake.”

Octavia looked to Fluttershy, who gave an encouraging smile. “I see. Then let me explain something, if I may.”

“Go right ahead,” Applejack said.

“I understand your concerns. I understand that this all seems like too much for you. It looks like that for me too.”

“But—”

“I was raised to value work and action above all else, and to despise idleness. For me, standing by, in any circumstance, is unthinkable, even if I am out of my depth. Which, yesterday, I thought that I was. I had no idea what I was going to do if destroying the platform in the cave did not work. All I knew was that I had to try something.”

“But you make it look so easy,” Applejack repeated.

“That, I think, is merely a product of my serious demeanor.” She looked Rarity in the eye. “Serious, not insane.”

“Er, yes. I’m sorry about that,” Rarity said.

“Me too,” Applejack said. “Yer a mystery, an’ when you make us look so… what’s the word?”

“Ineffectual.”

“Yeah, ineffectual, it hurts. We’re the heroes, not you, ya know?”

“Would you like me to step back?” Octavia asked.

“No, never,” Rarity said. “I think it’s very clear at this point that we need you.”

“It’s not you that needs to step back,” Rainbow said. “It’s us that need to step up.”

“Yeah, that,” Applejack said. “Ah’m sorry Ah yelled at ya. ‘Twasn’t right, accusin’ you of those things. Ah hope you can forgive me.”

Octavia looked at her, and at Rarity, who looked away. “Friends sometimes fight. You are absolved.”

“Um… I’m sorry too,” Rarity said.

“I know.”

When the spell was over, they took off, ascending past the mountaintops to survey the changes. Though the chain was still broken in the far distance, the first two mountains had been healed, their attached aqueducts crushed together and, in places, even worse off than before.

“Tell me about Appleloosa,” Octavia said.

Applejack smiled warmly. “Well, it was founded by my brother, Braeburn, just last year. He was the one who planted the apple orchard there that keeps the whole town runnin’.”

“So it is a small town?”

“It’s even smaller than Ponyville, if you can believe that. But Ah’m sure it’ll get bigger eventually. They have a boomin’ economy.”

“Probably not at the moment, though,” Rarity said.

“Er, yeah. Not right now.”

“Tell me about your cousin,” Octavia said.

“Braeburn? Well, he’s a hoofful, that’s fer sure. He’s my younger cousin by a few years, but he’s one of the most mature ponies in our family.”

“He would have to be, to settle a town all by himself.”

“You got that right. He’s a nice stallion, really friendly, helpful an’ all that.”

“He sounds like a wonderful pony.”

“Yeah, Ah’d sure say so. Why the interest in my cousin, Octavia?”

“No particular reason. I am more curious about the town. How far away is it, by the way?”

“Oh, five or six days. ‘Bout five thousand miles.”

“At least we won’t be passing over the forest this time,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, we can land whenever we want,” Rainbow said, looking over the gunwale. “Let’s clear these mountains first, though.”

“Octavia, have you met any famous ponies?” Rarity asked.

“Of course. I am rather surprised that you should ask me this, though,” Octavia said.

“Oh, I’m just curious. I mean, you yourself are very famous—I remember approaching you in Canterlot. I was quite nervous.”

“You never told anyone where you were going, did you?” Twilight asked.

“There was no one to tell.”

“But what about your fans?” Rainbow asked. “They’re gonna be freaking out that you’re gone, if they’re not already.”

Octavia smiled faintly. “I suppose that is true. Funny. It never crossed my mind.”

“So who else did you know?” Rarity asked insistently.

“Oh, let us see here. I have played a few concerts for the benefit of Hoity Toity, the fashion critic. He is rather stuck-up for my tastes. I was once part of an ensemble that opened for Sapphire Shores.”

“I didn’t know she had classical bands open for her,” Fluttershy said.

“I think it was a one-time gimmick.”

“I’ve met Sapphire Shores,” Rarity said. “She’s quite… interesting.”

“I like her. She knows how to run a stage.”

“Did you ever meet Photo Finish?”

“She once took photographs of me.”

Rarity gasped. “Oh, darling, what magazine did you appear in?”

“I do not remember.”

“But surely you have copies somewhere.”

“I may have a copy at my house.”

“What ‘bout royalty? You have contact with the princesses quite a lot, don’t you?” Applejack asked.

“I am not on informal terms with either of them, by any means, but I am more familiar with them than most citizens. They both sent me a card on my birthday.”

“Oh, that’s so nice,” Fluttershy said.

“I was genuinely impressed.”

“Hey, if we’re talking about birthdays, I’ve got a trick for you,” Rainbow said. “Watch this. Twilight, what’s Celestia’s birthday?”

“October nineteenth,” Twilight said without looking back.

“What about Luna?”

“November fourth.”

“Like a machine,” Rainbow chuckled.

“What’s your birthday, Octavia?” Rarity asked.

“January seventeenth,” Octavia said.

“Crap.” They looked up quickly at Applejack, who looked out over the front of the ship with a sour expression. “Uh, y’all might wanna get ready. We’ve got a visitor comin’.”

They all crowded the front and looked out, seeing instantly what she meant: the white stallion, Vanilla Cream, walking on the air out in front of them.

“Oh, oh no,” Fluttershy said, running to the hatch at the back and disappearing below the deck.

“What does he want?” Rainbow said.

“Well, he did say he would be coming back,” Twilight said.

“That I did,” he said pleasantly, suddenly standing on the prow; Applejack jumped back with a yelp, and he laughed. “Oh, Applejack, you’ll need more mettle than that for the coming times.”

“You’re not covered in darkness like last time!” Pinkie said.

“Hm? Oh, goodness, you’re right. Please, forgive me.” He smiled apologetically, and the air slowly dimmed, until they were standing in semidarkness that defied the sun on their side.

“You didn’t use your horn,” Twilight said.

“This old thing? It is only an affectation, fitting with my pony body. I didn’t bother using it; you all know what I am anyway.”

“What are you doin’ here? Can’t you leave us alone?” Applejack asked.

“My my, manners, please. In case you’ve forgotten, I am here only to offer my humble services.”

“We don’t believe you.”

“Yeah, you say you’re against Discord, but how do we know?” Rainbow asked.

He regarded her for a moment, thinking. “Hm. Perhaps an exchange of information will earn me your trust, then. I believe you’ve run into a flying ship before, have you not? Not an airship, but a pirate ship? No balloon?”

“We’ve seen it a few times,” Applejack said warily.

“I happen to know that that ship is currently en route to your destination, Appleloosa. For what reasons, I don’t know, but you can rest assured that if you go there right now, you’ll be in for a very rude welcome.”

“How do we know you’re not just making that up?” Rainbow asked.

Vanilla rolled his eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, come now, what more do you want?”

“Point us toward an Element,” Twilight said.

“Now why in the world would I know where my master Discord hid your Elements? Besides, I cannot disclose that kind of information. I’m afraid my binding forbids it.”

“What sort of services are you offering us?” Octavia asked.

“Have you already forgotten what I told you on our first meeting?”

“I mean specifically. I know you say you will enhance our magical powers.”

“If you’re asking for what kind of magic I’ll be giving you, I’m afraid I don’t know. I have made no plans in that regard.”

“You’re gonna improvise our magic?” Rainbow cried. “That’s crazy!”

“I could always leave you to your own devices,” Vanilla said smoothly. “I’m sure Discord would appreciate that.”

“Okay, okay, we’re sorry. It’s a lot to take in, is all.”

“I can understand that,” he said pleasantly. “But we’ve talked enough. Are you interested?”

“We are,” Octavia said. “At least, I am.”

He smiled. “Ah, Octavia, your reaction doesn’t surprise me in the least.” He bowed and smiled, his clear, blue eyes gleaming happily. “Then you have engaged my services.” He looked up at them. “Twilight, if you would please, step forward.”

Twilight gasped. “Me? But… I mean, does it have to be me?”

“I would volunteer to take her place, if she is afraid,” Octavia said.

“That’s noble of you, Octavia, but it’s not open for debate,” Vanilla said. “Twilight will be the first.”

“Well… what exactly are you going to do to my magic?” Twilight asked.

“I’m only going to strengthen it.”

“Will my current magic be affected in any way?”

He smiled. “No. No side effects, caveats, corollaries, exceptions, or contracts. All I do is cast my spell over you and wait a few minutes.”

“Will I be able to control my own magic?”

“Now that’s an odd question to ask.”

“I’ve read about deals like this before,” Twilight said, narrowing her eyes.

“Ah, I see. I’m actually gratified to hear you say that; caution like that will prove useful. Yes, you, and only you, can control your own magic, always. And it will stay with you permanently.”

“Permanently, huh? How will my body be affected?”

“You’ll feel some sort of sensation while I’m casting the spell, but nothing after that.” He donned a serious expression. “I promise you, you’ll still be the same Twilight. Same body, same mind, same characteristics, same set of loyalties and priorities.”

“…I just don’t know if I trust you,” she said at last.

“What cause do I have to deceive? My goal—one of them—is to hinder Discord as much as my commitment to him allows. Why should I want to complicate the matter with you?”

“I guess…” She thought for a moment. “Go ahead. Cast your spell on me.”

“Before I begin, I feel I should remind you of my duty to our enemy.”

“To ‘vex’ us,” Octavia said.

“I will cause no harm,” Vanilla said quickly. “But I am bound to complicate things.”

“We remember,” Twilight said quietly.

“Then let’s not delay,” he said with a wide smile. His horn glowed, and Twilight was enveloped in a pale silver aura; her eyes rolled up into their sockets as she lifted off the deck, limp. For a minute, they stayed that way, he holding her above the deck, her friends watching with quiet concern. “What she feels is not my decision; it depends entirely on the way the magic mixes,” he said conversationally. He glanced at Applejack. “Bearing that in mind, you might be interested to know that Twilight is currently experiencing the most intense pain of her life. She’s not reacting because of my spell, and that’s good, because if she could, she’d probably be trying to rip her own horn off right now.”

They all gasped behind him, and Fluttershy, who had crept out from below when no one was looking, approached him sternly. “How dare you! You never warned her about that!”

“Stop it! Stop it right now!” Rarity cried, running to him.

“If I stop now, she will die,” he said. “Besides, she won’t remember any of it once I’m done. She’ll just think she blacked out for a few minutes.”

“But yer torturin’ her right now!” Applejack cried.

“The pain is entirely incorporeal; when she wakes up, it will be like nothing happened at all.”

They glared at him silently while he finished his spell, and gently lowered Twilight back to the deck; she opened her eyes a few seconds later, looking around.

“Is it done?” she asked, and he helped her up.

“Finished. How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Do you remember anythin’ at all, sugarcube?” Applejack asked.

“Nothing. I felt his magic surrounding me, then it was like I blinked, and here I am. Did I do anything?”

“Nothing,” Rainbow said.

“He said you were—”

“Not now, Pinkie,” Rarity said sternly.

Vanilla looked slowly over the edge of the deck. “I’m afraid I must take my leave now. I’ve stayed too long already; I don’t want Discord to get wise to my machinations.” He bowed again. “You have received your gift, as promised. I’ll see you all at a later time.”

“Wait,” Twilight said, but he was gone, one moment there and one moment not, the darkness gone as well.

“What were you going to ask him?” Octavia asked.

“I just want to know what he did.” She lit her horn for a minute. “I don’t feel any different.” She lifted a saddlebag from across the deck. “Feels exactly the same as always.”

“Ah don’t like how easy he made you black out there,” Applejack said.

“And you’re sure you didn’t feel anything?” Pinkie asked.

“No, not that I can remember,” Twilight said, furrowing her brow. She walked to the back and opened the hatch. “I guess I’ll have to do some experimenting. And reading.”

“Reading. Of course,” Rainbow said, rolling her eyes.

Detachment

Chapter Forty-five

Detachment

“And how long until we reach the site of my suffering?” Rarity asked. Applejack was below, apologizing to Rainbow Dash, and Twilight stood at the wheel.

“Two and a half days,” Twilight said.

“Marvelous.” She sidled up to Twilight. “I’d just like to thank you for trying so hard to defend my position.”

Twilight looked away from the distance at Rarity’s serious expression.

“You know, for understanding how painful it must be for me to return there. For acknowledging that.”

“Um…”

Rarity didn’t move away until Twilight sighed, speechless.

Manehattan was northeast of Appleloosa, and by the following morning, they were coming to a large, flat river, along its banks a single slash of a dirt road that would eventually intersect with one of the railroad tracks between the two cities.

After a quiet breakfast, they landed by a bend in the river to refill their water tanks: an uninteresting process, for which only Twilight and Big Mac got off. He stood at a grassy swell in the bank while she levitated a large pump out of a water-stained hatch in the ship’s side.

“So, what’s with the metal things on the sides of yer ship?” he asked.

“Huh?” She lowered the pump into the river and looked up. “Oh, the turrets. You know, I keep forgetting those are there. We’ve never used them.”

“What are they?”

She looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Turrets. Artillery.”

He returned her look with a blank one.

“Automatic machines that fire small, metal projectiles at lethal speeds. They only came into prevalence about a decade ago. I think the pamphlet said ours are for helping to clear things like ice, or dense undergrowth. But… I think it’s a lot more likely we have to use it on Discord.”

“Killin’ machines,” Big Mac said, strolling over to her. “Too bad ya gotta have those.”

“I’m just happy we haven’t used them yet,” Twilight said. “And they are interesting. I read about them a while ago, one night when I was bored.”

He looked down at the submerged pump. A cloud of displaced silt hung around its metal mouth. “The only killin’ machines Ah know of are the little, personal, magical ones. The crystals. Are these like that at all?”

“They’re based on the same idea.” Twilight levitated a stick from out of the river and tossed it aside. “These aren’t magical, but they operate on the same premise. These use tangible projectiles. Pulse crystals use magic ones.”

“Y’ever use one?”

“What? No, never. And I’ve only seen them in books.”

“Ah used ‘em a couple times back in Appleloosa. Braeburn’s got a pair he said got passed down to him.”

“How old are they?”

“Ah dunno. They work mighty fine, though. You can squish an apple with one of ‘em at twenty paces away, if yer aim’s fair.”

“I read that it’s supposed to be more difficult for non-unicorns to use them.”

He shook his head. “Seemed easy to me. You just strap it to yer leg, or head, or whatever the mount is, point, an’ the crystal does the rest.”

“What mount did Braeburn’s have?”

“Standard foreleg mount. He said they were special, ‘cause they were a little lower on the leg than the newer models, so you got more speed an’ maneuverability in yer aimin’. Ah don’t rightly know, though. Ah can’t follow that stuff.”

Twilight nodded and looked back up at the ship. Her friends weren’t in sight, and she thought back to what Applejack had said. “He really has changed.”

“If yer good, you can dual-wield ‘em, but he an’ Ah can’t. Tried shootin’ the broad side of ol’ Coal Heart, but we kept fallin’ down.”

“Coal Heart?”

“That’s the name of a train that didn’t quite fall off. She’s hangin’ by her caboose into a gap, way west of town.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to go outside of town. Didn’t Reverend Green warn you about that?”

“There ain’t no demons out there, Miss Sparkle. Miss Ringlet was an isolated incident.”

“How can you know that?”

“Just a feelin’. Braeburn had it too.”

She frowned and sat down on a rock, leaning back slightly to shade herself under the ship. Big Mac copied her. She looked at him, paying specific attention to his face, as she spoke again. “You really are different.”

“That’s what Ah hear.”

“You’re more talkative.”

“Eeyup.”

She huffed. “You can’t not see it.”

“Ah see it.”

She leaned forward, as if to goad him on. “And?”

His face was passive. “Ponies change. Ah’m a pony.”

“Hey! What’s the holdup down there?” Rainbow shouted. Twilight looked up to see her making tight, antsy circles off the ship’s side.

“It always takes this long, Dash, and you know it,” Twilight mumbled, tossing a pebble into the river, where it bounced off the pump’s pulsing hose before making a minuscule splash.

The day passed, and they spent the night gliding low and slowly over the river. Manehattan was in sight, and the following morning, they came to a stop a mile outside a small settlement of only ten imperfect houses, a way station, and a small, metal structure just outside. It took her a minute to remember, but Octavia identified it as Passage Town, a tiny haven of disenfranchised Manehattanites. Villages of its sort were all over Equestria, usually built along rivers, and inhabited by those for whom city life held no interest. Not quite hermitages, they were seldom represented on more than the most detailed of country maps.

“Well what can I do, Octavia? What do you expect from me?” Rarity cried. Twilight was at the back of the deck, and jumped up when she heard Rarity’s voice rise. Earlier, the two had been quietly speaking, and seemed on friendly terms.

“We will not be associating with either Strawberry or Lacey. All you must do is be with us in the city,” Octavia said. She sounded tired and impatient.

“I can’t! Don’t you get that?”

Twilight set down her book to approach them, moving slowly enough that they could see her approach.

“Octavia, please. I know it’s hard for you, but please try to understand. The very thought of going into that… city makes my skin crawl. I don’t care if I don’t see those two again.”

Twilight stopped and looked at them both. Rarity’s mane was frazzled, and she wore an ice pack around her head, under her horn: a practice she had abandoned before reaching Appleloosa. Octavia looked better; her eyes were clear, and she had combed her mane that morning.

“I do understand your feelings, but your request is not reasonable.”

“What are you requesting, Rarity?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, nothing you care about, I’m sure, dear,” Rarity said.

“She does not want to go into Manehattan, and has suggested that she, instead, stay in Passage Town,” Octavia said.

“Look at it, Twilight. There are ten houses and nothing else. How can I get in trouble there?”

“The same way you can find trouble anywhere else. We do not know what is down there.”

“Well, hold on,” Twilight said. “Rarity has a point. And she’s a smart pony.”

“Splitting up is not a wise decision.”

“I’m not going into Manehattan,” Rarity said. “If you drag me there, I’ll either walk out, or spend the whole time in bed.”

“Rarity, please do not do this.”

“I’ve been objecting since we left Appleloosa!” Rarity shouted. “I haven’t stopped saying that I don’t want to go, and none of you listened! Now you are trying to tell me to be reasonable?”

Octavia straightened up to match Rarity’s height. “You cannot endanger your life just because you do not want to follow us to Manehattan.”

“You can’t force me to go back there.”

“What if someone went with you?” Twilight asked suddenly. She was conscious of the others watching them.

“Then we would lose two instead of one,” Octavia said. “Twilight, this entire idea is very unwise. Do you not see that?”

“I’m not seeing that we have much of a choice. Rarity isn’t going to stay in Manehattan. The least we can do is make sure she’s not alone in that little town down there.”

“Who would stay with me, though?” Rarity asked.

* * * * * *

Everybody waved a reluctant goodbye to Rarity and Fluttershy, standing together on the dirt road next to the train tracks a couple miles past Passage Town. They had wanted to arrive there on hoof, to not arouse suspicion in the inhabitants. As the ship floated away, Rarity lowered her hoof and turned around to look down the road.

“I hope they’re friendly there,” Fluttershy said.

“Me too,” Rarity said, looking back. She hesitated to start down the road, and Fluttershy took the first step. The sun was out, but shreds of cloud occasionally drifted over to dull it. “I hope this wasn’t a mistake.”

“I think it’ll be good for you,” Fluttershy said with a smile. “While they do what they have to do in the big city, we can rest outside. Think of it as a little vacation.”

“I need one.”

“You deserve one.”

Rarity dipped her head in assent, and they walked, unspeaking, toward the new village.

* * * * * *

They touched down in a lot just outside Rose Tower and took a pair of cabs to Trixie’s apartment, with Octavia explaining the city to Big Mac, who had momentarily reverted back to shy quietude. They arrived outside a run-down apartment building with an aged brick front and a faded door, somewhere on the north side, in view of a large park. They found the door with a small wand and cape decal on the top floor.

“This is her room,” Twilight said, knocking.

“You don’t say,” Rainbow said.

Trixie opened the door just a couple seconds after Twilight knocked, beaming and offering a strong hoofshake to the unicorn. She was alone in the apartment, and the company, after days of unpacking and getting set up, was exactly what she needed, she told them.

They all crowded around a small table while Trixie dug a beer out of the fridge. “Help yourselves to whatever I have, but don’t go nuts,” she said, and Rainbow went wordlessly to the fridge and grabbed a pair of beers as well. Trixie activated a phone on the wall, simultaneously opening her bottle. “I’m calling my agent right now, before we get distracted. Her name is Globe Trotter.” With another press of a button, a ringing sound filled her kitchen, and a thick, drawling voice answered aloud.

“Trixie, is that you?”

“I’ve got Twilight, Globe.”

“…That’s a relief.”

It took them several minutes to get accustomed to the disembodied voice coming from the wall—only Octavia had encountered speakerphone in her life—but they spent an hour talking, going over logistics, schedules, story structure and acting techniques. As they talked, the others occasionally chimed in, except Rainbow, who moodily sipped Trixie’s beer and slouched at the table’s corner. When the conversation was concluded, and Globe Trotter hung up, Trixie stood up and stretched.

“So do you want to start this now?” Twilight asked.

“May as well, while the ideas are fresh.” She looked at the others. “Um… don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

“Hi, Trixie,” Rainbow blurted.

“I’m sorry?”

“Hi.”

“Dashie, how many beers did you have?”

“Your letters, dang it! You kept saying hi in your letters.”

“Oh, right.” She levitated Rainbow’s bottle caps over to the trash. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s just weird.”

“It’s called being friendly,” Trixie said innocently.

“Well… no, though. You don’t like me.”

“Oh, please, I like you just fine.”

“No you don’t!”

“Are we really havin’ this conversation?” Applejack asked.

“Do you want me to dislike you, Dashie?” Trixie asked.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, humbug. You like it.”

Rainbow grumbled and brought an empty bottle to the trash.

“We have recycling, you know.”

She dropped it in the basket with a loud clunk. “Yeah, but this is easier.”

Trixie rolled her eyes and walked with Twilight into the other room, where she had collected some sheets of paper and a pair of pens. “Go on, go about your business. We’re not going to entertain you.”

“Well, how long are you gonna be?”

“We’re writing an entire script, Dashie. Ever written before?”

“No!”

“Of course not. Go on and have fun; Twilight and I will be back here for the better part of the day.”

“Yeah, well, don’t you two write something stupid,” Rainbow said.

“Intelligent parting shot, love. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

They took a cab back to the ship, Rainbow moving with a tiny wobble. “She’s lucky Twilight likes her now. One of these days I’m gonna smack her,” Rainbow complained.

“Aw, she’s just teasin’,” Applejack said.

“No, you don’t get it. She gets me, AJ. She knows how to push my buttons.”

“You kiddin’? Ah’ve teased you way worse than that, an’ you didn’t even bat an eye.”

“Psh. This is different.”

“You do not have to get bent out of shape every time she speaks to you, you know,” Octavia said.

“Trixie’d beat you in a snark contest any day of the week, Applejack,” Rainbow said, poking her in the chest.

“Ah doubt that. There ain’t nothin’ like a down-home, natural-grown streak of sarcasm. Ah’d—” She shook her head hard enough for her hat to flop off. “Why are we even havin’ this argument?”

“Trixie started it.”

“I am not complaining, but I hope you both realize how ridiculous you sound,” Octavia said.

“Back me up, Pinkie. Didn’t Trixie start all this?”

Pinkie only grinned wide before toppling over in laughter.

* * * * * *

Rarity and Fluttershy stopped for a short rest in the shade of the ramshackle way station on the outside of Passage Town. Rusted pipes clawed at the splintering, dried walls while a long-defunct ventilation grate leered at them. The river was a stagnant ribbon of cloudy blue, stretching far for both directions. Reeds and grasses grew in uncontrolled patches all along both sides, and near one of the small huts, a short, thin pony heaved at a cluster of thick stalks, scythe in his mouth. Sweat stood out on his visible ribs each time he bent.

“Let’s not volunteer our identities,” Rarity said, taking a step out of the shade.

“What if they ask us directly?” Fluttershy asked.

“They won’t.”

They passed the first pair of houses, identical mounds of tree branches slanted on dried mud with crudely colored bark doors. One scraped open enough to allow an inquisitive pair of eyes to watch their movement. Fluttershy looked back, but Rarity kept her eyes on the stallion, marching toward him with her best non-threatening expression and stance. When he looked up at her, chest and scythe gleaming, he made no acknowledgement aside from meeting her eyes briefly.

“U-um, excuse us,” Fluttershy started.

“Hey!”

They looked around quickly at the sharp voice from behind to see a dowdy mare in a faded sundress advancing, a stick floating by her side, apparently ready for use.

“Wait! We mean no harm,” Rarity said.

“You leave him alone,” the mare said in a commanding tone.

“We’re really sorry. We’re new here, and were looking for someone to show us around,” Fluttershy said.

The mare examined them, then dropped her stick. “All right, come with me, strangers.” They followed her reluctantly back around the house, where there sat another several yards away, substantially larger and more ornate than the others. “Sorry to scare you. That was my brother you were trying to talk to.”

“Should we… not have done that?” Rarity asked.

“He doesn’t like strangers.” She lowered her voice. “He’s deaf, so first-time meetings are difficult.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“He can read lips, but his speech isn’t the best. I’m glad I spotted you early.” She indicated the large house. “As you can see, there’s not much here. Arch Carrier lives in there; he was a forepony before he moved to our village, and built this on his own. At least, that’s what they told me when I came along. Most of us just have little huts, as you probably noticed.”

“I think they’re very nice,” Fluttershy said. “They remind me of my own home.”

“And where’s that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Um… we kind of do,” Rarity said, glancing at Fluttershy.

“Mm. You’re in good company. Cloud Line and Eggshell are mystery ponies too.” She grunted. “Sorry. Not used to folks not knowing who I’m talking about. Cloud Line’s our only pegasus—‘til now, I guess. She lives by the pump. Eggshell is her associate.”

“Associate?” Fluttershy said.

“Can’t exactly tell with them. Sometimes they act like friends, sometimes siblings, sometimes more. It changes. Eggshell’s a unicorn.”

“What’s this pump?” Rarity asked.

“A broken-down water pump on the other side of town. That’s all.” She shrugged and walked them around Arch Carrier’s house, to a smaller, but still large, hut with an imperfect patchwork of glass roofing. “If you’re okay with losing a couple hours of your life, ask Cork about it. She’s our record keeper-slash-photographer.”

“She lives in the pump?” Fluttershy asked.

The mare tossed her head back in loud laughter, and another pair of eyes appeared in the window facing them. “Heavens, no. She’s the first house you pass after the way station.” She trotted to the door as it opened, and a stooped, broad-shouldered pony in a wrinkled, black suit came out. “Clipper, these are… what are your names?”

“Butterfly and… Madam White,” Rarity said quickly, looking at Fluttershy again.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Good to meet you ladies,” Clipper said, shaking each of their hooves. None of the age on his face had made it into his voice, which came out as smooth and mild as milk.

“You’re not on the run from anyone, are you?” the mare asked. “Sorry. I hate to ask. But you understand, right?”

“We’ve done nothing illegal,” Rarity said. “Besides, we won’t be staying long.”

“Tourists,” Clipper said, snorting. “Did Cork bring you, or are you looking for enough isolation to remind you why you love the big city?”

“We come from Ponyville,” Fluttershy said. “That’s no big city.” Rarity looked at her, annoyed.

“How does a pair of Ponyvillians manage to sniff out our neck of the woods?” a nasal voice asked from afar.

“Speak of the devil,” Clipper muttered. He backed into his door and snapped it closed.

“He avoids Cork when he can,” the mare whispered.

“I saw you, Clipper!” the strange pony bellowed happily. Her mane was a bulbous, bouncing collection of curls around a fat bun, and her round face broke into a huge, underbite-marred smile as she galloped to the three of them. “Welcome to Passage Town, backwater visitors!”

“Cork, this is Butterfly and Madam White.”

“I heard,” Cork said, shaking their hooves. “I saw everything.” She smiled wide, showing large teeth.

“You really are a creep sometimes,” the mare said. “She’s not a threat, you two. She just likes to snoop.”

“A good reporter always has her eyes open,” Cork said.

“Except you’re not a reporter.”

“I may as well be, Deco.” She slipped between Rarity and Fluttershy. “How long are you staying for? Oh, it doesn’t matter! You can room with me.”

Deco laughed again, and Cork echoed her, louder.

“We’d love to,” Rarity said uncertainly. “Any help we can get is most welcome.”

“Beautiful!” Cork barked, leading them away from Clipper’s house with a gregarious spring in her step. “Come on, outsiders. I think you’ll find our little burg has just as much intrigue as any other town. Did Deco tell you about the pump?”

* * * * * *

Date of Notice: June 24, 3315

Dear: Octavia Melody

Your rent has not been received as of the date of this notice. According to the terms of your Lease, a late charge has been added to your total balance. Your current balance is 1,152 bits. This balance must be paid in full, by check, no later than June 27, 3315. Failure to act promptly may lead to eviction proceedings. If eviction is sought, you may be responsible for additional charges, such as court and attorney’s fees, and your credit rate could be affected.

Please contact me as soon as you receive this notice.

Sincerely,
Summer Skies

PS. You may disregard this notice if you have already mailed your payment.

Then, on the other side, scrawled in a tiny, clear script:

Forwarded by your very good friend, Vanilla. What kind of ally would I be if I let you shirk responsibility?

Octavia floated the letter to the side of the bed, where it drifted to the floor, jostled away as she flopped onto her back. The letter had been sent only two days ago. She could see it arriving in her choked mailbox, the other residents’ curious glances at the signs of her departure. Had anything happened to her apartment?

Her eyes remained open as they unfocused. She had been traveling a little more than two months, and they had only one Element in their possession, a second battle with Canterlot in the future. They were far from finished.

“I could arrive in Canterlot in around two weeks, if they drop me off on their way to Hoofington. That is enough time to find the money.” She let out a sigh. “And return to what? Debt. Work. More travel, moments of freedom. Face it, Octavia, you performed for years. You had your chance at stardom. And I am so out of practice now, I can probably be replaced.”

She turned over just as the door opened. “Or I can keep ignoring my obligations and hope that I get lucky.”

“Okay, Miss Octavia?” Big Mac stepped over to her side of the bed.

“Fine, thank you.”

“Tired?”

“It is a long day.”

He nodded and walked back out of her sight. “The girls were talkin’ ‘bout goin’ to a show in one of those giant towers. Ah think you should come.”

“Thank you, but I will pass this time.”

“You’ll feel better. Get whatever it is off yer mind.”

“I do not need that.”

The bed creaked as his weight came down on it. “Ah recognize a funk. Come on, Miss ‘Tavia, you’ll enjoy yerself. Escapin’ this dreary bedroom’ll do ya good.”

She rolled back onto her back. “I am not the only one who runs.” She suddenly smiled. “You know the danger that you are in by being with us, yes?”

“Eeyup. An’ Ah don’t care.”

“Then…” She got up and picked up the letter, shredding it until it was snow in a fog of gray. “I do not care either.” She forced a calm smile. “Let us go to a show.”

* * * * * *

On the outside, Cork’s small house was cluttered with branches and ferns, but inside, it was cluttered with trinkets and junk, photographs blanketing every inch of the walls. Rarity and Fluttershy sat in her den, sipping cucumber water from an ornate, swan-necked decanter, as she paced and gesticulated, telling them all she knew of the abandoned, broken-down pump on the other side of town.

“And Rotor thinks it’s haunted, but Clipper just keeps saying it’s unsafe because it’s so dark down there. He’s just jealous he’s not a unicorn, I reckon. Cloud Line says—”

“Dear, please,” Rarity said, holding up a hoof. “I’m really sorry, but you’ve been talking for an hour now, and the names are starting to blend together.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re so interested in this pump anyway,” Fluttershy said. “Um, no offense.”

“You have to see it to truly understand,” Cork said. She looked away quickly, but then turned again with a sly, guilty smile. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in that?”

“In spelunking the abandoned water pump that Rotor says is haunted.”

“She’ll say anything to get a reaction, Rotor will. What do you say, Madam White? Have I not managed to intrigue you?”

Fluttershy looked at Rarity nervously, but Rarity only sipped her water—through a straw, being too clumsy with her hooves to bring it to her lips. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little fascinated with the idea of it. But actually exploring it… no, I’d really rather not.”

“We’d be happy to see the photographs you took of it,” Fluttershy said, offering a conciliatory smile.

“I’m not going down there alone,” Cork said. “That’s why I asked you two. You look brave.”

“Maybe, but we’re not stupid,” Rarity said.

“It’s the moral support!” Cork whined. “I don’t seriously think there’s anything mean down there, not like Rotor says. But… you know, just in case.” Looking from disinterested face to disinterested face, Cork huffed. “What if I got Clipper to join?”

“Um, I’m sorry, but why should we care if Clipper comes? We don’t know him,” Fluttershy said quietly.

“I like him.” They stared at her, unimpressed, until she chuckled and turned to paw through a collection of unorganized photos. “Let me tell you about my theories on how the cave got there.”

Rarity and Fluttershy looked at each other, displeasure and exhaustion passing between.

* * * * * *

An information kiosk had directed them to the Prancing Prince Music Hall, outside of which they stood in a half-hour line. Two months ago, the wide area, though lit and functioning, had not been witness to more than a few scattered patrons, and to all but Octavia, its new life and sound was a disorienting surprise.

They stood in the middle of a chattering group of socialites, looking around with varying degrees of fascination. As before, the sights and smells created a heady atmosphere; bright, colored lights glinted off countless reflective surfaces, while the air was mixed up with a thick, powerful aroma of sweet, tangy, and salty foods. Spinning stands of souvenirs and less tacky wares sat at shop corners, and weak sounds of faded music leaked from all around. Where the area had once been a lit but unpopulated row of attractive images, it had transformed into a proper city destination. Electricity once again filled the air, and everyone seemed comfortable.

Everything—the crowds, the shops, the food and lights—was subject to Prince Blueblood’s domineering grin. His giant eyes and teeth were lifeless wooden blocks set into a lurid imitation of his face, too square and too happy. Those that stood below his chin were quieter than the others.

Pinkie shivered where she stood, and Big Mac looked at her inquisitively. She looked around with a tiny frown. “I just got something with my Pinkie Sense.”

“How long has it been since you pulled that one out?” Applejack asked.

“I haven’t been getting it much. I don’t know. It comes and goes.”

“What’s it say?” Rainbow asked.

“Gimme a sec,” Pinkie said, her voice even as her face twitched, a combination of the tics that gave her sense such presence. Among the rest of the ponies, it was almost disturbing for its singularity. “Something’s gonna happen pretty soon here. I’m not sure how soon, but in less than an hour.”

“And?”

“But this isn’t quite the same as an ‘impending doom’ reflex. It’s not… I can’t tell. I don’t think I’ve had something like this before.”

“Is…” Rainbow lowered her voice. “Is it Discord? Is he coming?”

“No, I can tell that’s not it. No, we can’t prevent this.”

“Why would you get a sense from something that we cannot prevent?” Octavia asked.

“I think we’re just supposed to pay attention,” Pinkie said. Her face screwed up in a dramatic representation of concentration. “Yeah, this is more like an opportunity to figure something out.”

“One Celestia-blessed day,” Applejack complained.

“What do you mean?”

“Not even. We’re in this dang city fer a couple hours, an’ Pinkie’s got her sense tellin’ us how to start sniffin’ out yet another dang conspiracy. Ah’m startin’ to think Rarity’s right.” She looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “This city is a blight.”

“We are here for Trixie only,” Octavia said. “We cannot get caught up with other things. Not like last time.”

Big Mac looked at her, and Applejack threw a foreleg around his back. A small crowd was gathering toward the front of the line, and Applejack told her brother of their experiences in Manehattan, starting with Strawberry, the paranoid businesspony who had helped them secure the towers for their spells, at the price of their embroilment in his personal conflicts with the law.

By the time she got to Lacey, and the way she presented herself as a friend, the crowd at the front was pronounced enough to draw Pinkie’s attention. Standing on her hind legs, using Octavia for support, she could see the top of an aquamarine mane bobbing with conversation.

“Is that the thing we need to watch out for?” Rainbow asked.

“I can’t tell, Dashie.”

“Your precognitive sense has never been very powerful, has it?” Octavia asked.

“It’s hit or miss,” Rainbow said. “I’ve seen her be dead on with details before.”

“But it’s usually pretty vague,” Pinkie said.

“An’ so Twilight decided to use yet another spell we’d never seen her do before, an’ sneak into the studio, invisible,” Applejack said. “Corporate sabotage, big bro. That Strawberry had us doin’ this, an’ we hardly knew him!”

“Oh, I think I know who that is,” Octavia said, grunting quietly as Pinkie took her weight off her back.

“He some kind of celebrity or something?” Applejack asked, turning her attention from Big Mac.

“I believe that that is Captain Shout. He is a local radio personality, popular with the younger ponies.”

“Captain Shout. There’s a name for ya.”

“His persona, so to speak, is ‘loudmouth rebel.’ I interviewed with him once. He spent the entire time talking about how no one listens to my kind of music anymore.”

“What a jerk,” Rainbow said. “Ponies like this guy?”

“He is charismatic,” Octavia said dully. “That is all that matters in this day and age.”

The crowd cleared slightly at the front, revealing a small, strutting pony with sunglasses and a sour smirk, like he was personally offended by the attention he was getting. He passed right by them, not sparing a single look in their direction, and made a short patter on the ground with his hooves. “Captain Shout’s over here now, dummies!” he snapped, his mouth curling in a slight smile as ponies diverted out of line to flock to him.

“What an ass,” Rainbow muttered. She sniffed the air. “You smell that?”

Octavia looked up. At first, she did not process what she saw, but as the others followed her eyes, and their own faces turned to horror, she felt the familiar, cold grip of tense terror in her chest.

Coming out of Blueblood’s eyes and mouth, pouring like gouts of black disease, smoke rolled and rose. A small, rosy glow pulsed behind his teeth. Ponies cried out and scattered, and an uproar bloomed slowly inside the auditorium he guarded. An alarm shrieked above as the overhead sprinklers came to life, but the uncontrollable crowd was already shoving through and separating the small knot of friends.

Octavia did not react immediately. Her mind and reflexes were dulled with sleeplessness, and Blueblood’s feverish face, stuck in a detached, charring grin, looked more to her like a malformed tree stump than a face. His paint curled across the smooth wood of his face, and a hairline of fire swept out of a seam near the top of his head, throwing chaotic beams of shadows up against the scaffolding above. His teeth were rotting away before her eyes, and his lower jaw sagged.

“Octavia, you wanna hop to it?” Applejack yelled.

She looked back at Applejack and the others. “It is not spreading,” she said evenly. She didn’t know why she said it; it was too early to tell, and they were absolutely right. Evacuation was the correct choice. Still, she stood.

With a splintering creak, Blueblood’s lower jaw swung open, releasing a blast of hot air and a clawing curtain of bright fire, accompanied by a spray of sparks that vanished before it hit the wet floor. Ponies streamed in semi-formed lines out of side exits, and the doors behind Blueblood’s face had closed.

Applejack grabbed onto her hoof and tugged. “Come on,” she growled.

Octavia was led away to the sound and heat of his giant, wooden jaw hitting the floor. More screams, and a fresh wave of ponies jostled past, one almost knocking Pinkie to the ground. They trotted with the rest of the crowd to the nearest exit, illuminated by stringent, white lights: a stairwell. The doors to the zip train station were closed, and ponies in forest green vests directed the fleeing crowd down the stairs.

“We are more than halfway up this tower,” Octavia said. “If that fire spreads, we are not escaping in time.”

“Aw, chin up, sis!” Pinkie cried. “At least I know who my Pinkie Sense was about!”

Twilight and Trixie had completed a couple pages of their tentative script, finished with the introduction and ready to invent the meat of the story, and were taking a break in her dining room. “So how long have you been here?” Twilight asked.

“Like two days, but I’ve been here before, many times.”

“How long were you a wandering performer before you came to Ponyville?”

“Six or seven years. I started when I was pretty young.”

“You started with Octavia, right?”

“Nope. I started on my own, and so it stayed for a year and a half.”

“Huh. Did it get lonely?”

“I’m more resilient than I look,” Trixie said with a proud smile.

“And then, something happened, and you wound up in Fillydelphia, a changed pony,” Twilight continued.

“Sorry, Twilight. This is where I draw the line on talking about myself. Nothing personal.”

Twilight laughed politely. “No problem. I’m used to that line from Octavia.”

“She’s still Miss Private?”

“Only about everything even remotely related to her past.”

“Well, you’ll get nothing from me. I don’t know anything either.” She adjusted her position and leaned forward, her voice darkening dramatically. “All I know is I ran into her on the side of the road coming towards Ponyville, somewhere east of the Everfree. She’s good at music, and sometimes gets homesick. At least, she did then. Wherever ‘home’ is for her.”

“Trixie, you somehow know even more about her than we do, and we’ve been traveling together for months now.”

“What can I say? The mare is a mystery. I’ve tried to get her to talk before, but it’s always the same. She doesn’t want to tell me about it, her secrets are her own,”

“It is nothing personal; she trusts no one enough to tell them these things,” Twilight completed.

“You even got the stiff verbiage right. You really have been around each other a while.” Trixie smirked.

“I like her, but…”

“Yep. I feel the same way. My advice is to give up. You’re not opening her up, life-changing adventure or no.”

Twilight scribbled a line on the script before crossing it out. “I’m sure our friendship will reach her eventually.”

“Suit yourself. Now, on the topic of friendship… what’s Dashie’s deal?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Twilight said with mock exasperation. “You should have seen it. She got so worked up when I told her you said hi in your letter. She wanted me to give her a part of my reply letter so she could give you a piece of her mind.”

“Did it really bother her that much? I was just being friendly.”

“She thinks you’re messing with her.”

Trixie shook her head and levitated a beer out of the fridge. “Want one?”

“Oh, no thanks. I don’t drink.”

The bottle hissed and snapped as Trixie opened it. “I mean, now I’m teasing her, because her reactions are gold, but before, I was just trying to be nice.”

“She’s upset you singled her out, I think.”

“I like her.”

Twilight cocked an eyebrow.

“Not like that, Sparkle. She’s funny and interesting.”

“Would you like me to talk to her for you?”

Trixie choked a little on her beer and set it down with a thud. “No, no, definitely not. Let me handle her.” She smiled tranquilly. “I want to see how much teasing I can do before something truly interesting takes place.”

* * * * * *

Cork finished talking about the pump around sunset, and, mercifully, left them alone in her house while she went to gather water and confer with the others. Rarity and Fluttershy still sat on her couch, where they would sleep.

Fluttershy only looked at Rarity. She didn’t have to ask any questions, but Rarity resisted her tempered expression. For a few minutes.

With a moody sigh, Rarity rested her head on the couch’s back. “You said it was like taking a vacation. I just thought, if we’re taking a vacation from this, you know, task, then maybe we can take a vacation from ourselves too.”

“I like myself,” Fluttershy said softly.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Does this have anything to do with Manehattan?”

Rarity laughed heartily. “You flatter me, Butterfly. That such a trivial occurrence should make me do this. It was merely a whim!”

“Is that right, Madam White?”

“Yes, dear, that’s right.” She sobered. “I do apologize for not consulting you first, though. It was truly a spur-the-moment kind of thing. But I implore you, don’t tell anyone. Especially that Cork pony. I really don’t trust her.”

“I won’t,” Fluttershy said with an encouraging smile. She touched Rarity’s wither gently. “But don’t make snap decisions like that, okay? It invites trouble.”

“Speaking of trouble, how much do you want to bet she’s out there trying to rope Clipper into this foolishness right now?”

“He didn’t seem to like her that much.”

“No, but I recognize a crush when I see one,” Rarity said. Her thoughts strayed briefly to Spike. “What’s he up to, anyway?” “She’s smitten, darling. I can kind of see why.”

* * * * * *

Rose Tower survived easily. The fire in Blueblood’s hollow head went out after only ten minutes of frantic downwards movement, and they were able to take the train down and out twenty minutes later, after the area had been inspected and cleared. They walked back to the ship and ate at a tiny diner just off the lot.

“It’s him, Captain Shout,” Pinkie said. “He’s the suspicious one.”

“Loud and annoying I can see, but suspicious?” Rainbow said.

“You could tell on his face that he was lovin’ the attention,” Big Mac said. “That frown he wore was all posturin’.”

“So?”

Big Mac took a long draw from his caramel milkshake. “Look at the sequence of events, Miss Dash, an’ the timin’ between. He was at the front of the line, drawin’ ponies from all over the place. Pinkie gets her sense. ‘Bout five minutes later, he walks to the back of the line an’ lets the crowd re-form. Then he shouts out fer others to come to him. Not even a minute later, fire, an’ almost no one was directly underneath it.”

“You do not suppose that Captain Shout has precognition, do you?” Octavia asked.

“Either a precog, or responsible,” Big Mac said. “At least involved.” He sighed and took another drink. His voice was quiet and distant. “If he’s involved, an’ Ah think we should assume that fer now, then it’s strange fer him to lead those ponies away. He didn’t want ‘em to get hurt.”

“But why start the fire, then?” Octavia asked.

“Ah’m seein’ two possibilities. He’s workin’ on his own, or he’s workin’ fer someone else. Either way, he wanted destruction and panic, not injury or death. If he’s on his own, then we find him, talk to him, an’ turn him in once we’ve got a confirmation of what we know. If he’s workin’ fer somepony else, we know a little more. It means someone in the chain of command don’t want blood on their hooves, either him or the pony he answers to.”

“And what does that mean, Mr. Detective?” Rainbow asked.

“It means he’s either got a moral compass, probably twisted, or the pony he answers to ain’t lookin’ fer senseless deaths. She might wanna send a message to someone, or just make a lot of disorder. That’s where Ah’m stumped, though.”

“If he has some sense of morality, we can exploit that to find out who he’s working for,” Pinkie said. Everyone looked at her. “What? Oh, so Big Mac can talk all serious, but I can’t?”

“Real question,” Applejack said.

“What’s that?” Big Mac asked.

“What happened to you in Appleloosa?”

The Wheel Turns Over Again

Chapter Fifty-one

The Wheel Turns Over Again

Octavia stared down her opulent corridor at the pacing, shrouded figure. Its silhouette bent and splintered in the glass baubles on her walls, but no sound reached her. Recognition lit her mind, and she coiled her muscles to run. No thought of magic came to her.

In an instant, the form was beside her, and they were in her library. The multi-level chamber was her least used room in the house, and it showed. Though her servants had kept dust and cobwebs from intruding for years, no sign of busy unrest marked the second largest single room. No books lay open or sat unsorted, no ashes had collected in any of the fireplaces, no indentations on cushions suggested use of more than casual breaks on her way to other parts of the mansion.

The thin pony advanced and placed a covered hoof on her globe, its silver lines of latitude and longitude shimmering as it turned. Octavia went to it, impelled, and watched as it came to rest, a bead of green light indicating the ocean north of Equestria.

She raised her head to meet the pony’s eyes. Though her face was covered, Octavia could see the smile, neither malicious nor deceptive.

“Yes, there is an Element there,” Octavia said. “I already know that.”

The unicorn tapped the globe with her hoof and spoke in a soft voice. “My sunken ship rests here, Octavia.”

She paused, countless questions rapidly flooding her thoughts. She sat on a plush, violet cushion and studied the globe: the large ovoid of Equestria, curving toward the south pole; the jagged claw of Griffonstone to the west, hemming them from the huge, changeling-dominated ocean. Their own section of ocean was a blue knob on Equestria’s northern edge, tiny in comparison to the waters surrounding it. “Who are you?” she asked at last.

The mare smiled again, her eyes shining a quick icy blue. “My ship sank when I ran into an outcropping of rocks, several hundred years ago.”

“Is that where we will find the Element, in your ship?”

“Yes.”

“But who are you?”

The mare lowered her covering to reveal slits of nostrils on an emaciated, angular muzzle, and then unwrapped them from her concave, wiry neck. Her fur was short and shone in the warm library light like a cloak of scales, or silk. A long ribbon of mane hung to one side, tied tight behind her sharp cornered skull. Where her ears were, the fur receded to show leprous, pale blue skin.

“I know that you control the ghost ship, but I want to know who you actually are.”

“Octavia!”

She started awake, momentarily confused at the tall grass over her head.

“C’mon, we’re going for a walk!” Pinkie cried.

“What?” She sat up and cleared the grass out of her mane. “Why did you wake me?”

“There’s a question I don’t think any of us were expecting,” Rarity said.

Octavia looked around the overcast coast, a realization suddenly forming. “That was not a nightmare.” “I was having an interesting dream, one that I would like to talk about.”

“Wait,” Applejack said. “Who are you, an’ where’s Octavia?”

“Very funny.”

Big Mac helped her up, and they walked as a group along the fence. Clouds from the south had rolled in, and those that originally covered the north shore had turned into a gray wall just outside where the ocean should stop, falling back in a curtain. A breeze titillated them.

“So what was your dream?” Twilight asked.

“It was about that ghost ship pony.”

“Thunderhead,” Pinkie said.

“Yes. What?”

“Since she came out of a thunderhead, you know? I thought it seemed fun!”

“Sure, fine. Thunderhead, then. I believe she visited me.”

“Can she do that?” Fluttershy asked.

“I do not know,” Octavia said.

“Wait, are you sure it wasn’t Vanilla Cream?” Rainbow asked. “He can do that stuff easy.”

Octavia thought back at the dream, its details fading. She was not sure what they had talked about, and remembered only the pony’s appearance. She remembered the blue eyes. “It may have been him, actually. I am not certain.”

“But the point is, Thunderhead appeared to you,” Rarity said.

“I remember her removing her shawl and showing me her face. It was not exactly equine.”

“What do you mean?” Twilight asked.

“It had very defined edges and sharp corners, and her fur was shorter than I have seen on a pony.”

“She could have some disease.”

“Or it could just be a stupid dream,” Rainbow said. Twilight looked at her impatiently. “Just sayin’.”

“I remember her ears were very pointy, and there was no fur on them. None at all.”

“Sounds like a disease to me,” Rarity said. “Which would explain why she kept herself hidden so well.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Twilight said. “She’s just an aspect created by Discord, remember. You say you don’t remember what you talked about?”

“I think she mentioned her ship in some way, but… wait.” She stopped walking and let her eyes come unfocused as she tried to relive the dream, an action she was more used to doing involuntarily. “We will find the Element in her ship. I remember that now.”

“Wait, the ghost ship?” Applejack said. “Ah thought it was—”

“It’s still down there,” Fluttershy said. “I can still feel it.”

“The real ship, not the magical construct,” Big Mac said. “Musta sunk.”

“Hmm. If I can find out what that ship is,” Twilight said, “then we can figure out who this Thunderhead is. All assuming your dream had any meaning at all, Octavia.”

“You said it may have been Vanilla Cream in disguise,” Rarity said. “And it would make sense for him to do that, given how he feels about Discord.”

“Octavia, can you draw?”

“I have never seriously tried,” Octavia said.

“When we get back to the ship, let’s sit down and try to figure this pony out.”

“I can draw,” Rarity said. “Maybe I can help.”

“I would appreciate it,” Octavia said. They passed the dry beginning of a pier, ending only a couple feet off the edge, jagged stubs of supports hanging off its bottom like dark, cracked stalactites. Without a word, Pinkie trotted in its direction, ignoring a weak protest from Twilight. They went with her, over a sharp curb in the stone, and onto the plain of rough, uncomfortable sand. All the softest sand had been blown away, or sucked back with the sudden incredible tide as they had lifted, leaving only gravel and sandstone beneath. Few divides marred the denuded beach that they could see.

“Be careful,” Twilight said. “Remember what I said about sliding. Avoid any patches of sand you see.”

“I know, I know,” Pinkie said, leaping a small hole in the rock. She was the first to charge up the desiccated pier, coming to lean on a pillar at the end. They grouped behind her to look out off the edge of their world.

“Shit,” Twilight thought, and giggled at the irreverence. The view was more massive, more empty, more breathtaking than staring down a chasm or flying among clouds across the eggshell continent. Sheets of gray cloud rolled down in a thick wall, curving always lower like the lip of a great cup, cutting them off from what Twilight could only imagine as thousands of miles of blue perfection, gradated through pores in the barrier. Below, the planet itself rested as unmoving and graceful as ever, though, to her, it was but a brown and black stone under meandering cirrus as she leaned to the side, matching Pinkie’s reckless look out and over the pier’s end.

In the near distance, she could see the fraction of ocean that had come up, its glass-like figure imposing in monumental stillness. Ships flecked its surface like leaves, some so close to the edge that Twilight felt her skin crawl in anticipation. The ships, however, were mere toys next to the dark column that rose closer to the shore. Looming over the ocean, the water siphoning station was a colossal fist of cloud atop a static cyclone of soft, foaming white. Pipes looped and spiraled in knots behind walls of cloud, while huge, hanging clusters of turbines flanked the edges like bunches of fruit between larger, sturdier looking storage tanks. Nascent clouds swirled out of a trident of rising smokestacks over the whole facility, forming a cone of deadly dark that fed the ceiling of cloud even farther above.

“What’s cooler, Big Mac? The edge, or the siphoning facility out there?” Rainbow asked.

“An’ the coast ponies were able to make this thing in just three months?” Applejack asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

“Princess Celestia must have commissioned thousands of mages,” Twilight said. “I wonder what they’re doing with all the salt, though.”

“Salt?” Rarity asked.

Twilight looked at her, but quickly back; she didn’t want to have her back to the continent’s edge.

“Ah think Ah know where our pillar came from,” Big Mac said, and climbed off the pier. They followed him down onto the beach and back up the rocks, needing Rainbow and Fluttershy’s help over the final lip of stone back to the grass. They walked on, deeper into the field. Applejack looked up at the sky just as Twilight felt a raindrop on her back.

“Should we head back?” Fluttershy asked.

“Soon,” Applejack said. “We don’t wanna get too far away.”

Rainbow cantered to the head of the group and added a tiny flourish of flight before turning around. “Come on, AJ, we can stay out here longer.”

“Ah just don’t want us losin’ track of the ship, that’s all.” She stumbled. “Hey! What the—”

“Perhaps we should head back immediately,” Octavia said, levitating the block of salt off the ground. It was identical to the one Rainbow had found in her room, minus the inscriptions.

“So that’s two mysterious salt blocks,” Rarity said. “Twilight? You’re the magic expert.”

“I mean, I can look at it,” Twilight said, pulling it to herself, “but I’d be surprised if this gives me any more information than the last one did.” She held it in her hoof while her horn glowed a soft purple, her magical fog more opaque than usual. The block glowed for a minute, and Twilight shook her head. “Nothing new. It’s been shaped, but that’s the only sign of magic.” She paused as a gentle rain of salt fell to the ground, and turned it over again to see the cause: as she was holding it, a small message was being scrawled in, as if by an invisible chisel. “Behind you,” she whispered.

“Twilight,” Applejack said, her voice low and still. She knew even before she turned around what to expect, but it did not stop her from recoiling as Discord sauntered across the beach toward them, covering more distance than his strides allowed. He appeared lost in thought, and wore a jaunty set of blue and green regalia, decorated with shining medals and complete with a ceremonial saber to his side and a huge, feathered hat over his horns.

Twilight took two steps back, but stopped; something inside her was piqued. She watched him advance, watched the way his legs moved, and his footprints on a patch of sand. The imprints lingered for only a couple seconds before refilling, not swiftly or in a manner imperceptible save for after the feat, but as though filled from within—sand poured out, grain by grain, in the middle of the empty space. Even as he approached, arms wide open in greeting, her mind went to the old lessons in Canterlot.

“So, you’re upset we chased off your ghost ship, and wanted a piece of it yourself, huh?” Rainbow crowed, at the same time shrinking slightly behind Big Mac’s stoic, unmoving bulk.

Twilight stepped forward, taking an additional step before Octavia, who joined her.

“I think ‘chased off’ might be a little inaccurate,” Discord said, sparing only a threadbare smile.

“Say what you need to say,” Twilight said, looking him in the face.

“Your princess is dead, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight kept her face straight and her stance rigid, even as the others shouted out behind her. “Which one?”

“Dear Luna.”

“You lie!” Applejack cried. “Twilight, he’s tryin’ to—”

“Quiet,” Twilight snapped. She faced the draconequus. “You must think I was born yesterday to try that on me, Discord.”

He made an indignant, surprised sound in the back of his throat. “Surely you understand the implications, Twilight. Luna, dead! Gone!”

One of her electives was a class on the differences between the goddess’ magic and that of mortals, and they had spent an entire unit on death, and its inconsequential nature for the night princess. “She dies all the time, you dummy. Everypony knows that.” She shook her head in a dramatic display of cynicism. “Why are you even here? You have an army to lead and my home to conquer. Go do that instead.”

“You think I can’t be in two places at once?”

“He is trying to mess with us, Twilight,” Octavia said, stepping forward.

“Octavia, stand down. I know what I’m doing.” She took another step toward him, noting the foot he rested his weight on. He had not shifted in the time he had stood before them. She still had to consciously assert her will to keep her voice from wavering. “How long did you prepare for this illusion to go on?”

“And what makes you think this is an illusion?” he asked, not with the silkiness or smugness that she had come to expect, but exhaustion.

“The timbre of your voice, for one thing.” He smirked, and so did she. “Just kidding. You’re not, though.”

He doffed his feathered cap and flung it away, where it vanished in the air. “Twilight, I’m getting the feeling you don’t appreciate my visit.”

“I don’t appreciate you insulting my intelligence, and I especially don’t appreciate seeing somepony waste time.” She thought briefly of Spike as she took on a sterner tone. “You have responsibilities, but instead, you’re playing with us, all while my dead princess is on your tail. Why, why, why are you sending illusions of yourself all the way across the country to try to scare us?”

“Twilight,” Pinkie said.

“Quiet. Discord, I’m ashamed of you. This is the first bad move you’ve made.”

“You don’t know anything!” he cried, throwing his hands in the air and stomping a small circle in the grass. “Perhaps it’s all part of my plan to give you a false sense of confidence.”

“Then fight us and let us win, like Thunderhead did.”

“I don’t want it that false,” he said, sliding off his jacket and letting it puff away in colorful steam over his head.

“Then begone,” Twilight said. “You did your job, illusion. We know Princess Luna is dead, and you’ve stricken fear into our hearts, so why don’t you go back to your master now and let his little salt trap do its job?” She smiled and flicked her tail at him. “Or do you have no confidence in that either?”

“Enough!” he shouted, swinging a claw over the grass and shearing it in a magical curve of light. Twilight didn’t flinch. He removed the rest of his uniform and tossed it in a ball over Octavia’s face.

“That was the last of it, illusion.”

“I know that, Twilight, I know that.” He sneered and paced angrily, eyes shut as if with a headache. “I’m several millennia older than you. What can you say about magic that I don’t already know?”

Twilight returned his smile. His movements no longer caused the grass to sway. “I see my dead princess got to you somehow.”

“Oh, shut up.” He shook his head and brought his paw to his forehead dramatically. “So hot! Oh, I’m so hot! What’s a draconequus to do?” With a final cackle, he collapsed back into the grass and vanished, leaving a shower of coals behind to fizzle and quickly catch in the field.

“Give me a break,” Twilight murmured, pacing the small brush fire and using her horn to suck the air from the area, keeping the circle of field a weak half-vacuum until the fire had gone out. When it was done, she let the air back in a rush, standing back in case it should ignite an ember she hadn’t noticed.

“So, you wanna explain now, Twi?” Applejack asked.

“Way to go, by the way,” Rainbow said. “That was freaking amazing.”

“So Princess Luna’s okay?” Rarity asked. “And yes, wonderful job, darling. That was… weird.”

“Okay, okay, everypony,” Twilight said, facing her friends. They had all backed up several steps, except Octavia, who had been right behind her the whole time. “Princess Luna is perfectly okay. Her magic—actually, let’s walk back to the ship.” She looked up at the storm clouds again. “It’s getting dark out here.”

“So how many times has she died?” Pinkie asked.

“I don’t know the exact number, but it’s somewhere in the seven hundred range. She’s spent… what’s the number? I think it’s eight or nine total years dead.”

“That’s incredible,” Rarity said. They were outside the ship in the tide pool with their things, watching the ponies patch its hull. Octavia stood with her cello, but did not play.

“She’s a goddess,” Twilight said. “A lot of ponies don’t think about the princesses in those terms, but it’s true. Behind all the pomp and finery, they’re goddesses. Or at least close enough to it that we can call them that.”

“Nine years,” Rainbow echoed. “I wasn’t in flight school that long.”

“But nine years out of the thirty-three thousand she’s been alive,” Rarity said. “And fifteen.”

“We can all agree that it is amazing,” Octavia said. “But I would like to talk more about Discord.”

“How’d you know he was an illusion?” Big Mac asked.

“Was it really the timbre of his voice?” Pinkie asked. “ ‘Cause I thought it sounded just like normal! Maybe a little rough, but we’re on the coast. The air is pretty dry here, which is silly considering how much water there should be, and sand, and wind to blow the sand around, and—”

“Keep goin’, Twi,” Applejack said, shifting to sit in front of Pinkie and block her volume somewhat.

“His prints in the sand weren’t permanent, and he didn’t shift his weight, ever. That’s how I knew at first, but then when he kept taking off his clothes, that proved it. He had to remove pieces of himself in order to last longer. I think Discord just wanted to scare us and deliver that message.”

“Why not send a letter?” Rainbow asked.

“I guess giving it in person is more dramatic.”

“So you knew he was an illusion from the start,” Rarity said. “I was wondering why you were being so recklessly confident.”

“I can be confident,” Twilight said. “But yes, I knew he was an aspect, and a weak one at that. Discord—the real Discord—must be in a heck of a nasty spot if that was the best he could send us. I didn’t even have to use magic to figure out what it was.”

“It looked pretty good to me,” Rainbow said.

“But you don’t know anything about illusions,” Rarity said.

“Neither do you.”

“I’ve read about them before, a little bit.” She sat back to gesticulate with her hooves. “I’ve had an idea in my head for quite some time now, where I take something like a brooch or a cravat, enchant it with illusion magic, and somehow incorporate the illusion into the garment. Imagine an outfit whose dimensions change every time the pony moves.”

“Point is, it was a garbage illusion,” Applejack said.

“I wish I had more of my equipment with me, actually. I’d love to recreate that charming thing he was wearing today.”

“I wonder what it was supposed to be,” Twilight said. “But yes, the illusion was hilariously bad, for him. I was almost tempted to believe him when he said it was to give us false confidence, but… he’s done that before, much more effectively.”

“Ah’m just glad there wasn’t another fight,” Big Mac said. Thunder moved overhead.

“Finally,” Octavia said. She erected a small, gray shield over her cello.

“Getting better all the time, huh?” Rainbow said.

“I practice when you are asleep, and I am not.”

It was eight o’ clock when the holes were patched, and they were in the air, dry for the time. Rarity and Fluttershy sat in the back, fixing each other’s manes in the pale moonlight while Octavia played her cello. Twilight sat beside her with a stack of books, searching for the inequine dream pony.

“And you’re sure she didn’t give you the name of her ship?” Twilight asked.

“I am sure,” Octavia said. She glanced at Rarity, who smiled at her.

“Would you like to join us?” Fluttershy asked.

“I would not want to impose, and I do not know much about mane care.”

“Nonsense, darling. It’s easy; we’ll show you. Come, sit with us,” Rarity insisted.

Octavia scraped her bow across the strings, but joined them after a moment, her back to Fluttershy, who started pawing through her mane. In the past, she had taken pains to maintain it at a glossy, intimidating black, a curtain of darkness that had given her what one Hoofington magazine had called “daunting mystique.”

“Oh, Octavia, your mane is so soft,” Fluttershy said.

“Thank you.”

“And nothing like how long it’s been down there?” Twilight asked.

“Let me think.” She let Fluttershy run her hooves through her mane, ignoring the tugs as she encountered knots, trying to remember. Thunderhead, or Vanilla Cream, had said something regarding time, she was sure. “I want to say three hundred years. I do not think that is right, but that is the number I keep returning to.”

Twilight flipped several pages in her book, and Rarity switched places with Fluttershy. “So how’ve you been lately?” she asked lightly.

“I am fine, thank you. Yourself?”

“Getting better, actually,” Rarity said. “I think all the time on the ship did me good. I feel…” She took a deep breath behind Octavia. “Ready for the next leg of our adventure. Good or bad, I’m ready to see it through. If only my horn would hurry up and heal. They do heal, right Twilight?”

“You know they do,” Twilight said without looking up.

“Yes, I do, but hearing it from you is much nicer.”

“Yes, Rarity, they do.”

She sighed happily. “Thank you. Oh, Octavia, I’m so sorry!”

Octavia tilted her head sharply. “What?”

“I accidentally pulled out some of your hair.”

“Excuse me?” She turned completely to look at Rarity, who had a couple long, dark gray strands of hair draped over her hooves. “I did not feel it.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She took her hairs back and looked at them. “Interesting.”

“Um, are you sure you’re okay? It’s not healthy for a mare your age to lose her hair that easily,” Fluttershy said.

“I am sure it is nothing.”

“Hair loss is a sign of stress,” Rainbow said from the other side of the deck. She was crouched over another letter, a quill gripped awkwardly in her teeth.

“How do you know something like that?”

“Are you kidding? Back at flight school, half the class was shedding their manes for tryouts. They’re brutal. Only one out of every twenty pegasi gets to go on from there.”

“What were these tryouts for, exactly?” Rarity asked.

“You know, different flying teams. Speed, endurance, agility, and so on. Tryouts were all basically the same, though. Harder than hell.”

“Are you sure you’re not stressed, Octavia?” Fluttershy asked.

“Not any more than usual,” Octavia said.

“What does that mean? What’s usual for you?”

“Octavia, you’re losing a lot of hair,” Rarity said, running her hoof through her mane again. “I picked up at least thirty hairs that time.”

Octavia felt her pulse quicken, and she suddenly yearned to be back up and playing her instrument. She could tell where the conversation was heading.

“Now, darling, that is not normal.”

“Have you been sleeping?” Fluttershy asked.

Octavia stared at the balloon’s dark contour in the starlight, and the sudden blind thought of simply disappearing the next time they touched down dipped its wings into her mind again. “My sleeping habits have not changed.”

“Well, that’s what’s doing it,” Rarity said. “Why do you insist on forcing yourself into this?”

“It is not often a matter of force.” She looked up; Big Mac was standing a distance away, staring at them thoughtfully. “It is natural for me.”

“Clearly not,” Rarity said.

Octavia remained silent.

“Darling, we’ve been over this.”

“Yes, we have. You may save your words. I realize that it is unhealthy, and I realize that it can only end badly for me.”

“Um, have you thought about getting help?” Fluttershy asked. “Um, even some over the counter sleeping medication might work.”

“Oh, do they have pharmacies in Ponyville now?” Octavia asked.

Her voice was a diminished mutter. “Um… n-no, but, I mean, I have heard of them.”

“Or you could see someone,” Rarity said.

“We have been over that as well,” Octavia said. “I will not hold us up for my sake. That would be selfish.”

“Isn’t it selfish to hurt yourself when your friends are worrying about you, though?” Twilight asked.

“I can understand why you would think so.”

“Yep, there it is,” Rainbow said.

“What?”

“The classic Octavia ‘I’m done talking about this, so here’s something that sounds like a response but isn’t’ thing.”

“What am I supposed to say? You all know that I will not budge on this issue.” She turned to a gentle tug on her mane.

“Please get help, darling,” Rarity said.

She expected more, waited for it. She was ready to deflect the litany of reasons why, or the emotional appeals from Fluttershy, and it took her a moment to catch up to the lone statement. She looked down at her hooves and frowned, her face hot. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one,” she said. “For me to keep us from accomplishing our goal would be much worse than continuing on my current path.”

“But self-destruction is never a good path,” Fluttershy said.

“I am not destroying myself.”

“You’re going days without sleeping, losing your hair,” Twilight said, flipping a page.

“Your eyes are bloodshot,” Rarity added.

“Okay, I get it,” Octavia said, struggling to keep her voice from rising. “That does not invalidate my previous statement.”

“What about our friendship?” Fluttershy asked.

“I value my friendship with you all, and will forever, but I have to keep these things in perspective. If it meant the safety of Equestria, I would give up my friends in an instant.”

There was a hurt silence, and Octavia knew she had crossed a line.

“So… let me get this straight,” Rarity said after a moment. “Our friendship is just a… convenience for you? Something that just happened to come up as a result of your efforts to save Equestria?”

“I do not presume that it is my efforts alone that will—”

“We’re just happy little coincidences for you, right? Nothing more than a group of ponies to ease your burden.”

She stood up, ignoring the pull as more hair came out in Rarity’s hooves still in her mane, and went to her cello. Twilight leaned away, eyes still fixed on her book, but not moving.

“Since when did this all get about you, Octavia?” Rainbow asked from afar. “We’re the Elements of Harmony. Not you, us. If anything, you’re the one getting in our way.”

“We shared our friendship with you, and you treat us like accessories that you can just cast off when it suits you,” Rarity said.

“That is not what I meant,” Octavia said firmly. “Please let me explain.”

Applejack turned from the wheel for the first time. “Yer claimin’ it’s all fer the greater good, an’ fer the ‘needs of the many’, but Ah think yer just too selfish an’ afraid to acknowledge that you’ve got the same weaknesses as all of us.”

“You treat this whole thing like it’s your job, like you’re the only one who can do anything,” Rainbow said.

“Like it’s your duty, and we’re just along for the ride,” Rarity said.

“There’s a reason Princess Celestia told us to do this, an’ not you,” Applejack said.

“Be quiet!” Octavia snapped, wrenching her instrument. She looked at it softly for a second before leaning it on the rail and falteringly pacing, still on her back legs. “It is not my intent to devalue our friendship. I was merely trying to show you my priorities. I feel that the safety of the world is more important than our interpersonal relationships.” She looked at the angry faces around her. “I truly value you; please believe me.”

“It’s hard,” Applejack said. “It’s hard to think you have our relationship’s best interests at heart while yer killin’ yourself.”

“Perhaps if you told us what it was that makes you do these things, we could help,” Rarity said.

“Of course!” Octavia barked. “Of course! Why not, Rarity? Why should I not?” She fell to her hooves and stomped across the deck, tail flicking rapidly. “It always seemed to me that the best way to handle a conflict with someone as tight-lipped as myself would be to bring up the one thing that is guaranteed to shorten her fuse even more!”

“What’s a fuse?” Applejack asked.

“Yes, I misspoke. If you had shut up for one minute to let me explain, instead of making the same suggestions you always do, none of this would have happened!”

“None of what?” Rainbow said.

“Shut up! Everypony just shut up, and let me think.”

“Octavia,” Rarity started.

Octavia opened her mouth, but no words escaped. She walked to the edge and looked into the distance, out over the wide plains to the south. Suddenly, the midnight blue flat of grass and shrubs glowed a garish, flickering orange with the crumpled sound of burning oxygen. She put her head on the gunwale as the night settled back down.

“Is everypony okay?” Big Mac called, stumbling out of the hatch.

“It’s Octavia,” Twilight whispered.

“I am going belowdecks. Do not pursue me,” Octavia said, resisting the urge to shove Big Mac as she passed.

It was only after everyone else had gone to bed that she returned to the deck to pass the night staring into the vast emptiness of what was once the northern oceans, instead a sea of stars. She wanted to play more, but had to put the cello away when it started to rain.

She woke, paralyzed, the image of a wild, horrified face pressed against her own, its splintered fur black as pitch. In those brief, terrified moments, before her heart calmed down or she had registered the cold rain pouring onto her, she saw a white form standing sentinel a few feet away.

When it offered a hoof, she accepted it without thought.

“Long time, no see,” Vanilla Cream said. “You look well.”

“Did you come to me in my dream earlier today?”

“In the guise of Thunderhead, you mean? Yes, that was me. She’s quite nice, you know.”

“She did not seem nice.”

He nodded. “The creature your Thunderhead is based on is nice.”

“Creature?”

“Have Twilight search for a ship by the name of the Deep Freeze.” He glided across the deck, his hooves as still as his body, and she frowned.

“Who exactly are you?”

“Just a humble servant to Discord,” Vanilla said, giving her a wink. “You understand the importance of secrecy, of course.”

“Please, do not.”

“Sorry.”

She sighed. “I have been through a lot today, so you will have to forgive me for being a little short.”

“Not nearly as short as Discord, after Twilight sent his illusion packing.”

“Did it upset him very much?”

“He’s been under the weather for a time now.” Vanilla sat down, curling his tail around his platinum hooves. He resembled a being of pure light in the darkness, his body immediately visible no matter how much Octavia averted her tired eyes. “Between you and me, I’m relieved that he did not summon me to try to hinder the princesses. Celestia, I’m sure I could vex to no end, but Luna, I suspect, would make a toy out of me.”

“I always thought that Princess Celestia was the more powerful of the two.”

“It depends on where you stand. For one like me, her powers are easy enough to ignore.”

“Princess Luna would destroy you, though.”

“If not destroy, certainly make my job much harder.”

“Like you are supposed to be doing for us.”

He smiled thinly. “Is that regret in your voice, or a challenge?”

“Neither. An observation, if you want.”

He chuckled, and the sound seemed to fill the deck, despite the thundering rain. “What I want is for your friends to trust me.”

“To be perfectly honest, I think you lost that chance the instant you said you were from Tartarus.”

“I know, but I can dream.”

“Do you dream?”

“What do you mean?” His horn glowed, and the rainfall stopped. She looked up, seeing a circle of night sky in the clouds just above. “That’s better.”

“Thank you. I meant… I do not really know. I was thinking out loud.”

“I sleep, if that’s what you were asking,” he said. “Though not the same way you do.”

“I see.” She watched him for a moment. He seemed perfectly at ease on the deck, sitting with a calm that she envied. Whether aftershock from the dreams, or tension from his presence, she couldn’t tell what had her so uncomfortable. “Why did you select Fillydelphia when you moved us? Or was that Discord’s choice?”

“No, it was mine. He trusts me to do a fine job of throwing you off on my own.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Which is not why I’m here now. I… chose Fillydelphia because I knew that a tornado would be brewing, and wanted to see how you would handle it.”

“Are we entertainment for you?”

“You were at first, yes. There’s something different about you, though.”

“I am not an Element of Harmony.”

“Perhaps that’s it.” He smiled again and met her eyes.

“So why are you here?”

“Is it not enough that I simply want to visit?”

“You have not done that before. Why should I expect something different?”

“My, you are in a rotten mood tonight.”

Octavia sighed. “If you must know, I had a fight with the ponies down below. Again.”

“Ah, maybe that’s the reason,” Vanilla said. “You are nothing like them.”

She sat back and raised her head to the clouds, deep in thought. The clouds had returned to fill in the hole that Vanilla had punched, but no rain peppered the soaking deck. “Of course he is right,” she thought. “I have known that from the start. They are naïve, and have not seen the world. For Celestia’s sake, they had not even seen telephones before.”

“It makes one wonder that you are still with them at all,” Vanilla said softly.

“No,” she said at last. “You are wrong. We are different, but we are also…”

“Friends?”

“…We share common interests.”

“So you will stay with them?”

She snapped her eyes to his own, no longer smiling benignly. “Why would you think otherwise?”

“Because you are a strong-willed mare who takes offense easily. It seems reasonable to me.”

“Release your spell,” she said. She went to the torch and felt its cool, metal exterior before stepping back into the sudden, freezing rain. Her fur bristled as her skin contracted, and she shivered involuntarily. Her clouded mind sharpened, and she studied the white form before her, its back to her.

“Dreadful weather, though,” Vanilla said.

“These ponies like me for who I am, and while we do fight at times, it is only because they are so interested in helping me.”

“And do you need help?”

“It is popular to say so. I will not leave them. I have had the chance in the past, and I nearly took it. I will not do that again.”

“That’s very generous of you, Miss Octavia.”

She stepped before him, and immediately wished she hadn’t. His blue eyes pierced her like search lights. “What is your true reason for coming here? You did not do it for my conversation.”

“Why the cold shoulder? If I offended you, rest assured, I did not mean to.”

“I cannot be certain of that.”

He watched her, dripping in the rain that didn’t touch him. Eventually, he sighed and stood. “Very well. For what it’s worth, I enjoyed our talk before I overstepped my bounds.”

“Do what you came to do.”

“Of course.” His horn pulsed light, framing the raindrops like shards of glass in an ephemeral dome around his body. Something clunked below, and she stepped back as the hatch swung upwards. Rainbow came onto the deck, as alert and deliberate as if waking up for the morning. She trotted to a few paces before Vanilla, still sitting, and stopped to look around.

“Wait, what the hell is going on? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Vanilla said cheerfully. “Do you remember our accord?”

“Octavia, what’s going on?” Rainbow asked, worry quivering in her voice.

“She and I were chatting. Be still, Rainbow Dash. I have something that you will enjoy.”

“Yeah, uh, I don’t trust you. Like, at all.”

“Then please let me show you your error. Step forward.”

Rainbow sat down instead. “How ‘bout no? If you want it so bad, make me. You obviously made me come out here, you freak.”

“I would rather you take the final steps.”

She smiled. “Not gonna happen.”

“Why are you so stubborn, Dash? What do you think I will do?”

“I don’t want you screwing with me.”

He stood up, and the rain froze in place, tiny spheres of light refracting his white body as it swayed through the air. “I can make you get on your knees and beg me for this, but I would rather the exchange have some dignity. I’m trying to give that to you.”

“Psh. Thanks.”

“Just do it, Rainbow,” Octavia said.

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Octavia.”

“Step forward, Dash,” Vanilla said, his voice full in their ears. Immediately, Rainbow got up and trotted the remaining distance between them, stopping just before him. Then she shook her head again and backed up.

“Quit doing that! I don’t want your stupid magic!”

“Why do you want to remain powerless?”

“Uh…” She looked around. “Turn the rain back on! It’s freaky out here.”

He gave her a shallow bow as the raindrops hit the deck in a clap of resumed gravity. “Do you fear me?”

“You wish.”

“You certainly do not trust me.”

“Uh-huh.” She spread her wings and let the rain soak into her plumage.

“You think my charity is part of an elaborate scheme, or a betrayal in disguise.”

“Well, you are from Tartarus.”

“Meaningless,” Vanilla said. “There are ponies in this world who would martyr you simply to know what it feels like to rapidly dispense with guilt. Evil is not that simple.”

“Sure is easy to disguise, though.”

“I think you mean hard to disguise. If it were easy, you wouldn’t be accusing me, right?”

“I want to go back to my solitude,” Octavia said. “Either take this elsewhere or come to a decision quickly.”

“Shut up, Octavia,” Rainbow said.

She breathed out through her nose and regarded Rainbow, facing Vanilla bitterly.

Vanilla smirked. “Harsh words from someone who can’t look me in the eyes.”

Rainbow sputtered and shook her head. “Well, uh, you—”

“Come to me.”

Rainbow nodded passively and approached him once more, sitting before him. Even her face was calm, her eyes mild, her jaw relaxed. Octavia could see no objections in her stance.

“Ask me nicely to give you this magic.”

Rainbow cleared her throat and dropped her head slightly. Her voice was not the demure, defeated squeak that Octavia expected. “Can I please have that cool magic now?” she asked conversationally.

Vanilla did not smile. “Of course.” His horn glowed dull silver, and Rainbow shivered, her wings contracting into a feathery V. Her head went down, dripping to the deck, and Octavia took a tentative step around to see her face. Before she could get a clear view, Rainbow had relaxed, and was in the process of sitting back up.

“Thanks, Vanilla.”

“Forget that I made you submit to this.”

Octavia looked at him, and, as their eyes met, her own sluggish thoughts fell aside to make room for his voice. “Can’t have her trying to undo the magic after I leave, can we?” She nodded, but realized there was no need.

Rainbow shook the water out of her mane and went to Octavia’s side. “All right, well, thanks, I guess.”

“Go ahead and get back to sleep,” Vanilla said. “Or solitude. I’ll leave you now.”

“Wait, you’re not even gonna tell me about my new magic?” Rainbow said.

“You’ll find a note tomorrow that explains it. Good night, ponies. Octavia, I’m sorry for earlier.”

“Take your leave,” Octavia said.

He bowed, and was gone, swiped away in a wash of rain.

Rainbow yawned. “Hey, sorry about that. I didn’t mean it.”

“How—” Octavia stopped; she was about to ask how much Rainbow remembered. “Do you feel?”

“Tired. I’m out. G’night.”

“Hm.” She shook herself, but the rain was relentless, and she went to her cello case wet and shivering. Against the rail, where she had left it, it balanced neatly on four pillars of salt.

Rainbow’s breakfast salad, an amalgamation of leftover rations and some grass Pinkie had found the previous day, came with a note on top.

“Pinkie, did you put this here?” she asked, grabbing it.

“Not mine, Dashie!”

“Oh, it’s from Vanilla. Er, right.” She put it down briefly. “He visited us last night.”

“Ah didn’t see anythin’,” Applejack said, sitting up straight and pivoting to look around.

“Me and Octavia.”

“Oh, her.” She threw a dark look to the hatch; Octavia was taking her breakfast below.

“Yeah, he gave me some magic. Said I’d find a note.” She chuckled. “He’s not much for subtlety, huh?”

Twilight laughed, and Rainbow frowned at her before letting out a chuckle as well.

“Well, what is it?” Rarity asked, poking her in the side.

“Hey! Okay, it says here, ‘make your own weather. The ten cubic feet of space you occupy is yours to heat up, cool off, dry out, or moisten. The clime is yours to abuse.’ Twilight, what’s a clime?”

“A climate,” Twilight said. “Just another word for climate.”

“That sounds mighty interestin’,” Big Mac said. “Is that all there is?”

“Yeah,” Rainbow said, waving the note for them to see. “So… I can make my own weather?”

“Let me read it,” Twilight said, floating it over. She scanned the paper. “So I guess you have a dome or something around you that you can summon weather into.” She scratched her head. “Ten feet’s kind of small, though.”

“It doesn’t matter. He didn’t write down how to cast the spell, so I doubt I’ll actually be doing anything.”

“That’s the spirit,” Applejack said, rolling her eyes.

“Just being realistic.”

“You haven’t even tried,” Rarity said.

The hatch opened, and Octavia came out with muddied eyes and a pair of salt blocks preceding her. She dropped them in front of Twilight. “I found them on the pillow.”

“You weren’t eating on the bed, were you?” Twilight asked.

“No, Twilight. I am not a savage.” She turned with a petulant flick of her tail and went back below.

“What a snot-head,” Rainbow mumbled.

“No, not this again,” Applejack said quickly. “Ah know we’re on the outs with her, but we ain’t gonna sit here an’ bellyache ‘bout her behind her back. Remember what happened in Manehattan?”

“Uh… can you be more specific? A lot happened in Manehattan.”

“We almost lost her,” Rarity said.

“Oh, that. Well… but that doesn’t make her less nasty.”

“Ah ain’t sayin’ what she’s doin’ is right, but we did gang up on her yesterday,” Applejack said.

“But that’s what she needs,” Rarity said.

“Clearly it ain’t,” Big Mac said. “Didn’t you say this happened before, to the same exact result? Sounds to me like tryin’ to drag her out into the light ain’t the best approach here.”

“You don’t even know her,” Rainbow said.

“We talk. Moreover, Miss Dash, Ah listen.”

“Well lah-dee-dah.”

“Um, maybe we shouldn’t be trivializing this,” Fluttershy said, grabbing a salt block in her own pink magic. She held it for a moment before letting it fall. “She’s a friend in distress.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“That don’t give us license to be cruel,” Big Mac said.

Rainbow sighed, staring into her food for a second. “I know. She gets me, you know? That inscrutable arrogance just pisses me off sometimes.”

“She doesn’t mean any harm,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, yeah.” She glanced at Big Mac as he got up. “Going somewhere?”

“Figure Ah may as well go talk to her,” he said.

She waited until he was out of sight. “Think he’s got a thing for her?”

“I think he’s trying to be nice,” Rarity said. “Nicer than we’re being, that’s for sure.”

Octavia lay on the bed with her cello bow floating above her, a small, gray shield around it. She had a wadded up napkin to flick off the shield, and was trying not to let her bow wobble. She had been able to keep a shield up in the rain, but, coupled with the effort of keeping her bow aloft, it was flimsier than usual. She felt every bounce of the napkin behind her eyes like a distracting, twitching thump.

She lost the shield when someone knocked on her door, and she considered sending the pony away in a flash of indignity. “Enter,” she said.

Big Mac came in and sat at the foot of the bed, a move she knew meant that he was looking to talk.

“I can hear you from within the corridor, somewhat. I am not sure whether you know that.”

“Nope.”

“Rainbow does not like me.”

“Ah think you scare ‘em.”

“I am not scary. At least, I do not try to be.”

“They’re scared yer gonna leave.”

“Nonsense. I have made clear my intentions to remain with them, multiple times.”

“They’re scared yer gonna die.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. The bow still floated, and, though she understood the words, she did not process them immediately. “This will, of course, lead back to my insomnia.”

“An’ a few other things.”

“Please, explain. I have heard this all before, but not from you.” He paused, seemingly put off by her invitation. “Please.”

“You ain’t sleepin’, of course. That’s the main one. Y’also don’t talk much, but Ah can understand that, now that Ah’ve seen ‘em backbitin’ you.”

“This whole thing will turn around in time,” she sighed. “The way it worked in Manehattan, and Trottingham after that, was they get angry with me, and after an interval of silence, usually only a few hours, one of them apologizes, triggering the rest of them to do the same. I then apologize for being insensitive, and everyone proceeds like normal.”

“Twilight said that last night. She said it’s like a cycle.”

“It is not like one. It is one.” He raised an incredulous eyebrow. “I am sorry. That was petty of me.”

“What makes you suffer so much, Miss Octavia?”

“Please. You have to know that everyone else has asked me this. Do you really expect an answer?”

“Not a straight one.”

She twirled her bow slowly, then quicker. “I appreciate the pretense, though. I do not enjoy these discussions, but they are tolerable with you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Your questions sound like actual questions, not accusations.”

“You should talk with Fluttershy. She’s the same way.”

“Are you two close?”

“‘Bout as close as you an’ me.”

“I am close to no one.” She closed her eyes, a heavy feeling in her stomach. “That is not true. I do feel close to some of you.”

“Yer feelin’ defensive.”

“And uncomfortable, yes.”

“Anythin’ else?”

“Pressured.” She connected her dark eyes with his patient ones for the single word, and he nodded.

“You mind if Ah do some readin’ in here? They’re talkin’ ‘bout Rainbow’s new magic out there.”

“Go ahead.” She dug a salt block out from under her sheets and tossed it to the bedside, and Big Mac did the same with one he produced from one of their saddlebags.

No waves touched the beach. From where Twilight stood with Applejack at the prow, they could see twin testaments to pony ingenuity: to the north, the elegant pillar of whitewater rising into the siphoning station; and to the south, a fenced off and fortified trio of pits, dug into a hillside and reinforced with tarnished, gray silos. The smell of salt and putrefaction blanketed their crescent of sand like toxic, invisible fog. “So that’s where they’re putting all the salt,” Twilight had said, holding her nose.

Rain had started again as they were nearing the point where ocean met shore, completely devoid of sand. With all the cloud production, Rainbow had explained, there was bound to be more rain; more rain meant more sand swept away.

A quarter mile up the beach, a small group of docks and piers extended into the cold, pristine waters, flocks of ships milling around and beyond them. Some were empty, while those nearer the shore held large, steel containers, the same ones they could see hanging from cables, held by large, industrial yellow cranes. Pegasi filled the sky, darting between chains and towing lines, securing loads, and adding their own voices to the sound of the rainfall and the incredible, soft roar of rising water.

“So, how do we do this?” Applejack asked.

“Twilight, you wanna find a better place to put these?” Rainbow asked, holding a familiar white shape. “Instead of, you know, in the middle of the deck?”

“I’ve been throwing them off the edge,” Twilight said, turning. “What are you—oh.” A pile of salt pillars rested clumsily by the torch, edges perfect and harsh against the dark backdrop.

“Should we be worried?” Applejack asked.

“Maybe. I need to research.”

“Element first,” Rarity said. “We need a plan. I don’t want us to sit here on this desolate corner of Equestria any longer than we have to. It’s freezing, and it smells horrid.”

“Right. Uhhh…”

“I have an idea,” Fluttershy said, creeping over from where she sat under the balloon. “Um, at least, I think I do, but I really don’t like it.”

“Is it a shield bubble?” Rarity asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s what I was thinking too,” Twilight said. “It’s the only thing I can see that’ll get me down there. Ponies just don’t go underwater.”

“I have to go with you,” Fluttershy said.

“What? No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, joining them at the ship’s front. “With Rarity’s horn still broken, I’m the only one who can cast the spell to lead us there.”

“Wait, what ‘bout Pinkie?” Applejack asked. “Ah thought she learned it with Rarity in the beginnin’.”

They looked at Pinkie, resting on her back, letting the rain soak into her fur. “Pinkie? Can you cast that element-finding spell?” Rarity asked.

“Huh? Oh, nope! Sorry!” She sprung up. “I never learned that one! I can only do Twilight’s super-sigil ground thingy!”

“And we haven’t done that in forever,” Fluttershy said.

“Well, we haven’t needed to,” Twilight said. “I can’t say I’m disappointed by that.”

“Ah coulda sworn you knew how to do that spell,” Applejack said.

Pinkie laughed. “Nope! Sorry, AJ!”

“Hey, that’s my thing,” Rainbow said. “Get your own.”

“We can share her!”

“Ah dunno ‘bout that. If Trixie hears ‘bout her Dashie sharin’ me, she might get upset,” Applejack said.

Pinkie burst into cackling laughter, and Rainbow punched Applejack lightly on the shoulder before breaking into a torrent of her own poorly restrained giggles. A talon of lightning brushed the towering smokestacks atop the siphoning station.

A Slow Tightening

Act Three

Swinging on the Spiral

Spinning out, far away. Keep going. Keep going.

Chapter Sixty-eight

A Slow Tightening

Photo Finish lived in a three-story jigsaw puzzle of harsh angles on the banks of the river, the Whitewater Stampede. It was her favorite and most lived-in house of the four she owned, built with exacting precision to fulfill her singular and oft-criticized wish that the structure itself be as unwelcoming as possible. Off-white slabs of wall stood, undecorated, in the way of the river, with triangular windows fricasseeing its northern face like shattered ice on pavement. The rooftop was domed on one side and ended in a harsh upturn, as though the surface’s integrity had been compromised long enough for the material to form a wave and try to overtake itself. From a distance, the house resembled a dollop of ice cream balanced atop a car’s engine.

Her bedchamber was tucked away in a small, central room, spherical, between the second and third floor, with doors and stairs leading out and to the rest of the house, which she often left open to create airflow. The effect the open doors produced when the entire house lit up was like spotlights piercing her most private quarters, and she started awake with a curse before flopping out of bed and rushing up the nearest stairs to a window, not quite at eye level.

Ten ponies rimmed her white fence, their expressions hollow in the dim light from her house. She stared a moment, coming to her senses. Her first thought was a gut-wrenching question: where had she left her pulse crystal? She couldn’t remember where she had set it down, or even when she had last used it; home defense was not something that she often thought about.

Then, a white pony in distinctive purple goggles stood up against her fence, and Photo Finish recognized her. She produced a light of her own, revealing the Elements of Harmony, and three strangers.

Photo Finish drew back the single curtain to expose herself, still thinking. Her mind was still on her bed, and a dream that was slipping away. One of her visitors was shouting, but nothing came through the soundproof glass of her window. Vinyl’s light strobed a couple times, bright pink, and Photo frowned before sliding the curtain back in place and making for the wide, uneven stairway to the bottom floor.

Her lawn was a simple square of grass with no decorations, and she felt distinctly uncomfortable as she crossed it. She had requested the design to unnerve her visitors, to make them feel both small and watched, and it was with an ironic smile that she noted the first time that the effect was reversed onto her.

At the fence, she approached Vinyl, who broke off from the group.

“Know I wouldn’t come if it wasn’t an emergency,” Vinyl said. In the still, night air, even her abnormally soft voice carried well, and Photo nodded.

“Proceed.”

“My friends need a place to stay the night.”

Photo did not laugh, but looked at the nine other ponies, who stared back at her expectantly. Some appeared to be drunk, or nearly drunk, while others appeared half asleep. She recognized Pinkie Pie, who was curled in a sleeping ball on a large, red stallion’s back.

“Long story.”

“Explain now.” She knew she was being short, but it was four-thirty in the morning.

“They need someone with a light, not tied to the dam. Twilight can explain it better.” Vinyl’s light turned a steady purple, and she looked pointedly at Twilight, head drooping.

Photo watched them watch her for a long time, seriously considering telling them to sleep on the lawn.

Seeming to sense her uncharitable mood, Vinyl continued. “Something has gone wrong, and they need a way to put it right.”

Nearby, Photo heard Fluttershy mumble something to Rainbow Dash, supporting her head on Photo’s fence bars.

“They can leave tomorrow. Just somewhere to sleep tonight, please.”

Photo imagined for a moment their reactions if she told them to go elsewhere, and then went to the gate. Swinging it open, she expected a rush, but no one moved.

“Enter,” she said.

The ponies, including Vinyl, ebbed in, and she indicated the front door.

“Sleep on the living room floor. Touch nothing.”

At eight o’ clock, Photo woke up, saw that the power was off, and activated her personal generator before rousing the ponies on her floor. Fluttershy and Rainbow were gone, a note in their place. Photo grabbed it and brought everyone out to her kitchen, a stark white box, where the only curved lines belonged to the long torus of her counter.

When everyone appeared sufficiently awake, Photo stared at them all with an intense, hard look, one bereft of mercy. She was much more inclined to help them after a good night’s sleep, but she didn’t want them to know it.

“Explain.”

“First, I just want to thank you for taking us in,” Twilight said. “We really were out of options last night.”

The brown stallion shifted his weight and raised a hoof. “Perhaps I can shed some light on this predicament, Miss Finish. Yes, light—ironic as it will soon prove to you as well, I fear.” He sighed dramatically. “We are beset with a curse!”

“A curse?” Photo echoed.

“Let me do it,” Twilight said, putting her head in her hooves. “Sorry, I’m still really tired.” She took a deep breath. “Do you have any coffee or something?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Twilight nodded. “Sorry. So… geez, okay.” It took her half an hour to fully explain what was happening, beginning with their encounter with Discord earlier the previous day, and ending with how they had come to the conclusion to seek her out. Photo Finish was a mild friend of Vinyl’s, and the only address she could lead them to, and it was Whooves’ idea to find someone wealthy enough to have a private electrical generator, something of a luxury shortly after the disaster; they had spent several minutes outside her house, ascertaining whether she had one, and it was only due to Applejack’s magic that they were able to turn on the lights and wake her up—which Twilight did not mention.

“Am I in danger?” Photo asked.

“From us?” Pinkie asked.

“If you have Discord’s attention, enough of it to merit a curse like this, then what does that mean for the mare whose house you share? I, Photo Finish, cannot have the god of chaos barging in because you happen to be with me.”

“I don’t think he’ll do that,” Twilight said. “He put this curse on us to keep us out of the city, and we are.”

“No, you are not.”

“Oh, right, well… geez, it feels like it, way out here. You know, on the riverbank.”

“Am I in danger?” Photo asked again, emphasizing each word with a tap of her hoof.

“We have no reason to believe that you are,” Octavia said. “He prefers to keep us at a distance.”

While Photo contemplated her words, Twilight read the note that Fluttershy and Rainbow had left, and sighed. “Apparently they’ve decided to go investigating on their own, without telling anyone. Great.”

“From what I have seen, Fluttershy is very cautious. I am inclined to trust that she knows what she is doing.”

“And what of you all?” Photo asked.

“What do you mean?” Twilight asked.

“Perhaps there is no danger, but what will you do? You still cannot go into town.”

“Maybe Ah’m jumpin’ to conclusions here,” Applejack said, “but Ah think we just gotta wait on Rainbow and Fluttershy. See what they discover, an’ go from there.”

Rarity looked at Photo. “If that’s okay with you, of course, ma’am.”

Photo groaned. “In the service of Equestria, I don’t see that I have much choice in the matter.” She glared at Vinyl, who smiled weakly. “You brought this to me, Miss Scratch.”

“With best intentions,” Vinyl breathed.

“What about our bags?” Octavia asked.

“Aw, crud,” Applejack said.

“Do you suppose the darkness will follow us?” Whooves asked. “You know, us non-Elements?”

“I think that it will,” Octavia said. “Or at least some of us.”

Vinyl’s horn flashed soft green, and they looked at her. “I can bring them.”

“Bags,” Photo said with clear distaste.

“You don’t have a room key,” Big Mac said.

“Oh! Oh! I know! Me!” Whooves cried. “I’d be mightily surprised if that old blackout follows the likes of me, given how little time I’ve been in your esteemed company so far. Mayhap I go with this fine lady here and offer my own two hooves as well?”

“You had me at ‘go’,” Applejack said, and Whooves laughed.

Rainbow and Fluttershy had left Photo Finish’s house at seven in the morning and walked together to the nearest dock, where they boarded a dark brown paddlewheel boat and embarked on a river tour. There were tours every day of the week, some from the city limits all the way up to the dam and some only in small circles a mile or two off the shore. Though the river had suffered from the same splits that had affected the city, there were plenty of wide troughs of water to connect the river segments.

Their boat was resting on one such bridge while a convoy of speedboats moved out of the way on the other side. The bridge’s metal sides lifted up strangely from the surface, resembling the remnants of a sunken ship. For Fluttershy particularly, it was a disquieting thought.

They were in search of a boat captain and tour guide by the name of Pretzel: an old, half-forgotten family friend of Fluttershy’s. Their last correspondence had been before Twilight’s arrival in Ponyville, a holiday greeting card and a hollow promise to visit in the future.

Fluttershy and Rainbow sat in the back of the boat and looked around with no interest. Rainbow, unnerved from the night before and antsy from lack of flight, had conjured an invisible bubble of colder, drier air around them, turning the day’s humidity into an uncomfortable blanket of moisture only a couple degrees above the dew-point. Fluttershy didn’t object; she knew Rainbow was putting herself through a lot, and for a task she did not envy. While Fluttershy knew what had to be done, and had a vague sense of how to do it, Rainbow was there for moral support only. They both knew it, and so Fluttershy did her best to make Rainbow’s position as tolerable as possible. Ignoring her pensive cold was the least she could do.

When the great, red paddlewheel started up, scattered cheers rose into the air. They shared the boat with nearly twenty tourists, none of whom had recognized the Elements of Loyalty and Kindness. They crossed the rest of the bridge and swerved into a straight view of the hydroelectric dam. More boats crossed several miles ahead of them, and, after listening to the tour guide describe the dam’s history, they moved again, heading for the opposite shore. It would be another half hour until they arrived there, and Rainbow and Fluttershy would have to jump ship prematurely, or else get close enough to cause another blackout.

Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy were on their summer vacations for flight school when their parents, who had grown to be friends just as the two fillies, decided to have a joint family vacation, spanning the whole season. After some deliberation, they chose Applewood, where Rainbow’s mother had grown up and met her husband. In the waxing summer, the four of them boarded a middle-class airship and flew south, to the biggest city in Equestria.

Rainbow’s parents had arranged for a pair of rooms at a cheap, but nice, hotel just a couple miles off The Bright Road. Too young to join their parents for many of the activities there, Rainbow and Fluttershy were left to their own devices much of the time. The hotel had a water park for that very purpose, and, for the first couple days, all was well.

Then, Pretzel appeared. Taking a tour of the river, Mr. and Mrs. Shy had caught the interest of their tour guide, a brown pegasus with an eyepatch—purely for show—and the three of them clicked. To Fluttershy and Rainbow, the similarities in mannerism and affectation were uncanny, and the first meeting would forever remain her memory. If she were to select a single image that most epitomized the happiness and optimism she felt at that time, at that age, it would be the three soft-spoken pegasi, talking and laughing on the deck long after the other passengers had gotten off.

Fluttershy was not at all certain that Pretzel was still giving tours. They had asked their own boat captain, and he had confirmed that she was, but Fluttershy did not share Rainbow’s confidence in the stranger’s information. She didn’t say so.

They stopped again at a line of buoys near the pier, and Rainbow and Fluttershy, who had chosen a seat at the boat’s side, looked out nervously. Flying pegasi could cause serious visibility problems for boat captains, especially when they were docking. They knew there would be legal trouble for them when they decided to leave early, and a hefty fine at the least.

“They’re not gonna arrest us, are they?” Rainbow whispered. It was still abnormally cold where they sat.

“I don’t think they will,” Fluttershy said. She didn’t know. She held a hoof to her eyes and traced the skimming boat that they were told Pretzel captained, the Water Glass. Also a paddlewheel boat, it was one of the more popular vessels on the Whitewater Stampede for its transparent wheel; not glass, but plastic.

“Well, so let’s do this! The tension’s killing me, Shy.”

“Not yet.” She looked back at the boat’s front. “We’ll wait for it to stop.”

“What if it doesn’t? You don’t know it’s gonna stop.”

Fluttershy sighed. “Then let’s let her get closer.”

“It’s plenty close.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I can see the individual ponies from here, and it’s broad daylight. It’s plenty close, Shy.”

Fluttershy bit her lip as Rainbow pushed at her wings. Part of her wanted to tell Rainbow to go first, if she was so confident, but she knew Rainbow would, and she did not want to force herself to take that plunge.

“C’mon, Fluttershy, this was your idea. Like a bandage, okay? Let’s do it!”

The boat rose on a small swell, and spray peppered her muzzle. The wheel behind them churned lazily, and the tour guide was telling them that they should come back for the nighttime tour. It would end in a fireworks show.

“Fluttershy?”

She closed her eyes, put her head on the rail, and, rising from her seat and not looking at the others, flexed her wings, simultaneously lurching forward. Her body resisted, in part the willful flouting of a rule, in part the flight she was less accustomed to, but her momentum carried her forward, putting her chest to the rail.

“Too late to stop,” she thought quickly, and let her wings catch the air that would propel her forward and over. She tumbled end over end, and a couple ponies behind her cried out. She could hear the flurry of Rainbow’s wings just behind, and then Rainbow shouting at her. She hit the water with a cold, shocking slap that pushed the breath out of her and flung her eyes open. White foam creased the view above her, and her wings waved underwater.

She flipped and accidentally dunked herself, catching, for one horrible moment, a view of the paddlewheel a scant six feet away, seeming much larger than before as it tore the water upwards in front of her head. Something grabbed under her forelegs and pulled, and she was suddenly in the air again, but still near the surface.

“You okay?” Rainbow asked quickly, flapping at double-time to keep them both aloft.

“Fine,” Fluttershy said, pushing off and stabilizing herself. She glanced upwards to see a line of ponies gawking at them from above, and heard the captain calling for order a moment later. Turning and using the ship to push off, she followed Rainbow across the water.

She looked back only when she was positive that she was well away from the paddlewheel that had nearly crushed her, but wished she didn’t. From their seats, the Water Glass had seemed only a short flight away, maybe two minutes in the air, but, over the open river and with every tourists’ eyes on them, her confidence evaporated, and a fanciful two minutes suddenly looked more like a damning five or ten.

Behind, an air horn sounded, and Rainbow spurted ahead. Fluttershy, already weighed down from the water in her fur, could only fall behind. She was in no danger of crashing, but knew that everyone could see her, and the knowledge almost paralyzed her a second time. Through her mind, a thousand consequences flashed. They would reach the Water Glass and be taken to shore and arrested; they would not be allowed on, and forced to fly to shore themselves, to be arrested; they would get there, find Pretzel, and be arrested in the middle of the night, after they thought they had escaped scrutiny.

“Crap!” Rainbow called out. Fluttershy looked up, and it didn’t take her long to see what Rainbow saw. The Water Glass was turning away from them. They had jumped too late, and would have to catch up to the boat before boarding. More time for ponies to see them.

“You’re not allowed to be out there!” a tiny voice called from ahead, and the air horn blared again, more distant.

“This sucks,” Fluttershy said, imitating the simple complaint she had heard Rainbow utter countless times. She wondered how many times Rainbow had said it on their short voyage.

“Get off the river!” someone else said.

Fluttershy looked around quickly for any signs of law enforcement, but her worries did not lessen when she saw nothing. She imagined them waiting at the shore, or somehow waiting for them on the boat.

“We’re coming up!” Rainbow shouted, beginning her ascent, Fluttershy a minute behind. Flapping harder, she yelped when her wingtip touched the water. Ponies on the Water Glass had lined up to watch them, but a part in the crowd formed slowly as Rainbow approached, clearing the paddlewheel by several feet. Fluttershy closed her eyes and pumped her wings, giving her the height to do the same. She heard voices, some angry and some merely astounded, as Rainbow made it over the rail, and a sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she readied to do the same thing. Everyone was looking at her, and some ponies were even leaning out to see better and offer gestures of indignation or encouragement. Some were laughing, some cheering. Someone yelled her name, someone else her Element.

The paddlewheel gnashed beneath her, close enough for her to smell the river water and feel it on her fur, and, though she knew she had given it enough room, her heart skipped a beat as she passed the wheel’s apex and nearly overbalanced off the rail and into a wall.

Far behind, the horn pounded out its warning a third time.

Pretzel and her husband joined them for dinner after her last tour that day, and she alone for lunch the following day, which she had off. It was to everyone’s pleasure that she was able to befriend Rainbow’s parents just as easily. She did not have much to say to the two fillies, but they didn’t mind; they had little to say to her as well.

She was witty, sarcastic, and had plenty of stories about her travels, both inside the city and out. Though quiet in voice, she seemed to always be talking, and, when she was, it was common that at least one of the others was laughing. Fluttershy found her pleasant, if not somewhat intimidating, but Rainbow didn’t trust her. Her husband, Midnight Oil, worked at the dam as a payroll clerk, and soon turned into just as stable a fixture in the two families’ social lives as Pretzel. He was much more easy to talk to for the fillies, and Fluttershy in particular enjoyed his company. She could sit for hours while he talked, and frequently did, from benign comings and goings of his job to stories from his life, almost as exciting as Pretzel’s to her young ears.

They both had the weekends off, and so Saturdays and Sundays nearly always saw all eight of them on an outing of some sort. The riverfront one weekend, a show the next, the amusement park directly south of the city the next. The thing Fluttershy would remember with greatest clarity was their single visit to the dam. There, they met one of Midnight Oil’s work friends, Pure Waterfall. At that time, he had been the CEO for three years.

Fluttershy and Rainbow sat in the back, heads down, while the tour continued. They would reach shore in half an hour, whereupon they would meet the consequences of their actions. Fluttershy tried to recognize the tour guide’s voice, but could not. Her nerves, and the years she had spent without speaking to Pretzel, made her memory cloudy.

Rainbow radiated warm air for them both.

Many passengers had asked them what was the matter, and what had caused two Elements of Harmony to board their ship in such a dramatic way. Rainbow assured everyone that there was no trouble, and mumbled an excuse about the other boat being boring, and it was enough for everyone to leave them alone.

They had not considered that they would only be able to speak with Pretzel—if it turned out to be her—after the tour was over, when they were ashore, and there would be no avoiding the blackout for the nearest buildings. Fluttershy kept her eyes closed for the remainder of her journey, hating herself for not realizing it sooner. She imagined she could feel everyone looking at her, judging her.

When the boat came to a rest, she didn’t open her eyes until she was sure everyone else had left. The sound of hooves going past them, of Rainbow deflecting questions and comments, made her try to shrink into herself; she knew she was making her fear visible for everyone, but she was too near the familiar, overwhelming feeling of panic to care. While the tourists passed out of earshot, she waited for the sound of approaching hooves from behind: police. None came.

“C’mon, Shy, let’s do this,” Rainbow said. “You’ll recognize her if you see her, right?”

Fluttershy got up without answering and went to the cockpit door, where she could see a shadow under the crack. She knocked softly, holding her breath. She looked to the side and saw a police car parked on the dock.

“Good afternoon,” the captain said, opening the door. She wore no playful eyepatch, but Fluttershy recognized her immediately.

“Pretzel?”

“Do I know you?”

Her past staring her in the face, Fluttershy backed up a step. “Um… well, we met a long time ago. I, um, I’m Fluttershy.”

Pure Waterfall reminded Fluttershy of Midnight Oil with a ten-year advantage. He smiled warmly, spoke with an even cadence, and made all of them feel welcome in his spacious office. Fluttershy and Rainbow admired the toys on his desk while the adults spoke of adult things, and the only detail she remembered about the encounter was the candy cigars he offered both of them. “I have no taste for the real thing, but you must keep up appearances in this job,” he had said. Everyone laughed.

He accompanied them for a tour of the dam, which Rainbow found boring and Fluttershy scary, and even walked them to the entrance on their way out. Neither Fluttershy nor Rainbow noticed the quiet that had overtaken their parents and friends when they left.

Pretzel threw her head back in laughter in the manner they both remembered. She had remembered them instantly and accepted Fluttershy’s description of their curse more easily than she had expected. She told herself she should not be so shocked; her knowledge of Pretzel’s personality was confined to indistinct snippets of memory. They had gotten take-out at a restaurant on the pier and ate on the boat, where the curse could not reach anyone.

“Everypony’s fine, though,” Fluttershy continued. “We, um, were able to call them when we were in Manehattan.”

“Yeah, they’re actually more worried about us,” Rainbow said. “Especially dad. You know how he is.”

Pretzel nodded rapidly, still smiling. She had kept in touch with both families after their departure at the end of that summer.

“Now that I think about it, did Twilight and them ever ask about our parents?”

“I think Twilight knows,” Fluttershy said. “She just wants to be tactful, maybe?”

Pretzel cleared her throat.

“Um, sorry. We, um… well, there is a reason we’re here, other than reconnecting.”

She nodded, urging Fluttershy to go on.

“Do you… um, I’m really sorry to bring this up, especially now, but, well… um, do you happen to still have a way of contacting Pure Waterfall?”

Pretzel lost her smile, and her entire bearing seeming to constrict. “Him?” was all she said.

“I’m really sorry,” Fluttershy repeated.

“Why would I have his contact information?”

“I don’t know.” She smiled apologetically in response to Rainbow rolling her eyes.

“He’s still CEO. Why not chase him down yourself?”

“Uh, curse,” Rainbow said.

Pretzel sighed. “Well, what do you want me to do?”

“Please,” Fluttershy said.

“I don’t have anything to do with that… stallion.”

Fluttershy hung her head and sniffled.

“Okay, look,” Rainbow said, standing and putting her hooves on the desk. “We need to get a hold of this Pure Waterfall guy because there’s something seriously messed up with his dam, and with this city. This stupid curse that’s on us? It’s… uh…”

“It’s not magical,” Fluttershy completed. “We think that Discord has some way to monitor our positions, and he’s using the dam to turn off all the electricity around us.”

“Yeah, exactly. So we gotta talk to this guy.” She sat down. “Whether you like it or not.”

Pretzel leaned back, her eyes still on her food. “That is serious,” she said at last.

They looked at her.

“Let me see if I can find something.” She grabbed a purse in her teeth and dragged it over, and took a few minutes going through its contents. “Here.” She produced a small, bound notebook and tore out a page. “This was his phone number. I don’t know if he’s moved since then. If he has, I truthfully can’t help you.”

Fluttershy tried to draw a picture of Pure Waterfall, which she showed to Rainbow, and they both decided after a lengthy conversation that it was no good, and she tore it to pieces.

The following weekend, they met Pretzel and Midnight Oil for a museum exhibition, and there bumped into Pure Waterfall again. Both fillies were happy to see him, and he them, but the adults regarded his random appearance with a cooler sort of pleasure. He joined them for the exhibition, and lunch afterwards.

Rainbow was not as adept at recognizing the different shades of anxiety in Mr. and Mrs. Shy, but Fluttershy could tell that something was bothering her parents later that night. When she asked what was wrong, they told her that it was nothing.

When police cars appeared on the shore, Rainbow went first, acknowledging with candor that made Fluttershy want to vanish from the city the crime they had both committed. They spoke with the police long enough for a small group of ponies to appear in their peripheries, confused about the sudden loss of electricity.

They were given a fine for fifteen hundred bits, a stern lecture, and then a ride back to their hotel. Fluttershy had insisted they return to the Apogee, stating later that, despite the trouble their presence would cause in town, she thought it preferable to raising the officers’ suspicions further by trying to be dropped off at Photo Finish’s house.

They stepped out onto the sidewalk, thinking the worst of their day had passed them by. It was only one o’ clock, and the darkness they caused was minimal, at least in appearance, but it was not long before they discovered that, unlike Manehattan, there were nearly no taxis to be found in Applewood. They were forced to walk, and made it back to Photo Finish’s residence two hours later, exhausted and dehydrated, where they gave as little information as they could to their worried friends.

Pure Waterfall continued to pop up at get-togethers, and Rainbow and Fluttershy continued to enjoy his company. Fluttershy’s parents gradually warmed to him, or—Fluttershy would later come to believe—she just got used to their change in behavior. Despite his important position in the dam and the Applewood infrastructure, no one acted nervous or tense around him, except for Pretzel. She could never seem to act naturally around their new acquaintance.

They called Pure Waterfall’s house at six, and got no answer. They called again at seven, and he picked up. Fluttershy was so nervous, she almost let him hang up on her without saying anything, but managed, with Rainbow’s encouragement, to introduce herself and pretend to be catching up for old times’ sake. It had been a long time since she had seen Pretzel, and even longer since she had seen Pure Waterfall, who had never been particularly close to her to begin with.

She kept her nerves in check long enough to schedule a lunch date for the following day, out on the river—for the view, she said—and then hang up cordially. As soon as the phone was in its place, she let out a sigh that quickly became a deflated cry, and Rainbow rubbed her back comfortingly. Her heart felt fit to beat out of its cage, and she thought, if someone were to walk in on her just then, she might faint.

* * * * * *

While Foxglove and several other Daturas were locked in the sauna, converted to a meeting room, and Allie was outside to direct arriving Daturas to various teleportation sigils to take them the rest of the way to the spa—magically expanded to four times its size—Flitter and Cloudchaser helped to stack large, wooden wheels into neat pillars in the corner of the former massage area. The walls were pinned with designs that detailed a kind of caravan, a rolling parade of strangely shaped vehicles, some with engines and some to be pulled manually.

They did not know the full plan, but they knew it had to do with the coming battle for Canterlot. Daturas from all across Equestria were combining their skills and resources into a mobile attack unit, an aggregate of magic and engineering that would, Foxglove said, unbalance Discord and ruin his chances at a clean retreat.

“Take a break, dearies,” a dowdy mare in a sunflower dress and rose-colored glasses said, bringing a wheel of her own and depositing it on top of a stack. “You’ve done plenty for now.”

They nodded, too tired to say anything, and slunk away. With nothing else requiring their attention, Foxglove had allowed her Daturas to manage their own schedules, as long as they were helping to her satisfaction. Flitter and Cloudchaser, lacking magic, could only help move parts.

“You’re both such darlings,” the mare said as they walked away. Her harmless, almost ridiculous appearance had set her apart immediately, though they would quickly find that she was not unique; she was only the first they had met.

They walked through a tiled tunnel that had not existed a week earlier and waited behind a short unicorn in a lab coat to step into the glowing teleportation sigil. Allie had created every sigil, with Foxglove’s directions for placement, to avoid raising suspicions at the hundreds of ponies coming and going from the spa, which was officially out of business.

“Cloudchaser and Flitters, right?” the lab coat pony asked. His head was a full two inches below Cloudchaser’s chin, and he looked up with wide, innocent eyes. “We appreciate the lodging for our little project, my compatriots and I.”

“I’m sorry,” Flitter said. “I don’t think we’ve met?”

“No, we haven’t.” He stepped onto the sigil without another word and vanished in a magical flash of turquoise light. There was an hourglass set up beside the sigil, rigged to flip every time the magic discharged, giving the pony on the other side ninety seconds to move away. Cloudchaser had asked Allie whether it was necessary, and received, in return, a lecture on the dangers of teleportation-based injuries. Unlike in popular Equestrian media, teleportation accidents did not combine bodies with each other. All the material, much of it incompressible, had only one way to go when suddenly intruded upon by another pony, and that direction was out.

Flitter went first, flashing into existence outside Zecora’s hut, from where she could select one of five paths that would take her, eventually, back to Ponyville, each one marked with a magical bauble that glowed a different color according to how recently it had been used. The other Daturas, she knew, had a way to traverse the paths in a matter of seconds, but she and Cloudchaser had to walk.

The pegasi entered Ponyville ten minutes later, coming in from behind the schoolhouse.

“So, what do you think they’re making?” Flitter asked.

“A convoy of something, but I can’t tell what,” Cloudchaser said. She rose up on her wings briefly and waved. Limestone Pie trotted over to them with no smile, but a spring in her step that they had come to recognize.

“It is good to see you,” Limestone said. Her voice had been steadily improving, and she no longer waited to be addressed before talking. The rumor of her feeble-mindedness still circulated, but weakly. “You have been working hard.”

“Yeah, heavy lifting,” Flitter said.

Limestone nodded and said no more, whether recognizing their desire for secrecy or just being polite, they couldn’t tell.

“We’re just taking a break,” Cloudchaser said. They kept walking, heading for the park, and Limestone followed at their side.

“I found a job.”

“You did? Where?” Flitter asked.

“I pull the apple carts at the farm.”

Flitter smiled. “Just like that? That was quick. Just a couple days ago, you said you didn’t have any prospects.”

“Grandmother Smith said she liked my work ethic.”

Cloudchaser laughed, and patted Limestone on the back.

“Are you already done for today?”

“The farmers are,” Limestone said.

They entered the park, where Flitter and Cloudchaser recognized one of the Daturas behind a trombone and a crowd of listeners. Taking a seat beside a disc of cultivated tulips, both pegasi let out a sigh. Limestone made no comment, but it was clear in her expression that she was puzzled.

“Long days, Limestone,” Cloudchaser said.

“Stressful,” Flitter added.

“What do you do?” Limestone asked. “I do not believe I have ever seen you working.”

“We’re kind of between jobs right now. Since the spa closed, you know.”

“You were doing heavy lifting earlier. That is a job.”

“Home improvement,” Cloudchaser said. “We’re trying to re-do a… it’s complicated.”

“I can help.”

“No, you don’t need to do that,” Flitter said. The sun was setting, and she didn’t look away from the view. “It’s nearly done anyway.”

They sat together for several minutes, listening to the musical Datura. Flitter watched a team of pegasi in the far distance wrestling a cloud into place, her mind wandering. She hadn’t had the chance since the other Daturas had arrived; every night, she was too tired to reflect in bed.

“What do you suppose is happening to her right now?” she asked.

“Who?” Cloudchaser said.

“Miss Crazy.”

“Who cares?”

Flitter grunted, and the crowd clapped politely as the trombone quieted.

“Do you care?” Cloudchaser asked.

“A little, yeah. At least, I think I do.”

“Why?”

“We knew her, Cloud.”

“So? That’s no reason to care about her. I guarantee you she doesn’t care about us.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is. Why should we worry about her, when all she did was manipulate and betray us?”

“I didn’t say anything about worrying.”

“You sounded like it.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to.”

The trombone started up again.

“I think she’s up to the same stuff she was up to here, except in Canterlot,” Cloudchaser said. “Where you can’t get away with that kind of thing as easy.”

“She did make it look easy, too,” Flitter said.

“You sound jealous.”

Flitter turned from the sunset. “Maybe a little. It was horrible, but you have to admit, there was a lot of skill at work there.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘skill.’ More like ‘villainy’.”

Flitter smiled. “You’re not that black-and-white, Cloud.”

Cloudchaser glanced at Limestone, watching. “Eh, you got me.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I agree. She’s pure evil, but it’s fascinating to watch. You never get to see that kind of thing, you know?”

“That’s true. It’s always portrayed in the media, but that’s something else. You kind of don’t know what to do with it when you see it in the flesh.”

“I’d read about ponies like her long before I knew her, and I wasn’t prepared.” She looked at Limestone, who looked back at her. Flitter recognized the look on her face. “What is it, Lime?”

“What was she like, aside from evil?” Limestone asked. “I do not understand how someone who you would come to despise so much could, at one time, be a friend.”

“That’s what freaks me out,” Cloudchaser said. “She passed as an average pony, apparently for years.”

“Yeah, she was here long before we were,” Flitter said. “No one knew.”

“Unflappable. That’s the word.”

“Yeah, that’s perfect. She was unflappable, Lime. Right up ‘til the end.”

Cloudchaser flapped her wings once and adjusted her weight. “We talked and laughed together. I would visit her at the hospital—that’s where she worked—and she’d get massages from us at the spa. Totally normal, average, regular pony.”

“They always say that the worst ponies are the ones who hide in plain sight,” Flitter said.

“The more I remember it, the more it sickens me.”

“You should not dwell on it,” Limestone said.

“I’m not, I’m just saying.”

“How long has she been gone?”

“A week,” Flitter said.

“A little longer,” Cloudchaser said.

“You have your own lives,” Limestone said. “Do not waste your time thinking about someone who did you wrong, who is now gone.”

“Easier said than done,” Flitter said. “You don’t encounter ponies like her every day.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we can just forget what she did,” Cloudchaser said.

“Those are excuses not to act,” Limestone said.

“I’m not trying to get away from that, but—”

“This pony is gone, is she not?”

“Yeah.”

“She has no contact with you.”

“Right.”

Limestone nodded patiently. “Do not let her memory control you. Or you, Flitter.”

Flitter looked back at the sunset, and, though she acknowledged in her head that Limestone was right, she wondered still what Colgate was doing in Canterlot. The thought that the same sun set on them both filled her with anticipation, as though the distance between them and Canterlot were only the distance between them and the hospital. “She’s right. Colgate’s gone, probably for good. Like you said, there’s no way she can get away with her tricks up in Canterlot. There’s no point getting worked up about a bad memory.”

Colgate, Rouge, and several others swayed back and forth in the booth at The Twisted Plum, the bar they had visited her first night in Canterlot. She had gotten over her withdrawal, for the most part, and she felt great. There was no other word she could think of, and Rouge had asked her several times. The first day had terrified and exhilarated her, and she had never imagined that the feeling could repeat.

In a way, it didn’t. Rouge wasted no time in introducing her to alcohol, and its effects, and Colgate was happy to indulge. After the pills, the numbness of drunkenness was novel, and, much more importantly, lesser.

Even after her third drink that night, a night that had only begun an hour ago, she felt more in control of herself than she could ever remember being on medication. Medication stunted her thoughts, truncated ideas, made every decision an effort. Only work had been easy; she had kept her work and personal lives separate enough for that. With alcohol, though, every thought, impulse, half-formed idea, or flight of fancy, though incoherent, came through as bright and clear as a peal of lightning.

The strangers, whose names Colgate had forgotten, were Rouge’s other friends, and all Daturas. She knew they had exchanged rejection stories earlier in the night, but she had forgotten which story applied to which pony. She knew that her own rejection story was different from what she told Rouge when they were introduced, but Rouge didn’t appear to notice.

A cheer rose up from their booth, which Colgate joined without thinking, as the piano player ended his song. Drinks were raised, and Colgate, still wearing the small collar on her horn, pushed her glass the earth pony way, nearly spilling it. Someone laughed, and she laughed as well, looking for the face that had found her near mistake so amusing.

“Cole, pick a song!” Rouge said, shaking her. “Pick a sing-song for that pianey!”

Colgate only looked at her blankly.

“Aw, hell, she’s out.”

Someone else supplied a song request, and the bar was filled with music again. After only a brief reprieve, she was caught up in the booth’s swaying, and finished her drink, something powerful but sweet. She had trusted Rouge to order her drinks for her, since she knew so little, and had done so assuming that Rouge would do everything she could to get her drunk quickly. Rouge had no way to know the improvement that even complete inebriation would be over her medication, and so Colgate felt no anxiety at letting her night’s trajectory be controlled by someone else.

By the song’s end, a round of shots had materialized on their table, and one of Rouge’s friends was gesturing grandly. Colgate looked at the small glass, knowing that she did not have the dexterity to drink it without her magic.

“I gotcha, Cole,” a cranberry-red unicorn said, levitating her glass before her. “You know what they say…” Everyone at the table joined in. “Over the lips and past the gums, I forget the rest so here we go!” Laughter crackled all around her as she took her first shot ever, a strong, cinnamon liquid that warmed her throat as she coughed and gagged.

Rouge gave her an encouraging smile, and Colgate returned it, not knowing why Rouge was so happy.

They left the bar an hour later, laughing and stumbling, and took to the streets. None of them were tired, Colgate least among them, so they decided to walk around. “A tour for our newest recruit!” one of them shouted, throwing a clumsy foreleg over Coglate’s neck.

The streets were nearly empty, the buildings around them dark. They covered the sidewalk, sometimes dashing out into the middle of the road or tumbling into lawns. Colgate could not walk straight, nor hear well, except the roaring laughter that never seemed to end. She could not tell who was laughing or when; no faces seemed right to her when she studied them. Everywhere she looked, she saw malign patience, disguised as happiness.

They cut through an empty parking lot, went down an alley, and emerged from behind a grocery store, frightening a lone mare returning her shopping cart as they did so. One of their number hollered an apology to her, and she gave them a dark glare as they passed.

Across the next street, they took a side path to a small, swooping concrete wing that bridged a stream and led to a circle around a duck pond. Colgate followed the crowd, not speaking, waiting for a reduction in the laughter that pressed in on her ears. It was timed too perfectly. She could hear the jokes popping one by one, the prompts, but the laughter followed too quickly. Not spontaneous, but scripted.

A pair of ponies broke off to wrestle in the grass nearby, and Rouge sat on a bench, head down. She was saying something about not feeling well, but Colgate wasn’t listening, nor was anyone else, it appeared. A light blue earth pony stallion, similar to her own color, was talking to her, and she looked at his face as he did so. She lowered her ears, trying to drown out the surrounding laughter, and was only partially successful.

He strutted nearer to the pond, affecting a snobbish accent as he parodied Celestia, and Colgate watched him intently. He turned and flicked his tail coquettishly, then laughed. Someone laughed with him, and Colgate’s mind flashed a warning. Only one word was clear to her: signal.

She sprang forward, seeing surprise in his eyes first, then indignation as she slammed into him, knocking him bodily into the pond. His body disappeared in a violent splash, and then came back, thrashing and cursing and surrounded by fans of white water. Ducks fled in a ruckus.

“Colgate, what the hell?” someone shouted. The red unicorn stumbled forward to help the blue stallion out of the water.

“What was that for?” someone else asked. She looked around, taking note for the first time that none of their faces showed the expression she associated with laughter. She smiled. Their system of communicating without words had been shattered.

“I was just messing around!” the blue stallion cried, shivering.

They dispersed at a street corner, and Rouge led them back to her house. Inside, she sat down at the dining room table.

“What’d you push Lilac for, huh?”

Colgate looked at her and sat down as well. She tried to think, but nothing came to her. She knew she had had a reason to push him at the time, but, in the walk home, it had disappeared. All she knew was that she was drunk. “I don’t know.”

“What d’you mean, you don’t know?”

“I just did it.”

“You just did it.” Rouge went to the sink and drank from the tap for several seconds. “Celestia, I had too much tonight.” She giggled. “Imagine that, me saying I had too much! But seriously, Cole, not cool. That water was freezing. I bet he’s gonna have a cold now. Sniffles, at least.” She laughed and waggled a hoof at Colgate. “Don’t you go around giving all my friends the sniffs, ‘kay?”

Colgate could not conceive a response, so just nodded. Rouge smiled, appeased.

“One last word of advice, oh glorious partner in boozerific… eh, whatever. Uh, if you get too drunk, just sleep it off. Don’t fall asleep on your back.”

“I’ve heard that advice before,” Colgate said.

“Good. I’m gonna take my own advice right now. You coming?”

Colgate wordlessly got up and followed her to bed, head spinning.

* * * * * *

After returning the Elements’ luggage, for which Vinyl and Whooves enlisted the help of a couple strangers, they decided to stay for an early dinner. Photo Finish did not cook, but one of her models did; she was paid an extra fifty percent of her modeling stipend to come over every evening to prepare dinner. It was only dinner; Photo ate lunch at work, and skipped breakfast.

All twelve of them crammed themselves into Photo’s dining room, some at the table, some on the floor, some at the counter in the abutting kitchen. Vinyl sat between Twilight and Applejack, goggles on. She moved her head slightly every time she looked somewhere, indicating her focus.

“So are you gonna tell us any more ‘bout where you were today?” Applejack asked, looking at Rainbow and Fluttershy. “Y’all sure seemed beat when you got back.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Fluttershy said. “Um, rather, nothing important. Nothing… well, life changing.”

Rainbow cleared her throat, and they all looked at her, but she said nothing.

“Rainbow Dash and I have everything under control. We’re going to be out again tomorrow, gathering information.”

“Why can you not tell us what is going on?” Octavia asked. “Is it private?”

“In a way, yes.” She glanced at Vinyl, then Photo Finish, then her private cook. “Um, that is, yes, very private.”

“Let me ask you this,” Twilight said. “I don’t want to pry. Celestia knows I know not to try to put my nose where it doesn’t belong.” She flicked her eyes to Octavia, who nodded, knowing Twilight was not the only one who was thinking of her. “How much does this concern our… lighting situation?”

“Completely,” Fluttershy said. She thought for a moment, chewing her salad. “This is wonderful, by the way.”

The cook nodded her thanks passively. She was the farthest from the group, her discomfort with the crowd clear on her face and in her every movement.

“Can you at least say who you’re meeting, if not why?” Rarity asked.

“Someone from the dam.”

“So it’s got to do with the dam,” Applejack said.

“Of course!” Whooves cried. “Yes, I see it clearly! Our curse—”

“Curse?” the cook repeated.

“Dang it, doc,” Big Mac said. “He means it euphemistically, ma’am.”

“Terribly sorry—a slip of the old tongue. I’m so used to speaking unhindered, I—”

“Come on, doc,” Applejack said.

“Yes, yes, but of course. Last night, it was said that our curse is not magical in nature. And this proves it, don’t you see? Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash head to the dam tomorrow, the wellspring of the city’s electricity! We are not beset with magic, but by a temperamental power grid!”

“Which is probably controlled by magic,” Octavia said.

“Perhaps, yes. Or just two deft hooves and a pair of watchful eyes? Who can say?”

“Forgive me if I’m missing something obvious, but I don’t see why this needs to be private,” Rarity said.

Fluttershy sighed. “It’s personal, that’s all. There’s… a lot of context.”

“Can we just let it go and trust that Fluttershy knows what to do?” Rainbow asked.

“Ah’d feel a lot more comfortable if Ah knew just what we were trustin’, exactly. Ah trust Fluttershy, but it’s this plan that Ah’m not so sure ‘bout,” Applejack said.

“‘Cause we don’t even know what it is,” Big Mac said.

“Their plan is to break the curse,” Whooves said.

“Ah mean specifically, doc,” Applejack said.

“How much longer do you intend to stay in my house?” Photo Finish asked. “I do not enjoy breaking up this conversation, but I, Photo Finish, am a busy mare, and I need my space. With all due respect, I am no innkeeper, even for the Elements of Harmony and their friends.”

“We’re terribly sorry, and grateful for what you have done,” Rarity said. “I’m sure it will only be a day or two more.”

“Fluttershy?” Twilight asked. “What do you think?”

“You ask a just question, my good friend,” Whooves said, looking at Photo Finish with a grin.

Fluttershy shrunk under everyone’s curious looks. “I… well, I’m not sure. It depends on what we find out tomorrow.”

“Am I to believe that I have your word, and your word alone, that this will reach some resolution?” Photo Finish asked.

“Well, my word too,” Rainbow said.

“We have faith in Fluttershy,” Rarity said.

“Yes indeed,” Whooves said. “She has only ever moved with the best of intentions, and has exercised supreme forbearance in her actions. I would place my troubles at her hooves with confidence.”

“Please, don’t,” Fluttershy said.

“I too trust her,” Octavia said. “I have seen her take action before.”

“Okay, everyone shut up,” Rainbow said. “Yeah, Photo Finish, it’s just us. Her word, and ours that she’s good for it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is that cool with you?”

“Tomorrow,” Photo said decisively. “I need a plan of action tomorrow. No information, no house.”

“Hey, come on. You gotta give us more than that!”

“That’s fine,” Fluttershy said, putting a hoof to Rainbow’s back. Looking at the others, she said, “she’s within her right to ask for this, you know that. Um, I’ll have information for you tomorrow, Photo Finish.”

“Then there is no quarrel,” Photo snapped.

After dinner, most everyone settled in for a long evening of trying to entertain themselves in Photo’s large, but crowded, living room, and Photo surprised them by offering to play card games with them. Her temper being something none of them could track or predict, they welcomed her with unvoiced hesitance.

Meanwhile, the only two who did not suffer under the curse, Whooves and Vinyl, decided to go into the city. She promised to bring him back safely and then left without further ceremony, Whooves trotting behind and rambling about his experiences with the Elements.

They waited at the nearest intersection for one of the rarer taxis to take them to The Bright Road, instructing their driver to drop them off “wherever.” Part of the Applewood experience, Vinyl explained, was walking aimlessly in search of fun.

They got out outside a tacky fiberglass book on a pedestal, its cover advertising Bookworm, a small hotel in Twilight’s colors.

“What do you want to do?” Vinyl asked. She had to put her mouth to Whooves’ ear to be heard in the mid-evening din.

“Bar, bar, bar!” Whooves cried. He laughed. “Sorry, I’m a little exuberant.”

Her horn pulsed magenta briefly. “I’m a DJ, doc. Used to excitement.” She smiled then, and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Let’s get some drinks.”

As they walked, he stayed beside her the entire time. “I like your goggles, by the way.”

She smiled and nodded.

“Purple’s a good color for you. I bet you hear that all the time, huh? Geez, look at me, all alone with a mare for five minutes and I’m already dropping compliments like bad habits. Or would they be good habits?” He laughed, and she only smiled obligingly. “Shall I get all my gushing done now, or do it in bits and pieces throughout the night?”

They stopped at an intersection, and Vinyl brushed the mane out of her goggles. “I’m the one who should be gushing.” Her voice, while breath quiet, was not empty of excitement. “Finally met the Elements of Harmony. I helped them in a jam. Next to them, I’m nothing.”

“You’re not nothing, Miss Vinyl. You do prefer that, right? Or shall I call you Miss Pon-three?”

“First one’s fine. But look around. You see their faces and colors everywhere. Where am I?”

“Ah, a good point, and well-made!”

“And it’s fine.” She left it at that as they crossed, and she took him down a different street. He could see, in the distance, a building shaped like a draconic skull, fire truck red with neon eyes. “Yes, that’s where we’re going,” she said, not looking at him. She smiled wryly. “Did I get you?”

“On the nose, Miss Vinyl! You predicted my reaction flawlessly! I dare say—”

“You do talk a lot, huh?”

He laughed, edging closer to her. “Perhaps a bit, yes.”

“You’re fine.”

The bar, named Dragon’s Jaw, wore buttresses of hard plastic flame on its corners like cake icing, and they entered through a door set in the back of the dragon’s mouth. Whooves had no expectations; his mind was not even on the bar, but on the mare leading him, but he still could not contain his reaction to the interior, and stood gawking in the entryway while a waitress patiently waited for him to wise up and follow her and Vinyl.

They went to a booth near the corner, where waited a smooth, teardrop table under a glowing stem of tea candles, hanging in a vertical line to cast a ripple effect of shadow and light across the polished surface. A black drink menu stood at attention for them, the bar’s name in faint silver lettering on its face.

“This is nothing like the exterior proposes,” Whooves said, scanning the crowd. The bar was full, but not of raucous tourists, as in The Moon Shot. The waiters and waitresses of Dragon’s Jaw glided in simple, monochrome uniforms among tables of relaxed, luxuriating ponies, many of them businessponies by their dress. Cigar smoke filled the bar, where it naturally flowed, as Vinyl wordlessly indicated with a thread of magical light, out a pair of vents positioned where the dragon’s nostrils were.

“One of my favorite places to go to escape fans,” Vinyl said. “I hope you like it too.”

“I can tell you, my dear, I’m already in love.” He looked up and down the drink list, and jumped up with a yawp. “I just realized something terrible!”

“What?”

“I forgot Celestia’s bank note, and I have no money of my own.”

Vinyl raised her goggles, then, appearing to think for a moment, removed them and set them on the table. “Bank note?”

“A little slip of paper she gave the Elements nice and early on,” he said. “A blank check, if you’ll forgive the sloppy aphorism, for taking care of any logistical needs.”

Vinyl’s horn glowed a brief, dark yellow, mixing with the candlelight like a skin of gold in sunlit water.

“Is yellow good?”

“Color’s irrelevant,” she breathed. “Indicates strong emotion.”

He smiled, not knowing what else to say, and looked at her eyes for the first time. They appeared brown in the dim light, but he recognized that they would be a much more vivid crimson in better conditions. Against her perfect whites, it looked like someone had punched holes in her eyes, through which he could see only the indistinct back of her skull.

“You like?”

He started, grabbing at the menu as if to ward off her question. “Terribly sorry, madam. Just a little harmless curiosity, you understand. I meant no offense!”

“Nor I,” she said. “I was asking. Ponies don’t see them often.”

“Oh.” He forced a chuckle and followed a waiter with his eyes, hoping for a break from the conversation. Seeing none, he flagged the passing waiter down, and they ordered their drinks.

“Don’t feel awkward around me,” she said, even quieter than usual.

“No, no, I’m not, I assure you. Just a little, uh, well, beside myself.” He glanced at the goggles, their purple surfaces throwing off an unctuous sheen. “You don’t take them off more often? They look tight. Might you not get the occasional head-squeeze?”

“They’re for my eyes. They’re sensitive, and too much light can put me out for hours.” She tapped at the base of her horn. “Migraines.”

“I see,” he said slowly. “And… I’m sorry, I really am, I’m sure you get this all the time.”

“My voice?”

He sighed. “Your voice.”

“I can’t help it,” she said. She cleared her throat and spoke at what was almost a conversational level. “This is as loud as I can go, but too much and it hurts.”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself on my account!”

She shook her head, and resumed her normal quiescence. “A demonstration, that’s all.”

“So… uh, gee, Miss Vinyl, maybe I’m being too forward, but how did such a thing come to pass?”

“Born that way.”

He tapped the table with a hoof, looking past her at the pony with their drinks. “And there’s nothing to do about it?”

Vinyl nodded her thanks and plucked a twist of orange peel out of her martini. “I live with it.”

“Well…” He sipped his drink and leaned back, face lit up in a joyful grin, only partially exaggerated. “Scrumptious!”

Vinyl smiled back at him and looked at her drink. Her ears cocked suddenly, but Whooves didn’t pay attention. He had turned himself around in his seat to look out at the street behind, where lines of ponies tromped past. He didn’t notice when Vinyl spoke at first, and only looked at the glare of a light blue flash from behind.

She grinned, her muzzle rising slightly into the crinkles under her bore-hole eyes. “How I get ponies’ attention a lot of the time.”

“It’s a truly delightful system. Very clever indeed, Miss Vinyl.”

“Dispense with the title, doc. Just Vinyl.”

“Apologies, oh musical one.” He bowed and tapped his head on the tabletop, and Vinyl giggled, a short, soft fluttering that could have been easily mistaken for the flapping of bird wings, he thought.

“We can go elsewhere after this drink, if you want,” she said.

“Perhaps we can,” he said. “Tell me: what is a big name like you doing attaching yourself to our little crew?”

She raised her eyebrows and took a small drink of her martini. “Wouldn’t say it’s small, first of all. But, to answer your question…” Her horn glowed a soft orange. “I’d rather not say, not right now, not here.”

“No?”

“Soon, I promise. I’m not ready.”

“Hmmmm, but what’s this? You’re acting like you’ve got some kind of scheme, Miss—I mean, Vinyl.” He giggled. “It sounds so silly, calling you that sans honorific. Actually, not an honorific, just a mere title. A regular-ific, if I dare say so myself.” He paused. “That’s right around where Applejack would jab me in the ribs and tell me to be quiet.”

“I can do that, if you miss it,” Vinyl said.

“Ah! No no, I think these old bones should be left untouched tonight. Ah, freedom! Allowed to ramble at my own leisure. Having one’s voice to one’s self is a pleasure I never thought I’d appreciate with such fullness.” He looked at Vinyl, who looked back at him with a flat stare. “Oh! Oh, dear, I’m such a fool. Here I am, expostulating on the virtues of vocal emancipation, when my esteemed—”

“Any time now.” Vinyl’s horn glowed hot pink.

“Er, yes, quite. My apologies, sincerely. I wasn’t thinking.”

She waved him off, and he stared into his drink.

“So… I do believe I’m rather acquainted with your work.”

“That so?”

“Oh, yes indeed! Why, I’m no aficionado, by any stretch of the term, but I’ve heard your more important pieces. I much prefer your soothing, gentle melodies to that banging around with pots and pans that some artists call ‘music’.”

She smiled. “Funny you mention it, because a lot of my friends happen to produce music more in that style.”

Mimicking her terseness, he took a drink, and asked, “that so?”

“Maybe not a lot, but a couple.”

“I’d love to meet them, if you’d have me.”

“Later, maybe. Can’t make introductions tonight.”

“No? Why not? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

She drained her martini. “I do. It has to do with my reason for hanging around your crowd.”

“Ah! Say no more, my lady. I’ll keep the inquiries locked down tight.”

She ordered no more, but Whooves had a second drink, so as to not appear too eager to leave, and Vinyl paid. It was nearly nine when they left Dragon’s Jaw and embarked down the street, Whooves running a few paces ahead and peppering Vinyl with questions. She didn’t answer, except with a smile or a pulse of light; they both knew he wouldn’t hear her.

They made their way to the more familiar neighborhood around Apogee, and Vinyl pointed them in the direction of a large, more active bar, called, simply, Gem. Its pristine, white walls and quadruple-diamond windows left no doubt as to whom the bar was modeled on.

Whooves got a seat at the bar between two stallions, each one with no one else to talk to, while Vinyl hovered behind. She set up a tab for him, he repeating what she said to the bartender, and, with a congenial pat on the back and a promise to not leave without him, went to the other side of the bar. Her horn glowed softly as she walked away, and Whooves watched it with mild interest before turning his attention to the stallion on his left. “Quite the city, is it not?”

Photo Finish did her best not to let it show, but having the Elements of Harmony lodging in her house was proving to be more pleasurable than she would have expected. Though the noise sometimes tried her patience, the ponies generally kept out of her way, and some of them even offered to help with household chores. The company was charming, the games fun, and she found herself entranced by the stories they told of their previous experiences. Keeping her serious front up was proving to be harder and harder as she learned about them; every time she looked at Rainbow, she pictured the incensed Reverend Green accusing her of being a demon, and had to hold in a smile or laugh.

She and Rarity were folding laundry, and she could hear the group talking through an open doorway down a hall. One of the house’s quirks, a product of its sharp angles and perfectly straight corridors, allowed for voices to carry to her from distant places.

Noticing the same effect, Rarity looked at her, and Photo offered only a mischievous smile.

“I thought it wasn’t something that can be fixed with magic,” Applejack said.

“It can’t hurt to try,” Twilight said. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to cast a spell on, us or the area around us.”

“Does it make so large a difference?” Octavia asked.

“Completely.”

“While you work on that, d’ya think it’d be possible fer me to go in search of the mayor?” Big Mac asked. “We have all these gaps to take into consideration still.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about them,” Twilight said after a moment’s pause.

“You look uncertain, Twilight!” Pinkie said.

“Well, it’s a weird situation.” She was silent again, longer. “Hear me out on this. Do we really need to worry about putting this particular city back together? Hoofington and Manehattan were a mess—so was Fillydelphia, but it doesn’t matter as much.”

“Geez, Twilight,” Rainbow said.

“I’m just saying. But those bridges I saw last night were huge, and really good. They have buildings on them now. We’d be displacing a lot if we tried to put things back the way they were.”

“It’s gotta happen sometime.”

“Well, yes, of course, but does it have to be now? I think Applewood is doing pretty all right for itself, all things considered. Maybe we should just break this curse and get out.”

“She’s got a point,” Big Mac said. “We’ve got the whole south of Equestria to explore still, an’ three Elements.”

“Ah wouldn’t be a least bit surprised if one of ‘em turns out to be in that Snowdrift place,” Applejack said.

“Can we leave without breaking the curse?” Octavia asked.

“Come on, Octavia, use your head,” Rainbow said.

“It could be specific to Applewood.”

“Is there a way to check for that?” Pinkie asked.

“Not with the information or equipment I have right now,” Twilight said.

“Maybe Photo Finish has some books on magic?”

“I doubt that,” Octavia said. “She does not seem the type.”

Photo Finish frowned at Rarity, who returned a shrug.

“How did you two get around today?” Big Mac asked.

“We went up the river,” Rainbow said. “No electricity to drain out there, except the boats, and they’ve all got private generators.”

“Something else we need to consider is how to get our airship back,” Octavia said.

“If that Vinyl pony comes back, we might be able to get her to help,” Applejack said. “She got our bags okay.”

“Quick side question,” Rainbow said.

“What do we do about Vinyl?” Twilight asked.

“Yeah, exactly. What the heck do we do?”

“She’s just trying to help. Ah say let her,” Applejack said. “Just as long as she don’t get too involved with us, she’ll be okay.”

“I would be more comfortable with that advice if we did not have Doctor Whooves with us,” Octavia said. “All he ever did was provide us transportation from the coast to that city, and yet he has elected to stay with us.”

“You think she’ll be the same way?” Big Mac asked.

“I do not want to take that risk.”

“If she does want to come with us, so what?” Twilight asked. “If we tell her what she’s getting into, and she wants to anyway, then what’s the harm?”

For several seconds, no one spoke. “I do not believe that she will be an easy fit for us. I can only imagine that someone like her has some kind of problem, or will create some kind of problem. She will get in our way.”

“What are you basin’ that on?” Big Mac asked.

“My knowledge of fame, and what it can do to a pony.”

“So you don’t know her at all,” Rainbow said. “You’re just assuming she’s gonna be trouble because she’s famous?”

“It is an educated guess.”

“Yer famous,” Applejack said.

“And look how much trouble I have caused you.”

“And how much you’ve helped us out,” Twilight said. “I think you’re being silly, Octavia.”

“At the very least, let us not invite her along.”

“No, that’s not what I’m suggesting at all. If she wants to stay here, that’s great.”

“Ah just had a scary thought,” Applejack said. “What if doc is out there invitin’ her to come along with us?”

“It is not his place,” Octavia said. “And if he is doing that anyway, then—”

“We’ll dump him and take Vinyl instead,” Rainbow said.

“Ah like that,” Big Mac said. “Fer now, we should have both of ‘em workin’ together to get that airship, as Miss Octavia said.”

“That sounds fine,” Twilight said. “Do either of them know how to pilot it, though?”

“I do not believe he does,” Octavia said. “I would be surprised if she knows how either.”

“So there goes that,” Rainbow said.

“We will ask. If they cannot, then I propose that we go into town and take it, blackout or no. We cannot allow ourselves to get stuck because of some purile curse.”

“Does she always take charge in this way?” Photo asked Rarity, who nodded. “Respectable.”

“They won’t let us just mosey in and drive away,” Applejack said. “They’ll lock down the airship lot, fer safety. That’s why we didn’t last night.”

“That is why I said ‘take,’ not ‘request’.”

“Let us work on the curse first,” Rainbow said. “We have a plan, remember?”

“Plus, we might not be the only ones it’s affectin’,” Big Mac said. “Our problem could be a sign of somethin’ bigger.”

“I haven’t seen anything to support that,” Twilight said. “Although, I guess I’ve only been here a day and a half now.”

“So no taking the airship yet,” Pinkie said. “We wait for Fluttershy and Dashie.”

Octavia said nothing in response, but Rarity could imagine her face, her grim impatience.

A Little Sunshine

Chapter Eighty

A Little Sunshine

“Good morning, Minuette.”

Colgate opened her eyes and fixed the nurse with her best attempt at a glare.

“You gave us a scare last night.”

“I did?”

The nurse just smiled and went to check Colgate’s vitals.

“Oh, right. The suicide attempt.”

A quick, but concerned, glance upwards.

“Don’t worry, I’m over it. Last night was just a case of the blues.”

“Must be some blues. In and out, nice and deep. You got it.”

“You could say that.” As her mind cleared of sleep, she recognized a sensation at the base of her horn. “You’ve locked my magic.”

“It’s been locked since you got here, sweetie.”

Colgate looked at the nurse, who looked back and, seeing something in Colgate’s eyes, finished her vitals quickly. When she was a safe few steps away, the courage reentered her voice, still leaving room for a bland kindness that Colgate recognized. She used to use it on her own patients all the time. “Do you know where you are?”

“Not specifically. Hospital, though.”

She smiled. “You’re in the Solar Maiden Detoxification Center.”

“Detox?” In the back of her mind, she could imagine Rouge’s indignation at the thought. She wanted to continue, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, she repeated the one word.

“We’re across from the premier rehabilitation center in Lower Canterlot, where you’ll be going tomorrow. We have—”

“Thanks for the sales pitch, but I’m fine.” She looked down at her foreleg and saw a bandage where the IV needle had been. “Well, that’s an improvement, anyway.”

“There’s someone outside who would like to talk to you, Minuette.”

“It’s Colgate. It’s always been Colgate.” She frowned. “Dammit,” she added.

“My apologies, Colgate. Can he come in?”

“He. So not Fleur. Someone new.” “Why?”

“Just one of our counselors. He’d like to meet you.”

“Covert Datura here to torture me,” she thought quickly, her eyes flying around the room. She wanted to find an excuse not to see the new pony, but could not think of one. “Send him in.”

The nurse smiled again and gave a little bow, and Colgate stared after her, suddenly frightened of the bow’s unknown significance. When the crimson stallion with the cream mane entered, Colgate hardly noticed him until he pulled up a chair.

“Good morning, Colgate. You prefer Colgate, that’s right?”

She looked at him. He was a heavy unicorn with soft, blue gray eyes and a ruddy, coltish smile, his short mane covering the base of his horn in designed shagginess. He was clearly younger than she.

“My name’s Drift Dive, I’m one of the counselors over at rehab. They told you you’d be heading there tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, and she felt an immediate prickle of disgust—as if already being told she was to move were an accomplishment that deserved his recognition. “How are you feeling today?”

“He already knows how I’m feeling. They told him everything.” “It’s freezing in here.”

He rose, checked the thermostat. “Well, let’s turn it up a few degrees, hm? Seventy-eight comfy?”

“More.”

“Eighty?”

“Fine, fine.” She didn’t take her eyes off him as he returned to his chair. She thought she would feel safer with him on the other side of the room, but it was not so. Sitting closer, she could at least gauge his reactions more clearly.

His soft voice almost lilted as he leaned in, concern filling his face. “What happened last night?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“In the bathroom? One of the RNs found you sleeping soundly with your head in the sink.” He smiled. “Must not have been very comfortable.”

“Oh, that.” She matched his smile, hating him and herself equally. “I was trying to drown myself.”

He nodded. “And… you appear to be feeling better now?”

“Oh, much. It was a passing fancy.”

“We don’t believe suicide attempts are mere ‘passing fancies’, Colgate.”

“So what sort of issue was mine pointing to, then?” She straightened in her seat, ignoring the soft dizziness that pressed in on her head. “Depression, maybe? Blind rage that I could take out on no one but myself? I personally believe I was enchanted by someone who wants me gone, and my actions were not my own that night. But that’s me.”

He sighed, smiled, dipping his eyes for a second in thought. “This is a serious topic.”

“Am I not being serious?”

“You don’t sound it.”

“Forgive me, Drift Dive. I can call you that, right? What part of my suggestions seemed least serious to you? The depression, the anger, or the magic?”

“The first step in recovery is admitting that you need help, Colgate. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Then admit you need help,” Colgate said flatly.

He smiled. “Not me, my dear. You.”

“I was put here. I have no need of your help.”

“Why do you feel that?” His eyebrows contracted, and he looked at her as if he were truly curious.

“I don’t feel that way, I know it. You’re not tripping me up on rhetoric, doc.”

“Hm, I’m no doctor, ma’am.”

“Now it’s ma’am?”

“If you’d prefer—”

“Never mind, sir, formality is fine with me.” She grinned, seeing his ploy. He wanted to keep her talking about unimportant topics so she might slip up on something more consequential. “That’s very clever.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I was left here against my will. I assume I’m not imprisoned? I can walk out at any time?” She rose.

“Of course, if you feel it would be good for you.”

“I feel it.” She stopped halfway to the door. “This might be what they want. He’s hardly said anything, and I’m running away.” She looked at him, and he met her eyes, his own wide and soulful. He reminded her of sorrow, and she was impressed at how well he conveyed it. “It must be a mind game. They want me to run away.”

“Why do you feel it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“There. He pushed too hard. So it is a mind game.” “You know what, doc? I think I’m having a change of heart.” She smiled smugly at him, imagining she could see the withering triumph in his face as he realized his plan to flush her out was about to fail. “I need that help after all.” She settled back into bed, halfheartedly reached for the IV needle to replace it in her foreleg before remembering it was gone.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. See? Congratulations, Colgate, you’ve just—”

“Back to familiarity?”

“You’ve just taken what many consider to be the hardest step in the recovery process.”

Drift Dive was continuing, but Colgate paid him no attention; she was searching her memory for her short time in therapy in Canterlot, feigning contrition for her actions in Ponyville. She had told the therapist then that she had depression, but hadn’t had much time to practice pretending it.

“How do you feel about being here?”

“Sad, Cole. You feel sad.” “To be honest, I… sometimes wonder what the point of it all is.”

Across the field, a two hundred-acre pillow of rolling, grassy hillocks and straight, clean pathways, and a wide duck pond adjunct, the Lunar Maiden Rehabilitation Center was the hopeful destination of all those who made it to its detox twin in time.

The counselors’ chamber was a soundproof boardroom on the north side of the facility, its door facing the main corridor which afforded them a view of the common area and all those within. There, Drift Dive was having his weekly meeting with the other counselors.

“How’s everypony doing?” Her name was Cyclone, an overweight earth pony with thinning hair, false teeth, and a smoker’s voice. She made eye contact with each pony, her beady, golden eyes the only shows of the tough, jovial soul inside the battered, doughy body.

“Same old over here,” said Almond Butter, a tired-looking, arthritic unicorn in large, half moon glasses and a wrinkled, beige dress. She gestured as she spoke, one hoof limply waving up and down. “Steady progress with Poppy Seed.”

“Oh, I feel so sorry for him,” a young, dark-coated mare said. Her mane was tied in a single, floor-length whip, her cutie mark a small, orange flame. Her voice was eager and motherly, and her teeth gleamed against her fur. She fluffed her wings once and continued. “He’s been doing so good lately, though. No shouting all month.” Her name was Soft Spirit.

“He could be withdrawing, though,” Drift Dive said.

“I know, he might be, but I don’t think so.”

The door opened, and in entered the fifth and final counselor, a golden-maned unicorn with an old facial scar and bags under her eyes. She took a seat and, after a second with her face in her hooves, addressed the others. “What’s new?”

“Just talking about Poppy Seed,” Drift Dive said.

“Ah, yes, yes.” She looked at the clock. “Progress, I heard? I haven’t talked to him in a while.”

“Progress, but not much,” Almond Butter said.

“How’s it going with Silver Platter, Nugget?” Drift Dive asked.

“Well,” the unicorn sighed, “we’ve signed another behavior contract, so we’ll see. She says she’s committed to this one, admits she wasn’t really on board with last week’s. She thought it was too strict, but didn’t say so.”

“Still not speaking her mind,” Almond Butter said, shaking her head. “When will they learn?”

“She’s the one whose husband, uh…” Cyclone lowered her voice and gestured with her hooves, miming a strangulation motion. “Choked her, right?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” Soft Spirit said, her big eyes wide open and on Nugget. “You okay? Long day?”

“Long week,” Nugget said.

“Drift Dive got himself a new friend,” Cyclone said, reaching over to pat him on the back. “Went all the way over to detox to meet her, and we know what that means.”

“Someone special,” Soft Spirit said, her voice a gentle tease. “What’s her name?”

“She just came in a couple days ago,” Drift Dive said. “Minuette Colgate, prefers just Colgate.”

“She’s that blue unicorn her friend warned us about,” Almond Butter said, lifting her glasses briefly in an expression of shock. She looked at Soft Spirit. “Right?”

Soft Spirit shrugged. “I haven’t heard about her.”

“It is her, I think so.”

“Yeah, yeah, that supermodel brought her in,” Cyclone said. “Yeeeeah, now I remember. Said she was crazy. Not, like, the Maiden crazy, but crazy crazy.”

“She’s bound to seem crazy at first,” Drift Dive said. “She’s still detoxing. She’ll be coming over tomorrow.” His voice was proud, and he sat up straighter. “I’m going to be her counselor. Dr. Step already told me.”

“Congratulations, Drift Dive,” Soft Spirit said. “That’s excellent.”

“What was her poison?” Nugget asked, the first hint of interest entering her voice.

“Painkillers,” Drift Dive said. “And I think a history of alcohol.”

“Oh, heck, Drift, I thought you were gonna hit us with something weird,” Cyclone said.

“Not that painkillers can’t completely wreck your system,” Almond Butter said.

“No, nothing like that,” Drift Dive said. “She seems okay, physically.”

“Physically,” Soft Spirit repeated.

“I’m not sure if she’s crazy, but there’s something off about her.”

“C’mon, give us the scoop,” Cyclone said, leaning forward as much as her bulk would allow.

“If I wasn’t told otherwise, I’d think she’s bipolar,” Drift Dive said. “We talked about depression this morning, but only after she calmed down. She started off pretty agitated.”

“Understandable,” Almond Butter said. “Is this her first time in rehab?”

“Oh, I’m gonna love meeting this mare,” Cyclone said. “Let me at her, I’ll get her talking.”

“Agitated, or angry?” Nugget asked, looking back at the clock.

“Just agitated,” Drift Dive said.

“If he meant angry, he’d have said so,” Almond Butter said, wincing as she turned her head to look at him.

“Did her friend warn you about anything specific?” Soft Spirit asked.

“Apparently, she was diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder at a young age, took antipsychotics all through college and adulthood, and only recently went off them. It’s been one train wreck after another since,” Drift Dive said.

“Antisocial personality disorder,” Nugget said. “How do you like that?”

“Nope, never mind, I don’t wanna meet this pony,” Cyclone said, raising her hooves in surrender.

“So we don’t know if she’s actually depressed. She could be faking it for some reason.”

“Depression often comes along for the ride with this type of thing,” Almond Butter said.

“But I’m saying we can’t assume that here.”

“That’s terrible,” Soft Spirit said.

“I’ll be honest, she didn’t seem that depressed,” Drift Dive said. “She said all the right things, but I’m not sure I buy it myself.”

“She’s acting?” Cyclone asked.

“I think so. Why, I don’t know.”

“Some impossible reason in her head,” Nugget said. “Girls, the last thing we need in this facility is a psychopath. I know you won’t hear of it, Spirit, but I say we tell them to dismiss her right now. Save ourselves a lot of trouble.”

“We can’t just turn her out because of what her friend said,” Almond Butter said.

“That’s bull,” Cyclone said, frowning at Nugget. “She might be psycho, she might not be, it’s our job to find out the truth, and then help her with it. If she is, we can send her to psych.”

“If she’s looking for help, but I guarantee you she won’t be,” Nugget said. “Fifty percent chance she runs away in a couple days, fifty percent she stays and causes a whole heap of trouble. Either way, that’s bad. I keep saying, we need to hold on to our patients to show that we’re a credible, viable center. We can’t keep losing ponies.”

Soft Spirit was rolling her eyes dramatically, lolling her head back and forth.

“We have to think of the business too,” Nugget continued, staring intently at Drift Dive. “What’s good for us is good for the patients.”

“And vice-versa,” Almond Butter said. “That’s what I’m trying to say. We can’t just toss her out out of fear that she might do something.”

“The business won’t survive if we close our doors to certain patients,” Cyclone said.

“It won’t survive if we keep losing ponies,” Nugget said.

“But that’s a crappy thing to do,” Soft Spirit said. “These ponies need us, especially ones like Colgate.”

“Need, sure, but she’s not gonna want it.”

Her dinner was served on a plastic tray, a salad with no dressing, a wedge of cheese, and a roll of soft bread, with a cup of apple juice. It had to be food that anypony could eat with just their mouths; it wasn’t the cutlery that was against regulations, but the hoof straps that were required to use it. She was in her room, there being no common area in her facility. A different nurse from the morning’s had delivered her food and stayed a bit to chat.

“How are you feeling?”

Colgate was famished, but didn’t look at her food. She was trying to remember when she had last eaten, and found that she could not.

“Top of the world,” Colgate finally said, biting into her cheese.

“I’m happy to hear it. Do you, um, have any questions about tomorrow? Did the doctor already go over all that with you?”

“No, he didn’t,” Colgate lied.

“Well, there’s just a little discharge paperwork, and then one of our RNs will walk you over to rehab, where you can check yourself in and start on the road to recovery.”

“Can’t wait.” She sipped her juice through a bendy straw.

“You really are more fortunate than a lot of ponies who come here,” the nurse said at length. “You weren’t particularly far gone.”

“Good for me. Why don’t you go and help them, then? Since they’re all so much worse off.”

The nurse straightened. “Oh.”

“Thanks for dinner.”

The two sat together, one eating ponderously, the other staring without shock or hurt. Finally, the nurse rose. “Have a good evening, Colgate.”

Colgate nodded, watched the door close. She tipped her apple juice over and let it spill on the tile floor. It spread slowly under the soft lights, pooling around the bedstand’s legs, stopping before it could creep under the door. She ate her salad, wishing she hadn’t wasted her drink.

A middle-aged unicorn in floral scrubs and a pen holding her bun together walked Colgate out of the Solar Maiden at eight in the morning. She said nothing in response to the front office staff who wished her good luck in rehab, not out of malice, simply preoccupation. The sky was overcast, but no pegasi flitted about to move the clouds, and the air was still and quiet as they crossed the field on a hard, beige walkway.

Marigolds and daffodils bloomed in uneven garden shapes on both sides of the path, clear of trees and larger shrubberies. They walked silently past a duck pond, a pair of elderly stallions sitting side by side at its edge, heads leaned in together in soft discussion. She could hear no traffic in the distance.

The Lunar Maiden was larger, a pale blue L with wide, clean windows and rustic, wooden benches sitting in pairs along the side Colgate faced. Brown and white umbrellas, lowered, sprouted from amongst patches of flowers and grass in small peninsulas of earth. They cut through the grass on a mild slope and stopped for a moment on a brick circle, marble benches outlining it and the sundial at its center. The pony explained that the entire facility, its grounds, and the furnishings had been donated by Princess Celestia near the turn of the century. The exact date of the donation had been engraved on the sundial’s rim, and Colgate looked at it to appear interested.

Glass and wood doors swung open to a marble and tile vestibule, where a tiny earth pony sat in front of a tall, black wall, a skin of water sliding down to produce soft, white noise. She checked in Colgate with a genuine smile on her freckled face and led her around the facility, starting with the common area on the other side of the fountain.

An empty fireplace presided over the wood-walled room, its floor-to-ceiling windows affording the lowered light from outside space to fill a tableau of books, puzzles, magazines, and other activities on tables and shelves. A few ponies looked at Colgate, one smiled. Behind, the black fountain’s other side was engraved with the Lunar Maiden’s mission statement.

The receptionist walked Colgate down a wide, tile corridor to the dining area, where a few late risers were taking their breakfasts still. Hissing water and clattering plates moved from within the kitchen behind a pair of bat wing doors to one side, a sign saying “Employee entrance only, please” hanging on the wall.

“So we’re just gonna have you over here,” the receptionist said, leading Colgate back to a room just off the common area. Her name was already on the tiny sign under the door’s number. Inside, unlike the detox facility, the bed looked more like it belonged in a house than a hospital. On the far side, there was a glass patio door, locked, and Colgate could see the pond beyond it over a short, stone rail. Two potted ferns flanked the door. Above her bed, there hung a still life of a basket of pears and plums, and across, next to the TV cabinet, a scene of glassy waves over a windswept beach. The TV was off, and there was a VCR underneath it, but no cabinets for cassette storage.

Behind a curtain, there was the bathroom, fully furnished with toilet, shower, and bathtub. Colgate tested the sink and looked in the mirror, seeing, again, no cabinets or drawers.

“Feel free to spend some time in here, get settled in, or you can go out into the common area if you want too. Common hours are six a.m. to eight p.m. If you want to go outside, just be sure to tell one of us first.” She smiled up at Colgate, who took her eyes off the bed to return a weak grin.

“It’s wonderful, thank you.”

“I’m so happy you could join us, Colgate,” the receptionist said, shaking her hoof. “Do you have any questions before I go?”

“No questions.” She looked back at the bed.

“Okay, well, it’s good to have you. I’ll be up front if you need anything.”

She left, leaving the door ajar, and Colgate paced around her new bed. She was still hungry, though she had eaten before heading over, and her head felt fuzzy. She wanted to act, to move, to do something to assert herself over the new environment, but no ideas were forthcoming, and even that emptiness stirred only a suggestion of frustration in her mind. It was the feeling of bereft powerlessness, and she knew it well.

She lay back on the bed and tried to think, staring at the ceiling. For the first time, she realized, she had truly nothing to do. When she was young, she went to school; after that, the long, winding road from medical school to internship to her professional life; after that, the Datura; after that, keeping herself and Rouge afloat as the world seemed to constrict all around them. Finally, in the space of only a few days, she had lost even that, and had only a bed, a patio, and a TV to fill the vacuum.

It was the start of a new day, and she was suddenly finding herself the only occupant of an empty life.

Over a jigsaw puzzle, she only distractedly fitting pieces together and he not touching them, Colgate stared back at a rail-thin, lanky unicorn with a crosstie tangle of yellow teeth, a ratty mane and a poor attempt at a moustache. He shook and bobbed his head up and down when he spoke, which he only did after considerable pauses, as if the act were too strenuous to do without premeditation. He had no cutie mark; where it should have been, instead, the fur was sere and white, a pair of ugly blotches on his burgundy coat. She had asked about them, but he only fidgeted and said that they were gone. She pressed, but he only mumbled lower and lower, until finally looking down, then up at her, as if waiting for her to stand up first, or select a new conversation topic. He looked at her the same way Rouge sometimes would.

“Afternoon, Flame,” a fat earth pony said, swaying over to their table. She smiled at the nervous unicorn across from Colgate, then at Colgate herself. “Hi! Don’t think we’ve been introduced yet. My name’s Cyclone, I’m one of the counselors here.”

Colgate appraised her as they shook hooves. A large, polka-dotted dress made her look like a walking circus tent, and her mane was draped over her neck awkwardly, hanging over rolls of skin and making it look like her head had never been properly attached. Her smile revealed a neat row of perfect teeth filling in the space of what Colgate assumed was, at one time, a jack o’ lantern’s grin.

“How ya doing?” Cyclone asked. “How d’you like us so far?”

She could see the other unicorn edging out of his seat. “It’s very peaceful. I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“That’s good. I like to think we do a good job here, making everything nice. Some of our patients like to help us decorate. Aw, especially around the holidays, if you’re still here, you’re gonna get to see some really pretty decoration. We get a Hearth’s Warming tree in the corner there, all the tinsel and ornaments, we do a present exchange, everyone loves it.”

“Sounds like a chose a good time to hit rock bottom,” Colgate said.

Cyclone laughed. “Right? ‘If I’m gonna need help, then dang it, at least I’m gonna need help during the good parts of the year’.” She laughed again. “I don’t think I got your name.”

“Colgate. Painkillers.”

A look passed momentarily over Cyclone’s face, and Colgate’s guard was immediately up. “Ooooh, Colgate. Yeah! Drift Dive went and said hi yesterday.”

“He said he was my counselor.”

“Oh, he is, at least right now, but anyone can talk to anyone. We’re awesome like that.”

“I have a question,” Colgate said. She glanced down at her puzzle, her interest in it gone, like the strange stallion.

“Shoot.”

“What’s with that guy’s cutie marks? He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Ah, uhhhh, yeah.” Cyclone lowered her voice. “We try not to ask him too many questions about his past. He’s really shy, doesn’t deal with it well.”

“But what about his marks?”

Cyclone frowned, thought. “I can’t speak for him personally, ‘cause I don’t know his story, but you see it a lot in this business. Sometimes ponies don’t want others to know what their special talents once were, or don’t want to be reminded themselves. It’s like a way to break away from an old, unwanted identity, you know?”

“Huh.”

“Hey, Colgate, I don’t wanna offend you or anything, but I’ve got a little advice. I’ve been working here for ten years now, so I know a thing or two about the kinds of ponies who walk through these doors.”

“The kinds of ponies like me.”

“Well, yeah, okay. They don’t really like it when someone just up and asks them about their lives, you know? We’re all here for a reason, and those reasons can be painful to share.”

Colgate looked at her face, saw veiled concern. “For me? How much does she know?” “I’m used to questions about my past.” “I’m sure you are,” she imagined Cyclone thought.

“But some ponies aren’t,” Cyclone said. “You know how you have your personal space, like the physical circle you don’t want people getting in, getting too close? Think of it like that, except it’s for emotional things, instead of physical. You know what I mean? I don’t know if I made any sense.” She chuckled.

“He’s afraid of revealing a secret.” She nodded. “Of course.”

“Right, in a way. Just be careful, is all we ask. Respect, and be respected.”

Colgate smiled and turned back to her puzzle, and Cyclone left her.

In the corridor near the nurses’ station, Cyclone stopped Drift Dive. “I just met your new friend. She’s really something, Drift.”

“Impressions?”

“She’s observant and guarded. I don’t think I made a very good impression on her.”

“What did she say?”

“Not much. Asked about Flame’s cutie marks. She’s weird, I tell ya.”

“Any danger?”

“I didn’t see any. I think she’s trying to keep a low profile until she feels comfortable here.”

“Hmmm.” Drift Dive greeted a passing patient, who waved back and scurried away. “I’ll go say hello this evening, and we’ll see what happens.”

Colgate was back in bed, watching TV, trying to find a channel that didn’t remind her of Rouge. They had seen so much daytime TV, it seemed a futile cause, but trying was better than nothing.

Every time hooves came close outside her door, she imagined them belonging to Cyclone, returning for a second attack on her character, this time in her room, the safest place she had.

She had been unbalanced, and who could blame her? Since arriving in the facility, she had been utterly without explanation as to her whereabouts or the cause of her new imprisonment. There was no doubt in her mind that Cyclone, and maybe all of them, belonged to the Datura, but her purpose was unclear. Information extraction—Colgate’s role in the destruction of the watchpoint, or of the confluence of confusion and fear around one city block—or just to torture her as recompense for trouble inadvertently caused. Colgate didn’t know just which.

The pair of conclusions, though, were not sufficient. She wanted to write them off, tell herself she would see in time what the Datura’s intentions were, but it felt wrong whenever she ran it through her overworked mind. There was some other conclusion yet to be drawn, but, though she had been trying since the morning to reach it, it eluded her. Knowing this, she again asked herself: who could blame her for not being at the top of her game that morning.

Her comment to Cyclone had been foolish. She knew about personal space, about privacy, about ponies’ needs for security in the eyes of others, but she had made herself seem an idiot. “They’re counselors, remember. They know how to treat ponies like you.”

“No, they’re just pretending. The fat one, at least. It’s entrapment.”

Someone knocked at her door, and she jumped. It opened before she could bid the pony enter.

Drift Dive, his crimson coat a deep russet in the dim lamplight, smiled heartily. “Colgate, how are you?”

“Can’t complain.” She smiled back and settled back on the bed, hating the rumpled sheets that so clearly indicated her earlier unrest.

“You haven’t been out and about much today. Just getting the lay of the land, I take it?”

“I’m not feeling well.” A partial lie; she was accustomed to feeling worse.

“What’s wrong?” He looked at her curiously, and she realized then that she was caught. An hour earlier, she had told a nurse that she was feeling perfectly fine.

Staring back at him, she could imagine his thoughts. “Gotcha, Cole. Which lie is it? Feeling fine, or feeling bad?”

“It is quite stuffy in here,” Drift Dive said, going for the curtains. “Mind if I let some light in?”

“Get away from that window,” she thought slowly, but he took her silence as assent, and let sunlight spill into the bedroom.

“You might be surprised how much good natural light can do a pony.”

“Are we letting my slip-up go? He’s probably waiting for the right time to spring it on me.” “I’ve heard it can be nice, yes.” She smiled. “I love the view.”

“Each room has a slightly different view of the park, or the lake. It might look like a regular old field to most, but, through so many windows, it really does take on a life of its own.” He breathed in, stalling for time, she imagined. “It’s like a hundred ponies painted the same picture from a slightly different vantage.” He chuckled. “My apologies. Er, shall we begin?”

“Begin what?” “Why, tormenting you,” she imagined him thinking, the eager thought matching his kindly smile too well.

“Calm, Cole. Let him make the first move.”

“Our session.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s start with some introductions. I’ll go first.”

She nodded, barely listening. Her mind was racing to invent an origin story for herself, but she could get no further than a false name. Each time she tried to imagine what she might have been doing in Canterlot, her thoughts circled back in on themselves, remembering Rouge and Fancy Pants, wondering what other treachery she was to soon face. She needed to find out whether Drift Dive knew what he was doing, or was just a pawn for someone else, but couldn’t think of how to do it.

“And that’s how I found my passion for helping ponies. I…” He leaned in, pressed his hooves together, and she watched imperiously from her bed. “It’s always kind of difficult for me to tell that story, but I value honesty and open dialogue, so I think it’s important to get everything out on the table nice and early.”

“Of course,” Colgate said. She could sense his tension, his impatience for her to begin telling her own story, to begin showing weakness. “My name’s Colgate, as you know. I used to live in Manehattan before moving here on business.”

Drift Dive nodded along. “Omitting Ponyville. Interesting.” She poised for him to ask about it, but he did not.

“I guess I started really feeling depressed a couple years ago, at my job. My boss changed, and I, uh, my department didn’t handle the transition really well. I was laid off because the new boss didn’t understand how I did things. He thought I was making mistakes.”

“I understand,” Drift Dive said.

Colgate paused in thought. “What’s he waiting for? Am I to just talk myself into a corner?”

Drift Dive shifted his weight. “Come on, Cole, keep lying. Let’s see how much of the work you can do yourself.”

“Of course,” Colgate continued, determined to escape Drift Dive’s trap, determined to spite him, “you know the rest. I’m sure the mare who brought me in explained everything.”

“Not really, no,” Drift Dive said. “She told us to take care of you, and that’s about it.”

“An obvious lie, but he knows I’ll spot it.” “She’s a good mare. I trust her.”

Drift Dive blinked, inhaled through his nose before speaking. He was momentarily unbalanced, not expecting Colgate to refuse his bait, but no ideas came to her to take the advantage.

“Maybe half a year ago, I started with the pills. OTC stuff, nothing special.”

He nodded.

“…And things went out of control after that.” “Your move, Drift.”
“I’ll have to be gentle to get anything out of this one,” she thought he thought. She could see it behind his eyes, searching intensity that was so easily disguised as compassion. At the root of both, though, a talent for spotting suffering.

“How depressed are you feeling now?” he asked.

“As depressed as you like,” she thought, but feigned consideration for a minute. “It comes and goes. Earlier today, I was pretty low, but now I’m okay.”

“Are there any triggers that you’re aware of?”

“Now he searches for specifics.” Satisfied that she had him sufficiently distracted from the real her, she was able to speak more freely. “What’s a trigger?” She still needed time to formulate her answer, though.

“A trigger is a—”

“Is he the only Datura in here, or are they all sent to torment me? That Cyclone’s probably in on it; she and this one can do a classic good cop, bad cop thing. Might even be a few posing as patients, keeping tabs. Surely not all of them are, though. I’ll need to find the real patients.”

“—conversation topic, or a familiar sound, or something you see on the side of the street, or as complicated as a series of thoughts that build on each other. The eventual goal, though, is to replace these ‘unsafe stimuli’ with ‘safe stimuli,’ things that serve the same effective purpose as their predecessors, but don’t cause any harmful thoughts or feelings.”

“I think I get it. Any triggers for me, though? I can’t think of any.”

“Do you remember how you felt right before you started feeling depressed earlier today?”

“I remember thinking about my pills.” It was mostly true.

“Do they make you sad?”

“Not when I’m taking them,” she thought indignantly. “They didn’t really make me feel like anything.” The urge to oversimplify came to her, to make his job more laborious. “I don’t know what they were, I just took them. My friend told me they’d make me feel good, and they did.”

“Which friend is this?”

“You don’t know her.”

“Not the lovely mare who brought you in?”

He was trying to coax her into a trap, into naming her former Datura contacts. A spot of warmth spread inside her, a little joy at what was, to her, an easy advantage in the perilous conversation. “His name was Whipped Cream, he was one of my neighbors. I helped him with his schoolwork sometimes, and he introduced me to these… pills.”

“Study aides, Cole? You don’t seem the type,” she imagined him thinking. She sneered at him in response, as if to challenge him to question her claim. Instead, he said, “It’s an unfortunate truth, one out of every fifteen college students dabbles with drugs in their life, or worse.”

“This was more than dabbling.” She sighed, long and low, as she had once practiced in her home. A depressed sigh. “They made me feel… what’s the word? Numb, I guess. Like all my troubles just disappeared for all that time I was high.”

“Is it helpful for you to talk in such detail about your experience?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, genuinely surprised. He was being too direct, too attached to the story she was giving him. “Where’s his suspicion?”

“Do you find it… healthy, I guess, to talk about your pill taking experience in detail?” He looked her in the eyes, his own large and unflinching. “Or are you simply allowing yourself to remember your chains fondly?”

“I…” “C’mon, Cole, don’t let him trip you up.” The thought was in an imitation of Rouge’s voice, already beginning to fade from memory. “I don’t know.”

“Some liar you are,” she imagined Drift Dive thought, though he only continued his gaze into her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she repeated more firmly. “They just made me feel better. It’s no more complicated than—” She stopped herself.

“Who are you trying to convince of that, Cole?”

“So, sometimes, when I think about them, I do get a little depressed.” She broke eye contact, and, in that moment, knew she had lost the conversation.

“It’s quite common for depression to follow an addiction, or be wrapped up with one. Believe it or not, Colgate, you’re actually past the hardest part already. You know you have a problem.” He lowered his voice as he leaned in. “Some of the ponies here, they still don’t. They still deny, deny, deny. Sometimes, denial is the worst drug of them all, I say.”

“I’m not like that.” She was still addled from her mistake, and the pleasure that beamed through Drift Dive’s serious, concentrated expression made her want to be sick. There was nothing she could do to change it.

“So what would you like out of rehab, Colgate?”

“Nothing, you fat jailer. I want out.” She bowed her head, no good ideas springing to her lips. “I want help.” The generic response was the best she could muster.

He smiled, but she missed it. “And help you’ll find here, if you’re willing to accept it. Do you remember when I came in and opened the curtains for you? Maybe a little change to your environment would help alleviate some of this depression, hm?”

Forty-five minutes later, Drift Dive was gone, and Colgate lay back in her bed, mind on fire. His parting words had been “You might not believe it, but your depression isn’t as bad as a lot of the ponies I’ve seen here.” Then he smiled, gave her a wink, and left.

Not as bad. Not as bad. Those three words were shots from a pulse crystal, each one finding its way over her wall of falsehood and onto her exposed, frightened self. He knew; had known the whole time, more than likely, that her depression was all artifice. The entire conversation, the whole hour, he had followed along, pretended to agree, to understand, to want to help, and then, with those three little words, brought her crashing back to reality. “You are my prisoner, our prisoner, and we have as much time as we want with you. If not me, another.”

She had felt trapped earlier that morning. On the bed, alone, with the sun going down, the reality was finally sinking in. A whole day had passed with nothing to do except talk. She had no friends, no one who both knew where she was and cared to help her escape, and the following day would be just like the first, and forever after that.

She stared at the ceiling and did not cry, though she wanted to. She felt empty inside, as though her heart had been removed without her knowledge, replaced with nothing, and soon fell asleep with the TV on.

“You can’t be serious,” Nugget said, looking askance at Drift Dive. They were outside, both finished with their shifts, waiting for the bus.

“I know it’s not exactly on the straight and narrow, but I thought it’d be good for her.”

“Good? Good, for a depressed pony to hear how her depression isn’t as bad as others’?”

“I know, I know, invalidating her problem, I get it,” Drift Dive said. “Still, she seems like the type to benefit from a little… well, I hate to put it like this, but a little stark reality.”

Nugget grunted.

“And hers really doesn’t look that bad,” he added sheepishly.

“Whatever. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it tomorrow.” She walked a distance into the street to see whether the bus was coming.

“She was quite open today, more than I was expecting.”

“Cyclone said she doesn’t trust her.”

“Well, I suppose that’s no surprise.”

“Do you?” She looked up at him, the sunset gleaming off her facial scar, even under the short fur. He had never asked about it.

“Trust her? So far, yes. She didn’t seem guarded to me, just a little confused, a little irritable. I’m going to talk to her again tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to talk to them every day, you know that.”

“I know.” He smiled, enjoying the warmth on his face. It was chilly in the facility.

Nugget shook her head. “You’ll burn yourself out if you make it too personal, Drift. It happened to Almond Butter, it can happen to you.”

“I like her, though. There’s nothing wrong with liking someone.”

Nugget widened her eyes speculatively. “Well—there it is! Well, good luck, that’s all I have to say.”

The bus pulled up, and the two got on, bound for the inner circles of Lower Canterlot, and their homes.

Colgate slept fitfully, and was awake for the nurse to pop her head into her room. After a brief exchange, in which she assured the pony she didn’t want for anything, she fell back asleep, wondering how many tiny visits she had missed. Disguised Daturas filled her dreams, persecuting her.

She took breakfast at seven in the morning, not tasting her bagel with cream cheese and orange juice. Across from her sat the same unicorn with the bad teeth, who refused to meet her eyes.

“Hey buddy,” a soft, high voice said as it sat next to her. A thin pegasus with a color scheme much like Colgate’s settled herself in the seat.

“Hi Sea Shine,” the strange unicorn said quietly. He was smiling, but still not looking up, his hooves turning over each other like weak fish in a pond.

“Hello, Flame,” she said. “How’s your book?”

“It’s good, it’s good.” He waited a while, thinking, and stole a glance at both mares. Colgate simply watched, fascinated. “It’s really good.”

“That’s good to hear.” She turned to Colgate. “How are you today?”

“Fine,” Colgate said. The pony’s voice, the way she sat, the way she looked intently at her for the single word, immediately aroused her suspicion. The pegasus’ simpering, maternal bearing was cloying in the morning. She was trying too hard to make Colgate think she was interested.

“What’s your name?”

“You work here?”

“Oh, no, no, sorry.” She laughed good-naturedly. “I’m just a patient, just one of the ponies. I’m Sea Shine.” She reached for Colgate’s hoof and shook it. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?”

Colgate just stared at her. It was early, and she wasn’t thinking straight. The despair from the night before, mixed with a restless sleep, mixed with hunger and what she assumed were withdrawal symptoms, was a potent combination. She didn’t know what she wanted to do, or even what she could do.

“I guess you can say I’m this place’s Element of Laughter; I try to be everpony’s friend. We’re all in this together, after all, so why not?” She shrugged at her own question.

Colgate pushed her bagel toward the unicorn, who shied away. “You got any kids, Sea Shine?”

“Two, yes, Beach Dreams and—”

“They’re better off without you.” She walked back to her room.

Staring at the TV, quietly hating the ponies performing on it, Colgate paid no heed to the hoofsteps in her room.

“What happened this morning?”

She looked at Drift Dive, finding on his face the emotion that she had failed to grasp from his voice alone.

“What did you say to Sea Shine?”

“I told her she could drop a few pounds, that’s all. Is this a counseling session?” She looked back at the TV, her eyes sore. She’d been watching it at close range for an hour.

“Well, no, not exactly. I’m just concerned, Colgate.”

She breathed in, trying to master her emotions, suddenly flooding. The simple truth was that she had failed to control herself earlier, and was paying the price. She had slipped up, said the wrong thing to the wrong pony, and so proven herself fallible. She could be broken under pressure, and the counselors now knew it.

“She was quite upset. She said you insulted her children.”

“Didn’t know she had kids,” Colgate said softly. She wanted to do something, but had no ideas. For a second, she imagined a bottle of pills in the bathroom, waiting for her, and her mood lifted.

“What happened?” he asked again.

“Probably projecting. I’m depressed, remember?” “Celestia, hold it together, Cole.” She looked at him again.

“What made you say what you did to her, whatever it was?”

“It just slipped out.”

“Slipped out?”

“That happens, when ponies talk. You say one thing and mean another.” She turned back to the TV and switched it off. In her mind’s eye, she could see herself sliding it off its stand to shatter on the floor, as she had at the hotel in Grass Graves.

“What did you mean to say?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“That’s what I said.” She glowered at him, and he averted his eyes. “Give me privacy. I’ll apologize to her later, on my terms.”

“There’s no need for anger, Colgate.”

“I’m not angry, I’m overjoyed. I have a hard time showing emotions.” She turned back to the TV, its blank face making her feel silly. She wanted to put her hoof through the black screen, and so refute the puerility it reflected.

“Some fresh air might do you good. Shall we take a walk?”

“No, but you should.”

“Colgate…”

“Leave me be. You’re making me sadder, reminding me of my problems. Look, I just admitted I have problems again. In your eyes, that makes me better.” “Cole, you need to cool it.” Rouge’s voice again, complete with its drunken slur and joking impression of what she considered a sagacious tone.

“Would you like me to leave?” Drift Dive asked.

“That’s what I’m asking, yes.” She was able to see him leave her room through the TV’s reflection.

Soft Spirit and Drift Dive were outside, walking around the duck pond, enjoying a cool breeze off the water and the birdsong that surrounded them in scattered pockets. Soft Spirit’s cloud house was a speck among specks miles away, floating over an empty field between a pair of strip malls.

“She’s still adjusting,” Soft Spirit said. “Give her time. Remember Empty House?”

“He was different,” Drift Dive said.

“Not so different, it sounds like. Maybe Colgate’s a little more sensitive, but they both have the same buried aggression. At least, it sounds like she does. What did she say to Sea Shine?”

“I don’t even know, they both told me something different. She’s holding out on me, that much I can tell. There’s something going on with her that she’s not letting us know.”

“Give her time,” Soft Spirit repeated. She paused, dangling her long strand of mane over her face, and expertly flipped it to her other side, where it lay across her back.

“You must wake up two hours early just to do your mane,” Drift Dive said, and she laughed.

“Are you gonna give her space, or try to figure out what’s bugging her?” she asked.

“I’m going to try once more tonight, once she’s calmed down a little.”

“Almond Butter told me she wants to say hello as well.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“No?”

“If she hated Cyclone, she’ll really hate Almond Butter. Any sort of direct question or address seems to put her on edge, I’m noticing.”

“Maybe she’s afraid of us. The lady who brought her in, did she say anything about an abusive past?”

“Nothing at all. She just said to take good care of her, and be careful with what we choose to believe.”

“I bet you she doesn’t trust us, or anyone. I bet you she’s terrified underneath all the meanness.”

“You may be right.” He left the path to stand at the pond’s edge. A goose skated by, leaving its glassy trail of ripples behind.

“Don’t take it personally, Drift. They don’t want to hurt us, no matter what they might say. Remember that.”

“I know, I know. It’s just an expression of hurt inside.”

“Exactly. It’s our job to help them express it better, and learn to deal with it.”

Drift Dive sighed.

In the shower, Colgate watched the spray of water hitting the glass door, refracting the soft light that came in from under the curtain like a blurry sheen of rainfall. The light inside her room matched the light outside, so that, when she had entered the shower, it seemed as though her whole world were bathed in perpetual gloaming. In the mirror, it had turned her magical suppression collar into a golden band, the rim of which she could just see if she looked up.

The water was freezing cold, and it distracted her from the muscle cramps, the shivers, and the ill feeling in her stomach from spending too long without any pills. Her concentration was scattered, her thinking sharp and impulsive, her memory dull and disordered. Everything that had happened, from her first meeting with Rouge to their unexpected—but not completely—separation, felt in her mind more like a movie of someone else’s life: something she had seen acted out on film, enjoyed, and then thought about from time to time as she lived out her own ordinary life.

She didn’t know what she had done to find herself where she was. In Manehattan, when she was younger, the Datura had been nothing like what she had recently seen. Ponies didn’t betray her, didn’t scheme against her, didn’t try to manipulate her and her friends. In those days, she had understood, if not felt, a sense of community, but there was none of that in Canterlot, or Ponyville before it.

One betrayal after another, she had eventually figured. Ordering her thoughts into one concise phrase had taken effort, but she had been momentarily proud as she read the scratchy, mouth-written words on her notepad. Writing, she was finding, did help.

She turned and put her head under the freezing shower, cooling her headache and her simmering fear. She was surrounded by enemies, that much was clear, but she still didn’t know how to respond.

When she had dried off and climbed into bed, shivering from the water instead of withdrawal, she took another look at the notepad. A word popped up in her mind, and she wrote it on a blank page: Institution. The Datura was an institution, which meant that its members operated as one. “Maybe I’m less outnumbered than I thought,” she thought.

“Colgate?”

She quickly flipped the notepad over at Drift Dive’s voice and told him to enter. He did so slowly and with a look of respectful deference on his face, which she did not trust.

“How are you?”

“I’m a ray of sunshine. What do you want?”

“Just came to check on you. You’ve been shutting yourself away a lot, and we wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Then consider me checked on. Depression’s under control.”

“Now, Colgate,”

“Your presence makes me contemplate suicide, Drift Dive.” She looked him in the eyes as she said it, her own eyes hard and flat, like her voice.

“Oh. Um, is it right now?” He backed away into the door. “Do you feel safe right here, right now?”

“Of course I feel safe,” she said. “I’m not going to actually do anything. You’re free of any liability I might cause.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He hesitated. “Your health, your happiness, your recovery. I want that for you.”

“Why are you so committed to your role?” She studied him, waiting for him to continue.

“Do you want me to go?” he eventually asked.

“Please do so.”

He nodded and attempted a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “As much time as I need, Cole. Remember that.”

She lay on her side to look out the darkening window, the flash of pleasure at shutting down his conversation fading with that same, powerful realization. “You are my prisoner, and I have as much time as I want with you. If not me, another.” She thought it in Drift Dive’s soft voice.

* * * * * *

Where once there was a lightly forested valley, there was a lake. North of Applewood, south of Trottingham, one and a half miles west of the Whitewater Stampede, a band of unmoving water gleamed in the dying sunlight between two rocky ridges, furred with conifers and oaks. The water followed the valley’s curve before terminating at a sheer floor of unbroken rock that eventually became the foundation of the wide, empty meadows over which the angel had passed half a day ago. The rock floor had become an eerily singular floodplain, a silver coin at the tail of a silver snake, its head, Octavia and Pinkie were only just seeing as it moved into view, the battered bulk of Applewood’s possessed hydroelectric dam, tilted, motionless, sinking slowly into the ground under its own weight and swallowed by the millions of gallons of river water it had pulled with it when it finally left the city.

A gray mantle of storm clouds had built up before them, and they could see the steel mist of rainfall covering one side of the dam. The wind would carry it toward them, and Whooves said he expected it to start getting seriously wet in only a couple hours. Octavia didn’t care, but she was surprised that Pinkie didn’t either.

Silent, the two of them at the angel’s head, they watched the intruding lake beneath them. In places, drowned houses were visible next to sunken lines of fence or blurring dirt roads. Occasionally, a cart or a picnic table. Once, a pristine, white gazebo framed by what had once been a flower garden, and what looked like tinsel and streamers from an unknown celebration.

The dam itself had come to rest like a fallen leaf, tilting to one side against the sharp upturn of what eventually became the first of a chain of mountains far west of Trottingham. Black boreholes with trails of mud and lichen hanging from their bottoms dotted its face, the only features that were still recognizable. In the middle of the dam’s concrete superstructure was a fray-edged hole, a dark, skeletal pit of shattered concrete, twisted gantries, and dismembered machines, large enough to consume the angel and their friends’ airship if they flew into it. A trail of cogs, pistons, and unrecognizable wreckage preceded the dam’s final resting place under its water. There were no other signs of struggle or effort; to Octavia, it appeared Princess Luna, returning to Canterlot, had taken five or ten minutes of her time to punch a hole through the monster machine, doing, with a fraction of her power, what the ten of them had not been able to.

“It’s almost an insult, kinda, maybe, kinda,” Pinkie said.

Octavia looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“How we didn’t even get a second try to stop it. The princess just swooped in, blasted it, and went about her business. Like she didn’t have to wonder if we’d be able to beat it if we got another chance.”

“I think that we could have.”

“Do you?”

Octavia frowned and closed her eyes. She had slept that night, and her usual batch of nightmares was fresh in her mind.

“Do you really think we could’ve?”

“I must think that, Pinkie, because, if we cannot stop that, then what hope is there of stopping Discord?”

“We’ll have the Elements then, though. Silly.”

“I guess I do not think about them very much. Do they really make so large a difference?”

“Uh, yeah. They’re the most powerful magical thingies in all of Equestria.”

“That dam seemed quite powerful to me.”

“The Elements of Harmony are better. They… I dunno how they work. But they’re better.”

Lightning lit up the northern sky, and, after a second, thunder poured over them. A lightning bolt jumped down to touch a crane at the top of the dam.

“Neat.”

“I should not complain. It is defeated, one way or the other; that is what counts.”

“Don’t worry, sis.” Pinkie scooted closer and entwined her tail with Octavia’s. “Soon, we’ll only have two to go, and then it’ll be over. That’s, what, maybe a month? Two at the most? We’ll make it.”

Octavia forced a smile. “I wish I could be so cheerful.”

“Hm.”

A gust of wind blew the first suggestions of rain into their faces, and Octavia closed her eyes again.

“What made you want to come with us?” Octavia asked.

“I dunno. I just did.”

“It is not like you to separate from your friends for something like this.”

“It might be.”

“Not from what I have seen.”

“I dunno. It felt right. I figured I… I dunno, maybe it was time I started earning my keep around here.”

“You do not think that you do enough for us.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” Pinkie said in a small voice. “I’ve actually thought it for a little while.”

“I will not deny that I am happy to have you with me for this task, but I think that your sense of obligation is misplaced.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because not all of us should be doing what I do.”

“What you do?”

“What I do, running headlong into danger, or volunteering for impossible tasks. I am not trying to sound arrogant, or bitter; I do those things, have done for some time.”

“I guess so.”

“Do you remember when I got angry with all of you, a long time ago, because I did not believe we were doing enough as a team? I do not remember which town we were in, but it was shortly before collecting an Element.”

“I think I remember.”

“I was wrong to be angry, and to demand what I did of you. You all, I mean.”

Pinkie nodded and didn’t speak for a time. Rain lashed the dam and the water at its base, still a ways from where they flew. Trottingham was near, but not yet in sight.

“I don’t think you were wrong,” Pinkie said at last.

“No?”

“We do need to focus, or we did. We needed to get our heads in the game, to get serious about our jobs, and now we are. I am, at least.”

“Okay, in that way, yes, you are right, but I was wrong to demand it in the way that I did. What I am about to say is selfish, and, for that, I apologize; I will apologize to the others when we reconnect. At that time, I thought myself the only pony among you who was taking her task seriously. I wanted you all to be more…” She sighed. “To be more like me. It truly sounds despicable out loud.”

“I forgive you, sis. Ponies say mean things when they’re mad.”

“I now realize just how foolish that was of me. Roan showed me that.”

“Twilight?”

Octavia rested her chin on the insufficient railing on the angel’s side, the metal wire digging into her uncomfortably. “Seeing Twilight taking matters into her own hooves, embalming Applejack like that, dragging her half-finished corpse back to the hotel… it frightened me. Not in the same way that that dam frightened me, but in a quieter, more… I do not know how to describe it. It is something that I would have done, or tried to do, if Twilight were not there, and seeing it done by another bothered me more than I like to admit.”

“Why’s that?”

“I have no idea, but it made me realize that I was wrong to want you all to be like me. It would be a group of ponies jumping at the chance to prove themselves, to show how strong they were.”

“You’re saying we need ponies Fluttershy and Rarity too, not just the big, glorious heroes like you and Twilight.”

“I am no hero, but yes, that sounds right. Some of us are better suited to support and to help.”

“Do you think I’m one of those?”

“I do, yes. No offense, but you have never flourished under pressure.”

“None taken. I know I’m not the best when it comes to all the fighting and magic and stuff.”

“Not at fighting. You are a powerful mage, or have the ability to be, I remember.”

Pinkie’s tail fell away from Octavia’s, and she looked pensively out at the storm. Lightning flashed again on the dam’s husk.

“Have I said something wrong?”

“I don’t like magic,” Pinkie said. “In fact, maybe I hate it.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You did not seem to dislike it months ago, when Twilight was helping you with that large sigil.”

“That was, well, that was duty. It was also easy.”

“It did not look easy.”

“It was. Octavia, can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Something private.”

“All of this is private.” As if to prove her point, she looked behind, making sure Whooves was not within listening distance.

“You actually are right, it’s not like me to do something like this. I’ve always preferred doing easy things, and that spell was easy.”

“It is no crime to prefer doing easy things, as long as that preference does not overtake your sense of what is right.”

“Yeah, and I’ve done a pretty good job of balancing it out, so far, at least. I think.” She smiled at Octavia, who did not return it.

“Then what is there to worry about?”

“I guess nothing.”

“You have done your best in all things. You cast your spells, you were there for every fight.” She looked at the dam in time to see yet another lightning bolt hit it.

“We lost the fight with the dam. It trampled us.”

“Only one of us should bear any blame for that.”

Pinkie stiffened. “Um…”

“I am speaking of myself. Everypony did their best, but I could have given more.”

“You… passed out.”

“My own weakness. I should have fought smarter and not exhausted myself.” She looked at Pinkie, her eyes rimmed with red beyond the usual bloodshot obfuscation. “And for that, I am sorriest of all. I failed everyone, and Applewood is ruined because of it.”

“It’s… it’s okay, sis.”

“It will never be okay.” She sat down, then crouched to rest her head on the angel’s cold, metal back. “No apology I can make will undo what happened.”

Pinkie put a hoof on Octavia’s mane, stroking it softly. “I forgive you.”

“I do not deserve forgiveness. No mistake like this deserves it.”

“Good evening, ladies!” Whooves cried, emerging from a hatch nearby. “Octavia, my dear, I must show you something I’ve discovered about this brutish machine. Why… oh my, am I interrupting something?”

“Forgive me,” Octavia said, rising and swiping a hoof across her damp eyes. “I was just finishing a conversation with my sister. What do you need to show me?”

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine, thank you. What do you need to show me?”

“Here, land us by that dam, hm? Only for a few minutes. I think we could all benefit from a splash about in the water.”

“Yes, of course.” She wiped her eyes again. “Angel, land close to the dam. Keep us level when you do it.”

“Come, come,” Whooves said, going back down the hatch. He took Octavia down a narrow corridor and through a heavy, metal door on tight, recessed hinges. Inside was an arrangement of opaque portholes in an uneven line, supported by rough, metal stands. Octavia had been in the room only a few times, but had never found anything to do there.

“What is this?”

“Well, at first, I thought I’d found a congress of lamps, but there was no way to turn them on. Further inspection revealed a very vague shape in each one, and some experimentation and study revealed what I think is these circles’ purpose.”

“Which is?”

“I think they might be windows. Those spotlights on the outside, I think they’re the angel’s eyes.”

“I see nothing through these.”

“Yes, yes, so I thought as well, but I think you need to ask it to let you see through them.”

Octavia thought, wondering why a machine would need so many eyes. “Angel, let me see through your eyes.” She felt foolish saying it, until the glass circles flickered and turned transparent.

“Hotcha! The doctor solves yet another mystery!” Whooves cried with a jump of glee.

Octavia put her face to one, its fit around her skull nearly perfect. She could see the false river beneath them, growing closer as the angel descended. She could see the lush green of grass on the valley’s sides bowing out slightly at the fish-eye lens’ edge.

“Beautiful view, wot?” Whooves asked, his voice muffled from inside another eye.

“This will be helpful,” Octavia said.

“Come again?”

She pulled her face out of the socket. “I said that these will be helpful for the battle. We can stay inside and see what is happening.”

“Ah, and not have to worry about being pitched off the side, yes, I see.”

“Doctor, I appreciate you finding these. I doubt that I would have.”

“Nothing at all, my fair lady.”

They went back into the open, and the rain had reached them when they had landed. The angel rested by a shallow pond off the lake’s side, hemmed in by a low, rocky strand. They could see wilting treetops reaching up from the lake’s surface, and, farther out, entire acres of forest motionless underwater, appearing to sway as the rain pelted down. From above, streams of water slid down the dam’s face, over abutments, off edges of scaffolding and hazard-yellow gantry arms.

Whooves dove straight into the water, kicking up silt and drowned flowers as he frolicked. After a second, Pinkie joined him, making little noise save for an occasional giggle. Octavia, meanwhile, stepped in at the pond’s far side, where the water was calmer, and submerged herself to her muzzle. The cold water bit into her fur, greasy and unkempt with poor maintenance.

“Capital idea, doc!” Pinkie said.

“That’s what I’m here for!”

Octavia let the rest of her head sink, and she watched their bottom halves move about inside the tiny pool. Coming up for air, she pushed through the water, keeping toward the side so she might not have to attempt to swim, and came to the strand, only a couple feet thick, barring them from the rest of the tremendous lake.

She took care as she climbed out, only putting weight on a hoof when she had sufficiently tested the ground on which she rested it, and balanced on the band of mud and stone. She was not aware of the voices’ cessation as she crossed and reached a shallow slope.

Octavia had never learned how to swim, and vague warnings pushed one another around in her mind, that she should not be getting so close to such a large body of water. If she were to slip, or go too far out, or be pulled by an unpredictable current, she had no way to survive on her own. Still, she let herself take a few more steps out into the lake, putting the strand farther behind her.

Lowering herself once more, she put her eyes to the water’s surface, momentarily mirroring the leaden, occasionally flashing sky around her searching, purple irises. She rose for a second for a new breath and then submerged fully. Her slope remained even for a few feet before turning to a monocline, over whose edge she could see the group of trees protesting their slow, drowning decay amid the flanged teeth of collapsed rock from the cliff just beyond, its very top still above the water. Farther along, where the trees thinned, she could see a cottage, its windows reduced to dead eyes, its chimney smokeless, its roof sagging like an empty sack. A scattering of firewood lay across the path to the front door, which remained closed.

Then, rising back up, the dam’s massive corner loomed, a heavy, concrete page, a towering parapet from which its spare, lightning-scorched cranes kept watch. As her face parted from the water, she once again saw only the argentine sky, bejeweled in rain-speckled, epilimnial dignity. From her angle, there was little to suggest what ruin lay below.

“Thinking of taking a swim?” Whooves asked from behind.

“I cannot swim,” Octavia said. “So no.”

“It is beautiful in its way, though. Could be a national park in the future.”

“It is an affront to Equestria.” “And I am responsible.” She looked at Pinkie, who gave her an encouraging, but distracted, smile.

* * * * * *

Colgate woke up with a start and reached for her notepad, intending to write down her dream; she woke feeling that it contained the key to her escape. As she wrote, though, it faded, and she was able to only produce the words “large entryway, smoking hole.” Meaningless, and she crumpled up the paper with a grunt of dismay.

Voices outside. Patients were coming and going to their breakfast, and she knew she would need to be among them eventually. She couldn’t hide in her room forever. She rose and took another cold shower first.

At the table, croissant with butter on her tray, she was able to take furtive looks at a large, tawny earth pony with shaking hooves and a tongue that constantly darted out between his lips. He gave her a courteous, rushed nod when he noticed her looking, and she looked no more.

“Today’s a new day,” someone said in the crowd, and Colgate knew it was directed at her, a taunt, a reminder that her captors had all the time in the world.

“Wait,” she said, not realizing she had spoken aloud. An idea coalesced quickly, and she stared down at her napkin, imagining writing it out.

“You okay, Colgate?” someone asked, and she got up and rushed for her room, for her notepad. She wrote down the few words she recalled or that made contextual sense to her, which, although useless on their own, were enough to focus her whirling thoughts. She emerged from the room with a clear plan.

The Datura had taken such great care to construct a realistic rehab facility for her, and the actors had been so true to their roles, it had seemed impossible that she should escape, but, writing her jumbled thoughts out, it had come to her. They were being too loyal to their disguises. She had only to check herself out and go elsewhere, and they would be powerless to stop her without dropping the façade.

She needed only to figure out where to go once she had left. Rouge’s house was out of the question; she had shown her true colors the day she left Colgate alone with the police. Living with her would be living with Fancy Pants’ eyepiece, in her mind.

Colgate went to the front of the facility and smiled at the receptionist, the same tiny pony who had checked her in days ago. The receptionist smiled her real smile as she saw Colgate again.

“Hi. Um, this is a little embarrassing, but is there any way for me to know who brought me in? I’d like to talk to her.”

Colgate got into Fleur dis Lee’s car without a look back at the facility. The supermodel wore an olive green cloak that showed only a triangle of her pale throat and chest, and, as soon as they were away, she removed her blue bouffant wig. Colgate just stared at her.

“I don’t want ponies to recognize me if I’m visiting the Maiden,” Fleur said casually. “Hence the disguise. How you feeling?”

“Top of the world.”

“Yeah?”

They drove in silence, Colgate watching the familiar sights of Lower Canterlot come back to her. She recognized many locations as they passed. “Yeah, that’s right,” she eventually said. “Never better.”

“Happy to hear it. Do you think you’ll be up for some work tomorrow? Rest today, of course.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Is that a problem?” Though Fleur’s voice remained the same, Colgate felt a change in the car’s energy.

“It’s just weird to be thinking about Datura stuff again, after rehab.”

“Understandable. I won’t ask you for any details about your time there.”

“That’s nice. I have a question for you, though.”

“Ask away, though I can’t promise to answer everything.” Glancing at Colgate, she added, “I’ll tell you as much as I can, how’s that sound?”

“We’ll see,” she thought. “Why did Fancy Pants try to kill us?”

Fleur nodded thoughtfully as they merged onto the freeway, heading up the mountain. “Do you want me to be brutally honest? It’s not going to be pleasant to hear.”

“Better this than rehab.”

“Hm. Well, Colgate, simply put, you and Rouge were being more trouble than you were worth. Monitoring you was becoming too resource-intensive, and too much of a headache. Plus, you were starting to become a threat to civilians, so Fancy did what had to be done.”

“But now I’m free. Of attempts on my life, anyway. How’s that?”

“When you figured out the trap, we thought you might have some potential still.”

“We?”

“Fancy and I.”

Colgate looked back at her wig, discarded in the back seat, suddenly nervous. The thought occurred that she may have simply stepped into an extension of the same prison she thought she was leaving.

“We’re married,” Fleur said with a smile. “You didn’t know that?”

“So I’m smart enough to keep alive,” Colgate said.

“You’re valuable enough to keep alive. There’s a difference.”

Colgate glared at her.

“How did you figure out you were in a trap, anyway? I’d love to know.”

“I dunno. I just did.”

“Yeah? What about that photographic memory you had a while ago?”

“What about it?” Colgate didn’t remember saying anything of the sort.

Fleur sighed, and they drove on.

Fleur’s house, one of two in Greater Canterlot, the second being the one she shared with Fancy Pants, was a two-story dollhouse with fat, turquoise trim on grass green walls, bay windows on both floors and a varnished, wooden porch. A weathervane creaked on the roof, and flowers bloomed in plantar boxes beneath each window, as well as in a small garden around the back.

Colgate looked down at the address painted on the curb before her mailbox, then across the street at the other houses’. “Your address doesn’t match the others.”

“Impressive,” Fleur said, unlocking the door with her magic. “Come.”

Colgate stepped into a messy home that belied the neatness outside. A sheet was thrown carelessly over a black sofa, its corners catawampus to the arms, a large, fluffy cat dozing in the middle. It looked up at Colgate sleepily for just a second.

“It’s one of five changeable addresses. I rotate them from time to time, just to make me that much harder to track. Same with the street name.”

“Do they have real-life counterparts?” Colgate went into the kitchen and grabbed an orange from the counter. The knife block had been emptied of its cutlery.

“Only one. It’s a trap house, abandoned.”

“Interesting.” She looked at the orange and, after a moment of thought, brought it up to her horn to try to pierce the skin.

“Let me,” Fleur said, simultaneously grabbing the orange and slipping Colgate’s magic suppression collar off. Deftly, she peeled the fruit with a narrow beam of magic. “Here.”

Colgate nodded to the knife block. “Just in case my head wasn’t all together?”

“I would understand if you were angry with me, and I’d rather we keep any hostilities quite in the verbal category.”

“How am I to know you won’t pull something on me when I fall asleep?” Colgate asked, looking into her orange before biting off a slice. “How do I know I’m actually worth keeping alive for you?”

“Because I need you for an assignment tomorrow, and maybe for a lot of assignments in the future. Here, did you see the TV? I heard you enjoyed relaxing in front of one.”

Colgate glared at the large television on its polished, wooden stand. “I’d rather not for now.”

“Suit yourself. Hey, watch it, I don’t want any drips on my carpet.”

Colgate looked down, then at the orange, and squeezed it in a band of blue magic. Orange juice darkened the light gray carpet.

“You are predictable, aren’t you?” Fleur asked. “You’ll find I’m a forgiving mare, to a point, but a good Datura has enchantments on her house. You might not want to test anything more destructive; the building is less compassionate than I am.”

“I can feel the love from here,” Colgate said. She watched Fleur cross to the kitchen and grab a paper towel. “Is the cat another Datura trick?”

“Why not find out for yourself?”

Colgate looked at the cat, still sleeping, its tail tip harmlessly swaying across the blanket. Possibilities burst in her mind’s eye, but she stood where she was.

“Come along. You’re getting the spare bedroom, right next to mine. Contain your excitement if you can.”

Colgate followed her down the corridor to the back of the house, into a small bedroom with space enough for a dingy mattress and a bare nightstand. Its surface still bore the streaks of a cleaning agent, reflected in the sunlight from between open blinds.

“On the same principle as the knifeless kitchen, there aren’t any bed springs for you to dig out. Again, just in case.”

“Trust is a core component of a successful Datura team,” Colgate said. She had been taught the phrase back in Ponyville.

Fleur, still smiling, turned to look her in the eyes. She flipped her mane out of her face, giving Colgate a pert grin of small, pearly teeth, looking then every bit the supermodel she was. Her voice was sweet and soft. “I sprung you from rehab today, where you were because you held a pony hostage and forced her to drive you out of a crime scene you created. I won’t apologize for taking precautions.”

Colgate looked past her at the window, then the nightstand. It was too much like the room in rehab; she imagined Fleur knew that.

“Those are the pertinent bits. Bathroom’s on the right side of the hall, it’s all yours. I have mine next to the bedroom. Oh, also, you won’t find the sharp objects I’ve taken, if you go looking for them.”

“I’m not going to hunt for knives,” Colgate said.

“As I said—”

“Hurting ponies is the farthest thing from my mind.”

Fleur smiled a little lower. “Let’s give it a few days.”

Faith Rewarded

Chapter Ninety

Faith Rewarded

With Princess Luna’s dark blotch of magic flaring and swooping inside the gaping crater, and heat as though from a second sun rising from the same, the Elements of Harmony, complete at last, walked with the guards and their quiet charge into town. Ponies watched them openly, some with unconcealed curiosity, others with what almost seemed fear, or concern. One guard had divested himself of his armor, his underclothes soaked with sweat, and the other only had his helmet off. He had removed a hair tie to let voluminous, tangerine locks spill across his back and flutter in the erratic wind.

They agreed to stay behind and do what they could to assist the remaining princess, and the Elements agreed to take Colgate and drop her off back home, or the next town, whichever came first. In the discussion, the unicorn in question made not a sound, watching the interlocutors impartially, only acknowledging that she had paid attention by following Twilight and the others back to the airship, where she went to the back and watched. Pinkie sat beside her, but quietly.

Before taking off, Applejack insisted on inspecting the ship for damage, incurred either by the teleportation or the ungraceful landing on the desert floor. While she dissociated into the ship, the others half-heartedly went about searching for obvious problems, but no one’s mind was on the task. They could tell Applejack’s wasn’t either when she raised them up into the sky without preamble. Once aloft, they took off at an odd angle, which Applejack explained was due to a pair of tilted propellers; nothing serious, at least for the time.

The black crater poured forth hot air as they approached, and they had to curve widely around it. They could see the imprisoning obelisk obscured by heat waves like a mirage, and Luna occasionally floating into view above the gateway like a darkling will o’ the wisp.

“How much hotter’s it gonna get?” Rainbow asked to no answer.

As the crater again melded with the landscape behind them, though, routines were able to return to normal. Rainbow flew alongside the ship, Pinkie tried to talk with Colgate, Applejack steered, and Rarity and Octavia found places to sulk while Twilight went below to occupy the room across the way from Vinyl and Big Mac’s, the two of them having a hushed conversation, the topic of which Twilight felt no need to guess.

She locked the door and opened a collection of books on the bed, wreathing them in the various implements she had purchased in Canterlot.

When she had all of her tools spread before her, she stopped to listen to the engine. They had put the crater behind them as easily as any other city, any other problem. She doffed her Element and held it out, studying her stretched reflection in the jewel and the golden headband. Her mane was longer, her coat unkempt and fluffy, her expression duller. Replacing it, she thought of their next task, their final movement: banging on Discord’s door and showing him that he could not undo them, for all his magic and clever ideas. Princess Celestia, without the aid of Discord’s magic, would be free of her prison, and would return to her throne before anyone could be the wiser. Everyone would simply think she was away on another diplomatic mission.

Twilight wondered whether Princess Luna would tell them that, if she could not free her sister.

“None of that matters right now, Twilight,” she thought to herself, refocusing on the task before her. Approaching Discord where he lived seemed the correct choice, of course, and the most heroic, the most fitting. It was for those reasons that Twilight imagined that he might not be there when they did arrive.

At seven o’ clock that night, Pinkie rattled Twilight’s door almost off its hinges with a buffet of energetic knocks, and Twilight snapped at her that she would be right out. Balanced on a narrow stand on the gently rocking floor, there smoked a bowl of water, and Twilight covered it with a long cloche that she had had to purchase at a kitchen supply store.

“Yes?” she asked, cracking the door.

“Dinner!” Pinkie said, bolting up the stairs and out of sight.

Twilight sighed and had a last look at her incomplete experiment before joining her crew mates on the deck, sitting in a rough circle beside the torch as she had every night before. This time, the circle had expanded to include one more. She shook hooves and introduced herself, and Colgate nodded politely.

“We’ve still got plenty in the way of food,” Applejack said, unpacking one of their bags for the flatware. “Hope you like dehydrated greens, Colgate.”

“It’s fine,” Colgate said. Her voice was guarded, but no one looked at her as they began eating.

“So how’d you get roped in with us, doc?” Rainbow asked.

“She was in the throne room with us, I remember,” Rarity said.

“Coincidence,” Applejack said, glancing at Big Mac, who gave no acknowledgement.

“I have no explanation,” Colgate said.

“She lives in Ponyville too,” Pinkie said to Octavia. “We were all friends back then. You know, back then.”

“It is good to meet you,” Octavia said.

Colgate nodded at her. “You’re going after Discord. I believe I heard that.”

“You won’t have to leave the ship when we do it,” Twilight said, looking also at Vinyl. “We wouldn’t ask that of you.”

“It bein’ so dangerous an’ all,” Applejack said.

Colgate nibbled on a withered spinach leaf.

“How is Ponyville, anyway?”

Colgate looked at her. “Not sure. Haven’t been.”

“Haven’t been? Why? Did you move?” Pinkie asked.

“Canterlot now.”

“I thought you had a nice little niche for yourself in Ponyville,” Twilight said.

Colgate thought for a moment. “I did, but they replaced me. Some new doctor showed up and started taking all my patients.”

“Ponies can just do that?” Pinkie asked.

“Nothing stopping him,” Colgate said. “He did a better job, they liked him better, so he stayed. The hospital only had the facilities and staff for one at the time, so I had to move. Either that or take a nursing job.”

“What a jerk,” Rainbow said.

“I bet you were able to find something good in Canterlot, though,” Fluttershy said. “Until… well…”

“That actually brings me to this point,” Twilight said. “I’ve been thinking, and I’d like us to get this done with.”

“Here here,” Rainbow said.

“How much distance do we have to cover?” Octavia asked.

“A lot,” Twilight said. “But I think I have a way we can get there faster. I haven’t tested it yet, but my figuring seems sound so far.”

“Yer not gonna teleport us, are ya?” Applejack asked.

“Unfortunately, it’s going to have to be something a little more roundabout.” She looked at Rainbow, who shrugged. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to need to do some work with you tonight.”

“Why me?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight eyed Colgate, still waiting at the circle’s edge, offering nothing. “I’ll explain later.”

“What about her?” Rarity asked.

“You said somethin’ earlier,” Big Mac said to Colgate. “Ah didn’t make much of it at the time, somethin’ like ‘Ah think Ah know what he was talkin’ ‘bout’.”

“Is it important?” Colgate asked.

“We have found, in our work, it’s best not to let strange things go unexplored,” Twilight said. “No matter how minor.”

“And you gotta admit, you are pretty strange,” Pinkie said.

“Pinkie,” Applejack said.

“For being here, I mean!”

“How’d you come to be in the palace at the same exact time as us?” Twilight asked. “Princess Celestia,” she glanced back toward Moondrop, just a smear of torch light behind them, “said she wasn’t expecting any other visitors.”

Colgate stared past her into the darkening sky, as if she might find an answer amid the scattered, waking stars. It was eight o’ clock; in her efforts to help her sister, Princess Luna had not started the night on time.

“We should have talked to the guards,” Octavia said. “They would have known.”

“They didn’t know anything,” Colgate said. “They just let me in.”

Twilight shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Guards don’t just let unscheduled ponies in.”

“Except us,” Applejack said.

“We’re special!” Pinkie said.

“I was scheduled, though,” Colgate said. “My driver told them to let me in, and they did.”

“Your driver?” Rainbow asked.

“Someone from the castle sent to pick her up?” Vinyl offered.

“Palace,” Twilight mumbled. “Colgate, why did you need to go to the palace so bad?”

“I didn’t,” Colgate said.

“This isn’t adding up,” Fluttershy said softly to Rarity, who studied Colgate intently.

“Can you explain a little more?” Twilight asked. “I’m sorry, I just feel like we’re hardly getting anything from you, and this might be important.”

“Who drove you?” Applejack asked. “This gal have a name?”

“Vanilla Cream,” Colgate said.

There was an intake of breath, and Rainbow uttered a muted curse.

“You’re sure you heard that name right?” Rarity asked.

“Reasonably.” She looked first at Rarity, then Applejack. “He just came out of nowhere.”

“Yes, he likes to do that.”

“Darlin’,” Applejack said, sighing, “this is gonna take a while to explain. Twi, you wanna get down there an’ do yer magic experiments while we hash this out?”

“How much are we going to tell her?” Rarity asked.

“Just who Vanilla is, fer now.”

“That leads to so much else, though,” Twilight said, running a hoof through her mane. “Answer any questions she has, but don’t volunteer what you don’t have to, I say.” She tapped Rainbow on the wing joint. “Come on, let’s get to it.”

“How much do you know about what’s going on between Discord and the Elements?” Vinyl asked Colgate.

Twilight and Rainbow went below to Twilight’s cabin, where she lifted the glass off her smoking water.

“Stinks, Twilight,” Rainbow said, flapping a wing once to clear the smoke that wafted over to her.

“I know. I should have bought some air fresheners earlier, but I didn’t think of it,” Twilight said. “Sorry, I was working on something else when Pinkie told me to come up.”

“What is it?”

“Come look, maybe I can show you.”

Rainbow joined her to look into the water, which had taken on an aubergine tinge, liquid amethyst cupped in its stone mortar. Twilight tapped the bowl’s lip twice and lit her horn gently, rimming the water with a halo of magic, lightening it. She tapped it once more, hard enough to send a ripple moving across its surface. In its wake, darkness spread, and small, tinny voices emanated into the room.

“What the heck is it?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s not supposed to look like that,” Twilight said, turning to consult one of her books. “This is supposed to be the deck, but I’ve got it… hold on.” She read for a minute, and Rainbow kept looking into the water, not wanting to just watch Twilight studying. “All right, I see what I did wrong. Anyway, that’s the sky above the deck. I wanted us to look down on the others, but at least we can hear them.”

“Awesome.” Rainbow lowered her face over the water until her muzzle was almost touching it. “We gonna use this to spy on Discord?”

“That’s the idea,” Twilight said. “That’ll be a lot harder than this. This,” she shook the water, erasing the magical image it showed, “was practice. Much needed practice, and not what I want you for right now.”

“All right, lay it on me. What’s the plan?”

“You have that weather magic Vanilla gave you some time ago. Are you any good with it?”

“Uhhh, define ‘good’.”

“Functional. I think I’ve found a use for it.”

Rainbow scoffed.

“Can you summon wind?”

Rainbow flapped her wings in Twilight’s direction.

“Magical wind, Dash. It needs to be magic.”

Above, Pinkie was cheering about something; they could hear her hooves stomping about the deck, and Applejack’s laughter.

“I can’t believe how lightly they’re taking this.”

“We’re gonna go blow up Discord in, like, a week,” Rainbow said. “Less, if whatever you have in mind works.”

“I hope it does.”

“Yeah. Hey Twilight? Seriously, what the heck was that, earlier?”

Twilight levitated a book to herself and began to page through it. “My little display?”

“More like you totally unloading on Vinyl like that.”

“You were on my side, I recall.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Twilight thought. “I’d rather continue not talking about it, actually.”

“No, nuh-uh, not with us using these things so soon,” she said, tapping her own Element. “What’s the deal?”

“Rainbow, this is gonna take a while to explain,”

“That’s fine. They’ll be a while, we’ll be a while, everypony’ll be up for quite a while yet. I’m not tired.”

“Hm.”

“I get that you were mad,” she started.

“I thought it was a bad idea as soon as we left Furnace Creek,” Twilight said. “I didn’t say anything because we were already committed, I figured I was just getting cold hooves, but once I figured it out, it got even worse.”

“No arguments there, but why the explosion?”

Twilight scowled and again looked to her book.

“Is it Vinyl?”

Twilight chewed her lip, a deep frown pressed onto her face. “I don’t like her. I don’t like her attitude, I don’t like how she’s always sucking up to Big Mac and having all these private conversations with him. She’s so sanctimonious and so… I don’t know how to put it.”

“She just wants to fit in,” Rainbow said.

“By activating the curse before we had a chance to figure out what to do? Great job of fitting in.”

“Okay, I can’t speak for that, but I know one thing. She looks up to you, Twilight.”

“Sure.”

“Do I gotta say it?”

Twilight smiled, masking true pleasure with lines of bitterness. She knew what was coming.

“We all look up to you, ‘cause you’re the leader. C’mon, you know you are.”

“You look up to Octavia.”

“Yeah, back when she was kinda nice, and not all weird.”

“She’s always been weird.”

Rainbow breathed out through her nose and regarded Twilight impatiently.

“Fine, I know,” Twilight said. “I’ve known all that for a while. Since Roan, I suppose.”

“Is it ‘cause Vinyl doesn’t recognize your leadership?”

“That would be petty of me.” So spoken, she glanced back at her book, no longer holding in mind what she actually needed from its pages. “And maybe it is,” she added softly.

Her thoughts were so crowded with worries that she did not register the strange surprise she otherwise would have when Rainbow sat on the bed beside her. “Okay, well, what are we gonna do about it?”

“I don’t think we can get rid of her.”

“And I don’t think we should. Other than you, she’s taken with us all pretty good.”

“Then I’ll just deal with it.”

“That’s not gonna be good, you know.”

“Of course I know that. Of course I know.” She closed her book and floated it to the pile of others. “I was so mad because I explained why going here was a bad idea, but then I turned around with everyone else and marched up to the palace all the same. Then we went in and Vinyl did what she did, and the rest… it was so preventable, that’s what really gets me. All I had to do was put my hoof down and say ‘No, I’m not going up there,’ and our timer would have run out, and then that would be that. I would have looked like a jerk, but at least Princess Celestia would be safe.”

“Maybe,” Rainbow said slowly. “We also wouldn’t have the new girl.”

“So?”

“Seriously? You don’t see it?” She chuckled. “Twi, she was there ‘cause that Vanilla brought her there, the same pony-thing who engineered Big Mac’s glamour. Isn’t it obvious? That Colgate is the one we were doing this for. Vanilla was influencing us from both sides of the glamour.”

Twilight thought, and she had to concede. Vanilla would not have brought her there for no purpose.

“I mean… for all we know, maybe Celestia being imprisoned is gonna be good in the end too. We don’t know, you know? Lots can happen between now and then. I hope it doesn’t, but, you know.”

“I do know.”

“If it makes you feel better, I do still think Vinyl crossed the line. It wasn’t her choice to make.”

“Thanks, Rainbow.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” She forced a smile, embarrassed at the very real relief inside her that she had not cause any irreparable damage, at least not with one of her friends.

“You feel better?”

“A little.” She paused, considering her words. “I had a bit of a flashback earlier.”

“Yeah, we, uh, could tell.”

“Hm. Figures.”

“It looked better than they used to.”

“Thank goodness,” Twilight said. “Here, let’s get to this. It actually is pretty complicated.”

Rainbow hopped off the bed and looked back into the water, rendered ordinary by Twilight’s touch. “I’m ready. And yeah, I can make magical wind. It’s not great, though.”

“It doesn’t need to be great, it just needs to be consistent.”

By midnight, everyone was still wide awake, despite the length of their day. They were high above a sere plane of variegated grass and dirt, the only signs to mark their movement the veins of open space that marbled the southern countryside. In the cloudless sky, it was cold enough for them to see their breath, and when wind blew, wings contracted and tails curled up against flanks. Colgate seemed to have understood what was told her of Vanilla Cream and his relationship with the Elements and with Discord, but she still held her own counsel, watching from the ship’s back with soft, emotionless eyes.

Twilight’s plan began with a large sigil on the ship’s poop, painstakingly drawn with a lantern held at her side by Fluttershy, who watched each brushstroke with fascination, wanting to ask but not wanting to break her friend’s obvious concentration. The sigil, Twilight explained, grabbing a circular charm she had fashioned from an old life preserver and spare silverware and placing it in the middle, was to establish a neutral pocket of air just off the ship’s back that would travel with them, formless and impervious to wind.

“What possible good is that?” Applejack asked.

“One second,” Twilight said, activating the sigil and stepping back. Its ghostly glow threw their shadows out into the night for an instant as it sizzled and burned with soft magic, until the light had dwindled to remain around Twilght’s strange charm. She grabbed it and placed it on Rainbow’s head, and Pinkie laughed.

“Dashie! No way! That looks awesome!” Pinkie shrieked. “Let me!”

“Don’t touch that,” Twilight said. “That’s for Rainbow only.”

“Care to tell us what it is?” Applejack asked.

“It’s a sigil hat,” Rainbow said, taking to the air.

“It imprints its own design onto the surrounding air,” Twilight said. “Which is why we need to keep the same bubble of air behind us. Otherwise, each iteration of the sigil will just blow away as we float along.”

“Oh, so this way, you’ll have the same air for the imprint the whole time,” Fluttershy said.

“Ah, of course. Nothin’ simpler,” Applejack said.

“And then Dash here summons up that weather that she dislikes so much and gives us a little breeze,” Twilight said. “Go on, Rainbow, try it.”

“Now?” Rainbow asked, poised behind the airship. She had to shout to be heard over the turbines.

Twilight waved a hoof, and Rainbow gave a small shrug before slowing her flight and closing her eyes.

“Come on,” Twilight whispered. “Come on.”

All at once, they jerked forward, the balloon sighing in its cradle as a strong wind ruffled their fur. It lasted but an exhilarating moment, and then they were slowing again.

“Uhhhhh… did it work?” Pinkie asked.

“Rainbow?” Twilight called, trotting to the rail and looking out. For a second, Rainbow was invisible, but she soon appeared against the velvet desert night, flapping indignantly.

“Yeah, great one, Twilight,” she said, landing on the deck and pacing an agitated line. “You didn’t tell me I’d get blown back on the first gust.”

“Are you okay?” Pinkie asked.

“Fine, Pinks.”

“Sorry, Rainbow.” Twilight thought. “I’m pretty sure I know what went wrong.”

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “Well, let’s hear it.”

“But I’m not sure how to fix it.” She sighed. “Crap. I have to think about this.”

“Was she attached to the ship at all?” Fluttershy asked.

“Sure wasn’t,” Rainbow said.

“But there’s no way I can attach her to the ship without ruining the setup,” Twilight said. “The second she’s attached, any force she’ll exert in one direction will just get cancelled out by the force of her pushing herself back.”

“An’ probably break her back in the process,” Applejack said.

“Great, just what I want to hear,” Rainbow said.

“I’ll take that,” Twilight said, grabbing the sigil hat. “At least this seems to work.” She looked down at the sigil, an insignia of ashen lines that seemed branded into the deck. “No one mess with this.”

“Is that it fer the magic display tonight?” Applejack asked.

“Probably.” She looked down at her work for a moment. “I’m going to bed.”

“Try to get some sleep,” Fluttershy said.

The morning saw them crossing a wide swale inside the ragged fang that terminated at a pair of decussate chasms, twin braids of water gleaming from where they ran off an outcropping of stone to pool an unknown distance below. Twilight had been up half the night, pouring over her books and, later, sketching designs on the deck while Octavia, sleepless as usual, watched without comment.

Her efforts were not wasted; Rainbow’s second attempt carried them at more than twice their speed into the golden sunrise. Rainbow was able to coast behind the ship on a cushion of magical wind, duplicated from her own supply and curved back around the neutral air space Twilight had created the night before. Three pieces to the project, but, to the eye, it looked simply as though Rainbow were hastening to keep up with the speeding ship. The sight of the pegasus, wings flapping languidly but body racing behind as if on an invisible cable, was a source of raucous amusement for Pinkie and Vinyl, who stayed at the ship’s back to keep her company as they shot, arrow-like, across the dismantled south toward Draught Castle.

******

Whooves toasted the ponies he didn’t know with as much jocularity as the crowd that surrounded him, tapping his glass almost hard enough to knock it off its stem and stain the ecru tablecloth dark brown with cynar. Dinner was finished, plates and tureens and swanlike gravy boats swept away by silent butlers and replaced with ashtrays, carafes, and decanters of dark liquid, and more types of glassware than he could name. The long dinner table was host that night to an intimate gathering of friends and coworkers, all come together to celebrate what Whooves could not recall. The pony who brought him along had been vague on the details.

Soft laughter at his side drew his eyes to the pony in question, his new coltfriend, an interior decorator and amateur fashion reporter named Porchlight. He regarded Whooves with almond eyes, magnified slightly behind glasses on almost invisible frames. “Oh, doctor, you slay me. I hadn’t noticed until just now your choice of glass.”

Whooves looked at his drink and laughed as well, pretending to understand. “Yes, well, you know me, a slave to the classics as always, hm?”

“Oh, stop,” Porchlight said, playfully batting his lashes. “A digestif in a grappa glass. Ah, look! I can see you’ve drawn Lady Coil’s eye as well with your little trick.” He winked before turning to accept a light from the other side, his cigar perched at a jaunty slant in his ocher unicorn magic. Whooves was not envious; he hated the smell of cigars, and was able to bow out gracefully from attempting an undignified conversation with just his mouth to hold the object.

The celebration quieted, and, for a moment, all was the sound of matches scraping, cigars puffing, burnt matchsticks ticking against tempered glass. Most ponies, he could see, were nearing the end of their night. The dinner had gone on for three hours, and since first arriving, he had seen hardly more of the house than the dining room and a modest projection into the anteroom from where he sat. He had seen fancier and better-decorated houses both; his current host’s hadn’t even a chandelier above the dining table, exposing a drab ceiling to Whooves’ quiet amusement and pride at having noticed such a detail, for it would surely provide useful conversation at his next party, scheduled for nine o’ clock that same night, not two blocks away.

“I hear Jelly Jars is seeing someone new,” an older stallion said, a fat, black cigar clamped in his yellow teeth. “I didn’t catch the full name. Something with an L? Lemon Twist, something along those lines.”

“Lemon Loops?” a stout mare asked. She adjusted her shawl, giving all a glimpse of her naturally gray mane, something which Whooves had on good authority she hated, but could not change, for all styling products had only blended and made the mane all the uglier. Short of shaving it all off, she had no recourse but to keep her head constantly hidden.

“Lemon’s daughter went off to the war,” someone else said, and Whooves sipped his drink, ears suddenly up. Any talk of the battle—“war,” as they called it, as if a single engagement with Discord’s forces was enough to constitute a war for them—had him immediately alert, lest his name come up before he had a chance to utter it himself.

“Came back with a case of the shivers, I heard,” a lanky, rose-colored pony said. “Poor thing.”

“A ghastly business, all would agree,” Porchlight said.

Two pairs of eyes came to rest on Whooves, and he marked them as Porchlight continued. “The good doctor here was involved, you know.”

“The doctor?” the gray-maned mare asked.

“He’s a veteran.”

“Why, yes,” Whooves said with a chuckle. “Ah, but it was such a small thing, I durst not take too much credit for the success of our side.”

“I heard you were taken aboard Discord’s flagship. Is it so?” Lady Coil asked. She was a young mare of amber coloration, her face done up in enough eye shadow that she reminded Whooves of a pair of sunny side up eggs on a plate—another useful piece of gossip for later. She was their host, wealthy beyond her years from an inheritance from her own parents, both deceased, and poised to inherit some four million bits more on top of a flourishing lingerie business, which her uncle’s son had spurned in favor of a life of foolish labor in Appleloosa.

“Not exactly taken aboard, kind lady,” Whooves said. “Picture this: the teeming sky above, the land torn asunder below my sore hooves, and me connected to them, already pushed to my last extremity by the chase so rendered by the fiercest band of spear tossing juggernauts to ever see and then reject the boon of life’s tenderer sensibilities. Brutes, they! Why, but a one of them could wreck this little soiree with armored hooves alone!” He paused for a drink, flicking his eyes guiltily to Lady Coil. His calling the dinner party a “little” soiree would surely go repeated behind his back.

“Over the cinder of a smoking knoll I leapt, darting for the river and the cover she offered, but to no avail! For there, mired in the mud like a waiting predator, sat the ghoulish mound of black metal that will haunt my dreams for all my days to come. And, lo, that serpentine foe did rise up from an unseen nidus and spread wide his mismatched limbs, as if in welcome. ‘Welcome, Doctor,’ he seemed to say in his face. Ah, such a face!” He shuddered and took another sip, looking around and relishing every pair of eyes that was glued to him. “That gruesome, patulous mouth agape to show row after row of razor-sharp teeth, those dead eyes rolling in their sockets like cue balls sent a-scatter across the felt of my psyche!”

“Discord himself?” someone gasped.

“None other, my dear pony. He clasped me to his breast, and for one moment—more than one, even, to be fully honest—I thought my last living sensation would be the alien squirming of his heart inside that long cage of chest, held against my own like separated kin at last reunited, like dual philosophers once divorced from each other and finally meeting in bitter discourse years later.”

“Astonishing,” someone else said, and everyone nodded. Smoke rose in strands to the naked ceiling.

“But what he didn’t count on, that rascal, was good old earth pony strength!” Whooves said. “Make no mistake, his was a grip to shame any metallurgist’s vice, but the life does not quit your humble doctor so easily, no ma’am. I was able to struggle and free my hooves, and strike him, just there.” He tapped his muzzle, which was going tingly from the drink. “As solid a hit as ever there was, and I was thus dropped, free to take my hurried leave. Into the river I soared, over rail and bank both, splashing into that cold cradle of safety.” He shivered for effect, meriting a chuckle from Porchlight.

“I’ve not met someone who has rattled that demon so,” Lady Coil said. “You must be very brave.”

“Bravery, ho ho! ‘Twas a natural impulse, my dear. After all, who among us wouldn’t do everything she could when her life was threatened?”

“Don’t diminish your own courage,” Porchlight said. “You faced down that savage all on your own.”

“No ordinary pony could attest to it,” an elderly stallion said, clasping a short, curved pipe in his teeth.

“My son is a reporter,” Lady Coil said. “I’m sure he would love to bend your ear for a story, doctor.”

“Why, I’d jump at the chance,” Whooves said.

“Lady Coil, is it true that your son is recently engaged?” the elderly pony asked. He blew a dainty smoke ring to punctuate his question.

Lady Coil chuckled politely. “You’ve been listening to Tea Leaves again, I presume?” Her tone turned icy. “There is no engagement.”

“He’s getting rather old to not be finding someone,” Whooves said.

“I hear that Burgundy Briefcase is looking for a suitor,” the gray-maned mare said.

“I heard that she was seen leaving the hospital recently,” Porchlight said. “Losing weight.”

“My sister goes to the same hairdresser as Briefcase,” the rose pony said. “She heard that the poor mare’s been starving herself for the upcoming fashion show.”

“Only just now? The show’s in two weeks,” Lady Coil said.

“She hasn’t looked better, from what I hear,” Porchlight said.

“Once their ribs start showing, that’s where I lose interest,” another mare said. “Were her ribs showing? You know they’re committed if their ribs are showing.”

“Haven’t heard.”

Another interlude of silence, and smoke puffed all around. “Pity,” someone said, shaking his head.

“Have you heard about the recent turmoil in Lower Canterlot?” Whooves asked. “I was there not long ago, visiting a friend.”

“Those Pegasus Advocates are appearing in the news more and more, it seems,” Lady Coil said. “Barbarians.”

“As long as they stay below us, I’m not concerned,” the elderly stallion said.

“Ah, do not speak so soon,” Whooves said, refilling his glass from a tall decanter. “They’ve been spotted here as well.”

“Here?”

“Causing no harm,” Whooves quickly added. “But their presence has been noted.”

“With those ghastly red ribbons they all wear, it’s no surprise,” the rose pony said.

“Dreadful ponies, but I must say, I find them fascinating,” Porchlight said. “Their choice of garb is so… bold. Were it not for the dangerous implications, I would love to experiment with such a style of dress.”

“There is nothing interesting in their fashion,” Lady Coil said. “Clashing colors on top of too much makeup.”

“But is it not through such disharmony that beauty might be found?”

“If you want to find beauty in those louts, I’d ask you to do it off my mountain,” the gray-maned mare said, adjusting her shawl again.

“I for one have an even more interesting piece of news,” Whooves said. “And you’ll hear it nowhere else.” He turned to butler who was moving nearby. “Water, please.”

“What news, good doctor?” Lady Coil asked, giving him a smile that he returned, eyes locked for just a second, hers overlaid with the smoke from her slender cigar, the color and smell of cedar.

“The Astras are in town,” he began. “Old news, yes?”

“It was through them that we met,” Porchlight said, rubbing Whooves’ back affectionately. “Mutual friends.”

“And so fortuitous it was,” Whooves said, leaning close to smell Porchlight’s neck before resuming his alert storytelling position, back straight and hoof cocked to gesture as he needed. “The Astras and a certain… rival family, so to speak.”

“The Mansels, yes, I had heard that,” the rose pony said. “Both in town together.”

“Which can mean only one thing,” the elderly stallion said. “Soon enough, the blood will be flowing.”

“I already have one eye on the obituaries.”

“Ah, then you may not be so surprised as I thought,” Whooves said. “For your dearly loved body count has already started to rise, zero to six in the course of a day.”

“Impossible,” Porchlight said.

“Dreadful,” a mare said loudly. Her drink glass was empty, and her eyes were cloudy.

“There’s no mention in the news,” Lady Coil said.

“Ah, but it’s not for the news to know quite yet.” Whooves winked and sipped his water. “Tomorrow’s news, perhaps, but not today’s.”

“This is happening tonight?” the gray-maned mare said.

“Has it already happened?” the rose pony asked.

Whooves smiled slyly. “I cannot say, for I truly do not know. All I know is that the Astras have made their first move. Six Mansels—or friends of the Mansels, some, I believe—now find their peace in the ground, or will be quite shortly.”

“How can that be?” Lady Coil asked. “The Mansels will surely slay them.”

“If what you say is true, it bodes ill for us all,” the rose pony said. “There’s a reason those two have observed an armistice in Canterlot.”

“The advantage was theirs, so they pressed it,” Whooves said with a shrug. “They must have had some inside information.”

“You know something?” the gray-maned mare asked.

Whooves let the silence drag on for a minute. “Only this,” he finally said, leaning forward archly, savoring the eyes once again on him. “The Mansels find themselves in a tight spot, having lost an important player in their game. Retaliation, at this time, is impossible.”

“How can you know something like that?” the elderly stallion asked.

Whooves winked and brushed a mote of dust off his jacket.

“I don’t believe it,” the rose pony said.

“The Astras are not above such a thing,” Lady Coil said. “I do not think the Mansels will be as easily cowed as you say, doctor. They have friends everywhere.”

“More than six,” the elderly pony said.

“But this ultimatum will surely resound throughout the Mansels’ channels,” Whooves said. “A warning to all.”

“A challenge to all,” Lady Coil corrected.

“Could be interesting,” the elderly pony said. “Such an event might flush out friends of both families, show us who’s who. I, for one, would welcome knowing where certain loyalties lay.”

“Suspicious of some friends?” Porchlight asked.

“Aren’t we all?” the rose pony asked.

******

The warehouse worker, Whippoorwill’s connection for the storage of his Mansel contraband, left after adjusting his black sunglasses and wide hat. The evening was overcast, and a fine, frosty mist hung around Canterlot Mountain, turning the individual lights of the upper city into a sheet of soft starbursts. Whippoorwill closed the door and went to his couch, sitting down with a reeling mind.

The next Mansel shipment was two days late, and he had received no message across his communication sigil. That alone would not have worried him overmuch, and it hadn’t until earlier that afternoon, when someone had knocked on his door. Few ponies knew where he lived.

Six dead, all Mansels or Mansel contacts, in the space of four hours. Two reporters, one police constable, a small business owner, a mechanic, and a nurse: all spaced across Lower Canterlot, all with their own parts to play in the Mansels’ plan for Canterlot, of which Whippoorwill had been told he was to be the final piece. The reporters and mechanic were his ears, his contacts to the locals, and the messengers he had planned to use to veil his involvement with White Wine and her Pegasus Advocates. The nurse and business owner were potential distributors, and the officer protected them. It had originally been a small-time drug operation, a vestigial accessory to the main Mansel income, but he had been told to grow it into something larger.

Instead, they were gone, and he had apparently slept through it all.

The warehouse worker’s words rang in his ears still, advising he find a place to hide. The attackers, they agreed, did not know where he was, else he would have been a seventh name for the papers, nor did they know of White Wine’s involvement; but that was no guarantee of continued safety.

But where to go? He had no more money, for even though White Wine had agreed to give his product a trial run on the streets, no sales had been made, her operation being delayed at his request. Now, with no more product behind him and his contacts gone, he was adrift. He had no one to ask for a place to hide. White Wine would never allow it, he knew, and he didn’t trust the warehouse worker. Strange, it seemed to him, that such a pony had survived the attack on his other contacts, and then been so quick to inform him of their demises.

He tried to think of what the warehouse pony might have to gain by crippling Whippoorwill’s fledgling process. Pride or satisfaction, perhaps, but it seemed unlikely. There was no profit in it that he could see, for no profit had yet been made, no reliable business structure forged.

The warehouse worker had understood Whippoorwill’s suspicions, and had offered no suggestions on the attacker’s identity, not wanting to dwell on the subject and potentially say anything incriminating. A choice made from legitimate fear that Whippoorwill might retaliate wrongly, or an attempt to make himself as forgettable as possible, Whippoorwill wondered. He had no answers.

He went back to the door and checked that he had locked both locks. It was also possible that the worker had been followed. He went to the bedroom and grabbed his favored pulse crystal from a shoe box in the closet, oiled the magical straps that affixed it to his foreleg, and sat on a bean bag chair with his back to the wall, facing the door.

And then, there were the Astras. As he understood it, the Astras and Mansels generally respected one another in Canterlot, a city to which neither family could fully lay claim. Each had their contacts in the great city, each had their share of political influence in the palace, each had their small voice to occasionally reach the princesses’ ears. A war between the two on Canterlot soil would help no one, it had been tacitly agreed.

Knowing that the Astras understood such an armistice had emboldened him in the beginning, his one assurance of relative safety if he could just keep himself hidden from their attention. They had to know that the Mansels were weakened, an assumption he was only vaguely comfortable making himself based on the lack of communication, the lateness of the second shipment. There were only two possible leaks, he thought, ponies who knew him and also knew the Astras. The warehouse worker, again, a pony he more and more rejected as the architect of his misfortune; and White Wine.

At first, he had thought that her Pegasus Advocacy had been an act, a device to frighten him off, but the notion evaporated with a simple background check. One day in the public library, going through old records and newspaper articles, had disavowed him of any lingering ideas of the kindness and warm-heartedness that had drawn him to her in their youth. She owned four clubs in Lower Canterlot, three of which were praised for their trendy food and drinks, and their tasteful entertainment, but one, Velocity, had come to be a haunt for the local Pegasus Advocate chapter. From what the papers said, White Wine had done everything to make them welcome, though no crimes had been tied to her directly—only her clientele.

She would never go to the Astras for anything, he knew. Even if she were to rise above her prejudices, she could never risk being seen associating with them without risking total excommunication from her group, or worse.

It seemed to Whippoorwill that neither of them was the leak. Both stood to gain so little and lose so much, but he could see no third pony.

Still, the fact was that he was untethered, and too soon, for there was no one he could call on to lend him the place to stay and hide, to wait for whatever events had been set in motion to reach their conclusion—if they hadn’t already. There was no knowing.

Whippoorwill turned off the lights and peeked through the blinds, watching the street for activity. A sole pedestrian walked under a street light near the intersection directly in his line of sight, but too far to afford any detail. Using the open fridge for light, he checked his cupboards and evaluated how much food he had, how long he could stay inside the cramped apartment. If he ate frugally and drank tap water, he reckoned he could last for five days, maybe six, maybe more if he felt he absolutely must.

Back in the bedroom, he went to his full closet and put an ear to the wall to see if he could hear anything from his neighbors. A TV was playing at low volume, but nothing else. Slowly, he returned to his bean bag chair and faced the door again, his pulse crystal in his lap. He dozed, wondering whether it might already be too late, that his betrayer had walked out the door unharmed for the last and most crucial time.

******

Wings and Jet were out again, it being another Friday night, and Flitter was staying in. She waited twenty minutes after the two pegasi left before dialing Ink Pearl’s number.

It was with visible envy that she watched her roommates leave for the night. Her first week with The Equine Sun, the magazine where she had been set up to intern, had been awkward and uncomfortable, not as bad as she had expected but still not pleasant. The other interns, while much more educated on matters of writing and reporting, had nowhere near the experience Flitter did with being part of team. To them, she appeared as a level-headed student going about her career at a slower pace than most, sacrificing the burn of ambition for the comfort of stability, and though she tried to keep her questions to a minimum, some difficulties were unavoidable. She had had to construct a hasty lie to explain why she didn’t know most of the big names in reporting, and then spent that same night pouring over the final chapter of her textbook, “Reporting Today.” Ink, she found out, had gotten her an outdated copy.

She was, however, the only one to not complain about the menial tasks her supervisor gave her. From signing for packages to opening and sorting mail, cleaning desks to helping carry boxes of replacement typewriters, she did it with a smile. After all, what were a few errands to being chased through the sky in a dizzying, magical whirligig? Her peers just shook their heads, impressed and confused at how unfazed she was at not immediately getting a spot with one of the writers or editors.

But, on a Friday night, eyes sore from reading and head full of facts she had no personal interest in, that sunny attitude was all but extinguished. She had told Wings and Jet she would try to catch up, but she had neglected to ask them where they were going, and they to tell her. They were in a rush to get out the door too.

Ink Pearl’s phone rang four times before she picked up with a curt “yes.”

“It’s me,” Flitter said.

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Flitter.”

“Ah.”

Flitter waited a moment, expecting Ink to say something. She could picture her standing on the other side, looking intently at a wall fixture, patiently awaiting whatever Flitter had to say.

“Okay, well, not a lot to report this week,” Flitter said. “I flagged two names.”

“Ready.” She said it instantly. No rustle of paper on the other end; Ink truly had been waiting, prepared, for the call.

Flitter read off the names and ages of her two suspicious ponies, who she actually believed would not turn out to be worth investigating.

“Anything else?” Ink asked when the scratching of her pen stopped.

“Yeah, one thing,” Flitter said. Ink hadn’t asked how her first week was. “I know it’s not strictly my job, but I found something interesting that you might want to hear about.”

“Mm-hm.”

“So a couple days ago, there was this PA demonstration in Cherry Stream Park, which is right next to Cherry Stem Mall.”

“PA, as in Pegasus Advocate?”

“Yeah, them. It’s kinda weird, this is actually the second time I’ve heard about them recently. Anyway, it was a ‘peaceful’ demonstration.”

“Mm-hm.”

“But it didn’t take long to turn violent—that’s not the weird thing, I know that’s common. Well, not common, but…” She paused, expecting Ink Pearl to fill in a word for her and let the sentence continue. On the other side of the phone, there was only breathing. “Well, anyway, so it turned violent. Here’s the strange thing, though. According to, like, a dozen eye-witnesses, the pegasi at the rally, some of them, they attacked back with magic.”

“Uh-huh,” Ink said, doubt coloring her tone.

“Like I said, a bunch of ponies saw it. There were shields and telekinetic pushes and all that. No one pulled out any pulse crystals, thank Celestia, but I think someone said there was a fire. Or it might have been fireballs, I forgot which.”

“That’s very interesting, Flitter. I’ll make a note of it.”

Flitter waited.

“Anything else?”

“Wha? Uh, so, uh, do you want me to look into it more? It seemed pretty weird to me.”

“…Why are you reading about this at all?”

Flitter’s mouth went dry. “I… thought you wanted me to pay attention to any sort of strange activities.”

“No, I told you to pay attention to any ponies who match up with any of the measures, on that sheet I gave you. I have a copy right here.”

“No, I know that, and I have been, but I just noticed this, and… I don’t know.”

“What’s your job?”

“My job?”

“Yes, what do you do for me? What did I tell you to do at our meeting last week?”

Blushing, Flitter licked her lips. She was glad Ink Pearl couldn’t see her, but it didn’t smooth her surprise at the harsh tone. “You, uh, you told me—that is, I’m to pick out the ponies—”

“You are to read every article you can without compromising your position, and from those, pick out ponies that don’t match up with that sheet of measures I gave you.”

“Yeah, that, and then I’m…” She paused for a second to think. She thought she knew, but Ink’s questioning cast uncertainty on her memories. Maybe she had missed some important, but tiny step. “Then I report their information to you. Every week. Uh, even if there’s nothing to report, I have to call you and tell you that.”

“Okay, so why are you reading about PA rallies in the park? What good is that to your job? You saw that the article didn’t focus on any specific ponies, but you read it anyway.”

“‘Cause it was interesting,” she wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead, she hastened to find a different explanation. “I mean, the eyewitnesses, they might have had something.”

“The reporters wouldn’t have asked them any of the questions on my list, though.”

Flitter looked at a spot on the wall. “Yeah, guess not.”

“I need you to not waste time on things like this. There’ll be time to follow-up on magical pegasi later, but we need to secure the city first.”

“How long is that gonna take, anyway?”

“I have no way to know that. Flitter, in the future, I need you to ask questions before you spend time on something like this. I would flag that story, then call me later that night and ask if you should read it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Anything else?”

“No, that was it,” Flitter said in a small voice.

“Great. I’ll follow-up on these ponies you told me about tonight. Call me again next week.”

“Sure thing. Have a good night.”

Ink hung up, and Flitter just looked at the inert receiver cradled in the crook of her hoof. She wasn’t aware of it until after she replaced it, but her face was wrinkled in a mixture of insult and incredulity, and questions trickled in with relief to be done with the call. How would she know to flag a story without at least partially reading it first? Why did it matter that she read a single article that happened to not contain the information they wanted? Wouldn’t it be safer to just read them all anyway?

Ink had not sounded angry, Flitter realized, just annoyed, as well as curious. Curious why Flitter had chosen to approach her with something not related to her immediate mission.

She looked at the closed front door and whined, “Take me with you.”

******

It was six o’ clock that same night, shortly before Flitter’s call, that they came to rest on the flat dust that surrounded the walls of Draught Castle. As always, the countryside was eerily quiet, the distant tides of grassland barely lucent in sunset nearly completed. A triangle of birds flew west, curving around to not go over the walls.

“Where are we?” Colgate asked.

“This is Discord’s castle,” Rarity said. “You can stay on the ship, dear.”

“No, where are we in the country? In relation to the other cities?”

“Pretty far,” Twilight said. “I don’t know how many miles off the top of my head.”

“Closest city’s probably what’s left of Applewood,” Vinyl said.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get ya home in plenty of time, ‘specially with RD behind us now,” Applejack said.

“I just wish you’d thought of it earlier,” Rainbow said.

Twilight looked at her, disdain appearing on her face for a fraction of a second. “Me too.”

“You’ll be fine,” Rarity said to Colgate.

“Can we not?” Colgate asked, following them down the plank and onto the dry fields.

“We have to!” Pinkie said. She puffed out her chest proudly. “Element time!”

“Think she meant something else,” Vinyl said. “Hm?”

“Never mind,” Colgate said, slinking back to the deck.

“Go with her, Vinyl,” Twilight said.

“I can be useful,” Vinyl said.

“I don’t—”

“She’s right, Twi,” Applejack said. “That light of hers is good for disorientin’. If she wants to help, let’s let her.” She glanced at Octavia. “Y’okay, Octavia?”

“Fine,” Octavia said. She had stopped a distance in front of everyone and faced the castle, motionless, her body and its shadow almost indistinguishable from each other where they connected.

“Mac?”

“We have the Elements of Harmony now,” Rarity said. “Does your glamour even work anymore?”

“We can talk about that later,” Twilight said, joining Octavia at the front. “Each second we spend outside this place, each second we’re wasting. Whoever’s coming, come on.”

As one, they walked to the first outer ring of stone, unmarked, almost black in the twilight. Stars were beginning to appear around a waning crescent moon. They heard no sound, but felt the vibration in the ground, and they all stopped as the wall rotated, its entryway coming to rest directly before them.

“Ah fergot they do that,” Applejack whispered.

They walked to the doorway, smoothly cut into the thick stone, wide enough to admit them all at once. The ground bore no sign of damage from the wall’s rotation, an indication of highly advanced magic at play, and all for show. Its implications soured Twilight’s mood even further.

“I’ll keep his shield down, and I want the rest of us to tire him out. If I can pace myself this time, I’ll be a lot more help,” Twilight said.

“Will you need us to get away when you are ready to activate the Elements?” Octavia asked.

They all stopped and stared, some of them worried, others simply dismayed. In stark contrast to the desert outside, they found themselves at the edge of a lush, grassy meadow, precisely manicured save for tall dandelions standing in large clusters. From a small fountain came the lone sound of running water, several yards in front of them and nearly invisible; behind the walls, only weak starlight made it in to light their way. They had agreed to forgo magic light until encountering Discord so as to not give themselves away.

As they passed the fountain, all was well. The second wall was rotating to face them as the first had, the only moving part in the static scene.

“Any second now,” was all Twilight could think. Since landing, she had repeated it so many times that she no longer believed it. In their flight north, she had worked on her divination project in the cabin, leaving to eat and little else. From the three days of attempts and experiments, she had been able to only discern one unsettling fact: there would be no signal or drama to unfold before the fight began, Discord’s love of panache giving way to the plain desire to finish what had been started. Both sides of the protracted battle were weary of each other, of the seemingly endless spiral of feints and near misses. In the silent field, she felt alone and vulnerable. The dandelions leaned toward them on thick stalks, as if listening for hushed conversation.

“Cut it out, Vinyl, that’s creepy,” Rainbow said.

“Not doing anything,” Vinyl murmured.

“Everypony stop,” Fluttershy said. They froze in the first field, nearly to the second doorway, temptingly open to the second space. Everyone looked around, each scared pair of eyes reflecting spangles of starlight with the jewels around their necks. It took a moment, but then Twilight noticed what had stopped them: the night had changed. In the course of their walk, the crisp, clear darkness had taken a rubicund tinge, most evident when they looked to the stars, dimmer than before.

“I’m not doing it,” Vinyl repeated.

“Forward,” Twilight said. “He’s trying to scare us.”

“It’s working,” Fluttershy said.

“Forward.”

Through the second doorway, they were met with more grass and more dandelions. As they moved, the night seemed to lift, but instead of white light, there was only deeper and deeper red, slowly beginning to outline their shapes against the blackened slabs of stone behind like sketches. No sound, no heat, no tingle of ambient magic accompanied the change, and still nothing moved in the shrinking distance.

“Will you need us to back away when you activate the Elements?” Octavia asked again.

“Oh, sorry, Octavia. Yes, that would be smart.”

As they walked, the dandelions thinned and disappeared, and they came to the third and final wall, its door again facing them. In the scarlet night, it appeared as a gaping wound, its dull edges healed over. Looking up, no stars were visible, but the castle was. Thin, black lines had appeared around its edges, as if rendered in ink.

“Any second now,” Twilight whispered to herself as they passed through. She lowered her head without thinking, though the arch was many times taller than she. She recalled Discord’s question from their second fight, only twelve days past: “Is this what you came for?” It did not seem so likely that he would not meet them, as she had thought back in Moondrop.

On the other side, there was no more grass, only bare dirt and scatterings of gravel, shining vaguely like exhumed rubies, the ground bright as if smeared with raspberry jam. Above, the night sky was the dark of ichor, and the edges of cirrus clouds stood out, thin red scratches in the firmament.

“There’s the door,” Rarity said. No one looked at her.

The white door to Draught Castle was closed, its sides decorated with winding etchings of olive branches; in the red light, they looked like arteries entwining the door’s alettes. Above, the castle rose to a modest height, its tallest turret not much higher than the walls that enclosed it, about fifty feet. There were no visible defenses or armaments, no visible occupants.

“Where is he?” Rainbow asked. “Do we go in?”

Twilight hesitated. She had expected Discord to appear on the castle grounds, as he had both times before, not to be invited in and shown the front door.

“Yes, we go in,” Octavia said, not walking. Twilight glanced at her and started the march herself, and they followed.

“Anythin’ from that glamour?” Applejack asked. “Anythin’ along the lines of ‘look out’ or ‘get ready fer a surprise’?”

“It’s quiet,” Big Mac said.

“I’m bringing up the shield,” Rarity said.

At the marble doors, Twilight raised a hoof for the brass knocker, a loop of metal engraved to resemble a unicorn horn, curving impossibly on itself to taper into the thick ring that served as both base and terminus. Then, thinking better of it, she simply pushed the door open with her hooves. It swung back at her first touch, gliding across carpet that, in the oven-like glow, resembled an open vat of blood in both color and smoothness.

“This far, no further,” Discord said from their sides, reaching a long, boneless arm in to grab the door from the other side and close it. No one jumped or panicked, and, for a second, both parties looked at each other. Discord lay back against the door jamb, head and limbs attached to a body so thin as to fit inside the vinelike carvings. He extruded himself as the ponies assembled in a rough cluster just outside the door, Twilight’s horn alight and working the first spell to dispel the thin shield around him.

“Got those Elements, I see,” he said, his head flopping awkwardly on a noodle neck. As his shield ate itself away, Twilight backed up to give herself room for her next attack, but someone else acted first.

Discord’s head jerked suddenly with a screwing, twisting noise as it was wrenched from the wall like a fruit from a branch. Tiny limbs and wings wiggled in protest as Fluttershy gave him another good yank, and Twilight joined in, wrapping a knot of his midsection in her telekinesis, squeezing as well as pulling. From his mouth came a strangled whistle of pain or shock.

First, his left arm snapped out of the engraving, scaly talons splaying out and catching the stone on needle-thin claws before falling loose and useless to the gravel. The group was backing up as a whole, and Octavia and Vinyl had added their magic to the effort, growing with distance as his limbs stretched and strengthened, roots attaching him to his castle. He laughed as his lion’s paw came unstuck, and his head twisted three hundred-sixty degrees as he lurched forward, papery wings flickering to keep him somewhat upright, like a figurehead come alive. The red light deepened, and his laugh loudened.

With a grunt, Fluttershy threw herself back and tugged harder, and with a gristly pop, the head came off. Fluttershy fell back as the head landed at their hooves, and Rarity shrieked. At once, Discord’s head swiveled and gabbled words at them as his body spilled out. As the magic that had pulled at it slackened, the wires of flesh came unbound from their anchoring wall and looped and loped over one another to coil and slither in a living pool on the ground by the door.

“Now, let’s do it now!” Rainbow shouted, fumbling with her Element.

“Let’s not!” Discord bawled, head bouncing up in place, as if eager but unable to reconnect to the mess of body.

“Twilight!” Pinkie shrieked.

Twilight already saw it, and silently cursed herself for not reacting quicker. The body, reduced to a collection of strands rather than a singular corpus, was not harmless; it had lain inert for just a second before tightening back to the wall, snapping into place with a sequence of twangs, from each meeting point expanding what in the red light resembled a living network of veins, or a possessed extension of the engravings around the door.

Someone kicked Discord’s head aside, where he landed in the gravel with an indignant “no fair!” His voice, however, was submerged under the abrupt sound of spitting electricity.

At first, Twilight thought it was one of her friends’ spells, but all she could see—all she could bring herself to watch—was the march of stringy flesh up the walls, until, finally, against the scarlet dome of night, the first feelers jumped off the highest reaches, cilia for a mere moment before spiraling down as full-length ropes to scatter gravel and whip in a frenzy, pulling their lower parts out of the walls with small pops and tiny clouds of dust.

Voices shouted to back up as the castle appeared to come alive, the spaghettified pieces of its master bounding off its sides and sparking against each other, making their own little, red stars in the moving morass. A headless snake pit all at once enraged and given direction, the mass sloughed in a loose whirlpool before the castle’s ingress, splinters of its whole occasionally climbing back onto the wall to limply fall back, sparks large and small clicking and chopping all the while.

Far off, Discord’s head laughed. “You likey, my little ponies? That’s what’cha get for stealing my noggin!”

“Make it stop!” Pinkie wailed, and he laughed.

Twilight turned to follow Pinkie’s example and collided with Applejack in the retreat—more of a regrouping, to her mind—and Rarity cried out in a familiar tone. Twilight, getting to her hooves, saw their shield flickering. She called out to Rarity, but was not heard.

“Everypony back!” Rainbow shouted.

“No!” Twilight shouted, quickly searching her repertoire for something more powerful than telekinesis. “Vinyl, move!” Without waiting for her, Twilight shoved the white unicorn out of the way with a wall of telekinesis and let loose with a cone of superheated air, the first idea she landed on. She couldn’t see it, but she could see her friends jump back, heads turning wildly as they thought that they had been brushed with something of Discord’s.

“Ooooh, feisty!” Discord called out as the noodles flashed and writhed faster. Sparks glided high and exploded into smaller streams of themselves in the moving mass, which was beginning to lose shape and form to Twilight, who had looked too long. The constant onslaught of bright light inside the red air was making her eyes hurt, and the energy she had poured into the magic—enough to ignite a living tree at fifty paces, but concentrated enough to barely graze her friends—had left her dizzy.

“Great, did it again,” she thought, letting the magic go to catch her breath. She had used too much too early, and still the viper pit of disorderly tissue unbound and bounced across the gravel, spreading from the center but not coming directly toward them. Single loops would occasionally jump high enough to stand alone in the red night, burned arcs on all their eyes, and Twilight could only try to scoot back quicker. She could no longer tell how near they were to the waves of sparks, or how far to the back wall, but Twilight felt confident that Discord had barred their escape, or would when they got close.

Head pounding, eyes burning, and ears ringing with the dizzying sounds of small motion amplified, she didn’t even recognize the ponies that darted around her, which one was whom, which one might plausibly be of some help to turn the battle around.

When Octavia’s explosions finally came—she apparently being as stupefied as Twilight for the first couple minutes—they did little more but stir gravel, each grouping of noodles splashing apart without apparent harm in Octavia’s fiery blasts. In the crimson night, the explosions appeared to take on momentary form, as kernels of popcorn rupturing before being replaced with horse hairs of smoke.

Octavia stopped only a minute later, as Twilight was attempting to master her vertigo and stand up. There was too much going on; she could not even see whether any pieces of Discord’s body had stopped moving. The sparks, the motion, and the sound of swishing stone in the red world were all she had to piece their situation together.

Twilight sat down again, trying to build up the concentration for a different spell while still steadying her breathing, not noticing Pinkie trotting away from the group.

“Hey!” Discord shouted.

“Twilight’s down!” Rarity called out from afar, herself sounding nearly exhausted.

“I’m not down,” Twilight said, but there was no one close enough to hear.

Then, Discord’s head flew over them again to land much closer, rolling until he was propped at a strange angle on his horns, face down and exposed neck to them, the site of its separation flat and featureless like an eraser.

“Pinkie, that’s genius!” Rainbow yelped, racing over. Behind her profile, Twilight saw a tower of sparks grow and blow themselves out ten feet into the air on a twisting limb of vines.

“Here we go,” Pinkie said, skipping between ponies deftly, pausing to give Octavia an affectionate pat on the back. “Twi, you with us? C’mon, girl!”

“Why am I not getting it?” Twilight thought, standing and joining them. It was just his head, trying to turn over, its hurried words muffled with gravel.

“Ready,” Rarity said, panting at Twilight’s side. “You three get back.”

“Ready,” Fluttershy said at Twilight’s other side.

Then it clicked, and Twilight tried to straighten, but succeeded only shifting her weight and nearly falling into Rarity, who caught her. Through it all, the Element of Magic stayed affixed atop her head. In all her time abroad, she could not recall it ever falling off on its own, and resolving to no longer take that for granted, she squared her shoulders as best she could and closed her eyes in preparation for the outpouring of light.

“Yee-haw!” Applejack cried out.

“I’d really rather you not!” Discord shouted, managing to turn himself to the side enough to get words out.

The hooking cords of Discord’s body jostled and jumped close by, tracing their forms against the red walls like long sparks flipped out of a pan of flaming grease, their electric discharges sizzling like the same. Twilight’s chest heaved, her mind was fuzzy, and she thought she could feel herself lifting into the air for a second, then for two. It made her want to throw up.

“Do it!” Octavia said. “You have him.”

Her eyes closed, Twilight clung to the feeling. She tried to think of magic, to recall all her spells and all her knowledge, to remember how she had used magic so often in the past to help her friends and neighbors. The feeling had always felt natural before.

Celestia's Eye

Chapter One hundred-three

Celestia’s Eye

Octavia sighed and took water, and looked at each of them with her familiar, stony expression. They looked back similarly, on each of their faces writ the same mixture of pity and amazement at what they had just heard—rather, the fact of hearing it at all. Pinkie hugged her first, then Vinyl, and Rainbow after a moment’s self-conscious hesitation.

“And for all of this, I am deeply sorry,” Octavia said. “You know that, but I have to say it.”

“I’m just taking it all in,” Rarity said. “You’ve been holding onto this for how long?”

“Most of my life.” She looked at the sky, at the shapes of the mountains coming closer.

“It’s good to get it out,” Fluttershy said.

“Yes.”

Fluttershy fluffed her wings. “It is, right?”

“You’re still shaken,” Vinyl said. “Anyone would be.”

“I feel fine,” Octavia said. “I feel…” She got up, and no one joined her at the gunwale, where she mumbled something into the wind. She came back to them. “I feel no better and no worse, if you want the awful truth. That is my secret, the reason I have become the mare I am, but saying it to you all now, I am realizing that that is not who I am today.”

Vinyl smiled. “Who are you?”

“By my reckoning, I am just some small, sad pony who let things get out of control.” She floated up her brunch, cold on the deck with their cards, and turned toward the back. “If you will excuse me, I would like to be alone for a time. Please let me know if the sky changes.”

They let her go, looking at one another mutely, all eyes finally settling on Pinkie.

“It’s all true,” Pinkie said. “She was exaggerating in some parts, like how miserable certain bits were, but it’s all true. I haven’t thought about Tumble Tower in forever.”

“So that drunk, Joyful Weaver, got him?” Rainbow asked.

“We always assumed he or a friend of his stabbed him or shot him or something, in town, and he tried to make it to the farm. I had no idea Octavia had seen him.” She shook her head. “I always figured it was the money thing that had made her so…” She glanced at the ship’s back. “You know.”

“It explains why she has such a thing about inaction,” Rarity said.

“I feel bad for her,” Vinyl said.

“I’m not sure,” Rainbow said. “Part of me feels bad, but you gotta admit…”

“Well, she just did admit it,” Big Mac said.

“No, what I mean is—I mean, let’s face it, we’re all sorry for her now ‘cause we know her, but that’s a pretty terrible thing to do to somepony.”

“You kinda see where she’s coming from, blaming herself,” Vinyl said. “I do too.”

“It’s despicable,” Fluttershy said. “But also… I’m not sure.”

“Someone should go down and talk to her,” Rainbow said.

“Let her be,” Vinyl said. “She’ll come up when she’s ready.” She looked around at them and noticed that Colgate had already gone below.

Octavia was in the shower, and Colgate stood outside, not sure what to do with herself. The others would notice her absence and assume she had gone to talk, but she could not go into the bathroom and disrupt Octavia’s privacy. She looked at her shadow on the wall, a huge obstacle in the corridor, and feared for a moment that Octavia somehow knew she was waiting there, that she had already disrupted Octavia and ruined her chances to do—what? She wasn’t even sure.

She retreated to one of the cabins and waited, amusing herself by seeing what she could learn about her friends by the way their room was kept. Applejack had been reading on the religious implications of flesh and blood divinity, and related subjects; she could tell because hers was the only bookmark with no magical residue on it, and the fact that Big Mac and Pinkie rarely read. Twilight was going to begin trying her divination again, from the face mask lying on top of a pile of unrelated papers and materials.

She feigned calm when Octavia entered with a towel on her head. The two shared eye contact for a moment before Octavia settled on a cushion and put a hoof to her forehead. “How did I know that you would follow me down here?”

Colgate froze, and Octavia spared her further worry. “Not that I am upset with you. It is just funny.”

“Funny?”

“Never mind.”

“Uh-huh. So this puts your earlier words into perspective for me.”

“I would imagine it does.”

“Am I to assume that when you’re talking about forgiveness, it’s more of the self-forgiveness variety? Like you wanna forgive yourself for that Tumble pony.”

“That is correct.”

“Hm.” After a minute of thought, Colgate continued. “Do you feel better when you hear of other ponies’ trials? Some folks do, it makes them feel less alone out there.”

“I do not, but you are welcome to share one of your trials with me, if you so wish.”

Colgate shrugged. “Nothing new. Well, at least you can move on now. You said you wanted to be happy again, and now this thing’s off your chest, so you can do it. Right? Unless you withheld, which is always a possibility.” She stopped herself, realizing that she had maybe said too much. Octavia was a friend, and to say something to offend her, it prompted in Colgate the usual fear reaction.

“I withheld nothing important,” Octavia said. “Mostly, it is details I have forgotten. In the mansion, for instance, my perception of time was not the best.”

“Here’s to that,” Colgate said, tapping an imaginary glass.

“Oh?”

“Canterlot for me. Remember the painkillers?”

“Ah, yes. You do not act like someone who had a drug problem.”

“And you would know this how?”

“I was famous for a long time. I have known several ponies with addictions of one sort or another. There are some ponies who I have never seen sober, or even close to it.”

“I take it you never messed around with that kinda stuff.”

“I experimented once or twice, but nothing serious took place. I was afraid of becoming like the ponies I saw around me. More to the point, I was afraid of losing the limelight. This was before I saw that I was going to lose it some other way.”

“Power to ya,” Colgate said. “Drugs can be tricky things. Ask Vinyl, she’ll tell you.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow.

“In Snowdrift, when we came out. Took her all of two seconds to find the bottle of wine she’d stashed, and a lot longer to find the teacups and saucers and things. She’d committed that bottle’s location to memory. Plus, it was on her breath when she took us to our airship.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” Octavia said with a frown.

“It’s nothing serious now.”

Octavia moved from the cushion to the bed. “Okay, you have my interest. How can you know this about her? I doubt she has told you anything.”

“No shakes, no signs of a headache or anything like that, mood seems stable. There’s nothing lying around that can be used as a bottle opener, no dirty glasses or conspicuously clean ones among dirty glasses.” Colgate rolled her eyes back, thinking. “She doesn’t look nervous around us. Eyes are steady.”

“You cannot see her eyes.”

“I can see when she sees things. She’s paying attention to the same stuff everyone else is.” She tapped her head. “Vinyl’s focused, she’s with us.”

“How much of that do you do on the spot?” Octavia asked.

“How much of what?”

“Your lists of observations. I know, when I did music, I would sometimes stray from the path if I felt it appropriate. Do you do the same thing?”

“You’re asking if I improvise what I see.”

“If you figure it out as you talk. Did you truly notice Vinyl’s eye movements earlier, or did you just remember it now and put it in with everything else you were saying?”

“I don’t know. I just do it, I don’t analyze.”

Octavia sighed. “For me, that would be maddening.”

“You’re maddened now.”

“…I will give you that. What I mean is that I could not stand not knowing how a talent like that worked, if I had it.”

“You got other talents.”

“That does not keep me from being jealous of yours. A common conceit, I am aware.” She shrugged and said without much feeling, “such is my weakness.”

“You’re fine.” Colgate scanned the room. Talk of her observational powers had quietly excited her, and she tried it on Octavia; she didn’t find anything that interested her. “You can be jealous of my brain if you want, but I’m jealous of yours. You artistic ponies always baffle me.”

“How is that?”

“I think it’s the creativity. The ability to make something out of nothing has always been outside my grasp, it’s felt like.”

“Forgive me,” Octavia said, “but it has always seemed to me that you are quite creative yourself. You find solutions to problems that I could never think of.”

“That’s different, that’s just solving puzzles. Like…” She looked at a wall hanging, realizing what she was doing.

“Okay?”

“I’m talking too much,” Colgate thought, and the fear grabbed at her. So much material to be used against her, she had blithely spoken it aloud, and in Octavia’s time of need, much the worse. She thought of what her friend had said about selfishness, and wondered whether she was being selfish. She looked at Octavia, reclining on the bed, casually manipulating a corner of sheet with her magic. Colgate sighed, and Octavia looked at her.

“What is wrong?”

“You’re suffering,” Colgate said. A clinical statement of fact, comforting even before Octavia agreed. “So I shouldn’t be talking about other stuff, because you’d rather address this problem here. I’m sorry, I got sidetracked. You told me—”

“Colgate, I do not want to talk about the story I just told.”

“Sure?” She looked at Octavia for a time, envisioning her as she might a patient, weary of her malady. Such patients were often slow to accept hope when it was offered, so Colgate knew to push.

“I am not particularly upset about it. I was fully expecting to be. I expected tears and rage; months ago, I would have brought those things. But now, I do not know.”

“Tears and rage,” Colgate said to herself, imagining the feelings associated with them.

“I do not want to speak at length about it because I am afraid further dissection of my secret will prompt those tears and rage from me. At present, I feel calm, perhaps a little silly for holding onto it for as long as I did. I would rather work with that, and move on from there.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Colgate said, not really understanding. “Shall we continue talking about art?”

“Anything,” Octavia said. “Let us speak of anything, as long as it is not important.”

By the ship’s clock, it was approaching ten at night, but the sun was only creeping up to the perch of high noon. Applejack leaned on the gunwale beside the wheel, a cold cup of coffee by her hoof, as she wove them between storm clouds and air streams. The mountains were well in sight, and Twilight had confirmed the general area they needed to aim for. The deck was still cluttered from dinner and another card game, their first that day having been stopped when Octavia decided to spill her story. A small, petty part of Applejack was grumpy that Octavia had spoiled their game, but it didn’t bother her. She knew that everyone felt similar, selfish impulses, things they didn’t really mean, things so insignificant that they didn’t bear mentioning. Unlike Octavia, though, she knew that these thoughts did not make her a bad pony.

One aspect of Octavia’s story had stuck out to Applejack, and at the wheel, with but herself for company, she was free to explore it as best she could. It had hit her as peculiarly deep for someone like Octavia, whom she had never known to philosophize with much nuance. Using her own petty thought as subject, she asked herself how much the thought mattered.

The case of Tumble Tower’s death, she had concluded, clearly did matter. It had affected Octavia in a profound way, and she had gone on to affect others in ways that she would not if her past had been different. Applejack had chewed on her use of the word “ramify” to describe the suffering of others, its tendency to spread through networks of observers to affect them. It was easy to see how suffering mattered in cases like that, but where she found herself unable to continue was when she took away the aspect of ramification. Tumble Tower had also died in a near perfect vacuum, and if Octavia had not been there to witness it, Applejack was not positive that his passing “mattered.” The discovery of his body later mattered, but was different from the action of dying, she eventually concluded. The precise moment when his spirit left his flesh, Applejack was not sure how much weight the instant carried. She had thought in circles about it for hours.

She reached up to adjust her hat, which she had lost in Tartarus, and shook her head with a smile. If she had time—“And we better. It’s just a hat, for Celestia’s sake,” she thought—she meant to find a new one in Snowdrift. She had considered consulting Rarity for a hat that would look best on her, but then decided she would go with her own preference instead.

“You look like you could use some comp’ny, partner,” Pinkie drawled as she sauntered over.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Applejack said. “Pinkie, my friend, Ah’ve been up here navel-gazin’ fer hours. Ah feel like if Ah go fer a minute more, Ah’m gonna lose my head.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” Pinkie said, leaning on the gunwale, stretching her neck over in a way that made Applejack’s stomach turn over.

“Sure is. How do you take it, you bein’ her sister an’ all?”

“Aaaaactually, I’m kinda mad at her.” She lowered her voice and looked around, but Octavia was nowhere in sight, nor Colgate either. “I get that she let Tumble Tower croak, that’s fine. Not fine, not, like, ‘oh, big deal, whatever,’ but I get it, I totally get her freezing like that. It was still a garbage thing to do, but I get it, I don’t even really blame her for that, I don’t think. Nah, I don’t.” She shook her head. “I don’t see why she has to ruin her whole life about it, that’s what I don’t get.”

“She takes those sorts of things seriously, Ah guess,” Applejack said, immediately wishing she had chosen her words differently.

“Yeah, and I don’t!” Pinkie cried. “Good one!”

“That’s not what Ah meant, Pinkie. Ah’m sorry.”

Pinkie stood up and flailed her hooves dramatically, taking a deep breath, but then let it out slowly. “Whatever.”

“Ah mean—”

“I know what you mean!” She glared at a passing cloud. “She takes failure and internalizes it and makes it a part of herself and hates herself for it and doesn’t know how to forgive, yeah, I get that, I’ve known that for forever. She’s my sister, I’ve known that even before she went all weird. She glossed over how she was like that even before we all split from the farm.”

Applejack just nodded.

“Maybe she didn’t see it like I did,” Pinkie said slowly. “She wasn’t ever much fun to be around, she was always such a serious pony. Everything was serious to her, AJ.”

“Ah get that impression.”

“No, I mean like everything. Like how she talked about Limestone being sensitive to stuff, her getting upset at things more easily?” Pinkie threw a hoof in the air, blowing air through her lips. “Same deal with Octy, she just got all mopey and quiet. I’m sorry for this, I’m sorry for that, blah blah blah. You know, if you apologize for everything, it stops meaning anything after a while.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“If it wasn’t Tumble Tower, it would’ve been something else,” Pinkie finally said. “Maybe the specific effects would’ve been different, but it would’ve been the same thing at the end of the day. You might not have gotten this either from how she talked about it, but life on the farm wasn’t that bad. Compared to Ponyville, it was kinda crummy, but we didn’t know that.”

“Can’t miss what you never had.”

“Exactly. We were fine. Tumble Tower was the first big tragic shock we had.”

“Not Maud leavin’?”

“Everyone expected it. That last trip to Ponyville she told you about, everyone knew it was the last time we’d be seeing her. We had time to emotionally prepare, is what I’m saying. Gird our hearts. That’s another thing! She made Maud leaving sound so insignificant, like it was just something that happened! Like it was the first domino leading up to her… Ugh.”

“Ah’m not followin’.”

“I feel crappy saying it, AJ,” Pinkie said, suddenly sad. “She’s already done the whole ‘I’m so selfish, I’m so terrible’ thing so much, I feel silly saying it about her, ‘cause it’s like duh, of course she is. Ugh, I’ll just say it. She framed her story like it all revolved around her, like Maud leaving… I dunno, I guess like I said, like it was that first domino that led to her big Tumble Tower tragedy. Don’t you think that’s insulting for it to be presented that way? It was more than just a first step, at least it was to us all.”

“Ah hadn’t thought about that,” Applejack said. “It’s a little self-centered, but at the same time, the story was supposed to be about her, right? She might not see Maud that way, but just chose to describe it like that to put some order to events.”

“Mmm, maybe. I like that explanation better, so I’m gonna take it. Still, all that’s beside the point.” She shook her head.

“You can’t believe she let it get to her so bad.”

“That it almost drove her mad in that big, dumb house of hers? That’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous.”

“It’s… that’s a dicey topic, Pinkie. Ah don’t think she can be blamed fer takin’ it that way. Lettin’ it get out of control is another thing, but just bein’ depressed an’ freaked out, that makes sense to me. Like you said, if it wasn’t him, it would’ve been somethin’ else, so she was clearly predisposed to that sort of depression.”

“I know what you’re gonna say, that I can’t get mad at someone for their natures, ‘cause they can’t control it. Well, what if I’m mad anyway?”

“Well…”

“It’s not just that she was dealt a bad hand, I’ll agree with that, to a point anyway. I’m just not convinced that she’s trying to help herself, or ever did try to help herself. How can you get so deep into something like that?”

“Again, that’s pretty dicey. You don’t know how hard she tried, ‘cause you weren’t with her all those years in Hoofington.”

“Psh. I can guess.”

“No you can’t. She lost her marbles there, we’ll agree on that, but that don’t necessarily mean she wasn’t tryin’ to save herself. Might be, she tried an’ failed. Could be she didn’t have a good support system, or it could be she never learned how to deal with feelin’s like that. Whatever it was, you can’t be mad at someone fer failin’ somethin’ they legitimately tried.”

“But we don’t know if she tried. You said that.”

“Ah did. So ain’t it better to give her the benefit of the doubt?”

Pinkie leaned on the gunwale again and looked out at the passing sky, then down at the pine forest spotted with farms and villages. When she spoke again, she was calm. “If it was someone she knew who was always putting her down and reminding her of her failures and telling her she wasn’t good enough or didn’t deserve stuff, you know what I’d do? I’d march right up to them and smack ‘em! How dare you do that to my big sister? What kind of pony does that to someone else? But it’s her doing it to herself, so I can’t smack ‘em. I’d like to, but I know she’d just take that wrong too, and it… The whole thing, it just doesn’t work, Applejack, and I guess that’s the worst thing about it.”

“You feel powerless to help her. Ah understand that.”

“Not only powerless. She’s fought me on it before. She doesn’t want my help.”

Applejack thought of Tartarus, what she had overheard Octavia telling Colgate. She had not interfered, but knew that Octavia was as tired of it as Pinkie. She was not sure whether it was wise to tell Pinkie, though, for one thing Applejack saw that Pinkie did not seem to, was that Octavia simply did not like her sister very much. How might her efforts be soured if Pinkie, encouraged, involved herself in Octavia’s personal growth?

She sighed and said, “We all have to find our paths, Pinkie. If it makes you feel any better, Ah’ve got it on pretty good authority that she’s lookin’ at this whole thing pretty seriously.” She flicked her ears pointedly.

“She’s eating again, anyway,” Pinkie said. “So that’s something.”

“Give her space. Her confessin’ today, that says a lot, but Ah think it would be a mistake fer any of us to crowd her about it.”

“Yeah, I know. She always wants space.”

“Some ponies do better that way. You gotta respect it.”

“I never got that.”

“You don’t gotta get it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Pinkie sighed. “Thanks for listening, AJ.”

“Feelin’ better?”

“A little.”

“Then Ah’m happy to help.” She shaded her eyes and aimed them at a shred of low cloud. “Ah’ll be here a while still. Ah wanna get us past all this weather, so if you’ve got more on yer mind, stick around.”

“I don’t wanna make it all about me, AJ. I’m sure you’ve got stuff to say too.”

“Sure Ah do. Tell you what, if you bring more coffee, we’ll sit up an’ have a nice, long talk. Ah wanna get yer thoughts on somethin’.”

“Great! I’ll be back in a jiff!” She turned a circle before finding the coffee mug and dashing back to the captain’s quarters, where Twilight had set up the beginnings of her new divination attempt. No acrid smoke had leaked under the doors yet, but Applejack would occasionally see strange lights through the windows, or hear Twilight talking to herself.

Pinkie returned with two steaming mugs of coffee and sat down. “There’s actually something else I wanted to ask you,” she said.

“Go fer it.”

“She was talking a lot about fear, and how it can stop a pony from doing the right thing, and you almost touched on it earlier, about how you can’t blame somepony for their natures. But if it’s in your nature to be afraid, and if that fear then makes you do bad things, then… Do you see where I’m going? How much can you fault them?”

“Ah’m sure Ah don’t know off the top of my head.” She went to adjust her hat again. “Yeah, that’s a puzzler. Ah’m inclined to say not at all at first, but that don’t make sense if you unpack it. Ah guess it’s in how strong the fear is?”

“It’s pretty strong.”

Applejack looked at her for a moment. “Let’s make this easier fer ourselves. There’s two kinds of fear, the kind that’ll make you not act, an’ the kind that will. We’ll take the kind that makes you not do a thing first, since that was what hit Octavia in her story. Paralyzin’ fear, we’ll call it.”

“That’s the kind I’m talking about.”

“Well, then we’ll go with that.” She thought for some time, and Pinkie watched her. “Ah’m reminded of somethin’ Ah read in one of Twilight’s books, ‘bout the separation of a pony’s nature an’ her actions that come out of it. The book didn’t say much, just that there’s some fine line somewhere where you gotta hold someone accountable fer their actions, an’ it’s the job of such-and-such legal ponies out there to find that line. Courtroom stuff, Ah won’t pretend to understand it. But it got me thinkin’, where is that line? An’ also, can it move? Ah’m sure yer sister would argue that it can’t, but Ah ain’t so sure.”

“Like if a crazy pony does something crazy, is it their fault?”

“Precisely. Now a lot of folks would say it ain’t, ‘cause they can’t help it. That’s a right fine way to look at things, but a bit rosy-eyed, if y’ask me, ‘cause it don’t really help anyone in a practical sense. So you killed this innocent pony, but yer completely crazy, so yer technically not at fault. That’s great, but it don’t do anythin’ fer the grievin’ family, it don’t bring the victim back. It makes me wonder what the point of it all is, that method of thinkin’.”

“Uhh, well…”

“Course, the obvious flaw with my line of questionin’ is that it assumes that someone needs to be found guilty, or someone needs to be held accountable, an’ that ain’t true either.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, it ain’t, least Ah don’t think it is. It works as a basis fer a legal or moral system ‘cause those systems tend to operate best when there’s a black-and-white idea in place. Know what Ah mean? Like practically speakin’, we gotta be able to hold ponies accountable fer things, so havin’ a system where the goal is figurin’ out where to put the blame makes sense.”

“You’re losing me, partner. No, you’ve lost me already, actually.”

Applejack chuckled. “Sorry. Ah’m new to a lot of this too.”

“You don’t sound like it.”

“That’s ‘cause Ah’m just goin’ by the seat of my saddle. Ah ain’t givin’ you a chance to bring any counterpoints up.”

“That’s assuming I’ve got any.”

“Fair enough.” She cleared her throat. “So, uh, how to put it? Ah’ve got this image in my head of how it works. Let’s take a pair of scales, okay? Like what you’d use at a feed an’ seed shop, or somethin’, an’ on each side are the parties in question. There’s the pony who did the thing, or is said to have done the thing, an’ on the other is the pony what they did it to, or who was affected by the thing bein’ done.”

Pinkie rolled her head back and forth.

“The prosecutin’ party an’ the defendant, let’s say. That’s simpler. In any sort of legal or moral exchange, we gotta assume that someone’s at fault, so the purpose of the discussion is to find out which side of the scale to put the blame on. But my thinkin’ is, in the case of craziness, or overwhelmin’ fear, or what have you, then findin’ fault kinda becomes unimportant.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Well, in my scale example, say the defendant is crazy, not in control of her actions. The blame can’t rest on her, right? So in that black an’ white system, if it ain’t on her, it’s gotta be on the victim, but that don’t make sense either. So the conclusion is that no one’s at fault.”

“But doesn’t that just end up with no one changing anything? Doesn’t that just mean that the crazy pony goes on being crazy, and ponies just have to deal with that?”

“That’s what Ah’d think,” Applejack said. “So in answer to that question, Ah don’t know. Ah don’t know where to go from there, once findin’ blame has been thrown out the window. In a case like Octavia’s, Ah’d say findin’ the fault doesn’t help anyone, but not findin’ fault is equally unhelpful. So where does that leave us? Ah don’t rightly know.” She took her coffee and blew on it. “One good thing is, since it’s still light out, these won’t get cool fast.”

“Where did you read all that stuff about blame and scales?”

“What, all that? Ah told you, Ah’m goin’ by the seat of my saddle. Ah made it up. Ah think it makes sense, though.”

“I guess it does.”

“What Ah really wanna do is corner Twilight one of these days an’ get her thoughts on all of this.”

“Fault and fear?”

“Not necessarily that. Ah’m thinkin’ broader, like life, an’ philosophy, an’ spirituality, all that good stuff. It’s a safe bet she’d be havin’ me scratchin’ my head just like Ah’ve got you doin’.”

“You can leave me out of that, if you like.”

Applejack laughed. “Point taken, Pinkie. So to get back to yer original question, an’ tryin’ to avoid all the speculatin’ and stuff, Ah’d say it depends. Depends on the nature of the fear, how debilitatin’ it is to the pony, an’ also how serious the infraction is that results from her succumbin’ to that fear.”

“Okay, so let’s take Octy’s example again, and say someone’s so scared of… whatever, that she doesn’t save someone’s life.”

“Ah guess let’s start by definin’ that ‘whatever’ of yers.”

Pinkie sipped her coffee. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.” She thought, and Applejack attended the wheel, steering them into a smoother air current. “Scared of her nature, maybe,” Pinkie said. “She’s so scared of the weakness that she sees in herself that she doesn’t want anypony to hold her to any expectations. She’s scared of responsibility, so she—”

“So she pretends she doesn’t have any responsibility,” Applejack said. “An’ that results in a friend’s death. All right, let’s explore.”

In a small voice, Pinkie said, “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Ah’d say it’s pretty bad. That sounds like the sort of thing you can overcome.”

“Right.”

“But let’s not write it off that way. What sort of responsibility are we dealin’ with here? Rather, what sort of it is she dealin’ with?”

“She doesn’t know, ‘cause she’s never dealt with something like it before.”

“Fair. So that’d become more like fear of the unknown, wouldn’t it? Now that’s a fair bit more relatable.”

“All she knows for sure is she’s being called to action in a way she hasn’t before, and she knows if she does something, she won’t be able to go back on it. Like everyone else is gonna see her in a new light now.”

“Now it’s soundin’ like fear of personal change. Which, Ah guess, is the same thing as fear of the unknown, just dressed up different.”

“It sounds a lot less solid when you call it that, though. Fear of personal change sounds silly.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Well, it does to me.”

“All right, let’s explore that. ‘Cause Ah know fer sure Ah disagree with you.”

“Oh, umm, well…”

“Fer me, personal change is a positive thing. Like flat out, it’s always good fer ya.”

“Mm, no.” She paused at Applejack’s blank expression. “Like if you change for the worse for something that happened to you. Like if something bad happens and you wind up becoming a bitter pony after that, or really angry all the time. That’s personal change, and that’s bad.”

“That’s a good point, but ain’t it true that if yer the sort to become like that, then it don’t really matter what happens to ya? You said that if it wasn’t Tumble Tower that did Octavia in, it would’ve been something else. So…” She paused and thought ahead to what she was trying to say, checking if she thought it was sound. “If yer the pony to end up becoming angry or bitter, like you said, as a result of something that happened, then you sort of already are that pony, right?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think a pony’s predisposition is her true personality.”

“But it colors that personality a good deal, Ah’d say. Doesn’t change it, ‘cause to change something implies a deeper, more foundational change to the characteristics of the pony in question, but it makes that personality come out stronger. So goin’ off that, then this bitter pony of ours would only be doin’ personal change, real change, to get out of that bitter mindset, an’ that would involve changin’ her foundation. Or addin’ to it in such a way as to get around all that negativity, Ah guess.”

“I dunno,” Pinkie said.

“Although, now you’ve got me thinkin’ it through, that’s kinda a double standard. ‘Cause if that bitter pony then wins the lottery or somethin’, then she’s happy for a while—is that a change, just ‘cause it’s positive?” She shook her head. “Ah dunno, Pinkie. To be honest, Ah’m startin’ to feel kinda lost in this. Let’s get back to your original question.” She smiled. “Again, Ah mean. It’s easy to get lost in the weeds with conversations like this.”

“Imagine how I feel.”

“Ah’d be willin’ to bet the only difference between you an’ me is Ah’ve got a little more practice talkin’ ‘bout these things. My words are comin’ out quicker than yers, so Ah’m comin’ off as the big philosopher. Trust me, Ah don’t feel that way.”

“Who else do you talk to about this?”

“Don’t laugh, but myself.”

“Really?”

“When Ah’m up here at the wheel fer long hours, sure, Ah’ll talk it out. Not at volume or anythin’, just under my breath. Ah like to take a broad topic, somethin’ like this, an’ let my mouth wander. You’d be surprised what you can learn ‘bout yerself if you do that.”

“I’ll have to try that.” She looked back out at the clouds. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just thinking.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I guess this isn’t what I was looking for when I came up to you. I was looking for… something else, not a super deep discussion. Nothing so intellectual, I guess you could say.” She frowned. “Gee, Pinkie Pie not wanting to do something intellectual? What a shock!”

“Where’s that comin’ from?”

“Forget it.”

“Hey.” She touched Pinkie’s shoulder. “Ah don’t want to ferget it. You said that fer a reason.”

Pinkie frowned deeper. “It’s fine.”

“Ah won’t try to pick apart whatever you’ve got to say. Ah’m sorry fer goin’ off on you like that, it’s just that Ah’ve been thinkin’ a lot lately, an’ Ah’m findin’ these things more an’ more interestin’. Ah enjoy talkin’ like that, an’ Ah don’t always realize when it’s too much.”

“No, that’s fine, I get it,” Pinkie said. “I’m just feeling self-conscious right now.”

Applejack nodded and smiled kindly. “Ah can tell.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I get touchy when I’m this way, is all. Honestly, it doesn’t help when conversations like this happen. Makes me feel boxed in, kinda like what I have to say doesn’t matter, and I can never keep up, so I either get bored or I feel like I’m dragging the other pony down.”

“You know that ain’t how we want you to feel.”

“Yeah, duh, that’s why I’m not mad at you, silly.” She forced a giggle. “Just mad in general, I guess. I’m frustrated with her, and a little bit at myself, and I’m a lot scared of the future. I’m unhappy, AJ, simple as that.”

Applejack nodded.

“Is that kind of fear bad?”

“Fear of the future?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah would argue that no fear is inherently bad, same as no emotion. It all depends on what you do with it.”

“So… Let me ask you this. If we take Octy’s example again and say that fear can stop someone from doing something good—no, let’s say ‘necessary,’ actually—then it’s pretty much only bad.”

“Ah’m tempted to discuss that, but Ah’ll agree with you on the face of it, sure. Paralyzin’ fear, probably universally bad.”

“Yet Octy’s a good pony. We can agree on that as well.”

“Mm. So was that initial, paralyzin’ fear actually good in the long run, but just bad in the moment? That’s an interestin’ question.”

“That’s actually not where I was going with it.”

“Ah, sorry then.”

“I was gonna ask whether the good and the bad cancel out, and if they do, what are we left with? She did a bad thing, but then became a good pony. She’d be the first to remind you that no amount of good she does undoes the bad in a real, physical way. So…” She swirled her coffee.

“You get used to talkin’ it out, don’t worry.”

“Thanks. That was very patronizing, Applejack.”

Applejack looked down. “Sorry.”

Pinkie gave a false smile. “Can someone truly redeem herself for something like that?”

Applejack sighed. “Ah haven’t considered anythin’ like that before.” She grinned. “Ah’m ready to go fer a while on it, if you wanna brew more coffee.”

“I… don’t think I can. I’m pooped already.”

“That’s fair,” she said, nodding. “Then how ‘bout this? My first impulse, my very first idea, is that yes, a pony can absolutely redeem herself fer somethin’ bad, even if it’s as bad as what Octavia did. Ah dunno how, an’ Ah can’t say whether she’s done it. Ah know the intention to make up fer a sin is pretty important, that has a place in all this. Ah guess it depends on—” She stopped, seeing Pinkie’s face. “Anyway. Ah won’t force ya to sit through more of my jawin’.”

“I’m sorry, Applejack. I am interested, it’s just… Maybe another time, when I’m prepared to put my thinking cap on. Deal?”

“You got it.” She clapped Pinkie on the wither. “Ah’ll think ‘bout yer question, an’ Ah’m sure Ah’ll have way too much to say ‘bout it next time we chat.”

“Sounds good to me,” Pinkie said. She took a deep breath and looked out at the sky a last time. For a second, she appeared to have something more to say, but she just walked away.

The following morning, they had slowed down to safely approach the Friesian Mountains, and with a view of the amber dawn as it reflected off the tops of scattered clouds, Rarity worked on Colgate’s injured side. Most of the glass had been removed, but Colgate knew there were still grains of it in her tissue, and it was with some reluctance that she ceded a razor and pair of tweezers to Rarity. Her entire side shorn to reveal the pale pink skin beneath, peppered with small and smaller wounds, she lay on a cushion and tried to think of anything but the other unicorn diligently picking at her.

“It’s a shame to have to remove all that fur,” Rarity said. “You have beautiful fur.”

“Mm?”

“I’ve always thought so, and it goes so well with your mane.” She clucked her tongue. “I’ve almost got this one.” She picked for a minute. “Got it. My dear, if you just smiled more, you could be a passable model.”

“That right?”

“Well not now, but back in Ponyville.” Under her breath, she added, “for Ponyville standards, anyway.”

“I’ve never thought about modeling.”

“I’m not trying to suggest that you would give up being a doctor for it, just that if you tried, you might enjoy some success.”

“If I got my smile right.”

“I think so.” She picked some more. “You’d need to fix your front teeth too, I suppose, but perhaps not.”

“What’s wrong with my teeth?”

“Dear.” Rarity clicked the tweezers and adjusted her glasses. “One second. This might hurt a little.”

Colgate closed her eyes as Rarity dug into an already tender spot. She felt certain that she was bleeding, but couldn’t see it. She hadn’t felt Rarity wipe that spot, and worried that she was probing blindly.

“Okay? I’m going to move up now. Stretch your legs a little, please. Now.” She paused for a time. “Your teeth are misaligned rather, er, conspicuously, and there’s a nasty scar on your lip.”

“Must’ve fallen down the stairs at some point.”

“Yes, we can go with that if you like.”

“I don’t like to.”

“What do you like?”

For a second, everything snapped into place for Colgate. She was vulnerable and immobile, with no way to escape Rarity’s questions. The usual fantasy ran off in her head, of getting up and running, never mind the wounds and the tweezers that would stab her on the way to her hooves.

“Relax, dear.”

“I am relaxed.”

Rarity put the tweezers aside. “I can tell you’re not.”

“That’s fine.”

Rarity considered, then picked up the tweezers again. “Very well. I’m going to poke at you a little more.”

Colgate endured the prickling pain, silently relieved. As Octavia and Applejack had in Tartarus, Rarity had been given an opportunity to hurt her, and passed it up. Colgate wondered how far she could trust Rarity, and dared then to wonder how far she could trust all the others.

“Do you know anything about Snowdrift?” Rarity asked.

“You all probably know more than me. I’ve never been there, and I’ve not heard any cool stories. Why should I know anything about it?”

“I was just asking, dear. We don’t know where you’ve been since Ponyville.”

“Mm. For the record, it’s been Ponyville and Canterlot for me. All my world travel happened after your lot picked me up.”

“A shame it had to happen under the circumstances it did,” Rarity said.

Colgate turned her head to view Rarity out of the corner of her eye. “Worked out okay for me.”

“Yes? Ah, yes, well, I seem to recall something about some unpleasantness in the big city.”

“You could say that. There were good times too, but I dunno, things got out of control quick there. One minute you’re kicking back in a hotel room, next you’re face down in the field with a bottle of rubbing alcohol.” She smiled, remembering the scene with her and Powder Rouge outside the watchpoint. “It occurs to me now that I had friends back there too. At least, I think I did.”

“What sorts of friends? I’d love to meet them, I’m sure.”

“Most of them were rejects.”

“Rejects?”

“Uhh, meaning they weren’t fit for their job duties, so they got to live in a kind of social quarantine.”

“You’ve lost me, darling.” She picked at a sore spot for what felt like five minutes, but hissed a quiet “yesss” when she finally removed the tweezers. “You would not believe how small these pieces are.”

“Feels like you’re pulling nails out of me.”

“I’m sure.” She wiped at Colgate’s skin. “Tell me about these rejects; you’ve got me curious. What did you mean by ‘social quarantine’?”

Colgate thought for a minute how much of the truth to tell. “We lived in a neighborhood together in the suburbs, just all each other’s neighbors. I think the point was that we’d all naturally clump together and distract each other, and stay out of trouble that way. I guess it worked.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I’m not sure. If I had to guess, the sort of trouble I’m in anyway, maybe. Maybe just some kind of magical prison out there somewhere, I don’t really know. I don’t know how it works.”

Rarity paused with the tweezers for a second. “Are you one of them?”

“I’m no troublemaker.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” She plucked at something and Colgate winced. “Sorry. Over our travels, we’ve noticed certain ponies who seem to know far more than they should. They know where we are and where we’re going, and usually what we’re up to. Rainbow Dash calls them secret agent ponies. For a long time, I thought she was crazy. So…”

Colgate sighed.

“I gather you’re not supposed to tell me if you are one of them. That’s fine. We can leave it at that, if you’d like. I don’t know anything, and you haven’t confirmed any suspicions I may have. Sound good?”

“That should be fine,” Colgate said slowly, and for several minutes after, she let Rarity work on her in silence. Another increment of trust: Rarity had just found her out, and instead of probing, instead of taunting, had simply let the matter drop. Colgate searched her brain for possible motives to come so close to the truth before backing away, and, finding none, felt herself warming. The urge to test Rarity sprang up, but it seemed tasteless to her, and she let the idea fizzle out. Instead, she turned her mind to Snowdrift, and, invigorated, examined the things she had noticed about the town in her short time there.

“There are some things we can learn about Snowdrift,” she began. “Before we go in. Things to prepare us.”

“We’re not going back there, are we?”

"I’d like to; seemed like an interesting burg.”

“I’d rather stay well away, if I had the choice.”

“To each her own.”

“But for the sake of argument, let’s continue. We know where the airship lot is, and I think I saw a hotel nearby as well, so that’s a good start.”

“We won’t want to use the airship lot. It was freezing when we took off, and you may have noticed that the lot wasn’t covered. Not only was it not covered, but there weren’t even places where one could conceivably set up some cover. If we need to make a hasty exit, that lot’s gonna be a big problem, ‘cause the ship’s gonna be good and frozen. Moreover, it’s uphill from the hotel you saw, so if we need to get there quickly, we’ll be tired from the run. Sweat and cold temperatures don’t mix.”

“I see. Well, we can always just settle in a field outside. That’s worked for us in the past.”

“If we can find a space, I dunno. Lots of trees around. I think our best bet’s gonna be the empty lot on the south side. You can see it pretty clearly from the dealership, at least I did.”

“With that big warehouse? At the end of the road.”

“That’s the one. Abandoned place like that, could be a good spot to do… whatever it is we’re doing, if we do anything.”

“You mean set something up there?”

“I envision Twilight doing her divination there, stinking up the room with her smoke and her coffee. You and Dash working out some kinda weird logistical issue, I dunno. I’m blue-skying, Rarity.”

“The fact that it was abandoned worries me,” Rarity said.

“Yes, that could be an issue.” She looked back on the walk through town, but had not been paying much attention at the early hour. “Uhh, the park was nice. I wouldn’t mind spending some time there.”

“I don’t remember it.”

“Yeah.” She endured more picking with the tweezers and the bite of rubbing alcohol, trying to picture Snowdrift as it had appeared when they were taking off. All she could recall was the vaguely oblong outline and the platinum sutures of its snowy streets, and the hundreds of acres of pine forest that surrounded.

The Sun Seeker came to rest on a flat shoulder off one of the northernmost mountains, and Applejack activated its built-in forcefield to keep the soft fur of snowfall off the deck. Twilight, from the back, alternated between her map and the telescope while Rainbow hovered above, just inside the shield, visibly impatient, and Fluttershy perched on the rail over Twilight’s head. The sun was an anemic beacon in the east, its light almost as pale as the snow that reflected it. In the aspect of morning, their ship was of a garish corsage on ice-brocaded slopes, cliffs and lesser peaks studded with brittle shrubbery and webbed in mist. Below, the mountain chain diminished in a parquet of slopes and shadows, steep and barren but for the firs and pines that clung to their broad backs. Rainbow said she could see where their train had come out on their journey to Snowdrift, but Twilight didn’t believe her.

“It should be the easiest thing in the world,” Twilight complained. Celestia’s Eye was a natural crystal formation inside a cleft in one of the mountain peaks, positioned to capture the first dawn’s light in a way that brought in thousands of tourists every year.

“Have you tried searching for the tourist kiosks and stuff instead?” Rainbow asked.

“No, Dash, that never occurred to me,” Twilight said. “That definitely was not the first thought I had when I came out here, not a chance.”

“Just asking.” She raised her ear. “Fluttershy wants to know if she should have Applejack move the ship again.”

Twilight sighed. “Sure. Take us in a circle around that one, the close one. A slow circle.”

“The stumpy mountain that kinda looks like it’s got a face on it?”

“Yeah.” Twilight took a minute away from the telescope while Applejack got them back in the air. With naked eyes, she studied the mountain shapes and peaks, looking for anything not in shadow, hoping that the sun was actually in a position to light the crystals in the first place. When they moved into a new position, slowly circling the new mountain, Twilight fixed her eyes back to the telescope and searched, and called out for Fluttershy to stop the revolution less than a minute after. The Eye had been just around the corner, plain as day even without the spyglass, a jeweled eyehole as bright as the star that gave it life.

On the bow, she helped Applejack find a suitable place to land while Rainbow and Fluttershy talked and laughed by the torch. It was good to hear her friends in high spirits, and it boosted Twilight’s, but only a little. In the back of her mind, she expected something to come out of nowhere and snatch the Element at the last second, or toss their airship away, or for the pair to return empty-hooved. Vanilla, after all, could be misleading them with his instruction to go to the Eye. Twilight could tell that this thought was in Applejack’s mind too, and so did not voice it.

“We’ll be quick,” Rainbow said, shrugging inside her baggy sweater. “Flutters, you sure you don’t want to trade?”

Fluttershy, smiling coyly, shook her head.

“Psh. All right, Twi, we’ll be back. Get, uh… Well, you know, be ready for anything. We know the drill by now.”

“I’m rested and ready to use my magic,” Twilight said, “and Applejack’s got one hoof on the throttle.”

“How’s that phrase work in my case?” Applejack asked. “One brain cell?”

“C’mon, Fluttershy,” Rainbow said, hopping off and punching through the shield around the ship. While it kept out the snow, it did not hold back the cold air or the wind, so the transition was no great shock to the two pegasi. They rode an icy wind over serried peaks and crags, their shadows too small to see, their bodies free in cold, thin air. The airship had a certain presence to it, a certain immutability that made high-altitude travel feel not like what it was. For long stretches of time, Fluttershy could forget that they were above the country, just as she could forget that their country was similarly suspended—especially in the contiguous south, proof that Celestia had been either wrong or lying when she told them they were the only ones who could repair the damage that had been done. Off the ship’s deck, though, Fluttershy felt all the gravity of her altitude in her flesh and feathers, the world pulling down less than it should, the absolute and dizzying weightlessness of flight that still made her head spin sometimes. She doubted Rainbow felt the same, but to her, there was fear in the jaunt between ship and destination.

Celestia’s Eye did not need the signposts, fixed to slithering and staggering mountain paths, buried sometimes under snow and occasionally under fallen rocks. She descried the flat shard of foundation hanging off a stone projection, its viewing platform or gift shop ripped away in some minor disaster long enough ago that the snow had mostly reclaimed it. Plumbing and exposed ribs of scaffolding had blackened with rust, and the wash of destroyed concrete below had become one with the mountain, distinct in color only.

The Eye itself was a brilliant split in the mountain’s face where, over centuries of wind and ice flow, the rock had been cleft into a vague torus, as the center of a geode, rimmed with blocks of crystal that shrunk as they moved inward to a delicate, dimmer middle. Sea green tinged the outer edge and turned to pearly white in the middle, shot with freckles of red and orange throughout, spiked and blinding. In front of her, Rainbow was exclaiming to herself.

They landed behind the frostbitten guardrail a distance from the Eye, shivering in their sweaters, and shook snow out of their manes. The Eye was tall enough for three or four houses stacked, wide enough for about half of one, and they stood for just a minute with the sound of the wind passing through it.

“After you,” Rainbow said.

“I know. Just taking it in,” Fluttershy said.

“It’s a lot to see, I know.” She shrugged and hopped back into the air, and Fluttershy caught up to her with a sigh of annoyance. They soon found that the paths did not take viewers directly into the Eye for just respect; there was nowhere safe to set hoof. The crystals were either too sharp or too thin, and even the larger ones at the edge seemed stuck there through benefit of the ice at their bases only, ready to tip or shatter at the first alighting weight. The pegasi circled while Fluttershy got her bearings, and Rainbow struck poses against the crevasse’s walls. She eventually led them to a spot near the top, a shallow pocket in the Eye’s upper arch that reminded her, as they ascended, of a strangely shaped cluster of stadium lights.

“I wonder if Discord planned this, for us to go blind finding this thing,” Rainbow said.

“Twilight says she thinks he’s working it out as he goes, just like us,” Fluttershy said.

“Well, she’s the one who knows.”

“I don’t know if I believe it, but it gives me hope.” She paused, hovering.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s around here somewhere.”

“Uh, yeah. And?”

“I don’t see it.”

“You can’t just take us straight to it?”

“I know we’re on top of it, but look where we are. It could be anywhere in all this.” She ascended to a stellate process of icicles and looked at the ceiling. “Vinyl’s cutie mark is black, so that’ll help a little.”

“You’re not saying we gotta just eyeball this whole thing? That’ll take ages!”

“He’s clever, that’s for sure.”

“Aw, crap.” Rainbow flew to a different group of crystals and looked around slowly. For several minutes, the only sound was their wings and the wind inside the Eye, sheer but not dangerous, enough to hurt their ears and numb their noses.

“Shoulda brought my sunglasses,” Rainbow said.

“Did you have any?”

“Correction: shoulda got some sunglasses. Ugh, this is useless, Shy. Can’t we just have Twilight cast some kind of spell or something?”

“Applejack’s not getting the airship in this tight space, and we’re not hoisting Twilight out here.”

“Psh.”

“Psh yourself. At least you enjoy flying.”

Rainbow laughed, and Fluttershy chuckled as well. They separated to inspect opposite sides of a thick stalactite, its glassy surface cut with a wide wedge of sunset orange. Rainbow made a face through the crystal, and Fluttershy made one back. When they met back up, Rainbow kept talking.

“What’s it like being a cliché, Fluttershy?”

“Excuse me?”

“You and your healing magic. You’re the timid, kind one, and you’re our group healer. Fits pretty good, huh?”

“I guess it does,” Fluttershy said. “I don’t mind. Honestly, I never thought much about it. Maybe living it is different from reading it. I’m less inclined to roll my eyes at it when I know all the implications.”

“Well, yeah, no duh, you’ve saved our butts too many times to count. It’s just funny, is all.”

“Beyond that, though. I’m using my magic right now to keep my wings from wearing out.”

“You can do that?”

“I guess so. This is actually the first time I’ve tried it.” She paused for a minute, taking a closer look at a suspect group of crystals. “I guess it makes sense. Fatigue is a sort of extremely mild injury, in a way.”

“So’s hunger. And sleepiness. Fluttershy, you can make it so we don’t have to eat!”

“That I doubt. I don’t think it goes quite that far, at least not for me.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just an educated guess.” She pried at a crystal and blushed with embarrassment when it popped out of its frozen socket. Glancing at Rainbow, looking at her own patch, Fluttershy let it drop.

“I know you used self-healing in one of our Discord fights,” Rainbow said. “You flew at him, that time he got hot.”

“Ah, yes, I remember that. That was… interesting.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Not as much as you might think. It was kind of like a shower of magic. You know how when Twilight picks one of us up and your body feels like it’s covered in a kind of electric slime? It was that, but with this slight undercurrent of pain, like when you take your hoof off a hot sidewalk before it has time to burn.”

“Not something you’d care to repeat, though, I take it?”

“No, I’d rather reserve my magic for you all.”

“What’s that like?”

“What? Using my magic on someone else?”

“Yeah!” She glanced back at the airship, where Twilight had conjured a giant, magenta question mark to hang over their balloon. “How do you guess I’m supposed to answer that?” She cupped her hooves to her muzzle and shouted “nothing yet!”

“It’s nice, but tiring. There’s a lot of magic involved.”

“You always seem drained after you’ve worked us over,” Rainbow said.

“It’s like being hung over. Um, not that I know, but I’ve had it described to me.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Really!” She flipped her mane out of her eyes. “But hung over in a good way, if that exists.”

“Ehh, not really.”

“I don’t know, then. Did one of us check that spot over there?”

“I’ll look at it.”

Fluttershy moved to an emptier patch and placed her hooves against the cold sandstone. Looking down, the ground momentarily spun away from her, and she had to close her eyes.

“Nothing here, not that I can see,” Rainbow said, flying over. “Got anything?”

Fluttershy shook her head and batted her mane out of her eyes again. “I need to get this trimmed soon.”

“Me too. I’m starting to look like you.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Fluttershy said with a grin. “Maybe I’ll get it all shaved off. Can you imagine?”

“You, bald? Eugh, don’t ever say that again. Now a lot shorter, that I could see. Like Vinyl’s length, maybe, or a little shorter even, that would be cute on you.”

“I’ve never cared for that look on most ponies.” She cleared her throat. “Vinyl included. It makes her look sketchy, I think, although losing the dye does help some.”

“Yeah, I won’t tell her you said that.”

“For the best. I could see going as short as Twilight’s or Rarity’s, or Pinkie’s when it’s down.”

“I like her hair down,” Rainbow said. “I just don’t like her when it’s down, if you catch me.”

“Sure. Hold on.” She cast her Element spell, a habitual, semi-complicated piece of magic, and grunted. “Yeah, we’ve drifted off track. Back this way, Dash.” They flew to a slightly brighter section of arch and resumed their hunt.

“Can you use your healing magic to make ponies’ manes grow quicker?”

“Sure, and I can make them grow taller and stronger too. Give me an hour with Big Mac, and I can make him the size of a tree.” They laughed, and Fluttershy lost a little height. She was gently jealous—always had been—that Rainbow never had that problem.

“Element of Empathy, where are you?” Rainbow said. “You’re sure you don’t have a way to focus that spell of yours?”

“If I do, I don’t know how to go about it.”

After a half hour of fruitless searching, Fluttershy had the idea to remain stationary and emit a steady glow, the theory being that the Element, black, would be easier to spot if the light were intensified. She glowed like an ornament for several minutes, slowly rotating, while Rainbow searched about, and they finally found it hanging from a copse of blue-white spicules, its cross beam buried in the stone. She carefully tugged at it before Fluttershy stopped her and levitated it out, fearing that Rainbow would drop it in cold, clumsy hooves.

Together, they flew back to the ship, and Fluttershy lay on the deck to regain her strength while Rainbow pranced and talked. To their eyes, the Element looked exactly as it ought, as shiny and neatly-defined as any of theirs, a black beamed quaver that sparkled delicately in the wan sunrise, turning almost transparent in the right light. It was missing its golden frame and chain, and they had to suffice by holding it magically against Vinyl’s chest.

“Get us out of here, Applejack,” Rarity said. “Before some foul thing pops out of a den somewhere and wants its treasure back.”

“I dunno, girls, I think we’re okay this time!” Pinkie cried, earning dirty looks from all around.

“Vinyl, dear, I’ll see if I can fashion something to hold that for you.”

“It’s no biggie, really,” Vinyl said.

“I insist.” She patted Vinyl on the back.

“Where to, ladies?” Applejack asked. “Do we have any more notes from our dear friend, Vanilla?”

“Let’s go north, at least,” Fluttershy said. “If nothing else, we can get out of the cold for a while.” She inclined her head at Vinyl, stopping to sit beside her. “Yes?”

“Thank you for finding this, both of you.” Vinyl’s horn glowed pale pink. “Wow, so I’m the first of the new ones. That’s crazy.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” Rainbow said. “And, uh, welcome to the team.”

“Yes, you’re official now,” Fluttershy said.

“Yep,” Vinyl said. “That’s me. Official.”

It was dinner time when their next note materialized atop of a slice of garlic bread as it was halfway to Big Mac’s mouth. It read only “Snowdrift,” without even a signature, but no one needed to ask. Applejack pointed them back toward the small town and said they’d be there by the following day.

“Watch, last one’s gonna be on the friggin’ moon or something,” Rainbow said.

“Can he do that?” Pinkie asked.

“That would be…” Twilight began, thinking of the logistics involved. She was tired from the day, and shrugged. “He could do that, and he could’ve thrown them into Tartarus too, or buried them, or hung them somewhere in the sky, or encased them in lead, or… Anyway, he could have done a lot of things, but so far, he’s just been leaving them strewn about.”

“That’s an interestin’ point,” Applejack said. “Ah wonder why he wouldn’t do a better job of hidin’ ‘em?”

“Who knows?” Twilight picked at her salad. “Here, Big Mac, I’ll stash that note with the others.”

“You’re keeping them?” Rarity asked.

“Records. Once this is all over, everypony’s going to be after us for details. The more records the better.”

“Fair point.” She glanced at Octavia, sitting comfortably beside Colgate, still slowly eating her dinner. “How have you been doing, dear?”

“Me?” Octavia asked.

Rarity batted her eyelashes and smiled.

“Hm. I do not know.”

“Come on, none of that,” Rainbow said.

“Sorry, that just slipped out. I am feeling better.” She returned Rarity’s fixed smile. “And we can leave it at that for now. I am feeling better.”

“Ah’m willin’ to trust that,” Applejack said. “An’ fer the record, Ah’m happy fer ya, Octavia.”

“Thank you.” She helped them clean up, but remained on the deck after everyone went to bed. The sun was back down, and she watched the mountains disappear behind growing storm clouds, wishing that she had her cello with her. Music had been far from her mind for several months, but she found herself then composing a dirge in her head, and her hooves itched to breathe life into it. She smelled the clean, pine-tinged air, and allowed herself a smile, imagining the notes flowing lugubriously out of her as they had in times of old. The content of the music hardly mattered; it was the playing that gave her pleasure, and she hoped that her friends realized that. If she were to ever pick up an instrument again, she reckoned she would return to slow, sad music, not necessarily reflective of her mood but simply her preferred style.

Then, she stopped herself and thought, “But I am sad. That is who I am.” She sighed and looked back at the hoofsteps behind, and Vinyl smiled.

“Didn’t wanna sneak up on ya,” she said, horn glowing dimly.

Octavia nodded.

“Not interrupting?”

“For once, I would appreciate the company,” Octavia said.

“That makes two of us. You, uh, did mention wanting to talk about something earlier.”

“I did, I did. I do not think I recall specifically what about, though.” She gestured at Vinyl. “What brings you up here?”

“I just wanted to run somethin’ by you, as a musician.”

Octavia smirked. “I do not know very much about your style of music.”

“Ah, bull, you know about melody and arrangement, specifics don’t matter. I’ve got an album in mind, most of one anyway. It’ll be—surprise—inspired by all of you.”

“Us?”

“Actually, I’ve got two albums, one for the journey and one for y’all. I’m not sure about the journey one yet, but all of you are really speaking to me. I’m starting with Pinkie. I’ve got pages of notes and ideas jammed in a folder, but what I wouldn’t give to have my equipment with me. You get it.”

“More or less. Tell me about Pinkie’s song.”

“Well, for the whole album, I wanna do a sort of fusion of my two styles, with some longer, more mellow songs and some shorter, punchier songs, like the club stuff that gets radio play. I’m actually making Pinkie into one of the longer songs, and I wanna make it kinda sad and quiet.”

“I see why you wanted to speak to me about that.”

“Yeah, I’m not very good with sad stuff. Course, it would help if I could actually hear the music, but, you know, play the cards you’re dealt.”

“I am curious why my sister inspires you to make sadder music.”

“I think it’s ‘cause she’s still clinging to her old self. There’s this grim tenacity in it, and it’s made even more pitiable ‘cause I think she doesn’t realize she’s doing it. I know there’s this stretch of music in there near the middle, like a minute or two of buildup, with like a de-tuned piano, I keep thinking about it. I like the idea of it slowly losing pace as the song goes on, and then kind of staggering to a halt real close to the end. Maybe I’ll put in some uplifting keyboard to close it out, like a ‘sunrise on dark times’ feeling or something, I’m not sure.”

“I would say that if grim tenacity is the feeling you want to encapsulate, then the piano should not stagger to a halt, but just simply cut off abruptly after growing quieter. It is easier to give your song a sense of anxiety like that. I did something to that effect once in Manehattan, for a show; I used a bicycle chain to punctuate certain sections, to give a sense of impending doom.”

“Hmmm, I’ll think about that. As for the rest of it, I’m torn between just layers of keyboard and maybe some strings.”

“Strings are played out in contemporary music. Every time I hear a strings section in non-classical music, I just think that the musician’s budget got too big.”

“Well, I’d distort them.”

Octavia shrugged.

“What?”

“If you like that idea, then go for it, but I think that it sounds sophomoric.”

Vinyl’s horn glowed. “How would you go about it, if you had to write a song for her?”

Octavia thought. “I would focus on our time on the farm, because those are my best memories of her. I think I like the idea of a duo, a cello and a banjo, or some such rustic-sounding thing.”

“I’ve got a banjo section for Applejack and Big Mac. Those two are cool, I’m gonna make one’s song sort of an echo of the other.”

“Are you going to do that for Pinkie and me?”

“Haven’t decided.” She smiled. “For you, I’m not sure what I wanna write. I keep coming back to shorter, faster music for you, but I haven’t thought much about it.”

“What I would say about Pinkie’s song, since you want to be sad, is not to spend too much time on it. That can be a temptation, because you think that if you linger, then the song becomes sadder and darker, but in reality, it just becomes boring.”

“Yeah, I know that. Contrast bright moments for sad moments, and all that. I know.”

Octavia nodded. “I just find it strange that you see sadness with her. I know my song would be an attempt at joy.”

“Really?”

“Perhaps it is just because I feel that I should learn how to do that sort of music.”

“Hey, if you’re good at one thing, then—”

“No, my professors were right. It is an unnecessary constraint, especially when I have so much technical ability. Had, I should say. I do not know how much I have lost since then.”

“How long’s it been since you played?”

“A few months since I played at all, and more than a year since I played seriously.”

“Yeesh.”

“To be honest, I am not certain whether I want to return to that world.” Vinyl’s horn glowed again, and Octavia continued. “I do not know what I want to do, period. It might be best for me to get a day job if I get back home.”

“I’ve said that a couple times, toward the end of a tour.”

“Yes, I am sure. I do not think I would enjoy being on the stage directly after all this.”

“You could blow ponies minds when you go to wait on ‘em. ‘Hey, I’ve seen you before. Oh my Celestia, it’s Octavia!’ You’d get tips out the butt.”

“Ugh. Recognition. I have had enough of that already.”

Vinyl chuckled.

“Maybe I will find some small town in the middle of nowhere and grow wheat.”

“There’s a thought. Me, I’m gonna call my agent first thing and tell ‘em to book me some time in the studio.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I just hope everyone remembers me. I didn’t say my goodbyes as gracefully as I could have.”

“At least you said goodbye. I just left. I did not even leave a note.”

Vinyl whistled. “That’s rough, Octavia.”

“I do not remember what I was thinking at the time, but I am glad I was thinking it. This journey has enriched me.”

“I can tell.” Her horn glowed. “So that was some story.”

“Yes.”

“Sorry. If you don’t wanna talk, I get it.”

“We can talk. I do not feel awkward about it, not like how I expected to.”

“That’s good. I was nervous, you know, that you’d just kinda put yourself back there.”

“I have been back there for years. If anything, telling you all was like leaving it behind at last. I said that I wanted to confess to my family, or to Trixie when I first saw her, but I never did. Now, I finally have, and to my best friends. I have to admit, that feels good.”

“Good. You can’t dwell on past mistakes, take it from me. There’s no good in it, and surprisingly little to learn.”

Octavia nodded, remembering what Colgate had said about Vinyl and alcohol. It was no great mental leap to assume that she had battled it in the past. “That is something that I need to keep hearing. It is in my nature to dwell on things.”

“It’s hard not to. So many ‘what ifs’ and things, you can get sucked into your own head nice and easy.”

“Absolutely.” She paused, and a breeze ruffled her mane. “I remember what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I wanted to ask you about forgiveness. Colgate told me that you knew a good deal about that.”

“Dunno why she thinks I’m the pony for that. Uh, I mean, she’s not wrong, but… Well, anyway, yes, I can help you there. Who are you looking to forgive? Or shall I take a wild guess?”

“Only if the first two do not count.”

Vinyl smiled.

“I would be happier if I forgave myself for what I did, but I simply cannot, no matter how many times I tell myself that I should. Every time I think that I can, I think of those I have wronged, and ask myself whether they should forgive me. If they should not, then I should not either.”

“How can you know if they would, though? They’re your family, and from what you described, they were pretty supportive. I think they’d want you to be happy.”

“That leads me to the other thing, the question of whether I deserve forgiveness.”

“Well…”

“What?”

“You’ve already made your penance, made it like a hundred times over. Doesn’t that balance it out?”

“It does not bring back Tumble Tower, and it does not un-abandon my family.”

“Nothing can.”

“Exactly. So should I not live with my mistakes? That is the closest I can come to paying for what I did.”

Vinyl shook her head. “You can’t look at it like that, ‘cause you’re just gonna make yourself miserable. Well, you know that already, I guess. But if you just become depressed your whole life, then it’s kinda like a slap in the face to all those other ponies, or their memories.”

“I do not understand.”

“I think of it this way—‘cause I’ve hurt plenty of ponies in my time too. You know, it’s like, imagine all those ponies have the chance to look at you and see who you are, what you’ve done with yourself, and all that stuff. If you’re just a sad sack all the time, and you’re beating yourself up and lingering on your mistakes, are those ponies gonna be happy for you? No, they’re gonna say ‘wow, this is what I suffered for?’ or ‘wow, this is what I died for?’ That’s a way bigger insult, ‘cause it’s like wasting their… memory, I guess. Or the opportunity you got for doing whatever it is you did, then you went and squandered it on making yourself feel bad, instead of learning and growing from it.”

“I have never thought that I deserved the growth you speak of.”

“There’s that word again, deserve. I don’t think it’s about what you deserve and don’t deserve.”

“I disagree.”

“Well, who can say who deserves what? I mean, in your story, Tumble Tower was getting your sister to blackmail the town drunk. It’s not like he was a flying example of goodness and grace, you know? Maybe he did get what he deserved.”

“No, I cannot think in that way. It releases me of any obligation. If we cannot judge ourselves or others by some metric, then action becomes meaningless. I can hit you in the face and feel no remorse, because maybe you have done something five years ago that makes you deserve it.”

“So what’s your metric?”

“It is the only metric, and it is my actions. In my case, my inactions.”

“But you don’t know all of everyone’s actions, and you don’t know how all your actions have affected others, so how can you judge that fairly?”

“You just take it as it comes.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Vinyl said, horn alight.

“Me neither. It is difficult to explain. It is one of those things that I know when I know, if that makes sense.”

“Sounds like a weak excuse to me, to be perfectly blunt about it. You know what I think? I think you’re so used to hating yourself that you don’t even think about it anymore, and you started at a young enough age that your worldview got warped around it.”

“That is possible.”

Vinyl frowned and took off her goggles. In the dark, she was able to expose her eyes, and used them to stare sternly into Octavia’s own. “You’re not fooling me with that tone. You think agreeing with me will make me back off from calling you out.”

Octavia sighed.

“So you did something bad, and someone died. Fine, that’s tragic, and you should feel like shit about it, for a while. But past is past, and like you said, you can’t undo it, so what’s the point of trying? I think you scared yourself into being this way ‘cause you thought something bad would happen if you moved on, like if his memory wasn’t honored or something like that. What’s gonna happen? Just ask yourself that, right now, think about it. If you moved on with your life, and didn’t think about Tumble Tower—and again, I’d like to point out that he sounds like a pretty crappy pony too—if you did that, what would happen to you? You’re not gonna shrivel up, you’re not gonna burst into flame. You might smile.”

“You did not come up here to belittle me with pedantry.”

“I didn’t come up here to hear a flimsy excuse of a worldview that lets you slowly kill yourself and feel okay about it.” Her horn lit, apparently without her thinking about it, and she closed her eyes with a grunt. “The reality is, we’ve all done stuff we’d take back if we could, and some of us have done a lot worse than you. One of my buddies put some folks in the ground ‘cause she was driving drunk one night, did you know that?”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, shut it, you always say that.” She replaced her goggles. “Point is, if everyone did it your way, there wouldn’t be a happy pony in this whole damn joint. Look at the princesses, how about? I’ll bet you Luna and Celestia have so much blood on their hooves they could fill a swimming pool, but they’re doin’ okay. Not Celestia so much, but you know what I mean.”

“So it is easier for them to forgive themselves their transgressions. That is good.”

“Oh, puh-lease.”

“That is why I wanted to talk to you, if you would recall,” Octavia said. “I was asking for help.”

“Up to the point where I offered my advice, sure, then you just retreated behind that toxic philosophy of yours.”

“Ponies have to be held responsible for their actions.”

“That’s justice, right?”

“Correct.”

“Maybe you should have turned yourself in. Ever thought of that?”

Octavia was silent for a long time before saying, “I am afraid.”

“Hm. Why am I not surprised?”

“Yes, fine, you win, I am a hypocrite as well as a coward. Are you happy?”

“That’s not what I wanna hear and you know it.” She took off her goggles again and rubbed her eyes. “I know I could never make you feel as bad as you make yourself feel, not that I’d want to. I’m just trying to get you to see it how I see it.”

“Then explain what you see, instead of insulting me.”

Vinyl frowned at her. “Okay. I see a pony who had a legitimately difficult childhood, who never got over it, and who let it poison her as she grew up. I also see a mare who knows better, and who wants to get better, but who stubbornly clings to her old views because she thinks changing her mind is some kinda crime.”

Octavia stood to the rail and hung a hoof over, her mane reaching the deck. “I do not know what to tell you. You are correct, I recognize that, but I am no closer to my solution. I appreciate the honesty, though.”

“You know, you can always just fake it ‘til you make it.”

“I have heard that before.”

“Ever try it?”

“I cannot say that I have. It is dishonest.”

“Yeah, so? I don’t see three apples on your butt.”

“I do not like the idea.”

“What does it cost to try? You don’t like yourself now, so why not? Maybe you’ll find some guilty pleasure in it.”

“There… might be truth in that.”

“If it helps, I faked it ‘til I made it when I was younger. This is before I met all of you. I had some problems of my own.”

“You were a drinker.”

Vinyl paused, and Octavia felt a pang of self-rebuke for springing it on her.

“I apologize. I should not have—”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have.” She turned away and walked a stretch down the deck. “You figured me out in Snowdrift, I assume.”

Quietly, Octavia said, “Yes.”

“You and everyone else. I know the looks I’ve been getting.”

“I am—”

“Sorry, yeah yeah, I know you are.”

“I also know that you are recovered now.”

“Psh. I don’t need you to tell me that.”

Octavia was silent, and Vinyl came back to her. Her voice was measured and her face stony, the mere hint of playfulness from before swept away.

“So now you’re gonna take this the wrong way too, ‘cause that’s what you know. In two hours or so, I’ll have gotten over it, because we all talk without thinking sometimes, but that doesn’t matter ‘cause you’re gonna beat yourself up for touching my sore spot.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry I can’t make you be happier. If I had that power, I’d use it on you.” She clapped Octavia on the back and then went back down to the cabins.

A day cycle later, Snowdrift was in sight, a small bean of frosty lights and snow banks making shadows of gray, brutalist buildings. Descending slowly through inclement weather, they were conscious of the sound their airship made, amplified amid swirling rags of clouds.

Twilight and Big Mac shared the small balcony on the ship’s back while the captain’s quarters cleared of smoke from another divination attempt. Rainbow had quit her post of speeding them along, that they could land safely, and the two were alone with the telescope and the night sky.

“Vinyl told me she heard that it was all a big illusion,” Twilight said, one eye on the viewfinder. “Which wouldn’t surprise me. Imprisoning Princess Celestia is one thing, but wresting control of the sun away from her is another.”

“She can’t still make it rise an’ fall from where she is, can she?” Big Mac asked.

“I don’t think so. I assume Princess Luna is handling both cycles. Or maybe she’s not. With the illusion up, it wouldn’t matter much, would it?”

“Guess not.”

“Ooh, look!” She swiveled the telescope. “You can see the glacier from here.”

Big Mac looked. “That’s all ice?”

“Yep. It’ll be especially magnificent now, since we’re getting into the winter.”

“What’s it doin’ there on the far side?”

“Where?” She looked for a time. “Oh, where it’s hanging off. When we came up, the glacier came up with us, since it goes over the border. The other side is in griffon territory, but I guess the ice didn’t get split like everything else.”

“Hm.”

“It’s a wonder it hasn’t fallen off. I wonder if they’ve got it anchored in place somehow.”

“Good fer the griffons if we do.”

“Absolutely. I read about the glacier a couple months back, I’ve always wanted to see it—not in these circumstances, though.”

“Too cold fer me.”

“Yeah, I’d rather go in the spring.”

“You ever read much ‘bout Snowdrift?”

Twilight chuckled. “I feel like I’ve been asked that a hundred times already. No, I’ve just read the basics, like everyone else. It’s cold, it’s got the Tartarus gateway, it’s old, griffons live there.” She spun the telescope to see the approaching town, but had to wait for some clouds to blow past. “It’s funny, you don’t see it referenced much where we come from. For being such a historically significant place, I had barely heard of it when we first heard the name.”

“Where did you hear of it, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t remember. We were back in Ponyville, way in the beginning, even before Octavia found us. Someone mentioned it. I think it was… Someone had some kind of weird premonition, I feel like.” She glanced through the telescope, though the clouds had not yet cleared. “Oh! It was Pinkie. I remember now, she had a dream one night, right after we got back from the first Canterlot battle.” She shivered. “What a night.”

“Ah’ve gathered.”

“Pinkie had a dream about it. It was like her Pinkie Sense creeping into the dreamscape, or something like that. Yeah, I remember now.” She frowned. “She woke up screaming, I recall.”

Big Mac nodded.

“If that was her Pinkie Sense, and we’re about to land back in Snowdrift for an Element, then… If I could remember what the heck she dreamt. I’ll have to see if she remembers it.”

“Might be important.”

“It probably is.” She put a hoof to her chin.

“So Ah know the divination ain’t goin’ great,” he said at length. “Did today’s mistake teach ya somethin’ new, at least?”

“It more or less confirmed what I already assumed, that I simply don’t have the right books. I have to figure out fundamentals for myself that other ponies have gotten to long before me. The last couple days, I’ve been grappling with Dense Fog’s Unspecificity Theorem. At first, I was glad to just get to the point where I could be sure that that was my problem, because it meant I was at least making the same mistakes each time, but the charm wore off quick.”

Big Mac shrugged. “Wish Ah could help ya.”

“You were plenty helpful today.”

He shrugged again. For the afternoon, he had stood still while she hung various ornaments off his outstretched hooves and unkempt tail. To him, it was no help he had provided that couldn’t be replaced with a coat rack, but Twilight had insisted it be a living body.

“Besides, I’m sure I can find some resources in town. A magical place like this, their libraries must be incredible.”

“You do that. Sis an’ Ah are gonna sample the local produce, that’s our goal.”

“Do you think it’ll be different from Ponyville produce?”

“Could be. That’s the point of tryin’ it.”

Twilight aimed the telescope for Snowdrift as a window opened in the clouds. “Sometimes I wish I grew up on a farm.”

“You?”

“Life would be so much simpler.”

He took her statement in for a minute before shaking his head. “Ah doubt it’d be simpler. Just less readin’.”

“So much of it’s mindless labor.” She glanced at him. “I know it’s not all menial work, I know a ton of planning and management goes into it, but the actual work itself, the hauling of crops and planting of seeds and tilling of soil, and so on and so on, is quite monotonous. I sometimes find myself wishing I had that kind of job.”

“That’s understandable, considerin’ yer job right now. You’d get tired of it inside a week, though.”

“Mmm, I don’t know. Wow, look at that building. Isn’t that crazy?”

Big Mac took her place at the telescope. “Yer body don’t get to feelin’ refreshed after just one night, if yer workin’ a farm right. First day’s fine, but yer startin’ sore the second day, an’ even more sore the third, an’ the fourth, an’ you get. There’s the weather, an’ bugs, an’ more walkin’ than you might think.”

“That all sounds fine,” Twilight said.

“Says the lady who never tried it.”

“Eh, you got me there. See it?”

“It’s like a corkscrew. That’s some art installation, huh?”

“Well I doubt you’d make it in the library business.”

“Me too.” He grinned. “Too much readin’, not enough movin’.”

“You might be surprised. For an earth pony, re-shelving books can be very time consuming. Up and down that ladder, all day long.”

“You had Spike fer that, though.” His expression faltered. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She took his place at the telescope and turned it back to the sky. “You have to be organized, Big Mac.”

“Ah’m organized, Miss Sparkle.”

“If somepony comes in asking for a certain topic, a good librarian is on top of it, not only with the specific book, but with recommendations for supplemental reading. You need to know dates, authors, publishers… Maybe they’re only looking for peer-reviewed journals? You can’t mistakenly give them something out of the historical nonfiction section.”

“Aw, they’d notice somethin’ like that. But to yer point—”

“Again, you’d be surprised,” Twilight said. “At least in Ponyville, sometimes I felt like a fish out of water with how ignorant everyone was.” She shrugged. “They had other interests, though. I don’t know a whole lot about flowers, or baking, or—” She nodded at him—“farming. Different strokes for different folks; I shouldn’t let it irritate me.”

“Fer me, at least, bein’ with y’all has taught me a lot ‘bout humility.”

“Absolutely. I can’t believe how confident I was back then. I had my books with me, so I thought it would be a piece of cake. It took me to about Manehattan before that all went out the window. What a fool.”

“Well intentioned, at least.”

“Yes, there’s that, I suppose.” She took a minute to study a constellation. “It really is a marvelous illusion, if that’s what it is. The stars are just as bright as they should be. I wish I could talk to him about magic, Big Mac. You know, without having to fear for my life.”

“That would be somethin’.”

Nodding, she thought for a second how to change the subject. “So, are you going to go back to the farm after we’re through?”

“Ah’d like to if Ah can, but it might not be possible.”

“No?”

“Applejack was talkin’ my ears off ‘bout it. Have you heard her talkin’ lately? Somethin’s gotten to her.”

“Oh, her new philosophical bent,” Twilight said. “I guess dying will do that to you. I wouldn’t know.”

“Hm. She told me the farm might not even be there when we get back. Coulda gone bankrupt, or fallen into disrepair if the family had to find other ways to get by. Other possibilities too.”

“It’s also possible that it’s perfectly fine, and you’re both worrying unnecessarily.”

“Ah told her that, an’ she just said that Ah was right. Ah dunno why, but her agreein’ like that took the wind out of my sails, Ah don’t mind sayin’. But if the farm is there, then yes, Ah’d love nothin’ more’n goin’ back. Ah wanna feel the earth beneath my hooves, smell the apple blossoms in the mornin’. Ah wonder if Apple Bloom found her cutie mark yet. Ah’d sure hate to have missed that.”

Twilight did not say the thing that was on her mind, that it was also possible that Granny Smith had passed on or become infirm. It seemed ridiculous and vindictive to point out, and she blamed his mention of Spike.

“Then there’s this whole Element business,” he continued. “Ah guess if Ah’m a new Element, Ah’ll have to be with y’all.”

“Not constantly, if you don’t want to. We’d need you to stay in touch, is all, in case of… emergencies.”

“Right. Well, if Ah have it my way, Ah’ll be right there on the farm ‘til Ah drop, so Ah should be pretty easy to find.”

“Enough adventuring for you, huh?”

“Far too much, Miss Sparkle. This country’s too strange fer the likes of me.”

“I can respect that.”

“How ‘bout you? Back to the library?”

“I’m not sure. I used to think so, but I don’t know. I might move back to Canterlot. The princesses are going to want to spend some time with me, I know. I might be able to get a job at the palace.”

“An’ leave Ponyville behind?”

“It’s just a quick train ride away.”

“Hmmm.”

“Just a thought. I don’t know, the more I think about the library, the more it seems like I should be doing something else. I feel like I’ve already said goodbye, and going back to it would be like reopening an old wound. Know what I mean?”

“Can’t say Ah do.”

“Maybe it’s just me, then.”

“Do you feel that way ‘bout the library, or ‘bout Ponyville as a whole?”

“That’s a good question. I’ll have to get back to you on it.”

They shared the telescope for a while before hearing the call from above that they were getting ready to land. Crowded on the deck, they watched Snowdrift come into view, ice-gilt and rattling in the gust that brought them in. Rarity directed them toward the southern tip, where waited a large, seemingly abandoned warehouse, and, more importantly, its parking lot, where she said they should touch down.

Twilight, forelegs balanced on the gunwale, said to herself, “I think Ponyville as a whole.” Fluttershy glanced at her, but did not care to ask.

Rainbow Dash's Diary

Chapter One hundred-twenty

Rainbow Dash’s Diary

January 13, 3316, Friday

First entry in Rainbow Dash’s diary. Hi Diary! These notes are dictated by Rainbow Dash and written down by a nifty bit of magic Twilight showed me. Luna wants Twilight to start logging what her team’s doing, and she never has time, so she put me in charge of recording our daily activities. I figured, I’ve been thinking about making a diary for a while now, what better time to start. When it became obvious we were gonna be on our adventure for longer than we thought, I wanted to do a diary then, but I never got around to it.

Pinkie and the five actual diplomats landed in the changeling island chain yesterday, The Hive. They met Queen Chrysalis, but it didn’t go great. They’ve got nothing to report because Twilight’s team isn’t ready yet, but Pinkie says Celestia was supposedly in talks with Chrysalis about this stuff last month. If we go back, we’ll remember that Celestia was stuck in Moondrop around that time, so it looks like Celestia lied to her own diplomats. Why? I asked Twilight but she doesn’t know, too distracted to worry about it.

We have until tomorrow to get something we can report to the queen, and if we don’t, she didn’t say. We’ll find out, cause I don’t think Twilight has anything yet. Her map of the country’s coming along, but it’ll be a week at least until it’s ready, she still has to do the underground stuff.

January 14, 3316, Saturday

So we didn’t have anything for Chrysalis, which is bad. Pinkie said she (the queen) was told we already had most of this done before the diplomats flew out there, so again, it looks like Celestia was blowing smoke the whole time. I think Celestia told the changelings we were farther ahead than we were to ease off tension, and then told her diplomats that she had been talking with Chrysalis to make them try to skip ahead past the part we’re at now. But that’s stupid cause it puts all of this on Twilight to come up with something in like no time at all. Maybe Celestia assumed Twilight would just create a solution out of thin air? If so, she was badly mistaken.

Chrysalis is preparing to put embargoes on all the trade routes with Equestria. It’s not that big a deal right now, since trade has slacked off recently, but once we get back down it’ll be a problem. Plus Twilight says it basically means “an atrophy of changeling-pony relations.” We’ve never been on the best terms with them, so if we’re not careful, things might turn nasty.

January 17, 3316, Tuesday

Today’s Octavia’s birthday. I met her for lunch and we actually had a good time. She cut her mane almost to the scalp, but I guess it looks okay on her. She’s not as moody as before, says she’s getting help. She didn’t want to go into detail, which I respect, but I’m glad she’s finally facing her problems. That mare, I’m amazed she made it all the way with us, looking back. I remember when she stopped eating, for a while there it looked like she was gonna go to sleep one night and not wake up. Scary.

Great, now I’ve bummed myself out.

January 20, 3316, Friday

Twilight’s done with her map of Equestria. She showed it to me today, and I didn’t understand it, but it sure looked cool. She has the whole thing set up in the attic with all that divination stuff around the walls, like all around. Crystal balls, those hanging weights on strings, chalk designs everywhere, bowls of oil and water, smoke and electricity, it’s like a mad science lab, and then she’s got the map floating in the middle. I thought it was gonna be like a big book that you can flip through, but she has it like a huge cube of pure magic—bigger than me!—and it can expand and show details on any small part she wants. That’s one thing, and then she can explode it and push the pieces around and see how Equestria would fit together and all that.

Cause here’s the problem, it’s not just putting the pieces back like a puzzle. That’s her favorite saying, it’s not like a puzzle. She must have told Pinkie that a hundred times already. The diplomats have been having a hard time of it in The Hive with Chrysalis bugging them constantly. I feel for them, I wouldn’t want to be put in that situation either. If Celestia had just been honest from the start… But I guess she wanted to look like she had everything under control.

Anyway, the puzzle. You can’t just push everything back together willy-nilly or else the continent could drift off center. Every time you push pieces together, the space between those pieces and the ones you leave alone grows, and so on and so on until you have half a country of empty space between where you started and the pieces you saved for last. Starting in the middle and moving outward would be easiest, but we have to get the high-priority places first, like the places on top of big oil deposits or where there’s a lot of train tracks or phone lines. Twilight’s been playing with it all afternoon, and she even let me mess with it a little, but she got sick of explaining everything and told me to take the rest of the day off. I’m meeting Vinyl and Colgate for drinks in an hour, so I need to wrap this up.

January 25, 3316, Wednesday

Business first, then the news. Twilight’s got the plan of restoration, it’s a checklist longer than my tail. Now the other team leads get to start doing stuff, so I’m hoping that’ll let Twilight take a break. The other one, Leaf Blower, she’s in charge of moving ponies and securing buildings and junk, and she gets to fly out to Manehattan first. I remember Manehattan, those crazy towers that we had to secure, and that Strawberry pony, and Lacey, and all them. They’re going to repair everything between Manehattan and the north coast, that’s all the inlets and naval trade routes and important stuff like that. It makes sense that we’d do that first, since it’s the changelings we’re trying to appease, and we pretty much only use those inlets to trade with them. Estimate until project completion: February 15.

Pinkie and her friends are hanging in there. Chrysalis said she’d want to move them to the capital island if this is gonna take a lot longer, which it is. Pinkie tried to sound all “no big deal” about it on the sigil, but I can tell she’s excited. I’m happy for her. It’s not final yet, they’ll let me know when it is. Twilight hopes Celestia doesn’t make a stink about them moving deeper into The Hive.

Aloe and Lotus got back on the first but they finally said hi today. Well, Twilight wasn’t very surprised to see them, but I sure was. Lotus has… seen better days. I’m glad I don’t work for her.

Okay, news. Vinyl’s almost done with her new album! It’s called “The Quest,” and it has a song named after yours truly! Actually it has a song for each of us, but mine’s the best. She brought me into the studio today and showed me a couple songs (Oh, and she was right, Colgate has no idea how to play the saxophone). It’s gonna drop late February and then she’s going on tour. How cool is that? I don’t get out much, but when I was heading back from the studio, I saw a couple advertisements for it, like on billboards. She’s super excited, and she said me and anyone else can get front-row seats when she plays in Canterlot. I have to make sure to get a pair of tickets when the time comes.

January 30, Monday

What an awesome weekend! All us girls (even Twilight and Octy) saw the Wonderbolts on Saturday and then had lunch at this cute little place on the mountainside. Octy’s been taking a month off on Luna’s orders, and then she’s gonna try to join, uh… Colgate’s friends. You know who I mean. If she gets in, I bet Colgate rejoins them too, you can tell she’s got a thing for Octy.

Twilight went back to the palace after lunch, but the rest of us stayed in town. We went to the botanical gardens, Vinyl dragged us to her favorite petting zoo, and there was plenty of drinking in between, her and Cole mostly. Rarity says a lady never drinks before six, and she has a point.

Leaf Blower set out for Manehattan today with her team of magicians and all that. Not much to report there, they’re expected to arrive in six or seven days. I met her for a couple minutes before she left, nice mare.

January 31, Tuesday

Twilight’s talking with Versus now, the Snowdrift hotel pony; apparently she and AJ have kept in touch. It’s not good, though. We left Snowdrift in a pretty dramatic way, and the authorities there aren’t happy, specifically with how Twilight “borrowed” all that magic from the Tartarus gateway. We’re safe right now, being saviors of the country and all that, but Versus isn’t, and she was involved a lot at the end—not to mention the whole thing with Peaceful Meadows and the Mansels, but that hasn’t come up yet. Hoping it stays that way.

The hotel let Versus go, and she says she’s been blacklisted, that no one wants to tell her anything, and she’s even been interviewed by the police a couple times. She sounded really upset when she was talking to Twilight about all this.

Restoration news. I thought all the divination stuff was done already, but Twilight said those were just preliminaries, and now she has to make a whole batch of new ones so she can watch some different places around the country. She was low on oil for those weird enchanted bowls she uses, so I had to lug twenty gallons of cooking oil from the pantry all the way up to the library tower. Now the whole tower smells like a grease fire, and we found out the stupid windows in our office are just for show, they don’t open. It’s already in my fur, I smell it wherever I go.

February 5, Sunday

Pinkie and her friends are officially relocated to the capital island, Closed Eye of the Ocean it’s called. Celestia is in fact upset about it, but she’s keeping quiet about it for now. Leaf Blower and her team are north of Manehattan at the moment, getting ready to bring all the land back together up there. Plenty of tiny villages by the rivers to secure, and radio towers and train stations and blah blah blah.

Twilight now has two tiers of divination stuff in the attic, she says she’s starting to get headaches from being up there too long, with all that magic. I don’t know how she keeps it all straight in her mind, I can barely remember what’s what when she tells me. She’s got her eyes on an oil deposit southeast of Ponyville that looks like it had a bunch of groundwater spilled into it some time after the Crumbling, and she sent the science team out there to study it. That’s taking a lot of her time, but she’s also starting to think about how to get us reattached to the planet. Too early to think about that, I think, but she says we should have been thinking about it before Discord got put away, so what do I know?

On a lighter note, Rarity moved back down to Ponyville today. Her boutique is finished at last, and it has a phone so she can talk to us whenever she wants. Twilight disagrees, but I say give me phones any day of the week. Those communication sigils are a pain in the flank, and they take up so much space.

February 16, Thursday

Manehattan’s looking good! Twilight showed me in one of her spells, and everything from Manehattan to the coast is all one big piece. She even zoomed in on Leaf Blower and her teams so we could watch them for a minute. It’s like a tiny city of tents and airships just up there in the wilderness, and there’s all these big, glowing poles they put in the ground to mark fault lines. Isn’t it creepy how Twilight can just cast a little magic and get a bird’s eye view of them like that, though? Celestia told her it was fine to use this magic, so I guess it is, but I still always get this weird vibe when Twilight just calls up images of the country like it’s nothing.

Everyone in Ponyville is doing good. I talked with Rarity and Fluttershy last night, they’re both a lot better. AJ wasn’t there, but she’s chugging along. In other news, Luna let Octy join her “team” last Friday. I’m so happy for her, I bet she does great. She was always a stand-up mare, and from what Cole says, that’s the sort they look for. She’s just learning the basics right now, they’re not letting her out to kick monsters in the butt yet. Cole said there’s plenty of that to be done still, lots of Tartarus activity in the aftermath of Discord and Vanilla, but I don’t know if that’s true. You know how Colgate is.

February 25, Saturday

Leaf Blower’s back and heading out again later tonight, but she wanted to meet with me and Twilight for lunch. Twilight’s got this stupid, ugly polo shirt that she picked up cause it was on sale, and it’s always wrinkled and it always smells like cooking oil, and she actually wore it to our meeting. I took the time to dress semi-formal, and here comes Twilight stinking of oil in her nasty green polo… Anyway, I felt a lot like Rarity during lunch.

I don’t know why Leaf wanted me to come along, she was just talking shop with Twilight the whole time, I couldn’t follow it—but I’m glad I went anyway, cause Leaf and I really hit it off during dessert. We talked about the Wonderbolts, racing, hiking, everything. She’s even been to Cloudsdale, which is pretty rare for an earth pony. Spent a week there once for a project with the government there, years ago. Hearing her talk about Cloudsdale got me really nostalgic. We could’ve talked all afternoon, but she had to catch an airship. She’ll be back in about a month.

Lunch was great, but dinner sucked. Rarity and Fluttershy met us at this super fancy place called “99th Street” (give me a break with these artsy names) so we could talk to a lot of other fancy ponies and generally bask in each other’s fanciness. I get that we don’t want to seem out of touch with the city ponies, but I’ve had enough fancy dinners to last a lifetime. I can actually distinguish between the different forks and spoons now, that’s how bad it is! So at this fancy place, like us four and five rich snobs, we were talking about life in Canterlot, when out of the blue one of them asks what happened with Pinkie in Applewood. Suffice it to say, we didn’t know what to say, but she heard it from a friend that Pinkie had been involved with the Applewood thing somehow. I asked who told her—it was that big mouth bastard Dr. Whooves! Luna knows how many other ponies he told before he, uh, passed on. Rarity said it was no one’s fault specifically, we were all disorganized and overwhelmed, but that was after a bunch of uhhhhs and ahhhs and hemming and hawing. Oh, and they all loved Whooves too, he made himself quite a comfy spot up here it seems. That prick probably gossiped about us to everyone who’d listen, ugh.

There wasn’t anyone relevant at the dinner, but the lady who asked about Pinkie was some super thin model by the name of Burgundy Briefcase. Rarity knew her a little, and you could tell she wasn’t happy to see BB there. We all talked after dinner, like what to do, but what can we do? If the cat’s out of the bag, it’s out, we just have to hope Whooves didn’t give anyone any details. If he was here, I’d kick him right in the guts.

February 28, Tuesday

Fluttershy went back to Ponyville, but Rarity has to spend all night at an art gallery with some up-and-comer, so she leaves first thing tomorrow morning. Big Mac’s coming up tomorrow, though, they want him to give a motivational speech to some office types next Monday. I can only imagine how nervous he is! I shouldn’t laugh, but you gotta admit…

Nothing much to report with Twilight. While Leaf is out in the boonies, Twilight’s job is to feed her information on local geography and weather and stuff, just to keep things running smoothly. Now that the map is done and her divination spells are all in place, Twilight’s a lot more relaxed. So’s Pinkie and her team; now that they’re able to report actual progress to Chrysalis, things are a lot calmer across the water. Not everything is rosy, though. Chrysalis offered to help us make a map of the Equestrian underside and the ocean floor, for when it comes time to lower the continent, but Celestia rejected it today. It makes sense for the changelings to do it, they can just send some ships down there and look at everything, no fancy magical viewing spells, but I get where Celestia’s coming from too, you don’t want a whole fleet of changeling ships so close to us. Of course, this means more work for Twilight, and you can bet she was bitching all day about it. I spent the last half of today, and probably a lot of tomorrow, helping her research Equestrian territory laws and colonial practices. We need to figure out if the hole we left behind is part of Equestrian space or if it counts as international land. Boring.

March 1, Wednesday

Yep, boring. Twilight scheduled a meeting with Celestia to discuss this hole-territory thing more, and I’m just glad I don’t have to be there for it. The only cool thing that happened today is Vinyl’s album came out. I listened to it twice, it’s really awesome. My favorite song is “Headlong,” which it says was inspired by all the fast flight we did between cities. Really awesome, I hope I can hang out with her soon.

March 3, Friday

What a shit day. What an absolutely, positively, horrible, stupid, shit day.

Versus called Twilight in a panic this morning, and Twilight only got off the sigil at ten, she was so upset. When we were going through the window from Passage Town to Snowdrift, Twilight had to make a diversion for the “park rangers” there, so we could get into Snowdrift undetected. For that, she guided Versus through making this fake magic thing that would apparently scare everyone, but that was actually harmless. Well, somehow the cops there figured out that Versus had made it and planted it in the woods, and now… Well, they arrested her this morning. She’s just at the police station for now, for questioning, no idea how long though, or even if they’ll let her out. Twilight says they can’t keep her there, that Versus did nothing illegal and that she, Twilight, tricked her. So if anyone is in trouble, it should be Twilight, but that sucks too! So now we have to find a lawyer in Snowdrift or fly a good lawyer down there to get Versus out of trouble, and that’s not gonna be cheap. Twilight’s still in her office now (it’s nine at night, by the way) trying to figure out how she’s gonna pay for this without having to ask Celestia for money.

March 6, Monday

Big Mac and I had an… intense lunch today. I’ve never seen him so agitated, it was like he was a totally different guy. He was all nervy from his motivational speech (it went okay, he couldn’t stop sweating though), but it’s this Versus thing that really had him bent out of shape. He wouldn’t stop asking me questions about her, about what Twilight was gonna do, and it’s like, I don’t know! I kept telling him, I barely know anything about it. I think he’s pissed at Twilight, I don’t blame him.

March 13, Monday

Twilight had her meeting with Celestia today, finally. She requested it on the first, that’s almost two weeks ago. So yes, the hole underneath Equestria counts as part of Equestrian territory, as well as the ocean that rushed in to fill it, but anything outside the hole is still international waters, and then once the ocean is back out of the hole, it’ll go back to being the changelings’. It’s the most roundabout way of acquiring territory in history, Twilight told me.

With the Versus thing, Twilight managed to scrape up enough money to pay her legal fees out of pocket, so the princess didn’t have to be told about Twilight’s diversion stunt. If you ask me, this isn’t the last we hear of it, and I think Twilight knows it. Guess time will tell. In other news, Chrysalis is starting to pressure our diplomats again. The restoration is going good, but the changelings think it’s too slow, they’re starting to get impatient and nervous. What about the ocean, that’s what they keep asking. Will they just need to get used to it being lower, or are they gonna get their water back? If so, when and how, and who’s gonna pay for it? Twilight hasn’t even thought about the ocean yet, but the diplomats want an answer now, so she’s scrambling to figure something out to appease Chrysalis. Celestia had an idea, but Twilight said it wasn’t very good, and it didn’t factor in a lot of the problems that are gonna come up when we get reattached, so I don’t know. I think I have a lot of library digging in my future.

I was able to meet Vinyl for brunch yesterday, which is good, cause she left to go on tour this afternoon. Headed for Manehattan first, I told her to be sure to check out Rose Tower, and she said that’s where her first show’s gonna be. I’m not really jealous, though; I’ve traveled enough.

March 18, Saturday

In response to increased pressure from the changeling nation to figure out what we’re gonna do about their lost ocean, Celestia has decided to increase the defenses around our borders, “just in case.” I’m just a simple mare, but doesn’t that sound like an overreaction? Twilight said it’s not what she would do either, but hey, it ain’t our call.

Leaf Blower’s back in town, though, that’s one good thing. She was way southeast of Ponyville and Cloudsdale working on a big wooded area with lots of groundwater and oil deposits in it, real tricky stuff. She wanted to meet for lunch again, but Twilight was too busy. I almost said I’d meet her myself, but if Twilight’s not there, what good is it? I don’t know, maybe I should have.

Octy’s doing fine, she’s still in the classroom with the other newbies. I’m actually meeting her for drinks in a couple hours. After all the changeling shit, and Versus, and everything, I need it. I asked if Cole was gonna be with us, but apparently she’s headed down to Lower Canterlot. I really hope Octy has some details for me, these special missions are so cool. It’s nice to hear about them without actually having to go yourself, you know?

March 19, Sunday

Cole’s in Lower Canterlot to follow up on some magical contraband that got released into the public, she and some others are trying to figure out where it came from and if there’s more. It’s funny in kind of a crappy way, someone else was supposed to have done this already, but she screwed it up so bad that they had to wipe her memory and send her packing. As with everything Colgate says, Octavia said to take it with a grain of salt.

Speaking of Octavia’s special coworkers, Twilight’s got a meeting with one of them tomorrow afternoon. Versus got released today, but not before implicating Twilight in all the crap that went down, so now… Well, we’re still the princess’ special ponies, so it’s not like we’re gonna go to prison or anything, but Twilight needs to ace this meeting tomorrow or she’s in some serious shit. She’s calm, she’s collected, but she told me to get ready cause they’re probably gonna want to talk to all of us individually.

Shit, how much does Applejack know? If she knows what Twilight actually did, Twilight’s screwed already. I know she was talking a little about giving AJ false information back in Snowdrift, just in case something like this happened, but what exactly did she say? And who knows what AJ could’ve figured out on her own, or what Versus could have told her. Shit, Diary, this doesn’t look good.

Oh, and Vinyl made it to Manehattan safe and sound.

March 20, Monday

Twilight got in contact with everyone else in Ponyville and told them the Snowdrift story. Her interview went good today, they believed her, but now we need to keep that story straight. I still have no idea what she’s gonna do about AJ, but the story is, Discord was the one who contacted Versus in the disguise of Twilight. He imitated her voice, but also was smart enough to imitate the sound of airship noise and also us in the background. Then Twilight found out and opportunistically used it to divert their attention so we could slip into town undetected—but it was a lucky thing, that’s the big point. She was actually planning on just going through and trying to pull rank on the window ponies, and she told me that that detail should be the key to making her story credible, since it’s so in-character. I asked how she knew about the diversion if Discord had set it, and she said she had a spell up to tell her if someone else was trying to steal her appearance or voice. I asked if a spell like that actually exists, and she sneered at me.

So that’s the news. Crisis averted for the time, but when they ask AJ… No, if Twilight was worried about it, she’d let me know, and she didn’t. She probably has a plan.

March 21, Tuesday

Twilight and I had that lunch with Leaf Blower today. She’s headed for Trottingham next, just has to get some stuff taken care of first. Like last time, she and Twilight talked shop most of the time, and I didn’t have much reason to be there. Payroll this, micro-enchantments that, I don’t even want to know if I don’t have to. Unlike last time, though, she ran off back to the office as soon as she was done, no dessert, no time to chat. I’m not bothered by it, I get it, we’re all busy ponies.

March 24, Friday

The whole team of restoration ponies got together after work today in the palace bar. That’s me, Twi, Leaf Blower, big Caramel, and two others, the lawyer and the scientist. I asked Twilight if she talked to our lawyer about the Versus situation, and she told me no, that—Curlicue, that’s it! She told me Curlicue didn’t know anything, and it was gonna stay that way. He reports to Celestia herself, and Twilight’s trying to keep this under wraps as much as she can—though if the secret agents report to Luna, then wouldn’t Celestia find out anyway? I don’t know, maybe Twilight thinks Luna will be nicer about it.

Leaf and I sat next to each other and talked pretty much all night, she was the only fun thing about this get-together. Twilight ditched me to talk politics with Curlicue and science with the other pony, all professional-like, and then there’s me and Leaf on the other side talking about movies. She’s big into that film noir stuff. Like if it’s got a detective with an alcohol problem and a dark past, she’s there for it. We must’ve talked for half the night, I lost track honestly, and when Twilight got my attention to head out, the other two were already gone. Leaf has to leave on the sixth, and I almost asked her if she wanted to get together again, but Twilight was giving me one of those looks, you know the one, so I dropped it.

April 6, Thursday

Vinyl made it to Fillydelphia, tour’s going great. She sent us all postcards from Manehattan. I kind of wish I could go back there and actually experience the city instead of running around doing errands for psychos all day. Leaf’s on an airship for Trottingham, meanwhile, but I got to say goodbye, so it’s all good. I went down to her office this morning and we talked for a couple minutes, work stuff. She’ll be in and around Trottingham for another month or so, she’s got like three hundred ponies heading over with her. Twilight showed me the airship fleet today, and it was so wild, I’ve never seen so many airships flying together like that.

We’ve got defenses at the borders now, nothing serious, but nothing trivial either, and now Celestia’s trying to watch the changelings in Equestria. I didn’t think it was a big deal, cause it’s like, you already have to sign onto a list to live here if you’re a changeling, just so you can’t go around shapeshifting with impunity. But this, apparently, is way more invasive; Twilight said that Celestia wants every registered changeling to have a “handler,” like someone who logs their weekly activities and basically makes sure they’re not doing anything bad—and when she put it that way, yeah, that’s dumb. They’re Equestrian citizens too, and now she wants to spy on them? I talked with Pinkie a little about it and she said the diplomats are losing their minds trying to figure out how to spin this so Chrysalis doesn’t freak out.

April 7, Friday

I’m all alone tonight, no one to hang out with. Twilight’s working late again, Cole’s still gone, and Octavia got sent out on her first assignment this morning.

I had my interview with our friends from Snowdrift today, and I told them just what Twilight told me. I must’ve been with ‘em for three hours, they kept making me wait only to ask me the same sets of questions over and over again. I told ‘em exactly what I needed to, and I think I’m okay now, but like… I still don’t know what happened with AJ, and I can’t ask her cause if she doesn’t know what really happened, then me asking her will totally blow it apart. It’s been a while since they talked to Twilight, so maybe I was the last, maybe now they’re gonna leave us alone.

April 9, Sunday

I just got off the sigil with AJ. I don’t know if we’re in the clear. She did have her interview already, but she didn’t have any details for ‘em. Seems Twilight had given her bad information first, but then told her like some weak, vague version of the truth later, when she thought we were safe. It took all of me to not grill her on what she told the… special ponies. She asked me what I told ‘em, and I gave her Twilight’s version of the story. Big mistake. She told me Twilight was lying a blue streak, and asked if I knew, and I… I’m not gonna lie to my best friend, so I ‘fessed up, told her that Twilight’s covering her ass. I mean, I feel like AJ already sorta knew that, right? She knows Twilight, she knows there were some seedy things in Snowdrift. So now I’m gonna have to tell Twilight that AJ knows she’s up to no good, and then Twi’s probably gonna freak out on me, and… All I want is for us to go back to normal. That’s all I want.

April 10, Monday

And here again, AJ just called me to let me know that Pinkie’s secret is out. It’s been going around now, rumors, but both princesses contacted her early this morning and asked what happened in Applewood. So now they know why we weren’t so fond of Pinkie when we got back, and I’m sure there’s gonna be a meeting about it, and I’m sure everyone’ll get all worked up again. However, no one seems to know about Applejack’s death, neither princess has said anything about it.

I’m still not even over her, Pinkie I mean. I keep saying she’s dead to me hoping that if I say it enough times, it’ll be true, but I don’t think it ever will be. It should be true, though! It’s not like she doesn’t deserve it; I keep remembering Fluttershy’s words on the deck, “she killed us,” and it’s true, true in a—what’s the word?—metaphysical way. I just want to forget her, forget she ever existed, forget we were ever friends. Better that than me moping around for something I’m never getting back.

April 16, Sunday

Today marks the one-year anniversary of The Crumbling. Everyone in Ponyville came up and stood with us next to Celestia while she and Luna gave a speech. Only Fluttershy’s staying, and she’s just got one extra day here, some author wants to take her out to brunch tomorrow.

Twilight offered to take Applejack out for lunch after the speech, I’m sure they were discussing Snowdrift. I’m not about to ask what’s going on, Twilight’ll tell me when she’s good and ready, or else Applejack’ll let me know the truth. I mean, I do trust Twilight to a certain extent, but… I don’t know.

Neither princess has said anything about meeting to discuss the Pinkie incident, so I guess we’re all just supposed to be honest when ponies ask us about it? No one’s said anything yet, but if the rich folks are talking, sooner or later the reporters are gonna come in and ask for our take on what happened. And I mean, if they’re gonna be possibly talking to Applejack about it, then we all have to be honest, cause otherwise she’ll undermine anything else we say.

April 20, Thursday

Things are getting weirder. The attic above Twilight’s office is so full of magical crap that she had to expand to the roof. That was most of this afternoon, moving more supplies out there. She brought some of her underlings out too, to have them hang a safety net all around the tower—cause here’s the thing, the library tower is one of those onion-looking things, so the roof is sloping in all sorts of crazy ways. Naturally, Twilight already worked out a magical solution, but I was still relieved when she had ‘em bring that net out. She threw down a little spell to let her stand on the slope, said it was strong enough to stick her to the ceiling if she needed to, and now she just walks all around the onion roof like a mountain goat, and her books and things, those don’t slide off either. Luna came up and saw her and had a good laugh.

That’s not the weird thing. So Vinyl’s in Hoofington right now, and Leaf Blower’s down in the Trottingham area, and Chrysalis is pressuring us to move faster; and you can tell Twilight wants to speed it up too, not just for the changelings’ sake, but in general. So once she had her roof thing set up, she had me bring up a book and a clipboard, some chalk, a bunch of junk from the alchemy tower, and then drew a chain of four sigils along the roof’s outer edge. When she was done, she activated them, found Hoofington, zoomed in and out until she found Vinyl, and then—this is the wildest thing I’ve ever seen, I had no idea this was possible. When Vinyl got back to her hotel, Twilight casts this spell, and the whole room lights up in blue, and Twilight just speaks through the sigil to Vinyl on the other side. Vinyl practically hit the ceiling, she jumped so much! It was funny, but can you imagine? You just got back from signing autographs or whatever she was doing, you wanna take a load off, and as soon as you sit down, the room lights up and your friend’s voice starts booming at you from all four walls. She chewed Twilight out for that pretty good, told her she almost had a heart attack. Yeah, Twilight’s gonna need to find a better way to do that from now on.

Anyway, I won’t go into the details (basically, Celestia’s not giving us the resources to do as much as we’d like), so Twilight wants to start taking matters into her own hooves. Since Vinyl’s touring all over the place, Twilight figured she’d contact her and have her help out. The conversation went on for a while, and Twilight had to explain her plan a couple times (Vinyl seemed a little tipsy), but basically we’re gonna start getting in touch with city officials and city secret agents on our own, without waiting for Leaf Blower to fly out. Twilight needs Vinyl to tell the appropriate officials what to expect, and to carve some sigils in places, like in trees and statues and things—more permanent than drawing with ink. Vinyl was a little reluctant at first, but she warmed up pretty quick when Twilight explained how it would hasten the restoration process.

I didn’t stick around after that, but Twilight’s gonna reach out again after Vinyl’s show and tell her who exactly she needs to contact and where exactly she needs to place these sigils. I don’t think it’s actually a big deal, but it feels kinda skeezy, you know? But if it helps us get back down faster, I’m all for it.

April 22, Saturday

Quick entry before I head out, I’m meeting Octy and Rarity for dinner and a show in half an hour. Twilight was hard at work with a bunch of ponies from Hoofington today, she had ‘em all lined up with their own sigils on the roof, very official-looking. There was the mayor, the city treasurer, a couple police chiefs, one of the big Astras, and a few others, I assume secret agents. How she found them in the city, I have no idea. Instructed ‘em on how to bring the ground back together, where they needed to go, what sorts of magicians they needed, and told ‘em to remit any expenses directly to her, Twilight—not the Equestrian government.

After that, she told me to find her a book about clouds of thoughts. I asked if she was sure and she snapped at me. Sooooo, guess we’re doing this now.

April 30, Sunday

Vinyl hit Canterlot with her tour, just got back from the show, me and Twilight and the gals from Ponyville (Big Mac couldn’t make it, he’s got a cold). Front row seats, backstage passes, the whole shebang, and it was all so awesome. I know Vinyl supposedly has some sort of incredible skill with light magic, but I’d only really seen her screwing around with it before; tonight was totally different. They’ve got lights and pyrotechnics and stuff, for like the ponies who can’t sit close enough, but where we were, Vinyl did pretty much all the lights and special effects herself. There was this one, it was so cool, where she doused the stadium in this dusty sepia light and then had little sparkles trickle down and gradually build up until it was like we were surrounded by fish scales, all reflective and everything—then bam! Color explosion, song climax, timed so perfectly, I’m still kinda speechless. We adventured with this lady for months, and I had no idea she could do half the stuff we saw tonight.

Backstage, we just hung out, had some wine coolers, talked about the show. She and Twilight talked for a little bit one-on-one and then hugged it out, which I was glad to see. That was the rest of the night, just chilling and catching up in her dressing room. She’s here until the fourth, so if I want to catch another concert, I can.

May 2, Tuesday

Well, I was gonna go to Vinyl’s show tonight, but I pulled a twelve-hour workday with Twilight instead. How do I put this? The city of Snowdrift is fucking suing her for stealing all that Tartarus magic. Oh, she was pissed all right. She’s gonna ask Luna to help her with a lawyer tomorrow, but all day today, it was just research on Equestrian law, natural resource theft, prosecution procedures, and so much other boring, legal crap. I feel like my eyes are gonna dry up and fall out. And I have no idea how she’s gonna pay for all this, if it’s gonna come out of the palace’s budget or if Twilight’s gonna try to do this out of pocket again, like with Versus. I told her she’d better talk with Caramel too, cause as soon as this hits the news, ponies are gonna go crazy. The Element of Magic, prosecuted by the entire city of Snowdrift? It’ll be a fucking field day.

And that’s the news! Happy Tuesday everypony!

May 11, Thursday

All right, the lawsuit isn’t gonna be as bad as we both thought. Twilight talked with her lawyer, and she just has to prove that her way allowed us to defeat Discord quicker than any other way. It’s like something about exigent need, or something, like there was an extreme threat so taking extreme action to face it isn’t illegal. She still has to get all this in writing and send it back to Snowdrift, and there’s all these non-disclosure agreements to be signed so the press doesn’t get a hold of anything, but other than that, she said we should be okay. We’ll probably end up settling out of court.

Talk about a weight off her chest. Twilight was practically floating when she told me what her lawyer said. I still don’t know how she’s gonna pay for it, but one thing at a time. Oh, and I found out what she put in her cloud of thoughts today: the entire map of Equestria, that huge thing we made in January. Probably gonna put all the city officials in there too, she said. Hoofington’s coming along great, though, that’s the other nice thing. She’s paying for this out of her own paycheck, plus I think the cash reward we got when we came back. I have no idea how long that’s gonna last, though, and I don’t really want to ask.

Actually, there’s a third thing: Leaf Blower got back today. I went by her office and said hi, and we talked some more. I want to tell her about the lawsuit, but I know I shouldn’t. Or maybe I should? I don’t know if it’ll ever affect her.

Last piece of news. The princesses officially stated today that everything that happened in Moondrop was Discord’s doing, and that the area is not habitable anymore. They lifted the veil off the area, so now anyone with divination can look at it again, and Twilight showed me what it looked like during lunch. The crater is gone, the little town gone, it’s been replaced with a hole straight through the countryside, with the desert around reduced to this weird looking black glass. It’s all sloping down like a funnel, and it goes on like that for just miles all around. It’s freaking scary, and then I remember that Princess Celestia did all that on her own; not only that, but she was trapped at the time. That giant hole, most of that’s not even from her magic directly hitting it, that’s from the magic that leaked out around her prison. Twilight’s gone on about the princesses’ power a few times, but this really put it in perspective for me. Twilight said, if Celestia wanted to, she could vaporize a couple thousand square miles of countryside. Thousand. Like Twilight says, Celestia’s not a goddess in name only, and I believe it.

May 14, Sunday

Leaf’s already gone, she’s headed for Fillydelphia. We had to skip Saturday lunch this time, Twilight took an airship and flew off to who-knows-where, she’ll be back later today, and then she’s working with Vinyl in Trottingham. Leaf just came from there, but apparently she only covered the areas directly north of town; the east and west are lower priority, so she had to pass them over. So that’s what Twilight’s up to, and here I am, still grabbing books and magical equipment. I want to help her more, but I don’t know what to do. She finalized her response to the prosecution yesterday, so now we have to wait for Snowdrift’s response on that. The others know about it, they’re none too happy, but it could be so much worse.

Octavia had her first encounter with a reporter about the Pinkie thing. I’ll bet they loved that, Octavia told ‘em the truth, and she didn’t mince words either, that’s what she told me. You can tell she got a thrill out of denouncing her sister publicly like that, it kind of made me sick.

May 19, Friday

Applejack’s in town until next Friday, she’s been asked to do a round of graduation speeches in Lower Canterlot. She and Twilight talked a ton more about Pinkie and about the lawsuit too. I was expecting Twilight to try to shut AJ out as much as she could, but they seem perfectly friendly still. I’m sure AJ’s giving Twilight the third degree about the ethics of all this, and let me tell you, I’m not jealous of Twilight one bit.

Celestia made the news by rejecting another changeling offer to help map the seafloor and country underside. They’re pleased with our progress, but Twilight’s projecting this to be all finished by sometime in the middle of next year, and that’s a long time still to go, so… Pinkie and her diplomats are just hanging out on the island for all this time, just waiting for us. I wonder if it’s like a tropical vacation, or if they’re even allowed to leave their little hotel.

May 20, Saturday

So those enchantments Twilight has on the roof, the ones that let her walk on the slopes. I’ve seen her testing them a few times, like seeing how much they can hold, seeing how much she can erase before they stop working, and stuff like that. Why? She took me out to one of the balconies and told me to fly down and look below, and what do you know, there’s half a ton of loose masonry hanging off the underside, stuck to one of those sigils. She’s been stress-testing these things because she’s gonna start sending airships over the edge and under the continent, and they’re supposed to use her sigils to stick to it so they don’t have to carry so much fuel to keep themselves constantly aloft. After that, she took me down to one of the big guest pools, pulled out a dinner plate with a different sigil drawn on, and threw it in. Splash! Half the pool flew up and out of its hole, we were drenched.

Basically, her ponies are gonna fly down under the country, apply their sticky sigils just so the airships have somewhere to land, and then go about drawing on all these water sigils, “hydrophobic” she called them. This way, when we go back down to reconnect, any ocean below will be pushed out by the magic, and we won’t be settling into a big soggy mess. And yes, I asked if they’ll push out water that’s seeped into the ground, and she said they will. The dinner plate was just a demonstration; the actual sigils are gonna have an area of effect of something like three hundred square miles. No normal unicorn could even try to activate one of those, but she said she’s got a plan for that too, so we’ll see. It’s impressive, but a little scary too, especially the part when she told me not to tell the princesses what I saw today.

I did tell Octy, though, over lunch. She was pretty moody today, but still, compared to how she was half a year ago, it’s like night and day. She’s keeping her mane real short, it’s starting to grow on me.

Someone real interesting showed up today in her secret agent class. Some lady named Cork, said they shipped her over from Manehattan, and she was asking about us—Rarity and Fluttershy specifically. I’m gonna have to remember to ask Rarity if she recognizes the name next time we talk. Octy said Cork was all over her, real friendly, like “won’t shut up for two seconds” friendly.

May 24, Wednesday

The first set of airships is out and heading for the country’s edge. It has to be over the edge, and not through the faults in the middle, cause those are gonna be closed off before everyone can get back through. I can’t imagine relying on magic like this, like just sticking your airship to a sigil on the underside and turning off the engine every night. Twilight says she can activate the hydrophobic ones remotely, and I mean… sure? If she says so. I’m just glad it’s not me down there.

I talked to Rarity about this Cork pony in Octavia’s class; she’s the one they met in Passage Town who told them all about the underground chamber. Now it makes sense: Cork walked to Manehattan, the secret agents nabbed her, and instead of doing whatever they do to troublesome ponies, they sent her to Canterlot to learn how to be one of them. Octavia said Cork was over the moon about all of it, so I guess it all works out.

May 30, Tuesday

Vinyl’s in Applewood doing a ton of benefit concerts, and when she’s not performing, Twilight has her rounding up authorities and putting down sigils and who knows what else. I heard them arguing this afternoon, and Twilight was in a nasty mood all the rest of the day. She doesn’t talk to me much anymore, I’ve been noticing, not even lectures on how her magic works. She has a lot on her plate, I know, and I want to help, but most of the time I’m just fetching books or magical supplies. Celestia isn’t much help either, from what I can tell. She’s in meetings most of the time with representatives and delegations. I think she reads my status reports, but I don’t even know that, I might just be doing it for record keeping at this point. I haven’t actually talked to her in weeks, and Luna, she’s busy with her own stuff, she really doesn’t have a place in the restoration project. I asked Twilight how she feels about it, expecting her to get mad at the princesses and maybe agree with me, but she said she gets it, that what they’re doing is a lot more important than the nitty-gritty stuff she’s taking on. Like Celestia and Luna being in meetings with “important” ponies is somehow more valuable than the magic and labor that’s going into putting our country back where it’s supposed to be. Maybe it’s for the best that the princesses aren’t getting involved, though. Twilight said we’re about halfway done with the sigils on Equestria’s underside, and it should be a little more than a month until we’re ready to start sinking back down. I forgot to ask her how she’s activating these giant sigils. It’s weird, the more I work with Twilight, even though I don’t pay a lot of attention to her magic-talk, I think some of it’s getting through to me anyway.

June 3, Saturday

No lunch with Octavia today, she’s got another assignment. I wonder how Colgate’s doing, I haven’t seen her in forever. Knowing her, it could be next year before she shows up, all wide-eyed and crazy. I still can’t believe that stunt she pulled with the extra Element of Harmony, and that it worked, too! Oh, speaking of the Elements, Luna said that Vinyl’s skunk Element is ready to be destroyed, but she and Celestia are gonna have to go way far away from town to do it. It’s dangerous, I guess; might explode.

Snowdrift agreed to settle out of court today, so that’s the end of the lawsuit. We all have to sign something saying we agree to their version of the story, which Twilight said is basically the truth, just worded a little friendlier. I hope Applejack doesn’t make a fuss about signing it, and we can just put this stupid headache behind us.

Not much news from Ponyville, just Rarity, she released her summer line. All the top fashion magazines are going crazy about it, her schedule pretty much got obliterated because of it. She’s back in Canterlot tomorrow, but she’s gonna be so busy, I don’t think we’ll be able to hang out. Fluttershy’s coming up next week for an appearance at some muckety-muck’s garden party, though, so I’ll catch up with her if nothing else.

June 9, Friday

Huge argument between Twilight and Vinyl today. She’s down in Roan, and a lot of that area is back together, so I don’t know what Twilight was having her do exactly, but it had both of ‘em pretty hot under the collar. Twilight’s always in the other room for these, and I can never hear what Vinyl’s saying, but Twilight got pretty intense this time. She said later that Vinyl’s just dragging her hooves on stuff, and it’s really getting in Twilight’s way. I don’t know what that means, but I don’t wanna press it.

June 17, Saturday

Another argument today, Twilight and Leaf Blower this time. Leaf gets back from Fillydelphia and what does she do? Marches straight up to our office and dresses down Twilight for going behind her back on restoration. Twilight shouldn’t have been so surprised, it’s not like she’s the only one with access to divination magic. Frankly, I think she should have told Leaf right away, I don’t see what keeping her in the dark accomplished. The Hoofington area is done all the way up to the coast, and the Trottingham areas are coming along good, so all we really need to focus on now are the northeast and northwest corners, and the area between Appleloosa and Snowdrift.

I’m kinda pissed too cause it totally screwed up our work lunch. We were actually gonna do it this time, but it was just all tension between Twilight and Leaf, so it sucked. I couldn’t even ask Leaf if she wanted to get together later, she left too fast.

June 25, Sunday

The airships are on their way out from under Equestria, and Twilight has this weird potion thing that she’s gonna use to activate the hydrophobic sigils remotely. It’s… I don’t remember how she explained it, but if you take a lot of magic and concentrate it into a sigil and then do something else to it, you can put it into water or something, and then… some other science stuff, and you’ve got a potion that’ll temporarily enhance your own magical potential. All I know is that it’s super dangerous, that she has to keep it at the right temperature, locked away so no one can mess with it, and she can only take it in tiny doses or it’ll backfire and overwhelm her. But, if she’s careful, she can use it to give herself enough magic to activate the sigils down below. Now we just need to figure out how to get us back down.

Leaf left for Appleloosa today, I didn’t get to say goodbye or anything. I don’t know how long she’ll be gone.

July 10, Monday

The airships are all out from underneath us, safe and sound. I expected Twilight to be happy about it, but she’s even worse than before. Spent an hour today bitching about Celestia, how she’s being questioned for requisitioning all the airships on the borders like that. Now Twilight thinks it’s gonna be the end of the world cause she has to tell Celestia that she put sigils on the country’s butt without permission, but I thought this whole thing was Twilight’s project anyway, so like, why should Celestia care? If it works, it works, and that’s the important thing, but Twilight’s so high-strung, it doesn’t matter what I say.

It’s not in the news yet, but Celestia sent a lone airship down to the Hive today. Officially, it’s to “evaluate oceanographic data,” but it’s totally to spy on the changelings. I obviously have no idea how the average Equestrian is gonna take it, I guess if the changeling citizen monitoring thing went through then this could be okay too. Twilight warned Pinkie this time, so the diplomats at least have a little notice before Chrysalis completely freaks out on them.

July 11, Tuesday

Vinyl’s in Snowdrift now, said she’s been hanging out with Versus a lot. I’m glad to hear Versus is doing better after her scare with the police. I don’t know if she’s still mad at Twilight for it, I know I would be. Anyway, Vinyl. She’s down there for just a couple shows, and Twilight’s bugging her about sigils and stuff there too, even though there’s no restoration to be done. The argument this afternoon sounded worse than the last couple, I think Twilight’s gonna lose it here soon. I asked her what the deal was, but she just says Vinyl’s being a pain in the flank and doesn’t want to be a team player. Twilight doesn’t want to have to figure out a way to do all this stuff herself, remotely, but she thinks it might come to that if Vinyl keeps resisting.

July 18, Tuesday

Guess what, Celestia’s stupid spy ship got intercepted a couple miles inside the changeling border. Yes, Chrysalis is furious, and Pinkie’s friends are taking the heat. They can’t say Celestia’s doing this without telling ponies because it’ll make it look like we have a lunatic running our country, and then The Hive will cut ties with us for sure; and when we get back down, we’re gonna have to rely on changeling and griffon imports like never before. Some really crucial times are coming up, and Celestia’s acting like a… I don’t know, I don’t want to say “idiot,” but kind of an idiot. You gotta ask yourself, though, do we really trust the changelings? If we’re gonna be so vulnerable, then they have a great opportunity to pull some funny business of their own. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done something sneaky, Twilight said; they claimed most of the northern oceans for just that reason, cause they’re opportunistic little shitheads. Maybe Celestia does have the right idea.

July 20, Thursday

Today, Twilight and I had a press conference about our restoration progress—and for the record, we are making great progress. Leaf Blower’s still out west, or she’d have been with us too. Most of the country is back in one piece, and we’re in a good position over the planet, and we’ve got the right magic in the right places underneath, but there’s still a lot of work to be done and Twilight doesn’t have a timetable on it. She was good for most of the conference, but then someone asked her something that she did not like, and before I knew it, she was standing up in her seat and just unloading on these ponies. I was speechless, Twilight just cut loose on them, calling everyone worthless and weak and I don’t know what else. It’s all over the news, but I can’t bring myself to watch it. She’s been in her office since then.

July 22, Saturday

Celestia and Twilight had a long talk this morning about her outburst at the press conference, and I don’t know what they said exactly, but Twilight unloaded on me right after. I’m not even supposed to be working on the weekend, this was supposed to be a stupid forty-hour week only, and Twilight has me in the library with these ridiculous lists and finding obscure articles and bits and pieces of information in dusty old books, it’s such bullshit, and then she yells at me? I told her to shove it, I’m not gonna take this crap from her, and you know what she said? That bitch said, I quote, “you’ll take whatever I tell you, Loyalty.” I was so mad, I flew out the window; it was either that or take a swing at her stupid, smug face right there in the office. Like, what right does she have to take out her problems on me? I don’t see anywhere in my employment agreement that I have to take verbal abuse from anyone. What a bitch, an absolute nag of a pony. You know, I see her every day, that’s probably why it took so long to notice how toxic she’s becoming. She’s controlling, she doesn’t tell anyone anything, she’s angry, she’s… Still my stupid friend, too. That’s the worst part, I’m gonna go back in on Monday and just take whatever comes my way. I know this isn’t the real Twilight.

August 9, Tuesday

Today’s the day. The last pieces came together today, and we are officially whole. Well, not officially, Twilight’s doing a final check, but once she’s done, it’ll be official. Celestia’s giving a speech in an hour, and Twilight’s going to give her apology right after. That Caramel, he’s been invaluable. Thanks to him, Twilight hardly suffered any negative publicity.

She’s been a little better, and I’m not mad at her anymore, but I wish she’d talk to me more about what’s bothering her. She shuts up about anything relating to Celestia now, it’s like she’s holding onto a ball of anger and hoping it goes away on its own. She expects to feel better once we’re reattached to the planet, according to Rarity; she gets the same way when a tough fashion project is looming. I always ask Twilight if I can help her out at all, but she just has me do the regular stuff, so it’s like, do I push harder and risk upsetting her, or do I trust that she’ll open up when she really needs to?

On a happier note, Colgate’s back! She and Octavia and me went out for, you guessed it, drinks last night. She has that look about her again, that nervousness, like she expects someone to jump out at her from the shadows. It’s got me nervous just to hang out with her, no matter how many times Octy says to ignore it. Other than that, Cole seems fine. She couldn’t say a lot about what she did down there, but there was a lot of poking around in bad neighborhoods, creeping around crime scenes, and that sort of thing. She seems to enjoy it, so I’m happy for her. Octy, she just keeps going on boring assignments, like stakeouts for magical phenomena and stuff like that. This most recent time, her and a teammate followed a will o’ the wisp deep into the forest, where it led them to—ready for this?—more forest. You spend a lot of time doing small, pointless-feeling crap like that, Luna told her, it’s not like the wild stuff we were getting up to on our adventure. Which, yeah, that’s obvious if you think about it, but it looks all cool and glamorous when you’re signing up. Hey, that’s how it goes, I’m just glad they’re both doing okay.

August 11, Thursday

Big Mac and Fluttershy are in town; he’s making an appearance at some shows, and she’s gonna be in a commercial for air filters. I am so stoked to be able to hang out with someone other than Octavia and Colgate right now—nothing against them, you get it.

Work news. Leaf Blower’s back again, and we’re on for lunch this Saturday, so hopefully Twilight doesn’t screw it up. She’s got a whole new problem coming now, what to do with the ocean. When we lifted off in the beginning, it’s not like there was just a flat floor where we used to be, there were all sorts of crevasses and holes and stuff, so when the ocean flooded in, it didn’t just stay there, a lot of it seeped into the ground. That means that if we get back in place as we are now, even with her hydrophobic sigils pushing the water out, we’re gonna be missing like forty percent of all the water that should be there. So now, Twilight’s gotta figure out where all that water went, and how to get it back—or replace it. For my job, it hardly matters, I’m still just dragging books back and forth.

August 13, Saturday

Chrysalis isn’t slacking off on the pressure, no chance of that anymore after they caught Celestia’s spy. We’re all whole, whoop-de-doo, so put yourselves back right this instant. Twilight was up all night working on a map of the planet. That’s not Equestria, not Equestria and the Hive, but the entire planet; its water, anyway. Every river, ocean, lake, iceberg, reservoir, sewer system, bit of groundwater, and cloud, all of it moving and changing in real time, and all of it rated as best as she can for how salty it is, so we can figure out exactly where this lost seawater went. This is all going in her cloud of thoughts too, she’s not even trying to make a map that me or Celestia or anyone can look at, “a waste of time” she said it is. You know what that means? All the information needed to complete this project is gonna be in one pony, and if something happens to Twilight, then no one will be able to take over for her. And how long is this gonna take, I wonder. Twilight’s already getting impatient, she said as much over lunch today, but she thinks she has a plan for how to get it done faster. Trust Twilight to always have a plan; I don’t know what it is, she hasn’t told me yet. Who knows, maybe she won’t ever, and I’ll just clock in one day and find out that the water’s been returned somehow.

I finally asked Leaf Blower if she wanted to get together later, just her and me, and she said yes! We’re hanging out on Wednesday after work. I wish Rarity was in town, I could use some help figuring out what to wear.

August 17, Wednesday

If I understood half of what Twilight’s doing before she actually did it, I’d have tried to stop her like fifty times by now. I swear, she is gonna blow up the whole palace with all the magic bullshit she’s getting into. Check this out, so on Saturday I said she was getting impatient with her water map. Today, she took a drop of that magic potion she made and shut herself up in the office, and then there was this light for like an hour, just this constant, blinding light, it gave me a headache just to see it from the crack under the door. Luna came up (Celestia was somewhere else, who knows with her) but said it was better not to interrupt, that Twilight was doing something big in there. I asked Luna, straight up, if she thought Twilight was gonna be okay.

Luna, I don’t give her enough credit. She definitely knows that Twilight’s getting up to a lot of iffy magical stuff, but she told me that she and Celestia were getting into the same kind of thing when they were young—that that’s how you start. She also told me there was no stifling someone’s passion, only directing it. I told her that no one’s directing Twilight, that Celestia’s barely around, and Luna said she knows, and she’ll intervene if she ever thinks Twilight really needs it. Then I asked her how Twilight’s magic compares to like, a goddess’, and Luna said that Twilight needs to learn how to work smarter, not harder. She said it like it was no big deal, like the light of the friggin’ sun under the door was nothing special. I guess to her, it isn’t.

So two hours later, Twilight comes out in a haze of smoke; she’d freaking burned the paint off the office walls with the heat from her dang spell. And she tells me it’s done, the map of the planet’s water. How did she do it so fast? Why, by enhancing her own magic and then casting a dangerous, super-advanced spell over all her divination bowls. It identified all the water it found and just filled the information straight into her cloud of thoughts, but she had to be sure not to go fast, or her brain would have literally exploded. Then she went on about how the cloud works, how it absorbs magical information, but I stopped listening at “exploded.” This freaking mare… and Luna’s just letting her pull these sorts of experiments in the palace? Am I the only one who thinks this is way too much?

In a really weird way, though, it was good cause I had my date—whatever it is, not a date, but—anyway—my thing with Leaf Blower, and it was really weird. I was like kind of shaken still, but she was super cool about it. We caught a movie and then decided to get dinner, and we talked. I didn’t tell her the details about Twilight, I feel like I shouldn’t, but I told her that I’m generally worried about her, and we just talked. And laughed, lots of that going on too. Leaf puts me at ease way better than Octavia, and definitely better than Colgate. I’m not gonna tell them that. But yeah, we had a great time, we’re gonna get together on Saturday, she wants to meet the other two. Should be interesting.

August 20, Saturday

I feel bad for hanging out with my friends while Twilight was in her office getting it from Pinkie and the diplomats. Only a little bad, though; this is what Twilight gets for being such a pain in the ass. Now she has to be all meek and just take what they’re dishing out to her, serves her right.

It was a pretty good day, though. Leaf got along with Octy and Cole just fine. We couldn’t talk about any secret agent stuff with her along, but Octy told her how it was to play in an orchestra and Cole went on about being a surgeon. Pretty wild stuff, by the sound of it, and I don’t know how much of it she made up on the spot, so that’s always interesting to try to figure out. Cole still acts all nervous, and she was stinking of alcohol when we met up today, but she seemed lucid, so I don’t know what to think.

August 22, Monday

Another thing Twilight made me swear I wouldn’t tell the princesses. Today, using that same magic she used to contact Vinyl remotely, she reached out to Queen Chrysalis. No diplomats, I don’t think Pinkie’s crew knows what she’s doing either. I got in this morning, and there she was, divination bowl somewhere in the changeling capital island. Chrysalis’ whole palace is protected from viewing magic, so Twilight had to make some kind of commotion outside to get her attention. I know I’ve said it before, but seeing her doing all this from the safety of her office above the library, it boggles the mind.

Anyway, Chrysalis eventually got the hint and started talking to Twilight, and the two had themselves a nice little conversation about restoration. I heard Chrysalis asking about Celestia and Luna a bunch, but Twilight kept quiet about them. What she needs, she needs Chrysalis to get a team together on her end to drill for water. From the sound of it, Twilight found some good sources of groundwater that can be used to replace what the ocean lost, if they can just get at them. Once she said that, Chrysalis changed her tune real fast; she was all smiles and good humor. She’s just happy someone in Equestria is taking action, I’m sure, cause from what Twilight tells me, Celestia has our diplomats just talking in circles. That’s what they were going on about on Saturday; the diplomats expect Twilight to work faster, and Twilight wants them to get Chrysalis to let up, and nobody’s willing to compromise on anything—so it was good to hear Twilight and Chrysalis speaking nicely today.

The only problem is that some of the places Twilight wants to drill are in international waters, and given our current standing with The Hive, the princesses might freak out if Chrysalis sent ships of her own that close. Twilight’s gonna have to chew on that one for a while longer, but I’m sure she can figure something out.

August 27, Saturday

I got to see how Twilight makes that crazy potion of hers today. She clears out the royal ballroom and locks the doors, and then she draws that sigil that Celestia showed her, the one we used to use on Pinkie to bring land pieces back together. She draws that, and then a ring of smaller sigils on its edge, and then rings of even smaller sigils on all those edges. Then she takes a bunch of science stuff, like beakers and copper pipes and all that, and then she covers the whole thing with a giant glass dome that she said catches the condensation, and then she activates the main sigil and lets it sit for a couple hours. When it’s all done, you’ve got a quarter teaspoon of oily, brown liquid: pure, concentrated magic. I asked if the princesses gave her permission to do this in their palace, and she said no one had come around to ask her to stop.

August 30, Tuesday

All right, this one’s gonna suck. So we spent about nine hours yesterday just setting up the attic for what we’re doing these next days. I have to dictate this diary entry like first thing in the morning, cause I’m not gonna be home until Thursday, and I gotta admit, I’m scared.

Twilight’s gonna take a couple drops of that magic potion, which will give her like triple the capacity she has now, and then we’re gonna start drilling. There’s thirty-two spots in the waters between here and The Hive that we need to get freshwater out of, and we have to get it now cause a lot of it’s exposed. If we wait until Equestria is back down, there’s gonna be ocean on top of these spots again, and it’s gonna be that much harder.

Where are we gonna put the water when we have it out? How is she even going to drill, and what am I supposed to do? She hasn’t told me yet, we’re gonna go over that this morning. Like I said, I’m scared; Twilight said this is the most complicated thing she’s ever attempted, and if she screws it up, we could do some serious damage to the planet. Why not just ask Celestia to help? Because she’s not here! Celestia left for the minotaurs yesterday and we have no idea how long she’ll be. She left a note on Twilight’s desk saying that she had “urgent business,” and that she has total faith in us. What a crock of shit! She has been so useless during this whole thing, and Luna too—I love Luna, don’t get me wrong, she’s super busy with secret agent stuff, but still, I cannot believe all of this is on Twilight right now. The sick thing is, Twilight seemed happy that Celestia’s gone, like good, now there’s one less pony to barge in on us.

All right, it’s almost time to get up there. Wish me luck, I’ll be back in two days.

September 2, Friday

I wanted to make the entry yesterday, but I basically got into my room and passed out for twelve hours. Neither of us had any sleep since Monday night, that’s how ridiculous this thing is. Let me try to describe it.

She had all her divination stuff set up first, like usual, all thirty-two drilling sites in their bowls on the room’s edge. In order to actually send magic over there, though, she had to cast it from the tower and bounce it off the atmosphere, so it would land somewhere in the middle of the ocean. Spells weaken the more time they spend in the open, so Twilight had to throw this humongous bolt of magic up into the sky, like I couldn’t even look at it. Probably scared the city half to death. When that spell got to the ocean, she used it to sort of… She described it like she was projecting a piece of herself into the magic on the other side, so she could control it and cast spells through it. I was gonna have to run between all thirty-two drill sites and just keep her updated on everything, like on which spells are looking good, which ones need her attention, that sort of thing. Cause if you know Twilight, she didn’t want to drill these things one by one, that would take forever, so she just did ‘em all at once.

I don’t understand most of this, but basically, she needed to take her one remote spell and split it into thirty-two pieces, one for each site. To do that, she had to remotely draw another mess of sigils—but her thing was floating on the ocean, and there’s no surfaces there to draw on, so she spent like two hours pulling water off the ocean, freezing it, and shaping the ice into huge rafts of geometric ice. Then she activated those with her projection, and she was able to get thirty-two little remote spells of herself all at once. There’s like five or six spells she had to cast on herself so that she could keep track of all this, too, plus whatever was going on in her cloud of thoughts.

So once the projections were ready, she found the drilling spots and threw down spells to mark them, then we were ready to start. This whole setup took six hours, and we hadn’t even drilled yet.

Actually boring through the ground wasn’t too bad, but I had to keep running around the room, making sure nothing went too deep and started boiling off water—one major disadvantage to doing this with magic and not technology, magic gets super hot at this level, where a machine can be kept cool. Then it was just a matter of drilling to the right depth, getting a bunch of tube-like shields in there, capping ‘em with some extra hot magic to turn the groundwater into clouds when it got high enough, and giving the water a good enough suck to get it going. It’s called “capillarity,” Twilight kept saying. If the tubes are narrow enough, then the water will pump itself if we get it started.

And that’s where it got seriously scary. We couldn’t use one tube per drill site, we had to use thousands—like how trees can’t have one huge root, they need to have a ton of tiny ones, that’s how she explained it. And how do we get so many tubes quickly? The most dangerous (and illegal) thing in magic, exponential growth. Twilight refused to tell me the exact spells she used, but she basically wrapped a tiny tube of magic around a grain of sand, made it replicate into two, two into four, four into eight, you get it. She had this going automatically, relying on her cloud to do the math fast enough to keep up so she could know to stop it at three million tubes. Three million! But these things were all the width of a grain of sand, so in reality, it was a bundle you could wrap your hooves around. Still… It only took thirty seconds for her magic to bust out that many tubes, can you imagine if something weird happened and she couldn’t stop it? We’d be swimming in tubes by now. And for all of these… She had some whole other group of sigils at the bottoms of the drill sites to keep the tubes intact after she disengaged, cause if she didn’t, then all our hard work would just fall apart and probably burn a hole through the sea floor. I, uh, don’t know if she was exaggerating when she told me that.

Anyway, once the tubes were ready, she inserted them all into the different drill sites, and the water was able to seep upwards. Ugh. And all this had to be maintained until it was stable. She had to make another batch of projections somewhere in there (like thirty-two wasn’t way too many to begin with), and she put up shields in other places so sand and stuff couldn’t slide in and clog the tubes, and on and on and on, all day Tuesday, all day Wednesday, and all yesterday morning. She enchanted us both so we wouldn’t feel hungry or thirsty, or sleepy, or like we had to go to the bathroom, so that was nice—what sucked was how all those feelings hit you at once the second the enchantment is broken. I don’t want to be graphic, but let’s just say, Twilight had covered the floor with a couple layers of tarp, and now I know why.

September 3, Saturday

Luna came by today and caught us turning off our water pumps. At first, she just watched, but then she told me to take a break and helped Twilight herself. Hey, it was fine by me, but Twilight said later that she wished the princess didn’t meddle in her work. Luna was just being nice, she even showed Twilight a better way to do that remote spell so she doesn’t have to bounce magic off the atmosphere. Anyway, long story short, we got all the groundwater we wanted, and Twilight filled the drill holes back in, and now we have it all in these gigantic clouds over the ocean—and yeah, she enchanted them earlier so they won’t dump their rain prematurely. As for the salt, we took a ton out of our part of the ocean when we were using it for the cloud convoy, so Twilight’s just gonna help herself to that. It’s not like we were doing anything with it anyway. It won’t be enough, she said, but it’ll be a start. She’s working on finding other salt deposits now.

I wanted to talk to Princess Luna, but she left after Twilight was done, and I didn’t get the chance. I don’t know what I was gonna ask her, just—I don’t know.

September 6, Tuesday

After a long and weirdly emotional conversation with Pinkie yesterday, Twilight got set up to start taking us back down today. Still no word on Celestia’s whereabouts, but I think Luna’s starting to get a clue on how bad Twilight’s been getting it, cause she was hanging around some more today, and she helped set up the magic to lower our country. It’s a delicate balance, cause we want to go down slow enough that we just, like, settle in, but we also need to make sure we don’t have any residual magic pushing up against us once we’re down there. Those two talking magic together is like a whole ‘nother language to me.

Applejack’s in town for a cider convention, they want her to be a guest judge. It’s next week, I’m gonna see if Leaf wants to go with me, that’s if I can get the time away. I sure hope so; we’ve got this one last step, and then we should be done. Twilight hasn’t said anything about it, but I’m starting to think about Ponyville again, figuring out how I want to get my cloud house looking, where I want it, and all that good stuff. It’ll be sad to say goodbye to Octavia and Colgate, but I get everyone else just a quick fly away, so I think I’ll be okay. Not sure about Leaf, though.

September 11, Sunday

Very weird day yesterday. For starters, I had to ditch Octy and Leaf at lunch because there was an emergency in Snowdrift. The glacier just outside town was wobbling on the edge, and Twilight was scared it might fall off, so I had to get in there and watch her divination while she scrambled to get another projection over to Snowdrift. She was able to stabilize the glacier, but before we were done, she spent like an hour with the Snowdrift secret agents, telling them to watch their glacier and what to do if it starts moving again. It was kinda funny hearing Twilight reprimand them like that. And since she was in the neighborhood, she checked up on Versus, who’s still not doing great. She got a job at a coffee shop, but it doesn’t pay the bills, and a lot of ponies look at her sideways now. Twilight offered to send her some royal money, but Versus said to save it. So even after saving us from the stupid glacier falling off, Twilight was in a pissy mood the rest of the day cause Versus was snippy with her. I didn’t say anything, but it’s like, Twilight did kind of put her in this situation, so…

Leaf is so sweet, she was asking about me when I was with Twilight, making sure I was all right. We wound up getting together for dinner, just her and me, and it was great. We’re really meshing, and she’s down to go to the cider convention, which’ll be awesome. I don’t think she’s met Applejack yet, so that’ll be cool too; I think they’ll like each other.

Anyway, we were just finishing dinner, and who walks in but the gruesome twosome themselves, Octy and Cole. And they had a third this time, too, that mare Cork that got flown in from Manehattan. Leaf and I didn’t have anywhere to be, so we joined ‘em and made it a… five-some? Cork is a hoot, an absolute blast to hang around with, I can totally see having her along for drinks more often. Octavia was right, she talks a mile a minute. Reminds me a little of Versus, but maybe that’s just cause I had Versus on my mind at the time. I know Applejack said something once about Versus wishing she’d have come with us after all, but I don’t know if that was a joke or what. Hm.

Leaf left early, but me and the other girls stayed out until like two or three. I don’t usually drink that much, but last night I must’ve been six sails to the wind, and I gotta say, it was pretty fun to cut loose like that. Octavia got a little weird, I remember that distinctly, but it seems like Cole just has to put a hoof on her back or whisper something in her ear, and she calms right back down. Those two, they’re not together or anything, I know that, I’ve asked Octavia a few times, but I think they’re a little more than friends. Me and Cork talked for a while, and she told me what happened to her in Manehattan, but I forgot most of it. Like she walked all the way from Passage Town when we went down there to use the window to Snowdrift, and she got to Manehattan and started sniffing around for weird shit there too, and it found her, or they found her, or something like that. She kept saying how proud she was of talking her way into their team instead of having her memory wiped, which is what usually happens. Hey, good for her, she clearly loves it. I remember loving my job.

September 18, Sunday

We’re back on the planet! Like, officially, reconnected! Twilight and I had to spend a good ten hours in the office, more divination bowls, more magic potion, more projections, but we did it. The water’s been pushed out, the clouds we set up are finally raining and filling up the ocean, the salt’s pouring in… It looks good. Twilight tested for the magic that brought us up in the first place, didn’t find any. Pinkie and Chrysalis and all them are delighted, and Luna gave a speech and gave us all medals, all us on the restoration committee. We’ve been working in the palace for about ten months now, and for the first time, I feel like I can relax.

But I know we’re not quite done. The changelings, for instance, they don’t have access to the same magic Twilight used to drill, so they’re still working on getting their portions of the ocean, and we still have to get the rest of the salt so the marine ecosystem doesn’t get screwed up. Luna worked something out with the dragons to have a couple hundred tons of salt shipped over, so that’ll help, but I don’t know how much. Twilight has the numbers, she’s working on it.

Notice how I said Luna’s the one doing all this stuff? Celestia’s still down with the minotaurs, she missed her own country’s return. Twilight played it off, but you can tell her feelings are hurt pretty bad. Celestia was like a second mother to Twilight when she was young, but she barely helped her clean up the Crumbling, and now she misses the culmination of all our efforts? I can’t say I’m really surprised, that’s the shitty thing. Like, shouldn’t both rulers be there for something like this? Shouldn’t Celestia have zipped back here, at least to make an appearance or something? She could have spared the time to give her “star pupil” a little recognition or a word of thanks. You know what really sucks, what the very worst of this is, is Twilight defends her still. “She’s really busy, Dash,” she says, sounding the most miserable I’ve ever heard her. I know me and Twilight have had our differences, but she's still my friend, dammit, and what Celestia did today was just low. I almost wanna give her a piece of my mind when she gets back, whenever that is.

In other news, Rarity’s about ready to put out a winter line. The summer one took off like crazy, like crazy, like “multi-million bits” crazy. I mean, I knew she was doing well, but I didn’t know it was blowing up like it was. She was in town today to celebrate with us, and she cut me and Twilight a check for a million bits, each. Just like that, like it was nothing, a million bits paid to the order of Twilight Sparkle, a million bits paid to the order of Rainbow Dash. Can you believe that? Wouldn’t take no for an answer, so… uh, well, I guess I’ve got a little spending money now. Did this for everyone down in Ponyville already, apparently AJ cried. She said she was gonna give a check to Octavia and Cole too, and maybe even a little one for Versus; she feels awful for what happened to her, and we didn’t really get to thank her properly for all the help she gave us. So at least that’s some good news. It’s funny, Rarity was out with us this evening, and once she had a couple drinks in her, she was going on and on about how the rest of us won’t have to work if we don’t want to, that she can easily provide for all of us, and all that—like the throne isn’t doing that already. Geez, that sounded shitty, didn’t it? I’m just glad Rarity was able to get back to her career.

September 24, Saturday

Leaf and I are together now. I snuck a kiss in after dinner tonight, and well, that was all it took. It’s nothing like with Trixie. This is slow and steady, we’re gonna take it a day at a time and see how we feel. I hope… anyway.

September 25, Sunday

That bitch! Celestia is such a—she—today she—ach! She summed me and Twilight for a meeting today, I didn’t even know she was back yet, it’s not like she announced it. She brought us into the boardroom and it’s like, didn’t even say hi, didn’t even congratulate Twilight on putting us back down on the planet (and like a year earlier than expected, too), she chewed us out instead. I’ve never heard the princess raise her voice ever, but she was furious, she told us that we could’ve caused an international incident, that we totally undermined Equestria’s good name and the throne’s authority—basically, that we did everything wrong. It’s cause Twilight contacted Chrysalis behind Celestia’s back and worked with the changelings directly, like she’s not authorized to speak directly with The Hive about anything. Celestia asked if we “are aware that there is a team of Equestrian diplomats already stationed in The Hive” like we’re both stupid. I was ready to unleash on her, I really was, like it would have been another year setting all this shit up if we went through the diplomats and through all the official royal channels, and all that… Twilight, though, Twilight… She just took it, all of it, she apologized for everything. She said she didn’t know why she did it that way, which is such a lie, she knows exactly why she did it and it’s cause the princess couldn’t get her own shit together. Like I said, the official channels are so inefficient and slow, and expensive too—I was thinking Twilight would at least bring that up, that she saved the throne who knows how much money, but nothing, Twilight just apologized and said it would never happen again. That calmed the royal bitch down, at least, and then Celestia got back to normal, all motherly and crap, and she hugged Twilight and said it was okay, that nothing serious happened—then why’d you yell at us in the first place? I was so mad, I wanted to throw my name badge in her face and say “fuck it, I’m going back to Ponyville.” If I can get Twilight to do it with me, I might still, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen. After the meeting, Twilight went into her office and locked the door. She told me to go do my own thing, that she still had some work to do. Typical.

September 26, Monday

I thought we were gonna wrap up here and then go home, that’s what Twilight said after we were back down. We were gonna finish with the ocean, do some final checks, make sure nothing weird was going on, and then shove off to Ponyville sometime mid-October. But now it looks like we’re here until November at least. Twilight and Celestia had another meeting today, just them, and Celestia wants Twilight to use her divination magic to spy on Chrysalis. See, this is super weird and backwards, cause Twilight and Chrysalis have been working together, but officially, Equestria and The Hive are not on the best terms still; everything Twilight did might amount to nothing if either country doesn’t behave in these coming months. Since now we’re back on the planet and filling in the oceans, we have to start talking about reopening trade lines and stuff, but meanwhile, Equestria still has its changeling population under watch, and don’t forget that spy ship Celestia sent over. They don’t trust us, and we sure don’t trust them, and it’s a standoff to see who eases off the defenses first.

Twilight’s gonna do it. She doesn’t like it, but she’s gonna do it. We’re researching changeling politics and society now, and she’s gonna start probing them soon.

September 30, Friday

Well, they caught her. The changelings have secret agents too, just like us, and they know how to catch someone trying to view them remotely. Twilight was trying to find her way around their counter-surveillance magic, but who do you think is gonna win that one, Twilight Sparkle or an advanced team of government officials whose specific job is to protect their country from magical spying? The diplomats are freaking out, as well they should be, cause now they are in some really hot water. Their country violated the truce between them and The Hive, with the diplomats in the changeling capital city. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Twilight tried to get a hold of Celestia all day, but Celestia’s off on another errand somewhere. Luna’s trying to help, but there isn’t a lot she can do since this changeling mess doesn’t belong to her.

October 1, Saturday

Twilight was on the sigil with Chrysalis herself this morning, this time it was Chrysalis who reached out to Twilight. Celestia’s still missing, and everything Luna says is falling on deaf ears, so it’s up to Twilight to explain all this. We’re not at war, that’s the important thing, but Chrysalis isn’t going to back down. Twilight tried (and failed, she told me) to explain what was going on without implicating Celestia. I really, really hope Celestia gets back soon to sort this out.

October 3, Monday

Celestia’s in Applewood, we found out, overseeing some of the big businesses there, helping them get back on their hooves. She promised to be back in Canterlot as soon as possible to help with the Chrysalis thing, and meanwhile, the changeling navy is heading for our international waters, and they are armed. Chrysalis promised they’re not gonna come into Equestrian space, but do we trust that? They’re just gonna park on our doorstep and wait. Luna keeps appealing to them, but they don’t trust her, and why should they? Stupid Celestia is the one who’s behind all this, and she won’t show—of course it seems suspicious. I don’t know how much of this Twilight is supposed to be handling on her own, Celestia hasn’t deigned to tell us, so we’re just… Working on re-salting the ocean. That job’s almost done, but we’ll be out of neutral things soon. We’re waiting for Celestia, who’s proving herself to be the least reliable pony in the palace right now. So, uh, yeah. That’s the news.