Chapter One: Any Price, They Said.
There are some places in this world that should not be entered, there are some words that should not be spoken. In some ways this is a story about those things, and in some ways it is not. This is a story about me, about us. About myself, and about the world. About magic that was forgotten in this world long ago, and a story about the law of unintended consequences. But I suppose I should start at the beginning. Not my beginning particularly, but a beginning that I learned of during my adventures, and a beginning that is a convenient place to start a story.
It was a long time ago, far before the age of chaos and discord, although at the ending of the age of Alicorns, when the war between them ravaged the land and scattered the survivors to the far corners of the world, and drove their numbers down to a bare handful. Our story starts there, in a copse of trees near that final battlefield where four mares gather.
One mare moves among the dead, gathering small crystal shards from the bloodless dead. The other three watch her wordlessly, tears running down their muzzles, splashing silently against the scorched earth. As she visits each body, she carefully plants a seed where it fell, whispering a small prayer over each body before moving on. Each of them deserves more, seems to be the unanimous thought, but there is no time in which to do more, and little point. It will be hundreds of years till the land is habitable, so there will be none to see any great temple raised, none to see the last resting place of the majority of the Alicorn race. Any price, they had said, any price to end the war, to end the devastation, that this might be a possible price had never crossed their minds.
The last gem is gathered, a small fortunes worth, if they did not have a greater worth than any other would know. The last sapling is planted, and the last rites administered to the last of the fallen. The four gather in a small circle before vanishing from sight.*[1]
It is here my story begins, in those same woods some four thousand years later. However, before my story can be told I fear that I must first set the stage.
My name is Cosmos Starstrider. Born of Carina of the Starstrider clan, and Lunar Brush, an artist who excelled at painting pictures of the night sky. Growing up, my father was home a little less than half the time, and when he was home he was either asleep or painting, although whenever he finished a new piece, now matter what time it was, he would bring the whole family into his studio to show them the new painting. I remember more than one occasion he finished at midnight, and instead of waiting for us to wake up he burst into our rooms, excited as a school filly and levitated us downstairs to view it.
My mother on the other hand was a near constant, as the clan took a portion of the profits from father’s paintings, providing food and lodging in return, as well as a stipend for our family to invest as they saw fit. A method designed not to put all the clan’s eggs in a single basket. They took the principle investment, and a portion of the profits from any investments that they had a root in. This method allowed reasonable freedom, and prevented anyone from getting overly greedy, all the while providing incentives for hard work and innovation. On those exceptionally rare occasions when they needed bits for one reason or another, she would pack a backpack with a tent and some food before disappearing into the woods by the clan home for hours or days. When she returned, she was almost inevitably carrying something peculiar. A jeweled sword that still sits in its display case in the clan’s main hall, a battered but still functioning silverwood clock, old coins, a half burned tapestry, and many other items, albeit far more mundane than those strange objects.
When asked about where she went during her vacancies, or where she found the objects, she was always noncommittal. “Out in the forest” she would say, or on one memorable occasion “Visiting some old friends”, although she immediately clammed up, and would say no more on the subject. And despite the rest of the clan knowing the entirety of the forest like the back of their hoof, they found no trace of any such treasures, or ponies living in the forest, and all attempts to follow her into the forest resulted in her pursuers losing sight of her around nightfall.
Her cutie mark was a tree sprouting a compass, surrounded by a ring of gold. When asked what it represented, her only response was “Finding lost things”. And my father’s cutie mark was a paintbrush overlaying a cloudless nights sky. Together they were an odd couple, but despite their differences, they made it work. And into this picture enters my sister and I.
We were raised by the clan, as much as by our parents, and we grew up in those woods just as much as in the buildings and houses of the clan. There were few areas where children were not allowed, and each of those places was known by us, along with the reasons that we were not allowed to enter them. For most it was to reduce the amount of distractions to the adults, private studios and the like where the artists work. But a few locations were forbidden because of the potential danger to untrained, unwary ponies who entered them, such as the solitary sawmill that was only used to conduct repairs to the houses, for the Starstrider clan had been stewards to the forest for generations, and they wanted it to remain that way for generations more to come. And thus any wood for carving or firewood came either from dead trees or from market. The forest of course was permitted during any free times where the weather did not make it dangerous.
The schedule for learning was different than most schools, Monday to Wednesday was traditional schooling, on Thursdays we learned various practical lessons such as weaving and basic combat, as well as some lessons on farming. Fridays were spent learning the various magics that the different tribes were capable of. Although I looked forwards to those weekly lessons the most, neither myself nor my sister were particularly strong. Our strength was well below average, and as a result even though we both tried our best, we lacked the raw magical power for more than basic levitation and a few minor spells. Saturday and Sunday were spent helping around the house, or teaming up for more strenuous jobs.
It was not a bad childhood, all things considered. Certainly better than some, for any instances of bullying was met with near instant retribution. All free times became filled with chores, the length of the punishment depending upon the severity of the infraction. Those who misbehaved were dealt with, and provides as an example for others. I certainly learned the lesson quickly enough, for misdemeanors that are more embarrassing than anything else. Unfortunately such idyllic times could not last forever.
It all began, more or less, on the annual clan camping trip during my fourteenth year of life, two weeks before the Summer Sun Celebration. It was a tradition to spend a week in the woods each year, followed by a private party, or a trip to a nearby town if it was hosting the Celebration. Most years were spent in the lodge, however this year there was a trip planned to Ponyville afterwards. The first five days were uneventful, spent largely in a clearing just south from the center of the forest on the opposite side of the forest from the clan lodge. As night fell on the sixth day however a storm rolled in. None of the pegasi sensed it coming, their attempts to disperse it failed. While not as wild as the Everfree forest near Ponyville, it was certainly powerful. Some in the clan said that the forest had its own moods, and this was never as clear to me as it was then. The very air felt furious, and the trees looked macabre. It came rolling in, herding us out back towards the lodge, as if it merely wanted us out of that place. It might have just been the fancy of a colt on the verge of adulthood, but I could have sworn that I heard the wind scream “Get Out” as we hastily packed up the tents, salvaging anything of value before moving towards the clan lodge as quickly as we could.
I still don’t know how it happened, but one moment I was in the middle of the group, and the next there was nopony else in sight. Between one stride and the next they vanished, or perhaps I did. In the space of a single heartbeat everything changed. The storm was gone, the full moon hung in the sky overhead, the trees were no longer menacing, but neither were they the same trees as before. While I knew every inch of the forest, this place was unfamiliar, trees a golden bronze color towered overhead, leaves greener than I had ever seen before. The stars visible from the gaps in the canopy were unrecognisable, I cast a spell just within the bounds of my power but mostly useless*[2] to capture the image in my mind almost solely on instinct, knowing that my father would want to see it. Yet despite the beauty of the place around me I was terrified beyond words. After what seemed to be unknowable eternities, although was probably more like seconds I found my voice, “Hello” I squeaked out, then tried again louder, “Hello, is anyone there?”, The only thing that replied was silence.
Looking around again I saw a pale light coming through the gaps between trees. I searched briefly for anything that could be considered a weapon, but I could see nothing usable, some small broken branches and a flower. Gathering my courage I moved slowly towards the light. I emerged from between the trees to find myself within a small clearing, the source of the light I saw was a medium sized brazier made out of what looked to be finely wrought silver. In front of the brazier was a small pedestal with a dark book resting on it, a small red triangle extruding from under its cover. I moved forwards, entranced by the fire, or by the book I cannot remember. I stopped near the book, close enough to the book now to see the small silver engraving on the front. An eye surrounded with text unreadable in the moonlight. I reached out to touch it, but when my hoof first brushed the cover a small but blinding light emanated from the eye.
When I could again see, I noticed two cloaked figures standing near the brazier, arguing. Their voices indistinct, though they had a musical quality to them. I do not remember what they said, only that one of the figures sounded hopeful, and the other sounded frantic. At this point I collapsed on top of the book, my muzzle crashing into its cover lightly. Although the blow was light enough that I retained consciousness, the blinding light that once again emerged from the cover was enough to knock me out.
