This is a story of the High and Far Off Times, oh Best Beloved, before the world was Wild and before the world was Tamed. It is not the First Story, or even the Second, but it is the first that I remember. It is the story of those who came before us, what happened to them.
Before the Hoofed Ones spoke, there were the Eld. The Eld spread across the world, and built their towns and cities, like the Hoofed Ones do, and the gryphons do. They built on the land and under it, on the sea and under it, in the sky and over it; everywhere they laid their feet, they tamed and made their own.
For the Eld were masters of all that they saw, or felt, or smelled, or heard, or tasted. They knew the Deeper Magic, and it knew them, and it was theirs to do with as they pleased. In those days, only the Eld could speak as we do now; even the dragons spoke a different tongue, their ancient tongue, and did not have Words. Language was the Eld’s alone, and they made Art and Music and all the wondrous things that we enjoy, for they enjoyed it too.
In those days, the Hoofed Ones bowed to the Eld, and served them, as all things did. We were their constant companions, as were all creatures of the fur, and we bore their burdens and worked their fields. They gave us hearth and home, and cared for us when we could not, and life was good.
But in their mastery of all, the Eld grew arrogant, and sought to master the only creature that had yet to bow. They sought to master themselves. And when they could not master themselves, they sought to master each other. And so it was that the Eld created War, and turned it on their brothers.
War was a hungry beast, and the Eld scrambled to feed its hunger. They stripped the land, and the sea, and the sky, of metal and wood and stone and cloud, and of beasts. War demanded everything, oh Best Beloved, and we, the Hoofed Ones, were given to its hunger, as were all creatures of the fur, and of the feather, and of the scale. And we fought, for we had not language, and trusted the Eld.
In the wake of War, the world knew Death as it had never before. Eld lay dead by their thousands, and we lay dead by our tens of thousands, and the land and sea and sky themselves lay dying. And still the beast that was War raged on, and devoured the world, and the Eld did nothing to bring it to heel.
In desperation, then, an Eld reached for the Deeper Magic, and gave it over to War, and in doing so, their doom was sealed. For when the Deeper Magic was turned against the Eld, they changed its knowing of them; they were no longer its masters, but its prey. And with no master, what was Tamed turned Wild, and what was Chained became Free.
This was how the world became Wild and Free, Best Beloved. In its Freedom, the Magic raged, and struck at the Eld, and struck at we who served them, and struck at the land, and the sea, and the sky. It took the sun and the moon from the sky, and changed their nature, and sent them spiralling and twirling about. It took the land and ripped it asunder, it took the sea and forced it to fly, and it took the sky and made it rage. It took the creatures, we of the fur, and the feather, and the scale, and it twisted our forms at its whim. This is how the griffin was made, Best Beloved, and the manticore, and the minotaur, and many of the wondrous creatures that live among and with us.
To the Eld, it was not so kind. It twisted their form, as well, to such a great extent that even today, none can say how the Eld should have looked. All we know, Best Beloved, is they walked tall, like the dragons and the minotaur. And this was bad enough, but it was not satisfied. It took their soul, Beloved, and it twisted that as well, and left them in torment and pain.
The Eld that lived gathered, then, and looked upon themselves, and wept. “This is our doing,” they said, speaking as one. “We can blame none but ourselves.”
“We should join our brothers in death!” one said, great tears of crimson flooding down his face, and a chorus of voices called out in support.
“Death will take us now, or later,” another said, whose tears did not flow. “Let us not hasten its embrace.”
“These are the wages of our actions,” said a third, whose tears of violet streaked her fur. “We should endure this, for we have earned it.”
“If we endure, is it with purpose, or just to bear our punishment?” said the second, whose tears still did not flow. “Let us have a will in what we do.”
“What, then?” the others cried, their tears now staining the ground on which they stood. “What do we do, if not die, or endure?”
“We stand here,” said the One Who Did Not Weep, “in sorrow, and pain, and we say this is our fault. We wish to die, we wish to suffer - we will do both, but guilt will not be lessened.” With twisted, feathered limb, the Tearless reached down, and touched us, Best Beloved, for even then, the Hoofed Ones, and the other creatures of the fur and feather and scale had flocked to the Eld, for we knew them still and trusted them.
“These with us have no guilt,” said the One Who Did Not Weep, “for they were never given choice. We will die. They will live. And they will inherit this world that we have broken.”
Those Who Wept looked upon us, and heard the words of the Tearless, and they wept all the more. “Ai!” cried the Eld of Crimson Tears, who wept hardest, and longest. “Our shame is all the greater!”
“Ai!” cried the Eld of Violet Tears, “Can we ever pay for this?”
“Our time is short,” said the One Who Did Not Weep. “We must neither die nor endure, but struggle. We must fight for those we failed, to give them back the world we ruined. I know not how it might be done, but we may find it ‘ere we die.” The Eld agreed, then, and formed a pact, and we who watched knew nothing but that the Eld no longer Warred, and we were happy.
They took us who had watched, and went below the earth, to the deep cities, where the Magic had not yet reached, and there they made a home. They cared for us, as best they could, and taught us, as best they could, but so twisted were their forms and souls that in the end, it was we who cared for them, and in the doing learned. And she of the Violet Tears watched in wonder, and to her came a thought.
She went to he of the Crimson Tears, and shared with him her thought, and he was struck with wonder, and went with her to the others. And one by one, they each were struck, and thought that this was wondrous, and so the Eld gathered once again, before the One Who Did Not Weep.
You should know, Best Beloved, that the Tearless was the one most twisted of the Eld that lived, so much that even to walk, or talk, or smile, or frown, was pain beyond imagining. The Tearless did not move, down in the deep cities, but sat and watched and listened, and above all loved us. So when the One Who Did Not Weep heard the thought of she of the Violet Tears, and stood, and smiled, all the Eld knew that it was, indeed, a wondrous thought.
“The old ways,” the thought had said. “The Magic was commanded, and obeyed because it knew us, and knew we were its masters. But in the oldest times, before we were its masters, we did not command, but asked. And if we asked,” the thought had said, “perhaps the Magic, or a Lesser Magic, would hear us, if we ask not for ourselves.”
The Eld gathered us, then, and took us all back to the top of the land, and we saw what the Magic had wrought in our absence. The land had been broken, but now it was shattered and twisted, and everything was wrong. The sky still raged, in fits and spurts, and the sea hung over everything, glistening in the violently shifting light of sun and moon and stars. But the Eld were not afraid, and so neither were we, Best Beloved.
They sat, with us among them, and they waited, with eyes closed. And then the One Who Did Not Weep began to sing. There were no words, Beloved, for this song was older even than words. It was the first song, and it is the last song, and it is the song of all that comes between; and that day, it was given voice. We listened, Best Beloved, though some among us heard more than others, and rose from where we sat and went to the One Who Sang. And some among us heard more than others, and rose, and went to each of the Eld, and gathered by their sides.
And these were the Hoofed Ones, who listened, and rose, and the gryphons, who listened, and rose, and the dragons, who listened, and rose. Some others who listened moved closer, oh Beloved, but did not sit beside the Eld, and others never moved, but stayed where they were sitting, and so the choices were made.
The Eld, then, joined One Who Sang, and in their unity of voice the Magic heard their call, and came upon them, still Wild and still Free, and in its fury sought to sunder them, for once and all. But still they sang, and it could not. So then it sought to silence them, with thunder and with wind, but still they sang, and it could not. So then it turned to us, and sought to tear us down, and those who had not moved fled in the face of its fury, and those who had moved closer, but did not rest beside the Eld, cowered and hid. But those who sat beside the Eld could not be touched, Beloved, and were calm, for the Eld still sang.
The Magic calmed, then for it saw that it could not stop them, and asked them why they sang. “We sing our sorrow,” said he of the Crimson Tears.
“We sing our shame,” said she of the Violet Tears.
“We sing our love,” said the One Who Did Not Weep.
“We sing our plea,” said all the Eld.
The Magic listened.
They died there, Best Beloved, when the Magic listened. It heard them, and answered, and granted their wish, and in the granting took their freely offered selves. The last of them to die was the One Who Did Not Weep, who clung to life to see that we who were so loved were granted what was wished, and clung to life to teach us all that I have told you. And once that was done, the Tearless died as well, and smiled in the death.
What was their wish? They wished us all that they had lost, Best Beloved, and all that they had never had. It is because of this wish that the Hoofed first spoke, and that we have Words. It is because of this wish that those who fly can move the clouds and tame the sky, that those of Earth can heal and tame the land, that those with horns can master and heal magic, and move the stars and sun and moon.
The One Who Did Not Weep gave to us one final wish, oh Best Beloved, and that was that we tell this story, and remember it, and remember the Eld.
Remember the Eld. Remember how they met their end. Remember always.
Now sleep, Best Beloved. I will wake you in the morning, and perhaps I will share another story.
How The Magic Was Taught Love
This is a story of the High and Far Off Times, Best Beloved, when the world was Wild and Free. In those days, when the creatures of the fur and of the feather and of the scale first knew Words, the land was shattered, the sea was scattered, and the sky railed and raged. There was not day or night, for the sun and the moon and the stars fought for the sky, twisting and whirling around each and each the other, and light and dark were both and one the same.
At that time, we had not our cities or our farms, Best Beloved, nor our states and nations. We were all one people, for all our differences, for we had all served those who came before us, and we had all received their gift. We banded together, we creatures of the fur and of the feather of the scale, and struggled against the world.
Our struggle was a harsh one. The land and sea and sky alike were wild, because the Magic of the world was also wild, and would not heel, and though our will was mighty and our strength was great, we could not prevail. It was in the midst of this that ten of our number came together, to see what might be done.
Two came from the dragons, and they were the largest, the oldest, and the wisest of their number; Great Lamareth of emerald scale and crimson flame, and Grand Ailurok, of ebon claw and razor wing. Their struggle was with the Wild Things, those who had fled when the Eld had sung, and sought to prey on all the rest.
Two came from the gryphons, and they were the swiftest and the fiercest of their number; Giuliana of the golden eye, and Gareth of the silver wing. Their struggle was with the Wild Wind, that sought to cast all creatures of the feather from the sky, and dash on the shattered ground.
And from the Hoofed, there came six, two each of the winged, the horned, and those of the Earth. From the winged came Pegasus, he of the pure white coat and mane, and Celest, she of the storm grey coat and night black mane, who struggled with the raging sky, and fought against the storms, that sought to break all who flew and all who walked; they fought beside the gryphons, and strong was their bond and great their love for each and each the other.
From those of the Earth came Stallion, he of the crimson coat and steel mane, and Mare, she of the azure coat and golden mane, who struggled with the land, and fought to tame the Wild Plants, and ensure that all could eat. They shared a bond with all who walked the land, and great was their love for all creatures, be they of fur or of feather or of scale, Hoofed or Pawed or Clawed, and for the dragons, who guarded them as they worked.
And finally, from the horned came Unicorn, he of the golden coat and chestnut mane, and Equinia, she of the creamy coat and flaming mane, who struggled with the Magic itself, and fought to right the heavens, and the sun and moon and stars. To them, all paid respect, for theirs was the greatest and most perilous of struggles, and they had none to share it with.
“How long has it been,” asked Stallion, whose heart was weary of the struggle, “since first we knew to think, and speak, and struggle?”
“I know only that it has been long,” said Lamareth, whose heart was steady as the stone, “for twice have I shed my skin, and twice have I fired my clutch; but there is not day nor night to mark the time.”
“It has been long,” said Giuliana, whose heart was still afire, “for thrice have we of the gryphons seen the newborns come and thrice have we of the gryphons seen the elders sleep; but there is not day nor night to mark the time.”
“It has been long,” said Pegasus, whose heart was troubled, but steadfast, “and hard has been our struggle, with little enough to show for it. We survive, but do not live. Something must be changed.”
“The Magic is capricious,” said Unicorn, and all eyes went to him. “It hears us, but ignores us at its whim, or twists our pleas to mischievous means.”
“It hears us,” said Equinia, “but it has no heart nor soul, and cares not for us or any creature.”
“Yet it heard the Eld,” said Ailurok, who was oldest of them all, and had been old when Eld had died, and whose heart was calm. “It heard their song, their wish, and granted it.”
“The Eld were once its masters,” spoke the horned, whose hearts were cold, and nearly broken, “and it knew them once. It knows us as creatures it has wrought, as things with which to toy, and loves us not, and respects us not. And while the Magic rages, the land will sunder again and again, and the sky will rage alike, and the sea will have no home, and the sun and moon and stars will fight.”
“Then it is hopeless,” said Gareth, whose heart was bitter from the fight, “and never shall we do more than struggle. What meaning is there in it, when nothing will come from it?”
“Lose not hope,” said Celest, whose heart, like Ailurok’s, was calm, and like Pegasus’, was steadfast. “Our struggle has not been in vain, for we were born, and lived, and we have our children, who yet live, and will live, because we struggle.”
“I tire, sister,” said Stallion, and hung his great head. “I fight, and my brothers fight, and my sons fight, and I feel the pain of the land, yet it rejects us, and sends us away. And again, and again, and again, we give of ourselves and heal a portion, and then it is sundered before our very eyes. You say to not lose hope, but how do I keep it, when my sons perish and my daughters waste away? There must be a change.”
“The only change that will have meaning is if the Magic changes its heart,” said Unicorn.
“And we know that it will not,” said Equinia.
You must understand, Best Beloved, how perilous their struggle was, lest you think ill of the horned. For the dragons, the gryphons, the winged, and those of the Earth, the threat was to their form and to their hides, and the danger was a thing that could be seen, and wrestled. For the horned, it was not so. The peril of their task was with their souls, and their hearts, and their minds. The Magic that had so twisted the world was of a deeper sort than what we use today, Beloved, and needed a deeper reaching, of a sort that laid the heart and mind and soul bare.
The horned had struggled with the Magic since first they spoke, and with each baring of their selves, with each plea made, the Magic twisted them, and with each twist, they became less like creatures and more like the Magic itself. It is a wonder, indeed, that they were still so warm when the ten came to meet.
It was then that Mare, who was a quiet, gentle soul, decided to speak, and she said, “Could we not calm the Magic, as we do the beasts who do not speak?”
The horned, and the winged, and the gryphons looked at her, and wondered what she meant. “The beasts that do not speak are wild,” said Pegasus, shaking his head and mane. “They are not calm, and cannot be calm.”
“They seek only to harm and rend,” said Giuliana, “and any who fall to them are dead. Is this not true?” This she asked of the dragons, and they looked to each other, and deliberated before answering, speaking in their ancient ways that need no Words.
“It is and is not,” said Lamareth, when they had finished their deliberation. “There are those who will not listen, but these are the fanged and the clawed and the great in size, who have learned to live by the taking of life. The small creatures, the tiny birds and the things that scurry beneath the feet, or flee at your approach, they can be calmed.”
“We have seen it,” said Ailurok, who nodded to Mare. “Those of the Earth, and others of the Hoofed, are best able to do it, through ways unknown to us.”
“Truly?” asked Pegasus, who was incredulous at this news. “Stallion, have you known of this?”
Stallion raised his head, and nodded once. “It was the children who first found the tricks, and they taught us. It is a small thing, a way to gladden the heart and make the work a little lighter. But I do not know how they might help.”
“Well,” said Equinia, “tell us how it is done, perhaps there will be something that might work.”
So Mare told them of how the wild things were curious, and would approach if you lay very, very still. She told them of how, if you fed them even a little, and did so often, they might let you touch them. And she told them of how, if you showed them love, and kindness, they would show the same to you. These things are still true today, Best Beloved; if you do not believe me, then try for yourself. The creatures will flee before the brash and the loud, and scatter before the cruel, but for the quiet and kind, they are wondrous friends.
It was the last of these tricks that caught the minds of the horned, and caused them to look at each other, and consider how they had approached. “Always,” said Unicorn, his voice a thoughtful tone, “we have come in supplication or demand … and never simply as a friend.”
“I would come with you, sister,” said Equinia to Mare, “and see how this is done, and try for myself, that I might learn the ways in full. And you, brother,” she said to Unicorn, “should go with the others, each in turn, to see how their struggles are fought.”
“To what end, sister?”
“We none of us knew of this calming of creatures. What else have we missed, by keeping ourselves to our struggles and our struggles to ourselves? Go, brother.”
So the ten went on their ways; Equinia with Mare, the winged with the gryphons, and Unicorn with Stallion, and the dragons with them. And it was long before Unicorn and Equinia joined each other once again, just the two of them, beneath the boughs of a mighty oaken tree. “Have you learned how the calming is done?” asked Unicorn, and Equinia nodded her assent.
“It is as Mare said, though it takes much patience. But to give love brings love. See?” She lowered her head, and Unicorn near yelled in shock; there, sleeping in her fiery mane, lay a sparrow, its beak tucked beneath its wing. “And you, dear brother. What have you learned?”
“Our brothers of the Earth, and of the winged, are stronger and more clever than I knew,” said Unicorn, turning to the tree beside them. “Perhaps even more than they know. Did you know, dear sister, that to heal a shattered land, you must shatter it again, and again, and again, until it no longer has a true form? Only then can you shape it once again, and make it whole. And did you know, dear sister, that there is poison in the land that must be culled from the healthy soil, or plants and creatures alike will sicken and die? And that earth, tempered in the fires of the dragons, can be made hard and unyielding, useless for growth, but immune to poison and impossible to sunder?
“This tree that we stand under is their greatest triumph,” he said, and leaned against its bark. “And we did not know that they had found it, and cleaned it of the poison, and locked the poison away within dragon tempered earth. Nor did we know that they do so again, and again, because with each pass of the Magic here, the poison returns. Sister … could the Magic itself be poisoned?”
“I have sometimes wondered,” she said, and leaned against him, “when after we speak with it, and I feel myself grow cold. What of our brethren in the sky?”
“I saw you watching, too. What did you learn of their struggle?”
“They fight what has no stable form,” she said. “They give shape to storms, and with the gryphons, they direct them with the wild wind, and direct the rage of sky and wind and storm, that each expends itself where none are living. Sometimes, they push one into the other, and let the sky rage against itself. And never do they take the storm from the front, or try to break it, but always they deflect it, redirect it.”
“Such is what I saw as well. Sister … I may see a way.”
“Indeed, brother. I think I see as well.”
“It will take time.”
“All things do.”
“We will need all the horned behind us.”
“They will help. It is their struggle as well as ours.”
“We will likely need the help of all the others, as well, furred and feathered and scaled alike.”
“They desire a change. We offer one. They will help.”
“Let us go, then.”
They went to the horned, then, and told them of what they had seen and learned, and what they wished to do. But the horned were unsure, for remember, Best Beloved, that each of them had touched the Magic, and each of them had laid bare their hearts and minds and souls, and been twisted. Of the horned, Unicorn and Equinia were the strongest, and the least changed, and as he spoke with them, Unicorn understood how much the horned had changed, and how great their peril truly was.
With words and will and strength, he won them over, and they stood with him; all save one. This one was the oldest of them, and his heart was the coldest, and had long since lost all hope. Equinia went to him, and pleaded with him, but he would not be moved, and condemned them all as fools, and took his leave. Great was the sorrow of the horned, for he had been mentor to most all who were there.
They gathered, nonetheless, and some of the horned joined Unicorn and Equinia, and formed a ring, while others formed another ring around the first, and set to watch. Unicorn raised his head, and laid himself bare, as did Equinia, and those who were in the first ring, while the others stood guard. And they all waited.
Unicorn was the first to feel its touch, and feel its confusion; for this time, they asked nothing, but simply waited. Equinia, then, felt its touch, and its confusion, and she, too, waited. The Magic swirled about them, and looked over all that were gathered, and reached for them; but found that none were asking; all were simply waiting.
Equinia spoke to it, then, and though she used no words, we know of the question she asked. “Do you have a desire?” she asked it, and they both could feel its surprise. And when it came clear that that was all she wished, they heard an answer.
“We would give you this,” said Unicorn, and he, too, used no words. “But we know not how.” The Magic was puzzled, and surprised to find that, for all its wild power and all its freedom, it had no answer it could give.
“We are bare before you,” said Equinia, “and you know us. If you allow us, we could know you, and find out how to give you what you wish.” The Magic thought on this, and agreed, and for the first time, it laid itself before the horned, and they knew it as they never had known it before.
“It is poisoned, sister,” whispered Unicorn, and she nodded. They had no name for the poison, Best Beloved, for Words were still new to them, as were names. But we have named it. We call it hate, and envy, and greed, and selfishness, and cruelty; all the things which drive us apart and set us against our kin. This was what the Magic had learned when the Eld offered it to War.
“Do you see a way to cure it?” she asked. “Or a way to grant its desire?”
“Yes. And yes. We will need the help of all the creatures,” he said, “and especially of the eight who met with us.”
So Equinia went to the others, to gain their aid, while Unicorn prepared the horned for what would come. She went first to Mare, who took her to Stallion, who had fallen into despair, and would not move. But between the two of them, with words that bit and pushed, they convinced him to lift his weary heart to the task a final time. And with them, came all those of the Earth, and their cousins, of the striped hide, and those who are of the Hoofed but do not share our shape.
Next, she went to Celest, who was with Guiliana, and they, like Mare, agreed to give their aid. Celest went to Pegasus, whose heart remained steadfast, and he was quick to give his aid. But when they went to the gryphons, they found their friends locked in combat, fighting with talons and beaks and screeches and roars. For Gareth had a bitter heart, and had lost hope, and he had answered Giuliana’s hope with scorn. The winds raged about the battling pair, and all that Pegasus could do was to keep the storms at bay, and all that Celest could do was to keep the wind contained.
Equinia knew naught of this, for she had gone to the dragons, to Lamareth and Ailurok together, who had known that she would come. They listened as she spoke, and asked their aid, and when she had finished, they turned to the land surrounding them, and roared a question in their ancient tongue. The reply was deafening; all the dragons had gathered, and heard, and roared their support. And Equinia smiled, and thanked them, and went to gather the horned.
All came together, then, dragon and gryphon and the Hoofed. When all were gathered, Best Beloved, they were shocked to see their numbers. They were not so many as we are now, but they were more than they had been, and in each weary heart there kindled a small spark of hope.
Unicorn and Equinia greeted their friends, but were puzzled, for Gareth was not with them, and they saw the marks of battle upon Giuliana. And when they asked after him, Giuliana would only say that he had left, and that another, named Gabriel, would take his place. And though Celest and Pegasus knew what had occurred, neither would they speak of it, out of respect for Giuliana.
When all was ready, and each of the ten had taken their place around the tree, Unicorn and Equinia raised their horns, and laid themselves bare, as they had so often before. All present watched in awe, for none save the horned had ever witnessed such a thing before. Remember, Beloved, that this was a deeper casting than that which we do now. In current times, when the Hoofed do magic, the horn glows, and there is light, and it is done. Our striped cousins, the Zebra, have their own magic as well, that of potion and powder, and in some ways it is closer to the deeper casting, but still it is not the same.
The deeper casting had no light, nor flash, nor great shuddering of power – but instead, the horned would fade, in their form, if you looked, you could see the very shape and color of magic itself. Those who were not horned were allowed to look, for it was necessary, but then the horned surrounded Unicorn, and Equinia, and erected walls of dragon tempered earth, to close them off. And then they went amongst winged, and the gryphons, and the dragons, and those of the Earth, and with soft and gentle words they guided them from the edges of madness.
This is why none save the horned had witnessed it, for when they first made the casting, and knew the peril, they resolved that they would protect the rest from it. In this day as well, Beloved, when the world is tamed, it is perilous even for the mage to look too deeply at the face of magic. It is a thing both beautiful and terrible, and can bring ruin and madness to the unprepared.
Within the walls, Unicorn and Equinia lay still, bared, and waited, and before long, they felt the Magic approach. Outside the walls, the horned raised their heads, and stomped their hooves, and with them all the rest came alert, and watched the tree, and felt the shifting of the world. The magic touched them first, then, curious, spread its touch to all present, and each creature felt a shiver in their back and a twitching in their ears, but none were changed, for none were open.
When the Magic ceased its probing, and turned back to Unicorn, and to Equinia, they spoke to it, and said, “We can give you what you wish, if you lay yourself open once more.” And the Magic did so. It was then, Best Beloved, that the horned did something both wondrous and horrible; wondrous, that they made good their promise and changed the fates of all; horrible, that they betrayed a trust, so new and fragile, to do so.
At the moment the Magic bared itself, they cried out a signal, and all the horned around them lifted their horns and lent their will to the two within the walls. They took this will, and tied to their own, and Unicorn, who was the more aggressive, bent it against the Magic, and trapped it, so it could neither flee nor fight, and held it there.
Equinia, who had gone to all the creatures, reached for them, the dragons and the gryphons, and her brethren of the winged and of the Earth, and asked for what they had to give. From Stallion and Mare, she took the solid steadiness of Earth; from Celest and Pegasus, the unbridled power of a storm; from the gryphons, a portion of their ferocious spirit; and from the dragons, a portion of their eternal flame. All these, she took, and made her own, and joined her brother Unicorn.
Together, they faced the helpless Magic, and shattered it; and the Magic, now in pieces, raged, and struck at them. But they weathered its first strike, and came through unchanged, bolstered by the dragons’ flame and by the steadfast Earth. And when next it struck, they caught the strike, and pushed to the side, with the power of the storm and the ferocity of the gryphon, and turned it on itself. They cut away the poison, and forced it all together, and locked it in a safe place. Then, they turned to the raging pieces, and caught them, and bound them, and with the warmth that was Mare, and the Hope that was Celest, they soothed the broken Magic, and showed it what they planned.
Beyond the walls, all waited, cowering and frightened. All that they knew, even the horned, was that the casting was not yet done. They had watched, in horror, as the world around them raged, the land rising to meet the hanging sea, and the sky howling. But as they prepared to fight, they found that beneath the boughs of the tree, all was calm, and raging world could not approach.
They had watched, again, as Stallion and Mare had fallen, and lay upon the ground, unmoving, and as Pegasus and Celest did the same. They had watched as Giuliana and Gabriel staggered, and as Lamareth and Ailurok groaned, and leaned against each other, and wondered at the cause, but could do nothing. So they waited, Best Beloved, and hoped.
It was the dragons who signaled the change, as Lamareth ducked her head, and Ailurok lifted his voice in wordless song. And then each gathered there felt a change within them, and a warmth that they had not known before, and they looked to the center, as the walls fell away. There, limned in a wondrous, ever shifting light, stood Unicorn and Equinia. They stepped forward, as the other dragons lifted their voices to join the song of Ailurok, and opened their mouths to speak.
“At last,” they said, as one. “Voiced. I … we … speak. I … we … are whole.” The gathered wondered, and worried, for they did not comprehend, and some among moved to flee, while others moved to fight. “Peace!” said the voice, and all fell still; the sky ceased its howling, the land settled, and the sea began to drain away. “Peace.” The creatures halted, where they were, and faced the pair, who stepped to the fallen forms of Stallion, Mare, Celest, and Pegasus, nuzzled each of them. “A wish granted,” they said, “and great the sacrifice, to grant it, and heal, and teach us love.” Then, the light faded, and Unicorn and Equinia both fell to the ground, and there was silence.
Eventually, one each from those of the Earth, and the winged, and the horned approached them, and confirmed the fears of all; those six lay dead. And then all knew the meaning of the dragons’ song, and one by one, they lifted up their voices, and sang their sorrow.
And then, Beloved? It was long before any thought to ask what happened, but when they did, it was the gryphons who answered. The horned had come to them, and told them that they planned to heal the Magic, and give it a voice; that they planned to do so by shattering the Magic, and reforming it anew, and to spread it all creatures. The Magic speaks with every voice, Best Beloved, and knows us as it never did before; and because we know love, it knows love.
To make so great a change, Beloved, required that all be willing to give everything, and that is why the ten were there, to make that sacrifice. The dragons and the gryphons lived, because they are not Hoofed, beloved, and so Equinia did not know them as she knew the others, and did not see all that was offered, and took only a portion; but it is well they lived, for had they not, we would not have had their wisdom in the days that came.
And how did the world change, thereafter? With magic within all, Beloved, the struggle was not so heavy, and what work was done would stay done, and could be left to tend itself without fear of change. And though it was not easy, and many were the times when it was thought that all was lost, we tamed the wild world, Beloved, and made it as it is today.
We remember the six who laid themselves down for us still, Beloved, and always will, even if this story is forgotten, for we have kept their names with us. The winged took the name of Pegasus, and made it their own, and the horned took the name of Unicorn, and made it their own; for those two were the guardians of their breeds. Stallion and Mare, who were the father and mother of so many, lent their names to all of us; we are stallions, or mares, no matter what our breed. For Celest, who gave all hope in even the darkest times, we named the sky, in the old tongue. And when a Princess came, she took up the name, and she is Celestia.
Equinia, perhaps, we honor most of all, for she gathered all together and was the link between us all. We Hoofed Ones honored her by taking her name for all the breeds; be you Unicorn, or Pegasus, or Earth pony, you are equine; and that, I think, is fitting.
Now sleep, Best Beloved. I will wake you in the morning, and perhaps I will share another story.
