Chapters Another uneventful journey, another successful delivery and another easy payment. That pretty much summed up the last dozen or so deliveries Applejack had made out to Manehattan. As a major city on a major route, her biggest troubles typically amounted to remembering to take breaks—not that going the whole trip non-stop would put too much strain on her earth pony endurance, but part of being a good vendor was making sure the merchandise was holding up as well as she was.
Secretly, she used to enjoy taking the more dangerous routes to the backwater areas. Sometimes her hooves just craved a tussling and that occasionally left her just a bit too happy to oblige trouble. However, that was a long time ago. Ever since she’d befriended Twilight, Applejack had had more than enough Equestria-shattering outlets for her tension.
And so Applejack kicked back in the motel’s creaky, old chair, letting her eyes wander over the small room. It was a bit lonely and plain, with nothing more than the standard bed, dresser and desk setup. But she was used to the former and preferred the latter, so it hardly bothered her.
She’d briefly entertained the thought of staying at Aunt and Uncle Orange’s, but they were hosting some kind of fancy party for some important guests and she knew better than to get in the way of that. Besides, that kind of fru fru event wasn’t her idea of how to relax after a long day of hard work.
In fact, what she’d really like to be doing was shooting the breeze with Apple Bloom and Big Mac, but there was just no way she’d have made it back to Ponyville before dark. She’d just have to make sure she got an early start, so she could be back in time for dinner.
As she settled into bed, she couldn’t help but think she was forgetting something. But no matter how hard she wracked her brain, it wasn’t coming to her.
Ah, well, I can worry about it in the morn.
“What d’ya mean we’re going out of business?! Didn’t ya just say we were in the black last month?!” Applejack fumed as she flipped through the farm’s dusty old red ledger. There had to be a mistake. It didn’t matter if Big Mac was better at this stuff than her. Money just doesn’t up and walk off during the night.
“Eeeeyup,” Big Mac replied, his voice even quieter than usual.
But there was nothing she could find wrong, and when she hit the last page, there it was: twenty thousand bits of debt.
“Then how?” Applejack’s eyes snapped up to her family. The road weighed heavily upon her, but she shrugged it off; this crisis wasn’t just about her.
Each of them—Big Mac, Granny Smith and Apple Bloom—sat in one of the ancient wooden chairs surrounding the equally old kitchen table. The last strands of dusk filtered through the window, playing across the crumb-spattered surfaces of their forgotten plates.
The kitchen filled with awkward creaks as each of the other Apples shifted in their seats. None of them would look at her.
Applejack sighed. She didn’t want to be too pushy, but they had to solve this now and sitting around on their rumps wasn’t helping any. “Ya didn’t accidentally give our savings to the Flim Flams or anything, did ya?”
“Taxes,” Big Mac finally said.
“What?”
“That dang tax stallion barges in like he owns the place and says we gots to pay back taxes.” Granny Smith snorted. “Just about chased ‘im out ‘til he gave me this.”
Granny slapped the financial notice onto the counter. Applejack’s brow furrowed as she scanned the page. It all looked so official. But it had to be wrong. The Apples always paid their taxes and always on time. There just had to be a decimal point that was accidentally shifted somewhere. She glanced up at Big Mac, feeling the energy drain from her face.
He gave a shake of his head. If it was there, he couldn’t find it either.
“What is this ‘Code Four’, anyway, and how did nopony notice?” Applejack glanced around.
Granny Smith shrugged. “I ain’t ever heard of it before, either.”
“Something ain’t right. I’m going to see Mayor Mare right—” Applejack’s eyes flitted over to the now-dark window. “—first thing in the morning. She’ll clear this right up for us.”
As she felt her rage winding down, Applejack was suddenly tired. Very tired. But as she looked at each of her family in turn, she found a renewed vigour. Ain’t nopony gonna mess with my family.
Town hall was dark and abandoned, almost eerily so. Applejack had to admit that perhaps she had taken the whole concept of “first thing” in the morning a bit far. Still, it wasn’t like she was going to sleep those hours or anything, anyway.
And so she sat by the front doors, patient and determined. Well, moreso the latter, than anything. If she thought it’d do her any good, she’d have busted down those doors in an instant.
The shadows on her left flickered, pulling her eyes over. There was nothing there, of course. She didn’t know why she was so jumpy. It wasn’t like anypony else would be around, not to mention that, despite all of the Everfree Forest’s shenanigans, Ponyville was usually pretty safe to hang around at most hours.
Still, she couldn’t help but feel she was being watched. There was more flickering on her right and her eyes darted over. For just a split second, she swore she saw the silhouette of a stallion. He was tall and slender, not muscular at all, and there was something she couldn’t quite put her hoof on about his posture that felt off.
But one blink later and he was gone. Applejack squinted, taking a few steps forward. She never quite noticed just how dark the shadows under the hall could get. Best she could tell, there was nothing there, nor any trace of anypony having been there.
The planks somewhere on the other side of the porch creaked loudly.
“Hello?” Applejack called out.
No reply, just another, softer creak.
She circled back around to the front, revisiting the left-side shadows. There was nopony there, either.
Great. I’m tired, angry and starting to see things. This is gonna be a fine week.
“Can I help you, miss?” The mare’s voice jabbed into Applejack like a skewer. Applejack jumped about as high as a pegasus.
“Gah!” With a whirl, Applejack glared at the newcomer. ”Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
She was a white earth pony, her dark brown mane pulled back into a tight, bureaucratic ponytail. Large, black glasses sat on her muzzle, while a red-ruffled business collar hung around her neck. Applejack couldn’t put a name to the face, but she was clearly one of the mayor’s aides. It was all Applejack could do not to direct her ire at this poor subordinate.
The aide peered curiously through her glasses. “I cleared my throat several times, miss.”
Some of Applejack’s annoyance turned to herself. She felt like a dang filly, getting so distracted chasing shadows like that. Even worse, that feeling of being watched was completely gone by now.
“Oh. Well, y’just caught me lookin’ at something, I guess.”
“‘Something’?” The aide asked, her brow furrowed.
“Just thought somepony else might be here too.” Applejack let out a sheepish chuckle. “Nevermind that. Mayor Mare gonna be in soon? I gotta talk to her.”
“She won’t be in for another half hour, but I can let you in to reception, if you like.”
Applejack sighed. “I guess that’ll have to do.”
Turns out, it really didn’t do at all. Each minute felt like an hour as she sat alone in the lobby, tapping her hoof against the old, wooden floor.
After a few minutes, a chill ran down her spine. Whoever it was was back. She could feel it. She kept tapping, pretending she didn’t know. Maybe they would show themselves and she could get whatever this game of theirs was out of the way. She had more important things to deal with.
A deafening crash echoed through the hall and Applejack’s eyes darted to her left. The slender pony was there again, barely outlined in the mouth of the darkened side hall. A small streak of light played over the tip of his muzzle and the wall behind him. Applejack couldn’t quite tell if it was black or a really dark brown.
“Um, hello?” She asked.
No reply.
Creasing her brow, Applejack took a few steps forward. “You okay?”
The other pony melted away, leaving nothing more than a featureless wall that bent to the right. Dozens of soft, tiny taps echoed through the door and Applejack's imagination painted a picture of the shadow skittering away. Applejack’s coat stood on end, but she found she couldn’t help but keep walking. She was clearly just imagining things.
“Hey, no need to be shy, here. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
Still nothing.
As Applejack reached the door, she felt a pressure on her back, like two imaginary hooves were pressing against it, trying to steer her away, telling her to run. She shook her head. What was she, a little filly?
She poked her head in, around the frame. She didn’t know what to expect, and somehow, darkness wasn’t at the top of her list. She squinted until her eyes adjusted. There was nothing by an empty hall, with only the closed office doors to keep it company.
“Applejack?” For the second time that day, a mare’s voice made her jump—this time, straight into the top of the door frame. Pain rippled across Applejack’s face as she staggered back a few steps. She shook it off as quickly as she could.
As she whirled, it clicked with her just whose voice it was. Mayor Mare was standing there, staring out from behind her spectacles, just as her aide had. Her business collar, and its accompanying blue ruffle, were freshly pressed.
Any annoyance at being scared yet again was quickly lost, the energy redirected as Applejack remembered the reason she was even there.
“Mayor Mare! Just the mare I needed to see! Ya have to help me with this back tax hoo-ha! Some stuffy old pony in Canterlot is trying to steal my farm!”
“Walk with me.”
Applejack obliged, if only to help move things along faster. They passed the still-empty reception desk as they started down the wider, main hall.
After a few more steps, Mayor Mare glanced over, “Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do.”
“Whaddaya mean, there isn’t?! You’re the Mayor!” Applejack just stared.
Mayor Mare gave her an apologetic look. “While that is true, the official is also part of the Canterlot office, so he isn’t a direct subordinate. Believe me, Applejack, I’m just as surprised as you. My records don’t quite mesh with the documents provided. I’ve sent out an official request for confirmation, but as our office is also effectively being audited, all I can do is politely ask Mr. Pennyworth to wait.”
“And I’m guessing he ain’t too keen on that.”
Mayor Mare shook her head. “He insists that an error on Canterlot’s part is impossible.”
“Consarnit! I wish I could give him a piece of my mind! The Apples ain’t no dishonest folk!”
“You can. In fact, he should already be in. He’s got a bit of a thing for always being the first.”
Applejack blinked. “You mean I can just waltz in and talk to him?”
“No, you still need an appointment. But since you’ll have to meet sooner or later, I can set something up.”
“Please do.”
Pennyworth’s temporary office was off in one of the side halls, probably just crammed into whichever spare room they had available. The door was closed, although light filtered out from under it.
Applejack breathed deeply, taking a moment to put on her business face. She reached a hoof up and gave the door a firm knock.
“Come in.” The voice that replied was just a touch raspy, and Applejack felt herself tense up.
As the door creaked open, she half-expected some sort of den of evil, with red light and the deeds of repossessed properties hung on the wall like trophies. Thankfully, the room was about as plain as could be. A couple heavy bookcases framed a large, equally-heavy desk, and that was about it.
However, behind that desk was a tall, slender unicorn, whose coat was the darkest of dark browns. Unlike the mayor and her staff, he was in a full business shirt and coat. He was hunched over a spread of paperwork, his eyes barely visible beneath his raven mane.
Applejack froze. Pennyworth’s silhouette was a dead ringer for the one that had been watching her. As his eyes turned up, he looked at her like a Timberwolf.
She swallowed hard, but kept her voice level. She couldn’t let him have the advantage. “Pennyworth?”
“That’s Mister Pennyworth to you.” He scowled.
“Er, sorry, Mister Pennyworth. I meant no offense. I’m—”
“Applejack. Yes, I know who you are.”
“So you know why I’m here.”
“To pay your back taxes, I should hope.”
“No way. Not until you explain this ‘Code Four’ hooey. The farm’s been in the family for decades and this here thing has never come up.”
Pennyworth looked at her and sighed. “Look, don’t you think that’s why you owe so much?”
“Uh, huh. And how did your ponies miss it?” Applejack glared.
“I can’t speak for my predecessor, but rest assured, Miss Applejack—now that I’m in charge, you will be making proper payments.” There was that grin again. Applejack almost took a step back. For a second there, his teeth looked jagged and pointed. But that couldn’t be right.
“Gee, thanks. And how, exactly, do you expect us to come up with such a big payment?”
“Regardless of what you may think, I am not in the business of running you out of business. My job is to keep part of the country running. Bankrupting every farm would do very much the opposite.”
“Uh, huh. Prove it.”
“Patience, Miss Applejack. I was just getting to that.” He held a hoof up, which, infuriatingly, Applejack swore he deliberately kept there longer than he needed to. “Perhaps if you can provide, say, twenty percent of the full amount, by the end of the week, it might convince me to extend your deadline.”
“What, so you can line your own pockets?”
“Why, Miss Applejack, I’m appalled you would ever think such a thing of me. I am an honest bureaucrat.”
Applejack kept her face hard and unwavering. “Sorry, but your wording came uncomfortably close to that of several of my would-be clients.”
“You have heard of payment in installments, have you not, Miss Applejack? I assure you, the full amount will be applied straight to your debt.”
“Ten percent.”
Pennyworth blinked. “Miss Applejack, this is not the Ponyville bazaar. Further, I am already being more than reasonable. Twenty percent or one hundred percent. The choice is yours.”
“Hmph, fine,” Applejack grumbled. “But I want this in writing.”
The orchards of Sweet Apple Acres was filled with an unending chorus of thuds . Applejack and Big Mac moved rapidly from tree to tree, each trunk swaying under the power of a firm Apple family buck. They’d been at it like that for well over four hours and Applejack was almost convinced that somepony had shaved her and dumped a bucket of sweat all over her.
But she couldn’t stop. Every time she felt herself slowing down, she thought back to last night. They’d gathered in the kitchen again, with everypony glumly seated in their usual spots.
“Between the slush fund and the savings, we’re a few bits shy of three. If we work our flanks off, four shouldn’t be too hard.” Applejack looked to her brother for confirmation.
He nodded.
Next, Applejack took a deep breath. She really hated to do this to her sister. “Now, Apple Bloom, I know I said if we saved enough, I’d help you furnish your club house—”
Apple Bloom waved a hoof, though she was clearly fighting to keep her face straight. “Nah, s’okay, Sis’. We already waited this long, we can wait a little longer.”
Applejack cracked a smile as her mind returned to reality. Apple Bloom was a good filly. When all was said and done, Applejack would find a way to make it up to her, even if Applejack had to build every piece herself.
Her next buck had a little extra oomph behind it.
“Applejack!” Apple Bloom’s voice echoed over the hills
Scanning the orchard, Applejack wondered just what was so important to pull Apple Bloom away from the cows. Every moment mattered.
Apple Bloom appeared on the crest of the closest hill, scrambling toward Applejack like she was being chased a swarm of bees.
Without even stopping to breathe, Apple Bloom blurted out, “Applejack! I saw some creepy stallion messing with the wagons and when I told him to stop, he chased me off!”
“What?!” Applejack rushed to meet her, eyes searching her coat for any sign of injury. Thankfully, there was none. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? When was this? What did he look like?”
“N-no, he just ran after me all threatening-like.” Apple Bloom stiffened.
“When, Apple Bloom? What did he look like?” Applejack was more insistent this time.
“Er, just now? He was real skinny and tall and had a dark brown coat.”
Applejack’s body filled with pure, unbridled rage. “Why, that low down, dirty… C’mon, Big Mac, we’re gonna give him a piece of our mind!”
They charged over to the barn, Applejack’s blood pumping the whole way. It was all she could do to not think of ten different ways that she’d clobber Pennyworth when they found him. But the barn was empty, save for the sabotaged wagons.
What shards remained of the wheels and axles lay in a neat pile in the middle of the floor. He was mocking them.
“Consarn it!” Applejack threw her hat down. “This is going to take all afternoon to fix!”
“What do we do?” Apple Bloom moaned.
“You’re gonna stick with me an’ Big Mac from now on. We’re gonna lock the barn up and we’re gonna keep an eye out. If that yellow-bellied jerk sets hoof in here again, we’re gonna let him have it.”
Applejack would protect her family. She loved them dearly and she sure as Tartarus wasn’t going to let anypony mess with them and get away with it.
Somehow, Applejack’s body had found a way to get even sweatier than before. Given that she was hitched to a wagon full of baskets that were, in turn, full of apples, it wasn’t wholly unexpected. She very rarely pushed herself this far, as it usually ended badly. But this time, she felt a sort of tired vigour that let her go well beyond what she’d once thought her limit. She just loved her family too much to let a little exhaustion get in her way.
As she approached the barn, she mentally chalked up one less wagon until they were safe again. Even coming in from the side, Applejack could see that the barn doors were wide open.
“Big Mac? Ya in there?” she called out.
“Uh… Sis’?” Apple Bloom replied. “You better get in here.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, what happened no—” Applejack froze for a second before shrugging the wagon hitch off her back.
She joined Big Mac and Apple Bloom as they stared at the mushy red-white mess in front of the nearest two wagons. The wagons themselves were just fine, but each and every basket was empty. Applejack frowned as she caught a few of the hoof-shaped prints in the mass of mutilated apples.
“H-how?” was all she could stammer.
“Don’t know,” Big Mac replied.
“We unlocked the door and he was just here. We chased him into the loft, but he just vanished.” Apple Bloom’s eyes never left the floor.
“What?! How could you lose him in the loft?!”
“Don’t know,” Big Mac said again.
“Ugh!” Applejack threw her hooves in the air, though a pang of pain shot through her head, quickly returning her to the ground.
“S-sorry, Sis’. The windows weren’t even open.” Apple Bloom’s eyes never left the floor.
“But that’s…” Applejack couldn’t find the words, but a nagging thought in the back of her mind filled in the blank. Just like town hall.
That was when Applejack noticed the streak on the side of the wagon. It was a sort of neon green with a smattering of yellowy-orange that almost reminded her of bug guts. Upon closer examination, little bits of it were also spread across the top of the smashed apples. Applejack bent down and snuffled at it, but the only scent she caught was of apples.
“What is it?” Apple Bloom leaned in beside her.
“Something our unwanted guest brought with him. What do you think, Big Mac? Some sick prank? Poison?”
Big Mac took a whiff of his own and shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“That going to be your answer to everything today?” Applejack sighed. The pain in her head returned, but this time it was a bit duller. These stupid shenanigans were really starting to get on her nerves. She placed a hoof to her forehead. “Well, whatever it is, we can’t sell contaminated apples. This is gonna take all night, nevermind bucking out another two carts. Wish we could actually catch him, so I can drag his sorry flank over to town hall to get arrested. All right, look, we can’t give up. We’ll guard the barn in shifts. It’ll be slow going, but we can still do this.”
“Eeeyup.”
“Yeah! We’ll show him!” Apple Bloom chimed in.
Applejack would protect her family. She loved them dearly and she sure as Tartarus wasn’t going to let anypony mess with them and get away with it.
“Applejack! Applejack! Git your butt over here!” Granny Smith yelled as she did her best to hurry up the road. By this point, Applejack didn’t even need to guess.
But I was just there! Applejack groaned. He must have been hiding out, waiting for her to leave. Thankfully, he’d failed to account for Granny. In one smooth motion, Applejack unhitched and spun herself around. If there was one small comfort she could take, the wagon was empty, so she wasn’t risking much by leaving it be.
She broke into a full gallop, planning to zip straight by Granny.
“Now hold on a second!” Granny’s call brought Applejack skidding to a halt.
“What? Time’s a wastin’!”
“Darn tootin’ it is, but just listen for a second. Don’t got running in soon as we get there. We’ll surround the barn, then you go in. Flush ‘em out and we’ll get ourselves a rattlesnake!” Granny swung a hoof in the air with a viciousness that surprised even Applejack.
But, if she was being honest, the prospect of finally catching this varmint had her grinning from ear to ear. “Gotcha, Granny. Let’s get ‘em!”
As they gathered around the barn, Applejack pawed at the dirt. He wasn’t getting away this time.
Finally, Granny gave the signal and Applejack burst through the door, eyes darting over the first floor. All was still; this time the carts were completely untouched.
Where is that varmint? She narrowed her eyes, giving the floor another look. There!
A shadow skittered up the loft stairs. It was unmistakably tall, slender and the object of Applejack’s rage. She pursued with a speed that even she didn’t realize she had in her.
She arrived just in time to see Pennyworth lunge at the window. But it wasn’t like a running jump. Even accounting for the low light of the lanterns, he moved less like he was inside the shadows and more like he was the shadows. And yet, the windows still flew open with a crack as his form slid into it.
Applejack was only a second behind, but when she poked her head out, the yard was completely empty. She scanned all the way to the horizon, which proved to be a fruitless endeavour.
Big Mac skidded around the left ground corner.
“You see him?” Applejack called.
As he glanced up, his confusion told her everything before he even opened his mouth. “Nope.”
“What the hay?! I just saw him jump out!” Applejack’s eyes darted behind her, half-expecting him to be behind her, cackling from atop the staircase. No such luck.
Impatience took over and she vaulted out the window. Big Mac raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“He’s gotta be around here somewhere. Spread out and check everything a pony could hide behind,” Applejack ordered.
She set to work, her fury practically overturning the lighter objects; even then, she was pretty sure she bowled over an errant hay bale. However, aside from letting her blow off a bit of steam, the search was of little help.
Applejack was about to give up when she spotted movement on one of the orchard hills. She broke into a gallop and, as she got closer, she was certain the figure to be Pennyworth’s. For the first few seconds of her charge, he didn’t even move. He just stood there, waiting, mocking her.
“You!” she cried out as she reached the foot of the hill.
Wordlessly, he disappeared over the crest.
Applejack followed without hesitation. “Grrr! Get back here!”
He was rude enough to, yet again, be gone without a trace.
“That. Is. It!” Applejack fumed. “I’m ending this now!”
She stopped back at the house just long enough to tell her family to guard the barn. She was going to town hall and she was going to expose Pennyworth’s skullduggery. Then maybe she could settle the debt with somepony reasonable.
Applejack would protect her family . She loved them dearly and she sure as Tartarus wasn’t going to let anypony mess with them and get away with it.
As she stormed into the reception area, Applejack’s eyes locked on her target. He was chatting up the receptionist about something or other that Applejack didn’t care about. She marched right up to him.
“You’ve got some nerve!”
“Who? Me?” Pennyworth pointed a hoof at himself.
The receptionist, a fuchsia-coated mare with a snowy mane, stared blankly between the two of them.
“Don’t play dumb with me!” Applejack yelled. “You’ve been skulking ‘round our farm, sabotaging us so we have to pay up!”
Pennyworth puffed out his chest. “I don’t know what possessed you to make such baseless—”
“We saw you! All four of us, three separate times!” Applejack advanced, the fire in her cheeks stoked by each step.
“Ahem.” Pennyworth seemed unfazed. “As I was saying, I don’t know what possessed you to make such baseless claims, but I was here all afternoon. Isn’t that right, Sound Memo?”
“Um, yes. He was here all day. He couldn’t have done what you said.” The receptionist’s nod was rather mechanical, a fact that nagged at Applejack, but she was too angry to care.
“What?!” Applejack fumed. “But we saw you !”
“Hmph, typical. Some bumbling bumpkins with poor eyesight can’t even run a farm and their first instinct is to blame me? Oh, no, Celestia save us from the bad tax stallion!”
“You… you take that back! My family ain’t no incompetents!”
“I would love to, Miss Applejack,” Pennyworth smirked, “but then I’d just be lying.”
“Grah! That’s it!” Applejack cried out as she lunged. Pennyworth hardly had time to react before her head slammed straight into the bottom of his chin.
With a crack , he was sent sailing, slamming into the wall behind him. His eyes rolled back as he slid down the wall. But something wasn’t quite right; his coat was melting . It become a low, green glow before disappearing entirely. Pennyworth was gone: in his place lay a dazed and confused changeling. Applejack just stared.
“What is going on out here?” Mayor Mare called as she galloped around the corner. She quickly joined Applejack in her gawking.
It was another full ten seconds before Applejack finally got ahold of herself. “He… Pennyworth was a changeling!”
It made so much sense and now, she had no remorse for what she was about to do. But before she could exact her revenge, the changeling snapped to and rocketed out the main doors with alarming speed.
Applejack was right on his heels. “Oh, no, you don’t!”
She burst into the town square, eyes darting here and there. Her search didn’t last long: the changeling, now back in his Pennyworth disguise, was already halfway down the road. How the hay did he get that far ahead of me?! He’s not even going that fast!
Applejack was so intent on the changeling that, when she redoubled her effort, she almost didn’t notice the bewildered mare who was staring after “Pennyworth”. Luckily, Applejack swerved just enough to avoid bowling over the other mare, though she was certain she felt their coats brush.
“Hey! Watch it!” the mare shouted.
“Sorry!” Applejack didn’t even look back.
The changeling kept running down the main road, seemingly content to make the whole thing a sprinting competition. Applejack wanted to yell to the ponies ahead to stop him, but she wasn’t even sure what she could say. This was just as well, since that apology had already cost her breath she couldn’t afford to spare.
The chase went on for what felt like ages and both changeling and Applejack were starting to slow. Sneaking a glance backward, the changeling frowned. He dug his hooves in, skidding a couple feet before making a hard right.
Applejack felt a grin creep up her lips. She knew that alleyway: it was a dead end.
However, as she ripped around the corner, her smile faded. The alley was totally empty; there wasn’t even anything large enough for him to hide behind. To add insult to injury, she was just in time to catch the shadow of something slipping over the top of the roof.
“Consarn it!” Applejack shouted before doubling back. She had to find something that would help her get up there. It was her only chance not to lose him. But there wasn’t anything that looked sturdy enough to not crumble under the power of her legs.
Another idea hit her, but died almost as soon as it was conceived. As she scanned the smattering of confused ponies, she realized that none of them were pegasi.
“Applejack!” Mayor Mare called out as she galloped up, leading a trio of Royal Guard. One of them was a unicorn, the other two, pegasi. Each of them glanced around in turn before Mayor Mare spoke up again. “What happened? Where did he go?”
“Over the roof!” Applejack flailed at the pegasi. “Hurry!”
Both pegasi nodded and shot up on different sides of the alleyway. Applejack watched them soar and swerve, hope rising in her chest. But after about a minute, the guardsponies turned back—and her heart sank. One remained in the air, while the other glided down.
The guard who came down gave them an apologetic look. “Sorry, ma’am. It’s like he just disappeared.”
“What?! Again?!” Applejack practically shrieked as she fell to her haunches.
“We’re not out yet,” Mayor Mare said, placing a hoof on Applejack’s shoulder. “We’ve got one more lead. C’mon.”
Applejack kept replaying the scene in her mind. Mayor Mare had led them to Pennyworth’s hotel room, where there would certainly be evidence. Thing was, Applejack wasn’t even sure what could possibly be big enough to lead them to something as slippery as a changeling. As the guards set up to breach the door, she wondered if they felt the same way.
With a heavy crack , the door swung open. Everyone froze, including Pennyworth, who was hooves-deep in a suitcase. Documents and clothing practically spilled out onto the floor around him.
The mutual staring continued long enough that Applejack thought she heard crickets chirping. Then, everything jumped to double speed, both pegasus guards launching across the room and slamming into Pennyworth. He was restrained before he could so much as lift a hoof.
The unicorn guard approached and cleared his throat. “Changeling, you are under arrest for fraud, identity theft and fleeing from officers of the law. Come quietly and no further harm will come to you.”
“What?! This is absurd! I am not a changeling!”
“Likely story.” Applejack narrowed her eyes.
But now that she had time to think about it, it almost seemed too easy. The changeling had gotten clean away, yet decided to come back to the only place the guardsponies would know about. Whatever he was packing, it must have been valuable beyond compare.
After Pennyworth was arrested, Mayor Mare had pulled Applejack aside. She promised that she would contact Canterlot and sort things out with the real Pennyworth. Until then, the debt was suspended. Not only that, but she hinted that she thought the whole thing was bunk.
So, Applejack, despite the fatigue, the headache and the thoughts hanging over her, happily trotted up the path to the farm. Her family was still waiting by the barn, expectant looks on their faces.
“We did it,” Applejack said. “Turns out he was a changeling, but he still couldn’t get away.”
“A... a changeling?” Apple Bloom shivered.
“Yeah. But don’t you worry none. He’s behind bars now.” Applejack recounted the whole turn of events, while her family listened with rapt attention.
“Well, I’ll be,” Big Mac said as he shook his head.
“Hah, ain’t no rattlesnake that can match the Apple family.” Granny Smith beamed at Applejack.
“Yeah.” Applejack stared up at the barn. “I don’t get it, though. Why come after our farm of all things?”
“Who knows how them crazy bug things think?” Granny shook her head and shrugged.
“Maybe he just ain’t as smart as he thought?” Apple Bloom pointed out.
Applejack chuckled. “Maybe, Apple Bloom. Maybe.”
All that mattered was that Applejack had protected her family. She loved them dearly. And they found it delicious.
Simply Sanguine
By: Peacevic
Fluttershy smiled as she watched her little critter friends play in the glade around her. But that smile turned into a frown when she noticed they weren't all playing. The angry chittering told her why.
"Fluttershy, Darling, you're late. That's not like you."
Days passed, as they do, and Fluttershy didn't see much of her friends. That didn't bother her too much. She was sure they were all very busy. She only regretted it when Applejack started banging on her door.
The funeral was as lovely as such a thing could be. Mourners from all over Equestria flocked to Ponyville. The Princesses all said a few words. Spitfire, with Soarin and Fleetfoot beside her, solemnly gave Dash posthumous membership in the Wonderbolts. Scootaloo tried her best to speak, but burst into tears partway through and had to be led away from the podium by an unfamiliar pegasus mare. Even Gilda showed up. The griffin said nothing, though, and left before the service was over.
A week after the funeral, Fluttershy was curled up on her couch. A peaceful fire crackled nearby. Angel sat on her head, and together they reading the first Daring Doo book.
She made her way through Ponyville as quickly as her wings would carry her, terror making Fluttershy forget her normal preference for walking. In short order, she was at the door of the castle.
Unfortunately,
"Oh no..." Fluttershy muttered to herself. "Oh my, this isn't good. What am I going to do now?"
"And then she died. Again." Fluttershy finished reliving the experience for Rarity.
"Doctor, I need your help!" Fluttershy exclaimed as she burst into his lab... Then skidded to a halt as she noticed that the Doctor wasn't alone. Vinyl Scratch sat across from him at the table, a pot of tea and some cups between them. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll leave if you're busy."
As small as Ponyville was, and with all the running her various quests had required of her, Fluttershy was slightly embarrassed with how long it took her to cross through it. And when her sluggishness gave her time to run into Pinkie and Applejack, that embarrassment turned to something much worse.
Much could be made of the fact that Fluttershy- the most timid of ponies- now regularly and willingly braved the notorious Everfree Forest. Perhaps she drew courage from the friends she made that first time, or perhaps she was just numb to the fear due to repeated exposure.
The Lady and the Lich
By peacevic
"Raaarityyy..."
Rarity may not have heard her doorbell ring, but she definitely felt the chill that accompanied the creaky voice moaning her name. She turned to face her caller.
The pony-shaped thing stood taller than she did. Indeed, it was nearly as tall as Celestia. Beneath its hood rested a pair of glowing, gaseous eyes. These two orbs were the only things that could charitably be called organs, at least as far as Rarity could see. Everything else was bone.
"I have come for yoouuu..."
"Of course you have, Darling." Before the thing could say anything else, Rarity gently pushed it further into the store using her telekinesis. "For this is the Carousel Boutique, where everything is both chic and magnifique."
Rarity led her bony guest to a pedestal, which it reluctantly mounted. "Now, obviously the first thing we're going to get rid of is that cloak."
"Buuut..." It protested, far more confused than it had expected to be.
"Tut, tut!" Rarity scolded. "Billowy fabrics are so last season. Besides, it's all tattered and torn, and it looks so ghastly. We simply must try something a bit more form-fitting. How about a trench coat? That way, you'll still get the flowing effect and you'll be less likely to snag it on anything."
It thought for a moment. "Thaat ssoundss good..."
Within minutes, the thing's cloak was off and a brand-new coat was tailored to fit. Rarity beamed. "Excellent! Next, there's the matter of those bracelets. If ever there was a girl who admired a good gemstone, it's me. But even I think five is just too many. When it comes to accessories, one or none is the golden rule. Anything more is just gaudy."
The thing just looked at the aforementioned bands uncertainly.
"Tell you what." Rarity continued. "Since I'm always needing that little something extra to spice up my dresses, I'll take those of your hooves and apply the exchange to the price of your new attire. Fair market value, of course."
The thing nodded and lifted its hooves so Rarity could slide the bracelets off.
Bracelets set safely aside, Rarity looked the thing over appraisingly. "Yes... Darling, I must say your new look is coming together quite nicely. There's just one final thing." She pointed a hoof. "That necklace you wear, it's a little dull. I do a bit of metalwork, and I think I can spruce it up for you. After all, you don't want your spiffy image to be dragged down by something so bland, do you?"
It shook its head and quickly passed the phylactery over. Rarity took hold of it with her magic.
And immediately smashed it on the floor.
The lich burst into flames, howling as it was reduced to a pile of glowing ash.
Rarity looked down at the smoldering heap, sneering in contempt. "Fool." She scoffed.
She levitated a small crystal orb to eye level. After a moment, another pony's face appeared within it. "This is Agent Radiance, reporting in. The lich has been destroyed. Thanks for the heads-up."
After her handler acknowledged her, she powered down the orb and picked up a broom. She sighed at the pile. It really had been a nice trench coat...
But at least she got some nice jewelry to sell.
Pinkamena’s Journal.
October 12th:
It happened again.
This time was different, though. This time I felt it coming.
The first sign was a ring in my ears. It was very soft and at first, I tried to just ignore it. But then, it started to get lower till I couldn’t hear anything else. I looked around, but I was alone in the south field, no pony was even near. I tried to move, but my hooves didn’t respond pretty well. I felt to my knees. I tried to call for help, but my mouth didn’t make any sound. I was scared, crying and alone, begging to Celestia that it would stop.
It suddenly stop, and for a moment, my world was in calm again. I tried to stand up but then, the fainting came.
I checked the previous annotations, this was the sixth one since that rainbow thing happened. Each one came out of nowhere and stopped without any warning. Each one came with strange dreams where I’m not myself. When I’m forced to act and speak like my complete opposite. All while my family doesn’t notice that the pony with them is not me. I’m scared, but not because of the dreams. What really frightens me, is that each time it takes me longer and longer to wake up.
I don’t know what to do.
What if they get longer and longer with no upper limit?
October 15th:
I was right. I hate being right, because I’m only right when something bad is going to happen.
The faints, they were getting longer. Since the sixth one, I have been wearing a watch to keep track of them. The seventh one lasted thirty minutes, the eight a forty-five and the ninth lasted full hour. By today’s faint, I only woke up after two hours, and not even in the same place I fainted. Somehow, I moved.
What is worse, I’m starting to think that the nightmares are not that. I fear that the nightmares are real.
October 16th:
The nightmares are real. Celestia helps me, the nightmares are real.
I found out after the tenth faint (six hours) when I decided to tell my mom. I was brave, not a single tear, but she didn’t seem to understand. I tried a second time, with the journal and showing her my annotations, but she just stroked my mane and told me to stop trying to pull another prank on her. She then called me Pinkie.
Pinkie.
Who is Pinkie? Why did she call me Pinkie? What is hap
I can’t sleep. I need it, but if I do it, I may not wake up again.
I checked the annotations again, but this time I compared when did each fainting happen. They’re are not only getting longer, but also more frequent. The last two ones happened today in the morning and after lunch. This could have been my last full day, and I tried to spent it with my family. Doing so, I discovered something horrible.
They haven’t noticed about my fainting because each time it happens, somepony takes my place. There’s a pony who uses my body, speaks with my voice and is taking my place.
Pinkie.
You’re taking my life, my family, even my future. Why?
Why are you doing this to me? What did I do to you? To anypony?
I’m only twelve, I have never really done anything wrong. My parents wanted me to be a good filly and I never did another thing. My big sister is hardworking so I try to be like her. My smaller sisters need me too and I’m here for them.
Why I’m being punished, what did I do? Do you even know what are you doing to me? Or who I am?
Will anypony remember me?
To who may read this, my name is Pinkamena Diane Pie.
I don’t have too much time, and the little I have I’m not sure if it’s even real. I spent most of my time in a dream, doing things I don’t want to do, saying things I don’t mean to say and living a life I never choose. But I am real, I know I am.
I also know I’m not gonna make the night, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. Still, I don’t want to be forgotten.
Mom, Dad, I love you. You gave me a wonderful half of a life and I will ever love you. Maud, you protected me in school where our parents couldn’t, I love you too. Marble, Limestone, I won’t see you again, I’m sorry I won’t be there to be your big sister, but please understand that I love you too.
And Pinkie, I hope you read this too. Each time you live, I can see it, I can hear it, I can even taste it. Knowing that I’m not only losing my future to you, but also being forced to see you enjoy what I can’t makes me feel destroyed. I want to hate you. I want to hurt you too I really do. Last time I was awake, I was at the bridge over the river, standing over the edge. I was about to do it, but I couldn’t.
It’s not in me to hate somepony.
I will never forgive you for taking my life.
I can feel the ringing in my ears. I know I won’t wake up after this one, it’s the end.
Pinke, I only ask you to take care of my family, and if you can, please tell them goodbye for m
Pinkie blinked. That was a strange dream. Even though she was all about colors and happiness, for some reason, her dreams always felt gray and dull for her. Without giving it too much thought, Pinkie hopped out of her bed and happily trotted to the door of her room, not paying attention to the small notebook lying in the floor.
Darkness.
It all ended in darkness.
Where am I?
Why do I feel so strange?
I can feel my legs and arms but they feel... like they're part of something else entirely.
I feel like I'm hanging from a wall, but I also feel like I'm part of it?
I feel so odd now. Where am I?
I can barely open my eyes. They feel so heavy. My body feels heavy and sore. It aches all over. I can smell something too, but I can't make out what it is. Slowly I felt my eyes open. I can smell death. The smell of rotten flesh and blood. I see I'm hanging from a wall of a tunnel. One end is lit with a bright white light that I can't make anything out at that end. Then again my vision's so distorted I could just be seeing things.
I detected the faintest sound of a heart beat as the walls of flesh and bone twitched like a heart constricting on itself as the beating went on. Realizing this I began to panic. I pulled lightly at first trying to free my arms and legs. Then I tried yanking them as hard as I could to get free. But every time I did it caused a great deal of pain that I was forced to stop.
I was trapped.
I was scared.
I had no idea where I was or what happened to me. My mind was as dim as my vision. I was never one for thinking things through I was more of an action taker. I dove head first into things without a second thought often, especially if it was about my friends.
It was what was at the other end that did.
It was a young girl, one I knew well. We had been dating for a while. Her legs were part of the insect-like body like a mermaid, only part bug instead. Her fair skin, flawless and beautiful. Her eyes full of passion, pride, and self confidence. Her silvery hair flung to the side as she whipped it behind her as she lay one hand on her hip.
She had one large barbed arm like a crabs leg that stuck out from her back and she looked at me in a way that made me feel warm and horny. It didn't help she was naked. But my fears soon returned as she slowly crept towards me, whispering my name as she did.
"Rainboooww."
"Rainboooooww."
"Tr-Trixie?"
"Oh Rainbow," she said slithering up to me coiling herself beside me. "How long I have waited for this day. They promised me you'd come to me my beloved athlete. But never Trixie's wildest dreams did she ever thing they'd deliver."
I could see the lust in her eyes. The way she looked at me was like a animal hungry for its prey. I was afraid of her. She kept talking like a dirty whore who wanted nothing more than to have her way with me. She touched me, molested me, and violated me. This monster wasn't Trixie.
My Trixie was a beautiful girl. Talented and sweet. She would never do such things to another. This wasn't her it was a monster like how Sunset was when she turned into that demon. Trixie wasn't a demon or a monster she was...
Dead.
It all came back in a moment.
She was dead. She had been for a few days. That's when-
"Oh, Rainbow." she cooed into my ear reaching with her arms down between my legs forcing them apart as wide as the walls would allow. "Trixie knows it has been hard for you, but we're together now. Don't worry. You don't have to be alone anymore."
She then leaned closer to me and kissed my lips once. It was a quick peck, and one I would savor for it was the last kind act I would receive for a long time. We looked into each others eyes before she pulled away and er third 'arm' wrapped around my mouth and the pointed tip pierced though my belly and dug into the wall.
I let out a muffled scream, but the arm kept me quiet. I struggled against her, but she was too strong for me.
"I missed you so much, Rainbow." she said running her hands across her chest, covering them. "How long Trixie wished for this moment, she will not say, but know that she longed to rejoin with you and now we have."
Trixie giggled and slithered herself across the wall above me and slowly circled around me as she spoke. She came up beside me, the pain from my stomach still going strong, and she placed her hand over my heart. I then realized something. My heart wasn't beating. She seemed to sense my distress. Leaning over to kiss my cheek she giggled at my struggle and wrapped her arms around me, giving me this deceleration.
"You don't need be afraid Rainbow. Here in the middle of the Seventh Circle we'll have each other for eternity."
It made me sick to see, but the screams were clear. I could hear begs and please for mercy. Some were calling to God hoping to see a savior to release them from this hell. No, not this hell, this was the Hell. I never believed in it before, but now I was here. I screamed once the realization hit me. Clenching my eyes shut I pushed against Trixie and begged for the pain to stop. I wanted to be free. To be saved. But it was no use.
As the screams echoed around me I came to realize that this was it. This was the end. I was here. Forever. Doomed to obscurity forever until the end of time, suffering at the hands of my lover in pained passion until time ceased and then we would truly be free. As I struggled crying my dead heart out I thought back to what led me to this nightmare eternal.
It all began a week ago after we beat the Dazzlings in the Battle of the Bands.
I remember it was a good time for my friends and I. We all saw how we left poor Sunset Shimmer feeling left out, no wonder too. After she messaged Twilight through some magical journal saying it would connect to another book in Equestria Twilight came right back despite the odds set against her. I had to admire her for that.
Loyalty to your friends.
After we defeated the Dazzlings they were run off stage and left us to party and relish in our victory. At the time, Trixie was still mad bout her teams defeat, claiming that while we vanquished the Dazzlings we wouldn't have her showstopping abilities, or some junk like that. Afterwards she threw one of her well known smoke bombs and did her 'vanishing' act.
It would be so awesome if she didn't always get caught slipping out of sight afterwards.
I never was one for thinking about such things often but from time to time I find myself wondering about her. While I always fund her prideful nature curious, and kind of hot, I always found her to be standoffish. Funny, my friends think I can be very similar to Trixie, I didn't see it though.
As I thought about this, Trixie slipped her hand deeper into me. My body tightened as the pressure built up. It was painful.
Painful.
Just like the day we fell in love.
I coughed as Trixie released me from the kiss. It felt like it was hours since we started.
Her tendrils wrapped around my bare chest. They were covered in spikes like a rose vine, slithering around my chest digging deep into my flesh. I felt it sting and the tendrils slithered all across my body digging into me. The pain was unbearable.
I screamed.
I begged for the end.
But all I got was laughter.
Trixie lifted away from me and laughed at me like I was some punchline to a cruel joke. She then slithered around me coming close to my face to where we were only an inch apart.
"Oh, Rainbow." she said with a cruel giggle. "This IS the end. But what you have is and endless eternity of suffering. That's our end Rainbow. That's what happens to people like us."
Like us.
That's when yet another memory came rushing back to me. It was the day Trixie and I announced our relationship to my friends. They weren't pleased, but Sunset and Pinkie were understanding, Fluttershy was the only one who didn't really seem to mind, but Applejack and Rarity were absolutely livid.
While my thoughts lingered, Trixie wrapped around me once more like a constrictor to its prey, but she didn't squeeze me instead she tenderly rubbed my cheek. The pain from her tendrils still fresh and stinging at my body, I winced looking away from her. She frowned. I could see from the corner of my eye she didn't like that.
With a heavy sigh she made the following deceleration.
"Don't worry Rainbow. We have an eternity to rebind again. I can wait." she said sisterly locking her lips with mine again.
When we met that night I changed as did she. We fell in love with each other in what I could only describe as eternal bliss. Every day I spent with her was better than the last. Sounds awfully cliche? Well, that's because it was, but I couldn't have been happier. Until the day she died.
I lost her that day. I had suffered so much the next two days. I couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. I was angry at the world and lashed out every chance I got. My friends tried to reason with me telling me there would be others. But I knew it wouldn't be the same. Trixie WAS my soulmate. I knew she was.
After I lost her it was like my life came to a screeching halt.
She died due to a mishap at school during an open performance. She was performing for the whole school to make up for what she had done during the Battle of the Bands. But as luck would have it it was to be her funeral as well.
Turns out, Rarity had an ugly streak in her. One that would drive her over the edge and commit a horrible act that would lead to Trixie's death. Jealousy. She was jealous that Trixie and I were together and tried everyday to break us apart. I hated her for that , and when she confronted Trixie it push her over the edge.
Several hurtful words were said that night and Trixie ran off into the city and disappeared. I was so angry with Rarity that I stormed off into the city to look for her. I went to her friends places, her homes, no one had seen her all night. When dawn came I was so tired but school beckoned me, or rather I was drawn to it. For some unfathomable reason at the time I left my bags feeling awfully worn out.
As my thoughts lingered on that night, Trixie stopped and loosened her grip on my body, slowly dragging her clawed arm around my hips and up to my belly. She made such lewd sounds that I felt aroused despite my condition. She smiled and placed a hand just under my belly rubbing it tenderly. She kissed me gently on the lips again rubbing me still.
"Oh Dashie. How long I've waited for this moment. Now with us together we'll have a family."
That's when it all come to me. She slipped a part of herself inside my womb. I gasped by the sudden intrusion, my body went stiff but couldn't do anything to stop it. My arms and leg still immobile leaving me to Trixie's whims. The intrusion lasted for what felt like hours. Afterwards I felt the tendril leave. I felt relief overcome me as I found myself relaxing.
I hated feeling so helpless.
I bet that's what Trixie felt like when she died. I remembered the day it happened. After she ran away from Rarity the previous night I found her back at he school. Normally I would have been overjoyed but what I found distressed me. Inside the main gym was Trixie hanging by a noose. She had a small note to me taped to her chest saying that she was sorry for all the hardship she caused me that week and hoped I would be happy without her.
I remember clearly what happened next. Taking the noose I laid Trixie down on the floor and I wept. I never cried so hard my entire life knowing the person I loved was gone forever and I'd never get to see her again. I knew exactly to blame, Rarity. But I was too grief stricken to care about that. So I decided it was as good a time as any to pay the piper.
After I finished mourning I left Trixie in the gym I climbed to the tallest point on the main building. It was quite the view. I remember it was just after sunrise. The sun was just over the horizon and filled the entire view with a red hue making it one of the most beautiful things i had eve seen in my life. I thought about Trixie and how she was alone without me there with her in death. Morbid I know but that's how I felt.
So I took the deep plunge over the ledge. Most would consider suicide an act. A way of reaching out to others, but for me it was suppose to be my release. I felt so alive in the few moments between falling and hitting the floor. I knew I did otherwise I wouldn't be here now. With Trixie forever.
While she sexually assaulted me I knew she was happy, and in a strange way I was happy too. Slowly over time I came to embrace the torture and got some sick pleasure from it and Trixie's laughs. But as luck would have it my eternal bliss wouldn't last long. I felt myself being torn away back from the pain and into a whole new world of pain. I felt myself losing consciousness and felt like my body was being torn apart. The last thing i recalled was Trixie calling out to me begging me not to leave her behind.
I promised her that I would come back or at least I tried to, but no words formed in my mouth. I didn't want to go but I was forced too once again lose her. Her cries and screams echoed in my mind until I regained consciousness. I had seen Hell and lived it. I was going to remember this to the day I die again with Trixie waiting for me there.
I awoke in a hospital bed shortly after. I coughed as the hospital personnel rushed in to tend to me. I felt relieved yet sad at the same time. Was it all a dream? Did I have some horrible nightmare and finally awoke from it? In the end it didn't matter, I couldn't remember much. I couldn't remember how I ended up here or why I was even here.
After checking up on me most of the staff left after which the doctor asked several questions, mostly about what I could remember. The best I could as remember the Battle of the Bands but nothing came after that. After questioning me the doctor left me alone to rest in bed. I glanced out the window which was open and had white curtains on it flowing with a slight breeze that came in. The next day I was discharged from the hospital and reunited with my family and friends.
I was so happy to see them and they were happy to see me too. Rarity was especially happy to see me. She was much older now and was constantly by my side the whole day. Turns out she liked me and that was fine by me, I mean I was awesome. Deep down something in my heart didn't feel right.
I felt guilty for some reason.
From that moment on I never once thought about what I experienced while I was in a coma and though I ended up with Rarity something deep down always nagged at me. A voice in the back of my head always whispering to me while I was awake, while I slept, always there reminding me.
"You promised me we'd be together Dashie."
It would be years later that I would realize what it was but that was a story for another day.
View Online
Twilight Sparkle and the Strange Case of Old Res
The massive book shelves cast dark shadows, in spite of the open windows at the front of the store and the noon sun outside. The shadows masked the true depths of the stacks—did the rows and rows of shelves extend back fifty feet? A hundred feet? Miles and miles?
Twilight Sparkle shook her head and mentally chided herself for letting her imagination run away like that. But as she trotted deeper, she reflected on how this place seemed almost designed to spur a pony’s imagination into a frenzy. The aisles between the shelves were narrow, with only enough space for ponies to walk single-file. The shelves were packed with scrolls and ancient books, their covers all faded to browns and grays. The shelves themselves were towering monoliths or ancient trees, reaching into the concealing shadows and leaning inward—a canopy that the slightest disturbance might bring down upon Twilight’s head.
Yet, even though this felt more like a dark forest than like a collection of knowledge and stories, various curiosities were nestled into gaps between the ranks of books—objects which belonged neither in a forest nor a book shop. Large crystals, stones with arcane markings, glass jars, display cases of pinned insects, figures made of sticks and twine, and rusted, twisting blades that only telekinesis could grasp: all had been pressed into service as impromptu book rests.
Twilight stopped and looked back behind her, then forward again. The path between the shelves curved, such that she could not see the end in either direction—yet she had traveled in a straight line this entire time. Must be an optical illusion , she thought. On a whim, she tapped a book on the nearest shelf. It moved under her hoof, proving at least that these shelves weren’t as monolithic as they appeared.
A large, clear jar squatted just a foot to the left of her hoof. In the jar, preserved in yellowing alcohol, was coiled some chitinous, serpentine creature of the ocean depths—its exoskeleton bleached with age, its mandibles open in a long-silenced scream.
A massive eye appeared, staring straight at Twilight. “Lost already, Miss Sparkle?”
She recoiled. When her rump struck the opposite shelf, she realized who she was looking at, and she gave a weak laugh rather than a loud shout. “Oh, no, just admiring the decor, Mister ... I’m sorry. I don’t think I got your name?”
The eye disappeared from the jar, and its owner—a tall, slender stallion— stepped around the bookshelf. “Shall I show you the way, then?” he said with a smile. “I’ll be the first to admit that the organization of my store is rather ... idiosyncratic.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and trotted away.
“Thank you,” Twilight said as she followed.
The bookstore owner hummed a queer melody as he moved briskly—his powdered, tightly curled tail bouncing with every step. His outfit was just as strange. With his black suit, his matching top hat, and his high, starched shirt collar, he resembled nothing less than some dandy displaced from two centuries ago. He led Twilight on an inscrutable path through the grid of shelves, darting left and right until she could no longer tell which way was which.
“Tell me, Miss Sparkle,” he said without slowing down, “do you believe in evil?”
“I’m sorry?” Twilight replied.
“It’s a yes or no question.”
“No, it’s an incredibly vague question! You have to define your terms, or we’ll just waste time talking past each other.” Twilight cringed slightly as she realized how harshly that came out. “So, why do you want to know?”
“Oh, just idle chit-chat. If you’d prefer something more substantial ...”
The stallion spun to face Twilight and planted one forehoof on a shelf, the impact echoing weakly. She stepped back as he continued, “Why are you interested in Resonius IV? Even for one of those old and moldy wizards, he’s quite obscure.”
“Well ...” Twilight stepped forward. “I think some of his research was abandoned too quickly, before anypony pursued it to its true potential.”
“Yes, potential . So, which field of his research did you have in mind?”
“His last experiment. The attempt to boost a unicorn’s raw spellcasting power.”
“Excellent! It warms the cold, dead cockles of my heart to hear that this volume will be in good hooves, ha ha!” He moved his hoof a few inches and pulled a worn tome off the shelf. As he passed it to Twilight, he added, “Now, I may have misled you when I said I had a book about Resonius IV. What I have instead is …”
“Resonius’ personal journal? ” Twilight gaped at the open book in her telekinesis. “I thought this was lost when Resonius disappeared! How did you get it?”
“Oh, I have my ways.”
“Oh my goodness, I don’t think I brought enough bits to afford this. And ... how do I know this isn’t some forgery?”
The shopkeeper smirked. “Miss Sparkle, you’re the first customer to ask me about Resonius in decades. If this journal is a forgery, then the fact that somepony else cared that much about him is interesting enough, isn’t it?”
Twilight scrunched her face as she thought.
“How about this?” the stallion added. “I’m a bookseller, but from time to time I play at being a librarian. I could loan the journal to you for two weeks. That should be time enough for you to satisfy your doubts regarding its authenticity—and to convince you that you need this journal. We’ll discuss the, hehe , payment then.”
“That’s awfully generous, sir.” Suspiciously so, though Twilight knew not to say as much.
“Splendid!” The stallion spun again and rushed away.
Twilight followed just behind and, far more quickly than she thought possible, emerged from the front door into the winding Canterlot back alley. After blinking at the bright sunlight, she looked back at the bookstore Les Livres Perdus —just as the stallion locked the door. He tipped his hat at Twilight and hung a “Closed” sign in the window.
“Well, that was odd,” she said as she trotted down the street, back to the Academy. “I guess I ought to test the authenticity first. But it won’t hurt to read a bit while I walk there ...”
Twilight recast her preservation spell and opened the book. A loose page slipped out from close to the back cover, and she caught it before it could touch the ground.
“Well now, what’s this? A list? Resonius, you’re a pony after my own heart. Well, assuming you actually wrote all this.”
incidents, and a sinister pattern presents itself.
3 June. Canterlot. about 300 thaums.
The procedure is naught but a stop-gap, and it grows less effective every time I perform it! I shudder to think what the effects will be when I reach the asymptote. What, precisely, am I trying to
“Hmm ...” Twilight said. “Where have I heard those dates before?” Her hoofsteps carried her to the Academy—not to the History Department, but towards the library.
In the darkness of the library’s side room, lit only by the microfiche reader, Twilight shivered once. She was glad at least that she could conduct this research in solitude.
As Twilight confirmed, the first occurrence was on June 3rd, 763 C.E. The report in the next morning’s edition of The Canterlot Times —written by intrepid reporter Tabula Gris—was hidden all the way back in page three of the local news section, and quite terse. The victim was a stallion—and a unicorn, obviously—but the article otherwise gave no description of him. Tabula was similarly reticent about where the victim had been found, offhoofedly mentioning Blooming Heather Heights only once. Back in the 760s, that neighborhood had been the preferred home for the newest of nouveau riche .
Idly, Twilight wondered: Did the Times merely have no inkling of how big this story would grow? Or had the victim, wishing to avoid scandal, bribed the newspaper into burying the story?
The next occurrence, the one on August 1st, earned Tabula Gris a place on the front page—albeit one below the fold. And the incident made for sensational news copy: not just a shocking act of violence, but also a chilling mystery. The victim, a burgundy unicorn stallion, refused to identify himself or describe his assailant upon waking up. And the next morning, he vanished from the hospital with no trace. The police were confident about finding the missing unicorn—but Tabula clearly preferred the hypothesis that the evildoer had tracked down his victim and finished the job.
Tabula’s article was an excellent piece of fear-mongering. He made certain to link this crime to the similar incident from two months ago—and to speculate that more incidents would follow, soon.
He was half right. There was exactly one more incident, on September 1st. This one warranted a front page, above-the-fold headline—one that screamed at Twilight from the microfiche reader’s magnifying crystal:
HORN RIPPER CLAIMS THIRD VICTIM
Mysterious Mutilator Strikes in Tackleford
Victim Disappears from Guarded Hospital
Wave of Mutilation Baffles Police
“The Horn Ripper.” It was a matter of historical record that somepony—or several someponies—cut off three stallions’ horns in the space of a few months. But nothing was known for certain about the perpetrator. The sober-minded historians had long ago exhausted the hard facts about the alleged Horn Ripper, leaving the subject for mistreatment by conspiracy theorists and lurid novelists.
Yet here in the alleged journal of Resonius IV was a list of dates and places that corresponded with the Horn Ripper’s known attacks. Did Resonius, or whoever really wrote this, know more about the incidents?
Come to think of it, the page had also mentioned a “procedure”—could that be a magic ritual employing unicorn horns as an ingredient? Was Resonius personally involved in the Horn Ripper attacks? He was a respected scholar in his time, even if his memory had been lost in the great shuffle of the centuries—what could have made him get mixed up in …
The door opened, its hinges shrieking in protest, and Twilight nearly jumped out of her seat.
“Do you need any help, Miss Sparkle?” It was Rusty, the assistant librarian.
“Yes, there is one thing.” Twilight took a few deep breaths and forced a smile onto her face. “Do you have archives for the local newspapers from …” She checked the last three entries on Resonius’ list. “... Salonicker, Pasture, and Haybridge?”
Rusty shook her head. “Sorry. Your best bet for small-town papers like those would be to ask at the local library.”
“Hmm. That sounds like a good idea. Oh, and I’m done with these.” Twilight grabbed half of the microfiche sheets and returned them to Rusty.
“Very good. And by the way, the library closes in an hour.” Rusty left. The door shut, casting the room once more into near-darkness.
Twilight was already drawing up the mental itinerary for a trip to Salonicker, then Pasture, then Haybridge. If I leave now , she thought, I can probably finish before … Wait. First, I need to let Spike know I’ll be going.
She grabbed the first sheet of paper she could find and dashed off a quick letter to Spike, explaining her plan. Then she stuffed it in her saddlebag and added “mail letter” to her checklist for the rest of the day.
Twilight still had fifty-five minutes before the library closed. She slipped the next microfiche sheet, the September 16th issue of The Canterlot Times , into the reader and resumed scanning the headlines for any mention of Salonicker. She couldn’t guess what had happened in that small town, but she had a suspicion she would know it when she saw it.
Having settled comfortably into her seat on the train, Twilight pulled the journal from her saddlebag and cracked it open. She skimmed the pages, looking for a place to begin reading—close to the mysterious date, but just far enough before then to provide necessary context. As she flipped the pages, a rough spell diagram caught her eye.
2 March
I reproduced that equation from memory, so thorough have been our preparations for the great experiment. But at long last, the preparations are at an end! My hypothesis shall be tried tomorrow! Consequently, though it is nearly midnight as I write, sleep is the furthest thing from my mind.
But it is not disquiet over the results of the test that sets my mind to racing. Truly, either outcome would be welcome. If the results are positive, then it means professional vindication! A bold new field of study! A victory to rub in the faces of that foalish Board of Directors for slashing my funding! And my name forever enshrined in the halls of magical scholarship!
Yet, if the results are negative, then it means the end of my professional relationship with Miss Pitch ... and hopefully, the start of an altogether closer relationship. Yes, I have made up my mind. When the experiment is complete—whether a failure now, or a success in however many months—I shall confess to her my true feelings. And I have reason to believe she holds similar affection towards me.
My only regret is the inevitable need to find another laboratory assistant for my next great experiment, whatever it may be. Pitch is the best assistant anypony could ask for, and I dare say she knows more of magic than do most of my colleagues. Whatever else may happen, I should help set her up to conduct her own research.
Plans, plans, plans! But they all hinge on what happens tomorrow, which not even the Princess knows. I shall take a brief stroll outside and observe the stars. Perhaps, afterwards I will be in a state of mind to sleep.
—Res
The rest of the page was empty. The next entry was on a loose sheet of paper, tucked between the pages.
5 March
Disaster.
“Those whom the Fates would destroy, they first make great.” Who said that? Truly now, I see they were right. I thought myself on the threshold of gaining everything I desired, but instead I have lost all.
To begin with, the experiment. Everypony tells me that was three days ago, but it stings as if it were merely three hours. My hypothesis was utterly disproven. Oh, the spell effected to halt all my ambient thaumaturgical radiation—but this had no effect whatsoever on my casting power. Five thousand thaums! I allowed the power to build up for ten minutes, then fifteen, thirty, an hour—but never could I exceed five thousand thaums.
Miss Pitch suggested we search the literature one last time, to make certain we had not overlooked any details. But it was clear to me why the experiment failed. It was as Beaker hypothesized: the horn—my own treacherous horn!—has an inherent limit, beyond which it cannot channel magic.
But I thought to myself: cannot? or merely will not? I resolved at that moment to press forward, to overcome the failings of my body through sheer force of will. Outwardly, I agreed with Pitch to break for a quick meal and more research; in secret, I cast the spell on myself one last time before departing.
As we ate and made pleasant conversation, I felt my thaumic reserves filling. As, on the way back, Pitch stopped to speak with Beverly Clock—how silly it is in retrospect, that I never realized what went on between those two—I felt as though I were full to overflowing. Yet I continued to fill, the pressure growing greater and greater, as Pitch and I pored over our books and journals.
Finally, after allowing the spell to work for five hours, I explained to Pitch what I had done, what I intended to do. She urged me, quite strongly, not to go through with it. I may have raised my voice at her, and she may have called me mad; my memory of the argument is rather unclear. But I would not be dissuaded.
I cannot know exactly how much magic I had built up. Perhaps it was over a million thaums. However much it was, I pushed it all towards my horn, to fuel a standard illumination spell. As before, my horn resisted that quantity of magic, but I just pushed harder. Then, I felt something in my brain give way. The floodgate opened, and my magic just poured through my horn.
Then I screamed. Excruciating pain ran up my entire horn and pierced my brain like a red-hot poker. I glanced up, and in my pain-induced delirium, I thought I saw my horn crack, then split.
(I wrote all of this with my horn, yet I still felt the need to run a hoof along my horn to make certain of its integrity just now—so vivid is my false memory of losing it.)
My reason tells me that, at this point, I fell unconscious and dreamed. Yet my intuition tells me that this dream felt like nothing I have dreamt before. One’s dreams—no matter how convincing they are while the dreamer is in their thrall—fall apart in the morning’s light. Not so this dream. Even now, the memory feels true, and only the impossibility of the events makes me doubt. But the details of the dream itself are irrelevant, I think.
Suffice to say, I awoke in this hospital bed, where I have remained for the past few hours. It was here that the most painful loss of all occurred.
About an hour ago, Pitch came to visit me, overjoyed to see the progress of my recovery. Her joy was contagious and lifted my own spirits immeasurably. Riding that wave of good cheer, I finally bared my soul to Pitch, telling her how much she truly means to me. I asked her, “Pitch Drop, will you be my special somepony?”
I learned only then that she is of the Sapphic persuasion.
A small, bitter part of my heart wants to be angry with her, but that would be unjust. Even while declining my romantic aspirations, she was as kind ever. No, this heartache is my fault and mine alone.
Already I feel the need for more sleep. Perhaps tomorrow will be a little kinder.
—Res
Twilight smiled as she glanced around the lobby. The Salonicker Inn’s brochure had boasted of its five hundred year history, so it was no surprise that the lobby was decorated in a reasonable facsimile of fifth-century East Equestrian style: numerous mirrors bordered with gold filigree, pink paisley wallpaper, a plush rug with a faux Saddle Arabian design, and delicate furniture of cherry wood and red satin.
This hotel had been in business when Resonius IV had passed through Salonicker, and Twilight’s research had confirmed this was the town’s only hotel in business at the time.
Nopony was at the desk, so Twilight tapped the bell. Before it could finish ringing, a resigned groan came from the back office. Seconds later, a gangly unicorn emerged. Her limp mane was a curtain hiding half her face. Her other half fixed Twilight with a gaze that spoke of a despair that only the teen-aged could ever feel. With a voice bordering on a plaintive moan, she said, “Can I help you?”
“Yes! I’m Twilight Sparkle, and I’m from out of town—”
“It’s 1:15. You can’t check in until we’re done cleaning the rooms, which will be about …” She sighed. “2:30 at the earliest.”
“No, I don’t need a room. I need some information.”
“But what do any of us know, really?” Another sigh.
“Riiiight. Anyway, I’m looking for a scholar who stayed here back in 763. I don’t expect he used his real name to check in, but I think he was up to something illegal which would have left a very odd mess behind.”
“Urrgh. Records . Ms. Sparkle, we only keep records from the last five years in this office. Everything older than that is in a vault, and my mom is the only one with the key.”
“Okay, then. Can I talk to—”
“She’s on vacation for a week.”
“Oh.” Twilight stepped back from the desk as she pondered her options. Waiting here all week would obviously be a poor use of time, but this hotel was one of Twilight’s best leads. Racing after other potential clues without the insight from this location might prove just as much a waste of time.
Glancing down, Twilight found she had unconsciously removed Resonius’ journal from her saddlebag. Her face brightened, and she stepped back up to the desk. “I’ve got another idea. It’s a long shot, but it may save us from needing to dig through your mom’s record vault. Can you let me look around a specific room for just a few minutes?”
“I guess. As long as nopony is currently staying there.”
“Great.” Twilight lifted Resonius’ journal and closed her eyes as she concentrated on it. There was magic in the book, absorbed from every pony that had ever held it, soaked into the ink and paper and bindings. Of course, after this many centuries, the book gave off a jumbled mishmash of different magical signatures—but one signature was slightly stronger than the rest. Committing that signature to memory, Twilight began scanning the hotel, looking for a match. She braced herself to pump more magic into her detection matrix, reasoning that she would need maximum sensitivity to even hope to pick up the proper residual—but she got a ping before even starting.
Twilight’s face lit up as she rushed into the hall, towards the magical signature. “This way!” At the end of the teal-walled corridor, she turned left and continued down that hall. Then she slowed down and stopped in front of room number 15.
The young clerk dragged her hooves as she followed, but she unlocked the door without protest. Twilight leaped through and waved her head, pointing her horn at every corner. “There it is!” she said. “Under the bed!”
With a thought, Twilight lifted the bed six feet in the air—revealing just the bare wood floor.
“Um,” the clerk said, “what exactly are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll know it when I see it,” Twilight said. “At least, I hope so. Just let me probe a little longer ... Aha! ”
The source of the magic signature was beneath the floorboards. Twilight summoned the object, teleporting it onto the floor before her hooves. Then she carefully lowered the bed back to its place.
Twilight smiled at the clerk. “That was easier than I thought it would be! Thank you for your help.”
But the clerk didn’t smile back, or even look at Twilight. She stared instead at the object on the floor. “What is that?”
“Huh. I don’t know.” Twilight lifted it to eye level to examine it. It was an asymmetrical, branching structure, like an deer’s antler or a miniature, leafless tree. Each branch ended in a sharp point. Slight grooves were cut into the base, tracing a spiral pattern up to the first branches. The very bottom was smooth but with a rough edge—like a tree branch cut off with loppers. The entire object was a burgundy color and only slightly larger than Twilight’s hoof.
“I don’t know what I expected,” Twilight said, “but this is much weirder.”
10 March
I see I have gone nearly a week since my last entry—a testament to how busy this time has been.
My experiment was not a failure. The day after my last entry, I spoke with Pitch about the particulars of the experiment. It came to light that she also saw that which I had assumed was but my delirium; viz. she saw my horn crack and shatter just before I fell unconscious. Yet here I am, with a fully functional horn on my forehead, in defiance of known medical magic. The doctors insist they had no part in this, and I have no reason to suspect their word—had they discovered a method to transplant or replace a horn, it would be news to trumpet from the rooftops. No, as far as they can tell, my horn simply grew back, of its own accord, while I was comatose.
Thus, as soon as I was cleared to leave, Pitch and I returned to the lab to determine if my experiment was the cause of this seeming miracle. Then we found further cause to celebrate: my ability to cast has increased to over seven thousand thaums. We measured multiple times, with damn near every thaumoscope in the building—and we even brought in old Beaker to see if we were measuring incorrectly. We managed to convince him, so there can be no doubt: my casting strength has increased by roughly 50%.
Still, we need more trials before we can be certain that my procedure was the cause—and we need more information before we can, in good conscience, subject anypony else to what I endured.
Since we do not know which piece of data may prove crucial, I may have been too hasty in dismissing my earlier dream as irrelevant. So I shall record it now, before it fades from my memory, just in case:
After I saw my horn break—for there was no discernible transition between waking and dreaming—I was drawn upward, at a velocity that would have terrified me if I were not already half-mad with pain. Instead, the pain and the fear induced a sort of detachment. Everything I saw, I saw as if it were happening to somepony else.
And what sights I saw! After less than a minute, the curvature of the Earth was plain to behold, and the sky above grew dark. Stars—brighter and in greater numbers than ever I have seen—became clear, while the Earth shrank beneath me. Smaller and smaller the planet grew, and then the entire planetary system. The local arm of the Milky Way became visible, then the entire galaxy—which itself shrank, soon enough. My speed must have been increasing exponentially, considering how quickly the galaxy clusters were reduced to pinpricks of light.
As the universe grew smaller and smaller beneath my hooves, I wondered if the rest of my journey would occur in unbroken darkness. Just then, I perceived a red glow above. The vision resolved into a vast body of some opaque liquid, like paint or ink, stretching further than I could see. My ascent—or perhaps it was a descent?—slowed as I approached this red ocean, until my head was but a few feet above its waves.
Something—someone—broke the surface and looked straight at me. I felt a fierce intelligence behind her five eyes, and the sense that she was judging me, though by what criteria I cannot imagine. With the strange certainty that comes in dreams, I decided she must have been the goddess Feronia. I wondered whether or not to speak to her.
Before I could decide, she rose further out of the ocean and bit my horn.
The pain that had knocked me unconscious returned tenfold but only for the briefest instant. The shock woke me, at which point I found myself in the hospital bed, with my horn restored, Celestia-knows-how.
Now, I must sleep again. Hopefully, my slumber shall be more peaceful. After that, yet more research awaits!
—Res
3 May
I have just awoken from another queer dream. Its tone reminds me very much of the one I had during the experiment, but I cannot decide why—the two have no details in common.
I found myself in another realm, a fantastic landscape with three moons in the night sky. The landscape was one of rocky hills, barren of plant life. I assumed it completely uninhabited, until I turned around and found myself in the figurative shadow of a large building. It was a solid but hideous structure, built of unhewn boulders—not a single straight line or right angle could be seen.
Through the door, I saw a sort of public hall and rows of unknown animals in it. They were squat, hairless things that resembled toads more than anything else—toads the size of ponies. They prostrated themselves upon the rough floor, facing the left side, and made shrill vocalizations which may have been attempted songs. To the side, the apparent object of their adoration was another creature, resting upon a sort of table or altar. It was hairless and limbless; if not for its rhythmic contractions, I would assume it was just a lump of meat.
It just now occurs to me that it was a heart. A disembodied heart, still beating. How morbid.
And with that pleasant thought, I must be off to my research.
Well, there was a peculiar development today. As we tested my casting strength—and it continues growing slowly but surely, as it has the past month—there was a side effect. After casting a spell at my very limit, I saw magic markings, patterns in the air itself: arcane circles and lines, text and runes in some language I have never seen before, all hovering and glowing faintly. I know they were not merely some illusion of the eye, because they clustered around objects and ponies, moving with them.
I sketched one such grouping as best I could. It was centered on my teacup, and was one of the simpler designs. The complex ones, such as the circle hovering behind Pitch’s head, looked like they would take years to unravel.
After about a minute, the patterns began to fade, and by five minutes they were completely gone. So there is one more mystery in a field full of them.
I also heard back from the Manehattan Institute of Magic. A junior researcher position should become available next year, and Pitch is to have rights of first refusal. I’m almost as excited on her behalf as I am about my own work.
—Res
Twilight walked into the office and realized she had entered the inner sanctum of a kindred spirit. The window curtains were nearly closed, casting the room into dim half-light. Shelves lined every wall. Books and loose papers covered the floor, save for a few designated paths. A massive conglomeration of book stacks concealed a desk, behind which could be heard the sound of pages turning and occasional exclamations.
“Hmm … oh.”
“Excuse me?” Twilight called.
“Interesting …”
Twilight sighed and waved one hoof to the side, knocking over the nearest stack of books.
“Who’s there? ” the voice demanded. A red earth pony mare leaned from behind the desk. “I have all of those organized , so I’d appreciate if you didn’t …” Her consternation turned to confusion as she got her first good look at her visitor.
Twilight gave a bashful grin as she telekinetically rearranged the book stack just as it was. “Sorry about that, but I know a book trance when I see one,” she said.
“You’re not from here,” the mare said.
“No, I’m not. My name’s Twilight Sparkle, and I’m looking for the Pasture Historical Society.” She glanced around before adding, “This is their office, right?”
“Well, if you’re being generous.” She trotted to Twilight, carefully stepping on the few patches of exposed floor. “I’m Winding Road, and I’m the Pasture Historical Society’s Chairpony of the Board, Chief Researcher, Head Archivist, Outreach and Public Relations Guru, Newsletter Writer and Editor-in-Chief, and also Janitor. So, how can I help you?”
“Well, I’m following the trail of a relatively unknown unicorn wizard. His journal said he did something here in 763, but it doesn’t give much detail. I hoped that you might have some record of him passing through.”
“Hmm …” Winding stroked her chin, and a slight smile formed on her face. “Who was this wizard?”
“Resonius IV.”
“Never heard of him, but that doesn’t necessarily prove anything.” Winding bounded away, clambering over the book stacks and up the shelves—moving more like a mountain goat than a pony. Deftly, she grabbed books and binders from the middle of stacks and threw them at Twilight’s hooves. “So, 763, then? Can you be more any more specific?”
“September 22nd. I don’t know how long he was before or after that, but he was definitely here on that date.”
Winding looked over her shoulder. “Reaaaally?”
“What’s that look mean?”
“It means you should go to the corner of Mane Street and Seventh Avenue, and read the historical marker there.” She tossed another volume onto the stack at Twilight’s hooves. “I’ll have more for you to read after you’ve learned about the most important thing to happen on that date.”
“Great! Thank you for your help.” Twilight slipped out of the office and onto the street of Pasture. She wore a smile as she trotted resolutely down Mane Street.
The town was scarcely larger than Ponyville, but far less inviting. The buildings were all made from dark, unpainted wood. The few ponies on the street ignored Twilight’s greetings as she passed.
After a few minutes, Twilight reached the intersection she sought, and she found a metal plaque mounted near the door of a general store.
Former site of the Pasture Inn & Public House
749 – 801 C.E.
Epicenter of the Great Bloop
September 22nd, 763 C.E.
Pasture’s strangest mystery occurred on a brisk September evening. At roughly 9:15 pm, every pony in Pasture, and one family vacationing in the Brackenwoods, acutely felt a shift in the world around them. The earth ponies felt it as a sensation of something inside them, either shaking or swelling. The pegasus ponies reported that “the air felt wrong”, and most of them could not fly for hours afterwards. Ponies asleep at that moment all had unexplainable, frightening dreams. Star Blazer, Pasture’s only unicorn citizen at the time, explained these phenomena as the signs of a rare Magic Surge, but he declined to explain how it felt to him. That’s probably why Mayor Hard Tack’s name for the event—the Great Bloop—was the one that stuck.
Though the event itself was brief, some of its effects were quite long-lasting. For the following two weeks, the crop plants and weather were unusually resistant to pony control. And, during the following June, July, and August, every foal born to Pasture citizens had red eyes and a silver mane. These “Bloop babies” were unusually long-lived, but otherwise normal ponies.
The cause of this Magic Surge remains unexplained.
This historical marker placed by the Pasture Historical Society.
12 May
This is bad. This is dangerous. All of my notes and sketches regarding those magical patterns which I keep seeing—I just gathered and burned them.
Today at the lab, when I conducted the routine test of my casting limit, and the familiar magical patterns appeared to me, I suddenly understood intuitively their function. Or rather, first I understood how I could manipulate them, then I understood what they do. That gap in knowledge and time was brief, but enough for me to almost instigate a disaster.
The fates offered to me a tool, unlike any other in the magical arsenal, and I reacted like a foal with a new toy. Without thinking, I reached out with my will and tweaked the first pattern to catch my eye. Simple changes—I inverted two runes and tightened the angle of one vertex. And then I understood what I had done.
The patterns are but a representation of the deepest magic of the world. By altering their lines and runes, one alters the fundamental nature of something or somepony. The pattern I had changed, in my foalish eagerness, was Pitch’s pattern. As for what, specifically, I had changed: I had removed the reason she could not reciprocate my affection for her.
But that is not the worst that I did. No, it is my next action which shames me to recall—which proves that I am not fit to carry this power. Because, upon realizing what I had done to Pitch, I knew at once how to change her back, yet I stopped and considered whether to do so or not. I did the right thing, eventually. And Pitch has no idea what happened—to her, it seemed but a brief dizzy spell—but if she were to learn the truth, I would not blame her for hating me.
I must consider very carefully how to proceed with the rest of my research.
—Res
25 May
I have found a further side effect. I must deal with this before I return to the labs.
1 June
Damn it all to Tartarus. A week ago, I went to sleep seeing the world as any other pony would, and I woke up the next morning seeing those patterns. And I continued seeing them all week, without interruption. I cannot stop seeing them.
I thought those patterns elegant once, because I did not understand what they signified. Now, I look out my window, and I see words in a fell language hovering about the head of every pony on the street. With the slightest effort, I could touch those words with my mind and erase that pony’s personality—reduce him to a biological automaton. Or replace every bone in his body with paper. I turn away from my window, and I see how easily I could turn a single fruit into enough antimatter to level half of Canterlot.
I’ve tried everything to make these damned patterns go away: testing my casting limits to trigger the process of their fading, casting enough spells to completely drain my magic reservoir, and even brewing an assortment of psychotropic potions. None had any effect.
Even sleep offers no release for me. Every night, I dream of that fantastic realm; of that unhewn stone building, squatting like some predator about to strike; of those amphibians prostrating themselves before the disembodied heart. Sometimes I dream that I remain outside the door; sometimes, against my better judgment, I enter and walk among the creatures unnoticed. Every morning, I wake from that dream, with my heart racing and my sheets soaked in perspiration—though I cannot imagine why this dream disturbs me so.
I must rid myself of these patterns, and soon. I pled illness to explain my absence from the labs, but that excuse will not suffice much longer.
—Res
It’s so simple! I’m laughing at myself for not thinking of it sooner! All this procedure requires is for one damn fool unicorn to lose his horn forever, through no fault of his own. It’s for the good of all Equestria, so that makes everything better!
What is a unicorn without his horn? Nothing!
What is a heart with an eyeball? Who knows!
Who are those frogs anyway? Who cares!
What sound does a bone saw make? I’m about to find out!
4 June
The deed is done. I have crossed a line and can never go back.
The next page had been torn out.
“Oh, come on,” Twilight grumbled to herself. “Just when he was about to explain ...”
She went to the next intact page, and picked up the account there.
and what it represents, I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror.
I know I can never explain my actions to Pitch or to my colleagues at the labs—but I can no longer hope to hide what I have done, either. So I have written up notice of my resignation. Tomorrow, I must move all the way to the other side of Canterlot, where nopony will ever think to look for me.
I am not yet sure what I can do there. Perhaps I will just stay inside and read all the time.
—Res
29 July
It did grow back.
Misfortune, it seems, has further plans for me. I thought this beastly affair was something I could just cut off and walk away from, but clearly that was wishful thinking.
Now that I am fully recovered, the patterns are back. The nightmares are back.
Perhaps I shall just have to live with this.
—Res
The upcoming portion of the mountain trail was even narrower than the Haybridge locals had warned. Barely the width of an adult pony, it was bound on the left by a sheer rock wall, and on the right by a two thousand-foot drop to a scree. A steel cable ran to the side, anchored to the rock wall every hundred feet.
Haute Route ruffled her wings as she finished adjusting Twilight’s harness. “... And in the very unlikely event of an equipment failure,” she said, “go limp if you fall off.”
“Why?”
“Because I can dive and catch you, but only if you aren’t flailing around like an idiot.”
“Please,” Twilight said, smirking. “I graduated with top honors from Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. In the unlikely event I fall off, I’ll be flailing like a genius .”
Haute Route shook her head, but couldn’t completely suppress her smile. “Like a genius. Celestia save us all, that’s even worse.” She stepped onto the trail and attached the lanyard from Twilight’s harness to the steel cable. “Seriously, though, remember to go limp.”
Twilight followed her guide. Her gaze bounced from the ground below her hooves, to the sky above, to Haute Route’s bouncing tail—anywhere but the stomach-churning drop to the side.
“Hey,” Twilight said, “has the path up Mt. Bree always been like this?”
Haute Route didn’t look back, but called out, “Like what?”
Twilight pointed at the steel cable. “How long has this trail been a via ferrata ?”
“Only about a hundred years.”
“Hmm. And what grade was it before that?”
“Grade? Ha! Used to be, any novice could hike to the peak in just one day. But that changed after the cockatrice was gone.”
“Oh, I read about that!” Twilight paused to adjust her footing. “In fact, I was hoping to see its cave. Wasn’t it Serac who vanquished the cockatrice?”
“Sounds like somepony did their research. Yeah, anyway, right after Serac did his thing, there was a big landslide on this face. And if you ask me, it wasn’t a coincidence.”
“How so?”
Haute Route kicked a small rock over the cliff. “Well, once the cockatrice was gone, there were a lot of petrified ponies and animals that turned back into flesh and blood. So—”
“But did all of them change back?”
“Huh?”
“Well, my sources were unclear on the point, but I read there may have been one pony that stayed petrified, even after the cockatrice was gone. Do you know anything about that?”
“Can’t say I’ve heard about it. And I’ve never given the cockatrice’s old haunt much of a look-see. It’s been a hundred years, but that place still gives me the creeps. Anyway, all those ponies and animals ...”
Haute Route chattered on as the two ponies slowly advanced along the narrow path.
1 August
“Perhaps I shall have to live with this.” If my stomach did not cause me such pain, I would laugh at my own naïvety. Nopony can live with this. This is an abomination.
It occurs to me that I have been somewhat lax in describing my dreams of late. Since their contents have become surprisingly relevant to my waking life, and to the foulness that plagues me, I must fill that gap.
That thing from my prior dreams, which I called a heart—it has an eye. It opened that eye two months ago and looked straight at me. Ever since then, I do not dream of that realm without that unblinking eye staring at me from those mounds of quivering, glistening meat.
I still dream about that building with the inequine structure and unhewn stones, but those frog-creatures are there no longer. Last I saw them was in a dream a few weeks ago: I stood outside the building as the front door closed, and they remained inside. The door was a thick stone slab, and its lowering shook the ground. A few minutes passed in silence, and then a thick black liquid trickled from beneath the door. When next I dreamed, the door was open again, and those frogs were nowhere to be seen.
Ever since that dream, the building’s occupants, aside from the ever-watching eye, have been a group of four or five loathsome, crab-like creatures. Specifically, they remind me of the monstrous crabs with long, spidery legs that dwell in the ocean depths where even Celestia’s light does not shine. Like the frog-creatures, these crabs had ignored my presence in the dream, until recently. Which brings me to this morning.
When I woke up this morning, two legs were sticking out of my mouth. Chitinous, jointed legs, identical to those of the crabs from my dream.
For a few seconds, I just stared at them, refusing to believe this was truly happening. Then the legs moved. I recoiled, at which point the appendages pulled back into my mouth, fighting against my gag reflex. When those disgusting legs had disappeared down my throat, I took an emetic and voided my stomach. But I could find no trace of the crabs, nor could I feel them in my belly.
I do not understand what is happening—and I suppose I never have understood the forces I meddled with. How did this creature from my dreams manifest in reality? What does this have to do with the patterns? Or with my repaired horn?
Foremost in my mind: how can I make this stop, once and for all?
At the very least, I know how to stop this temporarily—unpleasant though the procedure is. Perhaps alcohol will help. Still, I know not where to get another bone saw without arousing suspicion. I suppose I must find some other implement.
—Res
3 August
Once again, I have blessed relief from those patterns and dreams, but I know it is only temporary. I will be a danger to others for the foreseeable future, so I must leave for less-populous environs.
This time, I shall remember to bring the horn slicer.
Farewell, sweet Canterlot! I will miss you until the end of my days. Which may not be very far off.
—Res
The final approach to the cave was a long scramble over rocks the size of a pony’s head. It was more tiring—yet less nerve-wracking—than the previous narrow ledge path. Twilight’s heart rate decreased as she panted for breath next to the mouth of the cave.
“You sure about going in there?” Haute Route said. She shifted on her hooves, and her wings were flared. “I’m no good with normal caves. And this is …”
“You can just wait outside for me,” Twilight said.
“But is that safe?”
“I won’t leave sight of the entrance.” If I need to go deeper , Twilight thought, I can come back with a professional spelunker.
Stepping into the cave, Twilight cast an illumination spell. The cavern angled downward and ran straight, more or less, for about a thousand feet. As she trotted deeper, the light from Twilight’s horn cast countless shadows on the irregular walls—from here, Twilight couldn’t tell which were side corridors and which were just nooks or crannies.
Twilight shot a smile back at Haute Route before she cast her second spell: the magical signature seeker. The response was immediate, and Twilight froze. A response that quick meant the signature’s source was close enough to touch—but Twilight saw nothing but cave walls in front of her.
Gulping, she dismissed the seeker spell, readied a magic shield, and then doubled, tripled the magic flow to her light spell. Her horn flared brighter than daylight. Twilight spun on her hooves. “Ha! ... Oh.”
The rock wall hid a natural alcove—all but invisible to anypony walking into the cave. Within the alcove stood a statue.
“Twilight!” Haute Route poked her head into the cave. She pranced in place, her hooves echoing down the corridor. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” Twilight called back. “Just a little startled.” She resumed her examination of the statue.
She wasn’t sure what the statue was . Perhaps it had been a stallion at some point, or maybe it was just something else wearing an imitation pony skin as a grotesque disguise. It had four legs, but one was distinctly longer than the others. Its body and limbs had irregular raised areas—long, sinuous lumps, like vines beneath the skin. On its forehead—where a unicorn’s horn would have been—was a branching, asymmetrical growth, the twin of the object Twilight had found in the Salonicker hotel. One of the branches was longer than the others and distinctly jointed, with serrated edges on several segments. It resembled a crustacean’s leg.
Twilight’s gaze moved a few inches down, to the statue’s face. Twilight recognized the face—it had been spared by whatever process had ravaged the rest of his body. The eyes were closed and the eyebrows unfurrowed. Though his cheeks were gaunt, there were no lines of tension on his face. In fact, looking at him from certain angles, Twilight could see a subtle smile on his lips—or perhaps that was just her own light casting shadows.
Twilight trotted back to the cave entrance.
“What was in there?” Haute Route asked.
Twilight sighed. “There was one pony who stayed petrified. I saw him.”
“What? Really?” Haute Route gulped. “That’s awful.”
“I don’t know about that. From the look on his face, I think he was at peace.”
28 September
This will be my last entry in this journal.
I have been terse about my travels, because there is not much to write. The day-to-day routine of walking is tedious enough to live, without the added tedium of writing about it afterwards. Sometimes I sleep in the wilderness, sometimes in some small town that looks just like every other small town.
The incidents have become more frequent over time—four times in the past month! I endure the otherworldly visions for as long as possible. They blend together now: of late, I see the Pattern in my dreams of that other realm, and I believe that loathsome eye is still watching me in my waking life.
However, sooner or later—sooner and sooner in fact—I find one of those nightmarish crustaceans attempting to crawl out my mouth, and that is when I must resort to horn-slicing. At least I found an alternative to those cumbersome metal loppers. I can simply manipulate the Pattern to remove the horns, cleanly and painlessly.
“The horns.” My, my, how detached I have become about this.
Anyway, I have more data, thanks to these recent incidents. Every time I perform the procedure, there is a discharge of magical energy. With every repetition, the discharge increases—exponentially. Cross-reference this with the increasing frequency of these incidents, and a sinister pattern presents itself.
3 June. Canterlot. about 300 thaums.
The procedure is naught but a stop-gap, and it grows less effective every time I perform it! I shudder to think what the effects will be when I reach the asymptote. What, precisely, am I trying to prevent? Do the denizens of that dream realm seek to use me as a gateway to enter Equestria? Or am I to serve as a magical explosive? Or is some even fouler plan at work?
Well, I have one last surprise for whatever is orchestrating my misery.
Right now, I am in a tavern, belonging to a hamlet nestled in the foothills of Mt. Bree. A cockatrice lives up the mountain, just a day’s hike away. I shall pay him a visit, tomorrow. After all, considering how these otherworldly forces have already physically changed me, I doubt a mundane death on my part would pose much of an obstacle to them. Complete transmutation is my best bet to stop them from using me for their scheme.
But before that, I will sleep and dream one last time. I will pay one last visit to that ugly building, that heart with the staring eye, and those disgusting crab-things. And I shall make those sons of wolves regret showing me how to transmute matter into antimatter.
So, then. This is the end. How do I close my last journal entry? I wish I had something profound to say.
Damn it all. I’ll just leave my journal here in this tavern and hope whoever finds it can get something out of it.
To whoever is reading this after I’m gone: hello. I’m Resonius IV. I hope you don’t do what I did.
The Golden Oaks Library door closed behind Twilight. With a slight twinge of guilt, she realized the library was now cleaner and more orderly than she had left it.
Spike was seated, facing away from the door. Without turning, he said, “Yo, the fiction section’s been reorganized by genre.” He turned a page of his book—another one of his superhero comics, by the look of it. “And Twilight’s still away on her trip.”
Twilight trotted forward. “Really?” she said with a smirk. “What could possibly be keeping her away so long?”
“Beats me. She—” He twitched, then spun in his chair, a goofy grin on his face. “Twilight!” He rushed forward, and the two embraced.
“The library didn’t give you any trouble while I was gone, right?” Twilight asked.
“Trouble? Ha! It was a piece of cake.” Spike stood up straight and squared his shoulders—a pose that would have been impressive if he weren’t half Twilight’s height. “But ... why were you gone so long, Twilight?”
“Oh, I was investigating an old mystery. Didn’t you get my letter? I thought I explained everything in it.”
Spike scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I got that. It’s just that somepony else wrote all over the back, and that confused me, so ...”
“Writing on the back ...” Twilight’s eyes widened. “Spike, did that page look like it was torn out of a book?”
“Um, I don’t remember. But why don’t you see for yourself?” Spike bolted for the stairs.
“You still have the letter?” Twilight called as Spike disappeared into her study.
A few seconds later, he reappeared at the top of the stairs, clutching the letter and wearing his smuggest grin. “Number one assistant, remember?”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Twilight couldn’t help smiling herself as she yanked the page out of Spike’s claws. A quick glance confirmed that Resonius’ writing covered the back of the sheet—and Twilight had a guess about where exactly this page went.
Slipping the page into her saddlebag, she looked back up at Spike. “And of course I remembered my number one assistant. That’s why I made a special stop at your favorite bookstore ...”
Twilight lifted a large, glossy paperback from her saddlebag and floated it up to Spike. His eyes went wide as soon as he saw the cover. “Lobster Justice, Volume 2: The Fist of Science ! Awesome!” He sat down at the top of the staircase and began reading.
Twilight slipped past him, into her room, and locked the door behind her. Opening Resonius’ journal, she quickly found the gap that this new page filled. She read the now-complete entry.
4 June
The deed is done. I have crossed a line and can never go back.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all. I had access to dangerously unprecedented magic, and reason to doubt my own self-control in using this magic. I needed to cut off my access. Half-measures proved ineffective, so I had to become literal.
Bah. I am prevaricating. Even writing about what I did, after the fact, is distasteful. But my euphemisms cannot change what I did.
I cut off my own horn.
It hurt even worse than I expected. For the second time in as many months, I passed out and woke up in a hospital bed. Then came a battery of questions, from the doctors, from a police constable, and I think I remember a journalist joining in—I was still quite delirious at that point. They assumed me the victim of an assault, and I saw no reason to disabuse them of that belief.
I snuck out just this morning. When I looked in the mirror, the stump of my horn appeared somewhat healed. As though it were growing back. I panicked. If the doctors noticed, there would be no end to their prying until my entire story were laid bare.
But, perhaps I overreacted. Examining my forehead now, I can no longer see the apparent growth from this morning. Still, with this wound on my face and what it represents, I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror.
I know I can never explain my actions to Pitch or to my colleagues at the labs—but I can no longer hope to hide what I have done, either. So I have written up notice of my resignation. Tomorrow, I must move all the way to the other side of Canterlot, where nopony will ever think to look for me.
I am not yet sure what I can do there. Perhaps I will just stay inside and read all the time.
—Res
Twilight set the book down and blinked a few times. “Wow.”
A few seconds passed. A songbird chirped outside the window.
“If I publish this,” Twilight said, “the Horn Ripper historical fiction fans are going to hate me so much .”
The bell over the book shop door rang as Twilight entered, a dull ding so devoid of cheer that it sucked all other sound out of the room.
The foyer was deserted, so Twilight approached the checkout register and rapped the countertop with one hoof. This kicked up a cloud of dust and caused the desk to creak ominously. Coughing, Twilight glanced around the store. Was it always this run-down, she thought, and I just didn’t notice last time?
The dust cloud dissipated, revealing the bookstore owner behind the counter. He wore the same dapper suit and hat from two weeks ago—and the same smile that bared a few too many teeth.
“Welcome back, Miss Sparkle. I trust you found the journal quite edifying?”
Twilight thought, The first rule of haggling: Feign indifference. Never let the seller know how much you really want the item.
Twilight said, “I can neither confirm nor deny that I enjoyed reading it.”
The stallion’s smile faltered slightly. “What?”
“Oh! That is, I want to buy the journal after all. I can offer you—”
“Wait, wait. Before we get to haggling, more than anything else I want to know ...” The stallion leaned eagerly over the counter. “Now that you’ve read about the power that good old Res uncovered, how do you plan on using it?”
“Well, I’m mostly interested in the book for its use as an autobiography—”
The stallion rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, of course you are. But really now ... just between us, strictly off the record: what do you really have in mind? Will you become a champion of justice, meting out punishment to those the who slip through the court’s nets? Will you engage in diplomacy, spreading friendship through superior firepower? Do you wish to make contact with those vast alien intelligences that Res saw in his dreams? Or is it knowledge itself you desire?—knowledge unbound by small-minded fear of ‘consequences’ ...”
“Oh, his research?” Twilight chuckled. “I just wanted to do this.” She cast a spell, with no visible effect. “See? I isolated the portion of the spell that blocked ambient magic leakage, without the part about trying to channel all that magic.”
The stallion squinted. “What possible use could that serve?”
Twilight dissolved the spell. “Well, I have a friend with this medical condition, and my ambient magic really bothers her because of that. So, now I can hide it to make her more comfortable—”
The stallion snickered. “You are a frighteningly good actress, Miss Sparkle. Why, you had me half convinced that you really meant ...” His words died as he saw the look of confusion on Twilight’s face. “Oh, Tartarus, you really are serious.”
He dropped his face onto the counter with a loud thud, kicking up another dust cloud.
“Oh!” Twilight said. “Are you—”
“Get out ,” the stallion hissed. He slammed his face several more times, until dust clouds completely obscured the room, until the wood cracked beneath him.
Twilight coughed and said, “You could hurt yourself if—”
Two glowing, yellow eyes glared back at her from where the counter once stood. “Get ... OUT! ”
A gale-force blast of hot, humid air knocked Twilight backwards, off her hooves. She found herself lying on her side, just outside Les Livres Perdus .
As she stood up, the front door slammed shut so hard that a massive crack spread, splitting the façade in half. One wall collapsed inward, then another. Instinctively, Twilight fired a spherical shield in the shop owner’s direction, but the spell just deflected off the book shop’s exterior. The roof caved in as the remaining walls crumbled.
Twilight gaped at the wreckage. Less than a minute ago, the shop had been intact; now it looked as though it had been vandalized by teenage dragons in the middle of an earthquake.
Then the ground rumbled, and the several tons of wood rubble and masonry disappeared down a sinkhole.
Twilight shook her head before walking up to the edge of the sinkhole. From where she stood, darkness obscured the bottom of the pit. She called down, “You’re not a normal pony, are you?”
The stallion’s voice echoed from below, “What part of ‘get out’ do you not understand?”
“Well,” Twilight said, “I still have the journal, and I haven’t paid you for it, yet.”
She paused, but the stallion said nothing.
Twilight pulled a coin pouch out of her saddlebag. “Based on recent sales of other ancient books—of comparable age, uniqueness, historical value, and overall demand—I calculated 250 bits as a fair price. Do you agree?”
Silence.
“I’m going to take that as a yes.” She threw the pouch into the sinkhole. She didn’t hear it strike the bottom.
Twilight walked out of the alley, towards the palace, towards a pleasant afternoon tea party with Princess Celestia, and a very nice dinner with her parents. When she tried to return to the alley the next day, she couldn’t find it.
Fin.
Author's Note
A/N: Thanks to KuroiTsubasaTenshi and Yami Vizzini for their help proofreading, on short notice.
