Chapter 19: The Timbers Burning

A break had formed in the storm, and the bright yellow sky momentarily shone through the clouds onto the wet earth below. In the eternal light of the sun and the moon, Fyr’mond looked out at the placid water of Mortlake as it reflected the images of the trees that surrounded it. It was still as beautiful as the first day she had seen it, but now instead of wonder and awe it brought her only sadness.

She paused and watched for a moment, and then continued down the gravel path that walked along the lake shore, joining Ward Kelley and Nyar as they made their way toward Dee’s home. months had passed since Dee had been stripped of his title, and this was the first time that Fyr’mond had returned to Mortlake. She had wanted to come, to see him, but had never managed to find the courage- -both to face him, and to do what Ward told her needed to be done.

For a time, she had hoped that this day might never come, that she could hide away, that this event might fade to time and never occur. Then the letter had come. It was sealed in a simple envelope, sent without any seal more than a simple blob of unstamped wax, but it bore her husband’s handwriting. In it had been a simple letter, one that Ward had perhaps known would be coming to him eventually. Fyr’mond had not been permitted to read it, but she knew what it said in general: that Dee was requesting their presence.

Fyr’mond did not know how to feel, nor did she know what to expect. She looked to Ward to understand, clinging desperately to the hope that she had held when she first met him. He seemed as confident as ever. He did not expect a trap, or some kind of bizarre duel- -but he still somehow approached his plan with neither fear nor remorse.

As they neared the house at the edge of the lake, Fyr’mond looked out at the smaller building on the edge of the nearby forest. It, she knew, was the servant’s quarters, where they lived and where carriages and equipment were stored. One of the youngest of them, barely out of colthood, was chopping wood. Seeing him reminded Fyr’mond of the servants, of Upkeep and the others. They were her friends. They had smiled and helped her when there was nopony else for her- -and now she was about to betray them.

Fyr’mond stopped, and tried to regain her composure. Ward, not noticing, continued onward. Nyar, however, fell back and stood beside Fyr’mond.

“Is something the matter, princess?” she asked, shuffling the weight of her saddelbags. Fyr’mond looked down at the yellow pony, and then cast a spell to make her burden lighter. Nyar looked surprised. “Thank you, princess, but that was not necessary. I am stronger than I look. But why do you hesitate?”

“I can’t…I can’t do it,” she said. “I can’t go through with this.”

“Because you do not wish to see your husband again?”

Fyr’mond shook her head, but realized that on some level Nyar was correct. “I…I abandoned him. And now I come back, for…for this…”

Nyar put her hoof on Fyr’mond’s shoulder. The smell of flowers surrounded Fyr’mond thickly, like a cloud of essence. Although she had grown accustomed to that smell, Fyr’mond still felt her breath slowing as she tried to avoid breathing it, as if it were somehow toxic. “You did abandon him,” she said, simply. “But that is not bad.”

“But he needed me. How can that not be bad?”

“He had abandoned you long before you left him. Some things…they simply cannot be, no matter how much we want them. Some things must be left behind if we are to move forward.”

Fyr’mond sighed, and then looked at Ward, who had stopped ahead, waiting for them but allowing them time to complete their conversation. He was, indeed, patient. Perhaps even too much so.

“Nyar,” asked Fyr’mond. “Do you ever doubt Ward?”

“No,” said Nyar. Her tone was neither judgmental, nor accusing. “I do not.”

“But…he has been Magus for months now. The performances have stopped, but…he has not healed anypony. He has not helped the farmers. I know he can. I believe in him, Nyar, I truly do…but…”

“He has been assembling an army for your father,” explained Nyar. “That surely takes great energy.”

“But he never tires. He never seems to work, at all. He summons them…but…”

“But is a war truly what you think he wants?”

“He could do so much more. But he…” He did not seem to care. Fyr’mond could not bring herself to say that, to speak what she knew would be an insult to the dream that they both shared. Ward spoke endlessly of that dream, of a world where nopony was hungry or sick or poor, and explained in great detail how it would be accomplished- -but never performed any actions to indicate that he was moving toward that goal.

“You have to consider the grandeur of the task you ask of him,” said Nyar, putting her hoof on Fyr’mond’s shoulder. “It is indeed a large task, one that he only barely yet knows how to begin. He is a kind and just pony, one of very few. We need to trust his judgement. He will bring peace and prosperity to this word, and you and I will stand at his side as he does. That is the dream that the three of us share. To spread holy light across this world. Surely you, my only friend, can understand this.”

Fyr’mond wrapped her forelegs around the smaller pony, ignoring the unpleasant smell of flowers and hugging her tightly. She felt her tears falling onto the nun’s shoulder, and found herself wondering why Nyar felt so cold.

“You are my best friend,” said Fyr’mond. “I would be lost without you, Nyar.”

“I know…I know.” They embraced for a long moment, and then released. “You know what needs to be done,” she said. “We need to unite the royal court under one Magus. I know it will be hard for you, but hold Ward’s dream within your heart. We are doing this for a better world.”

Fyr’mond wiped away her tears, and nodded. Then she inhaled, and regained her composure. The two mares then followed the path toward rejoining Ward ahead.

The windows in the house were dark as the three approached the door. They climbed the steps onto the wide porch, and Ward paused for a moment before knocking on the door. He looked to his two assistants, making sure that they knew the plan, and why it needed to be done.

Fyr’mond nodded, using the fullest of her princess training to suppress all emotion. Ward smiled back, and then knocked his hoof against the door.

At first, nothing happened. Then, with a creak the door swung open, revealing the darkness on the other side. Fyr’mond barely suppressed a sudden gasp when she saw her husband’s face in the narrow beam of light cast by opening the door instead of that of a servant. All the confidence and power he had borne before seemed to have left him, leaving nothing more than a withered old stallion. For the first time, she became fully conscious of just how old he was- -and now saw that he was in even far worse condition than before.

Dee was gaunt and unkempt. His beard and mane were disheveled, and his coat seemed ashen. He appeared like a pony on the verge of death, the opposite of the young, vigorous stallion he now faced. It was as though the transference of his title had also transferred his youth along with it- -or, as Fyr’mond suddenly realized, his sense of purpose.

“Ward Kelley,” said Dee. His tone was dry, but not filled with any kind of anger as Fyr’mond had expected. He just seemed tired, and his dark eyes shifted to the other two. “Your assistant…and princess Fyr’mond.”

Dee stepped back without another word, and the swung open as he backed away. Ward looked to the others, smiling smugly, and entered the house.

In the darkness within, the first thing that occurred to Fyr’mond was the fact that the house was no longer neat and sterile. Instead, it was filled with boxes and crates, all neatly labeled in Dee’s hoofwriting. Some were open, and Fyr’mond saw that they were packed with scrolls, books, artifacts and equipment.

“Are you moving?” asked Fyr’mond.

Dee looked back at her expressionlessly. “No,” he said. “I have been permitted to keep this house. I intend to live out what little time I have left here.”

“Then why the boxes, and crates?”

Dee looked at the boxes, as if he was seeing them for the first time. “Property of the government. I am no longer Magus. I no longer have the right to my life’s work. But I still have one final duty to attend to. I will ensure that my knowledge is not lost. That my work shall be given to the next Magus…” he looked at Ward. “And passed down to further generations. This is the last thing I can do. I only pray that they use the power of these scrolls better than I have.”

“You did not request my presence to carry boxes, though,” said Ward. “You could just as easily use your servants to do that…and say, Doctor, do you not still have that curious winged creation of yours? Is he around here, perhaps?”

“I released him,” said Dee.

“You what?” stammered Fyr’mond, surprised. “But- -he was a criminal!”

“Would you have me keep him here, princess?” asked Dee, his voice becoming somewhat more sharp than before. “Perhaps in a gilded cage near my desk? Or perhaps I ought to lobotomize him, as your father seemed to prefer?” Fyr’mond was shocked, and Dee seemed to realize it. His expression softened, and he looked away from her, ashamed of himself. He then turned to Ward. “But before he left…he gave me a piece of advice. One I intend to act upon.”

“Oh? And what was that?”

Dee sighed. “I am not Magus anymore. And now that I have thought about it…perhaps I never should have been. I cannot help the ponies of Equestria. I am not the wizard they need. My talent, my ability, my dream…it has only ever been to understand the nature of the universe. Try as I might, I am just not able to apply that power. Perhaps all I am meant to do is to record it for a younger mage to act upon…”

“And you want my power,” said Ward, flatly.

“No,” said Dee. “I want your understanding. You can have the title of Magus. I shall not contest you. In fact, after thinking long on it…yes. You are better for it than I. The power you have is great. Please, Ward Kelley. I am an old stallion. Please, let me study your magic. Do not allow me to leave this plane with that one mystery left unsolved.”

Ward smiled. “A unicorn, begging an earth pony for his magic?”

Dee did not react to what was meant to be an insult, and Fyr’mond was somewhat shocked.

“I no longer care,” said Dee. “Earth pony, unicorn, winged pony, none of it matters. None of it ever did, not to me. It was just the secrets, the mysteries of the universe. I see that now. I must pursue the knowledge, regardless of who wields it.”

“Well,” said Ward. “You are in luck. After considering your request, I have decided to grand your request.”

For the first time in a long time, Fyr’mond saw her husband’s eyes light up. “You…you will?” he said.

“Indeed, I shall. I have no qualms about helping my predecessor, especially when he shows such noble goals.” He motioned to Nyar. “My lovely assistant and I will need to prepare an appropriate place first, though. If we may.”

“There is a room over there,” said Dee, pointing. “My servants…I wonder where they’ve gone…”

“It will not be a problem,” said Nyar. “I can see the way.”

As they left, Nyar gave a gentle smile to Fyr’mond. She tried to smile back, and almost succeeded- -until she realized that she had been left in the foyer with Dee.

They stood together in silence for several minutes. So much had happened, and Fyr’mond simply could not bring herself to speak, to try to explain what she had done. She did not have to, though: it was Dee who spoke first.

“I am sorry,” he said, simply.

Fyr’mond was surprised, to the point where she could not respond immediately. She had not known what to expect, but an apology the last thing she had anticipated.

“For…for what?” she asked. In her mind, it had been she who had wronged him, and was about to yet again.

“Why?” asked Dee, as if speaking to an empty picture frame on the wall instead of to her. “Why was I such a fool?”

“You are not a fool,” protested Fyr’mond, approaching him but stopping as he turned slowly toward her. “You…you are the smartest pony I have ever known.”

“No,” said Dee, shaking his head. “I was blind. I should have listened. You were there, beside me. A light to lead me out of the darkness…but I dismissed you. I labeled you an idiot, simply because you had no magic.”

“And are you apologizing only because I have magic now?” Fyr’mond spoke sharply, releasing some of her pent-up anger toward her husband, and her frustration from having lived with him.

The look Dee gave her defused the anger instantly. Instead, she only felt pity for the broken mage.

“No,” he said. “You were intelligent. You still are. Through my own ignorance, my prejudice, I refused to see what you truly were. You gave me your love and I…I rejected it. No. I twisted it. I used you as a tool for my own gain. I make myself sick.”

“But you’ve learned,” said Fyr’mond, jumping forward, speaking quickly. “You can still change! Join us, Dee! Together, with your power, we can make Equestria a better place!”

Dee sighed deeply, and was silent for a moment. “If only I had listened. And if only I could have seen what you saw so easily when I was young and truly strong.” He shook his head. “It is too late for me. I cannot change this world. I have lost everything.” He looked in the direction Ward had gone. “And I have, though my own failures, lost you as well.”

Dee crossed the room, and put a narrow hoof on Fyr’mond’s shoulder. He reached up, his joints grinding as he did, and kissed her forehead, just below her long, pointed horn. “Please, Fyr’mond,” he said, softly. “Use your power well. Do what I could not. And do not let Kelley become like me.”

“I promise,” said Fyr’mond, putting her hoof against his gaunt, pale cheek. “I promise.”

The interior door creaked open, and Fyr’mond entered the room that she had Dee had given her. She looked around at the place where she had spent so many nights alone, at the canopy bed and the ample, curving walls. She crossed the room to the window and looked out at Mortlake below. He had even chosen to give her a room with an ideal view.

Fyr’mond turned back to the room. There was furniture, all of it impeccable and old, things that Dee had purchased for her but had never himself used. She herself had hardly used them. As a princess, she was simply an extension of the government. Her clothes, her possessions, all the luxury she had was nothing more than an illusion. None of it truly belonged to her. It was simply applied to her or put around her, or dispensed to her, as if she were nothing more than a feature of utility.

The only piece of furniture aside from the oversized, lonely bed that she had used was the small writing desk near the window. She has spent many hours there, painstakingly writing letters to her brother, assuring him that everything was going well when in her heart she knew that it was not.

Her eyes crossed from the desk to the sparsely filled bookshelves, and to the barren dressers. One object, however, caught her attention. A sad smile appeared on her face, and she approached that one item.

There, sitting upon an otherwise dusty and empty dresser, was a small golden musicbox. She remembered it well; it was the first gift that she had ever been given. Gently, she flipped open the lid, using her hoof instead of her immensely powerful magic out of habit. As she did, the music played, exactly as it had on the first day that she had met Dee. The tiny mechanical pony that the box contained peeked out of its home and stared up at her. It then leapt out and its tiny metal hooves pattered over the wood of the dresser as it danced for her.

As she watched it move, Fyr’mond smiled, and felt the tears running down her face. Then she began to weep, putting her head down and sobbing silently next to the musicbox. The tiny pony continued to dance, but then, seeing that she was sad, slowed. It crossed the wooden surface and tried to comfort her, to no avail.

“Mistress?” said a voice from the door. Fyr’mond picked up her head, and tried to clear away her tears. She turned away quickly so that Upkeep would not see her. Then she stood and approached him.

“Upkeep,” she said. “I’ve…I’ve missed you.”

He looked up at her and smiled. “Mistress…you certainly have grown.”

She laughed halfheartedly. “I have…I suppose I have…” Then she took a breath. “Upkeep. I need to give you an order. Can I do that?”

“Of course, Mistress. It is what we exist for.”

“Take the other servants,” said Fyr’mond, unable to meet the stallion’s eye. “Take them and leave. Go to the servant’s house. Then leave.”

Upkeep shook his head. “I cannot do that, Mistress.”

“But you have too!”

“I cannot. I have served here at Mortlake since I was a colt. I cannot leave this place. Nor can I leave Master Dee. Not like this. He needs me. He needs us.”

“You will not reconsider?”

“Never, milady.”

Fry’mond sighed, and with tears in her eyes, charged her horn. Power flowed through her body and mind, and she reached out with a mist of white magic, stretching her will into not just Upkeep’s mind, but those of all the servants as well. Once inside, she inserted herself deeply into them and began to strip away their memories. She took everything that they remembered of Dee, burning away so much of their lives but sealing the would such that they would never notice.

Upkeep’s expression went blank, and his eyes momentarally shifted to white. “I…who are you?” he said, looking up at Fyr’mond, confused.

“A friend,” she said, softly, trying to smile just to reassure him. “My name is Fyr’mond.”

“Fyr’mond…I remember that name from somewhere…do I know you?”

Fyr’mond shook her head. “No. You don’t. But I need you to take the servants, and leave this place. Go to the City.”

“Yes…milady.”

In his daze, Upkeep turned and began walking away down the hall. Fyr’mond knew that it would be the last time she would ever see him.

The room originally been intended to entertain guests, but Dee had never once had cause to use it for that purpose. It was a kind of long hall that made up the center of his home, an architectural means to contain a surplus of empty space. The trusses overhead had been constructed to be artful in and of themselves, and for the first time, Dee realized just how pleasant they were. In retrospect, he wondered what he might have used this room for. Its size was certainly large enough for a significant table; perhaps he could have held debates with the College wizards, or perhaps taught students. It was far too late for either now, though.

Instead, the room had been cleared of all furniture. Only the book-filled shelves remained, serving as an extension to Dee’s adjacent library. Most of his books had been lovingly stored away, ready for transport to their new home at the royal library, but he had not yet managed to attend to these with the care they deserved.

“Ah, there she is,” said Kelley as Fyr’mond approached from his left. Dee looked up, and saw that his former wife had been crying. That only made him hate himself more. He had been blind to so many of her tears, but now he saw just a fraction of those which he himself had caused. He had made her cry once again.

“Now we can begin,” said Kelly. He approached Dee, Fyr’mond and the nun by his sides. Kelly held up his foreleg, the one covered in tattoos. “Do you know what this is?”

“A rune matrix,” said Dee, examining it closely. “It was clearly carved into you by a magical source, but…the syntax is completely foreign to me.” Indeed, that mark alone was a mystery that piqued what was left of Dee’s curiosity.

“This mark is the source of my power,” explained Kelley. “I received the knowledge of its construction from an angel.”

“An angel?” asked Dee. He wanted to be skeptical, but the idea was simply too tantalizing for him to reject outright.

Kelley nodded. “Indeed. I summoned it, and it spoke to me. Told me of a way to great power. I know not what the angels are. Not in form, at least. But I understand their truth. They are knowers of all, the bearers of the fundamental knowledge of reality itself.”

“You mean…”

“What I mean is that if an angel could be summoned to mark me, then one could surely appear to speak to you. You are only limited by the questions you can conceive. All will be answered.”

“And…how can I speak to your angel?”

“Simple,” said Kelley. He opened one of Nyar’s saddlebags and produced an object. Gingerly, with the greatest of care, he passed it to Dee, who took it in his hooves, knowing that his magic might disrupt the spells contained within.

Dee looked into the object. It was, he realized, a mirror. Not one of glass, but of a kind of dark colored material. Its top surface, though perfectly smooth, had been etched with a complex seal, a symbol built around a five-pointed star.

“What is this?” he asked.

“A beacon,” said Kelley. “A way to call the angel to this room, so that we might commune with her.”

Dee looked down at the dark mirror, and at the reflection of an impossibly aged stallion sitting beneath its surface. More than anything, he wanted to believe, to think that there really could be an angel within, a creature that he could summon that would, in the twilight of his life, provide him with the knowledge he had failed with a full lifetime to find.

“How do I use it?” he asked.

“It is really quite simple. You need only direct your magic at the center of that seal. The mirror will do the rest, and if it is her will, the angel will appear to you.”

Kelley and Nyar stepped back, joining Fyr’mond at the edge of the room. Dee looked down at the mirror. A strange, sickly floral scent filled the air, mixing with the scent of old wood and books within his home. Dee knew what he had to do. He charged his horn, and directed raw magic directly into the symbol carved into the mirror.

The effect was immediate. As Dee realized that he had been betrayed, the mirror responded with a massive feedback wave, detonating fiercely in a sphere of fire. Dee felt his horn fracture and his eyes melt from their sockets as he was thrown backward onto the floor.

For a moment, he thought he had died, and he shifted between a dark, empty state and life. He was not sure how long he was unconscious, lying in a broken heap on the wooden floor. It was imposible to know with his mind threatening to depart at any moment. Then, slowly, he became aware again. The first thing of the world that returned to him was the pain. Even the slightest movements were excruciating, and he realized that most of the front half of his body had been badly burned.

The blast had taken his eyes, but the rune that had been used had been poorly conceived. There had been more magic within it than Kelley had been predicted. Though blinded, Dee realized that he was still able to see, to perceive the world as it truly was.

All around him were flames. Above him, the timbers of his house were blazing with flame. Everything was wrapped in an inferno: the crates of books, the scrolls, and the knowledge within them were burning, the knowledge within being reduced to ash and choking smoke.

Dee turned his head to where Kelley had been standing, and saw the three ponies standing amidst the fire, surrounded by a shield of white magic projected by Fyr’mond. She gasped and clung to the new Magus, who was smiling over Dee’s dying body.

What terrified Dee, though, was the other creature that was adhering to Kelley. Where before he had been foolish and ignorant enough to see a simple blind nun, his newfound sight now proclaimed the truth. The that Dee saw- -if it could even be called that- -was a thing of unimaginable horror. Had Dee been any other pony, the mental perception of that monstrous thing might have driven him insane. Even glancing at it half-way, like an eclipse through a frosted lens, was causing his mind to begin to unravel.

In that instance, Dee knew how Kelley had received his power, and knew that both of them had been betrayed. There was no way Kelley could have known what he had done, what the “pony” who now leaned against his body seductively truly was, or what its intentions truly were. At the same time, Dee saw the folly of his own existence: that creature was indeed the angel he had so foolishly sought, a creature who understood easily the verities that were not meant for mortal eyes.

“No!” coughed Dee through the smoke, trying to stand. “Fyr’mond! Get away from it!”

“She will not listen to you, ‘Magus’,” spat Kelley as the wood of the house began to collapse around him. “She is mine now. Not yours!”

Dee felt the rage burning inside him, giving him energy even as his life was slipping away. The fool refused to see, to understand- -and had destroyed so much. All the knowledge that might have been used for Fyr’mond’s dream: Kelley had destroyed it, simply to slay his rival.

“I curse you, Ward Kelley!” cried Dee through the flames. “I curse you! For this betrayal, for eternity you are damned!”

Kelley only smiled. He raised a hoof, and Fyr’mond changed the spell that surrounded them. The sphere imploded as they teleported away, vanishing from the flames.

Once again, Dee tried to stand, but found that he could not. All around him, his house was burning, falling in upon him. All of it was already gone. There was nothing he could save. Kelley had taken the last thing that had mattered to him. His works had been destroyed entirely, and his horn had been fractured. He would never again use magic.

As such, Dee simply laid back onto the floor, feeling the heat from around him cutting at his flesh, choking on the smoke. There was nothing left for him. He had resigned himself to death.

Then, suddenly, he heard something. Something from deep below his house suddenly hummed to life, a kind of spell he had only ever witnessed once before. A pulse of energy filled him, and he awoke to hear the voice whispering to him once more.

In his mind, Her voice began to connect thoughts, to whisper things as it had all those decades ago in his youth. In an instant, he understood what he had never been able to before. Everything became clear.

Summoning his last strength, he stood, crying out from the burns and the pain of his broken body.

“No,” he said, as if challenging the flames. The had taken his books and his works, but the knowledge had not been destroyed. One vessel still existed that contained that information, and that vessel was him. “I will not die here. Not now. Know me…I am the Magus…DOCTOR DEE!!”

With the last magic he possessed, Dee summoned a powerful spell. His fractured horn could not take the strain, and it shattered, driving a pain infinitely greater than his burns directly into his skull. The spell still engaged, though, exploding outward from his body.

All around him, the elemental nature of the fire shifted, and it was converted into a forest of frost. The heat was replaced with cold, and all at once the inferno was vanquished. Dee looked out over the remnants of his now ice-filled house, and smiled as his vision faded.

Drained and now forever devoid of magic, Dee collapsed to his knees, and then fell to the icy ground below, his mind drifting into unconsciousness.