Strange Alchemy

Time had passed. Fyr’mond, as a princess, was incapable of growing bored. She had been trained from her earliest years to sit quiet and alone and entertain herself. It was not a princess’s place to demand entertainment or company; she existed only to provide them when asked.

Still, her husband had spent the last two weeks in the ruin while she had been in the camp outside. She missed him, and was lonely. Even if he was curt and often cold, she did like his company. That, and she knew that she needed to at least make an attempt to bear an heir, and she needed her husband for that. He had not yet even bothered to consummate their marriage, and Fyr’mond was beginning to have doubts about her father’s decision. She wondered if perhaps she was simply not worthy of him, if she was too ugly or unappealing.

So she waited. Sometimes she would walk through the forests around the camp, admiring the trees and how tenaciously they clung to their inadequate soil. Other times, she would watch the workers as they moved tools and recovered artifacts, preparing them for Dee’s study of for shipment back to the more civilized parts of Equestria. On occasion, she would speak to them. Few were willing to talk to her, as if she were frightening. Only a few had actually warmed up to her, and even then only slightly. Among them was a young mare named Little Duster, an overo girl who was apparently Dust Brush’s daughter. She, like her father, had a charming wildpony’s reluctance to accept authority, and it was only her who did not seem to be afraid of Fyr’mond’s position.

So, one day, Fyr’mond approached the younger mare with Upkeep at her side to ask a question that had been nagging her thoughts for the duration of her stay in the wilderness. Duster was in the process of carrying in another load of aromatic fresh cedar logs to be processed into lumber and firewood for the camp, and she momentarily removed her helmet to wipe her forehead.

“Lady Fyr’mond,” she said as Fyr’mond approached. “It’s only noon. I’m surprised to see you awake and outside.”

“Hello, Little Duster,” said Fyr’mond, curtsying instinctively and then remembering that it made Duster uncomfortable.

“Do you need anything?”

“Um…yes. There was something I meant to ask you.”

“Oh. Well, everypony does eventually.”

“Excuse me?”

“And because your my friend, I’ll tell you straight away. I do, in fact, prefer fillies.”

Fyr’mond blushed and sputtered. “But- -that’s illegal!”

“Not out here it isn’t!”

They both giggled slightly.

“No,” said Fyr’mond, wondering how exactly anything would work between two mares. “I was wondering if you could take me to the earth pony village.”

Duster’s expression suddenly became serious. “The village? That isn’t any place for a princess.”

“Well…they don’t need to know that I’m a princess, do they?”

Little Duster shook her head. “It’s not hard to tell, considering there’s only two unicorns here and you’re not an old wizard. They’ll know.”

“Well…I’d still like to see it. I mean, if you can.”

“I can. I just don’t know why you would want to see an earth pony village. Especially this one. There’s not much to look at.”

“Still, I’ve never seen one. I never even met an earth pony until a few months ago. I would like to see how your people live.”

Little Duster looked at the pile of logs that she had just dropped, and then at Fyr’mond, and then back at the logs. She groaned. “Alright, fine. I can’t technically refuse an order from a princess. Just let me finish my chores first.”

“Oh, thank you Little Duster,” said Fyr’mond. For the first time in weeks, she actually felt excited.

The path toward the village was almost as rocky as the one toward Dee’s ruin, but it was not nearly as steep and was somewhat wider. The rocks that made it up were larger, but many of them remained half-buried and rounded, like natural versions of cobblestones.

Little Duster was leading the way, and Fryr’mond followed behind her. Upkeep walked behind her, his saddlebags loaded with supplies that she doubted were not really even necessary for such a short journey. Dee had not yet had time to hire female servants, but Fyr’mond did not mind. Upkeep was gentle and pleasant, as were most of Dee’s servants, and she knew that she could trust him and all of the others.

“So,” said Little Duster, falling back and in step with the slightly taller Fyr’mond. “You’ve never seen an earth pony village?”

“No,” said the princess. “I have never had the pleasure.”

“Heh- -‘pleasure’. Well, I’ve never seen the Capital. I hear its large, and that there are always ponies on the streets, and that the buildings are bigger than anything I- -well, most ponies- -have ever seen! Shops and stores everywhere, where you can buy every kind of fruit and vegetable any time of the year, or artisans who make blades and clocks and doorstops- -it must be amazing living there!”

“I would not know.”

Little Duster nearly stopped flat. “But you’re the princess! Of course you know!”

Fyr’mond shook her head. “Unmarried princesses are not allowed to leave the Citadel. Even most married princesses don’t.”

“So…you never once left? Never saw the city for your whole life?”

“Yes,” said Fyr’mond, surprised by Duster’s expression and emotion. “Even now, I’ve only seen it in passing.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“For- -for what? You have not done anything?”

“No, not for me. For what happened to you. It’s like they imprisoned you or something! It’s terrible!”

Fyr’mond had never thought of it like that. “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “The Citadel is very nice. I never went without food or water, and they gave me many fine clothes. I have never known want. My life has so far been perfect.”

“How can you say that? You were never allowed to live! Even with all the clothes and food in the world, I would never trade my freedom!”

“Freedom?”

“Yeah! To walk in the open land, to drink from rivers, to sleep wherever I choose. To climb trees and see Equestria, to walk through the city streets, to have friends and family.”

Fyr’mond smiled and shook her head. “That is not my destiny, Little Duster.”

“Then what is?”

Fyr’mond smiled. “The sole purpose of a princess is to be married, to love our husband, and to attempt to produce an heir. That was what I was created for. It is my only reason for existing.”

They started walking again, and Fyr’mond briefly saw Upkeep wipe a tear away from his eye. Little Duster just seemed angry.

“Well…can you at least tell me what the Citadel is like, then?” she finally asked.

“Yes,” said Fyr’mond, happy to talk about the structure that had been her home for nearly two decades. “It is as if a city were built within a city. The Citadel itself is a tower, an ancient structure- -but it contains within it a city that has grown vertically instead of outward.”

“Really? I had no idea,” said Duster. “I thought it was just a big tower.”

“It takes four thousand five hundred and ninety three steps to cross but one side. I’ve checked. So it is large.” She thought for a moment. “But I suppose most ponies do not know what it is like inside. Only nobility is allowed into the main body. It mostly consists of offices for my father’s administration, and quarters for the bureaucrats, but also homes for many of the nobles and halls for the grand parties they have.”

“And they do that…all the way up?”

“Oh yes,” laughed Fyr’mond. “The entire structure is populated, though only royalty has access to some of the levels near the top, or higher nobles with permission. And of course the Magus and the rest of the Upper Court.” Fyr’mond sighed. “One of the levels at the top has a balcony.”

“A balcony? That high?”

Fyr’mond nodded. “It’s so high that the air is always cold, even in the summer, and so thin that you can hardly breath without magic. The wind is always blowing, but on some days…sometimes on clear days, I could see forever.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“It was…but it all looked so small.”

“Small?”

“From that height, there are no buildings. No ponies. Just green and brown and mountains. Like I was above the world, but not part of it. That all this could be going on down there…sometimes I would wish that I had the wings of a griffon, that I might fly out to that land below.”

“A pony with wings,” said Duster, smiling. “Now that’s just ridiculous.”

They both laughed together for a long moment, and even Upkeep chuckled. As they did, a small pony came into view. She was standing on the side of the road, dressed in ragged and course, dirty clothing, picking at the berries of a juniper tree. She was no older than Little Duster, but seemed so much older and tired.

“Hello there,” said Fyr’mond.

The earth pony turned to her and gasped. She dropped her bag of small blue berries and cried out as she galloped down the path away from them.

“Oh,” said Fyr’mond, disguising the hurt she felt. She looked down at the sack and the berries that rolled through the dust. “I just wanted to say…hello…”

“Well, there goes a surprise entrance,” said Little Duster. She turned to Fyr’mond, and immediately saw through her mask of disinterest. “Don’t take it too hard, milady,” she said, “they would react the same way to any unicorn. They’re pretty rural. They’ve never seen one of you before.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” said Fyr’mond- -except that it did not. Even the ponies in the archeological camp reacted that way. They had worked with unicorns their whole life. They greeted her husband with a smile and a bow- -but they looked upon her with nothing but fear in their eyes. It was as though even after descending that tower, she was still high above Equestria, unseen and separate.

The trio arrived at the edge of the village quickly. At first, they passed through a number of farms. The plants growing in them were sickly and anemic, as were the ponies that attended them. All of them were dressed in the same sort of clothing: weathered, old cloth with coarse stitching to cover their bodies. Some were even naked.

As Fyr’mond passed, they all stopped what they were doing and looked up at her. She could hear their whispering, and see their fear- -although their fear was also tempered by something else. Wonder, she thought. Some even continued to follow her, forming a crowd at a great distance. None spoke, at least not loudly enough for her to hear.

As they were crossing past one of the lopsided stone huts, a pony actually started to approach them. Fyr’mond smiled, glad to see one brave soul, and stepped forward to greet her- -only to be nearly tacked by Little Duster.

“Get back, princess!” said Duster, drawing a dagger from one of the holsters in her reinforced clothing. Confused and nearly knocked down, Fyr’mond was about to protest when Upkeep joined Little Duster, forming a wall between her and the approaching pony.

“I don’t understand,” she said, still confused, not knowing why the two of them suddenly seemed so afraid. Then the pony approaching looked up from the layers of coarse cloth and bandages that covered her, and Fyr’mond gasped.

The pony’s face had been contorted by disease. Her nose had seemed to rot away, and the raw remnants of what remained dripped with thick yellow secretions. Her skin was covered in open soars that wept blood, and her bloodshot eyes seemed to weep crusting pus. The remainder of her body seemed to be impossibly thin, like a corpse, and as she moved she was wracked with shivering and silent coughing.

“Please…please help me,” she whispered, blood dripping out of the side of her mouth.

“Stay back!” cried Little Duster, brandishing the bronze dagger she held. “Please! Please do not make me end your suffering this day!”

The sickly pony looked at them, confused, and then turned away, as if she could not remember why she had approached them in the first place. She slowly walked out into a barren field, and both Upkeep and Duster sighed in immense relief.

“I am sorry you had to see that, mistress,” said Upkeep. “Are you unharmed?”

“She’s…she’s sick,” said Fyr’mond, recovering from the shock of seeing a pony in such a terrible state. She started to move toward the field where the pony was wandering randomly. “We have to help her!”

Duster put her hoof on Fyr’mond’s shoulder. “There’s nothing we can do for her now.”

“But she’s ill! She need medicine, or a healer!”

Duster shook her head, and Upkeep looked to the ground. “There is no medicine that can help her, and no spell that can cure her. She has carries glanders.” She took down the berries that Fyr’mond was carrying. “That’s what these are for. They make medicine, but it can only slow the pain, make them not realize what’s happening to them…”

“And what is that?”

“Princess…”

“They are just sick. I’ve been sick before. They will get better, but a healer can help them! We have to help her!”

“There is no cure for glandres,” said Upkeep. “It is progressive, and always fatal.”

“Fatal,” said Fyr’mond, the weight of the word taking a moment to strike her. “You mean…she will die?”

“She will,” said Upkeep.

“But- -it’s just sickness! Sickness can’t kill you!”

“Out here it can,” said Little Duster. “Most of the diseases do. It’s not just glanders. There are so, so many of them. I lost my own mother to the horse-rinder. A lot of ponies here are very sick.”

“That’s terrible!”

“It is life out here. If you see a pony who is sick, you need to stay away. If they get near you, you can get sick too.”

“But- -but that means you could have gotten it!”

She was on the verge of tears, realizing that they had both nearly sacrificed themselves for her without hesitation- -and neither could meet her eyes. “We are just earth ponies,” said Duster. “We’re expendable. You are a princess. You are more precious than anything in all of Equestria.”

Fyr’mond was about to tell them that they were wrong, that every life was precious, and that they were just as valuable as her even if she was a princess, when a small group of ponies approached them.

The group was led by an exceedingly old pony who steadied himself with a gnarled cane. His beard was long and his eyes were white with near blindness. Those who followed him appeared to be ordinary villagers, each keeping back from Fyr’mond as if she were some kind of monster.

“You…you are the princess?” he asked in a cracking, exceedingly reverential voice, as if he feared the response.

“I am,” she said, trying to regain her composure as she was trained to. A key duty of a princess was the ability to shut down the appearance of emotions, to stop tears in their tracks and to smile when commanded to.

The elderly blue-gray pony bowed, his knees creaking as he did. The other ponies dropped to the ground as well.

“I have dwelt on this world for fifty three years,” said the elderly pony. “Never before had I believed that the gods would grant me permission to witness the Child of the Divine, a princess of our glorious Equestria. Truly, the gods have smiled upon us this day.”

“I thank you for your compliments, good stallion,” said Fyr’mond, curtseying as though she were meeting with a noble. The earth ponies seemed to recognize this and stood.

“I am Threadbare Jute, elder of this village,” said the old pony. “I apologize for our appearance. This place is truly not worthy to host a pony of your prestige, I am ashamed to say.”

“No, please,” said Fyr’mond. “I would have sent word if I had known.” She looked back to the field where the ill pony had gone.

“Ah, I truly, truly apologize,” he said, bowing. “I know that it is normal to run the ill out of the village, but…she is one of us. We tried, but even trying made our hearts weep.”

“Is it true that nothing can be done?”

He shook his head. “It is true, I am afraid.” He looked up at her. “But please, princess, do not worry yourself with our fate.” He turned to his compatriots. “My friends, on this day, we shall hold a feast, to honor our princess, and our glorious eternal ruler Third Horn!”

The ponies smiled, and some began to separate, each going their own way to prepare for the event.

“You don’t need to do that for me,” said Fyr’mond, somewhat embarrassed.

“You have come all this way to visit our humble village,” said the elder, “it is the least we can do.”

Fyr’mond was led by the ponies into the midst of the village. Toward the center, there were far more stone huts, each with a collapsing thatched roof. Some ponies stood in the doorways, watching her pass. With the village elder now near Fyr’mond, the ponies seemed less hesitant to approach her. Their fear had been replaced by awe.

At Fyr’mond’s side, a small colt approached her. He looked up with large, green-tinged eyes. Fyr’mond looked down at him and smiled. She had been bred specifically to have a love for children.

“Hello there,” she said.

“Gree- -greetings,” he said, suddenly seeming to panic. Fyr’mond noticed that he was looking up at her horn. Although it was far smaller than that of a normal unicorn, the colt- -and many others- -seemed intrigued by it beyond measure. “You’re…you’re a unicorn,” he said. “Is it true that you can use magic?”

Fyr’mond smiled. “Yes,” she said. “I can.” She reached into the bag she carried and produced a single tiny blue juniper berry. She held it low for the colt to see, and then held it up for the crowd. Then, with all her might, she focused the entirety of her magic into it. The air around the berry shimmered with white energy, and then it sputtered into the air.

The entire crowd gasped. Some jumped back, hiding behind the village well in terror, while other stared in awe. They murmured, and then went silent- -only for their silence to burst with clapping and cheers of amazement. The surprise caused Fyr’mond to drop the berry, but the earth ponies hardly seemed to notice.

“That was amazing!” cried the colt. “You moved it, but you weren’t even touching it! It just floated! Right there!”

“That is the power of unicorn magic,” chucked the elder. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, your mother needs help preparing the hall.”

“Oh!” cried the colt, looking to his friends. “Thank you, mister Jute! Guys, I have to go!”

“We’ll help!” they cried, racing after him toward the village center.

Fyr’mond was astounded. She had done nothing. Even with the full extent of her power, she had done a fraction of what a normal unicorn could, and these ponies reacted as though she had moved the sun and moon instead of lifting a medicinal berry. It occurred to her that it may have been the first time they had ever seen magic. For her, it was certainly the first time she had ever been able to show her magic without feeling ashamed.

The feast was held in the great hall, or their equivalent of it. The hall itself was a large stone building that stood in the center of the building. It appeared to be immensely old, far older than the rest, and some of the blocks that made up its foundation were a familiar sand-brown color that betrayed them as parts of the trihorn ruin. A large wooden table was present, and fires had been lit in the fireplaces at the ends of the room. The villagers had gathered to share in the feast, and the air was filled with a festive atmosphere.

Fyr’mond had been given the seat of honor at the head of the table. Upkeep and Little Duster sat beside her, a welcome change from their normal insistence on using her class as an excuse to force her to eat alone. The other ponies assembled against the rows of the table.

When everypony was seated, several ponies moved around the table, presenting them all with food. Fyr’mond watched as a large earthen bowl was placed before her. In it was a kind of soup. She could see the remnants of carrots floating in it. They were not like the carrots that she was familiar with; they were not straight, but crooked and homely, floating amongst the strange greens. The shape of the carrots did not concern her; in fact, the straight ones had always seemed somewhat unnatural. It was the smell that enticed her toward the soup. The scent was far more delicious than any of the fanciful but strange meals that she had been prepared in the Citadel.

“If it is not up to your standards,” whispered Upkeep, “they will understand if you reject it.”

“Oh, no!” said Fyr’mond, blushing as she realized that she had contemplated the beuty of her soup for too long. She picked up a spoon- -with her hoof, not her magic, as a spoon would be far too heavy to lift- -and prepared to start eating.

As she did, she looked out at the other ponies, and realized that their meals were not the same. Their bowls were far smaller, to the point where they could barely be considered more than cups. In each one of them sat a greenish fluid around a single object.

“What…what are you having?” asked Fyr’mond to Little Duster, leaning close to her.

“Rock soup,” she said, tilting the bowl toward Fyr’mond. As she did, Fyr’mond smelled it. Rock soup smelled exactly as it sounded- -and Fyr’mond realized that its name was a literal description of its contents: boiled rocks.

“You…you are all eating boiled rocks?” she said, turning to the rest of them. She looked down at her soup. “Why am I the only one with carrots?”

The earth ponies looked at each other, their festive spirit evaporating before Fyr’mond. None of them spoke, and Fyr’mond realized that she had said something terribly offensive.

“The soil,” sighed Threadbare Jute at last. “It is rocky, and it is harsh. Not much grows here aside from rocks. We work hard, tilling and preparing. Many generations have spent their lives just to make the soil as fertile as it is now. We tried eating the trees, but they make us sick after too long. Even grass does not grow at this altitude.”

“But I saw plants in your fields. Surely you have enough to eat?”

“We cannot eat what we grow. It is not meant for us.”

“Then for who?”

“For the taxes. Our price for permission to live in glorious Equestria. We cannot make much, and the prices are high. That bowl before you contains a quarter of our yearly crop.” His eyes widened. “But of course, it is more than worth it for a princess! We can manage. We will work harder, and pay our taxes this year, I assure you.”

The ponies around him nodded. “Yes,” one of them said. “Third Horn can put our crops to far better use than any of us can.”

Fyr’mond looked down at the bowl. She remembered her life in the Citadel, of the endless array of fruits and vegetables that had been provided. How barely a tenth of them would even be plated, and the remainder simply thrown out at the end of a grand party. She had assumed that food was simply plentiful in Equestria, that all ponies had enough. Now she knew that she had been a fool.”

“Please,” she said, pushing the soup away. “I cannot. I want to share the soup, with all of you.”

The earth ponies seemed suddenly to be on the verge of panic.

“No,” said Jute. “We cannot. That soup was made for you. We are not worthy of its contents. Not one of us here could eat it. It is our tribute to you. We have worked so hard tilling and clearing, growing the carrots with care, pricking our hooves on the nettles. All for you, a tribute to your divine nature. Throw away the soup, if it is your will, because that it your right. But it is not meant for us.”

They all looked at her, expectantly. She knew that she could not reject the meal, not with what they had put into it for her. Carefully, she pulled the bowl back to her and slowly dipped her spoon into it. The ponies around her watched hungrily as she raised the soup to her mouth an sipped it.

“It is good,” she said, smiling.

The earth ponies smiled, and went about eating their foul-smelling rock soup. Fyr’mond continued to eat her soup, forcing a smile and watching as her tears formed tiny ripples amongst the carrots and vegetables on its surface.