The Rariad

by Tundara

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Violence, Death, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Rarity, Trixie
Length: 142154

Trixie and Rarity must bond to escape from Tartarus and survive the odyssey across realms and planes of existence on their way home. Along the way they encounter gods, demons, heroes, and friends old and new.

After sacrificing her life for another, Trixie was meant to receive admission into the shining golden fields and silver city of Elysium. Instead, she was waylaid while crossing the river of Oblivion by Rarity Belle, her promised after-life wrenched from her hooves, tossed in front of a pair of unsympathetic gods, and summarily dismissed. Now trapped in the fabled City of the Dead of Tartarus, Trixie will need all her wits and skills to find a way to escape.

Even greater trials await Rarity. Mind fractured by the nature of her death at the hooves of a fallen goddess, and then eroded further by the river's waters, she wages a war within as well as without. To return home she will have to first reforge herself.

Former enemies, they will need to learn reliance on each other to cross the myriad worlds, from Tartarus, to Gaea, and realms between and beyond, in order to return home.

A Myths and Birthrights side story.

Edited by Honey Mead
Cover Art by Nalesia

Published 2016-12-29 20:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2021-06-29 14:33:27 UTC

Part One

The Rariad
By Tundara

1: Tartarus

Regale me, O Muse, of the journeys of the reluctant hero Trixie Lulamoon, scion of a noble, ancient House, she who died protecting the foals of a town who had cast her out and threatened her with violence. On her way to golden Elysium she was waylaid, her voyage to her promised afterlife cut short, by the pleading cries of Rarity Belle. Hero of Equestria, the Element of Generosity, Rarity too had given her life to thwart a terrible evil, one intent on harm to her little sister.

Many were the journeys that lay ahead for the pair, thrust into each other's company by Fate. Worlds they would cross, from Tartarus bowels, to the burning pits beneath, up to the heavenly gates of Elysium, and across wild Gaea, that realm replete with gods both fair and foul. By dint of cunning and friendship they would find their way home to distant Equestria…

Never-ending rain pattered down on the City of the Dead. Greasy grey mists clung to the cracked cobblestone lanes, their narrow ways choked by spectral bodies milling from one place to the next in an uncertain shuffle. Over this sea of wayward souls, snarling gargoyles watched from slate tile rooftops. Streets stretched on for leagues and leagues, buildings reminiscent of feudal farmhouses abutting pagodas and towers of sweeping eastern designs, ranks of long faced townhouses crowded together and stretched off for hundreds of miles in every direction.

No uniformity existed anywhere beyond the oppressive, dour atmosphere.

If anypony had pointed out how boring and cliche the city appeared to the outside observer, it’s king would have shrugged his wings before casting the petulant pony into one of the five rivers encircling and winding through the colossal city. There, to have all they knew stripped away until nothing remained of their soul but a dessicated shell that horrified even the broken things shuffling through the city.

Not all the inhabitants were damned souls. Many entities made the city their home. Thanes and Keros were the most common, with nearly as many Onerios flitting about above the roofs. Seeking to bring dreams of the deceased to their living relatives, the silver birdlike spirits darted through windows or down to the dead in the streets. A quick peck or chitter, then they’d swish away and vanish through the hidden astral cracks back to the realm of dreams. Archons, from Abaddon’s Choirs of Power, flew over the city, perpetually searching. What they sought in Tartarus, nopony knew. They kept to themselves and never spoke.

Within this grey warren of death, the once mighty scraped and scrounged alongside those poor, unmourned souls they’d trampled in life. Their scepters and crowns worthless here, in this place where kings and lepers shared no distinction. For, in death all are equal.

Or so it seemed.

Trixie tightened the tattered cloak she wore around her face, hiding deeper within the folds of her hood. Unlike the shuffling souls surrounding her, a keen light gleamed in her soft-blue eyes. Around her, the listless dead parted, driven away by some indeterminable force as though she were one of the archons, her mere presence burning and dredging up memories of their lives. Yet, they were also drawn towards her, gazes pulled by the same ethereal touch, a yearning for those former lives sinking into spectral chests and unbeating hearts.

To avoid unwanted attention, Trixie skirted the main avenues and lanes, sticking instead to side alleys and lesser traveled streets. Even then, it was impossible to fully escape. The dead were far too perceptive to be fooled for long, enchanted cloak or not.

She had to keep moving. Change her haunts and the paths she’d travel with semi-regularity.

Anything to keep her true nature from being discovered.

Rounding a corner, an imposing clock tower came into view. The thick, iron arms never moved despite the heavy thuds of the mechanisms and gears hidden behind the gothic facade. Time hardly mattered in the sunless realm of the underworld. Beneath the glowing silver rain clouds of Tartarus, years were indistinguishable from days, moments meshing together in a seeping haze that numbed the soul. The clock tower was little more than a landmark, a mirror of the listless stagnation of the dead themselves.

Letting out a heavy breath, Trixie stopped in the tower’s shadow, twisting her head up and down the street, looking for… something. Anything that hinted at a way out of the city. The tiniest nugget of information would have been the glimmer of the sun through a storm.

All the usual haunts she’d visited for information, bars, back-alleys, gentlestallion clubs and the like, had turned up nothing. In lieu of any other ideas she simply wandered and listened to whatever snippets of conversation she came across.

There was a fair amount of gossip, the freshly dead bringing news from their worlds to those who’d died sometimes centuries prior.

It’d taken her some time for Trixie to figure out the area ponies from Equestria tended to congregate within the district. The district itself was fairly small compared to others within the city, and shoved out of the way, far from the grand outer walls and the inner sea that acted as the spoke of a wheel for the City of the Dead. She’d suffered a moment of shock when she learned that Ioka was an obscure world, the disc’s inhabitants ignored by the larger, more important realms sporting vast pantheons of alicorns.

The most important district belonged to the realm of Gaea, her inhabitants occupying the area centered around Hades’ palace in the south. With Hades' absence, Achlys, the God of Death, ruled from his father’s ivory throne. Other important areas were ruled by lesser gods of death, the dead, or other various malignancies. Names such as Osiris, Hel, Izanami, Aita, and Mictlantecuhti were spoken of with almost the same respect as for Hades himself. There were other gods, too numerous to count, all who ruled over their respective fiefdoms carved out of Tartarus.

Visiting the other alicorns had been Trixie’s first idea at escape. Each shaped their districts to their own designs. Osiris and his court resided within a great hall whose walls were made of writhing snakes, the ceiling a living flame, and the floors gentle water. There he judged those from the world over which he presided. Hel controlled Helheim, Izanami resided in Yomi, Aita neighbored Hades, the two near indistinguishable in places, and then there was Mictlantechuti with his windowless palace.

Whether it was the presence of these gods and goddesses, or something else, their districts alone that had any permanency. All the rest had a tendency to shift and change with little rhyme or reason. Streets vanished, not to be seen for days or years, until popping up in entirely different locations, their inhabitants unaware of having been gone at all.

Lacking a god of the dead, Ioka’s district was awarded no protection. Twice streets had vanished moments before Trixie set hoof on their cobbled stones, and once she’d lost a week to such an occurrence.

Her hooves followed familiar streets until she reached the outskirts of the district. Just inside the district, clustered to one side, stood the orphanages for the souls of foals that died too young to do more than wail and shriek. As she neared the tarnished gates of the district’s western entrance, a wagon carrying a new group trundled towards the ugly stained-white buildings. A special contingent of Tenebrae flocked around it, driving back the crowds of dead to keep them from swarming and stealing the little ones.

The wagon made it halfway across the wide plaza before the masses of souls became too much and it was bogged down. Driven by a desperate need to touch something that reminded them of their former lives, the souls stretched out their hooves towards the foals.

Unto the unruly mob descended a choir of archons, the beats of their wings heavy over the pattering rain. The elysians pushed the dead back, scattering scores of souls with a sweep of their wings, and the wagon once again carried on its way. Two of the little ones were plucked from the wagon by the archons and carried up into the clouds, a momentary golden glow signalling their passage from Tartarus to Elysium.

Ignoring the souls scrambling after the wagon, Trixie sat down next to a statue of Hades. In the shelter provided by the outstretched wings, she listened to the hum of conversation. Little caught her attention, and after a while, she got up and decided to find another place, or visit one of the numerous information brokers.

The brokers were a risk, one that had almost snared her in the past.

She was not meant to be in Tartarus any more than a bird was meant to live on the bottom of the ocean. If not for Rarity, Trixie would have been in Elysium, enjoying… whatever there was to enjoy in the fabled realm of bliss.

Golden fields and happiness. Or, so the priests claimed.

Trixie had her doubts on the matter. The archons were too secretive, too aloof for Elysium to be a tenth what everypony proclaimed. No pony, or entity, that was so shifty was ever what they claimed. What she had no doubts about was that she was different from the dead souls of Tartarus. Where they were dull, drab reflections of their former selves, she was bright and filled with energy. If not for her cloak, enchanted through painstaking effort, Trixie could not have left the manor any more than Rarity for fear of being mobbed.

Her retention of magic also set her apart. None of the unicorns of Tartarus could so much as lift a pebble, and the pegasi were denied the skies as if they were earth ponies.

A feeling of being watched brought Trixie out of her musing. She slowed, casting a look around, but nothing in the crowd stood out to her. Yet, she was certain somepony was following her.

Taking it safe rather than risk exposure so far from the protection of the manor, she ducked into the next tavern on the street.

The tavern was unusual, but not remarkably so. An old frigate dropped onto a row of flats, the stubby buildings underneath forming a cradle, water continually ran out of the door hacked into the side of the ship and down the simple plank ramp. Tattered sails hung on splintered masts, and muddy seaweed and barnacles clung to almost every available surface. A shipwreck for certain. A few were to be found here and there throughout the city, neither rare, nor exactly common.

At the bottom of the ramp she stopped and cast a last glance around. Still unable find the cause of her crawling mane, she headed inside.

She regretted almost at once not continuing down the street to another tavern. A fetid smell of mildew and musty sheets, mingled with the usual decay, washed over Trixie. Overhead, a bent chandelier swung, giving off a dull, flickering orange glow that cast long shadows into the corners. Almost every table was full, spectral bodies pressed tight against each other.

Keeping her head down, Trixie slid to the side and found an empty seat along a wall where she’d have a good view of the entrance. Among the other riff-raff and assorted scallywags that preferred such haunts Trixie blended in almost seamlessly.

Through the general bubbling conversation a barmaid weaved her way over to Trixie. A tray of empty mugs was balanced on her head, and she wore a haggard, empty look on her otherwise plain features as if it were a heavy cloak.

“What’cha looking for, skag?” she asked with a heavy Hackney accent. “We’s got all the usual rot; jobs posted on the board, same with what berks ‘ave to trade, or are y’looking for information?”

“Just a place to sit for—Actually, yes, information sounds good.” Trixie leaned a little onto the table. “Trixie is new to this part of the district. Is there a reliable broker in the area?”

The barmaid waggled a hoof for payment. With an annoyed grunt, Trixie produced a small copper coin and flipped it onto the table. The coin received a flat stare, and it wasn’t until Trixie added two more that they were snatched up and tossed up onto the tray. “You Equestrian, right? Only one in this ward who deals with you lot is a fellow by the name o’ Sombra. Y’got a nice face, so I’ll give y’warning. Best to keep that smeg at a wide berth. He ain’t a normal soul. Vicious one, he is. Showed up ‘bout three decades ago, all fire and piss, and turfed out the lads who’d been in the area. Rumour has it he has eyes on controlling the ‘ole district.”

Trixie thanked the mare, and leaned back to contemplate.

Sombra was a name that she’d encountered a few times, along with a dozen others who all vied over control of the district, or her various wards. With no God of the Dead to administer to their needs, the souls of Ioka were left to fend for themselves. Inevitably this lead to gangs, and fiefdoms both minor and major, all tied together by a labyrinthian spiderweb of political games as complex and shifting as the city itself.

Getting involved with any of the little lordlings was dangerous, and counterproductive. If any had a way out of the Underworld, they kept the secret well hidden. They would not share the knowledge with an outsider, not without an exorbitant cost involved.

Of greater concern was being discovered. Rarity was a prize they’d ravage the entire district to possess, and Trixie herself was only slightly less valuable.

A low growl worked its way up her throat. She was not going to become a pawn of such petty creatures.

Her eyes flicked to the door as a pair of stout zebra stallions stepped into the tavern. She began to dismiss them. With their bandanas, plaited manes, and the rings in their ears, they belonged more in the tavern than she. Old, loose, battered barding hung from their stout frames where it’d been torn in the final moments before death. Their heavy lidded faces swung around the taproom, hesitating just a little on spotting her, before they made towards the bar, sitting down in such a way that she was visible in the grimy mirror hung next to a post.

Cursing a little, Trixie slid off her bench. She’d almost reached the door before being intercepted by the stallions.

“Our master wishes to have a word with you,” the left stallion intoned in a rumbling, yet lyrical, voice. From how the other stallion set his jaw and thrust out his chest, it was clear who was the brains of the pair.

“Trixie is not sure what anypony would want with her.” She put on a brave smile and glanced around the room.

Eyes from every corner were attracted by the burgeoning confrontation, a moment of novelty in the otherwise dreary unlives of the patrons. Some leaned closer to hear what was said, others licked their lips and a few shifted to the side in case a fight broke out.

The stallion shrugged his thick shoulders and again told her to come with him.

“Trixie does not wish to fight you.” She backed up a step and set her hooves.

“Then come.”

At a nod from his fellow, the quiet stallion reached out to grab Trixie. Pivoting on her forehooves, she cocked her back legs and let out a vicious kick. Sensing her intent, the stallion ducked down and her kick glanced off his shoulder rather than muzzle as she’d hoped. Bursting into motion, the first zebra hit her in a charging tackle, crushing Trixie up against one of the posts. Her legs strained to fend off her opponent, and though she’d been a strong mare from years pulling her wagon, such mattered little when dead. No matter how she strained, she would never have been able to overpower either zebra through physical strength.

Twins, in life they’d been the strongest stallions within five villages. At a young age they’d gone to war against the future Empress of Zebrica. Back home, their sweethearts awaited their return. Their hearts had been heavy with longing for the tender kisses and loving looks left behind. When the time of battle came, they fought with five times the ferocity of their peers. It had been this which attracted the attention of the untested empress. Her body-guard and pet, Halphamet, descended himself into the blood swathed fields to face the twins. Beside him padded his ifrit. One of the noble caste, a malik, among the fire spirits, she left fire in her wake, embers swirling off her blazing coats, and the burning coals that were her eyes fixed greedily on the brothers. The ifrit stood back as her master advanced, eager and needing to prove himself to his beloved empress. Blows that had crushed the bones of every other zebra were as the caress of a gentle breeze against the monster’s magic hardened flesh, and both brothers fell screaming as they were consumed in a torrent of fiery breath.

They learned too late in life to never allow a spellcaster time to work their magic. It was a lesson they put to strict use in death. When Trixie began to summon the energy for a spell, the room filling with both a chill and a blazing warmth at the aether being manipulated, the second brother hit her hard across the face and horn.

Fireworks exploded across Trixie’s vision and the back of her head, popping in a long series of spasms down her neck. Magic that had been flowing up into her horn burned in every direction but the one she’d intended, lancing into the muscles of her throat, jaw, and head like frozen knives. The pain was only for a moment before it passed, a brief, intense flash that left her addled. Her head spun at the backlash, small spots swimming along the fringes of her vision. Through them she saw the tavern burst into motion.

Cries of, “She’s an Elysian,” filled the taproom along with pleas of, “Take me to the golden fields! Don’t leave me here, don’t leave me to this dreadful place!”

The other dead surged towards Trixie. They tried to crawl and claw their way past the twins to reach her, to just touch her coat for but a moment. Bodies were pressed tight, the small pushed down and trampled in the sudden scrum to reach Trixie. The din of noise was deafening, shouts mixed with pleas of deliverance, and punctuated by the howls of those crushed underhoof. The barmaid, her eyes wild with a rabid need, leapt onto the elder brother. In her frenzy she bit him on the ear when he refused to budge. A beastial roar broke from his throat, and with a powerful kick he scattered the crowd, giving them momentary relief. It was enough for the brothers to carry Trixie from the tavern.

Senses still astray, Trixie could only put up weak resistance as a heavy noose was thrown around her neck. Another rope bound her mouth, and her legs tied together so she had to be carried, draped across a back like a sack of wheat.

Behind them, the tavern’s patrons spilled out of the door, clamouring and kicking each other in their desperation to reach Trixie. Few on the street cared to take more than a passing notice of the commotion. They kept their heads down and gave the fight a wide berth. Even the gargoyles on their perches refused to interfere.

Growling through the rope in her mouth, Trixie threw herself from the first zebra. A master with knots from years of travel and performing magic shows, Trixie hardly had to concentrate before her bounds fell around like a deluge of brittle leaves. With a hard twist, she fell from his back, hit her shoulder hard on the slick stone, rolled through a pungent puddle, and bounced expertly back up to her hooves.

Even before she’d landed, pandemonium overwhelmed the street, the simple pulse of her magic like a drop of blood in a tank of sharks. The brothers were swarmed by the crowd of frenzied tavern patrons from one side, and the thick crowd from the street on the other. Biting, howling, screaming, kicking, and ponies trampled underhoof; the street became absolute bedlam.

Trixie was granted no time to exult or slip away, pushed instead back towards the zebra brothers by the surging melee. On spotting her cloak, the younger thrust bodies out of his way in his march towards her, his face covered by a stormy mask. Through size and force of will, he made the scrimmage part. Those who did not were struck to the ground by powerful blows. Trixie tried to slip out of the crowd, but was pressed in too tight on all sides. His anger gave way to an ugly grin, eyes twinkling with delight at the fright gripping her. Before he reached Trixie, he was struck in the side, a dagger plunging between his spectral ribs.

He let out a piercing wail and fell back. A glowing, viscous fluid burst out around the dagger’s grip, drenching his side and the face of his attacker.

“Don’t just stand there, let’s go!” Hooves grabbed at Trixie, and pulled her down an alley. “This way! I know these streets better than those damn stripes ever will. Pricks, coming into my streets like they be owning the place. We showed them though, eh?”

A continuous stream of comments came from the strange mare as she led Trixie deeper and deeper into the warren of side streets and alleys. Quick glances over her withers showed Trixie that they’d lost their pursuit after only a few twists, but it wasn’t until they reached a garden overgrown with seaweed that her savi—assistant slowed to a stop, apparently confident in their escape.

“Who are you?” Trixie distractedly asked, continuing to stare back the way they’d come, just in case.

“Name’s Anchor.” A light green hoof thrust under Trixie’s nose, forcing her to turn her attention towards the mare for the first time. Very average at first glance, the mare had a weather beaten face that blended easily into the background. In her left ear hung a simple brass, hoop earring, and her thick, rich red mane was tied in a neat plait, bangs hanging over searching golden eyes. Reluctantly, Trixie reciprocated the gesture in a quick bump. She took in the pony before her, a concerned frown pulling down the corners of her mouth.

Her focus turned quickly back to the alley but kept the mare in sight at the corner of her eye. The drumbeat of pursuing hooves echoed in the corners of Trixie’s imagination. One of the warren’s inhabitants stumbled through the garden, head lowered and tail dragging through the mud. It wasn’t until the pony vanished that Trixie, finally, began to relax. “Trixie was fine and didn’t need your help, but she thanks you for it anyways. Not many ponies would help a stranger, especially in Tartarus.”

“Ain’t one to argue that,” Anchor chuckled. “Besides, I’m sure you’re right and were a moment away from giving those fucking stripes a damn good kick to the head, eh?”

Unfazed by Anchor’s casual vulgarity, Trixie got up and brushed away some of the dirt that’d collected on her coat. “Well, this has been interesting, but Trixie must get going.” She started to turn, but Anchor caught her by the shoulder.

“What, ain’t even going to offer to pay me back, or anything?” Anchor’s frown deepened, and a simmering anger flickered behind her eyes, a bloody look that would have chilled a grown stallion to the bones. Trixie paid it no mind, shrugging it off with casual indifference. “It weren’t no accident I was in that street, eh. Been following you for a few weeks now. I was told that you know where I can find my herd-daughter.”

Trixie brushed off the offending hoof. “You were lied to.”

“Not likely. My source is good. You know my herd-daughter.”

“Trixie would remember if she’d encountered anypony like you.”

“My little Rarity ain’t a lick like me.”

Trixie stiffened. “Rarity?”

“Aye. Rarity Belle. Oldest filly of our little herd.”

“Who told you Trixie knew where to find her?”

“I were told to keep it stowed away, eh. Just know that they said to find you and you could tell me where Rarity is.” There was an earnestness to Anchor’s words and eyes that unsettled Trixie.

“Did those stallions work for you?” The demand slipped from Trixie with a furious nicker. She attempted to put some space between her and Anchor, but was stopped by rough bricks and iron bars. Cursing herself, Trixie realised she was trapped.

Anchor tossed back her head in a long laugh. “Nah, they don’t work for me. Not all of us want to be part of that scene. I just want to speak to my herd-daughter again. That is it. No tricks or anything of that sort, eh. If you don’t trust me right now, fine. I’ll go. I stay in the area. Drop a note at the Crusty Conch with where and when to meet you, and I’ll be there.”

Trixie searched the mare’s face for any sign of deception, and found her frustratingly difficult to read. She wasn’t like the other dead, where their lies rang hollow in her ears. A small part of her wanted to believe Anchor, almost needed to believe. It was the same part Trixie had buried most of her life, pushed down under the weight of betrayals and belittlement. If not for the last few months before dying it would have stayed buried.

But, she’d changed in those weeks leading to her death, no more so than in the final precious days. No more proof was needed than to simply look at herself in the mirror and see the radiant glow suffusing her coat, marking her as one of the honoured dead of Elysium.

Biting back the bitter retort that habitually lept onto her tongue, Trixie instead forced a huff and said, “That is fine. Trixie has to return to Rarity regardless. If you were to show the trust to tell Trixie who told you she knew Rarity, then, perhaps, she’d show the same trust in return.”

A slight grin flitted onto her muzzle at the conflict that sprang across Anchor’s broad brow. The mare cursed. Paced a few times, and bite her tongue. If she were acting, then she was a very good actor.

“Fine, it were an archon. One of them little lantern-like ones. It told me about you, eh.” Anchor growled between her set teeth, eyes cast to the side in shame. “As I’m sure you’ve learned, it ain’t easy to stop the spread of news from the disc. I heard about how Rarity helped put the stop to some nightpony or other and became one of them Elements of Harmony. Then a little bit later she was there to stop Discord. All the disc knew, so it weren’t long before us long dead down here knew too. I put a note in with a broker I trust, to tell me if he learned anything else about Rarity in his dealings. A few months ago word reached me that one of the Elements had died.

“I knew that it was me Rarity. Our little filly was too big hearted to let one of her friends go first, afterall. As one of the Elements, she’d go to Elysium for sure. But, I needed to get a message to her, or talk to her, or something. So, I went and did the daft thing and traveled to Abaddon’s palace.”

“That is over a month away, on the other side of Yomi District.” Trixie couldn’t keep an incredulous note from her voice.

Anchor shrugged, and with a facetious grin, said, “Well, ain’t like I got anything but time. Didn’t amount to much. Nopony is allowed in Abaddon’s palace, but as all I needed was to get a message to Rarity, I thought it was worth a try. Them archons are supposed to be all about the greater good and altruism and all that, and what could be a more simple kindness than to take a letter from a grieving herd-mother to a daughter? Not that lot, though. Oh no. Spent a good week hollering like my old bo'sun days at the gate, and getting nowhere, eh. Bastards, the lot of em. Probably thrown out of their fancy little realm and they can’t get to Elysium.”

Rubbing at a growing headache, Trixie snapped, “Does this have a point?”

“Course. Thought you wanted to know who told me to find you.”

“Which you did,” Trixie pointed out, the corner of her mouth ticking up into a smile as she pushed past Anchor, motioning with her head to be followed. “Trixie supposes one of the wispy lesser archons took pity on you after all your efforts, right as you were getting ready to abandon the idea, flitted down and gave some cryptic clue like, ‘the one called Trixie can show you the way to Rarity.’ Or something to that effect, yes?”

“Ha! More or less. May have tried to scale the wall a couple times as well.” Anchor hurried to keep pace with Trixie, a dopey, earnest grin on her features.

A sliver of doubt remained lodged in Trixie’s chest, and so she kept a firm eye on Anchor. Staying put just increased the chances of the zebras getting reinforcements, or worse.

She did not care for these alleys. They held an unwholesome, unnatural miasma that clung in thick strands and dribbled down the dank stone. The unease tickling the back of her head drove her to pick up the pace until she was almost at a gallop. Rounding bend after bend, Trixie seemed to get no closer to escaping the warrens. All around them, the souls of the downtrodden and paupers scrambled to get out of their way, shouting obscenities as Trixie and Anchor passed. She darted this way and that as she tried to retrace her steps back to the open, familiar streets surrounding her mansion. Cursing her lack of attention on their initial flight, she knew herself to be lost. As though she’d been waiting for just such a sign, Anchor took the lead without a word being spoken and in a matter of minutes, seemingly just around the next corner, one of the many main thoroughfares came into view.

“Quickly,” Trixie hissed, lowering her head as she sprinted for the exit. The pressure grew with each clack of their hooves until it was like she were within the shadow of a hungry dragon, talons reaching out to slash her open.

Eyes slamming shut, she put on a last burst of speed, her dead heart beating to match a hundred drums. The imaginary dragon drew nearer and nearer, his invisible talons tearing through the cobblestones around Trixie and Anchor. Out of the corner of her eye, Trixie saw the same wild panic that gripped her flicker across the old seamare.

Closer. Closer, drew the sliver of freedom of the crowded street.

A sharp yelp ripped from Anchor, and Trixie turned just at the alley’s edge to see the other mare tumbling, tripping on an uneven stone. Shock covered Anchor’s face, mouth wide and hooves tangling together as she fell. Reacting on instinct, Trixie reached out with her aura and tugged. There was a heavy thud, and both mares grunted as they slammed together and went sprawling on their backs out onto the sidewalk.

Just beyond the tip of her tail the alleyway flickered, trembled, and then folded in on itself with a deafening rattle. The phantasm of her heart still thumping in her chest, Trixie stared as the space shifted and groaned, and then settled, a wide, once verdant park now hugging the main road where the rows of red brick homes and alleyways had been but moments before. And all unremarked upon by the ponies trudging up and down the street. None so much as looked up at Trixie and Anchor in the commotion.

Where, or when, the warrens would reappear only the gods knew.

“How’d you know?” Anchor gasped in amazement, rolling up to her hooves before offering Trixie some help to stand.

Shocked, still staring at what could have been a timeless prison, Trixie’s words were slow to come. “T-Trixie just… knew.”

“Must be because of your, uh, unique condition.” Anchor coughed into her hoof. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have been stuck in there. I owe you, miss Trixie. Could have been days, or decades. Never seen a shiver so big.” Anchor glanced up and down the road, and then shook her head. “Must be a few dozen square block of the city this time. They be getting worse.”

Trixie just nodded. They spoke little more the rest of the way to the manor, Trixie retreating into her own thoughts on how close they’d come to being lost, Anchor in contemplations of reuniting with Rarity after so many years.

Her strides were long, but not hurried as they’d been in the warrens.

It took them near half a day to reach the manor, Trixie leading them in circles and taking odd turns here and there in a rather obvious attempt at obfuscating their route. Anchor didn’t comment, even as it became more and more apparent what Trixie was about.

On a couple occasions, they darted into a little alcove or nook on spotting some suspicious pony or zebra. After the brothers, Trixie refused to take any more risks, and she saw dangers lurking in every shadow. Her eyes narrowed and a deadly spell at the ready, she watched until these folk passed, always without incident or so much as glancing in her direction.

Even when they at last crossed the invisible boundary that marked the manor’s grounds from the rest of the city, Trixie did not lose her cautious aspect.

The heavy thud of a clock tower covered the clatter of their hooves. The gargoyle sentries roosting amongst its eves clacked their talons in Trixie’s direction, wide mouths open, revealing rows of stone teeth. She ignored the beasts. They would not dare attempt her harm. Not because they feared her. Oh, no. She was a protected pony. At least, from them. Their gaze rested on her back as rain slicked alley gave way to a decayed garden.

Increasing her pace, she moved beneath skeletal trees and over muddy, grey grass until she reached the door of a twisted, malformed manor house. Oddly shaped windows speckled the structure, iron frames pulled and contorted as if they were being viewed through a cracked crystal. Some windows were filled with stained glass, scenes of ponies twisted and writhing held in cold metal fingers. Others showed little more than cracked fragments of glass, or panes so ancient as to be opaque. At the far end of the south wing, a single window glowed, a shadow pressed against the glass by a candle. The figure hardly shifted or moved, except when the gate squealed in protest at the touch of Trixie’s aura, rusted hinges resistant to any movement.

“Cozy place.” Anchor tried to give a smile, but it was thin with trepidation. She darted a look across the manor, much like a mouse would the maw of a snake’s den. The far window snared her attention, and the fear bled just a little from her stance.

Trixie didn’t comment.

After a quick, backward glance to make sure they hadn’t been followed, Trixie slipped across the garden. From the folds of her cloak she withdrew a ring of heavy keys. Thick locks of brass, bronze, jade, and iron twisted with gold on heavy steel clasps kept any who stumbled upon the manor out. On the face of each, a hidden rune lay in wait. The locks needed to be undone in a precise order, lest the traps be activated. What, precisely, would happen had not been explained to Trixie, only that it would be dire.

Her breath halted in her throat as she went through the motions, a dancer on a well worn stage, every step practiced to the point of being mechanical. Gold key to bronze. The heavy rattle of the tumblers. Silver next, to open the lock of jade. A clatter within the walls of something large and unwieldy. Key of carved bone formed from the jaw of a manticore undid iron and gold. A scream answered, metal on metal, as bars were retracted. Trixie paused. Looked around the garden, and saw nopony but Anchor, head tilted in befuddled amazement. Hoof to a panel. Twist and push, then insert the final key and the door swung open in utter silence.

Quickly, Trixie stepped inside, Anchor at her tail.

With a resounding thud the door swung shut behind them, locks clattering back into place of their own accord.

Much like the exterior, the inside of the manor was off, as if distorted and twisted by the mangled perception of a fevered dream. For all Trixie knew, that was the manor’s origins. Dusty, threadbare carpets of once rich reds and greens stretched this way and that, some going so far as to be pinned to the walls. Portraits of ponies and griffons dangled in unseemly clumps. To her left, a set of stairs went up to the second floor, each step a different width or height.

She took the stairs two at a time, then turned down the tight hallway. Floorboards groaned, though never the ones on which she stood, rather those she was going to step on next as if recoiling in anticipation of her tread.

“Not a bad place,” Anchor commented with a nervous chuckle, slowing just a little to stare at some of the portraits. “Rarity always said she’d live in a big manor, like the rich ponies. Guess she got that, in the end.”

“Yes, well, Trixie supposes she should warn you that Rarity is not the pony you expect. How she died… It has left her damaged.” She regretted her words as worry jumped onto Anchor’s face.

“She’s my little Ritty, eh. I am sure she’ll remember me.”

A resigned shrug was all Trixie could manage in response. Anchor would learn the truth of Rarity in but a moment.

She paused just a moment on reaching a plain white door at the end of the hallway.

A whisper called through the empty manor, tugging at her mane and soul. She cast an eye down to the corridor’s far, lightless end and harrumphed. Anchor followed her gaze, ears cocked at an uncertain angle. Not for the first time, Trixie had the feeling that she and Rarity were not the only ones who called the manor home. Shaking off idea, she grabbed the crystal handle in her soft blue aura, and pushed the door open.

Warmth blasting over her, Trixie left the grim corridor and entered an oasis of colour. Everything within the room was bright and vibrant, so much more so for all the bleakness outside the honey paneled walls.

New curtains hung in the window, ruffled a little by the faint breeze whistling through the cracks. Floral cushions were piled high on a four-posted bed and in the corners. Freshly varnished dressers and wardrobes stood along the walls, the tops filled with crisp cloaks similar to the one Trixie wore. Everburning candles stood proud in polished silver sconces along the wall and atop the mantle above a fireplace filled with multihued glowstones. A delightful scent, filled with sweet and spicy notes tingled their noses, but never unpleasantly so.

Anchor’s mouth fell open as she stepped inside. Her mane, lanky and damp from Tartarus’ omnipresent rain bounced into delightful curls. The light green of her coat became a vibrant aquamarine, and she seemed to be filled with far more life than even before her death.

She did not move from that spot, staring at the settee by the corner window, unable to look away. A deep, supernatural devotion gripped Anchor’s formerly stern features.

“How did it go? Did you find a way out?” asked a quiet voice from the settee.

“Only the same rumours and stories,” Trixie replied casually, the answer as rote as the steps that lead her to the only other seat in the room. Only, she did not cross the room this time, and instead remained next to Anchor. When silence threatened to creep across the floor, Trixie cleared her throat. “The Great and Powerful Trixie has brought a… guest. Somepony who knew you once.”

“Oh.”

The simple sound had no hint of being a question, just a long gusty breath ringed with an emptiness of spirit. Anchor started forward, but was blocked by an outstretched hoof. Trixie sharply shook her head. If there was to be any chance of conversing with Rarity, the matter had to be attended to with great care.

“Why don’t you come and greet her. She came a long way to meet you.”

Rarity stayed quiet, contemplative, blank gaze fixed on some point beyond the window. With care not to stare, Trixie examined her roommate for what had to be the hundredth time since their exile, hoping to see any sign of change.

In life, Rarity had been a beautiful mare, but one who worked hard to maintain such an image. Flawless white coat brushed until it carried a subtle sheen. Amethyst hued mane primped and coiffed to the perfect bounce. Makeup, eyelashes curled, and a practiced Canterlot accent that could fit into any garden party in the capitol. Rarity, by most definitions, was the ideal of the gentry and lower nobility.

They’d met only once, and that encounter would have been forgotten if not for other circumstances. Trixie has seen too many such mares growing up for another to stick long in her memory.

Now, in this place, Rarity was beyond beautiful. She was a beacon of grace and sublime light, one that grew day by day. At first glance nothing seemed different from before, just more than it had been, easier, natural. Closer inspection showed how this was a lie.

The most obvious of which were the translucent wings that rested and rustled along her sides. Almost ghostly, yet, once seen it was impossible to pull the eyes away from them. Staring showed them to be more like crystals, cracked and veined with gold. Likewise were Rarity’s hooves, and her horn shifted between the normal length for a lowland unicorn native to Equestria, and the longer, fluted horn of a Prench mountain noble.

For Trixie, it wasn’t the outward changes that troubled her the most, it was Rarity’s mind.

Or lack thereof.

“Rarity,” Trixie put delicate care into her voice, each syllable measured, soft, yet firm. “Please come away from the window. It’s rude."

“Apples.” Rarity leaned closer to her reflection, exquisite eyes narrowing, and a slight pinch furrowing her brow.

“There will be time for—”

“I remember the taste of apples,” Rarity explained, shifting her head just a little towards Trixie and Anchor. “Sweet and bitter and sour and savoury. A blissful crunch, then juices dripping on the tongue and rolling down the throat.”

Anchor pushed past Trixie blocking hoof. “Little bitty Ritty, it’s me. It’s your mama. It’s Anchy. Don’t you recognise me?”

Head tilted, Rarity swung around a little more away from the window and squinted at the intricate swirls in the carpet between her and Anchor. “Do I? Anchy? Apples. Anchored Apples. No, a Jack. Jacqueline?” A She repeated the words several times with a flatness that Trixie had come to expect.

A hissed intake of breath was likewise expected, and before Rarity collapsed into a twitching fit of pained gasps Trixie was across the room. Those great, crystalline wings shot out and thumped on the ground. Each impact sent a shivering line of power through the room, peeling plaster, mold creeping across the rug, and filling the drapes with moth eaten holes. The effects were fleeting, Rarity’s mere presence correcting the damage after a few seconds. Anchor stood rooted to the spot, horrified gaze fixated on the damage. Trixie rubbed Rarity’s back until the fit began to subside, comfort provided through presence alone. Nothing she said would have penetrated the torments and fractures Rarity navigated.

After a short while Rarity began to calm. Her breaths grew easier and she extended one of her crystalline wings around Trixie in an embrace that could have cracked bones.

“Trixie?” Rarity blinked away some of the confusion from her eyes.

Faust, those eyes were too beautiful, Trixie admitted, careful to look away lest she be lost in their depths for an indiscernible time.

“When did you get back? Have you found a way out of the city yet?” She pushed herself away from Trixie and slid back onto her settee, a pleasant smile hiding the damaged mind within. “I was just thinking about something, you know. Apples. And…”

Rarity’s wings began to twitch again, eliciting a frustrated grunt from Trixie. How she’d hoped that they’d be able to avoid the cycle of lucidity and fits. There was nothing to be done. Trixie and Anchor needed to leave and wait until Rarity was placid again before making another attempt.

“Trixie, you brought a friend?”

The question caught Trixie off-guard.

As did the placid, radiant smile Rarity swept across Trixie and Anchor. While Trixie managed to snap her gaze to the side to avoid the bewitching power contained within those eyes, Anchor was fully struck by their might.

A sputter broke from the former seamare, and she rushed up towards Rarity and clasped a crystalline hoof in her own. “Rarity! Rarity, it’s your mama. I found you at last. I promised I’d come home, and so I have.”

Rarity just looked confused at Anchor, then shifted her gaze back to the window. Anchor froze, dropped Rarity's hoof, and worked her mouth like a fish tossed on land.

Like the blow of some great titan, Anchor was struck by a vision of the last time she’d seen Rarity. They’d been preparing the Sea Serpent for a voyage out of one of the lesser known coves, those not used by Equestria’s navy, and visited seldom by the the merchant fleets. Rarity, all of six years old, stood sniffling next to her father. A terse line pinched Magnum’s lips as he bit back all he wanted to say to his wives. After a deep kiss with Magnum, Anchor bent down and ruffled Rarity’s mane, coiffed to perfection even in those days.

“We won’t be gone long, eh. Bonnie got word of some Hackney dogs thinking to sneak off with some of our Prench friend’s goods. We can’t be letting them get away with that, now can we?” Anchor said in that soft, conciliatory way used when speaking to little foals.

Rarity sniffled and wiped her nose on the side of her hoof. “No, mama.”

“Say, what if we brought you back some silks, eh? I’m sure they’d spare a roll after we save 'em.” Anchor gave a broad wink and pinched Rarity on the side, making the filly squeal.

“Yay, silks,” Rarity jumped up and down, her worries of a moment before vanishing. “You promise, right?”

“I promise, my little bitty Ritty.” A final ruffle of the mane and kiss on the brow and Anchor was up the gangplank and onto the Sea Serpent’s deck.

The ship sailed off, Anchor at the rail in the moments she could spare directing the crew. As the land sank into the miasma of the horizon, Bonnie joined her, a red puffiness to her eyes. “I hate goodbyes,” Anchor’s wife grumbled.

“Makes the welcome homes’ so much sweeter, though,” Anchor quipped.

Three weeks later, and Anchor was dead, a boom knocked loose by one of the Hackney privateer’s shots crushing the back of her skull and snapping her neck. She’d relived that moment so many times since crossing Phlegethon into Tartarus. The gasping attempts at air. The confusion. Floating on a sea of emptiness with only the voice of a keres for comfort. Bonnie’s blood streaked face, haggard and old, twisted by silent shouts. And the fear of what Rarity would think, then the fog at the river’s banks as the world of the living was left behind.

For years she’d both looked forward to the day she’d be able to speak with her family again, and prayed that it would be many years until their reunion.

Anchor stiffened as she relived the past again, then thrice. Her upper lip curled. She began to snarl, and then she jumped at Rarity.

A moment of worry pierced Trixie. Far too slowly she pulled her magic together to hold Anchor.

Grabbing Rarity about the shoulders, Anchor spun her away from the window with a sharp jerk. “Look at me, Ritty. I’m your mama.”

Rarity blinked, and for just an instant recognition seemed to sparkle in her eye. Then it was gone, and Rarity craned her head away, unable to look anywhere but out her window. Anchor held her for how long, Trixie didn’t care to know. If the clock towers could chime, their bells may have sounded once, perhaps twice, before Anchor’s hooves slipped from Rarity and she backed away towards the door, a look of profound disappointment and despair carving her face deep.

She retreated to the kitchen, and there slumped on a bench.

Seeing Rarity lost to her fugue once more, Trixie joined Anchor.

“We have to help her.” The statement rumbled from Anchor.

Trixie shrugged. “There is nothing the Great and Powerful Trixie, or you, can do for her. Even Hades, the supposed Lord of the Dead, didn’t lift a hoof to help Rarity when she was placed, trembling, before his hooves.”

“You had an audience with Hades?” Anchor gasped, and looked on Trixie with new eyes. “But, ain’t he been gone the past few years? No, nevermind. That don’t matter.” Jumping up from the bench, Anchor began to pace, her tail snapping like a whip at each turn around the kitchen. “The gods won't help us. What we need is an expert on souls, eh. Somepony who knows em in and out.”

“Trixie thought the same, but who’d help us? Everypony down here only thinks of themselves.”

Anchor came to a sharp stop, revelation making her words hurried as she exclaimed, “Sombra de Espanya! He’s a wizard, and they say he even has his magic still. If he doesn’t have the answers, he might be able to point us in the direction. Worth a shot at least, eh?”

Frowning, Trixie started to argue, then clamped her mouth shut.

They were running out of options, and wandering the city wasn’t working. Perhaps it was time to take risks. And Sombra was a risk. As big as attempting to contact one of the other gods of the dead. More so, in fact, as the other gods were far more likely to simply ignore Trixie. Sombra would almost certainly attempt to use Trixie and Rarity, or steal Rarity away.

But, what other choice was there?

None that seemed viable.

So, Trixie swallowed her worries, and nodded. They would go see Sombra, the most dangerous mortal soul in all of Tartarus, and beg his help.

Author's Note

I think it has been something like two and a half years I've been toying with the idea of this story. Making plans, abandoning them, then coming back with some new angle or idea. There is a sketch-book filled with maps, drawing of places and items, diagrams of battles, and many other assorted notes. Not all have been rendered obsolete either.

At this juncture, it is broken down into three main blocks, each placed on one of the worlds Trixie and Rarity traverse. Tartarus is first, and from there things get a fair bit worse for a two heroes.

I hope the wait has been worth it.

Part Two

The Rariad
By Tundara

2:Tartarus

Built on a low hill in the western quarter of the Iokan district, Sombra’s tower was an imposing edifice of green crystal clasped in dark steel fingers. Several floors high, it loomed from a hilltop of the quarter. Little windows pitted the side here and there in cracks that leaked golden light. At the base of the tower stood a cluster of bulbous outbuildings that appeared closer to fungal growths on the crystal spire than natural extensions of the crystal itself. A tall iron fence pushed back the other buildings on the hilltop, giving enough space for a pleasant, little, actually living garden.

A few hydrangeas stood clustered to one side, and sickly, but alive, stubby pine tree leaned over a well-worn bench. Though tinged yellow, even grass grew around the tower, clinging to the warmth given by special lamps set about the grounds. Lacking a gate, or any opening, there was no way to pass the fence except by climbing, flight, or unconventional means.

The air before the fence was sickly, heavy in the lungs and left Trixie’s eyes stinging. She pulled her cloak closer about her face, in part to ward off the miasma but mostly to keep herself hidden from the clusters of souls at the fence. Hooves stretched towards the oasis of life contained within, the crowd brought to mind stories of formless, shambling zombie hordes. Low groans issued from gaping mouths did little to banish the idea.

Trixie and Anchor stopped short of the shifting mass pressed against the fence, neither certain what to do next. How were they to enter the tower’s grounds or gain the attention of Sombra? There was no way to sneak past the desperate dead, every available inch taken up by their mangy, sodden souls. On the other side patrolled guards; hounds of charcoal black, thick green smoke pouring from the corners of their mouths, and gargoyles perched on the tower or wheeled in slow circles in the sky.

As they watched, a few of the spectres managed to scale a portion of fence. Before the spectres hooves touched the grass, the hounds bayed and lunged, and the gargoyles screeched as they dived. Fangs clamped down on the spectres’ legs, the unfortunate souls howling and thrashing, and were dragged off into a secluded, dark corner, there torn apart, their final shrieks drifting across the hilltop. Stone talons latched onto those that managed to escape the hounds, and yanked the intruders into the sky. A few flaps carried the gargoyles and their prey out over the city.

Unable to watch, Trixie turned away before the gargoyles dropped their victims. Screams echoed above even the rain as the spectres fell several hundred feet to the unyielding stone roads. Though too far to make out clearly, the sound of their spectral forms shattering twisted her stomach.

“Ideas?” Anchor tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at the tower.

“None yet. Give Trixie a minute to gather information,” she replied.

They retreated to a sheltered porch from which Trixie could stare at the tower, the fences, the crowds, and the surrounding buildings without drawing unwanted attention. She stared so long, and so hard, her cheeks began to set into a hard squint. If not for the occasional swish of her tail, it would have been easy to mistake her for a statue. The minutes rolled into hours, and the hours into days, and then weeks. But, no answer could she divine on how to reach the tower.

No pony ever came or went, only the gargoyles. They alighted on a sill at the top of the tower before slinking inside.

As a joke, Trixie once suggested shooting herself over with a cannon. Assuming a functional one could be found. Otherwise, she was at a loss.

“Figured anything out?” Anchor asked as they began the return trip back to the manor at the end of the second week watching the tower.

“Trixie has had many ideas, but only for the fence. The hounds and gargoyles, however.” She shrugged and shook her head. “The Great and Powerful Trixie… is perhaps a little confounded. Fighting is not her usual area of expertise. Trixie is an entertainer, not battle-mage. She tells stories, does stage art using illusions both magical and mundane. Having to fend of some fell hounds and magic resistant flying statues; this is beyond Trixie.” At the disappointment that sagged Anchor’s ears, she added, “For now.”

“Well, I’m sure that—Hold up,” Anchor thrust out a hoof to block Trixie’s way.

There, ahead on the main thoroughfare, coming quickly towards them were the zebra brothers, and with them a coitre of assorted thugs and ruffians. Trixie and Anchor darted through the nearest door, mouths pinched tight, and both preparing whatever spells or weapons they possessed. For Trixie is was a repurposed fireworks spell. While harmless, it would at least create confusion enough to escape. Anchor, meanwhile, drew one of her many knives, teeth clamped tight on the grip and eyes pinched into a grim line. Where the mare kept her knives, Trixie dared not ask.

Breaths held they watched the door. The voices of the brothers, muddled by the wood and omnipresent rain, drew nearer, and nearer. Shadows fell across the gap. The planks outside groaned beneath hooves. The voices stopped, and then started again, growing fainter with every moment.

Trixie let out her breath, her heart beginning to still.

“What are those pricks doing up here?” Anchor hissed through her teeth, peeking her head out to check if the coast was clear. She caught the fleeting flick of a tail rounding the corner, and heading down the opposite slope of the hill.

“So much for Sombra controlling the entire district, unless they work for him,” Trixie snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Aye, this is bad if they’re desperate or confident enough to poke their noses up here.”

Taking a more cautious route back to the manor, Trixie wondered just who it was the brothers served. She’d never gotten a name. Part of her wished she knew who it was that was after her. Another part wondered what she’d even do with the information. Nothing different.

Deep in thought, Trixie didn’t notice the crowds on the street swell until she was being pressed in on all sides, almost unable to move. Shouts rippled from ahead, hooves stamping on the rain slick cobblestones as ponies attempted to move out of the way of whatever approached. Pushed to the side by the crowd, Trixie couldn’t see the cause for the commotion, or fight the current of bodies.

Anchor clamped onto her tail so they wouldn’t be separated in the noise and chaos. For a second, Trixie turned over her repertoire of spells in her head. A ringing din of marching hooves touched Trixie’s ears, rising over and crushing all other sounds in a rhythmic chorus. The noise grew, fear now coursing through the crowd, pushing up harder against Trixie in a mad dash to clear the road, but there was nowhere to go.

And then the ponies on Trixie’s right vanished. No, they were thrown out of the road, flung like the spray of the ocean on the prow of a ship. Spectres thudded onto the roofs of the tall houses that hemmed in the streets.

With the sudden loss of pressure, Trixie stumbled off the sidewalk a half-step. Just as quick she was yanked back by Anchor, and she was fortunate for the assistance, as the cause of the commotion appeared out of the fog.

Alicorns. Hundreds of them, marching in precise lines, gleaming armour hugging flanks and withers, with shield, spear, and swords at their sides. Broad bands of black paint covered their faces and extended down neck and shoulder making them appear as some artistic impression of a zebra.

Those souls that didn’t get out of their way and were not cast aside fell beneath the alicorn’s hooves, trampled into the ground with no more concern than if they’d been insects scuttling across the pavement. Far too many such spectres lay in the alicorns wake, twitching and spasming as they attempted to reform, or broke into a hazy mist and were lost for all time.

Golden eyes fixed ahead, the alicorns marched with a singular purpose.

“Who are they?” Trixie asked in a low whisper.

“The Furies,” Anchor answered, and she made a mark in the air before muttering. “Stay out of the way of that lot. Think of ‘em like the Royal Guards back home, but rolled up with the Judicators, army, clergy, and nobles into a right nasty mess.”

“But, there are so many of them. And they are all gods?”

Anchor gazed long out of the corner of her eye at Trixie, long enough for the Furies to pass and the normal flow of activity to return.

“Like ponies, not all gods are made equal. At the top you have the big chaps like Hades and Celestia. Great, honking beacons of power, them. Then you got the ones in between. Still important, mind you, but they also tend to answer to somepony else. A few don’t, though. Enough so that you can’t really say it’s a rule one way or the other. Princess Cadence would be a good example, I suppose. Then you got the ones on the bottom who always have somepony holding their reins. The Furies are in that division. Now, that don’t mean they are pushovers by any stretch. They are low on the pecking order among the gods, but they are still gods, and we little mortal souls got to get out of their way or be trod over, as you saw. Never seen them in our district before. Come on, Trixie.”

Trixie didn’t follow right away, transfixed watching the furies until they’d vanished deeper into the district.

The remainder of the journey to the manor was, thankfully, uneventful.

The same could not be said for the manor itself. Upon stepping into the warped entrance hall, Trixie knew something was amiss. There was a tingle of recent magic in the air. It buzzed and filled Trixie’s mouth, like wool on her teeth. Powerful magic had been at work.

Heart catching in her throat, Trixie dashed up the steps, calling out for Rarity as she went. She took the stairs two at a time. At the top she stumbled, hooves catching on the edge as the same, strange magic crackled down the hallway from Rarity’s room. There was almost a musical quality to the aether. A jarring, heavy, electrical sound twisting around a core of startling beauty and wailing majesty, crashed down on Trixie. It pulled at the edges of Trixie’s essence, faded her vision, and for the briefest of instants, she was certain that she floated on a cloud. Then the wave passed and cold reality crashed down on her senses with numbing vibrancy.

Catching herself, Trixie hurried to Rarity’s room, casting the door open with such violence that it banged against the wall and left a spiderwork of cracks that began to heal at once.

Half in the room, Trixie was brought up short, hooves scraping across the rich carpet in her attempt to stop. She gaped, and only just heard Anchor come thundering behind her over the humming noise of her adrenaline.

An elder oneries sat perched on the leg rest of Rarity’s lounge. Plumage a rich, vibrant gold, flecked with black and white, the spirit was far larger than any other of its kind Trixie had before seen. Easily the size of an eagle, it fanned large wings towards Rarity, feather tips just barely avoided touching the quiet pony. Thin tendrils of silvery aether lifted off Rarity with every beat, rose up in a coiling dance, and settled like beads of morning dew on the spirit’s wings. Each time another pulse of the strange magic rippled over Trixie. Eyes like two polished silver coins darted towards Trixie, and the spirit ceased its magic.

“What are you doing to Rarity?” Trixie demanded, clouding her horn in the beginnings of a spell.

“Nothing that will cause her harm, Elysian,” the spirit spoke, her voice a fluttering hum that tickled the ears. “I was sent to gather a dream of Rarity, no more.”

“A dream? Who for? What bugger requires a golden oneries to bring her some fancy dream of my Rarity?” Anchor advanced up beside Trixie, a deep set scowl sent at the spirit. “Answer me or I’ll decorate the floor with your innards and wear you for a hat.”

The spirit fully faced the two ponies, and spread her wings. A wall of fire leapt up between them, and consumed the room. Through the blazing wall nothing could pass. Heat, enough to curl and sear the edges of Trixie’s fur slammed into her. Shielding her face with a leg, Trixie missed the oneries leap and vanish into the folded curtains surrounding Rarity’s bed. Flames collapsed, and the spirit was gone, teleported away.

Within moments the room regained its pristine shine, leaving no evidence of fire, or Trixie’s forceful entrance. And, then, the flawlessness began to fade. The wallpaper peeled here and there, the furniture took on a beaten, loved texture, and small, threadbare holes dotted the curtains.

Issuing a low groan, Rarity reached up and massaged her temples. Crystalline wings faded into glowing patches on her withers, hooves and horn regained their natural forms, and the light of reason glimmered in Rarity’s eyes. A wide assortment of expressions flitted across her face.

“Who are you?” Rarity blinked a few times, and then narrowed her eyes into a stare. One that quickly drifted around the room at large. “Where have you taken me? And what is with this turn of the last century decor?”

Nose crinkled, Rarity pushed herself from her seat, and took a slow turn around the room, peering at the walls, the ceiling, the furniture as if she were in a museum exhibition.

She stopped when she came nose to nose with Anchor.

Trixie held her breath.

Terror flooded Rarity, head jerked back and a pitiable squeak constricting her throat. She scampered back until her flanks were wedged into a corner.

“You’re dead!” Rarity shrieked. “You can’t be here, mama, you’re dead.”

Rarity gave her head a violent shake.

“Snap out of it Rarity, you’re having a nightmare again. Yes, this is all a bad dream. A very bad dream.” She pressed her eyes tight, a tremble working it’s way from head to dock, and back again.

“I see you still have your grandmother’s sense of dramatics,” Anchor quirked up the side of her mouth into a lopsided smile, and took a hesitant step closer.

Rarity was less amused, her face growing more pale, if it were possible.

“Oh, this is pointless.” Trixie stamped a hoof. “We are all dead, little miss perfect. You, her, and even Trixie.”

“Trixie!” Anchor snapped, her upper lip twisting into an almost feral snarl.

“Coddling her is pointless. This is Tartarus, and—”

“I’m dead?” Rarity cracked open an eye and took in the room, and its occupants, again. “I… don’t remember…”

Taking Rarity in her hooves, Anchor brought her into a tight hug. She made a soft noise, and rubbed Rarity’s back. “It’s okay, mama is here to make it all alright.”

Hooves pressed to Anchor’s chest, Rarity pushed herself away. “No! I am not dead. That is impossible. This is some trick… Yes, that is it. A trick!”

“Come here,” Trixie barked, repeating the command when Rarity just stared at her in confusion. Hesitantly, Rarity shifted closer to Trixie. “Look out the window.” Trixie pointed to the grey, bleak city beyond the panes of glass.

Covering her mouth, Rarity gaped. She sputtered. And then let out a tiny whimper and curled in on herself. “How… did I get here? How did I die. I can’t remember.”

“You and the Elements of Harmony got into a fight, and you sacrificed yourself to save the others,” Anchor began, only to cut any explanation short as Rarity gave her a quizzical expression.

“Elements of Harmony? Mama, isn’t that some old mare’s tale?”

Trixie and Anchor shared a concerned look. “No. You are one of the Elements, along with your friends Jacqueline Apple, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy Posey, Pinkamena Pie, and Twilight Sparkle.”

“Rainbow? Applejack? Oh, mama, you must be mistaken. I am not friends with them. And Twilight is upper Canterlot nobility! Heiress to a Barony, and the princess’ apprentice. Why, her older brother was just made the Captain of the Sword. It was in all the papers. Me? Friends with Twilight Sparkle? It would be delightful, but no, that is impossible.”

Pinching her brows together, Trixie shook her head. She should have foreseen this. Rarity was a broken mare, in mind, body, and spirit. The papers Rarity mentioned… Captain Armour… That’d been only a few months after Trixie left home and started her traveling magic show.

Those days were so clear in her memory. The pangs of jealousy as House Sparkle’s star continued to rise. Twilight’s face present in many of the pictures of Princess Celestia, articles on how she was a magical prodigy, the gossip rags with stories of a growing connection between her brother and Princess Cadence; they’d driven Trixie to Ponyville, and the long road that had lead to her death.

For years she’d tried to claim even just a small article in the arts section of a modest, provincial rag. When even that level of obscure fame seemed so far out of reach, she’d marched towards the fateful encounter with Twilight Sparkle. What she could not know, though had long suspected, was the interference of her older sister. Fearful of her House losing any more prestige, at the behest of her husband, the insufferable Lord Parallax, Lady Lulamoon had used her contacts within the press to keep Trixie out of the public eye and hush up any incidents.

Even the confrontation in Ponyville, where by two of Trixie’s first fans riled up Ursa Minor and Ursa Major enough that the town was attacked by the titanic star-beasts, was kept quiet and out of the larger public eye. And certainly out of the gossip mill on which Canterlot thrived.

Trixie chewed on her lower lip, lost in thoughts and memories enough that the conversation between Rarity and Anchor was just a dull hum at the edge of perception. She did have the presence of mind to wander into the kitchen and allow Rarity and Anchor some privacy.

From the pantry, Trixie retrieved some ancient green tea and put it on to steep. The tea was weak, even by Trixie’s lax standards, and she only put it on to have something to do. While the tea filled the kitchen with it’s mild, pleasant scent, Trixie wondered why she hadn’t struck out on her own yet.

Anchor would look after Rarity, of that much Trixie was confident, even if there was a lingering suspicion of the mare in the furthest recesses of her mind. She did not yet turn over whence these suspicions arose, and soon Trixie’s thoughts moved onward.

After what Rarity did to her, diverting her from Elysium, stealing away her promised after-life in the golden fields and silver city, why did she remain? Because a goddess had commanded it be so? No, Trixie knew her own heart well enough to say with certainty that Lethe’s protections and commands held little weight. The threat of angering Princess Celestia, the great goddess and protector of not just Equestria, but the entirety of Ioka’s disc, had not stopped her from confronting the princess’ prized protege.

Nor was it a need for stability. Trixie spent her entire adult life travelling, pulling her home by herself. Even in Tartarus, she spent more time away from the manor than in it. At that moment, the pull of travel, of seeing what secrets the next section of the city held, tempted Trixie to leave. Her hooves yearned to wander the cold, wet roads of the underworld, to see what wonders there were hidden in districts beyond that of Ioka’s former denizens.

Eventually, Trixie gave up her contemplations, and went to check in on Anchor and Rarity. She stopped at the door, held back by some sense of intruding where she didn’t belong.

It was there, standing half in shadow and watching the family reconnect that she experienced a sharp pang of jealousy directed at Anchor. She’d been the one to tend to Rarity the last year, and in that time a possessive bond had formed of its own accord. Some part of her rebelled against having the dues owed for losing not only her place in Elysium, but for seeing to Rarity’s comfort, and seeking their way back home, taken by somepony else.

She’d thought herself long past such selfish motives. To have them strike her again after so long dormant left Trixie stupefied and uncertain. She shook her head to clear it of the base emotions, and almost missed the close of the conversation in the room.

“I’m still not sure if this is a bad dream or real.” Rarity swept her gaze over the room again, and then out the window. “However, even if it is a dream, we can talk a bit. I just…” She sucked in a sharp breath, and squeezed her face.

“Ritty?”

Tears filling the corners of her eyes, Rarity shuddered, and said, “It’s been so long since I heard that name.”

“What’s wrong?” Anchor shook Rarity, just a little, enough to get her attention.

“My head hurts,” Rarity stumbled to her settee. A diamond wing extended from her withers, reaching up to rub at her temples.

The light of understanding faded from Rarity’s eyes, and Anchor collapsed next to Rarity, clasping her herd-daughter’s hooves tight in her own. “Look at me, Ritty. Look at your mama. Tell me about Sweetie. Tell me about Magnum and Bonnie. Tell me about all the years I missed,” she commanded, but it was for naught. Rarity slipped further and further and was gone again.

Breaking down, the hardened seamare sobbed, and Trixie had to look away before tears came to her own eyes.

“We are getting into that tower, today,” Anchor growled through clenched teeth, and looked up at Trixie. “Damn those hounds and ‘goyles. No more sitting around sucking our own tails.”

Trixie shrugged, but didn’t protest.

They departed shortly after Trixie laid down some wards around Rarity’s room and the manor itself. Her charms were pointless, as she was well aware. The manor was already surrounded by magic far more potent than anything she could weave. If the oneries had gotten past those spells, hers would be useless.

Anchor stamped her hooves with impatience while Trixie worked.

On the way to the hilltop they discussed every idea either possessed on how to get by the tower’s defences. Trixie’s biggest concern were the hounds. She was somewhat confident that the protection provided her by Lethe and Hades would be honoured by the gargoyles. Lethe said that all the gargoyles knew Trixie was a ‘guest’ of the King of Tartarus, and would bring no harm to her. The hounds, however, were another matter.

Then there were whatever wards and charms the tower must possess.

It was a risk she had to take, or give up on helping Rarity and finding a way out of Tartarus.

Before Trixie and Anchor reached their usual spot down the road from Sombra’s tower, they noticed that things were unusual. The normal hordes of aimless souls were absent. They were nowhere to be seen, and even the hounds that patrolled the grounds were missing, and the gargoyles refrained from flight, instead watching from their perches at the tower’s top. No longer filled with souls pressed up against the fence, the hilltop was unnaturally still.

The grounds were not empty, however.

A solitary figure, draped in a green travel cloak tended to the flowers and tree. She sang as she weeded, tugging out creeping vines and strangling tendrils from about her garden with a gentle glow of magic.

Trixie’s mouth fell open, words formless in her throat with the shock of what she was seeing.

Over the distance, the song began to take shape, forming into a haunting ballad that Trixie could not understand.

The last few days of her life flickered through Trixie. On a pilgrimage to find their missing goddess-queen, the halla saved Trixie’s life and nursed her back to health. Stern faced and serious by nature, the camp was filled with the babble of conversation all through the day. Time enough for Trixie to recognise the language, but not comprehend its meaning.

With a halla warrior, she’d lain down her life in the fight against the doshaa. He’d been a friend, though they’d known each other only a short time. The doshaa possessed him, twisted him, and used him in the worst way imaginable.

Since coming to Tartarus, Trixie had not seen any of the halla. At least, not in the district the rest of Ioka claimed. She did not, and could not, know that the halla of Tartarus refused the city, and instead wandered the wastelands beyond the city walls, much as they wandered their forest home. Eventually, they’d hear the call of the next life and enter the Cave of Iridia, so named for their queen and the Goddess of Spring, Rebirth, and Life on Ioka, and rejoin the Great Cycle.

Entranced by the haunting lyrics, Trixie continued down the street to the fence. Something about the song pulled at her, made her heart ache and lips turn cold.

The hind, sensing Trixie’s approach, ended her song with a little gasp and began to flee towards the tower.

“Wait!” Trixie called, tossing back the hood of her cloak. “The Great and Powerful Trixie needs to speak with you!”

Near the tower door the hind hesitated and turned back, causing the cowl of her cloak to slip down her slender neck. Trixie had only a moment to take in the slight hind, small by the standards of the halla, barely taller than Trixie herself, before a black form burst from the tower. Over the hind the newcomer leapt, body covered in thick smoke, with eyes of burning red that glowed like sinister coals fixed on Trixie and Anchor.

With a deep, resonate roar of force, the smoky form crossed the fence and landed next to Trixie. She was hit by a bone numbing blow of noise just below perception, a heavy thump that lifted her off her hooves, and flung Anchor away like she were a leaf caught in a gale. Trixie stared in a confused stupor as her friend tumbled in a long arc and then came down on a roof at the distant end of the lane. Anchor struggled to get up, only to collapse and ceased any further attempt.

Movement in the corner of Trixie’s eye brought her out of her shock in time to dodge a blood-red greataxe formed of crystal. Chips of stone pelted against her legs and side as the axe dug a deep furrow in the street like it were a plow in a soft field. It did not slow as it came up, and then down again, brilliant edge directed at her neck. Energy filled Trixie, a surge of primal impetus to survive the next few moments, her dead nature forgotten in the need to survive the onslaught. She hurled herself to the side, a powerful illusion thrown up to create a half-dozen mirror images of herself, all moving in different directions. Tuned to her, they acted in time to her own steps and magic so as to distract and confuse her attacker.

The crystal greataxe split into two dane axes without pause. Each tore through an illusion, sundered blue-white aether curling around the weapons as they moved to the next images of Trixie. Dropping to her knees, Trixie ducked beneath one axe as another of her illusions was destroyed, and leveled her horn at the smoke clad attacker.

Sombra towered over Trixie, unmoved after his thundering arrival. A thick chested stallion, taller than near any other pony Trixie had ever met, he regarded her with seething disdain. His eyes locked onto her, and with a jolt, she realised he could see through her illusions.

Pure magic fired from her horn in a gleam of silvery-blue, and was met by a ruby-black lance. A grin slashed across a stormy face, fangs glinting in the glow of clashing spells. Trixie’s heart raced faster, her legs buckling under the pressure of pouring unrefined aether through her horn. Shining silver shards burst up around Sombra, and absorbed Trixie’s beam of magic. Seamlessly, his assault continued in a shower of splinters broken off from the edges of the crystalline shields. Black spines, like the quills of a monstrous porcupine, herded Trixie, brought her closer to her demise.

Trixie was reminded of the day she died. Of the fight with the doshaa. Of how powerless she’d felt as she ran from the demon. The desperation mingled with dread on finding she’d been driven into the demon’s trap.

She knew Sombra was doing the same, and that there was nothing she could do to alter the outcome. Anger at her helplessness burning up her throat, Trixie resorted to the only spell within her possession which could possibly overcome his defenses. It was the same spell which had killed her. The runes were all still there from when they’d been burned into her psyche, tall shapes in the gloom that loomed over all her other runes.

A quick step forwards brought her into the very jaws of the trap laid, but also made avoiding her spell impossible.

The beam that had been so mighty at her death, with power enough to carve away the side of a distant mountain, held little of its former fury. Still, it was greater than near any other spell possessed by mortalkind. The air howled at the touch of the scintillating red-blue beam that burst from her horn.

Surprise flashed in Sombra’s ruby eyes. A great gonging clang sounded over the hilltop as his shields were broken, and he was struck on the chest. Exultation bloomed in Trixie as he staggered back, eyes staring out towards nothing, faded and foggy. With a deep roar, Sombra gave his entire body a mighty shake, and cast off Trixie’s spell.

Trixie was unprepared for the hammer-blow that struck her mind. Her psyche cracked, the underworld briefly vanishing into a blinding flash that left her numb and senseless. Tartarus spun wildly about and the ground rushed up to meet her head. Blearily, Trixie knew she had to move, to act, or all was lost, but her legs refused her commands. Then Sombra’s hoof was pressed against her throat.

He breathed deeply, excitement pulling at the corners of murderous eyes. For a long moment he observed her through a narrow, ruby gaze, upper lip pulled back to show his long fangs.

“For weeks I’ve observed you greedily peering at my tower,” Sombra growled, his breath pungent with rot as it washed over Trixie. “So unlike all the other souls clamouring to steal what is mine by gift and sacrifice. You reek of magic foreign to the underworld. Who sent you? Have the archons come to take her from me? If they make the attempt, I warn you now, I will tear down the very gates of Elysium to free her. She does not wish to be among your self-righteous, arrogant kind.”

Hooves gripping the leg of her captor, Trixie stared at the rage twisted face above her, and gasped out, “Who in Celestia’s mane are you talking about?”

“My light! My love! The singular joy I ever found in centuries of misery. My. Wife. You tried to steal her, and I would know who sent you before I destroy you, Elysian.”

The absurdity of his assertion, mixed with the force it was delivered and the waning tension now the fight was lost, made Trixie laugh.

“I don’t care about her,” Trixie said with a weak, wheezing laugh, “I was trying to get her to take me to you because I need your help.”

“Help? You desire my help?” An incredulous laugh filled Sombra’s throat until it burst out in a long, loud boom. Trixie expected him to release his hoof and let her up. Instead, he pressed it harder against her throat so all she could do was let out a choked gurgle. “Lies. You are an elysian, touched by the power of an alicorn, in Tartarus. Since the archons would never give any mortal soul passage from their realm, there is but one explanation for your presence in this bleak wasteland; that you serve one of the gods of this place, or another. It has been known before. Heroes waylaid on their voyage to the golden fields makes a pact with one of the gods of the Underworld, bartering their services for safe passage from this desolate realm. Or, those who descend to the Underworld on errands for the alicorns or archons. Whom you serve I have yet to determine, but that you are servant to one of the capricious gods is not in question.”

“Sombra, stop this nonsense!” A cloven hoof was laid on Sombra’s withers, and he seemed to wilt under its touch. “The gods lack all interest in this district. Even when Abaddon herself cast us here they did not rise from their own territories. And what more could draw the attention of an alicorn than the Angel of Death herself? We are all naught but motes of dirt to them, and should be thankful that the games played by the gods of the underworld do not involve us. You need to let go of your suspicions and over-protectiveness.”

Face twisted in a deep grimace, Sombra released Trixie and stepped back.

“My apologies,” Sylph said after introducing herself and helping Trixie to stand. “His draconic heritage has asserted itself more and more since we died. He was not always so greedy and possessive, nor so paranoid, once upon a time. I fear Sombra will one day lose himself.”

While they spoke, more and more of the dead had begun to gather, their slavering gazes directed at Trixie and Sylph. Holding a leg close to her chest, Anchor stood among the crowd. She gave Trixie a knowing look, and then slunk away. There could be only one meaning; that they would meet up at the manor at a later time.

Through his teeth, Sombra snarled, “Come inside before any lost souls think to intrude.”

He pried open a hole in the fence and indicated Trixie should enter. Following Sylph, she hurried through the gap. An odd sensation crawled across Trixie’s skin as she stepped onto the thick, living grass, like beetles crawling through her coat, clawed legs pricking flesh. She held her breath, and only relaxed when the baying of hounds failed to materialise. Sombra hurried Trixie along, and forced her towards the tower with his shadow.

Over her withers, Sylph asked, “How have you survived Tartarus so long? I can not imagine what it is like in the city without any protection. When we arrived, I was almost torn apart by the dead. By Iridia’s blessing, we discovered this refuge.”

“And a good home it has become. I like crystals. Excellent for harnessing Tartarus’ ambient magic.” Sombra huffed as he reset the many barriers and wards.

“Trixie has learned to stay hidden,” Trixie replied. “It is one of the Great and Powerful Trixie’s many talents.”

Sylph gave Trixie a flat stare, then shrugged. If Trixie did not want to answer, she would not press the issue.

The inside of the twisted crystal spire stood in complete defiance of any expectations. The inner walls were painted a soft creamy tone, with magic lanterns set between banners that proudly displayed Celestia’s mark, golden thread glimmering on pure white backdrops, alternated with those of Faust’s black inkwell and quill, and third banner with a rainbow circle of petals Trixie did not recognise. Couches and a plush chair were set in a semi-circle around a lit hearth, a half finished pint of beer sitting next to partially eaten cranberry biscuits on a small, round table. Opposite the sitting area stood several bookshelves, full to bursting with texts and tomes, many sporting languages on their spines Trixie could not identify. At the back of the room a small door lead to stairs running up the space inside the walls themselves to the upper floors. At the very center of the large room grew a column of green-blue crystal, branches splitting off to form platforms higher up the tower, leaving it open and airy inside.

The scent of sandalwood and old books tingled Trixie’s nose. Not unpleasant or overly strong, it brought up memories of sneaking into her mother’s library at night to take one of her father’s journals penned when he travelled as a Judicator. It was one of the few good memories Trixie possessed of her fillyhood, and made her like the odd tower all the more.

“So,” Sombra drew the word out into an arrogant yawn, “for what honour does a pony so loathsome as I deserve to be visited by an elysian?” Mirth swam behind his red eyes, and Sombra’s entire demeanor shifted now they were inside the tower. He threw himself across a threadbare, high backed chair, leg extended over one of the rests so as to jut out to the side. From the table next to his chair he levitated a large book and pretended to skim its pages.

Trixie settled into another of the chairs, and considered how best to respond.

She wanted to avoid giving Sombra too much information. But, it was impossible to avoid the nature of Rarity’s condition and hope to gain any usable assistance.

So, Trixie laid everything bare and open. From the moment she’d been grabbed by Rarity while crossing Lethe’s waters, to her wanderings to find an exit from Tartarus, the encounter with Anchor, and the nature of Rarity’s condition. Several times she was asked to repeat some detail. Sombra was insatiable when it came to knowledge about Rarity. He picked over how often she grew lucid, how long the periods would last, and what she would say.

“Another failure of the alicorns falls before my hooves. Is this providence? Or does Faust simply enjoy testing me so?” Sombra let out a long breath through his nose and closed his eyes in thought. After a long time, he stood and went to the bookshelves. He rifled through them, selected a couple, and quickly skimmed over a few chapters each. “You mentioned she has wings, but only when lucid? Yes? Translucent and gossamer as the feathery down of a gosling in the light of the sun, or are they whole and real? No, you mentioned them being crystalline in nature. Interesting. I like crystals.”

He eyes traced a wistful path around the tower, and Trixie had to suppress an annoyed response. She could not afford to alienate the stallion now.

“You will help the Great and Powerful Trixie?” She tried to keep hope out of her voice, but was little successful.

“Yes. Yes.” Sombra gave his tail an absent minded swish as he considered his library some more.

Trixie was ecstatic. For the first time in months there was hope that she would soon be out of the dismal prison for the dead.

How assisting Rarity regain herself translated to leaving the city did not matter. Trixie made the leap at once. She could almost feel the sun on her face again, a warm wind ripple through her mane, or the taste of real food as it melted over her tongue.

First, she would return home, and make amends with her sisters. Wouldn’t they be surprised! Trixie wondered if news of her death had reached the rest of House Lulamoon. They had to know she’d died. Everypony must know. She carved away the face of a mountain fighting to protect a goddess from a demon.

Correction, her family would be the second ponies she visited. Before them, she had to make certain that Shyara was safe. What a scene that would be! She wondered if they would hug, or would they both put on their stoic masks of pride. Either way, they’d both be overflowing with joy!

The first books Sombra selected thumped down next to Trixie, breaking her from the pleasant thoughts. “Before we can get to any lessons, we must first ascertain your level of knowledge and skill.”

Trixie’s happiness plummeted as she saw on top of the books a ratty standardised entrance exam for Honigwein College. Hate for the standardized entrance tests boiled in her chest, and her gut twisted with anxiety.

“Is this really necessary? Trixie has magic enough to destroy a demon, after-all.”

Sombra laughed. Head tossed back, eyes crinkled, he shook with deep, wild, laughter. “Of course it is! Wild acts of heroism say nothing of day-to-day capabilities. More so when the alicorns are involved. Now, come, we’ll test you in one of the studier spell-chambers, just in case.”

Author's Note

Over a year... Over a year between chapters... That is just... I am so sorry. This chapter has been in editing limbo for months, other stories/chapters always taking precedence.

I wish I could say the next chapter will be faster, but the sad truth is that I've been having troubles with the finally of the Tartarus Arc. And the Ammaymon Arc fills me with dread. I really like the stuff I have for once the Geaen Arc, however. Just have to reach that point.

Recently I've been working on themes, and what I want the story to ultimately be 'about'. Beyond a simple nod to the Odyssey, that is. The friendship between Rarity and Trixie was always a big intention, of two people going from enemies to the closest of friends. Hopefully I'll be able to do it justice.

Part Three

The Rariad
By Tundara

3: Tartarus

It was with greater than normal difficulty Trixie pulled herself up the winding stairs towards Sombra’s primary spell-chamber.

She ached in places she’d forgotten existed. From nose to the tip of her tail, there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t protest every step. Her head hurt worst of all. A throbbing pain struck every few moments, like a blacksmith was trying to hammer her brain into a horseshoe. Pausing at one of the many landings, Trixie reached up to massage her temples.

The pain was her own fault, pushing herself to her limits and beyond again and again over the past… She wasn’t certain how long she’d been in Sombra’s tower. A week? Two? Trixie couldn’t imagine it being longer.

From overhead came Sombra’s rich, baritone voice. “Here I stand, expecting to train my worthless apprentice, and where is she? Where is Miss Lulumoon? Does she not understand that time is precious, even in the Underworld?”

Cringing, Trixie pushed herself up the final set of stairs. At the final landing waited Sylph, the hind holding a silver tray covered in bits of food, purified water, and a glowing blue potion. Unable to form even the thinnest threads of an aura, Trixie grabbed the potion with her hooves, yanked out the stopper with her teeth, and downed the contents in a single gulp.

At once a wave of cool, soothing energy washed through her, banishing the headache as her aether replenished. The small potion failed to restore all her magic, but it was more than enough so she’d be able to participate in the lessons. Some water and a few bites of some hard bread covered in cheese quickly followed.

“Where ever is that dawdling pony?” Sombra’s voice rumbled through the open door.

She gave Sylph an appreciative smile, who smiled back and said, “He really has taken a liking to you, you know. Be careful, he is in a good mood today.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Trixie nodded and hurried into the spell-chamber. Sombra waited on the far side of the intricate casting circle, a deep frown etched onto his features. If it weren’t for Sylph’s comment, and the associated understanding that the hind was privy to Sombra’s true moods, Trixie would have thought him furious. Or perhaps murderous. It was difficult to tell, sometimes.

“Cease your gaping, and get into position,” he grumbled as he fetched a massive, metal bound tome. “This will be your last lesson. If you can manage to grasp the concepts and formula, you will be able to guide your friend back to herself. It is lucky that you are actually adept at mental magic, otherwise this would have taken years, rather than a couple months.”

“Months?” Trixie blinked a few times, certain she’d misheard. “No, we’ve only been at this—”

“Focus!” Sombra slammed a hoof, the chamber ringing with the blow. “Focus on what is important. This spell, restoring Rarity, and bartering her restoration for your freedom. Lethe will have no need for you, once Rarity ascends.”

“You know, it comes to Trixie that you have never asked for payment, or indicated what you get out of this, Sombra.” She knew antagonizing the powerful wizard was a poor idea, but tired, sore, and a little humiliated, she couldn’t hold her tongue.

He arched a thick eyebrow, and let out a long chortle. “I get a nuisance out of my district, and chase off a potential rival. There is also the matter that you will both owe me debts. Debts that I will collect. Yours is insignificant, but to have an alicorn owe me a favour, one equal to assisting in her ascension and restoring her mind? That holds value beyond all measure in this, or any, world.

“And what I will demand of her is simple; Freedom for Sylph and myself. To return to Ioka with our memories intact. To live, taste the air, and feel the fresh breeze on our faces again, and for her to have the years stolen returned.”

“You believe Rarity capable of that?” Trixie was incredulous, and verged on laughing at Sombra.

“No. She will be the Goddess of Beauty, should you succeed. Her talents will be useless. But, she is connected to Celestia, Faust, and Iridia. It is that last alicorn who is capable of granting my wish.”

Wanting to get off the topic, before it spiralled into hours of monologuing and lectures, Trixie sighed, and said, “Well, you either have thought this through in its entirety, or are lying about your intentions. Trixie knows you are no fool, and is in no position to argue, regardless. Let us get this final lesson out of the way, and we can both get our rewards.”

Laughing through a wide grin, Sombra agreed, and then explained the nature of the final test.

“You are to enter my mind, Trixie Lulumoon, and find the pivotal memory on which my destiny hinged. I have constructed a suitable labyrinth for you to enter. If you manage to succeed, you’ll be ready to restore Rarity’s sanity. If you fail, you will likely lose your own mind. This is an unforgiving spell, most who use it regressing to the state of drooling foals.”

Ignoring the anxious knot in her stomach, Trixie puffed out her chest and proclaimed her readiness.

Evidently pleased, Sombra nodded to the center of the chamber, and growled, “Proceed when you are ready. After this you truly will be great and powerful, or a mindless thrall I’ll toss from this tower.”

Black-Blue runes rose in Trixie mind, swirling through her towards her horn and reality. A similar sheen coated her horn, and filled her eyes. A reflection showed the whites of her eyes turn the colour of ink, as the blue began to glow with the rising tides of magic. Her mane and tail began to dance in the waves of aether trying to escape her grasp.

The spell was tricky, far beyond anything she’d have before dreamed of attempting, comprised of a complex interlaced web of runes from every category. Harmonious runes pulsed in perfect perpetuity, serving as anchor points for everything else, stable and in-tune with Trixie’s own soul. Chaos runes fluctuated along the edges, brightening and dimming at inconsistent intervals, sometimes hungry for more aether, other moments expelling it in a rush. Hungry Dark runes prowled between, feeding on Trixie’s heart to sustain themselves. Shielding herself in powerful memories of the suffering endured before she left home, Trixie contained the Dark runes in rings of Bright runes. The two wanted to clash, bucked and fought her control, each despising the other for merely existing. There were even a few Elemental runes in the weave, used as dividers and gateways, and not for their elemental properties.

Never before had Trixie imagined a spell could be constructed in such a manner.

It was like gazing upon and trying to build in her mind a snowflake. Just as delicate, if mishandled, the expulsion of energy would be devastating. The casting circle helped, lending added support to the growing weave’s structure.

What Trixie did not yet know, though part of her suspected, was that it was a Marelantian spell she cast. The beautiful, graceful crystalline structure, perfect in its mathematical and aesthetic symmetry, was a hallmark of the ancient sorceresses. They alone were capable of creating such spells in perhaps all the myriad worlds, gifted the knowledge by beings of incomprehensible age and power. Gods to the Marelantians, kings and queens of demonkind, their gifts laid the groundwork for all the Great Sins to blossom in a pony’s heart.

Never before had Trixie felt such a surge of raw, primal Power except in the moments before her death, when she’d been nothing but a conduit for another.

Aether thrummed through her and reached a fever pitch, ready to tip and explode into a violent conflagration. Setting her teeth, Trixie fought to maintain the spell and set the capstone rune. With a ringing bang inside her head the spell was completed, and a moment of terrible silence followed in which Trixie wondered if she’d failed.

All at once the spell chamber vanished, leaving only Sombra standing just outside the circle, and she was propelled forward. There was a soft impact, and then she was inside Sombra, falling through golden flashes of thought, instinct, and memory. It was like being in the middle of a terrific storm, crackling bursts filled with images of what had been, or could be.

Trixie pushed deeper and deeper, the curtains of Sombra’s past opening. He was letting her in, throwing open barriers that otherwise would have violently ejected any intruder. Trixie was almost awed by the mental mastery Sombra possessed over himself. His mind was a citadel. The final defenses bypassed, Trixie found herself in the innermost sanctum. A warning prickled along the back of her neck that even here she was far from safe, that with a thought he could expel her. All this constructed simply as a test.

Remembering her goal, Trixie set about finding the memory. Hundreds of jewel-like orbs hung from the ceiling, glittering and sparkling in the brilliant light cast by towering windows. Trixie quickly dismissed them as distractions, and instead focused on seven pedestals at the far side of the room. On each sat a different coloured jewel on velvet cushions, and protected by a glass dome.

Inspecting each, Trixie discovered they exuded dark, corruptive energies. Her ethereal flesh crawled just being in the jewels’ presence. Little brass plaques on the pedestals identified the jewels within as Envy, Sloth, Gluttony, Avarice, Wrath, Pride, and Lust. Licking her lips, Trixie went from jewel to jewel, staring at each, trying to ascertain which was the one she was meant to take.

She stopped at Lust, greatest of the Seven Great Sins, raised her hoof, and was stopped by a pony tutting behind her. Spinning about, Trixie began to drop into a defensive posture, but stopped when she saw it was nothing but a dark coated filly.

“Who are you? Part of the test?” Trixie demanded.

Giggling, the filly bounced past Trixie, and up to the pedestals. “Nope, just a fragment Ol’ Somby still has rattling around in his noggin. He forgets I am here, from time to time. I used to be louder, kept him company when he’d mope about in one of his various towers. Which he did a lot. So much time alone. Hundreds and hundreds of years. Just the two of us. Chatting in his towers, on the road, when he would try to sleep, when he was naughty, and when he was nice. I became his conscience. It is nice to know he doesn’t really need me anymore. Still, he misses the noise. Silence irritates him. That is why he likes you, and lets you run around his tower. You are noisy. It makes him feel… like he is home.”

With a quick spin, and little dance, the filly abandoned the pedestals. “Or, maybe this is all a trick. Part of Ol’ Somby’s test. A distraction meant to lure you down false choices. You can never be sure.” Folding her hooves, the filly began to float as if she were a pegasus resting on a cloud.

She smiled sweetly, batted her eyes, and continued to talk about Sombra while Trixie went back to inspecting the jewels. After what felt like hours, but was only a few minutes, Trixie snapped, “If you are going to stay, at least be useful. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Only that none of those are important, really.” The filly shrugged and rolled onto her back, head draping comically down. “Oh, they are great, big, strong emotional points, but not important in forging Sombra the pony. You should look elsewhere.” The filly pointedly glanced up and wiggled an eyebrow.

Sighing, Trixie turned away from the pedestals. On reflection, they were too obvious. Moving to the center of the chamber, she peered upwards at the hundreds of smaller, dangling baubles. Selecting one seemed impossible. Dozens leapt out as potentially the one she sought.

A glance back at the pedestals reminded her to look past the obvious.

“Tick-tock, tick-tock goes the clock. You are running out of time.” The filly floated slowly around Trixie, mimicking the noise of a clock with her tongue. “Better make a choice soon.”

“You aren’t making this any easier,” Trixie growled through clenched teeth, eyes darting across the sea of hanging objects, looking for something, anything that would distinguish one as the primary memory.

Giggling, the filly floated nearer, and whispered in Trixie’s ear, “Isn’t that the point? You think this is difficult? This is soooo… boring. And easy. The fractured mind of anypony is a dangerous place. One filled with the shattered remnants of an alicorn so much more deadly. I’d almost think you have a death wish, but…”

Trixie could hear the filly shrug.

The filly was a distraction. Part of the test. She had to stop focusing on the annoying little munchkin, and instead put her efforts towards the task at hoof.

Closing her eyes, she calmed herself, centered her magical senses, and reached out gently with her aura. The currents of energy coming from the baubles tugged at her aura, pulling at it like a lodestone does iron. Resisting the weaker calls, she snaked and wove through the baubles, testing them, seeing where the pull was strongest, and then reaching out and grabbing. One bauble, utterly unremarkable, broke from the others.

Clapping her hooves, the filly let out a delighted squeal. “You did it! I was starting to get worried. Ol’ Somby will be happy-sad. This means you can go home and fix Rarity.”

Pulling the memory to her, Trixie cracked open an eye and found it was a little, painted wooden apple. Red coat chipped with age, it had a weather beaten appearance.

The moment it fell into her hooves, an image burst before Trixie of three ponies; a filly, a young maid, and an old mare.

Garbed in well-worn cloaks, the three tended to a simple fruit stall in a sprawling open market. In the distance Trixie spotted the well known spires of Notra-dame du Soliel. Instead of aged stone, weathered by many centuries, the spires were unfinished and surrounded by scaffolding. The din of chisels filled the damp morning air, and a warm, spicey fragrance tickled Trixie’s nose. Trixie gaped, and her gaze dipped from the partially completed cathedral back to the ponies. They were smiling up at her, the filly offering an apple with a big grin.

She tried to reach out and take the offered apple, but her hoof refused to move, and no aura came at her call. Panic raced through her heart, and only calmed a little when she spoke, asked if it was okay to take the apple, in the voice of a colt.

Realization took hold that she was reliving Sombra’s memory as it happened, a passive observer to events, along for the ride in his body. She wanted to squirm and get away. This was meant to be private, a memory for Sombra alone. How would he react to her having seen it? Was this part of the test? Unable to do anything else, Trixie settled in for the duration of the memory.

Young Sombra inched closer to the filly, and Trixie felt the flurry of his young heart. He found the filly cute, and nice. The first pony his own age ever to be nice to him. He was a monster. A weapon. One birthed and then forged to fight the griffons. Kirin had no other purpose, and were a danger to normal, good ponies.

“Take it, and we will tell you your future,” the filly promised, the young maid and old mare joining in the sentiment.

A warning flashed through Trixie that these ponies were trouble. There was something off about them, an all too great interest in the colt reflected in eyes that were far too old for a filly. Their stall, despite being well stocked with juicy produce and well placed in the center of the market, had no other customers, and the older mares gave no signs of attempting to draw any attention from shoppers. Young Sombra did not share her concerns, and reached out to take the apple.

“You will be a great stallion, name etched across the ages, dictator of history,” the old mare said, her voice like molten lead pouring into a hidden mold. “Or nopony of consequence. Because of you, Celestia will fall, and so will Luna. It could be within your power to prevent their suffering, to protect the one you love above all others, if you have but the will. You will know the time when Sol and Selene share the day. Make your choice, and shape the disc for the centuries to come.”

Sombra’s chest puffed out, and he said something forgotten. A different mare called his name, and the memory ended.

Trixie staggered backwards, and found herself in a dimly lit place. Blinking bleary eyes, she began to recognise the spell chamber, seeing it as if through a parting fog. Sombra remained just outside the casting circle, head slumped forward as if asleep. With a low grunt he rolled his shoulders, joints popping as he stretched.

“That was a near disaster,” he grumbled, then added, “but, you managed to accomplish your task. You were lucky. There is no guarantee there will be a guide hiding in the depths of Rarity’s psyche to give you guidance. Still, you have the grasp of the spell, and there is nothing more I can teach you.”

There was something like pleasure, and sadness, in Sombra’s face as he passed Trixie. At the door he paused, and over his shoulder said, “See Sylph before you leave. She has a gift for you.”

“Wait!” Trixie called, reaching out to stop Sombra. “That vision, those memories. Who were those ponies?”

Sombra kept his face turned away from her, but from the set of his shoulders, Trixie knew he was thinking.

“I believe they were the Goddesses of Fate; the Moirai. What I’ve learned of them since coming to Tartarus fits, but, it requires supreme arrogance to think the alicorns who dictate Fate had an interest in me. Yet, when I think over what happened as a result of their prophecy, and how it still rattles in my soul after so many, many years, beyond even my death, I can think of no other explanation. Because of that encounter… Because of what that old mare said… When Celestia almost died fighting Amon at Airegos, and Selene and Sol both hung in the heavens for days on end… I thought if I took power I could save the pony I adored, I loved and worshiped, and save all ponykind. Instead, I was their doom. It has only been with hindsight I understood the warning. I needed the strength of will to see the pony I loved most dying, and do nothing. Pride has ever been my greatest weakness, even now. Then it was so much stronger. You know the story of what followed. It has been taught in history books—greatly altered so as to avoid casting a poor light on Celestia—for as long as Equestria has had a public education system.”

Then he disappeared from Trixie’s after-life.

Sylph met Trixie in the main foyer. A wide grin grew as Trixie approached, and she bowed her head a little in greeting in the Halla way.

“There is something I wish you to have, and a request that goes along with it,” Sylph said, head still bowed. From a pocket in her cloak she produced a star amethyst. Within the heart of the violet gemstone hung a white star, twisting and dancing as it perpetually fell. “The gem is enchanted with one of my songs. All you need is place it to your ear, and the song will play. If you do manage to escape Tartarus, and by the goddess’ grace, find your way home to Ioka, could you seek an old friend of mine and pass along a message for me?”

“The Great…” Trixie paused, shook her head, and continued with, “I promise to try. Who is this friend?”

“If she is still alive, she would go by the title of The Sorceress, or simply Velvet Sparkle.”

Trixie’s nostrils flared with surprised indignation, but she took the gem with a stiff nod.

“Tell her that I forgive her for killing me.”

If she’d been slapped, Trixie could not have been more shocked. To learn Sylph was a victim of the Bloody Baroness was amazing alone, that Sylph forgave the pony who killed her almost unthinkable. Baroness Sparkle earned her title for the violent death of Trixie’s own mother, the late Countess Lulamoon. Trixie never ascertained her feelings on the subject. Part of her was glad her mother was dead. The mare was everything a mother should strive to avoid; domineering, manipulative, emotionally abusive, and cruel. Regrets at never fully confronting her mother swirled in her heart.

Though, if she wanted, Trixie without a doubt could locate her mother in Tartarus. There was no way she had crossed back to the Font yet. She was out there, somewhere, in the district.

Placing the star amethyst in a buttoned pocket on the inside of her cloak, Trixie said, “I will make certain to pass your message along.”

“Thank you, Trixie,” Sylph burst into happy tears, wrapping her hooves around Trixie in a crushing hug. After holding it a minute longer than Trixie was comfortable, Sylph let go and bid Trixie a fond farewell.

Smiling, steps light, Trixie left Sombra’s tower. Outside the fence she turned back, and saw him illuminated in one of the upper windows. The ancient wizard tipped her a salute, the bond of master and apprentice forevermore etched between them. Returning the salute, Trixie turned, and disappeared down the hill.

Before she’d gone more than a few blocks, she sensed a change in the district.

There was an air of uncertainty within the streets, a palpable sense of something being amiss. Ponies moved as if they’d woken from a daze, blinking, staring out at the dreary streets in horror, clutching each other and hiding beneath tattered awnings. Oppressive dread weighed every step, every look, and every moment.

It was not hard to discover the cause. At street corners, and moving about in threes, were the Furies. Inscrutable gazes fixed forward, they marched from house to house, their purpose utterly inscrutable. Trixie wondered if they were searching for something, or somepony.

Sucking a sharp breath between her teeth, Trixie took to the back alleys. Even these were not safe.

A former queen grovelled in the mud on her knees before a trio of Furies. Hooves clasped, she begged for mercy, but the alicorns had none. They stared at her with pitiless eyes, swords unsheathed.

“Mercy, mercy!” the former queen cried, spectral tears running through her fur. “I will tell you anything, do anything, just have mercy!”

“There is no pardon nor forgiveness we can offer thee for thine crimes,” spoke the leader of the Furies. “Only Justice long deserved and overdue. In Tartarus you have lingered far longer than any of your kin, long enough that all who knew your name have long since passed twice again through the Font. You have broken curfew, and shall be punished. Is there any claim you wish to make against this accusation?”

“I did not know!” wept the former queen. “How could I? I exist in a hovel not far from here, alone, isolated, keeping to myself. All I brought with me from life has long since been spent. There is nothing I possess to trade for even the most trivial of knowledge or gossip. I swear I was ignorant of there being a curfew.”

“Lies!” spat the second of the Furies. “We smell the lingering stench of your falsehoods, as we do the crimes you committed in life. Matricide, to claim a crown you wore but a year before poison found its way to your food. A long history of murder perpetuated through the ages has stained your descendants and forebears alike.”

Trixie did not stay to hear what the queen said next. Whatever it was, the unfortunate pony’s screams spoke of how little the Furies were pleased.

Through twists and turns in the alleys Trixie hurried. She didn’t see any more of the Furies until she came across a towering temple where the final warrens between her and the manor used to reside. Dozens of the alicorns came and went out of the gothic structure.

Gargoyles clung to a thousand different perches across the bleak stone facade or in nooks on the giant crenulated columns, each as thick as two ponies nose to nose. Up they soared, two hundred hooves in height to support a broad roof. Carved deep into every surface, images of the Furies glared down on the street. Within the marble they marched, warred, and punished the wicked. No matter their position, no matter the action within which they were poised, the figures gazed towards a single point at the very peak of the temple. There, bathed in the radiance of eight-armed sun, stood a severe, yet beautiful figure grabbed in a thin robe that billowed in a wind. Wings spread wide, and horn clad in lapis lazuli, the statue was flanked by a floating set of scales on her left, and a sword on her right. Her gaze pierced Trixie, though it was just stone, and left her with a sensation of being so small and insignificant.

Trixie forced her eyes away from that judging figure, and broke into a swift canter. The canter turned into a gallop, Trixie dashing through the alleys and streets, heedless of the stares she drew from the other dead, and the curiosity she piqued in the Furies. She came to a sharp halt, hooves slipping on the slimy cobblestones, as a Fury appeared right in her path.

The Fury’s pink eyes locked onto Trixie, a frown at play beneath her glittering helm. A wing shifted, revealing a sword tucked tight against her side. For a moment, Trixie had a vision of the silvery blade flashing from its scabbard and cut across her throat in a single motion. Overwhelming strength directed by an uncompromising will garbed the Fury as if it were a cloak.

“Whatever your purpose in this district, Elysian, you should hasten to complete. A great shift is on the horizon, and you do not wish to be caught in its path. Go with Tyr’s blessing, fallen hero.” This said, the Fury stepped around Trixie and headed towards the temple.

Shocked speechless, Trixie gaped at the Fury until she’d vanished into the temple’s inky interior.

For the remainder of her journey Trixie walked boldly through the streets and alleyways. Twice more she encountered a Fury, and each time they passed her with only the same, brief warning.

Trixie became aware of something strange, something missing. For several minutes she’d couldn’t place what was bothering her. She slowed and stared back the way she’d come, wondering if she was being followed, but there was nopony behind her. Pushing back the hood of her cloak, Trixie breathed in the damp, moldy air of the underworld, and that was when it struck her.

It had stopped raining.

Slowing, she gazed up at the dark clouds foaming so far overhead. They were still heavy, leaden with fresh rain just waiting to fall. But, they also seemed to be waiting, or perhaps just building.

All too slowly she reached Lethe’s manor. The air hummed with uncertainty, and Trixie was so relieved to be home that she didn’t notice the locks had been left undone, or that Rarity was missing from her window. Calling out as she entered, Trixie’s first hint that something was amiss was the lingering scent of burnt aether coiling through the manor. Scorched marks filled the entrance hall, and bits of spectral remnant lay splattered along the walls and banister. Busts and paintings lay scattered and askew, and discarded weapons were thick across the carpets.

Trixie dashed up the stairs, and found a similar scene on the second floor. Without slowing she threw open the door to Rarity’s room and burst through. Anchor and Rarity were both missing. Lifeless heart seizing in her chest, Trixie entered the room and glanced around.

There was no sign of a struggle or damage as with the rest of the manor. Everything appeared as if Rarity had merely stepped out for a minute.

Except, the room showed signs of wear and decay where the nature of Tartarus encroached and reclaimed what Rarity’s presence had made new. Patchy splotches of bare threads let in dreary light through the curtains. Scuffs marks marred the hinges of the wardrobe and there were scratches on the latches. Rarity’s bed was unmade.

Trixie estimated it had been a few hours, maybe less, since Rarity was taken.

Stepping further into the room, Trixie’s hooves squelched into a puddle of spectral ichor.

Heart sinking further, Trixie looked down at the remains of a dead spirit. Anchor’s earrings lay in the remnants,

Turning around, Trixie found herself confronted by the zebra brothers. Heads bowed, they moved their lips in silent chants as they swayed with passionate fervor.

At Trixie’s entrance they rose, and faced her with wild, rolling eyes. Roaring in Zebenese, the pair hurled themselves at Trixie. Caught off guard, Trixie was rammed in the chest and pressed up against the wall by the younger brother. The elder sibling sprang up, hoof connecting with the point of her horn in a savage blow. Head snapping to the side, stars exploding across her vision, Trixie fell limp in the younger brother’s grasp.

The speed of their assault, the fury of their blows, it left her senseless. Thoughts muddy as she fought through the pain of disrupted aether she made only a slight note as she was bound in thick leather thongs and dragged from the room. Carring little for her well being, the brothers hauled as they would a sack of grain, tossing her into a heavy sack that they lugged down the stairs. They took every opportunity to slam her into walls and door edges, anything to keep her from spellwork.

Cold air tingled through the scratchy burlap as they left the manor. Trixie did her best to keep track of where they were going, but was hopelessly lost before they’d even left the desolate gardens. Every slight corner turned her about. She thought they’d gone miles instead of only a block or two. Muffled noises all seemed to indicate they were in cramped alleys.

The pounding in her head and continued abuse only further disoriented her. Even then, she attempted to form some sort of spell. When she did, the sack tightened around her like the coils of a giant snake, crushing the magic from her mind. After three failed attempts Trixie gave up, and resigned herself to waiting until they reached their destination.

After what seemed hours she was brought into a cavernous building, judging be the faint echoes and clomp of hooves on wood. Voices, a lot of voices, whispered around the edges, making Trixie’s skin crawl.

With a sudden shift, Trixie was dumped out of the sack onto the hard floor, tumbling into a mess of entangled legs. Growls in her throat, Trixie untangled herself and stood with an arrogant flip of her mane.

“Good, now the Great and Powerful Trixie…” Her voice faded away at the number of faces surrounding her.

Hundreds of ponies, zebras, and even the large bulk of a minotaur were arrayed about her. Some hung from scaffolds meant for crates, while others stood around tables covered in glittering gold. Of greater concern was that every one of them wore belts or thick girdles through which weapons were thrust. Sabres and daggers glittered with keen edges in the ponie’s belts, and the head of a sledge rested on the minotaur’s shoulder.

A nervous, anxious air permeated the rogues. They twitched and played with their weapons. Some whispered and made rude gestures. All of the scowled.

The glittering, pristine quality of the weapons, coupled with the spotless nature of the warehouse told Trixie that Rarity was near. Her suspicions were confirmed as the crowd parted to reveal a throne atop a slightly raised platform on which Rarity had been placed.

Eyes glazed, Rarity stared out over the crowd not really seeing it, or anything else, still lost in the fractures of her soul.

But, it was the pony next to Rarity that gripped Trixie’s attention.

Face covered in the slick gore of spectral fluids, Anchor lorded over the rogues with a manic gleam to her eyes. Part of an ear was missing, and razor thin wounds criss-crossed one shoulder. At her hooves, in a pool of bubbling plasm, lay a bejeweled sabre. She stared through Trixie, and then trembled when noticing her, demeanor shifting in an unsettling ripple.

With a smile like a cat who just spotted a nicely fattened mouse, Anchor snatched up the sabre, and thrust it through a wide sash around her waist. The rogues leaned closer to her, narrowing their eyes, some licking their lips. A few dropped hooves or hands to the hilts of sword or dirks.

In a carrying voice, Anchor proclaimed, “I’m the boss now, got it? Any of you wastrels thinking otherwise can challenge me now, otherwise…” The threat hung like a dead pony from a yardarm over the assembled group. A few murmured, but none stepped forward in challenge.

“Good.” Anchor smirked wider still, and turned all her malicious attention towards Trixie.

Trixie let out a relieved sigh. Anchor was… well, not alive, given everypony in Tartarus was a spirit. Safe. Anchor was safe. And so was Rarity.

Except, why take Rarity from the manor? Why the crowd of unsavory souls?

Trixie darted worried glances around the crowd again, and spotted signs of old sailors wounds. Peg-legs, eye-patches, and brocade coats here and there, others with sennit hats or bandanas, and all together an unsavory lot.

This was Anchor’s old crew, and those she’d gathered over the years. Pirates and brigands in life, and a band of fanatical rogues in death.

“Anchor, what is going on?” Trixie demanded, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin at a commanding angle. “Lethe said to keep Rarity in the manor. Who are these ponies?”

Hopping off the platform, Anchor marched up towards Trixie. A warning flashed in Trixie the same moment Anchor drew a dagger from her bandoleer. In a swift blur, Anchor lunged, hilt of her gleaming blade clamped in her teeth.

Sharp pain lanced through Trixie’s side, just behind her right-foreleg. Spectral fluid gushed into her lungs, and up her throat in choking gasps. Her legs gave way, her head hitting oak floor with a loud crack. Stars popped across her vision, and the crowd spun around her as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

Anchor slid the dagger back into its holster beneath her braid. Leaning down, Anchor reached over and pressed a hoof to the deep wound. A twist of her hoof brought a scream gurgling from Trixie.

“I hit a lung, good,” the pirate sneered. She grabbed Trixie by the mane, and wrenched her head up so she was looking at Rarity.

“She is my daughter. Mine! My precious little Ritty. Not yours to barter for favours! I will keep her safe, and she will carry me from this place.” Madness swam in Anchor’s eyes, and gave her voice a chaotic crackle. “You plot to steal her from me. To give her to that whoreson half-dragon in payment for his magics. Do not deny it! Months I’ve had to understand your betrayal. And months I have had to prepare. I know all about you, Trixie Lulamoon. What you did to my Ritty in Ponyville. The way you tormented and belittled her in front of other ponies for your own amusement. I should have known you’d betray me from the start.”

Trixie tried to speak, to deny the allegations, but all that came was a foamy slur.

She wanted to say that she wasn’t the same pony she’d been when visiting Ponyville. She’d changed. Grown. That taking care of a filly had made her a better pony. And it had. She’d been bound for Elysium, after-all.

“You were never needed. A mistake of fate put you in her path, nothing more. Even without you, my Ritty would have found her way back to her mama.”

On her throne, Rarity stared blankly at Trixie and Anchor, seeing neither of them.

Shoving Trixie’s head back to the floor, Anchor stood and trotted in a wide circle, addressing her grinning crew. Anger flashed. Trixie beratted herself for trusting anypony in Tartarus. She should have known better. Betrayal burned through Trixie’s veins as Anchor flaunted her victory to her crew.

It was all the opening Trixie needed.

If she’d been alive, the wound would have been both mortal, and slow to kill her as her lungs filled with choking fluid. Already dead and an elysian her spiritual body quickly mended. Sombra’s lessons, far more brutal at times, gave her the strength to fight.

Though lacking a magic circle, desperation and hatred burned through Trixie. She could not believe she’d been so foolish as to trust Anchor. The betrayal cut deep, and Trixie clung onto that pain as fuel for her magic. Surrounded by so many rogues it was impossible to escape on her own. Her only hope was Rarity.

Anchor, confident of her supremacy over Trixie, failed to notice the building magic tingling through the air. Keeping her aura from her horn until the last moment, a victorious grin twisted Trixie’s lips as the spell reached completion.

Cries filled the warehouse as a beam of blue aether fired from Trixie’s horn to strike Rarity on the brow. There was a second of hard resistance, and then Trixie plunged into Rarity’s mind.

Author's Note

Up until the night before posting, it was the intention to have this chapter conclude the Tartarus arc. While discussing the chapter, it was agreed that the events in Rarity's mind could use a bit more fleshing out.

For anyone surprised about Anchor's betrayal, two things; she is a pirate, and, this is Tartarus. While it is true that a lot of 'good' or otherwise okay ponies still end up in Tartarus (Elysium being rather picky on who they admit into their city), so too do all the bad, vile, wicked, and wretched dregs of society.

The part I am most proud of has to be the Moirai's prophecy to little colt Sombra. It both came together beautifully, and took weeks of tweaking to get just right. That prophecy had a lot of work to do, as it isn't just establishing some more information of Sombra, it is also the first definitive appearance by the Fates in Myths and Birthrights' main or side-stories. The Moirai have long been a shadowing boogeyman within my various stories, pulling strings, manipulating ponies, setting events into motion, all in their private war with Faust. When even Zeus doesn't want to tangle with them, you know they are not to be trifled with.

We'll be seeing more of the Moirai later.

First, Trixie and Rarity will need to escape the Underworld.

Part Four

The Rariad
By Tundara

4: Tartarus

None of Trixie’s training prepared her for the maelstrom that met her intrusion. Screaming winds of violent hues tore at her, scouring her essence through her fur and cloak. Tossed about, Trixie had no control as she fell through the tumultuous rapids. Buildings and objects raced past her; a foalhood home with a yapping brown dog, some large split boulder, a sleek schooner with tattered sails, and dresses. So many dresses.

They were joined by a cacophony of unintelligible voices. Some Trixie thought she might recognise, but most were of ponies that held no importance to her. Flashes lit the storm, and the voices turned into buffeting winds.

Trixie reached the bottom with a heavy thud, and rolled down a sharp hill until she struck the roots of a tree. Shaking her head, Trixie pushed herself up. She ached all over despite her body not being real. The roots belonged to a very familiar tree-turned-library. The bitter taste of unpleasant memories flooded Trixie’s mouth. Quickly, she moved away from the tree, looking for the place Rarity kept her memories.

She found herself back in Ponyville, altered and scarred by tragedy. The buildings were tumble-worn and dilapidated, even by Tartarus’ standards. Nothing green remained, the grass an ugly grey that sloughed into dust at the slightest touch, and trees of pallid, sickly yellow devoid of bark or leaves. Over the dead town raged wild clouds and howling winds.

That storm refused to let Trixie advance, growing in savage severity, screaming at her to go away.

Trixie pushed ahead, body lowered to get under the storm. She could see only a few meters in any direction, her progress further hampered by the ground cloying around her hooves like fine sand.

Through the shrieking of Rarity’s broken mind came discordant noise, like the tune of a broken music box playing the same few notes over and over. Shielding her eyes, Trixie peered and saw a dark shape a short distance ahead. Pressing on, Trixie struggled, grunting with the effort of every step until she came into the shadow of Rarity’s shop.

Carousel Boutique had seen far better days. Faded paint and bare weathered wood echoed the desolate nature of Rarity’s psyche. The door hung ascance on bent hinges, and creaked in the wind as it swung unable to be properly latched. In a grimy window flickered the guttering remnants of a candle.

Inside everything was askance. Showroom dummies heaped against the door to the stairs. Mounds of tattered dresses covered the floor, while torn curtains acted as poor veils for the changing room. There was nothing that would indicate a precious memory.

Outside the boutique, Anchor’s laughter crackled like lightning.

Searching the room turned up only scraps of Rarity’s life.

She was about to leave when an oily whisper issued from between a set of ratty, heavy wool drapes. On closer inspection, Trixie could make out the faint outline of a door behind. Edging a little closer, curiosity battled with caution. Instincts screamed at her to leave the door alone, that it was trouble of the worst sort.

Her aura hissed like water on a burning skillet when it touched the doorknob.

Licking her lips, Trixie slowly turned the knob, ready slam the door shut.

At once the door slammed open with a deafening crescendo and Trixie was blown off her hooves, sent tumbling into the middle of the boutique. Shaking her head to clear the numbness left by the door being wrenched out of her aura, Trixie found herself standing in a glowing patch cast from the opening.

A maw of writhing light consumed the doorway, spilling out like the entrails of gutted fish across the floor, and in the center swayed a pony. Trixie could only just make her out, and only by using the corners of her eyes. Seeing her without looking at her.

“Who is there?” Trixie demanded, backing further away.

Entropy. Anarchy. Discord. Chaos. The everlasting flow. She is everything. And nothing. The great distortion at the heart of all things. The thrumming sun of blood-red dreams. The First. The Last. The one from which all others emerged. And submerge. The Screaming Sultan. She is beyond comprehension. She is Yarmalyth.

The voice burrowed into Trixie like a swarm of maggots gnawing at flesh and soul alike. Screaming, she collapsed, hooves clutching at her head. Whatever spoke, its attention was not directed at Trixie.

You are but an echo of a dream. The frayed strands of an errant thought. You are nothing.

Teeth clenched tight enough to crack, Trixie tried to fight against the seething waves of madness every syllable carried. The entity within the doorway took a step closer, out of the light, and for the briefest instant Trixie beheld…

Her mind went blank, the only way to protect her from whatever it was that approached.

And still it spoke, though Trixie was certain that the being had no mouth from which to utter a voice.

She exists in all things. Inside each of you is the tiniest part of Her. Her voice is the first and last thing you hear. Omnipresent through every moment of your pitiable existence. You. All of you. All Life exists because She willed it to be so. Because She proclaimed it to be so.

Fumbling, like a newborn reaching for her mother’s protection, Trixie groped for the door. She had to close it. Had to muffle the voice. Otherwise she was doomed to a fate worse than even Tartarus.

Soon She wakes. And Her dreams end.

She slammed the door shut. The light was snuffed. A dreadful silence claimed the boutique.

Released from the slithering grasp of insanity, Trixie bolted from the boutique. She didn’t stop running until she reached the other side of town. Focused on avoiding thinking about whatever she’d encountered in the boutique, Trixie failed to notice the ponies now milling about town. Or that the storm had abated. It wasn’t until she reached the shade of a white sided tower that she came to a stop.

Heart racing, Trixie collapsed onto her haunches. Sweat cascaded down her back and legs as if she’d just finished a marathon.

When she shut her eyes, across the edges of perception, there remained traces of tainted light. Furiously she tried to scrub away the images of the thing in the boutique. Like rotted wood they sloughed away, but left behind a residue, a mark that would stay with Trixie till the end of days.

How long she remained there, shivering in the sheltering shade, Trixie could barely begin to guess. Time was a strange, ephemeral entity within a mind.

Slow at times, with days contained in the space of a heartbeat.

Moving at a furious pace others, a moment taking hours to pass.

She couldn't linger, wallow in the creeping realization that there was something else in Rarity’s psyche.

Trixie blinked, laughed, and shook her head.

Of course there was something else in here. Rarity had been host to a mad goddess. To think that all vestiges of Serene were expunged was foolish. Sombra warned her to be careful. That Rarity’s mind was shattered. Who knew what other dangers lurked in the fragmented corners where sanity gave way to madness?

Pushing herself up, Trixie attempted to re-orient herself. She found herself next to a long building unlike any she’d ever seen in Equestria. Whitewashed walls topped with red clay formed a courtyard around a single level complex. A covered patio lined the front of the building, stretching around a hook shaped corner. Olive trees, and dry, dusty ground filled the courtyard, centered around a pleasant, clear fountain. In her terrified flight, she’d entered the courtyard and huddled in the narrow gap between the outer wall and main building.

“Is this from Gaea?” Trixie asked herself, as nopony else was present.

Peeking in through an open doorway, carefully lest It lurked in every building, Trixie saw a shallow pool surrounded by mosaic tilework.

From within bubbled the laughter of foals, sending a chill up Trixie’s spine.

With the encounter in the boutique so fresh, Trixie decided better than to explore what had to be some portion of the mad-alicorn Serene.

She left the complex, and only now noticed the ponies moving about the streets.

Drab coated, with heads hanging low, the ponies moved in slow, dragging motions like drudges on their way to work. These were broken things, spirits snuffed out under the weight of horrendous toil. What they were doing in the mind of one of the most dynamic and exuberant ponies in recent memory stymied Trixie.

More interesting, they were all headed in the same direction. Looking up and down the line, Trixie wondered which way to go. Find the source, or where they were headed.

A flash of bright colour stole Trixie’s attention before she could make up her mind. On the other side of the trudging ponies bobbed an amethyst mane in a very familiar coiffe.

Darting through the line, Trixie called out, “Rarity?”

The bobbing mane stopped, and Trixie found herself confronting a very young Rarity in her early teens. Around her neck hung a slender chain with a brass key, the head shaped into a diamond like her mark. The young mare’s brilliant, sapphire eyes flew open, and she backpedaled to get some distance between her and Trixie.

“Who are you? Are you with her? Are you after me--us, too?” Young Rarity squeaked, voice cracking with youth.

“No, Trixie is here to help.” Trixie didn’t advance, and instead tried to appear as non-threatening as possible.

Young Rarity cast a long, sidelong look over Trixie, and then behind her as if expecting a trap.

“Is somepony after you?” Trixie asked. “Somepony in the boutique?”

At the mention of the boutique Young Rarity winced and looked around even more frightened. “Shh! Don’t mention that thing. Rarity--I put it in the boutique to keep us--her, safe. It’s the last, tiny bit of Discord. The bit that made her--us turn on our--her friends. She--we, put it there, cause that's where we--her, were strongest. But, now Rarity--I’m not strong enough to fight it. If it got loose…” Young Rarity shook her head violently.

“So, what are you doing?” Trixie took a few steps closer, then stopped when the young mare grew skittish again.

“I’m looking for her--me--us,” Young Rarity bit her lower lip, and cast a sidelong glance at the line of ponies trudging past like she fully didn’t trust them. “We find each other, sometimes. But always get broken apart by the storm.”

Young Rarity turned away, and began going down a side-street, away from the line of drab, nondescript ponies. As she turned, Trixie caught her first good look at Young Rarity’s cutie mark, a single blue diamond. After spending months and months with the mare, Trixie was well acquainted with the trio of gems that made up Rarity’s mark. Seeing only one on the young mare’s flank gave Trixie an idea.

“Why not let Trixie help you search? We’ll be able to find the other’s faster that way. What do they look like?”

Young Rarity gave Trixie a surprised look, and frowned.

“It doesn’t matter. We find each other all the time. But it isn’t enough. Something else is missing. Maybe you can find what I--we have missed. Maybe… Maybe… Yes, we--I will trust you.” Young Rarity stepped closer to Rarity, almost pressing up against her, and gave her an expectant look.

“Okay,” Trixie took a step back, and Young Rarity followed.

“Where should,” another step, and Young Rarity followed again.

“We look?” Trixie backed up into the wall of the Gaean compound.

Young Rarity shrugged, and sat down like a puppy, head even cocked at a curious tilt.

Sighing, but hopeful she was perhaps on the proper path at last, Trixie signalled with a wave of her hoof for Young Rarity to follow. The gesture was unneeded, Young Rarity skipping along right behind Trixie.

Turning along the endless line of drab, nondescript ponies, Trixie decided to see if she could find where Young Rarity had come from, and perhaps some clue what she needed to do to heal Rarity. Or, at least where the ponies were headed.

It quickly became apparent that the line was perhaps going nowhere. Every so often it would break into two, or three new lines, or merge with another. Endlessly, the drab ponies shuffled. They went past the Book and Branches Library, and in the doorway sat a painted statue of Twilight Sparkle, dead leaves covering her. Similar statues waited outside Sugarcube Corner, Pinkie Pie leaning against the cracked and rotten gingerbread styled building. Or, the run-down cottage owned by Fluttershy, Applejack at a fallow Sweet Apple Acres’ gates, Sweetie Belle and her father waiting in front of their broken down townhome, and finally, Rainbow Dash floating in the middle of the scraps of her cloud-house. It wasn’t until Trixie found herself passing the Gaean complex again that she realised that the drab ponies were simply trapped in a loop visiting the ruins of Rarity’s friends and family.

Young Rarity slowed at the statues, sometimes touching one, or saying a few words to another as if asked a question. At the first statue, Trixie thought it might be a key. The idea was dismissed when there was no reaction to any of her magic or attempts to get a response from the statues. These were simply monuments to Rarity’s connections in life, and held not even a scrap of magic or deeper meaning.

Sighing at the time wasted, Trixie paused in the street to contemplate her next move.

As she gazed along the various lanes, Young Rarity humming next to her, a low rumble sounded in the near distance.

Blanching, Young Rarity yelped, and ducked into Trixie’s shadow. “I--we need to go now. Find a place to hide.”

About to reproach Young Rarity, a shadow fell over them. Glancing up, wondering what was happening now, Trixie beheld a wild, reddish-blue sandstorm materialize at the edge of town. Impressions of ponies locked in battle etched into its roiling edge, the storm bore down on the town with a terrible howl. It rushed through the streets, the lines of drab ponies shattering into clouds of dust that joined the roiling mass.

Cursing, Trixie darted towards the nearest door, and found it locked and boarded shut.

So too was the next door, and the next.

The buildings around her rattled and shook at the approaching fury.

With time for only one more attempt, Trixie darted to the least faded door.

It was a simple, round green door, cut into the side of a brick wall. Over the door hung a sign proclaiming the establishment as the Lost Possibilities Lounge. At her approach, it swung open, as if inviting her to come through. Trixie hesitated, Young Rarity dancing on her hooves right on her tail.

The door in the boutique made Trixie cautious, wondering what sort of evil Rarity had hidden within. What monster lay in wait if they went through the door?

With the storm moments from claiming them, Young Rarity pushed Trixie inside, and into an entirely different world.

A bouncy tune mingled among the smoke from cigars and fine alcohol. Patrons sat at a long oaken topped bar, tended by a Rarity in snappy vest and short, bobbed mane. Martini glasses, and whisky shots hovered in her aura, served to more Rarities sitting on leather benches or at the little tables arrayed before a small stage. Moving between the tables, a couple more Rarities in black, lace stockings and tight girdles, with tails done up like the fluffy bump of a bunny served the patrons watching the singer commanding their attention.

Like everypony else in the room, the band was made up of clones of Rarity, but slightly off. Here one wore a smoking jacket as she strummed a cello in a deep, booming beat. There another with a bowler pulled over her eyes danced her magic along the keys of a pianoforte. Between them a Rarity on back hooves, one of the new brass saxophones held in hooves creating a sharp melody. And before the players, the singer in long dress with mane done up with flowers and peacock feathers.

Trixie had heard rumours of the ‘jazz bars’ of Manehatten and Colton, but never imagined such a place actually existing.

“So, what are you escaping, darling?” asked a sharp, nasally voice behind Trixie, making her jump with a gasp.

Spinning around, Trixie found herself towering over a slender Filly Rarity. She was Rarity in miniature, same spiral tail and mane, same perfectly white coat. Only a blue diamond shaped mane-pin marking a difference. A gap-toothed smile gave her an air of innocence at odds with the sharp intellect of her eyes. Trixie’s skin crawled at the calculating gaze, as if she were a piece of cloth being readied for cutting.

“Come on, either in or out,” Bartender Rarity called with a harsh Manehatten shout. “But stop blocking the way for others.”

“Best not to make her mad, darling,” Filly Rarity said as she slipped around Trixie.

As with Young Rarity, Filly Rarity had but a single gem on her flank. Swishing her tail, Filly Rarity made her way to the bar, and scrambled up into a seat.

“Two Marelanta Sapphires, darling, and don’t skimp on the olives in mine,” Filly Rarity called over to the bartender in a cultured purr before she’d even fully settled. Waving Trixie over, Filly Rarity patted the seat next to her. “Sit over here, and tell me--us what brings you into this troubled mind?”

“Hey, what about me--us?” Young Rarity demanded, sticking out her lower lip.

“Oh, are we--you still here? It seemed more than ample time for you--us to go off wandering the streets like a pathetic ragamuffin, again.”

Young Rarity’s face puffed up at the insult, and she responded by sticking out her tongue before turning her back on her younger version. Sighing, and rolling her eyes, Filly Rarity resumed ignoring her other self, attention back on Trixie.

The lounge rattled as if it had been built beneath a train trestle. The beams showed heavy wear, cracks in their surface, and dust cascaded down every few minutes from the boards overhead.

“Trixie…” Trixie’s voice faded away, unsure what she should do. With the storm back, going outside was pointless. Filly Rarity was, somehow, connected to the Young Rarity. Seeing little point in refusing, Trixie slipped onto the barstool.

“So, Trixie is it?” Filly Rarity gave a sultry hum that set Trixie on edge. “It is very strange to see a new face. All we--I see are other Rarities. This is the most interesting thing to happen since… why, I--we can’t begin to recall.”

Noting the odd way Filly Rarity spoke, exactly like Young Rarity, Trixie replied, “The Great and Powerful Trixie needs to fix her friend’s mind. Her friend is in need.”

“Hmmm… Liar.” The filly snorted the word much as she would spit out a sour seed. “You went and got involved with her--my mama, and she is a very, very, very bad pony. Mother warned time and again that Mama Anchor was a bad influence. It would have been easy for me--us to end up like her. You can see for yourself, Pirate Rarity sits right over there.”

Filly Rarity pointed to a table, where a Rarity in wide brimmed, feathered hat and double-breasted coat sat watching the show, a large, foaming mug in front of her. A black eyepatch covered an eye, around which poked pink scar tissue. In the golden sash about her waist hung a saber, much like the one Anchor had claimed not long ago. An air of menace hung about Pirate Rarity, a dangerous curve to her bawdy laughter.

“I--we could have easily become her, but Fate put us on another path. So much the better. We--I would have hated to become that uncouth, unscrupulous ruffian.” Watching Trixie over her drink, Filly Rarity asked, “Why are you risking everything trying to piece our--my ruined mind back together?”

Trixie bit off a reflexive response. The filly watched her with too keen an eye, as if she could actually see lies like they were black oil contaminating a once pure stream.

Swirling her untouched drink, Trixie decided to use the truth. Lies served no purpose, regardless.

“Trixie is in trouble, and Rarity is the only pony who can save me.” The words tasted a little sour in her mouth, and brought with them the pressing issue of time.

How long had she been in Rarity’s mind?

Too long, if Trixie had to guess.

Filly Rarity huffed, and downed the remainder of her drink in a single gulp. Grinning broadly as her tiny hoof struck the countertop, Filly Rarity said, “A selfish response, but an honest one. I--we can work with that, darling. It isn’t as if we--I have any other options.”

“Oh, you listen to her, but not me--us?” Young Rarity puffed up her cheeks in a foalish frown.

“She isn’t a spoiled brat, deary,” Filly Rarity shot back, briefly acknowledging her counterpart, before again dismissing her with a flick of her mane.

“We need to go to where it all began. Where I--we found our--my purpose.” From outside came a low, hungry growl. Ears perking up, all the Rarities leapt out of their seats, shifting from hoof to hoof.

The music stopped. The crowd disappeared through side-doors, trap-doors, or the folds between curtains.

“Follow me--us,” Filly Rarity jumped down, and gave Trixie a shove. The filly was surprisingly strong, and Trixie stumbled a few steps. Grunting, Filly Rarity drove Trixie towards a small trap door behind the bar. Hardly pausing, the filly flung open the door and pushed Trixie through.

There was a moment of disconcerting spinning light and nausea inducing descent before soft ground was again under Trixie’s hooves. She found herself next to a placid pond in a well tended garden. Beyond the garden’s boundaries loomed a wall of wild, unkempt trees. Shadows between dark trunks and lanky limbs held glowing eyes that promised despair, danger, and derangement. A couple thumps issued behind Trixie as the two Rarities landed on the grass.

The storm was nowhere in sight, the sky clear but for a few drifting white strands.

Several paths led from the gardens, some well kempt, others wild and unruly. There was a brick lane, gravel tracks, and dusty trails to choose from.

“This way, Trixie,” both of the Rarities said at the same time, each at different paths. Young Rarity selected the brick lane, while Filly Rarity was part way down a trail of cedar chips. Both lead towards the thinnest portion of the forest walls, where, just over the treetops, rooves could be seen.

“No, Trixie believes this is the proper way,” Trixie replied, selecting the most unkempt and unused of the trails, one leading into the darkest part of the forest.

She had no reason to select the path other than a suspicion that both Rarities were going to be wrong, and the only commonality was that they wanted to head back towards the town. A town that had yet to be anything more than an empty, twisting maze.

If she was going to find find Rarity’s true self, or the lynchpin of her past, it was going to be in a place unfrequented.

Working on that hope, Trixie marched along the trail at a determined pace. Both Rarities tried to stop her, pleading with her to chose their paths. When it was apparent she had no intention of going down either, both gave up and darted to catch up to her.

The forest quickly grew thicker and thicker. Shapes moved among the shadows just out of reach. The faces of changelings, fangs glintings, the glowing eyes of hungry timberwolves, heavy footfalls and tawny bulk of a chimera circled the small group. Trixie’s nostrils filled with a putrid stench, the source of which remained hidden. Low growls hurried them down the trail. Trixie refused to break into a gallop. Such would only entice monsters to attack.

Monsters were not alone in the fearful forest.

Red foreclosure notices swirled around Trixie’s hooves like autumn leaves. Derision sang from the throats of cruelly smirking birds. Smokey shapes snickered, backs turned to the trio. A heavy, oppressive gloomy weight of judgement pressed down on Trixie. As a stage performer, it was a weight she was accustomed to shrugging, though never fully.

Her gut began to twist. Irrational fear creeping around the edges.

Both Rarities sunk their heads lower and lower, ears pressed flat and their tails dragging through the dirt.

She’d chosen the wrong path. They should turn back, return to the town. That was where Rarity spent the majority of her life. Surely, whatever keystone or bauble represented the core of ‘Rarity’ was somewhere back there.

A patch of light signalled the end of the forest. Or, a glade of sorts. Speeding up a little, Trixie took comfort in leaving the forest behind.

She was almost at a gallop by the time she burst onto a plateau of sorts. Ahead stretched the dark woods, much smaller than Trixie anticipated, and beyond them the town. All laid out like a map. There was a lack of realness, of depth, like Trixie was looking at a painting rather than a true vista.

The rhythmic creaking of wood drew her attention.

On a ledge overlooking the forest sat an old fashioned schoolhouse of the sort found in most every village and town throughout Equestria’s Heartlands. Only, this one was in very poor condition. Peeled red paint revealed boards weathered a pale white underneath. The roof sagged in places, and a few of the boards for the steps were missing.

Sitting in a rocking chair next to the door another Rarity knitted as she gently rocked herself.

With the first two Rarities still close to her, Trixie approached the aged schoolhouse, and called out, “Hello there!”

The Rarity didn’t so much as look up from her work. She had the fully developed lines and curves of an adult, and a single gem just like her younger counterparts.

Adult Rarity hummed, continuing to knit, one hoof idly keeping her rocking. The song was soft, slow, and comforting. Warmth seeped through Trixie, and she settled on the steps below this Rarity. She would not have minded spending days, or weeks, there in the sun, fears lulled by Rarity’s presence alone.

No, she couldn’t be lulled into false security! Trixie bit the tip of her tongue, and the spell was broken.

“Well, if it isn’t Trixie Lulamoon,” Adult Rarity huffed, at last lowering her knitting. “You’re not in the process of luring Ursa Minor and Major here, are you?”

“You remember Trixie?” Trixie yelped, snapping straight like she’d just been caught sneaking into school by a truancy officer.

“Darling, I--we could hardly forget you!” Knitting tossed aside, Adult Rarity leapt to her hooves, anger flashing in her eyes, turning crystal blue a harsh ruby. “You humiliated us--me in front of my--our friends and neighbors. Attempted to ruin our--my reputation! And then you tricked those silly foals into dragging those monsters into town! If not for Twilight, Ursa Major and Minor would have destroyed Ponyville, and killed who knows how many ponies! You should feel so lucky that nopony was hurt, and the arbiters found you faultless because you only told stories, rather than tell those silly foals to bait the Ursas. I--we would have been far less lenient!”

As she ranted, Adult Rarity loomed more and more over Trixie, pressing her up against a railing. Trixie hadn’t felt so small, foolish, and guilty since being a foal under the gaze of her disappointed father. Part of her growled that she had nothing to feel guilty about. It wasn’t her who brought the giant stellar beasts into Ponyville, after all, but those two idiot foals. She’d done nothing wrong! The arbiters had even agreed.

Except, Trixie knew that wasn’t true. She’d gone to Ponyville looking for a fight, and purposefully targeted the Elements of Harmony. Jealousy wormed in her heart, and she needed to bring the supposed heroes down a few pegs. She needed to sate her own bitterness and rejections.

Sighing, Trixie pushed herself up so she was eye to eye with Adult Rarity. “You are right. What I did was wrong. It was petty. Trixie, no, I harmed you, and I am sorry. Can you forgive me?”

Slightly flustered, Adult Rarity glanced away, and grumbled, “I--we wish you had done that years ago. Or, before you left us--me in the hooves of Mama Anchor.”

“You are aware of what has been happening?” Trixie raised a brow.

“Parts, darling, only parts.” Some thought came to Adult Rarity, her ears perking up, and face blanching beneath her white coat. “But, you should not be here! Twilight warned me--us once about how dangerous mind magic could be, and that was just trying to touch another pony’s thoughts. You… You are in our--my mind!”

Rolling her shoulders and lifting her chin in what she hoped was a heroic pose, Trixie laughed, and proclaimed, “But of course. This is nothing for the Great and Powerful Trixie! Illusions are just a form of mind-magic.”

“Then, maybe you can solve it,” Adult Rarity hummed, her gaze taking an appraising light, as if she were inspecting one of her dresses.

Blinking at the sudden shifts in attitude, Trixie repeated, “It?”

“We--I have been trying to solve it for months,” Filly Rarity snapped, jumping up next to Trixie on the schoolhouse porch. “There is no answer! The Elements have abandoned me--us.”

“Must we fight again?” Young Rarity entreated her other selves, making a calming gesture with one hoof.

“Trixie is a proper wizard, darling, and has travelled all over Equestria. Surely she must have some understanding we--I lack. At the least it is worth the attempt. What do I--we have to lose?”

Growing a little exasperated at being talked about, rather than included, Trixie stamped a hoof. “What are you talking about?”

“The Elements left something behind,” Young Rarity played with her mane, ignoring her counterparts much as they ignored her. “It is in there,” she indicated the door into the schoolhouse.

Ears perking up at the mention of the Elements of Harmony, Trixie at last felt close to answers. Stepping between the arguing Rarities, Trixie pushed her way into the schoolhouse.

Rather than desks, blackboards, and the smell of chalk mingling with the musk of old books, Trixie found herself in an ancient hall. One half was grand and ruined. Dark basalt columns covered in vines held aloft a vaulted night. Stars twinkled softly in the velvet tapestry, and Trixie could swear they were watching her. On the other side stood colonnades of white marble gilded in gold. Brilliant sunlight spilled between their wide gaps, revealing rolling green hills and distant white mountains. A fresh, spring breeze trickled Trixie’s nose.

Between the two halves was an odd contraption. At first Trixie assumed it to be some sort of astrolabe. Hoofball sized stone orbs held on thin poles were arrayed around a much larger, central orb. Grooves in the base allowed the outer orbs to be moved, though for what purpose alluded Trixie. Moss, lichens, and thick dirt covered much of the device.

Faint magic trickled through the air, growing and then fading in steady beats.

Behind her, the three Rarities entered the hall. Filly Rarity and Adult Rarity still bickered and snapped at each other, while Young Rarity slunk off around the outer edge.

Doing her best to ignore the arguing, Trixie circled the device slowly, inspecting every facet of it. The outer orbs all carried faint etchings similar to cutie marks; crossed thunderbolts, two joined hearts, a star-headed wand, a circle, and a crown. The last orb was bare.

“Okay, Trixie, clearly these are… something. Probably the Elements? But the marks are all wrong.” Trixie tapped her chin in thought. Turning to Young Rarity, she asked, “What do you know about this device?”

Young Rarity started to speak, but Filly Rarity snapped, “Oh, darling, don’t bother asking her--me anything. She--I knows nothing about the Elements of Harmony. They were after my--her time.”

Deciding that the Rarities would be as much trouble as help, Trixie focused on using her own judgement. She inspected the orbs, and room, again, ending up right back where she started. Along the outer walls and columns, a variety of other cutie marks could be just be made out. Dozens of them, ranging from the magical, martial, and mundane in nature.

“One of these must be the Element of Generosity,” Trixie mused as she wandered the other direction. “But, how does that help me fix Rarity?”

Having spent most of the last year with Rarity, Trixie could draw the mare’s mark in her sleep. The triple diamond design was rather plain, all things considered. Trixie found it half-hidden by a thick beard of vines, with enlarged version around the device itself. She glanced a couple times between the device, with its spinnable orbs, Rarity’s mark on the wall, and to the diamonds on the ground.

“No. It can’t be this easy. Can it?” Trixie sighed. Returning to the astrolabe, she looked closer at the marks on the orbs. “So… If my class on ‘Ancient Puzzle Devices and How To Solve Them’ is correct, then I’m going to have to align you with your counterparts from the current Elements of Harmony. How did that prophecy go? ‘Something something, the sixth will reveal itself?’ Well, that makes you the Element of Magic,” Trixie tapped the empty orb, “and the last one to position.”

“I--we think you are doing this wrong,” Young Rarity said, making Trixie jump. She hadn’t noticed Young Rarity approach. Poking the astrolabe, she sighed, “This thing has never worked.”

“Yes, well, you didn’t have the Great and Powerful Trixie to help you, did you?”

Young Rarity shook her head, and looked forlornly over to her still squabbling counterparts.

“No, we--I didn’t.”

Nodding at her own reasoning, Trixie returned her attention to the astrolabe.

She needed to remember the order of the Elements in the prophecy, figure out which orb corresponded, and then align them with the marks on the wall. All while under a strict time constraint. Trixie wasn’t certain how much fast time was moving in Rarity’s mind compared to the real world, but it wasn’t enough for her to dawdle any longer.

“Okay, time to amaze,” she muttered, loosening her shoulders and jogging on the spot as if getting ready for a race, rather than sorting through a logic and memory puzzle. “You just need to remember your history lessons about the original Elements of Harmony. There was… uh… Truth? Valour? Oh, sod it!”

Trixie knew the current bearers marks, found them on the walls, and worked through the possible combinations in sequence. There was only a hundred and twenty odd possible variations. This number fell further when she aligned the star-headed wand with the balloons, and both began to glow a soft blue. A rumble filled the chamber, and outside the storm intensified.

“It is like a foal designed this puzzle,” Trixie groaned to herself, grabbing the next orb and slowly swinging it around the room. When it failed to glow, she took the next, repeating the process until all but the last orb was illuminated, and the storm raged stronger than the fiercest hurricanes.

At last the final orb locked into place, and a deep chime sounded throughout the temple.

The Element of Generosity pulsed with a heartbeat. Slow at first, and then faster and faster.

Ceasing their arguments, Filly and Adult Rarity looked over, slack jawed as power thrummed through the astrolabe. Hope filled their eyes, and they stumbled as if in a daze towards Trixie and Young Rarity.

Gentle winds rustled dry leaves.

Sparks coursed around the orbs.

And then the energies died. The astrolabe quiet again. Silent.

Outside the temple thunder rumbled, and the reddish-blue storm clouds gathered.

“Another failure!” Filly Rarity screeched, tugging at her mane. “Why can’t I--we be fixed!?”

“Maybe if you didn’t act like a child, we--I could be healed,” sniffed Adult Rarity.

“Come on you two, the storm is coming! And it is angier than ever,” Young Rarity pranced on the spot, eyes darting this way and that in terror. “I--we need to find shelter.”

Trixie was silent, contemplating the astrolabe. The order had been correct, and a reaction caused, but it wasn’t enough. Something else was still missing. Some critical aspect eluded her.

“This is it,” moaned Young Rarity, curling up on herself. “The last storm. Our--my time is up.”

The temple shook as the storm bore down on them. Cracks formed in the columns, and the ground heaved. Crying out, the Rarities clutched at each other, and for an instant they seemed to blur together before popping apart.

Striking a hoof to her head, Trixie exclaimed, “Of course! How could Trixie be so stupid! This is a puzzle for you three! You need to solve it together!”

“Together?” The Rarities exclaimed, and blurred again.

Certain she was on the right course now, and with time running out, Trixie gave the diamonds from Rarity’s mark etched into the ground a quick look to figure out their orientation. Each of the diamonds on the Rarities flanks were slightly offset, as if, together, they formed Rarity’s full mark. Pushing each to the diamond in the temple that corresponded to the one on their flanks, Trixie said, “You three need to activate the device.”

“But—-”

Trixie yelled, “Just work together!”

The Rarities glanced at each other, and Trixie was certain that they were about to argue again, or run away.

“What have we--I to lose?” Young Rarity said at last.

“Lose? Oh, only my--our dignity,” scoffed Adult Rarity. “All you--we do is try to please. We--you are like a lost puppy. There is nothing to you--us! We--you mimic, acting all sweet and saccharine, trying so hard to be inoffensive, but you--we are afraid and shallow.”

Rolling her eyes, Filly Rarity stamped her hoof to a sardonic laugh. “We--you’re one to talk, darling,” she sneered at her eldest counterpart. “You--we care nothing for others, only for my--yourself! Element of Generosity? Ha! What a cruel joke Faust played. Generous only when you--I can get something out of it, more like. Otherwise I--you hold grudges. You--we manipulate and worm through society, driving off competition, or latching onto to the powerful or important like a lamprey. Have we--you forgotten about your--our attempts to woo a prince?”

Adult Rarity’s nostrils flared at the accusations of her youngest self. She trembled with barely suppressed emotion, jaw tense as steel and eyes flashing.

“At least we--I don’t flit about like some aimless foal from moment to moment! What goals, what dreams flit through my--our heart? We--you are nothing but a backbiting little gossip, caring for nothing but the moment! The art. The passion. The faux accent! Darling this, darling that! Everypony can see through you--us! We--I am nothing but a laughing stock.”

“Please!” Young Rarity whined, trying again to get between her younger and older versions. “The storm is getting closer.”

“What? Are you--we still here?” Adult Rarity gave an overly dramatic gasp.

“Enough!” Trixie roared. “This fighting is getting you nowhere! Trixie has heard of ponies who argued with themselves, but this is stupid. Do you want to die?”

The three Rarities shook their heads after a momentary hesitation. Taking hold of their short silence, Trixie thrust a hoof and the terrible storm.

“You must do something, now! All of you together!”

Apprehension dominated Filly and Adult Rarity, while Young Rarity clapped her hooves.

“Fine!” Adult Rarity growled, breaking first to stomp over to the closest diamond etched into the ground. “Well?” she demanded of her younger selves. “Are we--I going to do this, or not?”

Skipping to her spot, Young Rarity let out a chipper, “Yay! I--we knew Trixie was the right pony to follow.”

All long series of grumbles, snorts, and exasperated whines came from Filly Rarity before, beneath Trixie stern glare, she too found her spot around the central device. “Okay, now what?”

Trixie stabbed a hoof at the astrolabe, “Solve the stupid easy puzzle already. What else?” She was mostly certain the puzzle didn't actually matter, what did was getting the Rarities to work together. And if it did matter, well, then it was also being 'solved'.

The Rarities all pinched their faces as if they’d eaten a lemon. They darted looks at each other, crinkled their noses, and then gave a solemn nod. Almost upon the temple, the storm roared with inarticulate fury. Bowing their heads, the Rarity’s charged magic into their horns, and directed the beams at the astrolabe.

The ancient device shook, and started to spin. Sparks of rainbow aether fell from the orbs as they locked in place one by one. A gentle hum grew as the orbs fell in place.

On their markers, the Rarities faded even as their marks took their proper form.

Overhead, the storm plunged towards the temple. Bits of the roof began to collapse, and was sucked up into the storm’s growing maw. Moments from the temple being devoured, the final orb fell into place, and the trio of Rarities vanished.

And then a massive pillar of luminous silver-edged blue light burst from the astrolabe. Trixie was knocked off her hooves, and cast from the temple. She shouted, tried to grab onto a root or stone, but was flung back into the maelstrom. Around her a soft lullaby soothed the furious tempest, as below Trixie colour filled the town of Ponyville, buildings shining bright as if they were new.

Hoping she’d succeeded, and unable to fight the currents carrying her, Trixie returned to the waking world.

The first thing Trixie saw when her eyes cracked open was Anchor’s crazed visage, the mare pressing her to the floor as she yelled, spittle flying from her mouth.

“What have you done to my Ritty? What trick are you playing?” Anchor yelled, and struck a blow that knocked Trixie’s head sharply to the side.

Trixie had no idea how long she’d been in Rarity’s mind. A minute? Two? More? Less? It didn’t matter. How ever long it had been, it’d been enough time for Anchor to knock her bloody. Trixie ached all over, and her left leg had been carved open, spectral flesh pulled back to prevent it from healing as glowing plasma oozed from the wound.

“Cap, look,” several of the crowd cried out at the same time, hooves pointing towards Rarity.

Growling for her crew to hold their tongues, Anchor twisted around, Trixie quickly forgotten.

Rarity sat there, blinking as if coming out of a daydream. Slowly, she gazed around the warehouse, eyes flitting over most of those present, lingering a little on Trixie before stopping at reaching Anchor.

“Mama?” The single word came from Rarity in a sharp gasp.

Trixie knew what would come next. The questions, the denials, and then… Well, she couldn’t see any tearful reunions. Not when Anchor had quite clearly lost the last shreds of sanity.

“Rarity,” Trixie tried to call, only to be silenced by a backhooved slap.

Hissing through her teeth, Anchor said, “Stay silent.”

Genuinely afraid, Trixie could barely respond. She was close to the True Death, her spirit cut, beaten, and bludgeoned to its limits. Trembling and spent, she watched as Anchor approached Rarity, wondering if she’d made the right choice in saving Rarity, rather than abandoning the mare months ago.

Rarity attempted to push herself up, only for her legs to give out with a crystalline creak. She gazed at her hooves in shock and wonder, eyes widening as rainbow hued veins began to shine through her fur.

As if to focus on anything else, Rarity shifted her focus back to Anchor. “Mama, what have you done! You could have killed…”

Momentary confusion flitted through Rarity. There was an instant, frozen as if drifting on the wings of a snowflake, as Rarity understood the scene before her. When that moment passed, a line of tension rippled through Rarity’s neck and up into her jaw. With greater determination she forced herself to stand, a defiant blaze in her glowing blue eyes.

Trixie blinked, and forced herself into a sitting position, unsure if she were imagining things.

A low growl issued from Rarity, and she took a trembling step forward. The rainbow veins glowed brighter, growing from her withers, the base of her horn, and hooves. They snaked and entwined across Rarity, journeying closer and closer to her cutie mark.

“What is happening to her?” Anchor demanded, casting her wild gaze wide around the quivering mass of her followers. Rounding back on Trixie, Anchor screamed, “What did you do?”

“Trixie only opened a door,” she cryptically responded, enjoying the frustration and rage that contorted Anchor.

Any repercussion for her glibness was abated as crystalline wings burst in multihued sparks from Rarity. Her cutie mark began to glow, thrumming in tune with a racing heart.

The warehouse trembled, causing a confused gasp from the crowd of scallywags and rogues. Trixie felt it first. The coming of a Shiver.

But, more than that, the warehouse shook with the energy escaping Rarity. Holes were torn in the rotten roof, and support columns cracked in the building pressure.

Some ponies attempted to run, breaking into a gallop for the exits. Their escapes were cut short as the frames buckled and the doors refused to open. Panic grew, and chaos swept the warehouse, and at the middle of it all, as if they were in the eye of a storm; Trixie, Anchor, and Rarity.

Strength continued to return to Trixie. Enough for her to stand on three of her legs. She peered into the confusion, looking for an opportunity to escape. None presented themselves, and something told Trixie that whatever may come, she was merely along for the ride now.

Rarity sagged forward, head slumped as if she were dead. Crystal wings turned to feathers and flesh. White, glorious white wings of blinding purity wrapped around Rarity in a cloak. Her mane grew longer, the shade of amethyst brighter, sparkling with almost blinding brilliance. Finally, Rarity’s cutie mark shifted, the gems that had been with her all her adult life now spun so the points met, and encased and bracketed in delicate filigree.

Anchor screamed inarticulate rage and lunged at Trixie. She was faster than Trixie anticipated, closing the gap in a flash reminiscent of teleporting. One moment almost close enough to touch Rarity, then she was in front of Trixie, slashing at her former friend’s throat. Instinct and months of tortuous training saved Trixie.

Still weak, she barely managed to dart back with a hoarse cry, magic lighting along her horn and through her coat to form a hardened barrier. Anchor’s knife sparked against the aether, tip leaving just a long, fresh cut that leaked a single drop of shimmering essence. Had she been any slower, the knife would have split her throat bare.

Another flicker and Anchor was behind her.

Trixie sensed the knife plunging towards her back, but was unable to react. Beaten, tortured, magic spent saving Rarity and the single, temporary barrier, Trixie was at her limits.

“Mama, stop!” Rarity yelled, her voice strong, and full of the regal poise she’d spent much of her life practicing.

Everypony froze, while Rarity exploded into motion. A sweep of her wings cast the zebras and ponies around her away, scattering them as if they were dry leaves in a tempest. She jumped between Trixie and Anchor, blocking the plunging dagger with her own body. Against divine flesh steel bent, and shattered.

“Ritty, back away from her! She means to steal you for herself. Keep you away from me.” Anchor circled around Rarity and Trixie, and pulled out another dagger. “She is an evil pony. You know this.”

“The only evil pony I see is you,” Rarity shot back. “I never wanted to believe what mother said about you, that you had a cruel streak and enjoyed the act of killing more than a pony should. That you would torture the crews of the ships your captured. Until now, it seemed so impossible.”

The pressure on the back of Trixie’s neck grew to a fevered pitch. Any moment now the street would vanish, and them with it. How long would they be lost? Would they even be aware? Trixie trembled, and tried to stand.

“Goodbye, mama, you deserve Tartarus.” Rarity threw her hooves around Trixie, and with a beat of powerful wings, hurdled them both high into the air through the warehouse’s rotten roof.

Beneath them the warehouse sub-district shook, and then pulled in on itself. Not just the warehouses, but all of the Iokan district. No street was spared, regardless of how insignificant or important. The orphanage, Sombra’s tower, the many, many rows of homes, and even the Furies’ temple; all gone as tens of thousands of blocks folded together. All of Tartarus shifted and shook, from one edge of the colossal city to the other.

A mighty ripple spread across the city as more districts shivered. Whatever force gripped the city was not limited to the Iokan district. Even the city walls were affected, spreading outwards, or contracting inward. Only the five rivers of the underworld, and the great lake at the city’s heart remained unchanged.

Districts reappeared. Slowly, at first, and then with greater and greater rapidity. Yomi, with its fog of impenetrable black mists moved to the east, and nearly doubled in size. Helheim became situated on a series of new hills in the north, while in the west grew the imposing, windowless palace of Mictlantechuti. To the south Duat re-emerged, situated on the mighty Lethe as she wound her way past rows of new docks.

Hades’ own palace reappeared towards the end of the great shiver, directly beneath Rarity and Trixie. Flanked by the temple of the Furies to one side, and Lethe’s manor on the other, Hades’ palace now dominated a new Iokan district. In short order the remainder of the districts emerged in new arrangements. Everything was restored.

“It’s beautiful,” Rarity mumbled, clinging tighter to Trixie as they flew into the clouds.

Fear took a greater grip as Trixie realised how high they were. “Rarity, we have to go back down to the city! We don’t know how to leave Tartarus yet!”

Rarity shook her head, and began to say something when a deafening boom rolled through the clouds. Winds buffeted them, and then they were struck by an incredible force and propelled from the sky. Still entwined in each other’s hooves, they plummeted towards the city. Ineffectually, Rarity tried to right herself and regain control. Never having flown before, she had no idea how to stop their fall. Rarity’s eyes grew bigger and bigger as they neared the ground.

Instinctual magic poured from Rarity in glowing streams from eyes, wings, and horn. Trixie tensed moments before they hit the street, and it parted to let them through. There was a rush of earth and fire, great heat boiling around Trixie, and then they struck an outcropping of stone. Splinters of rock exploded around Trixie, and Rarity lost her grip.

Flung apart, Trixie’s last sight of Rarity was the earth opening behind the new alicorn, revealing a world of fire, sulphur, and basalt monuments dotting a landscape strewn with iron dark palaces, before her head was hit by a rock and she fell into sweet oblivion.

And so, fairest Rarity and wily Trixie fell into the maw of Amaymon.

Into the place even gods fear to tread.

Author's Note

I hope the way the Rarities talked wasn't too annoying or distracting. It was meant to be a bit odd, create a small bump when read to assist with the sense of wrongness about Rarity's mind.

Trixie's jaunt into Rarity's mind grew from a short sequence of perhaps 2k words to the 6k odd. Before, it went from her arrival, to an empty boutique, and then right onto the puzzle. There is a bit of a jarring jump back into the stuff going on in the warehouse.

As for what comes next, the stuff in 'Hell' has had me concerned for years now. Mostly balancing expectations, tropes, and the levels of violence and "evil" involved.

Interlude One

The Rariad
By Tundara

Interlude 1: Tartarus

The City of the Dead stirred, her citizens aware of a change in the air. Dazed, they wandered into the streets, and found the rain had parted. This was unusual. Since the Great Shiver where the city re-organised herself the rain had resumed it omnipresence. Of greater curiosity was the bright, golden streams of light breaking through the clouds. In droves they looked up, hooves raised to shield their eyes, and beheld a sun just barely contained by wispy white veils.

Among the citizenry Furies paused and whispered to one another in excitement. In the court before their temple they gathered and made their marching lines. With a clash of spears on shields, as one the body turned to their leader, fire-maned Lybis. She took her place at the head of the procession, ready to began the march to the city gates some hundred miles distant. Before they could so much as leave the wide courtyard, the gods of the Underworld made their appearance, and the alicorn army halted before it could begin its march, the Furies forced to placate the rage of the greater alicorns.

Far off, shadows cast by a small group sped across the bleak, cracked landscape beyond the city walls. Hades led the way, the God of the Dead at long last returned home. Behind him came two strangers to Tartarus.

Closest flew Celestia. Stormy worry crossed her features, both for what lay ahead, and what she had left behind. Equestria and Ioka as a whole were beneath safe wings she reminded herself. Gone were the days where she’d weathered the burdens of the disc alone. If she’d come alone Celestia would still have worried, but at least it would have only been for what lay ahead, rather than also for the pony at her side.

Luna wore an expression that shifted between stern and fascinated. She’d brought her sword, Tamashi tucked against her side, in spite of Hades assurances that they would be safe in the Underworld. At least she’d agreed to leave behind her barding. Celestia wished Luna had stayed behind. Luna adamantly refused to let her go alone. As Luna pointed out, if it came to a fight she was the better fighter, even if Celestia was more powerful.

“The aether here is so…” Luna faltered for a moment as she sought the right word. “Fetid. Like the air in a bog. Is the magic here sick, or is this normal?”

“Tartarus is a concentration of the malignant, unworthy, and wicked. Of course it is foul.” Hades shot over his withers, and Luna stuck her tongue out at him. “You will also find their judges, torturers, reapers, and wardens. Remember, refrain from wandering or exploration. The other gods and goddesses of the Underworld are prickly towards intruders. My protection extends only to the borders of their private domains.”

Celestia could feel Luna roll her eyes.

“Verily. It has only been mentioned twice a day for the past month.” Luna laughed, utterly at ease even in Underworld’s depths. “Perhaps I will meet an old friend or foe down here. Though it has been so long, it would be a shock if any still lingered.”

A little anxious knot twisted in Celestia’s belly.

She’d wanted to leave right away on learning Rarity was in Tartarus. Delay after delay prevented the expedition. The disc was still in turmoil, with brush fires threatening to turn into conflagrations if she turned her back for a moment.

At least she now had many friends and family on which she could rely.

Still, she couldn’t be seen shirking her duties. Her little ponies were so very similar to frightened foals, clutching at her legs, gripped by fear of what lay beyond the next sunrise. Calming the populace enough to allow her enough time to descend into Tartarus took far longer than anticipated.

Irritation at how long it took flicked through her tail.

Rather than gazing at what was behind, she focused ahead, and on the grand city stretching before her.

The city differed from Celestia’s expectations in odd ways. The megalopolis’ gothic structures were expected as they’d been a key feature of artists and mad-ponies depictions of the realm since time immemorial. Likewise, the hazy fog that clung to the streets like a cold fall morning on the coast was fitting. Clock towers thrust through the grey expanse, gargoyles clinging to their surface. Water still rushed through open gutters, and glutted canals wove through buildings and along streets so that the city almost seemed to be floating.

No, it was the trees that gave Celestia pause.

Maple trees lined the broad avenues and filled thousands of parks spread around monuments to heroes, poets, and leaders. Red-gold leaves covered in dew created splashes of colour, the light cast by iron lamposts giving them a stark quality. A chilly breeze kicked through the streets and whipped up a dancing procession of leaves, plucking those about to fall from branches. Before the leaves had begun to settle again buds were already forming. In the space of minutes fresh leaves uncurled, and then browned ready to fall again.

Bleak greys, harsh irons, softer bronze tones, and the red-golden hues all blended together to create a portrait that was bittersweet. Balanced on the edge between despair and hope, youthful vitality around the corner beyond the decay of ages, Tartarus was beautiful.

“This is… different,” Hades grunted looking over the parks and bustling streets. He recognised everything, and knew it was wrong.

All out of place.

Like looking on the portrait of a lover through a warped mirror.

“I like it,” Luna said, appreciating the stark, gothic beauty of the city highlighted by Sol’s amused light. After a few moments considering the wrought iron face and spired roof of the closest tower, she added, “Though, I expected it to be a tad more grim. Even the aether here is so clean. At least, compared to what is out on the plains.”

Hades shook his head, and grumbled, “This is Tartarus. It is not meant to be so… cheerful!”

Raising a brow, Celestia quipped, “You consider this cheerful?”

“For Tartarus it is down-right a party with balloons, confetti, and sweet cakes hosted by Pinkie,” Hades responded, following up with an exasperated sigh. For an instant, he thought he could hear the distant tones of bouncing music. “And the layout is wrong. There has been some re-organising done in my absence, it would seem. Which would make a little sense. I did bring a portion of a district to the disc.”

Hades took them on a long, almost leisurely circuit of the city, inspecting it as he went. Here and there Celestia caught glimpses of the Tartarus that had haunted nightmare’s and mortal hearts for uncounted generations. Cramped alleys, squalid slums, and barren courtyards dotted the city like pustulant tumours. But, there was far more, for lack of a better term, life in the city. Oneiras were active in particular, flitting above ghostly crowds in dazzling swirls.

At last Hades’ palace came into view, and with it the mass of shouting alicorns. Celestia had never expected to see such a gathering, even after meeting her very-distant cousins from Gaea. To see hundreds of alicorns all in one place would have brought a surge of joy at any other time. Now it only made the anxious pinch in her belly tighten.

The energy coming from the courtyard was almost overwhelming. Alicorns could sense each other, with the distance increasing equally to their power. For Celestia, she could sense Luna as far off as a half-dozen leagues. The group below her could be felt as far away as the city walls. So many alicorns made picking out the power of individuals difficult. A few, Celestia felt certain, were at least as powerful as herself.

Such a group had not formed since the partitioning of the underworld into the various demesnes, with Hades claiming ownership over all.

There was Osiris, legs wrapped in funerary bandages, crown of ostrich plumes atop his broad brow, with beautiful Isis at his side. Ankh headed staff resting on her slender shoulder, Isis’ perceptive, glimmering eyes swept over the crowd of gods, resting longest on Mictlantecuhtli and Mictecacihuatl. The two blood-splattered, skeletal gods gave toothy grins at their peers, and the wide berth they were given even by the other gods and goddesses of the underworld. Tall Anubis stood close to Izanami, the giant, jackal crowned god an odd pairing for the maggot ridden and ravaged goddess. Hel, half rotting and half vibrant, paced along the edges. With her trotted Baron Samedi, his tall hat pushed forward, cunning eyes hidden behind dark, round glasses so only his wide, skeletal smile was visible.

There were more, dozens of underworld gods, and all fixated on Achlys, God of Death, as he stood trying to calm the crowd at the doors to his father’s palace. The Furies formed a bulwark, shields tight and spears leveled, though none of the dark gods of the underworld gave them any heed.

“A sun!” Shrieked Izanami, her voice strained like it was being pulled from metal cords over a great distance. “Now there is a sun in the underworld! And what of Hades? What is he who claims kingship over this domain going to do?”

“Nothing,” Hades answered in a great booming voice that sounded little like his usual, wheezy tones. “As she is my guest.”

The crowd swung around at his declaration. Celestia’s skin crawled at being regarded by so many ancient eyes full of suspicion or out-right loathing. All of Zeus and Hades’ stories of the various pantheons among the myriad worlds paled against the reality of being confronted by so many alicorns.

Luna showed no discomfort, and even went to greet some of the closest gods.

“A night goddess as well,” Isis gasped after searching Luna’s features. Wearing a demure smile, Isis left her husband’s side and swept up between the sisters. “My, this is an interesting turn of events. To think Hades would steal another night goddess after how his affair with Nyx was resolved. And to take a sun as well? He has grown bold.” Covering her mouth with the tip of a white wing to hide a giggle, Isis began to guide them up the steps. The Furies parted to let them pass.

“Actually, we are just looking for somepony from our world who found her way to Tartarus. Once she is found, we’ll go home.” Celestia corrected, but Isis was not paying attention.

Instead, Isis spoke over her withers, asking, “Lord Hades, I presume you’ll be hosting a feast for this auspicious occasion?”

To which he replied with a heavy shrug and grunt that everypony took as an affirmative.

What followed was a whirlwind of activity as the various gods of the dead, death, and underworld held what was a once every few millennia gathering. Contrary to what mortals would depict, it was not a lifeless and staid affair. Wine flowed freely, and laughter abounded even from the usually grim Hades. He and Osiris were on rather good terms, and the pair recounted for hours the many adventures and escapades of their youths, when the universe was young following the destruction of the First Realm.

There was dancing, ribald jokes aplenty, vast cornucopias overflowing with ambrosia, fountains of the most delectable nectar, and a plethora of games. A space was cleared for wrestling, and races started around the palace grounds. More scholarly alicorns made their way upstairs to the grand libraries, and there they smoked long pipes while they engaged in conversation, exchanging riddles between philosophical discussions.

It was a gathering of the sort fit for the gods.

As a sun-god, Celestia was the center of much attention, and suspicion.

Celestia was pulled this way and that, some gods wishing to hear of her world, others delighting in tales of her deeds, and more than a few wishing to challenge her to contests of wits, strength, or knowledge. For once, Celestia found herself overmatched when it came to understanding foundational truths of magic or the cosmos, but more than made up for it when it came to the feats of strength.

She was an equal of Zeus, Odin, and Amaterasu, and as such, one of the most powerful of the gods. Yet, it was Luna who dominated the physical games. In short order she was issuing challenges, and wrestling was put aside in favour of friendly duels. The gods of the Underworld accepted Luna with ease, the many moons of the myriad worlds often associated in some form or other with the mysteries of death and the afterlife.

It was Celestia’s wits that truly shone and drew long bouts of laughter. Riddles she possessed aplenty, and her turns of phrase and jokes were greatly appreciated for their light gaiety, so different from the morbid and dour comedy usually practiced by the alicorns of the underworld.

Her heart remained torn, wishing for some excuse to escape the party and retrieve Rarity, but every time such an opening seemed to appear, it was quickly snapped shut as she was pulled into some area of the palace.

During a quiet spell, Celestia found herself confronted by Hel. One side rotting and decayed, the other beautiful and fair, Hel was one among many that left Celestia uncomfortable and feeling very out of place.

“You won't find that which you seek in Tartarus,” the Asgardian Goddess of Death and the Underworld stated, twisting a toothpick around her mostly empty martini glass.

“The hidden one!” Izanami hissed through the hole in her cheek, appearing next to Hel like a ghost slipping out of a shadow. “Oh, how I longed to meet her! To feel the silken strands of her mane on my face. To bask in the honey-spiced scent of her wings. To know the touch of life and true beauty again. Alas, Lethe refused to allow it. And now she is lost to us.”

A lump of dread wedge itself in Celestia’s stomach, and she asked with trepidation, “What happened?”

“She thought to escape,” Izanami huffed and crossed her hooves. “Her and her… attendant attempted to breach Tartarus’ barrier and escape back to the realms of the living. It was an impressive feat, if foolhardy. Instead, she was cast down into Hell. She will have been destroyed by now.”

Celestia’s blood froze at the matter-of-fact way Izanami spoke. Her lips tried to form a follow-up question, but only moved uselessly.

Seeing her distress, Hel used a wing to guide Celestia out onto a long patio. “Izzy speaks only on suppositions. We have no way of knowing what happens in the infernal prisons. It is possible amethyst maned Rarity survives as a captive of one of the kings. Tell me, do you know of them?”

“Leviathan has been a pestilence on Ioka’s disc since before I was born,” Celestia responded, tightening her wings against her side. “The Seven Great Sins are one of the few aspects of the cosmos beyond our world that we do know and understand.”

Izanami clicked her tongue. “So, the rumours are true that Envy slipped loose of her cell. We should form a legion, and drive her back to where she belongs.”

“She has been dealt with, for the time being. We have another thousand or so years until she’ll break free again.” Celestia gave a dismissive wave of her hoof, and returned to the subject of Rarity. “But, how do you know Rarity is in Hell, as you call it?”

Hel placed her empty glass on the broad railing and pointed to a place near Sol up in the heavy clouds, she then traced a line down to the city and made a popping noise with her lips. “She attempted to breach the barriers. The descent to Tartarus is easy. The five rivers are plied day and night by the ferry ponies with their dead cargo. To retrace one’s steps and return to the upper air, that is the toil, that the difficulty. We each grant our faithful ways of rejoining the living, though the most common is to seek one’s door and purify the soul so it may journey through the font to a new life. I like adding little tests or riddles. Dear Izzy simply eats them.”

“Mortal souls are rather tasty. You should try it sometime, beloved cousin,” Izanami purred, the desiccated orbs in her eye sockets glowing red with hate. “A thousand a day, just as I promised my dear Izanagi when he abandoned me down here.”

“Yes, yes, we all know your tale of woe and revenge, Izzy.” Hel snorted, and Izanami clenched her teeth. “Our solar cousin does not wish to hear you prattle on about such things. She seeks her own love, if I am not mistaken.”

“Lucky then that Rarity did not partake of the food of Yomi,” Izanami snarled, looking away and hiding behind her thick, black mane. “At least now you can leave with that infernal light you cast.”

Bringing the conversation back on course, Celestia asked, “Would there be some way to enter Hell?”

Both goddesses of the underworld looked startled, and a little afraid. Izanami hissed and shrunk further into the shadows, while Hel chose to throw back her head with a long, high laugh.

“Aye, there is a way. Escape, however? Now, there is the great question.” Hel tapped her chin with the tip of a hoof.

“No, Tia, we are not going to charge into Hell.” Luna said from the balcony archway. A brass goblet hovered in her aura along with a plate of sugared plums and gelatine delights.

Rounding on her sister, Celestia demanded, “Are you suggesting we leave Rarity in the clutches of the demons? A greater onieros brought me a dream about her, Luna. I have to find her.”

“What would you suggest instead? Flying into the lair of our oldest enemies? It took five thousand years of constant back and forth to remove the several lords Leviathan brought with her to Ioka. Leviathan herself has only been put to sleep, and there are six other demons down there who are each more powerful.” Luna stressed her point with a stamp of her hoof. “Six of the seven Great Sins remain; each is our equal, except they have no compassion, no mercy. They surround themselves with dukes, counts, and lords, subservient to their sovereign’s will. This is before we get to the hundreds of legions at their command. We would require an army of alicorns to rescue Rarity by force.”

Celestia dragged her tongue over her teeth. Luna was correct, saying nothing she hadn’t already realised. She could hardly ask complete strangers to march into literal Hell. All on the promise Rarity had, somehow, survived among the most loathsome, evil, sadistic creatures in all creation. A promise nopony would give credence.

Giving up felt wrong. It left a hollow in her stomach. In her heart of hearts Celestia knew Rarity lived, that destiny bound them together. Glimpses of the future showed her grown daughters bearing the mantle of the Muses, a mantle once worn by the daughters of Beauty.

Those original Muses were gone, lost in the tumult of a war that ravaged Gaea centuries ago.

What Celestia required was more information. She was making guesses. Educated guesses, yes. But she couldn’t shake the uncertainty that perhaps she was being lead astray by hope.

“I can’t give up on her, Luna,” Celestia let the admission out in a long sigh. “I failed her once before, and I refuse to do so again.”

“Tia…”

“I know, Luna. I know. The demons’ realms are closed for good reason.”

From behind Luna appeared Hades, his sunken face severe and pinched in the half-light cast by Sol. “And so they must remain. If you venture there you will find no way out. For that reason I refuse to grant you passage to the pit.”

Rounding on Hades, Celestia’s control snapped. “You promised to take me to Rarity. Where is that fabled pride at always keeping your word?”

She was twisting his promise. He’d sworn only to take her to where he’d left Rarity, not to Rarity herself. A distinction for the eventuality that Rarity was gone. For this very scenario, or something similar.

Shame at her petulance burned across her cheeks, and Celestia found herself unable to meet the gazes of Hades or Luna, or even Hel and Izanami. Ever since learning Rarity was alive in Tartarus, Celestia had been finding it more and more difficult to maintain her poise. Moments of irritation became more frequent, especially as delay after delay mounted. It was as if she were two-hundred again.

Putting a firm hoof over her disappointment, Celestia said, “I apologize. You warned me to keep my expectations low.”

“Hmph, that was only because I was unsure whether she’d survive hosting Serene’s essence. Rarity should have been burnt away the moment Serene was destroyed, like a marshmallow in a bonfire. Then again, shades seem attracted to those capable of housing their godly powers.” Hades dismissed the apology with a casual roll of his wings.

“What now?” It was Luna who asked the question.

Celestia bit the inside of her cheek, no longer trusting her first response.

“I take you two home,” Hades said after a brief pause to glare up at Sol. “Tartarus is no place for a sun and—”

“Oh, but must they leave so soon, dear Hades?” Hel interrupted with a mischievous purr. She slipped up between Hades and Celestia. “A sun has never visited Tartarus before. I would love to have Celestia visit my halls.”

A stronger harumph sounded in Hades’ chest. “So you can keep her for eternity? I gave my word to see her safely here and home.”

“You are one to talk,” Hel responded, but her voice was light, airy, as if she truly didn’t care one way or the other if Celestia stayed. The hungry gleam in her gaze said otherwise.

“Perhaps we should rejoin the party,” Luna suggested, leading Celestia from the balcony with a wing.

Stifling a sad noise in her throat, Celestia allowed herself to rejoin the festivities.

For a week wine, food, and games flowed freely, and Celestia found herself sucked into a fevered dream of a Grand Galloping Gala. Luna was ever by her side, even the duels and games abandoned to keep her sister company.

Activity helped alleviate the morose clouds forming around her heart only so long. Eventually the party came to a close and Celestia was confronted with the prospect of failure. She remained silent, lost in contemplation, during the flight from the city. All too soon she stood before the Golden Gate to Ioka. She gave Tartarus a long look, hope still strong that Rarity would appear cantering across the cracked, empty landscape.

“Ever since I had that dream of Rarity and you informed me she was in Tartarus, I have been filled with hope,” Celestia said to Hades. “I will continue to hope. Rarity is out there, somewhere.”

“That is your prerogative, but I would caution you to temper your heart and prepare for no news ever reaching out of that hellish place. Do not waste away pining for what was lost. To have hope only for it to be snatched away is a cruel fate. You bear it with far greater grace than I have done.” Hades spoke softly, his wings ruffling against his sides at fresh memories.

To Luna he said, “I… Luna…” His words faltered, and he coughed into his leg before he stiffly said, “Give Twilight my regards. It may be some time before I am able to return to Ioka. Tartarus requires my attention. And… I hope… Yes… That should be enough.”

Luna’s own expression was as cold, aloof, and reserved as Celestia had ever seen.

“Of course,” Luna said, her tone clipped and tight as the edges of her jaw. “I will pass along your regards to Twilight.”

Luna was first through the gate, its liquid surface rippling at her passage. Celestia followed a few seconds later.

On the bleak Isle of the Dead, Celestia raised her head to Sol and the warmth of a living world.

Basking in Sol’s rays, confidence swelled in Celestia.

Perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps she should ‘temper’ her expectations. But, Celestia knew Rarity was alive, and that somehow, eventually, she would find her way home.

Author's Note

Been sitting on this going on six months now. Maybe a little longer.

I was going to wait until after finishing the main-line Myths story so as to not spoil aspects of the conclusion. Then again, only the more dedicated Myths followers read both stories, and they would have already read the beach party Anthology story, so yeah. Kind of pointless waiting in that case.

So, here is a small, little Christmas present to everypony.

This is one of those chapters where I just play around for a few thousand words doing world building. I believe it is the first actual introduction to any of the pantheons beyond Geae and Ioka. Here we see Norse, Aztec, Egyptian, and Japanese alicorns, among a few others. Some have been mentioned before, or hinted at. Others were added just to fluff out the gathering of underworld deities.

Part Five

The Rariad
By Tundara

Here our story takes a much darker turn, as it delves into places unnamed and unnamable where dwell the legions of Demonkind. For a space of three years Rarity, Fairest of the Alicorns, did dwell imprisoned in luxury and velvet finery veneer thin beyond which lay the worst cruelties in all creation.

5: Amaymon

Ruddy light flowed in a thick stream through curtains of the finest silk. Voluminous plum folds were held by sashes embroidered with gold thread. Between the curtains sat a long, dark vanity, a raised bench slightly askance where it had been pushed back the night before. Past the vanity the light splashed over black and gold tiles until it reached the end of a royal bed, its curtains drawn tight to keep the invading morning at bay. A soft sigh came from the darkened abode within.

Shoes clicking on the floor brought a deeper sigh that ended only when the curtains were yanked aside and the burning blaze of daylight cast by the twin red suns at last reached the bed’s occupant.

“Come on, your Majesty, breakfast is about to be served,” came the brusk voice of a hoofmaid.

The sigh cut into a sharp gasp, a scramble ensuing as covers were cast aside. Rarity half fell from the bed as she hurried to her vanity, catching herself before crashing and smoothly sitting on the bench. She could feel the hoofmaid smile at her back.

Using a small mirror, Rarity applied khol to her eyes, elongating the points over her cheekbones. Next she darkened her brows, giving them a sharp definition. Placing the khol aside, she took up gold and ruby paints. Working in tandem the brushes placed the image of a seven sided gemstone on her forehead held by delicate brackets. Before she’d even finished with the gold flourish she was applying a single dot to create the impression of a dimple on her right cheek. Lastly, she applied a thick layer of cherry dark lipstick.

While applying her makeup, Rarity likewise placed her mane into an intricate bun held in place by gold pins and gem studded clasps. The amethyst strands of her mane shimmered like living gemstone, adding an unearthly brilliance to her complexion.

From her wardrobe floated a comfortable, yet elegant, little summer dress. The dark blues and lighter, floral designs added a sprig of sensual, youthful vitality. Golden shoes completed the outfit, complementing the pins in her mane.

A few strokes of a brush through her tail, and Rarity rushed from the room.

Nearly at a cantor, Rarity sped through hallways of the grandest opulence. Mahogany paneling went by in a blur. Paintings flashed in the corner of her eyes. Busts and suits of armour came and went. In this part of the palace there were few windows, Rarity electing to take the shortest route between her quarters and the breakfast hall.

Maids and guards alike had to dart into corners, or press themselves up against walls to avoid causing a crash.

All of them bowed and wished her a sardonic good morning.

Rarity kept her gaze firmly affixed off the guards, lest her stomach churn at the monstrous sight and her appetite vanish.

It was difficult squeezing past some of the hulking brutes, with their six legs and four arms all covered in blackened iron carapaces. Ugly, barbed axes were clenched in large scaly hands. Dried gore and bits of hair and bone encrusted the edges of their weapons and armour. Glowing yellow eyes tracked her from behind the slits of dark helmets. The Slaughter Demons were as much executioners as they were guards.

Elsewhere in the hellish planes beneath Tartarus the guards could have carved out small demenses of their own, lording over swaths of horrible, little creatures.

As guards in the palace they held even greater prestige and power. A few times she’d heard the screams of those seeking to sneak into the palace, and once come across a fresh kill near her chambers. Dried bits of flesh yet to be scrubbed away flecked with shards of bone clinging to the frame of a door.

Swallowing a lump of bile, she at last approached the entrance to the breakfast hall.

Rarity paused only long enough to fix any rumples and lose hairs caused by her hurried pace. There were none. Her divine nature kept her in a state of perpetual pristine perfection.

As her hoof brushed down her throat she became aware of an absence, of something forgotten. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell into a shocked circle. The Jewels of Helen! How could she have forgotten the necklace?! He always commented on them every morning.

For a moment Rarity pranced on the spot, panic gripping her as she weighted the options of returning to the room for the string of black pearls with blue diamonds and being late against appearing without them.

She was saved, for the moment, by the appearance of her hoofmaid rushing down the corridor, the jewels in their dark velvet box floating beside her.

“Your Majesty, you really need to let me do my job,” the hoofmaid snapped as she opened the box and clasped the jewels about Rarity’s neck. “It is my neck on the line as well as yours.”

Rarity gave a very soft, “I’m sorry,” which only made the hoofmaid snort, roll her eyes, and open the door for her lady.

Peeking inside, Rarity cast a quick glance towards the head of the table. Her heart beat faster and faster, wondering if she’d arrived in time.

The seat was empty.

A quick sigh of relief parted her painted lips. Moving at a more dignified pace, she made her way to the main entrance to the room. She was only half-way around the room when it was thrown open by bowing servants, and the First King of Hell entered.

Regal. Powerful. He strode with unmatchable confidence. His oiled, coal black mane curled around two short ruby horns that complimented perfectly his crimson coat. Yellow, draconian eyes dominated chiseled features, drawing Rarity’s gaze and holding her fast. Robes of the finest elegance and stately opulence cascaded over his broad form, blacks, golds, and crimson tones matching his natural colours.

Rarity almost cringed at the colour combination. Almost.

Dipping into a elegant curtsy, Rarity forced a warm lilt to her voice as she said, “Good morning, Asmodeus. I trust you had a pleasant evening, darling?”

“Ah, there you are, my lovely,” his dark golden eyes dipped briefly to the curve of her throat, and the clasp of pearls. Pleasure appeared momentarily in the corners of his tight pressed lips. Rarity used her relief to broaden her smile. “It would have been greater delights if you’d been present, for none shines as bright as I but you. Come, sit at my side and regale me again with tales and legends of Ioka.”

Keeping her dismay hidden took all Rarity’s skill. Years of garden parties, balls, and galas proved their worth in this most horrid of places. She had to show at all times a pleasant smile, and ply her host with sweet nothings and little compliments.

Oh, he was all too aware that every fibre of her being recoiled at his presence. That the sound of his voice, the touch of his hoof, or the scented oils of his mane all made her skin crawl. He was the most vile, disgusting, wicked villain she’d ever encountered. It brought him pleasure to turn her into a living doll, perfect to the eyes, perfect in demeanor, sweet, polite, and totally within his control.

“I am afraid that all my remaining stories would be far too dull for breakfast, or too long to have a satisfying conclusion,” Rarity said as she slipped onto one of the high back chairs. She allowed the slightest of pauses, to gauge what sort of mood the First King of Hell was in that morning.

If he revealed any irritation, she would have no choice but to come up with some story or legend. And it had to be new. Only once had she attempted to repeat a story. Her cheek still stung from his reprimand.

Worse would be if he showed anger. Anger meant she’d gone too far already.

One the other hoof, if he showed amusement, then it’d become a game to play for breakfast. He’d insist, she’d demur, they’d have some banter that toyed with threats or possible rewards for her giving in. She would have to walk a very narrow line, but at least a tiny shred of dignity would be salvaged.

Instead, what she received was a long roll of his wings and an indifferent, “Another morning, then.”

Icy fear flowed through her veins.

This was new. And ‘new’ meant danger.

She carefully watched Asmodeus, trying to figure out what he was plotting, as the servant demons stepped out of the side rooms. They pushed carts covered in tarts, bowls of exquisitely spiced oatmeal, eggs of all sorts from boiled ostrich to poached robin eggs, freshly baked breads, sizzling skillets, rashers of bacon, and more. Exotic juices were poured into crystal cups while the tantalizing dishes were served.

“Word has at last reached me about you friend,” Asmodeus said as his plate was covered in a thick slice of ham, fried dragon eggs, and sauteed potatoes.

“Indeed?” Rarity had to keep her relief to a low simmer. If Trixie had been located, than Rarity felt one step closer to devising a means of escape. Trixie had to know something about how they’d entered Amaymon, rather than breaching Tartarus towards the surface realms.

She was grasping at a straw, Rarity knew, but it was one of the few threads of hope that kept her going.

“Yes. She landed in the realm of Pride, and currently resides at the discretion of my brother in his dungeons. Madness will have been the least of her fates.”

Rarity’s mouth went dry. The tortures devised by demonkind were beyond even her worst imaginings. She was purposefully kept away from the darkest aspects of what the demons were capable. What she had encountered showed a level of malevolence and cruelty she fervently wished to unsee.

“With your leave, would it be possible to barter for her return? She is my attendant, after-all.”

Asmodeus frowned, and Rarity felt a tremor of worry lace its way up the back of her neck. “That would be quite ill advised,” he stated. “I will consider sending one of my daughters to parley with Mephisto in your stead.”

Rarity wanted to press the issue, but held back. Incurring Asmodeus' ire now would only make it harder to rescue Trixie.

So, she said, "That is an excellent idea, darling. Your daughters inherited your delightful charisma. Besides you or I, who else could retrieve my attendant from your loathsome brother?" After this she let the subject slide.

Towards the end of breakfast, Asmodeus placed a silver fork on his empty plate, and said, “It is with deep regret that I must be away for some time, and unable to enjoy your splendid company. These many months have been exquisite.”

Placing a hoof to her chest, Rarity let out a gasp, taking great care to avoid having any of the relief flushing her face from entering her voice as she asked, “Whatever for? What could possible steal your attention?”

Pleasure curling his lips, Asmodeus reached over and lifted her chin.

“Do not fret, my lovely, you are my most precious treasure. There is merely a certain creature of whom I have taken a particular interest. She goes by the name of Sarah, and is about to be wed for the sixth time. I make a small game of her suitors, to be certain they are worthy of her, you see. Sadly, none have been able to meet even my lowest standards.” Dry humour flickered in his dangerous eyes, the corners of his mouth holding an anticipatory smirk. “When I return we shall host a gala. The grandest of galas in the cosmos! I have already invited my brothers and sisters, and all their courts. It will be a night of laughter, wine, debauchery, and if we are lucky a murder or three. In the meantime, I give you leave to explore my palace in its entirety.”

Grasping her by the mane, Asmodeus pulled Rarity into a deep kiss. His mouth opened, and for a second Rarity considered keeping hers closed before she parted her lips to permit him access. Bitterness welled in the back of her throat as his tongue invaded her mouth.

She put her mind aside, separating herself from events, encasing a wall around the loathsome moment as Asmodeus, King of Lust, used her. As she had done each other time he’d forced himself upon her.

As with all such moments it lasted an agonizing eternity before he broke the kiss.

“Till I return, dear wife,” he said jovially before departing in a ruby flash.

She waited, counting silently to ten in case he returned. When the count was done she still refused to relax. Keeping her jaw tense, tongue firmly planted against her palate, Rarity slowly turned, took a mouthful of water from a tall glass, swilled it around, and spat it on his chair. It was the most uncouth act she could imagine from which she would avoid punishment.

Everything in the room, afterall, would be taken so as to be destroyed the moment she left. It would all be then replaced with identical copies.

Pushing her almost untouched breakfast aside, Rarity stomped out of the hall. She didn’t care who saw her now. Any demon who thought to inform on her would be punished severely. Afterall, it would be they who must have upset his precious jewel. Otherwise, she’d be as happy and vibrant as when he’d departed, like a flower in a crystalline vase fully bathed in warm sunlight.

He was gone, but for how long? She had to hurry.

This was the first time Rarity had been granted free access to the breadth of the palace. Either he was confident that she couldn’t, wouldn’t, or even dare contemplate escape, or it was his intention that she at least make the attempt. If she followed the reasonings of the latter, then her escape somehow helped him. Or, it was truly impossible, and he just wanted the cat-and-mouse game of her seeking a means while keeping it from him.

Which made it both a necessary and dangerous game. He’d be disappointed if she didn’t play along.

Regardless of Asmodeus’ intentions, she had to make the attempt. Rarity refused to remain in Amaymon. Though opulent and crafted with a talented eye towards decour, there was nothing Beautiful about Amaymon.

And without Beauty she felt herself withering.

Rarity’s inner self, the new core of her being as an alicorn, squirmed in revulsion deeper than that caused by even Asmodeus’ touch. This place was ugly in the most fundamental sense, and even she as The Goddess of Beauty could never cause that to change.

Surrounded by such depravity, Rarity had yet to begin to understand her powers, or even register the fact that she was an alicorn.

Oh, she was well aware of the physical changes. Her wings were heavy along her sides, and her newfound strength still surprised her. Her magic was quicker to her command and seemingly limitless in supply, and she'd shattered a few doors and wardrobes kicking them in her fury after dealing with Asmodeus.

It was being an alicorn that had saved her. As one she was a prize for Asmodeus.

Otherwise…

She dared not consider what would have happened otherwise.

What must have happened to Trixie.

Poor, poor Trixie.

A deep moan rattled through Rarity, and she had to lean on a wall for a moment as profound sadness welled in her chest.

She could recall every moment in Tartarus. From the moment she’d been plunged into Lethe’s memory consuming rapids to the ill-fated attempt to escape the underworld; it was all equally clear to Rarity. Most of her memories were of the simple room in the manor. This made Trixie’s visits all the more vivid for the splash of activity they caused.

As with all things Asmodeus said, Rarity didn’t believe for an instant that Trixie was in the clutches of the Demon King of Pride. Whether Trixie was in Amaymon or not was harder to gauge, but Rarity was certain that she wasn’t being held in Pride’s dungeons.

Trixie had fallen towards Amaymon, spinning just beyond Rarity’s reach until they’d been separated by a tall, jagged spine of a mountain to land on opposite slopes. Before Rarity could search for her friend, Asmodeus had claimed her. She only hoped that, somehow, Trixie had managed to escape his notice.

Of course, that would mean that for months Trixie would have been surviving out in the desolate wastelands of Amaymon alone, surrounded by demons, struggling against the horrors of Hell, where everything sought to corrupt her soul. It was almost impossible to imagine that anypony could survive such a place for even a day, let alone—

Rarity didn’t want to contemplate exactly how long she’d been in Amaymon.

Trixie was resourceful. Rarity knew this perhaps better than any other pony. If Trixie could find a way to save her, than it was possible she’d found a way to survive Amaymon too.

She had to have hope. It was all she had against the nightmares that beset her from all sides.

“You looked after me,” Rarity said as if Trixie could hear her, hoof clutching at her chest. “And I will find some way of repaying you, Trixie. Wherever you are, just hang on.”

Using the promise to give her a bit more incentive—unneeded as it may be—Rarity almost cantored towards her destination.

She’d seen the door many times, with the simple gold plaque that proclaimed it as the library. Or, one of many libraries. Double sided and made of honey dark oak, they seemed almost warm, tantalizing with an invitation to plum forbidden depths of knowledge.

Assuming this too wasn’t a lie.

Cautiously, Rarity took hold of the gilt handle. She hovered there ears flicking towards the corridor. There were no demons about, their absence conspicuous and only furthering her paranoia.

“Well, nothing for it now,” Rarity said as she straightened her posture and went through the doors.

The library was much as Rarity expected.

Similar to the National Equestrian Library, multi-leveled bookcases formed narrow corridors beneath a vaulted ceiling. Staircases to the left and right lead to both an upper floor as well as a basement. Desks lined a central aisle, all empty, leading to a large central reception area holding the card catalogs.

“Twilight would love this place,” Rarity said softly, her heart aching for her missing friends.

Rarity wandered the library slowly, scanning the spines of books for anything that looked like it would help her escape Hell. Turning a corner she saw a bound soul standing next to a directory. His face was plastered with a rictus smile beneath unkempt bangs. Every few moments he would shift a hoof, but otherwise might as well have been a statue.

Each time she encountered a bound soul had lead to frustration, and sadness. The poor creatures were mortals who’d sold their souls to the demons. For what purpose wasn’t recorded, and didn’t matter. They were little better than living statues capable of only doing what their master deigned. Most weren’t permitted to move, and spoke only the same few line over and over.

What was worse, Rarity could sense the torment of the soul. They were acutely aware of what was happening, forced to experience every agonizing moment imprisoned in their own bodies. Unable to move, to speak, to breath of their own accord. Most of the souls were mad beneath the surface of the puppet show they were forced to innact.

“Good day, madam!” The pony said with a creaking, jovial laugh as Rarity approached. “Welcome to Lord Asmodeus’—Praise be his Magnificence!—most marvelous and amazing small private study library. We’ve been having a problem with imps lately. The little scoundrels ran off with seven of Lord Asmodeus’ books. If you were to retrieve them, I’d be in your debt.”

Short speech done, he resumed his unblinking stance, mouth clacking shut like wooden slats.

“In my debt?” Rarity softly clicked her tongue. “And would you help me find a book on how to leave Amaymon?”

The statue-like pony didn’t respond.

Sighing, Rarity asked in a flat tone, “What will be my reward?”

That command phrase was one of a few she’d uncovered that would cause a response from the puppets.

Smile returning, the pony clasped his hooves as he breathed a relieved sigh, and said, “A blank magic scroll, and thirty bits.”

Closing her eyes as she took a deep breath, Rarity passed the bound soul saying, “Accepted.”

The imps were down the next aisle, the scrawny miscreants flapping between shelves as they unorganised the library. Some tore out pages and inserted them into other books. Others wiggled boney fingers to make the titles on the books change into rude words. Still more flapped from shelf to shelf, tossing down fresh books to the vandals below. An unusually plump imp directed his cohorts like a conductor of an orchestra, tapping a foot and swaying his hips from side to side as he cackled out a discordant tune.

Again, Rarity thought about Twilight, and the horror her friend would experience seeing such a scene. Twilight would be beside herself in disgusted fury at the desecration of any library, even one belonging to a demon king.

With an angry mask affixed, Rarity set her shoulders and marched up to the largest of the imps.

“Stop this nonsense this instant.” She was a little proud of the imperious crack to her voice, and how it made the vile little cretins stop their antics.

A long talon digging in his ear, the fat imp peered up at Rarity with inky dark eyes. Diminutive wings flapped to lift the rotund body, gangly limbs dangling underneath as it hovered. “What this? What this? The ‘Queen' of Amaymon gracing us wit’ her glorious presence? Gits and gals, we bein’ blessed, we is.”

Cackles rippled between the imps, bouncing like an infection from one to the next.

Unperturbed, Rarity curled her nose as she’d seen the Canterlot Elite do so many times. The effect was far from instantaneous. But that was alright. Shooing away the imps wasn’t entirely her goal. She only needed seven books they’d taken.

Her tone diamond edged, she pushed her way through the imps coolly looking over the mess they’d made. They had to flap their wings extra hard to get out of her way, vile grumblings rattling through thin lips mixing with their snickers.

“It is a shame,” Rarity said, speaking as if to herself rather than addressing the imps. “I’d been promised access to the library, and hoped to see it in the fullness of its glory. Not in this dreadful state. My husband is going to be so disappointed.”

The imps cackles ceased with a sharp finality. Sharp glances were cast towards the boss, its underlings twisting their gnarled hands in worry.

“Boss, you says the Great Magnificent One no worry about piddly little library.”

Cudgeling the speaker with a bony fist, the rotund imp snarled, “She just trying to be tricksy, you oaf! Use that psychology thingy. We no be fooled by pretty alicorn’s pretty words none, right you gits? The Great Big Bestest Boss no care about a few books.”

There was far fewer mutterings of support than there’d been jeers of laughter before. Rarity couldn’t help but smirk.

“Oh, you darling thing, of course he cares. He cares about everything in Amaymon being just perfect. And this,” Rarity gestured at the mess with a casual flick of a hoof, “is far from perfect.”

Mutters began to grow among the smaller imps, discontent noises and glares sent at their fat leader.

“We’s just havin' a bit of a laugh! This ain’t wrong. We right!”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Rarity let out an unsure hum.

The demons faces paled beneath their ugly, ruddy skin at the doubt put into the simply noise.

“It was them's idea, anyways!” The fat imp sputtered, waving a fist at his followers. “I was one who tried to make 'em stop, Ms Boss Pony. But they no listen. Ears full of wax.”

Rarity stayed silent, and simply glared at the imp like she would a particularly problematic dress. Beneath her gaze the imp wilted further, and then flew into a hissing rage at the other imps. In a flurry it started pummeling them over the heads with books, kicking them, yanking their wings with its bony fists. All the while it yelled at them to put the books back. Within moments the mess had been cleared away and the imps flew towards the exit, leaving behind seven unsorted books on the floor.

Withholding a sigh until the demons had vanished, Rarity retrieved the books, and returned to the puppet.

At her approach the puppet snapped back to life, relief washing across his glassy eyes.

“You have my thanks for taking care of those nuisances!” Forced enthusiasm made the puppets voice flat. “Here is your reward.”

The rolled up blank scroll and a small bag of coins appeared next to the puppet, hovering within a field of ruby edged darkness. Rarity took them without thinking, storing them beneath a wing before turning to continue exploring the library.

Before she’d gone more than a few steps, the puppet spoke again, and this time his voice dripped with desperation. “Kill me!”

Frozen where she stood, half-turned away, Rarity at first thought she’d perhaps imagined the demand. It came again, with even greater longing.

“Please, Your Grace, do not leave me like this! I do not know how you came to be here, but please, kill me! Destroy me! Anything but—”

Whatever magic had faltered re-asserted itself, the pony once more a puppet. A statue held in perpetual frozen torment, only able to move and speak but a few lines at the approach of somepony new. Forever bound to a single spot in the library, aware of all that happened around it, but unable to act, bereft of even the most basic of freedoms. It was a fate worse than anything else Rarity could imagine, and she had seen and could imagine a great deal of horrors from her time living in Amaymon.

Slowly she called on her magic, letting her horn ignite with power as she contemplated the poor puppet pony. She had no spells designed to kill. They were something Rarity never wished to learn. But, enough raw magic channeled would have the same effect, and Rarity had far, far, far more than enough.

She hesitated, however.

This pony who begged her to release him from his nightmare was in Amaymon, the realm of Hell where those who sold their souls for Lust were doomed to spend eternity. That he was here meant he’d had to have formed a bargain with a demon. And that meant he belonged to Asmodeus.

“I am sorry, but I can’t risk it,” Rarity said as she banished the magic dancing along her horn.

If it were possible the puppets eyes would have swam with hatred or despair. Probably both. Rather than look on the empty gaze fixed in her direction, Rarity left and ventured deeper into the library.

Once she was alone and certain nopony was watching, she collapsed onto a chair. Wearied from her confrontation with the imps she checked the ‘rewards’ given by the puppet, though she hardly needed. The ‘blank scroll’ was exactly as it purported: a plain piece of parchment that she’d have used to send letters or scribble designs. The silver coins were silver coins, held in a simple canvas bag, and of absolutely no value in Amaymon.

“Does he think this some game?” Rarity huffed as she placed scroll and coin purse back under her wing.

Rarity spent the rest of the day in the library searching high and low for any literature on gates, traveling between realms, or teleportation. There were plenty of stories on such subjects, fairy tales aplenty describing the pacts demons had made with various mortals across a myriad of worlds. A common theme quickly emerged. The demons never made their way to the worlds without being summoned. Sometimes this involved a crossroads, or a blood ritual of some sort with the demon’s name being evoked. This after the demon found some crack or other in the wards meant to keep them imprisoned through which they could whisper their names to the mortal, infect his or her dreams, or taint some item.

Being as these were books in hell, the demons were praised for their cunning, the mortals their lustful stupidity, and everything always worked out in the demon’s favour in the end. Regardless of the attempts of heroes, archons, or even gods who attempted to intervene, the demon always collected its prize in the end.

Worry that she’d never find anything useful began to close in around Rarity.

Surely it would take more than a single day to find the answers she sought, but a large part of her had hoped, irrationally, that the way out of Amaymon would be there waiting for her.

She visited the library again the next day, and the day after that.

Every morning the imps had returned and the puppet reset. Wanting to avoid being spied upon, she shooed them away, collecting the scroll and small bag of useless bits.

A full month passed before she came across what she needed deep in the dusty archives beneath the curated sections.

In an ancient tongue long since lost to any other realm was written the simple title, The Gates of Marelantis. The tome was thick and covered in a deep layer of dust in the furthest recesses of the library. Inside Rarity found instructions on how to craft giant gateways capable of piercing the barriers between realities. Spell matrixes for temporary portals. Methods of summoning—or being summoned—to distant worlds. How to temporarily bind a demon into a servant.

With this tome it was possible for entire armies to march between realms.

Heart beating faster, Rarity felt the tingle of suspicion. But she had to chance that the book was what it seemed, rather than some trap lain by Asmodeus. Quickly she rifled through the varied methods and spells the tome supplied.

She needed a spell powerful enough to overcome the wards placed over Hell to keep the demons contained. One that could wedge open a crack. Asmodeus had some method of leaving and returning, so it wasn’t as impossible as everypony was told.

The perfect spell was located near the middle. It would have been easy to skip over in favour of other spells, innocent and appearing far too simple. A mere nine runes were required, the frame was entirely basic in structure, and—if she were reading the calculations right—even an average unicorn would have magical power needed to perform the spell. Rarity didn’t recognize half of the runes, but the others she already knew.

The only concern was that the bottom of the page was missing, eaten like a cabbage leaf swarmed by caterpillars.

This wasn’t the only page with such damage. Almost every spell had pieces missing. Though, suspiciously, nothing that seemed critical to the actual casting.

Copying the spell onto her scroll was easy. Rarity hesitated, however. She couldn’t risk being discovered. Quickly she formulated a plan.

As she copied the spell, she placed it within the design for a collection of dresses. Each dress held a single rune. By placing them into a specific order the spell was created.

“This is so obviously laid out even Dash would recognise this as a trap, or my luck isn’t as terrible as I thought,” Rarity sighed as she worked. “No matter. It is a risk I have to take. I simply can not stay here any longer. Calm down, Rarity, you are starting to talk to yourself. That is never a good sign.”

Once done, she replaced the tome on the self, and for good measure made sure to spread the dust back around. That way if anypony checked the aisle they wouldn’t be able to uncover which books she’d read. Half-turned to leave, Rarity stopped. If she left only the one section altered, whichever little devil was sent to uncover what she’d been doing would know where to look. All it would take would be finding the tome to know that she had a way out of Amaymon.

Charging her horn, Rarity decided to clean the entire library. The whole thing from the tops of the chandeliers to the carpet flooring. She left nothing untouched, making sure everything was sparkling perfect. Making the room beautiful.

It would be ruined by morning, the imps back to their antics, everything reset to how it’d been. In the meantime, Rarity let out a relieved sigh.

Satisfied in her endeavours, Rarity began planning how to find the runes she was missing. It was normal for spell formulas to only use a short-hoof script for the runes used, rather than the runes themselves. This helped prevent curious unicorn foals from attempting magic far beyond them when they’d poke through textbooks. Runes themselves were kept in many places, though most often directly passed down from mentor to student. There would be little chance of Rarity gaining the three missing runes in such a manner. But, they’d be somewhere in the hellish palace. It would be too easy for runes to be lost if not written down.

Since she had access to the entire palace, that meant she also had access to the store-rooms with the scrolls containing runes.

Only the capstone rune gave her some concern. Unsurprisingly, the name was unfamiliar, but so were the classification symbols.

Lost in thoughts about where to begin her search for the missing runes, Rarity didn’t realize there was somepony else in her sitting room until they cleared their throat. Stifling a gasp, Rarity twisted around. Her mouth fell open in surprise at the pony sitting in the corner.

An elated gasp burst from Rarity.

“Trixie?!”

Author's Note

Amaymon has been some of the most difficult parts I've had to write for any story. The question always was how to depict Hell and the demons within. Early on I decided to avoid the standard fire and brimstone BDSM type tropes. I wanted no more than a few hints and nods to that sort of thing being present but kept away from Rarity.

Settling on more power dynamics of control, freedom, fear, and domination was easy. Writing it much more difficult. I needed to be careful about what was stated, shown, and alluded. Asmodeus isn't some 'Rawr! Break Things!' type villain like Tirak, though the implications are there that he certainly can brawl if needed.

Because of this chapter and the rest of those that take place in Amaymon I am going to be adding the Dark tag to this story. There are enough implications and hidden meanings that make me uneasy enough that I believe it is warranted in this case.

Part Six

The Rariad
By Tundara

Reunited at last, our heroes had many trials yet to overcome before they would be free of Amaymon. The plots of a King of Hell are multilayered and many, none more so than those of the King of Lust, for he was the First Demon and his Desires are without limit. His words are a cascade of silver lies. His charm able to disarm the most wary heart. His spite consuming entire worlds in burning ice. From Him the Aether was formed, and to Him it will return.

Or, so it has been written…

6: Amaymon

“Trixie!” Rarity repeated the name like it were the most precious sound in creation.

Jerking her head upward, Trixie peered at Rarity with glassy eyes. The left side of Trixie’s face twitched, tension roiling down neck, shoulders, and legs. In a rush Rarity crossed the room and swept Trixie up into wings and hooves.

It was on touching her that Rarity realised something startling, something impossible, something that would have been cause for celebration under other circumstances.

“You’re alive?” Rarity held the much smaller pony out at hoof’s length like she would a foal. “You’re alive!”

Trixie gave Rarity a long frown, and blinked a few times.

Gone was the transparency of the spirits trapped in Hades. The ghostly opaque blue glow that characterised the dead replaced by warm blood and soft fur. Her mane smelled of thick perfumes, and her breath of mint as it tickled Rarity’s cheek. Her hooves dangled, limp and forgotten, but whole. Warmth flowed from Trixie, pushed by the heavy beats of a frantically beating heart.

“R-Rarity?” croaked Trixie in a dry voice.

Tears welled in Trixie’s eyes, and then she was throwing herself fully into Rarity. She clung to Rarity for what seemed to be hours. Trixie shook. She wept tears of those who’d been damned and had salvation thrust upon them. Pity swelled in Rarity’s heart at the desperation and fear in Trixie’s touch.

Gently, Rarity smoothed down Trixie’s mane.

“It is alright darling. I am here. I will protect you.” The promise felt hollow in Rarity’s mouth.

“P-Protect me?” Trixie squirmed deeper into Rarity’s embrace. “W-We are damned. No one can p-protect me, or y-y-you.”

“Ah! I see you found the great master’s gift,” chirped a far-too-chipper maid behind Rarity.

Only barely stifling a gasp, Rarity turned to glare daggers at the intrusion. “Gift? You…” Rarity sucked in a deep breath to quell her pounding heart, and only with great effort biting back the remainder of a reprimand. A heady mixture of happiness, anger, fear, and pity made the room tilt just a little. She clamped down harder on her emotions, none of them showing on the practiced aloof air she maintained.

Releasing Trixie from the crushing hug, Rarity took a half step back. Much as she would with a doll, she began to smooth down Trixie’s fur, tuck a few strands of dangling silvery mane behind an ear, and straighten any stray strands of her tail. Trixie sat frozen, petrified, the entire time, gaze never wavering from the demonic maids that now flowed into the room.

“You seem surprised, my queen,” the handmaid said, drawing out the title. “Did you doubt he’d acquire your pet mortal?”

“I never doubted that Asmodeus would be able to acquire her for me. It is gratifying to see my judgement well placed.” Rarity wore her most falsely sincere smile perfectly.

The handmaid smiled back pleasantly, and then returned to directing her underlings.

Humming a ghastly perversion of a working song, five maids spun in a little storm of cleaning. The handmaid stood next to the door, golden eyes gleaming and voice cracking like a whip as her subordinates rushed to her bidding. Hooves scraping down a blackboard were less irritating than the demonic singing. Discordant notes crackled from wretched throats. Rarity suppressed a shudder, used to the demons’ attempts to torment her in any small way possible.

Trixie cringed and crawled further up the bed to get away from the maids.

It was only a few minutes before the song came to a sudden close, and the maids departed, the room in perfect order. The handmaid gave a bow to Rarity, and said, “His almighty Highness returns this eve, and a grand celebration will be hosted. All the kings, princes, dukes, and even the marquis have been invited.”

“All?” Rarity half-repeated, and half-demanded. She recalled Asmodeus’ parting promise of a gala. Hope to escape before his return, thin as it may have been, flickered into nothingness.

“All.” The handmaid’s grin grew wider, even more sinister with anticipated pleasures. “It will be the first time in thousands of years that all will be present. It should make for a very interesting time.”

“I should hope so,” Rarity dismissed the handmaid with a flick of her wing. “After making me wait so long it had better be the grandest gala ever to be held.”

With a pleased laugh, the handmaid curtseyed, a hungry tint to her voice as she said, “Oh, it will be the most amazing event, I am certain.”

With this, the handmaid swept from the room, leaving Rarity and Trixie alone again.

Rarity waited a full minute before she moved, and then it was to the door to apply an assortment of wards. There was a kernel of doubt about their effectiveness, as with all things in Amaymon, but to avoid using them was even more foolish. It would be expected she’d try, after-all.

From the bed, sheets pulled up to her chin, Trixie silently watched as Rarity applied the myriad wards.

“It really is you, isn’t it?” Trixie’s voice quavered in a harsh croak from disuse for anything except screaming for who-knew-how-long. “No! This is a trick! A trap! You won't fool me again, demon!”

Hysterical panic infused Trixie’s face, twisting it into a feral expression. Her soft blue eyes darted towards every corner and the windows, alighted briefly on the doors out of the room, and then returned to Rarity.

Clicking her tongue much as she would while considering an obstinate dress, Rarity took her time to consider how best to help Trixie. There were plenty of spells to calm ponies, none of which Rarity knew. Such magic was risky and tightly controlled in Equestria. Tampering with a pony’s mind was the gravest of taboos.

Closing her eyes as she tried to think up a plan, Rarity became aware of just how cracked and ugly Trixie’s mind had become. Ugly in the sense of scarred and broken. Of the underlying damages left by the raking claws of demonkind. Of months and months trapped in Hell.

An idea sprang up. A dangerous idea. One that would test the limits of her newfound powers.

If Trixie’s mind was ‘ugly’ because it was damaged, perhaps if she made it ‘beautiful’, it would be restored to its proper form, and Trixie would be healed.

The idea both thrilled and terrified Rarity. Implications too dreadful to contemplate briefly flitted like the harsh cries of a warning raven. Quickly, Rarity put them out of her mind. No other options were available to her, and she simply had to help Trixie. She owed the mare more than she could ever truly repay.

It was all too easy to reach into the flowing field that constituted the abstract quality of ‘Beautiful’ and grip the tattered edges of Trixie. Squeaking, Trixie tried to back away from the goddess. A pointless gesture.

Still, Rarity hesitated. The effects of what she was about to attempt were unknown. What if she harmed more than helped? What would be the repercussions?

All it took was seeing the madness infused terror clouding Trixie’s soul to harden her resolve. Hushing Trixie as one would a wounded animal, Rarity gently smoothed the fabric of what constituted ‘beauty’ that wove through Trixie. There was resistance, Trixie’s soul fighting back against the attempt. Whether this was conscious, subconscious, or just something natural to the nature of a soul eluded Rarity. With fermer pressure she continued to straighten the weave. Tendrils of tension rippled along a particularly strong tangle, and for an instant Rarity feared she was about to tear the ephemeral, non-existent fabric she held. With the greatest of delicacy and skill she worked at the loose threads, and unbound the tangle.

Trixie gasped and sagged against the bed. Terrified that she’d hurt her friend, Rarity let go of the still damaged fabric of ‘beauty’.

“Darling, are you alright?” Rarity softly asked, leaning in a little closer. Dread gripped her in a vice. Worry that she’d somehow hurt Trixie swimming in her stomach.

With a second, stronger gasp Trixie shot upright, hooves flailing through the sheets. With a yelp she tumbled over the side of the bed. Before Rarity could move around to help, Trixie had shot back up, eyes once more darting around the room, but now with a glimmer of curiosity mixed in among the fear.

Locking onto Rarity, Trixie squinted and gasped, “Rarity? What… What did you do? What happened? What is going on? Where in Tartarus are we?”

Relief washing through her, Rarity managed a laugh. The first genuine laugh in a very long time.

“We are not in Tartarus anymore, darling.”

“Not in Tartarus?” Hope, joy, shock; they all so briefly flashed over Trixie’s face. “Then where are we?”

Rarity lightly bit the inside of her lip, and then released a heavy sigh. Sitting down next to Trixie she explained everything about their current situation, and her plans to escape. Trixie took it all in without interruption, head lowered in thought.

“I should have just left you when I had the chance,” Trixie at last said, the words choking in her throat with emotion. “If I had struck out on my own… If… If I had…”

“Excuse me?” Rarity swept up to her hooves in a flash, wings half outstretched in anger.

“How long has it been?” Trixie swept her head up, and Rarity was met by a glare of anger to equal that which blossomed in her own chest. “How long have you been in this palace while I was being tortured?”

“That hardly matters,” Rarity countered. “It wasn’t as if I was free to do anything.”

“You abandoned me,” Trixie hissed on a ragged breath. She wheezed, and all her rage was impotent in her weakened state. “After all I sacrificed to heal that broken mind of yours. I could have found a way to Elysium on my own. Hades may have barred many, but even he couldn’t prevent every form of escape.”

“I have never heard anypony so ungrateful before!” Rarity shrieked back. “It has been anything but pleasant for me as well, Trixie. He is a stallion who can not be refused, with a stallion’s desires. We have both been defiled by our captors.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Nopony brought me wine on a bed of roses before flaying the skin from my back.”

Swallowing a further retort, Rarity put on her practiced mask of outward calm. “We can have this discussion when we return to the disc. I have uncovered a means of leaving this place, but have been unable to implement it. I’m missing a few runes.”

Trixie squinted at the sheaf of parchment passed to her. She turned it a couple times, as if looking for something that might be hidden. “This is impossible,” she said, scratching her chin with a hoof. “There is simply no way this spell could get us out of,” Trixie shuddered, “here.”

“And why not?” Rarity bristled at the sudden bursting of her carefully cultivated hope.

“Because this spell is used for summoning elemental spirits. There is no way it could help us escape.” Trixie waved the page accusingly at Rarity. She suddenly halted, and quickly began reading the spell again. “But… If I replace Qyr with Nx’Holtet… And reverse the base and cap… This could work. Except, what is this rune? We never had it on Ioka… I need some place to work. You wouldn’t happen to have a casting chamber, would… what is it?”

Trixie looked up from the page, and only then noticed that Rarity was staring at her open mouthed.

“You used personal pronouns!” Rarity said, with more than a little harsh bite of accusation.

Cocking her head to the side, Trixie stared at Rarity as if she were looking on the town idiot playing in a mud puddle. “Of course I did.”

“You never did before.” Worry returned in a rush. Was this a side-effect of ‘fixing’ Trixie’s tortured psyche?

Sighing, Trixie rubbed her forehead as if to stave off a headache. “If it makes you feel better, the great and powerful Trixie will use the third-person. Happy?”

“There is no need for attitude,” Rarity huffed. “I was just concerned for you. After all you did for me, why shouldn’t I?”

Throwing up her hooves, Trixie all but shouted, “Can we please just concentrate on the spell? We can bicker once were out of here.”

Cheeks colouring a little, Rarity nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, of course.”

Rarity took Trixie to the casting chamber that was part of her sprawling quarters. It was next to one of three drawing rooms, past a small pink door. Rarity slowed as she passed the door, its presence incongruent with the rest of the opulent quarters. Some suspicion tickled the back of her mind, but she quickly brushed it aside.

Her casting chamber stood in a corner of the palace atop a tower. Tall glass windows ringing the curved walls let in splashes of ruby light and overlooked much of the surrounding badlands and the lush palace gardens. Most of the floor was taken up by a solid gold circle. Flanking the single door into the chamber were cobalt shelves covered in vials and boxes of all sorts of alchemical and magical reagents.

Trixie let out an appreciative whistle, and made a straight line for the center of the circle where she began to inscribe runes into the floor amongst spread out notes. At first Rarity provided what information and runes she possessed, but quickly grew quiet as it became apparent that she had little to provide. With a trio of aether infused gem tipped etching pens, Trixie worked at a feverish pace.

For a brief moment Rarity saw a flash of Twilight in Trixie’s place. There was the same level of single-minded concentration. Brow pinched, lips moving silently as she muttered arcane phrases of the spell matrix, Trixie ignored everything else but the spell’s construction. It was only for an instant, but it made Rarity long for home all the greater, and hate her present surrounds even more.

She wished she could have remained and helped more on the spell, but she had to prepare for the gala. If nothing else, Rarity could distract and keep the attention away from Trixie.

They were so close to escape, and there was no time more dangerous. If they were discovered now… Rarity shuddered a little as she slipped on her most alluring dress.

“I have placed Asmodeus’ gift in the spell chamber,” Rarity said casually as she affixed the Jewels of Helen about her throat. “It seems to be the only place she wont whimper. She is to be left alone. I will be very upset if she is disturbed.”

The hoofmaids assisting her bowed their heads.

“Very good,” Rarity checked herself in the mirror, pleased with the results. She was running appropriately late, and trying her best to keep her nerves settled, she left her chambers at a dignified pace. Behind her came her hoofmaids, all wearing identical dresses that acted as compliments to her own.

She heard the gala long before she reached the thick doors leading to the ballroom. Slowing, she nodded to the hulking demon in a tight fitting suit that acted as the announcer.

Multifaceted eyes swept over her as the demon bowed low, and then entered the ballroom to announce her.

The Grand Ballroom of Amaymon stretched near a hundred pony lengths across, and half as deep. Cobalt blue pillars gilt in gold held aloft a glass domed ceiling. Enchantments created the appearance of a starlit sky with a trio of moons arcing gently through a swimming sea of stars and dancing auroras mirrored in the polished black marble floor creating the impression of floating in the heavens. In the far left corner a band played on a raised platform, taloned hands cradling long necked instruments, a six limbed demon flailing on a great ring of drums as smoke curled up around them.

Wild, frenetic music pulsed, drums mixing with a shrill metallic squeal that was oddly enjoyable. There was a speed to the music that conjured images of a chase through wind swept badlands, or dark, humid jungles, some great creature lumbering after its prey. At times the music grew heavy, the metallic squeals morphing into deep rumbles like an endless thrum of thunder atop a distant mountain that reverberated through Rarity’s bones. She would never grow used to the demonic music, but she had to admit that there was something pleasing on a primal level to its mesh of noise and rhythm.

On the dance floor before the band writhed a sea of bodies, twisting, entwining, then separating as they gyrated to the rhythm. Heads whipped back and forth. Sultry seductresses dragged long fingers up the hem of their dresses, teasing glimpses of the taught flesh on the curves of their thighs or flanks. Primal, sensual, and dangerous, the dance reflected the bestial nature of those that participated.

At her arrival the music suddenly shifted, the music growing soft to the tones of a plucked guitar as a succubus began to sing, forlorn longing in her voice. An anticipatory pall fell over the ballroom. Dancing ceased, and every eye swiveled towards her.

Rarity waited another half-heartbeat before stepping into the hall, all grace and perfect majesty. Her gold and sapphire dress cascaded behind her as she flowed into the midst of the demonic gathering. Every eye was on her, and most held just the right mix of jealousy and frank appreciation.

Ephemeral, Rarity glided through the hellish host. Succubi in their tight gowns licked their lips and curtsied to their queen, lustful gazes traces her every curve. Each of them wished they could be her, or share her bed. The mighty lords of the pits appraised her as they would any other rival. She could almost see the plots being devised in their unflinching gazes.

“Beautiful,” growled a gravelly voice on her right. “Oh, yeah. What I’d do with her, mmmm.”

What the demon would have done no one would ever know, as in the next instant he let out a feral scream as all eight of his eyes burst into flame, popping like overripe cherries falling on stone, black ichor running down his cheeks like melted wax. Within moments the flames had consumed the demon’s head and it fell over dead, skull bursting into an ashen cloud when it struck the floor. A few seconds more and nothing remained but a sooty stain on the carpet.

The spectacle was quickly dismissed, demons and demonesses snickering. “What a mistake to commit, in this of all places,” a few of the succubi sneered, latching tighter to their chosen consorts for the night.

Coming up to Asmodeus, resplendent in robes to match her dress, Rarity gave him a chaste, teasing kiss on the cheek before taking her place at his side. She made certain that every demon present saw her, that She was His equal, even if it were the boldest of lies to be told that night.

‘This is your role,’ she thought to herself, ‘to be the Queen of Amaymon, Realm of Lust. Act the part.’

To Asmodeus she said, “Darling, you have outdone yourself. When you said you were to hold a gala, why, I never imagined it could be so grand. This is truly spectacular and Beautiful.”

She put extra emphasis on the last word, and for once she wasn’t lying. To the demons this was indeed beauty at its highest form; lies, treachery, wine, hedonism, and finery all mixing to create a heady mix of danger, intrigue, and opportunity. It was everything gala entailed, but sharpened to the deadliest edge.

“It is but a paltry thing next to your radiance this evening,” he replied with an amused noise in the bottom of his throat. “Come, let me introduce you to my self-styled rivals.”

“Rivals, darling?” Rarity purred the question. “They must think far too highly of themselves if they believe they can rival you.”

The usual bitter taste filled her mouth.

She swallowed the taste. This was a play, and she the central actor. A deadly play if performed incorrectly.

Laying a wing over her withers, Asmodeus guided her around the ballroom. First she met Leviathan, the Queen of Envy in the form of a lithe, sea-foam green pony with a mane like tangled seaweed held by coral pins. On her flanks rested the image of a yellow eye held in the coils of a snake. A pair of horns curved behind her ears, and long wings rested against her sides. She wore a tight, dark blue dress that sparkled with little pieces of abalone shell that hugged her form in all the right places.

“Brother, it is… a joy to see you again,” Leviathan said, a long yawn breaking her words. “And with a pretty new trophy as well.”

“Oh Leviathan, try to keep some of your desire in check,” Asmodeus teased, “You will never be able to compare to the Goddess of Beauty herself. Not when a child is able to best you in your own lair.”

Raising a leg as another, deeper yawn shook her body, Leviathan drowsily said, “Faust cheated, but I have had the last laugh. She died, lost her precious memories and vaunted connections, and the alicorns now isolate themselves from the mortals. They believe me defeated for good. They grow more and more distant from the rest of the disc, and when I next awaken, I will drown Ioka herself, and tear them apart one by one.”

“Of course you will, of course you will,” Asmodeus placated Leviathan, and then moved on.

In rapid succession she was introduced to the other rulers of Hell.

Belphegor was a jittering, unshaven, shaggy demon in a hodge-podge suit that was several hundred centuries out of fashion with darting eyes and a frenetic energy. The King of Sloth continually twitched and wriggled, unable to stay still for more than a few moments. Of all the kings, he was given the widest berth by the crowd, no demon standing within two lengths of him. Even Asmodeus stopped short, holding Rarity back from getting too close.

“Ah ah ah, brother,” Asmodeus cautioned, tutting his tongue when Belphegor reached for Rarity’s hoof. “No touching. I want to keep this jewel a while longer.”

“I wouldn’t take anything of hers,” Belphegor responded in a buzzing snap, his words almost tumbling into each other they were said so quickly. “Though she does have so much… energy. So much drive and vitality. Perhaps just a little taste…”

“And you are unable to control yourself.” Asmodeus’ tone darkened.

Belphegor shrugged, shifted from hoof to hoof, and then excused himself. A hole seemed to open around him as he moved away through the crowd as if he repelled the other demons.

Next came Beelzeboul, the skeletal thin, perpetually starving King of Gluttony. Every morsel he attempted to take from the waiters moving about the ballroom rotted before it could reach his lips. Drinks turned brackish in his mere presence. Forlornly he gazed on those enjoying the provided treats. After sharing only a few words of greeting with him they moved on.

In a corner of the ballroom stood Mammon, King of Avarice. His attire was painfully plain, and he stank of brimstone and sweat. This was somewhat offset by the thick gold chains he wore bunched over the back of his neck and the hoops that had been drilled into his ram horns. When he smiled gold flashed in his teeth. Heavily muscled almost to the point of being grotesque, he was the most physically imposing of the kings, his shoulders higher than the tip of Rarity’s horn.

“Brother!” Mammon boomed, his voice carrying above even the screaming band. He reached out and, to Rarity’s shock, wrapped Asmodeus in his thickly corded legs. Rising up onto his back hooves he proceeded to crush Asmodeus in a vice like hug.

Casually, Asmodeus pushed apart the far larger king’s legs and slipped from his grasp, an exasperated smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“This is a mighty fine party, ain’t it?” His tiny, black eyes twinkled in his round head. “Mighty fine, mighty fine. Best wine, best ladies,” Mammon’s eyes traced over Rarity and then to the many succubi writhing on the dance floor, “and best entertainment. And the spread, Mmm!”

He smacked his thick lips and raised a massive platinum goblet overflowing with wine. A mischievous glitter filled his eyes and he leaned towards Asmodeus and Rarity.

“It’s been too long since we all gathered. Far too long. Say, you hear Rothy almost broke her chains? Used some filly or other touched by a stupid alicorn as an avatar.”

“I am aware,” Asmodeus’ smoothly responded. “Her attempt was doomed to failure. Ioka is far too well defended in this present age to be an enticing target. Why, it wouldn’t surprise me if in the next few decades it supplanted Gaea as home to the pre-eminent alicorn pantheon. Zeus and Hades both spend more time there than in their respective domains. It will be interesting how the other Gaean alicorns respond.”

Rarity’s blood chilled at the mention of Ioka. It was the most she’d heard of her home since falling into Amaymon. She had to work hard to keep her expression one of aloof disinterest. Her heart beat so hard she wondered that it wasn’t heard even against the bass booms coming from the band.

So many questions assaulted her. Who was the filly? How had Ioka fared another demonic incursion? What was Zeus, of all alicorns, doing on Ioka! Were the Olympians going to follow their brethren who’d appeared on the disc?

She almost shuddered at the mere idea of Ares, Niomedes, Hera, Hades, or Zeus let loose on sweet, innocent Ioka. Even the likes of Alke, Hephaestus, or Aphrodite would have been like letting wild ferrets loose in a chicken pen.

Mammon nodded sagely. “Think the Olympians will respond? Wage a little war? Hmmm, something to consider.”

“That would be rather entertaining,” Asmodeus agreed, taking a glass of wine from a passing waiter.

After a little more small talk that Rarity was too preoccupied to pay any attention towards, she was brought to Astoroth, Queen of Wrath. A pale blue mare missing her eyes, she wore a dress more appropriate to the battlefield than a ballroom. Dark metal peytral and barding flowed into a skirt of glittering steel scales. A crown of horns grew from her head that continually shed shards of ice. Wisps of condensation curled off her folded wings and close cropped mane. Near her the temperature in the room dropped several degrees as all heat was absorbed.

“Rarity Belle, the Goddess of Beauty herself… you are so unlike your sister,” Astoroth said, upper lip pulled up in a half-snarl.

Caught off guard at the mention of her sister, Rarity didn’t respond right away.

“She possessed such delicious rage. So much hatred and bitterness that her soul was black long before she called out to me and I granted her her deepest desire. But I see you have no knowledge of what I speak, that you are ignorant of the events surrounding the ones you claim to love. Interesting.”

“My sister would have nothing to do with the likes of you,” Rarity snapped, wings growing rigid. Hatred, disgust, and the need to strike the impudent queen for daring to mention lovely, innocent, playful Sweetie Belle welled in Rarity. Her leg twitched, and it took supreme self-control to withhold her hoof.

“Astoroth, you are making my flower wilt,” Asmodeus’ voice held no hint of playfulness.

Empty sockets swung towards the King of All Demons, and Astoroth bared her jagged fangs. At the shift of Astoroth’s gaze, the rage boiling higher in Rarity’s chest subsumed.

“Then perhaps you should send her somewhere less inhospitable to her kind. If she is truly to join us as a queen of the damned she will have to become immured to such simple truths. Placing her in a glass case to keep her pristine is useless in your court and only a liability, no matter how pretty it keeps her petals. But then, that is your point, isn’t it? To give the appearance of having a vulnerability, no matter how slight. Tempt the foolish amongst us into hasty plots. I wonder how many will take you up on this little game, dear brother.”

“I so enjoy her bluntness,” Asmodeus admitted as Astoroth marched off through the revelers. “But she really needs to learn more control.”

“I’m amazed you let her get away with speaking in such a manner,” Rarity huffed, and put on the perfect pout.

“It is because it is pointless,” purred a voice smooth as velvet, with a deep rumble in its base that would make any mortal mare swoon on hearing. Turning around Rarity was confronted by Mephisto.

He combined the greatest attributes of the other rulers of Hell. Tall as Mammon, but lacking the bulbous nature, he was exceedingly well toned with everything in perfect proportion. A finely trimmed bread graced the curve of a strong jaw, black as midnight against his ruby red fur. Great auroch horns curved from his broad brow, and draconian wings rested over top of the folds of a wizard’s robes bunched about his waist and folded back over his flanks leaving his muscular shoulders exposed.

“Ah, dearest sister, at last we meet,” The King of Pride hooked Rarity’s wing with his own, and brought it to his lips. Every movement, every twist of his lips, every word was absolutely perfect. Any mere mortal mare would have been dumbstruck in his mere presence.

Rarity was no longer any mortal mare, however, and just smiled as he lightly kissed her wingtip. His touch was burning hot, as if a firestorm raged just beneath the surface of his fur.

“It is a pleasure,” Rarity replied in the same manner she’d overheard demons use. “But, what do you mean that it is pointless.”

Mephisto laughed with a rich timber that rolled over the gala. “Not all of us may leave our realms, or would choose to do so. Leviathan and Astoroth are both incapable of being here in person. You have met simple projections of their will only. Our dear sisters both made mistakes that cost them dearly. Enough to make me wonder at times why we still count them as peers. A king or queen should never make a mistake, and they tarnish the rest of us by their continued existence.”

“Ah, but would not their destruction be even more of a mark on us, brother?” Asmodeus smoothly interjected. “Besides, I find their struggles amusing.”

“You are too lenient,” Mephisto snorted.

“Impossible,” Rarity laughed, drawing raised eyebrows from both of the kings. “My lovely Asmodeus is perfect, so he can neither be too lenient, nor too severe in his judgement.”

This bit of praise seemed to please both kings, and they nodded agreement.

No other words had burned as deeply to utter.

“You are such a wonderful flatterer, my dear. I have an idea. Sing for me,” Asmodeus commanded. “Entertain my guests, my brilliant little songbird.”

Affecting a playful laugh, Rarity covered her mouth and teased. “I haven’t practiced. I’m afraid I’d be unable to perform to satisfaction and will just embarrass you.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” Asmodeus chortled. He leaned towards Mephisto, and in a carrying voice, said, “She is so demure and humble, don’t you think? How she teases and plays with our hearts!”

There was none of the former conciliatory twists to the smile the King of All Demons gave Rarity. A hungry, predatory glint flashed deep in his eyes. It was the same look from her first night in Amaymon. Shivers of horror rippled along Rarity’s spine.

After so long, the biting retort she’d have once given instead came as a demur smile. Setting her shoulders, she briskly stepped onto the stage above all those terrible, leering eyes. The band went silent on her approach, waiting for her sign to continue. She dismissed them with a quick gesture. There was no music they could provide to stir the music in her soul. Her wings extended slowly, and she reached through fragmented memories for a song—any song—that would satisfy her bestial captor.

It took her only a moment to find what she required.

It was not a whole song, per se. Not one she’d ever heard before. It flowed through one of the many cracks in her past where ‘Rarity’ melded with ‘Serene’ and the distinction between the two became blurred. It was a hard song, a dark song. A song that would thrill a crowd of demons.

Lighting her horn with magic, Rarity summoned the song, letting it be her guide as it poured through her. New music filled the grand ballroom unlike that which had come before. The quick tap of drums and jangle of tambourines joined the almost harsh cry of a flute and bass thrum of a cello. To create music out of the very air was a rare talent, one that began to delight the crowd even before Rarity began to sing.

Far from home,

Engulfed by night.

Embrace pain to survive,

Legacy of madness and pride.

Memories of a golden throne,

A pillar of white light.

Law and love,

Gone,

From darkness,

Failed to hide.

Rarity’s ear flicked, a voice managing to penetrate the song. A voice only she could hear.

“Hear my plea,” came Trixie’s voice, almost making Rarity falter mid-note. “Give me the strength to cast this spell. Lend me your power, Rarity.”

Without thinking, Rarity shifted a portion of the magic flowing through her towards Trixie’s voice, using the song as a cover. Enraptured by her voice the demons failed to notice the small tendrils of aether syphoned off for Trixie. Or so Rarity hoped.

Lament,

The end of Fate,

Lost in twisted strands.

Torn asunder,

Hope plummets,

Through the moonless night.

Day and Night,

Pleasure spirals with Pain,

Entwined,

Into seasons of blood,

Lost in twisted strands,

Of Destiny.

“It’s working! It’s working!” came Trixie’s ecstatic voice. “Just a little more, please, Rarity. Just a little more.”

Digging deeper into herself, Rarity clutched the strands of hatred and back breaking weight of confinement imposed by Asmodeus. A heavy roll of drums sounded around her, and a chorus of violins joined the song as it gathered into a powerful tempest.

More was required.

She had to dig deeper, further, and keep what she was really doing hidden in the song.

Abandoned dreams fall to the disc.

Take up hammer and spell,

Gather the strength,

Fight back to the sun,

Or all is lost.

Tomorrow is nearly here,

Such a beautiful dream.

Battles,

Wish for a place your own.

Dig deep.

Cast light on the journey’s length,

Embrace the war till it is done.

On and on.

Cry for lost innocence.

Beneath the moonless night.

“It’s open! It’s open! Come quickly! I do not know how long I can keep it open!”

Joy, fear, exultation, hope, and deepest dread welled in Rarity’s chest. All these emotions and a thousand more she poured into every note of the song. The demons were enraptured, but it was a tenuous grip she held over them.

Planting her hooves wide she reared up, wings gently beating as she lifted from the stage. Magic now pulsed from her in a steady stream, adding multi-hued bands that wrapped around the ballroom in shimmering auroras.

Before her, Asmodeus’ smiled widest of all.

Lament,

The end of Fate,

Lost in twisted strands.

Day and Night,

Pleasure spirals with Pain,

Into seasons of blood.

Tomorrow is nearly here,

Such a beautiful dream.

Before the last note faded Rarity was reweaving the magic pouring through her. An unmistakable torrent flowed towards Trixie, and in an instant the kings and queens of Hell would be aware of what she was doing, if they weren’t already.

There was no going back. From the moment she began to respond to Trixie’s voice they’d been committed.

As her the song faded into a heavy silence her body broke apart like mist caught by a sudden wind. Teleportation was familiar, but only ever as a passenger, whisked by Twilight in short blinks. She’d never tried such a spell, and Asmodeus’ domain added only additional wrinkles. Would he know where she was going? Would she even be able to teleport?

Questions that were answered as she was enveloped in a momentary freezing expanse of endless nothingness. Her breath caught in her mouth as all external sensation abruptly vanished. There was no light, Rarity unable to see her own hoof. Ice crystallized across her dress and the edges of her feathers. Panic set in as her heart beat like a thundering drum in her ears once, twice, thrice, and then sensation returned in a flash of warm light.

Rarity reappeared just inside the casting chamber. A steady roar greeted her ears, and the chamber shook underneath her hooves. Winds whipped in cyclonic fury around a golden slash in the fabric of reality. Thick bands of cobalt lightning rippled from the tear’s edges. Inside the tear was a roiling grey cloud. At the edge of the casting circle, Trixie swayed on weakening legs. Sweat poured down her brow, and a bloody tear matted her left cheek where the vessels in the eye had popped. Patches of burnt fur smoldered across her back as heat poured out of her body. Smoke curled from the top of Trixie’s blackened horn from the effort of channeling so much raw aether.

“Hurry!” Trixie managed to croak, just as a world crushing howl echoed throughout the palace.

The chamber shook violently. Cracks ran up the walls and the windows shattered inward, spraying Rarity and Trixie with glass.

Rarity could feel Asmodeus’ approach, and acted.

Rushing forward she tackled Trixie into the portal.

Who knew where it went. All that mattered was it lead somewhere else. Somewhere outside Amaymon. Somewhere away from Asmodeus.

Spinning as she plummeted into the infinite void waiting inside the tear Rarity caught sight of the door to the casting chamber being wrenched asunder, and the King of Hell’s fury cascading towards her. Channelling a last bit of magic, Rarity willed the portal shut. Her last image was of Asmodeus smiling in the middle of his rage, and then she was enveloped by grey skies. Rain pelted her face, cool and fresh as a murky sea reached up towards her.

Author's Note

Author’s Notes:
This chapter has been a wild ride to write. As with the previous chapter I struggled a lot with how ‘evil’ to make the demons. I decided early on to keep the focus more on Trixie and Rarity and their reconnection, efforts to escape, and how Rarity was slowly starting to adapt to her surroundings, able to play more and more on an equal footing with the kings and queens of Hell. What would Rarity have become capable of doing if she’d stayed longer? Hmmm…

The introductions of the other rulers of Hell got slowly expanded over time. At first it was a simple ‘And Rarity was introduced to this long list of names, moving on!’ This didn’t really work and was a bit of overload on information. Focusing a little on each gave time for them to settle in the mind. It’s never a good idea to just dump lists of names on readers. It also gave me a chance to hint at some of the things going on in the main story without giving much away.

Of the seven, I’d say Belphegor is the most dangerous. As Sloth he drains all energy and will from anything he touches. He is a living blackhole, turning everyone into couch potatoes unable to work up the effort to reach for the remote and change the channel. He is the one I blame when it takes me a while to write new chapters. :P

One of the things that got cut was Trixie finding the missing rune for the spell. I wanted to keep the POV solely on Rarity during Amaymon, just as it'd been only on Trixie in Tartarus. Going forward it will shift back and forth a bit depending on who is more relevant. What I will say about the rune is that it was right under Rarity's nose, and in the most securely protected place in all Amaymon, right behind that plain, simple pink door...

Perhaps you'll get to know what lay beyond that door eventually.

For now, however, we move on to Gaea and the Olympians. If you think Rarity and Trixie are out of the woods yet... Oh boy... Gaea has not fared well with Zeus' absence.

The music for this chapter are; 1: All Guitar Flamethrower Guy Mad Max Fury Road OST; 2: ‘Chasing the Dragon’ by Epica; and at first I used ‘Lost in Thoughts All Alone’ from Fire Emblem Fates as the framework for Rarity’s song. This song got changed a lot later with ‘Entropy’ by End of Silence serving as the inspiration. Again, why do I keep writing songs when I know I am rather terrible at them?! Its like an addiction at this point... >.<;;

Interlude Two

The Rariad
By Tundara

Interlude 2: Amaymon

Asmodeus sat quietly on his throne, toying with a long, white feather. Gently he twisted it this way and that, light reflecting off its surface in a splash of rainbow hues. When he brought it to his ear he could hear a gentle singing, like a hymn echoing in the rafters of a cathedral. His cold, corrupt heart swelled and took a single, faltering beat, as if unsure of the process.

Before him his court shared uncertain looks. Some no doubt sensed weakness in their king. They were fools who’d be purged once they showed themselves. Most knew by now to never even entertain the idea that he had erred in any capacity.

A grin played at the corners of his lips.

Everything was going exactly as planned.

Well, almost.

Rarity had begun to take far too long in making her escape. It’d almost become worrisome, as if she intended to stay in Amaymon as his Queen in more than just name. Her ability to play the games of Hell’s politics was, admittedly, staggering. If he hadn’t known better, Asmodeus would have assumed she’d been born a demon. Her cunning, bravery, and trickery; it was bewitching.

There was a slight twist of pain in his chest, and for the briefest flicker of an instant he pondered whether he’d let his guard down. His conclusion was instantaneous, and he set the feather aside on its velvet pillow set on a pedestal next to his throne.

Asmodeus, the King of Lust, missed Rarity.

Or, to be more specific, he missed the fun of tormenting her, of the intricate dance of half-truths and games required to manipulate her. And yes, the taste of her lips when he stole a kiss. The tingle of an alicorn’s essence on the tongue was unique in its infinite variety of flavours.

He leaned back on his throne and allowed his eyes to slide shut while the rest of his senses flowed outward.

Rarity was on Gaea, and had taken his gift with her.

Beyond the boundaries of his throne room came a heavy crash followed by a beastial roar. Thunder rolled through the palace. The room shook, chandeliers swaying ever so slightly so that a multitude of shadows danced over the walls.

Asmodeus clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“So noisy,” he chided, gesturing for a dretch, one of those foolish souls who’d sold themselves into eternal servitude for temporary mortal gain, to bring him a fresh glass of rosé while he waited.

The tumult drew nearer, the walls shaking with the ferocious cries of dying demons amid shattering battle. His court looked up at him, careful to keep suspicious or doubts from their expectant faces. They all knew this was part of his multifaceted plans.

With a boom the throne room doors were cast open, and the roiling heat of an enraged sun swept into the chamber.

Golden armour covered in demonic gore and ichor, chest heaving from the efforts to breach Asmodeus’ palace, stood Celestia. Next to hovered Coronal Edge, the greatsword glowing with a searing intensity as the sliver of a sun channeled the boiling heart of its distant greater body, serving as a conduit between alicorn and domain. Even she’d known better than to bring Sol into Amaymon. Without that conduit, Celestia would have been but a pale shadow of her normal power.

Fierce eyes darted over the loathsome court and then settled on Asmodeus just as he raised a hoof.

“Come in, my dear Celestia,” he purred, indicating a place to his right at the great table set before him. “Don’t just stand there dripping blood on the new carpets. Sit by me, and tell me what brings you to my demesne with so much fire and passion. Would you prefer the rosé? It is a fine vintage from the vineyards of southern Prance, and utterly irreplaceable since your mother accidentally incinerated the chateau and surrounding orchards. Or, perhaps you would prefer the pinot noir? It brings out the flavours of the chicken piccata wonderfully.”

To her credit, Celestia hesitated only a moment before she marched past the counts, earls, barons, and dukes who sat at the table, and all staring at her with open hostility, hunger, and desire. She sank Coronal Edge’s tip into the floor next to her as she took the indicated seat.

“The rosé will do just fine. I’m not here for dinner, afterall,” Celestia cooly said as she thudded her messy helm down next to her plate.

Asmodeus smiled politely as the servants served the Crown Princess of Equestria. He smiled wider at the exceptionally subtle spells she cast over wine and food, checking them for poisons or any other deceptions. When she found none, Celestia’s wonderfully sculpted brow raised in surprise almost imperceptibly before she took a polite drink.

“You were telling the truth,” she said, giving the wine a more critical look. “An ‘82, if I’m not mistaken. However did you get it?”

“Servants I have in many lands, and through their eyes I see much, grasp what I will, and drag to this hell those pathetic little morsels. Your Canterlot is as beautiful as you, but there is a rot at its core.”

Asmodeus grinned pleasantly, and there were low chuckles along the length of the table. Just enough to show they were raptly listening to his every word, but not enough to steal a sliver of Celestia’s attention.

Her anger was white-hot where it leaked around the edges of her political mask. Such a juvenile attempt to control her flaring emotions could only make him laugh and prod further.

“How is your mother and Aunt? It’s been millenia since I last saw them, bobbing on the choppy waters as Marelantis slid beneath the waves. Leviathan hasn’t been too much of a nuisance, I hope.”

“They are well and maintaining the disc in my temporary absence.”

Celestia’s gaze dropped to the feather.

“Yes, yes, you’re here to wrestle Rarity from my oh-so vile clutches,” Asmodeus sigh, and rolled a dismissive hoof.

“But, she isn’t here anymore,” Celestia concluded.

Asmodeus frowned with irritation.

“No, my dear, skipping ahead in the script just won’t do,” he chidded, laying down knife and fork as he dabbed at his lips with a serviette. “This game of words was to dance for a while longer, with banter and wordplay that we didn’t even begin. A visit from an alicorn is rare indeed, and is something to be savoured. One way or another I will have my pleasures from you, Celestia. This is something Rarity learned quickly.”

This time there was silence along the table, every fiend along its length anxious for the command of their king. Talons gripped the ancient wood, and tongues slid across jagged fangs.

“Your arrogance is astounding,” he continued. “To believe you can march into my home uninvited, make demands of me, greatest of all demonkind, and take one of my treasures. All unscathed. I am aware of Zeus and Hades, of Luna and Twilight, and even of Artemis and Fleur skulking at the outskirts of my palace, ready to swoop in and pluck you to safety.”

Half lidding his eyes as he chidded Celestia, Asmodeus reordered Amaymon.

Mountains shifted, lakes were swallowed, and the palace sank into the ground to re-emerged a thousand leagues away, wrapped around a black peak so as to appear like a glittering, titanic screw. Tall windows replaced the banners that covered one of the long walls of the hall, showing a new lake taking shape surrounded by a forest of twisted trees in the valley below that had not existed moments ago. Those hills on which his other, less desired guests hid themselves were clustered around the gate to Tartarus. There they shared worried oaths and debated on what to do.

If she were perturbed at all by the changes, Celestia hid it well.

She sipped her drink, and said, “I was already well aware that you could change this realm at a whim, your Highness. Though,” and she cast a faintly impressed glance out the window, “that doesn’t make it any less… daunting. I suppose you have me at the disadvantage.”

Asmodeus inclined his head at the praise and returned to his meal.

“What would you do had you this power over Ioka?” He asked, opening a conversation that would have seemed to have been between old acquaintances reminiscing over old times were it between mortals.

It flowed back and forth, Celestia more than willing to play his word games. She was actually more proficient than she’d at first let on, which led to some pleasing moments of witty repartee and a subtle tense atmosphere. Celestia’s wits were honed against mortals, however, and no matter the genius’ she’d encountered over the millenia, none could compare to Him. With infinite joy he teased and tested her defenses, paced along the limits of her famed patience, and parried her attempts at rejoinders. For an hour it went, both talking about nothing of importance, but with the fate of a world in the balance.

“Have you been sated this evening?” She asked eventually after they’d retired to one of many billiard rooms.

Celestia, it turned out, was a ruthless player, and if it hadn’t factored as a detriment to his plans, Asmodeus would have kept her then and there. Alas, keeping an unruly sun, while it’d be amusing, would have drawn too much attention.

Especially from that annoying blow-hard; Zeus.

Now was not the time for vengeance on him. Oh no, his fait accompli wasn’t ready, and he’d rather not tip his hoof. Not yet, at least.

Asmodeus moved around the table, enjoying the curves of Celestia’s flanks as she leaned over the table to make an impressive shot.

“No,” he admitted as he took a complex shot that gained him three points, “I think it would take a century or more to fully enjoy all you could provide.”

Celestia didn’t respond, looking over the table as it lay and the points both had accumulated. Her ear twitched, and at the same moment Asmodeus detected an unsubtle burst of energy as Sol communicated with Celestia.

“This game is yours,” she said, laying down her cue. “Sol grows anxious, and I’m beginning to worry she may start flaring and cause a drought if I stay any longer.”

“Very well, and since you have shown me a kindness by playing along, I will show one to you. You have played my games fairly, and let it not be said that the King of Demons is an ungracious host. Such fools would enjoy ten thousand years being slowly flayed. Rarity Belle is no longer here. She has gone on a little walk-about.”

“Telling me where would be too much, I suppose,” Celestia sighed.

Asmodeus grinned his wicked grin.

As he shifted Amaymon again so that Celestia stood before the massive, barred gates, with their many layers of chains, wards, and guards, Asmodeus said, “Till we meet again, my dear. I shall have to visit your home next time, since you so graciously visited mine.”

He then vanished, returning to his throne while Celestia was surrounded by family and friends, and together they hurried back towards Tartarus.

“Yes,” Asmodeus purred, twisting Rarity’s feather before his eyes. “I do so look forward to seeing Ioka again.”

Part Seven

The Rariad

By Tundara

7: Gaea

Nopony ever expected the Twelfth Battle of Salamis, waged on a warm spring day two hundred years after the Great War came to its cataclysmic close, to be a deciding point on which the Spinning Wheel of Fate turned. There, at the tiller of his galley, stood King Mystalicus, helm tight on his head and a tormented grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

His fleet was small, a mere hundred vessels, against twice their number of Spartans. The blue sails of those loyal to Athena were vastly outnumbered by those bearing the red and gold mark of Ares. Even the numbers within the ships were vastly disproportionate. Only a few of the Athenian vessels had even a dozen hoplites, and their banks of oars were sadly depleted. In contrast, the Spartan ship fairly swarmed with soldiers, with many more having been left behind for lack of room when they’d departed their city.

Even as they closed, neither side pinned any great ambitions behind the battle.

The Spartans were a race bred for war. They were the chosen sons and daughters of Ares, and revelled in battle and slaughter. Battlefields were their temples and war a hymn in their god’s honour. To die on the battlefield, with head held proudly high, was their only chance of drawing Ares’ gaze and perhaps his favour whereby they’d be admitted for a time into his palace on Olympus. There they’d bask in his glory with the other heroes of song and legend before rejoining the cycle of life and death.

On the other side, the Athenians fought to protect their homes and family. No glory awaited them, and every pony readily accepted that they possessed no alicorn to provide a shield beneath guardian wings. All they prayed to accomplish was to stem the Spartans’ advance for a short time.

Few of the cities that worshipped the Lost Gods survived. Two centuries had taken their toll, as so too had the victors with their plundering. Ponies moved by the thousands in vast herds. Some founded new cities worshipping one of the surviving gods. Others joined those that had remained neutral throughout the Great War, or the cities fortunate enough to not have lost their protectors. While the likes of Rhodes, Cnidus, and especially Alnyxandria swelled, Eretria and Miletus vanished into history. Even Athens was naught but a gaunt fragment of her former glory, desperately clinging to the fleeting shadow of glorious memories belonging to days long since past.

At Mystalicus’ birth, the oracle prophesied that he would either leave Athens and live a life unremarked by history or the gods, while Athens drowned in the blood of her daughters and sons never to rise again, or stride into battle and lose all he held dear, but Athens would be reborn, stronger and more vibrant than ever in a land where she’d be safe from her ancient rivals. He’d lived his life by those words, and made his choice years ago when he stood as a scrawny young stallion at Athen’s gates, torn between joining a procession of ponies heading south to find a home elsewhere, or staying to fight in the place of his aging father.

Uttering a prayer to Zeus, Mystalicus signalled the drummers to increase their tempo.

Oars slapped against the murky waters, propelling the fleet towards the Spartans.

There was a momentary calm, and Mystalicus raised his face to the fresh sea-spray, enjoying the salty tang to the wind.

And then the moment was gone.

Galleys ranged side by side as the fleets smashed into each other.

The booming crunch of bronze shattering oak reverberated through his body. Holding a hoof-clasp so as not to tumble into the churning waves, Mystalicus and the dozen hoplites around him cheered their pointless success.

Spartans paddled around the galley as it moved on, shouting curses at their hated enemies.

Arrows, spears, and spells flew as thick as swarming wasps. Barbed arrowheads sank into shields both physical and magical in nature. Conjured lightning and fire splashed in flickering displays. Here and there screams rose above the tumult. Spears and bolts of bronze topped wood and magic hurled back and forth. Galleys exploded with unnatural flames, bodies falling from their splintering sides. Ponies screamed as they plunged into the blood churned waves. Instinct and intuition lead the day, prayers roared by the dying to uncaring gods going unanswered.

Gentle rain began to patter over the battle. Two dozen ships had already been sent down to Poseidon's realm, with an equal number soon to follow. Hundreds of dead floated among the debris, and those clinging to life howled for rescue.

Time seemed to slow, each grain of sand scraping through the hourglass and then floating down to join moments past.

Mystalicus’ voice grew hoarse from all the shouting.

Beside him Prias, who’d been with him since foalhood, died. They’d played together in the sun soaked fields outside Athens walls, a pair of colts enjoying a brief moment of respite in the endless cycle of war. He’d been there when Mystalicus married, smiling with such pride at his friend, and he’d been their on the hundred battlefields they’d shared in the years since. And now he fell to Tartarus, and no history book would record his name. To Mystalicus’ other side his eldest son bravely fended off a Spartan hoplite. Mystalicus later didn’t recall letting loose his spear, nor the splatter of the other soldier’s blood across his face.

His mind was fixed. His purpose immutable.

He had to protect his home and all those huddled behind her damaged walls.

“Valiant father, King Mystalicus, Son of Neocles, we range too far from our battle-brothers, growing isolated with our boldness!” His dearly beloved Hector bellowed to be heard over the incessant din. “We must withdraw to our lines or be crushed in the tumult by the far greater numbers of the loathsome Spartans, for that is all they have on this day. While our skill is so much greater, they are over twice our number and threaten to overwhelm us as wolves will a lone lion. Like the mighty phalanx on land, we must range our ships side-by-side so that one galley may protect the other.”

As he spoke, Hector hurled a bronze headed spear, touching the rune engraved upon its white oak haft so that it flew faster than any mortal could hurl a spear otherwise. As if Niomedes, Goddess of the Hunt and daughter of mighty Zeus, had loosed the weapon herself, it flew with uncanny accuracy so as to strike Euclid and his brother Thales, the twin sons of proud Pyrram, on their galley two hundred yards away, pierced through shield and body, and affixed them to the mast as if they were some horrific new limb on a tree.

Mystalicus began to refute his son’s assertion, but his words were stolen unformed by the heavy crunch of wood as their galley was hit along the far side by one of the many Spartan vessels. Oars splintered as hull ground against hull in showers of sharp wood. Mystalicus and Hector ducked behind their shields, and then raised their spears to fend off a wave of Spartan hoplites leaping onto the deck of their galley.

Heavy set, a huge brute of a Spartan fixed his gaze on Mystalicus and charged with a roar. Archemil was the stallion’s name, a great lord of the Spartan hosts who had time and again battered the weary Athenians with his soldiers and bronze clad hooves. He fought more like an Earth pony than a true Unicorn, kicking, biting, and yelling wildly in his frenzy.

Sparks shot off Archemil’s greaves and finely etched chestplate as Hector’s spear stabbed forth. Eyes wide and nostrils flared, Archemil brought down his hooves, horn alight with magic to give him supernatural strength. The deck of the galley buckled beneath Hector, and an untimely swell of the heaving seas knocked him to his knees. Continuing the fall, he rolled and in this manner avoided being trampled by the far larger stallion. He bounded up, spear and wooden shield at his sides, and found himself beset on either side by more of the Spartans.

Behind the crowd of Spartans, on the bluffs overlooking the wide bay in which Athenians and Spartans fought, Hector saw the colourful coats of the mares watching the battle. Among them he knew his own beloved Hypocemia was waiting for his return.

They’d been married but three days before he snuck from his home to join his father.

With her new mother-in-law she prayed, their hooves clasped tight, to any of the gods who’d listen to protect her new husband. For her hoof he’d given a bridepence of two flocks of sheep and an acre of good, arable land flush with wheat. To her, her parents had given two hardy earth pony slaves and small box of jewels as her dowry. It was a pittance, but much more than most other families could spare.

At their wedding the Oracle said the union was blessed, and that from them would come a future queen of the Athenians.

Empowered by the idea of his young wife watching, Hector threw himself against the Spartans.

While his son waded into the crowded deck, Mystalicus rushed Archemil. With all his might he thrust at the exposed gap in the throat of Archemil’s barding. At the last moment Archemil shrugged his powerful frame and threw himself into the strike, taking it deep into his shoulder where the haft snapped in Mystalicus’ tight aura. Ignoring the wound and the hot blood pouring down his leg, Archemil battered Mystalicus’ shield with blows that cracked the solid wood frame.

A hungry grimace split Archemil’s mouth that turned into a howl of rage as Mystalicus clamped down on the broken haft of his spear with his teeth and tore it free with a sharp jerk. Archemil’s leg collapsed beneath him, and as he fell forward Mystalicus plunged the remnant of his spear into his opponent’s gaping mouth. Thick blood coughed from Archemil, and still he refused to die. He lurched back to his hooves, hatred filling his eyes.

Again Mystalicus tore out the spear, and again he plunged it into Archemil, and this time the massive stallion fell dead.

Breathing heavily and smiling at his triumph, Mystalicus turned to help his son. He saw Hector among a host of dead Spartans. Asaeus, Autonous, and Opites; Dolops, son of Clytius; Opheltius, Agelaus, Aesymnus, Orus, and Hipponous all lay broken about his hooves. Breathing as heavily as his father, Hector wore the same grin. The Spartan’s galley drew away, its soldiers dead.

As it did so a path opened between the Athenian galley and that of Princess-General Dapolleta, Daughter of King Agethemus of Sparta. She stood next to the tiller of her galley in a glittering raiment of aurichalcum mail. On sighting the king of the Athenians and his son she conjured a bolt of lightning that shot from the tip of her horn.

Hector noted Dapolleta’s magic and saw it blaze towards his dear father. With a cry he threw himself into the path of the spell and caught it upon his breast. His body convulsed, the tip of his tongue bitten off as every muscle seized. He fell into death with fur burnt away, skin blackened and peeled as if by a butcher’s knife, and his empty eyes staring up at his father.

Mystalicus’s blood boiled and his throat was stripped by the command for his ship to charge.

Only child of King Agethemus, Dapolleta was a mare of which few could measure, standing a head taller than even most stallions, thick about the shoulder, and carrying the prideful arrogance for which her race was known. She sang the praises of Ares incessantly, laying on his altar at night, offering herself body and soul to him. By him, it was whispered, she’d born a son, the young but strong Biston, whom the Oracles said would found a city on a distant lake and in his lordly father’s name defeat all their neighbors so long as they wore the mark of his eye on their flesh.

Their eyes connected with his the same moment Mystalicus hurled Hector’s spear. The bronze head glinted in the afternoon glow as it rose up, and then came tearing down to strike her in the breast.

A savage grin covered Mystalicus’s muzzle, and his heart swelled with the pyrrhic victory, as the Spartans closed in around his isolated galley. Mystalicus closed his eyes and thanked Athena and Zeus for gifting him the chance to avenge his son.

From overhead came a booming blast of lightning.

Unseen to all, clouds had gathered, and now they threatened to spill out into a wild storm of tearing, bitter winds. All the surviving ships reacted at once, battle frenzy giving way to caution as they sought to escape the sudden storm’s wrath. In this way Mystalicus was spared from joining his son in death.

The bay began to pitch and tumble, waves slapping together and sending up towering geysers of foam that splashed down over the ships.

The clouds were torn asunder from within by a burst of golden light around a core of the deepest shadow. All those below looked up and beheld a rift in the sky and through it a brass palace among burning fields and a grand network of sulphur filled canyons. Like a giant mirror struck by a stone the rift shattered, but not before something fell through.

Two specs, one white and the other blue sped towards the flotsam choked waters. At the last moment they grabbed each other, and for an instant Mystalicus thought he saw wings of purest white flare before they struck the ocean.

“All ahead!” He hollered, thrusting a hoof towards where the ponies had landed.

He was certain that it’d been a pair of ponies, and given the nature of their arrival, he held fast to the faith that the gods would guide him to them.

Battered by the fierce winds and waves, and their battle fever cooled for the day, the Spartans withdrew, unaware anypony had fallen from the rift. On the deck of her ship, Dapolleta wrenched Mystalicus’ spear from her chest. To either side of her mystics cast spells of healing, closing the wound but leaving a garish scar. An inch to the right and his spear would have sunk into her heart, and freed Gaea of her tyranny. Pushing a mystic aside she went to the railing, and glared with primordial hate at the diminishing sides of Mystalicus’ galley.

“Ares, grant me the chance to carve my blade through that stallions throat,” she demanded, a wide grin on her blood stained teeth. “I will have you yet, Mystalicus, last king of Athens.”

In the middle of the storm, Mystalicus’ galley bucked and tumbled in the tumultuous waves. Only with the guidance of the gods could anypony hope to spot somepony lost in those waters. Oars called to halt, Mystalicus leaned over the side and peered into the murky waves. Pieces of wreckage from the battle mingled with drowned ponies making it near impossible to spot the two ponies that had fallen from the storm. A stifled curse held just under his breath, Mystalicus waited and searched. The gods would guide him. They had not totally abandoned him yet, he was certain.

Minutes passed, and the two figures failed to emerge.

His heart hammered in his chest and his hopes began to flag.

One of his dearest friends came up to him and laid a hoof on his withers.

“Mystalicus, I do not know what you hope to find,” said Argentes. “This battle is done and even the gods withdraw to holy Olympus so they may reckon among themselves who won honourable glory or deserve a coward’s reward of having their name stricken, so as to wander penniless the rest of their days until they come upon Hades’ halls, with none to lament their passing. I am thankful that we Athenians have known only brave hearts, though we are so sorely pressed on all sides by our many enemies. Hector’s loss has driven you mad, I fear, with grief. Do not shed tears for your son, for he was the bravest among us, and though Ares favours the Spartans over all, he would have taken notice of Hector so that there is a place in Elysium for him.”

Swinging his head wildly, Mystalicus gave a throaty growl and said, “I saw them land right here, Argentes. They came from a storm forged by mighty Zeus, who is father to all and patron to travelers. He has not abandoned us, but sent us some boon that we may at last hold victory over those despised Spartans. It must be so, or what use is there in this endless war?”

Argentes shook his head, mane clinging to his sweat soaked face in tight brown curls. “Zeus cares little for us. None have heard from the King of the Gods in centuries, Mystalicus. Whatever games he uses to entertain himself do not involve we mortals. For that we should be thankful, as the God of Storms tends to break those with whom he plays.”

Mystalicus’s spirits grew low, and he knew in his heart that Argentes spoke true.

They’d been friends since foalhood, when Mystalicus’s father had taken in the scrawny Argentes following the destruction of his home. Always more cautious and prone to contemplation rather than action, Argentes had proven time and again that his wisdom was to be heeded. Whether it was matters of war or state, his insight often landed accurately. Yet, he also rarely disagreed with Mystalicus, the two so often of the same mind. If she were still on Gaea, it was certain he’d have been blessed by Athena.

Head lowered in thought, Mystalicus knew his friend to be right. No god, Zeus least of all, sent aid to the likes of them.

Athenians were the forsaken.

The unloved and godless.

Overhead the storm parted, returning the bay to a sunny afternoon.

Then he heard Rarity cry out, “The boat! The boat! Over here!”

At once the galley flew forth, Mystalicus reached out with his magic, and Rarity and Trixie were lifted from the still heaving waters. Before her hooves touched the deck, Rarity was as dry as if she’d never fallen into the bay, her wings resting easily against her side and mane falling about her neck in amethyst curls. Mystalicus was struck dumb, his mouth falling open and his mind blank with incomprehension of the being standing before him.

Rarity stunned all who looked upon her with her overwhelming radiance. The weak willed were instantly smitten and devoted only to her, all others cast from their thoughts. Oarsponies dedicated themselves to her alone, forsaking all others. She failed to notice this at first, far more intent on helping her sodden friend. Trixie hacked up water, and gripped Rarity’s offered leg tight in her own as she attempted to stand.

“Trixie, are you alright?” Rarity asked, looking over her wounds suffered casting the spell to escape Amaymon.

“You can stop fussing, Rarity,” Trixie attempted to brush off her friend’s concern, but her legs almost gave out at an untimely roll of the galley. Leaning against Rarity, Trixie grumbled, her ego bruised just a little.

Doing her best to hide a smirk, relief washing away all the tension brought about by their escape, Rarity turned to thank their rescuer, only to find Mystalicus prostate on the deck, while those at the oars did their best to imitate the gesture.

“Whatever are you doing?” Rarity arched her brow and tilted her head elegantly to the side. A slight blush colouring her cheeks, she asked Mystalicus and the crew to rise. None so much as responded. She knew they’d heard her from the way they stiffened. Jovial in her relief at escaping Amaymon, Rarity laughed louder, and said, “Please, stop, you’ll make a mare blush with all this fawning.”

Hesitant, Mystalicus raised his head, though he did not look past Rarity’s fetlocks. He worked his mouth, but no words came forth. Over and over in his head rang tales in which the gods had gone among ponykind in disguise, only to later reveal their true nature after some test was either passed, or more usually, failed.

“I do not think they can understand us, Rarity,” Trixie grumbled in a loud whisper.

Fixing Trixie with a withering glare, Mystalicus said, “We can understand you with perfect clarity. Only a fool would dare speak so freely to one of the alicorns, glorious gods and the divine rulers of all ponies.”

“Right,” Trixie drawled out the word, edging a little away from Mystalicus.

“Well, thank you for helping us, but we really must get home.” Rarity swung her head around, peering at the horizon as if trying to make up her mind. “Where on Ioka are we exactly?”

Brow pinched tight, Mystalicus peaked up a little further, just enough to see the amethystine locks of Rarity’s mane. “Ioka? I do not know of this place. You are in the bay of Salamis, which resides between decayed Athens and bloody Sparta.”

Rarity sighed, and Trixie slapped a hoof to her brow. “We’re not on Ioka,” both stated together.

“Of course! It can never be easy, can it? Noooo, we have to fight tooth and tail just to make the tiniest progress, only to find we’ve gone the wrong direction!” Trixie continued with a blistering series of curses, stamping her hooves and pounding the broken rail. It was at this point they noticed the dead Spartans being heaved over the far side of the galley, bodies splashing without ceremony into the murky waves.

Keeping the dismay out of her voice, Rarity asked what had happened, and learned of the battle which their arrival had interrupted. She was silent after the brief recounting, and then looked out over the bay. Not a word was spoken by her or anypony else on the galley as they made their way to Athen’s docks at Piraeus.

They were met by crowds of mares and foals, anxiously awaiting the return of their stallions and fathers. Queen Hecuba and Hypocemia stood at the end of the docks, faces aged with worry. Their relief on seeing Mystalicus at the rail turned to grief as Hector was carried down the gangplank.

Tears streaming from her chin, Hypocemia made Mystalicus proud as she lead her husband’s body towards the long walls stretching between the port and Athens. Unlike many other mares who broke down at the sight of their husbands or sons mangled bodies, she remained strong despite the agony of loss tearing at her heart. Head held high, she cried, “Make way for the heroes of Athens, the glorious sons who have given of body and life to safe-keep our homes! Make way!”

Heads bowed, the crowd parted to allow the funerary procession through. More and more dead were brought off the galleys on litters draped in white cloth, until a long line snaked its way through the docks and towards the Long Walls to Athens. Mares wailed and threw themselves over the litter carrying their husbands, sons, or lovers.

And then all the sobbing came to a sudden end, leaving a vacumous silence behind.

Rarity stood at the top of the dock, looking over the crowd with pity.

“Look, mama, an alicorn!” Cried a young filly, jumping into the semi-circle formed by the Athenians. The filly’s mother let out a strangled gasp and shushed her daughter, pulling her back into the ring of ponies about Rarity and Trixie.

Turning to the nearest grieving widow, Rarity said softly, “I am sorry for your loss.” To the crowd she added, “If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

“Oh mighty goddess, gifted beauty of the highest heavens; my beloved husband, Ennomus, is he in glorious Elysium? Did he please you, great one, and find his honourable reward in the afterlife? Does he find succor among the other worthy dead? I beg on knees scraped raw in the gravel, mighty queen among the gods, tell me. Or, send me to be at my husband’s side, he who has been most dear to me since I was a filly.” Pleaded the widow as she threw herself to the ground before Rarity.

“What of my Socus?” Cried another.

And still another begged, “My son, my only son, Cherisdamas? What of him? He is neither among the honoured dead nor do I see him on the ships. What has happened to my Cherisdamas?”

Eyes growing wide, Rarity backed away from the crowd, her mouth working soundlessly as her voice faltered.

“Daughters of Athens,” said Mystalicus, “still your wagging tongues! By noble Athena, whom vanished in the night of star-fall, who gifted our ancestors with all manner of glory; you dishonour the ponies who gave of body in defense of our home. May Hades claim you all for entertaining doubts of their courage. Valour did they carry with their spears and shields when they boarded the ships built by hooves scraped raw in toil. Cease your wailing and instead celebrate; or you shall come to lament this day and pull out your manes in shame. Carry the honoured dead to the fields of grey stones so they may rest with their fathers and mothers. One night are you granted to see to the care of their remains; as on the marrow we celebrate. Now, away, away! To the Long Walls and Athens beyond!”

The crowd nodded along to Mystalicus’ speech, and with far less wailing, heeded his command.

Rarity pressed her lips tight as she was guided to a place before Hypocemia at the head of the funerary procession. Craning her head around she saw Trixie with Queen Hecuba. There was a stuttering limp to Trixie’s gate, and her expression was downcast.

“Really now,” Rarity turned to Mystalicus, “was all that necessary?”

He considered her for a long moment, gaze flickering to the ground a couple times. “You are the strangest of gods indeed,” Mystalicus’ frown deepened, and he retreated into his own thoughts.

Thankful that he’d kept his answer brief, Rarity decided to spend the long walk from Piraeus to Athens taking in the scenery.

The first thing that caught her attention was the state of the homes in the port town. Patchwork paint flaked off the walls leaving large gaps of mudbrick visible. Likewise, the doors were weatherworn and bare, with only hints of bright paints still barely visible. Rarity had seen many towns in similar states in the last few years, especially on her trip out west to Appleloosa. Not poor, per se, but simply harried and well-worked. It reminded her a little bit of the oldest parts of Ponyville.

Streets were kept swept of dirt and mud, with grooves worn into the stonework by successive generations trotting the same paths. Here and there gnarled trees caused small heaves in the carefully placed cobblestones where their roots had grown thick. Awnings in front of homes showed where, on a normal day, peddlers would sell their wares.

Off to one side, overlooking the bay, stood the tallest building in town. Stout limestone columns held up a roof of red clay tiles. A temple of some sort, but to who, Rarity couldn’t begin to guess. She decided to refrain from asking, as it wasn’t the sort of question an ‘all-knowing alicorn’ was supposed to ask.

She let out a long sigh.

The fervour of the crowd prickled at the edge of her senses like a summer’s breeze. It was an odd air, the highest hopes mixing with the deepest despair. Some ponies skipped and danced, especially the young. Others hung their heads, tears matting their faces. Every few moments somepony laughed or sobbed.

Rarity chewed on her lip. Demands and expectations circled in her thoughts. What would they expect of her? The fragments of Serene’s memories told her that Gaea was a highly religious world, the opposite side of the rim in many regards from how Celestia and Luna were treated in Equestria. Alicorns were no mere princesses who ran the government, with only vestiges of religion on the periphery. Here they were Gods, and were expected to act accordingly.

She’d barely had time to process escaping from Amaymon, and now she had an entire city already staring at her with bated breath.

Part of her said, ‘Well, why shouldn’t they? We are glamourous, smart, and stunning, afterall.’

She wanted to believe that voice, but concern knotted in her stomach. Again she looked over her shoulder to Trixie seeking… something. Without her hat or cape, Trixie seemed much diminished by her stay in Amaymon. A haunted shadow covered her expression, and she didn’t respond to the ponies trying to talk to her on either side.

Rarity had to force herself to think of Sweetie, Ponyville, and dresses—anything to keep the memories of Amaymon at bay. To her surprise it was rather easy. Like putting a dress away in a box.

Twilight once mentioned being able to put thoughts or memories aside at will. Was this something about being an alicorn? Being able to just quarantine bad experiences? That certainly couldn’t be healthy! Rarity knew better than perhaps most that trying to push the past into a box was just inviting trouble in the future. Thankfully, there was a pony she could talk to about Amaymon.

Stuck at the front of the procession, Rarity decided to bide her time on talking with Trixie until they could find someplace private.

Connecting Piraeus to Athens lay a road protected on either side by a stone and mud brick wall. Every fifty meters stood a squat tower topped by a catapult. Straight as an arrow, it covered six kilometers between the port and Athens. To the east another wall could be discerned, creating a triangular space filled with fields and orchards that provided the city with food. On the other side of the wall the fields were left to nature, with many large patches of blackened ground left by fires. Ruins peaked out of the tall, unkempt grasses. In the distance to the north a rocky line of mountains ranged like marching soldiers west to east.

“How long have those fields been abandoned?” Rarity asked Mystalicus. Any conversation was better than worrying about her mental well-being, or how they’d get to Ioka.

“My father, Neocles, took a group of strong ponies out to the territory that had been owned by his father’s father, whom none now remember, and reclaimed the land. It was where I was born and spent some of my youth before we were driven back behind Athens walls by the loathsome Spartans. Several other families had settled as well, and they too were forced to flee, their homes burnt and all they owned ransacked. Since then nopony has dared settle the lands outside the Long Walls, fear of the Spartans causing them to cower like foals behind crumbling walls. Soon enough the Spartans will decide to destroy Athens, tired of the games of war and our flagging ability to give them the true battles they crave.”

“How horrible!” Rarity exclaimed. “Why would anypony be so cruel?”

“As flight is to the birds, cruelty and war are simply the Spartans’ natural inclination. To honour Ares, great lord of slaughter; they bred savagery deep into their blood.”

Somehow, Rarity doubted the Spartans were as terrible as Mystalicus portrayed them. Nopony was wholly evil and cruel. There was certainly more to the story.

Or, maybe she was wrong.

The leftover memories of Serene were fragmented and chaotic in nature, creating an incomplete impression of Gaea. What Rarity could piece together was that on Gaea the alicorns held far greater sway over the lives of ponies, but also kept themselves separated on their mountain strongholds.

Each alicorn had their own followers molded in their own images. Ares was a brute In the scant fragments left by Serene. It followed that a city devoted to him would also be horrible brutes.

Rarity shuddered, her thoughts briefly flitting to Asmodeus, and his own atrocious nature.

Reflexively she grabbed hold of the memories of Amaymon, and bottled them among the others.

Taking a deep breath, Rarity decided to do something she’d never been allowed to try before; she spread her wings, and with a bounding spring, leapt into the sky. She’d seen Rainbow Dash fly so many times, and listened to a few of the early lessons Twilight received, that she was certain it would be easy.

Her first downstrokes were sloppy, putting her into a roll that she frantically corrected. Uneven, she tottered from side to side, and slowly leveled off. Just as she was getting confident, a strong gust lifted her higher. Instincts at last asserted themselves, Rarity thrusting her wings further out and entering a stable glide.

Beneath her the Long Wall stretched in a perfect line between the port and Athens. To her right the pastoral lands were a verdant green mixed with yellows and the vibrant colours of flowering trees. To her left the lands were swathed in scrubland dotted by more ruins amid burnt patches.

And ahead lay Athens herself.

The city was situated mostly on the northern side of a tall hill. Ringed on three sides by white limestone cliffs, a tall, white columned gatehouse on the western side gave access to a complex of temples situated a fifty-hoof tall bronze statue of Athena in armour, plumed helm, her spear Pallas and shield Aegis at her sides. The statue gazed from the hilltop down onto an open air Ecclesia, where the stallions of Athens would gather to decide important matters. Or they had in Athena’s and Serene’s time. From her vantage, Rarity could see that a few of the columns surrounding the site had fallen over and never been re-erected. Brightly coloured tents now stood where debates had been held in years past, foals darting about as they played, with a few older mares keeping watch. At the base of the ramps leading up the hill stood a half-circle, open air amphitheater. A wide road ran from the former site of the Ecclesia to the theater, continued to the base of the ramp, and then around the hill before passing through the mass of buildings forming the rest of the city. Ringing the city was a thick wall supplemented by a series of ditches.

Looking back Rarity noticed everypony was watching her, the procession halting in it’s march along the walls to stare.

It was then Rarity realised she had yet to see a single pegasus. Even Canterlot had dozens flying about at any time, and it was considered a heavy unicorn town by Equestrian standards. Yet there wasn’t a pony to be seen flying over Athens.

Trying to tip over into a gentle turn instead put Rarity into a sharp spiral, and her contemplations of the city and the lack of pegasi had to be put aside as she struggled to descend, and then land.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” She repeated as the ground grew closer far quicker than intended.

Barely able to level off, she decided to use the wide road as an impromptu runway. A runway presently covered in ponies waiting for the return of those who’d gone down to Piraeus.

“Excuse me! Out of the way!”

Eyes going wide, the thin crowd of ponies scrambled off the road as she came down, hard. Her hooves skipped, skidded, and then screeched on the dusty cobblestones before she came to an indelicate stop just in front of the amphitheater.

Letting out a relieved sigh, she turned to apologise to the nearest ponies, and found them prostrating just as everypony else had done on first seeing her.

“Right, you’re just going to have to get used to this, I suppose,” Rarity muttered to herself before switching a smile she’d use when greeting customers to her beautique. “So sorry if I startled you,” she said, in variations, as she trotted her way back along the road to where it joined those of the Long Walls.

Nopony dared respond.

Her smile began to fade a bit after several apologies went unanswered.

And then the foals swarmed towards her. Energetic, youthful exuberance overcame caution, and they sped out from around their parents to mob the alicorn that had landed in their city. They babbled and chattered, laughed and sang, and danced up and down and between Rarity’s legs in their excitement.

“Whoa, excuse me, careful please,” Rarity found herself saying as she avoid stepping onto or hitting a foal.

For their part the foals just laughed, fled a short distance from her, and then dashed back, the game renewed.

Seeing their foals playing around Rarity broke the adults out of their stupefied prostrations. Panic filling their gazes they snatched up the foals, just like the mare in Pireaus, and profusely apologized, again, just like the mare in Pireaus. Whining, the foals reached out their hooves towards Rarity.

“Oh, it is quite alright,” Rarity laughed, and wiggled a hoof at the closest of the foals. “They are such darlings, I am not mad at all.”

Relief washed over the crowd, and they began to join her as she made her way along the road to where it met those coming from the Long Walls. A decent gathering had formed by the time she met up with Mystalicus and Hypocemia. The festive atmosphere of the ponies around her stilled as they saw the bodies being carried by the funerary procession. Rarity’s own smile faded away and she stepped up beside Mystalicus.

She didn’t say anything as they funerary procession reached the graveyard on the east side of the cliffs of the hill, built around a temple to Hades, where the first rays of the sun would reach in the morning. Here the procession broke apart, each family carrying their dead to their own ancestral tombs. Along the way they gathered several bundles of wood placed near the gate to the graveyard. All night long pyres of the dead burnt.

Rarity and Trixie didn’t stay the entire time, only for Hector’s funeral. She wet her lips and sent looks several times to Mystalicus, Hecuba, and Hypocemia for a clue as to what they expected her to do, if anything. But they stayed frustratingly silent. Hecuba and Hypocemia anointed Hector with oils and incense, and then Hypocemia lit the pyre.

The strong smell of burning meat struck Rarity, turning her stomach over.

Other than being a little pale, Trixie hardly reacted at all to the rituals and cremations.

Once the pyre had been lit, Mystalicus and Hecuba went to Rarity and Trixie.

It was Hecuba who spoke first, saying, “Great queen of the alicorns, a thousands words of gratitude would be but a paltry beginning to our thanks for your presence at this otherwise miserable occasion. Few are those who can claim the blessing of a god undisguised at the funeral to their son. Hector was truly among the most blessed of ponies. I do not mean to keep you if there are matters to which you must attend; holy Olympus must seem hollow without you in its gilded halls. But, it would be a great honour should you wish to join us for the feast in Hector’s honour in our home. We have little that can be worthy of you, but we shall do our very best, as taught to us by mighty father Zeus, who protects all travelers. Would this please you?”

“I would be delighted,” Rarity answered at once, modulating her tone to be appreciative and solemn.

Mystalicus and Hecuba’s palace was situated on the far bank of a slender river. It was a decent sized home, two-storied, with rooms situated around a large garden in the center. A fig tree provided shade to a bench, with a well providing water to the palace. On the far side of the garden, a pair of stairs led to an inner balcony gave access to the upper rooms. Just beyond the garden was an open-air hall of some sort bedecked with couches, rugs, and pillows. Down the middle ran a long, low table. On the arched entrances to the space were shutters, allowing it to be closed off and kept warm in winter or during bad weather. Four columns held up the roof, giving it a tall, breezy quality that would be cool in summer.

A number of earth ponies hurried about preparing dinner, shooting surreptitious looks at Rarity and Trixie. There was no malice, just frank curiosity, in their glances.

It was vastly different from the overwhelming opulence of Asmodeus’ palace.

Tension she’d been unaware of holding at last left Rarity in a breathy gush. She collapsed onto a cushion at the head of the table. Years of constantly being on edge, of having to be poised and guarded at all times, leaving her suddenly weak.

“It’s over,” Rarity giggled, drawing a confused look from the unicorns around her.

All except Trixie who merely nodded as she sat down next to Rarity.

Reaching over, Rarity grabbed Trixie’s hoof in her own. “We really made it. We really escaped Hell.”

Again, Trixie responded with a silent nod. Her gaze was far off, a haunted light in the back of her eyes.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, darling.”

Shuddering, Trixie said, “The great—I, uh, I think I would rather go to sleep. Th-thank you for inviting T-Trixie into your home, I, uh, I just…” Trixie’s voice trailed off into a pained whimper. She fought to keep back tears, emotion welling in her face and tensing the lines of her jaw.

Hecuba and Hypocemia shared concerned glances. Hecuba leaned over and whispered in her husband’s ear. He nodded brusquely, and said, “Hypocemia, show lady Trixie to your own rooms, and you will sleep in the guest rooms tonight with Hecuba and I. It is the best we can offer to you, great queen of the heavens and your servant, are our own rooms.”

“Oh, I won’t hear of it, darling!” Rarity countered at once. “We will take the guest room, and you will keep your own. I’ve been camping many times when out on adventures with my friends, and if I had to sleep in the garden, that would be fine. Honestly, it is appreciated, but I wouldn’t dream of forcing you out of your own bedchambers. There is such a thing as being too generous, you know.”

A little smile quirked the corner of her mouth at her private joke.

Trixie had already stood, and was being led towards the stairs to the upper floor.

Suppressing a sigh, Rarity hoped Trixie would be better in the morning, but knew it was unlikely. The things they’d seen, that they’d suffered, and been forced to do in Amaymon couldn’t be erased by distance or a single night’s rest.

While Hypocemia showed Trixie to the guest rooms, Mystalicus mixed some of his best wine with water and poured it for Rarity and his other guests. The feast hall was full, even with Trixie gone, with important members of Athens surrounding the low table. There was Argentes, his coat freshly washed of blood and sweat from the battle, along with a pair of other soldiers. The old stallion Chryses in white priestly robes, and Chryseis, his youngish daughter in the same attire. Penolota was seated next to Hypocemia, her station elevated with her daughter’s marriage to Hector, short lived as it had been. Then there was Antenor and Polydamus of the King’s Council, and served as advisors on domestic affairs of the city.

Once Hypocemia had returned and seated herself the food was brought out by several earth ponies. The meal was plain, consisting of breads, pickled figs, cabbage salad, fried asparagus, cheese, and boiled quail eggs. After the rich foods of Amaymon, prepared in a hundred different ways, it was refreshing to have something so simple and homely to eat.

Mystalicus and Hecuba both attempted to apologize that there was nothing more substantial they could offer, but Rarity laughed them off. “Darlings, it is perfectly alright,” Rarity said as the plate heaped highest was passed to her. “What kind of guest would I be if I complained? Such boorish behaviour has always upset me.”

“Then, perhaps you would regale us with stories? From what lands do you hail, great queen among the gods?” Asked Antenor, leaning forward as he dipped his bread into a thick soup.

“Equestria,” Rarity supplied at once, and when the ponies about her waited for more, she added. “It is the home of Celestia, Luna, and Cadence. It takes up most of the westernmost continent of Ioka.”

“Another world entirely? Not just a different land on Gaea? This is shocking.” Antenor leaned back on his cushions and grew contemplative.

Hypocemia filled the gap, receiving a few sharp glances as she asked, “I wonder who are Celestia, Luna, and Cadence. These names are unfamiliar to us. Do you know of them Chryses? Have the gods ever whispered their names to your ears?”

The ancient stallion rocked on his cushion and tugged at his long beard. “It isn’t unusual for the mighty gods to keep the names of their distant kin from my ears. Indeed, why should they bother to tell any mortal of their brethren? Do you go about to the lizards sunning themselves around a pond and tell them all the names of your cousins and distant relatives?”

“So, you don’t know how to get to Ioka, then?” Rarity reasoned. She never had much hope that the Athenians would know. Until only recently, other worlds had been unknown to Ioka afterall. Why would it be any different on Gaea?

“Such knowledge is not meant for us, great queen,” Chryses shook his head. “Only your brothers and sisters on high Olympus may possess the answers you seek.”

“I would be wary of Chryses’ council,” Mystalicus growled from his place at the center of the table. “You claimed the gods blessed the union of my son and precious Hypocemia, but how can that be when my brave Hector has been felled so young?”

Hypocemia gasped, and a murmur of discontent washed around the table. A few of the stallions nodded, while others shook their heads. Almost everypony gave quick glances towards Rarity, wondering what her reaction would be. Rarity quirked a brow and looked towards Hypocemia.

She was starting to get a feel for the Athenians and how they spoke. It was a bit like the few surviving pre-classical plays from early Unicornia. On a hunch, Rarity blinked and looked at the weave of Beauty. She was immediately struck by the difference to the weave from how it had manifested in Amaymon.

The sharp, jagged elements that had been considered beautiful to demonkind were absent, and in their place was a gentle, flowing blanket of energy that permeated everything. Comforting whorls, and ugly knots abounded around the ponies at the table, and the table and hall itself in ever fluctuating patterns. Around Hecuba and Hypocemia the patterns were purer as both were seen as very beautiful by the ponies of Athens. A strong aura surrounded Mystalicus with his cutting figure and keen intellect that drew ponies to him, and had catapulted him to the position of King. Around Atenor were a series of discordant nodules hinting at some deep, ugly flaw. There was something of a shine that drew Rarity’s gaze back to Hypocemia, an inner radiance that was only just beginning to blossom, but would grow stronger and stronger until anypony would be able to see it. After a moment Rarity grasped the cause.

“You’re pregnant, darling,” Rarity pointed with a wing to Hypocemia’s stomach. “A day or two, at the most.”

Hypocemia blinked a couple times, and then repeated in a half-daze, “Pregnant? But the holy season of life is not for another three weeks.” Tears pricked her eyes, and she let out a joyous sob.

“It happens on occasion,” Rarity happily continued. “I had a distant cousin who got pregnant out of season.”

This admission brought frowns around the table and a few muttered words between neighbors.

“Then you spoke truly, dear Chryseis, when you said mine and Hector’s union were blessed by Aphrodite herself.” The tears burst forth, and Hypocemia scrubbed at her face to clear them away.

Before anymore could be said, before explanations given or plans formed, a piercing shriek cut through the night, originating from Trixie’s room.

Author's Note

If you've enjoyed my writing, please consider donating. You can buy me a Ko-Fi, or just directly donate with Paypal to alaster31@hotmail.com. I could really use any support and help to keep writing. Thank you!

All the names given to Rarity when she reached the docks are Trojans killed or wounded by Odysseus. Hector’s kills are the same as those of the mythological Hector.

One of the things I struggled with is how the Athenians speak. I wanted it to be different, like how the characters of the Iliad and Odyssey talk. Or, at least, how they do in the translation I have. At times I felt confident that I 'had it', as it were. Other times I felt like I was just spewing purple prose out of their mouths. I think I found a balance, then I'm pretty sure I lost it again.

The harder aspect was keeping the narrators voice more 'neutral'. I eventually threw up my hands and just ran with it as the narrative voice shifted to mimic the speaking patterns of the character being closest followed. So it is more purple during the first portion with Mystalicus, and then grows more normal when Rarity arrives and the 'camera' begins to follow her.

I finished most of this chapter over the past week after months of being 'stuck' on what to do. I just lacked mental traction on getting from Rarity and Trixie's arrival (I've had that written since I started work on the whole Amaymon arc) to the finale (which I've had two versions written already, and expect I will do a fresh take on it when I get there).

One of the things I decided to do with the opening battle was to name every single character Mystalicus and Hector kill. This is in part a nod to the Iliad, where characters are named and killed in the same sentence throughout. My intent beyond the hat-tip is to give impact to the nature of war, especially after the impersonal nature of the battles in the recent chapters of Myths. These are all ponies who had families waiting for them back home, with stories of their own, and we see but the brief instant of their end. Eh, maybe I'm overthinking things, or being overly 'cute', but that is my honest intentions behind why so many characters are named only to get immediately killed.

Anyways, I hope this chapter wasn't overly languid and boring. It certainly feels a lot denser than my usual fare.

Part Eight

The Rariad
By Tundara

8: Gaea

Trixie’s screams rattled through the humble palace. Rarity was there at once, gently shaking the writhing mare out of turbulent nightmares.

Covered in cold sweat, eyes blinking bleary in the silvery glow slanting through the windows, Trixie asked, “Did I do it again?”

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, darling,” Rarity comforted Trixie, gently brushing her friend’s mane away from her face. “I wish there was something I could do to make the nightmares go away.”

Reaching up to grasp Rarity’s hoof, Trixie smiled thinly, her face white beneath her pastel blue coat. “You helped me escape Amaymon, but no-pony can help me escape what is in my own head.”

Snorting, Rarity replied, “Oh, but you managed to do that for me! Sadly, I am not nearly as accomplished a magician as the great and powerful Trixie. I’m sorry, darling, I’ve not been able to do anything more for you.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Trixie slumped deeper into her woolen sheets, and drifted back into troubled sleep.

Rarity stayed next to Trixie’s bed for a short time. Gently, she brushed the mare’s mane and tucked the covers up to her chin. Dawn began to encroach on the horizon, golden haired Eos rousing Hemera from her slumber to begin a new day before Rarity was satisfied Trixie wasn’t having any more nightmares. Working a crick out of her neck, Rarity decided to go downstairs and find some breakfast before trying to figure out what to do with her first full day on Gaea.

She had no idea how to proceed. The spell used to escape Amaymon was designed to create a rift to the mortal realm. Which it clearly had done. Only, it’d taken her to the wrong world.

Or, had it taken her somewhere else in the shifting realms hidden beyond the Winterlands?

Rarity tapped a wing to her chin as she mulled the idea over and poured herself some fresh juice.

No, Gaea was a mortal world, just like Ioka. A great disc upon the back of an enormous turtle swimming through the vast void.

There was certainly nothing saying that there weren’t other worlds beyond the edge of Ioka’s disc. In fact, it made sense in a way. The priestesses did say that Ioka was ‘A’ world-turtle, and not ‘The’ world-turtle. Which meant that there had to be others out there. But, Rarity already knew all that, of course, from her time fighting Serene, and then the left-over scraps of the dead alicorn’s memories.

It just never occurred to her before that the worlds existed in the same realm, so to speak.

Groaning at the metaphysical quandaries of multiple worlds and realms of reality, Rarity sat down and rubbed away a growing headache. Idly a hoof went to her neck and played with the string of pearls resting against the curve of her throat.

Perhaps a teleportation spell then?

No, that would never work for Trixie, and Rarity wasn’t sure it would work for her, either. Twilight once explained how teleporting used more aether the further a pony attempted to go. Teleporting from one side of Equestria to the other drained all but the most powerful unicorns. This was besides the fact that it was absolutely freezing in the non-space a pony entered between points, and that it took time as well as energy to traverse long distances. The longest teleport on Ioka took a half-hour, Twilight claimed, and the unfortunate unicorn had emerged frozen solid. Going from world to world, with no idea of the distance between, was out of the question.

Unless some other method was discovered.

“If there was some way, wouldn’t Astraea have used that instead, though?” Rarity asked herself as she chewed on a partially stale piece of bread.

“Who can say why glittering maned Astraea tore her stars from the heavens, leaving a dark hole in the night that bleeds contempt to this day.” Hypocemia spoke as she trotted quickly up to the table and took a place across from Rarity. “The thoughts and motivations of the betrayer gods are a mystery even to their glorious kin, who preside over all knowledge and vouch skill upon the worthy.”

With Hypocemia came a servant with a serving tray balanced on her head. With natural agility, she swept the tray off her head and onto the table in front of Rarity then retreated to a shadowed corner to await any commands of her mistress.

On the tray was a splendid array of fruits arrayed like bands of sunlight around an inner ring composed of pancakes and more bread, with a bowl of undiluted red wine as the core. There was a sweet, fruity fragrance to the wine that perked up the senses. Taking a couple of the pancakes and apple slices, Rarity drizzled them with honey syrup. She left the bread and wine alone.

“Oh, I wasn’t asking a real question, darling. Just talking to myself.” Rarity smiled, and the mare smiled back. Oddly, there was none of the differential treatment or constant bowing that Rarity had endured since landing on Gaea. It was a relief that at least one pony treated her normally.

Indicating the tray, Rarity suggested, “Why don’t you join me?”

Hypocemia nodded, and took a small bowl of sweetened wine and thick slices of bread. The bread she dipped into the wine before taking a measured bite. Rarity raised an eyebrow, and decided to imitate her hostess.

They broke fast in silence for some time, until Hypocemia asked, “What are your intentions, great lady of the heavens, beloved of the dawn?”

Rarity considered the question before she answered. “I have to get home to Ioka, obviously. I also need to help Trixie. Without her I’d still be in Tartarus lost in a maze of my own mind. I just need some clue how to accomplish these goals.”

“If there is any who have your answers, it would be the gods,” Hypocemia answered. It seemed to be the single response anypony on Gaea had to a question where they didn’t have the answer themself. It was starting to grate on Rarity’s nerves.

“Nopony knows everything. Not even an alicorn,” Rarity reflexively corrected, mopping up some of the sweet syrup on her plate.

Hypocemia was clearly dubious, but didn’t argue and instead looked furtively to the north. “Please, forgive my boldness, but why do you stay here with us rather than go to your kin high upon holy Olympus? Alas! Hear me question a god! One of golden maned Zeus’ own mighty kin. I apologize, as I know it is not my place to question you, fair Rarity. Yet, my heart trembles with fear. What if your kin atop the snow shrouded peaks of Olympus, who watch and tend to the world, grow angered because you stayed here with us mortals, instead of visiting them first?”

Rarity tilted her head. “In all honesty, I would rather avoid them, if at all possible, darling. And, if I do go and speak with them, it will be to give them a piece of my mind about how everypony is treated.”

“You would challenge them?” Hypocemia reared back as if she found herself confronting a poisonous viper. “What cause do you have for anger? Alas, again I question!”

“Because it is intolerable and disgusting that Earth ponies are kept as property!” Rarity had to fight hard to keep her voice in check, forcing it out in a low growl rather than a shriek. “Slaves; indeed! How horrible and barbaric!”

Pale in the morning light slanting through the windows, Hypocemia stuttered, “B-But, it is normal. Natural even. Earth ponies can’t protect themselves from the dangers and monsters that roam the world, those beasts and monsters deformed by wild magic. Unicorns are so few in number, and those needed to keep everypony safe, that we must spend our time honing our magic and martial strength. Long days must the colts spend mastering spell and spear that they have no time to dedicate to mundane tasks. As Earth ponies can no more protect themselves than a new hatched chick can fend off the viper slinking into its nest, they provide their skills tending to the fields or the needs around the home. Thusly freed to dedicate ourselves to martial tasks or the rearing of our foals, unicorns shoulder the burdens of bloodshed and war.”

A heated fury gripped Rarity, and she had to remind herself that these ponies knew nothing of Equestria, and she knew nothing of them. Still, there was a very sharp edge to her tone as she replied, “And what is stopping you from washing your own laundry, or cleaning your home, darling? Why don’t you cook your own meals?”

The argument rang hollow in Rarity’s own ears, as the aristocracy of Equestria kept servants. The only practical difference between the slaves kept by the Athenians and the servants hired by Equestrians were those of wages and housing.

Slavery wasn’t foreign even to Equestria, with the earliest unicorns having brought scores of Earth ponies with them to the new land. It was a system that hadn’t survived the Long Winter, everypony having to come together to survive the untamed lands and deal with the Windigos attacks. Though, much of the credit went to the Founders for bringing the three tribes of ponykind together in unity.

“You wound me deeply with your observations. Wish as I might to call them unfair, how can a mortal question the ways of an alicorn, and not suffer her displeasure in turn,” Hypocemia said, jarring Rarity out of her thoughts. “Instead, I will say with all good humility, that we wives and daughters of Athens do not have it easy. We too must toil at the loom and weave the best tunics for our stallion-folk. Then we need organise the slaves to their tasks and see that each is mindful. For that we must know that tasks just as well, or else a lazy slave may try some mischief to avoid work. There is no time for leisure or rest as you assume. Everypony has their duty and toils, even the wives and daughters of kings.”

Rarity frowned at the explanation. “Yet you are free, darling. You can follow your passions and hone your special talents. Can an Earth pony who has a cutie mark for art spend their days in a studio painting, when they are told to farm? Can an Earth pony with a talent for mathematics come up with a new theory that would benefit everypony?”

Of all the replies Rarity imagined, the one she didn’t was Hypocemia asking with total frankness, “What is a ‘cutie mark’?”

Almost choking on her juice, Rarity indicated the mark on her flank.

“We refer to those, and those blessed with such markings, as god-touched, or the demi-gods. For surely those are signs of particular favour of a god. Such as your servant, Lady Trixie. Few are those who receive such marks. More so among Athenians, whom are the most dejected and overlooked ponies.” Hypocemia shifted aside her dress to reveal her own bare flank, covering herself back up after a moment. She then continued, “Why, other than my beloved Hector, who surely now resides among the golden fields of Elysium, only a mere half-dozen ponies in all of Athens are so marked.”

“Six ponies in the entire city found their cutie marks?” Rarity was aghast at the idea of an entire city of ponies having never found their special talents. “That is simply horrible!”

Before Hypocemia could respond, Rarity was on her hooves and at the door to the courtyard. Beckoning to the young mare, Rarity stepped out into the sun. “Come on, darling.”

Darting after Rarity, Hypocemia bit her lower lip. She stopped at the threshold of the street. “I musn’t!” Hypocemia shifted from hoof to hoof as if she stood atop blistering rocks. “Mares are not allowed to leave their home unescorted so near the Season. A member of my husband’s household must be present, lest I draw scandal on his house. Never could I bring such misery to my dear Hector when he is no longer amongst the living.”

In the middle of the street, Rarity slowly turned back to face Hypocemia, a flat expression etched onto her marble features. “And now mares can’t even leave their own homes! Abominable!”

Before Hypocemia could protest any further, Rarity plucked her up in her own, and started off down the street. As much as she struggled, Hypocemia could no more escape Rarity’s aura than she could hold back a storm by shouting curses at the sky. Ponies stopped what they were doing to stare at the spectacle, mouths agape as a wind snagged the ends of Hypocemia’s dress. Emitting a sharp ‘meep’, she twisted around to hold her skirts down and maintain her decency.

Rarity smirked at Hypocemia’s embarrassment. It was a little mean, but also in good fun, that Rarity carried the squirming mare towards the markets.

All about them ponies bowed deeply. Telling everypony to stop would take far too long, so Rarity decided to just leave them to their superstitions for the time being. Eventually the Athenians would learn that they didn’t have to bow to her. She would have to work out a way of spreading the word.

Athens markets, as with everything else about the city, were shabby affairs. The produce on display, while healthy and expertly grown, was thin in quantity. It was the same everywhere Rarity looked. Only a few bracelets in the jewelers displays. The bolts of cloth available were sparser. And the clothes! Rarity shook her head in dismay at the almost empty racks that held only the same, off-white slips that every mare seemed to wear.

Everywhere they went, Rarity and Hypocemia were met with surprise. It was the reactions Hypocemia elicited that drew the most ire.

“Where is your eunuch?” One especially blunt stall operator blurted out. “Sure, my lady, you didn’t leave the security of the palace without an escort!”

Blushing deeply, Hypocemia indicated Rarity, “If the mighty lady, who shines bright enough that the sun would grow jealous, is not escort enough, then no amount of my father’s servants would detour the most unwanted advances of a stallion. Besides, great Hera has seen fit to bless me with a foal by my beloved Hector.”

“Honestly, whatever was he thinking,” Rarity fumed in Hypocemia’s place as they moved on. “I have never seen such boorish manners before!”

“He merely said what others have thought. Look about and you will see no mare without the company of either family, or one of the household for protection of her modesty. Especially so as the Season nears.”

“This is worse than being in the Pre-Classical period,” Rarity groaned to herself, rolling her eyes theatrically, “Is it like this everywhere?”

“Oh, no! The vile mares of the Spartans have no decency. They flaunt themselves before stallions, like wild rabbits in a field, all come-hither glances and fluttering eyelashes. It is said that they even learn how to use magic normally reserved for soldiers or philosophers. That they may even vote! Can you imagine such a thing?” Hypocemia covered her mouth and flattened her ears as if mortified by the mere thought.

Stifling a groan, Rarity flatly said, “Yes, whatever would happen to society if mares could vote.”

Either ignoring or not detecting the obvious sarcasm, Hypocemia nodded, and said, “Of course you understand, as there is no voting among the gods. Zeus may hold his councils, but it is his will alone that is final.”

Reaching the end of the market, Rarity doubled-back, now with Hypocemia trotting along beside her.

A flash of inspiration striking her, Rarity gathered a few bolts of cloth, spools of thread, and a collection of various sea shells. The greater difficulty was having the merchants accept payment in the form of I.O.Us. Not because they wanted proper gold coins, rather, they kept insisting she have the items for free. The I.O.Us served as a compromise, the merchants probably expecting never to be repaid.

Rarity grinned thinking about what they would think of the gifts she had planned for them, taking extra care to remember their faces and names for later. It was time Athens was introduced to Haute Couture fashion.

As they were nearing the half-way point and Rarity had begun looking for a place to sit out of the sun and maybe have some refreshments, a chill trailed down the back of her neck. She’d never sensed the presence of another alicorn before, but Serene had, and the sensation was familiar just as it was disconcerting. She cast a look around the market, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Looking up revealed nopony flying along.

Again, she felt a pang for the missing pegasi, and resolved to ask about them shortly.

Casting a concerned look up at Rarity, Hypocemia asked, “What troubles you, rosy dawn touched Rarity?”

Hesitating, Rarity debated whether it was a good idea or not to say that there was another alicorn nearby. No, she corrected, as she focused on the chill. There were at least three alicorns in the immediate vicinity.

Yet, she couldn’t see them anywhere.

She was about to say that it was nothing, when a small burst of smoke blocked their path through the market. At once her senses became clearer, and instinctually Rarity knew one of the alicorns to be her equal, and the other two to be far, far lesser in power.

“Wa-HA-HA! Bow down and worship me, mortals! Fair coated and fair hearted Hera is here to judge your devotion!” A sharp, nasally voice cut from the cloud.

Snorting, Rarity swung a wing and scattered the obscuring white puff, revealing an alicorn filly of perhaps twelve or thirteen apparent years. Her true age was hard to know, alicorns ages getting stuck on the cusp of adulthood for decades to centuries.

With a fluffy, creamy peach coat, and raven dark mane that draped over pink eyes, Hera stood on her back hooves, her front legs thrust to one side with wings straight up. A wild smirk made her features seem harsh. Nose stuck in the air, she held the pose in spite of gravity, or common decency.

Serene’s memories of Hera were vastly different. In them Hera was a statuesque mare with cutting blue eyes and a mane of golden ringlets. She wore saddles of spun gold and hooped rings through her ears. A conical crown sat perched behind her horn, and about her neck hung many jewels. Known for her vindictive nature as much as her beauty, the Queen of the Gods was an alicorn held in equal measures fear, respect, and adoration.

This filly had none of those qualities.

In contrast to her diminutive size, this Hera was positively dripping with arrogance. It was about the only aspect that was at all similar to Serene’s memories.

On either side of Hera kneeled an alicorn mare. To her left was Maia, and to her right was Electra, both of whom Hera had in the past had cause to quarrel. Daughters of mighty Atlas, who held the heavens above Gaea on his own broad shoulders as punishment for attempting a rebellion against Zeus in ages past, they now served the Queen of the Gods as her hoofmaidens by Zeus’ decree.

Rarity looked the trio over, raised an eyebrow, and turned back to Hypocemia. “So, darling, as I was saying—”

Clearing her throat, Hera again let out her shrill laugh. “Wa-HA-HA! You dare ignore me, the queen of all the gods, from the greatest to the lowest? She who… Hey, come back here!”

Raising her own voice as she resumed trotting through the market, Rarity continued unabated, “I think a nice, plain picture hat would go lovely with those dresses you wear. I assume you have needles and—”

“Stop ignoring me!” Hera appeared in Rarity’s path with a flash of magic. Cheeks puffed out, the Queen of the Gods snorted and pawed at the ground as if to charge. She reminded Rarity a little bit of an angry hamster.

Simply stepping around Hera, Rarity continued, “I can make you a marvelous set of attire. It has been so long since I made anything for anypony. “

“I said, STOP!” Hera’s voice echoed near and far across Gaea. “Who do you think you are to fly in among our worshippers so flagrantly and attempt to turn them away from their true gods?”

Sighing, Rarity slowly turned a disgusted glare towards Hera. In a voice so cold, so poised, so piercing that it would make glaciers calve in fear, Rarity replied, “I have nothing to say to a little, spoiled brat. Especially one who claims to be a queen, but acts like the most ignorant, nasty twerp imaginable.”

Face growing red, Hera puffed herself up more, which only served to heighten her hamster-like appearance. Rarity had to fight down laughing.

This was the great and mighty Queen of the Gods? This was the pony who everyone else feared? It was too ludicrous for words.

“You dare to lecture—”

After her years in Amaymon, Rarity had enough anger bottled to fill an ocean, and this she turned towards Hera in a torrent. The dam was opened, and poured forth.

“Oh, no, darling,” Rarity flipped her mane, “You have yet to receive a lecture in your entire existence. I doubt you’d be able to recognise a proper one if it turned into a mountain and was dropped onto your head. No, you’re too busy lying about your ohso vaunted Olympus, tended to hoof and wing by your servants. Too busy sunning on a lounge than to lead the ponies who look up to you! Why, in less than a day, I’ve uncovered such monstrous behavior that I would never have believed possible in any so-called ‘civilized’ society!”

The tirad that followed became a legend.

It wasn’t just her time in Amaymon that powered her words. Rarity filled them with the disgust she’d felt for the various ‘elite’ of Canterlot and Equestria who’d ignored the ponies deemed beneath their station. Words she’d previously kept in check.

It was catharsis. A cleansing of her soul. And once she’d started, Rarity discovered that it was almost impossible to stop.

Every little detail she’d uncovered since arriving on Gaea was laid bare. For it being less than a day, the list was long indeed.

The warfare simply for the sake of battle, with the associated suffering and misery. The levels of barbarism necessary for such a thing to even be contemplated. How an entire city suffered, hope seeming a foreign concept to its inhabitants, barely scraping past each day to the next, constantly afraid of when the next attack would occur.

How ponies were kept as slaves. Rights and freedoms trampled in the dust. No chance to find the simple things that could bring them joy, or the special talents that filled ponies with purpose. Then, if it were at all possible, matters were made worse through mutilations. Eunuchs! Of all the things she’d heard that day, that made her stomach churn with disgust the most.

And all the while the ponies of Athens held any alicorn in such fear. Not respect or awe. Fear. Fear of the gods that never seemed to leave their mountain palace. Fear, when there should have been love, or at the very least respect garnered from actual leadership.

Righteous indignation poured from her as she lectured, each word an arrow fired. There was no relenting. No pause. Hera was utterly unprepared for the verbal onslaught and the sheer weight of Rarity when roused. Hera attempted to flee, but Rarity gave chase. By the end, Rarity’s chest heaved as she towered over Hera, the alicorn filly pressed into the corner of two homes adjacent to the market.

Hera’s ears were flattened to her head, and tail wrapped around herself to make herself seem smaller.

Comporting herself, Rarity turned away from Hera with a, ‘Hmph!’

She couldn’t believe she’d just beratted a filly to such an extent, and so publically, alicorn or not.

Keeping her own embarrassment hidden, Rarity went to a mortified Hypocemia, and said, “Let us return home, my dear. I want to make sure Trixie is alright. We’ve been gone a lot longer than I intended.”

Nodding quickly, Hypocemia stuttered, “Y-Yes, home. Yes.” The mare’s face was as pale, if not more so, than even Hera. A deep, all-encompassing terror filled her eyes like she was being dangled over the mouth of a ravenous dragon.

The deathly silence pervading the market was broken by the click of Rarity’s hooves, even the birds trembling in their nests. Rarity inwardly sighed at herself for giving in to her pent up anger. She’d been anything but a poised, respectably pony.

She’d gone perhaps a half-dozen lengths when Hera laughed, “Bwa-Ha-ha-ha! Very well, your challenge is accepted, out-sider!”

Rarity didn’t even look back.

“H-Hey! Come back here! Wait!” Hera’s golden sandaled hooves skidded across the dusty cobblestones as she darted in front of Rarity. Face puffed up with indignation, Hera jabbed a wing at Rarity. “You challenged me, and now you trot away?”

“I didn’t challenge you, I simply laid at all the things that have disgusted me since I arrived,” Rarity pointed out. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would much rather spend my time with a friend than arguing with you, darling. I have said all I wanted.”

Rarity brushed past Hera, gathered a still quaking Hypocemia, and made her way back towards her host’s ‘palace’. Trixie had to be waking up soon, if she wasn’t up already, and would be worried if Rarity was gone. As she went, Rarity unspooled one of the bolts of cloth just enough to begin to make a new hat and cape for Trixie. She conjured sheers of pure aether, and sewed without a needle. It was a simple exercise, and one that brought her a semblance of peace.

Peace that was continually intruded upon.

Hera didn’t let up, scampering along beside her while Maia and Electra trailed behind trying to convince their mistress to return to Olympus.

“I’m not going anywhere until I beat this insolent intruder!” Hera proclaimed, stamping her hooves in a little tantrum.

Rarity did the most prudent thing, and simply ignored Hera’s antics. Eventually the filly would get tired or bored and go back to her home on Olympus.

All the while a very frightened Hypocemia hid in Rarity’s shadow.

The looks of abject horror only intensified once they reached the palace. Queen Hecuba fainted and had to be carried to the guest room, while one of the servants fled the palace screaming as if chased by a pack of hellish hounds. Squaring his shoulders as he bowed deeply, Mystalicus took control of the servants, ordering Hypocemia to provide the best wine. A bit of relief showing in the corners of her eyes, she rushed off to do as her father bid.

Hera didn’t seem to even notice the mortals’ reactions, still focused intently on Rarity. She continued to follow Rarity right up to Trixie’s bed.

Trixia was, thankfully, still asleep. She twitched as she dreamt, slight whimpers sounding in the back of her throat at the nightmares plaguing her. Summoning a simple cloak stand, Rarity put the new hat and cloak in a place of prominence where Trixie would see them when she awoke.

“Who is this?” Hera asked as she jumped up onto a couch next to a window. “A champion!” She exclaimed after looking Trixie over, clapping her hooves with joy. “Excellent! You already had one for our challenge.”

Stifling a sigh, Rarity at last turned towards Hera. “I have told you that I have no intention of engaging in any challenges with you. And I would most certainly never involve Trixie in any case. If you want to follow me around, then at least make yourself useful.”

Hera, nodding along with Rarity’s words, quirked her head like a confused puppy. She rubbed her chin in deep thought, and then said, “I find it extremely difficult to understand you. I come to greet you to my world and invite you to my home, and you yell at me and blame me for all the problems of the mortals. Then you run away when I accept your challenge. What is it? Did you want to fight or not?”

“No, I wanted to avoid you,” Rarity said as she sat down next to Trixie. “If it will make you happy, it is my intention to leave as soon as I have found a way back to my own home on Ioka. Coming to Gaea was entirely unintentional.”

“Ioka?” Hera scratched her chin. “I am unfamiliar with this world. Maia, Electra, do either of you know of it?”

They did not.

“Well, obviously it is a backwards little world,” Hera concluded, “If I never heard of it before. But, I won’t let you leave until you answer for challenging me in front of everypony! A goddess has her pride, and you tried to wound mine. You didn’t, of course, because I am Hera and—wait, where are you going now!?”

Ignoring Hera again, Rarity went down to the dining hall to find Mystallicus and Hypocemia. As she was leaving the room, she met Hecuba, the Athenian queen recovered from her fainting.

“Lady Rarity,” Hecuba said in a breathy rush as she was fanned by a servant. “I had a most horrible vision, like that born on the wings of a black onerios. Lady Hera, who rules from golden Olympus, was in my home and shooting angry barbs at you. Oh, what dark clouds hang over this house.”

“Yes, yes, she is a horrible little pony,” Rarity tried to soothe the wobbling queen. “But I think she is actually rather harmless.”

“I’m right here, you know!” Hera’s nasally cry sounded behind Rarity.

A devious idea popped into Rarity’s head. A wonderfully, blissfully, devious idea. She had to clamp down a laugh. She was going to teach Hera a lesson in humility and helping ponies.

“Oh, I thought you would have gone back to Olympus to sulk by now,” Rarity sourly shot over her shoulder. “I’m surprised you can stand to be gone from your great palace for so long. ”

Vibrating with impotent rage, like a volcano on the cusp of exploding, Hera turned a deep red underneath her fur. She puffed out her cheeks, let out a shrill shriek, and turned to her hoofmaidens.

“Maia, Electra, go back to Olympus and get my things! I’m not going back to Olympus until this interloper is taught a lesson!” Hera marched past Rarity and went down to the main hall.

Rarity didn’t hide her grin as the pair of alicorn hoofmaidens looked from their mistress to her in dejected confusion. They didn’t argue, and blinked out of existence as they went to do as commanded.

“What is going on?” Asked a sleepy Trixie from the doorway to the bedroom. She wore her new hat slightly ascance, cloak tossed casually over her shoulders. Her gaze drifted from Rarity over the other ponies, and then down to Hera already in the courtyard with nose thrust in the air.

“Oh, just teaching a filly to be nice to ponies,” Rarity off-handedly remarked. “And, hopefully, some ponies a lesson or two as well.”

She guided Trixie down the main hall, mind turning on how to teach everypony to be better. It wasn’t going to be an easy lesson, and she doubted that she would be able to change the Athenians overnight. But, given time, Rarity was certain that they would realise the gross injustices rife within their society.

Until then, Rarity resolved that Ioka would have to wait. She had a mission now. She’d fix Athens, make it a place of generosity and beauty, teach Hera to respect ponies, and find a way home.

Author's Note

If you've enjoyed my writing, please consider donating. You can buy me a Ko-Fi, or just directly donate with Paypal to alaster31@hotmail.com. I could really use any support and help to keep writing. Thank you!

Author's Notes;

So, I was told that Hera acts like a... um, wimp, to use a less vulgar word. This is true and intended. This Hera is not Iliad/Odyssey Hera, as is implied by her difference in appearance from the memories Rarity inherited from Serene. I wanted her to be a spoiled child, not a cunning temptress or spiteful wife arch-type. There is a reason for this that will be shown in future chapters. Just laying it out that I am aware that Hera isn't being her usual, vindictive, spiteful self here.

This chapter is mostly Rarity, and the story, just having a chance to breath while setting up the social structure of the ponies that Rarity has come to live among, and her disgust in their practices, culminating in her decision to help the city grow and get rid of the deplorable aspects. This wasn't my original intention, but came about as I did some research on ancient Athens and its society. I was aware of the slavery. That was endemic in all ancient societies. It was the fact that women weren't allowed out of the house without an escort that made my eyebrows shoot up. I decided to include this as it sets up a very sharp contrast with the mare-centric society of Equestria, as well as the freedoms we'll be seeing in the Spartans (again, historically accurate from what I've been able to determine).

I'm going to be spending more time on Gaea and just trying to enjoy myself more with the Rariad at this point. There is no rush to reach a big conclusion or zip through things to get to the end. I'm likening it in my head to taking a leisurely stroll rather than a jog through the park. There is more I want to do on the Trixie-Rarity front, having Rarity come into her own, and exploring Gaea's mortal and alicorn societies.

I'm also thinking on doing shorter chapters, but having them be more regularly. I don't like the monster chapters anymore, and even reaching 7k words is a bit much. 5-6k words a chapter just seems about right. Enough to sink the teeth into, but not take hours and hours to read.

Anyways, until next time;
Tundara

Part Nine

The Rariad
By Tundara

9: Gaea

Lekos and Cretos, the hale twin sons of Palamus, crouched low in the shade of a sheltered copse of trees overlooking Athen’s southern gates. They’d shucked off their armour and wrapped themselves in simple clothes of traveling merchants. Hiding their armour among the cellar of an abandoned building, with runes to be able to summon them should the need arise, they further covered their faces in dirt and legs in a healthy swathing of mud. Little could be done about the thick muscles of their shoulders, or their piercing glare. Stallions of Sparta, they spent long days honing their bodies and magic into the arts of warfare until both were sharp as a bronze spear, and even mud or loose clothing could do little to hide their powerful frames.

Pulling the hoods of their traveling cloaks over their heads, they made their way to the city gates, rickety wagon taken from an unfortunate merchant trundling along the damp road. A shower late the previous night had left mud holes that made the trip a slog, the wagon having to be maneuvered around them continually. As the summer sun rose the road dried, forming a baked, rock hard surface.

The brothers weren’t alone on the road. Tales of Athens being graced with the presence of Hera and a mysterious, new alicorn had spread far and wide over the past few months. Travellers and merchants began to flock towards the once forgotten city, willing to brave the dangers posed by brigands and Spartan raiding parties for the chance of seeing one of the gods. Many were the number of wagons rumbling along roads unused for a great many seasons, churning the tracts to muddy sludge as they forged their way towards the tarnished beacon of Athens.

The guards at the gate frowned behind their plumed helmets, checking wagons and interviewing merchants before allowing them through gates unused for decades. Tension ran up the guards shoulders, shields kept close as they worked, a dozen of their fellows watching from the walls with readied spears.

Lekos did the talking as their wagon was inspected, the dried goods used to mask their true intent shifted through, while Argentes asked questions. Argentes was a crafty pony, and Lekos feared that he’d be caught in a lie. His questions were probing and sharp as the glint in his eye, and the brother’s feared they were moments from discovery, so much so that they looked each other in the eye and knew the other’s thoughts to spring upon the Athenians. Their tension was for naught, a commotion from a wagon behind them drawing Argentes away as he signaled for the brothers to be admitted to the city.

Athens bustled with early morning activity, ponies filling the marketplaces in eager anticipation of the newly arrived merchants’ wares. Lekos and Cretos found a place to stash their wagon next to a tavern and went inside to see what they could discover. The establishment bustled with fresh activity, every room already taken and the owner rushing about to serve patrons. Sitting in a corner, the brothers observed and listened for a time, and much did they learn.

They learned of Rarity, most generous of the gods, and how she lived in the temple atop the hill, tended by the priestesses, with her champion, Trixie Lulamoon, daughter of Countess Belladonna Lulamoon of Gallopton, a city far from any land visited by ponies of Athens, as company. With them was Hera, attended by Maia and Electra, the great goddess refusing to depart for Olympus until she’d bested Rarity.

Daily were the challenges between Rarity and Hera, and though Hera had won a few, the greater share of victories belonged to Rarity. Unsatisfied until she’d truly bested her rival, Hera remained in the city.

Lekos and Cretos frowned at the rumours, and put little stock in them. The words of half-drunk merchants were to be discounted as embellished, and so the brothers set out to see for themselves how much truth lay in what they’d overheard.

The roads were filled with optimism, ponies chatting as they set about their daily routines.

A filly ran between the brothers, hollering and screaming for joy at the top of her lungs. Curious what pleased the filly so much, Cretos watched as she screeched to a stop next to her mother. Jumping up and down, she said, “Mother, mother! I was with Atelimos and Olymia down by the gardens, and there was this kitten. It was a sad thing with mangy fur and a limp, and surely I thought that it seemed so sad and forgotten. Atelimos went to throw a rock at the little thing, but I stopped him, as Queen Rarity tells us to show kindness and generosity to even the sickest and lowest creatures. I picked up the kitten, and it was so small and shivered in my aura as I placed it in my hooves, fur on ends and hissing at me. And then it just calmed, all the mighty fear in its tiny breast fading away at my touch. And then! And then! Oh, it is most amazing mother! I felt it! A spark! In my heart!” The filly touched her chest and smiled wide at the memory. “And then my flank tingled, and Olymia gave out a shout, ‘Petella, your flank! Look at your flank!’ she cried with shock. Shock I shared, as when I looked, I had a Soul Mark!”

All the while she’d been speaking, her somewhat aggravated mother waiting expectantly for the story to end, the filly had been dancing and spinning about. As she concluded her story she stopped, and proudly displayed the catspaw mark emblazoned on her flank.

The mother’s irritation vanished in a flash, swept away by tears of joy as she grasped her daughter and brought her to her chest in a crushing hug.

“A Soul Mark!” The mother wept. “My daughter has a Soul Mark! Come, come! We must be away to the palace at once! Lord Mystalicus has decreed that all newly marked ponies are to be honoured. Come, come, we must hurry. And then to your grandfather, for he will be as overjoyed as I, and shower you in gifts.”

Over the day, Lekos and Cretos saw several other older foals, or young mares and stallions with soul marks, still fresh from the ceremonial garb they wore that showcased their marks for all to see.

“How many is that, brother?” Asked Lekos.

“Ten, at least,” answered Cretos, his shoulders stiffening in shock.

“Who would ever thought there would be so many newly marked in a single city. What is going on? What games do the gods play to heap such honours on filthy Athens so suddenly? Worshipers of one of the traitor-gods deserve only scorn. Yet, here they are, receiving in numbers unheard, the blessings of the gods.”

“It is troubling, and Princess Dapolleta will say we have learned enough. Let us return and inform her of what we have discovered.”

“Nay, not yet. The princess commanded we learn the truth behind the rumours of the gods taking new favour on Athens, and we have yet to determine whether it is flights of fancy caused by this rash of new soul marks that the Athenians believe themselves blessed, or whether the mighty gods have come to dwell among mortals. She will be angered if we return too soon. Come, let us go to the temple. There we will learn the truth.”

Nodding at his brother’s logic, Cretos followed Lekos towards the temple of Athena.

As they neared the theater at the base of the hill, they noticed the crowd grow thicker, with many ponies milling about to gawk at something. Pushing their way through where the crowd was thickest, they could see a space up ahead, but not make out what was in it.

“What is going on?” Lekos asked the pony next to him.

The mare looked up at him, avoiding his eyes and blushing a little, and said, “Lady Hera has challenged Lady Rarity again. Today they are playing a game the benevolent Rarity, in her boundless wisdom, called ‘Gin Rummy’. They are over yonder at that table, for all to see, in the sun’s warm embrace.”

Lekos craned his neck, the crowd parted just a little, and he beheld a curious sight. At the center of the crowd sat Rarity and Hera at a table. Behind each were a pair of ponies, Trixie and Hypocemia with Rarity, Maia and Electra with Hera. Between them, acting as a judge or referee, was Chryseis in her white robes.

The two great alicorns were fixated at something placed on the table between them. Each held little slips in their aura that they studied with great attention. Tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth, Hera lifted a card from the top of a pile on the table, floated it to the others she already held, and groaned.

Smiling, Rarity took the next card, and with a flourish, declared, “Rummy!”

The crowd gasped, oo’d, and whispered loudly about how marvelously Rarity played.

In an authoritative voice, Chryseis called out, “The winner is Rarity Belle, Goddess of Beauty and Generosity,” to which the crowd cheered and stamped their hooves.

Hurling her cards on the table, Hera’s face puffed up, and she shouted, “No fair! No fair! You always choose strange games! Well, tomorrow it is my choice, and I’ll beat you!” Before leaping from her chair and flying off deeper into the city.

Giving Rarity sheepish smiles, Maia and Electra bowed their heads, and then took off to follow their mistress.

Shaking her head, Rarity gathered up the playing cards, and then passed them to a nearby group of foals. They squealed with delight and then ran off.

“Well, that was a delightful diversion,” Rarity said as she magic the table away with a swish of her horn. “I’m going to visit Piraeus for a little while. Mystalicus asked me to show him more about Equestrian ship-building. Is there anything you’d like me to get while I’m there, Trixie?”

Trixie thought a moment, and then replied, “No,” with a shrug.

“You should be careful, Lady Rarity,” Chryseis teased, “You’ll become the Goddess of Shipwrights too, at this rate.”

Laughing, Rarity waved a dismissive hoof. “My knowledge is very general, I assure you darling. My mother knows a sight more than me, as she’s been a captain since before I was foaled. I forgot all about the ship’s knees last week. If Mystalicus hadn’t noticed my mistake and spoken up, the prototype would have been a disaster. I’ll see you for dinner this evening.”

With that, Rarity spread her wings and took flight towards Piraeus.

“What of you, fair Trixie?” Chryseis turned her attention to Trixie as Rarity disappeared from sight.

Trixie again shrugged, and headed off along the road with no apparent destination in mind. Sighing, Chryseis shook her head and followed along with Hypocemia. Nodding to each other, Lekos and Cretos in turn followed the priestess.

“This malaise encasing your heart must end at some point, lest it consume you like a pride of lions feasting on your warm innards, teeth gnawing on hope, tongue licking out the marrow of joy until only a shell of a pony remains.”

“Well, there is a pleasant image,” Trixie huffed. “Trixie has told you, and those annoying princesses that she is fine!”

At the same moment a board fell flat with a crack that echoed along the lane. Trixie leapt several feet into the air, and landed with fur on end, mane sticking out as if she’d been struck by one of Zeus’ thunderbolts. Panting heavily, she snagged her hat from the air, and thrust it back on her head as tears welled in her eyes.

“Yes, as fine as a chicken with a fox in her coop, sharp teeth teasing the flesh of her exposed neck,” Chryseis clicked her tongue sadly.

Shooting the priestess a sour look, Hypocemia said, “Come now, wise Chryseis, your words are cruel, even if they are true.”

Chryseis bowed her head. “I speak only from a firm desire to see Trixie well. She has become a dear friend, as dear to me as you, lady Hypocemia, and I worry that she has been unable to overcome the demons plaguing her.”

At the word ‘demons’, Trixie sucked in a sharp breath and stumbled.

Hypocemia and Chryseis were with her in an instant, supporting Trixie on either side. They patted her gently, and soothed her with calming words until Trixie was able to continue.

Gently guiding Trixie towards the shade offered by awnings over several tables in front of a store, Hypocemia said, “Come, let us sit in the shade and have us some of that wonderful iced coffee Lady Rarity has blessed upon Athens. You have done well, my friend. This is longer than you have managed all these months outside the protection of your rooms. You should be proud to have conquered your fears.”

Body shaking, Trixie mutely allowed herself to be guided to a chair in a secluded corner of an area separated from the lane by a low fence. Lekos and Cretos took a table on the other side of the space. Only a few ponies occupied the tables, all from the upper class from their fine clothes and the presence of servants.

“Two hundred years, you know, it has been since one of the mighty gods has seen fit to reside among mortals. Spurned, they did, the entire disc, not just this vile city of traitors,” said one thickly bearded stallion from Ithaca, by the tunic he wore and his refined accent. Ithaca was a strong ally of Spartan these last many years, and his words drew scowls from the Athenians.

He was with several other travellers, his fellows nodding along as they sipped cups of some strong smelling beverage.

He continued thus, “You know it to be true. All ponies were denied the guidance of the gods by mighty Zeus. Look to Hera! In books and tapestries a mare of near unequaled beauty, whos qualities claimed the hearts of many, and yet, now a filly she has become, punished by Zeus for her role in sparking the war between the gods in which so many of their number fell by the craft or cunning of their cousins and siblings. Oh, rumours and legends aplenty say that the gods travel among us still, and that the cities of the victorious gods still hold favour is without doubt, while the likes of Athens continued to rot, unloved by the gods. But, in all these years, no sighting has ever been confirmed until now. Had I not seen Lady Hera and Lady Rarity with my own eyes, clear as those of the proud golden-plumed eagle as he flies, I would doubt it still. No more, no more, do I doubt. I am very glad indeed to have listened to my dear Penelope and undertaken this journey. A messenger she received that I was to go west to Athens, and here I would find a most majestic sight. The advice has been a blessing. I can safely say that I am among the first of Ithaca to see a god in two hundred years! And this drink! This Cough-Fee! Gifted to the world by sparkling maned Rarity! What a drink! I must find a way to bring this back to Ithaca.”

There were many similar sentiments, though few of the merchants had travelled as far as the stallion from Ithaca. It was amazing he’d reached the city so fast, Ithaca being very distant, and would have had to leave for Athens almost the day Rarity and Hera took residence in the city.

As he was panning his head around, Lekos caught Chryseis’ gaze, the two locking eyes for the span of two, interminable heartbeats. He nodded to her, trying to appear in wonder of the city, and she gave a slight smile. Leaning in towards Hypocemia, she shared a secret whisper and the pair tittered like songbirds in the boughs of a tree.

The trio of mares stayed at the market-side cafe for some time, enjoying the little porcilian cups of steaming black liquid brought to them with pleasant smiles. Lekos and Cretos looked at the cups with shock. They’d never seen such finely made cups, so small and thin with elegant curves and gold trimming, delicate flowers painted in blues and pinks on white sides, so different from the stoutly limbed cups in blacks, golds, and reds to which the brothers were accustomed. And then there was the coffee itself, bitter and harsh on the tongue, sending a jolt of vitality straight to the head like a bolt of lightning hurled by Zeus.

Mimicking the ponies around them, the brothers used small silver spoons to add little heaps of white powder, and poured a dollop of cream into the cups. The flavours and textures were transformed, a sweetness mingling with the bitter after-notes in a creamy dance along the tongue.

“Astounding,” Cretos cried out, looking in shock at his now empty cup. “Is this nectar? I must have more.”

Engrossed in their coffee, the brothers almost failed to notice their quarry depart. Hurriedly they paid and slipped after the mares as they made their way through the market. They stopped at plenty of stalls, commenting on the fine goods displayed, and marvelling at the treasures entering the city from distant lands. It was a cornucopia of delights for the young mares so used to drudgery and the oppressive weight of the Spartan siege.

Lekos began to worry. It was difficult to find reasons to continue to follow the mares without drawing suspicion. More and more it was obvious that he was following them. He began to sweat, and felt that the mares were drawing him and his brother further afield. Indeed, they left the market and its bustle, entering a long lane that ran parallel to the city walls where there were homes for the lower castes. These were dwellings for the trades workers and craftsponies, meager affairs of a couple rooms and a kitchen all crammed together.

Turning a corner, Lekos found himself confronted by the mares.

Chryseis stood at the head of the group, a frown etched on her face as deep as the ocean’s ravines and hooves planted wide, and demanded in a voice that cracked like a whip, “Stallions should not slink like snakes through thick grass, heads low and timid, plotting to strike at the hock when a pony turns their back. Such gross cowardice is unbefitting any who’d offer prayers to the gods. For what purpose do you follow us like you were our own shadows?”

Quick glances showed the brothers that they were alone in the street for the moment. The city walls were only a short distance away, the blue plumes of the guards patrolling the walls peaking out above the rooftops.

“You are foolish,” Cretos grunted as he touched upon his magic. His and his brothers spears and shields appeared by their sides, the letter lambda painted in black over crimson hues. “Grab the priestess, I will take the princess.”

Lekos nodded, and no further words were needed between the brothers. Lekos lunged, spear driving towards Trixie’s throat, lethal intent pouring through his powerful shoulders. Trixie’s eyes widened, and in a flash she vanished, reappearing on top of a building to the side.

Her gross cowardice was as surprising as the speed of her spellwork. A mare with the ability to so proficiently produce a spell was unheard of outside Sparta, where the mares trained beside the stallions in martial and magical arts. Trixie was a chosen of a god, however, with a soul-mark of a star-tipped wand and swath of stars, and so her skill in magic was not as shocking as it would otherwise have been. That she would flee and leave behind Chryseis and Hypocemia rankled Lekos’ heart, and he sneered at Trixie as he reversed his spear and brought the blunt end against Chryseis’ temple, knocking the priestess out in a single blow before she could react.

Abandoned by Trixie, and with Chryseis unconscious, Hypocemia let out a shriek and ran. At a full gallop she sped towards the city walls, and what she assumed would be the help of the guards. Throwing Chryseis’ limp form over his back, Lekos followed behind Cretos, pausing only long enough to snort in Trixie’s direction.

She stood, frozen in fright on the edge of the roof, face pale in the sunlight as her eyes darted between the ponies in the street. Body shaking, she raised a hoof as if pleading for Chryseis and Hypocemia to return.

The chase rounded a corner, and Trixie vanished from sight. Lekos made for the ramp to the walltop, while Cretos gave chase along the bottom of the wall. Hypocemia dashed as fast as her hooves could carry her, while Cretos moving as swiftly as the mountain falcon, swiftest of all birds, began to catch her. They rounded another corner, and Lekos lost sight of the fleeing princess and his brother. He had to slow as a pair of guards drawn by the commotion approached.

They were Mulius and Echeclus, and had long served Athens as soldiers and guards. With his shield Lekos smashed Echeclus in the jaw, shattering the bone and casting him bodily from the wall to land in a tangled heap in Hades’ halls. Mulius cried out in surprise and reached for his warning horn to summon all the guards on Lekos’ head. Before the horn could be brought to his lips Lekos struck him in the side of the head with his spear, the bronze spearhead bursting out the other side. Having dealt with the guards Lekos ran to the wall’s edge and lowered Chryseis’ limp body down the side. When she’d been deposited in the trench beneath the wall, Lekos turned back to see how his brother fared in catching the princess.

Cretos had chased Hypocemia into a dead-end where a group of foals were playing. Hypocemia came to a sharp halt, hooves skidding in the loose stones, and Cretos was upon her at once. The cause of her stopping was frozen mid-act of playing ‘tag’ with a group of foals, Hera’s hoof half-raised to tap a colt on the nose as the foals stared at the newcomers. Of Maia and Electra there was no sight.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hera demanded, fluffing up her wings like an angry peacock.

Cretos answered in actions, grabbing Hypocemia in his aura before dashing towards the city walls. Hypocemia kicked and yelled, but her struggles were fruitless. Cretos bounded up the ramp as Lekos urged him on. Along the walls rushed many more guards with spears sharpened and shields locked, shouting for Lekos and Cretos to halt.

With a flick of her wings, Hera launched herself into the sky, flipped over the wall, and hovered on the far side with hooves crossed and a sour frown on her face.

“Stop!” Hera commanded.

Cretos skidded to a halt, his chest heaving, and looked to Lekos for guidance.

Lekos was at a loss. They were surrounded, and death was certain if they stayed. Yet, they had to obey the commands of a goddess, especially Hera, who was the queen of the gods, and as such, queen over all ponies.

At the fringes of perception a stern voice growled, “Lekos, I grant you the indomitable might of the elephant to crush all who seek to bar your way. Go forth with my blessing, and dominate mine enemies.”

Power filled Lekos’ chest, and his heart swelled with fresh strength. A mighty surge of magic coursed through sinew and bone. He felt stronger than he’d ever felt before, his body trembling with barely contained energies. His skin tingled at the gentle touch of the afternoon breeze in electric currents. A flash of light encapsulated Lekos’ flanks as the symbol of an elephant’s head in profile appeared in black within a red circular shield.

A similar light touched Cretos’ flanks, the image of a regal lion appearing on his smooth fur, his own eyes going wide with wonder.

Hera’s jaw tensed with barely contained fury. “Ares, son of my former existence, you dare?!”

Over the wall echoed a low, rumbling, disembodied laugh.

“Olympus demands your return, ‘mother’.”

Mane roiling like flames across a dry field, she turned to Hypocemia. Eyes turning silver with channeled aether, Hera intoned in a booming voice, “Hypocemia, I grant you with the swiftness of the swooping falcon, and the grace of the prowling leopard! Go forth with my blessing, and smite mine enemies.”

Hypocemia’s flanks flared with eldritch energies, and when the light passed there was emblazoned the image of a diving falcon within a cat’s paw. She blinked, stifled a gasp, and swept away Cretos’ magic holding her.

Bedlam exploded atop the city walls.

Lekos charged into the nearest guards, new spells and formidable magics roiling at the surface of his mind, pleading for release. His skin turned into an iron hardness, so that the Athenians’ bronze headed spears sparked off his chest as they would the mightiest armour. Blows from his hooves shattered the Athenian’s shields, and his spear pierced through their armour and soft flesh beneath as if they’d been made of straw. Titius, son of Lartus, and Helpos he struck down first, and quickly Targenom, Memnar, and Keletos were sent thereafter to Tartarus. More filled the gaps, the Athenians roused by indignation and rage, seeking to bring down the newly anointed champion. These too Lekos waded among.

While Lekos dispatched his enemies, Cretos and Hypocemia fought a short distance away. He pounced and she sprang away just out of his reach. Spinning about she struck, a hoof connecting with his jaw, and finding it unyielding to her blow. Hypocemia darted back, shifting from hoof to hoof, before striking again, this time with magic. Her aura took on the form of a spectral leopard’s paw, and racked its claws across Cretos’ sides. He leapt back just in time, the claws cutting shallow lines through his new soul-mark. Roaring with rage and adrenaline, he surged towards Hypocemia, his horn alight with magic. They met in a clash of sparking aether, the walls torn up around them as the champions’ spells slammed into each other. Back and forth they went, neither able to gain the advantage as wild bursts of aether lashed deep gouges in the stone. Yelling Hera’s name, Hypocemia dug into deep reserves of magic even she’d never known herself to possess and began to push Cretos towards the edge of the wall. Planting his hooves wide, Cretos roared in response and rose to meet the challenge. Again it looked like a stalemate, when Trixie appeared next to Hypocemia in a flash and added her own magic to Hypocemia’s, and the tide was decidedly turned in their favour. Grunts lodged in his throat, Cretos’ legs began to buckle.

“Go! Inform Dapolleta of what we learned!” Cretos shouted to his brother.

Lekos hesitated, ready to join his brother in fighting Hypocemia and Trixie.

In the near distance, a brilliant white spec sped closer and closer. Rarity had returned to Athens.

“Go!” Cretos repeated.

Nodding his understanding, Lekos bounded over the side of the walls, landing thirty lengths down with a heavy thud that resonated up his stout legs. Quickly he grabbed Chryseis and dashed away. Spears hurled from the wall rained down about him as he galloped, but all missed their mark.

He crested a hill, and was met by an incredible sight of plumed helmets of crimson and gold. A sea of Spartans marched in rigid lines, and at their head was an imposing mass of muscles and chiseled chin. Every son of Sparta was present in their finest armour, with spear and shield polished and oiled. Sixteen phalanxes, supported by thirty-thousand irregulars from the surrounding subsidiaries stood in radiant glory in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. Chariots rumbled along the wings, and in the near-distance mighty siege engines were being erected.

And there, at the head of the sea of soldiers, was Ares, son of Zeus and Hera, the God of Slaughter, stood twice the height of the tallest stallion. He radiated with martial dominance, and his eyes burned with a cold intensity. Near his side was Dapolleta, the Princess of Sparta grinning wide in anticipation of the coming siege. Her gaze continually flickered to the giant alicorn, lustful yearning bright in her eyes.

Slowing, Lekos bowed deep to his god, and then nodded to his princess before slipping into the Spartan’s ranks with his prize. Dapolleta greeted him warmly, ordering food and wine to be brought for the new hero of Sparta.

Eyes fluttering open, Chryseis gave a stifled gasp and bit her lip to hold back her tears.

Stopping at the hill’s peak Ares raised his voice in a boom that carried as far as Piraeus’ docks. “Hera! Rarity! Olympus demands your presence!”

Dropping down from the sky, Hera and Rarity stood on the open plains between the Spartans and Athens.

“Enough games,” Ares intoned in a brassy growl addressing Hera. “Return home.”

“I have yet to properly trounce Rarity. I refuse to let her be the winner,” Hera replied with a shake of her head. “Besides, I am finding Athens to be rather fun. I think I will stay a while longer and see what—”

Ares slashed the air with a wing, and a mighty gust blew across the plains, buffeting the Athenians lining the walls. “Zeus forbade it.”

“Listen, darling, there is no need for anger or violence,” Rarity stepped up to Ares. He regarded her coldly. “Why don’t you join us for some tea? No? How about coffee? Or, maybe you’d prefer wine? Nevermind, what is important is that we settle this dispute without involving the ponies of Athens.”

“Foolish,” Ares shook his head, frown growing deeper. “Come to Olympus.”

“I see no reason to go to Olympus,” Rarity gave a pleasant smile and flipped a hoof as if the answer should have been obvious. “My friends are here in Athens, and they have been kind enough to set me up in Athena’s old temple while I look for a way home. Soon as I am able, I will be out of your mane and on my way.”

“Irrelevant.” Ares launched the word as he would a spear. “Zeus forbade alicorns from residing among mortals.”

“Yes, yes, and he also forbade us from fighting each other!” Hera stamped a hoof. “Alicorns can’t fight alicorns, anymore! The last time we warred, nearly half our number were slain in the conflict. So, you can go back to Olympus on your own and tell the others to have a little patience! I am Hera, and I am their queen! They must listen to me!”

“You are not their queen.” Ares began to smile and leaned over Hera. His gaze burrowed into Hera, forcing her to back up a half-step. “Zeus divorced the true Hera when he punished her. You are her pale replacement. A shadow of her greatness. ‘Hera’ in name only.”

Trembling in impotent rage, Hera jabbed a hoof at Ares, unleashed a tangle of sputtered gibberish, and then let out a shriek.

“Really?” Rarity cast a look at Hera, “He can’t actually fight us?”

Hera nodded mutely as she fought to suppress her anger. Rarity relaxed a little more, and even giggled. “Well then, as soon as you return my friend, you can be on your way.”

Turning his attention back to Rarity, Ares intoned, “No.”

“Excuse me?” Rarity tilted her head, and narrowed her own eyes into menacing slits.

“Why should she be returned?” Ares smirked, a hard glint to his cold eyes. “Lekos risked flesh and blood entering an enemy city, and returned with a prisoner. His valour drew my gaze, and earned my blessing. What reason does he have to give up his prize?”

“Prize?” Rarity fumed, her passions roused so that her mane danced like roaring flames. “Ponies are not prizes! She isn’t even a soldier! She is a civilian, an innocent bystander! Honestly, before arriving on Gaea I never imagined such brutish behaviour from ponies who consider themselves civilised. The pinnacle of law and understanding my tail!”

Ares chuckled. “Such is the dialogue of war. Sparta is strong, Athens is weak.”

“Well then, if it is something he wants in exchange,” Rarity ground the words through clenched teeth, “I will grant him a boon, as you so-called gods call them, for her return. How does that sound?”

Rarity smiled, thinking the offer something no pony of Sparta or Athens would refuse. Hera gave her a slack-jawed stare, confirming her guess.

“Unless a pony is worth more than a gift from an alicorn,” Rarity added, needling the words with a little twist right at Lekos.

Lekos stayed silent, as did the rank upon rank of Spartan warriors observing the conversation. He looked slowly towards Ares, who remained silent as he thought, his gaze slowly drifting from Rarity to a cloud of dust crossing the plains towards where the gods conversed.

From Athens approached a small contingent of armed stallions on chariots pulled by stout earth ponies. Mystalicus rode beside Argentes, and together marshaled their Athenian warriors. Next to them was Menestheus, son of Peteos, who was master of Athens’ chariots and drilled them to be an effective force on the plains that surrounded the city. With them was Hypocemia, flush with victory and her new soul-mark, shouting for the stallions to go faster, a cape of regal purple tossed over her withers and decked in armour of shining bronze. In the chariot with Hypocemia rode Trixie.

The Spartans tensed in anticipation of battle, short and one-sided as it would be, with tens of thousands of Spartans against a scant few Athenians, but a gesture by Ares kept them in position. He returned his attention to Rarity with a sour grimace.

“You are a fool. A boon from you is worthless,” Ares responded after weighing Rarity with his cold gaze. “She will remain a hostage, and you will come to Olympus. You will do this to keep her safe, if you truly care for the mortals as you claim. Or, you can break Zeus’ command and attempt to claim her yourself, and I will destroy you.”

Rarity nodded after thinking for a moment. “Alright, but with one condition; Sparta leaves Athens alone. I won’t have these ponies harmed because of me. Let me speak with my… attendant, and we will go to Olympus.”

“What of you, ‘Hera’?”

Still fuming, Hera marched up beside Ares, crossed her hooves, and sat down with a ‘harrumph’.

Turning to the chariots, now slowing to discharge their riders, Rarity calmed herself. Stepping towards Trixie and the others, she gave them all a calming smile. “Trixie, darling, I’m going to Olympus for a short while.”

Panic flushed Trixie’s face, her lips tightening as she let out a low wail. “No! What if they follow us? What if they find me while you are gone? You’ll be safe, but Trixie?”

Rarity laid a calming wing against Trixie’s cheek. The Spartans gasped and fidgeted, while the Athenians, accustomed to Rarity’s odd ways, grinned at the Spartans’ discomfort.

“Yes, and our friends will make certain you stay that way, and you have to do the same for them. Our journey’s just have to go separate ways for a while.” Drawing Trixie into a hug, Rarity held her close and whispered, “For all our friends. You can do this, Trixie. I believe in you. Rescue Chryseis.”

Breaking the hug, she made certain to hold Trixie’s gaze. Dreadful terror welled in Trixie’s eyes, tears building until almost rolling down her cheeks. There were no promises, no acknowledgement or boisterous assurances; just a broken mare who desperately wanted to do the right thing, but was frozen under the weight of the horrors inflicted on her soul.

Rarity wanted to weep for Trixie. The brash mare who’d saved her in Tartarus was gone, and she wasn’t certain if she’d ever return.

“Well, Trixie, just take it easy. I’ll see you all again soon, I promise.” Rarity shifted to the Athenians. “Thank you all for your generous hospitality. Oh, and Mystalicus, darling, remember the ship’s knees need to be a bit larger to support the additional weight of the masts. The diagrams are in my room. Hypocemia knows where. Follow the instructions carefully.”

Mystalicus bowed, and said he understood, and would make certain the project was finished in her honour. After saying goodbye to Hypocemia, Rarity joined Ares and Hera. The Athenians leapt back onto their chariots and sped back to Athens, while the Spartans turned towards their ships.

In a flash of Ares’ magic, the trio of alicorns teleported to Olympus.

Back in the Temple of Athena, Maia and Electra looked at each other, sighed, and went back to braiding their manes, promising they’d return to Olympus soon.

Author's Note

If you've enjoyed my writing, and are feeling generous, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi (Link), or just directly donate with Paypal to alaster31@hotmail.com.

I could really use any support and help to keep writing, and every little bit is greatly appreciated.

Thank you!

~~~~~~~~

Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I've had it done for a couple weeks, but been sitting on it to let me turn over events. I'm glad I did as the original version had far less conflict between Trixie and Rarity. I realized that I needed a bit more tension in their friendship, and I wanted to have something for Trixie to triumph over with her PTSD/demons. I'm having them go through alternating ups and downs. Rarity is on a fairly linear upward trajectory throughout the story, while Trixie has peaks and valleys.

This is also to set up for Trixie, Mystalicus, and a dedicated group of Athenians to diverge on their own path away from Rarity for a time.

I also wanted to show/hint at how Hera was growing and Rarity's idea of making Hera a better pony was beginning to show results, if only a little.

Ares I decided to make him very stoic and brutally honest and simple in his speech compared to other ponies and alicorns, often using 'yes' or 'no' responses. I based him a bit on Amos from the Expanse, with the same sort of honour and violence mixed together. My intent is for him to be the primary antagonist for the remainder of the Rariad.

I hope the chapter was worth the wait and satisfactory.

~Tundara

Part Ten

The Rariad
By Tundara

10: Gaea

“Wa-ha-ha! Great Olympus, rejoice, for your queen has returned!” Hera proclaimed the moment Ares, Rarity, and she appeared on the outermost promenade of the holy city, overlooking the vast plains and rolling hills of Thessaly to the south, the Thracian Sea spread out in a sapphire canvass to the east, while in the north lay Maredonia, and the proud city of Aegea, beyond which was Thrace, and further still the lands inhabited by the savage barbarians who denied the wills of the gods, and were in turn rejected by the divine light of Olympus, and as such lived in wretched squaller.

Olympus was a city on par with Canterlot, if a touch more grandiose with gold capped colonnades lining the streets, painted engravings twining up their lengths, fountains of silver at every intersection, and domes of polished copper held aloft by marble statues topped the many palaces. There were no stores in sight, bathhouses and gardens taking their place. Galleries and museums stood on every street corner. About everything there was an air of otherworldliness, like Rarity had stepped into a fantastical painting of the idea of Canterlot, rather than the reality.

Alicorns of all sizes dotted the wide streets as they went about their daily routines. Hundreds upon hundreds, great and lesser, in pairs, alone, or small groups. Rarity had never seen or imagined such a gathering.

There were the dryads, nereids, and nymphs, the oceanids, naiads, and horai, all decked in clothes of golden olympian silk. The winds were there too, the many granddaughters of Zeus rushing about as they carried messages or pushed the clouds out towards the mortal portion of the world. They were all dressed in garments white as the first breath of winter, or dark as a tempestuous night, with thunderbolt brooches at the shoulder proclaiming their service to mighty Zeus. Further along a group of furies patrolled, resplendent in their shining, striped armour and flashing eyes.

Among these lesser alicorns on whom much of the daily toil was placed strode the intermediate lords and ladies, alicorns a head taller than their peers. With small jewels or wreaths worked into their manes, there were the likes of Cupid, Hebe, Iris, and rosy feathered Dawn, all who sat drinking nectar and chatting in amiable comfort. Along the central lane were the three Graces, Thalia, Euphrosyne, and Aglaea, attended by a group of furies as they spent time in Olympus, visiting from the underworld where they usually resided.

Rarity and Ares stood a good head taller than even these alicorns, and it struck Rarity for the first time just how tall she’d grown in the past few years.

Few were the alicorns as tall as her, the number of Greater Alicorns sparse even on a world as populated with alicorns as Gaea. Only one such individual was in sight, and when Rarity got a good look at him she reeled back in shock.

Rarity was confronted by the spitting image of a much younger and fitter Fancy Pants. Sapphire dark eyes danced, and his cobalt blue mane shimmered as it cascaded in luscious locks down a thick neck of bundled muscle. Another name leapt to the fore of Rarity’s mind; Apollo, and she had to forcibly push it down. The resemblance was uncanny, and she was reminded how Tyr had been confused by seeing ponies who looked like Gaea’s gods.

Before she could speak, Hera leapt at the tall stallion, wrapping her legs around his neck.

“Phoebus!” Hera theatrically cried, “I missed you so much! Ares has been mean to me again. Carry me back to my palace, and sing for me. Sing for me in your most beautiful voice and calm my frayed nerves! Never have I missed anything as much as I have missed your renditions these past few months!”

“Dear Hera, I would love nothing more than regalling you with song and poetry.” Phoebus smiled, and it was like the beams of the sun slanting through grey clouds to banish rain. “But I must bring you to the High Halls so you may be judged for breaking Zeus’ commandment.”

Hera pouted and crossed her hooves. “They have no right to judge me! I am their queen. Zeus has been gone two hundred years. He may never return. Surely we can visit the mortals again. The two houses have been made one. There is no need for fighting or war among the gods of Olympus.”

Rarity was so shocked at seeing Phoebus that she missed Hera’s words. Had she parsed them she would have hardly been able to hold back a mirthless laugh given Hera’s whole reason in going to Athens had been to start a fight.

“I see Serene has at last returned to us,” Phoebus said with a jovial bounce to his laugh as he turned his attention to Rarity. “Though, in an even more beautiful form, as unimaginable as that would have been just a short time ago.”

“Serene is gone,” Rarity sharply said. “Don’t compare me to her. She was a loathsome mare. I am certain you do not care to be compared to Apollo, who you resemble so perfectly.”

Lifting one of his perfectly sculpted brows, the youthful stallion let out a chuckle that was like the opening chords of a ballad.

“Alas, this is the truth of the matter. As you are not her, nor am I Apollo. More so than the darling Hera beside us is not the same Hera who fills the heroic ballads. We all died, and would have stayed dead had we been mortals, but we are immortal, and death has no permanent hold over us. The day will come when Hermes too returns, though it will be longer yet, as his destruction was far more complete than our predecessors, and who among us alicorns can say the form he, or perhaps she, will take. After all, we are as eternal as the domains we represent.”

“And what do you represent?” Rarity politely asked as they made their way along the wide lane, intent on anything other than the brooding Ares.

Phoebus again laughed, and the sound warmed her heart.

“Many things, and one thing; Some would say I am the Sun and Light, but that belongs to Hemera, and she would never release it from her grasp. Others say Music, and Poetry, but that is not it either, fore though I am without peer in Olympus when it comes to either, that is only due to their true owners being missing. Yet, more would say I am the God of Prophecy and Knowledge, but only as I have taken an interest in granting soul-marks to the Oracles since my return. Order and Beauty have been added to the ever-growing list; but Order is what all alicorns encompass in some capacity, and as for Beauty, well,” Phoebus nodded to Rarity, then continued, “Healing and Plagues have likewise been ascribed to me, but those belonged to the late Hecuba, and she too will return in time, I merely granting guidance to a few healers in the interim. Getting even further astray, very confused mortals claim I am the God of Archery and Agriculture! Surely they speak in jest, for that is very far from what I entail. No, I am the God of Protection and Guardians, giving council and wisdom to all who would watch over the towns, villages, or cities of mortalkind. The healers, the oracles, the kings, and the soldiers; they are all under my wings.”

Rarity found herself enamoured. Phoebus carried himself with every once of the dignity of his mortal look-alike. His voice was calming, and set the fears and anger brought about by Ares and his insufferable actions outside Athens to rest.

Perhaps Olympus wouldn’t be as terrible as she imagined.

“Well, darling, that all sounds rather bothersome, doesn’t it? To constantly be misplaced in your role among the gods?”

“At times,” Phoebus conceded, tilting his head ever so slightly. “But it is also rather amusing at times.”

“For you,” Ares snorted and stepped past the younger god.

“Now, brother, be not sour! It ill-suits Olympus to have one of the Twelve always so stormy with father Zeus away. You are still without peer among us in matters of warfare and battle, besting my former incarnation in single combat.”

“Not just him. I crushed that entire false pantheon of rebels,” Ares rumbled, his shoulders tensing in wild ripples. “Your predecessor was one among many.”

Rarity shivered at Ares cold dismissal, horrible images dragging across the edges of her will, dredged up from the skeletal remains of Serene’s buried memories.

Flashes of Serene’s final moments pierced Rarity. The fear and anger as the Citadel of Light was smashed by Ares, Niomedes, and Hera. It took only the three of them, with their monstrous army, to overwhelm the ten remaining gods of the citadel. Of Hemera and Nyx there were no clues in Serene’s memories, and Aphrodite had surrendered early in the night, bowing her head before the invaders alone when her pleas to her family went unheeded. The remaining alicorns stood in defence of their home, and Ares struck them down one by one until Astraea had hurled a hundred stars from the heavens in a final, desperate gamble.

With a heavy shudder, Rarity forced the alien memories back into their box, and looked around to see if anypony had noticed her being lost in thought.

If anypony had, they politely made no indication.

Hera pranced along beside Phoebus, the two following Ares as he marched towards the palace highest upon Olympus. Other alicorns stepped aside with heads bowed to let them pass.

As they made their way towards Zeus’ palace, Rarity had time to wonder if perhaps Hemera, Nyx, or Aphrodite were in the city. They had survived the calamitous end of the citadel and the short lived pantheon they’d formed. If Ares was correct, and all alicorns on Gaea were in the city, then they had to be somewhere near.

It was impossible to know for certain. With so many alicorns in the city, her alicorn senses were swamped and overwhelmed. Rarity couldn’t sort through the crashing cascade of powerful tingles that danced along the back of her mind. The most she could discern were that there were perhaps a few more than dozen Greater alicorns in the city.

A considerable number, but far fewer than there’d once been residing on Gaea.

Rarity shuddered and unconsciously rubbed where Ares had rested his brutal axe, slick with golden blood, against Serene’s throat.

Zeus’ palace was open and airy, wide pillars holding aloft glass domes with almost no walls to hinder the view of the surrounding city and lands. The floor was made of cloud-marble like the cities of the pegasi, with many annexes floating around the central hall where twelve thrones resided in a half-circle. None of the thrones were occupied, leading Rarity to suspect that the hall was rarely used. Behind each throne stood a towering aurichalcum statue of the Olympians.

On the wings were the thrones of Phoebus and Aphrodite. Next to them stood Artemis and Hephaestus, respectively, followed by Athena and Demeter, though, if Rarity hadn’t known better, it was Fluttershy who stood behind Artemis’ throne, and one could easily mistake Athena for Fleur de Lis, and Demeter’s statue hardly resembled the mare from Serene’s memories. There was even a throne for Hermes next to Athena.

The remaining thrones were more closely aligned to Serene’s memories.

On the right, across from Hermes, stood Ares’ throne, the bloody hooved god going straight to sit on its thick, velvetine cushions.

Next to him resided Hades and then Hera, while, on the other side, were Hestia, Poseidon, and finally, the Zeus’ empty throne.

“Where is everypony?” Rarity wondered aloud, looking around the empty hall with its vacant thrones. “And what happened to…?” Rarity indicated the thrones.

“After punishing everypony, Zeus decided to shake things up and change the Olympians,” Hera casually explained as she skipped to her throne and scrambled up the stairs leading to the oversized cushions. “And the Miora came, and told him a whole bunch of stuff. He expelled Nessus, Alke, and Niomedes from the High Halls, and Hecate’s throne was passed on, as she’d only ever been a member as a favour to Hades. Dionysus gave up his throne of his own accord. He hates being tied down by responsibilities, and is much happier now.”

“But, almost half of these alicorns are dead or missing, darling. Aren’t they?”

Taking his seat, Phoebus said, “The Fates are never wrong, and this was the council they decreed. ‘The Olympians as they’d been and were meant to be’, I believe was what they said.”

“A preposterous arrangement,” Ares snarled. “Athena, Artemis, and Demeter are gone for good. Destroyed by the lowest of cowardice rather than face the punishment for their transgressions against Olympus. Astraea saw to that.”

“Your mighty father, Zeus, Greatest of all the gods, will find them,” cut a voice as sharp as a polished bronze arrowhead flying at the throat of an enemy.

From the side entered a pair of mares instantly recognisable, and yet utterly foreign.

The first was a tall mare of exquisite white, pastel aura mane gently drifting down her supple neck. About her throat was clasped a golden peytral emblazoned with the image of a seven limbed sun. Over her withers rested a gossamer dress that trailed behind her as she swiftly crossed the hall and took a place within the ring of empty thrones. The only thing about her that prevented Rarity from crying out Celestia’s name was the golden sash wrapped over the mare’s eyes.

It were other names that came to Rarity’s tongue, and she politely bowed her head to the Goddess of Light as she said, “Lady Hemera, Lady Nyx; it is wonderful to make your acquaintance at last.”

“Oh? Is it truly? We’d all gotten the distinct impression you had no intention of calling upon holy Olympus and giving us the pleasure of entertaining you, o’ Goddess of Beauty. Hoarding yourself for the mortals alone, and denying us the opportunity to show you our boundless hospitality,” spoke Nyx.

As similar as Hemera was to Celestia, so too was Nyx the spitting image of Luna, but as she’d been under the guise of Nightmare Moon. Her brilliant black coat shone with every subtle movement, and nebula mane continually flowed in a light mist that broke apart at the tips. In the same manner as Luna and Celestia, Nyx mirrored her sister with a matching peytral of silver, and a thin, silken dress of black. She wore a smile even broader than that of Phoebus, and her aquamarine eyes sparkled with amusement, though whether this was directed at her or something else, Rarity couldn’t discern.

Ares issued a deep groan, and Nyx rounded on him.

“Dear nephew, why do you moan and gripe like a boar with a spear in its belly? You have a place among the Olympians, and may make judgements in Great Zeus’ absence, while we must content ourselves with being mere guests in these halls.” Her smile was coated with a poisonous honeyed glow, the slightest pinch in the corner of her eyes telling a tale of many verbal wars that had been waged between the pair. “It was such belly-aching that led to the first schism. You would not wish to be the cause of another, would you?”

“If you were brave enough to leave, you would never have stayed in Tartarus with Hades, waiting to be rescued from his dark realm, rather than ceasing your own emancipation,” Ares countered.

Rarity expected a flash of anger, or perhaps a look of faux-shock, but instead Nyx merely giggled. “Yes, we are a coward. Had we been brave, we would have stood and fought alongside our daughters and nieces, and be lost now as well. Alas, here we are, enjoying the nectars and ambrosia of fair Olympus, surrounded by plenty, while they no doubt scrape and scrabble for the meanest of existences, in lands only the Fates know.”

Ares’ face contorted through a series of emotions, fury and disgust most prominently, before settling into a sour grimace.

Fast hooves clicking on the cloudstone announced the next arrival before the argument could go any further.

Dark brown, almost black, mane held in a pair of whip-like pony-tails bound by blue ribbons, a diminutive mare stomped her way into the hall, crossed the open part without so much as looking at anypony else, and took her seat.

“Okay, let’s make this fast. I need to get back before—um, I don’t have time to waste here.” Hestia’s face went red beneath her creamy coat, and she crossed her hooves and looked away.

“‘Back’?” Hera chirped, leaning over the legrest of her throne towards Hestia. “From where? Has the virgin Hestia been chasing after a stallion again? Wa-ha-ha! She has! Look at her face, Hemera! She’s been sneaking out as well.”

“I have not!” Hestia countered, jabbing a hoof at Hera. “I am fully within the laws as laid down by father!”

Covering her growing, cruel grin, Hera’s features darkened with triumph. “So, you do not deny chasing after a stallion then? Is he a mortal? She grows redder still! He is! He is a mortal! Oh, sweet irony! Pure and virtuous Hestia is smitten by a mortal!”

“Enough!” Ares roared, slamming a hoof down on the legrest of his throne. “Hera and this intruder have broken Zeus’ laws, and must be judged!”

“A queen—”

“Hera, consider your next words very carefully. Nopony can be above the law, lest it ceases to function.” Hemera’s sightless gaze burned on Hera.

Folding her hooves, Hera continued, “I was going to say that a queen must know the difference between the spirit, the intent, and the functionality of a law and when it is to be applied. I went down to the mortal city to punish Rarity, and when she didn’t leave, I had to stay.”

“I have never heard an excuse so thin,” Hestia remarked, kicking her back legs with restless irritation.

“Well, it hardly matters anyways!” Hera threw up her hooves. “There isn’t a plurality of Olympians, so no decision or judgement is binding.

A low grumble of agreement circled the hall, and several eyes turned towards the empty thrones.

“Yes, where are the others?” Ares demanded, leaning forward and gripping the edges of his throne tight. The god-smithed aurchalcum groaned. “They should be here.”

“Aphrodite and Haphaestus returned to their volcano just after you went to rouse the Spartans. As for Poseidon, he hasn’t been in Olympus in a hundred years!”

“He is meant to be our leader in Zeus’ sted, while father scours the other worlds for our missing kin,” Ares pounded his hoof, a thunderclap issuing from the blow. “Word was sent before I left that he was to come and be here.”

“Well, that speaks more to your own foolishness than his,” Hera teased. She payfully toyed with the edges of her mane, and smirked triumphantly at Ares. “Poseidon was probably appointed because he has no desire to rule Olympus and run this pantheon of gods. His only thoughts are towards the waves and Amphetrite.”

“I thought it was because He and Zeus were inseparable in their youths,” Hestia commented, glancing towards Phoebus for confirmation, to which he merely shrugged.

“No doubt there is some reason, some unfathomable justification,” spoke Hemera, “But it is held within his council alone.”

“Who be even us to question Zeus and the Fates; but, why you, Lady Hemera and Lady Nyx, were left off the council when others who may never return were given places of honour upon it is a mystery.” Phoebus nodded to Hemera and Nyx, and they returned the gesture. “Since a quorum can not be reached at this time, I propose that the judgements of Hera and Rarity be postponed until such time as sufficient members of the pantheon have gathered that one may be achieved.”

“Seconded!” Hestia and Hera both chimed at the same moment.

“This is a farce!” Ares fumed and leapt from his throne. “Zeus laid down one unbreakable law before he departed; that alicorns were not to go among the mortals until he returned. And you all flaunt and disregard his commands!”

Rarity watched the exchange with calm calculation, outwardly smiling as she’d done in her years among Asmodeus’ court. Darting glances to the other alicorns, making note of the slight pinches to their mouths, or the way they would tense on their thrones, gripping a legrest or swishing a tail in irritation. Already, Rarity was gaining a grasp on the power at work, who held it in name, and who in actuality.

“Since when did you become such a stickler for what Zeus commanded?” Hestia leaned a cheek on her hoof. “I remember you being the most prolific law-breaker, forever going behind his back and making mischief. Didn’t father once say, ‘I hate you worst of all the gods in Olympus, for you are ever fighting and making mischief. You have the intolerable and stubborn spirit of your mother Hera. If, however, you had been the son of any other god, you are so destructive that by this time you should have been lying lower than the Demons’?”

Ares’ face went redder still than even his ordinary crimson hues, and his mane took on the aspects of roaring flames. His eyes blazed with malice, and his teeth ground together like the great plates of the earth that resides upon the disc.

“And it is only He that stays my hoof now, and the knowledge that when He returns there will be a reckoning for your misdeeds. My reckless youth is behind me, and I have grown into a dutiful son. Can any of you say the same?” With this Ares marched from the great hall of thrones to his own palace, there to brood and plot in his impotent fury.

After Ares left, Hestia hopped down from her throne, smirking with juvenile pleasure. “Well, it has been a pleasure, as always, but I really have things that need my attention that are actually important.” And she too rushed off without another word.

“Well, looks like it is just us then,” Hera grinned as she and Phoebus left their thrones to join Hemera, Nyx, and Rarity in the middle of the hall. “Since I was your ‘guest’ in Athens, you will be mine in Olympus,” she said to Rarity. “Phoebus, come and sing for us!”

Chuckling, Phoebus excused himself. He had other matters that required his presence. “I am off to keep an eye on Chryseis, as she is a pony I blessed. Overhearing your concern for her on the fields outside Athens, dear Lady Rarity, touched my heart, and I have resolved to vouch-safe her during her stay in Sparta, long as it may be.”

“Wait, I thought we had to stay in Olympus,” Rarity called to the departing god.

“Yes, and no.” Phoebus didn’t explain further, spreading his large wings and flying out through the large columns.

Rarity let out a little huff. Well, there were other ponies she could prod and poke for the information she needed. Ancient ponies with ancient knowledge. It would be dangerous, but after Amaymon, Rarity felt confident she could tease out the threads she sought.

“Come on! Let’s go have some ambrosia and nectar,” Hera fairly skipped along, humming and bouncing her mane in total confidence. She led Rarity, her own expression one of quiet contemplation, deeper into the palace. This was Zeus’ palace, afterall, and as such, also the home of Hera. “You are going to love it in Olympus! It is my city, and as such, the greatest city on any of the myriad discs. Maia, Electra! Maia? Electra? Where are those two useless hoofmaids?”

Hera slowed and looked around, finally realizing that her hoofmaids were nowhere to be seen.

“I do believe, darling, that you left them back at the temple in Athens,” Rarity pointed out, still chewing over Phoebus’ parting words.

Hera’s face reddened, and with a ‘humph!’, she marched faster through the palace. “When those two get back, they will be in so much trouble!” She exclaimed as they entered her parlour, replete with thick goose down cushions, splendid golden curtains, and ornate tables set with golden cups, a pitcher of nectar, and an enchanted bowl of cool ambrosia.

The goddesses all took seats near the westward windows, the sunlight slanting through painted glass to create dancing splotches of colour, and Hera gave out cups of nectar and bowls of the sweet ambrosia. Rarity’s eyebrow curved ever so slightly as she was given a bowl. There were marshmallows and a variety of fruits such as cherries, coconut, pineapple, and little oranges, all wrapped in whipped cream, then drizzled with pecans. It was a dessert Rarity was accustomed to in Equestria.

A slight squeak came from Hera as she gobbled down the first few bites. “Oh, sweet, sweet ambrosia!” She sighed and flopped backwards on her cushion, legs splayed outwards in a daze.

“This is not what I was expecting,” Rarity admitted after savouring the first few bites.

“And what were you expecting ambrosia to be?”

“Well, not a fruit salad. We have this back home.”

“Impossible!” Hera exclaimed, shooting upright. She jabbed a hoof at the bowl hovering beside her. “How can mortals have marshmallows? Or all these different fruits and nuts from vastly different worlds? This is a treat that only alicorns can know! These nuts were given to me by Maui. This fruit was a gift from Quezecotl, and these from—”

Rarity held up her hoof, and in turn pointed to the same fruits. “On Ioka, pineapple and coconuts come from islands in the south-west, pecans are native to Equestria, Oranges originated near Neighpon, and as for marshmallows, they are simply made from sugar, syrup, and gelatin. It is an expensive treat, as a result, but not exactly uncommon, darling.”

Hera stared, open mouthed, in abject horror. “You mean… mortals enjoy ambrosia on Ioka? But… My garden…”

Nyx giggled. “Dear Hera, Queen of the Gods, it is only natural as Ioka was one of the youngest worlds, and as such, was blessed by the endeavors of all the gods and goddesses of agriculture and horticulture. Gaea is much older, the first disc as a point of fact, and many were the plants and herbs that were yet to be created when She was molded and life seeded across her barren lands.”

Mollified by this explanation, Hera sank back into her cushion, and returned to savouring her salad.

Turning to Nyx, Rarity wondered aloud, “Is it possible to be among mortals if they are unaware we are alicorns?”

Nyx merely smiled, and said, “The precise meanings of Zeus’ commands are oft discussed, as are the intents, though few would claim to know his true intentions, but only guess at the outcome sought by the laws he forms.”

“So, Phoebus would be disguising himself then,” Rarity reasoned.

“As does Hestia when she sneaks down to Orario. Or, how Hephaestus and Aphrodite have ‘escaped’ to Mount Aetna, a place with no mortals to be among, and even little Poseidon, master of the oceans, hasn’t set hoof in Olympus in a lifetime as reckoned by mortal-kind. Indeed, Ares is perhaps the only pony who is able to leave Olympus who has also never flaunted Zeus’ last commandment.”

“But, I heard many stories about him and the Spartan princess while I was in Athens. That they had a son together, and,” Rarity quickly snapped her mouth shut as Nyx, Hera, and Hemera all rounded on her with deeply ingrained sour expressions.

“It is impossible for mortal and immortal to breed,” Hemera growled deep in her throat, and the stark similarities between her and Celestia were burned away from Rarity’s mind. The glowing goddess of Light burst into a crackling corona of radiant heat, mane aflame, and wings wide as the halls began to tremble. The air sizzled and popped around the enraged goddess, and from within the empty sockets of her eyes, behind the golden cloth covering her face, grew two new suns, dim at first, but within moments, roiling and difficult to look upon without being blinded.

Rarity, to her credit, held her ground.

“That is simply untrue,” Rarity countered. “Equestria is governed by Princesses Celestia and Luna, the daughters of Faust and Emperor Seung, a unicorn. And Luna has a daughter, Princess Cadence, though her father is unknown. And my good friend, Princess Twilight Sparkle, her father was a mortal, while her mother is Iridia, the alicorn of Spring. So, alicorns must be able to have foals with the other races.”

Rarity was rather pleased by her logic.

The three goddesses around her were less so.

“Wa-ha-ha! It is obvious! A wandering, worldless alicorn is their father. He beget the divine foals, then continued on his way. Stallions do it often, I am told, so mares must protect themselves from their lecherous ways.” Spoke Hera, Nyx and Hemera nodding in agreement.

“Is that possible?” Rarity wondered aloud, tapping a hoof to the side of her chin, a picture of contemplative innocence. Exactly as she intended. She was beginning to understand the Olympians. And what pressure to apply to get what she needed. “To travel between worlds so easily?”

Nyx and Hemera both grew reserved.

Hera, puffing up her chest, let out a laugh. “Easy? It is nearly impossible! You would have to convince the foul rivers that bind the myriad discs to the Underworld to allow you passage, and they would never allow it. Their course runs only one way, and that is down. Only the boatponies know how to navigate the rivers, and they carry only the dead. Some gods have secret passageways, or realms hidden in the sliver thin spaces between the astral mists and the sea of aether, through which they have access to other discs. You would have to find a door to one of these realms, and then negotiate with the alicorn who controls the place, and very, very, very few take kindly to intruders, as the only reason another alicorn would enter such a place is to steal it for themselves, or so the thinking goes. Even Zeus, mightiest of gods, had to bargain with Hades to make use of the Golden Gates of the Underworld, forged by Hephaestus when the worlds were newborn and the mortal races had yet to be sculpted from the clay of creation, by which Hades and the other alicorns who rule over the afterlife may visit the mortal realms. But, Gaea’s gate was destroyed by Athena when she slew Hecate as she plucked Nyx and Artemis from the Underworld, and so Gaea has been cut off from the other worlds.”

Hera continued for some time, telling tales of how the alicorns used to visit each other often, sharing gifts and knowledge. Sometimes there would be marriages between pantheons to strengthen their ties, and at times they’d fight and war—though the wars could hardly be thought of as more than little scuffles in reality, as all one side had to do was close their gate for a time and the other was left impotent and unable to attack. Once tempers cooled, they would reconvene, gifts would be exchanged again, and the cycle would continue.

Nyx and Hemera neither attempted to quiet her, or add to the discussion, beyond nodding or clarifying certain historical points.

“If Hephaestus made these gates, could he repair or replace the one Gaea lost?” Rarity asked.

“Oh, yes! There is nothing he can’t build!” Hera clapped her hooves with sudden, and vigorous intensity. “It is actually surprising he hasn’t done it already. Maybe that is why he has returned to his workshop, where all manner of interesting and wondrous delights are crafted to his inscrutable designs. He is a god of fire and invention, of creation and wonder, his mind as beautiful as his form is ugly, as he is a maimed god and disgusting to look upon. For my first centennial he made me a gift of an articulating, clockwork lotus that would play music as it opened with the dawn, and sing a lullaby at dusk as it closed.”

Hera retrieved the clockwork flower, and it was as delicate as it was beautiful. Atop a circular base of painted wood, covered with glass to appear like a small pond and show the inner workings, rested a large water lily made of gold. The petals were as thin as a butterfly wing, with intricate detailing along the edges. Tiny gears opened the flower, all under mechanical power alone, not a trace of aether or magic anywhere in the wondrous artifact. They spun silently, without even a whisper of a click, counting the seconds to sunset and sunrise, factoring in the changes to the length of time it took the sun to cross the sky from day to day.

“My word, the brilliance required to conceive, let alone make, this clock!” Rarity exclaimed as she examined the flower. “I suppose I will have to go visit this Hephaestus.”

“No! That is a very bad idea!” Hera quickly interjected, laying a hoof on Rarity’s leg. “When Hephaestus is working he despises all interruptions, exploding like the volcano in which he resides at the slightest break in his concentration. Even Aphrodite, who he loves like no other, as she is the source of his highest inspiration and wildest disappointments, may not intrude when he is at work.”

“Well then, how long do you think it will be until they return to Olympus, darling?”

“Could be as little as several months, or many years. It all depends on what he is creating.”

“It is best that you wait here, with me,” Hera concluded, smiling sweetly. “We will have so much fun watching the mortals! I wonder what they are doing. Should we watch? Yes! Let us! Hemera, could you please conjure us a viewing mirror, that we may observe the mortals.”

Rarity sighed, setting aside her emptied bowl, and leaned forward to observe the silvery disc that Hemera summoned with a swish of her horn. Within its glistening surface appeared the ponies of Athens on the docks of Piraeus. Under Mystalicus and Trixie’s directions they feverishly worked on the boat that would reshape the fortunes of Athens, and alter the course of Gaea’s future.

Author's Note

Not much to say in these notes. If you have questions feel free to ask them. This was a combination world-building and set-up chapter as well as a bit of a leveling off of tension before we get into Trixie's odyssey. I have her chapter already written up and ready to post.

To head people off about Ares' seeming contradiction between this chapter and the last; He didn't go among the Spartans, merely appeared next to them to have them be a threat to Athens through presence alone. He'd been observing Hera and Rarity for some time and took the opportunity to force them both to go to Olympus. Hence why Lekos and Cretos had no knowledge of Ares' presence before seeing him crest the hill with the Spartan hosts.

If you've enjoyed my writing, and are feeling generous, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi (Link), or just directly donate with Paypal to alaster31@hotmail.com.

I could really use any support and help to keep writing, and every little bit is greatly appreciated.

Thank you!

Part Twelve

The Rariad
By Tundara

12: Gaea

Queen Dido proved to be a most generous hostess; too generous in many regards. She met the Athenians at the gold and basalt gates, smiling wide and surrounded by a teaming crowd.

Dido wore a dress of cobalt blue to match her eyes, her black mane with a silver streak done up in a weave of golden chains that matched her coat. Slits along her supple flanks highlighted a crescent moon cutie mark very similar to Trixies, but in place of a wand was a scroll bound in black ribbon. There was a sensual playfulness to her eyes as she gazed on Trixie and Mystalicus.

“Welcome, cousins of Athens, sister city of our dear Alnyxandria, first home of wondrous Athena. I am Dido, and have been granted stewardship as queen.” Dido bowed low, and the crowd with her followed suit. “Come, weary travelers, come and recount tales of your exploits to reach our city. Tell us of the north and Athens, and how the city of wisdom fares in this age. Join me in my halls and let the toils of the sea and road be washed away with wine and friendly company.”

The city herself was as magnificent and beautiful as her queen. A gift for Nyx by holy Athena herself, the city had been planned and laid down to her own design. Main roads ran east-west, with long fountains shaded by tall trees for shade. North-south ran interconnecting lanes. The main body of the city sat against twin bays, a narrow stretch of reclaimed land leading to the island of Queens, on which Dido and the other Alnyxandrain nobles had their palaces. Another land bridge led to a towering lighthouse, on which a magical fire continually burned.

Beyond the walls lay verdant farms, fed by a network of irrigation ditches fed by an ingenious aqueduct that cut a straight line across the desert from the distant Nile dozens of leagues to the east.

Tixie was reminded strongly of her lessons on Saddle Arabia, Camelon, and other mysterious lands ponies of Equestria only knew from maps of the distant parts of Ioka’s disc. Looking at a large mural map of the coast placed on a wall in Dido’s palace, Gaea was very similar to the Mareteranian Sea, but expanded. Like a giant eye had zoomed in on the sea alone and enhanced the size of the land, sea, and their features to encompass the entire disc, rather than just a small segment of her overall surface.

“Is this to scale?” Trixie asked Dido on seeing the mural.

“Why, yes,” Queen Dido smiled beatifically after a moment of contemplating Trixie. “This entire palace was intended for Nyx, and great Lady Athena made this mural for her dearly beloved aunt so that she could know the entirety of the fair disc at a glance.”

Performing some quick calculations, Trixie sighed and shook her head. “Are you certain this is all there is on this disc? It seems to be only about a third the size of Ioka.”

“Indeed? Then perhaps you should show us your home. Bring before us Ioka, this distant world of which you come, so that we may see her mighty splendor,” Dido teased, and indicated a plaque with hoofprints placed beneath the mural. “Athena enchanted this mural so that distant visitors could show Nyx their homelands. Place your hooves there and think of your home, and you will see it in all its glory reflected above.”

Trixie did as instructed, closing her eyes as she thought of Equestria. Of the rolling farmlands of the Heartlands, and the towns of the coast, of the settlements springing up among the plains, and the twin cities far away on the western shores.

A rippling gasp came from the ponies with her and Dido, and when Trixie opened her eyes she found that Gaea had been replaced on the wall by a similar map of Ioka’s broad disc.

Mystalicus clicked his tongue, looking over the continents on display, from Equestria in the west, to the central bulk that comprised the Old Queendoms, divided from the Great Dragon Desert by the Mareteranian, with Zebrica and Grifonia further south, Neighpon near the eastern rim, and lands unnamed in the far south.

Trixie held her hooves to the plaque just long enough for the pang of longing to build in her heart until it was overwhelming. Tears pricked her eyes, and she dearly longed for the comforts of home. To be able to curl up in front of the fireplace on Hearthswarming Eve with her favourite blanket and a warm cup of cocoa. To feel the breeze rolling over golden fields of wheat on her face as the harness for her wagon pressed against her chest. The taste of ice cream on her tongue as she sat watching Sol set. Applause from an enthralled crowd. And the distinct skyline of Manehatten appearing as she topped a hill.

She missed it with an intensity that was like a knife being driven hilt deep in her chest.

Even the balmy days in Alnyxandria could do little to take away that pang.

Or the mystery of the magic she’d used to slay Techatallicus.

Alone in her room, she closed her eyes and tried to touch on the magic, to reform the spell, and found both there, deep, deep in the middle of her aether, like a dragon sleeping beneath the depleted waters of a lake. The runes and accompanying spell were both familiar and alien, containing traces of some faint power ancient beyond compare, untainted by the use of ponykind, yet also worn, frayed from constant use like a foal’s favourite blanket dragged through the dirt and dust.

Just looking caused the spell to begin to reform of its own accord, the sleeping dragon waking for a moment before returning to its slumber, the weave of magic breaking apart again to settle. Drained by that small effort, Trixie collapsed on her bed and fell into a fitful rest.

A month in Dido’s palace came and went, and it became clear that the queen was loath to let her guests depart.

She fawned over the Athenians, hosting large feasts every night, with dancers to entertain and Poletemus, the silver tongued poet, descended of the line of Homer, the greatest of all the poets, to regale them with legendary feats of the mighty heroes of ages past.

Trixie learned at length the tales of Lepidu, King of Halla and Champion of Artemis, who led his ponies, descended from a mingled line of unicorns and elk, from the frigid lands of the northern wilds. On the hills of the Dardanelles he’d battled time and again the encroaching Achaeans, until he alone remained of his people. How he’d stood before the gates of the Citadel of Light on the final night and, possessed by Artemis, challenged Ares himself, and had even wounded the god, inflicting a shallow cut to the war-god’s chin before being crushed beneath the god’s hooves.

They were regaled with the poems of ancient Hector, mightiest of the Alicornians champions, and who after many ponies would name their colts. It was he who slew Patroclese, and almost drove the Achaeans back into the sea with the blessings of the gods, but was in the end bested by brave Achilles.

Many more were named on both sides of the war. For the Dardanians there was Helocemia, Sopheclese, and Hematreclese. Ajax the Greater and Ajax the Lesser, Diomedes, Odysseus, Mephodon, and Agamemnon were kings of the Achaeans. In great detail were their exploits recounted, from the onset of the war between the gods brought about by Athena’s actions in stealing Nyx and Artemis from Tartarus, slaying Hecate in the process, to after the destruction of Mount Alicornus and the journeys homeward for the survivors as the Olympians grew silent in their sudden, calamitous victory.

Among these many tales were those of Trixelion, Queen of Trot and Champion of Astraea, a fierce tribe of mare-warriors from the west. A wild mystic, she countered the Achaeans with mighty magics, calling down stars and summoning beings of icy fire. Seeing visions of the end of her tribe if Achilles, King of the Myrmidons, took to the field at the head of his army, she attempted to seduce the Achaean hero on the eve of battle and lull him into a deep sleep so as to miss the battle. He saw through her trickery, and in the ensuing fight, slew her with his spear. Other accounts told a tale of her falling for Achilles as she hovered over him with a dagger poised to plunge into his throat, and in shame she fled to an unnamed island in the Aegean sea.

Trixie’s ears perked at this tale.

“She could call the stars?” She asked, and the poet bowed.

“So the ballads claim.” Poletemus bowed. “It was foremost among the gifts of Astraea, who watched over all with her many eyes, bestowed on her champion. The Cascade of a Thousand Stars, as it became known to enemy and ally alike as it laid waste to the Achaeans on the beaches and at the base of Mount Alicornus, and is said to be the lesser version of the mighty magic Astraea herself weaved to destroy the mountain and prevent the Olympians from capturing the Alicornians.”

Pondering what she’d learned, Trixie wondered if the magic she sensed inside her was her own, some remnant from Twilight, or perhaps a tiny fragment of Astraea left over from when the dead goddess’ shade had attacked her. Ultimately, Trixie didn’t care about the origin of the magic. If she could find a way to control it, to be able to use it when needed, then even if the demons found her again, she would be able to defend herself.

After hearing about the heroes of old, Dido asked Mystalicus and Trixie to regale her court with their own adventures.

“Is it true that your curious galley—though it can hardly be called such, with no oars and such large sails, and being both wide and short, but also so fast as she is pushed by the zephyrs whipping over the waves—was given to you by a new god? Tell us, fair travelers from our sister-city to the north, is it true that Hera herself has taken residence among you? That the time of the gods’ isolation is at an end?”

“I will not speak ill of the gods, as only the most foolish would dare to incur their wrath.” Mystalicus said as he stood to address the dining hall. “It is true that Hera for a time dwelt within Athens, our city that she once so despised giving her shelter and alms, and she blessing my own daughter, Hypocemia, with her mark. On the walls of Athens did Hypocemia face the brothers of Lekos and Cretos, both marked by Ares, slaying Cretos, though she’d never before fought in her life.”

This drew applause and some whispers. New heroes and ballads were topics much discussed and sought.

Mystalicus continued, “Hera was among us as Athens had become home to a strange goddess from no legends, poems, or ballads, who claimed to be from a world very distant from our own. The same world from which Trixie, who is this goddess’ champion, hails. The ship came from the mind of Rarity, Goddess of Beauty, who among all the gods loves mortals the most. It is by Her decree we have departed Athens in order to retrieve our priestess, Chryseis, whome Lekos stole in his escape.”

Queen Dido listened with rapt attention, chin perched in the peak of her steepled hooves, a misty look to her eyes. In the shadows behind the queen Trixie perceived for a moment movement, somepony shifting about in the dusky gloom between the curves of light cast by flickering torches set in golden sconces. A pony emerged briefly, slender and pretty faced, with long wings and a sharp horn. He winked at Trixie, and from his side appeared a little bow.

For an instant Trixie froze, the room about her growing silent as a heart shaped arrow was placed by Cupid on his bow, and fired at Dido, piercing her in the back before vanishing in a puff of pink. This done, Cupid too vanished.

No other pony reacted to Cupid’s presence, his magic rendering himself invisible to their senses. Trixie rubbed her eyes, and blinked, and said to herself that she must be seeing things. That she’d was getting too lost in her thoughts, the heat was rather intense even in the late day, and that it had combined with all the stories to make her imagine seeing an alicorn.

Leaning closer now to Mystalicus, Dido cried out, “And so you would face the mighty Spartan host with so few? Were it just them it would be difficult enough, but there is the entire league with which to contend, allies aplenty who hold no love for Athens and the surviving cities who supported the false pantheon who sought to break from Olympus.” Dido gasped, and shook her head. “That is madness in measure equal to your bravery! Surely you will all perish, as only Trixie among you is a true hero marked by the gods for greatness, and Sparta has always been Ares' favourite. We must seek the gods’ advice on the matter. I will have a white heifer offered to Nyx at the turning of the next moon, so that she may give us some sign as to the course you are to take. Yes, yes, until then I can not permit you to leave. You must stay here with me, dear King Mystalicus. You and your brave stallions.”

Mystalicus bowed at this and graciously accepted the queen’s offer.

Dido then turned to Trixie. “You have not touched your food again, dear friend,” Dido said, “Hardly do you eat, but a few grapes and perhaps a small piece of bread passing your lips in a week, and yet you are hale and hearty, where as any other pony would be skin and bone, two hooves on the banks of the Styx.”

Trixie looked up from her ruminations, mind still churning over all she’d learned, to see her plate untouched.

“Trixie, the great and powerful, only needs her magic and the favour of her goddess to survive.” This last she thought would please her hostess, and saw that she was correct as Dido smiled widely. Emboldened, Trixie continued thusly, “Trixie has died once, and death now ignores her thinking it has done its job.”

This brought some murmurs, and Mystalicus himself frowned and shook his head. Queen Dido drew closer to Mystalicus, laying her hoof on his broadly muscled leg.

“Surely you jest,” Dido said. “Everypony knows that those who die will one day rejoin the realm of the living, incarnated in a new form with a new name, though the fabric of the soul remains the same. Why, I myself bear the soul that was once Queen Penelope, whom you have heard legends of this very night, the Seers having peered into the past depths of my being to tell me so. It is the same with everypony. But you claim to have circumvented this natural order. To have died and yet walk the lands of the living again.”

“Nay, she means that she descended into the Underworld, like mighty Aeneas, only venturing deeper still, and wrested fair Rarity, the Goddess of Beauty and new protector of Athens, from the fiendish realm.” Mystalicus attempted to correct, but his assumptions were wrong, and Trixie corrected him in return.

“No, Trixie died. She was on the boat to Elysium when Rarity grabbed hold and threatened to drag us both into the river. Hades and Lethe charged Trixie with watching over Rarity.”

“An Elysian!” Dido gasped, and the sound rippled around the room.

Trixie had never mentioned this part before, and she bit her tongue in frustration at having let it slip. The instincts she’d built up to keep that part of her hidden in Tartarus flared. It took a long moment for Trixie to recall that this was not Tartarus, with its endless hordes of the dead seeking to tear her apart in a futile effort to escape the underworld for the golden paradise of Elysium.

“Then you are an even greater hero than we imagined!” Dido continued in an awed rush. “For, few are among even the already blessed chosen who are admitted into the golden fields of bliss in the afterlife. Yet, here you sit, among us mere mortals, while you are something so much greater! Truly, you are unique, as in no tales are there any mentions of a soul ascending to Elysium, and then returning to the mortal realms. Among the Elysians, only the rare archon is ever heard, even the gods barred access to that mysterious place.”

Over the next week, Trixie took careful note of when she was hungry, thirsty, and how much she ate and drank, and was frightened by what she realized. She was never hungry, and was never parched. Food was taken only socially, and only in a few bites, her water mixed with wine sipped.

Deciding to test whether she just needed to eat less, or if she needed to eat at all, Trixie abstained from all food and water for the next week, and suffered no ill effects.

“What does it mean?” She asked Argentes after the week of fasting came to an end.

“That, though you may appear a mortal, you are still of that transcendent race of Elysium.” Argentes replied, clapping a hoof to Trixie’s withers. He grinned and said nothing more on the matter, turning instead to consider the Benevolence of Beauty at her mooring in the bay, an enchanted chain that could be undone only by Dido holding her and the Athenians in Alnyxandria.

Following his line of sight and thought, Trixie murmured, “We’re her prisoners, aren’t we?”

“In a manner of speaking. Ordinarily I would say even she would soon realise that she must let us go, lest word of her perfidity begin to spread and traders begin to avoid this port, and even the gods take notice and send torments to force her to release her grip. But, some foul compulsion has gripped her, tying her madly to our King so that she never wishes to part from him.”

The offering came and went, and still the Athenians were kept as Dido’s guests.

Frustration growing, Trixie confronted the queen.

“Your majesty, enough is enough. You have to let us leave.” Trixie said as she entered the bathhouse, where Dido lounged.

Situated on a small rise, the bathhouse had a majestic view over the twin bays and perfectly ordered city. Dido sat in the large bath, more akin to a pool, by a window staring down an inner part of her palace where Mystalicus and the Athenians were spending their morning at physical and martial training. She jumped, like a foal caught trying to sneak out of the house, and blushed deeply as she turned away from the window.

“The offering was inconclusive,” Dido responded, leaning back in the warm water. “We will do another next month, and see if the council of the gods has changed.”

“No, you will let us go.” Trixie stamped a hoof, sending ripples out across the surface of the wide bath. “You Gaeans put too much stock into the alicorns. Maybe if they lived among you, you’d realise that they are as fallible as any other pony. Princess Celestia, as ancient and wise as she is, makes them from time to time. If she were as great as you believe the gods to be, then Trixie wouldn’t be here, and neither would Rarity. The alicorns of Ioka failed both of us.

“So, think for yourself. We have a mission. Trixie has a friend that has been taken captive, and Trixie promised to rescue her.”

“But, I can’t! You will be killed! All of you will die, and I can not bear the thought! No, go away yourself! Take some other boat and go alone, if you must go at all, but leave my precious Mystalicus here. He does not deserve to share your cruel fate, for it is a fate most awful that lay in store for any who seeks to enter Sparta as an enemy.”

“That is our decision to make, not yours.”

“I refuse to accept that I must allow you to drag Mystalicus, surely the wisest and strongest of kings in this age, to his death.”

Trixie rolled her eyes at the theatrics. “Stop acting like a silly filly with her first crush. ”

“Crush? No, this is no mere fleeting fancy. A fire has ignited in my breast, stoked by some passion I tried to keep locked away, but now set free. It rampages through me, consuming my thoughts. I am not myself anymore, my mind continually turning to Mystalicus and unable to focus elsewhere. I love him as I have never known was possible. I can not bear the thought of losing him. I would stab myself, take up his sword and thrust it through my breast upon the pyres, were he to leave me, and curse all Athens for tearing us apart.”

“Okay,” Trixie threw up her hooves in frustration. “Then come with us. We have room. Marry him. Join his herd.”

“Herd?” Dido tilted her head at the word. “Like sheep? I do not understand.”

Groaning, Trixie massaged her forehead. To herself she grumbled, “Of course. You don’t do herding on Gaea.” Speaking louder she said, “On Ioka it is common for there to be two or three mares married to each other and a stallion. For some reason, we have a lot more daughters than sons. Anyways, that hardly matters! Trixie doesn’t care if you are in love or not. All this melodrama is giving Trixie a headache.”

“If only I could join you, but a mare’s place—”

Trixie cut off whatever Dido was about to say with a sharp, riotous laugh.

“So, because you are a prisoner in a gilded cage, you will make us prisoners as well. You are in a real pickle, trapped between your crown and your heart, and ruining both as a result.”

Dido blushed harder still, and bit her tongue to withhold her remarks. After a time, she asked, “Could it really be so simple? But, what of my city? What of my ponies?”

Trixie shrugged. “Ask Nyx, you Gaeans can’t seem to do anything without asking one alicorn or another first. You are like a bunch of foals with absent parents, desperate for their love, but they just ignore you.”

“You speak blasphemy! She who would deny the will of the gods is truly a fool.”

“Trixie just hates how much importance you place on them knowing what is best for each individual pony. Even Celestia, who lives among ponies and rules Equestria, doesn’t try to micromanage everything. Ponies try to get her to tell them what to do, and she gives them platitudes, trusting them to know the best course of action for their own unique situations. Make up your own damn mind, Dido! What do you want?!”

“I want Mystalicus! I want to lay in his hooves hearing his gentle voice as he weaves wonderful tales of the lands to the north. I want to bear him strong sons and graceful daughters. I want to spend every last day with him.” Dido exclaimed in a breathless rush. “But, he is the king of Athens and married to Hecuba, who is by all tales a just, kind, and dutiful wife. These feelings I have are wrong, I know, and a punishment surely set upon me by the gods for I know not what infraction.”

Taking a deep breath, Trixie pushed out her frustrations and took a moment to reorder her thoughts. Slipping into the bath, she soaked in the refreshingly cool water. Something twigged in the back of Trixie’s head, and she thumped a hoof to her forehead.

“Of course! That stallion at that feast! He shot you with some arrow. Trixie, great and powerful as she is, thought she was hallucinating.”

“Stallion? Arrow? Surely you do not mean Cupid, son of Aphrodite, who by her command binds ponies in love!” Cried Dido, surging across the bath towards Trixie. She clasped Trixie’s hoof with her own. “Then I was right, and this fire in my breast is the work of the gods.”

“From the stories Trixie has been told, Cupid is more of a trickster who uses love to cause mischief. A far cry from the guide towards True Love that Cadence provides on Ioka. Wasn’t it his arrow that caused Hades to take Nyx to the Underworld to begin with?”

“I believe you are getting the stories muddled, dear friend Trixie,” Dido held Trixie’s hooves tighter, her eyes sparkling with delight. “However, you are correct that his arrows cause mischief far more often than naught. Oh, whatever am I to do then? That this is god-sent is undeniable, but is this to be some test of the heart? Must I choose between my crown and a love that can never be reciprocated? What cruelty fate has laid upon me, to tear my breast in two halves and leave me wounded forever more no matter my choice.”

Dido returned to staring out the window, watching Mystalicus and Argentes wrestling in the dusty space. The old friends gripped each other and struggled, well toned legs straining, and steely hews taught until Mystalicus overcame Argentes, and they fell to the ground.

“I will release your ship, and you may leave Alnyxandria,” Dido whispered, tears in her eyes. “And I will remain here. My heart goes with you. See that he is not harmed by the perfidious Spartans, no drop of his thick blood touching the ground, or I should never forgive you.”

Trixie promised that she would protect Mystalicus, though in her heart she knew it was a promise she’d be unable to keep.

The next morning the Benevolence of Beauty sailed into the mild seas. Her crew lined the rails shouting final farewells to their friends they left behind. Trixie and Mystalicus alone stared ahead, gazes fixed on the horizon, and Sparta.

Author's Note

And so, Trixie left Alnyxandria, her trial no less difficult for it having been accomplished with cunning words rather than strength of magic.

I was a little stuck on this chapter debating between it being Trixie and Mystalicus that Dido fell in love with. In the end I flipped a coin (to my Witcher... sorry... not sorry...). It only really came together in the last few days.

Not a whole lot to say in the AU today. Fitting, as it is a slower chapter in many regards.

If you've enjoyed my writing, and are feeling generous, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi (Link), or just directly donate with Paypal to alaster31@hotmail.com.

I could really use any support and help to keep writing, and every little bit is greatly appreciated.

Thank you!

Part Thirteen

The Rariad
By Tundara

13: Gaea

A heavy bell tolled through the streets of Olympus in a deep tone that made bones tremble and windows rattle, resonating from deep within the mountain with force enough to wake the dead. It had been going on for some time, and Rarity was beginning to get rather irritated with its dreadful droning tone.

Sitting in Hera’s garden in the westernmost reaches of the mountain city, Rarity felt her godly senses recoil at the thrumming that reached into her teeth. Anger rising to the point of overcoming her customary poise, she let out a long groan, and shouted in the general direction of the bells, “Oh, would you be quiet!”

To her immense dissatisfaction, they continued to toll.

Attempting to push the bells out of her head, she focused on the small number of prayers coming from Athens. They warmed her heart, enshrouding the coiling cloud of anger that rose from the depths of her being, fed by the depravities of Amaymon. For a brief instant Rarity could feel Asmodeus’ trailing his along her cheek, pushing her backwards with his presence, her lips burning from his kiss. A door stood ajar behind Asmodeus. A door she could not go through. Beyond it stood a small figure in shadows who filled her with revulsion beyond that of even the King of Demons.

Quickly, she locked the memories back up, shoving them as deep as she could, and wrapping herself in the comforts of Ponyville, Athens, and the need to return home. Hypocemia’s prayers touched her ears, and they were just what was needed to banish the waking nightmare.

On the table next to her rested a piece of embroidery, gold thread glittering on white cotton, the intricate pattern seeming to be flowers entwined with blue jays and mockingbirds at first glance. Hidden within the design was a map of Olympus. On companion pieces were notations and diagrams of spell formula needed to make a gateway between worlds.

Much as she’d concluded in Athens, she would need help reaching Ioka. After what happened in Tartarus, She put little trust in her ability or the spells she’d learned in Amaymon to get herself and Trixie home.

Picking the embroidery up, she started on the next segment. The needle plunged with quick thrusts and sharp twists, Rarity’s brow creased and eyes narrowed as she imagined a certain alicorn’s face in place of soft cotton. Frustration bunched in her shoulders and the back of her neck as she worked.

As she worked, Hera entered the garden, attended by Maia and Electra, the two having been retrieved from Athens and sharply reprimanded. Hera made a show of inspecting her trees and flowers before joining Rarity in the gazebo, throwing herself onto a cushion with an exaggerated huff.

For the past few days Hera had been sulking, and Rarity could only think of one reason.

Quirking the corner of her mouth into a tiny smile, Rarity jabbed the needle and said, “Still upset she saw through your trick?”

“It was a perfect plan! Cupid shot her with his stupid arrow, and she fell head over hooves for that silly mortal king. Dido should have kept them in Alnyxandria!” Hera hurled up her hooves as she rolled onto her back.

“And yet she proved herself to be a selfless and generous mare,” Rarity noted, not moving her gaze from her work. “Just as I predicted, darling.”

Continuing to kick her hooves and thrash about, Hera let out a groan. “Cupid’s arrows never fail. She was in love with him! She had to be! Unless Cupid erred, but that has never happened before. Although, there is a first for everything, and even a god can make a mistake from time to time.”

“Her heart just proved to be more beautiful than you give it credit.” Rarity now looked up with a big smile, twisting it like a knife.

Face ashen with horror and fury, Hera bounded to her hooves. “You! How did you do it? How did you affect her heart and overcome Cupid? He is the god who entwines lovers together. You should not be able to out-do him when it comes to matters of the heart, for only his mother, Aphrodite, is his greater.”

Smiling sweetly, Rarity put her embroidery aside. “I did nothing. It was all Trixie who defeated Cupid's arrow. Even the strongest thread can snap if put under the right tension.”

“Trixie shouldn't be allowed out with the mortals,” Hera huffed, hooves crossed now and her face a deep red. "There is something off about that mare. I've never heard of a mortal coming back from the Underworld as anything other than a specter, pale and imitating their former life. It is suspect that she was able to escape the realm of the demons with you."

Rarity suppressed a reflexive shudder, wings tense at her sides, but her needle faltered, and she was certain Hera’s perceptive eye noticed the momentary lapse.

“I trust and believe in Trixie, and she has my blessing.” A poised eyebrow arched upwards as the falsehood slipped from her. She hated this game, but knew it had to be played. If she didn’t Hera would torment Trixie unopposed. “Besides, isn’t it cheating to have Cupid go down to the mortal cities?”

“No, since he isn’t ever seen it is fine, the mortals none the wiser for his brief interactions. If we gods were unable to perform our duties it would be worse still for the mortals than if we lived among them and warred.”

“Mm Hm.” Rarity put all her disapproval into the simple sound. “There is stretching the confines of a law, and then there is pulling it so far you can drive a train through it without ill effect.”

“Cupid is only an intermediate level god. Hardly as powerful as greater alicorns such as you or I, and as such is unable to work his power from Olympus alone. He and the others must go down to the disc in order to perform their wonders. So long as they are unseen, even Ares agrees that it is acceptable.”

At this time Taygete, another of the Pleiades, came dashing into the garden, looked around, and on seeing Hera and Rarity, made for them.

“Oh, mistress, my queen, Great and merciful Hera, it is terrible! They have come and wrung the bells! The Moirai! The Moirai have come to speak with Rarity!”

“The bells are for you, and you just sit here? You must go at once!” Hera exclaimed, and actively pushed Rarity towards the edge of the gazebo as she snatched away Rarity’s embroidery and tossed it to the table. Rarity made an exasperated noise in her throat. More forcefully, Hera said, “Even great Zeus, mightiest of gods, does not keep the Moirai waiting when they come calling. It is rare indeed for them to leave their cave, where they spin the strands of Fate for mortal and god alike on their golden loom, binding all of reality together so that by our shared destiny we keep the Quus asleep, that horrible beast that seeks to devour all we have wrought.”

With a heavy roll of her eyes Rarity stepped away from Hera and said, “Alright, darling, I get the point.”

She hurried on alone after Taygete pointed her towards where the Fates waited.

Three mares stood in the council chamber.

The first of them was Clotho, the Spinner, who spun the threads of life and destiny. Youngest of the Moirai, she was a spritely mare, long legged and pretty, with the spring of life dancing in her golden eyes. She wore a garment of soft green that complimented her creamy coat, and her mane of honeysuckle locks she let fall over her shoulders. Her mark was a spindle of golden thread held with a sunburst.

Second was Lachesis, the Alloter, for it was she who decided the length of a pony’s thread, and by extension, the span of their life. She was a plump mare, dressed in white that contrasted her ebony dark coat. Cold ruby eyes lifted from the floor to pierce Rarity as she entered the chamber, and a sneer worked its way to her mouth. Her white mane was pulled back into a harsh bun, giving her the appearance of a school master about to lecture unruly students.

Lastly there was Atropos, the Inflexible, whose task it was to cut the threads, and in so doing, end a pony’s life. Many prayed to her to stay her hoof, and as such, it was thought that she was the goddess of Luck, able to alter or change a pony’s fate and guide Chance's cruel whims. The eldest, she wore a funerary gown over her pale, lanky frame, with a veil draped over her face to keep it hidden.

“Well, it is about time!” Lachesis snapped. “You Iokans have no manners at all. The bells have been tolling this hour and there you sat, oblivious, in that silly garden. Didn’t you realise you were being summoned? No, of course not. You just sat and thought, ‘My, what an awful noise that bell makes. Why must it ring now? Why must it make my teeth hurt and bones shake? Why did it never ring before?’ Pah! Fool of a mare.”

“Now, now, now,” Clotho laid a wing over her sister’s shoulder. “We mustn’t be mad that she knew not what she could not know.”

“She could have asked. Could have enquired of Hera. Let pettiness guide her. Tried to ignore the queen.” Atropos muttered, her voice thin and wispy.

“Well, she is here now, so let us commence,” Lachesis brusquely said and marched towards Rarity, Clotho and Atropos in tow. They split up as they neared and encircled her, tsking and tutting as they looked her up and down.

“Too thin. Lacks backbone,” commented Atropos with a disdainful sigh. “Too prone to running away. Only fighting against those who seem so much weaker. Gone, gone is the Rarity of Ioka. Manipulative. Cold. Heartless. Perhaps even cruel. Allowed Hera to torment Athens. Teaching the queen to be a better pony. A foolish notion.”

“Hmm, she has more iron in her than you assume,” Clotho responded. “And Hera was changed. Never would she have blessed a mare of Athens before spending time among the city.” Her dancing eyes took in Rarity, every line and curve inspected, traced her cutie mark with a wane smile, and lingered on the necklace at the base of her throat. She raised a wing to touch the necklace, but stopped short. “That is very pretty.”

“Uh, thank you, darling, but—”

“Her amount of backbone and iron is immaterial,” Lachesis noted, shooting her sisters a look, talking over Rarity. “She is Beauty, as it was meant, shame as it is. Ioka will have to make do with her.”

“Pah! A pox on Ioka!” Clotho cried, throwing up her wings. “I hate that world! Leviathan, Abaddon, and now Astaroth. Algol did well unleashing them, and I would set them all upon it again were it within my power.”

“You simply hate it because Faust resides there,” Atropos muttered, stepping away from Rarity with a shrug. “Such feelings are misfounded.”

“Yes! I do! I admit as such,” Clotho stuck out her tongue to her eldest sister. “She tried to steal from us, from me, and I will never forgive her! Faust should tend to the Weave we make, not steal it from us!”

“Sisters! We mustn’t bicker,” Lachesis interjected, her voice snapping like a whip in the chamber. “A task we have, a task we must complete. We can debate Faust and her punishments later. First, Rarity must be set on her path.”

“Excuse me, but I would like to—”

“What you want to know is immaterial,” Atropos waved a dismissive hoof. “What you wish to ask and what you will learn are already known.”

“Be that as it may, darlings,” Rarity pressed, raising her voice and inflicting it with a sharp snap. “I hardly have any need for your advice.”

“Ha, listen to her, sisters!” Clotho cackled with ill-humour. “The broken trembling alicorn thinks she is perfect and fine! That there is nothing wrong with her, oh no! How can there be when she is ‘Beauty’ personified?”

“I never said—”

Atropos again cut Rarity off. “Sister, your teasing is pointless. Iokans know better than most that alicorns are brittle things. Strong, hardy, able to withstand so much pressure, but if struck in just the right way, they collapse into madness and drag worlds into despair.”

“If you know so much, then what makes me,” Rarity bristled, “so ‘brittle’?”

“The door.” The Moirai intoned as one, and something went taught in the back of Rarity’s mind.

She felt the familiar quickening of her blood, the sharp intake of breath, and the need to create and focus elsewhere, lest she look inward. Where it had stood firm against Hera, before the Moirai her composure cracked. Rarity stammered, and took a step back.

“Since you are done arguing, we may begin in earnest.” Lachesis smiled like a gravedigger over a freshly dug grave. “Hush now and listen, and then make your decision.”

The Moirai gathered in front of Rarity, and the council chamber grew dark and dim.

“Your time to ponder your course is at its end,” said Lachesis. Power thrummed through her voice and the room beyond. “A choice you must make, between Athens and your friends. Down both roads lay death and despair. For friends and Athens, and especially for Rarity the Fair.”

A chill as piercing as the wind atop a wintery mountain needled Rarity to the depths of her soul. That part of her that was Beauty knew beyond all doubt that what the Moirai said was true, and that it was inescapable. To fight against it was futile at best, and at the worst, could shatter the boundaries of reality and awaken dangers even she could hardly perceive.

She understood why the other alicorns held the Moirai with such respect and fear.

Atropos took over, saying, “Hurry now, put the Benevolencians—”

“Still hate that name,” muttered Clotho in an aside.

“—back on their path. Athens will burn, put to the torch by Sparta’s wrath. Westward you fly, not alone, but harried. To the Forge’s shadow, where Love and Creation are married. His hammer rings loud! All Gaea awakes! A battle ensues, and in slaughter Beauty partakes! In the ruins of friendship does Athens make a final stand. The gateway lies open. Quick now, flee fast, before it is broken.”

There was a pause, Rarity’s heart beating hard in her chest. So many questions rang in her head. Questions that crashed together before they could find a voice.

And Clotho intoned, “Should you stay, war will be averted. Athens survives, its position reasserted. Guardian of Beauty, guide of the arts. Resigned to a cage, and broken of heart. The Benevolencians lay dead in graves shallow and forgotten. Their story one of woe and caution.

“Escape you will still try, soul heavy with failure. Betrayed you will be by one thought to be saviour. Before Ares’ hooves you will wither and perish, and lost will be everything that you cherish. Reborn from the ashes, Beauty rises anew and strong. Olympus her home, a palace where she will belong. But Rarity the Fair will be long gone.”

The Moirai’s laughter filled the chamber as their bodies twisted in on themselves with a harsh snap and whiplike crack that echoed long after they were gone.

Rarity’s heart hammered with thunderous blows in her breast, and a nervous energy burned in her calves. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of her head. She looked quickly left and right, and saw she was alone.

For a moment she weighed the two halves of prophecy.

Trixie, or Athens.

If one was to survive, the other would die.

Rarity didn’t know exactly why, but she was certain this was an absolute truth.

Her choice was made before she’d even begun to weigh the consequences, her hooves carrying from the palace. There was no time to go back for her embroidery, and tsked at losing the work she’d done on potential ways off Gaea. Still, it hardly mattered.

Going off memory alone, she made her way to the edge of Olympus. Several times patrols came close to spotting her, and it was only through happenstance that she went unseen. A cabbage cart rolling across the street at just the right time to block a group of Furries' view of her. Another time, as she stood with back pressed to a wall, Themis peering in her direction, a sudden cacophony broke out as a choir of onerios swept up the streets in a tittering cloud. She almost ran right into Ares and Cupid, the latter being dragged along by his ear and protesting loudly, and was forced to duck into a bathhouse. Slipping out the back, she at last reached the city’s edge, and jumped off the side.

She kept her wings tight to her side as she fell. Wind rushed across her face, and her heart beat like a steady drum as exhilaration took hold. Closer and closer the rugged lower hills of Olympus drew. At the last moment she stretched out her majestic wings, and rocketed over the treetops. Each beat carried her a league closer to her friend.

Still, Rarity was mindful that she was far from safe and channelled a tiny portion of her immense magic through her wings to speed her flight. If anything, the danger was at its greatest now. The other gods would shortly realise she was gone. She wished she knew more spells, especially those that the likes of Hestia used to hide among mortals, keeping their divine heritage obfuscated behind layers of transmutative, illusionary, and abjuration magics. All she could manage was raw speed, and into this she poured every ounce of magic she dared, always mindful of the necessary balance between what was expended, and avoiding detection.

From Olympus, Rarity sped first to Athens, flying faster than even Rainbow Dash, the fastest mortal to ever live across the thousand discs, and snuck into the city under cover of night. Senses alert to the first sign of another alicorn’s presence, Rarity slipped into Mystalicus’ palace. Hypocemia, sides thick with her foal, sat in vigil with Queen Hecuba with only a single candle between them to light the room. Rarity almost entered to tell the pair about what she knew of Trixie and Athens’ fates.

She bit her tongue, knowing she could not be distracted now.

No, they needed to know so they could save as many ponies as possible.

First, Rarity retrieved what she needed, a simple cloak she’d made for Hypocemia that could ward off the rain and cold alike. With a few changes simple to her, Rarity could make it so that the cloak would help to some degree at keeping herself hidden. The complexity of the enchantments were such that any mortal mage would have been baffled by the intricacies, but Rarity was of the gods, and had been a master-enchanter even before becoming an alicorn. In the space of a few moments it was done, and the emanations of her divine nature that other alicorns could previously sense up to several leagues away was reduced to a mere few hundred yards.

Rarity then went to Hypocemia and Queen Hecuba.

She stayed only a moment, the pair gasping at her sudden appearance, and warned them, “You must gather every pony in Athens and her surrounding territories. Gather them and leave. The Moirai have warned me that Sparta is going to attack and the city will be left in ruins.”

“Divine Rarity, most beautiful and benevolent of all gods, who shines so brightly even in the dark of these horrible nights, where are we to go? How are we to survive if we abandon Athens? We will do as you say, as the city grows strong again thanks to you. Surely, you have some idea where we are to go.”

Rarity considered a moment, and then the answer came to her. “Darlings, go to Delos. You have the ships to carry everypony that far.”

“Delos? But, nopony lives there anymore, and that is a cursed site for Athenians, as that is where Athena slew Hecate and the Golden Gates were destroyed. Nothing can survive there. I do not question you, great Rarity, as you must have some knowledge we may not understand. We will do as you say and make haste to Delos, but will need to prioritise foodstuffs and other such necessities.”

Satisfied, Rarity left Hypocemia and Queen Hecuba to rouse the Athenians. Within a few days the galleys were loaded, and all Athens departed in a great fleet, decks covered in ponies and supplies. Many were the riches and treasures Athens left behind, buried in caches throughout the farmlands and beneath homes in the hopes of one day returning. It was never to be, and Athens the city became the ruins of Athens that day.

Swifter than the golden eagle, Rarity flew throughout the night, out over the seas and the six thousand islands. But when early-born rosy-feathered Dawn appeared over the eastern rim, Rarity took a rest in the shade of an old oak. She closed her eyes and used a slightly modified version of her gem-finding spell to orientate herself towards Trixie, as Trixie was the most precious object to her on Gaea.

Setting off again, Rarity flew until just before the break of noon when a crescent shaped island several miles across emerged from the miasmic mists of the horizon. Towards it Rarity was directed by her spell. In the heart of the crescent sat the Benevolence of Beauty at anchor, but there was no sign of life on her apun decks. Abandoned on the beach were the ship’s boats. A little ways from the Benevolence of Beauty lay a half-submerged galley on its side, with further wrecks visibly beneath the crystal clear waters.

Rarity landed next to the boats after circling the Benevolence of Beauty until she was satisfied it too was empty. Hoofprints lead to a narrow path into the darkened interior of the island.

Magic was thick about the island. It floated in clouds of corrupted and terrible aether that lingered in the air in a silvery-green mist. Her teeth ached like she was chewing on wool and her wings itched. A sickly sweet scent, like overripe apples mixed with bananas and burnt molasses, drifted on the breeze, coiling in her nostrils and constricting her throat. Her ears flickered to a distant sound, almost like the final gasping echo of a song leaving a dying throat that ended in foalish laughter.

Steeling herself for whatever trickery lay ahead, Rarity pushed her way through thick brush of prickly bushes. Godly instincts warned her that this place was dangerous, especially to her. That even an alicorn was vulnerable on this island.

Not far from the beach Rarity found an old, overgrown field surrounded by a ramshackled fence.

The smell was stronger, almost overpowering, and Rarity had to hold herself back from gagging as she jumped over the fence, still following the trail of her friends.

Around a small hillock the trail went, and on the other side of the bed she saw a village. The homes were timeworn and unkempt, obviously abandoned for many years, with holes in their roofs and a few partially collapsed. In their pens were the sun bleached bones of sheep and goats.

In the middle of the village square was a statue of Apollo, flowering vines covering its surface and spreading out in a tangled mesh across the village. Lotuses the hue of midnight bloomed despite the late season and coming of winter, their petals twinkling as if they were covered in stardust. Thick, purple veins pulsated along the vines, and Rarity didn’t require divine senses or years of adventures to know that something was very wrong.

Taking more caution, she kept a respectable distance between herself and the lotus blooms. For a moment the village went off kilter, fuzziness jabbing her just behind the eyes. She shook it off, rubbed her brow, and cursed herself for not having rested. She’d been awake for well over a day, having taken no breaks since sneaking out of Olympus. Fatigue, she told herself, was finally catching up to her.

The vines grew through the doorways of the ramshackle houses, and knit together over their walls. Slowly she approached one of the homes and peered in through a window, expecting to find her missing friends inside. But there was nothing but silence, broken pottery, and rotten furniture.

And then, a distant voice called her name, thin and wispy, and hard to discern the exact nature of what was said.

“Trixie?” Rarity called, certain it was the voice of her friend. “Where are you?”

Her question was swallowed by the silence, and her heart sank.

This was a place of death. Nothing had lived for many years in the village. The Moirai’s warnings rattled in her chest. Wherever Trixie was, she was in grave danger.

The voice called again, stronger this time as it beckoned her to come further into the village.

Deeper into the forsaken village Rarity ventured, now keeping a bolt of pure aether ready to be unleashed from the tip of her horn. She followed the vines, suspecting that their source was also the cause of her friends’ disappearance and present danger. They lead her beyond the square and deeper into the hill until reaching a cleft that suddenly dropped away into a cave.

The village swam around her for a moment, intense panic gripping her, and a sudden desire to descend into the yawning black mouth that led into the earth. A mild headache began to thrum between her ears.

Again came the voice, and this time it was joined by hundreds of others all in the same, mournful tone that begged for release that beckoned to Rarity.

“Join us,” they said. “Join us and lay your head in rest.”

Compelled by a yearning desire deep in her chest, head thick with growing cobwebs, Rarity stumbled into the cave. It was a shallow cave that had in years past been used as a temple. Past a few bends it opened up into a long, natural chamber, with statues of Apollo lining the walls and an altar at the far end on which the oracles would make their offerings. Thicker here than anywhere else, the floors and walls were hidden by an impenetrable mesh of vines. From the ceiling hung dozens of large bulbs, each the size of a pony.

Something brushed up against Rarity’s leg, and with a cry she leapt up. Dozens of vines slithered and wormed across the ground towards her.

Realization crystalised in a cold rush up Rarity’s spine. She reached for the essence of Beauty in the core of her being, and saw it, the door, and hesitated. Fear held in a grip of crushing ice that froze her veins solid. . and through it swept away the fog that lay thick over her, mind returned for a few minutes to a pristine state.

Over her face she brought the edge of her cloak and she beat her wings to carry her aloft as from her horn she let fly a searing beam of energy that cut across the floor, up the wall, and cut one of the bulbs from the ceiling, and left a long line of ash where it passed.

A deep howl emitted from the vines, the chamber shaking in sudden fury. Clouds of pollen puffed from the lotuses, and the vines lashed at her, grabbing Rarity about the legs, waist, and throat. From behind the altar three large pods trembled upright, and opened gaping mouths that dripped with a thick, viscous fluid. Thorny vines lashed Rarity across her flank, and for the first time in a long time pain flared in a hot wave as golden blood trickled down her leg.

Body flush with the rush of danger, Rarity quickly cut herself free.

More, thicker vines launched themselves at her from the darkened shadowy depths. As desperation threatened to close in around her among the swarming vines with their ichor covered thorns, Rarity darted and dove about the chamber. For every vine she turned to ash with a precise blast of magic three would take its place. She was struck about the cheek and shoulders, and her flanks were laid bare from many blows. Rarity knew that her wings were most vulnerable and necessary, and she willingly accepted these other hits to keep them safe and herself aloft. If she were knocked from the air the vines would have her at their mercy.

She was rapidly losing strength. Her breaths started to grow laboured, the strength sapped from her legs and magic leaking from her dozen wounds. The fog began to cloud her head again. Harried by the vines, Rarity wasn’t given the time to concentrate on her domain to banish the fog.

The vines grew more and more frenzied.

Drawn to the rich aether in her blood they swarmed around her to form an impenetrable cocoon. She was grabbed about the legs, and her wings were bound, as was her throat. Rarity was trapped, held in the vines hungry net that encapsulated her in a slithering darkness. She tried to let out a futile gasp and throw off the loathsome vines, but they held against even her mighty strength. For a moment, she was once again within Asmodeus’ grasp, the vines his vile tongue as it played across her body, and it was his hooves that grasped her.

Every fibre of Rarity’s being recoiled in disgust.

Within her breast rose a righteous indignation.

After escaping the horrors of Amaymon, and the months of Hera’s constant provocations, Rarity refused to allow herself to fall to a mere plant.

Concentrating, she touched that core of her being that was pure Beauty, only this time she unleashed it in an uncontrolled wave.

Holy radiance burst from Rarity. It poured from her eyes in a cerulean flash, and from her wings in cutting blades that tore apart the vines holding her. She was like a sun, blue-white and pure. Where her light landed, fibrous flesh and rancid ichor were burnt away by a wondrous flame. The roof was torn open, and into the shadowy chamber fell true sunlight.

A howl that shook the earth rattled from the vines and they writhed likes a nest of frenzied vipers. As one they attempted to bind Rarity, but they could not reach her. They withered, began to crumble, and then fell to ash.

The trio of large pods behind the altar attempted to shrink away and escape into the ground, and onto them Rarity directed the full weight of her magic. Radiant flames consumed the pods hardened shells, and they writhed in agony, then went still.

Rarity refused to relent.

Her light extended out of the chamber to the village beyond, burning away the midnight lotuses and foul vines. The mists clinging to the island were banished.

She let out a final scream and then her magic abated.

Mentally exhausted, she dropped to the floor of the chamber. All around her the remaining tendrils of the foul plant gave their final, gasping twitches as they crumbled. The bulbs fell to the ground, cracked open, and from them emerged ponies. Rarity recognised the Athenians at once, as they sluggishly extracted themselves, thick globs of a sickly sweet mucus dripping from bedraggled bodies. Trixie was among them, as was Mystalicus, and a few ponies Rarity didn’t recognise. These ponies were thin and emaciated, their coats dull from having their life-force fed upon for months or perhaps years, kept in a perpetual near-death state. There were also bodies older still, long dead and mummified, and the skeletal remains of the village's ancient inhabitants.

“What…?” Trixie gasped as she attempted to stand, but slipped in the thick fluids in which she was drenched.

“Careful darling,” Rarity said, a flick of her wings carried her to Trixie and she grabbed her friend before she could fully collapse. “Whatever caused you to come to a place like this?”

Trixie swung her head as if she were drunk, eyes glazed and unfocused as she blinked up at Rarity. “Hit an uncharted reef and had to beach the boat to make repairs. Heard a song. Wandered into the jungle. Everything is a blur afterwards. Trixie’s head hurts.”

“Yes, well, a little headache will teach you I suppose,” Rarity snipped as she set Trixie on her hooves.

She started to say more in her relief mingled with the exhilaration of victory, but a sudden wave of confused, bubbly energy washed over her, heralding the presence of an alicorn.

Rarity quickly dropped into a fighting stance as she spun about towards where the central pods had been. From the slimy mulch emerged three fillies, manes sopping and bedraggled, with eyes wide as they took in the chamber, the ponies that stumbled about, and finally landed on Rarity.

Rarity herself stood frozen, mouth agape as surprise gripped her in a vice tight grip. The trio were so similar that at first glance she mistook them for that group of fillies that had filled her life in Ponyville with so much love and exasperation. Their names danced on her tongue, ready to be exclaimed in overwhelming joyous confusion, but were held back. These were not the self-described Cutie Mark Crusaders, Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and Apple Bloom, but ponies who shared almost identical looks. The variations were slight, and only a pony who knew them well could discern the differences at a glance.

“Impossible,” Rarity whispered as she approached.

The trio’s eyes widened further, and the one that shared Sweetie Belle’s features cried out, “Mneme, Melete; run! She wears our mother’s face, but is not her! A monster has come for us, sent by the Olympians! Find father! Find father! He was just outside a moment ago, run, run, run!”

Splitting up, the Muses, for that is who they were as they could be nopony else, darted across the chamber and around Rarity.

“Oh, for Celestia’s sake,” Rarity sighed as she reached out with her magic and picked up the fillies. “Aoide, Mneme, Melete; behave yourselves!”

The trio froze at once, bodies as stiff as statues, faces grey underneath their luminous coats, unsure how to respond.

Inside Rarity two sets of memories swelled, and among them lingered the door, paint peeling as it creaked open just a little further.

One set held those of pleasant days working on her dresses interrupted by her sister’s antics. Reading letters from their mother together in the evening. Of bitter arguments and sorrowful apologies. Of sitting in Sugarcube Corner sharing a plate of cupcakes, or walking down the winding path to Sweet Apple Acres.

And memories of appearing before masses of worshippers, a giant statue of herself at her back, and the Muses at her side. Of the psalms sung of her and her daughters. Of the pride that welled in her chest at just how perfect they were.

But, between them loomed the ugly door lit by Amaymon’s orange light. It swallowed the pleasant memories of the Crusaders and the Muses, and left Rarity cold and hollow. She closed her eyes, and pushed away everything else but the three fillies in front of her. If she allowed herself to be consumed by the door, by what lay beyond, by who she abandoned…

Rarity gasped as she was pierced by anguish as sharp as a rime encrusted knife stabbed between her ribs into her heart. A knife of her own devised by her own hooves.

The door in the back of her mind creaked open a little further, and the eyes within grew brighter, and somepony called her name.

Rough hooves grabbed Rarity about the shoulders and shook her from her trance, the door shut once again and pushed even further into the depths of her mind.

“Rarity, are you alright?” Trixie stood close to Rarity, her grip tight about the much larger mare as she used all her limited strength to give her the tiniest shake.

The world snapped back into focus, dread terror swept away and locked back in its cage. Rarity smiled pleasantly, “Yes, everything is fine,” she said in her normal tone.

Trixie gave her an incredulous look, but didn’t press the matter further. She was too tired from her own trials and went to find Mystalicus with a long yawn, and Rarity was left to deal with the Muses.

“Who are you?” Aoide demanded. Sweetie Belle’s doppelganger, she took the lead of the trio as the eldest, her sisters looking to her for guidance. “You wear our mother’s face, but you are not her. The mortal called you Rarity, and acted in a manner far too familiar for you to be of Gaea. Yet, you have rescued us from the Lotus Eater, Scyllabdis, a fiend formed from the tormented land. In its belly we could only dream and see the world in pale, grey snippets, like gazing through a clouded mirror, and through this we know that it was the death of Apollo that created the monster, his desire to protect us twisted dying moments as Ares spilled his golden blood in the village square.”

“Father is gone,” Melete spoke next. “This place still bears the wound left in the earth by what happened so long ago, when the mighty heroes who live on in legend warred for the gods' affection, and the gods turned on each other with blades and spells.”

Looking around, Mneme said, and her voice echoed that of Apple Bloom in tone and texture, “A new Age of Heroes is upon Gaea. Look now, sisters. Look and see there goes Mystalicus, who though unblessed is marked by destiny. Beside him is Argentes, who has wisdom aplenty, but rarely is his council sought. Further yonder stand Lertandes and Alfe, who will be named more than any other of the companions of Trixie and Mystalicus on their voyage. I see about them the strands of art and inspiration! That I could reach out and turn marble into their likeness, and all the disc would praise them till the end of time for their many deeds.”

Used to the way Gaean’s spoke, though she wondered how they knew so much when they’d been stuck in a plant for centuries, Rarity waited for them to finish their little speeches before she said, “Apollo is alive again, though he now used the name Phoebus. I do not believe he would know you, darlings. I’m sorry.”

The Muses ears flattened, and they shook their heads.

“If he died and has reformed since, then it would depend on the manner. If he never came here to save us himself, then he must have no memories of his time before, and he is no more our father than you are our mother,” spoke Aoide. “Please, tell us what has transpired beyond the walls of this cave. How did you come to possess the essence of Serene, but remain Rarity?”

Rarity nodded, and took the Muses aside and told them all that had happened. Of the arrival of the shades on Ioka. How Serene had possessed her, and in a wild state of madness attempted to take the Cutie Mark Crusaders, ending with her throwing herself from a cliff in order to prevent Serene from fully consuming her soul, killing them both in the process, for Serene was only vulnerable so long as she had yet to subsume Rarity. She only spoke briefly of her time in Tartarus, saying that she spent some time lost in the jumble of memories and emotions where she and Serene blended, and moving to her time in Athens and Olympus.

“Both our parents are truly gone then, and we are now orphans,” the Muses concluded, their ears falling and eyes downcast in sorrow as they wept bitter, crystalline tears that fall from their chins in a sparkling cascade.

Rarity’s heart broke at having told them that all they knew was destroyed and both their parents were gone, though she retained many of Serene’s memories.

But, she was not Serene, and the Muses were not her daughters.

The Muses, still deep in their grief, broke away from Rarity to hold their own little council. They huddled together and whispered amongst themselves for a long time, and Rarity was so strongly reminded of Sweetie, Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo that the longing to return to Ioka hit her again as if she were bucked in the chest.

While the Muses conversed, Rarity took the opportunity to tend to her friends and the other survivors.

Several were too weak, and would pass away shortly. Their emaciated limbs trembled as they reached for the sunlight pouring in through the open roof, and the Athenians carried them out into the village. Here too the vines were withered, dead with the loss of the central bulbs that had held the Muses.

Others, though weak from their time within the lotus’ grasp, remained full of life.

“What now?” Trixie and Mystalicus asked as they approached Rarity in the village square.

“We continue on. We can’t leave Chryseis with those vile Spartans, but if I tried to approach the city, Ares would find me instantly.” Rarity said as she made certain one of the weakest ponies, Kalametos of Tyre, who’d been second on a merchant vessel, was made comfortable in his final hours. He grinned widely and wept at the sun, and passed away with a comforted sigh, his hoof held by Rarity.

“You have saved us, oh shining goddess of Olympus,” spoke Deletos, who’d been aboard the same vessel as Kalametos, but was younger and of stronger materials.

She was a traveling minstrel and playwright, having taught herself letters and how to play even though she’d been born a pauper and among the lowest castes as an Earth Pony. She had been forced by Dion, who’d been the captain and lay among the dead in the lotus’ chamber, to work on the oars despite being a mare.

“Long have we been trapped by the cursed lotus. You have saved us, great one, and to you we dedicate our lives. If I had my pipes, I would play you a song, my lady, if it were your wish. Alas, they are gone.”

Deletos bowed deeply, as did the other survivors. There was Helene of Andros, a former carpenter’s daughter who had been a slave at the oars beside Deletos; Iphigenia and Aeson of Pyrrha, sister and brother on their way to dual arranged marriages in Corinth to business partners of their father, Kepheus the Lesser; Deimos, Koios, and Pyrrhos were all from the same vessel; while Pallas, Addamos, Erephtor, Mentor, and Krepedos were all from a galley that had been shipwrecked off the island in the same storm that had blown the Benevolence of Beauty all the way to Alnyxandria.

“Besides us, there are naught but a dozen survivors who were drawn to this foul island by the lotus,” said Mystalicus, “We will gladly take them among us. Your arrival was of great fortune, Lady Rarity.”

“Sadly, I can’t stay with you. I would just be a liability.” Rarity then pointed to the north. “I have already been to Athens and told Hecate and Hypocemia to abandon the city and take everypony they can to Delos. The Moirai told me that I would save you, but that Athens would be destroyed as a result, and this was the only thing I could think of that would save everypony while staying true to their silly prophecy.”

“Delos? Then we will all meet there,” Mystalicus declared, and Trixie nodded firmly, as did the other Athenians gathering around them. “But what of you, my lady? I gather you have some plan in motion.”

Rarity pressed her lips together and looked to the west. “I am going to visit Hephaestus. He is the only one who can help me and Trixie return home.”

“Then we’re coming with you!” declared Aoide as she and her sisters approached. Around them the Athenian’s parted and bowed. Melete and Mneme began to hum a harmony, and Rarity sensed the beginning traces of a song flit through the air. The Muses’ magic grew, flutes and a rhythmic drum adding to the atmosphere, conjured into being by the trio of goddesses. “You obviously have much to learn, previous tutors you did spurn. But worry not, as we are here to tea~ch.”

Before the song could progress any further, Rarity loudly cleared her throat and overwhelmed the Muses magic with her own. It was the furthest thing from subtle, but it had the desired effect of banishing the music, and the Muses clamped their mouths tight in irritation.

“I’m sorry, darlings, but we’ll have to sing later.” Rarity pressed her mouth into a tight line, “I think it is best you go to Olympus.” The words tasted like ash in Rarity’s mouth as she spoke them, little conviction in her voice.

Trixie tilted her head and frowned, while the Muses’ mouths fell open as they sputtered in confounded shock.

Mystalicus stroked his chin, and turned to Rarity, “My lady, is it not with you that the Muses belong? Are they not the shining joys of Beauty, who inspires the hearts of ponies to compose the greatest art and plays? The old ballads speak of how Ares hunted the Muses for years before they were cornered and lost. Would the God of Slaughter have forgotten his grudge of old?”

“Exactly so! Who knows what Ares will do to us if he finds out we still live and managed to escape his wrath. We are still young and have yet to find our domains and are unable to protect ourselves from him.” Aoide bound towards Rarity and made to grab at her hoof, but Rarity snatched it away.

“Yes, but—”

“And we can teach you about Beauty! We learned many things listening to mother as she directed the flow of the ethereal concept throughout the disc, making ponies pretty, mountains sparkle, galleys stout, or even soldiers fight with preternatural grace.” Added Melete as she joined her sister, eyes large voids that tugged at the heart.

“I’m certain I can—”

“And we know Hephaestus and Aphrodite! Many days have we spent under her supervision when we all lived atop Mount Alicornus in the verdant gardens. If you bring us, she will have to admit you into her home, rather than chase you away in a pique of anger for taking Serene’s place as Beauty.” Spoke Mneme in a rush, worry heavy on her face.

Under such an assault, even Rarity was unable to stand her ground, especially when she’d been so uncertain on what to do with the Muses. Still, she did her best to avoid relenting, looking to Trixie for help.

“Trixie the Wise and Cunning think it far better you take these fillies with you, Rarity. There is clearly no love lost between them and the Olympians.”

“Fine!” Rarity threw up her hooves in defeat. “You can come with me.”

The Muses sour expressions perked up, and they cried out together, “Yay! We’re going to see Hephaestus and Aphrodite!”

Rarity didn’t share the Muses happiness. There were many dangers ahead, and she didn’t know how Hephaestus would react, even with their presence.

They stayed only a short time, just long enough to give a few words of encouragement or comfort to the Athenians and other ponies, before Rarity gathered the Muses, and flew to the distant volcanic abode of the God of the Forge and Fire.

Author's Note

This chapter came about in a rather funny way. I hadn't intended to have Rarity and Trixie meet back up again for a little while longer, each going their separate ways until near the very end. But, some thing happened while working on what was Chapter 13, now bumped to 14, that made me go, 'Huh, this would be so much better with some set-up.'

The Lotus Eater, Scyllabdis, came about through a convergence of two things. Odysseus' encounter with the lotus eaters, and a push to get a friend to do a Kickstarter/Go Fun Me type project making a horror themed monster manual for tabletop rpgs. She, my brother, and I spent the day in discord throwing ideas at each other, and the Lotus Eater was one I suggested.

Once I had the Lotus Eater, I knew I had to get the Muses involved somehow. I'd realised some time ago that my original plans and what I had written on how the Muses were discovered/entered the story would no longer work. They'd been intended to be wild children living in a dark forest that would draw Rarity into a trap. This was written before the Benevolence of Beauty was even conceived.

Another issue that I've been overcoming is that Rarity is too perfect. She isn't troubled by anything since coming to Gaea, and there hasn't been anywhere for her character to grow. Re-enter 'The Door'. A semi-throw away line from when she was fleeing Amaymon that I'd intended to do something with, decided against it, and have since revisted. Whatever is behind that door, Rarity is running away from it as fast and far as she can. She can't confront it, yet, and that gives me that much needed tension and flaw in her character for her to overcome. I have concerns still with 'The Door' and being able to handle Rarity's character properly, but at least I have a plan.

Anyways, I think that's enough of my thoughts on the chapter. I'm sorry I'm so slow between updates.

If you've enjoyed my writing, and are feeling generous, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi (Link), or just directly donate with Paypal to alaster31@hotmail.com.

I could really use any support and help to keep writing, and every little bit is greatly appreciated.

Thank you!

Part Fourteen

The Rariad
By Tundara

14: Gaea

Nearly a month and several brief stops to gather supplies after leaving the Isle of the Lotus Eater, the Benevolence of Beauty coasted into Gytheio, the port town of Sparta sheltered beneath the Taygetus mountains at the bottom of a wide valle. In the near distance to the east were the Parnonus mountains, forming the valley’s far side. Drawing attention even before reaching the docks, the Benevolence of Beauty would have drawn a small crowd of curious ponies with her odd shape, bluff bow, and pillars of white canvass on tall masts. This day, a band had been situated atop the mainmast crosstrees, and the crew, all decks in swaths of gold, crimson, and emerald, swung back and forth on ropes or danced atop the spars.

Resplendent in a cloak made from Techatallicus’ hide, shimmering so dark as to swallow the light cast by the sunny late summer afternoon, Trixie stood at the quarterdeck railing. Her own star speckled cloak and hat had been put aside. On her head she’d placed a black felt tophat with a gold buckle on the front, and she twirled a silver headed cane.

As the ship kissed the side of the dock and ropes were tossed down to those ponies working below, Trixie let out a booming laugh.

“Behold!” she cried, sweeping up onto her back hooves, enchantments dancing from her horn to cause a resounding boom like that of a cannon. A fanfare played, bouncy with accordions, fifes, and a quick playing piano. Confetti flew up on either side of her. “Come and see wonders undreamt! Come, one and all, come and see Connivia and her Completely Curious Circus-Caravel of Confusing Confoundment!”

With a bounce timed to the gentle rock of the boat next to the dock, Trixie jumped, disappeared in a pink puff of magic, and reappeared on the far side of the murmuring crowd.

“You there, young lad,” Trixie thrust her hoof at nearby colt. “Come and be amazed by the wild, brutish strength of Apollon, mightiest stallion on all Gaea, descended from Hercules himself!”

At the same moment Lertandes, the scar on his leg where he’d been bitten by the hyena showing prominently, appeared where Trixie had been moments before. He bellowed, stamped a hoof, and the Benevolence of Beauty and dock shuddered with a little help of Trixie’s magic. He then gripped a large weight, vastly oversized and with a large ‘1 ton’ written in prominent view, with his mouth and hefted it high. Lertandes reared up, muscles in his thick neck bulging, shoulders straining, and tossed the weights to the dock. The crowd, engrossed by the spectacle, didn’t see Trixie weave an illusion as the weight landed, giving the impression of it breaking the dock into a spiderweb of cracks with a mighty boom.

“Be enraptured by mystical music, and have your minds transported to distant Persia, home to the whirling dervishes who guard the prised jewels of the hidden cities,” Trixie continued in her carrying voice, the music shifting into the exotic tones of a ney, conjuring images of the sun bleached deserts of the eastern lands.

Delos appeared next, dressed in white robes cut in the most enticing way, eyes closed as she played the ney, having saved it from the wreckage of her former galley. Bewitchingly beautiful music flowed through the air. She was every bit some princess of the eastern lands, solemn and dusky coated, her sultry brown eyes hidden behind a veil making the stallions grin in stupefied wonder and receive sharp jabs by jealous wives.

Trixie teleported again, her magic beginning to strain a little from so many taxing spells in such a short time, appearing on the far side of the crowd near the start of the docks. She grabbed a mare garbed in rich golden silks, and thrust her cane up towards the end of the bowsprit where Mystalicus stood, a mask covering his face with rubies for eyes and painted with a stern frown. He cut a dashing figure, with his chin raised high to the sun’s golden rays, golden locks caught in the breeze where they fell from beneath the helmet.

“Look there, madam, look and see Orionus, blind from birth, but blessed with senses unimaginable to common ponies! Able to split a thin thread at a hundred yards with his spear!”

On que Mystalicus hefted his spear in his aura and, without turning, tossed it towards the far end of the Benevolence of Beauty where a small bell had been placed at the end of the mizzen boom. The bronze head flashed in the sunlight, and the bell gave of soft tinkle as it fell, string cut with casual ease.

“And this is but a taste! A mere fraction of the merriment and magic, for you will live the tale of how I, Connivia the Cunning and Quick, defeated the mighty Ursa Major as the beast attempted to devour an entire town.” Trixie thrust a hoof towards the slack sails on the mainmast, and on their surface appeared an image of the mighty stellar beast, coat covered in stars and maw wide as it roared. What a roar it was, her magic emulating the bone shattering noise with chilling accuracy that echoed far beyond Gytheio’s docks, and rivalled that of the dreaded kraken asleep beneath the seas.

The foals screamed in fright, and then pure delight, raced around the adults, and begged and pleaded to see the circus.

Trixie’s grin was broad as the dockmaster, Nastor, a thickly set unicorn whose horn had been broken some years before in battle, and Telemachus, an older Spartan who spent more of his time drilling the young stallions of the town rather than acting as the Governor, leaving the day-to-day decisions to his small council, approached the Benevolence of Beauty. They looked the ship over with wide eyes and stern frowns etched deep on their weathered faces.

From the deck, Trixie watched as Argentes, dressed in fine robes of a merchant-prince, descended to the dock to converse with the dockmaster and governor. While being the matron of ceremonies was perfectly acceptable, this was a world where stallions held all the true power, and as such it had been decided that Argentes would act as the owner and business face for the circus. He put on humble airs, bowing deeply and plying honeyed words for the spartans, speaking with them at length and offering them gifts of wines and spices from the eastern lands, all salvaged from the wrecks at the Isle of the Lotus Eater and preserved within enchanted casks. Nastor and Telemachus accepted these gifts greedily, and permitted the circus access to Sparta’s dominion.

That night, and for two nights after, the Benevolencians put on a show for Gytheio. Trixie modeled it after the great circuses of Equestria, that far away home, weaving a story through the acts. With their skills gained at the ropes, hauling sails and reefing them in bad weather, a few of the crew had garnered enough ability that with a little trickery, they could put on a respectable trapeze display. This garnered much applause, as seeing Lindros, who was a wiry stallion, fling Plato, who lived up to his name as the largest of the crew and was an accomplished wrestler, through the air made foal and adult alike burst out in gasps of appreciation.

The acts had their flaws, naturally, as there had been insufficient time and space to properly practice on the way to Sparta. Trixie expertly obfuscated the mistakes, weaving them into the narrative to allow the show to proceed as if it were all part of the plan.

It felt good, and she basked in the enchanted Equestrian style spotlights, calling out the next acts with flourishes of magic and showmanship. By the end of the night she was exhausted and collapsed onto her sleeping mat in the tent she shared with the few mares rescued from the Lotus Eater.

Acts smoothed out, they made their way towards Sparta further inland.

“If mother could see me now,” Trixie said under her breath as their wagons trundled along the rocky hilltop road. Heavy bags fell beneath her eyes, and she was utterly exhausted. She smiled broadly, however, even as her heart beat anxiously for what lay ahead.

The most difficult part remained.

“Remember the signal flares,” she said to everypony, the few chosen members of the circus all nodding swiftly. “We need to be careful. Stealth is paramount.”

Her warnings were hardly needed, every one of the Benevolencians having identical thoughts.

Only Lertandes failed to respond, his thoughts further than the others, looking ahead to Sparta, and behind to days of his youth spent in Chryseis’ shadow. His heart quickened and he had to hold himself back from galloping ahead of the others.

“Steady yourself lad,” Mystalicus said, “We all hold Chryseis dear, her smile a golden light that fills all Athens with joy. She is thrice-loved by the gods, and we will not allow her to languish among the Spartans a moment longer than necessary.”

Not trusting his voice, Lertandes gave his king a sharp nod, and then the troup mounted the final hill, and Sparta spilled out before them.

Sparta was as different from Athens as day is to night. There were no walls around the city, which itself was more a collection of five small towns or villages nestled around a sprawling palace situated on a hill overlooking where two tributaries of the Eurotas river met. The entire valley served as the city’s walls, along with her large, feared army. To the west of the palace was an amphitheatre, with a hippodrome just south, ancient oak trees planted around the outside of the track casting it in perpetual shade. Young stallions and colts raced each other continually under the watchful gaze of their elders, or wrestled in an open area set to the side. On the river’s bank was the temple to Ares, the founder and main patron of the Spartans, second only to the Temple to Zeus in all the city. Other temples, smaller though no less grand, dotted the city, offering places to worship Hephaestus, Dionysus, Aphrodite, and even the great hero Hercules, mightiest of stallions ever to live.

After presenting a letter from Telemachus stamped with his family seal as proof of their passage, they were asked to wait while King Agethemus was summoned. News of the circus had preceded their arrival, as intended, and the king greeted them with a broad smile. Agethemus, son of Masonidus, was a stallion marked for greatness, his thick cloak bunched over his withers showing the broad headed axe mark on his flanks. Despite being in his fiftieth year, he was a strong stallion, neck thickly muscled and face set with permanent stern lines beneath flint sharp eyes.

With the king came Dapoletta, her expression one of cold disdain. She wore a simple white dress, her armour and weapons unneeded in the heart of Sparta, that displayed her own mark, that of a pair of crossed spears over a flame. It was Trixie’s first time really scrutinizing the mare, and she shuddered as a foreboding wave overwhelmed her.

She shifted a little, and hoped the dyes and illusions would keep her own cutie mark hidden.

“So, you are the performers from the east we have heard about these past few days,” Agethemus spoke softly, his gentle voice at odds with his burly stature. “Tales of your eccentric performance have intrigued me, and you have my permission to set up in the western fields where our young colts are drilled.”

Argentes bowed and then called out a booming series of instructions, though they were hardly needed as the wagons were already being unloaded and the rattle of hammers pounding spikes into the hard ground filled the air as the tents were erected. At the same time Iphigenia and Aeson put on a display of fire-weaving to keep the foals entertained, and Delos went about town with a pair of bodyguards passing out fliers as she sang.

“Do you, cunning Trixie, have a plan for getting Chryseis away from the iron cage formed by her captors?” Mystalicus asked Trixie as they prepared the many trigger spells needed for the performance.

“Trixie is thinking about it. If we are lucky she will be in the crowd, and things will be much simpler. If not, then we have tomorrow to scout a way into that castle.”

Trixie gave a slight incline of her head towards Agethemus’ citadel-palace situated atop a hill at the very center of the city. Its white walls loomed tall, the only ones visible in the entire city, surrounded by cliffs on three sides.

It was a far larger complex than Mystalicus’ own humble palace back in Athens, now abandoned as the city was emptied, with separate buildings along the inner wall for guards, cemetery, a grainery, and several homes for the extended family beyond the palace itself, which was a multi-tiered edifice with a tall tower in the north-west corner.

Mystalicus followed her gaze with a sardonic laugh. “Luck has ever been absent on our journey, misfortune and hardship our fate to endeavour against. We have drawn the attention of the gods, and have had no chance to appease them with offerings they would find suitable. Some evil will be worked against us before we leave this city, of that I am most certain. Look to the Lotus Eater and how we were ensnared, trapped in its illusions and terrible embrace. Even your considerable powers, which brought Techatallicus low, were unable to overcome that trial, and now that the greatest one yet is before us, you claim to have no god-sent plan.”

“Oh, we’re going to die,” Trixie blithely quiped. She paused and tapped her chin. “Well, Trixie might not as she is already dead. Can a pony die twice?”

“You seem as flesh and blood as the rest of us, as susceptible to the cold bite of iron spears or searing rays of magic as any mortal pony.”

“Maybe. Or maybe not. Trixie is in no hurry to find the answer.”

“Nopony is ever in a rush for death and the journey to Lord Hades’ cold realm with its bleak rain endlessly pounding from the gloom-shrouded clouds. And we are likely as close to it now as we’ve been on this adventure. May the gods watch over us.”

“If it makes you feel better, Rarity is with us, and maybe so is Hepheastus and Aphrodite by now.”

A slight smile did tug at the corner of Mystalicus’ mouth. “If we are lucky.”

Trixie blinked a couple times and then she laughed. When her laughter died away she grew more somber than before.

“Trixie never had a plan. She never thought we’d make it this far, if she is honest. We’ll just have to roll with whatever comes our way.”

“Then it is the same as before.” Mystalicus nodded. “By your leave, there is much to be done if your not-plan is to succeed.”

A festive air filled the early autumn night as the circus entered full swing. Using lightstone enchantments Trixie made weak, but functional, spotlights that swept up the brightly painted sides of the Big Tent. Trixie had help with maintaining the various enchantments, but without cutie marks, it was extremely difficult even for the trained Athenians to wrangle the runes to form the spells. She was kept busy, and never found time before the opening acts to even look for Chryseis.

Stepping into the center ring she cast her gaze about. She spotted King Agethemus and Depolleta flanked by armed soldiers in the front row. Other important Spartans filled the big tent, with the sides lifted up strategically to allow an even larger crowd to get glimpses inside. Nearly every important pony of Sparta was present that first night. Yet, she didn’t see Chryseis anywhere.

Allowing herself only a moment of consternation, Trixie put on her show-face, and the act began.

“Behold Sparta, greatest and most beloved of all the cities of Gaea, who before all others has earned the attention of Ares, God of War, through your many bold deeds. Behold! I am Connivia and this is my Completely Captivating Curious Circus-Caravel of Confusing Confoundment! Prepare for a night of wonder and excitement hitherto undreamt! We open in the far east, in the palace of the mighty warrior-sultan Shahryar…”

She swept off her hat and thrust it up towards the ropes stringed between the four converted booms used to hold up the tent. There on the lines were the opening act, the tightrope walkers and tumblers crossing ropes suspended fifty hooves overhead.

Backing out of the ring, Trixie chewed on the inside of her cheek, contemplating how to find Chryseis even as she said, “Delos, you're up next. Then Lertandes—”

“He is missing,” cried Delos, her face pale beneath her coat as she wrung her hooves.

“Missing?” Trixie repeated, dumbfounded.

Delos nodded. “He vanished just a short while ago, and nopony can find him now.”

Trixie’s first thought was that he’d been unmasked, but no, if that was the case the Spartans would have descended upon and slaughtered them all.

“The fool,” Trixie ground her teeth in irritation. “Okay, we have to keep the show going ahead, or the Spartans will know something is up, and then we’re all bucked. Be ready to run, because it looks like this is going to be a one-night show after all.”

She then went in search of Argentes and Mystalicus to warn them about the change in plans, and to prepare for the inevitable fleeing from town. It was an experience she’d lived through more times than she cared to admit.

While Trixie made her frantic preparations, Lertandes scaled the rocky slopes just beneath the walls of the palace near the base of the tower. In it he’d spied Chryseis as she stood at the wall’s edge, gazing off into the far distance before dropping her eyes down to meet his own for a single, electric instant.

He knew he should return to the circus and inform Mystalicus of his discovery, but he was struck to the spot as if pinned there by a hundred arrows. Hiding himself, Lertandes waited until cover of darkness and for most of the palace to head to the circus before he began the slow, arduous task of sneaking up towards the walls. Many times his hooves slipped and he nearly fell into the dark. Guards passed back and forth overhead, but they were distracted by talk of the circus with its flashing lights and brightly lit tent.

He pressed his back against the walls and furiously tried to think of a way past the guards. In the distance the crowd roared in laughter. He was running out of time.

It was then he heard a soft voice, distant and lyracle as if it were notes of a harp carried on the fall breeze. “Dear Lertandes, brave son of Alconus, who has naught to offer but his valour, to you I grant the agility and speed of the dolphin, who serve as my messengers. Go, and save Chryseis, who you have always loved.”

His eyes widened, and his flanks tingled as a surge of energy filled his muscles and new magics flooded his mind. Almost afraid to look, he glanced back, and saw on his flank the mark of a leaping dolphin. Offering a prayer to Aphrodite, for the voice could have belonged to no other, he dashed up the side of the walls. Where before he had to strain, now it was as easy as crossing a room. Guards noticed him as he neared the top, flipped over the edge, and landed amongst them. His strikes flashed out like crescent waves on a moonlit beach, crashing into their bodies with explosive force.

Flavus, son of Meteldes, was flung from the wall, his jaw shattered in a spray of teeth and blood. Reteculon the lesser’s knee was snapped backwards, and before he had time to scream the breath was knocked from his lungs as he was kicked several feet into the air. As he began to fall he was bucked into his twin, Reteculon the greater, and both were sent off the wall.

It was a clear shot to the tower where Chryseis was held, her profile glowing in the candlelight cast through an open window.

Without hesitating, Lertandes charged towards his goal. As he neared the tower a black figure plunged out of the night to land like a falling star in front of him. From the top of the tower Lekos had seen Lertandes dispatch the patrol, and he smiled in bloody delight at the prospect of facing another blessed in battle.

“Who are you?” Lekos demanded, shrugging off his autumn cloak to reveal an even thicker set of muscles than he had in Athens, and he stood a head taller, Ares’ blessing turning him into a goliath mimicking his mark of the mighty elephant.

“Lertandes, son of Alconus,” he responded, backing up a couple of paces as he took stock of his foe. “Sent by Rarity and Aphrodite to resque fair Chryseis.”

“Alone? You are brave,” Lekos chuckled, the leather straps of his bronze armour creaking as he flexed his mountainous shoulders. “Come, let us see who the gods favour more.”

Lekos and Lertandes slammed into each other, unyielding might against floating agility. Lertandes hardly glanced at his opponent, as in the doorway stood his goal, Chrysies watching with mouth covered in dread terror. Tears sparkled in her eyes, and the sight of them spurred Lertandes on.

Even the glancing passage of Lekos’ kicks were enough to know that a single hit would be lethal even with Aphrodite’s blessing. Solid stone shattered under Lekos’ might, showing him to be of the line of Heracles, the parapets exploding into a shower of deadly shards. With a stomp he knocked into the air a chunk of stone the size of a full grown pony, and then he hurled it at Lertandes with a solid punch.

Sliding on his knees, stone rocketing overhead, Lertandes bounded up, grabbed Lekos’ about the neck with his legs, flipped onto Lekos’ back, and threw his entire body into continuing the motion to spin the much larger Spartan over. The palace shook with the ringing crash as Lekos was brought down face first into the stone ground.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Lertrandes stood and started towards Chryseis, only to be grabbed by the calf and hauled back, swung up and over, and then brought down in a blow that would have shattered every bone in his body if he hadn’t managed to twist and roll at the final moment.

Blood trickling from a shallow cut in his brow, Lekos rose and laughed.

“Yes! At last a challenge!”

A heavy drumbeat in his ears, Lertandes touched the new spells racing in the back of his head. Water seeped out of cracks in the barren stones, drawn from the Eucotas, and then drifted up around Lertandes, gathering into greaves and shimmering armour. When he kicked himself towards Lekos, he shot across the courtyard as if he were fired from one of Trixie’s cannons. His first buck slammed into Lekos’ chest, the Spartan not even trying to avoid the blow. As storm tossed waves batter a rocky cliff, Lertandes struck Lekos again, again, and again. Through it all Lekos just laughed, his iron hard hide suffering only minor bruises.

He had months to acclimatize to his blessings, and had been a stronger, fitter stallion at the onset. As the moments dragged on, both grew more and more certain that Lertandes could not best Lekos in a straight fight. Lekos caught Lertandes with a glancing blow, and even through the magical armour of hardened water, it was as if a mountain were infused into his muscles.

Lertandes’ glanced at Chryseis, and knew what he had to do.

His hoof slammed onto the ground and the armour of water burst into a short tidal wave. As Lekos was buffeted and momentarily blinded by the rushing water, Lertandes darted around him, grabbed Chryseis, threw her over his back, and leapt over the citadel’s walls. Chryseis screamed as they plunged into the dark, a bright pink bolt fired from Lertandes’ horn arcing up overhead until it burst into a firework that momentarily lit the sky. Then he touched the steep cliffside, hooves skipping over loose stone and dirt with ease where he’d struggled so much in his ascent.

“Dear Lertandes, where are we going? Where are the others? Surely even you did not brave all of Sparta alone! What is your plan?” Chryseis asked as a crescendo of flashes blossomed in blues, greens, violets, and yellows across the velvet canvass of the night, the other Benevolencians responding to Lertandes’ signal. She gave a little gasp in awe, and another of shock as the fireworks seemed to turn around and streak towards the circus, followed by a brief pause ended by a giant fireball mushrooming high into the night.

“Look now and see that Mystalicus and the others distract the Spartans. That will have been Trixie herself, her magic far greater than that of other marked ponies, given to her by the distant gods of Ioka.” Lertandes responded as they vanished into the night. “We will meet with the others at the ship, if we can manage to maintain our escape. Now the entire city is roused it will be harder still, though they will have their magic occupied by Mystalicus and Trixie, who are greatest among our numbers. Trixie alone could drive the Spartans back, her magic far more potent than you ever saw in Athens.”

“Trixie has come into her own then?” Chryseis chewed on the inside of her cheek and gazed fretfully towards where the sound of fighting mingled with shouts among the spreading glow of a fire jumping from building to building. “I worry for her. There is a darkness in her that hides itself, sheltered in the furthest reaches of her damaged soul where it may gnaw at her undetected.”

Lertandes didn’t respond to this but to recount their journey thus far very briefly.

“If anypony can overcome the trials placed upon them by destiny, it is Trixie of Lulamoon,” he concluded with confidence.

He set Chryseis down as he reached the banks of the Eucotas. To his complete shock she didn’t release his neck, and used the motion to swing around into a deep, urgent kiss. Her eyes flashed with golden light, and for a moment it were as if the roiling surface of the sun filled them. After a moment, he brought up a hoof and wrapped it about her head, pressing his lips harder against her own. He felt a great desire to push her down into the soft grass, to take her in a torrent of kisses and sweaty passion, only barely holding himself back.

Breaking it with extreme reluctance, Chryseis said, “Aphrodite rarely bestows her blessings, and we are now two-blessed. With Phoebus' guidance, I can get us to your ship. This is exciting! I’ve never attempted to use my blessing in such a manner, only ever using it to glimpse at the great strands of destiny or divine the gods’ wills. Come, we must not tarry, for if we delay but a moment the Spartans will be upon us.”

Brushing her tail over his face, Chryseis took the lead, she herself guided by the powers bestowed on her many years before by Phoebus-Apollo.

An hour earlier and on the fast side of the city, as Lertandes sent up his flare, Trixie stood at the entrance to the big tent about to announce the final act, that of Mystalicus’ Orionus as he used his spear to slay the mythical Ursa Major and rescue the persian princess. It was perhaps a bit too close to reality, but that was also what made it such a good lie. Lertandes’ flare changed her plans. She sent a nod to the waiting Mystalicus and Delos next to her, both ready for the final act, and they nodded back in understanding.

Quietly to herself, Trixie said, “Well, time to put our immortality to the test.”

Taking a deep breath, Trixie stepped alone into the tent.

The other Benevolencians slipped out of the tent as the lights inside went dark but for a spotlight down on Trixie herself. Outside the tent Mystalicus and Argentes sent up the fireworks to mask that set off by Lertandes, while the other Benevolencians dashed off into the night.

Taking center ring, Trixie took a deep breath, head forward with tophat lowered over her eyes, and counted to ten before she jumped up onto her back hooves and her booming, magically enhanced voice carried out, “And so we come to near the end of our tale. Thank you, Sparta, for your part in it.”

Trixie reached deep into herself, groping for the runes and magic that had killed her, for the embers of Twilight Sparkle’s magic laying dormant, for the Cascade of a Thousand Stars.

She found them, and as she did there was a flash, an image that made her tremble, of Asmodeus. He stood next to Agethemus and Dapolleta, grinning with immeasurable satisfaction on his devilishly handsome face. The king and princess both frowned and furrowed their brows.

A tremble worked up her spine as the spell reached up into the midnight heavens.

Agethemus was first to shout a warning to his fellow Spartans, while Dapolleta teleported across the short distance to reach Trixie. Her hoof came up cloaked in crackling pink lightning, and Trixie barely had time to tense before she was hit in the side of the jaw and hurled aside just as the first star exploded into the midst of the Spartans.

The next few moments were a series of flashes that burned themselves into Trixie’s eyes, leaving impressions that would haunt her forevermore. Oileus was torn bodily in half by the first star, his upper half going one way while the lower vanished in spurting flames as a bonfire would send up flames when poked by a long rod. Next to him Telamon was swept away in those same flames, as were Deiphobus, Helenus, and Adamas, son of Asius. Further off, Asius, son of Hyrtacus was struck by the bits of flaming debris being cast about and were nearly as deadly as the star-fall itself, and he too was sent down to Tartarus where he met his son on the Styx’s banks. Still more, Pheidas, Stichius, and the stalwart Bias all met their ends. Meges, son of Phyleus, lost his head and stumbled a few steps before falling dead next to the smoke black bodies of Phyleus, Amphion, and Dracius.

Many more sons of Sparta would have died, but they are a hardy race of pony and well versed in warfare. At their king’s warning they conjured their most powerful protective spells, and in this way many were saved from the full brunt of Trixie’s spell. Still, many were wounded, and the entire area was awash in confusion, smoke, and fire as the deafening cacophony of booms buffeted everypony.

In the center of the cascade, where Trixie’s spell made a calm in the eye of explosions, Dapolleta struck Trixie again and again, hitting her upon the jaw, the shoulders, and stomach with a fury to much the destruction around them.

“Athens will burn a hundred fold what you have caused here!” Dapolleta howled in her rage.

Trixie could offer no resistance. She was no fighter, and against an opponent such as Dapolleta she was utterly overmatched. She would have been dead if a burning benched didn’t emerge from all the chaos, blown with tremendous force, and knocked Dapolleta sprawling.

Through the fire and flames emerged Mystalicus, his head lowered as he charged towards Trixie.

Behind Mystalicus, standing at the center of the carnage, was Asmodeus’ spectre.

Laughing.

And then Trixie passed out, her world going dark.

In the misty realm of deep dreams she fell, the world and its tumultuous events echoing down to her as if through a tunnel, threats and poignant oaths uttered by Dapolleta and Mystalicus mixing together, the heat of flames making her uncomfortable, and her body jarred by sharp motions.

Through it all came Asmodeus’ amused chuckle.

“Such a good investment you’ve been,” he whispered, dream-forged lips brushing up against her ear. “So much lust for power, and look how you use it. Delightful. Oh, how much further will you go my little plaything?”

And then he was gone, vanishing into the mists, and when Trixie awoke, shooting up so that she tumbled off Mystalicus, all that lingered was a deep sense of foreboding tight in her gut.

Picking herself up, Trixie was amazed to find herself among the Benevolencians rather than back on the Styx’s dreary banks. They gazed at her fondly, many nodding their heads in respect.

“Where?”

“Between Sparta and Gytheio, with many miles still to travel, so that even fleet hooved Alke, swiftest of all Zeus’ daughters, able to gallop faster than the fierce north winds, would need to hurry us along if we are to reach the Benevolence of Beauty faster than word of our actions in Sparta reach the ponies of the town and they prepare their spears and spells for our arrival.” Mystalicus said in a breathy rush as he pulled her to her hooves and prodded her into a fast cantor.

The right side of his face was matted with fresh blood from a deep cut between his horn and ear, and a long series of cruel marks like the claws of a lion dragged along his shoulder where he’d used his own body to shield Trixie from Dapolleta’s wrath.

“They didn’t follow us?”

“Even the bloodthirsty Dapolleta put the city above seeking vengeance, so much of it left burning by your spell. That will not last long and we must make haste before they send their most able scouts after us.”

Trixie gazed in wonder over the grimly determined, but smiling, faces around her, and noted that besides the still missing Lertandes, everypony else was present. A few nursed bruises, and Attis trailed blood from a deep wound in his side that he kept shut with use of magic.

Stumbling, Attis said to his companions, “This is as far as I go, my king. I will lead the Spartans aside and take as many of them with me to the underworld as what the gods will permit.”

Thryxium and Dardanos, ever Attis’ shield-brothers, joined their wounded friend. Sparing but a moment to clasp their hooves with his own, Mystalicus thanked them and promised that their names would be remembered in song, and then continued on while they turned to face the Spartans just then coming up the road. Together the trio charged into the jaws of snapping death. Before their broken bodies were hurled to the side of the road they sent Castor and Pertendus; Soltes, nephew of Agethemus, and Ferynx to Hades’ halls ahead of them. Their sacrifices were not in vain, as seeing their bravery Phoebus-Apollo strung his bow and fired a single arrow that pierced a hill between the Benevolencians and their pursuers, sending it tumbling down in a rockslide that blocked the road.

Bending their heads low, the Benevolencians made best use of the delay.

Gytheio was in a state of confused shock, and nopony only thought to stop the members of the circus to ask what transpired, which they brushed off with shakes of their heads and muttered oaths that the gods were angry. Which gods and at whom they did not say, as it would have been imprudent to draw any of the gods ire at such a critical point.

They reached the docks just before rosy feathered Dawn broke across the disc. Lertandes and Chryseis waited for them with the rest of the crew and Benevolencians that had remained behind with the ship. The fires consuming Sparta were still visible in the north as the lines were cast off and the Benevolence of Beauty unfurled her sails.

“You made it!” Mystalicus laughed as he clasped Lertandes’ hoof. “A fool’s errand, and you succeed. But, what is this! You are marked! Which god has seen fit to bless a stallion who trades sense for boundless bravery, willing to risk life and limb to infiltrate the enemy stronghold alone and steal away with their captive?”

“Aphrodite blessed me, my king, as I was stuck in my ascent and thought that Chryseis, whom I have loved since I was but a fledgling colt, was doomed to remain prisoner to the Spartans.” Standing close to Chryseis, Lertandes answered them with a laugh of his own. “Without her, guardian of all lovers, I never would have succeeded in wrestling dear Chryseis away from her tormentors.”

Trixie’s brow arched, and she noted how close Chryseis stood to Lertandes, gently rubbing her flank to his own in an open display of affection.

Throwing up her hooves, Trixie cried, “Great! Now we’ve turned into a love-story!” as the Benevolence of Beauty sailed out into a golden hued bay on a stiff breeze sent by Poseidon himself that hurried them far ahead of the Spartan’s galleys.

Author's Note

I'd begun to languish on this chapter right near the finishing line, having completed up to where Trixie was knocked out by Dapolleta, when some very generous ready gave me the kick I needed to finish the rest. I've just been in a rut in real life that has been hard to get out of, and it floored me when I saw the email this morning.

Thank you.

I feel like I'm in a bit of a groove when it comes to Trixie and her side of the story. This chapter was at times a blast to write, others very frustrating, but it was rarely boring. I was surprised by Lertandes, as I'd intended the little tidbit about him pining for Chryseis to be nothing more than the little fluff that so often accompanies one-off characters in the Illiad. He just took over that brief bit of the story. It didn't feel right having it be Trixie or Mystalicus who performed the act of rescuing Chryseis.

We're closing in on the end of the Rariad now I believe. There will just be a couple more jumps back and forth, if things continue as I anticipate they will.

~~~~~~~~~

If you've enjoyed my writing, and are feeling generous, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi (Link), or just directly donate with Paypal to alaster31@hotmail.com.

I could really use any support and help to keep writing, and every little bit is greatly appreciated.

Thank you!

Part Fifteen

The Rariad
By Tundara

15: Gaea

The mighty craftmaster, Hephaestus, the God of the Forge, and his gorgeous wife, Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, made their home in possibly the most inhospitable place on all of Gaea.

Craggy cliffs jutted out into choppy seas all along the eastern edge of the island, dropping off deep into dark blue waters without any beach or seafloor on which to land a galley or weigh anchor. Here and there lava flows left lumpy black mounds, cracked by golden-orange fissures glowing with inner heat that slowly dimmed, that ran in thick rivers to the cliff’s edge where they poured off into the pounding waves. On either side of the cooling rivers jagged growths of volcanic rocks formed dark teeth, giving the impression of the cliff being the bottom jaw of some colossal skull grinning at whoever approached the island.

Away from the mountain, along the western shores, several small towns clung to the land. They offered prayers to Poseidon and Hephaestus in equal measure, always at risk of being swept into the sea and lost like so many other communities before them.

Flames half a mile high spurted from the top of mount Etna with every strike of Hephaestus’ hammer upon his aurichalcum anvil. Lightning crackled within the plume of ash and cinders sent up by the billows of the forge in wild tongues of red and purple. It was a common occurrence, and they thought nothing of the sight having survived so long in its presence.

Having never seen such a thing before, Rarity found her voice falter and mouth go dry at the spectacle and ringing thrumm of the hammer blows many, many miles away. Orbiting in her magic around her like the sun and moon around the disc, the Muses let out little ‘Oohs’ of joy.

Rarity banked into a long turn. Somewhere below, in the heart of the mountain, she could sense Hephaestus and Aphrodite. Rather than doing nothing to hide their presence, as other alicorns who’d snuck away from Olympus to play among the mortals, they did everything they could to let everypony know where they were, and that they were aware of everything around their island home. Such was their aura that even mortal ponies could detect it in crawling waves beneath the skin for leagues around the mountain.

Near the base of the mountain Rarity caught the flash of sunlight on metal. Swiftly she descended to where a small valley ended, landing right before a towering pair of golden doors set into a cliff face. On the left side door were carved intricate depictions of Hephaestus at work in his forge, hammering out new creations, bent over a desk as he poured over new designs, or tinkering on his many marvels, while the right held many images of Aphrodite surrounded by ocean and shell motifs, all lovingly carved so that they were a hundred times as wondrous as those on the other door.

Placed before the doors was a sign that simply read, ‘No Solicitors’.

Lifting an eyebrow, Rarity went to the large brass door knocker, raised it, and let it fall.

A resounding clang rang across the island, and the flames atop the mountain spurted higher for a moment.

Not even a moment passed before the doors were flung open, and in the darkened portal stood Aphrodite, her shimmering pink eyes sharp as broken glass and far more dangerous.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the new Goddess of Beauty,” The Goddess of Love snapped her tail like a tamer would a whip at a lion. “For what purpose do you run from holy Olympus, upsetting Hera and so many others by your sudden and rude departure, making you among the worst of guests? Do you seek to grow fat off my own generosity and then slip off in the night without so much as a thank-you or offer to repay in kind when I visit you in your home, however distant it may be? Though, to me, it looks like you are fat already off the pleasures taken from Olympus.”

“Excuse me!?” Rarity snapped, taken aback by Aphrodite’s sudden and vitriolic tirade. “I have never been so—”

Before Rarity could go any further, Aphrodite’s eyes widened, and she gave a foalish squeal of absolute delight.

“Why! What is this? You bring to me the Muses! Oh, my precious little things, where ever have you been? We looked high and low, from the tops of the greatest peaks, to the deepest trenches in the ocean’s murky depths, and never did we see any sign of you. To Gaea herself we went, and she swore that she had no idea where you were to be found, that terrible liar. She knew, for she must have sensed you out there in the wide reaches of the disc, hidden as you must have been. But lo, hear me run on and natter when you stand out in the cold, and with rain coming so very soon no less. Come in, all of you, come in at once and we will serve you all manner of treats! Two hundred and fifty years worth! For that is how long you’ve been missing, you know.”

Rarity taken aback by Aphrodite’s sudden shift in demeanour. She hardly protested as she was hurried in through those towering doors and they slammed shut behind her.

“You must stay a while,” Aphrodite said as she guided her guests down a long tunnel leading deep into the mountain’s fiery heart.

Aphrodite and Hephaestus’ home was unlike any other on all Gaea. A broad lane of columns held up a natural formed roof, while the walls were covered in simple tapestries depicting the gods holy marks. By an ingenious placement of mirrors the hallway was lit by daylight with no use of torches or any magical lights. There were no doors or side passages, just a single, seemingly endless hallway that vanished into the distance. It had to be over a mile long with no break or variation. Yet, they’d gone no more than a few steps and they were at another set of doors. Looking back Rarity saw the same endless hallways stretched out now behind them. She hadn’t even felt the slightest tingle of teleportation, but that was all she could surmise as to how they’d crossed such a distance.

Throwing open the door, Aphrodite called out, “Dear husband, look! It is the Muses, returned to us at long last! Little Aoide, precious Melete, and delightful Mneme, back from where they’d been hidden.”

Sitting at a narrow table, the God of the Forge didn’t so much as glance away from his work.

He was a small stallion, with wiry shoulders and a slender build, that looked nothing like the imposing figure depicted in statues and art across Gaea. His thin, coal black mane was cut short so that it wouldn’t fall in his eyes or get caught as he worked, and even his tail was docked. Wire framed glasses sat perched on the end of his nose, with several lenses creating a magnifying effect.

“Oh, good,” Hephaestus rumbled in a surprisingly deep voice for his little stature. “Have them put it by the door and give them a gold coin as a tip.”

“No, the Muses, husband,” Aphrodite cried in exasperation. “It is the Muses, not a spirit delivering your supplies of scrap metals.”

“Zeus is? Zeus is what?” He still didn’t look up, but picked up a pair of delicate tweezers and other utensils Rarity recognised as used by clock-makers.

Stifling an exasperated shriek, Aphrodite put on a smile and said, “Oh, never mind. Come to the garden when you are done with your latest toy.” Aphrodite started to shoo the Muses from the room, but stopped as Rarity edged a little closer to the table to see what was being made.

Coming up behind Hephaestus, Rarity craned her head to get a better look at the hoofball sized object, with twelve sides, and an intricate series of clockwork gears and springs inside. Sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth as he concentrated, Hephaestus slid in a miniscule wire, wound it around a spoke, and then attached it to a rotating gear set into one of the object’s faces.

“There!” Hephaestus exclaimed, clapping his hooves together as he sat up and stretched out his wings, which were extremely long and of polished bronze.

He spun the faces of the object as if he were winding a watch, and then set it down on the floor. From within came a soft clicking and tick of whirling gears. After a moment it’s faces popped open and light came from within, painting the room in blues, greens, pinks, and silvers, coalescing and swimming until they darkened and the roof was painted with a nightscape dominated by a full moon.

A piano began to play, slow and melancholy, weighed down by a terrible longing sadness that made Rarity’s heart ache. The music was beautiful, as were the images of ghostly clouds gliding over the conjured moon. And then, in the illusions cast by the object, a mountain emerge, very similar in shape to the Canterhorn on Ioka, but mangled by the ravages of war, one side of her mauled and smoking, with vestiges of what had been an artificial plateau of some city or fortress clinging desperately in death to a ravaged mountainside. The music grew sadder still, slower, heavier. Rarity’s vision began to swim with tears. A final, poignant note sounded and the clouds closed in around the mountain and the city remnants vanished into the night.

The device grew silent and flipped shut.

Hephaestus clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No good, no good. Will have to start over. What am I missing? Hmmm…” He began to turn back towards his desk, but was stopped as Rarity grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Darling, that is one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in a very long time! How did you layer the runes? What was that song? And the scenery! It’s been a while since I’ve seen a moving picture, darling, and that one was breathtaking in its clarity. Usually they are so fuzzy.”

“Runes?” Hephaestus blinked a couple times from behind his magnifying glasses. “Pah! Any fool mortal enchanter can make a music-picture box. It takes a true master to make one without a single rune. This is entirely mechanical engineering.”

Rarity was flabbergasted. She’d met many engineers and enchanters in her time trying to enter Canterlot’s business scene, and none of them could generate illusions without at least a dozen different spells worked into the device. And it was so small, easily a quarter the size of the complicated mechanical motion-picture projectors with their reels of thin tape, which still needed a magically driven motor to operate and provide the light to cast the images on a blank sheet of canvass.

“And sadly it is as flawed as the others. I just don’t know where I have gone wrong,” Hephaestus continued as Rarity gaped in shock.

“Flawed?”

“Yes! I can’t stop that incessant click, and there is a fractional delay between the start of the second movement and the appearance of the mountain. I just can’t seem to get this right.” He made to stomp on the wonderful device, but with a cry, Aoide leapt forward and snatched it up, holding it close to her chest.

Aphrodite stood silent in the open door, her head turned away so none of her guests could witness the immense sadness on her face, and the tears that wished to be shed, but couldn’t for another fifty years.

Moving his glasses so they rested on his fluted horn, Hephaestus squinted at Rarity and the Muses. “Wait, who are you and how in Tartarus’ moldy crevices did you get into my workshop?”

Smiling politely, Rarity introduced herself and the muses, but before she could begin to explain the purpose of her visit, Hephaestus gave a stern nod, said, “Oh, if that is all, then piss off,” and bent back over his desk, already dismissing them from his thoughts.

Rarity was flabbergasted at his utter rudeness and lack of any decoram. Her hackles raised, and acid words danced on the tip of her tongue like venom dripping from a serpent's fangs. How anypony who was so crude could make something so beautiful eluded her.

“But—”

“Come, let us leave him to his work,” Aphrodite interjected, and such was the steel core to her voice that Rarity didn’t offer any arguments. “There is nothing to be gained pressing him now, and everything for you to lose if his ire is roused, which can bubble in hiding like the heart of a volcano to explode just as violently.”

Head raised high, Rarity glided from the room. “I see why nopony in Olympus fought to bring him back to the city.”

The hallway beyond shifted again, this time Rarity detecting the subtle alteration in the air as they were either teleported, or by some hidden means the hallway reconfigured itself so that only a few steps brought them to a new door that lead into a pleasant garden hidden somewhere high on the volcano’s slopes, west facing so as to bask in the afternoon sun.

All manner of small creatures and lush plants filled the relatively small space centered around a single apple tree. The flowers were of every vibrant hue, and the birdsong angelic in its peaceful quality. Five benches were laid out just so in the tree’s shade, two that were larger for Rarity and Aphrodite, and three that were smaller for the Muses on which they could lounge. Between each bench was placed a bowl of fresh fruit along with a golden cup filled with sweet nectar. To these Aphrodite directed her guests.

Aoide continued to play with the music box while Aphrodite and Rarity talked.

“So, what is it you desire my husband to make, though I have a good guess, and if it is accurate, you will be sorely disappointed.”

“A Golden Gate, I believe they are called. One that links Gaea to Ioka.”

“You would subject your home to the whims of the Olympians?” Aphrodite at once gasped and covered her mouth. “My, you are either the most brave of mare, ever confident in her home’s ability to stave off the Olympians when you have roused them to such an ire as to make sweep away Athens in flames and flood, though you manage to stem any of the city’s former inhabitants deaths for the time being by your generous warnings. I have been watching them with some interest, as Athens was the particular pride of dear Athena, and they head towards Delos on the swiftest of currents sent by dear Poseidon, who I convinced to aid them just this day past.”

“Darling, surely it isn’t all that dangerous?” Rarity asked stiffly. “Once I am gone, would they even bother with Ioka?”

“Oh, but of course they would, as would I rush with all haste to find those lost to us in those dark nights! Ioka has become refuge for those who fled the destruction promised here on Gaea, whisked away by Astraea’s desperate final act to a place we could then not follow. You have never met Niomedes, who is Artemis and Apollo’s equals when it comes to the bow as she is the Goddess of the Hunt, but she would fly with all the speed of the winds to Ioka in order to track down those who escaped her, as it has been a wound on her pride that they escaped her all these many years. Ares too would follow, as you slighted him so publicly. But, worst of all, would be if Zeus caught wind of such blessed news as to where his daughters had found refuge. Even now he scours the many worlds searching for them to bring them home, and he would overturn your world in order to bring them back to Olympus.”

Rarity’s mouth went a little dry, and she said, “Hades and Zeus already know about Ioka. I remember vaguely being taken to them, and they went through a golden gateway. But, that was many years ago now! I really have to get home now.”

A large lump of worry for everypony back home lodged itself in her chest. She thought of Pinkie Pie and Applejack, of Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash, and of Twilight. She thought of her sister, mother, and father, and her worry grew greater still. Her friends she had every confidence could surmount any obstacles, but her sister and family, they were just regular ponies.

“Is there really no way to convince Hephaestus to build a new gate?”

“Not until he finishes his current work.”

“But, darling, there must be something I can do?”

“You… maybe. You are the Goddess of Beauty and have with you the Muses. It is possible that you together will be able to help him find that missing spark he seeks to complete his—”

“Worry not a moment longer, dear mother!” The Muses leapt to their hooves in unison. “We will aid Hephaestus!”

Before Rarity or Aphrodite could stop them, the Muses had dashed from the garden, a jaunty song on their tongues and summoned music bouncing on an ephemeral breeze.

“Well now, since they are getting up to their usual mischief, let us get down to our own business. I will be as blunt as my husband is acerbic; I do not like you, Rarity of Ioka. Do not interrupt, for I will truly grow cross, and the curses I lay torment through the generations.” Aphrodite raised a silencing wing as Rarity bristled. “You are shallow and self-centered for a pony who expounds on the virtue of generosity, only taking what actions that will go least against your interests or time. You have not even attempted to understand Gaea, but fought against our ways when you are the stranger here, and waged a private war with Hera. All of which makes you more like us Gaeans than you would deign to admit. You put Athens in great danger twice, and doomed the city, congratulating yourself for deceiving Ares when you have done no such thing. The Athenians are doomed to become a lost tribe, one way or the other, ill-fated to wandering homeless until the last one falls gasping in the dirt.”

“Only if your husband doesn’t make the gate,” Rarity countered, laying out her plans for the Athenians.

Aphrodite’s eyes went wider still, and she tossed back her head with a laugh that sounded like bubbled with delighted amusement. “You are bolder than I ever imagined, and mad as a wild hare. None on Gaea would have thought to take an entire city with them through a sacred gate. But, Ares will not make it easy for you, and this is if you manage to convince my husband to construct a gate, who is as stubborn as the mountains.”

“Oh, darling, I am confident that I’ll be able to convince him to make the gate. The Fates themselves told me so,” Rarity then recounted the prophecy given to her in Olympus.

Aphrodite listened to it with a cocked ear. “Interesting, indeed, but also full of vaguary, like the shape of a wolf deep in the shadows of a forest at night, stalking you with promises of a terrible future, but perhaps, it is merely cast by a wayward dog, and all fears are for naught. They say you would come here, and so you have, and that my husband’s hammer would, ‘ring loud’, which would indicate that he is to undertake some great project caused by your arrival. I do see how you have come to suspect that my husband, who is the greatest craftmaster in all creation, with a mind as brilliant as the most perfect diamonds, is to reforge his gate. However, Hephaestus never remakes an invention, but moves on to the next idea that grasps his mind. The gates are old works from when the worlds were new-born and travel between them required. They are hardly needed anymore.”

“Do you know of a better way to get a city of mortals from one world to another, never mind myself and Trixie?” Rarity countered.

“No, and the pathways open to you are very few indeed, this much is true as you have managed to anger or spurn all those who could have provided you any sort of passage. A new gate does make sense, and you are a goddess. Manipulation and tricking stallions into doing our whims is as natural for us as breathing is for mortals. But, as I said before, you will find my husband a far greater challenge than you can yet imagine.”

“I-I didn’t mean seduction, I meant, oh, nevermind!” Rarity threw up her wings as Aphrodite laughed again at her discomfort.

Aphrodite’s predictions were far too accurate. Hephaestus turned out to be a greater challenge than Rarity’s worst fears. It was impossible to annoy him into doing what she wanted as she had the Diamond Dogs who briefly thought to use her gem-finding magic. Whining, petulance, tears, a quivering lower lip; all were futile weapons. As were reason, bargaining, or any of the myriad tricks she’d had to learn in order to navigate the world of business.

Seduction was instantly rejected for a host of reasons, not least of which it made Rarity’s skin crawl. Batting an eyelash was one thing, but seduction? No. Never.

Her only recourse, it became clear very quickly, was if he finished his present project.

A project that was utterly beyond her understanding.

And so she decided the best course of action was to give him space and wait. Days turned into a week, and then two, then a month passed, and Hephaestus remained locked in his workshop, the only ponies allowed in his company the Muses. Aphrodite’s smug smile every morning only made Rarity’s frustration worse.

Rarity found herself in the uncomfortable position of being utterly incapable of taking even the first steps towards her goal. Many times she’d been trapped, or forced to stay put, but never when she’d had either a goal in mind or the means to achieve it. In Tartarus her mind and soul had been fractured, and the moment she’d been restored she had made the attempt at returning to Ioka. A foolish attempt, as it had led directly to her gilded cage in Amaymon. There it had been sinister politics and true intentions hidden behind honeyed smiles, a deadly game that had to be played under the gaze of one of the most wicked beings in all creation, and though it had been difficult and there’d been many set-backs, in the end she’d made good her escape. A part of her still wondered if even then he hadn’t opened the way for her, her escape part of some grander plot.

Unconsciously Rarity touched the jewels clasped about her throat.

She was still clasping it when the Muses came rushing through the kitchen, grabbing fruit juice and pancakes covered in honey and cheese. Smiling thinly as the fillies stuffed their faces with only a brief, “Morning, Rarity,” before bounding away, only Aoide lingering a little.

“Have you had any progress on manipulating Beauty?” She asked, her head tilted to one side, with a plate beside her piled high with her sticky breakfast.

“Oh. Yes. Tons.” Rarity lied, and made a shooing motion with her hoof. “Go and play with your sisters, Aoide.”

“If you need any help, give a shout and we will come at once.” Aoide shoved an entire pancake into her mouth, turned, and followed her sisters.

“They can see through you, you know,” Aphrodite yawned as she entered the kitchen.

The Goddess of Love was most decidedly not a morning pony. Her mane was a mess, stray hairs poking out from the tight buns she kept it in when she slept, and thick bags under her eyes. She went straight to the stove, one of Hephaestus’ many designs that filled their home, twisted a knob to light the gas burners, and put on a pot of water to boil. From a cabinet she pulled a jar of coffee and her coffee press. She then did the one thing that utterly unnerved Rarity to no end; Aphrodite slapped a frying pan down next to the kettle, and into it she placed a thick strip of bacon. When it had finished sizzling to a nice, crisp exterior she tossed it onto a plate of her own, added two eggs to the fat still in the pan, cooked them over-easy, and then added them to a plate with a couple pieces of toasted bread.

“It is exceptionally delicious, you know,” Aphrodite offered as Rarity fought to keep the contents of her own breakfast down. “But I wish coffee had stayed my little secret. Did you have to share it with the mortals?”

“What am I doing here?” Rarity asked, quickly changing the subject and ignoring Aphrodite’s little jab. “I have no trouble seeing the fabric of Beauty. It was like second nature from the moment I woke up in Tartarus. So what if I have a little difficulty manipulating it. Honestly, I would never want to decide for other ponies what is or is not beautiful. Beauty is, after all, in the eye of the beholder.”

Chewing on a piece of meat, Aphrodite considered her for a moment. “You are so strange, like a lamb in love with a wolf. There is so much more to being an alicorn of the Intangible than you know. It is the most difficult of the three types of domain to possess, as perhaps you have come well to understand. Alicorns tied to aspects Physical or Emotional in nature have it much simpler. We are the Storms or Passions, the Seas or Bravery, and many, many more. While it is true that you Intangibles are the most common, you also have the largest number of alicorns that are weak in power, such as the Furies, though you do have great queens and kings among you number, such as yourself, Hera, and Phoebus-Apollo. As a Queen, there will be many subordinate alicorns who delve into aspects of Beauty that will look to you for guidance. It behooves you to live up to their expectations, and not shirk your responsibilities like a petulant filly.”

Rarity was silent, anger boiling just under the surface like the molten blood of the volcano. Aphrodite deposited her plate and glass into the automatic dishwashing device and went about the remainder of her day, which consisted mostly of lounging about her garden, using the pool in the middle to gaze upon her favoured mortals.

For the remainder of the day she fumed, pacing around her rooms, sitting down to design some dresses, and then scrunching up the parchment when they were too perfect, too beautiful, utterly flawless. There was no challenge or relief, no way to channel the emotions pressing against her chest; the frustrations at being trapped—again—, of Aphrodite’s continued antagonism, the longing to be home with her sister, to be done with Gaea, Amaymon, Tartarus, and all the other realms, and the gods that called them home.

She pounded a hoof on her desk, and it cracked. Groaning with yet another point of aggravation, Rarity snatched up her enchanted cloak, and decided that perhaps it would be best to take a flight around the island to cool down.

As she yanked the door to the enchanted hallway she was met by the Muses.

“Rarity! Rarity! It is the Benevolencians! They have reached Sparta at last, and have entered the city in the most curious manner!” The Muses gleefully shouted in unison as they darted about the garden. “They claim to be a circus, but one that travels! And they have a huge tent where they put on dazzling performances of tumbling, foolery, with athletic and martial displays! Oh, you have to see it for it to be believed!”

“A circus? I’ve seen a few,” Rarity brushed off the Muses enthusiasm as she started down the hallway.

“No! No! You can not understand! Though, how could you possibly? This is entirely new, a truly unique idea of Trixie, and it would have to have been god-sent, but Trixie belongs to you, and this is too silly and chaotic to be one of your creations.” Tutted Mneme loudly.

Rarity stopped, an eyebrow twitching in response, and her tail snapping like a lion tamer’s whip.

Taking in a deep breath to berate the Muses, Rarity was instead grabbed by them and pulled towards the garden, the Muses insisting she come see the circus.

Hardly glancing up from her scrying pond as the group entered the garden, Aphrodite said, “You are just in time. The games of chance have been set up in the fields, and the Spartans have taken to the Test of Strength, hitting that pad with that oversized mallet. As expected, Princess Dapoletta managed to make the bell ring. Ares gave her too much of his strength, I think.”

“How are they going to escape?” Aoide asked Aphrodite, bouncing along with her sisters as they watched. “Should we give them blessings? Like in the old days?”

“Yes, yes! Blessings! You should give them blessings, Aphrodite!” Intoned Mneme and Melete.

Aphrodite shook her head however. “These are not my heroes, but those sworn to Rarity. It is up to her to give or deny them blessings.”

“But, Rarity, though she be among the strongest of gods as any can tell with the merest glance, is terrible at giving blessings. The Oreads, those distant cousins who dwell in seclusion among the highest grottos of the mountains, keeping to themselves though they love mortal kind as any of the races of Nymphs, have more talent,” protested Aoide. “Please, you have to teach her how to bless a pony, or else we will be too embarrassed to ever leave our chambers again. Everypony will say that there go the Muses, who are indebted to the most useless of goddesses, unable to protect her most ardent followers.”

Rarity had to bite her tongue to hold back a wounded protest.

Pinching Aoide’s cheek, Aphrodite cooed loudly. “Oh, you have always known just how to please me. Very well, I will show her for your sake.”

With a swish of her majestic wing, Aphrodite cast the images held within the pool over Sparta, streets whisking by until she flicked open her pinions, and the image came to a stop. Within was Lertandes as he began his ascent up the walls towards where Chryseis was held.

“Yes, he will do nicely!” Aphrodite indicated that Rarity should come stand beside. “Give this brave stallion of Athens your blessing.”

“Darling, I don’t have the foggiest clue how to do that,” Rarity sharply protested.

Aphrodite sighed and shook her head, as did the Muses.

“Observe,” Aphrodite smiled, and Rarity could feel as Aphrodite extended her essence towards the pool, and whispered, “Dear Lertandes, brave son of Alconus, who has naught to offer but his valour, to you I grant the agility and speed of the dolphin, who serve as my messengers. Go, and save Chryseis, who you have always loved.”

There was a tiny pulse, almost entirely undetectable if Rarity hadn’t been observing Aphrodite so closely, that shot from the Goddess of Love into the pool, and into Lertandes. She smiled in satisfaction as a cutie mark burned itself onto his flank and the brave Athenian scaled the remainder of the wall. With a swish of her wing Aphrodite shifted the image back to the circus.

“Now, you need to find somepony who resonates with your domain. Beauty is a tricky thing at times, whimsical and capricious, though you know this so much better than I as it is your domain, and known to belong to the eye of the beholder. You’ll find it gathers around those who are found to be beautiful, though the reasons for that beauty will vary, as few can be said to be universally admired, excepting for us goddesses. Take you time, but not too much, as I sense that the brave soul I just blessed has already seen his love, and the Spartans will soon be roused by his actions.”

Rarity nodded, and stood so she could approach the pool. She tried to find some Beauty in what she was seeing, or the ponies, but found herself blocked by a thick, inky veil that made her skin crawl. She began to wring her hooves as she tried again, and was again repulsed, but by what she could not tell. There was something holding her back, blocking her from feeling their weave of Beauty, that transparent mesh of energy formed by the hearts and minds of mortal and immortal alike, and touching them in return.

Aphrodite stood and joined Rarity as they watched the events playing out in the pool. Rarity continued to wring her hooves and calm herself. As Aphrodite had done she attempted to reach her will into the pool and through it to where the Athenians continued their acts.

Beauty was there, Rarity could see it. She just couldn’t reach it. SHe stretched herself further, physically crowding over the pool until she precariously wobbled ready to fall into its enchanted waters.

She was on the cusp of figuring it out.

Trixie took to center stage.

Her hairs on the back of Rarity’s neck stiffening in warning, like an ill wind breathed down a frigid mountain slope, as the weave of Beauty recoiled. She glanced up just as Niomede plummeted from the clear blue heavens, the Goddess of the Hunt howling like a hungry wolf beneath the full moon, aiming straight for Rarity.

Her golden mane billowed in a solid stream, like the heavy winter cloak of a great king. At her side was a mighty barbed spear made from a giant thorn. A wild light glowed behind orange eyes fixated on her prey. Forest green wings tucked tight she fell faster than a dying star. And behind her came Ares, resplendent in battle-garb and aurchalcum axe raised overhead for a killing blow.

Rarity was hit on the side by a blast of magic from Aphrodite, the elder goddess reacting instantly, used to the often sudden violence of Gaea, and threw her out of Niomedes’ path. The volcano rumbled and shook from the impact of the Goddess of the Hunt, winds blasting into Rarity as she was sent tumbling away. Slowly she pulled herself back to her hooves, and it was only as she did so that the trio of groaning fillies about her reminded her of the Muses’ presence.

Ares landed lightly next to Niomedes, and thudded his long hafted great axe into the dirt next to him. He gave Rarity a cold scowl that he moved to Niomedes. “You missed.”

“Oh, dear brother, I intended to miss, for I wish to enjoy the hunt of this prey for some time yet. My intent was to scare her, to flush her from her hiding place. Go, run along little Iokan, find a new place to hide. I will be generous and give you a hundred-count with my eyes shut tight to the world so as to give you a chance.” Niomedes licked her lips as she dragged the edge of a wing down the sharp edge of her spear.

“Dear cousins, you dare!” Aphrodite’s own mane lashed around her as it were made of angry snakes, and Rarity was amazed at the sudden transformation about the Goddess of Love as she jumped forward to meet the intruders. Gone were all aspects of sedentary or the lackadaisical, replaced by a bright fury.

Ares turned to Aphrodite and spread his wings wide and bowed. “She is a fugitive. Surrender her.”

Aphrodite winced. “Yes, which is why she has been in my custody these past weeks here where I could keep an eye on her and she would attempt to run off to the mortals again. A lovely little plan that you have now spoiled.”

“Liar.” Surprisingly this came from Niomedes, Daughter of Zeus, the willowy Goddess of the Hunt rocking from side to side as an excited energy permeated the air about her. She was like a dog straining tight on its owner’s leash, braying to be released.

Rarity brushed herself off as she stood and squared her shoulders to face the Gods of War and Hunting. She did well to keep the dread in her stomach from showing on her face. Underhoof the volcano began to rumble.

“Darling, I thought—”

“Silence,” Ares, Son of Zeus, growled the word, his face contorting with a thunderous aspect that reminded all present of his mighty father when he too was roused to a terrible rage. He cocked an ear, as if listening to a distant whisper brought by the shifting breeze. His face grew stormier still, a dreadful purpose in his eyes as he hefted his great axe high that even the bravest of stallions would have wept in pitiable fear.

Niomedese, fleet child of Zeus, was faster than her brother and darted towards Rarity, who found herself unable to move the assault came so quick and the fear of death was caught in her breast. From the alien memories of Serene she relived the bite of Niomedese spear, how it tore apart the vital vitae and organs as it was twisted spreading a sea of agony. Paralysed by this dread Rarity did nothing to defend herself. Niomedese spear was a feather’s width from the soft curve of her throat when Hephaestus, Son of Zeus, emerged from his workshop clad only in his simple tinkerers vest. The mountain spat fire, mirroring the overflowing rage that boiled in the smith of the gods chest at his home being invaded, and the ground heaved mightily. Niomedese stumbled and Rarity was saved again by Aphrodite’s intervention, the Goddess of Love driving a short bladed stiletto between Niomedese ribs just below her wing in that exposed moment provided by the mountain’s rumbles.

Roaring as loudly as ten thousand ponies, Niomedese struck back with the butt of her spear, and Aphrodite was sent crashing into the magic pool. A long pause followed as Niomedese hefted her spear high to drive it down into the fair flesh of the Goddess of Love.

“Oh, Aphrodite, Daughter of the swirling oceans of pre-creation, who is doted on by the Fates and the rest of us gods, you are truly as beautiful to behold as you are foolish in your endeavors. Never were you one for battle, always running away as you tried to carry those you pitied to safety, and yet, forced to leave them behind to cruel mercies meted out at the end of sword and spear. I will show you how to smite an enemy now.”

Niomedese poised her spear above the goddess sprawled in the pool, and Aphrodite did not look away but grinned, for her husband had arrived.

Gone was the aspect of the tinkerer, and in its place was that of the Forgemaster. Hephaestus swelled with his rage, a rage redoubled at the sight of his tender wife at the mercies of Niomedese and Ares. Steely muscles bulged along neck and back, and his legs bulged to be as thick as a mortal chest. Three ponies standing atop each other’s shoulders would have been unable to meet his eyes, now burning bright with an intense flame that escaped his flaring nostrils with a stream of smoke. His mane glowed hot so that it could not be looked upon, and the grass about his hooves turned to ash with a kiss of flames. Niomedese and Ares both noticed Hephaestus in the same instant he struck, his mallet landing upon the joint of Niomedese left wing and shattering it into a pulp.

The cry that escaped Niomedese was louder still than that of the minor wound inflicted by Aphrodite, and far more pitiable. Before Hephaestus could follow through there was Ares before him, and the brothers grappled each other in a titanic struggle that shook the island though neither moved a hoof as they butted heads.

“Leave now, Ares,” spoke Hephaestus with all the fury of the erupting volcano. “Your hound has broken the covenant and tried to steal from me that which I find most precious. This is my home and place of greatest power. Go now else I never forgive you or Olympus and our father will learn of all that has transpired in his absence.”

“Impressive,” Ares responded, his steely thews bulging as he held his own against Hephaestus in his place of greatest power. There was a light of joy about Ares, for battle was the pinnacle of his existence, and too long it had been denied him.

It was Niomedese pained growl as she cradled her shattered wing that drew Rarity’s attention to the Goddess of the Hunt’s discarded spear. Snatching it up, Rarity leveled it at Ares. Ares sneered at Rarity, but it was Aphrodite who broke the impasse, the Goddess of Love overflowing with a wrathful passion like a she-wolf standing over her cubs in the face of a ravenous manticore.

“Enough! A battle amongst us will only further erode mortal faith, already so fragile with our long absence from their affairs. Zeus, who is wise in his councils, bade us keep our magics in check against each other till he returns, and so it should remain as we gods must do as he bids. Yet, a fair grudge we all should have towards him as he has been gone so long and slights have been left to fester till a new war between us heavenly alicorns looms over all, held by a goat’s hair ready to snap. This conflict must be resolved, and so we shall in the old ways. We here of Etna take as our charges Athens and all those who claim connection, and will see them against Sparta and her numerous allies. What say you, dear Ares, to a proper resolution to this dispute?”

Ares, never wavering as he strained against Hephaestus, considered for a brief moment before he rumbled, “Acceptable.”

Retrieving Niomedese and her spear, taking it from Rarity’s grasp as easy as a parent snatching a stick from a misbehaving foal, and as a dark cloud in the sky when it comes to blow after a strong heat, Ares ascended into the blue heavens. As he did so, the God of War called back, “Fight fairly, daughter of the First Realm, and all will be decided. Trickery will be answered with wetted bronze.”

When they were gone Rarity turned to Aphrodite with churning incredulity, and in a near shriek demanded. “What have you done? I tried to keep the Athenians safe, and you just threw them into a lion’s mouth!”

“They were involved the moment you sent Mystalicus and Trixie off to rescue Chryseis right in front of Ares. This was inevitable.” Aphrodite responded sadly, the passions that had animated her melting away to leave her seeming small and wilted like a flower poorly tended in the summer heat. “And we could not fight Ares even here and win unscathed. What say you husband?”

Hephaestus, who stood unmoved as he stared up where Ares and Niomedes had vanished, shook his head. “What a gaping sore of a mess you’ve brought to my home,” he grumbled, bones popping as he shrunk down to his usual size.

From his belt Hephaustus took his hammer as he spun on his back hooves. “Right, you want a Gate, then that is what you shall have, and good riddance to you and your troubles.” As he half-stomped and half-limped, a back hoof dragging behind him, towards his forge, he said to the Muses, who had been huddled behind Rarity this entire time, “Come on you three, give a hoof and we’ll have this done in no time. And dear wife, who I love more than all else in any world, try to keep that idiot from dragging more troubles into our home, would you? Damn pampered princesses don’t know when to leave well enough alone. Has to keep poking hibernating bears with hot brands.”

“As swift as the sparrow darts in spring, we must be away to the Athenians, lest the jaws of Sparta blessed by Ares close on their throat like the fangs of a prowling cat.” Aphrodite said to Rarity.

From her armoury Aphrodite retrieved many spears and pieces of oiled armour that had been gifted to her over the years by her industrious husband. These the pair of goddesses took to the Athenians, now just sighting Delos’ dilapidated docks.

As Rarity and Aphrodite glided down to greet Hypocemia and Queen Hecuba, Hephaestus’ anvil rang loud from the first of many blows to craft the aurichalcum bands to make a gate, the sound carrying far and wide across the disc and Gaea herself, long dormant and sleeping deep in a cave, cracked open an eye, yawned, and shook off her slumber.

Author's Note

Getting into the flow of this chapter took some time. I wasn't at all sure how to write either Aphrodite or Hephaestus, and then how to get them to help Rarity stymied me for a long while.

I bounced several ideas off the wall, and in the end probably settled for the worst. Even as I write this note it occurs to me that Rarity didn't DO anything to convince them, rather her presence dragged them into her problems. Which is doing something in a manner of speaking, as she could have left knowing that her problems were going to follow her. Still, she should have been a bit more proactive a participant as one of the two main characters of the novel.

I'm sure astute readers will be able to see where I refreshed my memory on the Iliad. My style really shifts every time. Despite the run-on sentences used in 'Greek Epic Mode', I feel the story is 'punchier' with that style. More grandiose. This time there were nods to the fifth book of the Iliad, where the gods join the mortals on the field of battle and wound each other. There is a difference as a result in the fight here compared to those in Myths. In Myths it is more Shonen Battle Manga, here it is shorter and more brutal and visceral in nature. I still maintained some of the shonen-style stuff, but it is certainly far more Iliad inspired.

As for an explination as to why; Well, Aphrodite's dagger was forged by Hephaestus just for such situations, and he caught Niomedese slightly off-guard. I do feel I kind of 'Worf'd' her a bit though. Oh well...

The next chapter is going to be even more of a struggle than this one was.

On the plus side; I have the ending for the next chapter done. On the down side; its contents trouble me at a deep level. I've done my set-up. It's where I need to go at this point. But I've never written anything that churns my gut as much with anxiety as the climax of the Rariad. I suppose that's good. I need to challenge myself as a writer. I just wish I knew I was doing the right thing.

If you've enjoyed my writing, and are feeling generous, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi (Link), or just directly donate with Paypal to alaster31@hotmail.com.

I could really use any support and help to keep writing, and every little bit is greatly appreciated.

Thank you!

Part Sixteen

The Rariad
By Tundara

16: Gaea

The bleached bones of Delos greeted the weary survivors of Athens, as if foretelling the refugees of their ultimate fate. Rarity gazed over the empty streets and dilapidated homes, sadness pinching her heart. This had been a city faithful to her predecessor. Fifty thousand ponies called the city home at the height of its glory.

Now it was empty. A marker for so many undug graves.

A shiver ran up Rarity’s spine, a sensation all-too familiar after her time in Tartarus overcoming her. Ghosts lingered in the ruins. Spirits who refused to depart, trapped in their final moments after rejecting the reapers came to guide them through the mists to the rivers leading to the underworld. The night, when the veil of the mists grew thinner and the lingering spirits could interact with the living, was going to be long and harrowing.

“Hypocemia, we must find shelter for the foals, and set up campfires. We should send someone to find any buildings not about to collapse. I assume that the government buildings or temples have weathered the years better than the rest of the city, since they seem to be built a bit sturdier than the average home,” Rarity spoke with calm assurance, having been practicing the words ever since she and Aphrodite had circled the city.

Carrying their packs off the galleys, the Athenians entered Delos. Homes and villas quickly found new occupants, the former senate for the city filled with sleeping rolls and exhausted bodies. The palace itself was put aside for the goddesses, to Rarity’s chagrin. It had a great deal of space, the last king of Delos having been very wealthy and prone to expanding his home at his neighbours’ expense. In the gardens, at Rarity’s insistence, a kitchen was set up to provide food, similar cooking pits placed throughout the ruins to feed the refugees. She took the orphans into the empty feasthall, where the king had held his banquets. Replacing the debris with mats and blankets, Rarity wondered briefly how the Muses were faring with Hephaestus, and quickly shook away the thoughts to focus on more pressing matters.

“The state of the Athenians is far worse than even I feared in my darkest hours,” Aphrodite said, coming into feasthall as Rarity served out bowls of a thin, watery soup. “There are perhaps at most two or three thousand battle-ready stallions, and among them are many whose armour is in a poor state or lacks sword, spear, or shield. The charioteers, naturally, had to leave their vehicles behind, so we have no fast moving cavalry of which to speak. It is truly a sad state we are in, as poor as could ever be expected, with hope as fleeting as a warm wind on a winter peak. We must find the Delos’ armoury so that they may be properly equipped when the Spartans arrive, assuming that the decaying effects of time have not left only rotten heaps of refuse fit only for rats.”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Rarity sniffed, and passing a bowl to a snaggle-toothed filly, said, “The Athenians shouldn’t have to fight my battles.”

“Yet they will with glad hearts, even as fear grips their bellies at the prospect of death, the thanes waiting in the mists to hurry them to the underworld like black-garbed spectres. It is to us to guide, protect, and witness their struggle.”

Jaw clenched tight, Rarity slammed her serving spoon into the empty pot before her. “I simply can not accept that! I should stand beside them.”

“Do that and they too will take to the battlefield. What chance do you think you have against Ares when Hephaestus was only just his equal in the heart of his domain. On a battlefield Ares is near Zeus’ equal in measure, a red wave of slaughter unbound. Do not allow fear to take you, however, as so long as we stay true to the old ways so too will he, for he has become strangely dutiful since the last war.”

Rarity shook her head, but couldn’t shake the sense of helplessness that weighed heavily in her belly. It remained all the days long as the Athenians prepared for the coming of the Spartans. After basic shelter had been found in the surviving buildings, sources of food had to be gathered for the thousands of refugees, but thankfully the lands around Delos were lush, with many good things growing in the fields and on trees left by the city’s former inhabitants, many ponies going about together, earth pony beside unicorn, to harvest as much as they could manage.

Meanwhile, Hypocemia, her side thick with her growing foal, and several other mares from the prominent households came to Rarity and Aphrodite demanding they and anypony else who chose to do so be allowed to fight.

“We can no longer hide and pray for our husbands, sons, and fathers safety. The truth is plain to all that we are in our most hours, and either we fight and die with heads held high or be taken as Sparta’s slaves to be ravaged and used as they please.”

Aphrodite stayed silent, while Rarity said, “Normally I would agree, darling, but…”

Her voice trailed off as she chewed on her lower lip. The truth was that there was no reason to deny the mares the chance to fight for their own freedom and lives. Many of Equestria’s most storied heroes were mares. It was a running joke that there were more mares than stallions that left their marks on history. Though, this was in no small part due to the gross inequity in sheer numbers of fillies born to colts, a situation unreplicated on Gaea, where if anything there were more colts born than fillies.

“You are right,” Rarity concluded, drawing a slight smile from Aphrodite, and a crescendo of murmurs from the crowd of mares who’d anticipated more of a challenge to their request. “The Spartans don’t care if you are a stallion or a mare, so why should we? It’ll give them quite a shock when they see you ready to fight for your foals.”

A cheer rang out, and the knot of anxiety in Rarity’s belly tightened.

“In fact, everypony who wants should be allowed to fight. Where I am from, many of the strongest heroes are Earth ponies. Rockhoof, Chancellor Puddinghead, and more recently my friend Applejack, are all exceptionally strong and resilient.”

Rarity grinned through the predictable mutters as the gathered mares shifted on their hooves from side to side.

It was a short moment before Hypocemia spoke. “My lady, is this an ill timed jest, like a sudden chill freezing grapes on the vine that may happen when the winds blow hard down the mountains?”

“Darlings, if you can fight beside your husbands and sons, why can’t the Earth ponies also fight?”

“But, they are the doulos, and are useless in battle! Without magic they will be cut down as grain beneath the scythe.”

“Which they will anyway when the Spartans burst into the city.”

“But—but, we are meant to protect them! We are unicorns and fight to keep them safe! Athens will never fall so low that we would break the ancient compact and make them fight for us! It has always been this way since time immemorial. The stallions guard the herd while the mares birth and raise the next generation, managing the household and divvying appropriately what is provided by the earth ponies. Each has their roles, and to even contemplate asking them to fight—it would mean that we have utterly failed in our part and deserve the death coming for us.”

All the gathered ponies hung their heads in abject shame.

Rarity tsked and said softly, “If my plan works, which I have every faith it will, then this compact won’t be applicable anymore.”

“Then the sons and daughters of Athens will have to adapt, but until then, while it is unusual, we will fight. It is the least we can do as unicorns.”

Proudly, the mares set off at once, but a predictable problem immediately asserted itself in their critically low number of arms and armour. In their flight from Athens food and items of basic survival had been prioritised, with only a few of the more foolish ponies bringing what they could of their fortunes. Gold and silver were meaningless now, and only served to make other ponies sneer at their folly.

Efforts were redoubled to find the Delos armoury to no avail. Those survivors of the city had taken what they could when they fled, and in the intervening years many a pony had picked the city clean of everything that could be easily found. No great caches of weapons remained to be discovered.

As realisation of the true depths of their plight began to sink in the Athenians began to despair.

Still, they made due with what preparations could reasonably be done. The galleys were set up in such a way as to prevent the Spartans from landing their forces directly into the harbour, around which Delos was spread with a hill on either side marking the east and western edges of the ruins. Like Athens, Delos possessed walls, though hers were in a terrible state of repair, with gaping holes and gaps filled with tumbled down bricks and gravel. These Rarity and Aphrodite repaired, restoring them easily so that a blade of grass couldn’t fit between two stones and the entire face was as smooth as glass, and then enhanced beyond their original mortal creators ability so that stood a hundred hooves high.

“Well, it is something at least,” Rarity sighed despondently as she completed her work on the gatehouse.

“‘Something’?” Hypocemia exclaimed. “Surely, no other walls have ever been so elegant or as tall that were not part of either Olympus nor the Citadel of Light, that glorious fortress that was home to your predecessor. The Spartans will have great difficulty taking these walls.”

“Walls hardly matter if we have nopony to defend them,” Rarity pointed out and made her way back towards the kitchens to help with the evening meal. “We have to do something about our equipment issues, but I just don’t see an answer.”

“Excuse my presumption, Lady Rarity, but could you not create armour and spears for us?”

“I’d thought of that as well, darling, and made the attempt at fashioning some armour, however, I don’t know how to make functional barding. What I made was pretty and decorative. Why, you’d love absolutely fabulous when on parade or standing a ceremonial guard! But, as for protecting a pony from injury? It was utterly useless.”

Hypocemia hid her disappointment well, and returned to her own duties shortly after.

Through all this time Hephaestus’ hammer rang clear over the disc from dawn till well past dusk, a steady thrumm-thrumm-thrumm that made the ground vibrate and was felt in the soul. The day following the repair of the walls all was silence. Rarity shivered at the lack of the ringing thrumm, wondering if everything was alright back at Etna. Her mouth went dry at the thought, and her heart went into a flurry of anxious spasms as she imagined the Muses dead at Ares’ hoof. She missed them and their singing, exuberance, and most importantly, their smiles, and the idea of them being harmed left her cold inside.

“Aphrodite, I’m going to see if everything is alright at Mount Etna,” Rarity said, throwing her cloak over her shoulders as she readied to depart.

The Goddess of Love tilted her head and frowned, but before she could ask why, Hephaestus and the Muses appeared above the city, a great tarp that bulged hanging from a rope tied to Hephaestus’ girdle. Broad bronze wings pumping powerfully, Hephaestus deposited his cargo into the central square of the former city.

“Rarity!” The Muses cried as one as they dashed towards her. “Everything is ready! Hephaestus just has to put it together now!”

“Which will take a great bloody while longer, make no mistake,” Hephaestus grumbled. “Forging aurichalcum plates is the easy part. Now we got to align them while weaving in the enchantments. We get this wrong at any point and the whole thing will explode in our faces; literally. You did good though, you three, now stay out of the way with that one.” He jerked his head towards Rarity.

“Mr. Hephaestus, a quick question before you get back to work,” Rarity quickly chimed as he pulled out a diamond encrusted chisel and engraver's tools. “You wouldn’t happen to have any spears or armour, would you? The Athenians left most of their behind in Athens and…” Rarity gestured helplessly at the ruins.

Blinking a couple times, Hephaestus’ frown deepened. Casting his hardened gaze over the ponies gathered about them to watch the arrival of the God of the Forge and the Muses, Hephaestus selected three ponies.

“Kelemon, son of Dadalous, I grant you the insight of the owl, with eyes sharp and body untiring that you may work the night through. Eudora, daughter of Dadalous, I grant you the industriousness of the beaver, that you may extract from the land its bounty and turn it into whatever your mind can conceive. Polymnia, I grant you the endurance of the bull and the strength of the bear, so that your blows will shape metal with but a single strike of your hammer. Go and make for yourselves what you need.”

There were three flashes, three shouts of shocked joy, and three new Blessed joined the ranks of those who’d found cutie marks during Rarity’s previous stay among the Athenians. With a wave of his horn, Hephaestus restored Delos’ workshops and rekindled the fires in the forges.

Working together, the Athenians gathered every scrap of bronze and iron they could find. The forges worked night and day under the guidance of the Blessed of Hephaestus, churning out a greater number of arrows, spears, and barding than any mortal workshop could ever produce.

A week passed, Hephaestus labouring at his great work.

Two came and went.

And then a third, with no sign of the Benevolence of Beauty, nor of the Spartans, until as rosy-feathered dawn bloomed on the last day of Fall, the galleys of the Spartans slid from the haze of the horizon like ghosts from a misty woods.

Ares flew over the fleet, as did Niomedes, healed of her injuries and wearing the pelt of the Nemaredian Lion, whose golden sheen repelled all weapons and made the bearer invisible in any wild place, and a quiver of poison tipped arrows on her flank; along with black cloaked Achlys, the God of Death, whose great father was Hades, the God of the Dead, and was rarely seen on any mortal world; Hestia, her blue ribbons streaming like long tails behind her flew beside Ares; and lastly there was Alke, the Goddess of Courage and Sports.

Behind this formidable entourage were Eos, the Goddess of the Dawn singing as she brought about a new day, and her mother, the mighty Theia, Goddess of Glory and Gold, and one of the oldest gods, who by Helios, the long dead former God of Light, had born Hemera, Nyx, and Eos in the First Realm before the myriad worlds had been formed, granting her trio of daughters that status of Old Gods. Behind Eos and Theia came Hemera and Nyx themselves, though none of the four were grabbed for war, and instead of joining in the battle would land on the western hill, and from there observe all that occurred.

Not so were Hera and Phoebus-Apollo, who were resplendent in glittering dresses of aurichalcum mail and tall plumed helmets. The pair wheeled around the city and descended towards where Rarity stood with Aphrodite.

“Do you concede?” Hera demanded as she landed. “There is no need to continue and drag the mortals into your mess when you claim to value them so highly. Swallow your pride and return to Olympus and all can be forgiven.”

There was worry in Hera’s eyes, and genuine concern in the quaver of her voice that only another alicorn could detect, though why Hera should be concerned eluded Rarity. Hera’s gaze briefly settled on the Athenians on the walls, mares standing shoulder to shoulder with stallions, all in their new armour, with shields and spears at the ready. Ten thousand all together, they were still a motley sight, with no training, but full of determination and with backs pressed into a corner, ready to fight and die to protect those they loved.

In a lower voice, Hera added, “Please!”

“You are worried about them,” Rarity gasped, anger rising such that she desired greatly to hurl herself at the alicorn-filly before her.

Head high, Hera repeated her demand.

“No. It won’t end if I surrender. Not now.”

Hera’s expression fell. She shifted on her hooves, shot looks up and down the walls, and said, “Then I will stand with you and Aphrodite.”

Few things could have shocked Rarity more, and her mouth flapped as she struggled for words.

“Then welcome, dear Hera, Queen of the Gods,” Aphrodite sweetly said as Hera slipped in between her and Rarity. “What of you Phoebus-Apollo, are you to join our beleaguered side as well?”

He looked over the Athenians, and then to the still approaching Spartan fleet, and shook his head. “I gave aid to the Benevolencians, as their courage was exemplary, but I will take neither side in this war. I will join those who observe and wish you well, but the odds are far from favourable.”

Phoebus-Apollo bowed to the goddesses and retired to the hill where even more Olympians had now gathered, including the Moirai themselves, the Fates standing apart from the rest of the heavenly crowd. There was an air of solemnity, like they were watching a funerary procession.

Rarity shivered one last time, and put aside all the fears and anxieties that had built inside her like the gasses of a bubbling cauldron with lid firmly affixed. The time for battle had come.

There were no speeches or offers of surrender from Ares and his retinue, just the thunderous exaltation of war.

In ages to come, the Muses would lay the chiefs, princes, and kings of those who came in such numbers that no mortal could give a full recounting of them if they had ten tongues, and their voice was strong, to slay the beleaguered Athenians as such; Arrayed beneath Ares were the ponies of Sparta, Helos, Gythion, and Thyrea, each filled with ponies enraged by the trickery used upon their homes and the destruction caused by Trixie and the Benevolencians, all lead by King Agethemus himself, standing proud beside the tiller of his gilded galley in full battle-raiment of shining bronze. In each ship of the one-hundred and fifty ships were on-hundred and twenty stallions girded for war.

Penelos, Leïtus, Arcesilaus, Prothoënor, and Clonius were captains of the Boeotians, who dwelt in rocky lands, and who held Schoenus, Scolus, and the highlands of Eteonus, with Thespeia, Graia, and the fair city of Mycalessus. So too they held Harma, Eilesium, and Erythrae; as well as Eleon, Hyle, and Peteon; Oscalea, and the indomitable fortress of Medeon; the fortress of Thebes; holy Onchestus which was much beloved by Poseidon for its groves; the vineyards of Arne; Midea, sacred Nisa, and upon the sea there was Anthedon. These captains brought with them fifty ships.

Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, chosen of Ares, led the ponies that dwelt in Aspeldon and Orchomenus, the realm of Minyas. Sons of Astyoche, a noble maiden who bore them in the house of Actor, son of Azeus, and she was a High Priestess of War. With them there came thirty ships.

The Phoceans were led by Schadius and Epistrophus, sons of mighty Iphitus, son of Naubolus. These were ponies of Cyparissus, rocky Pytho, holy Crisa, Daulis, and Panopeus; as well as dwelling in Anemorea and Hyampolis, and about the waters of the river Cephissus, Lilaea by the river’s springs. With these chieftains came forty ships.

Ajax, son of Oileus, commanded the Locrians. He was not so great as the ancestor for whom he was named, Ajax, son of Telamon. He was a slight stallion who wore only a thin tunic of linen instead of barding, but in use of battle-magic he excelled all in that age and the next. With him came forty ships of the ponies who dwelt beyond Euboea.

From Euboea with its cities, Chalcis, Eritrea, Histiaea with its rich vines, Cerinthus upon the sea, and the clifftop town of Dium, came Abantes, son of Chalcodon. He led ponies who were fleet of hoof and wore their manes long and unbraided, all brave warriors, who strove to tear open their foes with long ashen spears. Of these ponies there were a further fifty ships.

Twelve ships came from Salamis, and these were led by yet another Ajax, for the name was very common in that age.

The stallions of Argos, long Sparta’s allies, and who held the lands between those of Sparta and those of Athens, populated by the cities of Oenoe; Phlious, Sicyon, and opposite across a wide bay, Heraoin in the north; Proud Hermoine in the south on the sea, with Haliesis, and Troezen. These were led by Diomed, who held command even over Euryalus, son of king Mecisteus, son of Talaus. With them came eighty ships.

Nestor, knight of Gerene, brought the stallions of Pylos and Methone and Thuria of Messenia. In ages past, before the destruction of the Citadel of Light and the loss of the Muses, they had taken a dislike to the poet Thamyris, and stilled his minstrelsy forever, robbing him of his power of song after he boasted that should he sing against them he would surpass them. Ninety ships came from these lands, such were the bonds between Pylos and Sparta.

And so the telling reaches Arcadia, under the high mountain of Cyllene, near the tomb of Aepytus, where the stallions fight hoof-to-hoof with no magic. The stallions of Pheneus, and Orchomenus thick in flocks of sheep; Dipaea and Tegea. King Agapenor, son of Ancaeus, was commander, and they had sixty ships provided by the Spartans, for Arcadia is landlocked and has no ports of its own and were unused to the ocean.

From Elis came four chieftains, hailing from Olympia and Lepreum, Hyrmine, and Myrsinus upon the seashore. These captains were Amphimachus, son of Cteatus, and Thalpius, son of Eurytus, and both of Actor’s line. The others were Diores, son of Amarynces, and Polyxenus, son of King Agasthenes, son of Augeas. They came with forty ships.

Further were contacted, the islands to the west and lands further north, to join the great retributionary fleet, but had been held back from coming by foul weather, and so this was all that emerged from the mists that terrible day.

On seeing such a fleet Rarity’s mouth went dry and her heart sunk lower still. How could they stand against such a host?

They were outnumbered seven to one, at least. Proper soldiers who trained for years approached, while they had more mares, barely adult colts, and the untrained in hastily made armour.

“Remember, we need not win, only delay,” Aphrodite said softly. She cast a glance over her withers to where Hephaestus still worked at what everypony hoped were the finishing touches to his Gate.

“Well, darlings, let us hope they decide to take their time or argue who gets the oh-so great honour of crushing us,” Rarity bristled.

Every instinct screamed that she should fight beside the Athenians. One look at the alicorns flying above the fleet warned her against such an action. Whatever impact she could have, however many lives she could save, Ares would reverse in an instant. He was the God of War, and there would be no holding back his onslaught without the assistance of a similar god. The sliver of Serene that had merged with Rarity wished that Athena stood beside her on that wall. Of all the alicorns besides Zeus, Athena was Ares’ match when it came to battle, and had even wounded him during their final war.

The Argonians were the first to attack, their ships coming straight for the port.

The ponies along the docks nervously shifted in their hiding spots. Fretfully they looked up to the seaside tower where the goddesses watched, and where Hypocemia commanded with Menestheus, who with Mystalicus and Argentes both unreturned had been named general of the Athenians.

Rarity ears flicked as a sudden swell of prayers came to her, ponies throughout the city clutching small totems or charms as they evoked her name for protection. Her insides tightened, and she wished she could answer the prayers.

It was so wrong. She had so much power, and was so impotent. Trapped by that power. If she’d been a regular unicorn still she’d have been down there among them.

Nearer the Argonians drew. So close that Rarity could see the glint of eyes behind corinthian helms. She leaned towards the edge of the parapets, and reflexively her wings stretched out like broad white pennants in the brilliant daylight.

Next to her Hera and Aphrodite were utterly silent and grave, and then, Hera said softly, “This is my fault. I never meant for it to go this far. I just wanted to win against you, not cause this massacre.”

The hot flash of anger that roiled through Rarity was all the answer she gave.

With a nod, Hypocemia sent a command to the ponies stationed at the harbour, and the galleys that had vouch-safed the Athenians all these long years were set ablaze. Spells flashed and slammed into hulls doused with oil and covered in fresh kindly and dried grass. Within moments the flames towered higher than the tallest towers and formed a blistering wall that prevented anypony from coming close to the shore.

In a sudden chaos, the Argonians crashed into each other in their efforts to avoid the sudden flames. A couple galleys were less lucky, smashing into the growing inferno, the fires spreading among the tight-packed rowers and the ponies on the decks. Rarity wanted to look away as burning ponies leapt from the smoke and roaring blaze into the choppy waters where they’d be beaten against sinking hulls, struck by falling debris, and dragged underwater by treacherous currents. More spells were hurled at the Argonians, but they had swiftly recollected themselves after that initial moment, and their battle-casters turned the spells aside with ease. Diomed himself snapped his horn left and right, turning several lesser firebolts back towards the buildings along the harbour where they splattered harmlessly against stone walls. With a battle-cry he signalled his stallions to launch their own magics, and a great many bolts of magic streaked into the harbour, a few detonating with a shrill scream that hurt the ears of those nearby. But, the Athenians had already abandoned their positions along the harbour, their job setting their ship aflame done, and none were harmed by the Argonians spells.

“Now they are forced to land their armies and attack the walls, and we don’t have to worry about our backs,” Rarity sighed with relief.

It took hours for the great fleet to swing east and west to where they could disgorge their soldiers onto the many narrow beaches. Hours more past and dark feathered dusk swept over the disc before they’d marched to the outer walls. There the tens of thousands of ponies gathered under Agathemus’ banner and he held a council of war to decide the honours of battle.

Diomedes and the Argonians, in recompense for the trickery played on them in the harbour, were given the honour of assaulting the central wall, where the fighting would be thickest. In support of them would be Agethemus and Dapolleta with their Spartans, and the Phoceans. To the Boeotians went the honour of the first assault on the eastern walls, Arcesilaus in command, along with the Locrians, Orchomenians, and Elisians. The western walls were given to Arcadians, Pylosians, and Phoceans, with Nestor in overall command of their efforts.

With their forces so divided the army settled down around their campfires where they burnt offerings of fatty meats wrapped around the bone to the gods. Rarity had yet to encounter the practice in her time on holy Gaea, and when she saw a small group of ponies doing so while praying to an idol with her cutie mark carved deep into the wood she blanched and had to withhold her tongue from lashing them for their sickening cruelty. At first she wondered where they’d even found the meat, and then she remembered the small number of cattle, those dim witted beasts, brought for their milk.

Flying to the tower where Aphrodite and Hera stood, Rarity said, “Is that normal?”

They looked with some shock as well down on the ponies below.

“It was somewhat common in ancient times, and ponies still burn offerings to this day, but long has it been since I had anypony burn meat seeking my blessings. If they believe it will draw my gaze they are mistaken, as no practice is less lovely than the needless taking of a life. They may as well throw themselves from a cliff with wings of wax, as that would be more likely to please me, for I would no longer need hear their incessant bleating,” spoke Aphrodite.

Hera said, “I know something of this listening to Ares, as it was done by ponies going to war, believing that a sacrifice of one flesh would save their own. It may draw his gaze, but not mine. We need to stop this and have them make proper offerings.”

The three goddesses, each taking with them one of the Muses, went about the city, each spreading word of the tokens and offerings most liable to draw their attention when inundated by a chorus of voices all seeking their guidance or protection.

Hera told them to tie a feather from a hawk, cuckoo, or crane about a willow switch and burn this and she’d take it favourably.

And this they did.

Aphrodite said to her petitioners, “Take the soft petals of a rose, breath of the gods and joy of the mortals, and cast them out to the sea so that they may drift where the currents intend. As you do so wear a garland of myrtle, and hold to your heart who you most cherish. If your piety is true it may reach me.”

And this they did.

Rarity was at a loss as to how to direct her followers, as she had no holy birds or plants, nor did she yet have any rituals to pass on to those who’d seek her blessings.

“There has to be something,” Aoide, who’d decided to stay with Rarity while Melete went with Hera, and Mneme with Aphrodite. “You were once mortal… How did you get your blessing?”

“My cutie mark?” Rarity smiled despite the anxiety thick in the night.

She told the tale of the day she found her special talent, finding comfort in the memories of that distant day where she’d been dragged by her magic to the clifftop boulder, the heights of her frustration, and the greater heights of her joy when it broke in half to reveal the wealth of gemstones within.

As she finished the telling, Aoide gave a cheer and jumped high, wings pumping to carry her higher still.

“That is it! Just as you found the beauty in the boulder, you must find it in your petitioners. Have them take a gemstone or crystal and cast it from a high place. Blue diamonds would be best, but even the richest of kings have but a scant few in their treasuries, and it would leave the common pony unable to attract your gaze. But, even they are able to get a blue glass bead. The effect will be diminished of course, but if I am right, it should be enough.”

Tapping her chin, Rarity thought over the suggestion, and then added, “It should be wrapped in a swatch of cloth. Silk, linen, or cotton would be fine.”

“Wait here,” Aoide directed, and left Rarity in the inner courtyard of the former palace while she spread the tale of the ritual among the Athenians.

Rarity waited, eyes wandering over the old apple tree at the center of the garden, playing with the pearls about her neck. Her mind naturally drifted to Ponyville and her friends. She tried to imagine what her friends would be doing. How the years would have treated them. It had been many, this Rarity was certain. Three, four, maybe even five, or perhaps more. It was impossible to know how long she languished in Tartarus and Amaymon, and it had been almost a year she’d been on Gaea. Slowly, her senses drifted outward, touching the invisible luminescence that was the field of Beauty that surrounded and was generated by all things.

Applejack would be relaxing next to the decorated hearth, knitting just like Granny Apple used to do over the holidays. The orchards would be all settled down for the winter, barrels of cider situated in the cellars and everything tucked away neatly. She’d be married and a mother by now, Rarity decided. Two—no, three foals. A big family suited Applejack.

Pinkie Pie, well, she’d have her own store. A combination party supplies, bakery, and music hall where she could host events. She’d be a bachelorette still, too outgoing and loving to settle down, needing to spread joy to everypony around her, but unable to focus on a single pony as a result.

Rainbow Dash, why, she’d be living a life of—a single mother. Her daughter would be the sole focus of her life, everything she did to make that most special pony to her smile in safety and surrounded by warmth. Yes, this seemed right to Rarity, though from where the intuition came even she could hardly surmise.

Closing her eyes, Rarity thought of Fluttershy, and for the first time in a very long time, recalled those terrible final moments in the Everfree Forest when she’d thrown herself into the ravine in a last act to keep Serene from taking the Crusaders and killing Applejack and Fluttershy. Her heart thumped hard against her chest and she recognised in Fluttershy the same torment that had ravaged her own soul.

Fluttershy was like her; an alicorn.

Except, she was dating Big Mac. They were talking of marriage, but Fluttershy-Artemis held deep concerns. The half of her that was Artemis understood the pains of immortality and losing mortals to the swift passage of time. Her other half, that which belonged to Fluttershy, knew that cutting oneself off from the world was no way to live. It was only natural they would lose ponies, but they lost the memories of those ponies if they never even made the attempt to interact.

As for Twilight, she was in Canterlot with Lord Hades and Luna. There was something truly beautiful slowly budding. It had the potential to become a love that could transcend time. Stronger it would need to grow, but the seed was hearty and the roots had plenty of space.

Rarity began to pull back to her body, and as she did she brushed against a contained inferno brighter than anything she’d before seen, and massive in scope. So massive was it that it would take a pony half a thousand years to cross its surface. The size of the orb made even Rarity’s godly mind recoil, but it wouldn’t let her escape. It pulled at her, dragging her towards the crackling fields of blistering plasma. Thick bands howled, pulled upwards by some other force that Rarity could hardly quantify, like a golden ring of molten energy, and directed right at her. The nearest part of the band began to snap, ready to unleash a torrential flare right in her face, only to stop. Hesitantly, the band fell back into the greater body of the roiling orb. And then a pair of familiar eyes opened.

“Rarity?” Celestia asked, her voice as the clap of a thousand thunderbolts above a lonely mountain.

There was no time for Rarity to respond. Hearing Celestia’s voice, so perfectly controlled and poised, broke her concentration, and Rarity found herself back in the ruins of Delos.

“That was Celestia,” Rarity breathed, elation thick in her throat. She wanted to grab some pony and swing them around as she laughed hysterically. Trixie! She needed to share the news with Trixie! But, Trixie was missing still.

“Oh, Celestia,” Rarity glanced up at the beautiful sky, the clouds parting to show the remaining stars abandoned by Astraea. She only barely noted the jewels about her neck were warm to the touch as she idly played with him with her hoof. “Get here soon, Trixie. I can’t leave you here on Gaea. I didn’t leave you in Tartarus. We needed each other to escape Amaymon. And I need you again.”

Before she could go any further down these thoughts, Aoide’s efforts bore their first fruits. Senses still heightened from being deeper within the tides of Beauty than ever before, she heard a prayer greater than the usual buzzing that floated at the edge of perception. She was drawn towards it, and with it, to a young stallion barely more than colt.

Through Beauty she saw him, crawny knees trembling as he stood at the edge of a broken roof. Just below a handkerchief wrapped around a small, uncut sapphire tumbled towards a mirror smooth pool of water in the bay. With a gentle plink it was swallowed by the waters, and Rarity’s senses sharpened.

She saw everything about the lad.

His generous spirit—giving the last of his rations to his ailing sister—his indomitable will—carrying the supplies of an old mare, even when his own legs threatened to give out, to the ships in the hasty flight from Athens—legs that had been used since arriving at Delos dancing to entertain a group of orphans. And now, though he was so terrified he could hardly think, he would do everything in his power to keep his sister safe, to help the elderly, and to allow the misfortunate a chance to smile again.

“Young Algremetus, son of Ascalon, I grant you the speed of the swallow as it flits through the meadows, and the heart of the golden lions, proud and unflinching before any foe. Go, darling, with my Blessing.”

Power flowed through Rarity’s words, sparking and taking hold in the young stallion, connecting him to Her for the rest of his life, and beyond.

No sooner had she completed the blessing than her gaze was drawn again, this time to a middle-aged mare at the distant eastern edge of the walls. Her offering danced like a ballerina as it fell towards a small puddle in the outer ditch. Gently it touched the water, and Rarity saw a resolute younger version of the mare—tirelessly she worked to harvest golden fields beside earth ponies—hauling at the oars as the galleys fled Athens till her hooves split and her legs ached so that she couldn’t even stand when relieved—her tender heart—nursing an unrelated foal whose mother passed away giving birth—taking the foal in as her own to be raised beside her own son when they barely had enough to feed themselves. On either side of her were those same foals, now young adults themselves and very much in love with each other, and she would do whatever was needed to ensure they escaped the coming day.

“Alametea, mother of Phoros and Agatea, I grant you the sight of the hawk on the wing, and the cunning of the panther stalking through grasslands to feed her cubs. Go, with my love, and protect every foal.”

On the western walls Rarity’s gaze was taken next, this time to a stout stallion with a large belly, and equally large laugh. His offering plummeted with a hard plonk into a bucket placed next to the stairs leading to the wall’s tops. Wrinkles creased his soft blue eyes. Many battles had he seen, and somehow he’d come through them all, but only because he’d been a coward unable to harm another.

He was the gentlest of ponies—with parchment he carried insects and spiders outside rather than sweep them away with a broom—saucers of cream left out for the bedraggled alley cats—Generous to a fault—His own meagre possessions left on the dock so a stranger could bring an additional small bag—Unable to hate the Spartans though they’d taken his sons from him.

“Telephos, son of Geomede, I grant you the ferocious visage of the kodiak bear, who drives all enemies away with presence alone, and its strength to carry the lives of Athens on your back. Go, with your precious heart, and protect my little ponies.”

As she finished the third blessing Aoide gave her a big smile. “You are a proper alicorn now,” the Muse declared.

Rarity huffed, but felt a small measure of pride. She just hoped she’d done the right thing.

They were shortly joined by Aphrodite, Hera, Melete, Mneme, and surprisingly Chryses.

The old oracle bowed deeply to the goddesses, and said, “The last day of the Athenians on Gaea is upon us. Phoebus-Apollo has shown me that no matter the outcome, we are to vanish into history. Thank you a thousand times over, oh great Hera and lovely Aphrodite, for returning to us your gaze in these last days of our people. And blessed be you, Rarity, beauteous benefactor of all, for restoring hope to our hearts.”

Aching legs trembling, Chryses prostrated himself before the goddesses as rosy-feathered dawn swept over the disc, and the horns of war sounded.

Author's Note

So, when I started this chapter I thought it would have the bulk of the battle in it. The chapter and characters had other plans. Set-up, laying out the armies, some more character work, and another metric ton of names just dumped into the readers laps.

The Achaeans were, at first, pretty much a direct lift from my copy of the Illiad, line by line, city by city, captain by captain. The first two or three paragraphs at least, after which I used a map to mimic the Illiad's style. I kept the names of the captains the same, however. Hence why there is Ajax still. Well, the Ajaxes... >.>;;

I debated having Poseidon join on Ares side, and decided that I would keep him more in the background. Because of how badly I mangled the pantheon years ago when first writing Myths it made it actually a little difficult to find enough and the right gods to face off against Aphrodite, Hera, and Rarity so as to seem a credible threat. Hestia and Alke were very much just tagged on, and I came very close to having Phoebus-Apollo side with Ares. That was a bit too much of a stretch, though, so I had him abstain.

This is almost certainly the penultimate chapter, the next one having the battle and resolution, but we'll see. If it run on too long it'll get chopped in half. There are also a couple of intermissions that have popped into my head.

Anyways, thank you for taking the time to read this story, and these author's notes.

~Tundara

Interlude Three

The Rariad
By Tundara

Interlude 3: Ioka

Celestia’s wings itched. Not the regular sort of itching when she grew too preoccupied to properly preen her feathers. This was the sort of itch that most ponies got at the back of their heads when they were forgetting something, but had no idea what it was they’d forgotten.

Unconsciously she rubbed the alula of her right wing against the high backed edge of her throne.

“Your Highness, is everything alright?” asked Two-Step Armour, glancing up from the sheets of parchment floating around him containing a litany of reports and the list of her itinerary for the day.

Her new seneschal was young, a little unsure of himself, and ponies whispered that he’d only gotten his position through pure nepotism on Celestia’s part. A natural outcome of his adoptive sister being an alicorn, his mother a figure of ill-repute among the nobility, and brother-in-law to Princess Cadence. Few gave him the credence to have earned his position as Chronicles replacement.

There was a slight pang in Celestia’s chest when she thought of her previous seneschal, who’d served her loyally for a touch over forty years before retiring to spend his sunset years out on the Marelantian Isles with the love of his life; though neither party would ever admit to being in love. The former Archmage was probably the only pony more stubborn than the former seneschal.

The new Archmage stood in the back off to one side lightly chewing on an apple, the juices leaking down her chin as she seemingly stared off into space without a care on the disc. It was an act, of course. Like her predecessor, Starlight Glimmer was as much a prodigy at manipulation as she was magic. Unlike the former Archmage, she didn’t care for the skullduggery and sneaking around that went with the position as the informal head of Celestia’s secret operatives. Not that it stopped her from being rather effective in the role.

A smattering of ministers, generals, and admirals were spread out in a loose half-circle at the bottom of the throne, a ripple of unease running through them as they glanced between the young seneschal and the princess.

“I am uncertain,” she admitted candidly.

Her ear twitched to a sound just on the fringes of perception, like fluttering of wings, except it seemed to come from the floor and walls.

Celestia’s eyes widened just a fraction and reflexively she checked the wards embedded into the castle. To her dismay they were inert, silent, unresponsive to whatever was happening. Casually she stood and went to the windows, eyes narrowing as she peered out into the gardens.

Clouds carefully positioned for a day of planned snow were parting over the city. In spite of the weather team’s attempts to block the holes, streams of Sol’s golden light fell over the parks and lanes making the dusting of snow sparkle as if the streets were coated in crystals.

It was beautiful.

Yet her skin crawled.

Shadows skittered in the corner of her eye, withdrawing into the nooks of room where the light didn’t fully reach, like a swarm of spiders. A sickly smell briefly caught her attention, sulphuric and pungent, and just as quickly retreating.

Interlinked wards began to awaken, humming a warning in the back of her head, reacting to whatever—or whoever—was attempting to intrude on the castle.

Pressure began to push down on Celestia between her wings like a giant hoof trying to pin her to the floor. Resisting the weight she cast her sight towards Sol, and then down on Canterlot, viewing the city from the heavens, looking for any signs of the intruder.

But there were none.

Just ponies playing in their yards or going for walks down the swept streets. Couples smiled blissfully unaware of the encroaching dangers. Foals had snowball fights, and ran about as they laughed. Icicles melted.

“Your Highness?” Two-Step moved a little closer, his uncertainty clear in his eyes even as he kept the rest of himself composed.

Starlight’s ears perked up and her nose crinkled, her magical senses finally detecting the intrusion. Nonchalantly she left her post and departed with only a slight nod in Celestia’s direction to indicate she would track down the source.

The Archmage had just crossed the threshold when the wards gave a silent scream, and then shattered. Sparks flew from the pillars lining the aisle to the throne, the walls shook, and the stained glass window pane depicting the Element of Generosity broke, spiderweb cracks running through the snowy white mare at the centerpiece.

At the same moment a surge of revulsion slammed into Celestia, churning her stomach as dread squeezed her heart. The stench of sulphur grew, a few of the nobles covering their noses, faces green beneath their colourful fur.

Spinning around, Celestia said in a clipped voice, “Two-Step, begin evacuating the castle. Everypony, we’ll have to reschedule.”

To her relief, their reactions were instantaneous, rushing out various doors with no arguing or asking for reasons. After a few moments bells began to toll across the city, warning the general public to go indoors and find a place to shelter until the most recent danger had passed.

Even before the first set of bells had finished, the private entrance that led to the royal quarters was thrust open and Twilight entered the throne room, almost bumping into Celestia in the process.

“It’s a scrying spell,” Twilight said in a breathy rush, her eyes wide as she continued to run calculations in her head. She quickly added, “The Amef runes are the only ones breaking, and they are the ones meant to keep ponies from spying on the castle.”

“You’re right,” Celestia hummed as she checked the runes to see where they’d been broken.

Before anything else could be added, several flashes announced the arrival of Zeus, Hades, Cadence, Fluttershy, and Fleur. Hades stood close to Twilight, flanking her with Luna, both protectively looming around the Goddess of Stars. Zeus flexed and paced, barely containing his energy, while Cadence, Fleur, and Fluttershy went to the windows.

“A demon,” Zeus announced, thunder rumbling in his disgusted throat, “is deluded into believing it can intrude on this new pantheon.”

“Not just any,” spoke Hades as he swept his horn across the room, magic flickering along its length. “It is Asmodeus.”

Celestia’s stomach performed a little flop as her deepest worry was confirmed.

Of course He’d find some way to reach her home. It’d been a worry gnawing at her for several months since they’d returned from Amaymon with nothing but empty hooves and dire warnings.

“Even the King of Lust would know better than to attack Canterlot, non?” asked Fleur, her expression pensive as she recalled the climatic encounter with the Queen of Wrath. A small scar above her left eye remained as a reminder of that day. Unconsciously Fleur reached up to rub it.

It had taken every alicorn working together to contain Astaroth and protect the mortals in the vicinity, and even then the losses had been staggering. A horrible wound remained on the disc at the site of the battle, wraiths and monsters congregating on the fields and in the ruins of Southstone Spires. Keeping them contained and curious ponies, zebras, and griffons away had become something of a full-time occupation for Twilight and Luna.

The idea of such a thing happening to Canterlot made Celestia shiver with concern for her little ponies.

“Asmodeus isn’t as brash as the other kings and queens of demonkind,” Hades clicked his tongue as he thought out-loud. “If his purpose was to reach Ioka it wouldn’t be so obvious. He is too cunning for something this obvious.”

“Mmm, and why is it so… warm?” spoke Cadence, wrapping her legs and wings around herself in a hug.

Everypony considered the question, wondering about the duality of the beautiful day—only a few puffy clouds lazy drifted around the mountain now—when the hissing in the shadows began to fade, the intruder retreating already. The weather team regained control over what clouds remained and the temperature began to drop.

Celestia was about to respond when Sol gave a concerned yelp in her head.

’Dear heart!’

Above Canterlot, Sol darkened to a deep burgundy as the sun prepared to defend herself. Closing her physical eyes, Celestia thrust her consciousness into her heavenly counterpart. Metaphysical eyes opened just as Sol was about to cast away the intruder, and Celestia was almost struck dumb by who she saw floating in the aetheric void next to Sol.

“Rarity?” Celestia exclaimed.

The ghostly cloud of disembodied energy that was Rarity seemed to gasp, and then vanished just as Celestia reached out to grab her.

Celestia lingered with Sol, staring at the space where Rarity had been, thoughts and emotions awhirl. Her heart beat quicker, hope freshly blooming, but there was also fear. It was impossible that Rarity had managed to reach out to Ioka.

“It was Rarity!” She exclaimed to everypony’s curious looks. “I don’t know how, but it was definitely her I saw, not Asmodeus.”

“Troubling,” Zeus growled as he took to pacing, muscles tense with barely constrained anger that still lingered from the near disastrous infiltration of Amaymon. “We all sensed him, Asmodeus, and yet it was Rarity you claim that was here? That should be impossible. No alicorn should be capable of casting their consciousness so far as to reach other worlds or realms.”

“P-Perhaps because she is Beauty?” suggested Fluttershy. “Or her connection here is so strong?”

Fleur shook her head. “Non, there is something else at play. Some trickery of Asmodeus. Demons have spent the most time figuring out how to widen the cracks between worlds. Already we agreed that he wouldn’t have let Rarity go without some plan or means of tracking her. The gloom and shadows is evidence that he was involved in Rarity being able to reach us.”

“Maybe it had been his plan all along to entice us into breaking into his domain, and he managed to leave it wedged open after we retreated?” Luna suggested.

“The possibilities are innumerable,” Cadence said. “We’re just guessing! Taking stabs in the dark. You are all so afraid of him that he has you galloping in circles. You’ve been looking over your shoulders and jumping at every shadow ever since you came back from Amaymon.”

“It had to be done. I couldn’t risk leaving Rarity there.”

Softening, Cadence placed a hoof on Celestia’s shoulder. “Of course we couldn’t. But it was obviously a bad idea from the start. No matter the outcome we’d still be here obsessing over what he planned and if we were just dancing to his tune or not.”

“I must go,” Hades said to Twilight and Luna. “If Asmodeus has broken his cage…” His voice trailed off and his jaw tensed with consternation.

Twilight nodded, a giddy twinkle in her eyes. “Okay, let’s go. You’re going to need more help if those wards are coming undone.”

Hades didn’t argue, and instead looked over to Luna. “What of you? Do you wish to see the Underworld again?”

After considering, Luna gave a broad smile. “That sounds like a nice idea.”

Celestia watched the brief exchange with a smile, noting the ways her sister and cousin moved. How they both moved closer to Hades, tails unconsciously swishing together, a light tough of their wings, followed by a blush and stepping further apart. How Hades stiffened and squared his shoulders, doing his best not to look at either mare, yet having his gaze wander only for it to snap up to the ceiling.

It was rather cute, and a little frustrating, how all three of them seemed a mix of oblivious or afraid of their feelings. Had the situation been different, Celestia would have prodded and teased them a little bit. Settled for a knowing smile.

The remainder of the day was spent in nervous anxiety. Through the meetings, the reports, and into the long hours until she retired to her rooms, her thoughts were continually pulled back to the too-brief encounter with Rarity, and wondering what it meant.

Memories of her failure to save Rarity played just behind these surface worries. Many times she’d wondered how things would have been different if she’d reached Rarity in time. If she hadn’t—Celestia pressed her eyes tight and willed away the self-admonishment.

“You’re doing it again.”

Celestia looked up to see Zeus enter with a bottle of bourbon and two cups. He sat down across the small coffee table from her and poured them each an appropriate amount.

Taking a sip, he answered the first of her questions with, “Don’t worry, nopony saw me. What kind of god would I be if I didn’t know how to go incognito.”

“This is why the tabloids won’t let go of us having a secret romance,” Celestia sighed as she drank her entire glass in a single gulp and then indicated it should be refilled.

“And why the palace’s mail room is inundated with letters decreeing me a foul lecher, and the streets are filled with young mares waving ‘Team Zeulestia’ banners. Mortals want us to be these perfect images they hold of us, and much as I hate to admit it, we are not. You’ve taught me that,” Zeus spoke softly as he topped off her glass. “So, why do you continue to beat yourself up for being imperfect?”

“I can do better.” Celestia leaned back on her cushion, and stared at her glass as she swirled it about.

“Of course you can, and you will! But that doesn’t take away all you accomplished, and alone no less! For a thousand years you guided the sun, moon, and placated the stars, all while ruling a nation. Many alicorns claim to be rulers, kings and queens, but few have the… humility to actually go through with the true acts of being the king. All the little details and minutiae that has to be managed, the courtly politics with an ever changing and evolving body of flighty mortals. I myself could never do it. Too boring.”

“Are you saying I’m a boring mare?” Celestia coyly glanced over the top of her bourbon.

Feigning being wounded, Zeus said with a laugh, “Never in this realm! You care for the mortals more than any other I’ve ever met. It is one of the many things I love about you.”

“Mm hm.”

Moving around the table, Zeus sat next to Celestia. He set down his glass and indicated with a motion of his hoof for her to open her wing.

“You’ve been neglecting preening again.” There was a slight note of disapproval in his voice.

Celestia didn’t argue, because it was true. She’d just been busier than usual with the approach of Hearth’s Warming and all the necessities of the government shutting down for the holidays. There were galas to plan, last minute expenditure meetings, intelligence reports to read, treaties to be drafted, and a thousand other details that all needed her personal touch.

“This season is always busy,” Celestia sighed as Zeus’ magic worked along the edge of her wing, kneading sore muscles. She let out a gasp as he aligned one of her primaries.

“I’ve been thinking,” Zeus continued after a few minutes of silence broken only by the gentle crackle of the fire. “It is time I returned to Gaea. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. Too long has it been since I’ve seen my kingdom. And my family.”

Celestia was a little stunned, and twisted around to look Zeus in the eyes. She searched them for any sign of deceit, or that this was one of his ploys.

“How soon?”

“I was going to head back to Gaea tomorrow, but now I’m wondering if I should delay with this Asmodeus business.”

“What? You were going to leave on Hearth’s Warming Eve?”

Zeus chuckled. “After last year I thought you’d be glad.”

“Only because you tried to serenade me drunk on Luna’s moon wine in front of half the court, and all the paparazzi.”

“Your sister does make a potent wine. No amount of water dulls its edge.”

“I believe she enchants it specifically to protect it from being watered down.”

“Ha-ha! Most cunning and wise, if the intent is to be drunk.”

“I do believe that was the whole reason my sister created moon wine, you know; to get me drunk.”

Getting up, Zeus kissed Celestia on the cheek. There was a little zip of static at the touch of his lips, and then he backed away before Celestia’s playful swat could reach him. The game was old. Him stealing a kiss, and her hitting him in return. In the early days the slaps had been far from playful, with broken marble floors having to be replaced a time or two. That had been years ago, and to Celestia’s chagrin, Zeus’ persistence and general jovial nature had warmed her to him, somewhat. Now, the swatting was light, barely enough to make him stagger.

“See you later, Celestia.”

“Mmm,” Celestia already returned her attention to the report before her, while her mind drifted back to the encounter in the throne room. “Yes, see you later, love.”

It took her a very long, very heavy few seconds of silence to realise what she said. Thankfully, Zeus was gone so she could hold her head and groan in frustration at herself without being teased. No, that would come later, when he returned.

The slip of the tongue meant nothing! It had been an idiom, nothing more, like deary, hun, or darling. Just as Rarity used.

“Oh, he is never going to let me hear the end of it when he returns,” Celestia groaned as she went to bed. “Sometimes, I swear, this palace is turning into a bad soap opera.”

It took awhile for her to get to sleep. She kept turning over in her head the events of the day. Rarity was alive, and looking for a way home, of that Celestia was certain. If only she had some clue as to Rarity’s location, where she’d gone when she’d been allowed to escape Amaymon.

This thought naturally brought Celestia to the question of Asmodeus’ plot, and his parting words.

Was that misdirection? Or did he intend to come to Ioka?

Well, if he did, it wouldn’t go any better than it had for Leviathan or Astaroth.

Worse, perhaps, as the divisions and mistrust between her family members was, well, not gone, but somewhat mended. There were still tensions between Celestia and Iridia, and between Luna and Faust, that would never fade, but they could at least all be in a room together without it devolving into an argument.

Which was progress.

Celestia was comforted by these thoughts into the next day.

She hummed as she relaxed, a lightness to her step. It was Hearth’s Warming Eve, afterall. Besides a few final details that needed her approval the day was mostly her own. That evening would be the traditional play, but before that her time was her own for once, and every moment had been fully accounted.

First thing she did was visit the newly finished bath house. Built in the Gaean style—which was eerily similar to Pre-Classical architecture—it had a large central heated pool surrounded by marble columns holding aloft a painted ceiling depicting all the alicorns of Ioka. There was Iridia and Faust in the center, with Celestia, Luna, Cadence, Twilight, Shyara, Fleur and Talona, Fluttershy, Tyr, and Namyra arrayed along the edges.

Despite the bathhouse being Zeus’ idea, and one of his many gifts to Celestia, there was no sign of him or Hades in any of the architecture or decorations. There were plenty of statues, and the windows were tall and filled with stained glass like the palace, but there the brothers were not represented anywhere.

If only she didn’t need a disguise to avoid causing a disturbance. As the pegasus ‘Sunny Days’ she could just relax. The bathhouse was neither crowded nor empty when she arrived, several other ponies either soaking, making use of the steam room, or scrubbing down their fur.

“This is rather pleasant,” Celestia sighed as she sank into the soothing waters. Towel wrapped around her mane, she leaned back, spread out her wings, and just soaked away all the little knots of tension in her back and legs.

She could have spent days just melting away in relaxed bliss.

‘Love! Ponyville is under attack!’ Sol’s cry smashed through the warm haze.

Still, Celestia didn’t react more than her heart skipping a small beat. To Sol she sent the query, ‘Is it a demon?’

‘No… it’s something else… I don’t… I’ve seen this before. Felt it once before… But I can’t remember when.’

Of all Sol’s possible responses, this was the most troubling.

Casually Celestia left the bath, dried herself, and only after she’d left the bath house and slipped into a nearby alley did she banish her transformation and teleport to Ponyville.

She appeared on the outskirts of town above the road leading to Sweet Apple Acres. A quick scan showed none of the usual signs of an attack. Ponies were going about the day, signing carlos, having snowball fights in the park, and sledding down a nearby hill. A little further off construction of the new cathedral dedicated to Twilight had been halted for the holidays, scaffolding surrounding a flattened area where a crypt was being dug, filled with secret chambers, hidden passages, and brand new wardstones using Marelantian enchanting techniques Twilight had reverse engineered based on her brief time on the once again sunken city.

To the fields on the western edge of town she sensed Fluttershy and Luna.

“I-I’m sorry, Princess Luna, I, um, don’t have any memories of anything like this,” Fluttershy was saying as Celestia back-winged to land next to them.

With them were the other Elements of Harmony, as well as Spike. The broad shouldered young dragon was tense, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the area. His fists clenched and unclenched.

“I thought you’d be in Sparkledale, Spike,” Celestia pleasantly noted, hoping her nonchalance would ease some of the tension.

Spike blinked and seemed lost for a moment before snorting a small puff of smoke.

“Yeah, so did I. Twilight got worried though and asked me to check on the town before heading home.”

Raising a hoof, Fluttershy added, “I was about to take him home when…” She trailed off and indicated the empty field with a sweep of her wing.

“Indeed,” Luna added, stretching as if getting ready for a marathon. “Have you any ideas, sister, as to the cause of this disturbance?”

During the brief conversation Celestia had already turned her magical senses towards the field, and the heavy weight that permeated it. There was nothing visible to the naked eye, but there was a static tingle in the air. An anticipatory calm unbroken even by a breeze.

It was quiet.

Still.

Even the sounds from Ponyville muted as if held by a veil.

There was magic in the air, that much Celestia was certain. Warm, exciting, and building.

Her horn began to tingle there was so much of it.

A heavy clang, like two ingots of iron striking each other, broke the stillness.

Everypony jumped and looked for the source, but there was none.

A second clang. Then a third. Louder each time.

“Get ready, everypony,” Celestia commanded, but her words became swallowed as an ear-splitting bang echoed outwords.

The next one made the tree-tops of the Everfree shake and dislodge their puffy snow.

So much magic was in the air it was now almost visible. Each breath was like chewing on wool.

Wisps of molten flame curled before the gathered alicorns as a rune took shape, all hard edges and jagged lines. Celestia compared it to the plethora at her command, and found it utterly alien to any she knew. A second began to form, and then a third, fourth, then several, and then dozens more linked to them in a large ring. Among the runes she recognised a few, but for the most part she’d never seen any of them before.

The air rippled and distorted around the runes, and then began to bulge as bright metal coalesced, dragged into reality from some unknown dimension. Celestia felt queasy, her perceptions lurching, as space distorted under the pressure of the metal’s creation, until the ring was completed. Several pony lengths across, it sat there in the fields nestled between the Everfree Forest and Ponyville.

Celestia’s eyes widened as she recognised the ring. It was similar to the one on the Isle of the Dead that linked Ioka to Tartarus.

“Everpony, get back!” she shouted in warning as the central runes flared.

With a scream like metal being sheared in half, a silvery substance burst from within the ring, twisting in a sharp spiral that was sucked back into the point of origin. The silvery surface of the portal grew still, mirror smooth, but unreflective.

Tension rippled up her back and she found herself groping for a litany of battlespells.

And then nothing happened.

The ring with its portal to another realm sat there. Quiet except for a very low vibration.

Luna and Fluttershy edged a little closer. Spike puffed out his chest, flames curling from his nostrils. Applejack pushed forward her hat. Rainbow Dash circled above ready to dive. Pinkie Pie had set up a long table with cakes, pie, a punch bowl, and balloons with ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ scrawled across them.

Celestia hoped Pinkie’s optimism wasn’t misplaced.

Luna summoned her odachi, and Celestia was tempted to do the same, but decided against it. She wasn’t near Luna’s skill with a blade and would be better placed supporting from the rear with her flames. Up close she could only get in Luna’s way.

“Um, this is a portal, right?” Fluttershy asked, her brow pinched as she turned to Luna for confirmation.

“What else—” Luna began to respond when the portal surface rippled, and with a heavy thud, a pony staggered through.

Celestia narrowed her eyes, breath tight in her throat.

A mare. Pregnant. Armoured. Blood covered half her face. Barding torn over her right shoulder.

The traveller blinked her eyes fiercely, and started to shiver in the frigid winter air. She didn’t seem to see Celestia, perhaps blinded by her travel through the portal. Turning to face it she backed up a couple steps, rubbed her eyes, and then exclaimed, “Αστουνδινγ! Γρεατ ἑφαεστυς, μοστ βριλλιαντ οφ θε ἑαυεανς, υου ἁυε κρεατεδ α ωονδερ αμονγ ωονδερς!”

A moment later another mare staggered through the portal, and with her were a group of foals. The first mare helped them, guiding them as they blinked, stumbled, and shivered away from the gate, and it was then she took note of the small group of ponies around them.

“Ω ὁ αρε... Υου αρε—” The mare stopped herself, and carefully said, “Rarity sends greetings, and asks you help us,” in words heavily rehearsed and strange on her tongue. “Protect Her Little Ponies.”

Celestia blinked once, and then broke into action. “Fluttershy, Applejack, Pinkie; rally the town! We need blankets, hot food, and help! Rainbow Dash; gather the weather team and start clearing the snow, we’re going to need a space for tents. Hurry, everypony!”

The dam holding back the ponies on the other side had broken, and all at once they were surging through. Pony upon pony. Mostly a mix of some mares, many foals, and the elderly. Here and there a wounded pony, limping heavily or swathed in bandages, made the transition. Dozens became hundreds, and then over a thousand.

Celestia found herself without a moment to rest. Channeling Sol’s energies she bathed the area in sunlight, raising the temperature enough so the new arrivals wouldn’t freeze waiting for help. She couldn’t just create a mini-spring, as Ponyville was heaped high with snow and melting it all would have created a slushy morass.

As soon as they learned what was happening, the citizens of Ponyville burst into action. Tables were brought and stacked high with blankets that were then passed out. Doors were thrown open and the refugees ushered inside to sit in front of crackling fires. Food was brought, and somepony began boiling a giant pot of hot chocolate.

The Weather Team set about removing the snow so Celestia could raise the temperature further.

Triage tents were established as soon as the wounded began to emerge under the guidance of Nurse Redheart.

As time went on the number of foals and elderly dropped precipitously, and the number of wounded swelled. One pony missing part of a leg and the shaft of a spear lodged in his hip was brought straight to Celestia.

She winced at the terrible wounds and set about doing what she could to ease his suffering.

It was as she was knitting flesh back together that the first of the Muses arrived. There was a shift in the air as the alicorn appeared, jumping through the portal without any of the ill-effects suffered by the mortals. For a brief instant Celestia thought it to be Sweetie Belle who stood at the threshold, head held high with pride.

Taking in a deep breath, the alicorn cried in a voice that was heard at the furthest edge of Ponyville, “Listen now, and pay heed, to the words of Aoide, eldest of the Muses, and hear of the last stand of the Athenians, chosen of Rarity, the Goddess of Beauty! Pay heed! For these are the heroes of Gaea!”

Standing there before the portal, ponies rushing past her on either side like a tide around an island, Aoide began to chant. There was a weight to her voice, a solemnity, that made everypony pay attention. The Athenains who could kneeled with heads bowed, tears running freely down their faces, mare and stallion alike. The residents of Ponyville slowed, and cocked their ears to listen.

In a voice that clapped like thunder, Aoide recounted the final day of the Athenians.

Author's Note

Well, this interlude kept growing and growing.

There is a lot of call-backs and references in this chapter to the other stories. Two-Step Armour, Sparkledale, Lourdes, the position of Archmage, and so-on. I do believe this is the very first mention of Starlight Glimmer within any Myths story. It just felt 'right' for her to be the new Archmage. Spike was also aged up a bit, since it has now been a few years since the end of Myths and Birthrights on Ioka.

The part that I am most pleased with, personally, is actually Celestia and Zeus' conversation. It just fell in place, the characters pulling me along for those couple pages.

This is also written in my usual narrative voice rather than attempting to ghost write/mimic the style of the Iliad.

The next chapter is almost entirely battle and returns to the more mimicking style I've been using since Rarity arrived on Gaea. Expect lots of newly named characters that subsequently die.

Hope this satisfies as a New Years gift, and here is to the next year of stories!

Part Nineteen

The Rariad
By Tundara

19: Ioka

Rarity’s weary body relaxed into the old cushions of the couch, sinking into grooves made by many a pony. Familiar smells wafted over her. Spices, apples, a bit of smoke curling from the crackling fireplace, and hot chocolate; they were balms for an even wearier mind.

The ordinarily spacious living room of the Apple Family house was cramped that evening.

She was surrounded by the Muses, the little darlings dozing with eyes half-lidded as they fought valiantly to stave off sleep. It was a battle they’d shortly lose, and they’d be carried upstairs to the guest bedroom. As she stroked Aoide’s mane idly, Rarity looked her friends over with a discerning eye.

In and out of the kitchen bounced Pinkie Pie. Fat would have been an unkind descriptor of Pinkie, but one that wouldn’t have been untrue either. Never a beautiful mare by traditional standards, Pinkie nevertheless had an aura about her that made her shine brightly in the Weave. It was her smile and beautiful heart, overflowing with joy and laughter that made her a beacon on par with any of the great beauties.

Rainbow Dash leaned against the wall between the entrance and a large window overlooking snowy orchards. The beginnings of crow’s feet creased the corners of her eyes from years of squinting as wind blasted her face. She was weathered, her coat bleached by the sun to a lighter blue, and fit. All of which was completely expected. What was unexpected was how calm Rainbow had become. Her brashness had been smoothed by experience and motherhood, and there was a dignified matronly aspect to her eyes that wouldn’t have been out of place among the courts of Gaea’s many polises. When she shifted steely thews rippled in her withers through the joints of powerful wings.

Applejack had claimed her grandmother’s old rocking chair in the nook between the same window and the crackling hearth. Matronly hardly touched the surface of Applejack. There was a no nonsense aura about her as she barked simple orders or directed ponies and organised things before settling down herself, where she took up a pair of needles and continued working on a thick blanket. Their click-clack resonated in the moments of silence.

Then there was Fluttershy, and her appearance was both shocking and the most familiar. Rarity had expected the change in height, as well as horn, but otherwise, Fluttershy was unchanged. She retained her quiet demeanor, hardly speaking as she sat in a corner attentively watching everypony else. When she did speak it was with a fimer tone. But, these were rare moments, and Rarity savoured them. Oddly, Big Mac sat next to Fluttershy, and occasionally leaned in to whisper something to her. Rarity was no goddess of Love like Cadence or Aphrodite, but she could read the signs well enough to know the pair were at least dating, if not engaged. Yet, nopony else seemed to comment on the situation, or give them much attention, as if by noticing it they may cause the pair to scatter like a pair of frightened hares.

Her friends were the same, yet different. Older. Slightly more weathered, like wood polished over many years by the gentle rub of passing ponies. Their laughter lightened Rarity’s heart, and she felt at home and at peace, as if the last few years had been nothing but a string of nightmares or troubled dreams.

Beyond her closest friends, the room was full.

Additional chairs had been brought in from other rooms, or just conjured with a little magic. Enough for Celestia, Cadence, Fleur, and Trixie to find places. Then there was Soarin, who sat on a stool next to his wife, a wing stretched out across Applejack’s lower back where he gently gave her a massage. They’d put their foals to bed a little bit ago, though the trio could be heard through the ceiling talking in muffled, but excited, voices.

Inspecting her friends, wondering about what she’d missed in their lives, kept Rarity’s mind focused, and turned away from Lilith and Asmodeus. She could still feel the ghostly imprint of his touch on her coat drawn forth by the opening of the green door in her mind. The night of Lilith’s conception was so freshly restored, so raw, so repulsive—

Rarity shuddered.

Next to her, Mneme pushed harder against her shoulder and mumbled a couple lines from the ballads she’d been singing most of the day detailing the events on Gaea.

Her heart swelled with pride for the Muses, and turned her thoughts towards them. She had to take care of them, raise them properly, and teach them right from wrong. It was going to be long and difficult, given the Muses were probably already more than a century older than her in lived experience.

It would never make up for abandoning Lilith.

A treacherous part of her thought that she had made the right decision in sequestering those memories, cutting herself off almost totally from Lilith. Lilith was half demon, and the effects of her heritage were easy to guess. It was almost certain that she was at a fundamental level unable to be taught right from wrong, good from bad, or ever have a shred of empathy.

Not that Rarity would ever be able to know if this was the case.

Real life was messy, dirty, and nothing like the sagas the Muses loved so much.

A tearful reunion with Lilith, where Rarity bared her soul to her daughter as she pleaded for forgiveness, was… unlikely in the extreme. There simply wasn’t the connection between them for such levels of remorse to manifest.

If anything, Rarity felt more regret at not being upset with herself. She should hate herself for leaving Lilith, and yet she didn’t. The twisting bite of guilt in her stomach was only a fraction of what it otherwise might have been. Should have been.

Perhaps it was some aspect of being an alicorn that was attempting to protect her. As it had done by sequestering the memories in the first place.

No, Rarity concluded quickly. Alicorns were as prone to mental issues as any other race. Perhaps more so due to their godly powers and abilities. Her encounters with the Gaeans certainly seemed to indicate this to be the case, and then there was Luna and Iridia on Ioka. And Twilight couldn’t exactly be called a beacon of mental stability.

Thinking of Twilight brought a pang of longing.

Rarity started to open her mouth to ask about Twilight's whereabout, when, there was a thump overhead, followed by cursing and hooves scrabbling over creaky boards.

With a sigh, Soarin got up. “I’ll deal with it.”

Without looking up from her quilting, Applejack nodded with a, ‘Mm hm.’

The moment to ask her question had passed, and Rarity's thoughts drifted once more.

Hypocemia and Penolota had been invited to the informal gathering. Perhaps sensing the nature of it they had politely declined, stating that they needed to be with their people. There was still much to be done for the Athenian refugees. For the time being, at least, Ponyville had thrown open their doors and welcomed the otherworlders into their homes and hearts.

“A place will need to be found for them,” Rarity spoke to herself.

“It’s fortunate that there is plenty of untamed land in Equestria’s western reaches,” Celestia supplied as glasses of wine were passed around. “I’ll have some meetings set up for the next few days with the land bureau and Speaker’s office so that an appropriate place can be found.”

“Coastal would be best, with a decent space of arable land. The Athenians are decent farmers and are used to traveling the seas on oared galleys.”

“Perhaps between the Scorched lands and the southern end of the Equestrian mountain range, then,” Celestia thought out loud. “The only issue would be the monsters that come out of the wastelands. It is what has kept us from developing that area.”

“Monsters won’t be an issue for the Athenians,” Trixie chuckled. “They have several champions now who would make short work of any manticores or basilisks that thinks the Athenians are an easy meal.”

Several long seconds of uneasy silence followed Trixie’s declaration.

“Yeah, ain’t today been something else. First, that gate popped up outside town. Then that whole mess of ponies all banged up and frightened landing on us. Rarity comes back from the dead, and then another of them demon kings shows up, but this time he just wanders off after being a complete… well, you know.” Applejack shook her head with a resigned chuckle. “Was almost like the good ol’ days. If only Twi’ had been here.”

At the mention of Twilight, Rarity’s head perked up, and this time she leapt at the question. “Yes, where is Twilight? I thought she’d be here.”

“She’s off with Luna and their stallion-friend checking up on Tartarus,” Rainbow flicked a dismissive hoof with a wry smile.

Rarity blinked a couple times as she processed what she’d heard, then exclaimed, “Twilight has a stallion-friend!?”

“Really? That is what you focus on? Not that they are in Tartarus right now?”

The room seemed to spin momentarily around Rarity as she rubbed her face with a wing. “Actually, no, that isn’t the more shocking news! I never thought Twilight would leave her shell enough to date somepony.”

“‘Date’ is perhaps too strong a word,” Fleur said from her corner of the room. “Rainbow is projecting a bit, non?”

Rolling her eyes, Rainbow gave a snorting guffaw. “Everypony else sees it but them! It’s just a matter of time before they realise what’s happening. I just hope I’m not some grey maned crone by the time they decide to get hitched. Twilight’s a little too slow and steady for her own good. And of course she’d fall for somepony who is even more oblivious than herself.”

“I’ve tried my best with them, but they are both so obstinate,” Cadence threw up her wings in mock exasperation.

This brought knowing giggles and laughter from the rest of the room acquainted with the budding romance. Laughter subsided into a tense silence as everypony retreated into staring at their wine, lost in thoughts of the past few years. Of losing Rarity, learning she was alive, and of the tribulations of the years she was gone. She could sense they were all curious about her journey, but didn’t want to press her for details.

Thankful that they weren’t peppering her with questions, Rarity asked one of her own. It was the most pressing question, and she’d wanted to shout it the moment she was back on Ioka.

“Where is Sweetie?”

She’d expected her sister to be one of the first to greet her back, and her absence left a hole.

Unease bunched in Fluttershy and Fleur’s shoulders, and Applejack needles came to a stop with a sharp click. Pinkie excused herself and darted back into the kitchen, drawn by the ringing of a timer on the cupcakes she was baking.

Snorting, Rainbow glared out the window. “She’s fine, last anypony heard from her. Got a letter from Scootaloo last month saying they were heading for Neighpon with the Autumn convoy. Sweetie’s first of the Blazing Beard, and Scoots is a Master’s Mate, of all things.”

“Blazing Beard?” Rarity repeated the familiar name, specifications and history of the aged ship popping up in one portion of her head, while in the other there was a combination of relief that her sister was fine, with sadness that she was half the disc away. Although, that wasn’t much of an issue for Rarity. It just meant a little bit of a flight to see her sister. Smiling, she continued, “Good. I’m glad she got on with her life, though it would have been nice if she’d remained in Ponyville, or Equestria at large.”

The silence grew heavier. Oppressive.

“She… Mon amie, Sweetie has had a difficult time after you… died,” Fleur spoke softly, regret thick in her throat.

Rarity’s heart sank over the next half-hour as everypony spoke in turn, filling her in on the hardships Sweetie had endured in the months after Rarity’s presumed death. Depression, anger, adventure and horror culminating in a battle waged between alicorns and demons on fields surrounding a cursed city. Many of the details were skipped over, and some that weren’t Rarity wished she’d been spared. In the end she held up a hoof to stop the retelling.

“So, my sister got a cutie mark for fighting, of all things? Not singing, or writing, or even pageantry, but fighting? If Faust were here I’d give her a piece of my mind! That mare is lucky she vanished thousands of years ago!”

“Actually, she’s currently up north with Iridia for Hearth’s Warming Eve.” Cadence noted.

“She’s also always had faith in Sweetie. Said she wouldn’t have chosen her if she didn’t,” added Applejack, an undertone of bitterness in her own voice.

It began to dawn on Rarity how much she’d missed over the past few years. The Namegiver returning made sense, what with every other mythical figure coming out of the woodworks. Applejack settling down with a large family anypony could have seen coming. Rainbow Dash less so, but it perhaps should have been obvious given she was the Element of Loyalty. And saying Rainbow was ‘settled down’ was a stretch for the head of the local weather team.

Twilight dating somepony, however, was almost inconceivable.

As preposterous as Sweetie Belle having a cutie mark that involved fighting!

Rarity was suddenly struck by a realisation. “She made my sister a champion! Oh, when I get a hold of Faust!” Almost vibrating with anger at Faust, and at herself, Rarity stood quickly. She almost dislodged the dozing Muses. They protested, squirmed a little, and then settled back down.

Images of the recent battle swirled in Rarity’s head, only with an older Sweetie among the thronging ponies. She could picture her cute, innocent sister so easily beside Algremetus, Alametea, and Telephos…

Telephos, who was dead. Algremetus was sorely wounded but alive. While Alametea’s old life was over. Whatever lay in store for her, it was not the simple days of a farmer’s wife. None of Aphrodite’s or Hera’s champions had survived the battle, and with a pinch of sorrow, Rarity realised she’d never even learned their names, or watched them fight.

The next day she would go among the Athenians, and from them learn of Paris of the bow and Sampson the Unshorn, of Polantea the fleet-hooved, and Balda who wrestled King Agethemus when the Spartan king first entered the ruins, and held him at bay for half an hour before being struck many times in the throat by his enemy’s spear.

That night, before she learned the names of these chosen heroes, Rarity felt only guilt for what she’d done to her champions. Excusing herself with the need for a moment alone, she went to the kitchen. The kitchen was hardly the place to think, what with Pinkie baking, or other ponies coming and going to get food or more wine.

Worse waited, however.

Algol’s heart sat in a bowl on the kitchen counter. The lump of heavy metal was supposedly inert, but Rarity could sense the twisted magic of the fallen star radiating out into the room. Crinkling her nose, Rarity covered the obscene object with a cloth.

“Don’t worry about that meanie,” Pinkie called over from the oven. A light blue aura rippled around Pinkie’s hooves, and a tray of muffins came zipping out of the oven. “Twilight will put her in star-jail or something. All the other stars are super duper mad at Algol still.”

“Pinkie, how did you…?”

“Magic, of course, silly.” Pinkie grinned as if it were obvious, and put another tray of muffins on to bake. “Now, these are for the ponies in town. No stealing!”

As Pinkie worked her aura, Rarity sensed the presence of another pony in the room.

“I’m helping her get better,” Pinkie continued. “And she helps me do things. Twilight says it is a symbionic, symbillic, symbiotic relationship. A symbiotic relationship.” Pinkie gave a firm nod and broad smile, the impression of another pony in the room fading with her aura.

“Uh huh…”

“She’s talking about Hope,” Celestia said softly from the doorway. “Authea is her name. She’s taking the long route back.”

“Oh, I see.” Rarity didn’t, but that hardly mattered.

“Do you want to go for a stroll?”

Rarity arched a brow and glanced at a clock. It was almost midnight. “At this time of the evening?”

“I could rouse Sol if you're afraid of the dark.”

Laughing softly, Rarity shook her head. “That would only cause problems for everypony else.”

“I note you didn’t argue that you’re afraid.”

“With you, who could possibly be frightened? I thought it was so obvious, darling, it hardly needed saying.”

“Awww, aren’t you two so cute!” Pinkie cooed. “Hurry along, I’ll let everypony else know you’ll be back soon.”

Pinkie made a shooing motion, and with Celestia pressing her towards the door, Rarity couldn’t argue against the idea before she was out in the chilly winter air. Not that she felt the cold as more than something that was there.

Side by side they trotted at a leisurely pace through the orchards, and then down the lane towards Ponyville. Rarity didn’t really have any destination in mind, and Celestia was thankfully quiet.

It wasn’t long until they came across the first tents and bonfires. Athenians huddled together close to the warmth, and performed their customary bows as Rarity passed. She greeted them all by name, unconsciously reaching out through the weave of Beauty to know the ponies.

“I would have thought Ponyville had enough room for all of them,” Celestia said as they reached the field where the Gate stood.

“They’re guards,” Rarity replied, her tone drifting along with her thoughts towards how it was unnecessary for the Athenians to maintain a picket to keep watch for monsters or raids. It would take them some time to get used to the idea that Equestria was a relatively peaceful land. Ponyville was walless, while Athens had had many walls encompassing their farmlands, orchards, and adjacent towns and villages in a network intended to keep the Spartans out. The idea of bivouacking in a field with no protection made them nervous. “It makes them feel better.”

“They remind of the pre-classical ponies who first settled Equestria.” Celestia noted as they stood before the gate, neither of them broaching the subject on what to do with it.

A short, wonderful silence as a northwind carried the sharp whispers of the Equestrian winter.

Rarity became aware of the warmth radiating from Celestia, and shifted a little closer as one might do to move from the shade to soak up the sun in summer.

“You should come to Canterlot,” Celestia said, her voice soft as if the idea had only just come to her.

“Oh? Should I?” Rarity tilted her head with a teasing inquiry. “When my friends are down here in ponyville? My father? My store?”

“What about the Muses? A trio of precocious alicorn fillies loose in the madness Ponyville attracts? I can’t see the town surviving.” Celestia pointed out.

“Why, if Ponyville can weather Nightmare Moon, Discord, and a new trouble seemingly every other week, I think it will be fine with the Muses as well.” Rarity considered the city on the mountain off in the distance, a sparkling cluster of lights like jewels set into a dark crown in the dark of the night.

“Oh, and about your father; he moved to Manehatten a few years ago.”

Rarity raised a brow at how and why Celestia knew this seemingly mundane tid-bit. It also explained her father’s absence. With Sweetie gone, and Rarity believed dead, his leaving Ponyville wasn’t unexpected.

She would go see him as soon as the Muses were settled down at the beautique, and—

“Also, Carousel Beautique is now a museum.”

“Oh.” This was… troubling.

“Surely, now I am back, and since I owned the beautique…”

It was Celestia’s turn to lift up a sculpted brow. “Are you suggesting the government hand over a heritage site?”

“It is my home!”

“Was,” Celestia corrected, and her tone was all teasing. “Now it is visited by fillies on school trips to hear stories of the Element of Generosity and how they can be better ponies by learning about your exploits and life. It seems like there is a new story to add, I believe.”

“Well, darling as that sounds, I need a place to live.”

Smiling, Celestia pointedly looked towards Canterlot.

“Oh, fine! Far be it from me to fight something you clearly want, Your Highness. I could try to draw this out, certainly, but what would be the point?”

To Rarity’s surprise, there was a flash of hurt on Celestia’s face, visible just barely in the corners of the princess’ eyes.

Continuing quickly, Rarity added, “And besides, Canterlot has tutors that might be able to teach the Muses. It wouldn’t be fair to them or other students putting them in a regular school. They have a lot to learn, and not just their history, numbers, or sciences and magic. Did you know they spent a few centuries trapped inside a plant?”

“Inside a plant?”

“Yes, it would attack anything that approached the island. They called it the Lotus Eater, as it was a lotus that ate things. It emitted pollen that had a soporific effect on ponies. I had to save Trixie and the others from it.”

The rest of the night passed with Rarity recounting her time on Gaea, and of the ponies she’d met. The night continued to stretch on and on as she and Celestia sat before that Gate, looking up at the stars, gazing at the distant city, and treating the biting winter no differently than they would a balmy summer eve. There certainly were some nice perks to being an alicorn.

It was easier recounting things to Celestia, oddly enough. The princess just listened with an attentive ear, rarely speaking unless to ask for some point of clarification. Her presence brought a gentle comfort, all the bad memories melting away and the good left with a golden afterglow.

Years later it would come to Rarity that it was that night, her longest night, that it was that conversation where she fell in love with Celestia.

“So then, what do we do about that?” Rarity indicated the gate with a flick of her wings.

Celestia did something very un-Celestia; she shrugged. “I suspect that the gate is now unimportant. Asmodeus only needed to go through it once to be able to reach Ioka again. It is extremely unlikely that destroying the gate’s physical presence could prevent him from returning. I wouldn’t have made such a mistake, and neither would he.”

“Well, that is disconcerting.”

“Yes. Was this the sum of his plans, or just the opening movements to a much larger orchestration? Were I a gambling mare, I’d lay all my bits on this being far from the last time we’ll have to deal with him.”

Rarity shivered and drew a hoof up her leg.

“We’ll be ready, then,” Rarity declared.

Celestia gave a subtle nod.

Side by side they continued to sit, soaking up the lengthening night.

Finally, Sol crested the edge of the disc, painting a glorious dawn across the sky. Rarity lifted her face to the rising sun, and let out a long breath, saying, “It is so good to be home.”

~Fin~

Author's Note

And so another journey comes to an end.

Despite the story hooks, this marks the effective end of me writing the Myths-verse stories. Another story following the Muses as they 'accidentally' released Yarmalyth, also known as the blind idiot god, and the primal force of Chaos unified, of which all the other Quus were merely fragments of, was planed. It just feels a bit unnecessary at this point, and I need to get on with writing stuff I can actually use to make a living.

If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask them! There is a lot I missed or failed to fully explain, story hooks that got dropped, and so-on. Maybe an 'Ask me Anything' blog could be set up. I don't know. Something to consider.

Take care everyone, and I hope you all have wonderful days!

~Tundara

Part Eleven

The Rariad
By Tundara

11: Gaea

The creak of working wood, the groans of taut lines, and gentle rush of water down the sides of the ship mingled with the low conversations of the ship’s crew. They were a mixed lot, earth ponies mingling with unicorns, soldiers standing beside the first true sailors of Gaea. Down the Saronic Gulf they flew like birds in the wind, a great tower of white drawing eyes from afar to gape at the strange creature far out in the sea.

Trixie took a deep breath of the invigorating air, and felt alive.

Truly alive.

A small knife of anxiety twisted in her chest. Reflexively she pushed it down. Amaymon and its horrors lay in the past, and her future lay ahead.

Mystalicus joined her in the bows, his cobalt mane tied back in a knot, and a simple jacket draping his muscular frame. His helmet hung by a leather thong at his side. He beamed with pleasure like a dog bounding through golden fields of wheat.

“Amazing,” he said in a gushing laugh. “We have outpaced even the swiftest galley by a good dozen leagues! Look how this ship cuts through the waves, propelled by Zeus’ own winds as if it were one of the clouds. And with but a mere half-barrel of ponies! A dozen up those ‘masts’, and another hauling on the ropes. Stout ponies of fine lineage to direct them properly, and away we fly!”

“Yes, it is amazing,” Trixie smiled politely at Mystalicus’ exuberance. “Unicorns have traveled like this on Ioka for over a thousand years. Some of the ships are hundreds of years old, and three times the size of this one. A shame we had to make her so small. She isn’t even a proper ship.”

“What do you mean?”

Trixie traced her hoof up the line of the mainmast, groaning under the press of canvass and taught cordage. “She only has two masts, and her low water-board makes her more a brig.”

“You know much of these matters, just like Lady Rarity, the great benefactor of Athens, I see.”

Trixie shrugged. “My aunt is the head of Equestria’s navy, and at one time wanted me to follow in her hoofsteps. But the Great and Powerful Trixie was destined for the open road, not minding ships perpetually at anchor.”

“It seems you were fated for both, then,” Mystalicus nodded. “Placed on a path with the knowledge you would need for this endeavor. And we will need your guidance, Lady Trixie, for it is into the jaws of danger we rush in this wonderful brig, as you call it.”

Standing at the rail, Trixie watched the crew of chosen stallions working the vessel. As sparse as her knowledge was on the subject, gleaned from casual conversations around dinner tables as a filly, it was still far more than that possessed by the ponies of Gaea. Adjusting sails, knowing how much canvas to press onto the masts, and even the effects of the currents on the steerage of the vessel were all things she’d heard about, but never had any practical experience. They were picking it up fast, and the Athenians skills at navigation were already beyond her own, so Trixie avoided the subject. It wouldn’t be long before they were more experienced than her, and she’d have nothing to teach.

Doing her best to dredge up the few bits of nautical terminology she’d heard as a filly, Trixie circled the Benevolence of Beauty thrice, speaking with the stallions working the lines or scrubbing the deck. Burly earth ponies who’d once been pressed below decks hauling on oars, they carried a look of wonder at how the vessel cut through the waves with only the wind for propulsion. They listened with rapt attention to the clumsy advice she gave.

Reaching where Mystalicus and the hoplites stood also marveling at the Benevolence of Beauty, Trixie let out a long sigh, and wished that there had been time to teach Athens how to make cannons. Sadly, the Athenian’s knowledge of metalworking was nowhere near the standards needed to cast a proper cannon. The few attempts they’d made using the diagrams Rarity had left behind all failed spectacularly. Honeycombed iron burst into deadly shards after firing only a few test shots. While impressed at the potential, especially when Trixie described the powerful magical artillery fielded by Ioka’s modern armies, nopony on Gaea save Hephaestus himself possessed the skill to make a cannon.

As such, the Benevolence only had a single ballista mounted on the foredeck for weaponry. Like the galleys she was intended to replace, she was dependent on the hoplites if there was a battle.

Trixie slept soundly that night, as she had done since the journey to rescue Chryseis had begun. The rocking of the Benevolence was soporific and lulled her into a deep sleep that even the nightmares of Amaymon had trouble piercing.

During the day they could still find her, anxiety plunging into her heart without warning, breaths growing frantic as inescapable dread pushed on her from all sides.

But, at night, at least, she found some peace.

For weeks they traveled south, until one evening Trixie was called to the deck.

“Trouble has been sent to thwart our passage,” Mystalicus said as Trixie approached. “Lord Poseidon has taken notice of us and has decided to test the Benevolence of Beauty, wonder of the seas she has become. Lo, one of Zeus’ storms looms, intent on barring our progress towards Sparta. Ever the brothers have worked together to thwart the journeys of galleys and ponies traveling on the seas, and this night is no different.”

Squinting at the black smudge growing on the western horizon, Trixie silently agreed with the assessment that a storm was brewing. Whether it was some alicorn’s plot or just a natural occurrence was unimportant. As Trixie watched, several fingers of brilliant lightning snaked down into turbulent waves.

“Trixie doesn’t like our chances tackling that,” she said, gripping the railing tight with her hocks.

At Mystalicus’ command and under Trixie’s direction, the Benevolnce’s crew leapt to action, swarming into the rigging, and gathering at the corded lines to haul the sails up and drop the topmasts to the deck. Trixie had little confidence in them surviving a fierce blow without falling, and if they did, they’d pierce the Benevolence like a spear. She didn’t know if it was the right choice, but if it wasn’t, it only meant some work after the storm getting them back up.

No sooner than the last stallion slid down to the deck, the former mountains of canvass reduce to a mere scrap of a headsail, and the mainsail heavily reefed to provide some stability, when the storm, racing across the open waves, struck. Wild waves slammed into the Benevolence, and she took off like a panicked mare galloping through an open field as she was chased by a pack of hungry wolves.

Lightning slammed around the vessel all through the night as they ran, thunder shaking her young timbers, as the waves crashed over her head and rushed across the slick deck.

It was the first taste many of the Athenians had ever experienced of a storm, galleys usually finding some sheltered cove to throw down their anchors, as they never strayed far from land.

The Benevolence of Beauty held no fear of deep water, even as she was hammered and battered by the roaring waves, wind screaming in her taut rigging like a chorus of banshees. She took to the open seas as they were her natural home. Free of the fear of striking land they sped on and on through the night, blown far by the cold winds.

Trixie stayed up all night long with Mystalicus. He was grim faced for the first hour, constantly glancing up at the masts with worry mixed with wonderment that gleamed in the lurid flashes that split the clouds above. Weariness never took his powerful frame as it became ever clearer that the Benevolence would best the storm. She rode high on a wave, and then crashed down with a shudder as water gushed along her length. On and on, as rain pelted down and lightning forked to the left and right.

On and on.

Out into the wide seas she ran.

A niggling worry scraped along Trixie’s own neck, some distant memory pricking at the back of her thoughts. The Benevolence was rising slower, her movements becoming a touch sluggish. Experimentally, Trixie took the helm beside the four burly stallions needed to keep her bearing true. Back and forth they spun the wheel, using the rudder to glide along the roiling waves. It’s response was far from the light touch that had been required early in the storm, the stallions and Trixie struggling to keep her head pointed south.

Worry built, and Trixie tried to figure out what was wrong with the Benevolence.

She was guided below decks, past where the stallions huddled in their blankets in fear, damp as water dripped on their heads where it soaked through the planking, and down to the hold. There she found water sloshing about almost knee deep.

Cursing, she rushed back to the deck, grabbing several of the stallions on her way.

“We must work the pumps!” Trixie shouted at the top of her lungs to be heard over the winds. “Her sides are working too hard and she is taking on water. Call the carpenter and his assistants! They must add more caulking to the inner hull! You lot, to the pump! She’ll start to settle if she takes on too much water!”

Trixie was rather proud of her use of nautical terms, and the stallions had only a moment’s hesitation as they grasped her meaning before they rushed forward to the pump between the foremast and capstan. For the remainder of the night a crew turned the pumps, spelling each other off after a half hour to rest and warm up near the galley while the next crew took over. The carpenter’s hammers sounded below, and just before sunrise he emerged, black from nose to dock with sticky tar and oakum, but smiling wide with success.

The sun didn’t rise for the Benevolence that day as the unnatural storm howled in rage at being denied by the unusual vessel.

Eventually exhaustion gripped Trixie, and she headed to bed. Despite the heavy weight that made her hooves drag across the deck as she shoved open the door to the little closet that was her cabin, she fell into a turbulent sleep before her head hit the pillow. The violence of the seas echoed into her dreams, and for the first time since the voyage began nightmares plagued her rest.

The fog shrouded realm of Tartarus gripped her, and she saw Anchor, the dead pirate howling like the stormy winds. Trixie tried to run away, but Anchor always caught up to her.

“Look what you did to me!” Anchor wailed, grasping Trixie by the shoulders. “We were friends! And you betrayed me!”

“You betrayed Trixie first!” Trixie yelled back, tugging against Anchor’s iron grip, but the pirate couldn’t be shaken.

“Traitor! Traitor! You will betray Rarity! You work for Him! You work for Asmodeus! You work for me!” Anchor’s face morphed, stretching and cracking as it took on a reddish hue and a devilish grin.

Screaming, Trixie struggled harder to escape, but the demon king only laughed harder. Trixie found herself strapped to a table, legs spread and held by leather straps. Asmodeus grinned at Trixie and picked up a long, curved knife.

“Now, my dear, where were we?” He slid the knife into her belly, cutting open her ghostly flesh, pulling it open with consummate skill.

He cut and cut and cut, and sliced apart her soul. She was pulled apart, pieces removed, and then knit back together. For weeks he worked, the knife slicing down to the marrow of Trixie’s essence. When he was done Trixie was alive, flesh and bone again, the wispy existence of death replaced by the warmth of life. Through it all Trixie screamed and thrashed as madness threatened to extinguish what little remained of the pony who’d fallen into Amaymon.

Patting Trixie on the cheek, Asmodeus put the knife down and headed to the door. He paused on the threshold, bathed in golden light spilling through the open portal, “Remember, my dear, you are my gift to Rarity. She will be so pleased to see you alive. Stay with her. It is important.”

And then the door closed and Trixie was consumed by darkness. Darkness that lasted she didn’t know how long before the door opened again and she was taken from that room and brought to another, and then Rarity arrived, and Trixie was torn from her nightmares by firm hooves.

Mystalicus stood over Trixie, taking up most of the tiny space with his large frame as he shook her by the shoulders. “Lady Trixie, you wake at last,” he said, eyes taut with concern. “We had begun to worry that you’d been placed in some cursed slumber by Hypnos, god of Sleep, who guides ponies from and to the waking world, you screamed and thrashed about so mightily.”

Blinking away the sleep encrusted around her eyes, Trixie looked up in confusion. The nightmare slipped away and was lost, leaving only an unsettled weight lodged in her chest.

“Trixie… can’t remember what she was dreaming about.”

Mystalicus looked as if he wished to impart some advice, but just shook his head and went to find his own bed. Grabbing a thick rain cloak from a peg next to the colourful cloak and hat given her by Rarity, Trixie went to the galley to get something to eat before heading to her place on deck.

The storm had hardly abated in the night, and it continued to hound the Benevolence all that day, and into the next afterwards. With her inner sides more heavily caulked, and her hold pumped so that only a small amount of water sloshed back and forth, the Benevolence weathered the storm like a champion, and by the time sunlight at last found her again, she had as prized a crew as could have been found on any world. Weary but triumphant, they scanned the horizon, the Athenians knowledgeable in navigation attempting to affix where they’d been blown. To the north, east, and west, was only open blue waters. In the south, a dark line of land could be discerned by the keener eyed in the miasmic horizon.

“Terrible news,” Argentes said as he joined Trixie and Mystalicus. He was grim faced, and held in his green hued aura a clump of something. “The rats, vicious little monsters birthed by Perses, who ruins everything as the great lord of Destruction, have been into the food. There is hardly a barrel unspoiled by their gnawing teeth and filthy claws. We are starved if we find no replacements.”

Mystalicus, moments from giving the command for the Benevolence to turn back north so they could return to the mission of saving Chryseis from Sparta, came over to his good friend and examined the offered mush. His nose crinkled, and he passed the ball to Trixie.

She recognized it as a sopping wet former biscuit. Giving it a sniff Trixie almost gagged on the rancid smell. Tossing the rotten food overboard, Trixie offered several choice curses in Celestia and Rarity’s names.

“We’ll have to set ashore in these lands,” Mystalicus indicated the dark lands beginning to resolve in the horizon. “And find replacements then. Pick several stallions, and I will form a second group and we will go down either side of the shore. But do not go inland, not in these unfamiliar hills. I grow uneasy looking upon them. Trixie, as you know the Benevolence of Beauty and whom without we would have been sunk by the storm, stay here and see to any repairs that may be needed.”

Trixie shrugged and agreed to the plan.

Mid-afternoon saw the Benevolence of Beauty drop anchor in a placid cove surrounded on either side by rocky shores, a narrow strip of beach in between where a small stream flowed into the sea. Small shrubs and scraggly trees dotted the sun-burnt yellow landscape as far as the eye could see. Other than a few weathered pillars and toppled down walls near the stream, there were no signs of civilization. While a small group refilled their water, the others set off, and Trixie went below to inspect every inch of the Benevolence.

Night came, and neither Mystalicus nor Argentes’ groups returned.

Trixie frowned, and figured they must have pressed on having had little luck finding edible foodstuff.

Strange howls and feral growls echoed over the cove throughout the night, pierced by sharp yipping laughter that jangled everypony’s nerves. The crew was tense, and for once Trixie wasn’t alone in having a fitful, anxious sleep. Groaning at the return of her nightmares, Trixie sat beneath the stars, watching the shore for some sign of her friends, but there was none.

Another day passed, and Argentes returned, his group scuffed and dirty from clambering over rocky cliffs with little results. Lertandes, brave son of Alconus, who’d been among the first to volunteer for the rescue of Chryseis, and who’d long watched the priestess from a distance, heart torn at having no chance of courtship with the lovely mare, his household being of the least among Athens, had a bandage over a leg, blood seeping through where he’d been bitten by a large, dog-like creature.

One of the earth pony crew who’d joined the hoplites, Pumiceous, was less fortunate. He was carried on a litter, his throat torn out and a large swath of his flanks gnawed to the bone where he’d tried to flee into the night alone in wild panic.

“The king has not returned?” Argentes noted as he met Trixie near the stream.

She wrenched her gaze away from the body being, several ponies setting about digging a grave and sending his soul on its way to the Underworld. Trixie shook her head, worry playing at the edges of her jaw.

“What happened?”

“Some breed of a vicious, large mastiff or wild dog attacked our camp,” was all the explanation Argentes gave. He sat down heavily next to the boat to think, spear resting against his shoulder and shield at his side, dirty mane hanging over his eyes. After some time he again stood, and said, “We will go find the king. You will remain here, and should we not return in three days, continue with our divinely mandated mission. Rarity commands we rescue Chryseis, beloved of the gods, and so we shall.”

“Without you and Mystalicus, and the soldiers with you, Trixie won’t be able to even get into Sparta,” Trixie pointed out, returning to the boat to retrieve her star-studded cloak and pointed hat.

Cloak resting around her shoulders, she cast a simple spell used to find paths and the shortest distance between towns. It was a spell she’d used many times as a traveling performer. The only difference now was she set the end point as ‘Mystalicus’. Without knowing his precise location, the spell had a high chance of fizzling, only going in a straight line, or take her in circles. Her horn glowed blue-white, and a hoofball globe of light floated from her horn’s tip, wobbled in the air, and then formed a large arrow pointing in the direction Mystalicus had gone the previous day.

“Come on,” Trixie said as she led the way, everypony gawking at her before nodding and setting off, a small group of sailors heading back to the Benevolence to tend to the vessel.

“The God-Blessed are truly a wonder to behold, the gods’ gifts plentifully heaped on their withers,” Argentes noted as they made their way up the cliffs and then along a scraggly plateau overlooking the sea.

Trixie shot him a sour look, unsure whether he was teasing her or not. Like almost all Athenians, Argentes had no cutie mark. Before the sudden influx of marked young ponies, only three marked ponies lived in Athens; Chryses and Chryseis, as the head priest and disciple, and Hector, who Trixie never met.

Now, of course, there were dozens, most with what Trixie would have thought as pretty common or mundane cutie marks back in Equestria.

She didn’t get the reverence placed on the marked, her own being nothing special. A talent for showmareship and trickery. A stage magician. An entertainer.

The ghost of a smile flickered across Trixie’s mouth.

It had been so long since she’d done a magic show she couldn’t remember the name of the town. She did remember Shyara, the alicorn filly enthusiastically acting as her assistant as they went through the usual routine. Sawing Shyara in half. Making her disappear and transform into a cloud of butterflies. Levitating without the appearance of an aura. The usual sort of stage magician acts.

In a world where powerful unicorns could summon balls of fire, transfigure a rabbit into a dragon, or split the ground with an earthquake, Trixie’s magic was paltry by comparison. Ponies like Starswirl the Bearded or Clover the Clever, or more contemporarily, Archmage Shimmer, Velvet Sparkle, or Twilight Sparkle.

Or Hypocemia.

A hot flash of irritation wormed through Trixie’s chest at the luck of some ponies. A second surge followed, directed at the jealousy worming its way through her heart. Hypocemia was such a genuinely nice pony, despite her passive nature, that Trixie couldn’t be angry with her. It wasn’t Hypocemia’s fault that she had such a natural talent with battle-magic, or that it had been stoked by the direct intervention of an alicorn. Even in Equestria, both were very rare occurrences individually. Actually, until Hera had ‘blessed’ Hypocemia, Trixie didn’t even know it was possible for an alicorn to give a pony a cutie mark.

The number of fillies and colts that would swarm Canterlot if they ever learned that little tid-bit…

Part of Trixie wished Hypocemia had joined the expedition.

A large part, in fact.

With Chryseis and Rarity both gone, Hypocemia was the only pony Trixie could even consider close to a friend on the whole disc.

But, Hypocemia was growing larger with pregnancy, and Mystalicus refused to allow her to leave the city. Besides, somepony had to manage Athens, and she and Queen Hecuba would have their hooves busy keeping the city together.

Trixie was brought out her ruminations as the group approached a scuffed patch of land some distance from the cove. Blood was splattered across several stones, and a pair of broken spears thrust from the earth like mangled limbs. Of Mystalicus or his group there was no other sign. The floating arrow directed them onward and inland. Nodding silently to each other, the small group picked up their pace. Night was fast approaching, and none of them wished to be anywhere near the grim site when dusk swept across the disc.

The noises of the night were louder, and nopony got any sleep. They huddled around a large fire, spears and shields at the ready, eyes darting at the slightest movement in the shadows. The sharp, unsettling laughter was louder than the night before, drawing closer, and closer, and then breaking into a frenzy of yelps and snarls just beyond the ring of light.

Beastly shapes lunged and darted, a massive form blotting out swaths of the stars, and in the narrow sliver of moonlight Trixie saw the flash of large fangs. A horrendous yelp followed, then the crunch of bones, and finally silence.

Nerves frayed, spears pointed outwards, the ponies waited. Their breaths misted in the chilly desert air, cold even for early autumn.

Rosy maned Dawn at last flowed over them, and they were met by a horrendous sight. Body parts littered the rough rocks, the ground still damp from spilled blood. A jawbone lay half crushed, snapped limbs were piled high, and atop them were placed the skulls of some sort of hound or dog, the flesh removed so that the bone glistened beneath the sun. Giant paw prints scuffed the area.

Fighting back a gag reflex, Trixie recast her tracking spell.

They needed to find Mystalicus and his ponies, and get back to the Benevolence. Fast.

Into a wild land of scraggly trees and prickly bushes they marched. Desolate and dry, with Hemera’s light making the rocks blistering hot, there was little in the way of hospitality. Where the night had been cold, the day was blasted by a sweltering hot wind that scratched the face with sand, getting in the eyes and filling the nose. Lowering their heads, the group used their cloaks to ward off the worst of the biting wind. Their throats grew parched, and the water skins were rationed.

Without the guidance of Trixie’s arrow, they would never have found Mystalicus or the other missing members of their crew.

Where the land was broken by rocky crags at the base of jagged hills, they were led to a narrow path that went down into a dark crevice. The bones of large beasts littered the ground, snapped open by powerful jaws, acting as warnings to any who dared intrude further.

Argentes took the lead, his jaw set and spear leveled to strike anything that would attack in the narrow confines.

Trixie glanced up and swallowed as she followed in the middle of the group. Fear wrapped around her like a blanket as cold as the desert was hot. A whimper entered her throat, and was quelled. In every shadowy turn she saw demons waiting to pounce, talons already dripping with her blood, tongues curling over yellow fangs.

She could feel eyes on her, watching her, waiting. Eyes lurking somewhere above.

Once or twice she was certain she saw a shape in the corner of her eye that darted away when she turned her head.

Her heart beat faster and faster, the flush of adrenaline and danger coursing through her.

Deeper and deeper into the hills the crevice went, the bottom growing dark, and sharp edges grinding into Trixie’s shoulders and flanks at every corner. A foul, fetid air lingered, coiling in Trixie’s nostrils and making her gag. Somepony nickered in fright, and was shushed by the pony behind him.

At last the crevice opened up, blossoming into a wide grotto bowl with an oasis. Towering cliffs surrounded the grotto, their faces smooth and glassy. Sand covered the grotto floor, broken by agave fronds and swaths of golden flowers, petals radiant in the noon light filtering down through. In the center of the grotto, surrounded on three sides by a crystal clear pool filled with small fish, was a large acacia tree, limbs stretching out in a green umbrella. At the base of the tree sat Mystalicus and three of his party, heads bowed forward and eyes closed.

Tapping a hoof to his lips, Argentes signaled for the others to fan out as they left the crevice. Their motions were slow, precise, bodies tense for any sign of danger. Argentes, Callitos, Dexos, and Alfe went to the left, while Trixie, Delatros, Triumes, Attis, and Thryxium moved along the right wall towards the pond.

A cold sweat trickled down Trixie’s neck. Her ear snapped towards the slightest sound in the stillness. She clenched her jaw tighter, a dread terror squirming along her spine.

Mystalicus raised his head, his eyes going wide with surprise… and fear.

Next to the King of Athens, Kastor also looked up. Jumping to his hooves, he started to sprint across the grotto, while Mystalicus shouted for him to come back.

A swift flash of black struck from the broad canopy of the acacia tree. Young Kastor, who’d been only a few weeks too young to join in the battle at Salamis, and had joined the expedition at the stern protests of his aging mother, Aredne, worried for the safety of her only son on such a dangerous voyage, was torn in half by arcing, giant claws.

Trixie stared in shock, her stomach lurching up into her mouth, and turned to retch into a bush.

An obsidian leopard dropped from the tree, landing silently on paws as vast as a wagon. It was as tall as four ponies, with a coat that shimmered like a shard of midnight. Fangs like sickles descended past its chin, and its eyes were hateful golden globes.

“Flee, you fools, flee!” Mystalicus commanded in a brassy roar. “This is a spawn of Nyx, glorious mother of the Night and all the creatures that skulk in her darkness, birthed to wage war against the Olympians and left to wander the world when the war was lost. No weapon or spell of mortal ponies can harm its divine hide!”

There was a moment of shock following Mystalicus’ warning, the resolute Athenians standing their ground. Any chance of escape was lost as the Obsidian Leopard bounded over the ponies’ heads and landed before the exit.

“Form ranks!” Argentes ordered.

A short slaughter ensued, the Obsidian Leopard leaping at the Athenians. Delatros, a brawny unicorn getting on in years who’d helped in training Mystalicus and Argentes and been a constant companion in the years since, lost a hind leg, his death screams cut short by fangs clamping around his throat and his body hurled into the pool, a crimson stain leaking across the surface of the disturbed water. Callitos died next, crushed beneath massive paws as he attempted to drive his spear into the giant feline’s exposed belly, the bronze spearhead scraping harmlessly over it’s magically enhanced hide. Dexos followed, the proud stallion knocking his half-brother, Alfe, with whom he’d always quarreled, never agreeing on anything in their twenty years, out of the beast’s path.

The carnage was as swift as it was violent, the four dead in the span of moments. The others attempted to regroup, but a dreadful weight lodged itself in their stomachs. Everypony knew that they would never defeat the beast and that the grotto was to be their inglorious grave.

Nopony felt the fear as sharply as Trixie. It dug through the terrors inflicted in Amaymon, past the despair and dreary weariness of Tartarus, and found purchase in the final, gasping moments of life as her head had been filled with fire. In the Obsidian Leopard she saw the face of the demon who had slain her on Ioka.

She saw the doshaa licking its bloody lips.

“The demons have found me!” She sobbed.

In its face, reflected from the depths of memory, a primal ember ignited into a howling inferno.

Trixie felt a spark of the power that had flowed through her the day she died, when Twilight Sparkle’s aether had used her as a conduit to destroy the doshaa tormenting Diamond Downs.

She took a step back from the Obsidian Leopard, a hoarse cry issuing between dry lips, “No, not that. Anything but that. Not the torrent that consumed me.”

Lavender flames manifested in towering plumes around Trixie, leaving the ground untouched, but causing the air to crackle and dance with hazy heat. Around Trixie appeared a ring of stars, their light growing from dim to a blazing intensity that the other ponies had to shield their eyes from to avoid being blinded.

An electric intensity of aether coursed through Trixie’s veins, energizing sinew and muscle, filling her with a resplendent surge of burning power. Her heart beat faster and faster. Her breaths came quick and shallow as the sensation built. She felt like she was about to burst, she was so full of aether.

It was like the moment before her death.

“No! Not again!” Trixie screamed, head tossed side to side as if she could shake off the rising torrent of energy building inside her. “Twilight! Not again! Rarity, help me!”

Trixie’s cutie mark blazed with an intensity to rival the ring of stars about her. From her horn a beam of oscillating blue-purple-white energy cut skyward, and detonated in the heavens.

The sky turned black, as if day had been swallowed by sudden night.

Then came a rain of stars streaking down like encrusted lavender arrows.

Argentes and Mystalicus cried warnings to the surviving hoplites. The ponies scattered, diving for cover along the walls of the grotto or in the deep pond.

The Obsidian Leopard looked up just as the first star crashed into it’s back. A hundred stars followed into a crescendo of booms that shook the grotto and land beyond. In the space of a moment the beast that had seemed impervious to spear and magic was blasted apart, stars ripping through its impenetrable hide as if it were paper. Within the tiny space occupied by the beast the destruction was absolute, while just beyond was left pristine.

Task complete, the stars twinkled and vanished, and the sky returned to its beautiful blue hues.

Trixie slumped forward, her body suddenly light and head spinning from a void left by the expulsion of so much aether in such a short period.

Argentes and Mystalicus were both there on either side to catch her. They looked at the smoldering pile of burnt bones and scattered flesh.

Mystalicus shook his head, “Truly, a hero without compare. A single blow to kill such a beast formed by Nyx’s own horn.”

“Aye, the God-Blessed are truly a wonder to behold,” Argentes said, repeating the words he’d spoken the day before with far greater reverence. “Come, brother, we must hurry. There may be more beasts made for the wars between gods lingering in these misbegotten lands, with their sun-burning stones that dig into the hoof and refuse all the goodness of the soil imparted by Demeter, the wise goddess who could coax life from even the most desolate ground.”

Legs almost unable to hold her up from aether drain, Trixie staggered in a daze, helped along by Mystalicus and Argentes, while Attis retrieved the largest intact section of the Obsidian Leopards hide. Nopony wanted to take the time to explore the grotto and see what treasures the beast had amassed, instincts warning them against such a delay.

As quickly as they could, they traversed the crevice.

Coming out the other side onto the sun-scorched desert they were met by a hundred black painted ponies with shields locked and spears leveled. Their manes were dyed a stark white, and on their foreheads they had a crescent moon just beneath their stubby horns.

From the black ponies’ ranks stepped forth a statuesque mare, finely honed muscles rippling with every precise movement. On her flank glimmered a full moon cutie mark surrounded by five stars. Yellow eyes bored into Trixie.

“Queen Dido sends her greetings, ponies of the north, who bask closest to the mighty gods’ gazes. You have slain Techatallicus, the beast that has plagued these lands for thirty and two hundred years and she would invite you to Nyx’s bastion on the desert shore. Come, Alnyxandria awaits.”

Patting Trixie on the shoulder, Mystalicus stepped forward, “Such an offer, made so passionately and backed by force, could hardly be refused by even the most resolute. Wearied by our travels and having lost brave comrades, we can hardly refuse. It would give us great pleasure to see the fabled city forged by Athena, the mighty guardian of our own city, as a gift to glorious Nyx.”

Taking flanking positions around the Athenians, the Alnyxandrians lead them to the west where their city lay.

Author's Note

And thusly, Trixie's odyssey did continue...

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter.

If you've enjoyed my writing, and are feeling generous, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi (Link), or just directly donate with Paypal to alaster31@hotmail.com.

I could really use any support and help to keep writing, and every little bit is greatly appreciated.

Thank you!

Part Seventeen

The Rariad
By Tundara

17: Gaea

Now, sing to us, o’ Muses, of the final day of the Athenians.

Of the bravery held in so many hearts, and the sacrifices made. Of the heroes who strode as tall as the gull flies, and of the gods who sit in judgement. Of mighty deeds and mightier ponies. And of the blood soaked streets of Delos.

Great was the anxiety that clasped tight to the breasts of the ponies along Beauty’s Bastion, that glimmering wall of crystal god-forged to protect the trembling souls within the ruins.

Among the host of Achaeans that had gathered Ares alighted, and whispered blessings to his chosen. Ajax the Lesser and Ajax the Greater, Nestor, and Abantes, Diores, Diomed, and Euryalus, Penelos, Ascolaphus, and Agapenor; these names all passed his lips, for great was his power that day and many were the blessings he bestowed. They joined Agethemus and Dapoletta, who had long been blessed by Ares.

So gifted, these captains of the Achaeans took to the forefront of their armies, and stood among the ranks of anticipatory stallions.

“Stallions of the Argives,” spoke Agethemus, “slacken not one whit in your onslaught, for father Zeus will give no aid to liars and cowards. The Athenians have long been servants of traitors, unwilling to cast aside their ancient oaths to Athena, and for this they had some measure of respect, even as we punished them for their obstinence. Now they have turned her aside and taken into their hearts a viper. They follow this Rarity, who may be godly in nature, but is not of Gaea nor of holy Olympus, and has seen fit to spurn the gods who gave her shelter and comfort, seeking to turn the ponies of Gaea against their rightful protectors. Who sent assassins to kill a king and steal away a hostage given by lord Ares. Therefore, they shall be devoured by vultures; hearts, livers, and all, as we take these ruins in which they hide, and carry off their wives and daughters in our ships. Leave no stallion nor colt of Athens alive. Be strong and show no fear, for we are under Ares’ gaze.”

Presently, Agethemus and the other captains went about their stallions, and were greeted by fierce grins and unyielding determination in those eyes that met their own.

On the walls, Hypocemia rallied the loyal sons and daughters of Athens. “Give no quarter,” said she, “for there shall be none we receive on this day. Look there and see the faces of those who have long held us in contempt. For generations we held true to the namesake of our city, living by Athena’s noble teachings, for she was wisest among all the gods, her council often sought by even Zeus before the great schism that led to the gods warring among themselves with such dire consequences. They mean to slaughter us, to break us, to take every little thing we have left from us, when all we have left is each other. Nay, I say! Lady Rarity, who has journeyed far to our once fair city, watches us now, and has offered us a place in her home. We are castaways and the reviled of Gaea, and our old home is lost to us. You are the last of a dying breed! The last Athenians! For, no matter the outcome, the ponies who follow will not be of Athens. Have hope that they will be of a new, more glorious place. For the future of our foals, we must ensure they have a new home, and to that end, as our ancestors have done in ages past, we take up arms. For those you love! For those you cherish! For life itself! Until death! Until death, and the eternal rest!”

Along the wall the ponies of Athens took up the chant, “Until death! Until death!” and so steeled their hearts for what was to come.

Ares took back to the sky, and this was seen as the signal to attack.

Panic, Rout, and Strife whose fury never tires, servants and friends of murderous Ares, who, though being slight of stature at the onset grow till their heads brush heaven though their hooves still touch the earth. They went about among the thronging mortals and flung them down to the great waxing of many sorrows with an even touch between them so neither side was left unscarred.

From the walls came spell upon spell of basic aetheric bolts among a swelling swarm of arrows. Thickly they fell upon the shields of magic and wood as an answering barrage was sent towards the crystalline heights on which the defenders huddled. Prismatic light flashed bright in the early morning light, reflected on the frosty dew trampled underhoof. The great multitudes marched closer, urged onward by their captains, and the great god Ares, who sept over the battlefield on broad wings the colour of freshly spilled blood.

No greater defender stood on the walls that day than Hypocemia herself. Heavy with her foal, she stood as tall as a dozen stallions, the surge of magic about her flying as a swarm of hornets about their hive when angered.

“Come, Pathira, fall upon your natural prey and feast!” Hypocemia shouted as she directed her magic to take form.

Coalescing into a massive, spectral panther, her magic surged forward to slam into the front lines of the Euboeans. With a sweep of sickle-like claws she tore open the throat of Brontes, son of Iason the ferrier, who’d hoped to win glory for his family and so lift them from poverty on the outskirts of the city. Next was felled Zephyros, and then Ioios, spectral claws passing through their armour as if it were made of smoke, but cutting through the flesh beneath. Hoarfrost spread from the wounds, the ponies frozen bodies thudding into the ground like statues toppled from their plinths.

At Abantes’ direction the Euboeans threw all their spells and spears upon the spectral panther. With supernatural speed it darted aside, crouched low, and then pounced into the middle of the Euboeans’ ranks where its claws were put to most savage use. Many were the widows made in the next few moments as Pathira wreaked havoc. Behind the spectre came a giant phoenix as Hypocemia without break called forth a second spirit. Beneath its wings the frozen grass flash-burned into ash and ponies were sent screaming as their fur ignited and armour melted into flesh. Haros attempted to halt the great bird with a spear hurled at the curve of the spirit’s jaw where it could sink into the throat, but his spear disappeared in a puff of flames, that soon after he joined.

His own magic gathered, from about Abantes’ hoof several chains burst from the hardened ground. Wrapping about the phoenix’s neck, wings, and legs, the chains dragged the mighty beast from the skies with a boom that shook the battlefield. Croaking pathetically it attempted to regain itself, but Abantes would not let it. Tighter he made the chains until with a strained screech, the phoenix exploded in a wave of flames that knocked everypony within a dozen yards off their hooves. Melted globs of metal splattered across the fields where they continue to glow white-hot.

Sweating profusely and smiling in his triumph, Abantes turned his attention to Pathira just as Hypocemia mentally directed the spirit to slay the champion of the Euboeans. His magical shields were far greater than those created by the rest of the Euboeans, but Pathira passed through them as if they were made of silk. Abantes did not fall to the first stroke of the spirit’s mighty claws, but was garishly wounded across face and jaw. Blood pouring from his horrific wounds and blinded in one eye by a flap of skin falling over his face where it became frozen stuck. Abantes did not retreat, but instead hurled himself at his enemy. His chains again burst from the ground, but Hypocemia was wise to his trick now and directed Pathira to leap aside. Opening it’s maw wide, Pathira drew in a deep breath, and expelled a blast of wind colder than the north winds in the deepest winter nights.

Pounding hoof into the dirt at the same moment, Abantes forced a wall of iron to burst between the spirit and the Euboeans. Even huddled behind it they felt the chill deep in their bones, with their teeth chattering and lips blue as the sky. Over Abantes’ shoulder crackled a bolt of lightning, striking Pathira upon its wide brow. The spirit let out a deep roar that put the fear of death in many a breast. Electricity arced between it and the ground. Limbs twitching Pathira stumbled and fell. Smiling broadly Abantes summoned a single, last chain that flew like a spear hurled by heavenly Zeus himself into Pathira’s throat. Growly deep in its chest, the spirit yet struggled, glowing white eyes fixated on Abantes. His endurance at its limits, Abantes dug deeper still within himself, and summoned another spear, and then another, and another, until Pathira was pierced through belly, chest, and leg, suspended over the awed Euboeans. As the spirit dissipated into smoke, Abantes’ good eye rolled into the back of his head. Gathering up their captain, an honour guard of the Euboeans carried him from the battlefield to the healers for his wounds to be tended, though they all felt keenly that even the greatest of healers would be unable to save him.

High up on the wall, Hypocemia frowned deeply. With ice she coated her heart to avoid the pang of guilt as she looked on the many dozens of ponies she’d killed.

It was for the sake of her foal she reminded herself, touching her large belly.

Tears ran thick down her cheeks, but resolute in her duty she continued to weave her magics and hurl spell and spear down on the teeming masses of the Acheaens.

For a short time the battle stalled, spears and spells hurled back and forth, the Athenians secure on their walls, the great host of the Achaeans pressing onwards. Here the battle could have lasted days, months, or even years, with little give or take until such time as the Acheans could bring up siege engines or starve the Athenians out, were it not for the strength of Ajax the Greater.

In a thunderous clap, Ajax the Greater slammed his hooves together and then into the ground as he cried, “See now the true strength of a god-chosen! No wall will stand in my way! To victory, brothers!” His horn glowed ruby-bright like a torch in a cave newly found and deprived of light since the first dawn. The ruby glow crackled down his thick neck and steely hewed legs into the earth and then across the battlefield, snaking around bodies and holes as if with a will of its own. To the base of the wall it went and then burrowed into the crystal, that with a whine, shattered in a storm of shards.

Athenians were hurled aside or plummeted into the gap as with a cheer the Achaeans surged forward. Emulating Ajax, Diomed and Agapenor too called upon their god-blessed powers and struck the wall open with all the might they could channel.

Muscles bunching, Telephos dropped into the gap, a pair of glowing ethereal hammers floating on either side. His first blow caved in the helm of Adaskus, the smile of youth ending as his head snapped sharply to the side. A second hammer shaped construct slammed into the already dead youth’s chest and sent his body careening through the close packed Argonians seeking to surge through the gap.

“Come!” Roared Telephos in challenge, “And meet a beauteous death! None shall pass whilst I stand!”

Hooves planted he struck left and right as the Athenians rallied behind him. As the mountain stands tall against the north winds that blow so fiercely with ice and sleet, he didn’t waver. Next to fall was Feastus, son of Cession, a hammer of glittering silvery-blue shattering his shield as a stone shatters a pane of glass, continuing on until it connected with his shoulder, and there shattering joints with as much ease. With an almighty thoom he brought the other hammer down between Dardenius, son of Carnusus, and Autolus, son of Porous. Both were scattered as flour from a torn sack, nothing remaining of either so that their parents had to mourn over empty graves. Praising Rarity, Telephos waded into the thronging mass about him. Behind him Athenians attempted to repair the gap, but it was too wide, and the Argonians gave them no time to do more than throw up a hasty barricade.

Seeing Telephos dispatch wide eyed Odessex with a back-swing, Diomed took the front of his troops. His spear flashed towards Telephos’ breast, and the larger stallion did not flinch as there was a ring like a bell and the haft of the spear broke. Snatching up the spears of Dardenius and Autolus, Diomed beat them in a flurry about Telephos’ head and shoulders. Protective wards flew away in chips, as stone would beneath a sculptor's chisel be flaked off bit by bit. Telephos responded with another heavy swing of his hammer, but Diomed was crafty and anticipated the blow. Rolling beneath the hammer’s arc, Diomed brought his spears into Telephos’ unprotected belly. Thick blood spilled onto the ground, and Telephos staggered back, mortally wounded by still fighting.

Channeling his magic into a final swing, he cried, “The Sons of Athens will never yield!” A shockwave cast aside several ranks of the Argonians, but not so their captain. Strength depleted, Telephos’ eyes rolled into the back of his skull and he fell into death, joining the dozens he had sent ahead of him.

With a cheer, the Argonians surged forward and the walls were breached.

All along their length similar displays of defiance were overwhelmed by the might and sheer numbers arrayed against them. In swift disarray, the Athenians pulled back from the walls, abandoning them along with their many dead. Still, they made it costly for the Achaeans. Mounting the rubble, Thalpius was struck in the throat by one of Alametea’s arrows as she leapt from the wall to a rooftop as a hare would bound across a field. With a cry of blood bubbling over his lips he fell, his body dragged back by his fellows who wept most pitiably for their fallen captain.

On the part of the wall closest to the gods watching over the battle, Algremetus dashed forward with speed enough to make Hermes take note. His spear snapped out, and was intercepted by Ajax the Lesser, so called as he was neither as fleet nor as adept in the ways of war as his more powerful, yet diminutive cousin. Ajax the Lesser had done all he could to shake his namesake’s long shadow, and all his efforts came to naught as Algremetus performed a quick series of jabs, bronze spear sparking against an aetheric shield until both broke. In the spray of dissipating shards Algremetus slid across the ground as he drew two curved blades. One took off Ajax the Lesser’s right foreleg at the knee, sending him howling to the ground. The other slid betwixt his ribs, and a hot fountain of blood poured from the terrible wound where it tore apart his heart, silencing his scream. Channeling his magic, Algremetus sent a shockwave through the howling Salamisians enraged by the sight of their captain being cut down and scattered them long enough that the Athenians could retreat in good order.

And all through the heavy fighting there was the omnipresent ring of Hephaestus’ chisel as he carved the final runes.

Noon arrived to find the Athenians fighting in tight knots, attempting to hold the streets in bottlenecks and tie down the thronging masses of the Achaeans. The sun beat down on the bloody streets in thin shafts through gathering clouds. Heavy breaths puffing in the wintery air neither side relented. Snow began to fall, alighting on bodies left to grow stiff in the gutters.

And then there was a final ringing thoom that silenced all other noise, like one of Zeus’ thunderbolts hurled in the dead of night heralding the coming of a tempest, as Hephaestus completed the Gate. Within its base it began to spin, the ground quaking and lightning sparking from the aurichalcum ring. One after another the main glyphs etched into the Gate hissed and began to glow hot orange-red. Faster and faster the ring spun. The ground shook with even greater ferocity. Everypony in the city was knocked off their hooves, and many of the ruins crumbled and fell. Ponies grabbed at their ears as a shrill, piercing scream emanated from within the ring. Runes blazed brighter still, their essence crackling as they burrowed through reality, seeking a destination point far across the vast gulf of space, tethered to the place Rarity called home.

Rarity felt the tug of the runes in her chest, and the image of Ponyville filled her eyes. She could see the town so clearly! The ponies outside for an afternoon stroll. Sol’s dazzling rays reflected off snowy dunes. Frosted treetops stretching far and wide. There! The distinct roof of Sugarcube Corner! Her own Carousel Boutique! The town hall! And the many sloped tops of the town!

She smiled wide and turned to the Muses, “He’s done it.”

Her smile then was wiped away by a flash of hot emotion hit her and all the other gods as, over the city, appeared Gaea, the goddess titanic in her awakened fury.

“Hephaestus! What have you done? Why have you forged another of these Gates?” She demanded as she circled overhead, and even the other gods held their breaths or shied away from her gaze.

“I owe you no explanations, great mother of this world and all other worlds, who created the myriad discs and nurtured the giant space faring turtles on which they were placed.” Answered Hephaestus.

Next to the God of the Forge the ring came to a sharp stop, and in a roar a plume of quicksilver filled the space within.

The Athenians cheered, and urged on by Hypocemea, the first of the Athenians dashed towards the glowing portal.

Landing before them, Gaea halted their departure. Fearfully they fell to their knees, looking between her, Hephaestus, and the tower where Rarity observed.

“I warned you when the first trees were but saplings and the mortal races lived lives of bliss among the open fields, with no care nor wants for the complications you create, that these gates are wounds in reality. My skin crawls in its presence. It is unnatural. An abomination, as is all that falls like so much poison from your mind. Look about you at what you have wrought. All this bloodshed and warring done by your tools, for it was you who gave ponies spears and armour.”

“This argument was old when those saplings you yammer on about were but seeds. My creations are as natural as the forests and oceans, as normal as the birds in the sky or the fish in a lake.” Hephaestus dismissed Gaea with a flick of his wing. “It is my nature to create, and so I have.”

“Yes, but this is an old creation reforged, not something newly sprung of your imagination.” Gaea’s lip curled and she raised a wing to smite the gate.

Muses at her side, Rarity flew forth from her tower, leaving Aphrodite and Hera to continue their observations in silence, fearful of the elder goddess. Landing between Hephaestus and Gaea, Rarity pleaded, “Please, Gaea, it is because of me he has made this gate. It leads to my home. To Ioka.”

Gaea’s brow was raised and she let out a snort. “What do I care for where it leads or for whom? Does the river care for the lands that it floods when gutted with runoff? Or the storm for the village it thrashes with wind and rain thick enough to wash away the houses into the sea? Or the mountain when it’s sides slough off and bury the valley below? If this is your way home then go on and take it. Leave my disc and soon as you are gone I will remove this blemish. Thus is the limit of my patience.”

Rarity shook her head slowly. “Darling, I would love to, believe me. The only thing keeping me here a moment longer are these ponies. I promised to look after them and find them a new place to call home, as they have been dreadfully treated by their neighbors and gave me shelter and kindness. I can’t abandon them. It simply wouldn’t be right.”

Gaea tsked and took to the sky. “You have until the dusk, then I will have Poseidon sweep these ruins and that gate into the sea, along with all who remain, and this land will be cleansed.” Wheeling about, Gaea flew to the north, to where Poseidon resides so that she could rouse him to action.

Turning to Hypocemea, Rarity breathed a sigh of relief, and said, “Hurry up. You need to go first and lead your little ponies. And, if you see Celestia, repeat what I say, exactly.” Rarity leaned down and whispered to Hypocemea in the tongue of Equestria, “Rarity sends her greetings, and asks you to help us. Protect her little ponies.”

Repeating the words, Hypocemea set her shoulders, and entered the gate.

The other Athenians waited with bated breath a space of heartbeats, until Rarity looked to them and said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Hurry up!”

Rarity then turned to thank Hephaestus, but the God of the Forge was already trotting away to join his wife. Wishing she could stay in the square with the Athenians, Rarity felt the eyes of the gods on the hill on her back, and knew that she had to return to the tower with Hera and Aphrodite.

As Rarity and the Muses landed next to her, Aphrodite gave a cry that rang like a crystalline bell over the battlefield. For a brief moment there was another reprieve in the fighting as both sides turned to gaze at the tower, such was the enchanting nature of her voice.

Aphrodite looked to the north, out across the bay, a keen smile on her face, and called to Rarity, “They have arrived at long last!”

Emerging from a fogbank like a ghostly apparition, sails spread in a wide cloud to catch every scrap of the faint breeze, the Benevolence of Beauty glided towards the ruined docks. At her bowsprite stood Chryseis, the oracle shouting orders over her shoulder whispered to her in secret by Apollo. Through the bay clogged with debris and sunken galleys the ship sped until it reached a dock that was only partially damaged.

No sooner had the Benevolence of Beauty come to a stop, touching the dock as lightly as a mare caresses the face of her beloved, than the Benevolencians leapt from her sides with a whooping cry. On the furthest edge of the harbour from where the Gate was erected, the Benevolencians were still cut-off from the Athenians. With single-minded ferocity they began to dash through the streets, cutting their way towards the heart of the ruins. Behind them the Benevolence of Beauty pushed off, some of the survivors of the Lotus Eater having no desire to join the others in leaving Gaea, and instead set sail for their homes. They lined the rails and cheered on the ponies that had become dear friends to them, and so the ship set back out into the sea.

From the tower Rarity had a clear view of the city streets as the Benevolencians made their long charge.

Argentes and Chryseis were at the front flanked by Mystalicus and Trixie.

The mighty Benevolencians fought like ten stallions each, Rarity’s blessing empowering their magic and spells thick as the dead leaves deposited by autumn about their hooves.

Glistening shields cast by Alfe reflected the magics of the Acheans back on their origins. A thick hewed crystal blade conjured by Leandros smashed through the tightly pressed ranks about them. Young Retrievor, a son of Sparta, darted in with his spear aimed at Chryseis’ exposed flank, only to be caught by the reaping winds summoned by Deletos, the earth pony minstrel strumming her harp, and by this she controlled where the winds went like a master directing a pack of hounds. The winds scythed through young Retrievor, and his head fell from his body.

An imposing bulwark, spear flashing, body rolling and then leaping high, Argentes fell with a heavy boom amongst several Boeotians, scattering them wide. He was met by Lekos, the brute burning with hatred for the humiliation heaped on his withers in Sparta. Shoving the Boeotians aside, Lekos declared, “None may fight this one but me!”

“That I had the time!” Argentes answered with a laugh as he turned and dashed off, now at the rear of the Benevolencians.

Lekos’ eyes bulged as he gave chase. “Have you no honour? Is there naught but cowardice to you?”

Over his shoulder Argentes answered thusly, “Fighting you is pointless, as you are all muscle with nothing else of note. It was but a spur of the moment to kidnap a hapless mare that you were blessed, while I received mine to protect the love of a hundred lifetimes. Leaving you alive wounds you more than a spear could ever.”

Rage foaming from his mouth, Lekos sheathed himself in pure bloodlust and lept high as the eagle flies among the mountains. Crashing down in the middle of the Benevolencians, he sent them scattering for a moment. Rocking onto his back hooves, he raised a hoof covered in bright red flames and threw a punch straight at Argentes’ jaw. Sliding along the ground, Argentes drew from beneath his tunic a long bladed knife made from one Techatallicus’ fangs, and slashed Lekos from breast to tail.

Lekos’ eyes went wide as his entrails fell with a pitiable splat onto the blood choked streets, and he went down to Hades’ city.

Now at the forefront of the group ,Trixie made illusions dance in a swarm to distract and confound the ponies seeking to ensnare the surrounded heroes. Nopony did she kill that day, making her the greatest of heroes, for it would have been all too easy for her to lay low and send to Tartarus stallions by the hundreds with her Cascade of a Thousand Stars. Indeed, fear of this spell was such that even the blood hazed ponies struggling in the ruins gave Trixie wide berth or fled when her tightened eyes turned in their direction, such was the legend formed by her actions in Sparta. Tossing down their spears and wooden shields they turned and fled, galloping as fast as their hooves could carry them.

Only Agethemus, King of Sparta, withstood her daunting power, pushing aside her illusions as he would the flap of his tent. He fell upon Trixie with cunning thrusts of his spear and sword, both floating easily in his steady aura along with shields of iron and aether.

At the same moment, Mystalicus found his way blocked by Dapoletta with fifty fresh Spartans to block the Benevolencians. With years of rage and indignation built they charged each other. From Dapoletta crackled lightning, pale imitation of the true bolts hurled by heavenly Zeus, that was blocked by a bronze shield, and answered by a hurled spear. Never one to fall to the same attack twice, Dapoletta slapped the spear from the air. Hate spurred both ponies forward to their final confrontation.

Here the final Battle of Delos reached its greatest pitch. Heroes sung and unsung hurling themselves into the bloody maws of death. The ruins were alight with the flashes of spells, with the thunderous reports of explosions, with the din of bronze spears clashings, and of hundreds of ponies dying.

Battles great and small swelled, reached a crescendo, and then went silent.

In a boxy nook on the east side of the square, Alametea battled Ajax the Greater, her sight pitted against his indomitable might. Alametea, slender crystalline bow floating at her side, dashed and slid as she fired arrow after arrow, her quiver refilling of its own accord. The ground shook under the hammering blows of Ajax’s hooves, and his thick hide shrugged off her innumerable strikes that fell on him like a heavy rain in the spring.

“It is a pity,” spoke Ajax as in a flash he was behind her, “Potential such as yours is wasted on the Athenians.”

A cold certainty of death almost froze Alametea to the spot. She could sense the spear plunging towards the curve of her spine. Newly heightened reflexes threw her to the side, the bottom of her bow brought around to deflect the killing blow. In the same motion she drew a black hafted arrow. It hummed with aether as it was brought to bowstring and drawn.

“Nothing is ever wasted if it is to protect your foals,” she spat back.

The arrow tip was only the span of a single ponylength from Ajax’s unarmoured breast. At such a range nopony could miss lest a god intervened.

Experience won out, years of fighting showing him a flaw in her attacks which he exploited with a vicious rebuke that sent her flying with a spray of blood from her mouth. Coughing blood Alametea regained her shaking hooves, seeing death close now, but unafraid. She took up the discarded spears that littered the ground and aimed them at Ajax.

Across the square of thinning defenders was Algremetus. A blur of raw speed, colours leaking into the air, equal to the fastest ponies to live, he fought crafty Nestor. The Knight of Gerene waisted no movement or thrust, his long years of battle a match for youthful energy. With a stamp of his hoof Nestor cast the loose stones around him up and caught Algremetus in the chin and knee. Algremetus bounced and thudded as he fell until brought to a jarring halt by a solid wall. He stood and faced death, leg broken so that his phenomenal speed was gone.

Rarity watched these and a hundred other fights, small pockets in the tumult that formed the greater battle. The locked shields of the Athenians, shrinking, shrinking in number as they continued to fall back. The last pocket of their fellows who remained to stem the flood pouring through the breaches in the walls were overwhelmed and tossed to the ground around Telephos’ broken body, a dozen spears stuck into his skewered corpse, and twice as many Spartans heaped around him.

Surrounded by so many enemies there was nowhere for the Athenians cut off from the square to go. Some few managed to break through and reach the shrinking shield wall around the Gate. One by one the pockets of resistance faded, and died, until only the Benevolencians charge remained.

“It is time for you to go,” Rarity said to the Muses, and they looked up at her with questioning eyes. “Go through the gate to Ioka, and don’t look back.”

“But—” Aoide began to protest, but Rarity shushed her with the tip of a wing.

“Oh, my sweethearts, I can’t go yet. Not until Trixie and everypony else is safe. I have the feeling that Ares will attempt to stop us soon, and if you don’t go now, you’ll lose your chance. Please. Go.”

Nodding to each other the Muses flew from the tower back to the ring, and with only a brief look back, departed Gaea.

Sighing in relief, Rarity turned to Hera, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus. “What about you? Do you want to come with me to Ioka?”

“What a fucking dumb question,” Hephaestus snorted at once. “This is our home, and so we will remain.”

“My husband is right, though he could be a little less vulgar,” Aphrodite spoke softly, pressing her flank to his.

Slower to answer, Hera in the end shook her head. “A queen doesn’t abandon her duty, or her ponies. I have to make amends for the mistakes I’ve made to the ponies here.”

“But, Ares—”

“Won’t touch me. He may gloat for a while, but your escape will make any victory he claims mute.”

Leaning over to give Hera a pat on the head, Rarity said, “I’m actually going to miss you and all our games, you know.”

Beaming and chest puffed out, Hera let out her imperious laugh. “Mwa-huh-huh! Of course! After you play with the queen of the gods, games with anypony else will seem bland in comparison!”

In the brief moments in which the gods spoke, the mortals had continued the bloodshed unabated.

Tears welling in her eyes, Rarity’s heart broke, and she took wing to circle over the city.

The battle was hideous to behold, but the heroism so inspiring. These were ponies who’d live forever in legends told through the many ages to come. Storied figures that poets and playwrights, painters and sculptures would struggle to capture the moments of their greatest triumphs as with iron hewed grips they clung to the faintest hope that they could save another life by giving their own to slow their enemy for just a moment longer.

Rarity could no longer remain a bystander.

Still, she knew setting hoof on the battlefield would doom those she sought to aid.

Torn, Rarity demanded of the cold heavens, who judge all with a merciless gaze all the winter long, “What would Celestia do?”

As if in answer, an image of Celestia crept into Rarity’s mind. It was a painting she’d seen many years ago, when just a little filly, in one of the many art galleries. Almost all depictions of Celestia showed her as kind, wise, or motherly, but not so this one. Larger than life, within bold colours was Celestia with a mane of roiling flames in armour of golden hue and a fiery greatsword raised high. Here she was as an avenging guardian descending upon one of ponykind’s ancient foes, smiting it with righteous wrath. Yet, there’d also been sadness about Celestia’s eyes, the painter capturing that moment where Celestia knew that all chances of peace had been exhausted, and so she surrendered herself to the only remaining choice.

Rarity recalled as a foal thinking that the painting was… beautiful.

Taking that beauty into herself, turning herself into that moment manifested, Rarity swept from the sky.

Aphrodite and Hera called out to her as Rarity, the Goddess of Beauty, landed at the pivotal point in the Athenian’s lines. Gate behind her, wings tight at her side, Rarity surged into the thronging mass.

Lost in the haze of battle, Olious only registered a new pony in front of him and thrust his spear. Sharpened bronze slid along pristine white fur and found itself unable to cut her gleaming hide. He blinked in shock and only then realised that it was a goddess he’d attempted to skewer. With a simple gesture Rarity lifted up and flung back an entire rank of pressing bodies. She gestured again and two hundred more were sent flying from the square.

“Hurry! Ioka is just beyond that gate! GO!” She commanded the weary Athenians in a voice that echoed with power that no mortal could deny. “I will keep these brutes away.”

Twin bolts of magic flew from Rarity towards her beleaguered champions. Both were struck in the moments before a killing blow could find their vital parts, and both vanished and reappeared next to their goddess. Heeding the steel in Rarity’s eyes, Alametea tossed Algremetus over her withers, and they were among the last Athenians through the Gate.

Rarity watched them go, and breathed a sigh of relief. Only the Benevolencians remained to rescue.

They had reached the edge of the square, but there they had been bogged down by the heavy press of bodies and the thickest fighting in all the city. Still, not a single Benevolencian had fallen in the charge, and the flames of defiance burned bright in their eyes though reaching the gate seemed almost impossible.

Indignation flared in Rarity’s breast, and she almost missed Ares descend like a flaming bolt, his aurichalcum axe raised high. Reacting on instincts long dormant, she jumped aside as she created a multilayered aetheric shield to deflect the blow.

Like the winds howling around a mountain peak, Rarity flowed past Ares, losing herself further into the Beauty of the battle as seen through an observer’s lens. Her time in Equestria, facing the many perils that had beset her home, guided her hooves. Ares’ shock was multiplied as she swept out a leg and brought a hoof up into his jaw, momentarily stunning the God of Slaughter. He reeled back with a grunt and shook his head to clear it.

With no weapon but her wits and hooves, Rarity confronted Ares in a pitched battle. Her magic was unsuited to war, where that was all he knew.

He was War manifested, and at the heart of such a battle, his powers were at their greatest.

And yet she stood as his equal, drawing more and more on the raw field of Beauty, and the awe of everypony who watched them fight, from the last wounded Athenians being ushered to safety beyond the Gate, to the soldiers who paused in their own conflict to observe, to the gods on the hill. The heavenly figures’ eyes widened as the sands of time slowed, the single heartbeat of a mortal equal to a hundred of a god so fast were their movements and thoughts. The world was as if at a standstill except for Rarity and Ares.

A great beak-headed quarterstaff of shining silvery hue manifested beside Rarity, drawn through the flowing aspects of aether from the weave of Beauty itself.

Other than the Benevolencians, only a few dozen Athenians remained on Gaea, Alametea urging them through the mystical portal, and much envy should be given to them as they witnessed two gods battle so close they could feel the heat on their faces and the resonating thuds in their bones from each blow.

As Rarity drew more on her domain, so too Ares feasted on the energies of War. Blow upon blow they traded, Rarity gliding and parrying to the best of her myriad abilities. Such was the force behind each of his strikes that he didn’t need to land a hit to cause terrible damage. Were she not a goddess, Rarity would have been torn apart by the shockwaves of his strikes. Even with all her heavenly strength her body ached, and should he land a direct hit, Rarity doubted that she’d survive. Ares was fast in spite of his thickly hued muscles, and it took every ounce of her wits and luck to keep pace.

The only good thing was that the Spartans didn’t press in on the last Athenian stragglers, too awed by the blurs of motion in the town square to move any closer.

Managing to sweep around Ares, Rarity hammered him hard in the side with a blow from her swan-headed staff. There was a boom like that of a volcano erupting, and a shockwave ripped apart half the square behind Ares, only a small sliver of one wall remaining directly behind him. The God of War himself grunted as he was pushed back two pony lengths, but remained on his hooves. There didn’t seem to be a wound on him, and he moved as if the blow was meaningless.

Wild with fury, the madness of battle thick in his eyes, he tore off his glittering mail and tossed his head. Next to him appeared his axe, the blade stained a permanent gold from the blood of alicorns slain in the last war. It was the weapon that had lain Athena and Serene low, that had broken Astraea, and was known as Gods-Bane.

About the blade of his axe gathered a surge of crimson flames. She had to avoid this attack, but behind her was the gate. If she moved it would be destroyed, along with the ponies trying to escape. Rarity drove her staff into the ground in the same moment he brought down his axe and a wave of consuming flames leapt forth. Everything they touched was burnt to ash in an instant, crackling glass left by their passage where there’d been dirt and stone glowing bright-hot. As waves striking the bow of a ship Ares’ flames parted around Rarity and were funnelled into the ruined buildings on either side of the square where walls were blasted apart as far as the sea. The craggy face of the eastern hill anchoring Rarity’s crystal wall was peeled apart in a great cloud of dust mixed with chunks of rubble.

Panting heavily, Rarity knew she could hold Ares only a few moments longer. Desperately she cast her gaze about for the Benevolencians.

Over searing hot ground that burnt their hooves they galloped, led now by Lertandes and Chryseis. At the rear were Mystallicus and Trixie, both in a fighting retreat, close pressed by Dapoletta and Agethemus.

Back and forth flew spells and spears between them so thick a fly would have been unable to pass through the conflagration unharmed.

An illusionary bear sprang from Trixie horn claws swiping at the Spartan royalty. Its claws had real force behind them, slapping from the air Agethemus’ spear before fangs went for his throat. Dapoletta answered with three beams of light that tore the misty creation appart. Through the dissipating motes of magic Trixie surged and grappled Agethemus

Blood leaked down Trixie’s cheeks from her eyes, and her smile was unsettling. Grappling Agethemus tight she overpowered the far larger stallion, pushing him against a solid wall so he could find no escape. With her teeth she grasped his horn, and with a mighty twist snapped it from his head as she would a rotten branch from a tree. Howling Agethemus fell to his knees. Grabbing his own spear from his sputtering aura, Trixie made to drive it into his gut, but stopped. There was fear etched onto one side of her face, while the other was a mask of madness. Mystalicus had no compunctions of mercy, and threw his own spear. With a wet thunk it sank into Agethemus’ chest. Trixie blinked a couple times as she stared at the spear, then drew her tongue up Agethemus’ cheek, licking the blood that flowed from the wound on his brow as he perished, the light leaving his eyes as his spirit was ushered to Styx’s banks.

Stunned by her actions, Trixie released the king’s body and he toppled like a tree to the cold ground. Eyes wide and unseeing she sank to her haunches, forehooves shaking as she brought them up to her face.

Screaming in agonised rage Dapoletta fell upon Trixie, spear aimed at her unguarded throat. Mystalicus took the blow intended for Trixie. The spear found a gap in his mail and pierced his heart, and so the last king of Athens was sent beside his long-time foe into death’s clutches. Mystalicus’ death broke Trixie from her momentary trance, and seeing that only she and Rarity remained on Gaea, all the others having escaped through Hephaestus’ wondrous gate.

She had no energy left to stand, nor did she have the will.

Smiling she looked up at Dapoletta as the Spartan princess took up her father’s spear.

“Do it. Trixie deserves it.” Trixie said, closing her eyes and spreading her hooves wide in invitation.

Fury and loss contorting her face, Dapoletta thrust at Trixie’s bare throat.

Before the blow could land, white wings engulfed Trixie and she was carried aloft by unyielding hooves. Cradling Trixie, Rarity gave a single, solid flap of her wings. Another wave of Ares’ flames gave chase, snapping at the ends of Rarity’s tail. Wrapping wings and legs around Trixie, Rarity shielded her friend as they struck the watery surface of the gate.

The deepest cold slammed into the pair as they were hurled across the vast gulf of space between worlds towards distant Ioka. Everything was a wild rush of noise and light. A mournful scream left them deafened, and unfiltered sunlight forced them to squeeze their eyes tightly shut. Worlds rocketed by as they passed through the heart of a bale of world-turtles swimming in the void. On their backs rested discs with wide oceans teaming with life, continents covered in mountains, forests, and grasslands, and the lights of cities.

In a matter of moments they’d passed a thousand worlds and were beyond the bale.

Still the winds of space roared in their ears.

And then, ahead, grew the light of Sol as the sun orbited Ioka.

Around Rarity’s throat, the Jewels of Helen glowed with a lurid ruby light, and shattered.

Raising her titanic head, Ioka welcomed Rarity with a silent roar.

With a sharp jerk Rarity and Trixie tumbled out of the gate. Side by side they laid on the trampled, muddy ground. In the distance loomed the familiar peak of the Canterhorn, Canterlot visible in the brilliant daylight.

Rarity could hardly believe it.

At long last. After so many trials and dangers.

She was home.

Author's Note

Ugh... So. Much... Fighting... *collapses*

This was such a taxing chapter to write. Trying to keep to Homer's style, but also have all the magic and such, was a pain in the tushie. And the characters! Their arcs (or lack there of) being resolved. In the end the only way I could really wrangle it in my head was, 'Homer-ize a shonen battle-manga'. Which more often than not just came out as a pretentious manga in novel format.

There are a lot of moments I like, that stick with me in a visual sense, but that the prose is just... Ugh. Repetitive. So repetitive. And so very draining to write.

I passed the point of 'Put it out there already! It'll never be perfect!' a month ago, but it wasn't actually done. My confidence in this chapter is low. Lower than almost anything I've ever put out before. The ending is a bit rushed, but I just don't have the energy anymore...

And there is still a chapter to go. I thought we'd get to all the Asmodeus stuff and the reveal of his plots and plans, but they just don't fit with the rest of this chapter. So, I'm going to take a little breather for a week or two.

Part Eighteen

The Rariad
By Tundara

18: Ioka

The moment Trixie touched the filmy portal to Ioka, her head was filled with the tolling of a bell as a red hot spike drove itself into her brain tearing her psyche in half.

The pain was searing white. Blinding in its intensity. Maddening. Worse than anything she could remember.

Threaded strands entwined between her two selves, intermeshed and snapping like rotten cotton pulled in opposite directions. Hooves split, and then her legs. Her withers bulged, twisted, and then erupted into midnight wings. Tension built in her jaw as something forced itself up her throat. Terror unlike anything Trixie had ever experienced clenched her heart, and then it too was ripped in twain. A muzzle emerged from her straining lips, and then, with a sickening refrain, her jaw shattered and her throat burst like a ripe pustule.

Her mind was wild with panic, and only one thought remained. She was being sloughed off like a butterfly does a chrysalis.

Somepony began to laugh.

Somepony other than Trixie.

Bloody sinnews glistened in the eternal twilight, and with a pop, the final bonds were broken and who—whatever—was inside her spilled from her fully formed.

Trixie gasped.

All the pain was gone. She blinked a couple times as her vision returned, and a new fear rippled up her spine.

Rain pattered on her hide from gloomy skies. In the distance came the retort of thunder echoing through alleys. Before her stood Lethe’s manor, dour exterior frowning at her. The old, soot encrusted windows held no lights, except for one. A window in the top left. Shadows fell over the curtains, a pony moving before the window and the blind drawn back just enough for a single, red eye to peer out.

“Come, Trixie Lulumoon. Come,” beckoned a voice on the wind.

A large part of Trixie wanted to turn and gallop away as fast as she could manage. This was wrong every instinct screamed. She had escaped Tartarus. There was no way she was back in that dreadful city.

Magic sputtering, Trixie very slowly reached for the door.

Maybe it had all been a dream. Everything that had happened from the moment she first set hoof in Tartarus. Or before that. Perhaps she was still dying in those castle ruins in a forgotten corner of Equestria, her mind racing faster than the pegasus flies, imagining torments to come. Afterall, nopony truly knew what lay in store beyond the grey mists separating life and death. Priestesses talked of Tartarus and Elysium, those mirror opposite realms where the unfaithful and bad or true and good ponies were taken, respectively. They gave assurances that both existed, but never any proof.

Had it all been in her head this entire time?

With a groan the door swung open on unoiled hinges. Swelling shadows waited, gloom leaking through the open doorway in thick tendrils that beckoned Trixie.

And they whispered to her.

“You fool, why’d you do that?” pleaded a desperate voice. “Don’t you leave me too!”

Trixie took an instinctual step back, knickering in fear. Her ears twisted around to catch the voice, to place it. It was familiar, but it had been so long since she’d heard it.

“You’re a champion,” the youthful voice continued, desperation pulling at her throat. A heavy sob turned into anger, “You’re the Great and Powerful Trixie, slayer of the doshaa.”

A name danced on the tip of Trixie’s tongue, but when she tried to grasp it, it fled from her, fluttering away like a crow on an old fence. It was so close! The speaker was important to her. A pony she’d thought about many times over the years since she’d died. Many times at first. But less and less until…

Why couldn’t she remember the filly’s name?

From the depths of memory came a flash of a black maned filly prancing along beside her wagon. Her silvery coat shimmered in the sunlight, and she laughed as she darted off to chase a pair of butterflies.

They were together for such a short time. Barely a couple months. But they’d been months filled with such joy, happiness, and true contentment. Until they’d been attacked outside Diamond’s Downs.

Strange.

She could remember the name of the town, but not the filly. The name was yanked away from her grasp, something denying her with a hot flash of hatred.

Trembling more, Trixie edged closer to the shadows within the doorway. Need pulled at her. A need to remember. To understand. Slowly she reached out a hoof.

The shadows seemed to recoil, and then they lashed out at her, wrapping ethereal tendrils around her leg. Trixie tried to pull back, but was held fast as the tendrils wriggled up her leg, neck, and around her head until they began to squirm into her eyes and mouth.

“You can’t die! Not now!” begged the filly, and like a bolt of lightning on a clear day, the events leading to those final moments of her life rushed back with total clarity.

The fight at the pond. Almost drowning. Driving away the doshaa and being nursed back to health by a herd of passing halla. Making friends with them, with the priestess tending her and the giant mountain of muscle that was the priestesses guardian. The ensuing attack as the demon enthralled the nearby town. Running with Shyara to the castle ruins, chased, hounded, corralled. Being attacked by the doshaa as it possessed the giant guardian. Killing him and banishing the demon back to the pits. Dying in the process.

“Not when you really are a hero,” Shyara sobbed, and Trixie could feel the ghostly pressure of the alicorn filly’s hooves clutching her tightly.

The shadows released Trixie, and dissipated in oily motes. She staggered a couple steps as the doorway cleared. Shaking her head she stepped through.

Instead of the dreery interior of the manor that Trixie found herself standing in, with it’s damaged portraits and thick layers of dust, cobwebs hanging from the candelabras, she was greeted by the warmth and space of a tower interior.

The cream toned walls and pristine banners displaying Celestia’s cutie mark brought back waves of memories both pleasant and tiring. A blue-green crystalline column with branching platforms made her skin tingle with recognition. There was the little library and table with Sylph’s tea. Trixie could almost see Sombra in his favourite chair, conversing nonchalantly with the halla doe during one of the breaks in Trixie’s lessons. The heavy tromp of his hooves on the stairs echoed up from her memories. Incense tickled her nose, wafting around the spell chamber as she pushed through brutal lessons to attain the magic to heal Rarity.

Her hooves carried her up the central stairs quicker and quicker. Hardly slowing she pushed her way into the spell chamber.

Darkness wrapped around Trixie, the only light cut off with a sharp bang as the door slammed shut behind her. She backed up a step, dread gripping her throat with cold fingers.

A candle flickered to life on a table, and then another, casting long shadows across a small room. Between the candles, laid out with precise care, were knives, pliers, and scraping tools like those used by a woodworker to strip bark, only they were flecked with bits of gore and flesh.

In the distance there was a shrill scream of soul searing agony followed by a heavy clang and metal scraping across metal. Chains rattled. Hurriedly Trixie began to back up, her flanks bumping into the door. Her magic sputtered as she fumbled with the handle. Locks magical and mundane clicked as they refused to budge.

Gentle humming brushed against Trixie’s ears, soft, whimsical, but discordant, hinting at underlying madness. A low groan but the humming to a stop.

“Welcome back, Trixie,” whispered a cruel voice.

Ghastly torches flared along the walls. The shadows bent and twisted as a long table appeared in the center of the room. Feathers dark as moonless midnight brushed past Trixie’s cheek, and a flash of white teeth grew into a wide grin. Slowly the shadows coalesced into a tall pegasus, utterly black except for her red eyes that glowed like rubies in the limited light. “Mmm, you taste of… yellow.”

“W-Who are you?” Trixie demanded, but a scream in the depths of repressed memories told her the mare was familiar. As familiar as Sombra, Sylph, Shyara, or Rarity.

A name threatened to enter her head, and she instinctively thrust it away.

The pegasus ignored her, focusing instead entirely an a table in the center of the chamber. Trixie heart beat harder and she tried to pry open the door behind her again. Around her the shadows lurched, and then she was on the table, straps about her legs and throat, metal claws holding her eyes open, and a bit in her mouth so she couldn’t shut her jaw or speak more than a mumble.

“How are you this morning?” The pegasus spoke conversationally as she inspected the implements on the other tables.

Dread rippled up Trixie’s spine, tightening in her jaw. Her tongue felt huge in her mouth, heavy like it was made of lead.

“Truly? Ha-ha! You should have said so sooner. So… bleakly grey.” The mare sneered, and slapped Trixie across the face. With incredible dexterity she picked up a long knife and pair of pliers with her wings. “Shall we begin? Lord Asmodeus is becoming impatient for results, and we did make him such ruby promises.”

Trixie tried to fight back a scream as the knife slid beneath the skin of her belly and slowly peeled open her spectral flesh. The agony was anything beyond what she had before experienced. She writhed and thrashed against the iron bands holding her as shrieks tore apart her throat. From her open belly the pegasus pulled out Trixie’s inert, rotting organs that pulsed with un-life. Ropes of intestines covered in putrid mucus. Her stomach. Spleen and liver. And other organs. These the pegasus removed as Trixie was kept alive through unnatural means.

“Stop!” Trixie tried to plead through the gag in her mouth, but all that emerged was a mangled gurgle.

Tilting her head, the pegasus’ grin grew wider. “You are very pink today. Don’t be yellow, we are so very close to completion.”

With jewelers tools the pegasus began to inscribe runes into Trixie’s organs, across bones laid bare, and in the sinews of muscles. Runes of such complexity that even if Trixie hadn’t been mad from the pain she’d have been incapable of discerning their function.

“How go your efforts, my dear?” purred Asmodeus, his lips almost caressing the pegasus’ ear.

Trixie’s eyes widened, heart stopping as the King of Hell appeared in the heart of the torture chamber.

“Hmm, difficult to say, your majesty,” the pegasus responded without looking up from her grisly work. “The Elysian is a strong vessel. But, it rejects your seed. Your power corrupts, withers, decays what it touches. Strengthening the spirit has been unsuccessful. Unable to find a work around. Running out of options.”

“That is disappointing. If there is no way to bring it to a Gateway, then all these games have already failed. That would make me rather frustrated.” Asmodeus slowly moved around the room to stand before the table.

“She already tied herself to a goddess. My goddess. Twilight’s power lingers within her, dormant, but possessive. Lavender, as always.” The pegasus shook her head and etched another rune.

Trixie screamed.

Dragging his tongue over his teeth, Asmodeus contemplated the two ponies. Delicately he reached out and traced the curves of Trixie’s chin as she continued to writhe in mindless agony.

“Then, perhaps, what is needed is a second vessel nestled within her. One capable of hiding my key.”

Confused, the pegasus looked up, a question on her lips that ended in a premature gurgle as, with an impossibly swift motion, Asmodeus cleaved her head from her shoulders. There was a wet thunk as the pegasus’ head rolled across stone, and her body twitched with the last spasms of life. Picking up the severed head in his ruby aura, Asmodeus brought it to his lips, and kissed her on the brow. Grotesquely the eyes blinked as the mouth worked wordlessly. Tenderly he set the head aside, then reached down to the body. A series of cracks filled the room as he pried free the mare’s heart; cold, black, and metallic.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He said, turning the metal heart this way and that to catch the limited light in the chamber, showing it off to Trixie. “There is no metal as potent for an enchanter’s work than the heart of a fallen star. Swords of legend, armour of renown, and objects from myth; all made from this little lump.”

Pricking himself with his horns, he placed a single drop of oily blood onto the heart.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Asmodeus comforted the head, brushing back her mane from her bulging glassy eyes. “A fallen star hidden inside a champion chosen by the Goddess of the Stars; such sweet poetry. You will be fine, when you reach your more powerful half. For that, however, you will have to stay a secret until just the right moment. Otherwise my beautiful wife and those pesky Gaeans will remove you before it is time.”

There was an odd noise, like the protests of a rusted gate being torn off its hinges in a windstorm, as he crushed the heart in his magic, squeezing it tight until it was a ball the size of a marble, and just as dark and lustrous.

Trixie struggled harder against her restraints knowing what was about to happen. The agony was almost unbearable as the glowing hot orb was slid into the slit of her belly and guided up into her chest until it rested beside her own heart.

“Two hearts, one hidden behind the other.” Asmodeus chuckled darkly, pacing slowly around Trixie, examining her up and down as a master artisan would a slab of raw marble, sizing up every hammer blow in advance so as to bring about the perfect creation.

The King of Lust needed no tools as he worked on Trixie. Organs were returned to their proper places with infinite attention, the runes begun by the pegasus completed as he worked. Rotten meat turned pink and healthy. With a lurching thud, Trixie’s cold, dead heart took a beat that was more than just memories of life. Spectral flesh became solid, whole once more. Her lungs screamed for air. Bit by bit, Asmodeus carved away death and replaced it with life.

“Ah, it will be a shame to have you leave. I’ve never done finer work. Alive but dead, belonging in no realm. No longer a mortal and Elysium stolen forever. A truly unique being. Worry not, I will welcome you into my realm when this body is no more. You are mine, afterall. My little pony. My little gift for Rarity, and all the alicorns.”

Tenderly he lifted the insensate Trixie in his aura and glided from the torture chamber and carried her to Rarity’s bedroom.

“One step closer to correcting things,” his smile was wide as he placed Trixie on the bed.

The room, or memory, Trixie was unsure what it truly was, jerked, shifted, and then Trixie stood in the Big Tent of the circus outside Sparta. Around her sat the Spartans, watching with rapt attention, oblivious to what she was about to summon.

Relived memories of her torture as fresh as the horrors of that night in Sparta, Trixie trembled and shook. Her stomach heaved. Her legs gave out.

The vicious spike of pain in Trixie’s head throbbed harder.

“Yes! Freedom!” Hissed the pegasus in Trixie’s ear.

She blinked, and in the open space between her and where the King and princess of Sparta sat there stood the pegasus.

Looking about, the pegasus pressed her lips into a thin line. “Mm, the second time you called on my power. On the connection to Twilight and the vestiges she left behind, a scar on your soul. What a golden night!”

In the flickering light cast by the lit braziers the pegasus’ eyes shifted between dark pools of hate, and golden orbs amused by Trixie’s suffering. It was just a moment, like a third eyelid blinking, and uncertainty wracked her head as to whether it was just terror, her imagination, or something else.

“W-What do you want?” Trixie demanded, trying to square her shoulders, but shaking from hooves to tip of her tail. “Why are you doing this?”

“This?” The pegasus spun about with obsidian wings spread wide. “Because you asked and I answered. Need I have more of an incentive to send mortals to Tartarus? Besides, what else could you do? What would you have achieved without me? Without me you never would have been able to summon the stars! You would never have saved the prophetess! You never would have reached the Gate! You owe me everything!”

Backing up, Trixie shook her head violently, trying to cast out the doubts and fears that wormed through her. “Trixie didn’t want to kill anypony!”

“Yet you did!” Taunted the pegasus. “Your deadliest performance ever. Which is saying much, as you were always heartless. Cruel to those who came to watch your traveling magic show. Tormenting the crowd, belittling ponies, humiliating them in front of friends, peers, and family. It made you feel strong, didn’t it? Powerful. Important. Something other than a failure cast out from her family.”

“N-No! Trixie never—”

“But you did! You did! You hate ponies. Black-red in your heart of hearts. Look how you tried to keep yourself apart from the Benevolencians. A chasm between you and them that could never be bridged, and they knew it too. They kept you a length away, just as you did them, even as they heaped bitter grey praise on your so-called exploits.”

Shuddering, Trixie collapsed to her knees. Violent tremors wracked her body. She felt so weary, useless, and blackened. Her thoughts fractured further. This way and that, tugged into numerous pasts; guilt, joy, terror, contentment, shame, anger hammering against her psyche in a roiling war.

“Don’t listen to him!”

Rarity’s voice, so pure in quality as if it were the tones of a crystalline bell, pierced the mounting horror in Trixie’s chest. Turning about, Trixie saw to her delight Rarity framed in the entrance to the big tent. Shining as brilliant as the sun after the darkest night of winter, blindingly luminous as she cast away the long shadows.

“This is a nightmare, Trixie. He’s trapped you in your mind.” Swiftly Rarity crossed the empty tent, kneeling down next to Trixie.

A wing stretched out over Trixie to still her trembling, like a blanket thrown over her to ward off a winter chill. Comforting warmth flowed through the touch, and Trixie’s heart began to calm, her thoughts slotting into order.

Yes, this was all in her head. A dreamscape of her own creation, forged by her own emotions, and then twisted by the demon. She had nothing to fear. She was the one in control. Gritting her teeth, Trixie forced herself back up and faced her tormentor.

The pegasus’ form flickered again, Asmodeus peaking through the illionary skin he wore, and then sloughed away.

“I was beginning to worry you had abandoned her, dear wife,” Amsodeus purred, lips pulled into a victorious grin.

Trixie’s breath hitched in her throat.

“Ignore him,” Rarity said as she began to swing her head around. “Alright, darling, so where is your puzzle?”

“Puzzle?” Trixie asked, confused for a moment before it clicked. “Trixie isn’t broken like Rarity and needs fixing.”

Asmodeus chuckled. “You shouldn’t correct a god, Trixie. You are a damaged soul that has done exactly as intended. You brought me to Rarity.”

Slowly, Rarity faced the demon king, her eyes narrowing into threatening slits that crackled with sapphire energy. “She did nothing of the sort. You are just a figment of her imagination.”

“Incorrect,” he tutted. “On both accounts. I am not some imaginary monster, and she has always been nothing but a vessel. Here, let me prove it to you.”

Around them the tent was ripped away, replaced by a room Trixie had never seen before. A hall grander and more opulent than any other surrounded them. On the walls were inscribed ten thousand runes in a weave so complex it was impossible to tell where it began or ended. Like vines the enchantments entwined across the gold ceiling. If Trixie squinted, patterns would emerge, only to be quickly lost again as her eyes shifted and an entirely new pattern emerged. Faint light glowed within the runes in a steady, uniform pulse that began at the center of the room, flowed up the walls, and terminated at the very peak of the domed ceiling. The only break in the runes was a plain green door set into a single wall.

Rarity snarled, shoulders bunched to launch herself at Trixie, only for her to stop, frozen on the spot.

With a gesture Asmodeus pulled Rarity to him. There was a squeak of surprise as she was dragged across the room. Her shoes shrieked in her efforts to resist, sparks crackling where metal met stone. Reaching up, Asmodeus cupped the Jewels of Helen nestled against Rarity’s throat.

“It is always so satisfying when such a convoluted plot falls so nicely together. You both had me so worried. So many things nearly went wrong. Trixie almost died, again. Those insufferable Gaeans kept interfering. That artisan’s stubborn refusal to make a new gate. The attack. Yet, here we are; together again.”

“There is no way you could have planned this!” Rarity recoiled, but was held by some unbreakable force.

“Yes, and no,” Asmodeus lifted Rarity, holding her above the center of the chamber. “I simply cast enough seeds that one would grow using simple deductive reasoning. You would try to find a way back to Ioka. You tried to return to Ioka from Tartarus, so you would again, and naturally, you’d eventually succeed. You were too stubborn to give up and make a new life on whatever world you went to after leaving Amaymon. Furthermore, none of the alicorns ruling over intangible domains would allow you to traverse through their fragmentary realms. They are so secretive and possessive of those pathways, and rightfully so. A gate would be required, therefore. And you would either find one or have one built, carrying the Jewels of Helen with you.”

Releasing the necklace, Asmodeus turned his gaze to Trixie.

“And the Elysian. Well, former Elysian. In the event you left behind the jewels, you would take her with you. You never could abandon a friend, and a tenuous link back to your home at that.”

Slowly Asmodeus circled Rarity.

“If there was a miscalculation, it was that you abandoned our daughter. I was so certain you would take her with you as well, but no. You cut away those parts of your mind, as any true alicorn would have done. Put it in a box and sequestered it in the deepest part of your psyche. It would have been a fait accompli. Still, two when only one was necessary is acceptable.”

Trixie reeled more than Rarity, whose eyes glassed over for an instant before she sighed, “Yes, you are so much smarter than everypony else. Truly the greatest of demons.”

“Sarcasm is pointless.” Asmodeus finished circling the room, and the pulse running through it began to quicken. “Now is the time for me to finally tread upon in the mortal realms again. The King of Lust, Master of Desire, Undisputed lord of the fell hosts will be free, at long last.”

Energy rippled through the room at the name, distorting, twisting, and pulling at the seams of reality. An almighty ‘thoom’ shook Trixie, knocking her to the ground as it quaked beneath her.

Still held by Asmodeus, Rarity fought with all her strength.

Cracks began to form in the walls, and through them poured a black light, dark and luminous at the same time.

With a growl Rarity snapped out a wing and hoof, and threw them towards Trixie.

“Go!” She commanded. “Warn the others!”

Trixie was hit by an unseen force and hurled away towards the simple door. Legs flailing Trixie couldn’t stop her flight. The door was smashed open, and into a sunlit wall Trixie was thrown, cast out of the prison of torturous nightmares.

She gasped, fresh, chilly air entering her lungs. Sol was warm on her body, while her face lay in shadows cast by worried onlookers. Around were gathered friends, former rivals, and the leaders of Equestria. Princess Hypocemia next to Chryseis near her head, while Princess Cadence was on her left, and to her right were members of the Elements of Harmony, Applejack and Pinkie Pie.

“Princess, she’s done it! She woke her up!” Applejack’s rural twang prickled Trixie’s ears.

“Rarity, Trixie is awake,” an unfamiliar voice of somepony out of view said with urgency. “Rarity?”

Reaching for the nearest pony, Trixie grabbed them by the leg and tried to shout, “Asmodeus! He tricked us and has Rarity!” Her voice came out in a raspy croak as if she’d been gargling sand.

Princess Cadence shifted closer and placed a warm cloth across Trixie’s brow as she said, “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just lay still. Aunt Celestia, what about Rarity?”

With greater urgency, Trixie clung to the light pink leg of the princess and tried to warn them, but all she managed was another croak. One that turned into a gagging cough as something moved in the depths of her throat. There was a sharp pain in her chest like she was being pinched in the back of her lungs, and she coughed again. A metallic taste entered her mouth, familiar enough to know without checking that it was blood. Rolling to her side she coughed harder, drawing concerned exclamations from the gathered ponies. Her stomach heaved, her lungs burned, and the mixture of bile and blood in her mouth grew in intensity as she was overcome by full-body, shaking coughs that left her light headed. After what felt like minutes, something hard and round entered her mouth, and began to burn her tongue. Instinctually she spat it out, and it landed with a heavy thud on the ground.

Several ponies hissed, Princess Cadence reeling away from Trixie, her efforts at comfort and easing the coughing fit abandoned. “Celestia!” She almost shrieked in dire warning.

The cry was unnecessary. From the moment the black orb left Trixie’s mouth everypony for a mile radius could sense the evil radiating from it. A wicked taint that made the horns of unicorns throb, pegasus wings aches as if crushed beneath a wagon wheel, and the earth ponies tremble in phantom pains as if they’d had hot brands shoved into the frogs of their hooves.

At the same time the marble sized lump hit the ground, the Jewels of Helen still clasped about Rarity’s neck shattered, and a deep, brassy laugh echoed across town.

Quick movement followed as first Princess Celestia, then Princess Cadence and another alicorn Trixie had never seen, but thought looked startlingly similar to the famous socialite Fluer de Lis, rushed from the tent.

“‘Course, we just get Rarity back, ain’t even had time to process that, and a big bad decides to rear his head. All while Twilight off in Tartarus with her stallion-friend,” Applejack said with a resigned sigh and shake of her head. “Come on girls, we better go deal with this.”

“But, Rarity is still all sleepy from trying to help Trixie.” Pinkie bounced from hoof to hoof, underlip clasped between her teeth. Next to her Fluttershy tended to Rarity, who lay in a deep sleep on a plush, velveteen couch. To Trixie's shock, Fluttershy was also an alicorn.

If her head had been spinning so hard from her nightmarish encounter, followed by the threat that Asmodeus was coming and had planned this all from the beginning, Trixie would have been rather irritated. At least Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and Pinkie were normal.

“Come on Rarity, this ain’t no time to be sleeping,” Applejack barked.

Getting to her hooves, Trixie managed to gasp, “She is—”

Rarity’s sudden intake of breath and shooting up off her couch cut off Trixie.

“Away!” Rarity shouted with a force that shook the tent and left everypony else momentarily deafened. Her eyes darted around the tent, and quickly settled on Trixie, who Rarity wrapped in a crushing hug. “It worked. It actually worked. I was utterly terrified that I was sending you to who-knew-where.”

“What happened to you? What did he want?”

Rarity’s nose crinkled, and her blue eyes darkened momentarily with pure hate. “To gloat,” she deflected as she got to her hooves. It was only a moment before she gasped and touched the empty spot where the Jewels of Helen had hung. Body tensing with unconcealed rage, Rarity stomped her way out of the tent, Trixie and her friends close behind.

Stepping out into the brilliant sunlight, Trixie was overwhelmed with a sudden surge of raw emotions, directionless as they swelled in her chest. In the east there loomed the Canterhorn, Canterlot’s massive artificial plateaus jutting from the mountainside like conks from a tree. Ahead of her were the colourful homes of Ponyville, the distinct roofs of Sugarcube Corner and Carousel Boutique among the simple country cottages, and further in new row houses of pink brick and slate roofs. Nestled in a nook between the Everfree forest and town, the deep, glimmering black walls of a massive new building were in the process of being raised, scaffolding and cranes surrounding the work site.

It finally, truly struck Trixie that she was home.

Her sense of joy mingled with immense relief was short-lived.

All around her were the wounded survivors of Athens. There were more injured than tents, and beds had been placed in the open field or blankets simply placed on the ground for those who were the least in danger. Among them moved the limited staff of Ponyville’s provincial hospital, as well as additional doctors and nurses brought in from Canterlot and other surrounding towns. Even then there were far more wounded than there were healers available.

The Athenians were a stoic race, withholding their agony to low moans where there should have been screams or the constant wailing. Well accustomed to the brutal wounds of warfare, the Athenians directed the residents of Ponyville on how to bind wounds made by bronze spears, dig out the heads of arrows, or put salve on magic burns. These later wounds were the worst; frost, fire, and electric burns mixed in with the acrid stench of acid bubbled skin. The worst were those left by spells of wounding, the blood flow unable to be staunched by non-magical means.

Trixie took this in at a glance, her stomach tightening in worry for her friends among the Athenians, and as quickly focused on the princesses.

They were a short distance away, standing before the gate connected to Gaea. It was now inert, a ring of aurichalcum placed on the edge of Ponyville, oddly out of place with its surroundings.

“We need to evacuate the town,” Fluer de Lis said as she swung her head around, her trepidation evident in her soft eyes.

“There isn’t time, darlings,” Rarity interjected as she quickly trotted up to the group.

As Rarity took a place next to Celestia, lavender flames engulfed the interior of the gate’s ring, scintillatingly brilliant in hue and brighter than Sol’s rays. Shielding her face, Trixie had to look away or be blinded. The flames lasted only a few moments before they condensed, darkening until they seemed to devour light rather than shed it.

With a shriek that drove everypony other than the alicorns to their knees, the flames turned into an eye, black at the core, and then split as it took on a ruby hue. There was a tremendous ripping noise, red fingers emerged, wriggled like excited snakes, and then pried open a gate through which He stepped.

Asmodeus, in all his infernal glory. His alicorn-like guise discarded, it was in his true form that he stepped onto Ioka.

In place of a hoof, he had a clawed chicken’s foot on his right leg, and it was this that first touched Ioka’s untainted soil. From where it pressed into the ground a strangling rot spread. Plants withered away and fell into decay, while the ponies who’d been rushing around tending to the wounded or aiding the refugees laid down and closed their eyes, unable to muster any strength or desire to continue even breathing. Atop the broad chest of a human sat three monstrous heads. On the left was that of a bull, a golden ring through its nose and eyes of fiery hue. Chains dangled from wide swept horns. The rightmost head was that of a shaggy ram. While in the middle was the ugly, alien face of a human, smiling wide as flames issued from his nostrils and between his teeth. A long serpentine tail flowed behind the King of Lust, and wrapped like a cloak around his loathsome body were a pair of great wings. In one hand was clutched a ruby headed scepter.

Behind him was raised a mighty banner, and at his back beyond the gate he’d torn through reality waited two and seventy legions of the foulest fiends in all creation.

In sharp juxtaposition of this most horrible of monstrosities, a slender young mare stood at his side.

Coat a sparkling white with just the slightest hint of pink like the blush of a lover after her first kiss, she was gorgeous. Short, twin horns, like those of her Asmodeus in his pony form, were framed in a dark purple mane, a single red streak running down its length, and were the only hint of her infernal heritage other than the reptilian slits of her sapphire blue eyes.

Knickering with anger, Rarity took a half step back, caught herself and set her chin in a sharp tilt. She wasn’t alone. All along the godly host of Ioka’s alicorns there flared the lights of weapons being summoned and spells prepared. There was Coronal Edge, Celestia’s ancient sword; Aegis and Pallas, the shield and spear of Athena, whose appearance brought heart back to the Athenians, their strength returned by the sight of the holy armaments; Rarity clutched her staff, which had been named Perseverance; while a tall bow strung by golden light floated beside Fluttershy. Behind these figures were the Muses, who stood with equal defiance.

And then there was Trixie. A mere mortal caught in what would be a battle waged between gods and demons. If it were anything like what she’d seen transpire between Ares and Rarity, then Ponyville would be nothing but a crater in a few minutes, and the valley a wasteland for miles.

Terror so thick her mind went blank struck her with the force of a mountain collapsing. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t do anything but listen and wish she were anywhere else.

As Trixie stood utterly petrified, Asmodeus reached out to stroke the mane of the mare at his side, and said, “Lilith, greet your mother.”

“What sick game is this?” Rarity demanded, and Trixie had never heard a pony so angry, each word thundered with years of loathing.

The young mare, Lilith, hesitated, and then looked up at her father. “She has no more interest in me than the sparrow does for the creatures at the bottom of the ocean. I told you this was pointless, my King. She can’t even look at me.”

Trixie realised that Lilith was right. Rarity didn’t so much as glance in the young mare’s direction, her gaze firmly fixated on Asmodeus. It was as if she was blind to Lilith.

“Indeed,” Asmodeus chuckled, a puff of flames issuing between his teeth. “Her stubbornness is rather amazing.”

“Enough of your games,” Celestia interjected, her anger as great as Rarity’s own, “Why are you here?”

“Why?” He repeated as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “To join the festivities of course! Rarity has returned home, and what would I be if I didn’t do all within my nigh-limitless power to ensure that I would be there to support her, to laugh with her, to share anecdotes of her time in my demesne. She did spend the most time within my care, after all. Besides, I made a promise to visit you on sweet Ioka.”

Trixie’s stomach heaved with disgust at the enormous monstrosity belied by his words and actions, and that she knew he was speaking the truth. That the sole purpose behind everything he’d done, all the torture, mind games, and corruptions great and small, had simply to be present at a festival. This was no grand scheme to destroy the world.

And in truth why should He care about one insignificant world? What was Ioka compared to Gaea, where the alicorns he truly hated resided? Of any world, wouldn’t that be the target of his plots?

No, he genuinely, actually, liked Rarity and her company, and so he wished to spend more time with her. And to do that he needed to be able to go to Ioka at will…

That he had tortured Trixie, Rarity, and who knew how many other ponies was immaterial. As were those he’d outright killed through Trixie. He couldn’t even comprehend that it had been wrong to make others suffer.

And all for something so… small. The equivalent of going to a garden party.

His deadly red eye flitted to Trixie, and his grin grew wider.

“Ah, I see the former mortal is still here. Rather astounding, as I thought she’d be burnt away by my seed when it flourished. I was wise in choosing her. She’s been such a good little vessel. A shame she’s done with adventuring and will likely retire to some countryside estate. It would have been enjoyable watching her fight more monsters, match wits with queens, and sneak into hostile cities. Now she is just boring.” He raised a hand, fingers ready to snap, and Trixie tensed further. With a thought he could utterly destroy her before even the alicorns could react. Such was the difference in powers, and malice, between him and her.

The dreadful fear that clutched her in steely talons receded.

Running was pointless. Hiding was impossible. And trying to fight; utterly futile.

She closed her eyes, and waited with her head raised to Sol’s warm light.

Yet the harsh snap never came. Cautiously Trixie opened her eyes, and saw that Asmodeus had moved on, playfully talking to Rarity and Celestia while he gently stroked Lilith’s mane. She was too insignificant for him to even bother destroying. She was nothing but a discarded tool. Now useless and forgotten.

“Why do you always have to be so confrontational?” Asmodeus cocked his head with a click of his tongues. “I expected better of you. Especially since you Equestrians espouse the tenets of friendship and forgiveness. Is it not your goal to convert enemies into friends. Yet my daughter and I are greeted with nothing but hostility and hatred. Answer me; what is your problem?”

“No.” Rarity stated flatly.

“No?” Asmodeus still smiled, but the air around him began to distort as if it were being compressed by an enormous pressure. Electric ripples coursed across the ruby head of his scepter.

Both sides were perched on the precipice of action. Alicorns and demons, the host behind Asmodeus ready to surge through the gate.

With the fear of true death gone, Trixie knew what she had to do. Quickly she strode forward and placed herself between the King of Lust and the alicorns.

Turning to Asmodeus, Trixie drew upon her time in Athens and said, “Oh great Asmodeus, King of Kings, chief among all demonkind, stop this strife before it can escalate any further. If it was to join in a celebration, how does antagonising the alicorns further your goal?”

The pressure around Asmodeus began to lift. “Ah, and a silvered tongue as well.”

Next Trixie turned to Rarity. “And you, my dear friend, you need to see what is standing right in front of you. We have both been running away from our time in Amaymon.”

Rarity blinked slowly, and looked from Trixie to Asmodeus, and then to Lilith. Slowly she pressed her eyes tight, and released a shuddering breath. “The green door. You were behind it, in the nursery. I sang to you… But your eyes… I-I… I’m sorry.”

A snort came from Lilith. “I don’t care if you are sorry or not. You made your choice. Your apologies are meaningless to me.” Slowly she shifted her gaze to behind Rarity, where the Muses stood in a tight cluster. “Enjoy your new family while you can.”

With this Lilith spun about and marched through the gate to Amaymon where the legions bowed at her passing, for she was their princess. Asmodeus watched her leave, and then laughed. Turning to leave, he said over his shoulder.

“Oh, this will be most enjoyable to watch! I wonder how my Sapphire will handle my little Emerald’s wrath.” One foot left Ioka and was placed back in Hell. “We’ll be in touch, as thanks to you, we are free.”

And then the King of Amaymon left, the gate slid shut, and a great weight was lifted from all present.

There were no celebrations that eve. Not among the Athenians, who mourned their many dead. Not among the Equestrians, who keenly felt the Athenians sorrows, and diligently worked through the night to provide comfort and solace. And most certainly not among the princesses, who worried for what tomorrow would bring, Asmodeus’ parting words ringing in their ears.

The triumph of returning home was sour in Rarity and Trixie’s mouths.

Author's Note

And so the full extent of Asmodeus' actions, plots, and his reasons are laid bare for the reader. It has been a very stressful, anxious time, and I hope that Lilith was hinted at enough for a new character to be introduced at so late a stage.

I modeled the last conversation on the my own last conversation with my father. Asmodeus is very much based on him in that exchange, unable to see what he'd done as wrong, twisting words, trying to play the victim. And ultimately just as unsatisfying a conclusion as they leave blaming all the animosity on the other party.

I've been looking back on things as we reach the wrapping up point of the Rariad. Not just at the Rariad, but the setting I've been crafting these past several years as a whole. One of the things I think I would do different and change in a future version is putting Pride over Lust in the hierarchy of Hell. It is more fitting. The Dungeons and Dragons roots are obvious in why I set up the hierarchy the way I did, and it just doesn't sit right with me at a philosophical level. Avarice and Greed being the same things they'd be rolled together and a 'new' king added. Probably 'Hate'.

Overall I believe I did a better job with foreshadowing, lamp shading, and keeping storyline bloat down with the Rariad than I ever did with Myths. I'm also more pleased with the various antagonists, their motivations, and how I portrayed them. A bit more work could have been done with Ares, and Anchor's heel-turn is a bit abrupt, perhaps.

Asmodeus though... I think I got him just where I wanted him to be...

There is another chapter coming. I'm not leaving the story here without a proper wrapping up and lowering of tension. I'm attempting to write at least 4 pages a day, aiming for 6, so if I keep that pace, I could have the next chapter before the week is out. Hope I just didn't curse myself...

If there is anything you'd like to see addressed in it, let me know in the comments section!