One White Unicorn

The weather had begun to change. When Sweetie Belle and Rarity had arrived, the sky had few clouds and the air smelled strongly of spring. Now, though, the sky had become dark. The sun did not shine through the fast-moving stratus clouds that rolled overhead, casting everything in threatening gray darkness.

A cold gust of wind came from the north, and Sweetie Belle pulled her scarf up to her mouth in an attempt to block out the chill. The wind was harsh and cutting, and Sweetie Belle had a feeling that it would soon be followed by cold rain, or perhaps even a late snowfall.

“Sweetie Belle!” cried Muguet, landing beside her from above. “We have to turn back! Please!”

“No,” said Sweetie Belle. “It’s not a long walk. And we’re already almost there.”

Muguet looked around, surprised by that revelation, even though she almost surely knew. All around them were the fields and windbreaks of the farmland that surrounded Castle De’Lis. It had taken some time, but the walk back down from the castle was not nearly as difficult as the walk up it.

“But we’re not supposed to stray from the castle!”

“Nobody told me that,” said Sweetie Belle.

“It’s supposed to be implicit!”

“Look,” said Sweetie Belle, stopping. Several houses were visible in the distance, including one near a dilapidated windmill that looked like it had not been operational in decades. One of the three local villages was just barely visible over a nearby hill. “Somepony just tried to kill my sister.”

“She fell it,” said Muguet, hurriedly. “It was an accident!”

“No,” said Sweetie Belle. “It wasn’t. I’m sure of it.”

“How? How could you possibly know that?”

“I just do.” She sighed. “Muguet, something is going on here. Something bad is happening in that house. Spike still hasn’t gotten back to me, so we’re on our own.”

“On our own? For what? We have your sister, and Lady De’Lis, and Silver- -”

“And do you think they’re going to believe us? That the castle is haunted, that I keep seeing a ghost walking through the halls at night? I just need to know a little bit more. About the castle, the De’Lis, something. And the village seems like a good place to ask.”

“It’s not,” said Muguet, now sounding quite serious. “Please, Sweetie Belle, you have to listen. You have to understand. It is not safe there. Not for me, and even for you. We are white ponies.”

“Rarity and I got through fine before.”

“You were lucky. Had you not been unicorns, you would have been beaten, or tarred and feathered, or…worse.”

“But I AM a unicorn.”

“But I’m not.” Muguet looked around nervously. She was shivering, but not completely because it was cold. She looked deeply anxious. “And please, trust me. Bad things can happen to us. Bad things have happened to me. Let’s just go back. I can make you hot cocoa.”

Sweetie Belle looked up, and then sighed. She levitated her scarf off and tied it around Muguet’s neck. “You can go back if you want to. But I won’t.”

“I can’t go without you.”

“Because of Fleur’s orders?”

“No. Because you are my friend, and I could not do that to you. You do not even speak the language.”

Sweetie Belle paused for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “How about this, then? If anypony asks, I’m Sweetie Belle De’Lis.”

Muguet, despite her fear, snorted as she laughed and covered her mouth with her hoof. “You’re not a De’Lis!”

“I know that, but they don’t. Just tell them I’m Fleur’s cousin, and I don’t think they’d dare touch me.”

“But they are likely as not to refuse to speak, then. They will fear you greatly.”

“I can tolerate that. And you’re my maidservant, okay?”

“Like, pretend, then?” said Muguet. She smiled slightly, even though she tried to hide it. “I never had a chance to play pretend before. Except to pretend that I was born normal.”

“Don’t get gloomy on me. The weather’s already bad enough. Are you coming or not? I can’t do this without you.”

Muguet paused for a long minute, but then nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I will try my best. But we need to get back before it starts to rain. You are already ill, and dampness could sicken you greatly.”

“I only need an hour, tops.”

“I hope we have that much time, then.”

Now in agreement, the pair approached the last hill toward the village. When it was finally in sight, Sweetie Belle realized that it looked even worse than she had remembered. In the gray light of the darkening sky, it looked as though it had aged ten years at least since she had last seen it. The buildings seemed darker, and the repairs and peeling paint that covered them was even more noticeable.

“This is Ouest,” said Muguet, slowing as she started to descent the hill. Her anxiety seemed to be returned.

“Is this the one you are from?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“No,” she said. “My village was not one of these three, but farther North. But I know this place. And many here know me, much to my shame.”

“Then stay close. If I have to, I know a spell that can turn a pony inside-out.”

“Inside-out?” said Muguet, aghast.

“Well, upside-down, but it’s almost the same thing.”

As the descended into the village, the response was almost immediate. There were few ponies outside, but those that were immediately stepped back into the shadows as though Sweetie Belle and Muguet were infected with some horrible disease.

“Blancos,” whispered one red-brown earth pony as he passed, making sure he was just loud enough for Sweetie Belle and Muguet to hear the insult. This was immediately followed by a call from a group of similarly drab earth-stallions. “Oi! Chauve-souris blanco! Skolko de soulever cette queue?”

“Putain! Skolko?”

“Non, ona es la pute de licorne!”

“Das lesbienne sale, alors?”

They immediately laughed amongst each other.

“What are they saying?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Nothing of importance,” said Muguet, wiping tears from her eyes.

“If you say so.” Sweetie Belle looked around the town. “Where do you think we can go to find some information?”

“Ouest has a tavern,” said Muguet.

“Do you know where it is?”

“Of course I know where it is,” she said, darkly. She started to lead Sweetie Belle through the narrow stone and dirt streets. As she did, Sweetie Belle began to notice a small group following them. Its nucleus consisted of the ponies who had yelled at Muguet before, but more had joined them. They all had strange expressions on their face, and they were looking at Muguet in a way that Sweetie Belle had never seen a pony look at another pony before. Occasionally, their glances would turn to her, and it made her feel extremely uncomfortable. She began to wonder if coming to the village was a bad idea.

“Excuse me,” said Sweetie Bell, walking up to a random gray-colored thestral. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

The thestral just glared at her, and then at Muguet with a look of absolute disgust. “Putain blanco souillée,” she said, her accent more closely mimicking Feathery Snipper’s than Muguet or Silver Sight’s. she then spread her leathery wings and fluttered away.

“Sweetie Belle,” hissed Muguet, pulling her away. “Don’t do that!”
“Do what? I just wanted to ask her!”

“Don’t talk to the thestrals. Don’t even look at them! The others might tolerate you, but many of the Eastern thestrals would just as soon kick you in the horn than talk to you.”

The thought of being struck in the horn made Sweetie Belle shiver. The idea of an injury befalling her most sensitive organ made her realize just how much danger she was in, and how naïve she had been.

“Muguet,” she said. “I’m starting to think you were right.”

“And what was your first clue?” Muguet sighed. “Well, at least you can admit it.”

“I think we should go.”

“Right.”

The two of them stopped and turned around, only see the now much larger crowd behind them slowly block the narrow street. When this happened, Muguet almost seemed to faint from terror.

“Oi,” said one of them, stepping forward. She was a rather large and surprisingly masculine thestral, and she seemed to be leering at Sweetie Belle. “Ou…should not be here.” She turned to Muguet and smiled, showing her long fangs. “Ou, though. Us…glad ou am here. Le Gwaedu not want?”

“What did you just say?” asked Sweetie Belle. The thestral’s alicornic was bad, but she recognized that word from somewhere.

The thestral looked down at Sweetie Belle. “This, daughter?”

Muguet responded with something in her own language, and several of the crowd stepped back wide-eyed. The thestral held her ground, but looked visibly more shaken. “Le Gwaedu?” she said, looking at Sweetie Belle. Her eyes narrowed. “No. Is only the one!”

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?” said Sweetie Belle. Then, trying to do her best Rarity impression: “I was only trying to take a tour of my cousin’s holdings, and I do NOT appreciate you peasants blocking my way. I’m cold, and would like to go home! Servant girl!” She clapped her hooves. “Make them get out of my way!”

Muguet responded in her own language, now smiling even as she covered her face with Sweetie Belle’s scarf. A few of the older stallions in the crowd almost immediately left, and quickly. Others saw them doing this, and although they stayed, they seemed to be getting more and more nervous.

The thestral glared at them for a moment. Sweetie Belle felt a sudden surge of nervousness, but finally the thestral relented. “Da,” she said, stepping aside. “But back, and not matters that Gwaedu.” She then spit on Sweetie Belle before punching Muguet hard in the face.

“Hey!” cried Sweetie Belle, suddenly angered by both insults. “You can’t- -”

“No,” said Muguet in a tone that made Sweetie Belle immediately stop. “Don’t do anything! They’re letting us leave!”

It was almost impossible, but Sweetie Belle suppressed her urge to fight back. She joined Muguet as they walked through the crowd. They were mostly unhindered, except for a stallion occasionally slapping Muguet’s flank or pulling her tail. This was making her cry, and Sweetie Belle began to really wish that she knew an inside-out spell.

They were halfway through the group when Sweetie Belle looked up to see something flutter down from the sky and land at the edge of the village. She was confused, because it was larger than a bird and perfectly white.

That was when she realized what- -and who- -it was. Feathery Snipper had just descended on the far end of the crowd.

Muguet suddenly gasped, and then grabbed Sweetie Belle. Without warning, she pulled her backward from where they had come.

“Move! Go!” she cried.

The crowd looked on confused, but by now most of their attentions had turned to Snipper, who was walking toward the group without any signs of fear or apprehension. From the look on her face, Sweetie Belle imagined that the only emotion she was feeling at the moment was pure hatred. When she finally understood what was happening, she turned around and joined Muguet as they both ran.

They left the now disorganized group and ducked down a narrow, filthy alley. Before they did, Sweetie Belle stopped to see the crowd retreating from Snipper. Most of the thestrals had immediately taken flight, and the ponies who had looked nervous now sprinted away with strange cries of curses or prayers. As nervous as the idea of a De’Lis had made them, they seemed to be absolutely terrified of Snipper.

As Sweetie Belle watched, only one stallion- -a young brown-colored thestral- -approached Snipper. She ignored him completely, and he became annoyed. He reached out to tough her wings, and was immediately felled by a punch to the face that sent several teeth flying. She said something in her own language, which was harsh and filled with consonants. That was when Sweetie Belle was pulled into the alley by Muguet, and only distantly heard the sound of pained screams.

“What is she doing here?” whispered Sweetie Belle, even though Snipper was at a substantial distance.

“I told you we should never have come!”

“Why is she here? To bring us back? Or…” Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened as she realized that there might be more to Feathery Snipper’s appearance than that. She had followed them, and no doubt waited until they had gotten far enough from the castle that there would be no oversight for her actions. She had not been following them. She had been HUNTING them.

“We need to get back to the castle,” said Sweetie Belle.

“She didn’t see us,” said Muguet, forcing Sweetie Belle down the alley. “I’m was supposed to protect you! If she finds us, I’ll be- -I could lose my job!”

Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened. She had not realized the significance of what she was doing because she had not listened. Muguet’s service to Fleur was her entire world, and now Sweetie Belle realized that she had risked it to stay with her. She was both touched and ashamed at herself for having put Muguet in this position.

There was a sound behind them, and Sweetie Belle turned just in time to see a flash of white feathers. Sweetie Belle shoved Muguet down another side-street, and the pair of them raced toward the tall grass at the end of the village. As they ducked into the crops, Sweetie Belle looked behind her to see Feathery Snipper standing on one of the houses, her black eyes glaring down at her. They had been seen, and Sweetie Belle’s heart- -which had already been racing- -felt as though it was about to exit her chest.

“She’s coming!” she said, running through the high grass. By this time, they had gone a surprising distance in a short amount of time. It was the fastest Sweetie Belle had ever run, but unfortunately, it was in the wrong direction. They were heading toward a dilapidated farmhouse instead of toward the castle. At this rate, there was no way they could make it back before Snipper caught up and did Celestia knows what to them.

“Only one option,” said Muguet. She looked at Sweetie Belle, and then spread her wings, taking flight and rising above the grass.

“Muguet! Don’t leave me!”

“I’ll lead her away! She can’t follow us both! Just run!”

With that, Muguet took to the air. Sweetie Belle did as she was told, but she was not sure which one of them Snipper was following. She saw no shadow in the sky, and slowed, trying to listen. The north wind was continuing to blow, moving through the grass and making a sound that normally would have been almost silent but now sounded nearly deafening.

Sweetie Belle tilted her head, trying to listen. A normal pony probably would have heard nothing but silence ,but her more sensitive hearing picked up on something moving almost silently toward her. Muguet had tried to lead Snipper away, knowing that she was not faster than a Pegasus pony, but Snipper had not taken the bait. Her target had always been Sweetie Belle, who was now alone with no way back to safety.

Now she panicked. She did not know where she was going, nor did she care. She simply ran, trying to get away, to somewhere that was safe. The sound continued to follow her, and Sweetie Belle could have sworn that she saw a pair of black eyes watching through the blades of grass.

Then in was over. She felt a hoof on her shoulder, and she cried out, struggling wildly to escape. It was surprisingly easy, and the pony who had grabbed her was thrown back. That gave Sweetie Belle pause; Snipper, despite being well passed middle aged, was quite muscular.

She looked up and saw that the pony who had grabbed her was not Feathery Snipper at all. Instead, he was a pale green Pegasus stallion of extremely advanced age. His face was covered by an enormous white beard, and Sweetie Belle realized that he had been so easy to push away because he only had one foreleg.

He put his remaining hoof to his lips, though, signaling for Sweetie Belle to stay silent. He then motioned for her to follow him, and then moved with almost perfect silence through the grass. Sweetie Belle paused, but she was so afraid and so confused that she eventually obeyed without question.

Despite his age and lack of a limb, the stallion was swift, and Sweetie Belle barely managed to keep up. She quickly realized, though, that she was being led to the house in the center of the field, one that stood in the unkempt crops and next to a collapsed barn.

“In here,” said the stallion, leaping up the crumbling stone steps and pushing open the door. He had the same accent as Snipper, and it gave Sweetie Belle pause. When she saw his eyes scanning the grass, though, she knew that he was trying to help her get to safety, and she entered his house.

He immediately entered and bolted the door. He then motioned for Sweetie Belle to stay low, and himself moved toward one of the windows. He was not much larger than Sweetie Belle, and had to stand awkwardly to see out the window, but he did so without any complaint and watched for what felt like hours.

Then, finally, he turned away from the window.

“Is she gone?” asked Sweetie Belle, realizing that she was not even sure if this stallion spoke any Alicornic.

“It is impossible to know,” he sighed. His accent was almost impossibly thick, but he appeared to have a grasp of the language. “Her kind, they hide very well.” He turned to Sweetie Belle. “You are indeed great much lucky. And you also indeed clearly not know the danger you put yourself in.”

“Why?” Sweetie Belle shivered. She had not understood, at least not consciously. “Do you know her?”

“Not personally,” admitted the old stallion, “but there are few of us here from the Vostok that do not recognize the face of Whiteshade.”

“Whiteshade?” Sweetie Belle was confused, but grasped that he was talking about Feathery Snipper. “Why? What did she do?” She paused, realizing the question she wanted to ask. “Why is everypony afraid of her?”

The stallion stared at Sweetie Belle for a moment, seeming deep in thought. He ran his hoof through his beard, and then instead of answering walked across the room. As he went, Sweetie Belle realized the nature of the house she was in. It was rustic, if not downright simple: it only had one, or perhaps two rooms. The floor was made of smooth compacted dirt, and there was no ceiling save for the rafters above and the thatching beyond them. The furniture was simple and old, and it looked as though the stallion might have made it himself. There were few possessions, save for some earth ware bowls or cups or farm tools, but the woodstove on the far end had been lit and was crackling quietly, filling the room with warmth.

The stallion walked with some difficulty, motioning for Sweetie Belle to sit at his table. Sweetie Belle hesitated for a moment, but then did. After she was situated, the stallion lifted a kettle from the stove and poured tea, taking his time.

Then, after what felt like minutes, he brought two cups of tea to the table. Sweetie Belle could smell it at a distance, and it smelled very different from any tea she had ever smelled before.

“It may not be what you are used to,” said the stallion, pushing one cup to Sweetie Belle. “And the herbs may taste harsher. But true tea is beyond what a simple stallion can be affording.”

“Thank you,” said Sweetie Belle, taking the cup but hesitating to drink any until she saw the stallion take a sip himself. Then she took a sip herself. It was bitter and frankly disgusting, but she hid her reaction.

“My name is being, in your language, Springgreen,” said the Stallion after a moment. “And what is yours, perhaps?”

“Sweetie Belle De’Lis,” lied Sweetie Belle.

Springgreen stared at her for a long moment, and then shook his head. “No,” he said. “You are certainly no commoner, but you are not a De’Lis. I know the De’Lis. I first was coming here when I was a colt, not much older than you. To escape the war in the east. Couleur De’Lis was being Baroness then. It was still not three years before her disappearance. I saw her once, and never again shall I see a mare of such terrible beauty. I hope I never do.”

“Why?” asked Sweetie Belle. The way this old stallion talked intrigued her, as did the fact that being from the east he was apparently not adverse to speaking to a white pony. He seemed almost wistful as he remembered the past, but also strangely hesitant with his long pauses and longer consideration.

This time, he did not answer, at least not directly. “I have a granddaughter who is a lot like you. A unicorn, but green. She lives in Maris now. Away from this place.” He paused. “It is good she left. This place…I am alone now, but it is better. I am too old to leave. Too late, alas.”

“I am sorry,” said Sweetie Belle. “But you’re not that old.”

The stallion smiled. “Kind, yes? But I am. And more, I owe a debt to the De’Lis, for allowing me to remain when I had nothing save my mother and child sister. I cannot tend my farm anymore.” He looked to the stump where his leg had been long ago. “But I still stand beside them, and the cursed castle.”

“Cursed?” Sweetie Belle was suddenly interested. “What do you mean cursed?”

“That is not a question I can answer, child. I am the wrong color to be able to freely approach the sanctum. Nor do I desire to. Even in youth, my resolve was not as strong as yours.”

“You know I’ve been staying there.”

Springgreen nodded. “Word moves quickly here, even to these old ears.”

“They don’t like me very much,” admitted Sweetie Belle. “Or poor Muguet. Because we’re different.”

“Or because you’re the same.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Just an old stallion thinking, while he still can be.”

He took another sip of his “tea”, and Sweetie Belle- -despite nearly gagging on hers- -took a sip as well. They sat in silence for a moment, and this time Sweetie Belle spoke.

“I think you’re right,” she said at last.

“It took my son twenty seven years to learn that,” said the old stallion, smiling. “But right about what, I am the wondering?”

“Weird stuff has been going on at the castle. I keep…seeing things. And I’m getting sicker the longer I stay there. And something tried to hurt my sister, and it almost…” She could not finish the thought. “It was okay when it was just me, but I can’t let whatever it is mess with Rarity.” She looked up at Springgreen. “You said you knew why ponies are afraid of Snipper, or ‘Whiteshade’, or whatever her name is?”

“I do,” he said. “But, a warning: it is something that may be hard for one like yourself to comprehend.”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

“That may be, but strength can be two things, can’t it? The poor thestral girl, or the boy from the southern village, they would understand better.” His eyes suddenly became dark, and he rubbed the stump of his limb with his free hoof. “They would know more well…”

“But I need to know,” said Sweetie Belle. “She chased me through the grass, and I think she might be trying to hurt me, or my sister. I have to know. Is she dangerous?”

“Yes,” rasped the old stallion suddenly. “By Celestia, yes.”

“Why?”

Springgreen paused, and looked into his tea for a long moment. He then looked up and spoke. “Your accent. You are from the West. I doubt you know of the Long War in the East. A revolution, against the three noble houses that rule…or ruled.”

“Because the revolution was successful, wasn’t it?”

Springgreen nodded, seeming a bit surprised that Sweetie Belle discern that reason so easily. “Yes. Those nobles lie dead, their bloodlines left extinct by the peasants they so badly mistreated. And yet the war continues. The pony I call Whiteshade and you call Snipper, she was a soldier in that war.”

Sweetie Belle raised an eyebrow. “How long ago was that?”

“In her youth. Perhaps forty years prior? I will never speak to her, so I know not.”

“She never said anything about it. Fleur didn’t either.”

“It is likely something that would not be spoken of. Whiteshade, she was not an ordinary soldier. She was what we call ‘Cherni Viter’, the black wind. The worst of them, and most feared. Assassins, murderers, destroyers of ponies.”

“Her?”

“Do you need proof?” Springreen pointed at where his leg would have been. “Find her foreleg. There will be a brand, a symbol like a triangle. They branded the children. I only escaped because of the landmine. They did not want a cripple.”

“Landmine…” Sweetie Belle shivered again, more powerfully than before. She knew the word, and what it was, but the idea was incomprehensible. That things like that could even exist in Equestria in a place so different from her own home. She looked up at Springgreen, though, and continued. “Then why is she here?”

“I do not know. I only know that she is feared desperately here, even by me.”

“So are Muguet and Silver Sight. Because they are white.”

“No,” said Springgreen, shaking his head. “There are two kinds of fear. That poor girl and the boy, the fear for them is not true. It is disgust, and hatred at deviance. But the soldier? Her fear is true, the same fear as of Fwarnes Gwaedu.”

“Gwaedu?” Sweetie Belle shot up suddenly, nearly spilling her tea and causing Springgreen to look quite surprised. “That word? What does it mean?”

“Gwaedu?” Springgreen looked both confused and mildly intrigued. “It…is an epithet, a saying in the Forgotten Language. It means ‘bleeding’. Here, she is called the ‘Bleeding Baroness’.”

“Bleeding?”

“Because of the hemophilia. All the nobles have it.” He paused. “Don’t you?”

“No. My blood is fine.”

“Hmm. You are special, then. But still not free of risk. Not from Cherni Viter.”

“I don’t understand.”

Springgreen leaned forward. “You are a white unicorn. To her, and to them, the symbol of oppression. After what the nobles did, who could be blaming them, for their hatred? The families, they are dead now. Mares, stallions. Children. She was there.”

Sweetie Belle gasped. “But that means…” She stood up from the bench, stepping toward the door. “It means Rarity’s in danger! And Fleur! What if- -” She looked up at Springgreen. “What if Fleur doesn’t know? What if- -I have to get back to the castle! I have to tell her!”

“Wait,” ordered Springgreen. He did not say it sternly, or even loudly, but Sweetie Belle obeyed without question. “Listen,” he said, softly.

Sweetie Belle did, and she realized that she could hear birds. They did not sound pretty- -like everything else here, they were course and strange- -but they sounded beautiful in their own right.

“Somewhere, perhaps, there is a pony who can share in the wisdom of the birds,” he said. “Their singing, it means she has passed us by. No doubt whatever her goal was being, a witness was not desired.”

“So she’s gone now?”

“Yes. And you need to be soon, too.” Springgreen stood up with some effort. “Here,” he said, giving her a course scarf. “Take this, and go back to the castle. The storms, they are coming. As dangerous as it is, in your health, getting caught in the cold rain would be worse. Please hurry, and please be careful.”

“I will,” said Sweetie Belle, taking the scarf.

Sweetie Belle fled quickly through the tall grass, racing against time and the approaching storm. She was so focused on her goal and on pushing past her sickness that she did not look behind her. If she had, and had happened to look at the top of the collapsed barn that stood beside Springgreen’s house, she would have seen the face of a pale white unicorn, his gray eyes slowly following the young filly as she fled.

He did not speak, and he did not call out. He simply watched, knowing that the time had almost come.