Author's Note

Hello, brave readers, and welcome to a new installment in the Silky Saga!
~~No, that isn't the real name for this series~~

*cough* Anyways, I'm glad that you've decided to give this story a look. For all the hard work, blood, sweat, and tears that went into this, I'm really proud of it. I hope that you all enjoy a tale of sorrow, of blood, magic, and eventual happiness. I tried to keep it a little lighter on exposition. Emphasis on tried. I do appreciate any feedback that you're able to provide, so don't hesitate to give a comment down below, even if it's only a few words! I won't bite...

1. Crumble

The Saddle Arabian desert was notoriously inhospitable, but there was life that could be found. Besides Sonambula in southern Equestria, one other feature spot for travelers was Sweet Oasis, just on the other side of the border. Apart from having the largest body of water between the border of Equestria and the Capital of Saddle Arabia, the walls were so tall as to supposedly be able to block out a sandstorm. Even more astounding was the history behind the perfectly circular barrier. It had been constructed over a thousand years ago by an alicorn, working by moonlight to fit every neat square into place to protect the ponies inside. Though the alicorn’s name had been lost to the town’s history, most assumed it to be the legendary Celestia.

Fine Silk had her suspicions, though, as had decades of scholars who had lived in the ancient town. There were old mosaics in the shadows of the walls that depicted a much darker figure. Most of Sweet Oasis didn’t care about which of the ancient Two Sisters had constructed the wall, but the silk trader was closer to filling in the pieces of the old mosaics, the illustrated truth about who had constructed the wall. At least it might take away some credit from that bloated white peacock on hooves- huh?

The coarse sand underneath her hooves had given way to something so fine, she was beginning to sink into it. The bicolored unicorn backpedaled quickly, bumping into her wagon and pushing her mobile home back from the trap. Where there had normally been rocks protruding from the desert, there was only fine, shimmering sand, forming a neat line between Fine Silk and her destination in the hazy distance. “Oh no,” she murmured aloud, looking out at the desert around her. Sandstorms weren’t common out here, but when they occurred, they could be devastating.

“Fine Silk?” A reedy, elderly voice called from inside the covered wagon. “Is everything alright?”

Fine Silk had never believed in lying, even to protect someone’s feelings, and she wasn’t about to start now. Squaring her shoulders, she unhooked the padded harness from around her torso and moved closer to the wagon. From inside the dark interior, filmy yellow eyes blinked back curiously. “I’m not sure, Brightspear,” she said, her heart twisted in worry. “There was a sandstorm.”

“Oh, how dreadful.” The elderly mare within blinked, mourning clear in her rheumy eyes. “I do hope that the walls were enough to protect the town.” Brightspear made no move to venture towards the open door, however, but there was a sympathetic hum from within.

“I hope that someone from Canterlot came to restore the wall’s magic,” Fine Silk murmured, turning back towards the direction of Sweet Oasis. “The town’s mages were sending enough missives to Celestia.” The unicorn’s horn began to glow purple, and soft auras of magic briefly formed around her hooves and the wheels of the cart. It was a slightly modification of the Cloud Walking spell, and it held true as she took a cautious step out onto the soft sand that had blanketed the desert. The ground barely stirred around her hoof, and neither she nor the cart sank. The burden of pulling the cart actually was a bit easier as they skimmed over the hot earth. She would have to remember this spell for next time.

Circumventing the disaster area to get to Sweet Oasis would have taken days, but going straight through meant that the town’s famous walls would become visible in a few short hours. Fine Silk had made this journey so many times before, every rock and and bush around her had become familiar, like old friends who guided the way to any city along the way to the Capital. With the new sand blown in, however, it was an alien landscape that she crossed, distinctly uninviting.

After three hours of silent trekking, Sweet Oasis’ walls were still not in sight.

“I swear, I’ve only walked in a straight line!” Fine Silk shouted out to the desert at large, not that there was anything around but Brightspear to hear her. “And there’s no haze, so where’s the bucking town?!” Frustratedly shouting, she stamped down on the sand, but with the magic around her feet, it only sent up a little cloud of dust.

The wagon behind her shook a little, and there was the clatter of goods inside. “Hold on!” Brightspear called. “I’m looking for a compass.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, you old bat! I can just try a locator spell,” the unicorn called back, stopping the wagon.

“Let me be useful, just the once,” the older-sounding pony shouted in retort, a little harsh-sounding, but it did little to ruffle Fine Silk’s (figurative) feathers. She rather enjoyed their catty banter. “Besides, I’ve got it here. You’re going in the right direction.”

Levitating a map out from the inside of her robe, Fine Silk cast a Global Positioning Spell to show their current position. Her eyes widened. “Brightspear…”

A grey muzzle just barely poked out from around the curtain of the wagon. “That’s your “I’ve got bad news” tone,” the elderly pony muttered. “Okay, Fine. Just how bad is the news?”

Fine Silk looked out over the landscape in front of them, where oddly angular sand dunes poked up from the pale yellow and rusty orange landscape. “We’re right on top of the town. The sandstorm blew the walls down.”

Baklava was rudely brought back to consciousness when fine particles flew up into her nose, and she promptly wished that she hadn’t woken up at all. Every shelf in the storage room had been knocked off of their bracket, sending jars of oil and preserved fruits to the ground. The slurry pooled all around her and eugh, some of it had stained her hair purple and red. Shaking a little, the unicorn tried to push herself up from the ground. How had she gotten on the floor again- ow! Her head felt like a melon that had been split by an axe. Her vision swam and her stomach lurched unpleasantly. ‘I already have one mess to clean up,’ she thought vaguely, closing her eyes upon getting to her knees. ‘I don’t want to add to it.’ Something warm dripped from her forehead and onto her cheek; it was probably some of the juice that she’d been laying in.

With agonizing slowness, Baklava opened her tacky eyes to look around the room a little more. Aside from the broken jars, baskets and crates had tipped over, spilling their fruity contents over the floor and leaving them for the dust and flies. It was at least two hundred bits worth of supplies lost. Damn...Poppy Loaf was not going to be happy-

Poppy Loaf!

On shaky hooves, ignoring how her dress felt much breezier than usual, Baklava shuffled towards the stairs, dripping dark liquid with every step. From the lack of light through the shutters and the stairway door, it had to be nighttime, and she couldn’t hear anymore wind. Maybe the storm had blown over. The walls had held, and everyone was sleeping. That had to be it. It had to-

“Oh, no,” she rasped, pulling open the door. “Faust, no…” Something deep inside of her splintered, like dry wood under the unrelenting desert sun.

The stairwell that led down to the bakery had been completely filled by gold and red sand. From the surface of the earth, three black digits poked up towards the sky, stiff, fleshy monuments to a desperate moment that was frozen in time. Even without touching them, Baklava could tell that the pony to whom they’d belonged was dead, drowning in the relentless sand. Her knees sank into it as she collapsed, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as she touched the black-furred fingers. “Poppy,” she sobbed. “Poppy, please.”

Poppy Loaf’s beautifully talented fingers would never work dough to a rich shine, or pull trays out of the oven for her when she could have done it with her levitation. She’d never feel her husband’s hugs again, left to remember those that he’d given her from their childhood through their wedding day. They would never be able to share a laugh or a cup of tea again after a long day in the shop. They’d never get to share dinner with Kiliv and Seed Loaf.

The last thought had hot tears stinging at the edges of her salt-encrusted eyes. If Poppy Loaf was dead, then that meant Baklava’s in-laws were probably dead as well, since they lived on the lower floor. Poor Kiliv and Seed Loaf, who’d been nothing but kind and accommodating to the young orphan who had captured their son’s heart. No more family meals, or going shopping for ingredients with Kiliv, nor would there be walking with the whole family around the wall to find some of the crumbling mosaics.

That was all that Baklava would ever have of them anymore: memories.

Consumed by her grief, the brown unicorn crouched over the only visible part of her husband’s body and let out a shrieking wail. Her sobs rang in her ear as she sat trapped in the tomb of her new family, as well as any future happiness that she could have shared with them. “P-poppy,” she stammered while her tears sank into the sand. “Poppy, please. Come back….come back!” Her final words were screamed, torn from her ragged throat, but there was no one to hear her here. Not even the Sun, a constant sentinel over Sweet Oasis, could bear witness to the bride’s grief.

“Don’t leave me alone. I don’t want to be alone.” She alternated between quiet whimpers and loud wails, and no one could comfort her in this grief. It opened beneath her like a crevice, bottomless, all-consuming. Baklava fell, mind and soul, into the sadness and loneliness. Maybe, if she were lucky, she would join her husband and family in the Eternal Meadow soon.

A pair of ears, one black and one white, pricked up in interest. “Brightspear,” she whispered, “do you feel that?”

Faded yellow eyes and that grey muzzle poked out from the wagon again, sniffing the air. “Mare in distress?” the older pony muttered. “Typical for you. Feel a bit harder, dear. There’s something else there, too.”

Any particular friendly jabs at her companion were promptly forgotten as Fine Silk reached out with her senses, already trained on the unknown mare, into the immediate area. She didn’t have to reach far before a phantom taste was in her mouth, harsh and unyielding.

Blood and steel.