Author's Note

Thanks again for all of the great feedback, you guys. I really appreciate it. This chapter's a bit more exposition-heavy than usual, but if you are willing to stick around for one more chapter, we get to the juicy bit.

Warnings for this chapter: a little blood, some alcohol use, a bit heavy on the exposition

3. Divide

Baklava couldn’t bring herself to sleep. The events from the past day and a half, compounded by the pain from the curse that she’d apparently taken, caused her head to buzz with all of her thoughts. Here she was, newly widowed and the last survivor of a sandstorm, completely alone except for two mares who had saved her by killing the bandits intent on selling her and worse. On top of that, Dune’s attack was a curse that was causing the unicorn’s body to turn against itself and could kill her at anytime.

It was all just a bit much. Just a bit.

Miserably, Baklava pulled a little on the cloak around her shoulders and stared up at the moon with tired, stinging eyes. Fine Silk had been generous enough to offer her the cloak for warmth and protection, since her dress was a bit unsuitable for either in its ruined state, and she couldn’t bring herself to say no. In the much larger and grander interior of the wagon, she could faintly hear her two rescuers talking with each other and shifting objects around.

‘Faust, what am I going to do?’ Baklava thought desperately, sipping at another cup of smoky tea that she’d brought up with her. Fine Silk seemed to know a lot about magic, but the paint unicorn was completely stumped at any form of counter-curse to help drive the toxic magic out of Baklava’s body.

“It doesn’t mean I’ll give up,” she’d said before Baklava had gone outside for some fresh air. “I won’t ever stop looking, if you want to stay alive.”

Did she want to stay alive, though? A few hours earlier, Baklava had wanted nothing more than death, especially with her whole world having come crashing down around her. She had no husband or in-laws or friends anymore, no extended family that she knew of. Everything that she was had been tied to Sweet Oasis; selling baked goodies to travelers and townsfolk alike, swimming in the crystal blue waters with Poppy Loaf, joining him on a few midnight trysts (and sometimes engaging with other couples rebelling against tradition).

Now that Baklava herself was dying, crying blood when the curse managed to push through Fine Silk’s magical barrier, it didn’t feel like what she wanted to do, especially if dying was so painful. “I’ll miss you, Poppy,” she whispered up at the stars. Somewhere beyond that spangled aether, she hoped that Poppy Loaf and his parents were safe and relaxing in the Eternal Meadow. A few hot tears, only lightish-red saltwater this time, trailed down from her eyes and into her matted fur.

Something knocking on the wood of the wagon made her start, but it was only Brightspear and Fine Silk on the platform below. “May we talk to you for a few minutes?” the paint pony asked quietly.

“I have more tea,” Brightspear offered, stretching her back a little so that the odd apparatus that was there shifted.

How could she say no? Baklava nodded quietly and leaned back to give them both some room. Fine Silk clambered up with hands and hooves only, nimble as a spider on a web, and sat a polite distance from the widow. Brightspear, however, rolled her shoulders, and leathery wings snapped out. Long, fingered, and dark silver in the moonlight, the baker couldn’t help but watch in awe as the older pony took a running jump, flapping her wings in the warm desert night.

“Y-you’re a-a-a-”

“A bat pony, dear. Don’t choke on your own tongue,” Brightspear chuckled, kind as she brushed her hand against the stunned chestnut unicorn’s cheek. “Not so common, but we don’t need to stay completely invisible.”

“I’ve never seen a bat pony before,” Baklava admitted, wide-eyed in her awe. Belatedly, she realized that this was the second time that she’d said that in just a few hours; the chestnut pony was quickly realizing that there was bound to be a lot of different races and species that she hadn’t seen before, even with spending her whole life in a major trading town. Grief and anguish was giving way to curiosity. Even in the tragedy of today, there was more to see and experience, a thrill in and of itself. “Is it true that you can only be out in the nighttime because the sunlight sets your fur on fire?”

“Ha! Is that what they’re saying these days?” the elderly member squawked mirthfully. “You hear this?” She elbowed Fine Silk in the ribs. “The tales that they’re sharing with foals.”

“Bat ponies told me much stranger stories when I was a filly,” the paint unicorn murmured, smiling under her veil. “Then again, that was a different time. Different traditions and cultures, you know.”

“No, I don’t.” With a shrewd glance, Brightspear elbowed her companion again, seemingly unafraid of being nosy in front of their guest. “Why haven’t you shared those stories with me, Silkie?”

The nickname earned a low, good-natured grumble from Fine Silk, and she batted at her seemingly older companion.

“Wait, I’m confused.” Baklava, having been quietly watching them interact, tilted her head. Something about their interaction had piqued her curiosity again. “Miss Brightspear, I...forgive me, please, I don’t want to seem rude, but...does Miss Silk know stories of bat ponies that you do not?”

The mirth shared between the two older mares was still there at her question, but there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere around them. Something more serious was in play here, all of a sudden, prompted by a single question. Unconsciously, Baklava shrank back, worry and embarrassment squeezing at her stomach. “I’m- I’m sorry. Please, I meant no offense-”

“It’s fine, dear.” Brightspear waved the concern away and patted Baklava’s shoulder while Fine Silk was watching them both with an odd, searching expression. “It’s...well, a bit of a sore subject for the both of us, but I’m not afraid to talk about it. Need some tea, first.” Immediately, Baklava filled her own cup with the new teapot and passed it to the old bat pony, desperate to make up for her probing question while also insatiably curious.

After adding a bit of amber liquid to the tea from a concealed flask, Brightspear took a gulp before launching into her tale. “There aren’t many bat ponies anywhere, whether it be here or Equestria or the lands beyond. We all live in isolated communities, either with just bat ponies or with other races who were generous enough to house us. There are many superstitions about us, where we came from, how we do things, why we do them. At more than one point in the past, it...well…”

“They would be killed because of those superstitions,” Fine Silk added softly, still watching them both with that odd expression on her face. “By non-pony races, at times, but oftentimes by the three main tribes, all because they were too different.”

“That’s...horrible isn’t even the right word.” Baklava was suddenly very glad, not that she was a unicorn, but certainly that she didn’t live in times where such a thing would have been acceptable. “It must be terribly difficult, being a batpony in Equestria.” That seemed to be where these two were from.

Taking another sip of her tea, Brightspear took a moment to look up at the beautiful, clear night sky. “We manage. It’s easier, living with others of our own kind, and we try not to take advantage of the generosity that others show us because we know, collectively, that we’re lucky.”

“That attitude has never changed.” Fine Silk never spoke loudly, hardly intruding in the conversation.

Something was niggling at Baklava, deep in the back of her brain, something that she should ask, but the moment was interrupted by a sudden constriction of her lungs. Before the first blood clot could be coughed into her palms, Fine Silk was there with her glowing purple hand, reaching into the suffering unicorn’s body and reinforcing the fierce purple wall of magic that contained the crimson curse. The pain and need to cough eased at once, but Baklava sagged, completely exhausted, still staring at the lump of congealed blood in her hands. She was caught in warm, gloved arms, and a gentle hand came up to brush through her mane. Little grains of sand fell from the strands onto the rooftop of the wagon.

“Are you alright?”

“...don’t want to die.” It was a small, pitiful, but safely in Fine Silk’s arms, with such unconditional generosity in the form of the paint pony’s magic keeping her alive, Baklava couldn’t manage anything more.

“I know, my dear.” The veil was lifted from in front of Fine Silk’s face as she looked down at her charge. In the moonlight, she seemed enchanted, surrounded by a halo of stars. Even in her sickened state, Baklava could appreciate the other pony’s beauty, though it was probably mostly due to the paint’s kindness.

“Baklava,” she croaked, unconsciously burrowing into the other pony’s skirts.

“Baklava. What a lovely name for a beautiful pony.” Lips softer than rose petals met Baklava’s forehead, two little dots of coolness against the raging fever. “We’ll look for a cure for you tomorrow. We’ll search through the library.”

“But how?” she softly protested, just barely basking in the glow from the other pony’s praise. “I’m sure that it’s buried.” Even though it would be a blessing to be able to access the library, could this unicorn remove tonnes of sand to do so?

Fine Silk flashed a determined grin. “We’re going to at least try to get in. You can go to sleep, Baklava. I’ll plan our way in.” A glowing purple hand caressed the chestnut pony’s face, and she curled into that warm, inviting lap a little while that hand brushed through her mane again, soothing her aching body and mind and letting Baklava drift into a more peaceful sleep.

Being in the spacious interior of the wagon was a comfort for Baklava, but she chose to sit outside on the platform with Brightspear the next morning, enjoying a breakfast of tea and soup dumplings while Fine Silk worked her magic. The baker couldn’t help but watch, fascinated as with a touch of her glowing fingers, the immediate ground around Fine Silk solidified from loose sand into a slightly more stable sandstone. The unicorn didn’t stop there, though. Around her, a glowing spell circle burned itself into the stone, and with a punch of the paint’s fists into the empty air in front of her, magic shot out from the runes in lines, digging into the sand that had buried Sweet Oasis’ library.

“She’s really powerful,” the brown unicorn squeaked, shifting with the wagon as the ground under them was twisted and maneuvered by Fine Silk’s rumbling magic.

“Yes, absolutely.” Brightspear gave a slurp of the broth at the bottom of her spoon before swallowing the rest of her carrot dumpling. “She’s trained for longer than anypony in modern times.”

“I thought that she might be long-lived.” The suspicion had niggled at the back of Baklava’s mind, but no time had seemed appropriate to bring it up. “She must be very powerful, almost as powerful as the Sun Princess.”

There was a sudden sharpness in Brightspear’s eyes, a rather alarming flash of frost, but before Baklava could apologize for saying something wrong, the bat pony said, “I...would be careful about mentioning Celestia to Fine Silk. You can bring it up, but she may not want to answer.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Baklava couldn’t claim to be close to an expert on Equestria’s monarch, nor how she interacted with her subjects, but the impression that she’d gotten was that the mover of the sun was generally beneficial.

“There’s no fault in ignorance unless it is willful,” the bat-pony replied sagely, slurping up another dumpling as a low v-shape formed in the sand in front of Fine Silk. “Though we all have our moments when we don’t want to face the truth.” A pointed glance was aimed at Fine Silk’s back, but if the powerful unicorn noticed, she ignored the older pony’s glare.

Taking a few more bites of her own breakfast, Baklava wasn’t blind to the glare. “You and Miss Silk are friends, yes?” she asked. “Have you two argued recently?”

“...always picks up the sharp ones.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, dear.” But it clearly wasn’t nothing. The bat pony’s mouth had shifted into a soft frown as she looked over at Baklava. “Fine Silk and I have been friends for my whole life. We agree on many things, and have playful arguments over some others. Regarding you, though...we disagree on what to do going forward.”

“Me?” To her memory, the young mare had not been the root of any sort of problem, or the trigger for any sort of argument with anybody. What could they possibly be arguing about with her?

“Not you personally.” The elder patted Baklava’s shoulder with a calloused hand. “We both agree that you are a very wonderful pony, and we’re both saddened by the losses you’ve suffered and the curse you were hit with. Nothing from the past two days should have happened to you. Where Fine and I disagree is finding a cure versus pursuing a treatment. She knows that she can treat you with her magic. She just wants to find a cure before trying the treatment.”

“Has she not been treating me?” There was a reason why Baklava had gone for baking instead of higher schools of magic, particularly healing.

“She’s been using a stop-gap against your symptoms.” Brightspear folded her arms against her chest, still watching her friend at work. “Not quite the same as a full treatment. The treatment wouldn’t eliminate the curse, but it will contain it more forcefully, negate its effects in you, and help you live a mostly normal life, if not completely the same in quality as before. The cure, a counter-curse.” She paused, drumming her gnarled fingers over a few scars on her arm. “...we don’t know if one exists.”

The ground gave another rumble underneath the wagon, and the valley formed into the sand finally stopped growing. Fine Silk had formed a tunnel between the surface and what looked to be the library. “That was a good workout,” the paint groaned, stretching her arms and back as she approached the caravan. “Brightspear, you’re up past your bedtime, so I’m sure you’ll want to stay here. Baklava, would you like to come with me?”

“I…” So much was going on inside of Baklava’s head. Not only the stress of losing her family and her whole town in a freak accident, but adding in the pressure of the curse in her body and the sudden revelation of the argument between Fine Silk and Brightspear about her future, what was she to do? She turned to Brightspear, to see if maybe the bat pony could offer any wisdom, but the grey mare had already disappeared into the magically altered cart. “Yes, please,” she whispered lamely, sliding off of the platform. Maybe she could ask Fine Silk while they searched the library for whatever the other pony might be looking for. Maybe...there were far too many maybes. When could something become more concrete?

Descending down into the tunnel that she’d created, Fine Silk turned her head to look back at Baklava, concerned. “Are you alright?” she asked quietly, though her voice echoed a little. “Did I do something wrong, Baklava?”

Far be it from anyone, living or deceased, to accuse Baklava of being a liar. “Brightspear told me,” she began haltingly, “that there...might not be a cure for me.” She fiddled with the cloak that had been given to her, still covering her old, torn dress.

“Ahh…” Fine Silk sighed, but didn’t seem entirely put out by the admittance. “I see. It’s something that we argued about since I first rescued you. I expect that she also mentioned that I could treat you?”

“Mmm-hmm...yes, she did,” the younger pony added, thinking that the older unicorn might not have heard her hum. “I think that she thought that you should go for the treatment now, and not look for a cure.” That had been her impression, anyways.

“I see.” It sounded less like Fine Silk was annoyed at Brightspear, and more that this was a piece of ordinary gossip. “And what do you think, Baklava?”

The younger halted in her tracks, skidding a little on the sandstone. “M-me?”

Fine Silk stopped as well, turning back to look at Baklava from under her veil. “Yes. It is your body that we’re discussing. The decision should be up to you.”

“I suppose that I want more information, please.” Her reply was soft, unsure about the whole situation. So much of what her life had become now was uncertainty. She was a little boat, adrift in a lake with no tether to shore. Every new occurrence was a wave that threatened to sink her, but this filly was determined to keep her head above water, thank you.

“That’s very wise of you. Would you like to walk with me?” Fine Silk offered an arm that Baklava took gratefully as they strolled through the archway of the library. The sand had been mostly cleared away, so the green marble tiles were visible. Even the magical ceiling, covered in at least a solid foot of sand up above, reflected the cloudless morning.

The interior of the library had been spared from the worst of the storm thanks to the few windows being covered in intricate inscribed spell-glass. The two mares’ footsteps echoed through the dim building, but as they passed through the threshold into the main antechamber, there was a slight tingle in their hooves, and the lamps around the wall flickered from soft, yellow flames that added just a little extra light to the chambers. “The town’s Majii were quite ingenious, weren’t they?” Fine Silk whispered, looking around at the columns of books and scrolls that seemed to stretch up towards the sky.

Most unusually, Baklava found herself feeling bitter in her aching heart. “If they’d been so ingenious, they could’ve kept the wall up,” she muttered, looking down at the floor. While the library’s interior had remained intact during the storm, some grains of sand had been tracked in with them.

When Fine Silk looked at her companion from underneath her veil, it wasn’t with anything reproachful, pitying, or uncaring towards the widow’s bitterness. A handkerchief was quietly offered for Baklava to mop up a stray tear that was, thankfully, untainted by blood. “An alicorn’s magic is both powerful and unique,” the robed unicorn murmured as Baklava wiped at her eyes. “And alicorn magic built the walls of the city, so only an alicorn would have been able to fully restore the wall’s magic that could have kept it standing and sand-repellent.”

“The...the Majii were sending letters to Celestia. Everyone in town knew that.” Baklava’s throat tightened in her bitterness and grief, but she was still able to talk. Almost as soon as the physical pain began, though, there was a soft glow and it returned to dormancy. “Why...why didn’t she come to rebuild the walls that she made?” Why didn’t Celestia perform what must have been a simple task that could have spared hundreds of lives? Why didn’t the Sun Princess do something that could have spared Poppy Loaf and her in-laws? Why had Sweet Oasis been ignored?

More questions began swirling around in her head while Fine Silk remained silent, deep in thought. What was she waiting for? It looked like she had an answer. “Tell me...please.” It came out as a whimper from Baklava. “Why did...why did my husband die?” Her knees sank to the cold floor, providing a sharp contrast with the hot grief gripping her heart, and she gripped the other mare’s skirt.

The now-weeping unicorn wasn’t kicked away or ignored. Fine Silk knelt down next to her and pulled the chestnut pony into a gentle hug, tucking Baklava’s head against her chest. “I know it hurts,” she murmured, gently rocking the pony in her arm. “I know that nothing I say or do will stop you from wanting your husband back-”

“You don’t know what it’s like!” Baklava couldn’t take it anymore, this wonderful, unconditional, wounding kindness that tried to soothe her, and she screamed at it in retaliation. “Y-you don’t know what it feels like to lose someone who promised to d-d-dedicate their whole life to you.” Deep in the back of her mind, where all the rationale and objectivity had been shunted off to, she knew that she was being unfair. Fine Silk was long-lived; she had to have had friends, lovers, family members, maybe even children come and go. The gaping wound in her heart, though, was just too raw, especially with the revelation that the tragedy of her husband’s death might have been prevented.

Fine Silk didn’t let go, even as Baklava’s wail rattled around in her ears and through the empty halls. This had nothing to do with the smaller unicorn’s curse. This was pure grief, born from losing everything you held dear. It was far too familiar to the paint, and she held Baklava as the latter practically crumbled to pieces. It was best to let the tears flow, for all the unjust questions and thoughts to be shared, and give rationality a chance to prevail in a clearer, less cluttered head. Fine Silk’s hands glowed again where they made contact with chestnut fur, a mixture of the stop-gap charm she was using as well as a general muscle relaxing spell.

The weeping widow almost melted under the gentle magical touch. She wasn’t sobbing her heart out anymore, but sort of gulping now that the worst of it was over. A few hot tears still matted her fur and were tracking down her face, and a handkerchief was quietly offered. She took it to clean herself up, and the cloth came away without any trace of blood. “I’m really sorry,” she hiccuped. “I don’t...usually cry like this, or...or shout.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” the older unicorn whispered, brushing a hand through a frizzy blonde mane. “I’ve lost ponies that I’ve been close to, and other creatures besides, but never quite as suddenly as you have. Your emotions are completely justified, Baklava.” A dark hand reached out to take the chestnut’s own, and she said, “honestly, I am quite amazed that you held it together for as long as you have. You truly have a burning, enduring spirit.”

The compliment unintentionally stung, and fresh tears beaded at the edges of bright blue eyes. “I’m not...not strong,” Baklava whimpered, and her head hung limply so that the tears splattered to the tiles. “If I were, then...then I might have sa-saved him. Poppy would still be alive.” And so would her in-laws, and all of their friends, and everyone who’d lived in the town. Why… “Why did I survive, but e-everyone else d-d-d-d...died?” Even saying the word made her heart crack just a little bit more, even when there was so little of it left.

Offering a few moments of silence to Baklava so that she could finish crying again, Fine Silk waited quietly and patiently for the other pony to curl into her, desperate for warmth and comfort. “It’s a question that I’ve heard often,” she finally said, situating the grieving mare more comfortably into her lap and setting Baklava’s head against her shoulder. “Living feels like a curse, especially when we have to go it alone, without the usual support we would have expected.”

“You...you’ve lost others, too,” Baklava stammered, nuzzling into the kind pony’s chest. “I...think that you’ve lived a long time, so you must have lost many to whom you were close.” The paint froze underneath her, shocked, but before the widow could apologize for her assumption, Fine Silk spoke again.

“I’ve lived for a long time, yes, though I couldn’t tell you why. I’ve lost my parents, friends, lovers, pets, even friendly rivals and enemies. It hurts every time.” The arms around Baklava tightened just a little, as though Fine Silk were trying to find her own comfort. “I’ve wanted to join them on more than one occasion. I’ve tried.”

Even in her grief, the mention of the beautiful pony’s attempts on her own life startled Baklava. “Why would you- oh…” There was no polite way to say it, really, and she didn’t want to come across as accusatory. Besides, not too long ago, she’d wished for the same thing.

“Why would I want to die like that? I don’t mind you asking,” said Fine Silk in her calm yet somber voice. “I didn’t want to be alone. I still don’t. When my- the bat-ponies that I lived with ages ago were killed, I was so angry at myself for staying alive. Why would I dare to do that? Why couldn’t I join them in their eternal rest? How could I not do more to protect them?”

“How come we didn’t go upstairs together?” Baklava chimed in miserably, but even asking the question out loud seemed to lighten the burden just a little bit. “Why did he insist I go up first? Why did Seed Loaf and Khiliv go back for that stupid, ugly vase? Why…” She suddenly paused in her questioning and blinked up at Fine Silk, who was watching her patiently. “Why didn’t Princess Celestia come to help fix the wall that she had built?”

Something deep in those kind purple eyes...sparked? Or something briefly glimmered, a deep pain that seemed to go beyond grief. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, though, replaced with an aged tiredness, similar to what Baklava might have seen in some of the town’s elders. “I...am not certain that Celestia did,” she mumbled. “Build them, I mean.”

It felt like the floor had suddenly dropped around them, so great was the shock. “Sh-she didn’t? But you said that...an alicorn’s magic couldn’t be duplicated.”

“It cannot,” Fine Silk replied lowly, “but, if you’ll forgive me for indulging in a small teaching moment, Celestia has not been history’s only alicorn. Just as there is one for the sun, there was, long ago, one for the moon.”

“Another alicorn?”

“A sister, more precisely.” Beneath the sympathetic pain that she felt for Baklava, Fine Silk’s soul glimmered warmly at the pony’s curiosity. “My suspicion, based on the town’s murals, is that Princess Luna shaped Sweet Oasis’ walls over a thousand years ago. Unfortunately, she could not have come to help. She was sealed away.”

“Sealed away?” Baklava was beginning to feel a lot like one of those colorful parrots that used to live around the oasis, mimicking those who wandered beneath their trees. If the other pony took no offense, though, then there didn’t seem to be harm done in asking questions like this. “Where? Why?” Without a word, Baklava found herself quietly set down on the cool tile, and the paint unicorn was moving abruptly away, not facing her. “Miss Silk?” Oh no! What had she done? What did she do wrong-

All of a sudden, the magical lanterns in the library began to dim, and even with the clear sky from the enchanted ceiling above them, the halls became noticeably darker. A cold wind began to abruptly howl, tugging at Baklava’s loose mane. Fine Silk’s black and white mane also moved, but it wasn’t as free-flowing as her dependent’s. It seemed to take on a near-liquid consistency, dripping from around her shoulders and legs, seeping into the dark parts of her fur and the crawling shadows. The older mare still didn’t face the younger, but Baklava watched both of her black hands curling into fists.

Oddly enough, the vortex wasn’t dragging at Baklava, but that may have been because she was huddling closer to the ground at the supposedly rare demonstration of frustration or anger. The wind tugged at her, yes, but she was barely moved from her seat as she watched angry embers, dark and light purple, sparking from Fine Silk’s horn. Brightspear’s words suddenly came back to her. “I would be careful about mentioning Celestia to Fine Silk.” She was beginning to understand why.

Baklava was more than a bit hesitant to approach. She’d known of more than one occasion where someone interrupting a raging pony could find themselves bearing the physical brunt of that anger, though she herself had never suffered like that from anyone. The way that Fine Silk’s magic was curling into the darkness around them, and almost seemed to be circling Baklava herself, was terrifying. Trying to not attract any attention, she shuffled backwards just slight- “Eep!”

Fine Silk had turned at the slight movement, face contorted into obvious rage and eyes aglow with purple light that had obscured every discernible detail. When she saw Baklava shrinking back, however, the rage was quickly supplanted by something sad. No, not just sad, but also lonely and afraid. “I’m sorry,” the unicorn whispered, even though her voice made the floor vibrate, and the paint melted into the shadows.