It was her three hundred and fifty-third day in Equestria, and the first thing Joanna did upon waking was what the Word required. She took a breath, reflected on her existence in a living world (even if it wasn't the right world, the only real world which existed at all) and the honor of having been Saved. For those still trapped in mortal bodies, it was something every elevated soul had to do upon greeting the day, for thinking about what awaited them in the afterlife was what allowed those who labored to journey through the tribulations and temptations of the mortal realm.
The Word said it was the first thing she had to do, and so Joanna did it. Living by the Word was all that protected her from demons: that had been one of the first lessons. She had, as with everything she'd been taught by those whom the Word had placed above her, taken it fully to heart. And when one had been sent among demons (she didn't know why, didn't really question it, believed there had to be a reason and in time, she would be shown what it was), following every life instruction to the last memorized syllable somehow seemed more crucial than ever. Her soul had always been at risk: simply hearing the Word wasn't enough. She had to live by it. And now, when she was the only one who doing so, who even could, the lone example of the Saved residing among damned and demons...
She reflected, and prepared herself for the day. For the trials of living among those whose deaths would lead to nothing more than torture. It was a test, one which had been clearly given to her by the One Above and so she had no choice but to pass. To live by the Word even when among demons (some shaped like humans, others as ponies), as the only one who could understand what that meant.
However, when it came to following her full instructions, having been removed from the real world presented certain... technical difficulties.
For starters, the second thing she was supposed to do upon waking was technically impossible. How could she report her dreams when there was no Confessional? And she'd had dreams, improper ones, something only the Most Elevated could stop. And that wasn't Joanna: she was elevated, as all of the Saved were -- but she could never be most. Everyone had a role in life: that was part of the Word. Joanna had learned language through being told what she was meant to be and even in Equestria, she followed that lesson. To do otherwise would be to burn.
A role in life -- but dreams cared not for that assigned place. The sin of dream would offer temptation, show her that which she could not have, offer up the possibilities embodied in things she could never be. And it seemed as if she had been remembering more of her dreams since her placement in Equestria. Exposure to the damned echoed in her sleep, something she couldn't stop...
She wanted to blame the false god. (The younger of the two, the one she would be forced to speak with again. Joanna spent more time with the night demon than any other resident in the enclave of the nearly-all-damned which was New Cynosure, and could not understand that it was her own fault.) Part of that demon's portfolio was power over dream. A holy entity would use that ability to remove temptation entirely. The demon allowed it to continue, and perhaps even encouraged it. Forced a phantom self to lead a life of sin.
I dreamed about him again.
But there was no Confessional. And for dreams... well, most of the time, you went to Confessional, you waited in a short line (one which typically moved very quickly, because too much time in morning Confessional meant missing breakfast and there would be no more rations coming for some time), you spoke of your night sins, and penance was assigned. No Confessional, no one to assign penance, she refused to speak to one of the human-shaped damned about it and the One Above had elevated Joanna beyond mere ponies...
(She had, on a particularly loathsome day, accidentally mentioned the subject of dreams to a new arrival, one whom she was about to educate regarding his inevitable place in the flames. That one had told her to keep a diary, and then she'd had to find someone who was still speaking with her and so could tell her what that was. More proof that sin could only respond with sin.)
There was no Word for this. Very little of the Word applied to living among demons, and so Joanna had effectively been forced to... improvise.
She felt that was right. There had been no new punishment from the One Above. The ongoing one which was her exile in the place of demons -- that was a test. Joanna would find a way to pass. Those whom the Word spoke of often did. And in passing, they were Saved once again.
The other supposed humans... they hoped for demon magic to send them home. Joanna wasn't that foolish. She would trust to her faith. She just had to do the right thing, and -- she would find herself back in her place. Within her role. Without dreams.
Technically, the third thing would have been to head for work, but penance came first.
Eventually, she polished the metal symbol of the One Above until the stains came off, put it back on the rough chain. And then she went to work.
There were ways in which Joanna sinned every day, but she didn't consider any of them to count. It wasn't her fault that she lived alone. She had told the ponies that her place was with those of her own kind, and the damned had interpreted that to mean 'roommates'. Some time had been spent in sharing a house (and that was not her fault: she had instructed them on where she was meant to live and they'd ignored her) with other women, and that they'd all left... well, looked at realistically, it wasn't entirely bad to find herself alone at the end of a workday. The time immediately following labors was meant for considering the Word and since no one else knew it, then who was she supposed to be repeating things for? You recited the portion of the Word which you'd been given: it was embossed upon your soul. Those around you nodded, echoed, reinforced. She was supposed to bathe in their faith, and... it was just her.
So it was good that they'd left, really. They had responded to the Word with sin, and how many questions was someone supposed to put up with anyway? In the real world, they would have been --
-- there was no Confessional, and so there was no assigned penance. No punishment from those who had been placed into the role of giving it, and that which came from the One Above typically appeared after death. It meant that most of what Joanna could do, at least for what wouldn't place her in the cells, was wait. She tried to tell herself that when consequences came upon demise, waiting generally worked.
She had been sent away from her role, and so had done her best to recreate it. To a degree, the ponies had even cooperated. (This made Joanna suspicious: caution around demons who were giving you what you wanted seemed to be advised.)
Joanna had her place, the role assigned to her by the Word, and it had been given to her at birth. To enter the world with dark brown skin and tightly-curled puff of hair meant she was a laborer.
(The rough clothing -- the only kind she would allow herself to wear -- wasn't the right type: the cloth was too soft -- but she'd done the best she could.)
A laborer: anyone who looked at her would know that, and so she had been trained appropriately: her memorization skills had only helped. She had spent what the Word said was half of her life (for the years she was assigned to live, unless the One Above favored her with an early death) at that role. And yes, she was in a demon world, the only real person to exist in the hell of bright colors and magic-warped Sun and ponies (which was before you got to what some of the demons in human skins could do) -- but as it turned out, demons still needed to eat. It was a theology lesson which had not been in her portion of the Word, and she had spent some time wondering if a mere Confessional was enough for relaying such an important piece of lore.
Of course, it was possible that those who were more elevated already knew it, for that was their role. Attempting to pass along her interpretation, something which was not the Word... that would be sin.
She was Saved. She had to remain so. She knew what the alternative was.
The other supposed cooks in the huge meal tent were busy at their stations, and they talked to each other as they worked. Joanna didn't join in. Those of different hues had no right to be there, and the males...
Besides, her station was a good fifteen feet away from the nearest other workplace. If she wanted to make herself heard over distance and the noises of the busy kitchen, she generally had to shout.
"Tanya's having a hard time," the man at the salad station (the Word had a final place for him: he would burn, and the greenery he had no right to handle would be jammed into his throat until his stomach burst) told the others. "She's still in labor. That's nine hours now."
"Greg said he doesn't have the drugs," a too-pale female declared. "Nothing he can make, nothing anyone's brought with them. The ponies won't let us risk their medicine, and --" she softly snorted "-- Greg also said that women gave birth for thousands of years before drugs were invented, so he's not sure what the problem is. Some births just go more slowly. And I think he would have said more, but that's when Tanya got a leg out of the stirrup and kicked him. Again."
Laughter. Mirth was sin's way of finding acceptance. For a woman to attack...
Actually, Greg was a demon (and a nastily sarcastic one), as was Tanya. Demons could attack each other. And it was Joanna's obligation to fight demons in any way she could.
"How's Clark?" another woman said.
"Still awake," a second male declared. "He hits himself in the thigh whenever he starts nodding off. He'll be more bruised than Greg if this keeps up."
And then he looked at Joanna.
He was relatively new: all of two months (moons, as the demons kept putting it) in Equestria. His had been a world of --
-- it didn't matter. For the Word said that in the beginning, the One Above had made the world and since her arrival in Equestria, Joanna had found cause to ponder the singular. The world. Her world, and hers alone, had been the true creation. Everything else was therefore the crude work of demons, and the damned could only make more of themselves.
He was a male, he was not dark, he was in a kitchen, and he would burn. He had been created to burn. And of all those in the hell named as Equestria, Joanna was the only one who would not.
As long as she kept her faith.
He was relatively new, and so he spoke to her. The tone suggested the words were meant as a joke.
"Do you know any prayers which would help?"
Joanna thought about it.
"Let the damned soul have no time in the false world," she declared. "Two burning realms claim to have found their union in their doomed offspring, and the product of their joining can do no better than to fall into the flames before it has the chance to corrupt others. Let it die before it can ever tempt the Saved into sin. This I pray."
And then they were all staring at her, which was the usual first reaction to a sincere statement.
The damned one blinked.
"You..." he started. "You're..."
And then he said something which just about everyone (and for that matter, everypony) said to Joanna eventually, just before turning back to his vegetable processing station.
She barely heard the mutter. "Why does anyone trust her around food?"
"She's a good cook," someone replied. "More or less. She never looks at any of the copied recipe books, but she can cook --"
"-- she doesn't handle the Kool-Aid, right?"
"...what's Kool-Aid?"
Joanna didn't know. She also didn't ask questions. But as names went, it seemed to come up a lot.
There was free time available after the breakfast shift, when there should not have been. Time to kill until she would be made to see the false god, and the hours were nearly as offensive as the meeting. Laborers were meant to labor. You worked until the time came to eat, and after that, you worked more. Of course, the One Above had seen fit to create mortal bodies, and so some degree of simply giving out was expected. Those who died in their roles were highly honored. It was something to aspire towards, although completing the assigned span of years before being offered the earned place in the afterlife was also honorable. You had your role in life and through completing it, you won the chance to do the same thing in death. Forever and ever, amen.
Which meant that souls also had to eat. It was something Joanna really hadn't considered before coming to Equestria. She wondered if they enjoyed it. What the ingredients were. Plus there would be new instructions, and those to pass them on...
...I am asking questions.
She automatically glanced around the area. There were very few people, and that was expected: most of the population was finding reasons to be near Clark and Tanya's house. (There had been no union dictated by the One Above, and so another sin was added to the endless tally.) But there was still no Confessional, when it should have been the first priority in the shortening autumn days, when it should have been built nearly a year ago...
New Cynosure existed in a state of perpetual construction. The demons who had been made to look like humans, who lied and called themselves human because that was what demons did, believing their own lies so that others might be tricked into belief...
(She had known a demon once, in the real world. It had taken many years to find out it was a demon and in the end, the lies had only stopped with its last breath.)
...a new one arrived every week or so, and they needed housing. There was a nursery of sorts, and the first true newborn was presumably still on the way: the youngest of the damned, the first who would be born into this too-bright, sweet-smelling, beautiful realm. (The Word said that demons were often beautiful. It was another way to trick the Saved.) There were other buildings going up: someone wanted to try their hand at a restaurant, another wanted a dance hall. (She'd seen dancing now, and instantly recognized its purpose. Sin was something you had to know on sight.) And kneeling on the grass, blue paper with white lines spread out in front of her, carefully regarding something which was not the Word, was one of the largest sins New Cynosure hosted. A sin which was supposed to be dead, quietly speaking with a brown-skinned girl who should have been at her own full labors half of that short lifetime ago, the older sinning with every breath she continued to insist on taking. A demon whose sin began with her very existence and since no one in that now-lost demon world (seven billion dead, the One Above finally acting against one of those false realms, and Joanna could wait for the others to be so visited) had seen fit to end that, the woman had dedicated her life to finding near-constant ways of sinning ever more.
The woman (to the eye, a little bit into full adulthood, an age which should have seen her produce at least four children by now) took another breath. The grey sweater seemed to barely hold under the strain.
Joanna had told her what she was. For every skin hue, the Word had divinely assigned a role. In fact, as the Saved and the Word had spread across the real world, more hues had been discovered, and it turned out that the Word had a place for every one of them. But those roles had been given by the One Above. To mix the races... that was a sin, for it gave the child no true place in the world. The child without a role was also one without a soul. Those who had sinned in creating the damned were punished, and the child...
This one had been allowed to grow up, for she was from a world of demons, one which had met its blessed extinction. Something she, and the girl who looked at the blueprints with her, had escaped -- along with the subject of dream, something she could not properly confess. Something she could only do penance for.
The little girl... Joanna acknowledged a certain degree of hurdle there. There were actually two: one eight years of age, the other four, and counting by years instead of labor meant that everyone had to work with numbers. (Well, everyone who sinned.) And all of New Cynosure protected them. The brown children (not her shade: a softer brown, something which would have put them among the crops) were not to be touched. Joanna knew that a living hell had collapsed into the true: everyone else just had foolish pity for them. For her to publicly approach Aashita or Shanu, to tell them about the truth of their final fates, was to draw the wrath of the 'temporary settlement camp'. And there were rules, including one which said you weren't supposed to attack other humans, she was the only real human and somehow, that rule never seemed to apply when Joanna was on the other end. Demons only protected their own.
(Admittedly, when it came to Aashita, she'd tried. She'd caught the girl alone, started to pass the Word on, and -- well, the vocabulary would have normally earned a whipping for the first word. Joanna hadn't recognized any terms from the fifth on and once the oddly-pointed nose had half-snorted out the tenth, she'd noticed portions of the grass were starting to die.)
The girl could not be educated, at least not in front of a witness. The older sin, the one whose mere existence was forbidden, sinning right in front of her...
Something had to be done. However, those whose role it was to do it were in the real world. It meant something had to be said.
Joanna stalked across the grass, moved past frames and wiring coming off something called solar panels (she knew the one who had first brought those, had dreamed and so penance had been sought), towards the one who was currently in charge of it all. Because the sin seemed to love nothing so much as compounding her transgressions, and so the sin built. Just as bad: she directed the process. Demons (human-shaped, pony-shaped, the occasional visiting monsters called minotaurs) moved under a woman's orders and so proved their status. Half of her blood was meant for the creation of fine items, the things Joanna had seen from a distance and never allowed herself to desire, and the other portion was from the most elevated. In that sense, what the end product was doing could be seen as logical.
It was also living taint.
She approached in fury, with no human or pony eyes (windows to the damned souls) to watch her: construction was perpetual -- but it also needed materials, and so the workers were out of the area until the next shipment arrived, free to haunt the prospective birth. It was just her, the taint, and the one whose education had to wait for a while longer.
Still, it was possible to learn through overhearing, although one had to be very careful about which words one listened to. Or Words. There was only so much Word one of Joanna's status was allowed to hear, by role. Just enough for a lifetime, and what came after.
The taint looked up, didn't move out of the kneeling position. (Joanna preferred the taint that way: the woman was too tall -- although not so much as the supposed 'Hoffmanite', whose education had resulted in the young giant running full-speed across the grass, weeping all the way.) She took another breath, and the sweater took the burden.
"You're limping a little," the taint said.
Joanna couldn't be bothered to answer that, for the woman had nothing in her which understood penance. Instead, she went for the top sin on the stack.
"Man's work," Joanna shot at her. "Is there no end to your transgressions? This is why the soulless are put to the fire: because they are incapable of recognizing what morals are. They have nothing within them which can tell right from wrong, they exist only to sin, everything you touch becomes sin and now you are corrupting a child." (One who was already damned, but the point had to be made.) "The soulless can only --"
"Soulless," the taint interrupted. Briefly closed green eyes, absently brought her left hand up and ran it through red hair. (The left hand. It made Joanna long for a birch switch to cut, and the opportunity to watch it being used.)
"YES --"
"-- there's a certain irony there," calmly came from the woman who had, unknown to Joanna, traded the title of 'mage' for 'engineer'. "But I don't feel like explaining it to you." Looked back down at the blueprints, which required some awkward angling to get past the overgrown obstructions which had been supported atop her rib cage. (Joanna had been rather surprised to learn about bras, and felt it explained rather a lot about how some of those above her appeared in their finery. She was almost completely certain that she personally wasn't entitled to one, but fortunately had very little need.) "Okay, Aashita: you had a good placement on the load-bearing beam. But when it comes to the ceiling, those cross-struts are going to need a little more help. I think we need to --"
"-- do you think denial will do you any good?" Joanna hissed. "Do you think the One Above will care about what you falsely believe to be truth?"
"The One Above," the taint calmly said, "can take it up with me personally." And then, because sin could do nothing else, "Assuming it exists."
Joanna felt her fists clench. (It and what the gesture led to normally would have been a sin, but it was a rather common one and as such, generally brought about relatively minor penance -- when it took place between those of the same role. Going after demons was risky, but encouraged. To attack one who was more elevated... both judgments were final.) "The sin of denial. The sin of lies." (The girl was starting to giggle.) "The sin of self-elevation. And a woman who will build is a woman who does not know her place. Her role. A woman who would bed herself with --"
"-- bestiality," the woman casually tossed in, with the role-mixed features perfectly placid.
Joanna blinked.
"...what?"
"Shanu's been sneaking into my house," the taint patiently explained. "At night. Don't ask me how she's getting in and don't ask her either, because there is no chance of getting anything resembling truth out of her on that one. And naturally, when she comes in, she's changed for the occasion. So I wake up most mornings to find a bobcat kitten curled up against me. Sometimes she's on top of the sheets, sometimes she goes under them. So strictly speaking, I've been sleeping with a beast. Also, she's four, so put me down for that sin." A thoughtful frown. "Which, on the kitten, seems to translate into about three months. Now as far as the other kind of bedding down goes, someone told me that you don't trust most of the medical procedures, plus that level of proof wouldn't apply to what you're suggesting anyway --"
She desperately rallied. "The shadow of your existence will be sent to judgment, and there will be just enough of you to torment for eternity. Denial isn't protection. It ends the same way, no matter what you choose to falsely believe. But if you accept that you should have been killed at birth, if you remove your own taint from the world --" and she had left the realm of the Word, but there was no sin in lying to something which should not exist "-- then the pain might be lessened --"
A long-fingered hand was raised. (Still the left.) A signal for silence and somehow, something about it stopped Joanna.
"Aashita," the taint softly said, "go play."
"You're about to do something fun," the girl groused. "You never let me watch when you're doing anything fun..."
"Go play," the taint repeated.
"You're not my mommy," the girl smugly pointed out.
"No, I'm not," the taint calmly agreed. "Which means that if I have to say it a third time, I don't have to be nice."
The girl groaned.
"Fine," she declared, and got up from the grass. "I'll go find something to work on."
"No more carts until I get there."
Protesting, "If the last one hadn't crashed into the shield --"
"-- right. Crashed. We're going to talk about brakes. A lot. Go. Out of sight and hearing. And I'll know."
The girl's grumbles killed most of the remaining grass, and the frustrated stomps did the rest. The taint waited, watched, listened. And then it was just the two of them. The soulless and the only Saved person in the demon world of ponies.
"All right, Joanna," the taint softly stated, and both hands went down, pushed against the grass. Long legs began to unfold. "This isn't going to be fun. This isn't even personal. I just want you to understand. And -- the funny thing is..." Fingers went through the red hair again. "...I know you won't. I know this is useless. Nothing which happens next will make any difference. But I'm going to go through with it anyway, just so I'll know I did."
Too tall. (More than half a foot under the 'Hoffmanite', but still too tall.) Visibly mixed blood. Breasts which first suggested sin, then had gone for an overstatement. Something which should not be. A demon in human skin.
Joanna lived with demons every day, for that was what the One Above had sent her to. (It had to have been the One Above. What else could have done it? It had to be a test.) But some of the demons were... different. Those shaped like ponies... they flew, their horns (because devils had horns, although only the minotaurs had the proper count) glowed before objects moved. And the false humans... some of them could do things.
There were stories about the taint. That she had built something which had brought her to Equestria, something now broken... that was a common tale for the camp. But a few said she was capable of more. And even if those were but lies, more things designed to make Joanna question... the taint was six feet tall. Solidly built. A laborer's build, in many ways, although lacking in any of the scars which Joanna honorably bore. Scars were how you knew penance had been observed properly, and the taint had atoned for nothing.
(You also got scars when you didn't see a demon in your own world. Not in time. Not when those above felt you should have said something years ago. In the pony realm, those scars had begun to ache.)
"You can't attack me," Joanna immediately said, because there were rules and while those weren't a result of the Word, she suddenly wanted them to mean something. "The cells --"
"-- Aashita," the taint peacefully broke in, "probably thinks I'm about to do something horrible. And in a way, she's right." (Joanna found her legs going backwards, forced herself to stand firm in the face of evil.) "When it's someone like you, I'm going to do the worst thing I could ever do."
"You aren't allowed --"
The taint sighed.
"I'm going to agree with you."
And then Bree's left hand was around Joanna's throat.
She didn't squeeze, not more than she had to in order to let the older woman know the grip was there. She just pushed, bringing that greater mass to bear, forcing Joanna backwards. Forcing Joanna down, almost completely ignoring every flailing blow, wincing at the kicks.
"I have no morals," Bree quietly told her, voice almost completely level. "So I can't understand that this is wrong. I'm not capable of understanding consequences. I'll do what I like, whenever I feel like it, and if something happens because of that... I guess I'll just do something else. I have no capability for understanding that you're afraid, even when I'm seeing it on your face. I can't care. Because that would require a soul, wouldn't it? And I'm agreeing with you, Joanna. You pass on your holy writ to call me taint, a sin, a monster -- and I agree with everything you say."
Pushing harder, and Joanna's legs buckled. Bree leaned in, almost pressing against her. Kneeling down in dead grass, holding Joanna's back against the soil. And Joanna tried to scream, tried to call out to the One Above for help, but she couldn't speak, there was something about the way the long fingers were pressing against her throat which prevented speech, all she could do was pray while staring into the green eyes and
there was something in them.
"So this is how monsters act," Bree calmly told her under shield-distorted autumn sky. "Annoyed? Kill. Bored? Kill. Just happen to feel like it? It's not as if there's anything inside which would stop me, because a monster is something which can't care. You don't think I'm a monster, Joanna: you know. You have faith. And I'm agreeing with you, because how can I argue with something holy? So now I'm a monster, because that's what you believe, and you feel you can't be wrong about anything. Monsters don't care. They just kill."
There's death in her eyes.
She's going to kill me.
"You're always right," Bree softly continued. "Isn't that a comfort now? To know that you were not only right all along, but you had a convert at the end? Think about that. Because when it comes to last thoughts, it wouldn't be a bad one to have --"
-- and let go.
The taint stood up.
"Except that you're wrong," she steadily said. "I know who I am. And when it comes to what you think, Joanna -- I don't care. But if you want to keep arguing? Go ahead. Equestria has free speech: you keep using that for an excuse when someone tells you to shut up. You can argue all you like. Maybe you'll even find the words to convince me you've been right all along."
The redhead casually shrugged.
"If you still feel that would be a good thing," Bree finished. Turned, briefly knelt down, collected the blueprints, straightened --
"It's almost funny," she belatedly, evenly added. "I could tell you some of what I've seen over the years. You wouldn't believe me -- but I could still tell you. For now, let's keep it at 'monsters'. I've seen real ones, Joanna. Some of them tried to pass themselves off as people, and most of them failed. But in a way, when it comes to humans..."
She said the words. The same words just about everyone and everypony said eventually, only much more thoughtfully. And then she walked away.
Joanna lay in the grass (the false grass of a demon world) for a while, shaking. Knowing her prayers had been answered, that only the touch of the One Above had stayed a monster's clutching hand. And finally, she got up, went off to find one of the pony guards, reporting the attack, something which would see the taint put in the cells forever.
But there had been no witnesses and somehow, the monster's grip had left no marks. Not even from pressing chain and symbol against Joanna's throat.
It was probably a sin to feel any sense of relief at seeing a false god, but Joanna was just that stressed. And, after the first denial came in the form of a shaking head and shifting constellations within the demon magic of the mane, wasn't exactly any less tense.
"She tried to kill me!"
"No," the alicorn calmly said. "She did not."
"I do not bear false witness!" At least, not when it came to those who were Saved: there was no problem with lying to the pony. "She was going to --"
An extremely powerful forehoof stomped against the wooden floor. Joanna stopped talking.
"If Ms. Daniels had meant to kill you," Luna evenly stated, "you would be dead. In the event of your murder, there would be a number of suspects to question. By the time we had worked through everyone in the camp, including a few of our own Guards, she would have made her escape. You are breathing, Joanna Dietz, in spite of popular desire. A series of wishes which once again brings me to the camp, under Sun, rather close to noon, in order to review your status. The circumstances alone would not place me in a particularly favorable mood. The situation means you should speak rather carefully. Now sit."
Joanna sat down on the bench. There were a few scattered around the new meeting hall. There were times when New Cynosure's 'human' population needed to fully gather, and it was understood that there would be ponies in watchful attendance. It had been the closest thing available to sit on, and she momentarily hated herself for having given in to the power of the false god's voice.
"Explain the incident with Centurion and Miguni."
Her face automatically contorted into a snarl. "She follows him everywhere. She's always by his side, or just behind him. He's told her to stop. But she just keeps doing it. Following him, talking to him. And he's a pony! An earth pony, and she's --" Joanna hesitated. 'Human' always felt wrong when talking about demons, and when it came to the blue-haired girl...
There were a lot of things which could have been said about Miguni. 'Loyal' was fair, if perverted. 'Bestiality' lurked in the darkest corners of the mind, not that there was any proof. (However, the girl had been caught with -- a grooming brush. And she wasn't afraid to use it. Worse, Centurion occasionally allowed it.) And 'human'... well, the shape was right. Slim, curved, and unlike the taint, she put a good portion of the latter on display. Utterly shameless. But when it came to her skin... there was something odd about it. Almost... burnished. Had she been Saved, the Word would have needed to find a new role for her, and Joanna hoped it would be a harsh one.
"-- she follows him," Joanna tried, because it let her avoid the rest. "She acts like she loves him! She keeps calling him that word." Something which the demon magics of Equestria wouldn't translate. "Over and over! A human can't love a pony! It's... it's..."
Words ran out. The rage just kept going.
"She calls him," Luna wearily said, "her 'Ashikabi'. Whatever that term is meant to indicate. As you noticed, it translates into a desire to follow him. Take care of his problems. Miguni is intensely loyal: something which did not come out at her initial hearing, for she had nopony to be loyal towards. From what she described, she came here because someone attempted to kill her. Some sort of game. A blood sport where only a few might ultimately survive. She had no one to fight for yet, she was hit by an attack, and then instead of dying, she was here. She was no trouble until she came to the camp, and the only trouble she has created since then generally comes in the form of a Guard who grumbles about not being able to patrol on his own any more. Unless, of course, someone tries to separate them. As you did, apparently by attempting to drag her away. At which point, she --"
Luna glanced down at the nearest chair, which had papers spread across the seat. Joanna had taken one look at them when she came in, and then had very quickly looked away.
"-- recited a short poem," the alicorn continued. "And your symbol attached itself to a beam. One which was some three body lengths away. Bringing you along with it. The magnetism wore off after several hours, while you could have left at any time simply by ducking out of the chain. But you stayed there, of your own free will."
It was the symbol. It was the only thing she had...
"You attempted to drag her," Luna concluded. "And so she dragged you." Thoughtfully, "Miguni has not described the battle which sent her here in detail, but I am beginning to suspect she was ambushed. And then there was the incident with Shinichi, although I understand it is Migi who has the actual complaint. Admittedly, in his case, it tends more towards confusion. He has trouble understanding human behavior."
The alicorn's forehead twitched, as if fighting off a headache.
"In which he has company," Luna added. "The two of them have sworn peace. They have kept that peace. And so for you to plunge Shinichi's right hand into ice water during the settlement's attempt at a fair, apparently under the impression that it would hurt Migi --"
"-- it's a demon." A demon which sometimes looked like a right hand and forearm, at least when it didn't have tentacles and eyes and that gaping mouth.
"In medical terms," Luna steadily replied, "it is a parasite. A sapient one which has come to terms with not only its host, but with me. That it will not harm anypony, and it has not. Whatever its mission originally was, this land provides no need for that goal. It studies, reads, debates philosophy, exists in peace, and occasionally remembers to be a right hand. It is, as far as I can recognize the reaction from it, happy. And Shinichi, as with so many others, simply waits to find a way home. While you, Miss Dietz, strike out against anything you find unacceptable. This generally indicates a verbal assault. But there have been times when you have threatened to cross the line. When your actions, taken against different entities, would have justified charges. The camp has grown weary of you. They reach out, they try to grant you whatever level of home might exist in this place, and you resist. I am weary, Miss Dietz. Tired of hearing about the words you hurl against children. Against my own citizens. You tell them they are damned. Then you explain the concept, for most of them have no knowledge of it. You tell them our shadowlands do not exist, that there is no final pasture --"
"-- because it's true!"
"-- and all they will find is torture. Something they would not have even known to dread had you not told them that." Wearily, "None have been convinced -- but there have been a number of rather cruel dreams."
Dreams.
"Stay out of my head."
It was instinctive. It was also rather loud.
"I have no interest in your nightscape," the alicorn replied.
"You're lying. I've been dreaming --"
"-- yes," Luna cut her off. "Humans do that. I expect yours are filled with flame, and the screams of those whom you believe to deserve the fire. Everypony screams, do they not? Myself included. Everypony -- and everyone." More slowly, "I have been informed regarding the little attacks against you. I also received a full briefing regarding your own actions. You treated the death of a world as an opportunity for cruelty. You go after children. And we have freedom of speech here --"
The dark eyes narrowed.
"-- for Equestrians. You are not a citizen of my nation, or any other which exists in this world. You have no embassy. You are, technically, an invader. What rights you may believe yourself to possess exist at my sufferance and when it comes to you, Joanna Dietz, multiple incidents indicate that we all may have suffered enough. I am reluctant to place you in the cells for words -- but you are straddling a line. You are slipping. And there are very few parties who still care about where you might fall."
The cells...
New Cynosure was for those who had done no harm. The cells were for those who had done nothing but.
She can't...
"I refuse to accept this." And it was faith which let her speak. Belief. "I won't be judged by a false god. You're not a deity. You have no right to judge me!"
The fur around the alicorn's lips wrinkled. Quirked.
"Not a deity," the pony said.
Joanna's lips pulled back into a snarl.
"That," Luna wryly observed, "is actually somewhat refreshing to hear. You are correct, Miss Dietz. I am not a god of any kind. I am simply a Princess. The one whose dominions include immigration, and that eventually put me in charge of the Agency. I am not a god -- "
Joanna was on the verge of saying something because 'dominion', in the current context, was blasphemy. But that was when the temperature in the hall dropped by twenty degrees, and it was hard to scream through chattering teeth.
"-- I am simply the law. And if I decide you will go to the cells, then that is where you will go." The dark head slowly shifted, back and forth. "I have placed monsters in those cells. Murderers. Those who have committed crimes for which no punishment could ever truly fit. Humans produce obscenity on a level which I would never wish to imagine, and am more than merely tired of experiencing. I chain monsters, and for today --"
She was frozen to the bench, in several senses. Ice cracked around her rough shoes.
"-- I choose not to place you among them." The alicorn sighed. "So many monsters, and more every moon. And yet, in some ways..."
For Luna, it wasn't the first time the contraction-free version of the words had been said. It would not be the last.
The One Above watched over Joanna. She knew that. There was proof all around her or in this case, above. She was under the shield instead of being confined underground. The camp instead of the cells, because the only true deity had taken momentary control of the false. She had nothing to fear as long as she had faith.
She was here because of that One. What other explanation could there be? The day which had brought her to the demon world of Equestria had, in many ways, been a perfectly normal one. She'd gotten up. She'd had a minor Confessional, and the pain had faded in time to start work. Yes, some of the most elevated she'd been serving had looked -- anxious. And it wasn't as if she'd meant to listen in, but they'd just kept talking. Something about the crossing of the Great Sea. There had been a discovery, and those people weren't submitting to what the Word had declared as their role.
It had happened before, of course. Joanna's people had resisted the Word, generations before her birth. She took comfort in the fact that their damnation had ultimately saved her. But in this case... there was fighting, and apparently those who allowed just anyone to think freely had done something.
There was talk of war. That happened too. The Word would send laborers out to fight, for the most elevated had no role in battle. She had been wondering who was about to receive the honor of sacrificing their allotted years for the Word and the One Above. The men only, of course: women, if chosen, were sent off to -- other things. Some of them came back as demons, and it had taken her so long to see it. Scars were honor, not horror. A scar which cut through faith had created a monster, and one who spoke of escape had to be reported in Confessional, for it was no longer tied to the Saved by belief or blood.
(She'd watched.)
(She'd been allowed to throw the first stone.)
(It had been the greatest honor of her life.)
But the most elevated had sounded -- concerned. That normally didn't happen, and so she ignored it. Their job was to think. Hers wasn't.
Then there had been a whistling sound from overhead.
Then there had been a flash.
And then there had been ponies.
Miracles had form, something which could be registered by the senses. In this case, it had been divine power plummeting towards her, the light of the One Above, and the briefest sensation of heat.
Joanna was being tested. She knew it. The Word often spoke of those who were tested. But at some point, they were told what the test had been. It hadn't happened to her, and so the test still went on.
There were times when she wondered what it was supposed to be. But not for too long, because it was questioning. She just had to wait. To have faith.
To stop dreaming.
If I pray enough tonight, maybe the dreams will stop.
And then she hit herself.
It wasn't too hard. Just a solid thump against her right thigh, near one of the oldest scars, and it barely broke her stride as she headed back towards the meal tent.
If I pray enough tonight, the dreams will stop.
She had doubted, and so the true penance would come later.
There was a new Guard. Joanna told the mare about the waiting fire, and the pegasus didn't disperse the rain cloud for two hours. Demon power kept it directly over Joanna's head at all times, along with a fair amount of talent.
And then, at the start of dinner, Clark burst into the meal tent.
His glasses were askew. The blonde hair was sticking out in all directions. Every visible inch of skin was drenched in sweat.
"It's a girl!" he shouted.
And the residents celebrated. They hoisted him up, they hugged him, they made plans for the welcoming party, and they completely ignored the expressions on the faces of their pony guards, for there was a native-born human in Equestria now and nopony knew what that might mean. Instead, they celebrated because there was a newborn baby.
And Joanna, weary of being among the damned, slipped out.
Her dream found her.
It wasn't immediate. Two hours had passed. Enough time to stumble around the temporary settlement camp for a while. She'd found some tucked-away 'blueprints' in one section of a partial construct and taken the time to shred them.
"You're limping," her dream carefully said. "Badly."
There had also been time for penance.
"It's nothing, Jake." She was trying not to look at him. She wanted to look at him and if she did, he would be in her dreams again. Unless she prayed enough. Unless she could figure out how much 'enough' was.
He's a demon. A demon from her world. The taint survived, and... so did he.
A demon. But a demon of her hue. One who, had he been a real person, would have existed as something close to an equal -- well, as close as he could ever be. The One Above gave males a degree of superiority, if only within their assigned places. The One Above was male, of course, and so all of those who spoke the Word were men --
"-- I know limps," the dark-skinned man said, matching her awkward pace as they passed a place where sin waited for her, one with just-finished walls and the windows in place: it was just a matter of filling the shelves. "Wounds. Price of the job. This is a bad one. I can get you to one of the doctors. It's not as if Greg's earned any sleep, and if anyone around here can work on a limp --"
"-- I'll be fine."
He's handsome.
You could lie, when it was about demons. Jake Pelletier's features could best be described as 'pleasantly harsh,' and the same went for his voice. But there was something about him. Something which caused dreams.
Demonic power.
If he was real...
Would someone have matched them? Allowed them union? Her last had given up his years, and so she hadn't borne children for some time. Perhaps they'd felt she was too old to start again. But she'd known she had more to give, she had worked while pregnant just as everyone else had, she'd only lost two --
Abruptly, "And you're bleeding."
She'd thought she'd covered that. Blood led to questions, when it was seen by those who didn't believe. And if the cloth had been proper instead of that which was provided by the white unicorn, it wouldn't have seeped through. It was the unicorn's fault.
"I'm taking you to Greg," Jake declared, and his arm went around her waist. "You need medical attention and somehow, he passes. Might take him three attempts to diagnose you with a cut, but he'll get there. Come on: walk with me, nice and easy..."
She yanked herself away from him, for demons brought temptation. The temptation of relief. The temptation of presence.
"The Word," she stated, pulling herself up to what passed for her full height, patting the dark puff of her hair, "states that for those among the laborers, healing shall come from within and without. Within shall be created by faith, and without is for others to determine: those whose role it is to make that decision. And to make it for a laborer would require one of the most elevated. We match, Jake, and so the Word says --"
"-- show me."
His voice had turned dark. Darker than skin and night.
"...what?"
"There's the library." He pointed at the new building. "I can get in there, and there's going to be paper. Quills, because no one around here knows what a pen is. And you're going to write this Word down so I can get a look at it. I know you've got it memorized. I want to see what kind of holy writ tells you that you've got to get permission for stitches. I need to read this -- "
"-- you can't! It's the Word! The most elevated speak, and we listen! We're not allowed --"
She took a step forward with the last word, getting ready to shout in his face. Instructing a demon against temptation, as if he were a real person. But she came down on the wrong leg, and so began to collapse.
He caught her. Steadied, braced, and did so in such a way that she could not find a way to pull free. Means or desire.
"...you have an oral religion?" he softly said. "There's no book?"
"The Word is given to us through those who have that role," she instinctively told him. "They are chosen to read. For anyone else to -- "
"-- you're living by a book you've never read?"
"It's a sin! It's the highest of sins! To look upon the Word, when you're not chosen -- to look at anything -- "
Starkly, "You can't read."
All she could do was blink at him. For he asked questions, and that was wrong. Questioning was the act of the faithless. It proved him a demon, and might keep him from her dreams.
But he would not make her doubt.
"...we're told what the Word is," she finally said. "The Word comes from the One Above, who gives us new Words as the most elevated humbly request. The Word saves us. The Word keeps us from the flame. We have faith."
"And what," the dark man slowly said, "if the Word is a bunch of people making things up so they can scare you into doing whatever they want?"
She slapped him. Quick, hard, enough to jar the tinted lenses over his eyes.
"DEMON! Blasphemy! If we were in the real world, the next Confessional would see you in the stocks, as a demon deserves! And the first stone would be mine again, mine to draw forth the blood which would lead to the flames you sprang from, the fire you return to! The ponies are animals, and we were given dominion over them! We can do anything we like to an animal, something which can't even pretend to have a soul, and they think they control us! That's sin, sin everlasting -- but you, to pretend you're a person, when you're a demon, a demon who wants me to question..."
Her arm went back again, started to come forward and this time, he caught her wrist. Seconds later, he had the other one, and then he moved close enough to step on her feet.
"LET GO OF --"
"You are the saddest thing in this camp," Jake shot back.
And she couldn't speak.
The demon holds my tongue...
"I feel sorry for you sometimes," he furiously declared. "I see how isolated you are. How isolated you make yourself, because you can't believe any of us are worth a damn -- no, anything more than a damn, because we've already got that, right? And my brother had a case of religion, bad enough to run a church. But he used it to raise people up, to make them feel better about their lives. Not to hold them down. And maybe there's something in you which could be better. Something which wants to be better. But I don't have faith in that. I want to feel sorry for you, because I want to think there's hope for you. But you've decided what you believe, Joanna. You're just going to keep believing it. And before I got here, I had a life where I had to watch out for walking carpets with claws, person-shaped leeches, and deviants trying to break reality. I thought that was bad enough. But you? In a lot of ways, lady, you are the --"
Everyone said it eventually.
Everyone and everypony.
The last thing Joanna did before going to bed was pray, as the Word required. It was still strange, doing it alone.
It wasn't right, having the bed. (She'd made several requests for a stack of saggy cots.) A bed for her... it was a sin, but it wasn't her fault. She hadn't asked for the bed: she didn't want it. The One Above would understand that.
But she prayed. Prayed enough to keep the dreams away, because a hour had to be enough and if it wasn't... there was always the next night. The next test.
She laid down, refusing to use pillow or blankets. Tried to sleep. But it was hard. For starters, the settlement camp was still partying. Celebrating the arrival of the smallest demon, with no thought as to what that might mean, and their cries of joy could not be kept out.
But there were also words haunting her mind. The words which every demon had waiting upon their tongues. Words she heard over and over.
"You're the worst person I've ever met."
To have them all say it was proof that the demons stood together against her. Were trying to break her. But she had to be strong. It was her test. She knew that.
She had faith.
