81 Days To Celestia's Front Doorby CynewulfChaptersI. In Which Your Humble Reporter Finds Her StoryII. From the Farthest Shores to the FloodIII. Descent Into SarnathI. In Which Your Humble Reporter Finds Her Story“I’d just like to express how honored I and the paper are that you’ve graced us with this interview,” Burrow said, and bowed again. Princess Twilight smiled at him, but caught my eye and I blushed. It was so hard to tell how much deference she even wanted. No one had really… experienced her in so long. And yet, here she was in the office of the Mayor of Seaddle, sitting for an interview for the Canterlot Record. I helped Burrow set up his recording equipment and took a few pictures, but then interviewing became a one pony job and I tried to find some quiet place to the side. Burrow wasn’t as fun to watch when you’d seen him practicing his delivery of every single question a hundred times, and participated as “Princess Twilight Sparkle” about as many, so eventually I eased into the side room of the Princess’ apartments. Maybe I was looking for something, some nice play of light and color for a lovely photo. I’m just a rank amateur with a camera, despite everything, but I fancy myself a workhorse. The small and harmless lie of photographic talent makes me happy, and that is enough to try my hoof at candid photos and slices of life. That frivolity, that harmless pit of play was how I met her. Passport was an attractive young mare in her own way. The resemblance between herself and the Princess was uncanny and at first, I admit that it was a tad alarming. But before I had convinced myself that I had stumbled upon some terrible twinned secret, she turned and raised an eyebrow at me. No, they were not the same. Princess Twilight carries herself so much more gracefully. Which isn’t to say that Passport has no grace! I don’t mean it like that. It’s just a different kind. When I think of the Princess I think of her receiving others, smiling graciously, navigating all of the proper channels. With Passport one thinks more of… reclining. Reclining around a table, she and I, just talking. She was a unicorn, with what I must say was a rather rare horn pattern. So sharp, so delicate! But yes, I suppose only a third of my audience now would care for such things. She wore a rather old fashioned skirt and vest combination, and a small medal of the sun hung at her neck. I thought such was curious, for the princesses did not usually have Celestialists as personal attendants, but each to their own. I’m sure what you’re thinking. She sounds more or less normal. Why have I given her so much time and interest? There is a certain set of dispositions that one associates with equine faces. Not to say that we are all the same, of course! But I can read the emotion on my fellow ponies’ faces. Here, I found an almost alien logic guiding a familiar visage. Something… to say that it was predatory is rude. It was an intense look, one that catalogued and recorded. It was the look of a magitech engineer who hasn’t left her labs in weeks. Her gaze was hungry, alert, eager to catalogue and categorize. Passport, the mysterious attendant of her Lady, Twilight Sparkle, was investigating a painting on the wall. Perhaps I should have led with that. I walked in, and saw here there radiating that intense air of fascination, looking at a copy of a painting by one Lockless Barrel, The Oath of the Horatii that hung from the wall. The original is back in Canterlot, but I was not about to mention that to her. I was too busy wandering at her strange attire, foreign, obviously adorned and yet also ready for battle, a combination of worn leather barding and flowing robes. I was taking in these finer points of detail when she noticed me. “H-hello,” I said. “Who are you?” She cocked her head at me, and then said in altogether unsmooth Equestrian, “Am… Sophie. I…” She sighed and held up a hoof, before casting something with her horn. “There, that’s better. I’m sorry. I’ve gotten a bit lazy since I discovered I could do this sort of spell, and am not as comfortable with Equestrian as I should be. Passport is my name,” she finished, and offered me her hoof. I bumped it, smiling. “The Lady’s attendant?” “I was, once, for a princely sum-per-week. But I would say that these days, I am a full companion.” She smiled warmly. “Should we be quiet, for their recording?” I shook my head. “No. It has a noise-cancelling spell on it that’ll catch any sounds from us.” Passport whistled. “By Avenoux, that’s a triumph. I am constantly amazed by this world of yours. It is filled with such things I had never thought would be possible. To think that a sound-cancelling spell would be so mundane as to be in the pocket of every newscap.” I smiled, but it was a sort of frozen, reflexive smile. It was, dear reader, the kind of smile one gives when one is on the verge of processing something rather Potentially Dismaying. “You, ah, said ‘this world,’” I monotoned. Passport blinked at me, and I at her. “Oh! My apologies, miss… what was your name again?” “I hadn’t given it.” A beat, and then a nervous flood. “Oh! Sorry, I must have spaced for a second there. It’s Ducky Ink! Ducky Ink, reporter on the rise, yadda that’s me! But you, ah--” “Sophie Bellamy, ex-student of the Academy of Preternatural Arts and Sciences in Valeria.” She made a clumsy bow. “Formerly of the Midlands, and formerly of another world. In this one, I am Passport. You heard correctly. My Lady Twilight in fact met me in my own city, across the blind eternities.” If I recall correctly, my response was to simply stare at her. After the not very dramatic follow up of me asking more than once for some clarification, I took a seat across from her. “So that’s where she’s been,” I said. “But, uh…” “Indeed. I do not know how many planes she came across, and I feel it may not be prudent to ask.” “She’s been gone… ‘bout 70 years, so I would assume that the number’s high.” It is kind of shocking for someone to talk about planar travel as if it is mundane, as if it’s just kind of old hat. I tried to think of how best to phrase my question, but nothing came. Nothing that wasn’t incredibly rude. But... She nodded. “I had wondered how many years had passed here as well. Lady Twilight assured me that time runs smooth across all the planes, but…” With a shrug, she looked me over. “I must ask, for I always must: why a duck?” I tried so very hard to come up with anything off the cuff that would sound suitably noteworthy, but the shock of meeting an extraplanar visitor was catching up to me. I stumbled over a few words, and then admitted the truth. “It was when I was still a filly. I wrote an article about a small pond that ducks frequented and raised their ducklings in, which in turn… galvanized my classmates and eventually saved that pond. It’s really silly, Miss--” But she shook her head. “Not at all!” She reached up to a pocket on her vest, and then paused. Her face twisted for a moment into something resembling pain, but at a distance. Then she brightened up. “It is the highest wishing of any interlocutor to be heard. A mare who puts quill to parchment or pencil to paper is insisting that she be heard, and that certainly sounds like being heard. That sounds brilliant.” I was glad then, for a moment, that we cannot see ourselves as others might, for I was sure that my face was a bit flushed. “Thank you, Miss Passport.” Some of my worry faded. Perhaps the translator had just slipped. She certainly seemed normal enough. She couldn’t be from some alien world. “If you don’t mind, I’m curious…” “Ask away.” “You said something about an, ah, other world. Did you mean a continent?” She smiled. We settled then in the side room, and she asked me about the city. I had only just moved to Canterlot myself, so I wasn’t as much help as I might’ve been. Her avoidance of my question seemed odd at first, but when I pressed again she tsk’d and replied that questions were an exchange. One for one. She would ask, and then she would answer. I gave what little information I had, and Passport insisted that the perspective of a fellow newcomer was at least affirming. I managed to ask a few questions myself. She repeated that she was from Valeria, which is certainly a city and maybe an autonomous realm. She tried explaining the politics of it all to me but it was rather convoluted. Her city was rather large, even by Equestrian standards. Their world’s grasp of technology was more uneven than our own, and mostly behind Equestrian know-how. Their magic was also far behind our own, though it seemed more tuned to violence, which I found a bit alarming. And, of course, that she was not really, originally, a pony at all. Passport, or Sophie Bellamy as she named herself, was in fact something absolutely foreign to our native plane. She was a human. I was, to say the least, floored. Reality had set in. We were taught only some tidbits about the extraplanar phenomenon our princesses and archmages had witnessed, but humans were always the most popular. Princess Twilight herself had been to a world with humans many times, they say, though what exactly she did there is a bit muddy. In the years since she’d been gone, Empress Cadance of the United North had sponsored several expeditions which made brief contact with humans in the same world that Princess Twilight had visited so long ago, and their discoveries had been all the rage for a decade. So to be talking to one, even in the guise of a pony, is certainly the sort of thing that leaves one speechless. I tried to recover, I promise I did! But I fumbled over my words badly. “What was it like, traveling between words?” I asked, breathless. She smiled. “You know, it occurs to me that your master and my will be busy for a time. Perhaps we should do as they.” “I-interview you? I mean, I can’t--I mean--” But I wanted to, very badly. I could almost… taste the word Exclusive. “Consider it a favor. I’m a bit restless, to be truthful.” I was already fumbling through my bag for a much smaller, and less complicated, recording device. My excitement made pushing the record button difficult, but I managed and slapped it down on the table. And then, of course, I winced because one shouldn’t slap recorders anywhere and also Celestia, how could I get giddy now? I had to be focused! A reporter knows when to ask and when to listen! A reporter is cool in the face of opportunity! Aargh! “Please,” I said, with a sheepish smile. “I’d love to.” “That was fast.” “And this is, maybe, exclusive! Or at least I’m first.” I gingerly pushed the recorder closer as it hummed. “Please, tell me everything. But first, tell me about the crossing. Let the reading public know what it’s like beyond our world.” She laughed and leaned in. “Well, it began on a beach, eighty-one days ago.” II. From the Farthest Shores to the FloodWell, it began on a beach, eighty-one days ago. In my world, Twilight Sparkle needed to reach one specific place where she could cross beyond our plane’s boundaries. There were months of hard travel and adventures. We evaded bandits and revolutionaries, braved the arctic blizzards and the war-torn lands of an ancient empire. Over time I went from her skeptical but well paid companion to an ardent admirer. I loved her, and wanted to be whatever use to her was possible. When we arrived, she told me that she was returning home, and I begged to be taken along. We crossed into a pool of water, but it was not… Forgive me, but briefly: where the Eternities beyond us are concerned, tread lightly across language. Do not grasp too firmly the meaning and insinuations of meaning you find but keep your palm up. I know you don’t understand that last part, it’s alright. So it appeared to be water, and perhaps in some sense it was, but it was also the liminal place between my solid reality and the Field of Arbol. That is what its called, by the way, though there are many names. The Aetheric Sea. The World Tree. The Open Sky. None of them are remotely right, but when you are there you understand why folk have said such things. Everything makes sense there, and yet there’s just so much of it that nothing feels coherent in the end. The blind eternities are different for everyone, or so I’m told. For me, it was a sea, and we were carried on wild waves. I feared I would be crushed and lost forever, but my lady upheld me. I do not know how long we traveled, for there was no time there in any sense that I could divine. And at last, when I knew myself again, I was lying on a beach. Gentle waves lapped the shore, and a breeze woke me. I opened my eyes, and did not care or even remember that I was in a new body. That seemed so distant, and so very trivial compared to the peace of that shore. At length, my lady sat by my side and helped me as I learned to rise under my own power. Learning how to use a new body is difficult. It’s frustrating in the extreme and above all, it steals one’s sense of dignity rather forcefully. To her credit, Lady Twilight did not laugh too much at my childish mistakes. Foalish mistakes, I suppose would be more apropos. When I could walk more or less on my own, we strolled without any real aim along the soft waves. To our left the beach gave way to gentle hills and very swiftly up into impossible mountains, so tall that in the dazed state of mind that place engenders, they seemed to touch the roof of the world. I could see no sun, and yet there was plenty of light. The Farthest Shore is held forever at the moment when the afternoon is at its quietest, slowest point. We did not talk much, my Lady and me. I think perhaps that neither of us were then ready to talk, or beyond that it would not be wrong to say that the Farthest Shore is not a place for mundane conversations. But when we did talk, I found it disorienting. Language falls apart at the edges of the world, and you hear yourself in a dozen tongues and understand them all. When later I found I knew some of your language, Lady Twilight informed me that it is one of many possible effects that exposure to the ends of the world has on a pony. Ah. A pony. That was rather unique. I’ll show you a drawing, perhaps, that Lady Twilight sketched out of what I once looked like. You’ll see right away why walking on four hooves--and walking on hooves at all!--took me some immeasurable but long time to master. But all things end, and so did that time. We walked inland, towards the mountains that scratch the roof of heaven, and as we began the long climb, my lady and I began again our old routine. Old by my reckoning, but I suppose you wouldn’t know of it. We would travel in the day time (thought there it is always some sort of daytime) and when we stopped to eat, my Lady would instruct me in magic. The simplest things in this world would revolutionize my own. Casting without sigils or some kind of focus is simply… I’ve grown accustomed to seeing it, but by the standards of the mages of Valeria such things are miracles. I do not know how long we traveled. A week, perhaps. The mountains were impossible, and yet I never tired. The rocky crags should have cut our hooves, and the trail itself should have defeated us, and yet it did not. We hiked for hours without sweat or groan. Always inward, always upward. That part of the journey is muddy, honestly. Time there is soft, and reality is more suggestion than anything else. It was not until the roses… Ah, I’m sorry. The roses. The sea of roses. On the other side of the Walls of Evening--that is what they call the mountains in Sarnath--is a field filled with wild growing roses for miles. In the center there rises a small hill crowned by flowering moss and brambles which have grown over a stone wall. As soon as I saw it, I wanted to climb those walls or find some sort of door. Only Twilight’s firm grip on my wrist kept me from throwing myself into the roses to carve a path into that holy place. “Don’t,” she said firmly, but her face seemed so sad. “You can’t. It’s not for you.” Has your heart ever shattered? Mine did, then. I have not before then felt such loss. “I don’t understand,” I said. “What is this? Why--” “I could never begin to explain. I’m sorry. We’ll move quickly. But don’t look at it.” I tried not to. Upon my life, upon my city I swear it. But I could not help but steal hopeless, baffled glances. My lady tells me that at the edges of this world, before the sea of mountains which the batponies call the Wall of Evening but after the Flooded lands, there is a Garden. If one were to find the door--and that door is not so easily found!--there would be a gentle sloping path begirt on either side by thick foliage. Flowers more bright and alive than anything else on earth, and trees which bear fruit with no name. In the center ,at the top of a small flat land a wandering soul finds a pool of clear, cold water. But it is no ordinary water. For in the beginning (my lady said one night as we lay wearily in the grass alongside the road) there was only Song, and the Singing made all things in joyous rapture of itself, and it Sang for itself, and it Sang to itself, and was a relation unto itself. But with appreciation, with Acknowledgement, there came division into Song and Matter, and soon the Song itself could not help but be partially matter. It receded but could not undo the creative work. Part of it was left behind, like a hoof in the door, and collected in pools of shimmering water. To drink it would be to taste the universe, though I confess I do not know what that means. To bathe in it would be to see the wild eternities. The roses give way to a hilly land eventually. When we left them behind my heart felt light again in my chest, and my Lady too seemed to be at peace. I asked her where we were going, but she simply replied that we would head eastward, over the Veldt. Camping in the hills, I got a better answer out of her. We would stop in a town called Sarnath, which she said was the farthest West of all settlements, and there obtain a few sundries before the long trek to the sea. Her home, Equestria, lay beyond it, and the batponies of Sarnath would be able to provide us such letters of mark as would be required to obtain passage. I hope not to give offense, but when first she mentioned “batponies” I must say that I simply blinked at her in bafflement. I had her repeat the word, and turned it over in my mind. It just… didn’t make sense. I asked at first if the creatures in question were this world’s equivalent of vampires, for I know of these, but Lady Twilight rather carefully informed me that this was not true and also something of a… sore subject. *** I hadn’t realized how far I had leaned in until Passport raised an eyebrow at me. I flushed and sat back in the chair, putting on the studied air of an alert newsmare. “So, you were really clueless about our world,” I said. I had produced a small notebook and had scribbled a few things down. The recording was nice, but recordings got cumbersome. Taking notes kept you awake! Or at least, it tended to keep me awake. “Absolutely, beyond the most bare facts. I knew of Equestria, in that I knew its name. I had an inkling of my Lady’s identity. I knew there were equines involved.” She flashed me a grin “I’ve been learning piecemal all along the way.” “These places… I’ve never heard of any of this.” I shook my head. “Sarnath… rings a bell, but I know nothing about it. It’s just a name.” “Not an important one, in this part of the world. Princess Twilight has told me some of how far your people have come since she was your age, but I suspect that West will ever be a mystery. It is rather… different. Perhaps if you could stop time from softening at the edges, or nail down matter and distance…” she shook her head, and looked away from me. “It’s just idle speculation. Build your dark towers or don’t. Anyhow, I was about to get to Sarnath, was I not?” I nodded. It was about this time that we had a visitor. A maid, a bright earth pony with a friendly smile brought us refreshments. I took tea, and my new friend did as well. The maid bowed perhaps a few times too many, but I didn’t blame her. It was rather exciting to have a lost princess returning. When she had gone, Passport continued. “No, not Sarnath. Not yet. First…” *** The Flooded Lands were first. The name’s apt. Wetlands that stretch on for miles and miles. Twilight had some notion that a refuge was buried somewhere in all of that hateful slog, but we never found it. That’s a secret I suppose shall stay with the first Alicorns. We gave up the search after three days, as we were both beginning to lose our patience with the constant humidity. It would have been bad enough with standing water and reeds far as the eye could see, but it rained every day for most of the day. Our coats were matted and filthy. We smelled awful. I swear upon every temple in the city that by the end of it, when at last we found running water, it took an hour just to feel like myself again. I’d like to never even think about mosquitoes again, after that leg of the journey. I’m loathe to see it again when I return home. Well. If I return. That is a topic for later. We made far better time when Lady Twilight had finally given up her search for the old Alicorn refuge, and I was almost deliriously glad to see firm dry ground again. That was when we curved our path slightly north, and found more hills that led into mountains. I feared we had simply circled back, but these were not the impossible mountains at the edge of the world. And we did not ever reach them. For we came upon Sarnath at last, and none too soon, for I was beginning to dream of proper beds even when awake. Sarnath is all beneath the earth, and the entrance is well hidden. In the hills there are ravines that hide wide caves, and silent brooks flow at the bottom of these cracks in the earth. Water and wind have worn the rock there completely smooth, and shaped it in odd, eldritch ways. Where the rocks become sharp and the way more difficult, one sees the first sign of the city in the form of bridges across the divides where watch stern sentries. We were stopped and asked to identify ourselves by two fearsome armored ponies. I could see their leathery wings, but their faces were obscured. I admit that I found them frightening, for their tongue was heavily accented and their helmets are all unearthly curves and jutting points. I had foolishly expected a new world to be like my own, even after all of what I had seen. Twilight announced herself and invoked the name of Princess Luna, and the guards changed their tunes. One was sent ahead to alert the other watchponies, and the one who stayed behind bowed deeply to us both. He welcomed us, and afterwards accompanied us through the air all the way to the great gates. I am told that once there were no gates, and that there was only a great yawning mouth in the wall of rock, but the doors seemed older than anything I had seen. Every inch of them is carved in runes and pictures depicting a thousand scenes. Twilight told me lightly, as if she were discussing the weather, that five thousand or more years of history was carved on those gigantic doors. When we passed by, and I saw it even closer, I believed her. Apparently, opening the gates of Sarnath takes some time, and so as they prepared a welcoming for us, my Lady and I had a moment to ourselves amongst the craggy rock walls. Echoes surrounded us as batponies in the many caverns peered out at their new guests. Watchponies, of course, but I saw a child… a foal, and I know not what age, in one of the farthest cracks. We locked eyes and I smiled at him, but he only seemed confused. My Lady sighed and spoke. “So--Passport.” She shook her head and smiled at me. “I must get used to that. Passport, we’ll be in a very… strange place. Do not take this as any sort of exemplar of cities in my world.” *** Our story paused because at this moment, a question that had been bothering me all along. “Passport… Oh gosh, I’m sorry! I’m being so rude, it’s just--” She chuckled and poured more tea. She gently offered to fill mine, and I nodded. “It’s just… the way you speak is a bit archaic. Not exactly archaic, its just slightly so. I mean, that’s not a bad thing! You know. Uh.” “I’ve asked my Lady about that. She laughed and said that everyone in Valeria talked like I did, like something out of…” she blinked, narrowed her eyes, and then shrugged. “To be frank, friend, I don’t quite remember. Some such pony of letters, a Fern-you-call-him. Fern something. Or perhaps, a somesuch Fern? Bother.” She grumbled to herself with me. “July Fern?” I asked, my ears perking on their own. “Aye! That’s the name,” she said and grinned broadly at me. Okay, I’ll be honest, I grinned back like a schoolfilly. Her enthusiasm is kind of infectious, and to be honest I already rather liked her. “But what was that about Fern?” “She has informed me that I sound like I was a character in one of his books, translated into Equestria’s common tongue. I confess I’m not entirely sure why… but if I did have to guess, it would be because of the nature of the spell. I’ve some thoughts on that, by the by, but I’ll get there.” She raised an eyebrow and a cup and I nodded eagerly. “Good, if that’s acceptable… then I’ll continue. I believe we were somewhere around…” *** “So--Passport.” She shook her head and smiled at me. “I must get used to that. Passport, we’ll be in a very… strange place. Do not take this as any sort of exemplar of cities in my world.” “I had suspected we were in odd company when I saw the watchmen,” I answered, my lips twisting into a smile. “But I have a feeling that you do not mean the inhabitants.” “Yes and no.” She glanced up at the many eyes, and then back at me, turning halfway. I mirrored her, so that we seemed merely to converse normally, tho my eyes caught the barest hint of her horn glowing as her head turned. Sleight of hand--sleight of horn? Hoof?--is apparently one of my lady’s skills that she makes use of less frequently. At the time, I was still adjusting to the ease with which much Equestrian magic is cast, and so had no idea what she had done until she told me. “I’ve added some sound muffling,” she explained. “I wanted to say that our hosts have excellent hearing, and you should assume everything that you say until we have left these hills behind is being listened in on. The batponies of Sarnath are… grim. Try not to be too alarmed. You will see unpleasant things. The lords of this place are quick to take offense, and whilst I am rather formidable, battle magic was never my strong suite.” I nodded, taking note of how the dampening spell changed how I heard her voice. It was as if we two were alone in a very small, echoing room. “I understand. What, ah, sort of unpleasantries?” “The batponies of Sarnath have had an empire built on slaves longer than your city has existed,” she said flatly. “Princess Luna, before she was a princess, freed thousands when she drove out the vampire lords. But old habits die hard.” The smile she gave was not kind. “And as much as I would like to clear the place…” “It would go poorly.” “They don’t call it slavery anymore,” she said, dropping her voice. “Sarnath invented such fascinatingly convoluted ways to mask an ugly truth.” We were interrupted by the opening of the gates. The sound was awful, all scraping stone and whirring gears, and when it was done two timid automaton-like ponies who I instantly realized were the enslaved that Twilight had referenced hurried forward to create a path of flowers which glowed a dim blue. “Step only in the flowers,” she said to me lightly before trotting forward. The spell had been removed when I had not been paying attention, and only now did I hear the faint hymns emmanating from inside. “What are they singing about? Do you know, my Lady?” I asked from her side. “I do, and I will tell you. Walk a bit behind me, Passport. They will look on you unfavorably if you do not.” I recoiled, but recovered. I was only her servant, after all. A kind of “gentleman’s gentleman” I had so humorously called it what seemed a lifetime ago. Of course I should not make her seem weak in front of others. So I shrank back, and Twilight and I passed between the doors where we stopped before a small party of batponies. They were striking. I admit that I had very little in the way of understanding of your world at this time, and though I am loathe to admit it, I found it difficult to tell what constituted a fare visage here. I had things to compare to in my own world, but Lady Twilight has asked me not to mention my world’s analogs. Perhaps, if we meet again and you provide me with strong drink, I’ll explain that bit. But I was talking about the Lords. They were striking, and more than that they were terrifying. In their eyes I saw a bestial power beneath the thinnest veneer of noble bearing. These savage nobles adorned themselves in layers of gold and worthy stones, but what draws the eyes, good Ducky, is how they pierce the skin almost at random. As if to prove that they fear no pain, they try to outmatch each other in the stark angles of their augmentation. Yet their tongues were as silk, and they conversed with my lady in a language I did not know as I stood obediently behind her as a Lady’s maid might. I found myself a bit out of sorts. I am not without some measure of self-awareness. I framed my service to the Princess in a way that precluded the demure life of the Lady’s maid in waiting very precisely. It is not that I dislike a role read more femininely, if you can understand that. It’s merely that I have always been a woman of action and words, and not exactly one of looks and grace. I have neither, and I have made my peace with that. I generally do not care at all. But in that moment, I did care. If only a bit. Did having such an uncomely attendant rob my Lady of some of her prestige? I was not exactly a train of gold and ivory to show her great wealth. And putting her honor aside, to be told not to walk beside her was very foreign to one who had walked thus with her to the edges of the earth. But presently, she turned to me and beckoned. I trotted forward and bowed deeply and stayed there as she spoke. “This is my apprentice,” she said. “Rise, Passport. Let our hosts see your face.” I did, and stood ramrod straight at attention. They eyed me, and I admit that it made my skin crawl. One leered at me, a stallion a head taller than I, and said, “And has the Princess taught you well, young one?” I swallowed. “Yes, my Lord. I knew very little of magic before I met her.” A lie, of course, but it was best to set their expectations low. I could feel Twilight wanting to ask me why I had said that, but she did not. “Show us something? If you do not mind, of course, Princess.” “I do not,” Twilight said slowly. I glanced her way, and the look she gave me was unreadable. I swallowed again. I had not done much actual magic as a unicorn, but along the road Princess Twilight had taught me a few things. Namely, simple manipulation of light. So I hummed, and felt the magic as it flowed from my body to focus in my horn, and then I released it into the shape of the spell that I hoped would do. A ball of light popped into existence, hovering in front of me. I could just see the unimpressed look on the nobles’ face through the glare, and I smiled what I hoped was a confident smile as I bade my light ball to explode. Not truly explode. Simply flare out. I needed only the second it would blind the eyes. My real spell had not been the light ball at all, for it was only a ruse to draw the eye and then baffle the senses. Instead, I bent the light around myself, praying that this trick would work. When those around me seemed to regain their wits, I saw that noble’s face painted a very different shade of emotion. He seemed pleased. The light, bent around me in such a way, creates an illusion, sweet Ducky. Imagine it like… you know the oddness of seeing water on the surface of glass? How it distorts, sometimes only visible as it moves? It is like that. If I stay very still, the naked eye could miss me all together. I let the spell dissipate, and there were murmurs of approval. “A trick, but a very clever one,” one of them said. “Truly, you are taming a wild hedgemage into something fascinating, Lady Twilight. I commend you.” She nodded, and after that I was ignored and was glad for it. When at last we entered with some small ceremony of pledges and talk of hospitality, I steeled myself to see the unpleasant things I had been told of… and I must say that my Lady had been far too forgiving of that dreadful place. III. Descent Into SarnathSarnath is brighter than one would expect a subterranean city to be, but do not trust its light. That would be my first word of advice to any who entered that place. Yes, the streets are mostly lit, and the caverns glow. But the darkness is always there at the edges of everything. We forget, or at least I did before I journeyed down into Sarnath, just how omnipresent light is. The sun’s gift is so, so precious. We can just see, no constant effort involved--most of us, of course, I do not mean to exclude--and for half the day we do not need to bear torches or walk only in lit paths. But in Sarnath to see at all, any who is not native to that realm must have constant assistance. Normal torches will not suffice, as the smoke from most will suffocate with time. The batponies of Sarnath who are native to the dark can see in it perfectly fine. Though they are less sure in absolute, total darkness, the tiniest bit of light within sight will illuminate vast caverns for them. So off the main highway one finds neighborhoods and markets where there is only one or two soft green lights. Not magic, I’m told, but in fact a fascinating sort of botanical alchemy. One can synthesize many volatile and valuable substances from the plants beneath the earth’s fecund crust which can do far more than I imagined. Sarnath’s denizens walk swiftly past, often at the edges of your vision. Few will meet your eyes. Think about that, imagine it, because it will come up again. When you do catch their eyes, they are golden, or like amber stars in the shadows. We were given a tour of sorts. Our hosts showed us their monuments and grand architecture, always framing this display as educational for me. It was very much so, but I know better than to think it was altruistic. Certainly now I know that nothing those monsters do is done with good intention. Their architecture, by the by, is eldritch. I know that I’m being a bit short, but ‘tis the term most suited. It bends in odd ways, in measure both savage and beautiful. I saw a spire at the center of the city which curled up in a double helix towards the rocky ceiling of a cavern a mile wide. Bridges crossing chasms I could see no bottom too with railing that twisted and flowed like rock had become water, windows that seemed to waver, that one’s eye got lost in the lines of--it was hard not to gawk at every single thing. Of course, there was more to it then architecture and lights. The worst I save for last, but in the street one feels an oppressive air. Not a single bat pony would look at our hosts. They fear their rulers. They are terrified of them. The citizens of Sarnath do not linger for a moment in the sight of the dreadful creatures. They do not wish to be speared by their predatory gaze. And yet... I think you would have enjoyed it, Miss Ink. Truly, I know I have perhaps painted a grim mood, but you would have enjoyed it. Despite the gloom and despite our hosts, there is something enchanting about Sarnath. The lights are lovely and soft, even if they are mostly in greens. There is a bridge in the district called Deepgate that crosses a coursing river which cuts the rocks, and glowing flowers bloom in the crags. The bridge is so very delicate in its appearance, each pillar of the railings seeming to be crafted with a master’s skill as if each were again made of water, rivulets coursing together to create a structure. But when you are halfway across, you see the true wonder of it: there are lamps that sit low to the ground beside the pillars and the light they cast causes each shadow to dance in the clear, cold water below. It’s all very enchanting. I wish I could show you that. * We took a break then. I made tea for us both while Passport had a look at a book that I had brought with me. It’s just my copy of Cereal de Braygerac that I carry around with me sometimes. It’s a comfort object, or so I explained it to her when she asked. While I was staring down at the kettle, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander elsewhere. I lived in the city of Sarnath, far below the ground. Strange music drifted lonely like smoke on a wind, but there was no wind, there couldn’t be, but I swear that I felt a chill breeze on my back. I had been in Hollow Shades and seen the batpony tree-towers there, but this was nothing like that. Yet… I could imagine. Hollow Shades had been so warm and welcoming. The smell of bread led you around the corner, and foals flew between the tall trees chasing each other and laughing. But if I took away the polite elders and the playful children and the moon above, what else was left? Strange angles and strange music which weaved through the trees. I could imagine it. She was right. I did want to see it. When I returned she smiled up at me, and I confess that I was happy to be smiled at. “Here you go,” I said brightly and set down a tray for us. “Thanks, really.” “It’s my pleasure. You’re a delightful audience, Ducky.” I grinned myself and looked down. “So… where were we? Sarnath. You were talking about the bridges.” She took her tea and hummed. “I was, yes, but it’s probably time to talk about… the rest. Or maybe not right away. Let’s see…” * After our tour, we were shown our lodgings in the spire at the center of the city. We had separate rooms, which to be quite honest with you, I was not happy with. I am not, how would you say it, clingy? But I was in strange environs with hosts who unsettled me. I wanted to be close to my lady, for protection, but also just… Well, because she was familiar. Might I tell you a story? A story within a story, which is I know, a foolish thing. When I was a young girl, I went with my parents to visit another city. Our lodgings were palatial, and yet I was miserable. I couldn’t sleep. I was a young woman, newly come into my own, and my father decided that I should have my own room. I agreed… but in a new place, in a large, dark space… I was so alone. So I tossed and turned in Sarnath, and after many hours I rose and wandered into the halls. I know that it is foolish to say so, but I swear to you that Sarnath is nothing more than a realm of corridors, long and forboding, lit strangely, cold and discomforting. They lead into each other, confusing in their alienation. I found a strange sort of lounge, with an overlook which showed the city lit and alive, teeming below. The air was rank with a smell I did not recognize. In fact, I recalled as I explored among the luxurious plush seating, many places in Sarnath had smelled like that. Like something rotten and wet. I was naive, really, truly naive. I should have recognized that smell. But I didn’t. It would have saved me a lot of grief. I thought to find my way back when I heard a noise just to my right. I whirled, but saw nothing. Another, on my left. Fear seized me, and I turned both ways, backing towards the wall. Did shadows run between the opulent couches, did I see something reflected in the crystal vessels left carelessly on tables? Even now I’m not entirely sure. But what was true was this: at the height of this beastial and frankly embarassing panic, I heard a voice. It sounded like needles in silk. “You seem lost.” And he was there, a bat pony with dull red eyes. He was dressed in finery, his high stiff collar trimmed in the same color as his eyes and gold everywhere that such a creature could find an excuse to hang it. My heart lodged itself in my throat, and I recoiled. But… well, I wanted to jump or move or gain a bit more distance from him. The stranger loitered in the door way from which I had come, between me and my room. Was he some sort of lordling, stalking the halls? Or some lackey sent to keep watch over troublesome guests? “I couldn’t sleep,” I replied. I would like to say my voice was even and controlled, but in truth I less spoke and more mewled my answer. Pathetic. I felt like I had been taken out of my own story. I was a bit player brought in off the street to fill the role of Distressed Damsel Number 3 in a penny-dreadful adapted for street theatre. I say all of this so that you will not think less of me. But I was both afraid and oddly enamored at once, unable to tear my gaze from the crimson eyes of the shadow who approached. “So you just wandered about, hm? Didn’t anyone tell you to keep your hooves to yourself?” “I… no, not really?” I managed to say. He was beautiful in the moonlight. I will confess that there are very few of the masculine persuasion that I have ever found truly beautiful--I look for other things there, on the occasions I care to look--and so I am confident when I say that I shall never see a face in this world quite so perfectly the ideal of masculine beauty. “Ironic, that you come here as well.” Then he smiled at me. Friend, can you describe a fiend? His eyes, his face, his poise? Can you see him dancing in your mind’s eyes, bright and hot with reckless, lascivious fire? Because I can now, and the fiend wears that stallion’s face in the moonlight. But I was not so blinded that I did not notice the fangs. I think it was his elongated fangs that helped me escape the glamoring, and which jolted me awake. I stirred and backed away from him, and where I had hoped to see him taken aback, brought up short, anything at all--he was unfazed. His progress was unimpeded. “Do you know in who’s kingdom you have come so innocently, girl?” “I-I’m starting to put it together,” I said, my voice cracking. The only other way out was behind me, and I edged towards it. He tsked, that demon. “There’s no need to be dramatic. I’d be still if I were you.” Grinding my teeth, I threw my answer back. “Why?” “Because you’ll run into much less forgiving guests.” That brought me up short. So I was pincered between potential foes. Splendid. The stallion came a bit further, so that we were but two pony-lengths away, and then he stopped. With a bow that was more scorn then gallantry, he finally introduced himself. “My name is Withers, friend of the House by who’s hospitality you currently are benefiting. Luckily, I am also rather inclined to be a part of that hospitality. How fortunate for you. And might I have the gift of your name?” I did not wish to give him my name, to be honest. But I am less attached to the name I use in this world than I am to my original, so it is less a cost to give it. “Passport,” I said, squaring my shoulders. Now that his preternatural charm had worn off, I found myself growing tired of his archaic way of speech. He chortled. “Fitting. You’ve picked a very bad time to be up and about, young Passport. This place will be very lively soon. Perhaps lively earlier now that there is the, ha, blood of innocents about it.” “Can you explain what exactly you expect to happen?” I asked, resisting the urge to glance back over my shoulder. I didn’t want to take my eyes off the obvious threat in front of me. “A bit of a soiree. Some loners courting patrons or their current patron’s favor, much like myself. Noble houses’ scions here for business and pleasure in equal measure. Have you not noticed?” “What?” “The staff.” I blinked, and couldn’t help but look. There, in the shadows against the wall I saw them. Batponies with dark coats going silently as ghosts in and out of a door in the wall I only now noticed. They carried in pairs great vessels. The smell I had not really given much of a thought to came back again with greater force. It was acrid and growing stronger, and I cringed. “I hadn’t seen them,” I admitted. “If this place is just hosting some sort of gathering, why should I be in any danger?” “Because any normal pony in the presence of her predators and betters should be nervous. You already are--don’t deny it. I’ve honestly grown slightly bored of the effect on the untouched. It’s a hind-brain trigger, nothing but ancient stirrings to protect you from predators that stopped hunting you a long time ago. Though, I must say how curious it is that you seem to have pulled away quicker than most. It is too late for you to leave, but it is not too late for you to live and be unsullied.” “So, what, you’ll give me protection?” “Yes, I will. Do you hear them coming?” “What? No.” He rolled his eyes, and somehow that action more than the others actually made me feel as if he might be earnest. “Of course you don’t, blast it. I forget how dull and senseless you lot are. You have but a moment before they begin to arrive. It’ll be the more chaotic sorts and the weaklings first.” I bristled at his tone. “And I should trust you because of…?” “Because your hosts are my patrons. The loss of face they would suffer from having their guest’s attendant stolen from under their noses. Their loss of face effects my own standing.” He gestured, his hoof outstretched and flat open to the ceiling. “It’s pragmatism, if that’s what you’ll accept. Your safety costs me little and gains me more than I shall lose. It’s simple arithmetic, and you seem a keen sort for logic. Think about it, and stop arguing.” I just… blinked at him. It made sense. If I believed what he said, it made sense. He hadn’t attacked, and I had the feeling that if he wanted to, he could have leaped the gap and sunk his fangs in me. “Fine. What do we do?” “You step closer and you stay close,” he said, holding out a hoof. “You tell anypony who asks that you belong to me, and they assume I defend my property as a matter of course.” Loathsome. I all but hissed at him in response. The arrogance, the gall of suggesting such a thing. But before I could say anything to him, I heard hoofsteps echoing down the hall. I turned at last. Giggling young mares leaning on each other, laughing at some shared malicious joke. Their eyes blood red, their faces perfect, their mouths glittering with sharp teeth like knives. I turned abruptly back towards my wouldbe savior. I hated him and his demands and his perfection, and I hated that he was telling the truth. I hated having to be in the same room with him and his arrogance. But I did not want to meet the mares or whomever might join them. So I stepped forward and touched his hoof with mine.
I. In Which Your Humble Reporter Finds Her Story“I’d just like to express how honored I and the paper are that you’ve graced us with this interview,” Burrow said, and bowed again. Princess Twilight smiled at him, but caught my eye and I blushed. It was so hard to tell how much deference she even wanted. No one had really… experienced her in so long. And yet, here she was in the office of the Mayor of Seaddle, sitting for an interview for the Canterlot Record. I helped Burrow set up his recording equipment and took a few pictures, but then interviewing became a one pony job and I tried to find some quiet place to the side. Burrow wasn’t as fun to watch when you’d seen him practicing his delivery of every single question a hundred times, and participated as “Princess Twilight Sparkle” about as many, so eventually I eased into the side room of the Princess’ apartments. Maybe I was looking for something, some nice play of light and color for a lovely photo. I’m just a rank amateur with a camera, despite everything, but I fancy myself a workhorse. The small and harmless lie of photographic talent makes me happy, and that is enough to try my hoof at candid photos and slices of life. That frivolity, that harmless pit of play was how I met her. Passport was an attractive young mare in her own way. The resemblance between herself and the Princess was uncanny and at first, I admit that it was a tad alarming. But before I had convinced myself that I had stumbled upon some terrible twinned secret, she turned and raised an eyebrow at me. No, they were not the same. Princess Twilight carries herself so much more gracefully. Which isn’t to say that Passport has no grace! I don’t mean it like that. It’s just a different kind. When I think of the Princess I think of her receiving others, smiling graciously, navigating all of the proper channels. With Passport one thinks more of… reclining. Reclining around a table, she and I, just talking. She was a unicorn, with what I must say was a rather rare horn pattern. So sharp, so delicate! But yes, I suppose only a third of my audience now would care for such things. She wore a rather old fashioned skirt and vest combination, and a small medal of the sun hung at her neck. I thought such was curious, for the princesses did not usually have Celestialists as personal attendants, but each to their own. I’m sure what you’re thinking. She sounds more or less normal. Why have I given her so much time and interest? There is a certain set of dispositions that one associates with equine faces. Not to say that we are all the same, of course! But I can read the emotion on my fellow ponies’ faces. Here, I found an almost alien logic guiding a familiar visage. Something… to say that it was predatory is rude. It was an intense look, one that catalogued and recorded. It was the look of a magitech engineer who hasn’t left her labs in weeks. Her gaze was hungry, alert, eager to catalogue and categorize. Passport, the mysterious attendant of her Lady, Twilight Sparkle, was investigating a painting on the wall. Perhaps I should have led with that. I walked in, and saw here there radiating that intense air of fascination, looking at a copy of a painting by one Lockless Barrel, The Oath of the Horatii that hung from the wall. The original is back in Canterlot, but I was not about to mention that to her. I was too busy wandering at her strange attire, foreign, obviously adorned and yet also ready for battle, a combination of worn leather barding and flowing robes. I was taking in these finer points of detail when she noticed me. “H-hello,” I said. “Who are you?” She cocked her head at me, and then said in altogether unsmooth Equestrian, “Am… Sophie. I…” She sighed and held up a hoof, before casting something with her horn. “There, that’s better. I’m sorry. I’ve gotten a bit lazy since I discovered I could do this sort of spell, and am not as comfortable with Equestrian as I should be. Passport is my name,” she finished, and offered me her hoof. I bumped it, smiling. “The Lady’s attendant?” “I was, once, for a princely sum-per-week. But I would say that these days, I am a full companion.” She smiled warmly. “Should we be quiet, for their recording?” I shook my head. “No. It has a noise-cancelling spell on it that’ll catch any sounds from us.” Passport whistled. “By Avenoux, that’s a triumph. I am constantly amazed by this world of yours. It is filled with such things I had never thought would be possible. To think that a sound-cancelling spell would be so mundane as to be in the pocket of every newscap.” I smiled, but it was a sort of frozen, reflexive smile. It was, dear reader, the kind of smile one gives when one is on the verge of processing something rather Potentially Dismaying. “You, ah, said ‘this world,’” I monotoned. Passport blinked at me, and I at her. “Oh! My apologies, miss… what was your name again?” “I hadn’t given it.” A beat, and then a nervous flood. “Oh! Sorry, I must have spaced for a second there. It’s Ducky Ink! Ducky Ink, reporter on the rise, yadda that’s me! But you, ah--” “Sophie Bellamy, ex-student of the Academy of Preternatural Arts and Sciences in Valeria.” She made a clumsy bow. “Formerly of the Midlands, and formerly of another world. In this one, I am Passport. You heard correctly. My Lady Twilight in fact met me in my own city, across the blind eternities.” If I recall correctly, my response was to simply stare at her. After the not very dramatic follow up of me asking more than once for some clarification, I took a seat across from her. “So that’s where she’s been,” I said. “But, uh…” “Indeed. I do not know how many planes she came across, and I feel it may not be prudent to ask.” “She’s been gone… ‘bout 70 years, so I would assume that the number’s high.” It is kind of shocking for someone to talk about planar travel as if it is mundane, as if it’s just kind of old hat. I tried to think of how best to phrase my question, but nothing came. Nothing that wasn’t incredibly rude. But... She nodded. “I had wondered how many years had passed here as well. Lady Twilight assured me that time runs smooth across all the planes, but…” With a shrug, she looked me over. “I must ask, for I always must: why a duck?” I tried so very hard to come up with anything off the cuff that would sound suitably noteworthy, but the shock of meeting an extraplanar visitor was catching up to me. I stumbled over a few words, and then admitted the truth. “It was when I was still a filly. I wrote an article about a small pond that ducks frequented and raised their ducklings in, which in turn… galvanized my classmates and eventually saved that pond. It’s really silly, Miss--” But she shook her head. “Not at all!” She reached up to a pocket on her vest, and then paused. Her face twisted for a moment into something resembling pain, but at a distance. Then she brightened up. “It is the highest wishing of any interlocutor to be heard. A mare who puts quill to parchment or pencil to paper is insisting that she be heard, and that certainly sounds like being heard. That sounds brilliant.” I was glad then, for a moment, that we cannot see ourselves as others might, for I was sure that my face was a bit flushed. “Thank you, Miss Passport.” Some of my worry faded. Perhaps the translator had just slipped. She certainly seemed normal enough. She couldn’t be from some alien world. “If you don’t mind, I’m curious…” “Ask away.” “You said something about an, ah, other world. Did you mean a continent?” She smiled. We settled then in the side room, and she asked me about the city. I had only just moved to Canterlot myself, so I wasn’t as much help as I might’ve been. Her avoidance of my question seemed odd at first, but when I pressed again she tsk’d and replied that questions were an exchange. One for one. She would ask, and then she would answer. I gave what little information I had, and Passport insisted that the perspective of a fellow newcomer was at least affirming. I managed to ask a few questions myself. She repeated that she was from Valeria, which is certainly a city and maybe an autonomous realm. She tried explaining the politics of it all to me but it was rather convoluted. Her city was rather large, even by Equestrian standards. Their world’s grasp of technology was more uneven than our own, and mostly behind Equestrian know-how. Their magic was also far behind our own, though it seemed more tuned to violence, which I found a bit alarming. And, of course, that she was not really, originally, a pony at all. Passport, or Sophie Bellamy as she named herself, was in fact something absolutely foreign to our native plane. She was a human. I was, to say the least, floored. Reality had set in. We were taught only some tidbits about the extraplanar phenomenon our princesses and archmages had witnessed, but humans were always the most popular. Princess Twilight herself had been to a world with humans many times, they say, though what exactly she did there is a bit muddy. In the years since she’d been gone, Empress Cadance of the United North had sponsored several expeditions which made brief contact with humans in the same world that Princess Twilight had visited so long ago, and their discoveries had been all the rage for a decade. So to be talking to one, even in the guise of a pony, is certainly the sort of thing that leaves one speechless. I tried to recover, I promise I did! But I fumbled over my words badly. “What was it like, traveling between words?” I asked, breathless. She smiled. “You know, it occurs to me that your master and my will be busy for a time. Perhaps we should do as they.” “I-interview you? I mean, I can’t--I mean--” But I wanted to, very badly. I could almost… taste the word Exclusive. “Consider it a favor. I’m a bit restless, to be truthful.” I was already fumbling through my bag for a much smaller, and less complicated, recording device. My excitement made pushing the record button difficult, but I managed and slapped it down on the table. And then, of course, I winced because one shouldn’t slap recorders anywhere and also Celestia, how could I get giddy now? I had to be focused! A reporter knows when to ask and when to listen! A reporter is cool in the face of opportunity! Aargh! “Please,” I said, with a sheepish smile. “I’d love to.” “That was fast.” “And this is, maybe, exclusive! Or at least I’m first.” I gingerly pushed the recorder closer as it hummed. “Please, tell me everything. But first, tell me about the crossing. Let the reading public know what it’s like beyond our world.” She laughed and leaned in. “Well, it began on a beach, eighty-one days ago.”
II. From the Farthest Shores to the FloodWell, it began on a beach, eighty-one days ago. In my world, Twilight Sparkle needed to reach one specific place where she could cross beyond our plane’s boundaries. There were months of hard travel and adventures. We evaded bandits and revolutionaries, braved the arctic blizzards and the war-torn lands of an ancient empire. Over time I went from her skeptical but well paid companion to an ardent admirer. I loved her, and wanted to be whatever use to her was possible. When we arrived, she told me that she was returning home, and I begged to be taken along. We crossed into a pool of water, but it was not… Forgive me, but briefly: where the Eternities beyond us are concerned, tread lightly across language. Do not grasp too firmly the meaning and insinuations of meaning you find but keep your palm up. I know you don’t understand that last part, it’s alright. So it appeared to be water, and perhaps in some sense it was, but it was also the liminal place between my solid reality and the Field of Arbol. That is what its called, by the way, though there are many names. The Aetheric Sea. The World Tree. The Open Sky. None of them are remotely right, but when you are there you understand why folk have said such things. Everything makes sense there, and yet there’s just so much of it that nothing feels coherent in the end. The blind eternities are different for everyone, or so I’m told. For me, it was a sea, and we were carried on wild waves. I feared I would be crushed and lost forever, but my lady upheld me. I do not know how long we traveled, for there was no time there in any sense that I could divine. And at last, when I knew myself again, I was lying on a beach. Gentle waves lapped the shore, and a breeze woke me. I opened my eyes, and did not care or even remember that I was in a new body. That seemed so distant, and so very trivial compared to the peace of that shore. At length, my lady sat by my side and helped me as I learned to rise under my own power. Learning how to use a new body is difficult. It’s frustrating in the extreme and above all, it steals one’s sense of dignity rather forcefully. To her credit, Lady Twilight did not laugh too much at my childish mistakes. Foalish mistakes, I suppose would be more apropos. When I could walk more or less on my own, we strolled without any real aim along the soft waves. To our left the beach gave way to gentle hills and very swiftly up into impossible mountains, so tall that in the dazed state of mind that place engenders, they seemed to touch the roof of the world. I could see no sun, and yet there was plenty of light. The Farthest Shore is held forever at the moment when the afternoon is at its quietest, slowest point. We did not talk much, my Lady and me. I think perhaps that neither of us were then ready to talk, or beyond that it would not be wrong to say that the Farthest Shore is not a place for mundane conversations. But when we did talk, I found it disorienting. Language falls apart at the edges of the world, and you hear yourself in a dozen tongues and understand them all. When later I found I knew some of your language, Lady Twilight informed me that it is one of many possible effects that exposure to the ends of the world has on a pony. Ah. A pony. That was rather unique. I’ll show you a drawing, perhaps, that Lady Twilight sketched out of what I once looked like. You’ll see right away why walking on four hooves--and walking on hooves at all!--took me some immeasurable but long time to master. But all things end, and so did that time. We walked inland, towards the mountains that scratch the roof of heaven, and as we began the long climb, my lady and I began again our old routine. Old by my reckoning, but I suppose you wouldn’t know of it. We would travel in the day time (thought there it is always some sort of daytime) and when we stopped to eat, my Lady would instruct me in magic. The simplest things in this world would revolutionize my own. Casting without sigils or some kind of focus is simply… I’ve grown accustomed to seeing it, but by the standards of the mages of Valeria such things are miracles. I do not know how long we traveled. A week, perhaps. The mountains were impossible, and yet I never tired. The rocky crags should have cut our hooves, and the trail itself should have defeated us, and yet it did not. We hiked for hours without sweat or groan. Always inward, always upward. That part of the journey is muddy, honestly. Time there is soft, and reality is more suggestion than anything else. It was not until the roses… Ah, I’m sorry. The roses. The sea of roses. On the other side of the Walls of Evening--that is what they call the mountains in Sarnath--is a field filled with wild growing roses for miles. In the center there rises a small hill crowned by flowering moss and brambles which have grown over a stone wall. As soon as I saw it, I wanted to climb those walls or find some sort of door. Only Twilight’s firm grip on my wrist kept me from throwing myself into the roses to carve a path into that holy place. “Don’t,” she said firmly, but her face seemed so sad. “You can’t. It’s not for you.” Has your heart ever shattered? Mine did, then. I have not before then felt such loss. “I don’t understand,” I said. “What is this? Why--” “I could never begin to explain. I’m sorry. We’ll move quickly. But don’t look at it.” I tried not to. Upon my life, upon my city I swear it. But I could not help but steal hopeless, baffled glances. My lady tells me that at the edges of this world, before the sea of mountains which the batponies call the Wall of Evening but after the Flooded lands, there is a Garden. If one were to find the door--and that door is not so easily found!--there would be a gentle sloping path begirt on either side by thick foliage. Flowers more bright and alive than anything else on earth, and trees which bear fruit with no name. In the center ,at the top of a small flat land a wandering soul finds a pool of clear, cold water. But it is no ordinary water. For in the beginning (my lady said one night as we lay wearily in the grass alongside the road) there was only Song, and the Singing made all things in joyous rapture of itself, and it Sang for itself, and it Sang to itself, and was a relation unto itself. But with appreciation, with Acknowledgement, there came division into Song and Matter, and soon the Song itself could not help but be partially matter. It receded but could not undo the creative work. Part of it was left behind, like a hoof in the door, and collected in pools of shimmering water. To drink it would be to taste the universe, though I confess I do not know what that means. To bathe in it would be to see the wild eternities. The roses give way to a hilly land eventually. When we left them behind my heart felt light again in my chest, and my Lady too seemed to be at peace. I asked her where we were going, but she simply replied that we would head eastward, over the Veldt. Camping in the hills, I got a better answer out of her. We would stop in a town called Sarnath, which she said was the farthest West of all settlements, and there obtain a few sundries before the long trek to the sea. Her home, Equestria, lay beyond it, and the batponies of Sarnath would be able to provide us such letters of mark as would be required to obtain passage. I hope not to give offense, but when first she mentioned “batponies” I must say that I simply blinked at her in bafflement. I had her repeat the word, and turned it over in my mind. It just… didn’t make sense. I asked at first if the creatures in question were this world’s equivalent of vampires, for I know of these, but Lady Twilight rather carefully informed me that this was not true and also something of a… sore subject. *** I hadn’t realized how far I had leaned in until Passport raised an eyebrow at me. I flushed and sat back in the chair, putting on the studied air of an alert newsmare. “So, you were really clueless about our world,” I said. I had produced a small notebook and had scribbled a few things down. The recording was nice, but recordings got cumbersome. Taking notes kept you awake! Or at least, it tended to keep me awake. “Absolutely, beyond the most bare facts. I knew of Equestria, in that I knew its name. I had an inkling of my Lady’s identity. I knew there were equines involved.” She flashed me a grin “I’ve been learning piecemal all along the way.” “These places… I’ve never heard of any of this.” I shook my head. “Sarnath… rings a bell, but I know nothing about it. It’s just a name.” “Not an important one, in this part of the world. Princess Twilight has told me some of how far your people have come since she was your age, but I suspect that West will ever be a mystery. It is rather… different. Perhaps if you could stop time from softening at the edges, or nail down matter and distance…” she shook her head, and looked away from me. “It’s just idle speculation. Build your dark towers or don’t. Anyhow, I was about to get to Sarnath, was I not?” I nodded. It was about this time that we had a visitor. A maid, a bright earth pony with a friendly smile brought us refreshments. I took tea, and my new friend did as well. The maid bowed perhaps a few times too many, but I didn’t blame her. It was rather exciting to have a lost princess returning. When she had gone, Passport continued. “No, not Sarnath. Not yet. First…” *** The Flooded Lands were first. The name’s apt. Wetlands that stretch on for miles and miles. Twilight had some notion that a refuge was buried somewhere in all of that hateful slog, but we never found it. That’s a secret I suppose shall stay with the first Alicorns. We gave up the search after three days, as we were both beginning to lose our patience with the constant humidity. It would have been bad enough with standing water and reeds far as the eye could see, but it rained every day for most of the day. Our coats were matted and filthy. We smelled awful. I swear upon every temple in the city that by the end of it, when at last we found running water, it took an hour just to feel like myself again. I’d like to never even think about mosquitoes again, after that leg of the journey. I’m loathe to see it again when I return home. Well. If I return. That is a topic for later. We made far better time when Lady Twilight had finally given up her search for the old Alicorn refuge, and I was almost deliriously glad to see firm dry ground again. That was when we curved our path slightly north, and found more hills that led into mountains. I feared we had simply circled back, but these were not the impossible mountains at the edge of the world. And we did not ever reach them. For we came upon Sarnath at last, and none too soon, for I was beginning to dream of proper beds even when awake. Sarnath is all beneath the earth, and the entrance is well hidden. In the hills there are ravines that hide wide caves, and silent brooks flow at the bottom of these cracks in the earth. Water and wind have worn the rock there completely smooth, and shaped it in odd, eldritch ways. Where the rocks become sharp and the way more difficult, one sees the first sign of the city in the form of bridges across the divides where watch stern sentries. We were stopped and asked to identify ourselves by two fearsome armored ponies. I could see their leathery wings, but their faces were obscured. I admit that I found them frightening, for their tongue was heavily accented and their helmets are all unearthly curves and jutting points. I had foolishly expected a new world to be like my own, even after all of what I had seen. Twilight announced herself and invoked the name of Princess Luna, and the guards changed their tunes. One was sent ahead to alert the other watchponies, and the one who stayed behind bowed deeply to us both. He welcomed us, and afterwards accompanied us through the air all the way to the great gates. I am told that once there were no gates, and that there was only a great yawning mouth in the wall of rock, but the doors seemed older than anything I had seen. Every inch of them is carved in runes and pictures depicting a thousand scenes. Twilight told me lightly, as if she were discussing the weather, that five thousand or more years of history was carved on those gigantic doors. When we passed by, and I saw it even closer, I believed her. Apparently, opening the gates of Sarnath takes some time, and so as they prepared a welcoming for us, my Lady and I had a moment to ourselves amongst the craggy rock walls. Echoes surrounded us as batponies in the many caverns peered out at their new guests. Watchponies, of course, but I saw a child… a foal, and I know not what age, in one of the farthest cracks. We locked eyes and I smiled at him, but he only seemed confused. My Lady sighed and spoke. “So--Passport.” She shook her head and smiled at me. “I must get used to that. Passport, we’ll be in a very… strange place. Do not take this as any sort of exemplar of cities in my world.” *** Our story paused because at this moment, a question that had been bothering me all along. “Passport… Oh gosh, I’m sorry! I’m being so rude, it’s just--” She chuckled and poured more tea. She gently offered to fill mine, and I nodded. “It’s just… the way you speak is a bit archaic. Not exactly archaic, its just slightly so. I mean, that’s not a bad thing! You know. Uh.” “I’ve asked my Lady about that. She laughed and said that everyone in Valeria talked like I did, like something out of…” she blinked, narrowed her eyes, and then shrugged. “To be frank, friend, I don’t quite remember. Some such pony of letters, a Fern-you-call-him. Fern something. Or perhaps, a somesuch Fern? Bother.” She grumbled to herself with me. “July Fern?” I asked, my ears perking on their own. “Aye! That’s the name,” she said and grinned broadly at me. Okay, I’ll be honest, I grinned back like a schoolfilly. Her enthusiasm is kind of infectious, and to be honest I already rather liked her. “But what was that about Fern?” “She has informed me that I sound like I was a character in one of his books, translated into Equestria’s common tongue. I confess I’m not entirely sure why… but if I did have to guess, it would be because of the nature of the spell. I’ve some thoughts on that, by the by, but I’ll get there.” She raised an eyebrow and a cup and I nodded eagerly. “Good, if that’s acceptable… then I’ll continue. I believe we were somewhere around…” *** “So--Passport.” She shook her head and smiled at me. “I must get used to that. Passport, we’ll be in a very… strange place. Do not take this as any sort of exemplar of cities in my world.” “I had suspected we were in odd company when I saw the watchmen,” I answered, my lips twisting into a smile. “But I have a feeling that you do not mean the inhabitants.” “Yes and no.” She glanced up at the many eyes, and then back at me, turning halfway. I mirrored her, so that we seemed merely to converse normally, tho my eyes caught the barest hint of her horn glowing as her head turned. Sleight of hand--sleight of horn? Hoof?--is apparently one of my lady’s skills that she makes use of less frequently. At the time, I was still adjusting to the ease with which much Equestrian magic is cast, and so had no idea what she had done until she told me. “I’ve added some sound muffling,” she explained. “I wanted to say that our hosts have excellent hearing, and you should assume everything that you say until we have left these hills behind is being listened in on. The batponies of Sarnath are… grim. Try not to be too alarmed. You will see unpleasant things. The lords of this place are quick to take offense, and whilst I am rather formidable, battle magic was never my strong suite.” I nodded, taking note of how the dampening spell changed how I heard her voice. It was as if we two were alone in a very small, echoing room. “I understand. What, ah, sort of unpleasantries?” “The batponies of Sarnath have had an empire built on slaves longer than your city has existed,” she said flatly. “Princess Luna, before she was a princess, freed thousands when she drove out the vampire lords. But old habits die hard.” The smile she gave was not kind. “And as much as I would like to clear the place…” “It would go poorly.” “They don’t call it slavery anymore,” she said, dropping her voice. “Sarnath invented such fascinatingly convoluted ways to mask an ugly truth.” We were interrupted by the opening of the gates. The sound was awful, all scraping stone and whirring gears, and when it was done two timid automaton-like ponies who I instantly realized were the enslaved that Twilight had referenced hurried forward to create a path of flowers which glowed a dim blue. “Step only in the flowers,” she said to me lightly before trotting forward. The spell had been removed when I had not been paying attention, and only now did I hear the faint hymns emmanating from inside. “What are they singing about? Do you know, my Lady?” I asked from her side. “I do, and I will tell you. Walk a bit behind me, Passport. They will look on you unfavorably if you do not.” I recoiled, but recovered. I was only her servant, after all. A kind of “gentleman’s gentleman” I had so humorously called it what seemed a lifetime ago. Of course I should not make her seem weak in front of others. So I shrank back, and Twilight and I passed between the doors where we stopped before a small party of batponies. They were striking. I admit that I had very little in the way of understanding of your world at this time, and though I am loathe to admit it, I found it difficult to tell what constituted a fare visage here. I had things to compare to in my own world, but Lady Twilight has asked me not to mention my world’s analogs. Perhaps, if we meet again and you provide me with strong drink, I’ll explain that bit. But I was talking about the Lords. They were striking, and more than that they were terrifying. In their eyes I saw a bestial power beneath the thinnest veneer of noble bearing. These savage nobles adorned themselves in layers of gold and worthy stones, but what draws the eyes, good Ducky, is how they pierce the skin almost at random. As if to prove that they fear no pain, they try to outmatch each other in the stark angles of their augmentation. Yet their tongues were as silk, and they conversed with my lady in a language I did not know as I stood obediently behind her as a Lady’s maid might. I found myself a bit out of sorts. I am not without some measure of self-awareness. I framed my service to the Princess in a way that precluded the demure life of the Lady’s maid in waiting very precisely. It is not that I dislike a role read more femininely, if you can understand that. It’s merely that I have always been a woman of action and words, and not exactly one of looks and grace. I have neither, and I have made my peace with that. I generally do not care at all. But in that moment, I did care. If only a bit. Did having such an uncomely attendant rob my Lady of some of her prestige? I was not exactly a train of gold and ivory to show her great wealth. And putting her honor aside, to be told not to walk beside her was very foreign to one who had walked thus with her to the edges of the earth. But presently, she turned to me and beckoned. I trotted forward and bowed deeply and stayed there as she spoke. “This is my apprentice,” she said. “Rise, Passport. Let our hosts see your face.” I did, and stood ramrod straight at attention. They eyed me, and I admit that it made my skin crawl. One leered at me, a stallion a head taller than I, and said, “And has the Princess taught you well, young one?” I swallowed. “Yes, my Lord. I knew very little of magic before I met her.” A lie, of course, but it was best to set their expectations low. I could feel Twilight wanting to ask me why I had said that, but she did not. “Show us something? If you do not mind, of course, Princess.” “I do not,” Twilight said slowly. I glanced her way, and the look she gave me was unreadable. I swallowed again. I had not done much actual magic as a unicorn, but along the road Princess Twilight had taught me a few things. Namely, simple manipulation of light. So I hummed, and felt the magic as it flowed from my body to focus in my horn, and then I released it into the shape of the spell that I hoped would do. A ball of light popped into existence, hovering in front of me. I could just see the unimpressed look on the nobles’ face through the glare, and I smiled what I hoped was a confident smile as I bade my light ball to explode. Not truly explode. Simply flare out. I needed only the second it would blind the eyes. My real spell had not been the light ball at all, for it was only a ruse to draw the eye and then baffle the senses. Instead, I bent the light around myself, praying that this trick would work. When those around me seemed to regain their wits, I saw that noble’s face painted a very different shade of emotion. He seemed pleased. The light, bent around me in such a way, creates an illusion, sweet Ducky. Imagine it like… you know the oddness of seeing water on the surface of glass? How it distorts, sometimes only visible as it moves? It is like that. If I stay very still, the naked eye could miss me all together. I let the spell dissipate, and there were murmurs of approval. “A trick, but a very clever one,” one of them said. “Truly, you are taming a wild hedgemage into something fascinating, Lady Twilight. I commend you.” She nodded, and after that I was ignored and was glad for it. When at last we entered with some small ceremony of pledges and talk of hospitality, I steeled myself to see the unpleasant things I had been told of… and I must say that my Lady had been far too forgiving of that dreadful place.
III. Descent Into SarnathSarnath is brighter than one would expect a subterranean city to be, but do not trust its light. That would be my first word of advice to any who entered that place. Yes, the streets are mostly lit, and the caverns glow. But the darkness is always there at the edges of everything. We forget, or at least I did before I journeyed down into Sarnath, just how omnipresent light is. The sun’s gift is so, so precious. We can just see, no constant effort involved--most of us, of course, I do not mean to exclude--and for half the day we do not need to bear torches or walk only in lit paths. But in Sarnath to see at all, any who is not native to that realm must have constant assistance. Normal torches will not suffice, as the smoke from most will suffocate with time. The batponies of Sarnath who are native to the dark can see in it perfectly fine. Though they are less sure in absolute, total darkness, the tiniest bit of light within sight will illuminate vast caverns for them. So off the main highway one finds neighborhoods and markets where there is only one or two soft green lights. Not magic, I’m told, but in fact a fascinating sort of botanical alchemy. One can synthesize many volatile and valuable substances from the plants beneath the earth’s fecund crust which can do far more than I imagined. Sarnath’s denizens walk swiftly past, often at the edges of your vision. Few will meet your eyes. Think about that, imagine it, because it will come up again. When you do catch their eyes, they are golden, or like amber stars in the shadows. We were given a tour of sorts. Our hosts showed us their monuments and grand architecture, always framing this display as educational for me. It was very much so, but I know better than to think it was altruistic. Certainly now I know that nothing those monsters do is done with good intention. Their architecture, by the by, is eldritch. I know that I’m being a bit short, but ‘tis the term most suited. It bends in odd ways, in measure both savage and beautiful. I saw a spire at the center of the city which curled up in a double helix towards the rocky ceiling of a cavern a mile wide. Bridges crossing chasms I could see no bottom too with railing that twisted and flowed like rock had become water, windows that seemed to waver, that one’s eye got lost in the lines of--it was hard not to gawk at every single thing. Of course, there was more to it then architecture and lights. The worst I save for last, but in the street one feels an oppressive air. Not a single bat pony would look at our hosts. They fear their rulers. They are terrified of them. The citizens of Sarnath do not linger for a moment in the sight of the dreadful creatures. They do not wish to be speared by their predatory gaze. And yet... I think you would have enjoyed it, Miss Ink. Truly, I know I have perhaps painted a grim mood, but you would have enjoyed it. Despite the gloom and despite our hosts, there is something enchanting about Sarnath. The lights are lovely and soft, even if they are mostly in greens. There is a bridge in the district called Deepgate that crosses a coursing river which cuts the rocks, and glowing flowers bloom in the crags. The bridge is so very delicate in its appearance, each pillar of the railings seeming to be crafted with a master’s skill as if each were again made of water, rivulets coursing together to create a structure. But when you are halfway across, you see the true wonder of it: there are lamps that sit low to the ground beside the pillars and the light they cast causes each shadow to dance in the clear, cold water below. It’s all very enchanting. I wish I could show you that. * We took a break then. I made tea for us both while Passport had a look at a book that I had brought with me. It’s just my copy of Cereal de Braygerac that I carry around with me sometimes. It’s a comfort object, or so I explained it to her when she asked. While I was staring down at the kettle, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander elsewhere. I lived in the city of Sarnath, far below the ground. Strange music drifted lonely like smoke on a wind, but there was no wind, there couldn’t be, but I swear that I felt a chill breeze on my back. I had been in Hollow Shades and seen the batpony tree-towers there, but this was nothing like that. Yet… I could imagine. Hollow Shades had been so warm and welcoming. The smell of bread led you around the corner, and foals flew between the tall trees chasing each other and laughing. But if I took away the polite elders and the playful children and the moon above, what else was left? Strange angles and strange music which weaved through the trees. I could imagine it. She was right. I did want to see it. When I returned she smiled up at me, and I confess that I was happy to be smiled at. “Here you go,” I said brightly and set down a tray for us. “Thanks, really.” “It’s my pleasure. You’re a delightful audience, Ducky.” I grinned myself and looked down. “So… where were we? Sarnath. You were talking about the bridges.” She took her tea and hummed. “I was, yes, but it’s probably time to talk about… the rest. Or maybe not right away. Let’s see…” * After our tour, we were shown our lodgings in the spire at the center of the city. We had separate rooms, which to be quite honest with you, I was not happy with. I am not, how would you say it, clingy? But I was in strange environs with hosts who unsettled me. I wanted to be close to my lady, for protection, but also just… Well, because she was familiar. Might I tell you a story? A story within a story, which is I know, a foolish thing. When I was a young girl, I went with my parents to visit another city. Our lodgings were palatial, and yet I was miserable. I couldn’t sleep. I was a young woman, newly come into my own, and my father decided that I should have my own room. I agreed… but in a new place, in a large, dark space… I was so alone. So I tossed and turned in Sarnath, and after many hours I rose and wandered into the halls. I know that it is foolish to say so, but I swear to you that Sarnath is nothing more than a realm of corridors, long and forboding, lit strangely, cold and discomforting. They lead into each other, confusing in their alienation. I found a strange sort of lounge, with an overlook which showed the city lit and alive, teeming below. The air was rank with a smell I did not recognize. In fact, I recalled as I explored among the luxurious plush seating, many places in Sarnath had smelled like that. Like something rotten and wet. I was naive, really, truly naive. I should have recognized that smell. But I didn’t. It would have saved me a lot of grief. I thought to find my way back when I heard a noise just to my right. I whirled, but saw nothing. Another, on my left. Fear seized me, and I turned both ways, backing towards the wall. Did shadows run between the opulent couches, did I see something reflected in the crystal vessels left carelessly on tables? Even now I’m not entirely sure. But what was true was this: at the height of this beastial and frankly embarassing panic, I heard a voice. It sounded like needles in silk. “You seem lost.” And he was there, a bat pony with dull red eyes. He was dressed in finery, his high stiff collar trimmed in the same color as his eyes and gold everywhere that such a creature could find an excuse to hang it. My heart lodged itself in my throat, and I recoiled. But… well, I wanted to jump or move or gain a bit more distance from him. The stranger loitered in the door way from which I had come, between me and my room. Was he some sort of lordling, stalking the halls? Or some lackey sent to keep watch over troublesome guests? “I couldn’t sleep,” I replied. I would like to say my voice was even and controlled, but in truth I less spoke and more mewled my answer. Pathetic. I felt like I had been taken out of my own story. I was a bit player brought in off the street to fill the role of Distressed Damsel Number 3 in a penny-dreadful adapted for street theatre. I say all of this so that you will not think less of me. But I was both afraid and oddly enamored at once, unable to tear my gaze from the crimson eyes of the shadow who approached. “So you just wandered about, hm? Didn’t anyone tell you to keep your hooves to yourself?” “I… no, not really?” I managed to say. He was beautiful in the moonlight. I will confess that there are very few of the masculine persuasion that I have ever found truly beautiful--I look for other things there, on the occasions I care to look--and so I am confident when I say that I shall never see a face in this world quite so perfectly the ideal of masculine beauty. “Ironic, that you come here as well.” Then he smiled at me. Friend, can you describe a fiend? His eyes, his face, his poise? Can you see him dancing in your mind’s eyes, bright and hot with reckless, lascivious fire? Because I can now, and the fiend wears that stallion’s face in the moonlight. But I was not so blinded that I did not notice the fangs. I think it was his elongated fangs that helped me escape the glamoring, and which jolted me awake. I stirred and backed away from him, and where I had hoped to see him taken aback, brought up short, anything at all--he was unfazed. His progress was unimpeded. “Do you know in who’s kingdom you have come so innocently, girl?” “I-I’m starting to put it together,” I said, my voice cracking. The only other way out was behind me, and I edged towards it. He tsked, that demon. “There’s no need to be dramatic. I’d be still if I were you.” Grinding my teeth, I threw my answer back. “Why?” “Because you’ll run into much less forgiving guests.” That brought me up short. So I was pincered between potential foes. Splendid. The stallion came a bit further, so that we were but two pony-lengths away, and then he stopped. With a bow that was more scorn then gallantry, he finally introduced himself. “My name is Withers, friend of the House by who’s hospitality you currently are benefiting. Luckily, I am also rather inclined to be a part of that hospitality. How fortunate for you. And might I have the gift of your name?” I did not wish to give him my name, to be honest. But I am less attached to the name I use in this world than I am to my original, so it is less a cost to give it. “Passport,” I said, squaring my shoulders. Now that his preternatural charm had worn off, I found myself growing tired of his archaic way of speech. He chortled. “Fitting. You’ve picked a very bad time to be up and about, young Passport. This place will be very lively soon. Perhaps lively earlier now that there is the, ha, blood of innocents about it.” “Can you explain what exactly you expect to happen?” I asked, resisting the urge to glance back over my shoulder. I didn’t want to take my eyes off the obvious threat in front of me. “A bit of a soiree. Some loners courting patrons or their current patron’s favor, much like myself. Noble houses’ scions here for business and pleasure in equal measure. Have you not noticed?” “What?” “The staff.” I blinked, and couldn’t help but look. There, in the shadows against the wall I saw them. Batponies with dark coats going silently as ghosts in and out of a door in the wall I only now noticed. They carried in pairs great vessels. The smell I had not really given much of a thought to came back again with greater force. It was acrid and growing stronger, and I cringed. “I hadn’t seen them,” I admitted. “If this place is just hosting some sort of gathering, why should I be in any danger?” “Because any normal pony in the presence of her predators and betters should be nervous. You already are--don’t deny it. I’ve honestly grown slightly bored of the effect on the untouched. It’s a hind-brain trigger, nothing but ancient stirrings to protect you from predators that stopped hunting you a long time ago. Though, I must say how curious it is that you seem to have pulled away quicker than most. It is too late for you to leave, but it is not too late for you to live and be unsullied.” “So, what, you’ll give me protection?” “Yes, I will. Do you hear them coming?” “What? No.” He rolled his eyes, and somehow that action more than the others actually made me feel as if he might be earnest. “Of course you don’t, blast it. I forget how dull and senseless you lot are. You have but a moment before they begin to arrive. It’ll be the more chaotic sorts and the weaklings first.” I bristled at his tone. “And I should trust you because of…?” “Because your hosts are my patrons. The loss of face they would suffer from having their guest’s attendant stolen from under their noses. Their loss of face effects my own standing.” He gestured, his hoof outstretched and flat open to the ceiling. “It’s pragmatism, if that’s what you’ll accept. Your safety costs me little and gains me more than I shall lose. It’s simple arithmetic, and you seem a keen sort for logic. Think about it, and stop arguing.” I just… blinked at him. It made sense. If I believed what he said, it made sense. He hadn’t attacked, and I had the feeling that if he wanted to, he could have leaped the gap and sunk his fangs in me. “Fine. What do we do?” “You step closer and you stay close,” he said, holding out a hoof. “You tell anypony who asks that you belong to me, and they assume I defend my property as a matter of course.” Loathsome. I all but hissed at him in response. The arrogance, the gall of suggesting such a thing. But before I could say anything to him, I heard hoofsteps echoing down the hall. I turned at last. Giggling young mares leaning on each other, laughing at some shared malicious joke. Their eyes blood red, their faces perfect, their mouths glittering with sharp teeth like knives. I turned abruptly back towards my wouldbe savior. I hated him and his demands and his perfection, and I hated that he was telling the truth. I hated having to be in the same room with him and his arrogance. But I did not want to meet the mares or whomever might join them. So I stepped forward and touched his hoof with mine.
