The Mares in the Moon

Chapters

The Prophecy
The Madmare
The Farmer
The Braggart
Preparations

The Prophecy

Recent events have set me down a path I never before assumed I would travel. It has been filled with trials and hardships, but I have overcome these—alone and with others—and through them gained both power and understanding. The vast vistas of knowledge upon which I once viewed the world have been shattered. Whether I shall be flung to ever higher heights or sent plummeting into an endless pit below remains to be seen. However, it is best to start at the beginning, as close to pertinent events as necessary.

It was nearly two weeks ago, precisely eight days before the Summer Solstice Celebration. This year was to be a special occasion, the one thousandth of said festival which pays duty and sacrifice to The Princess, She whose eternal gaze watches over all of Equestria and the denizens thereof, and who protects us from Her kin that would see our harmony or sanities shattered. It was one thousand years ago that They descended upon our world. The Cycle had been completed, the Stars had aligned, from heaven and void and unknowable elsewhere the Ancient Ones had come.

To each of their progeny They went, and to each They proffered power, knowledge, riches, and other more tantalizing delights in exchange for one thing: fealty. For some it was accepted peacefully and for others it was extracted through blood, but in the end all served.

It is said that before Her coming, two sisters had command over all of Equestria. The Princess, powerful, glorious, and resembling us in all ways, asked that they cede their rule and take up their rightful place beneath Her. They refused, wielding artifacts of magic against Her. Some tellings say they wounded Her and others lie, but the ending is all the same. For their refusal, they were banished to the Moon. Their forlorn visages would look down upon Equestria and the world each night, they would weep at all they had lost, and it was no more than they deserved for their blasphemous rejection of Her.

The tale is told to fillies and colts alike, wrapped up in bed awaiting the hopeful peace of slumber to take them. It was told to me more times than I can recall, and each time it fed my fascination with The Princess and the gifts She bestowed upon our nation in that millennium since. I hungered for knowledge, to learn of Her. It is why I came to study at The Princess’s School for Gifted Scholars. It is why I became The Princess’s personal protégé. It is why I sought to master every school of knowledge imaginable: mundane, arcane, eldritch, and dozens more besides. It is why that fateful day in the castle gardens, I read a book that documented that legend in scholarly detail and found something which alarmed me.

More details than my mother ever said to me flowed from the pages. The book spoke about how the youngest of the two sisters shepherded the Moon through the heavens, watchful in the dark over dreams and stars alike, and how the eldest ushered the Sun from horizon to horizon, bathing the land in light and grace. Every day since Her reign began, both have been controlled by The Princess. It is by Her grace that any creature, serving any of the Ancient Ones, is not lost in darkness or burned by malignant light. It is by Her grace that Equestria remains mostly neutral in the squabbles of gods and creatures both mortal and ageless alike. It felt, rightly, odd to imagine a pony commanding such power.

It also named the artifacts that they wielded in a foolish endeavor to challenge the divine right of The Princess, arcane tools called simply "The Elements." A drawing showed two shadowy equine shapes raising six stones towards a gleaming aura of divinity. A bolt of something, likely arcane magic, arced out from the stones, striking The Princess on her chest.

What alarmed me, however, was not anything printed in the book—for nothing there challenged what I already knew—but quill marks within the margin. They were faint, and flipping through the tome on a casual perusal I might have overlooked them. I wonder how it all would have followed if I had. All the same, they said:

On the Longest day
of The thousandth year
they Shall return
with Fury and Flames to sear.
through kinship and Will
they slip Their bonds
to search for Power
before the Almighty responds.
But she will not See or dread
the Sextant that seals Our fate
and that Beyond Her will
the Stars had aid in Their escape.

I shut the book as quickly as I could, my eyes glancing about the gardens. There was only a single guard standing watch at the archway that led to the main courtyard. The Princess’s gaze, however, was eternal and everywhere. Even with preparations and duties occupying Her for the week to come, there was no way to keep a secret from Her forever. How then, had this book come to be marked with such a seditious message, only to end up in my possession?

I kept as calm as I could manage, even as my mind raced. I packed my things in my saddlebag and trotted out of the castle. Past guards and statues and paintings and nobles, I kept my focus on the path ahead, my head held high; it was a bearing befitting my station, how I should be. I tried to recall the book's source. My stipend had afforded me a local observatory to stay in. Inside, the walls were lined with all manner of books, novels, tomes, and encyclopedias. A number had come from my personal collection, of which this book was surely not. That left the possibility that it had been sitting inside the observatory or that I had purchased it. I thought that Spike, my assistant, might be able to aid with looking over records when I returned.

My mind then drifted to what I was to do with this information. Could it be dismissed as hearsay, ignored and torn and burned from those benign pages? Perhaps, but it would still leave me with the knowledge. The Princess would know, eventually.

I lost what decorum I could manage as soon as I left the castle grounds, and galloped through the streets of Canterlot. My quarters were but a few minutes’ canter away. As my eyes darted to spot agents of Her rule, spies and enforcers alike, it seemed far longer. When I finally reached the stairs to the observatory, I allowed myself the chance to rest, climbing them at a gentler trot as my lungs ached and my heart began to calm.

I paused at the door, taking a few deep breaths before opening it with my magic. "Spike!" I called out, looking amidst the discordant piles of books and scrolls that littered much of the main room. The drake always did his best to outpace my penchant for frantic study with his cleaning, but he had not yet managed the feat.

It was after a few more cries that he shuffled up the stairs from the lower level. Peering out from behind a precarious stack of books in his arms, he frowned. "I thought you were going to be out all afternoon. Did something happen?"

I made my way past discarded scrolls to the closest desk, taking my saddlebags off and setting them on the floor. "Yes, something urgent has come to my attention. I need you to find where we purchased this book from." I tugged the book of legends from my bag and held it up for Spike.

Spike sat the books he was carrying down near the stairwell and hurried over to me. On the way, he grabbed a quill and fresh parchment from a drawer. "Legends of Equestria, 3rd edition," he repeated aloud as he wrote the title down. He gave a nod and smile before running back downstairs.

I placed the book on the desk and closed my eyes. Wherever it came from was a matter for my own sake, and of little consequence in the end. What mattered more was the information within. Such a prediction could shake the foundations of The Princess's rule in Equestria, and if the threat was credible the implications were unthinkable.

Rising to my hooves, I began to wander the stacks of books, checking their spines. Most were related to my recent studies of runes, comparing ancient arcane ones to the more powerful eldritch contemporaries; they would be of little help. Instead, I moved to the shelves, pulling out tomes in search of something. Augurs, oracles, and prophets of our time and ages past; one of them might have told a similar prophecy.

I recalled reading one such book during my study of soothsaying years before: Cantations of Clover the Cryptic. Clover, personal student of unicorn sage Starswirl the Bearded, assisted in the foundation of Equestria, and was said to have seen the signs in the stars and void between that would lead to the Ancient Ones' return. I found my tattered old copy and carried it back to the desk, along with several other pertinent works.

Sadly, my search only found mention of the sisters or Elements in regards to The Princess's arrival. There was absolutely nothing related to the Mares in the Moon escaping, or any sort of fury or flame that would accompany them. But I read on, determined to find something, anything that would help. It was an hour later that Spike returned to find me still engrossed in my work.

"There's nothing in the receipts," he said, dejected. "I double-checked them all."

I could find no mention of the prophecy nor trace the origin of the book past it simply being at my residence. Perhaps an earlier occupant left it, but a quick check of the book showed it was printed over three hundred years ago. How many ponies could have occupied that building since then?

I sighed. There was only one course of action to take.

"Spike, take a letter. Address it to The Princess."

As he grabbed a blank scroll, he looked at me. I could see the spines on his head tremble and his claws shake. "Are you sure?" he asked in a whisper. "This year's celebration is a big event, right? Won't She be busy?"

I leaned down, placing a hoof gently on his shoulder. "She is, but it's imperative that She be told of this. Spike, you have nothing to worry about. I'm Her protégé, not you." I smiled, at least as much as I could manage while the worry built up in my stomach. I couldn't help but doubt the half-truths I said.

Still, Spike seemed to gain some resolve and nodded, putting quill to paper.

"Dear Princess," I began. "I hope that preparations for the one thousandth Summer Solstice Celebration are proceeding well. I have been occupied with my studies, but if any task arises that You have need of me for, I will gladly assist.

"However, in my studies I have stumbled upon something that I believe should be brought to Your attention. I have found a prophecy, one which I cannot corroborate with the works of great oracles and prophets I have in my collection, yet. I found it scribbled in the margins of a book of legends, at the end of the story of Your ascension."

I felt my throat go dry and paused for a moment. Closing my eyes, I took a slow breath. "It speaks of the Mares in the Moon, the sisters that You banished one thousand years ago. It claims that on the longest day of the thousandth year, the Stars will aid in their escape, and that they will return to Equestria with fury and flame."

I saw Spike pause at my words and bade him to continue writing. "I have done what I can to try and trace its origin, but have been unsuccessful so far. I will do all I can to continue my work, but it seems the book was at the observatory when I took residence. I beseech You to take this prophecy under advisement if You are unaware of it and to allow me to assist in any way that I can to determine its validity or source.

"Sincerely, Your Personal Protégé and Royal Scholar, Twilight Sparkle."

Spike finished writing, folded the parchment, and placed it into an envelope before applying a wax seal with my cutie mark. Then, with a puff of dragonfire, the letter vanished. I went to turn back to my books, but stopped as Spike began to cry.

"Is… did you really find that, Twilight?"

I nodded, closing a book by oracle Genuine Gaze. "I found it in Legends of Equestria, while reading in the castle garden. It might be nothing. Not even Clover the Cryptic predicted anything about The Princess's rule ending. It's supposed to be as eternal as She is."

Spike twiddled his claws in front of his belly for a moment, before clenching his fists and looking up at me. His eyes had dried, steam rising off of heated scales. "What can I do to help?"

"Well, not burn anything for starters," I said, pulling a smoldering scroll away from his feet. "Try to find anything you can by oracles, prophets, soothsayers, or fortune tellers. After you've—no, go check the library. I don't want them to be closed if you check here first." I pulled a small card from a stack on the desk, passing it to the dragon; it had my cutie mark and the royal seal, ensuring access to anything which I, or those that I sent, requested. "And if you get a reply, return immediately. Do not open it."

He took the card and rushed for the door, grabbing a spare bag on the way. I returned to my books, desperate for answers. However, a part of me wished to be ignored, to have my worries dismissed as nonsense. Perhaps then the price would have been smaller.

Spike returned in the evening, after I had exhausted a third of the resources available to me. Nothing spoke of an end or challenge or threat to The Princess's reign from anything but Her kin, and even then the language was always the same: "In strange aeons, when our world and the Stars alike have become naught but dust…"

Of course, even as I focused on research, my mind wandered. I began to consider what was simply an impossibility: that this prophecy, so brazen in its defiance to a rule that had lasted one thousand years, was left in plain sight. True, it was written into, so far, a single book and hidden in an observatory, but it was not kept in code. Did the diviner or unveiler of such a prophecy believe their life forfeit as soon as they discovered it and that encrypting it would only delay the inevitable? Perhaps they expected it to be dismissed, by somepony less driven than I? Did they assume nopony could trace it to them at all? If they held this residence, it would be an easy feat to narrow them down. Perhaps they slipped it inside these walls when it was vacant, which would certainly have eliminated a direct connection to them.

Regardless, Spike brought me new sources to comb. Even as the sun started to set and my stamina faded, I kept working. Spike assisted, not just in fetching me coffee, food, and writing supplies from downstairs, but also in reviewing some of the more simplistic works and compiling notes. My mother always scorned me, often within earshot of the drake, over how I treated him.

"It is a servant, not a child. Teaching it more than it needs is foolish and wasteful," she'd say. I've found in the years since that it would have been more wasteful to leave him illiterate given my intended profession.

Long ago, dragons were said to grow quite massive in size. There's many ancient tomes and historical accounts of dragons towering over ponies' houses and burning them to a crisp for the joy of it. When The Eternal Wyrm returned to them, they refused to serve. A "Dragon Lord" rallied an army against Him. They lost. Now, from Wyrm's Rest, He breeds and bears them as nothing more than servants and pets: weak and frail compared to their former glory. He gifts them to His brethren and royalty alike, and they require eldritch magic to birth. I was the youngest in recent memory to successfully hatch one, and it is the reason why I'm The Princess's protégé at all.

I would not and will not condemn the life to which I owe that position to mere tricks and yapping at my heels.

By the time the moon rose and its twin mares gazed mournfully down upon us, I received my response. Spike began to hiccup and then belched forth a scroll in a green burst of eldritch fire. There was no mark upon it, for it could only come from one source. I took it from him before he could open it, for I did not want his eyes to rest upon grave resolutions to this affair.

"My Most Faithful and Precious Student,

I appreciate you bringing such portents to my attention. However, you, like all my little ponies, have nothing to fear, nor to lose. This prophecy is folly and false, as the Stars aid only my kind. The mares in the Moon will look down upon my land for eternity. Their watch will end when they, and all, is dust.

However, I do have need of your assistance. This, the one thousandth year of my rule, is an important celebration of the Summer Solstice. Plans have been in motion in a town that will bear sacrifice this year, and I require a royal servant to ensure they are seen to perfection.

Included is a ticket for the night train to take you to Ponyville. Over the next week, please assist the locals and see that their celebration is one of joy and duty alike. Bring my radiance and comfort and gaze to them.

Solemnly,
The Princess

P.S. The local town library has been set aside as your lodgings. I have made sure the key and directions will be available to you at the Ponyville station."

I could not believe the words as I read them, I still do not now. The Princess had dismissed it all at once. Not where the prophecy had come from or even what it truly meant mattered to Her. She had not heard it. She had not known who could have made it. She didn't even regard my desire to continue my research.

There was a glimmer of defiance within me. She had not told me not to research further. Who was I, a mortal mare, to conquer my boundless curiosity about such a strange and disastrous warning of things to come? I compared the ticket to the time and made calculations in my head. I had Spike pack as much of our research materials as he could in my suitcases while I continued to read, marking off three more volumes as dead ends. By the time we made the train, it was nearly midnight.

As we settled into our compartment, Spike drifted to sleep while I continued to read by candle and moonlight. Sadly, my research would have to wait when slumber and nightmares alike overtook me.

The Madmare

I awoke before arriving in Ponyville, my heart racing and my body slick with sweat.

Many would believe, given my station and royal appointment, that I have physical contact with The Princess on a daily basis. However, despite Her choice to take me on as a protégé, my teaching came primarily through intimate knowledge of rituals and texts forbidden to more common ponies, or the work and instruction of other scholars that came before me. In truth, I have only met Her once, and it was much to my chagrin that, despite my vast knowledge of the eldritch, I had suffered from nightmares for several months since that meeting.

Last winter, The Princess asked to see me personally, alone. I left Spike at the observatory to catalogue some books that had arrived and made my way to the castle. I had been there before, to dinners and lessons and even to a party held by Prince Blueblood, though it was on my brother’s invitation. It looks much as regal inside as it appears from afar: hallways lined with fine silk draperies, works of art, and colored a mixture of silvers, golds, and whites. It was pure and pristine, like Her image in art and history. However, The Princess does not stay there; only Her royalty does.

Instead, The Princess takes residence in Her tower: a massive, imposing spire of obsidian that rises out of the deepest courtyard, behind a throne room where courts are held by a figurehead that speaks Her will and judgement. As I entered the courtyard, the tower loomed high above, reaching higher even than the mountain upon which Canterlot was built. Its shadow drowned and engulfed me. Not an inch of the monolith was marred, not even by the fresh snow that fell over Canterlot that day. Two guards stood at the entryway, just past which dark purple lanterns of magical flame lit the path to a stairwell. Presenting my summons, they let me pass.

Inside, amidst the faint glow of almost light, I passed servants; each of them was blinded, guiding themselves via a series of wires that lined the walls of the stairwell and halls. I did my best to pay them and their duties no mind, and focus on my ascent. Less easy to ignore were the sounds I heard in the distance, the doors and hallways that seemed to lead somewhere the tower physically was not, the sensation of being watched at every moment, even when alone. The climb took what felt like hours, though I am mostly certain after the fact that it was thirty minutes at the longest. When I arrived, there was no doorway to Her chambers, only a vast archway at the top of the stairs which gave way to blackness. Not even the magical light from the lanterns nearby pierced the darkness.

Steeling myself, I marched forward. With each step my surroundings slowly came into terrible, crystal focus in that impenetrable dark. The room was stories tall, and pinpricks of light made it seem like a starry, twinkling void in every direction except where I came from and where I trotted. Even though part of me wanted to stop and examine the room, I kept moving forward; I had an appointment to keep, I thought. At some point, eyes on my destination, I looked up.

She towered above me, seemingly taller than the ceiling. Her form was an impossibility, however perfect it was: three bodies—pegasus, unicorn, and earth pony—of undulating mass coexisting within the same space and time. Wings curved out of Her haunches and then shriveled into dust, their faint silhouette like lungs expanding and deflating. Her visage was three and one, shifting and sliding against, within, and without one another. Two and four and six eyes focused on me and I finally realized that I had stopped.

“Princess,” I forced out of empty lungs.

Her response came not from the three and two and one mouths that moved, but from within my mind. Booming, echoing whispers of a dozen tongues and voices assaulted my thoughts, somehow coalescing into a semblance of greeting. “My most studious protégé. Thank you for coming, Twilight.” Her lips moved out of time with these words that I came to understand. My vision drifted away from Her perfect, impossible face as I bowed.

“Why did you summon me, Princess?” I heard myself say, though I have no recollection of attempting to speak at all.

“I wished to see your progress for myself,” the voices muttered. “Your teachers tell me that your studies of my magic have progressed splendidly. However, my ponies’ understanding of its intricacies are always flawed. I wish to ensure your approach is unhindered by mortal thinking.”

As I came out of the bow, my vision stopped on Her barrel. A glimmering patch of colors caught my attention. Every other part of Her shifted and changed and unmoored itself from reality, but the colors were constant. My mind still spinning, I focused on it to maintain balance.

I believe I muttered some acknowledgement and began. I concentrated on my blood, felt the power coursing through it. Deep rivers of energy flowed to the tips of my hooves from the depths of my heart. It was overflowing, eager to come forth at my beck and call. I recalled when, as a child, I first looked inward and saw the choked, dry riverbeds of my vessel. Since then, they had grown and filled and been cleansed of that which hindered me. Words of a language I could not truly speak seeped from my lips while my eyes focused on that glimmering kaleidoscopic point.

I knew from the green tint that filled the edges of my vision and the taste of iron on my tongue that some spell had been cast, though I cannot now, and did not then, know which. Gratitude and satisfaction filled my mind. I still felt my power flowing out, like water through a cracked dam, like blood from a fresh wound. “Very good, Twilight. Your mind is still malleable to the true ways. Relax, and I shall see you improve further.”

I breathed slowly, in and out, feeling every inch of my lungs expanding and every surge of blood and power through my veins. My vision ground to a razor's edge and I saw that splatter of prismatic color for what it was. I saw the scorch marks about it, the faint flecks like twinkling stars amidst the void of her body, and how it shifted with Her barrel, rising and falling in time with Her and my breaths. It was Her wound, the one mark on this world of any resistance from ponies to Her rule. The only other was in the heavens above.

In the corner of my eyes, I saw one of Her wings reach out and touch my horn. Her prominence graced my mind and knowledge I could never learn from a book poured into me. Other thoughts leaked out, lost for eternity, but She, and so I, knew they were unnecessary. Methods and techniques and pronunciation were replaced and morphed and melded. As my “lesson” ended, my vision went black.

“Sleep well, my little pony,” was the last thing I heard the voices mean to say.

When I awoke, I was at the bottom of the stairwell. I felt refreshed, as if I had slept for hours. If that was true, the still shining sun meant I had been gone for at least a day. Spike never mentioned any prolonged absence.

For months, flashes of that meeting, that form, that horrific perfection, assaulted me in my sleep, though they were molded by my subconscious. Sometimes She had flaying tendrils, other times decaying wings. Once Her body bubbled and melted as a thousand maws took shape, shrieking with those voices to shatter me like glass. I had always seen terrifying glimpses of… other things from my studies, the side effects of rituals and incantations improperly performed, pictures and descriptions of strange beasts, but this was more affecting. I doubted my resolve and purpose: if contact with my teacher, who sought to teach Her ways directly, had shaken me so soundly, was I worthy of my position?

It was childish to dwell upon, for I'd known for many years that we all suffer such things. It is only natural in Their presence, but Her grace has granted me sound slumber. Both before and since then, my nightmares would often be dispelled by a golden light and the warm, smothering comfort of a black void. The last thing I saw in those calming dreams was Her silhouette, that perfect form solidified to true simplicity of body, wing and horn: Alicorn.

That night on the train, I was not blessed. Instead, I woke with a start to the dimness of the train car and the pounding of heavy rain on the window. Spike was sleeping soundly, curled up under a blanket and resting his head on the top of a trunk.

I was sure sleep would not return to me—it rarely did after such nightmares—so I resolved to do as I always did. I put a shade over the compartment's lantern for Spike's sake, lit it, and continued my research. I only had an hour left according to my watch, but it was enough to find no reference to the prophecy in the works of Crystal Clear and Boundless Horizons.

I started to wonder if the prophecy had been divined outside of ponies' eyes, away from The Princess and smuggled in by an enemy of our eternal ruler. Griffon servants of Aevos, while our neighbors, had a tenuous alliance with Equestria. War after war had been waged with us and others for any number of reasons: petty squabbles, imagined slights, sometimes simply greed for treasure or land or subjects. The griffons were as fickle as Aevos’s whims. It wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility to consider that they would find or even manufacture such a prophecy to sow worry, to create any weakness to exploit for whatever gain they sought. How easily I had fallen for it if it was false, but no, caution was important and I would eventually be vindicated.

There were the skittering, shifting swarms of Kurraxis that had infiltrated, if rumor was to be believed, every nation. Any number of attributes and reasons were appointed to their schemes, but constant vigil was kept for their influence. Despite the danger that something which could become anything posed, they had never waged open war. Perhaps Kurraxis, like Their progeny, could mimic Their kin. The worry of usurpers could draw The Princess out, leaving an opportunity to replace Her.

Then there were allies less close to home. Hippogriffs’ changes in their communion with the Deep Ones were often molded by rumor into the ability to mimic pony shape. It was an animosity between ponies that traveled to Mount Aris and the hippogriffs who lived there, and if Aevos was liable to take any slight as justification for war the distrust of their population could drive whispers into the ears of Queen Novo, Mother Hydra and consort to Dagon.

In truth it could come from any of Them, for any reason, real or imagined. If Equestria fell, if The Princess fell, there was something to gain: followers, land, resources, knowledge, sacrifices.

Some of the works Spike acquired in Canterlot did come from foreign divination, but I would not be able to read them until I was settled in Ponyville. I packed the finished books into their cases and watched the view outside of the train. The rain came down in booming sheets against the glass, but the cloud cover near Canterlot was sparse, and I could see the Moon shining down upon it.

The faint color of buildings and the castle showed through the distance, but not even the moonlight would illuminate The Princess's tower, leaving it only a vague, dark shape. I wondered if She was still busy with preparations or had found time to "rest" in Her own way. Of course She had little need for sleep; Her vigil was eternal, as eternal as She, as eternal as Her rule.

Closer to Ponyville, the hilly portions of the countryside gave way to wider plains, giving a lovely view of the pure essence of mud and muck amidst the rainstorm. Luckily, the downpour lessened as we pulled into town.

My studies had never taken me far from the level of civilization I saw in Canterlot. Some trips to Manehatten or Trottingham were necessary, but it was still considered high society, metropolitan, and urban. Ponyville was the essence of rural. Sparse thatch-roofed cottages dotted the wide dirt roads, though a few sturdier buildings stood out. One looked like a pastel carousel that I'd seen once at a fair, while another seemed stately and was the tallest in the village. Off in the distance I could see farmhouses, closer to the Everlorn Forest. And then, as the rail wheels screeched to a halt, a quaint wooden station came into view.

I nudged Spike awake, giving him a minute to stretch and limber up as I ensured nothing was left behind. With him hauling a majority of the luggage and a porter handling the rest, we were left under the station's awning as the train pulled away. I approached the service window, finding a sleeping mare seated just behind the glass, illuminated by a dim lamp. I could make out the red of her mane and what looked like a trio of strawberries on her flank.

I tapped lightly on the glass and then loudly, to which she scrambled to wake and act natural, her wings knocking over a stack of papers in the process. I presented my royal insignia, asked for the key and left her to return to what little duties she likely had left for the night. The key came with a small letter of directions, though in the dark downpour it was difficult to make out without hornlight. I removed a pair of raincoats for myself and Spike, and after checking the instructions we began our journey through town.

The essence of mud and muck I noted on the train was even more prevalent up close. The stench of refuse and grime hung thick in the air, and our progress soon ground to a steady trudge rather than a quick jaunt to our temporary home. Thankfully, the streets were vacant, though they would not be for long.

As I struggled with the directions while keeping the luggage Spike could not carry out of the mud, I came face to barrel with one of the local residents. The impact sent me tumbling back and the suitcase dangerously close to the ground. When I regained my senses and looked up at who I hit, I found a pink mare, horribly underdressed for the weather at such a late hour.

Her mane was soaked, practically stuck to her face and flanks as it came down in straight tresses. Her expression, however, was the antithesis to our predicament: a wide smile that showed pearly white teeth.

"I'm sorry," I muttered in apology. "I didn't expect anypony to be out so late and in such weather. I'm visiting on business. Can you direct me to… Golden Oaks?"

She didn't blink or break her facade. All I could hear for several moments was the muted downpour of water into mud, and the pitter patter of droplets landing on my raincoat. "Darkness is safety for beast and burden alike," she finally said in a chipper tone.

I exchanged a wordless glance with Spike, who was fidgeting in the mud. "Apologies, again. Golden Oaks? It's a local library, I believe," I tried to clarify as my mind attempted to make sense of nonsense; I have a penchant for challenging puzzles and this mare certainly made the list in short order.

"Shelter safeguards surface solely. Shortly shepherds solution, saga, scripture, sparkle and shimmer alike." She shook her head and flank, like a shaggy dog attempting to dry itself. The attempt was futile and her smile lessened, though I was unsure of the cause. Then, she gasped and her pupils shrunk to pinpricks. "You're new!"

I managed to suppress a groan, though I could hear Spike chuckle over the downpour. "Yes. I would appreciate some directions, or maybe assistance with the luggage? Either would do considering the late hour and my frankly waning constitution."

She shook her head again and the last vestiges of smile gave way to a frown. "Sorry. I lost my marble and…" She ground a forehoof against her head, her brow and mouth twisted into a grimace. Finally, she turned, free forehoof pointing down the road, between two houses. "Past sweet and lies. Tree filled with lumber and ink. Can't miss it." Her smile suddenly returned,and she began muttering words that seemed all together unrelated ("Hearts, cake, and purpler point") as she bounded off down a different road.

I double-checked that I had not misplaced something, or had it stolen in the chaos of meeting an all but raving lunatic. Satisfied all was in order, I followed her directions towards the two buildings. I noticed two marks on their mailboxes as we passed: a piece of candy and a lyre. "Sweet and lies" I assumed.

Past them, Spike and I found a large, solid oak tree in a clearing. Its sturdy exterior had a doorway, sign, and several windows. There was even a balcony built in some of the upper branches. Stepping to the door, I put in the key and sighed with relief when the lock clicked open.

Minutes later, we had secured my luggage in a corner of the entryway, taken our coats off to dry, and lit enough lamps to see and warm ourselves. As I took in the shelves that lined the main room of the library, some of the strange mare's talk came into focus: lumber and ink inside a tree, holding "saga, scripture." A "Sparkle" now was also inside, though I accredited that, as well as “shimmer,” to the flickering of lamplight now seen from outside. It made more sense than her knowing my name without introduction.

In addition to the shelves, there was a small desk shoved into a nook along a wall to the left of the entrance and a large round table at the center of the room. There was a wooden bust of an earth pony seated atop it and a scroll rolled up next to it. Unfurling it, I found it addressed to me.

Dear Royal Scholar Twilight Sparkle,

I trust that your journey has been swift and without incident. Hopefully, these accommodations are to your liking, as it is all we could offer on such a short notice. You will find the kitchen well-stocked and the upstairs bedroom prepared for yourself and your assistant.

Any of the books in the library are yours to peruse. It's a meager collection and not often used by our residents, but it should have information on our town and its history if you happen to need it to assist with preparations for the Summer Solstice Celebration. We're very pleased that The Princess has sent a royal envoy to ensure everything goes perfectly.

If you require any additional supplies, please let me know and I will see your needs met as swiftly as possible. Below is a list of the tasks with which your assistance would be appreciated, and those you can meet with:

Feast - Applejack and the Apple Family at Sweet Apple Acres (southwest of town near the Everlorn Forest)
Decorations, Finery and Dress - Rarity at Carousel Boutique (east of town square) or Town Hall (center of town)
Music and Marvels - Fluttershy at her cottage (to the south, at the edge of the Everlorn Forest)
Weather - Rainbow Dash, usually found in the skies above Ponyville or at her cloud home (north outside of town)

On behalf of our lovely town, I hope you will enjoy your stay.

Sincerely,
Mayor Mare

A quick inspection of a small kitchenette showed the letter was correct. It was stocked with over a week's worth of fruit, vegetables, bread, cheeses, coffee, beverages, and sweets. I assumed it was the town's finest offerings if the mayor had prepared it. Feeling peckish, I helped myself to an apple, some aged cheddar, and a glass of cider, the bottle of which was marked with the name "Sweet Apple Acres." I noted the adjective as rather apt at the time.

Spike, still groggy from trudging through the rain and waking from a nap on the train, made his way upstairs and I followed him. A stairway carved out of the tree led up to a room, cut off from the library below. It was quaint, though spacious enough, and had a mezzanine which held two beds and a large window that looked out over the village. One final stairway, a tight spiral built into the trunk, led off from it and went to the balcony I'd seen from outside.

Spike pulled himself into the smaller of the two beds and mumbled what I assumed to be "good night." Still alert from my nightmare aboard the train and encountering the strange mare, I started to unpack my things. The books remained downstairs, sorted on the desk and large table at the center of the room, while I took the suitcase of clothing upstairs, still packed so as not to disturb Spike.

The sound of rain against the window panes began to soothe me, along with the building warmth from the lamps, and I was thankful to call the place home for now. Of course, that led me to wonder about the town and so I scoured the library's shelves for information.

I eventually found one that detailed the town's founding. Apparently, Sweet Apple Acres had been awarded by the crown to the Apple Family for services to Equestria generations ago. At the time, there were minor border skirmishes with the griffons and yaks, so it was given on promise to assist with supplying the troops. That required the establishment of roads, the hiring of laborers, and the rest of the town simply sprung up as a consequence of that. Comparison of maps within the book and another on Equestrian geography showed that with the farm and town's help, the Everlorn Forest had been pushed back a few miles on this boundary.

There was another book that covered some facts about the Everlorn Forest, its creatures, and behaviors. I had come across many of these creatures already in my own studies: Suvoks, Shoggoth, Nightgaunts, Cockatrice, Chimaera, Manticore, Shamblers, Yore-fangs, and Timberhounds. There was also documentation of strange plant-life found growing at the edges of the woods, often harvested by local alchemists and scholars: moonshroom, daevra, sunspine, and cowerbark. The rest concerned the forest itself, though it was mostly recitation of facts I'd read long ago.

The Everlorn Forest, existing since time immemorial, was the only part of Equestria outside The Princess's grace. While we were Her progeny and most beloved, She had other worshippers and servants that could harm us just by proximity. So, at the center of Equestria, She devoted a woodland, enchanted and hearty with ancient magic, to be their home. Of course, even Her magic wanes with time, and the woods continue to grow beyond their original bounds. At least those things within do not seek escape like the wilds themselves.

One last book about the town drew my attention, as the rain finally died down to a trickle. It was a history of their Summer Solstice Celebrations. Pictures adorned the pages, along with dates and information about each. Festivities, feasts, and even a wedding filled the pages, though I saw not a single picture that covered their sacrifices. The Princess asks little of the cities or towns not chosen to host that year's festivities for Her, but I know that some still take pride in it. Perhaps Ponyville was far different than the likes of Canterlot and Trottingham.

I wondered what the town had selected, in the past or now. Deceivers? Unmarked? Faithful? Riches? Knowledge? Each meant something for the town that offered it, though they were all the same at the core: a show of devotion to Her eternal glory that She and all would bear witness to. My mind filled with remembered screams, desperate and eager, and I slammed the book shut.

I tried to return to the books of prophecy, but focus would not come. Instead, I went upstairs, shut my eyes, and waited for dawn.

The Farmer

Dawn took far too long to come, but the memories of sacrifice eventually faded. I even managed to drift to sleep for a short time and awoke with the faint memory of golden sunlight before I felt it on my face. I found Spike's bed empty and dragged myself downstairs.

He had prepared a breakfast of toast, coffee, sliced apples and pears, bananas, and roasted oats. It was rejuvenating, and the horrors and strangeness of the night before faded with each bite, except for the pink mare and the letter. I fetched the latter from the library and looked over the list. “We have a week to prepare, Spike,” I said, “but we shouldn't delay. Perhaps starting from the top will be easiest.”

He hummed an affirmative with his mouth full of fruit. Once breakfast was finished, I had him pack a saddlebag with ink, quill, parchment, and a map of the town proper we'd located while securing the other supplies. I donned a formal coat, pinned my royal insignia to its collar, and made my way outside with Spike at my side.

The rain had finally given up overnight and while some darker clouds still filled the sky, the sun was doing its best to dry the muddy roads. I took an extra minute to put on a pair of boots and had Spike pack an umbrella before we made our way through town.

In the light of day, the town was much more quaint and welcoming than the dirty, dour appearance it had on our arrival. Townsponies, out and about on their daily routines, all had a smile and greeted one another happily. Thankfully, they kept their distance, for at the time I had worried that the pink mare would be a commonality. They didn't seem to speak in such a cryptic manner, however.

I did happen to spot her again from afar. A flash of pink at the edge of my vision drew my attention to a local pastry shop: Sugarcube Corner according to the sign. She was busy unloading boxes from a cart, and I saw her lips moving as she did. Her mane and tail, rather than the heavy, straight style forced by the rain last night, was much… poofier. Cotton candy came to mind. The stallion pulling the cart didn't seem to mind what she was saying, if it was anything of substance. I assumed it was out of politeness on his part.

Soon enough we had left the town proper, walking along a wide stretch of road leading off in the direction of Sweet Apple Acres. Here, the remaining cloud cover was less dense and the muddy ground had dried more substantially. Eventually, a fence lined the right side of the road, beyond which I could see groves of fruit trees. Only a sparse number of them were bearing, and I saw ponies working in the distance.

On the left, just beyond a gentle hill, I saw the dark edge of the Everlorn Forest; brambles and dense canopy hid its interior from sight and not a single ray of sunshine illuminated more than its grim facade. The further down the road I came, the closer the Everlorn encroached upon what little civilization there was. I imagined, step after step, that the roots and branches were crawling their way towards me.

Thankfully, the road turned to the north and away from the dark woods. A second fence sprouted up on the once bare side of the road, fruitful apple trees stretching out into the rolling hills. Ahead, an archway held the bright red image of an apple, beyond which I could make out a large barn and farmhouse. More ponies were moving about, carrying fresh fruit in baskets and carts towards the barn or mingling with their fellow workers. However, there was one mare acting with more purpose.

Her orange coat and golden blonde mane made her stick out from afar, and she had a simple brown hat perched atop her head. On her flank was a trio of apples a brighter red than I thought physically possible, always gleaming despite not reflecting the early morning light. As I passed the archway and headed towards her, I could hear her clearly: a distinctive country twang barking orders.

“Alright y’all, the northwest orchard's done. Get that harvest inside and then start workin' on the southwest. Dawn, get out to the east and find out what is takin' so long. We don't got that long to get this fruit into town to help with the feast. The sooner they aren't twiddlin' their hooves, the better.”

As she swept the crowd for someone else that needed instruction, her gaze fell on me. There was a pause in her motion, making it clear—at least to me—that she saw the royal crest I wore. She looked to her side, whispering something to a burly red stallion with an orange mane and a green apple half on his flank. He nodded in return, and she told the others to get back to work with a stomp of her hooves.

Trotting over to us, I caught a faint grimace on her face, but it faded into a smile by the time she spoke to me. “Howdy. Mayor said you'd be by, but I assumed it was gonna be a bit later. Truth be told, we haven't had the time to finish the harvest thanks partly to the weather.” She shot a glance to the clouds covering the town. When she reached me, she held out her hoof while lifting her hat up enough to not obscure her face. “Name's Applejack. Y'all probably already knew that though.”

I held out my hoof to shake hers, but when I did she grabbed it with both of her forehooves, rattling me a fair bit as she moved them up and down. Thankfully, she let go after a few seconds. Taking time to collect myself, I stammered out a reply, “T-Twilight Sparkle. Here on Her Majesty's service.”

“Wouldn't be here otherwise, right?” she said with a chuckle before looking at Spike. “What about you, feller?”

“Spike!" he shouted, shaking Applejack's hoof more vigorously than I had mustered.

"Quite a grip ya got there, Spike. Nice to meetcha both." Once Spike had let go, she took a step back and waved a hoof towards the farmhouse and barn. "Welcome to Sweet Apple Acres: home of the best apples in all of Equestria."

"Thank you for the warm welcome," I said, returning her facade of a smile with my own. "Mayor Mare's letter said you were in charge of the feast, is that wholly accurate?" The idea of the entire feast consisting of nothing but apples and their byproducts was at the fringe of my thoughts. It would have been a curiosity to be sure.

“Aw shucks, not all of it,” she said with a dismissive wave. “We handle a fair chunk, but there's some restaurants in town that help out too. Sugarcube Corner, Hayside Cafe, Marmalade's Diner. And we do happen to provide a bit more than just apples to ‘em. O' course we Apples do our fair share, aside from providin’ the produce and whatnot.” She began to walk towards the farmhouse, so Spike and I followed.

“Let me introduce you to some o' my kin. With it bein' such a big event, we've practically got the whole Apple Family visitin'.” We neared the farmhouse, and next to the barn I saw a trio of stallions working on loading apples into some carts: the burly red one Applejack had whispered to earlier, another with a golden coat and hair, and a third with amber coat and dark grey mane. “This here's my brother Big McIntosh, cousins Braeburn and Golden Delicious.” Each of them gave a nod before returning to their work.

As we entered the farmhouse, a cacophony of activity broke the calm sounds of farm work outside. The house was packed with ponies young and old. Some were simply mingling, while others in the kitchen and just outside of it were hard at work making treats of all sorts. Lining window sills and sat on tables were a myriad of desserts and apple fare that matched the names of some of the ponies making them. Applejack introduced me to each in kind; they were mostly cousins.

Apple Fritter, Apple Brioche, Caramel Apple, Apple Pie, Gala, Jonagold, Granny Smith (her grandmother), Apple Cider, Apple Crisp, Honeycrisp, Buttercup (her mother), Apple Crumble, Applesauce, Apple Bloom (her younger sister)… the names continued on and on. I did my best to be polite, including when Applejack and her family decided to start offering samples of the food that would be at the celebration.

“Don't want you leavin’ without even havin’ a taste,” she'd said with enthusiasm. Several of the older mares remarked on how I looked like I was skin and bones. Spike was more than eager to give his assistance as well, though I did partake in my fair share. I didn't want The Princess's celebration to have inadequate food, after all. It was delicious.

By the time we'd moved out of the farmhouse, I felt stuffed and asked Applejack for a place to sit as we discussed the particulars of the preparations. She suggested the ground. Thankfully, it had dried, and so I sat. Spike produced a quill, ink, and parchment from my bags.

“Will the restaurants in town have any trouble producing the necessary food?” I asked.

“Assumin' we get everything they asked for to 'em today, not at all,” Applejack said, lifting her hat for a moment to wipe her brow. “Everypony does their best when the Solstice comes around. Chance to show off and whatnot. Though they’re usually in less of a rush.”

“Are you producing more than Ponyville has in the past? It was selected as the official festival for this year, so I'm certain you'll have a lot of visitors.”

“Well, the Mayor did some calculatin' based on a whole bunch of metrics I ain't exactly privy to. I know we're pumpin' out a lot more apple treats at the least, so I assume she's got the extra need in mind. As for the visitors, I heard the only two hotels in town are full up and a lot of folks have family staying with ‘em, though not quite as much as we do.”

“I'll make sure to check in with the establishments you mentioned to see if they need any wheels greased. If there's some sort of shortage, I can assure that Her Majesty won't let it go unaddressed.”

Applejack hummed in agreement as she looked out over an orchard to the east. After a few moments she asked, “How about your family, Twilight? If you don't mind my askin'.”

Spike was knowledgeable enough to cease writing as the topic drifted from our duty. “Well, I certainly don't have get-togethers like this. I rarely even see relatives other than my grandparents on occasion.” I often found just enough information was for the best in these situations. No reason to bore or worry others with the details of a mare they might never see again.

Applejack was not fit to take that in lieu of further prying. “Any siblings?” She turned from the orchard and towards me. The look in her eyes, wide and expectant, seemed genuine, making the smile she wore appear less forced.

“One, yes. My brother: Shining Armor.” The name had slipped out without my thinking.

“I'm blessed to have mine. More thankful too that we have family to help out here, even if laborers are just as helpful. One of the biggest orchards in the Apple family, though I wish it were elsewhere.” Her eyes drifted ever slightly, glancing past me to the Everlorn. “What does your brother do? If he’s in Canterlot, must be some highfalutin nobl—Err, no offense, sorry.” She laughed, and I could see the manufactured decorum start to return.

“It's fine. My family aren't nobles, even if we are well off due to my station. My brother is in Her Majesty's military, a Lieutenant deployed in Tall Tale. Things have calmed down there, but a letter…” I realized how quickly I had fallen into speaking truthfully with this mare and composed myself. “He may be moving elsewhere. He didn't say where.” He had: Abyssinia. I knew before his letter, when The Princess wrote of rumblings from followers of The Pharaoh of Black Suns. Gods and mortals of foreign lands needed to be… controlled when they threatened harm to Harmony.

I never remarked, nor dwelled, on how Abyssinia was a continent and an ocean away: an ocean controlled by an ally.

Applejack put her hoof on my shoulder, I fought the urge to pull away. “Well, I hope he'll have a chance to come home soon, and…” As she trailed off, she looked down and cleared her throat. “And he’ll be safe too. Couple of my kin are away from Equestria. Doesn't feel the same, not having them here and all.”

I looked at Spike; he was feigning disinterest, but I could tell he felt the same as Applejack. Even if my parents weren’t receptive of him, Shining Armor was. “Yes, certainly. Oh—” I looked back at Applejack “—I did have a few questions unrelated to the Celebration. If you can answer them, I mean.”

Applejack pulled her hoof away, looking back out over the orchard and then up at the sky. Despite looking away from me, I saw her chewing her lip for a moment. “I suppose I got a bit of time.”

I pulled another parchment from my saddlebags and passed it to Spike. He diligently scribbled away once more. “I had some trouble sleeping last night, due to my late arrival and other circumstances. I happened to read a bit about Ponyville, though. Is it true your family is responsible for its founding?”

Applejack rubbed the back of her neck, laughing. “Yeah, yeah. ‘Services to the crown,’ Granny Smith says. The Apple family helped out with food and bodies at the time, so in return we got one of the most fertile plots of land. Truly blessed to have it, mostly.” Her gaze drifted to the Everlorn once more, and I followed it.

From a distance, I could see the illuminated tops of the trees, but I could also see a… miasma, like heat radiating off from it. I assured myself it was a trick of the light or one of the many clouds drifting out from over it, dark and stormy. “You said that you wished it could be elsewhere. Does being so close to the Everlorn cause issues?” I asked, her words drifting back into focus.

I heard her sigh, and looked back to see that she’d taken off her hat completely, setting it on the ground beside her. Staring down at her hooves, she ground one into the soft soil. “I know it isn’t my place to deny what we have, but even after generations of Apples have beaten that place back, it still keeps coming. And so do we.

“Farm always has to produce a little bit more each year. Demand is always growin’ and all that. Means more workers, more acres, more woods to clear out. And that means…” She took slow breaths, closing her eyes.

I don’t know what compelled me to say what at the time I knew could be taken as a dismissive slight. “I’ve studied it. The forest and the creatures there.” I slowly lifted a hoof, though it came down rather roughly on her shoulder. “I know how they can be.”

She didn’t look up and for a few moments I assumed it had been taken the wrong way; then she laughed. It was a light, flighty giggle at first, but grew into a near breathless series of snorts as she pushed my hoof away. When she regained her composure, she wiped her eyes and looked at me. “Sorry, I… No, I getcha. It ain’t what’s in there that’s the problem though. Not always at least.

“Long before you catch sight of bush or bramble, that place is growing, reaching out through the ground, the soil. Probably why the land was so fertile to start with. Doesn’t affect the fruit though, thankfully.” She looked to a road that led into a nearby orchard, where a pony was pulling a cart filled with bushels of apples. “Can’t say the same for ponies. Never hurt me or mine, at least the ones that grew up here. Can’t say the same for all those we hire.”

I ushered for Spike to keep writing when I heard his quill stop. “What kind of side effects? Insomnia? Night terrors? Dementia? Visions? Muta—” I stopped as she looked at me, her eyes narrowing. “Apologies. Sometimes the researcher in me doesn’t practice tact. It’s not…” Respected, I thought. “... expected, in my circles.”

She sighed, hoof digging a line in the dirt. “Mostly the nightmares. Nothing physical I ever saw, but I ain’t gonna subject another pony to more of this than they can take. Ma and Pa kept me out of the orchard till I was at least a teen, same with Big Mac; we do the same for Apple Bloom. Never hurts to be careful. Lost a fair share of laborers who thought they could tough it out. Haven’t seen ‘em since they were… carted off.”

That I certainly knew plenty about. Sanitariums are common in cities and even in smaller towns. Being around Them, Their creations, Their followers was not always safe, especially for those that did not practice in the arts of scholars. Even then, an overzealous attitude had claimed many promising minds.

I made a mental note at the time for a potential research opportunity. All of the scholarly information on the Everlorn Forest was spent on its flora and fauna, but this would make for a compelling paper if compiled, categorized, and properly funded. I sensed that I would get no better information from Applejack herself, other than perhaps a first-hand account of the fallout of a bout of madness. Given her reaction to even bringing up its effects, I decided not to pursue it further.

I moved the topic to one last subject that piqued my curiosity the past night and that morning. “I know I said my questions were unrelated to the Celebration, but can you tell me much about the sacrifices? A lot of books and records in the library dealt with the festivities for the Summer Solstice Celebration, but I couldn’t find a shred of information about the sacrifice. There wasn’t any mention in the mayor’s letter either, but I’m certain there must be one. I’m particularly curious about the form, as it could affect my efforts.”

Applejack reached down and grabbed her hat. After brushing the dirt off it, she stood up and placed it on her head. Her tone was dour and she turned back towards the farmhouse. “Y’all can ask the mayor about it, or somepony like Rarity. That tuftchaser probably has her hooves in it. Most of us prefer to remember the better things.” Stopping, she held a hoof out towards me. I rose and shook it; she was much less vigorous.

“Let me know if anything ain’t workin’ out from our end. I’ll make sure the wheels get uhhh, greased.” With that, she let go of my hoof, ruffled the spines on Spike’s head, and walked back into the farmhouse.

I had Spike pack up our notes and we walked back to town. It didn’t take long after we passed the white arches of Sweet Apple Acres for him to speak up. “So... what do you think that was about?”

I dwelled on my own memories, the things I likely shared with this simple farmer, before pushing them away. “Something I’m sure she has reasons for, Spike. Regardless, it’s good that, in addition to handling our duties, I had some information on the town’s founding verified while also learning of research about the Everlorn to consider. I’m sure Moondancer would be quite interested in it when we return to Canterlot.” I tugged on the piece of parchment related to our tasks in his claw, just enough to unfurl it.

“We also have other things to attend to in town, so let’s keep our focus there for the moment.” Spike wouldn’t heed my advice; I heard his claws crumple the parchment as they squeezed together, barely covering the whimper building in his throat.

“Is Shining Armor… okay?” His expression was forlorn, tail dragging through the dirt as he walked, and he wouldn’t look me in the eye. Stopping, I leaned down to cup his chin with a hoof, bringing his eyes up to mine. I offered a sympathetic smile.

“He wrote just a month ago, Spike. He’s still somewhere safe. I promise.” All of it was true then.

It lightened his spirits enough to focus on work and we resumed our walk to town. One after another we checked in at the different establishments Applejack had mentioned, as well as a few that only came up in conversation with the restaurant owners. Mostly, it was smaller orders that had been commissioned out to ensure timely preparation when the scale had grown larger than anticipated, as well as those who wanted to show off their skills at cooking or baking. Mayor Mare had apparently only informed the town of the increased scope and importance of their celebration a week prior.

Each had their own problems, though they were mostly resolved quickly. Hayside Cafe had a shortage of bits for purchasing some extra cutlery and ingredients they hadn’t accounted for; I awarded the stipend they required from the treasury on the promise that it would be repaid in a timely manner. Marmalade’s Diner was working understaffed due to a bout of sudden illness from half of their cook staff; I was able to appropriate some staff from Hayside, as well as a small establishment that had completed their work: Bon Bon’s Sweet Shop.

Finally, we arrived at Sugarcube Corner. Entering the colorful bakery, I was greeted with the sight of a haggard yellow stallion manning the register, trying to explain to a mare how they were unable to handle normal orders for the time being. As she seemed ready to turn tail and leave in a huff, the door to the kitchen flew open and the familiar pink mare bounced out with a wide smile on her face, even as she held a serving tray in her mouth.

She muttered something through clenched teeth and then giggled, rattling the tray and the muffins on it. After she set the tray down on the counter, she seemed to repeat herself. “Weekly blues for you, Ms. Shampoo.”

The mare brightened up, putting a small bag of bits onto the counter before taking a deep whiff of the muffins. “You’re a lifesaver, Pinkie. Have a good day, Mister Cake.” As the stallion behind the counter packaged the muffins, the tension seeped out of both of them. Pinkie, however, looked at me. Her mane and tail twitched slightly, and the chipper smile slowly drained from her face.

As the customer left, I walked up to the counter with Spike at my heels. “Mister Cake?” I asked, tugging at the insignia on my collar with my magic, just to be sure it was visible. “I’m Twilight Sparkle, here on Her Majesty’s service. I came to check up on the preparations for the Summer Solstice Celebration.”

The tension returned in a moment; Pinkie was still staring. “O-of course,” Mister Cake muttered, a wide smile plastered on his face. “Well, I’m sure you overheard a little of that. We’ve been swamped trying to do the last minute additions to the feast, but it’s coming along well.”

“Oh? That’s good to hear.” I offered a supportive smile in return. “Still, if there’s anything that I can do to help, don’t hesitate to as—”

“Purpler point!” Pinkie interjected. I then noticed that she wasn’t simply not smiling: she looked in awe.

I offered her the same supportive smile, uneasy as it was to maintain. “Yes, we met last night. Thank you for your directions. They were most helpful.”

Her smile returned at my word, and with a series of chipper hums she turned on her hooves and bounded back towards the kitchen. I tried not to appear shocked as I looked at Mister Cake. His smile faded to a sheepish grin. “Apologies for Pinkie Pie. She’s a bit… touched, but she means well and works hard. Knows practically everypony in town too.”

“No apology needed. As I said, if there’s anything that I can do, please let me know. I’ve already reallocated some staff between establishments to speed things up, and The Princess is willing to provide a stipend as long as it is repaid in full after the festivities.”

“Oh, that’s certainly appreciated, but we can make do on our own. We just got the last shipment of fruit we needed from Sweet Apple Acres and we’ll close up shop today to make sure we can focus just on the catering.” He bowed quite a few times over his explanation and I took it as sincere.

“Very well, Mister Cake. I’ll leave you to your work.” At those words, he gave me a nod and a more sincere, if stiff, smile. I turned to leave as Mister Cake returned to his kitchen.

As I left, I remarked that Pinkie Pie was indeed a bit “touched.” Living so close to the Everlorn, I could imagine a wayward journey for a young filly would lead to such circumstances. To survive though, regardless of one’s age, was a feat to be certain. Then again, it could be the same fate that befell the laborers at Sweet Apple Acres. Had the mare worked there over a summer or two?

I would get my answer eventually.

The afternoon was still young, but our duties for the day were complete. I returned with Spike to the library and prepared a simple report to The Princess. It was to assure her that preparations were going well and to note the stipends that had been offered in Her name. She did not send a reply.

While I perused the library once more, Spike prepared a small supper, as we were both mostly full from the veritable stuffing we had received at Sweet Apple Acres and the restaurants. A selection of cheeses and some cucumber sandwiches was a nice palette cleanser from the variety of sweets which we partook.

I wasn’t able to find anything else interesting about the town on a second, wakeful look through the library. However, I did chance upon a few older books of prophecy, authored by Clover the Cryptic and Mirror Gleam.

I compared their older copy of Clover the Cryptic’s Predictions and Prophecies to the newer one I had brought from Canterlot, but there was no substantial difference aside from the quality of paper stock and that, regrettably, some pages had fallen out of Ponyville’s copy. Cantations was a more curated selection of Clover’s prophecies, usually used in academic settings. Since I had found nothing in Cantations, I figured looking through the unfiltered Predictions and Prophecies, even at those that were marked as false or unfulfilled, would be helpful.

As for Mirror Gleam, she was a less renowned soothsayer from five centuries ago, and while her immediate predictions rang true, much of what she saw past her death had gone unfulfilled. Still, I was desperate, and took to reading Argent Auguryas well.

The art of prophecy has always been fickle. While I knew that there were those who saw what lay ahead—as The Princess and many teachers had assured me—the view beyond the veil of time was described as muddled, at least to mortals. It was required then to either gaze long enough to create a crystal clear picture (which was more difficult than most soothsayers were capable of) or to simply embellish, painting the future in broad strokes and flowery language. With hindsight, it was easy to match an event to a vague picture, after all.

It was always those that dared a date, a certainty, that could be disproved.

All the dated doomsdays discussed in Argent Augury were for “great” mortals, sadly. Mirror Gleam had predicted, correctly, the death of a pegasus noblemare, a unicorn merchant, and an earth pony lawyer all happening on the same day in Trottingham. The cascading suffering that she said would follow for the city did not. It was much the same for many other deaths. Even among the more mundane prophecies, not one concerned itself with The Princess or Her kind.

Predictions and Prophecies was a bit more helpful, in that it at least broached topics concerning the Ancient Ones. However, nothing spoke of Their fall or the return of the two sisters trapped within the Moon. One prophecy stood out as I read, if only for a particular choice of word. I noted that it was one proven false by the small mark beside it in my newer copy.

Year 586 of Her reign

Betwixt Pharaoh and Plains
a great strife rises swiftly
when conquered break chains
and usurp the fifty.

Fury falls on the chainers,
but bicker breeds lackers.
The eclipse answers prayers
against the attackers,
while a campaign ends
sordid bonds make amends.

But subjugation
shan't stop damnation
from a neighboring nation.

Context is key, of course. Abyssinians, servants of The Pharaoh of Black Suns, live mostly in a desert nation, but also occupy part of the plains to their east which eventually give way to the grasslands of the zebra. They often partake in border raids of their neighbors, seeking captives to build their monuments and excavate tombs. During a war between Equestria and the griffons, The Princess used an eclipse in a crucial battle that ended the war in the year 586. At this time, several newly captured slaves revolted in Abyssinia and “usurped” the fifty soldiers escorting them into the desert.

It was swiftly ended by one Abyssinian sorcerer who reduced the slaves to ash. There was no “Fury” that fell on the Abyssinians and not a soul was placed back in bonds. Certainly no damnation came from the zebras, or any other neighbor of Abyssinia.

And yet, I found myself thinking about “Fury.” It was a word, only one… and yet one crucial detail of the prophecy I found was the oddity in how it seemed to imply importance. Why were so many words deemed special in its telling? True, “Fury and Flames” felt more imposing when given such reverence, but so many other flourishes made little sense like “Shall” or “Beyond.” And why did the prophecy give reverence to the Princess in one instance, but in another not, to the Mares in the Moon at the end, but early not? Was it a poetic flourish, a way to show the passing of power?

As the sun began to set, I put my questions aside. However, despite the growing fatigue my long day had brought to bear, I felt one last look over the library’s shelves wouldn’t hurt. After passing over a few books that dealt with carpentry and farming, I stumbled on one of potential historical context: The Foundations of Equestria: Founder, Flourish and Fealty. Placing it on the desk, I lit a nearby lantern and read.

The start of the book I was fairly familiar with, as it was connected to Hearth’s Warming. It detailed how the three tribes, once disconnected by strife, were brought together by hardship and sacrifice. Clover the Cryptic had played a key role in the events, though she had gone by the moniker “the Clever” at the time. It was only after the vanquishing of the Windigos, Equestria’s foundation, and the resettlement that she began to have visions of the future.

We know now that cults of The Princess, and other Ancient Ones, had already begun practicing their worship and duties long before Equestria’s foundation, but it was done in scattered sects across the old lands. Resettlement brought these sects together, sometimes in conflict, but through their efforts vision and prophecy of what was meant to pass began to permeate to those with the gift.

It’s said Clover the Cryptic spent nearly every waking hour writing down the visions she saw. She did not live to see their coming, but hers were the first prophecies that predicted it. While they were written in cryptic language, much of her meaning has been deciphered over the years. Some books, like Cantations, include both her original words and the more detailed, descriptive expansions.

Past the descriptions of cults, Equestria’s foundation, and the coming of the Ancient Ones, there was a detailed description of the then royal lines of various tribes. Princess Platinum’s line, in particular, had the most detailed lineage, though it stopped dozens of years before The Princess’s arrival. The reason given was surprisingly vague, stating that the heir to the throne fled from the seat of power.

In their place, a council of the three tribes ruled until the two sisters arrived. The book did not describe when exactly, and it constantly referred to them in fairly deterministic terms, such as “those who would come to shun Her light and Harmony” or “those whose forlorn visages look down eternally upon our prosperity.” The only thing of interest related to the sisters was a drawing.

While I had seen many depictions of the sisters in the tale of The Princess’s arrival, they were all shrouded in shadow, little more than silhouettes. This drawing, however, was from when they arrived in Equestria. Two figures, unicorns, stood atop a cliff overlooking a prosperous village. Amidst the rising sun, their coats were clearly visible: shining white for the oldest and a deep blue for the younger. It did not speak of where they came from, but they must have held some power if they came to rule in such a short time.

Perhaps it was another strand of fate, of destiny, manipulated since time immemorial. For a moment I wondered if The Princess knew that they would refuse Her offer. Why then would She ask them, give them a chance to strike against Her? Clover the Cryptic’s premonition was a few pages ahead, when The Princess’s arrival was recounted:

When the Stars are right
and the cycle complete,
in the dead of night
shall They come to unseat.

Power shall pass
from mortal to God,
whether by loyal mass
or defiant unawed.

To the sisters an offer shall be made
to kneel and prosper within Her shade,
but in their choice they shall be dismayed
that no outcome but one will be conveyed.

Clover never wrote of their act of defiance, but it happened all the same. Perhaps it was the one occurrence outside of Her plan. That, or simply the outcome was all that mattered. No mortal could stand against Her, not truly. While She may have been wounded, She came to rule all the same.

I closed the book, satisfied with what new information I had gleaned and my fatigue finally catching up to me. The Sun had fallen away, and the Stars and Moon were out. I could not see the mares behind the cloud cover over Ponyville, only its glow. Soon, even that was gone, and the rumble of thunder began to break the quiet village’s peace.

Spike was meandering about, perusing the library on his own, so I took to looking over the list of tasks we still had to check on in the coming week. As the gentle pitter patter of rain on the window joined the underlying ensemble of thunder, slowly rising into the rapid crescendo of a downpour, I decided to move checking on the weather to the top of the list.

The Braggart

My slumber was peaceful, and I awoke well-rested to tackle the day before the sun began to crest the horizon. I took the liberty to make breakfast while Spike was still asleep. I prepared apple slices, oatmeal with cinnamon, slices of toast with a slight daisy dusting for my own, and some apple juice. I took it all out on a tray into the library, leaving Spike’s meal on the center table while I sat down at the desk by the window.

Looking outside between bites, I found that the heavy downpour from the night before had ended, but there was still a large swath of storm clouds that tinted the morning sky a bleak grey while blanketing the town in a drizzle. It only doubled my resolve to find out how the weather ended up mismanaged this close to the Solstice. Once my breakfast was finished, however, I still had to wait for Spike to wake and eat as well.

I grabbed two tomes of prophecy, both accredited to Moon Willow. My original look into prophecy was focused more on those of the past that saw the coming of The Princess like Clover the Cryptic, or that lived through the early centuries of what should have been Her eternal rule. Perhaps, I assumed, it was my mistake to think such a prophecy about usurpers rising against Her had to come from ages past for me to not have heard about it, that it should be buried in antiquity to avoid Her gaze.

Moon Willow was only two generations removed from me. His style was more poetic than other prophets I had studied back when I thought I may have been able to grasp the gift. Meter and rhyme and florid descriptions littered every page, every prophecy, even those he told with certainty and specificity; he even took the time to include his works unrelated to prophecy. In a way, it made them much more cryptic than the predictions that gave Clover her namesake; in certainty, it made them much more taxing to read and comprehend.

I only made it halfway through the first book by the time Spike was ready.

Donning my boots, hat, and coat with my insignia attached, I made my way with Spike out into town. The mud and mire had once more taken hold of the streets of Ponyville, the drizzle of dawn still yet to stop. It was easy to ascertain the cause was the clouds yet to be fully cleared, blocking the early sun from doing what little it could to dry the muddy roads.

Making our way through what I assumed before was a marketplace, and now had various ponies setting up stalls for the Solstice, I asked if anypony could direct me to Rainbow Dash. While the mayor’s letter had mentioned her home being north of the town, it being in the clouds would be difficult to locate given the weather, and that was ignoring that I lacked the ability to reach such heights easily. The only advice I could get was to look for some rainbow-colored blur in the skies, or to shout her name and hope she wasn’t napping. As if my expectations couldn’t have gotten lower for the mare.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to find her after leaving the marketplace and heading towards the north side of town. Unfortunately, it came via a sudden collision instead of any other sort of meeting.

Spike was trailing behind, checking over a list for me and struggling to do so while keeping the umbrella over his head; it was the only reason he didn’t end up covered in mud. I turned to try and ask him for clarification on something, and then saw the rainbow blur the townsponies had mentioned mere moments before it collided with me. I was sent tumbling head over hooves several times, rolling through thick patches of mud until friction brought me to a halt. My hat was tossed aside in the commotion, leaving much of my mane and tail coated with muck, and my coat (thankfully just my clothing) utterly ruined in the process.

I heard a groan and then realized the weight of another pony was bearing down on me. I cleared my throat, nudging a hoof upwards and managing to hit them. “If you wouldn’t mind?” I spat out, luckily without getting mud on my lips.

There was the sound of splashing mud as the weight shifted about on top of me, back and forth, and then a low chuckle that was barely stifled. “Sorry, sorry, you should just see the mess you’re in,” she said, before flapping her wings and lifting off of me. I felt a few more flecks of mud rain down on me, so I shielded my face with a hoof until I could finally look up at her.

The first things that stuck out were the shades of her mane and tail that I could see under patches of brown, a variety of colors almost as varied as a rainbow. Her coat was a shade of blue, I assumed brighter than it looked in the light of a dreary overcast. While she hovered, flapping her wings and smiling, yet more mud rained down, which Spike tried to avoid. “I was taking that last turn a little too fast and kinda spun out. You’re alright though, right? I mean, I didn’t break anything, so...” Descending, she held out a hoof for me to lift myself up.

As soon as I was on my hooves again, I did what I could with my magic to remove the mud from my mane and tail, though I could only wipe off so much of it. “Other than the mess, no worse for wear. I assume you’re Rainbow Dash?”

What little concern I saw on her face was gone in an instant, replaced by a confident smirk. She rubbed some of the mud on her barrel away with a hoof before landing and striking what I assumed was a pose. “The one and only. You’ve heard of me?”

Focused on wiping the mud off of my coat, I heard Spike rush over to my side, offering me the shade under his umbrella. “In a way,” I muttered, finally getting the last bit of filth off that hadn’t stained the fabric. “My name is Twi—”

That was all I could get out before I heard her gasp. When I looked at Rainbow Dash, I saw her staring at the now visible insignia I wore. She quickly shook her head and snapped into a military salute, gaze upward and above me. “Apologies, ma’am.” Her tone shifted, sounding more gruff and serious. “If I’d known you were out and about, I would have found you sooner.”

It was only after a few moments that I noticed her still holding the salute. I gave Spike a nervous look, but he only offered a shrug in reply. “At ease?” I offered. Thankfully she relaxed. “As I was saying, my name is Twilight Sparkle and I’m here on Her Majesty’s service. I was actually looking for you.”

“You were?” She tilted her head only slightly before straightening up again. “I mean, of course you were, ma’am.” Wings fidgeting at her sides, she looked up and down the muddy road we were standing on. “About uhhh…” she trailed off before finally looking up at the clouded sky. “The weather! Right, the weather. Still working on that.” Sticking her wings out proudly and holding her head high, I started to notice how little mind she paid to the rain.

I offered a bemused look. “It doesn’t seem to be going that well. It’s rained the past two nights I’ve been here, and if it doesn’t let up soon I doubt this mud will dry before the Solstice.”

The pride and confidence in her drained only slightly, visible in the drooping of her ears and wings, a quick swish of the tail. “You think I can’t handle it.” Her eyes narrowed to a glare, but softened when she looked at my insignia once more. “Uhh, ma’am?”

There was the ticket; pride was an easy thing to stoke in others. “If you aren’t able to, I can procure some help. I’ll admit I’m not well-versed in how pegasi manage the weather, but a few extra pairs of wings and hooves wouldn’t hurt.”

A hoof came up to her chest, wings flaring out just a bit farther. “Oh, I can handle it. I’m the fastest pegasus in Ponyville, maybe even Equestria.”

I looked back up to the sky, leaning out from under the umbrella to do so. “With six days left?”

“Exactly, it’s plenty of time.” She took off into the air, far quicker than I could follow. High above, I heard a few soft pops, like hooves kicking against a pillow. The drizzle on the umbrella died down and a sliver of sunlight cut through a gap in the clouds. However, I ended up in the shade of a smaller, pure white cloud descending from the gap.

“See?” I heard Rainbow Dash say before she poked her head out from atop her perch. “I’ll get the rest of it cleared up in no time, ma’am.” She offered a more half-hearted salute before turning around, and I was left unimpressed.

“Then I’d have to wonder why I ended up soaked and trekking through mud when I arrived here before dawn yesterday. If you can clear that patch so quickly, why not the rest?” I did my best to choose my words carefully. It was obvious the pegasus had talent, but she wasn’t exactly applying it. “Seems rather slow to be the fastest pegasus in Equestria. The Wonderbolts wouldn’t be impressed.”

I immediately saw her ears perk up and it was a second later that she was hovering a few inches in front of me. It took every nerve I had not to stumble back and fall into the patch of mud yet again. “You know the Wonderbolts?!” Blinking, she caught herself once more, flying backwards until there was a few feet between us. “Sorry, I just… The Wonderbolts have been my dream ever since I started flying.”

Just like they are for most pegasi with a penchant for flight and a desire to prove themselves, I thought. “I do, in general. And in specific I’ve met with a few on certain occasions. Obviously they don’t have the opportunity to find themselves somewhere like here very often… It would be hard to get noticed, I know.” The Wonderbolts were often deployed or otherwise doing recruitment drives in cities around Equestria. The chances of them showing up in a small town like Ponyville was slim to none.

Getting into them was another story entirely, of course. Only the elite of the elite pegasi in Her Majesty’s military were given the rank of Wonderbolt. Harder still, it took the right combination of recommendation, commendation, and nepotism; knowing the right ponies was about half of it. It was the perfect bit of bait, really.

“Being able to verify some exceptional flying on your part wouldn’t hurt your future… prospects.”

Still hovering, she gave a stiff salute, “Just watch, Twilight Sparkle.” This time, prepared, I could follow her more closely. She took off like a rocket, leaving a faint trail of her tail colors behind her. Diving, weaving, spinning, and kicking, she tore through patches of clouds, turning thick swathes of greys into puffs and then into open air. Blue sky and sunlight slowly won out over every inch of stratiform.

It took an hour or so before the majority of town, as far as I could see, was completely cloudless, save for the small white fluff she’d left as a perch just above us. It was to that which Rainbow Dash returned, head high and I was certain slightly larger. “See? Not a problem at all for a pony like Rainbow Dash! Hold your applause..."

Truthfully, I couldn’t help but clap my hooves, though not as enthusiastically as her ego wanted. “Quite impressive, though you’ll need to keep clearing the sky until the Solstice itself.”

Kicking off from and dissipating the cloud, Rainbow Dash did a loop in the air and landed in front of me. Striking another salute, her tone was serious once more. “Yes, ma’am.” Breaking the salute, her expression soured. “Though, uhh...” She looked down at the ground and rubbed one leg with her forehoof, her tail swishing back and forth. “I’m sorry. That it got like this, I mean.”

“It’s fine, really. What matters is that preparations are finished by—”

Rainbow Dash stamped a hoof down, thankfully into a dry patch of dirt. “No! No it isn’t, I…” She took a deep breath, eyes closing as she let it out. “Mayor Mare chose me for this and I’m the one who accepted, but… The weather here has always been a little hard to control, a little wild. I know I should have started sooner.”

My curiosity was piqued. “Is it?” I asked while nudging Spike with one of my hind hooves. I could hear some scribbling afterwards. “The weather, I mean, is it difficult to control?”

“Yeah. AJ deals with it a lot down at Sweet Apple Acres, but it hits the town pretty hard too. It’s not always ‘always,’ but… there’s patches from the Everlorn that creep in, mix with the weather and,” she gestured to the muddy road. “There’s a few ponies on the weather team, but I’m kinda the pony in charge.” Despite her sour expression, I could hear the pride in her voice at that fact.

“I see. As I said, regardless of what the mayor may have decided, I’m here to ensure that the Summer Solstice Celebration is up to… appropriate standards. If you need help, I’ll make sure you have it.” Ponypower was easier to acquire, sometimes, than money or supplies. Devotion to The Princess had that effect.

“Right. I… I’ll take care of it, promise. I’m not gonna walk back on giving my word, to the mayor or to you.” Once more, slowly and with purpose, her eyes wandered to my insignia. “Or to The Princess. I’m not gonna let Ponyville or anyone else down.”

I offered her a smile and nod. “Very well. If you’re not aware, I’m staying at Golden Oaks Library. If I’m not there, leaving a note at the door will suffice.” I looked to Spike, who’d already checked off my concerns on the weather and was rolling up his scroll. “Maybe we’ll be able to handle some other matters today, Spike. What was the ne—”

“Wait!” Rainbow Dash interrupted. “About… the Wonderbolts.”

“Of course, I’ll make sure—”

“No, I mean,” she sighed, hoof scraping the ground. “Look, I get what you were doing and I know it worked. I just, I don’t need a recommendation or whatever.” Seeing my confused look, she puffed out her chest and flapped her wings. The pose was confident, if a little excessive. “I said I’m the fastest pegasus in Ponyville, and I will be the fastest one in Equestria. If that’s not enough for them, I’ll just get better.”

Foolish, though I didn’t say as such. “Very well. If you change your mind, we’ll see how the skies are by the Solstice.”

“Right. Catch you later, Twilight Sparkle, ma’am. And uhh… dragon, Spike?” She turned to fly away, but stopped once more. “Oh… you know The Princess, right? I mean, everypony knows The Princess, but—”

“I am her protégé, yes, and the current Royal Scholar.”

Rainbow Dash whistled. “Nice… Ummm, don’t bring up the whole crashing into you thing, if you can. No hard feelings on that?” She offered a sheepish smile.

I rolled my eyes. “None at all, Rainbow Dash.”

“Cool, cool.” There was no second goodbye as she took off into the air, flying north I noted.

I let out a sigh of relief and looked at Spike. “Well, that was certainly a different run-in than I expected.”

“More like a crash-in,” he said before chuckling. I swatted my tail lightly in his direction, though it only seemed to heighten his giggling.

“Well, we should go back to the library, I suppose. A change of clothes is probably a good idea, and a bath if possible. Tracking mud around, and looking less than presentable while doing it, is a bad idea.”

The trip back to the Library was uneventful, though the arrival was less so.

I found the door unlocked, and with Spike distracted behind me I held up a hoof to stop him. Cautiously, I considered the possibilities. It was the town library, yes, but having locked the door before leaving and that it had been assigned my personal residence during my stay left me considering a break-in. There were any number of valuable books I had brought with me, as well as my own personal effects. It was likely that the mayor had informed some number of ponies around town I was staying there, and there were those like Pinkie Pie, Applejack, and now Rainbow Dash who knew for certain.

Then again, it could have been a simple misunderstanding. While the mayor’s letter made it seem the library was not often used, it could be that any number of ponies in town, or even ones visiting, had come there seeking something to read. It wouldn’t be hard even for a visitor to find someone in town that had a key besides me.

With all of that in mind, I opened the door, horn at the ready. Rather than a complete stranger, I found Pinkie Pie perusing the shelves, humming a tune as she tugged one book after another out and onto the floor. I’ll admit my immediate reaction was less than calm.

“What are you doing?!” I shouted, rushing to pick the books up in my magic and trying to sort them back onto the shelves. She was still focused on the shelves, pulling one book out, looking at the cover, shaking her head, and then tossing it to her side or, even worse, over her shoulder. I caught three more books in my magic before I grabbed a tight hold of her hoof, freezing it in place.

Her leg shifted and strained once, twice, then three times before she dared to look at her hoof and the magical aura that surrounded it. Her eyes went wide, her mouth agape, and she began to prod at the magic with her other forehoof. “Shiny, shimmery, sparkly… purple-y?” Finally, she looked over her shoulder at me. “Purpler point!”

I let go of her hoof and straightened up; despite my ruined clothing, I wanted to seem somewhat stately. “My name is Twilight Sparkle,” I stressed my name, saying it slowly. “Were you looking for something, a book perhaps?”

As soon as her hoof was free of my magic, Pinkie Pie began to move it back and forth. Glancing at it, she frowned, “Aww, Sparkle’s sparkles sparkless.” Closing her eyes, she shook her head quickly back and forth. When she opened her eyes, she looked straight at me. “Sorry, I lost my marble.” Eyes drifting to the books I was still holding in the air, she gasped and nodded. “Yes, yes, I wanted a book! I needed to check my predictions.”

I moved the books up and sorted them, doing my best to put them back in their proper place, or close enough. “Your predictions?” I looked over my shoulder at the desk I had been using for my studies; it still had a few books of prophecy sitting on it. “You’re looking for a book on prophecies?”

Pinkie Pie nodded more vigorously. “It’s mine though. It’s super duper important.” She turned back to the shelves, thankfully only looking at the spines instead of grabbing and throwing them to the floor again. Confident the book wasn’t on that set of shelves, she bounded over to another. “Past Pinkie left it here for Me Pinkie. Well, Me Pinkie left it for Future Pinkie, but then Me Pinkie became Past Pinkie and Future Pinkie turned out to really be Me Pinkie and—”

I rushed to keep up with her, placing a gentle hoof on her back. “I think I understand what you mean, Pinkie Pie.” I looked over to see Spike still standing at the entrance, head cocked to the side. “Spike, could you prepare some food? Just a snack.”

I felt a set of hooves pushing down on my back, only to turn my head and see Pinkie Pie trying to crawl over me as she looked at Spike. “Ohhh, make it sweet, spiky Spike. Sweets works for Past Pinkie, Future Pinkie and Me Pinkie! Maybe cupcakes, did Mr. and Mrs. Cake pack cupcakes for the library or was that just for Mayor Mare?” As she asked herself the question, looking deep in thought, she dismounted from my back and sat down. I heard faint muttering under her breath, what sounded like a disconnected series of names and times and dates.

Sure enough, Spike came back with a small plate of three cupcakes, along with a pitcher of water. Setting them down on the large table at the center of the room, the cupcakes’ colors caught my attention. There was one with pink cake and cotton candy frosting, another with a light mulberry cake and jagged green frosting, and the last with purple cake and a trio of blue, rose and purple frosting. Pinkie Pie was quick to grab the one that matched her coat and mane, and Spike didn’t think as he picked up his own, nor did he dwell on the fact he had sat down in front of it.

I held the cupcake up in my magic, but didn’t dare to take a bite. “You said the book was yours, Pinkie Pie?” The sound of smacking lips and loud chewing was the only reply at first, but it didn’t take long for Pinkie to finish messily eating her cupcake.

“Yeah. My predictions. Past Pinkie left i—”

“Yes, yes, you said before,” I interjected, placing a hoof over her mouth. “I apologize, but I’ve been doing some study on prophecies myself. There’s a possibility I might have taken it from the shelf already. Do you have the title?”

Pinkie Pie tilted her head. “My predictions,” she repeated plainly. After a few moments of silence, her ears twitched, and I swore I saw her tail had as well. “Ohhhh, you did read it!” Standing up, Pinkie bounced over to my desk at the window, grabbing one book from the bottom of a pile in her teeth and wrenching it free. I winced as the other books teetered and shook, before coming to a halt still stacked, if less neatly.

As Pinkie Pie came back, I recognized the book. “Oh, Predictions and Prophecies. I suppose ‘my predictions’ makes sense if it’s your copy.”

Pinkie Pie nodded and muttered something, but it was muffled by the book still in her mouth. As she had the day before, she giggled and set the book down on the table before repeating herself. “Predictions are protected in places with plenty of print piles to prevent peeping. I keep the important ones at home though.”

Abating my awe at her adept alliteration, I wondered for a moment what “important ones” she had. I assumed it was other books on prophecy, though a part of me did wonder about the pages missing in Pinkie’s copy. “Well, I’m glad you could find it. Is there anything else you need?”

“Nope!” Pinkie picked up the book in her mouth once more and quickly gave Spike a pat on the head and me a sudden hug. Then she bounded off and out of the library, muttering something with a mouthful of book that, this time, she didn’t repeat clearly. I sighed and paid it little mind. Despite our strange first meeting, I found myself warming up to the mare, even if she was odd.

After all, she hadn’t done any harm, yet.

I finished off a glass of water and finally took off my coat before heading upstairs to draw a bath. While waiting for the water to warm, I finally took out some of the foreign books of prophecy from my luggage. I brought two with me to the bath, in fact; I felt a good soak would be relaxing and ensure there wasn’t any mud left in my mane, tail, or Princess forbid my coat.

They were interesting reads. The first was by a Yakyakistan seer by the name of Yavonrus the Five-Eyed. I quickly found that yak prophecies were at once less florid and far more… bulky than pony prophecies. One particular passage dealing with the prediction that an elder of one of their outlying tribes would die from an illness went on for eighteen paragraphs about the origins of his illness, every yak and creature that came into contact with him, the specific past failures he dwelled upon on his deathbed, and even the last words he spoke to his eldest daughter. It then pontificated on the impact of his death on his tribe and yaks as a whole.

I wondered if it was fully indicative of all yak prophecy. Certainly, the prophecy I sought could not have come from this seer, but if this was the detail they gave… No, I had to consider, as before, the possibility that it was planted by enemies of Her rule. And so I read on, but no prophecy within Yavonrus’s book spoke of The Princess. It did, however, talk of Tsasan the Towerback, and the end He would meet, and yet had already met. His was a life of cycles, Yavonrus said, to roam the frozen north to exhaustion, fall into the deep cracks of the earth, and let His body become a bountiful mountain on which His progeny may flourish.

It was a much more accepting outlook on the grim finality of what should be an ageless, eternal creature. Perhaps it was metaphorical? The yaks had kept to themselves, outside of defensive wars and one of aggression on Equestria centuries before. Maybe they, and Tsasan, understood their place within destiny, their part to play. Just like the cycle that had brought Their return a millennium before, maybe all of destiny was cycles.

I found myself philosophizing for far too long, but eventually left the book to open another. This one had come from Abyssinia, a collection of works from many of their prophets. A foreword spoke that it had been a peace offering to The Princess, gifted by The Pharaoh of Black Suns on promise of something not privy to mortal ears. Rather than dates, many of the prophecies were accompanied by star maps, laying out the night sky in excruciating detail. It seemed that, rather than peering beyond the veil of time itself, Abyssinian seers looked to the future reflected in the void.

As I read, I saw why it was proffered in the name of peace. It spoke of wars, bloodshed, disaster, deception, but always it spoke of Kurraxis. The prophecies were the perceived plans and machinations of Their kin, strikes to be made against either of Them and sometimes both.

Halfway through the book, star maps and prophecies gave way to incantations, runes, spellweaves, and alchemy. There were diagrams of vivisected bodies, organs, pressure points, and minutia on the capabilities of undisguised swarms. Pages and pages went on about how best to unmask them, which methods kept them from communicating with Kurraxis, how their deceptions worked around that which forced them to tell the truth, how much pain they could tolerate before expiring…

I shut the book to keep my morbid curiosity at bay. I wouldn’t find what I wanted there.

Satisfied with my research and cleanliness, I left the bath and dried myself off. I took the opportunity to walk upstairs to the balcony. A warm breeze blew down the stairwell, and I was thankful to find the skies still mostly cloudless. Rainbow Dash had kept working, though now that I was higher up I could see the work she had ahead of her still.

Off to the south, drifting out from over the Everlorn, I could make out storm clouds. The sky behind them was barren and empty, and yet a dark grey seemed to eek out from them to taint the bright blue. At the edges of that I could see a kaleidoscopic haze; I thought of a clouded prism with its rainbow tainted by muddied insides. And just as the growing cloud inched over the grassy fields outside of the Everlorn, a streak of pure, sweet rainbow struck through the cloud like a spear. It faded into smoke and then to nothing but a memory.

I left Rainbow Dash to her work and trotted downstairs. It was just after midday, and I considered a trip out into town to check on one of the other tasks still left on our list. When I came to the library, I saw an envelope sitting on the table. “Spike?” I asked, looking to the side to see the dragon lounging next to the kitchen and reading a book.

“What is it, Twilight?” he asked, not looking up.

“Did somepony stop by while I was upstairs?”

The question was enough for him to put down the book and scratch his chin. “I don’t think so.” While I trotted over to the desk, Spike stood up. “You were up there a while. You didn’t fall asleep did you?”

I picked up the envelope and turned it over. There was no name, either who it was addressed to or who it was from, and there wasn’t a wax seal on it. In fact, the envelope hadn’t been sealed at all. I thought back to Pinkie Pie’s departure and couldn’t for the life of me recall her having an envelope. Had it been on the table when I arrived and gone unnoticed? No, I surely would have seen it, or Spike would have. I assumed Pinkie Pie would have drawn attention to it if she noticed it. Did that mean it was from her or that she had at least delivered it?

Slowly, I opened it and pulled out the letter within. On the neatly folded piece of paper, I saw only one sentence.

“The Princess’s gaze sees less than you think, but The Mares in the Moon look down on us all.”

I placed it back in the envelope, holding it close to my barrel in my magic.

“What did it say?” Spike asked, now at my side.

“Nothing important, Spike.” The bitter lie stung my throat. “Do you think we have the time to check in on something else today? I’m sorry my bath took a little longer than expected. I got caught up reading a book of foreign prophecies, a very interesting one.”

I went on as Spike nodded along, my eyes glancing about the room for more signs of intruders. I knew I wouldn’t see anything, not if this was the only message left to me. At the time, I only had one consideration: did they know about the prophecy? I could only reach one conclusion, a gnawing certainty that not only did they know of it, but they knew that I had discovered it as well.

There were very few ways to know this. The first was to be Spike, but I knew he would do nothing so malicious. Second was an agent of The Princess. Perhaps, despite allaying my fears of the prophecy, she had decided to send someone to watch over me and observe what I found. But yet, what reason would they have to doubt Her, Her gaze? That left a horrid realization, a dreaded uncertainty that grew less so by the second: what if it was who had written the prophecy?

It was easy enough to write runes, weave spells, mutter incantations that could alert someone to intrusions or trespassers. I knew this from my studies, though they were often placed in residences instead of possessions. I took the chance, with Spike bored of my prattling, to excuse myself and trot over to my desk and grab the book of legends. I scanned every page, every inch of the cover, and could find no sign of runes. I felt the flow of magic about the book, if it ebbed and flowed against my horn’s grip, but there was not even the faintest hint of unicorn magic. Timidly, I pressed it to my chest, hooves against the opposite cover.

Feeling the depths of magic within my blood, I let it flow out to my hooves, through the book, back into my chest. I tasted its age, years passing through and out of me like grains of sand and fetid winds. I felt gnawing eyes, heard pages turn and become the countless who had read it before me, smelt sinuous seasons. With every breath the cycle continued, but I felt no magic flowing into me that was not me. Not even eldritch magic had tainted this book.

And yet I was unconvinced. I knew that such magic could be hidden or lost over time. Even when effective, it could be difficult to detect if cast by the proper mage, etched by the proper scholar, cast by… somepony like me.

“Spike.” I waited for him to come to my side and continued, “I think I hit a breakthrough. We can wait until tomorrow to handle more of the preparations. If you’d like to do anything around town, you can go ahead. I won’t need your help with it and there’s still plenty of daylight out.”

He gave me a suspicious look, but believed me all the same. Soon I was alone and I was able to begin.

Preparations

The history of magic is a subject I have been greatly interested in for as long as I can remember. While the majority of my studies focused on the eldritch arts that are Their domain, it was impossible as a unicorn to avoid the arcane. What filly or colt did not, eventually, learn to at least carry an object or open a door? But I was not content to let my curiosity stop at telekinesis. Magic is the birthright of my kind, and while outnumbered by other institutions in Equestria, there are many schools for unicorn sages following in the hoofsteps of great wizards like Starswirl the Bearded, Aegis Allshield, or Page Turner.

Bit by bit both the eldritch and arcane have grown thanks to talented scholars or mages who pushed their fields forward. However, any advancement one has made on its own pales compared to the breakthroughs they have made together.

A casual observer, given a basic understanding of both fields, might describe the two as oil and water. While substances with comparable properties, they must be immiscible. The eldritch draws its power from within the user, while arcane magic is drawn and channeled from one’s surroundings. Eldritch arts are open to anyone that wishes to study them, while the arcane is limited (for now) to those with an innate physiology to draw and channel magic. Even the method of incantations differ, with eldritch spells requiring the use of Black Tongue, intent, and emotions, while arcane magic is more like mathematics: a rigid set of operations which must be followed correctly.

But these distinctions only make the mixing of the two possible to begin with. It is by channeling arcane energy that a user can define it as their own, feeding it into eldritch spells as a more lasting source of energy. It is through eldritch runes crossing and strengthening arcane ones that they can last longer, be marked as the caster’s, and be controlled from afar.

I often found my studies of the eldritch leading me to the arcane, only for that study to funnel back to the eldritch. How the two are similar yet separate, the perils of each, and most importantly for what I attempted: the practical applications of them together. Given my position as Royal Scholar, my understanding of the ways of Canterlot high society, and that I was mortal, the most practical of these applications was for protection.

With Spike taking his temporary leave from the library, I was left with only a finite amount of time to reinforce its boundaries. I began with the windows; security was paramount for any entrance, but the doors would require more complex solutions that my racing mind needed to finalize. Runes, the foundation of any lasting spell, were an important first step.

They could be made in many ways, any method that could leave a mark or etching or drawing on a surface. Some practitioners, in an effort to conceal them, tried to work them into the natural state of things, like a pattern on a wall repeated in such a way to form the required signs. Yet each method had some peculiar variation to their use.

Chalk, depending on the location from which it is mined, imbues specific qualities to the rune. Being close to a location of arcane power absorbs some of the energy into the chalk's structure, leaving even earth ponies able to imbue arcane magic into their runes, though without the connection to the caster. There is even the option for a unicorn to store their own magic into more pristine chalk. However, impurities and the lack of strong presses and precise strokes can weaken the potency of a rune.

Ink would have been a preferable option, though I lacked the quantity to utilize it at the time. Depending on the material on which it is inscribed, a caster can allow the ink to dissipate into the surface over time, leaving the rune’s effects to wane naturally. They can even be inscribed more easily on paper, used in simple spells that consume the page in the process. It also allows flourishes and minute detail depending on the brush or pen used. Of course, that often leads to inscription taking longer and a pristine environment being necessary to avoid the ink running before it dries.

Etching was my choice. It can be done on any surface and with a variety of implements, though some materials lead to differing effects. (I had read months ago about a scholar who, on precise lenses, could etch runes and project their effect towards the focus.) It was also possible, given the wood making up the library, to shave and grind away after their purpose was complete. Given I was not planning to stay here for much longer, it was an important fact to consider.

I retreated upstairs for a moment to grab a rod from one of my suitcases. With a lead core and an outer layer of silver, it was a unicorn’s tool. The silver easily allowed the arcane magic of a telekinetic grip to pass through it, while the lead core bounced that energy back. With fine control and focus, both of which I had, the rod vibrated, its tip buzzing and turning red with heat and potential.

The windows called for four runes, words etched in Black Tongue to channel the intent of my magic, my blood. Above was “Sense,” to look down on the threshold. To either side were “Seal,” bound together to form a link across the window, a means to secure it against being forced open or unlocked. Below was “Shield,” meant to raise should the seals fail. As much as my body could allow, I muttered the words with each etch, infusing my will upon them. From my depths came waves of power and magic and blood, flowing out of my horn, through the rod, and into the grooves I made.

While the eldritch runes drew my power, the arcane ones that followed siphoned the latent magic from the library. It was an old place of gnarled wood and roots, and it had drawn much power from the earth over the years. As I weaved arcane sigils about the walls, I cemented the connection this magic would have to me, allowing the eldritch runes an ample source from which to draw power. It took no time at all to finish with the downstairs windows, four in total: one above the desk, two more along the opposite wall, and a final one above the kitchen sink. Upstairs, I only had three to contend with: one wide window above the beds, one behind the bath, and a final viewing window opposite the spiral staircase that led to the balcony.

Then came the more difficult task. Both the balcony doorway and the front entrance would need more particular runes. A simple seal would have to be broken time and again for myself and Spike to cross, along with any potential guests of the welcomed variety. I repeated the same patterns above and below: “Sense” to watch over and “Shield” on the floor to protect. As for the “Seal” on either side, I wove them along with other words, symbols mingling to let intention and will overlap. “Exempt,” “Friend,” and “Guest” took form in overlapping quadrants, a myriad of lesser concepts hidden inbetween.

As “Friend” was engraved, I thought of Spike, of The Princess, of my family and colleagues. With “Guest,” I kept my focus on emotions: anxiety at receiving someone, a desire to impress, a hope that one visit would lead to two, to four, to a shift from “Guest” to “Friend.” Even if my stay would be too short for that to be possible, it was important to hold and impress that intention upon my runes.

By the time I was done, the sun had started to set. The library smelt of burnt wood, so I lit sticks of incense to lessen the impact. It was also to calm me while I thought of my last task, one that would have to wait until the night. I focused my mind on double and then triple checking my work. The lines were not perfect, as I had made them in a rush to avoid Spike walking in on the act, but they were serviceable; I knew the connection was there. I also had the chance to mask them so that they would avoid anything but a close inspection.

I felt the soft hum of magic through my horn, a growing chorus in my ears when Spike approached and opened the door. As expected, the seals lowered, allowing him to pass unabated. While the runes would not have injured him, they would have alerted him to my intentions and worries.

I couldn’t bear to do that yet. Worry is like a poison; if you fight and struggle, it spreads and infects every part of you. Relax, breathe, and you at least have time to resolve the issue before it annihilates your resolve. It is such a dangerous balancing act to avoid the entire world becoming your enemy when there are enemies everywhere.

Spike returned with his bag full of souvenirs. Besides what he’d bought for himself, he’d found a journal and ornate quill for me, as well as a pocket watch for my brother. I thanked him for the gift and worked to prepare dinner. A simple task to focus on would help me relax after so much hurried spellwork.

I decided to grab a book of recipes from the library, picking one that didn’t seem too complicated: braised red cabbage with apples, given the abundance of the latter that was still left in the kitchen. As the dish cooked, I took the time to prepare tea for both of us, adding a bit of milk to Spike’s and apple brandy to my own. I would need it for what I still had to do in the dead of night.

The dish was fine, at least for my first time trying to make it. I was still dealing with the aftertaste of sweets from the day before, but it managed to overpower that and reset my palate. While we ate, I looked outside, thankful to be able to see the starry night sky and the Moon above. It was a wonderful night for a walk, and I offered Spike to take one with me. It was an excellent cover to double check the effectiveness of the runes.

While we strolled through the sparsely lit streets of Ponyville, Spike entertained me with some of the things he had seen that day: souvenirs he couldn’t afford, jewelry that had caught his eye, some food he wanted me to try tomorrow. I humored him, laughing or nodding or humming in the affirmative as appropriate. My focus, truly, was within. Steady breaths, in and out, let me reach out through my blood and horn as my eyes closed. Sensations washed over me.

I felt the library, its trunk and branches and roots, the carved rooms and shelves and stairs like odd empty spaces between bones and muscle. There was heat within, cold without, the breeze against and through my hair (leaves) weathering over years against my coat (bark). There were the scents of leftover food—the sensation compared, by my brain, to smelling the pit of my stomach or the inside of my skull (a connection made to the place as one of knowledge)—the dust, the crisp night air carrying hints of earth and mud and smoke from the closest houses. My tongue recoiled at the taste of dirt, nutrients, the calmness that comes from being welcome, being needed. I heard, faint and distinct, the noise of the town around me and the library, like two copies of the same song out of time with one another by fractions of a second, and saw shapes and figures shifting in the dark, which I fought to avoid becoming malicious shades.

Opening my eyes, drawing the focus to my body, I left the library behind. The connection was secure, controlled, contained. It would not intrude upon me, but I upon it. I repeated the mantra again and again and again, solidifying it.

As we passed a shop, I found my attention drawn to a necklace in the window. It was a bright, dazzling display, even in the dim glow of the streetlight: gems of a variety of colors, rubies and sapphires and emeralds and ambers, arranged in sweeping patterns along a silvery white chain with settings and accents of gold. It was beautiful. I considered if my mother would like it, or perhaps one of my fellow researchers back in Canterlot. I could have even offered it as a gift to The Princess or one of Her royalty; one could never have too much favor in such circles. My stomach began to twist as I recalled the letter.

“It looks simply divine, doesn’t it?” a voice behind me said. The tone and inflection was clear and almost forcefully articulate, similar to the style of speech that was common in Canterlot and by proxy much of Equestrian higher society. My mind went to tourists, and so I thought it was a conversation I had eavesdropped on, waiting for another voice to reply with “Oh, quite divine indeed” or “Yes, rather splendid.” Instead I heard a curt cough, the source now at my side.

Turning away from the window, I came face to face with a unicorn mare. Her coat was a pristine white and she had a finely styled violet mane. Tourist still seemed an appropriate label while I pushed what had been churning up my stomach out of my thoughts. I started to wonder where she was from. The mane style seemed too simple for Manehatten, so perhaps it was Trottingham, but there weren’t any other obvious tells. She certainly wasn’t dressed or saddled like most traveling socialites would be. “Yes, quite,” I replied simply before looking back at the necklace. “A bit bold, but even despite all the colors, it comes together well.”

“That is a bit overwhelming when you scrutinize it, yes, but the pattern helps to diminish the effect when you look at the whole piece. Complementary colors together, clashing ones apart. And the gold accents make them pop just a bit more than they already do. It’s a wonder what good design sense can allow you to achieve, even with what some ponies would write off as incompatible pieces.” Her tone was excited as she spoke, yet her diction didn’t falter. Her eyes shined in the streetlight, as if there were a glimmer of inspiration among the adoration.

“Certainly,” I added, an acknowledgement of being out of my depth and understanding that. I had little to say on the topic of design unless it were about a rune, or perhaps something architectural. Maybe she was a jeweler by trade if she was so knowledgeable. A quick glance showed she had three gemstones on her flank, and there was a part of the Artisan’s Quarter of Canterlot that specialized in filigree and jewelry. “I wonder if it was made here. Ponyville isn’t known for—” much of anything to me, before I came here “—jewelry, is it?”

The mare shook her head slightly, her mane tossing gently back and forth with the movements. “Not famously, no. It isn’t Canterlot or Vanhoover, and certainly not Manehatten, but just because a place isn’t famous for a trade doesn’t mean artisans can’t be found there.” There was a smile that followed the comment, making me wonder if the conversation was self-aggrandizing in a way.

“True. If knowledge is open to anyone, you only need the tools and supplies to go with it. And sometimes knowledge is enough.”

“And some things are kept… gated.” There was a momentary falter in her speech, and I wasn’t sure if it was searching for a tactful way to phrase it or some sort of remembered experience.

I could recall some personal experiences of my own. “For good reason, sometimes.”

“For Her reason; that should be good enough for rational minds.”

Worry began to bubble up. I looked down the street and saw Spike at a nearby stand.

“Oh, were you looking to buy it? I’d hate to walk in and steal it from you.” A giggle came after her words, just enough to get across her joke without seeming too self-indulgent. I caught a smirk out of the corner of my eyes before looking directly at her.

“I…” I didn’t have to say anything. I looked away to see Spike buying something from a nearby stall. There was no danger, I had to tell myself. “I was considering it, but I don’t have much of a budget for my trip.”

“Just visiting, hmm?” There was another smirk, this time not hidden. “Of course you’re not a local, that much is obvious.” I wondered if it really was, perhaps just from the way I carried myself. “Well, I’ll not take it from you if you change your mind. It truly is a wonderful piece, but…” There was a momentary look of sadness, perhaps a bit too exaggerated, on her face. “Better somepony have it to wear than just inspiration… or worse to get a bit excited and break the thing down. Oh those ambers would look absolutely lovely on something I’ve been working on.”

I was about to reply, but she let out a gasp as she looked at a clock through the window. “Oh, heavens. There I go getting distracted. I’m terribly sorry, but I simply must be going. A pleasure to meet you.” She gave a bow, deep and practiced, with her horn ending inches from the ground. I’d seen it often in Canterlot. I began to bow as well, but she turned and quickly took her leave, trotting off up the street.

Spike came back, holding an ice cream cone that he idly licked at. “Who was that?” he asked, just before his eyes too were drawn to the dazzling necklace in the window.

“I don’t know. She didn’t say.” I wondered how odd it was for someone to consider it a pleasure to meet you without even introducing themselves. I tried to catch another glimpse of her, but she was already out of sight. “I think she was from Canterlot, maybe.”

“Did she recognize you?”

“I don’t know, maybe?” It would explain the pleasure on her part. I tried not to dwell on it, as it was just one interaction out of dozens since arriving in Ponyville. Besides, I needed to focus on other things.

There were only a few more stores and sights before Spike was worn out. As such, we returned to the library and Spike took his leave upstairs for the night while I remained downstairs to inspect the journal he had given me. It was high quality, with a golden clasp to keep it secured when not in use. I wondered, my mind still somewhat on the protective spells already in effect within the library, if I could enchant it to have similar protections. It would have been a costly thing for a journal; as I write in it now, I think the cost will be worth it.

I spent the rest of the night perusing a book on soothsaying techniques, another two on pony prophecy, and one more of foreign origin. I kept the reading light, restricted to authors with less cryptic styles. My timidness felt adequately rewarded with yet more dead trails and fruitless findings. But I needed my wits about me, my attention sharp and ready.

As midnight approached, I put the books away, closed the blinds on the windows, snuffed out what lamps were lit, and moved the table at the center of the room aside. A trio of candles about me was enough light, just enough for the ritual. I took a heavy swig of brandy, washed down with a glass of cider to cover the bitterness. My blood felt warm and eager.

It was only as I sat down in the center of the room, chalk ready, that I considered my doubts. I had done enough to secure the library, surely. No normal pony could attempt to cross the thresholds without my knowledge or permission. It would take a truly talented sorcerer or scholar to break in, or avoid detection at the least. Was there a need to cause harm, no, death as well? My will, however, moved ahead of my flagging rationality.

I drew the first outer circle, thick white, strong presses, marking the ground with my force and intention, an important step to secure control and establish boundaries. The second, inner circle was thinner, lighter, an invitation and lowering of inhibition to show openness. Faint lines etched between established need and want; star signs to invoke, to name, to promise, to beg; arcane runes to empower and gift inner, to protect and reinforce outer. But the sigil was only that: lines and potential. I sat there in the dim light, the nightsong of a sleeping Ponyville assaulting my ears as I traced the edges with my hoof.

Blood boiling as veins expanded beneath my skin, I felt warm and worried and doubtful. Resolve melting away, my rationality caught up and I searched for reasons in that letter. “The Princess’s gaze sees less than you think, but the Mares in the Moon look down on us all.”

On the surface, there was no malice in those words, at least not a direct threat to harm me. Yet it stood to reason that someone powerful, with purpose and drive, knew what I was doing. Their alliances were unknown, their intentions were hidden, they knew of me and the prophecy (potentially, I had to remind myself), but they had at least not told Her, for if they had She would have reached out to me. Why? Why tell only me? What was there to gain from only telling me? An alliance? A favor? A prisoner?

Everyone felt and dreaded The Princess’s gaze when they had cause to, but this pony (I hoped) had no fear at all. They felt certain She could not see, could not act on what they or I were doing. Worse, they wanted to convince me of that.

Was that someone I wanted alive when they tried to intrude again? Was that someone I wanted to walk away with only a warning?

And yet I had no scent, no intensity, no sensation to match with their power, their blood. If I invoked what I meant to, it could lash out unexpectedly. All it would take was someone or something with a natural gift and my wishes could be misconstrued. I had no idea how many in Ponyville did possess a gift for sorcery, or were trained in scholarly arts. There was no school for it here, surely, but all cities, all towns, all villages, all hamlets and homesteads and perhaps even nomads had some inkling of gifted among them; it was only a matter of how many of them knew.

Would The Princess be angry with me should some townsfolk of Ponyville come to harm in the hopes I could protect myself from a potential enemy? How would I explain it to Her? Would She forgive my trespass of researching what She ordered I disregard? If She did not forgive me… what was the punishment? Prison? Exile? Sanitarium?

A tombstone?

I cycled through questions and potential answers as I stared at and through the floor, the signs becoming blurred and crossed and wrong in my vision. I felt the doubt and worry and dinner churning in my stomach, threatening to bubble up my throat and spill onto the floor.

And realization came quickly: no matter what the answers to my worries and fears were, I lacked resolve, true resolve, that night. I wiped the floor clean, doused the candles, moved the table back to its proper place. Lighting a lamp, its glow seemed to only illuminate the inches around me, like a feeble wave pushing back against a deluge of darkness.

The air was pungent, stale and rotten and old. I had not finished the ritual, not even uttered the incantation, but even lines and potential entice a great many things, even if they cannot quite cross the threshold.

“I am in control,” I said, steady and sure. “I am in control.” I repeated it as many times as I could, letting my blood warm and boil and surge with my will. Inch by inch the darkness receded, until all seemed as it should be.

My body was shivering, insides frigid despite the warmth just beneath my coat. I carried the lamp with me upstairs, step by step. “I am in control,” I continued to mutter, slowly, to keep my voice steady.

I left the lamp at the top of the stairs, its glow bathing the bedroom in soft light. “I am in control,” I said, quieter but still sure enough to imply my will and strength. I did not rush to bed, instead taking heavy, slow steps. It felt like minutes under what I was certain were the eyes of something I could not see or hear, but certainly felt. I closed my eyes at the side of the bed and crawled under the covers.

I tried to sleep, to keep my eyes closed, but the feeling of being watched dwelled over me. It took many minutes before I built up the courage and reached out through the library. I was hit by a wave of nausea, a sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach as if something acidic and hateful and rotting would not stay down, yet would not leave. I opened my eyes.

Beneath my breath, again and again, I muttered until sleep took me, “I am in control.”

Thankfully, it believed me.