Glimmer

It had taken Twilight's first remaindered sale to make her realize that in one way, a librarian was very much like a medium. They both channeled the words of the dead.

...not that the little mare had any true belief in mediums, nor had she ever come even remotely close to miring her hooves in the swamp of unjustified faith. From everything Twilight had been able to learn, nopony had ever brought anything back from the shadowlands --

-- with, for those who weren't too horribly wounded and could be reached with the proper medical techniques within precious minutes, the exception of a few ponies.

If the cause was drowning and the lungs could be cleared, or a heart had stopped and the attending physician understood that a few broken ribs and a fractured sternum represented a small price to pay for time... yes, it was occasionally possible to recover the very short-term dead. But nopony brought back in that fashion ever remembered anything. If there had been even the briefest reunion among the tall grasses of that final, perfect pasture... then all impressions of it stayed behind.

...well, some had claimed to remember. And the longer they thought about the experience, over increasing hours spent simply speaking of it with purest wonder... the more chances they had for the inevitable contradictions to start piling up.

Nopony truly recalled the details of what might exist on the other side of breath. And there had never been any two-way communication with the dead. If somepony attending a spiritualist meeting happened to hear invisible hooves rapping on a table and the faint echoes of a ghostly whisper, then it meant the medium had a well-paid assistant hidden somewhere. Generally in the company of a sound-conducting surface and some syllable-distorting reeds to place in front of their mouth.

There were no ghosts, and every such story was made up. But souls were real. Even if somepony (somehow) didn't believe that a mark was a reflection of one, then soul magic existed and it was clearly affecting something. Additionally, reincarnation served as absolute proof and Twilight -- had spent a few moons in trying not to think about that one too often.

Ghosts didn't exist, and that made mediums into charlatans: shutting down such fakers was a special pleasure, especially when Twilight found those whose 'relayed messages' ultimately led into 'give the channeler all of your money'. But if you were a librarian... the dead spoke. And it was such a simple process. You simply wandered down the tree's aisles, stopped in front of an age-discolored fabric spine, took the book down, and -- opened it. Because for those who had been lucky enough to have their thoughts recorded in cold ink, the words would forever be there.

But such little resurrections were conditional.

Somepony had to take the book down.

Just about every author would fade into obscurity. Even those very few who were lucky enough to be designated as the creators of classics would mostly generate resentment in youthful readers, who typically felt that they were being told to suffer through a book because twenty generations had already done the same and why should they be the first ones to escape? And the Canterlot Archives existed, as did equivalents in other nations. Places which tried to store at least one copy of everything which had ever been published. But some things were overlooked, others became lost, and even the last remaining edition needed someone with a reason to seek it out -- or somepony to show them what they were missing.

The words could be stored. Most of them were. But some had been lost, and even for those who had a master copy and properly-filed catalog entry... the true death came when no one looked for those books any more.

The dead could speak. But only the lucky few, and solely through those who could still hear.

To be a librarian was, in no small part, to take custody for the dreams of the dead. Twilight had belatedly recognized that when Ponyville's mayor had effectively forced her into a shelf weeding prior to a long-postponed remaindered sale, and... it had hurt, to know that so much of what she was taking down represented bringing the lost that much closer to the forfeiture of their final chance. But in time, she'd accepted it as part of her responsibilities.

(Maybe a marked librarian could go through the process without pain. Twilight couldn't seem to manage that part.)

She was fully aware that most of what she dealt with were the words of the dead and in that sense, looking at the shoddy blueprints shouldn't have made any real difference. This just happened to be a long-term followup to having spent some time in the same room as the writer's corpse.

Her brother, who'd spread out the rolled paper and was trying to pin down as much as he could with short arms, was silently watching her face. Trying to figure out if there was anything he could do for her and in that, the expression came with an equine variant. The hat-free version was currently standing on her left, where the farmer's larger body was doing a strong-if-incidental job of cutting off the bedroom's primary retreat point.

Applejack had gone out to find somepony she could bring back and in doing so, had located Twilight. Quickly.

The librarian stared at the two styles of mouthwriting. The signatures.

Applejack thought somepony had been using the place before we got here...

She swallowed again. It didn't seem to be helping.

"Spike..." Her own voice felt too distant, as if she was trying to listen for the echoes of her thoughts from the top of the tepui. "How did you find it?"

Scales shifted on his face, moved against each other as the muscles underneath twisted with close-range awkwardness.

"Um," her brother carefully began. "I was... getting kind of bored waiting for everypony to come back..."

The older sister managed a smile. It was a hazard with younger siblings, and the momentary little breeze kicked up by Applejack's tail twitch told her it was a common one. Patiently, "And?"

"I just started poking around at stuff," the little dragon explained. "It was something to do. But then I got really bored, and --"

"Where was it?" Words which emerged as her ears rotated again, because there were no locks on Truedawn houses and she needed to know if any locals were on the verge of inviting themselves in.

"I can show you," Spike immediately said. "But it's awkward. I don't even know how he was getting up there..."

It turned out to be a little gap in the bathroom ceiling. Just enough to shove a pupil against.

"You investigated that." He'd even noticed that? In Truedawn, where planks which fitted evenly against each other were the exception and splinters had apparently found ways to breed when nopony was looking...

His walking claws awkwardly shuffled in place.

"...I was trying to take a bath," Spike finally said. "I was that bored. And some of my scales still feel dirty. I thought I could deal with tepid water. Only I couldn't get any water at all, because the pipes started to creak a little, and I was worried that somepony trotting by outside would hear that. When there wasn't supposed to be anypony in the house. So I was kind of frustrated, and I picked up the soap and..."

He hesitated. Shoulders sagged.

"It rebounds better than it cleans," her brother declared. "I got it to bank off two walls and the ceiling. But the impacts... they made a length of red yarn fall out of that hole." He slowly shook his head. "I think that maybe just having ponies trotting around in here would have knocked it free eventually. I just sped it up."

"And it's anchored," Applejack considered. "That's right, isn't it? One end fell out, and the rest is tied up in there..." Green eyes squinted. "And -- it's hard to tell with all of the imperfections, but I think that's another gap. Perpendicular -- Spike, is that thing hinged?"

Crests shifted across the nod. "It was when I got up there."

"And how did you --" the earth pony began.

"-- I hauled in everything I could. Benches, mostly. Whatever I could stack and climb." A little more softly, "There's space between the ceiling beams. Enough room for a lot of stuff. But it was just the blueprints, and..." He hesitated. "...a rectangle, where something was sitting for a while. It was about the right size for a book."

"Or a notebook," Twilight breathed -- then looked up again. "You tucked the yarn back?"

"I didn't know who might come in," Spike quickly explained. "Even when I was trying to get up there... I could have jumped down and used the necklace, but then there's just a bunch of benches in the bathroom for no reason. Somepony would have wondered..."

"I could just tell them that we were redecorating the bathroom," Twilight distractedly decided. "Eclectically. Give me a second..."

The bow's generated illusion easily hid the partial corona necessary for delving into the little ceiling hole. The yarn was quickly located, and then Twilight's hidden field pulled down on the access hatch. Both mares squinted up into the darkness beyond.

Applejack took a quick, sharp breath.

"Why there?" the farmer asked the world.

Twilight frowned. "There's enough space --"

"-- a pegasus might be able to hover close to the ceiling and get the kick in which knocked the yarn down. Unicorn isn't exactly going to have much trouble. But this is Truedawn." She added a soft snort. "None of the locals are flying, and the best case is that a third of the population just decided to keep their coronas to themselves, so -- at least for now, let's figure he probably didn't have anypony to help. Not which could actually give him some. Portable ramps take up a lot of space and I wouldn't want to try getting one of the mouth-crank platforms up the ramp. Spike said it. How was he even getting up there?"

Twilight thought about it. "Vertically-stacked beds?" Spike had managed with benches, but he was small. A full-grown earth pony stallion at the top of a more precarious stack...

It was easy to picture the tumbles, right down to the exact intensity of the inevitable impacts. After all, she'd met the previous resident.

Occupants come and go.
The house, mostly in spite of its construction, stays.
So from the house's point of view, residents are...
...fungible.

"Which still means getting them both in here," Applejack pointed out. "Not exactly impossible, but it's gonna take some time. And putting one on top of the other isn't exactly going to be easy. I wouldn't want to try it with high-jumping off one bed: the straw isn't solid enough to really launch from. And when you think about how poorly stuff is put together around here, all the little spaces which have to be hiding in the walls... Twi, I'm saying this as an earth pony: that is one of the stupidest places which one of mine could have picked to hide anything. He could barely reach it. Walls are right there, floors probably have room for a thousand mice underneath if 'Shy could just find the first two. Ceiling's a little closer to impossible. That is just about the least logical spot for an earth pony to use. So... why?"

Spike, who didn't have an answer, wrung his handling claws against each other. As for his sibling -- it could be oddly difficult to tell a lie in the farmer's presence. Twilight, who was already trying to puzzle out the newest aspect of the mystery, didn't try to muster the required effort. "I don't know. But it must have worked."

Unless he was running because somepony found it?

But then the storage area would have been empty.

"What do you want me to do?" the farmer asked.

Immediately, "Find the others and tell them that we're all meeting here."

"Could take a while to get everypony back," Applejack pointed out. "From what I saw, the group's pretty spread out right now. I'm pretty sure 'Shy's taking a break, but the rest --"

"-- I know," Twilight sighed. "And then we'll have to hope Truedawn gives us a few minutes before the hooves start knocking on the front door. Just start the relay, Applejack: you tell somepony, and they tell whoever they find. We all need to talk."

She was still trying to adjust for what her body insisted was a misscheduled summer, and Twilight wasn't quite ready to trust any Truedawn clock to keep accurate time. By her best estimate, the weary group wasn't reassembled in the assigned house until about an hour before local Sun-lowering. Truedawn, however, gave them the increasingly-rare courtesy of enough time for Spike to explain the details.

Tails flicked. Ears twisted, briefly went back, rotated forward again to listen. Rarity, who had apparently spent a good part of the day in very carefully not talking about the local fashion industry, rotated hard-planted forehooves against the floor.

Twilight briefly wished for the designer to take a little more care. She hadn't gotten to sand anything in this house --

"And what is our first conclusion?" the white unicorn tensely asked. Eyelids twitched.

As conclusions went, She needs sleep was accurate, but currently misplaced. Reset the stress...

"That coincidence is effectively dead," Twilight quietly told the group. "Up until now, there was a chance that we were dealing with -- twins. But without the blood connection."

"Separated at the hips," Trixie nodded.

Rarity's head immediately turned. Nearly all of the glare was ignored.

"But... now we know," the librarian softly continued. "We thought it was probably the case, but -- now we know. We've been chasing him all along. He has a name..."

"...two," Fluttershy carefully offered. "He had two names. The one his parents gave him, and..."

She stopped, and Twilight saw that her eyes were somewhat reddened. Rarity wasn't the only one who needed sleep, and Rainbow looked to be on the verge of a personal coma: the prismatic tail kept flicking against its owner's right side, delivering the whiplike little stings required to maintain focus.

"'Gez'," Twilight gently finished for her friend. "But we have his real name. Linchpin Keystone --"

-- stopped, as her ears dipped forward and a streaked tail splayed across the floor.

"Twilight?" Pinkie wasn't exactly about to miss that sort of visual notice. "What's wrong?"

"...Abjura," the little mare forced herself to say. "She works in the palace. She's the one who -- identified the body, only she didn't know she'd done it because the corpse didn't have an architect's mark. She... thought it was somepony else, Pinkie. That they just had to find out what had happened to the stallion she... used to date. And we can't contact the palace right now. We can't tell her..."

Did the stallion have living relatives? Siblings, parents, aunts and uncles and cousins? Were there friends who needed to be notified? Pull a single pony out of the world, and how much mourning would collapse into the gap?

The curls just barely bounced: Pinkie's nod had been that minimal. "I know," the baker sadly said. "It has to wait, Twilight. She gets to live in a world where he's alive, at least for a little longer. And she'll hate learning the truth, when we get to tell her. She'll hate whoever tells her, she might try to kick out, but... she has to know. When we can." Just a little more softly, "Maybe when we're home. And I can do it personally, so she'll have somepony to kick at."

Hastily, "Pinkie --"

"-- we were sort of talking about it the other day," Pinkie reminded her. "That when an idea comes from somepony you -- don't feel the same way about any more, it doesn't automatically make the idea into a bad one. I'll dodge, Twilight. But when it comes to crying, even screaming -- sometimes they need a target. Because when they finally let it all out, it has to hit something." She took a slow breath, and ribs shifted beneath their padding. "'Gez'..."

Which got Rainbow's attention, and a weary head forced itself up. "Did you hear anypony using that name? I know you'd remember --"

"-- I didn't," the baker sadly cut in. "And I was trying to think of ways to ask, even before we had the name. If there was anypony missing, or if some Truedawn ponies left to make trips. But it's hard, Rainbow. It's a lot harder than the mystery novels make it sound. Because the characters in a novel can flash a badge, or show off their hat." (Twilight managed to keep herself from jaw-reaching for it.) "That tells everypony why they want to know -- but it's also what makes the other characters stop talking. If you're too curious, then ponies start to wonder why. And if they come up with a reason they don't like, or don't believe yours... they close themselves off. I didn't know to ask about Gez, and maybe nopony here would recognize 'Linchpin' because to them, 'Gez' is all he ever was. But when it came to comings and goings, I only got one question in all day. And it didn't work out."

"What did they say?" Spike asked. "It could still be important --"

"'I guess there's times when we don't see certain ponies for a while,'" Pinkie miserably quoted. "'But they could always come back.'"

Except that Linchpin is never coming back.

"'Anyway, now you're here'," Pinkie slowly finished. "'Isn't that what's important?'"

The most important thing is getting everypony home safely. Her sibling, her friends -- possibly most to all of Truedawn, but that would require figuring out what was going on in the first place...

"It's... not exactly the most reassuring answer," Twilight understated. "But let's think about what we just learned, everypony."

"Such as?" Applejack checked. "It's been a long day all around, Twi. With bad food. I won't say no to some really leading hints."

"Your food too, huh?" Rainbow yawned. "I'm trying to stay on our own stuff, but..."

"What did they offer you?" Rarity asked. "Sugars, on my end. Small sweets, mostly boiled."

"Same," the weather coordinator readily admitted. "Anypony else?"

The group managed a rough agreement. (Rarity was still pausing to glare at Trixie if the performer chorused on anything.)

"Everypony else is eating better than what we got offered," Applejack noted. "I got a good look -- and I mean for nutrition, not taste. Oh, and Twilight? I checked the crops. There's some new stuff, but that's just the continent. I didn't see anything that was blatantly magical." With a soft snort, "They keep you working around here, don't they -- and yeah, everypony, I can see you staring. If I closed my eyes, all the attention would start denting my fur. Let me finish. They keep you working. But they don't do much with the fuel to let you stay on the job. Because if you stuck with the sweets, and nothing else -- you wouldn't be thinking too clearly."

Rainbow, whose need to get the most out of everything she did had turned her into a non-cooking sort of nutritionist, managed a tired nod.

"It's almost like visiting the Acres," the weather coordinator decided.

Green eyes instantly narrowed --

-- paused. Opened a little wider, and then the earth pony's lips quirked.

"Almost?" Applejack checked.

"You're always trying to see if you can get any work out of us," Rainbow yawned. "As long as we're there, you know? But you sure feed us after, so maybe it kind of half-works out. Or a quarter -- look, I hate the labor and I love the dumplings. So less trees, more dough. And maybe you'll get the balance right sometime."

The farmer very carefully failed to smile. "Maybe you've gotta have some seniority around here before the fruit comes out," Applejack proposed. "Because first-day, all you get is nibble patch jobs. Sugar, start to crash, more sugar... that bill comes due fast and hard."

"I'm starting to feel a little foggy myself," Twilight admitted. "But it didn't feel like they were trying to just get work out of us, Applejack." A feeling she was extremely familiar with and if she ever had any Acres-hosted doubts as to what was going on there, Applejack would just outright tell her. "It was more like... this was what they saw as being friendly. If you work with them, then you're --"

-- part of the herd.

Except that they weren't.

"-- getting to know them," she rerouted.

"They really aren't getting to know us," Trixie noted. "I gave out my name --"

"-- nopony wished to know you?" Rarity snidely cut in. "A community with taste, then."

"-- but Starlight's the only one who asked for it. And she was just verifying."

"You talked to her?" Twilight checked.

"Briefly," Trixie admitted. "She had to take care of something."

"...I did too," Fluttershy sighed. "She talked about the combs. A lot. And what skeletons feel like on the inside. Or don't feel like, because we can't sense our own bone texture."

Several mares blinked. So did the little dragon.

"Fluttershy?" Pinkie cautiously asked.

"...it was a tangent," the caretaker decided. "But I can see how she's the one with some medical knowledge. And we're getting way off the track, everypony. Twilight, you were about to tell us what we've learned?"

The little mare gratefully nodded.

"We've confirmed that his mark was changed," she told the group. "The palace asked Abjura what Linchpin had, and it was a sort of drawing tool. Something architects use."

Tampering with marks.
With souls.

And now this soul had a name.

Somehow, that made everything worse.

A different way of life.
Something without destinies.
Or... a weapons test under heavy disguise. Used on ponies, by ponies...
...his face.
The final expression.
That thin, vicious smile....

"But we don't know how it was changed," she made herself finish. "And there's still questions about the 'why'."

...the last stage of an illness, you go mad, you try to run...

"I was wondering earlier, while I was trying to fetch the group," Applejack said. "Why turn up in Canterlot? And I thought -- maybe he was just one of the ponies who goes out to get supplies, because I know they're not sourcing all of this stuff locally. Got a peek at the library. And he took a trip, something went wrong with the device..."

"It's not impossible," Twilight reluctantly admitted. "Especially if his aim went bad too. But it's a really low-probability option, Applejack. Almost zero, because any reasonable inventor would have brought it down as much as they could during trials and testing. It would be like using a key if you knew having it break off in the lock would kill the user."

"And if he went out regularly," Pinkie sadly added, "then... wouldn't somepony be worried about him not having come back?" Slightly-damp blue eyes took a slow survey of the room. "Even with what Neisee said to me -- wouldn't somepony be talking about him? Wondering where he was, and if somepony needed to follow? Wouldn't... wouldn't ponies be using his name? He must have had friends..."

They came very close to having everypony in the group looking towards everypony else, for Rarity would still not freely seek out Trixie's gaze. Each turning to the others in the hopes of an answer.

But nopony said anything.

Sun was being lowered now.

"And I will not be talking about the clothing store," Rarity tightly announced. "Because, should we officially launch that topic from the starting gate, the racecourse will have lanes available for absolutely nothing else." Her eyelids twitched again. "Does anypony else have something to add?"

"There's no --" Trixie began.

"-- somepony other than you." With a soft groan, "Dear Sun, if we're down to hangers-on, then perhaps it is time to retire into the kitchen --"

"-- Ponyville residents here," the performer pressed on. "Not that I heard. That accent never popped up, and I heard just about everywhere else. But I could have missed somepony --"

"-- much as you just barely managed to miss Shoeshine," Rarity snidely interrupted. "Seriously, dears: anypony else --"

But Twilight, who had started to go pale beneath her fur at Trixie's third word, felt her skin forfeit three vital degrees of heat.

"-- and that would have just about wrecked everything on the spot," the little alicorn exhaled. "If we were spotted by somepony from home..."

Trixie nodded. "And that fur dye isn't going to do much for somepony who knows what... Fluttershy?" Nopony corrected her, although Rarity's eyes indulged in a slow roll. "What Fluttershy usually looks like."

"Yes, yes," the designer half-snapped. "We clearly have to be careful. Certainly a friendly face from home is the last thing we need to find, especially when compared to the hostile one from which there is no apparent escape --"

"-- Rarity," was accompanied by the sound of Applejack's right forehoof slamming into the floor.

This was (somehow) ignored. "-- so can we please hear from somepony worth hearing from? Because quite frankly, given what happened this morning, it is something of a minor miracle that we've gotten this far without interruption. But perhaps Truedawn calms somewhat at night --"

Which was when they all heard the beat produced by hooves approaching the door.

Spike managed to abort the faceclaw just before the impact would have produced noise, then stalked into the kitchen.

There was a knock, and then the door opened. That was just how the community worked.

"I'm glad I caught you all in!" the pale blue unicorn stallion beamed. "Saves me some galloping around, doesn't it? Now I can just ask the entire group at once!"

"Hello, Tikr," Twilight wearily said, and just barely managed to force the smile onto the absolute end of it. "Is there a night project which needs some extra help?"

"No, no!" The head shake was quick, and the smile would have been warm if it wasn't for the fact that it was also constant. "But I was talking to a few ponies, and -- you were all doing your best to help today." Happily, "You worked with us, and that means a lot! But it can't always be work, right?"

Even Trixie, who barely knew the farmer, needed to make an effort not to look at Applejack.

"You worked with us," Tikr repeated. "And that means there's a reward after. We're having a summer outdoor concert series. Tonight's performance is going to starting up pretty soon. If we all leave in the next few minutes, we should get there in time to pick out a good listening spot. And I'm sure everypony in Truedawn would love it if you came!"

Concerts? Trixie had mentioned something about that on the previous night, and perhaps that was why the performer's ears had just gone flat against her skull. But Twilight...

"You are coming, aren't you?" Tikr eagerly asked. "It just wouldn't be the same without everypony there!"

We'd have to leave just about immediately. Which means we can only grab whatever food Applejack has in this house, and that won't be enough for everypony.

We're tired. From what everypony's said, we were all kept working.

But what we need...

"Can you give us a couple of minutes?" Twilight politely asked. "To talk it over."

"Of course!" the stallion readily agreed. Smiled, because he always did that. And then, just for variety, he kicked in 'stood there'. Which he had already been doing, but now he was making the condition persistent. Verging on perpetual, as multiple mares just looked at him...

"...oh," Tikr finally said. Followed by, with open confusion twisting his features, "Did you want me to wait outside while you did that?"

Rarity's accent clamped down on the single syllable.

"Yes."

"...okay..."

Tikr carefully stepped out. They all waited until they heard the door close.

"I am tired," Rarity softly snapped, "and I am hungry, and in the event that anypony requires a deeper glimpse into the current state of my psyche, I will discuss the dress shop. If the concerts are of the same quality as everything else here --"

"-- we're having trouble asking questions," Twilight carefully interrupted, "because nopony knows us."

"And yet I am not quite ready to offer the reality of that information to the masses," the designer firmly stated. "In case it happens to backfire. Drastically --"

If it had been somepony else who'd said the next words.
Anypony else.
With Applejack, there would have been some tension. A brief argument, but -- Rarity would have gone along with it. Pinkie? A weary nod, and then tired white legs would have forced their owner upright. Name any of the others, and perhaps something else might have happened on that night.

Because the world, as arranged by the actions of sapients, was made out of choices.

From the outside, the results could look random: it was rare to truly know anypony's full motivation regarding a given decision. Once you left thinking minds behind, you found those who didn't know enough to realize that choices were possible. But the consequences of each decision tended to bounce into each other. Moral Brownian motion.

If somepony else had said it.
Anypony else.
But that wasn't how it worked out.

Perhaps that's why it all happened. Remove a single aspect, and the rebounds change. Possibly everything would have changed.

One thing was different. One thing...

"-- I think," Trixie began at a carefully-modulated half-volume, "what Twilight means is --"

"-- and she moves to mind-reading," Rarity snorted. "Is there no end to her talents? If so, it would go nicely with 'no beginning' --"

"-- that we're not trusted enough to get real answers," the performer pushed on. "But we worked with them all day, and -- now they want us to play. Relax the way they do. It's not just hospitality: it's potentially one step closer to being accepted."

The designer was staring at the other unicorn. Unblinking. Unwavering.

"It's -- part of trying to make some friends," Trixie tried to finish.

Uncaring.

"And if we can do that..."

Twilight nodded. (Rarity's entire body twitched.)

"I was hoping to try for the shield border tonight," she admitted. "Try to figure out a way through the lockdown." And there had been tentative dreams of making an assault on the 'library', attempting to do maximum anti-damage through wielding a carefully-constructed checklist. On offense. "But we need an in with the locals, just as much as we need an out for the town. This probably isn't going to be a complete solution, to just attend the concert -- but it might be part of one. I think we should go." A little more quickly, "I'm going, at least. I could use some company --"

"I'll come," Trixie immediately said.

"-- but some of us are more tired than others, I'm sure," the librarian accelerated. "Rarity, if you just want to stay in, get some dinner and rest --"

"-- oh, no," the white unicorn pushed out between tightly-clenched teeth. "You are going to be among... foreign company, Twilight. I would much rather have your ears turned towards words you can trust." And glared around the room. "Which, in the name of making sure that the numerical odds are merely horrifically tilted against us, should clearly mean that we are all going. Correct?"

Perhaps caterwauling would have been easier to deal with. She'd asked Fluttershy about the yowling once, and the caretaker had explained why felines sometimes vocalized that way. So if it had been caterwauling, then at least Twilight would have known what the cat was trying to get out of it.

The concert, by contrast, was an absolute mystery.

It was easy to study the details. Plenty of lighting devices had been set up in the area. You had to see the travesty.

Rainbow said she had a motivational poster which read One Voice.
One voice would be an improvement.
...one voice and no instruments.
And a lot of sandpaper.
I could use some on the instruments. See how long it took to saw through the strings. Because hooves should not be plucking against those strings and if they are meant to be doing that, then maybe they shouldn't be hitting four at once.

The concert stage had been set up fairly close to the lakeshore. Some of the more cacophonous bursts of sound might have been producing ripples in the water: Twilight's assumption was that the majority had been created by fish who'd surfaced to find out what all the noise was about and, having gotten their answer, immediately submerged again in the hopes of escaping it.

Then again, water did have a way of distorting sound. Maybe the bottom of the lake was the only place from which anything could actually be enjoyed. Because when it came to Truedawn's idea of music...

Singing wasn't a universal skill for ponies. Chorusing came close: very few ponies could render a truly professional performance, but most had the capacity to recognize a note and, if their vocal capabilities allowed for the attempt, the ability to match it. Students might not always bother with memorizing lyrics, but standing at the back of the group and murmuring 'something something um something?' on key was relatively easy. Just about anypony could manage that, and it felt as if just about all of the living exceptions had decided to call themselves The Daybreakers and taken up a few instruments to go with it.

Oh... the instruments. Mastery... even with homemade pieces, that took skill. Perhaps especially for homemade pieces. Even those ponies who manifested marks for performance would mostly wind up with an enhanced instinct for how things were supposed to go: actually bringing their efforts to concert level would require practice. Dedication. But you didn't need years of careful study to finish a basic song: just knowledge of where all the notes were supposed to go and when each was triggered.

The five ponies who were currently the focus of Truedawn's attention seemed to be almost exactly as good at that as they were at construction, food preparation, and fashion design. There was some chance that they were at least slightly worse.

There had also been a few hesitant attempts at dance moves. The full-body garments weren't exactly helping.

And yet... there was an audience, at least a hundred and twenty ponies' worth. (For Trixie, it wasn't a personal one.) And they cheered the horrible performance, doing so as one. They stomped their applause as if they'd been trained to it. The band couldn't stay in sync with each other, but every hoof among the attendees was matching the welcoming beat...

The herd is the true unit. The purest expression of pony life.

Twilight had been experiencing strange thoughts during the performance. Her best guess was that her brain was trying to use words from within to block lyrics from without. It wasn't going very well.

And those within it are fungible.

Her own hooves itched. She wanted to stomp, to take up the beat. But the music was so bad...

...too many ponies. They were surrounded by the herd, and Twilight was fully aware that they weren't truly part of it. Fluttershy, because Kindness had some overlap with Generosity, was -- rocking her head back and forth. Basic politeness. But it was more than the others were managing.

Or I could at least try to smooth out the stage. Some of those splinters...
...those are practically stakes coming off the front arch.

Maybe it was a design decision.

Twilight was all too aware of her brain trying to distract itself, and the stage's many imperfections gave her an initial focus point for that. The crude arch which curved over the front of the poorly-nailed elevated platform had multiple hooks hanging off the side edges: the deliberate ones held extra instruments and stage equipment, while the accidental variety simply held Injury on reserve. Trying to stomp back at the audience on this stage was going to mean removing wood from the center of a frog.

Fluttershy was nodding along. The others...

Spike, hidden back at Applejack's -- Linchpin's assigned house, had effectively escaped. Twilight, who was the smallest mare in the group, had been graciously offered a place at the front of the audience: this gave her a perfect view for what was taking place on stage and, somewhat more to her immediate detriment, the full lack of benefit from the proximity acoustics. The others had wound up scattered among the audience -- with two exceptions.

Most of Applejack's strength was being used to keep orange ears aloft, and she kept running out. Pinkie was doing her best to look interested, but there were times when the wincing did its best to take over. The best thing which could be said about the concert for Rainbow was that it was keeping the weather coordinator awake.

Trixie...

...the first spotting had found an expression of quiet concentration on the performer's face: Twilight hadn't been sure if that was from an attempt to read the audience or simply a stoic means of surviving the concert. The second glimpse needed to push past purple curls.

Rarity had worked her way through the crowd. And once she was next to the other unicorn, she stayed there. It was possible to see her lips moving, and Twilight was doing her best to avoid guessing at too many of the words. She was sure that at least some vocalizations related to how they all could have been eating by now, or in bed, or in Rarity's ideal world, at least one of them would be back in Canterlot already. And as the subject would have been the designer's truest desires, in prison.

They're my friends.
They're both my friends and I don't know how to make them become friends with each other.
...maybe it's impossible...

Trixie kept trying to shift away. Rarity shifted right back. And the argument traveled through the crowd, which was just barely starting to notice. Perhaps some of the most sensitive had felt the chill coming off the interaction, even in summer -- but as Trixie had once said, it was cold everywhere.

Twilight risked looking up. The rain had been intermittent, but -- all that meant was that she had equally-sporadic glimpses of starlit rivulets moving across the shield. Nothing from the outside world ever fully reached the isolated bubble of Truedawn, and no sparks were coming from the cave.

I didn't get a chance to ask Pinkie about special kinds of quartz.
After the concert.

Starlight was in attendance -- sort of. The lilac unicorn wasn't in the central audience area. She stood by herself off to the right of the stage: a position which gave her a clear view while offering nothing to block the sound. And her ears were fully aloft, but -- her hooves didn't stomp. There was no cheering. It was as if she wasn't fully there and when it came to any mental ability which allowed blocking out the actual concert, Twilight was utterly jealous.

Spike keeps saying there's something wrong with her. So does Pinkie.
...well, her mark obviously isn't for conducting music. Any marked conductor would have made a break for the stage by now. And then, based on what happens in Canterlot concert halls when somepony makes a mistake on that last scale, would have started breaking everything else.

It also isn't a mark for appreciating music. Marks have limits.

Starlight didn't look tired, and Twilight was starting to wonder about that. When she considered the total weight of all the water which had been stacked up at the base of the tepui...

...if she could levitate all of that in one trip, then her field strength is way up the charts. Even multiple journeys along the trail would indicate a lot of physical endurance. And if she was capable of teleporting it up, then her mass limit...

Which, for any unicorn, would be lower for a teleport than a direct levitation -- but the theoretical feat suggested Starlight's raw power was very, very high.

What does she need the water for? Reactant? Stopping a reaction? Cooling something down...

Starlight didn't seem to be worn out, or weary, or even a little run down. Her expression didn't suggest much of anything. But to Twilight, something about the mare's posture came across as I Have Other Things To Do, But I Am Expected To Be Here And I Am Honoring Society's Obligations. Possibly because when it came to postures, Twilight knew that one by heart. From personal experience.

Back to Rarity and Trixie. The performer had tried to get away again, made it about four body lengths through the crowd. Rarity had just caught up, and now failing to look closely at the designer's lips was a last-second self-defense attempt to avoid picking up some fresh vocabulary.

She's angry.
Spike said she's been angry since she first knew Trixie had been pulled with us.
It's my fault.
I can't fix this...

Trixie tried to move. Rarity followed. Twilight wrenched her attention towards the stage, where the lead mistake-maker had just made the error of trying to turn a half-rendered cello into the fulcrum point for a dance move. Three strings twanged out the closest equivalent to a quarter-note they would ever know, and the earth pony's body twirled towards the front arch --

-- the stallion stumbled.

An imperfection in the stage: one hoof landing in just the wrong spot. Not having practiced enough, or being particularly poor at dancing. (Twilight felt fully qualified to judge lack of skill there, especially by direct comparison.) A muscle twitch, or a simple miscalculation. There were any number of reasons for the stallion to have stumbled.

All which truly mattered was the results.

His right flank hit the arch.

He might have caught an empty hook. Or one of the largest splinters, which served as a newborn stake. But whichever it was, the point went into the fabric of his overalls at exactly the place where two panels had been poorly stitched together.

Momentum kept it going. Loops of thread were sundered. Everything proceeded along the tear line, the lower freed panel sagged down, and the point pushed into fur and skin. Cut a trail of flowing red, all of which simply soaked into the exposed area.

With a normal pony, a portion of the blood would have instantly evaporated from the injured area. In terms of voluntary coverage, only clothing could freely conceal those patterned strands. Nothing else.

But there was nothing left to conceal.

The cellist stopped moving. A bleeding, bare, hue-dulled plain right hip was fully exposed to the night.

The concert stopped.

Nopony in the audience stomped. None spoke. Echoes faded, and silence failed to close in.

Twilight heard Fluttershy's gasp. The sudden choking sound which represented Applejack trying to fight back vomit, Pinkie's half-sob, Rainbow's head jerking all the way up. There was half a syllable from Rarity: an insult which had just been getting started, quickly transmuted into the very start of an instinctive, unstoppable scream.

The little mare didn't have time for her own reaction, barely noticed the tide of bile forcing itself against the back of her throat. Her friends were in distress, she had to choose which one to help first and Fluttershy was the closest, the scent of fresh blood was starting to spread and there was a chance for the entire herd to break --

-- but then somepony moved.

The light blue form rushed the stage, jumped towards her most natural home, spun in midair, shifted hoof planting to avoid every splinter and landed facing to the right. A streaked tail lashed once: the mane responded to the impact by thoroughly disorganizing itself. And the lilac unicorn, whose reaction to the exposure had been fully missed (if that had been any reaction at all)... watched the mare who was now looking directly at her. Waited.

The audience and musicians had all frozen in place. Six mares couldn't react in time. One didn't visibly respond. The last spoke.

"You're trying to get rid of marks," Trixie Lulamoon declared. "Mine is for innovation. Would you like to know how to do it better?"