Boundary Point

Twilight kept staring at the stage of the performance room as the other attendees packed up or filed out. Many of the mares were whispering and giggling to each other as the naked and exhausted human lifted his companion back on all four hooves by gently encompassing her sternum with both hands. The mare on stage looked up at her partner and, with an exhausted nod, both parties left the mess they made on stage and nearly stumbled back behind the curtain.

Finally, Twilight blinked and looked down at her notes, noticing that her poorly sketched out naked human was incomplete. Gulping, she closed her eyes. The pencil casually lifted up and sketched for a few moments before she placed it down. She looked at her work: she had missed the sheet entirely and had finished her drawing atop the table.

Shaking her head, she quickly flipped the pencil over and worked the table top. Covering her work in a smear of graphite and eraser waste, butterflies awoke in her before she sharply bit her lower lip and closed her notebook. Moving her supplies to her saddlebag, she was halfway through when she noticed that for maybe the first time in her life; she had stuffed her belongings rather than carefully organizing and storing them.

Closing her eyes once more, she breathed in and out and carefully slowed herself down. In and out. In. And out. Many of the butterflies had calmed down, and her own sense of urgency dissipated. Opening her eyes, she carefully extracted the items she had stuffed into her saddlebag and carefully ordered them. Maximizing room by fitting each notebook, each pencil, each sheet of looseleaf paper like a block in a jenga tower. Finally, her bag was ordered, like all things should be.

Getting up, she carefully lifted the saddlebag and bore its weight, her rear legs buckling for a strange moment before she righted herself. Twilight took another look at the stage before making the long trek out of the performance annex.

Opening the door with her magic, the smell of fresh pages wafted as she noticed that there were still several mares, each in islands of three or four, whispering amongst themselves in the hall.

“Did you see how long they lasted?”

“Stiff as a rock…”

“She was so exhausted at the end.”

Twilight kept her head down as she maneuvered with as much grace as she could muster. She avoided getting too close to any group, finally reaching the end and returning to a normal, but paced walk. She finally caught wind of the library’s vanilla scent as the cool air rushed past her, tussling her mane slightly.

Many thoughts sprang throughout the mare’s mind: Were the books I got still at the desk in the stacks? Maybe I should quickly find a table and take any notes I remember. Did I make a mess?

The last line of thought struck her in the side like a spear from the Royal Guard. Quickly glancing around, she saw the sign for the restrooms in giant impact font and picked up the pace. Opening the door, three mares of different colors and tribes were immediately leaving, all giggling with one another as Twilight squeezed past them. The bright white and tan modernist design of the lavatory echoed with the clicks of hooves from other patrons as Twilight took stock of her location.

She saw that one stall was open and galloped to it, slamming the door with a burst of magic and setting the chain lock that was dangling inside of it. Dropping the saddlebag with haste, she quickly examined her tail. Lifting it up with her force of will, she turned it over and over to examine it in private. Her magic revealed to her portions of her skirt at a time as she let gravity show her any parts that were stuck together. She flinched as she worked through it section by section until…

Dry.

The beleaguered mare let out a sigh, and took the opportunity to examine the rest of herself in order to ensure that there happened to be no other hidden surprises. Satisfied her body maintained discipline during the lecture, she once again levitated the saddlebag and returned it to its original location on her back. Delicately, she undid the lock and left the restroom.

“I need a rutting drink,” Twilight whispered to herself as she trudged through the exit to the bathroom and back into the greater library area. Leaving the long hallway and back into the giant open room with the library desk, she saw the Griffin who had helped her still at work, still sorting cards with his claws. Keeping her head low, she immediately turned to leave the area and entered ‌the main atrium, where the café awaited her.

Getting in line once again, she quickly pulled out the bit purse out of her saddlebag and saw that there would be no double mocha frappuccino for her this time. Snorting, Twilight took her place in line and looked up at the ceiling decorated in fancy bauble lights as she closed her eyes.

Xavier groaned as the rudimentary light and magnifying fixture used to display the contents of microfilm cranked and geared. Beside him and from across from him, the help that he had enlisted said nothing as they too were parsing through photographs of ancient documents whose origins were dubious. He moved onto the next listing, an ancient spreadsheet of awful figures revealed itself. At a glance, he could see that it was the tithes owed to the kingdom from a small trading town outside of Canterlot. 50 bushels of apples, twenty-nine units of something called ‘wraps’ of barley, seventeen crates of wool. At the bottom, a complaint that the Pegasi assigned to the town hadn’t mustered enough rainfall this season for growing enough food for them to survive on.

If you do not get us competent weather makers in the next four moons, I can guarantee you that the offerings that we so humbly offer The Office of the Sun will have diminished, and I fear that those working the fields along with it. This is not a threat, Ministress of the Interior, it is the simple fact that even with our earthen powers, water makes the harvests. It would be, perhaps, best to

The document cut off. Cranking to the next slide, the machine spat out a red light, showing that he had reached the end of that filmstrip.

Grunting and rolling his eyes, Xavier pressed down on a small silvery plate on the floor with his shoe, prompting the film to expose itself from the machine and start to self-rewind. Soon, the gear spat out the ceramic container where the film lay safely. Placing it back into the giant wooden storage box, he lifted an adjacent one, and carefully placed it within the machine’s port. Angling it at the only opening so that a mechanical hook could reach, he slowly closed the port and watched as a delicate wire in a hook shape inserted itself into the container and drag out the film. Tapping his foot on the silver plate again, the machine fell back into itself; the film exposed briefly to external air before the machine engorged it and its contents flickered.

An order for caskets to be delivered to Folaedo.
A request for Baroness Rosemary to visit a town called Hoofberg.
A royal decree to Masaka Abbey to dismantle all monuments to Princess Luna.

One document popped up after another, each one not hinting at one iota of bardic malfeasance.

Xavier got up and stretched as he said, “I’ll be back in five,” before pressing a plate to turn off the light source within the mechanism.

The other two said nothing as they were still staring at their respective microfilm readers, allowing Xavier to wander away without objection. The scent of stale air hung as the quiet song that was the archives reverberated around him. He crossed the carpeted floor of tan, examining the archives in full. He soon came across a large section of long, thin cylinders. Each one demarcated by the Tome Organizational Apparatus System. Xavier tilted his head as he grabbed a tube, approached a table and opened it to look at its contents. A topographical map of a large island east of the main continent showed its elevation, with carefully drawn lines with small numbers next to them.

Xavier looked left and right before taking his left glove off and unbinding his wrappings. He closed his eyes and quickly, he put his hand atop the smooth chart and took in its sensation. He could feel the slight crisscross of tiny threads that made up both its longitudes and latitudes. Lifting the back of it, he could feel a much smoother, more leathery texture, that was cool, almost like the back of a pillow. He placed both sides of the map between his thumb and index finger, rubbing it to the point that friction’s heat pierced flesh before he stopped. Wrapping the map back up, he returned the map to its cylinder and returned it from whence it came.

Blinking, he began a new search in the map aisle, finally arriving at a cylinder at the top of the rack. Jumping once or twice, he finally was able to grab it and pull it down. Wandering to a large table, he opened it up and unfurled its contents. It was several maps of the University. The first two at the top showed the primary and secondary campuses, their buildings and walkways. However, after that were maps of maintenance tunnels and their access locations. Xavier looked behind him. Checking side to side, he took a breath in before he started absorbing the document. Soon the map betrayed it was just a part of a much larger system that connected Manehatten.

“A place to make sure the help was neither seen nor heard,” Xavier muttered.

Mentally keeping a list of relevant entrances on campus, Xavier rolled up the map and slid it back into its cylinder and left it on the table. Making another check of his surroundings, he casually strolled away, as if he had never seen that cylinder in his life.

Soon, he came across another section filled with magazines of all kinds. Magic monthly, The Jet Stream, and one simply called Agriculture, each of them with simple black and white illustrations, like looking at a catalog from a century before. Opening up Magic Monthly, he turned to a section where horn ointment was being advertised as the way to get one’s magic to the next level. Another was a plain advertisement showing a mare using magic to turn the head of a stallion while two other mares were in the background. They whispered in agitation to each other, presumably about the confident mare front and center.

Show the other unicorns why you’re lead mare with Prof. Ley Line’s magic booster program. For only 15 minutes a day, I can make you a new mare! What’s my secret? When you look into the mirror -

Xavier chuckled as he put the magazine back and continued walking down the vacant rows. Letting out one last grunt as he stretched, he began the journey back to the microfilm display and froze for a second. A slight tug in the back of his mind was pulling him to look upward. He slowly looked up, and stared for a second. There was only the beige ceiling, unmoving and apathetic. He shook his head as he lowered his gaze and only saw the stairs leading up. Looking around, there was no one around, save perhaps motes of dust in the air. Narrowing his eyes, he slowly lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs, pulling his arms towards his lap, he closed his eyes and cleared his mind. The tugging was still present, he could feel it in his arms, his shoulders, his chest. Almost like fishing wire trying to drag him to his feet and through the roof.

He stayed with the feeling for a few minutes, gently feeling it out with his mind until slowly the sensation dissipated. Soon, any urge to go anywhere had faded, and he opened his eyes. Looking straight ahead, he caught sight of the long slender form of a tan Saddle Arabian staring at him from the end of the row. Their eyes caught one another and for a moment, neither moved. The Saddle Arabian who had caught Xavier in a crisscrossing position on the floor then slowly turned and walked away.

“Awkward…” Xavier said, slowly pushing against the floor to return to a standing position. Gazing around the vast, unoccupied rows of the archive, the human dust himself off and began the short trek back to Professor Quill.

“There you are!” Quill exhaled at the display, his tail flicking slightly as Brisk looked up from right behind him.

“Did I miss something?” Xavier said, pulling his hands from his pockets.

“Possibly, have a look…” Brisk raised her right foreleg towards the display, where Xavier bent down and examined the contents:

The year 869 of the Fourth age

Here follows the account of the Duchess Goldhorn, Princess of the Northlands and the breaking of the Pact.

It has come to this, my only begotten colt, claimed, by way of Soul Aria, by a Mare of lowbirth. And an Earthen one at that. For this, our lands of the North shall burn. I have attempted to send messenger to the Dame of the Wastes. However, my spies tell me that she was slaughtered on sight. Time is precious, though with a great pain I have ordered the arrest of the Mare of the Pâtisserie. My hope is that surrendering her to the Dame might be enough to cease this conflict, but I am in deep doubt. I have sent out the order to mares in each town under my domain to assemble their militias and wait for word. What would have secured peace for generations has now twisted into a monster of war. Grogar himself is eyeing my ponies I fear and through Soul Aria, has exposed the softs of our hooves. I have ordered my court magician to find me everything she can on Soul Aria, and how such a simple creature could cast it.

From her findings, it seems that anypony with a heart of love in it and sincere intent can cast it. This troubles me, as the spell seems ignorant of status, species, and situation. I asked my magician if it was possible that even a Griffin might be able to cast, and she seemed sure it was possible given its melodic nature. From their research, it comes from the first days where ponies would ask for the Goddess herself to lend them aid in their search. What if something like this happens again or worse? The magician went on to explain other miraculous properties of Soul Aria, such as the sharing of dreams, the long call and the moment. With these in mind, we must set up a counter strategy in order to ensure my future progeny will never be caught off guard by such ill-consideration from the peasantry ever again. High Marshall Hardhoof has proposed that in or-

The document cut off, Xavier looked at the other two, who themselves were still absorbed in the testimony before them.

“Soul Aria?” Xavier rubbed his chin.

“Something’s familiar about this…” Brisk said, raising her foreleg to her chin.

“What even is half the stuff? ‘Sharing of dreams’? ‘The Moment’?” Quill muttered as his lower lip pushed his upper lip up.

“Sharing of dreams is obvious, but the other two, it may or may not be good or bad. If it’s the latter, we may be on track.” Brisk said as she fluttered her wings for just a snap, “Though I’ve never heard of the term Soul Aria before.”

“It’s at least something,” Quill said as he pinched his lips.

Brisk turn to Xavier and with a flicker of her eyes, called down his attention, “You have to realize Xavier, bardic magic wasn’t well studied until at least fifty years ago. And even then, The Shift has changed many aspects of it. For one thing, Spontaneous Harmony doesn’t happen anymore.”

“Spontaneous Harmony?”

“When an entire group of beings joins in, almost as if compelled to. Imagine a Pegasus who is nervous about applying to the Wonderbolts, if she were sufficiently anxious and in tune with that anxiety, she might begin to sing. And it’s infectious. Those around her will sing with her too,” Brisk nodded.

“Wait so, you could be tending to your garden and all of a sudden find that you’re singing about overcoming your nervousness about joining the Wonderbolts? That sounds slightly horrifying,” Xavier scratched his nose.

“It was just a fact of life here. I mean, in some places it wasn’t uncommon to find yourself singing about somepony else’s problem at least once a week. In some places, it was seen as a sign of good luck that your musical chops were called on to help a pony in need,” Brisk gave a solidified nod towards the human.

“I know a few things about bardic magic, in fact, that was the first thing we gained a handle on when we set foot in Equestria,” Xavier snorted.

“Oh?”

“Funny story about that, our initial forward camps are made to be built in roughly 4 hours if memory serves. It’s near impossible to do any better than that, even if everyone is in sync. However, at one particular camp, the NCO had the bright idea of having he and his men sing a sea shanty. ‘The High Coasts of Barbary’ if I’m not mistaken. Point is, what should have taken four hours to set up was accomplished in one.” Xavier answered.

“Oh my, after this, you’re coming by my office.” The mare gave a smile towards the human, “I think that’s worthy of a paper right in of itself.”

“At first we thought it was the placebo effect, but cutting your work time down by three quarters? We began experimentation immediately. We discovered that even mumbling to oneself a ditty improved performance, and in of itself the song didn’t matter. It’s what the song made the singer feel that was indicative of performance,” Xavier scratched his chin.

“A joke amongst the bardic research groups was that the only thing that changed with The Shift was that you were expected to be an adult now and sing for yourself,” Brisk let out a quick chuckle as her tail gave a slight swish.

“Let me ask you something Doctor,” Xavier wrinkled his nose, looking at Brisk with a raised eye. “If I were to sing a song while fighting an enemy, and they were to hear the song, how would they be affected?”

“Well, as you’ve already figured out, it depends on how your singing affects them. If you’re singing a song about how you were going to win and they’re going to lose, and they feel it? It’s going to play a role, that’s for sure,” Brisk nodded her head up and down. “But if they just don’t care or even draw strength from that song? You could end up inadvertently helping them. In fact, there was a minor league Buckball game that allowed singing a few months ago. Apparently, because one team drew a different conclusion from the song the other team sung, they were able to win. In fact, I think I’m going to get footage from that game in a few days, so if you’re still around… It’s just too bad that it’s a silent film.” Brisk eyed Xavier and let out a sigh, “If only your technology worked here, then they could’ve recorded the sound, and I’d be able to actually listen in on what happened.”

“There wasn’t a record recorder there?” Quill asked.

“Eh,” Brisk shrugged. “Those things are only at major games and the fidelity is not as sharp as human tech can achieve. So even if I had a recording, there would’ve been a significant chance that the cheers of the crowd would have drowned out anything of use.”

“So it’s reading lips is it?” Xavier chuckled.

“You say that like it’s a joke. But I’ve gotten pretty good at figuring out what song is being sung from just a few seconds of footage,” Brisk winked at Xavier.

“Just a heads up, I can’t stay here forever,” Quill chimed in. “I got the foals to pick up in an hour, so if we could get back to it…”

“Wait, are you going to have to leave campus for that?”

“No, no, all three of them are at the University’s pedagogical campus,” Quill answered. “In exchange for an excellent primary education on campus, our college of teaching gets to observe and occasionally do ethical experiments like ‘which of these two glasses has more chocolate milk’. Or the ever classic ‘I’m going to leave you alone with a cookie for five minutes, if you can leave it alone, you get another one’ thing.”

“Lucky,” Xavier trailed off. “When I was in elementary school, they gave me a sharpened pencil and the objective to survive.”

Brisk snorted as a smile flickered into existence, “Was it some kind of brutal graduate school?”

“Nope. Where I come from, schooling is mandatory for the first 13 years, 14 if you count pre-K. Throw in a bunch of parents that don’t care and teachers that can’t do anything, and it becomes the lunatics running the asylum,” Xavier answered. “Truth be told, counting pre-K, you need a grand total of at least 18 years of school in order to ensure that you’re employable. But the last four years aren’t mandatory and many humans take longer to finish that period of education.” Xavier froze for a second before looking back down at Brisk, “And that’s ignoring those who find success outside of school, but the 13 years are nearly mandatory unless you’re good enough at something to get others to ignore that blotch on your resume.”

“Interesting, schooling for us is mandatory only up until the 5th year, but every tribe is different.” Brisk tilted her head, her mane shifting sides, “Correct me if I’m wrong Quill, but education is compulsory only for the first five years for earth ponies, while us Pegasi have five years plus three for reservists training. Unicorns, meanwhile, if I recall, have eight years. Of course, all of us can choose to continue on, with our particular specialties into highly specialized training. But being forced to go to school for over a decade?” Brisk shook her head, “It’s hard to imagine.”

Quill spoke up as his ears angled behind him, “Don’t forget Brisk, it’s sometimes up to the family and pony in question. Bluegrass, my son who’s a Unicorn and his mother sent him to Vanhoover where he did his 8 years, but I also have a pegasus daughter who did five right alongside her Earth Pony siblings because it was just convenient. And she never did reservist training. That said, in some places it’s starting to change. Bluegrass is in Las Pegasus right now, and he told me that they are modeling their school system based on humans.”

“Oh no,” Xavier pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better Xavier, they are doing a slow rollout. Eight years for all tribes initially, with the other five years free, though if what you said about lunatics running the asylum is to be believed…” Quill grimaced, “I find you humans deeply interesting, but a lot of your communal traditions seem to stem from past inertia rather than the needs of the now.”

“Question,” Brisk interposed with a raised eye. “If your kind stays in school for that long, how does your kind deal with puberty during this stage? I mean, how do you keep your stallions, sorry, males safe from the hooves of,” Brisk paused as she looked up for a moment. “Mar-, sorry, females who are ready and raring to go?”

Xavier narrowed his eyes and looked left as his lips stretched, “We don’t.” A pause emanated between the three before Xavier spoke up again, “It can be argued it’s part of our education. But at the same time, there are no teachers to really guide us besides the material we find for ourselves. And just a heads up, both sexes are usually at each other’s throats or genitals, but given our 50/50 split, it’s our females that we endeavor to ‘keep safe’.”

Brisk’s mouth was agape before she shook her head and continued, “Wait, sex education isn’t mandatory?” Xavier fell quiet as Quill looked up and saw that Xavier was rubbing the back of his head. Brisk looked at the human, before asking, “Everything okay?”

“You’ll have to forgive him Brisk,” Quill stated, getting up and placing himself between the human and mare. “Sex is generally a taboo topic for his kind with strangers.”

“Yeah, sorry. I just don’t know what to say that doesn’t make it feel awkward for me,” Xavier spoke up.

“Ah, apologies…” Brisk gave a nod to Xavier.

A silence fell over the three as they shifted about. Xavier looked away from the other two as Quill coughed out and began.

“Look, I’m getting hungry,” Quill said back and forth between the two. “Xavier, if you’ll join me upstairs, I’ll quickly grab some chips from the vending machines across from the café.”

“Making sure I don’t stray too far?” Xavier chuckled.

“You know me,” Quill said, checking his saddlebag. “Last thing I want to have happen for you is for Jade to nip us both in the ankles for losing you.”