Fallout Equestria: Burdens

Chapter 6- Formality

“We are all friends here…”

‘There will be some who will want to see it, to take advantage of it. Show it to the ones who matter, and they will be your rock…’

I can’t remember who told me that, but when I hear it it’s always in a mare’s voice. I can’t put it down, no matter how hard I try. It won’t let me go like gum in my mane, and the more time passes the more irritating it becomes.

One thing after another— a growing itch in my wing demands my attention. It thinks I’m not moving fast enough and erupts into a sharp burning. Sitting upright from my bed, I unfurl the wing to see what’s causing it. ‘Feather mites’ pops into my head, but the room is too dim to see clearly. The glowbulb, whimsical and bouncy, reads my mind and gives me the light I need.

Strange as it is… is it weird to thank a sentient light bulb? Is it even sentient? Can it be considered sentien—FUCK!

The sparking in my wing is now a raging wildfire. My hoof swipes across the feathers as if there really was a fire to put out. The feeling condenses afterwards, and I’m able to find the discomfort in the obvious holes in the wing’s pattern. Where feathers are supposed to be is instead speckled with little white bodies, and the thought of feather mites feels substantiated. In a blink their little white bodies are far longer than just specs.

Not mites. Not by a longshot…

Every one of them crumbles and peels at the slightest touch, leaving behind waxy flakes and dark, flush vanes underneath.

‘Cabin fever’; ‘insomnia’; ‘monotony;’ All the words coming to me, wanting to sound like the reason I suddenly have pin feathers within a… day of being here? It should take a month, at least— none of it feels right…

The door opens and floods the room with amber light. The glowbulb zooms over, dancing around the unicorn mare just on the other side. Despite the whimsical little thing’s effort, it does little to soften her abrasive glare. If anything, Wildcat’s expression is so rough it hurts to look at.

My attention snaps to something landing on the endboard of the bed. It’s some kinda sleeveless tunic, along with some other articles— like a scarf that’s way too long to be practical, and some kinda… corset? A corset?

“Get dressed. We’re leaving in five.”

“Where?” My eyes can’t look away from the damned corset of all things.

“Don’t get too excited— you’re not outta the desert yet. Hurry up.”

“Didn’t think I was,” and I’d oblige if the dress wasn’t so strange to put on. Even with the loose undershirt provided, the corset holds my breath like one wrong assumption, spoken or otherwise, would snap me in two. It still pinches at places, and some let a cold creep under my skin to have me freeze in place. Her words…

“I’ll be good… I promise.”

“You better, pegasus.” The sharpness in her words make me wince, but as I look at her I’m reminded she’s not the mare I’m thinking about. She’s not her…

I throw the last piece of the outfit on, shaking my head as those last words bounce slowly in my skull. “Who is this all for?”

“Who do you think?” She asks. “The Matriarch wanted to see you specifically.”

* * * * * *

‘Saan-Al’Kima…’ The Matriarch of Grand Aridia… ‘Mother Aridian.’ The weight of those titles and codename loom over me more than the ambient shadows through the hollow halls and rock-carved staircases. More threatening than Wildcat’s rifle; sharper than her tongue; more ever present than the sand under our hooves.

I know why she wants to talk to me. Why is every step in the sand louder, crunchier, and more drawn out than the last?

“You’re here.”

I stop and turn to Wildcat as she says that. She pulls the rifle’s barrel up in her magic, and flicks her head. Looking back, there’s nothing but a white tarp or something acting like one in the way. There’s the slightest breeze brushing through the smallest hairs at the tips of my ears going towards it, “A door?”

“Quite the detective,” My ears catch a small rattle behind me. I look, and it’s her gun having shifted— resting across her front. She says nothing and only stares on, looking bored and irritated; waiting.

Right…

“Like I said: Don’ keep the Matriarch waiting.” She warns.

I know, but hesitation tries to root my hooves deeper and deeper with each step taking me closer. It’s like wandering up a flight of stairs in the dark.

I take a deep breath, reach a hoof out, and slide through the tarp. On the other side is a room bathed in a homey, orange glow from many candles sitting in several little niches along the walls.

Something slumps behind me; a grinding sound kills the breeze going through me. I don’t need to look to know the way is closed— what else would it have been? Acknowledging it still does not stop me from lifting the tarp to check for myself.

All that stares back is a blank wall where there was once a hole. My hooves, searching for a defining edge to dig into and pull, don’t find anything that tells me a way in was ever here. I can’t shake the feeling, and it squirms in my gut. Unicorn magic?

The amber light flickers with a cool rush from behind. My wings clamp closer to my sides, and the instinctive need to lower my head creeps up on me. Too sharp for an errant breeze…

My ears search with my eyes as every feather stands on end with my mane hairs. The shadows bending in the light of the candles don’t feel right, and neither does the space in this room. I bite my tongue ever so slightly, holding the urge to call out for whatever’s here with me hostage.

No sudden breeze disruption; no crunch in the sand underhoof; not a candle out. Where are ya?

There…

In the archway ahead of me is where the hair raises highest on my neck. It’s too dark to see, but I know it’s there. The temptation to call it out strains, but I clamp my tongue a little tighter.

It steps out seamlessly into the amber light, bowing, curling a veiled hoof around the center of its chest with their frog angled right at me. “Kalsha-haam,” It– she– speaks in that native tongue, “Welcome, honored guest of our Dear Mother.”

A glowbulb flies over her shoulder into the room and outshines the candles. Towering, long eared; veiled in delicate-looking cloth from head to hoof; deep indigo eyes covered with an interesting half-mask; scales along the bridge of her nose, and fangs just barely jutting out from her upper lip. Even in this light, those slitted eyes carry a glow— like soft shining gems. I never thought I’d see one of them this close… A real Aridian native…

“Shem-ah.” She says.

I don’t…

She turns and gestures, “Follow.”

Is that what that was? “Yeah.”

I do as she says, following as close as I can but out of reach from that serpentine-like tail. I don’t want the rumors of their prehensility and strength to be found out first hoof.

The short walk is tight, but then the hallway takes a deep breath, turning into the largest atrium I’ve ever seen. The both of us cross a soft rolling sea of glittering gold dunes. Far to the left is something like a chair carved from the largest gold veins spewing from the rock; above us are thousands of bright, twinkling yellow stars that dance and bob across a dark carpet in the ceiling. Something about all of it— all of this— makes me want to get on my knees and let the radiance carry my mind into its radiance. All I do is trip and quickly regain composure.

My ears begin to twitch to an ambient hymn. It’s getting louder, clearer, but that doesn’t do much to tell me what the singer is saying. It’s just voice-noise making long notes— no real way to describe it completely. Harmonic nonsense? Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s terrible. It’s strangely beautiful to hear.

We draw closer; the hymn gets louder and comes from a hole in the wall in front of us. I follow my escort in, and find myself in an oval room where there are more Aridians dressed in silk and half-masks; all of them stand around while one sings the melody in the air.

“It is said that music can open the soul; that the sounds we make are reminiscent of the very thing that binds all of us to the very nature of things. You do not need words to know what the melody says, because it is the unspoken language of our beginnings.”

I know I heard words. A mare’s voice, but it’s different— different from how others' words calm. I’m not just understanding them, but feeling them on a level I can’t put words to.

I look to the left of the room— to where those words and more are coming from, to see two Aridians, standing like mountains, gilded in brilliant white that constantly shimmers. They each wield what I can’t tell is a staff that’s a blade in itself, or just very large— very skinny— curved weapons that bend forward like fangs. Their eyes glow a haunting, piercing yellow.

Between them, I feel all of Aridia; the gaze of a blazing sun piercing through a delicate violet veil, making me feel exposed, isolated, but warm all around; a presence that can sap my strength, but will give it back with sincerity and security…

“Welcome, Ward. My honored guest.” She speaks; Aridia speaks from a veiled, hooded face and an elegant metal mask. The Matriarch of Grand Aridia.

The air in the room’s getting harder to breathe. It can’t be just the intensity of this mare’s presence. I look around and everyone in the room stares at me; the mare that has been singing even stops. Missing something…

Those two words keep echoing in my head. The more I hear them, the thicker and heavier the air gets— the more my knees want to give out.

Missing something… Damn it, what?!

Something in my mind prompts: the gesture my escort made. It clicks, instantly.

I kneel, using one forehoof to do that gesture— curling it under and around my chest; then I lower my gaze and keep my mouth shut.

She makes a noise that makes me flinch; it sounds aggressive, bringing the thought of a military command to mind. I stay unmoving, phantom blades at my neck. “My dear Ward, you almost have it right.”

The fact is dense and weighing on my stomach…What did I do wrong?

I look up to see her doing the hoof-curling gesture I’m trying to do and compare it to mine. I see it just as she explains it, “Always have the frog of your hoof faced outward. It shows you have nothing to hide from those who address or whom you will address.”

I adjust my hoof immediately, and the still metallic face nods. My posture relaxes and unravels, and the music comes back to the room.

“Please, do not starve yourself from breathing. There is no need to hold yourself hostage.” The tone in her voice is beyond gentle. It’s like having my mane stroked, absent of looming threat. Why isn’t it there?

From her simple filigree-ornamented robes, a black bandage wrapped hoof and golden shoe stretch out towards the other end of the table, to an empty pillow nestled in the sand.

* * * * * *

The table is so low to the ground, and the food brought out… there’s so much of it on such small plates.

On the Matriarch’s end, everything is earthen and red. Freshly baked grain; flattened breads; mysterious red stews and pastes that leave a faint, but noticeable metallic tang in the back of my throat.

All the shades of brown are speckled with dark charing and even more red, oily glazes— some of the meat plump, while others are dry and look like hard sheets of leather. Goblets made of clay are filled with a deep ruby drink. Blood fills my imagination. The desert takes the weak…

Here on my side is the oasis. Everything is a healthy shade of green, and my cup is full of water. Fruit sits in bundles, glittering from moisture like jewels…there is more than I could ever have. On my plate is a flower made of green leaves. Every one of the arranged petals looks so crisp— lively and bouncy instead of dark, soggy, and wilted like I’m used to seeing. At the very center is a vibrant mound of what looks like cubed fruits and vegetables with more shredded greens mixed in.

My stomach gnaws much harder than I’m comfortable with. I keep myself from lurching, but now my sense of smell focuses on the lush greens still sitting on my plate. It’s so fragrant; it’s got a pungent, soapy, cool— kind of sweet and citric smell that fattens my tongue and makes salivating hurt.

…Is it my turn?

“What stays you, dear Ward?”

Looking over to the Matriarch, her hoof is over her muzzle. The food on her side of the table looks like it’s just been disturbed, and the mares around her are refilling the goblet from before.

“You hardly touched what is yours to have,” She says. “Is something the matter?”

It’s mine to have… “I… Mine to have? I can eat it… now?”

She nods, “You do not need to ask, or wait for me to have mine. You are my honored guest. At this table, we are equals.”

Is it for real? Is it a test? A tease? No pecking order or hidden meanings behind her words? My stomach gnarls, again. Thoughts of what this beautiful serving must taste like wipe away the apprehension creeping from memories, and urge me to reach for a first bite.

I slowly take a piece of it, stopping when anticipation bites at me from the back of my mind and looking at the Matriarch. She waits, nods at me. I take it in; explosions of mute flavor come alive the more I chew.

I can taste… The shock doesn’t have time to settle, and the worry is buried under the little pain in my mouth and a gladdening heart that pushes a haze into my vision. Every bite is so much more lively than the last; so fresh, cool, and crispy; every fruit and vegetable has its own personality that shines and mingles with one another perfectly. The water is so clean, and I feel even better with every swig and gulp.

“I have never seen such ravenous eating habits.” The Matriarch says, “It only makes me wonder of the quality of food your kin must subsist on.”

Night and day… “Yes, ma’am. Thank ya, ma’am.” Something about the last thing she said stirs in my head a little. “If I may—”

“You do not need to ask permission for any subject discussed at this table, dear Ward,” She calmly informs. “You are my honored guest, and as such you are allowed to speak freely with me.”

I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…

She lifts her chin and gently points to one of the bowls of fruit, “Everything you see— everything on this very table has been grown and reared organically; our fruit and vegetables in our communal gardens and still-greeneries, and livestock grown and graze in pasture by our Zarinn.”

Sharr… Shaaryn…

Everything on my side of the table does feel and taste alive compared to everything we have back at the bunker. The whole fruits are plump, glossy, and juicy as opposed to being small, shriveled, hard-skinned, and tasteless.

To think a tree that thrives in the desert can grow better fruit than the trees made to grow on clouds… To think that they’re not raisins growing on trees like ours… “You grew these… ma’am?”

She puts a hoof to her gorget, and ‘flattery’ comes to mind, “Every Aridian knows the importance of communal-sufficiency. While one grows for themself, they must also be sure to have more for others. Aridia first, above themselves. Does the Enclave share such a mentality about themselves, dear Ward?”

“I’m sorry… ma’am. That doesn’t— I don’t think that answers my question.”

“Aridia did,” she says. “We grew them on promises, family, and hard work. The desert is my domain, and my kin can turn its harshest wastes into what we need of it. The fruit you eat is proof of our achievement; of our bonds and the strength in those very bonds.”

‘Family’; ‘promises’; ‘kin’; those words stir in my head, and I start to remember, letting the words slip, “We… used to be taught to think of the Enclave as a “flock.” Sometimes it’s that, and sometimes it’s a machine allegory, but it’s always the same: “Do not disappoint the Enclave. Do not disappoint your family…” Ma’am.”

“I see. Is it something said to the entirety of the Enclave, or is it— perchance— a statement that is told to you, specifically?”

My ear flicks at that question while my mind draws those words towards every moment the nag looks at me as she says that. Every nerve in my body trembles with the recollection; the memory of those icy blue eyes are still so cold. “I try not to see it that way… ma’am.”

“How so?”

“It’s what needed to stay with me— what was welded and burned into all of our brains— all of us who started our service. It’s what would make us good soldiers, according to her.”

“To your general, yes?”

I take a deep breath, looking away and nodding.

“Do you see yourself as a good soldier, dear Ward?”

I feel things building up in my chest that burn hot and cold at the same time, “I don’t understand… ma’am.”

“Do you love your kin? Do you love your general?”

My eyes remain low, but my chin pulls back around.

“You are her son, are you not?”

“That’s just a formality—” I clamp a hoof over my mouth. Taking deep breaths, I try clearing my mind. More than anything, I want to hide. “I’m sorry, ma’am— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say that— I’m sorry.”

I wait for it. Clenching my teeth, holding my breath, squeezing my eyes shut— waiting for the hammer to come down. It doesn’t come down, and I look back up at the Matriarch.

“That word: “Ma’am” — it’s such a silly-sounding word, but one that carries a great modicum of respect, if my understanding is sound. It is, correct?”

I nod.

“You say it quite often— more times in one sitting than I am used to hearing any word. But there’s so much apprehension in it when there is usually an air of confidence and assertiveness. The Enclave is a dying beast, and you are frustrated about it.” I can see the glow in the eye-holes of her mask, narrow.

Yeah…That would be the case if I were somepony else… I shake my head, unsure what to make of the situation and her words.

“Your General— Your mother— claims to be in charge of a powerful faction; one that has stood the test of time and is unrivaled in all the Wastelands,” she says. “Do many of your kin believe this to be fact? Do you believe these claims of grandeur and invulnerability?”

It’s all waxing, wistful veteran-speak; and that connection… I just can’t shake it, can I? “I haven’t seen it happen… yet… ma’am.”

“How long has it been since things have improved for your kin? How much longer will you wait for such things? How long must my kin and I hang upon tenterhooks about what your Enclave will wrought? Your General speaks of ‘reinforcements’ being elsewhere, yet she is woefully ignorant of the Law of the Land in spite of past events— having complete disregard for the misery she will lead others to if her claims are correct.”

The more the questions pile on, the greater the weight I feel on my shoulders. It’s as if all of this is—whatever it is— the Nag is doing is all on me.If there’s any more reason to hate everything that she is— to hate that fucking acting connection— it’s where I think all of this is going. I should’ve known better; the food, the hospitality, the private conversations and the lack of discretion… It was all to soften these blows, wasn’t it?

“Is that why I’m here, ma’am? Am I just here so you can throw every criticism ya have about the Enclave at me? She should be the one hearing all of this.”

The settling silence in the room is weighing on me like a thick blanket. Everything about me is spring-loaded, lungs tight… Judgment, this time…

“We would have.” She says with such an unwinding calmness. “Dear Ward, your General is inanely stubborn when it comes to such discussions— and whether or not that is a consequence of a bigoted upbringing can hardly be debated. She would only come here and forgo all reason— to lie in the light of truth and be blinded by it to the issues in which she remains ignorant.”

What? I don’t…

“I don’t understand…”

“You see, this land is not what it used to be. My fal’qum have grown suspicious of outsiders this past Age— and your Enclave, in spite of past agreements, have continued to cause quite a controversy.”

Oh… “Fal… coon?”

“It means… ‘kindred.”

I drink more water, and it helps steel my nerves a little, “What kind of controversy were ya talking about, ma’am?”

Her gaze grows sharper behind the veil, “One that has its roots since before the Age of Dissonance— what you and your kin call ‘The Great War’ and ‘The Last Day.’ The final straw— as you all would say— was Equestria’s subjugation. Even now we still fight its ever-changing shadow, and that is where the controversy starts.”

“How… ma’am?”

“With everything your General has done thus far, Aridia and the Grand Council question the Enclave’s contributions.”

“Contributions?”

“It is among the Laws of the Land,” She explains. “In Aridia, our Tribes are expected to support and provide for one another. Tell me, does the Enclave believe themselves as above others? Are they that self-serving of their own perceived importance in the fabric of the world?”

Self-Serving… Egotistical… Hyper-Nationalistic… Militant-beyond-compromise… I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks it, and I don’t know whether to feel sorry for, or disgusted by, the poor bastards that buy into that purity crap.

“It’s more than that, ma’am. Just about every pegasus has it in their minds that if they can hold on for a little longer, things will be great again. To the veteran, it’s a return to the glory days; to the cadet, it’s Enclave Pride; Glory to the Enclave.”

“One brightly colored thread does not a tapestry make.” She says, and seems to catch my immediate confusion. “That which stands out with the belief that they are far more important than the grand design, are a seed of dissonance; those who believe themselves deserving of something greater than their worth are apostates, blind to themselves and those around them.”

“Hmm?”

“Bias may tinge the view my kin have for yours, but another factor of our views towards the Enclave is their lack of integration— of understanding.” The Matriarch takes another sip from her cup after she’s finished a serving of what looked like grain. “During the Reclamation War the Enclave were allowed to settle within our lands— given the same autonomy as any of the Tribes. In return, they were to devote their available resources whilst being given time to recover from their long journey to Grand Aridia–”

“And they have been doing that, ma’am, haven’t they? As far as I can tell, the Wonderbolts are constantly deployed to aid you and your Tribes; Vertibucks make regular transportation of goods—”

“—Yes. The Mutfalinn have continuously reported on such deeds, and your… Wonderbolts… have contributed to the bolstering of security—”

“Then, if I may, ma’am, what’s the real problem here?”

“It has been a little over two decades since the agreement, and little else has changed. Why does your Enclave hold the majority of its force within its boundaries when— per the agreement— your General is to provide more than a few metal birds, and these—these…gilded pegasi that make a mockery of my Saan-Srah and slander what privileges we give them for their contributions?”

That anger is like a sweltering sun. The more she brings these up, the harder it is to swallow. It’s hard to look at her, like somehow I feel part of that whole problem. It’s that fucking connection, again, isn’t it? Because I just happen to be related to that mare, on paper? “I can’t speak for the whole Enclave, ma’am—”

“No, you cannot,” She says immediately after. “See, dear Ward, what burns me so is how your General takes our hospitality for granted. For the length you have been here, she has done nothing but demand your return. What possesses her so to forgo all cooperation and refuse mutual compromise over this?”

I’ve always wondered the exact same thing, but I never thought she’d go that far. I’d say I don’t believe it, but then I think I’d be lying to myself about it.

“This brings me to my next point,” she continues. “No pony or Aridinn— not even a mother with such power— would go to such extremes, unless there was something else at play. First there was nothing, and then there was that incident that sparked the interest of the Schularinn; then you were brought here for a great curiosity, and now this. Things such as this are not fortuitous— they cannot be; not with the Curse still here.”

The mention of the Curse pulls at my ear. “Do ya mean the Na— that General Diamond Dust was responsible for the Outpost Incident… ma’am?”

“No, dear Ward. It’s the fact that out of all the reported casualties, it just so happened that there was one who had reportedly succumbed to The Curse and returned from the Brink. And that happens to be the son of the Enclave General.”

If it were anyone else, I’d probably be shocked; if it was someone I loved, I’d be in denial. If there is anything I feel right now, feeling all her words fall into place like some kind of jigsaw puzzle, it’s probably confusion. It’s just… It doesn’t feel right to think that…

“Tell me, Dear Ward: Do you have faith in your Enclave? Do you have faith in your General? Do you have faith in your mother?”

* * * * * *

‘Mother’... ‘Mother’... ‘Mother’... My gut can’t wrench any harder hearing that title tacked onto the General. It followed me all the way through training, and I can’t shake seeing that awareness in everypony me— from the drill sergeants to the cadets. It attracts all kinds of attention… All kinds…

I can’t say I don’t envy having seen foals embracing such nurturers, but those dark memories kill any chance of appreciating it for those who still have them.

‘Do I have faith?’ If the General had anything to do with what’s caused all this ballyhoo from the Zebra and now the Matriarch, I’d take it for a practical joke. I never learned to laugh because of her, and I certainly ain’t trying to now. Story of my life…

Everything the Matriarch has said— the questions she asked, that I mulled over in my own head for a long while— I’d say I’m not a believer; never was. But for the Enclave… “I don’t, ma’am.”

I still can’t see what she’s expressing through that mask— even with half of it detached, but I can feel the surprise from here. “But you are a soldier, are you not?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Soldiers; Warriors; Fighters, all swear an oath—in faith— to their tribe and to their leaders. You are honor-bound by such a foundation, else how can you call yourself one?” She pushes.

I’ve heard somewhere— somepony or someplace— that faith, like magic, comes from someplace deep within the heart. It’s as strong as one’s unyielding resolve— and that line’s up with what the Matriarch just said. But what if there’s no heart to give? Maybe the echelon knew that, and that’s why they force-fed us that grandeur; trying to sow the seeds of nostalgia-fueled pride that didn’t belong with the younger generation.

“It’s just a formality, ma’am…” I think aloud.

“How so?”

“I doubt a draftee can swear an oath— in faith— the same way a patriot can, ma’am. I mean, how can one have faith in the leader who pressed them into uniform, and forced them to grow up too fast?”

“It must come from the heart.” She says, almost like a warning— or like it should have been common knowledge.

That’s just it… Forced faith makes for a flimsy foundation…

“The hoof gesture you did as you walked in, I told you it was to show that you have nothing to hide from whom you greet.” She continues, “With everything that has happened thus far, I can say for certain that the Enclave’s days are numbered.”

Her ears droop a little as she rests her head on a hoof, slowly shaking her head like she’s worn out. The guard takes immediate notice, and one has even dropped to her level— kneeling— to be close to her. That one stays with her while the other’s gaze is fixed on me. The Matriarch soon picks her head back up, gesturing to the kneeling guard who immediately returns to attention.

“You’re wording it like it’s a purge that’s coming, ma’am.” Thinking those words aloud makes me think of what comes out of it. “The new soldiers… I doubt many would think for themselves, ma’am. Not with how the General’s running things.”

“Do not assume my words for a punitive course of action.” She sets my thoughts straight. “Such events have happened before; it is not the first time Aridia has had a great, violent change when outsiders wander into our lands from beyond the ‘Alsaahn-jal… but with how the very nature of things have changed, I would rather not risk shedding blood and feeding life to the blight and resolve such as smoothly as possible.”

“The Enclave doesn’t talk much about what’s going on out here, ma’am. As far as I’ve noticed, the echelon care more about the preservation of their way of life and ensuring the next generation go about carrying it into the sky; over everything else.”

“And that is the issue, is it not?”

It’s slowly clicking in my head the more I mull over it. The realization gives me severely mixed feelings. “You’re suggesting that Diamond Dust be relieved?”

“If that is what it takes, it will happen. Do you have apprehensions about this?”

I’m beginning to see where this is coming from. It’s obvious now that I think about it: a sudden transfer; out of reach from the Nag’s eyes and ears; dinner with the most powerful mare in all Aridia, and politics leading to talk that considers potential overthrow. She’s gotta be thinking I’d be the one, right? Going about it like that gives me the chills, and a lingering suspicion that she knows other things…

“What about every other pegasus? The dogs; the gullible; the…innocent?”

She shakes her head slowly, her lips moving but I can’t pick up what she’s saying. “We are better than that, dear Ward. We know to not hold those accountable for what their leaders and parents wrought. Whether bullets and blades fly, however, we will not feed the Curse if it can be helped.”

That parents comment— that whole statement… Why does it sound like it was meant to seem personal to me?

“Then what, ma’am? Will ya just absorb what’s left?”

“That would be… ideal. However, it may be easier if they had one of their own to rally behind— one which can be trusted, with a good heart and sound mind.”

I knew it…

“So with all of this, ya take me for a prime candidate, ma’am…No.”

Her long, pointed ears twitch. “No?”

“I apologize, ma’am, but I’m not the one you’re hoping for,” I tell her, looking into my cup before taking a sip. “I don’t think I need to explain, ma’am. With how the General’s run things so far down into the ground, I will not stand where she stood.”

And inherit a rotting kingdom that was never mine to have— not that I ever wanted it…

Nepotism…

“But they are your kin. Do you not care for their well-being?” She asks.

“They are not my family, ma’am. It’s all just a code of honor we’ve been forced to recite; the faith is faulty, and any one of those pegasi who vehemently recite and make it their own are hopeless. I won’t want anything to do with them.”

My heart thuds into my stomach, as hearing my own words makes it quiver and moan for the only one worth anything. I’ve lost the rest of my appetite. The food looks paler to me, now, and the full-belly sensation feels dense and hollow all at the same time; a messy, confused, aching feeling. It’s hot…

I look up slowly, and I see the glow of her eyes lower onto me. It feels intense— like all of their eyes are on me. The gravity of their judging eyes makes me want to slink away, while dreadful anticipation creeps from my memories; to the moments that make my body remember every bruise, and red-raw follicle on my head.

Judgment. It’ll happen now, for sure…

“...How unfortunate.” Those words— that tone in her voice… I don’t get it…

Where’s the scorn?

“One last question, if you may indulge me,” she asks. “Who is Aviatrix? The Vhuskilinn often made mention of this mare..”

She’s not mad? Why isn’t she mad? The tone of her voice just doesn’t make sense, and now she’s talking about Avie? Where’s this coming from?

“She’s…Um…” I’m not sure how to approach this; it feels like a trick, “She’s… a pegasus I know… ma’am.”

“I see.” She acknowledges, “I would very much like to meet her, and I wouldn’t be the only one.”

“How do you mean… ma’am?”

“I mean what I mean. There are some things known to me, such as why your General is so adamant to keep her from us. Quarantines are irrelevant, yet she continues to use it until she wears it down like an excuse. I am telling you this because you will need to know for the future…”

The Nag? Quarantine?

“...dear Ward, your General will not let her go unless one condition is met.”

I stare with worry wafting over me. “That being?”

“In spite of our solemn words, she remains unconvinced. She wishes to see you.”

There it is. The whole reason why this entire thing was set up. What else is there to gauge from all of this? The Nag had to be involved, somehow, but I couldn’t see that. Or maybe I did but was lost in the Matriarch’s presence…

But that’s it, isn’t it? Just me. It makes my stomach churn to think about it, and the food already inside isn’t helping. The water is still foul…

Can’t she just make her do it? She’s the most powerful individual in the entire region— can’t she just show a display of political dominance? Something tells me not to even try to say any of that out loud. Pride? Overstepped boundaries? Ignorance? There’s no way of knowing; it all sounds the same to me, at this point…

Avie…

She won’t let her go without me…

“You mean it’s an exchange, ma’am?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “That would not be possible. There are still too many questions left unanswered.”

A tiny, distant echo of relief reaches me. I should be glad, but I know that nag. She won’t let things go quietly…

“So… what then? I visit her, then what?” I ask.

“Then she respects the bargain. She would know what it means.”

That’s what concerns me the most…