Faust's Commandment

When Peter woke up, he immediately creased his face in disgust. There was still dried blood and hair and other crud all over his body. Sitting up, he scraped what he could off his arms with his fingernails. Of course there couldn't be a river nearby, right?

The early morning air was cool enough to give Peter goosebumps, and the sun's light didn't seep into the cave; it was coming from the east, and the cave faced west. Peter plodded out of the cave, with no other option.

The campfire had gone out. Peter sighed as he saw the ashes in the stone circle. True to Faust's word, the bear had not attracted any jackals or wolves during the night; not even a fly circled above it. So he had that going for him.

“Faust?” Peter called, turning in place. She was nowhere to be found. He kept casting his eyes about. “Faust, I need you. You promised you would help! Don't just leave me here!”

“You don't need to yell,” came his mother's response, and Peter whirled around. Kneeling at the dead firepit, who most definitely hadn't been there last he checked, was Faust. Despite her ethereal white dress being in contact with the ground, it wasn't dirty.

“...Hi,” Peter said. He sighed. “Is this going to be common?”

“No,” Faust answered, grasping the ashes in one hand. “I don't usually appear right beside my children. I speak through the head and the heart. But you need some instruction.”

“The Bestowal,” Peter remembered. “Yeah, I could use a primer.”

“But first, you need to eat,” Faust said. She stood up while dribbling the ashes from her fist. As they came down, the powdery ashes transformed into the vivid green stalk of a plant that spontaneously grew stalks and leaves, which soon became burdened with growing red fruit. Peter recognized it as the same fruit he had eaten in the cave.

Peter shook his head violently and blinked hard; the notion of magic being real was still something he had to get used to.

Peter and Faust both ate their fill; Peter had more than her. As Peter plucked the strange sweet fruit off, a replacement would immediately reform on the thin branch. And as Peter ate, he felt warmth inside his blood rise to combat the cool air outside.

“What even is this?” Peter wondered after he finished his fourth and sucked his fingers clean.

“An exclusively heavenly treat,” Faust shared from her log. “Blomberries. You can grow them to the size of watermelons.”

Peter whistled. “Please?”

“One of these days,” Faust promised. “Once you get the hang of it, you can do it yourself. But please, try to vary your diet.”

Peter nodded, but didn't really mean it. He stood up and stretched, then shook his hands. “All right, Faust. Speaking of which, if you're ready…”

Faust gracefully arose. “Then I shall begin.”
She spread an arm to the pale blue sky. “To fully utilize this Bestowal I gave you, you must understand the nature of it, and how it works. The power of God is not to be used lightly.”

Peter nodded again.

“To begin, Peter, I ask you this. What is spirit?”

Peter thought for a moment. But nothing really came to mind. “Something I can't see with the naked eye.”

“And yet it is still matter; immaterial matter is a paradox. All physical things are comprised of spirit matter infused into physical matter. This rock I have my foot on, that log behind you, the crystal of the Tree of Harmony, and the acid in your stomach. I created all things spiritually before they were made physically.”

Unsure where this was going, Peter kept nodding along.

“The spirit matter is itself comprised of, shall we say, Sparks. The Sparks are individual entities that possess agency and willingly obey me, since they understand my authority and worthiness. Normally, their agency is used to do what is natural for the object they are infused into. But if a man comes along with the authority of God and the worthiness of one, they will alter matter in the way he desires. I commanded the Sparks in the ashes to transform into a Blomberry plant, and they obeyed, since they acknowledge me as God.”

“Oh, wait,” Peter spoke up, looking into his hands. “So all the miracles in the Bible… did they work the same way?”

“Yes,” Faust answered. “The Sparks recognize God as the best authority to listen to, since He's perfect. God gives commandments, not out of anger or fear, and the Sparks obey His will. And He doesn't need to use flourishes, words, or wands to do so, although they all can help focus your intentions. Spirit exists all around you and is in everything. It's simply more elastic and refined than anything you're used to.”

“Use the Sparks,” Peter intoned, imitating someone else. “Strength flows through the Sparks.”

“Star Wars had a few elements of truth in it, believe it or not,” Faust caught on, gesturing at Peter. “We are luminous beings, not just crude flesh and blood.”

“Are there midichlorians here too?”

“No.”

“Great. Cause– Hey, wait a minute.” Peter began doing more calculations in midair. “So the ability to manipulate objects using magic is a gift given by God, right? So what about Equestria, with unicorns and whatnot? How does that work?”

Faust pointed at the ground, and Peter followed her finger. A square of flat stone was playing footage, a four-screen montage, of FiM. They focused on the more magical side of things; everything Peter saw involved unicorns.

“When you see magic at play in the show,” Faust said as Peter watched Twilight perform examples of telekinesis, transfiguration, and conjuration, “you see the result of scholarly study by a few select ponies who were born with the gift to use it. Their efforts do get them somewhere; intelligence, or light and truth, is the glory of God.”

Peter hummed in surprise. He hadn't thought about it like that. It also made him feel a bit better about his decision to go to college; it was tough, and Peter had often found himself questioning which career path to take. He had a reason for studying astronomy, however. It was something he enjoyed. But why?

“I allowed magic to be given in this way to test my children. Not just what they choose to do with my gift, but also the reactions from those that don't. If they can handle jealousy, they will eventually come to the right conclusion: majesty and magic are everywhere.”

“But what about magic users that don't follow the laws of harmony?” Peter asked, turning away from the flat-screen rock. “Like Tirek and Discord?”

Faust's face grew grim. “There are two ways to manipulate matter. One is to ask, and the other is to force. The closer to my will you are in alignment with, the more likely it is that the Sparks will obey, and when they do, you will be in complete harmony. Those that force the Sparks through their willingness to descend into sin have a tenuous grasp on the struggling Sparks, and between them and those with the Bestowal, the Sparks will listen to those with the Bestowal– the authority of the recognized ruler. Ponies who force compliance are adulterers, Peter– wanting to enjoy the privileges without the commitments. The devil has some level of control over the elements, but they are not his to own.

“Now then,” Faust continued, coming beside Peter. “Let's begin. We can start with something simple. Take that large stone over there and command it to rise.”

Peter's legs felt shaky as he pointed at the appropriate stone. It was oblong and large enough to encase him and Faust side by side. “Rise,” he said.

The large stone did not.

“Do you have faith?” Faust asked, putting a hand on Peter's bare shoulder. “Confidence, trust, willpower? The greatest of all miracles happen through your trust in God.”

“Well, yeah, I do,” Peter hastily answered. “It's just new, that's all.”

“Then exercise your faith the same way you exercise a muscle. It doesn't matter if you're strong if that strength isn't used, pushed. Put your will into it this time.”

Peter nodded, then pointed at the stone again. “Rise!” he ordered.

The stone didn't.

“Don't crack a whip over the Spark's heads. Speak to them. Let them know you're a friend.”

“How will I know they accept me?” Peter asked. “They won't speak back, will they?”

“Just be calm. Let peace fill your mind. And then direct your will into the stone. Remember, Peter; you're worthy of this power, and this is within my will.”

That got Peter to be silent. He turned his thoughts inward as he stepped forth, out of Faust's reach. So there was nothing to fear after all, was there? Peter exhaled slowly and softly closed his eyes. And the more he thought it over, the clearer it became: why shouldn't this work? Faust had promised it, hadn't She? Did he truly trust her? Did Peter have the confidence, the faith, to have this work?

Well, there were certainly doubts. Peter had jokingly tried using the Force on the faraway tv remote or his phone before, but that was when he knew it wouldn't work. But this, this was entirely different. He needed to put trust in Faust's promise. But what if he did put his trust in, and then it still didn't work? He'd look like a fool, he would be a fool. Peter couldn't be expected to simply put in more trust than he already had put in, right?

Peter squeezed his eyes in anger as the doubting thoughts solidified. Those didn't come from God! Even if Peter hadn't done this before, he knew a few things for certain, and he reviewed them in his mind. Faust loved him and trusted him. He believed that God existed. He knew that he was worthy of actually using the power he had been given– no, he wasn't going to doubt it!

Peter raised his arm once more, keeping his eyes shut. He was going to trust completely in Faust that it would work. Why else would She be saying it?

And he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “Rise,” he said. He didn't need to yell, or persuade, or implore, or even ask. He just said it.

After a second, Peter opened his eyes.

Peter didn't see it hovering, but he also didn't see the stone on the ground. He tilted his head and let out a noise of surprise; the stone was traveling steadfastly upwards to the point where he could see it get smaller.

“That's good enough, stop!” he feverishly yelled.

The stone stopped.

Peter’s heart hammered in his chest. He was actually doing it! He pointed a trembling hand into the sky again. “Now gently, back down.”

And he saw it slowly descend. Peter didn't need to keep his finger on it like zero-point energy, but he still did. The stone grew larger as it came closer to the ground, and Peter surreptitiously scooted back.

“Don't be afraid,” Faust quietly advised. “Fear doesn't come from me.”

“Does caution?” Peter asked, not turning back.

“In appropriate amounts,” Faust admitted.

Peter made an affirmative sound, then gently settled the rock back down. He did so on its end, so it would be permanent proof that he had wielded the power of God.

“Great work!” Faust congratulated, tapping Peter on the arm once he was done. “I'm proud of you, Peter. It will come more naturally as you work in practice.”

“But I need to walk before I run,” Peter said, putting his trembling hands on his hips as he admired the stone from top to bottom. So that’s what it was like! Sending the stone up in the air would… “Hey, wait a second. Faust?”

“Yes?” She was already at the rock's side, running her dainty hand on its surface.

“When I lifted the rock… what actually happened? Did the Sparks reverse the rock's personal gravity? Or was I manually doing it, as if I was holding it in my hand?”

Faust shrugged. “Does it matter? It's what you intended. You choose. Be creative. Make stones shine like lightbulbs, make them spring forth water, turn them into bread and the water into wine– it's all possible. Perhaps don't go doing it for fun– that was Discord's problem. Just because you could, it doesn't mean you should.”

“Do I need to know the chemical properties of bread to make it more accurate?” Peter asked.

Again, Faust shrugged. “Doesn't hurt. Intelligence is the glory of God.”

“But what use is knowing how… you know, gravity and inertia works, if you just bypass it anyway?”

“You need to know the rules before you can break them,” Faust replied. She slit a finger up the front of the rock as if cutting a banana long-ways, and as if to punctuate her statement, a thin, gentle current of water burst out and began darkening the stone floor of the ravine. She stepped to the side, out of the stream. “But before we do anything more, you need a shower. Try using the Bestowal while you do.”

And she turned and walked away.

It took a second for it to sink in, and when it did, Peter untied the vine around his back and dropped his apron. At least Faust respected his privacy.

He stepped in and instantly flinched away from the water; it was cold! He held a hand under the stream for a few seconds before lowering it. This wasn't plumbing; it wouldn't get hotter.

Unless…

“Warmer, please?” Peter asked the water.

Only a few seconds later, and the temperature did rise to a comfortable degree. As Peter stepped in, steam began to form.

“Who woulda thought?” Peter muttered as he began scraping more dried blood and dirt off his chest.

Peter bowed his head to wash his hair and frowned in thought. The implications Faust was suggesting! Anything was possible, anything at all, within his grasp… What would he do with it?

Well, obviously, if he abused his privileges, they'd be taken away. So trying to be selfish or pursue his own seat of power would be out of the question. The best thing to do would be to align his will with God's. But how to best do that?

Peter squatted in the steam and examined the ground. He found a good-sized pebble that could fit in his hand. “I need you to become soap,” he told the pebble. “Please?”

After no noticeable change happened, he picked up the rock anyway. The texture was far softer, slipperier. Peter squeezed it, and it shot out of his hand and landed out of the shower.

Peter sighed and made as if to get out of the rock's stream, then stopped himself. And he just curled his fingers. “Get over here.”

As fast as it had shot out of his hand, the soap pebble fired directly into his gut and dropped at his feet.

Fuming, Peter picked up the soap. And he could have sworn he heard Faust giggling.