Nighthaze: Manehattan

Sable's hoof struck my jaw and knocked me flat on my ass. My vision went sideways as I struggled to remain upright.

"Whoops, didn't mean to scramble your eggs there," said Sable.

I shook my head, big mistake, and nearly fell over before Sable caught me.

"You should definitely work on your speed, body like yours won't be able to take too many hits," she said.

"I'd entertain that by asking what you mean but the ringing in my ears tells me you're right," I said.

"Just stay mobile and don't stop moving; better yet, avoid a hoof fight altogether," she said.

"Never really planned on seeking one out," I said.

In the days following my run-in with the zebras and the friendly local law enforcement Sable had insisted I learn some basic self-defense. Said I should keep out of trouble but that it would eventually find me. So, here we were. Playing a game of 'Ring Silver's Bell' in my cramped apartment while Zamora drank juice boxes and watched us like we were cable TV.

Rising out of her rigid combat pose she rubbed her chin, "Say, how's that sticker of yours doing? Ms. Iampoco is working on the counter-potion but says it'll take a while. Apparently the deadhorn daiquiri Yadar gave you was only supposed to last a day."

"Most days are shorter than a quarter moon," I said, rubbing my numb horn.

I wasn't familiar with zebra alchemy but I was still recovering from a near burnout when I drank it. The possibility of that affecting the way my body reacted to the daiquiri did not escape me.

"We'll get your magic back. Nothing that old hag's concoctions can't fix, or break," she said, offering a smile.

"Here's hoping. Lessons are difficult without my magic. I have to take breaks from speaking to scribble crude cavepony diagrams on the board," I said.

"Could be worse, at least Zoko isn't around anymore," she said.

"Maybe, I still can't decide if that's a good thing or not," I said.

""Die ander vermy my asof ek siek is, geen woorde tussen ons nie," said Zamora.

"Moenie worry oor hulle, suster. Moenie jou hart warm maak met hulle stokke nie, want ek en Silver het hout om te gee," said Sable.

Their conversations had thrown me for loops even as I began to pickup a few words. It must've shown on my face because nearly every time Sable would throw the same conciliatory look my way and translate.

"She's having trouble with the other kids," said Sable.

"They keep their distance, every desk around her is always vacant," I said.

"So long as they keep their hooves off her it'll be fine, for now at least. I've been catching flak from my elder, enough to make things awkward between me and the community," said Sable.

"Really? For what?" I said.

"Shielding Zamora and helping an outsider. They couldn't decide if it was worse that I had helped hide her identity or that I turned her over to a pony outsider," she said.

"I get the feeling they aren't big fans of ponies," I said.

"It's... Complicated. We–they don't hate ponies, they've just spent their lives being forced out of home after home by griffons, hippogriffs, dragons, and yes—ponies.

"After being chased across the rolling hills and desert plains the only thing we always had was each other. Homes and enemies came and went but our community, our tribe, always held the whole thing together," said Sable, trotting over the the window the stare down at the hazy street.

"Isn't that the same tribe that Zoko comes from? And Zamora?" I said.

Sable sighed, "You ever had a cousin you didn't like? Ever have a fight with a sibling?"

"No, no siblings; I never knew any cousins. But I think I understand what you mean: the tribe is like a family and has friction between members, as the average family would," I said.

"We hurt the ones we love the most, it's what my elder Pano always says. Yadar cares about Zoko and sees the best chance of survival for him is to become a strong wey'la. That means not showing any weakness, never flinching, charging every problem head-on. Zoko's father was a elder-warrior and his grandfather was a hunter-warrior, for Zoko to be anything less than a wey'la would make him appear weak. And for zebras, weakness gets you killed.

"So if you care about someone you toughen them up, tear them apart and build them back up—" her voice cracked "—because when the world comes to chew on them it will rip every last strip of flesh from their bones and leave them to die," said Sable.

She was shaking, her hooves jittering against the glass. A drop fell on the carpet beneath her. Her wings trembled, opening a fraction before jerking back into a tight bundle against her back.

What had I said?

Was it something I did?

Something I didn't do?

Like the first raindrops of a coming shower more tears fell to the carpet. I stood and slowly walked towards Sable as she let her head drop onto the window frame.

A sharp pain in my tail stopped me short as I looked behind me and saw Zamora digging her hooves into the stained carpet while yanking back on my bushy tail. I stopped and looked into her eyes, she was not afraid or worried. Just had a weary sympathetic look, an all too familiar one.

Zamora trotted past me and did a semicircle behind Sable before low crawling beneath her, threading herself between her forelegs until her head was nestled up underneath Sable's chin.

Suddenly the room was cold. Icicles bit under my hooves. I didn't belong here in this moment, I needed some air. What Sable needed now I could not offer. I had to let Zamora do what I couldn't.

Gently as possible I pushed my apartment's front door closed as I left. My buzzing hooves took me downstairs to the long causeway on the ground floor that cut through the building. I sat against the graffiti-covered brick wall and slid down till I hit the tough concrete. Throwing my head back the flickering lamps became the focus of my wandering eyes as time washed by.

"Silver Dusk?"

I snapped up, falling face first into an oily puddle of questionable origin. Pulling myself up I saw an older zebra mare with several golden rings around her neck and hooves and Zoko, who was pressing his shoulder against the older mare's. It was the voice of the older zebra mare.

"Y-yes, just Silver is very well," I said, wiping dirt from my face and coat.

Zoko was wearing a leather shoulder bag and looked down at the ground, his eyes still he same milky white.

"I am called Yulo Juzeria, I am Zamor's mother. This is Zoko, as you may know him," Zoko snorted, "and he has come to deliver the tonic for you deadhorn. Ms. Iampoco finished it earlier today. I would also like to speak to my son, Zamor, who I hear to be in your company," she said, voice level and accented.

I blinked, Zamora's mother? The tonic? I had my doubts but kept them tucked away.

"Ms. Yulo Juzeria, and Zoko. Thank you for coming out here," I said, pausing and taking a short breath, "Zamora—" Juzeria's face hardened "— isn't available at the moment. And Zoko, I'm sorry about what happened," I said.

Zoko only scoffed but Juzeria let out a held breath before speaking, "As a parent I hold the right to speak with my children, do you deny me such a basic thing as interaction with my child?" said Juzeria.

I thought for a moment, trying to eke out her intentions. Opening my mouth to speak I stopped short and had my attention drawn over her shoulder at the group of ponies in hoodies and bandanas cutting off the causeway's street entrance.

"On second though, a family reunion sounds great. Let's head up now!" I said, rushing over to them while trying to user the pair towards the stairs.

We came to a screeching halt as a trio of masked ponies descended wielding lead pipes and a tire iron. Hatred was carved into their eyes and it bled out of every hoofstep.

"Should've listened hornhead. Instead you thought it'd be a good idea to bring more stripes into our neighborhood," said a voice from behind.

Another group of gangers was closing in from the causeway's back entrance. We were completely boxed in. The speaker was a coal black earth pony stallion with a fire red and yellow mane flaring out from under a frayed cowpony hat. Two tarnished brass aug forehooves, a black bandana with a red X, his leather jacket spray-painted with a set of diagonal horseshoes over a railspike.

Dusty's gun, he had the holster strapped over his chest.

The three of us backed away slowly, being pressed from all sides until we hit the opposite wall, the grainy grit of the weathered brick cutting into our backsides as the errie quiet grew into a torrent of cat calls, violent threats, and slurs from the hoodlums around us.

"We let one of you in here, next thing you know your brother and sister come and then the family. Before anypony even knows it you've taken over a whole building, then a block. Well, not this block. This is ours and has been since we could walk," said the stallion in the cowpony hat.

"Look, we'll leave. There doesn't need to be trouble," I said.

"Tell you what buttercup, go get those two you've got upstairs and drag them down here. Do that and I'll let you trot out of here with a heartbeat," he said.

Growls and cruel laughter hounded us, echoing in the damp tunnel. Taped wooden bats knocked on the ground, chains were drug back and forth across the concrete, crude shanks were sharpened on the ground.

"Please we mean no harm, just let us leave and you'll never see us again," I pleaded.

He smirked, advancing as Zoko stepped forward and spit on his jacket. The ganger stopped and his eye twitched. Time grinded to a startling halt, silence swept over the night.

A rush of air. Zoko flew over my head. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, raising a cloud of dust. Juzeria screamed. Chains clattered.

I spun around in a blur, a sound like a hoofball flying at my head made me duck. Cowpony was winding up for another haymaker. Sidestepping past him I ran for the stairs, threading a gap in the loose ring. Bolting up to my apartment I threw the door open as I rushed in.

Sable and Zamora whipped their heads around, eyes wide as I leapt for the holster hanging from my bedpost. I stopped mid-air as a needle of pain in my rump was followed by my graceless plummet into the floorboards. Cowpony leapt over me and rolled only to meet a solid buck from Sable as he came out of it.

She staggered him and pushed with a flurry of jabs and solid strikes to his face and chest. He coughed blood then stopped a deadly right hook from Sable, five shining brass digits wrapped around her hoof mid-swing. A moment's hesitation, then a meter of brass slammed into her chest just below he neck, sending her to the floor.

"Sable!"

I sprang up and rushed for the gun only to be slammed into the wall by Sable's thrown body. Zamora was screaming, running for the door. Sable groaned and pulled herself up. Cowpony spun, gun in hand, racked the slide and pulled the trigger.

Click.

"You gotta be shittin' m-"

Sable cut him off with a flying tackle. They went rolling and hammered into the kitchen cabinets, sending drawers across the floor.

A ruckus from behind. I turned to see Zamora held fast in a headlock by a ganger, thrashing and muffled yelling doing little to free herself. More appeared in the hallway behind him, and he pressed a twisted piece of rebar up against her throat.

"They've got Zamora!" I shouted at Sable.

She snapped her head up. Quickly she got off of cowpony and backed away, the vicious fury in her eyes replaced with fear. He got up, picked his hat off the floor and popped it back into his head while approaching Sable. The ganger holding Zamora advanced into the room with a host of street bangers behind him flowing around us.

"Take'em," spat Cowpony.

A meaty thud. I looked over and saw Sable sprawled over the floor, cowpony standing over her. Zamora struggled against her captor.

Turning to face her I only saw,

A spiked horseshoe.

Blinding pain.

Darkness.

//

Rotwaste, bilge runoff, pissed-drenched dumpster? Scratch that, all of the above. The smell jerked me awake harder than any smelling salts.

Cracking my eyes open I scanned my dimly lit surroundings as an oppressive rumbling of industrial grinding echoed through the dank sewers in the distance. I was on the ledge of a crumbling concrete platform adjacent to a sludge river flowing down a wide sewer tunnel. Bundles of sinuous cable with frayed and tearing insulation drooped from the oxide-encrusted rungs. Near-dead fluorescent lights provided just enough illumination to make out the dark figures around me.

Zamora was unconscious next to me bound at her fore and rear hooves, so was Sable Sakra. Juzeria and Zoko were on my right and awake, similarly bound. Zoko was quiet, staring at the ground as Juzeria offered only a quick glance my way. I tried to move only to collapse onto my face, scraping the underside of my muzzle on the pumice-like platform concrete. Braided plastic bindings cut into my hooves, allowing me to do no more than wiggle.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you, it's a long way down," said the ganger who'd knocked me out.

Cowpony hat and his goons formed a jagged crescent around us. Wicked grins and hollow teeth were luminescent against the darkness, their eyes cutting daggers at us. Metallic clicks and a hiss tore my vision to those brass hooves. The end split into talons like a griffon's claw. He flexed the digits before whipping Dusty's Bullmek from its holster and shoving it in my face, his eyes narrowing.

"Thanks for leaving the bullets on the counter, buttercup," he said.

Then he shot me.

...

..

.

//

"Hey Duck, what was it your ma used to say about getting into fights?"

"Said they were for dirt ponies like you, and that sophisticated unicorns such as myself should not deign to stoop to such barbarity,"

Dusty Dunes and I looked at each other, only able to contain ourselves for a fraction of a second before we burst into laughter. Happy tears ran down our cheeks.

She wrapped the bandage around my head carefully, wiping my blood from her hooves on a rag.

"You've gotta stop throwing yourself in the hole like this," she said.

"He was younger than Bracket, couldn't levitate a ten gram weight. When the others saw that..." I trailed off, biting my lip and wincing.

"Bleeding hearts belong to corpses or those who are soon to be—" she said, placing a hoof on my shoulder, "—you're my friend Silver, I understand better than anyone than some fights need fighting but you gotta ask yourself: is it worth it, am I picking the right fights?"

I turned and looked into her eyes, my face serious, "You did the same for me, way back when."

"I did, didn't I? Celestia... Your bleeding heart is gonna get you in serious trouble one of these days, and when it does I'll be there, side-by-side with your dumb ass," she said, playfully punching my shoulder.

"Thanks Dusty, that means a lot. Just... don't mention this to my mom?" I asked with my best pleading puppy face.

She just rolled her eyes, "Wonder what she'd think of her handsome unicorn son wandering the back alleys of Trocklemore and Hoofcrest, taking pretty mares out on dates behind warehouses."

"As of I'd ever date your ugly ass, besides if anyone's innocence is being stolen it's mine," I chuckled.

"I'm wounded, truly," she said, giggling while dramatically placing a hoof over her heart and leaning back.

"Ha, I'd need a stone chisel and a rock hammer to hurt you. When they put Dusty Dunes together they left out mushy feelings and sensibility, instead opting to put more blood and muck in," I said, teasingly jabbing her with a hoof.

"Uh huh, suppose us dirt ponies are owed all the blood and muck. From the mud," she said.

"Through the blood," I said.

"And back again," we said together, in unison.

//

"-grams been denied. Board reviewed the margins on the Rising Star program and couldn't rationalize section 8-71-31(b) or any of the other related sections that do not provide a direct means of compensating Dawncare for the... significant investment of resources," said the dry magenta unicorn sitting across from me.

"But it's a long-term return. Select students that meet the criteria, guided and trained to become professors and researchers. Those kinds of school-to-grads with uninterrupted schooling years are hard to come by, not to mention that many of these kids are willing to devote their lives to the work. They've got hardy backgrounds and have got the heart to fight for this," I said, making frantic hoof gestures while pushing papers full of charts and graphs at them.

"The problem, Mr. Dusk, is just that. Those fast-tracked 'kids' are of dubious origin. They look like they belong in a police lineup, not in an accredited institution. Many of the potential candidates you listed haven't been in a Dawncare facility for years, some never. Half don't have permanent addresses, another quarter list communes or shelters as their place of residence. If you're trying to start an orphanage then petition the residence authority," they said, pushing their glasses up their nose.

"They have the ability! The entire candidate pool was tested on the DCAT and made an average of seven hundred and ninety, the highest score was eight hundred and forty two. That's twenty percent higher that most of our enrollees. Several were even flagged for further testing as HF class 3 and HF class 2 neurosupers," I said, both front hooves on the glass table.

"I read your submission Mr. Dusk, and frankly considering that a discredited and disavowed griffin professor proctored the tests I'm not surprised," they said with a flat expression.

"Dr. Killbeak is a respected number theorist with reams of published papers, almost all of which were published by this very university. Papers, that I should remind you, are still sold from the DSCore database at full price. The only thing that was changed about them was having his name deleted from the credits," I spat, levelling a cold glare as I sat back down.

"All according to policy, the quality of his work was never in doubt. No, it was his extremist views and continued public outbursts that forced the Manehattan University of Academics and Arcana to distance themselves from him," they said.

"Extremist? He only spoke out against the injustice in Capra; Dr. Killbeak never hurt a soul. His levelheaded voice actively spoke out against extremism and petitioned for nothing more than peaceful protest," I said.

"We have always respected your acumen Mr. Dusk. Your capabilities and service as a member of our staff are valued but you should not forget: Dawncare will not stand for dissidents."

I blanched.

"Perhaps you aren't well suited to the university, it appears to be placing too much stress on you. I think a smaller school may fit you better."

//

Finals were tomorrow. Ten hours separated me and those tests, the tests that would determine the course of my life. I had got out of school hours before but spent too many moments ogling my latest dumpster rescues.

Of Mice and Ponies, second edition, original printing in 1962 on one-hundred percent cotton parchment, rebound using enchanted chroma vinyl in 2031 by the Royal Canterlot Archives. I already had a nineteenth edition bound in once-cycled hydroplastic with holographic front and back covers but it couldn't hold a candle to a real, intact, paper copy. It was in a near perfect condition, minus some discoloration on the last couple of pages and back cover. It was going to be the crown of my collection for years to come.

I had put the book on my shelf and tried to pull out my study guides and notes but found my focus kept wandering, winding up staring back at the beautifully embossed cover. It glimmered in the dim candlelight of my room and called out to me. Off the shelf and onto my desk I flipped open to the front page.

I must have sat there for fifteen minutes watching a pair of kirin farmers sway in the wind sitting in a half-harvested wheat field, the windmill in the background spinning fast and then slow with the swirling lines that showed the wind. The ornate and butter smooth moving image had been magically embedded, definitely from the RCA restoration. They didn't approve the use of arcana momenti spells like this on archive pieces before the twenty-first century.

Just a few pages in and my withered candle finally burned up the last of its wick. It was late and the black night blanketed my room. My heart ached for the next words but as I bumbled around my room I couldn't locate another candle, just piles of spent wax. If I asked my mom she'd kill me for being up this late on test night.

Wait, no I had something for this. I had learned a light spell when I started taking magic lessons two years ago. Never made it past the fourth session, the fundamentals escaped me and practice was something I always forgot in favor of reading. But I remembered the one spell he taught me. Lux Minoris. The little light.

Taking several deep breaths I pictured a candleflame in my mind, letting its warmth travel to my horn. I felt the electric tingle and opened my eyes to see a minuscule dot of light sitting at the very top of my horn. I tried to make it glow brighter but only extinguished it. This repeated three times before I gave up and strained my eyes so I could read with the speck of light.

Moments turned to minutes, minutes to hours. Soon light poured into the room. The night had passed so quickly, I didn't have any time left to study. I panicked but when I sat bolt upright to look out the window I was surprised to seen the dark sky of the flats still outside.

My horn, the light was coming from my horn! It was like ten oil lanterns burning wide open. The amber light steady and wrapped around everything in my room so there weren't even any shadows. It was like soft daylight under the breach canopies.

I spent the next several hours finishing the book, not even having to focus on the spell anymore as I lost myself between the lines. Sleep wasn't a possibility, I still had to prepare for the exams. The winking hours of the night and every blazing minute of the morning were spent with my nose in mathematics instructional videos, history eBooks, and guided practice tests.

It wasn't until my mom dropped a glass teapot when she saw my flank as I was leaving for school that I realized I had gotten my cutie mark. I spent the whole ride into the city and the whole time in the wait room staring at the silver-white crescent on my flank.

Mom spent the whole time telling me about Luna, Princess of the Night, Keeper of Dreams. Said my cutie mark meant something, that it was tied to the night. The history books had told us the dry facts about her reign and the disappearance of her and her sister but not much else.

She smiled wistfully as she spoke,"She was majestic, beyond any modern usage of the word. Beautiful and mysterious. When you were around her you felt a darkness, not some toxic evil but rather a soothing wave of comforting coolness," said mom, her amber eyes staring down at the floor, a nostalgic smile wrapped her muzzle, "her frown would still send ice spikes up under your skin though," she said, chuckling.

"Did you meet her?" I asked.

"Oh, not really. Only in passing. I was an aide in her court. For the year I served in that position I saw her almost nightly, providing research and data on anomalies from beyond the stars.

"There was a comet, Argent's Comet; it was a persistent focus of her attention. She had us collate data daily tracking its journey through the galaxy, estimating trajectories and orbital intersections," she said.

"But the closest I ever really got to her was one Hearthswarming where she came and spoke to me in my dreams, told me to keep my eyes pointed upwards and that shadows offered respite for more than the wicked," she said, rustling my mane with a hoof while looking down at me with soft eyes.

"Aren't the shadows bad? Everything is my stories that's evil is always dark and shadowy," I said.

"Nothing is bad in of itself sweetie, some things get used by bad ponies. Just because many who seek to do evil use the night and cower in the shadows doesn't mean you should hold that against the beauty of the dark," she said.

"But mom, how can darkness be beautiful?" I said.

"You see my little Dusky, when you view the majesty of the light its glory is right there, all out in plain sight. However, the wonder of the dark isn't in what you see, but rather what you don't see. The beauty of the dark is an enigma, clearly present but not understood. It lures you in with its wonder and traps bright minds with its shadowed complexity.

"The light presents you with the truth of all that is known, while the dark shows you the facade of perceived knowledge, how what you don't know overshadows what you do. You fear and respect the light because you know what it can do, you fear and respect the dark because you do not know what it is capable of. Evil cannot bear the light, but the dark tends to the righteous as well as the unrighteous."

Her words echoed as I glanced at my mark. A crescent moon, gleaming silver against a starless dark blue sky. I didn't know what it meant fully, but I hoped I'd have a chance the meet someone like the Princess one day.

//

...

..

.

A sharp ringing filled my ears, my eyes shot open as I hacked up raw sewage onto the grimy concrete. The right side of my face felt like it was being stabbed by thousands of red-hot needles, my whole body ached like it'd been tenderized with a sledgehammer. Everything hurt; my lungs blazed, fighting to overwhelm the pain in my skull. I couldn't even peel myself off the ground.

It was completely devoid of light, all I could hear was rushing water and tiny scampering feet. The slick stone I was slapped against was oddly warm. Gentle waves of tepid water brushed the ends of my hooves. My own thoughts were frazzled. I was barely able to string together the fact that I was in a sewer, how had I gotten here?

Oh yeah, I got shot.

...

How was I not dead? A sudden lance of pain cut through my skull. Death would've been better, this sucked.

Then I saw it, a single light in the distance. It was a single red dot that grew brighter and larger as it approached though it was hard to tell how far away it was. Rhythmic clanking and the whirr of generators replaced the sounds of water as the figure approached.

A robotic equine, dilapidated and rusted down to its frame. Its single glowing eye scanned over me, a jagged frame of metal and wires where a pony's head should’ve been, it was missing several armor plates where worn servos and frayed cable harnesses were visible. It came to a jerky stop over me and cranked it's head down to scan over my broken form.

A little hiss as a miniature arm popped out of its shoulder with a hypodermic needle on its end.

I tried to get away but my body replied with torrents of 'Hell No' when I tried to move. The robot made a series of whirring and beeping noises before jabbing the needle into my neck. I wretched up more sewage as my consciousness began slipping away again, the edges of my vision blurring as every sound became dull.

Damnit, not again.

"Please, Dusty..."

"Mom..."