Broken Wings, Scattered Dust

Raven Sings a Midnight Tune

In the small visible patch of barren sky, a single little cloud drifted across, its edges aglow with silver sunlight.  There was more to this place than even what Descant was willing—or going—to tell us, and the quiet rustle of grass from somewhere nearby was not helping me figure it out.  It did, however, draw both Descant’s attention and mine; unnoticed by anyone besides me, Whimsy vanished into thin air with a barely-audible pop.

“Oooooo,” said a brash voice from out of sight, as though we were back in kindergarten and somebody had just gotten in trouble.  “Do tell.”

Neither one of us blinked as a small group of ponies entered the shrine’s inside from an adjacent tunnel; two were chatting away obliviously, but the third was eyeing us with a pair of brilliantly blue eyes that were absolutely loaded with curiosity.

“Why, hello,” Descant said, as though he were welcoming guests to a party.

“Hi,” I managed stiffly.

“Hi,” the blue-eyed pegasus said brightly, nudging her companions, who both shot hasty greetings at us before returning to a conversation I could make neither head nor tails out of.  “You here for the dance, too?”

At the word dance, I saw in the corner of my eye Descant’s head twitch and his eyes drift askew, but a moment later he looked as immutably grand as ever.  “Yes,” he said smoothly.  “I suppose we are.”

I made a mental note to ask him later what dance.  If I got the chance.

“Brilliant,” she said, her British accent becoming slightly more pronounced.  Her coat was the color of puffy clouds on a sunny day, and her ocean-blue mane had tiny curls at the end of each strand.  A trio of water droplets decorated her flank; she seemed about my age.  “I haven’t seen it yet, but these two”—she nodded towards the others—”swear it’s bloody fantastic.  Even better than the Great and Powerful Trixie, if you can believe that load of tosh.”

I thought privately that Whimsy would have a fit if she was listening in, but if she did, she did so without drawing any attention.

“But what were you saying, sir?” she said politely, addressing Descant.  “Something about meeting and marrying your mate here?”

“My first and only mate, yes,” he amended.  “There was little needed to make this place suitably beautiful, I assure you, but I’ll save those stories for another time.”

“Aww,” she cooed, half-disappointed, half-dreamy, no doubt imagining what a dragon’s marriage ceremony might entail.  “That’s cute.”

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” the dragon continued casually, extending one tentative talon slowly, so they didn’t take alarm.  “Descant.”

“Deluge,” she said, shaking his claw.  The others suddenly noticed she’d stopped paying attention, their eyes darting wildly about until they found us.  “Pleasure.”

“Sterling,” said an older, silver earth pony.  His mane was straight, but each strand’s end was part of a watery curtain that hid his right eye.  If he was afraid at all of shaking a dragon’s claw, he didn’t show it.  I couldn’t make much out of his cutie mark—it appeared to be nothing more than a very shiny splotch of silver. “Ster’s fine.”

“You twats,” said the remaining pony, a lavender unicorn with violently purple eyes and an indigo flower for a cutie mark.  She was young, younger than the other two, maybe a just a little younger than Whimsy.  “Sure, just go ahead and shake a dragon’s claw.  Not like it’s a gutting tool or anything.  And while you’re at it, why don’t you go ahead and ignore the pony slinking away behind him.  Clearly she has nothing to hide.”

I froze, not quite having managed to take cover behind the scaled behemoth that was Descant.  I hurriedly adopted the sheepish, flitting eye-contact of my alter ego, and shuffled nervously, but not quite nervously enough to forget to obscure my cutie mark.

“Pardon my friend,” Deluge said courteously, shooting the friend in question a piercing glare that seemed to wither half the grass around its recipient.  I didn’t miss the little crease in their brows, though; however polite they pretended to be, they were suspicious now.

“Sorry,” I said, as meekly as I could, remembering Whimsy’s advice: Don’t think about what you’re hiding, and they won’t either.

“It’s quite alright,” Deluge said.  “What’s your name, again?”

“Silhouette.”  I almost forgot to repress the normal, almost metallic edge in my voice, remembering just in time that I was extremely shy.  “Nice to meet you all.”

“How dare you,” said the third unicorn, offended.  “You don’t even know my name.”

“It’s Violet,” hissed Sterling.

“Hey,” interjected Violet.  “I didn’t ask you.”

“Yes, because I’m your slave, and the only things I do are the things you tell me to do,” said Sterling, rolling his eyes.

Descant cleared his throat.  I could tell he was trying to do it quietly, without being overly imposing, but it obviously wasn’t something he practiced too much.  It felt like a miniature earthquake.

Deluge apologized profusely, but I didn’t hear exactly what she said; there was more rustling of grass from another tunnel.  From the sound of it, two more ponies, and these two I knew.

Relief flooded my mind and veins as, from the opposite end of the shrine, two familiar ponies entered, bickering and arguing convincingly.  Both were unicorns; one was this pale grey with a silvery sheen and a straight-cut icy-blue mane.  The other was a much darker grey with an even darker, puffy mane that looked a bit like storm clouds.

“Well, well, well,” the dark grey one said, lilting this way and that as she stumbled her way over to us, surveying the meeting like a magician might survey his audience.  Her voice was, as always, sounded more than a little drunk.  “Lookee wha’ we have here.”

She looked back at her partner, who nodded and ushered her forward.

“Of course.”  The first pony finally reached us, bowed graciously, took a dramatic breath, and spoke in a voice so deep it visibly shook the entire shrine.

“From the world’s furthest corners, armed with magic’s darkest secrets...”  As she spoke, her horn spiraled to life, swiftly bathing us in darkened magic that seemed to suck every bit of light out of the area.  In seconds we were shrouded in a black fog so thick I couldn’t even see Descant next to me; only the dark grey unicorn was left illuminated.  Yet even then, the only things we could see were her face, which was possessed by some manic, almost demonic-looking wide-eyed expression, and her puffy mane, which was barely lit and flailing wildly about, nearly indistinguishable from the roiling smoke.

She’d improved since last time.

Right on cue, a small patch of smoke exploded, revealing the other mare standing there, just beneath her partner, who was now levitating far above the ground and was surrounded by swirling black circles of glowing runes.  “We are the infamous...the incredible...the illustrious Smoke.  And.  Mirrors!”

As Smoke announced their names, the smoke vanished around each of them with a burst of blinding light and burning sparks, and we were left sitting there, slightly dumbfounded and with stars still dancing in our eyes.

It was then that we noticed that Smoke and Mirrors were standing atop the pond’s still surface like it was glass, and the applause burst forth.  I couldn’t help but join in; Whimsy had really stepped up her game.  Shame nobody would ever know it was just one young mare fueling the whole spectacle.  Wandering around like we did gave her a lot of time to hone her talent, and honed it she had.

Smoke and Mirrors did the whole bowing bit, turning to each half of the audience before bidding us farewell until nightfall.  Curiously, not long after Descant did the same; presumably the dance was to take place at night.  I took his cue and followed suit, uttering a timid “Goodbye” to each of the other three ponies before exiting the shrine behind Descant.

Outside, we took refuge near the little tree-pond setup, and once I’d finish setting up our small tent, Whimsy materialized inside, looking a little drained but otherwise okay.  “Nice one,” she whispered to me.  “They looked pretty fooled.”

I grinned at her.  “I didn’t have to fool them for long, Ms. Smoke and Mirrors.”

Red splotches discolored her cheeks and her head drooped slightly, as though she was staring at my hooves.  “I’ve had a lot of time to practice.”

I let out a reluctant laugh that sounded more like I had an upset stomach.  “That you have, Whimsy.  That.  You.  Have.”

The tent door fluttered ajar, and the shadow of a claw wandered across it.  I pulled it all the way back, and Descant poked his head in.  There wasn’t much room left over.

“I believe I owe you both an explanation and an apology,” he said quietly, though the tent’s walls still trembled with the sound of timid thunder.  “The ‘dance’ is a spectacle that many travel for months to see.  I admit I’m surprised there aren’t more ponies here to see it; it only happens during the latter of a blue moon pair.”

I frowned at him, forcing as much command into my voice as I dared direct at a dragon.  “Anything else you ‘forget’ to tell us?”  Any more slips of his mind could mean the end of all three of us.

“No,” he said firmly.  “You must understand.  To live for so long, to accumulate so many memories.  They are as fish in a pond.  Some are closer to the surface than others, and that is always changing.”  He closed his eyes, a slight crinkle filling the tent as he furrowed his scaly brow.  “But I am aware of the dangerous line you tread.  I wish no grievous harm befall you, and I am prepared to take any steps necessary to prevent it.”

He opened his eyes again, and for once I saw every little striation in his irises, every tiny discoloring that marred their golden sheen.  I wondered vaguely how much of that detail was in my own eyes.  Or in Whimsy’s.

“Great,” grumbled Whimsy.  “Heads up, another lecture incoming.”

Descant grinned, and I heard the rumblings of a chuckle from somewhere far behind his pointed teeth.  “Not this time, I’m afraid.  The dance cannot be explained nor retold.  Nothing can capture what it is to see the stars dance, and before...it was how we communed with Mother.”

I coughed, spraying Whimsy with half-chewed apple chunks, but she hardly noticed.   In all fairness, she was still maintaining the two illusions that were Smoke and Mirrors, just in case Deluge and her friends went looking for them.

“Stars?” I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.  “Dance?”

He nodded as far as he could without uprooting the tent stakes, his eyes downcast at an angle that clearly said I knew you wouldn’t believe me.

“He’s not lying,” Whimsy said sharply.  “Every dragon’s seen it and every one remembers it.  Bet my tail on it.”

“Keep your tail.  I wanna see this.”

“Meet me inside the shrine at nightfall, and we will see if you can discern more than I.”  Descant withdrew his head, and after the tent flaps fell shut I heard his arrhythmic thuds fading away.  I turned to Whimsy, who had sprawled out on her bedspread, trying to get some sleep.  I couldn’t, as much as I needed it.

“Whimsy.”

“Yes?”

“If...if something happens to me, find Descant, and tell him...’The silver nimbus yields.’”

Her head lifted off the pillow, but she didn’t respond right away.  I was afraid she would retaliate, berate me for doing what I did, chew me out for not trusting her to take care of herself.  She did none of that.

“I’m glad you chose him and not some other dolt.  At least he’s fun.”  She paused.  “Thank you.”

She lay back down, and she was asleep before I could untie my tongue.  I left the tent and stood outside. Dancing stars aside—as mesmerizing as it sounded—I didn’t trust any of the other three, and there was always that tiny niggling thought that Descant wasn’t as benevolent as he wanted us to believe.  Plus there was always the chance that Smoke and Mirrors would be found out.  I was Whimsy’s contingency plan, more or less.

So I stood guard.  The sun fell ever lower, the wind grew ever stronger, and my body’s protests went unacknowledged.  I’d gone without sleep before, and for less important reasons.  Another sleepless night wouldn’t kill me.

Off in the distance I saw the other three milling about and erecting their own tents, their chatter fading into the wind’s own whispers by the time it got to me.  On the opposite side, Smoke and Mirrors were hard at work inside a large tent, which was leaking a thin stream of black smoke.  I pretended to brush my mane down and sneaked a glance through my goggles’ lenses; the two unicorns didn’t exist, according to them.

It was surprising the enchantment had held for as long as it had.  Magic, said Whimsy, was not a slave.  It went where it willed.  On top of that, the goggles were always in the presence of one strong magical being—usually two—and that wasn’t counting dragons.  The fact that its enchantment hadn’t been disrupted thus far was a miracle in itself, but every time I used them, I knew that I couldn’t depend on them forever.

Banishing my drifting thoughts, I cast my eyes outwards again.  The other three had settled into their tents—Sterling and Deluge in one, Violet in the other—while the smoke billowing from the twin magicians’ tent had only thickened.  The pure blue of the sky was starting to yield to indigo with the usual red-and-yellow shenanigans in between, but there was still some time yet before night was upon us.

I hardened my core and stiffened as much as I could without appearing frozen, allowing my mind to settle into a trancelike focus, where I was conscious but not, where I could stare without seeing, move without moving.  All three of the camps had fallen silent; Descant was soaring far overhead, his crippled leg dangling limply below.  The desert around us was barren in every sense of the word; I couldn’t see any incoming threats, so if there was one, it involved the other three.

I couldn’t decide what to make of them.  They seemed harmless enough, but that they showed up at the same time we did was reason enough to be wary.  I tentatively brought my hooves together, and when they were almost touching, a tiny spark leapt between my bands.  I needed to charge them, and I needed to do it soon.

The sky slowly turned to one fit for a postcard.  I lost my wandering mind in its maelstrom of hues, reds, oranges, yellows, pinks.  It always struck me as odd that I could look directly at the sun at these times with no pain at all; it was this soft reddish-yellow, and it cast the same light over everything it touched, as though everything exposed to it would catch fire.

There was, of course, some slight mumbling from inside the tent.  I knew Whimsy wouldn’t be sleeping well.  She loved feeling the sunrises and sunsets, and missing even just one would be torture.  She said it was the only time that both Celestia and Luna ruled in equal measure.  The only time they could be sisters instead of polar-opposite deities.

All too soon the sun brushed against the ocean of sand, the moon slithered into view, and all three camps came to life again.  Descant landed next to me, apparently not at all puzzled as to why I’d turned into a statue.  Whimsy emerged from the tent, yawning.  In the distance, I could see the twilight-lit outlines of the other three mingling, and the twin magicians’ tent was glowing so brightly I was surprised it hadn’t burst into flame.  It occurred to me then that it must be a lot easier to maintain the illusion of a large glowing tent and some smoke than a pair of walking, talking unicorns.

And indeed, Whimsy’s horn was glowing much less than it had been.  I slowly let my vigilance bleed out until I could relax somewhat, and I managed a small grin.  What little sleep left hanging over her vanished instantly.

“All right,” she said to Descant.  “What did you do to her?”

“Pardon?”

“She’s smiling.  What have you done to her?”  She could’ve been reading off a list of crimes I’d committed.  Pity her if she ever had to do that.

The dragon took a tiny step back, but his voice was firm.  “Nothing.”

Whimsy whirled to me, blindfold ablaze with the glare she could not give.  “All right, missy, what gives?”

I could feel my smile widening in spite of myself.  “Dunno.”  It was as much the truth as anything was.  I felt, for once, content.  Almost...cheery.  Some of it was a heaving relief that what came next was not up to me, and that anything that went wrong wasn’t immediately my failure.  Partly it was because I hadn’t had to really worry about being captured in the past few days.

But it wouldn’t last forever.

“Oh.”  Whimsy sounded relieved, yet even as she continued I could feel the smile sliding off my face like a cold splash of water.   “Good.  You haven’t gone crazy.  Yet.  You had me worried for a second.”

I merely turned to Descant, who, like he did for most of our sisterly interactions, was following curiously along.   When he met my eyes, however, he motioned towards the shrine.  Whimsy followed immediately, but I lingered just long enough to pack up the tent and fluff up the grass that Whimsy’d flattened.  No traces.

The shrine was veritably packed by the time I entered. Descant was right in front of me; Smoke and Mirrors were sitting quietly off to our left, and the other three were sitting to our right, chatting away.   I felt the invisible Whimsy prod me gently, and I noted with some discomfort that her leg was stiff, tensed.  Perhaps the shrine’s magic changed during the dance...or one of the other three was more than they wanted us to know.  Either way, she was nervous, and that was never a sign of anything good.

“Couldn’t sleep last night,” she whispered in my ear.  “This damn thing gives off way too much magic, but it doesn’t make me sick.  The only reason I can think of is that it’s coming from the same place as mine...but that would mean...”

Descant quietly unfurled his left wing over us, and he poked his head into the leathery tent.  Whimsy materialized in response; the dragon’s bulk shielded her from the others’ view, and his wing rendered us nigh-inaudible.

“Might you know?”  he asked curiously.  “We dragons have never figured out where the Calamus came from, or even how it works.  It can introduce us to our creators, but that is all we know.  Even the dance does follows no pattern, and it is always different, always new.”

Whimsy glared at him, pretending to be upset that he’d overheard.  “Excuse me, mister, I wasn’t talkin’ to you.”

Descant was about reply when the dance started, and the words died in his throat.