Thunder and Hailby Trixie_LChapters123451In days long past, long before the pegasi were in control of the weather, it was thought that thunderstorms and hail were the creations of great sorcerers. The handful of unicorns with the magical talent to manipulate the weather (who weren't responsible for all of the storms) were not just respected, they were treated as though they were royalty, for no reason other than fear of the power they wielded. This special treatment angered the rulers of the day. How could common unicorns be treated as well as themselves? As a result, the performance of such magic was outlawed. When my mother would tell me this story, she would always end it by saying to me, “Trixie, magic should never be forbidden. A unicorn should learn everything she can, and use it wisely.” The story inspired me to learn to conjure lightning at a young age. It was my first step on a long road—the road to trying to be the powerful unicorn my mother was sure I would one day become. My mother was a majestic mare, vibrant and beautiful. She served as a professor of advanced magic at the Royal Academy, and was well respected by everypony in Canterlot. Where she really shined, however, was her talent as a powerful magician—she wrote several spells, and even Princess Celestia sought her council on occasion. She was the most important pony in my life, I followed her everywhere for our 10 years together. Then one day I woke up to my father looking shaken, telling me that she was gone; killed by an ursa major. I couldn't believe it, my mother—a powerful sorceress—overpowered by some woodland beast. I wouldn't believe it for so long. But she never came home. It was all true. She had died, far away from our cozy Canterlot home, leaving behind my father and I. My father, the ever-absent stallion. He was never around when my mother was still alive; never at school plays, never at my birthdays, never with mom on Hearth's Warming Eve, never anywhere to be found. Especially not when she died. I always knew my father wasn't directly responsible for my mother's death, but it didn't matter—he was at least indirectly responsible. Maybe if he had been more caring she wouldn't have been in some dark and terrible cave alone. I spent six years with my father. Six years imagining all of the ways that I would have saved my mother if I had been there. I imagined the ursa major: it's hideous glowing red eyes, it's long, sharp, and menacing yellowed teeth. I imagined standing before it and destroying it. Over and over again I would imagine my triumph over the ursa, my mother alive and beaming with pride for her daughter—a unicorn that would surely be as powerful and majestic as she. Some days I would feel if I could just imagine it a little longer, it might just become real. After she was gone I struggled through school, and while I thought that magic would come naturally it didn't. My mother had told me I'd grow up to be a great and powerful unicorn one day. How could I let her down? I missed her voice, her smile, the way that she would fill the house with a loving warmth. It was her presence that made the house a home. My father could never replace or even imitate the warm feeling she brought. Without her the house felt empty, especially when my father was around. It was for that reason that I never felt strange leaving it behind. I took all of the bits I had saved since I had a been a little filly and I bought a second-hoof cart that—after more bits—was converted for use in my magic shows. The cart was special, and it was mine, but it was often more of a setback than anything. Panels of wood swelled or began to rot and had to be replaced, bits of metal rusted and sometimes on steep hills the wheels would come off for what seemed like no reason. The bits that went toward fixing the cart came out of my budget for magical objects and relics. 2It's a bright day in the Canterlot town center. Vendors of all sorts line the sides of the streets and the air smells of baked goods. The stage is prepared, the curtains drawn. A small crowd has gathered around for the show. I'll make it a show they'll never forget. “Come one, come all, come and witness the amazing magic of the Great and Powerful Trixie!”—cue the fireworks, loud and bright flashes of yellow, orange and white in all directions, spiral trails of blue and green sparks left behind as rockets sail into the sky. The crowd gasps, oohing, and ahhing at the dazzling display. It cost me half the bits I earned from the last show, but it had been worth it. “Watch in awe as the Great and Powerful Trixie performs the most spectacular feats of magic ever witnessed by pony eyes!” The inflection was deliberate, practiced—masterful. In these rare moments of performance I had to establish an image of myself as a great and powerful sorcerer. I wanted them catch even just the slightest glimpse of the awe and wonder that the sorcerers in my mother's story filled me with, even if that was only part of my true motivation. Dark clouds gathered around the stage as I summoned them in preparation for the next trick. Fillies and colts recoiled in fear of the uncertain as lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and coils of chains extended themselves outwards from tall wicker pots. I could feel the magic flowing through my horn, I could imagine it traveling through the air unseen. I was the puppeteer in control of it all. The crowd cheered as the chains took the shape of familiar creatures; a timber-wolf, a dragon, and a snake. I grinned as the wind blew back my cape. Several tricks later and I was feeling on top of the world. My final display was a magic-assisted firework show of my dreams: Trixie, the great unicorn, powerful sorceress, defeating an ursa major. I left the stage behind a veil of smoke to an ecstatic crowd. It wasn't always this easy to impress an audience—Canterlot was kind to the talent, they understood the value of a show-mare. I collected my bits, packed up the cart, and left to attend to my real reason for being back in my home city. Filled to brim with the best magic students in Equestria, the Royal Academy had been a venerable institution since long before the rule of Celestia. Standing tall above the rest of the city the Academy loomed over all but the castle. It was intimidating to visit. My mother served the Academy for the majority of her life after attending it, but not many ponies know what she did. She belonged to a secret society that was not-so-secret but cleverly disguised. Founded by Princess Luna before her exile, the Royal Academic Society for Advanced Magical Studies was a faculty group who studied dangerous and dark magic. I'd visited the Academy with my mother several times before her death, and though I was never a student I was always allowed free access to the libraries within. It was a gift from my mother who said that I'd always find value in it. The books in the library contained enough wisdom to found a kingdom, and in the past they had been used to do just that. Sorting through them was not an easy task, but the librarians were always eager to help. There was a book I had been searching for years in a “small” collection of the RASAMS archive for a book written by Star Swirl the Bearded. The collection was 10,000 books, of which over 1,500 were written by Star Swirl himself. Star Swirl had been a genius in several facets: he was a renowned herbologist (though for some reason the librarians told me there was controversy about some part of this, and his books on herbology have been banned in the past), he was able to write countless spells, craft magical amulets and artifacts, and his magical ability was second only to that of an alicorn. You would expect this genius to title his books appropriately, but instead I found such titles as The Tangled Menagerie of a Summer Lampoon which is all about the artifacts one might find at the bottom of deep rivers flowing through Equestria if one were able to cast a certain spell to breathe underwater—the process of which he outlines in the book Cautionary Tales of a Broiled Lily which, naturally, came shortly before his little-known novella entitled simply: Eeee. In the story that my mother would tell me, I can only imagine that in its details she saw the struggle between students of magic and those who would squander a unicorn's talent for materialistic reasons. I saw in the story something else. My mother told me that I would be a great and powerful sorceress someday, but in my most honest moments I had to admit to myself that it didn't come naturally. I was not possessed of the same talent that my mother was naturally born with. I was lacking, a failure as a student of magic; I couldn't even attend the Academy. It was hard not to feel like a pony destined to achieve only mediocrity. But there are other ways to increase a unicorn's power. Somewhere around 600 books into the collection I had finally come across a book, Principia Magicum, discussing magical artifacts of old, amulets of all types, and other objects of great power. It was far from the first book of it's type I'd seen. Years passed as I split my time between searching for magical objects, reading about them, and performing to earn enough for my travels and to support myself. My mother had a collection of powerful objects which I was never allowed to touch or play with, and in them was a small metal cube. It was gray-colored, unblemished, and as lusterless as it was uninteresting—except now I was reading about it in Star Swirl's book. This artifact would be so easy to find I could leave immediately to get it. Doing so, however, would require seeing dad once more; and worse, actually speaking to him. 3I had never forgiven him for not being there for me. I will never forgive him for not being there for mom. When I left Canterlot my father fell apart. He sold our house and moved to Ponyville. I got a letter many years ago from him inviting me to a wedding; his wedding. With some young tramp of a mare that wasn't even a unicorn. The letter arrived a week after the wedding from, and thanks to, the worst mail-pony I've seen in all my travels in Equestria (some gray pegasus). It was just as well, I wouldn't have gone anyways. I hadn't spoken to him since I left, and I can't say we parted ways on good terms. I had no idea if he would give me what I wanted, but if it meant getting closer to fulfilling my mother's hopes for me then it had to be done. I thought about what I might say to him on the train ride to Ponyville. The small town of Ponyville was lush and green, with plants freshly blooming in the onset of spring. Filled with animals, quaint little shops, and ponies who were generally too quaint for my preference it's a far cry from Canterlot. Why father settled here I'll never know—perhaps the tramp lured him here, or ensnared him as he was passing through, or maybe he was running from what he was used to back home. It didn't matter, I intended to leave the small hovel-town without so much as a performance—these ponies would never appreciate a show-mare such as Trixie. When I arrived at the address listed, deep along Meadowlark Lane on the edge of the forest, it was already night and I knew he would be there. I knocked. A line of light stretched along the edge of the doorway as the young mare behind it cracked it open ever-so-slightly. “Can I help you, ma'am?” I breathed a welcome sigh of relief at the sight of the young maid mare asking the question. I'd traveled so far expecting the tramp to answer the door. “I-” “Oh, of course! Madam Lulamoon, I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you sooner!” The door swung open as the maid took a few paces back, gesturing me inside. “Come in!” “I'm here to see my father. Is he in?” My eyes darted around the room behind the door. The décor was simple, but elegant—and undoubtedly expensive. Large black marble tiles contrasted the soft egg-white hue of the walls. A crystal chandelier hung in the center of the entryway and orchids in elaborate terracotta pots could be seen scattered around the room. “Of course, madam, please follow me to the study.” She must have recognized me from a photograph, but the walls were barren as we made our through a hallway to father's study. The entrance to the study was guarded by a thick wooden door, recessed into the wall—the only one in the long hall to appear so thick, and certainly the only doorway set further into the wall. My father was a stallion who enjoyed his privacy. I would bet all of the bits to my name that he'll close the door as his first order of business, so that nopony else in the house can hear what I've been waiting to say to him. About his new wife, his lavish house in ridiculous little town, his— “Here we are madam, you may wait here while I fetch your father.” The study was full of pictures. Framed pictures on the desk, on the walls, on the end-table. There were several of me from before I had left home, pictures of father and the tramp from just before the wedding—the same photos he'd sent in his letter—and there were photos from after the wedding. He looked happy, and it only angered me further. Then I saw it. In the middle of a group of photographs on his desk were several of a young earth-pony with braided silver hair and a gray coat. I momentarily forgot my anger. In an instant it was replaced by sadness, and desperation to wake up from the nightmare. He hadn't just married the tramp, he had another daughter with her. An earth-pony. How could he? How could he do it to me? What about mother? The anger began to rise once more until it was boiling inside of me. How could that inconsiderate, foolish, selfish— “Trixie! It's been so long since I've seen you!” My father rushed from the door behind me to embrace me. He didn't close the door. He always closes it... “I—you—how could you do this?!” I could barely think straight. “What did I do, sweetheart? Why are you so angry?” His apparent confusion incensed me even further. I was nearing the edge of what I could take without completely breaking down. In one swift motion I levitated the pictures of the young filly and smashed them against the wall, shattering the glass. I began to weep as they fell to the floor. “How could you?” Even if he had an answer, I didn't want it. “You've known about this for years, sweetie, I wrote to you with pictures shortly after she was born.” That was supposed to fix it. In my father's mind all he had to do was tell me that he wrote to me about it, that solved everything. Wrote to me in a letter I never received. Wrote to me after her birth. If there was a chance I could have ever forgiven him, it vanished in that instant. “I didn't know about this, and it doesn't even matter—you aren't a stallion, you're a pig and you disgust me.” It stung to say, even if it was what I felt in my heart of hearts. I couldn't stop myself. “I'm only here for some of mom's things. You didn't sell them did you? Tell me that isn't how you paid for the house for your whore and her daughter.” “Trixie...” He began to cry. I had never seen him cry, even when mom died. “When your mother died I felt so lost, and alone.” He struggled to speak between tears. “I didn't know what to do, and I had moments where I even resented her for leaving me behind alone to deal with the pain. And I still had to raise you!” “You didn't raise me. You were never around!” Father wasn't the only one that was left alone when mom died. “I had to work! Someone had to provide for you, you were too young to fend for yourself! But that is beside the point, Trix, listen...” Some of his composure had returned. “I was miserable for so long, and when you left it really broke me. So I came here to start a new life, and I'm happy now. I have a loving wife, and a daughter who will want for nothing so long as she lives.” He looked straight at me, tears still hanging in his eyes. “All I'm missing now is you. You don't have to be so distant. Don't you see? We could be a family again.” I paused to consider my words. “My family died a long time ago. I don't want yours.” The words hit him hard. “Do you have mom's collection or not? The one she kept in the locked glass case.” “No! I don't. I got rid of it a long time ago, and if you don't want to be part of this family—if you can't even be happy for me—then leave right now and I won't try to contact you again.” He didn't need to say anything else. I was as halfway to the door before he finished his sentence. That was it, the trip was wasted. Even worse: now I had to deal with the fact that I had an earth-pony related to me through unfortunate circumstances. I rushed back to the exit, almost slipping on the black marble as I left the house. I paused just outside the door to consider my options. If I went back to Canterlot empty-hoofed I'd never come back to Ponyville to try and find the collection (assuming it hadn't found its way someplace else already). I couldn't let mom's collection slip away without trying to recover it. I'd stay and see what I could find, even if I'd have to spend my traveling bits on it and walk back to Canter— “Uhm, Trixie?” A meek voice from behind me caught me off guard. I turned around to see the filly from the photos inside. A small earth-pony with a silver spoon cutie mark. “My name is Silver Spoon, and,” she paused and looked at me with her eyes beginning to tear up, “I'm your sister, but I guess you don't want that.” My heart sank. “Listen, it isn't that way.” I didn't know what to say. “Maybe, someday in the future we'll see each other again and get to know one another.” The thought repulsed me. “But, Trixie, I,” I didn't want her to finish. I couldn't let her finish. “The great show-mare Trixie has to be off, back to Canterlot where I'm expected to put on a show first thing in the mor—“ “I know where your mother's thing is!” “—ning.” I eyed the filly cautiously, trying to get a read on whether or not she was lying to me. “Okay, tell me more.” Silver Spoon smiled and pulled a folded scrap of paper out of her bag. I'd been caught off guard so badly that I hadn't even noticed she had a bag. “I have a map, see?” She unfolded the scrap and held it up proudly. It was a simple map in black ink, with a single red cross marked on it and encircled. “I'll give it to you, but only if you let me go with you to get it!” Her enthusiasm was frightening. “Trixie has an idea, instead, I'll give 10 bits for that scrap of paper and I'll write to you if I find anything interesting.” There was no way I'd ever take along this earth-pony. “TEN bits? My allowance is TWO-HUNDRED bits a month!” She was indignant. I should have known that she'd be spoiled rotten. “Fine, I can give you ONE hundred bits for that scrap of useless paper.” What was I doing? One-hundred bits wasn't trivial. Spoon tilted her head to the side slightly and furrowed her brow. “You'll take me with you or you won't get the map.” This was new; why would this little filly want to go with me? Something was off. “Silver Spoon, why do you want to go with me so badly?” Her widened eyes began to tear up; the look on her face broke my heart. “It's just...” She fell silent for a moment. “I've seen pictures of you my whole life. You're my big sister, and I want to get to know you.” A tear fell from one eye. “Every year I'd look at your picture and wish you were here for the Sisterhooves Social, or any other day, even!” I didn't want to accept her offer, but I needed the map—the collection, or even just the cube. This was my only way of getting it, and the filly had managed to nearly reduce me to tears. Even so, there was no way I'd ever call this earth-pony my sister. I'd just have to find some way to explain it to her. Some way to make her realize that I didn't want any part of knowing her mother, or seeing my father anymore. A way of explaining that I didn't want a sister; I didn't dream of being anypony's anything at the Sisterhooves Social. I'd finish this little errand and let her down as easy as I could. “So where are we headed? Let me see this map.” “I think it's in the forest.” “Let me see.” She was right. The map was a scrap of paper from some old book. The spot marked was barely inside of the Everfree Forest, in a cave, the last place in Equestria that I ever wanted to find myself. It was inside of a cave somewhere deep in the Everfree Forest where my mother encountered the ursa major. If that was my mother's fate, what would become of us? But ponies venture into the Everfree Forest all the time and come out alive—don't they? I'd heard ponies in Canterlot talking about exploring the caves for old dragon hoards, but they were probably better prepared than I could hope to be for this. I resolved to go ahead—a great sorceress never turns back, and it wasn't as though we couldn't simply run at the first sign of danger. 4The journey through the forest to the cave was quiet and uneventful. Silver Spoon's map seemed to show only paths known to be relatively safe, and I couldn't have been more pleased. We had managed to reach the entrance right as the sun was setting. I anticipated that, like the path we followed to reach it, the cave would be safe and perhaps even friendly looking. Why wouldn't it be? Everything on the map had brought us only to the safest paths where ponies had explored long ago and had clearly been routinely exploring since. When we reached the mouth of the cave it was anything but friendly and inviting. I kept asking myself why the collection would be brought here. The answers were unsettling. Perhaps it was some corrupt sorcerer, taking a collection full of dark magic artifacts deep into the Everfree Forrest to terrorize Equestria from the shadows. Maybe it was hidden and intended to be lost because of the power contained in the collection. In either cases it may be guarded. Dragon guards, or timer-wolves, or—or ursas. And what if it were a great corrupt sorcerer? Would I be able to defeat them? I was ready to give up the search, but Silver Spoon seemed unaware of the dangers. It seemed as though she thought it was a game. Perhaps she was just unaffected. “Come on, Trixie, let's go,” Spoon called out to me as she ran into the mouth of the cave. I ran after her, catching her by the tail. “Slow down, Silver Spoon. We don't know what is in this cave, understand?” I looked around cautiously. The light from the outside was starting to fade into an ominous black that seemed to stretch endlessly forward into the cave. “I'll use some magic to help us out,” I said as I used a simple illumination spell to cast light from my horn a short distance into the cave. The soft fuchsia glow danced off of the jagged walls around us. Everywhere were rocks sharp enough to cut right in to a pony's flank. There was a soft thud somewhere deep inside the still darkness of the cave. “What was that?” Silver Spoon sounded amused. Now I was sure she thought it was a game. “I'm not sure, just stay near to me.” Rocks could be heard clattering from the direction of the thud. It sounded closer. My heart raced as I imagined what might be making the noises. “Did you see that?!” Spoon shrieked, startled. I turned around to look behind me. The light emanating from my horn cast shadows off the rocks in all directions. As I moved the shadows danced and played across the walls. There was a feeling that we were not alone in the cave. “Let's go, Silver Spoon. That old scrap is probably wrong anyways.” “But—“, she tried to interrupt, but I was in no mood. “We're leaving. Right now, this isn't some game.” I grabbed her tail and pulled her several paces towards me in one swift motion. She got the message. Trotting back to the mouth of the cave we could hear something behind us, moving—crawling, perhaps. Busying itself with whatever wretched business. Our hooves continued to pound the ground until we were safely outside. “Why didn't we look further, Trixie? I thought you wanted that box.” How could she be saying that after our start just a moment ago? “This is serious, Silver Spoon. Whatever was in that cave could have really hurt us. Didn't you consider that?” I looked at the young earth-pony as sternly as I could. “But, you could have handled them with your magic! And I just know how badly you wanted that box...” She shuffled her hooves and looked down at the grass beneath her. “I did want the box, Silver Spoon. I wanted it badly. It was something that was of great interest to my mother. Who—by the way—was killed in a cave not unlike the one we were just in. It was something she valued, that I too have a great interest in.” “You really loved your mom, huh? I love mine too.” She didn't understand how I felt. How could she? She had no idea what her mother represented to me, and I resented her for it. “I'm sure that your mother is a—” I hesitated. I didn't mean to hesitate. All of the foul titles I had given the tramp played through my mind. I could only hope Silver Spoon didn't notice the pause. “—a fine mare, and a good mom.” “But you feel like she took your dad, huh?” Her question was sincere and shocked me. “I guess it's something like that, but I don't know why I'm even talking to you about this...” I could feel the blood beneath my cheeks; being confronted with such an accurate statement by such a young filly was embarrassing. It made my resentment seem childish. “I'm sorry, big sister.” Her words carried the same emotion that hung heavy in her eyes. “Spoon... It's not your fault.” I felt terrible for her. She had no say in any of it, and maybe—in spite of her nearly spot-on assessment—she really was too young to understand my side of things. Father was never there for me. He was never there for mom. And the first time I turn up at his doorstep in years to talk to him? He'd already moved on with a new family. A new life. What did he need with me? I gathered myself. The sun had gone down and the stars above were shining in the night sky. “Let's start walking back, it's getting late.” 5Clouds had begun to roll in by the time we finally reached the edge of Ponyville. The overcast sky threatened rain if we stayed out much longer, and I was already feeling bad enough—it had been a day of shock, anger, fear, and disappointment—who needed being stuck in the rain? “Uhm, big sister?” Silver Spoon looked at me expectantly. I still didn't know how to respond to the filly. I still didn't feel ready to accept that I had a sister. I wished I could teleport far away. “I should tell you something,” she said as she started to rummage through her bag. “What is it, Spoon?” I waited patiently, not knowing what to expect. I gasped as she slowly withdrew the metal cube from her bag, holding it up for me to see. That sneaky filly! She'd sent us on a pointless, and dangerous errand. I was too exhausted to be angry at the little pony. She had only wanted a sister, somepony to share a special bond with. Maybe she'd known my intentions—that if I left her behind at the house we never would have seen one another again. “I know it was important to you, and I know where dad keeps your mom's collection. Here.” Spoon extended her hoof towards me. I fought back tears as I reached for the cube. “Uhm.” She looked at me with wide eyes. “Y-Yes, Silver Spoon?” I managed to choke out. “You won't really be staying away from Ponyville, will you?” “No, Silver Spoon. I'll be back, soon, to perform.” I looked at Spoon, then down at the cube. “And to see my little sister.” That night it rained, and I told my sister the story of the sorcerers responsible for the thunder, and the hail. Author's Note This story is lacking in certain areas, and the ending was slightly rushed. The story was written for a contest, and the deadline snuck up on me faster than I thought it would. I apologize for the brevity of the last chapter, but I hope you enjoyed the story!
1In days long past, long before the pegasi were in control of the weather, it was thought that thunderstorms and hail were the creations of great sorcerers. The handful of unicorns with the magical talent to manipulate the weather (who weren't responsible for all of the storms) were not just respected, they were treated as though they were royalty, for no reason other than fear of the power they wielded. This special treatment angered the rulers of the day. How could common unicorns be treated as well as themselves? As a result, the performance of such magic was outlawed. When my mother would tell me this story, she would always end it by saying to me, “Trixie, magic should never be forbidden. A unicorn should learn everything she can, and use it wisely.” The story inspired me to learn to conjure lightning at a young age. It was my first step on a long road—the road to trying to be the powerful unicorn my mother was sure I would one day become. My mother was a majestic mare, vibrant and beautiful. She served as a professor of advanced magic at the Royal Academy, and was well respected by everypony in Canterlot. Where she really shined, however, was her talent as a powerful magician—she wrote several spells, and even Princess Celestia sought her council on occasion. She was the most important pony in my life, I followed her everywhere for our 10 years together. Then one day I woke up to my father looking shaken, telling me that she was gone; killed by an ursa major. I couldn't believe it, my mother—a powerful sorceress—overpowered by some woodland beast. I wouldn't believe it for so long. But she never came home. It was all true. She had died, far away from our cozy Canterlot home, leaving behind my father and I. My father, the ever-absent stallion. He was never around when my mother was still alive; never at school plays, never at my birthdays, never with mom on Hearth's Warming Eve, never anywhere to be found. Especially not when she died. I always knew my father wasn't directly responsible for my mother's death, but it didn't matter—he was at least indirectly responsible. Maybe if he had been more caring she wouldn't have been in some dark and terrible cave alone. I spent six years with my father. Six years imagining all of the ways that I would have saved my mother if I had been there. I imagined the ursa major: it's hideous glowing red eyes, it's long, sharp, and menacing yellowed teeth. I imagined standing before it and destroying it. Over and over again I would imagine my triumph over the ursa, my mother alive and beaming with pride for her daughter—a unicorn that would surely be as powerful and majestic as she. Some days I would feel if I could just imagine it a little longer, it might just become real. After she was gone I struggled through school, and while I thought that magic would come naturally it didn't. My mother had told me I'd grow up to be a great and powerful unicorn one day. How could I let her down? I missed her voice, her smile, the way that she would fill the house with a loving warmth. It was her presence that made the house a home. My father could never replace or even imitate the warm feeling she brought. Without her the house felt empty, especially when my father was around. It was for that reason that I never felt strange leaving it behind. I took all of the bits I had saved since I had a been a little filly and I bought a second-hoof cart that—after more bits—was converted for use in my magic shows. The cart was special, and it was mine, but it was often more of a setback than anything. Panels of wood swelled or began to rot and had to be replaced, bits of metal rusted and sometimes on steep hills the wheels would come off for what seemed like no reason. The bits that went toward fixing the cart came out of my budget for magical objects and relics.
2It's a bright day in the Canterlot town center. Vendors of all sorts line the sides of the streets and the air smells of baked goods. The stage is prepared, the curtains drawn. A small crowd has gathered around for the show. I'll make it a show they'll never forget. “Come one, come all, come and witness the amazing magic of the Great and Powerful Trixie!”—cue the fireworks, loud and bright flashes of yellow, orange and white in all directions, spiral trails of blue and green sparks left behind as rockets sail into the sky. The crowd gasps, oohing, and ahhing at the dazzling display. It cost me half the bits I earned from the last show, but it had been worth it. “Watch in awe as the Great and Powerful Trixie performs the most spectacular feats of magic ever witnessed by pony eyes!” The inflection was deliberate, practiced—masterful. In these rare moments of performance I had to establish an image of myself as a great and powerful sorcerer. I wanted them catch even just the slightest glimpse of the awe and wonder that the sorcerers in my mother's story filled me with, even if that was only part of my true motivation. Dark clouds gathered around the stage as I summoned them in preparation for the next trick. Fillies and colts recoiled in fear of the uncertain as lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and coils of chains extended themselves outwards from tall wicker pots. I could feel the magic flowing through my horn, I could imagine it traveling through the air unseen. I was the puppeteer in control of it all. The crowd cheered as the chains took the shape of familiar creatures; a timber-wolf, a dragon, and a snake. I grinned as the wind blew back my cape. Several tricks later and I was feeling on top of the world. My final display was a magic-assisted firework show of my dreams: Trixie, the great unicorn, powerful sorceress, defeating an ursa major. I left the stage behind a veil of smoke to an ecstatic crowd. It wasn't always this easy to impress an audience—Canterlot was kind to the talent, they understood the value of a show-mare. I collected my bits, packed up the cart, and left to attend to my real reason for being back in my home city. Filled to brim with the best magic students in Equestria, the Royal Academy had been a venerable institution since long before the rule of Celestia. Standing tall above the rest of the city the Academy loomed over all but the castle. It was intimidating to visit. My mother served the Academy for the majority of her life after attending it, but not many ponies know what she did. She belonged to a secret society that was not-so-secret but cleverly disguised. Founded by Princess Luna before her exile, the Royal Academic Society for Advanced Magical Studies was a faculty group who studied dangerous and dark magic. I'd visited the Academy with my mother several times before her death, and though I was never a student I was always allowed free access to the libraries within. It was a gift from my mother who said that I'd always find value in it. The books in the library contained enough wisdom to found a kingdom, and in the past they had been used to do just that. Sorting through them was not an easy task, but the librarians were always eager to help. There was a book I had been searching for years in a “small” collection of the RASAMS archive for a book written by Star Swirl the Bearded. The collection was 10,000 books, of which over 1,500 were written by Star Swirl himself. Star Swirl had been a genius in several facets: he was a renowned herbologist (though for some reason the librarians told me there was controversy about some part of this, and his books on herbology have been banned in the past), he was able to write countless spells, craft magical amulets and artifacts, and his magical ability was second only to that of an alicorn. You would expect this genius to title his books appropriately, but instead I found such titles as The Tangled Menagerie of a Summer Lampoon which is all about the artifacts one might find at the bottom of deep rivers flowing through Equestria if one were able to cast a certain spell to breathe underwater—the process of which he outlines in the book Cautionary Tales of a Broiled Lily which, naturally, came shortly before his little-known novella entitled simply: Eeee. In the story that my mother would tell me, I can only imagine that in its details she saw the struggle between students of magic and those who would squander a unicorn's talent for materialistic reasons. I saw in the story something else. My mother told me that I would be a great and powerful sorceress someday, but in my most honest moments I had to admit to myself that it didn't come naturally. I was not possessed of the same talent that my mother was naturally born with. I was lacking, a failure as a student of magic; I couldn't even attend the Academy. It was hard not to feel like a pony destined to achieve only mediocrity. But there are other ways to increase a unicorn's power. Somewhere around 600 books into the collection I had finally come across a book, Principia Magicum, discussing magical artifacts of old, amulets of all types, and other objects of great power. It was far from the first book of it's type I'd seen. Years passed as I split my time between searching for magical objects, reading about them, and performing to earn enough for my travels and to support myself. My mother had a collection of powerful objects which I was never allowed to touch or play with, and in them was a small metal cube. It was gray-colored, unblemished, and as lusterless as it was uninteresting—except now I was reading about it in Star Swirl's book. This artifact would be so easy to find I could leave immediately to get it. Doing so, however, would require seeing dad once more; and worse, actually speaking to him.
3I had never forgiven him for not being there for me. I will never forgive him for not being there for mom. When I left Canterlot my father fell apart. He sold our house and moved to Ponyville. I got a letter many years ago from him inviting me to a wedding; his wedding. With some young tramp of a mare that wasn't even a unicorn. The letter arrived a week after the wedding from, and thanks to, the worst mail-pony I've seen in all my travels in Equestria (some gray pegasus). It was just as well, I wouldn't have gone anyways. I hadn't spoken to him since I left, and I can't say we parted ways on good terms. I had no idea if he would give me what I wanted, but if it meant getting closer to fulfilling my mother's hopes for me then it had to be done. I thought about what I might say to him on the train ride to Ponyville. The small town of Ponyville was lush and green, with plants freshly blooming in the onset of spring. Filled with animals, quaint little shops, and ponies who were generally too quaint for my preference it's a far cry from Canterlot. Why father settled here I'll never know—perhaps the tramp lured him here, or ensnared him as he was passing through, or maybe he was running from what he was used to back home. It didn't matter, I intended to leave the small hovel-town without so much as a performance—these ponies would never appreciate a show-mare such as Trixie. When I arrived at the address listed, deep along Meadowlark Lane on the edge of the forest, it was already night and I knew he would be there. I knocked. A line of light stretched along the edge of the doorway as the young mare behind it cracked it open ever-so-slightly. “Can I help you, ma'am?” I breathed a welcome sigh of relief at the sight of the young maid mare asking the question. I'd traveled so far expecting the tramp to answer the door. “I-” “Oh, of course! Madam Lulamoon, I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you sooner!” The door swung open as the maid took a few paces back, gesturing me inside. “Come in!” “I'm here to see my father. Is he in?” My eyes darted around the room behind the door. The décor was simple, but elegant—and undoubtedly expensive. Large black marble tiles contrasted the soft egg-white hue of the walls. A crystal chandelier hung in the center of the entryway and orchids in elaborate terracotta pots could be seen scattered around the room. “Of course, madam, please follow me to the study.” She must have recognized me from a photograph, but the walls were barren as we made our through a hallway to father's study. The entrance to the study was guarded by a thick wooden door, recessed into the wall—the only one in the long hall to appear so thick, and certainly the only doorway set further into the wall. My father was a stallion who enjoyed his privacy. I would bet all of the bits to my name that he'll close the door as his first order of business, so that nopony else in the house can hear what I've been waiting to say to him. About his new wife, his lavish house in ridiculous little town, his— “Here we are madam, you may wait here while I fetch your father.” The study was full of pictures. Framed pictures on the desk, on the walls, on the end-table. There were several of me from before I had left home, pictures of father and the tramp from just before the wedding—the same photos he'd sent in his letter—and there were photos from after the wedding. He looked happy, and it only angered me further. Then I saw it. In the middle of a group of photographs on his desk were several of a young earth-pony with braided silver hair and a gray coat. I momentarily forgot my anger. In an instant it was replaced by sadness, and desperation to wake up from the nightmare. He hadn't just married the tramp, he had another daughter with her. An earth-pony. How could he? How could he do it to me? What about mother? The anger began to rise once more until it was boiling inside of me. How could that inconsiderate, foolish, selfish— “Trixie! It's been so long since I've seen you!” My father rushed from the door behind me to embrace me. He didn't close the door. He always closes it... “I—you—how could you do this?!” I could barely think straight. “What did I do, sweetheart? Why are you so angry?” His apparent confusion incensed me even further. I was nearing the edge of what I could take without completely breaking down. In one swift motion I levitated the pictures of the young filly and smashed them against the wall, shattering the glass. I began to weep as they fell to the floor. “How could you?” Even if he had an answer, I didn't want it. “You've known about this for years, sweetie, I wrote to you with pictures shortly after she was born.” That was supposed to fix it. In my father's mind all he had to do was tell me that he wrote to me about it, that solved everything. Wrote to me in a letter I never received. Wrote to me after her birth. If there was a chance I could have ever forgiven him, it vanished in that instant. “I didn't know about this, and it doesn't even matter—you aren't a stallion, you're a pig and you disgust me.” It stung to say, even if it was what I felt in my heart of hearts. I couldn't stop myself. “I'm only here for some of mom's things. You didn't sell them did you? Tell me that isn't how you paid for the house for your whore and her daughter.” “Trixie...” He began to cry. I had never seen him cry, even when mom died. “When your mother died I felt so lost, and alone.” He struggled to speak between tears. “I didn't know what to do, and I had moments where I even resented her for leaving me behind alone to deal with the pain. And I still had to raise you!” “You didn't raise me. You were never around!” Father wasn't the only one that was left alone when mom died. “I had to work! Someone had to provide for you, you were too young to fend for yourself! But that is beside the point, Trix, listen...” Some of his composure had returned. “I was miserable for so long, and when you left it really broke me. So I came here to start a new life, and I'm happy now. I have a loving wife, and a daughter who will want for nothing so long as she lives.” He looked straight at me, tears still hanging in his eyes. “All I'm missing now is you. You don't have to be so distant. Don't you see? We could be a family again.” I paused to consider my words. “My family died a long time ago. I don't want yours.” The words hit him hard. “Do you have mom's collection or not? The one she kept in the locked glass case.” “No! I don't. I got rid of it a long time ago, and if you don't want to be part of this family—if you can't even be happy for me—then leave right now and I won't try to contact you again.” He didn't need to say anything else. I was as halfway to the door before he finished his sentence. That was it, the trip was wasted. Even worse: now I had to deal with the fact that I had an earth-pony related to me through unfortunate circumstances. I rushed back to the exit, almost slipping on the black marble as I left the house. I paused just outside the door to consider my options. If I went back to Canterlot empty-hoofed I'd never come back to Ponyville to try and find the collection (assuming it hadn't found its way someplace else already). I couldn't let mom's collection slip away without trying to recover it. I'd stay and see what I could find, even if I'd have to spend my traveling bits on it and walk back to Canter— “Uhm, Trixie?” A meek voice from behind me caught me off guard. I turned around to see the filly from the photos inside. A small earth-pony with a silver spoon cutie mark. “My name is Silver Spoon, and,” she paused and looked at me with her eyes beginning to tear up, “I'm your sister, but I guess you don't want that.” My heart sank. “Listen, it isn't that way.” I didn't know what to say. “Maybe, someday in the future we'll see each other again and get to know one another.” The thought repulsed me. “But, Trixie, I,” I didn't want her to finish. I couldn't let her finish. “The great show-mare Trixie has to be off, back to Canterlot where I'm expected to put on a show first thing in the mor—“ “I know where your mother's thing is!” “—ning.” I eyed the filly cautiously, trying to get a read on whether or not she was lying to me. “Okay, tell me more.” Silver Spoon smiled and pulled a folded scrap of paper out of her bag. I'd been caught off guard so badly that I hadn't even noticed she had a bag. “I have a map, see?” She unfolded the scrap and held it up proudly. It was a simple map in black ink, with a single red cross marked on it and encircled. “I'll give it to you, but only if you let me go with you to get it!” Her enthusiasm was frightening. “Trixie has an idea, instead, I'll give 10 bits for that scrap of paper and I'll write to you if I find anything interesting.” There was no way I'd ever take along this earth-pony. “TEN bits? My allowance is TWO-HUNDRED bits a month!” She was indignant. I should have known that she'd be spoiled rotten. “Fine, I can give you ONE hundred bits for that scrap of useless paper.” What was I doing? One-hundred bits wasn't trivial. Spoon tilted her head to the side slightly and furrowed her brow. “You'll take me with you or you won't get the map.” This was new; why would this little filly want to go with me? Something was off. “Silver Spoon, why do you want to go with me so badly?” Her widened eyes began to tear up; the look on her face broke my heart. “It's just...” She fell silent for a moment. “I've seen pictures of you my whole life. You're my big sister, and I want to get to know you.” A tear fell from one eye. “Every year I'd look at your picture and wish you were here for the Sisterhooves Social, or any other day, even!” I didn't want to accept her offer, but I needed the map—the collection, or even just the cube. This was my only way of getting it, and the filly had managed to nearly reduce me to tears. Even so, there was no way I'd ever call this earth-pony my sister. I'd just have to find some way to explain it to her. Some way to make her realize that I didn't want any part of knowing her mother, or seeing my father anymore. A way of explaining that I didn't want a sister; I didn't dream of being anypony's anything at the Sisterhooves Social. I'd finish this little errand and let her down as easy as I could. “So where are we headed? Let me see this map.” “I think it's in the forest.” “Let me see.” She was right. The map was a scrap of paper from some old book. The spot marked was barely inside of the Everfree Forest, in a cave, the last place in Equestria that I ever wanted to find myself. It was inside of a cave somewhere deep in the Everfree Forest where my mother encountered the ursa major. If that was my mother's fate, what would become of us? But ponies venture into the Everfree Forest all the time and come out alive—don't they? I'd heard ponies in Canterlot talking about exploring the caves for old dragon hoards, but they were probably better prepared than I could hope to be for this. I resolved to go ahead—a great sorceress never turns back, and it wasn't as though we couldn't simply run at the first sign of danger.
4The journey through the forest to the cave was quiet and uneventful. Silver Spoon's map seemed to show only paths known to be relatively safe, and I couldn't have been more pleased. We had managed to reach the entrance right as the sun was setting. I anticipated that, like the path we followed to reach it, the cave would be safe and perhaps even friendly looking. Why wouldn't it be? Everything on the map had brought us only to the safest paths where ponies had explored long ago and had clearly been routinely exploring since. When we reached the mouth of the cave it was anything but friendly and inviting. I kept asking myself why the collection would be brought here. The answers were unsettling. Perhaps it was some corrupt sorcerer, taking a collection full of dark magic artifacts deep into the Everfree Forrest to terrorize Equestria from the shadows. Maybe it was hidden and intended to be lost because of the power contained in the collection. In either cases it may be guarded. Dragon guards, or timer-wolves, or—or ursas. And what if it were a great corrupt sorcerer? Would I be able to defeat them? I was ready to give up the search, but Silver Spoon seemed unaware of the dangers. It seemed as though she thought it was a game. Perhaps she was just unaffected. “Come on, Trixie, let's go,” Spoon called out to me as she ran into the mouth of the cave. I ran after her, catching her by the tail. “Slow down, Silver Spoon. We don't know what is in this cave, understand?” I looked around cautiously. The light from the outside was starting to fade into an ominous black that seemed to stretch endlessly forward into the cave. “I'll use some magic to help us out,” I said as I used a simple illumination spell to cast light from my horn a short distance into the cave. The soft fuchsia glow danced off of the jagged walls around us. Everywhere were rocks sharp enough to cut right in to a pony's flank. There was a soft thud somewhere deep inside the still darkness of the cave. “What was that?” Silver Spoon sounded amused. Now I was sure she thought it was a game. “I'm not sure, just stay near to me.” Rocks could be heard clattering from the direction of the thud. It sounded closer. My heart raced as I imagined what might be making the noises. “Did you see that?!” Spoon shrieked, startled. I turned around to look behind me. The light emanating from my horn cast shadows off the rocks in all directions. As I moved the shadows danced and played across the walls. There was a feeling that we were not alone in the cave. “Let's go, Silver Spoon. That old scrap is probably wrong anyways.” “But—“, she tried to interrupt, but I was in no mood. “We're leaving. Right now, this isn't some game.” I grabbed her tail and pulled her several paces towards me in one swift motion. She got the message. Trotting back to the mouth of the cave we could hear something behind us, moving—crawling, perhaps. Busying itself with whatever wretched business. Our hooves continued to pound the ground until we were safely outside. “Why didn't we look further, Trixie? I thought you wanted that box.” How could she be saying that after our start just a moment ago? “This is serious, Silver Spoon. Whatever was in that cave could have really hurt us. Didn't you consider that?” I looked at the young earth-pony as sternly as I could. “But, you could have handled them with your magic! And I just know how badly you wanted that box...” She shuffled her hooves and looked down at the grass beneath her. “I did want the box, Silver Spoon. I wanted it badly. It was something that was of great interest to my mother. Who—by the way—was killed in a cave not unlike the one we were just in. It was something she valued, that I too have a great interest in.” “You really loved your mom, huh? I love mine too.” She didn't understand how I felt. How could she? She had no idea what her mother represented to me, and I resented her for it. “I'm sure that your mother is a—” I hesitated. I didn't mean to hesitate. All of the foul titles I had given the tramp played through my mind. I could only hope Silver Spoon didn't notice the pause. “—a fine mare, and a good mom.” “But you feel like she took your dad, huh?” Her question was sincere and shocked me. “I guess it's something like that, but I don't know why I'm even talking to you about this...” I could feel the blood beneath my cheeks; being confronted with such an accurate statement by such a young filly was embarrassing. It made my resentment seem childish. “I'm sorry, big sister.” Her words carried the same emotion that hung heavy in her eyes. “Spoon... It's not your fault.” I felt terrible for her. She had no say in any of it, and maybe—in spite of her nearly spot-on assessment—she really was too young to understand my side of things. Father was never there for me. He was never there for mom. And the first time I turn up at his doorstep in years to talk to him? He'd already moved on with a new family. A new life. What did he need with me? I gathered myself. The sun had gone down and the stars above were shining in the night sky. “Let's start walking back, it's getting late.”
5Clouds had begun to roll in by the time we finally reached the edge of Ponyville. The overcast sky threatened rain if we stayed out much longer, and I was already feeling bad enough—it had been a day of shock, anger, fear, and disappointment—who needed being stuck in the rain? “Uhm, big sister?” Silver Spoon looked at me expectantly. I still didn't know how to respond to the filly. I still didn't feel ready to accept that I had a sister. I wished I could teleport far away. “I should tell you something,” she said as she started to rummage through her bag. “What is it, Spoon?” I waited patiently, not knowing what to expect. I gasped as she slowly withdrew the metal cube from her bag, holding it up for me to see. That sneaky filly! She'd sent us on a pointless, and dangerous errand. I was too exhausted to be angry at the little pony. She had only wanted a sister, somepony to share a special bond with. Maybe she'd known my intentions—that if I left her behind at the house we never would have seen one another again. “I know it was important to you, and I know where dad keeps your mom's collection. Here.” Spoon extended her hoof towards me. I fought back tears as I reached for the cube. “Uhm.” She looked at me with wide eyes. “Y-Yes, Silver Spoon?” I managed to choke out. “You won't really be staying away from Ponyville, will you?” “No, Silver Spoon. I'll be back, soon, to perform.” I looked at Spoon, then down at the cube. “And to see my little sister.” That night it rained, and I told my sister the story of the sorcerers responsible for the thunder, and the hail. Author's Note This story is lacking in certain areas, and the ending was slightly rushed. The story was written for a contest, and the deadline snuck up on me faster than I thought it would. I apologize for the brevity of the last chapter, but I hope you enjoyed the story!
